She’d heard the truck drive up that night, heard his boots on the porch, then nothing. She was in the kitchen waiting. She’d been there since he left for the commissioners’ meeting, not able to concentrate on anything, not even TV, because even though they hadn’t been told what the meeting was about, they knew. It had that feel about it, that smell. She called his name, waited, called it again, then found him closing the front door very carefully, trying to use both hands despite his sling, like he didn’t want to disturb her. “Charlie?”
He turned slowly. His look startled her. She had expected anger at least, but in his face and the way he held himself, and even in the way he looked at her, thoughtfully and gently, she saw peace. “It’s up to them now.”
“Them?” Not understanding.
“The voters.” He smiled, and she saw how exhausted he really was. The arm was obviously bothering him, too. “I’ve done all I can, and if they don’t want me …”
So he’d told her about the commissioners’ meeting, saw her growing fury. “No, Dru,” he’d said, laying his good hand on her shoulder. “Listen to me.”
She’d made herself listen and learned that, to him, it was a draw that night. He believed Pemberton had done everything he could, and by trying to humiliate him in front of the other commissioners and the press had taken it out of both their hands and put it in the hands of the voters of Blackstone County. They would decide for themselves whether his having taken Pemberton to court in the first place, and what it stood for, was more important than Pemberton’s being acquitted. They could decide what kind of lawman and what kind of law they wanted to live under, and he could live with that because to him a vote was honorable, win or lose. And if they didn’t want him and what he believed, then he’d done all he could. He was lucky to have gotten that far, at least, where the choice was clearly defined and people had a way to choose. It could have been so much worse, he said. Didn’t she see?
Which of course she did, but didn’t because of the tears.
His arm was around her, and she was hearing his voice through his chest, smelling him. She’d always known him to be courageous and fearless, but until then she’d never understood this other kind of courage, the kind that requires a person to stand up for what he believes and risk living on in the knowledge of defeat. It would test anyone’s will as nothing else could.
She also understood that no matter what happened, it was all right between them again. Better even. He’d found his way through, they both had, and any doubts and fears she might have carried were gone.
Still, she was surprised late the next afternoon to see a shiny Buick churn up the road and swing into their yard, its dust blowing right on across the field. Of course she recognized the car, knew who it was before Harlan Monroe stepped out and came over to the porch, where she’d been sweeping. Just the way that car came off the road felt bad, like it was something alive and being chased. Harlan tried hard to be fair, she believed, and was Charlie’s friend, the bond between them a little stronger than usual, probably due to Doc Willis. “Hi, Dru,” he said. “Charlie around?” He always had a nice smile for her and tried hard this time, too, but it didn’t quite come off. Something obviously weighed on him. Given all that had been happening, and the fact that he was there in person …
“He’s out feeding his Angus,” she said, nodding toward the barn lot but already thinking, It isn’t fair. Even pushing back tears without knowing why. It had been one of the nicest days in years for the two of them, Charlie taking the day off except to talk to reporters on the phone, both of them waking to that peacefulness he’d come in with the night before, knowing it was true, that somehow the two of them were also true, feeling it all through that day. It was beautiful and sunny outside. They both did chores, taking extra time over breakfast, and again over lunch, being together and letting time not matter, as relaxed as they’d been in she didn’t know how long. The day was winding down early into a soft, reddish haze, a little bit of gold still in the trees, the leaves all over the yard giving off that sharp, musky smell that made her think of pumpkins and dead cornstalks.
Charlie came around the corner of the barn and let himself through the gate over to where they were standing. He held a white plastic bucket he used to carry grain. He did that sometimes, got a bucket and went out and fed his Angus a little extra by hand. “What brings you out here, Harlan?” He didn’t see it coming. He still had that peaceful look, like he couldn’t even imagine it.
“Sheriff.” Harlan put out his hand, but it wasn’t stiff and formal, none of it, not even his calling Charlie “sheriff,” because he said it in friendliness and respect. His head barely reached Charlie’s chest; that Buick had looked like an ocean liner with him in it. Then Charlie glanced at her, and that’s when she believed he got it. She went over by his side, felt his arm come to rest on her shoulder.
“This sure doesn’t feel like good news, Harlan,” he said.
Harlan looked right at Charlie, and she could see Harlan knew that no matter what it was he’d come to talk about, no matter how the event came about and how it got resolved, if it were true in the least, then there would be no way he could write about it that would make clear what was really true to those who were going to vote. It was going to be that bad. “Depending on how you answer when I ask you a question in a moment here, Pemberton may have taken the election away from you.”
She glanced up and saw Charlie slowly nod, but inside he was bracing himself; she could see his features hardening. He seemed to stare right through Harlan like he was seeing something or going somewhere no one else could. For just a moment, he was gone. She shivered and clutched her arms, feeling as sad as she’d ever feel.