Holding him roughly by the shoulders, Hick growled, “Tell me why I shouldn’t beat the hell out of you right here and leave you bloody in the ditch?”
Hick’s eyes settled upon Job’s face, swollen and red, and he realized the boy had been crying. An overwhelming feeling of shame swept over him, and he was filled with horror. Reverend Wheeler’s disease had afflicted him as well.
He loosened his hold on Job. “I shouldn’t have done that. What’s happened, Job?”
The boy ran his sleeve under his nose and sniffed. “It’s mama. Doc Prescott’s at the house and told me to fetch you.” His eyes welled. “She’s dyin’. Doc says she wants to talk to you.”
“To me?” Hick asked in some surprise.
The boy nodded.
“Get in the car. We’ll go together.”
Job rubbed his shoulders as he climbed in the car which only made Hick more disgusted with himself. He gripped the steering wheel and turned to look at the boy. “Job, I’m sorry about that.” The boy didn’t turn, didn’t say a word, just continued to peer out the window. An occasional sniff was the only sound he made.
The coal oil lantern was burning in the front room as Hick and Job arrived. Mourning was crying and when she saw her twin she rushed across the room and clung to his neck. Doc Prescott turned and shook his head. Pearl Delaney was dead.
Her two children were crying softly in the corner. “Do you know what she wanted to see me about?” Hick asked the doctor in a quiet voice.
“She told me she needed to tell you something about Susie Wheeler.”
“Susie Wheeler?”
“She wouldn’t tell me what it was. Said she could only talk to you.” Doc shook his head sadly. “Pearl maintained Abner’s innocence until her death. I reckon her last thoughts on earth were about her boys and their safety.”
“I can understand that,” Hick replied remembering his own quickness to judge Job Delaney.
The doctor indicated the twins. “What do we do about those two? They can’t stay out here alone.”
At thirteen, Job and Mourning Delaney were too young to care for themselves. Hick turned to them. “Ya’ll got kin that can look after you?”
Mourning shook her head. “No, Sheriff. Our kin disowned us when Daddy went to the pen. We ain’t seen hide nor hair of none of ’em in years.”
As Hick looked at the children he thought of his encounter with Job and saw the shock and terror in the boy’s eyes. Unlike most of Cherokee Crossing, he didn’t believe the Delaneys were trouble and yet, even he had rushed to judgment. As he thought all this over he made an uncharacteristic, impulsive decision. “Get what you need. You’re coming with me.”
Job and Mourning stared wide-eyed at Hick and turned to each other. Then they went to the back of the house to gather what little clothing they owned.
Jake Prescott looked surprised. “You think Maggie will be alright with that?” he asked after they left the room.
Hick nodded. “You know Mag and kids. If I don’t bring ’em back with me, I’ll get an earful.”
“But with the baby …” Jake questioned.
“Doc, I gotta help her more. I know I gotta help her more. These two will only be with us until Eben and Jed get back. Eben’s seventeen so I reckon he can care for ’em.” He indicated the wasted state of Pearl Delaney. “He’s been carin’ for ’em for years.”
The doctor nodded and Job and Mourning came out of the back room each with an armful of old clothes. “You takin’ us to jail?” Mourning asked wide-eyed.
“I’m takin’ you to my house,” Hick replied.
“Your woman ain’t gonna want us there,” Job said cautiously.
“My ‘woman’ will be fine with it. You just scared her earlier, that’s all.”
The twins looked at one another. “But what about mama?” Mourning asked tears beginning to puddle in her eyes. “What will happen to mama?”
The doctor patted her shoulder. “Mourning, I got some money set aside. I’ll bury her for you.”
Now it was Hick’s turn to be surprised. The doctor just shrugged. “Pearl Delaney has been my ‘colleague’ in this town for decades. There was more to her potions than most people would have guessed.” He looked at the wasted face on the pillow. “She had my respect.”
Mourning dropped her clothes and ran to the bed, clinging to her mother. The doctor helped her up and together he and Hick put the Delaneys into the car.
In spite of a warm welcome from Maggie and a clean, comfortable bed, when Hick woke before dawn the next morning, the children were already gone.
13
Maggie paced the kitchen floor and fretted over Jimmy, but Hick knew what was wrong. “They’ll be okay, Mag.” He sipped his coffee and stared unhappily out the window. “I wish they hadn’t gone,” he admitted, “but those kids know how to survive.”
“But they’re just children.”
Hick put the coffee cup down and rose from the table. He put his hand on his wife’s shoulder and she reached up and grabbed it, her worried eyes met his.
“I have to meet Doc at his office this morning. As soon as I’m done, I’ll go back out to their house and see if they went home. If they did, I’ll try and talk ’em into coming back. But I can’t make ’em stay here.”
“You will try?” Maggie asked.
“I’ll do my best. Those kids have never had a chance. I’d like to help ’em if I can.”
She leaned into him, looking up into his eyes. “I knew you would.”
He bent to give her and Jimmy a kiss and picked up his hat. “I’ll try to be home for dinner.”
She nodded and he walked out of the house, pausing on the porch to listen to the sounds of the fading night. He climbed into the car, not anxious to hear what Jake Prescott had to say and even less anxious to see what remained of Susie Wheeler after fourteen years in the grave.
It was dark and Hick’s headlights cast weird shadows on the shrubs near Jake’s porch as he pulled up to the office. He knew the doctor would be in the back so he went around the corner of the white clapboard house that served as both residence and office and knocked on the screen door.
“Hick?” Jake called.
“Yeah.”
“Come on in.”
Hick tentatively walked into the office and was relieved to see the coffin lid had already been replaced. Jake was in his white lab coat and was putting instruments away.
“Well?” Hick asked.
Jake nodded. “You and Adam guessed right.” He went over to a small table on wheels and picked up a metal tray. On it lay an assortment of what looked like chicken bones. Taking his cigar from his mouth he pointed with it saying, “These were found in the pelvic area. Susie Wheeler appears to have been about four months pregnant when she died.”
Hick stared at the dish, an overwhelming sadness welling up inside.
“Where does the case go from here?” Jake asked. “Someone out there had motive to kill Susie Wheeler. I think Gladys figured out who that was and that’s what got her killed. Now, I need to figure out who it was.”
“I see,” Jake answered.
Hick sat down and let his mind race. Susie Wheeler was pregnant and Gladys provided her with an address for an adoption agency. But who else knew Susie was pregnant? How did they know Susie would be out by the slough at that time of day? Was she meeting the baby’s father? Hick looked up at Jake. “I need to find out more about Susie’s last days … who she was with, who might have known her troubles. I need to talk to Wheeler.”
“I’ll go with you,” the doctor volunteered.
Hick turned away as Jake lifted the lid to Susie’s coffin and returned the bones of her child to their rightful place. Then, they waited until after Seth McDaniel had retrieved Susie’s casket to call on the Reverend and Mrs. Wheeler. The sun had risen and the day promised to be clear as the squad car pulled into the large circular drive in front of the home. Hick paused and closed his eyes. “This won’t go well.”
“I know,” Jake agreed. “Let’s just get it over with.”
Nodding, Hick opened the door of his car and was dumbfounded to hear the crack of a rifle ring out from behind the house.
“What the hell?” he shouted and then ran around the corner of the house leaving Jake trudging behind.
He reached the back yard to be greeted by a triumphant Ted Wheeler. The rifle in his hand still smoked.
“I got him!” he yelled at Hick. “I got the beast. He would have killed us.” He was giddy and began to laugh. “I did it!
I did it!”
His shouts and laughter were halted by an inhuman sounding wail coming from the back of his property. Jake arrived at that moment and ran toward the source of the sound. Racing through the yard, Hick stopped short, horrified at what he saw. Mourning Delaney was bent over her dying twin, screaming and crying, ripping the hair from her head in clumps.
Wheeler caught up, breathing heavily from the run and then froze, as if seeing a nightmare unfold before him. Mourning never looked up, her eyes were filled with the form of her brother, bleeding profusely from a wound in his back. In Job’s hands were the remains of the Reverend Wheeler’s breakfast, crusts of toast, burnt bacon, and apple cores. Hick suddenly realized the dark, shadowy figure that was spreading panic throughout the town of Cherokee Crossing was nothing more than Job Delaney trying to put food on the table for his mother and sister by any means possible … even if that meant rifling through the diner garbage.
Jake bent down and felt Job’s wrist, then shook his head. Placing his hands on Mourning’s shoulders he said, “Come, child. Come with me.”
“Noooo,” she screamed and pulled away. Their limbs had intertwined in the womb, their hearts had beat in unison since the moment they were conceived and now Mourning Delaney, for the first time in her existence, was alone.
Jake tried to pull her away, but she fought back frantically, grasping her brother’s waist, his blood covering her arms and chest.
“Mourning, he’s gone,” Hick said quietly, kneeling beside her and placing his hand on her head.
She howled and pressed her face against Job’s bloodied shirt.
“Mourning …”
She screamed once more, a desperate, heartbroken wail that caused the hair on Hick’s arms to stand up, and then she collapsed into sobs, still clinging to her dead twin.
Hick turned to Wheeler who stood there aghast, mouth hanging open, a look of shock and horror on his face. “I thought he was Jed … or Eben. I thought he was.…”
“He was what?” Hick stood and faced the reverend, rage coursing through him. “Coming to hurt you? Or your wife? For what purpose? To what end? Why would they have anything against you? What reason would they have to come here and start trouble?”
“Reason?” the minister asked, as if he didn’t understand the word.
“Reason. The thing that should set us apart from animals. The common sense that God gives us, but people like you throw out the minute you feel threatened. You called Abner Delaney an animal. What are you? The minute you feel threatened, your only thought is self-preservation. You’ll do anything to survive. Chew your leg off. Kill an innocent child. Anything! Like a fox, caught in a trap.”
The rifle dropped from Ted Wheeler’s hand as Jake helped the still sobbing Mourning to her feet. Her brother’s blood covered her, matted in her hair and smeared across her face. As Jake led her to Hick’s car, Hick turned to the reverend and said in a flat voice, “By the way, we came out here to tell you Susie was about four month’s pregnant when she died.”
Ted Wheeler aged before Hick’s eyes. His frame sagged as if gravity had suddenly grabbed hold, pressing him down toward the earth. “What?” His voice was barely audible.
“I’m going to need to ask you and your wife a few questions. Right now, I’m taking Mourning Delaney to my house. The undertaker will be out here for Job. Don’t touch anything and wait inside. There will probably be charges.” Hick pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and lifted the warm rifle from the earth.
Ted Wheeler nodded, his eyes fastened to the remains of the boy.
Hick sighed. “I understand fear is a powerful thing to control. I was in Europe, I’ve done plenty of things to be ashamed of. But you … you brought this on yourself. You could have been teaching love and tolerance and understanding. You could have been asking your congregation to have patience and let us do our job. Instead, you chose to spread hate and fear. Hate is an all-consuming thing. It always destroys.”
“I didn’t mean to kill—” Wheeler began, but he couldn’t finish. Sobs erupted from somewhere deep within him.
The reverend stood sobbing in the yard as Hick walked away. The blood of Job Delaney seeped into the ground.
Hick marched around the house toward the squad car, the rifle in his hand as heavy and burdensome as anything he had ever carried.
Mrs. Wheeler stood on the porch, wringing her hands, and looking at the back seat of the car where Jake sat wiping the blood from Mourning’s face. “What’s happened, Sheriff?”
“Your husband has been involved in an altercation,” he told her as he opened the trunk and placed the rifle inside. “I’m gonna need you to call the station and have Wash or Adam come out.”
“An altercation?”
“He killed a trespasser,” Hick said, slamming the trunk with vehemence he couldn’t control.
She staggered backward and sank down into a wicker chair. “Killed?”
“Yes, a young boy. Job Delaney.”
“Delaney?”
“Yes, ma’am. He was in your fire barrel, looking for breakfast.”
She stared at the car where the still-frantic Mourning was clearly visible
“Breakfast …” Her voice trailed off. “Will he … will he go to prison?”
Hick followed her gaze back to the car. “Men like him don’t go to prison.”
14
Ted Wheeler had aged ten years by the time Hick returned to the house. The Reverend’s face was haggard and drawn, the smug, haughty look gone. His hands trembled and he sat in a chair staring out the window. Hick joined Wash in the front room and Mrs. Wheeler handed him a cup of coffee, sat the pot on the coffee table in the front room, and retreated to a wingback chair where her knitting lay nearby. Wash stood in the doorway, cup in hand, watching Wheeler. A gentle breeze wafted the white curtains at the windows, ushering in the scents of grass and lilac.
Hick took a sip of coffee and looked at Wheeler. “You want to tell us what happened?”
The reverend jumped at the sound of Hick’s voice. “Happened?”
Hick drew in a breath, struggling to control his temper. In truth he was so goddamned angry, he cared not a whit about sparing Wheeler’s feelings, but he needed information and knew the best way to get it was to remain calm.
“Tell me why you shot Job.”
“It was the dog,” Wheeler answered in a shaky voice. “I was over there in my study, and I heard the dog barking.” He removed his glasses to clean them but stopped. “I thought maybe it was one of his brothers, up to no good. They’ve been all over town causing trouble.”
“Have they?” Hick asked in a low, bitter voice.
“They’ve been sneaking around and—”
Hick interrupted. “I just had word from the state troopers in Illinois. They traced them up there and are checking the strawberry patches. We know they were at Litchfield because Buckley at the bank said they sent in a cash deposit after they finished picking.”
Wheeler looked up. “They’re not even here?”
“No, they haven’t been here for four days. I guess putting food on the table seemed to be more important than molesting all you upstanding citizens.”
The glasses slid onto the floor. “But—”
“What happened after you heard the dog barking?” Wash prompted with no emotion. At sixty-three years old, Deputy Wash Metcalfe was little help when it came to leg work, but Hick was always impressed wi
th his passionless, yet effective questioning. Hick knew Wash realized he had made a mistake fourteen years ago. He would not be making the same mistake again.
Wheeler’s eyes went from Hick to Wash and he ran his hand over his forehead. “I don’t … I heard the dog, and I got up from my desk to see what he was barking at. I spied someone at the back of the yard by the trash barrel.”
“Where was the rifle?” Wash asked. “In an upstairs closet.”
“So you saw a person in the yard and went to get your rifle?” Wash offered.
“Yes.”
“Was the figure in the yard behaving suspiciously?” Wash moved forward and sat the coffee cup down.
“No, but he was in my yard—”
“Did you feel threatened at any time?”
“Well, no, not exactly.” Wheeler responded, his face tight with agitation.
“Did it occur to you at any time that it might be a neighbor, or someone from town taking a walk, just wandering through, looking for something?”
Wheeler shook his head.
“So,” Hick said, taking up the questioning, “You heard the dog barking and immediately went upstairs to get a weapon?”
“Everyone had been saying—”
“Saying what?” Hick’s voice rose with frustration. “That the Delaney brothers were on some sort of murderous rampage? That after all these years of hard work and toil, they were out to spill innocent blood? For what? The fun of it?”
Wheeler looked at his hands and made no answer. Hick shook his head. He could barely stand to look at the man. “I warned you, Wheeler. I told you that if you didn’t stop filling everyone’s heads with hate, no good would come of it.”
Ted Wheeler’s haunted eyes rested on Hick’s face. “How is the little girl?” he asked in a broken voice.
“Hopefully sleeping. Doc gave her something and he and my wife are taking care of her.”
Behind Every Door Page 11