The Mounts were dead. Past dead. Being eaten. She didn’t know how they’d died. She wouldn’t put it past them to have shot each other. Or maybe John Mount had gone mad with rabies and killed Claude and himself, too. She was sure it was them, not because she had seen the remains well enough to tell, but because they weren’t around. They ran a still. One of them stayed near it most of the time. Her mind went from the bodies to the birds. She didn’t know if buzzards could carry rabies. But if they did, they could infect all of the wildlife and then the domesticated animals all over the area.
Maud racked her head for everything she’d ever heard about the disease. She eventually recognized that her thoughts were jumping like fleas. She felt certain of only two things: aside from dogs and cats, skunks and bats carried rabies. She didn’t think skunks ate carrion, but she thought bats might, and she knew they ate insects. By night, the remains would be crawling with those. She needed to alert somebody so the bodies could be removed before dusk when the bats were flying. It was well past noon already.
Maud eased up from the table with her rifle. There were four birds outside, still pecking the heads. Maud raised her gun to her shoulder and fired. One bird hissed and toppled over. The other three flapped their wings and flew. Maud lowered her gun. She turned from the window and scanned the room. She stepped over to the nearest bed, took a quilt from the foot, and threw it over her shoulder. She picked up another quilt from the foot of the other bed. The thought of lice crossed her mind. She shook that away, went over the threshold, and carefully descended the new steps.
At the back of the house, she found the buzzard she’d shot clawing the ground with a wing and making a grunting noise. The sound was so peculiar for a bird that Maud looked around. There was no other movement except the wind stirring the branches of trees. The buzzard’s body made a thumping noise against the ground. Maud threw the quilts off her shoulders and shot the bird again. Then she picked up the quilts, and as she moved closer, she tilted her head so that she saw the human bodies only out of the sides of her eyes. About ten feet away from them, she threw the top quilt to the ground, laid her rifle beside it, and took the second quilt in both hands. She flapped it open, and with her head turned, spread it over the remains of one of the bodies. Then she picked up the other quilt and flapped it open. She held it in front of her so that it hid the sight of the second body until she saw the sole of a boot. Next to the heel was her father’s lighter. Maud dropped the quilt and ran.
She sped down the cow path and around the hill and was almost to the ruts of the road when she lost all breath, bent over, and placed her hands on her thighs. She stayed bent over with a pain in her side until she dropped to her knees. She panted. The sun was in front of her, its heat on her forehead. She swiped away the sweat rolling into her eyes. She wiped her mouth. She began hearing insects. Her breath came back in an even rhythm. She squatted, sat on her rear in the dirt, and embraced her knees. She needed to go back to retrieve her father’s Banjo and her rifle. She had to do that right away. She got up, turned, and walked long strides. When she got to the house, she stopped before rounding the back corner and listened. She heard movement; she thought it was buzzards again. She was right. She put her hand in her pocket and felt her mother’s pistol. But instead of shooting, she yelled, “Go away,” and the birds did. She grabbed the lighter and tucked it into a pocket of her bib and spread the second quilt over the carcass. She picked up her rifle and quickly walked away.
On the path out of the wild, Maud murmured, “Lovely, please be back. Please, please.” But after a while, she felt calm enough to realize that Lovely might not be able to help her. He’d helped move the dog, but he couldn’t shoot Betty. And he was already sick. Could he stomach human bodies picked to pieces? Could he move them to the river? Or roll them into graves? Graves would arouse less suspicion. Bodies in the river, even weighted with rocks, had been known to wash ashore. The only people who visited the Mounts were looking for rotgut. They would take what they found and not look around. The Mounts’ family in town didn’t associate with them. If they came sniffing and found graves, they’d figure somebody had been kind enough to bury them.
But John Mount was probably seeing the doctor for shots. And Doc Ragsdale would be concerned about him getting one every day. If John didn’t show up, the doctor could go looking for him. A new grave, certainly two, would raise the doctor’s suspicions. She needed to find out for sure if Dr. Ragsdale was giving John Mount shots before she could decide how to get rid of the bodies.
Her thoughts turned to her daddy killing the Mounts. She knew why. But how? Shooting, probably. Shots in the wild of the river were so common she might’ve even heard the exact ones. Was his rifle in the corner with the others? Or gone? She tried to visualize the cluster. She couldn’t recall which guns were leaning there. She gripped her rifle even harder and touched her mother’s pistol. Her daddy hadn’t taken it, but he probably wouldn’t have used it to kill someone, even if no other gun had been available.
The thought of her mother made Maud feel ashamed. She’d disapproved of her father’s fighting roosters and wouldn’t even drown kittens unless the puss was so poorly she couldn’t nurse them. Maud’s mind saw her mother turn her face away from the remains on the ground. But then her mother’s face turned back around. She would, in the end, do whatever had to be done. She’d often said that none of them would be alive if their old folks had given up on the Trail. People had to rise to difficult conditions and keep going. Her mother had been thankful just to have land that was hers. For a plot to grow crops. For vegetables to eat. For plum jelly. For side meat.
Maud regretted not feeling the same. But she couldn’t help herself; she wanted away from meanness, away from death, away from buzzards and rabies. That wasn’t too much to ask. People in the East were living in heated houses, dancing fast, and cutting their hair. In No Man’s Land, ignorant city slickers were raking in money in wheat. Even the Osage were driving Cadillacs and wearing fancy rings. The whole world was booming. And she was scaring buzzards away from human meat.
Maud’s yearnings had distracted her, but as she climbed toward the crest of the ridge, she shook them off like a dog shakes off water after a swim. She had dirty work to do and she needed to be about her business. By Gourd’s house, she looked ahead to hers. Dr. Ragsdale’s car sat smack in front of it and startled her. She couldn’t be caught coming up from the Mounts’, particularly with an extra gun. She skirted behind Gourd’s shack, slid from the far side onto the porch, and, hidden by the bedroom wall, reached out and turned the knob, thankful Gourd had so little to steal that he didn’t have a lock. She slipped inside and opened his little icebox. It was empty. She stashed her mother’s pistol in it, came back out, slipped off the east side of the porch, circled behind the house, and slid back down the ridge. From there, she walked the cow path west. She rose up again close to the pump.
Dr. Ragsdale was in her father’s chair. Mercifully, he was looking into a black bag on his lap. She wondered if he’d found Lovely and put him to bed. She decided that the doctor being there was the best possible thing that could’ve happened, and she was feeling relieved by her good luck when Booker came out the front door. He’d been inside. He’d seen what it looked like. And lying to him would be harder than lying to Dr. Ragsdale. Her lucky feelings scattered like dandelion blowballs spread by wind. She inhaled, gripped her rifle tighter, and took bold steps. She wished she’d worn a dress.
Booker waved and smiled. By the time Maud reached the porch, Dr. Ragsdale was standing up with him. Lovely was inside and so was his cot. He had a headache and fever, and had taken water. The doctor didn’t think he had rabies, but he’d given him a shot and thought it wise to give him the entire round of twenty-one.
Maud felt relieved to have the subject drawn to Lovely. She asked the doctor, “Could he have influenza?”
Ragsdale was a short, wiry man. He had a moustache, a cleft in his chin, and a shock of brown hair that hung in his eyes
. He brushed his hair back with the heel of his hand. “I don’t think so. It’s not that season. His headache could be a result of the knock he got. The wound’s not infected, but he could’ve suffered a concussion. More likely, he needs glasses. He’s squinting a lot and says he’s a big reader. More concerning to me . . .” The doctor paused and looked toward the door. He jerked his head.
Maud and Booker followed Ragsdale to the yard and his car before he continued. “More concerning to me is that he seems to have lost traction.” He tapped his temple with his middle finger. “Up here.”
Maud looked down at her feet. She’d worn brogans and she was standing in dust. She swiped a little dirt with the side of her boot. “He’s always been sensitive. But lately, he’s been staring off a bit.”
“Did that start before he knocked his head?”
Maud looked up, bit her lip. “I think. But I can’t say for positive. He gets to thinking about things and goes off somewhere. We both do, if the truth be known.” She looked at Booker. “Sometimes, you just wish you were somewhere other than here.”
The doctor said, “When I went off to St. Louis to school, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. My folks didn’t have electricity ’til I got back.” He lowered his voice. “Still, you might keep an eye on him.”
Booker said, “There’s nothing wrong with being dreamy. Everybody wants something better. But it could be the fever, couldn’t it?”
Dr. Ragsdale looked out over the wild of the river. He squinted. “It could be. Hard to say.” He tucked his lower lip under his top teeth.
Maud hoped the doctor would tell them what he was thinking. She watched baby toads hopping in the shadow of the trough and waited. But Ragsdale said, “I better get going. Can you or Mustard get him in every day?”
Maud was startled to hear her father’s name. And it brought the buzzards back. She sucked in air. Booker looked at her and squinted. She coughed to cover her reaction. Then she said, “I don’t really know. Daddy’s gone up to Wagoner, I think. He’s been talking to a man up there about a retriever. I don’t know exactly when he’s coming back.” She looked over again at the toads.
Booker said, “I’ve got an extra horse. I’ll bring one down for Lovely. Unless the shots will make him too sick to ride?”
“They probably won’t a grown man. But some tolerate them better than others. I’ll come down here tomorrow. Give him his shot and see how he is. If he’s better, your horse would be the ticket.” Dr. Ragsdale turned to Maud. “These shots are a precaution. I don’t really think Lovely’s got rabies. But I do understand from Mr. Wakefield here, that . . . I don’t know how to put this delicately . . . there’s been some meanness here lately. Something about a dog. Do you have any reason to believe you need shots, too? I’m expecting John Mount to come in for his this afternoon.”
The mention of John Mount rattled Maud to the point that she hoped she wasn’t visibly shaking. But she quickly realized she had the answer to one of her questions. “I’m fine. I didn’t touch the dog. I scrubbed some blood off the table, but that’s all.”
Booker said, “Is it carried in blood?”
“As far as we know, only in saliva. There’re myths, of course. People get frightened and think wild things. But Mount is worried, and he has a right to be. If you’re bitten by any dog, you should get the shots. Almost none of the dogs around here have had theirs. But then again”—Ragsdale pulled on his moustache—“we haven’t had any rabies in a while. It could be that dog turned on Mount for some other reason.”
Maud wanted to say, Because he was an animal killer. But she checked her tongue by biting her lower lip. She had to guard against giving away that she knew Mount was dead. And she suddenly realized she was about to be left alone with Booker and would have to lie to him both outright and by holding back. That would be hard. To keep the doctor a little longer, she said, “How much will we owe you for this? We’ll need to save up.”
Dr. Ragsdale winced. “Let me jaw with your dad over that. I know him fairly well.”
Maud didn’t want Dr. Ragsdale to say anything about her father in front of Booker. He often doctored him after his fights. Her fear spun to that as Booker said, “I appreciate your coming out here with me.”
“Glad to. Do you want a lift back to Mr. Singer’s?”
Booker looked at Maud.
She could tell he wanted to stay. She felt like she had her leg in a trap. She blinked hard, ran her tongue around her lips. “I’ve been checking on Grandpa’s cow. I have to report to him. They’ll expect me to stay and visit.”
Booker frowned. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something to Maud, but he closed it and then said instead, “Thank you, Doc. I’ll get my jacket and hat.” He turned and walked toward the porch with a slight slump in his shoulders.
Maud wanted to call him back. But she had to get him out of there. She extended her hand to the hood of the doctor’s car to keep from running after him. The hood was warm; the heat on her palm focused her attention. She said to the doctor, “Thank you for everything.”
“Glad to help. Don’t want you to worry too much.” He, too, looked toward Booker’s receding back. “I saw the sheriff in church. Evidently, children were seen around the school the evening it burnt.”
At first, Maud didn’t know what the doctor was talking about. Her thoughts were on the bodies, her heart racing. “Children?”
“Yes.” The doctor nodded toward Booker coming out the door. “Ever’body knows your friend here got tangled up in that. That’s gonna get cleared up. It was probably children.”
Maud’s mind skipped off the bodies, over Booker, and onto Nan’s kids. They lived closest to the school. If they burnt it down, her uncle Ryde would beat them to death. “What children?” Her eyes grew wider.
Dr. Ragsdale peered at Maud. He squinted. “A group of boys, I think. No doubt smoking. Kids shouldn’t be allowed to smoke ’til they’re fifteen.”
Morgan, Nan’s oldest, might be in that group, but the rest wouldn’t be. Maud moved her palm off of the car and rubbed it with her thumb. Booker was almost to them. She said, “Is there something particular I should do for Lovely?”
Dr. Ragsdale looked up at Booker and then back to Maud. “I’m a little worried about him being out of his head. I don’t think he’ll try to fight you, but watch him.”
Maud didn’t understand what the doctor was saying. But Booker was there with his hat in his hand, his coat thrown over his shoulder, and obviously displeased. She needed to push him away before she apologized and begged him to stay. “I sure thank you for your help, Doctor. Booker, I’ll be seeing you around.”
Booker turned pink in the face. “Certainly.” He put his bowler on his head and let out a breath that sounded like a huff. Then he turned and walked to the passenger side of the doctor’s car.
Maud stood in the yard until the car reached the first cattle guard. When Booker got out to take that gate down, she hoped he would turn and look at her. He didn’t. She moved to the porch and watched again, with the same result at the second guard. When the car turned onto the section line, she went in, feeling Booker’s displeasure like a feed sack slung over her shoulders.
Lovely was on his cot, his knees in the air, an arm over his eyes. The room was hot and shadowy. The only light was slanting in through the windows. Maud pulled a rocker to the side of his bed. She sat down, glad to have a moment of quiet. She felt exhausted. “How’re you doing?”
“Not too good.” Lovely dropped his arm and slid his feet to the bottom of his cot. “Does Mama ever come visit you?”
Maud shook her head. “I wish she did.”
“She came to visit me. I saw her clear as that woman there on the wall.” He pointed to a calendar blonde holding a soft drink and smiling.
“That’s nice, Lovely. I hope she looked as happy.”
“You don’t understand, Maud. I really saw her. She was as real as you are.”
Maud didn’t know what to say. Sh
e patted his shoulder.
“Honest, Maud.”
“Mama loved you, Lovely. If she knew you were sick, she’d be concerned.”
“I think they’re here, Maud.”
“Who?”
“All of them.”
“All of who?”
“You know. Mama, Grandma. That baby Mama lost.”
“Grandma died when we were little. I can barely remember her.”
“I hear her talking. There’re other people around. Some of them aren’t friendly.”
Maud’s mind shot back to the bodies. She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten them, and she felt frightened all over again. “Lovely, I need to go see Grandpa. Do you know when Daddy’s coming back, or if he is?”
“He was here last evening.”
“When?” Maud looked to the corner that held the rifles. Her father’s was gone. He really had been there.
“Sometime. I don’t know. It was nearly dark. Ever’body was visiting.”
“Ever’body?”
“Mama and Grandma. The other folks. The mean ones.”
“I see. And Daddy took his rifle?”
“I guess so. I don’t know.”
“Did he take anything else?”
“Just his dog money, I think.”
“How did he know where it was?”
“I told him your hiding places.”
“Creepers, Lovely. Why’d you do that?”
“He wanted to buy his dog.”
“Not at night, Lovely.”
Lovely rubbed his brow above his scab. “Well, that’s what he said.”
Maud sighed. She leaned back in the rocker, drummed her nails on its arms. “Where did you go off to in the middle of the night?”
“Did I go somewhere?”
“You weren’t here when I got up.”
“I can’t remember. It seems like I’ve been everywhere lately.”
“Did you go with Daddy?”
Lovely rested his arm above his scab. “Maud, I can’t remember. There’s been a lot of coming and going. I’m telling you Mama was here. And people I don’t know.”
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