Page 23 of Small Town Beast

“Hello?” his cousin spoke up, interrupting his thoughts.

Right.“Don’t fire the woman, Laura Jane, for Chrissake.”

“I won’t have a hussy like that working for me,” his cousin said, her mouth in a line. “No matter what kind of spell she put on you.”

“There wasn’t no spell.”

“I beg to differ, Saverin Bailey! Some jezebel of loose repute has your head spinnin’ in circles, and with you so vulnerable after the tragedies you’ve had to endure...”

“Enough!”

“See how Satan feeds on a man’s grief! You’d be wise to leave that girl alone.”

Saverin picked up his hat, in no mood for a lecture. “Thank you for the biscuits.”

“You better take some with you,” said Laura Jane wearily, fetching a Tupperware. “I don’t know how you’re eating up there with no woman to cook.”

“I manage.”

“You should think about getting married.”

“Goodbye, Laura Jane.”

On his way out the door he was stopped by an elderly Black woman in church clothes standing at his cousin’s gate. She looked familiar but he didn’t have Roman’s talent with faces. The woman seemed to be wilting in the heat, leaning heavily on Laura Jane’s fence.

“Alright, Ma’am?” Manners moved him to ask. Once he’d have been mocked for it. The code of behavior that ruled the south had its exceptions. You just weren’t nice to Them. Before Roman broke the barrier between Black and White Florin, maybe Saverin would have just kept walking.

“Could you do something for me, son?” The old woman wiped her brow with a sugar-white handkerchief. “It’s only a small favor. I don’t mean to trouble you.”

She was an old lady. “Alright,” he said.

“Will you take this down the hill for me?”

Laura Jane stepped outside, looking ready to tell the woman to get lost, but for some reason Saverin’s cousin stopped dead, turned pale, and vanished back through her front door.

Strange.Saverin took the paper bag the old Black woman was shoving at his stomach. It was warm to the touch, like the biscuits he was carrying in the Tupperware.

The old lady thanked him. “Could you deliver this to my friend? His name is Wilks Johnny. I’m sorry to ask it, but I just can’t make the walk today. My car is just too low for that road.”

“Alright,” Saverin agreed with some reluctance. He supposed her friend was old, too. Or was this a trap? He half expected his cousin to come out waving her shotgun.

“You’re doing a good thing, baby. Here-- you take this as my thanks.”

The granny dug in her purple purse and handed him a little metal tub, like for cold cream.

“Um— there’s really no need.”

“No, please. Something special I make for my scars,” the old woman answered. “Old country recipe. Use it on your handsome face, you’ll see a difference.”

“I’ve tried everything already, Ma’am.”

“You haven’t tried my recipe, though. Now you tell Wilks Johnny that I’ll be back later, when it cools down.”

He supposed Wilks Johnny was her friend down the hill. He didn’t have a polite way to refuse her little ointment, so he just said gruffly, “Alright, Ma’am. No trouble.”

“I love your generation.” The old woman smiled. “So polite.”

Laura Jane was watching them through her blinds.

---