by D. Gideon
The skin around his eyes tightened and his jaw wiggled a little. “It was absolutely necessary,” he said.
“Okay,” I said, and shrugged a little at his look of surprise. “I understand now, Marco. Things are different. And if you say it was necessary, then it was necessary.”
He didn’t say anything, and I wasn’t sure if I’d said something wrong. “Honestly. I’m just glad you’re not hurt. Let me get some clothes out of my bag, and I’ll lay back down on the couch while you pack up.”
As I moved to pass him, he reached out and pulled me to him. He held me tightly, his cheek pressed against the unhurt side of my head. After a moment, with a deep sigh, he let me go.
“We’ll walk, but the instant you start getting tired, we’re stopping,” he said. “I’ll string the tarp and we’ll camp for the night.” He pushed the door open and stepped back outside.
“I’m not stopping until I get home,” I whispered, and went to change my clothes.
Chapter 42
Friday, September 7th
Snow Hill, Maryland
Dotty waved to John as he pulled away, dropping her off at the church after a long morning of culling chickens at his farm. There were a few people milling around the corner of the building, pointing at the downspout which was now aimed straight down into one of the big rolling city trash cans. She didn’t see Lily and Seth though; maybe they’d already left. Last night, after the crowd had grilled both Simon and Bill with questions—and more than a few angry accusations—about their New Home program, Bishop Sorenson had come up to Lily and asked if she’d come show her trash can rain barrel idea to the members of his meetinghouse. She and Seth had agreed to go with the Bishop as soon as the late breakfast was over here at Bill’s church.
Dotty hadn’t slept well at all the night before, and had been on her front porch waiting when John had come just after dawn to pick her up. She’d been so distracted all morning that she’d nearly slipped and cut her hand while piecing up the chickens. She just had this feeling that she should be at the church; that she was needed here. She had tried to brush it off, telling herself that she was cleaning these chickens for the church and it was simply worry that it wouldn’t be enough. But the feeling had persisted, so when it was time to take her home, she’d had John bring her straight here instead.
There were far more people in the church’s dining hall than Dotty had imagined there would be. A number of them were sitting among the tables, looking worn and ragged. They were chatting, nursing babies, and a few even had their heads down, asleep. Children bustled around through the tables and the crowd, making a racket that normally wouldn’t be permitted in the dining hall. Betty must have been busy with clean-up from the breakfast, or she’d have wrangled them all into the Bible Study room like she did the night before.
The number of people Dotty recognized was smaller than the ones she didn’t. Most of those here must have been people that were stranded in town. A crowd milled around in the large open space near the kitchen doors, where the serving tables were normally set out; now those tables were folded and leaning against the wall. She saw Bill and Sheriff Kane there, standing off to the side. A few people were gathered around them, no doubt asking questions about both the New Home program and the Mayor’s plans.
Dotty saw Cathy, standing next to a man who was much younger. She was talking animatedly, hands flapping around. She rested one hand on the man’s shoulder and threw back her head to laugh, patting herself on the chest. The young man’s face looked strained and he took a small step back, pulling his shoulder free. Dotty wondered if Dan even knew that Cathy was here.
A pair of small, pale, skinny children ran towards Dotty and tried to dodge around her, but one caught his foot on hers and tripped. He slid across the tiled floor shrieking in fear, and just missed slamming his head into a large cart holding metal folding chairs. Dotty looked around for a parent but saw no one coming to help him, and hurried over.
“Are you all right, child? Hold your head up. Let me see,” she said, squatting down beside the boy.
“He’s axe-den prone. Mommy says so,” the little girl with him said, nudging him with the toe of her worn sneaker.
“Most people are accident-prone when they’re as small as you two,” Dotty said. “Little feet and hands can get caught in a lot more places than big ones.”
The little boy looked up, eyes watering. He glanced past Dotty and then back. “Am I in trouble?" he asked.
“You should be,” Dotty said, “but I’m more worried about whether you’re hurt. Let me see that chin.”
The boy pulled himself onto his knees and thrust his chin out for inspection. “Am I bweeding?”
Dotty pretended to look concerned, clicking her tongue and shaking her head. “There’s no blood, but I think you may have to have a new chin installed,” she said.
“I do?” The boy asked, eyes going wide.
“What do you think, honey? You think he needs a new chin?” Dotty asked the little girl.
“I think he needs a whole new face,” the little girl said. “That one’s ugly.”
“That’s not nice,” Dotty scolded. “You apologize right now.”
The girl frowned at her. “I don’t have to be nice to him. He’s my brother.”
“That’s why you should be nice to him. One day he’ll be bigger than you and he’ll remember all the things you’ve said. You’ll want him to get something down from the top of the closet for you and he’ll tell you no because you were mean. So say you’re sorry.”
“No,” the little girl said, crossing her arms. “You’re not my mommy. You can’t tell me what to do.”
Dotty sighed and looked over her shoulder, hoping that Mommy would be coming to her rescue. She wanted to take the little girl aside and give her a stern talking-to, and if it had been one of the children that normally came to the church, she wouldn’t have hesitated. Then again, none of those children would have been running wild inside the dining hall to begin with, much less mouthing off to one of their elders. No one was even looking in her direction.
“You’re right. I’m not your mommy. But I am a girl, so I can apologize for you,” Dotty said.
The little boy’s eyebrows flew up and his mouth formed a little “O”. He looked at his sister, whose mouth also dropped open.
Dotty took the boy’s hand in hers. “My name’s Dorothy Parker, and on behalf of all girls, big and small, I am very sorry for mean things that have been said to you. You didn’t deserve them,” she said.
“You can’t do that,” the little girl said, arms straightening to small fists at her side. “I’m not sorry! You take that back!”
“For realsies?” The little boy asked, face earnest.
“For realsies,” Dotty said, nodding. “I’m sorry, for all of it.”
The boy scrambled to his feet and threw his arms around Dotty’s neck. “Thank you,” he whispered.
“You’re welcome, baby,” Dotty said, wrapping her arms around him.
“You can’t do that! I didn’t say I’m sorry! I’m telling Mommy!” The little girl said, stomping her foot.
“You go do that, sweetie,” Dotty said. “And make sure you walk, not run. This is the Lord’s house, and you don’t run in other people’s houses.” She bit her tongue from saying something about how the girl’s mother should have been paying attention in the first place. The girl stomped off towards the crowd near the kitchen, fuming all the way.
“I’m sowwy about your foot,” the little boy said, leaning back. “I won’t run anymore.”
“I would like that very much,” Dotty said. “And so would this.” She bumped her knuckle against his chin and smiled. He surprised her then, darting his head forward and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. Just as quickly, he slipped out of her arms and trotted in the same direction his sister had gone, walking as fast as his little legs would carry him without actually running.
Dotty chuckled and stood, scanning over the crowd. She
still couldn’t make head or tails of who was who or what was supposed to be happening, and Bill still had a cluster of people around him. She decided she’d just sit down and wait until she could figure things out, or he had a moment to come over and talk to her. Maybe he could help her with this worry that she’d had all day.
She walked along the wall, lined with unfolded metal chairs, and sat close to the front of the room next to a beast of a man. He was in worn jeans, heavy black boots, a t-shirt that strained over his biceps and a ragged denim vest. His pale head was shaved clean, as was his jawline, but Dotty thought she saw a light moustache leading down into a trimmed goatee. It was hard to tell. He sat leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, and he seemed to be staring at the floor. Tattoos lined his arms, and she could just see the tip of one peeking above the collar of his t-shirt on the side of his neck. She expected him to look up when she sat down, but he seemed to not notice her at all.
Must have run out of gas on his motorcycle, she thought. Probably trying to figure out how he’s going to get home.
She folded her hands in her lap and tried to make heads or tails of the crowd. Cathy had moved on to chat with another man, this one a bit older. The young man she’d originally been talking to had moved over to the side of the crowd a bit, and was talking with a man that Dotty recognized. He was a farmer, one that came into the hardware store quite a bit. She couldn’t remember his name, though. The young man was nodding, face eager and hopeful.
Closer to the Sheriff and Bill were a line of women. They all looked healthy enough, but their faces reflected stress and hardship. One woman, small with big eyes, flinched whenever Cathy burst out with her loud laugh. A larger woman next to her was glaring daggers at Cathy and rubbing the smaller woman’s shoulder. They must have been friends. A number of older couples were talking with the women; there were other, younger, couples in the crowd but they were all on the other end of the throng, talking to men. The clear separation caught Dotty’s attention and made her look closer.
Two people, talking with a man, had him turn around slowly. Beside them, Cathy gestured for the man she was talking with to make a muscle, and when he complied, she reached up with both hands and squeezed it, making appreciative noises. The man grinned proudly and flexed his other arm. Further down the line, a young man was holding out his foot and turning it from side to side while a small family—kids included—looked on. Dotty couldn’t tell what that was about. Closest to her, another man she recognized from the hardware store grasped the hands of a younger man, holding them up and turning them back and forth, inspecting them.
“It’s like a damn slave auction,” she muttered.
The man beside her turned his head and looked at her. When he spoke, his voice was deep and rough.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I didn’t catch that,” he said.
“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Dotty said, shaking her head. “It’s just…look at it.” She flapped her hand towards the crowd. One eyebrow raised, the man lifted his head to look over the crowd.
“It looks like a damn slave auction,” she repeated. “All that’s missing is the buyers making the slaves open their mouths so their teeth can be checked.” She blew out a breath. “It ain’t right.”
The man looked back at her, tilting his head to the side. “It’s a unique situation,” he said. “I doubt any of the townspeople have done anything like this before.”
“Well of course they haven’t,” Dotty said, “but look at how those people are being treated. Like cattle at a state fair. Now I can’t tell you which ones are prisoners and which are folks that got stranded here, but I can tell you that none of them deserve to be treated like that.”
“There are people that would say the prisoners deserve that, and worse,” the man said.
“Well everyone’s got their opinion, and I don’t happen to share that one,” Dotty said. She looked over at him, cocking her own eyebrow. “Are you one of the people that would say that?”
The man chuckled a bit, a sound like boulders grinding, and looked back down at his hands, shaking his head. “No ma’am, I wouldn’t say that I am,” he said.
“Well then you and I will get along just fine,” Dotty said, patting his knee and smiling. “As long as you stop calling me ma’am. The name’s Dorothy.”
The man focused on her hand on his knee and looked up, blinking.
“I’m…I’m Preacher,” he said.
Dotty cocked her head. “You’re a preacher? Do you know Pastor Bill?”
“It’s a nickname,” Preacher said. He raised his hands a bit, enough so that she could see the name tattooed across the back of his fingers. She looked at them for a moment, then covered her mouth and turned her head. Her shoulders shook a bit.
Preacher blinked again, confused. “I’ve never had that reaction before.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head and trying not to laugh more. “I just looked at that tattoo and had a thought, that’s all.”
“The old big hand myth?” he asked.
Dotty gave him a stern, but brief look and then pointed at his fingers. “I thought you must have a bad memory if you forgot your name so often you had to have it tattooed there,” she said, and smiled again.
“Oh,” he said, and then grinned. “I guess it could come in handy one day, when I’m in a nursing home,” he said.
“Maybe I should get one for my old age,” Dotty said, flipping her hands over. “D-O-R-O…T-H-Y,” she said, raising each finger in turn. “Well, shoot. I’ve got an extra finger.” She pointed to a flaming skull peeking out from under the sleeve on his upper arm. “I could get one of those put there. My grandkids would think I’d lost my mind.”
He eyed her small hands. “It would have to be a really, really tiny one,” he said.
Dotty gave her pinkie finger a criticizing look. “It would probably end up looking like one of those little smushed-face pug dogs,” she said.
Preacher huffed in a small chuckle and pointed at her necklace. “I think that might be a better choice,” he said.
Dotty reached up and fingered her necklace with a small smile. “That would be perfect. I wouldn’t ever be able to lose it. Maybe I’ll do that one day. A birthday present to myself when I’m eighty.”
“That would be a new way to spend the kids’ inheritance,” Preacher said.
“Pfft. If I’m using the inheritance, it’ll have to be done in permanent marker,” Dotty said.
Preacher laughed then; a true, deep belly-laugh that caught everyone’s attention. He leaned back in his seat as it ended, rubbing his hand over his face and smiling broadly. As he smoothed down his goatee, his eyes caught some people in the crowd looking at him.
“I think I might have scared the natives,” he said in a low voice.
Dotty looked up at the mass of people and saw a few still staring at her and Preacher. She looked back at them pointedly for a moment, but when they kept staring, she smiled and waved. Almost as one, they quickly found something else to look at.
“That’s it, find someone else to be rude to, ‘cause I won’t just sit here letting you,” Dotty muttered.
“It’s alright,” Preacher said. “I’m used to it.”
“It’s not alright,” Dotty said. “Rude is rude.”
“Well I doubt they’ve ever seen someone like me before, in a quiet little town like this,” he said.
“That’s still no excuse to stare, and it hasn’t been quiet the last few nights,” Dotty said. “You’d think we were in Baltimore, the way these people been actin’. Bustin’ into stores, tearing things up…” She pointed at one of the dining hall windows, covered from the outside with a sheet of plywood. It hadn’t been like that when she’d left last night. “Looks like they’ve even busted out church windows.”
“People make bad decisions when they’re angry,” Preacher said. “And even good people do bad things when they’re scared.”
“Some of that cou
ld be understandable, if they’d stood up, apologized, and offered to do repairs at the town meeting last night after the Sheriff left and the Mayor finally got done talking,” Dotty said. “But most of it’s been just plain destruction. Busting out windows and not going inside to get food or nothin’. Beating up cars. I think it’s been local kids, mostly. Not you stranded folks.”
Preacher raised his eyebrows. “Stranded?”
“Well that’s what I’ve been calling y’all,” Dotty said. “Stuck out here with no gas to get home. The Mayor says you’re ‘displaced’,” she made air quotes. “But that seems intentional. ‘Stranded’ seems to fit better.”
Preacher took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Dorothy, ma’am, I’m not stranded. I’m sorry if I’ve given you the wrong impression. I’m one of Warden…” he corrected himself with a small shake of his head. “Sheriff Kane’s prisoners.”
Chapter 43
Friday, September 7th
Snow Hill, Maryland
Dotty just looked at Preacher, one eyebrow raised, saying nothing.
“I’ll understand completely if you want to sit somewhere else,” Preacher said. “You don’t have to think of an excuse to get up and move. It’s alright.” He sat forward again, resting his elbows on his knees.
Dotty continued to look him over for a moment longer, then blew out a quick breath. “You mean to tell me you don’t have a big, shiny motorcycle sittin’ somewhere in town, out of gas?” she said.
“No ma’am,” Preacher said, not looking up. “Haven’t had one of those for years.”
“Mmhmm,” she said, thinking. “And I’m supposed to leave now because you’re a bad man, is that it?”
He looked at her. “I am a bad man, Dorothy. That’s why I was in prison.”
“What did you do to get put in that prison, Preacher?” she asked, her voice soft.
He didn’t hesitate. “I killed a man.” He tapped a small patch on the front shoulder of his vest. “One of my club brothers.”