by Sharon Sala
He stopped long enough to get up and get himself a cold longneck, then took a big swig on his way back to his office. Beer and pretzels were food for the gods—at least the gods that Moe worshipped.
He popped a couple of tiny twists into his mouth, and then centered his fingers on the computer keyboard and let them fly, running through firewalls and password-protected sites as easily as a kid going from the swings to the slide to the merry-go-round. Within an hour Moe had a fresh trail to follow that led him right out of California and across the country to Kentucky and more Venables than he could count. If she wasn’t still in California, he would bet money she’d gone home. However, betting wasn’t an option when it came to Ike Pappas. Pappas was paying him for a sure thing, which meant Moe needed to book himself a flight. He checked the screen again, making notes to himself before he got back online. He didn’t know where the hell Rebel Ridge, Kentucky, was located, but he was about to find out. He hit MapQuest and typed in the address, then stared in disbelief. According to the computer, Rebel Ridge did not exist. Great. Every good plan always had a hitch.
Night had finally come to the old Foster home. Beth was taking a bath, and the supper dishes had been done. Ryal wanted to talk to Quinn, to see if everything was set up as they’d planned. He couldn’t help but worry about his younger brother. At this point, getting him mixed up in what amounted to a tense, warlike situation was about the worst thing they could do to him, but Quinn wouldn’t be dissuaded. He was a Walker. Beth was his kin, too, distant though the blood link might be. And of all the Walkers, he had argued successfully, he was the most suited for the job.
Ryal picked up his phone to call but couldn’t get a signal in the house, so he walked outside into the yard, moving and turning until he got a clear signal, then made the call. Quinn answered almost immediately.
“Yeah?”
“It’s me,” Ryal said. “Are you settled in?”
“Yep. Tent’s up. Gun’s loaded. Cold camp. Plenty of water.”
“Come eat with us in the morning.”
“I’ll swing by and pick something up, but I won’t be dawdling.”
“Good enough,” Ryal said, and then felt obligated to ask, “Are you still okay with this?”
“Stop worrying, damn it. I would feel the same if we were hunting turkey or deer. I’m just better at hunting men than the rest of you are.”
“I am well aware of that. I am also aware that the U.S. Army wouldn’t let you re-up for a third tour, and we all know why.”
There was a moment of silence, then a low chuckle. “Yeah. At the moment, I’m a shade on the crazy side.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Ryal drawled.
Quinn laughed softly. “Stop worrying. Make me some biscuits in the morning.”
“Consider it done. Sleep well, brother.”
“It’s all good,” Quinn said.
The enigmatic comment didn’t fit what Ryal had said, which meant Quinn probably wouldn’t sleep at all. But Ryal knew there was nothing he could do to change the situation. He disconnected and headed back to the house.
Beth had crawled into the old claw-foot tub, ignoring the chips and rust stains as she sank wearily into the deep, warm water. There were two things she was grateful for tonight. One had to do with the fact that she was no longer going cross-country via eighteen-wheeler, and the other was that there were no FBI agents around. She was home. Surprisingly, it felt good to be here. But she didn’t linger. Instead, she washed her hair, then herself, as best she could and got out.
When she came out of the bathroom in her pajamas, her hair clipped up at the back of her head, the house was quiet—too quiet. Even though she knew Ryal was somewhere close by, she felt vulnerable.
“Ryal?”
He didn’t answer.
Droplets of water from her still-wet hair ran down the middle of her back as she walked through the house to the front room, then looked out. He was standing out in the yard, a short distance away from the house, and talking on the phone. He was probably trying to get the best signal, since cell-phone reception was spotty, at best, in the mountains. She wondered who he was talking to. Just because he wasn’t married, that didn’t mean he didn’t have someone special.
As soon as she had that thought, her stomach knotted. She didn’t want to think about Ryal making love to anyone, but thanks to her parents, he no longer owed his heart or allegiance to her. Not anymore.
Saddened at the loss of what might have been, she turned away. With no television, there wasn’t anything to do but talk, and they’d said enough to each other for one day. Even though they had called something of a truce, there were many things still unsaid between them. But that conversation wasn’t happening until she read the letters. Granted, she was reading them ten years too late, but she wanted to know what his state of mind had been. She’d lived with the anger of thinking he’d abandoned her, although she knew that was no longer the case. At least that part of their history could be resolved.
Once back in her room, she turned on the lights, then crawled up onto the bed with the packet of unopened letters in her lap. She didn’t have to read them to know they were going to be hurtful, but she’d learned a long time ago that to get over pain, she first had to go through it.
Her fingers shook slightly as she picked up the packet, then untied the ribbons holding them together. Every one of them had been marked Return to Sender.
She shuffled through the postmarks until she found the earliest, but as she was about to open it, she heard footsteps in the hall. Ryal must be back. She stilled, waiting to see if he passed by her door. When he did, she breathed a quick sigh of relief. This was something she needed to do in private.
There was a knot in her stomach as she slid a finger beneath the flap. The glue was old—the envelope opened easily. She pulled out the page, but when she unfolded it, something fell out into her lap. She started to brush it off her leg, then realized it was a flower that had been tucked within the letter—a tiny mountain violet. The colors were still as vivid as they’d been the day he’d slipped it inside.
Beth felt like crying. The first time they’d made love had been under a tree near the spring at her parents’ house, next to a bed of mountain violets. She slid the flower into the envelope for safekeeping, then began to read.
Beth,
What’s happening? I’ve been going crazy, trying to find out where you went and why. If it hadn’t been for your granny Lou, I don’t know that I would have ever had a way to contact you. All the Venables shut down. They won’t talk to the Walkers, and I don’t know why.
Lou finally took pity on me and drove up to our house just to give me this address. It’s only a post-office box, which still doesn’t tell me where you are, or I would have already been on your doorstep asking these questions in person. I love you. I thought we were forever. Why did you leave me without a word? Are you coming back? If you say the word, I’ll come get you. Write to me, darlin’. Tell me what to do.
All my love,
Ryal
Beth didn’t even know she was crying until she realized the spots on the paper were her tears. She put the tiny flower back into the letter and slipped it into the envelope. The pain in her heart matched the pain she’d felt in Ryal’s words. What must he have thought?
Her first instinct was to go find him, but then she stopped. That was just the first letter. She needed to read them all before they talked. Her parents’ betrayal, which was shocking, to say the least, couldn’t be denied. Somehow she was going to have to find a way to forgive them, too, but tonight was not a night for dwelling on the past. She had too much on her plate with her present situation.
She heard footsteps again, and then a knock on her door.
“Hey, Beth, can I come in?”
“Yes, sure,” she said, and shoved the letters beneath the pillow.
He came in carrying her hairbrush from the bathroom.
“Did you get your hands doctored okay?”
&n
bsp; She turned them palms up, showing the Band-Aids she’d put on the larger cuts that had reopened.
He waved the hairbrush in the air. “Uh…I saw the shampoo and guessed you might have washed your hair. I brought your brush in case you need help combing it out.”
“Thank you,” Beth said, and took the clip out of the back of her hair and let it fall. “I’m warning you, it’s a tangled mess.”
Ryal’s smile was genuine as he moved toward her. “Tell me if I brush too hard or if it’s pulling.”
“I will,” Beth said, and turned around so that her back was to him.
Ryal took a deep breath. The thick fall of dark hair was still damp, which always made it curl. He thought about running his fingers through it on the pretext of combing out the worst of the tangles first but knew better than to start something he couldn’t finish. It was tempting enough to be in a bedroom with her and know she didn’t have a thing on under those flimsy pajamas.
Instead of focusing on his lust, he started at the ends of her hair, working out the tangles. As he worked his way up to the crown, he felt her begin to relax. He could only imagine how horrifying the past few days had been for her, and the thought of someone trying to hunt her down enraged him.
A few minutes later he paused.
“You doing okay?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Hey, it’s no big deal. Besides, I’m nearly finished.”
He worked his way through the last couple of sections until her hair was smooth and shiny. In the process, most of it had dried, as well.
“There you go, soft as a baby’s cheek and shiny as a new penny.”
Beth grinned. That was an expression she’d only heard in the South, and she loved it.
“Thank you so much.”
Ryal wanted to lay her down on that bed and make love until daylight, but that wasn’t going to happen, so he just smiled back.
“You’re welcome, and when you need help with anything, all you have to do is ask.”
The awkward silence that came afterward didn’t last long. Ryal left, quietly closing the door behind him before Beth could call him back.
“Just as well,” she muttered, then dug the letters out from under the pillow, found the next one and carefully opened it, wondering if there would be another violet pressed between the pages.
And there was. “Oh, Ryal.” She bit her lip, then began to read.
Beth,
It’s been four days since I sent the first letter, so I know it’s too soon for you to send one back. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. I don’t know how you’re doing, but I’m not doing so well. I can’t sleep, because every time I close my eyes I see your face. Sometimes you’re laughing. Sometimes you’re crying. I don’t know if it’s just my imagination making this mess worse, or if that’s really what’s happening. I can’t eat. The food tastes like dust in my mouth, and what I manage to get down keeps wanting to come back up. This is making me crazy. Write back. Soon.
Love you,
Ryal
Beth’s lips quivered as she replaced everything, including the pressed flower, back in the envelope, and pulled out the next letter and the third violet.
Bethie,
It’s been eleven days since I first wrote. I don’t know what to think. Every horrible thing you can imagine has gone through my mind. I keep replaying our last day together over and over, trying to remember if there was a clue I missed—if there was something you were trying to tell me that I misunderstood. If there was, I’m sorry. More than you can know. Was something wrong? Please, honey…write to me.
All my love,
Ryal
Beth’s anger was growing. She wondered what her parents had been thinking as these had arrived, and how they’d justified it to themselves when they’d had them sent back unopened. She picked up the fourth one and opened it. The mountain violet fell out into her lap, and the words on the page broke her heart.
Beth,
Are you pregnant? It’s the only thing I can think of that might make your parents react in such a crazy way. But if you are, why take you away? They know I love you. They know I would marry you in a heartbeat, and that I was only waiting for you to get out of school to even broach the subject. I was going to give you an engagement ring for Christmas. You would be eighteen by then to my twenty-five. I’m not that much older. Tell me that’s not what’s wrong.
Love,
Ryal
Beth was sick to her stomach. She’d thought he’d let her go without a thought, and he’d thought she’d dumped him. What a mess. What an awful, awful mess not of their making. The fifth letter was a repeat of the fourth, but the tone of the sixth letter had changed. His hurt was turning to anger, just as hers had done, and the omission of the mountain violet was just as telling as his words.
Beth,
I’m not real sure why I keep writing these letters, but you know how I am. I don’t like unfinished business, and there’s a hell of a lot of that between us. So what do you want me to do? Forget I ever knew you? Not as easily done for me as it seems to be for you. Oh. There’s something you should know. I just found out about it last night. Not sure what it has to do with us, but at least now I know why your parents left. If you don’t already know, I’m not going to be the one to tell you. You’re going to have to ask your mother about that. The gentlemanly thing to do would be to wish you well, but I’m not there yet, so the only thing I have left to say is goodbye.
Ryal
Beth slid the letter back into the envelope, retied the pile with the ribbon he’d used and put them in her bag. After reading these, she was heartbroken that he’d never received any of the letters she’d sent to him. There was no thought of going to talk to him now. Whatever they said next would be said in the bright light of day with plenty of space between them. Not now, while emotions were high.
She turned out the light and then crawled into bed.
Moonlight came through the part in the curtain and onto the quilt across her feet. Earlier she’d raised the window beside her bed to let in some fresh air and had forgotten to close it. But now she could hear the night sounds on the mountain and realized she could identify everything she was hearing. From the occasional hoot of an owl to what sounded like the howl of a panther, they were far removed from the sounds of city life she’d become accustomed to, and worlds away from being awakened by the sound of gunfire, which had become Ike Pappas’s calling card. She thought about shutting the window, then took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
Ryal sat down on the side of the bed. The house was quiet. He thought about the talk he’d had with Quinn, who was standing guard in a camp about a mile down the road from the house. If anyone came up the mountain, he would know it and warn them.
Ryal thought about the ceiling fan over his bed back home and wished for a little moving air to cool the situation. The rifle he’d brought from home was loaded and in the corner beside his bed. He didn’t think anyone would find them here, but this was Beth’s life they were talking about, and it paid to be overcautious.
Something was making a scratching sound in the closet. Probably a mouse. When his grandpa Foster had been alive, he’d had a dog and a couple of cats. Afterward, one of Ryal’s uncles had taken them home with him, and now the place was suffering the consequences. He would dig around the kitchen tomorrow and see if he could find some traps to set out.
When it dawned on him that he had yet to shave, he jumped up and headed for the bathroom. Anything was preferable to sitting and thinking about being under the same roof with Beth again. He moved quietly, aware she would be nervous in a strange place and he didn’t want to disturb her rest.
He didn’t even turn on the light until he’d closed the bathroom door, and then he went about the business of shaving. By the time he’d finished, he could hear the pine boughs brushing against the roof. The wind must be up.
He hung the towel on the rack, and then walked, shirtless, out into the hall and p
aused. There was a draft, which was odd. The only explanation was an open window, but he hadn’t opened any, because the screens were all gone. It had to be in Beth’s room.
He moved to her door and started to knock, then changed his mind and opened it just enough to peek in. She was curled up on her side, eyes closed and breathing steady. He looked past her to the window beside her bed. Curtains were flapping in the brisk wind coming through the open window. Taking care not to wake her, he tiptoed over and pushed the window down, then hurried out before she woke.
He thought about going to bed, too, but it was far too early for him to be sleepy. If he’d been home, he would most likely still have been in the wood shop working on a piece of furniture, but there was nothing to do here. He wandered into the kitchen, got a couple of cookies and a can of Coke, and went out on the back porch.
He had such fond memories of being in this place. It felt odd, almost wrong, to be using it as a hideout. Hiding wasn’t in his vocabulary, at least not since he’d outgrown playing hide-and-seek with his brothers. He didn’t walk away from confrontation, but then, he’d never had the head of an organized-crime family trying to kill him, either.
After he’d learned what had happened to Beth, he’d been mad at Sam and Annie all over again. If they had just stayed here and made Annie face what she’d done instead of running away, Beth would never have been put in this situation. He broke a cookie in half and stuffed it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he watched clouds moving swiftly across the night sky. It wouldn’t rain tonight, but he would lay bets it would be raining by this time tomorrow.