A Drink with the Deacon

"I see, well I do. I raised three kids Mr. Deacon. I can take care of them for you."

"I am not Mr. Deacon ma'am, I am Deacon Burke. What is your name?"

"Mrs. Sellers, I guess now I am the Widow Sellers." Her eyes misted up as she spoke. It was obvious that she was a new widow.

"I am sorry to hear that Mrs. Sellers. I have no idea what the pay should be do you know what a housekeeper usually gets."

"No Deacon, I don't know what a housekeeper gets."

"Could you do it for five dollars a week?" I asked it hoping she would say yes, but I was willing to go more for a few days."

"I think that would be generous of you?" she replied.

"All right, I will try to get the place a little clean for you. But I need you to start cooking tomorrow. Could you do that?" I asked it with what I hoped was a charming smile.

"What time would you like me to start tomorrow?" she asked.

"We can eat a late breakfast. Most of us sleep late anyway." I was trying to make it easy on her for some reason.

"Then I will be here at seven. Once I get Callie off, I can straighten up my own house then come on over."

"That would be fine," I replied. I watched her walk away. The Widow Sellers was in her forties at least. She was reasonably attractive but had a worn-down look about her. Tiny lines around her mouth betrayed her age. She also had deep furrows in her brow. The Widow Sellers seemed to have had a worrisome life. She was a tall woman with a thin frame. She was not especially attractive in any part. Her best features were her Jet black hair and green eyes.

I took a deep sigh after she left. Having gotten a housekeeper so quickly was a miracle. I closed the door then went back to cleaning the place. I fell into bed around nine exhausted from my work. My bed was the sofa since each of the others had one of the only two bedrooms.

The Widow Sellers arrived right on time. Her knocking caught me in my underwear. I quickly slipped into the cotton work pants then opened the door for her.

She took one look around then smiled. "Well I expected worse," she said.

"Believe me it was worse yesterday," I replied.

"I guess I will cook breakfast then make a list."

"List?" I asked.

"I doubt that you have any food in the house. At least none that Doc. Stone would consider healthy."

"Probably not," I admitted.

"What food there is, will be in the pantry. The food is up front. The stuff in the rear is not food." I had followed her into the kitchen as we spoke.

She glanced at the liquor doctoring equipment but said nothing. She looked through the tins and bags. "Okay Deacon, give me half an hour. I will tell you when to wake the others. And Deacon, open all the windows this place needs a good airing."

Breakfast that first morning was oatmeal with brown sugar. That along with coffee was all she could find. She was kind enough to wait till after breakfast to chastise us all. The house was filthy and smelled bad. If we ate at all, it had to be the wrong food since we took all our meals at the diner.

"Not all," I informed her.

"Deacon, who cooked here before me?" It was a question without a good answer.

"Well, no one really did any real cooking." I replied.

"Well, if I am going to take care of these two, we need to do some real work you and I."

I didn't like the sound of that, but I smiled as best I could. The wash pot had not been used much before Mrs. Sellers arrived. That first day she had me boiling sheets while she scrubbed floors. The two injured men, she ordered out of her way. They could either sit outside or find a place away from her. Like any man with even minimal intelligence they chose the porch.

I was pressed into service to repair the clothesline. It had long ago collapsed. When the sheets hung upon the line, I realized they were never going to be white again. I almost laughed. I was sleeping on a sofa with no sheets what the hell did I care.

Somehow that morning, she found time to send me to the market. She gave me a note to the owner of the produce stand.

"I got something for you," I told him as I handed the note over. He didn't say a word to me until he had the bags filled with fresh produce.

"Twenty-two cents," was his share of our total conversation.

I made a stop at the butcher shop on the way home. I was told to buy a chicken. Mrs. Sellers demanded that it be plump and alive. I didn't have a coop, so the butcher put the hen in an old flour sack for me. The chicken was another twenty cents. The flower sack was much smaller than the newspaper wrapped bundles from the produce stand.

I stopped by to check on Rachel. Sure enough the doctor had her ready to go.

"Now Deacon, you take it easy on the drive. She don't need too much shaken around."

"Doc. it ain't all that far," She said.

"Deacon, do you have something for me?" The doc asked it seriously.

"In the truck you want to come get it?" I asked it even though I knew better.

"No just bring it to the back porch. You can leave it inside the door." He grinned at me. I wasn't sure what the grin was for, but I knew I didn't like it. Still, he had taken care of the others.

We were in the truck when Rachel said to me. "Deacon, I had me some time to think up there."

It sounded ominous so I helped her out. "Yeah, you had a good reason to think too. That bullet could have done you in, sweetie."

"Yeah I know. When me and Martin are well, I think I am gonna try to get him to leave with me. He can find a job somewhere he is smart."

"I am sure he can honey. He will do just fine I am sure."

"Deacon, what I am trying to say is I want my share of the operating money."

"Of course," I replied. "I am gonna need to do some book work. Half the operating cash is yours less the loss of the liquor. It is gonna be something under a hundred bucks."

"I know but we ain't been spending nothing so we got plenty." She looked at me. She had a curious look. "You gonna stay in the business."

"I ain't real sure honey. I might or I might not, just depends."

"Depends on what Deacon?"

"On what I do about the men in Plymouth," I explained

"Deacon, those men were the law." She said it looking at me curiously. "Didn't the others tell you?"

"No, they didn't tell me the shooters were police. How do you know?"

"There was a sheriff's car parked behind the loading shed. Surely the others saw it."

"Nobody told me anything about it. Was it a Plymouth cop or a Sheriff?"

"Sheriff's car, Deacon. I ain't wrong I see that scene in my head over and over."

"Oh I believe you. Our hooch was taken by revenuers. I just for the life of me don't understand it." I replied.

"Why don't you drive up and talk to Dutch. He hates the cops and the gangs, he is likely to know what happened."

Dutch was a negro who bootlegged and ran a house. The house had a bar on the bottom and ladies on the top. There might not have been much money in the negro section, but I think Dutch got all the free money there was down there. He was also a good customer who had never tried to stiff me.

"Well I am gonna spend a few days making sure you kids are okay. Afterward I think I will do just that."

"Good, when you find out there is nothing you can do, why don't you find a less dangerous way to make a living." She was smiling at me.

"You have something in mind don't you Rachel?" I smiled down at her.

"Maybe, but I don't feel up to talking now."

Since we were at the house, I agreed. No sense letting everyone in on it unless she wanted it that way. I doubted that I would be going into business with kids again, but you never knew.

"Deacon, a nurse was here earlier. She changed the bandages on those two. Said she would be back tomorrow about the same time. She also said you better be here." The widow Sellers said it while looking at Rachel. She didn't approve of Rachel that was evident.

I might have tried to sort it all out, if Skip hadn't cornered me. "Deacon, you got to help me."

"Interesting concept, but hardly true Skip. I do not 'got' to help you. Tell me what you need. I will try to help you."

"It's the boat. I just realized, if it rains those holes in her might fall below the water line. If they do she will sink."

"Skip it is sunny and hot as hell today."

"I know Deacon, but I didn't sleep at all last night. I finally got her paid for. I can't let her sink now."

"So what is it that you want me to do, stop the rain?" I smiled at him.

"No Deacon, I want you to plug the holes in her. It is kinda your fault." He didn't seem to mind saying that at all.

"Skip you son of a bitch, they were about to foreclose on that tub when I came along. If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't be worried about the holes at all."

"Well I earned the boat Deacon. You are the one who got her shot up."

"You sure got a lousy way of asking for help. If you want to play it that way, hire somebody with all that money you earned. You can consider this a lesson in economics as well as manners. You can also pay the nurse and the housekeeper. I don't need either one." My temper seemed to be on a short fuse.

I went into the house where I began throwing things into my duffel bags. I had slept in the back of the truck in the freezing winter, I could, sure as hell, do it in the summer. After I tossed the bags into the rear of the truck, I loaded the whiskey doctoring equipment.

"What are you doing Deacon?" Rachel asked.

"Ask Skip, I am moving the operation somewhere else. I will get a place and get back to you."

"What about my money?" she asked.

"Jesus is that all I am to you people?" I peeled off ninety dollars. "That is more than your share but take it." I almost gave it to her before it dawned on me at that moment that skip or Rachel one had the proceeds of the sales.

"Who has the money from the last trip?" I asked her.

"Skip," she replied.

I had all the weapons in the bag so I wasn't too worried. I cornered Skip in the kitchen. "You have something of mine," I said threateningly.

"I don't see it that way." Skip had a death wish suddenly. He pushed Mrs. Sellers out of the way. Then he reached for a butcher knife with his good hand. I grabbed his hand before he got to the knife. Before he knew what was happening he was looking down the short barrel of the Webley .38.

"Don't make me kill you Skip. Just cause you been shot, don't make you a hard man. I will kill you and bury you out back." He must not have cared for what he heard or saw in me. He suddenly went limp. I looked up to see Mrs. Sellers peering at me from inside the pantry door.

"Everything is fine Mrs. Sellers the excitement is over. Skip here is just going to give me my money, then I am going to settle with them all and leave. I am also going to pay you for today after that this crew can decide what they wish to do." I saw Mrs. Seller's eyes dart across the room. I swung the pistol in that direction expecting to see Martin. Instead I saw Rachel with a cast iron frying pan. She seemed to be in pain from the lifting of it.

"Rachel honey, you are about to pull a stitch. Not to mention, get yourself killed. Put the pan down and have a seat."

"Now skip, lets have it," I demanded. He went into his pocket, from it he removed a wad of cash. I counted out ninety bucks for Rachel. Rachel you can have the liquor that is still working in the shed. Course you got to pay Skip for whatever he thinks I owe him from it. Martin has a few bucks coming too.

"Skip and Martin both heard what the Doc had to say, so listen to them. Me I am leaving. I done had a belly full of you all." I stood and without turning my back on them I handed Mrs. Sellers two dollars. I hope they decide to keep you they need the help. As for you guys, you have a bill with the nurse, if you don't want to die from infection."

"Deacon," the voice belonged to the widow Sellers.

"Yes Ma'am?" I asked.

"Would you give me a ride home? I don't feel safe here anymore."

"Certainly," I said it as I backed to the door. Mrs. Sellers sat in the cab of the T while I cranked it. I kept the pistol in my belt as I turned the engine over. The engine rattled and shook until I adjusted the spark. I drove off without looking back. Mrs. Sellers did that enough for us both.

"You are going to have to give me directions, I don't have any idea where you live." I hoped I didn't sound too uncaring since I had offered to pick her up earlier.

The twisting and turning led me across town on a very difficult route to follow. I supposed that it was more to keep me lost than any other reason. It would not do for me to know where she lived. After fifteen minutes of driving I found myself in a neighborhood of frame houses. The houses were small on the ground but each was either two or three stories tall. Her home was in slightly better shape than the others. It had a fresh coat of paint at least.

"Deacon, where will you go?" the older woman asked.

"I'm not real sure, but I will find a place. I don't know that it will be in town though. I am just not real sure of anything right now. I am going to go find a cup of coffee and a quiet place to think."

"I don't know how quiet it is around here, but I can find you a cup of coffee. If you would like to come in?" Coffee was the only invitation in her eyes. I almost begged off. I would have, except that I didn't want to be found that afternoon.

"The coffee would be fine. I do hate to put you to any bother." I said it as I turned the T off. I obviously didn't hate it too much. I sat on her front porch while the coffee brewed. I wasn't sure, but she looked relieved when I sat down in the oak rocker.

It seemed to be a long time before she returned to the porch with two coffee cups. I sipped my coffee as I again looked at the woman. She hadn't gotten one damn bit prettier with the quick change of clothes. Her body still remained too tall and too thin. Her face still wore no makeup. Every worry line was etched deep around her mouth and eyes.

At first my mind was occupied with my own problems. After several minutes of not being able to decide on my next move, I noticed the woman looking at me. She was waiting for me to make some kind of gesture to her it seemed. "The coffee is very good, thank you."

She nodded about the coffee then asked, "Any idea where you are going to stay tonight?"

"I suppose, in the back of my truck. I could go to the hotel but they will be expecting me to do that. I am not sure what the three of them have cooked up. People who have been in a gunfight tend to have strange thoughts."

"I was going to invite you to stay here, but if that is the case I can't endanger Callie," she said.

"You are absolutely right. I also can not endanger you. Neither of you is part of this." I looked out into the yard as I spoke. The grass was brown even though it was July. I couldn't even remember the last time it had rained. With my luck the first rain in months, would come while I slept in the back of the truck.

"Deacon, I know a place you can stay while you decide what you want to do. It ain't much but you are welcome to it. I don't even know if it is still standing or not." She wasn't looking at me.

"What kind of place?" I wondered about a place that might not be standing.

"I come from a place up the road a few miles. My Ma and Pa lived there up till a few years ago. They are both gone now so, it has been empty for years. It might have fallen down by now."

"Well, I ain't all that particular." I said it as I turned my eyes to her. She was still looking into the yard.

"Deacon, it weren't much when I lived there. I am sure it is all to hell now." She seemed to have changed her mind about me staying in the place.

"Well, whatever you say Mrs. Sellers." I said it looking away from her. She must have understood from my tone.

"Deacon, you are welcome to the place. If it is still standing you can use it as long as you like. If you want, I am sure the family will sell it to you cheap."

"Frankly Mrs. Sellers, I don't plan to stay in West Virginia. I might be gone in a week or a year I just don't know. I do need a place to sleep for a couple of days at least."

"Let me get my purse then I will show you where it is." She slipped silently into the house. She must have written a note while she was gone because she said, "Wanted to let Callie know where I am. Just in case we are late getting back."

"Maybe you should just give me directions," I suggested.

"You would never find it. The house is pretty far off the main road. Ma and Pa were farmers." It was all the explanation she offered. I accepted it without another word.

"Can you drive one of these things?" I asked as I cranked the T's engine into life.

"Sure, my husband and I used to have one like it. Well not the bed on the back, but we did have a T model." She smiled then switched to a curious look.

"Could you find a use for this thing for a few days maybe a couple of weeks?"

"I suppose so, why?"

"I think I need to lie low for a couple of weeks. I won't be needing it at all. I have the motor bike. I can come down for the truck when I am ready to use it again."

"If that is what you want Deacon. I can find a use for the truck I am sure. There are lots of things around the house that need hauling away. First though we better see the home place."

It took an hour to get to the wagon track. The drive down it was worrisome since the weeds and bushes had begun to claim the wagon track. The bushes were stout but not so much as to require the use of the short ax. Fortunately daddy had always kept it under the seat of the T. It rested there alongside a shovel. Over the years he had used both to free the T.

The house was still standing even though it was almost overgrown with weeds. All the doors and windows were closed so the interior was not damaged.

"Mrs. Sellers, would you like to take the T back to town while I cut these bushes?" I said it because I knew I was going to be busy for a while."

"Deacon, you are going to need things from town. Why don't I wait for you then we can decide what you need to buy. We can make one more trip before Dark."

"That is a good idea. I can clear just enough to get to the door. You don't mind waiting?" I asked it smiling up at her since she had not moved from the truck.

"You get a path cleared, then I will join you." She looked only a little apprehensive. She seemed a little frightened as to what she might find inside the house.

The ax wasn't especially sharp but it was sharp enough. The brush and saplings gave way to the swinging ax easily. I was surprised that so little time passed before there was a clear path to the porch.

The porch sagged a little, but appeared to be solid enough. I forced the door but only because the hinges were rusty. There was no lock of any kind on it. I had not expected one. People in the country didn't much bother with them since they were almost always home. Also like my dad said," There just ain't nothing on this place worthy of the stealing." That was especially true of the house. There wasn't a stick of furniture or a single thing other than dust in the small house.

"My God they place shrank," Mrs. Sellers said.

"They tend to do that," I replied. I remembered my first glimpse of the farm after I returned from France. I had exactly the same reaction though I didn't express it.

"I can still see Daddy sitting by this fireplace. There was so little room. If he worked on anything in the winter, he did it by this fireplace." She moved about the small dusty room. Her mind was obviously on another time. "There is a sleeping loft up that ladder." As she spoke, she pointed to a ladder leading almost straight up the wall. The finish on the ladder was the body oil from a thousand trips up it by family members.

"Ma and Pa slept up there. Us kids slept in this room by the fire." She actually shook herself to clear away the past. She smiled her first wicked smile at me. "I learned what little I know about love from listening to them as a child."