Dorothy Garlock (3 page)

“Boone or Spinner will be here. Ya got the pistol if ya should be needin’ it.”

“I’ll be all right. Don’t worry.”

Murphy pulled out the choke, stepped on the starter and the motor started. The powerful engine rocked the car. Murphy adjusted the throttle and put his hand out the window to clasp hers.

“’Bye, Papa. Be careful.”

Murphy squeezed her hand and drove away.

Annabel walked around the house and watched the car until it was out of sight. Then loneliness settled over her like a dark cloak. She went up onto the front porch and sat down in the porch swing. The worry was always there. Whenever he left, she always feared that he would never come back.

She heard the jingle of harness before a wagon pulled by two large mules came from the back of the house with Spinner on the seat. He was a tall, thin man with a face that reminded Annabel of a hound dog, and he had the disposition of one: He was kind, gentle and was silent unless he were riled about something.

Boone came from around the house and stood with his hands on his hips, watching the wagon go down the lane the car had traveled just minutes before. He turned to put a booted foot on the edge of the porch.

“Boone, will we be here long enough for me to plant a garden?”

“Should be. Want me to dig ya a spot?”

“Whoever lived here before had a garden south of the house. I wish I had some chickens to tend.”

“That’s easy. I’ll get ya some.”

“We don’t have a pen. A fox would be sure to get them.” “That’s easy too. I’ll throw up some wire next to the shed.”

Annabel judged Boone to be only a few years younger than her father and an inch or so shorter. He had crisp black hair, a stubble of black beard and black eyes. She had seen his face cleanly shaven only one time during the years she had known him. At that time she had asked him why he let it be covered with the whiskers. His reply was that he didn’t have time to shave every day.

“Papa said to tell you if I wanted anything. Well …” She paused and smiled at him. “I want a cow to milk and … some hogs.” Her eyes teased him.

“Whoa, now. Ain’t no smiles ever goin’ to get me to get ya any hogs. A cow … maybe.”

“I’d feel more settled here with chickens and a cow. But when we move, I’ll hate to go off and leave them.”

“It ain’t been easy for ya, movin’ ever’ whip stitch. This ain’t a business for a family man.”

“I wish Papa would give it up.”

“He’s thinkin’ on it.”

“It’s what he says every time I ask him.”

“Keep askin’. Maybe he’ll do it.”

“Boone, do you know the people who live down the road?”

“What’s to know about them?”

“Papa said they were hill trash and not anyone I’d want to know.”

“He’s … ‘bout right. They got a still up in the hills.”

“They? I saw a woman standing in the yard.”

“Three brothers live there. I don’t know if the woman is a sister or a wife to one of them.”

“It would’ve been nice to have a neighbor.”

Boone had come onto the porch and was relaxing against the side of the door, his hands tucked beneath his armpits.

“I’ve seen them watchin’ us. If one comes ‘round here at night, he’ll get a load of buckshot.” He shoved himself away from the wall and went to the edge of the porch. “I better shake a leg. Got thin’s to do.”

“I got dried peaches while we were in town. I’ll make a peach cobbler for supper. We need cheering up.” Annabel slid from the swing.

Boone’s quick laugh broke with throaty vibrancy and his dark eyes shone with admiration.

“I can’t think of a better way to do it than tyin’ into a peach cobbler.”

Boone was good company. He amused her during supper and while she washed the dishes with tales of his lumberjack days in Michigan. When the kitchen was tidy once again, they went to the parlor. She took her violin from its case, and Boone settled back in a big leather chair. She played for him but mostly for herself. An hour passed as she filled the room with music. Boone could have sat there all night and was sorry when she put the instrument back in the case.

He patted her on the shoulder and went to his sleeping quarters in the barn.

Annabel sighed and went to bed.

Chapter
2

B
OONE, DO I DARE LET THEM OUT?” Annabel proudly watched a dozen big white hens and the cocky rooster strut inside the tight fence.

“I think so. Spread some of that chicken feed around. They’ll not wander far from the feed.”

“Here, chicky, chicky—” Annabel pulled back the section of the fence used as a gate and threw out a handful of feed from the bucket she carried. She laughed with delight when the rooster, exerting his dominance over the hens, marched out of the opening first and began to cram himself with the unexpected offering scattered in the grass.

“Thank you, Boone.” She smiled lovingly. “When will we get eggs?”

“It ain’t ort to be long. The man said there was some good layers in the bunch.”

“I’m going to name him Peter the Great.”

“Who’re you namin’ that?”

“The rooster. Peter the Great was big, almost seven feet tall. And he was rude and arrogant like that rooster.”

“Never heard of him.”

“He was the czar of Russia back in the early 1700s.”

Boone snorted. “One of my history teachers in school was fascinated by Russian history. She sat on her desk and told us stories about Peter the Great. When he went to France, he jumped from his carriage and picked up King Louis the Fifteenth, who was a child, and kissed him. The French about had heart attacks. No one was ever allowed to touch the king, but Peter, in his arrogance, didn’t care about that.”

Annabel saw the bemused look on Boone’s face and, realizing the subject was of no interest to him, changed it.

“What do you think Papa will say about the cow?”

“He’ll snort. I’ll get ‘er in the mornin’. Spinner will be here. I’ll ride in and lead her back. It’ll be a slow walk.”

“It’ll be a long walk for the poor thing.”

“I’ll stop and let her rest now and then.”

“It’s going to be grand having fresh milk and eggs.”

“And a chicken once in a while.”

“Not one of my hens!” Annabel glanced at Boone and saw the teasing look in his eyes. “You’ll have to teach me to milk, Boone.”

“Yore pa won’t be wantin’ ya milkin’. He’s wantin’ ya to be givin’ teas and such.”

“I want to learn to milk my cow. What color is she?”

Boone’s answering chuckle was dry. “Color? Hell … I reckon she’s brown.”

Annabel’s eyes shone with enjoyment and Boone thought once again that Murphy should get out of business and give the girl the home she deserved.

“Did I say thank you, Boone?”

“’Bout ten times, but ya can thank me again tonight by playin’ some more tunes on your fiddle.”

The boy had a terrible pain in his head when he woke up, lying on the bank of a small stream. He hurt all over: back, legs, arms, hands. When he was able to sit up and look around, he saw an old man squatting with his back to a tree. He also saw what was left of his measly possessions strewn near him. The old man got up and began stuffing them in the bag that lay nearby. He picked up a sheet of paper that had been wadded up and tossed aside.

“While ya was sleepin’, some fellers went through yore stuff. This’s yores. They couldn’t read it.” He put the paper in the bag. “I saw ya sleepin’ here, boy. Soon as ya can, ya best get on down the road. This ain’t a good place to be sleepin’.”

Jack looked at him with a dazed expression on his face, then bent over and vomited. When he straightened up, he could scarcely focus his eyes.

“I … don’t feel good.”

“Looks like ya got the chill fever, boy. Don’t stay ‘round here. Go on, now. Find ya a place and hole up till yo’re feelin’ better. They took yore grub, but here’s some bread and dried deer meat to tide ya over.”

“Thanks,” he muttered and rose unsteadily to his feet. He held on to a sapling and waited until the trees stopped dancing before his eyes, then staggered away.

He spent the next couple of days in a field south of Henderson, sleeping in a haystack and nursing his aching head. Hunger had forced him to forage in a garden at night to find food. He had considered asking for work in Henderson; but he was weak, and he feared bones in his left hand had been broken when a crate fell on it while he was helping unload a barge a few days ago. There wasn’t much he would be able to do in the way of earning money.

After leaving the hayfield this morning, Jack had made his way to the riverbank and sat throughout the day watching the water roll by and wondering what he was going to do. He was broke and weak and a long way from home. Tears of despair filled his eyes. Refusing to acknowledge them, he let them run unchecked down his cheeks.

From his bag he took out the letter the old man had rescued and read it again.

Dear Jack,

It has been a long time since we last heard from you and I’m not even sure this letter will reach you. I wish you would write more often. I’ve been worried and Evan is threatening to come and fetch you home.

The crops are in. Evan bought a gasoline tractor. He is like a kid with a new toy. When he isn’t playing with his son, he’s tinkering with that machine. Jacob was a year old last Wednesday and starting to walk. I wish you could see him. Papa says he looks like you when you were little, but he has his father’s blond hair.

Corbin has quit his job as police chief. He’s gone to see his folk in Springfield, but says he’ll be back.

Joy keeps asking when you’re coming home. She will start school next year if I can get her to go and leave the baby. She thinks that he will be lonesome without her.

I’m sorry you didn’t make the baseball team but there will be other chances to try out. The traveling league will be back this summer. Come home and play on the town team.

We are all well and happy here, but, Jack, we miss you. Our family is not complete without you. Please come home. It’s been almost a year since we’ve seen you. Papa is worried about you too.

If you’re not ready to come home, write and let us know that you are all right.

Your loving sister,

Julie

When he finished reading the letter, he folded it and carefully put it in his shirt pocket.

I’m sorry for your worry, Sis. I’d write, but I don’t even have the two cents to buy a stamp.

Knowing that he had to move, Jack got slowly to his feet, lifted his bag to his shoulder and left the riverbank. He hurt in a hundred different places and worried that he was in no condition to protect himself if he was set upon.

Trying to ignore the hunger pangs in his stomach, he put one foot in front of the other as he trudged down the dusty road. He was determined to get as far from Henderson as possible before he found a spot for the night. The cloth sack he carried on his shoulder held the sum total of his possessions. It was much lighter than it had been a few days ago before his blanket, his food, his baseball and his leather mitt had been stolen.

Twilight had darkened into night. The moon, made dim by a thin layer of rain clouds, rose over the treetops. The road Jack traveled was bounded by woods on one side and a field on the other. Just beyond the woods was the mighty Mississippi River. He knew that he had to eat, sleep, drink water and stay as far away from people as possible until he was sure he was strong enough to protect himself.

He was so tired he could hardly move when he left the road and slogged into a patch of wild chokecherry bushes. He eased the bag from his shoulder and sank wearily down on the ground. Seeing a faint light coming from a house set on a hill above the road comforted him. He didn’t feel quite so alone.

Digging into his bag, he foraged for the green onions, radishes and green beans he had gleaned from a garden last night and washed this morning in the stream. He had picked a few wild strawberries that grew back from that stream to stave off his hunger. He thought longingly of the rabbit he had seen that morning. He had been tempted to try to knock it down with a rock until it occurred to him that he didn’t have a way to cook it.

Leaning on one elbow, Jack looked at the house across the road and up the hill. The faint light glowed from one of the windows. Was the woman of the house making supper? About this time Julie would be cooking for Evan and Joy. Eudora would be preparing a meal for Pa, Jason and Jill. They would sit at the table and talk about the happenings of the day. He thought about his brother Joe, who found enjoyment in almost everything, and wished he were here with him.

Jack chewed on the radishes and the green beans and washed the raw vegetables down with water from the fruit jar he carried in his bag. He had discovered that if he drank a lot of water he wasn’t quite so hungry.

When the sound of music drifted down to him on the evening breeze, he was startled. It was so hauntingly beautiful and so unexpected that it frightened him. He got to his feet. The melody must be coming from the house on the hill. He went to the edge of the road to listen. Someone was playing a violin. The tune was an Irish song that he had heard many times on Evan’s gramophone. He couldn’t remember the name of the tune, but he knew it was being played by someone who loved to play the instrument.

In awe, he gazed up the hill. The music seemed to surround him. He stood there, even when intermittent raindrops began to fall, only vaguely aware of the ache in his back and in his legs. When the music stopped after a series of fast tunes that ended with “Over There,” the song made popular during the war, he waited for a long while beside the road before he went back to the nest he had made for himself amid the chokecherry bushes.

Lying down with his canvas bag over his head and shoulders to shield them from the rain, he let his misery flow through him. For the first time since he was a small child, he allowed himself to cry. He was eighteen years old and wished fervently that he were a child again back in the farmhouse on the edge of Fertile with the family who cared about him. His sister Julie would be fussing over him and urging him to drink hot tea. Joe, his older brother, would tell him to not worry about his chores, that he would take care of them. And little Joy would want to sit beside him holding his hand.