5

AT HOME THAT EVENING, Henry considered what it was Frank asked him as they were leaving. Frank didn’t have any family left, and he told Henry he’d always thought Casewell would stand up with him if he ever got married. But since Casewell was gone, he wondered if Henry might do the honors.

Henry sat out on the porch, feet up on the railing, breath clouding the air as he pondered the question. He liked Frank, had known the old man since he could remember. Somehow Frank and his dad seemed to have a special bond. Henry remembered his father saying Frank saved his life once, but Henry always assumed it was an exaggeration. Still, who knew? Maybe the old guy really had saved him. Probably kept him from getting kicked in the head by a cow or something. He couldn’t picture Dad doing anything really dangerous.

He thought back to what seemed more and more like a narrow escape the night before. Now that was danger—and excitement. He might have felt a measure of peace on his grandmother’s farm today, but it would get boring if every day were like that. Now, running moonshine could get a man’s blood up, even if there were only a handful of folks still making the stuff now that store-bought liquor was readily available. Even so, there were still those who preferred quality, homemade hooch. He clasped his hands behind his head. And Charlie said if Henry wanted to go in with him, they could expand their line of merchandise and make some real money. Whatever that meant. Henry just wanted to show his family he could support them.

Oh, well. He’d stand up with Frank. It’s what men did—stand up for each other. He’d be moving on to bigger and better things soon enough, might as well help out a friend of his father’s along the way.

Decision made, Henry dropped his feet from the railing, stood, and stretched. He was about to head in when his mother stepped out onto the porch. She sat down in a rocker and pulled her coat more snugly around her shoulders.

“Can I talk to you a minute, son?”

Henry slumped back into his chair. “Sure, Mom. Whatcha need?”

She clenched the fabric of her coat and released it. “I’m a little bit worried about you, Henry.”

Henry rolled his eyes and slouched lower.

“The sheriff stopped by.”

Henry froze and his stomach twisted. He’d pretty well forgotten about the sheriff.

“Seems he had some questions about you and those Simmons boys. I guess maybe one of them got into some trouble?”

“Yeah, that’s what he said.”

“Did you know anything about it?”

“Look, Mom, like I told the sheriff, I don’t know anything. Why everyone has to make a big deal about me hanging out with some old friends is beyond me. Seriously, can’t a guy spend some time with his pals without getting the third degree?”

Perla sat up straighter, and her hands stilled. “Young man, I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head. Of course I’m going to be concerned when the sheriff comes around asking after you.” Tears welled in her eyes. “You and Sadie are all I have left.” She stood and reached for the screen door. “Just don’t do anything foolish.”

Alone again, Henry felt like a rat. He wished he could talk this out with his father. Dad always knew how to put things in perspective, how to make sense of whatever Henry was going through. He headed for his room. Mom might not like what he was doing, but he was doing it for her. Surely that made it okay.

The next morning Margaret answered Emily’s phone. Angie Talbot was on the line, sounding annoyed.

“Well, hey, Angie, are you looking for Emily?”

“No, I’m looking for Frank, and I can’t find him anywhere.” Margaret thought she could almost hear the tap, tap of Angie’s foot. “He’s usually here of a morning, but today I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him.” Her voice dropped low. “You don’t think he’s got another girl, do you?”

Margaret stifled a laugh. “No, ma’am. Maybe he had an errand to run.”

“He always tells me if he’s going to be late.” Angie huffed. “This is just not like him.” Her voice changed again. This time she sounded on the verge of tears. “What should I do?”

“Let me get Emily for you.”

Ten minutes later Emily hung up the phone and told Margaret they were going over to see Angie. Mayfair was along again, so all three got into the car, and Margaret drove them to Angie’s rambling house.

“She sounded awfully upset,” Margaret said. “Do you think something’s wrong with Frank? Should we call the sheriff?”

“Not yet,” Emily said. “I think I may know what’s going on, but just keep driving, and we’ll see what’s what in short order.”

When they got to the house, they headed inside and found Frank trying to soothe an agitated Angie.

“Hey, there,” he greeted them. “Might not be the best time for a visit.”

Emily bustled in and coaxed Angie onto the sofa alongside Mayfair and got her calmed down.

“She called us worried about you,” explained Margaret. “She was so upset, Emily thought we’d better come on over.”

Frank sighed and rubbed his hand over his eyes, then motioned toward the kitchen. Emily joined them.

“I’ve got her settled down in there telling Mayfair how to make homemade soap. She’s in quite a dither this morning. Frank, do you need to tell us anything?”

“Guessed it, have you? Well, I don’t suppose I could have kept it a secret forever. It’s part of the reason I want to marry her.” He held up a hand. “Just part, mind you. I love her something fierce.”

Margaret felt confused. Clearly something was wrong with Angie, but at the same time here was a man professing his love. She’d never encountered anything quite like it.

“She’s slipping, isn’t she?” Emily squeezed Frank’s arm.

“I’m afraid so.” He hung his head. “I told myself it was just the forgetfulness that comes with old age for a long time, but I’m afraid it’s worse than that. Might even be that Alzheimer’s.”

“Oh, Frank. I’m so sorry.” Emily patted his arm. “What can we do?”

“Well, I’ve been trying to keep folks from knowing. She’d hate it if anyone felt sorry for her or treated her different. But it’s getting harder.” He ran a hand through his snowy white hair, standing it on end.

“Times like this morning. I told her over and over I’d be late today. Got her to repeat it back to me so many times I thought she might get aggravated and take a swing at me. But then she goes and forgets. It’s like the morning dew. As soon as the sun touches it—poof.” He touched his gnarled fingertips together and flung them apart. “Gone.”

“If you need to go someplace, maybe Margaret or I could come sit with Angie, remind her where you are until you get back.”

“It’d be a help. I don’t much go anywhere without her, but every once in a while something comes up.”

Margaret watched the old man’s shoulders sag and thought for the first time that he really did look old. She couldn’t believe he was planning to marry someone who was losing her mind. She felt rude asking, but couldn’t help herself.

“Why are you marrying her if she’s only going to get worse?” She wanted to take the words back once Frank settled his gaze on her, but instead she dug deeper. “I mean, from what I hear about that disease, she’ll get to where she doesn’t even know you.”

“I’ll know her,” Frank said, sadness weighting his eyes. “No matter what, I’ll always know her.”

Margaret felt tears gather behind her eyes, but she willed them away. This was silly. If some foolish old man wanted to saddle himself with a crazy old woman, who was she to care one way or another? The Christian thing to do was to come sit with Angie once in a while and remind her what her own name was. If Frank wanted to throw away what little time he had left, it was no business of hers.

Emily wrapped an arm around Frank’s waist and squeezed. “You’re a good man, Frank Post.”

“Not really,” he said. “Just selfish.” He leaned over to squeeze Emily in return and then straightened his shirt front. “I thank you for coming over to check on Angie and for offering to sit with her if need be. It surely is a comfort to have good neighbors.”

“Don’t think a thing of it,” Emily said.

Margaret followed Emily back into the sitting room, where she was surprised to see Angie and Mayfair sitting and whispering with their heads touching. Mayfair didn’t like to be touched by just anyone. They were completely absorbed in their conversation and didn’t seem to hear the others enter the room.

“Mayfair, I think it’s time to head home,” Margaret said.

Mayfair finished what she was saying to Angie and lifted her head to look at her sister. “Okay.” Her eyes looked a little glassy.

Margaret felt the oddest wave of possessiveness wash over her. What had Angie done to deserve her sister’s close attention? She suddenly wanted to take Mayfair by the hand and not stop until they were safe in their bedroom at home with the door locked.

As they drove back to Emily’s, Mayfair seemed even quieter than usual. Margaret glanced in the rearview mirror and saw that her sister had her head back and her eyes closed.

“You okay, sweetie?”

No response. Margaret pulled over and turned around for a better look. Mayfair’s skin was beaded with sweat. Margaret touched her, and Mayfair jerked away, shaking.

“Sweetheart, I want you to eat this.”

Margaret fumbled with the candy wrapper. Her fingers couldn’t seem to get it undone, but finally the candy popped out. Mayfair grumbled but let Margaret place the sweet in her mouth.

“Suck on it. Get all that good sugar going. Isn’t it yummy?”

Mayfair opened her eyes. “I don’t feel good.”

“I know. The candy will make you feel better. Here, eat another one as soon as you finish that.”

Mayfair sighed and took the second peppermint.

“As soon as you finish them both, you can take a nap, and then we’ll get you a snack back at Emily’s. Okay?”

Mayfair nodded and obediently sucked on the candy. Her color was better, and the sweat had dried, but she looked dazed.

Margaret turned back to the front and restarted the car. As she pulled out, Emily reached over to pat her knee.

“You’re a good big sister. She’s lucky to have you.”

“Thanks for saying so, but I wonder what made her sugar drop. She had her shot and a good breakfast right on time. That shouldn’t have happened.” Margaret glanced in the rearview mirror again, thinking she was the lucky one and maybe Frank wasn’t such a fool after all.

Henry stalked through the living room where Mom sat watching the evening news, Dad’s spot next to her hopelessly empty. He could feel her eyes following him, but he kept moving. He opened the front door and clicked it closed behind him. The disapproval was tangible. He thought he could see it like fog rolling in. But he’d made up his mind, and his mother would just have to get used to his new role as provider. He got in his dad’s ramshackle truck and headed for the Simmons place.

Clint met him on the front porch, which was propped up at one corner by a broken crate. “Hear the sheriff’s been out to see you.”

“Yeah. Didn’t tell him anything.”

Clint squinted at Henry, working his jaw under a scraggly, graying beard. He spit a stream of tobacco juice into the yard. “You sure about that?”

“You accusing me of something?” He didn’t know why it mattered, but he wanted the moonshiner to respect him.

Clint flicked an eyebrow and worked his jaw some more. “I reckon not. I reckon if you’d said anything, Pendleton would’ve been out here by now.”

Henry stepped onto the porch and looked the old man in the eye, trying to keep the shiver of fear at bay. “Reckon you can trust me enough to give me some paying work?”

Clint looked thoughtful, laughed, and then slapped Henry—hard—on the back.

“Come on into the house. Charlie’s awful pitiful since they took that bullet out of his leg.”

Inside, the house was dark and hazy, a combination of woodsmoke leaking from a badly drawing chimney and cigarette smoke from Charlie. Henry smothered a cough.

“Hey, there, Henry-boy,” Charlie slurred. It was clear he’d been imbibing in the family recipe. “Come on over here and have a drink with me.” He waved broad and loose. “Purely medicinal for me, but you go on and get drunk if you want to.”

Henry picked up a pint jar that looked none too clean, and Charlie sloshed some moonshine in it. Henry figured the alcohol would kill anything in the glass. He took a swallow and wrestled it down, working hard not to gasp at the fire.

“Don’t be hitting that stuff too hard there, Henry,” Clint said. “Might be I have a job for you tonight.”

Henry put some swagger in his voice. “What would that be?”

“Since Charlie got shot in his gas-pedal leg, I’m short a driver. Need a delivery made over toward Blanding. Think you could handle it?”

“Reckon I could. When you need it done?”

“Tonight. But Pendleton’s supposed to have some extra deputies out after the other night’s altercation. You got nerve enough to drive through a checkpoint?”

Henry took another slug of moonshine and found it went down a little easier. “No problem.”

Clint grinned. “There’s a hundred bucks in it for you.” He paused. “Just remember, you’ll be owing me for anything you lose between here and Blanding.”

Henry swallowed hard. His throat felt tight. He coughed and spit. “Since I won’t lose anything, that won’t be a problem.”

Clint laughed, but it didn’t sound pleasant. He slapped Henry on the back again and hollered for Harold. Charlie’s younger brother appeared from a back room. “Load the goods in Henry’s truck. Throw some hay and those old burlap sacks in there to cover it up. Henry, here, is feeling lucky.”

Ten minutes later Henry walked out to his truck, feeling anything but lucky.

Henry didn’t see the sheriff’s car parked on a side road in the dark, but whoever was inside saw him approaching and flashed the blue lights. For a minute, Henry felt as though the cab of the truck had emptied of oxygen. Then he took a ragged breath and eased to a stop just shy of the dirt drive where the cruiser sat. Sheriff Pendleton got out and walked over to the driver’s side window, which Henry rolled down as cold air poured over him.

“Howdy, Henry. Thought that must be you driving Casewell’s old truck.”

“Yeah, Dad gave it to me a while back.” Henry suddenly felt as if his father might be there in the truck with him. How many times had they ridden, side-by-side, on this bench seat? It was an uncomfortable sensation.

“Glad to see you’re not with any of those Simmons boys. I heard a rumor they might try and take over one of the Waites’ runs to Blanding. Thought I might see one of ’em come through here this evening. Not near the demand for moonshine there used to be, but some of the old folks still have a taste for it. Especially that stuff Clint Simmons makes. He seems to have a steady following.”

“Ain’t seen anyone on the road much,” Henry said. He was grateful for the winter jacket that hid where he must have sweated through his denim shirt by now.

“Where you headed?”

Henry’s brain felt scrambled. If he said Blanding it might make Sheriff Pendleton suspicious, and there wasn’t really anywhere else he could be headed on this road. He remembered his fiddle case sitting in the floorboards.

“Thought I’d see if I could find a little music—join in with my fiddle,” he said, indicating the instrument with a tilt of his head. The feeling his father was there washed over him again, and his face felt hot, his eyes gritty. He gripped the steering wheel hard and ducked his head. He was tougher than this.

But the show of emotion seemed to set the sheriff back a bit. He bowed his head and slapped the door of the truck once, twice. “This must be a hard time for you, Henry. I hope you know how sorry I am about your dad.”

“Yes, sir.” It was all Henry could manage.

“Still, you might look for another road to drive down if you want to avoid trouble. Like I told you before, I’d hate to find you tangled up in the Simmons business. A little moonshine I can overlook, but seems they might be branching out into . . .” He paused. “Meaner stuff.”

“I appreciate that. Guess I won’t stay out too late. Mom will be worried if I’m gone overlong.”

Sheriff Pendleton looked Henry in the eye and then glanced at the bed of the truck. “You hauling hay for someone?”

“Grandma’s looking to get a milk cow.” The words were there almost before Henry thought them. He held his breath, astonished at his own quick thinking.

“That so? Seems like she used to win ribbons for her butter at the county fair. Tell her if she has extra I’d be glad to pay a fair price for it.”

“I’ll let her know,” Henry said. He shifted the truck into gear and began to ease away.

“And, Henry.”

He looked back at the sheriff, who stood with thumbs hooked in his belt. “Yes, sir?”

“You be careful now.”

Henry pulled away, using every ounce of restraint he had to keep from pressing the gas pedal to the floor. He tried to whistle, but it was shrill and off key, sharp against the emptiness of the cab. He wondered what the sheriff meant about the Simmonses getting into “meaner stuff.” He tried to shake the whole thing off and noticed the sense he’d had of his father being present was gone now. And he found the absence worse than seeing blue lights flashing in the rearview mirror.