The Coveting

By Kelli Koontz-Wilson

The Coveting is an epic novel about three Newark women and their secret obsessions.

A psychic woman, Alfrey Brown, rescues three little girls from a burning orphanage during the Newark Riots in 1967. Unable to adopt them, they are each taken into Foster care and reared separately in Newark, NJ.

As teenagers, the three young women are mysteriously reunited, ultimately becoming best friends.

Now that they have become successful women in their own right, they are secretly consumed with envious feelings towards one another. During a long overdue vacation, they devise a plan to challenge fate, and exchange lives.

Heaven Miller, a rich and famous actress who comes back home to Newark for a visit, Tasha Peters a successful businesswoman with a very special gift, and Sarah Farmer, a married mother with a loving husband and two beautiful children, are each longing for a new life.

Alfrey, who can see events before they happen, is determined to find and stop them before they make a tragic mistake which will alter the future and destroy their worlds. Her special bond that she shares with others like her, has kept the three women alive up until now, but time is running out.

The only way to save them is to uncover the truth about their unique gifts that they possess, but have always hidden.

For three beautiful, talented and successful women, the danger was not in their secrets, but in their longing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 3, 2013
• ISBN: 9781477295434

Kelli Koontz-Wilson

Kelli Koontz Wilson is a native and resident of Newark, New Jersey. She has majored in both Theatre and Spanish at Rider College and Rutgers Newark respectively. She is the founder of Project PULSE: Presentations for Understanding and Learning through Skits and Expression. This program allows her to perform as well as to provide students with a forum in which to create their own presentations that will focus on the needs of the community. She utilizes poetry and storytelling in her workshops as a way to engage students and adults in the discussion of local and global issues which impact our society, and how they can use their voices in a positive way. Other workshops include: Conflict Resolution, Diversity Training, Drug prevention and Goal Setting. The stage show Titled: A Mother’s Cry, is a 60 minute presentation, filled with Poetry, Prose, and music. It has been developed for all audiences, but the primary purpose of the show is to promote Self-Esteem, Gang Prevention, as well as Drug and Alcohol Prevention. She has written skits and plays for El Club del Barrio’s Survivors Group in Newark, as well as for Horizon Health Center in Jersey City’s C.O.P.E Community Outreach through Peer Education group. She has personally designed an entire curricula of Programs for school aged children such as: Dr. Gekls, Three Kings and a Queen—It’s All About Self-Esteem, Life Uninterrupted-- Life Interrupted, Thick as Thieves, and short stories designed to teach the importance of Self-Esteem, and Purpose, like Mr. Willoughby, and A very good day. She is currently writing a T.V. Pilot, and Feature Film. Her other writings also include two books published by Author House: the novel, The Color of My Skin as well as an Anthology of Poetry, Hookers in The Playground: A Newark Mother’s Cry for Peace. Her semiautobiographical novel: Finding Rhythm, deals with a Newark Poet, determined to educate and inspire her three children while dealing with family addictions, and corruption. She and her husband Tim have 3 children and one grandchild: Latoya Wilson, Giavonni Darlena Davis, Timothy Wilson Jr. and Jailyn Brown. Melanin Enterprises LLC is a Newark based Performing Arts Company which helps develop and produce educational and artistic programming for all NJ based schools. www.melaninenterprises.com

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© 2013 by Kelli Koontz-Wilson. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 12/27/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-9545-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-9544-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-9543-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012922715

This book is a work of fiction. For the most part, places, events, and situations in this story are purely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Acknowledgements

Part 1 — The Pact

Chapter 1 Mother’s Haven

Chapter 2 The Executive

Chapter 3 The Homemaker

Chapter 4 The Movie Star

Chapter 5 California Dreaming

Chapter 6 The Miracle Worker

Chapter 7 The Avatar

Chapter 8 The Pact

Chapter 9 The Flight

Chapter 10 The Violet Haze

Chapter 11 The Finisher

Chapter 12 Sparks

Part 2 — And how are the Children?

Pt 2 Chapter 1 The Mighty Nation

Pt 2 Chapter 2 StarMakers

Pt 2 Chapter 3 Unwrapped

Pt 2 Chapter 4 Reasons

Pt 2 Chapter 5 The Audition

Pt 2 Chapter 6 The Look of Love

Pt 2 Chapter 7 The Show

Pt 2 Chapter 8 The Crossing

Pt 2 Chapter 9 The House Made of Cards

Pt 2 Chapter 10 I’ll Show You Who You Are

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Special Dedication

This book is dedicated to my sister-in-law: Beverli Wilson Mann (Marsha). You are the strongest woman I know. I love your spirit, and beauty. Through it all, you never forgot how to smile. God has blessed you with a spirit that cannot be beaten down. I promised you that my next book would be for you and here it is. You are my "shero." Your courage has inspired me. Your sista’ 4 ever, Kelli Koontz-Wilson

Acknowledgements

Iwant to thank everyone who has supported me throughout this project, as well as those who have given me technical assistance: My mother Frances Koontz (Pam), my father, Robert Koontz, my daughter, Giavonni Darlena Davis, Philip D. Fluker, and my cousin, Ronny Koontz Jr. I could not have completed this project without you all.

I want to also give thanks to Author house for your patience and for your continued professionalism.

I want to give a special thanks to my best friends: Sharlene Nelson, Brenda Elijah, Sandra Smith, Kathy Webb, Carleen Young, Jackie Koontz, Jacqueline B. Kennedy, Dorinda Mclaughlin, and my Sands and sorors: Crystal, Rajade, Judy and Chris, Throughout the years, you have been a constant reminder of what it’s like to have real true life sisters. Also (ewr) Tailathe Bowdre,Sydney Barnes, Vinney

Thanks Pat Blair. Denise Colon, Jihadah Sharif, Dorthea Moore, Anne Marie Bethea. Marcus, Uncle Ronny and Connie, thanks for your wisdom, and for constantly believing in my projects. My aunt Sandy Koontz, and Phil and Jeanette Davis, Gwen Lee. Arch, thanks for your constant support of my books and Poetry.

Uncle Lenzy, Aunt Gloria, and Tasha Hall thanks for being visionaries, and for keeping Newarker’s healthy for over thirty years at Lenzy’s Nutrition Center.

Pat Blair, I really think that you have that special gift i.e. characters of: Tristin, and Alfrey. It is possible. Elaine Pigford there is much more to come i.e. character of Elaine. I love you sis.

Brenda, you have been there through my darkest and brightest times. I love you and will always honor our friendship. You are a woman of beauty, honor, and integrity, and fun! Thanks for your loyalty and strength and for reminding me: We’re from the Bricks!

Thanks for my Home-Girl Lakeisha Lawrence and her sister, who always gives me a shout out. Love you sis! Word of Mouth goes long way in this business.

To my family and children: Timothy Wilson, Latoya Wilson (and children: Ajayla Redd, Jamall Redd Jr.) Giavonni, Darlena Davis (and children: Jailyn and Jayden Brown) and Timothy Wilson Jr. I am so proud of you all. my brothers: Bobby Koontz, Jamal Koontz, and Kyron Ryals, (sis) Barbara & Misty Ryals, Some of my cousins: Saba Koontz, Guy Koontz, Kim Gaddy, Jackie Garrett, Dawn Koontz-Torres, Joharisha, Marcia Lopez Koontz, Lieutenant Amanda Koontz (I’m so proud of you!) I love you now and always.

Aunts: Lola, Wilma, Jeannie, Darlene, Cherie, Delores, Camilla, Uncles: Stanley Garrett, Ronny Koontz, Richard Koontz (Dickee), Earl Johnson.

I have to give special acknowledgements to my spiritual family. My grandmother: Jewel Koontz-Torres, my cousins. Erick Garrett, and Hakim Alif Mohammad (Meat-Meat), My step-father, Marshall Sampson, My Uncles John Garrett, Bro-Jorge, Robert Moss, My Brother-in-Law, Lou Pigford, Ms. Price, My in-laws Patricia (Vivian) and Tracey Horton.

Thanks again mom for your love, insight, editing and encouragement throughout this process!

The Coveting

Part 1

The Pact

Chapter 1

Mother’s Haven

Summer 1967

Two figures; dark, and menacing, pushed their way through the angry crowd of Newark citizens; one hundred and fifty deep. Standing wearily they paused, shoulder to shoulder, their bodies reeking with the stench of frustration and fatigue. It was as if they alone, had harbored enough hatred along with a dangerous malice which had brewed a deeper vengeance. Shoulder to shoulder these two stood, having already just come from a battle domestic, which would never be resolved. They were ripe, and at the brink of madness themselves. They were different; yet came from the same place, these two; guilty outcasts sentenced and punished only within the context of their own minds. The crowd parted, as if unconsciously appointing the two men as a galvanizing force to do what was needed; an ungodly purpose which was meant to finally put an end to the hours of motionlessness and contempt, not to mention the years of disunity and inaction within the city.

This had in fact been the ridicule of Newark’s neighborhoods. Now, this infuriated crowd, accustomed to always having been voiceless, was yet aware of the common thread; the chorus of cursing and complaints, the unanswered questions, the lack of respect, not to mention the constant harassment by the police. All of this empty grandstanding was to them, in need of a resolution, and apparently, the time was now.

Their demands were simple. They needed to understand why? Last night another man was killed by Newark’s finest. What type of justification would there ever be, by the powers that be, to just yesterday kill an unarmed brother, a taxi-driver at work, on that hot July 12th evening in Newark in 1967.

Ignorant yet not unaware, for the news of yesterday had spread like an infection, and all of the cursing and complaints, rallying and un-organized protests, were now considered obsolete. This time, there was no room for meetings, speeches, or negotiations. These two, were ready for action, and their harried presence smelled not only of vengeance, but of contempt, mocking the crowd’s xenophobic ineptitude. Word on the streets was that the brother had in fact survived, but at this point, it didn’t matter.

It was late Wednesday evening. Mad at the world and frustrated within themselves for actually becoming the niggers that it sought to create, the two looked at one another in disbelief.

What kind of mob is this, if shit ain’t gettin’ broke!

They took it upon themselves to carry out the shit that shit created, and threw a large concrete slab through the front window of Retcher’s Appliance Store. After all, this angry mob had been too rational and to them, complacency had always led to indecisiveness, which then bred nothing but further inaction.

These black folk, had needed some nigga’s to set it off, and as if on cue, Mac, and Spence had heard the call. Shit gets what shit got—meaning, these white store owners had never lifted one finger to help them, to even give them a chance, to even say Have a nice day, or We can take some of the interest off your credit Ms. Smith. But no, it was all about the money, and the power, so now that it’s riot time, rational thoughts and behavior had been abrogated a long time ago.

The metal gate had long ago bent under the crowd’s weight like a mesh curtain. It was not only strength, but momentum which had broken the rusty locks, and smashed in the cheap metal frame. All that was left were the latches which had abruptly become unhinged with just a few shoulder jolts. Wrath, as well as the conviction that this store had owed them something, was all that was needed for these experienced two. Breaking latches and locks was an art form for them. Now, this joint mission, had been understood, Spence thought to himself, and then the power had shifted. The righteous Amen Choir, the employed citizens, the children, and the local Black Power Cats and Political Pundits and Players receded their ranks, and allowed the usual suspects—the ones you don’t turn your backs on, or leave your pocketbooks in the same room with, now took the lead.

If a child hadn’t been taught to read a book, he’d throw a book. But if a child had never been allowed to read a book, he’d soon steal that book, and then find someone to teach him the words, as well as their meanings. However, if and whenever a child had been told over and over again that he couldn’t even come into contact with this book then, that same book, would then become suspect. Even by shear deprivation of any type of literary context, that child would degenerate into such ignorance nigger would become a word in which he’d easily assimilate. Subsequently, that child or nigger would in fact, burn that book, so no one would or could ever see, touch or read it, ever again, not that book. No! Retcher’s was for them, just one page of many disallowed books.

Spence’s smirk was sly, and had hung off the side of his mouth in a wicked grimace as he watched. He stood irate, and so much separated from himself—his real self that he continued to watch and assess the situation. The smaller built Snuff, had now sided with him and Mac. Snuff’s eyes looking like demonic slits, held no remorse, only hurt and bad intentions.

These silent misguided vigilantes had been waiting for a cue. With newly ignited fervor they clamored for better positioning in order to incite in the masses, a clearer purpose. Now, they had one. They wanted this shit, for it had represented all the unread books, and things that they could never have. They shoved each other through the store in order to get at anything that hadn’t belonged to them. Their presence alone brought with it enough rage, and malevolence, for each one of the hundred and fifty or so angry by-standers had been waiting for the call. That call to arms of the weary, the wretched, and the tired, had now been awakened. The souls of these men, women, and even children, had been transformed into a mob of niggers, as if it were their rightful place to do so. They stormed into Retcher’s Appliance Store, like a herd of thirsty wilder-beast to water, each one fighting to be the first to enter those clean, black and white lacquered aisles.

The first few who rushed towards the back of the store had the anticipated luxury of only a few minutes to scan the place. They had only a few moments of privilege over the others, so they felt bold, and entitled to take or destroy anything within their paths. A virtual bounty had awaited them. Whatever they had wanted was now theirs for the taking. In only a few minutes, in the eyes of these two ignorant captains, they saw, along with their goons and cohorts that there’d be a mutiny. This crowd, fueled by anger and resentment, knew they were wrong. But they didn’t care. The ship was theirs now. All the while, small clans of brothers from up the hill, hovered together conspiratorially like righteous pirates on a doomed ship.

It wouldn’t be long before, neighbor against neighbor, brother against brother, and ultimately, without thought of sex, age, health or hunger, the sirens, or else, the State, would intervene. Presently, the mob—undiscovered, was almost giddy. Haste was necessary, and time was of the essence, however the two leaders were careful enough so as not to create a rampage. But as word got out to the masses, media, churches and the state, it would be a matter of every man for himself. These two leaders knew this, so they made their way towards the storeroom, keeping enough common sense within the chaos to realize that there’d be a bigger prize awaiting them.

They could hear the crowd behind them, dispersing like bats released from a cave in search for blood. They limited themselves to the rear of the store, and grabbed a large heavy box, which they placed upon an even larger box. As they attempted to push it closer towards the door, they picked up box after box until they could no longer haul the load.

Some guy from around the way, a smaller and somewhat younger version of themselves, who they faintly knew, panted towards them with both a platform truck and a hand truck. Mac left the shopping cart behind, as these four had now become partners and the small heavy boxes were thrown onto the hand truck. The steel platform truck was loaded with the heaviest pieces they could find. One pushed, as the other grabbed hold of anything he could get his hands on. The last, not quite satisfied with his find, was all the more determined, and inch by inch had followed behind the others with the large top loader which rolled easily onto the square dolly. He would certainly return.

This hijacking of Retcher’s was not planned, but it was their conquest. They had to do what they had set out to do, just twenty minutes before. Complete the task before all hell had broke loose and the imminent fire would then consume them. In their eyes, that would be alright, just as long as they got theirs and, the memory of tonight would be worth the cost they’d ultimately pay.

It was 1967 and the news of the fate of that cab driver had spread like an infection. The street had its own news relating sentinels. Word of mouth traveled quicker than electricity. This broadcast was further confirmation of the hatred that the police had for black men. Three citizens recently murdered by Newark Police, no hiring of black officers, a city about to undergo a major medical center development, and ironically, a call for change in the advent of a Black Power Conference on a National level. These were just some of the many factors which lead to the resentment. It has hung in the air like an invisible fog and yet, it had its own energy. This thing which was so loudly silent, that only a louder noise could hush. There wasn’t too much time left, and soon the strength of the infection seeped from their brains and into their souls.

Any group of people, left unattended, would in fact govern themselves. They would also as easily, reinterpret Black Power as Black Rage.

Unfortunately for the many that were caught in the cross-fire, there was rage and there was death. But, in God’s infinite wisdom, there was also Black Love.

*     *     *

Later that evening and into the wee hours of Friday morning there was a kind yet unsettled and knowing spirit pacing around in an apartment just a few blocks away from Retcher’s Appliance Store. She had been born, a caramel colored girl with such a powerful gift, which she could no longer suppress, and she too heard the cries, and was compelled to take action.

At 3:30 am, Alfrey found herself in the midst of the mayhem. All the prisoners, pirates, and players had spoken to her at once. She knew she had to return to Mother’s Haven and save the children. She wanted them more than she had wanted safety. She wanted them more now than ever. She wanted them more than the crowds had wanted justice. This wretched mob of criminals, revolutionaries to some folk up the hill, had seen this night as Newark’s Rebellion. She however, had wanted a different kind of justice. She wanted the greater piece of her broken heart to finally be at peace. But not yet, for it could never be. Peace would never come, and justice would never be. No, not until she found them, not until the children were safe.

The crowd remained oblivious to the plight of the frightened children, half a block away. They knew nothing about what had led to this. They knew nothing about the battles, the captures, the kidnappings, murders, rapes, torture of the brothers and sisters, nor had they cared about the skeletal remains of ancestors at rest in the deep waters of the Atlantic. They cared not to know anything about the in-humanity, the shackles, the selling, the buying and bargaining, the massacres, the back breaking, the bending, the freedom from the frying pan into the fire and here and now, right into the ghetto, it had all come full circle: Newark.

Alfrey knew better. She had seen it all, often hearing the moans and cries in African dialects that she couldn’t understand, even though she understood. The dying had to stop. She stood in her tracks, still, yet anxious. Calmly she waited, while a desperate teenager tried to get someone on the phone. Surely someone must’ve realized that the parking lot in back was on fire. The young girl looked up at Alfrey as if she was her savior, and hung up the phone. They spoke to each other with their eyes, and with a shared intention. They were united now, she, and this plump brown-skinned girl, who must’ve been no more than sixteen.

Alfrey and the teenager immediately searched each room for any of the twenty-eight children who were abandoned by their caretakers thirty minutes ago when the tanks roared up Springfield Avenue. The panicked crowd had become consumed with saving their own skins, and with whatever appliances that they had managed to confiscate.

All of the coffee-makers, vacuum cleaners, hammers, plungers, and toasters would have a new home, but what about the children? No one had given Mother’s Haven a second thought, not even the revolutionaries—save for one.

Two teenagers had to abandon a broken washing machine with no door, which they swore they could fix-up, use, and then sell, as the State Troopers had surrounded the block.

Other large appliances including a Maytag refrigerator were left, when the sirens screamed, like Raid to roaches, the crowd dispersed in a panic. The fire from the lot in back lit the inside of the darkened sixteen room house, Mother’s Haven. A small chubby hand suddenly grabbed hold of Alfrey’s left ankle. At first, Alfrey pulled her leg away, so startled by the little hand whose frightened fingers pierced through bare skin. In her flinching, Alfrey felt a sharp scraping of her right shoulder which was caught by a scissor-like projectile that had been sticking out of the old wooden banister. It snagged both her shirt and skin, in one motion. Alfrey didn’t feel any pain, for the hurt she felt inside was greater. She stopped the young girl, the teenager, in her tracks. She realized that not only was this was a hand, a small human hand, amidst the screaming, smoke and madness, that held her, but it was a hand belonging to one of the three children for whom she had been searching.

Rev. Gillmore was supposed to have that fixed. You ok? the brown faced girl whined and stopped with concern. Alfrey took in a breath, and nodded her head vigorously as her eyes deliberately maneuvered from the young girls face towards the 2nd landing. She managed a smile as they both shared a head nod, and then Alfrey took an even longer breath, and retrieved the little one. She then patted the back of the chubby teenager who had been leading the way. Alfrey followed her up to the next flight of stairs. The second bedroom door squeaked open. The sight of the children gave the teenager some relief. Alfrey scanned the room carefully. Two of the ten desperate eyes held onto Alfrey’s but appeared unafraid.

Alfrey felt her own eyes tear up before she proceeded to give the small gifted child, the four year old, with the wide set of hazel eyes, and doll-like lashes, a long I dream of Jeannie blink. The blink was returned by the little girl, and then, they spoke without speaking. The staring marathon amused the teenager only for a second, because she was too busy attending to the other sleepy eyed and confused children in the room. She counted only five, all under six years old, three girls, and two boys. The little ones remained silent, which had always seemed to be God’s way of protecting abused children. They looked up to these two giant figures, waiting for reassurance and wanting to be held.

They needed to know that these big women would rescue them from the noise, the screams, and the smoke, which began to tingle their noses. Alfrey became concerned when the little boy began to cough, and the enormity of the task at hand, had now seemed to paralyze her.

You get those two on the bed. I’ll grab the three near the window and get them out! The authority of the teenager’s voice rather bothered her. But there was no time to feel anything. She surrendered to the fact that she needed this woman/child. At that very moment all hell was breaking loose outside, and for the moment, while the smoke was beginning to fill the large house, they were the only hope for the twenty-eight children.

Alfrey’s mind raced. Her left shoulder was bleeding but she felt only the impatient silent questioning of the little girl with the wide eyes. How would she know where to find the other child? Which of them would she chose if she had to make a decision, a choice? As if reading her mind, the woman/child threw her a small jacket to put over the one who still held her by the breast. There were so many others and Alfrey knew then, that to save the other child, wherever she may be, she’d have to help this young girl save them all.

"Please Ma’am, there’s no one here to help them but us. Both the social worker and nurse have run off to their homes. No one knows what’s going on. No one cares. It’s only us. I don’t know why you’re here. But I know this place. There’s so many more. Please help me!" Yes, she must’ve known that Alfrey had come for a child, one that she’d known before. One who would change everything, one who had to be saved, yet she also knew—or she should’ve known, that the child was only one of a third.

It was the tone in her voice that bothered her. It made her feel more than a hint of guilt. Whoever trained her—this child, had done the world some justice, because this sixteen year old girl, Alfrey knew, would never leave until every child was accounted for, so Alfrey had no choice, and was again checked, by this chubby teenager. She had been putting up a brave front, this woman/child—bigger than she needed to be for her age, yet younger than the pair of raggedy house shoes that Alfrey had slipped on her feet when she had received the call.

There was a sense of obligation in that nervous yet melodic voice. Not yet a woman, but so much more than a child. It touched her, and the plan, if you want to call it that, was to get to the children before the officials gathered them up. The plan was to find out where they would be taken if she’d been too late. The plan was, to find them before they were herded off to some hospital, shelter, or worse. The plan was to reach them, before they were all lost somewhere in the city. Alfrey planned to get these children and make them safe before the hoses sprayed, the gas released, the fire engulfed, or the bomb hit.

She had no idea an hour ago, when she heard the news, threw on a sweater, gathered and pinned back her reddish brown hair with one of her favorite butterfly clips, and shoved her worn calloused feet into those old house shoes, that she’d be here with this baby, looking for so many children. Yet she had run out the house without thinking. She had run ten blocks to get to them, listening only to the voice that had always led her, this gift, her strength, and her curse. She was glad for it just now.

The direction of the crowd/mob, was heading west up 15th Avenue, Alfrey knew to bear slightly south, yet still proceed west up Springfield Avenue. There, the lesser mobs who knew more about less, felt the need to take out their frustrations on cars, houses, stores, and any un-hued person who would get in their way. The soul-less were escaping. Good for them. The residents set up camp indoors. Children were told to stay away from windows. Teens were chomping at the bit to go outside, to be part of it all. Mothers patiently waited for their husbands, and significant others to return indoors, so that they would not get caught up in the madness, but others, those who had vengeance and enough zeal to be part of the action, hundreds of them were in the streets.

Still, these were a mixture of usual and atypical suspects, so Alfrey was uncertain of how this would all play out. She followed on the heels of cheap worn out Chucks, Wedges, and work boots of angry men, and those of whom she feared for most: angrier teenagers, ready and reckless. They were going to get themselves killed. Her gift had allowed her to have sit-in during their meetings. She had in fact, seen the Troopers before they were even dispersed. This was a war zone, whereby death had already preceded life. There would be real funerals next week, and then a semblance of peace the week after. Alfrey stayed focused so as not to wrap her brain around what was actually happening.

Get the children and get away, far away, was the plan. Now as she watched the heavy young girl/woman/child quickly pulling pants two sizes too big on a toddler.

She knew she had to at least get all the children together, and out of the house. Breathlessly and with purpose the woman/child picked up the baby against her chest, hoisted a three-year-old onto her right hip and snatched the hand of a little boy who wouldn’t stop shaking. Alfrey awakened. She couldn’t decide, but knew she had to do something fast. She chose one of the smaller children and fastened her small cold hand onto her wrist. The ankle grabber was still nestled inside her left arm.

Alfrey leaned over to the right, shifted her weight, and shook her left hip up. The child relaxed in her arms, and secured her legs firmly around Alfrey like a vice. The other, with wide eyes put a thumb in her mouth, got up off the bed and held onto the belt of Alfrey’s sweater. So quiet was this child, so unafraid, but she knew Alfrey from before, and she also knew that she’d better follow.

Somehow they had made their way out through a door on the side of the three-story dwelling. Smoke from the back tinged her eyes as she put the children down. The teenager threw two heavy blankets onto the children and handed the toddler to Alfrey.

I gotta’ go back in there, by the way I’m Candice. Stay here. I have to go back in, and thank you ma’am. The others are huddled somewhere. Can you stay here in case any more of them come out?

Alfrey nodded and rubbed the children’s shoulders. She closed her eyes as if she’d been dreaming but she knew this wasn’t the case, so she put up a brave front and tried to execute a semblance of a smile to somehow relax the six children who were still shaken and who remained huddled together. Some passerby without hesitation walked quickly through the grass over to her.

Sistah, let’s take them up the Avenue to the park. They are gathering some of the children for safe keeping in a middle school up there. We’ve got to stay off the streets though!

I can’t leave, yet. Her name is Candice. I had to come to help out, but she asked me to stay with them, the children. She went back in there.

Alfrey stopped speaking just long enough to consider her position, then changed her tone, to that of someone less familiar to or with, Mother’s Haven. The man turned his head towards both sides of the streets.

There are more children up there? What’s happening? he asked.

I saw it on television and I had to come. But look, it would help us, if I could go back in there and help her with the others, Alfrey explained.

She tried to search his eyes, but they kept averting hers. She was careful when she spoke again knowing that in a few minutes, he would leave. His dark skin and set jaw reminded her of someone. After a haphazard introduction, which didn’t cost either of them anything but would change the future of things to come; she knew that she could trust him. She hung onto the name Ahmad, like it would one day get her a pot of gold.

Can you watch these two? She pointed to the Ankle Grabber, and the wide eyed girl who she knew had understood everything.

The other children, mesmerized by the activity and the fire, were singing. That melody which had lingered in the air alongside the smoke and was their only refuge, had kept them calm considering the circumstances. The little boy kept crawling and wriggling, until