Blue Willow

by Deborah Smith

  “Good. I’ll take this one fight at a time. I want you to tell me which motel Joe’s staying at.”

  His eyes widened, then became determined slits in a harsh frown. “I know you, Lily MacKenzie. I’ve knowed what kind of grit you was made of since that time you tried to chase Joe out of the woods at the Colebrook place and got shot for it. I ain’t gonna let you do something crazy on his account again. You ain’t gonna end up maimed or dead or in jail, no, ma’am.”

  “If you won’t tell me where he is, I’ll go to every motel in town and ask until I find him. I want him to admit what he did. I don’t care what it takes.”

  “You get yourself over to your Aunt Maude’s, and you tell her and the sisters—you tell Little Sis—about everything. You do that for me, ’cause I love that little gray fox and I want her to know it, even if she never forgives me for what I done.” His throat worked. “And then you wait,” he ordered desperately. “I’m gonna call the sheriff. All I’ve got to tell him is that Joe stole money and a gun from me.” Tears crested in Mr. Estes’s eyes and slid down his lined cheeks. “He’s done broke his parole, see? I’ll have him put back in prison.”

  She put her arms around him and gave him a hard hug. Stepping back, she said hoarsely, “You do what you have to, but I have to face Joe myself.”

  He grabbed her hands. “If you really believe you got a future with Artemas Colebrook, you’ll fight for that future, not for some proud foolishness. Haven’t you learned nothin’ from me, Lily?”

  He struck a chord as deep as her love for Artemas. After all these years, after all the heartaches and mistakes, with hope and triumph at last within reach, had it come down to this—risking everything for a petty, violent confrontation with someone like Joe? He wasn’t worthy of it. He was nothing compared to the menace of unanswered questions about James and her fear that she couldn’t resolve them without destroying Artemas’s love for him.

  Mr. Estes was studying her intently. Sadness and satisfaction softened his face. “Believin’ in somebody else is the bravest thing a person can ever do. Now, if you believe in Artemas, then you let me handle this thing with Joe.”

  She looked at him with tears in her eyes, and nodded.

  Artemas stood by a window in the gallery, a gold-framed photograph in his hands. But his attention was lost in the darkness outside the window. The serenity of the distant mountains sleeping in white splendor under a half moon contrasted with the turmoil he felt.

  When the guard at the front gate had called with Lily’s message, Artemas had been tempted to follow her to her aunt’s house—which would ruin the private time she obviously needed—so he forced himself to wait.

  James entered the room and walked over to him with halting steps, the limp a grim reminder of the scars they all carried. James looked at him as if he feared exactly that kind of response. Artemas quickly adopted a neutral expression. “Where is Alise?”

  James’s expression softened a little. “Asleep.”

  Learning that Alise was pregnant had been a delight to everyone, especially when they could see how much it meant to James. Artemas put an arm around his shoulders. “Elizabeth and Michael have gone with Cass. She wanted to show them the room she and John Lee are remodeling as a nursery.” He paused. “Leo took the children back to Atlanta. They’re puzzled and frightened by the closed-door discussions we’ve been having.”

  James grimaced, his eyes feathered with lines of unhappiness. “One big happy family. All talking about the unrelenting truth.”

  Artemas frowned but said nothing. The truth was all they had, and James would have to accept it. Slowly James’s gaze shifted to the photograph. He winced. “How old were we?”

  “I think I was about fourteen. That makes it twenty-four years ago.”

  James held out both hands. He looked tortured. Artemas gave him the photograph and followed his gaze to Julia’s piquant little face. “I let her down once,” James said. “I couldn’t let myself do it again. I couldn’t let anyone threaten her.”

  “I understand. Thank God, we all finally understand.”

  James asked carefully, “Does Lily?”

  Artemas met his gaze without yielding. He couldn’t stop thinking about the suspicion and humiliation James had heaped on her during the past two years. “She’s certainly trying, for my sake.”

  “She’s put up with a lot from us—from me—for your sake.”

  “That’s how it is when two people always want what’s best for each other. If you still doubt us, I want to hear it. I want to know what we have to face, before she comes back here tonight. By God, I may understand why you thought she was your enemy, but I won’t permit you to punish her any longer.”

  James squared his shoulders. “Then let’s settle this. I’ll go see her—right now. I’ll make certain she understands that … I’m different.” He swallowed roughly. “That I was wrong.”

  Artemas looked at him carefully “I’ve never been more proud of you.” He meant it. James bowed his head. His silence was fraught with emotion. Artemas gently clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Wait a little while before you go. She’s at her aunt’s house. I think she needs that privacy. She needs her own family. Do you realize that Hopewell Estes intends to banish her from the old MacKenzie place because of her involvement with me? Do you understand that she’s accepted that—because she loves me?”

  When James lifted his eyes to Artemas’s again, they were shadowed. “There must be a way to persuade Estes that his vendetta against you is misguided.” James smiled grimly. “I’m an expert on misguided personal attacks.”

  “Lily says when Joe showed up two months early, Estes hardly seemed happy about it. Considering what I’ve heard about his son, I find it hard to believe he thinks Joe’s honor is worth defending.”

  James stared straight ahead, as if prepared for execution. “People might say the same about me. That I’m lucky to have a family who cares.”

  “Look at me.” When James did, Artemas said gruffly, “I’ve never doubted that you’re worthy of this family’s trust and love. I’ve never wished you weren’t my brother.”

  James laid the photo on a table and braced himself with both hands. He cursed. Artemas gripped his arm. “What is it? What’s still eating at you?”

  “Last spring I offered Mr. Estes a deal.” James spoke through gritted teeth. “We agreed that when his son was released from prison, he’d receive money, help. In return Estes agreed not to renew Lily’s lease.”

  Artemas stared at him in speechless disbelief. “It’s true,” James told him, every word edged with disgrace. “But please believe me when I say I’m doing everything I can to change it.”

  Artemas swung James to face him. “You’re the reason Estes told Lily she has to give up her farm. You’re the goddamned reason she’s going to lose the greenhouse and nursery business. You betrayed someone I love dearly. You betrayed my trust. And you betrayed this family’s integrity.” He jerked a fist back, then hit James—hard, in the mouth—without thinking, without restraint.

  James was driven back a step by the force. He winced but continued to face Artemas. “I only ask you to let me rectify the situation.”

  “And how are you going to do that?” Artemas’s voice was low and furious.

  “My lawyer is probably talking to Estes right now. I’ll keep my end of the offer provided that he allows Lily to continue as before—”

  “And what about Lily? How do you think she’s going to feel about this? Damn you.”

  “I’ll speak with her immediately, at her aunt’s house.” James hesitated, searching Artemas’s relentless gaze for some hint of understanding. There was a slight slumping of his shoulders, a deadening of his eyes. “Afterward would you prefer that Alise and I return to Atlanta for the night?”

  “Alise is welcome here. But you”—Artemas bent his head to one hand, agonized and bitter—“I don’t know if you’ll ever be welcome here again.”

  James made a low sound of defeat
, then nodded and left the room.

  After Lily left, Hopewell pulled on his coat, then went into his bedroom and hunted through a drawer of keepsakes in the dresser. He put a picture of Joe as a little boy in his pocket, along with a little gold cross that had belonged to Joe’s mother. He went to the bedside table and picked up the quartz crystal Little Sis had left there. She’d meditated her love into it, she’d said. He put it in his pocket too.

  Then he opened another drawer and rummaged through handkerchiefs and socks until he found a small revolver. That went into his pocket last.

  He met a car on the way out. James Colebrook’s lawyer, coming to see him at night. That could only mean more trouble. Hopewell ignored his frantic waving and drove on.

  Little Sis sat, motionless and despondent, on the divan, and Lily’s heart went out to her. She looked like an endearingly eccentric granny doll, dressed in red stirrup pants and a long red sweater with hand-painted holly and silver bells across the chest. Only her eyes moved, shifting from Lily to Big Sis and Aunt Maude as if they were bumpers in a pinball game, while they talked and gestured frantically.

  Lily stopped pacing in front of the sisters’ Christmas tree and went to her, dropping to her heels and taking Little Sis’s hands. “He wanted you to know that he loves you,” Lily told her gently. “He hasn’t been deceiving anyone about that.”

  But Big Sis fished a wad of tobacco from one cheek, dropped it in the spittoon by her chair, and looked at Little Sis evenly. “You old sexpot, you’ve been traipsing after a man who intended to keep lily out of everything she’s worked for.”

  Aunt Maude scooted to the edge of an ottoman and glared at Big Sis. “Oh, shut up.” She angrily plowed her hands into the skirt of the wool jumper that sagged between her knees. “Hopewell’s probably got the sheriff at Joe’s door by now. He’s turning his own son in. That’s about as big an apology to Lily and Little Sis as a man could offer.”

  Looking at Lily, who rose wearily and sighed, Aunt Maude continued, “The bigger problem here is how’s Lily going to handle what she found out about James Colebrook’s nasty little scheme. Now, us three”—Maude waved at herself and the sisters—“we’re not going to stand by and let him sabotage you, Lily. But if you don’t want this story to go outside this parlor, it won’t.”

  Lily nodded. “Y’all have to be patient and let me take care of it.”

  Big Sis snorted. “If you were trying to save a sick tree, you wouldn’t think twice about cutting off a rotten limb. If James is rotten, you hand Artemas a saw.”

  “Nice wedding present,” Aunt Maude retorted. “Telling Artemas something that will make him hate his own brother. Driving the brother out of the family.” Giving a curt little nod for emphasis, she added, “Nice relations with your new in-laws then.”

  “I’m hoping that James feels differently about me now,” Lily said. She leaned against the fireplace mantel and rubbed her forehead. “I’ll confront him, but Artemas is never going to know about it. Not even if James intends to fight me the rest of our lives.”

  “Lily!” Big Sis and Aunt Maude said her name in unison, and with matching rebuke. Aunt Maude threw up a hand. “That’d be like ignoring a rattlesnake under your house.”

  Lily laughed dully. “I’ll never trust him. I’ll just stay away from the basement.”

  “Yeah, and James’ll slither out when you’re not looking and sink his fangs into you.”

  Little Sis finally moved. She bent over and propped her chin on her hands. Tears slid down her cheeks. “You won’t have to live with the rattlesnake, because you’ve forgotten one thing. You think Joe won’t talk? Oh, yes, Hopewell can get him sent back to prison, but Joe’ll hire some greedy lawyer to sell his story. Hell, by New Year’s he’ll be on Geraldo telling how one Colebrook plotted against another one’s lady friend.”

  Lily hadn’t had time to sort through everything and arrive at that hopeless conclusion. It hit home like a sledgehammer.

  Hopewell stood outside the motel room’s door, his breath puffing swift white clouds in the frosty air. Neon lights from the motel sign blinked down on him. The motel was cheap and dingy, the kind where upstanding locals did things they wanted to keep secret. They thought it was the last place their wives or husbands would suspect them of being.

  He could hear the TV going inside. He knocked on the scratched-up metal door. The TV noise snapped off. “Who the hell is it?” Joe bellowed.

  “It’s your daddy.”

  Eventually Joe opened the door. His face was ruddy His eyes glistened. He wore an old black sweatshirt and jeans with the zipper half-undone. He smelled like liquor and sex. “You got a woman in there?” Hopewell asked.

  “Nah.” Joe smiled thinly and gestured obscenely with one fist, pumping it up and down. “Makin’ do, old man. Drinkin’ cheap bourbon and jerkin’ off. Waitin’ to get rich.”

  Hopewell shoved him back and stepped inside, then slammed the door. The revolver made a heavy weight in his coat pocket. He put his hand in the pocket and clasped it tightly. “You tell me the truth, boy. Ain’t no use tryin’ to lie. You went over to Lily’s place today, didn’t you?”

  “Goddammit, why do you always talk like she owns it? It’s ours. Yours and mine.”

  “It’s mine. Your name ain’t on no deed. Never have been. And you got no right to go there.” He stepped toward Joe. “You killed all her stock, didn’t you? It was you.”

  Joe’s gaze shifted. He shrugged. “I warned you. You ain’t gonna tell nobody.”

  “You’re coming with me, boy. I’m taking you over to the sheriff.”

  Joe stared at him. The sly, lax expression vanished. “It’s too late to back out on that Colebrook thing, old man. You want me to make killin’ a few chickens and a hog look like a Sunday school lesson? Hell, I will.”

  “We aren’t dealin’ with Artemas Colebrook. I was wrong—it was the other one—his brother, James. Artemas ain’t goin’ to hide behind a lawyer and money He’ll come right into the open—and then he’ll chew you up and spit you out, boy.”

  Joe’s stunned expression became a mask of fury. “You talked. You told—you told somebody. You told her, didn’t you? Lily. And she’ll go to him with it, and he’ll screw me over. But he’ll get you, too, old fool. Nobody cares about you.”

  “You’re wrong. Even if you weren’t, I’m through with you. Now, be a man. Get your stuff together and come with me. You been drinkin’, you stole from me, you did that god-awful thing at Lily’s. You never even tried to live up to your parole. You never meant to.”

  Joe shoved him. Spit flew from his lips. “I was goin’ to have protection! I was goin’ to have money! You set it up for me, and then you took it away!”

  “You never earned nothing by honest work in your life. You can’t claim what nobody owes you.”

  Joe raised a fist. Hopewell stepped back and drew the gun from his pocket. Pointing it at his son’s chest, he said, “Get your stuff together. Ill shoot you if I have to.”

  Joe gaped at him. His fist dropped. He looked beaten. He went to the rumpled bed and sank down on the foot of it, his hands lying limp on his thighs. “Please don’t send me back to prison, Daddy.”

  Hopewell thought his heart would shrivel and disappear from the misery. He knew it was foolish to let Joe get to him, but his hand wavered a little. Tightening his grip on the revolver, he said between clenched teeth, “Don’t call me Daddy and sound pitiful.”

  “You don’t know what it was like in there.” Joe’s mouth trembled. “If you got to know why I’m so desperate … why—oh, I never wanted you to know, Daddy.”

  “What? Tell me.”

  “Don’t send me back. I … I got raped in there, Daddy. They ganged up on me. It happened a lot.”

  The sick, slow horror pressed on Hopewell’s lungs. He lowered the gun and stood in numb silence. “Son. Oh, Son.”

  “I got nothing now, Daddy. Nothing but bad memories. Please, don’t you turn against me.”

  Hop
ewell slipped the gun back into his coat. “You got to leave this town, boy. Just leave. And don’t come back. That’s the best I can do for you.”

  Joe sighed and got to his feet. Moving leadenly, he gathered clothes that were scattered around the room and put them in his canvas tote bag. He zipped his jeans and pulled his jacket on. Then he opened the drawer of the cabinet beside the bed and retrieved the pistol he’d taken from Hopewell. “Not that gun,” Hopewell said. “You give that back to me. It’ll only cause trouble for you, boy.”

  Joe carried it over, but stopped just out of reach. The hard amusement snapped back into his eyes. He tucked the pistol into the waistband of his jeans. “You’re a bigger fool than I thought you were, old man.” He vaulted forward. His fist slammed into Hopewell’s jaw. Hopewell slumped to the floor. Blackness spread like spilled ink over his vision. He tried to wipe it away with one hand. Dimly he realized Joe had knelt beside him. Joe’s breath and whisper were hot in his ear. “Colebrook won’t let me just disappear, and you know it. My life’s ruined for good this time, and you helped him do it. You know what else? I might as well go out in a blaze of glory. Make a name for myself. You be proud of your famous son now, you hear? I’m gonna go kill an important man.”

  Hopewell moaned bitterly and tried to push himself upright. Joe hit him in the temple. The blackness deepened, and took over.

  Thirty-two

  Lily’s shoulders ached with the tension. She stared at the portable phone in Little Sis’s hands. Little Sis stood in the parlor doorway, clutching the phone as if it might explode if she used it. Aunt Maude stood up impatiently. Big Sis hunched forward, watching.

  “You want me to call?” Maude said.

  Little Sis shook her head. Looking defeated, she punched the number in and slowly brought the phone to her ear. “Bertie? It’s Sissy. Bertie, has the sheriff gotten a call from Hopewell Estes tonight?” Little Sis was silent, listening. Shock and fear pulled fine lines together between her brows. “Thank you, Bertie,” she whispered, and dropped the phone on the floor. “Hopewell never called the sheriff.”