Circle of the Moon (Soulwood #4)

Soulwood perked up and nudged the ground beneath my feet. I had more company coming. The road up the mountain was getting a lot of wheel time today.

I hung my hoe, three spades, one weeding fork, and two shovels on nails on the back porch and toed off my work boots. I dropped off the basket of tomatoes, cukes, squash, peppers, and onions at the sink and put the three flavors of mint, rosemary, and sage in a bucket with water. I was stinky and sweaty and had just enough time to shower, dress, and grab my weapons before this next batch got here, whoever it was. I ducked under the cool shower and dressed fast, in jeans, T-shirt, and weapon harness, then twisted an elastic around my hair, as the curls had massed around my head and shoulders in a red halo from the heat and humidity. I was still unaccustomed to the change in my formerly straight brown hair.

I seated my PsyLED service weapon in its Kydex holster and picked up one of John’s old shotguns as the large van turned into my drive. There was a logo on the side of the van, but the sun was glaring off the van windows and into the house, so I couldn’t make it out. However, the vehicle wasn’t a church truck, so I unwound a bit, watching as the van eased down the drive and parked next to my Chevy C10. I walked out onto the front porch, ready to do battle if necessary. It wouldn’t be the first time nor the last time the churchmen of God’s Cloud of Glory Church tried to take me back for punishment. Women didn’t leave the church without repercussions.

A familiar frame climbed out of the truck and I broke open the shotgun as Brother Thaddeus Rankin of Rankin Replacements and Repairs emerged into the heat. “Hello, the house,” he shouted into the glare. It was a country greeting, a visitor calling out to the house during the day, when a farmer and family would be out in the fields, working, informing them they had visitors.

“Welcome and hospitality,” I called back. “It’s cool on the porch. You want some tea?”

“That would be mighty welcome, Sister Nell,” he said, climbing the steps into the shade of the porch. He stopped dead at the sight of the shotgun. “You been having more trouble from that church of yours, Sister Nell?”

“Not my church,” I said, repeating the denial as I always did. “Cult. And no. Not recently. But I didn’t recognize the van.”

“Ah. New. The old truck died and Deus suggested that we go for advertising on the sides.” He looked proud. “My boy’s gonna be great when he takes over the business.”

“Set a spell. I’ll get that tea.”

Thad took a seat and I reentered the too-hot house. I put the shotgun and my weapon harness on the kitchen table. Not something I’d have done if Mud was here, but it was expedient. I poured sun tea from the fridge, added ice cubes to the glasses, and dropped sprigs of fresh lemon mint into a small bowl. I put everything on a tray and added a small jar of simple syrup, spoons, and cloth napkins. Back on the porch, I put the tray on a small table and said, “The tea isn’t sweet. But there’s sugar syrup.”

“Sister Nell, in this heat, the cold is what I’m after.” He took a glass and held it to his dark-skinned face. “Ahhh. That’s nice.” He sipped the tea. “And delicious, just like it is, though I have family who would skin me if they heard me say unsweetened tea was good.”

“Me too.” Ignoring the swing, I took another chair, sat, and sipped my tea. I twisted two mint leaves and dropped them in. Tasted. Better, I decided. The cold was refreshing.

After the socially appropriate time to enjoy the tea, Thad opened our conversation with, “This heat is a killer.”

I nodded. “It is a hot one.” In the South, weather was an acceptable topic of discussion in every social situation, appropriate for business, politics, friendship, finances, therapy, courting, and religion. I didn’t know which direction he was going, but opening with the weather meant that I was ready with an appropriate social rejoinder.

“I got your message about improvements for the house. I’ll have you an estimate by the end of the week,” he said. “I’ve got the measurements on file and can pull permits at any time.”

I nodded. I planned to petition the courts to have my sister come live with me, and for that, my house needed things most people took for granted, like updated electricity, a bathroom upstairs, all sorts of things. I had thought Brother Thad might be here to bring me an estimate, but it seemed I was wrong.

He continued. “It’s going to be even hotter by the end of the week. How you holding up with just the window unit and the fans?”

It hit me what he was asking and my eyes flooded with tears at his kindness. “Oh. Brother Thad. Are you here to check on a widder-woman?”

“Of course, Sister Nell. How you holding up?” It was what the men in his church did. They made sure the people in their congregation were safe. I had only been to his church a few times, but … it seemed I might now be listed among the people the men of his church took care of.

“I’m … I’m good.” I dipped my head and stared into the tea as I blinked my tears away. Being taken care of wasn’t something I had much experience with. In the confines of God’s Glory, a man took care of a woman’s needs as part of a sexual contract, favor for favor at best. This was something different. This was kindness. “The heat’s manageable.”

“And next week?” he asked. “Heat index is going to rise considerably.”

“Next week I may close off the upstairs and my room, put the window unit in the front window”—I thumbed at the window to my side—“and sleep on the sofa. Or in the hammock on the back porch.”

Sweat sliding down his cheeks and neck and into his collar, Brother Thad nodded. Sipped. “That’s good. That’s good. You need me, you call me.”

“I will. Thank you, Brother Thad.”

“You get ready to …” His words trailed away and he started again. “You ever decide to install more solar panels and upgrade the current system, I’ll give you a fair bid.”

“I know that, Brother Thad,” I said, not sure why he had phrased it that way. Rankin’s was the only company I had ever used.

“Mighty pretty here. Peaceful.” He was staring out over the property, deep into my old-growth trees, which had not been so large when he first began to come visit me. I wondered what he was thinking about my land, but if he had been about to speak of it he changed his mind and stood. “You have a nice day, Sister Nell.”

“And you, Brother Thad.” I watched him walk to his van. Felt his vehicle roll down the mountain and off of Soulwood.





THREE




Esther and her husband dropped Mud off at the house at four p.m. and drove off in their truck before I could even get to the door. Esther hadn’t talked to me since I admitted to my family that I was part tree and that I thought she might be too. She hadn’t admitted a thing to anyone about whether she grew leaves or not, but refusing to talk to me suggested Esther was hiding something, running away from a difficult truth. It hurt. I figured it always would. But too much water and blood and time had flowed under the bridge for my family to fully trust me. And Esther, if she was a plant-person like me, had too much church conditioning to adjust to being nonhuman.

I opened the door to see Mud trudging up the steps, her dress soaked with sweat and streaked with dirt, her fingernails crusted with black rings, and her bunned-up hair half-fallen down one side. In both hands were damp paper bags with green leaves growing out of the tops. “Let me guess,” I said. “You spent the day in the greenhouse.”

“It was wonderful! They got fourteen kinds of basil growing. Fourteen! And they got thirty kinds of sage. Did you’un know there’s over two hundred kinds of sage?” She reached the porch and started into the house.

“Boots,” I said.

“Oh. Right. Here.” She thrust the paper bags of cuttings at me and dropped to her backside to tug off her boots. Her fingers hit mine and her excitement and contentment and pleasure zinged across the brief connection. The emotions I felt from her touch were all braided together in a jubilant delight that called to me of joy and fecundity and life. “But,” she grunted as she yanked at a boot, “I need to get the cuttings in water. Is it okay if I pot-plant ’em when they root?”

“Sure. What do you have?” I closed the door on the heat and Mud followed me to the kitchen.