Bring on the Blessings (4 page)

T
he food was spread out buffet-style, and as guest of honor Bernadine led the line. Some of the best-looking barbecued chicken she’d seen in a long time filled a platter in the center of the long table. As she added baked beans and coleslaw to the other offerings on her plate, she saw nothing but kindness on most of the faces of the people around her.

Agnes Jefferson took one look at Bernadine’s plate and declared, “I like a woman who’s not afraid to let folks know she eats. Those little toothpick girls on the television make me sick.”

Bernadine was five-eight and a healthy size 18. She loved her curves because she loved herself. “Good food is good for the soul.”

“Amen!” Tamar said.

Over the course of the meal, she was interrupted by people who came over and introduced themselves again, men like WWII veteran Bingham Shepard and Clayton
Dobbs, who wanted her to take a look at their ideas for irrigation improvements. Then came some of the women, including Genevieve Curry, who after introducing herself boldly asked if the diamonds in Bernadine’s ears were real?

“Yes,” Bernadine replied coolly.

The residents of Henry Adams were farmers and truck drivers, day workers and retirees. They showed her pictures of their adult children now living in big cites like Kansas City and Topeka. Others proudly whipped out pictures of their grandchildren, and she was moved by the love she saw in their eyes. All in all she found her new neighbors to be decent folks. Of course, it was her first time meeting them, and they could all turn out to be spawns of the Corn God or some other crazy demon from one of those slasher movies her nephews were always going to see, but for now she was content.

As people took seats and conversations began to flow around the space, she asked Trent, “So how’d I do?”

“Considering you didn’t take my advice and are still alive and eating, I’d say you did just fine. Got people thinking if nothing else.” He looked up from his piled-high plate, “You don’t do things by half do you?”

She shook her head. “I’d rather be up front, that way there’s no confusion later.”

“There’s certainly none of that here.”

“Do you think they’ll be good for the kids?”

He nodded. “I do.”

“Do you have any children?”

“No.”

Bernadine detected a sense of sadness in his one-word reply, and it made her wonder about its root, but she didn’t know him well enough to be in his business so she went back to her plate and changed the subject. “Who owns this place?” She could see people going in and out of what she guessed might be the kitchen but no one looked to be in charge—except maybe Agnes and Tamar, who were overseeing the replenishment of the bowls and platters on the buffet tables and seemed to be giving all the orders. Someone had punched up the old jukebox again, and this time Eddie Kendricks and the Temptations were urging folks to “Get Ready.”

“My father, Malachi. He’s also the town vet.”

“Is he in the kitchen cooking?”

He laughed. “Malachi? Oh no. Last time he got near the grill he almost burned the place to the ground. He’s not allowed to even look in there. Right now he’s over at Lake’s farm. One of their mare’s having trouble foaling. You’ll meet him later.”

She wondered if the father was as good-looking as the son. Not that she was looking for a man, but truth be told, he was dark chocolate and fine. “So who does all the cooking here?”

“Officially, no one. It used to be Rocky, but she got married last week. Malachi’s supposed to be looking for a replacement, but so far nothing. You wouldn’t happen to cook, would you?”

“Yeah right,” she said, grinning. She spotted Riley Curry and his wife observing her from where they sat close by. She’d decided she didn’t like either of them, but she set the
thoughts aside. All she wanted to do was enjoy the fabulous meal and continue basking in the wonderful welcome she’d received. “Are there any other places to eat close by?”

“Nope. There’s a couple fast food places in Franklin but all the real restaurants are down in Hays.”

While the music and the gathering continued, she glanced around at the taped-up booths and the dangling bare bulbs with an eye toward making improvements. “Do you think your father would be interested in renovating his place?”

He shrugged. “After he gets through hitting on you, you can ask him.”

“Hitting on me?”

“Yep, so be ready.”

Tamar set a plate in front of Bernadine that held a wedge of chocolate cake and ice cream, then set a duplicate in front of her grandson. Apparently she’d heard her grandson’s remarks because she said, “Trent’s right, Ms. Brown. I love my son as much as I love my name, but Malachi’s full of snake oil when it comes to women. Watch yourself.”

Bernadine was too stunned to say anything except, “Yes, ma’am.”

Folks nearby laughed.

Bernadine saw the smile on Trent’s face. “You all are just messing with me, right?”

“Wish we were. People around here called him the Gigolo of Graham County when he was young; some still do.”

Bernadine tasted the ice cream. It was homemade and her taste buds died and went to heaven. “You won’t have to
worry about me. Been there, done that, which is why I’m divorced. I don’t do players very well, which is why he has a new wife now, complete with fake nails and weave.”

“Ouch.”

“I’m just saying.”

After dessert, the leftover food was divided up and distributed among the attendees, and the welcome reception began breaking up. Nearly everyone stopped by to tell Bernadine good-bye and to thank her for rescuing the town. Their praises and pledges to help in any way they could with the kids humbled her. The Currys offered nothing. They just walked out.

As the numbers of people dwindled, she asked Trent, “Is there a place nearby where I can spend the night. Hotel, motel, Holiday Inn?”

He smiled hearing her spout the lyrics from the old Sugar Hill Gang tune. “Nope, but Tamar will put you up.”

“I don’t want to impose.”

“You won’t be and she’d enjoy the company.”

Sure enough, when Tamar was ready to leave, Trent asked her and she told Bernadine the same thing. “I’d love to have you stay with me.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Positive.”

“Then okay. I’ll make some calls in the morning and see if I can’t get a trailer or a modular home delivered ASAP. I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Outside, while Bernadine looked on, Trent transferred
her luggage to his grandmother’s old beat-up green truck. “Thanks for everything,” she told him. “They’re some nice people here.”

“They are. Some are old and set in their ways, but they were on their best behavior with you.”

“You still think I’m going to be butting heads?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. You laid out plans for a pretty powerful mission, but Riley’s going to hassle you mission or no mission. It’s seems to be his reason for living.”

“How long was he mayor?”

“About thirty years.”

She found that surprising. “How long have you been in office?”

“Two, and he’s been a thorn in my butt the whole time. Swears I don’t know what I’m doing. He’s planning on running against me in the November election.”

“Does he have the votes to win?”

“Right now, no. Come election time, who knows.”

Bernadine sensed she’d get more cooperation for her project from July than she would from the sour-faced Curry, and so she planned to change her voting address as soon as possible. “You’ve been very kind and you’re a great tour guide.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll probably see you tomorrow.”

“Take care.”

He touched his hat, got into his truck, and drove away.

Tamar was a short distance away talking to Agnes and her daughter Marie. When she was done they drove off and she walked over and asked Bernadine “You ready?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

They got in. Tamar turned the key in the ignition and the old truck roared to life. Bernadine had to admit she had a few misgivings about riding with Tamar, based on how old she guessed Tamar to be, but as they peeled out of the parking lot, they proved to be true for a different reason. The old lady drove like a bat out of hell. Praying, Bernadine bit her lip and held on as Tamar tore through turns and switchbacks at speeds nearing her eighty-four years of age.

Luckily, they didn’t have to go far. Her home was less than fifteen minutes away, but still, Bernadine stepped out of the truck on shaking legs. “You ever thought about driving at Daytona?”

“Like my driving?”

“I’m not sure. Kinda scary.”

“The shortest distance between two points is speed.”

“I’ll write that down.”

They sat on the porch and rehashed the meeting. Bernadine asked Tamar to give her a thumbnail sketch of some of the people she’d met so far. “Tell me about Mr. Shepard and Mr. Dobbs.”

“Bing was Clay’s dad’s best friend. When Bing’s wife died, we thought he was going to die of a broken heart, wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t leave the house, we really worried about him, so Clay convinced him to move in.”

“Does Mr. Dobbs have a wife?”

“No. The girl he loved and probably still loves married somebody else.”

Bernadine thought that was sad.

“Mr. Shepard said he was a World War Two vet?”

“Yep. Left with Clay’s dad to go fight Hitler together, but they wound up helping the Black troops build a highway up in Alaska.”

“Alaska?” It was yet another little-known fact of Black history associated with the town that Bernadine had no clue about.

“Yep. Have him tell you the story sometime. Be good for the kids to learn about it too, I’ll bet.”

Bernadine bet she was right. “Do they farm?”

“They used to when they were younger. Clay raised hogs until last year and had the best bacon around now he’s living on Social Security like the rest of us.”

“What about Marie Jefferson?”

“Agnes’s only child. College graduate. Taught school here until the tornado tore the place up. Never married.”

“Okay, so tell me about Riley and Genevieve. How long have they been married?”

“Almost forty years. She grew up over in Franklin. Her father owned the funeral home over there. She came from money, which everybody thinks attracted Riley to her in the first place.”

“How’d he make his living?”

“Helped out at the funeral home after they got married, then when her father passed, the place went to one of her cousins instead of him. Made him pretty mad. He moved back here and opened up a barber shop. Was pretty successful until the town started to die. He still cuts hair though. Menfolk say he’s pretty good. Of course, they have to listen to him preach the Gospel According to Riley, but they’re used to it by now.”

“Is he on Social Security too?”

“Yep. Growing up, he told anybody who’d listen that he’d be a millionaire by the time he turned thirty.”

“Never made it.”

“Nope. Kinda hard to do living out here on the plains with only a high school education. The world wasn’t as open for us back then as it is these days.”

“But people did make it.”

“Oh, of course. Look at that man that started
Ebony
magazine. John Johnson. Started out picking rags. Riley never had that much ambition though. He’s always been looking for somebody to hand him the money.”

“Like with the annexation deal?”

“You got it.”

The info gave Bernadine a somewhat clearer picture of the former mayor. “But why was he mayor for so long?”

“Nobody else wanted the job.”

“Ah.”

Later, as she snuggled beneath the soft bedding in Tamar’s spare bedroom, she thought back on the remarkable day and the equally remarkable welcome she’d received. Smiling, she offered a whispered thank you to the Big Sister up above for all the blessings, then closed her eyes and slept.

Trent moved around his silent studio apartment above the town’s garage and prepared for bed. It had been an interesting day. He still couldn’t get over the fact that Bernadine Brown was Black and that he liked her. She seemed to be no-nonsense. She also didn’t put on any airs, which
he found surprising considering how big her bank account must be. He didn’t know anyone capable of putting their hands on 3.5 mil to buy a whole town let alone a Black woman.

Yet her debut had gone fine, practically had people eating out her hand by the time she was done. He shook his head and sat in the old rocker Tamar had donated to his furnishings and took off his boots. Her plans were ambitious ones and only time would tell if she’d bitten off more than she could chew, but he’d help in any way he could if it meant the town would be reborn.

He wondered about the children and how they’d react to being here in the proverbial middle of nowhere. Would they think of it as a haven or try and leave as soon as possible? Although his neighbors had pledged their support of the plan, how would they really react to children who weren’t their own? Ms. Brown was right about the people in the area being able to teach the kids things, but would they want to learn about farming or how to build houses or how to plant crops?

On a more personal level, he’d always wanted to be a father. Would mentoring the foster children be an outlet for that unfulfilled dream? Trent had no clue and rather than make himself crazy with questions he had no answers to, he turned off the lights and went to bed.

That night In Milwaukee, twelve-year-old Preston Mays was being driven home from the ER by his foster mother. He’d had a bad asthma attack a few hours ago, but because she wouldn’t buy him an inhaler, he’d had to flop around on his bed, gulping like a fish
out of water and wait until she got home from having her nails done so she could drive him to the doctor. He hated hospitals, but he hated her even more. “The doctor said you need to get me an inhaler,” he told her.

“If you’d lose some weight and stop trying to tell me what to do all the time, you wouldn’t be having these problems.”

Looking out at the night and the lights of the buildings, Preston rolled his eyes. “I need an inhaler.”