Sammy called, “Hank, over here!”
The swamp water poured down the large hole like a waterfall.
Sammy’s eyes were somber. “You guys been drowned in another minute.”
Hank fell into Sammy’s boat and was silent, breathing hard, unable to take his eyes from the whirlpool over the muskrat tunnel.
Bobby said, “Thank you, Daddy, for saving my life.”
Hank smiled back and used his finger to rub some of the smudge off his son’s face.
Bobby added, “I left the medal inside the wreck.”
“Medal?” said Hank. “What medal?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
It was early morning of Easter Sunday. Bobby rested inside the farmhouse in Pete’s large bed. The others gathered either inside the first floor rooms or even braving the rain standing on the large porch. No one could leave the area due to the blocked roads covered with fallen trees.
Tawny’s photographer filmed Bobby’s return from the pier to the house. Tawny herself bustled around, as a reporter, asking questions of every volunteer who came ashore in the last minutes of the rescue.
The boy lay back, in good spirits, the only visible damage from his ordeal the remains of mud over his skin. The medic treated the animal bites on his legs as best he could.
Tawny photographed Bobby talking to Melissa. Her photographer pointed his video camera and she began dictating her observations.
“This is a special Easter Sunday report from the Wilderness, a large swamp outside River Sunday, Maryland. Today, we witnessed a true Easter miracle. I am here at the edge of the wetland with the child rescued from a mud-filled cave in, a horrible living grave.”
She pushed the front of the camera near to the boy’s face and tried to get the boy’s comments in her microphone.
“How are you?’
“Better,” said Bobby.
She held the mike toward the paramedic. The man in his earth-splotched River Sunday green uniform said “He’s all right which is remarkable for the nightmare he’s been through.”
Her attention came back to Bobby. “What did you think about down in that hole?”
“My mom and dad and my grandfather. My dad saved me, and my Mom too.” Bobby raised up on his stretcher and pointed to Hank who had come into the room.
Melissa, her face covered with bandages, tried to smile at Hank. “I’m proud of you,” she said.
“That’s my daddy,” said Bobby, pointing at his father, his own clothes filthy with the tunnel dirt.
Duke, standing behind Tawny, moved to the bed and tried to get another photograph. His flash brightened the dark corners of the room.
“So it didn’t get you this time,” Duke said, his eyes on Hank.
Hank helped Melissa clean the dank smelling earth from Bobby’s leg. “What didn’t get me, Mister Duke?”
“Why, the storm, nature, the forces after you guys out there.”
“No, I guess we got off this time. Old mother nature let us go.”
“Sure,” said Duke, “I got to thinking about that airplane. If it was old Zinnie’s plane, maybe her ghost pulled strings for the boy.”
Hank returned the newspaperman’s stare. “Time was the problem out there. We beat it.”
Mudman laughed. “You’re going to disappoint the religious folks you take that attitude, Hank. People want a reason for good things.”
“Why do you think this happened, Mudman?” asked Mister Duke.
He grinned, “I figure it’s pretty simple. Somebody’s good luck is somebody else’s bad luck. Bobby gets out but Will loses his plane. We traded one for the other.”
“You don’t think nature is trying to get back at us for all the destruction wreaked upon it? This swamp was all dry land a few years back. These days it’s so covered with water these tides can come up here and be destructive. You don’t think that is nature getting even?”
“You seem to be good at analyzing that kind of thing. You write the editorial, Mister Duke,” said Mudman. “I figure Bobby got himself in trouble the way a kid does.”
“It’s all about war anyway,” Duke said. “Then again, all this happened on Easter, which is for peace.”
“A guy like you can’t be religious. You got to write newspaper stories,” said Mudman.
Duke shook his head as Mudman walked away.
Mrs. Pond from the side of the room said, “Mister Duke, they
don’t get it.”
Tawny spoke. “Hank, can I ask you a question?”
Hank smiled. “Sure, but Sammy and the others did most of the rescue.”
She went on, “This is Hank Green, the father of the rescued child. Tell us, did you ever think the rescue hopeless?”
“I guess I had a few doubts there. My friends came through and helped me keep up my courage.”
“What happens next?” asked Tawny.
“Well,” said Hank, “today, Easter Sunday, is my boy’s birthday.”
“We have presents for him,” added Melissa.
Duke said, “Sounds like a very happy day.”
Father Tom entered the room. He moved through the crowd to stand next to Jimmy. Cincy, still in her raincoat, with muddy feet, followed with Mudman, still in his muddy rescue gear.
“It’s a good time to give thanks,” said Father Tom.
The crowd quieted as the priest asked them to bow their heads.
“Outside a great storm rages and yet inside this small room, we have witnessed the power of long ago Easter. In those days a man hung on a cross, executed, and came back to life. Here, today, on another Easter, we see the result of our prayers. The brave men and women here, working for so many hours in this storm brought life from certain death. Let us pray.”
“Hank,” whispered Melissa, as she bowed her head.
“Yes,” he turned to her.
“I’ve made some pretty big mistakes about money,” she said.
“You’re not Judas,” Hank said.
“I’m sorry. I guess I’ll always think I’ve been taking pieces of silver. I have never stopped being your friend,” she said, pressing his arm.
“Me too.”
Betty put her head inside the bedroom door. “Hank, can I talk to you?”
Pete was with Betty outside the doorway. He said, “We still got one more problem here.”
“What?” asked Hank, feeling his exhaustion.
Betty was close to tears. “My brother is still out there.”
Pete nodded. “The last of the men got in and reported on him, Hank,” he said. “Will’s hanging on to a tree that came down on the tractor. Say they couldn’t get to him.”
“You’ve got to go out there, Hank,” Betty said.
Sammy came over. “Will told me he was going to stay.”
Pete added, “He’s got nothing.”
“None of the men will go,” said Sammy. “The storm’s got so bad and you know how they feel about the man almost killing your boy.”
Sammy paused. “Folks think I’m your father, that I’m as good a fireman pulling off rescues as he was. That’s the trouble. I just can’t do it.”
Hank was aware of how short Sammy was, that the chief was a foot shorter than Hank’s father had been. He said, with a grin, “Sammy, I’m in. You drive, though. No one can handle a boat like you.”
Sammy hesitated, “If you’re willing to risk it, Hank, I guess I can go too.”
As they got to the boat, Sammy turned and said, “I miss the days with your father. You being here, it’s like he was here, too.”
Hank put his hand on Sammy’s shoulder. They started out from the pier. Sammy, still smiling, turned the throttle and the boat shot over the crests, pounding down with great spray, making headway. Not much was left of the Wilderness except billowing water. All the reeds had been blown down and the waves had carried them to shore. Rapid lightning strikes illuminated the water and from the glare Hank could see distant loblollies still standing out of the water, their roots stranded man
y feet below the surface.
Garth Brooks’s thunder song came to mind, tolling.
In a sweep of Hank’s flashlight, they spotted Will. With his shirt ripped and trousers ragged, his fingers grasped loblolly pine branches. The marsh water spray washed at the blood coming from cuts on his arms and legs. In his desperation, Will had tied himself by the waist to the pine trunk and he held on in such a way so that he was almost spread-eagled. He was safe but only as long as the timbers remained upright and the tide did not get any higher. Waves washed over him and Hank did not see him move as the water receded. He appeared only a dripping human form, water pouring off his immobile body like a sodden statue.
Sammy called out, “Will!” his voice as loud as he could make it in the wail of the wind. Hank joined in, both calling at the same time trying to alert Will, but each time he did not move and no sound came forth from Will’s mouth.
Lightning flashed and lit up Will stretched across the wooden beams, his arms out, his face slumped. Hank thought of the Easter cross, of Christ giving his life for mankind, and of the irony of this man being symbolic of grace. He realized Christ died with criminals, those other wretches strung up like Jesus, dying in horrible pain. At the same time, he thought Will represented none of them, neither a god nor a monster, simply a selfish human fool like the rest of us.
The boat got closer. Hank, reaching out, was able to tie a line around a strong branch. Will was several feet above them. Sammy tried
to stay away so the boat hull did not splinter against the tree or tractor. One good hit and the side of the boat might be crushed.
“How are we going to get him down?” shouted Sammy.
“I’ll have to climb up. I’m tying a lifeline around my waist,” said
Hank. He fixed the line to the central seat of the boat.
“Get ready to grab a branch,” said Sammy as he brought the boat up into the wind and let it fall back. “When we get a little closer, you jump.”
The boat approached again. “Jump off,” yelled Sammy.
Hank reached out and wrapped his arms and legs around the pine. The rough bark tore into his skin. He began to climb and soon was several feet above the water.
Above him, he could touch Will’s foot. On this foot Will still wore one of his alligator leather shoes. Hank reached Will’s waist. The man’s eyes were closed.
“Will,” he called. The man did not answer. Hank slapped Will’s face hard, trying to wake him up.
Will’s eyes opened.
“You’ve got to come down with me,” yelled Hank.
Will said, his voice very weak, “Hank, I thought I was gone for sure. Got cut up pretty bad on the tree branches.”
“Come on, help me get you down.”
Will shook his left arm loose from the rope attached to the trunk. He reached over and untied the fastening on his right arm.
“Try to get a good grip on me with both arms,” said Hank. “I’ll untie your feet.”
Hank worked fast. Below, the boat lifted in another wave. Sammy called up, “Hang on, we’re going to hit hard.”
The boat hull crashed. Below, Sammy was thrown to his knees but managed to get back to the tiller. The engine still ran.
“No damage,” called Sammy. “Hurry.”
“Bring the boat back, Sammy,” Hank called.
As the boat came under the tree, Hank jumped and as he did, he called to Will to do the same. Hank landed in the boat and turned to grab Will. He and Sammy managed to pull Will in and as they got aboard, another wave took the pine tree into the swamp water and washed it out of sight.
“Are you all right, Will?” asked Hank, as the man lay flat in the bilge of the boat. Sammy cut the boat hard toward the pier.
“I’m OK,” mumbled Will. His eyes closed.
Hank put a piece of tarpaulin over the man to try to keep him warm.
“You got a call.” Sammy handed Hank his handheld. The radio sputtered.
“Hank.” It was Betty.
“We got Will. He’s safe.”
“Thank God.”
In a few minutes, with the wind behind them, they reached the pier. Betty stood with several firemen and a stretcher. Hank helped Will climb over the side of the boat into the hands of the waiting rescue team.
Will opened his eyes.
Betty said, “You’re going to be all right, Will.”
Hank added, “We got Bobby, too,”
Water streamed from Will’s tangled hair. “Yes,” he said, “I guess you think I’m a pretty bad school teacher, don’t you?”
“People do what they do.”
“The airplane is gone,” said Will.
“It went deep into the muck.”
Hank remembered the cockpit latch cover. He reached into his pocket and felt the corroded piece of metal. He pulled it out into the light, the rain pelting it. Will was on the stretcher and the men prepared to carry him out of the rain.
“Here,” said Hank, handing him the cover plate.
“What is it?” asked Will, taking it in his torn hand.
“It’s part of the airplane. I got it when I was next to the wreck.”
Will tightened his fist on the piece of metal and tried to wipe it dry on his wet shirt. A red tint of the original paint showed through the corrosion. Will, in great pain, pulled it toward his face, his eyes roving over it for any sign of identification. He said, without moving his head, “Thanks.” He closed his eyes.
Betty reached down in the boat “Wait a minute - did you know you have another passenger?”
Hank shook his head. “No.”
She helped Cochise scamper over the gunwale and off into the field.
“We ought to find some way to thank that little fellow,” said Hank.
“Pete will get him some yellow water lilies to eat,” said Betty.
As she walked alongside her brother’s stretcher, Will turned his head toward her. “I tried to benefit our family.”
“You tried for you,” said Betty.
“Might be a way to go after that wreck still,” said Will.
Hank stood on the pier watching Will and his sister go toward Pete’s house. Betty glanced back at Hank once and her lips moved with a message of gratitude.
Mudman came out of the house with Cincy beside him.
Hank turned to his friend. “You saved me again.”
“We kept a little boy alive,” said Mudman, his arm held in a sling around his neck.
“Your arm broke?” asked Hank.
“Bad sprain. After the storm is over, you come out for a drink with Cincy and me.”
Hank looked at Cincy and said, “Don’t let him go back to Florida.”
Cincy grinned and the two of them climbed on Mudman’s Harley, with Cincy driving. She hitched up her raincoat and turned the key. The big engine rumbled against the sound of the wild wind and rain. Her left bare foot shifted the gear and she let out the clutch.
Pete and Hank watched them leave. The storm winds howled but the motorcycle roared defiance and splashed away.
Pete asked, “You think Will might go back out there for that plane someday?”
“He might be crazy enough,” said Hank. “He needs proof for the courts.”
“You think that was Zinnie’s plane?” asked Pete.
Hank nodded. “She for sure got buried in the Wilderness like she wanted,” he said, brushing away the last droplets of the storm from his face.”
“I understand one thing.” Hank said. “Jimmy’s no fool. Jimmy won’t let him dig unless he and his tribe get some of the profits out of those houses Will wants to build.”
“Yessir, she gave the land right back to the old Native Americans her family took the land from,” said Pete, moving by the crowd on his porch and opening his door.
“The Nanticokes maybe get born again,” said Hank as he climbed up the porch steps to Pete’s home.
“Justice,” said Pete, holding his screen door for Hank.
Melissa met Hank at t
he door.
He asked her, “How’s Bobby?”
“Come here,” she said, smiling through the bandages on her face. “I want to show you something.”
She opened the door to Pete’s bedroom. On the large bed were the three children, asleep. Bobby was in the center, his head in a large pillow, wearing an overlarge set of Pete’s pajamas. Cathy lay across the bed at Bobby’s feet, still wearing the large slicker. Richard curled up against one of the bottom bedposts, his head resting in his hands.
Hank tiptoed forward, trying not to make a noise. He bent over and kissed Bobby lightly on his forehead.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“You cut your best daffodils,” said Bobby, waking up in his room at Melissa’s mansion. The storm had passed toward the north.
“I know you like them,” said Hank. “I’m afraid most of them blew away at our store.”
Bobby lay on pillows, his bed covered with wrapping paper, twisted from Bobby’s opened gifts.
Melissa, a small bandage on her right cheek, stood up from her chair in the corner. “You’ll want some time with Bobby alone.”
“A few minutes, Mom,” said Bobby.
As she started out the door, he called after her, “Mom.”
She turned.
“Thanks for coming after me,” he said.
She smiled at Hank and went into the hall, closing the door behind her.
“You all right?” asked Hank.
Bobby nodded yes. His eyes searched Hank’s face.
“Why did you ever enter the mud cave?” began Hank. “You’re too smart, Bobby.”
“I wanted to bury the medal.”
“What?”
“The medal I found in the letter.”
“Something fell out,” remembered Hank, his face blank. “I never knew your grandfather kept any medals.”
“His Knight’s Cross, Daddy.”
Hank pulled up a chair and sat down beside his son’s bed. “What is all this about? You ran out of the store. Never seen you so mad.”
Bobby nodded.
“Do you want to tell me about your grandfather’s letter?”
Bobby stared at him.
“What is a Knight’s Cross?” asked Hank.
Easter Sunday (River Sunday Romance Mysteries Book 7) Page 18
