Finding Home

by

Jackie Weger

Copyright © 2014 JackieWeger

All rights reserved

ONE

PHOEBE’S PACE HASTENEDas she approached her truckparked in the lee of the buildingnear the big trash compactor.She’d had to find a spot awayfrom prying eyes because shecouldn’t trust Maydean andWillie-Boy to behave without herstanding over them. Like now,she noted, discovering Willie-Boy hanging out the window.

“Did you get work?” he asked.“Not yet,” Phoebe said,

brushing off the fact that theinterviewer had insulted herdown to muscle and bone. “Ididn’t want that old job nohow.Dern it, Maydean. I told you notto mess with that mirror, didn’tI?”

Twelve-year-old Maydeanflounced. It took her whole bodyto do it. “How much money wegot left, Phoebe? I’m hungry.”

Phoebe didn’t want to think

about money. Or buying food.Or where they were going tosleep that night. She reachedup, adjusting the mirror. “We’lleat when I get hungry.”

“You never get hungry! Andyou’re never going to get no job,either. You’re too skinny. I toldyou! If you want to work in thecity you got to have a figure. Itold you! Stuff toilet paper inyour bra. There ain’t nobodygoing to hire a flat-chestedstring bean like you. Not to work

in an office, they ain’t. And yououghta dye your hair. Folks takeone look at that fire-engine redand they know right off you gota temper. Know right off you’reskinny and mean. You ain’tnever going to find us a place,Phoebe. I know you ain’t. Mashould never have trusted you todo it. We’ll probably never seeMa and Pa and Erlene the restof our lives.”

For an instant Phoebe closedher eyes against the bright glare

of the sun. Pride and angerwarred within her. In her heartshe wanted to be as good andkind thinking as the all-forgivingLord meant her to be, but rightthis minute she felt awfully likegrabbing a handful of Maydean’shair. “I wish I had your coldheart, Maydean. Then I wouldn’tbe worryin’ about what to do,where our next meal is comin’from or where we’re gonnasleep tonight. Anyhow, it ain’t inthe chest. It’s in the backbone.

Hair color don’t make no nevermind. Now shut up. You’remakin’ me mad. Hike up andlook out over that trash bin. I gotto back out.” Phoebe focused onher sister with an expression sofierce Maydean grudged askittering glance over hershoulder.

“Nothin’s comin’.”But there was, and Phoebe

backed right into it. A pickup,newer than her own, but notmuch newer. Still, she felt her

mouth going uncommonly dry.“We’re goin’ to jail now, ain’t

we?” cried Willie-Boy. Hescrambled to his knees to lookout the cracked back window.“Lor, Phoebe,” he whispered.“There’s a giant gettin’ outenthat truck.”

Phoebe watched the manemerge. Labeling him giantwasn’t far wrong. Tall andbroad-shouldered, he had awaist tapering into well-cut jeansfilled out so she could tell he had

never missed a meal. She leftoff watching him disentangle hislegs to focus on his face. Hewas putting on a frown.

The eyes were dark, deep setand thick lashed. Sparking eyes,Phoebe thought. Most likely heused them to advantage onwomen. The idea made her feelan odd fluttering in her stomach.Had she been able to snag aman like him back home, whyher whole family would still betogether.

The rest of the man’s facewas filled out with a goodstraight nose and kissing lips. Allover his head was curly blackhair, tidily cut. Went to thebarbershop every month mostlikely. Curls like that couldn’t bekept aright if left to grow wild.She ought to know. It’d beenmonths since she’d had her owncurls parlor cut, and now theyslipped band and pin andpomade with fierce regularity.

The man was looking at her.

Phoebe saw the kissing lipsturning down at the corners andthe good straight nose beginningto narrow like he was smellingdead fish. Edgewise she caughta glimpse of Maydean pattingher hair and puckering her lips,one hand on the door handle.Phoebe grabbed her.

“Stay put,” she ordered. “Youtoo, Willie-Boy. I’ll see howmuch damage he done.”Adjusting her cotton skirt andbrushing trailing wisps of red

hair back from her face, Phoebestepped out of the truck. “How‘do,” she said, polite like. Shetracked all of him in a close-upglance before she gave herattention to their lockedbumpers. “Looks like you hit mea fair blow, don’t it?”

His gaze darted over her,taking in the narrow, heart-shaped face, the shoulders, trueand squared, slender legs belowthe flowered skirt, the once-white sneakers, laces knotted

twice over where they’d broken.His eyes lifted back to her facewhere wisps of red hair—hundreds of them—were allastray. Phoebe watched thefrown spread out all over hisface. He hadn’t answered herand she was not equipped tomeet silence. She spoke again.

“I said—”“I know what you said. It’s the

other way round. You ought tolook where you’re going.’’

Phoebe tried not to pay

attention to his voice. It wasdeep, good sounding andsmooth. “I was looking,” shesaid resolutely. “I didn’t seeyou.”

“I came out of that parkingspace.” He waved his hand in aneasterly direction. It was a bighand, finely shaped andcallused. The callusesimpressed Phoebe. A womancouldn’t go much wrong latchingonto a man with calluses. It tooksteady work to thicken skin like

that.Phoebe decided to be friendly,

generous of spirit. She wasproud of her teeth. They werewhite and even with no gaps.She gave him her best smile. “Ican’t tell which dent I did you oryou did me. We can call it even,I reckon.”

“Even?” He eyed her withsuspicion. “Are you telling meyou don’t have any insurance ormoney to make good on thedamage you did my truck?”

All sorts of dreadfulapprehensions began to rise inPhoebe. Still, she was reluctantto give up being friendly. “I’m notsayin’ any such thing. I don’tdiscuss personal things like thatwith strangers.”

He muttered somethingbeneath his breath. “I didn’tcatch that,” Phoebe said,hanging on to her smile.

“You probably don’t have adriver’s license either. You oldenough to drive?”

Offended, Phoebe bristled.Her smile faded. “Way oldenough.”

“How old?”“Twenty-six.”Disbelief made his eyes go

cloudy. “I’m going to call thecops.”

“Twenty-five. Almost. I swear.That’s what it says on mylicense.” The truth was that shewas twenty-four, looking to betwenty-five and an old maid. Shewanted to skip being twenty-

five. She decided against anyfurther friendliness. “‘Scuse mea minute.” She sidled up to thecab where Willie-Boy andMaydean were arguing forgawking space. “Count to ten,Maydean, then you two startwailing.”

Wearing her most seriousexpression she rejoined theman. He was scowling at thelocked bumpers. “If you stoodon yours,” she suggested, “bigas you are, I could drive my

truck right off it.”“One of us is bound to lose a

bumper.”The caterwauling began. He

looked up startled. “What in hell—”

“When you run into us, they hittheir heads on the windshield.Like I said, you hit us a fairblow.”

His whole body went rigid as ablock of granite. “I didn’t run intoyou, lady. You backed into me.”

“My sister and little brother

said you run into us. They werewatchin’.”

“And that’s what you’d tell thecops,” he replied, sarcasmflowing.

“Well, not me, mister. I didn’tsee you and that’s a fact. ButMaydean did, certain.” Phoebeaimed an anxious look towardthe noise. “We better figuresomethin’ out quick. I might haveto take those kids to thehospital.”

He growled an epithet.

Ladylike, Phoebe pretended notto hear. Her eyes stayed gluedto his face. He was making adecision, she could see it in hisexpression.

“A fender bender’s not worththe trouble,” he said. “I’ll standon the bumper, you see if youcan pull your heap off.”

Moving quicker than a sprite,Phoebe got back in her truck.“Y’all can quit your snivelin’now.”

“I can’t,” whimpered Willie-

Boy. “Maydean pinched me.”Phoebe hung her head out the

window. “Hey, mister, you set?”“I’m set.” He gave a tentative

bounce on the bumpers. “Yougo slow. Easy and slow. I don’twant to end up with a brokenleg.”

Phoebe put the truck inforward gear while he rockedthe bumpers. The vehiclesparted with a screech. Her fleshcrawled. It sounded worse thanchalk gone awry on a

blackboard. She got out andwent to the rear of her truckagain.

“Afraid your bumper cameclean off,” said the man.

“That’s okay,” said Phoebe. “Ican weld it back once I get thechance. Just toss it in the backyonder, will you? On top of oursuitcases and such.”

Effortlessly, he picked up thetorn and bent metal. Phoebenoticed his face didn’t even gored with the strain. When he had

the bumper chest level, his darkeyes held hers a heartbeat.Then he tossed the bumper intothe bed of his own truck.

“Hey! Hey, mister, you can’tdo that. That’s my bumper.”

“Sure it is. And when you getthe money to pay for thedamage you did mine, you canhave it back.”

Phoebe’s wide eyes narrowedto slits. “That’s a mean trick,mister. I’ve got to have thatbumper. It’s got my tag on it. I

can’t go drivin’ around Alabamaw i t h no tag. Troopers wouldstop me, sure.”

He brushed his callused handstogether. “I’ll take good care ofit for you. You just come out toG. G. Morgan’s junkyard whenyou get the money. It’s on theother side of the bayou. Askanybody to point the way.”

Phoebe’s heart sank. “C’mon,mister, can’t we talk this over?”

“I’m done with talking, I’m latefor an appointment.” He stepped

into his cab, slamming the doorthen leaned out over his elbow.“You’re real slick, little lady, butyou’ll have to go some to outslick G. G. Morgan.”

“I got seven dollars,” Phoebecalled with a failing heart. “Youcan have it.”

G. G. Morgan lifted aneyebrow and laughed. “Come upwith seventy and we’ll dobusiness.”

Riding fury, hands balled intofists and propped on her hips,

Phoebe watched G. G. Morganmaneuver out of the parking lotinto light midmorning traffic.Watched her bumper and tagdisappear. Her shoulderssagged, and for once her braincouldn’t grab hold of any ideas.She felt tired. The worrying andthe driving and the hope she’dbeen harboring—all of it hit herat once.

“You look fretted,” Willie-Boysaid when she slid onto the seatbeside him.

“I got things to fret about,don’t I?”

“We ain’t goin’ to sleep in theback of the truck again tonight,are we?” asked Maydean,puckering her lips into a peevishmoue, which she thought mostattractive. “I’m gettin’ tired ofthat. I still got wrinkles in myskin from last night.”

“You got wrinkles in yourbrain, Maydean. Be quiet and letme think.”

“How’re we gonna get our

bumper back?” Willie-Boywanted to know.

“I’m studyin’ on it,” Phoebesaid, forcing up thedetermination not to let thingsget her down. That was Pa’sproblem. He let things carry himinto a sulk so as nothing gotdone. Phoebe fought the feeling,afraid it was a family failing. Shewasn’t sure, but she thought thatwas what had happened toErlene. Erlene had been fineuntil she went into a sulk with a

fever. When the fever went,Erlene’s grown-up mind hadgone with it.

“What we’ll do...” she said,shaking loose old thoughts, “is,we’ll just go out to G. G.Morgan’s junkyard and get thebumper when he ain’t lookin’.”

Willie-Boy’s eyes grew wide.“Ain’t that stealin’? Ma said—”

“Stealin’ is when you takesomething that don’t belong toyou. That bumper is ours.”

“You shoulda let me handle it,”

said Maydean. “I have sultryeyes. Everybody in Cottontownsays so. G. G. Morgan wouldalooked into my eyes and Icoulda made him give us ourbumper. And, speaking of myeyes, Phoebe, first chance youget, buy me some mascara.”

Phoebe bit down on hertongue to keep from screaming.“Maydean, when you bat yourlashes all you look is cross-eyed. Besides, G. G. Morgandidn’t strike me as the swoonin’

type. Now get out and watchtraffic so I can back out. That is,if you can see anything besidespants with your sultry eyes.”

Maydean sniffed. ‘You’re justjealous cause my lashes arelonger’n yours and I poke outmore in front.”

“Stand behind the truck,Maydean. Then I won’t have toworry ‘bout feedin’ you.”

“What pokes out?” askedWillie-Boy.

“Never you mind,” Phoebe

chastised, grinding the gearsand backing safely away fromthe trash compactor. “We’ve gotto find a telephone,” she saidwhen Maydean flounced backinto the truck. “Y’all keep an eyeout.”

Willie-Boy jumped excitedly.“We gonna call somebody? Wegonna call Ma?”

“No. I got to get an addresson that junkyard.”

“Lor, ain’t you smart,” Willie-Boy said with flattering awe.

“I’m goin’ to be as smart as youwhen I grow up.”

Phoebe drove a quarter mileand found herself outside thesmall town. The road wasnarrow, lined on one side byditches carved out of red clayand on the other by oak treesthick of trunk and gnarledlandward by wind that swept infrom the bay. “Goin’ the wrongway,” she said, whipping aroundin a U-turn. It wasn’t lost onPhoebe that lately her whole life

was filled with U-turns, leadingher from nowhere back tonowhere. Well, she meant tochange all that. Somehow.

“There’s a cop followin’ us,”said Maydean.

Phoebe’s gaze flew to therearview mirror in time to seethe red ball start flashing. “If itain’t one thing, it’s ten,” shemoaned. She pulled onto theverge and shut the motor off,waiting.

“Howdy,” said the trooper.

“Mornin’,” replied Phoebe.“Mind if I see your license?”“No sir, don’t mind at all.” She

dug around in her change purseand handed it out the window.“Nice day, ain’t it?”

“Cottontown. You’re a longway from home, aren’t you,miss? Cottontown’s north. Whatbrings you to Bayou La Batre?”He ran the words together sothat to Phoebe it sounded likeByabatrie.

“We’re visitin’,” she said,

keeping to a vague truth.“I see. It appears you’re

missing a license plate, though.”“It’s on the bumper,” Phoebe

informed him.“Is that right? Appears you’re

missing a bumper, too.”“Yessir. It fell off. This is an

old truck. Bolts rusted. Darnthing just fell flat off.”

The trooper thumbed herdriver’s license and stared intothe truck. Phoebe tried to figureout what he was thinking. She

knew they looked bedraggledand poor, which they were. Butthey were clean; she had seento that at the rest stop earlierthat morning. No doubt thetrooper guessed that even if hegave her a ticket, she wouldn’thave the money to pay it.

“Who’re you visiting in BayouLa Batre?” he asked.

“What?”“You said you were visiting.

Who? Relatives?”“Oh.” Phoebe’s thoughts flew.

“Cousins. We’re visitin’ acousin.”

“This cousin have a name?”Name? Name! Phoebe didn’t

know a soul in— “Morgan, G. G.Morgan.”

The trooper’s eyes narrowed.“Gage Morgan?”

Phoebe’s heart didcartwheels. “That’s him. Unless—how many G. G. Morgans yougot in Bayou La Batre?”

“Only one I know of is Gage.Never knew he had any cousins

anywhere. Leastwise he nevermentioned it and we wentthrough school together.”

“We’re cousins three timesremoved, maybe more,” saidPhoebe. “But, ain’t thatsomething!” she gushed. “Youand Gage bein’ schoolmates allthose years. Why…that makesyou and me almost familyfriends.” She pointed to hersister. “That there is Maydeanand this is Willie-Boy, G. G.Morgan’s least cousin. Truth is,

we just ain’t had time to visitafore now.” Maydean’spuckering lips fell open. Willie-Boy’s, too. Phoebe crooked herelbow, jamming it under his chinto keep his mouth shut lest hecontradict her.

“Gage has our bumper andtag in the back of his truck. He’swaitin’ on us, out to the junkyardso we can weld it back on.” Itwas something, Phoebe thought,how a body could take a tidbit oftruth and bracket it with lies and

make it sound so good. Notingthe trooper was swallowing itall, she gave her whole face upto a grand smile.

“Why didn’t you say so in thefirst place? Tell you what. I’llfollow you over to Gage’s, elsegoing back through town you getstopped again, no tag and all.”He returned her driver’s license.

Phoebe protested hardily.“Oh, we wouldn’t want to putyou out none.” In her mind’s eyeshe could see G. G. Morgan

disputing all that she’d told thetrooper. It wasn’t a comfortingthought.

“It’s no trouble. The yard’sbarely a block out of my patrolarea. Besides, it’s part of my jobto help folks.”

“Then maybe it’d be better ifyou led the way.”

The trooper squinted,suspicion flaring. “Why?”

“We just got into town thismornin’,” Phoebe said. “We ain’tbeen to the junkyard yet. When

the bumper fell off, Gage cameand got it. We were followin’him, but I got lost ‘cause ofWillie-Boy here, a-squirmingsomething awful on account of afull bladder...” She trailed offand closed her mouth. Castingher eyes down she held all theair in her lungs and pressed tomake her face go red; mentionof body functions and suchnever did have the effect ofmaking her blush. She canted afurtive look at the officer. Her

demure look and her flamingface were having the desiredeffect.

“Right,” he said. “But, you stayclose now.”

Phoebe was torn betweenholding her breath and smiling athim. Need of air won. “Yessir.”She pulled out behind thecruiser, sighing relief when thetwirling red light went dark.

“We’re in trouble sure,”announced Maydean. “All themlies you told, Phoebe. That cop’s

gonna know soon’s we get tothe junkyard.”

“You go to hell if you tell lies,Ma said,” piped Willie-Boy,gazing at Phoebe as if shewould go up in flames anyminute, or at least get hit byflying brimstone.

“We didn’t get a ticket, didwe?” Phoebe said, justifying heractions. “We’re bein’ led right towhere our bumper and tag is,ain’t we? Besides, everybody’sbrothers in the eyes of the Lord.

Says so right in the Bible. If youhave brothers, stands to reason,don’t it, you got aunts anduncles and cousins?”

Maydean giggled. “Maybe usand G. G. Morgan are kissin’cousins.”

Phoebe threw her sister asharp glance. “You keep talkin’that way, Maydean, I’ll slap you.And get your hair off the top ofyour head like that. You look likea worn-out tart.”

The twelve-year-old sniffed.

“You oughta see what yourslooks like. Red hairs arecrawling outa that knot atopyour head so fast, they look likethey’re running from a cootieconvention.”

“I had cooties once, didn’t I,Phoebe? Ma shaved my headand rubbed it down withkerosene. Burned somethin’fierce, I recall.”

“Hush talkin’ about lice, Willie-Boy. Help me keep that cruiserin view.” Phoebe shot another

glance at Maydean. If she’d hadher druthers, she’d ‘ve takenErlene on this trip instead ofMaydean, even if she did haveto point Erlene in every directionshe meant for her to go.Maydean was ripening too fast.Phoebe briefly thought aboutways to hold back nature. Butthinking on Maydean was justusing up energy better spentelsewhere at the moment.

“We’re goin’ over thedrawbridge again!” whooped

Willie-Boy.“Look it the sailors on those

boats,” cooed Maydean.Suddenly she thrust half herbody out of the truck, threw upher hands and waved.

Phoebe grabbed Maydean’sblouse and yanked her back.“Another stunt like that and I’llput you on a bus back to Ma!”

Maydean smirked. “You ain’tgot the money for no bus ticket.”

“I’ll find the money,” saidPhoebe, her grinding tone so

filled with resolution thatMaydean appeared to believeher.

Driving past the building whereshe’d been refused work,Phoebe kept her eyes straightahead. Another three blocks andthe patrol car slowed, turningonto a sandy road that was littlemore than a well-used path,rutted and grooved by farheavier vehicles. In some placesthe road went right up to thebayou’s edge, in others it

zigzagged around boat yardsand barge fitters andcommercial net shops. Greenand black nets sagged likelarger-than-life spider webs frombooms jutting thirty feet into thesalty air. Far back on thelandward side were seafoodhouses where signs advertisedthat crabs were boiled andpicked, shrimp was packed,oysters were shucked.

Phoebe eyed the seafoodpackagers with interest; the

possibility that she might findwork in one of them filled herwith hope. Mayhap losing herbumper wasn’t such a bad thingafter all. She never would’vethought to drive down such anunpromising-looking back road.

“The cop’s a turnin’ in,” Willie-Boy said excitedly. “Phoebe,” hegasped.

“Look it! Look it all that goodstuff. I see a bicycle. It ain’t gotno wheels, but you could putsome on it. Then I’d have me a

bike. I allus wanted a bike.”“I can’t study a bike right now.

I’m lookin’ for G. G. Morgan orhis truck.” Phoebe set thebrake, but didn’t shut off themotor. She gazed at the acresand acres of wrecked cars, boatribs, tires and shapeless metal.“Piled up on good ground,” shemuttered. “Why a man couldclean all that trash off and planta fair good crop of cotton orcorn, or peanuts and makesomething of himself. Why, even

me and Ma could make a go,had we land—” She caughtherself prattling and clampedher lips closed. She had no callto talk like that—or dream,either. Not while she was squareon property that belonged to aman as unlikely to share it as G.G. Morgan. Do first what firstneeds doin’, she told herself.Get rid of the police.

Maydean opened her door.Willie-Boy scrambled over herand leaped from the truck. “Get

back here,” Phoebe demanded.“Maydean, you let him out onpurpose!”

“He said he had to go to thebathroom.”

“My foot! His nose is twitchin’to explore worse’n a blue tickhound. Get after him. In thisheat he’s liable to come downwith an attack of asthma, and Iain’t got the time to fool with—”

“He don’t like me pryin’ whenhe’s takin’ a leak.”

The officer ambled her way.

“Looks like Gage hasn’t got hereyet,” he said.

“No doubt he missed usbehind him and doubled back.Sure as anything he did. Hewarned me to keep close. Wesure are bein’ a peck of trouble.But now Gage will be madenough to throw us out on ourear,” she said, in case heappeared suddenly and did justthat.

The radio in the patrol carbegan to crackle. The officer

excused himself. “You’ll be okaynow you’re here,” he said uponhis return. “I’ve got to work anaccident. You tell Gage I saidhello.”

“That’ll be the first thing I tellhim,” agreed Phoebe. If sheever saw him again, which shehoped she didn’t. “You becareful, you hear,” she called tothe trooper. “And, thanks.” Sheforced herself to sit still until thecruiser was out of sight. Thenshe had to spend a precious ten

minutes locating her siblings.Maydean had found herself an

old car with a mirror intact.Willie-Boy was sitting behind thewheel pretending he was a racecar driver. They were fritteringaway time—carefree, without athought in their heads as to howthey were going to get decentlysheltered and raised. No, theyleft that suffering to her. But thekids weren’t visible unlesssomeone was to peer directlyinto the old car so Phoebe

decided they’d be out of harm’sway for the few minutes sheneeded to scout the junkyard.

She began looking for a placeto park. A shady place and onethat was not directly in view ofanyone driving through the oldgate. There was no sensealerting the junkyard’s ownerthat they were anywhere closeby. At least not right off. If shefound that there was no hope ofreclaiming her bumper withoutGage Morgan’s interference,

surprise made negotiatingeasier. And one way or another,Phoebe meant to be one whaleof a surprise to G. G. Morgan.Most probably he wasn’t a manused to having folks camp on hisdoorstep until they got what theywanted. With all that was atstake, Phoebe figured she couldout camp and outsmart atruculent army of Huns. GageMorgan was about to learn justhow stalwart a Hawley could be.

~~~~

Phoebe aimed THE TRUCK towardthe rear of the yard. It looked toher as if G. G. Morgan livedsmack-dab in the middle of hisjunk. Only the area around theweathered house was clear ofrubble. Clear of saleable rubblethat was, for the untended oasiswas overgrown with chickweed,cat’s ears and beggar’s ticks.Shading the whole of it was agnarled old tallow tree.

She eyed the house andunkempt yard behind the raggedwooden fence with strongdisapproval. It was a sin theway some folks let things godown like that. Even the tallowtree looked dusty and beaten.Some folks, Phoebe thought,were just downrightunappreciative of what the goodLord bestowed on them.

Unbidden, envy andresentment swelled withinPhoebe. Why, if she had a

house like that…if she had asquare yard for flowers andvegetables...if she hadland...she could send for Maand Pa and Erlene, get them outfrom under her brother Joey andhis new wife, Vinnie. What withonly a four-room house, Vinniedidn’t like the crowdedconditions. She wore apermanent frown to prove it.Atop all that Vinnie was mean toErlene. It wasn’t Erlene’s faultthat she was loose-minded.

The truck hit a deep rut.Phoebe let go the wishfulthinking and put her mind backon her present predicament.She needed to hide the truckand find a vantage point fromwhich to spy on G. G. Morgan.The instant he left his truckuntended she meant to retrieveher bumper and be gone.

She found a number of shedsand lean-tos, one of which wastilting precariously beyond thebulwark that held back a twisting

saltwater estuary. Beyond theestuary, on the other side wasthe bayou that fed into the greatexpanse of the bay.

Phoebe’s gaze went to thebay and farther, to the horizon.She had never seen the ocean.She had lived all her life in thefoothills of the AppalachianMountains where cotton andcorn fields backed up to thickevergreen forests made darkand mysterious by creepingkudzu vines that could encroach

on a garden or climb a sixty-footpine—and do it overnight, someold-timers swore. Not a speckof kudzu hereabouts, Phoebenoted. That’d make Ma happy.

She backed the truck betweentwo of the sheds, wedging in asfar as she dared. Getting out ofthe driver’s seat, she wiped thesweat beads from her nose andforehead with a quick duck ofher head in the crook of her bentarm. The wind blew, cooling hermore. She sniffed, inhaling the

rich smell of warm earth and saltmarsh. The air was sweet anddelicious. Honeysuckle bloomingsomewhere or blackberriesmayhap. The idea ofblackberries boiled up withsugar and dumplings made hermouth water.

As she retraced her path onfoot, she noted a coop, disused,the gate hanging. Lor! But shecould see hens nesting, eggsgathered. Tomatoes and turnipssprouting where weeds grew.

That one man owned so much—and did so little with it—wasbeyond comprehension. It wasunholy.

“What’re you doing out there?”Phoebe froze. Her eyes

darted, looking for the source ofthe voice. There came a squeakof unoiled hinges. She looked tothe back of the house and saw achild standing just inside thescreened door. Phoebeapproached the back porch. Shedidn’t know why, but she never

expected the junkyard owner tohave relations. More specificallyshe didn’t expect a wife or child.A stab of disappointmentcaused the image of sparkingeyes and callused hands to flitthrough her mind. She should’vesuspected it, most hardworkingmen had already been spokenfor.

“I’m lookin’ for G. G. Morgan,”she said to the girl.

“He’s not here.”The child, Phoebe could tell as

she got closer, was about nine.She had an abundance of brownhair that needed brushing and adirt-streaked, sunburned facethat needed scrubbing.Altogether the girl looked asunkempt as the yard. Phoebecouldn’t countenance a straight-minded woman letting yard andhouse and child lag so. EvenErlene, as cloudy-minded as shewas, could do better.

“Is your ma here, then?” sheasked.

The eyes, thick-lashed as G.G. Morgan’s, becameapprehensive. “No. She’s gone.”

“Where to?”“Heaven.”“Oh.” That explained it. Child,

yard and house didn’t have awoman’s touch. Logic carriedPhoebe to the thought thatneither did the man.Disappointment fled.Opportunity raised its head andlooked Phoebe square in theface. Stepping onto the porch,

she chased away logic before ithad a chance to gel. The kitchenwas visible through the screen.Dirty dishes were on the table,piled on the sink. Dust, so old ithad lost its color, lay on everysurface from windowsill to chairbacks. Hungering for things shedidn’t have, Phoebe itched totake up scrub brush and mop,just to have the feel of thefamiliar in her hands.

The child was staring at her,Phoebe plumbed her mind for

what to do or say. “Is G. G.Morgan your pa?”

The girl nodded. “You’re notsupposed to be in the backyard.You want something you have topay for it around front.”

“I was just on my way.” Shecouldn’t keep from asking, “Whotends to you when your pa ain’there?”

The child’s eyes shifted, thebrooding stare becoming anangry glower. “I take care ofmyself. I don’t need nobody.

Mind your own business.”Phoebe bristled. “You need

boxin’ on the ears to teach youmanners. It ain’t polite to talk toyour elders that way.”

“You’re not my elder. You looklike a rag picker.”

Phoebe gathered all five feetof herself into one proud andstiff frame. “That’s what I doneall my working life until the millsshut down. When I see your pa,first thing I’m gonna tell him isthat your tongue needs a set-to

with Octagon soap.” She spunoff the porch and went to locateMaydean and Willie-Boy. Forcertain she didn’t want themconnecting with G. G. Morgan’sgirl. Maydean and Willie-Boywere ornery enough withoutlearning new ways to go aboutit.

Maydean was still at themirror, trying out different waysto pucker lips and flutter lashes.“Where’s Willie-Boy?” Phoebeasked.

“Droolin’ over that bike.”“He ain’t. Maydean, I told you

to watch your brother. Get outtathere and help me look. No tellin’what pile of junk he’s hidin’behind or climbin’ about.”

“It’s too hot to go huntin’ himup. I’m thirsty.”

“Dead people don’t thirst,Maydean. And that’s whatyou’re gonna be if you don’tcrawl outta that wreck and helpme find Willie-Boy. I don’t wantus in sight when Gage Morgan

trots back here. I aim to slip ourbumper and ride out likelightnin’.”

“A mule walkin’ backwardscan go faster than our old truck.He’ll catch us.”

“It won’t do him any good. Iaim to tape our license tag tothe inside back window. If hecatches up to us, we’ll just rollour windows up and outwait him.One thing I figure Gage Morgandon’t have is patience.”

She called out for her brother,

but met only silence.“He’s prob’ly playin’ hide ‘n’

seek,” suggested Maydean.“If he is, he’ll have to seek a

new hide when I get done withhim.”

Phoebe’s own patience waswearing thin. She didn’t likeWillie-Boy being out of her sight.The junkyard was rife with pathsgoing every which way aroundheaps of old tires, wrecked carsand boats. All of which mustlook adventurous to a five-year-

old with the urge to explore.To Phoebe every pile of

rubble held danger. Willie-Boycould be suffocating under amountain of old tires, lyingbroken beneath a slide of metal,dead in high weeds, snakebit.With a queasy feeling in the pitof her stomach, she sentMaydean one way; she wentanother.

She couldn’t help thinking thatit had all been too easy. Outsideof G. G. Morgan setting his

sights on her bumper, being ledstraight here by the police whenhe could’ve just as easily givenher a ticket, finding a good placeto hide the truck... Things justdon’t go easy for people andeven if it did, something’s boundto come and spoil it.

“Knew it!” she muttered whenshe found Willie-Boy drapedover the prow of an old woodenboat on the bank of the estuary.He was suffering an attack ofasthma and gasping for air.

“It...come...on me...sudden,” herasped.

Phoebe’s spirit sagged. Shewas running out of money,hadn’t found a job, hadn’t founda house and she had two kids inhand to feed. One of whom hadnow gone and got sick. If theLord is watching over me,where’s my share of help? shewondered, feeling a stab of pityfor herself. But she felt sorrierfor Willie-Boy. Asthma was abeast, a hungry beast, and it

sapped his strength, took awayhis good times, kept him sittingup at night, kept him housedwhen he’d rather be playing,seeing to little-boy junkets andadventures. The attacks scaredhim. He always thought he wasgoing to die.

“I’m going to pick you up,Willie-Boy,” she crooned. Hehardly weighed more than atubful of wet washing. “There’s anice shady porch out back ofthat house yonder. Soon’s we

get out outta this hot old sun,you’ll be fine.”

Maydean’s path had led herback to the old car. Anxious topractice puckering again nodoubt, Phoebe thought. Willie-Boy’s gasping was gettingworse. She yelled at Maydean.“Don’t you even think once ofclimbin’ back in that wreck,Maydean Hawley! Get roundhere where I parked the truckand get the inhaler. Willie-Boy’shavin’ an attack.”

Phoebe put Willie-Boy on theback porch, propping himagainst one of the supports. Theterrible sucking sounds he madetrying to draw in oxygen madeher wince. His face was red andsweat was pouring off him.Hesitantly, the girl came out ofthe house and stood besidePhoebe. Interest had replacedher sullen expression.

“What’re you doing? What’swrong with him? You’re notsupposed to be back here.”

“I need a bowl of ice and arag,” Phoebe told her. “A cleanrag,” she added recalling thestate of the kitchen.

“My daddy won’t like—”Phoebe glared at the child.

“You get me a bowl of ice and aclean rag. What your daddymight not like is my brother dyin’right here on his back porch.Quick now,” she said moregently when the child’s eyesflared with fear. Maydeanbrought the inhaler. Phoebe

shoved it in Willie-Boy’s mouth.It took him a half dozen goodgasps to get the medication intohis throat and down into hislungs. The terrible suckingsounds abated.

“What’s your name?” Phoebeasked when the girl returnedbearing ice cubes and a rag,gray and musty smelling.

“Dorie Morgan.”“Well, you done good, Dorie

Morgan.” Phoebe began to wipeWillie-Boy down with rag-

wrapped ice. When he began totake interest in his surroundings,when she saw his gaze gocuriously to the girl, she handedhim the rag and told him to keepat it himself.

“I almost died, didn’t IPhoebe?”

“You didn’t even come close.But when I whollop you forrunning and scampering in thesun like that, you’re gonna wishtyou hadda died.”

“What the hell’s going on

here?” G. G. Morgan came outthe screened door letting it slambehind him.

Phoebe’s heart sank. All heradvantage lost. She stood talland glowered at him, sloe-eyed.

“You said to meet you here toget my bumper back. I’m here.”

The junkyard owner looked athis daughter, at Maydean, atWillie-Boy before settling onceagain on Phoebe. “You turnedup seventy dollars that quick?”

“Ain’t turned up nothin’ but

here.”“This is private property.

When you get the money, cometo the front. That shed by thegate.”

“Can’t,” said Phoebe, latchingonto a blameworthy reason togive her some leverage. “Whenyou hit us that lick this morningthe excitement made Willie-Boycome down with a spell ofasthma. After we got here, likeyou told us to, invited uspractically, he knocked himself

out on a piece of your junk. Hecan’t be moved unless it’s to ahospital. Reckon you want topay the hospital bill?”

“Pay! Lady, I’m not paying fora damn thing. Your carelessdriving caused that wreck. Andthere’s a sign on the gate thatI’m not responsible foraccidents.”

“A sign don’t mean nothingexcept that you know yourproperty ain’t safe. Willie-Boy’sthe proof of that I reckon.

Anyhow, it’s your word againstmine. More so the word of aHawley is as good as you canget since the beginning ofAmerica. You want to call iteven and give me back mybumper, we’ll just be on ourway.”

Gage was aware that hedidn’t know a lot about handlingwomen or children. It seemed tohim that the caustic-tonguedredhead didn’t fit eithercategory. She was too old to be

a child and too rail-thin to becalled a woman. What he didknow was the bottom line. Hespoke it, “Seventy dollars or nobumper.”

“Ain’t got seventy dollars--yet.”

Phoebe watched his mouthget thin-lipped. The thinner itgot, the deeper became thefrown between his eyes. Thefrown didn’t hurt his looks any.But now wasn’t the time to studyon the man’s looks. Still, her

eyes strayed to the laundry-made creases in his shirt, histanned, muscled arms, theballed fists propped at his beltline. She had the notion that avirtuous woman never stared ata man below the waist, so shedragged her eyes back to hisface.

“You’ll have to leave,” saidGage. “When you get the moneyto repair my truck, you can haveyour bumper.”

Phoebe heard him, glared at

him and thrust her chin out. Sheknew the set of her jaw didn’tmake her look her best. Maalways said a body could set adime on her chin when Phoebe’sdander was up. Well, herdander was up. She could feelbile racing through her veins.When a woman got mad, awoman could get anything shewanted—if she just had thegumption to stay mad and notlet up.

Phoebe believed she had so

much gumption it threatened tospurt out her ears.

“You got a phone I canborrow? I want to call anambulance for Willie-Boy, seein’as how I ain’t got no bumper ortag, I can’t drive him theremyself. Seein’ as how you ain’tgot the heart to let him recoverafore you run us off. I imaginethe folks at the hospital will wantto know how he come to be sobad off. Don’t think I won’t tellthem. How you run into us, how

you wasn’t concerned aboutnothin’ but your old truck andgettin’ money outta poor folks.”

Maydean started to cry. “Iwant to get outta here, Phoebe.We’re gonna be in big trouble.We could go to jail. Welfare willget us and separate us. Youknow what Ma said—”

“Go sit in the truck until youcan get your wits about you,M a y d e a n . This minute!”Maydean shuffled a fewbackward steps, refusing to

budge farther.“You’re trying to lay a scam

on me,” said Gage Morgan. “It’snot going to happen. People likeyou are always sniffing aroundfor a hand-out. You came to thewrong place this time.”

Phoebe skewered him withher see-all look, pondering thequality of G. G. Morgan, trustingto her backwoods instinct.Stubborn and tight-fisted, shefigured. One thing she knewabout a tight-fisted man: he

craved an image of beinggenerous in spirit while keepinghis purse strings double-knotted.The mill owner back home hadbeen exactly the same way,oozing nice words to Ma’s face,when behind her back he wasasking the sheriff to evict them.That picture recalled, Phoebecarried on, all acting fury andspewing Hawley history.

“Hawleys don’t accept charity.Never have, not once, not sinceCuthbert Hawley indentured

himself to James Oglethorpe toGeorgia and worked seven hardyears for a bed rug, a fellin’ axe,a bag of oatmeal, three shirtsan’ a fiddle. We always give fairvalue for anything we get. Soyou can just take back what yousaid about us grovelin’ for ahandout. It appears to me thatyou’re so used to sellin’ junk youthink you can grab what belongsto other folks and sell it back.You think—”

“I’m going to throw up,” said

Willie-Boy.Phoebe let up on G. G.

Morgan. She tucked her skirtbetween her legs and kneltdown beside her brother,holding his head over the side ofthe porch. Skittering a glance atthe junkyard owner over hershoulder she watched his facego pale. It was something, shethought, how a man could bearup under a show of blood andfair faint at the sound of a dabof gagging. One thing she knew

certain. She was riled andaimed to perch right here untilWillie-Boy got better and shegot her bumper back.

“If you’re not up to paying thehospital for Willie-Boy, I reckon Ican nurse him like I alwaysdone. That is, if you got a quietplace I can lay him down.” Shewiped Willie-Boy’s mouth, thenpicked him up. His head lolledweakly against her shoulder, hislegs draped over her arm,twitching. Expressions were

fleeing across Gage Morgan’sface. Phoebe could see himdeciding about a sure thing—infavor of his purse.

“How long will it take him torecover?”

Phoebe thought: Until I find ajob and make seventy dollars.“An hour, maybe two.”

Scowling, G. G. Morganopened the screened door andwaved her through. Sharp-eyed,Phoebe took in the kitchen, thewide central hall beyond and the

doors leading to hiddensanctuaries and all good thingsin life—she hoped. “Where can Iput him?”

Gage pointed. Phoebe went.It was a cramped and mustylittle room with spider websdraped and barely hanging on inthe corners. It had a dresserand a double bed with themattress rolled up exposing oldiron springs. The dust wasterrible, not at all good forWillie-Boy. The room’s only

redeeming feature was thebutter-yellow sunshine shiningthrough the window. Phoebecalled to Maydean.

“Lay out that mattress.”“You reckon it has bedbugs?”Phoebe shot a look behind her

but Gage Morgan was gone, inhis place stood his daughter.“Don’t look a gift horse in themouth, Maydean.” She layWillie-Boy down on the bareticking, stretching out his legs.To Dorie she said, “You want to

show me where you keep abucket and soap? And a sheet?”

“What’re you going to do?”“Clean this room. If I don’t,

Willie-Boy won’t get well.”“This was my mama’s room.”Phoebe’s pale brows shot up.

“Your pa’s, too?”“No, just my mama’s. She

didn’t like my daddy.”“Marriage can be a terrible

trial if you ain’t married to theright person,” Phoebe allowed.

“Mama liked me, though.”

“You miss her, don’t you? It’sa sad thing when a mother istaken up and leaves young’unsbehind.” She followed Dorie intothe kitchen. The child pointedout the pantry.

“If Mama had taken me withher that day, she wouldn’t’vedrowned. I can swim real good.I could’ve saved her.”

“I’ll just bet you could’ve.”Phoebe didn’t know where all

this was leading. That the girlwas troubled was plain. Later

she could worry on the child.Just now, getting settled wasthe main thing. She looked up atthe ceiling. Lor, but having a roofabove one’s head was aprecious thing.

From somewhere at the otherend of the rambling old house,Gage Morgan called for hisdaughter. Before the child wentto answer his summons, Phoebesaw the way Dorie’s facetightened. A hornet’s nest, that’swhat she’d stepped into,

Phoebe thought. Digging aroundin the pantry for the things sheneeded, she amended thethought. Dern dirty hornet’s nest!She put her hand around themop handle and sighed happily.

~~~~

STANDING AT THE FOOT of the bedPhoebe turned slowly andadmired her work. The smallroom gleamed clean andcheerful. Not even a vagrantdust mote hung in the air for the

sun to illuminate. Maydean waspolishing the mirror on thedresser with yellowednewspaper and vinegar. Whatwith Maydean’s love affair withher mirror image, Phoebefigured that’d keep the twelve-year-old content and out ofharm’s way for an hour or two.What was pressing down onPhoebe now was hunger.

She could feel the pangs,stabbing and fixing to get noisy.

“I feel good now, Phoebe,”

said Willie-Boy from the bed. Hewas lying on a clean pink sheetand propped up on a pillowthey’d discovered in the closet.“I can get up now.”

Phoebe was thinking hard.Everything she had in mind—survival, for today anyway—depended upon Willie-Boy beingi l l . And staying that way.Looking at the five-year-old, shestruggled with her conscience.She had to decide between two-hundred-fifty years of inbred

Hawley scruples and one hour ofdire need. Need won out. Shesat on the bed and touchedWillie-Boy’s forehead. “You’renot better yet, Willie-Boy. I cansee it in your eyes.”

“You can?”“Sure I can. You know

anybody with better eyesightthan me?” She put her face rightup to Willie-Boy’s. “I can lookinto your eyes and seeeverything that’s going on insideyou.”

He squeezed his eyes closed.“Don’t look inside me, Phoebe. Igot secrets. You’re notsupposed to know secrets.”

“I have to look inside you so Iknow when you’re well. Butwhen I’m looking you can putyour hand over your heart. Thatway I won’t come upon anythingyou got to hide.”

“You’re sure?” Childishskepticism layered each word.

“‘Course I’m sure. You putyour hand over your heart and it

makes a dark shadow in there.You know how hard it is to seeinto shadows.”

“Lemme get up, Phoebe. I feelokay. My chest don’t hurt none.”

“That’s because it’s numb.When the feelin’ comes back Ireckon I’ll have to sit up with youall night.”

“Here?”“Right here in this room.

Would you like that?”“I like layin’ on a mattress. It’s

softer than the back of the truck.

But what about Mister Morgan?”“I’ll handle him,” Phoebe said,

wondering how. One thing wascertain. Every word spoken tothe man had to count. Shesuspected Gage Morgan had afair amount of sense. Her ideawas to not let him catch on thatshe knew it. With a word ofcaution to Maydean not to leavethe room, she went to find theman who was her reluctant host.

The hall was wide, high anddim, the windows at each end

so fogged with grime little lightfound its way inside. Of the sixdoors along its length one wasslightly open. Phoebe peeked in.The bathroom. It needed a goodscrub down. Another door wasgaping. Dorie lay upon anunmade bed, coloring. Phoebestood on the threshold.

“Where’s your pa?”Scowling, the girl looked up.

“Out to the shed.”“What shed?”“The welding shed. He fixes

boat motors and propellers.”“Where is it?”Dorie raised up and pointed

out a window hung with once-white curtains gone gray andlimp. “It’s on the other side ofthe junkyard, facing the canal.”Her eyes stayed hard onPhoebe for a few seconds thenreturned to the coloring book.

Phoebe ignored the child’sdismissal. “How long’s your mabeen in heaven?”

The narrow face went dark.

“Since last summer.”“Who does the cooking and

cleaning for you and your pa?”“Daddy does it.”Thinking on the state of the

kitchen, Phoebe thought: No hedon’t. Ideas raced so rampant inher head she was out the backdoor and across the junkyardbefore she had any goodspeaking words fixed solidly inher brain.