From Pharaoh's Hand

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From Pharaoh's Hand Page 11

by Cynthia Green

“I can’t see the rest of the group anymore. We should catch up.” Lindsey spoke, interrupting Chris’s communion.

  “Sorry. I just got caught up in it all. They’re not far ahead.”

  Chris and Lindsey began to paddle a bit faster, and soon they rounded the curve. Before them lay a fork in the river.

  “Which one should we take?” asked Lindsey.

  “Hm. There’s supposed to be a spot to swim somewhere up here. Can’t remember if he said right or left. Doubt if it matters. They probably merge back into the same vein eventually. We might have to double back if it’s the wrong one, though.”

  “Well, which do you think?”

  “Right. Let’s take the right one.”

  “You’re the boss,” she laughed, and they paddled on. Several minutes passed, but there was no sign of the rest of the group. The brush along the riverbanks was steadily growing denser and wilder.

  “Must’ve been the other fork.”

  “Probably so,” answered Chris. “Don’t worry. They’ll wait for us at the lunch spot.”

  “You two lost?” spoke a voice from the riverbank.

  It startled Lindsey, who having gotten used to the solitude, jumped and nearly tipped the canoe. Chris noticed the word “catfish” spray painted in red letters across the side of the canoe. Otherwise, it was identical to the craft they were navigating. Catfish was sitting on his overturned canoe eating a fresh tomato. The juice was running down his chin and staining his yellowed t-shirt. He had been expecting Poke to meet him any minute and was slightly irritated that these greenhorns had missed the fork that took them away from his property.

  “Well, I wouldn’t say ‘lost’, exactly. I think we took the wrong fork.”

  “Lookin’ for the swimmin’ hole?”

  “Yeah. We’re supposed to stop there for lunch.”

  “Shoulda took a left.” Catfish took another bite and stared at the girl in the front of the canoe.

  “Purty day for a float down the Buffalo, ain’t it.”

  “Couldn’t have asked for better weather. What do you suggest we do?”

  “Yer closer to it by turnin’ around and headin’ back to the fork the way youn’s came. Besides, it’s pretty rough past this point.”

  “Okay. We’ll do that. Thanks for your help mister.” Once they had gotten out of Catfish’s hearing range, they discussed the interchange.

  “Well, that was so nice of him to help us out like that,” Chris began.

  “Yeah, but he sure scared me out of my wits. I about jumped ship.”

  “That was kinda funny. He was rough lookin’, but nice.”

  “Can’t judge a book by its cover,” Lindsey replied as they finally reached the correct fork in the river and caught up to the group.

  “Who was them younguns I passed?” Poke asked when he arrived moments later.

  “Stupid tourists don’t listen. Got one canoe in every bunch, I reckon.”

  Back at the trailer, Beth Merriweather was sitting under the shade tree and shelling a bushel of purple hull peas. Now and then she would stop to wipe the sweat from her forehead with her elbow and wish for a gentle breeze to cool her weary frame. Catfish had warned her to be finished by the time he returned. Or else.

  Chapter 18

  Hope Flies

  Beth shelled the last of the peas and ran her hands through them, tossing out any dried or rotten ones. She took the enamel dishpan into the trailer, washed them carefully with a jug of distilled water from the fridge, and put them into freezer bags. Her back ached from sitting on the straight-backed chair. She let out a heavy sigh and swatted at a fly flitting around her head. She longed for a long, hot shower. Catfish promised her the new house would have indoor plumbing, but had conceded in the meantime for her to bathe in the river now that the weather was warm. She had learned not only to look out for snakes, but to listen for the tell-tale rattle as well. She had learned so much about life and what it took to survive it, and these times along the riverbanks had become her solace. The cool river water felt great to her swollen feet. Catfish had gone to check the crops, but she knew that he watched her every move. She knew by now what a ruthless man he could be. Her fear of him made her irrational. Catfish was everywhere, knew everything, and could appear at a moment’s notice to drag her back by the hair of her head.

  The water was crisp and soothing, sparkling as the sun glinted off its surface. The daylilies along the riverbed had bloomed, and the banks were aflame in orange and red. Butterflies flitted from stalk to stalk as did honey bees gathering their precious nectar. If Beth had not known better, she would have sworn this was Eden. She stepped out further and felt her body being buoyed effortlessly by the water. It felt good to float, to feel free.

  After swimming and cooling off a bit, she made her way to shore, grabbed the soap and headed back to waist deep water. Naked as the day she was born, Beth began to take inventory of her changing body as she slid the soap over it. Her breasts were heavy and round. Her navel was protruding, and she had stretch marks on the sides of her belly. Her legs were unshaven, and her feet did not resemble her own. She barely recognized her own body. Her hands were stained a deep purple from the peas; her fingers were cracked, her palms calloused, and there was nothing left of her fingernails but jagged stumps. She rubbed her fingers together, furiously lathering, trying to lose the purple stain, but nothing she did could remove it, and so she gave up and lathered her hair.

  She felt the baby kicking inside her as the cold water ran down her body. She wondered if it was a boy or girl. She wondered what she would name it. She imagined that she would at some point return home with the baby, but that was as far as her imagination took her. Thoughts of her mom standing in the door with a disapproving frown, thoughts of her father angrily shouting, thoughts of Chris acting like he didn’t know her -- all these thoughts crowded into her mind at once. And she knew that leaving Perry County would only add to the heartache she had caused everyone. If only she had made a different choice that night. Would things have been different if she had actually made it to that clinic? Could she have faced her parents then?

  If only she had known then what she knew now.

  Beth leaned her head back into the water to rinse out the soap. The sky overhead was cloudy, as if it were trying to muster up a shower. Bath time was over. Just her luck, she thought. And then spoke aloud, “Why me, God? Why me?” But no answer came. She stood up in the water and cradled her swollen belly. At that moment, a delicate luna moth came to rest on her navel. It batted its fragile wings for a few seconds as if pondering its next move. Beth caught her breath and smiled. Then it flitted softly up into the air and hovered over her as if to say in that quiet moment, “I am here, child. Look up, look up!”

  ` PART TWO

  Chapter 19

  Between a Rock and a Hard Place

  July 2005

  The summer night song of crickets and frogs intermingled with the bellowing laughter coming from within the cabin. Sheriff Rus Wright eased the squad car to the edge of Hurricane Creek Road and cut the lights. He wanted no sirens or flashing lights tonight to warn the group of his arrival. He was acting on an anonymous tip that not only was illegal gambling going on inside the cabin, but the sale of illegal narcotics and marijuana.

  The sheriff had an inkling that the information came from a disgruntled party that had lost a great sum of money in last week’s game, but he couldn’t prove this. The call came in over the TIPS line. The caller would not have to reveal his name. He would hate to have to bust these good old boys for gambling and possession, but this was an election year. A good haul would boost his standings in the race. He would hate it even more if he lost the election.

  At the time that Sheriff Wright was voted into office nearly eight years ago, he was the youngest sheriff in the state. This distinction had drawn much criticism and doubt from his constituents. He had fought a hard battle to gain their trust, and he often felt as if he were proving himself to the public on a daily
basis. Every arrest, every public appearance, every private appearance was under their watchful eyes. The last election had been closer than he cared to admit, yet he had overcome his opposition. He had put everything into this career. He would be careful to ensure that his integrity was in no way compromised tonight.

  The sheriff wiped his brow with a white handkerchief as he made his way up the road toward the cabin. He was sweating profusely--not from being nervous, but from the overwhelming humidity. It was just after dark, and the digital read out in his car still read 93 degrees. It was mid-July, and there was not even a breeze stirring despite the forecast for rain overnight. The laughter wafted down to the road. There was a party going on inside, he was sure. But was there evidence of more corrupt behavior? He was about to find out. He raised his arm and waved the hanky to the deputies that had just arrived and parked behind him. There were five of them--all wearing pullover polos with Perry County Sheriff Department badges visible. They all were armed, but were under strict orders to hold their fire unless fired upon first. A loss of human life would surely hurt his chances of being re-elected. That was the last thing he wanted. He liked Old Poke and most of his fishing buddies. He halfway hoped there would be no drugs to find, and that he could just arrest them on the gambling charge.

  If they found drugs, it would mean that there were others involved. Was it possible that the big drug cartels of Chicago and other places had finally reached the wilderness of Middle Tennessee? It was a sobering thought. He prayed the informant was wrong. Sheriff Wright had been in law enforcement all of his adult life. And although he was only in his late thirties now, his instincts were usually correct. The prickling up the back of his neck told him it was always better to err on the side of caution.

  The search warrant provided a no-knock clause if there was danger present or a chance of losing valuable evidence, but Sheriff Wright had decided on a quick knock, announce, and enter approach. Two officers remained with the sheriff while the other two went to the back of the cabin. All had their weapons drawn and ready to fire if necessary.

  “Sheriff’s Department. Open up!” Sheriff Wright yelled after a quick knock. He immediately kicked in the door with his gun drawn.

  “Everyone down. Now!”

  The five men inside the cabin had no time to respond. The other officers had entered from the rear and were immediately on the scene. They had trained their weapons on the five horror stricken men cowering in fear with their hands in the air.

  “No one move. I have a search warrant for this property, Poke.”

  “Search warrant? For what?”

  “Boys, cuff the other men and take them outside. Be sure you read them their rights.”

  “Wait just a minute, now, Rus. We ain’t doin’ nothin’ wrong here.”

  “Illegal poker game going on tonight. And if my sources are correct, a little bit of drug dealing on the side.”

  “Drug dealing? What? We just good ol’ boys out to have a lil fun...”

  “Sorry, Poke. But we have to search. You’re going to stay here in the house with us, so you can verify we aren’t planting any evidence. And you better pray that none turns up. This is a serious offense. You know how I feel about drugs in my county. You know how Judge Fields feels about it.”

  Just then one of the deputies appeared with an empty baggy in his hand.

  “Cocaine residue, boss.”

  “I see. Anything else?”

  “Oh yeah. Found about 10 baggies of marijuana in the bathroom. Half of them emptied into the toilet, and few rocks of crack.”

  “Then my sources weren’t just blowing smoke up my--”

  “Boss, we found about fifteen thousand cash stashed in the living room. Looks like an awful lot of money for a regular poker game.”

  “Tag that as evidence too. Looks like we’re going into town, Poke. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in court. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to represent you before any questioning. You can decide at any time to exercise these rights and not answer any questions. Having these rights in mind, do you wish to talk to me?”

  Poke hung his head in silence. His mind was racing. Who was the source? Probably old Vern. He was still sore over losing that seven hundred a couple of weeks back. Could have been Vern’s wife. She was one of those Bible-toting fanatics like Inetha. His thoughts turned to Catfish. It was his fault they were all in this predicament. It was his fifteen thousand dollars stashed in the living room. Why had he ever let Catfish talk him into stashing the money here? And where was he anyway? Come to think of it, Poke had not seen Catfish in several days. He was probably running a load back down to Memphis. Well, he wasn’t going to take the rap for this one. The gambling charge was plenty.

  “Ain’t none of that dope mine, Rus. The boys brought all that in.”

  “You think the judge and jury’s gonna buy that, Poke? You’re looking at hard time for dealing. This ain’t no misfeasor you’re playing around with now. Maybe the powers that be would be willing to cut you a deal for less time if you was to come up with a few names, sources...producers.”

  “You want to get me killed? I ain’t no snitch, Sheriff.”

  “Looks to me like you don’t have much choice, now, do you?”

  “Hey boss, look what I found back in the bedroom.” The young officer was holding up two generic videotapes with handwritten titles. “Hot Teen Babes. Babes in the Woods. Looks like old Poke here is into child pornography too.”

  Sweat was rolling off Poke’s brow profusely. His eyes widened in horror. You could be a drug dealer in prison. You could be a murderer. But child molesters, perceived or otherwise, were as good as dead in prison. He had never molested any young girls. He had fantasized about it. But he had never acted upon his urges. And now he was facing child pornography charges on top of gambling and drug charges. Poke saw the rest of his life turning to vapor and fading like morning mist rising off the riverbanks.

  “Now hold on. Hold on, jus’ a minute. I can explain.”

  “Oh you have plenty of ‘splainin’ to do, Lucy. Let’s get finished up here boys. It’s going to be a long night at the station.” He shook his head in disgust. It appeared that more than just the drug trade had managed to infiltrate the sleepy hills of Perry County. He wondered if even he could protect the county’s children from the disgusting evil that had reared its ugly head tonight.

  The three-car caravan made its way back into the town of Linden without incident. The town was quiet as they drove through except for a few teenagers gathered at the old Johnson Controls parking lot. The teens looked up at the three squad cars passing through. It was the entire fleet of Perry County, and it was highly unusual that they were all together. Usually at least one deputy was patrolling the nearby town of Lobelville which was also part of Perry County. There had to be something extraordinary taking place for all three to be out tonight. All three cars appeared to have passengers. As they passed under the street lamps, one of the teens recognized a face.

  “Hey, ain’t that Old Poke. Wonder what they got him for?”

  “Aw probably just a bunch of old drunks got in a fist fight down at the chert pit. Happens from time to time. So my daddy says.”

  “Your daddy ought ta know...bet he was in there with ‘em,” one of the girls replied.

  “Ha. Ha. That’s so funny,” the young boy said as he dropped his cigarette to the pavement and started to chase the girl across the lot.

  Poke thought he recognized Pete’s eldest boy in the crowd, but he wasn’t sure. I reckon there’s gonna be hell to pay for all of us. Especially Catfish when I lay it all out for the sheriff. I ain’t gonna spend the rest of my life in no cell at Turney Center...or worse. No way. If I’m going down, he’s going down too. Can’t help it if he does have a baby on the way. That was probably all wishful thinkin’ anyhow. Inetha’d be better off without him. He wiped the sweat from his eyes with his cuff
ed hands. She got kinfolk over Tullahoma way that’ll see about her. Crazy old coot oughta had more sense’n running drugs to start with. Now draggin’ us off to prison with him. And they think they are gonna stick me with child pornography charges? Ain’t no way...Yep, I’ll make a deal with the devil himself if it’ll get me out of this jam.

  Chapter 20

  Rattling the Chains

  The fear that gripped Beth’s heart kept her bound. Every time she tried to plan an escape her thoughts turned to poor Inetha lying in the field. Did Inetha die a slow, painful death? Visions of Inetha being butchered with the long knife that Catfish cleaned his nails with caused her to tremble violently at night. And even though Catfish had long since quit tying her to the bed, she was bound just the same as if the actual cords were there. Maybe Catfish had grown weary of untying her every hour during the night for her to go to the bathroom. Or maybe he had the crazy notion that Beth was actually growing fond of living here with him. She knew had no choice but to comply. She and her baby would die otherwise.

  He had not acted upon his desires to consummate the relationship. Something had stopped him from putting his hands on her. Beth wondered if he had started feeling sorry for her. He had said that when the time came he would get Mama Lorraine to help with the birthing. He was worried that she might have trouble, being so young and small. But Mama Lorraine would know what to do. He had wondered aloud when the baby was due, but Beth had feigned ignorance about the time of conception. She had been with him six months now. If she had gotten pregnant in January, they would only have a couple more months, he said. September, maybe. Maybe late August. Hard to say. It was time they got the house in order.

  “Liza. I’m a thinkin’ it’s ‘bout time to get that other bedroom cleaned out, so little P.Jays will have somewheres to light. Don’tcha reckon?”

  “P.Jays?”

  “Phineas, Jr. Kinda like the name myself.”

 

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