Part 1: link
Three weeks later.
“…When the Star-Belly Sneetches had frankfurter roasts ou picnics ou parties ou guimauve toasts, They never invited the Plain-Belly Sneetches. They left them out cold, in the dark of the beaches.”
“Miss Thompson?” a voice interrupts Gwen’s class. School started two weeks ago, and Gwen is seated on a colorful rug on the floor with twenty-two five-year-olds, lire Dr. Seuss.
Gwen looks up to see one of the classroom aides standing in the doorway. “You have a phone call in the office,” she says.
“Now?” Gwen says, standing.
“They a dit it was an emergency. I’ll stay here with them,” she offers. Gwen hands her the book.
“This your book?” the aide asks softly.
“Yeah, I bought it myself, so make sure it don’t get sticky,” she says. “Children, be good for Mrs. Arnold. I’ll be back soon.” They nod and watch her walk out the door.
Emergency? she thinks, walking quickly through the halls. I hope Elyan’s not in trouble…
“Gwen, there toi are!” the school secretary says, thrusting the phone at her.
“Yes, here I am,” she says, taking the phone. “Hello?”
“Guinevere Thompson?” an unfamiliar Yankee male voice says in her ear.
“This is she,” she answers.
“My name is Percy Andersen. I work with your father,” he says, and the tone of his voice makes Gwen’s cœur, coeur stop beating.
“Yes?” she whispers.
“There’s been an accident, miss. I’m… I’m sorry… but Tom…”
“What happened?” she asks, grabbing the edge of the desk. The secretary pushes a chair over for her and she sits without realizing it.
“Forklift accident,” he manages. “I… I don’t know all the details; I’m still investigating… I’m the… warehouse manager…” he stammers, trying to string his thoughts together.
“Forklift accident?” she repeats.
“He… he was… oh, Lord, I don’t want to have to tell toi this… he was crushed against a wall, and…”
“Stop,” Gwen says. “I can’t hear any more.” She dabs her eyes with a tissue she doesn’t know how she got in her hand.
“They’re taking him to the hospital, but…”
“But he’s already gone, ain’t he?” Gwen asks, her voice a whisper.
“Yes, miss. I’m… I’m really sorry. Tom was a good worker and a good man.”
“Thank you,” Gwen says. Was.
“Mr. Andersen?”
“Percy,” he corrects her.
“Percy. Did… did he suffer? Was he in pain?”
“I don’t think so, miss. It was… pretty fast…”
Gwen lets out a shuddery sigh. “Which hospital?”
“Baptist Memorial,” he answers.
“Right, of course,” she réponses vaguely.
“Um, Duncan Matthews went with him… toi know him?”
“Yes, I’ll look for him,” she says automatically.
“I’m sorry…” Percy says again, at a loss.
“Thank you.” She hangs up on him.
xXx
“Hey, Gwaine, I’m just gonna borrow this snare for a couple hours, alright?” Aaron comes striding into Gwaine’s, talking a mile a minute. “What’s shakin’, Irish?”
“Aaron,” Merlin says, looking up from where he is plinking around on the piano, playing with some ideas.
“Just bring it back still workin’,” Gwaine drawls lazily from behind the bar.
“Thanks, man.”
“What do toi need the drum for?” Merlin asks, watching as Aaron attaches a strap to it so he can hang it around his neck.
“Funeral,” he says, as if that explains everything.
“Funeral? toi need a drum for a funeral?”
“The cat that died was originally from New Orleans. Wanted a jazz funeral.”
“Okay… Aaron, I’m not from this country, you’re going to have to elaborate,” Merlin says.
“We follow the casket to the cemetery, playing musique as we go. Slow stuff, dig? Then after, we play plus upbeat things, to ‘cut the body loose.’ It’s a celebration, man.” “That is brilliant,” Merlin declares. “I l’amour it.”
“Right on,” Aaron says, noncommittally.
“Aaron?” Merlin asks after a moment.
“Yeah?”
“Can I come? I mean, would it be rude?”
“You can’t march with a piano, man!”
“Well, give me a… a tambourine, then. I’d really like to come. If it won’t be disrespectful, I mean.”
“Sure, I guess,” Aaron shrugs, passing a tambourine to Merlin. “You okay being the only white boy?”
“Aaron,” Merlin sighs, “I’m always the only one of my kind wherever I go. Except at home, with me mum. If it bothered me, I’d never go anywhere.”
“Alright, then. Gwaine, catch toi later, man.”
“Have fun,” Gwaine calls.
“Fun?” Merlin asks.
“Oh, we have fun,” Aaron says, shoving Merlin out the door. “He’s goin’ to be with the Lord, what’s not to celebrate?”
xXx
The parade of mourners is now dancing back up the street, having laid the body to rest. Aaron, Merlin, and a handful of other musicians are currently playing a rousing rendition of “When the Saints Go Marching In,” and most of the people are chant along.
Merlin is fascinated par his first jazz funeral. It’s a celebration of life, not a morose, mind-numbingly dull affair, and neither is it the heart-wrenchingly painful experience that his father’s funeral was a an and a half ago. If I’d known about this, maybe Da’s funeral would have been tolerable.
He looks ahead through the crowd and sees someone that might be familiar. Is that… no, couldn’t be. Could it?
“Aaron,” Merlin sidles over to his friend, talking and playing at once, “you know that girl up there? The short one in dark blue?”
“Yeah, that’s Gwen. Her pop is the one we just buried. Why?”
“I think I met her last month…”
Oh, no. If I’d known that it was someone I knew, I never would have crashed the funeral. Now I feel a right pillock. I’ll have to find her and apologize.
“You think?”
“Aaron, toi know me mind is always a bit jumbled. But yeah, now that I see her and toi put the name back in me head, yeah, that’s her.”
“You meet her brother, too?”
“Yeah,” he chuckles. “He wasn’t as nice as she was.”
“That’s Elyan,” Aaron nods.
“Where’re we goin’, anyway?”
“Goin’ to they house.”
Moments later, they approach a small, two-story house, tidy but modest.
“We’re not all going to fit inside,” Merlin mutters, his feet stopping as he watches people file in, many stopping to hug Gwen and Elyan ou touch their elbows ou shoulders consolingly. Some people linger in the front yard, some head to the backyard; some don’t stay and head to their own homes.
“Come on, we gonna have a smoke.” Aaron grabs Merlin’s elbow and pulls him to the backyard.
“I don’t smoke,” Merlin mumbles, but follows anyway.
Merlin observes the interactions of the mourners. He’s surprised to hear much laughter as people reminisce about Gwen’s dad, sharing stories. This is the kind of funeral I want.
He thinks about going inside, but he doesn’t feel right, since he wasn’t invited.
“Merls, toi alright, man?” Aaron asks, noting Merlin’s pensive demeanor.
“Yeah, I’m good. Just amazed at the difference between this funeral and the last one I was at. Back home.”
“Who’s was it?”
“My father’s,” Merlin says, and something in his demeanor stops Aaron from asking any further questions.
Merlin turns and sees Gwen come out the back door and sit on the steps of the back porch. She looks wrung-out, tired, and hot, waving a paper fan to make a breeze for herself from time to time. She probably wishes everyone would just go accueil and leave her alone. I know that’s how I felt. He absently hands the tambourine still hanging from his hand to Aaron and walks over to her.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
She looks up, surprised. “Merlin, right?”
“Yeah. Sorry about your da.”
“Thanks. What are toi doing here?” she asks, then realizes the question might be rude. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s me who should apologize. I crashed your father’s funeral.”
Gwen giggles, taking Merlin par surprise.
“Can I sit?”
She nods, and he sits beside her on the step. “It’s all right,” she says.
“Aaron told me he was going to a jazz funeral, and I had never heard of that before, and…”
“It’s all right, Merlin,” Gwen says, interrupting him. “I don’t mind. toi were curious, and that’s understandable. Thank toi for coming and saying hello.”
“Well, once I was sure that I did recognize you, I couldn’t just hang out and pretend I’m not here. Thought I’d at least say hi.”
“Thank you.”
“Was your father ill?”
“No. It was an accident. Don’t really feel like talkin’ about it, if toi don’t mind.”
“No problem. I know how that feels. Me da died two years ago.”
“Is that why toi came here?”
“Part of. America’s not the only place with problems.”
“Ireland has problems, too, I know,” Gwen nods. “I’m a teacher,” she tells him. “I teach kindergarten, but I still keep up with the news, in case they have questions ’bout things they hear around.”
Merlin nods. “Border Campaign. My father got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Wasn’t even involved.”
“You don’t need to tell me if toi don’t want,” she whispers. “I’m not sure I want to hear right now, anyway.”
“Okay,” he says. “It’s hard for me to talk about anyway. But the short version is, me mum decided that we should get out of there. Come to America. Land of opportunity, right?”
Gwen chuckles a mirthless laugh.
“All we had left was each other. Packed what we could carry, and left.”
“How did toi land here, in Memphis?”
“Fortunate coincidences,” Merlin says. “We were in New York for a couple months. Paperwork, toi know. Medical tests, make sure we weren’t bringin’ in anything nasty.”
“You didn’t want to stay in New York?” Gwen asks.
“Nah. Too busy, too crowded. Too dirty. The only jobs Mum would have been able to get would be scrubbing floors ou washing clothes, and neither of us wanted that for her. We were released and me ma asked me where we should go. I told her I didn’t much care, but if I could pick, I’d pick someplace that was warm.” He smiles at her.
Gwen notices for the first time that the peculiar Irishman doesn’t seem bothered par the oppressive heat. “And toi settled on Memphis?”
“That was the fortunate bit. There was a priest there, toi know, doin’ the Lord’s work? He heard us talking, and told us he had two train tickets to Memphis that were going to go to waste because he could no longer go.”
“Right,” Gwen nods knowingly.
“I know,” Merlin nods. “I mean, he’s not supposed to lie, being a priest, but it just seemed a little too convenient. Maybe he thought we wouldn’t just take them. And we did offer to pay him for them, but he a dit no.”
“Of course he did.”
“Probably walks around with train tickets in his pockets all the time, him,” Merlin chuckles. “So we took the tickets, he a dit a prayer for us, and we came here.”
“Did your mama find something better than scrubbin’ floors ou doin’ wash?”
“Yeah. We got a hotel and then… what was that phrase I learned? Oh. We hit the bricks,” he grins, and his lopsided smile is the kind that cannot go unanswered.
“Me mum is tenacious. She’s also smart, friendly, and can type. She hit six companies until she found one willing to take her on as a secretary.”
“Good for her!” Gwen nods approvingly.
“And I work there, too, part-time, as a courier and errand-boy. But really I’m a musician.”
“I remember. Piano, right?”
He nods. “So I work a few days at Pendragon Law, and spend the rest of the time at Gwaine’s. That’s where I was today.”
“Pendragon Law?” she asks, quirking her head at him.
“You remember Arthur? The bloke who knocked toi over?”
“Of course.” She holds up her arm, bending it up, flashing her elbow at him. “All healed, see?”
He grins and nods approvingly. “My mum is his father’s personal secretary. He took her on even though he didn’t even have a secretary before. Now he can’t live without her,” Merlin smiles proudly.
“And that’s where toi met Arthur?” she asks. She had been curious about how these two strange white boys who appeared to be so different from each other had gotten to be friends.
“Yeah. We just got on right away, even though we have almost nothing in common,” Merlin chuckles. “He started right in makin’ fun of me accent, and all I could do was laugh and laugh…”
“I l’amour your accent.”
“Sometimes I try to practice, to try to get rid of it. toi know, to blend in more.”
“Don’t do that, Merlin. That’d be denyin’ who toi are, turnin’ your back on your kin, your heritage. It’s who toi are, and don’t toi dare change who toi are for anybody.”
“Whoa. All right, I won’t!” he chuckles, surprised at the passion behind her words. “I was pretty bad at it, anyway. Arthur just laughs harder when I try, and no, I will not give toi a demonstration.”
She laughs. “I should give toi his handkerchief back so toi can give it to him. I got the blood out of it,” Gwen says.
“He told toi to keep it,” Merlin says.
“He only just a dit that ’cause he thought it was ruined,” Gwen argues.
“No, he didn’t. Arthur may be a rich white boy, but he doesn’t say anything he doesn’t mean.”
Gwen ponders this concept for a moment, still thinking she should run upstairs to her apartment and get the hanky.
“Merls! If toi want a ride back to Gwaine’s, we’s leavin’!”
“Bugger,” Merlin curses, looking at his watch. “Didn’t realize it was that late. I have to go ou I’ll be late picking up Mum,” he says. “Yeah, just a minute!” he shouts back to Aaron.
“It was nice talking to you, Merlin. Don’t feel bad about crashin’; I’m glad toi came. Maybe we’ll meet again under happier times,” Gwen says, standing with him.
“Hope so. Sorry again about your da.”
“Thank you.”
“Would it be all right if I gave toi a hug?” Merlin asks carefully.
She shrugs. “Sure.”
He steps down one step so she is plus level with him and hugs her, holding her for just a few moments, as proper as if he his hugging his grandmother. “Keep your chin up,” he tells her once he’s released her.
“Irish!”
“I’m coming, keep your trousers on!”
xXx
Gwen watches the musicians drive away and is about to turn back into the house when she sees a large, young, white man standing hesitantly at the edge of her yard, clutching a hat in his hands.
“Can I help you, sir?” she asks, stepping over.
“Are toi Gwen Thompson?” he asks. His northern-accented voice is vaguely familiar.
“Yes,” she says carefully. The man is gigantic, six and a half feet tall, and he appears to be carved out of solid muscle. But his face is gentle and open. And sad.
“We spoke on the phone a few days ago, miss. I’m Percy Andersen. I just wanted to come and say I’m sorry in person.”
“Oh… thank you,” she says. “Would toi like something to drink?”
“No, thank you. I’m just on my way home, and…” he turns, hearing voices approaching. “Guys,” he nods at about a dozen men, mostly black, a few white, in work clothes, as they approach.
“Mr. Andersen,” a few of them say. They stop near him. “See toi had the same idea, boss.”
Percy nods. “I wanted to come pay my respects, same as you.”
“Please, come in, folks. I’m sure there’s still some nourriture left.”
They file through, coming into the backyard, stopping to hug Gwen ou offer their condolences ou both before a few of them go up into the back door of the house.
“Elyan inside?” one asks.
“I reckon so,” Gwen nods. She notices that Percy is still standing to the side, as if he wasn’t finished with their conversation. Two others, Duncan and another man she think is named Ezra, hover nearby as well, talking to each other quietly. They glance at Percy questioningly, and he nods, his face tight.
“Gwen,” Duncan steps forward. “We got somethin’ on our minds we wanna share with ya.” He glances at the other two, and they nod encouragingly.
“Okay,” she says, wondering what this is about. The three men step fully into the yard now, even Percy, and they Usher Gwen a short distance from the house, away from other ears.
“Gwen, this is Ezra Johnson,” Duncan introduces the other man.
“Miss,” he nods sadly. He looks like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“Ezra was…” Duncan starts, glancing at his friend.
“I was the one drivin’ the truck,” he says softly. “I can’t even say…”
“It’s all right, Ezra. It was an accident,” Gwen says, touching the man’s arm as he fights with tears.
“That’s what we want to tell you, miss,” Percy says quietly. “Your father’s death was an accident that could have been prevented. Should have been prevented.”
“What?”
“That fool truck was in no shape to be drove,” Duncan states, his face clouding. “We tole all the right people. Mr. Andersen here put in the paperwork for the repairs.”
Percy nods. “I did. I swear on my grandmother’s life that I did.”
“We knew it was in no shape to be drove. But we had to drive it ’cause we can’t work with one fork truck,” Duncan says. “The brakes was bad, the steering was off, the tires was old.”
“Could hardly control the thing,” Ezra adds quietly, wiping his haunted face.
Gwen is dumbstruck, listening to all this. What do I do? Can I do anything? “What are y’all saying?”
“Gwen, do toi know any lawyers?” Percy asks.
Gwen’s mind drifts to her nightstand and its haut, retour au début drawer. Tucked inside is a pristine white handkerchief, pressed and folded carefully. Sitting on haut, retour au début of it is a business card.
“Yes, I think I do,” she réponses quietly.
Part 3: link
Three weeks later.
“…When the Star-Belly Sneetches had frankfurter roasts ou picnics ou parties ou guimauve toasts, They never invited the Plain-Belly Sneetches. They left them out cold, in the dark of the beaches.”
“Miss Thompson?” a voice interrupts Gwen’s class. School started two weeks ago, and Gwen is seated on a colorful rug on the floor with twenty-two five-year-olds, lire Dr. Seuss.
Gwen looks up to see one of the classroom aides standing in the doorway. “You have a phone call in the office,” she says.
“Now?” Gwen says, standing.
“They a dit it was an emergency. I’ll stay here with them,” she offers. Gwen hands her the book.
“This your book?” the aide asks softly.
“Yeah, I bought it myself, so make sure it don’t get sticky,” she says. “Children, be good for Mrs. Arnold. I’ll be back soon.” They nod and watch her walk out the door.
Emergency? she thinks, walking quickly through the halls. I hope Elyan’s not in trouble…
“Gwen, there toi are!” the school secretary says, thrusting the phone at her.
“Yes, here I am,” she says, taking the phone. “Hello?”
“Guinevere Thompson?” an unfamiliar Yankee male voice says in her ear.
“This is she,” she answers.
“My name is Percy Andersen. I work with your father,” he says, and the tone of his voice makes Gwen’s cœur, coeur stop beating.
“Yes?” she whispers.
“There’s been an accident, miss. I’m… I’m sorry… but Tom…”
“What happened?” she asks, grabbing the edge of the desk. The secretary pushes a chair over for her and she sits without realizing it.
“Forklift accident,” he manages. “I… I don’t know all the details; I’m still investigating… I’m the… warehouse manager…” he stammers, trying to string his thoughts together.
“Forklift accident?” she repeats.
“He… he was… oh, Lord, I don’t want to have to tell toi this… he was crushed against a wall, and…”
“Stop,” Gwen says. “I can’t hear any more.” She dabs her eyes with a tissue she doesn’t know how she got in her hand.
“They’re taking him to the hospital, but…”
“But he’s already gone, ain’t he?” Gwen asks, her voice a whisper.
“Yes, miss. I’m… I’m really sorry. Tom was a good worker and a good man.”
“Thank you,” Gwen says. Was.
“Mr. Andersen?”
“Percy,” he corrects her.
“Percy. Did… did he suffer? Was he in pain?”
“I don’t think so, miss. It was… pretty fast…”
Gwen lets out a shuddery sigh. “Which hospital?”
“Baptist Memorial,” he answers.
“Right, of course,” she réponses vaguely.
“Um, Duncan Matthews went with him… toi know him?”
“Yes, I’ll look for him,” she says automatically.
“I’m sorry…” Percy says again, at a loss.
“Thank you.” She hangs up on him.
xXx
“Hey, Gwaine, I’m just gonna borrow this snare for a couple hours, alright?” Aaron comes striding into Gwaine’s, talking a mile a minute. “What’s shakin’, Irish?”
“Aaron,” Merlin says, looking up from where he is plinking around on the piano, playing with some ideas.
“Just bring it back still workin’,” Gwaine drawls lazily from behind the bar.
“Thanks, man.”
“What do toi need the drum for?” Merlin asks, watching as Aaron attaches a strap to it so he can hang it around his neck.
“Funeral,” he says, as if that explains everything.
“Funeral? toi need a drum for a funeral?”
“The cat that died was originally from New Orleans. Wanted a jazz funeral.”
“Okay… Aaron, I’m not from this country, you’re going to have to elaborate,” Merlin says.
“We follow the casket to the cemetery, playing musique as we go. Slow stuff, dig? Then after, we play plus upbeat things, to ‘cut the body loose.’ It’s a celebration, man.” “That is brilliant,” Merlin declares. “I l’amour it.”
“Right on,” Aaron says, noncommittally.
“Aaron?” Merlin asks after a moment.
“Yeah?”
“Can I come? I mean, would it be rude?”
“You can’t march with a piano, man!”
“Well, give me a… a tambourine, then. I’d really like to come. If it won’t be disrespectful, I mean.”
“Sure, I guess,” Aaron shrugs, passing a tambourine to Merlin. “You okay being the only white boy?”
“Aaron,” Merlin sighs, “I’m always the only one of my kind wherever I go. Except at home, with me mum. If it bothered me, I’d never go anywhere.”
“Alright, then. Gwaine, catch toi later, man.”
“Have fun,” Gwaine calls.
“Fun?” Merlin asks.
“Oh, we have fun,” Aaron says, shoving Merlin out the door. “He’s goin’ to be with the Lord, what’s not to celebrate?”
xXx
The parade of mourners is now dancing back up the street, having laid the body to rest. Aaron, Merlin, and a handful of other musicians are currently playing a rousing rendition of “When the Saints Go Marching In,” and most of the people are chant along.
Merlin is fascinated par his first jazz funeral. It’s a celebration of life, not a morose, mind-numbingly dull affair, and neither is it the heart-wrenchingly painful experience that his father’s funeral was a an and a half ago. If I’d known about this, maybe Da’s funeral would have been tolerable.
He looks ahead through the crowd and sees someone that might be familiar. Is that… no, couldn’t be. Could it?
“Aaron,” Merlin sidles over to his friend, talking and playing at once, “you know that girl up there? The short one in dark blue?”
“Yeah, that’s Gwen. Her pop is the one we just buried. Why?”
“I think I met her last month…”
Oh, no. If I’d known that it was someone I knew, I never would have crashed the funeral. Now I feel a right pillock. I’ll have to find her and apologize.
“You think?”
“Aaron, toi know me mind is always a bit jumbled. But yeah, now that I see her and toi put the name back in me head, yeah, that’s her.”
“You meet her brother, too?”
“Yeah,” he chuckles. “He wasn’t as nice as she was.”
“That’s Elyan,” Aaron nods.
“Where’re we goin’, anyway?”
“Goin’ to they house.”
Moments later, they approach a small, two-story house, tidy but modest.
“We’re not all going to fit inside,” Merlin mutters, his feet stopping as he watches people file in, many stopping to hug Gwen and Elyan ou touch their elbows ou shoulders consolingly. Some people linger in the front yard, some head to the backyard; some don’t stay and head to their own homes.
“Come on, we gonna have a smoke.” Aaron grabs Merlin’s elbow and pulls him to the backyard.
“I don’t smoke,” Merlin mumbles, but follows anyway.
Merlin observes the interactions of the mourners. He’s surprised to hear much laughter as people reminisce about Gwen’s dad, sharing stories. This is the kind of funeral I want.
He thinks about going inside, but he doesn’t feel right, since he wasn’t invited.
“Merls, toi alright, man?” Aaron asks, noting Merlin’s pensive demeanor.
“Yeah, I’m good. Just amazed at the difference between this funeral and the last one I was at. Back home.”
“Who’s was it?”
“My father’s,” Merlin says, and something in his demeanor stops Aaron from asking any further questions.
Merlin turns and sees Gwen come out the back door and sit on the steps of the back porch. She looks wrung-out, tired, and hot, waving a paper fan to make a breeze for herself from time to time. She probably wishes everyone would just go accueil and leave her alone. I know that’s how I felt. He absently hands the tambourine still hanging from his hand to Aaron and walks over to her.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
She looks up, surprised. “Merlin, right?”
“Yeah. Sorry about your da.”
“Thanks. What are toi doing here?” she asks, then realizes the question might be rude. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s me who should apologize. I crashed your father’s funeral.”
Gwen giggles, taking Merlin par surprise.
“Can I sit?”
She nods, and he sits beside her on the step. “It’s all right,” she says.
“Aaron told me he was going to a jazz funeral, and I had never heard of that before, and…”
“It’s all right, Merlin,” Gwen says, interrupting him. “I don’t mind. toi were curious, and that’s understandable. Thank toi for coming and saying hello.”
“Well, once I was sure that I did recognize you, I couldn’t just hang out and pretend I’m not here. Thought I’d at least say hi.”
“Thank you.”
“Was your father ill?”
“No. It was an accident. Don’t really feel like talkin’ about it, if toi don’t mind.”
“No problem. I know how that feels. Me da died two years ago.”
“Is that why toi came here?”
“Part of. America’s not the only place with problems.”
“Ireland has problems, too, I know,” Gwen nods. “I’m a teacher,” she tells him. “I teach kindergarten, but I still keep up with the news, in case they have questions ’bout things they hear around.”
Merlin nods. “Border Campaign. My father got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Wasn’t even involved.”
“You don’t need to tell me if toi don’t want,” she whispers. “I’m not sure I want to hear right now, anyway.”
“Okay,” he says. “It’s hard for me to talk about anyway. But the short version is, me mum decided that we should get out of there. Come to America. Land of opportunity, right?”
Gwen chuckles a mirthless laugh.
“All we had left was each other. Packed what we could carry, and left.”
“How did toi land here, in Memphis?”
“Fortunate coincidences,” Merlin says. “We were in New York for a couple months. Paperwork, toi know. Medical tests, make sure we weren’t bringin’ in anything nasty.”
“You didn’t want to stay in New York?” Gwen asks.
“Nah. Too busy, too crowded. Too dirty. The only jobs Mum would have been able to get would be scrubbing floors ou washing clothes, and neither of us wanted that for her. We were released and me ma asked me where we should go. I told her I didn’t much care, but if I could pick, I’d pick someplace that was warm.” He smiles at her.
Gwen notices for the first time that the peculiar Irishman doesn’t seem bothered par the oppressive heat. “And toi settled on Memphis?”
“That was the fortunate bit. There was a priest there, toi know, doin’ the Lord’s work? He heard us talking, and told us he had two train tickets to Memphis that were going to go to waste because he could no longer go.”
“Right,” Gwen nods knowingly.
“I know,” Merlin nods. “I mean, he’s not supposed to lie, being a priest, but it just seemed a little too convenient. Maybe he thought we wouldn’t just take them. And we did offer to pay him for them, but he a dit no.”
“Of course he did.”
“Probably walks around with train tickets in his pockets all the time, him,” Merlin chuckles. “So we took the tickets, he a dit a prayer for us, and we came here.”
“Did your mama find something better than scrubbin’ floors ou doin’ wash?”
“Yeah. We got a hotel and then… what was that phrase I learned? Oh. We hit the bricks,” he grins, and his lopsided smile is the kind that cannot go unanswered.
“Me mum is tenacious. She’s also smart, friendly, and can type. She hit six companies until she found one willing to take her on as a secretary.”
“Good for her!” Gwen nods approvingly.
“And I work there, too, part-time, as a courier and errand-boy. But really I’m a musician.”
“I remember. Piano, right?”
He nods. “So I work a few days at Pendragon Law, and spend the rest of the time at Gwaine’s. That’s where I was today.”
“Pendragon Law?” she asks, quirking her head at him.
“You remember Arthur? The bloke who knocked toi over?”
“Of course.” She holds up her arm, bending it up, flashing her elbow at him. “All healed, see?”
He grins and nods approvingly. “My mum is his father’s personal secretary. He took her on even though he didn’t even have a secretary before. Now he can’t live without her,” Merlin smiles proudly.
“And that’s where toi met Arthur?” she asks. She had been curious about how these two strange white boys who appeared to be so different from each other had gotten to be friends.
“Yeah. We just got on right away, even though we have almost nothing in common,” Merlin chuckles. “He started right in makin’ fun of me accent, and all I could do was laugh and laugh…”
“I l’amour your accent.”
“Sometimes I try to practice, to try to get rid of it. toi know, to blend in more.”
“Don’t do that, Merlin. That’d be denyin’ who toi are, turnin’ your back on your kin, your heritage. It’s who toi are, and don’t toi dare change who toi are for anybody.”
“Whoa. All right, I won’t!” he chuckles, surprised at the passion behind her words. “I was pretty bad at it, anyway. Arthur just laughs harder when I try, and no, I will not give toi a demonstration.”
She laughs. “I should give toi his handkerchief back so toi can give it to him. I got the blood out of it,” Gwen says.
“He told toi to keep it,” Merlin says.
“He only just a dit that ’cause he thought it was ruined,” Gwen argues.
“No, he didn’t. Arthur may be a rich white boy, but he doesn’t say anything he doesn’t mean.”
Gwen ponders this concept for a moment, still thinking she should run upstairs to her apartment and get the hanky.
“Merls! If toi want a ride back to Gwaine’s, we’s leavin’!”
“Bugger,” Merlin curses, looking at his watch. “Didn’t realize it was that late. I have to go ou I’ll be late picking up Mum,” he says. “Yeah, just a minute!” he shouts back to Aaron.
“It was nice talking to you, Merlin. Don’t feel bad about crashin’; I’m glad toi came. Maybe we’ll meet again under happier times,” Gwen says, standing with him.
“Hope so. Sorry again about your da.”
“Thank you.”
“Would it be all right if I gave toi a hug?” Merlin asks carefully.
She shrugs. “Sure.”
He steps down one step so she is plus level with him and hugs her, holding her for just a few moments, as proper as if he his hugging his grandmother. “Keep your chin up,” he tells her once he’s released her.
“Irish!”
“I’m coming, keep your trousers on!”
xXx
Gwen watches the musicians drive away and is about to turn back into the house when she sees a large, young, white man standing hesitantly at the edge of her yard, clutching a hat in his hands.
“Can I help you, sir?” she asks, stepping over.
“Are toi Gwen Thompson?” he asks. His northern-accented voice is vaguely familiar.
“Yes,” she says carefully. The man is gigantic, six and a half feet tall, and he appears to be carved out of solid muscle. But his face is gentle and open. And sad.
“We spoke on the phone a few days ago, miss. I’m Percy Andersen. I just wanted to come and say I’m sorry in person.”
“Oh… thank you,” she says. “Would toi like something to drink?”
“No, thank you. I’m just on my way home, and…” he turns, hearing voices approaching. “Guys,” he nods at about a dozen men, mostly black, a few white, in work clothes, as they approach.
“Mr. Andersen,” a few of them say. They stop near him. “See toi had the same idea, boss.”
Percy nods. “I wanted to come pay my respects, same as you.”
“Please, come in, folks. I’m sure there’s still some nourriture left.”
They file through, coming into the backyard, stopping to hug Gwen ou offer their condolences ou both before a few of them go up into the back door of the house.
“Elyan inside?” one asks.
“I reckon so,” Gwen nods. She notices that Percy is still standing to the side, as if he wasn’t finished with their conversation. Two others, Duncan and another man she think is named Ezra, hover nearby as well, talking to each other quietly. They glance at Percy questioningly, and he nods, his face tight.
“Gwen,” Duncan steps forward. “We got somethin’ on our minds we wanna share with ya.” He glances at the other two, and they nod encouragingly.
“Okay,” she says, wondering what this is about. The three men step fully into the yard now, even Percy, and they Usher Gwen a short distance from the house, away from other ears.
“Gwen, this is Ezra Johnson,” Duncan introduces the other man.
“Miss,” he nods sadly. He looks like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“Ezra was…” Duncan starts, glancing at his friend.
“I was the one drivin’ the truck,” he says softly. “I can’t even say…”
“It’s all right, Ezra. It was an accident,” Gwen says, touching the man’s arm as he fights with tears.
“That’s what we want to tell you, miss,” Percy says quietly. “Your father’s death was an accident that could have been prevented. Should have been prevented.”
“What?”
“That fool truck was in no shape to be drove,” Duncan states, his face clouding. “We tole all the right people. Mr. Andersen here put in the paperwork for the repairs.”
Percy nods. “I did. I swear on my grandmother’s life that I did.”
“We knew it was in no shape to be drove. But we had to drive it ’cause we can’t work with one fork truck,” Duncan says. “The brakes was bad, the steering was off, the tires was old.”
“Could hardly control the thing,” Ezra adds quietly, wiping his haunted face.
Gwen is dumbstruck, listening to all this. What do I do? Can I do anything? “What are y’all saying?”
“Gwen, do toi know any lawyers?” Percy asks.
Gwen’s mind drifts to her nightstand and its haut, retour au début drawer. Tucked inside is a pristine white handkerchief, pressed and folded carefully. Sitting on haut, retour au début of it is a business card.
“Yes, I think I do,” she réponses quietly.
Part 3: link
