The Hollow Tree at Dead Mule Swamp

by Joan H. Young

I realized she was simply lifting her sweatshirt. She turned her face to me and said bitterly, "Look at this."

  All around her ribs and across her stomach were bruises both new and old. Some were purple; others had faded to yellow and green. I raised my eyebrows.

  "I'm not sure I can get in a car anymore, but I'll try if you can take me to the police station. Bert Fowler has told me one too many lies."

  Just then, Jimmie appeared from behind some oil barrels that were stacked at the edge of the clearing. Obviously, he'd been hiding to see what might happen as a result of my visit. He ran to his mother and put his arms around her neck.

  "Why didn't you tell me, son?" she asked, as the tears began to run down her cheeks.

  "I didn't want to make you sad," he said, rubbing her on her back.

  "Can you be strong, if we go to the police? Bert will be awful mad."

  "Maybe he'll go to jail," Jimmie said hopefully.

  "Not for ever," Dee said, shaking her head. "But we better not worry about that yet."

  Dee could not lift her leg high enough to step into the Jeep, but I managed to pull in beside the open steps that led to the trailer, and with our help, Dee awkwardly got into the passenger seat. Jimmie hopped in the back, and we headed for Cherry Hill.

  "We need to go to the Sheriff's Department, I said. You live outside the Cherry Hill village limits."

  "Oh, no! I can't do that," Dee said. "I want to talk with Tracy Jarvi."

  Tracy is our young, female Chief of Police. She's very popular. In fact, Tracy is one of my favorite people in my new hometown. She was doing a terrific job of making friends and slowing down the rate of petty thefts and vandalism that can pull a small town into a steady decline.

  "She'll just have to turn the case over to the county."

  "Well, she can do that if she has to. But I saw her on television. I think she'll understand. I'm not talking with any Sheriff."

  I hadn't met the actual Sheriff, and knew the case would probably be handled by a woman detective, but I didn't want to do anything that would make Dee change her mind, so I drove directly to the Cherry Hill police station, which is located beside the court house, just north of the village park. I pulled into the parking lot and stopped in the shade of a tree.

  "I can't get out," Dee contended. "Maybe she can come out here?"

  Jimmie reached over the seat to pat his mom on the shoulder reassuringly, and I went inside to explain things to Tracy, and ask her to come outside.

  Tracy and I returned to the car in a few minutes. I was still afraid Dee might chicken out, but apparently she really had no idea that Bert hadn't even provided Jimmie a heated place to stay over the winter, and was now thoroughly angry, although frightened. She poured out the story to Tracy, who listened and asked appropriate questions. In addition to the bruises on her mid-section, Dee also showed us black-and-blue spots on her arms and legs.

  Dee was winding down her story, and Tracy said she would go call the Sheriff's Department. She tried to assure the unhappy woman that no one was going to blame her for Jimmie's living conditions.

  After Tracy left, Jimmie spoke up. "What about Beth and Lindsey, Mom?"

  "I don't know, Jimmie-boy, I don't know. Their dad has custody, but I'm sure we can visit them if I can lose some weight. I don't know how I got this way."

  "OK, I miss them."

  "I know you do. I'm so sorry," Dee whispered.

  "It's OK, Mom," Jimmie whispered back.

  "Three branches?" I asked, and he nodded.

  Tracy returned in a minute and said a deputy was on the way, and also an ambulance to take Dee to the hospital in Emily City. Emily City is actually in the next county, but Forest County's population is so sparse, we only have a small out-patient clinic.

  "They'll want to do a forensic examination, and check your general health, Mrs. Pickard," Tracy said.

  "Oh, is that necessary?" Dee looked uncomfortable.

  "Absolutely. You want to make these abuse charges stick so that Bert Fowler can't get revenge. The case will be even stronger if he's been preventing you from getting necessary medical treatment."

  "OK," she said in a small voice.

  "From the things you've told me, he's already looking at domestic abuse, child endangerment, and theft. Lets make sure we do it right."

  I looked at Tracy and nodded in full agreement.

  Tracy continued. "It's going to take at least a half-hour for the ambulance to arrive. They said it was still out on an emergency."

  Dee added quietly, "Bert said he'll be gone till tomorrow sometime, so I guess a few more minutes won't matter."

  "How about if Ana and Jimmie walk over to the Pine Tree and get you three some lunch? We'll buy," Tracy said. This was the second time I'd known Tracy to buy a meal for a witness. It was an interesting police tactic, but I was sure Jimmie would be happy. For all I knew, Tracy was buying the food with her own money. "Just tell them to put it on my tab," she added.

  Dee said she wanted a tuna sandwich and some kind of fruit, with a diet cola to drink. I was surprised she didn't order a hamburger and French fries, based on her size. I have to admit I don't always feel very compassionate toward heavy people.

  Jimmie and I walked east on Lincoln to Balsam, and then south to Main and to the Pine Tree Diner. It was only a couple of blocks. The small restaurant is Cherry Hill's one surviving eatery. It won't win any awards for décor, but the food is always excellent. We were soon on our way back toward the police station with two bags filled with food and several cans of pop. We each carried one bag. I'd ordered the same as Dee, but Jimmie went for the burger and fries. However, he wasn't in any danger of getting fat soon.

  Because it's a prettier walk, and because it's also slightly shorter, instead of taking the same way back, we cut through the village park. The park pretty much fills the block bounded by Main and Mill Streets to the south and west. The Petite Sauble River, the same river that creates Dead Mule Swamp near my house, runs on through town, and forms the north border of the park. To reach the park we only had to walk west on Main, about a half block. However, this took us past Volger's Grocery.

  Adele's radar must have been working overtime. I have no idea how she knew we were there, but she was standing on the broad stone stoop, under her big maple tree, waiting for us as we passed the store.

  "Hello, Ana. I see you've made a friend." she said.

  "We only have a minute, Adele. Someone is waiting for us." I was trying to be circumspect. "This is Jimmie Mosher. Jimmie, Mrs. Volger."

  "We know each other," Adele said. "Jimmie shops here." I suddenly realized he probably bought most of his food with the spare change he kept from the envelope.

  "We have lunch for my mom," Jimmie said proudly.

  "Oh? Where is your mother?" Adele was clearly fishing for news.

  "She's at the police station. We're not going to live with Bert any more." I was surprised the secretive Jimmie would give out so much information, but Adele has that effect on people.

  "Good for you!" Adele's ample bosom jiggled as she nodded her pleasure.

  "We should be going," I said. "The food, you know."

  "Sure, sure. Come see me later."

  "I will," I assured her.

  "Nice to see you," she added, to Jimmie.

  "Things will be better now, I know they will," Jimmie said to her over his shoulder as we walked on. "She's nice to me too," he added to me. "I know she usually gives me more food than I pay for, but she doesn't like me to say anything about it."

  We crossed the street and entered the park. A sidewalk followed the east side of the park, behind a row of stores, until it reached the river, and then angled northwest to follow it until reaching Mill Street. Mill is aptly named, as a shingle mill was once located where the river passed beneath the bridge. The water along this section was channeled into a mill race, and although the mill is long gone, the concrete walls of the race still forced the water into a speedway, where it moved quickly
, even in summer. Now, in the spring, when the water was high, the liquid churned and boiled through the deep, narrow space. A fence separated pedestrians in the park from the dangerous channel.

  At Mill Street we turned north and crossed the bridge. A truck door on the opposite side of the street opened, and Bert Fowler approached menacingly. He must have come home early and found Dee gone.

  "What are you doing with my boy? You've got no right, you motherf…."

  "Run, Jimmie!" I hissed, spinning around and pushing him back in the direction we had come. I hoped Jimmie would run around the block and get Tracy or Kyle, the deputy. Or maybe Tracy and Kyle. At least the river prevented Bert from getting around me to reach the boy. I turned back to face the angry man.

  Bert advanced. "Where's Dee?"

  "Dee?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

  "You lying bitch. Don't you think I know she's in your car at the police station?" I'd heard the expression "mad with rage," but I don't think I'd ever realized it could be a real condition. It seemed as if his eyes were on fire.

  He sprang toward me, and I struck with the only weapon I had, swinging the bag of food at his head. Fortunately, the cans of soda were in my bag, making it heavier than the one Jimmie had been carrying. The bag broke, and Bert's cowboy hat was knocked to the street. The action must have surprised him because he stepped back. A fruit cup had burst and bits of melon lodged in his hair. He wiped juice from the side of his face, and a can of 7-Up rolled away into the raging water.

  I saw it go out of the corner of my eye, and I didn't like how