Tiny Homes

This story is by Margie Witt and was part of our 2024 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

Pastor Briggs warned his daughter that unacceptable behavior would lead to this. He glared at her swollen belly. “Boys. Drugs. Babies. Shame. You’re eighteen. Time for you to experience the real world. Stop by the food pantry on your way out.”

The pantry volunteer looked from Samantha’s tear-stained face down to her belly and handed her a backpack the church prepared for the homeless. “Good luck.”

The heavy backpack dug into Samantha’s shoulders. She walked the three-block strip known as Dogtown, past campsites strewn with litter, broken-down cars, campers, plywood shacks and tents until she found a spot between two family sized tents fronted with a clean swept sidewalk. She laid the tent pieces out, not a clue where to begin.    It was Henny who came to her rescue. The woman, a stout black woman with a tiny head disproportionate to her body, and dyed orange hair, tagged with the street name Henny because of her striking resemblance to an old chicken.

“Well, I’ll be damned if it ain’t the preacher’s kid. What’s a nice white girl like you doin’ out here?” Henny asked.

Samantha looked up, startled. “How did you know?”

“Girl, don’t you remember? A couple years ago. Church nursery. I helped you bring all those chill’en’ back in after someone left the gate open. Think I saved your ass that day.”

Samantha gasped. “Y-y-y-you. D-d-d-dad blamed you for it. I never told him the truth.”

Henny stared at Samantha’s belly bump. “Lookin’ to me like you paid your price. Funny how things come around.”

When Henny turned to leave, Samantha cried out. “Wait.”

“Don’t you be worryin’ girl; I’ll be comin’ back.”

Henny stopped outside the tent next door. “Jigger! Come out and help our new neighbor.”

Jigger staggered out, shaky hands over his brow, blinking away the bright sun. Samantha wondered how this stumped over old man with oil-stained coveralls, smelling of stale scotch, could be any help. His skin was so dirty, she couldn’t tell if he was black or white. One whiff of his breath and she knew how Jigger earned his street name.

Jigger looked over the poles and canvas. Ten minutes later, he stood back to admire the finished product. Samantha pulled a ten-dollar bill from her sock. “Can I pay you?”

Henny stepped between them. “Jigger don’t need money, girl. He got more’n all of us put together.”

“Then why is he here?”

“It’s complicated. Some people just aren’t meant to be living in a house. Jiggers, he come from one of them lawyer families. They just happy to give him money to stay away. He the only one here police don’t bother. Heard his family bribes the local police. They even put up that barbed wire fence out back. Just mind your own business, keep your yard clean and they take care of you too.”

“You lucky you found this spot. I been like you. Came here twenty years ago myself, just about as preggers as you, but runnin’ from my baby daddy. You get yourself settled now. We talk later.”

Samantha rolled out the sleeping bag and emptied the backpack: basic toiletry, socks, white T-shirt, flashlight, matches, and a few cans of food. Thank goodness she still had her job at Gold’s Gym, a three-block walk from the camp. At least she could shower.

As the three heated their canned foods over the grill later in the evening, Samantha asked Henny, “What happened to your baby?”

“You don’t be worryin’ about that, girl. I gotta sense your pa is the forgivin’ sort. Preachin’ at that church and all. Makes me wonder why you here. Tell us the truth. We got your back.”

“Well, this part is obvious.” Samantha rubbed her hands over her belly bump. “When Daddy found out, he told me to abort the kid or move on.”

Henny took a deep inhale. “Lawd almighty. This one’s gonna take one of ‘em miracles.”

 

#

By summer, the three had a routine. Henny, having grown up in the south, always had beans and greens on the fire. She made the best cornbread in town too, after Jigger rigged electricity from the warehouse down the street to power a small toaster oven. Samantha’s daily contributions of something to throw on the grill completed their meals.

They spent evenings around the pit as the days grew longer, watching the chaos on the other side of the barbed wire. Free entertainment, better than anything on TV. Everything from drug overdoses and fireworks to police raids, and once a trio of naked men dancing in the flow of a fire hydrant.

Jigger was usually off to his tent with his bottle of scotch by dark, leaving Henny and Samantha to wait for the coals to cool.

When Samantha was well into her last trimester, she worried about bringing the baby into this world, especially with the first chill of winter in the air. With growing anxiety, she asked, “Henny, tell me about your baby. What happened?”

“Oh child. Better you don’t know.”

Samantha tugged at her tight shirt. “I have a bad feeling lately. Winter’s coming. I can’t work much longer. You know I can’t stay here with a baby.”

“I tell ya, things is gonna work out.”

“How can you say that? You won’t even tell me what happened to your baby.”

Henny clasped her hands. “Well, you asked for it. My baby daddy, his name was Red, came around looking for me when I was ‘bout as big as you. Jigger tried to fend him off. Red brought out a tire iron and threatened Jigger. Jigger got Red off my back, but I couldn’t get away before Red shoved me onto the pavement. Red saw the blood and took off. Jigger had saved my life, but the baby just poured out of me in a lifeless puddle.”

Samantha trembled. “I’m so scared.”

“Well, don’t look like that’s a problem for you. Your baby daddy hasn’t shown up.”

“And he won’t. Daddy paid Ned off, and he overdosed on Fentanyl.”

“That sucks. I been wanting to know something else. Why you never mention your mama.”

“She died last year. Heart attack. I couldn’t deal with it and hung out with Ned so I could get high.”

Henny grimaced. “I knew there was more to the story than just a baby. You gotta go home, girl. Your daddy needs you.”

“You don’t understand. After Ned overdosed, I never touched another drug. I didn’t want to hurt his baby. Dad refused to believe me.”

“I gotta think about this. I heard rumors about the city gonna sweep this area and provide housing. Saw the first place they puttin’ ‘em is behind your dad’s church. I’d bet you could get one of those.”

#

A few days later, posters plastered every pole, fence, and tree in Dogtown. The residents had forty-eight hours to clear out their camps. The city would sweep the area, including all tents, shanties and abandoned vehicles. A highlighted square mentioned there would be housing available. Just call (555)555-5555. At the bottom of the poster, Samantha stared at a photo of her dad surrounded by a complex of tiny homes in the church parking lot. He cares more about them than his own daughter.

Henny knew all about this city’s promises of housing. Her friend Daisy lived two blocks over and just last month the city swept her street clean. She was one of very few who met the requirements to live in the tiny houses behind the church. The rest moved their tents and trashed trailers to a vacant lot three blocks away.

Henny lucked out and secured a tiny home near her friend. She cried on Samantha’s shoulders as she packed her belongings. “Samantha, promise me one thing. Go home. Ask for that second chance. Your dad loves you. Remember the gate? He knew you left it open. He blamed me to protect you.”

#

Two months later, Samantha served dinner at Tiny Homes Village. She beamed when Henny held out her plate. “I have a surprise for you.” She turned and called out, “Dad, I’m ready.”

Henny tensed as Pastor Briggs and Samantha pulled her aside. “Relax, Henny,” the pastor said. “Samantha says I owe you an apology. I misjudged you in that gate incident and I’m sorry I called the police on you. I just couldn’t accept my daughter would be that irresponsible. She wouldn’t be here today except for you saving her. Guess we all learned our lessons and a lot more.”

Samantha blushed and hung her head. “I’m sorry too, Henny.”

Henny whispered to Samantha. “Girl, didn’t I tell you all would be well?”

“Yes, but there’s more. Look behind you.”

Henny stood in shock. “Can’t be.”

Jiggers, now clean and sober, walked a straight line from his tiny home cradling Baby Jigs in his arms.