Page 49 of Carter

He grabs my hand in his, interlocking our fingers. He leads me to the other side of the meadow, where we join John, Mary, Bronson, Tess, and Rockland.

Everyone is tightening the circle. Standing around, their bodies are so rigid, it’s as if they are expecting something to pop up in the center of them.

My palm is sweaty against Carter’s. Nerves suddenly twist my guts. I shift my weight from one high heel to the other. My hand goes to my hair to tug. Carter softly places his hand that’s not holding mine over my nervous fingers and pulls them to my side. His mouth is by my ear. The scent of his aftershave and cologne waft toward me. He whispers, “Be still, baby.”

My fingers clench into a fist. I lock it by my side.

The pad of his thumb strokes the back of my hand, calming me. He says, “Take a breath.”

I do. The day is unseasonably warm for New York. A gentle breeze blows, fluttering my hair from my shoulders. Beams of sunlight shoot through the leaves of the tall oaks.

The light catches Tess’s hair, the golden fiery streaks blazing. Today, somehow her sorrow makes her even more stunning than usual. Her long red hair billows behind her in the gentle wind, her creamy complexion only enhanced by the dark circles that ring beneath her brown eyes.

She stands behind Bronson, and next to Rockland, her brother-in-law. Rockland has a protective arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Beneath his white suit jacket his shirt is unbuttoned just enough for part of the massive black swirling tattoo that covers his chest and his right shoulder to be seen. He strokes his long fingers over his dark beard, the sun reflecting off his shades. He’s the classic bad boy gangster, but today, standing beside the widow he now protects, he has an even more dangerous edge about him.

Tess clutches a handkerchief in her hand, holding in a sob. She turns, seeking comfort, despair etched in her fine features. She rests her head on Rockland’s shoulder. He tightens his arm around her. Her eyes fly open, her face wrinkling in disgust. Then, as if bit by a viper, her head snaps back. Shocked by what she’s done.

A grimace dances over Rockland’s handsome face. His jaw clenches and his hold around her shoulders tightens.

The two of them have never gotten along. Brett, and the last name Bachman, being the only tie that binds them.

But now, with the hierarchy, Rockland will be the one to look over her.

Bronson speaks. “Brett Bachman was the best of all of us. Strong and hard but caring and loving. And though he loved us, his family, the family he pledged to lay his life down for, he loved nothing more than Tess.”

Tess releases a deep, keening noise that pierces my heart, making tears spring to my eyes. A few of the women begin to openly sob. Sharing her grief.

Immediately at the sound of her cry, Rockland takes her against his chest, both huge arms wrapping tightly around her slight body. She’s too distraught to fight him now, and she buries her face into his white suit jacket.

Bronson waits a respectful moment. Then he begins again. “We Bachmans hold secrets. Of that you can be sure, but no one held more than Brett. Today, to celebrate my dear comrade I would like to share a few of his with you.”

There are a few gasps in the crowd. We never spill secrets.

But there is a smile in Bronson’s voice as he speaks. “The first one I’d like to share with you, Brett’s inability to type. That’s right—he never used a keyboard a day in his life. Raise your hand if you’ve ever received one of Brett’s handwritten notes?”

Every hand goes up. Even mine. A while back, I’d had a tough day at work. I’d applied to my old college to enter their master’s program, hoping to get my Master of Science in kinesiology. My rejection letter had come to our postal stop. Brett had been the one in charge of screening the mail that day. He delivered it to me and I knew by his face when he handed it over, I’d been rejected. Later, I found a note in my wreath. Keep your chin up, kiddo. Not all smarts can be tested by books. Your type of intelligence runs deep and true and is what it takes to be one of us. You’ll be a great addition to the family. Brett.

I had folded Brett’s note and carried it in my wallet for months. I never reapplied. I told everyone I had changed my mind about graduate school, but the truth was uglier: one rejection scared me enough to quit.

Now I think of Maya and all the speeches I give her about not allowing one no to become a lifetime answer. Brett would have called me on the hypocrisy in five seconds flat.

Now, the tears openly roll down my cheeks.

Carter’s arm wraps around my shoulders, hugging me into him.

Bronson says, “And how about the lilac field that blooms each summer? The scent of the flowers blocking out the stench of the city as the heat rises? The most beautiful sight of our whole Village—other than our women—is the field of those gorgeous purple flowers. But have you ever stopped and wondered where they came from? Brett’s mother had a deep love of lavender. When she passed away, he was heartbroken. He planted those fields by hand, one tiny seed at a time, in her memory.”

I’m trying to hold my face together, but it’s no use and it crumples in a hideous sob. Carter rubs my back.

Bronson’s voice softens as he says, “And today, I’ll share one last secret. Monetarily, Brett cared for Tess in his passing as well as he did in life. But even after his generosity, he had more wealth tucked away than any of us know. Apparently, his biggest secret of all was the gold mine he was hiding away to pay for his greatest feat to date. In his will, he’s declared that every single penny not set aside for his love be given to the poorer neighborhoods of our city. Expanding upon John’s programs, which Brett so admired, he’s funding a GED program as well as the building of three neighborhood community colleges complete with free tuition and housing. And he had enough invested to keep this program going for decades to come.”

Carter’s arms leave me and as if cued by an unseen signal, they all put their hands together. Three sharp claps rise from the group in unison.

That was weird.

Then things get stranger. I blink back tears, looking around me as everyone drops to their knees. White designer clothing be damned, they fall like dominoes to the grassy ground.

I put my hand on Carter’s shoulder to steady myself as I join them. The ground is damp and I feel the mud seeping through the fabric of my dress. I look to Mary and copy her stance. Hands joined with those to my right and left, head bowed.