Good Ground

by Tracy Winegar

  Ellis forgot for a moment that he was waiting to hear why Clifton had come. He was instead thinking how nice it was when Clairey let her guard down and momentarily failed to remember that she wanted no part of him. How pleasant it was that she occasionally reverted back to the camaraderie they experienced before she had decided to leave him.

  Ellis cleared his throat and turned his attention back to Clifton. “What’s this all about? You ain’t come before. Now it’s winter, and I don’t see you gettin’ the gumption to risk life and limb to see my woman,” Ellis reasoned.

  “Don’t get all bent outta shape with me. Ain’t my idea of a good time, runnin’ round freezin’ my rear off in the middle of the night.”

  “Whose idea were it then?”

  “I come to get you for that ole gal Myrna Bayard. It was she that sent me.”

  Ellis was annoyed. First off, Clifton had come into his home, disrespecting his wife, and now he was beating around the bush, prolonging the delivery of his news, making them suffer for as long as he possibly could by keeping it from them.

  “What’s Myrna Bayard gotta do with anythin’?”

  “She got the whole of the county up and out lookin’ for that fool of a boy a-hers.”

  “Ferg?”

  “Yeah, Ferg. He done took off, and she’s worried over him. Done got everybody out lookin’ for him.”

  “He took off?”

  “Yessir. She says he’s all broke up on ’count of that there woman leavin’ him, and he took his youngin and runned off. Now she afeared he’ll do somethin’ desperate, and she got everybody out a-searchin’ for him.”

  “Fergus took off with the baby?”

  “Yessir.” Clifton nodded emphatically. “Just as I tole you.”

  “Dear, Lord, what’s he up to?” Clairey murmured.

  Ellis turned to look at her and saw the fear in her eyes. “Now, prob’ly it’s nothin’,” he soothed. “Let me just get dressed, and I’ll come on ’long with you to look for him.”

  He went into the bedroom and took out his warmest flannel shirt then pulled on several pairs of socks before he eased his feet into his boots, lacing them up and tying them in a double knot. He came back through to the main room and shrugged into his coat, wrapping his scarf around his throat. Securing his cap on his head, he pulled the flaps down over his ears and tugged his woolen mittens over his hands.

  “Ellis,” Clairey said.

  He paused in his preparations and gave her his attention.

  “Ellis, please don’t go on out there.”

  “I gotta,” was his simple reply.

  “Ellis, please don’t go on out there.”

  He continued to get himself ready.

  “Likely he just gonna show up in the mornin’. He just needin’ some time on his own, you know. And then you done gone for nothin’.”

  “She prob’ly right,” Clifton said with irritation. “Fool prob’ly warm in some bed somewheres while we out lookin’ for him.”

  “I’m a-goin’ just the same,” Ellis insisted.

  “Why don’t you wait for some Pero?” Clairey enticed. “Get somethin’ hot in you afore you go on out?”

  “Keep the kettle on, and I’ll be home direc’ly.” Ellis grabbed his rifle and waited at the door. “You comin’?” he asked Clifton.

  Clifton hesitated. “Yeah, I’m a-comin’.” He got up and stomped through the door like a pouting child.

  Ellis went to follow him, but Clairey stopped him with a hand on his arm. She looked as if she might cry. “Please,” she begged. “Please, Ellis. Please take care.”

  He looked at her for a long moment, thinking he might say something to reassure her, but then he couldn’t think of a thing to say, so he nodded his head as if to say, I will. He left her there at the door, watching as he went.

  “Think I’ll head back toward town,” Clifton said, as he and Ellis stood with their backs to the wind. “Likely where he’d be, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Don’t know. Don’t know where he’d a-gone on a night like this.”

  “Well, if you wanna head toward town with me, you’re welcome to.”

  “I’m gonna head out yonder to the ole place. Maybe he gone to see after Elvira.”

  “We part here ’en,” Clifton said, shaking Ellis’s hand. “Don’t get yourself into no trouble, hear? Not on account of that slow wit Fergus.” Clifton climbed into his car and drove away.

  Ellis headed down the drive in his old Red Baby pick-up, the headlights shining eerily on the naked branches of trees as the trail twisted and turned, until he hit the main road. He knew the way with his eyes closed. His childhood home was like a beacon, like a lighthouse to a wandering sailor. It wasn’t far, but the entire twenty-some minutes, he kept his mind carefully blank. He didn’t want to think, didn’t want to speculate what Fergus might be doing right then.

  It was nearly dawn when he came to Purvis Little’s house, quiet and dark. So dark he fumbled on the stairs. He knew when he saw the place that Fergus was not there, but he went and knocked on the door anyhow.

  It took some time before Purvis answered the door. He looked considerably older than he had since the last time Ellis had seen him. Ellis understood that his circumstances had changed drastically, and that he had good reason to seem older. He had a daughter that was the talk of the county, a girl so cold-hearted she had abandoned her own child.

  “Ellis Hooper?” He was confused, disoriented, and Ellis thought about how, just a short while ago, Clifton had awoken him from a deep sleep too.

  “Mr. Little. Sorry to wake you, truly am.”

  “Well, what is it, boy?” he asked, with a deep frown creasing his brow. The circumstances of their meeting must have put him in a bad mood. After all, who would want to be woken from a deep sleep on a winter’s morning such as that one?

  “I’m lookin’ for Fergus. You ain’t seen him, have you?”

  “Fergus? What’d he be doin’ here?”

  “I’s thinkin’ maybe he done come for Elvira. Did he come for her?”

  “No. And if he had, I’d a-sent him away, just like I done before and just like I’m a-gonna do with you too, boy.” He went to shut the door, but Ellis wedged his boot in the door frame and wouldn’t let him.

  “Now, I don’t mean to be a bother, I sure don’t, Mr. Little, but we got some trouble.”

  Purvis grunted and gave Ellis a withering stare. “Your trouble ain’t mine, boy. Now move your foot afore I take it off. You hear?”

  “Fergus, he done took off with the baby, and nobody knows where he got to. His mama’s worried sick, and they got men out and about all over a-lookin’ for him.”

  “Elvira!” Purvis bellowed. “Elvira, get on out here!”

  Elvira materialized within minutes, hugging a quilt that was wrapped around her body. She saw Ellis, and her eyes narrowed, her pretty full lips that were prone to a natural pout becoming more pronounced. “Yes, Daddy?”

  “One way or the other, I aim to get some shut-eye, you hear? So you go on and take care of this, ’cause I had ’bout all I can stand of it.” He disappeared back into the bedroom, leaving Elvira and Ellis alone.

  Ellis could see small heads peeking out from behind her, hidden but aware and listening to everything that was going on. It made him significantly more nervous. He stuck his hands in his pockets and discovered something balled up in one of them. He pulled it out to see what it was. The white was bright in the dimness of the doorway. It was the felt gloves that he had bought for Clairey but had never given to her. Clairey. She was at home waiting for him right then. But for how much longer? How much longer before he would return to an empty home?

  “Whatcha want with me?” she said, breaking into his thoughts.

  “You heard from Ferg?”

  “I sent him off. I ain’t talked with him since. And I tole him I wouldn’t. Why don’t he leave me be?”

  “He ain’t come up here last night?”

  “No. I tole you no. Why y
ou keep on it?” She glared at Ellis with open contempt.

  “Leave off on givin’ me the stink eye, girl. I’d put you over my knee and give you a whoopin’, only you ain’t fit for even that.”

  “You’re lettin’ the cold in, Ellis Hooper. So you tell me or you don’t. I don’t care one way or the other, but I ain’t standin’ here waitin’ for you to decide.”

  “He took off last night. He done took off with the baby, and his mama’s got a whole bunch out a-lookin’ for him. Now what you got to say?” Ellis snarled.

  “Where’d he go?”

  “Don’t know. But she’s worried of the state he’s in.”

  “He ain’t come here. Check with them sisters of his.”

  Ellis rolled his eyes. “You really think he’s gonna go to his sister’s place? Now think on it and tell me someplace he’s likely to be.”

  “I done tole you, I don’t know. I’m free of him. Understand? I got nothin’ to do with him no more. Now go on and get, ’cause I ain’t got no more time for you.” She slammed the door in his face.

  Before he got back into his truck, he stood there for a time, waiting. He wondered what he should do next or where he should go. Where would Fergus go? Where? But Ellis already knew. He would go there. That’s where Fergus would have gone.

  The sky had turned a deep shade of gray, just light enough that Ellis could make out shapes. He could make out the barn and the fences on Purvis Little’s property. It seemed unearthly quiet to him. He wondered if he was going to get himself shot as he moved slowly away from the truck and began an investigation of the area.

  First, he went through the barn, the smell of musty hay and cow dung assaulting his nose when he opened the door. Cows were dozing, standing in their stalls, unaware of their visitor. It was considerably warmer in the barn, with all the animals giving off heat within the cramped confines of the walls. It was tempting to think about staying there, letting the heat circulate over him.

  Finding nothing amiss, he went back out, walking around the perimeter of the yard. Again, there was nothing out of the ordinary. Surely something would have caught his eye. Hesitantly, he decided before he got into any more trouble, he should leave. Fergus must not have gone there after all.

  Maybe Elvira was right. Maybe he had gone to visit one of his sisters. Maybe he, too, had had enough of his meddling mother and had decided to seek asylum somewhere else. But the nagging feeling that had plagued him from the time Clifton had woken him would not leave him in peace. He started down the drive in his truck, working his way back from where he had come.

  That’s when he saw it, sitting in a lonely patch of trees, just off to the side of the drive about halfway down to the road, positioned haphazardly facing toward him. He supposed he must have missed it because it had been so dark when he had come up. The car that had been given to Fergus by Purvis Little was parked there, silent and still as the grave.

  Ellis parked his truck right there in the middle of the gravel drive and got out. How strangely peaceful the scene was, how utterly quiet, as if no one else existed, no life apart from him. It must have snowed sometime after Fergus had parked there, for the tire tracks that should have been evident were filled in, and the car sat in a vast sea of flawless white.

  As he approached, leaving a trail of footprints behind, he could make out the figure of Fergus sitting in the driver’s side, but it was as if through a fog. The windows were frosted over just slightly, just enough that Ellis couldn’t see clearly.

  “Ferg!” he called out.

  There was no movement from inside. He came up to the passenger side and raked the frost away with his mittened hand, peering in through the strip he had cleared. The baby lay on the seat, bundled in an old quilt, his little head just barely visible, while Fergus sat up in the driver’s side, leaning back against the seat, sleeping.

  Ellis rapped on the window. “Fergus!” he called again.

  Fergus did not stir a bit.

  Ellis went around the front of the car to open the door. Lucky if they hadn’t frozen to death in this cold, he thought to himself, somewhat irritated by Fergus’s dramatics. That’s when he saw it—a rubber hose that was attached to the exhaust pipe snaked through the back window. A heavy sense of dread crept over Ellis, his heart pounding brutally within the cavity of his chest. “Ah no,” he mumbled. “No, Fergus. No.”

  He grabbed ahold of the latch and ripped the door wide open, struck by the smell of exhaust smoke as it drained out of the battered old car.

  “Fergus!” he yelled. “No, Fergus!”

  Fergus was slumped there, just as if he had dozed off. Just as if he would open his eyes any moment and ask Ellis what all the fuss was over. The only thing that was amiss with the picture was Fergus’s dull blue face, lesions beginning to form on his skin.

  Ellis clutched the front of Fergus’s coat in his fists and hauled him out of the car, dragging him out and laying him on the frozen ground. His limbs and joints were already stiffening, rigor mortis settling in. He rested there as if he were still sitting in his seat, his legs bent, his head slightly reclined.

  Ellis turned back to the car, to the baby bundled there, but he couldn’t bring himself to touch the little fellow, to check him. He knew. He already knew that the baby would be no different. The poor thing had probably gone before his father had.

  Ellis’s legs gave way, and he fell to his knees, quaking, a shudder running through him as he gagged and heaved next to the back tire. He hunched there with his back against the car for support, keeping his eyes away from Fergus’s lifeless form.

  Fergus was dead. And his little son named for him too. He had taken his own life. How hopeless and filled with despair he must have been. Ellis pictured him driving to Purvis’s farm with the knowledge of what he would do. How he’d parked the car, hooked the tube to the exhaust pipe. And then how he had let the car run as he breathed in the deadly fumes. There he’d sat until he fell asleep, never to wake again. The car must have idled there until it had run out of gasoline.

  How could he do such a thing? Ellis thought of his baby, and it made him angry. It made him so terribly angry that Fergus would have taken the life of his child. He simply couldn’t fathom it. What had he been thinking?

  Fergus had been such a weak man. Had he thought that taking his own life would make him strong? He’d had no control over his mother, over his foolish young wife. Was this the one and only thing he did have control over? But, surely, he would have thought that taking the life of his own child was nothing but wrong. Perhaps he did not want to die alone. Perhaps he knew that child’s fate would have been just as sorry as his. Elvira didn’t want the boy. That would’ve left him to be raised by the same mother that had ruined Fergus’s own life.

  Eventually, the rage Ellis felt calmed and left a hollow place that filled with regret. Ellis had told himself all along that he had done everything he could for Fergus, and Fergus had simply not wanted his help. But now, in the cold and quiet of the morning, with Fergus upon the ground just beyond his reach, Ellis was overwhelmed with guilt. Where had he failed? What should he have done? What could he have done to save Fergus?

  Time passed, but Ellis was unaware of it. He sat hunched against the car for a long time, his suffering complete. He could feel himself crumbling, caving in, collapsing like an old tin can being crushed beneath a shoe. His daddy’s death, the discovery of his real mother and her questionable character, Clairey leaving, and now Fergus and the baby. He felt as if his life were falling apart.

  Amidst his chaotic thoughts, Ellis thought of Clairey’s face, and he clung to that image. He conjured the radiant glow of her eyes when she was pleased with something, and the small, bashful smile that was fleeting but infinitely more priceless because of its rarity. Clairey’s memory was the light that came on the heels of a black and starless night. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever known. It was more than her looks that drew him to this conclusion; it was her kindness, her strength, her spirit. Som
ehow, the thought of her tethered him to sanity.

  Ellis began to believe that perhaps there was a chance that things might be good again. He could collect his life back if he could only get Clairey to stay. He felt crushed, yes, and dangerously close to being defeated, but there was a moment when hope began to formulate, weak but persistent. It was possible that Ellis could salvage and build his life back if he could only change her mind, if she would only build it with him.

  Ellis was not a runner, and neither was Clairey. If the two of them could stand together, there was a chance. Once his mind settled upon her, he knew that he couldn’t give into the darkness he felt, the darkness that threatened to overcome him.

  It was the sudden fluttering of a raven’s wings that startled him from his thoughts, unaware of how much time had passed while he sat there. He blinked rapidly and looked about him in surprise, made aware all over again of what had happened in that place.

  When the horror finally subsided, and he felt his wobbling legs could carry his weight, he made the conscious effort to get up from the ground. He began to walk back up the gravel drive, unwilling to confine himself to his truck. He wanted to breathe. He needed open space and the cold to remind him that he was still in the land of the living, not yet too numb to feel something. He walked back up the drive and knocked on the door again, this time with answers instead of questions.

  Chapter 27

  SHE WORRIED OVER HIM. When would he return? When would he drive up in the old red truck and tell her there was nothing to be troubled over? She didn’t know why, but Clairey kept thinking of the day he had gone into town alone. How he had come back changed, a different man. There was no real reason for her to assume the worst, but she did. It ate at her with dogged persistence. She was aware only of the slow passage of time. How ironic, she thought, that most of her life was spent waiting and not actually living.