Gathering Storm

by Sherilyn Decter

  A disturbance in the bush draws her attention. Something big coming this way. She stands and turns to face it, a ladle clutched in her hand.

  “Cassie. Cassie. I’m home.” Leroy hurtles out of the trees, grinning and shouting, waving his arms. Not seconds later he’s wrapped in a hug.

  “Koone. What on earth? What are you doing here?”

  “Ha, I knew I’d surprise you. You’re surprised, right? I didn’t think about it at all so it wouldn’t show up in the cards. And I walked and ran all the way here.”

  “It sounded like a herd of something coming through the swamp.”

  “I tried to walk carefully like you taught me, but the closer I got, the faster I was running, and then I smelled your gumbo.”

  Cassie hugs him again. “You’re hungry no doubt. Let me get you a bowl. I’m so glad to see you, Leroy.”

  Over lunch, in the chickee, Leroy talks non-stop, pausing only to insert another spoonful.

  “How’s Gator Joe’s? Are you being good? And helpful?” Cassie asks.

  Leroy nods. “Miz Edith and I are best friends. We spit on it. And a man came in and hit her and me, too.”

  Cassie gasps, taking a close look at Leroy’s face. It was supposed to be a safe place to send you.

  “I tried to help, but he was too big. And she pays me now, on account I tried to steal a comic book, but I weren’t no pair, so I got caught, and now I’m reading a great story about this boy, Tom Sawyer. You know Tom Sawyer, Cassie? His pair is Huck Finn. It’s important to find a pair.” Leroy pauses for breath and gumbo.

  “Yeah, I know Tom Sawyer. Although I’ve always been more of a Huck Finn kinda-gal, living out here in the Glades and all. Tell me about the man who hit you. What happened?”

  “I think they were looking for money. There were three of them, and one grabbed me. The other one hit Miz Edith in the face a couple of times. Told her to git.”

  “Did one of them have white hair and spooky blue eyes?”

  Leroy stares at her, eyes wide. He nods. “Did you see him in the cards, Cassie?” he whispers.

  She leans over, ruffling his hair. “Silly Koone. No, Whitey is just somebody I knew a long time ago. A real nasty fella. You stay clear of him, you hear?”

  Leroy nods solemnly. “Yes, ma’am. He’s too big for me to take on. But maybe, if I had a dog, like Orphan Annie. She called her dog Sandy. And Miz Edith says I don’t have to go to school, which is okay by me. I don’t want to sit in a wooden desk all day. But I would like to find ‘my pair’.” Another breath and another spoonful of gumbo.

  “You still want to stay there? Sounds like a lot of excitement. Maybe you should come home?”

  Leroy’s head snaps up, his hand clutching the spoon halfway to his mouth.

  “No way, Aunt Cassie. It’s swell. It was just the one time. And Miz Edith handled it. And there’s a fella who sleeps on the Rex. His name is Darwin and he has gator teeth stuck in his hat. I’d really like to get me a hat like that.”

  “Is Darwin a friend of Miz Edith’s?”

  Leroy shrugs. “He helps with picking up the booze for Gator’s and sometimes he takes me fishing.”

  It’s good that there’s a man around, at least. Good for Leroy and safer, too.

  Cassie ladles out a second helping. “I’m disappointed in you, Leroy. Trying to steal. That’s not good.”

  “It started out okay, me trying to do a good deed just like you’re always telling me to do, but it went bad really fast. I was scared, Cassie. Miz Edith almost told me to go. And the fella in the store said I was a wicked boy and, if I didn’t mend my ways, I was going to Hell, and that Brother Silas would need to see about that. I sure didn’t want to see Brother Silas—he scares me.”

  Cassie goes still. Brother Silas. What was I thinking? Leroy’s got to come home.

  “That’s the man who grabbed me when we were in town that time.” Cassie shudders at the memory of Silas’ hands on her.

  Leroy goes quiet at Cassie’s reaction. “Yes, ma’am. I remember.”

  “I think you should come home, Leroy. It ain’t safe for you that close to Coconut Grove.”

  Leroy jumps out of his chair. “No way. I don’t want to come back here. It’s boring and there’s nothing to do.”

  “Better bored than hurt.” Or worse.

  “Please, Aunt Cassie. I’ll be careful. And I’m learning stuff. And I’m helping Miz Edith, and Darwin takes me fishing. Plee-eeze? Really, I’ll be careful. And Miz Edith don’t like the preacher, either.”

  Cassie looks at his small, beseeching face. So much like Cissy. He’s got to grow up sometime.

  “You got to promise me to stay far away from him.” Cassie grabs hold of Leroy’s arms and looks him in the eye.

  “Yes, ma’am. I will. I promise. I’ll even spit on it if you want.”

  Cassie releases him. She sits and pulls the other chair closer. Leroy perches on the edge, knee to knee.

  “Good. We don’t need to spit,” Cassie says, taking Leroy’s hands in hers. “But I’m serious, Leroy. Brother Silas is bad. Worse than the sheriff, worse than Whitey.” She searches his face, looking for agreement and understanding. She drops his hands and leans back. “Good. Now tell me, how long can you stay? When’s Miz Edith expecting you back?”

  “I told her you’d walk me back after supper. Can I stay until then? Can we go out in the dugout? Do you have my slingshot?”

  * * * *

  Cassie walks Leroy back to Gator Joe’s after he’d scraped the bottom of the gumbo pot clean.

  “Come in with me? Miz Edith says she wants to get to know you better,” Leroy says, his eyes pleading as he tugs at her hand.

  Cassie looks at the yellow lights glowing in the window. The shapes of people sitting around tables are visible through the windows and screen door. Someone shouts and then there’s laughter. Cassie’s heart pounds. She wipes her sweaty palms on her skirt. “Not tonight, Koone. I’ll come by to visit when she’s not so busy.”

  Returning to the familiar quiet of her camp, Cassie sits at the table in the chickee. I don’t know how people put up with all that noise. I need peace and quiet to hear the voice inside me. Folks got the wrong idea about me way out here. Loneliness empties you; but solitude, now that fills me up and speaks to my soul.

  She fans out her cards, and draws one. A woman sits up in bed holding her head in her hands. Nine swords are lined up behind her looking like bars on a window.

  Cassie frowns. “This isn’t what I was expecting. I wanted a positive card to tell me how Leroy is doing. The Nine of Swords suggests dark thoughts.”

  She brings the card close to her face. “Are you talking about me, about Leroy, about Edith? Someone is worrying excessively about a situation. Who is stressed and anxious? It’s not me, and Leroy seems happy at Gator’s. It must be Edith.”

  Cassie gathers the cards and fans them again. “Enough of that. She’ll work her way through whatever is bothering her. I want to see what’s happening in Leroy’s life.”

  The card she draws is upside down, and shows an emperor dressed in armor, sitting on his throne. There’s a hiss from sucking breath between clenched teeth.

  “This is not my night, is it? First, gloom, now doom. Well, well, well Mr. Preacher-Man. It’s been some time since I’ve seen you in these cards. It seems everybody is muscling their way into the reading tonight. A nasty piece of work, aren't you? And what do you think of Edith? Your pride still smarting from winding up ass over teakettle in front of the folks at Stella’s? Not one of your usual gals, is she? This one’s got spunk. Maybe even something more.”

  Cassie’s lip curls in distaste. “You’re a domineering bully, Mr. Preacher-Man.” She addresses the empty chair. “See those rams’ heads on his throne, ah-ma-chamee? That means he’s relentless. Don’t ever think he’s given up. He’s just waiting.”

  Critters rustle under the chickee floor.

  “I guess there’s a villain in every story. I hope Edith is up for that
kind of evil. She won’t be expecting it.”

  Below her, the quick squeak of something’s dinner momentarily interrupts the reading. “And what about you, Preacher-Man? Are you ready for Edith? I think I’ll put my money on her.” Cassie misses nothing; a snake has slithered out from beneath the chickee.

  “Maybe thoughts about that Preacher-Man is what’s keeping you awake at night. You should be worried, ah-ma-chamee. He’s a bent one, all right. Never did see someone so mean. My poor sister Cissy didn’t learn that lesson fast enough and look where it got her. Six feet under.”

  Cassie's eyes are shadowed as she massages her temple.

  Such a long and eventful day. Maybe I should bring Leroy home, after all? Just in case.

  * * * *

  The rising sun burns early morning mist off the ‘Glades. Cassie pours coffee from the pot on the grill over the campfire. That first pleasure of the day is always tempered by a sharp pang of loss, missing Leroy. It was his job to make the coffee in the morning. The ritual a reminder that he’s not there.

  The dark cards of yesterday made for a restless night. When she did manage to sleep, the Preacher-Man stalked her dreams. At one point, her sister was tugging on one of Leroy’s hands and she on the other, the poor boy pulled between them like a rag doll.

  Like an addict, Cassie is drawn back to her table under the chickee. She wipes the top of the table with a handy cloth, hardly noticing the dirt after so many years in the bush living rough. The days of polished tables and the smell of lemon wax, long gone.

  Cassie shuffles the cards and then lays out three piles, face down. She restacks them randomly and pulls off the top card, the Queen of Swords, and smiles, admiring the Queen’s noble profile erect on her throne, sword held high. “See? I knew something would change. Reinforcements are gathering.”

  Cassie settles back, working out the stiffness in her neck and shoulders. This positive card is a tonic.

  “Maybe there’s some hope. This Queen is determined, independent, and resilient. And, with that raised sword in her hand, you can count on her in a fight. There’s bound to be one coming. The odds just got a bit better in your favor, ah-ma-chamee and I’m relieved to see it, both for you and for Leroy. Gotta keep that boy safe.”

  Chapter 51

  T he dock is Leroy’s favorite reading spot. His nose is buried in the Tom Sawyer book. His feet are in the water. As he breaks to turn a page, he notices a motor launch approaching. It steers toward the dock, so he stands to help tie it off.

  Out steps a tall, dark woman. She’s as brown as a nutberry, her bright blue eyes surrounded with weathered creases from squinting into the sun.

  “Hello, I’m Cleo Lythgoe. Who are you?”

  “Leroy, ma’am.”

  “Charmed, Leroy. And this would be Gator Joe’s I’m hoping.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Excellent. I’ve got a delivery for Mrs. Duffy. Is she at home?”

  “Yup. Just up there,” Leroy says, pointing to Gator’s main building.

  “Would you be so kind as to give me a hand with the load, young man?” Cleo says, nodding to a pile of packages wrapped in burlap in the stern of the launch.

  “Hey, are those hams? I know about hams. Harley showed me,” Leroy says, hopping into the boat and transferring them to the dock.

  “Indeed they are, young man. It’s my business to sell liquor.”

  “We do that, too. Do you run a blind tiger? Are you a rum runner?”

  “Not quite like that. I’m what they call a wholesaler. I sell to rum runners who sell to establishments like Mrs. Duffy operates.”

  Together, he and Cleo carry everything up the path to the front veranda.

  Edith is waiting for them, pale, shotgun in hand, her handgun in a holster strapped to her waist. In the past, she’s not had her guard up and she’s suffered the consequences. With Darwin out fishing, she’s taking no chances.

  Leroy puts his bundle on the ground and runs to her. He can feel her shaking as he wraps his arms around her waist. “We got company, Miz Edith. It’s just a lady on the boat. It’s okay.”

  Cleo puts her bundles on the veranda and steps forward. “Good morning, Mrs. Duffy. I’m Cleo Lythgoe, and I’m serving as the supercargo on Reggie Crompton’s ship, the Washington.”

  Edith lowers the shotgun and Cleo takes another step forward, hand outstretched. “He asked that I deliver these to you. I believe you’re expecting an order?”

  “Of course, the liquor.” Edith grasps Cleo’s hand. “Come in. Come in. Leroy, can you carry these inside for me? Just put them on the floor by the bar. We’ll unwrap them there.”

  Edith holds the door for Cleo and Leroy. “You’ll have to excuse me, Miss Lythgoe. I don’t usually greet visitors with a shotgun, but we’ve had some trouble lately.”

  “Perfectly understandable. Reggie felt bad that the last order got seized, leaving you in a tight spot. He’s been in Bahamas and apologises for the delay and any inconvenience.”

  “Please thank Reggie for me. I’ve finally got around to hiring my own rum runner, so I’ll be sending a boat out to the Washington and do my business the usual way like the other blind tigers.”

  “I’ll pass along the news. He’s talked about you so much; I was curious and wanted to come meet you myself. My apologies for just dropping by.”

  “I’ve heard about you, too. We have many mutual friends. Meyer Lansky has nothing but good things to say. And it takes a lot to get his respect.”

  “He’s an interesting customer. Cut and dried, no-nonsense.”

  “And you’re traveling with Reggie. He’s mentioned you a couple of times, as well. Says you’re a great wholesaler.”

  “And he’s a good customer. I’m based in Nassau and get restless sometimes. I usually subcontract the supercargo—”

  “What’s a supercargo?” Leroy asks, his arms loaded with the liquor bottles.

  “Superintendent of Cargo. Customers like Reggie often pay on consignment. That means I get paid when the inventory is sold to people like Mrs. Duffy here. So it’s an important part of my job to keep track of what gets sold and for how much.”

  “And you never get worried about how dangerous it is? With the pirates?” Leroy asks.

  “Rough weather can be more of a threat, lad. There’re a lot of men on board to protect us from pirates.”

  “Leroy, why don’t you get Miz Lythgoe a cold drink?” Edith turns to Cleo, “Root beer? Cola? I think there might be an Orangeade in there, too.”

  “A root beer would be lovely. Thank you.”

  “Miz Edith, you want something?” Leroy asks, his head buried in the drinks cooler.

  “Bring me a root beer, too, please.”

  Leroy carries over three bottles of pop and pulls up a chair next to the two women. “Why do you talk funny?”

  “Leroy, that’s rude,” Edith says.

  Cleo chuckles. “I’m from England, Leroy. Why do you talk funny?”

  Leroy grins. “I’m a Miccosukee Seminole Indian.”

  “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever met a Miccosukee.” Cleo leans over and shakes Leroy’s hand. “A pleasure.”

  “Have you been in the wholesaling business long? It must be rough for a woman, or is it more common in the Bahamas?” Edith asks, her eyes bright with curiosity.

  “I’m the only one. I’ve been at it for years. I started in London, and then they posted me to Nassau when my employers saw what was happening in America. It’s been a lucrative posting.”

  “I can imagine. The ships on Rum Row are mainly from Bahamas and Cuba, aren’t they?” Edith asks.

  “The ones at this end are. The further north you go the more Canadians are involved. You’re also a bit of an odd duck, aren’t you? I’ve not seen too many women running taverns. The few that do are in bigger cities like New York and Boston.”

  “Yes, I’m an odd duck.” Edith winks at Leroy, who quietly quacks. “How do you manage, Cleo?”

  “It’s
a rough profession, as you know. I always carry my sidearm, as do you, I see,” Cleo says, patting the gun in the holster on her own hip. “A shotgun’s good,” she says, nodding at the shotgun Edith’s left leaning next to the bar, “but sometimes not as handy as a pistol might be.”

  Edith grins wryly. “I’ve had a few run-ins with pirates, and a few locals who are wanting to stir up some trouble. Hopefully the Winchester and Colt will even things up a bit.”

  Cleo nods. “Too bad it won’t be much help with some of the other headaches we have to deal with. I really hate not being taken seriously.”

  “I know exactly what you mean.” Edith relaxes, enjoying the chance to talk with another woman in business. And even rarer, her business.

  “It’s a rare man who’ll treat a woman fairly when it comes to business. Wholesalers have to renew their liquor licenses every year. For everyone else, it’s a formality. Most don’t even bother to show up at the registrar; they just send someone ‘round to pick it up.”

  Restless, Leroy squirms in his chair. “If you’re from England, does that mean you know the King?”

  “Leroy…” Edith cautions.

  Cleo smiles. “No, we’ve never met, although I have seen him in parades and such.”

  “You were talking about licenses,” Edith says.

  “Did he have knights? Did he wear a crown?”

  “Leroy, please,” Edith says, frowning at the boy.

  Cleo chuckles. “That’s all right, lad. Sorry to disappoint, but no knights nor crown. Just a hat.” She turns back to Edith. “Yes, those darn liquor licenses. Usually easy as pie to renew, but not for me. Each year they make me traipse down, stand in line, ask the same questions. Then they hold it in abeyance until an inspector can come by and examine my books and look through the warehouse. Every year, the same rigmarole. Just for me. I think they want me to give up and go home.”

  Edith nods. “I know that feeling. The red carpet hasn’t exactly been rolled out here, either. I’m the local Jezebel according to the preacher.”