She turned to Rett. “You know what? I bet he’s at Big Barn.”
Rett nodded, as if that was the most logical thing in the world that her grandma could have said. “Is it far from here?”
“About another half mile.” Love felt her stomach clench.
“Should I call everyone?” Rett asked taking out Love’s cell phone.
Love thought for a moment. “Not yet. I could be wrong, and then the search would get all screwed up. It’ll only take us a few minutes to get there.”
Since the day she and Mel rode up there to check out the strange writing August had complained about, and she told Mel the words he’d put into Morse code, she’d worried about his mind. But she figured they still had a little time. Most of the time, he seemed fine, and there had been so much happening with Rett that she decided she’d talk to Polly about it after Christmas. It was obvious now that had been a mistake. She tried to reel in her imagination, tried not to picture his battered body lying in a deep, brush-covered ravine somewhere, hidden from their view, vulnerable to the elements and wild animals that roamed these hills.
Love glanced up at the sky where the sun had already dipped behind a hill, a tangerine glow making the oak trees like sharp pencil sketches against a lavender blue sky.
Rett followed her gaze. “It’ll be dark soon. Do you think the search and rescue can find him if we don’t?” Love heard a tremble in her granddaughter’s voice.
“I don’t know,” Love said, both hands death-gripped on the cold steering wheel. But she did know. Once it got dark, they always called off the search until the next morning.
They didn’t speak again until they rounded the corner, and Big Barn came into view. Against the plum-colored sky, it loomed like a haunted house, its crooked, sunk-in roof giving it a lopsided, nightmarish quality.
“Spooky,” Rett said, her words coming out with a soft breath.
That was the exact word that Love was thinking.
They were about a hundred yards away when something in Love caused her to cut the engine.
“What’s wrong?” Rett said.
“It might be better if we walked in,” Love said.
“Why?” Rett knitted her pale brown eyebrows together.
Love couldn’t explain it. It was something a city person might not understand. Love had not only grown up in the woods, she’d spent much of her life up here with Cy, riding this land, learning its contours and sounds. There was a vibration in the air, something that didn’t feel right. She realized now why she’d not really been afraid when she’d come here a few days ago with Mel. She’d not felt anything then. Not like now.
“Stay here in the jeep. Let me check it out first.” She climbed out and started slowly walking toward the barn.
“Pops,” she called out, her voice clear and strong in the cool, early dusk. “It’s Love, Pops. Are you in there?” Suddenly, she wished she’d thought to bring Cy’s shotgun. She was too vulnerable out in the open. Anyone could be hiding in Big Barn. She stopped, turned to go back and saw Rett walking toward her.
“Get back!” She waved her granddaughter away.
Rett moved up beside her. “No, I want to come with you. I’m not a kid.”
Love was about to snap at her that it had nothing to do with being a kid, when there was a crack. A puff of dirt exploded in front of them. Crack—crack, crack.
Instinctively, Love tackled Rett, slamming her to the ground.
“What?” Rett warbled as she hit the ground with a thump.
“Don’t move!” Love commanded.
THIRTY
Rett
Gunshots,” her grandma said in a hoarse voice.
Rett froze where she lay, feeling the damp, cold leaves on her cheek. Though her first instinct was to get up and run, she pushed back her panic. Relax, she told herself. She could barely see her grandma in the darkening twilight. Love had rolled over on her stomach and was watching the barn, where a light flickered somewhere deep in its bowels. She could hear her grandma’s harsh, heavy breathing, the sound of wind in the trees, a bird’s twitter, a rustling in the bushes to her left. Everything seemed louder, bigger, slower. The last few minutes felt like a movie she was watching in a dark theater.
“Don’t move,” Love whispered. Rett felt the soaked soil give under her when she shifted.
“Well, dang,” her grandma said. “One hit me.”
Rett felt her throat constrict. “Are you okay? What should we do?” Are you going to die? she thought.
“Crawl ahead of me. Keep low. We need to get behind the jeep. I’ll be fine. It’s just a surface wound.”
Like some kind of old black-and-white war movie, they crawled toward the jeep, Rett’s elbows and knees stained with soil, wet leaves sticking to her chilled skin. Time did that crazy thing it did when she was writing a song: it both stood still and flew by. She crawled and crawled for what seemed forever, waiting to hear another crack, another puff of dirt. But the only thing she heard was her own heavy breathing.
Behind the jeep, Love crouched and looked out toward the barn. It was dark and quiet; the source of light had moved deeper into the barn. For a moment, Rett wondered if they’d imagined the gunshots. She shivered and sat back against a front tire, waiting for her grandma to speak.
“Well, that stings a little,” Love said, looking down at her shoulder. Blood seeped through her blue cowboy shirt, the stain appearing black in the dusky light. “Stay low, and get the backpack. Find me something to put over this.”
Crouching, Rett fumbled with the jeep door, finding the backpack. She sat back down and unzipped it. For the first time in her life, Rett was truly terrified. Mister God, she prayed, help needed here, like, right now. Not a muscle moved on Love’s face, but Rett knew she had to be in pain. She handed her the biggest gauze pad in the backpack. “Does it hurt?”
Love pressed the pad down on her shoulder, giving Rett a small smile. “Don’t worry, Sweet Pea. It looks worse than it is. Try to call someone on my cell while I apply pressure.”
Rett nodded, amazed at her grandma’s composure. She flipped the cell phone open, the blue light from the screen illuminating her face. “No service.” Rett felt like crying. El Señor, she prayed, feeling her breathing grow shallow. Stars popped and sizzled in front of her eyes. We really, really need some help.
In seconds, she felt a warm peace wash over her. Her breathing slowed, and the stars started fading away. They’d be okay. Somehow, she knew that.
Love struggled up and peered over the hood of the jeep at the barn. “You know, I wonder . . . Oh, Lord, have mercy. It’s August.”
Rett crawled over to Love and crouched next to her. She could see a light silhouetting a figure in the window. The figure held some kind of lantern. Even from their distance, maybe the length of a football field, Rett could also see it was August. He cradled a rifle in one hand and held a lantern in the other.
“What’s he doing?” Rett asked, confused.
“I don’t know,” Love said. “But he must not realize it’s us.”
“August . . . Pops,” Love called out. “It’s Love. What’s going . . . ?”
Before she could finish, he threw open the window and pointed the gun in the direction of her voice.
“Down!” she hissed, jerking Rett’s arm.
“You’ll not take me, you dirty bastards!” he yelled. “Here’s one for stinkin’ Herr Hitler.” The tat-tat of his shots echoed through the trees.
Love leaned her head against the jeep’s door. “He thinks he’s back in the war.”
Nervous laughter gurgled in the back of Rett’s throat. She knew that was totally not cool, but this was like some kind of insane music video. Did people really do that, go crazy and think they were in some other time? Did her great-grandpa August really believe she and her grandma were German soldiers? That was so messed up.
“Well, okay,” she said, not knowing what else to say.
“If we’re lucky, Gabe or some of the others
heard those gunshots,” Love said, glancing up at the early night sky. Stars were starting to show themselves, like tiny white carbonated bubbles. “But we have to find a way to try to warn them. I don’t want them riding up without knowing what’s happening. Someone could get hurt.”
Somebody already has, Rett almost said.
“What should we do?” Rett asked, shivering. A cold breeze shook oak leaves in the trees above them, a soft rattling sound, like an old-time recording of people applauding.
“I’m going to try to move over to that rise over there.” Love pointed to a hill behind them. “The phone might pick up a signal there.”
“I should go,” Rett said. “You’re hurt.”
“No. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you.”
“But, grandma—”
“No argument!” Love snapped, and Rett could hear the steel in her voice.
Except Rett always argued. Her grandma would learn that. “So, what if you get shot again?”
Love gripped her shoulder. “I won’t.”
Rett folded her arms across her chest. “But if you do.”
Love’s mouth turned into a slashed line. “Do not mess with me right now, Rett. Just do what I say and wait here.”
“Fine, General Johnson,” Rett said, holding up her hands. “Just be careful.”
“I will.” Love’s voice softened. She reached over and patted Rett’s knee. “I’ll be okay. We’ll all get out of this alive.”
“I know,” Rett said, making her voice sound more confident than she felt.
She watched her grandma crawl through the grass until she couldn’t see her any longer. Then she turned and stood up slightly, trying to see if August was watching. He’d moved away from the window, but she could see the lantern’s light bobbing inside the barn. What was he doing? Was he scared? Did he think that his buddies had deserted him? It made her sad to think he was feeling that way, alone and scared, especially when it wasn’t true.
For some reason, she remembered what she’d once read about writing—songs, books, poems, whatever—how it was really just carrying the Golden Rule to its complete meaning, that being a writer meant trying to see things from someone else’s point of view, imagining yourself to be them. She tried to imagine August’s fear, how alone he felt, what he’d be wishing for, who he’d be hoping to see. It hit her like a slap on the head.
“August!” she called out. “It’s Aggie. I want to talk to you.”
Behind her, she heard the faint sound of her grandma’s voice cry, “No. Lord, me. Me—not her. Please. Please.”
Rett called out to her great-grandpa again. “It’s Aggie. Your baby sister. Can I come see you?”
There was a long silence, and she thought that maybe she’d done something really stupid, when she saw August move back in front of the window and hold up his lantern. His face glowed from the light. “Aggie? Is that you? Are you all right?”
She swallowed hard, then stood up, ignoring the sound of Love’s voice behind her telling her to get down.
“Yes, August, it’s Aggie. I’m fine. I just want to talk to you. Can I come see you? I have . . .” Her mind went blank for a second. “I . . . uh . . . I have supper. Mama sent it. I have fried chicken.”
His laugher rang out, and he opened the old window. “Mama’s chicken? That’ll sure hit the spot.”
Rett moved slowly around the front of the jeep. “Can I come and bring it to you? It’s getting cold.” She held her breath, watching his figure in the window. He brought the lamp up closer to his face. One hand held the lantern, the other was empty. He’d set his gun down. She exhaled in relief.
“I’m coming to the barn now,” she said, walking slowly toward the building. Beneath her feet, the snap of dried grass sounded as loud as gunshots.
Please don’t let him shoot me, Mr. God, she silently prayed. I really kind of want to live. She continued walking toward the barn. “I’m almost there, August. Don’t forget, it’s me, Aggie.”
“For heaven’s sake, I know who you are,” his deep voice said in a slightly peeved tone.
His tall figure in the window bent down to pick up something. She froze. “August?” Her voice wavered.
“Who’s that behind you? Stop!” August’s voice was harsh. “Who goes there?” He pointed his rifle at something behind her.
Surprised, Rett turned around to see her grandma Love, still clutching the soaked gauze pad to her shoulder. In the moonlight, Rett could see the pain in her shadowed face.
“August,” Rett cried in a panic.“Don’t shoot. It’s . . . it’s my friend . . .” Her mind frantically searched for a name that sounded old-fashioned, someone who might be friends with his sister, Aggie. “Lucille. Lucille . . . uh . . .” She almost said Ball. “Jones. Lucille Jones. She’s spending the night with me.”
“Luci?” he said, lowering his rifle. “Why, I haven’t seen her since she was a little girl. How’s your mama feeling?”
“She’s fine,” Love said in the calmest voice Rett had ever heard. “She’s gotten over her shingles now. Feeling much better.”
“Shingles,” August said. “That’s a shame. Never had ’em, but I know they can hurt like the dickens. You two come on in and stay for supper. I want to hear more about your mama.”
“Okay,” Love said, coming up beside Rett and putting her good arm around her shoulder. “We’re coming through the door now. Don’t you shoot us.”
August’s deep laugh echoed through the empty barn. “What a crazy thing to say, Luci girl. Why in the world would I shoot you? Aggie, you say you got fried chicken?”
Rett and Love walked inside the barn. He’d set the rifle down on an old wooden box, but it was still within his grasp.
Rett immediately went over to August and slipped her arm through his, pulling him out of reach of the rifle. “The chicken’s out in the car, August,” she said, glancing over at Love, who had already placed herself between August and the rifle. “Let’s take the lantern and go on home.”
“Fried chicken,” August said, picking up the lantern, not even glancing at Love or at the rifle. “That sure would hit the spot right now. You know, after supper, I think I’d like to take a nap. I’m feeling a little tired.”
“That’s a good idea,” Love said, coming up behind them. “I think maybe we all could use a nap.”
Rett hugged August’s arm to her side, smelling the sour-sweet old man scent that came from him. He stumbled when they stepped over the barn threshold, and she caught him before he could fall.
“It was a long day in the fields,” he said, sighing.
“Yes, I bet it was,” Rett agreed, tears suddenly burning her eyes. This man, it just occurred to her, was her blood, her daddy’s grandpa. Without him, she would not be here right now. She would not be anywhere. By some mysterious meeting of sperm and egg and sperm and egg and sperm and egg, Loretta Lynn Johnson was on this earth, able to sing and write songs and fall in love and get scorned. And live. Most of all, live. Just like Patsy’s baby. Patsy and Dale’s baby. For some reason, that baby was now a part of this world, and someday, someday, Aunt Rett would tell him or her this story. The story of the day great-great-grandpa August thought Aunt Rett and Great-grandma Love were German soldiers and how he shot Love without meaning to and how Rett pretended to be his long-dead sister.
She glanced behind her to make sure her grandma was all right. Love walked slowly behind them, carrying the rifle.
“Are you okay?” Rett asked. “Do you need some help?”
“I’m fine,” Love said. “Just needs a little antibiotic cream and a Band-Aid.”
August stumbled again, and Rett slipped her arm around the old man’s waist. “We have some water up in the car. Bet you could use a drink.”
He looked down at her, his watery eyes blank. “Who did you say you were?”
She inhaled, no longer needing to lie because they were all safe. “I’m Rett. Your great-granddaughter. Your grandson, Tommy’s, daug
hter.”
He cocked his head. “Tommy’s daughter? Why, I didn’t even know he had a daughter. How is Tommy doing?”
Her heart ached at his question, but she smiled up at him. “He actually has three daughters. I’m number two.”
“Tommy’s a good boy,” August said. “Real smart. Always quick with figuring things out. He can think on his feet, that boy.”
“Really?” Rett said, leading him toward the jeep. She turned her head again to check on Love, who was slipping the rifle under some blankets in the back of the jeep. “You still okay back there?”
“Yes, I am. You’re going to have to drive, though.”
“I can do that,” Rett said.
“I know you can,” Love replied. “And I can’t wait to get back to the ranch and tell everyone how proud I am of you. Sweet Pea, you really saved the day.” Rett could tell that her grandma wasn’t being sarcastic, that she really was proud of her. It felt good. It had been a long time since someone had said she’d done something right.
“You saved the day?” August asked, cocking his head. “What did you do?”
“Oh, nothing,” Rett said, helping him up into the passenger seat. “Just a little quick thinking on my feet.”
“Just like Tommy,” August said, patting her hand. “He’s a good boy. A smart boy. Never had a bit of trouble figuring things out.”
“So I’ve been told,” Rett said and laughed.
THIRTY-ONE
Love Mercy
They settled August in the front passenger seat, wrapping an old blanket around his trembling shoulders. Love slipped into the back of the jeep. The bleeding on her shoulder had slowed, so she told Rett not to rush, that these fire roads were tricky at night.
“I’ll get us home in one piece,” Rett said.
August had grown silent, his head lolling to one side in exhaustion. Oh, Pops, Love thought, tucking the blanket around his exposed neck. I’m so sorry I didn’t do something before it came to this. She would never forgive herself for what happened. It would be something that would haunt her for the rest of her life—what could have happened. She’d never forget those terrifying seconds when her granddaughter stood up and started walking toward the barn. Love never prayed more desperately or more sincerely: Lord, please, not Rett. Take me, not Rett. Please.
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