This message could have been directed to any soul in the congregation, but I knew it was for me and me only. Pa begging me to beg God to heal us. Behind Pa’s blank expression he wasn’t just crying out to God but screaming for help. I knew it and he knew it.

Chapter 12: FALLING

November 1986

Autumn had sashayed into Magnolia’s town square, spreading its decor everywhere —pumpkins, gourds, maple tree leaves. The aroma of apple cider, popcorn, and smoked meats on the cast-iron grills added to the festivities of the town and today’s fall festival. For a chilly fall day, Magnolia was lively and in a celebratory mood. A Southern rock band crooned from the steps of the courthouse at the northern end of the square while a chorus of giggles and squeals from children rang out from every direction.

Situated near the middle of the square with other vendors, I spent the day working the Nolia Farms booth with Foxy. It gave me a clear view of the game booths on the other side of the grassy square, making it easy to keep an eye on both sets of twins as they played and explored. Sadly, it had also given me another view I had no desire seeing. A view that had started during the midmorning parade, where the mayor’s family joined the Fitzgeralds on the Magnolia City Council float to lead the procession around town. Malorie Fitzgerald had planted herself beside Vance on the front of the float and had remained planted by his side for most of the day’s festivities. With Malorie dressed in a fur-trimmed jacket and brown leather heeled boots and Vance in dark-washed jeans and a plaid jacket, they were a vision of youthful class. The perfect match, really, and it turned my stomach so sour that I couldn’t even enjoy the caramel-and-chocolate–dipped apple Miss Wise had Raleigh bring to me earlier.

The normally reclusive lady was actually participating in the festival, manning the bobbing for apples game. Once a kid snagged an apple, Miss Wise would dry it off and dip it in the kid’s choice of deliciousness. Vats of buttery caramel, melted chocolate, and cherry-flavored coating that reminded me of those red suckers the bank teller gave out to the young’uns when I stopped in the bank to make a deposit. Not surprisingly, Miss Wise was the most popular woman of the day.

“We’re out of blackberry jam,” I informed Foxy after placing the last jar in a brown bag for the customer.

“Did you check the back of the truck? There are a few more crates last I saw.” Foxy looked around our booth as if some would magically appear.