"Ain't he a little old to have his temper raised toward a young girl?" Jefferson Fleetwood, seething in a low chair farthest from the lamplight, interrupted. "I don't call that temper. I call it illegal. "
"Well, at that particular moment, he was way out of line. "
"Beg your pardon, Reverend. Arnette is fifteen. " Jeff looked steadily into K. D.'s eyes.
"That's right," said Fleet. "She ain't been hit since she was two years old."
"That may be the problem." Steward, known for inflammatory speech, had been cautioned by Deek to keep his mouth shut and let him, the subtle one, do the talking. Now his words blew Jeff out of his chair.
"Don't you come in my house dirt-mouthing my family!"
"Your house?" Steward looked from Jeff to Arnold Fleetwood. "You heard me! Papa, I think we better call this meeting off before somebody gets hurt!"
"You right," said Fleet. "This is my child we talking about. My child!"
Only Jeff was standing, but now Misner rose. "Gentlemen. Whoa!" He held up his hands and, towering over the seated men, put to good use his sermon-making voice. "We are men here; men of God. You going to put God's work in the gutter?"
K. D. saw Steward struggling with the need to spit and stood up also. "Look here," he said. "I'm sorry. I am. I'd take it back if I could."
"Done is done, friends." Misner lowered his hands.
K. D. continued. "I respect your daughter-"
"Since when?" Jeff asked him.
"I always respected her. From when she was that high. " K. D. lev — eled his hand around his waist. "Ask anybody. Ask her girlfriend, Billie Delia. Billie Delia will tell you that."
The effect of the genius stroke was immediate. The Morgan uncles held in their smiles, while the Fleetwoods, father and son, bristled. Billie Delia was the fastest girl in town and speeding up by the second.
"This ain't about no Billie Delia," said Jeff. "This is about what you did to my baby sister."
"Wait a minute," said Misner. "Maybe we could get a better fix, K. D., if you could tell us why you did it. Why? What happened? Were you drinking? Did she aggravate you somehow?" He expected this forthright question to open up a space for honesty, where the men could stop playing bear and come to terms. The sudden quiet that followed surprised him. Steward and Deek both cleared their sinuses at the same time. Arnold Fleetwood stared at his shoes. Something, Misner guessed, was askew. In that awkward silence they could hear above their heads the light click of heels: the women pacing, servicing, fetching, feeding-whatever it took to save the children who could not save themselves.
"We don't care about why," said Jeff. "What I want to know is what you going to do about it?" He shot his forefinger into the chair arm on the word "do."
Deek leaned back and spread his thighs wider, as though to welcome territory that naturally belonged to him. "What you have in mind?" he asked.
"First off, apologize," said Fleet.
"I just did," said K. D.
"Not to me. To her. To her!"
"Yes, sir," said K. D. "I will."
"All right," Deek said. "That's first. What's second?"
Jeff answered. "You better never lay your hand on her again."
"I won't lay a thing on her, sir."
"Is there a third?" asked Deek.
"We need to know he means it," said Fleet. "Some sign it's meant."
"Sign?" Deek managed to look puzzled.
"My sister's reputation is messed up, ain't it?"
"Uh huh. I can see that."
"Nothing can fix that, can it?" Jeff's question combined defiance and inquiry.
Deek leaned forward. "Well, I don't know. Hear she's going to college.
That'll put all this behind her. Maybe we can help out some."
Jeff grunted. "I don't know about that." He looked at his father.
"What do you think, Papa? Would that…?"
"Have to ask her mother. She's hit by this too, you know. Hit worse'n I am, maybe."
"Well," said Deek, "whyn't you talk it over with her, then? If she's agreeable, stop by the bank. Tomorrow."
Fleet scratched his jaw. "Can't make any promises. Mable is a mighty proud woman. Mighty proud."
Deek nodded. "Got a reason to be, daughter going to college and all. We don't want anything to stand in the way of that. Credit to the town."
"When that school start up, Fleet?" Steward cocked his head.
"August, I believe."
"She be ready then?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well," Steward answered. "August's a long way off. This here is May. She might change her mind. Decide to stay on."
"I'm her father. I'll arrange her mind."
"Right," said Steward.
"Settled then?" Deek asked.
"Like I say. Have to talk to her mother."
"Of course."
"She's the key. My wife's the key."
Deek smiled outright for the first time that evening. "Women always the key, God bless 'em."
Reverend Misner sighed as though breathable air were available again. "God's love is in this house," he said. "I feel it every time I come here. Every time." He looked toward the ceiling while Jefferson Fleetwood stared at him with stricken eyes. "We treasure His strength but we mustn't ignore His love. That's what keeps us strong. Gentlemen. Brothers. Let us pray."
They bowed their heads and listened obediently to Misner's beautifully put words and the tippy-tap steps of women who were nowhere in sight.
The next morning Reverend Misner was surprised by how well he had slept. The meeting with the Morgans and Fleetwoods the previous night had made him uneasy. There was a grizzly bear in Fleetwood's living room-quiet, invisible, but making deft movement impossible. Upstairs he'd made the women laugh-well, Mable anyway. Sweetie smiled but clearly didn't enjoy his banter. Her eye was ever on her children.
A slide. A lean. A suck of air-she bent over a crib and made quick, practiced adjustments. But her expression was mildly patronizing as if to say what could there be to amuse her and why would he try? She acquiesced when he asked her to join him in prayer. Bowed her head, closed her eyes, but when she faced him with a quiet "Amen," he felt as though his relationship with the God he spoke to was vague or too new, while hers was superior, ancient and completely sealed.
He had better luck with Mable Fleetwood, who was delighted enough with his visit to prolong their conversation unnecessarily. Downstairs the men he had assembled, after learning what had happened at the Oven, waited-as did the grizzly.
Misner fought his pillow for a moment and convinced himself that the ending was satisfactory. Tempers banked, a resolution surfaced, peace declared. At least he hoped so. The Morgans always seemed to be having a second conversation-an unheard dialogue right next to the one they spoke aloud. They performed as one man, but something in Deek's manner made Misner wonder if he wasn't covering for his brother-propping him the way you would a slow-learning child. Arnold's air of affront was coy: a formula everyone expected but knew had no weight. Jefferson's skin was thin as gauze. But it was K. D. who irritated Misner most. Too quick to please. An oily apology. A devious smile. Misner despised males who hit women-and a fifteen-year-old? What did K. D. think he was doing? His relation to Deek and Steward protected him, of course, but it was hard to like a man who relied on that. Servile to his uncles; brutal with females. Then, later that evening, as Misner warmed up the fried steak and potatoes Anna Flood had brought him for his supper, he had looked out of his window and seen K. D. speeding down Central in Steward's Impala. Smiling-he'd bet on it-his devious smile.
Such nagging thoughts he believed would keep him awake most of the night, but in the morning he woke as if from the sweetest of sleeps. Anna's food, he supposed. Still, he wondered, what had K. D. been zooming to on the road out of town?