It was all I could do to stay awake, especially with Sam sleeping soundly beside me. Finally, I thought, as the clock on the bedside table flipped to twelve-thirty. I carefully eased out of bed and, with a last glance at Sam, walked barefoot out of the room and down the hall.
I felt my way through the living room and then the dining room, both lit dimly by the streetlight on the corner, and slipped into the kitchen. Thunder, sounding closer, rumbled again as it had been doing off and on through the night.
Lord, I thought, please don’t let it rain, but if it has to, I could do without a storm. Blindly, I ran my hands along the wall, avoiding chairs, fearing to make the least noise, since I didn’t dare turn on a light. As I reached the pantry door at last, I eased it open, slid inside and closed it behind me. Switching on a light, I pulled out a dress, underclothes and shoes from behind a ten-pound sack of Martha White flour where I’d hidden them earlier.
I dressed hurriedly, wishing briefly for the green, cropped, polyester pants I’d bought in Florida but thrown out once I was back in Abbotsville. That’s the problem with keeping a neat clothes closet. Just as soon as you get rid of something you think you’ll never wear again, you’ll wish you had it back. As it was, though, a print housedress and my clunky gardening shoes would have to do, especially since I’d only be giving a pep talk to Poochie to start him up and a payment when he came down with the statue. It wasn’t as if I’d be doing anything active like ransacking an SUV.
When I was dressed, I switched off the light and opened the door into the kitchen. I had to stand there a minute or so until my eyes adjusted to the dark. Thunder, still some ways off, rolled around, and I waited and listened to see if it had wakened anybody.
Tiptoeing to the back door, I unlocked and opened it, cringing with each click of the lock. As soon as I stepped out on the back stoop, I felt the soft, steady fall of rain. So much for prayer, I thought, and slipped back inside. It took ages for me to slide steathily back through the kitchen, the dining room and the hall to the coat closet. I found Hazel Marie’s yellow rain slicker—with hood, I might add—and my umbrella. Just as I backed out of the closet, I had a second thought. Hanging my umbrella back on the hook, I felt around for Sam’s old bumbershoot, thinking I might need something more serviceable than a little fold-up number. Four people, if they were friendly, could huddle under the bumbershoot.
I tightened the hood around my face as I stepped off the back stoop and onto the drive to the sidewalk. It was all I could do to open the huge umbrella, but after struggling with it a few minutes it provided a welcome shelter. I hurried past the house and around the corner toward the place on Jefferson Street I’d told Etta Mae to wait. I’d not dared crank up my car. Sam or Lloyd, one, would’ve heard and raised a hue and cry about hijackers or something.
It was a strange experience to be walking the lonely streets of Abbotsville on a dark and rainy night all by myself. The rain wasn’t heavy, but it tapped steadily on top of the heavy canvas of the bumbershoot. The glow from the streetlights wavered in the downfall as I looked around for Etta Mae, parked somewhere along the silent street.
Although feeling fairly dry and cozy under the canopy, I was beginning to worry that we’d missed connections. My feet were getting wet, and I’d about had enough of walking in the rain. But a car door opened ahead of me, and Etta Mae stuck her head out.
“Miss Julia!” she said in a loud whisper. “Is that you?”
“Why, yes, it is, and thank goodness you’re here. I’m about to drown.”
“Hurry and get in,” she said, closing her door and leaning over to open the one on the passenger side.
It took me innumerable minutes to maneuver myself into her low-slung car and to manhandle the huge umbrella in with me. At last, I was inside with the door closed and the dripping bumbershoot sticking up between my knees.
“Is that a tent?” Etta Mae asked.
“Just about. Where’s Poochie?”
“He’s meeting us on the side street on the other side of the courthouse. He needed his truck for all his equipment.”
“I just hope he’s there,” I said, wiping my face with a wadded-up Kleenex that Hazel Marie had left in a pocket. “Lord, I wish this was a rainy night in Georgia or any place besides here.”
Etta Mae giggled as she cranked the car and drove to the corner to turn toward the courthouse. I looked back, but no lights had come on in my house. So far, so good.
I jerked in surprise and possibly emitted a little shriek—I’m pretty sure Etta Mae did—as lightning lit up the world.
“My word!” I gasped. “How close was that?”
“Not very. Listen, six one-thousand, seven one-thousand, eight…, nine…” She paused, then said, “Hear the thunder? It’s miles away and headed south. I checked the weather station before I left.”
“That’s reassuring. Be sure and tell Poochie, too. I expect he’ll be glad to hear it.”
As our destination was barely six blocks from my house, Etta Mae was soon easing down the street that ran along the side of the courthouse. She pulled in behind a pickup truck that gave off a dull, black glint from the streetlight. I could tell, even in the dark, that the truck had seen better days a long time ago. The bed of the truck was piled high with what looked like junk of one kind or another. I could make out bedsprings and something that looked like slats sticking up over the cab, not to mention a barrel or two and a paint-smeared canvas drop cloth hanging out over the muddy tailgate.
The door of the cab opened as Etta Mae parked and switched off our lights. Hunched over against the rain with his hands in his pockets, Poochie Dunn ambled over to her window.
She rolled it down and said, “Hey, Poochie. Crawl in the back seat.”
He slid inside, along with a sharp, wet dog odor, leaned back against the seat and grinned. “I changed my mind. I ain’t goin’ up there.”
“Well, for goodness’ sake, Poochie,” I said, twisting around to look at him. He was a small man, not much bigger than Lloyd in my estimation. From what I could see, he was wearing a pair of striped coveralls and some kind of ball cap, and though the light wasn’t good, I do believe he had a number of teeth missing.
That announcement along with his complacent grin about undid me. “Why’d you get us out on a night like this if you weren’t planning to do it? We could all be in bed instead of skulking around, acting like sneak thieves or something.”
“I was plannin’ on doin’ it, but I ain’t goin’ up in no storm. Uh-uh, not me.” I don’t know how he did it, but he could talk and grin at the same time and he kept proving it. “That thing up there’s nothin’ but a lighnin’ rod. My granddaddy tole me to stay on the ground when it storms, and he knowed, ’cause that’s where he watched for enemy planes.”
Etta Mae turned to look at him. “Recently?”
“Naw,” Poochie said, shaking his head. “He was a air-raid warden in Dubya-Dubya Two.”
“Oh.” Etta Mae nodded, then flinched as another lightning flash lit up the town, followed by a roll of thunder.
“It’s still a long way off,” I said, then with exasperation heavy in my voice went on. “Poochie, do you know me?”
“Yes, ma’am. Etta Mae tole me, but I knowed you before that. You brung my mommy a ham for Christmas one year, an’ I don’t never forget a kindness.”
That set me back a minute, for I didn’t remember anything about that particular charitable act. Which just goes to show how careful you have to be. People remember, for good or bad, what you easily forget.
But it was all for the good on this particular night. “Well, now I need you to do me a kindness. I want that statue up there in the worst way, and you’re the only man in town with the know-how and the courage to go up and get it. How’s your mother, by the way?”
“She died.”
“Oh, well, I’m sorry, but listen. You could already be up there instead of sitting here talking. Just tell me what it’d take to encourage you and you’ve got it.”
He shook his head, still smiling. “Too dangerous.”
“Poochie, I’m begging you. They’re going to bring that building down tomorrow, and just shatter that beautiful statue.”
“It don’t look so good up close.”
“Well, of course not, being exposed to the weather for all these years. But it’s worth preserving, and we have to get it down tonight. You’re our only hope.”
“Uh-uh,” he said, shaking his head but still smiling. “They put a big hole in the back wall today. The whole shebang could come down with me on it.”
I turned back to the front and stared out the windshield, my mouth tight with frustration. “What would it take to get you to at least try?”
He was silent for so long that I had to turn back to see what he was doing. He was smiling. “A new used truck.”
My heart lifted. “You got it! Etta Mae, did you hear that? He’s going to do it.”
Etta Mae frowned. “You sure it’s not dangerous?”
“Of course it’s dangerous,” I said, almost euphoric at the thought of having what I wanted. “But Poochie knows what to do.”
“I mean the lightning.”
“Why, Etta Mae, you’re the one who said it was miles away. See, there’s another flash, but it wasn’t nearly as bright as the other one. Now, Poochie, how long will it take? We’ll sit right here until you’re back down with the statue. We won’t leave you, be assured of that.”
“No’m, I have to have some help,” he said, opening the car door. “It’s gonna take me, you and her to get my ladder up there.”
Etta Mae and I stared at each other, her eyes as big as mine felt. We hadn’t bargained for this.