“Was your little girl upset about anything the last time you saw her?” the policeman asked.
“Well, she musta been—ain’t that pretty plain? She didn’t really show it, though. She ain’t that type.”
“Had anything happened that might have upset her?”
Hank stopped pacing for moment. He rubbed the back of his neck. “My sister came into town last night. Elvira was s’posed to go with her to Sulphur Springs in the morning. I guess she didn’t want to go—I don’t know—I thought she had changed her mind about it.”
Miss Ivy shook her head. “She hadn’t changed her mind, Mr. Trumbull. I believe I was the last person to see her, Officer. She was—terribly upset about going to her aunt’s. She came to me for help, and I—well, I couldn’t help her. I’m afraid I only made things worse.” She bit her lip, but went on. “I should have known. I should have made her stay at my house and talk about it some more, but she just—just closed up all of a sudden and said she had to go home. So I took her back here and watched her go inside. I knew she was taking it hard, but I really thought she was going to be all right. She’s such a strong little thing.…” Miss Ivy’s voice broke.
Officer Greene turned back to Hank. “Have you checked with all her friends? It’s possible that she’s with one of them.”
“She don’t have no friends, ’cept for this lady and her kids. We—we ain’t lived here all that long.”
“Well, she may have friends you don’t know about,” said Officer Greene. “I think we’d better start by knocking on some doors. It’s entirely possible that she never left the trailer park.”
“I’m tellin’ you, she don’t have no friends in this place. You’re just gonna be wastin’ your time.”
“Mr. Trumbull, I realize that you’re upset, but I have to go about this the best way I know how, and checking with your neighbors is the logical first step. Most children who run away really don’t run too far.”
A muscle twitched in Hank’s jaw. “You don’t understand. Elvira ain’t like most children. She ain’t like anybody but herself. You cain’t go lookin’ for her in places other children would go.… Would you stop scribblin’ in that book and listen to what I’m tellin’ you?”
“I’m just trying to do my job, Mr. Trumbull.” Officer Greene’s voice was still maddeningly calm.
“Excuse me,” Miss Ivy interrupted. Her face was taut. “I just found this—I think you’d better look at it.” She handed Elvira’s spiral notebook to the policeman. It was opened to the list: THINGS I MIGHT DO.
Officer Greene took the notebook and scanned the page. His eyes stopped toward the middle and stayed there for some time. It was more than Hank could stand—
“What’s it say? Why are you lookin’ at it like that?” He grabbed the notebook away from the policeman.
Officer Greene coughed. “I don’t want to alarm you, Mr. Trumbull, but has your daughter ever tried to—harm herself in any way?”
Hank looked up sharply. “What do you mean—harm herself? She wouldn’t—I mean, she ain’t the type that would…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish.
Wordlessly Officer Greene pointed to number two. Tell Hank that I will die if he makes me go. Good side—This is the truth. Bad side—He probly would not beleave me.
Hank stared uncomprehendingly at the words. Then his mind cleared enough for their meaning to sink in.… He tried to swallow, but he couldn’t; his mouth had gone dry. He shook his head—slowly at first, then more vehemently. “She didn’t really mean that. She ain’t that type.… I’m tellin’ you, she ain’t that type at all!” He was shouting now.
Miss Ivy put her hands to her face. Her shoulders were shaking.
“What are you cryin’ for?” Hank yelled. “Ain’t nothin’ to cry about—Elvira’s all right, do you hear me? She’s all right.…”
“Mr. Trumbull,” said Officer Greene—there was sympathy in his voice now—“I still think our first step is to check with your neighbors. I’ll get started right away.”
Hank looked at him in disgust. “Go ahead—waste your time lookin’ where she ain’t and thinkin’ up things she never done. I don’t care what you do. You can go straight to the devil for all I care. I’m gonna go find my kid.” He threw open the door, got into his pickup, and started driving blindly through the dark, wet night, stopping every block or so to call his daughter’s name. “Elvira! Elvira! You come home, do you hear me? Elvira!”
But there was only the sound of the rain, falling and falling.
Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day.… Oh, Lord, rain, ain’t you never gonna go away?
Right foot, then left, then right again… Joshua fit the battle of Jericho and the rain came a-tumblin’.… No, those were walls, not rain.… Right foot, then left, then…
Suddenly Elvira stopped. She had come to a river. Without realizing it, she had been climbing gradually upward for the last five minutes or so, and now she found herself standing on the edge of a small cliff. Black water was moving silently beneath her—at least, it seemed silent to her; her ears had long ago become dead to everything but the ceaseless sound of the rain. She looked over at the highway. From where she stood, she could just barely make out the sign in front of the bridge. LOST AND OLD RIVER, it said. Oh, sure, she remembered it now; she had driven this highway with Hank plenty of times. If you were coming from the other direction, from Houston, the sign said OLD AND LOST, not LOST AND OLD. She and Hank had puzzled over that and finally figured out that it wasn’t just one river; it was two that came together right here—the Lost River and the Old River—or the Old River and the Lost River—it didn’t matter. It was downright depressing either way.
The problem now was: How in the world could she get across it—or them? She didn’t see any bridge but the highway bridge, and only a fool would try to walk over that, even in broad daylight, let alone on a night like this. There was no room for a person to walk, none at all. She had to think of some other way.… But she couldn’t think.… Her brain was total mush now, oatmeal, chocolate pudding.… What’s your name? Puddin’ and tame; ask me again and I’ll tell you the same.… Oh, Lordy, where’d that come from? She was crazy, for sure. And now that her feet had stopped walking, they didn’t want to start again. They refused to walk another step. She had to rest, that was all there was to it.… She had to close her eyes for just a minute or two, and then she would feel better and be able to think of a way across the water.…
She dragged herself a little way more to the north, to where an old, gnarled live oak tree spread its branches over a bit of sandy bank. The tree would keep some of the rain off. Elvira vaguely remembered someone telling her to stay away from trees during thunderstorms, but she was too bone-tired to worry about being struck by lightning. Most of the thunder had stopped, anyway; it was only a far-off growling now. Maybe the rain was going away, after all.…
Hank drove the night long, looking for Elvira. He drove all over Calder first, stopping and shouting her name over and over again. A few people came out of their houses and shook their fists at him, but he hardly noticed.
He went to the highway after that and drove west toward Houston, trying with all his might to believe that he would come upon her any minute, walking alongside the road. But he never did, he never did.…
He was halfway across the Lost and Old River before he realized that Elvira couldn’t have crossed this bridge; there was no room to walk. If she had come this way at all, she must have stopped when she got to the river. Stopped and—and then, what? He tried to think the way she would think.
And then it came to him again—that line in her notebook—Tell Hank that I will die if he makes me go. Good side—This is the truth.… This is the truth.… This is the truth.… The words played over and over in Hank’s mind like some horrible, broken record. She didn’t mean it, he told himself angrily. She didn’t mean it.… But all the same, as soon as he had crossed the bridge, he turned around, came back across, and pulled off th
e highway. Then he climbed out of the pickup and was half walking, half stumbling along the river bank, calling Elvira’s name, when he saw something up ahead. He couldn’t quite make it out—
Something lying in the water at the river’s edge.
Hank’s heart stopped beating. For a moment, he couldn’t move. And then he was running, running, running like a madman.…
It was only a rock. A rock with a kind of yellowish river weed growing on it. It wasn’t Elvira. She wasn’t lying there, cold and dead, in the muddy shallows of the Old and Lost River.
Relief poured over Hank in a strong, sweet flood. He sank to his knees right there in the water. He wasn’t a praying man, but he prayed now. He prayed to God to let him find his little girl. He prayed to his dead wife. He prayed to anyone who might be listening:
I know I ain’t been worth a lick as a father, Margaret, but I’ll do better, I swear it. Just let her be all right. Please, God. Just let her be all right.
He was shaking. For a long time, he knelt there, with his face buried in his hands. He felt so helpless—so old and lost and helpless.… But gradually, a kind of desperate calm filled him. He pulled himself together, walked back to the pickup, and started driving east. Maybe she had gone east.…
A faint streak of red appeared on the horizon. The rain had stopped. The night was nearly over.
18
A crawfish wriggled his ugly self out of a burrow and paraded tail-first along the riverbank. It was feeding time. The sun was just up, and the birds were singing. The storm had washed the air clean; a fresh little breeze was ruffling the river water. It was going to be a fine day. The crawfish headed for his usual hunting ground under the old live oak tree, where the fattest slugs were always lying around in the shade, ripe for the picking. But when he got there, he stopped in confusion. There was something piled up in his favorite spot. He poked a cautious claw at it. All of a sudden, the something opened its eyes—it had eyes—sat up, and made a terrifying noise. Alarmed, the crawfish skittered away as fast as his spindly little legs could carry him and disappeared down his burrow.
Elvira shuddered. She hadn’t meant to scream. She had never been a screamer, but then, she had never before opened her eyes and been nose to nose with a crawfish.
She looked around her. So. The night and the rain had actually ended. Well. That was something, anyway. Her head hurt, and her throat was sore, and she ached all over, but at least it wasn’t dark and raining. She couldn’t have stood another second of that. And at least she wasn’t on her way to Sulphur Springs. That was something, wasn’t it? The main thing.
She wondered what time it was. It seemed only minutes ago that she had closed her eyes. For once, she had slept without dreaming. She was all dreamed out.
Her stomach growled. How long had it been since she had eaten? Days, weeks, months? No, of course not—they had finished the last of Miss Ivy’s sandwiches in the pickup truck on the way back from Galveston. That was only last night. You’re all right, she told herself. You ain’t gonna die of starvation yet.
There wasn’t much traffic on the highway. Elvira looked over at the bridge to see if it might be possible to cross it now. No way—not unless she could flatten herself up against the concrete wall in the middle and inch along like some kind of human snail. No, the bridge was no good. Noah Goode. Ha, ha.
She decided to walk around a little and see if there might be any other way across. But when she tried to stand up, she felt so dizzy that she had to sit right back down again. Oh, shoot, she thought—I cain’t be sick—this ain’t the time to get sick.…
She leaned her head against the treetrunk, closed her eyes, and watched the crazy speckles of light careening around on the insides of her eyelids. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt this awful. It was a lot worse, even, than that day a thousand years ago when she’d been getting ready to go over to Miss Ivy’s for tea. Hank had fixed her tomato soup that day. The thought brought an unexpected lump to her throat. But then she pushed the memory away. She didn’t have time to be thinking about tomato soup. She ought to be thinking about what she’d do once she got to Houston. She’d have to make up a story that she could tell people—sooner or later, she was going to have to tell somebody something—but her head ached so.… Shoot, she didn’t really feel like thinking. Not right now. She could always think later. Or maybe she’d just give it up for good. Nine times out of ten, it wasn’t really worth the trouble, anyway.
A big black ant crawled over her foot and bit her on the toe. Great, she thought. Just great. Black ants that bite people. Whoever heard of black ants bitin’? Ain’t nothin’ the way it’s s’posed to be, is it? No guarantees worth piddly squat.
Her head was really throbbing now. She lay down and closed her eyes again to ease it a little. Maybe if I just rest my eyes for a few more minutes, I’ll get to feelin’ better, she told herself. Just a few more minutes, and then I’ll get goin’ and find a way across the river.…
The next thing she knew, somebody was shaking her shoulder.
For a second, she thought it was Aunt Darla, come to get her, but when she opened her eyes, all she saw was a little black kid—a girl, maybe about John David’s age.
“You all right?” the little girl asked her, cocking her head to one side.
Elvira pulled herself up to a sitting position and tried to look casual. “Sure,” she lied. “I’m all right.”
“You crawfishin’, too?” asked the girl.
Elvira looked at her blankly. “Crawfishin’?”
“You know, catchin’ crawfish. This is where we always come to go crawfishin’. You’re in our secret spot.”
“Oh. I-I’m sorry,” Elvira faltered, getting shakily to her feet. She had to lean on the live oak for support; the world was jiggling around a lot. “I’ll go on, then.… I don’t want to be in your way.”
“Aw, that’s okay. You got here first. What’d you do—sleep here all night? It’s real early.”
Elvira couldn’t think of an answer right off the bat, but the little girl didn’t notice, because just then her father and two big brothers showed up.
“Look, y’all! There’s somebody in our spot. It ain’t a secret spot no more.”
The girl’s father smiled at Elvira. “Well, aren’t you the early bird?” He seemed friendly enough, but something told Elvira that she was in trouble; she ought to be getting away from here as fast as she could. She ought to run. Only she didn’t really feel much like running.… Anyhow, that might look suspicious.
“You live around here?” the man went on.
Elvira sort of halfway nodded.
“Well, you don’t mind if we join you, do you? Plenty of crawfish—ought to be enough for all of us.”
“No—no, sir, I don’t mind,” said Elvira, sliding back down along the treetrunk until she was sitting again. The world was still jiggling, just a bit, but she figured that the best thing to do was to try to act normal. Then maybe they’d hurry up and do their crawfishing and go away.
But the strangers didn’t seem to be in any hurry. They took their sweet time about every little thing: looking for sticks and tying bacon on string and tying the string to the sticks and wading out in the water to check their bait and scooping up crawfish with raggedy old nets and laughing and squealing like they didn’t have good sense. Elvira hated them for being so happy. Nobody had any business being that happy. She closed her eyes to shut out the sight of all that foolish happiness.
A little while later, she heard voices talking nearby, but she couldn’t seem to open her eyes. It felt as if her eyelids were glued shut, even when it gradually dawned on her that the voices were talking about her.
“I don’t know—I don’t think we should just leave her here. Somethin’ tells me she’s in trouble. Maybe a runaway…”
“You think there’s somethin’ wrong with her, Daddy?”
“I’m not sure, honey. Maybe she’s just tired.”
“She looks kinda sick.”<
br />
“She does, doesn’t she? I wonder if she’s got a fever.…”
Elvira felt a cool hand touch her forehead. That was enough to force her eyes open. She sat up. Funny, she couldn’t remember lying down. There was sand in her mouth.
“I’m all right,” she muttered.
“No, you’re not; you’re hot as a firecracker, missy. Now, why don’t you tell us where you live, and we’ll take you over there. I bet your mama’s worryin’ about you right now.”
“No, she ain’t,” said Elvira. This, at least, was no lie—that is, as far as she knew.
“Well, I’m not leaving here without you; I can’t have that on my conscience. So you might just as well tell me where you live.”
Elvira thought for a minute. It hurt to think, but she had to. This was her chance. She could say that she lived in Houston, and then these people would take her there.… But where would she go when she got to Houston? This man wouldn’t just drop her off somewhere without being sure that somebody was going to watch out for her. She could see it in his eyes. She had known he was dangerous the first second she saw him. So why hadn’t she gotten away then, before it was too late? She had a feeling it was too late now.
“Come on, now—we don’t mean you any harm, little girl. You just tell us where you live, why don’t you?” His voice was so kind. Unnervingly kind. Disastrously kind. It did her in. Elvira opened her mouth to tell another lie, but all that would come out was the truth.
“I live in Calder,” she sighed. “For now, anyway.”
19
It was Aunt Darla who opened the trailer door when Mr. Loftin—that was his name—Mr. Elbert Loftin—knocked on it. So she was still there. Elvira had harbored a tiny hope that she had given up and gone on to Sulphur Springs without her.
The 25¢ Miracle Page 13