The Marrowbone Marble Company (33 page)

When they'd looked at his pupils, one was a pinprick. The other, a planet.

Rachel looked at the stack of books on the side table. Mary had brought them from the house. Comic books mostly.
Doctor Dan the Bandage Man
was in the middle of the stack. They hadn't read it in years. Rachel picked it up and opened the front cover. Mary had taped two fresh Band-Aids inside.

“Dan is a busy fellow,” she read. In one hand she held the book at the spine, in the other, Orb's hand. “He is always on the go, but one day in a big backyard cowboy fight, he fell.”

Ledford stood in the open doorway, arms across his chest. Behind him, in the hall, an old man pushed a walker and shuffled along, an inch at a time. Ledford didn't speak to him.

Orb had been in the hospital for four days, but to Ledford, it seemed they'd lived there a year. The sound of the respirator orchestrated his dreams.

When he wasn't in Orb's room, he was outside, lighting the next cigarette off the one in his mouth. The Bonecutter brothers had been looking for Shorty, Charlie, and Noah for three straight days. Mack brought their reports to Ledford at the hospital. No sign of any of them. Not at their homes or hangouts. All three men were on the local news nightly. It was widely known that drink was a problem in both the Ball and Maynard clans, and now there had been a hit-and-run.

In the lobby, Mary poured coffee from the pot to the Thermos. Her eyes were red as blood.

Fury stood behind her and asked again if there was anything he could do to help.

“No,” Mary said. She walked toward the elevator.

Fury watched her go. He wondered where Willy was.

In his billfold was a slip of paper. On the paper was a telephone number. Erm had given it to him years before, told him, “You call this number if the shit ever really hits the fan.” Fury had tried it twice a day for the last four days. No one had ever picked up.

He paid for a pack of Teaberry in the gift shop and regarded his billfold. He slid the little paper out and walked to the bank of pay phones. He had a feeling this time. His fingers found the holes, 3, 1, 2. He'd memorized it by now.

On the fifth ring, someone picked up. “What is it?” he said. “Dad?” But Fury knew it wasn't him. “Who the fuck is this?”

“Loaf?” Fury asked.

“Who wants to know?” He blew his nose.

Loaf the associate, still around. They'd gotten to Uncle Fiore, but not his henchman. Fury had never been so happy to hear that voice. “It's me, Fury,” he said. “You've got to get Dad.”

 

H
AROLD SAT IN
the chapel's first pew, reading the paper. The radio was on beside him. Hank Aaron had hit his five-hundredth home run in Atlanta.

Harold checked his watch. It was almost eight p.m.

Herchel walked through the chapel door. It was his first time back at Marrowbone. Everyone had advised him to stay away until his arrest was sorted out. It had been. The original search warrant was deemed bogus by a circuit judge. There'd been no probable cause, he'd said. The warrant was based, he'd told the court, “on nothing more than hogwash and palaver, and a bunch of old boys gettin too big for their gun britches.”

“Evenin Harold,” Herchel said.

“Evenin.” Harold turned off the radio.

“Where is everybody?” Herchel sat down in the second pew and thumbed at a hymnal left on the seat.

Ledford came through the sanctuary door and nodded to them. He'd been in Staples' old quarters, reading and writing.

Ledford had called this meeting. From Orb's hospital room, he'd told Mack to spread the word—“Sunday, eight p.m. I want every man there,” he'd said. “But listen, let's try to keep the young ones out of it.”

Orb had been in the hospital for nine days. He showed no signs of waking. Twice, he'd had to be resuscitated.

By 8:15, the front two pews were filled. Mack, Harold, Herchel, Jerry, and Fury. Dimple and Wimpy had declined. They wanted to guard the gate. “There's women and children still about,” Dimple had said.

The men sat and talked to one another quietly about Hank Aaron, about Vietnam, Tet. Ledford stood and faced them. “Harold,” he said. “I believe you ought not involve yourself in this. You're a man of the law.”

Harold looked Ledford in the eye. He nodded. “God's law first,” he said.

Ledford nodded back. He took a deep breath. “I made a promise—” The door swung open. Willy stepped into the aisle, followed by Stretch. They proceeded forward, Willy on drunk legs, and sat down in the second pew.

“Son,” Ledford said, “this isn't for you.”

Willy just sat there. His hair was messy, unwashed. He reeked of sweat and beer.

“Son,” Ledford said.

Nobody moved.

Ledford took another deep breath. “I don't have all night, so I'm just going to say what I have to say.” He wanted to get back to the hospital.

“My mother used to tell me things happened, bad and good, in threes. Well, lately, it's been all bad, and it's been a mite more than three.”

The men sat still in the pews. None fanned himself, despite the heat.

Ledford said, “Don Staples guides me from the grave.” He cleared his throat. “I wrote something back to him, and I want you to hear me read it right here in this church.” A knot was building in Ledford's throat. He spoke through it. “You all know I lost my own family when I was still a boy, and Staples was the closest I ever had to a daddy after that. And you all know I listened to him more than most did, even when it was hard to. But things being what they are, well…” He took out his daddy's old batch book. He'd been writing in it all week at the hospital. He decided to get on with it.

“What I have to say will take away everything Staples stood for, everything he taught me. But it would be a greater disservice to him if I didn't speak what's on my mind.”

Herchel felt like he'd walked into a dream at Marrowbone. None of it seemed real, from the sight of Orb and his dead dogs right up to this moment. There was a pinching sensation behind his scar.

Harold and his daddy sat hip to hip and listened. Both could remember their first time in the chapel. It had seemed so strange then, so foreign.

Jerry's notepad and pencil were in his pocket. He'd not written in it since Staples passed, and he wouldn't start tonight. He knew what he was about to hear were not words of God.

Fury tried not to fidget. Stretch did the same. Willy cracked his knuckles against his thigh.

“What's on my mind is evil,” Ledford said. His voice was steady and loud. It carried to the windows and the trusses. He spread the batch book on the lectern and looked to it. “Evil men abound in these parts. There's no sense any longer in denying them or turning away from what they've done. They have set fire to a tree on this very lawn, and before that, they set fire to a home full of people. They are the same kind of men that set fire to a cross at my boyhood home.” He looked up at Mack and Harold Wells, then back at the book. He continued. “They have put their hands on my daughter.” He grit his teeth. The words were stuck in his throat. “They have struck down my son. They will pay for all of it.”

Ledford looked at all of them then. He gauged in each a willingness to abide, and then he kept going. “In response to the acts of these evil men, some would point to the words of Jesus. They'd tell me to turn the other cheek, as so many have done in recent years, whether they were set upon by dogs or hoses or batons. And I would tell those who call for peace that they are good and righteous people. Staples was one of them. But my praise of peace and righteousness would be followed by different talk.” His head bowed deeper as he went. “Staples told me there was peace in my heart. He was wrong. There is no peace. There is only war. Right or wrong, this is the burden man must carry. And I will carry it up and down the Cut and along the ridge. I will take it to them where they hide if I have to.”

He looked out the window. There was darkness in the ridge folds. “Women and children have got to leave here, and those who aren't a part of what's to come. But for those who stay, I'll tell you what.” He looked at them. “We can stir the creek and wake up the trees. We can be a people freed.”

It was quiet, and then, there came the sound of hooves on the chapel lawn. They stopped. There was a blow and snort, the sound of Boo the mare. Footsteps pounded up the chapel stairs. The door opened, and Wimpy stepped inside. His shirt was stuck to his skin and he gripped his rifle by the stock. “Ledford,” he said, out of breath. “You got to come see this for yourself.”

Ledford descended the front stairs. He swung onto Boo and held fast. The rest of the men stayed behind.

The horse came up on the gate. It had gotten dark, but Ledford could make out Dimple, standing with his shotgun at his side. He was talking to another man, and behind him, there was a long white car. Ledford squinted. It was Charlie's Impala.

The man Dimple spoke to was Erm.

They dismounted. Ledford regarded his old friend, who smiled. His teeth bridge was missing—nothing but emptiness. His eyes were hollow. His suit stitching was pulled out in spots, hanging loose on his frame.

“Hey Ledford,” he said. “I know you're mad at me for the land deal, but I didn't know that your property was—”

“Isn't my property,” Ledford said. “Belongs to the Bonecutter brothers.”

“Right,” Erm said. He looked at the brothers, nodded.

He'd never cowered like this. He'd never shown such respect.

“Is that Charlie Ball's car?” Ledford craned to see the inside.

“Yes it is.” Erm turned and walked through the half-open gate. They followed him.

He swung open the driver's door and folded the bench seat forward. On the floor was a green wool blanket. He pulled it back. Charlie Ball was in a prone position, stuffed between the backseat and the front. His mouth, hands and feet were duct-taped. He kept his eyes on the upholstery in front of his face. Breathed hard through a clogged nose.

“Found him at his foul-mouthed girl's place in Charleston,” Erm said. “I followed him there once, couple years ago.” He shook his head.

“Son of a bitch is gone two weeks at a time, his wife doesn't blink an eye.”

Ledford looked at the Bonecutters. It was clear they'd already seen what was in the car. He looked at Charlie again. “Cover him up,” he said.

Erm did so and slammed the door shut. “It's a wonder a man so fat can fit back there,” he said. “Listen, Ledford—”

“Can we fit the Impala in the crib barn?” Ledford called.

Dimple said they could.

“Let's get the car in here, then get him up to the chapel.” Ledford looked up the main road. It was dark and quiet. “Nobody tailed you?” he asked.

“Nobody.”

“You know he's on the news—they're searching for him.”

“I found him first,” Erm said.

They got the car in the barn, rolled Charlie up in the blanket, and carried him up the Cut, a man on each end. He swung like a hammock between them.

In the chapel, they dumped him in the aisle with a thud. Everybody stood from the pew and looked.

Fury nodded to his father, who smiled at him, toothless and grateful for the phone call.

Ledford unrolled the blanket and Charlie grunted and seized on the floor. The church lights confused him and he shut his eyes tight.

“I'll be damned,” Mack said.

“Is that Charlie Ball?” Herchel was the first to approach him. He knelt and looked at the man on the floor, as if some species he'd not encountered before. Herchel poked him in the cheek where the tape stretched, peeled at the edge by sweat. “Pee-
yoo
,” Herchel said. “I believe he's pissed himself.”

Dimple stood in the open chapel doorway. “Runs in the family,” he said. He turned his head and spat tobacco juice down the stairs. “I'm going back to the gate just in case.” He was gone.

They sat Charlie in the back pew. He'd yet to open his eyes.

They gawked and mumbled on his predicament. Then, Willy bolted for him. He stopped a foot away, planted his feet and swiveled his hips. He brought everything he had in a roundhouse right, and it landed at Charlie's cheekbone. Things broke, in face and hand both. It was an awful sound, amplified by all that empty wood. Charlie fell to the floor and Willy hopped in a circle, clutching his rebroken hand and cursing.

“Let's get a handle here,” Erm was saying, and everybody stayed frozen where they were. He looked at Charlie, who'd crawled under a pew.

“You boys need to calm down.” He pulled a flask from his jacket pocket and held it aloft. “Takers?” he asked.

Ledford stepped forward and took it from him. He unscrewed the cap and stuck it to his lips. Turned it over and looked to the trusses. They watched his Adam's apple bob.

After a while, Erm gathered the men in the front pews and asked questions about all that had happened—the Ringer match, the hit-and-run, the disappearance of Shorty and the Ball cousins. Fury hadn't elaborated on the phone.

Erm looked at Ledford. “I'm sorry this has happened,” he said. He stood and walked down the aisle. He locked the chapel door and checked Charlie on the floor. “Still sawin logs,” he said.

He called Willy, Stretch, and Harold to the back, and they came and stood with him. He pointed to Charlie Ball. “One,” he said. Then he pointed to the three of them. “Two, three, four.” He pointed to himself. “Five.”

They looked back at Erm, blank.

He put a hand on the pewback and leaned. “Two of five are dead men,” he said. “One, inside a week, the other a year.” He let it sink in. “But you three are boys.” He pointed at the men up front. “Harold,” he said. “Your old man was a boy once, but he went to Germany and came back a man. Willy, yours wasn't even a boy when he went overseas, and he sure as hell wasn't one when he came back.” He looked at Stretch. “I don't know about you.”