six

Virgil parked as close as he could to the spot along the river where Eddie Minks breathed his last. Creed got out of the car and followed the sheriff along a path near the water’s edge. Humidity hung heavy in the summer air, and he felt sweat prickle under his arms, even though it was an easy walk. The only sound was the rush of water to his left and their footsteps. No birds sang, and the air was as still as a tomb.

As they approached the place where river grasses were mashed down, Creed saw that the earth had already absorbed the worst of the bloodstains. Nature was like that. Quick to reclaim anything man tried to change. He crouched down and examined the place where the body had lain.

“Did you see footprints or anything like that when you first got here?” Virgil asked.

“Sure. Deer tracks, turkey, grown men, kids, probably a raccoon or possum. This trail is used by all sorts of warm-blooded critters. Killer’s tracks could easily have been here, but I don’t know how you’d tell ’em apart.”

Virgil grunted and circled the area looking high and low. He finally stopped near a small stand of river oaks. “Remind me which way the body was laying.” Creed closed his eyes to picture it and pointed.

“So, the killer was probably standing opposite this spot if Eddie fell when he was hit.” The sheriff scratched under the edge of his hat where beads of sweat had formed. He let his gaze swing around. “Or Eddie might have staggered a few steps . . . Here we are!” He flipped open a pocketknife and jabbed the blade in a tree trunk. “Slug. Probably the one that winged Eddie in the arm.”

Creed stepped closer to see what Virgil had found. “Could be. Or it might be an old slug from a hunter.”

“This looks fresh. Not many folks hunting in July.”

Creed nodded. It was too hot for deer hunting, and the game wasn’t good this time of year. “If it is the bullet, what good does that do you? Lots of folks around here have a gun that caliber.”

Virgil worked the slug out and dropped it into his breast pocket. “There’s this new science called ‘ballistics.’ They say they can look at a slug under a microscope and match it to the gun that fired it. We already got the bullet that was lodged against Eddie’s spine, so we can test ’em both.” He shrugged. “If nothing else, I’d like to see how it’s done.”

Loyal sat between his parents in church the next morning. It was boring, like always, but he didn’t mind as much when Mother and Father were with him. It made him feel like part of a regular family. He leaned against Mother as they stood to sing so he could feel her voice.

After Reverend Harriman finally raised, then lowered his hands at the end, they all filtered out into the airless day. Men clustered under a tree, smoking cigarettes and tapping their toes. Loyal knew they wished their wives would stop talking and go home to get dinner on the table, and he sympathized with the women. If he could talk freely like that, he’d do plenty of it.

Across the yard, he saw Rebecca standing near her father. He noticed that she had her hair pulled back with mismatched combs. They were both the mottled brown, but one was plain and the other carved like the comb in his drawer at home. So it really was Rebecca’s. He frowned, considering what that—along with her earlier comments—meant. She and Michael must have found the body before he did. But why had she asked if he would tell on them? His eyes widened. What if they had killed the man? Michael had brought one of his father’s pistols to the Fourth of July picnic. Loyal had seen him showing it to some older boys. Why would kids shoot a grown man they didn’t even know? It was the kind of notion Mother would tell him was the result of an overactive imagination.

Loyal stared at his shoes, so deep in thought he didn’t sense someone approaching from behind. Suddenly he felt something cold and wet slither down the collar of his Sunday shirt. He arched his back and jerked the tail of his shirt out, shaking it and high-stepping until he was sure whatever it was had fallen out. He turned to see Father holding a crawdad that must have come from the creek below the church. Loyal realized everyone in the churchyard was staring at him—including Michael and his buddies, who were bent over laughing.

He felt his face go hot as he tucked his shirt back in. Father walked over, and together they strode down to the creek where they put the crawdad back in the water. Father kept his hand on Loyal’s shoulder the whole time. When they got to the creek, backs to the crowd, Father looked earnestly into his eyes. “Any fool can play a trick. Courage is holding your head high when they do.” Loyal nodded, fighting a prickling of tears. “Show me how to shape courage.”

Loyal looked to his father. Was he asking for the sign? He lifted his hands to his shoulders and made a motion as if he were plucking something from his shirt and holding it tight in his fists. Father imitated him. “That’s you,” he said, pointing at Loyal. “Courageous. Brave.” He made the sign again.

Loyal still wanted to cry, only now it was a different kind of feeling.

Delphy tried to slow the whirl of her mind as she ladled stewed chicken into a tureen. Even when it was just her and Loyal, she liked to serve a proper Sunday dinner. And this morning Creed had offered to wring the neck of the old rooster that had taken to crowing well before dawn. She’d been meaning to do it herself but was grateful to let someone else put an end to the old fellow. A secret smile quirked her lips. She’d save her neck wringing for Creed Raines. He’d spent a second night so they could go to church together, and her conflicting emotions were keeping her up at night. While she was grateful to see Creed taking more of an interest in Loyal, she was afraid he was setting the boy up for disappointment.

She settled the stew on the table next to a pea salad and angel biscuits. Creed spoke even before she could sit. “I need to get back up the mountain.” She felt every muscle in her body tense and darted a look at Loyal. The boy was perched on the edge of his seat, watching them intently. Oh, but he could see so much more than people with two good ears.

“I’m surprised you stayed this long.” She didn’t sign the words. Loyal would likely follow along, but at least he couldn’t hear the way her words twisted between them. She wished she could tell Creed that he broke her heart every time he came home and left again. If he’d left all at once and stayed gone, maybe it would be different. Instead, he’d drifted away from them in bits and pieces. Still was. Although each time he came home, some foolish part of her dared to hope he would stay.

Delphy suspected he blamed himself for taking Loyal on that fateful trip that ended in a fever, an ear infection, and . . . she looked at her son. A wave of fierce protectiveness washed over her, and she realized that maybe she blamed Creed, too. For the first time she considered that maybe she’d played a role in Creed’s slow abdication of his family.

“Maybe . . .” Creed sat and spooned some peas onto his plate. Something took flight in Delphy’s heart. As if his maybe were echoing her own and they might finally talk about what stood between them. “Maybe I should take Loyal up on the mountain with me this time.”

Her heart turned to stone. “Absolutely not,” she said as she pushed her plate away.

Creed broke open a piece of bread and buttered it. “Might be good for both of us.” He ducked his head, then looked up again. “I didn’t realize we could . . . communicate. I’d like to try more of that.” He turned toward Loyal. “You want to come up on the mountain with me?”

She didn’t mean to do it. Didn’t know she was going to until her plate of stew crashed to the floor, spattering bits of food and making Loyal jump. While he couldn’t hear the crash, she knew he could feel the reverberation.

“Come with me,” she said to Creed and marched him out the back door into the yard. She could feel her cheeks heating and knew tears stood in her eyes. Loyal did not need to witness what she would say next.

When Delphy returned to the kitchen, she saw that Loyal had cleaned up her mess. He was such a good boy. For a split second she wondered if she should let him go with his father. Boys needed their fathers, didn’t they? But no. The last time the two of them went somewhere alone, it changed all of their lives. And while she knew this was different, her mother’s heart couldn’t bear the notion that something even worse might happen up on the mountain where help was simply too far away.

She forced a smile and began to sign. I’m sorry I got angry. Your father doesn’t realize what he’s asking. You . . . She paused and looked toward the ceiling. You’re special, not like he was at your age. He doesn’t understand what you need.

Loyal clenched his hands and shook his head. Where’s Father? he signed.

She gritted her teeth and signed, her movements sharp. Gone to his mountain.

Loyal stomped his foot. I’ll go, too.

No. She made the sign twice. Not safe.

I don’t care. Now Loyal’s motions were choppy, uneven. You don’t understand. I want to go. I will go.

Delphy gave her head a shake. We can talk later, she signed. When we’re calm.

Loyal formed both hands into claws facing his chest and flung them up and out. He stamped one foot, turned, and ran out of the house. Delphy ran after him but stopped when she saw he’d gone only as far as the cedar tree, where he kicked at the trunk, grunting and screeching before leaning against the far side, arms crossed tightly over his chest. Frustration filled the air, and she longed to go to him, to soothe him, but knew she couldn’t comfort him right now.

She’d seen him get like this in those early days—when he’d suddenly been thrust into a world of silence. He hadn’t learned to read yet when he lost his hearing. The gap in time between the loss and his learning sign language had been deeply frustrating. For a child used to communicating through words to suddenly be robbed of them meant tantrums were a daily occurrence. She suspected that was when Creed began to leave them behind in his mind. What would he do up there on his mountain if Loyal acted like this?

Biting her lip and fighting tears, she went back inside to finish cleaning up the kitchen. And what if, up there on Creed’s mountain, Loyal no longer felt the need to act like this?

Creed had never been so glad to be by himself in his cabin as he was that evening. He’d eaten some questionable leftovers without even warming them, and now he sat on the front steps sharpening a hoe. He was alone and grateful for it. At least that was what he told himself. Being with Delphy and Loyal for several days had been good—he should probably do that more often—but he needed to keep up with his work on the mountain. And it wouldn’t do to get used to the comforts of home.

He’d really wanted to bring Loyal with him. He could teach the boy some things and maybe he could learn some more of that hand-talk himself. But Delphy had always been overprotective and that hadn’t changed one iota. They’d argued about it plenty when Loyal first lost his hearing. Creed wanted to let the boy fend for himself, to spend time with kids his own age. But Delphy could hardly stand to let the boy out of her sight. It was another reason he’d come up on the mountain. When a man’s wife didn’t trust him alone with his own son, it got hard to stay married. And he’d been raised to stay married.

Of course, Delphy wasn’t the only one who didn’t trust Creed alone with Loyal. If he were honest, it had been a relief when he realized she wouldn’t let him make such a devastating mistake with their son ever again.

He took the sharpened hoe out to the garden and began chopping weeds with a vengeance. He’d go check his ginseng patches in the morning. It was still too soon to harvest, but he could make sure no one else had dug the valuable roots and double-check how many were likely for digging. Lost in thought, he jerked his head up when he heard something foreign to the sounds of the mountain all around him. Might have been a deer or a bear, but he suspected the sound was human. He’d left his rifle in the cabin, and while he doubted he’d need it, his fingers itched to hold something more threatening than a hoe. He continued working but kept his eyes on the leafy trail leading to the cabin. Soon the figure of a man emerged from the poplar and rhododendron.

It was that Earl fella from the sheriff’s office. He was huffing and puffing as he climbed the trail. Creed guessed scouting land for the government must not require the man to walk very far or fast. He leaned on his hoe and watched.

As Earl topped the trail, he rubbed a forearm across his sweaty brow then wiped it on his shirt, leaving a dark smear. He looked up and spotted Creed, his weary eyes brightening. “Man, I’m glad to find you. Wasn’t sure I was on the right trail.” He plodded toward the porch and flopped down. “Got any water?”

Creed propped his hoe against the corner of the porch and fetched a bucket with a dipper. Earl scooped up some water and gulped it down. Then he dumped another dipperful over his head and slung water like a dog. “Man, that feels good. Didn’t realize you were so high up.”

“What brings you all this way?” Creed asked, crossing his arms.

“I was hoping you’d listen to me better than that sheriff down in Beverly. I don’t think he’s taking my partner being killed near as serious as he should.”

“Sheriff’s a friend of mine. Always seemed to me he listened real good.”

“Yeah, that’s because you’re not an out-of-towner here to change things.” He emphasized the word as if they were all heathens afraid of innovation.

“Virgil embraces change just fine,” Creed said. He thought to mention the ballistics business but decided that might be giving something away. “What have you got to say that he’s not hearing?”

Earl slicked his wet hair back. “He’s not pushing people hard enough. It’s like he doesn’t understand how important it is to find out not just who shot Eddie, but why.”

“Virgil’s been doing a fine job for almost a decade now. I’m betting he knows more about how to handle folks around here than you do.” Creed wasn’t sure what this fellow thought he could—or should—do.

“Thing is, I’ve reported this to the home office, and they might send a man out here to look into things.” Earl started cracking his knuckles one by one as if he didn’t realize he was doing it. “I’d hate for them to think things weren’t being handled right and decide to take over the investigation.” He shrugged. “That’d be embarrassing for your friend.”

Creed couldn’t get a read on this fellow. First, he didn’t think Virgil was doing a good job, and then he suggested he wanted Virgil to look good for whoever the Feds might send.

“Virgil can handle whoever shows up. And if they did take over the investigation, seems like that’d be taking things serious enough.”

Earl stood and moved back and forth, head down, kneading his fingers. “You don’t want those federal boys messing around in your business, trust me. Virgil needs to turn up some answers and quick.” He stopped and glared at Creed. “Seems like if you really were his friend, you’d be down there helping him, not up here hiding out.”

Creed jerked his head back a notch. “I’m not hiding out. Virgil didn’t need me anymore. Anyway, I’ve got work to do.”

“Yeah, well, if it had been someone you knew who got killed, I bet you’d still be down there doing everything you could to figure things out.”

Creed wet his lips and picked up his hoe. “Reckon it’s time for you to leave.”

Earl eyed the hoe and raised both hands. “Yeah, yeah, I’m going. Hope you rest easy up here on this mountain where you don’t have to worry about anybody else’s troubles.” He headed back toward the trail. “Just remember there’s a man dead before you lay your head on your pillow tonight.”

Creed watched him go, then kicked the water bucket, making it slosh. He still didn’t know what the man had been playing at, but when he accused Creed of hiding . . . well, he might have been closer to the truth than Creed cared to admit.