Last in a Long Line of Rebels Page 4

  Franklin and Benzer studied their shoes, avoiding my eyes. I looked at Patty, expecting her to be angry, but she just looked sad. “It’s not the worst thing, Lou. You wouldn’t be homeless, really. Franklin said they had to pay you, so y’all would have money to buy somewhere good, maybe even in Benzer’s subdivision.”

  “You don’t understand,” I mumbled. “I can’t move.” I dropped back down on the steps. “Franklin, you’re the smartest kid in school and the richest. Benzer, you’re the best athlete, the bookworm, the kid from New York; there’s nobody like you at school. Patty …” I hesitated, trying to find the right words. “You’ve got that whole fashionista thing going. Even high-school girls ask you for hair tips.”

  Patty sniffed. “I do know my products.”

  I waved an arm toward my house. “And I have this, the oldest house in the county. It’s not all that great, I know, but it proves we were the first ones here. At some point, the Mayhews were first at something. And now they’re just going to knock it down? Then what will I be?” I kicked at the step. “A nobody, that’s who.”

  Benzer cleared his throat. “There’s more to you than just a house.”

  “No, Benzini,” Patty said. “She’s right. You have to have something special about you if you want to survive Zollicoffer Junior High. It’s clique central.”

  Franklin looked uncomfortable. “Actually, it would depend on where she moved.”

  I looked up, startled. “What do you mean?”

  “We’re assuming you’d stay in the same general area. But your father’s business requires land, which could force him to move farther outside the city limits. Lou,” he said, gulping, “you may not end up in the same school district.”

  Patty shrieked from the side yard, and I peered out my bedroom window as Franklin and Benzer chased her around the side of the house. I didn’t remember how it started, but at some point on every bridge night, Patty’s shoes ended up in the middle of the street. I stared at myself in the mirror above my dresser. I didn’t look any different—same long blond ponytail, same three freckles across my nose. Except for the fact that my brown eyes were a little glassier than normal, nothing on the outside had changed. But I sure felt different on the inside. It hadn’t even occurred to me that I might have to change schools. That knowledge sat like a giant bowling ball in my stomach. I smoothed down my new T-shirt. I’d left, saying it was too hot and I wanted to change, and they had pretended not to see my eyes watering. I opened the window and walked out onto the roof. One of the oak’s thick limbs was just inches from the edge, and I shimmied across it to the trunk. From there it was easy enough to swing down, limb by limb, until I was on the ground.

  I could still hear Patty yelling, and I figured I had another five minutes before they’d come roaring into the front yard again. Franklin’s book lay where I’d kicked it earlier, and I moved forward to pick it up.

  “Boy Scout Merit Badges and Requirements,” I read. One of Franklin’s top five long-term goals was to be an Eagle Scout before graduating high school.

  “Looking awful glum for a girl at the beginning of her summer vacation,” a voice called from across the yard.

  I looked up to where Mrs. Hall, our librarian, stood. Since the library was right across the street from my house, I saw Mrs. Hall at least once a week.

  I smiled weakly. “How are you?”

  “Doing well, thank you.” She walked across the street and stood next to me. “My diabetes is giving me fits, but I have only myself to blame.” She leaned in and whispered, “I have a serious sweet tooth, you know.”

  “Well, sweets are good,” I finally managed to answer.

  “That they are.” Mrs. Hall laughed, then looked over my shoulder at my house. “Oh, I just love this place. It helps me get through slow days at the library.”

  “Really?” I asked. I couldn’t see how looking at my house could help.

  “Of course. I can see it from my office window. I like to daydream about all the generations that lived here, what they were like, what they went through.”

  My shoulders slumped, and I could feel my eyes starting to tear up again. I leaned down and pretended to tie my shoe.

  “Don’t you wish these walls could talk?” Mrs. Hall asked. “Oh, the history they could tell us, the mysteries they could clear up. Can you imagine?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I lied.

  She stared at my face, quiet for a moment. “I don’t know what’s got you down, Louise, but whatever it is, my money’s on you.” She smiled. “You’re a Mayhew, after all; your family tree has deep roots. Your ancestors were made of steel—don’t forget that.”

  “I won’t,” I said.

  “Well, I better get home before Howard starves to death. I’ve got a casserole to cook.”

  I watched her lumber slowly across the street and then went back to sit on the steps. If our walls could talk, they’d probably just yell, Help us, we’re going to be torn down!

  I thumbed through Franklin’s book, checking to see if I’d damaged it. A paragraph caught my eye, and I read it again slowly. I read it a third time, making sure I’d read each word correctly, then jumped up and ran to the yard, where Franklin and Benzer were tossing Patty’s sandals back and forth over her head. She was jumping up and down trying to grab them.

  “Hey!” I yelled. “Hey! Stop it, you guys. I’m serious.”

  Franklin and Benzer fell onto the grass, each holding a shoe. Patty’s bony arm whipped out and snatched them back.

  I opened the book and pointed. “What does this mean?”

  Franklin squinted in the twilight. “American Heritage. What about it?”

  I stabbed the book with my finger. “Read the first two requirements!”

  Franklin stood, and I handed him the book. He began to read aloud. “Do two of the following: a) Explain what is meant by the National Register of Historic Places. Describe how a property becomes eligible for listing. b) Research an event of historical importance that took place in or near your area.”

  Benzer stood and held out a hand to help Patty. “So?”

  “So?” Patty said. “It’s boring as all get-out—right up Franklin’s alley.”

  “C’mon,” I said. I grabbed Franklin’s elbow and pulled him to the porch. Benzer and Patty followed.

  “Wait here.”

  I ran inside to the parlor and pulled the Bible from the shelf. I quickly found the envelope, then raced back outside.

  “Read this,” I said, handing the letter to Franklin.

  He read it out loud so Patty and Benzer could hear. “Interesting. Where did you get this?”

  “I found it in the old Bible. So maybe something important happened here once. It says in the letter that the enemy was nearby.”

  Franklin shrugged. “I don’t know, Lou. I’d have to do some research.”

  “What’s the big deal?” Benzer asked. “Don’t they just put a sign in your yard or something?”

  “Yeah, but don’t you remember the load of old doors Daddy sold last year?” I was getting excited. “The house we got them from had one of those signs, and Daddy said it was ‘protected.’ Even the homeowner couldn’t make changes without approval from some history board. If we get one of those signs, the house is saved!”

  “Wouldn’t you know if something important happened here?” Patti asked. “It seems like something people would talk about.”

  “Maybe they do. Mrs. Hall said that if these walls could talk, they might clear up a lot of mystery. Maybe there was a battle here or something.”

  “Mrs. Hall?” Benzer asked. “When did you talk to her?”

  “She came over while you guys were behind the house. What do you think, Franklin?”

  “I don’t know if being a historical property is enough to stop eminent domain, but it’s worth a try. I’ll look up Tennessee battles when I get home.”

  Mama’s laughter drifted out the screen door.

  I looked around. “Y’all don’t say anyth
ing about this. Swear?”

  “Who would I tell?” Franklin asked. “Tracy?”

  “I won’t,” Benzer whispered.

  Aunt Sophie and Mrs. Kimmel walked out on the porch.

  “How’d you do?” I asked.

  “The cards stunk,” said Franklin’s grandmother. She turned to look at him. “Are you two ready? I assume we’re giving Benzer a ride home.”

  “If you don’t mind, ma’am,” Benzer said.

  “C’mon, Patty,” Aunt Sophie said. “We’ve got to get going too.”

  Franklin picked his book up off the porch and started after them. “I’ll check into this, Lou. If it works, my troop would never get over it.”

  I waved at the car as they pulled away. “That’s good,” I whispered. “’Cause if it doesn’t, neither will I.”

  From the diary of Louise Duncan Mayhew

  June 1861

  Walter has enlisted in the 2nd Tennessee Infantry, and they have already been dispatched to Virginia! Mother says our fate was sealed the moment President Lincoln called for troops. Imagine such a thing—calling countrymen to fight countrymen. I can scarce believe we are at war with one another. Is this the right path? One day I think yes, and the next no. I am in a constant state of confusion.

  Benzer and family drove up at 9:45 A.M., waited all of about four seconds, and started honking.

  “Lord, save us from Yankees,” Bertie said. She sat at the breakfast table drinking her coffee and complaining of a headache.

  “Bertie, you look like you’ve got one wheel down and the axle’s dragging. Too much fun at bridge last night?” Daddy asked.

  “Tucker,” Mama said, “don’t tease. She’s already in a bad enough mood.”

  I downed my orange juice. “Gotta go. See y’all after lunch. Bertie, will you feel like picking us up?”

  She waved her hand in the air in a gesture I hoped meant yes.

  Mama opened the lid of a pig cookie jar, causing it to oink, and counted out three dollars. “This is for the offering basket.”

  “Tell me again why you’re going to church,” Daddy said. He leaned back in his chair and held his mug out for more coffee.

  I picked up the pot and poured him a new cup, stalling. I couldn’t tell them about the Bible and Benzer’s promise. They stared at me, waiting. “I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “I can hear the church bells ringing every Sunday, and most everybody at my school goes, even Franklin and Patty. Why don’t we?”

  Daddy leaned over the table to pick up the creamer. “I reckon we’ve just never been churchgoing people. Not that we don’t believe in God, but I have always figured he and I could hang together over a fishing hole as easy as we could in a church building.”

  I smiled at that idea. “I’ll have to ask if that counts.”

  “So you’re going to the Catholic church? That’s a good hour away.”

  “No, it’s too far. Benzer says they only go a few times a year. His parents are going to drop us off where Patty and Franklin go.”

  The Zertos honked again.

  “Hush!” Bertie said, holding her head in her hands. “I swear if they don’t stop, I’m going to tear the hood off of that car.”

  Mama squeezed me around the middle. “I think it’s great that you’re developing an interest in the spiritual. We could use some of that around here. Now, get going before Bertie comes completely unglued.”

  Mr. Zerto sat in the front, chewing on an unlit cigar, while Benzer’s mom drank coffee and played with the radio.

  “Hey,” Benzer said. He looked half asleep and a little bit grumpy.

  “Hey.” I slid into the backseat. “Morning, Mr. Zerto. My grandmother said she’ll pick us up and bring Benzer home so you don’t have to make a second trip.”

  “That works,” Mr. Zerto said. “Where exactly is this church?”

  “Take Crocker Highway for four miles,” his wife answered. “It’s on the left.” She turned to smile at me. “You look pretty, Lou. Is that a new dress?”

  “No, ma’am,” I answered, pulling self-consciously at the hem. I hadn’t worn this dress since my cousin Stephanie’s wedding two years ago. If there was any kneeling at this church, I’d probably moon half the congregation!

  We’d picked a good Sunday to start going—it was Homecoming, a picnic held once a year. Tables were set up under the trees, and a couple of women were placing rocks on the edges of the tablecloths to keep them from blowing off in the wind.

  Benzer and I weaved our way through the crowded parking lot. Tommy Winton, a fifth grader, took one look at me and dropped his Bible.

  “Lou Mayhew, what are you doing here?” he screeched from across the parking lot.

  “Getting a pedicure—what does it look like?”

  He laughed. “Pedicure, that’s funny. Hey, you want to sit with me after church? You and Benzer, I mean.”

  I grabbed Benzer’s arm. “Sorry, we told his parents we’d sit with them.”

  Benzer led us up the stairs into the foyer. “Lou,” he whispered, “you just told a lie at church.”

  “So? It’s the perfect place—I can ask to be forgiven while I’m here. Besides, Tommy Winton drives me crazy.”

  I spotted Patty’s red hair in the front row, next to Franklin. She was a good three inches taller than he was, and Franklin wasn’t short. I motioned for her to scoot over, and we slid into the pew.

  “Who drives you crazy?” Franklin asked.

  I pointed across the aisle at Tommy Winton. He was craning his neck to peer at me, and when he noticed us looking, blushed a bright red.

  “That’s ’cause he loves you,” Patty sang in a quiet voice. “Tom and Lou, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S—oomph! Hey, that hurt!” She rubbed her ribs.

  “Good. That’s what I was going for.”

  Benzer grinned. “This church thing is really working out.”

  “I can’t believe you actually came,” Patty said. “That’s some powerful Bible you have.”

  “So you still think it was the prayer?” I asked.

  “Sure,” Patty said, smacking her gum loudly. “Nothing exciting ever happens, then you guys pray, and—bam—the house is in trouble and you appear in church and Isaac gets cheated out of the scholarship. What else could it be?”

  Franklin leaned in to whisper. “Obviously it could all be a coincidence. But the Bible is full of examples of answered prayer. You will find it difficult to prove either way.”

  “Thank you, Pastor Franklin,” Patty said.

  I looked around. “Could y’all sit further up front next time?” I asked, whispering. “Why didn’t we just sit at the pulpit?”

  Patty smirked. “Pastor Brian asked us to sit here; we help pass out the offering basket. If you don’t like it, you can go sit in the back with Mama. But she would have shushed you three times by now.”

  I was thinking up a smart answer when the song leader asked us to stand. Everyone started singing “How Great Thou Art,” but by the time I found it in the hymnal, they were on to another one. After a few more hymns and a prayer, we sat down.

  The pastor wasn’t what I’d expected. Most of the preachers I’d seen on TV wore suits and had slicked-back hair. Pastor Brian was wearing jeans, and his hair was over his collar.

  “Welcome. Today we’re celebrating Homecoming, and my first full year as your pastor. I’m glad that y’all decided to keep me.” The congregation chuckled softly, and he began again. “I’ve asked some of our youth and high-school students to participate today during various parts of the service. We always ask children, starting from when they’re little, ‘what do you want to be when you grow up?’ Then as they get older, it’s ‘where are you going to college?’ and ‘what’s your major?’ and ‘what are you going to do after graduation?’ It’s like we’re telling them that life actually starts sometime later. But I don’t believe that’s true. God can use them now, just as they are, and I want us to remember that as we continue to grow as a church body.”


  He told everyone to open their Bibles, and I leaned back against the pew, half listening. I’d never really thought much about God or that he had a particular purpose for me in mind. If anything, I’d pictured God as a giant fuddy-duddy who spent every waking moment figuring out how to keep people out of heaven. But the pastor actually made God seem kind of cool.

  Afterward, everyone poured out onto the front lawn. The tables were now covered with fried chicken, ham, deviled eggs, potato salad, coleslaw, and Tommy Winton’s mother’s prize-winning apple pies.

  Benzer and Franklin raced to the front of the line.

  “Y’all better hurry,” Benzer yelled. “The deviled eggs will be gone by the time you get up here.”

  We piled our plates so high they threatened to tumble over, and looked for a place to sit. Franklin’s sister, Tracy, and a bunch of high-school students were taking up two entire picnic tables, while Aunt Sophie was chatting fast and furiously with a group of women near the drinks.

  I spotted Mrs. Hall sitting alone on a quilt. I nudged Franklin with my elbow. “Mrs. Hall seemed to know a lot about my house,” I whispered. “Maybe she can tell us about a battle or something.”

  “Y’all coming to sit with me?” Mrs. Hall asked, smiling. “I have plenty of room on my quilt.”

  We sat down, making a circle and placing our plates in the middle.

  “You look a bit more chipper today than you did last night, Louise,” Mrs. Hall said. “Things just look better in the daylight, I always say.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I took a sip of cola. “I was thinking about what you said about my house. We were wondering if something happened there, like a battle maybe?”

  “Battles? No, not that I’m aware of,” Mrs. Hall said. “General Zollicoffer only passed through town. He didn’t actually engage the enemy until Kentucky.”