Chapter 9
“You could bring Ernie out here. He can handle the snow.”
Michael laughs at me and says, “Mrs. Black is on your way home and it’s a cat in a tree. We do not need everyone to leave the station on Ernie for a cat in a tree.”
“Ernie has a ladder, and I don’t know how high up—"
“It’s because she hits on you, isn’t it?”
I sigh. “Mrs. Black is in her eighties, man.”
“Yeah, but I bet she was smoking hot, back in her day.”
“Then you come save her cat.”
He snickers and says, “Go on, Jordan. Rescue her cat and she might let you rub Bengay on her hard to reach spots.”
I glare at her front door from my truck. “Thanks for putting that image in my head, Michael. You’re taking her next call.”
“Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“And what would that be, exactly?”
“Not much,” he laughs, before he hangs up.
I hang up and sigh. I don’t even remember Mrs. Black having a cat. Her farm is small, like most of them around Floyd. But she keeps all sorts of animals around, so she might have a cat. Who knows? I hope her goats don’t jump on my truck again. They scratched it all to hell last time.
Her white farmhouse has a newly refurbished wraparound porch, and in the spring, she has potted herbs in every direction. For today, though, I’m just glad to have a place to wait out of the snow. When she opens the door, heat pours from the opening.
“Jordan, I am so sorry to be a bother,” the old lady says in her Southern drawl.
Despite her age, Mrs. Black’s face carries only the smallest wrinkles.
She has an hourglass figure, odd for someone in her eighties.
Her heavy red sweater and jeans join with her shiny white hair to make me think of the American flag, and I fight the urge to salute her.
I shake my head. Then, I tell her, “You’re no bother, Mrs. Black. Where is your cat?”
Her hands are on her hips when she sasses, “My cat? No, no, no, those boys at the firehouse don’t listen anymore when I call, I tell you what. An old woman calls, and they don’t listen. What would they do if it were an emergency, Jordan?”
“Then, what seems to be the trouble?”
“There’s a bobcat in the tree over my chicken coop. That mangy bastard has been terrorizing my chickens and now they won’t lay!”
“Ah.”
She gets testy when she asks, “So, can you help me out? I’m not sure who else to call. We don’t have Animal Control—"
I nod. “I’ve got it. No problem, I always keep my shotgun in the truck. What do you want done with the carcass?”
“Carcass? No, dear, it’s very much alive.” She frowns.
The poor confused thing. I smile, “When I’m done shooting it down—"
“If I had wanted it shot down, then I would have shot it down, Jordan Waters.” She shakes her head, almost violently. “Absolutely no harm is to come to that mangy bastard, or any other animal on my land. I simply want it gone.”
“You want it chased away?”
She nods, “I tried banging pots and screaming at it, but that seemed to only make it more stubborn and upset the chickens even more.”
Does she understand how this works? “If I only chase it away, there’s a good chance that it will come back. You get that, right?”
“Then, maybe I should have the tree cut down, so it can’t get a good perch over my hens.”
I sigh. “One chased bobcat. Coming right up.” I walk around her porch to her backyard.
Sure enough, the chickens are all hiding inside their home in the chicken coop fencing.
Thankfully, Mrs. Black was smart enough to build one with a roof.
The open—top coops always lose some hens to the hawks.
Sure enough, a bobcat sits perched over the coop in the gnarled oak tree.
Even with the snow on the branches, it was camouflaged.
“Aw, buddy. That’s not where you belong. ”
I wasn’t halfway up the icy cold tree, when Mrs. Black comes out to shout, “Don’t hurt him!”
I grunt, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Maybe I should have called a trapper.”
“Well,” I shimmy up the trunk, “you called me.”
“Jordan Waters, don’t you sass me! I have gotten absolutely no help from you flyboys at the firehouse, and I pay my taxes, so I expect some help now and then.”
I explain, “Mrs. Black, we’re volunteers. You don’t pay us anything.”
“Oh, well, that’s good. Watch that branch, it’s a little—"
The branch I grabbed for tumbles to the ground and the cat hisses at me. “Yeah, you and me both, pal.” I grab for another one, and it holds. I’m almost there.
“Once you get him out of here, would you like to stay for supper? I made stuffed acorn squash. I always make extra, in case of visitors.”
“That sounds great, but I have plans.”
“A date?” she asks with a hint of jealousy.
I sigh, “You know something, Mrs. Black, I’m not sure what it is.” I make it to the branch with the cat and straddle it. “Alright, Bob, we’re gonna—"
The cat hisses at me, then leaps off the end of the branch. It tumbles down the soft netted side of the chicken coop, then darts into the woods.
Mrs. Black claps and excitedly shouts, “You did it!”
“I guess so.” I smile and carefully climb back down. “I think your chickens are safe for now.”
She frowns. “Your jacket isn’t. I’m so sorry.”
I look down and see the rip. “Damn.”
“What is that, nylon?”
“Yes, ma’am, I believe so.”
“Well, come on inside, take it off, and sit a spell, while I sew you back together.”
I shake my head, “I don’t want to be any trouble.”
“No trouble, come on.” She toddles into the house, and I follow her. There’s no refusing Mrs. Black, once she puts her mind to something, so I might as well just do it. But I’m not rubbing Bengay anywhere on her, no matter how nice she is.
Inside, her home is like anyone else’s, except for the scent.
Hardwood floors, decorations with kitschy sayings on them.
Her rugs are old, but well maintained. Dozens of pictures line the walls, some in color, some black and white.
The air smells like sweet and savory heaven.
“What did you stuff the acorn squash with, Mrs. Black? That smells incredible.”
“The usual, just rice, shallots, mushrooms. You should try it sometime. Take off your coat.”
I take my coat off and pass it to her. “Well, one day, I’ll have to. No meat? I would have sworn there was sausage in the air.”
“No, I’m a vegetarian,” she smiles, then fetches her sewing kit. “It’s probably the fennel seed. That’s one of the main seasonings in Italian sausage, so I could see how that would smell like meat.”
“Really? I never think of anyone your ag…um,” shit. Never bring up age. “Your type, to be vegetarian.”
“Oh, you mean, us old farts can’t be vegetarians?”
I laugh, “Not exactly.”
“Yes, you did, Jordan. But that’s okay. I’m used to it. My peers give me shit for it, too.”
I smile and faux—scold her, “Mrs. Black! Such language!”
“If I thought you were a blushing schoolgirl, I would have said crap,” she smirks. “I’ve been a vegetarian for some sixty years now, ever since I lived in Haight—Ashbury.”
“That’s in California, right? Some hippie place?”
She nods as she sews. “It surely was.”
“Wow, sixty years, no meat.” I can’t imagine doing that myself. “That seems so limiting. What’s it like?”
“Well, there are more fruits and vegetables in the world than there are kinds of meat people eat, so it’s pretty good.”
“I guess that makes sense. Do you ever miss it?”
“I could lie and say ‘no’, but what would be the point in that? Of course I do. But not enough to eat the stuff again.”
I smile. “Thank you for being honest. What is it that keeps you from eating meat?”
“You’re a meat eater, Jordan,” she grins, “Trust me when I say, you don’t want to know.”
I laugh, before visions of slaughterhouses dance in my head. “Maybe. Why keep animals here then?”
“Well, the chickens make wonderful manure for my crops, but more importantly, they’re all animals that I rescued from the farms around here. Maybe a chicken was under producing or a goat kept getting into the garbage. If the family doesn’t need the meat, then they call me. And here’s your jacket.”
“Wow, good as new. I don’t even see the tear.”
She smiles, “I aim to please.”
“You have spectacular aim,” I say. She has always seemed wise or something, so I imagine she has some wisdom on life or love or maybe all of it. I ask, “Mrs. Black, how did you know Mr. Black was the right guy for you?”
She stares into my eyes, then her grin broadens. “You’ve met someone new, haven’t you? That Collins girl? She’s the only new person in town.”
I smile, too. I can’t help it. Mrs. Black’s smile is contagious. “Maybe. But how did you know?”
“I’m Mrs. Black because when I first came to Floyd, people didn’t stop trying to set me up until I told them I’m a widow.”
“What’s that have to do with Mr. Black?”
“There never was a Mr. Black.”
I laugh, “Are you kidding?”
“I’ve never married. Never much saw the point.”
“Then who are all these people on the walls?”
“My family.”
I smile. “I didn’t realize you have such a big family.”
“We’re not a traditional family, to be sure, but it’s not blood that makes a family.”
“True. My brothers from the Marines will always be my brothers.”
She nods, “We’re all spread out around the world now, but all those folks are my family from the good old days.
” Her eyes glisten over, as she peruses them with me.
“But as far as how you know if you’ve met your person or your people?
I’m not sure. I think it’s something in your gut.
Something that tells you that you need them for your happiness, and they need you just the same.
To me, that’s what love is. Being inextricably linked to someone, interconnected to them for your truest, purest form of happiness. ”
“That sounds dangerous. Like your happiness is tangled in them.”
She smiles. “Oh, it is dangerous. Loving someone else is always dangerous, Jordan. There’s no getting around that. If you want something, you have to give something up.”
“I’m not sure that I’m ready for that.”
“It’s not for everyone, certainly. But the rewards,” she gestures to the wall, “are immense and absolutely worth the risk.”
I take another look at the pictures. They are as varied as I could imagine. Some look like they are from the Old West, others are graduation pictures. “Well, that’s a fine family you’ve got there, Mrs. Black. And I won’t spill the beans about your preferred title.”
“I know you won’t, Jordan. You’re a good boy.
Had my niece still been single, I would have fixed you up with her when you first came to Floyd.
But the poor dear has gone and married some woman from Seattle, and now they’ve adopted these three kids,” she says, as she proudly points to a nice family portrait.
“She seems happy. And since she married a woman, I am certain I am not her type.”
Mrs. Black shrugs, “You young people don’t know how to draw the line for that sort of thing anymore, so I don’t put anything past anyone these days. Whoever makes her happy is what matters. But she and Annabelle have a good life together, so you’re off the hook.”
I laugh, “Well, I’m glad they’re good together.”
“Do you think you might be happy with Stella Collins?”
“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself.”
“Then why all the questions?”
“Just wondering about some stuff, is all,” I lie and shrug.
Her lips smooth into a straight line and she smirks, before she utters, “Mm, hmm.”
I know she sees right through me, but I’m running out of time to address it. “Chalk it up to randomness. I must be heading out.”
“Alright then, Jordan. Tell Stella hi for me.”
“What makes you assume I’m seeing Stella tonight?”
She smiles and says, “No reason.”
+++
On my drive home, I think about Mrs. Black’s words. It’s not blood that makes a family. Is Alex Stella’s brother? Was all of that a ruse? Did she concoct that story, just to get him to leave? Maybe he was threatening her…I dial up Wes. “Does Stella have a brother?”
“Yeah, Alex. Strangely, he’s a firefighter, too. I can send you a picture, so you can tell me if you spot him. He can’t be anywhere near Floyd. We know the smuggling ring tails him.”
“Is he in Witness Protection too?”
He says, “No. He didn’t witness anything.”
“So, it would be very dangerous for them to meet up, then.”
“Hell yes. He’s…wait, why are you asking?”
To lie or not to lie? Hmm. “She strikes me as the kind of woman who has a brother. She’s a little rough around the edges sometimes.”
“Oh. True. Rough is a nice word for her.”
I chuckle and ask, “Forceful might be better?”
“I was thinking ‘scared’ would be the right word. She’s been though a lot. I think she’s getting paranoid,” he sounds exasperated.
“I would be too, in her shoes. How far along is Jennifer, by the way?”
“We have four weeks to go.”
I smile, “That’s awesome, man.” Then, I pull into my long driveway. “Let me know when she pops.”
“Will do.”