Bring on the Blessings (3 page)

As with the area they’d driven through earlier, now there was nothing left standing but a handful of boarded-up and abandoned storefronts interspersed with tumbledown piles of stone, wood, and brick. It was easy to see that at one time buildings had lined both sides of the street. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine Henry Adams in its nineteenth-century prime; its streets filled with wagons, the wooden walks filled with men and women going in and out of the shops as they went about their daily errands. July was driving slowly, enabling Bernadine to get a good look at the old town she’d purchased, and the emptiness of it saddened her, mainly because the Dusters had had such dreams.

“Can we get out?” she asked him. She wanted to walk a bit, feel the historic ground beneath her feet.

He seemed to view her and her attire skeptically for a moment then said, “Sure.”

They were standing in front of the old Henry Adams Hotel. Like the rest of the buildings that had once stood so proudly, there wasn’t much left to proclaim it as the vibrant and classy hotel it must have been once upon a time.

“Lady named Sophie Reynolds originally built the place,” he explained. “Had four floors, indoor plumbing, a ballroom, and a fancy dining room. My grandmother said folks for miles around came here just to see the big winding staircase that led to the rooms upstairs. After Miss Sophie died, the Jeffersons ran it; then sometime during the 1930s
it was converted into a movie theater. It closed for good back in the seventies.”

Standing in the heat, Bernadine took in the carved detail on the brick above the plywood covering the doors and wondered if it like the town could be brought back to life. She looked up and down the street and envisioned what downtown might look like with a brand-new library, businesses, and a new post office. The more she saw the more she seemed to envision.

They continued the tour and walked across the cracked paved street to the empty field where the general store once stood.

“Rich woman named Virginia Sutton built it in the 1870s, and it sold everything from penny candy to rifles. Its biggest claim to fame was that it had the tallest flagpole in the county. Legend has it that my great-great-grandfather Neil tied a man named Malloy to it for insulting my great-great-grandmother Olivia.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he and his brothers were something else. All outlaws.”

Bernadine stared.

He nodded. “Have my grandmother show you the old picture albums. Neil and the rest of the Julys, including their baby sister, Teresa, were wanted from Mississippi to the Mexican border for train robbing.”

Bernadine knew there’d been Black outlaws in the Wild West days but had never imagined actually meeting one of their descendants. “I’m impressed.”

“This was quite the town back in the day. Some Black
people may not know their family history, but around here we do. Our elders were smart enough to write everything down. Wait until you see all the scrapbooks and old newspaper articles. Some of the state’s colleges and museums have been after us for years to turn our archives over to them so they can preserve them, supposedly, but no. We’re holding onto it all.”

She could only agree. “What else is in the scrapbooks?”

“Elder meeting minutes from the end of the nineteenth century. Menus from Miss Sophie’s dining room—stuff like that. There’s even the original drawings of the town’s layout from the 1870s. You can barely make out the plots now because the maps are so old, but we have them. Not many towns can say that.”

“You’re very proud of your ancestors, aren’t you? I can hear it in your voice.”

“Real proud of the town and that my people were originally Black Seminole.”

She stopped. “Really?”

He grinned. “More history here than you can shake a stick at, as the old folks used to say.”

“I guess. Going to be a lot of pressure on me when I start to rebuild, I take it.”

“Oh yeah.”

They continued their walk and she continued to be marveled by his tales and descriptions of buildings that had come and gone. The more she saw of how little remained of the Dusters’ dreams, the more she felt the call to resurrect the place. It didn’t matter that she would have to start from
scratch—she had the money—what mattered most was to put life back into the place so that the history could continue to be handed down. “Have you lived here your whole life?”

He nodded. “Lived ten years in California, but after two divorces and a bellyful of corporate life, I came back. Only one of the few people who has. Everyone else who’s left here never looked back.”

“What would make people return and stay?”

“Jobs and being able to farm and make a decent living.”

She mulled that over and filed it away for later.

He changed the subject. “Folks are having a reception for you. Be a good chance for you to meet everybody. That okay?”

“That’s fine,” she said, fighting off the nervousness kicking in. She wasn’t sure she was ready but she knew she was in this to stay.

T
hey got back into the truck and drove a short distance down Main Street. Trenton slowed down and parked in front of a short, ramshackle one-story building that appeared ready to fall down. Edges of its tar-paper roof fluttered in the hot breeze. The structure itself was a hodgepodge mixture of old gray wood, which was scorched black in some places, and bricks; many of which were missing. The listing sign above the screen door read in faded painted letters: the Dog and Cow. “That’s not a name you see every day.”

He chuckled. “This is our diner.”

Bernadine wondered what kind of food a place that looked as bad as this served.

“You ready?”

“Yep.”

He came around and helped her down. Even though the walk had let her stretch her legs, lingering aftereffects of the roller-coaster ride from the airport still had her be
hind feeling like cement. Looking down at her dark green suit, she noted that she wasn’t real wrinkled though. Thank God for money.

“Looks like everybody’s here too.”

His nod directed her to the field next to the diner. It was filled with cars and pickup trucks. All but a few had seen better days and all were covered with dust. The sight of so many vehicles made her wonder what kind of reception she’d receive. “Any advice?”

“Just be ready for anything.”

That didn’t help her nerves, but then she heard the distinctive voice of Aretha Franklin singing “Chain of Fools” floating out of the diner’s open windows. Because ReeRee, as Franklin was affectionately known back in Detroit, was a homegirl, Bernadine took it as a good sign. Straightening her jacket, she set her purse strap and followed him inside.

It took her eyes a few moments to adjust to the dimness, but once they did she saw that the place was indeed packed. If there were twenty vehicles parked outside there had to be forty people inside. All of them, men and women, were staring at her curiously. As Aretha sang the last note you could hear a pin drop.

“Everybody,” Trent announced in the silence, “this is Ms. Bernadine Edwards Brown, our buyer.”

Gasps of surprise met openmouthed stares. Stunned faces looked her up and down. “I thought she was supposed to be White?” someone called.

“Well—”

“A Black woman?”

Then suddenly someone in the dimly lit place began to clap. Others joined in, and soon applause and cheers filled the air. A few of the older men even waved their canes.

The surprise must have been evident on her face because as she turned to Trent he nodded and said, “Welcome to Henry Adams, Ms. Brown,” and joined in the applause.

Bernadine could see that most of the people were seniors. All were wearing their Sunday best and they were beaming, clapping, and hooting. Overwhelmed, she gracefully wiped away the moisture forming in the corner of her eyes. She didn’t know what she had been expecting, but it certainly hadn’t been this outpouring of welcome. In a few more seconds she was going to bawl.

“Thank you,” she said trying to keep it together. “Thank you very much.”

An elderly lady who introduced herself as Agnes Jefferson stood and asked Bernadine, “Do you know the history of this place, young woman?”

Bernadine was in her midfifties. No one had called her young in years but she’d been raised well, so she said, “Yes, ma’am. I do. That’s why I wanted to help.”

There were more whispers of excitement.

“Are you going to rebuild the town?”

Agnes reminded Bernadine of the little old blue-haired ladies at the church she grew up in. “That is my plan. Most of the paperwork for the deed transfer has already cleared. My lawyers—”

“You have lawyers—as in more than one?” another woman, tall with dark skin and flowing silver hair, asked
before introducing herself. “I’m Tamar July by the way. Trent’s gram.”

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” And she was. “To answer your question—yes, more than one.”

As she watched Tamar and Agnes exchange an impressed glance, she added, “I hope to start building right away, but first I want to talk to you and get your take on what you might want the new town to look like. Second, I need to find a place to stay until I can get a house built.”

A short light-skinned man with thinning straight hair and who looked to be sixtyish or so rose to his feet and stuck up his hand.

“Yes?”

He stepped out in order to be seen. His black pinstriped suit was shiny with age. “Ms. Brown, I’m Riley Curry, former mayor of Henry Adams.”

A few people let out load groans.

Bernadine pretended not to hear. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Curry.”

“You mentioned having a house built. For what purpose?”

“Residency.” Bernadine gave Trent a sideways look but he kept his face void of any response.

“You’re going to live here?”

“As much as possible, yes.”

“Why?”

Not sure where this was going, she told the truth, “I figure when you buy a town, the least you can do is live in it.” She glanced out at the other people in the room. “That make sense?”

There were answering nods and murmurs of agreement.

But it seemed he wasn’t convinced. “I don’t know if Mr. July has told you, but there are those of us here who question whether selling was a good idea.”

A male voice in the back of the room, shouted, “Oh, sit down, Riley. You can bore her some other time. We want to eat!”

Laughter erupted. Bernadine wanted to kiss the owner of the voice, whoever he was, but knew she should address Curry’s concerns. She also decided now was the time to reveal her full plan, despite Trent’s advice to the contrary. She respected his take on the subject. After all, he knew his neighbors and she didn’t, but she didn’t want to be accused of having a hidden agenda. She’d need their help to pull this off, and the sooner she figured out who was with her and who wasn’t, the better off she’d be. “I know better than to hold up a good meal but I want to tell you the other reason I bought the town.”

“Splendid,” he said tightly, but his face said something else entirely “Are you going to disband the council?”

Caught off guard, she asked, “What council?”

“The duly elected Council of Elders that runs this town.”

“I didn’t even know there was a council, Mr. Curry.”

Someone shouted, “Sit down, Riley. The council hasn’t had a meeting since the town went broke. Let her finish so we can eat!”

Bernadine could see the displeasure on Riley’s face, so she said in as polite as voice as could be managed. “As the
construction progresses, we will be needing some type of board to keep an eye on things. How about we talk about the council later? Is that okay with you for now?”

His expression said that it wasn’t, but she hadn’t come here to go back and forth with him all day, so she moved on by telling them about the tour of the town Trent had given her and some of the things she’d envisioned like a neighborhood center, a library, and a health center. “In addition there’ll also be a small subdivision of new homes built in the old neighborhood behind Main Street.”

There was silence for a moment as folks looked at each other with what appeared to be mild confusion.

Marie Jefferson wearing her cat’s-eye glasses with the rhinestone frames introduced herself and asked, “Who’re you building the new houses for?”

“Any of you residents who want one and the new people I’m planning to bring in.”

“What new people?”

“Foster parents and foster children.”

Every eye in the room widened and shot her way. To say they looked stunned was an understatement.

“Foster children?” a tall thin elderly man asked.

“Yes.”

Riley snapped, “I knew she had something up her sleeve. Her buying us out was too good to be true. I knew it! Foster children?! What are we going to do with a bunch of ghettofied hoodlums?”

“Raise them and love them, I’m hoping,” she replied simply.

The room quieted. She had their full attention now
and took a moment to tell them the story of a place called Hope.

When she finished, Agnes asked in a wonder-softened voice, “And you want to do that here? In Henry Adams?”

Bernadine nodded and then continued quietly, “Listen. What better place to raise children than in a historic environment like this where there is stability, elders they can call on, and is safe? And they aren’t hoodlums,” she added giving Riley a cold glance. “Children in the foster care system are not there by choice. Most are there because of tragedies in a life they had no control over. I’d like to bring a few here and give them a new start. With your help.”

Agnes Jefferson, who’d been siding with Riley on the town sale issue appeared so moved by Bernadine’s plea that Tamar had to hand her a tissue so she could wipe her eyes. When the Jefferson matriarch pulled it together her voice wavered with emotion. “Young woman, I’ve been prepared not to like you, but this? This is why our ancestors founded our town—to get a new start. For you to bring that forward, I think it’s a marvelous idea.”

Riley snapped hotly, “No, it isn’t. I’ve seen these kids on television and they are trouble with a capital
T
!”

Ignoring Riley, Trent asked, “How many children are you going to start with? Will they be local?”

“I want to start small, so it will just be four or five at first. And no, they won’t be local. The foster parents probably won’t be either. Good stable people are hard to find.”

Riley’s wife, Genevieve, asked, “What makes you think you’re qualified to do something like this.”

“My MSW.”

Some people looked confused.

“Masters in social work,” Bernadine explained. “I worked in foster care for over ten years, and I’m hoping my experience will help me choose the right kids and the right foster parents.”

There was more silence. She wasn’t sure if she had them on board or not so she added sincerely, “I understand your skepticism and that you may have concerns, but I know all of you here have something valuable you can teach these children. All of you. They’ll need tutors and mentors and just plain family. We can give them that.”

Someone else asked, “Will they be Black?”

“I’m sure some will be, but if you think about it, a needy child is a needy child no matter the color.”

Folks nodded, apparently seeing the rightness in her words.

“The construction will begin ASAP, as I said, because I want to get as much done as we can before winter, and I’ll really need your support if this is to work. I know you all don’t know me from Adam at this point, but I’m hoping the longer I live here the more trust we can build.”

Another man spoke up. “Ms. Brown, I’m Clayton Dobbs, a Vietnam vet, and back in the sixties we Black folks were all about community. What you’re proposing reminds me of that. I’m in.”

Many people added their support. Others, like Riley, just looked disgusted, but she didn’t care. She was glad to have Agnes Jefferson on her side though. Agnes and Tamar July appeared to be the oldest people in the room. With their support, she hoped the mountain looming ahead
would be easier to climb. “Are there any more questions before we eat?”

Tamar asked, “Suppose we don’t want new houses, but want our old places fixed up?”

“I’m sure we can work out something.”

Tamar seemed satisfied with that.

Riley wasn’t and asked angrily, “Isn’t anyone concerned that we don’t know where all this money she’s supposed to have comes from? What if it’s drug money or laundered money from some illegal offshore operation?”

People began to boo.

Bernadine looked him in the eye. He was tap dancing on her last nerve. “Mr. Curry, I got my money the old-fashioned way—I earned it in a divorce settlement.”

Soft chuckles followed that.

“How much I’m worth, which is what I really think you want to know, is none of your business, but to put you at ease take the three and a half million I paid to buy Henry Adams, multiply that by say, eighty and you’ll be in the ballpark.”

Jaws dropped all over the room. Even Riley looked rocked.

She asked him coolly, “Anything else?”

He gave her a hasty shake of his head and sat down.

“Good. If there are any other questions before we eat, shoot.”

They wanted to know things like when did she anticipate bringing in the children, would the neighborhood center have a lap pool, would the farmers in the area be able to secure low-interest loans?

Bernadine answered as best she could, and she promised to get back to them on the ones she could not. Riley Curry didn’t have anything else to say apparently, and as a result the rest of the discussion went smoothly.

Tamar stood and said, “Okay, let’s let Ms. Brown eat.”

Bernadine smiled and asked Trent, “Where can I wash my hands?”

He directed her to the restroom. “It’s unisex, so make sure you knock.”

“Got it.”

The small restroom was a clean, sparkling contrast to the D&C’s drab hangdog interior. As she was leaving, a sign on the door caught her eye. In big bold letters someone had written this reminder: If You Are a Man—Go Back and Put Down the Seat!

Smiling, she walked out and rejoined the festivities.