The Last Virginia Gentleman

by Michael Kilian

Moody needed to sleep. He couldn’t think.

  “I’ll give you twenty-four hours. If I don’t hear from her by then—that she’s okay—I’m going to the Director.”

  Bloch sensed a bluff. He shook his head. “They’re out there in those hills. It’s going to take some time. You gotta be reasonable, Bobby. Give it till the end of the week. I’ve seen you through a hell of a lot. You see me through this. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. I always have.”

  Nineteen

  A loose, rocky trail led down into the next valley, and the bay was pulling up limp by the time they got down it. After letting him graze a little in the wet scrub grass, Showers and May continued on foot, walking alongside the horse, following the edge of the woods and avoiding all roads, huddling at night beneath the trees, Showers sheltering May with his jacket and body.

  The next afternoon, after hours in the rain, they decided to risk going to a farmhouse. The people they found were very poor—the farmer gaunt from overwork, his wife fat from cheap food. When May offered them money—a hundred-dollar bill—they became very cold and suspicious. For a moment, Showers feared they’d end up getting robbed by these hard folk, or worse. But the couple refused the money, gave them a meal and feed for the horse, and the farmer helped him make a crude poultice for the bay’s injured leg. There was a town some twenty miles distant where the farmer thought Showers might be able to rent a truck. He drove him there in a creaking, chugging car that must have been ten years older than May’s Volkswagen.

  On the way back, the man drove slowly to make sure that Showers didn’t lose his way. The rental outlet, little more than an ancient garage with a lot of rusting farm equipment around it, had had only one big open-stake truck available. It had seen many miles and had been used to carry pigs recently. Using some old boards, they managed to get the bay up into it. To Showers’ dismay, he lay down.

  “One of us had better stay back here with him,” Showers said.

  “I’ll drive,” said May.

  He touched her forehead. She was very pale, and had been shivering. “You have a fever.”

  “I know the way. It’s not an easy trip.”

  Not once did the farmer or his wife ask the nature of their trouble, or even their names. Before they left, May went up to the wife and thrust the hundred-dollar bill into her hand.

  “It’s honest money, ma’am,” she said. “And it’s worth every penny to us for what you’ve done. We won’t be around when you might be in need, so you keep this. Please?”

  The woman looked uncertainly at the currency, but held on to it. “We wish you safe journey, miss.”

  It was late into the night when May finally pulled to a stop and turned off the engine. The bay had been very still during the long, slow drive, but lifted his head at the sudden lack of motion. Showers patted the animal, and it went back to resting.

  They were at another gas station, even more dilapidated than the one where he’d rented the truck. He sat up. The service station was closed. A dog was barking. The air was very cool. May was at a pay phone. After a brief conversation, she hung up.

  “Is the horse all right?” she asked.

  “It’s hard to say. What about you?”

  “I’ll make it.” She was leaning against the truck bed for support. “I just called my people. They’ll be waiting for us. We’ll be safe, David. Just a few more miles.”

  It was nearly an hour before they stopped again. Showers looked up to see not May but a large bearded man in overalls at the rear of the truck. Rising, he saw May standing nearby, a smaller, older woman next to her, her arm around May’s waist. She had gray, well-combed hair, and was nicely but simply dressed. Though her cheekbones were wider, Showers saw much of May in her face.

  “David,” May said, “this is my mother.”

  Showers climbed stiffly from the truck bed, straightened his clothing, and then shook the woman’s hand. They were in the driveway of a large stone house set on a steep slope. Down below, Showers could see a narrow road lined with houses and, farther along, some building fronts. There were few lights. High hills were all around them.

  “May says you saved her life, Captain Showers,” said the older woman. “That makes you a very welcome man hereabouts.”

  She had an old, proud, almost Scottish mountain accent, reminding Showers of a West Virginia man who had once worked for his father.

  “If anything, I’ve put her in the way of a lot of harm. I mean to get her out of it.”

  “We’ll talk about that in the morning. I’ve a shed in the back. We put some hay in. Tyrone and the boys will get your horse into it, if he can stand.”

  The bay had raised his head and was looking at them. The bearded man, apparently Tyrone, looked strong enough to lift the animal out by himself.

  “I’ll stay with him,” Showers said.

  “There’s no need for that, David,” May said. “These people know animals. The horse needs rest. So do we.”

  “Tyrone’s going to take your truck back tonight to where you got it,” May’s mother said. “Best not to keep it around here.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “You brought May home. That’s thanks enough. When you’ve eaten something, I’ll have Bella make up your beds.” A thin dark-haired girl peered around the side of the truck, then smiled.

  He and May were led to separate bedrooms. Slipping into the blissful luxury of clean sheets, he found he badly missed the warmth of May’s body next to him, and felt very lonely. But sadness quickly passed into sleep.

  He awoke to brightness. Looking at his watch, he was surprised to discover it was past noon. Fresh clothes had been laid out for him—khaki pants, a cheap but sturdy white dress shirt, boxer shorts that looked a little too big, and white socks. A razor and toothbrush had been set on a fresh thick towel. The bathroom was spotless. It was a very sturdy and well-kept house.

  May, wearing jeans and a white blouse, was looking better, and gave him a smile. The girl Bella brought him food. No one spoke much while he ate it.

  “May has told me everything,” her mother said, as Showers finished his coffee. “But there’s something you don’t know about, and I think you should. Come with me, please.”

  She took him into a study furnished with a rolltop desk and two overstuffed armchairs. There was a bookcase against one wall and two file cabinets next to it. A framed map of West Virginia hung over the fireplace. It seemed more a working office than a room in a house.

  May’s mother waited for him to sit down, and then went to the desk, bringing him a newspaper.

  “The paper’s a weekly,” she said, “but they get the AP. This came out yesterday. I’m afraid it’s got some bad news.”

  Showers studied her serious face for a moment, then looked down at the front page. He heard May come into the room.

  Her mother pointed to a five or six-paragraph story in the lower right-hand corner of the page. The headline read VA. WOMAN KILLED BY CAR BOMB.

  The words hit him like hammer blows. Becky was dead. Alixe was near death in a hospital. He was wanted for murder.

  He stood up, fists clenched, feeling utterly helpless. He looked to Mrs. Moody’s desk.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to use your phone.”

  “David …”

  He ignored May, picking up the receiver and dialing quickly—his own number. Someone had to be there. A groom. Perhaps even Jack.

  It rang several times. It was answered by a voice Showers recognized—one of Cooke’s deputies, a man named Haddleford.

  “What are you doing there, Albert?” Showers asked.

  “Is that you, Captain Showers?”

  “Yes! What’s happened? How is Miss Percy?”

  “Still alive. Say, you’d better get back here, Captain. Sheriff Cooke wants to talk to you.”

  Could they trace the call? This was a rural line, but he’d been able to dial direct.

  “Where are you, Captain?”

  Shower
s hung up. May was at his side. Her hand went into his.

  “There’s another story further on,” May’s mother said. “They found May’s car in Maryland. A dead girl turned up in the woods not far away. May thinks it was a girl who worked for you.”

  “Yes,” Showers said slowly. “Selma.”

  “I don’t think you should make any more calls,” Mrs. Moody said. “Not until we know more about what’s going on back there. May says you shot a man.”

  “Yes. I had no choice.”

  “I understand that. Those are very bad people after you. You’re safe here. You don’t have to worry about anyone in this town, in this valley. But we don’t want to draw any strangers. I’m fearful for my daughter, Captain Showers, and I want to be very careful.”

  “Of course. So do I.”

  “My biggest worry is her father. I won’t bring up our differences, but I know he loves May very much. He’s a man of quick temper, a man quick to act. I suspect he’s doing everything in his power to get May out of this, and he’s got a lot of power.”

  She was looking at him very steadily, very much in command.

  “He’ll bring you harm, Captain Showers. May doesn’t want that. I’ll respect her wishes. What I have to do is find a way to let her father know that she’s safe, without his knowing she’s here. Will you leave that to me?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “You just make yourself comfortable. I expect you’ll be here for a while.”

  “I’ll go check on the horse.”

  The bay was lying down, but the young man with him in the shed said he’d been standing earlier that morning and had taken some feed and a lot of water.

  “The leg’s still swelled up, but it ain’t got any worse.”

  Showers examined the animal carefully. He supposed Moonsugar had been in greater danger after the racing accident, but there was no way of telling the bay’s chances of survival. Few people realized what delicate creatures these big animals were. At least nothing more was going to happen to him.

  Showers remembered something and stood up, searching in his pocket. He had thought to take the film out of his camera when they’d returned to Shepherdstown, but he hadn’t had it processed.

  “Is there someplace I can get this developed?” he asked.

  “Mrs. Moody can take care of that.”

  May’s mother left to drive over to a large town in the next valley, where she ran a settlement house and the small job training center she’d founded with part of her ex-husband’s generous divorce arrangement and operated with a substantial part of his alimony payments. She’d not sought a federal grant because of the conflict of interest implicit in his White House position. She promised she’d have Showers’ film processed as soon as possible and would be back in time for supper.

  Tyrone had not returned. The bay’s condition showed no change. May decided she’d take Showers on a walk.

  It was hot in the afternoon sun, but Showers wore his jacket to cover the pistol in his belt. As they strolled along the blacktop, he took her hand.

  “I feel a little bit at peace,” she said.

  “It’s a peaceful place.”

  The road was bordered on both sides by ditches, with planks thrown across to provide access to the houses. They were mostly small, a few of ancient stucco or brick, the majority frame, badly in need of paint. Here and there, people sat on stoops or in porch gliders. Most were women, pausing in their day’s labor to sip lemonade or a soft drink. On one set of steps, a large man wearing a camouflage fishing vest but no shirt lounged back with a can of beer in his hand, an open six-pack carton beside him. He nodded amiably as they passed. In one way or another, everyone greeted May and Showers. Because of May’s mother, they’d been accepted overnight.

  Leading downward, the road crossed an old steel and wooden bridge over a meandering stream low on water, then entered the town’s little business section. On one side were two blocks of flat-roofed buildings, their storefronts largely vacant—a cafe, a grocery, and two-pump gas station apparently still engaged in commerce. On the other side was a single railroad track and a rusty coal-loading tower, its unused conveyor belt climbing the opposite hillside at a steep angle.

  “Grim,” Showers said.

  “It’s been like this for years. There are a lot worse places in the state.”

  “I like the people.”

  “They’re not snobs like your friends in Virginia or greedy egomaniacs like my L.A. chums, but they have their bad sides, too. The man who was drinking beer likes to smack his wife around. That pretty girl who smiled at you is hell-bent on sleeping with every man she meets. A man from here was shot in a bar fight over in the next hollow. He almost died. There are a couple of families here who haven’t spoken to one another for three generations. But they’re certainly no worse here than anywhere else. They’re very proud, and fiercely self-reliant. They’ll share their last crust of bread or scrap of shoe leather.”

  A tan dog wandered up to them, sniffing, then returned to his doorstep and flopped in the dust. A few crows circled in the clear brilliant sky overhead.

  “Do you come back often?”

  “Every once in a while. I came out and stayed with my mother after getting out of that treatment center. It made it a lot easier.”

  “Does your father come from a place like this?”

  “Worse, originally. A little place way back in the hills. No railroad. Barely a road.”

  “He never comes back?”

  “No. I think it scares him.”

  “He was lucky to get out.”

  “Not lucky. His mother turned whore and managed to marry well—for West Virginia.”

  Showers thought of his own mother, an ancestor-worshiping upstate New York aristocrat who had been to Wellesley College and won a first at the Grand International Horse Show in New York City. He wondered how she would have survived in such a place, in such a circumstance.

  “Do you feel like a little climb?” May asked.

  “A slow one.”

  “Let’s go up to the mine. The view there is spectacular.”

  The dirt road was as rough cut as the one where they’d wrecked the trailer rig. They paused to rest at one turning, then trudged on, Showers throwing his jacket over his shoulder and rolling up his sleeves. They reached the summit much later than he’d expected to.

  The mine entrance was closed, a gate bearing a faded and loosely hung KEEP OUT sign held shut with a rusty chain. The lock looked as if it would fall apart with a sharp pull.

  There was a miners’ cart on the small track that led into the shaft. They sat down on its edge and Showers slipped his arm around her. She lighted a cigarette, then, exhaling, laid her head back on his shoulder.

  “You see what I mean? It all looks like paradise from here.”

  There were many miles of hills and mountains in view, running north to south. Their forested sides were lush and darkly green. The prospect was as beautiful as any in Dandytown’s rolling valley, but so different.

  “It’s hard to believe this and Virginia were once the same state,” he said.

  “Wasn’t much taste for slavery up here.”

  “I’ve always wondered why these people stayed in these hills, why they didn’t move on with the rest of the settlers.”

  “They were Scots, or Scots-Irish. It’s wild here, like where they came from. Once they got here, they clung to it.”

  “Your father didn’t.”

  “He wanted to be educated, then he wanted to be rich. Now he wants to be president. Someday he’ll figure out what the hell it is he really wants. I hope it will have something to do with here.” She sat up, leaning forward on her knees, looking back down the slope to the little town clinging to its creek below. “My mother’s a Piney River girl. I don’t mean the real Piney River. Hers was called something else. But there’s a song about old West Virginia and a Piney River girl, and that’s her. She goes by Jenny but she was born Geneva McDowell. My real name
is Jenny Mae Moody. I changed it to May in high school. I might have been a Piney River girl myself.”

  Showers imagined May in a homespun cotton dress, her hair much like this, barefoot, dangling her legs in some mountain stream. He knew the question he wanted to ask her. He repeated it over and over again in his mind. But he couldn’t speak the words. It wouldn’t be fair to ask it in this distant, unreal place, so far from their worlds, where there were so many different answers than the one he wanted.

  “Did you love her?” she asked. “Becky?”

  “No.”

  “I mean ever.”

  “She wasn’t the woman I was talking about. I tried to be a kind of father to her. Her own wasn’t much good at it. He gave her everything she wanted, but never what she needed. Becky’s the saddest part of everything.”

  “Has there been anyone else? For you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is she waiting for you?”

  “No.”

  “I was married once. It was a romance that grew out of a nude scene in a movie. It lasted until his next film. Then he met another woman, an older more successful actress.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Not at all. It screwed me up for a while, but I got my revenge soon enough. She dumped him and moved on to someone else. She got a little bit of her youth back from him, and a lot of publicity out of it. She didn’t give a damn about him otherwise. I wondered how he could stand it, being worth so little.”

  “I love you, May.”

  She came into his arms. He kissed her gently, but afterward, she looked away.

  “What are you going to do, David?”

  “Make sure the bay recovers, and turn him over to his owner. Then I’ll settle everything else.”

  “I understand that. And I’ll help you. They can’t do anything with that ridiculous murder charge if I testify I was with you all that time. I’ll help you get the horse business cleared up. I’ll help you with Alixe. If you want to blow Bernie Bloch’s head off, I’ll find some way to help you do that. But when it’s all over, what are you going to do? Run your farm? Look for another job? What?”

  “I haven’t given it much thought. I’ll keep the farm. I have to do that.”