Page 117 of Reckoning

Tate’s head came up and wilted her with a stare.

She flew off the gazebo like she’d been lit on fire, and so it continued until they were done.

The preacher shook hands with Tate and left. His job was done, but Tate’s was just beginning. He walked to the steps of the gazebo.

“You’ve paid the price I asked. Only the people who have lost things or people can stay. There will be no audience to hear their requests. It’s easier for me if you have an object that belongs to whoever is missing, or a photo of them. Just line yourselves up and stay back from the steps until I’ve finished with each of you, and my wife will tell you when it’s time to approach. If there is a search party that needs to assemble after what you’ve been told, that is your responsibility.”

A slight gasp ran through the audience as they realized Tate and Briar were married.

The first people in line were a young couple carrying a baseball bat. They sat down beside him on the bench and handed the bat to Tate. Within seconds, he knew the child was dead. He could see the body caught in a morass of flood debris and a stop sign wedged behind the body. He saw a two-story house through the trees in the distance. The house had two chimneys.

Before he spoke the father began to cry. “We know he’s dead somewhere, but we need to find him and bury him.”

The relief of not having to break the news was a relief. “I’m sorry for your loss,” Tate said. “I can see where he is. Do you know of a big white two-story house a couple of miles from here, down the south side of the river? It has two chimneys, one at each end of the house?”

“Yes, yes! I know where that is,” his father said.

“Your son’s body is caught in the river in a pile of debris there. It’s wedged behind a big red stop sign and among a pile of branches.”

They broke down sobbing, thanking him as he returned the bat.

The next person stepped up holding a photo. “This is my granny. She washed away when the river swelled. We’ve been all up and down the river and can’t find her anywhere.”

He paused and closed his eyes. “Her body is inside the floating shell of a yellow house. The house has a green roof, and all the windows and doors are broken or missing. Find the house, and you’ll find her.”

One after another the people come, their tears falling as they told their story and what they’d lost. One hour passed into the second, and into the third, and Tate was speaking slower now as the weight of their sorrow broke his heart again and again.

Briar saw the struggle and called a halt.

“We’re going to take a five-minute break so Tate can catch his breath. Please bear with him,” she said, as Andy Sharp came running across the grass.

“For Tate,” he said, and handed her a cold Pepsi and a Hershey bar. One look at Tate’s face hurt his heart. He walked away with his head down.

Tate was waiting for the next question. All he wanted was to sleep, and then suddenly Briar was standing between him and the line of people, holding the cold pop and candy bar.

He frowned. “Where—?”

“Andy Sparks brought it.”

He popped the tab on the can and took a long drink, ate the candy until it was gone, and finished off the drink.

Briar cupped the side of his face. “I would take your pain if I could. Are you ready?”

He nodded, and the next person up was a woman in tears, telling her story and handing Tate a photo.

“This is my husband, Lennie. I ain’t seen him in five days. He left the house to go fishing and never came back. I know the river took him. Can you tell me where he is, Mr. Tate?”

Tate looked at the picture and tried not to smile. “I have good news and not-so-good news. Lennie isn’t dead, but he also didn’t go fishing. He told you a lie, and whatever he was doing, he got arrested. He’s in the county jail.”

She leaped up. “Thank you! Oh Lord, thank you. My Lennie isn’t dead. But I’m gonna kill him after I bail him out of jail.”

Briar couldn’t hear what was being said, but it sounded like good news, and she waved the next one up, then smiled at the last woman who’d been waiting in line. “Not much longer now,” she said.

The older woman who walked up to Tate was holding an old, hand-carved pipe in her hands. “This here pipe belongs to my man, Henry. He went to get our monthly groceries a week ago and never came home. My heart tells me he’s gone, but I need to find him.”

She laid it gently in Tate’s palm, and he saw the answer as his fingers curled around it. “He’s not dead, ma’am. Some people found him wandering. He was wet and muddy, didn’t have any ID, but he had a head wound and didn’t remember his name. Your Henry is in a nursing home in the next county.”

The old woman gasped and then started crying, “Praise God. My sweet man is alive!”