by Helen Gray
Trace stood and dusted off his pants.
An awkward moment fell between them. Callie got to her feet. “My brothers and sisters and I used to play on these all the time.” She indicated both piles.
He looked up at the top of the one they were on. “I can picture you climbing this and sliding or rolling down it.”
She grinned a challenge at him. “Care to try it?”
He looked down at her bare feet, debated a moment and then plopped back down to take off his own shoes.
“That’s right. You have to feel it between your toes to really enjoy it.” She turned and started to climb.
* * *
Trace spent the evening working in the storage room. While he labored, his mind worked just as hard. It had been fun romping on the sawdust pile with Callie, the freest he had felt in a long time. She was refreshing. He remembered the little girl Callie had been, so small, pretty and vulnerable with those haunting black eyes. The girl may have grown up, but those black eyes still haunted him.
Callie didn’t have his last fiancée’s delicate beauty, but her appeal far surpassed Beulah’s. She stirred him, brought to life feelings he had thought long dead. It resembled what he had known with Joanna, but it had a newness to it that thrilled—yet scared—him.
He hammered at the nails with fervor, as if the action would chase the images and feelings from his mind and body. But they persisted. Callie had grown up and matured into a soft, natural kind of beauty. No longer skinny, she had a finely sculpted face, hair so black it held bluish glints and those deep, watchful eyes that had the power to mesmerize him.
He gave the hammer a mighty swing.
“Yee-ow!”
The tool flew from his hand, and he grabbed his thumb. He stuck it in his mouth, and then took it out and rubbed it fiercely. “Oh, that hurts,” he groaned to the empty room.
Lord, I wanted distraction. But I didn’t want it to hurt.
* * *
Callie brushed the skirt of her blue gingham dress into place, her thoughts drifting as she sat with her parents in church. Clem and Delmer sat in the very back with the younger set.
A movement behind them made her peek over her shoulder. Her eyes widened as Trace Gentry slipped into a rear pew the other side of the aisle. He nodded a slight acknowledgment as his blue eyes zeroed in on her. She flushed and faced forward.
What was he doing here at the mission church? He couldn’t possibly be pursuing her. The idea was ridiculous. He could date any single woman around. Still, she detected a speculative gleam in her mother’s eye.
Callie kept her face aimed straight ahead throughout the service. At the end of it, Pastor Denlow announced there would be a workday to repair storm damage to the church.
As Callie exited, Trace appeared at her side. Her heart pounding, she forced herself to speak. “It’s nice to see you today. Did you take a wrong turn?”
He shook his head. “No, I just felt I needed a change.”
Jolene joined them and curved an arm around Callie’s waist. “I hoped I would catch up with you. How is Riley doing?”
“He’s much better, but the marshal wants him to stay out of sight.”
“I’m glad to hear he’s better.”
“Trace has offered us a room to hold our swap meets and store leftovers.”
Jolene’s face brightened. “Oh, good.” She grabbed his hand and shook it. “Thank you.”
Callie’s mother appeared beside her. “Will you and Mr. Gentry come eat dinner with us?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Blake, but I can’t impose on you.” Trace spoke to Dessie, but his eyes locked on Callie.
“You’re more than welcome, and we have plenty,” she insisted.
Jolene looked from Trace to Callie. “I fixed dinner for my family this morning before I left, so they’re taken care of. If Mr. Gentry can come, I can take Irene home to eat with the folks and come right back.”
“I made a blackberry cobbler last night.” Callie’s voice came out scratchy.
Trace focused on her. “I’ll come if you’ll ride with me to your house.”
“Glad to have you, young man.” Arlie approached just in time to prevent her refusal.
* * *
Trace enjoyed the meal more than any in a long time. Riley, wearing unbuttoned pants with a shirt hanging loosely over them, came to the table. Trace couldn’t help but notice an odd sort of tension between Riley and Jolene as they sat side by side.
The cooking outdid his mother’s, especially Callie’s cobbler. The eight people around the table kept up a friendly chatter, although the two youngest ate quickly and left the house.
“Is there anything I can do?” Trace offered when they were gone.
“You can get those two out of the way.” Dessie pointed at Arlie and Riley. “Take the chairs out in the backyard where it’s not hot from cooking. We’ll join you when we get this kitchen cleaned up.”
Trace copied the two Blake men and picked up a chair in each hand. He followed them out the back door. They positioned the chairs under a big oak tree and settled to visit.
“Ah, this feels good.” Arlie nearly moaned in pleasure as he sat down. “Don’t get much chance for sittin’.”
“So how’s the car business?” Riley asked, his chair tipped back against the tree.
“Not bad. Money’s tight everywhere, but people still find a way to buy cars.”
The conversation moved on to the different models of cars and which each liked best. “I have to prefer Chevies since I make my living selling them,” Trace commented, his eyes following Callie as the women came out to join them. “They’re good to me, so I’m good to them. If you ever decide you’re ready to buy one, let me know and I’ll help you find a good deal.”
Arlie’s face creased. “I been thinking about trying to get one. I don’t hardly see how I can do it just yet. How about a used one? Can you find one that’s in good shape for a cheap price?”
Trace nodded, glad to find a possible way to help this hardworking man. “I’ll keep my eyes open and let you know when I run across something I’d feel good about recommending.”
“You talking about buying a car?” Dessie asked as she dragged a chair over next to her husband. She swatted away a bevy of flying insects before sitting.
Arlie’s head bobbed. “I been thinking about it for a spell.”
Suddenly the sound of gunshots echoed across the trees. Then a tremendous boom! shattered the air. Everyone jumped to their feet and gazed eastward to see smoke boiling from the trees.
Chapter 8
Callie’s breath caught. Heart thumping, her eyes locked with Trace’s in comprehension.
“It’s the still,” she whispered. “What should we do?”
Trace took control. “Jolene, go to the nearest phone and call Leon. Tell him the Lonigan still has exploded.”
Jolene’s eyes rounded in question, but she spun and ran to her car, Riley at her heels.
Mom grabbed Riley’s arm, stopping him. “Don’t go, son. You’re already hurt.”
“I’m going with Jolene.” His tone was firm. He patted her hand and took off.
“I’ll get a shovel,” Arlie yelled. “You two run to the barn and get a load of them gunny sacks piled next to the feed bin.”
Callie and Trace took off at a run. They each gathered an armload of sacks and headed back to Trace’s truck. By that time Dad and Mom had climbed into the back. Callie got in beside Trace.
“Do you think Clem and Delmer are over there?” he asked as he started the engine.
Callie saw no point in avoiding the question. “I’m afraid so.” She prayed they weren’t facing another tragedy. Fear knotted her stomach.
Trace drove to the rough road that led into the woods. Callie reas
oned that other neighbors had heard the explosion and would respond, if they hadn’t gotten there first. Trace’s steady presence gave her a bit of calm.
Chances were strong that someone had gotten hurt. If the Lonigans were not among the injured, they would have fled. The smell of smoke reached them as the truck bounced to the edge of the thicket they had found the day before. Flames lapped up the dry grass in a widening circle.
Trace turned off the engine. Dessie and Arlie met them beside the truck, Dad wielding his shovel. “I’ll start digging a trench while you two and Dessie beat out the fire. But first let’s see if there’s anyone hurt.”
Callie ran to the still—or where the still had been. Scraps of wood and metal littered the clearing. A man lay where the cooker had stood.
Trace got to him first and dropped to the ground beside him. He checked for a pulse and turned to face them. “We can’t help him. Let’s tackle the fire.”
“Who is he?” Mom demanded, nearly screaming as she ran up behind them, her face white with panic.
Trace shook his head. “It’s not your son. I’ve never seen him before.”
As they beat at the flames, a wagon pulled up behind Trace’s truck. Mr. and Mrs. Trexlar from across the valley got out and joined them in the battle.
“We have to get this out before it reaches the field,” Dad called as he dug near them. “Thank goodness the leaves haven’t fallen yet.”
Callie watched for Delmer or Clem as she swung her sack and worked her way along the fire line. She wiped soot from her face and rubbed her burning eyes, choking on smoke. The sound of a moan made her go rigid. Which way had it come from?
“What is it? You hear something?” Trace asked at her side.
She nodded. “I think I heard somebody moan.”
He glanced back to where her parents and the neighbors were putting things back in the truck and wagon. “Which way?”
Callie pointed toward the nearby creek. “I’m not sure, but I think from over there.”
They walked in silence, peering around every tree and bush. When they reached the creek bank, a strangled sob rose in Callie’s throat. Oh, God, please don’t let him be dead.
“It’s Delmer,” she nearly screamed over her shoulder as she ran toward the body lying on its side next to the water.
Trace ran past her and knelt by the boy. A touch on Delmer’s shoulder made him groan.
“He’s alive,” Callie choked in relief as she landed on her knees. She slid a hand under his head and raised it a bit.
“He’s been shot in the thigh. There’s also a graze on his neck.”
“Delmer, can you hear me?” Callie whispered through a dry throat.
“Clem,” he croaked. “That...you...Clem?”
“No, it’s Callie. Where is Clem?”
He never opened his eyes. “Gone...for help.”
At that moment Clem came crashing through the trees. “They weren’t...” She stopped as she spotted Trace and Callie. Her dress was tattered, and her eyes red and puffy.
“Oh, thank God you’re here.” Her mouth quivered, and tears ran down her face. “Please tell me he’ll be all right.”
Trace looked around. “We have to get him to a doctor. You girls get his legs. I’ll take his head and shoulders.”
Lifting him brought another groan. They started through the woods and met Arlie and Dessie halfway back to the truck. Dessie burst into tears.
“What happened?” Arlie demanded.
“We were out here talking to Troy and Chuckie Lonigan,” Clem explained as she trotted to keep up. “Mr. Lonigan and another man were busy at the...still. Another guy showed up and started to talk to them, but when he saw Delmer, he pulled out a gun and shot him. The man with Mr. Lonigan thought he was the one being shot at, so he pulled out a gun and shot back. Bullets hit the still, and it exploded.”
As they reached the truck, Leon Gentry pulled up behind it and got out. He looked at Delmer and shook his head. “Fill me in quick. Did the guy who shot Riley do this?”
Clem started to speak, failed and had to try again. “Delmer started to run and said, ‘It’s him again.’ Then a bullet hit him and he fell.”
Callie and Clem let the marshal take their place and help Trace ease the wounded boy into the back of the truck. Their parents climbed in beside him and placed his head in Mom’s lap.
“You get to the doctor. I’m going to talk to that cowardly Lonigan bunch.” Leon aimed a stern look at Clem. “I’ll talk to you and Delmer later.”
“There’s a blood trail leading away from here,” Trace called back to them as he rounded the truck. “You might want to look for the second shooter first.”
Leon nodded. “I’ll have a look around, but I don’t figure on finding him. There’s no car around, so he must have been able to drive away. Ask Doc if he’s treated any more gunshot wounds today. Tell him we’re looking for a guy who goes by the name of Boomer Dutton.”
Because his gun goes boom when he kills people? The thought made Callie sick.
Trace scooted behind the wheel and got them out of there.
“This is the second son you’ve brought in here with gunshot injuries. What’s going on?” Dr. Randolph demanded when they got Delmer into his office.
“The same man shot both of them. Delmer got away after seeing him shoot Riley, so as soon as he saw Delmer today, he started shooting,” Clem explained in a strangled rush.
The doctor nodded. “You folks go back out front. We’ll give him something for the pain and get that bullet out of his leg.”
“I have to find Don Morley at the funeral home and send him out where this happened.”
Trace’s statement startled the doctor. “You mean there’s another person out there?”
“Yes, but he’s beyond your help.”
“Another member of this family?” the doctor asked in disbelief.
Trace shook his head. “It’s someone from out of town.”
“Bootleggers?” The doctor pointed at something he wanted his nurse to hand him.
“I think so. Sorry to run, but I have to find Don.” Trace turned to Callie. “I’ll be back to take you all home.”
Once again Callie found herself seated in the front room of the doctor’s quarters, waiting in tense silence with her parents and sister. When the doctor finally came out, they all stood.
“He’s weak, but the bullet’s out, and he’s patched up. The biggest concern now is to keep the wounds clean and free of infection. You may take him home as soon as your ride is ready.”
* * *
Trace lay in bed that night, a picture of Mr. and Mrs. Blake invading his mind. They were poor people, but hardworking and uncomplaining. It troubled him that life had been, and continued to be, so hard for them. Never in his life had he experienced this kind of genuine compassion for the well-being of others. He had never wished bad for anyone. He just never got personally involved in the lives of others. He basically just tossed some money into the pot when someone asked for a contribution, but remained blind to the details of the needs of those with far less than he had always had and taken for granted.
Each person should do as he has decided in his heart—not out of regret or out of necessity, for God loves a cheerful giver.
The words came to him as if directly from God. “God, this feels different, maybe even cheerful. It feels good. I’ve always done charitable acts, but not necessarily for the right reasons. Helping with Callie’s swap has no motive connected to the business. I’m helping because I want to.”
My child, what you are doing is good. But don’t boast of your good works.
The words came to mind in a vaguely chiding way. “I understand, Lord. Forgive me for being so blind. Show me how to help others, from the heart.”
Monday
after work Trace attended the town board meeting and convinced the community leaders to donate ten dollars and their support to the swap meet operation. Leon caught him at the door as he left the meeting and slapped him on the shoulder. “Good to see you getting more personally involved in the community, little brother. And I approve of your new female interest. That little gal is all right.”
Trace snorted. “She’s a friend.” He didn’t bother to ask who Leon meant.
“A good friend to have. I wish you luck.”
Under that kind of teasing Trace hesitated to bring up the question he wanted to ask. But need overrode pride. He stopped beside his truck. “Did you say you ordered a new ice chest?”
Leon followed him to the side of the truck. “Sure did. It arrived Friday. It’s one of those Top-Icers with some refrigerator features. Sharon loves it.”
“Uh, what did you do with your smaller one?”
Leon’s head tipped, and his eyes narrowed in shrewd speculation. “You got a need for it?”
“I might. How much do you want for it?”
Leon looked up into the darkening sky and rolled his tongue around inside his lower lip. “If you intend to give it to the family I think you do, I don’t want anything for it.”
Trace ran a hand over his mouth. “I’ll be happy to pay you for it.”
Leon waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. “Aw, come get the thing.”
“Thanks,” Trace said simply.
Leon placed an arm on the roof of the truck and leaned against it, his expression sober. “I arrested Mr. Lonigan and his two boys last night. Then today I stopped by the Blake house. Delmer is already sitting up and talking. Carefully, of course. He wasn’t hurt as bad as Riley.”
“I’m happy to hear that.”
“I’m sure you are. I plan to go back out there tomorrow and get down to business with him and the girl.”
“Do what you have to do. I think the parents will be hurt, but they’ll support you. They can’t pay any fines, though.”
Leon nodded. “I’ll figure it out.”
“Have you found out who the dead man is? Was?”