by Sharon Sala
“Hey, Aunt Tildy.”
“Hello, Lincoln. How are you doing?”
“I’m fine. Are you staying warm? Do you need any more wood hauled up to the house?”
“I’m fine, Lincoln, but since you asked, there’s something you could do for someone else, if you were of a mind to.”
He frowned. “Like what?”
“I have a friend named Beulah Justice who lives up the road from me a piece. Her only kin is a grandson, but he’s in the army. She was over this morning asking for some salve for her arthritis, and while we were visiting, she told me that her back door has come off its hinges and she’s been suffering something fierce because of the cold. If you were willing to fix that door for her, I’d take it as a favor to me. I’d go with you, of course, to put her mind at rest about letting a stranger in her house, but she needs help in the worst way. No one pays her any mind, so word’s not likely to get out that she’s in need, and she’s not the kind to ask for help.”
Linc was horrified, thinking of how cold it had been during the recent snow and how poorly she must have fared without being able to shut out the wind.
“Give me fifteen minutes to gather up some tools and I’m on my way.”
“The Lord will bless you for this,” Tildy said.
“See you soon,” Linc said.
He began loading up the tools he thought he might need, then threw some new two-by-four lumber into the truck bed, as well. He dug through his supplies for the extra set of hinges he’d bought, just in case, and then added some caulking and a couple of big rolls of weather stripping, hoping the door itself wasn’t too rotten to rehang. After locking up, he drove off, stopping long enough to pick up Tildy. At her direction, he headed for the house where Beulah Justice lived.
“I really appreciate this,” Tildy said.
“You’re a good neighbor to a lot of people, Aunt Tildy.”
“I try to live by the Good Book. Do unto others and all that. So tell me what you’ve been doing?”
He sighed. “Getting mixed up in other people’s business.”
She caught the regret in his voice. “Like how?”
“Oh, it’s a long story, but it’s probably going to spread the word about my presence a little faster than I had planned.”
She frowned. “Maybe that’s not all bad. Sometimes our plans aren’t what God means for them to be. If it was me, I’d just go with the flow and see where it took me.”
He smiled. “That sounds like good advice. I’ll be remembering that.”
She pointed up the road. “You’ll need to take the first left just past the curve. You can’t miss it. Her house is right on the road.”
Linc’s heart sank when he saw the tiny gray weathered shack and the thin spiral of smoke coming from the chimney.
“Does she know we’re coming?” he asked as he pulled up into the yard and killed the engine.
“No. Let me talk us in,” she said, then got out and marched up to the door as if she was going to war.
Watching Tildy in her take-charge manner reminded him of his father and his grandpa. Attitude ran strong in the Fox family. Too bad it had taken him so long to get his own into gear.
He saw the door open slightly and then saw Tildy begin talking. She pointed back at the truck, and he knew they were in when Tildy came running.
“Pull around to the back of the house. It’ll save you some walking,” she said, then hurried back to the house and went inside.
As Linc circled around, he saw a very small pile of dead tree limbs and a hatchet on the ground beside it, and he realized that was her woodpile. He was already frowning as he pulled to a stop near the sagging back porch. The lady of the house and a skinny gray cat came out together through the canvas-covered opening where the door should have hung. He got out to shake her hand, dwarfing her tiny five-foot stature by well over a foot.
“Mrs. Justice, I’m pleased to meet you,” he said.
The little old lady tilted her head back to look up. “You’re just about the biggest man I reckon I ever met up with.” Then she smiled, turning her face into a wreath of wrinkles and revealing a set of very white false teeth. “I sure do appreciate you coming to hang up my door. I been dreadin’ winter comin’ on because of it.”
“Happy to help,” Linc said as he walked up to check out the doorframe, as well as the fallen door leaning up against the outer wall. “I’ll need to take down your canvas.”
“Son, you take down anything you want. I don’t mind as long as I get my door back in its rightful place.”
Tildy was standing in the kitchen. “Beulah, why don’t you come on back into the living room with me? We’ll sit by the fire while my nephew fixes up your door, okay?”
Beulah gave Linc another look, as if assuring herself he was capable of doing what was needed, then let herself be led away.
Linc eyed the tiny kitchen curiously. She cooked on a stove fueled by propane, as did nearly everyone on Rebel Ridge. Her refrigerator was old and yellow from age, not paint. He was guessing the appliance had been new about twenty years ago. The linoleum on the floor had lost most of its color from years of wear and scrubbing, but despite the lack of a door, the room was cleaner than he would have imagined she could keep it.
He pulled down the canvas, which let more light into the room, and quickly spotted the problem. The facing on which the door had been hanging had rotted away. Having wood on hand had just saved him a trip into Mount Sterling. He grabbed his tools and began prying off the strips of rotten wood, then set up his sawhorses and began measuring and cutting new pieces.
The sound of his power tools startled the gray cat. It hissed, ran up a porch post onto the sloping roof and disappeared. He grinned, thinking to himself that if he’d been that agile, he would have made a better roofer.
After he finished framing up the new opening, he cut and planed wood for the missing threshold and then went to inspect the door itself.
The wood was good enough, but the hinges weren’t. They were both rusted, and one was broken. He got out the new hinges and set to working, ever conscious of the cold wind blowing down his neck. He worked fast, sighting and attaching the hinges. Then he quickly hung the door, tapping the long bolts through the hinges before testing it out. It swung freely back and forth, and when he shut it to make sure it latched, the bolt slid right into place and the lock easily turned. Success.
The kitchen was freezing, though just being able to shut out the wind made a world of difference. But now that the door was closed, he could hear other evidence of the wind and began checking out the windows.
The glass panes were loose, and he could feel cold air coming in around the bottoms. He went back to the truck, returning with the caulking gun and the rolls of weather stripping, caulked up the window panes, then tacked up some weather stripping around both windows.
As soon as he finished in the kitchen, he headed to the living room and again was struck by the effort Beulah made to keep up her house. Except for a fine layer of dust, which was easily attributed to the lack of a back door, everything was old but neat. Her sofa was worn and threadbare, but the throw pillows at either end were little round puffs of blue. There was a crocheted doily beneath a table lamp, and another one on a little coffee table beneath a Bible. The pictures on the wall were old, like Beulah herself.
He eyed his aunt sitting close to Beulah by the fireplace and realized that the two women were very much alike—the last of their line, except for two men who were absent in their lives. He was grateful all over again for the accident that had made him come back.
“Mrs. Justice, if you don’t mind, I have some extra caulk and weather stripping. I’d be happy to seal up the drafts around the rest of your windows.”
Beulah Justice beamed. “That would be wonderful,” she said, and then patted Tildy’s hand. “You sure are lucky to have such a handy nephew.”
Linc began going through the tiny house, sealing up cracks and gaps as best he could. As soo
n as he was finished, he went back to the living room and found Tildy adding a stick of wood to the fireplace, and he made a mental note to bring up a load of wood. Then he noticed there was a gas heating stove at the other end of the room that wasn’t lit.
“All done,” he said. “It’ll take time to heat your house back up, but once it does, it should hold the heat way better than it did before.” Then he pointed to the stove. “Do you want me to light the fire in your stove?”
“Won’t do no good, son. Propane tank is empty. I’ll do fine with my fireplace, but I thank you just the same.”
He was stunned. That explained the teakettle and the cast iron stew kettle sitting near the fireplace. Her cook stove ran on propane. She hadn’t been able to shut out the cold or cook a decent meal. God in heaven, how long has she been living like this?
Beulah got up to thank him, struggling not to cry as she clasped her hands against her little belly. “I am more grateful than you will ever know.”
Linc had been building houses from the ground up for years, but he couldn’t remember ever being as satisfied with a finished job as he was right now.
“It’s been my pleasure,” he said, then glanced at his aunt. “If you’re ready to go, I’m finished, Aunt Tildy.”
Tildy stood. “Then we’ll be off,” she said, and took a small jar from her jacket pocket and handed it to Beulah. “Use this during the day and the other salve at night. It’ll fix your aches right up.”
“I sure thank you, Tildy.”
“You’re welcome, Beulah, and when you write to your grandson again, give him my best. Tell him we’re all praying for him to come home.”
“I will do that,” Beulah said, and led the way through the little house to the kitchen, where she inspected the door and windows with delight. “My, my, this is fine work. I’ll be snug as a bug this winter now, for sure.”
Linc loaded up his tools as Tildy got back in the truck. As they circled the house to get back to the road, Beulah was visible through the windows, admiring his work.
“I am grateful,” Tildy said.
“You know what, Aunt Tildy? So am I,” he said.
She smiled. “It feels good to help out, doesn’t it?”
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am, it does.”
When they got back to her place, he parked, and before she got out, he took her hand.
“Is there anything I can do for you?”
She smiled. “Not today, Linc, but I thank you for the offer.”
He nodded but didn’t turn her loose.
Tildy saw the look on his face and calmly waited for whatever else was on his mind.
“Aunt Tildy, I’ve been wondering something.”
“Like what?”
“Like, when was the last time someone took you out for Sunday dinner?”
Her eyes widened; she was clearly surprised by the question.
“Why, I reckon it’s been so long that I don’t think I can actually remember.”
“Would you let me take you to dinner? Frankie’s Eats isn’t very fancy, but I noticed on their sign that they have chicken and dumplings on Sundays.”
“People will see you. Some might recognize you.”
“I know.”
She squeezed his hand. “Then I’d be honored. I haven’t eaten any cooking but my own in so long, I just might make a pig of myself.”
“Do you go to church?”
“Not anymore. The Good Lord and me understand each other just fine without being in a church. I do my best communicating with Him when I’m on the mountain gathering up my herbs.”
“Then I’ll pick you up about eleven, if that’s all right?”
She grinned. “Now I’ve got to go see if my dresses still fit. I don’t reckon I’ve worn one since the day I buried my man, and that was some years back.”
“There’s a lot gone on around here that we’ve both missed out on,” he said, and then he leaned across the seat and kissed her cheek. “Thanks, Aunt Tildy. You’re the best.”
She fussed to keep from crying as she got out, but there was a bounce to her step as she headed for the house.
Linc waited until she was inside before he drove away. In a way, he was relieved that he’d finally made the decision to step out of his exile, and, after helping Beulah, the anger in his heart had miraculously disappeared.
He could almost hear his grandpa’s voice. Do unto others.
“I will remember that better, Grandpa, but thanks for the reminder.”
As soon as he got home, he called his propane company and gave them an order to fill Beulah Justice’s tank, make sure her heating and cooking stoves lit before they left, and send him the bill. Then he went back outside, loaded up a cord of firewood he’d planned to use for himself and started back up the mountain.
When he pulled into Beulah’s place and began unloading the wood, she came out crying with her apron over her face.
“I’m not too proud to take this,” she said, wiping tears with the hem of her apron. “But I’m gonna say big prayers for you, son, when I lay my head down tonight.”
Linc paused. “And I’ll thank you,” he said, then carried in an armful of wood, added some to her fire and put the rest by her fireplace. “This should hold you for a week or so. Just don’t worry about staying warm or try to save it to make it last. You use what you need and I’ll keep you in wood.”
“God bless you,” she said, still crying as he drove away.
Even after he’d gone to bed that night, sleeping snug and warm in his trailer, he couldn’t stop thinking about little Beulah and wondering how many other lone women on Rebel Ridge were in the same leaky boat.
* * *
Fagan had been trying to call Prince ever since the sheriff drove away from the house, but his calls weren’t being answered. He didn’t know whether Prince was drunk off his ass and whoring around, or if he’d gone and broken his phone. But he knew that two hundred dollars he’d given Prince had to be gone. If Prince had tried to pull a heist he could even be in jail, although Fagan was pretty sure he would have found out if Marlow had his brother in custody. So when Prince finally called him, he was shocked.
Fagan glanced at the caller ID as his cell phone rang and then rolled his eyes.
“It’s about damn time you finally return a call,” he said as he answered.
“And a hello to you, too, brother dear,” Prince said. “What’s going on?”
“The sheriff was here the morning you left. There’s a warrant out for your arrest.”
“Shit,” Prince muttered. “I was hoping she didn’t get a good look at me,” he said.
“Oh, it wasn’t her. There was a witness who named you.”
Prince’s heart suddenly started pounding. “That bastard on the old Fox place. The one who called me out.”
“I didn’t know about anyone moving onto that place or I might have made it my business to find out who it was,” Fagan said.
“Well, if he saw me and knew me, it can’t be a stranger,” Prince muttered. “But who could... Oh, shit.”
“What?” Fagan asked.
“Who would be living on the Fox place now who knew who I was?”
Fagan snorted. “Anyone on Rebel Ridge, that’s who.”
“Not on the Fox place. As long as Tildy Bennett still lives, it won’t ever be for sale.”
“But there’s no one else who—”
All of a sudden, Fagan’s mind went right where Prince’s had gone. “Do you think...?”
“I don’t know, but who else could it be?”
“But why come back now, after all these years?”
“I don’t know, but it doesn’t give me any peace of mind to consider the reasons why,” Prince said.
“I’ll find out for sure, and when I call you back again, answer the damn phone,” Fagan said.
“Yeah, yeah. Meanwhile, I’m broke.”
“Well, so am I. The cops are breathing down my neck because of you, and I can’t take a chance on
selling any weed until this situation is resolved.”
“So what am I gonna do for money?” Prince asked.
“You figure it out,” Fagan said. “You’re the one who pulled the dumb stunt. And by the way...what the hell made you do it to begin with?”
Prince sighed. He needed money, and if Fagan could pull off what he had messed up, then they would be set for a good long while.
“One day a few weeks past Claude Lewis came to see me. He said his brother, Bobby, wanted to talk to me. I told him to tell Bobby Lewis to go to hell, but then he said Bobby was dying of lung cancer and there was something important he needed to tell me before he died. Something that would set us up fine. So I went down to the state prison to see him.”
Fagan frowned. “Why am I just now hearing about this?”
“Well, I thought I’d—”
“Don’t lie,” Fagan snapped. “I know exactly why you didn’t tell me. If you could get away with it, you were gonna keep whatever it was all to yourself.”
“Now, brother, that’s not so,” Prince said.
“Whatever. So what does Meg Lewis have to do with it?”
“Bobby said when he killed Wendell, that Wendell had over twenty thousand dollars on him. Bobby said he buried it where he buried his hunting dog, Ike, and that the only person who would know that particular location was his ex-wife, Meg.”
“But why didn’t he just tell you outright? And why didn’t you just go ask her—in a roundabout way, of course—for that very information?”
Prince picked at a sore on the back of his hand, knowing this was going to piss his brother off, but such was life.
“I don’t know what Bobby’s reasoning was, but I know mine. I wanted to fuck with her first, that’s why. She thinks she’s so high-and-mighty, and she’s no better than the rest of us.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Well, she’s been a single woman for all these years, but she has nothing to do with men, like she’s too good for them to mess with her.”