“Judge?” He looked faintly disapproving. Because I was a judge? (“I suffer not a woman to teach, nor to usurp authority over the man.”) Or because I was white? (“He shall separate them one from another.”)
“Yes, sir,” I said. “District Court. And you’re Mrs. Freeman’s father?”
“I am.”
There are many preachers who prefer the Old Testament to the New and the Reverend James McElroy Gaithers was clearly one of them. For him, I was pretty sure that the dominant element of the Trinity would be God the stern father of retribution, not Jesus the forgiving son.
“You’re from Warrenton, I believe?”
He nodded magisterially.
“It’s a sad thing that brings you down here,” I commiserated. “I’m really sorry.”
“My daughter is in the hands of the Lord,” he said. “His will shall be done.”
At the old man’s words, Stan looked stricken and little Lashanda simply looked miserable. Was there no one to rescue the children from this Jeremiah and give them true comfort? Where was Clara Freeman’s good friend that Ralph had mentioned last night? Rosa Somebody? Surely she was somewhere in this crowd and with a hint dropped into her ear, maybe she would—
Stan’s face suddenly brightened at the sight of someone behind me and I turned to see Cyl DeGraffenried.
I had to hand it to her. For a woman who was falling apart the last time I saw her, she was in complete control now, poised and professional in a crisp hunter green linen suit with soft white silk blouse and matching low-heeled pumps. Her hair fell in artful perfection around her lovely face and pearls gleamed coolly at her throat and earlobes.
She spoke to Stan and Lashanda, was introduced to their grandfather, immediately sized up the situation and said to him in solicitous female tones, “I know you’ll want to speak privately with the doctor when he comes, so why don’t the Judge and I take your grandchildren out for some fresh air and breakfast?”
Both children immediately stood up as Cyl looked at me brightly. “Deborah?”
“Sure,” I said, trying not to look as taken aback as I actually was.
My court session was technically due to start at nine, but by the time most ADAs finish working out their plea bargains and stipulations, things seldom get moving much before nine-thirty or a quarter till ten, so we had more than an hour to give the children.
Reverend Gaithers started to object but Cyl blithely chose to misunderstand him. “No, no, you do not have to thank us. It’s no trouble at all. We haven’t had breakfast yet either, have we, Deborah?”
We made our getaway through the swinging doors and came face-to-face with Ralph Freeman and a doctor in surgical scrubs.
Ralph looked at us in confusion and Cyl seemed suddenly out of words herself.
“Daddy!” cried Lashanda and bounded into his arms.
“Is Mama going to be all right?” asked Stan.
“Dr. Potts thinks so,” Ralph said, swinging his daughter up to hug her as he nodded toward his companion.
Having only seen a man in a suit and tie when I was deciding on his divorce settlement, I hadn’t immediately recognized Dr. Jeremy Potts. He knew me though, and gave a sour tilt of the head.
“We were just coming in so Dr. Potts can explain to Clara’s father.” He kissed Lashanda and stood her back on her own feet. “Thanks, Deborah, for getting extra patrol cars out to look for her. Somebody said you helped pull her out?”
The children stared at me, wide-eyed.
“Not me, my brother Robert. His tractor. With a lot of help from the fire and rescue squads. I just did the heavy looking on.” I smiled down at Lashanda. “I saved your doll though. Oh, and your wife’s purse and keys,” I told Ralph. “I forgot to bring them in with me, but I’ll get them to you as soon as I can.”
“No hurry,” he said. “I’m afraid she’s not going to be driving any time soon.”
He was now under control enough to speak directly to Cyl. “Where are y’all off to?”
Stan spoke up. “Miss Cyl and Miss Deborah’s taking us out to breakfast.”
“If that’s okay with you?” Cyl managed to add. “We thought they could use a break from the waiting room.”
“That’s very kind of y’all.”
He looked at her as if he didn’t want to stop looking and my heart broke for them, but Dr. Potts cleared his throat and said, “Mr. Freeman?”
“Sorry, Doctor. I guess I’m holding you up.”
The two men went on into the waiting room and we drove over to the north end of Main Street in Cyl’s car. The air was thick with humidity and the sky was full of low gray clouds. There wasn’t much wind here on the ground, but overhead, those clouds scudded eerily past like frantic dirty sheep scattering before wolves we couldn’t yet see.
* * *
The Coffee Pot has a long counter where hungry folks in a hurry perch, a big round table with ashtrays for retirees who are more interested in gossip than food, and four non-smoking booths in back for those who want a little privacy.
We took a booth and Ava Dupree came straight over with a menu, her pale blue eyes bright with curiosity. My brother Herman’s electrical shop is right next door and we often meet here for coffee. Ava greeted Cyl by name, too, but she didn’t recognize the children and she’s not shy about asking personal questions.
“Freeman? Oh, yeah, your mama’s the one that went and run off the road into Possum Creek last night, ain’t she? I heard ’em talking about it first thing this morning. She’s gonna be okay, ain’t she?”
“We sure could use some orange juice here, Ava,” I said pointedly.
“And how about some blueberry pancakes, bacon, milk and coffee?” said Cyl. “That okay with y’all?”
Next to me, Stan nodded agreement and Lashanda, seated beside Cyl, smiled shyly. Blue barrettes in the shape of little bluebirds were clipped to the ends of all her braids.
Stan knew Cyl because she’d given him a lift home from my Fourth of July pig-picking last month and from seeing her at the ball field, but she was a stranger to the little girl.
Not for long though.
“Somebody just lost a tooth,” Cyl said. “Was the Tooth Fairy good to you?”
“I thought she wasn’t,” the child replied, “’cause guess what? My tooth was still in the glass this morning when I woke up! But Stan said it was because too many people were in the house awake last night and maybe she got afraid.”
“Shandy!” An awkward, bony preadolescent, eleven-year-old Stan looked so exceedingly self-conscious that I could almost swear he was blushing, but his little sister was oblivious.
“And guess what? When I came back from brushing my teeth, my tooth was gone and guess what was in the water?”
She drew her hand out of her pocket and proudly showed us two shiny quarters.
“Hey, that’s really cool,” Cyl said, smiling at Stan. “She never left me more than a dime.”
“Inflation.” Stan grinned.
By the time our pancakes arrived, she had charmed them both. Stan told us about a school science project he was working on—how he’d been documenting Fran’s path from the time she was nothing more than a tropical depression off the coast of Africa till whatever happened in the next twenty-four hours. I learned things about hurricanes I’d never given much thought to before.
“They’re saying it’s going to be one of the really big ones!” He gestured so excitedly as he described the spiraling bands of storms around the eye that the plastic syrup dispenser went flying and he had to get up and chase it down.
Lashanda looked less than thrilled by the approaching storm and moved closer to Cyl till she was tucked up almost under Cyl’s arm. “I wish we could spend the night at your house.”
Cyl put her arm around the child and gave a little squeeze. “I wish you could, too, baby.”