by Jan Watson
Big Boy picked up a pebble and let it fly. They could hear it smack against a tree in the distance. “Has anybody been back up there where Ace was killed? Anybody besides the law, I mean.”
“I don’t rightly know,” Cara said, “but I don’t think so. Why?”
“What say you and me do a little scouting early in the morning?”
“I don’t know as I can go back to that spring. What could we do anyway?”
Big Boy whipped another rock through the trees. “Maybe beat the law at its own game. We’ll take Jay along and that other little fellow too, if you want.”
“You mean Wilton? I don’t know about that, but it might be good for Jay. He has a lot of questions.”
“All right then,” Big Boy said. “I want to see everything you saw that day.”
CHAPTER 29
CARA WAS PLEASED when she entered the cabin after her walk over with Big Boy and Pancake. Dance was sitting at the kitchen table with Jean, breaking green beans into a cooking pot. Her dress was clean and her hair was caught up prettily with tortoiseshell combs. A couple Cara didn’t know was sitting beside Ace’s bed.
“You must be Cara,” the woman said, standing. “I’m Ace’s mother and this is his father.”
The man tried to smile and acknowledge her but instead a sob broke out. He pulled a kerchief from his pocket and blew his nose, then made a beeline for the door.
“I’m sorry. This is terribly hard on all of us.” Leaning over the bed, Mrs. Shelton pushed a strand of hair off Ace’s pasty forehead. “Maybe we’ll go over to Mrs. Whitt’s. We haven’t seen the other children yet. And of course we need to call on Fairy Mae anyway.” She stopped by Dance’s chair on her way out and patted her shoulder. “Should we take Wilton and Jay with us?”
“That’d be fine,” Dance said. “If they want to go. I can’t hardly get Jay to stray farther than the porch.”
“We’ll have dinner ready when you get back,” Jean said.
Cara pulled out a chair. “When did Ace’s folks get here?”
Dance took a handful of beans from a basket. “Not long after you left this morning. They came whilst the doctor was here.”
Cara could hardly believe all this had happened in the short time she was gone. “Was it the same doctor as before? What did he say?”
“Ma,” Wilton yelled through the screen door, “me and Jay’s going with Pap and Granny.”
Dance made a shooing motion with her hand. They could hear Wilton’s feet pounding across the porch. Dance’s hand shook so hard the beans fell to the floor. She bent down to pick them up. “Yeah, he’s the one that saw Ace right after, and now he’s saying Ace might never . . .” Her voice wobbled like the green beans she held.
Cara couldn’t take her eyes off those beans. She wanted to reach out and steady them—steady Dance for the news she held. While Cara waited, Jean did just that. Her work-worn hand cupped Dance’s and came away with the wavering string beans.
Dance took a deep breath. “The doctor said Ace might never be more than he is now—just a shadow of his self.”
“Oh no. Oh, Dance, don’t give up hope,” Cara said.
“I’ve made my peace. I’ll take care of him.” Dance began to clip the end caps off more beans, pulling green strings down each side. “Besides, doctors ain’t always right. Sheriffs ain’t neither.”
Cara thought they had successfully kept the sheriff’s suspicion from Dance. “How long are Ace’s parents staying? Do you want them to sleep over to my place?”
“I don’t rightly know how long they aim to linger here. I ain’t thinking past the moment.” Dance lifted her chin. “I’m glad, though—glad they come.” She looked tired but resolute. Cara figured she was drawing on whatever strength she had left.
“Cara,” Dance said, “there’s a slab of bacon in the smokehouse. Would you mind to cut a piece for these beans?”
Jean worked beside Dance, peeling potatoes. A peel hung from her knife like a long brown ribbon. “We’ve had news from Fairy Mae’s,” Jean said.
Cara blanched. News was bad these days. Fairy Mae was worse, she reckoned.
“My husband went to check on Fairy Mae and brought back a piece of mail,” Jean continued.
Dance pulled a postal card from her apron pocket. “Darcy Mae is having herself a fling in the midst of my tragedy,” she said with a spark of her old self, flipping the card across the table.
Cara studied the front, a pretty scene of trees and flowers. Humboldt Park was printed across the bottom.
Snapped beans jumped across the tabletop. “Makes me mad as blue blazes,” Dance said.
Jean collected the errant beans. Cara looked to her for guidance, not wanting to say the wrong thing. Dance could go either way quick as a cat’s sneeze. Jean’s face was as calm as her manner.
“This sure is pretty,” Cara ventured.
“Humph.” Dance slammed beans into the pot. “All Darcy’s ever had to do was be pretty. Read the tuther side.”
“‘Dearest Mammaw and family,’” Cara read aloud. “‘This is a nice park I saw one day while touring. I am well and trust you are too. You will be glad to learn Henry and I are wed. I will be home shortly after. Devotedly, Darcy.’”
“Touring,” Dance snorted. “Devotedly,” she mocked. Pouring water over the beans, she began to wash them one at a time. “Are you going to get me a hunk of bacon or not?”
Cara raised her eyebrows and looked at Jean, who lifted her shoulders the merest bit. “Sure thing, Dance.”
Pauline’s mewling cry called Dance to the cradle. “Didn’t I just feed you?” she asked.
“I’ll be right back, Dance,” Jean said, following Cara out the door and across the porch.
Cara kept her voice low. “Dance seems to be some better. What do you think?”
“The doctor was pretty frank with her,” Jean said. “He laid it all on the table—talked right to Dance, not around her as everyone else seems to be doing. Of course he doesn’t know her history.”
“Dance may have odd ways, but she really loves Ace. There’re times I’ve seen them tease each other—kindly like dancing except with words. It would make me laugh. I guess you’d have to spend time with them to understand.” Cara shook her head. “I can’t believe Ace won’t get better. Is that what the doctor said exactly?”
“The word I latched onto was might.” Jean picked up a boy’s knit sweater discarded during play. “Might could go either way, don’t you think?” She gave the sweater a shake, then folded it over her arm. “I could swear Ace smiled when his mother kissed him. We have to keep on praying. Praying hard.”
“I reckon I’ve been as worried about Dance as I have about Ace. I’ve never seen her praying,” Cara said.
“Nothing prepares you for what has happened to Dance—her husband sorely injured, herself accused, her grandmother near death.” Jean smiled thinly. “I wanted to tell her to lean upon the Lord, but I was afraid she’d throw me out of the house.”
“Shouldn’t she though? Shouldn’t she lean upon the Lord?”
Their skirt tails stirred up puffs of dust as they walked toward the smokehouse. Jean lifted her skirts just the barest bit. Cara followed suit. Jean was such a lady.
“I’m not sure where Dance stands on things,” Jean said. “In times like this, I’ve found it’s best to show God’s love rather than preaching it. If Dance feels cared for, if she feels safe, she’ll search Him out.”
“I wish I were more like you, Jean.”
Jean stopped beside the smokehouse. A row of tall, white hollyhocks brightened the gray, weather-beaten wall. Cara remembered the spring day when Ace had planted the seed. He was always a man to brighten things up.
Lifting the latch, Cara stepped inside the dark structure. She inhaled deeply. The briny, smoky scent of cured meat rewarded her senses. Hams dressed in heavy brown paper and tied in flour sacks hung from wires attached to the rafters. Jars of sliced meat preserved with salt, pepper, and pulverized sal
tpeter sat on a shelf between wall studs. A slab of bacon lay on a wooden table, waiting for a knife.
Cara sawed at the heavy rind and freed a good-size piece, then cut some thick slices for tomorrow’s breakfast, two jobs done in the time of one.
Leaning out the door, Cara asked, “Should I bring in some of these jars of meat?”
Jean stepped in and looked them over, selecting two. “I didn’t know all this was in here. Ace is a good provider.”
“I reckon he and Dance did well together,” Cara said, filling her hands with bacon. “This is all so strange. I scarce can take it in.”
“I know.” Jean set the jars down long enough to close and latch the door behind them. “It’s like you don’t know what awful thing is going to happen next.”
“I sure wish Darcy were here to help out some.”
“I expect you and Dance are a little put out with her,” Jean said. “But you know she never could have perceived of this happening to her sister.”
“I know,” Cara said, thinking of the egg incident this morning. “I think I’m working out my mad toward her.”
Jean rewarded her with a smile. “You know, Cara, I’ve watched you just blossom lately. When Dimmert went away, you were timid as a young girl. But look at you now. Why, you’re a strong woman standing on your own two feet. I’m so proud of you.”
Cara felt herself bloom at Jean’s simple words. She stood tall. She was every bit the sturdy hollyhock; her back might be against the wall, but nothing kept her from moving forward.
“Goodness me, what’s that ruckus coming from the barn?” Jean asked.
“Oh, I forgot all about Big Boy. He was looking for something to tend to. Do you know Big Boy Randall?”
“No, but I believe I’ve heard that name bantered about.”
“He’s good as gold. Big Boy’s the one who went to visit Dimm in prison.”
“That’s good enough for me,” Jean replied.
“Jean,” Cara said, “do you think Darcy’s truly wed?”
“Well, yes. I suppose so. I don’t think she’d say she was if not. Why?”
“It’s just so quick. The whole thing’s caught me off guard. And I reckon I’m like Dance, just a little jealous that Darcy’s off having fun while—”
Jean stopped in the yard to eye a small, errant sock. “Boys,” she said, expertly flipping the sock into the air with the toe of her boot. It landed atop a meat-filled jar. “Was Wilton even dressed when he left?” She shifted her load, then laid the sock over the woolen sweater. “We don’t know she’s having fun, but I surely hope so, because no matter what, she still has to come home to all this.”
“I hadn’t thought about it that way,” Cara responded.
“Your heart’s too good to hold on to envy. We must pray for Darcy too. Pray that she is truly happy and pray for a safe journey home.”
Cara nudged the kitchen door open with her elbow and held it for Jean. Dance was nursing the baby. Ace lay on his other side; obviously Dance had turned him. Darcy’s postal card lay bright as a bouquet of flowers in the middle of the table. Cara looked it over again. Only time would tell if Darcy was happy or not.
It was with considerable dread that Cara followed Big Boy to the spring early the next morning. Jay led the way, and they let him. It seemed to be something he needed to do. Big Boy showed up early at the Sheltons’, before the rest of the household stirred, as they had agreed to. Big Boy said he didn’t want to take a chance on meeting anyone else there. Meaning the law, Cara surmised. The rooster crowed half a crow as they started across the yard, as if it was too early for the real thing.
The weedy path was tramped down now and easy to find. A heavy mist swirled like smoke and dampened Cara’s skirts and her shoes. She carried a linen sack, containing bacon biscuits and a green Mason jar of cold coffee, slung across her chest. Her steps were not as sprightly as they might have been. She was having trouble keeping up.
Every so often Big Boy would stop to let her catch them. “Wait, Jay,” she’d hear him call.
As the day commenced, rays of morning’s first light filtered through the canopy of trees, burning off the heavy dew. Birds chirped and squirrels chattered from their nests high overhead. A striped ground squirrel shot across the path in front of her. The world was waking, starting its day.
Too soon, they reached the edge of the meadow where Ace had built his sweetwater run. The meadow was small, less than an acre, and was ringed by giant trees that cast a shadow like a pall over the area. Even there, still at the edge of the forest, she could hear the dancing burble of the spring. Jay waited. He didn’t ask a thing.
Cara took the lead. “Let’s have a little breakfast. I’m near weak with hunger.” Finding the now-familiar fallen tree limb, she spread a feed sack towel across the trunk and passed around the coffee.
Jay took a sip. His face scrunched up. “Whew, I ain’t ever had coffee bare before.”
“Goodness, Jay, I should have thought to bring some cream. Want me to water some down for you?” Before Cara gave it half a thought, she was searching for the tin cup Ace kept by the spring. Finding it easy enough, she caught a stream of water and took it back to Jay.
As soon as she sat on the limb and picked up her bacon biscuit, it came to her what she had done. It’s simple as that, she thought. You could do most anything when you focused on someone else’s need instead of your own. Munching on her biscuit, she tucked that thought away, sure she’d need to think on it again.
As soon as Jay finished his breakfast and his watery coffee, he stood. “I want to see where Daddy got hurt.”
“All right.” Cara reached for his hand and led him to the spring. “He was just there, like he was resting in the water.” She kept her voice clear and resolute. She would not foist her fear upon this child.
Jay nodded. “I’m going to build something for Daddy.” Pulling loose from her touch, he rolled up his britches and waded into the stream that issued from the spring. “When Daddy gets better, we’ll come here again.”
“I’m sure he would like that,” she remarked.
Jay began to lay smooth stones in a circle. “I’ll have to use heavy ones, else the water will carry them off.”
“You’re smart. Your daddy would be proud.”
Jay tapped the side of his head. “Daddy said always use your noggin.”
Cara walked back to the fallen limb, where Big Boy was waiting.
“Tell me everything,” he said.
So she told the story again. Sometimes it seemed like the only one she knew. From her seat, she watched Big Boy scout the scene. It seemed he thought every blade of grass and each tree scattered across the meadow was a clue. He stopped the longest time by the hickory where she had found the hat, then motioned for her to come.
“This is where Ace was laid into,” he said, kneeling and parting a thick clump of rye grass. “See here? Old blood and bits of tissue. Human blood and tissue, I warrant. The tree has protected it somewhat.”
Cara felt sick. She looked to make sure Jay was still busy at the spring. “I don’t want Jay to see.”
Like she had, Big Boy looked toward the spring. He dropped his voice. “If the sheriff’s theory was indeed fact, Dance would have had to drag Ace from here to the spring. Now, she’s tall but she’s slight, and a body is deadweight.”
Cara stepped back, covering her mouth with one hand, swallowing hard.
“Sorry, missus, I shouldn’t be so blunt,” Big Boy said, standing.
“No. No. It’s all right. I’m just queasy.” She took in a fresh lungful of mountain air. Her mood lightened. Big Boy could save Dance. “We have to get the sheriff back here.”
“I’ll go into town this afternoon and fetch him. Surely he’ll see the light.”
“I hope so. But he seems set on finding fault with Dance.”
“Some men have a hard time admitting when they’re wrong, and that sheriff’s hard-nosed.” Big Boy dropped to his haunches and ran his hand throug
h the grass. “If we could just find something else.”
The sun rose ever higher in the sky. A hearty breeze rustled through the trees, showering them in autumn leaves of red and gold.
Cara shivered. “Who could have done such a dreadful thing? Why Ace of all people?”
“All’s I know for sure is Ace didn’t fall off no cliff, and his wife didn’t do him in. I figure Ace caught somebody busting up his stuff. There was an argument, and things got out of hand. But who did it? I don’t have a clue. Everybody liked Ace.”
“Come and look, Aunt Cara,” Jay called.
The boy had built a small tower of gray and brown rocks. He’d chinked the stones together with clay mud. From the very top, a long brown feather waved in the breeze. He stood in the springwater with a look of satisfaction.
“It’s beautiful,” Cara said.
“You got an eagle feather there, boy,” Big Boy said. “They’re not easy to find in these parts.”
Jay ran his fingers lightly over the feather. “Huh. I thought this here was from a hawk.”
Big Boy stepped over beside Jay. “See how long it is? And see how thick the quill?”
“That means it’s old, right?” Jay asked.
Cara gathered her things and stuck them in the linen sack while Big Boy talked with Jay. This time had been good for the boy, she reckoned. But she felt a growing unease. A riddle tickled her mind. There was something here she was overlooking. With the sack slung across her chest, she leaned against the fallen log just pondering.
“Aunt Cara,” Jay yelled, “let’s go. I want to show Daddy the feather. That’s sure to wake him up.”
“Don’t run,” Cara cautioned as Jay took off down the mountain. “You’re liable to take a spill.”
“That boy’s nimble as a goat,” Big Boy said, “and smart. I’ve never seen a smarter young’un. Like he said, that feather he found is way too old to have laid in the weather for long. I think it was brought up here recently. Could be a clue.”
