Chapter 4
Chapter
Tamar awakened and realized she hadn’t dreamt about her wedding overnight, or if she did, she didn’t remember, and she was okay with that too.
When she drew open the blinds in the kitchen there was no owl staring at her from the roof of the shed.
That was fine, too, even though it only added more fuel to the riddle of why the bird kept showing up in the first place.
Instead of worrying over it, she made breakfast, got dressed, and she and Olivia left the house to begin the day.
She drove to the outskirts of town. Reaching her destination, she shut off the engine and got out.
Her grandson Trent, who’d already arrived, did the same.
Today was the one hundred and eighteenth anniversary of the death of her great-grandmother, First Tamar, the woman she’d been named after and the founding matriarch of the July clan.
“Thanks for coming with me,” she told him solemnly.
“You’re welcome.”
Together they stood at the edge of the old Henry Adams cemetery.
Green shoots were emerging from the soil after their winter sleep.
By summer’s arrival, the native grasses and wildflowers would all but obscure the aging gravestones.
Now, however, the markers stood out like weathered sentinels.
Many were so ancient the names of the dead could no longer be read, while others, like those belonging to her parents, remained visible.
The passage of time had taken its toll on First Tamar’s too.
Even from a distance they could see the simple memorial, blackened by the ravages of age and the harsh Kansas winters, was listing to one side.
Even if all the stones disappeared, she’d still know each ancestor’s resting place because she’d been paying homage here her entire life.
“I’ll come back and reset her stone,” Trent reassured her.
“Thank you.” She scanned the open field and felt the presence of those interred as surely as she felt Trent standing at her side.
“I always thought I’d be buried here, but now .
. . ?” The county had closed the cemetery over a decade ago.
No more of Henry Adams’s dead would be allowed to rest there.
“We’ve never talked about where you want to be buried when the time comes. Do you have a preference?”
“I don’t want a burial. Cremate me and spread my ashes right here. I don’t care what the county has to say. Won’t be the first time a Black Seminole defied the government and probably not the last.” She met his eyes and in them saw the young boy she’d helped raise. “Promise me.”
“I promise. Can’t have you haunting me for the rest of my life and beyond.”
“And you know I will.” She looked back out at the field. “I’m going to go pay my respects.”
“I’ll wait here.”
Wandering slowly, she paused every now and then to run a gentle hand over the tops of the stones of her parents and others who’d lived during her lifetime: Rocky’s parents; Clay’s parents; Bing’s wife; and each received softly spoken words of remembrance.
Walking farther in, she sought out the graves of her grandparents, Neil July and his wife Olivia.
Nearby were the ancestors of Marie and Agnes Jefferson—schoolteacher Cara Lee Jefferson and her husband, town sheriff Chase.
The headstones belonging to the town’s founding citizens like the Three Spinsters and Sophie Reynolds were amongst the oldest and most difficult to read, but she knew them by heart and sight too.
She was the town griot—the keeper of traditions, history, and lore.
She’d passed the knowledge down to Trent, and they were doing the same with Amari.
Many Black families in the United States no longer knew the stories of who and what came before; many had never known; but she wanted to ensure Henry Adams and the Julys never forgot.
She stood the longest at the grave of First Tamar, a woman of magic, strength, and mystery.
People scoffed at the idea that she had the ability to walk through her descendants’ dreams, but Amari knew that to be true, as did the present Tamar, because she’d visited them both.
First Tamar made the Long Walk from Oklahoma to the Mexican border with Seminole Chiefs Wild Cat and John Horse to escape slave catchers and tribal enemies the Crow.
She also raised two of her husband’s sons by other women, in addition to the three children he’d sired with her.
She’d been an incredible woman, and Tamar was honored to bear her name.
Walking back to the truck, she asked Trent, “Have you brought Devon out here?”
“Not yet. I want to wait until after you have your weekend with him. After seeing him pour out his grief on his grandmother’s grave when we took him down south, I’m not sure how he’ll react to another cemetery.”
She understood. Death was hard at every age. “We’ll give him time.”
“When are you planning to do his Spirit Quest?”
“I want to wait until the weather settles down. I don’t want us to be in a tent and wake up to eight inches of snow. Let’s give it another two weeks, and we’ll set a date.”
“Okay. I should have him practice raising a tent in the meantime, then.”
“Good idea. Putting up the tent gave poor Amari fits, but Devon, being a country boy, may already know how.”
“True. I’ll talk to him about it. I doubt he and his grandmother had modern equipment, though, so he may need to practice anyway.”
Tamar agreed. She hoped the Spirit Quest would set Devon on the road to finding himself and also build a bond between the two of them. No one would replace his beloved grandmother in his heart, but she wanted to become as close to him as she’d come to be with Amari.
Trent asked, “Are you heading to town for the big meeting this afternoon?”
“Not yet. Since I’m out this way, I’ll swing by and see Jimmy, then drive back.”
“Tell him hello. If he needs anything fixed at his place, let me know.”
“Will do.”
He kissed her cheek. “Drive safe. I’ll see you later.”
TWO RUSTING RED Cadillacs flanked the olive green farmhouse of her old friend James Redding.
Fifty years ago, the crimson-and-chrome convertibles had been the envy of everyone around but were now weed-filled, decayed hulks that hadn’t been driven since the Clinton administration.
Turning off Olivia’s engine, she stepped out and saw, with alarm, Jimmy standing on a ladder fiddling with a portion of the gutter.
At his age, he had about as much business being up there as she did, and the sooner he came down the better.
Seeing her, he smiled.
She didn’t smile back. “If you fall off that thing, who’s going to call 911—the Elton John gang?” He had two cats named Levon and Bennie.
Amused, he turned his attention back to the gutter. “Good morning to you, too, Tammy.”
“Don’t you ‘Good Morning, Tammy’ me. Do you at least have your phone in your pocket in case you fall?”
“No. Don’t have the old-people alert bracelet on either. Thing makes me itch.”
“Please come down.”
“Or what? You going to whip me, spank me, make me write bad checks?”
She couldn’t suppress her snort. “You are such a mess.”
“And had I been born Black, I’d be your mess. Been in love with you since the first day you came into Old Man Casey’s classroom.”
That turned her to stone. “What?”
“You’re hard of hearing now?” he asked.
Tamar looked up into his aged, sea green eyes and for the life of her didn’t know what to say.
“Hold the ladder for me, Tam. I’m coming down.”
Stunned, she steadied the ladder and watched him make a slow descent. In his youth he’d been hearty and hale. Now, in his worn jeans and KU blue sweatshirt, he was scarecrow thin. Once he was safely on the ground, she asked, “Why in the world would you tell me that?”
“Because we’re both knocking on Heaven’s door, and I don’t want to cross the threshold without you knowing the truth.” He imitated Bob Dylan’s off-key voice singing “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door.”
“Jimmy—”
“Come on inside and have some coffee. The girls sent me a Keurig for my birthday. “
Still struggling to make sense of his revelation, she followed him into the house.
She was immediately met by the two cats he called his boys—a ginger named Levon and Bennie, a calico.
She reached down and stroked them both, and they purred hello.
The home’s interior was tidy. The sofa and upholstered chairs were as old as the Cadillacs but clean and still comfortable.
The wooden coffee table gleamed from years of care.
Each wall held a small watercolor painted by his late wife, Muriel.
In the kitchen were the framed high school graduation pictures of his three daughters, Kathy, Peggy, and Dianne, named for the Lennon Sisters from the popular Lawrence Welk Show.
“Have a seat, please,” he said to her.
She sat and absently stroked the boys on her lap while he prepared the coffee.
“This machine has to be one of the world’s best inventions ever. I don’t have to make a full pot and worry about it going to waste.”
She loved hers, as well, but was still stuck on his disclosure.
When the brew was ready, he brought two filled cups to the table, along with the sugar bowl and cream he took from the fridge. Sitting, he silently fixed his the way he liked it, while she put the cats down and did the same. He took his first sip. “Never known you to be so quiet, Tammy.”
“Never had you tell me what you did outside.”
“That’s fair, but it’s the truth. Wouldn’t lie to you about something like that, and no feeling bad about not loving me in return. Okay? I know you consider me just a friend.”
“But a good, lifelong friend.”
“Appreciate that.”
“But you never hinted you had feelings for me.”
“Did my best to keep it hidden because of the times. The first day I met you, I told my daddy when I grew up, I was going to marry you, and he dragged me to the barn and whipped me until my back bled rivers.”
She stiffened.