Margaret Brownley - [Rocky Creek 02] (12 page)

Without another word, he walked away. A moment later, he was astride his horse. He gave her one last lingering look before riding out of town as if something or someone gave chase.

The Maxwell cabin was located a mile out of town off the main road. The place looked deserted, and only a slight movement at the window told Rhett someone was home.

Rhett tied his horse to the hitching post, noting the lack of water in the trough. Mrs. Stevens, or Ma as she was fondly called, owner of the boardinghouse where he lived, insisted that the Maxwell cabin had once been a happy home. That was long before he arrived in Rocky Creek. Even so, it was hard to believe.

“When Cynthia Maxwell died, we should have put her husband in the grave right next to her,” she’d said. “It would have been the humane thing to do.”

Rhett walked up the steps to the porch. Twisted needles from the towering loblolly pines that surrounded the area muted his footsteps. He banged on the door.

“Scooter, open up.”

Nothing. He tried the doorknob, and the door sprang open. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light inside. He doubted his nose would ever adjust to the unpleasant smell that rose up to greet him. A young boy stood in the back of the room. It was Scooter’s eight-year-old brother, Jason.

The boy looked scared.

Rhett held his hands palms out. “I won’t hurt you,” he said gently. “Do you know where Scooter is?”

The boy continued to stare at him but said nothing. Stepping inside, Rhett moved slowly so as not to startle him. The log cabin with its clay-chunked walls and rough-hewn wood floors was consistent with dozens of other cabins in the area, but that’s where the similarities ended.

Shocked by the condition of the small room, he stopped and stared.

The room was dark and dingy mainly due to the dirty windows. Only the red-and-white oilcloth on the table added a splash of color. Flies circled and buzzed around the dirty dishes stacked on the counter. Cupboard doors stood open, bearing empty shelves. Clothes, trash, and empty whiskey bottles were strewn everywhere. The smell alone was enough to turn his stomach.

“Remember me? I’m the marshal,” Rhett said, turning his attention back to the boy. He’d seen Jason in town on occasion but hadn’t really gotten to know him. Now he wished he had.

Jason continued to watch him but showed no recognition, though curiosity had replaced the earlier fear in his eyes. His trousers were so threadbare it was a wonder they still held together, and his oversized shirt practically buried him. His hair was long and dull.

Rhett felt sorry for the boy. When was the last time he had a bath? Or a decent meal? When did the child last smile?

“I brought you something,” he said, keeping his voice low so as not to frighten Jason any more that he already was. Rhett had stopped at the boardinghouse on the way to the Maxwell cabin to pick up some of Ma’s delicious macaroons. Now, he opened the cloth napkin and held it out.

Jason stared at the offering but made no motion toward it.

“I brought them for you,” Rhett prodded.

This time, Jason grabbed an almond cookie and stuffed it whole into his mouth.

Rhett nodded approval. “There you go.”

Jason wiped the crumbs away with the back of his hand and reached for another one without further invitation. In quick order, he finished off the lot.

“Do you know where your pa is?” Rhett asked.

Jason shook his head but said nothing.

“What about Scooter? Do you know where he is?”

Again the boy failed to respond.

Rhett debated what to do. Matt Maxwell worked odd jobs here and there. He wasn’t able to keep a job for very long because of his drinking, so he could just as easily be at one of the saloons in town. Scooter was probably hiding in the woods or down by the river.

A fly buzzed in his ear and he slapped it away. Glancing around the room, he was sickened anew. No one should live like this. Certainly no child.

Things were bad, but there was nothing he could do. It wasn’t against the law to live in a messy house. Even the laws that applied to child neglect were vague and, for the most part, unenforceable. The cabin wasn’t even in his jurisdiction. It was the county sheriff’s problem, not his.

He turned to leave.
And what about your job as a human being!

He froze. No, he wasn’t going to get involved. Couldn’t. He’d promised himself years ago not to get too close to anyone. Not to feel. Not to care too deeply. It was the only way he knew to keep from drowning in the murky waters of his guilt.

He glanced back at the boy. Never had he seen a child look more neglected. Something stirred inside. Sorrow, sadness, and empathy washed over him. Rage surged through him. He cursed his feelings—fought them—but in the end he had no choice but to surrender to them.

Spurred both by anger and the need to breathe fresh air, he threw open the windows. Grabbing a metal pail, he filled it with empty whiskey bottles and carried it outside. In a work shed out back, he found a shovel. The soil was soft and easy to dig, giving little release to the rage inside.

What was the matter with Maxwell? Couldn’t he see what he was doing to his sons? Where was God in all this?

And why did God have to let Leonard die?

There it was. He knew it. The moment he started caring about something, it would start. At sixteen, Rhett had fought in that terrible war. Seen things he never thought to see. When his childhood friend Leonard died, Rhett managed to survive by ignoring his feelings and learning to focus on the here and now. It was thinking about the past that got you in trouble. It was giving into feelings that could kill you.

He hid behind his marshal’s badge and, for the most part, it worked. But one comment from Jenny and everything changed.

Spurred on by the need to keep his thoughts at bay, he kept digging until the hole was close to six feet deep and almost as wide—the same size as the grave he’d dug all those years ago on a remote battlefield for his friend.

Shaking the memory away, he picked up the pail and dumped the contents. Bottles tumbled and crashed to the bottom of the pit with a clatter. Glass shattered.

He turned to find Jason by his side. The boy studied him with serious eyes. He held two empty bottles by their necks as if holding up a peace offering.

“Good boy,” Rhett said, nodding approval.

The boy tossed the bottles one by one into the hole then ran into the house, presumably to gather more.

It took them both several trips before the room was cleared of trash. Leaving Jason with the task of filling the hole with dirt, Rhett pumped water from the well, dumped some into the horse trough, and heated the rest on the wood-burning stove so he could wash the dishes. The food was caked on and it took much scrubbing before the dishes were clean.

Then he swept the floor and porch.

Jason returned to the house and watched in silence. Rhett tried joking with the boy and singing silly songs, but Jason never said a word. Nor did he smile. It was eerie to see a child that young so grim and silent.

More than an hour later, Rhett stood back and surveyed his work. Not bad. The last of the flies were gone, but the smell of whiskey still lingered. It was as if alcohol had seeped into the very foundation of the house, along with the owner’s grief and depression.

He turned to Jason. He had passed the point of no return, and this time he didn’t even try to fight the need to help this child. “How would you like to go for a little ride?”

The boy stared at him.

Rhett looked around for paper and pencil to leave a note for Maxwell but found nothing he could write on.

Giving up the search, he led Jason outside to his horse.

“Say hello to Lincoln,” he said. The horse gave a low whicker, but the boy remained mute.

Rhett helped Jason onto the saddle then mounted behind him. The sun disappeared behind a veil of dark clouds and lightning zigzagged upon the distant hills. A few drops began to fall, but the full impact of the storm didn’t hit until they arrived at the boardinghouse.

Ma, his landlady, greeted him with a buttery smile. She was round as a muffin, her white hair in a neat bun. Her whole face lit up at sight of Jason.

“And who have we here?” she asked, clapping her hands in delight. She blinked. “Not Jason Maxwell. Look how you’ve grown.”

“I invited Jason to have supper with us,” Rhett said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Ma nodded approval. “I wondered what I was going to do with all that fried chicken and berry pie.”

Jason looked all around him, his eyes wide with amazement. Next to the Maxwell’s modest cabin, the boy probably thought the boardinghouse looked like a castle.

“This is where I live,” Rhett said. “My room’s upstairs. If you like, I’ll show it to you.”

“He doesn’t want to see your room,” Ma said. “He wants to eat.” She took the boy into the kitchen and washed his face and hands, talking nonstop.

Ma was a widow whose husband had been killed years earlier during an Indian uprising. She had a big heart but that didn’t make her any less particular about the boarders she took in. The rules were stated plainly in the neatly furnished parlor on a sign that read:
No drinking, no cussing, no smoking, and no courting
.

Only good Christian men were permitted to board there. She did break her own rule once by allowing the pastor’s wife Sarah to stay, but that was temporary. Then as now, she had a soft spot for children, and if anyone could win Jason over, it was Ma.

Leaving Jason in those good hands, Rhett hurried back outside to put his horse in the barn out of the storm.

A short time later, Jason sat at the dining room table between Rhett and Kip Barrel. Lee Wong, owner of Rocky Creek’s Chinese Laundry sat opposite. Lee Wong didn’t speak much English, but he smiled a lot. Many immigrants responded to the anti-Chinese movement sweeping the country by cutting off their queues and dressing more American. Not Lee. Dressed in his native tunic, wide-legged pants, and wooden shoes, his pigtail reached all the way to his waist.

Redd was the only other boarder, but because of his responsibilities at the café, he seldom took his meals at the boardinghouse.

Rhett reached for one of Jason’s hands, and Barrel took the other. Ma lowered her head and said grace.

“Our dear heavenly Father, bless this food and everyone at this table.” She lifted her head. “Let’s eat.”

Rain scratched the windows like the claws of angry cats. Lightning flashed, followed by low rumbling sounds.

Jason didn’t pay any attention to the rain. Instead, he kept his eyes on his plate as if he feared his food would disappear if he looked elsewhere. Rhett couldn’t imagine where the skinny kid put all the food Ma placed in front of him. Then he noticed the boy trying to stuff a chicken leg into his pocket.

He leaned over and touched Jason on the arm. The boy looked up with a guilty frown as if caught doing something wrong. Rhett winked at Jason but addressed his comments to Ma.

“Do you have enough leftover chicken for Jason’s brother?”

Ma didn’t miss a beat. “Not only do I have enough chicken, but I have some fresh-baked macaroons.”

Despite Ma’s best efforts, she couldn’t get Jason to say a word. She leaned over and whispered in Rhett’s ear. “He’s protecting his family,” she said. “That’s why he won’t talk.”

Her comments came as no surprise. Jenny said much the same thing.

Later, when Rhett helped carry dirty dishes into the kitchen, Ma turned to him, shaking her head. “I had no idea things had gotten this bad. What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” Rhett had talked to Maxwell on numerous occasions. Locked him up time after time in an effort to dry him out. Nothing got through to the man.

Ma insisted that something had to be done about the boy’s clothes. She asked Lee Wong and Kip Barrel to carry kettles of water upstairs for the bath.

She turned her attention to an old trunk. Kneeling on the floor, she rummaged through it. “I may have something that fits him. Yes, yes, look at this.” She held up a pair of child’s knee-length trousers and a little sailor shirt. “These used to belong to my grandson, Jeff.” A wistful look crossed her face. Jeff Trevor now was a grown man working at the sawmill.

She sighed, her eyes veiled with memories. “They grow up so fast.”

Barrel announced that the bath was ready, and she snapped out of her reverie. She stood and ran her fingers through Jason’s hair. “Let’s go and clean you up.”

Jason balked. With his arms tight across his bony chest, he took on a mulish look and his lower lip stuck out.

Rhett had never seen such obstinacy in one so young. For some reason he thought of Jenny. He could well understand why Jason felt the need to protect himself, but why did Jenny? The thought coming out of the blue startled him, though in reality it should have been no surprise. Lately, it seemed like everything reminded him of Jenny.

Something else he tried to fight to no avail.

Ma tried reasoning with Jason. “A bath and clean clothes and you’ll be as good as new.”

She reached for his hand, but he pulled away and said, “No!”

A delighted smile crossed her face. “Praise the Lord, you
can
talk. I was certain the cat stole your tongue.”

The boy cried out. “I ain’t takin’ no bath!”

Barrel stepped up and sang, lifting his operatic voice to its highest pitch. “I’m not taking a bath!”

Jason stared at him, his eyes rounded, a look of uncertainty on his face. “I won’t,” he said, his manner hesitant as if testing a new toy.

“I won’t,” Barrel sang, his strong tenor voice rattling the dishes on the shelf.

Lee Wong slapped his hands over his ears. Despite his discomfort, he grinned.

Jason was clearly intrigued. One by one he shouted negative responses and looked delighted when Kip repeated them in song. The boy was so fascinated, he failed to notice that Kip had gradually led him from the parlor to the hall and, finally, up the stairs.

Rhett and Ma stood at the bottom of the stairs listening to the commotion on the second floor. Jason screamed and cried. Kip sang. There was a splashing sound and then silence.