Mammoth Secrets

by Ashley Elizabeth Ludwig

  Lilah sighed into his shoulder, tears dampening his shirt. “Thanks.”

  “I wish I could do more.” Jake combed her ponytail through his fingers.

  “Just pray.” She stood stock still in his embrace, as if any movement would splinter her to a million pieces.

  Two ships in a storm, they stood fast as the hospital sounds whirred around them.

  37

  Luke hauled the second stretcher from the ambulance into the buzzing emergency room. The bright lights fused in a flurry of action. Doctors dragged the gurney from his grip. He rattled off the condition and the treatment they’d administered since picking up two teenagers, cut from the wreckage of Andy Phelps’ pickup truck.

  “On the road to Hardy?” the mid-twenties-if-he-was-a-day doctor asked as he tied on a yellow paper trauma robe.

  Luke nodded. “Need to call his folks. Andy took the curve about twenty miles an hour too fast. His, uh-friend, there, was unconscious on scene. Pulse thready.”

  The doctor shot a look at the other table where a trio of his peers worked on the young girl with rich, fire-red hair.

  Intubated and bagged, they squeezed breath into her bleeding body as the monitors jangled and clanged with alarms.

  “Do you know her?” The doctor asked as he adjusted his grip on the teenage boy’s broken arm.

  Luke seemed to recall seeing that rich, red hair before, but her face—so swollen. “She might be with the carnival folks.” He offered, inside saying a prayer of thanks it wasn’t Emma Thompson’s daughter, Charla, then swallowed that burning, guilty thread.

  In silence, they stared at the nameless girl, and went back to work.

  Andy and Charla’d been darkening the back booth at Earl’s Kitchen for at least their four high school years. Set to follow in her mother’s footsteps, until—well, until now.

  Luke wiped his hands on his coverall pants and nodded to his partner. “I’m off shift. Gotta make the call.” The nurse station phone heavy in his hand, he dialed Andy’s parents.

  ~*~

  Eden turned the corner toward the exit, fiddling with the strap of her purse. The doctors weren’t telling everything. Nana might buy it, and Lilah was too trusting to ask. But Eden knew there was more to her grandfather’s condition. She reached inside the pocket for another stick of gum, foil crinkling in her hand. The back door of the hospital bordered the emergency room. She watched the bright red box of an ambulance drive away, lights blazing. Her heart gave a tug as the vehicle vanished over the hill, sirens blaring.

  Luke.

  Somewhere, somehow, he’d know how to find out what was really going on with Papaw. The doctors never told one everything. They whispered around stacks of charts and files and shot comforting glances as they sent the nurses to run interference. Luke was relatively in the know about things. He should have gone to med school but settled on being a paramedic, staying close to his mama.

  Would you look at him differently if he were a doctor?

  Eden swallowed at the small voice rattling in her thick skull and dragged her chain from around her neck. She stared at the ring suspended on it; felt more like a millstone than a testament to her failure at true love, all the while, with Luke just waiting. She had to be the biggest blooming idiot this side of the Mississippi.

  Her back to the chaos of the emergency room, she dialed Luke’s number on her cellphone, gum snapping with her new resolve. Luke would know what to ask, what to do.

  He always did.

  Maybe it was time to tell him she finally realized that.

  38

  Rather than leave, as promised, Jake knelt at the small altar of the West Plains hospital chapel, staring up at the vacant cross. A stained glass panel lit it from behind for the illusion of outside.

  At his back, the chapel door squeaked. Jake swiveled to see Mammoth’s pharmacist enter. “Evening, Mr. Hackleberry.”

  The large, balding man shuffled down the narrow aisle, bowed to the cross, nodded at the preacher. The right front pew creaked under his girth. “Thought I’d pay my respects before I go home.”

  Jake stood from his kneeling position and sat across the aisle, silent.

  “Does something to a man, seeing his friends laid low.” Mr. Hackleberry sighed. “Earl—he’s had his difficulties for some time now.”

  Jake threaded his fingers and stared at the multi-hued stained glass panels. “Lilah told me.”

  “I’ve been his pharmacist and friend for nigh-on forty years.” Mr. Hackleberry wiped his face with a cloth handkerchief then returned it to his back pocket.

  “That’s a long time.” Jake said and leaned forward, attention focused on the man he’d seen play checkers with Earl Dale nearly every afternoon since he’d moved here. “In any town.”

  “Thick and thin. Saw him and Naomi raise their sweet little girl, stood by them when they buried her. Watched Lilah and Eden grow up. Seems like the longer you live, the less you know.”

  “The more you have to trust.” Jake returned his glance to the empty wooden cross. Its black shadow obscured the crisscross of light fired blue, red, gold, and green glass. “Like a child we come to Him, as a child we return home when He calls us.”

  “Easy for you to say, son.” Mr. Hackleberry laughed, deep, throaty. “You’re what? Thirty?”

  “Thirty-three.”

  “The closer you get to knocking on those gates, the more what-if’s creep into your head.” He wiped a hand over his thinning strands of hair, absently brushed them back into their place. “But not Earl, though. He’s never been anything but faithful. Always trusted the right thing would happen. Even when Rebecca ran off with that boy.”

  “Tough on a parent, watching your kids make mistakes.”

  “Oh, that’s for sure.” He shook his head. “Earl and Naomi went to battle when she up and married him and moved up to the river house.”

  Jake sat up a bit straighter, unable to stifle his gape of surprise. “She married the boy?”

  Mr. Hackleberry’s brows lowered and hooded his brown eyes. “I’m speaking out of turn.”

  Jake shrugged, turning his attention back to the cross. It wasn’t his job to seek out gossip, but if news that could help Lilah and Eden came his way, that was another matter.

  After a beat of silence, the pharmacist’s confession began in a slow rush of words. “Rebecca came to see me one afternoon. Bought that little test kit, and don’t you think that didn’t take some guts. To not just steal the thing like other girls did. She wasn’t that way, though. Not Rebecca. Smart. Honest to a fault. I knew by the look on her face it was positive.”

  “She was upset?” Jake kept his façade cool, merely cocked his head though his heart kicked up rhythm.

  “No.” A pensive smile rested on Mr. Hackleberry’s doughy face. “Quite the opposite. She was glowing. Even hugged me. The boy was waiting outside in that little black Pontiac. She hopped in and off they went. Got themselves hitched someplace out toward Branson, came back and told her mama. Naomi about blew a gasket. I was filling her Valium for months after...but I’ve said too much.”

  Jake splayed out his hands. “Goes no further.”

  “I’ve not spoken on this in thirty years.” He blew a sigh. “Weighs on a man.”

  “I’m sure that’s true.”

  “Near eight months later, she and the boy were heading back out to the river house her daddy let them live in. During a storm...well, you know the story about the curve. I don’t think Naomi’s ever forgiven Earl for that. For letting those young-uns live out there. For the accident that took her little girl.”

  “And gave them two others.”

  “Now, Earl’s up there, wrestling his demons before he can pass on to glory.” He frowned through a quivering smile. “I’ve missed him, you know. Hard to mourn your best friend when he’s not yet left this world.”

  Jake sat, silent. Praying for words that would heal. Help. But nothing came.

  Mr. Hackelberry raised his bulk, clasped a mea
ty hand on Jake’s shoulder. “Thanks for the ear, Pastor.”

  The chapel door opened and then closed behind him.

  Jake remained, dragging his hands through his hair. He’d married people, laid folks to rest before. Baptized the faithful, and dedicated the young. Never in his few years since seminary, had he ever felt less of a shepherd.

  How can one soothe someone waiting for their best friend to die? Or a grandfather? Or a husband? What do I say, Lord? Jake dropped to his knees and bowed his head before that vacant cross. What should I say?

  Why are you trying to say anything at all?

  His mind rattled as the truth speared his heart.

  In all of his attempts to be brilliant, to bring hope and promise to this dying little town, he’d forgotten the most important part of being a pastor. Allow God’s words to filter through him. Get out of the way of His message.

  He closed his eyes, face angled heavenward. There’s nothing I can do here. It’s all You. Please, help me remember that.

  ~*~

  Lilah sat at Papaw’s bedside long after Eden took Nana home for a shower, rest, and change of clothes. The room was bathed in the blue glow from the desk-lamp. It was never really dark in a hospital. Never really quiet. She took a breath and picked up the small leather-bound Bible that Papaw always carried in his shirt pocket.

  Onionskin crinkled, torn and taped from years of reading and rereading. With a red marker, he’d underlined favorite passages on nearly every page.

  She smiled, cheeks heating with a fresh wash of tears, thumbing through. The whole Bible was his favorite. She’d never read more than a verse or two at a time outside of church. Had memorized the names and order of the books to win a prize in school—but had she ever really read the book to see what God had to say? Closing her eyes, she held the crumbling leather to her lips, smelled the ancient leather. “OK, Lord. Talk to me.”

  The Bible fell open to the middle, and she let her finger find a scripture. Isaiah. Screwing her lips as she read the angry words of a vengeful God, her heart stayed quiet.

  “What did you see?” Jake’s voice startled her.

  “Nothing.” Lilah looked up to see him watching her, pulse racing. “Just something about smiting someone. Death and destruction. No salvation for sinners.”

  Jake dragged the other chair closer to her side.

  Papaw slept across from them, the thin blanket covering his legs.

  “It’s not a magic eight ball.”

  “I thought you believed God spoke to you through this.” She wagged the book at him.

  “I do.” Jake held out a hand and took the small Bible from her with the same reverence she’d seen Papaw use. Lids closed, he opened the book, pointed, dragged his finger across the page, and cleared his throat to read aloud. “For by grace you have been saved, through faith. And that not of yourself. Ephesians two, verses eight and nine.”

  “Nice.” She smiled. “See. It works for you.”

  “I know where to look.” He winked, handed it back to her. “No pointing and guessing.”

  “Papaw taught us all that stuff, you know. How to live by the word. Be a faithful servant. All that...” She viewed her grandfather, the dripping IV bag, the tube in his thin and withered arm. “Do you really believe that God’s watching from afar, waiting for Papaw to die?”

  His smile pensive, his words gentle. “I’ve learned,” he held the book up in both hands, for her to see, “Heaven’s always with us. There’s a thin curtain between this world and the next. God’s not out there—he’s here.” Jake touched his breastbone. His hand went to her, just below the throat, with tender fingers, pressed warm. “Inside me. You. Him.”

  “And the angels?” Lilah tilted her head. “What about them? You believe that they’re here?”

  “They’re everywhere...” Papaw’s thin, quavering voice interrupted.

  “Papaw?” Lilah leaned in, heart slamming, searching his half-lidded eyes for any sign of lucidity.

  Her grandfather reached his arm to the ceiling. “How do I? How do I get up those stairs?”

  “Don’t. Please don’t go yet...” She took hold of his hand, weathered with age and time. Hot worry shot through her veins as she glanced between her tenuous hold on him and the call button, ready to rouse the nurses.

  “Gone again.” He shook, turned his head, sighing into the pillow. “Maybe next time.”

  “What’s gone?” Jake leaned closer, still, laid his hand on top of hers. “We’re here, Mr. Dale.”

  “Papaw,” Lilah smiled through her tears. “I’m here with Pastor Jake.”

  “Good.” Under the tubing, Papaw managed a lopsided grin, tired eyes blinking into focus under the low, antiseptic light. “You two go on down to the river dock tomorrow. Catch me a stringer-full. Rebecca’s makin’ hush puppies.”

  Lilah nodded. Throat too thick with tears to speak, she cleared it. All focus rested on the lined face of the man who’d raised her. “Do...you see her, Papaw?”

  “Your mama’n others…out in the hall.” He blinked at her, pale eyes distant, cloudy. “Hear ‘em callin’ me?”

  She released him in a flash. Gooseflesh shot shoulder to wrist, worry replaced with a healthy dose of chills. Lilah rubbed her exposed skin, then tilted the mauve water pitcher over a paper towel.

  “Shh.” She blotted Papaw’s hot forehead, his bone-dry cheeks. “I’ll get the nurse.”

  “No.” He shook his head once, sighed back into his pillow. “Mama’s singing. I’ll just listen a spell.”

  Lilah turned to the empty doorway, the silence deafened. “What do you think he hears out there?”

  “Maybe everyone. Everything.” Jake’s expression was locked in childlike wonder. “I have no idea. But, I think I’d better take you fishing tomorrow. By the restaurant?”

  “No. He’s talking about the place at our dock.” Lilah inhaled, barely able to believe it herself. “At the river house.”

  Jake’s eyes widened, though he said nothing. He turned his attention back to Papaw.

  Hands clasped in silence, they listened for angels to come to call.

  39

  The next afternoon, the truck pulled into the parking area in a cloud of red dust.

  Lilah guided them down the stone stairs, carved into the hillside, and pointed to a picnic spot, above where the river pooled above the falls. Tiny ripples showed a deceptively strong current. “It looks exactly the same.”

  “You’ve not come out here since you’ve been back?”

  Lilah shook her head. “Nana didn’t want me to. Said it was dangerous. Like a good girl, I tried to listen.”

  “It’s good they closed the diner today.” Jake spread out the polka dot quilt on bare ground where she directed.

  Lilah squished her bare toes into the muddy earth. “Everyone’s dropping over to West Plains, to see him there.” She stopped on a broad patch of grass above the dock, and then settled herself down on the quilt along with the wicker basket. Jake cast the lines where she directed while she checked Eden’s latest message. No change.

  The family dock sagged from lack of use; the boards Papaw hammered together, now weathered gray and warped. The landing lay just above the rapid falls in the pool of rippling water.

  She spied shadows of unattainable bass and rainbow trout that swam slow circles in the deep swimming hole, away from the murk of reeds and algae; this secret cove on the hidden bank was the family fishing hole. The best place to catch the limit in record time. He’d fed the masses from this spot. Gifted everyone up and down the river with all the rainbow trout and small mouth bass that they could eat.

  The dusty silver of Papaw’s small, upside down skiff remained chained to an enormous oak tree trunk, the motor gone, the jagged edge of a paddle peeked from underneath. Lilah couldn’t remember the last time anyone had used the boat.

  Fizzy soda tickled her throat. She traced a quilted white circle with her fingertip, thoughts drifting to when Nana gave her and Eden the fabric sc
raps to make it in a futile attempt to teach her twin granddaughters the art of quilting. Laughingly, they’d all three shoved it in the closet, pronouncing the “snowball quilt” the ugliest coverlet in history. “Life isn’t always beautiful.”

  “True.” Jake spun the reel to his satisfaction, jammed a y-stick in the mud, and laid the rod between the forks. Sitting beside her, he trained his gaze on the rocky cliffs above. “River house, huh?”

  “Nana only agreed because it was too high to wash out in a flood.”

  Not more than a singlewide trailer, it perched on a sheer cliff, the rockiest stretch of riverfront property from here to Memphis. Nothing grew here but stubborn weeds and ancient oaks with lichen covered trunks. Red rocks burst from the pebble covered landscape, crushed under years of truck tires and bicycle treads.

  The train tracks glinted immediately behind the shanty, too close for Nana’s comfort. Each town had their stories of children stuck between railroad ties, or struck by locomotives, losing limbs, or worse, their lives. Those stories never stopped Lilah and Eden from sneaking out and laying pennies on the rails, leaning an ear to the vibrating rail to listen for the next train to smash the coins into thin bits of copper. The thrill of the danger, the power of the locomotive pulling the cars, clackety-clacking, past their quiet lives into places they merely dreamed of visiting some day.

  If Nana knew the truth, she’d have sold the place long ago, rather than merely forbid them to go near the shack, so close to the dangerous tracks.

  Lilah’s palms suddenly itched to see if her emergency runaway supplies remained under the shack. Something no one knew about. Not even Eden.

  “What do you know about your father?” Jake’s innocent question dug a deep groove in her heart.

  Lilah pulled in her knees. “He was just a kid, barely eighteen. I don’t even know his name. They never told me.”

  Jake tugged the line, checking the float for resistance. “Why not?”

  “Nana always said he was no good. Just biology, anyway. Rebecca is, for all practical purposes, good or bad, my mama. Though I don’t suspect Nana ever saw it that way.”