by Caryl McAdoo
“So if your parents named you that, are you smart, kid?”
Cooper piped up. “Way smarter than the average bear.”
“Okay, Albert Einstein, but if I find out different, you’re in trouble.” He looked to Aria. “And you, young lady?”
She told him, then McKenzie picked up the baby from the cart. “This is Gracie.”
“That it? Any more of you hiding out?”
“No, sir.”
“You kids go on straight to your uncle’s place then.” The deputy stamped a rectangle piece of heavy paper then handed it to Jackson. “Anyone stops you, show ’em this and tell them first thing that you’re kin to Judge Buckmeyer.”
“Yes, sir.” He turned and stepped off the porch.
“You looking to trade that hog leg you got there, boy?”
Jackson turned back. A younger man stood next to the deputy. The fellow nodded toward the thirty-eight. “I’ll make you a good deal on it. Got can goods and bottled water, maybe even throw in some of my famous jerky.”
Trade? But did he really want to barter the pistol away? “Well, I hadn’t thought of that, we’re in pretty good shape food-wise.” He glanced at McKenzie. She only shrugged. “I appreciate the offer, sir, but I guess I’ll keep it. Thank you anyway though.” He took one step then turned back and faced the stranger. “What about a horse? Any of those horses yours?”
“Yep, but it’d take an AK-47 at least to buy one of my horses. Have any more fire power besides your revolver?”
Jackson looked to the deputy then back to the younger man. He didn’t detect any deceit, not that he was that good of a judge. But sure looked like having one for an uncle should work in his favor. Why hadn’t he heard about his uncle getting elected?
“We’ve got forty rounds of thirty-ought-six, and that twenty-two pump there.” Al held the rifle up for him. “And a hundred-round box of long rifle ammo to go with it. Will all that and the thirty-eight get us a horse?”
The man took off his cowboy hat and rubbed his fingers through his hair. “Did I hear the deputy ‘ere say you’s kin to Judge Buckmeyer?”
“Yes, sir, he’s our great-uncle.”
“Well then, tell you what I’m going to do.”
Jackson enjoyed the man, but knew beyond any shadow of a Perry Mason doubt that he was about to get the short end of the cowboy’s stick. But if he could avoid pulling that cart the last fifteen miles . . . The thought took an overwhelming hold on him.
After some—probably not enough haggling—he made the deal. Gave the twenty-two and all the non-thirty-eight ammo for a jack donkey along with a canvass harness for him made from seatbelt straps. The man wanted the pistol, too, but once the bargaining shifted from a horse to a donkey, Jackson insisted the thirty-eight wasn’t part of the deal.
Before the sun rose over the top of the tree line, the mop-haired donkey stood hitched to the cart. The cowboy handed Jackson a wooden stick and grinned. “You’ll need this.”
Cooper grabbed the stick and tossed it. “No, sir, we won’t be hitting our Moe.” He pulled gently on the animal’s ear. “He’s a good boy, and he won’t mind pulling our cart at all.”
The cowboy laughed then pulled up a tractor-seat stool to the table and joined the deputy and the old codger. The laughing stopped when Cooper kissed the donkey on his cheek, blew into his nostril then walked down the road with the animal gingerly pulling the cart right behind him. Probably didn’t hurt that Boggs walked on Moe’s flank.
Jackson faced the trio at the table and smiled. “He’s also a chess whiz.”
A couple of miles outside of town, a wagon passed him on Highway Eighty-two. Instead of heading for cover, like he would have for the past two weeks, he gave the folks crossing the other way a hearty howdy.
He had gotten his people to safety.
This place, this land—Red River County—was now home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
McKenzie leaned in closer to Al. “Albert Einstein Hawking, huh?”
“Unfortunately.”
“No, I like it. I do. It suits you.” She gazed down the road. “So are you related to Stephen Hawking?”
He nodded. “My sixth cousin.”
“That’s radical.”
He smiled at her then shook his head. “I’m going to miss you, sweet McKenzie.”
“For heaven’s sake why? You don’t have to leave. We made it. We’re safe now.”
He glanced over his shoulder. She followed his gaze. Jackson walked twenty or so paces behind as he usually did. “My supposition is that I’m obligated to help. But you might even say directed—by the same Higher Power whom you testify by. The One who you believe is at this very moment—and all others—watching over us. I am duty-bound to accompany your brother on his quest and will leave when he does.”
She looked back, studying on his words. “Explain yourself. What quest?”
“You heard him. Once he gets you and Cooper safe, he’s departing to go back and find your mother, so she can be here, too. Perhaps it’s only negative speculation—I hope so—but I’m atrociously fearful that it may be a fool’s errand. Still, something or someone compels me to join my captain on his most noble of missions.”
How long would it take her to teach this guy how to converse? Converse? He had her doing it. Talking like… How long would it take her to teach him to talk like a normal person instead of some pompous donkey? Though appreciating his intelligence, even admiring and loving it, she wished he could be smart enough to talk plainer.
Glancing at Moe, she looked back to Jackson.
His captain. Was he talking about Jackson? Had to be.
Of course she had heard her brother talk about going back, but that was what? Two weeks ago? She blew out a heavy breath; seemed like two years had passed. But he couldn’t go now and drag Al along. Not as crazy as it was back there. She wouldn’t let him.
He and Coop were all she had left, and if she had anything to say about it, no one would be leaving to go back into that craziness. It was too dangerous.
Meems and Pop both needed Jackson, too. They were old. He just had to see that. And Cooper? He’d be heartbroken if his big brother left and didn’t let him go, too. She loved her mother as much as any of them, maybe even more, but if Mama was supposed to join them, God could get her there just like He’d helped Jackson over and over again.
Nothing was too hard for Him.
“I say no. You can’t go, and neither can he. You’ll leave and never come back.” She extended her hand and touched his arm. “I don’t want the two of you to get your fool selves killed running off to who knows where.” She glanced back again.
Jackson walked along like everything was hunky-dory. She shot him a glare then looked back to Al. “Promise you won’t go, and that you’ll help me talk him out of it. We need Jackson here. Now promise.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Most definitely, I’ll counsel against going, sweet Z, but if indeed he does leave, I will be compelled to accompany him and support his quest.”
“Why? I’m the one who found you all duct-taped up and everything, not him. You should stay with me.”
“Unquestionably, that would be most desirable, but he is my captain. I must follow him and proffer whatever buttress I may.”
She glared at Albert Einstein Hawking. Such a jerk!
She’d lost both her parents, and now she was supposed to lose her big brother? And her boyfriend, too, in one fell swoop? It wasn’t fair. Al was the one who had saved her in that school when that guy tried to steal Aria. She didn’t know what the rule was about that. Did it really make him her boyfriend? Or was he just a friend?
He hadn’t kissed her or anything. She jerked her hand back and double glared at him.
Why did dumb boys have to be so pigheaded?
Jackson couldn’t hear exactly what his sister and Al were discussing, but from the looks of it, the poor nerd held the short end of the stick. A wave of empathy washed over him. Why would anyone want t
o be sweethearts with his sister? Without a doubt, she was the most pigheaded girl he’d ever been around.
Movement pulled his attention from Al and his sister. Alongside the road in a fair-sized block of black land, a farmer walked behind a small plow pulled by a team of mules led by another guy. Didn’t seem like they made too much progress, but if they were going to plant something, he guessed they didn’t have many options.
With each step closer to his uncle’s place, the stronger his urge grew to turn around and go find his mother. Unsure where he would start, he weighed the probability of ever finding her. She could be anywhere. Would it be like looking for a needle in a haystack? Hopefully she’d beat them to Uncle Roy’s.
But if she wasn’t—when he got there—should he wait at all for her before he left?
She might have gone by the apartment, got McKenzie’s note, and actually headed to Honey Grove right after he did. It could be that she was only twenty-four hours behind his little band. He took a deep breath then blew it out.
The peace in Red River County was tangible. It permeated the air and oozed up from the ground.
Could he stand going back into the madness?
But Mom was out there, somewhere, alive and trying to get to him and his siblings. He could sense it. He shook his head. He’d think about her later. Right now, he had to put one foot in front of the other, forget about needing sleep, food, or any of his thousand aches and pains. Just keep going.
He had to keep going.
After one real steep hill, a smattering of businesses came into view on both sides of the highway. Rick’s Farm and Ranch—must be the feed store—bustled with activity, but instead of pickup trucks parked out front, horse-drawn wagons and saddled horses filled the lot. Where did all those wagons come from anyway?
How was it that these folks had adjusted so fast without the chaos? Then like a dodge ball to the side of his head, the answer hit him. According to his Uncle Roy, everyone in the Red River valley was related by blood or marriage. Everyone had always laughed when he said it, but in these days, it sure seemed like a good thing, a real good thing. Man, he loved being here.
If only his parents were, everything would be perfect.
Farther down on the left, the First National Bank appeared to be open for business. A cowboy leaving the parking lot on his horse waved. A little self conscious, he waved back, remembering everyone greeted everyone there.
How was the bank open without electricity?
Cooper stopped at the red light and looked around. “Which way?”
Jackson pointed straight. His dad usually took the loop to the left to miss all the traffic lights, but cutting through downtown would be flatter. To the right, a couple of wagons and horseback riders headed north to town. Taking the main street would be shorter, too. Besides, he liked the square.
A Mexican food place was the first restaurant. Didn’t that used to be a Pizza Hut? Or maybe it was down the road. Then the Sonic, a Subway at the Exxon, and the Dairy Queen a bit farther into town. They made Jackson’s mouth water. He wished he could order a DQ dude and fries… or a meat lovers’ pizza. Ummm. He could almost taste a meatball sub.
No doubt Meems would soon satisfy his need for a decent meal. He couldn’t wait to see her.
The banks along Main Street looked like they were still open for business as well. How could so few people support so many financial institutions? By the time he reached the Red River Bank on his right, the town square came into view on the left. They had really spruced it up since the last time he was through.
And more businesses filled the old timey buildings that lined all four sides forming the actual square.
The tall confederate soldier statue stood in the very center, encircled by all the historical markers about the stagecoaches and how a lot of the guys who signed the Texas Declaration of Independence had lived in Red River County. Cool history filled the place. One day, he’d bring Al and Cooper back and read all the markers again, but didn’t want to take the time now.
Clarksville’s downtown bustled with activity as he passed through. The streets were all clear, too. The lack of stalled cars puzzled him some. Where had they all gone? The Chamber of Commerce filled the northeast corner of the square, then neighborhoods sprang up on both sides behind the more spread-out businesses along Main Street.
Folks were everywhere working on all sorts of things. One lady hung her wet clothes on a line that stretched from her porch to a tree. How did she wash them with no electricity? Several men worked on sawing logs with big two-man saws, while other guys split them into firewood and piled them in stacks. Anyone who caught his eye nodded or waved as though he’d been knowing them forever.
He loved Red River County.
In a field just past Highland Building Supply, some folks worked on a large still. Moonshine? Jackson grinned. He’d seen it on one of the lame television shows his sister watched, and it sure looked like that was exactly what they were doing. Others on the far side of the lot worked filling brick molds with a muddy mixture.
Women used the opposite side of the big oven for baking, too. The fragrance of their bread intoxicated his senses. Many loaves filled the tables behind it. How much would one cost?
Then on the right side, almost outside of town at an auto shop, a whole bunch of older pickups and tractors lined up at the overhead doors waiting a turn. Several men and boys worked inside the double-bay garage. A few of the tractors were running with tools of some sort hooked to their PTOs.
Jackson looked to the nerd. “How did they get them to run?”
Al watched the lively activity, too. “Appearance indicates someone knows how to rewind alternators.”
This was great. Jackson couldn’t believe it. The people of Clarksville weren’t sitting on their hands wondering what came next. Folks had banned together to do what needed to be done; they made use of what they had to create what they needed. Why couldn’t the rest of the world take notes?
Maybe there were pockets in other places that maintained law and order, too, but for him, he immediately adopted this red-neck country as home and couldn’t be happier he’d left Irving and brought his brother and sister to Red River County.
In no time, the business Eighty-two hooked back up with the looped highway, and he turned right onto it. Just after the Eastside Church of Christ and Abundant Life Assembly of God that almost shared a driveway—what unlikely neighbors—the arrow to Boxelder pointed the way south down Farm-to-Market Four twelve.
With plenty of day left, Jackson whistled Cooper down Uncle Roy’s white limestone drive. In no time, the big house came into view.
Pop saw Cooper first and ran toward him. “Meems! Meems! Get out here, woman!”
Pandemonium erupted.
Relatives he hadn’t seen in years poured out of Uncle Roy’s two-story. Meems hugged and kissed everyone—even Al—with tears streaming down her face; then too soon, the dreaded question got asked.
“Where’s your mother?”
Jackson hated not having an answer, almost as much as he hated the pain in Meems’ and Pop’s eyes. He shook his head. “We waited four days; we were hoping she’d beat us here.”
Pop closed his eyes like he couldn’t stand looking at him. After a bit, he nodded and looked up. “She’ll be here any day now. You kids made it. Bless the Lord. She will, too.”
After food and drinks, Meems—and every female in sight—fussed over the baby and praised McKenzie and Aria for taking such good care of her. He, Cooper, and Al hung out with Pop and Uncle Roy on the porch. Between the two old brothers and all the other guys, lots of stories and tales got volleyed about. He and the boys even told a few.
Bedtime finally arrived, and he melted into the mattress then almost immediately fell asleep. A hand shook him awake.
The old man, the one roasting a hotdog over the fire at the apartments, the dead one back at the stables who showed up later not-so-dead playing golf. The one—he was certain of it even if he didn’t kn
ow how he knew—who told him that Gracie needed him, shook him awake. Wagging his tail something fierce, Boggs stood next to the mystery man, so close that they touched.
“Jackson, come with me.”
He didn’t want to, but obediently swung his feet over the side and sat there a second getting his bearings. Then he stood and followed the familiar stranger out of the room. Boggs padded on the right side of the guy, hugging the old boy’s leg so close that it was a wonder he didn’t trip over the dog and fall. Al joined them.
Down the hall then stairs, Jackson followed the old man. He walked through the living room then out the front door. Expecting to step out onto the porch, Jackson got a real start when he stood in front of the lawyer’s seven-story building that sat on the shore of Lake Ray Hubbard. The eight-lane Interstate Thirty stretched out over the water all the way into Dallas.
He shook his head and blinked.
How could it be?
Looking back just as Al came outside, too, Jackson turned again and stared at the water. “But, but, how did we get to Rockwall?”
The old man laid his hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “She needs you, Son.”
He sat up wide awake, all his senses on alert. Once realization came, it relieved him to be back in his bed at his Uncle Roy’s. Al lay perfectly still in the next twin bed facing him, and his brother beyond him in the third bed. It had been a dream. But was the night vision real? Was the old guy telling him to go after his mother? For real?
Slipping out of bed, he walked to the window. Below, moonlight bathed the pasture that rolled down to a fair-sized block of black farm land. Beyond that, a tree line rose to touch the multitude of stars. The dirt road meandered alongside the pasture and farm field through the CRP—he never did understand the Crop Reduction Program where the feds paid farmers not to plant—and then the bottoms, his favorite spot for hunting deer and hog.
Being here, in this place, surrounded by family gave him great comfort. Could he leave? Leave McKenzie and Cooper? But if he didn’t, would they ever see their mother again?
