The Glory of Green (12 page)

"Me?" I asked. "I thought you were an item when I got here."

"An item at the
Item,"
Molly said with a laugh. "I like that."

"I didn't realize it for a while, but I got brave when I saw Lois falling for Chris," Iris said, her fingers linked through her new husband's. "I figured if she'd take a chance on love I would too."

"Here's to Lois," Stan said, raising his plastic cup of tea.

"And to the newest newlyweds," Pastor Jean said. "At this rate, I can marry the entire town off within a matter of weeks."

With pollen sifting down in a cloud of yellow, the conversation was relaxed and happy. I not only relished the marriage, but the simple blessing of sitting in the park together.

Tornadoes, cancer, and funerals were, for a time, powerless.

The joy of the wedding thawed a piece of my heart that had been frozen for the past nine days.

Reluctant to return to phone calls and insurance claims and crisis after crisis, I dawdled while the others packed up. Chris and I stood in the parking lot and watched them leaving.

"That may have been the best wedding I've ever been to," I said.

"Aren't you forgetting one?"

"OK, second best wedding," I said. "Life almost felt right.Will things ever get back to normal?"

"Define 'normal,' " Chris said. "As I recall, our lives have never been exactly normal."

"We didn't realize how good we had it. I want to run home and get under the bed, except I don't have a home to run to."

Chris sat the boxes of leftovers on the hood of his truck and turned to me. "Come here, " he said, and drew me into his arms with a tenderness that brought tears to my eyes.

"Between covering the story and living right in the middle of it, I haven't had time to think. Coming out here today—" Tears began to flow, and I couldn't stop them.

Chris grabbed a wad of napkins out of his truck, and I wiped my face furiously. I had never had a meltdown like this in front of Chris, and I felt slightly embarrassed.

"I'm such a baby," I said. "We're much better off than most people."

"Lois, you don't have to hold the entire town together.You're entitled to a few tears now and then . . . or even a lot of tears. Everyone in Green has probably shed plenty in the past week."

"What are we going to do about a house, and how can the
Item
keep up with everything?"

"You'll figure out the newspaper challenges," he said. "Your brain is only one of the many things I love about you. The rest of it we'll handle together. We'll get used to a new routine and take care of a few things we didn't count on."

"A few dozen things. Right when life was supposed to settle down, it imploded. Everything I had blew away."

My husband cupped my face in his big, calloused hands and looked deep into my eyes. "I'm still here."

The senior class of Green High has moved its prom to the Bayou Lake pavilion, and faculty sponsors are requesting more chaperones. If they don't get enough, they'll have to hire security from the parish, which will cut into the refreshment budget. Rumor has it that they are going to have a chocolate fountain this year. If you would like to help, please call the school office.

—The Green News-Item

A
producer from New York called on the Thursday before Easter, in the midst of a newsroom argument about whether we'd gone overboard with tornado coverage.

"People need a dose of good news," Tammy said. "We should cover the Lakeside Association Easter egg hunt and get pictures of the azaleas blooming in front of the library."

"It's only been a month," Alex said. "We've barely scratched the surface on construction permits and the long-term impact.This place is going to dry up and blow away."

"Don't you think you're being a little dramatic, Alex? Green made it through the Great Depression, boll weevils, and tuberculosis.I doubt a tornado will be the end of it." Linda, on deadline with a story for Friday's edition, didn't look up as she shuffled through her notes and jumped into the discussion.

"I wonder what Tom would have thought?" Katy asked, and the room got quiet.

When the phone rang, no one moved to pick it up.

After five rings, I snatched the receiver off the phone on the composing room wall. "Hello," I barked, sounding like I expected a telemarketer on the other end.

"Excuse me," a man with a distinct East Coast accent said."I'm trying to reach
The Green News-Item."

"This is the
Item."

"Lois Barker Craig, please," the man said in a tone that sounded far more like a demand than a request.

"This is Lois."

"I need to speak to the owner of the newspaper," he said.

"You're speaking to her."

"I see," he said, and there was the clicking of computer keys in the background.

"May I help you?" I asked.

"I'm calling to help you," he said. "My network intends to feature you on our Sunday evening program."

"I beg your pardon?"

"To mark the one-month anniversary of the tornado, we're doing a story on Green, Louisiana." The name of the town sounded odd from his mouth. "We will record the footage Sunday morning and broadcast to millions that evening in a special report."

"I'm afraid there's no room in the parking lot for your equipment," I said, "but you're welcome to use our newsroom." A steady stream of journalists had passed through over the past four weeks. While the staff had adapted, readers complained loudly about the lack of customer parking.

"We don't want parking, Ms. Craig," the man said. "We want you."

"I understand," I said, although I didn't at all.

"Our researchers told us about the phenomenal coverage your newspaper has pulled off and the leadership role you've taken in the community."

"Zach put you up to this, didn't he?" I asked. "Gina said he was still ticked at me for leaving Dayton and the company. Tell him my newspaper is twice the paper his was, and—"

"Ms. Craig," the producer interrupted, "This is no prank.We want you to tell the country about how your little town has fought back."

"It's not my little town," I said. "Everyone has stepped in to help. Perhaps you might give Mayor Eva Hillburn a call."

"We'll certainly talk to the mayor," he said. "But we want to tell the story of a courageous journalist who rushed to the newspaper in her wedding gown to cover the big story."

I gasped. Every eye in the newsroom was glued to me, and I could tell they were trying to figure out who I was talking to."Are you kidding me?"

"You're a hero," he said.

"You make this sound like a soap opera. Real people's lives were affected. People died."

"We'll explain all of that in the program, of course."

"You clearly did not see my interview the morning after the tornado," I said, "or you would not ask me to appear on television.This Sunday won't be possible. It's Easter, and I intend to be at church with my husband and friends."

"Perhaps our crews could accompany you."

"To worship services?" I asked. "These people need privacy and time to heal. They don't need one more news crew in their faces."

"That attitude does not fit with the aggressive coverage your newspaper has done on the storm, including scooping the national media in virtually every angle of this story for the past four weeks."

"We're the local newspaper," I said, my voice rising. "We help people find answers to their questions and solutions to their problems."

"An excellent way to phrase that," he said, as though I had won a middle-school oration competition. "This will add national exposure to your work and draw attention to the plight of your people."

"The plight of my people? I'm not a dictator in a Third World country. I must get back to work."

"What they say is true then," he said.

"What who say?"

"The national media are buzzing about the feisty owner of a twice-weekly paper in a Podunk town in Louisiana. They say you get phenomenal work out of a staff that is smaller than our secretarial pool."

I faltered.
The national media were buzzing about me?

"My tiny staff is preparing a forty-eight-page special edition for tomorrow, with Pulitzer-Prize worthy photos and narratives that will make you cry," I said. "I must go."

"Our program can bring these stories alive in ways that a newspaper can't," he said. "At least take my name and number."

I jotted the information and hung up.

"Podunk," I said. "A hotshot big shot in New York says Green is a Podunk town."

"Didn't you say that, too, when you moved here?" Tammy asked.

"I never once used the word
Podunk,"
I said. "Except maybe to my friend Marti."

"So what was that all about?" Linda asked.

"A superstar network reporter wants to come down and shadow me on Sunday, let me do a dog and pony show about Green."

"That's awesome," Katy said, jumping up. "Can I be on camera?"

"I wouldn't do that in a million years," I said. "We're friends and neighbors to these people. I'm not going to make a spectacle out of them."

"Would it rally support?" Linda asked. "Could this program raise money and bring in extra volunteers? Local people are fading fast."

"Lois, the national coverage has been hit-and-run," Alex said, an excited expression on his face. "This might bring the story back to the forefront."

"I'll be there in time for the sermon," I told Chris Sunday morning. "It'll be crowded, so save me a seat."

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" he asked. "With folding chairs in the parking lot, everything's going to be out of whack. It's going to be hard enough on everyone as it is."

"Pastor Jean said it might help gain attention for aid dollars," I said, "and mission volunteers from around the country.The poor are homeless. They can't afford a hotel room like we've got, and you've seen firsthand how much help we need with meals."

"I'm certainly not going to argue with both you and Jean," Chris said. "I'll see you at church."

I made my way downtown, continually shocked at the destruction. Tom's car had finally been towed, and my breath caught in my throat when I passed the site. "I hope I'm doing the right thing, friend," I whispered.

The television crew, complete with megastar reporter Drew Durrett, had set up on the steps of the
Item
by the time I pulled up. Unlike what I had always heard about TV announcers, he was as tall and striking in person as on the screen, although I suspected he colored his hair. He wore tailored slacks and a pink linen shirt without a wrinkle in it, an outfit most men in Green wouldn't be caught dead in.

"We'll interview you, get a few shots around town, and wrap up at your church service," he said. "We'll catch you live right before it airs this evening, the most watched news program on television."

My staff had prepped me for the appearance, throwing hard questions at me about economic impact and emergency preparedness.Drew's first questions were how it felt to spend my wedding night at the newspaper and was it true that my husband had given his home away only days before mine blew away.

Then he wanted to know if I found it ironic that an odd weather system from the Midwest had caused the unusual storm.

"A bizarre coincidence," I said after a couple of seconds of opening my mouth with no sound coming out. "My story is one of hundreds in our community. The town of Green and Bouef Parish ask for the compassion and prayers of the country."

Katy, who had insisted on being on hand, gave me a thumbs-up sign.

"While this story may be old news for viewers," I said, "it continues to unfold in very real ways for individuals here. The statistics are not merely numbers but heartache and financial ruin. As the local newspaper,
The Green News-Item
will follow this story as long as needed."

"Nice job in taking back the interview," Katy whispered as we rode out to Grace Chapel. "You were awesome."

"It's clear you care about this town," Drew said, obviously having heard Katy's every word. "Your passion is impressive."

As we drove up to the edge of the church site, I wanted to crawl under the seat of the car. Every person in the church turned, and some waved.
What had I been thinking?

"We're later than I anticipated," I said in a low voice to the reporter. "Perhaps we could wait over here until after the service."

"The Easter celebration is a major part of the story," Drew said. "We want to show the resilience of people in the midst of a storm. You've told me that faith is a key component of their lives."

I looked across the parking lot to where the damaged church sat. Someone had hung beautiful sprays of lilies on the front doors. Familiar blue tarps covered the missing roof, and the piano, only slightly damaged, had been moved outside for the service.

Every seat was filled with friends and neighbors, many dressed in their Easter best, and a few people stood at the ends of aisles. The sun shone bright but the air was cool, a typical Easter morning in North Louisiana.

"I'll meet you here after the service," I said to Drew and the camera crew. While Katy slipped in next to her mother and stepfather, I walked quickly to the empty plastic folding seat next to Chris. I met Pastor Jean's eyes, and she gave the tiniest of nods but never missed a word.

" 'Do not be afraid,' the angels told the shepherds on the night Christ was born," Jean said. " 'Do not be afraid,' they said when the women found an empty tomb. 'Do not be afraid,' they tell us here today on this day that reminds us we can always go on."

"Amen," an older church member said.

"Amen," Iris Jo said.

"And amen again," said a voice it took me a minute to place.It was Hugh, my father-in-law.

Pianist Mary Frances pounded out a medley of traditional Easter hymns, making the small instrument with water spots sound as beautiful as a baby grand. The crowd listened prayerfully, many with heads bowed, others with tears flowing.

"Go in peace," Jean said as we rose for the benediction, "but don't go too far because we'll eat dinner on the grounds in about twenty minutes."

Tables of food were pulled out of Jean's parsonage, and the worship chairs became dining chairs. I was patted and praised and encouraged by everyone, from Estelle, who reported that Holly Beth missed me, to Iris, who suggested we might get new advertisers from the broadcast.

Drew interviewed Jean inside the sodden church, standing cautiously in front of the altar where Chris and I had been married.I trailed along. The beautiful quilted banner was stained and probably ruined. A piece of ceiling tile hung by a corner.

"It was miraculous," Jean said, pulling Drew by the arm through the safe parts of the church. "Because so many people were here for the wedding, they were not harmed. Trees fell on their houses, and if they'd been on the roads, they might have been killed."

When we stepped outside, Maria walked up with her three boys and looked at the popular newsman. "I must tell this reporter my story," she said in careful English, her voice shaking."I would have no story were it not for Chris and Lois Craig.They gave me that home there."

She pointed across the road.

"My sons and I lived in a rented shack, and it blew away.We would be dead if not for these two." As she spoke, her voice became clear and strong, her Spanish accent making her words sound like a song. "Lois and Chris gave us a true home in Green, not merely a place to live but a chance to be part of their family."

"Thank you for those heartfelt words," Drew said to Maria, shaking her hand. "You have beautiful sons."

"They saved an unconscious man covered in fire ants," Katy said, moving close to the reporter. "He was nearly dead." As the camera zoomed in, she chatted with the reporter as though she were on national television every day. While I felt stiff and clammy, she was a natural.

I could see Drew's eyes brighten as he turned back to me."What a delightful young woman," he said, "with a flair for human interest. Lois, you never mentioned these stories."