I never fell asleep that night. My body jolted at every hint of a sound. Whenever I got close to sleep, I was sure I heard the banging of a gun or the moaning of a cow. My heart wouldn’t slow down its heavy beating, and my head wouldn’t stop twirling.
It was just as well. All sleep would have done for me was give me horrible dreams.
At some point in the darkness, I heard somebody moving around downstairs. When I smelled cigarette smoke, I knew it was Daddy.
Getting up, I pulled my wooly sweater off its hanger and onto my body. The rest of the house was quiet, just not Daddy. He never was one to move about the kitchen in a quiet way. I could tell he was warming up food in Mama’s cast-iron skillet by the way it clanged against the top of the stove.
When I got to the bottom of the steps, I stood and watched him. He moved a wooden spoon around, stirring his food. The smoke rising from the skillet and his cigarette mixed to create a rich aroma that smelled like a campfire.
“Daddy,” I said. “I can’t sleep.”
“You have a bad dream?” he asked, turning toward me.
“No. I just can’t stop thinking.” I sat in the dining-room chair Meemaw used to occupy.
Daddy put a towel under the skillet and set it on the table. He stuck a fork into the food and stirred it around, scooping up a piping hot bite of potatoes. He hardly blew on it before putting it in his mouth.
“You want a plate?” I asked.
“I didn’t want to dirty one.” He took another bite. “Don’t tell your mama.”
“I won’t.” Usually sharing a secret with Daddy would have lifted my spirits. That night, though, it seemed nothing would.
“You hungry?” He pushed the skillet between us and got up for another fork.
He took big, heaping bites. I only poked around at a couple potatoes, taking nibbles here and there. He’d been working all day, I hated to eat up his food. It didn’t take long for him to finish it all off.
Daddy leaned back in his chair, lighting another cigarette. He smiled, but it wasn’t his usual happy smile.
“What did you do today?” he asked.
“Nothing much,” I answered, unsure how I’d tell him that I’d poked around in some hidden cellar and found proof that Eddie was bad, after all.
“Guess there isn’t a whole lot of trouble a girl can get into around these parts.”
I felt a glint of guilt. Sheriff’s daughters should know better than to go digging into a man’s personal things. And should know better than being in a man’s space without permission, even if he was evil. I wanted to tell Daddy that there was plenty of trouble for me to get into. I’d already gotten into enough as it was.
I wished I hadn’t taken the few bites I had. They roiled in my tummy.
“How you doing, darlin’?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “A lot’s happened lately. You okay?”
I shrugged, not saying anything at all. The truth was scary, just the way Meemaw said it would be.
The clock on the wall ticked, and a low, growling wind stirred outside.
“Hope we don’t have a duster coming.” Daddy stood and watched out the window. “Don’t know how many more we could take.”
“Daddy?”
“Yes.” He didn’t leave the window but looked over his shoulder at me.
“Can I tell you something?”
“I guess you can.” He smiled.
“Meemaw never liked Eddie.”
“No, I don’t suppose she did.” He poked around in his shirt pocket until he found a toothpick. He stuck it in his mouth. “She never did trust a man who tramped around like Eddie does.”
“Is he ever going to leave?”
“I don’t know. Probably. Once things around here get dull, he’ll move on.” Daddy took a few steps and relaxed back into his chair. “Fellas like him don’t stick around a place too long.”
“He’s a bad man,” I said, my voice shaking. “I think he’s fixing to do bad things.”
The way Daddy looked at me, I couldn’t tell if he was thinking about what to say next or if he was angry with me. He stood up again and moved around to my side of the table, sitting in the chair where Beanie usually did.
“Pearl, you can’t go around saying things like that.”
“I’ve seen him. He does bad things.”
“Your mama told me you’ve had a couple nightmares about him.”
“No, Daddy. Not just dreams.” I took a deep breath. “I’ve seen him hurt someone. In real life.”
“Darlin’, sometimes bad dreams feel real.” His forehead creased all the way up to his hair. “They trick us into believing they’re real. But they aren’t. It’s just a way our minds work ideas.”
“He beat up Winnie.” The truth spurted out from me. “He hit her so hard.”
“When?” he asked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Before Christmas.” I whispered because I was so afraid that Eddie could hear me somehow, that he’d know I was talking about him. “They were in the alley talking about something, and he hit her so hard. Her mouth was bleeding, Daddy.”
“Pearl, you can’t feel sorry for That Woman. She’s all bound up in nasty stuff.”
“I know that. I know what a cat house is now,” I said. “Eddie told me she’s going to stop doing that.”
“When did Eddie talk to you?”
“Late one night. After Beanie got hurt. He came here. I tried to tell Mama, but she wouldn’t believe me.” I tried to swallow, but my whole body had gone dry. It was like I was pushing sandpaper down my throat. “He scared me, Daddy.”
“Did he do anything to you? Did he … hit you?” Daddy asked, his eyes moving all over my face. “What else did he say?”
“I don’t know. No. He didn’t hurt me, really.”
“Okay.”
“Daddy, there’s something I need to show you.” Reaching into my sweater pocket, I pulled out the crumpled-up article about the DuPre family killings.
Daddy took the paper and smoothed it against the tabletop. About halfway through, he rubbed hard against his forehead. Before he spoke or even looked up at me, he lit another cigarette, smoking it all the way to a stub.
“Where did you find this?” he asked, smashing the cigarette next to the other ones in the skillet.
I told him about the box and all the letters, even about the dog tags I’d found. As I spoke, his eyes wandered, and I didn’t know if he was listening or not, he seemed so distracted.
“Daddy?”
“Hm?” He glanced back at me for half a second.
“Is it the same Eddie?” I asked.
“I don’t know for sure.”
“He’s going to try to hurt you.”
“I don’t know about that.” Daddy shook his head. “But I’m not going to wait to find out, darlin’. He isn’t going to hurt anybody.”
He lit another cigarette and smoked as he rubbed his free hand through his hair. I knew he was thinking and I shouldn’t ask any questions just then.
Daddy stood up, his chair teetering before banging against the floor, sounding so much like the shooting of cattle that it startled me. He dropped the still burning cigarette into the skillet and paced next to the table.
“Beanie ever talk to you about the night she got hurt?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“I can’t believe I never thought of him before.” He grabbed hold of a tuft of hair and stopped walking. “You seen Eddie hitting Winnie?”
I nodded.
“I’m scared of him,” I whimpered. “He’s going to hurt us, isn’t he?”
“No,” Daddy said, his voice stern. “He will not hurt you girls. I won’t let him get near you.”
He knelt next to me and held my shoulders. I still couldn’t stop shaking.
“Are you sure about all this?” he asked. “About the box and Winnie and all of it? It’s real?”
“Yes, sir.” I wished I could have said it was all just a bad dream and had it all fade like my nightmares always did.
“I need to ask Beanie a couple questions.” He jammed his eyes shut so his face wrinkled. “Why didn’t I ask her about Eddie? It should have been obvious.”
“You think he hurt her?”
He didn’t answer my question, he didn’t have to.
“I’m going to have to wake her up,” he said.
“You think she understands what happened?”
“I don’t know.” He drew me closer and wrapped his arms around me. “I will never let him near you again. You hear? I won’t.”
Daddy left, climbing the stairs, leaving me sitting at the table.
I still had so many questions.
Daddy woke Beanie and got her wrapped in a warm blanket. Mama came from their room, tying the robe tight around her waist.
“Why in heaven’s name is everybody up?” Mama asked, yawning and sitting at the table with us. “It’s the middle of the night.”
Daddy didn’t answer. He sat with eyes closed, wringing his hands.
“Tom, what is going on?” Mama reached across the table to touch him. “What’s got you so bothered? And why did you wake us all up?”
“It’s just …” He stopped, licked his lips, and turned to Beanie. “Darlin’, I’m sorry.”
Beanie glared at him. She never did like being woken, especially before the sun was up.
“What are you sorry about?” Mama asked, gathering the neck of her robe in one hand. “You better tell me what’s going on.”
“Beanie, I’ve got to ask you about what happened that night.” Daddy swallowed hard. “The night you got hurt.”
Beanie shook her head like a wild woman, her eyes shut tight. She grunted and moaned.
“Beanie. Violet Jean,” Daddy said, looking at her with soft eyes. “Open your eyes. Talk to me.”
After a few more shakes of the head, she stopped and focused her eyes on his chin.
“I know it was a bad night. That night you got hurt is a bad memory.” He leaned toward her. “But I’ve got to ask you a couple questions.”
“Tom, why now?” Mama asked, checking the clock on the wall. “We should all be sleeping.”
“Beanie?” Daddy said.
“Don’t wanna.” Beanie clenched her teeth. “Never wanna think of him.”
“Think of who?” Daddy breathed in deep. “Do you remember who hurt you? Did you see his face?”
She nodded. “But I lied before, and I don’t wanna make you mad about it.”
“I won’t be mad. Sometimes we tell fibs when we’re trying to protect ourselves.”
Mama’s eyes shifted between Beanie and Daddy. She leaned forward and set her jaw hard. “I’d like to know what is going on.”
“He told me I couldn’t never tell nobody.” Beanie pouted. “He said if I tell anybody he’s gonna hurt us.”
“Who is going to hurt us?” Mama’s voice raised with an edge to it. “Why isn’t anybody answering my questions?”
“It’s okay,” I said to Beanie. “You can tell Daddy. He won’t let anybody hurt you.”
“He already done the hurting, that man,” Beanie said through her tight-together teeth. “He hurt me real bad.”
“Who hurt you?” Daddy asked.
“The man with the blue eyes. The man who shot the cows.” My sister looked at me. “Eddie the hobo.”
“I don’t understand,” Mama said, her eyes on Beanie’s face. “Tom, what is she saying?”
“Eddie the hobo hurt me. He hit me and made me bleed.” She pointed at her eye and her mouth and stomach. “He squeezed my neck and called me bad names. It was Eddie.”
“No, darlin’,” Mama said. “You’re confused. Eddie’s the one who helped you. Tom, she’s confused. You shouldn’t be asking all these questions so late at night. She needs her sleep.”
“I know it’s true,” Beanie said. “I’m dumb, but I know this.”
Mama slumped her shoulders and crossed her arms. “I don’t understand.”
Beanie shut her eyes and told us all that Eddie had done to her, how he’d told her he would kill her if she told. It was as if she was reading a script, it all came out so smooth, like she’d memorized every word. Truly, I wasn’t sure she understood all she said. I didn’t think it mattered, though.
“He squeezed and squeezed so hard I couldn’t breathe,” she said, touching her throat. “Then he let go and told me I best not tell. That’s when he helped me up.”
When she finished, she opened her eyes, and her face was dry. That surprised me. I would have thought that the memory would have made her cry. But it didn’t.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Mama asked, dabbing under her own eyes with the sleeve of her robe. “We could have done something.”
“I can’t tell.” Beanie let her eyes meet mine for a moment. “He’ll hurt Pearl if I tell.”
“But he’s been in our home,” Mama said, flashing anger in her eyes. “He’s taken meals with us.”
“I’ve got to find him.” Daddy got to his feet. “I’d bet he’s drinking up the money he made today.”
“Tom,” Mama said. “What can we do?”
“I’m going to find him and shove his sorry behind in jail.” Daddy’s voice was low and slow and grumbling. I could tell he was holding back a roar. “Lord, help me not to kill him where he stands.”
“Thomas Spence.” Mama covered her mouth.
“Do you know who his brother is, Mary?” he asked. “Jimmy DuPre.”
“He’s come for you, hasn’t he?” Mama sobbed. “You can’t go after him.”
“I’m going to get Millard first. He’ll know what to do.”
Daddy moved around the house, dressing and strapping on his gun. He kissed both of us girls on the forehead and then Mama on the lips.
“Be careful,” she told him, her face still close to his. “You come home soon, all right?”
“I will.” Daddy pressed his lips against hers again. “Millard and I’ll get together a posse. We’ll try and end this peaceful as we can.”
Daddy locked the back door and jammed a chair under the doorknob. Then he went to the front.
“You lock this behind me, hear?” he said. “And get that shotgun out of our room. It’s under my side of the bed. It’s loaded. There are extra shells in my drawer.”
Mama met him at the door. “I hope I won’t need it.”
“Me too. But if you do need to, shoot to kill.”
Daddy walked out the door.
Mama clicked the lock into place.