Miss Julia's Marvelous Makeover (28 page)

“Everybody be real quiet,” Etta Mae said, pulling up her hood. “He's not far, so let's go slow and easy.”

She hunched her shoulders and slithered through the undergrowth with me, holding Latisha's hand, slithering right behind her. We carefully pushed aside wet branches, trying to see in the gray light filtering through the trees where we put our feet. We moved cautiously toward what I realized was a strange grunting sound. Etta Mae suddenly crouched down and stopped.

I almost tumbled over her back before pulling up short.

“What's that noise?” I whispered, crouching down next to her. Latisha scrooched up next to me.

“I don't know,” Etta Mae whispered, “but I think it's him. Peek through here and see if you can see anything.” She parted a few laurel limbs and I leaned forward to look through the gloom.

It took me a minute to focus on the dark shadow that stood out against the gray sky. There wasn't much undergrowth to hinder our vision because most of the weeds and bushes around the area had been trampled down into a muddy mess. Rodney—if it was Rodney—was standing on the edge of the ditch we'd once scaled, and because of his dark clothing, he was clearly outlined against the gloomy sky.

Etta Mae peered through the leaves beside me, and we were both speechless as we watched the shadow lean over, grab on to something, then move back and forth with strong jerking motions, each one eliciting a grunt from deep in his chest.

Some ways away a glow of light appeared as a car approached on the road to Delmont. The shadow threw itself on the ground, lying flat until the car had passed. If that wasn't an indication of a crime of some kind being committed, I didn't know what was.

Latisha edged in closer. “I wanta see.”

“Sh-h-h,” Etta Mae and I both said. I pulled Latisha down in front of me and let her look through the hole in the leaves.

“What's he doin'?” Latisha said, trying to whisper but not quite making it.

I put my hand over her mouth, as the shadow stopped and looked around. Then, apparently satisfied that nothing was amiss, he leaned over, grasped something near the ground in both hands, and, to the accompaniment of more grunting, began to-ing and fro-ing again.

Suddenly the shadow collapsed to the ground, or maybe it fell down. Whichever it was, it ended up on its bottom. Breathing heavily enough for us to hear, Rodney—and I was sure it was Rodney by this time—sat for a while catching his breath. Then he held up what looked like a long, heavy cane, stuck it upright, and used it to lever himself to his feet. Then, carrying the cane, he walked away from us toward where I assumed his car was parked.

Etta Mae stiffened beside me. “Let's get outta here.”

“Wait,” I whispered. “I want to know what he's doing.”

“I
know
what he's doing,” Etta Mae hissed. “Let's move out of earshot so we can talk.”

I didn't know how far that would be, but I followed her, helping Latisha along as I went. When we got back near the old homestead, Etta Mae stopped and, without a thought of the wet ground, sat down. After a second of hesitation, I did, too. My back and my knees were so grateful for the rest that I took no thought of the soaking I'd get. Latisha didn't either, and the three of us gathered on the pine needles for a conference.

“Okay,” I said, keeping my voice low, “what's he doing?”

“Pulling up stakes,” Etta Mae said.

That stopped me for a minute.
Pulling up stakes
meant leaving a place, but if Rodney had come out on a wet evening just to pick up a walking stick and leave, then he was goofier than I'd thought.

Then it hit me. “He pulled up
a
stake! Etta Mae, he's moving the stakes!”

“That's exactly right. We saw him pull one out of the ground.”

“That long thing? I thought a stake was a, well, a stake, a little short thing. What he had was a good two feet or more.”

“Yeah, and you saw what a time he had getting it out of the ground, too. But that's what a property stake is,” Etta Mae assured me. “They're iron rods, and only a few inches stick out of the ground. The rest of it is hammered in. Surveyors mean for those things to
stay
. No telling how long he's been working to get it out.”

“You think he's going to put it somewhere else? Or maybe,” I said with a sudden hopeful thought, “he just took it up so the surveyors wouldn't set their sights on it. They'd have to measure the land in its original state with no previous markers to rely on.”

“If that's what he's doing,” Etta Mae said wryly, “he's got a long night ahead with three more stakes to pull up. But, no, Miss Julia, I don't think so. I think . . .” She stopped, clamped her hand on my arm, and whispered,
“Listen
.
”

Latisha and I sat up straight and strained to hear what Etta Mae was hearing. Then I did hear it, or felt it, maybe, for it was a dull, rhythmic pounding, sort of like a headache, but not quite.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It's Rodney,” Etta Mae said as confidently as if she could see him, “and he's hammering that stake back in the ground.”

Latisha, her head swiveling from one to the other of us, chimed in. “He jus' prise it up. Why he hammerin' it back in now?”

“Because,” Etta Mae said, “he's hammering it into a different place. And I think he's doing it down near where his car's parked. Which is some ten feet or so from the original corner. Miss Julia, how far would he have to put it to gain a tenth of an acre?”

“I have no idea. But I'll bet
he
does.” I was smoldering by this time, ready to spring to my feet and crash through thickets, briars, mud puddles, and blackberry patches to have it out with Rodney Pace. Never in my life would I have dreamed that a lawn cemetery was important enough to warrant lying and stealing—for that's what he was doing—in order to dig a few graves.

But a calmer head—Etta Mae's, for one, and mine soon
after—counseled caution. “Let's think about this for a minute,” she said. So we did, and as we did, that dull pounding started up again. I finally figured that Rodney must have put some sort of protective cover over the head of the stake to muffle the sound of metal on metal when the hammer hit it. That made me all the more irate, for it meant that he'd carefully planned every step he had to make in order to steal a tenth of an acre from the railroad and add it to my twenty-nine and nine-tenths.

“See if I've figured this right,” Etta Mae said. “If he's doing what we think he's doing, then moving one stake's not going to help him. He'll have to move the one on the opposite corner, too. That would give him an extra, say, ten feet or so all along the south edge of your property. So, we could walk over to that stake and wait for him. We could just be sitting there when he shows up with all his tools. Maybe tackle him and hold him down, or make a citizen's arrest or something.”

That's when Etta Mae's calmer head went south on her. If we were going to do that, we might as well do it here and now.

“No,” I said, shaking my head, “I don't want to take a chance that he'll get there before us—we're tired, which'll slow us down, and he has his car. And now that he's moved one stake, he'll be faster moving the second one. What I want, Etta Mae, is for that other stake marking the southwestern corner of the property to stay where it is, and this one—the one he's working on now—to be off by however many feet he's putting it. Proof positive, Etta Mae, of a crime interrupted in midstream.”

“I gotcha,” she said, seeing the wisdom of what I'd said. “That means we gotta do something pretty soon, or he'll really be pulling up stakes.”

Latisha said, “I b'lieve he done with that hammerin'.”

Etta Mae and I lifted our heads and listened. Those muted thuds had ceased, and I pictured a few inches of an iron stake sticking out of the ground in an entirely new and illegal place. He'd have the orange plastic tie on it, too, just as if the stake had been right where it now was for the past sixty years or so.

How did Rodney think he could explain to his surveyors the discrepancy between the figures on the old plat and the new figures that they would come up with? Claim that their modern equipment was superior to the old? Would they care or would they simply do the job they were hired to do, then move on to the next one?

But the big question was this: how did Rodney expect to get title to the land, even if it had grown in size overnight? I'd told him a million times that I wouldn't sell it. Thurlow Jones came to mind. If there was some not entirely illegal way to force me to sell, he was the one who could find it. He'd already as much as threatened me with a legal seizure of my property on the grounds of the public good.

I shivered slightly, although the air was so heavy with humidity I could hardly breathe.

Etta Mae and Latisha sat waiting for me to decide what to do. Time ticked by, and Rodney would soon be on his way to the next stake. Then we all perked up, for we were hearing a new sound. It sounded like something scraping and scratching against the ground.

“What's that?” I whispered.

Etta Mae cocked her head and listened. “Sounds like he's filling the hole where the stake was. I bet he'll cover it with brush and stuff—maybe even plant a little bush in it so nobody will suspect a thing.”

“Etta Mae,” I said, taking a firm grip on my nerve, “we've got to do something to run him off, and I don't mean run him off to the other stake. I mean run him off completely. What if we dash out of the bushes, screaming and yelling, and see if we can scare him off?”

Latisha whispered, “I bet I can scare him.”

I looked at Etta Mae. “Or do you think I ought to just walk up to him and threaten him with the law? I'd love to tell him he can dig up all the stakes he wants to but he'll never dig a grave on this place.”

Latisha whispered, “I know how to scare him, Miss Lady.”

I patted Latisha's shoulder, told her to wait a minute, and looked to Etta Mae for an answer.

“Miss Julia,” Etta Mae whispered, “you're a brave woman, but he's got a shovel in his hands and we've got Latisha with us. I don't think walking up and threatening him will work. It might make him mad, and we don't know what he'd do.”

“I can't just sit here and do nothing,” I said, going over the possibilities in my mind, “but I can't put Latisha in danger, either.” Fully aware of Rodney's determination to have what he wanted, I was hesitant, even slightly afraid, to confront him so far from public view and first responders.

“Miss Lady,” Latisha said, tugging on my sleeve to get my attention. “I know how to scare him. My play pretties'll scare him so bad, he'll run right outta his britches.”

“Latisha, honey,” I said, “we don't have time for play pretties. We have to think.”

“Well,” she said, “think about this.” And she unwrapped the drawstring from her wrist, spread open the top of the sack, reached in, and pulled out a handful of firecrackers.

“Look at that!” Etta Mae rasped out. “Latisha, where'd you get firecrackers?”

“I got my ways,” she said complacently. “But that ain't all I got.” She pulled out a long item on a stick and held it up. “I bet this'll fix him good.”

“Oh, my word!” Etta Mae whispered in awe. “Miss Julia, she's got a
rocket
!”

“Yeah,” Latisha said, eyes gleaming. “Le's shoot it an' see what happens.”

“I tell you,” Etta Mae said, running her hand over the rocket, “this thing will do the trick, all right. Miss Julia, you have a match?”

“I don't smoke, Etta Mae.”

She started giggling, then grew quiet. “This is ridiculous. Here we have what we need to scare the you-know-what outta Rodney, and neither of us has a light.”

“Look in my sack,” Latisha said. “I gotta a Bic down in there somewhere.”

“What!” Etta Mae grabbed the yellow sack, rummaged around in it, pulling out handsful of firecrackers and, finally, a Bic lighter. “My land, Latisha, you come prepared, don't you?”

“I'm gonna be a Boy Scout one a these days.”

“Honey,” Etta Mae said, “you're already an Eagle Scout in my book. Miss Julia, what do you think? We could edge in a little closer and set off a few firecrackers and see what happens. If they don't work, we can light him up with the rocket.”

“That'd be dangerous, wouldn't it?” I didn't want to damage anything but Rodney's arrogance.

“It's too wet,” Etta Mae said, separating the bundles of firecrackers into separate strings. “We won't start a forest fire.”

“I wasn't . . .” I started, then said, “I don't want to really hurt him, Etta Mae.”

She glanced up from her squat. “I know, and I'm just aiming to scare him. Of course, we're not responsible for anything that happens afterward.” She giggled. “He may have to change his shorts.”

“Oo-o-o,” Latisha said. “You 'bout said a bad word.”

“But not quite,” Etta Mae told her with a grin. Then she stood
up and started filling her pockets and the waistband of her jeans with strings of firecrackers. She looked like a commando preparing for a raid.

Squatting down again, she said, “Miss Julia, here's the plan. We'll sneak up as close as we can, then I'll light a string of firecrackers and throw 'em at his feet. Not too close, but pretty close. And I'll keep peppering him with as many strings as I can light and throw. If that scares him off, then we're done. But you take charge of the rocket, and as soon as we get there, stick it in the ground and aim it in his direction, but above his head. I'll get the Bic to you while the firecrackers are going off. You know where the fuse is? Right here, see? Just stick it in the ground, light the fuse, and step back. Way back, okay?”

“What about me?” Latisha asked. “What do I get to shoot?”

Etta Mae and I looked at each other. I was already dreading the fit that Lillian would have when she learned that Latisha had been carrying around a sack of explosives, so there was no way I was going to allow her to light even the tiniest of firecrackers.

Before I could say anything, though, Etta Mae came up with the perfect response. “We need a forward observer, Latisha, and that's your job. When I throw a string of firecrackers, I want you to watch where it lands, and while I'm lighting the next string, you tell me where to throw it. You know—a little to the right or not so close or whatever. Can you do that?”

Latisha, a solemn look on her face, nodded her acceptance of the duty.

“Let's go then,” Etta Mae said. “Oh, wait. Everybody stay real quiet. No yelling or anything. We don't want him to hear our voices. If he figures out we're women—well, two and a half women—he might come after us. We want him to think it's a bunch of crazy men with guns. Okay?”

That sounded sensible to me. I nodded and watched as she struck off through the brush, Latisha right behind her, then me, clutching the paper-covered rocket, following the two of them.

We crept closer, giving the treacherous blackberry patch a
wide berth. As we neared the small clearing where Rodney was laboring in the mud to cover the evidence of his stake-removal operation, Etta Mae slung out her arm for us to stop. Latisha and I immediately crouched down behind a tree. Etta Mae motioned to us to stay there. We did, but I strained to see where she was going. Her dark form crept to another tree a little way from us and nearer to the clearing.

Peeking around our tree, I could make out Rodney working away, using a shovel to smooth the dirt he'd removed, then, panting heavily, walking back and forth to bring brush and pine needles to cover his spadework.

Etta Mae whispered something to us.

“What?” I whispered back.

Latisha said, “She say are we ready.”

“Sh-h-h,” I cautioned, and looked to see if Rodney had heard her. Then, anxious to do my duty, I leaned around the tree and stuck the rocket's wooden spike into the dirt, making sure that it was firmly anchored and that the business end was aimed straight at Rodney's head—I mean, straight
over
his head.

A light flared on our left, and Latisha and I both gasped. As Etta Mae lit the fuse, we heard a fizzing sound, then saw her dark form step out and make an overhanded throw, sparks flying. Rodney, alarmed by the light and the noise, jerked upright just as the bundle sailed through the air behind him and landed a few feet away. When it hit the ground, the string of firecrackers went crazy, popping and sparking and jumping all over the place, sounding for all the world like gunshots on a television show.

Rodney dropped like a rock, yelling, “Don't shoot! Don't shoot, there's a person out here!”

Etta Mae lobbed another string of firecrackers which landed a few feet to the right of the first one. It, too, went into a frenzied dance of popping and sparking, while Rodney screamed, covered his head with his arms, and rolled away. He yelped as he went over the side of the ditch, and Etta Mae threw another fired-up string into the ditch.

Rodney scrambled out the other side of the ditch, yelling and clawing his way up, finally gaining his feet and taking off at full speed down Springer Road, yelling, “Don't shoot, don't shoot!” as he went.

Etta Mae scooted over to us. “Here's the Bic. Light it up, Miss Julia.”

“Yeah,” Latisha said. “We don't wanta waste it.”

I stood and watched Rodney run down the road. He'd passed his car, depending on his feet to get him out of the line of fire. Just then, we heard rumbling thuds off in the distance. Thunder? No, the fireworks show was starting in Abbotsville. Rodney didn't notice. He was running flat out down the middle of the road, yelling, “Stop, stop! Don't shoot!”

By this time, Etta Mae had broken cover and was crouching on the edge of the ditch watching him. I leaned over, adjusted the aim of the rocket to send it down Springer Road, and flicked my Bic. The fuse lit right away and began sizzling, sending out sparks like it was on a launching pad. I jumped back, dragging Latisha with me.

I held tightly to her hand, as we watched and waited. Set for a low trajectory, the rocket was aimed, fired up, and ready to go. It just sat there, sputtering.

“Oh, no, Latisha,” I said, fearing the paper covering had gotten wet as we'd walked through the brush. “It's a dud.”

A loud pop made me jump and I grabbed on to Latisha.

With a sudden whoosh, the rocket came alive. We had liftoff! With its tail on fire, the rocket zipped up, up, and away, whizzing through the air with an ominous whistling noise.

“That ain't no dud!” Latisha cried.

We ran out to the edge of the ditch, joining Etta Mae to watch in awe as that smart rocket followed Springer Road like a programmed missile. With a loud
whump
, it burst overhead and blossomed into a shower of red and blue sparks, lighting up half the railroad's land and Rodney, too. He leapt straight up, legs still pumping, as Etta Mae lit another string of firecrackers. With a
mighty effort, she threw it as far as she could to speed him on his way.

Yelling. “Don't shoot me!” Rodney didn't break stride, just suddenly made an airborne left and veered off the road at speed. He sailed across the ditch on the other side and disappeared into the dark.

“He gone,” Latisha said.

Etta Mae and I started laughing and couldn't stop. Leaning over to get my breath, I wished I'd gone to the bathroom when Latisha had.

“We did it, Etta Mae,” I said. “We ran him off!”

“We sure did,” she said, still laughing. “Oh, man, that was something!” Then she straightened up and reminded us that we weren't through. “Listen, he'll come back when he realizes he wasn't being shot at. To get his car, for one thing. And maybe to move that other stake, for another. Let's take these shovels and things with us and get out of here.”

“Good idea,” I said, as she leaned over to pick up a pickax. I grabbed a shovel, then looked around for more tools. “The hammer. He used a hammer, so it's got to be here somewhere.”

Etta Mae said, “He probably left it where he used it. Hold on to this pickax, Latisha, while I look for it.” She walked off along the edge of the ditch, searching for the new location of the old stake.

After several minutes during which I thought Rodney might have put the hammer in his car, Etta Mae called out, “Found it,” and slogged back through the weeds to us. “Let's go.”

Latisha struggled to lift the pickax, then said, “I can't tote this thing through no woods.”

“No, it's too heavy for you,” Etta Mae said. “Here, let's swap and you take the hammer. Miss Julia, you all right with the shovel?”

Well, no, I wasn't. Not because it was heavy, but because it was awkward. “Carrying these things will slow us down, Etta Mae,” I said. “And we need to get you home and Latisha and me back to Abbotsville before Rodney sneaks back up here and finds out who we are.”

“Just leave 'em?” she asked. “I don't think you want to do that, Miss Julia.”

I smiled. “Yes, I do.” Then I whirled that shovel around and let it fly right into the middle of the huge blackberry patch full of briars and thorns and, hopefully, snakes.

“Hah!” Etta Mae said, and she chunked the pickax into the briars too. “Let's see you throw that hammer, Latisha.”

And she did. We heard the clunk when it landed on the other tools. “That'll fix him,” she said. “He won't be movin' no stakes now.”

Even though we'd effectively put a kink in Rodney's plans, we knew we weren't out of the woods yet and a sense of urgency gripped us. Taking Latisha's hand, I hastened back the way we'd come with Etta Mae highstepping it behind us.

We hurried through and around laurel bushes, pushing aside small pine seedlings and avoiding thickets. I kept looking back, fearing to see or hear Rodney hot on our trail.

We stopped once to catch our breath, but none of us wanted to linger.

“What if Rodney goes to get more tools, Etta Mae?” I said, wondering if we'd done enough to deter him on his determined path. “Walmart stays open all night, so he can buy whatever he needs and get back here with plenty of time to move that other stake.”

The clouds overhead briefly parted, and the moon gave enough light for me to see Etta Mae grin. “I don't believe he'll make it to Walmart tonight,” she said. “Not with that flat tire, he won't.”