by Rodney Jones
Uncle Edwin said, “Lil, take Tess on into the house.”
“I’d strongly advise against that, ma’am.” The sheriff raised a pistol and pointed it at my uncle.
“What in the blazes are you thinking, pointing that at me? Are you crazy?”
“You all have been trying me on pretty hard.” The sheriff gestured with his other hand. “Get over here, young lady.”
Tess stepped up to the wagon, her hands locked together over her belly.
“Now, I’ve got myself a job to do here that a lot of folk in these parts expect of me. You say you ain’t Janet Kennedy—”
“I’m not! I swear I’m not!”
“Don’t you interrupt me when I’m talking to you. You got something to say to me, you say, ‘Sir, may I speak?’ Can you say ‘sir’?”
She nodded.
“Did you say something, miss?”
“Sir. I’m not her. I’m not Janet Kennedy, sir.”
“How about you shut your mouth until I say otherwise.”
“Mr. McNeil,” Aunt Lil said, “I believe this is all a mistake, and your speaking to this poor young lady that way is completely unnecessary. While she’s been our guest, I assure you, she’s been nothing but the perfect, polite young lady.”
“I find that hard to believe, ma’am, but comin’ from a lady such as yourself, I reckon I’ll just have to take your word on it. Now, do one of you gentleman want to give this here perfect, polite young lady a hand gettin’ up here?”
Tess turned to me. “No.”
I thought my heart was going to break. I looked her in the eyes, wishing I could say, “Nothing to worry about. I’ll get you home.” Instead, I turned to the sheriff. “Sir, may I ask where you’re taking her?”
“Well, now, I think it’s only fair that she have the opportunity to introduce me to her folks in Wallingford. But if for some curious reason, they can’t be found there, we’ll mosey on into Rutland and give Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy the reunion they’ve been anxiously prayin’ for. That seems fair enough, don’t it?”
“No, John.” Tess’s voice was a whisper, but the terror in her eyes made it seem like much more.
“Sir, I have three horses saddled up in the barn, ready to go. Would it be unreasonable for my uncle and me to ride along?”
“Son, what you all have done here is unlawful—”
“Mr. McNeil,” my uncle said, “I’d likely agree with you were the Kennedys to say, ‘Yes, this here’s our daughter.’ And naturally, I’d want to be witness to that. I’d confess my guilt before a judge were that the case, but I say we ain’t guilty of anything until I hear it from the Kennedys’ mouths.”
I looked up at the sheriff, praying to God he’d do the right thing. He seemed to be thinking it over, though he was taking his time with it.
“It’s going to be a long day, and I don’t want to make it any longer than it has to be, so let’s get going. The young lady’ll ride up here. You two are free to do as you please.”
Aunt Lil turned and disappeared into the house. I hoped it wasn’t for Tess’s knapsack.
“If your friend there ain’t gonna give you a hand, then I reckon I will.”
I leaped to help Tess into the wagon. “Don’t worry, Tess. We’ll get this straightened out.”
My uncle and I headed for the barn. I told him I feared we’d look like a bunch of liars once we reached Wallingford.
“No way around it,” he said.
“Sir, I can’t see this thing going anywhere good.”
“Well, look harder.”
When we left the barn, Tess was staring straight ahead, her arms folded across her chest. She looked my way when she heard us coming.
Aunt Lil came hurrying out the front door carrying a small bundle. “It’s all I could put together in so short a time. Will you be staying somewhere tonight?”
My uncle met her by the front step. “I reckon we will, Lil. We’ll likely be back tomorrow, maybe the evening.”
“Let’s git.” The sheriff snapped his reins over the back of his team, and the wagon started up the road.
I pulled in on Tess’s side, hoping to reassure her. She looked my way, just a quick glance, but enough that I could see the confusion in her eyes. Then, she turned to the tail end of the horse in front of her.
The promise I’d made her the night before came to mind, a blatant reminder of my inadequacy. I felt like a dumb kid, making grownup promises that I could only imagine myself keeping.
chapter eighteen
FOR NEARLY AN HOUR, NO one spoke, though the air was so filled with fret and regret one could hardly call it quiet. I rode alongside the wagon, close to Tess, hopeful that my being there would bring comfort. My uncle stayed back behind the wagon for the first couple of miles, but then drove on ahead a short distance. Curious to know my uncle’s mind, I moved up ahead.
We rode along quiet for a time. Now and then, I’d glance over my shoulder. The sheriff appeared unconcerned, as if we were all on our way to a picnic. He was whistling something that sounded like My Pretty Jane, while his pistol rattled about on the bench to his right as though it was keeping time. Tess was squeezed as far left of the bench as she could get, and yet had no more than a few inches to herself.
“I was thinking,” my uncle said, “once we get to Wallingford, we’ll let Mr. McNeil know we lied about Tess living in Wallingford. That’s all we should give him; let him figure what he wants about it.”
“What if he wants to know where she’s from, then?”
“I’m wagering he won’t ask, him being so sure of himself. We get to Rutland, he’ll find out quick enough he’s wrong. But if he starts asking questions, it’d be best if Tess kept her mouth shut an’ let us do the talking. Might start his hair some, but he ain’t gonna do nothing about it long as we’re around. You might tell her that, first chance you get.”
I glanced back toward the wagon. “I don’t know as I’ll get a chance.”
“There’s time yet.”
I left my uncle and fell back to my place alongside Tess. “You all right?”
She looked at me, but said nothing.
“I’m sorry, Tess.”
She gave me an empty nod.
The sheriff turned my way. “Son, how is it that a respectable young gent such as yourself gets tangled up with some gal from the city, nothing but trouble for ya, then goes and gets all sorry about it? The way I see it, you ain’t the one here should be gettin’ apologetic and all.” He spat off to the other side, then turned and looked at Tess. “She’s a looker, I’ll allow.” He patted her on the leg, just above the knee. Tess jumped as though bitten. “But I’ve seen it before. She’s got a tad of devil in her, and you ain’t gonna git it out, being sorry to her.”
I held my temper. “Sir, may I ask you something?”
He gave me a moment of scrutiny, but no reply.
“Sir, if Tess here was Mr. Kennedy’s daughter like you say she is, you think her pa would be all right with you touching her like that?”
“What’d you say, son?”
“I’m just saying, it ain’t right.”
He squinted and pointed a finger at me. “It sounded more to me like you was threatening me, and if I was you, I’d keep in mind that it was you that lured this impressionable young lady away from her family. You savvy?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You let me worry about what’s right and what ain’t right. We clear on that, boy?”
Tess stared straight ahead, her lips pressed tight together and her chest heaving. Even with the wagon creaking, the steel-rimmed wheels crunching rocks, the horse’s hooves clopping, and the rattle of the sheriff’s gun, I could hear the fury in her breath. I prayed she’d hold her tongue.
“We clear on that, son?”
“Yes, sir.” I bled the pressure from my chest in a long, silent sigh.
As we neared the ribbon place, I noticed Tess eyeing the woods around us. She turned to me as if she wanted something, so I inched a
little closer. She leaned my way and, in a whisper I could barely hear, said, “I have to pee.”
I could only wonder if that was true or if she had something else in mind. Was it merely coincidence that we were so near that mysterious piece of mountaintop? What if she bolted and tried for home? After what had happened there the day before, I couldn’t imagine her being so lucky. I wanted to warn her not to do it, to wait ’til things were settled. But how could I assure her it would be, with the sheriff being within constant hearing and leading her to believe otherwise?
I let the wagon go ahead. Tess kept turning, glancing back at me with a lost look in her eyes. The sheriff was keeping an eye on me, too, as I slipped around to the other side of the wagon and pulled up alongside him. He gave me a dull-eyed look.
“Sir.”
“What now, boy?”
“Miss McKinnon tells me she needs to stop for a short spell.”
His head twisted toward Tess and then back. “Stop?”
“A private nature.”
He again looked at Tess, then turned ahead. “Whoa. Hold up!” He pulled the reins. The wagon rattled to a stop. We were just twenty yards before the spot where I’d parked the wagon the day of the thunder. My uncle turned the brown back toward us. I walked the goose around to Tess’s side and dismounted. She stood, as though about to climb down.
“Hold on there, Honey Pie. I ain’t a-wantin’ to go chasin’ you through these woods, so you listen up. See that rock a yonder?” He pointed to a large boulder about fifteen yards to the left of the road.
Tess stared off in that general direction, though her gaze was well to the right of the rock. “Yes, sir.”
“You go to the backside of that rock. You make me go chasin’ after you, I’ll git you. I’ll git you and that’ll be the end of your privacy. You savvy?”
As I helped her down, I said, “Tess.” She avoided my eyes; I could feel her shaking. “We’ll get you home. I give you my word.”
We all watched as she walked toward the big rock and then disappeared behind it. The sheriff stood up in the wagon, staring toward the rock. I pictured her in my mind, running toward that old oak tree, a mere hundred feet more. What would I do? What would my uncle do? I didn’t care about jail, but there was my uncle and aunt to consider. If she ran… if she did, I’d have to help. I’d have to. I gave a quick glance toward the gun lying on the wagon seat.
“Sure is a-takin’ her sweet time.” The sheriff spat off the front of the wagon.
“She ain’t going nowhere,” my uncle said.
“I’d not put it past her to try.”
A few more minutes passed in which I, too, began to wonder.
The sheriff spat again. “I have a mind to go over there, see what’s keeping her.”
“Sir, if you don’t mind, I’ll go.”
He stared toward the rock for a few moments, briefly glanced at my uncle, then looked at me. “You do that, son… and keep to this side of that rock. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
I moved off toward the rock, walking slow, stepping on dry twigs as much as possible. I stopped just shy of six steps.
“Tess?”
No answer.
“Tess?” I spoke a little louder.
Still no answer.
“Tess, the sheriff’s going to come over here if you don’t come out. Are you all right?”
The back of her head slowly came up from behind the rock. She stepped out and around, her eyes glossy and her cheeks damp. She wiped them with her hands, then came over and put her arms around me and her cheek to my shoulder.
I placed a hand on her back and the other to the back of her head and gently cradled her. “Tess.”
“We ain’t out here for love makin’. Git your butts over here! Come on!”
“Asshole,” she whispered.
“Tess,” I whispered, “don’t say a thing to the—”
“And I didn’t mean when you feel like it!”
We turned and started toward the wagon.
I let out a sigh. “Please, talk only if you absolutely have to. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, I hear you.”
“My uncle and I… we have an idea. Let us do all the talking, all right?”
“I almost ran.”
“I know. It’ll be all right, Tess. It will.”
The sheriff agreed to Tess and I switching places, as her hindquarters was giving her a good deal of discomfort from all the jostling on that hard oak wagon seat. He warned that she’d have to stay to the front of the wagon, claiming he’d shoot the horse out from under her if she wandered more than a few horse-lengths ahead of his team. A couple of times she moved up alongside my uncle. I could see they were talking, though I didn’t catch but a few meaningless words passing between them.
Some hours later, we came to the first of the farms east of Wallingford. The sheriff brought the wagon to a stop and called Tess over. My uncle rode alongside her.
“Well, young lady, let’s go meet your pa. Lead the way.”
“Her pa doesn’t live around here, Mr. McNeil,” my uncle said.
The sheriff turned to my uncle. “Come again?”
“You won’t find Mr. McKinnon in these parts.”
“I’m a bit confused, now. Didn’t you all say, a ways back, otherwise?”
“I did.”
“And now you’re saying this gal ain’t from Wallingford?”
“I’m saying she don’t live around here.”
The sheriff reached up and twisted the end of his mustache. “I’m not sure I’m following ya. You saying you lied to me?”
“I reckon you can call it that.”
“Well then, I will. Interfering and abettin’. I was gonna let all that be, but I don’t take a cotton to this lyin’ business, not at all.”
“It ain’t my usual way, lying to folks, but there ain’t nothing usual about this matter.”
“I take it this here’s Miss Janet Kennedy, then?”
“No, sheriff, you’re a-lookin’ at Miss Tess McKinnon, and that ain’t a lie of any shape or color.”
“God dang it all to hell! If she ain’t a Kennedy, then where the blazes are her folks to prove otherwise?”
“Miss McKinnon is invited to live with me and my wife, so I reckon you’re lookin’ at a part of ’em.”
Sheriff McNeil studied my uncle, then turned to Tess, then me, then back to my uncle. He pushed a smile onto his lips. “Does that somehow make her a Paulson then?”
“It looks to me, Sheriff, like you had your mind pretty well made up from the get-go that she’s your runaway. What anyone else thought about it didn’t seem to interest you any. The fact is, and always was, she ain’t the gal you’re lookin’ for. I believe that’s about all I owe you.”
“Goddang foolscap! She’s going to Rutland. You two want to come along and see what her pa has to say about it, that suits me fine. He may well want to press charges on top of the ones I’ll be pressing.”
“We’ll come along, but I’m telling you, Miss McKinnon ain’t guilty of nothin’.”
“Think whatever you want. Once she’s home with her folks, she ain’t my problem no more, but that’ll be the beginning of yours. I’ll guarantee it.”
“And if Mr. Kennedy says she’s not his daughter, you gonna let her be?”
“I ain’t got no use for an ill-mannered gal, Mr. Paulson.”
“Meanin’ what? Meanin’ yes?”
“Meanin’ you can have the wench.”
“Fair enough.”
We pressed on to Rutland. Most the time, I kept my eyes on Tess, who rode ahead alongside my uncle. Her hair shone like strands of silk, capturing the low sun whenever it’d find her. Now and then, she’d push herself up off the saddle, her weight supported by the stirrups. I wished I was up there on the brown instead of my uncle. I wished it was another time, another place, just Tess and me, like those days back in 2009—a campfire in the woods, Tess laughing about this and that. I could see it
in my mind, her laughing. That was all I wanted.
She dropped back again and rode at my side for a time. More than once, I felt she wanted to tell me something, but had only her eyes to say it with. I tried, but couldn’t guess what it was. I wanted to talk about anything—cars, pizza, electricity, even dirt. It didn’t matter what. I wanted to hear what it was she fancied, what she expected, and what she hoped for. But it wasn’t the time or the place for that. So we rode along in silence, her not knowing my thoughts, and me struggling to imagine hers.
Our eyes again met, and a curious thought came to me. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but it struck me like an epiphany—that she was at my side for the same reason I was there earlier at hers—to reassure me. That was what it seemed anyway. She was there for me, as she’d been from the time I first met her.
When we arrived in Rutland, all that was left of the day was a deep blue glow capped by a starry black stretching the length of the mountain ridge to the west. We rode to Center Street, turned left, and stopped before a wood-framed home, its paint weathered away, perched just before the descent into town. A dog yapped angrily somewhere nearby, though I couldn’t see it. Along the edge of the street was a neat row of maples. A rusted wheel strap leaned against the trunk of one, a length of rope with a small plank of wood fixed to its end hung from a branch in the next.
The sheriff set the brake and hopped down from the wagon. “Come on, let’s be done with this.”
I jumped down and helped Tess off the goose. The three of us followed the sheriff to the front door. There was no porch to speak of, just a large flat rock placed as a stoop. A dim light shone from the two windows at either side of door. The sheriff gave the door a few firm raps. Moments later, I heard footsteps from inside, then the door swung open.
A young man of fourteen or so took one quick look at us, turned, then shouted over his shoulder. “Pa, it’s the sheriff and a bunch of other folk.”
“You one of the Kennedy boys?” The sheriff spat off to his right.
The boy glanced down at the sheriff’s gun holster. “Mathew, sir.” His eyes darted about as though they were uncomfortable with any of ours. “My pa’s a-comin’.” He twisted half around and looked off behind him. I heard heavy footsteps.