Crayons and Angels

by Rita Kano

  Nash gulped a swallow of coffee. “That old tree I’ve heard about is on Luke Atkinson’s farm. The worst place it could be.” Nash wrapped his hands around the hot cup. “We’ll do what’s got to be done, but… we’d best do it proper… pass it by Luke and get his permission to go onto his property. He ain’t as friendly as most in these parts. You can’t walk ten feet on his land without seeing a No Trespassing sign. He grew a big city nose those years he lived up in Norfolk, Virginia. You know how it goes… looking down at country folks. Irregardless they’re his own roots.”

  “Do you have a problem with going there and asking permission?”

  “Me? No. I don’t have a problem going anywhere I take a notion to go. It ain’t that. The problem is an old wound Luke’s been nursing alive for years on end. Him and me were rivals for Sable’s hand. Since he ain’t ever got over me being the winner, it’d be best we ask permission to go on his property. I’m sure as sunrise tomorrow the answer will be no. But we can give it a try. Odds would be more in our favor, though, if Luke didn’t know I was involved. But that don’t mean I’m asking you to go it alone.”

  “I’ve faced worse,” said Shirley. “Or we can just go without asking.”

  “Uh-uh. Too dangerous. There ain’t even a foot trail from my property to there.”

  “Then, it’s settled. I’ll take my chances with Luke, alone.”

  “You don’t know Luke like I do, Miss Shirley. It ain’t a good idea. You sure you don’t want a cup of coffee? I’m almost due for more.”

  “No thank you, Nash. And you know I appreciate your concern, but I’ve had a lot of experience with odd folk. Just tell me what I need to know about Luke Atkinson.”

  Nash tilted his head and chuckled. “You beat all, Miss Shirley. You surely do. Okay,” he said downing the rest of his coffee, “to start with… don’t tell him much… no more than you have to. Don’t even mention Martha Ann or me. Maybe just say you’re curious about the legend of a hanging tree you read about in a book you come across at the library. He’ll take to that notion. If you’re able to soften him up, once on the property, then you’ll figure for yourself if anything more need be said. But,” Nash stood up, “take my word for this. Luke ain’t to be trusted. You’re going to think you ain’t ever met a nicer man. And maybe you ain’t, as long as you stay on his good side. But you’ll be walking a line with Luke… a line as thin as the edge of a worn out penny.” Nash disappeared into the kitchen.

  Shirley crossed and uncrossed her legs as one finger tapped against the couch cushion. Nothing she faced lately seemed to be founded in the ordinary. “I see. Well, it’s certainly not as simple as I thought it would be.”

  Nash reappeared with two cups of coffee. “Still, ain’t no reason for you to go alone. There must be somebody besides me that could go with you for company and safety’s sake. Ain’t there anybody? I poured you half a cup. Cream, no sugar… the way I usually take mine, when my thoughts ain’t so hard pressed.”

  Shirley accepted and sipped the coffee. “Umm. That is good. No…” she replied to his question about knowing someone she could take along. “Anyway, there’s no time for that.”

  “I knew you’d like my coffee, sweet lady. No braggin’ intended. It’s a brand not many people know about.”

  “I’ll ask you to share that with me another time, Nash. Right now, I’m going to Luke’s place while my courage is up.”

  Luke Atkinson greeted Shirley warmly and then, behind the brightest blue eyes she had ever seen, retreated into his own secret thoughts as she told him the reason that brought her knocking on his door. Shirley imagined his daydreaming gaze might be founded on her resemblance to his lost love, Sable. Whatever the reason, as Luke scanned her slowly and meticulously, Shirley couldn’t help becoming a bit fidgety. Whether her likeness to his old flame would be an advantage or disadvantage remained to be seen.

  On the positive side of the fence, Luke didn’t look at all the way Shirley had imagined him. In features, height and lean build, Luke resembled another old time favorite actor of hers, Jimmy Stewart. Even his voice, like Jimmy’s, had a distinctive, and somehow endearing, quiver to it.

  Luke continued to be cordial and didn’t hesitate admitting to Shirley that his daddy had told him about a hanging tree on the property. He didn’t, however, know if there was any truth to the old fireside gossip that had been passed down in his family from one generation to another. But whether true or not, he, and a lot of other people who went to check out the spot, made a point to avoid it thereafter, although not for any reason they cared to share. That’s what made Luke think the story might be true. The place where the alleged hanging tree grew struck him as just plain creepy.

  It didn’t take more than five minutes of talking before Luke agreed to take Shirley to the hill where the tree stood. But, she stood under no illusion as to why he had agreed. A hard, aching knot in Shirley’s stomach told her his reasons had nothing to with her refined talent for snooping. A speck of menace sparkled in Luke’s eyes and defied his Jimmy Stewart charm.

  As they drove along the rain-rutted dirt road in Luke’s shiny, red Chevy pickup, he expressed interest in the Purity Post running a story about the hanging tree and if he might get his picture on the front page come next Sunday. Shirley opened her mouth to respond and just as quickly closed it. The twisted lines on Luke Atkinson’s face revealed the intention of his question as clearly as yesterday’s headline. Nothing would please him more than taking a sharp poke at the town of Purity.

  Upon failing to draw Shirley into his ruse, tufts of breath shot out of Luke one on another, until he laughed so hard, the truck swerved to one side of the road and back, clanging down hard against the high ridge in the center. When tears streamed down Luke’s face, Shirley supposed his arrogant humor might have ripped open the old love wounds he nursed. Nevertheless, Shirley took an instant dislike to Luke Atkinson.

  “Here we are.” Luke switched the ignition key to off. Raising one arm, he wiped the tears from his face with his shirtsleeve.

  “Where? There’s nothing here but tall pines. The limbs are too high. Nothing here could be used as a hanging tree,” said Shirley.

  “This is a free tour, Miss Foster. Sorry, but we have to walk a bit. Good thing it ain’t muddy,” he said, glancing down at her sandal-clad feet.

  Shirley grabbed the door handle.

  “No. Hold on there.” Luke stretched his right arm over Shirley’s breasts and smiled whiskey laden breath only inches from her face. “Please. Allow me to be the gentleman that I am. Let me get that for you, ma’am.”

  “No thanks. I’m quite capable…” Shirley pushed the door open.

  Luke’s arm remained in place, restraining her.

  “I… sure… yes, of course, thank you, Mr. Atkinson,” she said upon reassessing her vulnerability and silently praying her acceptance would be enough to snuff out Luke’s smoldering intentions. “I apologize for my rudeness. It’s become a habit. Gentleman are… are very rare these days.”

  Luke hopped out of the truck. Shirley’s eyes followed his every step, watching him watching her. The passenger side door opened.

  “This way.” Luke motioned with his head.

  One prayer answered, but Shirley had a lot of second thoughts as Luke’s boots crunched out a path on ground cluttered with last winter’s leaves and fallen twigs, leading deeper and deeper into very dense woods.

  With the truck out of view behind her, Shirley broke through the noise of their footsteps. “From what I’ve heard,” she said to Luke, “not much, if anything, grows close around the tree. I thought the way to the tree would be more open. I didn’t expect the area to be so overgrown.”

  “Well, it is,” he said.

  After she and Luke had walked about quarter of a mile, Shirley spoke out again. “It’s…” Shirley ducked under a low branch, “it’s much farther a walk than I thought it would be.”

  “If you’d rather not,” Luke snapped.

  “No. N
o. I didn’t mean to complain. Really. I appreciate you taking me there.”

  “Don’t matter to me. You want to go back, I’ll take you back. Speak you’re mind. Don’t waste any more of my time.”

  “I… no…” Shirley’s eyes traced the sound of something dashing through the undergrowth. “We’ve come this far. I want to see the tree. I’m fine.”

  “Good. And I can do without the chit-chat just fine.”

  Shirley kept her mouth shut for the next five minutes, with the bloodhound in her veins raising the hair on the back of her neck.

  “There it is.” Luke pointed to a clearing around which the forest formed a wall of tight, skinny pines.

  The place lived up to its reputation. Shirley felt suffocated, as if the plot of land was holding its breath. It had an otherworldly air she lacked the words to describe, as if protected by unknown powers. Everything she had heard about its creepiness proved true. The fine hair on her body stood on end, as she walked toward the tree with each step landing on the heels of an inescapable fear. If she had found the tree where the Indian died, would she also find Martha Ann’s decomposing body?

  Luke didn’t follow Shirley. He stayed back between the pines.

  The old Elm tree was huge. From a distance, Shirley’s eyes quickly searched the ground around the tree. Nothing lay beneath it. The entire area appeared barren of life and, thankfully, barren of death. Shirley shivered her relief and then walked up to and around the tree, looking for signs that might reveal Martha Ann had been there.

  “Find anything?” Luke called out from about fifteen yards away. He had moved closer in the folds of Shirley’s distraction. “Say. What you looking for, anyway. It ain’t nothing but an old tree.”

  “Just looking,” Shirley called back.

  Luke laughed. His voice jumped the distance between them much easier than hers. “I heard about that granddaughter of Nash Britt disappearing. If you thought you’d find her here you’re way too late for that. She wouldn’t have lasted this long. No sir. And believe me you don’t want to go looking in the places a tender, juicy body like hers would have been dragged. No sir-eee. You ain’t going to find that little Lovett whore here.”

  Turning a hard glance on Luke, Shirley resumed her search. She couldn’t be distracted by Luke’s mean hearted disposition. If Martha Ann had been here, there’d be something left to prove it. There’d be something to take back to Nash.

  “My patience is wearing thin, Miss Foster,” shouted Luke, louder than before. “My free tour guide services have expired. You’ve poked around long enough. Come on. I’m leaving. Now.”

  On the way back to the house, neither Shirley nor Luke had anything to say. In words, that is. Luke couldn’t, however, seem to resist cutting his eyes toward her every few seconds and laughing with unabashed pleasure. With every guffaw, his hands tightened around the steering wheel.

  Shirley reached for her keys when Luke’s house came into view. As soon as the truck stopped she hopped out and headed for her car, thanking him again, as she walked briskly away, for assisting her on such a flight of fancy.

  “Don’t bother thanking me. I didn’t do it for you.” Luke threw his head back and jingled the keys in his hand. “I heard about you and Nash Britt being seen together. All I want from you, Miss Shirley Foster, is for you to tell Nash hello from his old friend, Luke. And be sure to tell him I’m real sorry about Martha Ann.” Luke Atkinson chuckled as he walked away, swinging the loop of his keys around one finger.

  Nash’s door opened before Shirley knocked.

  “I’ve been a worried sick.” Nash grabbed Shirley by the hand and pulled her inside. “I should’ve gone with you. Luke can be a real bastard. You don’t look so good. How’d it go?”

  Shirley plopped down onto the sofa. “Nash, let me tell you something. I’ll be glad to go the rest of my life without seeing Luke Atkinson again. But that isn’t what’s bothering me now. She wasn’t there, Nash. There was no sign of Martha Ann ever being near that old tree.”

  Nash stiffed down into his chair. “She wasn’t there? Is that good? Is that a good sign? I don’t know how to feel … relieved or worried.” He shook his head. “Irregardless, you did a really good thing and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. Using your personal time to help us… me and my family… that’s rare and special kindness.”

  “Don’t be thanking me, Nash. I haven’t accomplished anything. And I certainly haven’t done enough. Since there was no sign of Martha Ann, we can’t be sure that’s the hanging tree we’re looking for and we have to be certain. There can’t be any doubts. Frankly, I hope that isn’t the tree. Luke isn’t likely to allow me back on his property. Allowing me the first time wasn’t a kindness. He had his own agenda. And it’s been met… believe me.” Shirley threw up her hands and let them drop back to the couch. “Nash, I don’t know where to go from here. Maybe it’s time to call in help from outside… the state police… the FBI, if we have to.”

  Nash’s eyebrows shaded the light in his eyes. “Wouldn’t do no good. The first person they’d talk to would be Sheriff Pate. Everybody knows where he stands. The deputies would back him up, too. The whole town would split their sides laughing over us calling in outsiders to find a girl who run off and don’t want to be found. Hell, truth is, it’d never even get that far. There ain’t ever evidence of a crime. No evidence. Not one time.”

  “Then we’ve got to think harder. There has to be some way to get help.”

  “Miss Shirley, no offense, but I’m years and years ahead of you in this matter. There ain’t ever been anybody lift a finger to help find my missing girls, except you.”

  “But, Nash,” Shirley pushed strands of wind tangled hair away from her face, “We need help. I don’t know where to go from here.”

  Chapter 13

  Dead Ends and Tombstones

  Shirley didn’t sleep much the next few days. She read and reread the letters and the diary. Searching… for what, she didn’t know. She prayed, in her own way, and begged other powers that be, for a sign. By Tuesday night, exhausted of mind and body, she slumped in front of the TV. One half-hour Andy Griffith show followed another. Shirley watched without really listening. Her eyes wandered again and again to the buckskin bundle on the coffee table in front of the couch. What was she missing? What? What? What? Was she missing?

  Grandma, who tilted her head to each pluck of Andy’s guitar, suddenly leapt onto the table where the leather bundle lay. The cat sniffed and pawed the buckskin wrapping. Then, lay down and rolled and rubbed all over it.

  “It’s no use,” Shirley said with a slow blink. “I’ve already done that. It’s time to get on with other things.” She sighed heavily. “Do you feel like some popcorn? I sure do.”

  Shirley returned to her chair with a bowl of popcorn and found the buckskin bundle relocated; placed squarely in the middle of a seat cushion.

  “Did you put that there?” she asked Grandma. “I don’t want that troublesome thing near me right now. I’m sick of it.” Shirley tossed the bundle back onto the coffee table.

  She munched down a few handfuls of buttery, soul stroking popcorn when she stopped chewing and stared off wide-eyed like she was choking. “Near… Near…” she said. “Is that it? The tree would have to be nearby. Wouldn’t it? I think I’ve missed something, Grandma.” Shirley spoke through the slit of a firm set jaw.

  She thumbed through the phone directory and dialed a number.

  “Nash. It’s Shirley. We’ve been looking for the hanging tree in the wrong place.”

  “Good evening to you, too, Miss Shirley. The wrong place you say. How’s that?” asked Nash.

  “Well, I’ve been thinking.” Shirley finished off a half-popped kernel.

  “What’s that sound?” asked Nash.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so excited I forgot my manners. Give me a minute to wash this down.”

  “Sure. I’ll wait.”

  “I’m back. Anyway, I’ve been thinking about Glory
being the first. The disappearances all started with her. The meeting location, then, even if she had help getting there, had to be near the place she lived. Right? The diary made it sound like she went out after dark. And I think we can be fairly certain the Indian wouldn’t have asked her to go anyplace dangerous or too far away. Bessie Redding’s place is miles from your property. Do you know if the Redding family has always lived in that area?”

  Nash didn’t answer.

  “Nash?”

  Shirley waited.

  “Nash? Are you there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here, Miss Shirley. Sorry, to tell you, but that direction is a dead end too. The Redding farm connects to the Thompson farm, which connects to the Prevatte property. Back in the late 1800’s they lived in this part of the county and for a long time after that… but not for the most part of this century. The land changed hands. We Britt’s are the only ones still working the land our ancestors settled. Miss Bessie might have known where Glory and her Great Grandma Sadie lived. I don’t. Even Miss Bessie knowing would have been a slim possibility. People forget. Stone don’t forget, though. Cemeteries is the place to look.”

  “Cemeteries… Why didn’t I think of that? Of course. If we can find Sadie Redding’s grave, we’ll have something to work with. Are you up for it? I know the roads of Hog Swamp, but you know the rest of the county a lot better than I do.”

  “Miss Shirley, you just get a good night’s sleep. Don’t worry another minute about this. I’ll go out and check the cemeteries first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “Okay. Okay. Good.” Shirley’s hunched shoulders relaxed. “What a relief to have some direction, again. I can’t tell you how much better I feel. And Nash, I’m usually home by 5:30. Give me a call no matter what. Okay?”

  The following day, Shirley arrived home late. A client on the outskirts of Pembroke, lived so far in the back woods, she made a wrong turn trying to find her way back to the main road. She had just slipped out of her shoes when the phone rang. The clock hands pointed to 6:30.