Chapter 18 The Sound and the Fury
Everything was coming together. All the years of struggle were finally paying off. Lula Dean and Mitch Sweeney stood side by side on a wooden stage at the center of Jackson Square, with Augustus Wainwright behind them. Lula had on a cute coral dress from Ann Taylor that she’d seen the lady senator from Tennessee wear on TV. The members of the Concerned Parents Committee flanked the statue. The only person missing was James Wright, even though Lula had sent him a personal note just that morning inviting him again to stand next to her and Mitch. A representative from Troy’s Black community would have gone a long ways toward keeping the woke crowd quiet. It was disappointing that James had chosen to abandon Lula in her time of need, but she couldn’t let that get her down. Melody Sykes had made up for it by baking hundreds of cupcakes and decorating them with miniature Confederate and American flags. Her husband, Randy, was holed up at his family’s cabin in the mountains, but letting his wife attend the rally sent a clear message to his supporters: Lula Dean was his pick for mayor.
As the people of Troy trickled into the square, television crews set up their equipment at the front of the stage. Not only was every network in attendance, they’d all sent their name-brand reporters. Photographers from newspapers and websites roamed the crowd, catching folks just as they bit into their Dixie cupcakes. Everyone who was anyone in Troy was there. Even Beverly and Trip Underwood had arrived to watch. Lula couldn’t wait to see that snooty woman’s face when she realized what a terrible mistake she’d made. Beverly had forgotten she lived in the South. Down here, you didn’t mess with history and heritage.
Lula was thrilled to find more of her foes in attendance. The librarian lady, Jeb Sweeney, and that witch Logan Walsh rescued in the woods—they were all there. Nathan had phoned to let Lula know he’d caught wind of a protest, and he’d sent Logan to keep an eye on things. Lula hadn’t thought it was necessary, but Nathan wasn’t a man who liked to hear the word no. He referred to Logan as his “eyes and ears” and expected the younger man to take his place on the Concerned Parents Committee until all the Nazi business blew over. Whenever Lula seemed unhappy with the arrangement, Nathan reminded her of all the work he’d done to get the CPC up and running. None of this would be possible without him, and she owed him a debt of gratitude.
Still, Lula had been planning to beg Nathan to please send someone other than Logan to the next meeting. His protégé hadn’t been blessed with social skills. James Wright had never been comfortable around him, and Logan had scared a few ladies on the committee when he’d referred to Beverly as a feminist whore.
“He can’t go around town calling people feminists,” Melody Sykes had said afterward. Lula promised she’d have a talk with him, but she still hadn’t found the time.
Lula glanced over her shoulder. Logan was positioned right behind her and Mitch, standing there like some kind of undercover Secret Service agent, with his sunglasses on, his legs apart, and his hands clasped in front of his privates. She couldn’t tell if he was looking at her or not, but she smiled just in case.
“Boy ain’t right,” Mitch had informed her when he showed up to the rally looking a bit ragged. “I slept with one eye open.”
“What’d he do?” Lula wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.
“Asked me to join him for target practice,” Mitch said and wouldn’t say any more.
Lula snuck another peek at Logan Walsh. At least he was on their side, not the liberals’. Then the church bells began to toll the six o’clock hour, and Lula set all her worries aside, closed her eyes, and took a moment to thank the Lord. She’d found the one thing her life had been missing—a calling. This is what she was made for.
“How y’all doing today!” Mitch shouted into the mic to kick things off.
A light smattering of applause and a few half-hearted whoops from the crowd followed.
“Oh, come on now, I didn’t drive all the way to Georgia for a greeting like that. Gimme some Southern hospitality!”
The response was only slightly more enthusiastic, but Mitch didn’t seem to notice.
“So looks like there’s gonna be a mayor’s race soon,” Mitch said. “And my good friend Lula Dean is fixing to win it. But we’re not here today to ask for your vote. We’ve gathered in this square to show our support for someone who’s under attack and can no longer defend himself. General Augustus Wainwright.”
Mitch paused and stepped to one side to gaze up at the statue with a perfect rendition of reverence and respect. Lula couldn’t have done it any better. Mitch may have been an idiot, but he was a damn fine actor.
“This man right here fought against Northern invaders to preserve our unique way of life. Sherman marched out of his way to burn Augustus Wainwright’s home to the ground. As a result, the town of Troy was saved from destruction. After the war, Wainwright personally financed the building of our world-famous courthouse. And how do some folks want to thank him in the twenty-first century? By tearing down the statue that has stood on this spot for one hundred and fifty years.”
Mitch shook his head sadly. “Fortunately, a hero has stepped forward to defend the general, just as he defended this town all those years ago. And let me tell you, Augustus Wainwright could not ask for a better champion. As I’m sure y’all know, Lula Dean is one tough cookie. She’s already taken on the pornographers, perverts, and propagandists, and now she’s going after all the folks who want to send our beloved general to the county dump!”
The applause echoed through the square.
“Y’all give it up for Lula Dean!”
The photographers surged forward as Lula took the mic. This was her moment.
“Can you believe it? An introduction like that from the great Mitch Sweeney? I wish I could go back to 1990 and tell nine-year-old Lula this day is coming!”
She fluttered her eyelids at Mitch and the crowd loved it.
“While we’re back in time, I want y’all to remember what it was like. Just think about the way things used to be right here in this square. Wasn’t that long ago, but it feels like forever. I remember Fourth of July parades, Confederate Memorial Day picnics, and family reunions with Augustus looking on. Remember how wonderful that was? Remember how safe you felt? Our mamas and daddies could let us pick out books at the library without worrying we’d accidentally come home with some piece of filth that would rot our minds. And we could play outside until sundown without anyone ever worrying we’d end up kidnapped and trafficked. Y’all remember that?”
They were eating it up! Lula nodded along with them.
“Mmm-hmm, I knew you did. People didn’t fight and argue as much back then. There was no CRT or BLM to get folks riled up. Everybody used the same two pronouns. Divorce was something that was frowned upon. If married folks had a problem, they went to the Lord with it, not to the courthouse. You taught your children what you saw fit—and you did it in keeping with your family values. You weren’t told to hand over their education to folks with agendas. We revered our ancestors and were grateful for the sacrifices they made. Everybody got treated fairly, no matter who they were or what they looked like. Men were allowed to be strong and women feminine and nobody took pride in being a victim. Y’all remember those days? Feels like a million years ago, doesn’t it?”
She waited forever for the crowd to stop clapping. She’d hit the right nerve.
“Then what do you say we bring those days back. Let’s stop letting the forces of evil tear our communities apart! Let’s stop letting them label us all racists or bigots just because we won’t do what we’re told! And for heaven’s sake, let’s stop them from tearing down our monuments and our statues!”
That’s when she spotted the Wright brothers making their way through the crowd toward the front of the stage. They were dressed nice in chinos and button-downs, and they both looked so wonderfully serious. Lula’s heart swelled to see them. James Wright hadn’t let her down after all.
“Looks like we have a few latecomers rolling in. Y’all make way for the Wright boys. Their daddy was one of the earliest members of our Concerned Parents Committee. Now he’s sent his sons as his representatives. You two come on up.”
Lula wasn’t thrilled to see them bring that Bella Cummings onstage with them. But she supposed it wouldn’t hurt for the photographers to get pictures of Troy’s pretty prom queen supporting the cause.
Without saying a word to her or anyone else, the Wright boys positioned themselves at either end of the stage front, unfurling a banner between them. After a loud gasp, the crowd fell utterly silent. Suddenly, every hand held a smartphone aloft.
“How do you know?” a reporter shouted.
“Do you have proof?” another called out.
“Wait just a second,” Lula demanded. “What’s the sign say?” She walked around to a spot where she could see what was written.
We are descendants of the rapist Augustus Wainwright, the banner read. We want him removed from Jackson Square.
“How dare you!” Lula exclaimed. “You can’t make things up like that!”
In his left hand, the older boy raised a rolled-up document. “I have a printout of our family tree. The man who commissioned this statue of himself had a child with one of the women he enslaved, who was in no position to give her consent. The woman he raped was our ancestor. I have the DNA results to prove it. And so, it disgusts me to say, the slaveholding tyrant Lula Dean and her supporters have come here to celebrate is our great-great-great-great-great-grandfather.”
Suddenly everyone in the crowd was talking at once. The reporters were all pushing their way toward the two boys. Every camera had turned in their direction.
Why did she do what she did at that moment? It was a question that Lula would have to ponder. What would have happened if she hadn’t said anything? Would things have turned out for the better or worse? First, Lula looked over at Mitch, who seemed utterly confused. Then her head turned just a smidge more, and she witnessed Logan Walsh drop to one knee and hitch up a pant leg. She saw the metallic glint of a gun in an ankle holster.
“Mitch!” Lula screamed. “Stop him!”
Jolted out of a trance, Mitch responded. But he hadn’t seen Logan. With the growl of a furious bear, he charged forward toward the boys with the banner instead. Halfway across the stage, his foot caught the mic cord, and in the mayhem that followed, Lula lost sight of Logan.
Mitch lurched forward, slamming right into Bella Cummings. Lula watched the girl sail into the air and off the platform. The crowd screamed and parted. Then Bella vanished from sight as she plunged to the earth and landed with a dull thump on the cobblestones. Lula ran to the edge of the stage. Bella was lying on her back five feet into the audience. The older Wright boy leaped into the crowd and knelt by the girl’s side.
“You motherfucker!” someone shouted.
Lula swiveled and saw the younger Wright brother, the football star, barrel into Mitch Sweeney, who’d just struggled back to his feet and was bleeding profusely from a long, jagged head wound. Within an instant, the movie star was on the ground again with a furious football star astride him.
“Get off!” Lula grabbed the boy’s shirt and tried to pull him away. No one else stepped forward to help, not even Mitch’s useless brother, who seemed perfectly content seeing her guest star get whupped by a teenager.
Then a voice rose above the commotion. “What the hell are you doing?” the older Wright boy shouted. His little brother looked up and everyone else turned around. “We have to get Bella to a doctor! She needs help right away.”
And that was the end of Lula’s glorious rally. After such a wonderful start, it had concluded in the worst way possible, with her guest star bleeding from a head wound and the sheriff ordering everyone to get the hell out of Jackson Square. Melody’s cupcakes had been smooshed into the ground, including the two that Lula had set aside to take home with her. All of her enemies left with their prayers answered, and Beverly Underwood had the nerve to ask if she needed help cleaning things up. Lula marched right off without saying a word.
The phone kept ringing, but for the rest of the evening, Lula was too heartbroken to talk to anyone. It wasn’t until she was soaking in a hot, rose-scented bath that she remembered the glint of metal on Logan Walsh’s ankle. What on earth had that idiot been thinking? Was he planning to shoot the Wright boys there on her stage? What did he think that would achieve—other than getting Lula canceled and ending her bid for mayor? First thing in the morning, she was going to call Nathan Dugan and tell him Logan Walsh was no longer welcome on the Concerned Parents Committee.