The Right Kind of Fool

by Sarah Loudin Thomas

Sam didn’t notice any more plants, and Loyal kept his head down so he wouldn’t either. Because of that, he didn’t realize that they’d come up on the Hacker place until they were standing at a door built into the side of a hill, with a small peaked roof over the door. He recognized it as a springhouse. Sam made a motion like taking a drink from a cup. Loyal nodded. He was definitely thirsty again after their hot tromp through the woods. Sam smiled and held the door open, making a sweeping gesture to invite Loyal inside.

  Loyal nodded his gratitude and stepped through the doorway into the cool, dim interior. There was a trough in the back of the space, where the spring water would flow and they could keep things like milk and butter cool. And he could dip up a drink. But when he stepped closer and his eyes began to adjust, he saw that the trough was dry. He turned to see what Sam thought about it just in time to see the door shut out the light.

  Clyde appeared to be napping on the front porch when the police car pulled up to his house. But based on the way he eased his hat back on his head and gave them both the once-over, Creed guessed it wasn’t what you’d call a deep sleep.

  “Sheriff, we live out here in the wilds of Rich Mountain because we’re not partial to company. Seems like you’re starting to make it a habit to call on us with some regularity.” He stood and stretched. “I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to be able to extend my hospitality.”

  “Aw, Clyde, don’t start talking fancy. You know good and well this isn’t a social call.”

  Clyde snorted. “Is that supposed to make me glad to have you stop by?”

  “No more than I’m glad to be here.” Virgil stopped at the bottom of the steps and propped one booted foot there. “You seen Loyal?”

  “The deaf boy?”

  “That’d be the one.”

  “Nary a hide nor a hair since you took him out of here,” Clyde answered. “Don’t tell me you’ve misplaced him again?”

  Creed flexed his fingers. He didn’t like the way Clyde was talking about Loyal, yet he didn’t want to alienate the man. He pinched his tongue between his front teeth in order to keep his thoughts to himself.

  Virgil started up the steps. “Mind if I look inside? Maybe check with some other members of your family?”

  “I do mind, but since it looks like you’re coming in anyway, let’s get it over with.”

  Creed followed Virgil through the door. He kept his lips pressed together and his hands in his pockets. He’d never had a reason to dislike the Hackers, but then he’d never had a reason to like them either. They kept to themselves, and so did Creed. At least he used to.

  Clyde’s wife, Bernie, sat at the kitchen table, threading beans on twine to dry into leather britches for winter storage. She nodded but didn’t pause in her labor.

  Sam walked in through the back door. He jerked, his eyes registering surprise. His left hand went to his pants pocket, then froze. He flexed his fingers and reached into his breast pocket instead, fetching out a twig that he stuck in his mouth. “You boys planning to lodge some more young’uns with us?”

  “We’re looking for Loyal. You seen him?” Virgil asked.

  “Nope.”

  Creed couldn’t stand this any longer. “You sure?” he said, pushing forward. “Not much happens out here without your bunch knowing about it.”

  “Maybe he ain’t out here,” Sam said. Creed was close enough now to smell the sassafras twig clenched between Sam’s teeth—along with the reek of alcohol. “Seems like whenever something bad happens, townsfolk figure a Hacker must be involved.”

  “Now, everybody just simmer down,” Virgil said. “We’re not accusing you of anything, just looking for help in finding Creed’s boy. He was here not so long ago, and we figured there was a chance he might have come back.”

  Sam thumped into a chair opposite his mother and glared at them. “Too many people poking around out here. You’d think somebody dying would cut down on the traffic.”

  “Who else has been poking around?” Virgil asked. When Sam didn’t answer, he looked at Clyde. “You see anybody other than the two of us and those kids?”

  Clyde frowned at Sam. “Most everybody knows to steer clear or can’t find their way out. Even them two government boys knew to send word about wanting our land by way of Glen when he was in town. Sam’s just cranky.”

  Virgil nodded. “Speaking of those boys wanting your land, I was surprised to hear you say you were thinking about selling. Don’t suppose a deal might’ve gone wrong?”

  Clyde glanced at Sam, a thoughtful expression on his face. “They was supposed to come out and talk to me, but then one of ’em got killed before that happened. I figured that was the end of it.”

  “So, you really were going to sell your land.” Virgil hooked his thumbs in his belt.

  Clyde dropped into a chair next to Sam. “I was doing it for these hardheaded boys of mine. Time we got out of our”—he darted a look at the sheriff—“family business. It’s gettin’ more and more dangerous, and some folks”—now he speared Sam with a look—“have been mixing in products I don’t much approve of.”

  Sam snorted. “Tired of you making my decisions for me, old man.”

  Clyde shook his head and turned tired eyes on Creed. “I’d have whipped him for talking like that back in the day. But now . . .” He sighed. “Guess there comes a day when you’ve gotta let ’em make their own bed and lie in it.”

  Creed watched Sam, who watched his father. “How about you, Sam? Did you have any more dealings with Earl or Eddie?” He felt Virgil elbow him but ignored it.

  “Nope.” He didn’t take his eyes off his father, and the look was one that sent chills down Creed’s spine.

  “You sure?” Sam turned that cold stare on Creed and kept his peace.

  Virgil stepped forward. “That’ll do, Creed. We’re not here to question these folks. We’re just looking for Loyal, and it seems our time might be better spent getting out and hunting for him instead of troubling Clyde and his family.”

  Creed started to speak but snapped his mouth shut when he saw the warning in Virgil’s eyes. Virgil herded him toward the door. “If you see or hear anything of Loyal, let us know.”

  “We’ll do it,” Clyde said. “He’s a fine young fella. Wish I had a few like him.”

  Virgil almost shoved Creed out the front door and steered him toward the car. “Quit stirring up trouble and get in the car.”

  Creed did as he was told and managed to keep quiet until the Hackers’ house disappeared behind a stand of pines. “I think Sam knew something about Loyal,” he burst out. “He started to go for his pocket when he saw us, and there was fresh dirt on his pants and under his fingernails. He’d been scrabbling in the dirt, and I’ve got an awful feeling it has something to do with my son.”

  Virgil kept driving, eyes straight ahead. When Creed didn’t think he could stand it another second, the sheriff pulled over and shut off the engine. “I agree.”

  Creed sputtered, “You do?”

  “Sam was hiding something. Of course, the whole family’s hiding plenty in that barn out past the house, but it felt different today.” He thumped his hand against the steering wheel. “They know that I know what’s in the barn, and so long as they don’t cause trouble, neither will I. Plus, you heard Clyde—he was ready to close up shop. Guess that’s causing more than a little friction.” He rubbed his temples and took a deep breath. “Alright. If Clyde was gonna sell but Sam didn’t want him to . . . well, that’d give him motive to step in and try to change the situation.”

  Creed nodded. “What did he have in his pocket? And what did it have to do with Loyal?”

  “Might not be Loyal,” said Virgil. “Might be Eddie Minks.”

  “You think Sam’s the one who shot him. But why?”

  “Sam didn’t want his daddy to sell the land. But Earl and Eddie didn’t know that. Maybe Sam was the one they were supposed to meet, only no one expected two kids to show up.” Virgil shrugged. “Or maybe Sam was just feelin
g ornery. He’s not someone I’d want walking behind me if we were hunting together.”

  “And Loyal?”

  “Like I say, Sam’s jumpiness might not have anything to do with Loyal.” He laid a steady hand on Creed’s arm. “Although I can see how you’d want to think he might know something. When someone you love is missing, it’s hard to see anything else.”

  Creed wanted to shake off the hand but figured he’d made Virgil mad enough the past few weeks. He needed his friend to stick by him, and letting his emotions have free rein wasn’t going to help the situation. “I hear you,” he said, “but I still want to know what’s in the man’s pocket.”

  twenty-nine

  The panic he’d felt when first robbed of his sight by darkness had finally worn down to a tolerable level. Loyal’s eyes had adjusted to the dark interior of the springhouse, reassuring him that he hadn’t lost yet another of his senses. He could just make out the confines of what he guessed was his prison since he’d determined that the door would not open. Now he needed to breathe deep and consider his options.

  There weren’t any windows, but there were cracks where the walls met the roof and around the door that wasn’t quite a perfect fit. He wondered if he could make one of those gaps bigger? Of course, it’d have to be a lot bigger for him to slip through. He kicked at the dirt floor. Maybe he could dig his way out. Looking around, he found an old metal dipper that must have been used to scoop water back when it flowed into the stone trough.

  Boy, what he wouldn’t give for a cool drink right now.

  He felt the shape of the dipper, its rough edge and broken handle. He carried it to the door and tried using it to dig at the dirt there where the bottom edge wasn’t even with the ground. But the soil was hard-packed, had likely been walked over a thousand times. He’d need a pickax rather than an old metal dipper if he was even going to make a decent start.

  Pressing an eye to the narrow crack along the hinge edge of the door, Loyal could see the back of the Hacker house. He might even be able to holler loud enough for someone to hear him. But that probably wouldn’t do him any good. Shoot, the whole family might be in on locking him up here. Maybe they’d all been in on killing Eddie and thought Loyal might’ve figured it out.

  His stomach grumbled. Thirsty and hungry. He didn’t feel nearly as fine as he had when he started out that morning. Finding clues didn’t help much if he couldn’t tell anyone about them. He looked down at the dipper he still held in his hand. The handle probably used to have a curl in it before it broke off. Now it was just a short, jagged piece of metal. He wedged it into the crack along the door and wiggled it back and forth. Surprised, he realized the wood was rotted and crumbling. The edge of the board in the wall gave way a little bit. He wiggled it some more and managed to widen the crack into more of a gap. He could actually work his fingers into the opening. It was a long shot, but maybe if he kept at it he could work open this spot wide enough for him to break free of the springhouse.

  After what seemed like an hour, Loyal managed to open a gap big enough for maybe a cat to slink through. A skinny cat. He used his shirttail to wipe sweat from his face. Now he was even thirstier and hungrier and maybe not any closer to freedom. He dropped the dipper and sat back on his haunches to rest. Which was when he saw movement out in the yard. Falling to his belly, he held his face to the opening. He couldn’t squeeze through, but he could sure enough see . . .

  And what he saw were Sam and Glen. They weren’t far from the springhouse, and they were arguing about something.

  Loyal guessed they weren’t much worried about his hearing them. But he could surely see most of what they were saying.

  “. . . turn him loose,” Glen said, stabbing a finger in the air. “You’re going to cause more trouble.”

  “He knows where his pa’s sang patches are,” Sam shot back. At least that was what Loyal thought he said. The way he shortened his words made it tough to read his lips. “And with Creed in town, we can . . . before he knows what happened.” Though Loyal missed some words, he caught enough to get the overall meaning.

  “Ain’t you caused enough trouble?” The first word took a minute, but Loyal filled it in.

  “You mean that government man? He was asking for trouble.” Sam spit on the ground and swiped at his mouth.

  “Why’d you have to kill him?” Glen looked disgusted.

  Sam glanced toward the house, so Loyal missed the first part of what he said. “. . . cheat us. I wanted to get ’em both, but when that boy . . . think he did it.”

  “But they didn’t. People kept . . . until the sheriff figured out it was somebody else. And they’ve already . . . around here. How long you think it’ll take to figure it out?”

  Sam gave his brother a push, and Loyal missed what he said.

  Glen waved a hand toward the springhouse. “First, we turn that boy loose. Second, you take that rifle you used and head for . . . We’ll say you’re visiting . . .” Some of the details were lost to Loyal, but he saw Sam’s lip curl. “I ain’t running. Virgil White’s a fool and . . . can’t prove anything.”

  Glen ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up. “If Virgil’s a fool, he’s not the only one.”

  Loyal sucked in a breath when he saw Sam land a fist on his brother’s jaw. Glen staggered, recovered his footing, and came back at Sam swinging. They must have been making plenty of noise, because Clyde came rushing out of the house carrying a sloshing pail. He flung water on the two men, who stopped their fighting and swiped at their faces. Loyal couldn’t see if either of them said anything as they turned toward their father. He did catch Clyde’s response, though.

  “I don’t care. If you two are gonna try to kill each other, have the kindness not to do it where your mother can see. And to think I wanted to give you a better life.” Then he turned and stalked back toward the house.

  The two men glared at each other for several beats. Glen spun on his heel and stomped off toward the barn. Sam lifted a hand to his chin and moved it around like it hurt. Loyal hoped it did. He’d definitely been rooting for Glen. Sam glanced at the springhouse, then looked all around. He started toward the door, and Loyal scrambled to his feet, moving to the rear of the small space.

  He saw the crack around the door darken as Sam drew near, and he thought he saw the door move but then the light returned and nothing happened. He crept closer and lay back down to put his eye to the opening just in time to see Sam disappear around the house. He watched for a long time, hoping someone would come for him but no one did. Finally he fell asleep.

  Creed and Virgil worked their way up the mountain well clear of the Hackers’ homesite. They didn’t use a trail, just pushed through as best they could, wading through poison ivy and stinging nettle and getting tangled up in more than one patch of shin rippers. Creed didn’t care. He’d walk through fire for Loyal, and something in him said the Hackers knew more about his son than they were letting on.

  “Remember, we’re just going to watch. No busting in there to do anything crazy.” Virgil wiped the back of his sweaty neck with a bandanna. “It’s not like I have or could get a search warrant. We’re trespassing as it is. Probably a waste of time, but there was something funny . . .” His voice tapered off, and he looked back at Creed with a finger pressed to his lips. He motioned ahead and pointed.

  There was a rock outcropping on the side of the mountain that gave them a decent view of the house below. Virgil picked out a spot where he could sit behind a boulder and watch while Creed settled behind a massive oak tree that looked like it had sprouted from the stone. The sun was headed behind the mountain, leaving them in shade while illuminating the valley below. Even as worried as he was, Creed had to admire the spot Clyde and his family had carved from the mountain. This land was tough and unforgiving, but the Hackers had built a haven for themselves regardless.

  After an hour or so of waiting that felt like a lifetime to Creed, he finally saw movement below. Bernie walked out the back door, carryin
g a pan of water to her small vegetable garden. She poured the water over what might have been hills of squash, then went back inside. Creed looked across at Virgil, who shrugged and patted the air with both hands. Stay still and wait was how Creed read it. He wondered how Loyal would read the motion. It was probably real sign language that meant something else altogether. He smiled thinking about his boy. He’d ask him when they were together again.

  It was probably another twenty minutes before anyone else stirred. This time it was Sam stepping out the back door. He stretched and rolled a cigarette, then lit it, the match flaring in the gathering dusk. He strolled out into the yard in a way that looked intentionally casual to Creed. Like he was putting a show on for somebody. As he approached the slope of the hill, he flicked the cigarette butt into the dirt and ground it out with his boot. Then he disappeared below them, the outcropping blocking him from view. Creed crept forward, and Vigil hissed at him, motioning him back with his hand.

  Creed frowned at him and lay down on his belly on the curved surface of the rock. He inched forward until he could see the peak of a roof on a small outbuilding. No sign of Sam or anyone else. He sighed and made his way back to cover. Virgil stared daggers at him.

  Sam reappeared, walking with more purpose now. He headed straight for the barn and went inside. Creed nodded at Virgil and began easing around the oak tree.

  “What are you doing?” hissed Virgil.

  “I’m going to find my boy,” Creed said, turning his back on his friend and working his way down the steep slope. It was a long shot, but if Loyal was in one of those outbuildings, Creed was going to find him.

  Loyal knew what Sam wanted from him, but he acted like he didn’t understand. Sam kept asking where his father’s ginseng plants grew, but Loyal just kept shrugging and shaking his head. It hadn’t been all that hard to seem convincing since he really was groggy from sleep. The man finally cursed and stomped back out the door, securing it behind him. Loyal figured he’d come back with paper and pencil pretty soon. Even though he didn’t know what he’d do then, he’d at least bought himself a little time. And it was getting dark outside. Surely Sam wouldn’t try to hunt ginseng at night.