Morning Star (16 page)

CHAPTER 40

Felicia

MR. ABBOT HESITATED
before acting on Delia's friendly invitation to come inside. “Welcome, welcome.”

“I'm awfully sorry to bother you at home. You're probably wanting to put your feet up after a busy day, but I thought we should have a talk.”

“It's no bother. We were just going to have a cup of tea. Come into the kitchen and meet my family.”

“Thank you. That's very nice of you.” He smiled at Felicia and Florence as he entered the kitchen. Florence returned his smile, but Felicia attempted a haughty nod, similar to those so often administered by Ashley.

Felicia was asked to prepare the tea as the threesome at the table discussed the weather. She watched the kettle start to boil and felt anger simmering inside of her. How dare this balding, potbellied man control our lives! He may be lucky enough to own a bunch of used cars, but he doesn't even have the brains to recognize Mom's intelligence, not to mention her amazing work ethic. How many sick days does she ever take? None, that's how many, no matter if she has the worst cold.

“Felicia, dear, the kettle's boiling.”

“Oh, yeah.” Felicia donned an oven mitt to pour the bubbling water into the teapot, then clattered mugs and spoons on a tray. She paused in front of the cookie jar. Did this man deserve a cookie, handmade by her grandmother? Four cookies were grudgingly placed on a plate and set in the middle of the table.

“A few more please, and the bowl of fruit that's sitting on the counter, and plates and napkins,” Florence said.

Felicia did as she was told. Delia poured tea, offered milk and sugar. “Or do you prefer lemon?”

“Just a little milk and one spoon of sugar.” Mr. Abbot bit into a cookie. His eyes almost sparkled. “Delicious,” he said, stirring his tea.

The conversation progressed from the weather to the expansion of the library and recent roadwork in town.

“It seems to take forever to get something done around here.”

“Maybe we're in too much of a hurry.”

“There's often a lack of skilled trades people.”

Their talk washed over Felicia as she sat and studied her mother, marveling at her ability to disguise her anxiety. Delia sipped at her tea and offered delicacies to this rotund man who was about to disrupt their lives.

“Mom's always been admired for her organizational skills.” Three heads turned to her in surprise. Felicia continued, “She won the history prize when she graduated from high school.”

Mr. Abbot said, “That's something to be proud of.”

Now Delia looked flustered. “It was a long time ago.”

Felicia steamed ahead. “She doesn't get the credit she deserves. Why, once…”

Florence intervened. “Yes, we are proud of Delia's accomplishments, and that's not just family pride talking. Here, have another cookie.”

“When she sprained her ankle, she still went to work, even though the doctor said she should sit with her foot up on a pillow.”

“Dear me, Delia, when was that?” asked Mr. Abbot, a line creasing his forehead.

“So long ago, I can hardly remember.” Delia tried to give a meaningful look to her daughter, who avoided eye contact.

“People are only supposed to work eight hours a day, aren't they?”

“Felicia, I think it's time for our favorite program.” Florence looked up at the clock on the wall.

“What favorite program? I don't—”

“You know which one I mean.” Florence got to her feet. “Come and give me a hand, that's a good child.”

“I don't…oh, okay.” Felicia followed her grandmother into the front room. “I wanted to keep talking.”

“Let your mother do the talking. She's capable.” Florence eased into her chair and clicked on the television.

“That man is too fat. He needs to go on a diet,” said Felicia. Florence turned up the volume. “Eating up all our good cookies.”

“We'll make some more.”

“Mom shouldn't have to be alone with him.”

“Hush, child, and pay attention to the program. It's educational.”

In the kitchen, Delia and Mr. Abbot faced each other across the table. Mr. Abbot cleared his throat. He started to speak, having to raise his voice over the sound of a television narrator describing the patterns of killer-whale migration. And in the living room, Felicia strained to listen to the conversation in the kitchen.

She finally heard her mother walk Mr. Abbot to the front door. He poked his head into the living room as they passed. Felicia jumped up and hugged her mother.

“A fine family you have, Delia,” said Mr. Abbot.

Delia disguised a poke to her daughter, who unwrapped herself. Felicia knew the poke meant “stand up straight and remember your manners.” Mr. Abbot made his way out the door and down the walk to his car.

“What happened?”

“Sometimes things work out all right.”

“Do you still have a job?”

“Yes, and more responsibility, and maybe even some more money. Seems I can try my hand at selling cars. But I still have to do the clerical work.”

“That sounds like a lot,” said Florence.

“Will that Sid guy still be mad?”

“I hope not. But I can deal with that. He'll just have to get unmad.”

CHAPTER 41

Flower

FLOWER FOCUSED
on her baby
brother until he no longer swallowed, and the broth dribbled out onto his
cheeks. She wiped them with her sleeve. “He's asleep now.” Cleo wrapped him in
her shawl and began to hum again. Eldon lay silent on the other side of the
cell. Flower briefly lowered her tired head onto her mother's lap, but Cleo's
incessant rocking made her sit up again. She approached the barred entrance to
the cell and looked out beyond it.

The jail was dark except for a hanging oil lamp,
which cast a pool of light over the marshal's desk. His head lay upon the desk
top, buried in his folded arms. The deputy sprawled back in his tilted chair,
his legs splayed out in front of him. He was snoring, but the marshal made no
sound. Flower had seen them drink the “medicine,” and she hoped they were deeply
asleep. She put her hand through the bars and around to the lock. It would be
awkward, but she thought she could unlock the door from the opposite side.

The desk with the sleeping lawmen stood in the
center of the room. On a sidewall was a cupboard, and beside that was another
door, slightly ajar, darkness in the space behind it. Flower stood and studied
the scene, then returned to the cot. She lay down beside her rocking mother and
then gave in to her exhaustion and briefly fell asleep.

Dream voices entered her slumber: angry voices,
voices that demanded and complained and threatened. She didn't want to leave her
mother, clung desperately to her, but was dragged away, forced to climb stairs
to a waiting platform. Hands poked and grabbed as she tried to resist.

Flower jerked awake, her body stiff with fear, jaws
and hands clenched, her breath coming in little gasps. She moaned, reached over
and touched her mother. They were still together. Flower lifted her head to see
the lawmen deep in slumber. She could hear voices coming from outside, men
talking.

“Now who would this be?” asked one of the men.

“Told you. No need to post the sale. Word of
mouth's enough.”

“People will come from all over.”

“Out of the woodwork.”

“Some just curious.”

“Looking for entertainment.”

“Don't want too many; it'll drive up the price for
the rest of us.”

“True. Unless you're selling.”

“What's that man doing?”

There was the sound of footsteps climbing.
“Someone's getting up on the platform! Who's that, the auctioneer?”

“We're not having one. Jeb's doing it.”

“Hey, you up there! Planning to be part of the
sale?” This question was followed by shared laughter.

“I bring a message.” Flower sat up. There was
something familiar about that voice.

“It's a little early for speech making. Wait
awhile; you'll have a bigger crowd.”

“The Lord speaks to everyone, through his
messenger.”

“A man of the cloth. Hey, preacher, it's not
Sunday.”

“Goodness does not wait for a special day.”

“We're good most of the time.” More laughter.
“Well, some of the time.”

“Now is the time to move on from your evil
ways.”

“We've heard enough. You move on. We've got
business to conduct here in a few hours.” This voice was louder, more
authoritative.

“Business is what you call it. I call it the work
of the devil.”

“Call it what you like. Just don't bother us with
your sermons.”

Flower sat on the edge of the cot, listened
intently. “Stop your humming, please, Ma.” Cleo looked up with dazed eyes and
stopped. “Listen,” said Flower.

“The time has come to recognize the evil that is
slavery. We are all brothers under our skins. It is wrong to sell your brother
as if he were livestock.”

“Mind your own business! We look after them, feed
them, and house them for their work.”

“A man should be paid for his work, not have to
depend on others for the necessities of life. All men are equal unto the
Lord.”

“Ma! That man that's speaking…it sounds like Mr.
Pemberton. Maybe he's going to help us.” Cleo lowered her head and shook it side
to side.

The shouting outside grew louder and angrier. “We
don't want any interference! Get down from there and be on your way.”

“I'm here to help you—to bring a message, to lead
you on the path of righteousness.”

“We can find our own way, thank you very much.”

“Put your trust in the Lord and his messenger.”

Flower noted the repetition of the word “message”
and felt sure it was meant for their ears more than for the sullen crowd
outside. “Listen, Ma. Listen to what he's saying. I think he's saying it to us.”
Cleo stopped rocking and leaned forward. Flower whispered to her father, “Pa,
Mr. Pemberton is outside. He's talking to those bad people, but his words are
meant for us to hear.”

Eldon rolled onto his back, then, with effort,
pushed himself upright into a sitting position. His eyes remained closed, the
left one swollen shut. The three of them sat motionless, listening hard.

“We don't need some know-it-all sticking his nose
into our business.”

“We're doing what's legally right.”

“Yeah!”

“Stop for a moment and consider the Golden Rule, to
do unto others as you would want done to you, to live a life of kindness and
consideration.” Noah Pemberton continued, his voice rising dramatically, “There
is a door open for thee, following in the footsteps of goodness, through the
dark pathway of evil, into the light.”

Flower stood at the bars, looked out of the cell,
and peered at the doorway beside the cupboard; it was slightly ajar, and there
was darkness in the passageway beyond. Eldon followed her glance. The marshal
and his deputy slept on. Cleo started to rock again, then stopped.

“You're interfering with our business. You've no
right. The marshal's here to make sure things are done true to the law of the
land.”

“You can follow a larger law, a law that follows
the path of morality. There will come a time when you must answer to a higher
power. What will that answer be?”

“You can be a righteous person and still have
slaves.”

“I think not.” Now there was silence. “There is a
key to the kingdom of heaven, and that key lies within every human heart. That
is my message. The key is the instrument to free you from the burden of sin; it
opens the door to the passage, leading to salvation.”

Flower brought her hand from her apron pocket and
held up the key for her father to see.