Dilly is humming to herself, now sitting out on her front porch snapping green beans and watching people walk by. This is such a quiet little town with so many good people. I wonder who is causing all this trouble right now. What is really going on?
Back to snapping beans Dilly is planning on having some with her supper tonight. Her garden has been good this year and she has been putting up vegetables for the last week. Today she made some dill pickles and bread and butter pickles. She smiled to herself remembering her mom telling the story of how she got the name Dilly. Evidently her mother was in the middle of making dill pickles the day she was born. Of course, mom having such a good sense of humor thought Dilly was the perfect name for her new little girl. She would always say that people would remember her because of the unusual name. Dilly had always wished for a prettier name.
Dilly walks out to her garage and gathers some large baskets to take out to the fields tomorrow. She and Emily are going out to pick plums in the morning and then they will spend the afternoon making jam. Late summer and fall to her meant canning and there was always something to do. In her garage she had rows and rows of canned vegetables and jams. It was a pretty sight. Today, she had been reminiscing about Timothy, the young man she had been engaged to marry. They were young only twenty years old and the wedding was planned for the 1st of June but, he was dead before that. One week before the wedding, a drunk driver hit him head-on when he was coming home from work one night. She had never really gotten over it. She just tried not to think about it and all the things that could have been different in her life. So, she was feeling a little lonely today. She often wished she had a husband to grow old with.
The Chili Cook Off
The day had finally arrived; the Chili Cook-Off had been going for one hour. The field is packed with cars. The weather is perfect. Lots of people mingling around, inside and outside the tent. Children’s games are going on further off behind the church. The church had rented a bounce house for the little kids. It is a very festive atmosphere. The band is already playing. The air smelled like chili. The teams are busy cooking; chopping onions, browning hamburger. Most brought secret spice concoctions and some very surprising ingredients Dilly had noticed. She made a mental note where she saw the jalapeno's and the bottles of hot sauce. She wanted to be forewarned on those stations. The teams were joking around with each other. There were some strong rivalries. The fireman and the deputies for instance, were really doing some boasting back and forth. The fireman thought they had it over the deputies because of all their cooking at the firehouse. Dilly couldn't wait to find out.
Pastor Bud stands watching the crowd and thinks; we are going to have to make this an annual event. Wow, what a turn out! He knew the women from the church had been cooking for two days and last night they made some huge vats of Chili and Coleslaw. Early this morning Carrie and Dilly were in the church kitchen baking trays and trays of cornbread; the church members have really worked hard putting this on. Over by the entrance to the tent they had built a platform where The Country Time band was now playing.
Deidre and Frank pull up in their car. Carrie had given them tickets to the Chili Cook-Off. Deidre assured Frank there would be no preaching, just eating and it would be a fun day out in the sunshine. The weather he had to admit couldn't have been better. They were surprised at the huge turnout. It didn't feel uncomfortable, maybe because of the crowd. It was more of a fair atmosphere. They went into the tent and watched the various teams. They laughed at the kibitzing going on between them.
“Oh, my, there’s Dottie. She’s cooking on the firehouse team.” says Deidre pointing her finger.
They stopped and talked to her a bit. She laughed and reminded them that her brother was a fireman. He had called her last night and asked if she could help out, one guy was down sick. We wished her team luck and walked on over and got in line to get our chili dinners. After we got our food, we found a place to eat at a long picnic table under a tree. The county music was loud and kids are playing a ways off. Frank thinks to himself, this is fun. The table has another couple at it already and they welcome us to sit down. The introductions are made; the elderly man says his name is John Foster. He’s a big man dressed as if he just jumped off a tractor. He is wearing cowboy boots and a summer straw cowboy hat. His hands are large and very rough and calloused. He introduces his white haired wife, Diane to us. She has a shy smile and is very soft spoken. Frank and John hit it off, laughing and talking as if they have known each other for years. Diane and I wander back into the tent for some apple pie and coffees. I was so glad to see Frank laughing and enjoying himself so much. When Diane and I get back to the table the two men are shaking hands.
Frank looks up and says to me, “Honey, John just hired me to work for him on his ranch. He has a lot of carpentry work right now. And I can wrangle for him when I don’t have a hammer in my hand!”
“Oh, honey that is great news!” I hug Frank.
Frank had grown up on a cattle ranch in Wyoming. He didn't know what came first; walking or riding a horse. Once John found that out he couldn't wait to offer him a job. He liked the kid.
Later, that afternoon we hear Ding! Ding! Ding!
Pastor Bud is ringing the bell to get our attention. He lets us know it is now time to go in and start tasting and judging the chili. So, we start circulating and tasting with ballots in our hands. Thankfully, bottled water is provided at the stations because some of the chili’s makes your eyes tear and lips burn. Deidre didn't know there were so many types of chili; some made with ground turkey, some vegetarian with fake meat made out of soy; she didn't like it much. Another one they used steak meat instead of ground beef; it was quite tasty and she thought it was her favorite. Of course, all the contestants were trying to sway the votes by sweet talking the tasters; that was pretty funny. After a half hour of tallying the votes Pastor Bud made the announcement. The grand prize winners with a landslide were the Hot Shots. They were given a trophy and also, each got a gift certificate to the local sporting goods store. Everyone was congratulated and the crowd broke up shortly after.
It had been a fun afternoon thought Frank now back home sitting in his recliner. Wow, I got a job. I never saw that coming. I guess, God does work in mysterious ways. He sure liked old John. It will be a pleasure to work for him and also to be back on a horse. Ranch work; I never even thought to look it that area.
Leeboy
Leeboy sat on a stump watching his sister, Stookie. She was chanting over a pot of some horrible smelling concoction. As a root woman she was always mixing up something. He tried to control his gag reflex because it was pretty pungent. He hoped the wind would change so the smell would blow a different direction; ugh, what a nasty brew. The folks down on the swamp agreed she had the gift. She was well respected, maybe a better word would be feared. She could cure you or put a curse on you.
This morning he had gotten a call from Silas his long past sister, Eva's boy. He wanted to come down for a visit and stay with them. Leeboy felt little affection for the boy; he barely knew him but he was family so, he'd make room for him. His shine business had been pretty good of late. He could put the boy to work. He remembered he was a big strapping boy and he knew Jeb and Mercy May had taught him how to work. Those folks were not his type of people, but they were hard workers, he would give them that.
Whoop, Whoop! Mumbo jumbo! That's what Leeboy thought he heard, anyway. He didn't have a clue what she was yelling. Stookie was a little scary, even for him and he'd seen a lot in his life. He’d watched her at times when she’d point her finger at her intended victim and say a bunch of mumbo jumbo. They would turn as white as a sheet and most often fall very sick. He didn't know if it was real or not. Silas had mentioned he wanted to apprentice under her. Leeboy planned on keeping him so busy with the stills and the deliveries he would have no time to learn such nonsense. He remembers one time, she threw a handful of chicken bones at someone and the next day they choked on a chicken bone and died. So, h
e gave her respect and a wide berth, just in case, there was something to all of it.
That morning, Silas had talked to his boss at the barbecue pit and he had agreed to give him two weeks off, starting immediately. In his mind, he thought if all goes well at uncle Leeboy’s, he just might not come back. But just in case, he had a job to come back, too. But regardless, he was done with those Hill people. They didn't appreciate him. He was just a local errand boy, in their eyes. He’d packed his van with food and most of his possessions. The drive down to Louisiana will take maybe two days. He looked forward to the humid heat. He couldn't wait to get back home. These northerners hadn't made much of an impression on him. They even made fun of his accent.
He wondered if his great uncle Jeb might need help with the gator hunt this year. He knew his brother Zeke was helping and he could out shoot Zeke any day of the week. He spent most of the afternoon packing and reminiscing about his childhood in the swamp. He thought about his grandma Mercy May and her church. They were nice people, if only they didn't talk about God so much. He remembered what Zeke and he called her and her church lady friends when they were kids. We called them “The Sweater gang” because they all wore ugly homemade cardigan sweater to church. He often wondered if they were color blind. The color combinations were just awful. They were Pentecostals so they wore no makeup or jewelry except the biggest gaudiest brooches on their dresses, big hats and always those ugly cardigan sweaters. Almost all of them brought their knitting to church and they would knit through the church service. He remembered the clicking sound. They also, carried huge Bibles, so big they could fight off a mugger. He remembered a couple of the old ladies were pretty feisty so he thought they might try it, if the occasion ever presented itself.
Funny, thinking about them after all these years. Oh, and the food; those church ladies could cook! It was nearing the end of gator season he thought which meant there would be a big gator fry at the church. He’d have to go. He could handle those people, after all he’d known them all his life.
Tomorrow he’d hit the road; he was looking forward to the trip and getting away from these snotty northerners, who he thought talked funny. He laughed at his joke; that’s right; they were the ones who talked funny!
Lizzie
Lizzie Grayson has been at Treadmore Mental Institute for four years. She is confused and often feels spiders crawling all over her. She is afraid of spiders. She spent most of her time in her head where she feels safe. There she lies in a field of flowers listening to the birds singing and she walks through deep forests.
The people in white would often hurt her by poking her with needles while holding her down. One time she heard them say that she killed her friend; that she’d pushed her out of a window back at school. Lizzie didn't believe them. She knows she wasn't there. They are liars. Most of the days she was glad to be floating (her words for the drug induced state they kept her in). She didn't mind, she preferred her fields of flowers over the light green institutional walls of Treadmore and the people in white.
I love sitting in the sun thinks Lizzie. Mom and Dad don't visit me ever. They have thrown me away. Baron sometimes visits but not often. I love my brother but I know he can't help me. He told me last time he was here, that he was traveling this summer all over Scotland. I wish I was free and traveling with him. During the day they let me outside onto the grounds. When I remember I look for ways to escape but I haven't found any. I don't know if I have the strength to climb the wall to the outside world. So most days, I just go back to my room and sleep. I am a prisoner.
Baron
Baron sits on a stool in a pub in Glasgow with two of his friends from school. They laugh over their beers and plan their next leg of their tour. They are going down to Liverpool. They have Euro passes and have been traveling by train all over Europe. Baron calls it "slumming". This is the closest he has ever been to living like someone from the middle class. He is careful to dress like them and he left his fancy watch at home. He didn't want to tempt the less fortunate. They have been staying at bed and breakfasts, primarily. They are often in just someone's humble home. It is interesting to talk with the common people over breakfast. As a result of this trip, his opinion of those types of people has been lifted. He has met some pretty decent families and as poor as they are they are very generous, which he has marveled at over and over. They would give you the shirt off their backs if you needed it. He has never met people like them. He has noticed that the middle class in Scotland is poorer than in America. It is not unusual to see a clothesline indoors, full of today’s wash strung from wall to wall in the living room. No one apologizes or seemed embarrassed. It is just how it is done over here. Most have wash machines but no clothes dryers, which he thinks is so strange.
One Scottish family they stayed with a few days ago invited them to supper that evening. At supper there was a small bowl of some type of stewed meat and vegetables and then maybe five dishes of potatoes cooked different ways. It was odd but he tried them all and he had to admit they were tasty and he was full. The meal was far from fancy, but Baron and his friends felt happy and welcome at the table of this poor family. They talked and laughed for hours. The conversation was very interesting and intellectually stimulating, which surprised Baron. Experiencing the different cultures has been fascinating. In his early years, traveling with his family they’d always stay in upscale hotels. But this was a trip that he would always remember.
This morning he’d been thinking about his sister, Lizzie; poor thing she was in such a spot. She kept telling him mom and dad threw her out. It was hard to hear and to see the sadness in her eyes. But he agreed with her; they had. He remembered her as a small child always so distant. Their father would beat her, when she disobeyed. This went on their whole childhood. She was always bruised. Father was always careful to hit her places where the bruising wouldn't show. As teenagers, they were required to go to some of the ceremonies. One evening Lizzie refused. Father grabbed her and dragged her through the secret passageway in the library down to the labyrinth. Baron remembers her screams vividly. Baron didn't have to go that evening but he should have gone to the ceremony, anyway. He might of been able to help her. But he was afraid. He knew his father was a high member of the inner circle and under the protection of the Dark Lord. So, Baron knew that he would be powerless against them.
Baron had actually seen the Dark Lord with his gleaming dark eyes on two occasions. He was handsome, but fierce. The Dark Lord would occasionally honor a coven at one of their holiday ceremonies with his presents. There was always the very ornate gold throne placed in a prominent position at each ceremony. Most of the time it remained empty but on occasion he would appear. Baron had been there both times he had appeared. He was terrifying! He looked human but not quite. You could feel the air go cold and the evil pulsating through the room. He would speak eloquently; his voice full of arrogance as he spoke to the group, sometimes singling out people. He would threaten them with graphic details of what would happen to them, if they displeased him. Baron had never felt so afraid. He knew positively the Dark Lord was real. Then he would just disappear as silently as he had appeared. Baron had learned the code; the rules of behavior as a member of a high ranking bloodline coven at a very early age. He obeyed; Lizzie did not. He remembered that after their father had forcibly taken Lizzie down into the labyrinth to the ceremony, it was two weeks before he saw her again. When she finally was back; she really wasn't. She had a distant look in her eyes. She moved like she was made of lead. A few weeks later, she pushed her best friend out of the third floor window at school. She has been locked away ever since. If only she hadn't been so stubborn and just went with the flow. Baron always had obeyed. They didn't ask much and in return he had as much money as he could spend. He thought to himself it wasn't so bad. Why did Lizzie have to cause trouble? He would go visit her when he got back to the states and bring her a gift. Baron loved his sister and he knew she still recognized him. He would look for something with but
terflies on it for her collection.
Bart Moore
Bart Moore had never been married, no kids but he did have his fruitcake sister, Celeste. He was a member of the inner circle and they trusted him. He had a problem he was pondering. Celeste had broken away from the coven and was living in a hippie commune. She was now what he would call a tree hugger. She hadn't caused any trouble so the coven was leaving her alone, so far. All the hippie business was fine with him as long as she kept her mouth shut about family matters and the group. But he had recently received a letter from her that worried him. She had announced to him that she was now a writer and that she had been reading her poetry aloud in some coffee houses. Her friends loved her poetry and now she was thinking about writing her memoirs. She was sure it would sell! He wrote her back and asked her if she had forgotten the lessons their now deceased parents had taught them long ago. Did the code ring a bell, he asked her. He loved his nutty sister and hoped she would heed his warning. He knew they would kill her before they would allow her to divulge anything about the group or their dealings. He paced in his study wondering if he should take a flight out to Washington State and try to find her. She said they were living out in the woods. He couldn't imagine how or why she would enjoy such a lifestyle; maybe she was high on marijuana all the time. He knew those Pacific Northwest folk were pretty much all hippie types. He’d wait a while maybe get a letter back from her. He had to send his letter as general delivery to a specified Seattle post office she told him about in her letter. Hmm, she was homeless; living with some fellow nut jobs and didn't even have a proper mailing address.
Angel Watch at Blacknest: A Supernatural Mystery Page 9