Last in a Long Line of Rebels (5 page)

“Hey!” I yelled. “Hey! Stop it, you guys. I'm serious.”

Franklin and Benzer fell onto the grass, each holding a shoe. Patty's bony arm whipped out and snatched them back.

I opened the book and pointed. “What does this mean?”

Franklin squinted in the twilight. “American Heritage. What about it?”

I stabbed the book with my finger. “Read the first two requirements!”

Franklin stood, and I handed him the book. He began to read aloud. “
Do two of the following: a) Explain what is meant by the National Register of Historic Places. Describe how a property becomes eligible for listing. b) Research an event of historical importance that took place in or near your area.
”

Benzer stood and held out a hand to help Patty. “So?”

“So?” Patty said. “It's boring as all get-out—right up Franklin's alley.”

“C'mon,” I said. I grabbed Franklin's elbow and pulled him to the porch. Benzer and Patty followed.

“Wait here.”

I ran inside to the parlor and pulled the Bible from the shelf. I quickly found the envelope, then raced back outside.

“Read this,” I said, handing the letter to Franklin.

He read it out loud so Patty and Benzer could hear. “Interesting. Where did you get this?”

“I found it in the old Bible. So maybe something important happened here once. It says in the letter that the enemy was nearby.”

Franklin shrugged. “I don't know, Lou. I'd have to do some research.”

“What's the big deal?” Benzer asked. “Don't they just put a sign in your yard or something?”

“Yeah, but don't you remember the load of old doors Daddy sold last year?” I was getting excited. “The house we got them from had one of those signs, and Daddy said it was ‘protected.' Even the homeowner couldn't make changes without approval from some history board. If we get one of those signs, the house is saved!”

“Wouldn't you know if something important happened here?” Patti asked. “It seems like something people would talk about.”

“Maybe they do. Mrs. Hall said that if these walls could talk, they might clear up a lot of mystery. Maybe there was a battle here or something.”

“Mrs. Hall?” Benzer asked. “When did you talk to her?”

“She came over while you guys were behind the house. What do you think, Franklin?”

“I don't know if being a historical property is enough to stop eminent domain, but it's worth a try. I'll look up Tennessee battles when I get home.”

Mama's laughter drifted out the screen door.

I looked around. “Y'all don't say anything about this. Swear?”

“Who would I tell?” Franklin asked. “Tracy?”

“I won't,” Benzer whispered.

Aunt Sophie and Mrs. Kimmel walked out on the porch.

“How'd you do?” I asked.

“The cards stunk,” said Franklin's grandmother. She turned to look at him. “Are you two ready? I assume we're giving Benzer a ride home.”

“If you don't mind, ma'am,” Benzer said.

“C'mon, Patty,” Aunt Sophie said. “We've got to get going too.”

Franklin picked his book up off the porch and started after them. “I'll check into this, Lou. If it works, my troop would never get over it.”

I waved at the car as they pulled away. “That's good,” I whispered. “'Cause if it doesn't, neither will I.”

From the diary of Louise Duncan Mayhew
June 1861

Walter has enlisted in the 2nd Tennessee Infantry, and they have already been dispatched to Virginia! Mother says our fate was sealed the moment President Lincoln called for troops. Imagine such a thing—calling countrymen to fight countrymen. I can scarce believe we are at war with one another. Is this the right path? One day I think yes, and the next no. I am in a constant state of confusion.

B
enzer and family drove up at 9:45
A
.
M
.
, waited all of about four seconds, and started honking.

“Lord, save us from Yankees,” Bertie said. She sat at the breakfast table drinking her coffee and complaining of a headache.

“Bertie, you look like you've got one wheel down and the axle's dragging. Too much fun at bridge last night?” Daddy asked.

“Tucker,” Mama said, “don't tease. She's already in a bad enough mood.”

I downed my orange juice. “Gotta go. See y'all after lunch. Bertie, will you feel like picking us up?”

She waved her hand in the air in a gesture I hoped meant yes.

Mama opened the lid of a pig cookie jar, causing it to oink, and counted out three dollars. “This is for the offering basket.”

“Tell me again why you're going to church,” Daddy said. He leaned back in his chair and held his mug out for more coffee.

I picked up the pot and poured him a new cup, stalling. I couldn't tell them about the Bible and Benzer's promise. They stared at me, waiting. “I don't know,” I answered truthfully. “I can hear the church bells ringing every Sunday, and most everybody at my school goes, even Franklin and Patty. Why don't we?”

Daddy leaned over the table to pick up the creamer. “I reckon we've just never been churchgoing people. Not that we don't believe in God, but I have always figured he and I could hang together over a fishing hole as easy as we could in a church building.”

I smiled at that idea. “I'll have to ask if that counts.”

“So you're going to the Catholic church? That's a good hour away.”

“No, it's too far. Benzer says they only go a few times a year. His parents are going to drop us off where Patty and Franklin go.”

The Zertos honked again.

“Hush!” Bertie said, holding her head in her hands. “I swear if they don't stop, I'm going to tear the hood off of that car.”

Mama squeezed me around the middle. “I think it's great that you're developing an interest in the spiritual. We could use some of that around here. Now, get going before Bertie comes completely unglued.”

Mr. Zerto sat in the front, chewing on an unlit cigar, while Benzer's mom drank coffee and played with the radio.

“Hey,” Benzer said. He looked half asleep and a little bit grumpy.

“Hey.” I slid into the backseat. “Morning, Mr. Zerto. My grandmother said she'll pick us up and bring Benzer home so you don't have to make a second trip.”

“That works,” Mr. Zerto said. “Where exactly is this church?”

“Take Crocker Highway for four miles,” his wife answered. “It's on the left.” She turned to smile at me. “You look pretty, Lou. Is that a new dress?”

“No, ma'am,” I answered, pulling self-consciously at the hem. I hadn't worn this dress since my cousin Stephanie's wedding two years ago. If there was any kneeling at this church, I'd probably moon half the congregation!

We'd picked a good Sunday to start going—it was Homecoming, a picnic held once a year. Tables were set up under the trees, and a couple of women were placing rocks on the edges of the tablecloths to keep them from blowing off in the wind.

Benzer and I weaved our way through the crowded parking lot. Tommy Winton, a fifth grader, took one look at me and dropped his Bible.

“Lou Mayhew, what are you doing here?” he screeched from across the parking lot.

“Getting a pedicure—what does it look like?”

He laughed. “Pedicure, that's funny. Hey, you want to sit with me after church? You and Benzer, I mean.”

I grabbed Benzer's arm. “Sorry, we told his parents we'd sit with them.”

Benzer led us up the stairs into the foyer. “Lou,” he whispered, “you just told a lie at church.”

“So? It's the perfect place—I can ask to be forgiven while I'm here. Besides, Tommy Winton drives me crazy.”

I spotted Patty's red hair in the front row, next to Franklin. She was a good three inches taller than he was, and Franklin wasn't short. I motioned for her to scoot over, and we slid into the pew.

“Who drives you crazy?” Franklin asked.

I pointed across the aisle at Tommy Winton. He was craning his neck to peer at me, and when he noticed us looking, blushed a bright red.

“That's 'cause he loves you,” Patty sang in a quiet voice. “Tom and Lou, sitting in a tree,
K-I-S-S
—oomph! Hey, that hurt!” She rubbed her ribs.

“Good. That's what I was going for.”

Benzer grinned. “This church thing is really working out.”

“I can't believe you actually came,” Patty said. “That's some powerful Bible you have.”

“So you still think it was the prayer?” I asked.

“Sure,” Patty said, smacking her gum loudly. “Nothing exciting ever happens, then you guys pray, and—bam—the house is in trouble and you appear in church and Isaac gets cheated out of the scholarship. What else could it be?”

Franklin leaned in to whisper. “Obviously it could all be a coincidence. But the Bible is full of examples of answered prayer. You will find it difficult to prove either way.”

“Thank you, Pastor Franklin,” Patty said.

I looked around. “Could y'all sit further up front next time?” I asked, whispering. “Why didn't we just sit at the pulpit?”

Patty smirked. “Pastor Brian asked us to sit here; we help pass out the offering basket. If you don't like it, you can go sit in the back with Mama. But she would have shushed you three times by now.”

I was thinking up a smart answer when the song leader asked us to stand. Everyone started singing “How Great Thou Art,” but by the time I found it in the hymnal, they were on to another one. After a few more hymns and a prayer, we sat down.

The pastor wasn't what I'd expected. Most of the preachers I'd seen on TV wore suits and had slicked-back hair. Pastor Brian was wearing jeans, and his hair was over his collar.

“Welcome. Today we're celebrating Homecoming, and my first full year as your pastor. I'm glad that y'all decided to keep me.” The congregation chuckled softly, and he began again. “I've asked some of our youth and high-school students to participate today during various parts of the service. We always ask children, starting from when they're little, ‘what do you want to be when you grow up?' Then as they get older, it's ‘where are you going to college?' and ‘what's your major?' and ‘what are you going to do after graduation?' It's like we're telling them that life actually starts sometime later. But I don't believe that's true. God can use them now, just as they are, and I want us to remember that as we continue to grow as a church body.”

He told everyone to open their Bibles, and I leaned back against the pew, half listening. I'd never really thought much about God or that he had a particular purpose for me in mind. If anything, I'd pictured God as a giant fuddy-duddy who spent every waking moment figuring out how to keep people out of heaven. But the pastor actually made God seem kind of cool.

Afterward, everyone poured out onto the front lawn. The tables were now covered with fried chicken, ham, deviled eggs, potato salad, coleslaw, and Tommy Winton's mother's prize-winning apple pies.

Benzer and Franklin raced to the front of the line.

“Y'all better hurry,” Benzer yelled. “The deviled eggs will be gone by the time you get up here.”

We piled our plates so high they threatened to tumble over, and looked for a place to sit. Franklin's sister, Tracy, and a bunch of high-school students were taking up two entire picnic tables, while Aunt Sophie was chatting fast and furiously with a group of women near the drinks.

I spotted Mrs. Hall sitting alone on a quilt. I nudged Franklin with my elbow. “Mrs. Hall seemed to know a lot about my house,” I whispered. “Maybe she can tell us about a battle or something.”

“Y'all coming to sit with me?” Mrs. Hall asked, smiling. “I have plenty of room on my quilt.”

We sat down, making a circle and placing our plates in the middle.

“You look a bit more chipper today than you did last night, Louise,” Mrs. Hall said. “Things just look better in the daylight, I always say.”

“Yes, ma'am.” I took a sip of cola. “I was thinking about what you said about my house. We were wondering if something happened there, like a battle maybe?”

“Battles? No, not that I'm aware of,” Mrs. Hall said. “General Zollicoffer only passed through town. He didn't actually engage the enemy until Kentucky.”

Franklin dropped his chicken bone on his plate. “Felix Zollicoffer, our town's namesake? We stayed in a house in Nashville once that was a hospital during the Civil War.” He sat up straighter. “Maybe General Zollicoffer stayed at Lou's house?”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Mrs. Hall answered. “He died early on, one of the first Confederate generals killed, they say, when his nearsightedness caused him to ride into a group of Union soldiers by mistake.”

“And we're named after him? That figures,” Patty said.

Mrs. Hall laughed. “I guess we could have been called Dibrell. That's the other general who fought nearby. Although I'm certain he wouldn't have stayed at Lou's, under the circumstances.”

“Under what circumstances?” Benzer asked. “Was Lou's family against the war?”

“No, I believe her daddy's great-great-grandfather was actually a captain,” she said. “I was thinking of the gold, of course.”

“Gold!” blurted Benzer. “What gold?”

Mrs. Hall smiled. “Bless your heart, Benzer, your people aren't from here, are they? It's probably just a rumor, anyway, right, Louise?”

I smiled weakly. I had no idea what she was talking about, but if my family hadn't mentioned it before now, it probably wasn't good.

“I'm speaking of the gold that was stolen,” Mrs. Hall continued. “It was why General Dibrell was in town, you know, to replenish the coffers before engaging the enemy. He couldn't very well go stay at the Mayhew house after the incident.”

Patty shook her head. “What incident, Mrs. Hall? What does gold have to do with Lou's house?”

“Well, dear, the story goes that the gold General Dibrell came to get was stolen. I'm sorry to say that the chief suspect was Walter Mayhew, Lou's great-great-great-grandfather.”

I sulked most of the ride home. Bertie had driven into the parking lot, yelled at us to fix her a plate, then sat, radio blaring out the windows, until Benzer and I settled into the backseat. We hadn't had time to ask Mrs. Hall any more questions, not that I'd even have known where to start.