A Far Piece to Canaan (33 page)

“LD's lyin'!”

It was Fred.

LD jumped up and started to yell and the sheriff pointed his finger at him real quick and LD sat down.

“Go on, Fred,” said the sheriff.

Fred turned his face up toward the sheriff and his eyes looked real sad. When he spoke, his voice was soft and sad too. “Samuel said he wanted t' tell and leave Lonnie out of it. It was LD said if we told, he'd say Lonnie was with us.”

“I ain't lyin'! I ain't lyin',” LD sobbed. “They are . . . they are, Pa, they are,” and he jumped up and ran to Mr. Howard, whose right hand come slamming down across LD's face sending him sprawling, his head crying, but not making a sound.

The sheriff leaped off the chair. “Stop that!” he yelled at Mr. Howard, and his voice shook. “Howard, I told you once I wouldn't put up with that kinda stuff. So help me if you hit that kid again you're gonna be talkin' to a judge!”

Mr. Howard stuck his chin out. “Your judge can't judge me. Only He can judge me,” and he shoved his finger at the ceiling.

“Call it whoever, but I'll see Judge Fraser gives you six months!” the sheriff shot back.

It got quiet again, except for LD, who was bawling against the wall. Mom walked over and knelt beside him. He started to push his bloody, swollen face against her, then saw who it was and jerked away quick. Mom got up and turned toward Mr. Howard, her mouth all squenched. “You bastard,” she whispered in a little hoarse voice.

“Call me a name, you heathen woman!” Mr. Howard yelled, and Dad yelled something back and started toward him. People scattered, then both deputies came between them in a flash.

“Knock it off!” the sheriff shouted. “Give those guns to th' deputies.”

Dad showed with his open hands that he didn't have a gun, while the bigger deputy snatched Mr. Howard's out of his belt.

LD was still crumpled on the floor, bawling so hard his neck veins was popping out when the sheriff said, “Come here, son.”

LD didn't know what to do. He glanced at his pa and kept on crying.

“Come here!” the sheriff said again, this time loud, and LD struggled to his feet and stumbled over, still bawling. The sheriff put one hand around LD's arm and began talking soft while he used his handkerchief to wipe away the blood from his mouth and nose. “Things are gonna be okay. This whole thing is gonna be over pretty soon and everything is gonna go back t' normal. What we have to do now is catch this old boy who's causin' all th' trouble. We need your help . . . all you boys' help. Now, tell me th' truth.”

LD did. There was a lot of sobbing, and some of the time you couldn't understand what he said and he had to say it again, but when he finished it was all out. Lonnie tried to break in twice and each time the sheriff held up his hand and he stopped. Finally, when LD finished, the sheriff nodded at Lonnie, who was sitting with his legs crossed and his face stiff as a poker. “What y' wanta say, Lonnie?”

Lonnie looked the sheriff right in the eye and spoke soft, but strong. “My pa is a good pa. If they didn't tell, it wudn't because I was afraid of what my pa would do. My pa is a good pa,” and for the first time his voice broke, but he was damned if he was going to cry.

There was a shuffling sound and Mr. Miller come to the sheriff's side. His lips were white and tucked together so you couldn't see anything of his mouth but a slit in the skin. His eyes were full of tears, and his face wrinkling in and out. He kind of lifted his open hands just a hair in front of his Levi's and Lonnie shot into his arms.

“You m' boy,” Mr. Miller said husky. “Ain't nothin' gonna happen t' you. You m' boy.”

The sheriff glanced at Mr. Howard and Alfred and Dad, not saying anything, then slid off the chair, checked his pocket watch, and motioned to a deputy to give back Mr. Howard's gun. “It's gettin' late and I've gotta make plans,” he said. “Everybody be back here at four tomorra mornin'. These boys are gonna lead us t' that cave. If we don't find him there, we head for th' fence where Samuel was attacked. Get some sleep. Gonna be a long tomorra.”

B
y the time I got off the tractor, I was exhausted. I said goodbye to my young driver and entered my own vehicle. I had no idea how much ground I had covered during the day but I knew it was a lot. I considered curling up and sleeping in the car but rejected it.
Hopefully,
I thought,
there's enough adrenaline left in me for the drive to Lexington
.

I became a little less sleepy as I drove, but more anxious. I knew what was happening but was powerless to stop it. I was still dealing with the event sixty years after the fact. Sweat trickled from my underarms even with the air-conditioning on high.

Suddenly, I could smell the odor. The same odor I had smelled in our living room that night. Pungent, undeniable, terrifying. My car swerved and a motorist honked at me. I steadied the car, made it back to my hotel room and lay down on the bed. I was trembling and felt weak, and it took a while before my body and psyche relaxed, and I was rational enough to think.

I began considering my mission. What was the point of going on? I couldn't find any evidence of the people who had lived in my community. I wondered if anyone who had participated in that long-ago manhunt was still alive. Fred? Lonnie? Visiting my past had not turned up even a mailbox with a familiar name. People were more mobile today than in the past. Perhaps they had moved by necessity. Certainly, none of the croppers I knew could have become owners of the estates that had replaced the farmland I once roamed.

Death, dispersion, and gentrification, slayers of my salad years.

I had given Nora's request that I return to Kentucky to shed light on my early life a legitimate try. There were still a couple of things I wanted to do, but they wouldn't take long. Then there was going to be a be-all and end-all to this odyssey.

I considered calling the airline immediately and asking for an earlier return flight but rejected the idea. I was tired and didn't have the energy to go through the inevitable stream of questions that would follow. I would do it when I was fresh.

I thought of calling Penny, then decided against it. Both of my daughters were sensitive to my ways and it was getting late back East. If I made the call now, they would be in Lexington in a matter of hours.

That time, that day, the significance of it in my life, rolled and churned through my mind. The love of Lonnie for his pa, a man who nearly beat him to death. LD! He was just a scared kid with a lunatic for a father. I hated LD then, and it bothered me that now, though I could rationalize his behavior, my emotions still wouldn't let me say truthfully, “I forgive you, LD.”

But Fred dominated my thoughts. I could feel the stifling heat and hear the rustle of Levi's. And I could hear Fred's voice.

“LD's lyin'!”

Fred had come through for me in my hour of need. My friend, maybe the only real friend of my life. I owed him so much.

But it wasn't all one way. I had come through for him too, for the whole Mulligan family back when Fred really needed me. “You did a lot for the whole Mulligan family!” I said aloud.

I did do things! Important things! But for sixty years I had totally avoided Fred. That was the way it was, the way it would always be. What was I trying to prove by wandering through my memories? Yet, I could not stop thinking about that night . . .

. . . I tried hard but I couldn't sleep although a couple times I must have been close because my body would give a jerk and the whole bed would squeak. It wudn't just because I was excited; somehow I was too tired to sleep. Tomorrow we were gonna be finished with the crazy man and I could go back to being without worry.

I thought about Mom, and how people went flying as she come busting through to get me. She wudn't scared of nothing! I mean, she stood up to men with guns! I thought about how much I loved my mama and hot tears come up in my eyes.

I tossed and rolled, then I heard the sound of tires on gravel and a light come through the window. I jumped out of bed and ran to look. It was a car, okay. Out on the pike I could see other lights. In just a few minutes a bunch of people were at the house and Mom was heating coffee and letting everybody through the door. The smell of the crazy man was there again.

By a quarter after four, everybody was back except LD and his pa. Fred and Lonnie looked like they hadn't slept either. We greeted each other with hi's, squeezes on the arms, and nervous grins. Even Lonnie looked nervous. We waited until 4:30 and when the Howards didn't show, the sheriff said we couldn't wait any longer.

We were going to split into three groups. One group would be led by a deputy and Fred and go straight to the top of the cliff above the cave. Another deputy would lead my group and go up the river above the cave and walk downstream. The third group would follow Lonnie upstream from below the Blue Hole. It was this last group that had the hardest walk and was most likely to hit trouble. The sheriff was going to lead that party himself. The first group on the low bottoms that got within a hundred yards of the cave was to stop walking, give a whippoorwill call, then wait for it to be answered. When that happened, we were to come forward and join up. This way we would have swept the territory from above and both sides of the cave and the escape from inside it would be blocked.

“What happens then?” asked Bess.

“Then you people cover us while my deputy and me go in and get him.”

“Nobody else goes with you?” asked Dad.

“No, you all are our cover. All hell breaks loose, I expect you people with rifles t' pick him off while he's on th' cliff face. Those with shotguns will move in and finish him off if he makes it down before a rifleman gets him. Now, you men remember we're up there, and nobody fires unless the suspect has made it
past th' mouth of th' cave!
I don't want my carcass full of lead again . . . had enough of that at Anzio. I don't expect him t' get out of th' cave, though.”

“Just plan to go in shootin', huh?” said Dad.

“That's not so,” said the sheriff. “I don't do things that way. When we get t' th' cave, I'm gonna call on him t' come out. Shootin' is a last resort.”

When Dad spoke again, he had a softer voice. “What I had in mind was George and Bess goin' along. George can identify him, and Bess knew Collins. If it is him, maybe Bess could talk him into comin' out and you wouldn't have t' shoot.”

The sheriff thought for a moment, then looked at Mr. Mac. “Can you climb that cliff?”

Mr. Mac answered hot, “I can climb hit as well as you can.”

“I'm right with y' too, Sheriff,” said Bess.

The sheriff turned toward Dad. “That suit y'?”

“Yes it does,” Dad answered, and they kind of gave each other a look.

After that, the sheriff turned to the deputies. “Check everybody's guns to see they're unloaded. Load up when we get out of the cars and order safeties on. After that, nobody's thumb touches a safety and no finger gets inside a trigger guard unless you plan t' fire. And when we're on th' cliff face,
nobody fires
until one of us says fire.”

Each group drove fairly close to their spot near the cliffs, which meant they were about a half mile from the river, then they turned off their lights. Mr. Shackelford led the way to the river for my group since he knew the area best. I walked beside Dad and a deputy. It seemed like we went forever, then Mr. Shackelford said, “Okay, we can get down t' the river easy at this spot.”

The deputy spoke: “Load your guns and put th' safeties on.
Be certain those safeties are on!
” And everybody did.

In the east, it was getting light and I could make out the trunks and branches of trees that just a little while before had been blobs against the skyline. Somewhere on the bottoms, an owl was calling
whooo . . . whooo . . . whooo,
and it echoed against the cliffs.

It was tough getting down the slopes even though they wudn't real cliffs. You couldn't walk, you had to climb, and everybody slipped at least once, getting skinned up and cussing under his breath. Finally, we were on the bottoms and moving downstream. The closer we got to the cave, the quieter we walked. When we had about three hundred yards to go, we were brought up short by a whippoorwill call. It was so perfect I couldn't tell if a bird or a man did it. It come again, and this time, the deputy answered just as perfect as the one from downstream.

The first I saw of the other group was a flash of skin, then a flannel shirt and some jackets appeared through the head-high, twisted and bent river brush. On the top of the cliff, a deputy rose out of nowhere looking like he was carved out of the sky, his feet wide apart, rifle in his arms. Then three or four more people appeared beside him. One of them I could tell was Fred from his size. When I looked ahead again, we were about thirty foot from Lonnie's group, and people were nodding.

The sheriff walked in front of us and motioned Bess and Mr. Mac and the deputy to join him. Chills were running up and down my back. Lonnie looked excited too, standing there beside his pa, who had an arm around his shoulder.

“Okay,” whispered the sheriff. “Lonnie, Samuel, and Mr. Zilkinsky, you come with us and show us th' path up the cliff. After that, Mr. Zilkinsky, you bring th' boys back here. You other men, spread out wide and lie down. I want th' safeties left on on every firearm. Nobody takes his eyes off th' mouth of th' cave. When we get on th' cliff face, keep our position in mind every second. Do-not-fire-your-weapon-unless-the-suspect-is-out-of-the-cave-and-coming-down-the-cliff-face. If the suspect makes it out of th' cave and you hear our order t' fire, shoot and keep shootin' until he stops movin'. He-is-not-to-escape! Everyone understand?”

There were more nods, then the sheriff and deputy and us started slowly moving forward. The lawmen were in front, Bess downstream, and Mr. Mac upstream, which made a little pocket, and it was in this that Dad and Lonnie and I walked. We crept along half bent, the scraggly river brush pulling at our clothes and water-bared roots tangling our feet. The deputy stumbled and the sheriff gave him a dirty look. It was two hundred feet or more to the bottom of the cliff and my back began to hurt from being bent over. A couple of times I glanced up toward Fred. I knew he had to be dying, wanting to be down here with us. Suddenly, the sun peeked over a hill shedding its blinding light on the cliff face, making shadows from rocks that jutted out. I could see and hear everything so clear, the sound of feet on the sand, little twigs that brushed our bodies and flipped back, and the breath moving in and out of the sheriff's windpipe.