seventeen

Michael was slowing them down. He’d insisted on bringing an oversized ax, along with a Boy Scout haversack containing who knew what. He’d fallen behind, and when Loyal risked a look back at him, he saw that the older boy was dragging the ax, sweat staining his shirt. It was a hot day, the hillside steep. Plus, they were pushing through the underbrush and thickets rather than taking the more obvious trails.

Rebecca and Loyal exchanged a look that spoke volumes between them. They waited for Michael to catch up.

“Are you sure you need that heavy ax?” Rebecca asked.

“What do you know about it?” Michael demanded. “Axes are important for all kinds of things. Chopping wood, building a shelter—shoot, we could even use it for protection if we had to.” He drew up even with them and puffed his chest out. “Probably the most important thing we have out here in the wild.” He sank to the ground beneath a huge tulip poplar. “Guess you guys needed a rest, huh?”

Loyal shrugged and sat down, as well. He figured even if Father or the sheriff were looking for them, they had a good head start.

“Where are we going anyway?” Michael asked.

Loyal pointed up the mountain. Michael snorted. “That doesn’t tell us anything. Do you even know where you’re going?”

Loyal nodded, trying to look confident. He’d once heard Father talk about an old sheep pen near a mountain bald. Apparently there was a rock overhang, and back in the old days farmers had built a pen out of rocks and brush to create a shelter. Father had given him a rough idea of where it was, and ever since they started out, Loyal had noticed puffy clouds near the horizon that drew him on. He told himself he wasn’t following the clouds exactly, yet it felt as if they were pointing him in the right direction.

“How much farther?” Michael asked.

Loyal shrugged and made the sign for near, holding his bent hands apart and moving them close together. Though he wasn’t sure that the place was nearby, he figured it would keep Michael moving.

The older boy rolled his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rebecca tilted her head. “I think he’s saying we’re getting close. Like his hands are getting close to each other.” Loyal smiled and nodded.

Michael pursed his lips. “If it’s close, maybe I’ll just hide the ax here and come back for it later. You know, once we’re sure about where we’re going.”

“Good idea,” Rebecca answered quickly. She and Loyal exchanged a glance.

“Right, then,” Michael said, standing and dusting off the seat of his pants. “Better keep moving.” Loyal stood and set off in the direction he hoped would take them to their destination.

Creed lost precious time rounding Virgil up to drive out to the Westfall place. And when they got there, Roberta Tompkins, the cook and housekeeper, was the only one at home. They asked if she’d seen the kids. “Oh, they’re about the place somewheres. They always turn up when it’s time to eat.”

“And Hadden?” asked Virgil.

“Due back anytime now.” She squinted down the hill from the front porch. “Believe I see a dust cloud comin’. Probably him.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Tompkins. Would you keep any eye out for Creed’s boy, as well?” Virgil shifted his focus to the approaching automobile.

“The one what’s deaf?” she asked. Creed bit down on a retort. She harrumphed and mumbled as she turned back to the house. “Seems like it’d be smart to keep that one to home.” Creed clenched his hands and held his tongue.

They stood waiting as Hadden pulled up in front of the steps and climbed out of the car. “To what do I owe the pleasure,” he said with a sneer that made clear his utter lack of pleasure in seeing them standing there.

“We’re looking for Loyal and thought he might’ve come to see your young’uns,” Virgil said.

“Why would he do that?” Hadden walked past the two men and stood with his hand on the screen door. Creed wondered how much Virgil would share.

The sheriff hooked his thumbs in his belt. “Any chance your boy might’ve borrowed that Colt Peacemaker of yours?”

Hadden’s eyes narrowed. “You have a strange way of making conversation, Virgil. It’s a generally accepted practice to stick with one topic until it’s been exhausted. So, back to my original question, what would a deaf boy be doing with my children?”

Creed stepped forward. “That deaf boy is most likely trying to keep your kids out of trouble.”

Virgil held up a hand and motioned for Creed to take a step back. “Hadden, this is official police business, and you can either answer my questions here on your front porch or we can go down to my office and talk there.” He lowered his hand. “Shoot, we can go on up to the jail in Elkins if you want to get really serious about it.”

“Are you suggesting that you’re about to arrest me?” Hadden looked like he might burst into laughter. “It might be awkward having two men in custody for the same crime.”

“Oh, I can probably come up with a different crime if I need to.” Virgil sighed. “But I’d rather we just turn up those three kids and make sure they’re safe.”

“What makes you think they’re not safe?” Hadden finally seemed to be taking the sheriff seriously.

“I can’t tell you the whole of it, but there’s some new evidence in Eddie Minks’s shooting, and the kids are mixed up in it. Might be they’re scared and think their best bet is to try and hide.” Virgil nodded toward the house. “Roberta hasn’t seen them, and I’m wondering if they might’ve lit out.”

Creed wanted to grab Hadden by the lapels of his fancy coat and shake him until he realized that he was slowing them down. Keeping them from finding those kids. From finding Loyal.

Hadden frowned, slung open the door, and mounted the stairs. Virgil and Creed followed. Hadden entered what was clearly a boy’s room—Michael’s. He rummaged around a bit and turned. “His rucksack is gone. He took a fair amount of pride in that thing, claimed he was going to earn his way to Eagle Scout, but I never saw any evidence he was putting in the work.” Hadden uttered an oath. “If it were just Michael, I’d leave him to learn a hard lesson on his own, but if Rebecca is with him . . .” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair.

And Loyal, thought Creed, trying not to envision all the ways his boy could come to a bad end.

The sheep pen failed to meet Loyal’s expectations. And the expression on Rebecca’s face told him she wasn’t too sure about it either. Little more than a low rock overhang with rough stones scattered about, Loyal guessed it would be fine for sheep, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to crawl up under there. The old pen was near a bald, which he supposed would have offered grazing for the sheep. And there was a stream below. While they wouldn’t die of thirst, the hillside was steep. Scrambling up and down for water wasn’t going to be easy.

He was surprised when Michael dropped his pack and smiled. “Time to make camp,” he said. Was he actually pleased? He began unpacking his rucksack, extracting all sorts of items that drew Loyal as surely as the aroma of his mother’s cinnamon rolls.

Michael knelt down and began arranging the items on the ground. There was an official Boy Scout mess kit, all the pans nested together with the handle latching them in place. Next came an equally official-looking first-aid kit. Then a canteen, a flashlight, and finally a compass.

Without consciously thinking about it, Loyal knelt beside Michael. He watched the older boy lay out each item with something like reverence. Loyal reached out and lifted the compass. It was cool and weighty in his hand. He watched the needle spin until it found North. He glanced up to see Michael watching him through narrowed eyes.

“Gather wood for the fire,” Michael commanded. “And give me back my compass.”

Loyal nodded, handing the treasure over. He scrambled to his feet and began gathering sticks and small branches. Michael started placing stones to create a fire ring. And he must have sent his sister to fill the canteen, since she was scrambling down the hillside with its strap slung over her shoulder.

As the sun dropped in the western sky, the three sat cross-legged around a cheery fire. Loyal’s main contribution to the camp had been his matches, which Michael grudgingly admitted he hadn’t thought to bring, although he assured them he could have used a flint just as easily. It was a small triumph. Rebecca had brought along crackers, cheese, some apples, and several potatoes. Michael commandeered the food and portioned it out, saying they needed to make it last until they could set traps to maybe catch some rabbits or go fishing.

He buried a potato in the edge of the fire to roast and, using his official Boy Scout knife, cut and handed out slices of cheese for each of them to add to the crackers. Michael said they’d have the apples for breakfast. They ate without conversation, taking swigs of cool water from the canteen. Loyal thought it was one of the finer meals he’d ever enjoyed. As they ate the last of the soft, floury potato, he pulled out his Baby Ruth candy bar and allowed Michael to cut it into thirds. He took the middle piece, which had less chocolate. The sweetness on his tongue was wonderful. Satisfied, he leaned back on his hands and watched the last streaks of red fade from the sky.

Soon Michael banked the fire and said they should all “get some shut-eye.” Loyal could barely make out what he was saying in the flickering light of the fire. But it didn’t matter. He didn’t need anyone to suggest he get some sleep. The fear and excitement of the day had passed through him, leaving his spirit feeling wrung out. He folded his spare T-shirt to serve as a pillow and draped his flannel shirt over himself as he lay down near the fire. Michael and Rebecca shared his rucksack as their pillow, and she used the cloth she’d tied the food in as her blanket.

With the weariness of the day weighing down Loyal’s eyelids, he smiled. He’d rescued his friends. People thought that he couldn’t do much of anything just because he couldn’t hear. But he’d done this. He’d led the Westfall kids out of danger. His last thought before sleep took him was that Father would be proud.