Book of Mercy (18 page)
Julie Masterson Clark had sensed the tension in the air the moment Cecily answered the door. Irene’s maid simply nodded toward the solarium and hightailed it back to the kitchen, her shoulders pressed protectively up to her ears. When Julie stepped into the solarium, Irene was pacing and issuing orders. Julie slid into a French Provincial chair and crossed her arms.
“I’ve canceled this month’s regularly scheduled program,” Irene said. Club members exchanged glances. “We’ve got far more important business to discuss. The program schedule will be pushed back one month. Consult your schedules, presenters, and do the math. Julie will deliver her presentation on the new Kennedy book in February; Arabella’s Daughter of the Confederacy cookbook will be the March topic, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.”
Most of the members of the Mercy Study Club considered it wisest not to tangle with Irene when she was in a mood. Arabella, who considered herself old enough to do what she liked and say what she liked when she liked, was one of the few willing to face an edgy Irene. “What are you fussing about now, Irene?”
“We need to respond to the situation in this town.”
“Situation?” Mary Beth asked.
“Antigone Brown and her library,” Irene snapped. “I think it’s important that we, as a club and as individuals, be more assertive in the coming days.”
“More assertive? My God, Irene, the whole town is at each other’s throats,” said Julie, to the shock of several members, who were sinking in their seats as if to stay out of the line of fire. “I, for one, think we’ve gone too far already.”
Mary Beth nodded. “I was giving blood the other day at the Red Cross, and the nurse asked me what the hell
we
thought were doing. She said she never asked me to protect her kids from smut. This was all supposed to be accomplished on the down low. And now I’ve got Red Cross nurses waving long needles in my face and taking me to task, Irene.”
Another member, furious with Antigone’s influence over her daughter, said, “She’s inspiring wholesale mutiny among our children. One of my favorite biographies is missing. I bet it’s in her library. I questioned my little Audrey, and she denied ever seeing the book. But she had that look on her face like she’s telling a whopper.”
A senior member, who had complained to Julie about still having to volunteer at the school library, said, “Let’s be done with this. It’s interfering with my golf game.”
“People are calling
us,
” another member whined. “I don’t like strangers calling me.”
“My calls are running about fifty-fifty—half in support and half ready to hang us,” Mary Beth calculated.
“I’ve been getting complaints, too.” Irene admitted to the room. “But also calls of support. Lots of them. People
do
agree with us. People
do
care about their children.”
“Of course, they care, Irene.” Mary Beth rolled her eyes. Julie bit her lip to hide a smile. The easily bored Mary Beth abhorred wishy-washy. In her logical world, you took a stand, watched how it went down, reassessed, and adjusted your plan. The point was: get the job done or move on. Don’t waste time on lost causes.
Julie felt a surge of strength knowing that Mary Beth was no longer solidly in Irene’s camp. This boldness was not entirely new. It had begun to grow a week ago, on the afternoon she’d dropped her daughter Jamie off downtown to do some Christmas shopping. In the rearview mirror, as she pulled away, Julie was shocked to see her daughter look up and down the street and then dash into the O. Henry Café. Curious, Julie parked and watched the café entrance. After about fifteen minutes, Jamie emerged, smiling, holding two books. Two days later, on a school morning, Julie sneaked into the café, heavily layered in a hat, scarf, and sunglasses, and visited Antigone’s lending library. She saw two other adults there and was careful not to make eye contact. She was astounded at how many books there were. She found an old romance, one she’d read in high school:
Rebecca
by Daphne du Maurier. It brought back memories of staying up too late on school nights, unable to turn off the light and turn away from the perils of the young wife so in love and so afraid of her mysterious husband.
Standing in that little hole-in-the-wall library, Julie experienced again that rush of feelings that comes with a story that has you by the throat. God, she loved that feeling. And with each moment that passed, each book she touched, she hated even more what the Study Club,
her
club, was doing.
Julie rose from her seat in Irene’s solarium. “We need to return those books to the library and end this war.”
Irene whirled on her. “Give in to Antigone Brown! H-E-double hockey sticks no,” Irene shouted. “She’s polluting our children’s minds. We should have her thrown in jail.”
Arabella stomped her gold-handled cane. “She went too far with that library. My son Braxton could find something to charge her with.” Braxton Richey was the county prosecutor.
Seeing the idea take hold in Irene’s eyes, Julie cried, “Antigone’s not a pornographer. You’re insane, Irene.” Julie watched Irene tug on her jacket and lift her chin.
Mary Beth made a cut in the air with her hand. “It’s going to be damned difficult to prove that a) the books are obscene, and b) Antigone intended to hurt anyone. What you can get away with in a little school library and what you can get away with in a court of law are two entirely different things, Irene. Not to mention the fact that she’s pregnant. No jury’s going to send a young mother to the slammer over
Huckleberry Finn.
”
“We’ll see if it sticks or not,” Irene, said refusing to back down.
Julie glanced around the room and then took a step closer to Irene. “I’m warning you. You do this, Irene, and come fall, you’ll have some competition in the club president election. My grandmother founded this club, and I’m not letting you run it into the ground.”
Irene’s eyes widened then narrowed. She lifted to her full height and pulled so hard on her jacket Julie was surprised it didn’t rip. “Bring it on, Julie.”
“I will,” Julie said with a smile, turned, grabbed her handbag, and started for the door. The club burst into whispers. Behind her she heard something smack against the French doors. She glanced back. Irene had rocketed a pillow from the loveseat across the room. Her aim was Babe Ruth sure. The panes in the windows rattled, and the mouths of the startled women snapped shut. Irene stared at Julie defiantly and said, “Attention! Now, I want each and every one of you to think about this, to think about your nice homes and your darling children. And you think about all those things that you hold dear being threatened by Antigone Brown. Take charge, ladies, or take cover.”
Lock Up
A
NTIGONE SAT ON THE
bed Ryder had once slept in and listened to the sleet clicking against the windowpane. As predicted, the winter storm was dipping down into the Carolinas, starting as rain a few hours earlier and now glazing everything it touched with ice. She glanced around the room. She’d washed the linens and folded Ryder’s clothes in a neat pile. She’d straightened the textbooks on the desk. Everything was ready for him when he came home. The baby waved, rolling a fist along Antigone’s uterine wall. She placed her hand on the moving mound, and her mood swung from anger that Ryder had left her to worry about what he was eating and where he was sleeping. Was he safe in this storm? Yesterday in the grocery store, while other storm-crazed shoppers ransacked the bread aisle and battled over batteries and candles, she stood in the cereal aisle, reaching for extra boxes of Froot Loops and thinking, “Ryder will be starving when he gets home.”
She heard the doorbell and immediately thought, “He’s back.” Pushing herself to her feet, she started for the stairs, making it halfway down by the time Sam opened the door.
“Cody, what are you doing out in this mess?” Sam asked with a grin.
Antigone stopped and clutched the banister. Had something happened to Ryder? Sheriff Cody Dunn was not a usual visitor.
“Hey, Sam.” Cody doffed his hat, twirling it nervously in his hands. “Is Antigone here?”
Sam’s grin dissolved. “What’s this about, Cody?”
Cody looked up, and Antigone descended the rest of the way down the stairs. She automatically reached for Sam’s arm.
Cody took a deep breath. “Antigone Brown, I have a warrant for your arrest on charges of disseminating obscene materials.”
“The hell you have,” Sam snarled.
“What!” Antigone cried.
“Sam, I don’t like this any better than you do,” Cody said quickly. “You’re the last person I want to get on the bad side of. I got tires that need rotating. But once the county prosecutor has issued a warrant, I’m duty bound to serve it. Let’s not have any trouble. I’ll just take her back to the office, and we’ll straighten this out.”
“You’re not taking her anywhere.” Sam stepped between Antigone and Cody.
Cody glanced at Antigone. “Talk to him. Let’s do this nice and easy.”
Cody was an unusual specimen of small town law enforcement. He had a degree in criminal justice. “Imagine going to school for that,” the older residents said. He worked out regularly and watched what he ate. He could pass by the doughnut shop without a glance. He grew up in Mercy, just about defined “ruggedly handsome,” and surprised everyone when he came back home to settle down. He talked knowledgeably about DNA testing and, in his off hours, did curls on a homemade skateboard ramp in his backyard. Antigone liked Cody. He was even a vegetarian.
And she didn’t want Sam getting into trouble. She pulled Sam around to face her, stepped back and up so she was standing on the first stair, and placed her forehead against his. “It’s okay.” She kissed him. “Call Earthly.”
Sam clutched her tightly to him and nodded. Then he helped her into his old winter jacket, hanging on a hook by the door, and knelt to tug on her boots. He rose and glared at Cody, “I’m coming to get her.”
Cody nodded. “I certainly hope so.”
As they went out the door, Sam shouted, “You be careful on those roads.”
A
NTIGONE HAD NEVER BEEN
arrested before. On paper, she was a model citizen—not so much as a speeding ticket. She kept all her business licenses current and paid her taxes. She didn’t employ illegal aliens. She didn’t scam cable channels. She resisted the urge to tear out coupons from magazines at the obstetrician’s office. And she was 99.9 percent sure the sheriff didn’t know anything about her trip to Greensboro to purchase the illegal wares of Hector Bob.
So Antigone didn’t know what to expect when she was thrown in the slammer. Maybe a stark cell with sliding bars for doors, gruel for food, rats as big as dogs, and lustful inmates. She certainly hadn’t anticipated being helped off with her coat, gently lowered in the chair behind Cody’s desk, and told to answer the phones. Cody and his deputies had their hands full with the storm. He got her settled and then went back out to pull cars out of ditches and visit homes that had lost power. He moved elderly folks in with neighbors and relatives who had heat and electricity.
Outside, the sleet had already begun to taper; once in a while the day reverberated with the crack of a tree branch tumbling down. Some missed power lines; some didn’t. A family of travelers came in and asked for a place to stay. The one motel in town was full so Antigone set them up in one of the offices. They rolled out sleeping bags on the floor, and the two kids, ages five and seven, hauled in their backpacks of toys and books. Antigone called the restaurant and asked William to deliver a big batch of vegetarian lasagna and garlic bread. She kept the coffee pot in the lounge filled.
By evening, the phones were quiet. People were off the roads and home in their beds. Temperatures hovered around the freezing mark. Antigone had talked to Sam several times during the day, reassuring him that she was fine. Now she was beating Cody Dunn in gin rummy, a penny a point, five hundred wins.
Antigone had a sense about cards. She was a natural gambler. She was completely illogical when it came to bidding—an approach to cards that drove orderly Sam crazy. No matter what game he taught her, she usually ended up annihilating him after a few hands.
Cody groaned as Antigone fanned her remaining cards on the table. He dispiritedly began to count the points he’d been left holding in his hand. “I wouldn’t worry about it much,” Cody said. “Their case is weak. This is more a nuisance than anything. But Braxton Richey has some determined people on his back and he has to make them happy. I wouldn’t be surprised if he lets things cool down and then drops the charges.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“You’ll see. Your lawyer will carve this case like butter. Probably go after the school system, too. It’s what I’d do.”
“I just want to get home to Sam.”
“I’ll be only too happy to hand you over to him. I’m not one of his favorite people right now. And I got that tire situation, as you know.” Cody grinned. Antigone started dealing another hand, and Cody looked at his cards and groaned. “What’s taking that lawyer so long?”
T
HE NEXT MORNING
A
NTIGONE
woke on a cot in a cell. The door was wide open, and she walked out into the office. She smelled coffee and cinnamon. In the lounge, she found a spread of breads, rolls, and cereals and a hot plate with dishes of scrambled eggs and hash browns. She smiled. William had already been here. She heard laughter and followed it to one of the offices, where the two boys were sitting on sleeping bags, thumbs flying over electronic game boards in their hands. She made a stop by the rest room, then went looking for Cody.
The day was bright outside Cody’s office window. Everything sparkled. The trees were encased with ice, and the sun shimmered down every tree limb and branch. They heard a crack and thump. Cody glanced up from some paperwork and said, “Beautiful, isn’t it? Too bad it’s such a pain in the butt.”
“The ice is already melting; I can hear the dripping,” she said, dropping into a chair across from the desk.
“The power company’s been working all night. Streets will be navigable in a few hours. Then we’ll start getting everybody back where they belong.”
I
T WAS SHORTLY AFTER
noon, and several gin rummy hands later, when Earthly Sims, accompanied by Sam, strode into Cody’s office, just about as big and bright as you could get. Antigone had never seen her friend in ACLU, don’t-mess-with-me power mode. She wore a peacock blue suit and matching hat with a wide brim that swept across her face and down one side to her chin. The Earthly she knew preferred elastic-waist trousers and roomy tunics that allowed “a woman of comfortable size to breathe.” Antigone looked closer; Earthly even wore eye makeup. Antigone’s lawyer was armed to her big, white teeth.
“You can turn my client loose,” Earthly said, slapping a piece of paper on top of the playing cards on Cody’s desk.
“About time you got here,” Cody said.
Earthly looked at Antigone. “You’re lucky I kept my license in North Carolina current. Star said I might need it.”
Cody glanced at the paperwork. “Braxton dropped the charges? That was fast.”
“I eat boys like him for breakfast,” Earthly said. Earthly had once told Antigone that she was a shark when it came to defending the rights of the downtrodden, bullied, and exploited. The ACLU had been sorry to see her go. “Giving me that ‘applying contemporary community standards’ crap. I showed him community standards. I dropped a mess of books from Antigone’s library on his desk and demanded to know how
any
of those books were obscene. Hell, half of them were his personal favorites. I told him to get his mama under control and get back to catching some real criminals.”
Cody laughed.
“That a girl,” Antigone said.
“I don’t like people who mess with my people.” Earthly lifted her chin.
Antigone turned to Sam. She stepped into his embrace. He squeezed her tight. She felt the baby kick and suddenly felt like laughing. Then she pulled away and inhaled sharply. There, standing back from the group, leaning against the door, was Ryder.
“Hey,” he said, hoarsely, straightening.
Joy and anger warred inside her. When she didn’t say anything, he shifted nervously. “Can’t leave you alone a minute. I’m gone a week and you get yourself thrown in jail. Hell, the whole state falls apart. What’s with this ice shit?”
She stepped toward him. “You really pissed me off, Ryder,” she said.
“I know.”
“I was worried sick.”
Earthly frowned at him. “And you didn’t say good-bye. Star’s ready to kill you.”
Ryder ducked his head. “Thought as much. Ma’am.”
Antigone said, “But Star was sure you’d be back.”
“She’d know.”
Antigone nodded once. She smoothed her top over her large belly. Sam touched her arm, held her coat open, waiting for her to slip into it. He tugged a wool watch cap over her ears and handed her a pair of gloves. “I’m ready to go home,” she said.
“Me, too,” Ryder said.
