Mercurial

Chapter Three

"Thank you; I will." When I turn to go, I find that Lizzie has escaped from the store to who-knows-where. This is the fourth time this month she's left me to do all the work myself. Five minutes. She can't even stay put and behave for five minutes. I should have realized she had run off when her nose wasn't all up in the candy dish.

Cramming the egg money in my pocket, I storm out of the store, all but ignoring Mrs. Collier's "Have a nice day!"

Lizzie is nowhere to be found outside, so I set to work myself. If only Emma were a little bigger, then she could come with me instead of Lizzie and do a much more focused job. Lizzie's almost too small as it is though, so it will be a few more years before Emma can haul enough laundry sacks to be of much use.

Momma has eight customers around town. She could have more, but she's decided eight is the limit for now. We collect each client's laundry once a week; four on Monday, then return on Wednesday; collect the other four on Wednesday, return on Friday. With Lizzie's help, we can get the job done in no time. Without her help, it takes a little longer, and I'm forced to abandon the sacks of laundry in a small pile on the side of the road because I can't carry them all; something Momma strictly forbade us to do.

Just as I'm walking off the fourth customer's porch, Lizzie all-too-conveniently reappears. "Where have you been?"

"Penny and I were talking," she says lightly, pretending to be oblivious to my anger.

"You can't keep doing this. Momma sends you with-"

"You'll never guess what Penny told me!" Lizzie's face lights up, her excitement practically bubbling over.

For the umpteenth time, I bite my tongue.

Lizzie's eyes dramatically roll to the sky. "That's alright; you won't ever guess anyway, so I'll just tell you. There was a shooting yesterday up in Bartow County!"

"If news such as this excites you so, perhaps you should consider writing for the newspaper when you get a little older. Now grab a bag and let's go."

"Wait, but I haven't even told you the best part!"

Memories flash through my mind of seeing Grandfather laid out in his coffin on the dining room table for three days last autumn, his already sagging face seeming to hang open, a ghastly blue tint to his thin, pale skin, and how so familiar and completely unrecognizable he simultaneously seemed somehow. Death isn't a glamorous companion.

Trying to shake these memories from my brain, I sling a sack over my shoulder and turn towards home. "There is no best part of a shooting, Lizzie. We have to get home before Momma becomes angry."

Lizzie remains firmly planted in the middle of the road. "Fine. Then I haven't told you the most interesting part. Is that better? Anyway, the man responsible is Wesley Davis! You know, that real creepy man living over at Annie's place?"

The sorry image of Grandfather is replaced with a man of giant stature, dark features, silent, intense mannerisms, and the most all-knowing, intense, light blue eyes. I know the man alright, and everything about him spells trouble.

When he first showed up in town a few years back, gossip started following him around like flies to a dead animal. He made everyone feel rather uneasy, I think, which only fueled the fire. Nobody knew where he came from, and as far as I know, it remains a mystery. Where he ended up though is what really fanned the flames. Last summer it became apparent that he had moved in with Annie Peterson, both of them unwed. Up until then, Annie lived by herself in a little shack just outside of town with her parcel of children. She had no job to speak of, and yet she managed to keep her children clothed and fed, and herself liquored up. As you can imagine, gossip swarmed about how she came about that money and all those babies.

As the months went by, Mr. Davis mostly kept to himself. Usually, that makes gossip fly even more, but it somehow all but stopped for him. He didn't make many friends that I'm aware of, but the ones he did fiercely fought for his reputation. It wasn't enough to put him in the town's good graces, but it was enough to stop the talk. Until now, that is.

"There's a wanted poster and everything! I saw it for myself outside the sheriff's office! Just imagine, we have a real-life, honest-to-God murderer in our midst! This is the most exciting thing that's ever happened here in decades!"

"As if you'd know," I fire back without thinking. She's right though, but I can't admit it. Won't. Exciting or not, it doesn't change the fact that, rather unfortunately, chores are still waiting. "Come on, let's go."

Lizzie sticks out her lower lip and finally collects her sacks. "I thought you would at least find it interesting. I'm sorry I brought it up."

"It is interesting, but we have work to do. You've spent enough tie gossiping today, for all of us. It's time to get down to business." As soon as the chastisement leaves my mouth, I instantly regret it. I know I need to stop nagging her all the time, but I can't stop. Won't. An apology would be good, but the words taste like vinegar on my tongue, so I swallow them down instead. When Lizzie lets out a long sigh, slings her sacks over her narrow shoulders, and follows me back down the road towards home, I remain silent the whole way, and so does she.