“Well, I’ll just be with Birdie helping her make a quilt top,” Leah said, turning to leave the men to their conversation.
“I think she oughta stay,” Aubrey told Jesse. “It’s her land and all.”
Leah looked at her husband.
Jesse gave a short nod. “This land belongs to you. When they come to tell us how much they’re planning to pay, you’ll be the one they want to talk to.”
Leah was glad to be included. It was easier than worming the conversation out of Jesse. They all took seats near the woodstove, Leah on the horsehair sofa that her father had brought in by mules and a wagon as a gift to her mother, the two men in hickory rocking chairs.
“Here’s what I know—” Aubrey said.
Since it was unusual for anyone visiting to go straight to the heart of a matter, Leah knew how important this was.
“—and the news ain’t a bit good.”
“Just pass it on,” Jesse said, his voice tight and low. “And get it over with.”
“The state’s already made a blanket condemnation of our land, and none of the challenges that’s been made against it have borne fruit. What that boils down to is now they’re saying all this land belongs to them, and we got to get off fast. They say they’ll pay fairly, even help folks move someplace just like this and start all over. They’ll be buying land for resettlement.”
Jesse’s tone was bitter. “You mean they don’t think the mountains are good for us, but they don’t plan to move us out of them. Mountains over yonder somewhere are better for us than
these
mountains.”
“There’s no call to try and make sense of it or to believe anything they say means what they say it does,” Aubrey said. “It’s a legal situation. The State of Virginia’s slicker’n red clay in a spring rain. Now they’ve condemned it, they can say a pig is a cow, and as far as that goes, it will be. They’ll claim the land’s not worth much. And they’re right, since nothing’s worth nothing with this Depression hanging over us. They want it for recreation use, but they don’t price it that way. Nobody’s looking at a mountain view and saying it’s worth anything to anybody.”
“So what’s going to happen?” Leah didn’t look at Jesse but at Aubrey.
“It’s a legal situation, so we have to get legal real fast. We have to band together, all of us in the holler, and hire somebody to represent us. First we’ll see if there’s anything left to challenge in court and stop it for a while. But I’m afraid it’s just a matter of time. They’ll move us whether we want it or not, so it’s up to us to make sure we get everything we can first.”
“Won’t that cost money? None of us has anything put away.”
“Oh, they’ll be counting on that,” Jesse said. “Aubrey’s right about the way they’ll do it. They know we don’t have ten cents to hire a lawyer.”
“I’m working on that,” Aubrey said. “I just need to know if you’re with us.”
“Us?”
“The Cades, your ma and Luther Collins.” He named four more families in the hollow.
“You talked to all them before you talked to Leah and me?”
“I just saw them first, that’s all. Every single one came into the store this week. Saw the Cades tonight.”
Jesse got to his feet. “They’re all giving up. Just like that?”
Aubrey got to his feet, too. “What do you mean, giving up? We’re fixing to find a way to get what’s ours. Don’t matter if you want this or not, Jesse. Just ’cause you say they can’t do it, don’t mean they won’t. Everybody hereabouts knows you’re the last Spurlock of Lock Holler, but when they come around with trucks and rifles and tell us we have to be gone, there won’t be any use in telling
them
so. They won’t care, and the people who did’ll be on their way somewhere else.”
Leah saw her husband’s hands ball into fists. Jesse was hot-tempered, but he also knew how to control himself. Taking his anger out on Aubrey was a measure of how distraught he was.
She slid between the two men and held up her hands. “Everybody knows you two always fight on the same side. You got no reason now to change that. Aubrey, you delivered your news. I were you, I’d take my hat and coat and get myself on down the road before this snow falls. We need some time here to sort this out. You can understand that.”
Aubrey looked as if he wanted to say something; then he shrugged and started for his coat. When Jesse started after him, Leah grabbed his arm.
“You let him go,” she said softly. “Or you’ll be sleeping by the fire tonight.”
At the doorway, Aubrey turned. “I don’t aim to sit still on this. If you’re in, we’re glad to have you.” The door shut behind him.
Leah slumped in relief. “What call do you have going after him that way? He was here to help us.”
Jesse shook off her hand. “Help? There’s not enough money in the whole country to pay what this land and the Spurlock land is worth to us.”
“And how will scrapping with Aubrey change that?”
He didn’t answer.
“Some things happen and we can’t change them,” Leah said. “Last month I did everything I could for poor Mary Hamm up near Stony Man, and not one thing I tried could help her. She died while I was wiping her forehead. Just up and died, and I knew then there wasn’t one more thing I could have done to change it. You got to realize sometimes, Jesse, that no matter how bad you want something, you got to give it up.”
He turned to stare at her. “You want
me
,” he said at last, “I’ll be sleeping out here by this fire. It’ll be warmer than your bed.”
She put her hands on her hips. “That’ll be just fine. Why don’t you let one of the dogs in, while you’re at it. Maybe they’ll be better company, too.”
She left him to consider that. But once in the loft, she stood at the window after she had undressed and wondered how she could bear to sleep without him.
D
usty was beginning to take an interest in her mistress. Kendra sensed the puppy’s eyes following her when she moved around the bedroom. If she stepped inside the closet, Dusty scooted closer to be sure Kendra hadn’t disappeared, although when Kendra backed out, the dog always looked elsewhere. Rather than subject the poor animal to Ten, Kendra had taken to leaving Dusty loose in the dogtrot when she went into the living area. As if she needed to prove how aptly the porch had been named, Dusty trotted back and forth outside the door until Kendra came out. As the door opened, Kendra always heard the dog plop into place, head angled away as if she had never even noted Kendra’s absence.
This, she supposed, was progress.
Ten, on the other hand, remained hidden, although from time to time she saw his tail. Judging by the rapidly emptied bowls of cat food, he ate well, and he certainly used his litter. He never once tried to make a break for the door, but the catnip ball she’d bought him was always somewhere new when she entered the room.
She felt like a psychologist in a pet psychiatric facility. She wasn’t sure she was up to psychoanalyzing Dusty and Ten, but she was perfectly happy to feed them and watch what they did next.
On Saturday morning she led Dusty out to her car and settled her in the passenger’s seat. As she started out the driveway she explained her plan.
“Now listen, I’m taking you to the groomer. She’s a very nice lady who has three dogs of her own. She’s busy, so she’s going to keep you overnight. That way she can take her time. Once she gets you washed and brushed and all the knots cut out of your fur, maybe I can keep up. But I’m coming back for you.” She paused. “Just as soon as Isaac leaves tomorrow.”
She didn’t think it was necessary to explain that Isaac was the biggest reason for the overnight stay. She still hoped he wouldn’t discover she had a dog. As perverse as it was, for the time being she wanted him to believe he was the only one for whom she would make this kind of sacrifice.
She glanced at the puppy. Dusty’s eyes were closed. “I can see how worried you are.”
The groomer was a pretty dark-haired young woman with two little boys who tried unsuccessfully to get Dusty to play with them.
“She has a clean bill of health, but she’s the original droopy dog,” Kendra apologized.
The young woman tried to coax Dusty to sniff her hand. “I’ve seen this before. Once she gets used to her new life, she’ll be a good companion. Dogs are like people. They stop trying if they don’t see any point in it.”
“I have a cat that needs therapy, too.”
“You got your hands full, don’t you?”
Kendra wasn’t sure, but as she pulled away she thought Dusty looked sadder. Not that it was easy to tell. She hoped whatever progress they’d made wasn’t going to evaporate.
Last night she had dropped by to firm up the trip to the fair with Caleb. Marian had confided that Caleb still hadn’t made friends at school. Although his teachers were impressed with his intelligence, they were concerned. Too many bright students dropped out if they felt they had no stake in what happened there.
Today Kendra had plans for Caleb he didn’t know about.
He was waiting on the stoop when she drove up. Marian came out of the house wiping her hands on her apron. “You’ve got a perfect day. We’re going over to my oldest boy’s for supper tonight. You’ll have Caleb back by then?”
“I’ll have him back after lunch.”
Marian patted his shoulder. “You take some good pictures, son. We’re counting on you, since we can’t get there ourselves.”
Kendra heard the “son” and wondered how Caleb felt about it. “Son” was certainly used by adults for children who weren’t one’s own, particularly in the South. But she thought Marian hoped that in the ways that mattered, Caleb would become a real son. She and Ron had welcomed the boy into their lives and, from all signs, their hearts. Now it was up to Caleb.
“Have you taken any photos yet?” she asked, once Caleb was settled beside her. The last time she’d asked, he had explained with heartbreaking gravity that he needed to read the instructions and really understand them before he tried. She knew he was worried he would do something wrong.
“A few,” he said.
She was relieved. She’d been afraid she might have to stand behind him and position his finger on the shutter button. “How did they turn out?”
“Couldn’t get them to work on Mr. Claiborne’s computer.”
“You can bring them to my place next week, and we’ll download them and see what you’ve got. You’ll have all today’s photos, too.”
“What do you want me to take pictures of?”
“Anything you want. Anything that looks interesting.”
“I guess I can do that.” He didn’t sound sure.
Kendra didn’t know how to help him. She just hoped that finding a tool like the camera to bring people closer would make a difference.
Marian was correct. The weather was perfect—although too dry to suit the local farmers—and apparently everyone for miles around had come to see what was happening. Kendra parked on Old Miller Road behind a line of cars some distance from the church. Clearly this was
the
event of early summer.
“If you want to go off on your own, feel free,” she told Caleb. “I’ll find you when I’m ready to leave. But let’s plan to eat here. The food’s going to be great.”
His expression said she might as well issue the orange jumpsuit and leg shackles now. He stayed with her as they walked along the roadside, but once people began to greet her, Caleb wandered off.
She was impressed by the work that had gone into the fair and sorry she had been so little help. On Thursday she had come by to design and print menus. Afterward she had spent hours feeding onions and garlic through an industrial-size food processor for the vats of chili. But some people had worked for most of the year to get the fair organized.
Striped tents were set up all over the grounds, although Kendra noted that Sam’s prized rose garden had been spared. The children had been given their very own activity space at La Casa Amarilla, just a short walk away. La Casa, once the church’s parsonage, was now a community center that welcomed and worked with the county’s Latino population, tutoring children and, most recently, providing English classes for their parents.
Today, at the cheerful yellow house, all the children would be treated to pony rides, face painting and a craft center where they could create projects to take home. During the afternoon, Elisa’s good friend Adoncia Garcia would tell stories in Spanish and English, treating the children to painless lessons in both. Meantime, their parents could shop without them.
She toured the grounds, admiring what had been accomplished by so many volunteers. A fifteen-foot barbecue had been erected for grilling chicken quarters, and earlier the volunteers had started a fire so the coals would be ready in time for the lunch crowd. Tables were set up under a tent and elsewhere under shady trees. Kendra knew the menu well. Chicken, vegetarian chili, ham potpie, salads for the health conscious and a baked-potato bar. Another tent would serve nothing but strawberry shortcake, made with the last of the valley’s spring crop, and fresh whipped cream.
She saw tables of baked goods and headed for another smaller one filled with jams and jellies, which glowed like rubies and amethysts in the June sunshine. She was considering a half-pint jar of strawberry rhubarb jelly, when someone tapped her on the shoulder.
She turned to find Gayle Fortman, former president of the board of deacons and one of the members Sam could always count on. She was blond and slender, somewhat older than Kendra, judging by the equally blond teenage boy at her side, who looked so much like Gayle he could only be her son.
“I’ve been looking for you to say hi,” Gayle said. “I hear you’re coming to services, but we never cross paths.”
“I’ve noticed.” Kendra smiled at the young man at her side. She extended her hand. “I’m Kendra Taylor.”
“Jared Fortman.” Jared had a strong handshake and didn’t seem embarrassed by their exchange. He looked as if he might be in his final years of high school. He had his mother’s gray eyes and aquiline nose, but the chin was square and masculine, and the forehead broad. Kendra imagined the girls in his class were more than aware of him.
Kendra didn’t know Gayle well, but she liked everything she did know. Gayle ran a local bed-and-breakfast, and she managed to do a number of things well. Gayle had been the member most instrumental in obtaining a congregational vote of confidence for Sam when he’d needed it last year.
Jared excused himself and took off for more interesting pursuits.
“Are your other sons here?” Kendra asked.
“Dillon’s at a Boy Scouts camp-out for the weekend. He’s the youngest, thirteen. Noah—he’s my middle son—is here somewhere with Leon.”
Kendra remembered that story. Leon Jenkins was the son of a former troublesome deacon. George Jenkins was an alcoholic, and last year Leon had moved in with Gayle. He was probably about sixteen, and Kendra suspected he would still be in residence at Gayle’s when he graduated from high school.
“I need a favor.” Kendra picked up another jar of jelly and started toward the checkout line. “You’re the resident expert on teenage boys.”
“I’m not sure how that happened. I intended to have nothing but girls.”
Kendra knew better than most how decisions about children could be taken out of one’s hands.
She explained briefly about Caleb, and Gayle nodded. “I’d heard some of the story. How’s he doing?”
“He’s a good kid, but he spends too much time by himself. I don’t think he’s ever had the chance to make friends, so he probably doesn’t have a clue how it’s done.”
“Would you like me to talk to my boys? Noah’s the most likely candidate. He just turned fifteen, but he’s easy to know. Leon’s sixteen, but after everything he’s gone through, he’s a sensitive soul. He’d be the best one to watch out for Caleb and try to steer him toward the right crowd.”
“That’s beyond my expectations. Thank you.”
“Let’s see if we can track them down. If you have time?”
“Now is perfect.”
They strolled together, lingering at Granny’s Attic, with its collectibles of old rhinestone jewelry, mismatched china and vintage tablecloths. Gayle bought a crocheted one to cover a table in one of her B and B’s bedrooms.
They admired tables filled with books, plants and hand-made crafts. Apparently the crafters had decided to specialize in clothes made for American Girl dolls, because there were dozens to choose from. Kendra bought three outfits and mentally earmarked them for Hannah’s Christmas present. She looked forward to choosing a doll to go with them. While she was at it, she made a mental note to have Jamie’s doll collection shipped to her this week. With that in mind, she bought three more outfits.
They found Noah Fortman and Leon Jenkins at the photo booth. Some creative volunteer had painted plywood cutouts, so fairgoers could pay generously to stand behind them to have their photos taken. Participants could be General Stonewall Jackson or St. George the dragon slayer, career choices that in the Valley were considered to be one and the same. Joan of Arc and Scarlett O’Hara were available for females who weren’t feeling Stonewallish. There was a generic superhero cutout, too. Most likely the artist was avoiding the possibility of copyright infringement.
No one was in line at the moment. Noah and Leon had been tapped to collect money and operate an impressive digital camera. The boys sat behind a card table looking important. Noah had chocolate-brown hair, but the nose was definitely his mom’s. He stood when Gayle introduced Kendra, and Leon got to his feet, as well. Leon’s hair was a paler brown, and he was thinner than Gayle’s stocky middle son. But both boys had an air of confidence, as if they knew who they were and where they belonged. Kendra chalked up a parenting point to Gayle and her husband.
As they’d looked for the boys, Gayle had obviously considered how best to broach the subject of Caleb. She explained the situation with a minimum of fuss, and the boys listened politely.
“We can do with some help over here,” Leon said. “Caleb can use the photo printer. We’re going to get backed up later when everybody starts coming. We can show him how to do it.”
Kendra was delighted. This would be easy to explain to Caleb, and a natural way to introduce him to the other boys.
“Your sons are so nice,” she told Gayle before she split off to coax Caleb into giving the photo booth a try. “You and your husband have done a great job with them, and Leon, too. I know he’s had a tough time.”
“Eric’s not on the scene very often.” Gayle waved to someone under the white elephant tent. “We divorced when the boys were little. So I’ll take the credit.”
The name clicked for Kendra. “Eric Fortman? The television journalist?”
“Of course you’d know him. I never thought of that.”
Kendra backtracked. “I don’t really know him. We’ve been at events together a few times.” Eric Fortman was a correspondent who had reported for several of the major networks. He was known for a certain recklessness that led to assignments in the world’s hot spots. The last she’d heard, he was in Afghanistan with a team of reporters trying to track down former members of the Taliban.
“You never forget Eric once you’ve been introduced.” Gayle smiled, to show there was no malice in her words. “Lord knows I never have, but being a single parent is easier than being married to Eric.”
Kendra wondered how Gayle had managed so well. Were some marriages, even marriages to good men, harder than they were worth?
On her own, she set off to find Caleb, but as she started back to the food tent—first choice when searching for a teenage boy—Helen Henry stepped forward to block her path. She was dressed in a blue and green plaid blouse, with a blue skirt and matching tennis shoes. Her hair had been freshly cut and curled. Kendra bet Helen’s daughter or granddaughter had been in town recently and forced her to shop.
“You buy your quilt raffle tickets yet?”
Kendra had only seen the Cactus Bloom quilt from a distance, but she was satisfied it was a stunner. “I’ll buy a bunch. I promise.”