Solomon's Oak (3 page)

“Yes, you did.”

“A chapel isn’t a church.”

“It’s a first cousin.”

Glory took a couple of plastic ponies out of a basket of thrift-store toys and offered them to the littlest pirates. “What’s your name, sweetie?” she asked the girl.

“Erica.”

“And you?”

“Uh, it’s Matt. Can I, uh, have the, you know, uh, fire engine?”

“Of course. And here you go, Erica. Tell me which pony is your favorite.”

“The black one. She’s a girl horse, and she scares stallions for miles around.”

“Those are good qualities to have in a mare,” Glory said, while the boy rolled the fire engine across the wood floor to its imaginary disaster.

Mrs. Brown twisted to zip her sheath of amber satin dressed up with an attached cape. “Darn this thing.”

“Allow me,” Glory said, and zipped it for her. “Mrs. Brown, I have to say, you make a lovely mother of the pirate bride.”

Karen’s mother looked into the door-length mirror and smoothed her dress. “Weddings shouldn’t be silly.”

“Think what a great story this will make to tell your grandchildren. I’m sure you’d like to check on the chapel to make sure everything’s exactly the way you want it. Just past the porch and to the right of the big oak tree.”

As Mrs. Brown walked away, Glory thought, bless her heart. Every bride’s mother wanted everything perfect for her daughter’s wedding because over the years she hadn’t forgotten that her own wedding was lacking. Glory had no pictures of her own wedding day. Eighteen years earlier she had thought diamonds and bridesmaids were trivial. Her sister, Halle, stood up for her wearing a dress straight from her closet. Today Glory would have given her big toe for one blurry snapshot. Dan strong and healthy, and she wide-eyed at age twenty behind a bouquet of wildflowers, certain she’d be granted a happy ending.

Ah, well.

Glory walked outside to see how the servers were managing. Cooling afternoon air blew inland from the coastline, carrying with it the faint smell of salt. Surrounded by land the color of wheat, it was hard to believe it was only twenty miles to the most beautiful section of the California coastline, where, depending on the time of year, you might see local otters, migrating whales, or elephant seals. The fastest way there was to drive the recently paved road (G18) across the Santa Lucia Mountains. Of course, arriving safely meant praying for no flat tires or hungry mountain lions or middle-aged guys racing Italian sports cars around the curves and past sheer drop-off cliffs that had no guardrails.

The groom’s party arrived dressed in M.C. Hammer pants paired with white shirts and knee-high boots. Angus’s shirtfront was an explosion of ruffles. Mike Patrick, the portrait photographer, called Glory over to help with the bounce-flash reflectors. “Look fierce,” she reminded everyone. To save the pirates from his hefty per hour fee, she’d agreed to take the candid shots during the reception.

When Glory heard another car approach, she panicked, thinking some guests had decided to arrive an hour early. Then she recognized Caroline’s tan Buick Skylark, county-issue. Caroline was the kind of hero Bruce Springsteen wrote songs about. She worked eighty-hour weeks so that for the time they were in the system kids felt safe and well fed. Here it was Thanksgiving and she was on the job as usual. Dodge started his frantic barking, and Cadillac joined in. They knew Caroline’s shoulder bag held cookies. Caroline got out of the car, waved to Glory, then walked around to open the passenger-side door. “Come on out, kiddo. Mrs. Solomon won’t bite you. Happy turkey day, Glory.”

“Same to you, Caroline.”

The girl was about five-five, twenty pounds overweight, and her dyed-black hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Metal piercings were in her eyebrow, nose, and lip. Right away Glory spotted a tattoo on her neck, positioned over her jugular vein, of a bluebird. Glory wondered who would perform such a thing on an underage child. The girl wore black track pants, an oversize T-shirt, and slip-on tennis shoes. Wardrobe pickings were slim at Social Services.

“Welcome to Solomon’s Oak. I’m Mrs. Solomon, but you can call me Glory.”

The girl flashed a practiced smile. “Thank you for having me, Mrs. Solomon.”

“You’re welcome. What’s your name?”

“Juniper.”

“Nice to meet you, Juniper.”

Juniper looked toward the barn because of course the dogs were still barking. They wouldn’t shut up until Caroline visited or Glory went back there and told them to knock it off.

“You have a dog?” Juniper asked, while Caroline rummaged through her bag for the mandatory paperwork Glory would need to sign, even to take the girl in for that single night.

“Actually, I have three of them. Do you like dogs?”

“Um,” she said, hauling out that polite smile again, “they’re all right as long as they’re behind a fence.”

“They’re kenneled. I have a couple of old horses, too. Nothing to write home about, but they’re rideable. Do you ride?”

“I’m afraid of horses.”

“I only let them in the house at mealtimes,” Glory joked, but only Caroline laughed. “If you change your mind, there’s a fifty-pound sack of carrots in the barn. Take a few and stand at the fence. They’ll come to you.” No reaction. What had she got herself into?

“Jeez Louise, where’s a pen when you need one?” Caroline said, pawing through her purse. “It’s like I’m carrying around my own personal black hole.”

Glory couldn’t take her eyes off the girl. Juniper. Interesting name. What lay behind that locked-up, blank expression? What did she make of the pirates practicing their sword fight on the sod Glory had laid down especially for the wedding? When she caught Glory looking, Juniper shrugged, as if it would take a lot more than that to impress her. Juniper looked west to the grove of oaks and uncultivated land, and then east. Because the ranch was sunk down in the valley, the hills blocked the city lights. At night, the periodic glimmer of headlights on Highway 101 was all that suggested civilization was in the distance. Glory could tell Juniper was thinking about running away and wondered if she’d try. It would be a long trek to the Chevron station just off the highway, and the first place cops would look for her.

“Caroline, I’m sure I have a pen inside,” Glory said, and then Juniper noticed the chapel.

“Is that a church? What is she, a nun?” Juniper wheeled around to face Caroline. “Ms. Proctor, did you bring to me to a convent?”

“Of course not,” Caroline said. “Do those even exist anymore?”

“It’s a private wedding chapel,” Glory said. “Or a layperson’s? Shoot, I don’t even know what to call it. No nuns.” She pointed to the groom’s party, who were already drinking and laughing. “Just a wedding.”

The girl turned to Caroline, who’d found a pen, but it was out of ink. “You said there wouldn’t be any men.”

Caroline sighed. “First of all, Mrs. Solomon is standing right here. Talk to her instead of about her, please. And unless she’s opened a hotel in the last thirty minutes, I don’t think the men are staying.”

“They’re not,” Glory said.

“They better not be,” Juniper said, “or you can drive me back to the group home. I don’t care if it is Thanksgiving. You promised no men.”

Caroline said, “For heaven’s sake, Juniper. Mrs. Solomon isn’t lying to you. Apologize for your outburst.”

“Whatever. Sorry.”

By now Dan would have had the girl laughing at his terrible elephant jokes.
Why do elephants wear blue tennis shoes? Because it’s so hard to keep the white ones clean. How do you get an elephant in an oak tree? Sit it down on an acorn and wait fifty years.
Despite Juniper’s fear of horses, he would have set her on top of bombproof Cricket and let her ride all the way up to the hilltop so she could feel all the open space around her.

“What’s with the costumes and the dueling? Did someone forget Halloween was a month ago?” Juniper asked.

“Believe it or not,” Glory said, “they’re pirates. I’m hosting their wedding. I cooked the food, decorated the cake, and I’ve hired some kids to serve. You’re certainly under no obligation to, but if you’re interested in earning a little money, I’m sure the servers would appreciate the help.”

The girl stared. “How much money and would I get to keep it?”

“Ten dollars an hour and of course.” Glory waited for the smile. It made a brief appearance, then winked out.

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

“That’s generous of you, Glory,” Caroline said. “Say thank you, Juniper.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

The three of them walked into the house and stopped at the butcher-block kitchen counter. Glory introduced everyone. “Robynn, can you find Juniper a white shirt and an apron?”

“Sure thing, Mrs. S.” Robynn held out a full trash sack. “Mind taking this bag out to the green cans out back? Make sure you put the lid back on or the javelinas will get into it.”

“Javelinas?”

“Wild pigs. They’re everywhere around here.”

“I
know
what they are,” Juniper said. “I didn’t think they’d be out in broad daylight. That’s all.”

Robynn gave her a startled look. “Okay. There’re white shirts in the box on the couch. Aprons are underneath the shirts.”

Juniper took the trash sack and went out the door. That left Caroline and Glory standing there on the old pine floor that creaked in places and had valleys from decades of traffic flow. Glory walked Caroline back out onto the porch. They looked at each other and Glory said, “Don’t you start. Those kinds of tears are catching. I can’t afford them or the headache that follows.”

“I miss him so much, Glo,” Caroline said.

Glory looked across the reception tables to the white oak. She’d turned down two photographers from Germany who asked to photograph it today. Sometimes the tree felt to her like a witness who’d taken the stand but then refuses to talk. She and Dan had picnicked there on nice days. “I’m getting used to it.”

Caroline blew into a tissue. “So much bad in this world and a good man dies so young. What the heck’s the point in that?”

“Dan would tell you God has his reasons.”

Caroline sniffled. “I tell you what. I feel like ripping God a new one. Hey! I finally found a pen with ink in it. You know all this, but I have to say it anyway.”

She recited the speech Glory had heard over the years. Not much had changed in the wording, or for the kids it protected. Every time she heard it, Glory felt there ought to be a license required to procreate.

“Sign at the flags. Here’s a voucher for you to buy the poor kid some decent clothes and essentials at the nearest Target.”

On my next workday, Glory thought. She signed the papers and handed the voucher back. “Do I need this since she won’t be here long enough to use it?”

“It’ll be easier if you just keep it with all the papers,” Caroline said. “If it gets lost, I have to fill out eighty-five forms. If the county cut down on the paperwork, they could hire a dozen case managers.”

“I’ve got a box full of Levi’s and T-shirts Juniper’s welcome to. So what’s her story?”

Caroline’s cell phone rang and she held up a finger while she answered it. “What? Come on, it’s a national holiday. I haven’t even had lunch and it’s after four. All right. But you’re paying for the speeding ticket.” She pocketed the phone. “Sorry. Happy Thanksgiving, right? It is still Thanksgiving?”

“It is. Same to you, Caroline. Guess we’re both working today. Do you ever get a vacation?”

Caroline’s flinty laugh revealed her past with cigarettes and her present with late-night alcohol. “Let’s not even go there.”

Glory heard Gary calling her name. “I hate to rush off like this, but I have to get back to the wedding. Could you just give me the basics?”

“You bet. A couple years back, her only sib died. Parents divorced, Mom OD’d, and Dad couldn’t handle it so he bailed.”

“Jeepers. That’s more than anyone deserves in a lifetime.”

“Tell me about it.”

“What’s she got against boys?”

“Her last placement had two wiseacre teenage boys who apparently teased her mercilessly, the little jerks.”

“Except for my goat, all the males around here have been castrated.”

A dark blue truck with a camper shell pulled up and out came the members of the band. They began setting up amplifiers, and Glory worried they’d play that kind of head-banging music and scare the horses off their feed.
Three thousand dollars
, she reminded herself.

Caroline waited for the van’s engine to turn off before she continued. “Her issues with men go deeper. After Mom died, Juniper went to live with Dad. He ‘relocated’ while she was in school. She was on the street for a while, which is apparently where she got the tattoo, and, I suspect, more trauma, but she won’t talk about it. Cops picked her up for shoplifting DVDs. That put her into the system. She’s a good kid, a little emotional, and she has a short fuse. I promised her I’d find her the best family ever. Hope I can live up to that.”

Caroline had heard so many gruesome stories over the years that she could discuss them as offhandedly as she might a shopping list. Glory guessed it would be the only way to endure a job like hers. They hadn’t even got to the grieving part and already Glory’s skin prickled with gooseflesh. Every boy she and Dan had fostered had anger-management issues. Dan had them chopping wood and building birdhouses, but Glory didn’t think that would help Juniper. “I’ll do my best, Caroline, but without Dan to back me up, I’m not sure that’ll be enough.”