A Bird On Water Street (15 page)

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Chapter 22

Security Guards

That weekend, Mom called me over to the garden. “Jack, see how long the pea plants are getting? We need to make a lattice for them to climb up!”

“How we gonna do that?”

“I'm not sure. They never got this far before.” Mom tapped her chin. “I know!”

We got some rebar from Dad's metal shop, stuck it deep into the ground at each end of the row of peas, and ran kitchen string between 'em. Then we gently curled the tendrils around the strings, givin' the vines something to grab on to.

We were just finishing up when Dad sped into the yard, kicking up gravel as he screeched to a stop. His face was red as a beet as he slammed his car door and stormed into the house. Mom and I looked at each other warily and followed him in. Dad paced back and forth in the kitchen like a mad bull.

“The Company's brought in security guards from out of town,” he said through gritted teeth, all the veins sticking out on his neck and forehead. “They never did anything so low down before.”

“I don't understand. Why would they need security guards if the Company is closed?” Mom asked.

“I don't know, Grace, but it can't be good,” Dad said. “They're planning something.”

He said they were dressed all in black like some sort of special military unit, although that's not what they were. They were sent in to intimidate the strikers, mess with the picket line, bust up the Union.

Grandpa Chase showed up right before dinner, mad as a stuck pig. “I don't believe this. Workers have been strikin' for years. We always came up with an agreement everybody could live with,” he said. “On the way over here, I heard that one of those security guards followed Tom Hill home and cursed at him in his own front yard. Sheriff Elder couldn't even arrest the jerk—said the guy was on public property when he did it. What has the world come to?” He shook his head. “Security guards my foot. They're thugs with badges.”

“Want dinner, Pa?” Mom asked. “It's nothing fancy, but I'm sure we could make it stretch.”

I looked at the pot on the stove and swallowed—beans and rice again, and so little that it was hard to imagine us dividing it with one more person. I could have eaten the whole amount all by myself.

“Thanks, Grace, but I can't stay,” Grandpa said, and I sighed with relief. “Just wanted to make sure yu'uns knew what was going on.”

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Chapter 23

Eavesdropping

School let out the next week, but I hardly cared.

“Have a good summer,” Miss Post said with a sigh as people started leaving the room.

I gave her back the library books she'd given me as well as the book on plant identification, but she handed that one back. “You keep this one, Jack. It was my copy.”

“Oh, oh, I couldn't.”

But she pushed it back toward me. “I think you need this book more than I do.”

“Thank you, ma'am,” I said. But even as grateful as I was, I couldn't smile. “Miss Post, are you getting married? Are you gonna leave?”

“Oh, Jack.” Her eyes filled with tears and she nodded.

I don't know what came over me, but I hugged her tight as can be, right around her middle—we were nearly the same height. If anybody saw, they might have laughed at me, but right then, I didn't care a wit. “I'm gonna miss you.”

She squeezed me back. “I'm going to miss you too. You never stop reading, y'hear?”

O

“What is it with you and older women?” Piran teased as we left the building. He'd seen me after all.

I just smiled. “Can I help it if they find me attractive?”

He rolled his eyes and pushed me. “Want to go for ice cream?”

“Nah.” I didn't want to admit I couldn't afford it.

“I can buy,” he said. “You've treated me plenty.”

Somethin' inside me just couldn't say yes. I wondered if that's how Piran felt when I used to help him out. It was a hard lump to swallow, pride. “Thanks, but I gotta get home.”

“Fishin' tomorrow, then?” Piran asked.

“Okay, I'll see you in the mornin'.”

O

But we didn't get to fish. News came that afternoon that Mrs. Ledford had finally passed. The viewing was the next day.

Mom made a cornbread casserole for the reception afterward at the Ledfords' house. We all dressed in our Sunday best and headed for the Methodist church.

“You look pretty, Mom.”

“Thank you, Jack,” she replied and tugged at my too-short sleeves. “You look right handsome yourself.”

“Jacket's a little tight.” My shoulders were pulled behind me like chicken wings.

“You're getting so tall,” she said and hugged me. Engulfed by the smell of Ivory soap and cornbread, I kept myself scrunched up so my jacket wouldn't rip down the seam. Finally she turned away, wiping tears from her eyes. I held her hand tightly as we walked into church.

It was much more modest than our Episcopal church—just a white box with a pointy roof and a balcony overlooking the one large room inside, which was packed solid with people.

Folks squeezed into the pews and stood against the walls. We got in line to view the body. I hated open caskets. Mrs. Ledford looked so tiny and kind of silly in the rouge and lipstick I knew she never wore. She had on her purple dress, the one with the big pink flowers. I'd seen it on her many times under better circumstances.

Mom placed her hand on Mrs. Ledford's and whispered with a sniff, “Rest in peace, Helen.”

Dad found some seats for Mom and me at the back of the church and went to stand against the wall with the other men. Even Crazy Coote, wearing an old suit with his hair slicked back, was there. He looked right at me with that intense stare of his before I turned away.

Pastor Raht talked about Mrs. Ledford being in a better place with her Lord and not having to suffer anymore. Watching Mr. Ledford through the tangle of shoulders and stiff hair, I wondered if the preacher's words made him feel any better.

It seemed like everybody in town wanted to stand up and say somethin' about Mrs. Ledford. After a while, I had a hard time keeping still. I looked around at all the familiar faces. Without smiles, everybody looked tired and old. Nobody looked right in their Sunday suits—too tight here, too short there. They fiddled with their collars and pulled at their ties, ready to throw on overalls the minute they got home. That's what I planned to do anyhow.

I twisted around and stared at the big hole high on the wall above the church entrance. It was about three feet wide, like a round window but without glass.

“Mom, what's that?” I whispered, pointing quickly.

“It's called a spirit hole. It's there so Mrs. Ledford's soul can float out to Heaven,” she replied.

“Is it always open like that?”

“Yes, shhh.”

“Even when it rains or snows?”

“Yes, Jack. They use a cover in the balcony so it doesn't damage the floor up there. Now hush.”

I spent the rest of the sermon trying to catch a glimpse of Mrs. Ledford heading out that spirit hole as a winged angel, or maybe a misty ghost. I wasn't sure what she'd look like, so I stared hard—I didn't want to miss her.

O

We went to the Ledfords' house after the funeral. Mom wedged her casserole onto the dining-room table already overflowing with cookies, sandwiches, and more casseroles, then joined the other wives in the kitchen. Dad talked in the corner with his fellow strikers, their faces grim. There wasn't much for Piran and me to do except stand around and listen to gossip.

Even at fourteen, we were still young enough, I guess, that people didn't think nothin' about saying stuff around us. Unfortunately, I ended up next to the old biddies—three miners' wives who liked to get everybody in trouble.

“I heard that Nat Faysal crossed the picket line to talk to those guards yesterday.”

“He did not. That's not true.”

“My son's wife's sister saw him with her own eyes.”

“Whatever for, though? Why would he do it?”

“Who knows. Maybe he was trying to put in a word for his son—get him a job?”

“Well! That does it. I will never shop at Faysal's again! I won't support no strike-buster.”

“Me neither.”

Father Huckabay interrupted them. “Ladies, my ears were buzzing with your wicked gossip. True or not, do you really think this appropriate conversation for a funeral?”

Good for him!
I hid my grin.

The women looked at the floor and at each other, then broke up and found other ears to burn.

I kept getting jostled as people passed me to get to the food or the kitchen. I backed up against a wall and ended up around a corner from Sheriff Elder. His conversation with his deputy was much more interesting.

“. . . found a field over in Cherokee County. They set up cameras and got enough evidence to bust a small growing ring—only five guys, but over a million dollars' worth of marijuana. We're gonna start a helicopter flyover here in Polk County as soon as the budget gets approved. We'll be able to spot growin' fields much easier from above, though we've already got two we're closing in on. That one in Hell's Holler and another in Devil's Den. Got cameras on 'em both—just waitin' for enough evidence.”

“Jack, come help with this,” Mom said. I spun around, but not before Sheriff Elder caught my eye and frowned.

Mom handed me a large glass bowl full of red punch. “Careful now.”

I turned around slowly, trying to keep it from sloshing. “Where should I put it?” I asked. Between all the Corningware casserole dishes, slabs of meat, and mystery dishes still covered in tin foil, there wasn't a bare surface anywhere.

“Just find a spot,” she said as she waved her hand and returned to the kitchen.

“Right,” I said and rolled my eyes.

I slowly moved to the doorway of the living room without spilling, but still couldn't see a good place to put the punch bowl.

Suddenly, across the room, Mr. Ledford slumped over like Jell-O.

“Help him lie down. Give him some air!” everybody started yelling at once. “Call an ambulance!”

Somebody rushed by me knockin' the punch bowl right out of my arms. Red juice splashed everywhere and soaked into Mrs. Ledford's white carpet.

“I'm sorry!” I cried to my mom, who was suddenly by my side with a towel and some club soda. My nose swelled and hot tears ran down my face.

“I've got it, Jack.”

I caught a glimpse of Mr. Ledford through the paisley dresses and navy pants. He was so pale he matched the carpet he was lying on.

“Will he be okay?” I sobbed. Months of tension burst out of me in a flood. I was red with embarrassment, but I couldn't stop.

“I'm sure he'll be fine,” she replied as she kneeled down, poured the club soda on the carpet, and scrubbed with the towel. “The ambulance will be here soon.” She looked up at me, her face wrinkled with concern. “Go find Piran and yu'uns just go on, okay?” she said. “Be home before dark.”

I wiped my nose down my coat sleeve and rubbed the tears from my eyes. When I looked up, Hannah was staring right at me with a crinkled forehead and her pink lips forming a perfect O. Was that disgust or understanding on her face? I couldn't tell. And even though she looked more beautiful than ever, I squinted my eyes at her—she wasn't one to judge, and it was a little late for her to care. I pushed my way through the kitchen and out the back door.

Piran was already outside. “It was too stuffy in there,” he said. “What's all the racket?”

“Mr. Ledford fainted,” I told him and looked down so he wouldn't see I'd been cryin'. “They called an ambulance.” We could already hear its siren leaving the hospital in the distance.

“Let's get out of here,” I said. I pulled off my jacket, shoes, and socks.

I ran down the road, the dirt warm under my bare feet. The wind dried my tears as I left Piran behind. At the bridge, I grabbed the rail and slipped my legs over the edge, letting my feet wave high above the water. I threw rocks as hard as I could, determined to break the river in half.

“That sucked,” Piran said when he finally caught up with me. He gasped a few times before he sat. “What was that about?”

“Sorry,” I muttered. “I'm just sick of funerals.” I threw a big rock.
Kaplunk!
“What a rotten start to summer.”

I was tired. Tired of money being so tight. Tired of my parents arguin' and all the tension at home. Tired of my friends moving away and seeing
For Sale
signs on the stores in town. I wanted things back to normal.

But no, not that either,
I thought. I didn't want my dad back in the mines, not ever. I felt like my face was gonna stick in a permanent frown—things were all wrong.