fourteen

Morning dawned gray and wet. Creed made a simple breakfast and noted that Loyal was watching drops slide down the windows like he’d lost his last friend. Tapping him on the shoulder, he motioned for the boy to follow as he ducked out the back door.

They darted out to the shed with its boards weathered a silvery-gray. Creed flipped the wooden latch up and hustled inside, Loyal close on his heels. They both laughed as they shook off water. As he’d noted before, his son’s laugh sounded too loud and out of tune, but he was expecting it this time and decided he liked hearing the boy make noise. He stood and watched as Loyal looked around the small room with its bench, open window, and sloping roof that kept out most of the rain. Loyal’s eyes fairly sparkled as he looked a question at Creed.

“I’m no great craftsman, but I can knock together a table or a chair if I need to.”

Loyal nodded, picked up a piece of wood, and turned it in his hands.

“Your mother’s been wanting a pie safe. Thought it’d be a good project for a rainy day.”

Loyal’s face lit up. He made a thumbs-up sign with his right hand, planted the hand on the palm of his left, and moved both toward Creed with an expectant look.

Creed shook his head. “I’m not sure what that means. Can you say it? With your voice?”

Loyal’s eyes widened and he wet his lips. His eyes darted around and settled on Creed. He wet his lips again and spoke in a low, rough voice. “Help you?” he said, making the sign again.

Creed nodded with all the enthusiasm he could muster. He imitated the sign. “Yes, I want you to help me.” Loyal’s answering smile was so bright, Creed thought they could probably work by it into the night. He wrapped an arm around the boy’s shoulders and squeezed. Creed realized he was excited. Not only was he going to try to win his way back into his wife’s good graces, he was going to do it with his son at his side.

Loyal figured life didn’t get much better than this. The only thing missing was Mother, and once they gave her this cabinet they were making, he figured she’d be so pleased she’d want to be up here on the mountain with them. And maybe he wouldn’t have to go back to school in the fall. Maybe instead he could learn to dig ginseng and make things to sell. He’d learned plenty from books, and now he wanted to learn what Father had to teach him.

The rain tapered off late that afternoon, with sunlight peeking through the clouds and making the wet trees sparkle green and gold. Father motioned toward the door, and they both stepped out into the clean air to stretch and walk around a bit after working at the bench most of the day. Loyal lifted his arms high into the air and felt as though he could take flight. He grinned at Father to share his joy, but Father was looking down the path beyond the cabin, squinting as if he was trying to make something out. Loyal turned and saw the sheriff approaching. He liked the sheriff well enough, yet he wasn’t sure he wanted anyone butting into his time with Father.

“Hey there, Creed.” Virgil was close enough for Loyal to see what he was saying. The sheriff looked at him and nodded. “Loyal.” He smiled, grateful to have been included.

“You’re a long way from the office,” Father said.

“Heard a rumor Earl brought an interpreter in to question your boy.” The sheriff didn’t look happy, which pleased Loyal. He wasn’t happy about it either.

“Word does get around,” Father answered.

Sheriff White stepped up onto the porch and sat on a bench. Father leaned against a post. Loyal sat on the steps so he could keep an eye on both men. The sheriff glanced at him.

“Guess I was thinking you and the boy found that body together.” He waited, but Father didn’t reply. “Did I get that wrong?”

“He came and got me as soon as he found it.”

The sheriff’s lips shaped a word Loyal knew he wasn’t supposed to use. “Might’ve been nice to know that.”

“Yeah, well, didn’t seem all that important. The main thing was to let you know a man had been killed.”

The sheriff twisted his body toward Loyal. “You read lips good, don’t you?” Loyal nodded. “I need to know exactly what you saw that day.” Loyal just stared at him, his eyes wide. The sheriff took off his hat and rubbed his head. “Creed, can you interpret what the boy says?”

“Not much.”

“But his mother can. And that fella Earl brought in sure enough could. They’re raising Cain. Say if I don’t do a proper interview, they’re going to sic the federal boys on me. Fred Mason finally gave it up and went home so his wife could nurse him. Now Earl’s insisting Tom be present when I question the boy, so that nobody puts words in his mouth.” He paused. “So to speak.” He slapped his hat back on. “Not to mention the fact Otto’s trial has been moved up—supposed to start on Monday. Some folks are plenty happy to pin this killing on a German and be done with it. You’ve put me in a pickle here.”

“Nobody’s questioning Loyal.” Although Loyal couldn’t hear Father’s words, it was like he could feel them. A rumble in his chest. It felt good.

Sheriff White stabbed a finger toward Father. “You don’t get to have a say in this. I’ll be questioning him, and I want you, Earl, and Tom there in the room with me when I do it. Probably bring Bud in too, since he’s the only one who doesn’t have a dog in this fight.” The sheriff stood and shook his head, mournful, like a hound. “I’ll expect you two in my office at ten a.m. tomorrow. Think you can manage that?”

Father looked like a thundercloud about to burst, but he gave a quick nod. “He can’t tell you anything you don’t already know.”

“Good,” the sheriff said. “Because if he can, we’re all in a world of hurt.”

That evening, Loyal could tell Father was drawn deep inside himself. He hadn’t attempted to communicate at supper at all. Now they sat on either side of a kerosene lamp, Loyal punching holes in a piece of tin that would go in Mother’s pie safe, Father smoking his pipe and staring at nothing Loyal could see.

Finally, Father knocked the ashes from his pipe, leaned close to Loyal, and looked deep into his eyes. “Virgil will ask you some hard questions in the morning. Is there anything I should know before then?”

Loyal swallowed past what felt like a rock in his throat. He’d been wanting to tell Father everything. He guessed now was the time. He nodded his head while making the sign for yes.

He saw Father take a breath and puff his cheeks out. “Hang on,” he said. He fetched a pad of paper and handed it to Loyal. Then he found a pencil and sharpened it with his penknife. He blew on the tip, then gave the pencil to Loyal. “Tell me.”

Creed could’ve kicked himself. It was his fault he hadn’t asked Loyal if there were any details he hadn’t shared. He just assumed the boy would have told him anything important. But why would he? And how? It wasn’t like Creed had made a point of communicating with the boy beyond a few basics. He’d been a fool, and Virgil had caught him out.

He watched his son furrow his brow in thought and then press the pencil to the pad. The scratching of lead against rough paper sounded too loud. How strange that Loyal couldn’t hear that sound at all. After a minute, Loyal turned the pad so Creed could read it.

Michael and Rebecca were there.

Creed felt his eyebrows shoot into his hairline. Hadden Westfall’s kids? Why would they have been there? He looked at Loyal. “When you found the dead man?”

Before. They were running away.

Oh, this was bad. Creed closed his eyes and tried to hide the emotions he imagined were scrawled across his face. Especially plain for someone as aware of body language as Loyal. “Do you know what they were doing?”

Loyal hesitated, then shrugged. He wrote, Maybe, they saw and got scared.

Creed smoothed his mustache while he pondered the situation. He could come up with several explanations for what the Westfall kids might’ve seen and why they hadn’t come forward to tell. None of them were good. If they had seen their father—or Otto, for that matter—they’d definitely be afraid to tell, and for good reason.

“What else did you see?” he asked. The boy hesitated as though holding something back. Creed laid a hand on his shoulder. “You can tell me, no matter what.” His stomach knotted. He really hadn’t earned this level of trust with his son. Not yet.

Loyal worried his lower lip with his teeth, then plied his pencil once more. Michael hid something in a tree.

For the first time Creed understood what folks meant when they said their blood ran cold. What could the boy have hidden? Evidence? Virgil was going to be livid. If it was something important, then Creed had been complicit in keeping it from the authorities. “What was it?” he asked.

Loyal shrugged and wrote, Too far away.

“You think you could find it again?”

Loyal nodded this time. Creed wanted to go right then. Wanted to march down to the river and find out just how badly he’d messed up. But it was dark, so this would have to wait until morning. He prayed that it was nothing more than a girly magazine or a pack of cigarettes the kids had gotten ahold of. Maybe it didn’t have anything to do with the murder and he was worrying himself over nothing. He forced a smile. “We’ll go see if we can find it in the morning before we go into town.” He squeezed Loyal’s shoulder. “Now get some sleep. We’ll head out right after first light.”

Loyal let out a long breath, and his shoulders sagged. It occurred to Creed that the boy had been carrying the weight of what he knew around with him for a long time now. If nothing else, it was a good thing that the pair of them could bear the weight together of whatever was to come.

Loyal slept deeply and woke eager to try to find whatever it was Michael had hidden. It had been such a relief to tell Father the truth. And he hadn’t been angry. Not one bit. Loyal smiled. Father would take care of everything. And if Michael or Rebecca had been involved with the shooting, Father would help them. He’d make sure everything came out all right.

After a cold breakfast, they set out for the river as the sun crept over the mountain. The morning was fresh and cooler after the previous day’s rain. A fog rose up before them and didn’t dissipate until they reached the trail along the river. Then, as the air cleared, they slowed so Loyal could keep an eye out for the right spot. But after an hour of walking back and forth, he still couldn’t find the stump. And they were expected in town soon.

Loyal began to feel anxious. What if he couldn’t find it again? What if Father thought he’d been making his story up? What if Michael had already come back for whatever he’d hidden? And maybe, worst of all, they found it and it was nothing? He wanted to find something that would impress Father, that would be important. He felt sweat break out and swiped his face with the back of his hand.

A weight settled on his shoulder, and he turned to look into Father’s eyes. “Take your time, son. We can always come back if we need to.”

Loyal inhaled deeply and let the air out. He nodded his head. Then he had an idea. He made the sign for river. Father seemed to catch on.

“You want to see if you can spot it from the water? Where you were that day?”

Loyal nodded eagerly. He hurried along the trail until he found the spot where he’d tugged dry clothes onto his wet body. Taking off his shoes and rolling up his pant legs, he waded out, picking his way over and around dark rocks. The water felt deliciously cold, but he focused on the task at hand. He had to find that stump. Turning, he scanned the river’s edge, letting his eyes trace the route of the trail he knew was there. As he did, his memory unfurled, replaying what he’d seen that day. Movement. Then Michael . . . with Rebecca following behind. Michael was pressing her to hurry and . . . Wait. Loyal closed his eyes for a moment, watching the scene inside his head. There had been something else . . . someone else?

His eyes flew open, and when he saw the stump, he took an involuntary step forward, tripped, and plunged into the water. He came up sputtering and there was Father, slogging through the water in his shoes to help. Loyal laughed, and Father didn’t flinch at the sound, just threw his own head back and laughed with him.

Then Loyal grinned and pointed, jabbing the air over and over, too excited to consider what else he’d just remembered. Father looked too and gave him an answering grin when he saw the stump that looked a heck of a lot like a bear sitting in the sun. They both made for the bank and picked their way through the scrub to stand beside the remains of a tree.

Creed had imagined twenty different reasons for the Westfall kids to hide something in a rotted-out stump. Laughing with his son over his wet shoes had been just the relief valve he needed. Now he thought he could handle whatever they found calmly. Shoot, they might not find anything. Michael could have retrieved whatever he stashed there by now. And if there wasn’t any evidence, well, Virgil didn’t need to know any of this. He took a deep breath and bent down to take a closer look.

And saw the barrel of a gun catch the light with a bawdy wink.

Loyal reached for it, but Creed caught his arm. He held up his other hand in a wait gesture. Should he go get Virgil to come see this for himself, or should he just fish it out and take the gun into town? Which option was worse? Because they were both bad. If he actually took a salary for being “deputized,” Virgil would surely fire him for this.

Creed found a stick and stuck it through the trigger guard so he could lift the handgun from its resting place. Leaves and debris fell away, revealing a . . . Colt Peacemaker. Creed cursed before he could catch himself, and for the first time ever he was grateful Loyal couldn’t hear him.

Turning to his son, Creed made sure the boy was reading his lips. “You’re my witness, Loyal, to finding this gun here. He won’t be pleased, but you’ll have to tell Sheriff White you saw me fish this gun out of the stump and bring it to town.”

Loyal paled, and his eyes widened. He shook his head vehemently, grunting the word “no” over and over. Creed had no idea what the problem could be. He touched Loyal’s shoulder, but the boy jerked away. He patted his pockets as though looking for something, then grabbed his own stick and smoothed a spot in the dirt path. No show sheriff, he wrote.

“Loyal, we have to turn this evidence in to Virgil. It could be important to figuring out who killed that man. Otto goes on trial Monday morning—this could tell us whether he’s guilty or not.”

Loyal screeched in frustration, rubbed out his words, and wrote TROUBLE.

Creed nodded. “Sure, there’s all kinds of trouble here. That’s why we’re going to turn this over to Virgil.”

Loyal stomped his foot and reached for the gun, but Creed spun away before he could get it. “What are you doing?” he demanded. Bright tears stood in Loyal’s eyes. He began signing so rapidly that Creed wouldn’t have been able to keep up even if he knew more than a handful of signs. “Son, I don’t understand.”

The boy hung his head, then looked up with pained eyes. He curved the index finger on each hand and hooked them together, reversing the position repeatedly.

“I’m sorry, Loyal. I don’t know why you don’t want me to give this gun to the sheriff. Maybe you’re afraid Michael and Rebecca will get into trouble.” A tear broke free and trickled down the boy’s cheek as he nodded his head. He made the sign with his hooked fingers some more.

Creed wanted to put his arm around his son, but he was afraid Loyal would try to grab the gun again. For just a moment he contemplated flinging it into the river. Then Loyal would be happy, and he wouldn’t have to face Virgil. But no. He couldn’t do that. One man’s life had been taken and another’s hung in the balance. “Loyal, they’re not going to get into trouble. Shoot, they might be in danger even now with whatever they know. Virgil will look out for them.” He turned and took a step toward town, then motioned for Loyal to follow. The boy came along as though headed for his own funeral.