“What my way is, Reverend, is none of your business. Need I remind you that Mercy is my granddaughter and you are this church’s employee? I expect you should stay out of how I choose to raise her,” Father Heron said flatly.
Preacher Grey’s face was flushed. He looked embarrassed and confused. His wife’s eyes were panicked. I was messing up their life. Their home, their income, I was messing it all up.
“It’s okay, Preacher,” I said.
I turned to the congregation. “What Father Heron wants me tell you all is that I’ve sinned real bad.” Oh God the love. Such love. “I ran off with a man.” He had foxfire in his heart. “And he was a mater migrant.” Thick red love. “I am sorry, and it is over and will never happen again.” This is my life now.
Chapter XXIV
I began my life again. An empty body breathing, eating, swallowing. I never searched or questioned. Instinctively I knew there were some places it wasn’t safe to look. Like my heart. At times I wondered if it was even still there. And if it was, what would it hold?
“Let’s go for a walk,” Mamma Rutha said.
We walked through the woods every evening. The leader revering everything around her, while I blindly followed. Until one day we came to a stream that wasn’t much more than a puddle that trickled.
“I wanted to show you something, Mercy baby, but they’re all gone now. Oh well, maybe they’ll come back later.”
“What was it?” I asked.
“Well, it was the prettiest little patch of wild morning glories you ever saw. Right here in the middle of the woods, all twisted around this little stream. Found them last month. I was hoping they’d still be here. I should have known better since it’s November. Everything starts to die now.”
“What?” I whispered.
“Just morning glories,” she said. Don’t look, I told myself. “The prettiest little patch, right here.” Don’t look for your heart, I begged. “All twisted around the little stream.” There it is. There’s the heart. “Full bloom in September too.” Is it shattered? “But dead in November.” Don’t go inside. “That’s when everything dies.” She sighed. It’s pulling me in. I can’t stop it.
I was inside my heart. I looked around, at all the middle chapters scribbled on the walls. I read the ending. He’s not coming back. And I cursed my heart for finding me and making me cry. Heavy sobs until my body ached, right by the dead morning glory stream. My lips kept mumbling one word, over and over. Why?
Later that day, I watched Della creep through the yard, with an eye out for Father Heron. “Hey. He’s not here,” I said. She squealed and ran to hug me.
“Oh Lord, you’re alive! The rumors in the valley are crazy. I began to think Father Heron had really killed you!”
She looked good. Her hair had grown out into a little crop of auburn fuzz and her eyes weren’t as haunted. I wondered if she had shut off the shadow love. Would I be as lucky?
“You think my hair’s coming back in lighter?” she asked. “Momma says it’s coming back in strawberry blonde. If it is, Mercy, I swear right here and now that I won’t ever color it again! But how are you? Man was I mad at you two for leaving me at the river! But I know now it ain’t your fault. I thought he was better too, I guess we shouldn’t have expected that much from a dirty mater migrant.”
I wanted to grab and shake her until her wagging tongue fell out of her head.
“Don’t call him that. If you care at all for me, Della DeMar, you will never call him that again.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just after everything that’s happened, I thought you wouldn’t want him anymore. Folks are saying you killed yourself. Some nasty folks said that Mamma Rutha had finally gone totally nuts and knifed you to death. Stupid little valley. I knew that you were just laying low after what Trout did. And that you were probably mad as hell. I mean, it’s one thing to date a mater migrant, oh, I mean crop worker, but it’s another to find out you’re dating a criminal. Don’t worry, I’m getting over Randy, and you’ll get over Trout.”
Had she said the word “criminal”? Or did I just imagine that?
“What did you say?” I asked her, suddenly feeling panicked.
“Who needs those men!”
“No. About Trout. And the criminal thing.”
“Now don’t get mad, I didn’t call him a dirty mater migrant again. I just called him a crook. I reckon since he’s locked up in the valley jail, I can at least call him that.”
“Jail?” I heard my voice ask.
Della looked at me strangely. “You mean . . . you mean you didn’t know?”
I shook my head.
“Oh Mercy. I am so sorry. You didn’t know! How awful. You probably just thought he had run off. I bet you’ve been grieving your heart out. I thought you knew what the rest of us did and was raging mad over it. I figured that you had broke up with him. Washed your hands of him and said good riddance. Poor Mercy, everybody else knew where he was and you had no idea.”
“Tell me,” I found the strength to whisper.
“Okay. I’ll tell you what they’re all saying in the valley. You know how that goes, it ain’t all true, but some of the bits and pieces always are. I went into Rusty’s diner. By the way, he wanted me to tell you that you’re fired. Not because you haven’t been there, but because he heard about your little confession at church and man is he mad at us! He got all red in the face when he saw me, and said, ‘Tell that mater migrant whore of yours if she prefers a red-stained man over being with me, manager of a successful diner, then she can stay down in the riverbottom for all I care!’ I just had myself a good laugh at him. The look of horror on his face, to learn that women preferred poor mater migrants to him. It was a sight to behold! But anyway, I was in the diner, hopping mad at you two for leaving me at the river. Then I overheard an old woman talking about a white guy that just got arrested down in the riverbottom. And I asked her what she was talking about. And she said that Trout had been arrested for stealing four trained hunting dogs. And that they had hard evidence against him. Said they found two ropes high up on the mountain that still had the dog collars attached, and then the other two matching ropes were what he was holding his tent up with. They had him arrested and he’s down in the jail right now. Don’t know whose dogs they were, though. The owner had searched out the mountain and found those two ropes, and he knew the minute he went down to the riverbottom and saw the same ropes who had done it. But they haven’t found the dogs, so they’re thinking he must have sold them. Mercy, are you okay? You look so pale!”
I was pale. My heart had turned white with fear. I was shaking so hard that my chair began to groan.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Father Heron. They were his dogs. He’s done this,” I cried through chattering teeth.
“No,” Della said, her eyes growing wide. “He’s been homecooked. All the law serves up here is homecooking. The old men all get together and decide who the good guys are and who the bad guys are and the rest of us just suffer for it. They probably planted them ropes.”
“No, I gave him those ropes. Me and Mamma Rutha took the dogs high on the mountain because they were killing for the fun of it. We used four red ropes. She left her two but I brought mine back. And when Trout needed new ropes for his tent, I gave him mine. I don’t know what to do.”
“Shh. We’ll figure something out.”
“I’ll tell them it was me. Then they can send me to jail if that’s what Father Heron wants. But I won’t let them send him. I won’t!” I said, rising to my feet.
“Mercy Heron, you have done lost your mind! Father Heron don’t care about them dogs! It was Trout he was after! If you go down there and confess, it won’t make any difference. They’ll keep him locked up and throw you in there too.”
“I should have known,” I said, pacing back and forth. “I should have known Father Heron had done something. Nothing will satisfy him except my misery.”
“You have to get a hold of yourself. Cal
m down and we’ll figure something out.”
My stomach surged. The same way it had that night at Della’s trailer. I bent over the porch and spilled my breakfast over the ground.
“See, you’re making yourself sick,” Della said.
“I’ve got to go.”
“Where? Where are you going?”
“To see Sheriff Barnes. To tell him the truth.”
Chapter XXV
I forgot about the baby. I only thought about Trout in jail. How he hadn’t left me after all. And how my red ropes had slipped themselves around our necks, and hung us.
I found Sheriff Barnes’ car parked outside the Credit Union. I waited by it until he walked out of the bank. He was whistling. Probably congratulating himself on being a “good guy” and catching the “bad guys.” An honest day’s work.
“Hey there, Miss Mercy.” He smiled at me, flashing me his shiny white dentures.
“Hello, Sheriff Barnes.”
“Nice day out, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Yes sir.”
“Reckon it’s gonna rain, though.”
“Seems like it will.”
“How’s your grandpa getting along?” he asked.
“He’s doing well, thank you. So is Mamma Rutha.”
“That’s good. Well, I’m on duty, so I gotta run on. You know how it is, the law never rests.” He laughed.
“That’s why I’m here, Sheriff. I have some information for you about a crime,” I said, my heart beginning to speed up. I was scared. But I also felt powerful. Father Heron thought he had won by having Trout locked up. He never expected me to confess. I was about to declare a victory, even if it meant going to jail.
“Well Mercy, now is not the best time . . .” he began, looking at his watch.
“I need to confess to a crime, Sheriff,” I interrupted. “A crime for which someone else is being blamed.”
“Maybe you want to talk this over with your grandpa before you come talking to me.”
“No, I don’t. I’m grown now, Sheriff. And I want to take responsibility for my own actions. Them dogs that were stolen. Fox, Coon, Bear, and Wolf. It wasn’t the mater migrant that did it. It was me. I hiked them up to the top of the mountain late one night because they were killing our other animals. Then I gave some of the rope to the mater migrant because his ropes were going bad.”
“Well, I appreciate your honesty,” he said, smiling. “I have to get back to work now.”
“Wait, does that mean that Trout will go free?”
“I can’t comment on any official business.”
“But sir, it’s my business too!” I said, my voice raising. “An innocent man is being punished for something I did!”
“I really have to go now, what’s done is done,” he said, his voice edgy.
“What’s done is done? You have an innocent man in jail. Are you no better than the criminals you catch?”
His eyes flashed danger and he stepped toward me. So close I could see the blue in his fake gums.
“Not that it’s any of your damn business, you little mater migrant whore,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’d like nothing better than to lock you up too. But your grandpa’s already had to live down the slut for a daughter he had, a crazy wife, and now a slut for a granddaughter. And I don’t want to add the shame of a criminal to him now. That’s the only reason why you ain’t in handcuffs. An innocent man? Is that what you call him? Well, I knew you was mixed up in this business from the beginning. And he was claiming ignorance. Said he didn’t know about no dogs. So I said, ‘If you don’t know, then tell me where you got those red ropes from.’ And he wouldn’t. So I says to him, ‘I know your little whore is in on this. So if you don’t want that filthy bitch to be right here where you are, you better spill your guts.’ He signed a confession right then and there. Said he did it all. So is that what you call innocent? Get out of my sight ’fore I arrest you just for the hell of it.”
His words were a confusing mixture of hate and rage. Leaving me flinching but only half hearing. But I strung together one thing. Troutwas not going to be freed. I had been so certain that the sheriff wouldn’t let an innocent man be imprisoned. Why had I been so certain? What made Sheriff Barnes any different than Father Heron?
“Please,” I begged him, my hand grabbing on to his arm as he turned to get in his car. “Don’t do this. I know you’re a friend of Father Heron’s. And I understand that you don’t think much of me, or my momma or my grandma. But I am begging you. The man is innocent.”
My touch burned him. He jerked his arm free and got into his car without even looking at me.
It had begun to rain. I sat down on the curb and let wet mirrors pile high all around me.
“I’m so sorry,” I said out loud. “I’ll make it right, Trout.” My feet were shaking with cold I didn’t feel inside. The puddle they rested on began to ripple.
I remembered our day together in the rain, when he asked me if I believed in luck. “Look like you’re standin’ on a mirror,” he had said. And I had told him no, that I didn’t believe in luck. Had I been wrong? Was all of this because of my broken mirrors? I pulled my feet out of the puddle and placed them on the curb.
Della found me sitting alone and soaked. She half carried me to her momma’s car.
“What’s wrong? What did Sheriff Barnes say?” she asked, her eyes wide and scared.
I groaned, loud sobs escaping from the well of my heart. “He already confessed. They told him they were going to put me in jail if he didn’t. I told Sheriff Barnes it was a lie, and that Trout was innocent. But he didn’t care. He didn’t care because Father Heron wants Trout in jail. Father Heron knows that is the best way to kill me.”
“Nobody’s gonna kill you,” she whispered.
“This will! And I deserve it. It’s my own fault. That promise we made when we were fourteen. That’s why we came back. He didn’t want to, but I made him.”
“I don’t know what to say, Mercy.”
“I need to see him. Before they ship him over the mountain.”
“Okay. We can do that.”
“And I may not know how to fix it yet, but somehow I’ve got to. I don’t care what I have to do,” I said.
She squeezed my hand and nodded. “Me too. Anything you need me for. I’ll do it.”
I knew she would too. And not just because she loved me. That was one reason. But because she hated the people who pulled all the strings on Crooktop. The same ones that set her momma up in a garage with five children and then went home to their nice warm houses to congratulate themselves on the good deed performed. She was like me, cursed and angry.
We drove down to the valley jail. It was like any jail. Shabby and dirty. With lots of concrete and poor ventilation. It smelled of urine and dirty mop water. People were never held there long. They either served their time for a minor infraction or were shipped off to the penitentiary over the mountain after final sentencing. My body sensed his presence. It didn’t need my mind to tell it that he was near. He was so close to me that I felt I could smell him above the urine.
There was only one young guy behind the desk watching a small black-and-white TV. He was pimply-faced and thick. He wore a smug look, born from the uniform he wore. He ignored us when we walked up to the desk.
“Excuse me, sir?” I said.
He nodded.
“I’m here to visit Trout Price.”
“Don’t know nobody by that name,” he mumbled, without glancing up from the TV.
“Well I’m sure he’s here. His name is Trout.”
“Sorry, no Trout here,” he said.
“But there is. Trout Price?” I persisted.
“Look lady, this here is a jail, not some local hangout. We don’t register people by their nicknames. So we ain’t got no Trout in this here jail,” he said, eyes meeting me for a brief second before returning back to the TV.
“But Trout’s not his nickname. It’s his real name.”
“W
ell I don’t know what to tell you. Sounds like a nickname to me, and unless you know his real name I can’t help you.”
“The mater migrant. He has red hands. Wavy hair,” I said, my voice beginning to break.
“Oh, him. He won’t tell us his real name and the sheriff’s awfully particular about using only legal names, so he’s just been assigned a number. Let me look, oh here it is, the mater migrant is Prisoner 3902 Price.”
“His real name is Trout. It ain’t a nickname. His name isn’t 3902, or whatever you said. It’s Trout Price.” I choked, my voice betraying my emotion.
“Well if it sounds like a nickname, and you don’t have ID, then the sheriff assigns a number. They’ll probably do the same over at the pen too ’cause who ever heard of the name Trout? His momma must have been crazy or something.” He laughed.
“Can I see him?”
“Can’t see him,” he said, turning his attention back to the TV.
“There’s an hour left in visiting time.”
“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head.
“Why?” I asked.
He ignored me.
“Why can’t I see him?” I asked again, my voice growing louder.
He still ignored me.
I reached over the desk and yanked the TV cord out of the wall.
“What the hell . . .” he began, rising to his feet.
“I just want you to give me some answers!” I yelled. “Tell me why I can’t see him when visiting hours aren’t over!”
“The mater migrant ain’t allowed visitors,” he said.
“I ain’t just a visitor. I’m his family. We got married.”
“Sheriff Barnes said a young girl your age might come and say anything to try and get back there. Sorry,” he said, sitting back down.
I sat down on a chair across from the counter. I was numb.
“You been a cop long?” I heard Della ask.
“A year.”
“Wow. A whole year? Bet you seen a lot of action.” She smiled.
“I’ve seen my share,” he said, switching his TV back on.
“Ever had to shoot anybody?”
The Killing Tree Page 18
