“The Methodists are riled up this morning,”
Adam commented as he slid into the booth across from Hick. The diner was packed for a Monday morning, and there had been more than a few angry glances Hick’s way.
Hick stuffed the United Auto Workers pamphlet Tobe had given him in his shirt pocket and took a drink of coffee. “Sounds like Wheeler gave it to ’em good yesterday. ‘Vengeance is mine’ and all that.”
“He’s gonna be a problem,” Adam said for what Hick thought might be the hundredth time.
Hick nodded, signaling the waitress for a refill. After Tobe and Fay left the house, he had worked the night shift and now felt bleary-eyed and exhausted after several sleepless nights.
The door to the diner opened and Elizabeth Shelley approached their booth. “May I join you?”
Adam slid over and made room for her.
“How’s my mama doin’ today?” Hick asked Elizabeth.
“She’s so sweet takin’ us in. I sure appreciate her putting us up for a few days,” Elizabeth said as Shirley Daniels came by, filled her coffee cup, and set down a new container of cream and a bowl of sugar. “George needed to get back to work, but the girls wanted to stay and visit with some of their friends. They like Tennessee all right, but this still feels like home.”
“I know Mama enjoys the company.”
“I haven’t had a chance to tell you, but your little boy is adorable.” Elizabeth poured cream and sugar in her coffee and stirred it absently. “I can scarcely believe you’re married with a child. I remember you as a kid who was always in trouble and now you’ve got your own baby and you’re the sheriff.”
Hick blushed. “I do my best to stay away from trouble now.”
The door to the diner clanged open and Wayne Murphy walked in. He paused at the booth and sneered, “I see you boys are working hard again.”
Elizabeth Shelley’s eyes narrowed. “Your piece this morning on hogs was inspired, Wayne. They seem to be a subject you really understand.”
“Ha ha,” he answered before positioning himself at a booth in the back of the diner, a convenient place to study everything around him.
Elizabeth shook her head. “I suppose it’s not always easy being sheriff. I read in the paper that Jed and Eben Delaney are actually suspects now. I can hardly believe it.”
“They’re not. We haven’t formally named any suspects. That’s Wayne Murphy’s doing. He’s the judge and jury of Cherokee Crossing, Arkansas.”
“He hasn’t changed. Other than finding poor Gladys, what possible reason does Murphy have to think the Delaney brothers killed her?”
“Oh, you know this town,” Adam answered. “The Delaneys are an easy target. They’re poor and uneducated and people don’t trust what they don’t understand.”
“So you don’t think they did it.” She looked from Adam to Hick.
“We really don’t know,” Hick admitted.
“I’m a little relieved,” Elizabeth said looking up from her coffee cup. “They’re the type that usually get blamed and sent away. It’s good to see you having an open mind. But if not the Delaneys, then who?”
“We have no idea. Honestly, none of it makes sense. Gladys didn’t have an enemy in this world.”
“That’s just what George and I said. It had to be someone who didn’t know her because everyone who knew her loved her and would never dream of hurting her.”
Shirley came by with Adam’s breakfast and to refill everyone’s coffee. Hick took a drink and then began, “I tell you, there’s something off about this whole …” His thought was interrupted when he saw Wash hurrying across the street.
Wash pushed through the door with a jangle and headed straight to Hick’s booth. “Sheriff, got a call from that Preacher up to Broken Creek. Wants you to come back ’cause he found what he was looking for.”
Noticing Murphy sit up straighter, Hick rose slowly, swallowing the last of the liquid from his cup. “Keep your voice down, Wash.” He turned to Adam and whispered, “I’m headed up there now. The quicker we get this thing figured out, the better.”
“You okay driving after staying up all night?” Adam asked.
“It’s not that far.”
“Broken Creek?” Elizabeth asked. “What on earth are you going there for?”
“Hopefully, some answers.” Hick grabbed his hat, then stopped.
Adam nodded, and glanced back at Murphy. “Walk out of here slow and quiet-like. I’ll keep a lid on Murphy.”
Hick threw some coins on the table. “Thanks.”
Wash followed Hick out into the sunshine. “Sheriff, before you leave can I have a word?”
“Sure,” Hick noted the worried look on Wash’s face. “What’s on your mind?”
Wash nodded toward the station and the two men stepped inside. The chaos of paperwork that littered the three desks made Hick uneasy about leaving. Seemed like they’d never get through all the files and letters. He glanced at Wash. The older man’s hands were shaking and he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and ran it across his head.
“Sheriff, I’m needin’ to ease my mind.”
“Sit down, Wash. What’s the matter?”
Wash sank into a chair in front of Hick’s desk. “It’s Abner Delaney,” he said.
Hick sat behind his own desk and leaned forward. “What about Abner?”
“I was there when the posse brought him in. He was sittin’ at home eating his dinner when it happened. I always did think it odd he wasn’t hidin’ out somewhere.”
Hick nodded and Wash continued. “You know it never occurred to me to even think Abner wasn’t our man. Sheriff Michaels, he was convinced of it the minute Abner wandered into the station that day and told us he’d found a body. Michaels never really considered anyone else. And then there was Wheeler.”
“Wheeler?”
Wash shook his head. “He was beside himself with rage. He came in here demanding Roy lock Abner up, and Wheeler’s a man used to getting his way. I don’t reckon Roy thought Abner Delaney was worth getting Wheeler riled up over.”
Hick’s heart pounded and a bead of sweat rolled down his back. Wash fidgeted in his seat and Hick offered him a cigarette. He declined, but Hick took one and put it between lips so dry the paper stuck to them. Wash looked down at his feet. “I guess I reckoned it would all get straightened out in court. But it didn’t, and it really didn’t seem to matter. You know, when Michaels was sheriff things was different around here. Michaels always said his job was to keep the peace.”
Hick lit his cigarette and looked into Wash’s face. “Well, ain’t that what we’re doin’?”
Wash drew in a deep breath and managed a weak smile. “Maybe. But Michaels was more concerned with keepin’ the town happy and calm. He’d of already brought them boys in.”
Hick kept his voice steady. “You think I should have done that?”
Wash wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “No, Sheriff, I don’t. You’re a different man than Roy Michaels. I reckon there’s a difference between keepin’ the peace and finding justice.” He glanced up and held Hick’s gaze. “I’m thinkin’ now we done Abner wrong, and I didn’t have the sense to see it then. Never even thought about it much until now..”
Hick watched as tears formed in Wash Metcalfe’s eyes. “I just done what I thought was right,” the deputy said in a tired voice. He closed his eyes and shook his head.
At home, Maggie stood in the bedroom doorway with the expression Hick had come to know so well. She would never interfere with his job, never tell him she was unhappy with anything he was doing. But she could never hide what was on her mind. Even now, the slight line between her eyebrows testified to her discomfort with him going back to Broken Creek, Arkansas.
Hick tore off his shirt and threw it on the bed, hurriedly slipping into a clean uniform. “I’ll be fine.”
“But you’ve been up all night,” she protested. “Why don’t you just lie down for a couple of hours?”
“You haven’t seen what Wheeler and Murphy are doing to this town. The quicker we get this figured out, the quicker things can get back to normal.”
He finished buttoning his shirt and faced her. “I’ll be back soon.”
She nodded. “Alright. Please be careful. If you get tired, pull over.”
“I just had my fill of diner coffee so I ought to be fine.”
He headed through the doorway into the kitchen and grabbed the old thermos from the counter. He poured it full of yet more coffee and started out the door.
“Hickory.”
He turned.
“You forgot to kiss me goodbye.” There was an unmistakable note of sadness in her voice.
He crossed the room and held her close as a wave of guilt washed over him. She had been neglected and he knew it. He put his finger under her chin and tilted her face toward him. “I’m sorry,” he told her meeting her gaze. “I don’t know why I get this way.” He kissed her and felt her pain. “I’m sorry.”
She forced a smile. “It’s fine. You know I love you.”
“Yeah. I know you do. And you know I love you. More than anything. But I’ve gotta go do this.”
She nodded.
He paused at the door. “Don’t forget to lock everything up behind me.”
As he pulled onto the county road, he removed his hat and lit a cigarette. The vision of Maggie’s tired, sad face was before him as he drove. “You know I love you,” she had said. Why she loved him was the big question of his life. He was reserved and aloof. He held his cards close to his chest and all of the female patience and love in the world would never change that. But Maggie had known all this. She had known it for years—since they were kids—and she knew the war had made it worse. And yet, she loved him anyway, and she was the only woman he could ever love. But her loyalty and steadfastness was a mystery he could never solve.
The Church of Our Lady of Sorrows in Broken Creek, Arkansas looked less dismal in the sunshine. The puddles of water that had been standing all over the gravel lot were gone and a pleasant breeze twirled through the orange day-lilies blooming beside the steps.
The young woman in the outer room was not there when Hick arrived at the church office. In her place sat the priest, Father Grant, in khaki trousers and a Pendleton shirt with his legs stretched out in front of him.
“You didn’t waste much time,” he remarked, rising and moving toward his office.
“The boys have gone missing, and I’m afraid if they turn back up I’m gonna have a riot on my hands.”
“I see,” Grant said without surprise. “Well, come on.”
Hick followed Father Grant into his office which seemed to be in an even worse state of disarray than before. The radio was playing softly in the corner and the priest paused to sip some coffee. “Mondays are my day off,” he explained. “I have been trying to make some sense of all this.” His eyes lingered on the stacks of paper and for a moment he seemed lost. “Please have a seat.”
Hick sat down and was surprised to see the typewriter uncovered and a sheet of paper sticking out of it. The stacks of folders nearby were straightened and appeared to have been organized.
Father Grant picked up an accordion file and held it up. “This is the last year of Abner Delaney’s life. I’ve been re-reading these,” he said indicating the clutter of folders all around him. “It’s pretty grim fare.” He sat down at his desk and his dark eyes studied Hick. “You know, when I first got out of the seminary I thought my belief in some sort of innate goodness in man was essential for my survival … but as you see, I’m still breathing. In the sixteen years I’ve been a priest I have never once lost my faith in God. It’s man I no longer believe in.”
“I don’t understand …” Hick began but Father Grant interrupted him.
“Pinewood Prison Farm is what the world becomes without God. It is a place where the strong and the powerful prey upon the weak and the old. I watched guards caress their wives with the same hands they used to slap old men working in cotton fields. I watched church going men abuse and torture the powerless, the illiterate, the defenseless and all the while they were crucifying Jesus again. The powerful denied the powerless their humanity because they were convicts and forgot that Jesus was crucified as a criminal.”
He studied the file folder, and Hick waited for him to continue. “After you left, I started digging through these files. I decided I’d search for that folder as long as there was some hope it could help those boys. And as I opened the folders, the faces stared up at me. Picture after picture, men who had been executed and thrown into unmarked graves, and I knew then it was my duty to expose their sufferings or the world would never know what happened. I have decided to write a report for Governor McGrath. At least he pretends to care.” Father Grant leaned forward and regarded Hick. “Do you believe in God?”
“What?”
“When I found that folder, it seemed to me like it had to be for a reason. That’s why I wonder if you believe in God.”
“Reverend, I was in the war, and I did a lot of things I’m ashamed of. I saw a lot of people die who shouldn’t have, and I’ve spent a lot of time mad as hell that God let it happen. I can’t say I don’t believe. I just don’t know what good it’s done me.”
“What has God to do with war? God didn’t start that war.”
“But He turned away. He didn’t care.”
“Did He turn away? Or did He weep at the mess we’d made? It’s a mistake to think that because bad things happen God isn’t there or doesn’t care. God didn’t create man for savagery; he didn’t create us to kill. We do that to ourselves when we choose fear over love.”
“And what happens to us when we make these choices? At what point is it just too late?”
“No one is irredeemable. You are still capable of doing noble things, regardless of what you’ve seen or done. The fact that you drove out here not once, but twice, to help those boys shows me there is a lot of good in you. You can make this right for them.” His eyes met Hick’s. “You can show me. Help restore my faith in the goodness of men.”
Images exploded in Hick’s mind. He saw Claire Thompson’s face as he arrested her. He saw her lack of remorse. He saw Ted Wheeler’s face contorted with anger and Wayne Murphy’s scornful gaze. But he remembered the touch of Maggie’s hands on his face the day she reminded him that he was more than one event … more than one catastrophic mistake. There was bad in the world, but there was good, too. He looked up and met the eyes of Reverend Jefferson Davis Grant, a man who needed to remember the good as well. “I’ll try. I’ll do my best by them boys.”
Father Grant nodded. “I know you will. Believe me, that’s more than most would do.” He regarded the folder in his hand. “Well, I know you didn’t drive this far to hear me go on and on.” Grant reached over the desk and handed the folder to Hick.
Hick was surprised at the weight in his hand. “When you found this … did anything come back to you? Do you remember anything about Abner?”
“I’m sorry to say that I don’t. I saw so many go through that place. But as you can see I took notes. Lots of notes.” He picked up his coffee cup and shut off the radio. After a moment he said, “You know, I’ve never given one of these files to anyone. Never let anyone else read a single page. It seemed a betrayal of confidence, if you know what I mean. But I know the heart of a father. I may not have my own children, but the people of this church are my children. They are poor, they are Negro, and most are uneducated. The scale of justice is weighted against them, and as a father there is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect them. In this instance, I think Abner Delaney, whoever he was, would do anything to protect his boys. Are you a father, Sheriff?”
“I am. A son. He’s five months old.”
“So you know.” Father Grant searched Hick’s face and then, as if finally satisfied, he nodded. “Take the file. And God help you.”
Father Grant stood and walked out, leaving Hick sitting alone in his office. After a moment of stunned silence Hick rose to leave. As he stepped out into the entry way he spied the priest in the sanctuary. Father Grant did not turn when he heard Hick leave the office, and Hick left him kneeling before the altar.
The sunshine had the heightened brightness of an impending storm and the humidity was oppressive as Hick left the church. Squinting against the glare, he stood beside the car and lit a cigarette, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt.
“Well, who have we got here?” a voice chuckled behind him.
Hick turned to see Sheriff Earl Brewster walking across the parking lot toward him. “Shit,” he thought, tossing the cigarette to the ground and meeting Brewster half-way. “Sheriff,” Hick said, nodding, without holding out his hand.
Brewster regarded him and asked, “Boy, what in the hell are you doing in my town?”
“Here on business,” Hick replied.
“You lookin’ for one of these people? If you are, that Papist ain’t gonna be no help. Shit, he coddles ’em like they’re a bunch of damned babies.”
Hick forced himself to keep his face relaxed, his voice even. “No, I’m not here to serve a warrant. Just lookin’ for information … old information.”
Brewster tilted his head. “Information, huh? Tell me about it, son. Maybe I can help.”
The word “son” coming from Brewster’s mouth made Hick’s stomach tighten and a hard lump caught in his throat. “No, thanks,” he said. “I got what I need.”
Brewster considered Hick, looking him up and down. “Maybe you could use some professional help … or advice. I hear you got a stiff in Cherokee and some trash on the loose. I got friends who could round them boys up, and by the time they got back to Cherokee they’d be a lot smarter and a lot less inclined to run.”
Hick’s face grew taut at the word “stiff.” His light eyes traveled up Brewster’s bulky frame. They rested on his hardened face. Brewster spit tobacco juice on the church parking lot and grinned. “Just say the word, boy. Sometimes my friends like a little roughhousing, if you know what I mean.”
“No,” Hick said in a low, measured voice. “I don’t need any help just now, but thank you anyway. I need to get back.”
Brewster laughed, a hardened, mirthless laugh. “Jesus
Christ. No wonder you’re here with the goddamned priest. You’re as bad as he is. It never hurts to keep your boot on the necks of the trash. Keeps ’em from doin’ exactly what they done in Cherokee. You’d better watch it, son, or your trash is gonna take over your town.”
Hick closed his eyes and drew in a breath, waging war with his anger. When he opened his eyes, Brewster’s mocking face was close to his. “Well, boy? What’s it gonna be? You let me help you a little, and maybe I’ll pretend you’re an actual goddamned cop.”
Hick stepped forward, refusing to be intimidated. “And maybe if you back off I’ll pretend you’re an actual human being.”
Brewster’s face grew red, but he burst out with laughter rather than rage. “What a pretty boy you are!” he bellowed. “Shit, I’m surprised Cherokee Crossing ain’t been burnt to the ground by now. What do you do over there, invite the trash to the station for tea? Ya’ll play patty-cake with ’em?” He laughed again, and coughed, spitting phlegm onto the gravel lot. “Jesus Christ, they must run right over you. I reckon they get away with murder!”
Hick did his best to appear unfazed. Looking Brewster in the eye he said, “To the best of my knowledge the only trash to get away with anything in Cherokee Crossing were kin of yours.”
Brewster’s mocking laughter ceased and his face darkened. “You got a lot to learn about how the law works in these parts, boy. A lot.”
Hick shrugged. “The way it works in these parts ain’t my affair, and I don’t give a shit how you and your boys conduct yourselves. The way it works in Cherokee Crossing is my way until I’m voted out.”
Brewster laughed again and spat tobacco close to Hick’s shoe. “Dumbass,” he grumbled as he turned on his heel and walked back across the parking lot.
Hick watched Brewster pause beside his squad car and spit on the church parking lot again. Brewster glanced up and nodded at Hick and then got in the car and drove away.
When Brewster was out of sight, Hick jerked the car door open. “Goddamned son of a bitch!” He tossed the folder onto the seat beside him causing some of the pages to spill out. He reached over to shove them back into the file and saw Abner Delaney staring up at him. Hick picked up the photo. Abner was wearing the striped overalls, white denim shirt, and small cap that all the inmates wore. But as Hick stared, Abner’s face seemed to come alive, his eyes beckoning, pleading with him, searching for something in Hick’s own eyes much like Father Grant had. Abner’s gaze bore through Hick like an awl through wood. “I’ll do my best,” Hick promised Abner in a voice thick with emotion. He placed the photo back in the file and put the car in gear. “Dammit, I’ll do my best.”