Fiction

Poplar Hill

  Water lapped at the side of the boat. Ripples went out in all directions. The sun glittered yellow and orange over the deep, black water. Purple flowers drifted in the weak current. A tall young man threw a fishing line of the side of the boat for the fifth time that hour. Fifteen minutes later he pulled it back up to find nothing once again. 
  He headed back to his little cabin on the edge of the water. He traveled through the by waters of the river. Animals ducked and hid from the sound of the motor that pierced the silence that covered the land. Seagulls and blackbirds flew over head as the sun began its decent into the west. The young man breathed a weighty sigh as he pulled up to the water's edge. 
Bishop arrived at his empty cabin just as the sun was setting. He cooked his dinner and listened to the weather report on the radio. He cursed when he heard about the rain. He had not covered his boat and rain meant having to clean the boat once the storm passed. He thought about going to the water and covering it, but going out in the dark was dangerous. If he slipped and fell and hurt himself there was no one around to come to his aid. It would be a miracle for a boat to pass by and see him. 
  Instead of chores he called his mother. He told her of the possible bad weather and that she should stay inside. He knew that it was unlikely that it would reach her, but someone needed to take care of her. He sometimes thought about going home, but when he thought about everything that waited for him there, he changed his mind. 
Bishop grew up near Atlanta. It was a big city that never suited him, and his little town had too much history for his liking. He grew up on the fringes of one of the small towns outside of Atlanta. His mother's town had been quiet and familiar, but the wilderness called to him. He left the Atlanta area for something better and unknown. Once he left, he never looked back. Even in his thoughts of returning one day he was never serious. 
Life was simple and kind to him since he moved to the little town in Northern Alabama. He went to church on Sundays with the old women he ran into in the grocery store. He ate at the same diner every Thursday for lunch. He worked Monday through Friday at the recording studio he bought off an old man who was ready to retire. Every evening he came home to his little cabin and relished the small sounds of the slow river and the woods.
That was this night as well. He ate his dinner on the porch and listened to the rain pelt down on his roof. Frogs were calling back and forth to one another, sing a song that would put him to sleep. The soothing sound of the slow river was interrupted by the noise of the rain falling. The water beat out a rhythm against the boat. 
He pushed thoughts from his head that haunted him in the quiet. In the dark, he thought he saw a girl, but as he looked closer he saw nothing. He was tempted to leave the porch and investigate, but like the other times, he would find nothing, so he stayed on his porch and finished his dinner. He thought he could almost hear singing as he picked up and went back into the house, letting the screen door slam behind him.
The next morning he tied his tie and drove his truck over to Mrs. Henderson's home to take her to church. She was the first person to take any interest in him when he first moved to Poplar Hill. He was going to the grocery store for the first time, and he was holding two cans of beans. "You need some help?" He turned to see this little woman gripping the grocery store buggy.
"Yes ma'am, I'm  not sure of the difference between the two."
"Oh, there's no real difference. It's just a name." He smiled and thanked her. When he was done with his shopping he helped her bring her bags to her car. Since that day he'd looked after her. He'd come to think of her as a kindly grandmother. Often, after he helped her around her house, she sent him home with jars of jam or pie. 
This morning, however, when he knocked on the door, it was answered by a young woman with blond hair that curled ever so slightly at the tips. He stared for a moment before he found himself again. “Hello, I'm looking for Mrs. Henderson. I'm here to take her to church. My name is Bishop Martin.”
She smiled, “She'll be out in a moment.” The young woman retreated back into the house. Bishop could hear her call, “Grandma, he's here.”
A moment later Mrs. Henderson limped out holding her granddaughter's hand. She smiled brightly at Bishop. “Hello dear. Have you met my granddaughter?”
“No ma'am, not formally.”
Mrs. Henderson shook her head a bit at the young woman. “This is Amelia. She's come to take care of me this summer. Amelia, this is Bishop Martin. He's that nice boy told you about.” Mrs. Henderson turned back to Bishop, “Amelia is coming to church with us. Is that alright?”
“Yes ma'am.” He took her arm and led her to the passenger side of the truck. He waited until both Mrs. Henderson and Amelia were in the truck to close the door.
Poplar Hill Baptist Church was a tiny, white building with a steeple and gray shingled roof. There was a bell near the door that was wrung by either elderly women or children. The door was painted white and the handles were polished brass. Around the church there were panels of stained glass. It wasn't the kind of stained glass in old cathedrals that tell stories, it was just pretty and colorful. The pews were stained dark and sanded smooth and made of pine. Mr. Campbell often talked about how he remembered helping his father build those pews.
Pastor John Mayfield stepped onto the platform and greeted the church with a warm smile and a traditional Sunday saying. The church responded in turn. He announced the church bake sale for the mission fund that would follow the service and the ladies' quilting circle and Bible study on Tuesday. As a congregation, the church sang the first four verses of For the Beauty of the Earth. Pastor Mayfield preached on the Lord's Prayer. When all was said and done, the congregation rose, prayed, then left. Pastor Mayfield stood near the door shaking hands and smiling at attendees.
Bishop escorted Mrs. Henderson and Amelia out to the truck. Before reaching it, Mrs. Henderson insisted she buy a pound cake to help the mission fund. Bishop also felt the need to show his support for missions and to smile at all the nice old ladies he often did work for. Once they reached the truck, Mrs. Henderson invited him to lunch at her home, which he politely accepted. 
That evening, as he helped Amelia put away dishes, she said, “Thank you for being so good to my grandmother.”
“Oh, I'm just trying to be polite. She was one of the first people in Poplar Hill to speak to me. I feel sort of attached to her.”
“She certainly likes you.” Amelia smiled.
  That was the first of many Sunday lunches with Amelia Henderson. Often Bishop would meet Amelia for his Thursday afternoon lunch at the diner. Sometimes she even came to the recording studio and brought lunch for him and his employee, Charlie. Bishop didn't mean to like her, but he did. Before either of them knew what was happening they became the talk of the town. 
Quickly it was learned that Amelia was a kind girl who wanted to teach elementary school after she graduated from college. She grew up in Poplar Hill with her grandmother after her parents passed away in a car accident. She'd been living in Tuscaloosa while she was in college. Sometimes Bishop found himself thinking of her. He knew early on that he should stay away from Amelia. She was a nice girl who really had no business dealing with that kind of baggage. 
He tried to avoid her for a while, but he kept running into her around town. Small communities can be funny that way. He was scared of being caught in a loop. Bishop did not have a list of names he kept in a desk drawer. He had one name. Hearing that name cause him to tremble. He did not want to shake at the mention of Amelia, so he tried to spare himself.
Amelia, unaware of the inner turmoil that raged in Bishop, continued to seek his company. He found that he never had the courage or the desire to deny her, so he obliged her. Often things were nice and normal, but other times she felt like he was a million miles away. Sometimes she just sat and talked even if he wasn't listening. Sometimes she saw this frightened, far off look in his eyes. When she saw that look she continued talking, sometimes touching his arm. She tried to ground him, but it seemed fruitless. 
She asked her grandmother about him, but she didn't have much to say. “All I know is that he comes from Atlanta. He's been here for about a year.” Amelia found herself asking herself questions and wondering about the strange, kind, young man. 
Amelia sat on Bishop's porch eating supper and watching the river. They sky was purple and orange, and the sun had just dipped below the tree line and was shining through in little streams. The oscillating fan created a breeze in the otherwise hot, windless day. Recently Amelia had come to accept the relative silence that came when they spent time with one another. That, however, was beginning to irritate her, so she asked, “What kind of man in his twenties leaves home and comes to a town just to work and help old ladies?”
Bishop's calm features tensed as he answered. “It's better here. Things are less complicated.”
“What does that even mean?” 
“It means that I really don't feel like getting into it.”Amelia let it go because she had no real right to know. He stared over the river. She could see him processing information that he kept from her. He looked lost, like a child. He didn't eat after that. He was quiet for a while until he spoke. “I just ran into a bad situation in Atlanta. My girlfriend, she um- I haven't seen her since then.”
It was the first time in a year that Bishop mentioned the girl that haunted him in the silent moments. He looked up at the girl who forced him back to life. He tried to force them into the same thought, but they clashed against one another. Amelia watched him, unsure of what to do or say. Hesitantly, she put a hand on top of his. This seemed to shock him out of his reverie. He quietly apologized, but she waved it off. 
Amelia stayed with Bishop that night, afraid of what he would do. She knew he was safe and kind, but she didn't know if he had always been that way. Perhaps in another life he'd been content, maybe even happy. It dawned on her that she knew so little about the man who found solace only in the river. She'd never seen someone so young look so empty. She worried that he would hurt himself in some way. She watched as he slept restlessly. She silently mourned for the man she never got to meet.
The next morning Bishop woke to the smell of breakfast. He heard soft singing and the sizzle of eggs hitting a hot pan. For a moment he forgot where he was and smiled. Then the night before rushed back to him. He rose from his bed, pulling clothes on as he made his way to the small kitchen. She smiled at him as he walked in and he couldn't help but smile back at her.
They conversed quietly as they ate. She was cheerful, but she didn't pressure him to be. He smiled at her and thanked her for cooking. He stayed with her through the day. He took her out onto the  river and showed he little byways that were less traveled. They sat at the edge of the river in the sun. She laughed as she waded into the water. She splashed water at him. He reciprocated and this cycle continued until they were both soaked. 
He brought her home that evening. He talked some to Mrs. Henderson. He stayed longer than he intended to. He smiled at Amelia and kissed her cheek before leaving. “Will I see you tomorrow?” She was scared of the answer, but there was no avoiding the question. 
Bishop looked down before answering “I don't know.” He wanted so badly to say yes, but he could not bring himself to give in completely just yet. Her face fell as he spoke. He kissed her again trying to make her understand that he wanted to see her, but he had some things to take care of. She went back into her home, leaving Bishop alone on the steps. 
That night he went back to his cabin and listened to the night time sounds of the river and woods. He looked for the girl who haunted him. She was gone. He listened for the song that played on repeat in his head. He heard only crickets and the water lapping against the edge of the land.
He took a piece of paper and found a pencil. On the paper he wrote, “Don't wait up.” He knew Amelia would find it. He knew she would be upset with him. He called Charlie and told him he was going out of town for a while. He packed some clothes and began the two and a half hour drive home. He called his mother on the way and told her he was coming. She was thrilled. 
He arrived in the little town of Oak Grove just outside of Atlanta near midnight. He spoke briefly to his mother before going to his childhood bedroom to sleep. His mother hadn't changed anything since he was a teenager. There were still posters of bands he liked on the walls. There were still pictures of his family and friends around the room. There was a picture of her on the desk where he used to do his homework. 
The next morning he told his mother that he was going to do some errands in the city. It only took twenty minutes to get to the heart of Atlanta. He found the hotel they stayed in that night. He went to the bar where they had been before. It had been unwise for either of them to drink like they had. He should have had more sense than that. 
It was raining the night Bishop took his girlfriend, Esther, into the city. They planned to have dinner and to see a band they liked at the bar. Both ended up losing themselves that night because of their foolish choices. They walked to the hotel that was a block away rather than drive home drunk.
Bishop Martin was not a man easily angered, but that night, in his drunken state, he stormed around Esther. He claimed that she was being a bit too flirtatious with the bartender. She argued that she certainly had not been. They both screamed back and forth until Esther grew tired of it and walked out. Bishop knew, even then, that he should have followed her, but wanting to show her that she could not get her way, he stayed put. 
The next morning he found that Esther had not returned. He looked for her at the bar, but she had not been there either. Eventually he called the police. She was put on a missing persons list. She was never found and declared dead. Bishop was the number one suspect. There was never sufficient evidence that he committed the crime, so an arrest was never made. The only one who believed him was his mother. Though, sometimes, he thought he saw a look of doubt cross her face. Even Esther's parents, who'd know him since he was in grade school accused him. 
He left soon after the case was declared cold. He could no longer be reminded of the life he could have had with Esther, the life she would never have. He couldn't look his mother in the eye without growing anxious anymore. People he'd never met left him messages accusing him of murdering his girlfriend. It baffled him how people he knew, friends he'd grown up with and knew his love for Esther could possibly think he would hurt her.
He supposed that all in all it really was his fault. If he'd taken care of her like he should have, she would never have left. If his judgment hadn't been so impaired, he would have had the sense to go after her. He would not have argued with her either. He knew himself well enough to have no excuse for his behavior, but that night he didn't care. He should have cared. 
He went back to his mother's house and stayed with her for a few days. He didn't escape looks and whispers, but he knew to expect those. It weighed on him though. He was a respected member of the community in Poplar Hill. He was a regular church attendee and even passed by Pastor Mayfield's home for lunch on occasion. He gave to the mission fund and built racks for the quilts made by the women of the church. He was a business owner. His face was known for it's quiet and respectful demeanor. 
Bishop told his mother about Amelia. She looked frightened. He just smiled and told her not to worry. His mother had no idea who he was. All she saw was a broken child. He packed up, hugged his mother and set for home. He doubted he would ever go back to Oak Grove, but perhaps his mother would come to Poplar Hill to see him. 
He arrived in Poplar Hill just in time to see the sun rise over the trees and shine on the water. He went home and breathed in the clean air of the hill country. He went in to find Amelia curled on his arm chair asleep. He braced himself for the conversation he was sure to have. He made coffee and let her wake on her own. 
Bishop was reading when Amelia finally woke. Her first instinct was to hug him and kiss him and just be there, but she could feel the anger rising in her. “Phones exist.”
“Yeah...”
“You should have called.”
“I know.” She gave up then and flung her arms around him. He told her about Esther. He explained that if people in Poplar Hill found out who he was there was a possibility that no one would ever look at him the same way, and if she was with him, she would suffer the same way. She tried to explain that she didn't care much about what people said or thought. 
That afternoon he went with Amelia to her grandmother's. They spent the afternoon there with Mrs. Henderson. Bishop felt compelled to tell her about Esther. If he was going to  be with Amelia, it was only right that he inform her family of his past transgression. Mrs. Henderson looked concerned as Bishop spoke. He understood that as Amelia's grandmother she would always care for her more than anyone, but he tried to make her see that he was good. 
That night on Bishop's porch, he and Amelia talked about her last year of school. She noticed a tense expression on his face as he watched the slow moving river. Bishop seemed less oppressed by his memories, but still troubled. She figured he always would be. She didn't want to break the silence between them, so she just took his hand. He smiled sadly at her then looked back over the water. 
The woods seemed alive as the crickets and cicadas called to one another. Leaves rustled underfoot of small creatures. The breeze blew through the trees. The bug zapper snapped very few minutes as mosquitoes found their way into it. Amelia swore she could hear singing in the woods, but there was no one there and the radio wasn't on. She shivered a bit, but pushed apprehension from her mind. She scooted closer to Bishop and held his hand a little tighter.