If It Is April

by Edward A. Stabler

  “I’m having ‘em dropped off here tomorrow and I need a place to keep ‘em for a week or two. You got a little corral out back that don’t seem to be getting used. I was thinking it would be a good spot, ‘cause I could check on ‘em when I pass by.”

  Jess looked deflated but had no immediate reply, so Cole knew he would acquiesce.

  “I can’t be responsible for them! What if someone takes them? There’s no feed here, and no water in the canal!”

  Cole stared at Jess without speaking until he sensed the locktender’s mounting discomfort. “Don’t worry about no one stealing ‘em. That’s my job. And I’ll get a half-dozen bales of hay delivered. All you got to do is make sure they got water in the trough and a ration of hay every morning.”

  Jess’s expression shifted from anxious to indignant. “Your mules are your responsibility! Why should I have to look after them? I’m not a stable boy! You said you were going to offer me a deal!”

  “Here’s the deal,” Cole said in a low voice. “You keep my mules fed and watered, and I’ll make sure nothing happens to your goose.” He gave Jess a smile that showed his canine teeth, dropped his arm from the door, and extended his right hand.

  Jess shook hands with a look of resignation and dread, as if Cole might have a copperhead up his sleeve. “I’ll give ‘em hay and water, mister. Just leave Jimmy out of it.”

  “You’re a good man, Mr. Swain,” Cole said, but Jess was already closing the door. Cole walked around to the downstream side of the lockhouse, where he’d seen Jess hoeing a ruined garden a few days earlier. After assessing the tools at hand, he selected a garden rake with thick metal tines. He hefted it mid-shaft and started down the towpath toward the scow.

  It hadn’t rained for more than an hour in total since the flood, so the mud on the towpath was firming up. Probably solid enough for a mule team to pull a boat. The washed-up rocks and gravel would get kicked aside or sink into the dirt. But there were still blowouts to fix on every level of the canal, including one between Swains Lock and the scow. When he reached the break, Cole followed its slope down to the base of the canal wall and then back up to the towpath on the other side. By the time he approached the scow, the sun had dropped below the tree-tops. He crossed the drying floor of the prism and used the rake to prod for decent footing. Cole wasn’t sure if Zimmerman was on board, so he rapped the hull a few times with the butt before climbing onto the deck.

  No one emerged from the cabin to greet him, so he continued to the hay-house in the bow, flipped the latch open, and studied the doors. They were wider than he would have liked, but made with solid planks and rails. They formed a good seal when closed and the hinges looked strong. He closed the doors, set the latch, and dropped a rake tine through the ring. The tine was long and thick enough to lock it firmly. He pulled the rake free and headed aft to the cabin.

  Holding it to his chest, head up and tines out, Cole descended the three steps, opened the door, and walked through. As he’d suspected, Zimmerman was waiting for him behind the cabin door. But no hand rose to collide with the tines guarding Cole’s throat.

  “There’s two kinds of people I let pass,” Zimmerman said. Cole stood still, facing the stove on the forward wall. “Women, and fellers a whole head taller than me. With that long hair, I thought maybe you was both.”

  Cole pivoted slowly in place, hands clasped together at sternum-height on the shaft, pressing its butt end to the floor.

  Zimmerman snorted and pocketed his knife when he saw the rake. “I guess you got a change of attitude the last few days. First time we met you was pointing a gun.”

  “I still got it,” Cole said, swinging the rake aside with one hand and tapping his coat pocket with the other. “Figured you might want to do a little gardening, since you seem to be settling in here.”

  “You figured wrong.” Zimmerman walked past Cole to the cupboard, pulled out two tin cups, and filled them halfway from the cask. “I don’t mind buying my dinner, or letting someone else pay for it. But you won’t see me trying to pull food out of the ground.” He set the cups on the table, took the stool on the far side, and gestured for Cole to sit down. “That reminds me,” he said. “I thought you was going to bring stewed tomatoes and navy beans. Seeing as you ate half a pot of my soup the last time you stopped by.”

  Cole propped the rake against the counter and sat down. “I heared it’s better to teach a man to fish,” he said. He took off his Stetson, clawed his fingers through his hair, and took a taste of whiskey.

  “You ain’t here to give me a rake. Find your toolbox yet?”

  “No. So that means you’re still a suspect.”

  Zimmerman laughed and raised his cup for a sip. “I told you who you need to track down. That Elgin girl.”

  Cole nodded. “I think you got that right. I went up to Williamsport and seen her folks. They ain’t heared from her since the flood, and they’re afraid she maybe drownded like her brother.”

  “She ain’t dead,” Zimmerman said, almost hissing. “Someone would of found the body.”

  “Where do you think she is?”

  “She was staying at Swains, helping Cy fix his boat. Cy said she was strolling around with Lee Fisher up at Pennyfield Lock. That’s three miles up the canal from Swains. I don’t know where she gone to, but that’s where she was.”

  “Think she could of made it to Edwards Ferry?”

  Zimmerman sat thinking for a few seconds. “Sure. It ain’t too far, even if she was carrying your toolbox. Past Pennyfield you got Violettes Lock, Rileys Lock, and Seneca before Edwards Ferry. Maybe twelve miles altogether.”

  “You’re pretty sure she stole it, ain’t you?”

  “Could be that Cy done it, but he ain’t got it now. With him and Lee Fisher and your Emory boys drownded, who else could of hauled it away from Swains?” Zimmerman swirled the whiskey in his cup and stared at the pockmarked table. “And I just remembered something else,” he said. “The flood come on Saturday night and I seen Cy that morning at Great Falls. He was looking to sell a bicycle. Told me he reckoned Katie rode it down from Pennyfield, maybe stole it, and he thought that was kind of strange.”

  “So maybe Katie Elgin got a taste for thieving.”

  “Lots of people got a taste for thieving,” Zimmerman said, lifting his eyes to meet Cole’s. “Especially the ones that ain’t smart enough or strong enough to make a honest living. Cut firewood or cook whiskey, like you done. Dig up gold dust or sell powder like me. It don’t matter, long as you got a product people want to buy. What I can’t stomach is people that don’t want to work, just want to tap someone else’s veins. That makes ‘em no better than mosquitoes that deserve to get smacked.”

  “I guess if you was digging for gold in the Yukon, you seen your share of mosquitoes, probably smacked a few.”

  Zimmerman cracked a smile. “True enough, my friend. And not just in the Yukon. We got plenty around here. I had to swat one in Leesburg last week.” He raised his cup for a sip and exhaled a vaporous whistle. “But it ain’t always a bad thing. Sometimes when a skeeter stops buzzing around your head, you see a path you didn’t see before, and that’s what I see now.” He leaned toward Cole, planted his elbows on the table, and brought his fists together under his chin. “I can tell you’re a man that ain’t afraid to work. Maybe you should get into the heroin business.”

  Chapter 14

  Handoff

  Sunday, April 13, 1924

  The road to Edwards Ferry skirted fields and turned farmers’ corners on its descent to the buffer of woods that guarded the canal. Cole thought about the task ahead as he drove. Doc Cushing had said the girl was staying in the lockhouse with a young feller named Jake. She claimed to have lost her memory, and Jake told Cushing he believed her. That meant one of two things. Maybe Jake had been conned by Katie Elgin. Duped like a soft-headed fool or a love-struck Romeo. Or maybe he was in cahoots with her. Either way, he’d probably get sore if a stranger showed up and started twisting Katie’s
arm about the toolbox.

  It would be better to get the girl away from him, keep her alone someplace. That would put time on his side. He could apply pressure when needed and let fear and hunger do the rest. Before long she’d remember what happened at Swains Lock and where the toolbox was. Cole had one of Zimmerman’s mason jars of heroin behind the driver’s seat, and he wondered how the girl would be affected by inhaling a line or two. The sample he’d tried with Zimmerman last night had made him feel relaxed and insightful, revealing connections between people and powers and circumstances he hadn’t noticed before. Maybe heroin would dissolve her inhibitions and entice her to talk.

  When he reached the graveled end of Edwards Ferry Road, he cut the engine and checked the breast pocket of his coat. The envelope was still there. He got out of his truck and left the door open, tapping his hip pocket as he approached the planks laid across the lock. His Colt was still there too.

  ***

  Jake held the bridle while April looped the tether around the top of a corral post behind the lockhouse. She took his place while he unwound the wrap and lifted the bandage at the base of Gladys’s neck. Her wound was healing nicely; the puncture hole was now just a gelatinous red indentation in her flesh. Too early to leave it uncovered, but the risk of infection seemed to be passing. April handed him the petroleum jelly and a fresh bandage, and Gladys jerked her tether taut as he daubed the wound, tied the bandage in place, and replaced the wrap. Jake offered Gladys a few reassuring words, but his remarks were smothered by a voice from the dirt road beside the lockhouse.

  “That’s a fine-looking mule!” the man said. “First white one I ever seen! I hope she ain’t hurt too bad. Anything I can do to help?”

  Jake turned and saw a tall man wearing a chocolate-colored coat and a black Stetson, with black hair that fell halfway to his shoulders and a close-trimmed beard with gray streaks. The man’s drooping mustache reminded him of a photo he’d seen of a young Mark Twain.

  “She’s all right, mister,” Jake said flatly. At least the man could tell a Molly mule from a John. But what was he doing standing on the dirt road that led down to the boat ramp?

  Then the man smiled and started walking toward them across the lawn. Jake cast a quick glance at April, who was holding Gladys’s bridle and squinting in the late morning sun as she watched the stranger approach.

  “I don’t mean to intrude,” the man said, “but you must know this area better than I do, and I’m looking for someone you might of run into.” He held out his hand toward Jake and smiled to reveal pointed canine teeth. “My name is Delmond Cole.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Jake said, offering his name and shaking Cole’s hand without enthusiasm.

  Cole turned to extend his hand toward April, who had tethered Gladys back to the post. “And it’s likewise nice to meet you, Miss…”

  “April,” she said, smiling as if the man were a well-liked neighbor.

  “That’s a pretty name,” Cole said, releasing her hand. “What’s your last name?”

  April’s smile froze in place, and Jake felt a ball of heat rising in his chest as the seconds ticked by. “Reed,” he finally barked. “Same as mine.”

  Cole kept his eyes trained on April, who swiveled hers toward her feet. “What’s your mother’s name?” he said.

  “What’s it to you?” Jake said, scowling openly now.

  Cole released April from his focus and turned calmly toward Jake. “I’m looking for a girl that went missing from Swains Lock in the flood two weeks ago. Her name is Katie Elgin. Her family in Williamsport is worried sick about her, so I told ‘em I would ask around, since I’m working for a week or two down at Swains. They gave me a letter they wrote and I said I would try to get it to her.” He pulled the letter from the breast pocket of his coat and turned to address April again. “I ain’t opened it yet. Would you like to read it?”

  “She told you her name is April Reed, not Katie Elgin!”

  Cole gave Jake a sympathetic look. “She didn’t say that, you did.” Before Jake could reply, he turned back to the girl. “What’s your father’s name, April?”

  “You don’t have to answer questions from strangers!” Jake said, looking intently at April. “He could be a Bible salesman or a bounty hunter for all you know. Maybe he’s a beekeeper!”

  April smiled as if she were snapping out of a spell. “I don’t know about the first two, but he doesn’t look like a beekeeper to me. I don’t think they wear beards.”

  Cole sighed and pushed his hat back on his head. “I ain’t any of them things,” he said, addressing April and Jake in turn. “I sell cord-wood for a living, and I’m helping fix up a company boat that washed out of the canal during the flood. I met Tessie Elgin down at Swains and felt sorry that her daughter gone missing, so I said I would try to help. A few days later I heared there was a girl about the same age up at Edwards Ferry, and she don’t remember her name.”

  He held the envelope so they could read the word “Katie” on its face, then gave April a wistful look. “Maybe this is from your mother. Don’t you think you should read it?”

  While April stared at the envelope in Cole’s hands, Jake studied the flap, which was sealed and looked like it hadn’t been tampered with. He tried to think of a compelling objection.

  Cole seized the opportunity by sliding a long fingernail under the flap and slicing past the seal. He withdrew the letter, unfolded it, and presented it to Jake, whose curiosity stifled any notion he might have had of tearing it into pieces. Instead he held the letter so he and April could read it side by side.

  Dearest Katie,

  Your father and I rejoice that this note finds you alive. We pray you are well in body and spirit. We miss you deeply. Your brother Pete escaped the flood and is safe at home. We hope you will soon rejoin him and the rest of your adoring family. If something prevents you from traveling, just send word and your father and I will come for you straightaway. We have entrusted our message to Mr. Cole in hopes that it might somehow pass from his hands to yours. If it has, please believe that you have nothing to fear. We love you and want you to come home.

  Always, Momma and Poppa

  April took the letter from Jake and read it again, shaking her head almost imperceptibly as she finished. Then she turned the letter over, a gesture which hadn’t occurred to Jake, since a wide margin of blank space remained below the signatory line. Centered on the page, just above the fold, was a handwritten symbol he’d never seen before.

  April held the letter in both hands and stared at the symbol without saying anything. Jake noticed Cole leaning forward to examine it as she slowly lowered the page.

  “I remember this,” she said in a faraway voice, without looking directly at either man. “I don’t know where it’s from. But I know it’s mine.”

  Another shard of memory, Jake thought, like the recollection she’d had a few days ago of riding a bicycle down the towpath at night, then carrying a pair of shackles as she checked on three mules. Now it seemed harder to pretend they didn’t know April’s real name.

  “Your mother knows where it come from,” Cole said. “Let me take you back to her.”

  Jake tried to think through the conflicting impulses he felt. From the start he’d wanted April to remember who she was, so he could send her home. Her wariness had discouraged him, as had her premonition that an older man with a funny first name was trying to kill her. And now she’d been tracked here by a stranger named Delmond! He wasn’t an old man, but he was ten or fifteen years older than either of them. Yet April didn’t seem alarmed around him, and she’d clearly used a code word to reassure Jake. She said Cole didn’t look like a beekeeper.

  The note was bland and could have been written by anyone who knew Katie Elgin had two parents and a younger brother named Pete, which Jake assumed was common knowledge. And the message hadn’t resonated with April. But the symbol on the back had struck a chord, and caused her to essentially confess her memory loss to Cole. Whoever wr
ote the letter knew where the symbol came from, and that writer had expressed trust in a Mr. Cole.

  If Cole had composed the letter himself, he knew Katie Elgin in a way that Jake never had and April no longer did. Who had told him that April was here, and that she’d lost her memory? Jake didn’t know, but it was something else that Cole had been right about. Maybe they should trust him.

  “What do you think?” Cole said. “I’ll take you to meet Tessie Elgin and her family. If you don’t want to stay with them, I’ll bring you back here.”

  Jake remembered the poster he’d seen in the Poolesville post office, with Katie Elgin’s name beneath a photo of April. She couldn’t hide at Edwards Ferry forever. She’d be found, and he had to take Gladys and Bertie back to Sharpsburg this week. Jake had been looking for a way to deliver April to her family while sidestepping the police. Maybe Katie Elgin’s mother wanted the same thing and this was her way of reaching out. The letter was clearly written in a woman’s hand, and Cole seemed sincere.

  “It feels like it could be true,” April said. “Maybe I have to find out.” And then to Jake, “What do you think?”

  “Maybe,” Jake said as his reasoning reached a dead end. “I think so.”

  It only took her a few minutes to retrieve her clothes. She emerged from the lockhouse with a potato sack slung over her shoulder. Jake walked beside her as they followed Cole across the lock and the mud-crusted berm to his truck. He couldn’t think of anything to say except “good luck” as she turned to hug him goodbye. April didn’t say anything at all. Then she got in on the passenger side as Cole started the engine, and seconds later she was gone.

  Chapter 15

  Reconsidering

  Sunday, April 13, 1924

  After watching Cole’s truck recede up Edwards Ferry Road, Jake drifted back to the lockhouse, feeling both relieved and numb. Half of his thoughts over the last nine days had been devoted to the tasks at hand – fixing the flood damage to the lock and lockhouse, taking care of Gladys and Bertie, getting them in shape for the walk to Sharpsburg – and the other half had been consumed by April.