Leaving the tool, Creed pushed through the brush with renewed vigor and the sense that he was close to finding his boy. After another thirty minutes of hot work and losing the trail once, Creed thought he heard a . . . laugh. He crept closer, not wanting to burst upon the kids and frighten them.
He circled wide and higher up the mountain, remembering there was a rock face up ahead where farmers used to pen their sheep. If he could get to the top of it, he’d have a decent view, and what he couldn’t see he could likely hear. Easing out to the edge of the rock, he peered down through the leaves.
And there they were.
It was a pretty little camp. There was a well-built fire ring with a pile of sticks beside it. Looked like the kids had piled rocks and branches near the overhang so that it partially closed them in—offered some protection. There was even a mess kit stacked neatly by the fire, with what looked like blackberries in one of the tins. The kids were huddled together, and Michael was showing them how to tie knots with a piece of twine.
“This is a clove hitch,” Michael explained. “If we needed to make a raft, we’d use it to lash poles together.” He demonstrated, then handed the twine and a stick to Loyal. Creed felt a spurt of pride when his son got it on the first try. “Now you,” Michael said to Rebecca. Loyal handed the materials over, and after a couple of tries, she got it, too. Then Loyal made a motion Creed couldn’t see. Michael picked up a stick and scratched in the dirt. Loyal nodded as he made shapes with one hand. Creed shifted to see better and realized Loyal was spelling something. He saw an l and an o but didn’t know the others. As the Westfall kids imitated Loyal’s motions, Creed saw he was teaching them to spell c-l-o-v-e.
Slipping back from his perch, Creed sat against a tree. The kids were fine. He guessed Loyal had remembered his story about the sheep pen and they’d had sense enough to bring supplies with them. Could be Hadden was wrong about Michael not taking his Scout training seriously. One of the three knew how to make camp. And as much as Creed wished it were Loyal, he knew he hadn’t taught him such and who else would have?
He eased forward and peered down at the kids again. Loyal was showing them more signs, and they were laughing. He’d never seen Loyal look so . . . free. He sighed. It was almost a shame to spoil their fun, but he guessed he’d better slip down there and . . .
Creed frowned. Why had he better? They were probably safer out here than in town. Earl and his interpreter couldn’t give Loyal any trouble. And until they were sure who’d shot Eddie Minks and why, it might be better if the kids simply weren’t around. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like leaving the kids right where they were was the best plan. The trick would be making sure no one else found them in the meantime. Delphy, Virgil, Hadden—they would all want the kids brought in. He was going to have to be creative in keeping the searchers away from this part of the mountain.
Decision made, Creed melded into the trees and headed for the trail he knew would lead him back to the river. With luck, he’d head off Virgil and be able to convince him to hunt elsewhere.
“Tell me again why you think the kids followed the river?” Virgil had driven out to the Westfall place with Bud. “Thought I saw some sort of trail out there back of the barn.”
“I followed it. Must’ve been some deer. I saw a few hoofprints that just sort of petered out in the woods.” He pointed toward the river. “With that little girl along, I feel like they’d stick with the easier path along the river. Plus, it’s cooler and they could get water. I don’t think any of ’em know the mountain much.”
Creed tried to relax as he watched Hadden stalk toward them. “Shouldn’t there be more men? Don’t tell me you three are the only ones planning to search for my children.”
Virgil ran a weary hand over his head. “Yeah, we’re getting more folks out to walk the river. Creed here’s been looking up on the mountain and he’s pretty confident they took the river trail.”
Hadden crossed his arms and drummed fingers against his coat sleeve. A bright August day and the man was wearing a coat. “They couldn’t have gotten far. It’s not as if they have any wilderness skills.”
“That’s what I’m hoping,” Virgil said. “Were you planning to come with us?”
Hadden pursed his lips. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Oh, I was thinking it might be good for you to stay here in case they come back this way. Maybe for food or just because they realize how foolish running away is.”
Hadden looked suspicious, but he went along. “Fine. Keep me apprised of any new developments.” Then he turned on his heel and returned to the house.
Virgil watched him go until he disappeared through a side door. “Couldn’t think of much worse than having him looking over our shoulders the whole time. Full of himself, ain’t he?”
“Full of something,” muttered Bud. The comment broke a tension Creed hadn’t noticed until that moment. They all laughed a little and headed down to the river to meet the rest of the search party.
Was it wrong that he was having a really good time? Loyal popped some more berries in his mouth while they roasted the last two potatoes. Michael had rigged a fishing line and seemed confident they’d have fresh fish for breakfast. And even if they didn’t, Rebecca was even now up on the bald picking apples. Those plus the berries and some chestnuts might not be meat and potatoes, but at least they wouldn’t starve.
Loyal grinned. Not only did Rebecca understand him better than most, she and Michael were starting to learn sign language. While he’d never much liked Michael before, there was something about being out here in the woods that made him mind the older boy less. It was like he’d stopped trying to show off. Except now, for the first time, Loyal thought he had something to show off about. He really did know a lot about camping—he could fish, tie all kinds of knots, build a fire, make a shelter, and who knew what else? They were teaching each other, and for maybe the first time in his life Loyal felt like he fit in with hearing people.
Michael came over and settled beside Loyal. He hooked an arm around one knee and stared at the fire he’d let die down to little more than embers—just right for roasting potatoes and the handful of chestnuts he’d dropped at the edge of the fire ring.
“Guess Rebecca told you about that day by the river.” He turned toward Loyal but didn’t meet his eyes.
Loyal held up a hand and wobbled it back and forth to indicate sort of. Surprisingly, Michael understood.
“I shot that man,” Michael said. His eyes landed on Loyal’s briefly, then darted away. “Did you know that?”
Loyal shook his head no.
“I didn’t mean to. Didn’t want to. Rebecca and I went out there to shoot Dad’s pistol. She didn’t want to come, but I talked her into it.” He turned his gaze to the dying fire. “Wish I’d listened to her now.”
Loyal had to lean forward to see Michael’s lips. He was less surprised by the fact that Michael had shot a man as by the fact that he was admitting it. He touched the boy’s arm and, when he turned, made the sign for why?
“Are you asking me why I shot him?”
Loyal nodded, again surprised that Michael had understood.
“He was making fun of Rebecca.” He made eye contact. “You know she talks funny, right?”
Loyal shrugged.
“Yeah, I guess it wouldn’t matter to you. But people—especially other kids—give her a hard time about it.” He lowered his head and must’ve said something more.
Loyal tapped him on the arm and pointed at his own mouth.
“Right. I said it seemed wrong that a grown-up would act like that. I got mad.” He hung his head, then looked up. “The gun was in my hand, and next thing I knew I’d shot him.” He shook his head. “I guess I shot him twice but I don’t really remember.”
Loyal supposed that sometimes it was just as well he didn’t speak. He sure didn’t know what he’d say if he did. Rebecca appeared with her skirt full of apples. She took in their serious expressions and came
to join them after piling her bounty in the shade. “Whatcha talking about?” she asked.
“I told Loyal about the day at the river. How I shot that man.” Loyal could see that Michael’s eyes were wet, but at the same time he seemed . . . peaceful. Loyal was so used to him being sullen and angry, the change was startling.
“Do you think the sheriff knows?” Rebecca asked.
Loyal held his hands out, palms up, and seesawed them back and forth.
“Maybe, right?” She imitated the motion. “Except Otto said he did it. Which is a lie.” She furrowed her brow. “Why would he do that?”
“He thought Dad was going to get blamed for it,” Michael said. “You know he’d do anything for Dad.”
Rebecca bit her lip. “So maybe we should just let him take the blame? I mean if he’s willing . . .”
Michael chewed his lip. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess that would be the smart thing to do.”
Loyal remembered he still had Rebecca’s comb. He pulled it from his small stack of belongings and pressed it into her hand.
“Where did you find it?” she asked. He made the sign for dead man. She furrowed her brow, then her face quickly cleared. “I lost it that day. You found it where the dead man was.” Loyal nodded.
Michael took the comb from her and held it up to the light. “It’s evidence, then. If the sheriff had found it, he’d know we were there.” He handed it back to Rebecca without another word.
Loyal watched as different emotions played across the older boy’s face. He was pretty sure letting Otto take the blame was wrong, and from what he could see in the set of Michael’s jaw, his new friend might be thinking the same thing.
nineteen
Delphy was weary of being alone with her own thoughts. The notion that she might have played a role in Creed drifting out of her life—not to mention Loyal’s—was weighing her down. She alternated between anger, sorrow, and frustration. She hadn’t had this many emotions bottled up inside her since she’d been pregnant. And this time she wouldn’t even have a babe to show for all the aggravation.
Unable to focus on chores, reading, or much of anything else, she jumped when she heard a sound at the front door. She rushed to fling it open and thought for half a moment that she’d conjured Creed Raines. But no, the worn-out-looking man with sagging shoulders and disheveled hair had brought himself to her door. Their door.
“Where is he?” She peered past Creed, hope fading as quickly as it had sprung up.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
Her jaw tightened. “It’s your house, isn’t it?”
“It was yours first.” Well. That was true enough. He stepped inside and stood there, looking ill at ease. “Mind if I sit?” She didn’t speak, just motioned toward the front room with its faded sofa and side chairs flanking the fireplace.
An unguarded look passed over his face. It might have been hope or a sweet memory, but he gave himself a shake and sat at the end of the sofa. “I want to tell you something, but you have to trust me.” The words were not what she’d been expecting.
She moved closer but didn’t sit, feeling too tense to relax. “Trust is a tender thing right now.”
He nodded. “I know that. I’m trying to do what’s best for our son and I’m hoping you’ll go along with me.”
She folded her hands under her chin and closed her eyes, wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt but fearing he would disappoint her again. “What if I don’t agree with what you think is best?” She opened her eyes and bit her lip.
Creed rubbed his palms on his britches legs. “I guess you’ll do what you think is best then.” He looked deep into her eyes. “And I won’t stop you.”
She sank into one of the chairs. Maybe she could trust him. “I’m listening.”
“I know where the kids are.” She gasped and leaned forward, but he held up a hand. “I’m acting like I don’t know. I’m keeping it from Virgil.”
Her brow furrowed. “Why would you do that? Virgil’s a good man. On the side of the law.”
Creed nodded. “That’s right. And he’d bring those kids in, because that’s the right thing to do from the law’s perspective.” He drew in a deep breath as though it would give him the words he needed to convince her. “But I’m trying to do what’s right from a father’s perspective.”
She dug her nails into her palms to keep from crying. These were the sorts of words she’d longed to hear from him. “A father is just what Loyal needs right now. I’m afraid I’ve . . .” Her voice faded away. How could she say what she’d been thinking?
Creed didn’t press her. “It’s what he’s always needed. I’m just sorry he’s had to go—” Creed choked, then cleared his throat—“to go without.”
Delphy steepled her fingers and pressed them to her lips, fighting for control. “Are you going to tell me where he is?”
“He’s up on Rich Mountain with Hadden Westfall’s kids. They’re all tangled up in this shooting business.” He shook his head. “I just can’t help feeling like I need to figure this out before Virgil questions them.”
“Are they safe?” She could feel her defenses falling and found she was relieved to let them.
Creed’s lips quirked. “Hadden talks like that boy of his is no-account, but he’s shown Loyal and his sister how to set up a pretty little camp.” He laughed. “And our boy is teaching ’em how to talk with their hands. Shoot, I’d say they’re better than safe.” He reached for her hand. “They’re enjoying themselves.”
Delphy took in a great, shuddering breath and let it out, feeling a piece of her mother’s heart yield. “It’s no small thing for me, but I think, maybe, I can trust you in this.” She laced her fingers with his, feeling daring as she did so. “Don’t make me regret it.”
Creed lifted her fingers to his lips and held them there. “I won’t,” he said. Then he drew her, slowly and surely, into his arms. And she went. Gladly.
The next morning, Creed rose early while Delphy slept on. Though she hadn’t invited him to her bed, he’d seen a softening that made him think he had a chance to win his way back into her heart. This half-life they’d been living was no longer enough for him and he had the notion it wasn’t enough for Delphy, either. He wanted his family back—in every possible way. And he figured the first step toward that was to put this murder behind them. Of course, to do that, they needed some answers. And he aimed to get them.
The cool of the morning let him make good time up the mountain to check on the kids. He approached stealthily. Michael was at the creek with several fish on a stringer. Creed shook his head. That boy’s father had made some wrong assumptions about his son. Maybe that could be put to rights, too. Up the hill, Loyal and the girl still slumbered on either side of their now-cold campfire. He watched longer than he needed to, enjoying seeing his son so at ease in these woods he loved. Finally, the sun rising, he eased back down the mountain and set off for town at a lope.
Virgil was already in his office. “You ready to lead the search party?” he asked. “I need to get up to Elkins to see about Otto’s trial. Might have to delay it until we find those kids.”
Creed steeled himself. He was about to take a risk. Virgil was a good friend, but what he was going to ask . . . having been the sheriff, he knew he was putting Virgil in a tough spot. “What if I told you I know where the kids are?”
Virgil jerked his head up from the file folder he was sifting through. “I’d want to know why they aren’t standing here beside you.”
Creed’s mouth felt as dry as plowed ground in August. “I might be reluctant for just anyone to know they’d been found.”
“Just anyone like who? No. Wait. Like a particular fella who’s been pushing us hard to interview your son?”
Creed nodded, unable to work up enough spit to speak. Virgil was either about to go along with him or about to arrest him and throw away the key.
The sheriff let out a long-suffering sigh. “You’re worse than a woman to wear a man down
.” He tilted back in his chair until it groaned. “Tell me what you’ve cooked up.”
The smell of fish cooking over an open fire woke Loyal. He stretched and rubbed his face. He was getting used to sleeping on the ground. His muscles didn’t ache as much, and he’d slept without dreaming.
Michael squatted by a small fire. He had fish skewered on sticks stuck in the ground so that they leaned over the flames. Although he stared intently at their breakfast, Loyal had the notion the older boy was thinking of something else.
Rebecca stirred and stretched, finger-combing her hair and tying it back with a wilted ribbon. She smiled at him, and he suspected she was enjoying herself almost as much as he was. He glanced back at Michael and frowned. Something was troubling his new friend. He moved closer and, when Michael looked up, made the sign for what?
Michael shook his head. “I’ve been thinking.” Rebecca joined them, exclaiming over the fish. Michael handed her one, and she peeled the skin back to nibble at its flaky flesh. Loyal took one and did the same. Even without salt, it was still really good.
What thinking? he signed, juggling his breakfast as he did so.
Michael moved away and sat on a rock. He didn’t eat. “It’s not right to let Otto take the blame for what I did.”
Loyal nodded. He agreed, but he sure could understand why Michael wouldn’t want to tell the truth.
“I’m thinking I should tell Sheriff White what happened.”
Rebecca must have cried out, because Michael went to her and patted her like he wasn’t used to doing it. “It’ll be alright,” he said. “I’m just a kid so probably they’ll go easy on me. Plus, it was an accident.” He pulled his shoulders back and stuck out his chin. “Maybe I’ll only have to serve a little bit of time in jail.”
Tears ran down Rebecca’s face and she abandoned her breakfast. “But you don’t have to,” she said.
The Right Kind of Fool Page 14