Ebitt, if I decide to stop leasing the land to the Wayward Dog, where will you spend the evenings drinking, when your wife thinks you’re studying at the Good Book Bible Group?”
“Wilson, how could you! To use Our Lord Almighty as an alibi. You will burn in the fires of Hell, sure as I’m standin’ here!” Mrs. Ebitt collected her purse and started to push her way toward the aisle.
“It’s not true, Rosalie!”
“Isn’t it, though?” Macon smiled. “I can’t even imagine what Boo here would tell me if he could talk.
You know, he’s been in and out of every yard and parking lot in your fair town, and I’ll bet he’s seen a thing or two.” I stifled a laugh.
Boo’s ears perked up at the sound of his name, and more than a few people started to squirm in their seats, as if Boo might open his mouth and start talking. After Halloween night, it wouldn’t have surprised me, and considering Macon Ravenwood’s reputation, nobody in Gatlin would have been too shocked, either.
“As you can see, there are more than a few people in this town who are less than honest. So you can imagine my concern when I learned that four teenage girls are the only witnesses to these scathing accusations made against my own family. Wouldn’t it be in all of our interests to drop this matter?
Wouldn’t it be the gentlemanly thing to do, sir?”
Mr. Hollingsworth looked like he was going to be sick, and the woman next to him looked like she was hoping she’d get sucked down into the ground. Mr. Ebitt, whose name I realized was never mentioned before Macon said it, had already left, chasing after his wife. The remaining members of the tribunal looked scared to death, as if any minute now, Macon Ravenwood, or his dog, might start telling the whole town their dirty little secrets.
“I think you may be right, Mr. Ravenwood. Perhaps we need to investigate these accusations further before pursuin’ this matter. There may, in fact, be inconsistencies.”
“A wise choice, Mr. Hollingsworth. A very wise choice.” Macon walked toward the tiny table where Lena was sitting and offered his arm. “Come now, Lena. It’s late. You have school tomorrow.” Lena stood up, standing even straighter than usual. The rain faded to a gentle patter. Marian tied a scarf around her hair and the three of them walked back up the aisle, Boo trailing behind them. They didn’t look at anyone else in the room.
Mrs. Lincoln was on her feet. “Her mother is a murderer!” she screamed, pointing at Lena.
Macon spun around and their eyes met. There was something about his expression—it was the same expression he’d had when I showed him Genevieve’s locket. Boo growled menacingly.
“Be careful, Martha. You never know when we’ll run into each other again.”
“Oh, but I do, Macon.” She smiled, but it was nothing like a smile. I don’t know what passed between them, but it didn’t look like Macon was just battling Mrs. Lincoln anymore.
Marian opened her umbrella again, even though they weren’t outside yet. She smiled diplomatically at the crowd. “Now, I hope to see all of you at the library. Don’t forget, we’re open till six o’clock on the weekdays.”
She nodded to the room. “‘Without libraries what have we? We have no past and no future.’ Just ask Ray Bradbury. Or go to Charlotte, and read it for yourself on the wall of the public library.” Macon took Marian’s arm, but she wasn’t finished. “And he didn’t go to Harvard, either, Mrs. Lincoln. He didn’t even go to college.”
With that, they were gone.
12.19
White Christmas
After the Disciplinary Committee meeting, I don’t think anyone believed Lena would show up at school the next day. But she did, just like I knew she would. No one else knew she had given up the right to go to school once. She wasn’t going to let anyone take it away from her again. To everyone else, school was prison. To Lena, it was freedom. Only it didn’t matter, because that was the day Lena became a ghost at Jackson—nobody looked at her, spoke to her, sat near her at any table, bleacher, or desk. By Thursday, half the kids at school were wearing the Jackson Angels T-shirt, with those white wings on their backs. The way they looked at her, it seemed half the teachers wished they could wear them, too. On Friday, I turned in my basketball jersey. It just didn’t feel like we were all on the same team anymore.
Coach was furious. After all the hollering died down, he just shook his head. “You’re crazy, Wate. Look at the season you’re havin’, and you’re throwin’ it away on some girl.” I could hear it in his voice.
Some girl. Old Man Ravenwood’s niece.
Still, nobody said an unkind word to either one of us, at least not to our faces. If Mrs. Lincoln had put the fear of God into them, Macon Ravenwood had given people in Gatlin a reason to fear something even worse. The truth.