Walking Across Egypt (17 page)

The sheriff had been waiting at the top of the steps just outside the closed front door of the church—wondering what the dickens was taking Hollins so long. When he heard the two clicks of static on his walkie-talkie, he stepped inside.

Dodson Clark, an usher, stood just inside the door, cleaning his fingernails with his new Swiss Army knife. Dodson, when he was growing up, aspired to be two things in life, a fireman and a church usher, the former so that he could live dangerously, the latter so that he could stand or sit in the foyer during the entire church service—sliding out into a back room or even outside at will.

Dodson looked up to see the sheriff. "Well, hey, Sheriff," he said, above the sound of the music. "You are Sheriff Tillman, ain't you?"

"That's right. How you doing?" said the sheriff, taking off his hat.

"Welcome to Listre Baptist. Here," Dodson picked up a church-service bulletin.

"Oh no. I'm trying to pick up a young man might be with a Mrs. Mattie Rigsbee, who supposed to be sitting—"

"She's about halfway down on the—"

"About halfway down on the left."

"Let's move right over here and we can see; yeah, there she is, beside Carrie Bowers with—"

"A white hat."

"—a white hat. Yeah." Dodson looked at the sheriff.

"No boy there. There's supposed to be a male with her: Caucasian, sixteen years of age, five feet nine, sandy hair, light complexion."

Dodson pictured a sixteen-year-old youth—he'd better be Caucasian—standing and spraying the congregation with machine-gun fire. Dodson would duck, crawl along under the pews, grab the assailant by the ankles, pull hard, trip him up, disarm him.

"How about going down and getting her," said the sheriff to Dodson, "and asking her to come back here so we can step outside and I can ask her a few questions."

Dodson asked young Terry Miles, another usher, if he'd mind going down and getting Mrs. Rigsbee. He, Dodson, needed to stay with the sheriff.

Alora and Hanna Brown stood together, singing the opening song, three rows behind Mattie and Carrie. Finner was in a small room upstairs, taping the service for shut-ins. Alora had noticed a young man, then an older man, both strangers, slip into the choir. Then she saw Terry Miles come down, get Mattie and lead her out. As the song ended, Mattie came back to her seat.

The sheriff, standing outside the front door, clicked his walkie-talkie button three times, the signal for "meet me at the vehicle." He'd learned from Mrs. Rigsbee that the Benfield boy had fled the scene.

"Who is them strangers in the choir?" Alora whispered to Hanna, as Clarence Vernon made the morning announcements—just after the opening song.

"Where?"

"On the back row. There, that one slipping out, and the other one, standing beside Bill Parker."

"Oh, I believe that's the young man was in Sunday school. He had a fresh bath last night he said. Maybe he's going to sing a solo."

Alora whispered, "What was he doing in your Sunday school?"

"He was with Mattie. Look, he's leaving, too," whispered Hanna.

After the service, Harvey Odum stood in the almost empty church parking lot. He was talking to his wife, who stood beside him, frowning, rubbing her bare arm as if she were cold. He put his hand behind his head and looked around. "I know I parked it here," he said.

Soon after the church service, Mattie, in the kitchen, looked into her oven. The biscuits were about ready. Robert and Laurie, Robert's new girlfriend, sat at the table, sipping iced tea, ready to eat.

A maroon Chrysler LeBaron eased up to the back door, on the lawn, well out of sight of the road out front.

"Who is that?" Robert asked Mattie.

"I don't know."

"Why did they pull up on the lawn like that?" asked Laurie. Laurie had practically no chin and curly black hair.

Robert was worried. His mother was hardly talking, even though Laurie was asking questions, like Laurie seemed to do quite a bit. That was one of the things Robert liked about Laurie. She knew how to bring people out. But what worried him was that his mother was one of the last persons on earth who he'd thought would ever need bringing out, yet here she was being brought out by Laurie. His mother was too quiet today.

Whoever that was, thought Mattie, would be bringing news or questions about what happened at church. "I was going to tell you what happened at church today," said Mattie to Robert. She needed to explain—the truth—so it wouldn't seem like she was some kind of criminal. And now here was no telling who, and she hadn't had a chance to explain to Robert yet. This young woman kept asking all these questions.

Mattie walked to the back door to meet whoever it was. She saw Alora and Finner walking over from their house. Who could—Wesley!

"I come to eat."

"Well, come on in. It's on the table. Who's...? Did you...? Alora, y'all come on in."

Robert looked at the young man coming in the back door. Something about his clothes looked familiar. Very familiar. Indeed, this fellow was wearing Robert's own light blue shirt with the white collar and his navy blue tie with the little red lions on it.

"Y'all, this is Wesley. Wesley Benfield," Mattie said to Robert and Laurie. "This is my son Robert, and Laurie Thomas, his friend," said Mattie. "And let's see, this is Alora and Finner Swanson."

"Is that my tie?" asked Robert.

"Yeah, your shirt, too." Wesley nodded toward Mattie, "Grandma said I could wear them."

"Grandma?"

"Could be. Can't ever tell, you know." I ain't no kin to you, though, thought Wesley.

The sheriff's patrol car pulled up in the backyard behind the maroon Chrysler.

"Y'all are all kin?" Laurie asked Robert. This is strange, she thought.

"Go ahead and get you something to eat," said Mattie to Wesley. "There on the stove. There's a plate. We were about to start. Alora, don't y'all want something?"

"No, we ain't kin," said Robert.

"Naw," said Alora, "we already eat. We just wanted to find out what was going on in church this morning. What all that mix-up was about."

"Ain't that Harvey Odum's LeBaron?" said Finner.

Mattie looked at Wesley.

"I ain't sure what his name is," said Wesley. "I borrowed it." Wesley had a plate and was spooning on creamed potatoes. He forked a pork chop onto his plate. "I'm going to take it by his house." He made a little indentation in the top of his potatoes and spooned on thick gravy. He looked out the back window. There was the sheriff peering through the window of the LeBaron. Wesley took a bite of potatoes, put his plate down on the stove. "I got to go to the bathroom." He turned and walked through the kitchen and den and to the front door where he held on to the knob and looked through one of the small squares of glass. A deputy was leaning against another patrol car on the side of the road. He walked down the hall and into Mattie's room and looked out into the backyard. The sheriff was at the back door and the deputy who had stood right beside him in the choir was leaning against the sheriff's car. Hot waves spread from Wesley's scalp down over his neck and shoulders. They had the front, back, and both sides covered. He walked across the hall into his and Robert's bedroom, closed the door, opened the dresser and got out the pajamas he'd worn the night before. This was it. They had him. He'd get in bed and tell them he was too sick to move. Heart trouble.

Mattie stood at the back-door screen. "Come on in, Sheriff," she said.

"Mrs. Rigsbee, this car has been reported as stolen. Is Wesley Benfield here?"

"Yes, but I wadn't expecting him. Come on in. Maybe you'd like a little bite to eat."

"A stolen car?" said Alora. "Mattie?"

"We been on this wild goose chase all morning," said the sheriff, stepping inside, "as you know."

"He went back there," said Robert to the sheriff. "He's got on my shirt and tie."

"You never met him before?" Laurie asked Robert.

"He might have left out the front. I don't know," said Mattie.

"No, I never met him," said Robert.

"We got the front covered," said the sheriff. "And the back and both sides."

"What did he do?" Laurie asked the sheriff.

"Auto theft," said the sheriff. "Escape from the RC. That's the most recent thing anyway. He's not armed as anyone knows, is he?"

"Oh no," said Mattie, who was moving toward the food on the counter and taking up a serving dish, "he ain't armed. You-all sit down. I'll get him. Have you had dinner, Sheriff?"

"No ma'am, but—"

"Get you a plate up there. Robert, get him a plate. You got time to eat a bite. Wesley needs to eat a bite before he goes with y'all. I'll get him. I got a bowl of beef stew I can warm up in no time at all."

Mattie walked to the front door and opened it. "Wesley didn't come out here, did he?" she asked the deputy.

"No ma'am. Ain't he in there?"

"I think he might be in the bathroom. Don't you want a bite to eat? You must be hungry; it's almost one o'clock."

"I'm supposed to stay out here."

Mattie walked down the hall to check the bathroom. The door was open. He wasn't in there. She opened the door to the bedroom. There he was, in bed, covered up, face down, the pillow over his head. He was crying. Mattie closed the door behind her, sat down on the other single bed. "Son, come on and finish your dinner. It'll be all right."

Wesley said into the bed: "I'm not going back to the goddamned RC."

"Son, I've asked you not to cuss in this house."

Wesley removed the pillow, rolled over on his back. His face was splotched red and white. "I just wanted something to eat."

"You come on. You can get something to eat."

Mattie looked out the window. A highway patrol car was pulling up.

Wesley raised up on his elbow and looked out the window.

The sheriff knocked on the bedroom door. "Mrs. Rigs-bee? Is the suspect in there?"

"Yes. He'll be out in a minute."

The door opened. Robert stood behind the sheriff.

"He's right here," said Mattie. "Now, if you-all will wait a minute we'll be right out to finish eating. Then you can go."

"Mrs. Rigsbee, I need to arrest this man."

"Well, just tell him he's arrested."

"You're under arrest." The sheriff took a step forward, and hitched up his belt.

"Now, go back to the kitchen and get some food on your plate. We'll be right out. He's just a boy."

"Boy, my foot, Mama," said Robert.

"Robert, go sit down at the table and start eating."

"I'm sick," said Wesley to the sheriff. "I got heart trouble and if you move me from here I can sue you for malpractice."

"Malpractice?" said the sheriff to himself, squinting his eyes and showing his teeth slightly. "Malpractice? Son, I ought to put you in jail for being silly. Get dressed and let's go."

"We'll be right out," said Mattie. "You've got my word."

"Don't you try anything," said the sheriff to Wesley. He and Robert went back to the kitchen.

"They got me," said Wesley.

"Yes, they do. Get up now and put your clothes on."

Wesley uncovered himself, swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. He looked over his shoulder out the window and saw the sheriffs car and the highway patrol car. He slowly toppled onto his side on the bed.

"You got to go, son," said Mattie.

"Are you my grandma? Lamar said you won't."

"I don't know." Mattie searched for a way, an excuse, a reason to say yes. This boy was in need and, well, he deserved a grandma, everybody did, and she might as well be it. It had been an unusual day. "Maybe I am."

"I thought so." He sat up. "Well, could I come live here? If I had a place to live they might let me out. They were going to one time."

"Son, I'm slowing down. I can't just up and keep somebody here."

Wesley fell back onto his side.

"Mattie?" Alora stuck her head in the door. "They sent me back here to get y'all."

"Alora, get back in the kitchen; we'll be right out."

"Well," said Wesley, lying on the bed, his feet hanging over the side. "I'm going to kill myself then."

Alora heard, rushed back up the hall to the kitchen. "He's fixing to commit sideways!" she said.

"What?" said the sheriff.

"Commit sideways—kill hisself."

"You mean suicide?" said Laurie.

"Right. Whatever."

"He's armed!" asked the sheriff.

"Good gracious," said Finner. "I'll go get my gun."

"No." The sheriff held out his hand, as if stopping traffic. "Don't go get your gun. I knew I should have got him," said the sheriff. He started down the hall to the bedroom. He met Mattie. "Where is he?"