If It Is April

by Edward A. Stabler

  The door groaned as he slowly pushed it open. As the lamp bathed the room in yellow light and shadows, he saw two narrow beds, one along the left wall and one on the right. Their heads were pressed into the far corners of the room, flanking a central window. Each bed held a lumpy, blanketed form, and Cole could hear two distinct mouth-breathing rhythms. He stepped in softly for a closer look. A boy in each bed. The one to the left looked bigger. Cole guessed he was twelve or thirteen.

  He scanned the room. On the wall between the doorway and the smaller boy, a reading desk and chair. Built into the inside wall, a shallow closet with a full door. He pocketed the rope and moved quietly toward the head of the left bed. When he was within reach he paused long enough to hear steady breathing. Then he grabbed the boy by the pajamas at the scuff of his neck and jerked him into a sitting position. As the boy blinked his eyes open, Cole pressed one hand against his mouth and pulled out his Colt with the other. He pressed the muzzle to the boy’s temple and pursed his lips with a shushing sound.

  “What’s your name?” he whispered. The boy was wide-eyed now, nostrils flaring above Cole’s long fingers. “Talk soft,” he said, loosening his hand over the boy’s mouth while pressing the muzzle more firmly to his head.

  “Lenny,” the boy whimpered.

  “Your brother’s name,” Cole whispered.

  “Pete.”

  Cole held his index finger to his lips, stared at Lenny’s eyes until he nodded, and then lifted him by the scruff to his feet. He used the gun to prod the boy toward the closet door.

  “Get in and sit down, Lenny,” he whispered. “If you open the door or make a sound, I’ll shoot Pete. And then I’ll come shoot you.” He closed the closet door behind the boy and pushed it until it latched.

  Pivoting toward the bed on the right-hand wall, he stopped to listen again. Pete was still breathing audibly. He took the rope from his pocket and walked softly to the head of the bed. Using the same approach that had worked on Lenny, Cole had Pete sitting on the edge of his bed within seconds, focused on the gun barrel and shushed into a heart-pounding silence.

  “Stand up and put your hands behind your back,” Cole whispered.

  Pete did, and Cole quickly pulled the slipknot over them and cinched the rope tight around his wrists. He fed the rope forward between the boy’s legs, up and around his neck, and back down through his legs before wrapping it a few times around his waist and tying it off tight behind his back.

  “Let’s go,” he said, pushing Pete toward the bedroom door with the muzzle of the Colt. “Walk quiet and keep your mouth shut.” He plucked the oil lamp from the floor on the way out. In the hallway they slipped past the closed door on the opposite side. “That your parents room?”

  Pete nodded, seemingly afraid to speak.

  Cole stopped him and spun him by the shoulder toward the door, then reached over his head and pounded on the door several times with the butt of the Colt. He backed a few feet toward the head of the hallway, pulling Pete with him, both of them facing the closed bedroom door. He held the lamp at chest level and the gun to Pete’s head.

  The door opened and Jack Elgin stepped out, squinting, hunched, bald, with a forest of gray chest hair sprouting from the unbuttoned top of his nightshirt. He looked down the hall at the opened door before tracking the light toward Cole and Pete. He opened and closed his mouth without issuing a sound, then sputtered as he tried to make sense of the scene.

  “What? Who? Pete! Who’s that? Where’s Lenny?”

  “Lenny is fine,” Cole growled. “He’s in the closet. And you don’t have to worry about Pete. I’ll take care of him. The one you got to worry about is your girl. Katie.”

  Tessie Elgin edged into view beside her husband, hair disheveled, still wrapping herself in a bathrobe. “Did someone find her? You’re the man who said I should write her a letter… and you would try to give it to her! Why are you pointing a gun at Pete!”

  “Come any closer and I’ll shoot him.”

  “Did they find her?” Jack Elgin said. “Is she dead? What do you want with Pete?”

  “I found her,” Cole said. “She’s alive.” Her parents brightened, focusing on the news instead of the scene before them. “I was bringing her back here, but she run off. Stole something from me and my partners.”

  “What did she take?”

  “Money. And valuable information. She knows what she done.”

  “Well we don’t know what she did or where she is,” Tessie said. “But Pete didn’t do anything, mister…”

  “Cole.”

  “Now I remember,” Jack said.

  “So why are you taking Pete?” Tessie said. “Just let him go and tell us where Katie is. If she took something from you, we’ll tell her to give it back.”

  “I tried that,” Cole said. “She knows I want it, but now she’s playing games. Running up and down the canal with a boy who believes all the lies she’s feeding him.”

  “What boy?” Tessie said.

  “A locktender’s kid from Edwards Ferry. Thinks he’s saving her from the police. And he might be right about that.”

  “What are you talking about?” Jack said.

  “A witness seen Katie slash the throat of a man that washed up dead. The police want to question her about it. Now she’s acting like she lost her memory during the flood. Don’t remember her name or family or nothing she done. She’s playing the boy for a sucker. They’re pretending her name is April.”

  “Katie wouldn’t slash someone’s throat!” Tessie said.

  “Here’s the deal,” Cole said. “I’m will to trade something valuable. Send Katie back to Edwards Ferry. She knows how to find me there. Tell her to give up the toolbox with all the money and papers in it. When she done that, I’ll let Pete go. Tell her I’m out of time for fun and games.

  “She knows what she done,” Cole said again. “And she’s smart enough not to go to the police. You need to be smart too. If you tell anybody I been here and took Pete, or if you tell the police what I said about Katie, you won’t be seeing Pete no more.”

  “I don’t want to go!” Pete wailed, leaning forward as if he might start hobbling down the hall toward his parents. Cole used two fingers on his gun hand to grasp the tight coils of rope behind the boy’s lower back.

  “You got nothing to be afraid of, Pete. Long as you play things straight and do what I say.” He cocked the pistol and pointed it at Pete’s temple again. “Now walk backward slow.”

  Cole kept the boy in front of him and his eyes trained on Jack and Tessie as he and Pete backed their way down the hall. “You come out of this hallway and I’ll shoot him first, then use the rest of the bullets on you.”

  They reached the kitchen and Cole pivoted into the entrance hall, pushing Pete along in front of him at a shuffling pace, looking back every other step to check for pursuers. Out the front door he pocketed the Colt, doused the lamp, and hoisted the boy over his shoulder. As he loped down the driveway, he turned back once to look at the house. Lights had come on. If the Elgins had telephone service, maybe they were already calling for help.

  It didn’t matter; Cole made it to his truck without being confronted. He slung Pete down on the passenger side, pulled out his gun and poked him in the ribs with it, and started the engine. Wrists still tied to the rope behind his back, Pete flipped and slid until his feet were on the floor and his back pressed against the passenger door. He said nothing but kept his eyes on Cole, staying as far from his captor as possible. Moments later they were leaving Williamsport on the road to Boonsboro, heading for an old hunting cabin halfway up South Mountain. Cole knew it would be deserted and beyond earshot. He could tie the boy to a cast iron stove and catch a few more hours of sleep.

  Chapter 31

  Makers

  Monday, April 28, 1924

  Cole woke up when light started bleeding through the dirty panes of the cabin’s two windows. He rolled out of his blanket and turned to check on Pete, who was curled up on the floor un
der his own blanket, wrists bound and loosely tethered to the black leg of the cast-iron stove. Four hours in that position didn’t amount to much sleep. Should make him tired and easy to handle today. The drive to Edwards Ferry was less than two hours, but Cole saw no reason to wait. The roads would get busier as the morning wore on. He prodded Pete in the shoulder with his boot until the boy opened his eyes.

  “We’re back on the road, pardner. Rise and shine.” He untied Pete’s wrists, let him stand and stretch and piss in the stove mouth, then gave him a cup of water from the bucket he’d filled from the stream last night.

  “Where are we going?”

  Cole looked at the boy. He was on the smallish side for eleven, with sandy hair and freckles, but he was staring his captor straight in the face with unwavering green eyes. Probably trying to reckon the best place to jump out of the truck and run.

  “You’ll find out when we get there. And let’s get one thing straight. I ain’t gonna keep you tied up all the time. But if you take off running, I’ll run you down, and if I get tired of chasing you, I’ll shoot you instead. You can’t outrun a bullet. So if you don’t want to be dead – or hog-tied and hungry – stay next to me and keep your mouth shut.”

  “I’m already hungry.”

  “We’ll fix that soon.” Cole put on his coat and pulled out the pistol, so Pete could see he still had it. He bundled up the blankets and handed them to the boy, then poked him toward the door with the muzzle. “You can use ‘em to sleep in the truck. Let’s go.”

  The drive – over South and Catoctin mountains, down to the outskirts of Frederick, then south and east through farmland toward Poolesville and back to the river – was free of unwanted interactions. The few times cars passed by, Pete was either slumped out of sight in the passenger seat or staring straight ahead, hands in his lap. Cole reminded himself that the boy had awoken in the middle of the night in the lockhouse at Swains, found the floodwaters rising and his older siblings gone, and then led the Emorys’ mules to high ground without help or guidance from anyone. So Pete wasn’t timid or lacking initiative. Just because he seemed cooperative now didn’t mean Cole could let his guard down.

  They rolled to a stop at the end of Edwards Ferry Road and Cole got out to scan the area around the lock. No one in sight. With the blankets in one arm and a hand on Pete’s shoulder, he led the boy across the canal on the planks, then a few steps down the towpath to the stained brick shell of Jarboe’s Store. They passed the boarded-up front door and circled to the back of the far side, where Cole had shot up the latch two weeks ago. The door was still closed, its handle tied securely to a rock he’d deposited at the base of the wall. He untied the hitches around the handle and pushed the door open.

  “My brother said this place was haunted,” Pete said.

  “Your brother Cy?”

  Cole saw Pete’s throat move as he nodded, but no words came out.

  “I was sorry to hear he drownded in the flood,” Cole said, pushing Pete gently across the threshold and into the gloomy interior, then following and pulling the door closed behind him.

  “I think something bad happened.”

  There was a hint of resignation in the boy’s voice, Cole thought. Like his brother’s fate had been set long ago, and its arrival was met with disappointment more than grief.

  “You think he had a fight with someone?”

  “Maybe. He got mad sometimes.”

  “Who do you think he got mad at?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did he ever get mad at you?”

  “When he was feeling mean. Or if he wanted me to go away.”

  “Hit you and push you around?”

  Pete looked at his shoes. After their eyes adjusted to the dim light, Cole ushered him to the stripped-down staircase along the back wall. “Well you don’t got to worry about him hitting you no more. And I ain’t going to hit you, or let no one else hit you.” Draping the blankets over one shoulder, he hoisted Pete onto the other and carried the boy up the stairs, overstepping the handful of missing risers. At the top he led Pete into the bedroom with the window overlooking the lockhouse. The one he’d used for his unproductive vigil at Edwards Ferry.

  “That one ain’t half bad,” he said, gesturing to the lower of the two bunk-beds built into the wall. He’d outfitted it with a straw tick scavenged from the lockhouse basement during his last stay. “Get some real sleep. If I hear any yelling, I’ll hog-tie and gag you.”

  Cole pushed him toward the bed, stepped out of the room, and used the rope he’d bound Pete with to tie the door handle to the staircase banister. Then he slipped quietly down the stairs and out to the truck.

  An hour later he was back from Poolesville, stocked with bread, eggs, milk, cheese, sausages, jam, pancake mix, coffee, and a dozen cans of pork and beans. And from the hardware store, nails, screws, a padlock, and a hasp. He retrieved a hammer and screwdriver from the basement of the lockhouse, which was deserted and looked the way he’d left it two weeks ago. Back upstairs at Jarboe’s, he checked in on Pete and found him sleeping. The hammering would wake him up, but that didn’t worry Cole. Probably a good idea to keep him off balance.

  Standing in the hall, Cole installed the hasp on the closed bedroom door, padlocked it, and tried to push the door open. The hasp and lock held fast. Definitely strong enough to confine a boy Pete’s size. He unlocked the door and went back inside. Pete was up and looking out the window.

  “Don’t get no ideas,” Cole said. “It’s a long way down and rocks at the bottom. Come on out to the kitchen and let’s eat.”

  Pete followed him out to the living area and looked down at the canal through the full-length windows while Cole emptied his food sacks on the counter in the stripped kitchen. He opened a bottle of milk and cut slices of sausage, cheese, and bread. “I ain’t waiting on you, so you better come get it.” Pete joined him and devoured the half sandwiches Cole offered him one at a time.

  “When can I go home?” Pete asked, wiping milk from his mouth.

  “Depends on your sister.”

  “You said she stole money. I don’t believe you.”

  “Suit yourself, but it’s true.”

  “Where did you see her?”

  Cole jerked his head upstream and answered with his mouth full. “Right next door. In the lockhouse. She was hiding out after the flood.”

  “Why was she hiding?”

  Cole ignored the question. “Two partners of mine drownded in the flood. Kevin Emory and his brother Tom. They was on the scow that tied up at Swains the day before. You saved their mules. Do you remember the boat?”

  Pete nodded.

  “Did you see the men?”

  He shook his head. “Katie gave me money and told me to go buy bread in Potomac. The boat wasn’t there when I left. I had to walk a long way and wait for the bread. When I got back, the boat was tied up below the lock. Cy made me to go to my room after dinner and don’t come out until he said it was OK. Nobody came and it got dark.”

  “You didn’t hear nothing while you was waiting? Or see something out the window?”

  “I didn’t see nothing. I heared talking. Cy and someone else.”

  “Talking to Katie?”

  “It was a man. They went in and out the front door, and someone went down to the basement, ‘cause I heared bumping on the stairs. Then it was quiet. I think they left.”

  “Just one man talking to your brother?”

  “I think so.”

  “Was it loud bumping, like a fight? Hear anyone yelling or crashing into things?”

  “No. It sounded like they was trying to be quiet.”

  “Pete, when did Katie send you to the store?”

  “In the morning.”

  “Early or middle?”

  “Middle.”

  “When did you get back?”

  “In the afternoon.”

  “Late?”

  He nodded.

  “And Katie was gone?”

  He n
odded again.

  “Before you left, or after you got back, do you remember seeing a metal toolbox in the lockhouse?” He held his hands apart to show its rough dimensions. “Maybe Katie or Cy put it in the basement.”

  “There was a metal box in the kitchen, on top of the cabinet. I couldn’t reach it. I asked Cy what it was and he told me to shut up.”

  “When was that? Morning or afternoon?”

  “When I was eating dinner.”

  Cole exhaled and scaled his fingers through his hair. The toolbox had been in the lockhouse before the flood, as he’d guessed. Kevin and Tom wouldn’t have left it unattended, so they must have been dead by the time Pete was eating dinner. Cole had never bought the sheriff’s assertion that they’d gone canoeing and capsized in the flood. Not without their hats, and not when it meant leaving the toolbox vulnerable to anyone boarding the scow. So did Cy kill them? With help from Katie or the other man? It was hard to reckon. No wounds were found on the bodies, and the coroner said they drowned.

  And who took the toolbox out of the lockhouse? Did Katie slip back in to fetch it while Pete was upstairs? If not, how could she remember seeing it fall into the lock? Or did Cy take it when he left with the other man? If so, only that other man knew where it was now. And maybe, it occurred to Cole, that man was Lee Fisher, in which case its present whereabouts might not be known by anyone alive. Unless Cy and the man joined up with Katie again that evening. Everything always came back to her.

  “Cy sent you up to your room and said don’t come out. Then he left with the other man. And nobody came back before you went to bed. That right?”

  “I stayed up for a while but then I got tired.” Just saying that word made Pete yawn.

  “What woke you up in the middle of the night?”

  “The mules. They was braying and didn’t stop.”

  “So you went down to check on ‘em and saw the flood coming up. Was the box still in the kitchen?”