Deep in the Valley (5 page)

“Are you about ready to stop scrubbing floors, Julianna?” June asked.

Mike laughed and kissed his wife’s hand. “I don’t know that you can complain anymore, June. You finally got invited to the party.”

“June, let’s put that baby to the breast. It’ll bring the placenta and slow down the bleeding,” Dr. Stone said.

“I just hate to give him up,” she admitted reluctantly passing the baby to Julianna.

The OB was right, a few minutes of newborn suckling finished the job. While John completed the examination, June went for a basin of water. Grandma had it ready for her.

When she walked back into the birth room, she saw something she would never forget. The fancy Dr. Stone stood at the side of the bed holding the newborn wrapped in a towel, the sleeves of his expensive shirt rolled up, the end of his designer tie sticking out of his pocket, his pant legs rolled up almost to his knees and his bare toes curling against the cool hardwood floor. On his face was a look of pure joy.

“June,” he said, grinning, his eyes shining, “you gotta let me in on some of this.”

J
une lived in a house that Grace Valley had refurbished. It had been a rundown hovel when she’d somehow managed to buy it, much to her parents’ dismay. There she was, a brand-new doctor come home, living with her parents, no guaranteed income and plenty of med school debt besides.

But she had loved that old house since girlhood. It had been abandoned for at least five years, during which time the local youth made sport of it, broke the windows, used it as a hideaway, love nest, who knew what. It hadn’t been well maintained to start with, and by the time the local kids were done with it, it probably should have been leveled.

But it stood, about six miles from the center of town, on an isolated little hill. It had a wonderful porch that stretched the length of the house, a fabulous shade tree, a pleasant little dormer window in the second floor attic and a view to die for. Before it saw its first coat of paint, June had imagined herself sitting on a porch swing and looking down the road, over the rooftops of houses
and buildings in town, past the steeple of the Presbyterian Church rising proudly above the trees, across the valley for miles and miles and miles. To the sides and back of the little house was forest, deep and lush. All that was missing was the white picket fence.

It had taken a very long time to complete the image, to take the house from shambles to near perfection. The plumbing was restored by a man whose ulcer June treated, the electrical work by the Stewart brothers, whose women popped out a couple of babies a year. Hardwood floors came from the Bradfords; their teenage sons were in a terrible car accident, but, blessedly they recovered completely. New windows, carpet, louvered doors, paint and spackling were the result of a long winter of bad flu all over town. The countertops were provided by five cases of measles among the Wilson boys. Her appliances came, willy-nilly, as John and Susan Reynolds’s kids were treated for various maladies, Reynolds’ Appliance was a staple of three small towns.

June herself supplied the furniture and accessories of needlepoint pillows and hand-stitched quilts, being one of the town’s best stitchers. Her house was lovely and she adored it. She found peace and solitude and comfort in it.

Usually.

Following the birth at the Dicksons’, she took John Stone back to the clinic, where he’d left his car, and agreed to give him six months at the clinic. Then she went home to make her father Tuesday night meat loaf. She listened to her messages and was relieved to find she was not in demand. But she moved through the
kitchen chores with nagging slowness rather than pleasure.

“Look at me,” she said when her father arrived. “I am a spinster.”

“Oh boy. You held the Dickson baby for more than four minutes, didn’t you?”

“I’m thirty-seven. I haven’t had a real date in five years. I’m married to this town. Even if I were to meet someone and fall in love, the whole process would take longer than I have. I’m officially past the age of childbearing.”

“What a crock,” Elmer said. “You know, I thought about bringing wine and then didn’t. I wish I had. You could use a drink of something. I don’t suppose you have anything alcoholic?”

“Somebody gave me some expensive brandy once…but I don’t know if I like brandy.”

“Forget it, I’ll make fresh coffee.”

“Oh Elmer, what have I done to myself?”

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself. It’s not too late for you to think about your personal life.”

“Isn’t it? Where would I start?”

“You could call some of your old pals from school and tell them you’d like to be fixed up. Let the word out you’d like a date and you’ll get swamped. You’re a pretty girl, June.”

“I’m not a girl.”

“Yes, you are. As for children, no one ever knows if they’re going to have them. You might have trouble having a family. You might be infertile like your mother. We never used caution and we only had you.”

“How do you know it was her? Maybe it was you.”

“Nope,” he said. He paused to count scoops of coffee. “I sent a sperm specimen to the Ukiah lab when I was fifty-seven. They were exhausted little old fellows with beards, but they were there.” He filled the coffeepot with water.

“You never told me that,” she said. “About the specimen.”

“I would have told you if it had come up. Like if you’d had trouble conceiving. You never wondered why we didn’t have a house full of kids?”

“Mother said you preferred to fish on your time off.”

He laughed, which caused him to jiggle and wheeze. “She always had a better sense of humor than I gave her credit for.” He put his arm around June’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “You have a long day, honey?”

“Long? Shoot, I got off early. Typical day. I start off by flashing the Mull family, go to the clinic to find that my receptionist is now imitating a parrot, see twenty-five patients in the morning, have a three martini lunch with Myrna and Amelia Barstow—Myrna’s martinis, obviously—and listen to her new book idea.” Remembering that, June stopped there. “Dad, have you heard her new book idea?”

He made a face. “I have. Hard to believe that skinny little old woman is preoccupied by that kind of violence, isn’t it?”

June shuddered. “Body parts…that’s her new theme. Dad, whatever happened to Morton Claypool?”

“He went off, is all.”

“But where?”

“Beats me. If Myrna knows, she doesn’t let on.”

“There’s talk, you know.”

“Oh hell, she loves the talk. I bet she started half of it. In spite of the grisly books she writes, the woman wouldn’t hurt a fly. I asked her if she wanted to hire someone to chase down Morton, find out if he was dead or alive, and she said no, it wasn’t necessary. She wasn’t inclined to have him back or give him a funeral.”

“Don’t you think that’s sort of strange?”

“For Myrna? Or in general?”

“I bet she knows where he went.”

“That could be. I’ll never forget when she told me. It was right around the time of your high school homecoming game. Your mother and I picked up Myrna to take her, and on the way she said, “Well, it appears Morton’s gone off and isn’t coming back.” Matter-of-fact. Your mother asked Myrna was she worried, and Myrna said not a bit, that if there was any bad news, someone would have called her.” Elmer paused and then continued in a much softer tone, “I’ll admit something to you if you swear to never tell her. I checked around Hudson House for freshly turned soil.”

“Dad!”

“Just on the off chance…”

“Why, you clever sleuth!”

“Myrna’s a wonderful woman, but she’s a tad on the eccentric side.”

“A tad?” June said. “She’s a circus! I can’t imagine what it must have been like being raised by her.”

Elmer smiled almost wistfully. “Like being raised by a fairy princess.”

They passed dinner more pleasantly then, reminiscing about childhood and Myrna, discussing John Stone
and the interview, arguing a bit about whether June felt like being “fixed up.” The last dish was being dried when, with perfect timing, the phone rang.

“June?” said Tom Toopeek. “I found that Mull boy. And we got big trouble.”

Shell Mountain was back in the Six Rivers National Forest in Trinity County. It wasn’t Tom Toopeek’s jurisdiction, but he had driven around the back roads anyway, inquiring of the Mull family, and eventually someone told him the general locale of their house. When he would have knocked on the door, Clarence fired at him, so Tom sought out some other police before trying to go in. Clarence Mull now held them at bay with a firearm.

Tom didn’t mention to the police he had called upon for help that Clarence had fired on him. Shooting at people was undeniably against the law, but Tom didn’t want to make a commitment to taking the man into custody until he knew more. It wasn’t that he cut corners or did favors—nothing like that. It was a simple matter of always doing what was best for the individual and the community. There might indeed be an argument for letting that infraction go, as the wiser move for all concerned.

He waited for June before deciding, as he often did. More often, he suspected, than she realized.

June and Elmer drove out to the Shell Mountain area, following Tom’s directions. After bouncing along an old, narrow, abandoned logging road for more than thirty minutes, they came upon several police vehicles.

“I believe that’s Stan Kubbicks from the state police,” Elmer said. “But who’s that other guy?”

“I don’t know,” June said, squinting. “Forestry, I think. And Bob Manning, from Alderman Point. Jesus, what a mess this is.”

She parked behind the last of four law enforcement vehicles, grabbed her bag, jumped out of her truck and went straight to Tom. “Thanks for coming out, June,” he said. “Maybe you can help us with this. It appears Clarence is a vet suffering from post-traumatic stress and bipolar disorder….”

“He’s fucked up,” Stan said, and spat on the ground.

“Poor guy,” June said. “Does he say why he won’t let you in?”

“I’ve talked to him, yelled across the yard there, and told him I’m here to give his boy a ride to the hospital. But he’s delusional. He thinks if there’s paperwork involved, he’ll be arrested for something and put in a prison camp.”

“There isn’t any warrants on him, is there?” June asked.

“Naw. He’s just a fucked up old vet,” Stan said. And spat again.

June glared at him briefly.

“Sorry, Doc,” he said contritely. June was positive he grappled with whether he’d been glared at for using the
F
word or for spitting. Insensitivity toward Clarence’s condition would never occur to him.

June leaned around Tom to peer past all the vehicles. There, settled snugly back in the trees, was a little house made of a variety of woods. Logs, twigs, planks, blocks. Composed of maybe two whole rooms, it wasn’t much more than a shack, really. The old pickup was sheltered by a tarp strung between two trees. There
was a rail fence around a small portion of cleared yard—probably a garden area, or corral for the jenny.

“Does anyone around here know him?” June wondered aloud.

“People back in here have a community of sorts,” Tom said, “but mostly they’re back here because they want to be left alone. Or maybe they’re hiding from the law. They’re real cautious of each other. And nobody has offered to speak to Clarence on our behalf. Probably because of all the bells and whistles.”

“Is there anyone from the Veterans Administration who could talk to him?”

“Charlie McNeil is a kind of liaison from the VA to some of these dropouts hiding out back here, but we haven’t been able to reach him. If we can make any progress here, Charlie can follow up for us.”

June nodded. “Well, I’ll have to go in there and—”

“You can’t, June. Clarence has a gun,” Tom stated.

“Well, of course he has a gun,” she said impatiently. “He had one this morning at my house. Everyone who lives back here has a gun. Just about everyone in the valley has a gun, for that matter. But he isn’t going to shoot me. He might shoot you, however, if he’s delusional.”

Elmer entered the conversation. “I’ll go in. I’m not the police.”

“Oh hell, Elmer, he doesn’t know that,” June said. “But he does know I’m not the police. The poor man needs to be on medication.”

“Then I’ll at least go with you,” Elmer said.

“That wouldn’t work any better.” She looked at Tom. “He’s a huge man, Tom. And strong as an ox. His
boy is about six feet tall and he carried him out of my house this morning like he was a toddler. I have some Haldol and Thorazine already drawn.”

“Would that calm him down enough for us to go in there and get his boy?” Tom asked.

“It would drop him like a stone. I’d hate to resort to that, but if I have to, I could give him a shot. The most important thing to me is getting Clinton out of there and on his way to a hospital. Excuse me a moment.”

Having said that, she simply walked around Tom and headed straight for the house at a nice brisk pace. For a second everyone thought she was simply moving in for a closer look, but she kept going. She did it so quickly and unobtrusively, she made a clean break. Tom made a grab for her and yelled, “June!” But she was already past him.

“Goddamn it!” Elmer ground out. “I hate it when she does that!”

June knocked on the door of the shack, while Tom, and Elmer and the others held a collective breath. “Mr. Mull? Clarence? It’s Dr. Hudson. Let me come inside and look at Clinton’s foot.”

The door opened a crack and two dark, beady eyes peered out. She could tell right away that he was on another planet. Then the door swung open and she was admitted to the dark room lit by only the faintest glow. When the door closed behind her, the light came up, brightening the room.

There were four pallets, a table with two chairs, and animal skins lined the walls. There were open shelves for the dishes and pots, blankets strung up as room dividers, and to June’s astonishment, several large
stacks of books, magazines and newspapers against the wall. Clarence positioned himself by the front door and peeked through a skin-covered slit, his rifle at the ready. Jurea Mull sat at the table and operated the light, probably at Clarence’s command. She nodded at June and almost smiled, but not quite. Wanda crouched in a corner, hugging her knees, and Clinton lay on the bed very still, perhaps even unconscious. A sound from the other side of the room caused June to turn and see that the jenny actually shared the house with them, right on the other side of a waist-high partition. The donkey chewed and smacked, leaning her snout over the partition and drooling onto their packed-dirt living room floor. The family was not dressed in their best today; their clothing was old and threadbare.

There was nothing about the poverty of the room that alarmed June. Having grown up the best friend of Tom Toopeek, she had learned that abundance is a state of mind. Tom was one of seven children who had spent the greater part of their childhood living in a two-room cabin with a dirt floor while their father, Lincoln, slowly and laboriously built their home one log at a time. Yet they were a happy, healthy family, generous and welcoming. June had loved staying with them. Rather than thinking they had very little, she remembered thinking they owned the entire forest.