Chapter 17: The Cards Are Dealt

"I have been one acquainted with the night. I have walked out in rain and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light..."
-Robert Frost

August 13th, 1988

The fields at the farm were growing well, spreading out in all directions like a green sea from the little house, and Bo and Luke had taken a day off to volunteer with the annual fundraising barbecue for the Sheridan Orphans Home. The three of them had packed into the General Lee just after ten that morning, Daisy tagging along because it would seem odd for her not to, although she never looked forward to large groups of people. Them knowing her while she knew no one was disconcerting to say the least, and she was already busy thinking up excuses for them to leave early.

The Orphans Home was on the outskirts of town, just past the main residential area on an acre-wide clearing. Resting her head on Luke's shoulder, she closed her eyes and listened to the rocks beneath the General's tires as the wind from the open windows swirled her hair around her face. In fact, she had almost dropped off to sleep when Bo hit the brakes and turned off the road and into the field set up for parking.

The moment Daisy set eyes on the enormous white brick house, she knew she had been there before. Instead of a vague happiness usually associated with her deja vu, this one tasted like bile in the back of her throat and made her nervous. Instinctively, she turned around but stopped before she ran back to the car.

'Take a deep breath,' she told herself. Under no circumstances could her cousins know how unsettled she was. They would get overprotective and start hovering around her every waking moment like she was a china doll.

Not since the night she had found her old journal and stood in the dark kitchen with the rain pouring down on the roof had she felt such a strong connection. This time, however, she understood all too well. Like threads woven together to create cloth, the bits and pieces of information she had collected since the previous fall had begun to connect with each other. Enough to know this was the orphanage that tried to take Enos away after his father died.

It's just a house and that was over twenty years ago. No one remembers. The irony the amnesiac girl dwelling on things everyone else had forgotten wasn't lost on her. After another deep breath, she turned back around and followed her cousins through the grass to where two gas grills were set up alongside a long table filled with covered Tupperware bowls and bags of hamburger buns and potato chips.

The kitchen staff set them to work as soon as they arrived, and gradually Daisy's disquiet lessened. She busied herself sharpening sticks for the kids to use for roasting marshmallows, and tried to ignore the ever present stares and whispers which invariably followed her whenever she went out in public. She wondered if they thought she had also gone deaf since losing her memory, since they blatantly talked about her within earshot. Things, such as 'Oh, that's that poor girl who lost her memory'. Or 'her mind'. She had heard both. 'They say she couldn't even remember her cousins' and 'I heard she actually thinks she's still a little kid' were also popular, along with her all-time favorite, 'Hey look! There's Crazy Daisy'.

She smiled and laughed and played her part to keep her cousins from worrying, and bit back the horrible loneliness of being the only stranger there. Cletus even stopped by to eat a sandwich, and Daisy heard the story of how Rosco saved the orphanage so many times she felt like she had been there. Which she supposed she had, once upon a time.

Finally, she filled her own plate and sat down across from Bo at a gray, dry-rotted picnic table. With nothing to keep her mind from wandering, she picked at her food and tried to picture Enos (which was extremely hard to do, considering she didn't know what he looked like) on the night he had lost his father. A teenager, scared and in shock.

Had she ever found the words to make him feel better? She suspected she had not - and yet, time had passed for both of them, and wounds had healed. He had gone to the Police Academy and she had...what? The journal had ended there, and though she had searched inside her bed frame and behind her dresser and vanity for more, that was all she found.

"Daisy!"

Bo's voice startled out of her thoughts, she focused her eyes to find him staring at her expectantly. "Sorry, what?"

"Daisy, I swear," he laughed, "you've had the attention span of a gnat, lately." He nodded at the woman with straight-as-a-board, blond hair beside him. "This here's Jill Dobson, she helps with fundraising here at the orphanage."

"Hi Jill," said Daisy, dredging up her best smile and shaking her hand. "It's nice to meet you...again, I reckon. Sorry, I never know when I'm meetin' people I already knew."

Jill shooed her apology away. "Oh, no, don't be!" she assured. "We've never met. I was in Bo's class in school, so you and I were never in the same place at the same time. I was just telling Bo here how much I've missed your column in the Gazette. Who knew we had such interesting people hidden in Hazzard County!"

"Well, I can't take much credit on that account," said Daisy. "I'm just the one who writes their stories down. I haven't had much time to think about working this summer, what with Uncle Jesse's passing and all, but I talked to Amos last week about getting started again."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" gushed Jill. "Who are you gonna interview next?"

Daisy shook her head and laughed. "Now, how is Amos gonna sell papers if I tell all his secrets?"

Truth be told, she hadn't informed Rosco that he was her next subject. There was an ulterior motive involved in the choice - he had Enos Strate's address. She had asked Cletus for it one day, knowing he wouldn't think anything of giving it to her. He told her he didn't know it, but told her that Rosco had sent Enos some official papers last year, so she should ask him.

Jill grinned and elbowed Bo. "See, Bo, I told you she wasn't gonna tell me." She turned back to Daisy. "I think you should talk to Doc Appleby. He'd be great, I'll bet."

"I'll keep him in mind," she promised, and then just as quickly dismissed him. Doc Applby by all accounts was a sweetheart, but she'd had talked to enough doctors to last her the rest of her life. She picked up her paper plate and cup and climbed over the bench. "Y'all'll have to excuse me, I've gotta go find the little girls' room'."

The inside walls of the orphanage were a sickly green color, but they were plastered with such a conglomeration of artwork that, if you didn't look too closely, it was cheery. Smells of barbecue and potato salad wafted through the hall as she passed the small kitchen. The washroom was done up in green tile instead of paint, with a row of three sinks and three narrow stalls.

Instead of hurrying back outside, she stopped to study a group of crayon drawings labeled 'When I Grow Up, I Want To Be A...". It seemed the future professions of the kids here were as unique and different as the children, although she had to laugh at the moonshiner taped up next to the picture of a policeman.

"Daisy?"

Daisy almost jumped out of her skin and turned to find an elderly woman she didn't recognize.

"I'm so sorry, dear," the woman said, reaching out to lay a bony hand on Daisy's arm. "I didn't mean to scare you." Though frail of stature, she was smartly dressed, her hair coiffed in the style of an earlier era. Daisy's first impression was that she must be as old as the house itself.

"I was just looking at the pictures," explained Daisy, gesturing at the wall. The skin of the woman's palm was unnaturally soft, as though worn down by the passage of time like a stone from a river. "I'm sorry, I can't remember if we've met before."

"Oh, we've spoken here and there in passing through the years," she replied, releasing her hold. "Though, to be honest, you were usually too busy to stop and chat."

Something in her tone made Daisy feel guilty, and she blurted out an apology before she could help it.

"I didn't mean it as a bad thing. So often people don't take the time to slow down and enjoy life until they're too old." She winked a pale, blue eye. "I speak from experience, you see. I'm Virginia Lowood," she said, introducing herself at last. "I've overseen all the business affairs here at the Sheridan Orphans Home since 1962, but that's only a small amount of the time since I came here in 1902."

"1902!" Daisy tried to calculate the time span from the present, but managed to forget the first number by the time she got to the second. Mental math was an exercise in futility these days. "That's a long time!"

Her mouth twisted up in a smile. "I came here when I was two," she explained. "My father left my mother, and things became...difficult. She was only sixteen when I was born, and her family didn't want to take us in. Things like that just weren't done back then. So, I came here, and she left west and disappeared."

Daisy imagined the woman as a poor, abandoned, little child without a home or family. "I'm so sorry, ma'am."

"Well, I'm not," Virginia countered, proudly. "I was too young to remember anything from before, and I had a happy childhood here. Three meals a day, a warm bed, people who loved me, and the chance for a good education. That's more than many children had back then."

"I suppose you're right." Daisy's glanced back to the pictures on the wall of the moonshiner and the policeman. "So, you would have been here in 1967. You didn't know Enos Strate, did you? I heard y'all went after him after his father died."

Virginia laughed. She laughed so hard, in fact, that Daisy was worried she might be having some sort of a fit, and offered to get her a glass of water.

"No, no," the old lady said, waving away her concern, "the past just caught up with me for a minute, and there's not much that surprises women as old as me anymore." She produced a lacey handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed the corners of her eyes where tears had sprung up. "I declare, girl, your cousins told me you didn't remember anything, but that you were still the same person you always were. I have to admit, I didn't believe it until now. You're not gonna yell at me over Enos again, are you?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Ms. Lowood." Truth be told, she felt a bit like crying just from the confusion of it all.

"No, you wouldn't. Now, now...I can see I've upset you." She patted Daisy's arm. "I'm sorry. I'm just amused by the fact that we've already discussed that boy going on nearly twenty years now."

"I'm not following, ma'am."

Virgina explained, "One day, just after your Uncle Jesse took Enos in at your farm, you came here asking to talk to whoever was in charge."

There was suddenly a block of cold ice in her stomach. "Oh no," she groaned. "I couldn't have been more than twelve or so."

"Thirteen, I believe, you said you were," she noted. "Quite headstrong for your age, no doubt. As I remember, you said something to the effect that Enos wasn't my business anymore, so I should stop trying to steal him. I believe you also hinted that you would 'poke a hole' in the tire of the next social worker who came to get him."

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!"

"You're fine, dear," the old lady chuckled, and shook her head. "You cared about him, was all. The thing was, it wasn't us trying to make him come to the orphanage. That was the State of Georgia's doing. To tell you the truth," she whispered, "I was on his side."

Daisy laughed in spite of herself, thinking poor Ms. Lowood must have a big heart.

"After he became a deputy," she continued, "he was so good to the kids here. If he wasn't out fishing, he was probably here fixing something or mentoring the kids. So often, they would talk to him about what was bothering them when they wouldn't talk to us. I don't know what we would have done without him. We've missed him so much since he left."

"I wish I could remember all that," Daisy sighed, wistfully. "He sounds like a great guy."

"He's one in a million."

The rain dripped steadily from the limbs of the cottonwood he was parked beneath, although the storm had passed on. The hands of his watch glowed softly in the darkness showing just after 10:00pm, and once more Enos wondered what in the world he was doing. He supposed it was force of habit, borne of Daisy working long nights at the Boar's Nest with its collection of rowdy patrons. Not that much happened in Tamarack other than some petty vandalism and public drunkenness, but if he got caught on this street at this hour of night, someone was sure to misconstrue his motives.

The residential section of Tamarack was half the size of Hazzard's, and it was his custom to drive through it before heading home each night. He still wasn't happy about Joy sticking her oar in where it didn't belong, but she'd threatened to tell Doc Fletcher that he needed time off if he didn't go home and sleep occasionally. Sometimes he wondered who was actually in charge of the department; himself or his dispatch officer.

Tonight he had taken his usual route, checking off the cars of everyone who had gotten home safely. He knew almost resident who lived on the three blocks between the station and his cabin and their usual schedules. By now, everyone who didn't go down to the bars in Paradise would be turning on the evening news and settling down for bed.

Melinda was twenty minutes late.

He knew her habits as he did most of his friends in the sleepy little town. She locked up the museum at 9:00pm and by 9:15 her rusty, green pick-up was sitting in her driveway - barring a stop over at the Quik-Trip for groceries. Tonight, that parking lot had been empty except for the red Honda Civic of Mertle Cavendish, the evening cashier, who would close up at ten and head back home to Shelldrake.

His mind was running over the three miles between the Point and Melinda's house; thinking of the rain and wondering if he should drive out that way and check on her when a tapping on the door caused him to startle and hit the horn. Melinda motioned for him to roll down the window.

"You scared twenty years off my life!" He stammered. "What in the world are you doin', sneakin around out here?"

"Funny, that was my question for you. Is my house safe to go into, yet?"

He gestured towards her driveway. "Your truck wasn't home when I drove by," he explained. "I was worried there might be something wrong."

"It's been overheating. I had to take it to Edgar this morning." She looked up as a drop of water hit her cheek. "I walked."

"Walked? It was raining, you shoulda called me," he said, miffed. "I would've picked you up."

"And miss the chance to catch you waiting for me?" she grinned. "No, I don't think so. Besides, I had this." She raised her arm to show him the oversized umbrella. "Come on, I'll make you some coffee."

"I really can't right now."

She stepped on the footbar and leaned through the open window, the dash lights washing across her face in greens and blues. His heart gave a rebellious thump.

"You're not on duty right now," she reminded him. "Come on, we'll sit on the porch of the Ashbury. I'll get a thermos and meet you there." She jumped down and walked off without giving him another chance to turn her down, her long skirt swirling behind her.

He sighed and watched her cross the street and past the four houses in front of her own before he put the truck in gear and drove up to the top of the hill where the historic Ashbury Bed and Breakfast sat overlooking over the town.

There were three cars parked in the gravel lot beside the grand old house with the wrap-around veranda; two from Wisconsin and one from Idaho. The back window of the latter was filled with toys and blankets, and Enos couldn't imagine driving so far. When he had moved here from California, he had flown into Sault Saint Marie with not much more than the clothes on his back, and rented a car to drive the 70 miles around the bay to Tamarack.

The lights in the parlor of the elaborate Victorian shone through the lace curtains and transoms of the tall windows, but being so late Enos knew most travelers would already be in bed. Besides, the Ashbury's veranda was considered a community meeting place. He turned on the lamp which sat on a wicker table beside the door then took a seat in one of the heavy, oak captain's chairs to wait.

The sky was awash in stars against the black, too warm this time of year to see more than a few distant, dirty white wisps of the aurora near the horizon. Even those were unnoticeable in the soft lamplight of the porch. Distant lightning played over the lake where the evening's rain had passed, and the briny smell of fish hung thick in the air.

Melinda took the wooden steps two at a time, her boots echoing on the planks. "It's not decaf," she apologized, handing him a mug.

He held it steady as she poured. "That's alright. It doesn't keep me up." Caffeine wasn't the source of his sleepless nights.

She took a seat across from him, scooping her legs beneath her, and they sipped their coffee in silence for several minutes. "Here I have you all to myself and I don't know what to talk about," she said, grinning at him over the rim of her cup. "How was Georgia?"

"Georgia?" He searched for something nice to say and came up short. "Georgia was...hot...and humid, although I reckon that's what it's supposed to feel like in the summer." He ran his fingers along the top of the half-empty, stone mug. "I guess I've been away too long, I don't remember it bothering me so much when I lived there. It rained the day of the funeral. You know what's funny?"

"Hmm?"

"I stopped in at a filling station north of Atlanta to get some gas, and the fella asked me where I was from. You know what that means?"

"What?"

"I'm losing my accent."

"I've noticed," she told him. "You say it like you've lost an old friend, but your voice isn't you. What did you tell him?"

He shrugged. "I told him I was from Michigan." It was silly, really, but now that he had brought it up, he felt the same surprise and confusion he had felt that day. "Would you call that a lie?"

Melinda laughed softly. "There are lies, Enos, and then there are lies, and I've seen all kinds of both." Her eyes left his face to drift out over the road and into the darkness, and he thought she had said her piece without really answering him until she continued, her voice quiet and sad. "I think that we spend our lives searching for the place we're meant to be, and that some of us were born very far away from home."

Enos thought he understood what she meant. The things that appealed to him here would drive his other friends away. Turk, for one, was as big city as the city got. He thrived on the chaos of Los Angeles and would have little patience for the slow, aching crawl of life in the Northwoods. Daisy? She had a life in Hazzard, and even though she may have forgotten a large chunk of her past, he expected that she would quickly assimilate back into the lifestyle of 'dater of strangers' and 'breaker of hearts'.

"You came further than I did," he reminded her. "I'm not sure how far we are from Russia, but I'm pretty sure it's further than Hazzard County, Georgia."

Her sigh blended with the sound of cicadas. "Sometimes, it is not far enough."

A silence descended on them, then, but it was not the easy, unspoken language of companionship without a need to fill the emptiness. It was the kind between people recently strangers and still not familiar enough with each other to know what to talk about. Enos racked his brain for something - anything - to say, but Melinda beat him to it.

"How's your investigation going?"

This wasn't the subject he wanted to think about; he'd been trying to cut back. "Kinda like a hamster stuck on one of them wheels that just goes around and around." He made a looping gesture with his hand.

She laughed. "Don't worry. It won't be long before fall comes and the ship gets back into port."

Enos frowned, thinking that she was either a mind reader or someone on the force had been talking out of turn. It wasn't public knowledge that both men worked the same ship. "Why do think I'm waiting for a ship to come back?"

"Oh, educated guess, I guess," she said, shrugging off his concern. "The guys who were killed weren't locals, so I just assumed they worked on the lake. Did you ever figure out what that cigarette box said?"

"As a matter of fact, I did." The forensics lab in Chicago was able to loosely translate what indeed proved to be Hungarian, unfortunately the answer just brought more questions and a dismal feeling that he'd stepped in something dirtier than a vengeful shipmate. He debated whether to tell Melinda, but he could use a different perspective. "The forensics lab couldn't give me an exact translation. The nearest they could figure was, 'The cards have been dealt. Fold. Alisz paints with red'. That mean anything to you?"

"Isn't that poker?"

"I'm not good with card games," he admitted, "but I think so. Do you know anyone named Alise or Aliz?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so. Someone's wife or girlfriend?"

"I haven't figured that out, yet," he sighed, rubbing his eyes and thinking there had to be something better to talk about than the case that kept his mind wandering in circles all night. The silver coin on her necklace caught his eye. "What's that around your neck?"

She clasped her fingers around it and blushed. "I usually don't wear it, but I was thinking about my mother this morning, and...oh, here," she said, slipping the long chain from around her neck and handing it to him.

He turned the coin over in his hands. Roughly the size of a silver dollar, the front was scratched and marred, but he could see the profile of a head with "Ferdin VII 1821" inscribed on it, on the reverse was a shield with a crown and two columns. "Possum on a gumbush, that's a mighty old coin."

"My mother gave it to me before she died and told me the history of our family," she said, glancing down at her fingers playing with the ties of her skirt. "My great-grandfather was a draper and traveled often to the West Indies, and this piece has been passed down through my family. It is a Spanish silver dollar."

"A draper?"

She laughed. "A cloth merchant."

"I'm surprised you remember much about your mother at all. How old did you say you were when she passed?"

"Five," she answered, "and, it's true I don't remember much. Just parts and even those don't fit together well."

"And, after that...you came to America?"

She grinned over her shoulder at him with dark eyes. "Enos Strate, you sound like you're putting together a file on me."

"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean-"

"I'm just teasing. No, I went to live with an aunt and uncle who moved to New York when I was seven."

He handed her necklace back to her. "You'll have to tell me that story sometime, I can't believe I haven't asked about it before."

"You're always welcome to come over," she reminded him. "Do you want anymore coffee?"

"No, I'd better get home." He walked to the edge of the porch and shook the remnants of liquid from his mug into the bushes as turned off the lamp and the night enveloped them. "Thanks for...this," he gestured around them, "it was nice to sit and talk."

"If you meet me here next Friday, I'll bring the coffee."

He didn't know if it was a good idea or not, but coffee on the Ashbury's porch seemed innocent enough, and it was nice to have someone to talk to. "Make it 9:30," he said. "I'm afraid we'll wake someone up talking this late."

"9:30 is perfect." He didn't need to see her clearly - he could hear her smile.