May Cooler Heads Prevail (12 page)

Five minutes later, I found myself sitting in Freedom’s truck with the plate of chicken between us. I tried to tell myself that I should be too stressed, too frustrated, and too civilized to eat chicken while on my way to pick up a dead body wrapped in pink cellophane. But the truth was that the orange juice and graham crackers I had for breakfast were just a memory, and I was hungry.

Freedom must have been hungry also, because other than a few appreciative yum-yum sounds, neither of us spoke as we munched on our chicken.

Once my stomach was satisfied, I didn’t want to continue to sit in silence. It was time to find out about Mr. Freedom Crane.

“What made you move all the way from California to Kenna Springs? Do you have relatives around here or something?”

Tossing the bone from a chicken leg back onto the plate
between us, he answered, “I guess I don’t mind telling you the answers to those questions. Are you sure you want to hear them?”

“Why not?” I shrugged.

Looking at the road ahead, he nodded. “Okay. I left California because after my wife died, it no longer seemed like home, and I needed a new start.”

That was not what I had expected. All I could do was murmur an inadequate, “I’m sorry you lost your wife.”

Turning toward me, he said, “Don’t get me wrong, Dixie, I’m not asking for your sympathy. I’m giving you the answer to your question. I realize I’m sort of the new guy on the block, and you have a right to know as much about me as the rest of them do. Do you still want to hear my story?”

I nodded. For maybe the first time I was seeing Freedom Crane as a real person—a person, who like all of us, struggles with life and death.

“Okay.” Freedom nodded back and turned to look at the road. “Abby died seven years ago in a car accident. We were married only two years. A drunk driver hit us. I was in the hospital for months. Abby died instantly. When I got out of the hospital, my body was fine, but I was a wreck mentally and emotionally. Anger was the only thing I could feel for a while. I hated the guy that ran into us, especially when I found out that he only suffered a few broken bones. As far as I was concerned, he should have died a slow and agonizing death for what he did. Prison wasn’t good enough. I was even
angry at Abby for dying on me. Most of all I was angry at God. Up until the accident I didn’t believe God existed. Then I wanted Him to exist so I could be angry with Him. Just before she died, Abby came to believe in God. She believed the Bible. She believed that Jesus was her Savior. Jesus was very real to her. But from what I could see, He hadn’t saved Abby from dying, so what good was He?”

Freedom turned his head again to look at me. There was pain in his eyes. And because I saw his pain, there was pain in my own heart for him. I couldn’t trust myself to say anything. I could only hope that he saw what he needed to see in my face.

Freedom turned again toward the road ahead. “For almost five years that anger nearly ate me alive. I couldn’t get rid of it, I couldn’t deal with it. One night, I was eating at a diner near where I lived at the time, and a van pulled up. The logo plastered on the side of the van was from some seminary close by. Seven guys piled out of the van. I watched them, hating them, as they walked through the door of the diner. One of the guys was a lot older than the rest. I thought maybe he was a teacher or something like that, and I decided I wanted to talk to that guy. I wanted to tell him how unfair I thought God was. I went up to him and told him I saw the logo on the van and wondered if I could talk to him. I was very polite about it, because I wanted him to think he had a patsy for his religion. We went back to my table. The short version is we had quite a discussion. No matter what I said,
the man was unflappable. He had this peace about him that I just couldn’t penetrate. After a while, I ran out of steam and started listening. We made plans to meet again. It turned out he wasn’t a teacher. He was a seminary student studying to be a preacher. We became friends and started eating together once a week at the diner.”

We had reached the turnoff to Calley’s Spring and Freedom stopped talking. He pulled into the clearing, stopped the truck, and turned toward me. “My friend got me interested in a Bible study, sort of a Christianity 101. Through that study, I came to see Jesus like Abby saw Him. I saw that Jesus was everything Abby said He was. So, I traded my anger for forgiveness and peace and became a Christian. Haven’t looked back since. It brings me comfort knowing that I’ll see Abby again. My friend not only pointed me in the right direction spiritually, he was the one who suggested that if I was set on moving, to try out Kenna Springs.”

“Your friend suggested Kenna Springs? Why?” The words popped right out of my mouth.

I saw the corners of Freedom’s mouth twitching into a grin, “As it turns out, he happens to be related to you. He’s a second or third cousin, I think. Goes by the name of Woody.”

“Woody Tanner! Hang ‘em high, let him swing from the neck, Woody Tanner is studying to become a preacher?” I just couldn’t believe it. “But Woody left town years ago. His parents moved down to Florida before my parents did. No one that I know of has ever heard from him. Does Uncle Rudd know this?”

“Yep, you bet he does!” Freedom made it sound like an announcement. “He knows the whole story and has even talked to Woody. When I met Woody two years ago he hadn’t been in seminary very long. He didn’t want to get in touch with his family just then, because he wanted to be able to prove to them that he had changed. He’s ready now, and in fact, as we speak he’s in Florida visiting with his mom and dad and I guess your mom and dad as well.”

Freedom sat quietly, giving me time to absorb everything he had told me. I appreciated that, because my mind was in a whirl. Woody Tanner a preacher… a changed man! I would have to get used to that concept. I found myself… well… happy for Woody. Stealing a glance out the corner of my eye, I decided that I had changed my mind about Freedom also. He wasn’t quite as crazy as I once thought.

Breaking the silence, I murmured, “That’s quite a story.” I wanted to say more. But everything I thought about saying seemed too mushy, too gushy, too trite. I settled for, “Thanks for being honest with me and answering my questions. But it seems to me that you came all the way from California just to land in the outskirts of insanity with the rest of us Tanners.”

“You may be right.” Freedom grinned, opening up the door on his side of the truck. “But we’d better get to that cave so we can get Scott’s body back to the shop. No telling what those three will be up to by the time we get back.”

He had a point. We looked around to make sure there
were no other vehicles or people in sight, and headed down the narrow dirt path toward the cave. At least it was daylight and didn’t take as long to get there. Freedom was able to weave his way in and out of the brush and trees. All I had to do was stay right behind.

We decided to leave as little evidence as we could. Using Freedom’s coat as a carrier, we cleared away any ice that hadn’t melted and threw it in the brush. There was nothing we could do about the puddles of water on the ground and on the ledge around Aaron’s body, except hope they dried up quickly. When we were done, Freedom hefted the cellophane-wrapped body over his shoulder, and we headed back to the truck.

CHAPTER
NINE

F
reedom backed the truck down the alley behind the flower shop to make it easier to get Aaron’s body back into the flower cooler. He turned off the engine and we got out of the truck just as Uncle Rudd, Aunt Nissa, and Aunt Connie came out of the upstairs apartment.

“We’ve been watchin’ for ya,” Uncle Rudd said, leading the pack down the stairway. “Any trouble?”

“No trouble, just took longer than we thought it would,” Freedom told him.

Freedom pulled the tailgate of his truck down and started to pull Aaron’s cellophane-wrapped body toward him.

“Here, let me help with that,” Uncle Rudd offered and moved to take the other end of the body.

They hadn’t taken more than two or three steps when the wet cellophane slipped through Uncle Rudd’s fingers. With the shift in body weight, the cellophane slipped through Freedom’s hands as well, and the body went crashing to the ground.

“Oh, for crying out loud!” Uncle Rudd bellowed, and
actually stomped his foot.

The three of us women scrambled toward Uncle Rudd and Freedom to help. We all grabbed a section of the pink cellophane and were ready to lift the body when we heard, “Does Maybelle hear someone a yellin’ out of anger on the Lord’s day?”

All five of us looked up and saw Maybelle Chesewick standing over us.

Maybelle always spoke about herself in the third person. She is the closest thing Kenna Springs has to a bag lady, although Maybelle isn’t actually homeless. She lives in a small frame house just off the town square. She isn’t actually penniless either. She owns nearly a thousand acres of good farming land, which she leases out. What Maybelle is, is a woman who lives in her own little world and is content with that. She walks up and down streets and alleyways with her battered shopping cart and picks up everything from banjos to plastic pink flamingos. As long as it is outside, not nailed down, and she can fit it into her shopping cart, Maybelle considers it hers. If anyone really wants anything back, she is not opposed to bartering. More than one person in town has shown up at Maybelle’s house with a casserole or some other bartering material in hand to get back whatever she took.

This was not a good time for Maybelle Chesewick to show up. But there she was, standing there frowning, with her bright red woolen cap covering her head, and an orange sweater over her royal blue sweatshirt, which didn’t even
begin to match her bright turquoise blue knit leggings.

Aunt Nissa thought quicker than the rest of us. She stepped over Aaron’s body and stood in front of it. The rest of us took our cue and did the same, instinctively closing ranks.

“Now, Maybelle, Rudd wasn’t yelling out of anger, exactly,” Aunt Nissa said soothingly. “And really, Maybelle, this isn’t the Lord’s day. It’s Monday, dear.”

Maybelle shook a crooked finger at Aunt Nissa. “Maybelle knows that, you dunce! Don’t matter the name of the day, every day is the Lord’s day, and Rudd should’na yelled like that. That’s what Maybelle thinks.”

Then she bent down so that she could peer between our legs. “Whatcha got there?”

Aunt Connie bent down to look into Maybelle’s face. “Ain’t nothin’ you need to concern yourself with, Maybelle. It’s just somethin’ that needs to go in the flower cooler.”

“But Maybelle wants to see what’s wrapped in the pretty pink paper.” She straightened and sniffed, rubbing her nose with her gloved hand.

“Maybelle, get it through that spooky little brain of yours there ain’t nothin’ wrapped in that cellophane you need to be lookin’ at,” Aunt Connie snapped. “Besides, what’s in there wouldn’t fit in your cart, and you wouldn’t know what to do with it if you had it anyway.”

Fearing that might be too much information, I intervened, “You know, Maybelle, maybe I could walk through the alley
with you, and we could spot something pretty you might like to put in your cart.”

Maybelle cocked her head and squinted her eyes to get a better look at me. Her eyes lit up, and she smiled. “Maybelle knows you. You’re Dixie, Memphis and Jeb’s daughter. Maybelle likes Memphis and Jeb. They were always nice to Maybelle.” Shooting a quick glance at Aunt Connie, Maybelle added, “Not like some Tanners I know.”

“So, you’d like to take a walk with me down the alley,

Maybelle?”

Tilting her head first to one side, then the other, Maybelle said, “Well… maybe. Maybelle already found a real pretty leather thing by the trash cans over there by the door early yesterday morning.”

It flashed through my mind that she might have found Aaron’s briefcase. Unfortunately, before I could ask, Aunt Connie gruffly demanded, “Just what kind of stuff did you find around here yesterday, Maybelle Chesewick?”

Looking about as far from being intimidated as one could get, Maybelle narrowed her little eyes and announced, “Maybelle never talks to mean people.”

Trying to sound as casual as I could, I smiled at her. “Maybelle, if you still have it, could I see the leather thing you picked up by the trash cans yesterday morning?”

Maybelle knit her almost nonexistent brows together, evidently to think about it before she answered. “Well… guess it can’t hurt none to show you.”

She walked over to her cart and started taking things out and dropping them on the ground. When she got to the bottom of the cart, she pulled out a brown leather briefcase. Holding it so we could all see it, she ran one of her hands over the dark leather. “Pretty, ain’t it?”

Without thinking, I reached for the briefcase. Maybelle jumped back a step and yelled, “No, it’s Maybelle’s!” Then, wrapping her arms around the briefcase and pulling it close to her chest, she glared at me. “Doesn’t belong to you! Maybelle found it fair and square.”

Aunt Nissa said gently, “Maybelle dear, we think that briefcase is important to us. Could we barter for it?”

Maybelle smiled slyly. “Can Maybelle see what’s all wrapped up in that pretty pink paper?”