

A Single Step

by

Ray Foy

Smashwords Edition.

Copyright 2011 Ray Foy

Smashwords Edition, License Notes:

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Bobby Lorman is a High School freshman, and bully-bait. His struggle to cope is compounded with guilt when his chief bully forces him to commit a crime. He must keep his transgression secret to avoid disappointment from his parents and prosecution from the authorities. His religious faith is tried as he seeks forgiveness but can't bring himself to confess. When he is sent for the summer to his aunt and uncle's bed-and-breakfast near Natchez, Mississippi, he is introduced to an ancient wisdom that could help him. But to follow this new path he must face new bullies, religious intolerance from the community, and the ghosts that haunt a local Indian mound.

\---

A tree that one's arms can barely embrace comes from a shoot as fine as a hair;

A nine-storey tower begins with a pile of earth;

A long journey begins with a single step.

Lao-Tzu

\---

This is for Donna,

who keeps telling me I can write

and

for Thomas and Dillon,

who are on the Wise Path

\---

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Questions and Threats

Chapter 2: Going South

Chapter 3: The Hawk, The Trace, and The Mound

Chapter 4: Kiernan House

Chapter 5: Fainting and Not Swimming

Chapter 6: A Turn-of-the-Century Dinner

Chapter 7: The Sermon

Chapter 8: Trail Ride

Chapter 9: Visitors

Chapter 10: Watching Kung fu

Chapter 11: A Day in Natchez

Chapter 12: A Single Step

Chapter 13: Faith that there will be another day

Chapter 14: In Training

Chapter 15: Meditation

Chapter 16: Learning Kung fu

Chapter 17: Kicking and Swimming

Chapter 18: Crimes and Fears

Chapter 19: The Ordeal

Chapter 20: The Battle of St. Mark's Supper Meeting

Chapter 21: Contacts and Karma

Chapter 22: End-of-Summer Conviction

Chapter 23: Dinner Sparring

Chapter 24: Rededication in the midst of God's handiwork

Chapter 25: Rededication

Chapter 26: School Again, Threats Again

Chapter 27: Talk

Chapter 28: Signing at the El Camino Bookstore

Chapter 29: The Watered Dream

Chapter 30: Soul Confessions

Chapter 31: Fight without fighting

Chapter 1: Questions and Threats

Everything had come down to the final week of my freshman year at Madison Heights High School. I was fifteen years old in May of 1995 and my crime was, so far, undiscovered. If it remained undiscovered for the rest of the week, and if Anthony Benton was satisfied and left me alone then it might all be over.

At least, that was the hope I was clinging to sitting in Study Hall. I had a final in Science that afternoon, but I was too distracted to study. All I could do was fiddle with my camera and pray. Cleaning the camera kept my hands busy, and my prayers sought the forgiveness I craved, but for all my fervency, I didn't feel like God was listening.

"Hey, Bobby. You taking pictures today?"

Ravi plopped his books on the table and took the seat opposite me. I hadn't noticed him come into the library among the stream of our classmates. If I had, I would have put my camera in its bag. I didn't want him to see it was mine and ask why I wasn't using the school's.

"Yeah," I said. "Mrs. Walker wants some shots of the seniors for the annual. Their last week and all."

"You using your own camera?"

He was an observant geek.

"Yeah. I like it better. You ready for Science?"

"Yeah," Ravi said, "it'll be easy. It's not comprehensive."

"Everybody sit down and be quiet," Mrs. Walker said from her desk in the corner. She held the phone receiver to her ear and poised her other hand over the buttons. When the noise died down, she began punching and said, "You've still got finals to study for. Use this time."

Ravi turned his back to Mrs. Walker and bent his head so close to the tabletop his glasses slid down his nose.

"Yeah, cause freshmen aren't exempt," he said in a loud whisper. "How'd you do in math?"

His glasses were on the very tip of his pointed nose. That annoyed me. I wanted to reach over and push them up. I pushed up my own, instead, to give him a hint. He didn't get it. He just stared over his frames with the whites of his eyes looking like they were about to pop out of his dark skin.

"I think I passed," I said.

"You not sure? You going to pass the year?"

"Yeah, I'll pass. I ain't done that bad."

"My parents will kill me if I don't ace everything."

"Mine would let me live," I said. "I'd just never hear the end of it from my stepfather."

"Shush," Mrs. Walker said.

Ravi looked annoyed.

"She's on the phone," I said.

Ravi pulled out his Science book. I still couldn't settle down enough to study so I pulled my camera out again. Ravi already knew it was mine. I just as well finish cleaning it.

While Ravi studied, I wiped the 50mm lens. The year was almost over. I had just about made it. A few more days and I could relax until next year. By then, all would surely be forgotten.

Mrs. Walker hung up the phone and began rifling through some papers on her desk. She hadn't said anything more to me about the thefts, but every day I expected her to. Just a few more days....

"I have to leave," Mrs. Walker announced. Her reading glasses dropped from her nose and dangled from their strap around her neck. She stood. "I should be back before the lunch bell. Hold it down and remember, Coach O'Hara is in the next room."

Everyone quieted at her threat as she walked away from her desk. I watched her but looked away when she turned toward my table. Surely she wasn't. I looked again and she was there. Right by my table. I was hit with her musty smell when she leaned her head close to my ear.

"Bobby, I need you to come with me to the office."

"The office?" I said. My heart thumped loud beats. I wondered if she could hear. It would surely have been visible beating between my ribs if I had taken my shirt off. I would never do that.

"Should I bring my books?"

"No, you'll be back before the next block," she said.

"OK, but I don't want to leave my camera."

"No. You bring that," she said. "You wouldn't want it stolen."

I shoved the camera and the cleaning items back into their case and looped the strap over my neck and shoulder. Ravi gave me a questioning stare when I stood, but I looked away.

I felt all eyes on my back as I followed Mrs. Walker out of the classroom. No doubt, I would be the topic of everyone's conversations once we were down the hall.

I stayed one step behind and to the left of Mrs. Walker. I usually got along with her, but we both knew what this was about. Neither of us spoke.

She kept a brisk pace and I worked to keep up. My camera bounced around my neck. Sweat rings darkened my short sleeves. Classes were in session so the halls were empty except for Mrs. Walker and me. We announced ourselves, though, with the squeaks of my rubber soles and the clop-clop of her half-inch heels on the hard floor. A few doors were open and I saw students watching us pass. It was embarrassing enough to be following her down the hall like a baby duck, but it was evident that I was a baby duck in trouble.

I felt light-headed. I wished she had waited until after lunch. The hall lights seemed awfully bright. They washed out the sight of Mrs. Walker's squat form, so I just followed the swoosh-swoosh of her nylons and hoped I wouldn't faint before we reached the office.

"Mr. Westin said he would meet us before lunch," Mrs. Walker said. "It's the only time he has today."

"Yes, ma'am."

They knew. They had to. I thought I had made it.

Lord, please help me.

I managed to stay conscious until we reached the office. Mrs. Sharpton, the school secretary, was typing at her desk. The only student worker there was Polly Warren who was standing at the counter, flipping through a World History book. Mr. Westin's door was shut.

"Is Mr. Westin in?" Mrs. Walker asked Polly.

Mrs. Sharpton paused her typing and answered.

"He was, Kaye. He just stepped out."

"He went to break up a fight in the cafeteria," Polly said.

"I see. We'll wait."

We sat in a couple of the straight-backed chairs that lined the outer office wall beneath glass panes. It seemed awfully cold. The air conditioner was on full blast and rattling its window mount. Even so, I felt a trickle of perspiration run from my underarms down the sides of my chest.

I didn't know what to do with my hands, so I checked all the seals on all the pouches of my camera case. Mrs. Walker just sat, her back as straight as her chair's. The room was quiet but for the hum of the air conditioner, the clicking of Mrs. Sharpton's typing, the buzzy drone of students in the nearby cafeteria, and the radio playing softly from its perch on a bookcase. I recognized that song they were playing a lot then.

...You gotta be bad, you gotta be bold, you gotta be wiser...

Polly studied her book on the counter, or pretended to. The smell of paint on cinderblock walls filled my head until it hurt, and I feared again that I would faint.

A short, shearing, sound made me glance at Mrs. Walker. She was looking at the watch that hung from a chain around her neck along with her glasses. It was a ladybug-shaped pendant that spread its wings to reveal a watch face when the antennae were squeezed. The moving wings sounded like scissors. She released the antennae and let the watch drop to her chest.

...You gotta be tough, you gotta be stronger...

I wished I could be strong, but I was scared. It was like in English class earlier in the year.

Mrs. Franks had left the room and Anthony Benton, sitting in the little desk-chair behind me, shoved his feet through the opening in my chair back and forced me to the very edge of the seat. I just looked ahead, listened to the snickering around me, and wished Mrs. Franks would return.

The sudden withdrawal of Anthony's feet was followed by his hand grabbing my shoulder. He turned me around, his face only inches from mine, and spoke low like a conspirator.

"Hey Bobby, I saw you taking pictures yesterday. You a good picture-taker, huh?"

"Yeah," was all I could say. I had only contempt for this psycho, but I had to take his bullying, or he'd kill me.

"Yeah, you are," he said. "Taking pictures for the paper staff. Must be a good camera they got, huh? I seen you with it."

"Yeah."

"How much that camera worth? Couple hundred dollars?"

"More like eight," I said. "It's a Nikon."

"Wow, I guess Nikon cameras are expensive. Lenses too. I seen them big lenses. Must be worth a lot."

"Yeah." I pulled against his grip. He pulled back.

"Look," he said. "You got the key to the storeroom where they keep that camera?"

"No," I said. "Mrs. Walker's got it."

"But you can get it, right?"

"No. She opens the door when I need stuff. She keeps the key."

That wasn't completely true. Mrs. Walker often trusted me with it.

"But you can get it. I know you can, Bobby. I want you to get that key for me."

"I can't."

"For just a little while. See, you give it to me and I'll make a copy of it. I can do that at lunch. I'll get it back to you and nobody will ever know."

"I can't do that."

"Yes you can."

He clamped his hand on the back of my neck and squeezed hard. He leaned forward and spoke low into my ear.

"You do it, or I'll hurt you bad."

The door opened suddenly and Mrs. Franks walked in. Anthony let me go.

When the bell rang, I hurried out. I managed to avoid Anthony Benton for the rest of the day, but after my last class, he caught up with me. He stopped me on my way to the buses. We were in the spaces between the portable classrooms out of view of the crowd leaving school. He told me to get the key for him tomorrow and then knocked me into the mud with a backhand.

I wiped my pants as best I could with toilet paper from the Porta-John. When I got home, I told my mom I had tripped.

Sudden footsteps from the hall brought me back to the present.

"Sorry I'm late, Kaye," Mr. Westin said. "More raging hormones in the cafeteria and I had to break it up."

"That's all right, Mr. Westin," Mrs. Walker said. "We've only been here a few minutes."

Mr. Westin unlocked his office door and we followed him in.

"Have a seat," he said. We took the two chairs in front of his desk. They were only slightly more comfortable than the ones in the outer office. Mr. Westin pulled off his suit coat and hung it on a hook on the wall. He loosened his tie and sat in his leather executive's chair where he took off his glasses and pulled out a handkerchief.

"Warming up out there," he said. He wiped his eyes with the handkerchief and daubed the sweat from his bald head.

"Kaye, flip that switch behind you, please. We need some air in here."

Mrs. Walker turned on the ceiling fan. Its blades groaned to do their work and only managed to stir the air a little. I wiped my palms on my pants legs.

"OK, now, Bobby. Do you know why you're here?" Mr. Westin asked.

Of course I knew. The thefts. But I couldn't say so. I just wanted the crime to not exist.

"No sir."

"Mrs. Walker and I are very concerned about the stolen camera and the enlarger and the other things. That's very expensive equipment. It's hard to replace and we don't have that much budget for the paper staff. Now Bobby, I know Mrs. Walker has asked you about this, but I'm asking you again. You're the paper staff photographer. You go in the storage room a lot. Do you know anything about the theft of that equipment?"

I wanted to tell him. I had wanted to tell Mrs. Walker.

Anthony had kept the pressure on me for weeks. I was probably doing good to hold out that long. I almost told on him, but I was getting threats from his buddies, too. One of them was sure to get me. I finally gave in out of sheer fear.

The key was in Mrs. Walker's desk in the library, and she let me get it whenever I needed anything from the storage closet. I took it during Study Hall. Then at lunch, I gave it to Anthony outside the cafeteria, praying for forgiveness all the while. And then I had prayed he would bring it back.

"Tell us what you know, Bobby," Mrs. Walker said.

I stared at the floor. My glasses slid to the end of my nose.

"I don't know what happened to the camera and stuff," I said. "I just thought it was lost."

Anthony had not brought the key back after lunch. I had looked out for him the rest of the day, but never saw him. I prayed God would make him bring the key back. I didn't want to have to explain what had happened to it.

"But you knew it was gone," Mrs. Walker said. "You said you started using your own camera when you couldn't find the school's."

"Why didn't you tell Mrs. Walker then?" Mr. Westin said.

Sweat collected on the bridge of my glasses and rolled down the frame onto the lenses.

Anthony had brought the key back the next day. It was at lunch again. He tossed it to me with his thanks. I couldn't believe it. I offered my own thanks to God, and got the key back in Mrs. Walker's desk as fast as I could.

"I don't know. I just. I had to take the pictures at the zoo and the senior pictures. I didn't want you to think I lost the camera."

"But other things were missing as well," Mrs. Walker said. "Did you think they were all lost? Why didn't you say something when you couldn't find the lenses or the tripod?"

The camera had disappeared first. I covered for that with my own and hoped I could make it to the end of the year. But then the zoom lens disappeared, and the leather case, then the tripod, and even film and paper. Anthony was stretching out his thefts. When the enlarger disappeared it was too obvious, and Mrs. Walker realized a lot of stuff was missing.

"I don't know. I should have."

Silence. I felt their eyes boring into me along with their doubt.

My stomach growled.

The ceiling fan's blades creaked.

A small beetle scurried toward a hole in the floor tile, but my foot blocked its way.

"Bobby," Mr. Westin said. "Did you steal the camera and the other things?"

I moved my foot so the beetle could reach the hole.

"No...."

"What?"

"No sir."

The beetle stopped short of the hole, like it couldn't find it.

"Do you know who did?"

"No sir."

I was sinning again. Lord, forgive me. I just wanted it all to go away.

"You're sure?"

I pushed the beetle into the hole with my toe.

"Yes sir."

Mr. Westin leaned back, making his chair squeak. I pushed up my glasses. The office was blurry through them, as if I was under water. Sweat stung my eyes and I must have looked like I was crying. I felt like crying.

"All right, Bobby," Mrs. Walker said. She placed a hand on my back. I was embarrassed that she felt my sweat. "I didn't think you had anything to do with it. I know you're a good boy and your parents raised you right."

"Well, we haven't gotten any clues from the security cameras," Mr. Westin said. "We really need more of them."

He realized the ambiguity of what he just said and let out a wry snort.

"Cameras and clues. We're going to change the lock on the storage room and Mrs. Walker is going to keep tighter control of the key. She's the only one who'll unlock the door from now on."

I just nodded, but I felt a surge of relief. So this was going to be over after all. Anthony wouldn't be able to get into the room with his copied key anymore. He would have to take a more direct approach and break in.

"It would be better for whoever stole the camera and things to confess," Mr. Westin said. "If we find out a student did it, he'll be expelled. Maybe go to jail."

I nodded again.

"And he won't get away with it. The thief may escape me, but he won't escape God's judgment. God sees all things done in secret."

"Yes sir."

"All right." Mr. Westin put on his glasses. "Mrs. Walker, I don't think we need to bring in Bobby's parents at this point."

Thank you, Lord. At least I wouldn't have to explain anything to Mom and Wayne.

"But, Bobby, if we find reason to suspect you were involved, we will call your parents. Understand?"

"Yes sir."

"Or if you remember something that will help us find who did this, you tell Mrs. Walker or me. OK?"

"Yes sir."

"All right. You can go."

*

I felt Mrs. Walker's eyes on my back all the way to the library. I wanted to say I was sorry, but what would I say I was sorry for? I hadn't confessed to the crime. I had lied.

I tried to reassure myself by going over what I thought were the positive parts of the meeting. They still didn't connect me to the thefts, and Mrs. Walker seemed ready to believe in my innocence. But I wasn't innocent. That's what really bothered me.

But they were going to change the lock on the storage room and Mrs. Walker wouldn't let anyone else have the key. So I couldn't steal them for Anthony. He wouldn't be able to steal from the school anymore. At least not from the storage room. Maybe somewhere else, where he'd get caught.

It might be over, and I'd just carry my guilt with me. That was hard. I couldn't commit a crime and feel nothing about it, like Anthony Benton and his buddies. I was a Christian. I was saved.

But I had sinned.

Lord, please forgive me the lie I just told. Please, please, deliver me from this. Show me the way.

We reached the Library and all chatter stopped when we entered. Mrs. Walker returned to her desk and I returned to my table. Ravi was still there.

"What's going on?" he whispered. "You in trouble?"

"No. Nothing," I whispered back. I knew he would press me. I had to think fast. Tell just enough of the truth to satisfy him.

"Some camera equipment's missing from the storage room," I said. "They wanted to know if I knew where it was."

"They think you stole it?"

Ravi was astute.

"No, I just, I mean, they just asked me if I had seen it. They don't know if it was stolen. I don't know what happened to it."

Lying again. Lord, forgive me.

"Oh. That why you got your own camera?"

"Yeah."

That held him for the rest of Study Hall. The last thirty minutes was our lunch time, and when the bell rang for it, Mrs. Walker let us go.

The crowd was forming in the hall as I reached the lockers with Ravi. This was the biggest lunch block and the press at the cafeteria doors was always tight. I usually took my time getting there and let the worst of the crowd go ahead.

"Prashanth will save a spot for us," Ravi said. "You coming?"

"Yeah, I just want to drop off my books and get my lunch. I'll catch up."

Ravi went ahead. I stopped by my locker and dumped my armful of books and picked up my brown-bag lunch. I kept my camera strapped around my neck.

With lunch bag in hand, I left the building to take the back way to the cafeteria and so avoid the crush in the main hall. I cut through the west parking lot and around the portable classrooms.

It seemed the school couldn't afford extending the existing wings, but they could afford portable buildings. They didn't look too portable to me, but the Porta-Johns were. I had seen one brought in on a truck. I preferred them because only one person-at-a-time could use them. Of course, if you used them at the wrong time, like when the Juniors were waiting for class, you could get locked inside or pushed over. It seemed safe enough at the moment so I stopped at one before continuing on through the matrix of portable classrooms.

I was walking between the rows of them when I heard my name.

"Hey Bobby! Wait up!"

I froze. I never saw Anthony Benton at this time. He must have been following me. I turned down an alley between a couple of the classroom buildings. A ditch ran the length and it was soggy. I stayed out of the wet center and hopped from one grassy spot to another.

If I could just make it to the parking area in front of the main building, I'd be safe in the lunch crowd. Then I just had to avoid him for the rest of the week.

I was one leap short of leaving the alley when two threatening forms, one tall and one short, blocked my way. Mike Leach and Zach Butler entered the grassy alley and stalked towards me. I stopped.

"Where you going, Bobby?" Leach said. He flipped back the greasy lock of hair that was always hanging into his eyes and raising acne boils on his forehead.

"We want to talk to you," Butler said. He wasn't that much bigger than me, but he made up for it with attitude--at least when he was around Leach and Anthony.

I turned to run but saw Anthony coming from the other end. I was trapped. I could only wait for them. They converged and pinned me against the side of a classroom building.

"Why you running Bobby?" Anthony said. "I just want to talk to you."

His always-bad breath hit me. I had heard girls say he was so good-looking. They must not have smelled his breath.

I didn't look him in the eye. I just stared at the brown stains on his red pullover shirt.

"I wasn't running; I was going to lunch."

"I know you was in Westin's office with Walker," he said. His front teeth protruded. It gave him a slight lisp.

"What'd you tell them, Bobby?" he asked. "You tell them about what we did?"

"No."

"No? I hope you didn't. You gave me the key so you're guilty too. They'll kick you out, too, if you tell."

Anthony Benton making a moral point struck me as odd. Of course, his only point was his threat. His little brain couldn't hold more than that.

"And I'll get you," he said, with a push to underscore his words. "You understand?"

"I understand."

"What did they ask you?"

"They just asked me if I knew anything about who stole the camera and stuff. I said I didn't know."

I pushed my own camera behind me.

"You said you didn't know?" He grabbed my arm and squeezed hard. "That's good. What else they say?"

"They said they're going to get more security cameras and change the storeroom door lock. And Mrs. Walker won't let anybody else use the key. She'll be the only one can unlock the door."

I wanted him to know it was over. He couldn't get in and I couldn't get the new key.

"They didn't mention anybody else? Didn't mention me?"

"No."

"You mention me?"

"No."

"That's good," he said. "Cause I'll hurt you, Bobby. One good punch and I'll break something. I know I could. You don't believe me, do you?"

He pushed me.

"Do you?"

"I believe you."

"You better believe me. Don't say nothing to nobody."

He shoved me hard against the classroom wall. I bounced off and fell into the grass. My glasses landed in the ditch and I looked back at a blurry Anthony and his buddies.

"Thanks for keeping quiet, Bobby," Anthony said. "And be thinking how to get that new key next year."

Their laughter trailed off with them as I retrieved my glasses. I wiped them on my shirt and adjusted them. It was hard to keep them straight. They were held together with tape and glue and I hadn't even had them that long. I checked my camera. It looked all right.

There were other kids passing the rooms and going through the parking lot. I was sure some of them saw Anthony push me, but nobody was going to help. Most would just laugh or ignore it. Even the teachers.

I checked my lunch bag. It was OK. It wasn't crushed. I could still eat.

I brushed myself off and made my way out of the alley and into the grassy area that surrounded the portable classrooms. It was bright and hot. I considered skipping lunch, but then, the air conditioning in the cafeteria would feel good. Maybe I could find a spot to sit by myself. I really didn't want to explain to Ravi and the others why I was late or how I got grass stains on my pants.

I crossed the front parking lot, sweating and with my glasses sliding down my nose. Anthony would probably leave me alone now. School was almost over, anyway. I wanted so bad to tell Mr. Westin what Anthony did, but I couldn't. I'd get expelled too.

Lord, help me. Please get me out of this.

The crowd had thinned by the time I reached the cafeteria. I went straight to the vending machines. I got a grape soda and waded into the maze of tables to try to find an isolated spot.

"Bobby! Over here!"

Ravi was waving from one end of a table. His buddy, Prashanth was with him. Polly Warren was sitting close by, but it was hard to say whether they were sitting together.

I had to join them. Well, it didn't matter, lunch was almost over. They didn't know about my crime or about Anthony's pressure on me. Maybe it would all be forgotten over the summer.

Chapter 2: Going South

Anthony Benton didn't seem to worry about classes and exams like the rest of us. I didn't even see him the rest of the week. I did see the maintenance man changing out the lock on the storage closet, and Mrs. Walker told me to ask her if I needed anything from it. Beyond that, I didn't hear anything else about the thefts.

The week was just exams. Since there were no exemptions for freshmen, I had to go every day. My grades weren't' high enough to exempt me, anyway. Monday had been Science and Math. The rest of the week would be easier tests and then it would all be over at noon on Friday.

I was feeling better as I climbed off the bus that Monday. Even my bus-bully, Gary Ford, hadn't bothered me much, though I would have to cut the gum out of my hair again.

As I approached my house, I noticed a red Jeep Cherokee in the driveway. Aunt Camille was there. Maybe Uncle Tyler too, though he didn't usually come with her. Aunt Camille was my mom's sister. She and Uncle Tyler lived somewhere around Natchez in a hundred-year-old house. They rented-out rooms in it like a hotel. I had never been there, but Mom talked about it sometimes.

I didn't like to have company. It was just a bother to have strangers around and have to be careful and quiet around the house. Aunt Camille wasn't too bad, though. She usually just talked with Mom and didn't bother me too much except for when she tried to entertain me. She took me to a swimming party when I was eleven. I nearly drowned.

I hoped Uncle Tyler wasn't with her. I had only seen him a time or two. He was a little scary. He was tall and didn't say much. Mom said he was in a war when he was young and that he knew my dad--my real dad--before the divorce.

I walked around the Jeep and up the driveway to go in the back way. My dog, Elton, followed me along the cyclone fence as I followed it toward the back door. I let him lick my fingers through the steel links.

The screen door yawned when I opened it. Aunt Camille was sitting at the kitchen bar and looked up from the cookbook in front of her. She smiled her smile that showed more teeth than I thought anybody had.

"Hi, Bobby," she said.

Mom was chopping vegetables on the counter beside her.

"Hi Honey. Look who's here."

Hi, Aunt Camille," I said.

"Aunt Camille's going to be with us this week. We're going to cook lots of good things from her cookbook. You'll love it."

"OK. Great."

I doubted I would love it. I didn't like cooked food much unless it came from a package. Like pizza. But I thought it was interesting that Aunt Camille had her own cookbook. It was sort of like being a writer.

I dropped my books on the kitchen table and put some pop-tarts in the toaster. I was always starved when I got home.

"We're having fried chicken tonight," Mom said. "Old southern style from Camille's cookbook. It'll be so good. I know Wayne'll like it."

My stepfather liked anything that was fried.

"How's school, Bobby?" Aunt Camille said. "It's about over, isn't it?"

"Yeah," I said. "Just this week left. We're taking exams."

"Your Mom said you're getting out early on Friday."

"Yeah. At noon."

She swiveled her bar stool around and leaned towards me with her arms on her knees as if she were talking to a child. I hated that.

"That's when I'm going home. Would you like to come with me and spend the summer with your Uncle Tyler and me in the country?"

"Oh. Yeah, OK."

I couldn't say no, but I hated the thought of getting out of school and having to immediately go off to a strange place.

"I thought it would be a good idea," Mom said, "since Wayne and I have that couple's retreat this weekend. Then Wayne's got the spring cantata to prepare for and I'll be working in the church office a lot. Then there's the trip to Gulf Shores. We won't have a lot of time to entertain you, Sweetie."

I didn't need to be entertained and I hated being called, 'Sweetie.' I would rather just be left by myself. She hadn't been married to Wayne for too long, so I knew they were just getting me out of the way.

"OK," I said. "Sure. All summer?"

"All summer," Aunt Camille said. "You can ride horses and we have a pool you can swim in. There's not much in Berea, but we'll take some trips into Natchez and you can see the antebellum homes there. And there's the Natchez Indian Village and a two hundred year-old restaurant."

The restaurant sounded interesting, but I couldn't swim and I didn't want to be seen in a bathing suit, anyway. I didn't even have one. Maybe that would be an excuse not to swim. I had never touched a horse.

"Sounds fun," Mom said.

"Yeah," I said.

"And there's other teenagers you can make friends with. Some work at the bed-and-breakfast during the summer. We always have a big party for them before they have to go back to school."

"Neat," Mom said.

I just nodded. I was usually picked on by new kids or just ignored. I hated to think about how bad country kids would be.

"Great," Aunt Camille said. "We have a room for you on the second floor. We only put the guests in the first floor rooms."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Mom said.

"I'll call Tyler and tell him. We can go down right after school's out on Friday."

"Oh, I'm going to miss my Bobby," Mom said and gave me a hug.

"I'll miss you, too," I said.

I didn't think she would miss me too much. She and Wayne would stay busy. At least I'd be away from bullies for a while and everyone would have time to forget about the stolen camera equipment.

"Thanks so much for taking Bobby this summer, Camille. Thank Tyler, too."

"Oh, we'll love having him."

"And I'm so glad to have my sister with me," Mom squealed. She must have been excited about checking me off her list.

"We'll cook recipes from your cookbook and go shopping."

"Oh yeah," Aunt Camille said. "And we'll have all week to catch up while I'm going over my book gallies."

"That reminds me, I have a planning meeting at the church tomorrow. I need to call Myra Benton and tell her what time it is."

That was Anthony's mother. I was sure she didn't know about the thefts or Anthony's involvement. Or if she did, I hoped she wouldn't talk about them with Mom. I didn't want my name to come up at all. Maybe it was good I would be in Natchez.

"Bless her heart," Mom said. "She has such a hard time with Tony. You know Tony, don't you, Bobby?"

"A little. I see him at school sometimes," I said. "I'm going to play with Elton. Who'll take care of him while we're all gone?"

"We'll board him when we're away more than a day. He'll be fine."

They both smiled at me as I left. I knew they thought they were doing me a favor, or at least Aunt Camille did.

I sat on the porch steps and Elton ran across the yard to me. I petted him and thought how I would miss my dog and my yard and my room. I wished I could just stay home while Mom and Wayne went, wherever. But it was all settled, now. They had it all settled before they said anything to me.

Lord, please don't let Mom and Wayne find out about what I did. Please show me what to do. Or lead me through it and make it end.

Elton just enjoyed his head-scratching and put his muzzle on my leg.

"You don't have these problems, boy. I wish I could take you with me."

And I still had exams to get through before the long summer started.

*

The bus let me out at the end of my street that Friday, then roared off in a cloud of diesel fumes. I started the hike toward my summer vacation, stepping around puddles left by the morning rain.

When I was close to my house, I saw Aunt Camille leaning into the back of the Jeep. She was shoving her luggage though the hatch like she was feeding some monster.

"Hi, Bobby," she called over her shoulder when I reached her. "Ready to head south?"

"Sure," I said. "I need to get my things."

"You don't have to hurry, your mom's packed a lot for you. You got time to eat lunch."

Elton barked at me as I went in through the back. Mom and Wayne were already eating. Wayne's big Bible and some cantata music were on the table at his elbow. He must have come home for lunch to see Aunt Camille and me off.

"Hey, Bobby," Mom said. "Sit down. I've got you a sandwich and chips."

"Hey, man," Wayne said. "You ready for your trip?"

He seemed pleased.

"I think so," I said.

I took a seat at the table and Mom put my plate in front of me.

"I've packed your clothes and bathroom things for you," she said. "I knew you wouldn't have time and I wanted to make sure you had everything you need. You can get whatever else you want after you eat."

"OK." I wished she hadn't packed for me. I could pack my own bags.

The screen door yawned and Aunt Camille came in.

"That's all my stuff," she said. "I think the weather will be good for our drive back. I was so glad to see the sun breaking through the clouds. I hated I had to drive through the rain to my meetings this week."

"Must have been worth the trouble," Wayne said, "I hear you got a book-signing lined up."

"Yes," Aunt Camille said. "At El Camino Books, right after Kiernan House Cuisine is published in August."

"And we want a signed copy," Mom said.

"You'll get one. Anyway, at least the sun's coming out. I love to drive the Trace when it's sunny."

She smiled her big, toothy, smile. She was always cheerful. That's why I always preferred her to Uncle Tyler. I remembered him as pretty glum. I didn't know how I could be around him for the whole summer.

"Camille," Wayne said. "Where will you be taking Bobby to church?"

Aunt Camille's smile dimmed a little. She paused, like she wasn't prepared for the question.

"Oh, Tyler and I belong to St. Mark's Methodist in Natchez. He can go with us. A lot of the local teenagers go there."

"I know the Youth Minister at St. Mark's," Wayne said. "Jim Bruiner. Fine man. Used to be Music Minister at Ridgewood Methodist. Has a Karate for Christ ministry now in Natchez."

"Yes, I know," Aunt Camille said. "Tyler teaches martial arts too. Kung fu. Some of his students have done well in tournaments. You might want to sit in on some of his classes, Bobby."

"Yes, ma'am," I said. I wouldn't, though. It just sounded like another place to get beat up.

"You have to be careful about martial arts classes," Wayne said. "I don't know about Tyler's, but a lot of them are based on Eastern religions. That's why Jim's classes are so good. He bases them on a sound Bible foundation."

"Bobby knows right from wrong," Mom said.

"'Train up a child in the way he should go...and he will not depart from it.'"

I thought Wayne was right, but I couldn't 'amen' him after what I had done. I had departed from my raising. But it was surely over now. It had to be. And I could ask God's forgiveness without confessing to anybody.

"I'm through," I said. "Are my bags in my room?"

"Yeah," Mom said.

"I'll help you," Wayne said.

Mom had laid three suitcases on my bed. The big one was hers. Wayne grabbed it but wasn't prepared for the weight.

"Lord!" he said. "Did she pack every scrap of clothing you own?"

"That's Mom's suitcase," I said. "Won't you need that on your trips?"

"I got luggage. We probably won't carry as much stuff as she's packed for you. You want anything else?"

"My Nintendo."

"Don't take that," Wayne said. "You're not going down there to play video games. Get outside some. I'm sure they've got TV in Natchez anyway."

"Yes sir."

We hauled the bags to the kitchen. Mom and Aunt Camille were chattering as if they hadn't been together all week. They paused when we came in.

"That everything?" Aunt Camille said.

"Should be," Wayne said. "I don't think there's anything left in his room."

"I wanted to make sure he had everything he needed," Mom said.

"I don't know what else he would need," Wayne said.

"What about your camera?" Mom said. "I want you to take plenty of pictures for us."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess I could."

I hadn't thought about having a good time, so I didn't think I needed my camera.

"Sure," Aunt Camille said. "There's lots to take pictures of down there. The Trace is beautiful in the spring."

"OK. I'll get it."

I dropped my bags on the kitchen floor and ran back for my camera. I kept it in a leather case with the zoom lens, mini-tripod and cleaning kit. The side pockets had three rolls of color ASA400. There was one roll of ASA100 for really bright days. I had a few rolls of black-and-white I could develop myself.

Everyone was outside when I got back to the kitchen. Elton was scratching at the door. He ran out when I opened it to say goodbye and I let him follow me to the truck.

Wayne took the bags from me and shoved them into the back of the SUV. He slammed the hatch with such violence it made me jump. Mom grabbed me in a bear-hug just as suddenly.

"You have fun with your aunt and uncle," she said. "I'm going to miss you so much."

"I know. I'll be fine. Bye Mom."

Wayne shook my hand.

"Have fun, partner. Be careful and mind your aunt and uncle."

"I will. Bye Wayne."

I opened the door and Elton jumped in.

"No, Elton," Mom said. "You can't go with Bobby this time."

"Elton! Get out!" Wayne yelled.

Elton didn't move. He just stood on the seat, waiting for me. I called him and he came. Mom held him while I got in the Jeep.

Aunt Camille cranked the engine amid more goodbyes and backed us down the driveway.

"Call me when you get there," Mom called to Aunt Camille.

"I will. Don't worry, we'll take good care of Bobby."

I waved out my open window. I was on my way, leaving my crimes in Jackson and in God's hands. If Mom and Wayne were to find out anything from Mrs. Benton while I was in Natchez, I'd know. Mom would be calling me quick. But if I didn't hear anything, maybe it would be over and God would forgive me.

Chapter 3: The Hawk, The Trace, and The Mound

"I'm afraid the air conditioner doesn't work very well," Aunt Camille said. "Better to roll down the windows. I prefer the fresh air anyway."

"Yeah, me too," I said. I rolled down my window. It did feel good and relieved the musty smell in the Jeep. Rain smell filled the cabin as the wind rushed in. I laid my arm on the window and then pulled it back when I felt water. I wiped my elbow and just kept it at my side as we drove.

"I don't think it'll rain anymore," Aunt Camille said. "I can't wait to get on the Trace around all the trees. I'm just not much for the city."

"Yeah."

We drove a long stretch down Highway 25 to get to the Interstate. Aunt Camille talked all the way and I gave her what I thought were appropriate responses. We reached the Interstate and took a winding curve onto the south-side ramp beneath the towers of St. Dominic's Hospital. From there, we drove south with the Pearl River to our left and the city to our right. Soon, the river took a right turn and crossed under the Interstate. At a big intersection of Interstate Highways we followed the westbound lane that paralleled the river for a ways.

The river was up from the rains and the muddy waters were at the top of their banks, swirling around tree trunks that seemed to be reaching to get their leaves as high above the waters as they could. Billboards, mostly advertising lawyers, towered above the waters on matrixes of stilt-like legs. Beyond, a muddy plain interspersed with scraggly brush and stunted trees reached to the city. It was dotted with rusted-out cars and even house trailers.

I thought it was a desolate and depressing scene and wondered if it would be any better around Natchez.

We skirted the south side of Jackson and continued west. Past the city limits, the scenery was more wooded, but still mostly clumps of trees between strip malls and isolated buildings. There were more mobile homes surrounded by rusted fences. A bunch of dogs barked in a big pen beside one trailer-house and I wondered if their owners took care of them. Probably not.

"I see you're not a big talker," Aunt Camille said. "Like your Uncle Tyler."

"I'm sorry. It's hard for me to talk when I'm in a car for some reason."

"Oh, that's OK, honey. Tyler says I talk enough for two people anyway. He just talks when he's got something to say. He's OK with long silences. I have to fill in the gaps."

She laughed and I smiled back.

We crossed an overpass into a built-up area that I guessed was the city of Clinton. The Interstate there was lined with a variety of buildings. I noticed a motel, some fast food places, and a mobile home park. A sudden glint of gold caught my eye in the midst of them all.

"Whoa. What's that gold?"

Aunt Camille looked past me out the window.

"That's the golden dome. It's Mississippi College's basketball gym."

"Oh."

"You thought about where you want to go to college?"

"No."

Aunt Camille went on about colleges and the importance of preparing now for scholarships. I half-listened and watched the scenery change as we took a long exit ramp from the Interstate and pulled onto the Natchez Trace Parkway.

Things were suddenly a lot greener. Either side of the smoothly paved road was lined with tall trees, most of them fully leafed-out. After we crossed the Interstate overpass the woods looked even thicker on either side of the road. There were no power lines--nothing artificial to distract from the stands of trees and greenery. Even in the daylight, the spaces between the trees were dark.

"Ever been down the Trace?" Aunt Camille asked.

"Yeah, a time or two. It's been a while."

"It's beautiful this time of year when it's still cool and a lot of sunshine. It's like that around our house. That's why I love it. I think we'll have time to stop and see some historic sites. You can get some pictures."

"OK."

My camera case was still hung around my neck. I didn't want to risk damaging it by throwing it in the back with my bags.

"What kind of camera you got?"

"It's a Cannon 35mm. It's old. It was my dad's."

"Oh. Can I see?"

"Sure." I opened the case and showed her the camera and lenses.

"Nice," she said. "Looks complicated. I couldn't work one like that. I have enough trouble with my little automatic. How'd you learn to work it?"

"It has instructions," I said. "I just read them and figured it out."

"Your Mom said you're the photographer for your school newspaper."

"Yeah. For the yearbook staff too."

"I bet that's fun. You're smart."

I didn't feel so smart. Nobody else wanted the job. I wouldn't have it much longer if they found out....

"Closer to Natchez, there's a historic site that's a good section of the Old Trace. We'll stop and see it. Postcard pictures are usually made there."

"Why?" I said. "What is it?"

"It's a deeply eroded part of the Trace. The original Trace that the Indians and settlers used. It's eroded so deep that it's like a tunnel with the top open. Makes neat pictures."

"Why's it called 'The Trace?'"

"That's just an old word for 'trail,'" she said. "It started as a trail through the woods from around Natchez, right through Mississippi up to Tennessee. Nearly to Nashville. When white men arrived, it was established enough that they kept using it to get across country. A lot of stores and inns, called 'stands' were built along it. People even made their homes along it and you can still find family graveyards. There's one not too far from Kiernan House. That's our bed-and-breakfast."

"Oh. Neat."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ramble. I'm a history buff. I thought about becoming a history teacher before I decided on nursing school."

"That's OK. It's interesting."

We drove a long way. Aunt Camille pretty much kept up her chatter but slowed down some. She had soft drinks and snacks that we worked on along the way.

"I'm going to take the next rest stop," she said. We had been on the road for nearly two hours. "I think we could use one about now."

I was wondering what we would do about that since there were no gas stations or fast-food places around.

The rest stop was at a place called, Rocky Springs. The rest rooms were just off the road and next to a ranger's station. I could see that the paved road split and continued off into the woods in both directions. Aunt Camille said the road led to camp grounds.

"There was a town here over a hundred years ago," she said, bringing the Jeep to a stop in the parking area. "There's a long trail that goes through the woods where the town site was. The only building left is their church. People still meet in it every Sunday."

"Wow," I said. "Can we see it?"

"It's a little more walking than I want to do right now. Maybe you can stop with your parents on the way back."

We went to our respective facilities. When I came out of the Men's room I didn't see Aunt Camille, so I wandered over to a fence made from split logs and waited for her. The fence bordered an expanse of grass amid thick woods and I wondered what it would be like to camp in there overnight.

A movement overhead caught my eye and I looked up to see a large bird circling. It wasn't a buzzard. It was smaller and lighter in color. It drifted in a smooth, easy, flight, barely flapping its wings. It maintained a circular path that covered the circumference of the field. The circle tightened as the bird descended to nearly eye level.

I was amazed. I expected the bird to fly off before it got close, but it didn't. It kept coming. I could make out its mottled brown feathers, sharp beak, and hooded eyes. I decided it must be a hawk.

"What you looking at?" Aunt Camille said, coming up behind me.

I pointed.

"A bird. A hawk, I think."

It was level with us now and flying very close.

"Yeah, that's a hawk," Aunt Camille said in a whisper. "It's hunting."

As we watched, it made a few more circles and then suddenly dropped into the middle of the field, disappearing into a hollow.

"He's caught something," Aunt Camille said.

"That was awesome," I said. "I never thought a big bird like that would get so close. And the way it was flying so slow. I didn't think they did that."

"You were in the right place. That's how they scan a field to find prey like a mouse or rabbit. That slow, circular, flight is called a gyre. It's a very powerful image of control and inevitability."

"Inevitability?"

"Sure. Can you watch that and have any doubt the hawk will catch whatever it's hunting?"

Suddenly, the hawk burst into the air in a great fluttering of wings with something dangling from its beak.

"There he goes," Aunt Camille said, "with his meal. Mouse, I think."

The hawk disappeared into the trees.

"Wow," I said. "I wish I hadn't left my camera in the truck."

"I know a couple more stops we can make where you can get some good pictures. Come on."

We headed back to the parking spaces.

"William Butler Yeats was inspired by the hawk's gyre too," Aunt Camille said as we walked. "He used the image in his poem, The Second Coming, 'Turning and turning in the widening gyre....'"

I was beginning to think Aunt Camille was all right.

"You teach English too?"

"No, that's just one of my favorite poems. It's in the library at Kiernan House. You might want to check it out."

"Maybe I will," I said. I meant it.

"'Surely some revelation is at hand'," Aunt Camille quoted again.

*

Seeing the hawk prompted me to keep a watch out the window. The depth of the woods around us varied a lot as we drove, and I saw lots of birds but no more hawks. I pointed my camera at the woods, checking the aperture and light settings. It was loaded with a 400-speed film that I thought would work well enough for a semi-cloudy day.

It was mid afternoon now and it seemed we had driven a long way from Rocky Springs. I spotted another historical site marker ahead and Aunt Camille slowed to read it.

"'Sunken Trace.' That's what I wanted to show you," she said. We travelled another half mile and then pulled into a parking area that marked the site's location. We stopped in front of a huge sign that described the old trail in big, yellow letters. It verified Aunt Camille's description of the old trace as a roadway for Indians, mail riders, and itinerate preachers that was used so much it literally sank into the earth.

"It's just over there," Aunt Camille said. She pointed to what looked like a large ditch among the trees.

I kept my camera at the ready with the 50mm lens. We followed a little path, obviously worn by tourists, through a stand of pine and pin oak trees. The leaf litter was thick and ivy ran among the tree trunks. I hoped it wasn't the poison type.

We reached the edge of the hollow and followed the path down a steep embankment. It was heavily trampled and descended quickly into the depths of the hollow. It looked like an old creek bed, but there was no water in it.--not even the dried remains of a creek. It was just a path cut so deeply through the earth that the sides rose over our heads.

It really was like looking down a "topless" tunnel. Sandy soil ran down the middle of it covered with grass and runs of ivy. The path sloped up on either side to walls that were muddy, moss-covered, and stratified. Tree roots erupted through the dirt along the walls. They also reached down from the trees that lined the top edges, as if a huge swath of ground had been excavated from the forest floor by some gigantic shovel. It was such an odd feeling, looking up into tree roots.

Everything was still within the earthen tunnel. The only sounds were the leaves high overhead stirring in the breeze, and our feet as we walked over the leaf-strewn path. The air was moist and earthy.

"This is the postcard shot," Aunt Camille said.

"I can see why," I said. I framed the center of the Old Trace in my camera's viewfinder. My picture captured the trail winding to a far bend with the mossy, rooted sides curving up to the ground-level trees that reached toward the sky with broad leaves and allowed sunlight through in dapples.

I snapped more pictures as we walked the length of the trail.

"An awful lot of people must have walked this way in two hundred years," Aunt Camille said. "Maybe their ghosts still walk it."

At the far end, the trail rose back to nearly ground level and proceeded through the woods. It branched and we followed the left fork back to ground level and the parking lot.

I stole another look down the Old Trace before we left it.

*

The woods on either side of us looked a lot wilder as we continued our drive south. They were thick and very green. I kept my camera out of its case and slung around my neck.

"The Sunken Trace always makes neat pictures," Aunt Camille said. "We can get them developed in Natchez."

"We going to stop at any more sites?" I asked.

"There's lots of sites and it's getting late. You need to see Emerald Mound, though. We probably won't get back this way while you're with us."

"What's Emerald Mound?"

"It's an Indian Mound. The second largest in the United States, I believe. It's really impressive. You should see it at least once."

"What did the Indians do with it?"

"They put buildings on top of it. Buried their dead in it. Some people think they buried treasure in it, too. I don't think any has ever been found, but I know the mound's been excavated."

The sun was low when we reached the Emerald Mound site marker. We found the turnoff in another half mile. Rather than the usual parking area, though, we found a narrow road that wound through woods and hills. It seemed a long way, but we soon reached a parking area bordered by a fence. A huge hill rose beyond that.

"This is it," Aunt Camille said. "Bring your camera."

We got out of the Jeep and walked to a gate where a sign warned tourists that the site closed at dark. Beyond that, a trail wound over an expanse of grass and came to the base of the 'hill' that was actually Emerald Mound.

It was huge, rising as high as the surrounding trees to its first level. I could see a second level--a smaller mound--atop the first at the west end.

We followed the trail up the steep side to the wide top. I was amazed for the second time that day. It was like standing on a football field raised on a high platform. It was completely covered with grass, weeds, and briar-bushes. It was roughly rectangular in shape with the long axis oriented west and east. A sign said the Natchez Indians erected monuments along this axis to form an avenue for ceremonial processions. It was certainly big enough.

"Get some pictures," Aunt Camille said.

I did. I swept the top of the mound with the wide-angle lens. I walked to the edge and snapped pictures of the treetops at eye-level.

We walked the circumference to the east end. I snapped a picture of the small mound at the west end from there. We crossed to the smaller top-mound and climbed the modern cement steps built into it.

The panorama was awesome. We were looking down on the trees reflecting gold in the lowering sun. The wind blew cool, soughing a dirge through the limbs around us and waving the mound grasses in accompaniment. I imagined crowds of the Natchez moving over their mountain in solemn ceremony, fires outlining the summit avenue, while people in buckskins and feathers walked its length. Chiefs and holy men watched from this earthen tower.

A chill ran through me, and I felt very alone.

"Bobby? You all right?"

"Huh? Yeah, I'm OK."

"Get your pictures, then we better get going."

I snapped a few more, but they couldn't do justice to being there at the top of what had been somebody's world.

*

The sun reached the western horizon and shed its remaining light through pink clouds as we continued down the Trace. We didn't go far before taking the exit to Highway 98. This was a major highway that drove as smooth as the Trace and we followed it for a couple of miles. Soon our headlights illumined a sign that read, BEREA, with an arrow pointing to the right.

"We're getting close," Aunt Camille said.

We made the turn and followed a paved, narrow road past houses sitting in the middle of fields and dilapidated trailers closer to the road. This struck me as worse than the south side of Jackson.

Things were a bit more built-up further on, and we soon passed through what was apparently the center of town. There were a few old buildings lining the road. By the streetlights I could make out lettering on windows that indicated a hardware store, barber shop, and a paint store. There was a town square that contained government-looking buildings, but they were in bad repair and it was hard to tell if they were still used.

We made another right off the square and passed some more trailer homes. Then we were quickly into dark spaces surrounded by trees and fields. It wasn't as clean as the Trace, though, and every road was lined with power poles.

After a few more turns, I was thoroughly lost. The road was gravel now and the surroundings more wooded.

"We're kind of remote," Aunt Camille said. "That's why our advertisements encourage people to call ahead for directions."

"I don't think I'd ever find it," I said.

"You'll get used to it."

We made another turn off one gravel road and onto another that passed under a thick canopy of trees. Our lights caught an open gate ahead. A sign cautioned to approach slowly. We did, crossing a little wooden bridge over a creek.

The road beyond made a curve around a small lake, or large pond, and then up a hill. Oak trees covered the hill top and many had lights shining up their trunks and into their upper branches. Among them, stood a huge house like you see in movies. It was two full stories high with what looked like a tower that contained a third story. A wide porch stretched around the front and one side of the house. The tower part wasn't round but was made of three sides that stuck away from the main house. Other parts jutted out from the main building and a steep roof overhung them all. Another roof extended from the bottom of the second floor and, supported by carved columns, covered the porch.

"Home at last," Aunt Camille said. "That's Kiernan House."

"Why's it called Kiernan House?" I said.

"Cause it was built by Mr. Kiernan about a hundred years ago. That's the name people know it by, so that's what we call our bed-and-breakfast."

The road turned into a driveway that curved around the front, but Aunt Camille followed an offshoot through another fence and around to the back.

There were a number of buildings there and a lighted area around a pool. It was hard to tell the purpose of the buildings in the dark, but at least one was a garage. It was open and Aunt Camille pulled into it. A light came on as we parked.

A big, yellow dog ran up and began barking outside my door. I hesitated to open it, but Aunt Camille wasn't alarmed and stepped right out.

"Sidd! Stop that," she said. "Bobby won't hurt you."

I got out, holding my camera away from the dog. He was a golden retriever and he ran within a few feet of me and stood his ground, barking.

"It's OK, boy, " I said. I held out my hand. The dog calmed and ran to lick my hand.

"See," Aunt Camille said, "he's just a big baby."

She popped the hatch and grabbed a couple of bags. I grabbed my two biggest and followed Aunt Camille up the path toward the house, which was impressively huge from that angle and lit by strategic lights in the surrounding trees and from around the pool.

"Wow," was all I could say.

"Yeah," Aunt Camille said. "I still feel that way too."

The back door opened and a man stepped out onto the porch. When he started towards us, Sidd left me and ran towards him.

"We finally made it," Aunt Camille called to the man. "We did a little sightseeing along the way."

"I thought you might have," he replied.

I hadn't seen Uncle Tyler in a couple of years, but I recognized his tall, lean build and longish hair. His shirt was open and spread behind him like a cape as he walked. As he got closer, I made out his black tee shirt and jeans. He still had the moustache I remembered but was otherwise clean-shaven. I was really struck by his eyes which were hooded like the hawk's.

I really didn't know what to say. He was such a dark contrast to Aunt Camille. It was hard to imagine the two of them together. I just slowed to a stop as Aunt Camille walked up to him and stood on tiptoe to peck him on the check.

"Say hello to Bobby," she said.

He stepped toward me and extended his hand.

"Hi, Bobby. Welcome to Kiernan House."

I started to reach a hand towards him and was stopped by the weight of my luggage. I sat down the left one. No, I'm right-handed. I dropped the right one and stumbled forward with my hand out.

Uncle Tyler paused a beat before taking my hand with a kind of half-smile.

"Follow your aunt on up to the house," he said.

"I've got more," I said.

"We'll get your luggage. Go on."

I followed Aunt Camille up the path to the back of the house, feeling a little guilty for having Uncle Tyler carry my bags.

Chapter 4: Kiernan House

I followed Aunt Camille up a path marked by stepping stones. There was a large back porch, but we bypassed it for a set of steps leading to a side door. Aunt Camille sat down her bags and opened the door. I held it for her as she picked up her bags again and went inside. I followed and found the door opened right into the kitchen.

The kitchen was big. The stove was gas with big burners beneath a huge hood. An island filled the middle of the kitchen. One side of it was a bar with three stools. A large table filled the other side of the room and a smaller one sat next to a window that looked out over the back of the property.

"This is a big kitchen," I said.

"We had to knock out a wall to make it suitable for Camille's culinary work," Uncle Tyler said, coming in behind me.

"An artist needs space to work," Aunt Camille said. "Our rooms are on the second floor. The stairs are in the main hallway."

"This way," Uncle Tyler said. He passed me, still carrying my bags, and I followed with Aunt Camille. We went down a short hall to the central hallway that ran the length of the house. The flooring was all wood with rugs here and there. A chandelier hung from the center of the main hall and lighted a huge, polished table filled with old-looking ceramic statues and racks of brochures.

I heard voices from down the hall as we passed the brochure table and I assumed it was guests. A stairway ended in the middle of the hall and we climbed it to a landing that opened to a hallway on the second floor.

The second floor was less museum-like and seemed smaller than the first. Windows at the front end let in the waning sunlight, and there looked to be a porch out there.

"That's the bathroom you'll use," Uncle Tyler said, indicating a door at the back end of the hall. "Your room is to the right."

"We're at the other end," Aunt Camille said. "Take a few minutes to get settled in and then come downstairs to the kitchen for some supper."

"OK."

Aunt Camille headed for her room and I followed Uncle Tyler to mine. We entered a small, corner room. It was barely lightened from two windows. One overlooked the back of the property.

"You have TV," Uncle Tyler said, indicating a small set on top of a chest-of-drawers. "It's broadcast only. There's a VCR and some movies. We can rent some more in Natchez, if you want. You can use the drawers for your clothes. There's a small closet and a wardrobe you can use."

"OK. Thanks," I said. The bed was about the size of mine at home and looked comfortable enough. The bedposts were wooden and tall. They looked old. The bed was right beside the window that overlooked the back.

"Settle in," Uncle Tyler said. "The bathroom will be pretty much just yours. Camille and I have our own. Come on down to the kitchen when you're ready and I'll fry us up some hamburgers."

Uncle Tyler gave another half-smile and left me in my room. I needed to use the bathroom, but I didn't want to do that while they were up here, so I started unpacking.

I found the chest-of-drawers was empty and put my shirts and pants in it. The closet was small and had a few clothes hanging in it, so I looked for somewhere else to put my shoes and jackets. I didn't know why Mom packed my jackets for a summer trip.

Uncle Tyler mentioned a 'wardrobe' I could use. I thought wardrobes were clothes, so that didn't make sense. I did find a tall cabinet with a mirror on the door that had a rod inside with coat hangers, so I used that.

Uncle Tyler brought up the rest of my things and left them without a word. I put away what I thought I would use and left the rest in the bags.

When I thought enough time had passed, I stepped out into the hall. The door creaked really loud. The bathroom door creaked as well so it seemed everyone would know when I went to the bathroom.

The bathroom was normal enough, but the bathtub stood on legs and was shoved against a wall beneath a shower head and the water outlet. The shower curtain ran around a fixture that circled the whole bathtub. I had never seen such a thing.

When I left the bathroom, Aunt Camille was waiting for me on the stairway. She had probably heard me going into the bathroom.

"You ready for some supper, Bobby?"

"Sure," I said, and followed her downstairs. I worried about their cooking. Would it be something I could eat? Aunt Camille wrote a cookbook so she must be a good cook. Probably be stuff I wouldn't like, though. I only liked my Mom's cooking.

In the kitchen, Uncle Tyler was working over three big hamburgers on a grill set into the stove. Flames licked the burgers and made the kitchen smell like our backyard when Wayne was grilling. Plates were laid out on the bar so I took a seat in front of one of them. Aunt Camille opened the oven and pulled out a big pan of what looked like french fries.

"Are those french fries?" I asked.

"They're oven fries," Aunt Camille said. "They're better for you than regular french fries."

"But they're just as good," Uncle Tyler said. "You'll love them."

"Your Mom never makes oven fries?"

"No. I don't think Wayne would like them. He wants everything fried."

Aunt Camille laughed.

"Well, we'll feed you healthy here," she said.

The burger was good, though more than I could eat. I tried, but I had to leave a third of it.

"Dinner tomorrow will be good," Aunt Camille said. "It's a meal we do for the guests that pay for it. It's all turn-of-the-century type food, but I modify it for modern tastes. That's what my cookbook's all about. You're welcome to join us."

"Sounds like a lot," I said. It sounded like a fancy meal I couldn't eat.

"You can just eat what you want. It'll be fun. It's good to try new things. I'll be working on getting ready for the dinner tomorrow, but we'll find some fun things for you to do."

"You can help us with the garden," Uncle Tyler said. "And swim in the pool. We might even saddle a horse for you."

"I've never ridden a horse," I said. I thought it better to go ahead and admit it. "I really don't swim so well, either."

"Hmph," Uncle Tyler said. "Ever plant a tomato?"

"No," I said. I was pretty sure Uncle Tyler hated me now.

"Well, we'll find something you can do," Uncle Tyler said. He rinsed his plate off in the sink.

"Some kids about your age will be by in the morning," Aunt Camille said. "They work here during the summer doing odd jobs. They'll be planting in the garden in the morning. They can show you how if you want. We'll pay you so you'll have a little spending money when we go into Natchez."

"OK." The money sounded good, but I didn't know about the work.

"Erin and Russell are two of Tyler's kung fu students," Aunt Camille said. "Maybe you'd like to learn a little kung fu while you're here."

Uncle Tyler looked up from loading the dishwasher.

"You interested in martial arts?" he asked.

"I hadn't really thought about it," I said. Actually I thought a lot about it. I wanted so much to be able to beat up Anthony Benton. I wouldn't be in the fix I was in, if I could. But I was too small. I knew I would just be laughed at if I tried.

"Wayne said I could take karate, maybe."

"You might like watching us work out," Uncle Tyler said. He spun the dial on the dishwasher to start it. "I think I'll go check on our guests. Sounds like they're hanging out in the parlor."

When he was gone, Aunt Camille said, "Tyler takes some getting used to. He's from Connecticut and still has a lot of Yankee in him. He'll warm up to you. You'll have a good time here, I know it."

"I know," I said. "It's all right. I'll have fun." But I really just wanted to get away. I was very uneasy with my aunt and uncle. Especially my uncle.

"I'm pretty tired," I said. "I'd like to go up to my room now. Maybe clean my camera."

"Sure, Honey, go ahead. Get some rest, you've had a long day. I'll wake you for breakfast."

"OK."

I left the kitchen. At the stairs, I heard Uncle Tyler's voice among others coming from one of the rooms down the hall. The parlor must be down there. I hurried up the stairs to the second floor and to my bedroom.

Finally. I could be alone for a while. Tomorrow would be tough. I was going to have to work and meet kids who would probably hate me. I didn't want to face swimming or a fancy meal. I didn't know how I was going to get through the summer.

I tried to watch some TV, but the picture was snowy. The videos were all old movies I had seen. So I just lay on the bed and stared at the room. It was all wood-smelling, and musty, like old clothes.

After a while, I got really tired and decided to try to sleep. I found my pajamas and put them on, then crawled in between the crisp linens. I closed my eyes and started to recite my evening prayers.

Lord, thanks for getting me down here, safe. And for the neat parts of the ride down. Please help me get through these days. You know I can't swim, please help me with that. Please help me get through whatever else they make me do. Please forgive my crime and show me what you want me to do about that. Bless Mom and Wayne. Keep Elton safe. In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, amen.

My eyes popped open again. The room seemed awfully bright. Too much light coming in the window. I sat up and reached over to close the curtains, but took a look outside first.

It was actually pretty dark except for some grounds lights. I didn't see the moon and few stars. The pool was off to the left and most of the lights around it had been turned out, but there were a few on beneath the water that gave it an interesting look. I could see the garage, and a barn, and a couple of other buildings from the lights strung in a huge oak tree. Further out, I could just make out gray fields against the darkness of surrounding trees. I wondered how far out they stretched and what kinds of animals lived in them.

Then I thought I saw a light. It was dim and hard to make out among the distant trees. It had a bluish tint. Then it was gone.

I closed the curtains, lay back in bed, and breathed another prayer for help.

I finally dropped off to sleep sometime after midnight.

Chapter 5: Fainting and Not Swimming

I woke to a knock at my door.

"Bobby," Aunt Camille said through the door. "Time to get up, honey."

The sun was well up and streaming through the curtains.

"I'm awake."

"Come on down and I'll fix you some breakfast."

"OK."

I fumbled for my glasses on the nightstand. I put them on and the room cleared around me. It was the same as yesterday, all old wood and musty. I dressed in yesterday's clothes and wondered what I would have to do today.

I tied my shoes and looked through the window to see what the place looked like in the daytime. The garage and barn didn't look as big. The pool looked more normal too, without the dramatic underwater lights. It was surrounded with concrete flooring, like a patio, with a pool house at one end and deck chairs and tables scattered around it. The whole was surrounded by a cyclone fence.

I stepped closer to the window for a better look. The woods weren't so scary in the daylight either. Just green, like the Trace. I could make out people in one of the distant fields, but I couldn't tell what they were doing.

I let the curtains drop. It was time to face whatever I had to face. I didn't know what they expected me to do, but I couldn't just stay in my room. I was hungry anyway.

I went to the door and stopped with my hand on the knob. I looked back at the room. The bed was unmade and my bags were all opened and scattered here-and-there. It was a tiny bit of familiarity. My little haven. I felt the illogical desire to just stay there until I could go home, but that was crazy. I had to go out.

I turned the knob and stepped into the hall.

The mid-morning sun streamed in through the big front windows. I stopped by the bathroom. Every move I made was noisy and I just knew everybody in the house was following my progress. My footsteps creaked over the wooden floor and the toilet flushed with an echo. Even the water running into the sink drummed the steel bottom. Or iron bottom, I didn't know which. It was rusted around the drain anyway.

From the bathroom, I followed bacon smells downstairs. The first floor hall was empty and also filled with the natural light from the front windows. It still looked like a museum to me, with the big, cherry wood table and the ceramics and brochures. I looked out for guests but didn't see anybody or even hear any voices. My Reeboks squeaked over the wooden floor from the landing to the kitchen door.

The cooking smells were really strong now. When I opened the door, I was hit with a powerful wave of sizzling bacon and eggs. Aunt Camille was working over the stove on my breakfast, but there were other pots and pans and dishes scattered around the kitchen--all filled with foods cooking or about to be cooked.

"Morning, Bobby," Aunt Camille said, looking up from a cast iron skillet. "We get started pretty early around here, but I know you're not used to that so I let you sleep in."

"Thanks."

"I'm going to be in the kitchen all day anyway. We got the turn-of-the-century dinner for the guests tonight. They pay for it, so I try to do it up right. That's how I worked out the recipes for my cookbook."

She sat a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast in front of me with a big glass of milk and I dug in. I had no problem with that meal.

"When you're finished, I'll take you out to the garden and let you meet the other kids."

Other kids. I was afraid of that. They expected me to make friends with total strangers.

I tried to stretch out the meal, but you can slow down eating eggs and bacon only so much. When I was finished, Aunt Camille suggested I put on some shorts. I knew Mom had packed some, but I didn't want to wear them. I hated the 'skinny legs' comments.

"I'm all right," I said.

"OK. If you say so. You ready?"

"Sure."

She adjusted some of the stove burners and then led me out the back door.

We stepped into the big air of the Kiernan House grounds. Scents of woods, turned earth and mown lawns surrounded us as we made our way over the stepping stones. A couple of guests were using the pool and Aunt Camille waved at them as we passed. The young man waved just before pushing backwards through the water. The woman didn't notice us that we could tell. She was lying on her back in a lounger and wearing dark sunglasses.

The smell of chlorine reminded me of last summer's attempt at YMCA swimming lessons. What a disaster.

Beyond the pool and the garage, we climbed a slight rise to an enclosed garden containing the huge oak tree I had seen from my window. It was surrounded by a riot of blooming flowers. Azaleas, I think. A statute of a man in robes was in the center of the garden. It was surrounded by little statues of rabbits and squirrels and birds.

Across the garden from us was a building of similar architecture to the others, but it seemed newer. It had a lot of windows set into it, but the inside was too dark to make out anything. To the right of its door was a stone with some Chinese writing carved into it. At least I assumed it was Chinese and I wondered if it had something to do with Uncle Tyler's kung fu lessons.

We passed the garden and the small building and followed a gravel road to the barn. It must have contained stables because I heard horses snorting inside and was hit with the smell of manure. There was a corral beyond the breezeway. Aunt Camille hadn't said anything more about riding horses. I hoped she and Uncle Tyler would forget about it.

The gravel road became just dirt beyond the barn. It passed a field surrounded by a barbed-wire fence where a man was driving a tractor pulling a plough. Aunt Camille waved to him.

"Hi, Joel," she called.

Joel waved back.

Finally, we came to another enclosed field that was mostly turned earth--apparently the result of Joel's tractor work. Uncle Tyler was out there with a girl about my age and a guy that looked a little older. Sidd was sniffing the ground around them until he saw us and ran our way.

We passed through the open gate just as Sidd reached us. I patted his broad head and then he left me to greet Aunt Camille.

Just inside the open gap were about twenty white buckets that contained some kind of plants.

"They're planting tomatoes," Aunt Camille said. "We plant a big garden every year and get most of our vegetables from it. We use them in the meals for our guests."

I nodded.

"Hey everybody!" she yelled. "Take a break and come meet Bobby."

The boy and girl stopped their work and walked toward us. Uncle Tyler did the same. He was wearing a big-brimmed cloth hat and had shades clipped over his regular glasses. As he approached, he flipped the shades up to reveal his eyes.

"Morning, Bobby," Uncle Tyler said. His always-unbuttoned shirt revealed his black tee shirt.

"Morning, Uncle Tyler."

The boy and girl were a few steps behind him. The girl was dressed in shorts and a tee shirt, and the boy was wearing cut-off overalls with no shirt. I felt a little out-of-place in my jeans and buttoned shirt. The girl might have been a little younger than me, it was hard to tell. Her hair was a strawberry blonde and braided into twin pony tails. She might have been pretty but for the braces and freckles.

The guy was a year or two older than me. He was heavyset, but not fat. In fact, he looked strong. His hair was brown and cropped short.

"Guys, this is Bobby Lorman," Aunt Camille said. "He's my nephew and he'll be staying with us this summer. Bobby, this is Russell Belk and Erin Sykes."

"Hi Bobby," Erin said.

"Hi."

Russell stuck out his hand and said, "Hey, Bobby."

I shook his hand.

"Hi."

"You gonna help us plant?" Erin asked.

"I guess so," I said.

"I'll let ya'll show Bobby what to do," Aunt Camille said. "I got to get ready for tonight."

Aunt Camille headed back to the house and Uncle Tyler walked with her to the fence.

"You gonna dress up for the dinner?" Erin asked.

"Dress up? I guess."

"Camille and Shifu dress up in old clothes, like they wore a hundred years ago. It's fun. I've done it a couple of times. Shifu tells stories and Camille makes desserts."

"Shifu?"

"That's what we call Mr. Pearson in our kung fu class," Russell said. "It means, 'teacher.'"

"Oh."

Uncle Tyler returned with a couple of the buckets and handed me one. The tomato plants inside were about three or four inches high and sprouting from small containers.

"These are tomato plants," Uncle Tyler said. "We're planting four rows of them. Erin, get him started."

Erin handed me a small shovel and I followed her out onto the ploughed rows with my bucket. She showed me how to dig a hole about the depth of my shovel blade, she called it a trowel, and then stick a tomato plant in it and cover it up. Didn't look hard. She watched me do a couple and then continued with her own row a few paces behind me. Russell and Uncle Tyler were working towards us from the other end. Sidd found a spot to lie down in the shade of a pine sapling.

The work didn't seem so bad at first. In fact, I thought it was easy. Just dig a hole, stick in a plant and cover it up. After I had planted a few, I noticed I was digging up white worms. They were stubby with big black eyes and little feet at one end.

"What are these white worms?" I said.

"Grubs," Erin said. "Baby beetles. They eat the plant roots so I flick 'em off the field. The birds get 'em. They're good fish bait. The Indians used to eat 'em."

"The Natchez Indians?"

"Yeah, I guess," she said. "Probably the Choctaws too."

"I saw an Indian mound yesterday," I said. "It was huge."

"Oh, Emerald Mound. Yeah, it's neat. You can find small ones in the woods around here. There's one on Shifu's land. We'll show it to you."

"Yeah," I said. I noticed little pains in my fingers when I picked up a tomato plant, like they had microscopic stickers or something. My fingers burned and smelled like the tomatoes. Mud was sticking to my Reeboks and getting on my pants legs. I was getting hot. It had seemed pretty cool when I first came out, but it was definitely warming up now.

I thought maybe I should have worn shorts. I wouldn't have looked any sillier than Russell in his overalls. Well, I probably would have.

Uncle Tyler left Russell and walked over to Erin and me. He looked over what she had planted and what I had planted.

"Bobby, you're planting too deep," he said.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I--"

"Give me your trowel."

I handed it to him and he dug the next hole, about as deep as the trowel end. I was doing that. Then he pulled a tomato plant from my bucket and held it in the center of the hole with one hand while he filled in around it with the other.

"Don't just shove them into the hole and cover them up. You only want to cover the lighter portion of the plant and leave the small leaves above ground. See? It's a young life. Give it a chance."

He handed the trowel back to me.

"You do it."

I imitated Uncle Tyler's planting. He adjusted my hand that was holding the plant and then watched me fill in around it. He made me stop and grab the plant with just two fingers and a thumb. He made me hold the trowel like I was shaking a hand. It all seemed overly precise to me, like Mr. Gibbs' Science class. I did it like he showed me though. He watched me do the next two without comment.

"Good," he finally said. "That's the technique. It's not hard, but it needs to be done right. Best results come from precision. Consistent results come from practice. Keep this."

I stood, expecting him to hand me something. He just looked at me without handing me anything.

"OK, ah, yes, sir," I said. He walked back to Russell and I continued planting the way he showed me.

"That's good," Erin said when I had planted a few more. After a few minutes, I looked down the row toward where I had started. It didn't seem I had come very far. Russell and Uncle Tyler didn't seem any closer either. I kept working.

My back started to ache. My vision clouded--bright clouds that wouldn't let me see the holes I was digging. My head hurt. I straightened my back and everything clouded over. Then my legs gave out and I pitched forward into the turned ground.

"Bobby?"

Feet rumbled toward me.

"Bobby!"

I heard my name through the fog. Strong hands grabbed my shoulder and turned me onto my back. Everything was still hazy. A wet tongue licked my face. When Sidd was pushed away, I saw Uncle Tyler's face over me beneath his big hat, blocking the sun.

I felt his hand on my head.

"Lie still," Uncle Tyler said. He pressed his thumb and middle finger on my temples with one hand and pressed a point at the base of my right thumb with the other. The coolness from the moist earth beneath me seemed to seep into my body. Strength returned as if I were eating a meal or drinking a sugary drink. My head cleared and I sat up.

"How do you feel?" Uncle Tyler said.

"Better," I said. Erin and Russell were standing over me, too. Oh Lord. I fainted. That's all I needed.

"You overheated," Uncle Tyler said. "You need to rest. Let's get you back to the house."

"I'm all right."

"No you're not. Come on."

He helped me up and kept a hand on my shoulder as we walked off the field.

"You OK, Bobby?" Erin called after us.

"Yeah."

"You two carry on," Uncle Tyler called back to them. "I'll be back."

"I'm really sorry, Uncle Tyler," I said. "I never fainted before."

"Look ahead," he said. "Focus on the middle distance."

"Middle of what?"

"About three feet in front of you."

I looked ahead because he told me to. Sidd ran down the path in front of us. I didn't understand why he wanted me to stare into the air.

"You're not used to working in the sun. Just rest inside. Camille will give you some water. We'll all be in for lunch in a little bit anyway."

"Yes sir. I'm sorry."

I felt better, but still weak. I really just wanted to sit down. We walked between the enclosed garden and the building with the Chinese writing. A cool breeze made me feel even better. Uncle Tyler's care emboldened me a bit with him.

"What's that place?"

"That was built by Mr. Kiernan to be a chapel. He was a man of faith. I renovated it as an exercise room."

"What's the Chinese writing?"

"The stone plaque? I picked that up in a Burma jungle many years ago. It was a sign from a Daoist temple that had been destroyed long before I came across it. The jungle had reclaimed most of the temple. That sign was among the little that remained. It didn't seem right for someone's attempt to touch the spiritual to just disappear from the world, so I kept it."

"What's it mean?"

"My best pronunciation is dao chang. It basically means, 'place to study the Dao,' but it carries the idea of honoring a sacred pursuit. That's why I use it to mark the place where I exercise and teach."

"Oh, yeah, you teach kung fu."

I thought I had been invited to join his classes, but his story confirmed to me that he was teaching some Eastern religion, like Wayne had said. My rejection was a well-ingrained kneejerk.

"I really don't want to, I mean, I don't want to take lessons."

Uncle Tyler barely glanced at me and kept on walking. I had to walk fast to keep up and hear his mumbled comment.

"You don't have to," he said.

*

Uncle Tyler left me at the house with Aunt Camille. After hearing about my fainting spell, she was moved to spare a portion of the roast beef she was preparing for the night's dinner. She evidently believed a roast beef sandwich was the best remedy for fainting. I ate nearly half of it.

The food did help, though, and I felt better even as I was piddling with my sandwich. Aunt Camille continued with her dinner preparations and within the hour, Uncle Tyler came in with Erin and Russell.

Aunt Camille prepared sandwiches for all of them and they joined me at the table. Sidd was with them and sat at their elbows, hoping for something to drop.

They made the obligatory queries about my health that I dispensed with as quickly as I could.

"I'm fine. I'm just not used to that much sun."

Though that seemed ridiculous to me--as if being outside was more than I could handle.

They went on to talk about the planting and the progress of the work. They talked about the night's dinner and how good the food would be. I was feeling a little anxious about the social occasion and being around even more strangers.

"Tyler, I'm going to need some help with this," Aunt Camille said. "There's so much to do."

"I've got to get the gardens planted," Uncle Tyler said. "Isn't Rhonda Sykes supposed to come help you?"

"I'll help you till Mom gets here, Camille," Erin said.

"Thanks, Hon. Tyler, you don't stay out there too long. Joel and Bill can finish up. You've got to get back in time to dress and see to our guests."

"I will, I will."

I sipped my glass of milk while the others ate their sandwiches. I felt like such a twerp. I fainted in the fields and I couldn't even eat lunch with the rest of them. I was sure they hated me. They didn't say much to me while they ate.

When they finished, Uncle Tyler put away the dishes and, after a bathroom stop, headed back out.

"Russell, you coming with me?" he said at the door.

"Yes sir," Russell said. He gulped down his iced tea and followed Uncle Tyler.

"Bobby, you better stay here," Uncle Tyler said. "You can help Camille or go soak in the pool."

"OK," I said. I was probably as glad to stay behind as he was to leave me.

I tried to be a help to Aunt Camille, but I didn't seem to be any more adept at kitchen duty than planting. After spilling a bag of flour and dropping a slab of roast beef that Sidd retrieved before I could, Aunt Camille seemed to think Erin's help was all she needed. So I went upstairs to my room.

I tried to find something on TV, but there were only two local channels and they were both showing soap operas. I sorely missed my Nintendo. I found a Monty Python movie on video tape and watched that for a couple of hours. It was my first pleasant distraction since I had arrived.

After the movie, I was feeling restless and decided to go outside and play with Sidd. I didn't want to just stay in my room anyway. They'd all sure think I was crazy, or some kind of hermit. So I went downstairs.

In the kitchen, I found Aunt Camille still working on the dinner. Another lady was helping her and Erin was gone.

"Bobby, this is Mrs. Sykes, Erin's mother," Aunt Camille said.

"Hi, Bobby," Mrs. Sykes said. "How do like it out here in the country?"

"Great. Uh, Aunt Camille, I think I'll just go out and play with Sidd for a while."

"OK, Hon."

"Erin's out at the pool," Mrs. Sykes said. "I expect she' like some company and the sunshine'd be good for you."

"Sunshine's what got me in trouble," I said. "I don't really want to swim, now."

"Well you shouldn't after fainting like that," Aunt Camille said. "Save your strength and just relax in a lounger."

Great idea. That's why I can't swim. I fainted this morning.

"OK."

"Just come back in time to shower before dinner."

"OK."

I left Aunt Camille and her friend in the kitchen.

There was a lot of splashing going on at the pool. As I approached, I saw Sidd running around the pool barking at Russell and Erin, who were swimming and making splashes at the dog. An older man and woman watched from the hot tub at the other end.

When I was closer, Sidd saw me and ran to greet me. I gave him a pat and he turned to lead me back to the pool.

"Hey, Bobby," Russell said from the water. "You OK?"

I noticed he was still wearing his cut-off overalls. He had simply taken off his shoes and jumped in.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Jump in," Erin said. "The water'll make you feel better. Russell jumped in with his clothes on."

"No," I said "I don't feel like swimming right now."

I sat in a lounger. It was wet, but it was a soothing wet.

"You must not get out in the sun much," Erin said from the pool's edge.

"I guess not," I said. "I thought I did. I guess I don't usually work that hard."

"You should work out with us at kung fu," Russell said. "That'll get you used to working."

"Ya'll in Uncle Tyler's classes?"

"Yeah. It's fun," Erin said. "We practice on Tuesday and Thursday nights. Sometimes on weekends if Shifu's not too busy. And we practice on our own, of course."

"Of course," Russell said and splashed Erin. She splashed back. "Shifu's a good teacher. I've been learning from him for four years."

"You earn belts?" I asked.

"No. We're not part of an association or anything," Erin said. "Shifu just teaches us new material when he thinks we're ready."

"I go to tournaments and tell them I'm a black belt," Russell said. "I done pretty good. Won second place in my age group at the Delta-South competition last year."

"Wow, neat," I said. I was intrigued. Apparently Uncle Tyler could teach his students well enough to place in tournaments, but there was still the religion part.

"Do ya'll, like, meditate and stuff?"

"Sure," Erin said. "That's part of it. You have to learn breath controls and concentration."

"But meditation can open you up to demon possession."

I shouldn't have said that, but it was true, and I had to say what was right.

"I think demons possessed me," Russell said. "I got to get them out."

He grimaced as if in pain, then a flurry of bubbles rose around his waist and popped on the water's surface.

"I'm free!" Russell shouted.

"Oh, gross," Erin said and pulled herself out of the water to sit on the pool's edge. She was wearing cut-off jeans and a bathing suit top. She was thin, but muscled in a wiry way.

"You are a demon," she said, "Anyway, I think people can be demon-possessed, but not from meditating. Shifu says bad spirits are like bad people. You just stay away from them and hang out with the good ones. Like your spirit guides."

"Don't need spirits to do kung fu," Russell said. He pushed himself through the water on his back and then just floated.

"Recognizing the spirits is part of Ming lu," Erin said.

"What's Ming lu?" I asked.

"That's what Shifu teaches us," Erin said. "Kung fu is part of it. It's just what people around the world have believed for centuries."

"See, it's that Eastern religion I don't want anything to do with," I said.

"It's not a religion," Erin said.

"It is," I said. My fundamentalism was the one thing I was solid on. "And it's a false one. There's only one way to salvation."

"You a preacher, Bobby?" Russell said, standing up in the water.

I put on the mental brakes. Such comments were often the prelude to ridicule or bullying. Russell was big and apparently a trained fighter, but I didn't think he was a bully.

"I'm a Christian," I said, carefully.

"So am I," Erin said. "You can be a Christian and believe Ming lu."

"Where did Uncle Tyler learn all that?" I asked. I wanted to deflect the conversation from me without giving in on my beliefs.

"He learned it all in Malaysia after Vietnam," Russell said, "He traveled around and met a master who taught him."

"Fu Wei," Erin said.

"Phooey?" I said.

"No. Fu Wei. He's the master that taught Shifu in Malaysia."

"Kung fu or Ming lu?" I asked.

"Both."

"You don't have to believe anything you don't want to," Russell said. "You could still work out with us and it would help you keep from fainting when you plant tomatoes."

He probably didn't mean that as an insult, but it was hard not to take it that way. But even if he was making fun of me, there was nothing I could do about it. I never could. Still, his offer seemed sincere.

"Thanks, but I don't think so. Maybe karate when I get back home. My stepfather knows where they teach it at a church."

"Kung fu's better," Russell said.

"Erin! Time to get ready for dinner."

We all looked toward the house at the same time and saw Mrs. Sykes calling from the back door.

"OK, Mom. Coming."

Erin grabbed a beach towel from one of the loungers and began drying herself.

"Ya'll have fun entertaining the tourists," Russell said. "I'm going home."

Russell pulled himself out of the pool and found another towel to dry with.

"Dinner will be fun tonight," Erin said. "My Mom's going to sing."

"What songs?"

"Old songs," she said. "Shifu and Camille try to make their guests feel like they're in the house the way it was a hundred years ago."

"Oh."

"See you tomorrow, Bobby," Russell said.

"OK. Bye, Russell."

Russell left and Erin ran back to the house. I followed with Sidd at my heels. I had to shower and get ready for the big dinner.

I had been feeling better about everything, but now, I was doubtful again. After what Erin and Russell told me about Uncle Tyler's classes, I was sure Wayne had been right. Uncle Tyler was teaching some kind of pagan religion. Kung fu was out of the question for me.

Chapter 6: A Turn-of-the-Century Dinner

I showered there for the first time at Aunt Camille's insistence. It was very different from home, standing in the metal tub with a curtain completely around me. The shower head was large, but the water pressure was less than I was used to. It was like showering in a gentle rain, but I managed.

After my shower, I put my clothes back on. I didn't want to walk back to my room with just a towel wrapped around me. I might meet anybody in the hall.

In my room I found other clothes laid on the bed for me. It was a suit, I thought. As I put it on, I realized it was an old suit, with a white vest and a coat with tails. I guessed it was part of my aunt and uncle's 'being authentic' for the guests.

I put it all on. The fit wasn't too bad except for the shoes. They were way too big. There was no way I could wear them and I hadn't unpacked my dress shoes. At least I assumed Mom had packed them. She packed everything else. I didn't want to search for them now, so I put on my Reeboks and went downstairs.

Aunt Camille was still in the kitchen but wearing an old-time outfit. It was a white shirt with a frilly front and puffy sleeves. The skirt was yellow and long--down to her ankles and she was wearing boots. She had on a wig that hung in a pony tail over one shoulder. It was way longer than her own, chin-length hair, though it was the same brown color.

"Oh, you look great, Bobby," she said as I walked in. "Let me look you over."

She walked around me, tugging on the jacket and vest and pressing my hair down against my head. That was a lost cause.

"Didn't the shoes fit?"

"No, they were too big. These are all I have. I couldn't find my dress shoes."

She chuckled.

"That's OK. The glasses are a little out of place too, but you look great. You can go on down to the dining room and have a seat. Uncle Tyler's down there with the guests."

I started to leave and noticed Erin putting food on plates. She was in an old dress too, similar to Aunt Camille's, but with an apron. Her hair was made up different, too. No pony tails. She looked older.

A boy about my age was beside her also fixing plates.

"You look nice," Erin said. "Like my dress?"

"Yeah," I said. "Looks great. I never wore a suit like this before."

"It's all part of the fun. This is Seth." She indicated the boy, who was dressed in an outfit similar to mine. "Seth, this is Bobby."

"Hi."

"Hi."

"Seth's a servant too. You're lucky, you get to be one of the family."

"Why aren't you?" I asked.

"They pay us to serve the food," Seth said, "so Mrs. Pearson can play the mother."

"Nice."

"Come on, Bobby," Aunt Camille said. "We got to take our places."

I followed Aunt Camille to the dining room. We entered to the sound of a piano playing from the adjoining parlor. Uncle Tyler was at the head of the long table, dressed in a nicer version of my suit. He looked more comfortable in it, though, and he wasn't wearing his glasses. Aunt Camille sat at his right, and he indicated with a wave that I should sit at his left.

Next to me was the older man that had been in the hot tub with his wife that afternoon. His wife was on his other side. They were Stuart and Abby Miller, from Ohio. Across from them was the young couple. I didn't think they were married. His name was Mike and her name was Lisa. They were all dressed nice, but not in old clothes or suits.

Next to Lisa, Mrs. Sykes sat in an old dress, similar to Aunt Camille's, but dark blue with a lot of lace.

"All right, I think we're all here," Uncle Tyler said. "Joyce, you can join us now."

The piano stopped and a short, plump, woman I didn't know came into the dining room from the parlor. She was also dressed in the old style, with a white, high wig and lots of makeup. She had really red lipstick on and lots of white powder. A big, black spot was stuck on her left cheek. I had to laugh when I saw her. Everyone smiled at her. She seemed to enjoy it.

"Well, this is pretty close to what a formal dinner would have been like at the turn of the century," Uncle Tyler said. "Our entertainment would have been live, and our meal would have been served by servants. At least it would in a rich house like this one was. Tonight, we have a couple of fine servers."

Uncle Tyler turned toward the kitchen.

"Young servants, you may bring the first course."

Erin and Seth came in the room carrying plates of roast beef, green beans with onion rings on them and some kind of potato casserole. Erin served mine and it smelled really good, though it looked like more than I could eat. I cut into the beef and found it tasted pretty good but lacked something. I caught Aunt Camille's eye.

"Is there ketchup?"

She smiled and looked at Erin, who left and came back with a bottle. One of the guests, Mike, took some along with me.

"This is really good roast beef," Mike said.

"Yes, and the green beans, too," Lisa said.

"And I love this potato dish," Abby Miller said. "Can we get the recipe?"

"Interesting you should ask," Uncle Tyler said.

"Thank you," Aunt Camille said. "The recipes are mine. I've modified some old Southern ones for guests over the years and put them in a cookbook that's coming out in about four months."

"Oh great," Mrs. Miller said. "Where can we get a copy?"

"It'll be in bookstores around here," Aunt Camille said. "I don't know about Ohio. It's called, Kiernan House Cuisine. You can order it from us. I'll send you all a notice when it comes out."

All the guests asked to be notified and Aunt Camille looked really happy about that.

"So how old is this house, Mr. Pearson?" Stuart Miller said.

Uncle Tyler chewed a bit on his roast beef before answering.

"Well, it was built in 1901," he said, "so that would make it 94 years old."

"It's in really good shape," Mike said.

"It's only been through a couple of owners," Uncle Tyler said. "Two families before us, that is. The Kiernan family sold it to the Thurmans in the fifties. Camille and I bought it in 81. There was a good bit of renovation to do. In fact, we're still doing some. There's a photo album in the parlor that shows how it looked soon after it was built and through the years. And there's a lot of pictures of our renovation work."

"Any ghost stories?" Mr. Miller asked.

"Some," Uncle Tyler said. "There's usually spirits in old places. I'll tell you some stories after dinner if you're interested."

"Sure," Mr. Miller said. "I just want to know whether to expect any visitors in the night."

There was a sprinkling of chuckles around the table. Uncle Tyler didn't respond.

Dessert was peach cobbler. I didn't care for cooked fruit and only ate a few bites. Everybody else seemed to enjoy it, though.

"So after dinner," Uncle Tyler said, "the men and women would often separate to their own entertainment. The men would go to the parlor for cigars and brandy, and the women would go to a sitting room for talk or maybe music. We'll compromise and all go to the parlor for some old time entertainment."

Everyone rose from the table and headed for the parlor while Erin and Seth collected their plates.

"You guys gonna eat?" I asked Erin.

"We ate in the kitchen while you did," she said. "We're just going to clear the table. We'll see you in the parlor."

The big grand piano in the parlor was opened and the lady with the spot, Joyce, sat on the bench in front of it and arranged sheet music.

Everyone found a seat. I sat on a loveseat by myself.

"There's spiced coffee if anyone wants it," Aunt Camille said. "And if anyone wants more dessert, there's Dolly Madisons. Both are recipes from my cookbook. Just tell Erin and Seth what you want."

Erin's mother stood beside the piano and cleared her voice. We all got quiet.

Joyce started playing and Mrs. Sykes started singing. It was an old song. I think it was called "When the Harvest Moon is Shining." It wasn't too bad. She finished and everyone applauded.

Mrs. Sykes followed that with a couple I had heard in old movies: "It Ain't Gonna Rain No Mo," and "Ain't We Got Fun." After a while, it was kind of fun.

While Mrs. Sykes was singing, Erin and Seth passed out coffee and some kind of brownies.

"Those are Dolly Madisons?" I asked Erin when she offered me the plate.

"Yeah. Try one they're great."

They looked great. They were big and covered with chocolate kisses, drizzled in caramel, and sprinkled with coconut.

"Smells good," I said. "I don't like coconut."

"Try one anyway," she said.

I did, with a cup of the spiced coffee. The Dolly Madisons were sweet, even with the coconut. The coffee was sweet, too, with a cinnamon and apple taste. I loved it.

Mrs. Sykes performed a couple of more songs while everyone had their treats. She finished to a big round of applause.

Everyone was in good spirits now and settled into their coffee and second dessert.

"So what about that ghost story you promised?" Mr. Miller said between bites.

"Well, let me see," Uncle Tyler said. "Ghost stories are pretty common around here. Even Mr. Kiernan mentioned one in a letter to his brother in Ireland. The story of DeSoto's man and the Inca princess."

"Tell us that one," Mr. Miller said.

"Is it scary?" Lisa said. "I want to be able to sleep tonight."

"I don't think it's too scary," Uncle Tyler said. "Most real ghost stories are just strange. This one is about one of the Spanish soldiers that came through here with Hernando DeSoto in 1542. Actually, DeSoto had died before his expedition got this far down the Mississippi. His expedition was really an army, though, and by then it was under the command of a man named, Moscoso. Among his soldiers was a captain by the name of Diego Añasco.

"Now DeSoto had brought an Inca princess with them by the name of Inapanqui. She was to be their liaison with the Indians. See, DeSoto had helped Pizzaro conquer Peru and had befriended the Inca chief that Pizzaro later executed. DeSoto was so disgusted with Pizarro for that, that he left and took the chief's daughter with him back to Spain. He adopted her as his own daughter and renamed her Angelina.

"So Angelina returned with DeSoto to the New World a few years later. DeSoto wanted to explore the Gulf Coast area and brought her along, as I said. Her liaison efforts didn't help the Spaniards much, though. They were always brutal to the Indians. Anyway, somewhere along the way, Angelina fell in love with Captain Añasco. I don't know if DeSoto was aware of their affair, but after he died, Moscoso took it upon himself to become Angelina's guardian. This pissed off Añasco cause Moscoso had more than a fatherly role in mind. But they were fighting so much with the Indians around them that they didn't come to blows with each other.

"At least not until they reached these parts. Then Añasco and Angelina ran away from the expedition and Moscoso chased them. Moscoso was about to catch them, but then the Natchez Indians took them in. Moscoso fought the Natchez and beat them, and Añasco and Angelina had to run again. According to the legend, Moscoso caught up with them somewhere around here and killed Añasco in a sword fight. Angelina then killed herself with Añasco's dagger to keep from going with Moscoso.

"Moscoso returned to his ships and the Natchez buried Añasco and Angelina in a mound in the forest. The locals say their spirits still seek each other and are sometimes seen as blue lights among the trees, late at night."

I thought of the blue light I had seen in the woods from my window that first night.

"Is the mound around here?" I asked.

"It's supposed to be the one on the back of our property. Not so far from where we sit."

"They don't ever make it up to the house, do they?" Lisa asked.

Everyone laughed, but with a little nervousness.

"I've never seen them," Uncle Tyler said. "Mr. Kiernan's been seen a time or two, I think. At least I assume it's him. And a little girl that might have been his daughter who died young. They haven't bothered me and Camille, though."

"That's enough," Lisa said. "I'll have trouble enough sleeping tonight already."

"Well, try to get some rest before the trail ride tomorrow," Uncle Tyler said.

"Will we go by the mound?" Mr. Miller asked.

"Yes," Uncle Tyler said. "We always end the trail ride at the Indian mound."

After that, the party broke up. Erin and Seth left with Mrs. Sykes and I helped Aunt Camille and Uncle Tyler clean up.

It was around eleven when I finally made it to bed. I couldn't sleep though. I kept peering at the woods through the window, looking for blue lights.

Chapter 7: The Sermon

I didn't sleep until sometime after midnight. Every creak of the old house settling was footsteps to me. Every breeze outside my window was a voice whispering from the other side. I couldn't shut my eyes for long. I wanted to know if ghosts were around me. I didn't like the thought of them staring at me while I slept, or tried to sleep. I tried keeping a light on, but it was too annoying. I tried watching TV but nothing was on so late, so I just tossed in my bed until I passed out from exhaustion.

I woke suddenly. My eyes popped open after that feeling of catching myself from falling. The room was lightening from a dim, pink light streaming through the window. I sat up. The night fears were gone with the dark and I was reassured by the solid, familiar room in the dawn's light. I looked out the window. There was red on the horizon and it cast a pink glow on the tree tops and roofs of the buildings below. A movement caught my eye.

It was Uncle Tyler crossing the grounds below with Sidd at his feet. They passed the pool and garage and went straight to the dao chang. Uncle Tyler went inside and Sidd lay on the porch.

It was too early for kung fu classes. He was alone anyway. Probably some pagan rite. Communing with demons or something. No, kung fu taught by Uncle Tyler was definitely out of the question. It was too bad, because I really wanted to learn to fight. I was too small anyway.

I thought about praying, but I was still too sleepy. I lay down again and was asleep in a minute.

I had a dream of ghosts in the house, literally in the woodwork, groaning and knocking out signals, like Morse code. I didn't know what they were saying. I didn't know Morse code.

"Bobby? Bobby, you awake?"

It was Aunt Camille.

"Yeah," I croaked. "I'm awake."

"I'm sorry to wake you dear," she said from hallway. "It's seven o'clock. Would you like to go to church with me?"

Sunday. I had forgotten. I was so out of my routine down here. I didn't really feel like going, but I knew Wayne would ask if I did.

"Sure," I said.

"Great," she said. "Come on downstairs and get some breakfast."

After a bathroom stop, I made my way to the kitchen. Uncle Tyler, back from whatever he was doing in the dao chang, was cooking pancakes and sausage for us.

"Morning, Bobby," Aunt Camille said. "I'm sorry I had to wake you so early."

"That's OK. I want to go to church."

I sat at the table with Aunt Camille. Uncle Tyler served us.

"So, you're going to church with your Aunt Camille?"

"Yes sir. You going, Uncle Tyler?"

I was curious to know how he would react. I thought he might get mad at me for asking. I was sure he was already disappointed in my performances at everything since I arrived.

"No," he said. "I have paperwork to do and we got the big trail ride this afternoon."

"Tyler does go to church sometimes, Bobby," Aunt Camille said. "He's a member of St. Mark's, too."

"You want to go on the trail ride?" Uncle Tyler asked.

"Well, I don't know if I'm going to be up to that," I said. "I mean, I've never ridden a horse."

"First time for everything," Uncle Tyler said. "Don't worry about riding. Russell will saddle up Snarky for you and get you started."

"OK. Well, maybe so."

"We better get ready, Bobby," Aunt Camille said. "I want to make it to Sunday School."

"OK, good," I said.

She put her plate in the sink and gave Uncle Tyler a quick kiss as she passed."

"Thanks for breakfast, Sweetie."

*

This would be the first time I had been off the grounds of Kiernan House since I had arrived. We rode in the Jeep and it reminded me of our ride down the Natchez Trace, only it was brighter and the trees seemed even greener. We wound our way over the little roads through the countryside and through Berea. I was just as lost as when we rode in, but it was a little less mysterious in the daylight. We reached the highway and headed back the way we had come in. We reached the Natchez Trace and turned south. We reached the very end of the paved Trace and then turned west onto a highway towards the city.

St. Mark's Methodist Church was on the edge of Natchez. It was a big, sprawling building with a bell tower and separate chapel. There was a lot of stained glass and brick buildings. It looked like a school campus to me. We pulled into the parking lot with a lot of other people.

"It's a well-attended church," Aunt Camille said, "but it's not as big as First Baptist."

We left the Jeep and joined the crowd crossing the parking lot in the cool morning. I followed Aunt Camille to a long, covered walkway that led to a door where several teenagers were gathered. Erin and Seth were among them. Erin was talking with a black girl who looked to be about her age. She and Seth greeted me when we were close enough.

"You'll be in Erin's class," Aunt Camille said. "She'll show you the way to the sanctuary afterwards. See you."

"Hi, Bobby," Erin said. "This is Julia. She's going to be starting kung fu. Her brother Jason's already a student."

"Hi."

"Hi."

"See, if you start classes when Julia does, that'll be two beginners and you can work together."

"Yeah," I said, "but I still don't think I want to learn from Uncle Tyler. I just don't like the stuff he teaches with it."

"You could join Karate for Christ," Julia said. "Mr. Bruiner teaches that."

She pointed at a man who was passing the group of teens. He was average height, but heavyset. He might have been athletic when he was young. He had long, curly brown hair that twisted over his forehead in a cowlick. He wore plastic-rimmed glasses and his chin seemed to stick out. He apparently heard Julia mention his name and turned around.

"Who's taking my name in vain?" he asked with an exaggerated annoyance. No one seemed bothered by it, though, so I assumed he was joking.

"Julia was just telling Bobby you taught karate at the church," Seth said.

"You interested in karate, young man?" he asked.

"I might be," I said. "I'm from Jackson. I'm just staying here for the summer."

"Oh, are you Bobby Lorman?"

"Yes sir."

"I know your stepfather, Wayne Finch. I saw him in Jackson about a week ago. He told me you were coming and staying with your aunt and uncle. I know them too. Tyler doesn't come around much, though. But your stepfather's a fine musician and man of God."

"Yes sir."

"Think about our Karate for Christ program, Bobby. You can earn your black belt based on Biblical principles."

"Yes sir. I'll think about it.

Another man stepped outside through the doorway. He was short, with very curly hair and black-rimmed glasses.

"Time for class, guys," the man said. All the teens followed him inside and Mr. Bruiner went on his way.

"That's Mr. Ellis," Erin said. "He's all right."

Tom Ellis was the Sunday School teacher. He taught in a small room with an old blackboard at one end. Mr. Ellis didn't use the board, though, and he taught from a different lesson book than the Baptist church, but it was similar in tone. The lesson was about Zacchaeus, the little guy in the sycamore tree. I always felt an affinity for that story.

After the class, I went with Erin and Julia to the courtyard to wait for the church service.

"How'd you like Sunday School?" Erin said.

"It was all right," I said. "A lot like my Sunday School in Jackson."

"Can't be that much difference between them," Julia said. "Unless you go to a Catholic church or something."

We reached an oak tree with benches placed around it in a grassy area between the out-buildings. We stopped there and Erin and Julia sat on a bench.

"We going to meet your mom here?" I asked.

"Yeah, she'll be out with Camille and we'll go into the church service."

"There's Jason," Julia said.

I looked where Julia was waving and saw a black boy about Russell's age with a couple of other teens. One boy was heavyset, almost fat, with long red hair. He was wearing shorts, which I thought was odd for church.

Jason waved at his sister and walked up to us with the other boy.

"Jason, this is Bobby," Julia said. "Mr. Pearson's his uncle."

"Oh yeah?" Jason said. "Shifu's your uncle?"

"Yeah."

"You taking kung fu?"

"No. I might take the karate."

"You should take kung fu. Especially with your uncle teaching it. It's way better than karate."

"Kung fu is for pussies," the red-headed boy said. "Karate's what you learn to really fight."

The boy's vulgar tone set off my internal alarms. This guy was a bully.

"CB, you don't know what you talking about," Jason said. "We'll check that out one day."

"That always happens when kung fu and karate students get together," Erin said. "It's never decided."

"We'll decide it," CB said. "Anytime."

"There's Mom," Julia said. "Let's go, Jason."

Julia and Jason left us. CB stayed.

"Bobby, I got to go to the restroom," Erin said. "If Mom and Camille show up, tell them I'll be right back."

"OK," I said.

She left me with CB. I didn't like that. I could feel the bully energy.

"Yeah, you need to take karate," CB said. "It's a lot better than kung fu."

"I haven't decided," I said. "I better go."

"Wait. I'll help you decide. Look, this is a karate move."

He grabbed my wrist and twisted it behind me and then wrapped his other arm around my throat in a choke hold. He was strong. I couldn't pull away or even cry out.

"See, you can't get away, can you? That's how good karate is."

CB pulled up on my arm and I thought it was going to come out of its socket. When he released me, I nearly fell to the ground.

"You should take karate," he said. "If you do, I'll show you some more moves."

He walked off. I stood there, smarting and looking around to see who had watched my latest humiliation. No one seemed to. I sat on the bench and waited for Erin. I wasn't about to tell her what had happened, but it looked like I wouldn't be learning kung fu or karate in Natchez.

Erin finally returned and we continued the wait for her Mom and Aunt Camille.

"I'm glad CB's gone," she said. "He's obnoxious."

"Yeah."

"There's my Mom and Camille," Erin said. I turned to where she pointed and saw my aunt standing outside the sanctuary doors with Mrs. Sykes. I massaged my arm as we walked. We reached them and then we all entered the sanctuary.

The St. Mark's sanctuary was about as big as the one at my church in Jackson. We found a place in the pews about midway to the front. Aunt Camille and Mrs. Sykes chatted with people around them until the music announced the beginning of the service.

I sat beside Erin, still smarting from my humiliation. I was glad Erin hadn't seen it. It wasn't that I liked her or anything, I just didn't want it getting back to Aunt Camille that I was being bullied. She'd tell my mother who would tell Wayne and I'd just be embarrassed, and none of them would help me any.

I was glad for the distraction of the service and silently prayed for help from it. There had to be a reason for all I had been through. Surely, God had sent me here for some insight or some help for the trouble simmering in Jackson. CB was a reminder of it. An answer had to follow.

I waited through the singing and announcements--usual morning service stuff. Then the preacher took the pulpit. I saw in the bulletin that he was Brother Thaddeaus Birch.

Brother Birch was a big man, weather-beaten and tanned. His hands were large and his Bible looked so small in his hands, I wondered how he could turn those very thin pages.

The congregation grew expectantly quiet.

"Let us pray," Brother Birch began.

All heads bowed. I bowed too and closed my eyes.

"Lord, bless your children assembled here today," Brother Birch prayed. His voice was deep, with a gravelly aspect, but he was able to project to the furthest corner of the huge room.

"We ask that you open your Word to them and speak that message they need to hear. We beseech that you move the hardened heart, rain your peace on the troubled soul, draw the wayward child back to your loving embrace. Convict of sin, oh Lord, and knock at the door of the sinner's heart until you are invited inside. Heavenly Father, we implore you with the importunity Jesus taught in Luke chapter 18, that the Holy Spirit will work his work among this assembly, that Jesus will save, and that you will welcome the reborn soul into your eternal abode. Be it ever so, now and forever. Amen."

I amened and lifted my head with everyone else. Brother Birch towered over the congregation from his pulpit like some Old Testament prophet in white robes with blue trimmings. His completely white hair hung to his chin which was lined with a beard and no moustache. His eyes were dark beneath wild, gray brows that were constantly furled.

I imagined those eyes seeking out sin wherever it lurked. I thought they would see the sin in my heart; however I tried to hide it.

"Our text for this morning's message," Brother Birch said, "is taken from the First Book of Samuel, chapter 28, verses 3 through 25."

He turned those thin pages in the big Bible opened on the pulpit in front of him, and he began reading.

"Now Samuel was dead, and all Israel had lamented him, and buried him in Ramah, even in his own city. And Saul had put away those that had familiar spirits, and the wizards, out of the land."

He continued until he had read all the verses that told the story of King Saul and the witch of Endor. I had heard the story before but never really understood it, so I listened to Brother Birch's retelling. There had to be meaning in it for me.

"King Saul was desperate," Brother Birch said. "He fought and fought the Philistines but had not been able to defeat them. Now they were gathered in a vast host at Shunem. They threatened to overrun Saul's army and conquer all of Israel. And Saul was afraid. The Bible says 'his heart trembled.' And in this fearful time, when he was facing a danger that would surely destroy him...he didn't know what to do. The great king was at a loss.

"Up until this time, you see, he had been directed by God through the prophet, Samuel. Now Samuel was dead. Where would he go now to receive God's Word? He tried to find it from other prophets, but it wasn't there. No doubt, they tried to please King Saul and tell him something, but none could speak with the power and authority of Samuel. He tried using the sacred divination of the Urim, but the Word would not come. He tried to find the Word in his dreams, but it was not there. The Bible says Saul 'inquired of the Lord, and the Lord did not answer.'

"Do we only call out to the Lord when we're in trouble? Are your prayers just 'give me' lists? If our faith falls to this level, where God is just a powerful resource to us, then God will seek to turn us around by turning his back. Surely, God will always hear the voice of the penitent, but He cannot endure faithlessness and evil for long. Even Jesus, hanging on the cross and taking our sins upon Himself, became our evil to the point that God the Father turned away, and Jesus cried out, 'My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me?'

"King Saul had sunk to this level. Beginning as a man of faith, he fell into a long backslide. He was a tall, handsome man. Rich, from a prominent family. When God made him King of Israel, he attained the highest worldly power. He became proud, trusting in himself to the point of disobedience to God. And he carried with him an unresolved sin. One that he couldn't let go of. An act of defiance for which he could not bring himself to repent.

"God had commanded Saul to smite the Amalekites and utterly destroy them--men, women, children, and all their cattle and possessions. Saul obeyed up to a point. He destroyed everything in Amalek except for what he wanted. Greed was his sin, and it led to disobedience. He destroyed the Amalekites, but he kept for himself the best of everything they had.

"For this reason, this disobedience, the Lord would not answer Saul's cries for help. You see, they were selfish cries. Saul wasn't asking God for forgiveness, or for help to find his faith again. He was asking to be saved from the consequences of his defiance.

"So what will you do when you need God? When your situation is desperate and you need help beyond what men can give? And you call out to God and God doesn't answer? Or if God doesn't answer in the way you want Him to? You might seek an alternate way.

"That's what Saul did. God wouldn't talk to him, and the one God always did talk to, Samuel, was dead. Saul thought, 'If only I could talk to Samuel again. I would get God's direction from him.' So he decided to contact Saul in Sheol, the abode of the dead. He would break his own laws and engage in the Canaanite practice of necromancy. He would use a medium, or 'witch' in the King James translation, to contact the dead prophet. Now this was a practice abhorrent to the Lord and Saul had wiped it out in Israel upon pain of death to the practitioners. But now he needed it and it didn't seem so bad. So his greed and disobedience were compounded with hypocrisy.

"That's what happens when we take that first step. When we commit that first transgression, it becomes easier to commit the second, and the third. And our sin compounds with interest.

"So Saul sent men looking for a medium, and they found one. A woman in Endor, not far from his army's encampment. Saul disguised himself and, with a couple of companions, went to this woman, who is not named, and told her he needed her to contact a spirit for him.

"The woman is immediately distrustful. She suspects a trap and asks Saul, point-blank, why he is laying a snare for her death. You see, this practice was a capital offense. That's how serious it is to God and how far Saul had fallen.

"Saul swears to the woman that she will not be harmed. She is convinced and Saul asks her to summon Samuel. Then the woman gets the surprise of her life when the prophet actually rises from the earth in front of her. I believe this was the first time the process ever worked for her.

"The woman screams and Saul asks her, 'What do you see?' And she replies, 'An old man, wrapped in a robe.'

"Now there is some dispute over whether the spirit that appeared was really that of Samuel, or a demon. I believe that, in a special dispensation, God allowed Samuel to return and speak His Word to Saul one more time. And Samuel does speak and from that point on the woman isn't needed. Samuel speaks directly to Saul and Saul seems to be able to see Samuel now, or at least, hear him. That's why I believe the spirit was actually Samuel.

"And Saul knew the spirit was Samuel, and once again he was facing the power of the Living God embodied in the old prophet. Even in death. The Bible says Saul bowed to the ground and did obeisance. That means he groveled in fear.

"When we're faced with the Living God, our righteousness becomes as filthy rags. Our deception and pride falls away and we are faced with what we are, and it's a fearful thing.

"So Samuel is before Saul once again and demands of the King, 'Why have you disturbed me?'

"And Saul, even in groveling to this great prophet, maintains his selfishness. This great king squirms and cries out in fear: 'I'm in trouble, Samuel. The Philistines are warring against me and I don't think I can beat them. And God won't talk to me and you were gone. Help me, Samuel! Tell me what to do!'

"What a pitiful sight. This first king of Israel, who started out so good and obedient to the will of the Lord. Frightened like a child. Wanting what he wants with no feeling of repentance. No desire to return to the Lord and live in righteousness again. Just wanting to be rescued. Wanting to escape the consequence of his sin.

"And what was Samuel's reply? You can hear the disgust in the prophet's words. 'Why are you asking me? The Lord has turned from you and become your enemy.'

"What an indictment. What a fearful thing, that the Lord had become his enemy. Was God being cruel in this? Was He being petulant and narrow-minded? No, my friends. He was being holy. God became the enemy of Saul because Saul had become that which God cannot abide: disobedient, prideful, envious, lying, greedy. And now engaging in divination. Wickedness that earns God's enmity is consequence, as the judgment that Samuel relates is also consequence.

"My friends, we reap what we sow. We cannot indulge in evil and remain untouched any more than Saul could. And just as the indulgence of sin compounds, so surely the consequences are paid with interest.

"Samuel tells Saul that God has torn the kingdom from his hands and given it to David. He speaks in the past tense to emphasize the certainty of it. He leaves no doubt as to the cause of this judgment. It was because of Saul's great crime of disobedience in not destroying Amalek utterly. Saul knew this. He knew he was getting what he deserved. He had lost it all.

"Samuel told him, 'tomorrow you and your sons will be with me and Israel will be given into the hands of the Philistines.'

"When sin is repaid with interest, innocents often suffer. Not only was Saul suffering the consequences of his disobedience and rebellion, but his soldiers and the people of Israel would suffer as well. Saul's woe is spread. Woe to him. Woe to his sons. Woe to all of Israel."

Brother Birch stretched his long arms and grabbed the further ends of the pulpit with his huge, calloused hands and bowed his head. The long, thin wisps of his white hair hung over his open Bible and all was silent in the sanctuary. I heard only the slight, involuntary rustlings of the people around me. I spared a glance to each side and saw that all eyes were on Brother Birch, even Erin's. I was immediately sorry for my breach of attention.

"My friends," Brother Birch continued, his head still downcast. "Let your remorse for your sins and your faith in claiming the forgiveness on offer by our Lord Jesus Christ, be your benediction."

Maybe this was a common ending for Brother Birch's sermons because the congregation stirred at his closing words and rose from their pews. Stumbling, I rose as well and followed Aunt Camille and Mrs. Sykes out of the pew and down the aisle toward the main doors.

Conversations rose on the outside and gained a cheerier momentum as we made our way to the Jeep. Not much was said directly about the sermon. Most comments were about what a good sermon it was, or something about Brother Birch's sense of drama and Bible knowledge.

I wondered if people could be so casual about such a powerful sermon only when they hadn't committed a crime.

Chapter 8: Trail Ride

Everyone grew chatty on the walk to their cars as if in denial of what they had just heard. Julia quizzed Jason and Seth about kung fu. She was obviously concerned about her coming first lesson. I wondered if they hadn't heard the message. They claimed to be Christians and the message they had just heard said God hated occult practices. I couldn't understand why they practiced kung fu.

"What did you think of church?" Erin asked me.

"I liked it," I said. "It was a lot like my church. I liked the sermon."

"Yeah, I like Brother Birch. I like him better than Jim Bruiner."

"Mr. Bruiner preaches?"

"He fills in for Brother Birch sometimes."

We reached Mrs. Syke's car. She said goodbye to Aunt Camille and hugged me.

"I'm so glad you came to our church, Bobby," she said. "I hope you'll come back."

"I will."

The rest of the group split up and we were alone when we reached the Jeep.

"If we didn't have to get back for the trail ride, we could have lunch at King's Tavern," Aunt Camille said. She unlocked the doors and we got in. "It's over two hundred years old and it's supposed to be haunted."

"Lot of ghosts down here," I said and buckled my seatbelt.

"It's an old country."

Clouds were rolling in and threatening rain on the drive back.

"I hoped the trail ride's not rained out," Aunt Camille said.

"Yeah."

The sky matched my mood. Brother Birch's sermon was a message from God. I had sinned by committing a crime and if I took kung fu lessons from Uncle Tyler, it would be compounding my sin. I didn't know what to do. I was here for the summer, in the midst of a haunted house and an Eastern religious cult.

God was trying my faith.

*

Uncle Tyler had a lunch of roast beef leftovers waiting for us. Russell was there and ate with us. He wasn't a church-goer. I didn't know if he thought of himself as a Christian, but he didn't pretend in any case. I guessed he could be so caught up in kung fu because he didn't care about the religious teachings that went with it.

"Really good food, Mrs. Pearson," Russell said. "Thanks for letting me have lunch."

"You're welcome, Russell, but thank Tyler. He has a way with leftovers."

We laughed. The food was raising my mood some.

"Russell, I called Joel Moore," Uncle Tyler said. "Since there'll be seven of us on this ride, I asked him if I could borrow one of his horses. Would you get it after you eat?"

"Yes sir."

I felt a surge of hope.

"I don't have to go, Uncle Tyler," I said. "I'm still sore from all the garden work, anyway."

"It's your choice, Bobby, but I think it would do you good. You might like horseback riding."

"Go ahead, Bobby," Aunt Camille said. "It's fun. Even I go sometimes and I'm not a great rider. Take your camera."

I did want to take some pictures. It was something I knew how to do, but I really didn't want to make a fool of myself on a horse. I guessed Aunt Camille wanted to tell Mom I had done something fun.

"OK," I said.

We finished lunch and went to the parlor while Russell went after the extra horse. I waited with Uncle Tyler for the guests to assemble. He was wearing his usual black tee-shirt and opened khaki shirt with a pair of heavy boots and his wide-brimmed, floppy hat.

I was in jeans, a church tee-shirt, and my Reeboks.I had my camera too and sat in the love-seat cleaning the lenses. I considered attaching the zoom lens, but then thought it would be too bouncy on the horse to use it.

"Got a hat?" Uncle Tyler asked.

"No," I said. "Will I need one?"

"It's good for keeping the sun off your head or the rain off your glasses."

He stepped out. I attached the 50mm lens and looked around the room through it. When Uncle Tyler came back, he was carrying a green baseball cap. He handed it to me. It had 'Kiernan House' printed on the front in big yellow letters.

"I sell these at the Natchez flea market sometimes," he said. "Should work for you today. It's adjustable."

"Thanks." I took the hat and tried it on.

"Bend the bill until it feels right," Uncle Tyler said.

While I worked on the hat, the Millers showed up. Mr. Miller was wearing a cowboy hat.

"I see you're ready for the ride," Uncle Tyler said.

"Sure, had to dress the part," Mr. Miller said.

"Stuart's been looking forward to the ride since we made the reservations," Mrs. Miller said. "I haven't ridden in years. I hope your horses are gentle."

"They're gentle," Uncle Tyler said. "But remember, you ride at your own risk."

"Yeah, we hear that liability cover," Mr. Miller said. "Don't worry, we signed the waiver."

"Technicalities," Uncle Tyler said. "You'll enjoy the ride."

"You going to take pictures, Bobby?" Mrs. Miller said.

I had my camera case strapped over my shoulder and the camera hung around my neck.

"I thought I might," I said.

"Take a picture of me," Mr. Miller said. He pulled his hat low over his head and squinted a mean look, or at least as mean as his round face and little moustache would allow.

"I look tough?" he said.

"You look like an idiot," Mrs. Miller said.

I snapped his picture.

Mike and Lisa came in dressed in shorts and baseball caps. They looked like they were going out for a game of softball. Everyone exchanged greetings.

"You guys ride horses before?" Mr. Miller asked.

"At camp when I was a kid," Mike said.

"I've never ridden a horse," Lisa said. "Is someone going to teach me?"

"We'll get you through," Uncle Tyler said. "Don't worry. Your horse knows the ride. You just have sit on its back."

"And hang onto the saddle horn if he starts bucking," Mr. Miller said.

"Are they going to buck?" Lisa said. She sounded really concerned.

"You let Mike have your reins and you won't have to worry with controlling the horse," Uncle Tyler said.

"Yeah, don't worry," Mike said. "I'll lead you."

Russell came in.

"I got the extra horse," he said. "They're all saddled and ready."

"OK," said Mr. Miller. "You must be the horse wrangler."

Russell smiled his crooked, embarrassed smile.

"All right," Uncle Tyler said. "Everyone take a final bathroom break if you need to, then head for the barn."

A few minutes later, we were all at the barn. The horses were tied off to the corral fence. Uncle Tyler suggested mounts for everyone, then climbed onto his white-and-gray mare and rode her to the dirt path. He turned her back to watch the rest of us mount up.

Mr. Miller helped his wife onto her horse. Mike climbed onto his and watched Lisa try to mount hers. She got scared when the sorrel mare took a couple of steps and jumped off before she was all the way on.

"Why did you jump off?" Mike said.

"He was starting to go," Lisa said.

"He's going to go," Mike said. "You just want to be on his back when he does."

"Well I've never done this before."

Russell ran up and grabbed her horse's reins. He handed them to Mike and then grabbed the horse's halter.

"Try her again," he said.

Lisa looked uncertain, but she put her foot in the stirrup, grabbed the saddle horn, and pulled herself up. Her horse didn't move this time.

That left me and one remaining horse. It was smaller than the others, but not a pony. It was dark brown with a lighter mane. Russell untied its reins from the corral and handed them to me.

"Her name's Snarky," he said.

I took the reins in the same hand I grabbed the saddle horn with and put my foot in the stirrup. Snarky started to walk, like Lisa's horse did, but faster. I didn't jump off, I just followed, hopping along on my other foot.

Everyone laughed. Russell stopped Snarky and held her by the halter while I pulled myself up and swung my right leg over the saddle.

"Aaah," I cried. My legs felt like someone was pulling them apart and making a wish. Snarky's back didn't look that wide from the ground.

"Don't worry," Russell said. "The pain will go away by the end of the ride and you'll be able to do a horse stance with no problem."

He laughed at his own joke and mounted his tan-and-black horse.

"All right, this way," Uncle Tyler said. He turned his horse and headed it up the path. Russell was behind him and the guests followed.

Snarky didn't want to move. I pulled with the reins and kicked and she started off, but in the wrong direction. I tried to direct her with the reins, but she would just stop. Lisa saw my problem and alerted Mike. The word went up the line to Uncle Tyler who sent Russell back to help.

"Shifu's afraid you'll spook the other horses," he said. "I'm going to tie a line to Snarky's halter and lead you. You'll still have the reins, but you won't have to worry about controlling."

"Great," I said. This put me in the same category as Lisa at being unable to control my horse.

We followed the trail past the gardens and onto an open field surrounded by woods. There were huge oaks that must have been a hundred years old. Pecans, just as big and even taller, and cypress trees with long sweeps of Spanish moss hanging to the ground. It was beautiful, and the early spring weather was mild with the sun breaking through the clouds.

I snapped pictures of the view and the other riders. Sometimes they mugged for the shots but usually they just ignored me. It was better when they ignored me since I liked candid shots. Because Russell was leading Snarky, I was at the head of the line and able to shoot the guests from the front. I waited for those moments when the sun broke through and got some good shots of the guests riding in line against the backdrop of the field surrounded by woods.

I wrapped the reins around the saddle horn and concentrated on taking pictures. I got hawks and crows flying overhead, though at a wider angle than I would have liked. The zoom lens would have worked better for the wildlife, but I couldn't attach it while I was riding.

We followed the trail into the woods and soon had to stop when a barbed-wire fence blocked our way. Uncle Tyler dismounted and opened the gate and we rode through. Uncle Tyler gave us a little history lesson as we passed him.

"The original Kiernan land stretched well past here and on up to the Natchez Trace. This is Mr. Moore's land now. That's his horse we borrowed and he's given us permission to ride over his land."

"Did Kiernan have slaves?" Mike Blackwell asked.

"Slavery had been ended almost sixty years when Kiernan built his house. But before the war, a lot of slave labor was used here like in the rest of the south. There weren't a lot of working plantations around here though. The thing about Natchez is a lot of the homes were just mansions for the wealthy who, likely as not, were from the north.

"There is an old shack up ahead that we think was a slave house. It's old enough to be and looks like the slave houses still around some of the other houses."

We didn't have to ride far before we found the shack. It was very small and basically a ruin. Though it was overrun with vines and a lot of the boards had warped out of the walls, the roof was amazingly intact and it even still had its chimney.

"The shingles are of wood and practically petrified," Uncle Tyler said. We all stopped in front of the old house.

I set the f-stop of my camera for the shaded woods and took several pictures. There was a loneliness about the house I wanted to capture. It's dark windows were like sad eyes watching us pass. It struck me as a suitable place for the ghosts of tortured souls.

*

We rode on, still following the trail through woods and across fields. Some of the fields were planted and we made certain to stay on the edge of them. Uncle Tyler had to let us through a couple of more gates that I assumed marked the borders of other people's land.

The trail seemed to sink into the earth and looked very worn and ditch-like. It was nowhere near the depth of the Sunken Trace that Aunt Camille had shown me but seemed a shallower version of it.

"We're on the Natchez Trace now," Uncle Tyler said, as if in answer to my thoughts. "There's an old cemetery ahead where we'll turn back. We'll rest there first, and you can look around."

We came upon the cemetery very suddenly. We just broke from the woods and there it was--white marble headstones and monuments surrounded by a black metal fence.

We dismounted and tied the horses to the fence. The guests had brought water and snacks and partook of them as they wandered around the cemetery. I took more pictures. It was a great subject with the drama of the old graves, broken headstones, and iron crosses that marked the Confederate graves. The surrounding oaks and pecan trees with their curtains of gray Spanish moss made a perfect backdrop for my pictures.

"Have some water, Bobby."

I let my camera dangle on its strap and took the water bottle Uncle Tyler offered me.

"I'd like to see the pictures you're taking," he said."I might want to use some of them to advertise Kiernan House if you don't mind."

"Sure," I said. I thought it would be neat to have my pictures circulated in his brochures. Erin and Russell, even CB, would see them around town.

"Maybe you'll get some ghost pictures," he said. "That might attract some customers."

"I hope not,"

"I wasn't serious," he said. "You don't need to be afraid of ghosts, Bobby."

"I'm not. I don't think people see ghosts anyway."

I thought they saw demons, pretending to be ghosts to lead people away from God. Except in the one case where Saul saw the ghost of Samuel. I couldn't say all that to Uncle Tyler, though.

"Maybe you're right," he said.

*

When everyone was through touring the cemetery, we mounted our horses and started back up the trail. We retraced our way for the most part until we reached the boundary of the Kiernan House property and took another path. We bypassed the fields and rode through the woods. It got pretty thick and I wondered why we were going this way.

Russell was still leading me and I was trying to frame some camera shots when I suddenly felt a tree limb catch me around the chest and found myself being slowly dragged off Snarky's back.

"Hey! whoa! Russell, wait!" I yelled.

The guests behind me called out as well and Russell stopped the horses when he realized what was happening. He backed up his horse to get Snarky under me again.

When I felt Snarky's rump, I pulled with my legs until the saddle was in its proper place again and I let go of the tree limb. It was bad enough being led around everywhere; this completed the humiliation. Even Uncle Tyler laughed.

We kept on and I was more careful of tree limbs. Pretty soon, we broke into a clearing that was almost completely filled by a huge mound of grass-covered dirt.

"Is this the haunted Indian mound?" Mr. Miller asked.

"It's the Indian mound," Uncle Tyler said. "There's a set of stepping stones built into the side over here. If you want to climb to the top, please use them. We don't want to damage the mound trying to climb the other sides.

It was about ten feet tall and about forty in diameter. Just a good-sized mound of dirt, but obviously not a construct of nature. The air seemed cooler in this little bubble in the woods. It was comfortable, but it was like walking through a graveyard on a nice day--no matter how beautiful the weather, or how green the grass, you still were aware of where you were.

Everyone dismounted and tied their horses to tree limbs. Russell stopped Snarky and I jumped off. I knelt and took a few shots from ground level of the guests climbing and then walking around on the top of the mound. I was the last to climb up.

Uncle Tyler and Russell remained below, but even so, the five of us pretty much filled up the top of the mound. I took some pictures of the guests against the backdrop of the woods. I was surprised to see Kiernan House through the lens. We were closer than I had imagined. I could make out my window. That first night, when I saw the blue light through the trees, I was looking here. I shivered.

"Get some pictures from up there, Bobby," Uncle Tyler said.

"I am."

"Maybe you'll snap some ghost pictures," Mike said.

"Yeah," Mr. Miller said. "smoky images that you can find faces in." He laughed.

"That's not funny, Stuart," Mrs. Miller said. "If he takes pictures of ghosts, I don't want to see them."

Everyone laughed except me. Why was everyone so interested in ghosts? I didn't take any more pictures.

Chapter 9: Visitors

I had a hard time going to sleep after the trail ride. I stole a few looks out my window toward the Indian mound, fearful of seeing a blue light. I didn't see it, but with every creak of the house and groan of the wind, I imagined DeSoto's men and their Inca captive wandering the grounds.

Aunt Camille let me sleep-in the next day and it was nearly noon when I got up. Uncle Tyler had been out in the gardens but came in for lunch. The Millers had left early and Mike and Lisa not long after. More paying guests were expected the next weekend, but Kiernan House would be without business until then and Uncle Tyler wasn't happy about it.

"We're having some company this afternoon, Tyler," Aunt Camille said. She was preparing our lunch while Uncle Tyler sat at his little roll-top desk, closing out his paperwork. I was trying to be helpful by putting away the washed dishes.

"On Memorial Day? Who's that?" Uncle Tyler said in a near-mumble.

"Tom Ellis and Jim Bruiner from the church. I guess they figure people will be home today."

Uncle Tyler looked up.

"Why? They trying to get me to come to church again? I'm a member."

"They're just doing their regular visiting, but they do ask about you.," Aunt Camille said. "I think Bobby being with us sparked their interest too. And Jim Bruiner knows Bobby's stepfather."

"Me?" I said. "But I'm a Baptist and I have a church in Jackson."

"They're just being neighborly," Aunt Camille said. "Anyway, Tom Ellis called me yesterday while you guys were out and asked if they could visit today. I told him he could come over for coffee and brownies."

"That's awfully nice of us," Uncle Tyler said, "when we don't have paying guests."

"Now Tyler, you know we have to keep good community relations and around here that means church relations."

"I know, I know. I just suspect there's more to it than a church visit. Why's Bruiner coming? Where's Brother Birch?"

"I don't know," Aunt Camille said. "They usually go out in pairs. Jim's the Youth Minister so I suppose he does some of the visiting."

"Mr. Ellis taught the Sunday School class I was in yesterday," I said. "He's nice."

"Yeah, Tom Ellis is OK," Uncle Tyler said. "Did Bruiner say anything to you about karate?"

"He invited me to visit his class. I met some of his students."

"Hmm. I suspect that has something to do with the visit."

"Not everybody has ulterior motives, Tyler," Aunt Camille said.

"Just go easy on the brownies, Sweetie."

*

I was uneasy about the churchmen's visit. I wondered what Uncle Tyler would say to them. I could image them arguing about Ming lu.

I stayed in my room, watching the Monty Python video again, until Aunt Camille called me.

"Bobby, come on down. Our guests should be here soon."

"Coming, Aunt Camille," I said.

I went downstairs and found her in the kitchen arranging brownies on a silver platter. Uncle Tyler was still rummaging through paperwork, but I figured he was just passing the time.

"They said they'd be here around three," Aunt Camille said. "Tyler, go ahead and make the coffee."

"Yes, my dear."

Uncle Tyler loaded the coffee machine and had just punched the start button when we heard Sidd barking out front.

"They're here," Aunt Camille said.

We hurried to the front door and stepped out onto the porch. Sidd had taken a stance in the front yard, barking his warning at an approaching blue Toyota. When it got closer, I recognized Tom Ellis driving. Jim Bruiner was on the passenger side. They pulled to the side of the gravel driveway and stopped. Mr. Ellis looked up and smiled as he popped open his door, then pulled it shut when Sidd approached, still barking.

"Good boy, Sidd," Uncle Tyler murmured. I wasn't sure I was meant to hear that. It was a good thing Aunt Camille didn't.

"Sidd, no!" Uncle Tyler said in a much louder voice. "Sit!"

Sidd quieted and sat, but still stared down the car. Uncle Tyler motioned to the men that it was OK to get out.

"Don't mind Sidd," Aunt Camille said, as the men emerged from the car. "He'll be your best friend once you give him a petting."

"That's OK," Tom Ellis said. "He probably smells my dogs." He reached out to Sidd who accepted his pat on the head. Sidd then ran over to Jim Bruiner and gave a bark but accepted Mr. Bruiner's touch too.

"Now we're all friends," Uncle Tyler said.

"Tyler, haven't seen you in a while," Tom said, and extended his hand. "How you been?"

"Been fine, Tom," Uncle Tyler said.

"Tyler, good to see you again," Jim Bruiner said, also shaking Uncle Tyler's hand.

"You too, Jim. Come in, please."

They passed out greetings to Aunt Camille and me.

"I was glad to have you in my Sunday School class," Mr. Ellis said. "I hope you'll come back."

"I probably will," I said. "I'll be here all summer."

"Good, good."

We all went into the house. Uncle Tyler showed them to seats in the parlor while I helped Aunt Camille bring in the coffee service and platter of brownies. They were regular fudge brownies and not the Dolly Madisons. Aunt Camille poured coffee for them. The churchmen expressed their favor of the period decor and how clean everything was.

"We do our best to make it nice for our guests," Aunt Camille said. "We want them to come back."

"Well, you've done a good job with the old house," Mr. Bruiner said. "Have you registered it as a landmark?"

"No," Uncle Tyler said. "We were more interested in providing a comfortable place for people to get away to, than preserving old architecture."

"Yes, escape," Mr. Bruiner said. "Everyone wants to escape if they can."

"Are we taking you away from guests, now?" Tom Ellis asked.

"Our rooms are vacant at the moment," Uncle Tyler said. "Our weekend guests left this morning."

"Oh, good," Bruiner said. "Or at least, good for our visit. I'm sure you'd rather have customers."

"We do have reservations," Uncle Tyler said. "They'll be in this weekend."

"Where's Brother Birch?" Aunt Camille asked.

"He's visiting at the hospital," Tom Ellis said. "Seems we've had a lot of sick lately."

"Yes, there have been quite a few," Aunt Camille said.

"Mabel Gates and Brother Watkins," Bruiner said.

"And Beth Paige just had a baby," Mr. Ellis said. "I expect he'll visit her, so it's not just all sick-visiting ."

They went on like this for a while, between brownies, mostly engaging with Aunt Camille. Uncle Tyler mostly just sipped his coffee and listened. I did the same.

"So how long will you be visiting, Bobby?" Mr. Ellis said.

"Through the summer," I said. I thought I had told him. "My parents are busy with church and things."

"So you're taking your own vacation down here," Mr. Ellis said. "Sounds good to me."

"Anyway, it's an opportunity for us to spend some time with Bobby before he's completely grown up," Aunt Camille said.

"Yes, and I know your stepfather," Mr. Bruiner said. "I believe I told you. I was in several church music conferences with him when I was a Music Minister in Jackson. Fine, Christian man."

"Yes sir," I said.

"And speaking of Christian," Bruiner said, "you know one purpose of our visits is to see if we can help with the spiritual needs of our church family and also to proclaim the Word where we can. We'd like to spend some time today sharing our Christian testimony."

"I hope you're agreeable," Mr. Ellis said. "We didn't come to preach, just to share."

"Of course," Aunt Camille said. "We'd be glad to hear whatever you have to say."

"As you wish," Uncle Tyler said.

Mr. Bruiner seemed barely aware of Mr. Ellis' interruption.

"As you may know, the Lord has been using me in a special ministry since I moved to Natchez. I call it, Karate for Christ. I teach karate with a Bible-believing foundation instead of the Eastern religion that's usually taught with it. It's been a tremendous blessing for a lot of young people. You think that's something you might be interested in, Bobby?"

"Well, maybe," I said. I shot glances at Uncle Tyler. "I mean, I'm only here for the summer. I don't know...."

"I think you'd get a lot out of it," Mr. Bruiner said. "But regardless, the most important thing is our spiritual standing. Whether we have made that commitment that leads to eternal life."

The pause was pregnant, and everyone knew what would be delivered. I certainly did.

"Bobby, are you saved?" Mr. Ellis asked. "Do you know Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior?"

I had heard the question before, usually directed at others. I knew the answer, but the question always silenced any room.

"Yes sir," I said. "I do."

"That's wonderful, son," Mr. Ellis said. "I was sure I caught the presence of the Spirit in you--"

Relief flooded the room with smiles, but it wasn't over.

"And Tyler," Mr. Bruiner said, "I've known you for a while, but I really haven't seen you much at church. We haven't had the pleasure of talking about our Christian witness, and I shouldn't take such things for granted."

"Would you like another brownie, Jim?" Aunt Camille said, offering the platter. He reached for one but kept talking.

"Are you a Christian, Tyler? Have you been saved?"

I could tell Aunt Camille was holding her breath. Uncle Tyler was chewing a brownie and looking thoughtful.

"I'm being saved every day," Uncle Tyler said. I heard a groan from Aunt Camille.

"Salvation is not a process," Bruiner said, "it's an event. A specific point when we are convicted of the sin in our lives and we ask Jesus to forgive us and come into our hearts. From that point, we grow as Christians."

"I see," Uncle Tyler said.

"So was there such a point for you?" Mr. Bruiner said. "Was there a point when you asked Jesus into your heart?"

"There was a time," Uncle Tyler said, "when I couldn't bear the sin in me and around me, and I sought escape. I found none, but I did find a teacher. Or maybe he found me. He had achieved a great spiritual depth and took pity on me. He taught me."

"What did he teach you," Ellis said.

"The wisdom of the ages," Uncle Tyler said, and took another bite of brownie. "And kung fu."

"We're not saved by wisdom or kung fu," Mr. Bruiner said. "Only Jesus. Acts 4:12 says there is no other name under heaven whereby we must be saved."

"'Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling'," Uncle Tyler replied. "'For it is God which worketh in you.'"

"Yes, Philippians. It's Jesus that saves you--"

"And it is a process."

Mr. Bruiner's face shaded red.

"Don't quote scripture out of context--"

"Perhaps you are."

Mr. Bruiner stood suddenly.

"You wouldn't know, you heathen--"

"Jim!" Mr. Ellis said. "Take it easy. We can discuss scripture civilly. There's no need to get upset or call names."

"Yes. Yes, I'm sorry," Mr. Bruiner said, taking his seat again. "It's just that I get so mad with sin."

"Quoting scripture is sin?" Uncle Tyler said.

"I didn't say that, Pearson, I...you can't just quote scripture. You have to understand the context of a given verse."

"I agree," Uncle Tyler said. "And I've found that every life is like that. You can't understand a person outside the context of their experience. And that uniqueness requires a salvation to match. It's an awesome thing. God at work."

"Well, I think we have a lot we can talk about," Mr. Ellis said. "I see Tyler has a good knowledge of scripture and we can have some stimulating conversations, if you'd be willing, Tyler."

"Anytime," Uncle Tyler said.

"You said you learned kung fu from your teacher," Mr. Bruiner said. "Kung fu is heavily influenced by Buddhism, isn't it?"

"Daoism, too."

"How can you accept a heathen religion and claim to be saved?"

"I wouldn't denigrate a religion, even if it's one I don't accept," Uncle Tyler said. "I believe there's a central truth that most all religions tap into. That's why most any of them can work for a person who practices them sincerely. At their center, they are all God speaking to us."

"Not all," Bruiner said. "You missed the meaning of the scripture I quoted you."

"Maybe. Or maybe that 'name under heaven' has greater meaning than you realize."

"I assure you, I know the meaning of that verse. I read it under the guidance of the Holy Spirit."

"As do I--"

"Don't blaspheme, you--" Bruiner shouted. We all jumped at his outburst and the room got quiet. The air was thick. Aunt Camille just stared at the men.

"Jim," Mr. Ellis said. "That's enough. I think we should go."

"You don't have to go, Tom," Aunt Camille said. "We all get passionate about things, especially religion. Sometimes even Tyler--"

"The spirit of the living God is more than religion, Camille," Mr. Bruiner said.

"We really need to go anyway," Mr. Ellis said. He stood and shook Uncle Tyler's hand. "Tyler, it was good to see you again. I hope we can get together and talk about your views. I really am interested."

"Sure, Tom."

Mr. Bruiner stood as well. It looked to me like his lower lip was sticking out He turned to me.

"Bobby, I hope you'll come check out Karate for Christ. There's other young people taking it and I believe you'll enjoy it. You'll see you can learn martial arts on a real spiritual foundation."

"Thanks," I said. "Maybe. When's your next class?"

"Tomorrow night, at the church. Call me if you need a ride."

"Thank you--"

"We'll let you know, Jim" Aunt Camille said.

Everyone stood. Mr. Ellis took a step towards the hallway, but Mr. Bruiner stood his ground, like he wasn't ready to leave.

"Tyler," Mr. Bruiner said, "maybe we could give an exhibition."

"An exhibition?" Uncle Tyler said.

"I mean a sparring demonstration. Just me and you. Bring Bobby to karate with some of your other students. We'll spar a bit for them. Kung fu against karate. How about it?"

"No," Uncle Tyler said. "Thank you. Self-defense is a by-product of kung fu. I use it to teach concentration and discipline. To bring the body and mind together."

"I understand discipline," Bruiner said. "I learned discipline in the Marines. Before that I was a bully and a brawler." He slapped his hand with his fist. "I hurt a lot of men with this fist. Then Jesus saved me, so now it's an open hand that I extend in invitation to bring people to the Lord. I thought I was tough, but I found God was tougher. That's what I teach young people through karate."

"I see," Uncle Tyler said.

"So how about an exhibition?" Bruiner said.

Uncle Tyler just shook his head.

"Too bad," Bruiner said. "Well, let me know if you change your mind. Bobby, you're still invited. Just let me know."

"Yes sir," I said.

We went through the round of goodbyes and hand-shakings. Mr. Bruiner seemed to squeeze Uncle Tyler's hand especially hard.

"Please consider yourselves invited to our worship services," Mr. Ellis said.

"Thanks so much, Tom," Aunt Camille said. "Goodbye. Goodbye, Mr. Bruiner."

Mr. Bruiner replied with a curt, "Goodbye, Camille."

We watched from the porch as they drove away. Sidd gave them a few farewell barks.

"Think we helped our community relations?" Uncle Tyler said.

"Tyler, you're impossible," Aunt Camille said.

*

Lying in bed that night, I thought about Uncle Tyler's Bible knowledge. I thought if you really knew the Bible, you would be a Christian, or that you had to be a Christian to really understand the Bible. I wasn't sure about Uncle Tyler, but I was getting curious about his kung fu classes.

Chapter 10: Watching Kung fu

I slept very well that night, though I did wake up once around midnight and thought I saw the blue light at the Indian mound. I pulled up the covers and prayed for protection. That was becoming my routine for getting to sleep.

I got up late the next morning and Aunt Camille made me breakfast. She didn't mention the churchmen's visit, so I guessed she wasn't too concerned that Uncle Tyler had offended them.

After breakfast, I helped Joel and Uncle Tyler in the garden. We were planting long rows of corn and okra. I don't know how helpful I was, but at least I didn't faint. Uncle Tyler didn't say anything about yesterday's visit either. He was totally concentrated on the planting.

Bill showed up around noon to help, so I didn't go back after lunch. Uncle Tyler didn't mind. He didn't go back either, but started doing paperwork. It looked to me like he did more of that when he didn't have guests.

I spent a couple of hours in my room, watching videos. Then Erin and Russell showed up to take a swim before the night's kung fu class. I joined them by the pool, but I still wasn't swimming. I was trying to decide whether to ask Aunt Camille to take me to Karate for Christ or watch Uncle Tyler's class. Of course, Erin and Russell had made their choices.

"You gonna join us tonight in kung fu?" Erin asked from the edge of the pool.

"I don't know," I said. "Mr. Bruiner invited me to karate."

"Don't you think your uncle would be offended?" she asked.

"Maybe. I hadn't thought about that."

Russell popped out of the water beside Erin after diving off the edge. She flinched at the water he sent flying and a few drops reached me in my lounger.

"Kung fu's better than karate anyway," Russell said. I don't know how he heard our conversation. "Come watch us and you'll see."

"Why are you so hesitant about it?" Erin said. "You still worried it's pagan?"

"No, I just don't want to have to learn any Eastern religious practices. Like meditation."

"We don't learn religion," Russell said. "Shifu just tells us the stuff he's learned. It's wise, but it's not religion. It's mostly exercise and martial arts practice. It'd do you good."

And that was it, really. I thought it would do me good. I really wanted to get strong and learn to fight, but I didn't want to follow a false way. Even beating Anthony Benton wasn't worth that.

"Probably would," I said. "I don't know."

"It'll be all right, Bobby," Erin said. "I'm a Christian. I'm not a Buddhist or anything. Look, I want you to come. OK? Will you?"

She seemed to mean it.

"Well..."

"Ha!" Russell said and slapped a big splash of water over Erin that reached me, too. "Erin wants you to come, so you got to now."

He pushed away from the pool's edge and backstroked to the other side.

Erin wiped the water from her eyes.

"What an idiot," she said.

"OK," I said. "I'll ask Uncle Tyler if I can watch your class tonight."

"Great," she said. "You'll like it."

Aunt Camille called us to supper. She had prepared a 'kung fu supper' of all-beef hot dogs, chips, and baked beans--high in protein but light enough so as not to cause cramps after heavy exercise. I wasn't sure the beans were a good idea, though.

We were eating at the kitchen table with Uncle Tyler, and I wanted to ask him about watching his class but not in front of Erin and Russell. I was afraid of being rebuffed. It was a reflex. I got occasional, prompting looks from Erin though.

After the meal, Erin and Russell went out to the porch to wait for the other students. Uncle Tyler was helping Aunt Camille clean up the kitchen. It was now or never. It was too late to ask to be taken to karate and I would feel awful sitting in my room while the kung fu classes were going on.

"Uncle Tyler?" I finally said.

"What?" Uncle Tyler replied as he loaded the dish washer.

"Uh, you think I could watch your kung fu class tonight? Erin and Russell asked me to."

I felt like I needed a justification.

"You can watch. That's all I allow without a commitment to train. You sure you want to?"

"Yes sir. I'd like to see what it's like."

"All right. We start at seven. Take a seat on the floor in the dao chang. Off the exercise area."

"Yes sir."

Feeling better, I left them and went out to the porch to join Erin and Russell. Julia and Jason had already arrived. Seth was there too. Erin was in a cane chair, petting Sidd.

"So Bobby, you gonna join us?" Erin said.

"Yeah. Uncle Tyler said I could watch."

"Great," Seth said. "You'll like it. You'll want to train."

"He just said I could watch."

"We all have to spend two or three classes just watching," Jason said.

"I watched two classes," Julia said. "This is my first night, training."

"I know you'll make the commitment," Erin said. "You'll see it's not evil."

Three more students showed up, making up the total of eight students in Uncle Tyler's class. There was Eric Dodgen and Blake Drummond, and Scott Hall, who was the only one there of Asian descent.

When Russell announced it was almost seven o'clock, we all went to the dao chang. All the students bowed as they entered the building and took a seat, cross-legged, in the exercise area. Uncle Tyler sat on the floor at one end of the room, facing his students. Scrolls hung from the walls. Some of them were Chinese writings, others were pictures of animals and flowers.

There was a rack of weapons behind Uncle Tyler. It looked like long staffs, short sticks, and spears with very wide blades. Another rack hung from the wall and contained four swords with bright red ribbons hanging from their handles.

Uncle Tyler didn't spare me a glance. I found a place out of the way and sat, imitating their cross-legged posture.

When everyone had settled for a minute, Uncle Tyler spoke.

"We have a new student tonight," he said. His voice was quiet, calmer somehow, and friendlier than usual. "Welcome, Julia. Let's start with our warm-ups. Russell, lead. Julia, watch Russell and follow as best as you can."

Russell jumped up and stood at the head of the class.

"All right, up," he said. Every one rose to their feet, including Uncle Tyler.

Russell went through a series of stretches that began with just a rolling of the head and proceeded to pivoting the waist in a circle and reaching both hands to an ankle, then to the floor, then to the other ankle. Some of the stretches were more involved, like when they sat on the floor with one leg stretched out and the other bent under them. They then turned at the waist and planted their hands on the floor behind their hips. I couldn't imagine ever doing that.

After the stretches came more vigorous exercises. These included jumping jacks, stomach crunches, and push-ups. Through it all, Julia followed Russell's lead. She didn't seem completely lost so she must have been watching well during her observation classes. Uncle Tyler didn't go through the exercises but just stood at the front of the class and watched his students.

It took about thirty minutes to get through the stretching routines. They ended with everyone sitting on the floor, cross-legged again, with their wrists resting on their knees and palms open to the ceiling. Russell took his place with the other students in this posture and they all seemed to be breathing deeply and slowly. It sure looked like meditating to me.

Uncle Tyler walked around the room while his students were in this state. After a few minutes, he spoke again.

"Tonight, we'll go through a review of our basic punches, kicks, and stances. Stand."

He walked to the front of the class and stopped. Everyone's eyes were on him.

"Assume the on-guard," he said. Everyone snapped to the stance.

Uncle Tyler then led the class in striking the air in front of them with several types of punches and kicks. I was surprised there were so many ways to do both. He also went through several types of blocks. These intrigued me, and I wondered how they would work against my various bullies--especially my chief bully.

Next, Uncle Tyler had everyone pair-off and put the punches and blocks together in a kind of dance across the floor. One of each pair would throw a punch at Uncle Tyler's command, and the partner would block. I watched Erin and Julia work as a team in this way and move from one end of the room to the other, then back again. The class went through several combinations of punches and blocks like this and even some kicks and blocks. All the moves had names, and I realized this would require a lot of rote memory work.

The class spent about forty-five minutes doing these exercises. It got pretty intense and I could see everyone was breaking a sweat. Finally, Uncle Tyler had everyone assume their cross-legged posture on the floor and just breathe. After a few minutes, he announced that some of the advanced students would work forms and that the rest should observe.

He called Russell to the front again and told him to go through the first form. Russell began making a series of moves that looked very dance-like, though I could see it was made up of many of the punches, kicks, and blocks the rest of the class had just been practicing. It took Russell only a couple of minutes to get through the form, and he ended it with an exaggerated, sweeping motion of his arms that ended in a kind of bow.

"Now do it with power," Uncle Tyler said.

Russell went through the form again. He did it fast with obvious power behind the punches and kicks.

"With energy."

Russell was much more deliberate now. His moves were fluid, like swimming slowly. His eyes actually closed at times.

"Now remember yourself."

That caught me by surprise. I didn't know what he meant. Nobody said anything, including Russell, so I guessed they all understood.

Russell began the slow, deliberate mode again. But this time, as he went through the motions, Uncle Tyler would periodically make a noise. It was like a quick exhalation, almost saying a word, though it seemed a nonsense word.

"Ooosh."

Russell did nothing when Uncle Tyler made the sounds. He just continued with the form. Nobody else reacted. They all seemed to understand what was happening, though it made no sense to me. Apparently that was something you learned when you were committed to the training.

"Very good. Take your place," Uncle Tyler said. Russell sat on the floor again.

Uncle Tyler stood again at the front of class.

"Keep this," he said. "Now meditate."

So this was finally it. They were going to perform a pagan practice. I considered walking out but decided not to. Uncle Tyler would be mad. I had to wait.

Everyone remained cross-legged, though Uncle Tyler sat on a cushion and wrapped his legs the way you always see in Buddha statues. I knew it was called the Lotus position. I noticed Scott Hall imitating him.

No one closed their eyes, but they all placed their wrists on their knees again and just stared at the floor. They were breathing normally, though some seemed to be breathing into their stomachs. Russell and Jason were doing this. Erin was too.

I didn't know what kind of mysticism was behind this, but it surely had to open you up to demon possession. It went on for a good five minutes, with everyone just sitting still and breathing. I didn't know if they were thinking about something or concentrating on nothing, though I couldn't imagine how you would do that. However they did it, I just knew it attracted demons. This was dangerous stuff, but I liked the exercises and even the forms. I hated that it had to include meditation.

"That's all for tonight," Uncle Tyler finally said.

Automatically, everyone got up and walked to the door. They faced the room and bowed before exiting. I heard talking starting up outside.

Soon it was just Uncle Tyler and me in the room. I expected him to ask me what I thought about his class. I really wasn't sure and began thinking of possible replies.

"You can go back to the house, Bobby," Uncle Tyler said.

I was surprised he had nothing else to say to me. I was kind of glad, but still not sure.

"Yes sir," I said, and left. I didn't bow to the room, since I wasn't a student.

Outside, the students were talking on their way to their cars. It was excited chatter, as if they were leaving a football game.

Erin ran up to me.

"So what did you think?" she said.

"It was interesting," I said. "Looked like a lot of hard work."

"It is, but you get used to it. You build up and get flexible and just concentrate on making the moves properly. Especially the forms. There's more forms, but sometimes Shifu makes us just watch an advanced student go through them. We have to concentrate and make it a meditation."

"Looked like you were meditating a lot."

"We always end with a regular meditation," she said. "That didn't freak you, did it?"

"It made me uncomfortable."

"Oh Bobby, you're hopeless. You've got to get over that. There's my Mom. See you."

"Bye."

*

I couldn't sleep that night. I sat up in bed in my dark room and looked out the window. It was dark and hard to see, but it looked like a mist was covering the low areas of the grounds and around the woods. Toward the Indian mound, it looked like a blue mist. I shivered and wrapped the quilt around me. I imagined demons looking for a way to invade my soul. Meditation was a door for them.

But Uncle Tyler's students didn't seem affected. At least none of them seemed demon-possessed. Maybe they just hadn't reached the deep levels where demons lurked. Maybe Uncle Tyler did, though he didn't seem possessed either. I wondered about his salvation. Salvation was an event. A particular time. If he couldn't point to a specific place and time that he was saved, then maybe he wasn't.

I thought of my own place and time. It was a revival meeting where Wayne was the visiting Minister of Music. It wasn't long after Mom had divorced Dad. Wayne met her then--the very night I was convicted of my sin during the preaching and walked forward at the Invitation. I had committed my life to Jesus then.

I heard the wood floor creaking outside my room. I heard it most every night. It was like Uncle Tyler or Aunt Camille were coming to my door, though it was never them. It was just the house settling. Old houses settled a lot.

I reached for the lamp on my nightstand and turned it on.

Please keep me safe, Lord. I won't do kung fu. I won't meditate.

I lay back in bed and pulled the covers up to my eyes. I left the lamp on.

Maybe next week I would go to Karate for Christ. That would be better. No meditation. Just prayer and Mr. Bruiner, and CB Provine.

Chapter 11: A Day in Natchez

I woke at daybreak. The dawn pouring through my window was a welcome relief to the ghosts in my nightmares. I sat up and looked out. The oak tree showed yellow highlights on its trunk and leaves. Its topmost leaves were already a reassuring green in full sunlight. The pool reflected little yellow wavelets and looked inviting, even though I'd drown if I jumped in.

Sidd ran across the grass and I watched him make for the oak tree. I wondered what he was doing out so early. Then I saw Uncle Tyler following the same track. He crossed the grounds to the oak tree where Sidd waited for him. Then they both went to the dao chang. Sidd laid down on the porch as Uncle Tyler went inside.

Going to meditate, no doubt. I couldn't understand why he did that so much. Even if it didn't open you to demon possession, I couldn't imagine what real good it did.

I considered getting out of bed, but didn't have the strength. So I lay down again and slept until mid-morning.

When I woke for the second time, I felt more rested and got up. I showered in the free-standing tub and wondered what I would do today. I really didn't feel like more chores or attempting other things I couldn't do. I really didn't have a choice, though. I would have to do what they told me.

I thought for a moment about Anthony Benton. He seemed really far away. I prayed I wouldn't have to go back to more suspicions from Mr. Westin and threats from Anthony. I needed to put that out of my mind.

Sufficient for today is the evil thereof.

Or something like that.

When I made it downstairs, I found Aunt Camille in the kitchen rummaging through her cookbook notes. Uncle Tyler was at his little roll-top desk, going over paperwork once again.

"Morning," Aunt Camille said. "Want some breakfast?"

"Sure."

She left her book and began to prepare eggs and toast for me.

"How about a trip into Natchez?" she said as she worked.

"OK," I said. "What'll we do?"

"There's a flea market I want to check out, and we can shop a little at Under the Hill."

"Under the Hill?"

"Natchez Under the Hill. It's a little strip of cafes and shops against the bluffs next to the river. Used to be a rough place in the old days. It's a tourist attraction now."

"Oh."

She placed my plate on the table with a glass of milk.

"And we can have lunch in town. Tyler, you want to go with us?"

"Sure. No guests to take care of. Might do us all good to get out."

"Good," she said. "Bobby, bring your camera. It's a beautiful day. You might find something interesting to shoot."

After a quick kitchen clean-up, we all climbed into the Jeep Cherokee and headed out. We passed the grazing horses and Sidd chased the car all the way to the front gate.

"Probably not a lot of people in town today," Aunt Camille said, "but I know the flea market's open. We can avoid the weekend crowds."

"I might check out the bookstore," Uncle Tyler said as he drove.

We drove through the winding country roads, back through Berea and to the highway. The ride was becoming familiar and it didn't seem so far as when I first made the trip to St. Mark's. We passed the church and went right into the downtown.

Natchez was a big version of Berea. It was a lot of old buildings, some of them really old and restored or just kept up, like Jefferson College. Of course there were a lot of antebellum homes around, as Aunt Camille had told me, though I hadn't seen any. We passed one, though. At least I assumed it was one. It was a huge house with the big white columns. It was just off the highway and I tried to get a picture, but we were moving too fast.

We passed the usual fast food places and gas stations. Nothing worth photographing. We reached Main Street and as we got further into the downtown, I noticed more brick buildings and businesses. It seemed a lot of renovation was going on too.

"Let's start at Under the Hill," Aunt Camille said.

"Right-O," Uncle Tyler said.

We continued through the middle of town to the western end and turned onto Canal Street. I caught glimpses of the Mississippi River as we drove past Fat Mama's Tamales and Rosalie Mansion. Then Uncle Tyler made another turn toward the river and another onto Silver Street.

The road descended beneath a high bluff and paralleled the river. Old buildings were built next to the bluff and were bordered with a wooden walkway. Uncle Tyler found a place to park beside the walkway and we got out.

We followed the walk past a couple of restaurants to a dress shop that Aunt Camille wanted to visit. I waited at the door with Uncle Tyler. We sat on the walk and watched barges make their way down-river. I took some pictures.

When Aunt Camille came out, we went to a gift shop that had all kinds of ceramic things--dolls, statutes, and hundreds of tiny cups, saucers, and plates. Aunt Camille said they were tiny tea cups and thought they were cute, but didn't buy any. Uncle Tyler looked over everything but didn't seem interested in anything. Nothing caught my eye either.

We left the gift shop and went on to a restaurant with a big sign in the window that advertised sandwiches and Cajun po-boys, though the smell would have been advertisement enough.

"Are we going to eat here?" I asked.

"No, I want to eat at the Natchez Coffee Company," Aunt Camille said, "but first I want to go by the flea market."

"Then let's get out fast," Uncle Tyler said, "while I can still resist the smell."

We returned to the Jeep and started out again. Uncle Tyler followed the hill to the bottom and turned away from the river toward town. We reached Canal Street and followed it across railroad tracks to a place where several roads converged. The flea market was there beneath wooden coverings and consisted of a bunch of tables piled high with all kinds of stuff.

Uncle Tyler found a parking place on the side of the road and we walked to the market. A mule-drawn carriage passed, driven by an old black man who was steadily talking to a man and woman in the seat behind him. I snapped a picture as they passed.

I turned back to the flea market and snapped a couple of more pictures of Aunt Camille and Uncle Tyler as they rummaged. Most of the stuff looked to be clothes and used lamps and tables and such. There were stacks of books that Uncle Tyler flipped through.

I began to look around too. I didn't find anything interesting until I uncovered a neat little statue of a dragon. It was red and felt like it was made from stone. It had green jewels for eyes.

"In China, dragons are good luck," Uncle Tyler said. I hadn't realized he was standing behind me.

"I thought they were monsters," I said.

"Monsters or luck. It's a matter of what you've been taught. The trick is to find out for yourself. Even then, you might find out that both viewpoints are true."

"Yes sir," I said, but I didn't understand how could that could be.

Aunt Camille walked up carrying a bag.

"Find some good buys?" Uncle Tyler said.

"Not bad," she said. "I found some shoes I liked and a purse. You guys find anything?"

"No," Uncle Tyler said. "I'd rather just check out the bookstore. Bobby found something."

"Oh yeah? Let's see."

I showed her the dragon.

"I didn't mean to buy it," I said. "I don't have much money."

"Oh, we'll get it for you, Honey," Aunt Camille said. "Bring it."

I followed her to the cashier and she paid for my dragon with her stuff.

"Thank you," I said.

"You need a souvenir," Uncle Tyler said.

"You guys hungry?" Aunt Camille said.

"We been hungry," Uncle Tyler said.

"I could eat," I said.

"Well, let's go to the Natchez Coffee Company, she said. They have sandwiches and I want some coffee, too."

The Natchez Coffee Company was on Main Street and Uncle Tyler parked nearly in front of it. The smell of brewing coffee reached out onto the covered sidewalk and pulled us in. Like the Cajun restaurant at Under The Hill, the aroma was all the advertisement the place needed.

We went inside and a big man with curly brown hair and moustache greeted us. He was making coffee and the smell of it inside was really intense. You could taste the richness in the air.

"You folks want lunch?"

"Yes," Uncle Tyler said.

"Right this way, Hons," an old lady with blonde hair said from behind the counter. She grabbed some menus and led us to an adjoining room. The room had brick walls with a wooden ceiling and had the feel of a very old place. We sat at a heavy, wooden table next to a huge window that looked out onto the street.

Aunt Camille and Uncle Tyler ordered grilled chicken salads. I had a gourmet version of a ham sandwich with thick ham slices, lettuce and tomato and some kind of honey mustard dressing. It was served with home fries and iced tea. I actually ate most of it.

"You must have been hungry," Aunt Camille said. "You having a good time?"

"Yeah," I said. "I like Natchez."

And I did. I liked the old buildings and the small, uncrowded streets. I liked walking around downtown and seeing the old shops. It was definitely my best day so far.

"I want some coffee now," Aunt Camille said. "You want a cup, Bobby?"

"No," I said. "I'll wait outside. I want to take some pictures of the street."

"All right. We'll be out in a little bit."

I left them chatting and went to the outer room. The big man looked up from his work as I passed.

"Come again," he said.

"I will," I said.

I stepped out onto the covered sidewalk. There were a few small tables and chairs where customers could eat or have their coffee. They were empty at the moment, but I took pictures of them anyway. I took some shots of the old buildings and the street toward the flea market.

I walked to the other end of the sidewalk and took pictures of a church across the street. It was big and brick with tall, pointed windows and pointed towers. It kind of looked like a castle.

I let my camera drop around my neck and looked around. I wondered what Erin and Russell were doing. I hoped they would drop by the house later. We could hang out by the pool and I could show them my dragon. I pulled it out of my camera case and examined it.

"Hey, what you doing here?"

I shoved the dragon back in the case and turned. My heart sank at the sight of CB Provine, the church bully. He was wearing shorts and an open shirt over a white tee-shirt, like an ugly version of Uncle Tyler. He flipped a long, red shock of hair out of his eyes.

"You didn't come to karate class last night," he said. "You gonna come?"

"I don't know," I said. "I might."

"What you taking pictures of?"

"Just the buildings and streets."

"That's boring. Let me see your camera."

"No, it's expensive."

"I won't hurt it. Let me see."

He grabbed the camera from my hands and pulled the strap from around my neck. He looked up and down the street through the lens.

"You know how to use this thing?"

"Yeah," I said. "Let me have it back."

He rubbed his thumb over the lens, coating it with opaque, oily smudges.

"Don't do that," I said. I reached for the camera and he held it away from me. With his other hand he grabbed my throat and shoved me against a post. I choked. He was crushing my windpipe and I couldn't speak. I couldn't breathe and I flailed my arms at him.

"You want this camera? You can't take it back, can you? See, you need to know karate."

I kicked at him and he just squeezed harder. Lord, what if he dropped my camera? How would I explain how it got broken?

"Hey!" CB cried.

His hand was suddenly off my throat and then he was several steps away from me down the sidewalk and sitting on his butt. My vision cleared and I realized Uncle Tyler was standing between us with my camera in his hand. He gave it to me.

"You all right, Bobby?" he said.

"Yeah," I croaked. "He took my camera."

"I was just looking at it," CB said, sitting on the sidewalk.

Footsteps pounded quickly down the sidewalk. I looked past Uncle Tyler and saw a man running towards us. He reached CB, dropped a bag of something and pulled CB to his feet.

"You all right, son?" Before CB could answer, the man turned to Uncle Tyler.

"That's my son you hit, mister."

"I didn't," Uncle Tyler said. "He was--"

"He hit me, Daddy!" CB yelled.

The man walked over to Uncle Tyler and shoved a hard glare into his face. He was a head shorter than Uncle Tyler, but stout. His eyes glared from beneath the bill of a bright orange cap and they were locked on Uncle Tyler.

"You don't hit a kid," he said, and drove his index finger hard into Uncle Tyler's chest. The sleeves of his camouflaged shirt were pulled up to reveal tattoos on his arms. "I don't care what he did. And you don't hit my son, you understand?"

"Take it easy," Uncle Tyler said. "There's no harm done. We'll just go on our way."

"Cause I'll kick your goddamned ass!"

"Let's go, Bobby," Uncle Tyler said. He pulled on my arm and we started to walk away.

"Don't just walk away from me," the man said. He grabbed a handful of Uncle Tyler's shirt.

"Now you apologize to my boy."

Uncle Tyler's hands were a blur. Faster than I could follow, he swung his arms over his head in some kind of figure eight pattern that ended with the man's grip broken and his arm twisted against its natural placement. Uncle Tyler kept a firm grip on the man's arm with the elbow locked, forcing him to face the ground. Uncle Tyler then shoved the stiff arm into the shoulder socket, sending the man several steps down the sidewalk.

"I'm not going to fight you," Uncle Tyler said. His voice was calm.

A couple of people stuck their heads out the coffee shop door. I heard one of them say something about calling the cops.

"Tyler!" Aunt Camille yelled.

"Get him, Daddy!" CB yelled.

"We'll I'm gonna fight you," the man said, leaping toward Uncle Tyler and swinging a cocked fist, "you motherfu--"

Uncle Tyler deflected the punch in a block similar to what I had seen his students practicing last night. He followed it with a move that ended with his grabbing the man by the throat and lifting him over his hip and into the back of a pickup truck parked by the sidewalk.

The man landed hard in the truck bed. He lay there, groaning, as the big, curly-haired man ran out of the coffee shop.

"Stop it!" the man yelled. "Get out now, or I'll call the cops."

"I'm very sorry," Uncle Tyler said. "We're leaving--"

"Tyler! Are you all right?" Aunt Camille ran up to Uncle Tyler and hugged him. "What happened?"

"I'll tell you later. Let's go."

We started down the sidewalk toward the Jeep. CB was helping his father out of the truck. I think the man was trying to yell at Uncle Tyler, but the wind must have been knocked out of him because nothing was coming out. The curly-haired man was saying something to CB's father.

Uncle Tyler told Aunt Camille what had happened as we drove home and I told my side of it.

"That was Zeke Provine," Aunt Camille said. "He's a member of the church, but I hardly ever see him."

"His son's in the karate class," I said.

"His son's just a bully," Aunt Camille said. "You sure you're all right, Bobby?"

"Yes ma'am."

I was all right because Uncle Tyler had saved me.

"Thank you, Uncle Tyler," I said.

Aunt Camille reached over the seat and squeezed my hand.

"It's OK, Bobby," Aunt Camille said. "I'm just glad you're not hurt."

Uncle Tyler looked at me in the rearview mirror.

"There's lots of bullies in the world," he said.

"I know," I said. "Believe me, I know. I never saw anybody move so fast. Do you teach your students to do that?"

"I teach them to concentrate. Then the world slows down."

*

Uncle Tyler worked in the garden for the rest of the afternoon, as if nothing had happened. I stayed in my room with the TV on but didn't watch anything. I was in awe of what I had seen Uncle Tyler do. I wished he had another class I could watch that night, but the next class was tomorrow.

I played the day's scene over and over in my mind. Uncle Tyler had deflected Mr. Provine's punch and thrown him into the back of that pickup. What I would give to have that kind of strength and skill. I could face my bullies. I could confess my crime without fear.

If I could learn kung fu like that, I could even face demons.

Chapter 12: A Single Step

The next night, I watched Uncle Tyler's kung fu class, quietly from the corner again, but with a new interest. The students sparred on Thursday nights. They all wore protective gear and Uncle Tyler paired them off to fight. He made Erin and Julia a pair, with Erin showing Julia the basics. The girls worked together all night, but he paired the boys off until each had fought most of the others. He would stop the fighting at times and offer corrections and suggestions. I couldn't tell what any of them were doing wrong. It was all too fast for me to follow.

The class lasted about three hours and it was dark when everyone went home. I followed Uncle Tyler back to the house. He was quiet and so was I, but I was struggling to decide if I should ask to join his class. I sure wanted to but was afraid he would just think I was ridiculous. I was too small. I couldn't keep up with his other students. But then, Erin and Julia were about my size. Eric and Seth weren't that much bigger than me either. If he did let me join, he would probably match me with the girls. The boys would laugh at that.

But it would be worth it, if I could learn to defend myself--if I could do to Anthony Benton what Uncle Tyler did to CB's father in Natchez. I watched Uncle Tyler as we walked. His face was as stern as always. Erin said he was selective in who he trained. He probably wouldn't train me. I just as well go to Karate for Christ and get beat up by CB.

In the kitchen, Aunt Camille was finishing up the dishes.

"Hi guys," she said. "How was class?"

"Good," Uncle Tyler said. "We sparred."

"Oh. What did you think about it, Bobby?"

"It was good. They were all fast."

"We got some ice tea left?" Uncle Tyler asked.

"Sure. Bobby, you want some tea?"

"Yes ma'am. Please."

We sat at the kitchen table and Aunt Camille served us our tea. She put a sugar bowl on the table and I took several scoops from it. Uncle Tyler didn't sweeten his tea at all.

"So are you enjoying your stay, Bobby?" Aunt Camille asked as she put away dishes.

"Yes ma'am," I said. It was my basic reply. I couldn't say I wasn't enjoying it, or that I was miserable and wanted to go home unless Uncle Tyler would teach me kung fu.

"Well, we'll try to find something fun to do. I meant for yesterday to be a fun outing. I'm so sorry you had to run into that Provine boy."

"He's a bully," Uncle Tyler said. "And the son of a bully, I'd say."

"I just hate bullies," Aunt Camille said.

This was my opening.

"It happens to me all the time," I said. "Bullies, I mean. They...pick on me."

"At school?" Aunt Camille said. "I'm so sorry."

Uncle Tyler looked over his glass of tea at me. He seemed to really notice me for the first time since I had arrived.

"What do your parents think about that?" he asked.

"I. I don't tell them. See. I don't want them to know...how scared I am."

I stared at the table top as I spoke. It was a hard admission that created an embarrassed silence, but I wanted help. I was desperate for it.

"You can tell them, Honey," Aunt Camille said. "They'll understand."

"No. I've tried to tell Mom, but she just tells me to tell my teachers."

"What about your stepfather?" Uncle Tyler asked.

"I can't tell him. He'd just tell me to stand up to them and then get mad when I didn't."

"Have you told any teachers at school?" Uncle Tyler asked.

"I have at times, but they don't do anything. They tell the bullies to stop, but they don't. They get me when the teachers aren't around."

"Well, you need to tell your mother," Aunt Camille said. "I'm sure she'll talk to the Principal and get this stopped. Call some parents--"

"Why are you telling us this?" Uncle Tyler said.

He was looking straight at me. I could only look back for a second.

"Well," I said. "Do you think I could join your kung fu class, Uncle Tyler?"

"Of course you can," Aunt Camille said.

"Why do you want to learn kung fu?" Uncle Tyler asked.

I thought I had already told him.

"To learn to fight my bullies," I said.

"Your bullies know how to fight," Uncle Tyler said. "If that's all you want, then you should take Karate for Christ."

"Tyler," Aunt Camille said, "don't tell him that. Help him."

I was still looking down. I should have known better. I was on the verge of tears. I fought them, but I couldn't speak.

"You need to know what your bullies don't know," Uncle Tyler said.

I looked up at him. I didn't understand. He said my bullies knew how to fight.

"Know what?" I asked, with some effort.

"How to live," Uncle Tyler said. "To do that, you need to wake up. Your problem is not that you're too weak or too afraid, or that you don't know how to fight. It's that you're asleep. Like everybody else, including your bullies. When I teach kung fu, it's part of a larger training, meant to help students wake up. Self defense is a by-product."

"But I need to be able to stand up to my bullies," I said.

"If two people are going to fight, and one is asleep and the other is awake, which has the advantage?"

"The awake one," I said.

"Of course," Uncle Tyler said. "And the more awake he is, the greater his advantage. I've found this to be true in my life. Many people have found it true. Their understanding of this truth and others, and the techniques that wake people up, is called Ming lu. The Wise Path. This is what I teach, and it is what you must learn if you want to be my student."

"Ty, that's pretty heavy for a boy," Aunt Camille said.

"He's old enough to hear the truth, Camille."

I was ready to say yes. Teach me. Anything to fight back. But still, I had one concern that was ingrained in me.

"Isn't that an Eastern religion?" I said. "I'm a Christian."

"And you can continue to be a Christian, if that's what you want," Uncle Tyler said. "Ming lu is not a religion. It's knowledge. It's a particular view of life, but it contains no conflicts with any real spiritual values. It probably does conflict with a lot of religious beliefs, Christian or not. But it draws from many veins of spiritual thought, East and West. I know it can help you, if you want to learn. Do you?"

Well, I had already sinned by stealing and lying. If this was an Eastern religion, learning about it couldn't be worse. And I needed help. Lord, I needed help. I wanted to be able to say No to Anthony Benton and not be afraid.

"Yes sir," I said. "I want to learn. If you will teach me."

Aunt Camille started to say something but Uncle Tyler held up his hand.

"We'll begin tomorrow," he said. "At daybreak. Meet me here."

"Yes sir," I said. "Yes sir. Tomorrow. I'll be here."

"Go to bed, now," Uncle Tyler said. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow, you begin to wake up."

Chapter 13: Faith that there will be another day

My watch alarm went off at five thirty, but I was already awake. Dawn was just an orange glow behind the distant tree line. I jumped out of bed and dressed quickly in jeans and a church tee-shirt. After a quick bathroom stop, I hurried downstairs.

I paused outside the kitchen door and wondered for a second if Uncle Tyler had really promised to train me. I feared I might have misunderstood him, or that he might have changed his mind. The house felt so still and cool. The old wood smell was intense and made the predawn feel even lonelier. What if Uncle Tyler wasn't even up?

I pushed the door open.

Uncle Tyler was sitting at the table with two glasses of orange juice. He was dressed in jeans and a black tee shirt, looking at me with his usual, unreadable gaze. Sidd was at his feet and rose to greet me.

"Drink the orange juice," Uncle Tyler said. "It'll give you energy for the morning's exercise."

"Yes sir."

I sat and we drained our glasses. Without a word, Uncle Tyler collected both glasses, put them in the dish washer, and then walked straight out the back door.

I followed. Sidd was at our heels as we crossed the grounds. We walked in silence through the dawn, my excitement growing with every step. Uncle Tyler was his usual, reserved self. This was routine for him, but for me it was the start of possibilities.

"It's good to start each day at sunrise when you can," Uncle Tyler said as we walked. "It helps you keep faith that there will be another day."

"Yes sir."

I took his comment as my first lesson and wondered if it was a tenet of Ming lu I was supposed to memorize. In a way, I guess it was. I've never forgotten it in any case.

At the dao chang, Sidd lay on the porch and assumed a lazy guard. Uncle Tyler and I went inside. It was dark, with just a dim light entering through the high windows.

"Sit on the floor," Uncle Tyler said. "There."

I sat cross-legged on the training area while he lit a couple of kerosene lamps on a table in the corner.

"The fluorescents are too harsh for the morning meditations," he said. "They're distracting and we must begin our days with focus, especially when we're training."

He placed the lamps on the floor at the edge of the training area and remained standing.

"Above all, you must learn to concentrate. To pull your mind back from the distractions that capture it. You are a prisoner to every loud noise, bright color, every talking head around you. You identify with them and have no control."

I was listening as intently as I could. I wanted to understand his every word, but I didn't understand this.

"What do you mean? I don't--"

He turned on his heels in a smooth blur of motion and grabbed one of the spears from the rack behind him. He hurled it over my head and into the opposite wall. Wide-eyed, I followed the spear's path to where it had smacked into the wooden wall and hung, vibrating.

"That's what I mean," he said. "My motion and energy and that of the spear grabbed you, possessed you. In the time of the spear's flight, you yourself were nothing but the spear's flight."

"But--"

"Because you are not self-conscious, you identify with the spear. You became the spear, or rather, the spear's flight. You have no control over this. If you were self-conscious, you would have remained seated and watched me, even as the spear flew over your head. You would have observed me, the spear's flight, and yourself, all at once. Most importantly, you would have remained yourself."

"How can I watch three things at once, especially myself?"

"It can be done. You can learn it. It is Ming lu, and it reconciles the opposing energy of kung fu. Call me 'Shifu' when we are training. It means, 'Master Instructor.'"

"Yes sir. Shifu."

Uncle Tyler picked up an unlit candle in a holder from the corner table. He sat on the floor opposite me and placed the candle between us.

"Stare at that candle. Keep looking at it while I talk.

"The control of attention is the key to this training. If any external impression has control of your attention, then you, the real you, are asleep. The more your attention is controlled from within, the more you are awake. Everything we do from here on out, is about waking you up. Return your attention to the candle."

I had kept looking at the candle and trying to listen to him too.

"You are not able to concentrate on the candle, yet. If it were lit, it would be even harder. Your monkey mind dances, full of impressions and ramblings you cannot control. Any concentration at this point would just be identification because the control rests with the candle. You are not aware of yourself at the same time that you are aware of the candle. Return your attention to the candle.

"And that location of control is everything. If it is anywhere but within, you are asleep. If you can control your attention, you can control your body, your mind, your energy. Meditation and self-consciousness strengthen your concentration and control.

"The first steps to learning to concentrate are to learn to be aware of your body. Tai chi is an excellent tool for that. Stand."

I stood with him.

"You're going to learn the first tai chi form. Follow me."

I duplicated his posture and movements as he went through them. It was similar to the forms I had watched in his kung fu class but much slower.

"Learn the movements. We'll do them every day until your body has learned them. Then you will do them with concentration. Thinking about each movement as it is done, about each breath, until the performance of the form is complete. Until it is a meditation."

The form wasn't complicated. It only had about twenty movements to it. We spent about fifteen minutes doing it over and over.

"Enough," Uncle Tyler said. We stopped. "Keep this. Practice the form on your own. Now sit in front of the candle again."

I did. Uncle Tyler sat opposite.

"Now you will begin to learn to meditate."

I expected that. This was the compromise I was making to learn the kind of self-defense I had seen Uncle Tyler do in Natchez. I prayed God would forgive me. I didn't want to be a victim anymore. I wanted to beat my bullies.

"Don't fear it, Bobby. It is not a thing alien to you. It is as natural as your breath. Suppressed by fear and covered with imaginings, it is a state you were born knowing how to achieve. You have simply forgotten. Now you will remember."

He seemed to be reading my mind. I found comfort in it somehow. I trusted him. I wanted to trust him.

"Look at the candle. See the candle. See it completely. Nothing else."

I tried. I looked at it. It was a single, white candle that had been lit at one time. The wick was black and set in a concave top with a frozen flow of wax that had spilled over the lip when it was hot. It had reached the simple brass holder and run down to the base. That was it. I looked at it. Surely this wasn't meditating.

"Now be aware of yourself. Of your body as it sits cross-legged on the floor. Be aware of your feet, your knees, your thighs, your hands, your arms, your neck. The top of your head, your face, your chest, your stomach. Now be aware of all at once. The totality of your physical body."

I was. I thought I was.

"Now look at the candle."

I looked at the candle.

"Look at the candle and be aware of yourself at the same time."

I struggled. It was strange. I could fix my attention on parts of my body and even the whole of my body, but then trying to look at the candle at the same time, I wasn't sure if I was getting it.

"You're going back and forth. That's natural. Everyone starts that way. Strive to see both at the same time. Yourself and the candle. Settle your mind. Don't try so hard. It's a natural state."

How did he know I was going back and forth? I was. I kept working at it. I closed my eyes to be aware of my body and then opened them to look at the candle. Then I lost my body awareness.

"Don't give up. You have been in this state before. Whenever you've gone somewhere for the first time that you were uncertain about. When you've been in a difficult situation, especially if injury seemed imminent, you've become self-aware. Sometimes, there is the feeling that time slows down, like people often report during car accidents. It's spontaneous, without thought. Now you want to think about it and assume that state deliberately."

Yes, I understood being self-conscious. I had spent a lot of time that way. I tried again. I sensed my body sitting there on the floor, felt my cross-legged position. Then, holding that feeling, I looked at the candle. I saw it. I saw it and was aware of myself at the same time. It was a familiar feeling, but still strange.

"That's it."

Then it was gone.

"When did you lose it?"

"When you spoke," I said.

"What happened when I spoke?"

I thought about it.

"I switched to listening to you."

"As I said, the state of being self-conscious is familiar, but hard to deliberately maintain. It takes effort and a lot of practice to hold it for any length of time. At least now you know the state you're aiming for. Keep trying. Learn to enter the state at will and then practice holding it."

"OK. Yes Shifu." I said. "I'll try. Is this meditating?"

"No. We'll get to that. This exercise will help you begin to concentrate and control your mind. The control you gain that way will help you to meditate. Meditation is the settling of your mind."

"So being self-conscious is to help me meditate?"

"It will help you meditate, but it will also make you more aware. More conscious. It will help wake you up."

"Will it help me learn kung fu?"

"It can help you learn anything. In kung fu, you learn to control and strengthen your body. Self-consciousness and Ming lu will teach you to control and strengthen your mind. Both are necessary. You are looking to strengthen your total being. How did you feel when you were self-conscious and looking at the candle?"

My first impulse was to say, 'good,' in an effort to please my Uncle, but I caught myself. I was trying to learn something here. I had to be honest.

"I'm not sure. Different. Familiar, like you said. And uncomfortable."

"Keep this," he said. "You must challenge your comfort. Do that which is not comfortable. That is how you progress. You will see that comfort, and not-comfort, are different aspects of the same thing. One can become the other."

"Is that a Ming lu teaching?"

"It's contained in Ming lu. Ming lu is just a body of wisdom accumulated by common people everywhere. It's a Mandarin word that, with the proper tones applied, means, 'wise path.' I came across the term in Malaysia. My teacher there used it."

"I've never heard of it."

"It's not a formal teaching, though many formal teachings have come from different facets of it. This idea of self-consciousness that you learned today was called, 'self-remembering,' by a Russian named P. D. Ouspensky in the early twentieth century. He learned about it from his teacher, a man named Gurdjieff, who had learned of it from his travels in the east. You would benefit from reading their books one day, though that's an advanced study."

"So, how does Ming lu relate to kung fu? Will I--"

"Enough questions. You will be fed as you are able to digest. You have enough to start with. You know how to enter the state of self-consciousness. You know the first tai chi form. Practice that. Strive to remember yourself for as long as you can. And when you lose it, enter it again. Keep trying."

"I will. Shifu."

"Let's get some breakfast."

Chapter 14: In Training

Aunt Camille fed us a breakfast of eggs, toast, and sausage. I was hungry, but it still seemed like a lot to me.

"You'll need it," Uncle Tyler said. "You have much work to do today."

"Don't wear him out, Tyler," Aunt Camille said. "Remember this is his summer vacation. He's here to have fun."

"And he has decided to train. That requires work."

He looked at me with his stern, Shifu face. I was feeling enthused from the morning's teaching and ready for anything. I became self-conscious and looked at him at the same time. He let a slight smile break through.

"And work can be fun," he said. "Bobby, you'll only be with us a short time. We have to make the most of it, if you want to take something useful back with you. Strength training is part of it, and the best way for you to start that is to do chores. You willing?"

"Yes Shifu," I said. And I was.

"Then you'll start with garden work. Joel and Bill have finished preparing the second garden, and we have some long rows of corn to plant. Finish your breakfast."

I forced down the last sausage and gulped down my milk, then followed Uncle Tyler out the door. Sidd followed.

"Bobby, if you get tired, you rest," Aunt Camille called after us.

"I will," I called back.

The second garden was another acre lot, tilled over and fenced in. The rows looked really long.

Uncle Tyler led me to a tree in the corner of the lot that had several sacks beneath it. He filled a couple of coffee cans with corn seed from one of the sacks. He handed me a can and a trowel and led me out to the plowed field.

"Plant each seed about an inch deep and about six inches between them. Like this."

He dug a shallow hole, dropped a seed in, then dug the next.

"Now you."

I followed his example. It was very easy. I didn't know what Aunt Camille was so concerned about.

"Good. Now keep going, straight down the row. I'll start behind on the next row. As you work, remember yourself. Be deliberate in your planting. See each hole as you dig it. See each corn seed you plant. As the pain in your back grows, don't resist it. Let it flow through you and out."

"Yes sir."

"Go ahead."

I planted, watching myself dig the holes and plant the seeds. The mental work was tough. I would stop and remember myself then lose it when I started planting.

It didn't take long for the pain to come. I wasn't used to this. My back was aching. How could I let this pass through me? I tried to imagine it going away. It didn't help. It got harder and harder to maintain my self-consciousness, and the effort was slowing me down.

"Keep trying," Uncle Tyler said behind me.

How did he know? I was hurting too much to care. I just wanted to finish this. But I needed a break.

"I need to use the bathroom," I said.

"You can hike back to the house or find a tree in the woods."

"Outside?"

"No trees inside."

"Yes sir."

I considered going to the house. It would pass more time, but it was obvious Uncle Tyler wanted me to use the woods and get back to work. Scaling the barbed-wire fence that bordered the garden was a little dicey with a full bladder, but I managed.

The woods didn't look so thick from within the trees. I could still see Uncle Tyler planting. No one else was around. I found a thick oak and stood on the far side of it and relieved myself. My back felt better too.

I returned to the planting feeling refreshed, but it didn't last long. The sun was climbing the sky and it was getting hotter. Pain stiffened my back and I wasn't even a third of the way down the row yet. Uncle Tyler had already passed me. And there was an awful lot of turned earth to cover.

I didn't feel any stronger. Self-remembering was out of the question.

"Keep trying," Uncle Tyler called to me from his row.

"Yes, Shifu," I said.

I didn't want to disappoint Uncle Tyler so quickly. I dug one hole after another. Planted one corn seed after another. By the time I finally reached the end of my row, Uncle Tyler was waiting for me. I thought I was going to drop.

"Stand up straight and stretch," he said."Look at how far you've come."

It did seem awfully far to the start of the row, but there was so much left.

"Yeah," I said. "Are we going to plant this whole garden?"

"Yes," he said. "We'll finish today."

"Today?" I couldn't suppress my shock.

"Sure. Our early start, plus our help."

"Our help?"

Uncle Tyler pointed.

Erin and Russell were walking out of the trees on the path from the house. They waved. A couple of older men and a woman were walking behind them.

"Students training like you and some neighbors that work in return for a share of the produce. This is actually sort of a community garden."

"Oh," I said. I was relieved. Maybe I could make it after all.

"But there's enough work for everyone. Keep going while I greet our help."

He did and Erin took his place on the row beside me. Russell started on the next over and then the neighbors started, with Uncle Tyler, at other spots.

We were nearly done by noon, when Aunt Camille showed up with a picnic lunch of Kiernan House fried chicken. I had no trouble eating it.

"How you feel, Bobby," Uncle Tyler said.

"Tired."

"We're nearly done. You and Erin and Russell can knock off. I want you to have a riding lesson after you've rested. I want you riding for yourself on the next trail ride. Russell will teach you."

"I'll try, Shifu."

"You can do it, Bobby," Erin said.

"Yeah," Russell said. "You're training now."

*

"Let's try putting the bridle on," Russell said.

I had rested with him and Erin around the pool after our picnic lunch. I recovered enough to walk around without pain, but I wasn't too sure about the riding lesson.

Uncle Tyler had helped Aunt Camille take the leftovers back to the house. He stopped at the pool on his way back to the gardens.

"I'll be finishing up in the gardens this afternoon," he said. "Erin, would you mind helping Camille? I think she's working on another recipe."

"Sure, Shifu," she said.

"Bobby, my instruction for you is the same. Remember yourself in everything you do, including the riding lesson."

"Yes Shifu," I said. It felt good to acknowledge Uncle Tyler like a student.

Russell liked horses and I think he liked teaching too. He was anxious to get started, so I went with him to the barn while Erin went to the house to help Aunt Camille.

I followed Russell to Snarky's stall.

"Let's start with the bridle," Russell said. "With that on her, you can control her."

The bridle was hanging from a nail. Russell grabbed it and handed it to me. It was a tangle of leather straps with a heavy metal part at one end.

"Drop the bridle over her head. Put her ears between here. At the same time, slip the bit into her mouth."

I assumed the bit was the metal part. I held it with my left hand by one of the extensions that the leather reins were connected to. I held the headpiece with my right, and reached with it over Snarky's head. She raised her head to keep it away.

"Follow her head," Russell said. "She's not going anywhere."

I tried again and slipped the main part of the bridle over her snout, but to get the top over her ears the bit had to go into her mouth at the same time. I pushed the bit against her lips, and she just raised her head. I kept the bridle in place and followed her motion with the bit. She wouldn't open her mouth.

Russell took the bridle from me.

"Hold it like this, and slip the headpiece over her ears while you push the bit into her mouth."

He showed me and Snarky took the bridle. Russell pulled it off and handed it to me.

"You do it," he said.

Trying to imitate Russell, I lifted the headpiece over Snarky's ears while I let my thumb and ring finger, holding the bit, slide into the corners of her mouth. I felt her thick, quivering lips part around the hard gums and sharp incisors. I fought my reaction to withdraw and pushed the bit into her mouth as her teeth parted. I was barely aware of the top part dropping over her ears.

"Pull your hand out," Russell said.

I did. The bridle was over Snarky's head and she had the bit in her mouth.

"Good," Russell said. "Now buckle the throatlatch."

Encouraged, I buckled the strap and held the reins that dropped from the curb. For the first time, I felt like I was in control of the horse.

I still had trouble with the saddle, mostly because it was too heavy for me to throw over Snarky's back without help. Russell helped and once it was on, he showed me how to connect the cinch and billet straps.

Russell said horses that were saddled a lot usually took in a lot of air when the cinch was being tightened, so it would loosen up when they exhaled.

"And that's about as smart as a horse ever gets," he said. "So tightening the cinch is a two-step process. Tighten it once, like this, then knee her in the ribs to make her exhale. Like this."

He kneed Snarky and she jumped. I didn't think I could just hit Snarky like that.

"Now tighten the cinch again," he said, and he did so. "Otherwise, you'll be riding her from her stomach."

Now I had only to climb on.

"Try taking the reins in both hands and grabbing the horn at the same time," Russell said. "Put your left foot in the stirrup and pull yourself up."

I did as he said. While I was in this posture, Snarky tried to move forward like she did before the trail ride. Russell grabbed the cheek-piece and held her in place while I pulled myself onto the saddle.

I cried in pain once again at the stretching of my legs. Snarky started to move forward, but I pulled on the reins and stopped her.

"That's how you practice the horse stance," Russell said. "Riding gives your legs a good stretch. Helps with kung fu."

He let go of the bridle and stepped back. Snarky stood in place and I just sat there, looking down on Russell. I felt Snarky's sides expand as she took in air and then blew it out, trying to loosen the cinch.

Russell took the reins and slid them through my hands, shortening the distance along them from my hands to the bit.

"Hold the reins about there," he said. "When you want to rein in Snarky, keep your hands about level with the horn and just pull straight back. That's all you need to do. When you're riding, hold them over her neck."

I made the adjustment.

"To turn her, pull the reins against the side of her neck in the direction you want to go. If she fights you, give her a little kick in the opposite side. To start her, give her a kick in both sides. Doesn't have to be hard."

I kicked Snarky with both feet and she started forward.

"She wants to go into the barn," Russell said. "Turn her into the corral and follow the fence."

I pulled the reins against the right side of her neck, and she turned. She was just walking, slow, but I was riding.

"That's it," Russell said. "Kick her again and speed up."

I did and Snarky picked it up to a fast walk. A trot. I bounced in the saddle but kept control.

"Squeeze her sides with your legs. Keep your butt in the saddle and move with her motion."

I squeezed, but couldn't hold it. The fenders were too thick. I tried to match Snarky's motion but just kept getting my butt slapped.

"Or just hold on," Russell said. "OK, well, rein her in a bit and slow down."

I pulled on the reins, keeping my hands at the level of the saddle horn. Snarky slowed.

"Now turn her around and go the other way."

Snarky snorted and resisted a little, but came around. I kicked her and started off the other way around the corral.

"Good," Russell said. "Just lope around the corral."

Russell had me stop and start Snarky several times. I walked her and trotted her around the corral, keeping control. It wasn't so bad.

"There you go," Russell said. "See, you just needed a good lesson."

*

"I was actually riding. I had Snarky under control."

"That's great, Bobby," Aunt Camille said that evening at dinner. She put a plate of barbecue beef and string beans in front of me. "You'll have to go riding with Russell and Erin now."

"Well, I at least ought to be able to ride by myself on the next trail ride," I said, and dug into my food.

"If anybody ever signs up for another one," Uncle Tyler said. "But you can take Snarky out anytime. Whenever you're not training, that is."

"Oh, hush and eat your supper, Tyler," Aunt Camille said. "Bobby can't be training all the time."

"I need a picture of me riding," I said. "To show my Mom."

"Show Erin how to work your camera," Aunt Camille said.

"Yeah."

"It's been a day of firsts for you," Uncle Tyler said. "Let's try one more before you go to bed. After supper, I'll give you a lesson in meditation. It should be a lot less strenuous than planting or riding."

Chapter 15: Meditation

The sun was setting as Uncle Tyler and I crossed the grounds toward the dao chang for the second time that day. Sidd was with us again. The brighter stars were already shining like blue ice cubes, though they didn't chill the air. I was tired from my day, but I felt stronger than I had in a long time. Maybe ever.

At the dao chang, Sidd took his place on the porch. Uncle Tyler paused at the threshold and bowed. I did the same. It was dark inside, as it had been that morning.

I took my place on the floor while Uncle Tyler lit the kerosene lamps. He placed them close to us and then sat opposite, once again placing the unlit candle between us.

"Clearing the mind in mediation is a practice that aids the opening and closing of our day," he said. "In the morning it promotes the calm attitude and clear thinking we need to perform our work. In the evening, it clears away the stresses we accumulate through the day and prepares us for sleep. But above all, it solidifies the gains we have made from our day's practice of self-remembering."

I stared at the candle and shifted my awareness to myself. It was still hard to hold.

"Don't try to remember yourself. In time that will be your natural state whether or not you're trying to meditate. Right now, just look at the candle, but fix your awareness on your breath. Breathe naturally, but feel each breath. Mostly, feel each breath as it passes through your nostrils. Out and in."

I moved my awareness to my nose. To both nostrils. I felt my breaths. The air was cold and it tickled the membranes.

"That's good," Uncle Tyler said. "Now just keep feeling your breaths. Let your eyes rest on the candle. You're not staring at the candle as you did this morning. The candle is just an anchor. A resting place for your eyes. Your awareness must stay only on your breathing. Be aware of that and nothing else. Only your breaths."

I focused on my breaths for about two seconds. Then I started thinking about focusing on my breaths. I thought how much this would help me, but I wasn't sure just how it would help me. I wanted to start kung fu training. That would be next Tuesday. How much work would I have to do before then? Would I be worn out before my first lesson? I wondered if I was attracting demons.

"Your mind is leaping like a monkey from tree to tree," Uncle Tyler said. "Be aware of that happening and come back to your breath. Again and again. As often as it takes."

I did, but it was impossible to stay on my breaths. I couldn't keep the thoughts out of my head.

"It will help to count your breaths," Uncle Tyler said. "Slowly, count fifteen breaths. Out and in is one breath. Do it."

I counted. It did help, some. But I had to pull my awareness back after nearly every breath. It was a long fifteen.

"Now start again," Uncle Tyler said. "I will do my own meditation. You count as long as you can. Maintain your breath awareness as long as you can."

"All right," I whispered.

Uncle Tyler pulled up a cushion and sat on it. He removed his shoes and assumed the full lotus position. I was surprised at his flexibility. I didn't think I could do that.

He placed his wrists on his knees and stared into the middle distance. I stared at the candle and continued counting breaths.

It seemed Uncle Tyler just sat there for a long time. I think I reached about thirty breaths before I just sat and waited for him. I tried to at least stay aware of my breathing, but even that was hard. Finally, Uncle Tyler leaned back and looked at me.

"So how do you feel?" he said.

"Like I haven't done anything."

He smiled.

"That's how you should feel. You haven't done anything. Not in the sense of doing something like riding a horse or planting. You've just begun to try to be still in body and mind. It will take much practice, but perseverance will eventually pay off. The mind will clear, like mud settling in a still pond, and you'll discover new levels of concentration that will help your kung fu. It'll help your everything."

"Will we do this every night."

"I do this every night. Not usually in the dao chang. The floor of my bedroom does just fine, a few minutes before I go to bed. You do the same."

"I'll try."

"It only takes will. Challenge your comfort."

"Yes Shifu."

There was still a faint line of sunlight on the horizon when we headed back to the house. We had only been in the dao chang about half an hour, and half of that had been talking. I still felt like I hadn't done anything. I was a little doubtful about the usefulness of meditation, but it was part of Ming lu. Having done it, I didn't see how it could open you up to demons.

Back in the kitchen, Aunt Camille met us with a slice of lemon cake and milk. I think it was the best milk and cake I ever had. After I finished, I went to my room and tried to watch TV. I couldn't get interested in it. I practiced self-consciousness some more, and the fifteen-count meditation. I kept drifting off, though, and decided to go to bed.

I said my evening prayer, and asked God to forgive me if I was doing wrong, and to guide me into Ming lu, or away from it.

A waxing crescent-moon was shining through my window. It was bright enough to cast shadows below, and encrust the trees, the buildings, and the pool with silver light. It was beautiful and peaceful. I hoped the scene was God's blessing on my being here and a positive sign of direction. As a test, I made myself look toward the woods that concealed the Indian mound. The woods were dark beneath their moonlit crowns, except for a faint aura of blue among the trunks.

Chapter 16: Learning Kung fu

I woke Saturday morning when the first rays of sunlight shone through my window. I had left the curtain open so I wouldn't miss it. I dressed and hurried downstairs to meet Uncle Tyler in the kitchen. He had our orange juice ready. We drank it and then went to the dao chang.

Leaving Sidd at his usual watch on the porch, we went inside and stepped through the first tai chi form. Uncle Tyler didn't coach this time. I just followed him as he did it. We went through it a couple of times at a moderate speed. The third time we went through it slowly, feeling the energy.

After that, we sat cross-legged on the floor and practiced self-remembering while observing the unlit candle. Then Uncle Tyler removed the candle and we meditated, staring into the middle distance.

I did my fifteen breaths meditation. I repeated it until Uncle Tyler said to stop. It was still hard to stay focused. I kept thinking about something--riding, planting, Uncle Tyler's fight with CB's father in Natchez, Erin swimming. Even as I struggled and was about to give up, Uncle Tyler spoke from his meditation.

"Keep coming back to your breath. Over and over. As often as you need. That's the process of meditation. There is much power in the coming back."

It was a revelation. My mind wandering was not a failure. Catching it. Realizing that it's wandering and returning it to concentration, is a part of meditating. It's a mental exercise. I returned to my breath and counted. Wandered, returned, and counted again.

"Good," Uncle Tyler said. "That's it. Keep this."

We probably spent thirty minutes altogether, stretching, doing tai chi, and meditating. The sun had cleared the horizon when we joined Sidd outside.

"I'm having a special kung fu class this afternoon," Uncle Tyler said. "For you and Julia to review the basics. The others can come if they want. We'll begin at two o'clock. Wear a loose tee-shirt and shorts or at least, loose pants."

"OK Shifu. Great," I said. At last. I would learn to fight.

"Until then, rest. Hang out by the pool or your room. It will help to begin the lessons calm and relaxed."

After breakfast, Uncle Tyler went to the gardens to check the planting. Guests would be arriving that night so Aunt Camille began preparing by dusting, changing linens, and doing some laundry. I offered to help, but she insisted I relax.

So I just walked around the grounds with Sidd, then hung out by the corral a while and petted Snarky. The weather was pleasant, but warming fast. Still, I didn't feel like being indoors, so I sat by the pool. The water was cool and inviting, and I liked the pool smell, though I wasn't ready to jump in.

I stretched out in a lounger and watched the chickens peck around the grounds. Sidd lay beside my lounger and I gave him an occasional pat. I did feel better. The tai chi sessions in the mornings weren't hard, but they did stretch my muscles more than I was used to. The horseback riding really stretched my legs and made them sore. I hoped I would be able to do the kung fu that afternoon.

Then a thought of Anthony Benton crossed my mind, suddenly. I wondered what he was doing right then. I was sure he never worked out at all. He was just born big and strong. I needed to grow. I was eating better, but I needed more. I had to put on weight.

But didn't kung fu train small people to beat big ones? Sure. That's what it was about and I needed that. If I could resist my bullies, they would leave me alone.

But what about my crime? I couldn't fight my way out of that. That took another kind of strength, and I didn't know how I would develop that. It just had to pass. People would forget, and I wouldn't do anything like that again. I would resist anyone that tried to make me.

*

When the sun was high, Aunt Camille called me to lunch. She had warmed up last night's chicken strips and fries. While I was eating, Uncle Tyler came in from the gardens.

"Something smells good," he said. "Got a plate for me?"

"Sure, have a seat, Sweetie," Aunt Camille said.

"When's the Turner's supposed to get here," Uncle Tyler said. He took his seat and Aunt Camille sat a plate of chicken in front of him.

"It'll be after dark," Aunt Camille said. "The wife, Sonia, called and said they were running late."

"Hmm. Well, at least they're still coming."

It had been nearly a week since the last guests had left. After lunch, Aunt Camille went back to her preparations and Uncle Tyler began cleaning up outside. I went to my room and waited for my first kung fu class.

I went through my clothes to find something suitable. I had tee-shirts. They were all loose on me. I picked one I had gotten at last year's What Would Jesus Do Bible camp. It was loose, almost too big. I considered shorts, but couldn't bring myself to expose my skinny legs. I didn't want to start off kung fu by being made fun of.

Mom had packed some khaki pants that were pretty loose. I went with those. I dressed for kung fu and waited for two o'clock.

Around a quarter of two, I heard a car drive up and ran to the front window. It was two cars. One deposited Jason and Julia. Russell was with them. Erin and her mother got out of the other.

I ran downstairs to the front porch.

Uncle Tyler was already there. He was wearing black sweat pants, and a black, sleeveless tee-shirt. He greeted his students as they came up to the porch. Aunt Camille had come out too and was telling Mrs. Sykes about the Turners.

"Hi Bobby," Erin said. "You excited about your first kung fu class?"

"Yeah," I said. "I've been doing tai chi with Uncle Tyler, though, and I'm sore from that. And from riding."

"That's good," Jason said. He walked up with his sister and Russell. "Get your muscles warmed up. You'll work out the soreness."

"I hope so," I said.

"I'll probably be sore," Julia said. "I hope I don't embarrass myself."

"You won't," Erin said.

I thought I'd be the one to be embarrassed. I was already uncomfortable about my clothes. Julia and Erin were in their usual tee-shirts and shorts. Jason was in gym shorts and a muscle shirt. Russell wore a white, karate outfit with a black belt.

"I thought Uncle Tyler didn't give out belts," I said.

"He don't," Russell said. "So I can wear whatever kind I want."

"All right, everybody," Uncle Tyler said. "Let's get to work."

We all walked to the dao chang. Everyone bowed to the room as they entered. I did the same.

We all sat on the floor and waited for Uncle Tyler, though I would address him only as 'Shifu' in class.

Uncle Tyler stood in his place at the front of the assembled students.

"I'm glad to see everybody came today," he said. "This class will be a review of the basics to get Julia and Bobby started. Let's start with our warm-up. Follow me. OK, neck roll."

We rolled our heads around the pivot of our necks for about a minute. Then we followed Uncle Tyler through arm rolls, waist turns, and several stretches. The stretches were tough on my legs, which were still sore from riding. The final exercises were jumping jacks, stomach crunches, and push-ups. I could barely do one push-up, and was breathing hard when we finished.

"Sit on the floor in your meditation posture," Uncle Tyler said. "Look into the middle distance and breathe in through your nose, into your stomach, and out through your mouth. Rest your wrists on your knees and keep palms up. Feel the heat leave your body through your palms."

As we rested, Uncle Tyler slowly paced the front.

"Since we have two new students, I wanted to have this introductory class to review the basics. Bobby and Julia, you'll need to practice them between classes. The first thing you must learn is how to stand. This is the horse stance."

He parted his legs with his feet at about shoulder width and squatted low. His arms were bent at the elbow and his hands were clenched.

"It's the posture of sitting on a horse," he said. "From the sides, it's very stable. Do it."

We imitated Uncle Tyler. Everyone went into it quickly except for Julia and me. We were slower, but it wasn't difficult. I felt the pain from doing it for real on Snarky.

"A test of strength is to see how low you can make your horse stance and how long you can hold it. Ideally, you can place a sword across the knees when you're in it."

He showed us the twisted stance, the reverse twisted stance, the natural stance, the bow-and-arrow stance, and the on-guard. We went through a routine where we assumed each stance, one after the other, in a kind of dance-like flow.

We moved on to punches. There were several of these, too, and he referred to them as 'fists.' There was the direct fist, the overhead fist, the hammer fist, the underhand fist, the back fist, and the top fist. We learned a routine for doing these one-after-the-other as well.

Kicks were next. We learned the forward kick, the back kick, and the side kick, with short and long versions of each. 'Short or long' specified the addition or lack of an accompanying step, that determined the reach of the kick.

Then we did blocks and saw how they were used against each of the punches and kicks. There was the inside, the outside, the sweeping, and the overhead.

"Now we'll tie it all together with some exercises," Uncle Tyler said. "You'll need to pair off. Erin, work with Julia. Jason, work with Bobby. Seth and Russell."

We started at one end of the room. One partner threw a punch and the other blocked. This was the routine the students had done when I watched my first class. Combined with steps, it advanced us across the floor from one wall to the other. Then we reversed rolls and went the other way. We did this with punches and blocks.

"All right," Uncle Tyler said. "Back to your places. Rest. Bobby and Julia, you must learn these basics. Work with an advanced student during the week. Julia, you're lucky you have Jason at home to help. Bobby, there's most always one of the other students around the house. And I can work with you some, too.

"The last thing I want to go over with you is the first form. This is a routine of movements, like a dance. It incorporates all the basic punches, kicks, and blocks. Other kung fu styles have names for them but I just number them according to how I learned them. So this is the first form. Russell, demonstrate the form at moderate speed."

Russell faced us and went through the movements. It took him only a minute, and I could make out some of the punches and kicks we had just gone through.

"Now slowly, while I count," Uncle Tyler said. "One."

Russell assumed a horse stance and moved his arms in a right outside block.

"Two."

He continued through other moves. Most were recognizable from our workout. Uncle Tyler counted thirty moves.

"Now you try," Uncle Tyler said to the class. "Follow Russell as I count. Begin from the natural stance. Ready. One."

I followed Russell's movements as best I could. I was OK through about the first ten. There was a kind of jumping kick in the second ten that lost me, but I maintained some semblance of Russell's moves through the thirty.

"Good," Uncle Tyler said. "Just keep following the best you can. That's how you learn the form. As we work on the proper moves for the punches, blocks, and kicks, your form will improve, too. Let's go again."

He counted us through the form two more times. I was really worked-out when we finished.

"All right, assume the natural stance. Rest."

Uncle Tyler stood at the front and watched us catch our breaths.

"Forms are very useful," he said. "They are a way to practice all the basic moves and provide a good workout. You can do them slowly and work on proper moves. Do them with speed for strength training, and with concentration to gather energy. They can even be done as a meditation. A lot of my evaluation of your progress will be based on how well you do the forms. So practice them every day. With the help of a more advanced student if you can.

"OK. That's enough. I'll see you all next Tuesday. Bobby and Julia, when we dismiss, you bow to me with the class, and then bow to the dao chang as you leave. As you bow, form a fist of your right hand and cover it with your left hand. Like this, to show solidarity with your Shifu. The fist clench isn't necessary when bowing to the dao chang. All right, let's bow out."

We all bowed together toward Uncle Tyler and he bowed to us.

One-by-one, the students turned toward the center of the dao chang and bowed before walking out.

I did the same.

Chapter 17: Kicking and Swimming

I spent the next week meditating with Uncle Tyler in the mornings, practicing my tai chi, and taking kung fu lessons on Tuesday and Thursday. I also helped in the gardens and even got to ride some. I could handle Snarky pretty well by myself now and was looking forward to the next trail ride, though none of the recent guests had signed up for it.

I wasn't sure if I was progressing in my meditating. I self-remembered as much as I could, especially when working the form, but that wasn't the same. I had to still my mind when I stared at that candle and it just wasn't happening. Erin practiced with me some during the week, but I still didn't feel like I was doing anything. And I still wasn't completely convinced that meditating wasn't wrong. I prayed for guidance, but I didn't get an answer. I had no indication, no sign, that I should turn away from Ming lu.

Just to be sure, I decided to go with Aunt Camille to church again. So the next Sunday morning, I was back at St. Marks. Sunday School was OK. I sat by Erin and got some nasty looks from CB Provine, but I was getting used to that. Afterwards, while we waited for Aunt Camille outside the sanctuary, Mr. Bruiner walked up with CB.

"Bobby," Mr. Bruiner said. "Nice to see you in church again. Your aunt and uncle with you?"

"Aunt Camille is," I said. "We're waiting for her and Mrs. Sykes."

"You thought any more about Karate for Christ?"

"Well, I've thought about it, but it's kind of far to go...."

"And he's taking kung fu from Mr. Pearson," Erin said. "He started when Julia did."

I felt the guilt rise in me like a bad burrito.

"Oh," Mr. Bruiner said. "Well, remember to be careful about the teachings that go with it. The Chinese martial arts often promote Eastern religions, like Buddhism. I'm sure Tyler wouldn't mind if you just checked out our classes. Just to compare."

"Yes sir," I said. "I'll think about it."

"I'm not a Buddhist," Erin said.

"Of course not, dear," Mr. Bruiner said. "I didn't mean to say you were. Just be careful."

"Careful for what?"

"Bobby, you come visit us when you can," Mr. Bruiner said. "Call me if you need a ride."

He walked on. CB stayed behind.

"Your uncle show you how to throw somebody in a truck?" he asked. "I'd like to see you try that with me."

"Leave him alone, CB," Erin said.

"Or see your sensei fight my sensei. I hear he backs down every time Sensei wants to fight him."

"We call our teacher, 'Shifu,'" I said.

"I call him, 'pussy.'"

CB laughed and walked off.

"Sometimes I'd like to kick his butt myself," Erin said. "But I need to detach from that."

"That was nothing," I said. "There's Aunt Camille and your Mom. Let's go."

It really was nothing. Anthony Benton could give CB bullying lessons.

*

Brother Birch didn't deliver the sermon that morning. He was away at some conference, so Mr. Bruiner preached. I thought there might be a message for me in that, but I didn't really receive any particular inspiration. His sermon centered around tithing and I couldn't relate, though it might have just been my distraction. All I could think about was karate, kung fu, CB, and Anthony Benton.

After church, Erin and her mother had lunch with us at the King's Tavern restaurant. It was a popular place with the after-church crowd and at two hundred years old, was one of the oldest, continuously occupied, buildings in America. It was also supposed to be haunted.

Our table was next to a fireplace that had a portrait of a woman hung over the mantle. Our waitress told us her name was Madeline and that she was one of the ghosts. She said another was the ghost of a man who had been walled up behind the fireplace.

"Oh, why did you have to sit us here?" Mrs. Sykes asked. "You ever seen a ghost?"

"I haven't," the waitress said, "but some of the staff have heard footsteps and voices. Some people have stayed overnight and gotten really scared."

"They won't hurt you," Erin said. "Unless they're just bad spirits, but that's rare."

The waitress smiled.

"I hope you're right," she said.

I hoped so too. I hoped my work in kung fu and meditating wasn't attracting demons. I kept telling myself it wasn't wrong, and that it would give me the strength to not be manipulated again. I wasn't sure.

"How's your chopped steak?" Aunt Camille asked.

"Good," I said.

"Not as good as yours," Erin said.

"Thanks," Aunt Camille said, "but I can't compete with this place. It's one of my favorites."

Yeah, it was pretty neat with all the old stone and ironwork. And the food was good. I just wondered if the place was filled with blue light after dark.

*

The afternoon was lazy. Erin and Russell hung around Kiernan House for a while. We rode horses and afterwards, took a swim. I finally felt comfortable enough with Erin and Russell to get in the pool with them. I had put on some weight and felt stronger. I was a little less body conscious, even though I was trying hard to maintain my self-consciousness. It was a strange contradiction. Anyway, I felt like I could at least soak in the pool. Aunt Camille had cut the legs off some jeans for me and I relaxed in the water while Erin and Russell swam.

"Why don't you try to swim, Bobby?" Erin asked.

I looked at her from where I leaned against the wall at the shallow end of the pool. The water was chest-deep, but still scary as I looked across the undulating surface toward the deep end.

"I never learned," I said.

"It's easy," she said. "Just push off from the wall with your legs. Then kick your legs and pull with your arms. Watch me."

Erin went through the process. It looked easy when she did it.

"See, nothing to it," Russell said from the pool's center.

"Yeah. I'll try."

I pushed off and cut through the water. I tried to kick and row my arms, but when my momentum slowed, I sank. I hadn't reached the deep end so I was able to stand and push off the bottom back toward the shallows.

"You stopped kicking," Erin said. "Kicking keeps you from sinking. You pull yourself forward with your arms."

"Oh."

That sounded logical. I tried it in the shallow end, going from one side to the other. After a while, I was able to do it, as long as I stopped at the side.

"Great," Russell said. "Now push off toward the deep end."

The deep end was over Russell's head. It was probably over Uncle Tyler's.

"Let me practice some more down here, first," I said.

And I did, but I didn't try swimming toward the deep end. That could wait.

*

That night, I went to bed feeling tired, but good. The week's activities made me feel like I had a chance. I was eating better and working out. I felt stronger. Surely, this couldn't be wrong.

I sank into a dreamless sleep.

I woke around midnight. The room seemed too light and chilled. I closed my eyes and tried to go back to sleep, but I had to open them to see if a ghost was standing by my bed. I made myself open my eyes. No one there.

Thank you, Lord.

But it did seem awfully light outside. I sat up and swung off the bed and pulled the curtain open. The grounds were bright under a full moon. The wind was swaying the trees in the distance and there within the dark trunks I could just make out the blue light.

Surely that was rotting vegetation. It just looked weird. I thought of dead conquistadors and Indians walking the grounds at night. Surely they wouldn't come to the house. There had to be some kind of rule.

I lay back in bed and pulled the covers over me, facing away from the window. I closed my eyes and didn't open them until morning.

Chapter 18: Crimes and Fears

I had finally reached the point where I could move around in the pool. I'm not sure you could call it swimming, but with a lot of splashing, I could move from one end of the pool to the other. I reached this milestone under Erin and Russell's tutelage and much to their amusement.

Uncle Tyler usually found it humorous too when he watched us, but he didn't today. He was sitting in a lounger and having a rare drink. Whisky, I think. He just sipped it and watched the sun sink toward the tree line, not paying much attention to the teenagers in his pool.

"Bobby!" Aunt Camille called from the house. "Your mom's on the phone."

"Coming," I called back. I pulled myself out of the pool and started toweling off.

"Erin," Aunt Camille called again. "Your mom's ready to leave."

"OK," Erin said. "Guess I'm right behind you, Bobby."

She dried off and wrapped the towel around her and we both trotted off to the house. Uncle Tyler gave a little wave to us but never stopped watching the sunset.

Aunt Camille handed the phone to me as I entered the kitchen.

"Hi, Mom," I said into the receiver.

"Hi, Honey," Mom said. "How you doing? It's been so long since I've seen you. "

"I'm fine."

Erin waved goodbye as she left with her mother.

"You having fun?"

"Yeah," I said. "I'm having a great time. I've been helping around the bed-and-breakfast. I've been planting in the garden. I learned to ride a horse and I'm learning to swim."

"Wow," Mom said. "You have been busy. I knew it would be good for you. Aunt Camille said you've been learning kung fu, too."

"Yeah, Uncle Tyler let me join his class. I like it."

"Ask him if he's been going to church," I heard Wayne say in the background.

"Wayne wants to know--"

"I heard him," I said. "Yes, I've been going to church with Aunt Camille."

"That's good, Sweetie. Your stepdad and I have been busy too. We just got back from a retreat at Gulf Shores. Next Saturday, Wayne's going to a Music Minister's conference in Memphis. I'll just be working every day. I can't wait to see you again. I don't know if I can stand waiting another month."

"I miss you too," I said.

"We'll come get you on August 5th. That's a Saturday. That'll give you a couple of weeks at home before school starts."

"OK."

"Aunt Camille says they'll have an end-of-summer party then, so we'll make it for that."

"Great, Mom. That'll be fun."

"Oh, and I saw Mrs. Benton at church, Sunday. She asked about you."

I immediately shifted into self-consciousness.

"She said to tell you Tony says 'hello' and he'll see you in school. I thought that was sweet."

That word didn't go with Anthony Benton, but Mom didn't seem upset. She must not know about the thefts. She might have heard about them from Mrs. Walker or somebody else from school, but at least she hadn't associated them with Anthony Benton, or with me.

"Bobby? You still there?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm here. Yeah, that was nice."

"Anyway, Sweetie, I love you and we'll see you in August."

"OK, Mom. I love you too."

"All right, put Aunt Camille on."

"OK."

I handed the phone to Aunt Camille and left the kitchen. I walked the stepping stones back to the pool, moving slowly, deep in thought. Remembering my crime made me want to hide, but I didn't know where to go. I was wet and everyone would expect me to go back to the pool. Uncle Tyler was still there, but at least he was being even less talkative than usual.

Uncle Tyler glanced at me as I entered the pool gate, then took another sip from his drink. I didn't feel like getting back in the water, so I just sat in a lounger. I didn't say anything. Of course, that never bothered Uncle Tyler.

What if Mrs. Walker and Mr. Westin talked over the summer and began to suspect me again? What if Mrs. Walker told Mom about their suspicions? They met at church sometimes. And Anthony Benton was waiting for me. Wanting me to get him the new key. He'd kill me if I didn't. I didn't know enough kung fu to fight him.

"Your Mom OK?" Uncle Tyler asked.

I looked at him. He was sipping his drink. It was as if he had spoken through the brown liquid.

"She's fine."

"You OK?"

He was reading my thoughts again. I was kind of glad. I needed help, but I couldn't tell him about my crime. I just couldn't. He still thought I was good. But I needed some advice. How could I ask? I was afraid. Still afraid.

"Well, Uncle Tyler...."

I looked at the pool. This was harder to face than the deep end. I wanted to tell him. I wanted him to tell me what to do. I couldn't.

I felt his eyes on me. It was like in kung fu class when he was observing my forms.

"Say it."

It was his Shifu voice, though slightly slurred.

"Uncle Tyler, how do you handle fear?"

"You mean like, fear of ghosts?"

Close enough.

"Yes sir. I mean, I hear creaking and footsteps in the house at night. I know some of the guests have seen ghosts. And sometimes I see the blue light at the Indian mound from my window."

"How did you overcome your fear of horses? Of swimming and meditating?"

He waited for an answer. OK, he was trying to get me to think, but I didn't know what he wanted me to say. So I just stated the obvious.

"I just did them. I made myself. I didn't want to."

"You have challenged your comfort," he said, thoroughly pronouncing each word. "You have come further than you realize. You have made yourself do whatever it is you've been afraid to do. That is an important first step, but some fears are too great for just that. You have to detach yourself from that which you fear. Stop identifying with it. See it objected...objectively. Then you can face it."

Detach myself from my fear of Anthony Benton? Maybe I could, but my greater fear was of my crime being discovered, being kicked out of school and letting my family down.

"That's hard to do," I said. "When I'm alone at night. When I see the blue light."

"In facing fear of the spiritual realm," Uncle Tyler said, "you have to challenge your fear right in the face of it. Once, I was camping in the jungle near Rangoon. Fu Wei had left me there among the ye sheng."

"Ye sheng?"

"Wild men, but more like ape-men. Like Bigfoot in America. I was afraid of them and he left me there, in the jungle with the ye sheng all around."

This caught me so by surprise. I forgot about my problems for the moment.

"There's bigfoots in China?"

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio. Anyway, I was more afraid of them than I had been of the Viet Cong. I could hear them all around me in the night. I built a big fire, but it didn't keep them away. They were in the brush, just outside the reach of the fire's light. Growling, whistling, throwing rocks."

"What happened?"

"I remembered. Remembered that they were spirit beings and would respect a calm mind. So I assumed the Lotus right there in front of my fire and meditated. It took the greatest effort of my life, but my mind finally cleared and I saw into the spirit world. Saw the ye sheng spirits at rest beyond the fire. I meditated until the sun rose. Then I saw a great truth."

"What was that?"

Uncle Tyler looked at me, his eyes clearer now.

"That the spirits cannot harm me. That I can pass through my fear and emerge into the light."

I nodded. But my problem was more than that. It really wasn't just fear. It was guilt.

"What else?" Uncle Tyler said.

I looked at him again. I felt his expectant focus on me along with a strange comfort.

"What if you've...how do you handle it...when you've done something wrong? I mean, suppose you did...and you can't tell anyone. How do you handle that?"

I stared at the pool, expecting the questions. What was I talking about? What had I done?

"The answer is the same," he said. "You accept what you did. Realize that bad is a part of you, just as much as good. That doesn't mean you like what you did or that you do it again. You detach. See it objectively. Make amends as much as you can, if you can. Doing so can become your ordeal--a fire that refines us if it doesn't destroy us, as says Mr. Nietchze."

"But how can you ever see yourself as a good person again?"

He was silent for a long space. He sipped his drink and stared into the sunset. I thought he had forgotten about me. My gut churned.

"I was a young man," he finally said, "when I did my tour in Vietnam. I thought I was good. Had been raised a Catholic. Was even an altar boy. I matured in the service like most young men. Even so, I was afraid. Vietnam kept you afraid, all the time.

"One day, my outfit was patrolling with a South Vietnamese outfit. They were on our side against the North. We ran into VC. The bad guys. The firefight was fierce and we were losing. We called for pickup and retreated to the LZ. The Landing Zone. We climbed into the helicopters under fire. The one I was in filled up fast. Before it could lift, the South Vietnamese soldiers reached us and started climbing on too."

He was looking into the sunset again. Like he saw something there that I didn't.

"There were too many. The chopper couldn't lift, they were pulling us down. The VC kept coming out of the trees. Men around me were getting hit.

"Then somebody screamed, 'shoot the dinks.' That's what we called the South Vietnamese soldiers. That's all it took. There was so much fear. The guys around me started shooting. They were shooting the dinks. I was so scared. I fired too. They were clawing at each other to get on the chopper and we killed them. Those that let go were killed by the VC, but we got away."

I had heard about the Vietnam war, of course. We studied it in school. I had never heard anyone who had been there talk about it. I thought I understood what he was saying.

"Then, what you did...."

"Was murder," he said. "Morally, it was murder. But it was wartime, when murder is legal. No one ever investigated. Much worse happened that was never investigated."

"How did you get over it?"

"I didn't. Eventually, I learned to detach and accept that dark part of me. After it happened, I had another three months before my tour was up. It still amazes me when I think about it, that I survived those three months. I was a zombie. I cared for nothing. I couldn't go back to the states. After my tour, I served out my enlistment in the Philippines. Then I wandered. Taking odd jobs throughout Malaysia and just living off the land.

"Then one day, I met a man. Or rather, he found me, I think. He seemed to know me. Seemed able to read my thoughts. He taught me things, about how to live. Things that were known in bits and pieces by the common folk there. They called it Ming Lu. The Wise Path. Wise sayings like Confucianism. Practical teachings like from Buddhism.

"But Fu Wei taught them as a whole. And he coupled them with martial arts. Kung fu. All to develop total concentration, control and spiritual development. I spent one year with him just wandering Malaysia. Usually staying in villages, working on fishing boats or in the markets.

"It was the most incredible year of my life. I was in the presence of a truly advanced being and being taught by him. I felt like my soul was being purged of ignorance and sin. Then one day he left me. Just went away. I knew why though, I didn't want to admit it. It was time for me to fly on my own. But I couldn't. I got very sick. It was like I couldn't sustain my life without Fu Wei holding me up.

"I was found in the jungle and taken to a hospital. When they realized I was an American soldier, they sent me to an army hospital. Because I was a veteran, they treated me. I met Camille there. She was an Army nurse. It was the second time I had met her. The first was before my tour, in Hawaii. I had actually fallen in love with her then. But I was going to Vietnam. I didn't think I could afford to love anybody. Now I stayed with her. Followed her back to the states when her tour was up. Then she was discharged and we wound up here."

I didn't know what to say. Uncle Tyler had committed a crime too. A bad one. I felt a kinship then, but I didn't know how to express it. I considered confessing my own crime to him.

"So Ming Lu taught you to accept your crime?"

"It taught me that good and evil exist in all of us. In perpetual conflict. Swirling around each other like the yin-yang. The goal is not to conquer evil with good. Surely, strive for the good, but recognize that the evil is there, and that a balance is required. The best you can do, actually. A balance that produces a third force, reconciliation, that is a good beyond the original.

"Ever since I returned to the states, I've sought students to pass on what I've learned from Fu Wei. Most just want the kung fu training. A very few are capable of accepting the broader wisdom. It is those I seek. To repay Fu Wei and maybe save other lives."

The sun sank below the tree line and the lights around the pool came on.

"That's enough reminiscing for one night," Uncle Tyler said. "I'm going to bed. Get your supper and rest tonight. I recommend meditating before you sleep."

He stood and tossed the ice from his glass into the yard.

"Don't worry about the spirits. You've nothing to fear from them."

I watched him walk back to the house, weaving a little. I felt better, though I wasn't sure why. Could I find a way in Ming Lu to accept my crime? But surely that wasn't enough. I had to pay for it. That's where the fear and guilt came in.

"Bobby! Supper's ready!"

"Coming, Aunt Camille!"

I left the pool and headed for the house. Halfway up the stepping-stone path, I looked back toward the woods and the Indian Mound.

Chapter 19: The Ordeal

The chill woke me. It was very early in the morning, with moonlight beaming through the window. My breath fogged in the light. It wasn't this cold when I went to bed. Even with the quilt wrapped around me, I felt it.

I was wide awake. I reached from beneath the covers and grabbed my watch off the nightstand. It was four AM. A deep premonition made me want to stay in bed. I was afraid, but I knew, this was my ordeal. I had to do it. I had to get up right then or I wouldn't be able to face my problems when I got back home. I would always be weak and too afraid.

I sat up. The gibbous moon made it light enough to see, illumining every corner. All was quiet. No monsters. No ghosts. Just the dark forms of the wardrobe, the TV, the book case.

I slid out of bed and stood there with the quilt wrapped around me. I stared at the window. The curtains were open.

Hugging the quilt around me, I went to the window and made myself look toward the dark clump of woods that contained the Indian mound. The ground between was silver with moonlight. I saw the cars, the tractor, the woodpile, the stables, all bathed in nightglow. The woods were dark.

I watched for a while. Then I saw it. Among the trees--a faint, but definite, blue light. Ghosts or glowing gas from rotting vegetation. Probably gas. Scary anyway. Like seeing Anthony Benton suddenly or admitting to a crime.

I had to go. If my training was to mean anything. If it was to be more than just martial arts, I had to go and meditate on the Indian mound until daybreak. It was only a couple of hours away. I'd be meditating with Uncle Tyler then, anyway.

Probably just gas.

I turned on the light and dressed. I felt better with my clothes on and a jacket. I wiped my glasses clean and put on my Kiernan House cap.

I took another look out the window. The woods were dark. No light of any color. It would just be a time to meditate and watch the daybreak. That's all. It would be bright on top of the mound and not scary. I just had to get through the woods.

I crept through the upstairs hall and to the landing. I paused at every creak of the wooden floor. The stairs were quieter, but if the guests did hear me, I figured they'd just think it was ghosts. On the ground floor there was enough ambient light to make my way to the kitchen. It was darker in there, but I knew the way to the back door. I reached it, unlocked it, and swung it open.

The scene was the same as from my window--silver light over the expanse of driveway. The pool reflected the moonlight in ripples. I caught whiffs of chlorine. The path to the woods was well-lit. I would have no trouble following it. My breath was deep and misty in front of my face as I stepped onto the back porch.

A cool breeze stirred, but it wasn't cold like in my bedroom. It was just the freshness of night air in the summer, like when a storm had passed. Still, I felt a chill and kept my jacket on. I crossed the back lawn and passed the pool and the garage. I followed the path beneath the ancient oak and looked up into its dark boughs. Stars winked among them.

I reached the gravel road and followed it to the barn. As I passed, I noticed dark shapes in the corral where some of the horses had bedded down. I thought of looking to see if Snarky was among them, but that was just distraction. I kept walking.

I turned left and cut across the fenced acre that contained the vegetable garden. The okra and corn were tall. Squash and cantaloupe vines reached out to trip me, making me pick my way. At the far side of the garden, I opened the gap in the barbed wire fence and stepped through. It took some effort to get it closed again.

The woods were right in front of me. Another few steps and I would be in the trees, following a trail that was tough enough to see in the day. I was familiar with it, though, and it would take me to the mound. I peered into the darkness among the trees, looking for blue lights. There was only blackness.

I shifted into self-remembering, becoming aware of body as I stepped into the trees.

I had walked and ridden this path in the daytime without fear. This was no different. I crushed the dry leaf litter underfoot as I walked. Bushes and stickers pulled at me. I pushed through, though gingerly at times when the briars were sharp. Moonlight filtered through the trees just enough to reveal parts of tree trunks, or the tops of shrubs, or a fallen log. I made my way mostly by feel.

I heard sounds. Rustlings in the leaves on the ground and in the limbs overhead. I kept going. The moving shapes around me were limbs and shrubs waving in the breeze. I watched for the dark shapes of bobcats or coyotes, but I saw nothing that looked like an animal.

A thin, sticky film wrapped around my face and I spat and clawed it away. I hoped I hadn't gotten the spider on me.

Soon it was lighter ahead. The woods were thinning in front of the clearing that contained the mound. As I got closer, I saw lights and stopped. Small lights, flashing on and weaving through the air before going dark. They were greenish and all around me.

Lightning bugs.

I snorted a laugh and kept going.

Lightning bugs flashed all around me as I approached the clearing. Was that what the ghost lights were? Lightning bugs.

I emerged from the trees into an expanse of moonlight. The big, dark, hump of the Indian mound was right in front of me like a silent whale beached on some dark shore.

The grasses that covered it waved in the breeze. I saw the spots where rocks were lodged to provide a footing for climbing. I saw the depressions and the soft spots to avoid. It was no different in the night than in the day.

I thought I saw a blue flash to my left and turned quickly towards it. Nothing. Lightning bugs. I thought about my camera for a moment. With a really slow film I could probably get pictures of the lightning bugs around the mound. That would be neat.

I looked to the mound's top. That's where I had to be. It would be lighter there, less spooky. I followed the mound's perimeter to the spot where the climbing was easiest.

There was another blue flash, right in front of me, and I swear there was a faint pop. It was over quickly, and I couldn't make out anything definite about it, but I froze in place with my heart pounding.

I was very self-conscious now.

I prayed.

I believe you're leading...I trust you....

I started climbing. I grabbed the familiar hand-holds and found the solid footing. Soon, I was on the top.

Though the woods were all blackness around me, the moon flooded the mound-top with light.

I found the hard spot in the mound's center and sat cross-legged. I didn't try to assume the Lotus position. I wanted to be able to get up quickly.

I placed my palms on my knees, facing up. I stared into the middle distance and began to count my breaths. I breathed into my stomach, stretching my diaphragm.

Noises passed through the brush around me and in the trees. Just animals and the wind. Then another blue flash in the corner of my eye. I pulled my concentration back. Then a flash in front of me. It was blue and round.

I was wary now, my concentration broken, though I retained my posture with my wrists on my knees. I saw blue lights moving through the trees in front of me. Floating and blue. Not the green, weaving, on-off of the lightning bugs.

I was frozen now. Glued to the spot. Too scared to meditate or even turn my head.

Blue orbs formed in the space in front of me--in the edge of the woods and over the mound--and floated for a bit, then disappeared. Over and over. They got closer and bigger.

I remembered Uncle Tyler's words about accepting the fear and letting it pass through. I made myself close my eyes. There was no noise. They would not hurt me. I breathed into my stomach and counted my breaths. I made myself keep it up.

The wind blew against me in a cool blast that penetrated my jacket. It chilled my glasses frame and my ears. I opened my eyes and saw nothing but blackness in the trees. I found the middle distance again and concentrated on my breaths.

A blue orb appeared and floated out of the trees toward me. I watched it in fascination. It remained fixed in form, round and blue. It grew larger as it approached, and I felt a strong sense of presence. It neared and I made out features within it. A face, like a man, bearded and wearing a helmet.

I stared, frozen, as it approached. It reached the edge of the mound and then just faded out.

I couldn't move now. I breathed hard and watched, shifting my eyes without moving my head.

Another orb formed to my right. It also grew larger as it approached and seemed to contain a face. A face with dark eyes and long hair. A woman. It faded as it drew closer and finally vanished.

I closed my eyes again.

Please protect me, Lord. Please send the sunlight. I need the sunlight. Please.

I would not open my eyes now. I just prayed, and breathed. I breathed out into my diaphragm. Felt it expand, pushing air into my stomach. I felt this movement and tried to concentrate on it. The spirits would respect a calm mind.

The chill wind blew through my jacket and around my ears. My legs ached. I wanted to get up and run, but I couldn't. That would be failure. I just needed to sit until daybreak. Just until the sky lightened a little. When I could see into the woods, I would get up and go to the dao chang. I would meet my uncle there and meditate like we do every morning.

I imagined sitting on the polished wood floor of the dao chang, trying to assume the Lotus and feeling the pain. Going through the tai chi moves. Breathing properly with each move, controlling my chi, following its looping stream. Like following the rolling gate of a horse as I rode, my back a spring absorbing the movements. Or like floating on the water in the pool. Letting myself go with the rise and fall of the currents. Floating. Water lapping in my ears. Chlorine in my nose and throat. My arms moving against the water. Making circles, round and redirecting, following the rhythms of the first form.

The spirits respect a calm mind.

"Bobby. Bobby, wake up."

I opened my eyes. I was on my back and staring straight up at Uncle Tyler. The sky was brightening pink behind his head.

"Are you all right, son?"

"Yeah. I'm OK. Was I asleep? How did you know I was here?"

Uncle Tyler helped me stand. I couldn't believe how different the world looked. When did it get light? Light enough to see into the trees, with no blue orbs anywhere. The mound's grass waved in the breeze as usual. The mound itself seemed small. Just a hill, really.

"I woke at daybreak with a strong desire to take a walk instead of mediate," Uncle Tyler said. "I thought you had overslept, anyway. Come on. Let's go back to the house. You can go back to bed."

I didn't feel like sleeping. I felt refreshed, like I had been asleep all night. I wanted to do tai chi, meditate, do some garden work, ride. Do some kung fu training. In a few weeks, I'd be ready to go home and dare anybody to mess with me.

"What about our morning meditations?"

"I think you've done yours."

We made our way down the mound, my feet finding the path easily. I didn't even need the handholds and never lost my balance as we climbed down. We entered the woods and I looked for lightning bugs but didn't see any.

An inspiration hit me.

"Shifu?" I said.

"Yes?"

"I want to be called 'Robert.'"

"Robert? OK."

He stopped not far into the trees and I stopped with him. I followed his gaze back to the Indian mound. The top of its great hump was golden in the sunrise.

"Robert?" he said.

"Shifu?"

"Keep this."

Chapter 20: The Battle of St. Mark's Supper Meeting

In the nights after my meditation on the Indian mound, I didn't see any blue lights from my window. Even the midnight creakings and footsteps lessened. What I heard was the old house expanding and contracting and the nocturnal wanderings of the guests. It was as if the spirits had had their say and went silent, though I would be musing over just what they had said for a long time.

Before long, we had another trail ride for the guests and I rode Snarky without assistance. When we reached the Indian mound, it seemed just a familiar part of the ride. I helped the guests climb to the top and even told them the story of the conquistador and the Inca princess.

When we returned to the house, the guests went about their business and Russell went home. Uncle Tyler and I ended up in the kitchen where we found Aunt Camille taking a couple of casseroles from the ovens. The smell was especially inviting after the long trail ride.

"Wow," Uncle Tyler said. "That for supper?"

"It's my contribution to the church supper," she said. "Recipes from my cookbook. I want to support our reputation for good food. It makes us stand out from the other bed-and-breakfasts. Like the Stafford House and their chicken."

"Publicity's good," Uncle Tyler said.

"Publicity's important," Aunt Camille said. "I got a call from Gayle Farrish while you were out. She's finalized the arrangements for the book-signing at El Camino Books."

"Yeah? That's great. When is it?"

"November 10th and 11th. We can promote my book as a Christmas gift. Gayle thinks she can get me on some local TV too."

"Whoa, I have to take back most of what I said about Gayle. Maybe she is a literary agent. Way to go, Honey."

He kissed her on the cheek.

"That's great, Aunt Camille," I said. "You're going to be famous."

"Thanks, Rob. I just want to sell a lot of cookbooks."

"Well, maybe you'll reach the rank of 'local celebrity,' anyway," Uncle Tyler said. "That would be good for business."

He lifted the cover over one of the dishes. "And this is a result of your literary labor. Can we have some?"

Aunt Camille slapped his hand.

"My literary labor is a result of that. You can have some at the church."

"I'm going to church?"

"We're all going. Bobby, I mean, Robert, can see some of the other young people and you can show a friendly face. We want people around here to recommend us, or at least speak well of us."

"I'm friendly enough to the guests. I tell them ghost stories and you feed them. What more could they want?"

"Besides," she continued, "Alice Palmer will be there."

"Oh. You want to sell your cookbook in Natchez too."

"Of Course. They sell a lot of local-interest books at Cover To Cover. They'll sell mine. If Alice likes my recipes she'll probably host a book-signing for me too."

"You're quite the entrepreneur."

"Go get cleaned up, Tyler. You too, Robert."

After showering off the smell of horse sweat, I put on my clean jeans and a decent-looking pullover shirt. Downstairs, I saw that Uncle Tyler had switched to a clean khaki shirt that he had buttoned up and tucked into dark khaki pants.

"Am I OK?" I asked Aunt Camille.

"Very handsome, Rob. Help me with the casseroles."

It was unusual for Aunt Camille to go to a weekday church service and unusual for Uncle Tyler to go to any of them, but the Jackson book-signing had them motivated.

The casseroles were well-wrapped in towels for the trip into Natchez. There was a microwave at the church, but Aunt Camille didn't want to over-cook her casseroles. She wanted them warm from her ovens.

They did stay hot through the trip. At least, I thought so as I helped carry them to the church fellowship hall. We saw Erin and her mother taking their contributions across the parking lot. Aunt Camille called to them.

"Rhonda," she said, grabbing Mrs. Sykes' arm. "Have you seen Alice Palmer?"

They walked ahead of us and Erin walked with Uncle Tyler and me carrying a big, covered platter.

"Hi Rob," Erin said. "What you guys bring?"

"Casseroles," I said.

"Publicity," Uncle Tyler added.

"We got fried chicken," Erin said. "I think Mom got the recipe from Camille's cookbook. Or the Stafford House one."

"Extra publicity," Uncle Tyler said. "Maybe."

"Looks like a big crowd," I said.

"Supper meetings usually have a big crowd when the weather's nice," Erin said. "There's Seth. Julia and Jason should be around somewhere."

"There's Bruiner at the door," Uncle Tyler said. "Maybe he won't notice me."

We slipped in without acknowledgement from Mr. Bruiner. Inside, the fellowship hall was filled with people and their food offerings. We followed the crowd around tables covered with paper and surrounded by metal chairs. The newly arrived food was being placed on tables set at right angles to the eating tables. We found spots and placed our contributions.

"Let's find a seat," Uncle Tyler said. "In a corner."

We took seats that, while not quite a corner, were at the end of a table.

"We need to save seats for Mom and Camille," Erin said.

"Where are they?" Uncle Tyler said.

"I see them," I said. I pointed to the front where Aunt Camille and Mrs. Sykes were standing by our casseroles and talking with a tall, stout, gray-haired lady with glasses.

"I see Camille found Alice Palmer," Uncle Tyler said. "I hope she gets a signing."

"Tyler, good to see you," a short man with a crew-cut said as he passed us. He reached over the table to shake Uncle Tyler's hand. "Been too long. Hope you'll come to Sunday School this Sunday. I'm teaching the men's class now."

"Oh, very good," Uncle Tyler said. "I knew you would one day."

The man grinned and then moved on down the table.

"I have no idea who that man was," Uncle Tyler said.

Several people shook Uncle Tyler's hand and told him how much they missed him at church. He just smiled and returned their greetings. I don't know how many he actually knew, but he didn't commit to a church visit with any of them.

When the food had been placed up front and peopled settled into seats, Brother Birch said a few words of welcome. He wished for everyone to enjoy their meals and invited them to the sanctuary for the service afterwards. At that, everyone got up and formed a line to the food tables.

I was pretty hungry. The first table was filled with plates and utensils, napkins, sodas, and iced tea. I took the items I needed and then filled my plate from the other tables with Mrs. Sykes' chicken, Aunt Camille's casserole, some baked beans, and a roll. Aunt Camille's food was really good. I usually wouldn't touch a casserole but I liked hers.

I finished my plate and went back for desert. The chocolate cake looked good, but I knew I had to get some of Aunt Camille's peach cobbler.

"It'd be better with ice cream," Aunt Camille said when I returned to my place.

"It's great like it is," Erin said.

"It is," I said. "It's very good."

"Yeah," Uncle Tyler said between bites of cobbler. "If this doesn't hook Alice, I don't know what will."

"Hey Rob, wanna shoot some basketball?"

It was Seth. He was holding a basketball by the door with Eric Thresher and Joe Waite. They were fellow geeks from Mr. Ellis' Sunday School class.

"We got time before service," Joe said.

"Go ahead," Aunt Camille said. "People are still eating."

"All right," I said. I looked at Erin. "Want to come?"

"No," she said. "I don't care for basketball."

*

The sun was setting but there was a light on a pole overlooking a small patio. Close to the light was another metal pole with a basketball goal attached. Insects swarmed in a cloud around the light and scattered with every ball we threw at the hoop.

We didn't play a game. There was no basketball goal at Kiernan House and I didn't play at home, so making baskets was a matter of luck for me. The other boys were no better, so all-in-all it was just a game of killing time.

"What you guys playing?"

The voice came from a heavyset silhouette in the dark space beyond the light. It was a shape I recognized.

"We're just shooting," Seth said.

"Yeah? Let me have a shot. Throw me the ball."

CB Provine stepped onto the pavement and Seth tossed him the ball.

His shot bounced from the rim and Eric caught it.

"That sucked. Throw it back to me."

Eric did and CB tried again. That one missed too and CB ran to the goal to rebound his own shot. In the process, he ran into me and shoved me to the side. He caught the ball and turned back to me.

"Hey, kung fu kid. You learn how to fight yet?"

He threw the ball at me. It hit me in the shoulder with a hard, rubber thud and bounced out of the light.

"Naw, you ain't learned nothing. If you did, you would have blocked that."

He walked up to me in a bellicose invasion of my space. The other boys backed away. If they said anything, I didn't hear them. It had been a while since I had felt this kind of intimidation, but it was coming back to me--the cold sweat, the knotted stomach.

"Let me show you a karate move," CB said. He hooked his meaty arm around my neck and pulled me to his stomach, suffocating me in his salty armpit. He led me around the patio by the neck.

"See? You can't get away, can you? That's why you need karate. Kung fu sucks."

I had learned a self-defense move against this, but I had to calm down and remember it. Plant my feet and sink. Horse stance. This kept him from dragging me. Grab the arm he had around my neck and pull just enough to twist my head and breath. Now, reach with my left hand over his head and hook my ring finger under his nose. Yuck. Now pull back.

CB's head jerked backwards. I gained leverage as it did and kept pushing. His back bent and his grip loosened. I pulled free of his arm and then slammed a hammer fist between the base of his rib cage and the top of his stomach.

He stumbled back and I increased the distance with a side kick to his hip. He fell back off the patio and into the dirt.

"Whoa, Rob!" Seth said. "Good move."

I felt good for half a second. Then CB came running back onto the patio and slammed a fist into my face. My glasses went flying in pieces and I fell to the concrete with a coppery taste in my mouth. Eric and Joe ran off. Seth threw a kick at CB, but CB brushed it aside and shoved Seth to the ground. I threw a punch, but it was fly-swat and he began pummeling me.

Then in an instant, the blows stopped. CB's rotund form was off of me amid a swirl of arms, legs, and circular energy. The next thing I knew, CB was on his butt in the grass and Uncle Tyler was pulling me to my feet.

"Rob, are you--"

Another flying kick passed my head toward Uncle Tyler who deflected it with an inside block that sent Mr. Bruiner to the patio on his butt. But Mr. Bruiner was back to his feet in a second and throwing a punch at Uncle Tyler.

Uncle Tyler deflected with an outside block, grabbed Mr. Bruiner's wrist, turned him around, and shoved him across the patio.

A shout of young voices erupted from the church doors.

"Get him, Mr. Bruiner!"

"Kick his butt!"

"Go, Mr. Bruiner!"

Mr. Bruiner seemed to realize he had an audience and paused. Then he turned back to Uncle Tyler.

"You don't lay hands on a child, Pearson!"

Uncle Tyler put his arm around my shoulders and turned my bloody face into the light.

"You might tell that to CB," he said.

"He's a kid. You wanna fight, you face a man." He pointed at Uncle Tyler. "Any time."

"I won't fight you," Uncle Tyler said. "You're fighting yourself."

"I don't need your pagan mumbo jumbo," Mr. Bruiner said.

"Jim! Tyler!" Mr. Ellis said. He ran onto the patio with Brother Birch and several other adults. "What happened?"

Aunt Camille pushed passed Mr. Ellis in a scene reminiscent of the incident at the Natchez Coffee Company.

"Tyler?" she said. "Are you all right? Bobby?"

She ran up to me and examined my bleeding nose.

"I think we have a man acting like a boy," Mr. Bruiner said.

"Confession is a good start," Uncle Tyler said.

"You son of a--"

"Jim!" Brother Birch said as he stepped to the front of the onlookers. Uncle Tyler stepped between Mr. Bruiner and Aunt Camille and me.

"I'm sorry," Mr. Bruiner said. "Lord, forgive me. I just get so mad when I see a child hurt."

"CB hit Robert," Seth said. "Then grabbed him by the throat and choked him. Rob broke free and CB started fighting him."

"CB, are you OK?" A woman ran to CB.

"I'm OK, Mom. That man hit me and Mr. Bruiner hit him."

"He did not!" Seth cried. The other boys started yelling, most in support of CB and Mr. Bruiner.

"All right, all right," Brother Birch said, "everybody quiet down. You kids go back into the church. Go on. It's all over." He looked at me and CB. "Now shake hands."

"I don't want to," CB said.

"You go on, CB," his mother said.

"Robert," Mr. Ellis said. "Come on."

I was repulsed at the thought of touching CB's clammy hand.

"Touching hands won't touch hearts," Uncle Tyler said.

"Is that what Buddha says?" Mr. Bruiner said. "Well, our Lord says to turn the other cheek."

"And that he sends a sword to the earth."

"You like to twist scripture and blaspheme--"

"Jim!" Brother Birch said. "I think you two need to shake hands."

Uncle Tyler extended his.

"I'm willing, Jim."

Mr. Bruiner looked at Uncle Tyler like he was about to say something, but he didn't. He looked beyond us at the crowd gathered at the edge of the patio and took Uncle Tyler's hand.

"Please forgive me, Tyler. I've been, unchristian, but I would like to discuss scripture with you. And maybe spar sometime?"

"Good night, Jim," Uncle Tyler said and turned to Aunt Camille and me. "Let's go."

Chapter 21: Contacts and Karma

Uncle Tyler and Aunt Camille took me to see their friend, Dr. Ransoor, the next day. Dr. Ransoor was an eye doctor with an office at Wal-Mart. The lady that sold glasses for him fixed my broken ones. Uncle Tyler asked Dr. Ransoor to look at my eyes while we were there. He tested my eyes and also looked at my busted nose. My aunt and uncle were waiting when we came out of the examination room.

"He'll be OK," Dr. Ransoor said. "Superficial cuts. Some bruising. I can give you some samples for pain."

"Thanks, Leonard," Uncle Tyler said. "Did you test his eyes?"

"Yes. I have some sample contacts here I can fit him with. You want to order a permanent pair?"

"You're buying me contacts?" I asked. I had thought about them, but didn't want to ask my Mom. Wayne considered them vain.

"Would you like to try contacts?" Aunt Camille asked.

"Yeah, I thought about it...."

"Order him a pair," Uncle Tyler said. "How long will it take?"

"Maybe a week. Ten days," Dr. Ransoor said. "Molly will make the order."

"But you can't do that," I said. "They're too expensive."

At least I thought they were.

"We don't mind, Honey," Aunt Camille said. "It's the least we can do. We love you and we're so sorry you got hurt at our church."

"The fight was at church?" Dr. Ransoor said. "Humph. Christians."

"It doesn't happen all the time," Aunt Camille said.

"But you can't buy me contacts," I said. "Mom wouldn't want you to do that. I know Wayne wouldn't."

"Your mom won't mind," Aunt Camille said.

"Maybe Len will give me break on the price," Uncle Tyler said.

Dr. Ransoor pulled a pad of prescription forms from a desk drawer and started writing on it. He handed it to this optician.

"Molly, pull a pair of these from the samples and show Robert how to put them in. Order a pair for him. Tyler can have the first pair at cost."

"Thanks," Uncle Tyler said.

"Plus ten percent."

"And you can pay for your wine at Kiernan House," Uncle Tyler said.

"Five percent."

The contacts felt like sand in my eyes. Molly had said to wear them just an hour today, and to keep increasing the time by an hour every day until I got used to them. Driving back to Kiernan House, everything looked bright and distorted around the edges. I didn't see how I would ever get used to them, but if I could, maybe I wouldn't lose another pair of glasses to a bully.

Back in my room, I took out my contacts and switched to my glasses. We were sparring in kung fu class tonight and I needed to see. The glasses hurt my sore nose, though, and I didn't know if I would be able to wear them. I looked in the mirror at my messed-up face. My cheek was bruised, my lip busted, and there was a scrape on my forehead where it met the pavement. I looked like a beat-up geek.

But I had stood up to CB. I had never resisted a bully before. I had actually broken his hold on me and kicked him away. That move worked! How many times had I been grabbed around the neck like that and held like a fool. This time, I broke away. I got beat up afterwards, but I had broken CB's hold.

I was motivated. I wanted to learn how to handle myself and not get beat up. I spent the afternoon in my room, imagining breaking Anthony Benton's hold and beating him up.

*

Everybody showed up for kung fu class. We went through the usual stretches and exercises, then Uncle Tyler told us to put on the sparring gear. That consisted of padded, vinyl helmets, padded mittens, feet coverings, shin pads and mouth pieces. Some of the students, like Russell and Jason, had their own, but Uncle Tyler had enough for everybody. I didn't wear my glasses beneath my helmet. The pain was too much to have them jammed against my face.

Uncle Tyler paired us off. Each pair would spar until one landed three blows on his or her partner. The blows had to be solid strikes as judged by Uncle Tyler.

Russell and Jason started. They were the best fighters. Russell was probably the better, but Jason was coming along and he landed two blows before Russell landed his third.

Erin and Julia sparred next. Erin was blocking everything Julia threw at her, but seemed reluctant to return a blow. When it was going a little long, Russell called to her.

"This is not dance class, Erin."

She took the hint and landed three quick blows to Julia. I think she was apologizing to Julia when they sat down.

"All right. Seth and Robert," Uncle Tyler said.

Seth was closer to my size than the rest, besides Erin, but he was more experienced. I had sparred him in previous classes but had never won any matches. We faced each other in the On Guard while Uncle Tyler stood between us.

Then Uncle Tyler backed away from us, saying, "Fight."

I threw a kick at Seth that met with his kick, accomplishing nothing. We swapped kicks and glancing blows as we circled each other. We blocked, but it was mostly luck and shear reaction. None of our moves was in proper form.

Finally, Seth caught me in the chest with a bottom fist, then kicked me with the same sidekick I had landed on CB. Somehow, I got through his guard and popped him on the helmet. Then he caught me in the side with a roundhouse kick and it was over.

"You did pretty good, Robert," Seth said as we sat on the floor. "I think you're getting stronger. I felt your punches more."

He was being nice.

After everyone else had a match, Uncle Tyler asked if anyone else wanted to go against Russell.

"I do," I said. I needed practice, even if I kept getting beat up.

"You sure you're up to it, Rob? You don't have to."

"I know," I said. "I want to."

"All right. That's the best way to improve at sparring," he said to the class. "You fight someone more advanced than you."

I didn't improve in that match. I just slapped at Russell's arms and legs. I could never penetrate his defense. When he was ready, he popped me with three quick hits to the helmet. He smiled and gave me a pat on the shoulder before we bowed to each other to end the match.

We all sat on the floor, cooling down, while Uncle Tyler paced in front of us.

"OK," he said, "I think I see improvement from everybody tonight. Stick with it. Sparring's the best way to consolidate the techniques you learn. Most important, it helps you learn to extend your mental control to your whole body."

"But how do we use the blocks and punches we learn when we're sparring?" I asked. I was feeling bold from the night's exertions. "When I'm facing someone, I can't think fast enough to use a proper block or punch."

"That comes with experience from sparring or fighting," Uncle Tyler said. "Better it come through sparring. It's like learning a foreign language. You have to listen to native speakers, though it just sounds like run-together gibberish at first. In time, you pick out the words and phrases you learned in class. Then you hear sentences and can speak back. In sparring, you'll start to see the punches and blocks of your opponent. Then you'll react better."

"How long does that take?" I said.

"Different for everybody. It's like meditation. The more you attempt it, the more your mind clears. The process of clearing grows until you reach a certain point and then meditation becomes a different thing. Same with sparring. When you can see your opponent's moves clearly enough, sparring will become a different thing. Actually, meditation will help that process. And if you can remember yourself while you're sparring, you'll reach a really advanced place."

"I just want to reach the place where I'm not beat up," I said.

Everyone laughed. I felt a pat on my back.

"You mean CB," Jason said. "This time next year, you'll be beating his butt."

"You're better than him, Rob," Russell said.

There were similar sounds from the students around me. I was touched by their sympathy and felt a tear form.

"I don't advocate fighting," Uncle Tyler said. Everyone got quiet. "Our sparring is a tool to develop our concentration and build our chi. Such development is our only goal, but the work does lend itself to self-defense. And it must only be for defense. Unprovoked aggression only cultivates bad karma, and attracts more violence."

"But Shifu," Seth said. "CB attacked Rob--"

"I know what CB did," Uncle Tyler said. "I was there. I'm not saying Robert did wrong. He didn't. In fact, he made a breakthrough in resisting evil. But remember, evil is never really beaten. Ultimately, it can only be balanced with the good. No, Rob's breakthrough was in beating his own fears. In doing that, he beat a worse enemy than CB."

"What about Mr. Bruiner?" Jason said. "He wanted to fight you. I think you could take him."

There was a murmur of assent to that. I agreed, but didn't say anything.

"I don't care what he wanted," Uncle Tyler said. "I defended without fighting. That's what I want all of you to learn."

"But if he attacked you," I said. "I could see he wanted to. You would have had to fight him."

"I would keep defending until I had no other choice."

Uncle Tyler stood in thought for a moment.

"I've fought before," he said, "and killed."

That silenced the students and I remembered his story about Vietnam. I shouldn't have said anything.

"Enough to build a mountain of bad karma. I don't want to add to it. To mine or Bruiner's."

No one replied.

"Keep this," Uncle Tyler said. "That's enough for tonight. Put away the gear and bow out."

Chapter 22: End-of-Summer Conviction

The smell of grilling meat hit me just as I passed through the front gate. Snarky wanted to run to the barn, but I held her to a trot. I wanted to enjoy my last ride up the winding driveway to Kiernan House. August fifth had come quickly. The summer's end party was under way and my parents would arrive soon to take me home.

It seemed so long ago that I was driving down the Natchez Trace with Aunt Camille, glad to get away from my school problems but dreading my time in the country. I remembered that trip with nostalgia now. Being away from the city, surrounded by trees, greenery, the hawk, was just an interesting change then. Now, it was such a natural part of my days that I hated the thought of leaving it all. Especially when what I had to go back to was crowded neighborhoods, power lines, paved roads, schoolwork, and bullies. And the constant fear of being found out was a black spot on my renewed spirit. As much as I had dreaded the thought of spending the summer with my aunt and uncle, I dreaded going back to my old life even more.

I reined Snarky to a stop so I could look at everything one more time. The afternoon sun sparkled off the windows of the mansion's three-story tower and lent a warm glow to the pale red siding. The wide porch invited guests to stretch out in its chairs and forget their own worlds for a while, as I had forgotten mine.

A pair of mallards swam around the pond in the front acre, their brood following in their wake. Old oaks hung with Spanish moss framed it all and filled my soul with a familiarity and peace that I had never expected to find there. I was grateful to the Lord for it, but I couldn't help feeling it slip away.

I started Snarky again toward the grilling smells that made the sight of Kiernan House even more inviting. It pulled me in, like a newfound home, offering the comfort of escape from fear and drudgery. But that escape was temporary like everything else. Everything is impermanent, Uncle Tyler had said, quoting Buddha. Impermanence is the source of our unhappiness. Everything ends and it makes us sad. But it seemed to me only the good things ended. Beautiful summer days would turn cold and stormy. Friends would say goodbye, and I would return to school troubles that seemed to never go away.

I slowed Snarky at the front porch and waved at the current batch of guests enjoying the afternoon. I was learning to be friendly with them and act like a part of the host family. I had changed and was thankful for it. Surely that would last. I was eating more and getting heavier. I was definitely stronger from all the kung fu work-outs and chores. I wondered if Mom and Wayne would notice. They would surely notice my lack of glasses. I told Mom on the phone about my contacts, but she hadn't seem interested.

I stopped at the back door where Dr. Ransoor waited on the steps.

"Rob, you have the things Camille wanted?"

"Yeah," I said. I opened my saddle bags and handed him the milk, sugar, and dark syrup Aunt Camille had sent me for. It was a good thing the little Berea grocery was within riding distance.

"Great," Dr. Ransoor said. "Now she can make the pecan pies."

I handed him the groceries and he took them into the house. I rode Snarky over to where Russell was working with Uncle Tyler at the huge charcoal grill. Smoke rose around the flame-licked chicken quarters, hamburger patties, sausages, and hotdogs that Russell turned as Uncle Tyler poured sauces over them.

"Smells great," I said.

"Wait'll you taste it," Russell said.

"When you corral Snarky," Uncle Tyler said, "help Jason and Seth haul the mats from the dao chang and lay them out by the pool. I want to do the demo outside."

"Yes Shifu."

I would be going through our exercise routine and the first form with the other students. Uncle Tyler wanted to show the parents what they were paying for, so he put on a demo at the end of every summer.

In the barn, I unsaddled Snarky and gave her a bowl of sweet feed and a quick brush-down. I closed the gate at the front of the barn breezeway when I left, so Snarky would go out the other end into the corral.

I ran to the dao chang and found Jason, Julia and Seth gathering the mats we practiced our falls on. The mats were big and seamed into sections where they folded up. Even when folded they were better carried by two people, so I helped Jason with a couple and Julia and Seth brought the other two.

We laid them out in a flat area close to the pool where they would pick up the lights, though it shouldn't be that dark when we started the demo.

We finished and I wandered back to watch Russell and Uncle Tyler at the grill. Sidd began barking at a car coming up the drive.

"More parents," Uncle Tyler said. "We'll have a big crowd. Robert, keep Sidd off of them, please."

"Right."

I ran to the drive where Sidd was barking and saw Mom and Wayne's minivan coming down the driveway. My anxiety grew as the van got closer. Its approach marked the end of my summer and the return of my troubles.

I waved and directed them to the open space where Uncle Tyler wanted the guests to park. There was a third person in the van and I stared until I realized it was Jim Bruiner.

"Bobby!" Mom cried as she got out of the van with Wayne and Mr. Bruiner. She ran to me and bear-hugged me while Sidd barked. I hoped Erin wasn't watching.

"I'm so glad to see you again. I've missed you so much."

"I missed you too, Mom. Call me Robert."

Sidd kept barking.

"Sidd! Quiet!" I said.

"You look so handsome without your glasses."

"Hi Champ," Wayne said. He put a hand on my shoulder and shook mine with his other. "You been having fun down here?"

"Yeah, mostly," I said. "Working too."

Mr. Bruiner stepped out of the van and Sidd started barking at him.

"Stop it, Sidd!" I scolded and stepped between Sidd and Mr. Bruiner.

"You call the dog 'Sid?'" Mom said.

"With two dees," I said. "Short for Siddhartha."

"That figures," Mr. Bruiner said. He shook my hand. "Nice to see you again, Bobby."

"Hi, Mr. Bruiner," I said. "Please call me Robert."

"Sure."

"I haven't been here in so long," Mom said. "I forgot how beautiful it was."

"Looks like a big crowd," Wayne said.

"Bobby, where's Aunt Camille?" Mom said.

"In the kitchen. That way."

They followed me toward the kitchen. Uncle Tyler met us outside the back door.

"Hi Carol, Wayne," he said. He extended his hand to Wayne.

"Tyler," Wayne said, taking his hand.

"Hi,Tyler," Mom said. She hugged him. "Nice to see you again."

Jim Bruiner extended his hand to Uncle Tyler.

"Tyler, I hope you don't mind me crashing your party," he said. "I've heard about your summer-end gatherings and wanted to see for myself. I especially wanted to see your kung fu demonstration. No hard feelings between us, I hope."

"None from me," Uncle Tyler said.

"I happened to see Jim at a Youth Minister's retreat in Jackson and told him we were coming down this weekend," Wayne said. "He said he wanted to see your place and I offered him a ride. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," Uncle Tyler said. "You're all very welcome. There's plenty of food. Make yourselves at home. I need to get back to the grilling, but I think everyone's gathering in the parlor or on the porch. You're welcome to join them. Or Robert can show you around the house."

"Thanks, Tyler," Mom said. "I'm going to help Camille in the kitchen."

"You might get more than you bargained for, there," Uncle Tyler said. "I'll see you all later."

We went on into the kitchen where Mom and Aunt Camille had a squealing reunion, even though they spoke on the phone nearly every day. Erin was there too, helping with the dinner preparations and Aunt Camille introduced them.

"Nice to meet you, Erin," Mom said.

"You too, Mrs. Lorman," Erin said.

"Mrs. Finch," Mom corrected.

"This is a beautiful place," Wayne said. "Bobby, could you show us around while the girls cook?"

"Sure," I said. "This way."

I led them out of the kitchen and down the hallway to the parlor. I felt a tension from them, like they really weren't interested in seeing the house. I played the tour guide anyway, pointing out the heavy antique table with the racks of brochures. They leafed through a few and then followed me to the parlor. Several parents and guests were lounging there, waiting for dinner. Dr. Ransoor was there with his glass of wine.

"This is the parlor," I told Wayne and Mr. Bruiner. "We hang out here with the guests a lot."

"Hi Rob," Dr. Ransoor said. "Is this your stepfather?"

"Yeah Doc. This is Wayne Finch."

Dr. Ransoor extended his hand.

"I'm Dr. Leonard Ransoor," he said. "I'm a friend of Tyler and Robert's."

"Nice to meet you," Wayne said.

"I'm Jim Bruiner," Mr. Bruiner said. He shook hands with Dr. Ransoor too. "I'm Youth Minister at St. Mark's. What kind of doctor are you?"

"Optometrist. Yes, I know the church," Dr. Ransoor said. "You gentlemen like a glass of wine?"

"No thanks," Wayne said.

"We're ministers, we don't drink," Mr. Bruiner said. "And I didn't think Hindus did either. Or are you Christian?"

"Only enough to drink wine and eat meat," Dr. Ransoor said, laughing. "And maybe fight in church."

"There are no partial Christians," Mr. Bruiner said. "You're either saved or you're not. And church may be the very place to fight, as long as you're fighting for the Lord."

The two nearest guests, two men, paused in their conversation at Mr. Bruiner's declaration. I picked up some tension. Maybe offense.

"Well, there's still enough Hindi in me to see salvation as a process," Dr. Ransoor said. "and to not fight at all."

"Please come to St. Mark's next Sunday," Mr. Bruiner said. "You might see things differently."

"I've been there," he replied. He waved his arm in an encompassing gesture toward the two men. "Gentlemen, let me introduce Rick and Louis. They're from New York."

"New York?" Mr. Bruiner said. "You're a long way from home. I'm Jim Bruiner. I'm Minister of Music and Youth Minister at St. Mark's Methodist in Natchez."

"Hi," the short, red-haired guest said. "I'm Rick Bullock and this is Louis Denton. We're just passing through going home. We've just come from Biloxi."

"Hitting the casinos," Dr. Ransoor said.

"Well, I hope you'll hit St. Marks before you leave," Mr. Bruiner said. "For some southern hospitality and worship."

I pulled on Wayne's arm. I didn't like where Mr. Bruiner was going.

"Wayne, come on. Let me show you the rest of the house," I said.

"Is there a place we can talk?" Wayne said.

"Uh, sure. The library," I said. "It's in the tower on the second floor. The guests don't go there."

"We'll be gone before Sunday," Louis said.

"Well, have a nice trip," Wayne said.

"Lord bless you," Mr. Bruiner said.

Dr. Ransoor said goodbye with a 'Nice to meet you,' though I knew he didn't mean it. I led Wayne and Mr. Bruiner to the stair case.

"Those two are gay," Mr. Bruiner said. "I guess Tyler gave them a single room. Bobby, I hope you're not around them at night."

"Why?" I said.

"Is the library up there?" Wayne said.

"Yeah. At the end of the hall."

We climbed the stairs to the second floor. The hallway was empty, though the buzz of conversations from the parlor reached us.

"The library's quiet," I said.

We tromped over the wooden floor to the library and entered the hexagonal room. Wayne and Mr. Bruiner were impressed with the view of the grounds and the Persian carpet and antique desk. Mr. Bruiner eyed the little statue of Buddha on a shelf and the bronze statue of Ganesha, the Hindu elephant-headed god. He paused at the print of the Madonna of the Rocks.

"Catholic," he said. "That's a little better, I suppose."

He perused the books, running his hand over the covers.

"Seems Tyler likes the classics," he said. Then he frowned and pulled a book from a shelf.

"In Search of the Miraculous," he said with obvious disgust and shoved it back.

Wayne sat on the edge of the desk top and leaned towards me.

"Bobby," he said, "We're very concerned about what you've been learning from your Uncle Tyler. And about what he's been teaching these other kids."

"Why?" I said.

"I understand through Jim and Camille that you've been meditating, not going to church, communicating with ghosts, fighting. What's this all about, Bobby? That's not like you."

I had known Wayne wouldn't like all this and that I'd have to explain it to him. But I had wanted so much to be able to defend myself against Anthony Benton that I had taken the step. Now I had to defend it.

"Bobby," Mr. Bruiner said. "Son, we just want to help you. Is all this true? Have you done these things?"

"I didn't mean to do anything wrong," I said. "I just wanted to learn to defend myself, cause I'm small. And Uncle Tyler was teaching kung fu, so I asked him to teach me. Meditating is part of it, but it's just a way to cool down after a workout."

"I invited you to Karate for Christ," Mr. Bruiner said. "Why didn't you come? I teach young people to defend themselves all the time and we don't meditate. We pray."

"Yes sir, I know. It's just that, CB is in your class. He's been picking on me. I didn't want to be around him."

"You should have told me," Mr. Bruiner said. "I would have stopped that. And he wouldn't have bothered you in my class."

"I thought you knew it," I said.

"I just knew Tyler had hit him."

"Tyler hit a child?" Wayne said.

"He was protecting me," I said.

"That's no excuse," Mr. Bruiner said. "He could have helped you without hitting CB."

"But--"

"Enough," Wayne said. "We're not going to sort that out here. I almost came to get you early when I heard you had started kung fu. I was just too involved with church business. And you went out in the night to meditate and talk to ghosts?"

"That was my ordeal," I said. "I didn't go there to talk to ghosts. I was trying to overcome my fear of the spirits."

"That's dangerous," Wayne said. "You can open yourself up to demon-possession doing that kind of thing."

"God says the secret things belong to him," Mr. Bruiner said. "His children are not to seek them."

"Do you still believe in God's Word?" Wayne said.

"Yes," I said.

"Revelation 21:8 says sorcerers will be thrown in the lake of fire."

"Isaiah 2:6 says God rejected Israel because they followed the diviners and soothsayers of the Philistines."

"Zechariah 10:2 says the diviners see lies and the dreamers tell false dreams."

"Deuteronomy 13 says false prophets and dreamers only divine rightly when the Lord is testing his people. It says we are to only follow the Lord and the false prophets are to be put to death."

"You see what you've been following, Bobby?" Wayne said.

"You've got to turn from it, son," Mr. Bruiner said, "or it'll destroy you."

"But, I just wanted," I said, "to learn...."

"You were led astray," Wayne said.

"We know you had good intentions," Mr. Bruiner said. "You just went the wrong way. Your help will come from the Lord."

"Repent, Bobby," Wayne said. "Acts 19 says the sorcerers in Ephesus who repented burnt all their magic books. And the books were worth fifty thousand pieces of silver."

"They found a greater value in faith in Jesus Christ," Mr. Bruiner said. "So will you."

I had no answer. The evidence of Scripture revealed my sin and I couldn't absolve myself. I had followed Uncle Tyler and everybody knew it. What they didn't know about was the guilt I was carrying. I could never confess my crime. I had buried it when I was learning from Uncle Tyler. I didn't want to confront it. Now God was bringing it out and convicting me.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to sin. I just...."

"You just what, Bobby?" Wayne said.

"I was just afraid. Of my bullies."

Wayne and Mr. Bruiner both put a hand on my shoulders. I was looking at the floor.

"If you're truly sorry, Bobby," Wayne said, "you can ask God for forgiveness, right now. You're saved, I know you are. You've just gone astray and followed the spirit of error. Let's pray right now and ask God to forgive you and fill you again with the Holy Spirit. Are you ready? Do you want to pray, Bobby?"

"Yes sir."

"Then let's pray."

Wayne and Mr. Bruiner sank to their knees on either side of me, and I followed them to the floor. They wrapped their arms over my shoulders and bowed their heads.

"Go ahead, Bobby," Wayne said.

"Lord," I said. "Please forgive me for abandoning you and following error. I've meditated and communed with spirits and followed a false religion. Please forgive me."

"Gracious Lord," Mr. Bruiner said, "Please hear Bobby's plea for forgiveness and grant him the claiming of the forgiveness you bought for him through your son, Jesus Christ, on the cross. Let him know your peace and protect him from the error of Satan and the influence of demons."

Wayne picked it up there, without pause.

"Lord, thank you for Bobby's repentance and for delivering him from evil. Please let him know that he is forever in your care and saved by the grace and sacrifice of Jesus Christ. You, who have numbered every hair on his head and know when even a sparrow falls, have saved and forgiven him. Thank you. Amen."

Mr. Bruiner raised both hands.

"Amen," he said. "Thank you, Jesus. Praise your holy name."

I was crying and filled with rejoicing at my forgiveness. I felt the Holy Spirit filling me. My tears washed out a contact. I grabbed for it but lost it on the floor. I didn't care. I was saved and forgiven.

"Amen," Wayne said again.

"Amen," I said.

"God bless you, son," Mr. Bruiner said.

My knees were shaking so much, Wayne and Mr. Bruiner had to help me stand.

Chapter 23: Dinner Sparring

The parlor was empty when we returned from the library, so we went on to the kitchen. Erin and Julia were helping Aunt Camille prepare the dinner plates.

"Everyone's gathering outside for the kung fu demonstration," Aunt Camille said. "After that, we'll set up the buffet for the dinner. I'll need help getting the food outside and serving the drinks. Robert, would you mind?"

"Sure," I said.

"So you've got servants to help with your dinner," Mr. Bruiner said.

"I've got good help," Aunt Camille said. "It's a way for the students and us to show our appreciation for the parents letting them work here. And for the summer workers to enjoy some of the fruits of their labor."

"I see," Mr. Bruiner said. "Well, that works out nicely."

"Come on, Jim," Wayne said. "Let's go outside. Bobby, you doing OK, son?"

I was still weak in the knees and a little numb.

"I'm OK," I said. "I'd like to be called Rob--"

Wayne slapped me on the shoulder.

"All right," he said. "We'll see you outside."

They left the kitchen.

"You need anything else right now, Camille?" Erin said.

"No, Honey, it can wait until after the demonstration. You guys go get ready."

I ran upstairs and put on my black tee-shirt and sweat pants. I also removed my remaining contact and put on my glasses. When I got back outside, the other students were already on the mats, loosening up and stretching. The adults gathered around.

I was the last student to step onto the mat. The sun was getting low on the horizon and the daylight was dimming. The lights switched on around the pool and in the pecan trees. Then Russell and Jason lit the four tikki torches at the corners of the mats and we had enough light.

"All right, everyone take your places," Uncle Tyler said.

We lined up as we did in class. I wasn't sure I should even be participating, but Wayne and Mr. Bruiner didn't seem to mind. It would be the last time anyway.

Uncle Tyler turned to the audience.

"Welcome everyone," he said. "Thank you for coming to our end-of-summer gathering. This is our way of thanking those of you who worked with us during the summer, helping in the garden and with the bed-and-breakfast. And especially those young people that are students in my kung fu class and their parents. We want you to know that we appreciate you.

"We'll begin the activities with a demonstration of what we've learned in kung fu. Our classes always begin with a routine of exercises and stretching."

He faced us.

"All right. Head rolls."

Uncle Tyler took us through the routine, though a little speeded up. I was glad for that. I wanted it to be over. I didn't like doing this in front of Wayne and Mr. Bruiner. Not that what we were doing was wrong, it had to be the same as what Mr. Bruiner did in his karate class. It was just knowing what lay behind it.

I went through the motions and finally finished the exercises.

"We learn a lot of punches, blocks, and kicks," Uncle Tyler said. "We practice them through forms. Forms are just routines built from the punches, blocks, and kicks that help us practice them. There are many forms, and they get more complicated as the student progresses. We're going to show you the first one we learn. It's the one that Robert and Julia, our new students, learned this summer.

He turned back to us.

"Natural stance. Go."

We worked together through the thirty steps of the form. It was mechanical for me.

We completed the form and then Julia and I stepped out and the rest did the second form. A couple of more left and the remaining did the third form. Then Uncle Tyler let everyone sit down except for Russell and Jason.

"We also learn self-defense techniques," Uncle Tyler said. "These are some of the basic ones."

He went on to describe several and let Russell and Jason demonstrate. These included the neck-grab-break that I used on CB, the defense against a hair grab, defenses against punches, and various grabs. At the end of their demonstration, they bowed to Uncle Tyler and stepped off the mats. Uncle Tyler faced the audience again.

"A student who stays with martial arts for a long time learns some very advanced techniques. These include weapons and they usually specialize on one or two. I was always partial to the broadswords, so I'd like to show you a form that uses two of them."

Russell handed him two practice swords. They were made from some kind of flexible, shiny, silver metal, and gold-trimmed handles with red cloths attached. Uncle Russell removed his shoes and stepped onto the mats. He crossed the swords over his head and closed his eyes. After a second, he launched into a form that was very dance-like. It included lunges and parries coupled with kicks and even punches with the handle ends. At a couple of points, he tossed the swords into the air while he continued a movement that ended with him catching the swords by the handles. He did this for each sword, then both together.

By the time he finished, everyone was completely engrossed. Even me. So much that I forgot the godless, Eastern religion behind it all.

Everyone applauded at the form's conclusion and Uncle Tyler bowed to his audience. I noticed that Wayne was applauding. Even Mr. Bruiner.

"Thank you," Uncle Tyler said. "I believe the buffet is ready now, so let's eat."

Everyone left the demonstration area and made their way to the buffet tables.

I stood with Erin and filled glasses with tea or lemonade as requested. Dr. Ransoor was close by at another table, serving glasses of wine for those that wanted it.

"You going to take martial arts in Jackson?" Erin asked.

"I don't know," I said. I doubted it. I felt so guilty, I wanted to quit it all.

I filled glasses with tea and lemonade and put them in reach of the people passing with their plates.

"I'll keep taking classes with Shifu, since I live here," Erin said. "You need to practice at home. Then you can continue here next summer."

"Yeah, maybe."

Mom reached us.

"You did so good, Bobby," she said.

"Thanks Mom."

"Well, at least you got some good workouts," Wayne said.

"I did," I said.

Mr. Bruiner passed us next.

"Very similar to our karate workouts," he said. "I hope you'll find a Karate for Christ ministry in Jackson. I know there are some."

"Yes sir," I said. "I'll see. I might want to lay off until next summer."

He smiled and kept going.

When everyone was seated, Aunt Camille told us to fix our plates. While we did, Uncle Tyler stood at the head of his table.

"I just want to say a very few words more," he said. "Just a few, I promise. Thank you all, again, for coming. We'll eat and then you can sit around out here while Joel and Joyce play some music for us. You can have desert and wine if you like.

"Now let's have a few moments of silence in thanks for our fellowship and the bounty of the earth that provides our meal."

He sat and stared into the middle distance. Most people bowed their heads. There was a thud and everyone looked to the middle of a table where Mr. Bruiner had slammed both elbows onto the table and clasped both hands into a double fist. His forehead rested on his fists and he mumbled what must have been a prayer. Wayne assumed a similar posture across from him and Mom bowed her head in deference to them both.

After a few seconds, Uncle Tyler raised his head.

"Let's eat," he said.

The food was good. I ate a hamburger with the oven fries that Aunt Camille had prepared for the students, and the baked beans Russell cooked on the grill. The adults mostly had the chicken and vegetables and potatoes.

I was with my parents at the same table as Uncle Tyler and Mr. Bruiner.

"Yes, very interesting form, Tyler," Mr. Bruiner said. "Reminds me of kendo katas. I had an instructor in the army who did a similar thing with bayonets."

Uncle Tyler gave a half smile and kept eating.

"Karate's more power-oriented," Mr. Bruiner said. "Hammer-driving punches and solid blocks. Requires a lot of strength. I think that's what appealed to me. I'm not the dancing type."

"People must follow the path that suits them," Uncle Tyler said.

"But some paths are better than others," Mr. Bruiner said, "and ultimately, there's only one that gets us where we need to go."

"Not everyone is on the same journey," Uncle Tyler said.

"Maybe that's the Buddhist teaching, but it's not the Christian one. That's why I teach karate from a Bible foundation."

"I thought karate had a Zen foundation," Uncle Tyler said.

"In Japan, but not here," Mr. Bruiner said. "That's what my ministry is about. To preserve the discipline in martial arts without the religious error. I don't know that that's ever done for kung fu. It may be too wrapped up in the Eastern ways. That's why I think we should spar, Tyler. Test the strength of the spiritual foundations of our schools."

"That's not a valid test," Uncle Tyler said.

"There's been such tests through history," Mr. Bruiner said. "Where Christianity had to be proven against the local gods. Like the missionaries in the Middle Ages confronting the pagan gods of the Vikings."

"I think the situation is just the opposite here," Uncle Tyler said.

"Tyler, you keep coming so close to blasphemy," Mr. Bruiner said. "I don't mean to be rude, but I am bound to stand up for the living God."

"Jim," Wayne said, "there's no need to get angry."

"I get angry for the Lord," Mr. Bruiner said. "I think a sparring match between Tyler and me would be a good example for the young people here. Maybe they don't know that a Bible-inspired martial arts class can produce champions. It would be sort of a Buddha versus Jesus match."

"A contest that both would eschew," Uncle Tyler said.

"Don't speak for my Lord--"

"Jim," Wayne said, "that's enough. You're right, but now is not the time."

Wayne turned to Uncle Tyler.

"Tyler, I would like to speak with you after dinner."

"Sure," Uncle Tyler said.

Mr. Bruiner calmed a bit and finished his meal. He continued to tell those around him of the virtue of his karate class and the witness of its ministry. I couldn't look at Uncle Tyler. Mr. Bruiner was being direct and in his face, but he didn't answer. He deflected, just like a kung fu move. Maybe Mr. Bruiner was being obnoxious, but he was right.

After dinner, I helped the other students clear the tables. We just dumped the scraps in several lined garbage cans and loaded the dishwasher in the kitchen. The adults enjoyed the evening outside, drinking and listening to Joe play a guitar while Mrs. Sykes sang some folk ballads.

While I was still helping in the kitchen, Mom came in.

"Bobby," she said. "Are you packed?"

"Mostly," I said. "Aren't we leaving tomorrow?"

"Wayne wants to leave tonight."

She was tense. I could always tell. Like when she had had a fight with Wayne.

"Go finish packing," she said, "and bring your bags downstairs."

"All right," I said. "Is something wrong?"

"No dear, Wayne's just upset. I think Jim Bruiner has something to do with it, He wants a word with Tyler and then we'll go."

"OK," I said. "I'll hurry."

"Rob, are you leaving tonight?" Erin said as I started toward the door.

"Looks like it," I said. "It's been fun. Say goodbye to Russell and the others for me."

"I will," she said. "Will you come back next summer?"

"I don't know," I said. "Will you help me bring my stuff down?"

"Sure."

We hurried out and upstairs to my room. I crammed the rest of my clothes into my three suitcases.

"Got everything out of the bathroom?" Erin said.

"Let me check," I said.

I had to grab my toothbrush and toothpaste. When I came out, I found Erin setting my suitcases in the hall.

I grabbed a couple while Erin grabbed the third and we carried them downstairs. We stopped at the parlor door where I saw Uncle Tyler and Aunt Camille with Mom and Wayne.

"Bobby," Wayne said. "Come in."

I sat down my suitcases.

"Bye Erin."

"Bye Rob. I hope you come back next summer."

She left and I entered the parlor.

"Bobby," Wayne said, "I was just telling your Uncle Tyler how disappointed I am in his teachings to you this summer."

Uncle Tyler stood silently by the fireplace, impassive as ever. I knew better.

"Well, Wayne, we're sorry if we offended you," Aunt Camille said. "We meant no harm and we love Robert."

"We know," Mom said. "Camille--"

"I know your intentions were good, Camille," Wayne said, "but please understand. If I had known that you'd be converting him to Buddhism, I would have never let him come."

"I didn't convert Robert to anything," Uncle Tyler said.

"You've even changed his name," Wayne said, "had him meditating, talking to ghosts, fighting. Do you deny that?"

"There's no harm in meditation," Uncle Tyler said, "I've done it every day for over thirty years. Don't you talk to the Holy Ghost? And I stopped the fights that came to him."

"Was any of your help Bible-based? We are Christians and we're raising Bobby as a Christian. It's not your place to contradict our instruction."

"I never denied anything you've taught him. He's fifteen, Wayne. The world is full of other opinions and you can't shelter him from them forever. He was hurting from bully problems and it was happening here. It would happen anywhere, that's the way the world is. Especially among teenagers. He asked for help and I helped him the best way I knew how."

"That's a parent's job," Wayne said. "You should have called me."

There was a pause. Wayne caught himself.

"Us. We would have come for him."

"I'm sorry you disapprove," Uncle Tyler said. "I never intended to take your place with Robert. I just wanted to help him. You might want to talk to him. I believe he's learned a lot this summer."

"I have talked with him. He has confessed his error and repented. I think you should do the same. Carol and Bobby, let's go."

"Wayne, don't go like this," Aunt Camille said.

"No, Wayne," Mom said. "I love my sister and her family. I won't leave them with hard feelings."

"I don't have hard feelings," Wayne said. "I just want Tyler to know I disapprove of what he did. I'll have to think hard about letting Bobby come back here."

"Oh, of course he can come back," Mom said.

"We'll discuss that later," Wayne said. "I think we need to leave now."

He looked at Uncle Tyler and extended his hand.

"Tyler, I have nothing against you, personally. I disagree completely with your lifestyle, but I thank you for your hospitality tonight. Oh."

He withdrew his hand and reached for his wallet. He pulled out a check.

"For your expenses for keeping Bobby. It's only right."

"I don't want that," Uncle Tyler said. "Robert's family. He's welcome here anytime."

"Fairness is part of my lifestyle," Wayne said. He placed the check on the mantle.

"Goodbye Tyler. Camille. Thanks again for the dinner. Let's go guys."

He walked into the hallway and picked up a couple of my suitcases. I started to follow.

"Robert, it's been great to have you here, Honey," Aunt Camille said. She hugged me. When she let go, I looked up at Uncle Tyler. He stepped toward me and took my hand.

"Rob," he said, "you've learned a lot. Don't forget--"

"I have to go, Uncle Tyler. Thanks for having me."

I went to the hallway and picked up my other suitcase while Mom hugged Aunt Camille and Uncle Tyler goodbye. Wayne was nearly out the door when she left the parlor and I walked out with her.

We followed Wayne to the minivan while Uncle Tyler and Aunt Camille waved at us from the back porch.

"Bobby, I'm so sorry for Wayne's behavior. He means well. I mean, I don't want Tyler teaching you all that Eastern stuff but there's no need to get so upset. I think it's Jim Bruiner's influence. I'm glad he went home with somebody else."

"No, Mom," I said. "I'm the one that's sorry. Wayne's right."

Chapter 24: Rededication in the Midst of God's Handiwork

It was a strange feeling, leaving Kiernan House in a peel of gravel, late at night. I looked out the back window at the huge, dark hulk of the old mansion, silhouetted against the grounds lights. It bid me a silent farewell or maybe a good riddance. It seemed so long ago since I had arrived there, carrying a load of guilt and afraid of everything. And then I had been harassed by more bullies and thrown by a horse. I had fainted in the garden. I was afraid of the water and of ghosts. But somehow, I had learned to work in the garden, learned to ride and swim and began learning kung fu. I had even faced down ghosts in the dead of night.

Now it was all gone in a minute. Had it ever happened at all? I was with my mother and Wayne, driving away in a huff back to Jackson, school, and Anthony Benton.

"Bobby, I'm sorry we had to leave with bad feelings," Mom said, "but did you enjoy your summer anyway?"

It seemed a natural enough question. Said without judgment. Maybe they weren't mad.

"I did have fun," I said. "I did stuff and made some friends."

"That's good," she said. "I'd hoped you'd enjoyed your time here. You're looking tanned and filled out. Guess you liked Aunt Camille's cooking."

"Did you go to church?" Wayne asked. "I was never clear on that."

"Yeah. Aunt Camille took me."

"I don't think she took you much according to Jim. Attending church was a condition for letting you go."

"I went. Not every Sunday, but a lot."

"I wouldn't mind that so much," Wayne said, "if Tyler weren't teaching you some false religion instead."

"I don't think Tyler's teaching religion," Mom said.

"That's what it is, Carol. Whether he calls it so or not. It was obvious from what Jim said and from my own questioning of the man. He's teaching those kids Buddhism and occult practices."

"Surely not, Wayne."

I had confessed and been forgiven, but it didn't sound like Wayne had forgiven me. I felt his disapproval in the pit of my stomach.

"I just wanted to learn to fight," I said, "like I saw Uncle Tyler do in Natchez. He saved me from a bully and the bully's dad."

"Jim told me about that. Zeke Provine's son is in Jim's karate class. The boy may be overly aggressive, but that's no call for grown men to fight in the streets like heathens."

"Uncle Tyler didn't fight--"

"He threw the man in the bed of a truck. That's fighting. And if you wanted to learn to defend yourself, you should have joined Jim's karate class. At least then, you'd get a real spiritual foundation with your lessons and not some Satanic teachings--"

"Wayne!" Mom said. "Tyler's eccentric but he's not Satanic."

"He teaches a false way, Carol--"

"Wayne, watch out!"

Wayne swerved back onto the road, barely missing a ditch.

"Wayne, maybe I should drive."

"No, Carol, I'm all right. I just get upset with this kind of thing. Do you want your son--our son--to be led astray by false teachings? Wing pu or whatever."

"Ming lu," I said.

"There's only one way, Bobby," Wayne said. "Jesus said, 'No man cometh unto the Father but by me.'"

"Yes sir, I know. He told us about Ming lu, but I didn't accept it. I just wanted to learn martial arts."

"And he taught you to meditate."

"Yes, sir."

"And he told you ghosts were in the house and in the woods. Didn't he?"

"He told stories to the guests. They liked it."

"But you went to an Indian mound at night to find ghosts. Didn't you?"

"You went to an Indian mound at night?" Mom asked.

"It wasn't like that, exactly."

"Bobby, you're messing with evil things that can hurt you. Deuteronomy 18:10 says we are not to use divination. That's dealing with ghosts. Or observe the times. That's astrology. Or deal with enchanters or witches. In Leviticus, the Lord says he will set his face against people that do those things."

That stopped all conversation in the car for a while. We were past the Berea city limits now and followed the dark road to the highway.

"There's a lot of Bible verses that teach about the occult. I'll show them to you. I want you to learn them."

"Yes sir."

"Wayne," Mom said, "I'm sure you're right, but don't be so hard on Bobby. He didn't mean to do bad."

"I know Carol. It's Tyler. I just don't want Bobby to be led astray by false teachings. Or get caught up with demons thinking he's found some kind of ancient wisdom."

"He's not," Mom said. "Are you Bobby?"

"No ma'am," I said. It didn't seem like they knew about my crime. Otherwise, Wayne would have brought that up as well. I was thankful for that, but surely this was a punishment. I had been following a false way, out of fear.

"Bobby, if martial arts is important to you, I'm sure we can find a Karate for Christ ministry in Jackson. I think they do something like that at Lakeside Baptist."

"Dorothy Roberts' husband teaches karate at the YMCA," Mom said. "That's not far from us."

"Yeah, I forgot about him," Wayne said. "Lou Roberts is a good man. A Christian man."

"I don't want to learn martial arts," I said.

I didn't want to go further down that path. I wasn't inclined to challenge my comfort any longer. I wanted forgiveness and to be free from guilt.

Wayne took the turnoff to the Natchez Trace. It was very dark and hard to see beyond the headlights, even with the brights. The thick woods on either side of the road made the night even darker.

After some comments about it being hard to see and watching out for deer, Wayne returned his conversation to me.

"Bobby, you can join a karate class. Learning to defend yourself is fine. I think a good, Christian class would do you some good."

"I just want to go back to the Lord," I said. "I'm sorry."

"Bobby, you never left the Lord," Mom said.

"That's fine, Bobby," Wayne said. "There's always forgiveness when we go astray."

"Yes sir. I want to go back to my church on Sunday. I want to rededicate."

Mom just smiled over the car seat at me. I knew that would please her. I meant it, though.

"You don't have to wait," Wayne said. "You can rededicate right here."

"Here?" I said.

"Sure. I can lead you. Let's stop somewhere and rededicate in the middle of God's handiwork. It'll be good for all of us. As a family."

Mom agreed and I was caught up in the good spirits that were filling the minivan. Forgiveness from Wayne and Mom was surely a sign of forgiveness from the Lord.

In a few minutes, Wayne's headlights reflected off a large sign.

"There's a historic site ahead," he said. "That'll be a good spot to stop and pray."

We reached the site's turnoff and followed a gravel road for what turned out to be a longer distance than we expected. We finally reached a parking area and pulled in. Whatever the site was, it was closed off for the night behind a fence. There was a big sign, but we didn't read it. We had other business.

We were the only car in the lot that late at night. We stopped and Wayne opened his door.

"We getting out?" Mom said. "There might be wild animals out there."

"Nothing that will hurt us," Wayne said. "The Lord will protect us. Let's go."

We got out and Mom and I followed Wayne to a grassy spot beneath some trees and the gibbous moon.

"This is good," Wayne said. "Let's kneel."

We sank to our knees on the grass. The dew soaked my pants, but I didn't care. We joined hands and Wayne led us in prayer.

"Lord, we just want to thank you for bringing us safe this far on our journey and for taking care of Bobby during the summer. Lord, we know he strayed into some false teachings, but he's touched us with the depth of his sorrow and we want to claim for him the forgiveness he already has, bought for him by the blood of your son, Jesus Christ."

He paused. It was my turn.

"Lord," I said. "I'm sorry I followed a false way this summer. I just want to ask for, to claim, your forgiveness for all my sins. Help me to stay on the true way, guided by your light."

"Lord," Mom said. "Thank you for Bobby and for taking care of him. Please provide him with what he needs as he grows into a man."

Wayne finished it.

"Father, once again, we just want to praise you, and thank you for your guidance and blessings and forgiveness. We ask you to bless all of us and especially Bobby at this time, as we gather, safe in your arms in this darkness, surrounded by your handiwork. In the name of your blessed son, Jesus Christ, we thank you. Amen."

"Amen," Mom said.

We stood. Wayne looked up into the star-filled night and took a deep breath.

"Great, ain't it, guys? Feel better, Bobby?"

"Yeah, I sure do," I said. "Thanks Wayne."

Wayne patted my shoulder and Mom hugged me. We started back to the car. As we crossed the lawn to the parking lot and back to the van, I was struck with familiarity. It was like I had been in that place before. As I opened my door, I looked up at a huge, dark hulk that rose over the trees and against the night sky. Then it hit me.

We had been praying beneath Emerald Mound.

Chapter 25: Rededication

Mom and Wayne didn't talk much about my time at Kiernan House after we got back. Just stray mentions, like when Mom cooked one of Aunt Camille's recipes or Wayne found a Bible verse he thought supported his views over what he thought were Uncle Tyler's. I wasn't so sure I knew anymore.

I just wanted to be close to the Lord again and feel like I was saved, but it was hard to get that feeling back carrying the double guilt of having embraced a pagan religion and having helped Anthony Benton steal.

I cleaned my camera and mulled over my situation. I was sitting in a lawn chair in my back yard with Elton lying at my feet. It was the last Saturday before I started my Sophomore year at High School. Come Monday, summer vacation would be behind me and all the problems I had left behind in the spring would be back.

The back door opened. Elton jumped up and ran towards it.

"Bobby, Ravi's here," Mom called.

I turned to see my only real school friend crossing the lawn.

"Hey, Bobby," Ravi said, pushing the jumping, licking, Elton off him. "So how was your summer in Natchez?"

"Berea, actually," I said. "It was good. I learned to swim and ride a horse."

"Neat," Ravi said. He took a seat in the lawn chair beside me. "Your aunt and uncle must have a big place."

"Yeah. It's a hundred-year-old mansion."

"Wow. See any ghosts?"

He wasn't serious, but it was hard for me to be anything else.

"No. Not really," I said. "Some spooky sounds, but they were just the old house creaking. There was a story about ghosts around an Indian mound on the property, but, I didn't see anything."

And maybe I didn't. I had fallen asleep on the mound and probably just dreamed about blue ghosts.

"What's an Indian mound?"

"A big pile of dirt the Indians put buildings on and buried their dead in."

"Yeah? See any?"

"A couple. I took pictures."

Ravi scratched Elton's head. Elton let his wide tongue hang out and slobbered on the grass.

"I met your aunt when she was here," Ravi said. "Your mom brought her into my folk's store. She's nice. What's your uncle like?"

"He's...unusual. People think he's a little weird. I think he was hurt in Vietnam or something."

"Oh. Well, you didn't miss much here," Ravi said. "I went on the youth trip to Gulf Shores."

"That fun?"

"It was OK. The usual. You know when the bus comes Monday?"

"About six, I guess," I said. "You going to ride this year?"

"Yeah. I don't even have my permit yet."

"Me neither."

Elton left Ravi and came to me. He nudged his cold nose into my arm, wanting me to take over the head-scratching. He was slobbering too close to my zoom lens and I moved it away.

"Stop it, Elton. Go lie down."

"You gonna take pictures for the paper again?" Ravi said.

Elton obeyed and found a spot of sunlight to lie in.

"I guess. I think Mrs. Walker expects me to."

"You should. You're good at it. I'm gonna work on the paper staff this year. I already spoke to Mrs. Walker. She wants me to do a movie review for the first issue."

"Yeah? What movie you gonna review?"

"Braveheart. I'm gonna see it tonight. Want to come?"

"Yeah, I guess," I said. "Your folks taking you?"

"Yeah."

"You hear about Tony Benton?" Ravi asked.

I dropped the zoom lens into its case. I hadn't heard anything about Anthony Benton since my Mom had passed along his summer greeting to me. Ravi was just another victim to him, so this had to be some general news and not about me.

"No. What?"

"He was arrested for having pot. I hear he punched a cop too."

"Really?"

"Yeah. They took him to Juvenile."

I felt a surge of hope, like I had been delivered.

"He still in jail?"

"No. They let him go. Just has a fine to pay. Or his mother does. He'll be in school, I guess."

My hope burst and I let down my guard.

"I wish he wouldn't," I said. It was almost a confession. Anthony would be back in school with his gang, and I'd be right back where I left off. Ravi must have read my body language. He was perceptive.

"He picked on you a lot, didn't he?"

"My biggest bully."

"Maybe you won't have him in any classes."

"I took kung fu classes in Natchez."

"Oh yeah?"

"My uncle teaches it."

I was grasping for hope that I had learned something that would save me. Kung fu, of course. A martial art. That was the most obvious and should do it. But I knew I hadn't learned enough. I was awful at sparring and I couldn't remember anything about Ming lu.

What was Wayne's answer? Or Mr. Bruiner's? Pray and fight? I couldn't do either.

"You look like you've put on some weight. Think you can beat up Tony Benton?"

"No. I didn't learn that much."

"That's too bad," Ravi said. "I'd like to see Benton get his. Especially from one of his victims."

"Yeah," I said. "I would too."

Ravi hung around for a while. We talked about school and movies and video games. He didn't have the problems I did. He was picked on, but not like me.

Ravi left after a while and I had supper. He came back later with his parents and I went to see Braveheart with them. For three hours I forgot about my problems and imagined a life of swords and horses and no school. I wanted to be bold and face down Anthony Benton like William Wallace would have. I needed to be a trained warrior to do that. A martial arts beginner just wouldn't cut it.

*

At church the next day, I looked for a sign. I needed a sign. I prayed for a sign. Surely, I would find one in the worship service. That was the time for God to speak to his people. I was still one of his people and that's how He worked.

School started tomorrow. I would be meeting with Mrs. Walker and the paper staff. I would probably see Anthony Benton, too. What would I do when he told me to steal the new key? He would beat me up if I refused and I hadn't learned enough over the summer to fight him.

Mom was beside me in the pew, talking low with Mrs. Kelly, adding to the general buzz in the sanctuary as people waited for the service to begin. I imagined Erin was sitting in a pew at St. Mark's about then.

"Morning everyone," Wayne said from the pulpit. He opened his hymnal and waved an arm for the choir behind him to stand.

"Turn in your hymnals to hymn number 276, 'Jesus Saves.' Let's stand."

He raised his arms to underscore his words. The organist began and the congregation began an off-key affirmation of their basic belief that Jesus saves us from sin. I needed him to save me from my situation.

After the singing, Brother Greene took the pulpit and made his announcements: Brother Evans would be organizing the baseball team next Saturday, the WMU would meet at Mrs. Barton's house on Tuesday, the daycare would be open on Tuesday and Thursday mornings for Mom's Morning Break.

After more singing, Brother Greene took the pulpit again. The sanctuary got quiet, and I thought of Brother Birch in Natchez and the way he commanded everyone's attention until not even a baby cried. There wasn't that energy with Brother Greene. Scattered coughs resounded until he began his message in soft, business-like tones.

"This morning's message will be from Exodus chapter seven, verses ten through thirteen."

Thin Bible pages rustled around me as people found the text for themselves. They followed as Brother Greene read the passage. It was where Moses was confronting Pharaoh's magicians and his shepherd's rod turned into a snake.

"'And Moses and Aaron went in unto Pharaoh....'"

I didn't open my Bible. I knew the story. I listened for a word of hope, sitting in a pew that was hard under my butt in spite of the green cushion.

"'...and Aaron cast down his rod....'"

I pushed my back against the hard wood of the pew and stretched my feet beneath the one in front. I felt myself sitting there and saw myself staring at Brother Greene as my glasses weighed on my nose. I missed my contacts.

"'Then Pharaoh also called the wise men and the sorcerers....'"

I remembered Uncle Tyler sitting in the Lotus position at the front of dao chang, meditating.

"'...now the magicians of Egypt....'"

In my mind, I saw him in downtown Natchez, standing on the sidewalk in front of the Natchez Coffee Company, with his shirt open, the tails blowing in the wind.

"'...they also did in like manner with their enchantments....'"

I remembered him tossing Mr. Provine into the bed of the pickup.

"'...but Aaron's rod swallowed up their rods....'"

Mr. Bruiner had pushed Uncle Tyler away from CB at the church.

"Now turn to chapter eight, verse nineteen," Brother Greene said. "'Then the magicians said unto Pharaoh, This is the finger of God.'"

Uncle Tyler had refused to fight Mr. Bruiner. There was a message there. Brother Greene began his sermon where Moses was returning from exile and confronting Pharaoh.

I had returned. Kiernan House was a kind of exile for me. Now I had to face my Pharaoh, Anthony Benton. Or maybe Mrs. Walker and Mr. Westin. They were the authorities, but they weren't evil. Maybe the analogy didn't go that far. It was just the idea of confrontation. I would have to confess to them or confront Anthony. Or both.

"Now Pharaoh had his magicians," Brother Greene said, "and they were able to turn their rods into serpents. Their magic was real. Satan is real and he can do signs and wonders, too."

Yes. Ming lu had sounded good and I had thought kung fu was my way to resist Anthony Benton, but I never won in sparring. I surely couldn't stand up to Anthony.

"But their magic was beaten by the Lord's magic. The serpent that materialized from Aaron's rod, swallowed up those of the magicians. And so it always is. And eventually, God always prevails. You see, Satan's power is a weak imitation of God's. It looks strong only until it is brought up against the real power of the Living God."

Mr. Bruiner had pushed Uncle Tyler away from CB.

"When Aaron smote the dust of the earth and it became lice, the magicians tried to do the same. But they couldn't, and they confessed before Pharaoh that the signs and wonders performed by Moses and Aaron were the very finger of God."

Magic against magic. That's what I had encountered in Natchez. Moses against the magicians, and I had sided with the magicians. That was the guilt I felt. I became more convinced of this as Brother Greene continued. I was sorry. I asked God to forgive me.

"Whose side are you on?" Brother Greene said. "Are you with the magicians and their imitation of power? Or are you with the Lord, where real power lies? You can be on the Lord's side today."

Brother Greene stepped down from the pulpit and spread his arms in invitation. Wayne took his place in the pulpit and started the choir singing, 'Jesus is Tenderly Calling.'"

"Accept Jesus into your heart. He's calling."

I felt a tear. I was convicted. I was saved, but I needed help. I needed the Lord's help. With a surge of effort, I stepped away from Mom and into the aisle. My knees were weak, and I hung my head, but I walked down the sloping aisle between pews toward the front. I felt Mom's eyes on my back and I knew Wayne was watching from the pulpit.

Brother Greene clasped my hands when I reached him. He leaned down to hear what I had to say. He wouldn't understand, but it didn't matter. I was talking to God.

"I just want to ask God to forgive me for my doubts and my lack of faith," I said.

I couldn't talk about Ming Lu or kung fu or Uncle Tyler. I had to keep it general.

"I want to rededicate my life to the Lord and follow his real power. And I pray...."

I wanted to say, 'for His help,' but I thought that might raise the question: 'help for what?'

"...that I can."

Brother Greene just patted my hands.

"God Bless you, Bobby."

I was dismissed. I was glad. It wasn't so bad. I had rededicated. I just needed to have faith now, that God would help me in school.

I walked back to my place and Mom squeezed my shoulder.

I felt her smile, but I couldn't look at her.

Chapter 26: School Again, Threats Again

The first day of any school year was always easy. Everyone knew that. It would just be a day of getting books, filling out class information, and listening to the teachers talk about what we would do over the coming year. No real work involved and no homework.

And that was pretty much how it went. I watched for Anthony Benton, but never saw him. At Study Hall, the paper staff met with Mrs. Walker in the Library. Ravi was there, and Jennifer Langston and Mona Beal. We were all sitting around a table with our stacks of books in front of us when Mrs. Walker came in.

"Morning everyone," she said. "I hope you all had a nice summer." She put a stack of papers and books on the table.

"We have a lot to do this year and we'll start with our first issue of the Eyrie. We'll need a 'Welcome Back' piece and announcements of new staff and changes in the school. Ravi, we'll need a movie review. You have one in mind?"

"I saw Braveheart this weekend," Ravi said.

"Oh, I saw that one too. It's good. Mona, get the football schedule from Coach O'Hara and find out when he expects to have his team roster. Bobby, it wouldn't hurt to take pictures at their practices."

"OK," I said.

"We have a new camera," she said. "I think Mr. Autry donated it with some equipment."

"Great," I said. I was relieved. My prayer was answered.

"I'll let you see it during Study Hall tomorrow. We're keeping the door to the storage room locked and I'm the only one who'll be opening it this year."

"Yes ma'am."

This was good. I wouldn't be able to get the key for Anthony. If he wanted to steal the new camera, he'd have to break in.

"Jennifer, we'll have to get started on the paper layouts. We'll do that during Study Hall tomorrow."

Mrs. Walker opened the wings on her ladybug watch.

"Let's see, we still have time. Bobby, you want to see the new camera now?"

"Sure," I said.

She went to her desk and took a key from the middle drawer. It was apparently the new key but it was on the same keychain with the red leather tag. I followed her to the storage room and she opened the door.

"We couldn't replace the enlarger she said. We'll have to get Nolan's Camera to do blowups for us."

She opened a cabinet.

"That's it," she said.

I took the leather case from the cabinet. It was a nice one with spacious pockets around the sides and a long shoulder strap. It was better than the one Anthony took. So was the camera. It was a Nikon FM2/T with a 200 millimeter zoom lens. It was expensive.

"Like it?"

"Yeah, it's great."

"You can check it out for the rest of Study Hall. You'll be using it a lot this year. Let's try not to lose it."

"Yes ma'am."

"And please let me know if you notice anything missing, OK?"

"I will," I said. "I promise."

"I know you will."

The sound of laughter was getting louder from outside.

"I better get out there. I guess they don't have enough homework yet, to keep them busy."

She handed me the key.

"Lock up when you finish and bring me the key."

"OK, but--"

She walked out, leaving me with the camera and the key. I couldn't believe it. I thought she was going to do all the unlocking and locking. I looked at the key. It was shiny new.

Maybe this was a test of my faith. Anthony didn't have to know I could still get the key. Besides, I hadn't even seen him. Maybe he was in jail again.

I spent the next fifteen minutes looking at the camera. When it was time to go, I put it back in the cabinet and left, locking the door behind me. The bell rang as I approached Mrs. Walker and handed her the key. Last year, she would have just told me to put it in her desk drawer. So this was her version of tighter security.

Mrs. Walker smiled as she took the key and returned to sorting books on a shelf and paying no attention to me.

*

Anthony Benton was in my American History class and in my Science class. At least I wasn't sitting close to him in either and he probably wouldn't show up most of the time anyway. I thanked God that he wasn't in my Study Hall, where he would more likely see I had access to the key and pressure me for it.

As it was, he ignored me until Friday.

I was walking to the bus, passing between the portable buildings when Zach Butler stepped into the ally in front of me. They loved this trick. I knew what I would see when I looked back. Anthony had Mike Leach with him.

"Hey Bobby," Anthony said. "I just wanna talk to you, man."

Leach and Butler both snickered.

"I'm not getting the new key for you," I said. I prayed for strength.

"Did I ask for the key?" Anthony said.

They hemmed me in against the building.

"But there is a new one, right?" Anthony said. "And I hear they got a new camera. A really good one."

"They changed the lock on the storage room," I said. "Mrs. Walker has the key and she won't give it to me. She unlocks the door for me."

"I bet you can get it," he said. "You only need to get it for a little while anyway. Like last year, get it to me before lunch and I'll get a copy made and bring the key back to you."

"No," I said.

He grabbed me by the throat and pushed me against the wall. Butler and Leach each grabbed an arm. I was pinned. I never learned how to break this kind of hold.

"You do it," Anthony said. "Get me the key. I'll see you before lunch every day until you get it. You don't get it for me by next Friday, I'll hurt you."

"I can't."

He stepped away and looked around while his buddies held me. Then suddenly, faster than I could think, he punched me hard in the stomach. Every bit of breath left me and I crumpled to the ground as Leach and Butler let go.

I lay there in the grass, trying to breathe.

"You better do it," Anthony said. He grabbed me by the hair and lifted my head.

"You understand? You gonna do it?"

"OK," I said in a choked, whisper.

"I can't hear you," Anthony said. "Take a breath."

I finally sucked in enough wind.

"OK," I said in a more normal voice.

"That's better. I'll see you Monday before lunch. Every day until you get it. Best go ahead and do it, so I won't have to bother you no more."

He stood and walked off with his friends. Their laughter was the worse humiliation.

I gathered my books and glasses. It was all the same. Nothing had changed. Nobody would help me. The same trap. I couldn't tell anybody without confessing to my own crime and having to explain to Mom and Wayne. There'd be all their disappointment and getting kicked out of school too.

God was punishing me.

Chapter 27: Talk

I couldn't finish my meat loaf and string beans at supper. I was back to my old self in my eating habits, too. In Natchez, I had begun to eat enough to gain some weight. I wished I had gained a lot more. Maybe then it wouldn't be so easy for Anthony Benton to beat me up. He could, though, and he would--every day until I got the key for him.

"Camille called today," Mom said. "She said she and Tyler are coming up tomorrow for her book-signing at El Camino."

"That's tomorrow?" Wayne said.

"Yes. They'll get in around noon. You and Bobby will be at the church, but I'll meet them at the bookstore and help them set up. It starts at two o'clock. You and Bobby come by as soon as you can after that."

"OK."

I could see Wayne wasn't enthused about it. I wasn't either. I might have been, but I didn't know if Uncle Tyler was mad at me. He was surely mad at Wayne, since they had parted with harsh words.

"Not hungry, Sweetie?" Mom said.

"No. I got homework to do. I'm just going to my room."

"Get it all done," Wayne said between bites. "I want to check it later."

"OK."

I didn't really have homework, just some suggested reading for English class--an excerpt from Moby Dick. I tried to read it, but kept thinking about Anthony Benton. I couldn't get the key for him, and I couldn't not get the key for him. I couldn't confess my crime and I couldn't ask for help.

There was Wayne. I had told him about my bully problem and he seemed willing to help. He just didn't want me following Uncle Tyler's ways. Maybe I could say something to him again. Maybe the Lord would lead and I could tell him everything.

I had to try. I couldn't go on like this.

I left my room. Mom was still cleaning up in the kitchen and Wayne was in the den. He was going over church music, trying to find a suitable Christmas cantata. He was so absorbed in his work that he didn't notice me.

I sat on the sofa and fiddled with the TV remote, but I didn't turn on the TV. I was trying to find a way to break the ice. I had to get his attention; just jump into it.

"Wayne?"

No reaction.

"Wayne?" I said, louder.

He turned toward me.

"Oh, hey Bobby. What's up?"

"Wayne, you remember, in Natchez, what I told you about my problem with bullies?"

"Yeah."

"That's why I took the lessons from Tyler."

"You still having problems?" Wayne asked.

I couldn't say, 'yes.' Talking about Anthony Benton was just too close to talking about my crime. I couldn't risk that.

"I'm afraid I will. It always happens."

"Well, you tell a teacher if it happens again. Tell Mom and me too. We'll do something."

"Yes sir. But that could be after I'm beat up. Or humiliated."

Wayne finally looked up at me.

"Bobby, you remember what I told you about turning the other cheek? That means to be slow to anger and not start a fight. But if a bully keeps coming, you have to defend yourself. You finish the fight. You might get in trouble, but you'll have your self-respect and the bullies will leave you alone, I promise."

"Yes sir. That's why I wanted to learn, ah, in Natchez."

This wasn't going right.

"You just went to the wrong teacher," Wayne said. "Look, we'll sign you up for that karate class at the Y that Lou Roberts teaches. That'll build your self-confidence without the false teachings."

"Yes sir. That'll be good."

Wayne went back to his music. It was settled for him.

I stayed in my seat. I knew I needed more. Just fighting wouldn't be enough. Anthony Benton could fight. I remembered Uncle Tyler's words about knowing what your bully doesn't know. And Uncle Tyler had told CB's Dad that he wouldn't fight him. He had said that to Mr. Bruiner, too. But he did fight, didn't he?

"Wayne?"

"Yeah?" He kept thumbing through his music.

"Is it wrong to fight? I mean, the bullies love to, and even Uncle Tyler refused--"

"Look, Bobby," Wayne said. He let the music drop into his lap. "Bullies only seem to want to fight. They're really cowards. That's why you have to stand up to them. Forget about Tyler. His way is so messed up, you'll never make sense of it."

"But is it Christian?" I was trying to get something from him and this was as honest as I could get. "To fight, I mean."

"It might be. If the Lord is leading and we're in His will to begin with. It is right to fight evil. That's what the wars in conquest of Canaan were about in the Old Testament. The Israelites were following God's command to wipe out the pagan nations and take their lands. The world will tell you they were evil to do that, but they were driving out evil under the Lord's leadership. That's Holy fighting. That's the kind that's Christian."

"But how do I know?"

"God will tell you. Look, I see you're upset. Let's pray."

He put his hand on my shoulder and bowed his head. He obviously didn't expect a reply. He wouldn't be open to one, anyway.

"Lord," Wayne said, "we come to you asking for help for Bobby. Lord, he's worried about the bullies and their evil that have beset him so much at school. Please lift this burden from him and let him know that you're with him and have given your angels charge over him. Lord, we just claim your promise of protection and pray you'll make it real for Bobby as he faces the onslaught of the enemy. For this we ask in the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen."

He slapped me on the shoulder and picked up his sheet music.

"Just have faith, Bobby," he said. "The Lord will be with you. You just have to believe it and claim it."

"OK," I said. "Thanks, Wayne. I'm just going to my room now."

"All right, man. Good night."

I went back to my room and lay on my bed. I still couldn't get into Moby Dick. I didn't feel any better. Wayne's perfunctory prayer was for himself. It was the discharge of his duty. I resented that about Wayne. Still, I hadn't completely leveled with him, but it wouldn't have mattered if I had.

I still had to face Anthony Benton on Monday.

Chapter 28: Signing at the El Camino Bookstore

I had always thought of the El Camino bookstore as being for rich people who bought old classic books by Shakespeare and other dead writers. I liked action stories or horror stories, though I hadn't read anything outside of school in a long time. I thought Aunt Camille must be a really good writer to have her book sold there.

Wayne drove us up the hill from the Interstate ramp to the parking lot around Banner Plaza. It was a tall building that looked even taller from its perch overlooking I-55. There were a lot of windows, especially in the tall, central part. A big replica of an open book hung there overwritten with El Camino Books in neon. Another side of the plaza complex was lower and extended into the parking lot. A glowing sign over a set of double doors in this section read, Broadway Cafe.

I opened the van door and stepped onto the gritty, slick asphalt. Smells of something cooking at the cafe overpowered that of the recent rain and reminded me that my bowl of chili had been a meager lunch. Mom had come out here early to help Aunt Camille set up for the book-signing, so I had to settle for Wayne's attempt at preparing lunch.

I heard a "dang--" from the driver's side of the minivan and looked back to see Wayne shaking water from the foot he had just dipped into the puddle he had parked beside. He stepped over it to keep the other foot dry and caught up with me.

"At least the rain cooled things down," he said.

He passed me and I followed him up the parking lot. It was full and a lot of people were milling around the plaza. I noticed the tables in the Broadway Cafe looked full as well.

"Looks busy," I said. "I never been here."

"I haven't been here in a while," Wayne said. "I'm not impressed with Broadway and Camino doesn't have much of a Christian section. Figures it'd be where Tyler hangs out."

We bypassed the double-doors to the cafe and went in through the plaza's main entrance. We stepped into an atrium surrounded with glass that reached three levels above us. A spiral staircase filled the center and led to the upper levels. They were open to the atrium and people were moving along the railings.

"They'll be on the second level," Wayne said.

I followed him up the staircase. A complete circuit of it brought us to the second level and onto a landing that led to the El Camino. There were metal tables and chairs spread around the open space between the bookstore and the stairs. They were all filled with people reading, talking, and eating. The bookstore's door was open and people were passing in and out.

"Looks like the bookstore's busy too," Wayne said. "I guess that's good for Camille."

We entered the store behind a couple of old ladies who stopped in front of an easel that held a large sign that read, BOOK SIGNING TODAY--CAMILLE PEARSON. Beside the sign was a stack of Aunt Camille's cookbooks. One was set upright and leaning against the stack to display the cover. It was a picture of the bed-and-breakfast overwritten in a fancy script with, KIERNAN HOUSE CUISINE: RECIPES OF THE OLD SOUTH FOR MODERN TASTES.

A long line of people ended just in front of the display. Most of them were holding Aunt Camille's book.

"Should we get one?" I asked.

"Yeah, go ahead," Wayne said.

I reached past the old ladies and picked a copy from the stack. Wayne took it from me and turned it over to a picture of Aunt Camille that filled half the back cover.

"Thirty-five dollars," he said. "Guess I'll have to buy one to be polite. Hope I get a relative's discount."

The line wound through the store past shelves full of books arranged in the usual sections--Mystery, Young Adult, History, Political, Classics. Small tables were placed among the shelves and people sat at them in comfortable chairs, flipping through books and drinking coffee. Some were typing at notebook computers. The subdued lighting, earth colors, thick carpet and book smells made it all seem more like a library, except for the checkout in the center of the store. That was a circular counter where employees attended cash registers and took money for the books.

Past the checkout counter was an elevated section at the back of the store. The line lead to there and I assumed it was where Aunt Camille was with Uncle Tyler and Mom.

We inched along with the line. I could hear voices and laughter coming from the signing table, punctuated with flashes from a camera. People stepped down from the signing area to the counter where they paid for their signed books.

"See anybody you know?" I asked.

"No," Wayne said. "Didn't expect to."

We reached the foot of the three steps onto the signing area, which was also surrounded by a railing and filled bookshelves. An aroma of the spiced coffee Aunt Camille used to make at Kiernan House reached me.

"They got spiced coffee up there," I said. "It's really good."

"Good publicity, no doubt," Wayne said.

When I reached the top of the steps, I finally got a look at the signing table. It was round and covered with a green cloth. It was piled with cookbooks and Kiernan House brochures. A pot of the spiced coffee was at one end of the table with a plate of the Dolly Madison brownies I loved so much.

Aunt Camille was writing in one of her books while an older man looked on. I supposed he was a buyer. Mom was sitting next to Aunt Camille and Uncle Tyler was beside her. It felt strange, seeing them again. It was like they were just the visiting relatives I had known before and my summer with them had never happened.

I watched them work through a couple of more customers and it seemed Uncle Tyler's job was to take the books from the people that brought them and open them to the front pages were Aunt Camille was signing them. If a person didn't have a book, Uncle Tyler would get one for them from the table's stack. The person buying the book would then sit by Aunt Camille while she signed and a lady at the other side of the signing area would snap a picture.

The photographer was using a 35mm camera with a big flash attachment, mounted on a tripod. It was a Nikon camera, similar to the one Anthony took. I felt a hollowness in my stomach at that thought.

When Wayne and I were finally close to the table, Mom waved at us. Aunt Camille looked up too and smiled her big smile. Uncle Tyler's recognition was a tight-lipped smile and head-nod. That was major for him. I could see he also had his shirt buttoned and tucked in. That was also a major concession to decorum for him.

Wayne was in front of me when we reached the table and he extended his hand to Uncle Tyler.

"Tyler," he said. "Looks like you got a good turnout."

"Yeah, it's a bit surprising," Uncle Tyler said, "but nice. Gayle did a great job setting up the signing. Hope she takes good pictures too."

I looked at the woman taking the pictures. She was an older lady with short, black hair and glasses. I thought she must be Aunt Camille's agent. She flashed a picture while I was looking and it blinded me. I would have used a slow film so as to not need a flash. It would likely work in this lighting.

"Hi Robert," Uncle Tyler said. "Good to see you again."

He spoke to me like my uncle and not like my shifu.

"Hi Uncle Tyler."

"Wayne, you guys could have bypassed the line," Mom said.

"Well, I didn't know how this worked," Wayne said.

Uncle Tyler opened a book and shoved it toward Aunt Camille.

"No rules," he said. "Just let Camille sign a copy for you for posterity."

"Bobby, you sit by Wayne while Camille signs," Mom said. "I want us all in the picture."

Wayne took the customer's seat beside Aunt Camille and Mom squeezed closer from the opposite side. The camera flashed as Aunt Camille signed.

"Thank you guys for coming," Aunt Camille said as she wrote. "Rob, Erin says, 'Hi.' She wanted to come but had some kind of school project to work on."

"OK," I said. "Tell her 'Hi.'"

Aunt Camille finished and handed the book to Wayne.

"Thanks," Wayne said. He pointed to the check-out counter. "I pay down there?"

"No, don't be silly," Aunt Camille said. "You're not paying for that."

"No, let me give you something."

"You can take over for me," Uncle Tyler said, standing. "I need a break."

Mom slapped Uncle Tyler on the arm.

"Sure Tyler," she said. "You just wore yourself out pushing those books down the table."

"OK," Wayne said. "Tell me what to do."

"Carol will coach you," Uncle Tyler said as he stepped from behind the signing table. "I need some coffee too. Want some Rob?"

"Have a Dolly Madison too, Honey," Aunt Camille said.

"OK," I said. I scooped up one of the gooey brownies on a napkin while Uncle Tyler poured coffee for us. I waited for him, uncertain as to where I was supposed to eat. The only table in the signing area was covered with books and snacks.

Uncle Tyler handed me my cup. Now I had both hands full and no place to set anything. Then Uncle Tyler decided for me.

"Come on," he said. I followed him off the platform, past the check-out counter and out into the store. He found an empty table in the New Age section and sat. I took the chair opposite him, glad to be able to put down my coffee and snacks.

Uncle Tyler didn't say anything else, he just sipped his coffee. I did the same and bit into a Dolly Madison. It was as good as I remembered. I threw some furtive glances towards Uncle Tyler as I ate. I wasn't sure that he wasn't angry with me for the way I had left his house. Though he was being cordial, I could feel the tension and I didn't know what to say. Finally, he broke the ice.

"Rob. It's good to see you again," he said. "Camille talked to your mom and she said you were OK, but you were pretty down when you left us. I felt like I needed to speak to you. I'm glad this book-signing gave me the chance."

"It's OK, Uncle Tyler. I'm all right."

"Yeah, well, good. I know you've started school."

I took a bite of my brownie. It became hard to eat suddenly, but I was determined to appear normal.

"Yes, sir," I said around my mouthful.

"Is everything all right there?"

I felt a well of emotion and held back tears. I wanted to talk to somebody. I tried to talk to Wayne, but it was obvious I couldn't. I wanted to tell Uncle Tyler what was going on, but I still couldn't make the confession. I sipped some coffee to keep from choking on the Dolly Madison.

"You said you had bully problems last year. How's it this year?"

"Well, the same. Uncle Tyler, how can...I mean, I've got problems. I don't know how to handle them."

I was nearly whispering.

"After I talked to Wayne at your party," I said, "I felt like I had forsaken...my faith. I am a Christian."

"I know," Uncle Tyler said. "Rob, you can be a Christian and learn kung fu. Even follow Ming Lu. Look at Erin. Son, I didn't mean to make you think you had to abandon your faith."

"I know you didn't," I said. "But the thing is, I was abandoning it. Now I've come back, but it's not helping. Or I don't have the faith. How do I know what to believe? Which way to follow?"

That was the best I could say it. I didn't know if he would think I was just crazy. It was just that there was no one else. I was desperate, like I had never been before or since.

"Rob, if there's one thing I understand, it's losing faith."

He sipped his own coffee and looked past me for a long minute. I thought he was finished and I wondered if I should finish my brownie but then he continued.

"After I had committed...my crime, the one in Vietnam I told you about. I lost all faith. In my country, in people. Even in God. It took me a while to find it again."

"When you met Fu Wei?"

"Yes, but it was a process even after that. Fu Wei showed me that. He said it doesn't have to be an either-or proposition. I could have continued to be Catholic. You can still be Methodist or Baptist. In fact, you can find the Wise Path within any of those groups. It just takes a sincere desire to want to grow spiritually. To really want to find a better way and reach higher spiritual levels. Or to find God. It's the same thing."

"But how do you know?"

A skinny woman with curly, bright orange hair and glasses walked by our table, scanning the books. I didn't want to be overheard, but I didn't want to stop. I bent closer to Uncle Tyler and continued in a loud whisper.

"How do you know you've found the right way and it's not denying God?"

"Like you know anything," Uncle Tyler said, bending closer. "By your own experience. By the evidence of your own eyes. I wasn't long with Fu Wei before I suspected he was a very highly developed being. After a while, I even suspected he wasn't human. He seemed to know everything about everything. I regained my humanity in my time with him, until I felt I could return to human society. And I tried, but I found I wasn't ready. I always ended up running off to a desolate place, where I would meet Fu Wei and he would encourage me to try again."

The woman found a book and left us. I was relieved to not have to whisper.

"So what happened to make you come back to America?"

"It was when I was facing Fu Wei with my doubts. I was at an uncertain point, like you are now. I loathed myself and I didn't know what to believe. But I'll never forget when I confessed all that to Fu Wei. We were in the Borneo jungle. Just him and me. We had hiked a very long way and I was exhausted. I couldn't go any further, so I just sat on a tree root and refused to move. He seemed as fresh as ever, leaning on a tree and looking down at me.

"I was angry with him. I told him I didn't know why he was taking me on this long, pointless trip through the jungle. He didn't say anything. I let go all my frustrations on him, blaming him for giving me the false hope that I could find peace. He still said nothing and after a while, I looked up to see if he was still there.

"He was. Just looking at me. Finally, he smiled his strange, inscrutable, smile. And he said, 'Be careful what you water your dreams with. Keep this.'

"And then he disappeared. Vanished into thin air as I watched."

"Vanished?" I said. "You mean, like a ghost?"

"Like a ghost. He may have been a ghost for all I know. I've thought many times that I dreamed it. But then I remember that right after he vanished, a sharp pain hit me in the ankle and I pulled up my pants leg and saw a leech stuck in me. That was my validation that it wasn't a dream. It was Fu Wei's, or somebody's, way of pinching me to prove I was awake."

"So you didn't doubt after that?"

"After that, I knew my experiences were real and I believed what Fu Wei had taught me. Actually, I came to that realization during my time in the army hospital when Camille was caring for me. I spent the time pouring over some ancient texts I had. What Fu Wei had said to me was a quote from Lao Tzu. The rest of the quote is, 'Water them with worry and fear and you will produce weeds that choke the life from your dream.' After all my venting on him, that was his way of telling me I was only hurting myself. Life is a dream, and I should spend it quietly on the wise path.

"When I understood that, I returned to civilization with Camille and a mission. I had to help anyone I came across who was looking for a better way. Anyone who had been let down by the usual ways. Right now, that's you."

"Oh," I said. I really didn't know what else to say or to think. "Thanks."

"For what?" he said.

"I'm not really sure."

I wasn't, but there was something. Some emotion that swelled my chest and I didn't know where it came from or exactly what it was, but it was there as surely as Uncle Tyler was in front of me.

"Look inside, Robert. Remember yourself and just let it be."

I did as he said and fell easily into self-remembering. The good feeling intensified.

"That's it," Uncle Tyler said. "Now, what do you feel?"

"Hope," I said.

Uncle Tyler smiled.

"That's good water for dreams," he said.

Chapter 29: The Watered Dream

Saturday night was good. After my talk with Uncle Tyler, I felt like everything would be all right, though I didn't know why that should be. Nothing was really resolved, but the feeling was there and I embraced it. I returned with Uncle Tyler to the signing and sat at the table with Mom and Aunt Camille. I even helped pass the cookbooks down the table to Aunt Camille and suggested to Mrs. Fisher that she swap to a lower speed film and drop the flash. She didn't.

By the bookstore's closing time, the crowd for the signing had dwindled to just a few, leaving the adults talking among themselves in the signing area. They were in good spirits and felt like the signing had been a success, though Uncle Tyler said they wouldn't be rich from tonight's sales.

We all went out to eat Chinese afterwards. It was later than I was used to eating, but I was hungry and ate like I was in Natchez. Uncle Tyler and Aunt Camille stayed with us that night. It was strange, having them as guests in our house. They slept on the couches and everyone went to sleep soon after we got home. I slept better than I had in a while, though my hope was giving way to doubt. Some voice deep within was reminding me that nothing had changed and nothing could change unless I confessed it all. I only found rest by squashing that thought with a midnight video game until I passed out.

Uncle Tyler and Aunt Camille left early Sunday morning. They had far to go and were expecting guests. Uncle Tyler shook my hand in parting with a firmness that acknowledged a shared confidence. He left, bearing my share of the confidence that I knew was not of equal measure.

The day's church services tested yesterday's inspiration even more. Homilies that "Jesus paid it all," if we would only "believe on Him," pricked at my guilt and prompted me to confession. But the courage still wasn't there. My inspiration, as well as my faith, was lost in cowardice.

I lay in bed that night, anxious about the pressures I knew would come tomorrow to make me a criminal again. I had no sudden insights from the departure of my teacher. But Uncle Tyler had at least been honest with Fu Wei and confessed his anger. My confessions were limited.

Strips of bluish moonlight ran down my bed, filtered through the window blinds. I could just make out the tips of a few tree limbs waving outside my window in the breeze, adding movement to the light streaming in. I thought about the paltry bunch of trees in our back yard compared to the woods that surrounded Kiernan House. Those woods were thick enough to hide things, like deer, and bobcats, and Indian mounds.

The trees around here couldn't hide much.

I had thought it was all over, but it wasn't. Anthony Benton would make me steal that key to make his own stealing easier. I shouldn't have gone along with him the first time. I should have told on him and taken my beating. At least I wouldn't have been guilty of a crime.

Now, I was guilty either way. Even if they caught Anthony, he would tell about my part. If I told about his latest threats, my complicity in the first crime would come out and I'd be punished. Mom would be heartbroken. Wayne would really hate me.

Every option was bad.

My thoughts kept running this circle, keeping sleep away.

I prayed. I asked God to show me the way out of this. I prayed with a fervor I had not felt in a while. I closed my eyes and addressed God as my Heavenly Father, in the name of Jesus, pleading for direction and for a miracle. My anxiety sharpened the edges of my prayers and they shot to the ceiling where they stuck, glowing with desperation. When I opened my eyes, I would see them--stuck and fading.

There was no reply. No feeling of nearness, either of God listening or of angels carrying my supplications heavenward.

Nothing. I was alone. Even my teacher was gone.

I heard Mom and Wayne, talking in the living room. I couldn't make out their words, just tones. Mostly even and flat with an occasional laugh.

I thought about what Uncle Tyler had said in the bookstore. He believed in Ming Lu because he saw Fu Wei disappear in front of him. It would probably have convinced me too. Even so, it didn't help me now. My problem was still there. I wished it would vanish into thin air but it weighed like a sack of cement and I had to carry it around.

I had gone through the summer, through school, through church, without saying a word to anybody. Everyone thinking I was good when I wasn't. I was so desperate for an answer that I followed an Eastern religion looking for it. I tried to learn to fight, but I couldn't fight my way out of this. Even Heaven wasn't listening to me.

The clock hands glowed the night's advance. Mom and Wayne's voices had stopped around eleven. I reviewed my options, as I saw them, again and again. They all ended badly.

Somewhere around two, I passed out from exhaustion.

I dreamed fitful dreams. I dreamed of my parents and Mrs. Walker telling me I should be ashamed. Then I was in Mr. Bruiner's dojo and had to fight CB to prove kung fu was better than Karate for Christ. He blocked my every move and hit me with his every punch and kick.

Then I was in the middle of a gray night, surrounded by black woods. I was looking down on the trees, on top of a great mound. I thought it was Emerald Mound at first, but then realized it couldn't be. Emerald Mound was close to Natchez and I was in Berea. I had to meditate. That was why I was there. I had to do it before the sun rose or else something would happen. Something bad. Ghosts would get me.

I stared into the middle distance and began to count my breaths. I lost my count when a blue orb shot past me. I tried again. Another flew by. Then another. They filled the air around me like soap bubbles. I closed my eyes, but I could feel them, floating all around the mound and watching. It was as if I were balled up on the floor of the school gym with people filling the bleachers and staring at me.

I couldn't count my breath. I was scared, but I had to know what was there, so I opened my eyes.

Blue orbs were everywhere, floating and lighting the mound grass and the tree leaves. I knew they were spirits and as soon as I had formed that thought, the orbs formed into faces--conquistadors and Indians.

"You did bad things," I said to them. "Now you're ghosts."

The faces scowled, but kept floating around. Then I saw Anthony Benton's face as an orb. Then Mike Leach and Zach Butler. They were bad and now they were ghosts.

Then I saw Mr. Bruiner's face and CB's. But they were Christians. Why were they here?

Apparently Christians could be orbs because I saw Wayne's face too. Then Mom's. I wondered if I would become a ghost.

I looked for Mrs. Walker and Principal Westin. Surely they were there.

I was going to become an orb, I knew it. I didn't want to be trapped there.

"Robert. It's not real. You're imagining."

Uncle Tyler was standing beside me on the mound now. The wind was blowing his unbuttoned shirt out like a cape from around his black tee-shirt. He was wearing his glasses and looking at me. It was lighter now. The sun was rising. I could see his skin tones and the blue of his jeans.

"Uncle Tyler. I tried to fight CB. He beat me up. I'm sorry."

"You've got to take some hits, Robert. That's Ming Lu."

Yes. That seemed right to me.

"That's right. I understand, Uncle Tyler. Don't you mean kung fu?"

Then it got dark again and I lost sight of Uncle Tyler. I looked for him, but only saw blue orbs. Not even faces. But then one of them had a face and it floated to me. It was Uncle Tyler.

"Uncle Tyler. Are you a ghost?"

His blue face smiled and began to change. His glasses faded away and his face became oriental. He had no moustache but long, black hair covered his ears and completely framed his face. He was just this head with black hair and blue face, floating in front of me in the dark over the Indian mound.

But I wasn't scared anymore. All I felt was a sense of recognition.

"Are you...Fu Wei?"

The face didn't answer, but I heard a voice. It was loud and strong and, I swear, it woke me from my dream.

"Keep this!"

*

I sat up in bed, completely awake. Dawn poured through my window, warm and yellow, and I could still hear the voice. It rang in my head with such an overwhelming feeling of rightness. I don't know how else to describe it, but I remember that feeling to this day. I think about it, especially whenever I hear someone talking about their salvation experience.

I knew what I had to do. I knew it with a profound certainty.

I climbed out of bed and sat on the floor, right where the faint, breaking rays were falling on my rug. I sat on the edge of my beanbag chair, folded my legs into the Lotus position, stared into the middle distance, and concentrated on my breaths.

I meditated for a good fifteen minutes.

Chapter 30: Soul Confessions

I had to confess. There was no other way. That's the one thing that would break Anthony Benton's hold over me. I was still afraid. My parents would be disappointed and I would get in trouble at school and maybe expelled. But there was something else inside me along with the fear. Something I felt in the same way I felt my heart beating. It was a knowing that I would survive and reach the other side. Bad karma would only build if I didn't do it, and I had to start with my parents this morning.

I rose from the floor and went through my usual morning preparations. When I went downstairs, Mom and Wayne were in the kitchen, having breakfast.

"Hi, Honey," Mom said. "There's sausage and eggs on the stove."

"Thanks," I said. I made a plate and joined them at the table. I sat there, working up my courage, but knowing it was what I had to do.

I ate slowly. I was aware of myself eating while Mom and Wayne talked about their day.

"Mom, Wayne," I finally said. My bubble was bursting and consequences were oozing out.

"What Honey?" Mom said.

"I have something to tell you. Something I did."

I had their attention now.

"What Bobby?" Wayne said.

"You know last year at school? When the camera and other stuff went missing?"

"Yeah, I kind of remember that," Mom said. "I think Mrs. Walker said something about it."

"It was stolen," I said. "I know who did it."

"Who did it?" Wayne said.

"Anthony Benton."

"Well, that doesn't surprise me," Wayne said. "How do you know he did it?"  
I stared at my eggs and sausage.

"I helped him."

"You helped him?" Mom said. "How? Did you break in with him?"

"He didn't break in. He used a copy of the key."

Wayne leaned over the table to me, more focused than I ever remembered seeing him.

"So how did you help him?"

"I took the key from Mrs. Walker's office at school. I gave it to Anthony and he made a copy of it at lunch. He brought it back to me and I returned it to Mrs. Walker's desk."

"Bobby," Mom said. "Why did you do that?"

Wayne had me fixed in his sights.

"Why, Bobby?" he said.

"I was scared. He threatened to beat me up if I didn't do it. Him and Mike Leach and Zach Butler. He did hit me."

"I knew he was a bad one," Mom said. "Just wait'll I tell his mother."

"But why didn't you tell anyone, Bobby?" Wayne said. "We would have protected you."

"I know. I should have," I said. "I was just too scared. Look, I've been picked on by bullies all through school. I'm just so used to doing what they say, and I didn't want to have to tell you what he had done to me. I didn't think you could protect me, anyway. As long as Anthony Benton is in school, he'll get to me."

"Not this time," Wayne said. "This is serious, Bobby, and you're going to tell Mr. Westin this morning. And Anthony Benton's not going to get the chance to get to you."

I expected that from Wayne. I hoped it was true, but I didn't have confidence that he or anyone else could protect me. They never did.

"But you're going to have to take the consequences," Wayne said. "You did wrong and you'll be punished."

"Yes sir, I know."

"Oh, Bobby," Mom said. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that. They'll get that Anthony Benton, you wait and see."

"They'll get me too," I said.

"We'll see," Wayne said. "We're going to school with you and we'll all talk to Mr. Westin."

They called ahead and left urgent word for Mr. Westin that they wanted to see him.

*

"Mr. Westin's going to meet us at seven-thirty," Wayne said. He swerved the van into the other lane and shot us past a garbage truck. Mom grabbed the door handle and I remembered our emotional drive away from Kiernan House.

"Yes sir," I said. "Did you tell him--"

"I didn't tell him everything. I think you should do that."

"OK."

"OK?"

"Yes sir."

I felt the vinyl seat against my back. I felt the motion of the van, the potholes it bounced over, the uneven asphalt beneath the tires and the morning heat it was beginning to absorb.

"I'll tell him everything," I said. "I promise."

I felt Mom's sorrowful, compassionate energy reaching me. Wayne's was more stern, mixed with something else.

"We know you will, Honey," Mom said. "I still don't understand why you did it. Why couldn't you come to us?"

"I was just afraid, Mom."

"But surely you weren't afraid to tell me and Wayne. We would have helped you. We wouldn't let some bully hurt you."

"You couldn't have stopped it, Mom. Nobody could have."

"Well now you've got to face the consequences," Wayne said. "Take it like a man. Like a Christian man. I think your confession needs to be before God as well."

Yes, before God. A peaceful wave passed through me for a moment.

"That's the only kind of confession there is," I said.

Wayne swerved the van as he turned to glare at me over the seat, like he was about to leap over it.

"You know what I mean," he said. "Don't spout Pearson's babble at me."

"Wayne," Mom said. "Calm down. Bobby wasn't spouting anything. He's sorry for what he did. Aren't you, Bobby?"

"Mom, call me Rob--"

"You want to be treated like an adult, you have to act like an adult," Wayne said. "Kung fu, Wing pu, whatever it is, won't help you--"

"That's enough, Wayne," Mom said. "This is hard for Bobby and for all of us. Bobby will tell everything to Mr. Westin and take his punishment. And I know God forgives him."

Wayne turned his eyes back to the road. The fear was welling in me, again. I fought to keep my self-consciousness and see the fear as separate from me. I stared at it, so it would turn into something else. Something that would leave me.

But it stayed in the pit of my stomach.

"I, I am sorry," I said.

The school doors were unlocked at seven-thirty and we were there waiting. Coach O'Hara opened the front door for us and we headed straight for the office. Mrs. Walker was already there, waiting in the straight chairs and checking the time on her ladybug watch.

"Good morning, Carol and Wayne," she said. "Mr. Westin called and asked me to meet you here. He said you know something about the stolen camera?"

"Bobby knows something," Wayne said, "and he's going to tell Mr. Westin."

"He told us about it this morning," Mom said.

"We talked with Bobby about it last year," Mrs. Walker said, "and he told us he didn't know anything. Bobby, have you remembered something?"

"Yes ma'am," I said. "Sort of."

I looked away from her. Through the glass pane I saw Mr. Westin coming down the hall. My throat lumped up and the fear dug deeper into my stomach.

Mr. Westin sipped from a travel mug as he walked. He stopped and spoke to Coach O'Hara in the hall and I had the impression that he wasn't even concerned about us--like it was just another day at school for him. I even felt a little comfort in that. It was as if this was not such a big deal after all.

Mr. Westin broke away from the coach and continued his march towards the office. My comfort vanished as he entered and shook hands with Wayne and Mom.

"Hi folks. Morning, Kaye," he said. "Sorry to keep you waiting. Please, come into my office."

Mrs. Sharpton gave a small smile as we passed her at the counter where she was writing on the morning sign-out sheet. She knew something was up.

We entered Mr. Westin's office and he closed the door. We all found a seat as he sat behind his big desk and took another sip from his travel mug.

"Sorry," he said. "Didn't have a chance to drink all my coffee at home."

"I'll need to grab a cup from the cafeteria when we're done," Mrs. Walker said.

"Thanks for meeting us so early," Wayne said. "I'm sorry to have bothered you and Mrs. Walker, but I believe this is important."

"That's all right," Mr. Westin said. "Kaye, would you turn on the fan? It's already hot in here. You're right. This is serious and is something we are bound to pursue."

He sat the mug down. The ceiling fan blades creaked slowly overhead, no more enthusiastic about their task than the last time I was there.

"And we best get right into it. Now, Bobby, I understand you have something to tell me about last year's stolen camera equipment."

All the adults were looking at me now. I had so much inertia built up against this moment, it was hard to speak. I had put so much energy into avoiding this, but Mom and Wayne knew. It should be a small matter to tell Mr. Westin and Mrs. Walker.

I looked at Mr. Westin, fell effortlessly into self-consciousness, and launched into my story.

"Anthony Benton stole the cameras and the other equipment. I took the key from Mrs. Walker's desk and gave it to him at lunch. He had it copied and brought it back to me. I put it back in Mrs. Walker's desk."

It was done. Finished. I felt the hard chair at my back and saw myself watching Mr. Westin stare at me. I felt all the eyes and energy of the adults directed at me. My fear was a thing separate from myself.

"So he didn't have to break in. He had the key," Mr. Westin said. "Well, Benton's involvement doesn't surprise me, but yours does, Bobby. I was suspicious last year, but I changed my mind. Why did you help him?"

"He threatened Bobby," Mom said. "Him and his thug friends hit Bobby and said they would beat him up if he didn't do it. You've got to do something about them--"

"I'll deal with Benton and his friends," Mr. Westin said. "But Bobby, you're not blameless. You realize that, don't you?"

"Yes sir," I said.

"But he was threatened," Mom said.

"He was under duress--" Wayne said.

"I understand," Mr. Westin said. "But he should have come to Mrs. Walker or to me. He didn't, and we have a zero-tolerance policy about such things."

"What are you going to do?" Mom said.

"I'm going to follow procedure. Bobby is going to give me all the facts and all the names of those involved, and I'm going to fill out an incident report. We'll talk to Anthony Benton and his parents and the others. Then, I'll discuss the matter with Mrs. Walker and Mr. Shriver, our associate principal, and we'll arrive at a decision on how to proceed. I'll let you know what we decide."

"Well, you've got to punish that Anthony Benton and the others," Mom said. "You can't just let bullies threaten good kids."

"We don't tolerate bullying," Mr. Westin said. "And we surely don't tolerate theft."

He pulled a piece of paper from his desk drawer and handed it to me. It was a form with, INCIDENT, printed across the top.

"Now, Bobby, I want you to write your story about what happened in that box. Give me all the details and the names of everyone involved. Your parents can read it, but it has to be your story. Understand?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Bring that back to me tomorrow morning."

"Yes sir."

"Now, I see I have a full day ahead of me."

We had only been in Mr. Westin's office about twenty minutes. It seemed much longer. I said goodbye to Mom and Wayne and headed for English class. It was strange, walking down the hall as if it was just another day.

I filled out the incident form in study hall. I let Mom and Wayne read it that night. Mom just wanted Anthony Benton to be punished. Wayne did too, but he seemed more interested in seeing what he considered real repentance from me. Nothing I could say would satisfy him.

He couldn't understand that I was sorry, but that my crime couldn't be washed away. It could only be accepted and balanced.

Chapter 31: Fight without fighting

I stepped out of the stuffy, crowded hall into sudden sunlight and put on my sunglasses. I loved that my contacts allowed me to wear sunglasses. I was almost cool.

School was out for the summer and I'd soon be headed back to Kiernan House. Aunt Camille would be up in about a week to get me. Until then, I'd just practice my forms and my tai chi moves. And meditate, of course. Concentration was everything and Shifu would know if I hadn't practiced.

I saw Ravi headed for the buses, walking with Polly Warren. They waved. I probably wouldn't see Ravi over the summer, but I'd see my new friends in Natchez. I thought about Erin, and Russell, and Dr. Ransoor.

A cool, dark energy welled behind me, eclipsing my warm thoughts. It enveloped me in the form of Mike Leach and Zach Butler falling in step beside me. I pulled off my sunglasses and looked for their master, but Anthony was nowhere in sight. Leach shoved me to the left and Butler stepped that way to keep me between them. They obviously were taking me away from the buses.

I hadn't had to worry about them since Anthony had been expelled. I had avoided that punishment, thanks to Wayne's intercession. He had focused all his church influences on Mr. Westin and the school board to lessen my punishment. The result was that I had been kicked off the annual and paper staffs and did a stretch of in-school suspension, but I remained in school and graduated to Junior.

If Leach and Butler were taking an interest in me again, it was on Anthony's orders. I slowed and Leach pushed me forward.

"Keep walking, Lorman," he said.

I looked at him. I looked at Butler. What would Uncle Tyler do? Quick side-kicks would push them both away and I could run, but I didn't feel confident in my speed or ability, so I just remembered myself.

"Zach, you almost have a moustache," I said.

"Shut up."

"You're gonna get your ass kicked, Lorman," Leach said.

"You been lucky Tony ain't been around," Butler said.

I felt the old ice again, cooling the pit of my stomach. I slowed again. Both bullies grabbed an arm and pulled me forward. My sunglasses dropped from my face to the ground and Leach stepped on them.

I didn't know what to do. Uncle Tyler wasn't around to rescue me this time. I tried to think. My self-consciousness was lost. The sound of our feet on the sidewalk, the other students walking away from us, the portable classrooms, everything grabbed my attention and I couldn't remember myself.

I had to control my breath and find calm. I closed my eyes. They were leading me, anyway. Butler apparently noticed.

"You want a blindfold, too?" he said.

Leach snickered.

I tried to concentrate on my breath. I couldn't. We were walking down a slope and the ground was softer. I opened my eyes enough to avoid the mud, though my captors seemed to delight in leading me through it as we passed the Porta-Johns.

I closed my eyes again and tried to remember myself. It helped some, but I wasn't in that objective place where I could let the fear pass through me. I was identified with it and couldn't shake it.

We passed the portable classrooms and headed for the football field. Short of that, we veered toward the stand of pine trees between the field and the gym. Yes, that would be the place, isolated at this time of day. Anthony could work fast and not be seen.

Leach and Butler grabbed handfuls of my shirt as we approached the trees and we picked up the pace. We passed the outer trees and I could see the clearing beyond. There was a lone figure there, sitting on a picnic tabletop.

Anthony Benton looked older. Scraggly whiskers grew from his chin and made his jaw line fuzzy. His eyes were still black pits and they locked onto me as the lesser bullies brought me to their master and held me in front of him.

"So Bobby," Anthony said. "You've grown. Not enough, though. I'm gonna kick your ass for ratting on me."

He jumped off the table. Still a head taller than me, he shoved his chest in my face. I stared through it, into the middle distance.

Something clicked in me, like a physical thing, and I fell into that place just a short distance from my being. It was that place where I could see myself from the outside and I watched myself standing within that cluster of bullies. I felt their energy and mine.

I said nothing. My breath slowed. My chi expanded and embraced all three of them.

"I have to go to alternative school," Benton said. "I can't cut, cause they come after me. They got cameras in the halls, watching all the time. It's like prison and it's all your fault. Guess you thought you got away with it, huh? You know they never got the camera and shit back."

I didn't answer. I was focused, almost meditating. Anthony took a couple of steps back.

"Too scared to talk, you little shit?" he said. "Hold him. Let's see if I can break something with one punch."

His energy swirled in a rush of scarlet desire for hurt and his body followed in a contortion of muscles that cocked his arm and clenched his fist in seeming slow motion.

Breaking Leach and Butler's grips was easy. I had practiced the pull-away from tight grips so many times I hardly gave it any thought. My arms popped out of my captors' grasps and immediately went through the motions of the outside deflection with my concentration centered on the hurtling fist.

Anthony's blow flew past me and I helped it along with a push from my left hand. Leach had to release my shirt and jump back to avoid getting hit. Butler let go of me just because he didn't know what else to do, and I was left standing alone.

Anthony skidded to a stop and turned back to face me. His energy was angry and confused. Butler and Leach were confused too, pulling energy from Anthony. It was like they were one being.

"I won't fight you," I said.

"No fight to it," he said.

He ran back at me, throwing another punch in the process. This time, I caught his wrist and twisted it downwards, then pushed on his shoulder as he passed and he went down. I remained facing him and assumed the on-guard stance.

As Anthony pulled himself back to his feet, his companions stood on either side of him.

"Go on, Tony," Leach said. "Get him."

"You want us to hold him?" Butler said.

Anthony didn't answer. I felt his confusion. It thickened and enveloped Butler and Leach, who were looking at Anthony now for direction. The doubt in their minds made them look around to see if they were watched. Nobody was close, but I started thinking of people in the area around us. Actually, I felt the energies of people in the gym, and on the parking lot. I imagined them as coming closer, filling the trees around us. I felt them more strongly as I concentrated, until I thought it was my spirit guides right there, watching.

"Let's get out of here," Leach said.

"Somebody's coming," Butler said. "Come on, Tony."

They headed back through the trees, nearly running. Anthony stopped and looked back at me.

"I was just playing with you," he said. He pointed a finger at me. "Next time I'm gonna hurt you. Real bad."

His threat evaporated as completely as his vengeful energy and I knew I would never see him again.

I watched my last bullies flee into the trees and relaxed from the on-guard.

It really was over now. I could go home, go to Berea, to kung fu class. I could go to church, if I wanted. I didn't have to be afraid. I was an immense, powerful being. Gentle in my power and powerful in my gentleness.

I kept this.

###

Ray Foy has always loved a good story and wanted to write his own. For 15 years he devoured writing "How To" books and took writing classes, as he worked his day job in Network Administration. Now he's writing speculative fiction and publishing it on Smashwords.com.

Check out his other work on Smashwords at

www.smashwords.com/profile/view/RayFoy

His short story, "Davis and the Goth," is part of the Residential Aliens printed anthology, While the Morning Stars Sing. You can get it on the CreateSpace website at

www.createspace.com/3652810

Visit Ray's website at www.rayfoy.com where you can read his journal entries and also sign-up to receive "The Arbordin Literary Society Newsletter" for FREE. Each issue accompanies one of Ray's stories and contains an author's review of the featured story and other articles that expand on story themes and content. The most recent issue will be automatically emailed to you when you sign-up. You'll also receive an email notification whenever Ray publishes anything.

Cover photo by Dillon Foy
