Last in a Long Line of Rebels (10 page)

“Awesome. I'll show it to him tomorrow at church.”

Daddy closed the drawer. “I've been meaning to get out the metal detector. Maybe we'll find something else. I've heard Civil War buttons do pretty well on eBay.”

I shot up. “We have a metal detector? Can I use it? I'd be really careful.”

“Sure,” he said, laughing. “You kids can have a little fun with it. It's in the shop. Remind me tomorrow, and I'll look for it.”

I smiled. Wouldn't Daddy be surprised when instead of a few old buttons, we found gold!

From the diary of Louise Duncan Mayhew
January 1862

We've just heard that General Zollicoffer has been killed at the Battle of Fishing Creek. It seems like yesterday that he was encamped nearby and the women in town were preparing meals for him and his men.

C
hurch wasn't nearly as much fun the second go-around. First of all, there was the lack of food, but mainly I couldn't wait to get home and start looking for the gold.

“A real metal detector,” Franklin said with a dreamy look on his face. “I've been wanting one since I was four!”

Patty snorted. “Are they all sold out at Nerds 'R' Us?”

If Pastor Brian noticed us fidgeting in the front row, he didn't let on. I was so busy thinking about the gold, I almost missed it when he mentioned Isaac's name. I looked up, startled, as Pastor Brian held up a red flyer.

“Some of you may have noticed these sprouting up around town,” he said. “What you probably don't know is that I called Pastor Philip at Ebenezer Church and said we'd like to join them in their efforts.”

Someone in the back grumbled. I turned around, but I couldn't tell who it was.

“Isaac Coleman doesn't go to this church, but he's part of our community. Now, I don't want to get into the decision regarding the Pride of Zollicoffer scholarship, but I'll say this. This church has a chance to show what we stand for, and the kind of attitudes we stand against.” He laid the flyer down on the podium. “Faith without action is dead. We'll be taking up a special collection for the scholarship fund, and I'm praying y'all will join me.”

I smiled at Benzer. I hadn't been all that excited when he promised we'd start going to church. I still wasn't sure if I believed all those stories about big fish and water-walking and other miracles, but if Pastor Brian was on Isaac's side, maybe he was right about those other things too. I'd keep an open mind just in case. I was still smiling as we were dismissed to leave.

Tracy Kimmel strode by with a terse “Franklin, let's go! Drew's coming over.” She looked gorgeous, dressed all in pink, with her shiny blond hair swinging in a long ponytail.

“I'm going to Lou's house,” Franklin said. “Grandmother said she'd pick me up later.”

“Whatever.” She walked toward her Jeep, hips swaying.

Benzer couldn't take his eyes off her and stared with his mouth partially open. The urge to smack him was overwhelming, so I did.

“What did I do?” Benzer asked, rubbing his arm.

“You look like a bulldog staring at a pork chop. She's dating the enemy, remember?”

Patty pointed to where Aunt Sophie was parked. “Y'all ready?” She climbed in beside her mother in the front seat, and I yelled, “Window!” That left Franklin and Benzer to fight over who had to sit in the middle. Franklin lost, of course, and Benzer and I spent the ride home pushing him back and forth between us while Patty giggled from the front seat.

We stormed, all together, through the front door and raced into the kitchen.

Mama turned from the stove. “What in the world? It sounded like a herd of elephants just came in the house.”

Aunt Sophie's voice rang from the doorway. “They've been acting plumb silly the whole ride home.”

“Daddy,” I said, “where's our metal detector? Can we borrow it now?”

“Slow down, Lou,” Daddy said. “Have a seat. Your mama and Bertie spent all day cooking for us.”

I noticed the kitchen table for the first time. A sugar-cured ham sat in the middle, surrounded by antique bowls of fried okra, mashed potatoes, baby carrots, and turnip greens. There was a platter of sliced tomatoes next to a basket of hot yeast rolls.

“Yes, the metal detector sure can wait,” Patty said, grabbing a chair. “What's the occasion?”

“No occasion,” said Bertie. “Your aunt Lily is nesting.” She pulled out the chairs on each side of her. “Benzer, you and Franklin sit next to me. I'm in need of some male companionship.”

I sat down next to Patty, who'd already begun piling food on her plate. “I swear you have a tapeworm, Patty. You eat more than me, Benzer, and Franklin put together.”

Ignoring me, she stuck out a thin arm and scooped more potatoes. “I have a high metabolism.”

Bertie passed the food around the table. “Don't let her faze you, Patty. Being skinny and eating all you want is a gift of youth. Enjoy it while you can.”

Mama placed a napkin in front of me. “Lou, have you been using the oak tree to climb down from your room again?”

“Maybe,” I hedged. “Why?”

“I found more limbs in the yard. I said you'd probably been knocking them off as you climb, but your dad is worried it has a disease.”

Bertie put some bread on her plate. “I can hear some of those big branches scraping right over my room. If they ever fall, I'm a goner.”

“I'd never let that happen, Mother. You'd haunt me forever!” Mama said, smiling. “That's why we're having it looked at. Until then, don't be climbing on it, Lou. It's too dangerous.”

“Okay.” I took the basket of rolls from Bertie. “Daddy, what about the metal detector?”

Daddy was helping himself to a large piece of ham. “I'm sure it's out there somewhere. Along with the box you got at the Tate Brothers auction. You need to finish that so I can have my worktable back.”

“Yes, sir,” I answered.

Mama sat down with a loud sigh. Her hair had curled in the heat, and her face was flushed.

“Lily, this is the last big meal I want you to cook until the baby is here,” Daddy said, pouring her a glass of iced tea.

“I'm fine, Tucker. It's just hotter than blue blazes in here!”

“I know you're fine, and we want to keep it that way.” He turned to me. “Lou, I want you to start helping your mama in the kitchen. You're old enough to cook dinner every now and then.”

“Oh, Lord,” Bertie said, laughing. “Can I vote for takeout?”

“I'm for that,” I agreed. “Being in a hot kitchen is not on my list of fun things to do.”

Daddy gave me a hard stare. “I doubt it's on your mom's list either, but you sure are enjoying your food!”

I wiped a stream of ham juice from my chin. “Okay,” I said reluctantly, “whatever you need, Mama.”

“This is awesome, Mrs. Mayhew,” Benzer said. He had a mound of greens on his plate, and Bertie passed him the hot sauce.

“Thank you, Benzer,” Mama said. “Lou, how was church?”

“Great!” I answered.

“Well, that's enthusiastic,” she said, laughing. “What was the message?”

“I don't remember that part, but Pastor Brian showed Isaac's flyer. The church is going to take up a special collection for the fund-raiser.”

“I'm glad he could still find a flyer,” Mama said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Some jerk went through town ripping them down,” Daddy told us. “All of the ones that used to be on Main Street are gone.”

Aunt Sophie sat down and began making a plate. “Well, it didn't seem to hurt the turnout at Ebenezer Baptist this morning. When I passed by, their parking lot was overflowing. They were taking up their collection for Isaac today.”

“That's right,” Bertie said. “I hope they raised a fortune. That fool Coach Peeler has gotten folks riled up. Did you see the letters to the editor in the newspaper? Roger Parrish said the scholarship debacle was just another example of how prejudice is alive and well. And Brooks Harris wrote something stupid in favor of Coach Peeler, basically proving Roger's point.”

“Well, we've always had more than a few rednecks just waiting for a reason to fight,” Daddy said.

“I hate that term,” Bertie said, flinging her napkin on the table. “Why is it okay to disparage white Southerners but no one else?”

“No one else . . . how about Yankees,” Benzer said under his breath.

I looked at him, sorry to see he was upset. No matter how long he's lived here, I can tell the Yankee stuff still rankles.

“Bertie,” I said, “you talk about Yankees in a not-so-nice way all of the time. What's the difference?”

She dismissed me with a wave of her hand. “I'm just being funny. Besides, I don't mean Benzer.”

“Well, how's he supposed to know that?”

Bertie rubbed her temple like she was getting a headache. “Fine, I'll try to think before I speak in mixed company from now on.”

“See? It's such a minefield discussing serious issues,” Aunt Sophie said. “Someone is always offended. I never know what I can say or can't say.”

“But if you don't discuss it, how will you ever know?” I asked.

“That's right,” Daddy said. “As a general rule, I try not to say anything hurtful about people, even jokingly.”

“Speaking of things you can't say . . .” Mama passed the bowl of okra around the table. “Nelly Peek swears she heard Coach Peeler say the N-word at practice the other day.”

The whole table gasped, except for Patty, who said, “What's the N-word?”

“You know, the ‘N-word,'” Mama said, drawing quotation marks in the air. “The offensive word no one should say.”

“You mean a cuss word?” Patty asked.

“Worse,” Mama said.

“I thought cuss words were the worst things you could say.”

“No,” Franklin said. “This is way worse.”

Patty's eyes bugged. “Worse than cussing? How is that even possible?”

I groaned. Patty liked to pretend she was so worldly, but she didn't have a clue.

“How is it possible that you've never heard of it?” Bertie asked.

Aunt Sophie shrugged. “It's not like we use it around the house.”

Patty threw her hands in the air in exasperation, gold bangles jiggling. “Can you just say it, so I'll know next time?”

“
No,
” everyone said at once.

Daddy frowned. “It's not a word you'd want to use. It's ugly, and hurtful, and brands the user right away as an idiot.”

“Is it worse than saying the Lord's name in vain?” Patty asked. “That's one of the big ten!”

No one said anything right away. Finally, Bertie shrugged. “You'll have to take that up with God. I just know it's a word that has hurt a whole lot of people.”

After we'd washed the dishes, wiped the counters, even thrown the dirty dish towels into the laundry, we were finally allowed to go outside. I removed the key from its hiding place and opened the door to the shop.

Benzer walked over to the worktable, where my box stood. “Hey, that looks better already.”

“What is it?” Patty asked.

I shrugged. “Just an old box I got at the Wilson estate sale. I like the bird carvings.” I looked around the dim shop. “Look in that pile of stuff by the table saw.”

Benzer moved a tarnished chandelier to the side. “Is this it?” he asked. He was holding a long piece of equipment with a box at one end and a disc at the other.

“Yes,” answered Franklin. “Flip the switch and see if it works.”

Benzer found the black button and flipped it to the On position. Immediately, loud clacks came from the box. “Wow. I guess it does. C'mon!”

Patty and I stood outside the shop's entrance. “Where do you think we should start?” I asked.

Franklin looked around the yard. “Let's start with where Isaac found the bullet. Did your dad tell you where it was buried?”

“Near the side of the house. C'mon.” I led them back through the fence to the side yard.

Franklin walked across the grass, waving the end of the detector back and forth. Nothing. He checked that the machine was still on.

“Maybe we should come up with a system, like mowing the yard. We'll start at one end and walk back and forth until the whole thing has been covered,” I said.

“Sounds good,” Benzer said. “How 'bout Franklin and I go in front, and if we hear anything, you two start digging? Hopefully between the four of us, we won't miss anything.”