Priscilla stayed for only one more day; Jackie drove her to see her grandma for a brief visit. Jackie
waited in the car, as she usually did to give Priscilla some privacy, but she asked Priscilla ahead of
time to check with her grandma to see if she was aware that Darryl’s plans might include paving over
the Negro settlement. Well, they didn’t know, or at least that’s what they said. Maybe they knew more
than they were saying but didn’t want to become a target. Sad to say, but it wouldn’t help if they got
in volved. It wouldn’t bring any sympathy to our side of the fight. Meanwhile, Jackie was momentarily
distracted by something that occurred on the home front. Judd was busy making amends with his
lawnmowing business and got the bright idea that the family could really use a new mower. The one
they brought down from Boston was hard to push through South Florida grass. Judd had the blades
sharpened but that wasn’t enough. He figured he’d make a deal with his dad: Maybe they could go in
on a new mower fifty-fifty. Before he had the chance to make his case with Ted, he tried a trial run
with Jackie. One thing that Jackie did not want to spend money on was a lawn mower. She insisted on
demonstrating that the current mower was adequate. The problem was that Jackie had never pushed a
lawn mower in her life. She pretended it was easy, all the while struggling to make progress, while
Judd stood to the side sulking and drinking a Coke. At this exact moment, Judd’s classmates rode by
on their bicycles. The image of Mrs. Jackie Hart mowing her own lawn in a muumuu and tennis shoes
while her able-bodied son stood to the side caused them to stop, stare —and laugh. They took off
before Judd could say anything, but the damage was done. At school the next day, Judd was teased
mercilessly.
A particularly nasty boy, Calvin Treadwell, saw his opportunity to take Judd down a peg or two.
Judd was a star in Civil Air Patrol; this was the root of the jealousy that now expressed itself openly.
“Is that what y’all do up north?” Calvin hissed. “You let your mama mow the lawn for you?” “That’s
not what happened; my mom was just trying to prove a point,” Judd had r eplied, but no one wanted to
hear the truth when Calvin’s version was so much better. Calvin used the opportunity to remind
everyone in earshot that Judd was the same “dumb Yankee kid” who ate fried chicken and watermelon
with a knife and fork. “He thinks he’s better than us,” Calvin sneered. It was a cruel reminder to Judd
that he was still very much an outsider. “Why does it matter?” he asked me wistfully. Judd had
absconded with another melon from home and was helping me slice it for the turtles. “I mean, it was
kind of funny, I guess, but why do they always bring up the fact about my being Northern?” “I guess
it’s just ’cause you’re different. I’m different, too.” “How are you different? You mean because of the
turtles?” I thought for a minute. “Well, the turtles, yes,” I said slowly. “But also, because I’m
divorced. Or, especially because I’m divorced.” “Oh,” Judd said. “So there are some things that are
okay. Being the Turtle Lady is fine. Being divorced isn’t. Like being from up north.” “Yes, I guess
some sins are worse than others,” I said, meaning it as a joke but it fell flat. “Look, Judd, they’re just
picking on you, that’s all. There’s always folks who will do that. Not just kids. Through your whole
life there will be people who try to make you look small, any way they can, just to make themselves
feel big. It’s pathetic, really. But you can decide if they’re going to make you unhappy or not. Ignore
it. Laugh about it. You’ll see—it will pass. They’ll move on to something else.” Sure enough,
something did happen. Someone vandalized the Welcome to Dreamsville billboards. On each one, a
crude-looking tomahawk had been painted over the head of the smiling man in the illustration. This
was so exciting that no one, even Judd’s mean classmates, could talk of anything else. Of course,
speculation began immediately. There were all kinds of theories but the most popular notion was that
Seminole Joe had done it himself. It was a warning from the ol’ haint that we were playing with fire.
As for myself, I didn’t know what to believe. In the light of day it was easy to dismiss the idea.
Late at night, alone in my cottage, was another story. Jackie’s reaction was predictable. “Oh, here we
go again,” she said. “News flash! It’s not Seminole Joe. There is no Seminole Joe. It’s someone who is
taking advantage of the situation. Or maybe it was just some kids being foolish—after all, it’s getting
close to Halloween.” “Is it you?” Mrs. Bailey White asked. “Of course not! Don’t be ridiculous. Those
billboards are set back at least fifteen feet from the edge of the road. Do you really think I would walk
back there? And then what—climb up the billboard? With a can of paint and a brush?” She had a
point. “Well, then, who did it?” Mrs. Bailey White persisted. “It wasn’t me,” I said, surprised at how
defensive I sounded. “Do you think it could have been Judd?” “What?!” Jackie snapped. “He would
never do that. Besides, I asked him this morning, and he said he didn’t.” “I’m telling you, it’s not nice
to make fun of the people around here,” Plain Jane said to Jackie. “They have their ways. You have
yours.” Jackie sniffed. “You don’t understand it here and maybe you never will,” Mrs. Bailey White
said, sounding more than a little cranky. “People have a right to be spooked around here. All kinds of
nasty things happen.” “Like what?” Jackie was nothing if not curious. “Well, did you know that a
corpse turns to bones in twelve hours?” “Ew!” “I mean, the whole cycle of life—and death—is sped
up here. You got to understand that, Jackie. That’s why it’s so easy for folks to believe in Seminole
Joe. Things are different than they seem. This is not a place where folks get second chances. You get
lost in the swamp, you’re dead. You get bit by a snake, you’re dead. You go out fishing in the Gulf,
get caught in a storm, you’re dead.” “How cheery.” “Sarcasm is hardly helpful, Jackie,” Plain Jane
said.
“Dora, dear, are you going to pick on me, too?” Jackie said to me, but I could tell she didn’t really
expect an answer. She looked away and, with surprising force, ground her cigarette into an ashtray.