Sweet Baby

by Sharon Sala

  “I won’t get in your way, but I don’t intend to leave until we find my mother.”

  Rentshaw threw up his hands. “I have no problem with that, but I don’t know where you think you’re going to stay. All the rooms have been taken for a thirty-mile radius.”

  “That’s not a problem for us,” Tory said. “Like the tortoise, we travel with our shell on our back.”

  Rentshaw remembered that fancy, self-contained motor home parked out front, and just for a moment, he thought of asking if they had a spare bed. And then he glanced at Hooker’s face and amended the thought.

  “That’s fine, then.” He glanced at the chief, then back at Brett and Tory. “When you’ve finished in here, I’ll be glad to direct you to the location.”

  “Thank you. We won’t be long.” Tory turned and sat down.

  Rentshaw had the feeling he’d just been dismissed. He glared at the police chief, nodded to Hooker, then left as abruptly as he’d entered.

  Denton frowned as the door slammed shut. “That man needs to take himself a vacation.” Brett grinned. He was liking the chief more by the minute.

  “Let’s see,” Denton muttered. “Where was I when we were so rudely interrupted?”

  Tory leaned forward. “My father. You were going to tell me about my father.”

  Denton sat down with a grunt. “Yes, ma’am, that I was.”

  “Chief?”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Considering our history, I think it would be fine if you called me Tory.”

  He almost grinned. “As I was saying… your daddy was a hell of a man. He rodeoed a little and drove a truck for one of the oil companies. He died when his truck slid off an ice-covered road and rolled down a mountain. You were born about a month later.”

  “Then I never knew him?”

  “No.”

  “I have a vague feeling that Hale lived in our house. Is that so?”

  The chief nodded. “No one much approved of him. We didn’t think he was good enough for your mother, if you know what I mean. But she’d been alone a long time, almost five years, when Hale stepped into her life. He sweet-talked her into letting him move in. After that, it’s anyone’s guess as to what happened.” Denton frowned. “Everyone here in town thought she ran off with Hale and left you behind. I’m real sorry to say I was one of those people.”

  Tory’s eyes teared, but her voice remained firm. “You have nothing to apologize for. I thought the same thing, and she was my mother.”

  Brett reached for Tory’s hand, then threaded his fingers through hers, giving her comfort in the only way he could.

  “Is there anything else we need to know before we meet Rentshaw?” he asked.

  Denton shrugged. “Not that I can think of. But if something comes up, I know where to find you.”

  Brett held Tory’s hand tighter. “We’ll be going now, and thank you for your help out there.”

  This time there was no mistaking Denton Washburn’s grin. “It’s my pleasure,” he said. “Besides, Lacey would have chewed me up and left me for fish bait otherwise.”

  “Don Lacey… from Oklahoma City?” Brett asked.

  “Went to school with the man. He always was a hardhead. Once he had a notion fixed in his mind, it was plain hell to get him to turn loose of it. He asked me to look after you. I told him it would be my pleasure.” Then he glanced at Tory. “Real sorry about your mother, Miss Lancaster.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And I’m real sorry about the way you got shuffled through the system.”

  “I’m not the first child who fell through the cracks, and I doubt I was the last.”

  Denton Washburn nodded. “Still, we should have been more concerned when it happened to one of our own. In a way, we let you down worse than the system did.”

  Tory just shook her head. “The best way you could pay me back is to make sure it never happens to a child you know again.”

  “Miss Lancaster, that’s a promise.”

  ***

  Rentshaw hadn’t wasted his time by waiting. He’d cleared out the media with a single order to his men and then made sure the present owner of the old Lancaster property would be on-site and waiting for their arrival. When he saw Hooker and the Lancaster woman come out of the police department, he got out of his car and went to meet them.

  “Are you ready to proceed?” he asked.

  Brett nodded.

  “Then follow me,” Rentshaw ordered.

  “I need to get gas before we leave town.”

  Rentshaw sighed. “There’s a station on our way out. I’ll lead the way.”

  “Thanks,” Brett said, and they were on their way.

  ***

  Brett was filling the gas tank as Tory strolled up and down the four-aisle quick stop. She had a pop in one hand and a couple of candy bars in the other. Every now and then she would put one of them back in lieu of one she’d just seen. Then, when she couldn’t make up her mind, she would take them both. Right now she was deliberating between a Milky Way and a Snickers bar to go with the Baby Ruth and the Payday she already had.

  “Hey, don’t I know you?”

  Startled, Tory looked up. The cashier behind the counter was pointing at her, which in turn had called her to the attention of three other customers. The fiasco at the police department was too fresh in her mind to ignore, and she glanced out the window at Brett, wishing she’d waited for him before coming inside.

  “Uh, I don’t think—”

  “Yeah, I do! I know you!” the man said. “You were on the TV the other day. You’re that woman. The woman who used to live here, ain’t you?”

  Tory stared at the man from across the aisles. She was closer to the door than he was. If she had to, she could always make a run for it.

  “Yes, when I was a child.”

  He nodded. “I knew it. I don’t forget a face.”

  Tory reached for the Snickers bar.

  “I told my wife, I bet I’ll be seein’ that woman when she comes to Calico Rock. Everyone who comes to town usually winds up here before all’s said and done.”

  Tory glanced out the window and then picked up the Milky Way, too. If Brett didn’t hurry, she was going to run out of hands and money.

  “Is it true what they said on the TV? Did that fella really kill your—”

  “Well for the good Lord’s sake, Clarence, why don’t you just hush and leave the poor girl alone?”

  Tory looked up. A new face had come upon the scene. She didn’t know who it was, but she was heartily glad she was here.

  “Now, Tootie, I just wanted to know if—”

  Tootie slapped the man on the arm and then shoved him out from behind the counter.

  “Your food’s gettin’ cold. Get on outa here and go eat what I fixed you before I throw it to the dogs.”

  Clarence did as he was told, giving Tory a last, lingering look of regret as he ducked out the back door of the store.

  Tory hid a smile. Tootie must be “the wife” to whom he’d referred.

  “You’ll have to excuse Clarence,” she said. “He’s just naturally nosy. He don’t mean nothin’ by it.”

  Tory nodded. “That’s all right,” and then she saw Brett coming and began to relax. She added a Butterfinger to her stash as he stepped through the door, and when he got out his billfold to pay for the gas, she laid her candy on the counter.

  He looked at the assortment and then arched an eyebrow. “Doesn’t pay to leave you alone too long, does it, baby?”

  She grinned.

  And then Tootie chose to step into the conversation.

  “You know what? You sure do put me in mind of that actor fellow, Mel Gibson.” She looked at Tory. “Don’t you think?” She looked back at Brett. “Yes, you sure do look like him.” Then she squinted. “You aren’t… are you?”

  Tory laughed, grabbed her candy bars and made a break for the RV, leaving Brett behind to deal with the female version of Clarence.

  Four
teen

  It was obvious from the dust boiling beneath Rentshaw’s vehicle that last night’s rain at the RV camp had not passed through Calico Rock. The thick growth of trees and bushes on either side of the road was coated with a layer of good Arkansas earth. While it was impossible to see the houses from the road, every now and then they would pass a dusty mailbox at the end of a lane, a marker for the people who lived up in the hills.

  Tory was silent, her gaze fixed on the scenery as they passed, and Brett could tell she was searching for anything familiar. About three miles outside of Calico Rock, she suddenly straightened and pointed toward a winding road off to their left.

  “I think some people named Wiggins used to live up there. They had a daughter named Mary Ellen. She was my first best friend.” And my last.

  Tory sighed. Moving from one foster home to another had not been conducive to making or keeping friends. But she didn’t have to say it. There was no need repeating something Brett already knew.

  “You know what, baby?”

  “What?”

  “Aren’t you glad you can remember her now?”

  Tory sat there for a moment, a little surprised by his insight, as well as the fact that she hadn’t thought of that herself. She’d been so wrapped up in the bad, she’d forgotten to give thanks for the good. She smiled.

  “Yes, Brett, I am.”

  He chuckled aloud as he remembered something from his first year at school.

  “My first best friend was a boy named Charlie. His mother let him keep a snake as a pet, and he could burp louder than any kid in first grade. For a kid who was only six, Charlie was ahead of his time.”

  Tory laughed, which was what Brett had intended, and the moment passed. They continued to follow Rentshaw’s dust trail without comment and were unprepared when he suddenly braked and turned off the road. Brett felt himself tensing. If Rentshaw was stopping, then they must be there.

  Tory leaned forward as Brett followed Rentshaw’s lead, her gaze fixed on a small, run-down house at the far end of the lane down which they’d driven. A wide metal gate had been hung across the drive, and cattle could be seen grazing in what used to be the yard. But it was the house that caught her eye. Something beckoned at the door of her mind, begging to be let in. And the longer she sat there, the louder it knocked.

  A bus. She’d been riding home on the school bus! She could almost feel the heat against her skin as she’d stepped down from it to go home. A flash of color moved through her thoughts, as ephemeral as the butterfly she’d raced so long ago, and in her mind, she skipped blithely toward the house, unaware of the devastation that awaited her there. Tory held her breath, waiting for the panic that had followed, but the only emotion she could feel was an overwhelming sadness for what she’d lost.

  “Oh, Brett.”

  Brett reached toward her, touching her face, her arm, then her hair, wishing that his love was enough to make everything bad go away and knowing the task was impossible, even for a love as strong as his. Her eyes were wide and fixed on the scene before them, and she was blinking furiously to hold back the tears.

  “I’m here, Tory. Just hold on to that thought.”

  She clutched at his hand, willing the pace of her heartbeat to slow down to its normal rhythm. But it was impossible. Somewhere in the idyllic scene before them, her mother’s earthly remains lay in an unconsecrated grave. Of that she was convinced. And what loomed most in Tory’s mind was the three days she’d spent in that house, unaware that the mother she was waiting for had already begun to rot.

  As they sat staring at the house and waiting for Rentshaw to make a move, a pickup truck suddenly swerved off the road behind them, parking near the passenger side of their RV. Tory watched in the sideview mirror as the driver emerged. He was redheaded and tall, and his belly was pushing toward a slight paunch. Something made her reach for the door, and without a word to Brett, she went to meet him.

  When the woman stepped out of the RV, Art Beckham came to an abrupt halt. His stomach knotted, and his throat went dry. When she smiled at him, he belatedly yanked off his cap. It had been years since he’d seen her, and if her picture hadn’t been flashed all over the tube for the last two days, he wouldn’t have known her. But it had, and now he did, and in his nervousness, the irony of it all was lost upon him.

  “Victoria? Victoria Lancaster?”

  Tory heard a door slam and knew Brett would be right behind her, but this time she didn’t need his protection. This man’s face was too open for guile.

  “I know you, don’t I?” she said.

  He ducked his head, reluctant to meet her gaze, and then took a deep breath and looked up.

  Trying to grin, he nodded. “I reckon so. I used to give you hell on the school bus.” And then the grin slid off his face. “And for that, I’m sure sorry.”

  The tension went out of Tory in one fell swoop. “Arthur Beckham!”

  He grinned. “One and the same. And it’s Art now.”

  “Then, hello, Art Beckham.”

  His grin widened. “Hello, Tory Lancaster.”

  Brett was hurrying to her side, the memory of the media fiasco in the police chief’s office too fresh in his mind to ignore, when Tory turned toward him and smiled.

  “Brett, this is Art Beckham. When we were children we used to ride the same school bus.”

  The two men shook hands, and then Art began to fidget, looking down at his feet and then at a spot on the horizon just over Tory’s shoulder. Finally he looked her square in the face.

  “Tory, something’s been weighing on my mind for years, and I’m thankful I finally get a chance to apologize.”

  “What’s that?” she said.

  “That day you got off of the school bus…”

  Tory shrugged. “I’m sorry, Art, but my memory’s not so good about my early years. What day are you referring to?”

  He began picking at a speck of dried mud on the brim of his cap, needing something on which to focus in order to finish what had to be said.

  “You know… the last day you rode the bus.”

  Understanding dawned. “You mean the day I went home and found everyone gone?”

  He looked up at her, judging the tone of her voice against the look on her face. When he was satisfied that she was holding her own, he continued.

  “Yeah. You know, I was a little older than you, but I was still just a kid. I didn’t mean anything by it, but it’s bugged me for years that I teased you that day. Later, when I heard my folks talking about what had happened to you, and how some people came and took you away to some home in the city, I felt guilty, like I’d been a part of it.”

  Tory laid her hand on his arm. “Why, Art, that’s silly. Besides, as you said before, we were just children.”

  “Still, I’m sorry I did it. And I’m sorry about what happened to you.” He took a deep breath and then grinned. “I had a crush on you, you know. That’s why I picked on you all the time.” Then he gave Brett a nervous look, startled that he’d revealed something personal in front of her man. “I’m happily married.”

  Brett laughed, then winked at Tory. “I have plans in that direction myself.”

  Tory blushed, and the tension that had been between them was gone. But before they could continue, Rentshaw came around the corner of the RV.

  “Are you Beckham?” he asked.

  Art nodded.

  “Good. I’d appreciate it if you would let us in. And do something about those cows,” he added. “We need to be able to leave this gate down until we’ve finished.”

  Tory frowned. “What’s going on?”

  Art sighed. One last thing to admit. He wondered how she was going to take the news. He waved his hand toward the house.

  “This is my place now,” he said. “I bought it about six years ago. The cattle you see are mine, and I’ve been using that old house you grew up in for a barn. Unfortunately, before anyone can start poking around inside, I’ve got to move about two tons of hay and a t
on of sweet feed.”

  Startled, Tory looked back at the old house, only now aware of the hay just visible through the missing windows.

  “Oh, my,” she said.

  “Exactly,” Rentshaw said. “It will take a good day to clear all of that out before we can start.”

  “Then let’s get at it,” Brett said. “I’d be glad to help.”

  Art frowned. “No, sirree. I wouldn’t hear of it. I’ve got some men on their way out now.” He nodded toward the RV. “You planning to stay in that while you’re here?”

  Brett nodded.

  “You’re more than welcome to hook up to the utilities down at the house. There was an old trailer house out back when I first bought the place, so the hookups are there. And I keep electricity on at the barn, uh, I mean the house. All we’ll have to do is throw a switch for the water well.”

  “That’s awfully generous of you,” Brett said. “And we really appreciate it.”

  Art gave Tory a last, apologetic look. “It’s the least I can do.”

  ***

  A temporary fence had been strung between the old house and the road, penning Art’s cattle out of the yard but still giving them free rein to graze the rest of the place. The square bales of hay that had been inside the house were now out in the yard, stacked as high as the roof. Art hauled the sacks of sweet feed back to his home. Although it was early afternoon, everyone was gone except for a couple of state agents, who were still taking pictures and mapping off roads and outbuildings. It would be tomorrow before the real stuff began.

  Brett watched from a chair in the shade while Tory meandered about the property, picking up sticks and poking about in the weeds. He knew what she was doing. She was looking for memories. And as long as he could see her, he didn’t worry. This was something she needed to do alone.

  But while she had prowled and walked over almost all the area, she had yet to go inside the old house, and he thought he knew why. There were ghosts in there that she wasn’t ready to face, and that was okay. But when she was ready to go in, there was no way in hell he was going to let her go alone.

  A short while later the two agents drove away, with promises to return in the morning. Now Brett and Tory were alone.