The Sun, the Moon, and Maybe the Trains

by Rodney Jones

  Tess stopped stirring and set the spoon down. “Oh, it’s hard to find anything that’s not.”

  Aunt Lil’s eyes widened. “Is that right?”

  “This dress is really far from anything special, ma’am. And my shoes. Everything is made in China.” Tess pulled off one of her shoes and showed them the tag sewn to the inside of the tongue.

  My aunt took the shoe and examined it more closely. “It doesn’t weigh any more than a biscuit, Ed. You ever saw the likes?” She handed the shoe to my uncle.

  “Now, ain’t that something?” He hefted it as though weighing it, then turned it over in his hands. He seemed to take a particular interest in the sole and the arrangement of geometric indentations over its entirety. “Them China folk made this, huh?”

  Tess nodded. He handed the shoe back to her, then sat back, quiet for a moment, his chin in his hand, his finger tapping his cheek.

  Aunt Lil said, “John, why don’t you and Tess go see what you can find for eggs? I’ll get some pancakes on.”

  My uncle glanced toward my aunt. I was sure she noticed, but she turned away and went to collecting the things she’d need for making pancakes.

  I looked at Tess, who’d bent down to lace her shoe. “Let’s go round up some eggs.” I grabbed the basket hanging near the stove and headed out the back door. Tess, unaware that anything unusual had taken place, followed me. All I could figure was something came up that my aunt wanted to say to my uncle, something that wasn’t for Tess or me to hear.

  “You think your uncle will let us go?”

  “I can’t say. He’s listening, though, and that’s good.” I opened the door of the hen house and held it for Tess.

  She stuck her head in, then pulled it back out. “Whoa…”

  “Your ma doesn’t keep hens, I noticed.”

  “Jesus, I think I know why.”

  “Am I going to have to do this myself?”

  She poked her head in again, took a couple quick whiffs, then stepped inside. “Oh, God, hurry.”

  I handed her the basket and started removing eggs from beneath the complaining hens. Tess held the basket with one hand and clamped her nose with the other.

  “Tess, if my uncle says no—”

  “He can’t keep me here.”

  “I know, but I don’t want you walking up there alone and then going back by yourself.”

  “I have to get back. You know that. I have to.”

  “The promise I made yesterday, I’m every bit plannin’ on keeping, Tess.”

  “I know.”

  The kitchen was a touch warmer when we returned with the eggs. My aunt beat a couple into the batter she’d already mixed and began pouring sizzling puddles of it into the waiting skillets. Tess and I took a seat at the kitchen table.

  My uncle was seated at the end, his hands wrapped around a cup, his fingers drumming its sides. “You mind showing me that camera again, young lady?”

  “Sure.” Tess rose from her chair and went to the knapsack leaning in the corner. She unzipped the side pocket, removed the camera, then unzipped another pocket and removed a small pouch. She handed the camera to my uncle. “Would you like to take a picture?”

  He lifted his head and studied her for a moment. “I wouldn’t know a thing about that.”

  “Well, it’s easy. Here, this is the power button.” She pointed. “Go ahead.”

  He studied the camera. “Whadaya do? Push on it?”

  “Yeah, just go like this.” She gestured with her finger.

  My uncle pressed the button. The little green light on top of the camera lit up.

  “Then you press this one.” She touched the camera.

  “Right here, huh?” He nearly dropped the thing when a cylinder on the front began extending. “Look at that.”

  “Now, hold it up like…” She mimed using it.

  My uncle lifted the camera out in front of him. “What the…? Oh, I see. Huh. Would you look at that?” He turned the camera toward the window and then my aunt. “That is… my Lord, look at that.”

  My aunt had turned away from the stove to watch Uncle Ed swing the little box around. “Now, that is really something.”

  He looked back at Tess. “That it? That all you do?”

  “Well, no. You have to get the picture you want in the window, then while holding the camera steady, press this button.”

  Aunt Lil said, “Now look at what I went and done. This one’s burnt black as coal.” A cloud of smoke hung above the stove. “I don’t think the goat would even want that.”

  Still seated, he pivoted toward Aunt Lil and pressed the button. “Well.” My uncle chuckled. “If that don’t beat all. You can see the smoke rising behind Lil there. Look at this, Lil. Come over here and look at this.”

  “These cakes ain’t gonna make themselves.”

  He stood and took the camera over to show her.

  “Oh, my… why, that’s me there, isn’t it?”

  “I’m a-thinking it is.”

  “Goodness gracious. Imagine that.”

  “Can I show you something?” Tess said. While my aunt and uncle were going on about the camera, Tess had opened the folding pouch she’d removed from her knapsack and dug out some coins. She held out her hand toward my uncle. He gently set the camera down on the table and held out his hand. Tess dropped the coins into it.

  He picked one up from his palm and studied it. “What is this?”

  “A nickel, sir.”

  “A nickel? Is it? Who’s that supposed to be there?”

  “Thomas Jefferson.”

  He studied it for a moment more. “And this nineteen eighty-eight?”

  “The date the coin was stamped.”

  He stared at the nickel for a few moments, then looked over the other coins. “This a cent, then? That Lincoln there? 2003. And a ten-cent piece. Who might that be?”

  “Uh… it’s… umm… it’s Roosevelt. He was president back in… it was World War II. Nineteen forty-something.”

  “World War?”

  “Yes, sir. There was World War I and then World War II. Britain, Russia, most of Europe… and the US against Germany… and Japan.”

  “Good Lord.” He looked at the coins again, examining the dates stamped onto each, then handed them back. He looked up at me. “This place you were talking about, the place you found that ribbon.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  He rubbed his chin. His eyes seemed focused on a spot on the table in front of him. “All right. We’ll have some breakfast, then see about getting this gal home. We’ll all three go.”

  Tess nodded, a smile on her lips. “Thank you, sir.” She looked at me, still nodding, her eyes glossy with moisture.

  I was glad for Tess, but realized I’d have to convince my uncle that I should go with her and see her to her car.

  Over breakfast, my aunt asked Tess about her folks. She confessed that her father and mother were divorced. I knew my aunt was holding back her surprise. It surprised me that Tess had shared that. She seemed to sense the discomfort the subject evoked and added that it was common in her time, possibly thinking that fact would make it all less shocking.

  “Most people remarry at least once,” she said.

  My aunt’s brow lifted. “How old were you, hon, when that happened?”

  “Fourteen.”

  “Well, maybe it was a blessing they didn’t have more children.”

  “When I was little, I wanted a brother. A lot of my friends had a brother or sister. I envied them.”

  I knew my aunt and uncle thought it queer, her folks having only the one child. In my time, having ten or more was more common than one. My uncle then asked Tess about the hurricane.

  “They called it the hurricane of 1875 because it was so big. More than four hundred people were killed.”

  “And that’s today, you say?”

  “Uh… is that right? Today is the twenty-fifth. Yeah, today.”

  “You know this for fact?”

&nb
sp; “Yes, sir.”

  My uncle became quiet.

  “All those poor people… it just don’t seem right,” Aunt Lil said.

  Everyone turned to her, expecting more, but she just shook her head.

  Uncle Edwin said, “John, once we’re done up there, I think you and I ought to head into Wallingford, see about getting a wire off to somebody down the way.”

  “Sir…” I glanced toward Tess, then back to my uncle. “It being what it is, do you think anyone will believe us?”

  My uncle’s hand again went to his chin.

  “And, well,” I went on, “it’s maybe too late to warn anyone. Don’t you think?”

  “There ain’t a thing anybody can do to stop a storm from coming, Ed; that’s in God’s hands.” My aunt got up and began clearing the table. “Noah tried to warn folks of the coming rain. Look at how many believed him. It was a part of God’s plan, and there was nothing Noah could do about it, either.”

  From the quiet that followed, I figured my uncle was pondering the point.

  “Well,” he finally said, “let’s get them horses saddled.”

  Tess helped my aunt with the dishes while I went out to the barn to give my uncle a hand with the horses. As I hefted a saddle up on the goose, the Tabors’ dogs started carrying on. They tended to get all worked up whenever strangers wandered through. My uncle stepped out to see who it was and didn’t return. I was checking the tightness of the cinches when I heard my uncle talking to someone. I stuck my head out through the door. A man with sideburns and a handlebar mustache—the sheriff, I realized—was sitting in a wagon, gesturing down the road. I didn’t know what it was, maybe something in the way my uncle was standing, but I had a bad feeling. I walked across the road and around to the side of the wagon where my uncle stood.

  “This your boy?” the sheriff asked.

  “My sister-in-law’s boy, John.”

  “John Bartley, is it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Henry McNeil.” He pushed his hand toward me. I shook it. “I was just telling your uncle here about the young gal that’s gone a-missin’ from her home in Rutland. Seems she’s run off.” He scratched his head. “As I was just a-saying to your uncle, I’d heard it from Hugh Stewart down in Weston that a gal fittin’ her description wandered this way just the other day. Tells me she was a-lookin’ for you, as a matter of fact. Tells me he found her up the road a-ways.” He pointed. “And brought her here. He made mention of another thing or two, but I don’t reckon it concerns you all. Now, that gal wouldn’t perchance have been Miss Janet Kennedy from Rutland?”

  “No, sir.”

  “No? You don’t mind telling me where this gal friend of yours come from, do you?”

  Before I could answer, my uncle put up his hand. “I believe I’d already told you the gal’s from Wallingford, Mr. McNeil. And her name ain’t Kennedy, anyways.”

  “McKinnon, you say?”

  “You heard it right.”

  “Well, this is the amount of it. I just come from Weston, where I had a good chat with the minister and his son. I told them I had an eye out for this gal; they tell me you was having a visit from some young gal claiming to be from Wallingford. Now, Mr. Stewart has reason to believe this gal’s not from Wallingford, as she’s tellin’ folks. Do you know for fact she is?”

  “Sir,” I said, “I do.”

  “You do what?”

  “I know she’s from Wallingford.”

  “That a fact? Is that where she is now?”

  Uncle Edwin pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “She’s in the house.”

  “She some kin of yours?”

  “She ain’t.”

  “Mind me asking why she’s here?”

  “Fact is, I do mind. But I reckon you gotta ask anyhow. If you were to stick your head in that barn there, you’ll see three horses saddled up. Me and John were just fixin’ to take a trip up that way”—he pointed up the mountain—“and see Miss McKinnon home.”

  The sheriff turned toward the barn. I looked, too, though there wasn’t anything to see. He then looked over at the house. I found myself thinking of Hugh Stewart in an un-Christian way—not the first time, either.

  “Wallingford, you say. I’m a headed that way myself. No problem at all givin’ the lass a ride home. Save you the trouble.”

  My uncle shook his head. “It’s mighty kind of you to offer, but we’re pretty much set on paying a visit this morning.”

  “Yup, well, it’s lookin’ like a fine day to be out for a ride, ain’t it?” Sheriff McNeill spat down between the tail ends of his two horses. “McKinnon… you know this gal for some while, have you?”

  “A while,” my uncle said.

  “I hear she done walked from Wallingford, by herself, and picked a poor day to do so. I don’t know about you, but that strikes me a bit queer.”

  “I reckon she had her reasons.”

  “This gal… what’d you say her name was, young man?”

  “Tess, sir.”

  “She your sweetheart, is she?”

  My uncle jumped. “Mr. McNeil, I believe you’re gettin’ more personal than need be.”

  “Hmm… yes, you are correct.” He turned from my uncle to me. “My apology, Mr… Bartley? That right? Bartley? Just seemed like a likely situation, is all. I’d like to ask—if it ain’t too personal, and it don’t seem to me it is—what Miss McKinnon’s pa’s given name might be.”

  Uncle Edwin said, “Sheriff, if I understood you correctly, you’re lookin’ for a Kennedy. But here you are asking all these questions concerning Tess McKinnon. I’m pretty danged sure Miss McKinnon didn’t have a thing to do with this Kennedy gal disappearing.”

  “You know this for a fact?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Well, you see, I myself ain’t so certain, and that there is why I’m asking these questions. As sheriff of this county, I have every right to ask whatever questions I deem necessary in order to carry out my duties, keepin’ the peace and the justice, and if you’re a-wantin’ to interfere—”

  “I don’t see as I’m interfering. I’d call it a disagreement about what’s necessary and what ain’t.”

  “All right, then, why don’t we do it this way? Why don’t you… John, am I right?” He gave me a hard look. I nodded. “Why don’t you go on in there and fetch this McKinnon gal so as I can have a look at her? I look, it ain’t her, I’ll be on my way—that simple.”

  “You ever met the gal?” my uncle asked.

  The sheriff looked at him, but didn’t reply.

  “How you going to know either way?”

  “That ain’t for you to worry about.”

  The most awful thought crawled into my mind: I’d be leading Tess out there to be judged by a man who likely had his mind already made up. But I dismissed it as an ugly, paranoid thought, nothing more. I looked at my uncle. He nodded. I didn’t see as I had a choice.

  As I entered the house, it seemed I was moving through a dream, aware of every step, towing a subtle, but malevolent fog toward its victim. I was its conscious, but unwilling, instrument—its slave—a step forward, and then the next, powerless to stop.

  Tess was seated at the kitchen table with my aunt, her knapsack on the floor beside her. They both turned. I didn’t know how she knew, but Tess must’ve known it was about her. She had that look in her eyes, like a trapped animal. The air around her was confused with a mix of fear and longing. I had to breathe that air; it made my heart ache.

  A shadow of concern fell across my aunt’s face. “What is it, John?”

  “A gal—Kennedy’s her name—she’s missing. That’s the county sheriff out there. He wants to see Tess.” I looked at Tess. “Just to see if you’re her or not.”

  Her eyes latched onto mine. Her lips parted, but she said nothing. I knew exactly how deep down scared she was, because I was, too—almost sick with fear.

  “We told him you’re not, but he won’t take that; he wants to see.”
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br />   “Well, how’s he know about Tess being here?”

  “Hugh Stewart.”

  “Oh.”

  I looked at Tess and shook my head. “He ain’t going to take our word for it.”

  Her lips closed. A barely audible whimper came from her throat.

  “It’s all right. Once he sees you ain’t her, he’ll be on his way.”

  She closed her eyes and let out a half-moan, half-sigh. A few moments later, she stood and glanced toward my aunt.

  “I’m coming, too,” my aunt said.

  The three of us stepped out the front door, stopping some distance from the sheriff’s wagon. The sheriff squinted toward us.

  My uncle said, “Well, Mr. McNeil, you satisfied?”

  “Who’s your pa, young lady?”

  Tess stiffened.

  My uncle took a step toward the house. “You can see for yourself she ain’t the one!”

  “I asked you a question, miss.”

  “Dylan McKinnon.”

  “What’s that? What’d you say your name is?”

  “Tess.”

  “Your family name.”

  “It’s McKinnon.”

  “Dylan?”

  My uncle waved a hand at Tess. “You can go on back in the house now.”

  She turned and took two steps toward the front door.

  “Hold on there, Miss Kennedy.”

  A chill twisted in my gut. Tess hesitated. I thought she was going to turn, but she kept going.

  “Take another step toward that house, I’ll arrest the whole bunch of you.”

  She stopped.

  “Mr. McNeil.” My aunt’s voice had a sharp edge to it. “You are making a sorry mistake. This girl’s name is no more Kennedy than yours or mine. She’s a welcome guest of ours, and I’m sorry to say, you have overstayed your welcome.”

  “Ma’am, I’ll tell you what I’m thinking. I’m thinking either this gal has you all good and bamboozled, or you are knowingly abetting a runaway delinquent. In either case, you’re interfering with the law. And you, young lady, need to be learned some manners. I ain’t heard nothing but disrespect come from your mouth.”

  “John, what’s going on?” Tess’s eyes flicked from me to my uncle to my aunt, begging for someone to step up and put an end to it.