Bring on the Blessings Read online

  “You’re going to live here?”

  “As much as possible, yes.”

  “Why?”

  Not sure where this was going, she told the truth, “I figure when you buy a town, the least you can do is live in it.” She glanced out at the other people in the room. “That make sense?”

  There were answering nods and murmurs of agreement.

  But it seemed he wasn’t convinced. “I don’t know if Mr. July has told you, but there are those of us here who question whether selling was a good idea.”

  A male voice in the back of the room, shouted, “Oh, sit down, Riley. You can bore her some other time. We want to eat!”

  Laughter erupted. Bernadine wanted to kiss the owner of the voice, whoever he was, but knew she should address Curry’s concerns. She also decided now was the time to reveal her full plan, despite Trent’s advice to the contrary. She respected his take on the subject. After all, he knew his neighbors and she didn’t, but she didn’t want to be accused of having a hidden agenda. She’d need their help to pull this off, and the sooner she figured out who was with her and who wasn’t, the better off she’d be. “I know better than to hold up a good meal but I want to tell you the other reason I bought the town.”

  “Splendid,” he said tightly, but his face said something else entirely “Are you going to disband the council?”

  Caught off guard, she asked, “What council?”

  “The duly elected Council of Elders that runs this town.”

  “I didn’t even know there was a council, Mr. Curry.”

  Someone shouted, “Sit down, Riley. The council hasn’t had a meeting since the town went broke. Let her finish so we can eat!”

  Bernadine could see the displeasure on Riley’s face, so she said in as polite as voice as could be managed. “As the construction progresses, we will be needing some type of board to keep an eye on things. How about we talk about the council later? Is that okay with you for now?”

  His expression said that it wasn’t, but she hadn’t come here to go back and forth with him all day, so she moved on by telling them about the tour of the town Trent had given her and some of the things she’d envisioned like a neighborhood center, a library, and a health center. “In addition there’ll also be a small subdivision of new homes built in the old neighborhood behind Main Street.”

  There was silence for a moment as folks looked at each other with what appeared to be mild confusion.

  Marie Jefferson wearing her cat’s-eye glasses with the rhinestone frames introduced herself and asked, “Who’re you building the new houses for?”

  “Any of you residents who want one and the new people I’m planning to bring in.”

  “What new people?”

  “Foster parents and foster children.”

  Every eye in the room widened and shot her way. To say they looked stunned was an understatement.

  “Foster children?” a tall thin elderly man asked.

  “Yes.”

  Riley snapped, “I knew she had something up her sleeve. Her buying us out was too good to be true. I knew it! Foster children?! What are we going to do with a bunch of ghettofied hoodlums?”

  “Raise them and love them, I’m hoping,” she replied simply.

  The room quieted. She had their full attention now and took a moment to tell them the story of a place called Hope.

  When she finished, Agnes asked in a wonder-softened voice, “And you want to do that here? In Henry Adams?”

  Bernadine nodded and then continued quietly, “Listen. What better place to raise children than in a historic environment like this where there is stability, elders they can call on, and is safe? And they aren’t hoodlums,” she added giving Riley a cold glance. “Children in the foster care system are not there by choice. Most are there because of tragedies in a life they had no control over. I’d like to bring a few here and give them a new start. With your help.”

  Agnes Jefferson, who’d been siding with Riley on the town sale issue appeared so moved by Bernadine’s plea that Tamar had to hand her a tissue so she could wipe her eyes. When the Jefferson matriarch pulled it together her voice wavered with emotion. “Young woman, I’ve been prepared not to like you, but this? This is why our ancestors founded our town—to get a new start. For you to bring that forward, I think it’s a marvelous idea.”

  Riley snapped hotly, “No, it isn’t. I’ve seen these kids on television and they are trouble with a capital T!”

  Ignoring Riley, Trent asked, “How many children are you going to start with? Will they be local?”

  “I want to start small, so it will just be four or five at first. And no, they won’t be local. The foster parents probably won’t be either. Good stable people are hard to find.”

  Riley’s wife, Genevieve, asked, “What makes you think you’re qualified to do something like this.”

  “My MSW.”

  Some people looked confused.

  “Masters in social work,” Bernadine explained. “I worked in foster care for over ten years, and I’m hoping my experience will help me choose the right kids and the right foster parents.”

  There was more silence. She wasn’t sure if she had them on board or not so she added sincerely, “I understand your skepticism and that you may have concerns, but I know all of you here have something valuable you can teach these children. All of you. They’ll need tutors and mentors and just plain family. We can give them that.”

  Someone else asked, “Will they be Black?”

  “I’m sure some will be, but if you think about it, a needy child is a needy child no matter the color.”

  Folks nodded, apparently seeing the rightness in her words.

  “The construction will begin ASAP, as I said, because I want to get as much done as we can before winter, and I’ll really need your support if this is to work. I know you all don’t know me from Adam at this point, but I’m hoping the longer I live here the more trust we can build.”

  Another man spoke up. “Ms. Brown, I’m Clayton Dobbs, a Vietnam vet, and back in the sixties we Black folks were all about community. What you’re proposing reminds me of that. I’m in.”

  Many people added their support. Others, like Riley, just looked disgusted, but she didn’t care. She was glad to have Agnes Jefferson on her side though. Agnes and Tamar July appeared to be the oldest people in the room. With their support, she hoped the mountain looming ahead would be easier to climb. “Are there any more questions before we eat?”

  Tamar asked, “Suppose we don’t want new houses, but want our old places fixed up?”

  “I’m sure we can work out something.”

  Tamar seemed satisfied with that.

  Riley wasn’t and asked angrily, “Isn’t anyone concerned that we don’t know where all this money she’s supposed to have comes from? What if it’s drug money or laundered money from some illegal offshore operation?”

  People began to boo.

  Bernadine looked him in the eye. He was tap dancing on her last nerve. “Mr. Curry, I got my money the old-fashioned way—I earned it in a divorce settlement.”

  Soft chuckles followed that.

  “How much I’m worth, which is what I really think you want to know, is none of your business, but to put you at ease take the three and a half million I paid to buy Henry Adams, multiply that by say, eighty and you’ll be in the ballpark.”

  Jaws dropped all over the room. Even Riley looked rocked.

  She asked him coolly, “Anything else?”

  He gave her a hasty shake of his head and sat down.

  “Good. If there are any other questions before we eat, shoot.”

  They wanted to know things like when did she anticipate bringing in the children, would the neighborhood center have a lap pool, would the farmers in the area be able to secure low-interest loans?

  Bernadine answered as best she could, and she promised to get back to them on the ones she could not. Riley Curry didn’t have anything else to say apparently
, and as a result the rest of the discussion went smoothly.

  Tamar stood and said, “Okay, let’s let Ms. Brown eat.”

  Bernadine smiled and asked Trent, “Where can I wash my hands?”

  He directed her to the restroom. “It’s unisex, so make sure you knock.”

  “Got it.”

  The small restroom was a clean, sparkling contrast to the D&C’s drab hangdog interior. As she was leaving, a sign on the door caught her eye. In big bold letters someone had written this reminder: If You Are a Man—Go Back and Put Down the Seat!

  Smiling, she walked out and rejoined the festivities.

  CHAPTER

  5

  The food was spread out buffet-style, and as guest of honor Bernadine led the line. Some of the best-looking barbecued chicken she’d seen in a long time filled a platter in the center of the long table. As she added baked beans and coleslaw to the other offerings on her plate, she saw nothing but kindness on most of the faces of the people around her.

  Agnes Jefferson took one look at Bernadine’s plate and declared, “I like a woman who’s not afraid to let folks know she eats. Those little toothpick girls on the television make me sick.”

  Bernadine was five-eight and a healthy size 18. She loved her curves because she loved herself. “Good food is good for the soul.”

  “Amen!” Tamar said.

  Over the course of the meal, she was interrupted by people who came over and introduced themselves again, men like WWII veteran Bingham Shepard and Clayton Dobbs, who wanted her to take a look at their ideas for irrigation improvements. Then came some of the women, including Genevieve Curry, who after introducing herself boldly asked if the diamonds in Bernadine’s ears were real?

  “Yes,” Bernadine replied coolly.

  The residents of Henry Adams were farmers and truck drivers, day workers and retirees. They showed her pictures of their adult children now living in big cites like Kansas City and Topeka. Others proudly whipped out pictures of their grandchildren, and she was moved by the love she saw in their eyes. All in all she found her new neighbors to be decent folks. Of course, it was her first time meeting them, and they could all turn out to be spawns of the Corn God or some other crazy demon from one of those slasher movies her nephews were always going to see, but for now she was content.

  As people took seats and conversations began to flow around the space, she asked Trent, “So how’d I do?”

  “Considering you didn’t take my advice and are still alive and eating, I’d say you did just fine. Got people thinking if nothing else.” He looked up from his piled-high plate, “You don’t do things by half do you?”

  She shook her head. “I’d rather be up front, that way there’s no confusion later.”

  “There’s certainly none of that here.”

  “Do you think they’ll be good for the kids?”

  He nodded. “I do.”

  “Do you have any children?”

  “No.”

  Bernadine detected a sense of sadness in his one-word reply, and it made her wonder about its root, but she didn’t know him well enough to be in his business so she went back to her plate and changed the subject. “Who owns this place?” She could see people going in and out of what she guessed might be the kitchen but no one looked to be in charge—except maybe Agnes and Tamar, who were overseeing the replenishment of the bowls and platters on the buffet tables and seemed to be giving all the orders. Someone had punched up the old jukebox again, and this time Eddie Kendricks and the Temptations were urging folks to “Get Ready.”

  “My father, Malachi. He’s also the town vet.”

  “Is he in the kitchen cooking?”

  He laughed. “Malachi? Oh no. Last time he got near the grill he almost burned the place to the ground. He’s not allowed to even look in there. Right now he’s over at Lake’s farm. One of their mare’s having trouble foaling. You’ll meet him later.”

  She wondered if the father was as good-looking as the son. Not that she was looking for a man, but truth be told, he was dark chocolate and fine. “So who does all the cooking here?”

  “Officially, no one. It used to be Rocky, but she got married last week. Malachi’s supposed to be looking for a replacement, but so far nothing. You wouldn’t happen to cook, would you?”

  “Yeah right,” she said, grinning. She spotted Riley Curry and his wife observing her from where they sat close by. She’d decided she didn’t like either of them, but she set the thoughts aside. All she wanted to do was enjoy the fabulous meal and continue basking in the wonderful welcome she’d received. “Are there any other places to eat close by?”

  “Nope. There’s a couple fast food places in Franklin but all the real restaurants are down in Hays.”

  While the music and the gathering continued, she glanced around at the taped-up booths and the dangling bare bulbs with an eye toward making improvements. “Do you think your father would be interested in renovating his place?”

  He shrugged. “After he gets through hitting on you, you can ask him.”

  “Hitting on me?”

  “Yep, so be ready.”

  Tamar set a plate in front of Bernadine that held a wedge of chocolate cake and ice cream, then set a duplicate in front of her grandson. Apparently she’d heard her grandson’s remarks because she said, “Trent’s right, Ms. Brown. I love my son as much as I love my name, but Malachi’s full of snake oil when it comes to women. Watch yourself.”

  Bernadine was too stunned to say anything except, “Yes, ma’am.”

  Folks nearby laughed.

  Bernadine saw the smile on Trent’s face. “You all are just messing with me, right?”

  “Wish we were. People around here called him the Gigolo of Graham County when he was young; some still do.”

  Bernadine tasted the ice cream. It was homemade and her taste buds died and went to heaven. “You won’t have to worry about me. Been there, done that, which is why I’m divorced. I don’t do players very well, which is why he has a new wife now, complete with fake nails and weave.”

  “Ouch.”

  “I’m just saying.”

  After dessert, the leftover food was divided up and distributed among the attendees, and the welcome reception began breaking up. Nearly everyone stopped by to tell Bernadine good-bye and to thank her for rescuing the town. Their praises and pledges to help in any way they could with the kids humbled her. The Currys offered nothing. They just walked out.

  As the numbers of people dwindled, she asked Trent, “Is there a place nearby where I can spend the night. Hotel, motel, Holiday Inn?”

  He smiled hearing her spout the lyrics from the old Sugar Hill Gang tune. “Nope, but Tamar will put you up.”

  “I don’t want to impose.”

  “You won’t be and she’d enjoy the company.”

  Sure enough, when Tamar was ready to leave, Trent asked her and she told Bernadine the same thing. “I’d love to have you stay with me.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “Positive.”

  “Then okay. I’ll make some calls in the morning and see if I can’t get a trailer or a modular home delivered ASAP. I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  Outside, while Bernadine looked on, Trent transferred her luggage to his grandmother’s old beat-up green truck. “Thanks for everything,” she told him. “They’re some nice people here.”

  “They are. Some are old and set in their ways, but they were on their best behavior with you.”

  “You still think I’m going to be butting heads?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. You laid out plans for a pretty powerful mission, but Riley’s going to hassle you mission or no mission. It’s seems to be his reason for living.”

  “How long was he mayor?”

  “About thirty years.”

  She found that surprising. “How long have you been in office?”

  “Two, and he’s been a
thorn in my butt the whole time. Swears I don’t know what I’m doing. He’s planning on running against me in the November election.”

  “Does he have the votes to win?”

  “Right now, no. Come election time, who knows.”

  Bernadine sensed she’d get more cooperation for her project from July than she would from the sour-faced Curry, and so she planned to change her voting address as soon as possible. “You’ve been very kind and you’re a great tour guide.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll probably see you tomorrow.”

  “Take care.”

  He touched his hat, got into his truck, and drove away.

  Tamar was a short distance away talking to Agnes and her daughter Marie. When she was done they drove off and she walked over and asked Bernadine “You ready?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  They got in. Tamar turned the key in the ignition and the old truck roared to life. Bernadine had to admit she had a few misgivings about riding with Tamar, based on how old she guessed Tamar to be, but as they peeled out of the parking lot, they proved to be true for a different reason. The old lady drove like a bat out of hell. Praying, Bernadine bit her lip and held on as Tamar tore through turns and switchbacks at speeds nearing her eighty-four years of age.

  Luckily, they didn’t have to go far. Her home was less than fifteen minutes away, but still, Bernadine stepped out of the truck on shaking legs. “You ever thought about driving at Daytona?”

  “Like my driving?”

  “I’m not sure. Kinda scary.”

  “The shortest distance between two points is speed.”

  “I’ll write that down.”

  They sat on the porch and rehashed the meeting. Bernadine asked Tamar to give her a thumbnail sketch of some of the people she’d met so far. “Tell me about Mr. Shepard and Mr. Dobbs.”

  “Bing was Clay’s dad’s best friend. When Bing’s wife died, we thought he was going to die of a broken heart, wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t leave the house, we really worried about him, so Clay convinced him to move in.”

  “Does Mr. Dobbs have a wife?”