Part 2: link
“Pendragon Law Offices, this is Vivian, may I help you?” a bright voice sagot the phone Monday morning.
Gwen had two days to ponder calling Arthur. Her father’s funeral was on Friday, and she couldn’t very well call him on Saturday or Sunday. She spent Saturday mostly alone, in her apartment on the segundo floor of their house, thinking about Percy and Duncan and Ezra and their words. She thought a lot about what her father would want her do to. She prayed about it in church on Sunday, asking for guidance to make the right decision and strength to follow it through.
Now, Monday morning, Gwen finds herself with 45 minutos of prep time while her students are in music class. She chose to call Arthur, not wanting to waste any madami time.
“Arthur Pendragon, please,” she says.
“May I tell him who is calling?”
“Guinevere Thompson.”
“Please hold.”
Gwen waits, imagining the receptionist as some perky blonde, pretty, but probably useless for anything beyond answering a telephone.
“Arthur Pendragon.” His smooth voice snaps her out of her daydream.
“Oh, hello, Mr. Pendragon, I don’t know if you remember me, but…”
“Of course I remember you, Guinevere,” he says. “Only I thought your last name was Thomas, not Thompson.”
“Beg pardon?”
“When you yelled at your brother,” he says, and she can hear him grinning over the phone, “you called him ‘Elyan Thomas,’ so…”
“Thomas is his middle name,” she says.
“Ah. Mystery solved, then. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Well, um, I’m sorry to say that I’m not calling for pleasurable reasons at all. I would like to hire you, Mr. Pendragon.”
“Arthur,” he says. “Please call me Arthur. Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“Not yet,” she sighs. “It’s… complicated. My father passed away recently, and—”
“Yes, Merlin told me. I am sorry, Guinevere,” he says.
“Thank you. Anyway, I’m being told that the accident that caused his death could have been prevented, and…”
“And you want recompense?”
“Yes and no,” she says, furrowing her brows, twisting the phone cord around her finger. “I want his former coworkers to be safe. I want to know that the person responsible for ignoring the requests to service the forklift truck knows that we know and we won’t sit idly by. I want…”
“You want justice,” Arthur says simply.
“Yes. Can you help me?”
“That is what I do,” he says, and there’s something in his tone, a confidence, almost a smugness, that reassures her, that tells her that Arthur Pendragon is the Man for the Job.
“Guinevere?” he asks when she doesn’t say anything.
“Do you practice that in your mirror at home?” she blurts. “Oh, I’m s…”
Arthur’s laughter cuts off her apology. “Guilty,” he says, “you caught me.”
“Sorry,” she smiles. “You just sounded a bit like Superman there, is all.”
“Been practicing enough, then,” he says. “Guinevere, I’d like to meet with you so we can discuss your case. When would you be available?”
“I’m done here at school at 2:45. I can be to your office sa pamamagitan ng 3:15, probably.”
“You’re in school?”
“I’m a teacher.”
“Oh. Right. You just look very youthful, so…”
“I teach kindergarten at Lincoln.”
“No confusing you with the students, then.”
“So far, so good,” she says.
“Oh, what’s your father’s name? I’d like to do a some research today before you arrive.”
“Thomas Thompson.”
“Middle name?”
“Ezekiel.”
“And where did he work?”
“Alined Paper Corporation. In the warehouse.”
“They take him to Baptist Memorial?”
“Yes.”
“Got it. 3:15, then. I’ll be expecting you,” he says.
“Thank you, Arthur,” she says, and hangs up the phone. She sits and stares at the shiny black telephone for a minute. That was either very smart or very stupid, Gwen. Only the Lord knows which right now.
But when she walks back to her classroom, neither her feet nor her puso feel as heavy.
xXx
Arthur stares into space, letting Gwen’s voice resonate through his head for a minute. “Thank you, Arthur.”
He stands, stretches, and heads out of his office, down the corridor, and knocks on his father’s door.
May as well get this over with.
“Come,” Uther Pendragon’s voice bids him enter.
“Hey, Pop.”
“Arthur, what can I do for you?” he asks, setting his pen down and leaning back in his chair. His voice is clipped and businesslike, but friendly enough; his years in Tennessee having done little to erase the hint of Boston in his accent.
“I have a case.”
“Do you?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at his son.
“Yes, Pop, I do. I’m tired of being relegated to just traffic violations, and I just got a call from someone – someone who specifically requested me – and I want to take her case.
“Her case? I see now,” he smirks.
“Pop, it’s not like that. Her father was killed in an accident, and she has reason to believe that it could have been prevented. Wrongful death case.”
“Young lady?”
“Pop, you know I’m not like that. Besides, she’s colored,” Arthur sighs, knowing that while it doesn’t make a difference to him, it will to other people.
“This is madami than you can handle,” Uther says tersely.
“How do you know unless you let me try?” Arthur says, raising his voice some. “All I’ve done since I graduated in May are traffic violations! Oh, and the one very exciting will.” He rolls his eyes and continues. “I’d like to do something to help someone, really help them. Even if it’s just once. Even if I lose. I’m tired of being a walking encyclopedia of traffic laws.”
“What kind of accident?” Uther asks, leaning pasulong in his chair to rest his chin on his steepled fingers.
“Um, a work accident, I reckon. She mentioned somethin’ about wanting his former coworkers to be safe.”
“Where did he work?”
“Alined Paper.”
Uther inhales through his teeth. “That’s a big company, Arthur. Eugene Alined has deep pockets and is going to have high-powered help. Aggy Boudreaux is his personal attorney, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Agravaine Boudreaux doesn’t scare me. The man is an idiot, led around sa pamamagitan ng his wallet and his pecker.”
Uther barks a surprised laugh. “I see you’ve been doing your homework.”
“So can I do this?”
“You’re going to do it even if I say no, Arthur. I know you.”
“I’d feel better about it if you were behind me. And don’t start in about that it’s going to be hard because she’s a colored girl going up against a powerful white man. I know this already. And don’t tell me to refer her to Abe Jameson. He’s got his hands plenty full with Civil Rights cases right now, anyway. I want this case.”
Uther sighs. “Very well. Just… be careful. You are young and idealistic and you were educated up north. People around here, people in power, don’t think the way you think.”
“You do. Mostly.”
“Well, I’m not from here. You know that.”
“You’ve been successful here.”
“That’s because I know how to play the game. You haven’t fully learned yet. Arthur,” he sighs, “I have been a lawyer for thirty years. I’ve seen all manner of crime and wrongdoing during that time. I’ve seen enough to know that the actions of a human being are not driven sa pamamagitan ng the color of his skin. In fact, some of the most horrific things I’ve seen done during my life have been perpetrated sa pamamagitan ng white people, and often it’s white people thinking that they are better than everyone else. Hitler. Stalin. Mussolini. Those twisted bastards in the Klan. Not to mention the ones that are just sick, like Ed Gein or Charles Starkweather. So, no, I do not have a problem with you defending this little black girl…”
“Father,” Arthur interrupts, “she’s not a little girl, she’s a grown woman with a good job and everything.”
“Oh? What does she do?”
“She’s a teacher. Teaches kindergarten at lincoln Elementary.”
“I see. She’s educated. That will help. But as I was saying, just because I do not have a problem with your taking this case doesn’t mean that you will not meet with opposition from others. I’ve been around here long enough to know that you should not underestimate Boudreaux. He’s an idiot, yes, but he’s also a snake in the damo who would sell his own granny to the highest bidder if he could make a couple dollars.”
“I know. And thanks, Pop.”
“Do me proud.”
“I’ll try. I will,” he amends. “Merlin in today?”
“Ask Hunith. I never know where that boy is,” Uther says, picking up his pen and waving it in the direction of his secretary beyond the door.
“Will do. Need him to fetch copies of some reports for me, you know,” he says, nodding at his father.
“When is your client coming?”
“3:15.”
“Good luck,” he calls as Arthur leaves.
Arthur strolls over to Hunith’s mesa a few feet away and leans against the side of it susunod to her.
“Merlin will be here in fifteen minutes,” she says, answering his tanong before he even asks it.
“How do you do that?”
“I’m a leprechaun,” she says, finally looking up at him. “Duckling, you’re always looking for Merlin. It wasn’t difficult to guess.”
“Well, when you see him, I have an errand for him. Please.”
“Of course, I’ll send him over.”
“Thanks, darlin’,” he says.
xXx
Gwen steps through the doors to Pendragon Law Offices at 3:12 p.m. Her palms are sweating, and she knows it’s not because of the humidity.
“May I help you?” It’s the perky blonde from the phone. Gwen’s lips twitch a moment, biting back her smirk when she sees that her mental image of Vivian was quite accurate.
“Yes, hello, I’m Guinevere Thompson. I have an appointment with Arthur Pendragon.” She steps forward.
“Oh! Oh, yes, I’ll just let him know,” she says, slightly flustered. She quickly picks up the phone. “Mr. Pendragon? Your 3:15 is here.”
“What? No, I haven’t seen him – oh, he’s just coming back in now.”
“Gwen!” Merlin exclaims, seeing her in the lobby.
“Yes, sir.” Vivian hangs up and looks at Merlin. “Merlin, young Mr. Pendragon has asked that you escort Miss… Thompson? back to his office.” She puzzles at them, wondering how Merlin seems to know this girl so well.
“I can do that,” Merlin nods, shifting the parcel in his hands to offer Gwen his elbow. “My lady?”
Gwen looks sideways at him, clearly wanting to ask him if he’s Nawawala his damn mind. Merlin nudges her with his offered elbow. “Come on. Let’s go see Arthur.”
Gwen sighs and takes his arm, ignoring the incredulous look Vivian is giving them as they walk past her and through another set of doors.
“What are you doing here?” Merlin asks her quietly, not wishing to disturb anyone.
“I’ve hired Arthur,” she says. “My father’s death…”
“Was he killed?” Merlin gasps.
“Not… intentionally. But I now have reason to believe that it could have been prevented.”
“Ah, that’s what this,” he indicates the large, thick envelope in his other hand, “must be about.”
They reach a door and Merlin opens it without knocking.
“Guinevere, nice to see you again,” Arthur stands immediately, reaching his hand out to shake hers. “Merlin, nice to see that you’ve learned how to knock.” He smirks at his friend, who merely shrugs.
His hand is large and warm, squeezing hers gently but not too hard. Her hand feels soft and delicate within his, like a tame bird.
“I only wish it were under better circumstances,” she says, smiling sadly.
“Please, sit,” Arthur indicates a chair and holds his hand out for the package from Merlin. “Thank you, Merlin. Excellent timing,” he says, raising an eyebrow at him.
“I thought so,” Merlin replies. Arthur’s phone rings.
“Excuse me,” he says, going to his phone and lifting the handset. “Yes? He just got back. All right, I’ll send him.”
He hangs up and looks at Merlin. “Pop needs you.”
Merlin frowns. He’d been hoping he could stick around and hear about Gwen’s case. “Shouldn’t keep him waiting, I guess,” he sighs, heading out the door, closing it behind him.
“Can I offer you a drink?” Arthur asks, sitting behind his desk. “Coffee, tea, water, lemonade?”
“No, thank you,” Gwen says, clutching her pitaka in her lap.
“Are you nervous?” he asks, leaning pasulong slightly.
“Yes. This is all new to me. Plus I don’t know what I’m gettin’ myself into.”
“Me neither,” Arthur admits, smiling at her. She can’t tell if he’s kidding or if he’s being honest.
“You pullin’ my leg?”
“Um, not really. To be honest, this will be my first case that doesn’t involve a traffic ticket.”
“How long you been practicin’ law, Mr. Pendragon?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at him.
“Arthur,” he reminds her. “Almost four whole months,” he says, pointing to his diploma on the wall, dated May 1963. “So if you want to apoy me, now’s your chance.”
“What? No, I… no. I don’t want to apoy you,” she says, realizing that she wants Arthur on this case. There is something about him that I find comforting. Reassuring. Like he’ll… protect me.
“Good, ’cause I’d’ve hated to have had to go back to my dad and tell him I Nawawala you after I had to convince him to let me have you in the first place,” he says, then his eyes widen when her realizes how that might sound. “I mean, your case… o’ course…”
Gwen presses her lips together to keep from laughing at him, but suddenly she feels madami relaxed. “What is all that?” she nods to the packet from Merlin.
“Ah, I did my homework today, Teacher,” he says, opening the envelope and sliding out a stack of paper. “Hospital reports,” he waves them at her. “I’ve also got information about your father, you, and Elyan.” He holds up three sheets of paper in turn with each name.
“What kind of information? Where’d you get all that?”
“It’s public record, Guinevere. These,” he motions to the personal reports, “I got from the Motor Vehicle Department. Nothing in here that ain’t on your driver’s license. Glad you have one, sa pamamagitan ng the way.”
“Oh.” So he knows my weight, she finds herself thinking, and wonders why she cares.
“Still waiting on work records. I don’t reckon Alined is going to make this very easy for us, I’m afraid.”
“I can’t say as I’m surprised,” Gwen says.
Arthur peruses some of the papers. “Your mother has already passed away, I see,” he says quietly, flipping through the papers.
“Yes, five years ago.”
“My mama died ten years ago,” he says.
“Cancer,” Gwen says.
“Heart attack. Didn’t even know her puso was bad.”
They ponder one another a moment, then Arthur clears his throat and shuffles through his papers again.
“I brought a few names for you,” Gwen says, redirecting the conversation.
“Oh?”
Gwen pulls a slip of paper out of her pitaka and hands it to him.
“Percy Andersen, Duncan Matthews, and Ezra Johnson,” Arthur reads.
“Percy Andersen is the warehouse manager. He was my father’s boss. Duncan was Daddy’s friend. He went with his… body… to the hospital. And Ezra was the man driving the forklift that…”
“I see,” Arthur nods, flipping to the hospital report, his sharp blue eyes scanning the ulat quickly. Gwen watches as he tries not to wince at what he reads.
“Is it that bad?” she asks.
“You don’t know?”
“I didn’t want all the details. I wasn’t ready to hear them. I don’t know if I ever will be.”
“Guinevere, you likely will not have a choice but to hear them if we pursue this case. Probably madami than once.”
“Okay,” she nods.
Arthur sighs. “Are all these men colored?” he asks.
“Mr. Andersen – Percy – is white. Looks like he stepped off an Army Recruitment poster.”
“He’s willing to help us out?”
“I reckon he is. He came out to Daddy’s funeral with the others from the warehouse to pay his respects. And that’s when they told me about the repair requests.”
“Repair requests?” Arthur starts making notes in a notebook now.
She nods, going on to detail what the three men told her that day.
“I need to talk to Percy Andersen,” Arthur mutters, circling Percy’s name. “I hope he has copies of those requests.”
“I put the warehouse office number there for you,” she points to the paper she gave him.
“Thank you, that’s very helpful.”
Arthur turns his attention back to the personal forms, tucking the hospital ulat away, not wanting to look at it any more.
“Interesting,” he says.
“What is it?” asks Gwen.
“I guess I didn't realize that you were older than your brother,” he says.
“Yes, I’m older sa pamamagitan ng almost exactly one year. Our birthdays are within days of each other, in fact.”
“Did your parents make you share parties?” he asks, setting the paper down, interested.
“Well, they didn’t make us do anything,” she says. “It was just what we did.” Why does he care?
Arthur nods, trying to understand.
“You see, you can't miss what you never had. For years, all we knew was one cake with two names,” she presses on.
“Oh,” Arthur sagot dumbly.
“It doesn’t bother me at all,” she goes on. “The way I see it, Mama was being smart. When you’re tryin’ to make a dollar out of fifteen cents, you don’t make two cakes when your children’s birthdays are four days apart.”
“What about blowing out your candles?” Arthur asks.
“Ah,” Gwen says, smiling, “we did do that right.”
“How so?”
“Well, we would do it twice. El would go first; we would sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to him and he would blow out the candles, and then Mama would put one madami candle on the cake, light them all again, and then they would sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to me and I would get my turn to blow them out.”
Arthur smiles, picturing it in his head. “That’s a long way to stretch,” he says after a moment.
“What is?”
“Fifteen cents into a dollar.”
“I don’t expect you to understand,” she says quietly.
“I’m trying,” he says.
“I guess that’s what’s important.”
“I’m glad you called me, Guinevere,” he says. “I really think we have a strong case against Alined. Especially if Percy Andersen is willing to be a man and stand up for what is right.”
“I think he may be. Daddy always spoke highly of him, even though he’s young and just showed up one day. Alined brought him in and told them that Percy was their boss now, and that was it.”
“Is Percy Andersen related to Eugene Alined?” Arthur asks, narrowing his eyes shrewdly.
“Don’t know. Could be. It’d sure make sense, but I hope not. He might not be willing to fight his own kin.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Arthur scowls.
“On the other hand, why would he tell me what he did if he wasn’t?” she muses.
“I’ll find out,” he promises.
“Um, Arthur?” Gwen says suddenly. “Is there a way we can work on this without taking these men away from their jobs? I mean, I don’t want them to have to take time off and maybe lose money over this.”
“I understand. I’ll meet with them in the evenings if I have to. That’s not a problem.”
“I hate to ask you to take your personal time…”
“I don’t have much of a social life,” he shrugs. “I mainly hang around with Merlin, and he plays at Gwaine’s most nights anyway.”
“Do you go see him play?”
“Sometimes. You should… you should come see him sometime. He’s really good.”
“I might.”
“Yeah, so if I’m not over there, I’m at home, usually doing somethin’ work-related anyway.”
“No… no girlfriend?” she asks, then immediately wishes she hadn’t. Why did you ask that, Gwen? His pag-ibig life is none of your damn business!
He smiles, seeing her flush slightly. “No girlfriend. Been too busy focusin’ on my career. So don’t you worry about takin’ up my personal time.”
“Thank you,” she says. “And, um…”
“Yes?”
“I’m not sure how I’m gonna be able to pay you. I’ve got a good job and Daddy had some money squirreled away, but…”
“Guinevere,” Arthur says, holding his hands up. “We don’t need to worry about that now. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll tell you what: if I can’t win this case for you, you don’t have to pay me.”
“But…”
“It’s only fair, Guinevere. You came to me for help. I’m gonna try and help you. But if I fail, I shouldn’t get paid.”
“Thank you,” she whispers, looking at her hands.
Even if you win, I probably won’t charge you very much, he thinks, but says nothing. “What does Elyan think of this?”
“I… haven’t told him yet,” Gwen admits.
“Ah,” Arthur says. “He’ll be all right with it, you think?”
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” she says. “He’s always goin’ on about takin’ on ‘The Man,’ you know.”
“O’ course he is,” Arthur chuckles. “However, I think his involvement in this case should be limited to… a supporting role. He may be too…”
“Volatile?” Gwen supplies, smirking.
“Right. We’ll keep you in the forefront, use your pretty face to gain sympathy. Sorry if this all sounds callous,” he apologizes.
“A little, but I… I think I understand,” she says. My pretty face?
“Good,” he smiles. “Plus you’re educated and well-spoken. That will help, too. Guinevere, this is going to be hard. But I think we can win. If the Lord is with us and I get all the pieces in place where I want them, I think we can do something to make things safer for your father’s friends. And put Eugene Alined in his place as well.”
“Thank you, Arthur. You don’t know what this means to me,” she says, her eyes misting slightly. She opens her pitaka to pull out her handkerchief and sees his there as well. I forgot I brought it.
Gwen dabs her eyes with her own handkerchief, then takes Arthur’s out and sets it on the desk.
“What’s this?”
“Your handkerchief. I got the blood out.”
“That’s yours,” he says, pushing it back over towards her. “I gave it to you.”
“Arthur, what am I going to do with a hanky that has someone else’s initials on it?”
He just smiles. “Wipe your nose, I guess,” he says with a shrug.
“Arthur…”
“I know I’m being ridiculous, but I gave it to you and so that means it’s yours.”
“You are ridiculous,” she says, but she snatches the cloth off the mesa and stuffs it back into her pitaka anyway.
“My pop gets me a box of those things every taon for Christmas. I have so many of them that I have half a mind to… get them all stitched together and use ’em as a bedsheet.”
Gwen laughs now, covering her mouth with her hand.
“There now, that’s a good sound.” He looks at his watch. “But I should let you go home,” he says, reaching for a few madami papers he has on his desk.
Did he sound sad that I’m leaving? Do I feel sad to be leaving?
“I just need your autograph in a few places, and I’ll start doing some digging. And I’ll need your phone number. So I can contact you about the case,” he says. Of course she knows it’s so you can contact her about the case, dummy. Why else would you need her phone number?
Arthur slides the forms across the mesa to her and holds out a pen for her. As she takes the pen, her fingers brush his for a split second.
Why does my stomach feel like that every time I touch his hand? “Um, where?” she asks, pen poised over the page, her eyes quickly scanning the document.
He points, and she signs. He flips to the susunod page, points, and she signs. He slides his notebook over to her and she writes her phone number on it. He takes the pen back and writes “Guinevere” beside it.
“Most people call me Gwen,” she says, noticing he’s been calling her sa pamamagitan ng her full name the entire time she’s been there.
“I remember,” he says. “You told me that when we met the first time.”
She peers at him. “But you’re going to keep calling me ‘Guinevere,’ aren’t you?”
“I like it better.”
xXx
“Gwen, where have you been, girl?” Elyan asks when she walks up the steps to the front porch. Elyan is sitting in a rocker, a glass of water in his hand.
“You out of sweet tea?” she asks, looking at his glass as she walks past him.
“Yeah. Make me some more?” He stands and follows her into the house.
“You can make your own. I showed you how.”
“It’s still better when you do it.”
“Lazy. Right now all I wanna do is go up to my apartment and collapse onto my bed. But since I do need to talk to you, I’ll stay down here with you and make your tea.”
“You gon’ tell me where you was?”
“That’s what I need to talk to you about.” She drops her pitaka on the kusina mesa and takes her shoes off, setting them near the door.
“We’re suin’ Mr. Alined,” she tells him, facing the sink.
“We’s doin’ what?”
“We are suing Eugene Alined.” She turns around and faces him. “Daddy’s death was a preventable accident. I was just havin’ a meeting with Arthur Pendragon. Remember those boys from after Dr. King’s speech? Blonde Mr. Charlie is a lawyer.”
“You didn’t think you should tell me before you runned off to discuss this with your pretty white boy?”
“I think you just answered your own question, El,” she snaps, turning back to the coffeemaker, dropping teabags into the receptacle where the coffee filter and ground coffee should go.
“What?”
“You don’t trust him. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
“You could have gone to the colored lawyer. Jameson.”
“I could have, but I didn’t. I called Arthur.”
“How did you know he was a lawyer?”
“Merlin told me. You know, the other one? He was at Daddy’s funeral.”
“How’d you get his number?”
“Phone book!” she shoots back, getting flustered at Elyan’s inquisition.
“And you knew his last name and all?”
Gwen sighs and closes her eyes. “Fine. Arthur gave me his business card when he shook my hand.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know, Elyan! But I’m glad he did. And he’s already working on the case, and I’ve already signed the paperwork.”
“I thought you say ‘we’ was suin’ Mr. Alined.”
“Fine. I am suin’ Mr. Alined. You are involved because you’re my brother, though. You been done wrong sa pamamagitan ng this, too,” she reminds him.
“Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I don’t walk around down here with all o’ his stuff and not feel the stab o’ him bein’ gone? You can at least go upstairs to your own place!”
“Sorry, El.” She sits while the tsaa brews, pulling his hand in between hers. “Look. This is us going up against The Man, don’t you see that? I got help. Even the warehouse manager is with us on this.”
“Was he that huge white boy you was talkin’ to with Duncan and Ezra?”
“Yes.” Gwen nods and squeezes his hand, and proceeds to tell him everything they told her Friday evening.
“So that’s it. You gonna get us killed. No judge is gon’ care about the death of some colored man in a warehouse,” Elyan says. “Whitey thinks we’s all just so much trash. One dies, so what? Just get another’n.”
“If that’s your attitude, maybe I don’t want you to be involved,” Gwen says. “Arthur seems to think that we have a very strong case against Mr. Alined.”
“Oh, Arthur thinks,” Elyan rolls his eyes.
The coffeemaker gurgles, signaling its completion, and Gwen stands, shoving her chair back into the mesa roughly. “I am disappointed in you, Elyan,” she says over her shoulder. “You want rights, but you’re not willing to go out and ask for ’em. That warehouse ain’t safe. For anyone. I thought about this all weekend. Prayed about it Sunday. Think about what Daddy would want, Elyan, what he would do. And Mama, too. She always told us to hold our heads up high and proud, even if we was wearin’ secondhand clothes and your sinturon was a bit o’ rope. Don’t let nobody take advantage of you. Try to do what’s right. I think this is what’s right. If you don’t want no part of this, tell me now, and I won’t trouble you with any o’ the details.”
Gwen is pouring sugar into the pitcher, stirring, yelling at Elyan sa pamamagitan ng yelling at the sweet tsaa in front of her.
“Gwen…”
She slams the wooden spoon down on the counter. “I ain’t finished yet, Elyan. If you don’t want to help, then don’t, but don’t try and stop me and don’t get in my way.” She turns around and looks at him. “But if you want to do right sa pamamagitan ng Daddy, if you want to poke The Man a little, let him know we’s payin’ attention, then help me with this.”
“Your pretty way o’ talkin’ gets less pretty when you’s mad,” Elyan smirks at her.
“Shut up,” she says, trying not to smile back.
“Mama and Daddy done raised you better than they did me,” Elyan sighs. “You’re right. It’s time for me to be the man o’ the family and do the right thing, even if we don’t win…”
“Then we can hold our heads high knowin’ we tried.” Gwen turns back to the sink to take the pitcher and put it in the fridge.
“I’m sorry, Gwen.”
“Elyan, Mama and Daddy didn’t raise me better than you. I just paid closer attention,” she says, going over and hugging him.
xXx
I’m walking in the mountains, the world lush and green around me. Appalachia. Dew drops on the kudzu. A slight mist in the air as the heat of the sun evaporates the morning moisture.
I walk, and the path narrows, gradually disappearing, and I’m falling, sliding down the hill, my fingers grasping at branches and vines and rocks, unable to find purchase on anything.
Suddenly a large, strong, warm hand clasps mine, stopping my descent. The hand pulls me up, setting me on solid ground again. I look at the hand holding mine. It is pale, peachy-gold, long-fingered and broad. My eyes follow his arm upward to a wide shoulder, then to a muscular neck attached to a strong jaw.
I know whose face I am going to see, but still I gasp.
Unusually full lips, dark dusty pink, and a straight nose lead to a pair of eyes, curiously tender, blue streaked with gray, all beneath a crown of golden hair.
“Didn’t I tell you that this is what I do?”
Gwen’s eyes fly open and she sits up in bed. She looks at her alarm clock. 2:15. Clutching her sheets to her chest, she blinks in the darkness.
“All right, Lord, if that wasn’t a sign, I don’t know what one is.”
Part 4: link
“Pendragon Law Offices, this is Vivian, may I help you?” a bright voice sagot the phone Monday morning.
Gwen had two days to ponder calling Arthur. Her father’s funeral was on Friday, and she couldn’t very well call him on Saturday or Sunday. She spent Saturday mostly alone, in her apartment on the segundo floor of their house, thinking about Percy and Duncan and Ezra and their words. She thought a lot about what her father would want her do to. She prayed about it in church on Sunday, asking for guidance to make the right decision and strength to follow it through.
Now, Monday morning, Gwen finds herself with 45 minutos of prep time while her students are in music class. She chose to call Arthur, not wanting to waste any madami time.
“Arthur Pendragon, please,” she says.
“May I tell him who is calling?”
“Guinevere Thompson.”
“Please hold.”
Gwen waits, imagining the receptionist as some perky blonde, pretty, but probably useless for anything beyond answering a telephone.
“Arthur Pendragon.” His smooth voice snaps her out of her daydream.
“Oh, hello, Mr. Pendragon, I don’t know if you remember me, but…”
“Of course I remember you, Guinevere,” he says. “Only I thought your last name was Thomas, not Thompson.”
“Beg pardon?”
“When you yelled at your brother,” he says, and she can hear him grinning over the phone, “you called him ‘Elyan Thomas,’ so…”
“Thomas is his middle name,” she says.
“Ah. Mystery solved, then. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Well, um, I’m sorry to say that I’m not calling for pleasurable reasons at all. I would like to hire you, Mr. Pendragon.”
“Arthur,” he says. “Please call me Arthur. Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“Not yet,” she sighs. “It’s… complicated. My father passed away recently, and—”
“Yes, Merlin told me. I am sorry, Guinevere,” he says.
“Thank you. Anyway, I’m being told that the accident that caused his death could have been prevented, and…”
“And you want recompense?”
“Yes and no,” she says, furrowing her brows, twisting the phone cord around her finger. “I want his former coworkers to be safe. I want to know that the person responsible for ignoring the requests to service the forklift truck knows that we know and we won’t sit idly by. I want…”
“You want justice,” Arthur says simply.
“Yes. Can you help me?”
“That is what I do,” he says, and there’s something in his tone, a confidence, almost a smugness, that reassures her, that tells her that Arthur Pendragon is the Man for the Job.
“Guinevere?” he asks when she doesn’t say anything.
“Do you practice that in your mirror at home?” she blurts. “Oh, I’m s…”
Arthur’s laughter cuts off her apology. “Guilty,” he says, “you caught me.”
“Sorry,” she smiles. “You just sounded a bit like Superman there, is all.”
“Been practicing enough, then,” he says. “Guinevere, I’d like to meet with you so we can discuss your case. When would you be available?”
“I’m done here at school at 2:45. I can be to your office sa pamamagitan ng 3:15, probably.”
“You’re in school?”
“I’m a teacher.”
“Oh. Right. You just look very youthful, so…”
“I teach kindergarten at Lincoln.”
“No confusing you with the students, then.”
“So far, so good,” she says.
“Oh, what’s your father’s name? I’d like to do a some research today before you arrive.”
“Thomas Thompson.”
“Middle name?”
“Ezekiel.”
“And where did he work?”
“Alined Paper Corporation. In the warehouse.”
“They take him to Baptist Memorial?”
“Yes.”
“Got it. 3:15, then. I’ll be expecting you,” he says.
“Thank you, Arthur,” she says, and hangs up the phone. She sits and stares at the shiny black telephone for a minute. That was either very smart or very stupid, Gwen. Only the Lord knows which right now.
But when she walks back to her classroom, neither her feet nor her puso feel as heavy.
xXx
Arthur stares into space, letting Gwen’s voice resonate through his head for a minute. “Thank you, Arthur.”
He stands, stretches, and heads out of his office, down the corridor, and knocks on his father’s door.
May as well get this over with.
“Come,” Uther Pendragon’s voice bids him enter.
“Hey, Pop.”
“Arthur, what can I do for you?” he asks, setting his pen down and leaning back in his chair. His voice is clipped and businesslike, but friendly enough; his years in Tennessee having done little to erase the hint of Boston in his accent.
“I have a case.”
“Do you?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at his son.
“Yes, Pop, I do. I’m tired of being relegated to just traffic violations, and I just got a call from someone – someone who specifically requested me – and I want to take her case.
“Her case? I see now,” he smirks.
“Pop, it’s not like that. Her father was killed in an accident, and she has reason to believe that it could have been prevented. Wrongful death case.”
“Young lady?”
“Pop, you know I’m not like that. Besides, she’s colored,” Arthur sighs, knowing that while it doesn’t make a difference to him, it will to other people.
“This is madami than you can handle,” Uther says tersely.
“How do you know unless you let me try?” Arthur says, raising his voice some. “All I’ve done since I graduated in May are traffic violations! Oh, and the one very exciting will.” He rolls his eyes and continues. “I’d like to do something to help someone, really help them. Even if it’s just once. Even if I lose. I’m tired of being a walking encyclopedia of traffic laws.”
“What kind of accident?” Uther asks, leaning pasulong in his chair to rest his chin on his steepled fingers.
“Um, a work accident, I reckon. She mentioned somethin’ about wanting his former coworkers to be safe.”
“Where did he work?”
“Alined Paper.”
Uther inhales through his teeth. “That’s a big company, Arthur. Eugene Alined has deep pockets and is going to have high-powered help. Aggy Boudreaux is his personal attorney, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Agravaine Boudreaux doesn’t scare me. The man is an idiot, led around sa pamamagitan ng his wallet and his pecker.”
Uther barks a surprised laugh. “I see you’ve been doing your homework.”
“So can I do this?”
“You’re going to do it even if I say no, Arthur. I know you.”
“I’d feel better about it if you were behind me. And don’t start in about that it’s going to be hard because she’s a colored girl going up against a powerful white man. I know this already. And don’t tell me to refer her to Abe Jameson. He’s got his hands plenty full with Civil Rights cases right now, anyway. I want this case.”
Uther sighs. “Very well. Just… be careful. You are young and idealistic and you were educated up north. People around here, people in power, don’t think the way you think.”
“You do. Mostly.”
“Well, I’m not from here. You know that.”
“You’ve been successful here.”
“That’s because I know how to play the game. You haven’t fully learned yet. Arthur,” he sighs, “I have been a lawyer for thirty years. I’ve seen all manner of crime and wrongdoing during that time. I’ve seen enough to know that the actions of a human being are not driven sa pamamagitan ng the color of his skin. In fact, some of the most horrific things I’ve seen done during my life have been perpetrated sa pamamagitan ng white people, and often it’s white people thinking that they are better than everyone else. Hitler. Stalin. Mussolini. Those twisted bastards in the Klan. Not to mention the ones that are just sick, like Ed Gein or Charles Starkweather. So, no, I do not have a problem with you defending this little black girl…”
“Father,” Arthur interrupts, “she’s not a little girl, she’s a grown woman with a good job and everything.”
“Oh? What does she do?”
“She’s a teacher. Teaches kindergarten at lincoln Elementary.”
“I see. She’s educated. That will help. But as I was saying, just because I do not have a problem with your taking this case doesn’t mean that you will not meet with opposition from others. I’ve been around here long enough to know that you should not underestimate Boudreaux. He’s an idiot, yes, but he’s also a snake in the damo who would sell his own granny to the highest bidder if he could make a couple dollars.”
“I know. And thanks, Pop.”
“Do me proud.”
“I’ll try. I will,” he amends. “Merlin in today?”
“Ask Hunith. I never know where that boy is,” Uther says, picking up his pen and waving it in the direction of his secretary beyond the door.
“Will do. Need him to fetch copies of some reports for me, you know,” he says, nodding at his father.
“When is your client coming?”
“3:15.”
“Good luck,” he calls as Arthur leaves.
Arthur strolls over to Hunith’s mesa a few feet away and leans against the side of it susunod to her.
“Merlin will be here in fifteen minutes,” she says, answering his tanong before he even asks it.
“How do you do that?”
“I’m a leprechaun,” she says, finally looking up at him. “Duckling, you’re always looking for Merlin. It wasn’t difficult to guess.”
“Well, when you see him, I have an errand for him. Please.”
“Of course, I’ll send him over.”
“Thanks, darlin’,” he says.
xXx
Gwen steps through the doors to Pendragon Law Offices at 3:12 p.m. Her palms are sweating, and she knows it’s not because of the humidity.
“May I help you?” It’s the perky blonde from the phone. Gwen’s lips twitch a moment, biting back her smirk when she sees that her mental image of Vivian was quite accurate.
“Yes, hello, I’m Guinevere Thompson. I have an appointment with Arthur Pendragon.” She steps forward.
“Oh! Oh, yes, I’ll just let him know,” she says, slightly flustered. She quickly picks up the phone. “Mr. Pendragon? Your 3:15 is here.”
“What? No, I haven’t seen him – oh, he’s just coming back in now.”
“Gwen!” Merlin exclaims, seeing her in the lobby.
“Yes, sir.” Vivian hangs up and looks at Merlin. “Merlin, young Mr. Pendragon has asked that you escort Miss… Thompson? back to his office.” She puzzles at them, wondering how Merlin seems to know this girl so well.
“I can do that,” Merlin nods, shifting the parcel in his hands to offer Gwen his elbow. “My lady?”
Gwen looks sideways at him, clearly wanting to ask him if he’s Nawawala his damn mind. Merlin nudges her with his offered elbow. “Come on. Let’s go see Arthur.”
Gwen sighs and takes his arm, ignoring the incredulous look Vivian is giving them as they walk past her and through another set of doors.
“What are you doing here?” Merlin asks her quietly, not wishing to disturb anyone.
“I’ve hired Arthur,” she says. “My father’s death…”
“Was he killed?” Merlin gasps.
“Not… intentionally. But I now have reason to believe that it could have been prevented.”
“Ah, that’s what this,” he indicates the large, thick envelope in his other hand, “must be about.”
They reach a door and Merlin opens it without knocking.
“Guinevere, nice to see you again,” Arthur stands immediately, reaching his hand out to shake hers. “Merlin, nice to see that you’ve learned how to knock.” He smirks at his friend, who merely shrugs.
His hand is large and warm, squeezing hers gently but not too hard. Her hand feels soft and delicate within his, like a tame bird.
“I only wish it were under better circumstances,” she says, smiling sadly.
“Please, sit,” Arthur indicates a chair and holds his hand out for the package from Merlin. “Thank you, Merlin. Excellent timing,” he says, raising an eyebrow at him.
“I thought so,” Merlin replies. Arthur’s phone rings.
“Excuse me,” he says, going to his phone and lifting the handset. “Yes? He just got back. All right, I’ll send him.”
He hangs up and looks at Merlin. “Pop needs you.”
Merlin frowns. He’d been hoping he could stick around and hear about Gwen’s case. “Shouldn’t keep him waiting, I guess,” he sighs, heading out the door, closing it behind him.
“Can I offer you a drink?” Arthur asks, sitting behind his desk. “Coffee, tea, water, lemonade?”
“No, thank you,” Gwen says, clutching her pitaka in her lap.
“Are you nervous?” he asks, leaning pasulong slightly.
“Yes. This is all new to me. Plus I don’t know what I’m gettin’ myself into.”
“Me neither,” Arthur admits, smiling at her. She can’t tell if he’s kidding or if he’s being honest.
“You pullin’ my leg?”
“Um, not really. To be honest, this will be my first case that doesn’t involve a traffic ticket.”
“How long you been practicin’ law, Mr. Pendragon?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at him.
“Arthur,” he reminds her. “Almost four whole months,” he says, pointing to his diploma on the wall, dated May 1963. “So if you want to apoy me, now’s your chance.”
“What? No, I… no. I don’t want to apoy you,” she says, realizing that she wants Arthur on this case. There is something about him that I find comforting. Reassuring. Like he’ll… protect me.
“Good, ’cause I’d’ve hated to have had to go back to my dad and tell him I Nawawala you after I had to convince him to let me have you in the first place,” he says, then his eyes widen when her realizes how that might sound. “I mean, your case… o’ course…”
Gwen presses her lips together to keep from laughing at him, but suddenly she feels madami relaxed. “What is all that?” she nods to the packet from Merlin.
“Ah, I did my homework today, Teacher,” he says, opening the envelope and sliding out a stack of paper. “Hospital reports,” he waves them at her. “I’ve also got information about your father, you, and Elyan.” He holds up three sheets of paper in turn with each name.
“What kind of information? Where’d you get all that?”
“It’s public record, Guinevere. These,” he motions to the personal reports, “I got from the Motor Vehicle Department. Nothing in here that ain’t on your driver’s license. Glad you have one, sa pamamagitan ng the way.”
“Oh.” So he knows my weight, she finds herself thinking, and wonders why she cares.
“Still waiting on work records. I don’t reckon Alined is going to make this very easy for us, I’m afraid.”
“I can’t say as I’m surprised,” Gwen says.
Arthur peruses some of the papers. “Your mother has already passed away, I see,” he says quietly, flipping through the papers.
“Yes, five years ago.”
“My mama died ten years ago,” he says.
“Cancer,” Gwen says.
“Heart attack. Didn’t even know her puso was bad.”
They ponder one another a moment, then Arthur clears his throat and shuffles through his papers again.
“I brought a few names for you,” Gwen says, redirecting the conversation.
“Oh?”
Gwen pulls a slip of paper out of her pitaka and hands it to him.
“Percy Andersen, Duncan Matthews, and Ezra Johnson,” Arthur reads.
“Percy Andersen is the warehouse manager. He was my father’s boss. Duncan was Daddy’s friend. He went with his… body… to the hospital. And Ezra was the man driving the forklift that…”
“I see,” Arthur nods, flipping to the hospital report, his sharp blue eyes scanning the ulat quickly. Gwen watches as he tries not to wince at what he reads.
“Is it that bad?” she asks.
“You don’t know?”
“I didn’t want all the details. I wasn’t ready to hear them. I don’t know if I ever will be.”
“Guinevere, you likely will not have a choice but to hear them if we pursue this case. Probably madami than once.”
“Okay,” she nods.
Arthur sighs. “Are all these men colored?” he asks.
“Mr. Andersen – Percy – is white. Looks like he stepped off an Army Recruitment poster.”
“He’s willing to help us out?”
“I reckon he is. He came out to Daddy’s funeral with the others from the warehouse to pay his respects. And that’s when they told me about the repair requests.”
“Repair requests?” Arthur starts making notes in a notebook now.
She nods, going on to detail what the three men told her that day.
“I need to talk to Percy Andersen,” Arthur mutters, circling Percy’s name. “I hope he has copies of those requests.”
“I put the warehouse office number there for you,” she points to the paper she gave him.
“Thank you, that’s very helpful.”
Arthur turns his attention back to the personal forms, tucking the hospital ulat away, not wanting to look at it any more.
“Interesting,” he says.
“What is it?” asks Gwen.
“I guess I didn't realize that you were older than your brother,” he says.
“Yes, I’m older sa pamamagitan ng almost exactly one year. Our birthdays are within days of each other, in fact.”
“Did your parents make you share parties?” he asks, setting the paper down, interested.
“Well, they didn’t make us do anything,” she says. “It was just what we did.” Why does he care?
Arthur nods, trying to understand.
“You see, you can't miss what you never had. For years, all we knew was one cake with two names,” she presses on.
“Oh,” Arthur sagot dumbly.
“It doesn’t bother me at all,” she goes on. “The way I see it, Mama was being smart. When you’re tryin’ to make a dollar out of fifteen cents, you don’t make two cakes when your children’s birthdays are four days apart.”
“What about blowing out your candles?” Arthur asks.
“Ah,” Gwen says, smiling, “we did do that right.”
“How so?”
“Well, we would do it twice. El would go first; we would sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to him and he would blow out the candles, and then Mama would put one madami candle on the cake, light them all again, and then they would sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to me and I would get my turn to blow them out.”
Arthur smiles, picturing it in his head. “That’s a long way to stretch,” he says after a moment.
“What is?”
“Fifteen cents into a dollar.”
“I don’t expect you to understand,” she says quietly.
“I’m trying,” he says.
“I guess that’s what’s important.”
“I’m glad you called me, Guinevere,” he says. “I really think we have a strong case against Alined. Especially if Percy Andersen is willing to be a man and stand up for what is right.”
“I think he may be. Daddy always spoke highly of him, even though he’s young and just showed up one day. Alined brought him in and told them that Percy was their boss now, and that was it.”
“Is Percy Andersen related to Eugene Alined?” Arthur asks, narrowing his eyes shrewdly.
“Don’t know. Could be. It’d sure make sense, but I hope not. He might not be willing to fight his own kin.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Arthur scowls.
“On the other hand, why would he tell me what he did if he wasn’t?” she muses.
“I’ll find out,” he promises.
“Um, Arthur?” Gwen says suddenly. “Is there a way we can work on this without taking these men away from their jobs? I mean, I don’t want them to have to take time off and maybe lose money over this.”
“I understand. I’ll meet with them in the evenings if I have to. That’s not a problem.”
“I hate to ask you to take your personal time…”
“I don’t have much of a social life,” he shrugs. “I mainly hang around with Merlin, and he plays at Gwaine’s most nights anyway.”
“Do you go see him play?”
“Sometimes. You should… you should come see him sometime. He’s really good.”
“I might.”
“Yeah, so if I’m not over there, I’m at home, usually doing somethin’ work-related anyway.”
“No… no girlfriend?” she asks, then immediately wishes she hadn’t. Why did you ask that, Gwen? His pag-ibig life is none of your damn business!
He smiles, seeing her flush slightly. “No girlfriend. Been too busy focusin’ on my career. So don’t you worry about takin’ up my personal time.”
“Thank you,” she says. “And, um…”
“Yes?”
“I’m not sure how I’m gonna be able to pay you. I’ve got a good job and Daddy had some money squirreled away, but…”
“Guinevere,” Arthur says, holding his hands up. “We don’t need to worry about that now. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll tell you what: if I can’t win this case for you, you don’t have to pay me.”
“But…”
“It’s only fair, Guinevere. You came to me for help. I’m gonna try and help you. But if I fail, I shouldn’t get paid.”
“Thank you,” she whispers, looking at her hands.
Even if you win, I probably won’t charge you very much, he thinks, but says nothing. “What does Elyan think of this?”
“I… haven’t told him yet,” Gwen admits.
“Ah,” Arthur says. “He’ll be all right with it, you think?”
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” she says. “He’s always goin’ on about takin’ on ‘The Man,’ you know.”
“O’ course he is,” Arthur chuckles. “However, I think his involvement in this case should be limited to… a supporting role. He may be too…”
“Volatile?” Gwen supplies, smirking.
“Right. We’ll keep you in the forefront, use your pretty face to gain sympathy. Sorry if this all sounds callous,” he apologizes.
“A little, but I… I think I understand,” she says. My pretty face?
“Good,” he smiles. “Plus you’re educated and well-spoken. That will help, too. Guinevere, this is going to be hard. But I think we can win. If the Lord is with us and I get all the pieces in place where I want them, I think we can do something to make things safer for your father’s friends. And put Eugene Alined in his place as well.”
“Thank you, Arthur. You don’t know what this means to me,” she says, her eyes misting slightly. She opens her pitaka to pull out her handkerchief and sees his there as well. I forgot I brought it.
Gwen dabs her eyes with her own handkerchief, then takes Arthur’s out and sets it on the desk.
“What’s this?”
“Your handkerchief. I got the blood out.”
“That’s yours,” he says, pushing it back over towards her. “I gave it to you.”
“Arthur, what am I going to do with a hanky that has someone else’s initials on it?”
He just smiles. “Wipe your nose, I guess,” he says with a shrug.
“Arthur…”
“I know I’m being ridiculous, but I gave it to you and so that means it’s yours.”
“You are ridiculous,” she says, but she snatches the cloth off the mesa and stuffs it back into her pitaka anyway.
“My pop gets me a box of those things every taon for Christmas. I have so many of them that I have half a mind to… get them all stitched together and use ’em as a bedsheet.”
Gwen laughs now, covering her mouth with her hand.
“There now, that’s a good sound.” He looks at his watch. “But I should let you go home,” he says, reaching for a few madami papers he has on his desk.
Did he sound sad that I’m leaving? Do I feel sad to be leaving?
“I just need your autograph in a few places, and I’ll start doing some digging. And I’ll need your phone number. So I can contact you about the case,” he says. Of course she knows it’s so you can contact her about the case, dummy. Why else would you need her phone number?
Arthur slides the forms across the mesa to her and holds out a pen for her. As she takes the pen, her fingers brush his for a split second.
Why does my stomach feel like that every time I touch his hand? “Um, where?” she asks, pen poised over the page, her eyes quickly scanning the document.
He points, and she signs. He flips to the susunod page, points, and she signs. He slides his notebook over to her and she writes her phone number on it. He takes the pen back and writes “Guinevere” beside it.
“Most people call me Gwen,” she says, noticing he’s been calling her sa pamamagitan ng her full name the entire time she’s been there.
“I remember,” he says. “You told me that when we met the first time.”
She peers at him. “But you’re going to keep calling me ‘Guinevere,’ aren’t you?”
“I like it better.”
xXx
“Gwen, where have you been, girl?” Elyan asks when she walks up the steps to the front porch. Elyan is sitting in a rocker, a glass of water in his hand.
“You out of sweet tea?” she asks, looking at his glass as she walks past him.
“Yeah. Make me some more?” He stands and follows her into the house.
“You can make your own. I showed you how.”
“It’s still better when you do it.”
“Lazy. Right now all I wanna do is go up to my apartment and collapse onto my bed. But since I do need to talk to you, I’ll stay down here with you and make your tea.”
“You gon’ tell me where you was?”
“That’s what I need to talk to you about.” She drops her pitaka on the kusina mesa and takes her shoes off, setting them near the door.
“We’re suin’ Mr. Alined,” she tells him, facing the sink.
“We’s doin’ what?”
“We are suing Eugene Alined.” She turns around and faces him. “Daddy’s death was a preventable accident. I was just havin’ a meeting with Arthur Pendragon. Remember those boys from after Dr. King’s speech? Blonde Mr. Charlie is a lawyer.”
“You didn’t think you should tell me before you runned off to discuss this with your pretty white boy?”
“I think you just answered your own question, El,” she snaps, turning back to the coffeemaker, dropping teabags into the receptacle where the coffee filter and ground coffee should go.
“What?”
“You don’t trust him. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
“You could have gone to the colored lawyer. Jameson.”
“I could have, but I didn’t. I called Arthur.”
“How did you know he was a lawyer?”
“Merlin told me. You know, the other one? He was at Daddy’s funeral.”
“How’d you get his number?”
“Phone book!” she shoots back, getting flustered at Elyan’s inquisition.
“And you knew his last name and all?”
Gwen sighs and closes her eyes. “Fine. Arthur gave me his business card when he shook my hand.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know, Elyan! But I’m glad he did. And he’s already working on the case, and I’ve already signed the paperwork.”
“I thought you say ‘we’ was suin’ Mr. Alined.”
“Fine. I am suin’ Mr. Alined. You are involved because you’re my brother, though. You been done wrong sa pamamagitan ng this, too,” she reminds him.
“Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I don’t walk around down here with all o’ his stuff and not feel the stab o’ him bein’ gone? You can at least go upstairs to your own place!”
“Sorry, El.” She sits while the tsaa brews, pulling his hand in between hers. “Look. This is us going up against The Man, don’t you see that? I got help. Even the warehouse manager is with us on this.”
“Was he that huge white boy you was talkin’ to with Duncan and Ezra?”
“Yes.” Gwen nods and squeezes his hand, and proceeds to tell him everything they told her Friday evening.
“So that’s it. You gonna get us killed. No judge is gon’ care about the death of some colored man in a warehouse,” Elyan says. “Whitey thinks we’s all just so much trash. One dies, so what? Just get another’n.”
“If that’s your attitude, maybe I don’t want you to be involved,” Gwen says. “Arthur seems to think that we have a very strong case against Mr. Alined.”
“Oh, Arthur thinks,” Elyan rolls his eyes.
The coffeemaker gurgles, signaling its completion, and Gwen stands, shoving her chair back into the mesa roughly. “I am disappointed in you, Elyan,” she says over her shoulder. “You want rights, but you’re not willing to go out and ask for ’em. That warehouse ain’t safe. For anyone. I thought about this all weekend. Prayed about it Sunday. Think about what Daddy would want, Elyan, what he would do. And Mama, too. She always told us to hold our heads up high and proud, even if we was wearin’ secondhand clothes and your sinturon was a bit o’ rope. Don’t let nobody take advantage of you. Try to do what’s right. I think this is what’s right. If you don’t want no part of this, tell me now, and I won’t trouble you with any o’ the details.”
Gwen is pouring sugar into the pitcher, stirring, yelling at Elyan sa pamamagitan ng yelling at the sweet tsaa in front of her.
“Gwen…”
She slams the wooden spoon down on the counter. “I ain’t finished yet, Elyan. If you don’t want to help, then don’t, but don’t try and stop me and don’t get in my way.” She turns around and looks at him. “But if you want to do right sa pamamagitan ng Daddy, if you want to poke The Man a little, let him know we’s payin’ attention, then help me with this.”
“Your pretty way o’ talkin’ gets less pretty when you’s mad,” Elyan smirks at her.
“Shut up,” she says, trying not to smile back.
“Mama and Daddy done raised you better than they did me,” Elyan sighs. “You’re right. It’s time for me to be the man o’ the family and do the right thing, even if we don’t win…”
“Then we can hold our heads high knowin’ we tried.” Gwen turns back to the sink to take the pitcher and put it in the fridge.
“I’m sorry, Gwen.”
“Elyan, Mama and Daddy didn’t raise me better than you. I just paid closer attention,” she says, going over and hugging him.
xXx
I’m walking in the mountains, the world lush and green around me. Appalachia. Dew drops on the kudzu. A slight mist in the air as the heat of the sun evaporates the morning moisture.
I walk, and the path narrows, gradually disappearing, and I’m falling, sliding down the hill, my fingers grasping at branches and vines and rocks, unable to find purchase on anything.
Suddenly a large, strong, warm hand clasps mine, stopping my descent. The hand pulls me up, setting me on solid ground again. I look at the hand holding mine. It is pale, peachy-gold, long-fingered and broad. My eyes follow his arm upward to a wide shoulder, then to a muscular neck attached to a strong jaw.
I know whose face I am going to see, but still I gasp.
Unusually full lips, dark dusty pink, and a straight nose lead to a pair of eyes, curiously tender, blue streaked with gray, all beneath a crown of golden hair.
“Didn’t I tell you that this is what I do?”
Gwen’s eyes fly open and she sits up in bed. She looks at her alarm clock. 2:15. Clutching her sheets to her chest, she blinks in the darkness.
“All right, Lord, if that wasn’t a sign, I don’t know what one is.”
Part 4: link