Morgan James - Promise McNeal 02 - Quiet Killing (34 page)

We stood silently around the graves, perhaps none of us wanting to stir the quiet. A sudden breath of wind disturbed the forsythia bush, puffs of snow from its yellow blossoms shaking to the ground; then the wind stilled. I thought I smelled rosemary; though I don’t believe forsythia has a rosemary fragrance. Where had I smelled rosemary recently? Was it at Mrs. Allen’s house? Rosemary, I’d read somewhere, was for remembrance.

The word forgiveness had been on my mind since Sam mentioned it yesterday. Perhaps January was seeking God’s forgiveness. Perhaps I needed to forgive him as well, let go of my judgment on actions I could never understand. Otherwise, his bizarre behavior would shadow me for the rest of my life, and I would always feel the need to apologize for who I am, because of who I
thought
he was.

I hoped our prayers gave the earthbound souls on Fire Mountain peace. Each of us needs to go back to where we came from when this body is spent. Though I have to say, I’ll miss the little voice singing,
upstairs, downstairs, we all fall down
.

The Rev. Sam Quinn was the first to speak. In my reverie, it took me a second to realize she was talking to me. “Thank you, Promise, for inviting me today,” she was saying, “I am honored to be included with your family.”

I looked at each of them: Luke, Susan, and Daniel. “Yes,” I finally responded, “My family. Thank you, Rev. Quinn.” Daniel put his arm around me and I
leaned into him. When I looked up, I believe I saw a look in his eyes that said, “I’ll never leave you.” There goes that Alison Krauss song— one more time.

Later I knocked and let myself into Luke’s room to say goodnight. He was rearranging clothes in his compact, soft suitcase. I noticed his clothes—shirts, underwear, and socks—were rolled tightly, like mini telescopes, to save space, just as the travel guru on television advises. I also noticed the butt of a gun protruding from the neat rows of necessities.

Luke realized I’d seen the gun and immediately waded into the subject. “The gun? Don’t panic, Mom. It’s legal. I have a permit. Remember, I travel a lot… with the oil company.”

“Yes, with Acadian Oil. I understand that.” Though I really didn’t. And I didn’t believe he worked for an oil company, unless the United States government owns foreign oil businesses—which it may for all I know. “It’s just that I’m not used to seeing you with a gun. It’s a shock. You didn’t even have a cap pistol as a child.”

Luke hugged me. The familiar scent of his skin settled on me and I wanted with all my heart for it to be then and not now. Then, a long time ago, when he was small and trusting, and I could protect him.

“I know Mom,” my son said, “you don’t get the blowback here in your little corner of mountain paradise, but, believe me, the world out there can be a mean and dangerous place.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh, or cry.
The world out there? Right. Only the world out there?

I admit it; I seriously considered telling him everything that had happened, down to my being tied up by
an escaped convict and having a bleeding, and dying man sprawled across me.

But of course, I didn’t. Mothers don’t do that. What I said was, “I’m sure you’re right, son. How about hot chocolate before we turn in?”

Dear Readers,

Thank you for being here again. Promise and I appreciate you spending time with us. The usual disclaimers hold true. This is a work of fiction. Although historical persons may move through the story, they are used fictitiously. Perry County and its residents are of my imagination; any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is entirely coincidental. License with the geography of Western North Carolina is taken at times to fit the story.

To friends and family, especially Dee, I am grateful beyond measure for your encouragement. To my son, Kevin: your cover art is awesome. To my husband, Rick: your day-job made the writing possible.

Special thanks for advice and information to Lionel Caynon and Rev. Sam Pope. Any mistakes in information they shared are mine, entirely. To early readers Gail and Cora Jane, who helped with comments and errors, I say thank you. A special thank you to Karen, who read tirelessly and marked numerous punctuation errors with precision and careful thought. Thank you to songwriters Paul Overstreet and Don Schlitz, and the amazing Alison Krauss, for the perfect love song,
You Say It Best When You Say Nothing At All
.

Curious readers will find information about the outlaw Lewis Redmond in Stewart E. Bruce’s book,
King of the Moonshiners
. North Carolina storyteller, Gary Carden, has written an excellent play about Redmond,
The Prince of Dark Corners
. More about the Melungeon people can be found in
The Melungeons
, by N. Brent Kennedy. William R. Trotter’s
Bushwhackers
, and
Mountain Spirits
, by Joseph E. Dabney, also informed this story.

Take care, and see you next time,
Morgan

About the author

Morgan James is a transplant to the Western North Carolina Mountains, where she lives with her husband, dogs, cats, goats, and one loud Cockatiel. Her first Promise McNeal mystery, Quiet The Dead, received reader praise as, “everything a Southern mystery should be.”