Dorothy Garlock (4 page)

Throughout the miserable night Jack huddled beneath the bushes. When dawn lit the eastern sky, he was shivering almost uncontrollably. Hurt and sick, he realized that as much as he hated to do it, he was going to have to ask for help.

Annabel was checking on the biscuits in the oven when she heard a rap on the door. Sure that it was Boone or Spinner, she called out, “Come on in.”

A minute later the rap came again and, thinking she had latched the screen, she went through the front room to the door. A man stood there, his arms outstretched to brace himself against the house.

“Ma’am …”

“Yes?”

“Ma’am, I … hate to trouble you, but …”

Annabel, seeing the fuzz on his cheeks, realized that he was little more than a boy. His face was thin, his cheeks sunken, his eyes feverish. She pushed open the screen door and went out onto the porch.

“I apologize for my appearance …”

“What is the matter? Are you sick?” she said.

“Oh, I … ah … yes, ma’am. I got a touch of something. I’m sure it’s not catching. I’d be obliged for a bite to eat. I’ll work …” His voice trailed because his head was swimming and he was so weak he was afraid he’d cry.

“You’re sick!”

“Yes, ma’am, but I’d be all right if I had—”

“Come over here and sit down in the swing.”

He left his sack on the floor beside the door, went to the swing and sank down as if his legs wouldn’t hold him for another minute. Annabel followed and placed the back of her hand on his forehead.

“You’ve got a fever and your … clothes are wet. Did you sleep out in the rain last night?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Sit here. I’ll be right back.”

Annabel went through the house, stopped in the kitchen to take the biscuits from the oven and hurried out the back door. Boone came out of the barn as she was crossing the yard.

“Boone, there’s a boy on the porch and … he’s sick.”

“Whata ya mean?” Boone quickened his steps.

“What I said. He’s sick. He slept out in the rain last night. He needs help.”

Annabel had to hurry to keep up with Boone’s long strides as he headed for the house. They came around the corner to see that the boy was resting his head on the wooden arm of the porch swing. Jack’s eyes were closed, but they opened as soon as Boone touched his shoulder. They were glassy and feverish.

“Pa? Am I home?”

“Oh, Boone! He’s out of his head. We’ve got to get him into the house.”

“Hold on, girl. I got to see if he’s got any spots on him. He could have the scarlet fever or somethin’ else catchin’.”

Jack didn’t seem to notice when Boone opened his shirt and looked at his chest and shoulders.

“I’d say some bones in that hand is broke,” Boone said when he saw Jack’s swollen left hand. “Don’t reckon he’s got anythin’ catchin’. Don’t see any spots. I’ll take him to the barn.”

“He’s just a boy. Put him on Papa’s bed for now.”

“Papa?” Jack’s whisper came through his puffed lips.

“He can’t stay in here.”

“Why not? There isn’t a place for him in the barn and we can’t turn him away.”

“It ain’t decent you bein’ in here with him.”

“Fiddle, Boone. You think I can’t hold my own with a sick boy? Put him on Papa’s bed.” Annabel went to hold open the screen door.

“Can you stand up, boy?” Boone hooked his hand beneath Jack’s arm and helped him to his feet. Jack’s legs stiffened and he tried to remain upright, but he sagged against Boone.

“I’m sick, Pa. …”

“Yeah, ya are, boy.”

Jack wasn’t what you would call big. He was average height, stocky. Almost dead weight, he put a strain on Boone as Boone tried to get him into the house. Annabel pulled back the quilt she used as a spread on her father’s bed and Boone eased the boy down to sit on the side.

“Shouldn’t we get him to a doctor?” Annabel asked.

“We’ll see about that later. First thing is to get him out of these wet clothes.” Boone unlaced Jack’s shoes and pulled them off.

“I’ll get one of Papa’s union suits.”

“Then go fix up a toddy.”

“Whiskey toddy?”

“Like the one you fixed when Spinner came down with influenza.”

“Do you think he’s got … that?”

“I don’t be knowin’ what he’s got.”

Annabel placed the union suit on the end of the bed, went to the kitchen and reached for the bottle of whiskey they kept for toddies. In a heavy cup she put several spoonsful of the fiery liquid, added a dab of butter and a spoonful of sugar, then filled the cup with water from the teakettle on the stove.

She stood outside the bedroom until Boone told her to come in. He had stripped the boy and put him in the union suit. His wet clothes lay in a heap on the floor. As she came in, Boone was easing him down into the bed.

Boone pulled a cover up over Jack’s shoulders. “Got to get him warm.”

“Can you prop his head up? I’ll spoon this into his mouth.”

The breakfast biscuits were cold by the time they were finished with Jack and had left him to sleep. Annabel put the pan back in the oven and pulled the skillet of gravy over the flame.

“Who do you suppose he is? He was polite when he asked for something to eat. He said he would work, but I knew right away that he was in no shape to do that.”

“He’s a well-muscled kid. Ain’t got a dime.”

“Will he be all right?”

“I’m thinkin’ he will. That slug of whiskey put him to sleep. When he wakes, ya can feed him, and in a day or two he’ll be on his way.”

“Are you going to get the cow today?”

“When Spinner gets here.” Boone spooned gravy over the biscuits he had split and put on his plate.

“Where did he go?” Annabel asked with her back to him.

“Spinner? He went to buy some fence posts.” Boone answered her with his eyes on his plate.

“Boone, you and Papa must think I’m dumb as a cob,” Annabel said with spirit. “I know he went to get a load of booze and take it to wherever you keep it stashed away.”

“Then why’d ya ask?”

“Because sometimes I like to see you squirm while thinking of a lie to tell me.”

Boone looked up, and his black eyes met hers. “The less ya know, the better it’ll be for ya.”

“When you and Papa are caught?”

“A smart girl what knows ‘bout czars of Russia and stuff like that ought to figure it out.”

“Oh, Boone, I worry all the time that something will happen to Papa and … you. Why don’t you do something else?”

“Money. Murphy’s good at this and he’s got connections. He’ll quit when he’s got enough money.”

“No one ever has enough money. The richest men in the world are still grubbing for more.” Her large green eyes met his and refused to look away. “Where did Spinner go?” she asked again.

“He met a barge and took a load up to a cave in the bluffs.”

“Well, at last I’m getting a straight answer. Aren’t you afraid the Feds or someone roaming around in the hills will find it?”

“There’s a charge set. If anyone gets close, we’ll blow it. Now sit and eat and stop worryin’ ‘bout somethin’ ya can’t do nothin’ ‘bout.”

Chapter
3

A
NNABEL WAS HANGING JACK’S WET CLOTHES on the line when Spinner drove the wagon up the lane to the house.

“Come have breakfast, Spinner,” she called.

He nodded as he passed and drove the team on around behind the barn.

An extremely shy man, Spinner stayed away from the house as much as possible. He was tall, with a hooked nose and a mouth that looked too wide for his narrow face. Annabel didn’t know much about his background except that he must have been raised on a farm because he was very knowledgeable about horses and mules. She didn’t know if he had a family or even where he was from.

Annabel liked him, though. From the deep lines in his face she guessed that sometime in his younger years he had suffered immense pain. He seldom smiled and she had never heard him laugh in all the years he had worked for her father.

Boone, on the other hand, was like a favorite uncle. It was while working on riverboats that he had met Murphy, and they had been fast friends for ten years or more. She remembered how Boone had grieved with her and her father when her mother died. He had never married, as far as she knew, and had spent the earlier part of his life in logging camps. He spoke with fondness of his sister and her family who lived in Minnesota.

Annabel picked up the letter she had taken from the boy’s shirt pocket. The outside fold had been wet. Earlier she had carefully unfolded it and placed it in the warming oven to dry. She learned as she read it now that the boy’s name was Jack. The letter was from his sister Julie, who was worried about him. Annabel felt guilty about reading the personal letter. She folded it again now that it was dry and left it on the table along with a jackknife and two shiny buckeyes she had taken from his pants pocket. If he’d had any money it was probably stolen while he was sick.

She had emptied the canvas sack he carried and found a pair of socks, a union suit and a pair of ankle-high shoes with spikes in the soles. She guessed them to be like the ones used by baseball players. In the bottom of the bag were a few onions and wrinkled radishes. It was no wonder the boy was weak if that was all he’d had to eat.

Annabel put a stick of wood in the cookstove and moved the coffeepot over the flame. Spinner liked really hot coffee.

Boone helped Spinner unharness the mules.

“How’d it go?” he asked as they carried the harnesses to the shed.

“All right.”

“Was there anyone on the levee when you loaded?”

“Couple of darkies. They paid no mind.”

“Was anythin’ said ‘bout when the next load would come down?” Boone knew that to get any information from Spinner he had to ask for it specifically.

“A week from next Thursday on the
Betty K.
She’s bringin’ down a cargo of sawed lumber.”

Boone grunted a reply, then said, “There’s a sick boy in the house.”

This got Spinner’s attention. “What he sick of?”

“Been sleepin’ out in the rain. Don’t reckon it’s anythin’ catchin’.”

“How come he’s here?”

“Come wobblin’ up to the door. Ya know how Annabel is. She’d tend a sick polecat.”

“Murphy won’t like it.”

“Tell it to Annabel. Remember when she took in that crippled old bum up at Ashton? Murphy didn’t like that, but it didn’t do him much good. The old bum give her a song and dance ‘bout bein’ in the war, and she fed him till Murphy sent him on down the road.”

“He
was
in the war,” Spinner said with more spirit than Boone had heard in a long time. “Got his foot blowed off in France. Showed me his papers.”

“I ain’t sayin’ he wasn’t in the war. I’m sayin’ he drank enough of Murphy’s whiskey to float a barge, and I’m sayin’ Annabel’s got a heart soft as goose down.”

“There’s worse thin’s than that.”

“Christ on a horse! I ain’t sayin’ it’s bad.”

Spinner ignored the outburst. “Where’d the chickens come from?”

“Farmer this side of town. I’m goin’ to fetch a cow now that you’re here.”

“A cow? Lordy, what next? But I guess it’ll be nice havin’ a cow.”

“Then you can milk her. I sure as hell ain’t goin’ to.”

Spinner shrugged and started toward the house.

“Take a look at the boy. Ya might of seen him around.”

Boone saddled a horse and grumbled to himself. He hated riding a horse. He would take the truck, but driving it slowly enough for the cow to walk behind it would overheat the motor. He comforted himself by thinking that on the horse he could cut off a mile going through the woods.

He led the horse to the house and tied the reins to the porch post. When he stepped into the kitchen, Spinner was seated at the table. Annabel was at the stove.

“I should be back by noon.”

“Will you be going into town?” Annabel asked.

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it. Ya need somethin’?”

“Well … I thought if you were in town you could go by Mr. Potter’s pharmacy and get some 666s or something for the boy.”

“What’s wrong with that toddy ya fixed?”

“I need something to bring down his fever.”

“Get Spinner to dump him in the horse trough. It’s what used to be done to brin’ down a fever.”

“Oh, go on and get the cow.” She made an arrow of her arm and forefinger and softened the order with a smile. “If Jack’s fever isn’t down by night, you’ll have to load him in the truck and take him to the doctor.”

“Jack?”

“His name’s Jack and he has a sister named Julie.”

“Has he woke up?”

“No. I found a letter in his shirt pocket.”

“Ya better hope the boy’s on his feet and out by the time yore pa comes back.”

“If Papa comes, Spinner will fix a place for Jack in the barn, won’t you, Spinner?” She smiled sweetly at the man buttering a biscuit.

Boone snorted and grumbled as he left the kitchen. “If ya asked that dumb stump to turn himself inside out, he’d do his damnedest to do it.”

Boone gave the mare her head when they reached the wooded area, and she followed a faint path. He passed beneath a tall topless pine, the victim of a spring storm. An outburst of furious scolding came from a blue jay, followed by a concerted chorus of profanity from a dozen others. Then all was quiet again. The song of a thrush came from far away. After that there was only the swish of hooves cutting through a deep cushion of dried leaves.

The silence absorbed him completely.

Boone loved the woods more, much more, than he loved the river. He was acutely conscious of the overpowering solitude of his surroundings and was enjoying it.

The twitching of the horse’s ears alerted him. He scanned the woods on each side of the path and saw a woman standing as still as a doe with her back to a large oak with widespreading branches. Her hair and her face were a light honey color. A faded print dress just barely covered her knees, and she held a small bucket in her arms.

Instinctively Boone pulled up on the reins and put his hand to the brim of his hat.

“Howdy, ma’am.”

Startled, she lurched away from the tree and started running down the path as if the devil himself were after her.

“Ma’am …” Boone called. “I’m sorry I scared ya.”