Harvestman Lodge (43 page)

“How can I know you’re telling me the truth about this?”

Roy thought about that and shrugged. “You can’t. You just got to decide whether to believe me or not.” A long pause. “Well? Do you?”

Feely mulled deeply and once again listened to his gut. “I believe you.”

“Good. You have a good day now, preacher.”

“Yeah. You too, Roy.” He opened the door of his car and was about to get in when he said, “I’m glad there’s no pictures for my friend to worry about, but there’s still one tragic thing about all this.”

“What’s that?” Roy asked.

“Junie herself. Misused right in the only home she knew, treated like a slave, never being allowed to have a real life like other people lived, then dying in a house fire.”

“Dying?” Roy looked puzzled. “No, preacher, no. Junie never died in that fire. If she had they would have found her body.”

“Two firemen
did
find her body, Roy, burned so badly they couldn’t tell anything about her except that she was female. And then those firemen hid her because they had been her customers, and didn’t want it known she’d even so much as existed. She was found, but it went unreported.”

“They found the body … of a girl?”

“Found her, then hid her. Permanently. That’s all I can say, and maybe I have already said too much, considering the promise I made to the one who told me.”

“One girl’s body? Just one?”

“Of course just one. Wait … how many girls was your father pimping out in that house of his?”

“Just Junie. But sometimes there were other girls in the house … girls I’d bring home with me. I might not have been a direct part of my father’s sins, preacher, but I had plenty of my own. The night of the fire I’d brought a sweet little thing home that I’d met in a bar. That gal, Shelia was her name, she was in the house when it caught fire … I’d left her sleeping and gone out to the garage to get my wallet out of my truck, because I had a good bit of money in it and didn’t want to leave it out there unprotected. While I was still in the garage the house caught fire and flared up like a keg of powder, and I never went back inside. It burned so fast I was sure that Daddy and Junie and Shelia all had to be dead and burned up. So I admit I was kind of surprised when it was all over and the fire folks said there was only the one body found, that being Daddy. I’ve always wondered what became of the girls and why they were never found.”

“Well, one was found, burned to a husk, and that body was the one that was sneaked out.”

“One of the girls got out of there alive, or somebody would have found a second girl’s corpse, too.”

“Unless she was burned up so thoroughly nothing was ever found of her. If one did get out, I guess we can’t know which one.”

“I guess not.” Roy was quiet and thoughtful a few moments, mentally reconfiguring two decades of misconception. “I kinda hope it was Junie who got out, to tell the truth, preacher. She got dealt a real bad hand in life, and it would be nice to think she got a chance to start again. I always felt sorry for her.”

“But never enough to step in and help her.”

“You got me there, Reverend. No disputing that.”

“Junie or Shelia, it’s sad for whichever one died, either way. Bye, Roy. Thank you for talking to me.”

“Yeah. See you around, Preacher Feely. Oh … and let me tell you something else: I can guess who the feller is you’re trying to protect. You said he’s bad sick. I know of only one fireman from them days who’s in that situation. So listen to me now: you tell old Jonas Corbin not to be worrying about nothing except taking care of himself as best he can. There’s no pictures to show nobody, never was, and he’s a good man and I wouldn’t show them if there had been. Jonas has got nothing to fear from Roy Tate, now or ever.”

Feely nodded, thanked Roy again, and departed. He’d unintentionally allowed the identity of Jonas Corbin to be ascertained, but maybe it had all worked out for the best, if Jonas’s mind could be put at ease in these his final days.

Feely had driven away as Roy Tate lit another cigarette and walked back into the garage to finish his working day.

Part III

Explorations

Chapter Twenty-Five

“HAVE YOU GOT ANY places you don’t like to go because they make you remember things you don’t want to?” Curtis Stokes asked Amber Goode as Amber’s car neared the library where Curtis would see Kendra Miller.

“Yeah, Curtis. I do,” Amber said. “Do you?”

“Yeah. You know that big underpass where the railroad passes over Barnes Street? I don’t like to go there because I got hurt there one time. Like to have gotten killed.”

“What happened?”

“There were some drunk fellows there when I came through, walking. A couple of them were Parvins, and a Parvin gets mean when he’s drunk. They seen me and grabbed me and decided to have some fun with me. They drug me over to where there was a light pole shadow across the road, and they held me in it. It hurt so bad it was like somebody had stuck a power cable to me and shocked me. I just jerked and trembled and hurt all over and begged them to let me loose. Finally they did, but then they tripped me and kicked me around some. Somebody kicked me in the head with a steel-toed boot, hard, and I passed out. When I came to there was a train coming down the track, but I got up in time and ran. They’d just left me on the track, not caring what happened to me.”

“Curtis, I’m sorry that happened to you. Is that that the place you don’t like to go back to?”

“Yeah. Where’s yours?”

“The place where I used to work. The old Winona Court Motor Lodge. Some bad things happened there for me.”

“Well, you ain’t got to worry … the Winona ain’t even there no more.”

“Not like it was … no. But a lot of the motel is still there, just boxed in and hidden inside that crazy-looking outer part.”

Curtis thought about it. “Yeah, I guess that’s right. What kind of bad things happened there, though? It was just a motel.”

“I got myself into trouble there with some men. The kind I shouldn’t have been getting with. But I had a wild streak in me, and just about every decision I made was a bad one in those days. I got myself a reputation … and I came by it honest. I’m lucky it didn’t get worse than it did for me, the kinds of situations I put myself into. I knew a few other girls around here in those days who were as wild as I was, and several of them had babies without husbands.”

Curtis looked confused, then laughed. “That’s a good one, Amber! ‘Babies without husbands.’ ’Course not! Babies don’t never have husbands! They’re
babies
! You’re just picking on me, Amber!”

Amber held silent a moment, then laughed too. “That’s not what I was saying, Curtis. No, I’m not picking on you … I only meant the mothers of the babies didn’t have husbands! You big silly!”

Curtis thought it through until he comprehended his misunderstanding. “Oh. Yeah.” He laughed an embarrassed little laugh. “I’m stupid sometimes.”

“No you’re not. I just didn’t express myself clearly.”

“Did you have a baby without a husband, Amber?”

“No, thank God. What happened with me … there was a man I got all hung up over. No baby in my story, just the man. There were a lot of men, actually, but only one I got myself in love with. He was a well-known local man, powerful and admired and well-off, and he promised me that eventually I’d be his wife. But he never came through, never made that happen.”

“Who was he, Miss Amber? ’Cause I’m pretty sure I know. People around town say it was Benton Sa – “

“Curtis, don’t ask me that or start naming names! I’m not free to name him. I promised him I wouldn’t, because it could hurt him.”

“Okay. I don’t really know who it is, anyway. All I know is what people say, and that kind of stuff is a lot of times not true. Like when people say I drink or used drugs. I don’t.”

“You’re right. People talk and talk and don’t know a single fact about what they’re talking about. Anyway, I just kept on waiting and waiting for him to choose me over his wife … but nothing happened. And instead of making him happy, I could tell I was making him worry, getting worse as time went on. I didn’t like it, but finally I had to understand that he wanted me completely hidden away, to keep his precious reputation clean, y’see. He was afraid people would come to know about us, and that it would hurt his big bright political future. It was … painful. I truly loved him. Sometimes I think I still do. But … he stayed with his wife, and I settled for marrying a Tate. That didn’t last. Thank God for that, at least. I don’t have the man I fell in love with, but at least I’m not stuck with the pig I settled for, either.”

Curtis comprehended what she was saying, but had nothing to say back. He always felt useless in such serious conversations, knowing little about relationships and romance. He understood pain and rejection, though. He’d lived with both all his life.

He looked at Amber’s profiled face and noticed the glint of a tear in her eye. He understood tears, too. “I’m mighty sorry you’re feeling bad now,” he said. “I wish I hadn’t asked that question about places you don’t like to go back to.”

Amber drew in a long, slightly shuddering inhalation and exhaled hard through her mouth, pushing her emotion out with her breath. Sitting up straighter, she yanked a tissue from the box on the console and pretended to dab at her nose while actually drying her tears. She angled her face slightly toward Curtis and put on an almost convincing smile.

“You still selling pencils after all these years?” she asked.

“Yes ma’am, I am,” he replied. “That’s my work.”

“You enjoy it?”

“I do. It gives me a chance to talk to folks. I’ve met most of the people in Kincheloe County, I betcha, and sold pencils to at least half of them. It’s fun.”

“I can tell you’re happy doing that, just hearing you talk about it,” Amber said. “That’s what matters most: being happy doing what you do. As long as you’re surviving day to day and feeling happy, there ain’t much else you can ask for.” She paused, looking hard out the front windshield and seeing the library ahead. “But I ask for more, anyway. I admit it. I ask for money, for a big house, for people to like me and envy me … and for a big, rich, sexy man to take me away and make my life worth living.”

“You said you still work at Spears-Hinkle, Amber?”

“Yes. Can you believe it? Forty-five years old, my best years behind me and my looks fading, and look how far I’ve come! Divorced, alone, working a factory line making lawn mower parts. Hell of a life, huh, Curtis?”

Curtis looked at the library building as Amber wheeled her car into the lot. “I like my life,” he said. “There’s hard parts, but I like living.”

“You’re a lucky person, Curtis. For some of us, it’s too much like that song on the radio. You know, the one about life going on long after the thrill of living is gone.”

Curtis wasn’t listening just then, though, but squinting at the tinted-glass front window and beyond it seeing the outline of Kendra Miller seated in her special spot near the front of the library. There she read to children who came every summertime Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday morning to hear the raven-haired “Story Lady” take them through another children’s book or recitation. Kendra loved stories above all else and had a talent for reading or reciting them, a softness of tone and sweetness of voice that lulled the senses in nearly a hypnotic way. Even adult library patrons found themselves drifting in her direction at Listening Ears Story Hour, not so much to hear the stories themselves as to enjoy the voice that told them. One of the local radio stations had taken notice and gave the Listening Ears Story Lady a half-hour of airtime a couple of days a week to read for children on the air as a public service promotion for the library. That radio program had gained loyal listeners for nearly two decades now, and Kendra was further in demand for commercial voice work at that same radio station, particularly around Christmas.

Kendra was in mid-sentence when she saw Curtis come through the front door. She cut off, astonished to see him, and the children turned to see what had drawn her attention so thoroughly.

“Kids,” she said, “this is a dear friend of mine, Mr. Curtis Stokes! I haven’t seen him for a while and didn’t know he was coming today! But I’m glad he did! Curtis, will you say hello to Miss Kendra’s Listening Ears friends?”

Curtis had never quite understood why children made him shy, but they always had, and he at first abashedly shook his head and turned his face toward his feet, though his eyes were rolled up to let him keep looking at Kendra. If eyes could truly be said to smile, his were when he looked at her.

“Well … Listening Ears, maybe if you say hi to Mr. Stokes, he’ll say hi back,” Kendra said.

A high and ragged chorus of “Hi, Mr. Stokes!” erupted among the smiling, floor-sitting group of mostly underprivileged kids, and Curtis lifted his face, smiled back at them, pushed past his shyness, and said, “Hi, everybody!” And then, “Hi, Miss Kendra!”

A moment later, he was on the floor, swarmed by the children, and glad he’d taken a shower that morning and put on a clean shirt and deodorant. It was easy to keep clean, living in Coleman Caldwell’s house, where there was a washing machine and dryer and Curtis’s very own shower on the far side of the basement.