Momma Grizzly

by Kevin Hensley

  Phil returned with a stack of various meats and nothing else. “Where’s the flake?”

  “Had to go back to the museum,” I muttered at my untouched plate. I took a deep breath and shook it off, as I had done so many times before. I was fine alone. I was always fine. “What are y’all going to do with your afternoon?”

  Sammie looked over. “Jarhead here wants to go to Canyon Lake to fish.”

  “It’s the perfect day for it. The catfish go nuts at sunset when it’s this cold.” Phil took a bite of a pork rib. “Want to come with?”

  I smiled. “No, thanks. I’m supposed to be working. I have to write up an article about the festivities here.”

  “Suit yourself. We’ll be back tonight if you want to hang out. Sammie won’t let me bring a tent.”

  “I said we’re not camping out there. You can do what you like.”

  Phil grinned. “Well, in that case…”

  ✽✽✽

  After saying goodbye and wishing the Hagens a safe trip, I watched the thinning crowd for a while. The air grew just a little colder. The warmth of the festivities was leaving the main street. Soon I would be by myself with the hanging darkness again.

  I forced my thoughts toward work. I really didn’t want to write an article that mostly quoted Pastor Cotton. Martin Vintner was long gone; there was no way I’d be able to corner him for a quick interview by now. I couldn’t get over my annoyance at the preacher for his interference with the traditional mayoral speech. That wouldn’t have happened a couple of years ago, when there was no megachurch horning in on our town.

  I almost saw the lightbulb appearing above my head. I could get enough material for a full article while also enjoying a bit of passive-aggressive vengeance. All I had to do was write my piece through a historical frame, waxing nostalgic about Veterans Day celebrations throughout Grunwald’s past. And I knew exactly where I could get the background information I would need.

  Chapter 7

  I stood about twenty paces from the front of the museum, fighting off the urge to storm in there, interrupt story time, and demand an extended discussion with Garrett. I’d done similar things before, insisting on monopolizing all of his time whenever he was here, hoping that would somehow entice him to stay longer. Of course, it only pushed him further away. I had lost track of how many circular arguments he and I had engaged in about his insistence on volunteering so far away.

  But I was here for work this time, and the building in front of me soon had my full attention. Dark, dusty, and nearly abandoned, the public library managed to look especially decrepit despite being no older than most of the storefronts around it.

  Maggie, my mother-in-law, was in charge of the place these days. But even she was only there two or three days a week. Not many people were interested in the library now that every book in the world could be accessed on devices like the one in my pocket.

  The structure was long and low, and the wooden door smelled like it was made of pine. The whole library gave off the impression of being sealed off and shoved aside to prevent anyone from prying it open and discovering something unpleasant. It reminded me of a coffin.

  Just another ugly thought to shake off and move past. I stepped forward and jammed my hand into my purse. Because of Maggie’s sporadic schedule here, as well as my constant need for reference material, she had entrusted me with a key. I let myself into the smelly old building.

  The door creaked as I pushed it open. I made a mental note to oil the hinges for Maggie. She tried, bless her, but the maintenance needs of this place were outpacing the capabilities of her aging body.

  I flipped on a light. The main room was narrow and stretched back where the entryway lights couldn’t reach. The rows of shelves and old books between here and there offered some comfort, but I still couldn’t help but think of a mausoleum. Near the entrance, Maggie’s desk stood, dusty but steadfast. Behind it lay another door to which I had no key.

  As usual, I battled a crawling stomach from the moment the front door closed behind me. It was fine when Maggie was here with me, but alone I couldn’t stand this place. The ancient, heavy air over Grunwald seemed to exist in a more distilled form in the library.

  I wasted no time heading straight for the reference section. I grabbed a couple of books whose titles suggested they might have had what I needed—Hill Country Heroes: Texas Men Who Fought and Died in the Second World War and A Brief History of Grunwald, the Hidden Gem of Texas. And of course, a stack of Green Grapevine back issues.

  I brought my prizes to Maggie’s desk, located her stamp, and checked them all out. Satisfied, I exited the cloying little building and locked the door behind me. I could do the rest from home.

  ✽✽✽

  “I’ve experienced something that only a select few in the world get to do. I got to go to a Veterans Day celebration right here in Grunwald, Texas. Now, all Texans love the troops, as well we should, but in this town it runs deeper than that. Our pride in our veterans runs right down to the earth and grows from the very trees all around us. Why is that? Why is Grunwald, above all others, so steeped in the values of duty and sacrifice?

  Since the First World War, most boys in town, and a good chunk of the girls these days, have gone off to serve in the military for a few years before coming home to pursue their chosen professions.

  Grunwald was big on mentorships in those days, a trend that continues today; if someone decided to forgo college after their military service and go into HVAC or something, the current acknowledged expert in that field was more than eager to take them on as an apprentice. After decades of this system working well in Grunwald, it grew into a tradition, and then something of an expectation. Almost everyone in town either was a veteran or was closely connected to one.

  So when we throw our annual Veterans Day bash at the VFW post, you can bet that everyone in town will be there, bringing in friends and family from all over. It’s in our blood.”

  “Good God, did I write this crap?” I mashed my fingers on the keyboard and gazed in the direction of the open book on my desk. “Face it,” I grumbled. “You’re in a slump.”

  I sipped on my third cup of tea and tried not to look at the clock. I wondered if it would have been better if I had decided not to meet Garrett. Maybe I wouldn’t be having so much trouble concentrating on my work right now.

  My phone buzzed on my desk. I glanced down. Sammie, as I’d expected. I let it ring. I needed to get this done. I decided I’d finish this paragraph and then text her that I wouldn’t be able to hang out tonight.

  I jammed out another couple of sentences and picked up my phone. It started to vibrate again. My brow furrowed. Sammie never blew up my phone like this.

  “… Hello?”

  “Oh my God, Kelly…” came a shrill voice I barely recognized.

  I jumped to my feet. “What happened?”

  “I was so stupid, I should have listened…”

  “Sammie, what happened?”

  “Something hit us, the car went off the road… I can’t find Emma Lee.”

  Chapter 8

  Sammie had not been able to tell me exactly where she was, but a familiar car speeding through town along Farm Road 138 told me where I should be going. I followed the other car away from town, across the bridge over the Green Ravine River and deeper into the woods in the direction of Canyon Lake. About a mile past the riverbed, we found what we were looking for.

  Two police cars blocked 138 in both directions, lights flashing for better visibility in the darkness. Sammie’s light blue minivan lay on its side against a tree a few yards off the road, illuminated by the headlights of one of the police cruisers. A policeman about my age, Joe something, was examining the car. Two more were watching the road.

  Sitting in the back of an ambulance, wrapped in a blanket, Sammie stared into the distance while a paramedic nursed a cut on her forehead.

  When she saw me pulling over, she threw off the blanket and ran towards my car. The second I got o
ut, she slammed into me.

  “What have I done? I’ve lost my baby!” she sobbed into my shoulder.

  I held her, shushed her, patted the back of her head. “Please try to calm down and talk to me. It will help the cops if you can tell us what happened.”

  The occupant of the other car walked over. It was the Grunwald Chief of Police, David Branchett. He wore a jacket over pinstriped pajamas and his thinning hair was a mess. He must have jumped out of bed. The wooden handle of his silly old cowboy-style revolver was sticking out of his jacket pocket.

  “She’s right, ma’am,” Branchett drawled, his face hard yet creased with worry. “We need all the information you can give us, starting with your name and address.”

  Sammie took a deep breath. Without letting go of me, she turned her head to look at the policeman. “Um, Sammie Hagen. 304 Bluebonnet. My husband, Phil, took us to Canyon Lake this afternoon. He brought his camping stuff. My daughter and I didn’t want to stay the night, so we left him there. We were just going to get him in the morning.”

  She was overcome by another sob. I squeezed her tighter, hoping to be encouraging.

  “We were driving back. I should have listened to him. He was so serious. He said, ‘go to the interstate, don’t take 138 in the dark.’ He was right. Something ran into our car and pushed us off the road. The car turned over. I thought we were going to die… I heard her screaming.”

  “Heard who screaming, ma’am?”

  “My daughter, Emma Lee. She’s three. I think I passed out for a minute. But when I came to, I couldn’t hear her anymore. I climbed over my seat to look at her… and her car seat was empty. She’s gone…” Sammie broke down into further tears.

  “Ma’am, have there been any domestic issues in your home? Any reason your husband might take the child?”

  “What? God, no. I called him first. He’s in a panic. He’s stuck at the lake without his truck.”

  Branchett beckoned one of the other policemen over. “This woman’s husband is at the lake. Phil Hagen. Send a unit to pick him up.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The chief pulled a cell phone out of his pocket, stepped away from us, and carried out a rushed conversation I didn’t catch. Then he returned. “Alright, ma’am, don’t worry. Kids get turned around in these woods all the time. We’ll conduct a thorough search of the area.”

  Sammie sniffed. “Tonight?”

  “I’ve just spoken with Pastor Cotton. He’s spreading the word. We’ll have enough people to organize search parties within the hour.”

  The thought of her child spending even an hour out here broke her down all over again. I could barely handle it myself.

  Branchett put a hand on Sammie’s shoulder. “Please try to stay calm, ma’am. A three-year-old can’t get far. She’ll be alright.”

  Trying my best to be gentle but firm, I guided Sammie back to the ambulance. The paramedic resumed dabbing at her head, shining a penlight in her eyes. I sat on the bumper next to them. Five minutes went by. Ten.

  I had to break the silence. “Is she alright?”

  The young man frowned as he pulled off his gloves. “I suspect a concussion. But we better take you to the ER and do a scan so we can make sure that’s all it is.”

  Sammie gave a violent shake of her head, then put it in her hands. “Ouch. No. I’ve got to find Emma Lee.”

  “You’re in no condition to go walking through these woods. The best thing you can do for your daughter right now is look after your own health. Help the police help you.”

  “He’s right,” I added. “Go with them, Sammie. I’ll stay here and wait for Phil.”

  She gritted her teeth. “Fine. I’m coming right back after I get my head checked. Kelly… tell him I’m sorry.”

  I kissed her cheek and stepped back to get out of the paramedic’s way. He brought her into the back of the ambulance, strapped her in, closed the doors, and got into the cab. I watched the ambulance pull onto the road and then head back toward town.

  With nothing to do but watch the policemen work, I contented myself with sitting on the hood of my car and watching the road in the opposite direction. I hated this. It seemed all I ever did these days was wait, and I was getting fed up with it.

  At last I saw what I was looking for. Headlights approached from the other side of the valley. They dipped low, out of sight for a minute, and then emerged again near the scene of the crash. It was a police car.

  Phil jumped out, red in the face, eyes frantic. I ran to him. When he saw me he seized hold of my shoulders in both hands.

  “What happened?” he demanded in his characteristically loud voice. I could see that he’d been crying during the ride. “That cop hardly told me anything! Where is my family?”

  “They had a car accident. Sammie’s fine, but she hit her head. They’re taking her to the hospital. Just left a few minutes ago. They haven’t found Emma Lee yet.”

  “Haven’t found… My daughter is missing?”

  “We’re going to search. People are on their way right now.”

  “Oh, God…” He let go of me and sank to the ground, pushing his hat back and putting his head in his hands.

  I knelt beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder and clearing my throat. “I think you should go be with Sammie.”

  Phil sniffed, glancing at me. “Why?”

  “She’s pretty upset with herself for not listening to you. I bet it will help her calm down and get out of the hospital sooner if you give her some reassurance.”

  Now he raised his head and looked at me more steadily. “You think so?”

  “Yeah. I think that would be best. We’ll start the search tonight. I don’t think Sammie should be alone.”

  “Then why don’t you go? I’ll stay here and help look.”

  I frowned. “I don’t think so. You need to clear your head first. I can help organize the search.”

  “Alright. Hey, officer? Can you give me a ride to the hospital?”

  “Sure, son. We need to ask you and your wife some questions anyway. Hop in.”

  I watched the police cruiser roll off after the ambulance. It passed several other cars coming toward us.

  Once Phil was out of sight, I let out a long breath. He’d bought it. I hated to send Emma Lee’s parents away, but we needed cool heads on the scene. That counted both of them out.

  The first approaching vehicle was a classic-looking luxury car so polished that the cruisers’ lights made it glare. It came to a stop in the middle of the lane, as did the line of automobiles behind it. I couldn’t see how far back the line went, but it must have been at least twenty vehicles. Three or four people got out of each.

  Out of the expensive car in the front climbed Pastor Chester Cotton, wearing a rumpled button-down shirt. He moved in a stern and hurried manner, sliding past me and marching up to Chief Branchett. They spoke in quiet, curt tones.

  I couldn’t hear most of what they were saying because of the chatter around me. The talk of the locals mingled with that of the people that had moved from Atlanta. I overheard people saying that we shouldn’t be out here this late. That the shadow would come. That we’re deep in the middle of the cursed part of the forest. That Sammie shouldn’t have taken this route. And I heard others saying that all that was nonsense.

  “Trust me, Chief,” Cotton said loudly, turning away, “these folks will do what we need them to do.” He reached out and made a beckoning gesture with his left hand. His right stayed in its flexed position against his side. “Everyone, get close.”

  I joined the group of almost a hundred people that gathered on the road around Pastor Cotton. I bristled with anticipation. After all this waiting, and handling Sammie and Phil, we were finally going to go look for Emma Lee.

  “I understand what you’re all going through,” Cotton announced to the crowd. “What we are doing here is anathema to what you’ve been told to believe all your lives. The town of Grunwald has lived in fear of these woods, fear of the legendary cre
atures that inhabit this valley at night. Drag-Belly. Anvilback. The Axe-Man. I’ve heard all these names before.”

  I grimaced. Is he really doing this? Can we get going?

  “I have asked God time and again how Bellwether could help the people of Grunwald. Perhaps, in this time of crisis and fear, we have our answer. Perhaps, as He has done so many times in Scripture and in history, He has hidden a glimmer of wisdom in a terrible trial. Perhaps, through the search for Emma Lee Hagen, the town of Grunwald can overcome superstition and fear of the forest. Let us pray.”

  Now I understood what he was doing, and I would be one hundred percent in support of it if it would get these people to come to their senses, get a move on, and start searching for the child.

  “Heavenly Father, we come to You in our time of greatest need. One of our own has gone missing. We ask for the Shepherd to bring that little lost sheep home to her flock. Please, Lord, bring Emma Lee home, and bring with her Your light into the town of Grunwald. Show these people once and for all that there is no curse, no supernatural, no spirits… other than the Holy Spirit. Come on, now. Everyone follow me.”

  The people moved after Cotton as he stepped off the road. The Grunwald natives hesitated, but those who had moved there, myself included, had no problem following the pastor about twenty paces past the wrecked car. We passed out of the reach of the police headlights and stood in darkness.

  “Alright, everyone turn on those flashlights. Make a circle. A real big circle.”

  I had left my phone in my car, so I just clasped my hands to keep them from fidgeting. This was getting ridiculous. Every minute that passed was another chance for Emma Lee to get further away or fall in a hole or step on a snake or…

  “Everyone, now. Come on. We’re going to bring that child home and send this curse packing. We need everyone, now.”

  The locals were coaxed to join in the circle. Everyone’s flashlights were on, most of them pointed at the back and sides of the pastor in the center, making a campfire-like flower of light on the otherwise pitch-dark ground.