The Glory of Green (8 page)

Someone knocked on the door and opened it tentatively."Dr. Kevin, are you in there?" a woman's voice said. "We need you in Room 207."

Jean and I stopped at the command center next. Emergency vehicles from nearby towns and parishes and media vans filled the courthouse parking lot.

The basement was packed, and I noticed Linda arguing with the police chief, a rugged-looking man in his forties, near the front of the room. The air almost crackled around them.An unknown person was working on an
Item
laptop at the desk in the back of the room.

"I'm going to talk to Eva," Jean said. "Then I'll head back to the church to figure out the next step."

"If you run into Chris again, tell him I'm doing fine. Please remind him to check on Joe Sepulvado, the produce guy. We haven't had a chance to get by their travel trailer."

A small frown crossed her face. "Now that you mention it, I haven't seen Joe," she said, adding his name to a long list in her hand, some checked off, a dozen with question marks.

I approached Linda and the chief, their voices low but angry."Everything OK?" I asked.

"No," Linda said.

"Yes," Doug said at the same time.

"He doesn't want to release the names of the confirmed dead," Linda said. "Nor those who are missing. We can help locate people if he'll work with us."

"People have a right to hear this personally," the chief said, "not through the media."

"Wouldn't you rather they know than be left to wonder and worry?" Linda asked.

Doug mumbled something under his breath.

"He says if he gives them to us, he has to give them to everyone," Linda said. "He doesn't trust the others to handle this with sympathy."

"The outside media's sensationalizing this for their own gain," Doug said. "Some of them act excited when they learn another lurid tidbit. I can't risk letting them have the names."

"Chief, they'll get them through you or they'll piece them together," I said. "If they make a list, they're sure to get names wrong. Think how tragic that could be."

"If I never see another reporter that will be all right with me," he muttered. "Present company included." And he stalked off.

"That went well," I said.

"He'll come around," Linda said. "Cops like to be in control.This is about as out of control as you can be."

"I didn't think I had anything in common with that man, but I feel the same way."

Within a few minutes, the chief slipped Linda the updated list of confirmed dead and those missing. "I'll give you a twenty-minute head start," he said. "Then it goes to everyone.And this better remain between us."

After making a copy of the names, I got into a fight with an out-of-town reporter sitting at what was now called the media desk, and I thought of physically pushing her out of the chair.

"We need to work here," I said.

"What does it look like I'm doing, planning a vacation?" she asked, her eyes on the screen of my computer.

I reached over her shoulder, hit save, and snapped the computer shut. "That's my laptop," I said.

She looked up at me with what could only be described as fury. Her mouth opened, and I waited for the showdown.

"Lois?" her voice sounded incredulous. "Lois Barker?"

"Lois Craig." I searched through my scrambled brain for an idea of who this woman was. She was a few years younger than me and had on a designer watch, chic glasses, and an expensive shirt I recognized from a catalog. Her shoulder-length hair was pushed back by a leather headband.

"Gina Stonecash. Post Media News Service. We met at that meeting on education coverage right before you left the company."

"Gina." I remembered a room full of Gina clones, all eager to show the corporate V.P. how much they knew. "What in the world are you doing here?"

"Covering the biggest breaking news story in the country," she said. "You, too?"

"You might say that. I own the local newspaper."

"You're that tough lady journalist everyone's talking about?" Gina asked, her eyes wide.

"Lois?" Linda walked up behind me and nudged me. "The clock's running. I need the computer."

"Gina, let me introduce you to a terrific reporter, Linda Murphy. Would you like to walk over and see our newsroom?"

Linda slipped into the chair almost before Gina was out of it, and I waved to Jean and Eva as we walked out. Heading across the street, I smiled to think that we were beating the competition, which included the corporation I used to work for.

"You're whipping everyone with online updates," Gina said."Not to mention those community correspondents. Their perspective is a pleasure to read. Where in the world do you come up with those people? Zach's already nagging me to set up a national network like that."

"Zach? As in my former boss? The editor in Dayton?"

"Former editor. He got promoted to corporate, works in D.C.now. Funny that he didn't mention you were down here."

"We didn't part on the best of terms." I led her through the labyrinth of the parking lot.

"Ta da," I said, with more than a hint of pride. "
The Green News-Item."

"You own this? For real?"

"Mostly for real. The bank has a share, and the employees are co-owners. But I get to sign the checks."

"I vaguely remember something about this," Gina said."Didn't that managing editor who died leave it to you?"

"My friend Ed. He planned to retire down here and run it, but he lost a fight with leukemia. I had no intention of moving to rural North Louisiana, but apparently God had other plans."

"God?" Gina said. "As I recall, you used to be a devoted follower of Post Media. There's life outside the corporate grind?"

"Miracle of miracles, there is. Green is a great place to live."

"Did you say earlier that your name is Lois Craig now?" She glanced at my hand. "When did you get married?"

"Last night."

Mildred Kersh is in desperate need of someone to work on her hair before her brother-in-law's funeral service day after tomorrow. "My cousin's granddaughter is going to cosmetology school and she wanted to give me a new look last week," Milly said. "It is not at all what I had in mind. If you know of anyone who might be able to do something with this mess, please let me know."

—The Green News-Item

C
hris and I set up housekeeping in Room Eight, the very room I had stayed in when I moved to Green.

"Shall I carry you over the threshold?" he asked with an exhausted smile as we took our suitcases into the room. On a chilly evening two years ago, I had walked into the room, alone and lost, begging my friend Marti by phone to let me come home.

Standing next to my beloved husband, I felt a sliver of relief from the grief of the past twenty-four hours.

Before I could step further into the room, Chris embraced me. "What a day," he said. "How are you holding up?"

I jerked away. "Lights!" I shouted. "Chris, the lights are coming on." Sure enough, as we stood in the clean old motel room, the electricity came on. People overflowed from the handful of other rooms, yelling, and we rushed outside.

Iris Jo, Stan, and Pearl had been sitting outside, visiting, when we drove up, Asa playing nearby. Holly Beth, rescued from the newspaper by Iris, was running around, barking, trying to get someone to pay attention to her.

"Praise the Lord," Mr. Marcus said. Little Asa toddled behind him and clapped his hands, clearly aware that something good was happening.

An elusive feeling of a new kind of normalcy washed over me. Electricity and a honeymoon with my new extended family had not been on my list of blessings yesterday.

"I'd better go see if we got power at the paper," Stan said, standing up. He leaned over and gave Iris a sweet, long kiss, so potent and unexpected that it made me want to look away."Don't stay up too late. You're not back to full strength yet."

"Yes, sir," she said quietly and reached up for another quick kiss.

"Kiss, kiss, bye, bye," Asa Corinthian said, tugging on Stan's pants leg, and everyone burst out laughing.

Chris picked the boy up and held him up, flying like an airplane, and Asa pointed in the distance. "Mama car," he squealed. "Mama car!"

He had spotted Kevin's SUV long before the rest of us and was waving wildly. "Mama, mama," he called.

Kevin ran from the vehicle, not even taking time to shut the door. "Asa, baby," she said, taking him from Chris and squeezing him in a hug.

"Stuck," Asa said, squirming from her grip, and we laughed again.

"I'm sorry, little guy," Kevin said. "Mama missed you so much."

"Puppy," Asa said. "See puppy."

"Upstaged by Holly Beth," I said. "Happens to me all the time."

"Have you had supper?" Kevin's mother asked.

"Terrence brought food before heading back to Alexandria," she said. "I want to visit for a minute, tuck my son in, and have a bath. Then, back to work."

"You're not going back to the hospital tonight, are you?" Pearl asked, her voice a mix of disapproval and disappointment.

"I have to, Mama," she said. "We've got more patients than physicians."

"When is that handsome lawyer coming back to town?" Pearl asked. "He was a big help to us today."

"I don't know," Kevin said. "He's got a lot on his plate, and so do I." She promptly changed the subject.

For the next few minutes, we all chatted, everyone hungry for news about neighbors, seeking any positive tidbit.

"Anna Grace should be home by the middle of the week," Kevin said. "She wanted me to let you know."

"Lois and I have some good news about Mannix," Chris said. "He's going to pull through. He's lost a leg, but he ate today. When I stopped by the vet's, I think he was asking for Lois." He reached over and squeezed my hand.

"I ran into a journalism colleague from my old life today," I said. "She was pretty darned impressed with the way we do things down here in Green. My old boss wants to try our techniques."

"So, you're going to be famous?" Iris Jo said with a smile.

"Probably not, but I'm going to soak this up while I can."

"I'm ready to soak up some hot water," Kevin said, "and a little snuggling time with my boy."

I glanced at Chris. "Not a bad idea."

The next few days fell into a new kind of routine. Our schedule included mooching supper off someone and getting in a few more hours of work, newspaper on my end, repairs on Chris's. When we finally headed to the Lakeside, the cozy room was a welcome retreat, a romantic cocoon in the midst of chaos.

Electricity was back on in about three-fourths of town, a reflection of the herculean efforts of utility workers who dotted every light pole in the area. "Let There Be Light," read the main headline on Tuesday. "Power restored to portions of Green."The subhead was grimmer: "Have You Seen These People? Search Continues for Lost Residents."

The list of the dead on the front window was somber, and residents came by in droves to look over the names. Molly recommended we add names of the missing, and she and Katy painted those under the giant words "Not Heard From Yet," joyfully putting a line through a name when the person turned up.

"I am over in Coushatta at my sister's," one woman said, calling the command center.

"That family is out of town for spring break," came another report.

Slowly the list dwindled to fewer than a half dozen, including the discovery of a couple, both injured but taken to two out-of-town hospitals. Two names did not go away. Mr. and Mrs. Joe Sepulvado, poor immigrants from Mexico who lived in an old travel trailer not too far from my house. Or what used to be my house.

Joe grew produce and recycled cans to send money to his family, attended the Spanish service at Grace Chapel, and had been unjustly accused of arson at the paper last year. I winced when I thought of how his life had nearly been ruined by Chuck McCuller, who started the fires and gloated when Joe was arrested.

Chris and I visited the Sepulvados in the fall so I could apologize for not clearing his name sooner, and we had committed as a couple to try to help them out in the months ahead.I had expected to invite them over to our house for dinner, not search the countryside for them.

"We have to look again," I told Chris when he stopped to pick me up for supper on Wednesday.

"Sweetheart, I've looked for them every day this week," he said, a husky sound in his throat, as though a frog had lodged there. "Their trailer is turned over on its side, but they are nowhere to be found."

"Maybe someone came by and picked them up."

"Possibly," Chris said.

"Could they have gotten scared and somehow gone back to Mexico?"

"I doubt it, but there's so much confusion, anything could happen."

"Have you checked at the hospital?"

"You asked me that last night. I've checked three times and I asked Kevin when I saw her leaving for work this morning."

My attitude toward the visiting press had softened as the week wore on, and I decided to seek their help. Reporters came and went in our building, using the bathroom, grabbing a cup of coffee, and chatting; and I told them about the Sepulvados, asking them to be on the lookout for any news that might help us find them.

A photographer from New Orleans found Mrs. Sepulvado's body while taking pictures near where my house had sat on Route Two. The body was under a sheet of tin and partially covered by tree limbs. A group of volunteers from Grace Chapel intensified the search for Joe, finding not so much as a clue.

For the first time in several days, I wept. Hard, angry tears.The Sepulvados had sacrificed to provide for their family and to have a better life. I couldn't understand why such bad things had happened to so many good people.

If I had had more time, I would have set off for Pastor Jean's to rant and ask for counsel, but we were all going in so many directions that I simply buried it, feeling a cold, hard knot growing inside me.

That evening I asked Chris to drive me to my old house site, the first time I had been there since the night of the storm.Less than a week had passed, but it felt like a lifetime. Several people, including other reporters, had asked me about it, but I had put off going back.

"I'm way too busy for that, and there's nothing to see," I said to Gina, who seemed to have settled in Green for the long haul, renting a room in the newer motel on the edge of town.

When Chris picked me up, Katy and Molly and Tammy were in the newsroom, along with a camera crew from a Shreveport television station and a wire service reporter from Little Rock, who had swapped places with a reporter from Houston.

"Let us go with you," the journalists said. "We'll document your reaction. It'll be a great story."

"It's too personal," I said hesitantly, realizing how pushy I had been in the past.

"Absolutely not," Chris said. "Lois has been through too much this week. You can hear about it later." A few months ago his words would have irritated me, as though he were trying to take over my life or "be the boss of me," as Tammy liked to say. Today they made me feel cared for.

We went by my in-laws' house, in pretty decent shape compared to many homes nearby. Markey and Kramer ran and got into the back of the pickup as soon as we pulled up, and Mannix, lying on a blanket on the porch, whined and tried to stand.

Chris laid him on the front seat, gingerly placing his weight away from the bandage where his leg had been severed. I chatted with Miss Estelle and Mr. Hugh and pried Holly away from my father-in-law, who had kept her for the past couple of days.

When we got to my home place, Kramer and Markey dashed off, as though they had been let out of prison after several decades, and then came back to the truck, barking for Mannix. Chris put him on the blanket on the ground, and Mannix tried to stand up, yelped, and lay back down. The two other dogs whimpered as though they were wounded and wandered off, sniffing every inch of the ground.

I placed Holly Beth down beside Mannix. When I looked back minutes later, she was snuggled up against him, sound asleep. The bigger dog was intently watching the area, but did not try to get up.

Chris and I walked around the house, almost as though it still sat there. The memory of it was so real I felt as though I might climb the steps and go in the side door, throw my keys on the table as I had done a thousand times, and flop down in my favorite chair with a book.

Despite the devastation, many of the old plants bloomed, even though they were beaten down from wind, rain, and hail.The pink dogwood still stood, many blooms open, almost like a poem or prayer in the front yard.

Chris wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, and we stood facing the tree.

"This makes me homesick," I said. "Where are we going to live?"

"Where do you want to live?"

"Here. But I've grown accustomed to a roof over my head."

"We'd have to build," Chris said. "Neither one of is up to that decision right now."

"I can't imagine living anywhere other than Route Two," I said, "even though I dreamed about living on the lake when I first came to Green."

An odd look passed over his face. "Let's give it a few days."

On the drive back to town, I asked Chris to go the long way, past his catfish ponds, taken over by his brothers since the storm, and down around the crossroads where a small grocery store and abandoned church sat.

"Right over there is where I first saw you," I said, petting Mannix.

"I remember it well," Chris said.

"I was talking to Mannix. Remember? He came running out barking, and I was afraid of him and got mud on my new shoes?"

"Oh, I remember," Chris said. "I wondered how a goodlooking city girl got so lost, and then I walked into church and you were sitting there in those muddy shoes. I thanked God right on the spot."

"You did not. You were listening to Iris and barely looked at me."

"Oh, honey, I looked all right," he said, reaching over Mannix to pat my knee. "It took me a while to get up the nerve to talk to you."

"Our marriage sure has had a rough start," I said.

He pulled over to the side of the road and turned to me."Do you know how much harder this would have been if you weren't my wife? You make it bearable."

"Ditto," I said, nearly undone by the tenderness in his eyes.

As we meandered on country roads to Estelle and Hugh's house, Chris pointed out oddities he'd seen the past few days.

"Those people," he said, pointing to a caved-in house, "lost everything but the kitchen sink . . . and the woman's wedding ring was lying on the sink, right where she left it."

"That man had driven to the hardware store to buy a saw blade. His mobile home rolled several times. He says a fivedollar tool saved his life."

"Think about Route Two," I said. "That twister knocked the biggest oak in the parish into Iris Jo's house, skipped across the road, blew away my house but hardly touched my trees, ruined the church . . . yet missed Maria's trailer."

"It seems like a wild animal on a rampage," Chris said.