“The police have been notified. The chief knows,” he said. “I’m sure they’ll put the word out to the right places. It’s something easy to spot after all the attention we got when you found it. Lots of pictures of it in the newspapers.”
“Ummmm,” Nelle responded. But she had the most uncomfortable unshakable feeling that the theft was somehow related to her.
“By the way, I want you to know that our law firm made a contribution to Reverend Dunn this afternoon. I asked him to stop by earlier. The partners talked it over. Good community service gesture. We gave him a check to cover the loss from the rectory theft. The horse race is still going to have a cash purse for the winner and his church gets the rest for the jubilee expenses. Besides, we can write it off,” he winked and smiled at her.
Nelle grinned from ear to ear. “What a savior you are!” she said beaming.
“The reverend told me he was reserving a place in heaven for me,” he chuckled.
“I’m sure that was seen to a long time ago, Mr. Parker.”
“Then he told me he was looking forward to seeing more of me in church. For a minute I thought about taking the check back,” he said, throwing his head back with a good laugh.
Nelle laughed with him, knowing first hand Reverend Dunn’s persistent recruitment pitches over the years. However, he had not yet reserved a place for her.
“Hey, Nelle. Before you go. Reverend Dunn gave me something he found yesterday on the floor in the cabinet where he keeps the cash box. He wanted me to have a look before he gives it to the police.” He opened his desk drawer and retrieved a small shiny gold object. “Ever see anything like this?”
Nelle took the round gold piece that was about the size of a penny. A small hole pierced the top. She turned it over twice in her hand. “It’s the sorority charm you get after you pledge. These are Greek letters,” she said, pointing them out to Mr. Parker. “Alpha Chi Epsilon.” Turning it over, she noted, “This is the Goddess Athena. Meant for the smart rich girls.”
“Reverend Dunn thinks the thief might have lost it prying open the cash box. It’s solid 14 carat gold.”
“Why would a rich girl need to steal money?” Nelle asked.
“Maybe it doesn’t belong to a girl. Or maybe it’s a girl down on her luck,” he suggested.
“Or maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with money at all,” Nelle guessed. Those were the same girls who shunned me in high school.
The Athena charm was the gilded token of the small group of hateful high school girls whose initiation pledge was to shun and refuse speaking to her. Preening peacocks in a barnyard of scruffy chickens. They had taken an immediate dislike to her. She felt the old pain grab her again. Peck at the outsider new kid. Her outsider status had never changed.
A tapping at the door stopped their conversation. Mr. Parker’s secretary Mercel entered the room. “Sorry to interrupt. Hey, Nelle,” she said sweetly, laying correspondence in front of Mr. Parker that required his signature. “Tomorrow’s the big day. I’m so sorry your grandfather won’t be with us. He would have especially loved this race.”
“I know,” Nelle replied. “It’s grown so much. We never dreamed it would turn out this way.”
“I hear your Pete is riding a sweet looking filly. I’m putting my money on him,” she said playfully.
Nelle blushed deeply. “Me, too.”
The Fourth Annual West River Jubilee opened on a scorching, cloudless August day. Older women shielded their faces with colorful sunbonnets and men donned sweat-stained straw hats for protection against the shimmering glare of the sun. Teenage girls dressed in wide-brimmed floppy hats with bright bandana hatbands, thin cotton flowing skirts, and big sunglasses; attire that asserted individuality and independence from countrified parents. Children in shorts and tee shirts went barefoot and seemed oblivious to the rivulets of sweat that saturated their clothes and made stringy hair cling to wet faces. Dogs panted heavily in the humid unforgiving temperatures but the mood was not suppressed by the typical late summer Louisiana day. Visitors streamed in to the church grounds greeted by the original jubilee sign. The mission had not changed since its beginning. PRESERVING OUR PAST. PLANNING OUR FUTURE. JOIN THE CHAMPIONS NOW!
The “champions” were Reverend Dunn’s “Champions for Christ”, a small indulgence allowed him for his continued generosity in offering the church grounds and boundless volunteer support. The jubilee festival had grown in no small part because of his commitment to helping others and spreading the word about the good works of his church.
There was no doubt either about the unifying factor it provided for the divisions that were a fact of life between the affluent community of Tall Oaks and the rest of the people who lived in West River. On jubilee day, however, the sun shone and sweat streamed on everyone just the same.
The biggest event though, which drew the greatest interest, was the horse race. Even Reverend Dunn found Christian justification for the robust gambling that took place when it brought potential new members into his ministry.
Pete had risen before dawn and drove to the church grounds in his Papaw’s dilapidated truck to direct the parking and oversee the care of the animals before the day’s event came into full swing. He pulled his horse trailer onto the field, the first to arrive as he had planned, and guided his filly Mingo to the open grassy area where other horses would soon be grazing and resting before the big race.
“There girl. We’re here. You did just fine,” he said reassuringly as she snorted and stamped lifting her head playfully. Pete had never won and hoped Mingo, his four year old spirited filly named after the horse that Nelle’s grandmother had once owned and lost in a barn fire, was a sure bet. He wanted so much to win for Nelle.
Soon after he settled Mingo, others arrived, riders and horses equally excited by the festive mood that was already under way. Large white tents covered long tables where men and women were busily setting up displays of homespun goods and homemade food. The aroma of freshly baked pies, cakes, and cookies filled the morning air with sweet mouthwatering smells. Picnic tables dotted the grounds. A makeshift platform of wooden pallets carefully arranged side by side, formed the stage for welcoming guests and presenting awards. Reverend Dunn’s pulpit sat on top with his bullhorn within easy reach. Rows of metal folding chairs aligned in a semi-circle gave the appearance of important formality to the whole affair. Towering grand oak trees with sprawling branches offered shade and respite from the heat, creating areas where old ladies could rest and young mothers could keep babies out from under the blistering sun.
Pickup trucks pulling horse trailers lined up at the far end of the back field. Beat-up trucks, rusty and dusty from long years of hauling crops and supplies, parked next to shiny and showy pleasure trucks decked out for the occasion. It was a place where the region’s economic disparity was magnified, and many of the boys and younger men ogled the impressive trucks and talked about future goals of owning one, knowing it was likely an unobtainable dream.
Children migrated to the shady tented tables where church women volunteers in long dresses and flowery aprons sliced large wedges of juicy, thirst-quenching watermelons and passed them out for free. Yellow jackets buzzed around the sugary red melons vying for a taste. Mischievous boys spit big black seeds at each other and at squealing little girls. Mothers and fathers paid little attention, reflexively swatting at the wasps and flies, as they also enjoyed the refreshingly sweet treat. Nothing defined summertime more than red, ripe watermelon that slaked parched throats and filled empty bellies. The fat oval deep green fruit that lay on the ground lazily ripening until perfect picking was a staple in fields and kitchen gardens large and small.
Roles mattered nothing on this one day. Mercel, Mr. Parker’s secretary, loved by some and feared by others for her position of influence both in the law office and in the community, was the “jam lady” trying to hold on to her three-time blue ribbon award. Mr. Woodcock, the revered high school biology teacher, was hoping for anothe
r “Best in Show” for his stunning hybrid orchid that he named Cajun Tiger after its vivid gold flower with wide black stripes. His eccentric entry was positioned next to other competitors who presented more conventional blooms like richly perfumed roses, lemony scented snow-white magnolias, and sweetly fragrant gardenias. Edible exhibits displayed rows of enormous multi-colored lumpy heirloom tomatoes, piles of luscious purple figs the size of baseballs, and baskets of bright red pomegranates, all of which had thrived in the hot high humidity of preciously tended gardens.
People chatted about yields, growing techniques, recipes, the vagaries of weather, the satisfaction in their efforts evident by multiple entries vying for blue, red, and yellow ribbons. Farmers, gardeners, cooks, and hobbyists mingled with enthusiastic appreciation and pride born of hard work and ceaseless persistence. Knitters, woodcarvers, fiddlers, and accordion players formed a conglomeration of down to earth people possessed with know-how and big appetite for fun. Men and women competed equally for recognition with the only advantages predicated on luck and skill.
After helping all morning with organizing and setting up tables and food displays, Nelle was eager to find Pete and see Mingo. She was hoping to find a little rest in the shade with him and share her sumptuous slice of pecan pie and sweet ice tea before the afternoon activities began. She walked briskly, in spite of the heat, down the path toward the racing field that was now crowded with trucks, trailers, horses, and people. Another good year, she thought. Granddad and Papaw would be so pleased.
She saw Pete before he saw her. Her light mood and anticipation dissolved suddenly as her shock turned to anger. She gawked at the figure standing next to him dressed in hip hugger bell-bottom jeans with her plump bust exposed through a flimsy shirt knotted high on her bare mid-drift.
Pete’s gaze shifted toward her and he instinctively backed away offering Nelle a weak smile.
“Hey. Hey, Nelle,” he said, choking slightly at his words. He looked at the ground, swallowing hard.
Nelle stopped, still as a statute, feeling foolish as she squeezed her pecan pie and gripped her plastic cup of tea.
“Why, hey there, Nelle,” Tammy drawled insincerely, as she spun around to face her. “It’s so nice to see you again after all this time. OH MY! Your spilling there. Careful now!” she cautioned, smiling devilishly.
Pete rushed toward Nelle, taking the cup from her hand. “Tammy stopped by to see …uh … to check on …,” he stammered nervously.
Nelle cut him off, ignoring him. “Well Tammy Boone,” she said stiffly, recovering her composure. “I heard you were dancing in New Orleans,” she said sarcastically, matching Tammy’s icy tone.
“Modeling. I’ve been modeling,” Tammy corrected her, straightening her shoulders to accentuate her bulging chest.
Pete ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head helplessly.
“Where’s Mingo?” Nelle asked.
“Over there under the shade tree,” Pete replied, pointing to the far side of the track.
“Grazing with my colt Midnight, I hope,” Tammy teased.
Nelle shot Pete a dagger glance.
“Oh. Didn’t Pete tell you?” Tammy asked, her voice dripping with feigned sweetness. She gave Pete a big smile. “I’m racing this afternoon. Midnight is just a dream. Isn’t he Pete?”
Pete groaned.
“He didn’t mention it,” Nelle said flatly. “I need to get back.” She spun around, tossed the pie on the ground and left.
“She hasn’t changed at all,” Tammy said.
Pete replied, “Neither have you.”
Nelle fought back tears as the pain of old memories flooded in. Tammy was the ringleader in high school who controlled and set the bar for the popular clique of girls who came from the good, respectable families that lived in Tall Oaks. Affluent and spoiled, never wanting or needing anything they didn’t get handed to them, they ruled the halls with arrogance and power and snubbed any lesser soul who possessed either intelligence or good looks. Most of them had neither. They did have cars, clothes, stylish hair, and different shoes for each day of the week. They had boyfriends who played football and wore their varsity letter sweaters. They got “pinned” and went steady and partied all night in an elite world in an exclusive club. Most of them never amounted to much after their heady high school days and were best known for what they could either buy into or buy their way out of.
Tammy’s grudge was deep. The law firm that participated in the high school education program had hired Nelle. Five girls interviewed. Tammy Boone, dressed in high heels, shiny sheer stockings, and expensive clothes, thought it was hers. Her father had placed the necessary phone call. Nelle looked as shabby and scrappy as a dressed up field hand. When the decision was made, no one was more surprised than Nelle, but Tammy never forgot and refused to accept it. After graduation, she took her wounded pride and voluptuous figure to New Orleans.
Pete and Nelle had been friends since high school and had both suffered as outsiders from the popular kids but for different reasons. Pete had never lived anywhere else, but was raised by his Choctaw grandfather. Neither Pete’s Chickasaw mother nor Choctaw father survived to see Pete grow up. He was raised in a ramshackle trailer on several acres of land where he learned to tend horses and chickens and cultivate a garden that provided most of their food. He preferred his animals and outdoors to school, until the day he met Nelle.
Nelle’s military family history kept her miles apart from the culture and interests of her high school peers. She looked different, spoke with an indefinable accent, wore outdated and hand-me-down clothes, possessed bottomless curiosity, and took refuge in roaming outside with her animal companions, until she met Pete.
Strong glue held them together, including the close friendship that their grandfathers enjoyed. Neither doubted that they would have a future together when the timing was right. They loved each other and believed in the same things. Their disdain for the forces that had weakened and undermined the mill town community of West River was a common battle that they fought alone and together. Tammy Boone and her kind had always been at the root of the problems West River faced.
By the time Pete caught up to Nelle he was sweating and panting.
“Stop. Please! I didn’t know until yesterday when I checked the final list. I haven’t really seen you since then. I wasn’t hiding anything. Honest. I’m surprised, too!” He put his hands on his knees and lowered his head trying to catch his breath. Sweat dripped off his nose.
“She was flirting with you! Flaunting herself! You liked it!”
“Yes, I know. No. No. I mean I know what she was doing. I didn’t like it, Nelle.” He stood straight and took Nelle by the shoulders. “C’mon. You know me better.”
“She’s trouble, Pete. What’s she doing here?”
“She signed up for the race. I can’t stop her. It’s her father’s horse. I was checking on the horses and she just appeared out of nowhere. I never expected to see her here, but I couldn’t just ignore her. Not with her riding Midnight,” he tried to explain defensively.
“If you tell me he’s the favorite to win I’ll scream.”
“No, he’s not. Not a chance. He’s pretty to look at, but jumpy. Restless.”
“Like her.”
“Yeah. He’ll be edgy. Won’t do well around the competition.”
“Like her.” Nelle was starting to feel better. “Who’s the favorite anyway? I wish it could be Mingo. What’s the talk?”
“Miss Ruby’s Appaloosa, Lizzie. Runs like lightning. She’s a beauty with all those black spots on her white coat. Her grandson Junie is riding her today.”
“Junie’s more horse than human,” Nelle mused. “I can’t wait to see that.”
“Miss Ruby claims Lizzie can fly when she gets going. We’ll see.”
Miss Ruby was the proprietor of Ruby Bowman Feed and Supply Company, a landmark store on the edge of town that had been providing food, supplies, and gear to the community for over sixty
years. An old lady now, she was still active and involved in dispensing goods, advice, and remedies for anything with two or four legs. Her legendary knowledge equaled that of any veterinarian and her clientele grew with the passing of years. Miss Ruby never charged for her consultations and was rarely wrong. She was a beloved and respected widow, fierce and energetic, and had taken special delight in fostering Nelle’s obvious love of animals. Her influence and encouragement with Nelle to study veterinary medicine had given her great satisfaction. None of her six grandchildren had shown any interest in farm life or the business, except the youngest Junie, who was as wild as an untamed stallion. Junie was the child of her heart.
Nelle asked, “What about you and Mingo? Any chance?”
“Never know in a race. Always a chance,” he said, relieved that Nelle was letting go of her anger after the Tammy encounter. “Mingo’s fast, too. She loves to run. Hope you put your money on me,” he winked.
“Maybe I’ll split between you and Junie,” she teased. “Cover my bases.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of thumping feet. A lanky young man was jogging toward them, his long sandy hair bouncing with each stride. Nelle recognized him immediately.
“Junie! Hey!” she gave him a big smile.
Junie was out of breath and panting by the time he reached them. His red face glistened with sweat. Still in high school, his muscular body and towering height made him appear years older. Nelle and Pete were fond of him.
“You okay? What’s the matter?” Pete asked.
Junie sputtered, trying to catch his breath. “Store. Store got broke into.”
Nelle blurted out, “Miss Ruby! Is Miss Ruby alright?”
Junie nodded quickly. “Yeah. Yeah. Granny is okay. No one was there. Happened last night. Police chief is over there now. Granny’s going through everything with him to figure out what was taken. She takes the money home every day. Wasn’t the money.”
The Road to Home Page 5