Wild Hearts

by Sharon Sala

  “Drive safely,” she said.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said.

  Dallas caught herself as she was about to say “I love you” and waved instead, then locked up for the night.

  She told herself it was just habit, something she’d said to him so many times before their split. She couldn’t afford to love him. He didn’t fit into her life any better now than he had before.

  But later, when she crawled between the covers and closed her eyes, she didn’t dream of Charleston and her cosmopolitan lifestyle. She dreamed of the land and the mountains, and Trey Jakes standing at her side.

  * * *

  Silver Hill Plantation was on the outskirts of Mystic, and Marcus Silver was the sixth generation of Silvers to have lived there. The family interests had shifted from farming to industry after the Civil War, and Marcus continued to run the business to this day.

  As impressive as his estate and fortune were, Marcus had a yen for something none of his predecessors had considered. He wanted to be in politics. He’d thought about it for years, fostering friends in all the right places in both industry and government. He was serious enough about it that he’d even gone so far as to start interviewing campaign managers to discuss their views of how to proceed and what it would entail.

  Divorced for over fifteen years, he had no one but his son, T.J., to consider, and T.J., who had political aspirations of his own, happily envisioned his father becoming senator as a way to give him an instant foothold in that world, as well.

  After some discussion, they began toying with the idea of holding a fall gala at Silver Hill, inviting all the right people in West Virginia politics to witness him announcing his intent to run for a seat in the state senate.

  Then, in the midst of planning, Marcus learned of Dick Phillips’s suicide. They had been classmates in high school, and even though they had never traveled in the same social circles, he had always liked Dick. A day or so later gossip began to spread about why Dick had killed himself. People were saying he’d been days away from foreclosure on the land that had been in his family for generations when he died. When Marcus thought of Silver Hill and the idea of losing it, he understood how Dick might have chosen that end, and even mentioned it to T.J. over breakfast the next morning.

  The maid was refilling Marcus’s coffee as T.J. forked a waffle onto his plate, liberally dousing it with pure maple syrup. Only the best was served beneath the roof of Silver Hill.

  “I can’t quit thinking about poor Dick Phillips,” Marcus said. “So distraught about losing his heritage that he would take his own life.”

  T.J. frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s not common knowledge, but I heard it straight from Standish at the bank. Dick mortgaged the family farm some years back and was two years in arrears. The bank is foreclosing in less than a month.”

  T.J. shoved a bite of waffle into his mouth, thinking of Dick Phillips’s pretty daughter, Dallas. She’d been a year ahead of him in school, but he’d always thought she was hot.

  “So you think that’s why he hanged himself?” T.J. asked.

  “Why else?” Marcus asked.

  T.J. shrugged. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

  “I feel as if I need to do something,” Marcus said. “The memorial service is tomorrow, and people have been invited to speak in memory of him.”

  T.J. shoved his plate back and put his elbows on the table as he leaned forward.

  “How many of your old classmates are still local?” he asked.

  Marcus shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe twenty or so. Why?”

  “So why don’t you all stand together at that time, and then each offer a special story you have to share.”

  Marcus’s eyes widened, and then he smiled.

  “Son! That’s a wonderful idea. I’ll have my secretary get right on that.”

  “Dad, it would be better, more personal, if the calls came from you. You have to be cognizant of these little moments if you plan to run for Congress.”

  Marcus’s smile widened. “You’re right! I’ll make a list of names and call them from the office. Thank you, T.J. Oh, will you do me a favor? Call the florist and have them send two big arrangements to the church. I want them identical. That way they can stand on either side of the pulpit.”

  T.J. grinned. “Now you’re thinking like a politician. Never miss an opportunity to shake hands or kiss a baby.”

  Marcus eyed his son proudly, thankful he’d inherited his mother’s looks and not his own. There wasn’t anything intrinsically ugly about Marcus, but the only remarkable thing he had going for him was a full head of silver-gray, perfectly groomed hair. Bill Clinton had nothing on him.

  His son was a different story. He had always been athletic and was Hollywood handsome. He would be a shoo-in to win the female vote should he decide to pursue this path.

  * * *

  It was afternoon when Betsy and Trina showed up at the Phillips farm. Dallas was glad to see Trina, but a little stunned to realize she was all grown-up.

  “Trina! In my mind, every time I thought of you, you were still a teenager, and now look at you! You’ve turned into a gorgeous young woman.”

  “Thank you,” Trina said, as she gave Dallas a hug. “It’s good to see you, but I’m so sorry for the reason.”

  Betsy was all matter-of-fact. She didn’t want their visit to set off another emotional upheaval for Dallas.

  “I’m going to put these two pies on the sideboard,” she said, and sailed past, carrying her latest handiwork.

  Dallas was comforted by noise in the house and the chatter of two people she adored. She followed Betsy into the kitchen.

  “I’m not sure how to go about this,” Dallas said. “When Mom died, we set up the food buffet-style in here and let people sit anywhere they wanted around the house and out on the front porch and lawn, but it was summer then. I think we’re going to have to keep everything inside this time.”

  Betsy eyed the layout and nodded.

  “I agree. Short of setting everything up outside and hoping it doesn’t rain, you don’t have another option. And this time of year the weather could be too chilly to enjoy sitting outside anyway.”

  Dallas’s shoulders slumped, and her chin began to tremble. “I can’t wrap my head around life without Dad. No more holidays in this house. No more anything.”

  “I know what you mean about losing the anchors to your childhood. I felt the same way when my mom passed,” Betsy said. “Of course, I was already married, and Sam and Trey were little, so I wasn’t alone. I regret that Trina never knew my parents, though. But if you think about it, you don’t have to leave this house. That’s your choice.”

  Dallas heard the rebuke and realized Betsy was right. No one was running her out of this house. It was already hers. If she abandoned it and all it stood for, that was on her. As she listened to Betsy move on to discuss arrangements for the meal, her mind wandered and she began to reminisce, remembering the first time she’d seen Trey Jakes. First grade—first day of school. He was sitting at the desk directly across the aisle from her in Mrs. Simmons’s class. He’d had a black eye, a skinned nose and a fat lip, and when she’d stared at him, he’d winked. She’d fallen in love that day and never looked at another man since. She had the occasional dinner date in the city, but they never measured up to the man she’d left behind.

  “So I think that about covers it,” Betsy said.

  Dallas blinked. She’d lost focus and had no idea what Betsy had just said.

  “I’m sorry—I was lost in thought,” Dallas said. “Forgive me.”

  Betsy waved away the apology.

  “Honey, you have a lot on your plate. Just let me and my family do this for you. All you have to do is be here, eat what you can and field condolences.”

  “Yes, I can do that, and thank you,” Dallas said.

  “We’re happy to help,” Trina said.

  “Do you have any other chairs or foldin
g chairs?” Betsy asked.

  Dallas nodded. “There are some in the basement. The day I came home the house was unlocked, and it spooked me enough that I had to go through every room and closet to make sure I was alone before I locked myself in.”

  Betsy frowned. “Oh, that’s too bad. I’m sure the sheriff’s men were responsible for that. They were still here when I left or I would certainly have known to lock it for you.”

  “No harm was done, but that’s why I know there are chairs in the basement,” Dallas said. “I’ll help you carry them up.”

  She turned on the light at the top of the stairs as the three of them went down. She pointed out the stack of folding chairs against the north wall, then got a handful of cleaning rags and they began dusting them off.

  Betsy stopped momentarily to give her back a rest and gazed around the basement at the odd assortment of things on the shelves.

  “Isn’t it strange how we accumulate so much stuff during a lifetime?”

  Dallas paused. “Yes, and when you look at it after someone’s gone, you wonder why they kept it all.”

  Trina set the last folding chair back into the stack. “Okay, these are all clean.”

  “Then let’s carry them up,” Betsy said, and led the way.

  They made two trips before they got them all up, and then left them leaning against a wall in the living room for tomorrow.

  Trina grabbed the dust mop and began cleaning up the tracks they’d left in the hall.

  Dallas started counting off the necessities for the meal.

  “I’ll put tablecloths on the tables and hot pads out for you to use as needed. Oh, and I have fancy silverware as well as Mom’s set of everyday flatware, but I know it won’t be enough.”

  “I have plastic forks and paper plates,” Betsy said. “We are not dirtying up everything you own. You have a big coffee urn. I know because Marcy used to bring it to the church now and then when we needed extra. I’ll make coffee in that and sweet tea in mine, and we’ll be good to go.”

  The mention of her mother was a reminder of how much Dallas had lost. She was all that was left of her family, and the sadness was overwhelming. She began to lose focus again, but this time Betsy saw it and spoke up.

  “Trina, I think we’re done here for the day. Dallas, I’ll be over around nine o’clock tomorrow morning, and I’ll be staying to receive the food that will come in. I let the churches know where the family meal is being served, and speaking of family, how many of your relatives are coming? Do you know?”

  Dallas shrugged. “Four for sure. Maybes...about ten more.” Then she frowned. “One of Dad’s cousins refused to come after hearing how he died. She said, because he killed himself, she wasn’t going to celebrate a life that was going straight to hell.”

  Betsy gasped. “You’re not serious!”

  “Unfortunately, I am. There’s nothing like a ‘good Christian woman’ to put everything in perspective. She’s one of those people who believe it’s their duty to judge everyone. I don’t care. Never liked her, and it’s just as well she won’t be here spreading her distaste for Dad’s supposed sin.”

  Betsy hugged her. “I’m so sorry, but don’t let it get you down, okay?”

  Dallas sighed. “I’m fine. I just want tomorrow over with.”

  Betsy started gathering up her things as Trina put up the dust mop.

  “What are you going to do when the service is over?” Betsy asked. “Are you going straight back to Charleston?”

  “No. I’m for certain staying until Dad’s name is cleared. It will give me time to figure out what I want to do with the farm. Then I guess I’ll go back.”

  Betsy’s smile was polite, but Dallas knew Betsy wanted her to stay. To her credit, she said nothing more about it.

  Betsy wiped her hands on the legs of her jeans.

  “Okay, I see Trina is finished with the floors. Call if you need anything beforehand. Oh! And don’t worry about ice for the guests. Trey is bringing several sacks over to put in the deep freeze, so make sure there’s room.”

  “I will, and thank you again,” Dallas said.

  She stood on the porch and watched them leave. She’d just started to go back into the house when she heard a gunshot, and then, moments later, a second. They sounded like they were coming from somewhere up the mountain, and while it wasn’t unusual to hear gunshots because of hunters, this was an odd time of day to go hunting. It was usually just around daybreak for deer, or after dark for coyotes and foxes that got into people’s livestock.

  She went back inside, then walked straight through the house and out the back door for a better view of the back of the property, but she saw nothing out of place, and she didn’t hear any more shots. Shrugging off her curiosity, she went to change her shoes, get a jacket and do the chores.

  * * *

  The killer was on his way home after a busy day, wondering what dinner was going to be and how his role in the memorial service tomorrow would play out. He had to admit, it was something of a kick to know that he would be mingling with all of Dick Phillips’s friends and family, knowing he was the one responsible for the man’s death.

  * * *

  Dallas didn’t think she would be able to sleep when she went to bed, but she did. The next thing she knew, the chickens were squawking and the cows were bawling, and it was still dark. It took her a few seconds to realize something was at the chicken coop trying to get in.

  She stepped into her tennis shoes and grabbed the shotgun from underneath the bed as she headed through the house in her pajamas. There was a flashlight on the table by the back door, and as she turned on the outside lights, she grabbed the flashlight, too.

  The chickens were still in distress as she ran, and she feared whatever was out there would have decimated the flock before she arrived. She swung the bright light of the flashlight into the darkness, sweeping the fenced-off area around the coop, but saw nothing. The double-barreled shotgun was resting in the crook of her arm, her finger on the trigger. All she needed was a look at what was out there and she would raise the weapon and unload. Buckshot scattered far and wide, giving her a good chance of hitting her target.

  She darted around to the back side of the coop and caught a brief glimpse of something bigger than a fox. She was thinking coyote when she raced back around the other side, hoping to get off a shot, and then all of a sudden she heard a low growl behind her. She turned and fired.

  She had a brief glimpse of a huge head, a dark coat and glowing eyes, and then it was gone. There had been no cry of pain to indicate she’d hit it, and when she ran over to where it had been standing, the size of its tracks startled her. That wasn’t a coyote. It was far too big. Maybe someone’s dog? What bothered her was that it hadn’t run away when she’d first come out. It had turned the tables on her and caught her off guard. She could still hear the growl, and she shuddered. If she hadn’t had the gun, it would have attacked.

  She swung the flashlight out into the darkness, trying to see if it was still out there, but she couldn’t see past the beam of light. The cows had stopped bawling, which told her that whatever it was, it was no longer a threat.

  She checked the coop one last time to make sure the gate was secured and the animal hadn’t tunneled its way inside, and then shone the flashlight through the window to see if the chickens were okay. Most had gone back to their nests or up onto the roost.

  After one last look out into the darkness, she headed back toward the house, and the closer she got, the faster she went. By the time she reached the porch she was running. She slammed and locked the door, and then laid the shotgun down on the floor and dropped to her knees, too shaky to stand.

  “Oh my God, oh my God.”

  She’d never had to do anything like that before, and her hands were shaking and she wanted to cry, but the danger was over, gone in the night just like the animal that had challenged her.

  Finally she made herself get up and reload the gun before taking it to her room.
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  It was just after 4:00 a.m. Her alarm was set for six, but she was too shaky to close her eyes. And then she did burst into tears. If her dad had been alive, he wouldn’t have missed that shot and the danger would be over. Instead, now she knew something was out there. Something that made being alone out here frightening after all.

  * * *

  Betsy and Trina went to bed early, knowing tomorrow was going to be a long, hard day, but the moment the house got quiet, Betsy’s thoughts went into rewind.

  There’s so much sadness in Dallas, and she doesn’t even know it, Betsy thought. She’s just like Trey. They’re only half-alive without each other. Fate had played a dirty joke on the both of them, making sure the girl who’d run away didn’t want to come home and the boy who’d stayed behind couldn’t forget her. She was sad for both of them but there was nothing she could do. They were adults, and they would either work it out or, once again, go their separate ways. When she finally fell asleep it was almost midnight, and even then her sleep was fitful.

  * * *

  Faces moving past her line of sight so fast their features blurred one into the other. Laughter morphing into screams and someone crying, someone praying. The sour smell of vomit, the burning taste of whiskey. More screams. Impact!

  * * *

  Betsy woke up gasping, her face streaked with tears, and just like that, the dream was gone. She moaned, and then rolled over and looked at the clock.

  It was almost 6:00 a.m. She wasn’t going back to bed after that horrific nightmare, so she got up and headed for the shower. She needed to be at the farm in three hours.

  Seven

  The telephone was ringing, and Dallas rolled over to answer before she opened her eyes, expecting the call to be from her boss at WOML Charleston. But when she heard Trey’s voice, she remembered. Today was about saying goodbye.

  “Hello.”

  “Hey, it’s me. I wanted you to know I’m thinking of you, and that I’m coming out with Mom this morning to take you to the service.”

  “Oh, that’s not—”

  “Yes, it is necessary,” Trey said. “You don’t go through this alone.”