Even As We Breathe

by Annette Saunooke Clapsaddle

  I grabbed my shoes and socks and ran a good half mile before the unpredictable rocks stung my feet enough for me to stop and dress properly. In hurrying home to pack with such excitement, I nearly forgot two important details. What would the colonel do if I came back, and how the hell would I even get back to Asheville without a car? I still hadn’t heard anything from Craig since I told him about the picture. The questions waited to bum-rush me until I’d already made my way into the cabin, pulled my bag from the high closet shelf, and slung every piece of clean clothing I owned into it. As I sat on my full duffle in the middle of my bedroom, another detail weighed down on me. Lee had said that the job was cut short. That would mean that pay was also cut short, no doubt. Would it even be worth it to return? I did not know whether I should start searching for the inn’s phone number to tell Lee not to expect me or if I should look for Craig’s number for a ride back. I still needed to tell Bud either way. I sat my bag by the front door and returned to the living room. I fell onto the couch. My father’s picture in his uniform stared at me from its perch on the fireplace mantel. He didn’t smile. He looked proud, chin up and resolution in his eyes. “Handsome,” Lishie would say.

  I wondered who had taken this photo of my father. Of course, it had to be an official army photographer, but I wondered if he spoke with my father, told him to pose a certain way, or if my father had chosen his own image, chosen how he wanted to be remembered. I walked to the bathroom and washed the day’s dirt from my face. I looked into the mirror. I could see my mother. Wide eyes, slight mouth. My father’s look of certainty was not there. Would I ever grow into it? Would those eyes narrow and focus later, when I had seen enough? Would my chin rise when I had a family of my own to have pride in? I went back into the living room without looking at my father’s picture, turned down the gas lantern in the kitchen, and returned to my bedroom to read until I could fall asleep.

  The fires lingered so long that summer I had grown accustomed to their residue. But that night, there was an unavoidable thickness. When I finished the book I’d had no intention of finishing, the smell of smoke was so intense inside the house that I was compelled outside. The moment I opened the door, I realized the fire was no longer lingering. It was raging and rolling and headed straight for my doorstep, far more threatening than the smoke had been the morning Preacherman and I watered down the front yard. I now felt the literal heat from nearby flames. There would be no time even to draw water.

  I ran back inside and began throwing nearby clothes into my bag before I realized my real problem. I had no car. I would have to leave on foot. Not having seen actual flames, I had a false sense of time and took advantage of it to gather pictures, both new and old, and one of Lishie’s quilts. I also pulled one of her bandanas from her dresser drawer and tied it tightly around my nose and mouth, drawing in her scent until it brought tears before I descended back into the smoke.

  The woods were so drained of moisture that the tops of trees in the distance burned with ashy embers. The fire was jumping treetops, which I had never seen happen before. I had two options: head toward the road and hope someone would pick me up, or head for the waterfall and hunker down in the water or, if need be, the cave. If anyone else was evacuating from our holler, they were likely long gone. And so few people knew I was even home, save Bud. I’d long ago learned not to wait on Bud to save me. The road also seemed directly in line with the fire’s movement, though I admit it was hard to discern through the smoke and dark of night. The question had become where did I want to die rather than where could I continue to live. The answer was clear. I bundled the quilt under my arm, clutched the suitcase of clothes and memories, and headed into the woods away from the heat.

  Bud’s rickety old pickup truck spun within seven feet of my path. “Get in. We don’t have long.”

  Without question I climbed into the cab and gave God silent gratitude for my uncle. Probably the first time I had ever done that. I tossed my suitcase into the back bed to lie atop a cushion of bear and deer hides. It was almost as if Bud inherently knew which splits to avoid, an impossibility in the darkness. And then, after only five minutes in his truck, I understood. He knew because he knew where the fires had started.

  “Pull over.”

  “Have you lost your mind?”

  “I want to get the hell out, Bud. Pull over!”

  “Are you kiddin’ me? I’m trying to save your goddamn life.”

  I grabbed the wheel and pulled hard until Bud’s only option was to stand on the brakes, forcing us into a rut. Flinging open the passenger side door, I gathered my things as quickly as I could, but Bud had managed to push his way outside and intercept me at the back of the truck.

  “How could you?” I managed to whisper.

  “What? How could I what?”

  Unable to coax any new words outward, I felt as if I was waking from a dream and acting in delirium. All evidence that I once believed I might have of his guilt melted and puddled beneath my feet. If I moved, I felt as though I would slip in it and fall into a ruined heap. I shook my head, forcefully dislodging my eyes from his. “You set those fires.”

  “For fuck’s sake! You don’t understand a damn thing,” Bud shouted. “Get your ass back in the truck. We don’t have time for this shit.”

  And I did. Without question, with little hesitation, I crawled back in because I knew it was my only option. If I ever wanted to know the truth, I had to let Bud drive.

  In the morning, I was awakened by the phone’s ring in Bud’s house as he snored in the other room.

  “Cowney?” the operator, Jane, asked on the other end of the line. “That you?”

  “Yes, Jane, this is Cowney,” I confirmed.

  “Oh, good. Glad I got you. You sure are hard to get ahold of. Wasn’t sure if you were even in Cherokee these days. Heard tell you might be there. Lishie’s place make it through the fires alright?”

  “Don’t know yet about Lishie’s.”

  “Well, okay. You keep us posted. I’m putting through a call, sweetheart.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Ello?” I heard on the other end. “This is Jon. I’ve got good news!”

  “Well, that’s a relief.”

  “They found the bone.”

  “Oh, really? Where? You sure it’s the right one?”

  “Yeah, pretty sure. Essie Stamper brought it to them.”

  “Why—” I couldn’t finish the question.

  “Well, I got to thinking about things. I called up Colonel Griggs after a couple of days, gave him some time to settle down. He gave me a few more details. Then I thought, if anybody knew where the bone got to, it had to be Essie. You know, we talked about that.”

  “Yeah. I mean, that makes good sense. Only she and I had been in that room, far as I know.”

  “Right. And Cowney, I understand why you didn’t want to ask her. I get it. I made sure she knew that when I went to talk to her.”

  “You talked to her?”

  “Of course. I had to. I mean, if we were going to get this sorted out.”

  “You didn’t need to—”

  “Cowney, you need to understand that as much as I like you, kid, it’s also my job to get things like this sorted out, whether it turns out good for you or not.”

  “I see. Well, I’m just glad it did turn out good. That’s what you said, right?”

  “Yes, sure did.”

  “So?”

  I could hear Craig laugh through the crackling line. “So … Essie had been hiding the bone. She was afraid that it would make things worse for you.”

  “How?”

  “Who knows?”

  “You think that means she thought I was some kind of murderer?”

  “Like I said, I was just doing my job. It doesn’t matter to me what she thinks about you. No offense. Listen, if it makes you feel better, she wanted to help after I told her what had happened to you.”

  “I guess it does a little.”

  “Well, good.
” He laughed again. “Anyway, after I told her, she brought me the bone and agreed to go with me to speak to Griggs.”

  “I bet he was livid.”

  “Yep. Threatened to put her in the brig for concealing evidence. Ridiculous, that inn doesn’t even have a brig. I got him calmed down eventually, and told him to have his experts look at the bone.”

  “And have they?”

  “Yeah, couple of local guys. Took them long enough, but he just called me a few minutes ago.”

  “What’d they say?” Craig was not talking fast enough for me.

  “Said it was too old to belong to the girl. I felt like saying, ‘Yeah, no shit, since the poor thing’s only been missing a few days,’ but I contained myself. And it wasn’t the right size for a child, either.”

  “Is it even human?”

  “Well, they’re not entirely sure about that. They’re going to have to send it off to Raleigh to determine that. Said it didn’t look like any animal in our area, but couldn’t be sure.”

  “Gosh, I really hope it’s not a human bone. I mean, I knew there was a chance … but that just makes me sick.”

  “Yeah, you might still have some trouble if it is human, but at least we’ve bought some time.”

  “And that lieutenant’s story? Is Franks still raising Cain?”

  “I think he’s quieted down, but he’s already in Grigg’s head. Even without the bone, Griggs still talks like you have something to do with this. Good news is that he doesn’t have evidence. Can’t even get Franks to sign a statement saying anything other than he thinks he remembers seeing you with the girl.”

  “That’s all good to hear. And I think good timing, too. I got a letter from Lee. Said our job’s finishing sooner than expected.”

  “That so? Well, we need to get you back to Asheville soon so you can make your tuition money.”

  “Who said I need tuition money? Right now I’m just trying to stay out of jail.”

  “Essie told me that, too. Said she’s worried you won’t have enough to leave in the fall.”

  “Essie needs to worry about herself.”

  “Well, either way, I told Griggs that I’d like to bring you back if he promised to let you work and not keep harassing you. Told him if they had questions for you, I had to be present.”

  “Why are you doing this for me, Mr. Craig?”

  “I knew your father and your uncle when they were the men I wanted to become. I’ll pick you up at the trading post at 8 a.m. sharp.”

  “Well, good morning, Cowney,” Jones called to me as he arrived at the trading post to open for the day. His wide grin and disheveled hair made him look a little crazy, but in an endearing way. “Looks like you’re headed somewhere.” He nodded to my bag. “Glad to see you safe. Heard the fire got awfully close to your homeplace.”

  “Sure am. Headed back to work in Asheville. I didn’t stay at home last night. Not sure just how close the fire got to us, but Bud will check on it.”

  “Well, that’s good news, I guess. Waiting on your ride?”

  “Yes. Should be here soon. Not exactly sure what time.”

  “Not your uncle?”

  “No. Shoot, he’s probably still sleeping one off.” I sat down on the bench and leaned back.

  “Last few times I’ve seen him in here, he looked pretty sober. Wouldn’t say the picture of perfect health, but definitely sober.”

  “Well, you don’t serve whiskey either.”

  “No, that’s true, but once you’ve worked here a while, you start seeing patterns in folks. Drunks shop different from our sober customers. Locals shop different than tourists. And some of the craziest regulars even bring in squirrels to trade for photos.” He laughed.

  “People don’t just change habits like that. Anyway, he’s a grown man. He can do what he wants to. I found another ride to Asheville so I don’t have to worry about Bud.”

  “Well, that’s good.” Jones opened the door to the shop.

  “He might even be a good reference for me,” I called to Jones.

  “Bud?”

  “Hell, no. Jon Craig. The man picking me up. He’s a veteran and works for the FBI.”

  “Sounds like a real good reference. Good luck, Cowney. You be sure and get those applications in the mail. Send me what you have if you want. I’ll have my father take a look, too.”

  “Thanks, Jones. I really do appreciate your help.”

  “Anytime.” Jones let the door close behind him.

  Not too long after, Craig pulled up in a whirl of dust. The car door creaked as he stepped out. “Morning, Cowney. You ready to get back to work?” He grinned.

  “Think so,” I called back.

  “Okay. You need anything from here? I’m going to grab a snack and some cigs.”

  “Nope. I’m good.”

  “No Cheerwine today?”

  “No, sir. Jones doesn’t carry it, anyway.”

  “Well, what kind of establishment is this?” he asked in mock disbelief.

  I waited in the car for Craig, cranking the window down and leaning out. He returned shortly with a Coca-Cola and a pack of Nabs crackers.

  “Breakfast of champions,” he announced as he climbed in behind the wheel and cranked the car. “Even better than Wheaties!” He went on, “So, how were things at home?”

  “Fine, I guess. Same old, same old, you know. Had a bit of a scare with the fires last night.”

  “How’s Bud?”

  “Same old, same old.” I shook my head. I looked at the charred pines on the mountainside. The grass, too, was black, almost clear down to the road.

  “You get a chance to ask him the questions you had?”

  “Nah. Didn’t see the point in it.”

  “Hmm.” Craig nodded. “It’s just … last time we spoke, it sounded like you wanted some answers.”

  “You told me all I care to know.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Two guns. Both army-issued. No bullets in them. You told me they took the Indian soldiers’ bullets, right?”

  “Right.”

  “But there was at least one shot heard and the sleepwalker didn’t have a gun,” I continued. “You know, you’re the first to actually verify that piece for me. The way I figure, it’s like Lishie kind of thought, though she didn’t know all the things you told me. I just figure my father heard the man struggling in the barbed wire, knew his own gun had been unloaded, found a bullet, and went out to help. Then Dad spotted the enemy and fired. Everybody else had probably been drinking, definitely Bud had, so when he got to Dad and the sleepwalker, he didn’t have bullets. He probably just dropped his gun and ran.”

  “Oh, that makes sense to you?”

  “Makes sense if I imagine what Bud would do.”

  “Son, you don’t give your uncle any credit at all, do you?”

  “No offense, sir, but if you grew up with him over your shoulder, you wouldn’t either.”

  Craig shook his head. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. “Cowney, I don’t want to tell you what I am about to tell you. But I also don’t want you to go your whole life thinking your uncle is a coward. He doesn’t deserve that and neither do you.”

  I turned to Craig with my full body. I could feel my heart beating faster. The car was growing warmer by the second. I restrained the urge to tell Craig about my theory about Bud and the recent fires, remembering that he was a federal agent.

  Craig sighed. “Your father did not know the sleepwalker was in the fence. Not at first. That is not why he went out there.”

  “Then why? Why would he be out there in the middle of the night?”

  Craig turned and looked at me and then returned his gaze to the road ahead.

  “And why would he have a gun? He had a gun, right?” I confirmed.

  “Yes, Cowney. Your father went out with a gun and one bullet. He went out alone and intended to be alone.”

  “But Bud showed up?”

  “Yes, he came looking
for your father. And yes, he had a gun. But it’s not like it sounds.”

  “Then who shot—?” I stopped before the words escaped.

  Craig sighed again. “Your father. Cowney, your father shot himself. He had planned it well enough to get a bullet first.” Craig attempted to look at me, but I turned toward the window.

  It would have been so much easier if I had thought this man was lying, but I knew that he wasn’t. There was a gentleness, an ease, in the way he was speaking that assured me he was telling the truth, and that this was something he had relived dozens of times for himself. I believed him because I could see how damaged he still was by this truth, and how badly he didn’t want it to damage me. But sometimes not knowing your own story is the most damaging thing of all.

  “Bud would have stopped him. You need to know that. He was protective of your father.”

  “It makes no sense.” I shook my head. I couldn’t understand why he would do that. I knew war is terrible, but they hadn’t seen that much action. He had a family. He had us. The curves of the road exaggerated my hunger to the point of nausea.

  “I know, Cowney. You remember I told you that you were on his mind when he died? I know it is true because—”

  “How? How the hell do you know?”

  “That night, Bud and your father got into an argument. Now, I don’t know everything that was said, but I do know that Bud said something about your mother.” Craig pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket, swerving the car a bit in the process. He wiped his forehead. “I sure as hell don’t want to have to tell you this, but I want you to understand.”