Beyond This Time: A Time-Travel Suspense Novel (22 page)

“I’m hearing fine. You expect me to step aside and let that man at Kat? Let him do any ole thing he pleases on account you can call him plain Mitch, instead of
Mister
Mitch.”

“Now settle down.”

Mitch paused in the kitchen doorway and cleared his throat. He’d entered enemy territory to rescue his fellow soldier, who, at the moment, appeared to be getting the living crap kicked out of him.

“Ma’am?” he said, tense and on guard in case she took a swing at him. “I couldn’t help but overhear, and you’re wrong about me. I
am
Kat’s friend and I’ve been looking for her.”

“And if my man could’ve kept his lips from flapping, how was you expecting to find your friend?”

“By searching every inch of Maceyville,” Mitch said, challenging her hostile attitude.

“Well, she ain’t here no more,” Dreama said, a cruel smile played around her mouth. “So’s you best get your walking shoes on, there’s lots of inches in Maceyville.”

Mitch stared at her, unnerved by both the information and the cruelty with which she delivered it. He’d never done anything to her and didn’t deserve to be treated like scum.

“You listen to me, Dreama Simms, Kathleen Templeton is my friend. And you and your racist attitude can go directly to hell.” Having said his piece, he turned on his heels and left the room.

He made sure to slam the front door hard enough to rattled the windows.

=SIXTEEN=

April 02—Tuesday

The too large maroon slippers flopped around on Kat’s feet. Half the time the bottom of her feet hit the asphalt alleyway rather than the tattered felt lining of the shoe. Although the awkward footwear slowed her progress some, she’d managed to put at least a half mile between herself and the white man in the green car. She took some small comfort in knowing Floyd didn’t know where to look. Which gave her a temporary advantage. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe she could outrun him forever. Slowed by a battered body and on foot, it wouldn’t take him long to catch up with her. And he would be looking hard. He’d raped a police officer. Assault on law enforcement personnel was a federal offense which carried a substantial jail sentence.

Sensing danger close on her heels, she picked up the pace. Only one more house until the alley intersected with a major thoroughfare, Webster Avenue. She could see the steady line of cars parading by, folks heading off to work. Kat paused at the street and looked both ways. She needed to be on the alert for Floyd’s pickup. It wouldn’t do to walk into another ambush.

“I have to remember,” she muttered, struggling to recall pertinent details that would set his white stake-bed truck apart from the dozens on the road. “Think, Kat. Think.”

She remembered several large rust spots on the right door. A broomstick handle, with a confederate Southern Cross flag attached, tied to the left rear fender. And something on the radio antenna flapped in the wind as they drove. She closed her eyes, trying to bring the image into a clear focus. Her eyes spilled over with frustrated tears when she couldn’t do it.

“Hey, Miss Kat!” The boisterous greeting carried easily across the street.

Virgil and Lamar, the boys she’d met yesterday morning, darted across Webster Avenue, dodging the traffic and ignoring blaring horns. Instead of striped tee-shirts and jeans, today they wore their Sunday’s finest: long sleeve white shirts with skinny black ties, dark trousers, and polished leather shoes. All the little boy dirt had been scrubbed from their faces and hands.

“Whoa, Miss Kat.” Lamar whistled. “What happened to you?”

Before she could respond, the inquisitive Virgil bombarded her with rapid fire questions.

“Why you got ice cream sticks on your fingers? Is that a black eye? I ain’t never seen a colored woman with a black eye. What you be doing in this alley?”

Kat ignored his first two questions and answered the last. “It’s a short cut,” she explained.

“A short cut to where?” Virgil asked.

“Miss Kat,” Lamar interrupted, looking closely at her clothes. “Couldn’t you find Miss Jane’s dress store yesterday?”

Virgil poked Lamar in the side and pointed to her feet.

Kat looked down at her stolen men’s clothing and the sad looking maroon house shoes. “My new outfit got ruined yesterday,” she said as a couple of tears slipped down her cheeks.

The boys glanced at each other, silently communicating.

“You come along with us, Miss Kat, my house is close by and we’ll get you some girl clothes,” Lamar offered.

“That’s real kind, honey, but I can’t take clothes from your momma.”

“His momma won’t care,” Virgil said. “She be dead.”

Kat looked at Lamar and he nodded. “She’s been gone a long while now. But Daddy keeps her dresses in a box in the closet. He won’t mind if you take one.”

The boy looked so eager to help, Kat didn’t have the heart to turn him down. “I’d be proud to wear your momma’s dress, Lamar.”

He smiled and offered his arm, a true Southern gentleman.

Virgil, not to be left out, put his arm around Kat’s waist, and the threesome walked down the sidewalk together.

* * *

A green blanket of kudzu almost buried Lamar’s long and narrow shot-gun house. A few early purple blossoms had added a splash of color to the weathered ship-lap. The gravel walkway pointed the way to the front door.

Lamar lifted the tangle of drooping vines engulfing the small porch so Kat could easily pass underneath the kudzu. She stumbled slightly because of the ill fitting silly looking house shoes. Her hip banged against the wringer washing machine, perched on a bleached spotted wooden pallet next to the top step. Lamar gently took her elbow and helped her to the door.

He knew the outside of his house would look better with a coat or two of paint, but no one could find fault with the immaculate interior. The hardwood floors didn’t have a high wax sheen, but first his momma, and now his daddy had mopped them so many times they looked like soft velvet. The window panes sparkled, because that was one of Lamar’s regular Saturday chores, and the living room glowed with spring light. He thought the overstuffed sofa covered in patchwork made the room look like somebody was ready to have a party.

Lamar rubbed his hand across the fabric. It reminded him of Momma. He remembered when she sewed it all together, taking pieces from her dresses, his too small clothes, and from the shirts his daddy had stained so bad he couldn’t wear them on Sunday. The piece from his momma’s favorite dress covered the sofa arm. When nobody was home, he rested his head in that very spot. Sometimes he could even smell Momma’s rose water perfume.

A worn red velvet recliner and arm chair pretty much filled the rest of the skinny room. But his daddy had magically squeezed in a cabinet television and a water marked coffee table, and still managed to leave a narrow passage to the next room.

“Her clothes is back here,” Lamar said, as he led the way through the kitchen and into a bedroom at the rear of the house.

Kat hesitated in the doorway and looked around. “Lamar, is this your daddy’s bedroom?”

“Not now. He been sleeping in the front room.” He dragged a large cardboard box from the closet and slid it across the floor to Kat. “He says he don’t like comin’ in here no more, now that Momma’s gone.” Lamar didn’t like sleeping back here either. It was so lonely and sad without Momma’s things around. He’d been pretty mad when his daddy packed everything up. It didn’t seem right somehow. Like he wanted to forget her.

“Is he home?” Kat asked.

She looked so scared, Lamar felt glad his daddy wasn’t home. “You can come on in, he’s down at the church, getting ready to preach to the Ladies Prayer Breakfast.”

“Yeah,” Virgil interrupted. “Me an Lamar is suppose to hand out programs and help the old ones to their seats.”

“It’s okay, Miss Kat,” Lamar said, noticing her frown. “Once I explain to him, he’ll say we done right. Shoot he might even preach about how we was good Samaritans.”

Kat took a couple of steps into the bedroom. “Preach?”

“Yes, ma’am. He pastors Webster Avenue Freedom Methodist,” Lamar said proudly, hoping his daddy being a preacher would make her feel better. He didn’t know nobody who was scared of a man of God.

“My Pop’s a preacher too,” she said softly.

“Do you like having a preacher man for a daddy?” Lamar asked.

“Sometimes yes, and sometimes no.”

Lamar nodded. “I feel that way too. Especially when I got to go twice on Sunday and then to Wednesday night bible class. You know he makes me get up in front of the whole congregation and sing?”

“Yeah, and, Miss Kat,” Virgil confided. “Lamar can’t sing worth beans.”

Lamar was glad to see the small smile on her face. She looked so sad. Not talking like before. Yesterday she’d been a happy lady, kind of smart mouthed but he liked her a lot. Today her eyes looked funny, like all sorts of bad thoughts were spinning around inside her head and ever so often stopped to peek out through her eyes. He wished he was older, then he’d know how to help her.

“Hey, Miss Kat, how about this one?” Virgil held up a slinky black dress with sequins sewn around the scooped neck line. “It’s real pretty.”

“Virgil, I swear you don’t got the brains to boil water,” Lamar scolded. “That’s Momma’s party dress.”

“I know that. But it’s a real pretty party dress.”

“Virgil, it’s too fancy for my needs,” Kat said.

The boy looked disappointed, but laid the dress aside without argument.

Lamar’s held up a pale yellow shirtwaist with pearl buttons and a Peter Pan collar. “This one okay?”

“I seen shoes the same color somewhere in here,” Virgil said, as he dug around in the bottom of the box. A few seconds later emerged with a pair of yellow sandals.

She nodded and held out her hand. “If y’all will pass them on over, I’ll see if they fit.”

When she closed the bathroom door, Lamar leaned over to whisper in Virgil’s ear. “Something’s wrong with Miss Kat. She’s gone all quiet. I seen a woman beat up like that once when she come to over talk to Daddy. She sure cried a lot.”

“Lordy mercy, I hope she don’t start cryin’,” Virgil said. “I hate when ladies carry-on.”

Lamar shook his head. “I don’t much think Miss Kat is one of those crying kind of ladies. She got something inside that makes her strong.”

“Well what we going to do with her now? Can’t let her walk around all beat up. The police will put her in jail for sure.”

“I’ll take her over to see Daddy. He’ll know what to do.” Lamar held his finger to his lips when the lock on the bathroom door clicked open.

As Kat stepped through the door, Virgil whistled appreciatively.

Lamar thought she looked real pretty in his momma’s dress. But he knew one more thing that she needed. “Miss Kat, can you wait one second?” He dug around in the bottom of the box until he found a pale yellow satin ribbon. “Momma always tied this in her hair when she wore that dress,” he said and handed her the ribbon. “I’d be proud if you would too.”

* * *

Mitch, scrunched down in the front seat of the De Soto for the last half hour, popped his head over the window frame when he heard the clinic door slam. Seeing Taxi on the covered porch, rather than an angry Dreama Simms, he stuck his hand out the window and wiggled his fingers.