The Rosewood Casket (34 page)

Debba had slid over against the door, as far away from him as she could get. She said, “We’ll be all right, me and Garrett. Tell him I’ll be home when he’s ready to come. It’ll be after the funeral, I expect. He’s usually back after three days.”

Charles Martin tried to keep the note of surprise out of his voice. “He’s done this before?”

“Oh, yes. Every so often, especially when he’s feeling guilty about something. And he always felt guilty about your father. I don’t know why.”

Charles Martin sighed. “Nothing was ever enough for Daddy. Whatever you did, he’d say something else would have been better. I guess we never got over trying to please him, and feeling guilty when we failed—which was always.”

Debba nodded, and began to rummage in her purse for her gloves.

After a few moments of silence, Charles Martin could stand it no longer. “Why does Garrett keep doing this?” he asked. “You said he felt guilty.”

“Yes. For leaving me alone. He was away on a mission, you see. And that fellow who came over, he was a friend of Garrett’s. That’s why he doesn’t want to believe what happened that day.”

“What did happen?”

“He tried to rape me. They made it sound like I lost my head and shot him by accident, so his family wouldn’t be hurt. He had been in Somalia, you see, and he’d seen some of his buddies killed, so they thought he wasn’t quite right in the head. Shell-shocked, or something. He was really young, and everyone felt sorry for him afterward. Even me. But I wasn’t sorry enough to lie about it. Army wives suffer, too.”

“Then why does Garrett blame you?”

Debba Stargill sighed. “He doesn’t. He blames himself for not being there. Well, I guess he does blame me some. Men always wonder if you asked for it. And when the scars are healed, or enough time has passed, they wonder why you’re not as good as new. I cry sometimes for no reason. And I stiffen a little every time he touches me. I’m afraid all the time, and it angers him, because it makes us both remember. He pretends that I was always this afraid, that I shot that boy because of my fear, but that’s not true. The fear came afterward, and it swallowed me whole.”

Charles Martin shivered. “You’re sure he’ll be back, though?”

She nodded. “I’d just as soon have him stay gone, but he’ll be back. He feels guilty about me, you see. And I haven’t the courage to leave him.”

*   *   *

“Are we almost to where we’re going?” asked Kayla. Her legs ached from walking. She felt tears sting her eyes, but she knew that the lady with the gun would only get angry with her if she cried. Though sometimes she would hear a sort of sniffling sound that made her think that the lady was crying, too. After a long silence, she asked, “Is there food there?”

“No,” said Dovey. “I’m sorry about that. But we need to get someplace safe so those men with guns down there won’t find us.”

“Can you find it in the dark?”

“I think so. By moonlight, anyhow. I used to play in these woods when I was little. I knew them pretty well.”

Kayla was picking her way carefully among the fallen branches, going a little more slowly than she needed to. She thought that talking would make that fact less obvious. “What did you play?”

Dovey Stallard sighed at the foolishness of it. “The Stargill boys and I used to pretend we were pioneers. They were always Daniel Boone, Davy Crockett, and John Sevier. Crockett wasn’t from the right time period, but none of us could convince Dwayne of that. He was bound and determined to be Davy Crockett, so we gave up, and let him. Hurry up. We’re taking too long.”

“My feet are sore. So, who were you in the game?”

“Clayt always wanted me to be Daniel’s wife. I had to go down to the library to find somebody more fun to be than old Rebecca Boone, who mostly stayed home raising babies. I decided to be a Cherokee chief called Nancy Ward.”

Kayla nodded. “The Indian lady. You told me. You said she was a good person, though. Friendly to the whites.”

“She was. But she could fight when she had to. Once when the Cherokees were at war with the Creeks, Nancy Ward won the battle. She picked up her dead husband’s rifle and led the charge against the enemy.”

Kayla considered it. “She sounds a lot neater than old Pocahontas. Are there any movies about her?”

“No. There’s no happy ending. She died of old age not far from here, but a few years after that her people were put off the land. Most of them had to move out to Oklahoma.”

“Reba McIntyre,” said Kayla.

“What?”

“That’s where she’s from. Oklahoma.”

“Oh, the country singer,” said Dovey, shaking her head. “Do you have all your states memorized by musicians?”

“Nah. They’re mostly from the same places. Mama’s trying to learn me my state names, and when Charlie helps me that’s how we do it. Loretta Lynn–Kentucky; Statler Brothers–Virginia; Randy Travis–North Carolina—and like that.”

“Charles Martin Stargill sure has left his mark on you.”

“Uh-huh. I listen a lot. He’s okay. So, who took this land from the Indians?”

Dovey Stallard shrugged. “Daniel Boone, for one.”

They were in a clearing now. The moonlight outlined the contours of a rocky hillside, making man-shapes of sapling sumacs and silvering the path of a small stony creek.

Dovey Stallard heaved a long sigh. Her breath made a little cloud in the clear night air. “We’re here,” she said. “We need to get across that branch without getting our feet wet.”

Kayla looked around her. She blew into her cupped hands to warm her fingers. She had to pee, but she didn’t want to pull her pants down in the cold night air. She had hoped that they would reach a cabin, or at least a car, but all she saw in the moonlight was rocks, and trees. And the mountain rising steeply in front of them. Her voice quavered. “I don’t see nothing,” she said.

“It’s here, though. At least, it was when I was a kid.” Dovey started across the brook, stretching to reach from rock to rock. At the midpoint, she leaned back and grabbed Kayla’s outstretched hand. “You could almost jump across,” she said, “but it’s too cold to risk falling short.”

“Mama doesn’t like me playing in the water,” said Kayla, drawing back.

“Come on! She wouldn’t want you out here by yourself either.”

When they were safely on the other side, Dovey led the girl to a thicket of rhododendron—mountain laurel, she called it. “It’s grown over a lot since we used to play here,” she said, more to herself than to the child. “I might have missed it if it weren’t for these broken branches. Looks like something came through here.” She stood still for a moment and listened. “Hope it wasn’t a bear.”

Kayla followed her into the thicket. It was too cold and dark for her to try to run away. She was no longer sure in which direction the farm lay. She crouched down and tried to scoot under the prickly branches. It was much darker now beneath the cover of laurel leaves, but just ahead she could make out the dark shape of Dovey Stallard, on her hands and knees at the base of the hill. She was breathing hard and grunting as she lifted pumpkin-sized rocks, or pushed them out of her way.

“Here it is!” She leaned back and caught hold of Kayla’s jacket. “Come on. We made it.”

With a cry of surprise Kayla stumbled forward, expecting to hit the rocks, but instead she lurched forward into complete darkness. She felt cold drops of water hit the back of her neck, and as she scooted forward, she could feel wet patches forming on the knees of her jeans. “It’s a cave,” she said, and her voice echoed softly in the darkness. She sniffled a little. They’d never find her in here.

Dovey’s hand touched her shoulder again. Kayla straightened up, and crawled over to the wall of the cavern, huddling close to Dovey. It wasn’t as cold in here, but it was damp, and she was frightened, because she couldn’t see. “Are there snakes in here?”

“Didn’t used to be. Anyhow, it’s cold yet, so they shouldn’t be awake tonight. We’ll be all right here.”

“We’re not gonna stay here?”

There was a short silence, broken only by the plop of water pellets falling into a pool near the back of the cave. “Until morning maybe,” said Dovey. “Then we can see to go on. Trackers can’t find us here. Do you think you can get to sleep?”

Kayla was looking toward the entrance of the cave. Now that her eyes had grown accustomed to the dark, she could see a faint sliver of gray where the narrow entrance must be. She was crying now. “I want to go home. I’m cold. And I’m dirty. Mama doesn’t like it when I get dirty.”

“We have to stay here. It’s too dangerous out there tonight. There’s some kind of goggles now that even let trackers see in the dark. They could shoot at us, and we’d never even know they were there.”

“It’s da-ark!” Kayla’s voice rose to a wail.

Yellow light flooded the chamber. Kayla screamed and clutched at Dovey’s arm, but Dovey shook her away, and thrust the pistol forward, its barrel wobbling as her hand shook. “Who’s there?” she cried,

“Hello, Dovey.”

“Clayt!” Kayla’s weeping stopped abruptly. She scrambled across the muddy floor to reach him. “You found me!”

She flung herself at him, and he wrapped his arms around her, and bundled her close inside his parka. “Shh! Kayla, I’m here now. It’s all right. You’re fine.”

“I didn’t hurt her,” said Dovey. “I had started off for your farm before I thought better of it. I found her out wandering around in the woods.” She waited, but Clayt said nothing. “Are you part of the posse, Clayt?”

He set the flashlight on top of a flat rock so that it cast a soft glow around most of the small chamber. Dovey couldn’t make out his expression in the dim light. “I’m not armed,” he said at last. “I wanted to find you before they did.”

“And you figured I’d come here?”

“Not really. We hated this place as kids, remember?” She nodded. “It gave us the creeps for some reason, but I knew it was about the only place out here on the mountain to be hidden from the search party. Besides, it was the only hope I had.”

“I might not have found it if you hadn’t broken those branches getting in.”

He shook his head. “I found it like that. Something has been here recently.” He heard Kayla whimper, and he hugged her again. “It’s not a bear. I checked around with the flashlight. There’s more to the cave than we thought, Dovey. I found a narrow opening far at the back. It had been blocked up with rocks before, but they’ve been pushed aside now. I didn’t go in, but I called out in case you were back there. Then I decided to wait, because if you didn’t show up here, I figured I’d never find you. I couldn’t track you by night.” He nodded toward the cave entrance. “I’ll bet they can, though.”

Dovey shrugged and jiggled the gun. “I’m ready for them.”

“Why did you take Kayla? Why bring her into it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I thought I could use her for bargaining. Give her back if they’d let me go. It just made them more determined to get me, though, I guess.”

“We could say that Kayla went willingly. You didn’t harm her. She’d swear she went with you, Dovey. Then it wouldn’t be kidnapping. And the sheriff isn’t dead—at least he wasn’t when I left the house. We can get a good lawyer for the trial, and maybe they can plead provocation, and get you off with probation. I bet Dallas Stuart would defend you for nothing. We could ask him.”

Dovey shook her head. “I’ve had enough of the law, Clayt. The government sent my brother to some foreign country to die in a war they didn’t even try to win. The government passed laws protecting those vultures that were killing our lambs—yes, and that vulture Frank Whitescarver, too. Then they took our land away from us with some legal hocus pocus. I’m done with them now.”

“Dovey, you can’t stay here. You can’t fight them.”

“Thank you, Daniel Boone. He did become a politician later in life, didn’t he?”

Clayt sighed. “Not a very good one. I think he tried to be honest, but he wasn’t sophisticated enough for that crowd. Not like Nancy Ward. Now she wouldn’t hole up here with a gun. We can live in peace—remember? Share the land? She would have learned the rules and tried to win the politicians’ game.”

“Look where it got her. Frank Whitescarver wants to share the land, all right. He wants to put us in a trailer park in town. A modern version of the Trail of Tears. Well, I’d like to give him exactly six feet of Stallard land—enough to bury him! I wish I’d got him, Clayt. I wish to God I’d blown his head off.”

“Dovey, listen! You don’t have to go where Whitescarver says. Daddy’s dying. We’ve been trying to figure out ways to keep the farm, only none of us can afford to stay on and run it. Maybe we could lease it to you and your dad.”

She shook her head. “That’s the trouble with the story of Nancy Ward. The ending. She died with a whimper, knowing she’d lost it all, and she didn’t fight back.” She brandished the pistol. “This time it’s going to be different.”

“It’s a rundown hill farm, Dovey. It’s not worth dying for.”

“Then what is?”

He could hear the tremor in her voice, and he eased Kayla out of his arms and started across the cavern. “Dovey…”

She leveled the gun at him. “Get back. I didn’t ask you for anything.”

“Don’t do this.”

“It’s done, Clayt. But you’re right about Kayla here. Nancy Ward wouldn’t have brought her into it. She saved Mrs. Bean from being burned at the stake. She wouldn’t take a child down with her. Leave me the flashlight, if you’re so determined to be my friend. Now you take her and get out.”

“Keep the flashlight,” said Clayt. “But we’re not leaving you, Dovey.”

Dovey’s eyes glittered in the dim light. “If you want her to live, Clayt, you’ll take her and go. Right now.”

*   *   *

The sun was low against the flank of the mountain, and the old woman was sitting on the porch in the cool of the evening, waiting for the child. She appeared, finally, with muddy feet and berry stains on her dress, looking tired and a little wary that someone was watching for her. She took one backward glance at the woods, then climbed over the stile and headed for home.

“Where did you get to all day, Nora?” asked Grandma Flossie. “We were about to set out looking for you.”

“I was playing in the woods.” Nora’s voice had the ring of innocence, but she was looking at the ground, scuffing up ridges of dirt with her bare brown toes. It was suppertime. The heat of July had eased off to the windless glow of evening, and Nora’s mother was already setting bowls of beans and mashed potatoes on the red-checked tablecloth. Nora looked up at the screen door, and wrinkled her nose. “Can I go in now?”