by D. M. Pulley
Jasper followed his cousin as he picked through the remains of the cabin. The feather mattress the boys shared was nowhere to be seen. The bed frame itself was upended in the garden. The bureau full of their clothes was gone. Wayne found a tablecloth lying in the grass. The wind had ripped it to tatters, but he wrapped it around himself anyway and kept on digging through what was left. Jasper’s ill-fitting overalls were suddenly a luxury. He made a motion to offer them to his cousin. Wayne waved him off. His entire back was scraped raw as if he’d been dragged down a gravel road.
“So, how’s the arm?” he asked.
“It’s alright.” Jasper did his best to shrug even though he couldn’t really move his shoulder.
Wayne’s eyes lit with amusement at the gesture.
“How is it? Out there?” Jasper tried not to stare at the angry rash running down his cousin’s spine.
“About like it is in here.” Wayne surveyed the mess that was left.
“Stop gabbin’, you two.” Uncle Leo kicked his way through the rubble to where the boys were standing. “We have a mountain of work to do before nightfall. Jasper, I need you to go survey the yard for whatever you can find. Take the wagon and haul back anything that’ll help us get through the night. Wayne, we need to go shore up that barn before it topples over. Jasper, you found my tools?”
“Yes, sir. Most of them, I think.” Jasper tried to sound casual about rummaging through the bottom of his uncle’s toolbox. His mother’s diary was buried back under the old pipe tobacco where he’d found it. Her words were still scrawling through his brain.
Anyone but you.
Jasper turned toward the barn to hide his face.
“Good. When you’re done searching, go help your aunt tend to the animals. We’ve been blessed, boys.” His uncle wrapped an arm around each of them.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Wayne forced a chuckle. “Gettin’ pulled out of the house, stripped naked, and thrown into the mud doesn’t make me feel so special. How about you, Jas?”
“Hey.” Uncle Leo smacked the back of his son’s head. “Not many farms still have a barn standing or a pot to piss in. That chicken coop over there looks like nothin’ happened at all, so you count your blessings, hear me?”
“Yes, sir,” both boys answered.
Jasper did as he was told and walked a circuit around the rubble, dragging a rusted wagon behind him. Dish towels, bedsheets, spoons—items from the house were scattered across the yard like broken Easter eggs. He climbed trees and fought his way through pricker bushes, collecting one item after another and placing them as carefully as he could on the wagon.
When he lifted Aunt Velma’s best soup pot up out of the mud, he found his old children’s Bible stuck in the muck beneath it. The pitiful consolation prize his mother had left him in the bottom of his suitcase the day she vanished. His worried aunt had placed it up on a shelf to watch over him.
Blue-eyed Baby Jesus smiled up at him from the dirt like it was all a big joke. The tornado, the fire, Mr. Hoyt—all of it. Everybody’s a sinner, Jasper.
He wanted to pick up smirking Jesus and throw him across the field.
Uncle Leo’s words stopped him. Count your blessings, boys. He shouldn’t be completely ungrateful. He still had family after all. And a pot to piss in.
His eyes found the place on the horizon where his grandmother’s house had once stood. Jasper drew in a shaking breath and pulled the wagon onward, leaving Baby Jesus in the dirt.
CHAPTER 49
Murder is quite a serious charge. Isn’t there any other explanation?
The family spent the first night after the storm in the shored-up barn with the animals. They’d laid down what clean straw they could find for beds, and Wayne was stretched out a foot away from Jasper. He could tell from his cousin’s breathing he was asleep. His uncle snored in the far stall next to Aunt Velma. They’d been up for over thirty-six hours, and the work of slaughtering animals and gathering their home into piles had rendered them all dead tired. All except for Jasper.
A warm wind whistled through the open end of the barn. His eyes darted between the crossing shadows of mismatched timbers Uncle Leo and Wayne had nailed up wherever they could reach. Scraps of sawn lumber braced the walls against the ground like broken crutches. The whole structure creaked and shuddered with each strong gust, making Jasper flinch. The dull ache in his shoulder was a constant reminder of the storm, and he couldn’t shake the feeling he was falling over and over again.
Jasper sat up and took stock of the barn. His wagon of supplies had been wheeled into an open cow stall and inventoried. Broken timbers were stacked near the open end of the barn next to the shadow of his uncle’s toolbox. Jasper’s eyes fixed on the box. After a moment’s hesitation, he slipped out of his makeshift bed and crept over to it.
As he lifted the tool trays out and onto the ground, each clink and clank halted his breathing as he listened for his uncle’s snoring to change. Uncle Leo didn’t stir. A strong wind hit the side of the barn. A chorus of creaks and groans sent Jasper shrinking into a ball as he braced for impact. But nothing fell. I’m scared, Mom. I wish you were here.
He lifted her diary from the bottom of the box and tried to imagine her voice. Don’t be ridiculous, Jasper. Leo would never let his family or his animals sleep in this barn if it weren’t safe. Now get your butt to bed, or I’ll give you something to be scared about.
Uncle Leo’s tools went back in the box one agonizing clink at a time. Jasper crept back to his makeshift bed and fell asleep, clutching her book to his chest.
The next morning, Jasper woke to the sound of a car engine rolling down the driveway. The morning light was pouring in through the open end of the barn. He was the only one still curled up on the floor. Everyone else was up and out. Panicked, he felt for his mother’s diary under the straw.
A car door slammed.
“Christ Almighty,” a hoarse voice said from the other side of the barn wall. “Everybody out there alright?”
“Hey, Wendell!” his uncle called from across the yard. “It sure is somethin’, isn’t it? Folks in town are sayin’ it’s the biggest storm on record. They counted more than five tornados touchin’ down. All my life, I’ve never heard nothin’ like it.” His voice grew closer, and there was the sound of a hand clapping a shoulder. “Good to see you.”
“I came to help out and to see if everybody . . . Is he—?”
“He’s fine. Got knocked around a little, but he’s fine. He’s still lazin’ about in there.” A fist pounded the barn wall above Jasper’s head. “Why don’t you go get him?”
Jasper bolted up and found the book lodged in the straw under his own rear end.
Wendell appeared at the far end of the barn. “You in there, Son?”
“Yes, sir.” Jasper tucked the diary into the back pocket of his overalls while making a show of dusting off the hay.
“Let me get a look at ya.” The old man hobbled over to his ten-year-old with a wide grin. “I heard the storm parted your hair a bit.”
“A bit.” Jasper knew he’d never tell him how terrifying it had been. That sort of thing wasn’t what men did.
“How long you get to wear that?” Wendell tapped the sling.
“About a week. It’s not too bad.”
Wendell’s pale-blue eyes were glassy with tears that would not be let out. He patted him on the back instead. “We got our work cut out for us today, now don’t we?”
“Yes, sir.” Between rebuilding the cabin, tending to the animals, and cleaning up the yard, Jasper knew there would be precious little time to sit and read through his mother’s handwriting. Or try to remember the sound of her voice.
“Well, quit your daydreamin’, and let’s get to it!”
The morning bled into the afternoon as they pieced the farm back together again. A couple of distant neighbors showed up around lunchtime with several slabs of beef to thank Uncle Leo and Wayne for their help butchering the cows. Aunt Velma grilled the steaks
over an open fire, and they all sat on the floor of the barn for an aftermath feast.
As Jasper poked at his food, his eyes kept wandering to the faces of the two men that had come to help. They were both older, older than his uncle. He found himself wondering if either of them had kept a jug of giggle water up in their hayloft back when his mother was making her deliveries. Maybe they’d spent time up at Black River and had been friends with Hoyt too. What other secrets were they hiding?
“You alright, Son?” his father asked. “You’ve barely touched your steak.”
“Sorry. I guess I’m just not . . .” Jasper searched for the right word and gave his father an apologetic shrug. Wendell just patted his knee, and the old man’s trembling hand lifted another forkful to his mouth.
After Aunt Velma cleared the plates, Uncle Leo turned to the boys. “Jasper, I need you and Wayne to take the cart and tractor over to Jeddo. Pick up any decent-looking timbers you can find. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” they answered.
Ten minutes later, Wayne was driving the tractor up Harris Road, hauling his cousin in a cart behind him. The engine was too loud to talk over, which was fine with Jasper. He gazed out over the fallen trees toward Hoyt’s farm on the other side of the horizon.
After a couple of hours of navigating down roads littered with branches and helping Wayne drag splintered wood onto the cart, the tractor finally turned up Jeddo toward Hoyt’s farm. Jasper surveyed the surrounding fields, searching for the man who had ruined his mother. A wide swath of Hoyt’s fields had been stripped down to the dirt, but his barn was still standing. “Stop!” Jasper called out.
Wayne cut the engine. “What?”
There weren’t any usable pieces of lumber lying nearby, but Jasper didn’t care. He jumped down off the cart. “I just want to see if he’s alright.”
Jasper trotted up the drive to the barn. He’d never talked to Hoyt, having only glimpsed his sagging face through windows and knotholes. Now that he might have the chance, he had no idea what he’d say. A part of him worried he might just strangle the bastard to death. His feet slowed as he reached the door.
“Hello? Mr. Hoyt?” he called through the tightness in his throat and peeked inside. Nothing but the usual tools and implements lined the walls, but the ropes, crops, saddles, and pitchforks all looked like torture devices hanging in there. Jasper shuddered as he scanned the shadows of the dark barn. He could hear his mother whispering, Lots of people been known to get hurt in haylofts, Jasper.
“He in there?” Wayne trotted up beside his cousin and shouted, “Hey there! Mr. Hoyt? It’s Wayne Williams. You need any help?”
No one answered.
Wayne let out a low whistle. “Shoot. I’d heard he’d slowed down a bit since his wife died, but man . . . There isn’t a cow in here!”
The boys skirted around the side of the barn. Behind it, a fenced pasture stretched all the way down to the creek, separating Hoyt’s farm from theirs. They’d run through it on their way to school more days than not and knew it well. It was empty.
The infamous bull, Nicodemus, snorted at them from his ragged holding pen.
“Hey, pal. Not so scary now, are you?” Wayne kicked at his fence. “Where’s your papa?”
Nicodemus bellowed, then charged at them. Both boys jumped back despite the fencing.
“Easy there.” Wayne chuckled and turned to Jasper. “See? I told you this was the meanest bull in the county.”
The enormous black beast let out another snort and brandished his horns at them. He was a killer. Jasper’s eyes traced the twenty-foot by twenty-foot pen abutting the pasture. This is where she sat, he thought. This is where he made her watch.
No one had ever explained to Jasper exactly how a heifer became a cow, or a girl became a mother for that matter, but he’d seen what goes on between goats in his uncle’s barn. We’re not little girls anymore, Blue Bell.
He had to shake off the image of his mother trapped inside the breeding pen with Hoyt. The weight of him pinning her down.
“You alright?” Wayne had seen him flinch.
“Hmm? Yeah. Fine.”
“Don’t look like he’s here. We should be getting back.” Wayne shrugged and headed back to the tractor. Jasper gave the pasture one last survey. Something moved over in the grass at the far end. A hat? Was Hoyt out there mending a fence?
Then it was gone. As he turned to leave, his eyes fell on the gate separating the bull’s pen from the pasture. He glanced back at Wayne adjusting the logs on the cart, then gazed out over the field again.
“God help you, you son of a bitch,” Jasper whispered. He leaned over and unlatched the gate.
CHAPTER 50
The victim has been described as an addict and a hustler. Would you say that’s true?
Jasper imagined Old Hoyt being chased by Nicodemus through the pasture the whole ride back to Uncle Leo’s. The dirty bastard deserved to be gored, but he’d probably just hop the fence if he’d been out there at all. Still, picturing Hoyt scared shitless made Jasper feel just a little bit better. He deserved so much worse.
A car blew past them.
“Hey!” Jasper yelled after it. It was bad manners to pass a tractor that fast. But then it registered that it was the sheriff’s cruiser slowing to a stop right in front of his uncle’s farm.
Wayne turned to Jasper in the back. He was riding on top of a four-foot stack of boards and logs. “Whatdya think he wants?”
Jasper’s mouth went dry. All he could think was that they had found his mother’s body. He just shook his head.
Wayne eased their load down the sloped driveway, careful not to jostle loose the wood, while Jasper’s eyes stayed locked on the sheriff’s car. His uncle, his father, and the sheriff were nowhere to be seen. Wayne hopped down and motioned him around to the back of the barn. They crept up to their usual spot and listened.
Uncle Leo was talking. “I’m sorry, Cal. I’ve got a house to rebuild today.”
“I understand, Leo. You got your work cut out for you, but I still need to ask a few questions if you’ll humor me. Have you seen any strange cars up or down the roads in the last two months?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“Any strange folks hangin’ about? You hear of anybody odd stoppin’ in at the Tally Ho or in town?”
“That’s more a question for Clint Sharkey, don’t ya think?” Uncle Leo sounded annoyed.
“I’ve talked to Clint. I’m just doin’ my due diligence, Leo.”
“Hang your due diligence, Cal. Now, what the hell is this all about?”
There was a sigh. Jasper squinted through a knot in the siding and could see the back of a tan hat shaking back and forth. “I tell ya, I never thought I’d see the day in St. Clair County . . . but storms like these are funny things.”
“I don’t see what’s so funny about ’em,” his uncle piped up. “This one damn near destroyed half the state.”
“Yeah. And it kicked up all sorts stuff when it did.”
Jasper braced himself. They found her.
“What stuff?” Uncle Leo asked.
“Jim Jenkins found a burlap sack in his back field this mornin’. We found another one in Harding’s vegetable patch this afternoon.”
“So?”
“So, we’re sending them down to a lab in Detroit for analysis, but I can tell you those bags ain’t filled with sugar.”
“What are you sayin’?”
“I’m sayin’ we’re gonna need to check your fields, just like we’re checkin’ all the fields in the county.”
“Fine. But what are you sayin’, Cal?”
“I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ about nothin’ until the narcotics report comes back.”
Jasper and Wayne turned to each other with the same question on their faces. Narcotics?
His aunt’s voice calling from the driveway broke the silence that had fallen inside the barn. “Jasper? Wayne?”
The two boys scrambled away from their hiding s
pot, ran a wide circuit, and reappeared from behind the tractor. “Yes?”
“Oh, there you are! Jasper, honey, I need you to go walk the back fields and see what else there is. Wayne walk the front.” Aunt Velma gave Jasper a worried smile. “Don’t try to lift anything too heavy by yourself, you hear?”
“Yes’m,” the boys answered. Jasper trotted to the other side of the barn to grab his wagon. The three men walked out to the drive. Jasper skirted around them as they were all shaking hands.
“It’ll just take an hour or so,” the sheriff was saying.
“Help yourself, Cal. You let us know if there’s anything else we can do.” Uncle Leo patted the man’s shoulder, then headed back to the barn. His father gave the sheriff a nod and followed him.
Jasper kept his head down and pretended not to notice the policeman as he walked past. He recognized Sheriff Bradley’s voice from that night at the Tally Ho. The man knew his mother and Big Bill and God knows what else. A second police car pulled into the driveway, and Jasper quickened his pace.
Random objects littered the ground—a shovel, a pitchfork driven over a foot into the ground, a tractor seat. He busied himself surveying the scarred rows of green sprouts in the barley field. He tried to focus on gathering what he could but felt himself drawn toward a stand of trees on the horizon that had somehow survived the storm.
The oaks and maples grew taller as he approached the patch of overgrown grass. Jasper stopped and looked over his shoulder. Sheriff Bradley and his man were a half mile away, walking rows of corn, searching for something.
The jolt he’d felt when he saw the police cruiser tremored in his gut. They still haven’t found her body. He didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed.
The trees stood there waiting. Jasper hadn’t visited the place since that night. He avoided it on purpose, taking convoluted routes through the fields to keep wide of his nightmares, but now his feet were drawn there.