Brambleman (75 page)

“You sure?”

She gave him her argument-winning face.
“Daddy will be back soon. So take the children and go now,
please.”

“All right.”

“Oh, one other thing,” she said.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“I’m still mad at you.”

“I know. Some things never change.”

* * *

Monday afternoon, Bradley Roy followed
Charlie from the hospital to Mason Brothers Funeral Home. Charlie,
still amazed that his father-in-law wanted to attend Shaundra
Warner’s funeral, kept checking the mirror, half-expecting Bradley
Roy to peel off and disappear. But the old man stuck on his tail,
and they parked near the edge of the half-full parking lot shortly
before two o’clock. A hearse sat under a dark green awning at the
side door with a limousine and a half-dozen other cars lined up
behind it. Their white flags hung limp in the still summer air.

“Hot day,” Bradley Roy said, climbing out of
his car. Charlie approached, wearing a black eyepatch and a
thousand-dollar suit he’d bought for the book tour he’d cancelled
that morning, thereby enraging his handlers. Bradley Roy glanced at
the modest old bungalows across the street. “Never been to this
part of town before.” He gave Charlie’s scarred face an appraising
look, then turned toward the funeral home. “Reckon they’ll run
late? I don’t want to be gone long. Susie’s nervous about the
operation tomorrow.” He cleared his throat and said, “She says you
been friendly as a dog lately. Thinks you’re up to something. I
told her I threatened to kill you if you didn’t do right.”

“There’s always that to look forward to, I
guess.”

“You comin’ back?”

“I’ll be there for the operation. I’ve got to
take care of the kids this afternoon. Babysitter has to go
somewhere.”

“You talkin’ about the new ones, right?”

“Right.”

“Damn quickest adoption I ever heard of,”
Bradley Roy muttered. “You sure they ain’t yours?”

“They are mine,” Charlie said.

“I know you’re liberal, but I’m asking you a
question, and I’d appreciate an honest answer.”

“My name’s on their birth certificates.”

Bradley Roy tugged his belt with both hands.
“I’m not sure exactly what that means, you sayin’ it like you’re
dealin’ with a car title.”

“I’m their long-lost daddy.”

“That’s two things you’re saying, ain’t it?
Maybe three.”

Charlie looked away and whistled.

“I guess you’ll have to forgive Susie her
trespasses with that asshole.”

“Ass
holes
,” Charlie muttered under his
breath.

“I’m still trying to get used to the fact
that I got black grandkids. I mean, I’m from Forsyth County. Not
that I’m proud of the history. It’s just … a mixed-up world, that’s
all.” He pointed at the funeral home. “This is gonna be awkward as
hell.”

“You wanted to come.”

“Had to. Just keep me away from the one who
did that to my girl.” Anger filled his eyes.

“He won’t be here. He’s being held without
bond.”

“I might have a hard time being properly
mournful, knowing—”

“She’s your niece,” Charlie said.

“By marriage!” Bradley Roy grumbled.

Charlie smiled and gently grabbed his
arm.

“Can’t get over the fact that Minerva Doe is
my sister-in-law.”

“Don’t remind her of it. She’s a lot more
touchy about it than you are. I don’t think I’ll ever mention the
fact that she’s my aunt.”

“Well, I don’t blame her. If I woke up one
morning and found out I was a Cutchins, I’d be pissed off, too. Bad
enough waking up next to one for fifty years. Sorry.”

Charlie gave him a weary laugh. “We are what
we are.”

“I wouldn’t settle for that, if I was you.”
Bradley Roy swatted him on the back. “Come on. Let’s do this
thing.”

At the door, they were directed down a hall
to a visitation room half-filled with mourners, most of them
Minerva’s age. The carpet was worn, and the wood around the
doorknobs had lost its finish. Some of the young women standing
around sported dyed blonde hair, gold teeth, and/or tattoos.

Charlie walked over to Minerva, who had just
finished talking to a middle-aged couple and now stood by herself.
She did a double take when she saw him. “Did someone try to kill
you again?”

“Yup,” Charlie said.

“Looks like they came close to doing it.”

“Yup.”

“How many times has it been now?”

“I quit counting.”

“Are you a cat, or does this have something
to do with the deal?”

“The deal’s off. I broke it.”

“That’s good to know.”

“Got a new deal.”

She groaned.

Charlie changed the subject. “It looks very
nice,” he said, nodding toward the casket.

“Yes. Thank you for that.” Glancing around,
she said, “I’ll be glad when this is over.” She paused for a moment
before continuing. “The Forsyth sheriff came to see me. Stood at my
door Saturday morning with his hat in his hand and told me they’d
found my father. I told him I’d seen it on TV. He said, ‘That man
has the rest of him.’”

“Meaning me.”

Minerva nodded. “Then he said there wasn’t a
case anymore, since the man who murdered my father was killed by
his own family. I told him there’d better be a case, and he’d
better do right and tell the world what happened to John Riggins,
or I’d sic you on him.” Her expression was fierce and she wagged
her finger as she spoke. “I told him, ‘Charles Sherman will tear
everything up, and you know it.’”

Charlie chuckled softly.

“He said, ‘Yes ma’am.’ This morning he called
to tell me they’ll issue a report. I asked him why that man
Cutchins … why his own family killed him. The sheriff claimed it
was money. Then I asked if there was another reason and he said,
‘You sure you want to know?’ I told him nothing he said could hurt
me. He said they were ashamed he’d fathered a black child. So
that’s what they couldn’t live with.”

“A drop of blood can be powerful stuff,”
Charlie said.

She gave a little
huff
. “The woman
whose son killed her, she’s the one that told the police.”

“Tantie Marie.”

“Maybe she had a conscience.” Minerva buried
her face in her hands. “I’m numb from all this, Charles. Just numb.
When will it end? I’ll be ninety years old when Takira’s child gets
out of high school, if I last that long. She wants to keep the baby
but she doesn’t have a home of her own. I told her she’d have to
put it up for adoption.” She shook her head. “Demetrious. I don’t
know that there’s anything I can do for him. He is lost. I hate
what happened to your wife. I don’t think he would have done it on
his own. I don’t see why the district attorney is pushing the death
penalty.”

A woman in a black, form-fitting dress walked
in and called out Minerva’s name, then rushed to embrace her.
Charlie broke away and went over to Takira, who was sitting on a
cushioned chair. She gave him a tiny wave. “When is the baby due?”
he asked.

She grimaced. “Any time.”

“Good luck.” He knew he should say more, but
he couldn’t think of anything right then.

“Thanks.” She gave him a shy smile.

Charlie walked over to the closed casket,
which was covered with roses. He ran his hand along the varnished
maple. “My apologies,” he whispered. “I’ll try to make it up to
you.”

He never could, of course. Paying for the
funeral was nothing more than pouring money in a hole in the
ground. He’d have to do more. And it would never make up for his
indifference to her fate. Some things are lost and stay lost
forever. The only thing he could do was pay it forward,
somehow.

After he inspected the wreath he’d ordered,
he went over to Bradley Roy, who sat alone in a corner, looking
very much like he didn’t belong. The older man held a white
envelope and tapped his thigh with it. Charlie was about to say
something inconsequential when a dignified, middle-aged black man
in a dark suit entered the room and announced the service would be
starting soon in the chapel.

Two younger men in dark suits rolled the
casket away and the crowd followed. Charlie and Bradley Roy
accepted beige programs from the young, white-gloved attendants as
they shuffled in behind other mourners, about two dozen in all, who
spread out amongst the small chapel’s pews behind Minerva and a few
of her close relatives.

The Reverend Aaron Sapp of Campbell Chapel
AME Church took the pulpit. Charlie, who knew so much and could say
so little, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. When he looked over
his shoulder, his head jerked back in a double-take. An old white
woman was sitting alone on the back row. Arlene Cartier had come to
pay her respects to her late niece.

“… If there is any solace in this tragedy, we
can at least know that the people responsible for this horrendous
death have been brought to justice,” Sapp told the crowd, shaking
his head. “Terrible justice.”

Charlie listened as the stocky preacher spoke
in a high-pitched voice about forgiveness and redemption. There was
a prayer for Demetrious, a “young manchild caught in a moment.” The
minister gazed over the crowd, then rested his eyes on the one-eyed
white man and spoke of “the mother in a hospital, shot in an act of
madness, who we pray will recover fully and find forgiveness in her
heart.”

Charlie glanced over at Bradley Roy. His head
was bowed, his eyes shut tight. After the preacher finished, a
young girl took the stage and sang a gospel song to the
accompaniment of an old cassette in a boombox. The tape’s hiss
reminded Charlie of the music of the spheres he’d heard between the
words of Jasper Riggins the first time he played Professor Talton’s
twenty-year-old tape.

After that, mourners stood and sang the hymn
printed on the back of the program. Bradley Roy sang quietly and
off-key. Charlie mouthed the words.

Following the service, Minerva and Takira
followed the pallbearers out of the chapel. As the other mourners
trailed behind them, Bradley Roy bent toward Charlie and said, “I
can’t go to the grave. I need to get back to Susie.”

“Did you see Shirlene—I mean Shirley … uh,
Arlene?” Charlie asked. He turned to point her out, but the back
pew was empty. Bradley Roy looked at him like he was crazy, then
broke away from him and walked briskly out the chapel door.

Charlie followed and saw his father-in-law
catch up with Minerva outside, by the limo. He handed her the
envelope he’d clutched tightly during the service, patting her hand
as he clasped it in his own. “My daughter wanted me to give you
this,” he said.

Minerva, teary-eyed, hugged him. “God bless
her.”

“God bless you, too.” Bradley Roy turned and
hurried away toward his car.

Charlie trotted after him and called out,
“Wait up!”

“I ain’t got time to explain to you, boy.”
Bradley Roy fumbled in his pocket. “Here.” He handed Charlie a
house key. “You take care of Sirius. He’s your dog. And just
remember, if you do wrong by Susie … I’ll kill you.” At least he
smiled when he said that.

“I hear you,” Charlie said.

“You take these death threats pretty
well.”

“I’m getting used to them. And I appreciate
the warning. Usually I don’t even get that.”

Charlie watched him drive off, then went to
his car and pulled it to the end of the line of cars behind the
hearse.

* * *

Takira went into labor as Shaundra’s casket
was being lowered into the grave. Minerva and two other women
surrounded the girl, encouraging her to breathe properly and “hold
steady.” After Takira had calmed down and the crowd was breaking
up, Minerva opened the envelope Bradley Roy had given her.

Charlie, looking over her shoulder in an
attempt to read the sympathy card, was there to catch her when her
legs buckled and a slip of paper fell from the card. He helped her
to the folding chair next to Takira. Both were soon engulfed by
church ladies. Charlie stepped back and retrieved the paper as it
fluttered away on the ground. It was a check from Susan for
$250,000. Written on the memo line: “My share of your father’s
farm.”

No question about it: Taking care of Sirius
meant moving back to Thornbriar, albeit surreptitiously. What else
could Charlie do after Trouble’s sinister reading of
Dog
Heaven
in the hospital? The pooch needed a bodyguard, and that
would be Romy, since Trouble feared her. When Charlie brought his
new kids to the house, Sirius went immediately to the girl, not his
old master. He whimpered and licked her face. She whispered
something Charlie couldn’t hear, but it comforted the old dog
immensely.

And so they squatted. Monday night, Romy and
Wyatt camped out in the family room while Charlie slept on the
couch. Sirius spent the night curled up on Romy’s sleeping bag.

Tuesday morning, Charlie left the kids with
the babysitter and went to the hospital to wait out Susan’s
surgery. Sitting on a cushioned bench in the third-floor waiting
room, Bradley Roy told him about the big check Susan had written.
“I’ll tell you what sparked it. The bank president, Scuzzer or
Scudder, came to see her.”

“Scuzzier,” suggested Charlie.

“I thought he was bein’ nice, then he started
talking about the discrimination case, and I realized that’s what
he was there for. He was gonna hold her job for her and keep her on
salary, then he switched gears to talk about her testimony, how
important it was.” Bradley Roy snorted in disgust. “Susie got angry
and told him the bank had been discriminating not only in who they
hired and promoted, but who they loaned to, and she wasn’t going to
be a part of it anymore. After he left, she told me she decided the
money Vange gave her as her cut from the farm wasn’t rightfully her
mother’s to give or hers to take.”