Dream With Little Angels (24 page)

W
e managed to make it to church the following Sunday.

Immediately afterward, in what I considered a very unchristian-like fashion, my mother started suspecting all sorts of people that I considered she probably should not be suspecting anything about. Mainly, I noticed, she was targeting farmers. When they inquired as to why they were being asked so many questions, she actually told them she wasn't suspecting nobody of nothing, she was just looking for information. But I knew different. I'd known her my whole life. Of course, I think the farmers knew different too, since they all seemed to take offense at her asking them anything at all.

The first vehicle she approached in the church parking lot belonged to Glen Nelson. “Do you mind if I take a quick look?” she asked him.

“Now, why would you wanna be lookin' in my truck?” asked Mr. Nelson. “If this is about that Dailey girl, I heard you caught your man. If this is 'bout anythin' else, I think you better tell me what, before I say whether or not it's all right to be searchin' my stuff.”

“We still have one missin' girl, Mr. Nelson,” my mother said. “And just because we have Mr. Garner in custody don't necessarily mean he's the one who did it. We're keepin' our options open.” She walked around his big white pickup, looking at the tires and glancing in the truck bed.

“What you think you're gonna find?” Glen Nelson asked. “Bunch of little girl's blood all over my vehicle?”

“Dunno what exactly it is I'm lookin' for,” my mother clarified. “I'm just lookin'. Don't worry, it's not just you. I'll be checkin' out lots of trucks over the next few days.”

They started arguing, but I knew my mother would get her way. I had seen her work like this before, so I left them in the parking lot and walked around the back of the churchyard, following the stone path that led through the gardens and graves. Dewey followed right behind me. “Whatcha doin'?” he asked.

“You mean 'sides gettin' away from my mom?”

Dewey laughed. “She sure likes confrontation.”

I stopped and wheeled around on him. “What do you know about confrontation?” I asked.

With a shrug, Dewey answered, “Not much, only that your mom seems to like gettin' her nose where some people don't think it belongs.”

I scrunched up my own nose. “Who told you that?”

Dewey crossed his arms. “Thought of it myself.”

“You most certainly did
not
.” I laughed. “You don't even know what that all means.”

After some consideration, Dewey kinda agreed with me. “Okay, maybe I just heard rumors, is all. Anyway, you never answered me. Whatcha doin'? Why're we going over to the gravesites? They give me the willies.”

“Just wanna see somethin', is all.” I actually wasn't sure
why
I wanted to see it, but for some reason, a part of me did. That part had kept tugging my pant legs toward the small cemetery tucked in behind the parish even during Reverend Matthew's service.

Me and Dewey both walked straight over to the new headstone marking the grave of Mary Ann Dailey. A few other folks were already standing around looking at it. One of them was Mrs. Dailey. She was dressed all in black, wearing a veil, and sobbing into a tissue. When her husband saw me and Dewey, he gave us a not-so-nice look and led his wife back toward the parking lot and, I assume, their car.

“Why'd he do that?” Dewey asked. I ignored him.

Mary Ann Dailey's grave felt almost peaceful, especially compared to the last way I had seen her. The plot was obviously fresh, with brown dirt still marking the dug-out rectangle. I wondered how long it would take before that got hidden by grass. The dirt was compensated by bouquets of beautiful flowers and balloons and teddy bears. In some ways, it looked like a hospital room the day a new baby was born. In other ways it seemed desperately sad.

The headstone was a simple stone arc. I read the words carved into it, accidentally saying them aloud but, luckily, only so loud that Dewey heard. “ ‘Mary Ann Dailey,' ” I read. “ ‘Beloved daughter taken too soon from this life, dream with little angels.' ”

“I can't begin to understand why you wanna be lookin' at that for,” Dewey said.

“I dunno,” I said. “It just feels like I should. You reckon she's really with the angels now?”

“I reckon so,” Dewey said. “Reverend Matthew told us children are safe in the arms of God until they're old enough to understand 'bout acceptin' Jesus an' all that.”

“I hope she's someplace nice,” I said.

“I bet no matter where she is,” Dewey said, “it's most likely nicer than the swamp. And if you ask me, that willow tree she was under is much too close to Skeeter Swamp for comfort. At least here, there's no gators.”

I agreed. We walked back around to the front of the church. Most folks had already left, and I noticed Uncle Henry had taken my mother aside and was talking quietly to her as we came up. “So what're you gonna do tomorrow, Leah?” Uncle Henry asked her. “Track down every farmer in Alvin and go through his truck lookin' for God only knows what you might find that could possibly turn out to support your case?”

“I
have
to, Hank,” my mother said.

He patted her shoulder. “I know. I'm through with all my chidin'—for now. You do what you gotta do.”

She smiled sadly. It was nice to see her smile for a change, even if it did have that element of sadness to it.

Dewey and me had rode our bicycles to church the way we did sometimes and now we asked my mother if it'd be okay if we didn't go straight home, but rode around town a bit instead. She thought this over a long time until Uncle Henry took up the initiative. “It'll be fine, boys. Just don't be longer than an hour or so. You still got that watch, right, Abe?”

I said I sure did and showed him the back of my wrist to prove it.

“Good boy.” Then, putting his arm around my mother, he led her back to her car. “Come on, Leah. Let's get you home. I think you need a stomach full o' comfort food for lunch.”

“Let's go,” I said to Dewey, pulling my front tire up over the small curb and onto the sidewalk.

“Where're we going? Thought we was going into town?”

“Nah, I wanna go talk to Reverend Starks at the Full Gospel. I reckon it's time we figured out the difference 'tween a white girl missin' and a black girl missin', because it seems to me there shouldn't be no difference. But if you listen to folk round here, there certainly tends to be.”

We rode our bikes along Thompson Drive, which more or less followed the Anikawa, only on the town side of it instead of Mr. Garner's ranch side. We weren't nearly close enough to the river to even hear the water, but that made little matter, for I still sensed that place of death gnawing at me, despite it being probably a mile from where we were. I thought of the way Mary Ann's body had been left, just tossed there like somebody's discarded sack of trash.

Services at the Full Gospel always ran longer than they did at Clover Creek on account of all the singing and stuff they did. We set our bikes against the worn white siding of the church and tiptoed up the steps, quietly slipping inside through the open doors. We stood in the very back, behind everyone else. The whole congregation was standing and singing as loud as they could, so at first I thought nobody was going to see us until, barely a second later, Reverend Starks's eyes locked on mine. Even though he didn't miss a single note, I suddenly felt a mite conspicuous and wished maybe we hadn't come after all.

But, in spite of that, we continued standing there, awkwardly watching and listening, until five songs later, Reverend Starks said some final words about
both
girls.

He then asked his congregation to all bow their heads and pray that poor little Mary Ann Dailey had found peace in heaven and that the good Lord found His way to returning Tiffany Michelle back to her loving parents. Even from our position at the back of the church, I could hear Mrs. Yates sobbing from somewhere up in the front pews. Then more people started crying. By the time Reverend Starks dismissed everyone and they all filed out, most folk were dabbing their eyes with handkerchiefs, or simply letting the tears stream down their faces. It was a much more emotional experience than I had ever felt at Clover Creek First Baptist.

Some of the folk going by gave me and Dewey strange looks, but most were too upset to even care that we were there. Reverend Starks followed behind everyone and, when he finally made it to where we stood, he took off his glasses, held them up to the sunlight washing down through the open doors, and wiped them clean with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. “So, what brings two white boys like yourselves to my congregation this afternoon?” he asked. He had a deep, soothing voice that bellowed even when he talked quietly, like he was doing now.

I explained what my mother had told me about why Clover Creek hadn't really spoken of Tiffany Michelle and that Tiffany would be getting her share of praying down here at Full Gospel, and that I wanted to come see so for myself, because I couldn't rightly figure out the difference between a white girl missing and a black one.

“But you said just as much about Mary Ann Dailey as you did about Tiffany Michelle,” I told him. “Least while we was standing here.”

The reverend replaced his glasses on his wide nose and looked both of us in the eyes one at a time before answering. When he did, he answered slowly, but his voice still seemed to thunder through that small church. “God don't see no color, boys,” he said. “It's only man who sees color.”

“You mean He's colorblind, like Jacob Rivers in my class?” Dewey asked. “You can hold a green crayon and a black crayon up to Jacob, and that kid will swear up and down they both the exact same.”

The reverend cracked a smile. It was missing a few teeth, and I noticed one had been capped with gold. “Sorta, son. Although I reckon the Lord knows the difference between black and green. He certainly knows the difference between black and white, but He don't care about that difference. If He did, He wouldn't have put us all here on this planet together all them years ago.”

“I don't understand,” said Dewey.

I wanted to punch him. “He don't understand much,” I said.

Dewey glared at me.

“No, it's fine,” Reverend Starks said, holding up a large palm. His fingertips were nearly bright pink. “Most folks don't understand, to be honest. Even some of my own congregation have trouble when it comes to graspin' this point. And really, it's probably the easiest yet most important thing the Bible has to teach us.” He squatted down in front of Dewey, reached out, and clutched his arm. “You see, son, God made us all different for a reason. It's like a sort of test. He put us all down here together to see if we could work things out by ourselves and somehow figure out how to get along.”

“So, how do you think we's doin'?” Dewey asked.

The reverend looked away for a second, thinking. “Some days, I believe we manage to pull it off a mite better than others. But I'll tell you what. I believe we all got a whole lotta learnin' to do.”

“Reverend Starks?” I asked. “Do you think Mr. Garner killed Mary Ann Dailey?”

He looked genuinely surprised by this question. “Now, that sounds more like somethin' you should be askin' your ma. She's the one who arrested him, ain't she?”

I scratched my head. “Not technically,” I said. “Technically, it was Officer Jackson. But she
did
think Mr. Garner was probably the one who did it originally. And evidence brought back from Mobile, well, it . . .”

Reverend Starks waved my discussion about evidence away with his hand. Both his knees popped like bottle rockets as he stood. “I don't give a rat's ass about that science stuff. You say she
originally
thought it was Robert Garner? I'm guessin' that means she's had a change of mind since?”

I wasn't sure I should be talking about what my mother thought about the case and told the reverend so.

He nodded slowly. “That's fine. But between you an' me? I'm glad she's on a different path. I know Robert Lee Garner. I remember when he found Ruby Mae's body going on, what? Ten years ago now?”

“Twelve,” I told him.

He shook his head and gave a low whistle. “Time certainly does not wait for no man now, does it? Doesn't matter, to me it will always feel like yesterday. I remember how discovering Ruby Mae's little body affected Robert Garner. A man who reacts like that from findin' a dead girl by a tree near his swamp? There ain't no way he did somethin' like this. And you can even tell your mother I said so if you find it in your heart to do so.”

I told him I wasn't sure if that would happen or not.

He arched an eyebrow. “You boys didn't tell your mas you was comin' here today, did you?”

Dewey gestured to me. “His mom knows we're out on our bikes, just not exactly where.”

“I see,” Reverend Starks said, eyeing me suspiciously. “Maybe you should think of becoming a lawyer instead of following in your ma's footsteps when you get older.”

“Why's that?” I asked.

“Never mind,” he said, and a big grin spread across his face. “Best you both be running along though, I imagine.”

I looked at my watch. “He's right, Dewey. We've only got twenty minutes to make it home.”

“That's a nice watch you got there, boy,” the reverend said. “It new?”