A House Divided - Johnny's Journey Chapter 35, an emergency fanfic

Chapter 35

Johnny eased to a stop at the entrance to LAX, helping Iris and Lily out of the Rover and setting their luggage beside them.

"Do you want to leave your bag with us?" Lily asked.

"Nah, I'll just carry it," he replied, stepping back around to the driver's side. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

He pulled back into the line of traffic and quickly found an empty parking spot. He exited the vehicle and with his aviator sunglasses covering his bloodshot eyes, he withdrew his bags from the rear seat. The early morning breeze sent tufts of dark hair in a variety of directions as he walked towards the entrance. He hadn't slept well the night before. His face contorted in a yawn as he removed his sunglasses, pocketing them in his flannel shirt while makinghis way towards the check-in line. In just 48 hours he would be returning to Los Angeles with this whole ordeal behind him – at least, that was what he was hoping.

As the line moved forward, a tall slender man with streaks of gray interspersed in his dark hair made Johnny's breath hitch. The tanned leather jacket the older man wore reminded him of the one his father had always worn when Johnny was growing up on the reservation. The stranger turned sideways, locking eyes with Johnny and dipping his head in a silent greeting before walking away. Johnny couldn't help but allow his gaze to follow the departing man. Had the deposition not been scheduled for tomorrow, Johnny might well be at the airport today picking up his parents. That thought sent a mixture of sorrow and dread into his heart. He missed his family terribly, but being apart meant that he didn't have to see the disappointment on his father's face. How could he ever face Roddy Gage again, now that he knew the truth about why Johnny had fled Montana?

"May I help you, sir?"

Johnny looked up, seeing the pleasant face of a young woman with a bright smile, and for just a few minutes, while he waited for his boarding pass, he was able to focus on something other than what was waiting for him in Selma.

In the Lopez home, Beverly snuggled deeper within the comfort of the soft mattress and fluffy handmade quilt. She drifted somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, smiling gently as she thought of Marco. His presence seemed so real to her that she could even smell his aftershave. Suddenly, a feather-soft kiss on her forehead caused her eyes to flutter open.

"Sorry, baby… I thought I could kiss you good-bye without waking you."

"Marco?" Beverly questioned in a husky voice, unsure if she was really awake.

"Yes, it's me… I just wanted to check on you before I left for the station. How do you feel?"

Beverly pushed herself into a sitting position, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, wincing. "Sore."

"Yea, you're going to be sore for a few days. That was quite a fall you took," he said, brushing her mussed up hair away from her face. "Mama has breakfast ready for you whenever you get up, but there's no rush at all. You need all the sleep you can get."

"Mrs. Lopez has been so sweet to me… You all have."

Maria was walking in the door with a fresh glass of cool water for Beverly's bedside. "That's Mama Lopez, Beverly; you're family," she said, setting the glass on the nightstand. She leaned over, offering her son a kiss on his cheek. "I have fruit, banana muffins, and scrambled eggs for breakfast, when you get up." She wagged her finger playfully at the younger woman. "But like Marco said, there's no rush."

"Aunt Bev?"

The adults looked at the door to see Antonio's curious face leaning through the opening.

"Yes?" Beverly responded, not questioning the youngster's term of endearment.

"How ya feeling?"

"I'm much better, thank you," she said, grinning back at him.

"Love you, bye," he said, scurrying down the hallway in search of his favorite morning television program.

The adults laughed at Antonio's antics.

"Aunt?" Beverly questioned.

"Hey, the kid has good taste," Marco responded.

"I'll leave you two alone," Mrs. Lopez said, backing out of the room and closing the door behind her.

"Thank you, Marco," Beverly said, reaching for his hand. "For… everything…. But especially for a second chance."

Marco gave her a flirtatious wink. "I haven't given you a second chance, yet," he said, thinking of how he wanted to propose next time. "But I will." He kissed her forehead before walking towards the door.

"Have a safe shift," she said, offering him a warm smile. As soon as he had left the room, she exhaled loudly. 'When you do decide to give me a second chance… the answer will be yes,' she thought to herself.

Johnny leaned his head against the window of the airplane, gazing at the fluffy clouds below. He wondered if this was like the view an eagle might see as it soared above the earth, carefree and strong. His mind took him back to his childhood, to a time when he was about five years old. His father had taken him for an overnight camping trip along the edge of the river that formed the western-most border of the reservation. The trip was a teaching moment, a time designed to introduce the youngster to the history of his people and the world of spirit guides.

Johnny recalled how his father had painstakingly spent time teaching him how to gather wood and build a fire pit that was safe. He taught him how to depend on the land for sustenance, and how to look and listen for signs of his spirit guide. It was the first of many such educational trips for Johnny. He assumed it was one of the reasons why his love of camping had endured into his adulthood. It was his way of connecting with his past, of reminding himself of where he had come from, and continuing to connect with his spirit guide for wisdom and perhaps forgiveness for his failures.

On many of the camping trips, Johnny and his father found bear tracks, and often would see a bear in the distance. While this should have evoked fear in the child, instead it gave him a sense of peace, knowing instinctively that the bear was making its presence known as a way of communicating with him, offering protection from the dangers of the forest night. That's when Johnny had decided that the bear must be his spirit guide, although his father hadn't seemed so sure. The bear represented strength and instinct. It stood for courage, power, healing, and guardianship of the world. It was a watcher and Johnny knew that the bear had led him into his chosen profession. In fact, Johnny was so certain of it, that he had chosen to place a bear poster in his locker at the station. It gave him that same sense of protection, even though the image was that of a cartoon. Smokey the Bear had been a part of Johnny's life since he had joined the department, but the bear had been more than just a symbol of the fire service.

As Johnny continued peering out of the window, he thought of all the items he had collected on those outings. Over the years, he had amassed quite a collection of unique rocks, bones, and even eagle feathers. He smiled wistfully as he recalled his father retrieving the first feather from the river as it floated past them. That was when Johnny had decided that the eagle must be his father's spirit guide. The eagle represented a connection to the creator. It was an intelligent healer, full of courage, and representing freedom and risk-taking. He looked down once more at the clouds overlapping each other as they floated between mountain peaks, and he could almost imagine them whispering to the eagle as it flew between the treetops. Yes, the eagle was definitely his father's spirit guide, looking down at the world below… looking down at the bear… looking down at him.

Johnny inhaled deeply, regretting the direction his thoughts were taking him. His father must surely be looking down on him now – now that he knew the truth about his son. Johnny knew that he would one day have to face the man he respected and loved more than anyone else in the world, but it had always been easier to put off the confrontation he knew was inevitable. His heart ached at the thought of disappointing his father. All he wanted to do was to make his father proud of him. And no matter what Iris believed, Johnny knew the truth. His father was not only disappointed in him, but was ashamed to even call Johnny his son. After all the years of teachings, and all the time and effort Roddy had put into raising his son to be strong and proud of his heritage, Johnny had let him down – he had let all of his people down.

Johnny pinched the bridge of his nose, squinting as the sun shone brightly on the eastern horizon. Slowly he lowered the shade, rubbing his fingers across his forehead as he leaned his head against the headrest and closed his eyes.

"Headache?" Lily asked, closing the book she had been reading.

"Yea… a little one," he said, knowing it was easier to agree with her assumption than to explain the real reason for his pain.

"I've got a couple of aspirin in my purse," Iris responded, leaning down in search of the bag beneath the seat in front of her.

Johnny raised his palm in her direction. "I'm okay; I'll just get some water when the stewardess comes by."

Lily gently reached over, tucking her smaller hand beneath his, offering him her presence as a comfort. "This will all be over soon, Johnny, and we'll be heading back to LA wondering why we were so worried about it in the first place."

Johnny squeezed her hand, appreciating the gesture and her remarks, but he wasn't as certain as she seemed to be.

At 51's, the squad had been called out immediately after roll call, but the engine crew had not been needed on the run. Mike and Marco were hanging hose behind the station, giving both men a chance to talk about the events of the previous shift.

"How's she doing, Marco?" Mike asked, knowing he didn't need to call Beverly by name.

Marco hesitated on the bottom rung as he descended the hose tower. "I stayed at Mama's house last night so I could help with her if she needed me. This morning she seemed to be feeling better. She had a good night, and she's drinking plenty of water."

Mike's compassionate blue eyes looked over at the senior lineman. "That's good to hear, but I'm concerned about more than just her physical health."

Marco sighed, taking the final step onto the ground. "I know… I just really don't know how to answer you. She was…" Marco sighed. "She just seemed so… I don't know… disappointed when she found out that she wasn't pregnant." He ran the back of his hand across his forehead, removing the tiny beads of sweat that were forming from the exertion in spite of the cooler temperatures.

"Maybe she's ready to start a family, even if she doesn't want to admit it," the engineer offered.

"I don't think so." Marco leaned his forearms across the rungs in front of him. "Lexi and I talked about it for a while last night, after Beverly went to bed. Lexi has really good insight, Mike. I mean, it's more than just the fact that she's been… out there," he said, sweeping his hand in the direction of the street. "She really understands human behavior."

Mike wanted to agree with him, but he didn't want to open himself up to questions about his and Lexi's relationship that he wasn't ready to answer, especially not with her older and very protective brother. "So, what did Lexi say about it?"

Marco didn't recognize Mike's deflection, for which the engineer was especially grateful.

"She talked to me about how the girls out there really have nothing to call their own, not even their own bodies, you know? They can't depend on anyone sticking with them, being by their side through thick and thin. I mean, sure the other girls are with them, but not forever. Girls get traded and sold between pimps like worn out furniture at a flea market," Marco said, cringing at his own words. "They can't depend on their pimps for anything other than protection from other pimps, and not much of that. They can't depend on the men who buy their services, and… They can't always depend on the police to help them when they need it. It's why they struggle with trusting other people, especially… us," he said, waving his hand between himself and Mike. "Lexi thinks that deep down, Beverly wanted to be pregnant because the baby would be someone who wouldn't… wouldn't leave her, or… betray her."

"Someone who would love her?" Mike interjected.

Marco's dark eyes looked up at the taller man. "Yes… Yes, I guess so." Marco allowed a slight grin to spread across his face for just a moment. "Sounds like you and Lexi have been having some serious talks, too."

Mike felt the heat of his blush creeping up from his collar, coloring the tips of his ears. "We've, ah… yea, we have. She's opened up to me a little, Marco, and… I just want you to know that… I won't betray her trust."

Marco glanced back down at his feet. He wondered how intimate his friend had become with Lexi, but he knew it was none of his business. Even though Lexi was his baby sister, she was a grown woman, and what the two of them did when they were alone was… He shook his head, this was Mike Stoker he was talking to – his friend and Lexi's rescuer. "Um, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

Mike felt his ears growing hotter. "Sure… go ahead."

"How does Lexi act with you, um, when you, uh, you know… get close to her?"

"Ahem." Mike cleared his throat, stalling for time as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The last thing he wanted to do was lie to his friend, but the next to last thing he wanted to do was get punched in the face by him.

"Aw, Stoker, I'm not asking for the details of your love life, just…, you know, is she scared… of you… as a man?" Marco both wanted to know and yet, didn't want to know about his sister, but Mike was the only other person who might have some idea of what he was going through.

Mike's blue eyes looked directly at his friend, realizing that the question was just as difficult for Marco to ask as it was for Mike to answer. He respected Marco, loved him like a brother, and he needed to be honest with the older man. "Let me put your mind at ease. We haven't… okay?"

Marco looked back down at the ground, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief, but unable to look at his engineer.

"But we have gotten rather… romantic, I'll say, and she's shared a lot of heavy stuff with me. And to answer your question, there's been times when… Yea, I think she was afraid of me. I remember reaching for her face, you know, to brush her hair away from her mouth so I could kiss her goodnight, and… she pulled away from me really fast. She flinched like she thought I was gonna hit her, or something."

"Beverly's done that with me, too."

"They need our love and patience, Marco," he added.

Marco's dark eyes lifted quickly. "Do you? Love her, I mean?"

Mike didn't hesitate, even though the question caught him by surprise. "Yea… I do."

"I'm glad, really glad. I just want her to be happy. She's been through so much," the lineman said, shaking his head.

"I know… and I won't let her down; you have my word. I won't hurt her, at least, not intentionally," Mike added, realizing how upset Beverly had been even though Marco hadn't intended to hurt her, either.

Silence fell between them, neither man really knowing what to say. Marco ran his hand through his hair, deciding to plunge ahead with the uncomfortable conversation. "Um, when you do… you know… Not that I'm rushing you, but… if it happens… She might not… really understand that… that it's not like what she's used to," Marco stammered, hoping Mike would understand what he was trying to convey.

"Yea… we've kinda talked about it a little. Um, was Beverly… was she…," Mike exhaled loudly. "Aww hell, I'll just ask you. Was she uncomfortable with her own, you know, desires?"

Now it was Marco's turn to blush. He snickered for a moment, but felt a sense of relief knowing that Mike was open to the conversation. "Okay, first of all, I'm going to pretend that you aren't dating my sister. But… yes, she was. It was just all about me. I mean, that's great for a few minutes, but when you love someone, it… it isn't all about you… it's mainly about the other person. It was like she didn't know how to be the other half of a real couple. Does that make sense?"

"Perfect sense," the red-faced engineer commented, relieved that what he and Lexi had been discussing seemed to be a common theme with women who had endured what she and Beverly had been through. "She didn't know how to receive love, right? Not just physically, but emotionally, too."

"Right," Marco agreed. "I think they believe they don't deserve it."

Mike patted his friend on the shoulder. "Then it's up to us to convince them that not only do they deserve it, but that it's something that we want to share with them."

"But we're not talking about my baby sister," Marco added, grinning beneath his bushy mustache.

"Oh, of course not," Mike agreed, laughing.

By the time the plane had landed in Atlanta, Johnny was feeling nauseated. Iris noticed how pale he looked when they stood up to exit the plane.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Johnny reached into the overhead compartment, removing their bags. "Yea… I just need to eat a little something. How long is our layover?"

"Two and a half hours," Lily responded, walking ahead of them down the aisle. She looked back over her shoulder. "We'll have plenty of time to grab a burger, or something before we board for Montgomery."

"Mmmhmm," was all Johnny was able to mutter. The closer they got to Selma, the tighter the knots were becoming in his stomach. At the rate he was going, he might not even be able to give his deposition without asking for multiple bathroom breaks and a barf bag.

In spite of the crowds, the three friends were able to find a restaurant with plenty of available seating. As the waitress poured them glasses of water, they perused the menu, each of them choosing a club sandwich instead of a burger.

"I'm not sure my stomach can handle a greasy burger. I better go with something tamer," Johnny said after placing his order.

"It's just a short flight," Iris said, hoping to ease his mind.

"Yea, well, it doesn't take long to throw up," Johnny groused.

Lily sipped her water, turning to Johnny. "All you have to do is tell the truth. That's nothing to get worked up about, Johnny."

"Easy for you to say. You can remember that day," he said, pointing his finger at his own chest. "I can't. How many times do I have to tell you that?"

Lily and Iris exchanged knowing glances. If Johnny was getting this upset about the deposition, how was he going to act when he saw his parents afterwards? Iris hoped she hadn't made another mistake by arranging for the Gages to arrive in Selma tomorrow afternoon.

Johnny ran both hands through his unruly hair. "I'm sorry, Lily. I know you were just tryin' to help me. I didn't mean to jump ya like that."

"It's okay. Stress is bad on everyone. Just remember this - all you're responsible for telling is what you remember. If you can't remember something, then just say so. There's no shame in that."

"But if that sonofa… um… if Waite gets away with murdering Phillip and the priest because I can't remember what I saw, then… I'll never be able to look either of you in the eyes again," he grumbled, reaching for his water.

In Selma, Kizzy trudged along the sidewalk along Broad Street. Her head was pounding, and she knew her blood pressure was elevated. Tomorrow was the next major step in the journey that had begun ten years earlier when her youngest son had died at the hands of murderers. She needed to refill her prescription, and she was determined to talk to the pharmacist, the one she had an unpleasant connection to that only a few people in Selma remembered.

She walked into the drug store, pressing her fingers into her temples when the bells jingled over her head. She pressed her lips into a thin line, making her way slowly down the aisle to the pharmacy counter.

"Hello, Mrs. Campbell. What can I do for you today?" the gray-haired pharmacist asked.

"I need a refill on my blood pressure pills," she replied. "I've got a very 'portant day tomorrow."

Isaac Jones opened his card file, perching his reading glasses on the end of his nose as he thumbed through the third section of the index cards. "It must be a stressful one," the pharmacist stated, pulling the card from the box.

Kizzy looked around, grateful that no one else was in the store at the moment. "Oh it is… My daughter-in-law and my granddaughter are comin' to visit me – goin' with me down to the DA's office."

Isaac's green eyes looked over his reading glasses, his chin dropping slightly as he stared in shock at the older woman. "Is that so…"

"That's right… and we've got us some good evidence, too. The truth's finally gonna come out 'bout what really happened to my Phillip," she said, cryptically.

Isaac focused his attention on filling the prescription, struggling to keep his hands from shaking so much that he dropped the pills. He thought his past had been long ago buried, but now he was hearing that it was about to be resurrected. His heart ached, pounding in his chest. He knew what he needed to do, but did he have the courage to do it? Could he make amends for a mistake he made all those years ago? Or would the biggest mistake of his life haunt him for the remainder of his days? He dropped the pill bottle into the small white bag, stapling it closed then handing it to Kizzy.

"Ch- um, charge it on your account?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yes, sir… I'll pay up on the first day o' the month, like always," she said, accepting the bag, noting how pale the pharmacist had become. "Should I tell my daughter-in-law you said hello?"

Isaac stood staring at her, unable to find his voice. His mind kept vacillating between the present and the past… and everything that had been lost in between. "Um, yea… give both of 'em my, um, my best," he said, struggling to get his words past the lump in his throat.

"Stop by an' visit me if you're ever in my neighborhood," Kizzy offered, knowing that the white pharmacist would never make such a visit. Truthfully, Kizzy felt contempt for the man, but she had no other option for filling her prescriptions. Maybe one day, she would be able to let go of her bitterness for what he had done, but right now, in spite of all her prayers, she still couldn't find it in her heart to forgive the aging pharmacist.

Isaac Jones ran the only pharmacy in town; he delivered medications to the homes of white people, but he refused to enter the black neighborhoods. In his younger days, he often drove through those areas, especially at night with his friends shouting obscenities, but not anymore. Those days were over, but the older people in those neighborhoods had long memories, and he knew he wasn't welcome along their streets. He had done things he wasn't proud of in his younger days, but joining the Ku Klux Klan as a teenager wasn't the worst thing he had done in his life. His most horrific transgression, the worst decision he had ever made, was one that still kept him awake at night, and every time Kizzy Campbell came into his pharmacy, he was reminded that forgiveness was something he didn't deserve, and probably would never receive.

Across the street from Jones' Pharmacy, Lane Wilson pulled his white Cadillac into a parking space beneath a large live oak tree along Broad Street. He waited a moment, watching the long tendrils of the Spanish moss blowing in the late afternoon breeze, feeling as if he were in a horror movie, just waiting for something, or someone to scare him. He took one last look at his watch. He had to time his visit at exactly six o'clock; he couldn't risk anyone overhearing what he had to say. As soon as he saw Isaac flipping his store sign to closed, he stepped out of his car, rushing towards the door of the pharmacy as quickly as his rotund body would carry him.

"Wait… Wait jus' a minute, Isaac," he called out, waving his hand to get the attention of the pharmacist.

Isaac saw the man waving frantically and felt as if he had swallowed a piece of granite. Rising bile burned the back of his throat and for a moment, he thought he might vomit. He had a sinking feeling he knew what the impromptu visit was about.

"May I help you with somthin', Wilson?"

The attorney chuckled to himself as he stepped through the open doorway. He could tell by the way Isaac used only his surname that the pharmacist knew the nature of the visit. He smiled broadly, flicking his hand towards the lock on the door.

"Why don't you go ahead and lock up, and you and I can have us a quick chat. I need a… a favor."

Isaac hesitated at the door, glancing up and down the sidewalk of his store front to see if anyone was watching. Seeing no one suspicious, he turned around and led the attorney down the aisle towards the back of the store. He motioned for Wilson to take a seat at the soda fountain.

"Would ya care for a Coca-Cola?"

"Naw… thanks anyway," the attorney said, removing his hat and combing his thinning hair into place.

"I suppose you'll tell me eventually, but this wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that Campbell case, would it?" Isaac asked, running a damp cloth across the bar. It wasn't dusty, but he needed something for his nervous hands to do.

"Well… as a matter o' fact, it does. Seems that cocky-assed DA wants to stir up some old memories that'd be better left alone. He's got some young fella comin' in tomorrow to give a deposition… says he's the one that took a bunch o' pictures o' the scene that mornin'. Now Bill's face is jus' a little too clear on the pictures so… So I need you… a fine upstandin' member o' the community… to swear under oath that… that Bill was with ya that mornin'."

Isaac felt sick to his stomach. He was being asked to commit perjury. He gulped, pressing his closed fist to his mouth to stifle a cough. "Ahem… And why would I want to do that?"

The smug attorney snickered, scoffing at the pharmacist's question. "Weeelll, I doubt that you'd want the fine folks o' Selma to be reminded about your little secret, now would ya?"

Isaac blanched, grabbing on to the bar between them to maintain himself in a vertical position. He felt the color drain from his face. His former friend was actually willing to resort to blackmail to protect a guilty man.

"I started out here as a delivery boy. I worked my way through college. I've paid my dues, and I've worked hard… damn hard to build up this business," Isaac said, his breath coming in short gasps. His once full head of hair was now thinning and held more gray hair than auburn, but as he stood staring at the image of his former friend, he could almost feel his hair turning completely white. Time and stress had aged him more rapidly than most. He and his wife had lost a lot over the years, and neither of them was getting any younger. If he did what Wilson was demanding of him, it might send his sweet Colleen to an early grave, but if he didn't… He didn't have long to let the 'what ifs' linger in his mind.

"So you have, Jones, so you have… and you wouldn't want to lose your customers, not over a little thing like this, now would ya?"

Isaac wiped his sweaty brow with the damp cloth then threw it angrily into the sink behind him. "This isn't some little thing," he grunted, his back still turned to his uninvited guest. "We're talkin' about murder, damn it!"

"Calm down," the attorney drawled out, knowing he had the other man on the proverbial ropes. "It ain't really murder. The boy jus' got what was comin' to 'im, that's all."

Isaac spun around, his green eyes hard with an anger he hadn't felt in a long time. "That's not true, and you know it. He jus' happened to be the wrong color and crossed your path at the wrong time," he said, pointing a finger at Wilson.

"MY path," Wilson scoffed. "Don't you mean, someone else's path? I mean, after all… I believe Bill and I had gone to do a little early mornin' fishin' with ya, 'member?"

The pharmacist glared his eyes at the attorney. "I will not lie for you… or Waite… Not after what you two did to Father Mitchell and the Campbell boy." Isaac lowered his head, mumbling his response to the previous question. "I do NOT remember the three of us goin' fishin'."

Lane Wilson stood up from the bar stool where he had been sitting. His round face became enflamed with an anger like Isaac hadn't seen in years. "Oh, I 'spect ya do. 'Cause if you don't, then I might be able to find someone else who 'members that it was YOUR wooden skiff that was used to dump a certain someone's body into the river that night."

"You wouldn't dare," Isaac said, feeling a sharp pain cross his upper chest.

"And that's not the worst of it, my friend," Wilson said, turning to walk back down the aisle towards the front door. "I 'spect the DA might jus' love to find out that you had a motive for killin' that Campbell boy... and how that stupid priest tried to intervene and… well, I reckon you had no choice but to take him out, too."

"Damn you to hell, Wilson!" Isaac called out, leaning against the counter as the pain tightened in his chest. He reached for a bottle of aspirin, forcing the top open and tossing a couple of the bitter pills into the back of his throat.

"I'll be seein' ya 'bout ten o'clock in the mornin' at the DA's office," Wilson called out, unlocking the door and waltzing through it, his chest puffed out in arrogance. He knew he would get the charges thrown out tomorrow, betting the entire case on the testimony of one man whom he assumed would want to keep his family secret buried from his customers forever.

Isaac slowly walked around the soda fountain and down the aisle to lock-up for the second time. His breathing was returning to normal, but his heart was pounding out a rhythm like none he had ever experienced. He walked back to the pharmacy area, searching the shelves for something to take, something to relieve the pain in his chest, but knowing that only one thing might relieve the aching of his heart – forgiveness for the biggest mistake of his life.

By the time the plane landed in Montgomery, Johnny was feeling a little better. The meal he had eaten in Atlanta had seemed to settle his stomach more than he had anticipated. He walked behind the Campbell ladies, following the signs to the baggage claim area. As soon as they had retrieved their luggage and obtained the keys to their rental car, he stepped outside into the warm autumn air. It was nearly nightfall and the stars were already starting to appear in the evening sky.

"The sky reminds me of nightfall in the mountains," Lily exclaimed, taking a seat in the back of the sedan.

"Yes, the airport is just far enough away from the city that the lights don't interfere with the stars," her mother responded. "Remember how bright they are at your Grandma Kizzy's house?"

"Mmhm," Lily answered, leaning her head against the back of the seat. "It gets so dark out there at night. There isn't even a streetlight near her house."

"Nope," Johnny finally spoke up, making a left turn as the trio left the Montgomery Regional Airport. "Probably not gonna see a streetlight between here and Selma, either."

"You know what we should do before we head back to LA?"

Johnny turned his head to the side, glancing at Iris sitting in the passenger's seat. "What?"

"We should go take a look around Montgomery. You know, visit the St. Jude campus where the marchers stayed that last night… Go visit Dexter Avenue Baptist Church near the state capital… See the sites while we're here."

Johnny thought about the picture he had taken of Lily and Iris standing on the angled white staircase outside of the terra cotta brick church where the marchers had gathered before their final walk up to the steps of the Alabama Capitolbuilding. Phillips had only been dead for three weeks by the time the successful civil rights march had taken place, but it had been important to Iris to have her daughter present. Lily had been a symbolic proxy for Phillip – seeing the results of his labor, finishing what he had been unable to finish. The two Campbell ladies hadn't been posing for the picture, but he had seen them both looking to their right, watching as the mass of humanity made its way up Dexter Avenue on that historic day. He thought of how poignant it would be to recreate that picture, this time in color. He wished now that he had packed his camera. It was only a cheap camera; one he had purchased at the corner drug store near his apartment. He hadn't taken any pictures with the 35mm camera his parents had bought him since he had gotten to the West Coast. He wondered if Iris still had it, or if the FBI had sent it to Quantico along with the film that had instigated his return to Selma. So much had happened since he had gotten back from Tehachapi that he hadn't even thought about the camera. He would ask her about it when they got back from this trip. Perhaps if the stress of the deposition was behind him, he would feel like taking up his former hobby again. Maybe he would even try his hand at taking a few pictures around the station.

Most of the trip was made in silence; each one thinking about the last time they had traveled through the Black Belt of Alabama, as it was known. As they neared their destination, Iris broke the silence.

"Even though I have a lot of bad memories from this region, I still miss it."

Johnny arched an eyebrow in her direction, even though she couldn't see it in the darkened car. "Why?"

"It's where I grew up, John. I remember my grandparents always had the tastiest vegetable garden. The rich dark soil of the Black Belt makes everything taste so much better… and the flowers along their fence were beautiful…. The butterflies flitting around among the roses in their garden. I think that's where I got my love of flowers. And my Momma always enjoyed watching the hummingbirds zooming through the trumpet vines and-"

Johnny slapped his hand on the steering wheel. "So THAT'S why," he muttered, still staring at the road ahead.

"Why what?" Lily questioned, leaning forward, propping her chin on the back of the bench seat.

"That's why they call it the Black Belt… the soil… it's rich and dark, right?" he asked.

Iris chuckled, thinking she understood what he had been thinking. "Oh, Johnny… Please tell me you didn't think it was because so many colored people live here."

The embarrassed paramedic was grateful that the night hid his crimson face. "Yea… well…"

"Ah-haha!" Iris covered her mouth with her hands, feeling the laughter relieving the tension from her shoulders. "Oh… That is just too funny."

"Well… nobody told me it was because the DIRT was black. What else was I supposed to think?"

Lily chuckled at the innocence of her friend. "You do make a good point, but… You have to understand that the rich soil made the land perfect for growing cotton. Which meant that…," Lily hesitated, not wanting to think about the opposing histories of her parentage.

"That after the Civil War, the freed slaves really had nowhere to go, so they stayed in the area and became sharecroppers," Iris finished for her. History was exactly that – it was in the past.

"Mom… do you think that I have relatives in the area who… who were slaves on Dad's side and…," Lily paused, grateful when her mother finished her sentence for her.

"And slave-owners on mine?" Iris turned slightly to her side, seeing the silhouetted outline of her daughter's profile. "I'd say it's not only possible, it's highly likely, Lily. Both families have a long history of living in this part of Alabama."

Johnny added his thoughts to the touching conversation. "Which is what makes you so perfect. You're the end result of generations of separation and segregation… Which means you're the beginning of the future."

Lily felt the heat rise from her chest, coloring her neck. No one had ever called her perfect before. She wanted to kiss Johnny, to feel his arms holding her close, ensuring her that everything was going to be okay – for both of them. She also knew that he needed her encouragement, as well.

"Look," she said, looking up at the looming structure that rose around the curve, the lights of Selma glowing behind it.

Johnny inhaled deeply. "Looks like we're here," he said, slowing down as he drove the sedan over the Edmund Pettus bridge, grateful for the darkness that obscured his view of the place where he had watched Phillip die.

"We're still a few miles away. The Holiday Inn is on Highland Ave. Continue on Broad Street and then we'll turn right," Iris instructed.

"I thought we were staying at the St. James," Johnny commented, confused.

"Well, when you told me that a few days ago, I thought maybe it had been reopened so I didn't say anything. But when I called the DA's office on Tuesday, I was told we were staying at the Holiday Inn. The St. James is closed for renovations.

"Humph," Johnny mused, continuing to drive past Water Street, noticing the rundown building that was once a beautiful hotel – a home away from home for plantation owners trading cotton and other commodities along the Alabama River. "I could've sworn Mr. Pettway told me I was gonna be stayin' there."

Iris snickered to herself. "You must've been talking to the ghost of Jesse James… He still lives there."

"What?" Lily questioned, bolting upright.

"That's what the old folks say. They even say that you can hear his spurs clicking as he walks down the sidewalk in front of the building, and you can hear his dog barking late at night," Iris said, nonchalantly. "And we are nearing Halloween…"

"I'm not gonna sleep tonight," Lily muttered to herself.

"Take a right at the next light, Johnny," Iris said.

Johnny followed her directives, pulling up to the Holiday Inn, admiring the display of pumpkins, and yellow and burgundy mums adorning the walkway.

"It seems nice enough," Lily commented, stretching her back as she stepped out of the sedan.

"I jus' wanna get this over with and get the hell out o' here," Johnny grumbled, opening the trunk, removing their bags. He heard Lily walking up behind him, felt slender arms wrapping around his waist and her head pressing between his shoulder blades.

"Johnny… it's going to be okay… I… I just know it," the young woman said, hoping that he would feel differently after giving his deposition… and seeing his parents.

A few miles away, Isaac Jones sat beside his wife on the front porch of their old Antebellum home, rubbing his fingers across his forehead, stretching out the wrinkles that had formed there over the years.

"You have to do this, Isaac. You know that, right?"

"I don't have to, Colleen," he argued, worried about the consequences of his impending actions. He felt the warmth of her smaller hand as she reached out, clasping his larger one.

"We've lost so much over the years… It's time," she said, looking at him through misty blue eyes. "It's got to be done, and there's no better time than tomorrow morning."

Isaac lowered his head, squeezing her wrinkled hand with his own. "I love you, Colleen. I'm… I'm sorry how our lives turned out."

"Sshhh…," she crooned, bending her neck downward until she could see his face. "We ain't dead, yet… That means there's still time… and there's still hope."

The aging pharmacist nodded his head slowly, using his free hand to swipe at the lone tear that streaked his ruddy face. She was right, and he knew it. And tomorrow morning, the whole town of Selma would know it, too.

As the first streaks of dawn began to awaken the small city of Selma, Johnny stood in front of his window, watching as a few cars passed by on the street in front of the hotel. He sipped his coffee he had retrieved from the front lobby. His stomach growled, but he didn't know if he would be able to eat breakfast. His anxiety level had risen exponentially overnight, and he knew his blood pressure must be at record levels. He looked over his shoulder, noting that the clock on the bedside table showed that it was not yet 7:00 am.

"Damn," he mumbled to himself, wishing he had something to occupy his time. There was still three more hours until he was due to give his deposition.

In the skies over the Great Plains, Roddy and Sharon Gage sat beside each other, each one nervous about what the afternoon might hold. Sharon was wringing her hands, anxiously tapping her foot on the floor of the airplane.

Roderick Gage sat stoically in the seat beside his wife, his head leaning against the headrest, and his eyes closed. His mind was strolling leisurely down memory lane. He thought of all the conversations he had had with his young son, sharing about his family heritage and teaching Johnny to be the proud, stalwart young man he imagined him to be. Where had he gone wrong? What had he said all those years ago that had led his son to believe that he would be ashamed of him if he left the reservation? He felt the warmth of a gentle, familiar hand wrapping around his knuckles, pulling him from his musings. He looked over at Sharon, offering her a wistful smile.

"Everything is going to be okay, Roddy."

He turned his hand over, intertwining their fingers. "What makes you so sure?"

"Because I know him… and I know you… and I know how much we all love each other," she explained, hoping he believed her.

He returned his head to its previous position, closing his eyes once more. He pressed his lips into a thin line for a moment before responding. "I failed him, Sharon. I taught him everything I know about our people, but I… I failed to teach him the most important lesson of all."

"Roddy, no matter what Iris said, Johnny knows deep down that we love him and that we're proud of him. You'll see," she said softly.

Roddy squeezed her hand gently, noting that she had not reassured him of the one thing he needed to hear more than any other – that Johnny knew how much his father loved him.

Isaac looked down at his watch as he walked up the steps of the Dallas County Courthouse. He had been warned not to arrive too early, but he was a very punctual man. He hated being late for anything. Truthfully, he preferred to just walk straight into the conference room, avoiding the Campbell family and the DA's star witness.

Slowly he trudged up the marbled stairs to the second floor of the building, his heart thudding like a caged animal. His brow was perspiring and his mouth was dry. He heard the voice of Lane Wilson talking loudly to the DA at the far end of the hallway, near the entrance to the large conference room, and he felt as though his legs wouldn't carry him much further.

"I've got a witness on his way whose testimony you're gonna wanna pay close attention to, Moses. I'm awful sorry for the Campbell family's loss, but you'll see that all you've done is waste the tax payers' money by flyin' Mr. Gage down here for nothin'."

When the aging pharmacist rounded the corner, he saw a small group of people sitting on the bench just outside the designated room, but one familiar face looked up at him, her eyes widening in surprise. Iris Campbell had been fighting the knot forming in the pit of her stomach because of the deposition, but she was not ready for the man who suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs. Her face displayed the shock she was feeling, and her hand flew to cover her mouth, muffling the cry that escaped.

"Ack!" she cried, as if she had seen a ghost. "D-Daddy?"