Livvie's Song

by Sharlene MacLaren

  ***

  A streak of lightning flashed in the eastern sky as they set off down the narrow path to the outhouse, Clem directly behind her, empty bucket in one hand, gun in the other. My, but it felt good to stretch her legs and move her arms. She imagined setting off across the wide expanse of fields before her, but that stupid weapon poking in her spine was a definite deterrent. “We could certainly use some rain,” she said, forcing brightness into her tone. A clap of thunder followed the lightning, which made her nerves jump, but she wouldn’t let him know it. “It’s been an unusually hot, dry summer, don’t you think?”

  Heavy, wheezy breaths were all she got in return, as if he were not accustomed to walking and talking concurrently. His overweight condition probably didn’t help.

  “Maybe the rain will dispel the humidity,” she added. “That would be a welcome relief.” While she made small talk, she took in her surroundings, making sure to move her eyes only and keep her head facing straight ahead. But they might as well have been in Australia for the unfamiliarity. Nothing about this place rang a bell.

  Another streak of silver flashed across the sky, and thunder rumbled overhead, closer this time. “It’s going to rain, for sure. Maybe any minute now.”

  “Would you shut your yapper? I ain’t in the mood for conversin’.”

  “Well, you don’t have to be such a grump about it.”

  At the end of the path, Clem opened the outhouse door and shoved her inside. “Make it snappy, ’fore that sky opens up.”

  She did her best to be quick, but she didn’t think forty-five seconds had passed when he shouted, “What’s takin’ so long?”

  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she assured him, smoothing down her tattered dress and looking around, wishing she could find a board or something else with which to clobber the no-good bum on his sorry noggin. Yet the outhouse offered no help. She opened the door and looked up at him. “Aren’t you going to use the facility?”

  He produced a hard, cold grin. “Don’t need to. I used it whilst you were sleepin’.”

  “Oh.”

  He took her by the arm and forced her to turn. “Walk,” he ordered, poking the gun into the center of her spine. “Pump’s over there.”

  The inconsiderate oaf made her operate the pump while he held the gun to her temple, and it took every ounce of strength she could muster to get the water up the pipe. When it finally came, she couldn’t help it; she bent down and drank from the clear stream.

  “Fill the bucket, not your bladder,” he groused.

  On the trek back to the ramshackle building, something stirred in the tall grasses several yards away and startled her. She gasped with a jolt, causing some of the water to splash out of the pail.

  “What’d you do that for?” he asked, pressing the pistol harder against her back.

  “I thought—nothing, it was nothing.” But it was something; she knew it, and the deep, low growl that came next confirmed her suspicions.

  “Did you hear that?” he asked.

  “I….”

  “Open that door,” he ordered, prodding her forward.

  She complied, and he pushed her inside the shack, then slammed the door with a loud thud. Chancing a hurried peek out the window, she saw something black bounding through the fields, out of sight.

  “What’d you see?” he demanded, pushing his way beside her to look outside.

  “Nothing.”

  But she had seen something. A bear? A wolf, perhaps? Or…Reggie?

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  “For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.”—Psalm 91:11

  As news of Livvie’s disappearance spread, the town’s determination to find her mounted. Folks showed up at the sheriff’s station in droves, asking what they could do to help. Cora Mae kept the “Closed” sign facing out and posted a new one next to it that read: “Owner Missing. Please Join in the Search to Bring Livvie HOME.” When Sheriff Morris told those who’d been up all night to go home for some much-needed rest, most of them refused, saying they wouldn’t be able to sleep, anyway.

  While men made up the majority of the search party, several women and older teens also showed up in the early hours to see what they could do. Some joined in the search, while others set up tables outside the sheriff’s office to provide food, water, and plenty of coffee to the teams. Because kidnapping was a federal offense, two officers from the Bureau of Investigation arrived on the afternoon train to take over the investigation, but an argument arose between them and Sheriff Morris concerning jurisdiction. In the end, Judge Morehead of Wabash County ruled in favor of the BOI and ordered the sheriff to submit to them. Once they captured Clem Dodd, the villain would face the Indiana court system first for his robberies, as well as federal district court, then return to New York for another trial and sentencing.

  It didn’t take long for most people to find out that Marva Dulane had landed herself in the county jail, though most of them couldn’t imagine what part she had played in Livvie’s disappearance. As far as Will knew, only a handful of people had a clue that Clem Dodd even existed. One of them was Orville Dotson, and, when Sheriff Morris questioned him in Will’s presence, Will figured now was not the time to bring up the man’s illegal operation. He’d leave that for later. Right now, finding Livvie was infinitely more important. However, Dotson claimed to have no idea where Clem Dodd might have taken her, swearing that all he’d done had been to sell the fellow his weekly supply of whiskey. With a tremble in his voice, he insisted that he’d never befriended the bum, and that he certainly would have reported him, had he known about his plan to abduct the lovely Olivia Beckman.

  They left Dotson’s place mostly believing him.

  As for Marva, the sheriff questioned her from every angle but got nowhere. Yes, Clem had taken Livvie away, she conceded, and for good reason: he was in love with her, and what was the problem in that? No, she didn’t know where he’d taken her, and, even if she did, she wouldn’t tell, for honeymoons and such were private matters. “Are we done yet?” she asked after every question. “Will and Quinn are taking me dancing, and then we’re going for ice cream. Buford, you can come, too, if you’d like. Is that all right with you, Will?”

  Sheriff Morris and Will could only raise their eyebrows at each other. Clearly, Marva Dulane had slipped even further off her rocker.

  As of eleven that morning, not one lead had come in, but Will refused to be discouraged. Search parties combed the riverbanks and outlying areas, walked for miles up and down the railroad tracks, set off in various directions through wooded patches and ravines, and knocked on the door of every house and business within the city limits.

  Around eleven thirty, at the sheriff’s request, Gus left with Quinn Baxter and Sam Campbell, destination North Manchester, where they were to poke around for clues. Will was getting ready to ride with Howard out to the farm to check on Margie and the boys before setting off again when Coot showed up, cane in hand. “What do you think you’re doing?” Will asked him.

  “I’m goin’ to sit right here and pray for Livvie’s safety, and I don’t plan to move from this spot till she’s found safe and sound,” Coot announced.

  “Is that so? Well, if I have my wish, you’ll be out of here by early afternoon. Did Reggie come home last night?”

  Coot gave a slow shake of his head. “He does this from time to time—gets hot on the trail of a rabbit or coon and refuses to give up till he’s caught the thing. He can detect smells from miles away—that’s the hound in ’im. Stubborn as an old mule he is, too. I’ll say, ‘Reggie, it’s time for your vittles,’ but, if he’s busy sniffin’ somethin’ else out, ain’t nothing goin’ to sidetrack ’im, even food. Crazy dog.”

  “He got quite the head wound,” Will reminded him.

  “Pfff, he’s been in a few spats with critters. Those don’t slow ’im down none. Nope, I ain’t seen the last of my dog.”

  By the time Will and Howard left, the sky
had opened up like a colossal waterfall, making for a slow drive. Ditches and ravines overflowed their banks, and the road to the farm had turned to slimy mud, making navigation nearly impossible. At one point, the front wheel got stuck in a groove and almost made the vehicle veer into a ditch. They escaped narrowly, the old truck hissing and choking in protest. “Around here, roads flood mighty fast in a downpour like this,” Howard said. He kept his eyes glued to the road and his hands holding tight to the big steering wheel, while the Folberths’ wiper cranked back and forth at maximum frequency, which was hardly fast enough. Will leaned forward, as if his ability to see the road would be of some help to Howard, but he couldn’t get so much as a glimpse of it, making him wonder if Howard had been driving from memory alone and not sight. He sucked in a giant whiff of air and didn’t heave it back out until Howard braked to a stop at the end of the driveway.

  “Good driving,” he said when the motor shut off.

  “Been at it for a while.”

  For the next minute or so, they sat in silence—well, save for the deafening rain that pelted the metal roof—each lost in his own thoughts. “I’m thinking we need to stay as positive as possible,” Howard finally said.

  “I am being positive,” Will insisted. “I’m confident that God is watching over Livvie. We’ll find her; I know we will.”

  “Yes, you’re right. We will.” Howard’s voice shook.

  “She’s more than a sister-in-law to you, isn’t she?”

  He nodded and wiped his eyes. “She’s like a daughter.”

  Will swallowed a rocklike lump. “What would you say if I told you I’m in love with her?”

  Howard dropped his hands to his lap and turned his craggy, sunburned face to Will. Slowly, a tired grin lifted the corners of his mouth, and he arched an eyebrow. “Then, I’d say we both have mighty fine reasons for finding our girl.”

  A wave of relief raced through him, then receded just as quickly. “My time in prison—”

  Howard lifted his hand. “Say no more. It’s in the past, you’ve served your time and learned from it, and you’re a fine Christian man. That’s good enough for me. As for Margie, well….” He took a deep breath. “You might have to work on her a bit.” With a wink, he turned and peered out his window up at the dark sky. “You ready to make a run for it?”

  “Whatever you say, sir.”

  No sooner had they rushed inside and started stomping their sopping boots on the braided rug than Margie, Alex, and Nate rushed into the hallway. “Did you find her?” Margie asked, wringing her apron, lines of worry etched into her already wrinkled brow.

  Howard stepped forward and placed a quick kiss on his wife’s cheek. “Not yet, but we will.”

  The boys hugged their uncle but quickly ran to Will’s waiting arms. “Where’s Mommy, Will?” Nate said into his shoulder, letting out a little sob.

  “We haven’t found her yet, son. But we will.”

  “I ain’t gonna cry.” Alex’s chin quivered, even as he said the words.

  Will pulled them close, unable to say anything more for the aching lump in his chest.

  Margie cleared her throat. “Boys, how about you go upstairs and play with your toys? I’ll be there soon.”

  They each gave Will another hug, then trudged off, shoulders sagging. He watched them climb the stairs listlessly until they were out of sight.

  “Hasn’t anybody heard anything?” Margie blurted out. “Our telephone’s been ringing all morning. Myra Marshall at the switchboard claims she can’t keep up. Folks want to know what I’ve learned and how they can help. If either of you are hungry, there’s a spread of dishes on the kitchen counter from various neighbors and such. I, for one, can’t stomach a single bite, but I’ve been force-feeding those boys. You two need your strength, as well. Best go eat something.”

  Will could tell her nerves had reached a high point by her fast, quivery manner of speaking.

  The telephone rang, and she sighed. “I cannot talk to another person.”

  “I’ll get it,” Howard said. He walked across the room and picked up the black receiver from its cradle.

  While he spoke to the caller, Margie turned to Will. “You must be exhausted. Have you eaten or slept?”

  “I had a few bites at the station, Mrs. Grant. As for sleep, I haven’t given it a thought. All I want to do is find Livvie.”

  Margie dabbed at her damp eyes with her apron. “First of all, you must call me Margie. And, second, I’m glad to see you’re so determined. I truly appreciate the way the town is pulling together to find my sister.” A dog barked at the back door, and she frowned. “Oh, it’s that dog that jumped out of Mr. Baxter’s car yesterday.”

  “Reggie?”

  “Is that his name? He’s been throwing a grand fit, running back and forth out there, and barking to beat the thunder. I set out some scraps of food and a bowl of water, even invited him in out of the storm, but he’d have no part in it. The boys know him, of course, and tried to coax him inside, but he wouldn’t listen. He just stands out there and barks. I don’t know why he won’t go home.”

  Will looked through the kitchen and out the back door, where Reggie still barked. An eerie sense came over him.

  “That was Sheriff Morris,” Howard said, hanging up the phone. “Seems he has a couple of new leads.”

  “What sort of leads?” Margie asked.

  “Well, I guess Rich Stinehart, the fellow who operates the livery on the west side of town, said he leased a horse and buggy for the past few days to a rather mysterious fellow with a deep scar on his left cheek. Apparently, the fellow returned the rig after dark last night, claiming not to need it anymore. Said he planned to hitch a ride to his destination.”

  “Clem Dodd,” Will muttered, his chest constricting into a tight ball of tension. “Wonder if anyone gave him a ride.”

  “Someone did,” Howard confirmed. “A fellow by the name of Dick Baker strolled into Morris’s office a little while ago and said that he picked up a hitchhiker around ten o’clock last night. That would have been about the same time that rig got dropped off at Stinehart’s place. Baker described him as big and scruffy-looking, said the fellow snapped at him when he tried to make conversation. And, when he stopped to let him out, he noticed a nasty-looking scar on his cheek.”

  “Did he say where he dropped him?” Will asked, his adrenaline pumping as if he’d just come across a poisonous snake.

  “Yep. Corner of Farr Pike Road and Dixon.”

  “But, that’s our corner!” Margie exclaimed, eyes popping, hands fidgeting.

  “It sure is, honey. Half mile away, but it is our property. When Baker asked if he couldn’t take the guy further, he said he preferred to walk, got out of the car, and started heading north on Dixon.”

  “Which would be behind our farm,” Margie said. “The nearest house up Dixon is at least five miles. Surely, he didn’t mean to walk that far.”

  “Are there any vacant buildings off of Dixon?” Will asked. “Maybe an abandoned barn or shack?”

  “Well, the nearest one would be the old St. John the Baptist Church. It’s been vacant for about eighty years, I think. It’s on my property, but I’ve left it untouched all this time, just because, well, it’s not hurting anything, and it’s not on fertile soil. I haven’t been back there in years. I mean, it’s hardly visible from the road, unless you have a telescope or something.”

  Reggie gave several persistent barks in a row.

  “There’s that dog again,” Margie groused.

  “Let’s go check on him,” said Will. “I have a hunch about something.”

  “Another hunch, eh?” Howard said.

  The rain had not let up; if anything, it came down faster now, in blinding torrents. Will pushed open the screen door and looked down at the drenched dog. “What’s the matter, Reg?”

  The dog gave another impatient howl, moved back, and danced a complete circle, then ran about ten feet away from the house, before coming back and repe
ating the routine.

  “Well, I’ll be,” said Will. “He wants us to follow him.”

  “Sure seems that way,” Howard said. He took off his hat and scratched the top of his head. “But it’ll be hard finding a path to that church. And any footprints or wheel marks will be long gone. The grass is high and awful thick.”

  “It could be that Reggie’s carved us a good path, with all his running back and forth. My guess is, he’s scoped out the area. He’s a pretty smart dog.”

  Margie joined them, and they stood there, watching Reggie’s fretful movements. “I have some firearms in my cabinet,” Howard said in a sober voice. “Maybe we should both take one.”

  Will took a deep breath. “I agree. I know Clem Dodd, and he’ll have a gun on him, for sure.” Lord, grant us safety. Let us find Livvie unharmed.

  Howard put his hat back on and hastened out of the room.

  “I think you should call the sheriff, ma’am—er, Margie. Tell him we’re heading out to that old church on a hunch. You might also want to warn him that the road conditions are terrible. Howard had a hard time in his truck.”

  Margie kept wringing her apron. “Yes, our road tends to flood in weather like this. I’ll be sure to let him know.” She paused and bit her lip. “Do you think Livvie could be out there with that awful man, Will?”

  Will didn’t even want to think about it, but he needed to be realistic. “There’s a strong possibility, but don’t worry. God is on our side.”

  “You’re right about that. We should pray before you leave.”

  Will nodded.

  Howard came back, carrying a rifle in each hand. He inserted a cartridge in both weapons and handed one to Will. Then, the men set down the rifles, and the three of them joined hands and prayed, asking God for His direction and protection.