Summer of the Redeemers (34 page)

“Sounds great.” My parents had fallen over the edge of the world. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t imagine Effie in Hollywood. Not smiling, at least.

“Walt and I are so happy. This was the best trick I’ve ever had played on me. And Bekkah,” she paused, “I don’t want you to worry about that Cathi Cummings woman. Walt explained things.” Her voice tightened, and I could hear it even though she tried not to let on. “I’m sorry I was so hard on you, Bekkah. That wasn’t fair. I know it wasn’t your fault.”

“That’s okay.” I tried to sound cheerful. “Effie, when Walt gets in, would you ask him to call me?”

“Is something wrong? Do we need to come home?” All enthusiasm was drained from her voice.

“No, of course not.” I laughed. “I have a question I need The Judge to answer for me. It’s for school.”

“Okay, I’ll tell him, but it might be a couple of days.”

“It’ll keep,” I said, feeling as if my heart would break. “When are y’all coming home?”

“Bekkah, if there’s trouble, we’ll start back now. It would take us two or three days.”

“There’s no trouble, Mama. I just miss y’all.”

“We miss you, too, honey. Would you put Mama on the phone?”

I signaled Mama Betts, who was standing down the hall, watching me closely. She took the receiver and answered what I knew would be Effie’s first question.

“Yes, Ef, things are fine around here. Nothing out of the ordinary. Arly and Bekkah are at each other’s throats, but what’s new about that? No, nothing is wrong. School is fine. Both of the kids are falling into the routine. No. No.”

I turned back into my room and softly closed the door. A couple of days and The Judge would call me. Maybe sooner. Then I could tell
him about Greg and the beatings and about Caesar. He’d come home and it would mess up his movie deal.

I opened my science book, but the words had no meaning. I knew them all, but none of them were linked in any way that made sense. What was I going to do? The hot night closed in on Kali Oka, and the same old whippoorwill started his nightly call.

Thirty-one

I
S
Greg feeling well enough for me to see him?” I toed the top step at Nadine’s with my sneaker. It was almost five. I’d helped Mama Betts at the grocery store, and she’d driven me down to Nadine’s to let me out. I could still hear her turning the car around in the drive, her curious eyes taking in every detail she could see. I hoped the garbage wasn’t visible.

“He’s taken a turn for the worse,” Nadine said. She was standing in shadow, and I couldn’t see her eyes to know if she was teasing me or not.

“Really?”

She pushed the door open. “Come see for yourself.”

I was afraid, but I followed Nadine through the kitchen and down the hallway. She went to her bedroom instead of the living room. Nadine pushed open the door to reveal Greg propped up in bed on pillows, Effie’s book in his hands as he read.

“Bekkah.” He sounded surprised and embarrassed. He wore no shirt, and the sheet covered his lower body, which I tried not to look at but thought might be naked too.

He put the book down.

“Nadine said you’d relapsed,” I said, casting her an accusing look. She was smiling like a shark.

“Nadine’s a great doctor,” Greg said. “I’m feeling much better. The fever’s gone, and my back’s starting to heal.”

“That’s good.” I twisted my hands.

“Have a seat and talk with Greg,” Nadine suggested, indicating the foot of the bed. “He’s tired of my company.”

“That’s not true.” He looked at her, a split second of a look that said he was not tired of her, that he was grateful, and something else. He shifted his gaze to me. “I’d never have thought Nadine would be so … kind.”

She went to the door. “Bekkah, would you like a Coke? I was about to get one for Greg. He needs to eat and drink.”

“Sure,” I said.

“I have to give Greg a shot in an hour, so the Coke is a bribe for him to behave,” Nadine said as she walked out.

She left the door open, and I took a seat on the very edge of the bed. “Nadine really gives you shots?” I made a face. “Dr. McMillan gives them to us. It’s awful.”

“Yeah.” Greg’s face was slightly flushed. “It’s pretty awful, but I’m feeling so much better, I can’t complain.” He picked up the book. “Your mama writes real good. I thought I’d be too old to read this, but I like the story. Does it end happy?”

“Effie told me never to tell the ending of a story first. You have to read it to get there.”

Greg put the book down beside him, his finger still tucked in his place. “How’s school?”

We felt like strangers, talking about things that didn’t matter to the other. “I hate it. It’s hot and the teachers are fat cows.”

“How’s Jamey Louise?”

“She’s fine, Greg.” I swallowed. “Her studies keep her busy.”

“And the boys, I’ll bet.”

I didn’t say anything for a few rough seconds. “I’m glad you’re better.” I stood up. There wasn’t anything else to say, and I wished Nadine would come back with the Cokes. I hated Jamey. I should have lied to Greg and said she asked about him.

“It doesn’t matter,” he finally said.

“Did you take the crucified Jesus and put him by the chinaberry tree?”

“Yeah, I took it. I figured if I was going to get beaten to death for painting it, which I didn’t do, then I might as well take it.”

“What are you going to do with him?” I couldn’t imagine. What could be done with the thing?

Greg looked toward the window, but it was all covered up and there was nothing to see except the yellowish shade and curtains. “I’ve been thinking, but I haven’t come to any decision.”

“You’d better take it back.”

He shook his head. “No, it won’t go back to them. It’s ruined for them anyway. Even if someone could clean the paint off, nobody there would be able to look at it without thinking about how it had gotten painted black. And about who did it. If I’m going to have to go back there, it can’t.”

“Go back?” I never thought Greg would consider such a thing. “After what they did to you?”

Anger moved across his face. Like summer lightning, it pulsed and disappeared. “You don’t understand, Bekkah.” He spoke so softly I had to move back beside the bed to hear him. “Where else can I go? I don’t have any schooling. I don’t have any other relatives. I’ve been with the Redeemers since I was a little boy. I don’t know anything but them.”

He twisted his head on the pillow so our eyes didn’t meet. I wanted to tell him something, that there was a place for him, somewhere he belonged. I’d just never been much good at lying because it sounded pretty.

“What about aunts? Other relatives?”

He shrugged one shoulder, then winced at the pain. “When I was about three the Redeemers got me. My real parents are dead. John and Rachel Singer sort of adopted me. At least they took me in. My real parents died somehow. I was little and I don’t remember. I think my name was Calendar.” He paused. “I can remember being made to say my name again and again so I would know it if I ever got lost. I was really little.”

“Calendar, like a year’s time?”

Greg nodded. “Sounds like I made it up, I know. I quit telling people because no one believed me.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s just … an odd name.” Now I understood how Greg’s family would let the preacherman beat him so. He didn’t belong with them, didn’t want to belong.

“Forget it,” he said. “Maybe I did make it all up. Or dreamed it.”

“Greg, you can’t go back there.”

“I have to, until I’m sixteen, anyway. When I’m old enough to get
a work permit, I can learn to drive. I can get a job somewhere maybe.”

“You can drive at fifteen here, and Nadine would let you stay here.”

“I can’t clean lofts for the rest of my life, Bekkah. I’ve never even been to school. I’m gonna have to go to a city, someplace where there’s jobs for people like me.”

“Plenty of folks here don’t have educations.”

“Yeah, but they own land. They farm. They have something they can work toward. I couldn’t buy myself a cup of coffee.” Bitterness had entered his voice.

“We’ll figure something out.” There had to be another alternative. If Greg went back to the Redeemers, they might hurt him worse.

There was the sound of a car on the road. It slowed outside the house and I heard it turn in the drive. “Who could that be?” Nadine’s bedroom window didn’t front on the house, but I could look out it and see part of the road. It was too late to see the car, but the dust cloud hung steady in the air.

“It’s them,” Greg said. “The old Chevy. I know the sound of the motor.”

“Them who?” But he didn’t have to answer. My skin rippled. The Redeemers. They’d come for him at last. After nearly a week they’d finally decided they missed him.

“John and Rachel. Rev. Marcus loaned them the car to come get me and the crucifix.” He didn’t budge in the pillows.

There was loud knocking at the front of the house. I’d forgotten that Nadine even had a front door. Her light footsteps went toward it. She passed the bedroom door and didn’t even look in. The front door creaked open, and Nadine didn’t offer a greeting.

“We’ve come for the boy,” a man’s voice said.

In the bed, Greg was completely passive. He stared at the ceiling as if he’d gone into a trance.

“What boy?” Nadine asked, an edge of cunning in her voice.

I slipped to the door and peeped out. I couldn’t see clearly, so I stepped forward. Nadine stood, arms akimbo, blocking the doorway. By her stance I could see she knew who she was dealing with.

“We’ve come for Greg.” The man spoke again. “We’re his legal guardians, and we demand that you return him.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” Nadine said. “You can just put yourself in your car and drive straight back to that hellhole you call a church.
Greg’s not going anywhere. In case you’re dimwitted or something, the beating you people gave him almost killed him. Get off my property or I’ll have the sheriff down there checking into what goes on.”

“Greg is our son.” For the first time I heard a woman speak. Her voice sounded heavy with grief. I inched forward down the hall. I had to look at them, to see the kind of people who would allow their son, adopted or not, to be beaten in such a way.

I saw the dark brown of her dress first. Then her hair, rolled on top of her head. Her face was lined and weathered, and she was thin, like Greg. The man beside her was tall and thin too. He looked tired and angry.

“The boy needs to come home,” the man said. “The longer he stays away, the harder it’s going to be on him. He did something wrong and he got punished. It’s over now, unless he wants to drag it out and make it worse for himself.”

Nadine snorted. “Greg is extremely sick. He’s not going anywhere. Not for a long time. His back is terribly infected. He needs medicine and care, something you people don’t know a thing about.”

“I can take care of him,” the woman said. “If he’ll come home, I’ll make sure he heals properly. I would have seen to him, but he ran off.”

“He’s not going back there.” I surprised myself by saying the words. Everyone turned to look at me.

“Who else is in this house?” the man asked, and there was a growing anger in his voice.

“None of your fucking business.” Nadine’s lazy voice was as much an insult as her language. “Now get off my property.”

“We want the boy.” The man was furious. His eyes had narrowed to slits, and he tried to see behind me and Nadine into the house. “Greg, get out here now before you make trouble for your … friends.”

“Greg’s too sick to get up, you jackass,” Nadine snapped. “Get off my property or you’re going to have more trouble than you can manage.”

“We want the boy.”

“People in hell want ice water.” Nadine’s arms dropped to her side. “Bekkah, go in the bedroom and get the shotgun and bring it here. These people may need some convincing that it’s time for them to leave.”

“John.” The woman grabbed his arm. “Let’s go. We can’t afford no trouble like this.”

“Greg shouldn’t be here.” The man glared at Nadine. “Our son shouldn’t be here with hussies and—”

The woman tugged his sleeve. “John, please.”

“If you want Greg so bad, why don’t you send the preacherman down here to get him?” I challenged. I wanted Nadine to see Rev. Marcus, to see if he was her ex-husband come to hurt her.

“We’ll get our boy. You’ll see,” the man said, but he was backing down the steps with the woman tugging his arm. “Greg’ll soon tire of your … filthy flesh.” He smiled, and it was mean and hard. “He’ll come home. You’ll see. He’s got no place else to go and he knows it.”

“Come on my property again and you’ll see what price trespassers pay around here.”

“That’s something you’d better keep in mind yourself.” The man spoke to me. “We know you’ve been poking around our property, Miss Rebekah Rich. There’s laws that protect us too.”

I stood frozen at Nadine’s side.

“Get out of here.” Nadine slammed the front door closed.

I walked back to Greg’s room. His face was turned away from me, toward the wall. “Go home, Bekkah,” he said, and he sounded like he was a hundred years old.

“They can’t make you go back, Greg. They can’t. We won’t let them.”

“Just go home,” he answered. “Please, just leave me alone.”

At school the next day I hemmed Jamey Louise in a corner of the library where we could talk for a few minutes without getting demerits. I asked her to visit Greg. I told her he was hurt bad and feeling low. She said she might on Saturday, if her mama didn’t take her to get her hair styled. She wanted it cut short around her face and long in back, she said, demonstrating the style with her fingers as best she could. I knew she wasn’t going to see Greg.

It was Friday, the night of the first game of the season. Alice and I were riding to the game with Arly, a fact that was like sticking needles under his fingernails. He also had to bring us home, which meant he couldn’t go off parking with Rosie during the middle of the game. I was cutting into his petting time something fierce, and he didn’t bother to hide his resentment.

The game excited me about as much as the idea of going to the dentist. I was going, though. I’d be a social outcast if I missed the first home football game. Even though my mind was down Kali Oka Road at Nadine’s house.