Lonely and awake through another warm night, she slipped out quietly giving in to her need to see Pete. It was Sunday. Christine would sleep late in the main house since Spurlock’s General Store was closed and would likely not notice her absence from the garage apartment. The day was hers.
She drove up the narrow dirt road slowly and turned off her lights before they illuminated the trailer, hoping not to wake or startle him. Sunrise had not come yet, but the gray morning twilight gave her enough light to see. Hot Shot neighed a low sweet greeting. His failing eyesight did not interfere with detecting her presence.
Nelle called out softly to him, “Good morning sweet boy. I’ll come to you later,” before gently opening the screen door and stepping in on her tiptoes.
Pete lay face down on his bed, a sheet covering him loosely from the waist down. Muscular arms stretched out above his head, his thick black hair disarranged on his pillow, Nelle had never seen a more pleasing sight. She slipped off her shoes and settled in next to him.
“What took you so long,” he said, turning over, caressing her lightly, and drawing her closer. “Come here.”
Nelle’s worries evaporated in his arms. His tender kisses on her neck and around her face dispelled her tensions instantly. His scent, masculine and musky, erased her thinking. She moved into him, stroking his naked back. Consuming passion triggered waves of greedy desire. She dug her fingers into his skin as he nibbled at her body with uninhibited pleasure. She arched into his rhythmic fondling, wanting more, and got it.
They fell asleep entwined. The last that Nelle remembered was the serenity of a beating heart. She couldn’t tell if it was hers or Pete’s, and it didn’t matter.
Nelle woke alone in Pete’s bed, tangled in the top sheet, her clothes in a jumbled pile on the floor. The morning sun was high, streaming brilliant light through the small bedroom window. The loud braying of Mr. Bill, Hot Shot’s loyal companion, had awakened her. She had been asleep for hours.
The smell of coffee roused her from Pete’s bed and reminded her of his Papaw. Coffee was a staple in the house. A full pot was always parked on the stove, no matter the heat of the day, ready to satisfy and stimulate. That was precisely how she felt. Satisfied and stimulated. She wanted to find Pete.
“Well look who’s here, Hot Shot. Miss sleepy head,” Pete teased as she approached him through the pasture gate as he was putting out fresh feed and water for the animals. His open shirt and tousled hair hanging on his forehead suggested that he had not been up very long either. He took her by the waist and gave her a sweet kiss. Hot Shot pawed the ground.
“You look ravaged,” Nelle said playfully.
“Ravaging?” Pete responded.
“No. Ravaged,” she replied grinning.
He chuckled from deep inside. “Your fault.”
Nelle turned her attention to Hot Shot and Mr. Bill, murmuring melodious softhearted animal talk, as she stroked and petted them both. She had cultivated the love of animals since she was a little girl and she credited her bonds to the animal world as giving her the comfort and peace she so often sought. Animals had never let her down, and she got back tenfold everything she gave. Her capacity to communicate through sympathetic perception, with comprehension and compassion, was a rare gift. Papaw had recognized this ability in her instantly, as did feed and supply proprietor Miss Ruby Bowman, and both of them encouraged her to go to veterinary school. Her love of animals had not only guided her life, it had saved her, and offered her a future as well.
Nelle also recognized that Pete’s connection to the land had defined and rescued him thanks to his Papaw who made a home despite formidable odds that had at one time threatened to remove them from their land over undocumented ownership claims. Elmer Everheart and Ralph Lyons had banded together in a mutual struggle against the powerful corporate owners of the town’s paper mill and their lengthy hard fought and hard won fight cemented the bonds of their remarkable friendship.
Nelle was connected to Pete through struggle, perseverance, and victory as much as adoration, companionship, and passion. These were the indefinable and undeniable golden threads of love interwoven in the fabric of their histories.
“You realize we have to do something about this,” Pete said, his voice uncharacteristically serious.
“We just did,” Nelle replied.
“You know what I mean, Nelle. I can’t stand being without you, especially now. Now that they’re gone. It’s too empty. For me anyway.”
Nelle drew closer and put her arms around him in a gentle embrace. “For me, too, Pete. Why do you think I showed up in the middle of the night.”
“It was just before dawn,” he teased. “I’d been waiting all night.” He squeezed her closer.
“I can’t leave Christine yet,” Nelle whispered lowly in his ear. “It would devastate her after losing Granddad so soon. She needs time to adjust. She doesn’t have a Pete in her life like I do.”
“And I can’t leave the farm,” he sighed in resignation, pulling away from her. “I’ll never leave the farm, Nelle. I couldn’t. The land is all we have. All we’ve ever had.”
“No one’s asking you to leave, Pete. I just wish I didn’t feel so alone in trying to sort it all out. I’m responsible for Christine now.”
“Well. You are not alone. We’ll figure it out,” he said, turning around abruptly to the sound of metal striking the ground.
“Hey! Hey you two!” Christine yelled loudly as she dismounted from her bicycle and clumsily threw it on the ground. She ran up to them puffing, her face moist with sweat. “Thought I’d find you here, Nelle! I’m hungry!” She sauntered off toward the trailer, all smiles. “I smell coffee! Hurry up!”
Nelle shot Pete a humorous glance and shrugged her shoulders. “See what I mean,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“I’m hungry, too. Papaw always made us pancakes on Sunday. Let’s see how I do with it. I like having you and Christine here for it. He would like having us all together for it. They both would. Come on,” he said, taking her by the hand and pulling her toward the trailer.
Christine was already seated at the small table, sipping coffee. “Used up your sugar in that little bowl. Sorry,” she said insincerely as they walked through the door. “I like it real sweet.”
“Just like you,” Pete said affectionately. “Making us pancakes. How’s that?”
“Lots of syrup with mine. Please.” Christine responded. “But I have to give you this first. Junie came over this morning looking for you Nelle. He woke me up when he couldn’t find you.” She took a handkerchief out of her shirt pocket that was folded in a neat square “Junie said Miss Ruby just found it on a shelf in the pharmacy room where she keeps the livestock medicines. The stuff that got stolen on jubilee day.”
Christine unfurled the cloth on the table and smoothed it out with her hands. “Look. Junie said Miss Ruby wanted you to see it before she turned it over to the chief. Junie said you might know what it is. Or, maybe where it came from.”
Nelle picked up the small silver charm, turning it over in her palm. “What else did Junie say?” she asked, taking delight in Christine’s full blush.
“He said he could fix that back step that’s loose. Said it’s dangerous. I – I mean we, might trip on it.” Her face burned as she turned away from her sister, but she couldn’t prevent the shy smile.
Junie’s visits had noticeably increased in the short time since their grandfather had passed away. Nelle had not paid it much attention until now.
Nelle held the charm up to the light, straining to see a tiny marking more clearly. “Yes, yes,” she uttered slowly. “I know this. The engraving WRHS. West River High School. It’s the megaphone charm that cheerleaders wear. A prized possession.”
Pete’s eyes flew open. Nelle turned to him in disbelief. They read each other’s minds.
“Let’s go see Beau,” Pete said breathlessly. “Now.”
“He’s not there today,” Christine said.
“
How do you know?” Nelle asked.
“Junie told me. That’s how come Miss Ruby wanted you to see this today. She tried to get him on the phone but the policeman said Chief Boudreaux went back to New Orleans early this morning with Sergeant Howard. Something about a truck and some guy named Jack King.”
“He’s mean as a rattlesnake, Chief. Bad temper. He ain’t going to like seeing a uniform when you knock on his door. Short trigger on him. I remember from when I took him in after that bar brawl. He fought like a wildcat, kicking, and punching. Damn near killed that guy. Wouldn’t stop hitting.” Sergeant Howard blew smoke rings that rose to the roof of the patrol car.
Chief Boudreaux coughed slightly. “You have to do that, Larry? Open the window for God’s sake.”
“Sorry,” he said, cracking the window as the white smoke flew out to mix with the cool early dawn air. “Helps me think.” He took another deep drag on his cigarette, this time exhaling toward the open window. “Jack King never held a real job in his life. Always hustling something. Thought he was God’s gift to women, too. Wore a black cowboy hat all the time, pulled down low on his forehead. Crazy thing was, girls flocked to him. Always had a girl on his arm, sometimes more than one.” He flicked his cigarette out the window. “I don’t understand women,” he said, shaking his head as he gazed out on the brightening morning light. “Never had much luck with them myself.”
“No man can figure out women, Sarge. They tick different from us. That’s all I know,” the chief said with a chuckle. “They can sure mess you up inside,” he commented with an air of bewilderment. “Like some invisible thread wrapping you up and tugging…” his voice trailed off.
“Yeah. Yeah. Smothered,” Sergeant Howard responded thoughtfully, and then let out a low whistle. “I couldn’t please no matter what I did. I’m better off with my dog. No explaining. No fussing. Always happy to see me when I come home. She even likes to watch football with me. Puts her head right on my lap. And no back talk either!” he joked with a big grin. “Keeps me warm at night, too!”
Chief Boudreaux threw his head back and laughed. “That’s it! I need a dog!”
“Only one thing. If I could just teach her to cook,” Sergeant Howard joked. “Let’s get something to eat soon, Chief. I’m hungry.”
“Won’t be long. I know a place. Already planned to stop there,” he said, with his heart skipping a beat as he mentioned it. “I need to get a statement from the girl who called. The one who described the truck got the license plate. She saw Jack King with a girl, twice. Owns a truck stop. Stopped here on the trip down to New Orleans with Nelle and Pete. Good thing I did, too.”
They rode in silence for a while longer as the sun rose higher and daylight shined brilliantly on a fine still morning with a clear blue cloudless sky. Big rigs hauling bailed cotton, feed corn, live chickens, and massive logs sped by, with some truckers offering a congenial black smoke toot on their diesel horns. Most traffic slowed down to near enough legal speed limits, but not all of them did. On this morning, however, Chief Boudreaux paid them no attention. He had matters that were more important on his mind.
At the first sight of the weathered sign RUCK S OP 24hr OP N, the chief began to slow down. “Good. It’s still early,” he mumbled to himself.
“Somebody can’t spell,” Sergeant Howard said.
“Nah. Just needs some paint. And attention. She makes good coffee. Good cook, too.” Chief Boudreaux drove onto the gravel road leading to Emmie’s truck stop. The brilliant Pegasus flying horse logo came into full view. “Here we are,” he said, pleased. He drove past the gas pump and pulled up in front of the large dingy window where the OPEN sign hung unevenly in a casual, welcoming way.
Sergeant Howard glanced at him. “This it? Not much else around here. I could use some coffee though,” he said, his voice tinged with disappointment.
Emmeline stepped out through the screen door as Chief Boudreaux parked the patrol car. He was eager to stretch to his legs and equally eager to see her again.
“Helloooo! Comment ca va!” she called out enthusiastically.
He raised his hand in greeting and thought how beautiful she looked in the morning light, with sparkles of sunlight glinting off her curly black hair, still damp from a morning shower. Her light blue work shirt accentuated her hazel eyes and her worn denim shorts hugged her flat stomach. Long legs, lean and shapely, took up most of her body, and made her a picture of wholesome grace and feline agility.
Sergeant Howard first stared at her, then came closer to say hello, noticing her name embroidered on her shirt over the red Pegasus patch. “Oh. That’s you. The one who called. Em me line,” he drew her name out slowly, remembering that he had misspelled it on the pink message pad he had given to the chief.
“Oui. Emmie. That’s me,” she said giving him a big smile. “You are?”
“Larry. I mean, Sergeant Howard.” Blushing bright red, he sucked in his breath and looked at Chief Boudreaux who was standing still with his hands on his hips looking at her.
Emmie stepped closer to the chief and put her finger against her lips. “Shhh. Shhhhh,” she shushed them quietly. “Come follow me. Both of you,” she instructed, as she led them around to the back of the truck stop where a field of tall grass and a patch of cypress trees stood amid an abandoned trio of rusted pickup trucks. “Look,” she whispered, pointing to the right, “just in front of the trees. Over there. Eating the grass.”
“Well, I’ll be,” Sergeant Howard whispered back. “I ain’t never seen nothing like that.”
“Me neither,” Chief Boudreaux said quietly, transfixed. “I’ve seen spotted. Called piebald. Hunters prize them because they’re so rare. But nothing like this,” he said awestruck.
The white deer suddenly lifted her head, ears twitching, looking in their direction. She stood frozen, her eyes fixed on them. She looked like an alabaster sculpture, shining in the sunlight like shimmering pearly silk, perfectly formed, completely beguiling. They froze, too, hoping to prolong the encounter, all of them still as statues.
After a few seconds, the white doe turned away and wandered back into the woods.
Emmie broke the silence. “It’s a sign. My grandmama told me about it. She saw one on the day I was born grazing in her back yard. She said it means to get ready.”
Chief Boudreaux looked at her quizzically. “Get ready? Get ready for what?”
“Change,” Emmie answered confidently. “Big change. A shifting.”
Sergeant Howard stepped away from them, reacting to his loud, growling belly that put an end to their surreal encounter. He pressed his big, clubby hand against his potbelly stomach and announced, “Well I’m sure ready! I’m ready now! Let’s go eat!”
“I have just what you need,” Emmie said in her agreeable charming way, leading them back toward the front entrance.
As they stepped inside through the creaky screen door into the dimly lighted space, Sergeant Howard sniffed and raised his head like a hunting hound. The whir of the large metal fan on the floor in a corner by the stove did more than cool the small cafe. Aromas swirled around in collisions of mouthwatering scents. The big aluminum pot percolating gently on the back burner released steaming whiffs of pungent chicory coffee. The luscious meaty smell of fried bacon filled the air. A platter stacked with freshly baked buttermilk biscuits gave whiffs of homey comfort. The pot of grits spurted tiny bubbles as it thickened on the stove into a creamy silky porridge.
The sergeant’s eyes bulged and he reflexively licked his lower lip. His stomach growled loudly again as he sat down hard on a stool and propped his elbows up on the gleaming red counter top. “One of everything! Please. And coffee. Lots of coffee.” He bobbed his head toward the chief, grinning widely.
Chief Boudreaux took a seat next to him. “I told you she could cook,” he said beaming.
Emmie placed large mugs of hot coffee in front of them. “Eggs for you, too, Mr. Sergeant? Goes good with my grits.”
Sergeant Howard nodded e
nthusiastically as he sipped his hot coffee. “Ummmm,” was all he could manage.
“Mr. Beau, mon ami,” she said leaning over the counter closer to him, “I need to fatten you up like your friend here.” She giggled as she turned away, feeling his eyes searing her backside.
A nudge in the side from Sergeant Howard shifted his attention and he looked at his now very cheery friend. “She’s something. Ain’t she something? I think she likes you, Chief.”
Chief Boudreaux’s face flushed red as he reached for his coffee. “I told you she could cook,” he repeated, trying to avert his eyes as she bent over to lower the speed of the noisy fan.
“There,” Emmie said, turning to face him, fully aware of her effect on him. “Not so much noise. Now we can talk when I’m cooking for you.”
She moved with the ease of a maestro in front of her small stove, breaking four eggs into a frying pan, tip toeing up to reach the stack of white plates on the shelf above her head, arranging biscuits, grits, and generous slices of bacon on each one. She flipped the eggs expertly, let them cook for a few seconds more, and placed two each in the center their plates.
It dawned on Chief Boudreaux that she had not asked him what he wanted for breakfast. Emmie seemed to read his mind as she presented the generous portions to both of them at the same time. “I know what you like, Mr. Beau,” she said through a big grin, as she pushed the plate in front of him.
Sergeant Howard laughed at his speechless friend and dug in. Between whopping bites, he began talking to her. “Tell me about what you saw Miss Emmie. Chief Boudreaux says you talked to the guy and the girl.”
Chief Boudreaux broke in, assuming command again over his sergeant, trying to recover from the power of her flirtatious behavior. “We need to take a statement from you, Emmie. We got an address from the license plate you gave us. Sergeant Howard knows this guy from his early days in police work.”
The Road to Home Page 15