twelve

Loyal was as happy as a hog in mud. Father had been home for a week now. Though he claimed he was sticking around to lend Sheriff White a hand, he mostly spent his time around the house. They’d worked in the garden, and even though it was a task that fell pretty far down Loyal’s list of favorite things to do, hoeing weeds with Father was all right. They’d also done little jobs like fixing a door that wouldn’t open all the way because it scraped the floor. Now Loyal knew how to take a door off its hinges and shave the bottom with a plane. They’d even gone fishing, and Mother had fried the perch they caught to a golden brown. And Father learned some more signs. Loyal guessed he was about as happy as he’d ever been.

At least he was so long as he didn’t think too much about Michael and Rebecca, and poor Otto who was still locked up. Loyal hadn’t written another note for Father, not so much because he was worried about what Michael might do to him as because he was worried for Rebecca. He didn’t want to bring her any more trouble. Still, when he let thoughts of the murder and Otto—who might not have done it—linger, the itch to tell his father what he knew grew stronger.

It was the first week of August when Father announced that he needed to go check on the cabin—to see if the critters had left anything in the garden and just to make sure everything was all right. Mother frowned.

“Now, don’t get that look, Delphy. I’ll be back for supper.” He stroked his mustache and winked at her. “Might even bring you something special I tried growing this year.”

Mother looked at him sideways. “It’s been good having you here. I suppose you just reminded me that it’s not a permanent situation.”

Father puffed his cheeks. “Well, when the ginseng comes in, I’ll sure enough have to go back up on the mountain.” He glanced at Loyal. “But maybe I won’t need to stay too awful long.”

Loyal saw a light in his mother’s eyes he’d never noticed before. Maybe it was because they were wet, like she was caught between crying and laughing. “I’ll be praying that it’s so,” she said.

Can I go? Loyal signed.

Mother shook her head and spoke as she signed back. No. I’m going over to help Mildred with her new baby, and I need you to clean out the root cellar.

Loyal dropped his shoulders and threw his head back to exaggerate his exasperation. Cleaning the cellar when he could be up on the mountain. Father grinned and gave him a gentle punch on the shoulder. “At least it’ll be cool down in the cellar.” Loyal rolled his eyes.

The cellar dug into the hillside out back was cool. It was also full of empty jars that needed to be tucked into crates and hauled back to the kitchen, so Mother could wash them for her canning. And there were some potatoes that had clearly rotted. Loyal made a face. He might not be able to hear, but he sure could smell. He set to work, figuring that if he did a good job he might at least earn some praise from his parents.

It was on his fourth trip across the yard that he saw two strangers on the back porch. One was peering through the screen door. He stepped closer and saw that one of them was the man who’d talked to Father the day they came back from the Westfall place.

When the first man saw Loyal, he waved and signed Are you Loyal? Loyal was so astonished, he nearly dropped the crate. He set it down and stepped closer. He hesitated, then signed Who are you?

The first man smiled, signing My name is Tom. Nice to meet you. He pointed at the second man. This is Earl.

I’m Loyal. Then he froze. He had a dozen questions for this man who signed so smoothly. But he didn’t know where to begin. The man seemed to sense his hesitation. We’re here about the man you found. Earl thought it would be easier for you to talk to me.

Loyal frowned and made a rolling motion in front of his mouth with his index finger to ask if the man was hearing. He signed yes, patted his chest, and echoed the motion.

What do you want to know about the dead man? Loyal signed.

Tom pointed to a bench on the back porch. Can we sit? Loyal guessed that would be okay. He shrugged and sat. Tom sat next to him, angled so he could sign more easily. Earl leaned against a post and watched. He made Loyal uneasy.

Tom launched into an explanation of how he’d been brought in to talk to Loyal as part of the investigation because it would be hard for the sheriff to ask him questions. Tom said it was important that they get Loyal’s firsthand account of what he witnessed that day without any barriers to communication.

Loyal darted a glance toward Earl. Who’s he? he asked.

The dead man was his friend. He’s very concerned. Loyal felt a niggling doubt. Why hadn’t the sheriff come? Wouldn’t his father know about something like this?

Why isn’t my father here? Or Sheriff White?

Tom smiled. They’re busy. But it’s okay. I’m here, and Earl will be our witness.

Loyal could see that Tom was speaking as he signed—for Earl’s benefit, he supposed.

I think I should wait for Father, he signed.

Okay. We can talk about other things. Do you like to fish?

Loyal hesitated. It had been so long since he signed with anyone other than Mother. Soon he found himself telling Tom about fishing, his favorite subjects in school, how he wished they had a dog but maybe it was better they didn’t since he was away so much of the time, though it would be nice for Mother to have company, too.

Tom signed fluidly, asking questions, watching Loyal’s hands fly. Without meaning to, Loyal shared about Rebecca and how, even though she didn’t sign, she seemed to understand much of what he wanted to say.

That’s good, Tom signed. Then he got a sly look. Is she pretty?

Loyal felt his face flush and ducked his head. He shrugged and signed I guess so.

Tom winked. Then he looked serious. Is she Hadden Westfall’s daughter?

Yes.

And it was their land where that man was killed. It must have been awful to find a dead body.

Without pausing Loyal agreed that it had been. I’d never seen a dead person before.

Tom signed And he’d been shot. Terrible.

Yes, he’d been shot twice. Loyal pointed to his own body to show the locations of the wounds. He gave an exaggerated shudder. Rebecca saw the man, too.

What else did you see? Who else? Tom signed, an urgency to his motions.

Loyal had forgotten Earl was there. In his mind he was back at the edge of the river on that hot July afternoon. Until this moment, he’d forgotten the smell of the blood. Now it came back to him sharp and unexpected. He had seen fat bottle flies buzzing around and landing on the dead man, their metallic blue-and-green bodies flashing in the sun. The man had been so pale, and his eyes were wide open. Loyal squeezed his own eyes shut as if that would block the images in his mind.

He raised his hands and signed I saw—

He didn’t sense anyone approaching, just felt the boards of the porch shudder as Father ran toward them and grabbed a handful of Tom’s shirt, yanking him to his feet. He didn’t try to follow what anyone was saying but knew without a doubt they were all angry—Tom, Earl, but most of all, Father. He shrank back on the bench, hands clenched in his lap, and waited for the fury to die down.

After Tom and Earl scurried from the yard, Father knelt in front of Loyal. It was only then he realized his face was wet. He was crying. Father held his arms out, and Loyal crashed against his chest. He was afraid Father was angry with him for talking to those men, but more than that he was shaken by how vivid his memory of finding the dead man was. He’d been so focused on his parents, on the joy of having them both under one roof, that he’d pushed what he’d seen to some dark place where he didn’t have to look at it. Tom, with his signing and his interest, had flung the door to that memory wide open. And now Loyal felt sick.

Father eased him back just far enough to look into his eyes. “Are you okay?” Loyal tried to nod, but the tears fell faster, and he thought he might throw up. Father drew him close again. He smelled like pipe tobacco and sweat. It helped to drive the memory of the smell of blood from Loyal’s nostrils. Father patted his back and eased to a sitting position on the bench, pulling Loyal in tight beside him. It was too hot to sit like this. Loyal could feel sweat prickling his skin where they were pressed close. But he didn’t care. The only thing that would be better is if Mother were pressed equally close on his other side.

Father reached down and tapped Loyal on the knee so that he looked up. “Those men aren’t working with the sheriff. They were hoping you’d tell them something more than Virgil has.” Father firmed the line of his mouth. “It makes me think Earl has something to hide.” He eased away a notch. Loyal felt his face drying, even in the August humidity. “You don’t have to talk to anyone you don’t want to.” He frowned. “Even if they can talk with their hands like you do.”

Loyal gave a jerky nod, his neck hitching. He hadn’t particularly wanted to tell Tom about the murder. It had just been so wonderful to sign with someone new. He felt tears starting to rise again but quickly pushed them back. He squared his shoulders and managed a small smile. Father slapped him gently on the back. “That’s my boy. Now, what say you and me put some supper together and surprise your mother?”

This time Loyal managed a grin. That sounded like a fine idea.

She was later getting home than she’d hoped, but Mildred had been desperate over the way her baby would hardly nurse. Spending so much time by herself with Loyal at school and Creed up the mountain had left Delphy time to become, well, not a midwife exactly, but an expert on caring for infants. Seemed like there was always a new mother in need of her help for one thing or another. She’d longed for more children, but after what happened with Loyal . . . As she thought back on those days now, it occurred to her that the way Creed acted, it was almost as if he didn’t trust himself to be a father ever again. She wondered if she could convince him otherwise.

She wiped the back of her sweaty neck with a handkerchief as she hurried on, steering her thoughts toward home. Supper would be late—that was what she should be thinking about.

But when she stepped through the back door into the kitchen, she saw her husband and son at the stove with aprons tied around their middles. Creed turned toward her with a shy smile while Loyal beamed—although there was something in his eyes . . .

“Thought we’d go ahead and rustle up some grub,” Creed said. “We fried up some cabbage along with taters and onions.”

Delphy smiled and undid the top button of her blouse to let the air reach her neck. She saw Creed’s gaze stray there and was surprised to feel a flush that had nothing to do with the day’s heat. “Smells good,” she said. “Just let me wash up.”

She ruffled Loyal’s hair and kept an eagle eye on him while keeping her tone light. Something wasn’t sitting right with her boy. In the lavatory she peered at herself in the small glass. She looked tired and no wonder. Splashing water over her cheeks, she took her hair down and rewound it into tidy damp strands. Not that she cared how she looked. Oh, who was she trying to fool? No matter how frustrated she got with that man standing in her kitchen, she still hoped he thought her pretty. She gave herself a stern look in the mirror before returning to the kitchen.

“Now, before we sit down to this fine feast, I have a surprise!” Creed had one arm behind his back. He whipped it around with a flourish and showed them a melon with a dark green skin. He winked at Loyal and whacked the fruit with a butcher knife, splitting it open with a crack to expose its glistening red flesh. “Watermelon!”

Loyal clapped his hands, and they all dove in, enjoying the sweet fruit and getting their fingers and faces sticky. It was a delicious surprise, but Delphy could see that as much as Loyal was enjoying it, he was quieter than usual—more still. They ate supper, and Delphy praised her son and husband mightily for how delicious it was. Finally, she sent Loyal off to bathe and change into his pajamas. As soon as he left the room, she turned on Creed.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“How about I make us some coffee?” he said.

She pierced him with a look. “Talk while you do it.”

Creed took a deep breath and began adding ground coffee to the percolator. “Earl—the partner of the fella that got killed—found someone who talks sign language. The two of them paid a visit here today and got Loyal to tell about the murder.”

She stood from her chair at the kitchen table. “And you let them?”

“No, I did not. They showed up when he was here alone.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. “If you think you’re going to blame me for not being here, I don’t want to hear it. You’re hardly ever here and I was only gone—”

Creed stepped closer and put his hands on her shoulders. “I would never blame you. You’re the best mother in the world to Loyal.” His words were an unexpected balm. “I tend to think Earl would have found a way to talk to the boy alone regardless.” He gently massaged her tense shoulders, and she felt the muscles ease. “At least I came along before too much damage was done.”

She sank from beneath his hands, limp now, and collapsed back into her chair. “Damage? What kind of damage?”

Creed sat as well and took one of her hands in his, gently kneading her fingers and palm. She tried to stifle the delicious shiver that coursed through her body. “I think it brought that day back for him a little too clearly. He was pretty upset when I showed up.” Creed sighed and laced his fingers through hers. “He was never really questioned by the sheriff. I let Virgil think I was the one who found the body—just never corrected him. I thought it would be better if Loyal didn’t get pulled in too deep.”

Delphy tried to sort through what she was feeling. Anger that those men had upset Loyal. Sadness that she hadn’t been here to stop it. Delight to be sitting hand in hand with her husband. And desire for this man who was trying to take care of them . . . at last. She slipped her hand from his—finding it all too much at once. “Loyal can hold his own. He’s smart and strong.” She bit her lip. “He’s had to be.”

Now it was Creed’s turn to read into her words. “And I haven’t been around to protect him.”

Delphy began folding and refolding a cloth napkin. “There’s some truth to that.” She gave a dry laugh. “Of course, I probably try to protect him too much.” Thank goodness Creed had the sense to keep his peace. “Do you think Earl and the sign language interpreter will be back?” she asked.

Creed stroked his mustache. “Not here I don’t think. But I wonder if they might try to get Virgil to really question Loyal. And if they get the federal boys involved, it might make Virgil look bad—him not having done it sooner.” He stood and lit the stove under the percolator. The smell of sulfur and coffee perfumed the air. “What if I took him up on the mountain for a while?”

Delphy stiffened. Not this again. “What do you mean take him up on the mountain?”

Creed pulled mugs down from the cabinet, his back to her. “You know, spend some time up on Rich Mountain. We could do some fishing, pick the garden. Shoot, I could even teach him to hunt ginseng with me.” He set the mugs on the counter and glanced at her, hope glowing in his eyes.

“Would he be safe?” Her voice sounded so small.

Creed stepped closer and knelt beside her. “Safer than here, I think. Safe as I know how to make him.” She could see it cost him to admit that he couldn’t absolutely guarantee their son’s well-being. “I need to do better by him. I’m finally realizing that.”

She turned her face away from him. “Why didn’t you realize it sooner?” She didn’t mean to chastise him but couldn’t help herself. “We’ve needed you for so long, and now you’re going to take Loyal away from me.”

Creed reached up and tilted her face back toward him. “You could come, too,” he whispered. She could see the longing in his eyes—the desire that matched her own. She began to lean into him, pulled by a force she’d felt since she first set eyes on him. Then she stood, making the chair jump and stutter against the floor.

“Take him. You’re right. He’ll be safer up on the mountain with you.” She moved to leave the room, then spun around and looked at him as if she were offering a condemned man one last chance at redemption. “At least he’d better be.” Then, tears in her eyes, she hurried up the stairs to the room that had belonged to her alone for a long time now.