May Cooler Heads Prevail (25 page)
Read May Cooler Heads Prevail Online
Authors: T. L. Dunnegan
Latham started toward me. At first I thought he meant to throw me into the water, also, then I saw him turn toward my left and remembered the gun. He found it before I could even move.
As he pointed the gun at my head, his eyes were hypnotic and gleaming like the eyes of a wild animal. I froze, bracing myself for death. Then I heard Aunt Nissa scream my name, and without conscious thought I shoved the hanging grain chute toward Latham as hard as I could.
The motion of the chute stopped, and I heard a thudding sound. A coarse grunting noise came out of Latham’s mouth.
He stood there, weaving back and forth, before he fell over the side and into the water.
I stared at the empty space where Latham had been standing. I stared, knowing that a second later I would’ve been dead. Then my mind went blank.
I woke up in Aunt Nissa’s arms, her wet cheek against mine. Her voice shaking, she murmured over and over, “It’s all over with, honey. It’s all over.”
My mouth felt dry. I tried to form words, but they seemed to crumble before I could get them out. I wanted to move, to flex my arms, make sure I was really alive, but movement was painful. Finally my mind cleared, and although movement made me wince, I managed to stand up with Aunt Nissa’s help. As if of one mind, we leaned over the edge and looked out into the darkness below.
I didn’t think anyone could fall from the second story and live. I felt little compassion or pity for Latham. Maybe that would come later. I hoped so. But sadness washed over me for Freedom. When the light of day came, would we find his body, broken and lifeless, on the jagged rocks along the creek? Would Latham’s body be there beside Freedom’s? One consumed with madness and evil, the other a child of God at rest in heaven.
Behind me I heard Uncle Rudd groan. Aunt Nissa patted my arm and whispered, “Rudd’s coming to, I’d better see to him.”
I started to follow her, but she took hold of my arm
and led me back to where we had been standing. Quickly, she retrieved one of the two large flashlights that were still shining where Latham had placed them. Handing me the flashlight and gently pushing me down, she said, “Hold this light up, Dixie, so that Freedom can see it and make his way back to us.”
Tears stung my eyes as I sat down with my legs hanging over the edge. I didn’t have much hope, but I prayed as I swung the flashlight back and forth, like a beacon in the night. I sat there, waiting, listening, looking.
Then I saw him! Shadowy at first, but it was Freedom. He was limping, but he waved at me and I waved back.
Elated, I called back to my aunts, still huddled around Uncle Rudd, and told them that Freedom was alive. Then I called out to Freedom that I was coming down to meet him at the entrance of the mill.
As I sprinted past Uncle Rudd I heard him ask, “What happened?”
Aunt Nissa answered, “The good guys won!”
A
fter an overnight stay in the hospital for a mild concussion, Uncle Rudd pronounced himself, “Feeling well enough to be a burden to society again,” and checked out of the hospital against doctor’s orders.
Otis and Billy found the remains of Dolly O’Connell’s body tucked in a fetal position in the backwash behind the waterfall that fed into the creek. The newspapers and television news crews reported that Aaron Scott’s body was found near Dolly’s remains.
A search and rescue team retrieved Latham Sheffield’s battered body out of the creek nearly a quarter-mile from the mill. For what it’s worth, the autopsy confirmed that the blow from the chute hadn’t killed him. Latham Sheffield drowned.
In the week that followed, Truman Spencer rallied from his gunshot wound at a remarkable pace. By the time he left the hospital, he and Aunt Connie had a date to go to the Harvest Dance together at the end of the month. Miracles do happen!
I spent three days in the hospital. After I was released, Aunt Nissa had her hands full nursing Uncle Rudd and me. We loved every minute of it. She needs a vacation.
Freedom spent nearly a week in the hospital for a broken arm, two broken ribs, a mild concussion, and a sprained ankle, along with bruises and cuts. Aunt Connie nursed Freedom after he was released from the hospital. Now he needs a vacation.
As soon as the coroner released the body of Aaron Scott, we buried him in the family cemetery up on the hillside we have always called High Lonesome. This time he had a proper burial.
My parents have accepted Aunt Connie’s offer to run the marina in Fort Walton Beach, Florida. Peggy is buying the flower shop, and Aunt Connie is buying the house next to Otis and Martha Beecher. Otis seems to like the idea. That way he can keep an eye on her. She feels the same way about him.
Freedom Crane and me? Well, let’s just say that I’m going back to Little Rock to put my townhouse up for sale, give my notice at the clinic, and take Estelle Biggs out for a steak dinner. I decided to take Aunt Connie up on her offer and move into the craftsman house at Willow Cove. What happens from there depends on whether Freedom Crane turns out to be Mr. Wrong or Mr. Close-Enough-For-Me!
Teri L. Dunnegan, was a mother first and a friend second. She was born July 25, 1949 and departed this earth on November 14, 2006 from cancer. Although the pain of losing her has dulled, the memories of her never will.
Growing up I always thought my family was crazy, dysfunctional, and just plain weird. It wasn’t until I was older that I came to realize my family wasn’t crazy or dysfunctional and “weird” was just another word for “creative memories.” I didn’t know the day Mom grounded my friend for being rude to his mother would become one of those memories. But that was my mom. (He didn’t come out of his house for a week, by the way.)
She always had a presence about her. She could dispense justice with a shoe or make you laugh in the most hopeless of situations. She gave wisdom when we were clueless and gave comfort when the world offered none. She always made everyone feel loved and welcomed. She was an example of Christ on earth and was deeply loved.
—Teri’s son, Patrick
You may correspond with the family of this deceased author by writing:
The Dunnegan Family Author Relations PO Box 721 Uhrichsville, OH 44683