The Long Hot Summer

by Rosnau, Wendy

  “I didn’t steal it,” Jasper argued. “I took it back, is all. It ain’t yours. I bought it, paid top dollar years ago. Had it engraved. Madie would want me to have it back.”

  Johnny examined the locket, but saw no signs of engraving.

  Jasper said, “Look behind the picture.”

  Johnny opened the locket and carefully peeled out the small picture of himself. Sure enough, as Jasper had promised, Johnny found a small engraved inscription: To my Madie, Love J.P.

  Jasper wiped his nose on his sleeve. Then, in a conspiratorial whisper, he said, “We were in love.” Pointing to the locket, he said, “That proves it.” He dug once more into his box and handed Johnny a picture. “This is my favorite, but I got lots more if you want to see.”

  Rocked off balance by Jasper’s claim, Johnny stared at the two people in the framed photograph. It was easy to recognize his mother. Jasper was a little harder to identify—the years hadn’t been kind. We were in love. The possibility of that seemed remote, but then, his mother was awfully young in the picture.

  Nicole leaned over and eyed the picture. “Is it your mother?”

  “Yeah, it’s her,” Johnny confirmed. He tossed the locket back to Jasper, but hung on to the picture.

  Jasper caught the locket, stared at Johnny for a minute, then tucked it back in his box.

  They were three feet away from where Jasper sat. He smelled bad—a mix of stale liquor and urine. His pale blue shirt was soiled with dirt, his gray pants torn at the knees. The first time Johnny had seen Jasper in Tuck’s office he’d noticed the dirt on his pants, and now he knew why—the old man had been spending his days in the tunnel with his whiskey and that box of memories.

  His gaze shifted deeper inside the tunnel. A draft of air floated into the small space, causing the light to flicker and the foul smell to rise and drift. An old cooking pot sat on a dead fire, a gunnysack not far from it. Johnny asked, “What’s in the sack?”

  “Supper,” Jasper answered. “Frogs, mostly.”

  Johnny heard Nicole suck in her breath, and he squeezed her hand to reassure her that it was all right. “Farrel know about the tunnel, old man?”

  “No. He comes looking for me sometimes, though. I hear him calling to me, but I don’t answer. He don’t like me being here.”

  “Anyone else come around?”

  The old man hesitated, looked away. “No. No one else.”

  “You sure?” Johnny watched the old man’s eyes blink several times. “Don’t lie to me,” he warned.

  “No one else knows I come here. Just Farrel.”

  The sack moved, and Nicole gasped.

  Jasper turned and whacked it hard. “No reason to be afraid,” he said. “They’re just frogs.”

  “So tell me your story, old man,” Johnny encouraged, finally handing the portrait back. “Tell me about my mother and you.”

  Jasper nodded, the topic obviously one he enjoyed. “We grew up together. I lived on the hill just out of town. Still do. I don’t know if you knew your mama was adopted. Old Glady Keen took her in, mostly to have someone to do her work for her, I always thought.”

  “I knew about Mrs. Keen.”

  Jasper scratched his chest. “I wanted to marry her, but my folks didn’t think she was right for me. I had to sneak out of the house to see her.” Jasper sniffed, then wiped his nose again on his dirty shirtsleeve. “It was all my fault,” he muttered. “We were gonna run away and get married. But first I had to take a trip to Baton Rouge with my folks. I met Farrel’s mother there.” He shrugged dejectedly. “I ended up getting Nora pregnant. I could say she tricked me, but I was a young buck back then. I thought I could have whatever I wanted. An affair out of town didn’t seem all that terrible. A lot of men kicked up their heels before they tied the knot. Only, I got caught. In those days you did the right thing and owned up to your mistakes.”

  Johnny vaguely remembered Farrel’s mother. A fancy dresser. Skinny. A blonde with a plastic smile and cold green eyes. She’d left Jasper before Farrel turned ten.

  “Madie was my only love,” Jasper admitted, “but I ruined it. She refused to talk to me after I came home and word got out that I was engaged to Nora. A few months later there was talk she was seeing Delmar Bernard. It didn’t make any sense. Sure he was a good-looker, but he was Carl Bernard’s son. She had no business getting mixed up with a Bernard, and I told her so. Only, she told me I didn’t have any right to tell her nothing. She said Delmar was a good man, honest, and that all the rumors were just that—rumors.” Jasper flushed. “You won’t like to hear this, boy, but those stories weren’t rumors. They were all true. I know ’cause I seen it with my own eyes.”

  Johnny held up his hand. “What rumors?”

  “Your grandpa Carl was a womanizer. A no-good wife stealer! That’s what.” Jasper’s nostrils flared. “He busted up half a dozen families in this town, sweet-talking the women into forgetting who they had promised themselves to. Nobody in town talks about it anymore, but that don’t mean it didn’t happen. We that knew the truth just let it die along with your grandpa.”

  “Only, you didn’t let it die, did you?” Johnny accused. “My father and I paid daily for that old sin.”

  Jasper lowered his eyes. “That’s true. In some ways you’re right. But the pain ran deep, boy.” He faced Johnny once more. “Your daddy could have passed for Carl any day of the week. That black hair and those eyes kept the memory alive for many of us.”

  “My father was a decent man,” Johnny argued. “He loved my mother and was faithful to her.”

  “I believe he was. Only, to me, that just made things worse. I was angry that he had won my Madie, and every chance I got, I beat the hell out of him for it. The truth is, I hired him at the lumberyard just so I could take him apart whenever I wanted to. And I did, plenty of times. I’m not proud of it, but he had my Madie. Don’tcha see, boy? He owned my life.”

  “So you beat him up because you made a mistake.” Johnny shook his head, so angry that he could hardly sit there a minute longer. If Jasper weren’t so pathetic, Johnny would have reached out and strangled the bastard.

  Jasper’s face twisted in pain. “I don’t deserve to live. I know it. You’d have every right to hate me. I hate myself.” He squeezed his eyes shut, the pain of living continuing to tear him in two. “She was mine, she’ll always be mine,” he mumbled.

  Johnny never once glanced Nicole’s way, but he knew she was silently absorbing everything Jasper Craig said. Unconsciously, she had slid close to him, her small hand tightly clasped in his, her shoulder pressed against his arm. “So who set fire to my house, old man? Farrel?”

  “No. My son hates you, but if he was going to kill you, I think he would have done it long ago.”

  That made sense—Johnny felt much the same way. In fact, that’s what he’d told the judge at his trial. “Then who?”

  Jasper’s eyes widened. “I don’t know. I—I can’t say.”

  “Can’t…or won’t?”

  “Carl had a lot of enemies. Some of those men could never forgive their wives. I don’t know, boy. I don’t know who it is,” he said again. “I’d never hurt Madie, and hurting you would hurt her. I come here to talk to her and be with her. Farrel won’t let me keep this stuff in our house. I have to leave it here. I hide in the tunnel so Farrel can’t find me when he comes looking for me, but I don’t hurt nobody.”

  “Farrel knew about my mother, didn’t he?”

  Jasper nodded. “He overheard me and Nora arguing about her when he was real young. I was sorry about that.”

  After Jasper stubbornly refused to leave the tunnel with them, Johnny and Nicole belly-crawled a quarter mile, and emerged from the underground hole just west of the house, a few yards from the shoreline of Belle. Gazing toward the hillside, Johnny saw there was nothing left of the house, just a pile of rubble.

  The past was starting to make sense now. Johnny had always wondered why the town had hated the sight of a Bernard, and now h
e knew. He turned back and stared at Nicole. “How are you?” He gently touched a nasty bruise on her shoulder. “That’s going to hurt like hell in the morning.”

  She looked him over in much the same manner, concern in her eyes. “You look worse than I do. You’ve reopened the old cut on your arm.” She spun him around and examined his back. “And there’s a bloody gash on your back that needs tending.”

  He turned and took her hands in his. Slowly, he brought them to his lips and kissed each palm. “I’m not worried about me,” he drawled. “You sure you’re not hurt anywhere else?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Maybe I should have a look-see to make sure,” he teased, trying to lighten the moment. “Come on. Mae must have seen the smoke. She’ll be worried.”

  They started toward the driveway. Nicole said, “Will you report this to Sheriff Tucker?”

  “I suppose so, but it won’t do much good. We don’t have a suspect.”

  “Should you call your parole officer?”

  “It wouldn’t hurt.” He glanced at her once more. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes.”

  She had dirt smeared on her face, her clothes were torn, and she had a number of tiny cuts and bruises on her arms and legs. “Starting now, I want you to stay close to Oakhaven. Until I get some answers, we’re going to have to be extra careful.”

  “All right—as long as you promise to be careful, too.”

  “I promise.”

  “If Sheriff Tucker turns a blind eye like last time, who will help us?”

  That was a good question. Johnny didn’t know how to answer, but he didn’t intend to worry Nicole about that right now. Again he was struck with how close he’d come to losing her. He had never minded putting himself on the line before, facing bad odds or worse. But gambling with Nicole’s safety was one thing he wouldn’t do. He was in love with her, had been for weeks, maybe even from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. But today, those feelings had been magnified, and the fear of losing her had shaken him like nothing else ever had. It had also opened his eyes to a new truth—one that would change his life forever if he was brave enough to face it head-on.

  “This is Detective Archard from New Orleans, Gran,” Nicole said by way of introduction. “He’s a friend of Johnny’s parole officer. He’s here to investigate the fire.”

  The tall sandy-haired man shook Mae’s hand. “Sure is a beautiful place you got here, Mrs. Chapman.” From where he stood on the front porch, Ryland Archard gazed out over the freshly plowed fields. “Looks like good soil out there.”

  “If you don’t mind me saying so, how would a New Orleans detective know anything about it?”

  The detective smiled and turned to give Mae his full attention. “I’m from Texas, Mrs. Chapman. We didn’t plant much for crops, but we sure grew a lot of beef.”

  “So can you help us, Detective?” Nicole asked. Johnny had joined them on the porch, and she found herself drawn to him for moral support.

  “Like I told Johnny, Miss Chapman, I’ll try my best,” Detective Archard said.

  Fifteen minutes later Johnny and the detective were on their way to see Sheriff Tucker, leaving Mae and Nicole alone on the front porch.

  “I just can’t believe someone set fire to the farmhouse,” Mae sighed. “Thank God, Johnny followed you, and thank God, he dug that tunnel years ago.”

  “Did you know about Carl Bernard?” she asked. “Was Jasper Craig telling the truth? Were there women in town who were intimate with Johnny’s grandfather?”

  She was standing at the porch railing, and when Gran made no comment, she turned around. “Did you hear what I— Gran, what’s wrong? You look as pale as a sheet.”

  Mae turned her head away and gazed across the front yard. The sun was setting and the sky was streaked pink. “Carl was a handsome man, Nicki. Just like Johnny. He could charm a woman out of her dress before she realized what she’d done. His only crime was liking women and enjoying their company too much. All women—short, tall, thin, heavy. He didn’t discriminate, and I truly believe he loved them all in his own way. He had such a smooth way about him—a gentleman in rags, I used to call him.”

  Mae’s voice had turned wistful, as if she felt the need to speak reverently about a man the entire town thought was the devil himself. Nicole’s heart started to pound. “Gran…?”

  “Yes, Nicki. I was one of those women. I cheated on my Henry with Carl Bernard.”

  The shocking admission momentarily stole Nicole’s voice. Finally, she said, “Gran, you don’t have to say any more. It was a long time ago, and he probably tricked you. He—”

  “No, Nicki, he didn’t trick me. He may have seduced me a little with his smooth manner, but I knew what I was doing. He was the kind of man a woman just had a hard time saying ‘no’ to.” She turned to look at Nicole. “I’m sorry if I’ve shocked you. You must think I’m a terrible old woman.”

  Nicole didn’t think that at all. Gran had just admitted to being human. Everyone made mistakes. Nicole herself had made several in the past year. “I don’t think you’re terrible.” She spoke quietly. “I love you and think you’re wonderful—that will never change. You could have ignored the truth, but you didn’t. You didn’t put all the blame on Carl.”

  “It was time I told you.”

  “And I need to tell you something,” Nicole said suddenly.

  “What is it, Nicki?”

  “Remember when I told you about Chad? Well, I left out the most important part.” She stopped suddenly, took a deep breath, then charged on. “I got pregnant, Gran. That’s the real reason he walked out on me. He didn’t want to be a father, and I—I wasn’t so sure I wanted to be a mother, either. But there I was, pregnant, and in a blink of an eye, alone.”

  “Oh, Nicki, you should have told me. You must never think you’re alone. This is your home, I’m family.”

  “I know, but I was ashamed.” Nicole wiped the tears from her eyes. “After weeks of crying my eyes out, I got angry. Angry at Chad and then at myself. Even angry at the baby. But then the most wonderful thing happened. A few months later I felt her move inside me. My baby moved. From that day on, my life meant something. Then—” Nicole turned away, stared out into the front yard. “Then one night I woke up with violent stomach pains. By the time I got to the hospital, I was already in labor.”

  She forced herself to face her grandmother once more. “I lost my little girl, Gran.”

  “Oh, Nicki, I’m so sorry. Come here, dear.”

  Nicole wiped the tears from her cheeks, then knelt by Gran’s chair. “I should have told you sooner. I just didn’t know how. But when you told me about Carl, I—”

  “You didn’t feel like you were the only imperfect one in this family.”

  “Oh, no, Gran. I would never judge you.”

  “Hush, dear. It’s all right. Life is hard to live, but we do the best we can. And whether we want it to or not, life goes on.”

  “Did Grandpa Henry forgive you?” Nicole asked.

  “Yes, he did. Many of the men in town didn’t, though. Griffin Black disowned his wife. Pearl Lavel’s oldest sister left town in shame, not telling a soul where she was going. Frank Gilmore’s wife left four small children behind. And there were many others who sold their homes and moved away. Some with their husbands, some without. It was a horrible time for this town, but Henry and I got through it together.”

  “You didn’t end up hating Carl Bernard, though? Blaming him just a little?”

  “No. Like I said, he never forced me into anything I didn’t want to do. I could have said no.”

  “And he was married, too?”

  “Yes. His wife left him finally, when Delmar was in high school. Like some of the others, she ran off in the middle of the night and never let Carl know where she’d gone. Delmar turned out as handsome as his father, and I think that was salt in everyone’s wounds. Delmar in Carl’s image only kept the scandal alive. Carl died of a stroke at fi
fty-five. Delmar stayed on the farm, and not long after high school he married Madie. The rest you know.”

  Nicole moved to the wicker chair next to Mae and sat. “So do you think maybe Griffin Black or one of the others is responsible for the fire?”

  “It’s very possible. But Griffin remarried soon after, and now all he thinks about is buying up more land and making money so that fancy young wife of his can spend it. I don’t believe he’s living in the past any longer.”

  “So who else, then? Think, Gran. Who have you forgotten about?”

  Mae sat quietly for a moment, thinking. Disgusted, she said, “I just don’t know. Most of those people moved away or are as old as I am.”

  “Then maybe the person we’re looking for isn’t old,” Nicole decided. “Maybe Jasper Craig is lying to protect Farrel.”

  Suddenly, Nicole wanted to speak to Johnny, to touch him and make sure he was all right. He had told her to stay close to Oakhaven, but she felt he should be taking his own advice. Glancing toward the road, she prayed he would come home soon.

  Nicole paced the floor in the study. It had been hours since Johnny and the detective had gone to town. What was taking so long? Three full hours had passed.

  She stopped in front of the window and looked out. The sky was dark, and it had started to rain. She was growing anxious. Terrified was a better word. Had something horrible happened to Johnny? No, she wouldn’t accept that. He was with Detective Archard. What could happen?

  Again she searched the long, dark driveway, hoping to see lights. “Where are you, Johnny? What’s going on?”

  Twenty minutes later, Nicole snatched up her keys and headed out the front door. It took her less than ten minutes to get to town. Once there, she checked the police station, only to find it dark; the green Blazer the detective owned was nowhere in sight. She decided to drive the streets in search of them, noting it wouldn’t take very long since the town was so small.

  She ran the streets north and south first, then started on the east-west route. She was ready to give up when she noticed the Blazer parked in the back lot of the Pass-By Motel. Relieved, she pulled in alongside the Blazer, then got out of her car. The lot was dark, and the hotel was lit by a single light coming from Virgil’s office.