“And then my niece ended up with child and when Deem married someone else, I made up my mind then and there to kill that son of a bitch. There was nothing I wanted more than to put my hands around his neck and squeeze the life out of him. I had nothing left to lose and nothing worth living for anyway.”
“So why didn’t you?” Carol asked.
Ulredge Mallon rose and walked across the room. “The day my nephew was born, I all of a sudden remembered. I was like Saul struck blind on the roadside. I remembered that every ending brings a new beginning and that life brings hope. I made up my mind that Matt wouldn’t live with the wreckage of hate. He wouldn’t live with the memories and regrets of all those things he should’ve done and didn’t do.” Mallon turned to Hick and Carol. “That’s why I started this church. For them that want to forget what they done. For them that are looking for redemption.”
Hick snorted. “Redemption. And you think starting some backwoods church can fix what you’ve done? You think because you’ve somehow found God, it cancels out what you did in Alabama?”
Hick surprised himself with the harshness of his tone, but Ulredge Mallon just shook his head. “There ain’t no undoing what I done. I can’t take it back. Justice is gonna roll down on me like water one day, and I’ll welcome it when it does. God’s punishment can’t be no worse than the punishment I heap on my own head every day.”
Hick narrowed his eyes. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
“It don’t matter no more anyway,” Mallon said. “What happens to me ain’t important. But that boy … I love him, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure he learns a better way of living than folks around here try and tell him. I’ll take whatever life throws my way because if I can help that boy understand that life ain’t about hate then I’ll be well pleased.” Mallon’s eyes strayed to the suit coat. “Men were born for better things.”
“From what I saw at the funeral, I have a hard time believing Matt doesn’t hate his father,” Carol said.
Mallon shook his head. “Matt don’t hate Deem. He wanted to know him. But Deem wouldn’t own him.”
“You sure you didn’t give that boy just enough information to believe he could get Deem in trouble enough to put him away for life?” Carol asked.
Mallon stared at her. “It would take a mighty hateful man to kill an innocent person just to get vengeance on someone else. Lavenia told Matt time and again how good that Catholic preacher was to his brothers and sisters. He wouldn’t have done what you say. Matt ain’t like that.”
“You know we’ll have to talk to him,” Hick said.
Mallon sighed. “I reckoned as much. He cuts timber for his granddad, Clyde Noble, way out past Eagle’s knob.” He paused. “You best watch your step out there in them hills.”
14
Thursday, September 8, 1955
Hick took a sack containing two pimento cheese sandwiches from the waitress and grabbed two bottles of Coke. Waiting in the front seat of the car, Carol grabbed the bag and unwrapped the waxed paper from her sandwich.
“I don’t understand any of this, Hillbilly,” she said through a mouthful of pimento. “There was someone in town who knew about the Stephenson case. But I agree with that old codger, Brother Mallon. It would take someone pretty evil to manipulate their own father into killing an innocent man just to get dear old dad thrown into prison. And then, to sneak into the jail and commit patricide? Slim doesn’t seem the type.”
“Slim?” Hick asked, then shook his head. He put the car in gear and followed the directions given by Ulredge Mallon. He glanced at Carol who was busily chewing and said, “But did Matt mention it to someone else? That’s what we need to find out. Who does Matt have contact with that might want Father Grant, Deem Skaggs, or even Ernest Kelly out of the way. There’s still a lot we don’t know.”
“And we’re running out of time. My office is going to start to wonder why I’m not coming back.”
Clouds hung low and close to the ground as Hick and Carol wound their way up a narrow, dirt road. At the top of Eagle’s Knob a gray, clapboard house, some moldy outbuildings, and various trash-littered animal pens marred the clear-cut landscape like a great wart. An old, hunched woman stood scrubbing clothes on a washboard and paused at the sight of the car. Laying the fabric over the side of the tub, she dried her hands on her apron and approached.
“Good afternoon and how do you do? Are y’all lost?”
“No, ma’am,” Hick said. “Is this the Noble place?”
“Yes, sir. I’m Corleda Noble and my husband, Clyde, be in the house. What can I do for you?”
“We’re looking for Matt Noble,” Hick said. “Is he around?”
She shook her head. “He comes around mostly for meals but spends his days out in the woods logging.”
“Woman, who you gabbing at?” a voice called from inside. The screen door opened and a man stepped onto the porch.
“Why, I don’t rightly know,” she replied. “These folks is looking for Matt.”
The man limped off the porch. His thumb and three fingers were gone from his right hand and he was missing an eye. A jagged scar lined the right side of his face from the forehead all the way to his chin. He was lean and bent, like a man who had toiled at hard labor for many years. He squinted as he studied Hick and Carol. “Who are you? And why you lookin’ fer Matt?”
“I’m Sheriff Hick Blackburn from Cherokee Crossing, and this is Attorney Carol Quinn from the Justice Department in Washington, DC. We’d like to ask Matt a few questions.”
“Questions? About what? He ain’t got hisself into trouble has he?”
“No. Nothing like that.” Hick hesitated. “We’d like to talk to him about Deem Skaggs.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “That be a name we don’t speak here.” He suddenly seemed older and even more frail. He bent his head. “That old hypocrite ruined my girl. She was my baby, and he ruined her.” His body stiffened and he looked up. “Ya’ll get. Get off my land.”
“Mr. Noble, we’re not here to defend Skaggs,” Carol said quickly. “I’m sure he was exactly the bastard you say he was.”
Clyde Noble fixed his good eye on Carol. “What you mean was?”
“You mean to say Matt didn’t tell you?” Hick asked.
“Tell me what?”
“Nicodemus Skaggs is dead.”
Clyde Noble’s gaze went from Carol to Hick and he had the bewildered look of a man who had just been sucker punched. He said nothing, but turned and slowly limped back into the cabin. His wife watched him close the door.
“My poor old man.” She shook her head. “When Ginny died, his world fell in. She was the only child God seen fit to give us, and my man set great store by her. Maybe too great.” She sighed and then turned her attention back to the wash, scrubbing a tattered and yellowed shirt across the ribs of the washboard. A tear glistened in her eye and she sniffed. “Ginny was the only thing we ever treasured. In this place she shined like a gold piece against the mud. I reckon God didn’t take too kindly to our idolatry, but no one on earth could blame us.” She stopped scrubbing the shirt and closed her eyes. “So what do you need with Matt?”
“We’re curious if Matt has seen or talked to Nicodemus recently.” Hick lit a cigarette and spit a bit of tobacco from his lip. “Just retracing Skaggs’s steps.”
Corleda Noble shook her head. “Matt avoided him with the same attention that Nicodemus avoided Matt. They was like two worlds bent on never colliding.”
“Would Matt have been the type of person to try and get Nicodemus in trouble? Maybe for revenge?” Carol asked.
Corleda Noble lifted the yellowed shirt from the washtub and turned the handle of the roller to wring it out. “Revenge? Matt’s not vengeful. He’s an odd boy … a mixed-up boy. But he’s not small minded and et up with hate.”
“What do you mean by mixed-up?” Hick asked.
The old woman shuffled toward the clothesline and pinned up the shirt. “Matt’s alway
s lived a double-signed life. He was born of a blue moon on a spring day that snowed. He was raised by Clyde to hate Deem Skaggs, and by my brother, Ulredge, who was bent on teaching him to forgive. I don’t reckon Matt ever knew his own heart where his daddy was concerned.” She turned from the clothesline and walked back to the washtub. “It’s hard to hate your own daddy no matter how worthless he is.” She put another shirt into the sudsy water and began to scrub it on the washboard. “But I’ll tell you this. Matt might not have knowed his mind where his daddy was concerned, but he loved his brothers and sisters.”
“How much contact did he have with them?” Hick asked.
“A little … up until Miss Aleta died,” Corleda said. “My girl, Ginny, died when Matt was just a baby so he never knowed his real mama. But Aleta was a good woman and tried to be a step-ma to Matt. She didn’t know nothing about Ginny until after she married Deem, and she was brought up that you stayed with your man no matter what he done.” Corleda wrung the shirt through the wringer and, once more, shuffled to the clothesline. She reached into the sack hanging on the line and pulled out two clothespins, pinning up the shirt to dry. She turned to Hick and Carol. “Miss Aleta didn’t like the way Deem ignored his boy. She was a good woman, a lady in fact, in spite of her poor marriage. She made sure Matt knowed that he was part of their clan. Of course, Deem wouldn’t have Matt in the house when he was to home. For Deem, Matt was a reminder of his sin—a reminder he wasn’t as pious as he liked to believe he was.”
Corleda went back to the wash tub and reached out for another tattered shirt from the pile of laundry. “It didn’t sit well with Deem that Aleta give Matt any attention, and he didn’t like it at all. Miss Aleta rarely put her foot down, but she did for Matt ’cause, to her credit, something in her loved the boy.” Shaking her head, she added, “Deem didn’t treat Aleta or none of those children right and that galled at Matt.”
“Do you believe Matt hated Deem?” Carol asked.
Corleda dunked another shirt beneath the water. “I reckon if it weren’t for my brother, he might. I ain’t saying Matt forgive Deem Skaggs for nothing. But I am saying he sees the profit in forgiving.” She stopped with her washing and looked up. “With Deem dead and gone, I reckon it will be easier. People always forget the bad once someone’s gone. And Deem won’t be able to hurt them that Matt loves no more. Them kids will be better off raised by Miss Aleta’s family.” Mrs. Noble closed her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t speak ill of the dead lightly, but I can’t sees that anyone will be worse off now that Deem’s gone.”
“That’s an opinion that seems to be universally shared,” Carol said.
“It’s sad when you think on it,” Corleda said, her eyes not focusing on anything. “What a waste. Deem Skaggs had a good wife who loved him, God knows why, and a houseful of healthy children. I would have give anything to have what he scorned. He acted like those children didn’t exist, but look now. He’s gone and they’re the only thing left to testify that he ever walked this green earth. It’s like he just forgot everything that was important.” She began to scrub the shirt against the wash board again, with renewed vigor. “A waste,” she repeated.
Hick’s mouth went dry, and his heart constricted and pounded against his ribs. How many times had his boys needed him since Maggie’s death and he’d turned away? For the past year, his life had been such a fog, he couldn’t remember. Would they forgive him for his neglect? Was he any better than Deem Skaggs? This reminder of his failings struck him hard, and he tried to ignore it, but a sudden, overwhelming desire to be at home washed over him.
“Can you point us in the direction you think we might find Matt?” Carol asked. “We’d still like to talk to him.”
“If you think you need to …” Corleda said. She pointed a gnarled finger toward the northeast. “He’s been logging with Chet Miller these last few years. My old man worked for Chet until he had his accident three years ago. Chet took on Matt to pay Clyde’s payments.”
“Payments?”
“This whole mountain belonged to Chet’s daddy, Ransom Miller, but he seen hard times during the depression and had to let go of some of his land. Some was lucky, like Nicodemus’s daddy. He had a little money put away and bought his place outright. My old man ain’t never had nothing, but Ransom let us stay on the place as long as we give him some labor. He had to close his sawmill, but they was always someone looking for telephone poles and such so logging still paid. As long as we give him half of our earnings he let us alone.”
“Most everyone who leased land from Ransom is gone now. Chet wants his daddy’s mountain back, and he’s a hard man. When we run out of timber on our place, I reckoned we’d be sent packing, too, but Chet decided to let Clyde go to work for him. Then when Clyde had his accident, I knowed we was in trouble. But Matt stepped up and went to work for Chet. He was only fifteen years old, but he could put in a man’s day of work even then. He’s the only thing that keeps Chet from throwing us out of here.”
“How long have you lived here?” Carol asked, her face frowning with confusion.
“I reckon it’s been nigh on twenty years now.”
“Well, how much do you owe?” Carol persisted.
It was Corleda Noble’s turn to look confused. “Owe? Why I don’t rightly know what we owe on the place.”
“You have no contract? No deed?”
“No, ma’am,” Corleda said, with her head cocked to the side. “That ain’t how Ransom Miller done business. It was all done by handshake.”
Carol’s mouth opened and closed. Finally, she said, “He can’t legally throw you off a place you’ve improved and lived on for twenty years. To force Matt to work for him so you’re not on the street? This is wrong. This is nothing short of modern-day slavery.”
“Be that as it may,” Corleda said, with a touch of dignity in her voice, “this is our life and we’s resigned.” She smoothed back her hair and then got back to work, putting the shirt through the roller. She paused and looked at the ragged shirt in her hand and sighed. “But I did always hope Matt was destined for better things. I don’t reckon any of us gets to decide what it is we become.”
15
Thursday, September 8, 1955
Hick parked the car at the end of a long, soggy road with a faded, barely legible sign that read Miller’s Timber and Sawmill. A spring-fed trickle of water running alongside the road cut deep crevices in the dirt where it ran across from one side to the next and this made the road rutted and unusable. A padlocked gate closed the road to motor vehicles and prevented anyone from hazarding a try.
“I guess they stopped maintaining the road once the mill closed,” Hick said glancing out the passenger window at the primitive line of dirt.
Carol shrugged. “Then, I guess we’ll have to walk.”
The low hanging Autumn clouds had finally burned away and rays from the afternoon sun streaked the thick layer of damp leaves beneath Hick’s feet as they trudged the slick pathway toward Chet Miller’s logging operation. Hick’s feet sank into the damp leaves, and he glanced at Carol’s shoes.
“Glad to see you’re wearing sensible shoes.”
She smirked. “I can be sensible.”
The road switched back toward the top of the hill and they soon found the entrance to the saw mill. It appeared deserted, the equipment was switched off, and moldy-smelling sawdust lay thick on the ground. Hick glanced into the large shed that held the equipment. “Wonder if anyone’s here.” They walked through the shed and he hollered, “Hello?”
No one answered, but in the distance, parked beneath the eaves of another small shed, they spied a large Ford pickup. Hick climbed the running board and peered inside. “There’s nothing in here.”
“Um, Hillbilly, “Carol said. He turned toward her and she motioned to the bed of the truck. Inside were crates of Jim Beam and Jack Daniels.
“Shit,” Hick said with a shake of his head. He took off his hat and wiped his brow with his sleeve. “That’s a
lot of booze.”
“A little much for personal use,” Carol agreed.
“I guess logging isn’t Chet Miller’s only business enterprise.” Hick returned his hat to his head and glanced around him. “This changes everything. Arkansas is drier than Oklahoma and there’s a lot of money in bootlegging. And, bootleggers are dangerous. Let’s just get the hell out of here.” He began to walk back toward the road, but paused and turned to Carol. “If we run into these guys it might be best not to mention who we really are.”
Carol nodded. “For once I think I’ll keep my mouth shut.” They began to walk. “Who do you think they’re selling to?”
“It could be going anywhere. Benton County is one of the few wet counties in the state, but there’s secret taverns and speakeasies everywhere.”
Carol frowned. “How could they buy so much without attracting some kind of attention?”
“I’m not sure. They didn’t buy all this at the local liquor store. I reckon someone is driving up to Missouri to get some of it,” Hick answered.
“You think Lowell knows?” Carol asked, saying out loud what had just entered into Hick’s mind.
Hick scratched his forehead. “I can’t imagine buying that much alcohol doesn’t attract some kind of attention. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn Lowell was just looking the other way. It’s not as uncommon as you’d think.”
“I don’t trust Lowell. He got rid of that rental car awfully quick, and he had access to the jail cell where Skaggs was housed,” Carol said, her voice fading in thought.
“You’re making a huge jump,” Hick said. He quickened his pace. “Let’s go. We’ll talk to Matt Noble later.”
They turned back toward the road with a sense of urgency. In spite of the sun shining brightly overhead, Hick felt the cold and dampness seep into his shoes. The trees were so thick no warmth seemed able to penetrate to the chill beneath them.
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