The store smelled of hot spices, dry stockfish, and plantains. The floor was usually dirty, giving the place the feeling of an outdoor market. The aisles were so skinny that one had to walk sideways to pass if someone was in the aisle, but they had the best imported food around so she didn’t mind the inconvenience.
She took out her list and began strolling through the aisles, smiling at familiar faces. Despite last year’s scandal that involved her sister’s husband, Kenneth, his battered reputation had rebounded and his name still held weight in the community, particularly in the Caribbean community, which held him in high esteem, and her status had improved simply by association.
Teresa was looking at some melon seeds when she saw the man from the bay enter the store. The normally noisy atmosphere suddenly grew hush as everyone watched him walk towards an aisle. Newcomers were closely scrutinized. In their community it was important to know where everyone stood. Whether he was eligible for the local ladies to marry or a good business associate, or of no consequence.
“South Bank,” someone muttered and the interest disappeared like fog. To be from South Bank always warranted a quick dismissal.
The South Bank was really Hamilton County. It was smaller than Randall County and poor, people referred to it by its nickname. Their mother and father would drive Teresa and her sisters there every once in a while to volunteer at the shelter. Teresa was always fascinated by the single lane roads, large trees and tiny pillbox houses that all looked the same in their private misery. The main street used to be a bustling place full of businesses, little shops, and restaurants. Unfortunately, poor management and the promise of success in the neighboring town killed the possibility of growth.
Now, most of the buildings were boarded up while owners went to find their fortunes elsewhere. The only buildings that thrived were the churches, the bars and what was called a library but was really a grocery store with books.
The one savior had been the Valley Ray company that had become the biggest employer, but economic recovery remained slow.
The stranger seemed oblivious to the attention and ultimate dismissal warranted him, and walked around the shop, towering over the aisles like a giant. He was dressed in worn jeans and a red flannel shirt, his heavy black boots kicked up dust. He paused in front of the vegetable and fruit section and stared intently at the selection of papayas.
“That’s that mountain man, isn’t it?” Teresa heard a woman whisper next to her. Teresa recognized the woman as Camille Faulkner. Teresa inwardly groaned. Camille probably knew who the man was, but asked just to start gossiping, an activity Teresa didn’t wish to engage in. Since Teresa didn’t respond, Camille’s sister, Anna, spoke up.
“Looks like it, doesn’t it? He lives in that big, ugly house in South Bank with people living on his property like squatters.”
“I wonder what he’s doing here.” Her voice rose to a scandalous whisper. “I’ve heard he’s got Irish in him you know.”
“Yes, got a funny accent.”
Teresa wanted to point out the Trinidadian accent they had yet to lose.
“He’s single, but won’t look at any of the women here,” Camille said.
“Thank goodness. You know just a drop of Irish means he probably spends most of his money and time in a bar,” her sister replied.
“Yes, and we know Jamaican men can drink.”
“Hmm, looks like he’s got some Indian in him too, and you know their taste for liquor.”
The women laughed.
Teresa gritted her teeth. She knew the women were speaking loud enough so that he could hear. She glanced towards him. His face could barely be seen behind the surrounding facial hair, but she could feel his eyes. Hard, glittering eyes. He could hear what the women were saying and they were bothering him. Suddenly he looked straight at her, as if he was sending her a message, in her heart she could feel his pain as if they were attacking her as well. He quickly looked away, but Teresa couldn’t ignore the awareness that had transpired between them. It made her even more certain of her feelings for him. She felt the weight of their inexplicable connection grow stronger. He was the man for her and she’d protect him.
“You know it’s funny that you should talk about bars,” Teresa said. “How’s my elixir working for your mother’s hangovers?” It was known that Mrs. Faulkner liked to toy with rum.
Camille turned a cold eye towards her. “So the witch is going to stand up for the mountain man, how sweet. I’m surprised a rich woman like you still shops here.”
Some residents called her a ‘witch’ because of her interest in herbs and visions. It didn’t bother her, but it made some people uncomfortable. Teresa decided to use that to her advantage. “You know, it’s not wise to anger someone like me.” She bent down and picked up some dust from the ground and rubbed it between her fingers then began muttering gibberish under her breath.
Camille and Anna’s eyes widened. They dropped their baskets and then ran out of the store screaming.
Teresa smiled to herself then dropped the dust on the ground, wiping her hands together.
“You shouldn’t do that,” Bertha Walker said. She was Teresa’s best friend and mentor. She wore a large purple turban on her head as if to add height to her small frame. Like Teresa, she earned the nickname of witch, but held reverence in the community for her wisdom and foresight. Before Teresa had been seen as her apprentice, but now people weren’t so sure. Bertha was an older woman who shared her love of books, tea, cooking and visions. Bertha took out a handkerchief and began cleaning Teresa’s hands as if she were five years old. “You only feed their suspicions.”
Teresa winked. “Sometimes that comes in handy.”
Bertha tucked the handkerchief away. “Be careful there.”
Teresa could still feel the man’s eyes on her, as heavy as a hand on the back of her neck, but she didn’t turn to look at him. She picked up a bag of melon seeds and tossed them in her cart. When she did turn around, he was gone from view.
“There’s no need to stand up for him,” Bertha said. “You know who he is, don’t you?”
“No.” She glanced around the store, trying to find him again, but he was nowhere to be found.
“That’s the problem. Nobody does. Half the people think he’s on parole after being involved with a Jamaican gang. Another half believe he’s part of an Irish mob and his headquarters is that strange house he lives in. It’s also said that he’s a regular at Louisa’s place.”
Teresa heard the warning Bertha wouldn’t voice. Anyone associated with her cousin was usually bad news. She felt her heart constrict with an unexpected pain. It wouldn’t be a surprise. Louisa was fun and beautiful, men falling for her charm was expected. But her heart couldn’t let her heed her friend’s warning.
“I know he knows her and the rest…” She shrugged. “They’re just rumors. I know you don’t believe them. What’s the truth?” she asked, knowing Bertha could see what others couldn’t.
Bertha thought for a moment, pursing her lips. “He’s mysterious, but his heart is good. However, he has a cloud over his head, the signal of bad news.”
“I know.”
Bertha looked at her surprised. “You do?”
“I sensed it when he touched me and that’s never happened before. He’s important to me.”
“How?”
“I’m not completely sure, but I plan to find out.”
Bertha shook her head. “Remember you may be sorry for the
mawga
dog, but he can turn ‘round and bite you.”
“He has the hands of a healer.”
“And the body of a thug.”
“Bertha,” Teresa warned in a hushed tone.
“He can’t hear me. Have you noticed the size of him?”
“He’s not dangerous.”
“You don’t know that yet. You only had a sense, not the full story.” She narrowed her eyes. “And you’ve been up to something else, haven’t you?”
Teresa sighed. “I confronted Helene about the supplements.”
“And?”
“It wasn’t a good meeting, but I sent three bottles to a friend who works at the university. I trust him and will wait to hear what he has to say.”
“Then let it go. Power and money are dangerous opponents.”
***
Bertha did not like to act feeble. She took pride in being fit and agile. She’d planned to walk the two miles back home, but knew that she would not catch the young man’s attention any other way than by showing a strain of weakness. She spotted him in the parking lot and hurried towards him, then debated how she would collapse without injuring herself or damaging her purchases. She decided it was best not to fall, but rather to stagger helplessly into him. In the past, she’d seen a number of young women try collapsing at his feet at the shop, but he had offered them a quick glance and walked away. She suspected that his heart may be more receptive to a tired woman several decades his senior.
She was about to bump into him, when a tricky celestial elf decided to put a stone in her path, so when she fell, her cry was real, as was the impact of pain that followed.
The man was immediately by her side. “Mother,” he said using a reverential term only pockets of their community used. “Are you all right?”
Bertha was still stunned by the authenticity of her fall, perhaps someone above knew better than she. “Yes, I think so. Oh, my bags.” The contents had been scattered, mingling with the dirt and gravel.
“Gather those for me,” he ordered a passing bystander. “Stay still for a moment, please.” The ‘please’ was added for appearance since his words held enough of a command. He expertly felt all her limbs and studied her eyes. “Okay. Come on.” He helped her to her feet then lifted her up and placed her on the back of his truck as if she were a child. “Thank you,” he said to the man who handed him Bertha’s bags. He glanced inside and frowned. “I’m afraid your purchases didn’t survive the fall.”
“Oh, that’s all right—” she began, but the young man wasn’t listening. He pulled out a handkerchief. “Use this to wipe the side of your face. I’ll be right back,” he said, then left carrying her two bags of squashed groceries.
He was gone before she could reply. Bertha wiped the side of her face, smiling to herself. Just what she had expected—he had a heart as soft as guava jelly so he kept it well guarded, except to seemingly feeble old women. She ran her hand over the rim of the truck. It was old but well-kept, that was a good sign. She stretched her back, wincing in pain. She had fallen harder than her old body was used to, and she would have to tend to her bruises once she got home. She slid down from the truck.
“Just where do you think you’re going?” the man asked, returning with two brown bags.
“I’ve taken up enough of your time.”
“Nonsense.” He placed her bags in the truck. “Come on, Mother, I’ll take you home. The people in the shop know you well and told me where you live.”
“Yes, they know me, but I don’t know you.”
“True.” He turned back to the store.
“Where are you going?” she asked him.
“To tell them who to blame if you go missing.”
Bertha laughed. “Never mind. You can take me home,” she said. She needed to know more about the man who’d caught Teresa’s interest. Teresa was her heart and Bertha still remembered their first meeting more than twenty years ago. It had been a spring day and Bertha had been filling up her basket for a lunch with friends when she happened to look down and see a little girl with gentle brown eyes and a big grin. The little girl clasped her hands together and gazed up at her as if she’d just been given a pony for her birthday. “You look just like you did in my dream!” she said, then hugged her.
Bertha looked down at the child, not knowing what to do.
A well-dressed woman approached them. “I’m so sorry she—”
The girl looked to her. “Mummy, it’s her. Isn’t she beautiful?”
Bertha had never been called beautiful in her life, but knew that the child saw something no one else did. She was special, one who could see into the fourth-dimensional realm. They’d been friends ever since. Although Teresa herself was far from beautiful, she wasn’t quite plain either. She had a gentle prettiness that most people overlooked, rarely seeing past her cocoa brown skin, full figure, large hoop earrings and bracelets to the gem she truly was. Teresa was a gem Bertha planned to protect. Teresa had skills, but Bertha knew she was still too young to depend solely on them. And when it came to men, she hadn’t been tried yet.
Bertha allowed the stranger to help her into the passenger side of the truck and buckle her seat belt. When he got into the driver’s seat he stared at her. “You look fine to me, but perhaps you should see a physician.”
“Aren’t I looking at one?”
There was the slight hint of a smile. “Perhaps you need a second opinion.”
“Oh, no. I trust your judgment. Besides, a good soak will do me good.”
He flashed her a surprisingly cynical grin then nodded.
He was a good driver. He handled the road and the truck in a masterful manner, but somehow his thoughts seemed somewhere else. She thought of asking him questions, but knew it was too soon to get the answers she wanted. She knew that she would have to prolong their visit together and if she read him correctly, he wouldn’t mind.
“Here we are,” he announced as he drove up to her house. She loved her green and white rambler. It was situated far enough away from her neighbors to avoid their gossiping and inquisitive eyes, but close enough to town. Its little shutters and door smiled at her every time she arrived home.
The young man helped her down.
“Would you mind putting my groceries away while I make tea?” she asked, as he retrieved her packages from the back.
He stared at the house a moment then turned to her with a wary expression, causing Bertha to wonder if he suspected what she was up to. He finally said, “I hope you don’t make it a habit of inviting strange men into your home.”
“I let them drive me home, don’t I?”
He smiled. “Fair enough.” He glanced at the house again and nodded. “I just hope this isn’t common.”
“I haven’t lived this long without some common sense. Come on.”
The swiftness with which he grabbed her bags hinted at an eagerness to help. She sensed it as both a strength and a weakness.