Hellbender (Murder Ballads and Whiskey Book 2) (13 page)

“Well,” Pap went on, “Jamie caught one of them poaching black bear down the lane at the end of March. Son of a bitch had a buddy in Natural Resources who knew where they were denning. Curtis Lewis, I think it was. A cousin. He made a killing selling the gall bladders on the black market. How the hell should I know? Took a lot of bear this spring, though. I’ll tell you that. God put the good stuff where the lazy people can’t have any, I guess.”

He paused to put in a chew. The smell was a good smell, reminding me of bailing hay with my dad. My old man always had a pouch of Levi Garrett on him. My pap offered the pouch to Jamie with a laugh. Jamie pulled a peppermint from his shirt pocket. His way of resisting temptation for so many years. Then Pap waved it my way. My mouth watered with anticipation, but I’d given that up.

“Anyway, I told Lewis I wouldn’t call the state if he compensated me and that son of a bitch put up one hell of a fuss. He said that lot wasn’t mine anyway, then went into some bullshit story about old deeds. So the next week their lawyer called. He said he found an agreement that negated my deed.”

The old man spit into the fire ring. “Charlie Lewis is a Blow George and a pen hooker Johnny Bull, nothing more. After a few weeks in Parsons we got it lawyered out. It was a surveyor’s error. The surveyor my grandfather hired was off his datum by a few yards. Threw the whole property line off by a hair in my favor. Charlie was nosing around trying to get something that didn’t belong to him, but he got his fingers burnt and I ended up with another thirty acres.” Pap didn’t hide his smug smile.

“And that was that?” I said, thinking I’d knocked a hornet’s nest out of the rafters all by myself.

“There was mischief. Their young ones threw stones at the house. I filled one of them with rock salt. Then just after Easter that Tasso girl came here with Darren demanding something she said belonged to her. That was the end.”

“Lucinda? Eddie Tasso’s daughter? You sure?”

“What the hell does that mean? Yes I’m sure,” he said, indignantly.

I said, “Well, I had to rip apart the Jenkinsburg Bridge to keep them from filling us with buckshot.”

After a few seconds Jamie said, “Odelia thinks it’s going to turn up maybe?” “Oh, stop it, Jamie,” Pap said. “That’s your mother talking.”

“What’ll turn up?” I asked.

“Nothing to worry about.” My pap stared into the distant ridges. His eyes studied the miles. “Superstition. Family history.”

When neither Jamie nor my pap said anything, I quietly told them about Darren and about last night at Sirianni’s.

My pap said, “That boy’s wild enough to shoot at. Seventy years this shit’s been going on. Seventy years. That old woman sure poisoned those kids against us. Four generations of Johnny Bull Lewises and nothing but poison. Mary ruined Charlie and his brothers and Odelia, and Odelia went and ruined those boys. All for something I ain’t seen since…” He shut himself up real fast. “I was stupider than sled tracks to think it was finally over.”

I jumped into the back of the truck and started tossing logs over the side. “I’m sorry if I—”

Jamie said, “Hell, Henry. I can understand it if you can’t follow. It ain’t your fault. You got caught in the middle of something that’s been going on since Mason Collins got on that god-damned boat. Us Iron-horse Irish never stood a chance. There isn’t a family on this side of the Blackwater who hasn’t heard about Mary Lewis’s obsession. You’d be surprised at the tales some of them old-timers spin. Some of them are pretty near nasty. Nasty enough not to be surprised by anything they do.”

Pap said, “Charlie and the whole lot of them feel we owe them something. They’ve been spreading blame around since my grandpap moved up here from Lewisburg. They said he stole something belonged to them.”

“Like what?” I said, coughing on sawdust.

“Nothing. That family’s nothing but trouble,” Jamie said.

My pap added, “Stay away from them. Most of them have moved to Parsons or Elkins. A few are up in Garrett County. The rat likes to be close to his hole, you know.”

“I don’t want you to think I—”

“Just stay away from him. It’ll blow over.” The way Pap said it told me it was final.

Jamie took a bundle of kindling from me and said, “I have to run to Elkins to pick up a few instruments. Want to ride down with me, Dad?”

“Sure, I’ll ride down with you. Out of Jameson and I’m thirsty. Need to grab a pint of panther’s breath. Alex, it was a pleasure meeting you. Tonight you can tell me about yourself and what it is you do.” He stepped close for a hug from Alex.

“I look forward to it.” She released him, then gave the old man a smile that nearly melted him.

“Henry, it was good seeing you. Ben will be pleased to hear you’re back,” Jamie said, slapping my back a few times. “Your timing is perfect. You meet Preston yet?”

I shook my head. Didn’t know who he was talking about.

We watched Pap get into Jamie’s truck. It took a while. Maybe he had gotten older and I just didn’t want to see it. As they backed out of the driveway we walked over to the house.

Alex stopped me from going through the front door. “This Lewis thing. I feel like I caused some kind of trouble.”

I stood in the doorway with her and looked south over the valley for a second. “You heard them, Alex. It’s not your fault.”

I pulled her into the house with me and shut the door. I set my hat on the old newel post, worn smooth by four pairs of hands that’d never hold each other again. She sat on a bench next to the front door. A pair of my boots sat on the floor beneath the bench. Next to a pair of my dad’s work boots. I sat on the stairs, facing her. “There’ll always be ghosts in here.”

She stood, then led me up the stairs. I listened to the familiar creaks, remembering which steps I had to skip if I came home past curfew. We returned to my old room and lay down in the bed together and just looked at each other for a while. For a second I thought we might kiss and my heart sped up. My mouth got dry when I thought I might tell her how much I missed her and how sorry I was for leaving her. But she just smiled, rolled over and fell asleep.

After a few long hours of sleeping and not sleeping, I slipped out of bed and snuck out of the room to look for something. I left the bedroom door ajar. The sight of a closed door bothered me. Except for the door to Jane’s room. I left it shut. I certainly didn’t have any business there. It’d sat untouched since the day she left. Not that there was anything in it anyway. Not a picture. Not a thread of clothing. No old toys. No pillows or bedding. No curtains over the windows. No yearbooks or old cassette tapes. It was never used for storage. It never housed overnight guests. It was just four walls and a window and the memory of an argument I’d never forget as long as I lived.

Jane’s words were some of the most hurtful ever uttered in this corner of the Mountain State. She blamed my dad for whatever happened to my mother. She said that it was his fault we never got to see her again. She said he deserved all the loneliness he’d get. I should’ve intervened.

I backed away from the door. Like the room was on fire. I kept on going down the hall.

My dad’s room sat in a half-square of glass, windows overseeing a view that stretched from Cabin Mountain to Davis. The large, wrought-iron bed sat alone in the dark. One by one I opened the wood shutters that my dad and Jamie built. One by one I opened the old, stiff windows and let in a breeze that took that dust back to the earth from which it came. The breeze, at times a wind, blew through the room unimpeded. I breathed deep the scent of random blossoms mixing with the smell of stained oak and maple.

On the floor of the closet I found a box of photo albums and other stuff, which I placed on the floor next to the bed. Not what I was looking for, but worth keeping out for all the things I found in it. Things like baby shoes. Programs from my high school baseball games—I pitched two no-hitters my senior year. A bunch of VHS tapes in an old shoebox. The stickers were labeled ‘Jane’s birthday 1995,’ ‘Little League,’ ‘Clifftop 1999.’ Audio tapes of my performances with Jamie and Katy at fairs and Heritage Weeks filled another.

I set aside the tape from Clifftop. I wanted Alex to see it. There were other things: projects that we’d done in school, a Thanksgiving turkey made out of my tiny paw print and feathers, pine needles glued to construction paper for a Christmas tree. A long set of rattlesnake beads my dad collected on the train tracks in Rowlesburg. I slid those into my pocket.

Below a stack of blankets I found another box, a wooden one that I’d never seen before. I carried it back with the rest of my loot. The lid came off with a huff of cedar and old photographs revealing sights that were brand new to my eyes. There were baby pictures and childhood photos of my mom. There were love letters that my dad had written her. Her rosary beads were in there, too. She was just starting to show in their prom picture, but the cut of her dress hid it pretty well. I recognized my grandparents and their parents in more than a few. There were photos of Rachael and Jamie holding my dad, a toddler barely able to stand.

In that box was a family history, my history, and all I wanted to do was forget about all of it. In that box was the story of where I came from and who I was. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t erase the proof before my eyes. In those old photos was the image of a mother and a family I never really knew.

All I had were memories—and fading ones, at that. I laughed when I saw my dad in his football uniform with my mother, the cheerleader, smiling by his side. The back of the photo said ‘Homecoming 1989.’ They were in love even that far back. I nearly crumpled when I saw their wedding pictures. College acceptance letters that neither of them could use because they had me to take care of. Prayer cards from my pap’s little girl’s funeral.
On this mountain the LORD of hosts will provide for all his peoples. On this mountain he will destroy the veil that veils all peoples, the web that is woven over all nations; he will quell death forever.

At the very bottom of the box something silver flashed. Twin hands clasped a heart wearing a crown. My mother received the claddagh ring on her wedding day, or so I was told. It had been a gift from my pap’s mother. The metal was as soft as a flower petal.

Still not what I was looking for, but enough to call today a victory.

Through the window, a smoky breeze carried the sound of the cars traveling up the lane. In the yard below, Rachael and Fenton tended to a growing fire and a big stack of folding chairs. I debated with myself whether it’d be easier to deal with the family one at a time, or as a whole. I crept back down the hall to my room.

“You awake?” I said gently.

Alex pulled the sheet over her head, then stretched away the sleepiness from her feet and toes, then from her calves and thighs. Now tangled in the sheets she squinted to find me.

“Is it time?” Her voice was barely louder than the breeze.

“Yeah, I should probably go down now. Let’s not talk about the Lewises and all that. Okay?” I picked my Tucker County High School baseball cap up from the floor.

Before stepping into the hallway she said, “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“What was I looking for?” I put the cap on and looked in the mirror.

“I don’t know. I heard you in that other bedroom.” She tapped the floor, like a cat testing new snow from a porch step.

“Oh. No, but I found something I wasn’t looking for, so in the end I’m, even-steven.” I barely recognized myself in the mirror. The hat, the house, none of it seemed like me anymore. If this was supposed to be some kind of metamorphosis or life lesson, I didn’t like it. Had enough life lessons.

“Are you going to tell me?” She leaned her head against the bedroom door’s frame and made big eyes at me.

“Later.”

She disappeared into the bathroom as I got ready, then returned wearing her cowboy boots and that stupid old blue fleece of mine she found in the Jeep last night. I bought that with my first rafting paycheck. Twin braids fell over her shoulders, reminding me of that day in Jane’s apartment. She smiled, grabbed my hand and pulled me down the stairs.

We strode down the stone steps and into the soft, cool grass. Pap’s dog waited. We scratched Champ’s head as the old man crossed the lane. For a second I remembered the way he was out there the day we buried Janie. With a wave, he called us to meet him at the intersection, then quickened his pace to join us.

“Out for a walk?” I called to him. “Where’s Grandma?”

“She’s still baking. Be here in a bit. And I plan on being away with the fairies tonight, and want to get an early start. I’m walking because I don’t want to put my truck in the creek. My brother’s bringing cider. And how’s this pretty little thing doing?” He offered his cheek for a kiss.

“Just fine, Mr. Collins. And how are you?”

“Isn’t that a sweet accent? You watch those girls from down the mountain, Henry. Sometimes they taste sweet long after they’ve gone bad.” He shifted his jacket to his other arm to greet Alex.

“Pap.”

He ignored me. “Call me John Henry, sweetheart.” He grabbed her free hand and walked her over to the fire. He didn’t get very far before pulling the old flask out of his jacket and taking a big swig. “Rachael, come on over here.”

My aunt had dark auburn hair and green eyes, high cheekbones and a round face, just like Janie. Katy looked more like her dad, a truck driver who left on a haul to Arkansas before Chloe was born and somehow never found his way back east. Rachael really took to my sister after my mom left. Her skin was as fair as ever, like a cherry blossom. She could barely contain her crooked smile. She let my pap speak first.