Another confused look passed over Mud’s face. “Relatives?”
“Yes. Like a grandmother or cousin. Your mother’s mother would be your grandmother.”
Mud shifted from foot to foot. “No one ever came to where we live. ‘Cept some poachers, but they stayed in them boats. We didn’t talk to none of them.”
The more Mud revealed, the more horrified Grace became. If what the little girl said was true, she’d been raised in the woods with no one but her mother. “Did you not go to school?”
Mud blinked. “School?”
“Can you read, Mud?”
“Mama was teaching me to read some. She would bring home newspapers from her trips to the village.”
So, they had been to Jena, Grace thought, choosing her words carefully. “Have you ever been to the village?”
“I went with Mama some, but she made me stay in the trees. She said it was ‘cause the Devil lived in the village.”
“So, the man who hurt your mother lived in the village?”
Mud shrugged a bony shoulder. “I reckon.”
“Okay.” Grace rose to her feet. “That’s enough questions for now. You look tired. Would you like to go to bed now? You just got out of the hospital. I wouldn’t want you to have a relapse.”
Grace wanted desperately to get on the computer and do a search on Flora. If she could remember her last name. She would simply search through the articles on the church fire. Or she could call Jasper. But too many questions would arise, and Grace wasn’t ready to tell him about Mud’s presence in their home. Not yet at any rate.
Mud picked that moment to yawn. She had to be tired, considering she’d been treated for pneumonia, malnutrition, and dehydration.
Pulling the covers back, Grace motioned for Mud to climb beneath them. “I’ll have your medications ready when you get up in the morning. Plus, I’ll take you to the local pancake house for some breakfast. Would you like that?”
Mud shook her head. “I don’t wanna go nowhere.”
Grace paused and then pulled the covers up to Mud’s neck. “Very well. We don’t have to leave. I can make pancakes here at home.”
Switching off the lamp, Grace left the room before she broke down and cried in front of the little girl. Poor Mud…
Chapter Twelve
Grace hurried to the office next to the bedroom she shared with Jasper. Not only was her stomach in knots, but she noticed her hands trembled too.
Beulah would be checking in on Mud in a day or two to report back to the state on her well-being. If Beulah only knew the things Mud had admitted to, she would go to the police. And the questioning they would put poor Mud through would be too much for the young girl to handle.
Booting up the laptop, Grace waited for the search engine to appear and then typed in church fire in Jena, Louisiana.
According to the article, the woman who’d been responsible for the fire had been known as Flora Ramer.
A picture of Flora appeared. She had dark-blonde hair and sky-blue eyes. The same color eyes as Mud’s.
But that could be a coincidence, Grace silently admitted, reading on. The tribal police were still searching for Ramer in connection with the fire nearly thirteen years ago.
Doctor Frazier’s words resounded through Grace’s mind. “There’s no sign of baby teeth in her mouth, which leads me to believe she’s approximately twelve to thirteen years of age.”
If Flora Ramer was truly Mud’s mother, she would have gotten pregnant around the time she burned the church. Which meant that Mud’s father could possibly be one of the residents in the village of Jena… Or a Jena Choctaw Indian.
Mud’s dark hair floated through Grace’s mind. Could she belong to one of the local Choctaws?
Grace shook off her paranoid thoughts and continued her research on Flora Ramer. She managed to dig up Flora’s arrest records, noting that she had been picked up for shoplifting, vandalizing, and domestic violence.
A picture of an African American man appeared next to Flora’s mugshot, the man she’d been involved with at the time of her domestic violence charge. The name next to his image read, Jesse Washington.
Grace quickly typed in the man’s name but could find no other charges besides the domestic one from fourteen years ago in Calhoun. She wondered if Jesse could be Mud’s biological father.
Another search produced an address on Jesse. She jotted that bit of information down on a small pad in front of her, tore the piece of paper off, and then stuffed it into her pants pocket.
Next, she printed off the picture of Flora. She would show it to Mud when she awoke in the morning and see if she recognized the woman in the image.
Grace blew out a shaky breath and leaned back in her seat. Jasper was due home in a day or two, and she had no idea how he would react to their new guest.
The doorbell rang, pulling Grace out of her thoughts of Jasper’s reaction to Mud.
She got to her feet and rushed to the door to find Opa standing on the stoop. “Hi, Opa. What brings you here?”
Opa apologized. “I know it’s getting late, but I was in the village and wanted to stop by to find out what happened to the child Talako found in the swamps.”
“Please, come in,” Grace offered, stepping back to allow the other woman entrance. “I was still up anyhow.”
Opa moved past her to the living room before turning to face her.
“Have a seat.” Grace closed the door and joined her friend on the sofa. “Actually, I’m glad you stopped by. The child is really not quite a child after all. She’s at least twelve to thirteen years old.”
Opa blinked. “What? But she’s so small.”
“I know. She had pneumonia, malnutrition, and was severely dehydrated. She’s also…here.”
The beautiful Choctaw woman’s eyes grew huge in her face. “Here, as in your home?”
Grace nodded. “Yeah, she’s sleeping in the guest room at the moment.”
“But how? Why? I don’t understand.”
“Apparently, she’s been living in the swamps for years. The fact that she survived as long as she has is a miracle.” Grace intentionally left out the part where Mud’s mother died, and Mud killed her attacker.
“Oh my goodness,” Opa breathed, her face visibly paling. “You mean that little girl has been living out there in the swamp all alone? How on earth is she still breathing?”
Grace wanted to know that very thing. “I don’t know, but she’s skin and bones. Her hair was so matted, I had to cut the knots loose. I can’t wrap my mind around how she didn’t starve to death out there.”
Pity floated through Opa’s eyes. “Or get eaten by an alligator. I am only thankful that Talako found her when he did, else she probably would have lain out there and died.”
A kernel of suspicion formed in Grace’s mind. But she pushed it out as quickly as it came. Talako couldn’t be Mud’s father. Could he?
She rubbed her palms along her knees, her mind crawling back to her previous thoughts. “I’m really grateful for Talako being out there on that day. God knows what would have happened to poor Mud otherwise.”
“Mud?” Opa asked, her eyebrows lifting in surprise.
“According to her, that’s what her mother named her.”
Opa shook her head. “The white man sure has some strange ways.”
Grace laughed. “Hey! I’m white too.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean that to be a racial slur, Mrs. Holloway. I was only—”
“It’s okay, Opa. I know you didn’t. You don’t have a facetious bone in your body. I was teasing you is all.”
Opa touched Grace on the arm. “That is good to hear. I would never intentionally do anything to disrespect you, Mrs. Holloway. I have much respect for you and your husband. Talako and I both do.”
“Thank you,” Grace murmured, hoping to find a way to ask her next question without coming off as suspicious. “Did Talako happen to find anything else in the swamps the day he found Mud?”
O
bviously confused by Grace’s question, Opa said, “Not that I am aware of. But maybe I don’t understand the question. Do you mean was anyone else with her?”
Grace feigned ignorance. “Yeah, or maybe a dwelling of some sorts? Anything that would give an indication of someone living out there, other than Mud.”
Opa shook her head. “Talako didn’t mention anything about a dwelling or seeing anyone else. He had gone to hunt that day. He ventured out a little farther than usual. That’s when he happened to notice someone lying beneath a willow tree.”
That made sense to Grace. “He must have had to carry her for miles.”
“Thankfully, he had his horse with him,” Opa answered, a small indention between her eyes. “You do not think Talako had anything to do with the girl being in the swamps, do you?”
Grace realized how her questioning must have come across. “Goodness, no. I’m just trying to piece together what happened, and how Mud and her mother ended up in the swamps. I mean, why would anyone in their right mind take a child to live in such a place?”
“Her mother was out there with her?”
Opa’s question hung in the air for a moment before Grace spoke again. “Yes. And Mud’s mother was the woman who burned down our church thirteen years ago.”
“What?” Opa gasped, her mouth dropping open. “Are you sure?”
Grace got to her feet. “Come, I’ll show you.”
Opa stood as well and followed Grace to the office.
Grace flipped on the light and moved to stand next to the desk. She lifted the printout of Flora Ramer, handed it to Opa, and stood quietly by while the other woman read the information on Ramer.
“It’s her all right,” Opa unnecessarily pointed out. “But how do you know this is Mud’s mother?” She passed the paper back to Grace.
Staring down at the image in her hand, Grace murmured, “I don’t know for sure. But I plan on showing this to Mud when she wakes up. If this was her mother—”
“Was?” Opa interrupted, stopping the rest of Grace’s words.
And Grace realized in that moment that she’d said too much.
She lifted her gaze to Opa’s. “Mud’s mother is dead. She was murdered in front of her daughter.”
Opa paled. “What— When— How do you know all this?”
“Mud told me.”
“And this man who killed her mother… He just let the child go?”
Grace realized that she wouldn’t be able to keep such information to herself. The police needed to know about the deaths. An investigation into both victims would also need to be done, families notified, proper burials and such.
Holding Opa’s gaze, Grace softly admitted, “Mud killed him.”
Chapter Thirteen
Grace watched Opa’s expression change from one of surprise…to downright shock.
The other woman stood there, silent for so long Grace grew nervous.
And then Opa breathed, “She witnessed a man murder her mother, and then she killed him? When? Where?”
“That’s what she confessed to me. And I’m assuming out in the swamps where they lived. She didn’t know how long ago because she can’t tell time.”
Opa’s mouth opened and closed. “My God. Who was he? Did she know him?”
Grace shook her head. “No, but she said he had dark hair and green eyes. Sounds like it could have been Albert Dyson.”
More color drained from Opa’s face. “He has been missing for a long time.”
“I know,” Grace admitted, growing more uneasy by the second. “Opa, if Mud killed Albert Dyson, no place on this earth will be safe for her. Especially if Horace gets wind of it.”
“You mean, when Horace gets wind of it. That man has a way of obtaining information unlike anyone I’ve ever known before. He terrifies me.”
“He makes me nervous too, Opa. What am I going to do?”
Opa ran a hand down her face. “We have to notify the police.”
“I know,” Grace agreed. “But the chief of police, Maurice Jones, is chummy with Horace Dyson, and—”
“No, no. Not the Jena police. I meant the tribal police. If the killings took place in those swamps, the tribal police would have jurisdiction.”
Grace knew that. “You’re right.” And thank God for that. “Will you take me to Chief Gray Feather so I can explain everything to him? I’d like to tell him Mud’s side of the story before word gets out about what happened.”
“Of course. I will take you to him tomorrow. But Mrs. Holloway, if that child truly did kill a man, she probably has deeper issues than what you see on the surface. I would stay vigilant if I were you.”
“I know, Opa. I will.”
Opa turned to go. “Is Reverend Holloway still out of town?”
Grace blew out a trembling breath. “Yes, until tomorrow or Friday at the latest.”
“Does he know the child is staying with you?”
“No,” Grace admitted, following Opa out of the office and through the living room.
She opened the door for her guest to leave. “And I have a feeling he’s not going to be too happy about it either.”
Opa stepped outside onto the stoop and turned to face Grace. “What are you going to do?”
“I have no idea. But I can’t just send the poor thing away. She’s been through so much, Opa. And she seems to trust me. I have to do what I can to help her.”
“You’re a good soul, Mrs. Holloway. Maybe too good.” With that, Opa walked away.
Grace shut the door and wandered back to the hallway, stopping outside the door to the guest room.
She listened for several heartbeats, satisfied that Mud slept, and then turned the knob and quietly entered to find the bed empty.
“Mud?” she whispered, her gaze frantically scanning the room.
Rushing inside, she rounded the bed to find Mud curled up on the floor, a blanket wrapped around her bony shoulders.
Grace knelt next to her and touched her on the arm. “Mud?”
The young girl’s eyes snapped open, but she didn’t speak.
“What are you doing down here on the floor?”
Uncertainty entered Mud’s eyes. Or maybe it was fear. Grace couldn’t tell.
“It feels better down here,” Mud whispered, not meeting Grace’s gaze.
“You don’t like the bed?”
Mud shook her head.
“Didn’t you sleep in a bed where you come from?”
“We didn’t have no bed,” came Mud’s quiet response.
It took all Grace could do not to cry. “I see. Okay then, can I at least give you a pillow to use?”
Mud didn’t answer.
Grace rose to her feet, grabbed a pillow from the bed, and laid it next to Mud’s makeshift pallet. “Are you sure you don’t want to sleep in the bed? It’s awfully comfortable.”
“I’m sure.”
With a slight nod, Grace moved around her and left the room, pulling the door closed behind her.
Mud had never had a bed.
The tears fell.
Chapter Fourteen
Mud held completely still, listening as Grace left the room.
Once the door closed behind her, Mud blew out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
What Grace didn’t know was that Mud had crept to the hallway and overheard the conversation she’d had with a woman named Opa. They intended on informing something called the tribal police about Mud killing the Devil.
Only, they’d referred to him as Albert Dyson.
The Devil had a name? And both women had spoken as if they’d known him personally.
Mud’s mama had warned her about the village folks knowing the Devil. She’d also explained how they were deceived by him, and that all of them were bad.
But Grace didn’t seem bad. She’d been good to Mud, showing her nothing but kindness and generosity. Yet, she spoke of Mud killing the Devil as if it were a bad thing.
Grace had also admitted that someo
ne named Reverend Holloway would be arriving home tomorrow or Friday. Though Mud didn’t know what Friday meant, she did understand tomorrow would come with the rising of the sun.
Mud needed to leave, and fast.
She lay on her pallet without moving until she heard a door close across the hall.
Pushing her cover back, Mud rose quietly to her feet and made her way around the bed. She yanked the case off a pillow and moved on silent feet to the dresser.
She transferred the items in the drawers to her pillowcase and then crept soundlessly to the door, where she stood for several minutes, listening.
When no sounds could be heard, Mud carefully turned the knob and eased the door open. No lights were on in the house, save for a dim light in the hall bathroom.
Mud tiptoed to the kitchen and opened the door to the box Grace had explained to be a refrigerator. She grabbed several items from within and placed them in her pillowcase along with the clothes she’d taken.
Taking a loaf of bread from the counter and some cookies resting next to it, Mud made her way to the front door.
It opened without sound.
The warm night air touched her face the second she stepped onto the stoop.
Mud stood there, glancing up and down the street for signs of danger.
When nothing untoward happened, she ran.
* * * *
The moon had risen high overhead by the time Mud arrived home to find the door to the shack hanging open.
She stopped a few feet away, her breaths coming in quick, short gasps. Mud had no idea how far it was to that village from her home, but it was far enough to cause labored breathing.
A racoon scrambled out of the shack when Mud reached for the door. “Get from here!”
Stepping inside, she felt a calmness sweep over her. Here, she was safe. Here, she was home.
She set the pillowcase containing her food and clothes on the tabletop, picked up her cup still resting there, and dipped it into a bucket of rainwater.
The water tasted amazing, quenching her thirst and settling her nerves.
The Girl Named Mud: A Gripping Suspense Novel Page 5