by Gideon, D.
It was a place of comfort for her. The big overstuffed chair in the corner by the desk was her favorite spot to sit and read when she couldn’t sit on the porch. The light coming in through the windows was perfect right there. The old couch was worn but still comfortable, and the boys had always loved to take naps on it. Her little paintings on the wall of old fishing boats and fishermen, that she’d bought from local painters back in Baltimore at the harbor, reminded her of times with Nate. His father’s flag, folded and in its special case on the wall, was a family heirloom. There was a framed photo of her daughter, Corey and Thomas’ mother, in her uniform.
What was left of her life was here. The thought of someone standing outside and shooting into this house, into her sanctuary, riddling her furniture with bullets and destroying her beloved things…
She rubbed her fingers across the cross at her neck and tried to calm her anger. Nate would tell her not to worry herself over it; it could all be replaced. It was just material things.
“Not all of it,” she whispered. The flag, the little clay dog that Thomas had made for her in grade school, her photographs - these things were priceless. When they’d moved her valuables down into the cellar, they hadn’t taken these, because they didn’t look like they were worth stealing. A burglar would pass them by, looking for electronics or things he could pawn.
She moved through the living room by memory, and picked up the little clay figurine. Maybe it was time to move these things, too. After what she’d seen this morning, she couldn’t put anything past the Stalls. Those men had been armed.
In the kitchen, Marco started talking, low and hushed. He was arguing with Ripley, trying to convince her that he and Corey needed to go, had to go, tonight. Tomorrow night might be too late; there wouldn’t be time to put plywood over the windows before daylight. The census had said forty-eight hours.
Would Frank really have those men fire into the house?
The kids said he’d threatened Teddy. There was no reason for them to exaggerate. Things were bad enough as they were. Frank had threatened Teddy--a known military veteran--with men and firepower. And the kids had been there, so he’d been threatening them, too. To think he wouldn’t do the same to her and anyone with her would just be wishful thinking.
It would be foolish.
She had to protect the family.
She set the figurine back down and walked back to the kitchen.
“We’ll take a dolly, and we’ll grab another if we see it. Even if the truck can’t make it back, we can put the stuff on the dolly and make it back before daylight,” Marco said. “It’s less than 15 miles.”
“After the stunt you pulled this morning, you’ve really got no room to talk, Rip,” Corey said. He’d moved to a chair at the table.
“Oh, here we go,” Mel said.
“Don’t even,” Ripley said. “Me walking down to the corner and intending to help with firewood is in no way comparable to you heading off to the city.”
“I’m just saying, we don’t need your permission,” Corey said.
Ripley’s volume went up a few notches. “You think this is about permission? I should’ve asked you for permission to leave my own house?”
“We’re supposed to be a team. I just think it would be considerate of you to let the rest of the team know when you’re planning on doing something stupid.”
“Stupid? Getting firewood is stupid?”
They were practically screaming now. Corey was half-standing, slamming a finger down into the table with his words.
“Quit playing dumb. Going off to the woods with a friggin’ inmate was stupid. He could have done anything to you and none of us would have even known where to find the body!”
“I’d have known,” Dotty said.
The kids stiffened. Ripley looked down at the table and Corey lowered himself back into the chair.
“If you two are going to be yelling at each other, you’ll take it outside,” Dotty said. “I won’t have that kind of discord in my house.”
“Sorry Grams,” Ripley said.
“Sorry,” Corey echoed.
Dotty took a deep breath and blew it out. “You want plywood to cover the windows, yes? You can’t get that from Teddy?”
“The hunters cleaned him out to make their blinds. Everything he has left, Preacher’s going to use to cover the shop windows,” Marco said.
“And these hoses...we’ll have fresh water here at the house?”
“I’ve got the ram pump put together and in the river,” Corey said. “I just need more hoses to get it here. It won’t be much, with the hose being so small, but it’ll add up.”
Dotty nodded. “Fine. But concrete won’t work. It’ll take too long to set up, and you’d need too many hands to keep stirring it. Besides, it would be too heavy to move. A cubic foot of concrete is 150 pounds, and a cubic foot of dirt is only 40.”
Marco grinned at her. “You’re a surprising woman, Miss Dotty.”
She gave a dismissive snort. “I worked in a hardware store for years. It was either learn or get fired. Now,” she pointed to the boys. “If you’re going to make a wall under my windows, you’ll use a frame and dirt, and it’ll be lined with plastic. I won’t have dirt and bugs spilling out all over my living room.”
“We can do that,” Marco said.
“Yes ma’am,” Corey said, nodding.
“Good. Get going. I want you back here by daylight. And if either of you comes back with more holes than you had when you left, I am not going to be happy.”
“You wouldn’t like her when she’s angry,” Mel said, grinning.
Corey got up and wrapped her in a hug. “Thanks, Grams. We’ll be back before you know it.”
“You’d better be,” she said. “You do what you have to do to get home. We’ll worry about the consequences later.” She let go of Corey and pulled a surprised Marco into a hug. “That goes for you, too. You be careful.”
“I’ll try, ma’am,” Marco said.
“Go on now, before I change my mind.”
The boys moved around her and headed for the front door.
“Be careful,” Ripley called to them. Then quieter, she muttered “even if you are an asshole sometimes.”
“Sometimes?” Mel said, getting up. “That’s been his default state all week long.”
“We’re all under a lot of pressure,” Dotty said. “It’s times like these when we need to remember to show a little grace.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had any,” Mel said. She walked over to the sink and dipped her hands into the bowl of soapy wash water. After rubbing down her hands and face, she moved to the bowl of rinse water and did the same. Toweling off, she sighed. “I miss having a working shower.”
“You’re doing fine without one,” Dotty said. “I’d imagine that’s a big change for you. And you are handling it all with grace.”
“Well, I haven’t cut anyone yet, so there’s that,” Mel said. She waved to get Ripley’s attention. “Are we staying here tonight?”
“Dad would kill me, even with Preacher and Marco gone,” Ripley said. “They could come back while I’m asleep...and that’s too much of a risk for him. It was enough that he let me go this morning. I don’t want to push it.” She moved her chair back and stood up. “Sorry, Grams.”
“You don’t need to apologize, child,” Dotty said. “Thomas is upstairs, even if he could sleep through y’all yelling like that. And I’ve got my shotgun. I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll stay until Thomas gets up,” Mel offered.
“That’ll work,” Ripley said. “I’ll send Jax over, too. Love ya, Grams.” She leaned down and gave Dotty a kiss on the cheek.
“Love you too, sweetheart. I’ll see you in the morning.”
The screen door on the back porch banged as Ripley left, and Mel shuffled into the living room and started fussing with the pillows on the couch. Dotty folded up the kitchen towel and started to pull off her apron, then remembered she hadn’t checked
the coop for eggs tonight. She’d been shooing the birds back into the coop when the kids had come around the back of the house looking for her.
“Mel, I’ll be right back. I’m gonna see if we’ve got any eggs.”
“K Grams.”
The night air outside was cooler than in the house. Not by much, but enough to notice. If her back wouldn’t punish her for it, she’d consider sleeping on the screened-in porch tonight.
The grass back here was still knee-high and wet, but there were clear paths worn to the outhouse, the chicken tractor, and over to the Millers’ back porch. Even so, her pants would be soaked by the time she got back inside.
“I need to get the boys to move this thing tomorrow,” she said, pulling a little flashlight from her apron and aiming it at the coop’s back door.
It hung open.
“I know I latched that...I had to have latched that,” she said. She ran over the memory in her mind. She’d been inside the run, and had just gotten the little rooster to follow his girls up the ramp. The kids came around the corner, arguing, and she’d just had time to shut the ramp door before they’d started calling for her. She’d gotten out of the run as quickly as she could, and pushed it shut behind her.
She swung the flashlight over to the door over the ramp. It was closed, and latched.
Then what had she done?
She couldn’t remember clearly. The kids had been crowding around her, all talking at once, and shoving that dang envelope at her. Teddy was gone. Frank had threatened them. They were worried and wanting to batten down the hatches.
I wouldn’t have had that back door open, she thought. Not when I was trying to get the chickens back in there. They’d have gone in one door and out the other. So there’d have been no reason for me to make sure it was closed.
Still, she couldn’t remember for sure. She braced herself for tragedy and opened the door. The chickens were on their roost, grumbling and restless. They should’ve been sleeping by now. Passing her flashlight over them, she quickly counted. Then she counted again. One by one, she looked them over.
The little rooster was missing.
Preacher
Preacher lifted the panel of plywood into place and braced it with his thigh. He’d nearly gotten doing this by himself down to a science, now. Having some help would have been nice, but everyone had something important to do. He reached back and grabbed the drill from the top of the shopping cart he was using as a mobile sawhorse, and aimed it at his face.
This was the tricky part; getting the screw in his mouth to match up with the bit, all while staring cross-eyed down his nose. He wiggled his lips back and forth until he heard a click, then carefully let go of the screw.
It held. Now he just had to hope the hole was still lined up. Teddy had holes pre-drilled in these panels, and each one was marked with which window they were supposed to cover. It had been easy to match up the panels with the windows, but figuring out how to get them up—and keep them there—by himself while wrangling the drill and screws had taken most of an hour.
The street was quiet, and the overcast sky cast a depressing gloom on everything. There was no wind, but storm clouds in the distance said that wouldn’t be the case later. This had to get done now.
Besides, as soon as he had this done, he could go home.
He needed to get home.
Home.
It still rattled him, whenever that word crossed his mind. It broke his concentration.
I’ve got a home now.
And wasn’t it his luck, that he’d survived prison, he’d survived the prison culling, and he’d found a home...and now the powers that be were trying to take it away.
He was going to do his best to make sure that wouldn’t happen.
The screws across the bottom finished, he held the panel flat while maneuvering one of his two ladders into place. This one would brace the panel tight against the window frame, the other was for standing on.
He had just gotten the first top screw into place when the consignment shop door opened and the same woman who’d aimed a shotgun at him yesterday stepped out. Her bright pink hair was spiked up today, and her cat’s-eye glasses were perched on her head. She was somewhere in her forties, white with a bit of a tan, and thin. Too thin. There were women who weren’t ever able to gain weight, and the slightest bit of stress ripped away whatever progress they’d made. His mom had been one of those. This lady looked like a strong wind would knock her over.
She pointed at her wrist. “You got a minute?”
It was obvious he didn’t have a minute. He fired the drill up and screwed the top corner in place.
“Look, I’m sorry for pointing that shotgun at you,” she said when the drill went quiet. “It was bothering me all night long. My dad taught me to never point a gun at something I wasn’t willing to shoot.”
He snapped the next screw into place and lined it up with the hole.
“Wait a minute! Please?”
Preacher sighed and regarded her with raised eyebrows.
“When you’re done with that window, can you come over here? Just come right on in the shop. I put together a little something...an apology gift.”
“Not necessary,” Preacher said. He pulled the trigger and watched the screw sink in.
When he finished, she was still standing there, but now with her arms crossed.
“Teddy told me you’re staying with Dotty. If you want, I can just go there and wait, and make a big deal out of this. You know, lots of people, maybe some squealing, lots of attention.” She cocked her head. “You don’t strike me as the type that likes attention.”
He frowned at her.
“That’s what I thought,” she said. “You come over when that window’s done and let me off-load this guilt. Otherwise, I show up at your house and make a scene. Sound good? Good.”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She was back inside her shop before he’d figured out that she’d just threatened him...with squealing.
He growled and put the next screw into place.
A pleasant little tune sounded when he stepped into the annoying woman’s shop. It was so out of place that he stopped and looked up at the top of the door.
“Battery operated. Hasn’t worn out yet. It’s not like there’s been any customers to give it a workout.” She got up from an overstuffed chair next to an antique full-length mirror and strode forward, hand out.
“I’m Lisa,” she said. She waited, raising her eyebrows and jiggling her hand a bit when he hesitated.
He shook her hand. She had a good grip. “Preacher,” he said.
“Good. See? We can do this. Just two friendly people having a conversation without killing each other,” she said. She stepped back and motioned her head towards the back. “I’ve got your stuff on the counter. C’mon.”
The store smelled like an old closet mixed with vanilla. Circular racks were heavy with clothing, and cheerful signs on top advertised a different type of sale every day. Bookcases lined the wall, and all sorts of nic-nacs, teddy bears, and appliances sat on the shelves, waiting for their new home.
“I was just working on getting all of my Halloween outfits hung and put out when the lights went out,” she said, tapping a mostly-empty rack of costumes as she went by. “Guess there won’t be any trick-or-treating this year, eh? Blessing in disguise, if you ask me. We won’t be subjected to Cathy Riggs’ latest sexy costume. She’s been talking all summer about how she was going to be a sexy Bob Ross this year. You know, that painter with the afro? She was in here buying the shortest, tightest blue jean shorts she could find. God help us.”
Preacher snorted.
Lisa moved around the sales counter and gave him a serious look. “You laugh, but I’m dead serious. Each year, it’s worse than the one before. Last Halloween she was a sexy Twizzler candy. A red catsuit with some swooshy stripes.” She moved her hands around her torso. “It was ridiculous. Anyway, here’s what I came up with.”
She stepped furth
er down the counter to a number of neatly-folded stacks of clothing and raised her hands in a Vanna White impression. “Ta-da!”
“Clothes?” he asked.
“Clothes!” she said, nodding vigorously. “You’re wearing the same clothes today you had on yesterday. So I figured you must not have too many clothes, right? A guy your size...it’s not like you can just borrow a pair of pants.”
Preacher had been wearing the same pants nearly every day since the Warden had let him out. Corey had given him a pair of cut-off sweatpants and a couple of stretchy tank tops, but everything else he had was too skinny. He tried to rinse his shirt out every night and hang it up on the porch to dry, but the jeans took too long to do that.
He moved down to the piles and picked up the first shirt.
“See, the thing is, we’ve got a lot of guys around here that are way too wide for their height, if you get me. But that means some of these might fit you. They might be a little tight in the shoulders, but if you get ‘em wet and you’re careful, you can stretch them out.”
She was right. The two dress shirts looked like they’d fit him around the chest, which was rare enough, but the shoulders would be a little small. He wasn’t sure if that material would be able to stretch, but he was willing to try. Under the dress shirts was a stack of t-shirts, with garish designs on them of old rock bands or weird cartoon characters, but they all looked like they’d fit.
“Like I said, wide guys,” she said. “Here’s a couple of sweatshirts that might work, and this sweater is really nice. I live next to Sheriff Kane’s mom—really sweet woman—and she knitted this for him for Christmas last year. He can’t wear it. The wool in it makes him break out. She brought it in about six months ago, but with it being so hot out this summer, no one’s even taken it off the shelf.”