thirty-five

Creed was glad to have Loyal with him up on the mountain again. They finished the pie safe and dug the last of the ginseng for the season. Creed showed Loyal how to start drying the roots. He even planned to give his son part of the profits this year. But as much as he enjoyed the boy’s company, there was a reserve that felt new. A holding back that he could swear hadn’t been there before.

“If we can get this pie safe down to Hadden’s place, he’ll bring it on into town for us in his car.” Loyal nodded and flexed an arm to show that he could help carry the small piece of furniture. “Glad there’s a good trail and it’s downhill all the way.” Creed used his hands to talk more than he used to. It wasn’t quite sign language, but then again it was in a way.

Loyal smiled without giving it his full attention. He’d been that way for two days now. Creed suspected the boy was dreading his return to school but that couldn’t be helped. He needed to learn as much as he could for as long as he could. Shoot, that was why they’d dug all this ginseng—so there’d be money to pay for the schooling.

Creed wanted to tell his son how much he’d miss him. How much he loved him and how proud he was of the man he was growing into. But the words felt awkward, and better words escaped him. Maybe Delphy could help him find the right ones. He warmed at the thought of his wife. This fall he wouldn’t be living up on the mountain. He’d be at home with the woman he loved. And come Christmas, Loyal would join them and they’d truly be a family. And who knew? Maybe next year the boy could go to school in town.

Cheered by the thought, he pushed his son’s moodiness away. He waved to get Loyal’s attention. “I was thinking we’d stay one more night. If you want, though, we can head on down the mountain and surprise your mother.” Loyal smiled and nodded.

Creed was glad but also felt a pang. Maybe Loyal didn’t want to linger here alone with him. He’d noticed how the boy looked at Hadden’s daughter. She was a pretty little thing and was always kind to Loyal. Did his son have a crush on the girl? Well, he’d be fourteen come spring. He guessed it was time.

“Want to see if the Westfall kids can come for Sunday supper?” he asked. This time Loyal’s smile climbed all the way to his eyes. He nodded. “Say, they might like to come to the fair with us, too. It starts next week.” He gave Loyal a playful punch on the arm. “Seems like I said something about you going around with your friends instead of old folks like your mom and me.” Loyal flushed, and Creed figured he had it right about Rebecca.

“Alright then,” he said, clapping his hands. “Let’s get this pie safe down the mountain.” Loyal leapt to his feet ready to go. Creed laughed. Maybe all his son was suffering from was the effects of his first case of puppy love.

While Father talked to Mr. Westfall, Loyal and his friends sat on the front steps. There was an amazing view from here all the way down to the Tygart River, but Loyal didn’t have time for gazing at the lush mountain landscape. Michael told Reverend Harriman that he would play the role of David Hart, the young man who’d led Union troops into Confederate-friendly Beverly in July of 1861 to gain control of the Staunton-Parkersburg Turnpike. The deciding battle had been fought on the farm where David’s father lived, not far from where they sat. Although David hadn’t been too popular at the time, he was a local hero now.

“Here’s the script,” Michael said, handing it to Loyal. “There really aren’t that many lines—it’s mostly just acted out.” Loyal nodded as he scanned the pages. “We’re practicing it tomorrow evening at church. Can you come and see how it goes?”

Loyal signed yes, then swallowed hard as he looked over the part he was going to have to act out without much practice. It wasn’t too hard, but the magnitude of what he planned to do was becoming real for him. If this went wrong, Father would be embarrassed. As would Mother. And he might even get his friends in trouble. He looked at them with worried eyes.

Trouble? he signed. Rebecca watched and bit her lip. “You’re asking if we . . . oh”—she lit up—“trouble. You want to know if we’ll get into trouble.”

Michael got a wicked grin on his face. “Maybe. But it’ll be worth it.” Loyal looked at Rebecca, who signed don’t worry with a radiant smile. Loyal threw an arm around each of his friends and gave them a hug. He figured, whatever happened, it was already worth it.

Soon after Creed and Loyal got back to the house in town, Virgil turned up. Loyal had already disappeared into his room with a roll of paper that Creed suspected Rebecca had given him. Maybe his boy would have a pen pal while he was away at school this year. That would be good for him.

Virgil settled himself in a wing chair and jumped right into what he had to say. “Sam Hacker didn’t make it.” Virgil slid both hands over his shiny pate and flung them to the side like he was getting rid of something. “Bad ending, but I’m glad he decided to set the record straight before he died. Seems Clyde had it in mind to sell out to the government—thought he could give his boys a new start somewhere else. Sam didn’t want to lose the ‘family business.’ Then on top of that, he learned Eddie and Earl were planning to cheat Clyde on the deal.” He heaved a sigh. “He offered to meet those two boys and lead ’em out to the homeplace so that Clyde could sign on the dotted line. Guess if Eddie had turned up that morning, they’d both be dead and the bodies washed down the Tygart somewhere.”

“How’s Clyde taking it?”

“Who knows? He’s tougher than mule hide and doesn’t much yammer on about anything. Said they’d have a family burial out there on the mountain. I took that to mean I wasn’t invited.”

Delphy stood in the doorway to the kitchen. “I’ll make a pound cake to take to Bernie.”

Virgil laughed softly and shook his head. “Julia’s taking a pot of chicken and dumplings. I never know what to do or say in a situation like this, but the women know, don’t they?”

Creed nodded. “So, what happens now?”

“Well, there’s no one to lock up for murder, but Judge Kline had more than enough evidence to throw Earl in jail for the scheme those two were running to skim money off the new community project. The federal boys are coming for him Monday.” Virgil grunted. “Those fellers don’t mess around. I’m betting that’s the last we see of Earl for a long time. Maybe ever.”

“Never did like the way he acted,” Creed said. “Guess he’ll pay for the trouble he caused, though.”

“Eddie Minks sure as heck paid for it.”

Creed sobered. “Yeah. I suppose we’ve all done some things we’re not proud of after the fact. It’s a wonder God lets us get away with it.” He shifted on the sofa, thinking of the way he’d run from his family.

Virgil sighed and sank back into the chair. “In my experience, God doesn’t let us get away with anything. He just leaves us to make our own beds and then lets us lay in ’em . . . whether we like it or not.”

The two men sat in silence for a few moments. Creed was busy pondering his own shortcomings, and maybe Virgil was doing the same.

Giving himself a shake, Virgil stood and turned to Creed. “Delphy entering anything in the fair?”

“She’s got some preserves ready to go, and I think she’s doing an apple pie.” Creed stood as well.

“Julia gave up on the pie contest,” Virgil said, “but she sewed a dress I think might win.” He gave a wry smile. “’Course, I’m partial to just about anything that woman does.”

Creed glanced toward the kitchen where he could hear Delphy making her cake for the Hackers. “Women are a wonder,” he added.

“You finally figure that out?” Virgil slapped him on the back and saw himself out the door.

Creed watched his friend disappear down the street before grabbing his hat and heading for the Westfall place. He had an idea.

Loyal joined in with the rest of the kids on Friday afternoon as they practiced the pageant for the Battle of Rich Mountain. Reverend Harriman said he could be a Union soldier following Michael and his buddy Chuck, who were supposed to be David Hart and General McClellan. Rebecca and another girl were David’s sister and mother, while most of the other kids were Union or Confederate soldiers. Loyal could tell they were being rowdy and likely giving the pastor a headache. At least that was what he figured from the way the older man kept rubbing his head. He’d taken Michael to task for not really knowing his lines and made him carry his script with him while they practiced.

Of course, Michael didn’t care since he was going to switch places with Loyal, then hide behind the curtain to read the words out loud as Loyal signed them. Chuck was the only other one in on the scheme. He seemed to think pulling one over on the pastor was pure fun.

They finally finished their practice—or rather, Reverend Harriman finally gave up on them. He told them all to be at the town square in their costumes by six p.m. sharp on Saturday. The pageant would begin at six-thirty whether rain or shine. The reverend made some speech about how it was raining the night David Hart led the soldiers up the mountain to defeat the enemy, and if rain didn’t stop their ancestors, then it wouldn’t dampen their spirits either. Loyal could see the kids were giggling and elbowing each other instead of listening, so he didn’t feel too badly about not being able to catch whatever else the pastor said.

Once released, kids scattered up and down the street to see the various fair displays. There would be a pancake supper at the Methodist church that evening. Loyal was supposed to meet his parents there, but they’d agreed he could see the fair’s displays with Michael and Rebecca until then. The Presbyterian church offered quilts and handmade clothing that would be judged on Saturday. The old courthouse had all the food displays—preserves, fresh produce, baked goods—and Loyal had a mind to go there, but Michael said it was torture since they couldn’t eat anything. Instead they decided to go to the Odd Fellows Hall where they could see woodwork, basketry, and ironwork while they waited for the arm-wrestling contest to get under way.

The warmth of the September sun gave way to the cool interior of the hall. Michael saw a few of his buddies, and they started talking and horsing around. Loyal and Rebecca made their way along the risers with their displays of handiwork. They didn’t talk or sign, just pointed at items that seemed interesting. Rebecca was excited about a gathering basket artfully arranged with fresh-cut flowers. While Loyal didn’t much care about it, he feigned interest for the sake of his friend.

Then he spotted it. Father’s pie safe with the tin inserts Loyal had punched was sitting on the middle riser between a side table and a fancy jewelry box. The judges had already come through, and the pie safe now wore a white ribbon. Loyal frowned. Third place? But it was beautiful. And it was a present for Mother. How could it have gotten less than first place? He felt a hand settle on his shoulder and turned to see Father.

He nodded at the piece of furniture. “We did alright, didn’t we?” Loyal scowled and held up one finger. Father threw his head back with laughter. “You think it’s worth first place?” He looked at the pie safe. “If your mother thinks so, that’s good enough for me.” He looked Loyal in the eye. “Mainly I wanted the whole town to see that I . . . that we had made something nice for your mom. Even if the judges didn’t think it was the best, I’m proud of it.” He gave Loyal a squeeze. When his father spoke next, his lip movement wasn’t as pronounced, forcing Loyal to focus hard and fill in the blanks. “Things don’t have to be perfect to get the job done.” Then he winked at Loyal, tipped his hat to Rebecca, and left them to their own devices.

Loyal rolled his father’s words around in his mind that night. He was tired. After eating a huge stack of pancakes along with sausage, he’d played stickball until dark. Michael made sure he was included and even got the other kids to learn a few signs for things like out and home run. Then there’d been a bonfire and baked apples with cinnamon and sugar. Mother had taken one look at him and made him take a bath before he went to bed. Now he had that pleasant feeling that comes with being well-fed and physically worn out. And happy.

Still, Father’s comment kept returning to him. He wasn’t perfect. So why didn’t Father see that he could get the job done? That while he might not come in first, he could do well enough to stay at home and go to school with the kids who, for the first time ever, were beginning to feel like friends?

As his eyes drifted shut, a sleepy prayer whispered through his mind, and he lifted lazy hands to echo the words. Please let Father see that I’m good enough.