Down by the River (6 page)

Hal laughed outright. “You sober enough to deal with my head?” He pronounced it “haid.”

“Yeah. Fortunately it’s a huge cut and I can see it plain as day.”

That made the old farmer laugh harder. “You still sellin’ insurance, boy?”

“Yeah, that’s what pays the bills these days.”

“I never figured you for paperwork, you know? I always figured you for doing something with your hands.”

Now it was Chris’s turn to laugh. “Is that because I could barely get passing grades in school?”

“Well now, I can’t say I ever knew the state of your grades. But you was in shop with Hank, weren’t you? Hank…he’s a couple years older than you. But I remember you made your mother this fancy coffee table with a planter in it. Nice piece of work.”

“I’ve done a little woodworking here and there…shelves, repairs, simple things,” he said.

“As well, we had you in 4-H and I remember you had a nice hand with the animals.”

“We haven’t even had a dog in years,” Chris said.

“If you want one, just say the word. That old bitch of ours whelps every spring. She should’ve dried up four years ago, but she keeps ’em coming. Border collie, sometimes mixed. Good dogs.”

“I might take you up on that,” Chris said.

“We got a couple of pups now. Six months, not
housebroke. They’re herders. Keep to the barn. Hey, Chief!” he yelled. “You gonna let me keep the deer?”

“Sorry, Hal. I have to call Forestry.”

“Jesus, Chief! Think you’d at least let me have the son of a bitch who tore up my truck.”

“Maybe Forestry’ll let you have him.”

“Those sons of bitches never give up a thing. Remember that bear what scared the bejesus out of the whole town? You think anyone got her?”

“A bear’s a different thing.”

“Hal,” Chris said. “You’re gonna have to get some stitches. There’s no way this thing is gonna heal with just tape. It’s huge.”

“You want me to call a tow truck?” Tom asked him.

“Naw, just loan me that phone to call Hank. I’ll get him out here with his flatbed and chains. Damnation. I think my day’s ruined.”

“Your insurance should take care of the truck at least,” Chris said.

“Would if I hadn’t let it lapse. Isn’t it the damnedest thing? Just when you think things are going pretty good, something jumps out at you.”

“I hear you,” Chris said.

The ringing phone woke June.

“Do you ever get up to the alarm clock?” Jim asked from beside her.

“June Hudson,” she answered.

Behind her Jim muttered, “Or, God forbid, just let the sun wake you up?”

“Shh,” she hushed him.

“I’m really sorry to do this to you,” John Stone was saying. “But I’m all the way in Rockport with a patient with a hot appendix and if the surgeon doesn’t show, I’m going to… Well, I’m calling because Tom’s running a special on facial stitches and head wounds. He’s got two MacAlvies at the police department. They got in a fight out at…I can’t remember.”

“Rocky’s,” she said. And she thought, I hate stitching up the MacAlvies. Someone almost always gets sick.

“Yeah, Rocky’s. Must be some little nightclub.”

“Oh, you know it. Are they badly cut up?”

“Not too bad, Tom said. But he thinks you should look at them. And he’s taking Hal Wassich to the clinic. He hit a deer with his pickup and cut his head open on the steering wheel. Do you know him?”

“Uh-huh. Farmer. He’s been here forever. How bad?”

“Tom said it’s a deep occipital gusher, but he’s conscious. Must have a hard head.”

“The hardest. Okay. I’ll take care of them. See you at the clinic later.”

She hung up and leaned over to kiss Jim on the head. “Go back to sleep. I’m going to go put in some stitches and come home for a shower. Then you can have the truck if you want it.”

He rubbed her arm. “You feel okay?”

“Yeah, fine. I slept like a baby.”

She pulled on a sweatsuit and tennis shoes, put a ball cap on her head and snuck out of the bedroom without turning on the lights. She didn’t notice the dining room as she passed through, but saw the roasting pan soaking in the sink. She backtracked and looked in the dining room. One place setting—hers—and burned-down candles still sat on the table. A bottle of what looked like champagne sat in a bucket of water. It all came back to her.

She went to the bedroom and knelt beside his side of the bed. “I fell asleep on you last night,” she whispered. She twisted some of his thick chest hair around her finger. “Are you mad?”

“Not at all. You must have been exhausted. You barely woke up to go to bed.”

“I’m so sorry. You went to a lot of trouble.”

“Hmm. I had a big night planned for you.”

“Can I get a rain check?”

“Sure. But as far as I can remember, it’s Tuesday. Meat loaf night.”

Every Tuesday for years, unless there was some sort of emergency, she made her deceased mother’s meat loaf recipe for her father. It was important to Elmer; she couldn’t discontinue that, as Jim obviously knew.

“I’ll see you in a little while,” she promised.

June went first to the clinic to take care of Hal Wassich, and then, before cleaning up the treatment room she’d used, she went down to the police depart
ment to check on the MacAlvie boys. They both snored as she cleaned their facial cuts and applied a couple of bandages over antiseptic. As long as they slept, working on them was easy. They both smelled like breweries, but there was no arguing or fighting.

She went back to the clinic to clean up and when she came out, it was almost dawn. She saw that the light over the grill was on in the café and decided to walk over there for a cup of cocoa. When she got to the back door, she could see the silhouettes of three men down by the river—one tall with silver hair, one medium height with a big stomach, one short and bald. Sam, George and Elmer.

She walked on down. As she got closer, she could hear the sound of rushing water. The Windle River was usually calm and docile. In summer, when it was dry and hot, it was little more than a creek in most places. Sam dropped an occasional line there.

This was the first real sign that winter had arrived. The old men in town were watching the river to be sure it wasn’t flooding. And they would watch it right through spring as the last of the mountain snow melted.

“Hi, Dad,” she said. “Sam. George.”

“Hi, honey,” Doc answered. “Awful early for you, isn’t it?”

“I had to tend a couple of cuts. I put some bandages on passed-out MacAlvies and stitched up Hal Wassich, who hit a stag and cut his head open on the steering wheel.”

“Good thing he didn’t hurt anything that matters.”

“Dad!” she scolded. “So what’s going on here? Thinking about some fishing?”

“River’s up,” Sam said.

“Higher than usual,” George said.

“Weather’s too damn warm, that’s what.”

“Warm?” She shivered. “I’m freezing!”

“Not cold enough. It’s warm for this time of year and we’re getting too much rain, too little snow in the mountains.”

“It always rains a lot through winter,” June pointed out.

“It always stays wet all winter. Drizzle and fog are our friends—heavy rainfall and warm temperatures that melt mountain snow can do us in.”

“We gotta keep a close eye on this here,” Sam said. “It’s been twenty years since she came out of her banks, but when she does, she does it fast. One minute she looks like a nice little stream, the next minute she’s a raging river.”

“It’ll be okay, guys,” June said, stifling a yawn. “I’m going to go home, shower and start the day over.” She turned to head back to the clinic for her truck and saw that a car had parked in front. “Maybe I’ll see who this is first,” she said.

“Want me to get that, honey?” Elmer asked.

“No, thanks, anyway.”

In a way typical for June, she wasn’t able to get back to her house. In fact, it was noon before she even had time to call Jim. And then there was no answer.

J
im Post didn’t have a vehicle when he came to Grace Valley because, up to that point, the truck he drove had belonged to the government. A company car, if you will. Part of separating, retiring, was turning in the keys. It didn’t take him very long to see that it would be impossible to share the little truck with June. She would go off on a call to put in a few stitches, promising to return in an hour or less, and he wouldn’t see her until that night.

The very first time she was more than an hour late, Jim called Tom and said, “I know this isn’t something you call the police for, but I need a truck.”

“Oh?” Tom had replied.

“Let me explain. I need to get to a car lot somewhere so I can buy or lease a truck. I can’t share a truck with June and I can’t sit out here at her house without wheels. You with me?”

He was. “And how can the Grace Valley Police Department help you with this…ah…problem?”

“I need a ride. I only have about three new acquaintances and nobody’s phone number. How do I go about calling a cab around here?”

Tom couldn’t help but laugh. He didn’t even bother to tell Jim there was no cab. Well, at least not in Grace Valley. “Sit tight. I’ll hook you up.”

About forty minutes later the pastor showed up in his twenty-two-year-old station wagon. Harry drove him to Rockport, waited around for him to find a Ford truck with an extended cab that he liked, borrowed fifty bucks from him and followed him back to the valley.

“I like this,” Jim had said, shaking Harry’s hand. “A full-service church. This could turn me to religion.”

“We aim to please. Anytime you need anything, give me a call. Oh, and I’ll pay you back as soon as I get my check.”

“Don’t worry about it, Harry. A cab would’ve cost me at least that.”

The rest of the month passed somewhat slowly for Jim, as he was just settling in and hadn’t quite figured out what he was going to do in his retirement. He made the family meat loaf for June and her dad, something he enjoyed far more than he expected to. He checked out various hardware stores in the larger towns near the coast, just in case he decided to build something, like a room addition or baby furniture.
He called his sister, Annie, in Madison and told her about June and the baby…and was put on the spot about his plans, or the lack thereof. He did the chivalrous thing and let Annie assume
he
couldn’t be pinned down to a date. But maybe it wasn’t chivalry. Maybe he was just embarrassed.

And while Jim pretty much fought boredom, for June and Tom Toopeek it was just the opposite. They were coming into a rough season, which would peak just after Christmas and wouldn’t ease up till spring.

There were layoffs, which led to ennui, drinking and domestic strife, and economic crises, which led to depression, more drinking, more fighting… The circle widened. The skies stayed cloudy, the weather damp and cold, which didn’t do much for creating work or easing depression. Flu came on and assaulted even the hardiest, but picked on those out of work, out of money, out of heating oil, and those who suffered from bad nutrition.

Tom’s nights were late, his mornings started too early. And the clinic was always full. If Jim wanted to spend any quality time with June, he learned it was best to show up at the café around break time, or maybe catch lunch with her, which meant her and the regulars. If he waited around at home until quitting time, he might or might not see her for dinner. And the combination of hard work and pregnancy made her a teensy bit testy and very tired. She was edgy sometimes, snappish. And sleep came easily. The second her head hit the pillow she was gone.

But Jim was patient. He liked watching her sleep, so all was not lost.

In fact, he would often think, nothing is lost and all is gained. After twenty years of having only one commitment, to the struggle to maintain law and order, there was a kind of peace in this lifestyle that required nothing more from him. He wasn’t an idiot; he knew it was a temporary idyll soon to be shattered by either boredom or some problem—hopefully not relationship-oriented—or even by the squalling of a hungry or colicky infant. But for now, while June got used to the idea that he was here to stay and their family was growing, he would enjoy the quiet. He would watch her sleep.

He had never considered what his notion of true love might be. He had even begun to think that in this life he wasn’t going to get the perfect partner, the woman he’d live and die for. But he had. No matter the complications, he had never felt so secure. So sure.

In the midst of a busy clinic day, Jessie summoned June to say, “Birdie Forrest is on the phone. She says she can’t stop her heart from racing.”

June didn’t even check to see if there was a patient waiting to see her. She grabbed her bag and fled to her godmother’s side. She found Birdie in the glassed-in front porch of her house, rocking nervously. The room was icy cold because they didn’t heat it in winter; Birdie must have been flushed and
tried to cool down. Judging by the look on Birdie’s face, she was trying to stay calm. There was perspiration on her upper lip, despite the chill.

“All right,” June said, kneeling beside her and taking her pulse. “I’m here, you’re going to be fine.” Her pulse was one-twenty and thready. June gave her one aspirin, the universal precaution against heart attack, though she wasn’t terribly concerned about that. She suspected something else altogether. “What were you doing when your heart started to race?”

“Just folding some of Judge’s undershorts,” she said weakly. “Am I all right? Because if I die, he’ll run out of clean shorts in a week.”

“It looks pretty good for Judge’s clean shorts. Does your chest hurt?”

“No, not so much. But I’m so light-headed and feel all…vague. I feel vague.”

June tried to keep the chuckle from her voice. “Well, you’re not vague at all. Your pulse is slowing…can you feel it?”

Birdie concentrated for a moment. “Yes,” she finally said. “Oh, June, you’re so gifted.”

“I haven’t done anything, Birdie. Tell me, what were you going to do after folding the clothes? What’s on the agenda for the afternoon?”

“Oh. Let’s see. I put a casserole and cake in the oven that I’ll take out to Chris, Nancy and the boys later. A little trip to the grocery if there’s time. I have a couple more loads of wash—I’ve brought some of theirs home to do. They can’t keep up, you know.
And that house… They just don’t have the…ah…
facilities.
”

“I can imagine,” June said sympathetically. “Taking care of two bedridden teenage boys must be a nightmare. You must be very worried about them.”

“I wish I’d locked my car,” she said.

“Birdie, they took the keys off the kitchen hook. You couldn’t have prevented them from stealing your car.”

“I wish I’d locked the door, then.”

“Your pulse is almost normal, darling. Do you know what happened? I think you’ve had an anxiety attack.”

“Piffle,” she said. “Impossible.”

“Why is it impossible?”

“Because if Judge couldn’t throw me into an anxiety attack in all the years I’ve put up with him, nothing could!” She stood up and smoothed her wool plaid skirt. She had worn skirts with white blouses, cardigan sweaters and clompy oxford shoes since June was a tot. When she was younger, Birdie had wound her hair into tight little brown pin curls that were now white, but nothing else in her style had changed. Change disturbed Birdie. And though Judge was a cranky old handful, he was static. Her life had been turned upside down by the sudden appearance of her son and grandsons. And now this additional stress—a near-fatal car accident with her car!

“I want you to have some routine blood work
done tomorrow morning,” June said, reaching into her bag for a lab order slip. “I’m not expecting to find anything, but better to be safe than sorry. And after work today I’m going to run over to Chris and Nancy’s and look in on the boys.”

“Oh! Would you? Oh, thank you, June!”

There was no pretending—Birdie had had about all she could take of this stress. She would have to be settled down somehow. “In fact,” June said, “when I’m done at the clinic I’ll come by here and get that casserole and cake. I’d like you to take a night off.”

“Oh, but June, much as I’d like to, I just can’t leave them—”

“Doctor’s orders, Birdie. I said I’ll go out there and check on them.”

“That’s very sweet of you, dear. And then, when can we talk about your wedding?”

She swallowed. “Well, not today. I just don’t have the time.”

Jurea Mull and her two teenage children lived in a tiny house in a poor section of town, but every day was a wonderful day for them because it was the best they’d ever had. Up till a few months ago Jurea’s whole life had been spent in the mountains, first as a child in a large family that lived very meagerly off the land, then as the wife of Clarence Mull, a Vietnam vet. Their home, the place where they’d raised their two kids, was little more than a shack in
the backwoods, an isolated existence that they had once seen as protective.

Clarence had suffered since the war from posttraumatic stress disorder and bipolar disease. He could cope only if he felt he was hidden from the general population. This medical condition had nothing to do with his intelligence, which was high. He had been what they called a dropout vet, living in the forest near Grace Valley when he came upon Jurea’s family and found that they had been hiding their daughter from view because of the morbid scarring of her face. The claw end of her father’s hammer had ravaged the entire left side of her face, and the lack of medical attention had resulted in Jurea’s disfigurement. Clarence, in his sickness, immediately recognized in her a soul mate, a fellow prisoner from the world at large.

They’d made their life in the woods, where Clarence first taught her to read and write and cipher, then taught their children. That is, until they were discovered by June Hudson and Tom Toopeek. They helped the Mulls move into town so that Jurea could begin a series of plastic surgeries, the children could attend public school and Clarence could get both veteran’s benefits and some medication. He’d been doing very well on psychotropics until, as is fairly common, he stopped taking his drugs and fell back into his delusional world. While he was in the hospital getting straightened out, Jurea, sixteen-year-old Clinton and fourteen-year-old Wanda were on their own.

The house just a half block down from the Mulls had stood vacant and vandalized for a long time, long before the Mulls came into town. Jurea had no idea who owned the place, or if anyone did. But to her surprise she saw Sam Cussler pull up to that house. He had a young man with him and they went inside.

Jurea was by nature very shy, but she’d been pushing herself to interact with people more, especially now that she’d had the first surgery on her face and it was so dramatically improved. If she was to be a citizen of the town, a parent to students and a member of the church, it was imperative that she learn to mingle. So she put on her jacket and bravely walked down the street to say hello to Mr. Cussler. She waited until he came out of the house with his friend.

“Well, Jurea, you saved me a trip down to your house,” Sam said. “This here’s Conrad Davis.”

“How do you do,” she said slowly, carefully.

Conrad sunk his hands deeply into his pockets, looked at the ground and gave a brief nod. He’s as shy as me, Jurea thought.

“Conrad here has a young family,” Sam said. “Three children, one just born. He’s a little down on his luck at the moment and—”

Conrad’s head came up suddenly and he interrupted Sam. “Got laid off,” he said.

“That’s right,” Sam went on. “This old place hasn’t had an owner in I don’t know how long. It
stands here just a miserable sight in need of attention while there’re people like Conrad and his young wife in need of a roof. So I think we’ll just slip him in here and for the price of a little fixing up, he’ll have a place to live.”

“Isn’t that fine,” Jurea said. “And where is Mrs. Davis?”

When Conrad didn’t answer at once, Sam did for him. “Social Services has her and the little ones in a Rockport hostel while Conrad here’s been looking for work. I have something he can do, but the family really can’t come here till the house is habitable. And heatable.”

“If you’d like, Clinton, Wanda and myself would be obliged to help you clean it up a little, once the kids are home from school.”

“That’d be very neighborly of you, Jurea. Isn’t that neighborly, Conrad?”

“What happened to your face?” the young man asked.

Stricken, Jurea’s hand rose automatically. It had been ten times worse than it was now—her cheekbone had been caved in and her eye scarred shut—yet in all her life no one over the age of seven had ever come out with the question as bluntly as that. Fortunately Jurea was always hungry to learn, and always an optimist, so she took it as an opportunity to practice the handling of a difficult situation. “When I was a small child, I walked right into the path of my daddy’s claw hammer. My scars were so
much more terrible than they are now. I’ve had some plastic surgery.”

Jurea didn’t notice Sam frowning at Conrad. In fact, Conrad didn’t notice. “Well, bless your heart,” Conrad said, but there was something in his tone that was just slightly mean.

“We’d better get going, Jurea. I’m determined to get some plywood hammered over those broken windows today,” Sam said. “We’ll be back a little bit later.”

“I look forward to meeting your wife and children,” Jurea said. “And once Clinton and Wanda get home, we’ll wander down and see if we can lend a hand.”

“You’re a kind soul,” Sam said.

He walked ahead of Conrad to his truck and got inside. He just sat there for a while after his passenger was in and settled. He was thinking.

Life hadn’t been too pleasant for Sam lately. He’d just buried his second wife, a woman younger than him by more than forty years who’d died a slow and painful death from cancer. He was feeling low and lonely when this poor boy with his truck full of pitiful belongings had pulled into the garage and recited his sob story of hard times. It had long been Sam’s custom that when he was feeling a little less than good, the best way to perk up his spirits was to help someone less fortunate. It had also long been his experience that whenever he needed perking up, the Lord would slip a less-fortunate individual into
his life at the perfect moment. Conrad had just returned to the valley to collect his household goods after his weeks-long unsuccessful search for a job. In his seventy years, Sam had never regretted a good deed.