Morning Star (15 page)

CHAPTER 37

Flower

THE MARSHAL
looked at the
disheveled family in the wagon. “What am I supposed to do with this bunch?”

“Lock them up. They've broken the law, run
away.”

“So send them back to their owner.”

“And who would that be? We're thinking we'll have
our own sale. They can stay here till we're ready.”

“How long will that take?”

“Don't know. Not long, I expect.”

The marshal sucked on his teeth and sighed through
them.

“Get down, then, all of you.” Cleo stood shakily,
swayed a bit on her feet. Flower stood up and put her body against her mother's,
trying to support her. Gabriel stayed scrunched and silent in his sling. The
marshal and the driver reached up and helped them down, but offered no
assistance to Eldon, who stumbled clumsily, his wrists in a bloodied knot behind
his back. A small crowd gathered to watch as they were shepherded into the jail.
One man spit at them, his saliva splatting at Cleo's feet.

“That's enough now,” said the marshal to the
assembled group. “Go on back about your business.”

The family was directed into a small cell. The door
slammed behind them as they shuffled in. Cleo and Flower collapsed on a cot
chained to one wall, Eldon on the opposite one. Flower could see a small window
high up in the center, revealing a square of cloudy sky.

Cleo asked, “Please, Sir, could you free me? My
babe needs tending to.”

The marshal was hanging keys on a hook. He turned
and looked at them with surprise. “There's a babe, too?”

“Yes, Sir, in the sling on my back.”

“Just a minute while I go and fetch my deputy.” He
left them alone as he set out to get assistance. Flower and her mother sat
quietly, trembling with exhaustion and despair. Through the window they could
hear the din of everyday activity on the street. Men's voices, rough and
argumentative, became louder. The door opened and four men entered the jail.

“There they are.”

“I told you, didn't I?”

“They look healthy enough.”

“Worth a good amount.”

“Especially him.”

“I told you.”

“The woman has a babe.”

“They should be kept together, for a while
anyway.”

“I like the look of that young girl.”

“Kinda scrawny.”

“Bring her out. Let's have a look.”

Flower's heart beat like a wild bird in her chest.
She watched as one of the men searched the sheriff's desk drawer until he
noticed the keys hanging on a hook on the wall. “Here's what we want.” He
fumbled until he found the key that unlocked their cell door, opened it, and
entered the small space. He yanked Flower to her feet and drew a large hunting
knife from his belt. With malignant precision, he cut the rope binding her to
her mother. She was led out of the cell and presented to the others.

“Hard to tell what's what when she's covered with
mud.”

“She moves good.”

“How old do you think she is?”

A brutish hand touched her chest, pinched it hard.
Flower gasped with the sudden pain but didn't cry out. “Still a girl.”

“Girls grow fast.”

“Please, Sir,” Cleo pleaded, her voice ignored.

“Can we take what we want now before the sale?”

“Wouldn't get away with it.”

Their discussion was interrupted by the return of
the marshal with his deputy. “What's going on here? What do you think you're
doing?”

“Just having a look.”

“You can quit looking right now and be on your
way.” Flower was pushed back with her family.

“We weren't doing anything wrong.”

“Breaking the law was what you were doing. Entering
a public place, unlocking prisoners, interfering with the due process of…”

The men turned to go, surly and unrepentant. “Yeah,
we're the public.”

“Get on out of here, or I'll be finding a cell for
the lot of you.”

Flower sat silent and numb after her ordeal. She
watched as Cleo was released and Gabriel lifted from his sling. Cleo embraced
him and rocked him back and forth, humming a frantic, tuneless song, then
extended one arm to include her daughter in a mournful hug.

Later, the deputy brought them water, then bowls of
broth and some bread. Flower and Cleo tried to eat, but their ravenous hunger of
hours before had left them, and they weren't able to swallow. Eldon remained on
his cot, his face to the wall. He didn't acknowledge the offering of food.

The night sky darkened, and the noise increased as
many people gathered outside the building. The marshal and his deputy paced back
and forth, stopping every once in a while to check the view from the window.
They talked together, lifted keys from the hook, and placed them in the bottom
drawer of a desk. Both men checked that their firearms were loaded and
ready.

Flower listened to the roar of people outside and
knew that she was as helpless as an animal caught in a trap. Tomorrow they would
be sold. Their family would be torn apart. She remembered the tragic story Aunty
Lizzie had once told her—of how she had been sold as a child to Master Chesley,
how she had stood on a platform as voices had called out in a rapid blur, and
how her mother had howled in despair.

Light flickered on the ceiling from the torches
outside. Men yelled to each other and sang snatches of song. There was harsh
laughter and the occasional sound of crockery breaking. Inside, the marshal and
his deputy leaned back and dozed in their chairs. Cleo rocked and hummed and
prayed. Flower looked across the cell at her father, their pillar of strength.
He lay silent and still, staring at the wall but not seeing it, like something
broken.

CHAPTER 38

Felicia

FELICIA FOUND
her grandmother sitting in front of the television, the kitten curled in her lap. “Does that cat ever lie anywhere else?”

“You're sounding a little grumpy, darling. Things still bad at school?”

“He needs to learn to have some independence.”

Florence eyed her granddaughter, but addressed the little cat. “Is it time you learned to be independent? I don't know—you're still awfully tiny.” She lifted him up in the air as she spoke to him, and he meowed in return.

Felicia headed for the kitchen. “I'm starving.”

“I baked some cookies, but have an apple first.”

Felicia was about to protest having fruit but couldn't be bothered. She lifted one from the bowl in the middle of the table and bit into it. It was agreeably crunchy, and a spurt of juice filled her mouth. She walked back into the living room and flopped down on the couch. “Don't you ever get sick of watching these game shows?”

“No. I find it fun, and I try to come up with answers. Keeps my brain working.”

Felicia listened to the program. “Ugh, history, who cares about that?”

“Hush now, I think I know this. What was his name? Alexander, Alexander, um, Alexander Graham BELL!” There was a buzzer blast as Florence's correct answer coincided with the contestant's response on the program.

“Who's he?”

“He invented the telephone that you love so much, and he worked on it here in Canada.”

“Yeah?”

“See, not so boring.”

Felicia turned her attention to the cat, now sitting up and licking one paw. He sensed her attention, stopped what he was doing, and stared across the room. “Nana, can I hold the kitten for a while?”

“Sure. Come and get him.”

“He probably just wants to stay with you.”

“Try him.”

Felicia reached across and lifted the fluffy bundle into her arms. He looked back at Florence and then nestled in as his head was stroked. “Have you decided on a name?”

“I think so. How about Rufus?”

“That wasn't on the list I made for you, Nana.”

“I know. It just came to me. Do you like it?”

“It's all right.” Felicia slipped a braided bracelet off her wrist and offered it to the cat. He began to pummel it with his front paws. “I guess it's a cute name—sounds fluffy, like he is.”

“Rufus it is then. What's that folded up in the corner?”

“My poster.”

“Oh, Felicia, show it to me. I never saw the final version.”

Felicia set the kitten on the floor, rolled the bracelet across the carpet, and watched as he scampered after it. “Here it is, Nana.”

“Let's take it to the kitchen where I can see better.” They settled in the other room and opened the poster up on the table. Florence traced her finger over each picture on the family tree, reviewing names, nodding in admiration. “You've got it. You've got the gift.”

“I've got the what?”

Florence raised her head and looked at her granddaughter. “You've got the gift, just like your great-aunty, the gift of making art.”

“Really, do you think so?”

“Yes I do.” Florence's finger found the slight abrasion of the paper where the photo had been taped. “What's happened here?”

“I don't know, um, nothing.” Felicia propped the poster on the sideboard and sat at the kitchen table.

Florence poured a glass of milk and offered the cookie jar. “Sweets for the sweet.”

“Nana,” Felicia swallowed a mouthful of milk, “did you ever, were you ever…?”

“Did I what?”

“Did you ever have anyone be mean to you, for no good reason?”

“Yes, I have, but not very often.” Florence was thoughtful. “Are you thinking the reason might be because of your color?”

“I think so.”

“Something happen?”

“This awful girl, Ashley, and her friends—they were going to cut off some of my hair. She had scissors.”

“No.”

“And she passed mean notes to my friends and put my name on them. That was why they stopped talking to me.”

“That's terrible.”

“And she was the one who tried to wreck my poster.”

“We'll speak to the school. No one should get away with behaving like that.”

”I saw her parents coming out of the principal's office yesterday. They didn't look happy.”

“So things are straightened out?”

“Yeah, but I still feel bad that my friends believed her. How could they? They didn't speak to me for days.”

“But everything's all right now?”

The front door opened and closed. Delia entered the kitchen and sank into a chair. “What a day.”

“I'll make some tea,” said Florence. “Have a cookie.”

“I have a bit of a headache.”

“I'll get you an aspirin, Mom.” Felicia started for the stairs.

“Put the kettle on while you're up,” suggested Florence. She turned to her daughter. “Did you speak to your boss?”

“I tried, but he was in and out of the place, and that Sid kept giving me stuff to do. Every time I turned around there was some other silly thing on my desk.” Delia rubbed her fingers against her forehead. “I've been staring at a computer screen most of the day.”

Felicia returned to the kitchen with a pill for her mother, drew a glass of water, and set them both on the table. “Take this.”

“Oh, she's a nurse now.” Delia chuckled and swallowed her medicine.

“Nana says I'm an artist.”

“That's even better.”

They raised their heads to the sound of a car door slamming. “Who's that now?”

Delia stood up and walked to the window. “Oh no! It's Mr. Abbot, my boss.”

CHAPTER 39

Flower

THE DOOR
of the jailhouse
creaked open. The marshal and his deputy sprang awake, stood poised for
confrontation. Flower watched from behind the grill of the cell door as one man,
dressed in black, came in.

“There's been a request. I'm to examine those up
for sale.”

The marshal shrugged his shoulders, opened the
bottom drawer of the desk, and lifted out the keys. “Not sure 'bout this.”

Flower sat frozen with fear. Was she to be led out
now and taken away? She looked over at her father, but he lay still as
before.

“This man's going to check you all out,” said the
marshal. Flower stared at her clenched fists. A black bag appeared on the floor
at her feet. The doctor opened it and lifted out a bell-shaped instrument. Cleo
stopped humming and rocking. Flower felt a gentle hand placed on her head,
looked up into the concerned face of Dr. Simon.

“Stay calm,” he whispered. He added in a louder
voice, “It's the custom before a sale to make sure everyone's in good
health.”

“Whatever you say.” The marshal slumped in his
chair, tipped his hat over his eyes. “The sooner this is over, the better.”

“I understand there's a babe to be seen,” said Dr.
Simon. Cleo unwrapped Gabriel with clumsy fingers. He lay in her lap like a
puppet whose strings have been snipped. Dr. Simon placed the instrument against
the little chest, frowned as he listened. “Is he feeding?”

“Not for a while.” Tears slid from Cleo's eyes,
tracking down her dusty cheeks. “We've been treated so harshly. I think he
knows, even though he's just a baby.”

The doctor's face darkened with anger. He said to
the two dozing outside the cell, “Here now! This mother requires nourishment if
she's to provide some for her infant.”

“She got some soup. They all did. It was wasted.
They ate none.”

“Bring some more.”

“This here's not a café.” The deputy rose from his
chair, walked to a cupboard, and brought the same bowls of broth. Flower and her
mother held them with disinterest.

“Drink that down,” said Dr. Simon, “for strength.”
He turned his attention to Eldon, spoke his name quietly, but Eldon did not
respond, even as his bruised body was examined. Cleo quickly finished her soup.
She rocked Gabriel and tried to feed him, singing and urging him to try, but he
lay quietly and looked up at his mother with dull eyes.

“Is there a spoon available?” asked Dr. Simon.

“What next!” The deputy pulled a spoon from the
cupboard, poked it through the cell bars.

Dr. Simon passed the spoon to Flower. “Try to give
the baby some of this broth.” He watched as she brought the spooned liquid to
the baby's mouth and crooned to him, ladling a small portion into his mouth.
Most of it dribbled out onto his cheek, but he did swallow some. “A capable big
sister you are. The babe will soon be himself again.” He continued in a low,
hushed voice, close to her ear. “Listen for the message, then lead your family
out the far passage. Helping hands wait there.” He stared hard at her, then
reached for her hand and slipped something cold and solid into it. She looked
down to see a key, and slipped it quickly into the pocket of her aporn. Dr.
Simon stepped outside. The door clicked as it locked. He dropped the ring of
keys into the desk drawer and then spoke to the marshal, not looking back at
Flower. “They seem to be fine, in spite of everything.”

The lawman sat forward, yawned, and raised the brim
of his hat. “We had nothing to do with that. I put them in the cell for
safekeeping soon as they arrived.”

Dr. Simon asked, “How is your own health?”

“My shoulder gives me pain the odd time.” He raised
his arm and rotated it in the air. “I can tell the change in the weather just by
what my shoulder's saying. Could it be the arthritis?”

“Something which gives many of us cause for
complaint. I have here what you might call an elixir, known to cure many an
ailment. It might ease your soreness.”

The deputy raised his head. “With me, it's the
knees. They hurt like a son of a gun on a rainy day.”

Dr. Simon lifted a bottle of brown liquid out of
his bag. The deputy jumped up to the cupboard and returned with glasses, which
were then filled halfway to the brim. The two men lifted their glasses to
acknowledge the doctor and then swallowed in one gulp.

“That's the ticket!” The marshal coughed and tapped
his chest with his fist.

The deputy laughed and asked, “Any more where that
came from?”

“Mustn't overdo it,” said Dr. Simon as he poured
once more into each glass.

The men savored their remedy this time and sipped
slowly. The marshal swished the fluid around in his mouth. “My shoulder's
starting to feel better already.”

“Say, Doc, any chance you can leave us some of this
‘medicine'?”

Dr. Simon held the bottle up to the light and
swirled the contents. “It's almost empty. Save the remains for a rainy day.”

“We're mighty thankful.”

“I must leave.” Dr. Simon stood up.

The marshal's voice was friendly. “Drop in anytime
when you're in this part of the county.”

“Don't be a stranger,” added the deputy.

Flower watched and listened. Dr. Simon slipped out
the door, and the two men returned to their chairs. The deputy held the bottle
up to the light once more, shook it, and then poured the rest of it into their
glasses. They chuckled and talked as they sipped it. She continued to drip broth
into Gabriel's mouth. He whimpered, and Cleo hugged him against her. “I have to
keep trying to feed him, Ma.” Cleo loosened her grasp and watched the broth,
drip by drip, enter her baby's mouth. Flower didn't tell her mother she had the
key. The doctor must have removed it from the ring. She wondered how he had
managed that. And what had he meant about a message?