'Til Death (A Rebel Ridge Novel)

by Sharon Sala

  “I know some about accidents,” Linc said softly as he made the first cut. George was shaking so hard it was difficult to separate the wires, and Linc knew it was from a mixture of shock and of pain. He kept talking, hoping it would help distract the man. “I work construction myself. Had an on-the-job accident about six months ago. Got myself electrocuted. I’m here to tell you that dying isn’t so bad.”

  George’s eyes widened. “You sure nuff died?”

  “Yes, I did,” Linc said as he snipped another length of barbed wire loose and dropped it into the pile near the wall. “The bolt of electricity knocked me down, and went straight through my body and out my boots. They said I was flatlined for more than four minutes. I woke up in the E.R. with some big-time burns and no memory of how I got there.”

  The man standing beside Tildy paused. “Did you see the light? You know...the one they say everybody sees when they have one of them near-death experiences?”

  Linc made another cut, then held the wire firmly until he had snipped it away.

  “No. I didn’t see the light. But I saw my daddy.”

  “Is your daddy dead?” George asked.

  Linc nodded. “Since I was seventeen.”

  Now everyone was caught up in the story, and Tildy caught Linc’s eye and nodded her approval as she quickly went to work cutting away the wire wrapped around George’s crotch while he was distracted.

  One of the other men spoke up. “What did your daddy say?”

  Linc paused. “He told me to go home, so I did. That’s why I’m here.”

  “So you’re from here?” George asked.

  Linc nodded but didn’t add anything further.

  Silence followed as they all kept cutting, but the story had bonded the man on the table with the stranger in their midst. It was nearly an hour later before they finished.

  “That’s the last of it,” Tildy said as she dropped the bit she’d pulled off onto the pile.

  “I’ll get this out of your house, Aunt Tildy,” one of the men said, and wrapped it up in a bundle with a roll of masking tape and carried it out to his truck.

  George was still trembling from pain and shock, but he wasn’t spewing blood from any important veins, and that was what mattered.

  Tildy handed him a tin of salve.

  “You go straight home, take a hot shower and make sure you wash all these punctures and cuts up real good. Have your wife put some of this ointment on every place the skin was opened, and then get yourself down to the doctor for a tetanus shot. All of this misery will have been for nothing if you go and die on us.”

  George shuddered as he stood up. “Yes, ma’am.” He pulled out his wallet and handed Tildy a ten-dollar bill. “I know it ain’t much, but it’s what I got. You’re a lifesaver, Aunt Tildy, and that’s a fact.”

  Tildy took the money and put it in her pocket. “I’m happy to help.”

  George started to take a step, and then his legs went out from under him. Linc caught him before he fell.

  “Well, hell, that was embarrassing,” George said.

  “Adrenaline crashing,” Linc said, and slid an arm around his waist. “I’ll walk you out to your ride, okay?”

  George was shamefaced that he was wobbling like a drunk, but he took Linc up on the offer.

  “I thank you,” he said as, with Linc’s help, he followed his friends out to their vehicles.

  “That’s my boy’s truck,” he said, pointing to a dusty black Dodge with a dented fender. “If you can help me to it, I’d be obliged.”

  “Sure thing,” Linc said, making sure to keep a tight grip to keep him from falling.

  As soon as George was settled in the seat, Linc stepped back to close the door, but the man grabbed him by the arm.

  “I never did get your name,” he said.

  Linc took a deep breath. Now was as good a time as any.

  “My name is Lincoln Fox. But my friends call me Linc.”

  The man’s eyes widened as he took in Linc’s height and breadth.

  “I’m grateful for your help, Linc,” he said, and offered his hand.

  A little shocked, Linc shook it, then stepped back and closed the door, and waited for them to drive away.

  But George wasn’t through with his questions and rolled down the window.

  “About when you died...”

  “What about it?” Linc asked.

  “Do you reckon you know why your daddy wanted you to come home?”

  “Oh, I know why. He wants justice. Someone got away with murder up here, and he sent me home to find them.”

  Then he turned around and walked into the house, knowing he’d just lit the match to a wildfire of gossip that would soon be springing to life. And the oddest part of it all? After all the dread and waiting for just the right time, it had come out in a moment of impulse. What was even more surprising was how light the load felt once the words had left his mouth.

  Tildy was inside cleaning up the mess they’d made in her kitchen. She already had the oilcloth in the washing machine, and was scrubbing down the table and floor with a strong Lysol cleanser.

  “Need some help?” Linc asked.

  “No. I’m fine, Linc. This is a pretty common occurrence.”

  He picked up his gloves and coat. “Then I’ll go on out back and unload the rick of wood I brought.”

  She looked up briefly and smiled. “You are a good man, Lincoln. I am so grateful that you came home.”

  Linc nodded. “Me, too, Aunt Tildy. It won’t take long to unload. I don’t suppose I could talk you into a cup of coffee when I come back?’

  “Coffee and some pie,” she said.

  “I’ll be quick,” he said, and headed outside.

  The air felt damp against his skin, as if it was gearing up for a downpour. He worked quickly, wanting to finish and get home before the weather changed.

  When he came back inside the kitchen smelled clean, the room was warm, and coffee was dripping from the coffeemaker into the carafe below. There was a big cherry pie out on the counter, and a knife and two plates beside it. He took off his coat and was washing up at the sink when Tildy came back in the room.

  “I had to get out of those clothes,” she said. “They were covered in blood and rust. My, my, but that was quite a mess George got himself into, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, ma’am, it was.” He stepped back to watch as she cut pie and poured coffee.

  “You carry the cups. I’ll take the pie,” she said, and headed for the table she’d covered with a fresh red-and-white gingham tablecloth.

  Linc slid into a seat, remembering all the times he’d watched her do these simple tasks and taken them for granted. Life had taught him to never take anything for granted again.

  When she pulled out a drawer in the sideboard for tableware, it squeaked.

  “I need to rub that wood down with a bar of soap,” she muttered.

  “You keep a good house, Aunt Tildy.”

  She looked up with a smile. “Why, thank you, Lincoln! Don’t wait on me. Dig into that pie, and there’s more where that came from if you want it.”

  He took the first bite, savoring the flaky crust and sweet-tart cherries on his tongue.

  “So good, but then I knew it would be,” he said, and kept eating.

  Tildy chattered about the day, and what she’d been drying in the herb shed and the ginseng she’d harvested earlier in the fall, and then finally she asked him what he’d been up to.

  The pie was gone, and he was working on his second cup of coffee as he leaned back and began to explain.

  “I went to the sheriff’s office this morning and got copies of the file they had on me, then I saw Meg Lewis in the grocery store and talked myself into a supper invitation at her house tonight.”

  She smiled. “I’d say you’ve been busy. I remember you two used to be real sweet on each other when you were young. How do you feel about her now?”

  He sighed. “It’s hard to say. All the old feelings for h
er are still there, but we’re different now, you know? The boy loved the girl, but I don’t know if the man and woman are going to find their way back to that, or if they even should. Maybe it’s about starting over. I don’t know, but I’m sure interested in finding out.”

  Tildy reached across the table and patted his hand. “That’s about as wise an answer as I could have hoped for. Take your time, I say. Know what’s in front of you before you take the next step.”

  “Speaking of steps,” Linc said. “I’m curious about some things I was reading in the file.”

  “Ask away. If I know the answer, I’ll sure tell you.”

  He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. “You and Grandpa were at the fire.”

  “Before it was over, nearly everybody on this side of the mountain was at that fire.”

  He nodded. “I guessed that.”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “I don’t remember much of anything except driving up and seeing the house engulfed. I remember running toward the house and then something exploding. I came to on the ground by my truck, flat on my back and looking up at the stars. Someone was yelling at me.”

  “That was your grandpa.”

  “Did you know that it was Fagan White who called in the fire?”

  Tildy gasped. “No. I did not.”

  He tapped the table as he thought back through what he’d read.

  “Fagan called it in, but Wendell and Prince were the only ones who came to the scene. Their names were on a witness list. And so were some of the Walkers...Dolly, Ryal and Meg.”

  “Oh yes, my goodness. I’d forgotten all about that. When the Walkers drove up, the house was just about gone. Meg got out, running and screaming your name. The ambulance crew was already there, loading you onto one of them stretchers. She begged and cried for them to let her go with you, but they wouldn’t. And then her brother pulled her back out of the way and the ambulance left.”

  The hair crawled on the back of Linc’s neck, thinking of how panicked she must have been. If the story had been reversed, he would have gone crazy, thinking he might lose her. As it turned out, he had lost her—along with everything and everyone else he held dear.

  “I was thinking it was strange that the Whites would have even been in the area. I mean...they knew Dad didn’t like them. They knew Lucy was gone overnight to that family funeral over by Louisville.”

  Tildy frowned. “There’s no way to explain away what makes them men tick. Their mother was a good woman, but she married a reckless man. After he died, they fell on hard times. That was a couple of years after Marcus and Lucy married. I remember, because he used to talk to me about how worried Lucy was for her mama. Everyone knew the bank was about to foreclose on their property. Marcus had already told Lucy her mama could come live with them, but that her brothers were on their own. Then all of a sudden the bank was paid off, and Mrs. White was painting her house and building a fence around the yard to keep the chickens out of her flowers. They put up a good barn and were farming a patch of tobacco right up to the day she died. Whatever windfall they come into was a godsend for sure. Course, those worthless sons of hers let the place go to hell, especially after Wendell was killed. He was the only one with a lick of sense, and even he turned his smarts to no good.”

  Linc realized that he’d known nothing about all of Lucy’s turmoil. She’d just been the stepmother who’d tolerated him as he had tolerated her. He filed the info away for future reference.

  Tildy leaned forward. “I will tell you one other thing that I know about the Whites. There was gossip before your daddy was killed about Lucy cheatin’ on him with someone local, but no one could put a name to him.”

  Linc frowned. “I never knew that.”

  “Not surprised. Your daddy wouldn’t have said a word to you about it.”

  “You mean you think he knew about the gossip?”

  “I know he did,” she said.

  “Do you have any idea where Lucy is now?” he asked.

  Her eyes widened. “Why, I guess I thought you already knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  “She and Wes Duggan got married about four months after your daddy was laid in his grave.”

  “Uncle Wesley? Married Lucy?”

  Tildy shrugged. “Yes. They all grew up together. I suppose it wasn’t that big a deal, but we all were guessing when it happened that it might have been him she was seeing. However, that was years ago, and time changes people.”

  Linc kept remembering Wes Duggan testifying on the stand about Linc and his daddy being at odds with each other. It had been the biggest shock of all in the whole chaotic trial. Wes wasn’t his blood uncle, but he’d loved him like family. He hadn’t understood then why Wes would lie, and he still didn’t. Maybe it was time to pay Wes and Lucy a visit. Shake the tree and see how many snakes fell out of it, so to speak.

  “Do you know if they’re still married?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes. Wes is doing well for himself. He owns the Ford dealership down in Mount Sterling, and he and Lucy live in a big fancy house in one of those gated communities.”

  “Thank you, Aunt Tildy. For the pie and coffee, for the information and for sticking by me.”

  She reached across the table and gave his hand a squeeze.

  “We’re family, and family sticks together.” Then she winked. “And speaking of family, you tell that pretty Meg Lewis that Aunt Tildy says hello.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I will do that. And speaking of Meg, I better get going. There are a few other things I need to do before our supper date.”

  He stood up and carried their plates and cups to the sink before giving his aunt a quick hug.

  “If you know of any more widow ladies or single women with houses in need of a little repair, let me know. I still have some leftover lumber and don’t mind the work.”

  She beamed. “I’ll be thinking on it some. If anyone comes to mind, I’ll let you know. You have a good time tonight.” Then her expression shifted to a frown. “You know, those men who were here are gonna tell everyone who you are.”

  “Yes. I know.”

  “You watch your back.”

  “I will. Don’t worry about me. You take care of yourself, and I’ll be up at eleven o’clock on Sunday morning to pick you up for dinner, remember?”

  “I haven’t thought of much else,” she said. “See you soon, and thank you for the wood.”

  “You’re welcome, Aunt Tildy. Take care.”

  He grabbed his coat and gloves on the way out, then headed home with a lot more to think about than when he’d come, like Wes and Lucy’s quickie marriage, and Fagan White calling in the fire and his brothers being on the scene soon after. It was all a puzzle yet to settle into place.

  Ten

  Meg had a pineapple upside-down cake cooling on the counter, potatoes baking in the oven and a skillet full of pork chops about ready to come out. She was trimming the fat off the last of the chops still left to fry when her phone began to ring. She grabbed a paper towel to clean her hands and propped the receiver against her ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Meg, it’s me.”

  “Hi, Mom. What’s up?”

  “What do you mean, what’s up? Can’t a mother call her only daughter without having a reason?”

  Meg frowned. That sounded defensive, which was weird. Why on earth would—

  Oh, crap.

  Dolly kept talking. “I just called to say hi. So, how’s that pretty Storm at Sea quilt coming? I can’t wait to see it.”

  Double crap.

  “I finished it,” Meg said. “I’m working on some other stuff. Got a new order from Louisville day before yesterday.”

  “Oh, that’s nice.”

  Meg frowned. “Mom. You’re about as obvious as that wart on Mrs. Peevy’s nose. Just ask.”

  “You have a date, and you never said a word about seeing anyone. I know you’re a woman grown and I don’t need to know your business, bu
t I just wanted you to know I—”

  “Mom. Stop. It’s obvious the mountain grapevine grows fast around here, but the reason you don’t know anything is because there isn’t anything to know...yet. I am not seeing anyone. I have yet to have a date. However, tonight I am making supper for the man who pulled me out of the wreck.”

  “Oh. Well. A thank-you dinner. I guess everyone just misunderstood and—”

  This was about to get out of hand, and Meg knew how lies could ruin a life.

  “Look, I need to tell you something, and I don’t want advice—I’m just informing you of a fact.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then she heard a soft sigh. “If you’re about to tell me that Lincoln Fox moved back to his granddaddy’s home place, we already know. And if you’re finally going to tell us that he is also the one who saved you the night of the wreck, we know that, too.”

  Now Meg was the one who was speechless. “But how—”

  “Seriously, Margaret Ann. Give us some credit. Your brother James carries the mail—with people’s names on the letters—and puts it in the mailboxes, thereby knowing where they live. And your brother Ryal made it his business to go to the E.R. and find the name of the man who saved you from the wreck, and before you get all in a huff, he did it because you said you didn’t know who it was, and we wanted to thank him—which we have yet to do, by the way, because his presence seems to be a big secret.”

  “It wasn’t my information to tell,” Meg said.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I know. I don’t understand much, either, but I do know why Lincoln came home.”

  “What do you mean? I thought—”

  “He came back to clear his name.”