by Brian Hodge
He nodded and took her extended hand, hoping she didn’t notice his face flushing. “Russ Copeland. Please come in.”
“Thanks. I live next door. We’re supposed to ride together, I believe.”
“Ah. Lynette didn’t mention it. She’s not doing so well, I’m afraid.”
“She loved that boy so much,” the young woman said with a distressed shake of her head, heading for the living room as if she knew just where to find his sister. “We’ve known each other a long time. We both teach at the high school.”
He nodded, withholding his surprise, and watched silently as Debra gave Lynette’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “Hey, honey. It’s me. I guess we’re all about ready to go?”
Lynette looked up at her friend and nodded. “Time to say goodbye?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
No sooner had she spoken than another knock came at the door, and Copeland opened it to reveal a tall, balding man wearing a crisp, black suit and a somber, sympathetic face. The limousine was parked in the driveway behind Copeland’s Lexus.
“Lynette Lawson?” the man asked in a low, mellifluous voice.
“One moment.”
Copeland went back to his sister and offered her his hand. She gripped it tightly as he led her toward the door; and he could feel her trembling. Debra took her other hand to offer extra support.
“Take her on to the limo,” he told Debra. “I’ll lock up behind us.”
“Sure.”
They rode in silence to the church, which was not the one he had passed on the way in, but the Cheat Mountain Church of Christ, which lay in the opposite direction. The small, white building nestled in a wooded grove at the base of a steep ridge, and Copeland could see a few gravestones peeking out from the trees on the far side of the tiny parking lot. One grave was open and surrounded by a cordon of white cloth. A small crowd had already gathered at the front of the building, and the minister stood at the door, greeting the mourners as they made their way inside.
Copeland and Debra assisted Lynette as she got out of the limo, a bit shaky, but maintaining herself without faltering. The minister, a middle-aged, rotund, bespectacled fellow named Reverend Lee, greeted them warmly and personally led them to the pews at the front of the sanctuary, directly before the casket, which was closed and—most distressingly—little more than half the standard size. Before taking her seat, Lynette went to the casket, leaned over it, and softly wept for several minutes. Copeland and Debra remained a respectful step behind her, but close enough to catch her in case she suddenly went faint.
As they turned to take their seats, Copeland froze, rather rudely jolting his sister. He mumbled an apology and assisted her into the pew, but as Debra started to sit down, he touched her shoulder and whispered in her ear, “Take a look at the back pew and tell me if you know that man.”
When Debra looked around, her dark brown eyes widened briefly and, unless Copeland was very much mistaken, her face lost some of its color. But when her eyes turned back to his, she appeared unshaken. “He’s familiar. Why do you ask?”
“I saw him out in front of your house this morning. He doesn’t strike me as a particularly fine human specimen.”
He hadn’t meant to speak quite so candidly, but there it was. He almost expected her to give him a reproving glare, but she merely shrugged. “No, he doesn’t look like much, does he?”
Then she touched the back of his hand, a subtle but clear signal of gratitude for his concern, and a pleasurable tremor passed through his body. Trivial though the gesture might be, he couldn’t help but feel that something had passed between them; perhaps the beginning of a bond, however tenuous. Then guilt for his self-centeredness, so inappropriate under the circumstances, nudged him briefly, and he took his seat next to Lynette, who reached for his hand and squeezed it, as if he were the rock she needed to cling to. Better he should be one now than allow his attention to wander errantly; but before bringing his focus back to the sad affair before him, he glanced quickly back at the shabbily dressed, conspicuously out-of-place mourner and found the man’s black, unblinking eyes staring, not at Debra, but at him.
The service was a poignant, if brief, tribute to Rodney Lawson, delivered eloquently by Reverend Lee, who had obviously known the boy well. There was no shortage of tears, but for her part, Lynette held up well enough, her spirit bolstered by the pastor’s message of hope for both the departed and those left behind. After his eulogy, he directed the mourners to the cemetery on the hillside, and as the small crowd gathered, four men bore the small casket to the grave.
Copeland took the opportunity to search the faces for the strange interloper, but he had seemingly vanished. On at least a couple of occasions, Debra also surreptitiously scanned the crowd, and when she determined that the object of her search was no longer present, her demeanor relaxed noticeably. She remained close to Lynette as they stood at the graveside and took her arm when Reverend Lee stepped forward to say his final words before the earth claimed Rodney’s body.
“Father, please look with compassion upon the mother of your servant, Rodney Allen Lawson, and support her in this time of deep personal loss. To you, Lynette, I say rejoice in the knowledge that your beloved son is now in arms of our heavenly father, where he shall know eternal peace and joy, looking forward to the day when he is permanently reunited with his loved ones. And now his body is consigned to the earth whence it sprang, until that day when corruption shall be no more, and all who are one in Christ shall rise and walk in the new Jerusalem. Lord, we humbly pray for your blessing, in the name of your son, Jesus Christ. Amen.”
Lynette’s tears had begun to flow anew, and Copeland slid a supportive arm around her waist, hoping now that this business would end quickly so they could get out of here; the assembly of caring friends was important, but maintaining her composure in front of them was wearing her out. He had always hated funerals, and having to endure the interment of a child who had barely lived at all was particularly excruciating—especially in view of the effect it had on those closest to the boy.
The four pallbearers had laid the casket onto the lowering device—a stretcher suspended from a steel frame above the open grave—and now, one of the men pulled a lever at one end, and Rodney Lawson’s remains slowly descended into the dark pit without fanfare; no heavenly chorus, no wails of anguish, no cries of rapture. Then the preacher turned and slowly, solemnly made his way back to the church, signaling that the service had ended.
The caretaker would seal the dead within the earth after the mourners had left.
Finally, a few voices rose to a soft murmur, and people began to migrate slowly away from the gravesite. Lynette continued to stare into the dark opening, but her tears had all dried.
“Be at rest, my dear boy,” she finally said. “I love you so much.” Then, gently removing Copeland’s hand from her arm, she turned and slowly walked back toward the church building, her gait steady, her expression sober. Several people came forward to speak to her.
One of them, an older, white-haired man with tanned leather skin and a hawk nose, stepped up and extended a hand to Copeland. “You’re Russell, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.”
“I doubt you remember me. I used to play golf with your dad, back in the dark ages. I’m Glenn Martin.”
“Ah, yes, I think I recall. Good to see you.”
Martin gave Lynette a concerned glance. “Your sister’s had such a rough time. First Roger, and now her boy. It’s good you could be here for her.”
“I hope I can be of help.”
“I’m the school principal, by the way, and I’m sure she’s going to need some time away. She’s one of the most dedicated teachers I know, and I don’t want her to worry about her job.”
“I appreciate that. I know it will ease her mind.”
“Nice meeting you. Or I should say seeing you again. Must’ve been nearly thirty years ago.”
“I have gotten a little bigger, haven’t I?
”
Martin smiled. “Take care.”
Lynette was speaking softly to an elderly woman, so the principal turned his attention to Debra. The two of them stepped out of Copeland’s earshot and spoke in hushed tones; a couple of times, Debra glanced his way, her expression unreadable. But something about the way they huddled together gave Copeland the distinct impression that secrets were passing between them.
“Excuse me—are you Russ?”
Copeland turned to regard a man about his age, with curly, bronze hair just turning silver at the temples. His eyes were narrow and violet blue, his nose long and straight, his chin goateed.
“I’ll be damned. Candle! Candle McAllister!”
“You’re good. Very good.”
“How could I forget that hair of yours?”
“Lynette said you’d be coming.”
Copeland clasped his old friend’s hand. As kids, hardly anyone knew McAllister’s Christian name was Doug.
“Byston Hill’s most degenerate degenerate. You’re still living here?”
“They didn’t dare set me loose on the world.” McAllister’s face darkened. “I’m very sorry about your sister’s boy. So tragic, young as he was.”
“Thanks. You and Lynette friends?”
“She and my wife, really. That’s her over there. Carolyn.” He pointed to an attractive, slim blonde engaged in conversation with another woman. “I heard you gave up on marriage a while back.”
“Didn’t have much choice in the matter. But believe me, I prefer it this way.”
“I guess that’s good.” McAllister smiled wryly. “How long you gonna be here?”
“Maybe a week.” He glanced half-discreetly over the other’s shoulder and saw that Debra and Martin were still talking. “Depends on how Lynette gets along.”
“I know you’ll be busy, but if you get any free time, give me a call and let’s have a drink. I wasn’t the only degenerate at Byston Hill, if I remember right. We should catch up and see who has fallen the farthest.”
Copeland cut a thin smile. “At least they let me leave town. So what’s your lot in life?”
“I own the Toro dealership in town. You would have passed it on your way in.”
“Didn’t notice.”
“Need a mower?”
“Nope. Doesn’t everyone in this town own goats?”
McAllister grinned. “Damn, it’s good to see you after all these years. Pity about the circumstances.”
He swatted his old friend’s shoulder. “I’ll call.”
“I hope so.”
Debra and Martin parted just as McAllister went to rejoin his wife. The aging principal went to offer his condolences to Lynette, and Debra remained where she stood, her eyes subtly wandering through the crowd. Copeland pretended to stroll casually to her side.
“I gather a lot of these people are from the school.”
She nodded, inspecting the nearby trees before turning to face him. “Lynette’s very popular. She’s an excellent teacher.”
“What do you teach?”
“Social studies.”
“Never my strongest subject.”
“You didn’t go to the public schools here, did you?”
“Nope. Byston Hill, up near Elkins. Lynette too, as I’m sure you know.”
“The local schools have made great strides since we were kids. Even with our limited budgets, we’ve got great programs and faculties. My dad has worked wonders here. If I had kids, I wouldn’t think twice about sending them to the public schools.”
“Your dad is Glenn Martin?”
She nodded and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you didn’t know?”
“No one bothered to mention it. Hell, I never even knew he had a daughter.” He chuckled wryly and started to make a wise remark about nepotism, but then thought better of it. “So. Since your last name is different, I gather that you’re married.”
She smiled wistfully. “Tried it for a while. It didn’t work out.”
“Likewise.”
“So I’m told.” She then gave him a long, thoughtful look. “You asked me about that man this morning. You said he was outside my house?”
“Yes.”
“His name is Levi Barrow. His son, Malachi, is in my class. Neither of them is very good news.”
“I got that impression.”
“I had some trouble with Malachi last week. What am I saying? I’ve had trouble with that boy every day of every week.”
“You think his father is on the warpath?”
She shrugged. “Wouldn’t surprise me. He dotes on that kid as if he were God’s gift. Malachi’s never done anything wrong, and all the problems he has are everyone else’s fault.”
“You think the man’s dangerous?”
After a long pause, she said, “I doubt it.”
“You don’t sound very sure.”
“Let’s put it this way. He’s never killed anyone, at least that I know of. But everyone around here avoids the Barrows like plague. They live out on Yew Line Road, a few miles out of town. They make moonshine and grow pot for their livelihood. Those are their respectable endeavors. Levi’s been known to get into fights from time to time.”
“Yew Line Road...that’s where Rodney was killed, wasn’t it?”
Debra nodded.
“You don’t think there’s any connection, do you?”
“Neither Lynette nor Rodney ever had any trouble with them. They’re a strange brood, though. Three men and the boy, all under one roof. There’s Levi, his brother Joshua, and their grandfather Amos. Their father, Samuel, got killed in Vietnam. Levi’s wife—maybe Malachi’s mother, maybe not—died several years ago, supposedly of cancer.”
“Supposedly?”
“When she died, they just up and buried her. Didn’t notify the police, hospital, anyone. The sheriff threatened to charge them with a host of crimes, turn it over to the state, maybe the feds. But not one thing ever came of it. You think any ‘reputable’ family could have gotten away with something like that?”
“They sound charming. If Levi Barrow were hanging around my house, I might just decide to give the sheriff a ring.”
Debra rolled her eyes. “He’s a distant relative of theirs, which is the only reason they aren’t all in prison. You know, if you look at the crime statistics for this county, you’d think there isn’t any. That doesn’t mean we don’t have our share. Somehow, it just never manages to find its way into the record.”
“Interesting. For a lot with Biblical names, the Barrows seem anything but saintly.”
“Levi likes to boast that the family is related to Clyde Barrow—you know, the male half of Bonnie and Clyde. That’s a load of rubbish, though. In a way, I feel sorry for Malachi, coming from that background. The kids call him ‘Malarkey,’ and some of the older ones have beaten him pretty severely. Make no mistake, though. He’s a bully, a liar, and a thief, so he comes by trouble honestly. Given the choice between showing him sympathy or the way to juvenile detention, I’d go with detention any day.”
Before his brain had fully engaged, Copeland heard from his own lips, “Well, if Mr. Barrow comes around looking for trouble, give me a call. He may not be so brazen when he’s up against someone other than a single woman.”
Debra gazed at him coolly, but then a tiny glimmer of humor appeared in her eyes. “I’m not asking for anyone’s help, Mr. Copeland. I can handle my own affairs.”
“I didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t. I’ve just never taken kindly to…people like that.”
Now her smile was a little warmer. “You sound as if you’ve known your share.”
“Maybe not quite like the Barrows. But I’ve dealt with some very ugly people in my time. I admit I get some satisfaction when I see them reap what they’ve sowed.”
A hand touched his shoulder, and he turned to see Lynette looking at him with weary eyes. “Catching up on Silver Ridge gossip?”
He smiled at her. “Just a social studies lesson. Your friend
is a good teacher.”
Debra rolled her eyes again and turned to Lynette. “Are you ready to go home?”
She nodded. “Yes. They’re having lunch in the social hall, but I don’t think anyone will be offended if I skip it.”
“I’m sure they won’t.”
They started back toward the limousine, where the driver stood dutifully. He opened the door for them and then slid behind the wheel once they were all in.
As the car started off, Copeland glanced at Debra, whose attention was all on Lynette now. The woman really was quite attractive, especially her eyes. They were narrow and dark brown, yet at the same time very bright, as if lit from within by an energetic flame. She was several years younger than he, probably early thirties. He enjoyed her frank manner of speaking and the youthful lilt of her voice; but she also had a measured, sagacious demeanor, probably a result of having taught children for a long time.
He felt glad yet leery of the fact that she was single, for it meant that the only thing to stop him pursuing her was his own good sense.
As they drove away from the church, on a lark, he glanced back through the rear glass and was only slightly surprised to see an unkempt, stringy-haired figure wearing denim jeans and jacket step out from a stand of trees to watch after the retreating vehicle.
Again, Levi Barrow seemed to focus specifically on him, rather than Debra. And though there was hardly any rational basis for it, he suddenly felt a soul-deep tremor of fear, as if he had been marked for something awful; perhaps the same fate that his nephew Rodney, for whatever reason, had tragically—and horribly—suffered.
Chapter 3
Hard to accept that Rodney was gone, laid underground until the end of forever. God rest your soul, bud, and all that.
Zack Baird had never been to a funeral before Rodney Lawson’s, and he hoped it was the last, for he could not have imagined a more depressing, tearful event. He had nearly bawled like a baby, and crying in public was not something his friends should ever see. Fortunately, most of them had been sitting behind him, so he doubted they could have glimpsed the tears that had leaked down his cheeks.
