Swing Low, Sweet Chariot

by Jackie Lynn

  “Yeah,” Rose said. “And what did he say about it?” she asked. She was holding the small memory card in her hand. She then stuck it in her pocket.

  Ms. Lou Ellen turned to face Rose to try and make out what Thomas was saying.

  “It looks like somebody forced him off the road,” he said.

  “There were some other tire tracks, but there was nobody else around.”

  “Where was it?” Rose asked.

  “It was where they said in the newspaper report, just off the interstate bridge, west of town.”

  Rose knew exactly where Thomas was talking about. She had often commented that she thought it was a dangerous curve in that part of the road.

  “And he’s dead?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Yes,” he replied. “Jimmy said that he had a pulse when they got to the wreck, but that there was a huge injury to his chest. They weren’t even able to do CPR,” he added.

  Rose shook her head. “Well—” She paused. Suddenly she heard the motorcycles leaving the campground and she remembered the other news that they had received since Thomas had left. “Chariot was extradited this morning,” she said.

  “What?” Thomas asked. “I thought Montgomery promised that it wouldn’t happen until he had gotten all the right papers.”

  “Apparently, he wasn’t there when they came,” Rose replied. “Anyway, Rhonda and Lucas are going out to look for her.” She glanced out the window to see her friends driving away. “And the sheriff is trying to locate them.”

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “I’m staying at the office in case someone calls. Ms. Lou Ellen is going to guard the tent. I guess beyond that there isn’t really anything else to do,” she said.

  “I think I’ll go over to the crash site and check it out for myself,” Thomas said. “Maybe there’s a clue or something there that can help us know exactly what happened.”

  “Okay,” Rose said. “I’ll see you later this afternoon.”

  And the two of them hung up.

  Ms. Lou Ellen headed toward the door.

  “It was not an accident, I presume,” Ms. Lou Ellen said.

  Rose shook her head. “Doesn’t look like it,” she replied.

  Ms. Lou Ellen sighed. “Well, I guess the snake is out of the grass now,” she said. “I guess that’s not very good news for our young girl from South Dakota, is it?” She stood at the door.

  “I’m afraid not,” Rose replied.

  “Okay,” Ms. Lou Ellen responded. “I’m going to put my computer away, grab a book and a little morning refreshment, and head down to the tent to do my guard duty.”

  Rose smiled. “I’ll let Willie know that you’d appreciate his company,” she promised. “I’ll ask him to bring a couple of chairs.”

  Ms. Lou Ellen nodded and headed out the door.

  Rose walked out behind her and pulled the door closed. She headed over to Willie’s trailer to ask for his assistance. When she got near his trailer, it appeared as if he wasn’t there. She knocked, but the door was shut and the curtains on the windows were still closed. She glanced around. His truck was there, but she saw no sign of the old man.

  Finally, Rose looked over toward the tent section and she immediately saw him. Willie had already taken the guard position. She could see him sitting at the front flap of Chariot’s tent, the shotgun by his side. She figured that he had been there all night. He noticed her at his trailer and he threw up his hand in her direction.

  Rose waved back.

  She thought about walking over to him, but figured she would just let Ms. Lou Ellen join him, maybe even relieve him from what he apparently considered his responsibility.

  Rose thought about Willie and his attachment to Chariot. Since her time at Shady Grove she had learned that people can feel connected to all kinds of other folks. It was the kind of place that allowed for that. She had even had her own experience with that sort of unpredictable, unexpected connection with Lawrence Franklin, the man who had drowned and whose body was recovered the day she arrived in West Memphis.

  She had been asked lots of times by Sheriff Montgomery and others why she was so concerned about a man she didn’t know, why she was so interested in somebody’s circumstances with whom she had no relationship.

  Rose, however, had no answer then and still didn’t. She just felt as if he was a man she somehow was responsible to, somehow related to. And since being at Shady Grove, she had uncovered a whole series of connections to people for whom she now cared deeply. It was part of the magic of the river campground.

  Who am I to question why Willie cares about this young girl? she asked herself as she looked toward the old man guarding Chariot’s tent. He has a right to his privacy and even if I did ask, he probably wouldn’t know the answer anyway. We love who we love for reasons that cannot be explained.

  Rose turned to walk back to the office steps. She opened the door just as the phone was ringing.

  “Shady Grove,” she said, expecting it to be Rhonda or Thomas or maybe someone from the sheriff’s office. There was a moment before anyone responded.

  “Hello,” she said again.

  “Rose,” the voice was familiar, but hardly audible.

  “Hello?” Rose said again. “I can’t hear you,” she said, hoping the caller would speak up.

  “Rose.” There was a pause. “It’s Chariot. I need your help.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  What is it, Chariot?” Rose asked. She dropped down in the seat behind the desk. “Are you okay?” Rose asked before the girl had a chance to answer the first question.

  “I know what he wants,” she replied.

  “What who wants?” Rose asked.

  “I know what Jason took,” Chariot responded.

  “What?” Rose asked. She wondered if the girl was safe, wondered where she was. There were lots of questions she wanted to ask, but she knew that she needed to listen more than talk.

  “It was Snake who was at my tent last night,” Chariot said.

  “Yes,” Rose said.

  “He had him killed,” Chariot added.

  “I know,” Rose replied. “Where are you?” she asked.

  “I know what he wants,” Chariot said again.

  “Who?” Rose asked.

  “Jason did have it and he gave it to me,” Chariot said, not answering the question that Rose had asked.

  “What, Chariot? What is it that he wants?” Rose asked.

  “The photo card that you mentioned before.” Chariot waited.

  “Do you remember?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Rose responded.

  “Do you still have it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I need it,” Chariot said. “I have to get it,” she added.

  “Are you okay?” Rose asked.

  Suddenly, there was the sound of a scuffle. Rose heard a kind of thud as if someone had been hit. It seemed as if the phone was being taken away from Chariot.

  “Hello, Chariot?” Rose asked. She was worried that the call was being disconnected. “Chariot?” she called out again.

  “You Rose?” It was a man’s voice—tough-sounding, unfamiliar, and clearly dangerous.

  “Who is this?” Rose asked.

  “None of your business. Do you have the photo card?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she replied, not sure why she was lying to the man who apparently had Chariot.

  “It’s foolish to play games with me,” the man said. “Do you have the card?” he asked again.

  “I have a photo card,” she replied.

  “Do you know where Village Creek is?” the voice asked.

  “The state park?” Rose replied. “Near Gieseck?” she asked.

  “Off Highway 284, going north, out of Caldwell.”

  Rose listened. She had been to that park with Thomas and some of his friends for a cookout the previous summer. She wasn’t sure she remembered how to get there. She paused before answering. She wrote do
wn the name of the park on a scrap piece of paper.

  “You still there?” the man asked.

  “Yes, I’m here,” Rose replied.

  “Come to the last camping loop. I’ll find you when you get here. Be here in one hour.”

  “I’m not sure I can find it,” Rose confessed. “Use a map,” the man instructed.

  “Look, I don’t know who you are or what’s on that card, but everybody’s out searching for you. Why don’t you just bring Chariot back to West Memphis and clear yourself of this mess—”

  He interrupted her. “Shut up. Get in your car and bring me the card.”

  “Rose,” it was Chariot. He had handed her the phone. “Please, just do what he says,” she said softly.

  “Chariot, let me call the sheriff. I can work this out.” Rose was hoping that the man couldn’t hear her.

  “Rose, just do what he says, please,” Chariot replied.

  “Okay,” Rose said. “Just let me think of something else,” she added.

  There was a pause.

  “Chariot?” Rose asked, thinking that the man had taken possession of the phone again.

  “Somebody’s got Constance,” she said.

  “What?” Rose asked. She wasn’t prepared for this bit of news.

  “He’s got somebody in Pierre with my little girl,” Chariot said, her voice shaking. “He won’t let me talk to her. But I just know that she’s in trouble.” Chariot started to cry. “If we don’t get him the photo card, he’ll hurt her,” she added. “Please, I don’t know what else to do.”

  “Chariot,” Rose responded.

  There was no reply.

  “Chariot,” she called out again.

  “Just bring the card. And don’t be a hero. I’ve got people watching the park. I’ve got a police scanner. I’ll know if you bring somebody else with you or if you call the sheriff.”

  “Okay,” Rose replied. “Give me some more time to find my way there,” she said.

  “You’ve got an hour or the little girl dies.”

  “Wait!” Rose yelled.

  But the line went dead.

  Rose stood at the desk for a minute, trying to decide what she should do. She knew that the kidnapper was smart enough to come all the way from Pierre to West Memphis to find and capture Chariot. He had found out about and gotten hold of the little girl. He had been ruthless enough to kill James Booker, the man she had seen at Shady Grove the night before, and was probably responsible for the murders of the other two men. She knew that he would see if she was being followed and if he found that out, he would kill Constance and then disappear with Chariot.

  She looked at her watch. She didn’t have much time. She wouldn’t be able to make any calls and get anything organized in an hour. She would have to take her chances, that maybe the man was telling the truth, that if he was given the photo card then maybe he would let Chariot and her daughter go. Rose didn’t have any other choice than to follow his instructions.

  She felt the memory card in her pocket and walked to the door. She flipped the sign to CLOSED and stepped out on the porch and locked the door. When she turned around, Old Man Willie was standing right in front of her. She almost ran into him. Apparently, he had walked over to the office when Ms. Lou Ellen joined him at the tent.

  “Hey, Rose,” the old man said. He had the canvas bag on his shoulder, the one that had been missing from the office.

  Rose was hurrying off the porch. She just shook her head.

  “You okay?” he asked. It was obvious that she was upset about something.

  “I’m fine,” she replied as she headed away from the office and toward her camping trailer. Her SUV was parked beside it.

  “I got her bag,” he said as Rose walked away.

  “Okay,” Rose replied, still hurrying in the other direction.

  “I was going to take it to her. But Ms. Lou Ellen said she was gone.”

  The old man watched as Rose made her way to her vehicle. Rose didn’t answer him.

  “Is it true?” he asked. “Is she gone?”

  But Rose was too far away to hear him.

  Willie didn’t budge from the office porch and was standing in the same spot when Rose pulled away from her camping spot and sped down the driveway and out of Shady Grove.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Rose drove down the dirt road until she hit the main street that intersected with the interstate. Then she drove west on 40, heading out of town and in the direction of Caldwell, a small community about half an hour from West Memphis.

  It was late in the morning, not quite lunchtime, and the traffic was light. As she passed the service station near the exit, she saw a group of police cars gathered off the side of the road. She knew they were out searching for Chariot and wondered if Sheriff Montgomery was with them. She hoped that no one noticed her Ford Bronco as she whipped onto the interstate.

  Rose drove and tried to think about what exactly she was doing. Now that she was on the road, she considered the idea that she could pull off and call for assistance. She felt around in her purse for her cell phone and remembered that she had taken it out when she was in the office. She had walked out and left it on the counter. She thought that maybe she could take the next exit and use a phone at one of the convenience stores or gas stations.

  She figured that she could call Rhonda or Thomas on their cell phones. She could even turn around and meet up with the officers who were not very far behind her. But Rose shook off those thoughts and kept driving. Nothing made sense except to do what she had already decided to do, obey the kidnapper to save Chariot and her little girl.

  Rose was simply tapping into her old professional instinct; the instinct that reminded her to do only what she was told. There was no room for deviating from the rules or considering unorthodox ideas, Rose had simply always done what she had been instructed to do. She had always excelled at obeying commands. She had made a fine nurse because she never questioned authority and always did what she was told to do.

  Working in the hospital, Rose had always been more concerned about following guidelines, following protocol, than she had been about anything else. She had watched some of the other nurses on staff overstep their boundaries, offer creative options, or try something on their own. She had seen some of her colleagues in school try to take shortcuts or think up their own procedures. And even the ones who had the right idea, made a fair assessment or correct diagnosis, but didn’t follow the doctor’s orders or the medical protocol, were still reprimanded and often dismissed. The ones who disobeyed instructions and made wrong assessments or improper diagnoses sometimes even lost their licenses. Rose understood that, as a nurse, following instructions was always the best approach for staying out of trouble and getting the job done.

  She drove along, however, wondering if her willingness to follow instructions was part of the reason that she had grown tired of being a nurse. She drove, obeying the instructions she was given, feeling like she did for the twenty years she had been in that profession. She drove feeling as if she was acting like a robot, simply following orders without questioning, without trusting her own ideas about what was right or wrong. And even though she had never disobeyed a doctor’s orders, never done anything outside of written or approved protocol, she drove along the interstate and wondered if this was a time when she should have done something forbidden, if she should have disobeyed her instructions and called for backup or reported the phone call. This man who held Chariot and who threatened a little girl’s life was certainly no doctor or well-intentioned healer. This man was a murderer.

  Still, even though she could already hear the sheriff’s lecture about heading right into danger or Thomas’s questions about why she didn’t call him, Rose felt as if she didn’t have a choice. Chariot had begged her to follow the man’s instructions, to do what she was ordered to do. How could she refuse a mother’s plea?

  She reached down and felt in her pocket. The photo card was still there. She had what the man wanted.
She, in fact, had been the one to find it. Chariot didn’t even know about it. And if Rose hadn’t mentioned it in the phone call that was placed earlier that day then the young woman would probably have already been killed.

  She wondered if there were photographs on the card. She wondered if there might be copies of some documents that would implicate the drug dealer in some heinous crime or some indiscreet pictures. She guessed that it had to be something horrific to cause him to go to such lengths to get the card back.

  She wished that she had taken the time that morning to download what was on the card because she knew she wasn’t able to do that now that she was on the road, heading in the direction of the killer. She would never know why she had risked her life, what it was that was saved on that little card.

  Rose considered the idea of making a substitution. She could stop along the way at a pharmacy or some store and purchase a photo card that looked like the one she had and give the guy the wrong one.

  But it wasn’t like she was in any way concerned with what was on the card anyway. She just wanted to help Chariot and her little girl. She just wanted them to be safe. She remembered the man’s instructions not to be a hero were pretty clear. And the truth was, she didn’t really want to be a hero anyway, it was going to be difficult enough to make it to the park in one hour, Rose knew she had no time to stop and try to buy another memory card.

  Traffic picked up as she headed west. It was taking longer than she expected to make the exit that the man had reported on the phone, the one that took her north and to the park. Finally, she started seeing signs for the place he had instructed her to drive to and she slowed down until she finally came to Caldwell and found the exit for Arkansas State Road 284. She took the exit and headed north. She looked at her watch; she had made it to the right road in forty-five minutes.

  There was only the turnoff for the park to find and Rose would have made it in time. She would have gotten to her assigned place within the hour. Rose had done what she had been instructed to do. She obeyed her orders. The little girl would be safe.

  Rose watched for signs. The minutes ticked past. She drove five miles, then seven, then ten. There were no signs directing her to the park. She started to wonder if she had taken the wrong exit. Without her cell phone, she couldn’t call for directions from anyone. She was going to have to rely on the road she had taken and trust that she was going in the right direction.