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WHEN TRACI HOPPED OFF the bus after four hours at the library, all she could think about was finding Milo. She was so excited she almost forgot how hungry she was. She dropped by the mini-mart to pick up one of their meatball sandwiches and a tall bottle of lemonade. It was a safe bet that Milo would be hungry too. So, she ordered double of everything.
“Separate bags, please” Traci said as she paid the cashier. She stuffed the bags into her backpack and stepped out into the afternoon sun. She thought about Milo and Miss Rowena as she walked up the trail through the field. And, Officer Wells.
“Call me Randall,” he had said during their walk back to her house, “Named after my great-grandfather.”
She wondered about people who knew the names of their great-grandfathers. And all the names and birth dates she saw in the databases Ms. McGee had shared with her. She knew nothing about her parents or anyone else beyond them. Her strongest memory was of the pink Morgan suitcase that contained all of her belongings. It had wobbly wheels, and she dragged it from place to place. Each time it got lighter and lighter as her things would come up missing with each relocation until finally, there was nothing to pack at all.
She stopped to adjust the brim on her cap and looked across the field again. Yes, there were people gathered back at the center pole. Traci walked over and joined them.
“We ought to finish out the season,” someone in the crowd said.
“Miss Rowena would’ve wanted us to keep working. God rest her soul.”
Traci noticed a man wearing a dress shirt and business slacks standing in the middle of the growers.
“Unfortunately, Ms. Garrett is no longer with us. Soon this land will be turned over to the city and I’ll be responsible for it.”
“Excuse me,” Traci said approaching him, “May I ask your name?”
“Hello,” he said turning to address her. “As I was saying, my name is Ray Winston. I’m the Deputy Director of the Community Development Corporation here in Keeferton, and this area of Magnolia Grove is part of our upcoming district project.”
“What does that mean?” someone said.
“It means he controls what happens to the properties around here,” Traci said, “But, he’s gotta go through City Hall and get permission first.” She turned back to face the man, “Isn’t that right, Mr. Winston?”
“That is correct,” he said, “Once the approval is granted, my CDC handles the land allotments and development plans for . . .”
“Do you have any official land transfer contracts from the County Recorder’s Office, Mr. Winston?” Traci said. “Or are you just here looking around?” She stepped closer to him, “Bothering these people on private property.”
“What is your name?” he said, his body stiffened.
“Tracinda Simmons,” she said, “and these are my friends.”
“Well, Ms. Simmons,” he said straightening his tie. “You’re right. It is private property. But you and your friends don’t own this land either.”
“That has yet to be determined, Mr. Winston. In the meantime, we have work to do here,” she said, “Have a marvelous day.” She turned her back, walked up to the pole and looked over the schedule. “Let’s stick to the original schedule. Does that work for everybody?”
There were nods of agreement all around.
“The water supply is through the hydrant at the end of the road. The county can’t turn it off because Miss Rowena pre-paid the annual fee for the season. No problem there,” she said, “Who owns the tools and the truck?”
“My tools. My truck,” the Moe’s Tavern guy said, “Seeds already in the ground. Everything’s already producing.”
“All that’s left is the chickens,” one woman said.
“Well,” Traci said, “If anybody gives you trouble and wants to confiscate them, just turn them loose in the field.”
Everyone laughed. Traci glanced over her shoulder and watched Ray Winston walking away.
“Yep, if they can catch ‘em, they can keep ‘em!” someone shouted. There was more laughter, like a wave through the group.
“Okay, I’ve got a few things to do. I’ll meet you all back here at seven,” Traci said.
The Moe’s Tavern guy stepped in front of her. He adjusted the brim of his baseball cap and wiped the sweat from the back of his neck with a bandana.
“Thank you,” he said.
She nodded and looked up at the towering man with veins protruding on his neck and shoulders, chiseled jaw and soft eyes.
“Miss Traci,” he said pointing across the lot, “my truck, I sleep in there. Some folk sleeping out in the way over there. They scared to go back up to Miss Rowena’s place now.”
“No, they can’t go back there. The police have closed it off,” she said looking at the women. “They’re keeping a watch on everything right now.”
“The ladies, Miss Traci,” he said, “They ain’t got nowhere to go.”
Traci took a deep breath, nodded and walked away. So many questions, she thought. She turned back to him and said, “What is your name, by the way.”
“My name is Moe.”
“You’re the Moe behind Moe’s Tavern?”
“Yes,” he said and looked down. “I used to be. Lost it, some bad debts,” he said looking back at her. “Trying to get it back but it’s hard, you know.”
Traci watched a faint smile slide across the man’s face.
“Something’s gonna work out,” she said, “for all of us.”
Traci rushed home and put the food in the fridge. She didn’t have an appetite after the confrontation with Ray Winston and the thought of the women being without shelter. She couldn’t take them in at her place. There wasn’t enough room and if she was honest with herself, they were strangers and could be trouble. The Maplewood Women’s shelter was at capacity. She didn’t even have to contact them because it always stayed maxed out. Annual donations had dropped when the local economy took a nose-dive. They scrapped plans for the new annex building while fewer people financed and more people needed their services. It was a vicious cycle that no one had an answer for.
And where was Milo? She remembered the first time she was on her own and needed help. Myra was always just a call away. Now, she had not heard a peep from her in days. Traci checked her phone again. She was scrolling through her contacts, trying to come up with ideas, when Milo arrived at her back door.
“Hi,” she yelled through the room, “Come in!”
He walked in with a smile of relief.
“I saw you talking to that cop,” he said, “I wasn’t sure if you was still okay with me coming ‘round.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” she said motioning for him to join her. “Never mind, sit down. I’ve got a lot to tell you while we’re having dinner.”
Milo went to the kitchen sink to wash his hands. He had a small milk carton full of brown eggs. He passed it to Traci. “Somebody’s got to eat ‘em,” he said with a shrug.
She warmed their food in the microwave while Milo arranged the chairs and tableware. She shared the information that Kay McGee had printed out and then explained her notes.
“So, Miss Rowena was married?” Milo said after making it halfway through his sandwich.
“Yes, and from what I can tell,” Traci said sipping her lemonade, “they never got a divorce. That means he has legal rights to Hazelton House. It transfers to the surviving spouse, according to the law.”
“I see,” Milo said, deep in thought, “Bent Willow, too?”
“Yes, the farm is included. All he has to do is agree to keep things the way they are.”
“Do you really think he’d do that?” Milo said balling up the sandwich wrapper. “I mean, what’s in it for him? People ain’t just nice like that, y’know? Except Miss Rowena.”
“I don’t know,” Traci shrugged, “but we’re going to find out.”
