Rush Home Road (6 page)

Zach Heron thought he better sit down and did.

“There's a dock near Sandwich where the liquor boats come and go at night. I'm told Chester does a good deal of the rowboat work, being so big and strong as he is and able to fight the current. I don't think it's right that Chester Monk get away with what he done and no action whatever against him. My sister's life is spoiled now and she'll likely be sent down to South Carolina to live with Aunt Myrtle. First she'll get beat though, my mother, my father, likely both.

“Course I don't have a chance against a boy big as Chester Monk, but I didn't want to go to the younger men for help. Everyone'll know soon enough. But it was my hope, Mr. Heron, what with you being a friend of my Daddy's, and mine, that you might assist me a little. Hold him back just so I can get a fist or two on his chin and maybe his gut. That ain't gonna change nothing for Addy, but I'll feel a little better. Least I won't feel no worse.”

Zach Heron reckoned many things quickly. The girl had not told the shameful thing he'd done to anyone and would not. Even if she did, Wallace and Laisa would never believe her. Her own brother suspected another man. Of all the people in Zach Heron's life, it was only his wife, Isobel, who'd believe it, and she'd never find out, at least not if Chester Monk stood accused. If Addy Shadd got sent away, it'd be the best thing for them all.

 

Rum

THE WATER WAS MURKY
and cold and it wouldn't be long before it froze over completely. Chester Monk stroked it with his battered oar, glad it was calm tonight and he could think his thoughts without fighting the current and fretting he'd miss the dock. He thought how it could be a short trip from the Detroit shore, or long, depending on the whims of the river and the men who patrolled her.

At his feet was a slat wood case filled with premium liquor making its way back to the dock. There'd been no one to take the pickup on the other side and Bishop wouldn't be happy, but Chester wouldn't be blamed. Looped through the box of liquor was a long heavy cord connected to a sheave on the underside of the boat. If the Patrol came by, over the box'd go like an anchor, and even if they searched, they wouldn't see the cord, the box, or where all it was hitched to the bottom.

Chester had in his trouser pocket several ten-dollar bills given to him by Teddy Bishop's man, Mr. Remillard, who was called Remy to get his attention and Frenchie to get his goat. Remy'd shown Chester how to fold the bill and
the right way to pass it to the patrolmen when they stopped his boat. If they asked how the fish were biting, he should pass the bill. If they asked to search, he should let them. And no matter what, he should remember he's coloured and know his place.

Chester didn't care for Teddy Bishop and his meanness and frippery, but he liked Remy just fine. The Frenchman put Chester in mind of a Pastor he knew when he was a boy, before he moved to Rusholme. Remy wore simple cloth suits, kept his old boots shined, and held many deep convictions. He made opining on bootlegging whisky sound like testifying at the pulpit. “Bad laws make criminals of good people!” Remy'd slam a fist and say. And when he invoked the Holy Spirit, he meant
imported
whisky and everyone knew it.

Remy called Chester “
Mon ami le Noir Gros.
” He told him it meant
black giant
, and patted as high on his back as the wiry little man could reach. Chester didn't mind the French sound of that. Remy didn't suggest an ounce of dis-courtesy, but only had a different way of talking. It's something Chester'd learned, how a person's words did not always disclose the intention of his heart. He'd been called fine things by people who feared and loathed him, and slanderous things by people who thought well on him but were ignorant.

It had been months since he'd been home, but Rusholme was never far from his thoughts.
Rush home
, he'd think, like it was a commandment,
Thou Shalt Rush
Home.
He thought of his mother infrequently because she was fanatical and cold. Mostly he thought of the land, and the lay of the streets and the smell of the lake and the soil, and in a frame beside any thought of Rusholme was a picture of his one true love.

Chester loved all of Addy Shadd. Her heavy lid eyes put him in mind of a hound he'd had as a boy, and he thought to tease her about that one day in the future. Like that hound, there was something in her gaze, loyal and loving and saying they belonged to each other and always would. He saw that look the last time he was with her, when she peered at him under the willow at the church supper in June.

He'd been surprised Teddy Bishop wanted to put him to work that very night and sorry he couldn't find Addy to explain his departure and his plan. Birdie Brown was cool to Chester when he inquired as to Addy's whereabouts, but she did inform him that Mizz Shadd was feeling poorly and went on home. He'd worried some, but as Teddy Bishop was driving him and Jonas Johnson out of the town after dark, he'd seen Big Zach Heron coming through the front door of Shadds' little brick home and felt better that the family friend had been sent to check on her.

It was not the beauty of Addy Shadd, though he found her charms considerable, that compelled Chester to devotion. It was the unspoken communion of their spirits he could not deny or explain. Since the first day he saw her, when she was twelve years old and minding the babies at
the Kenny farm, Chester knew she'd be his mate. He never told her that was the case, naturally. Having the soulship they did, he knew she understood and felt the same.

Chester looked down into the frigid river under his sturdy boat and thought of the watery world below. He'd been told come winter the ice'd freeze thick, some said ten feet and some said two. Didn't matter how many feet down that river froze, he'd be travelling back and forth on it because the rum had to run. That was business.

Remy described the jalopy they'd get for him and how the best thing was to drive with the car door open. If the ice started to crack, a man had a chance in Hell of jumping to safety and not ending up fathoms deep on the silt bottom with the automobiles and corpses and cases of liquor from winters past. When he thought of the river bottom, Chester felt a shudder and could hardly force the picture of ruination from his mind.

Chester paddled a little harder when he looked up and saw the dock approaching. He began wondering if he could use that old jalopy one Sunday to drive the fifty or so miles back to Rusholme to see Addy Shadd. He'd ask Remy when he saw him tonight. He smiled to think of how Addy's face might look when he came motoring up to her little house on Fowell Street.

He missed her like a limb. He thought of Addy in the schoolhouse on King Street. How she'd help the younger children sound out words and never be smug. He regretted he didn't have the chance to spend the whole long summer
in the field beside her, watching her bent over the neat green rows.

Someday in the future Chester'd tell Addy in a whisper how often he thought of her like that, bent over in the sunshine, her perfect bottom waving back and forth and how he longed to touch her there. If she had a notion it wasn't a sweet way to be, he'd tell her there was nothing they couldn't do to each other that wouldn't be sweet, because of the true nature of their love.

At night, he'd lay down in his too-short bed and work his fist up and down his shaft, imagining that Addy Shadd was his wife. He'd caress her face and tell her she was beautiful and a treasure to him. He'd kiss her and feel her slick teeth with his tongue. He'd dip his mouth into the valley of her ear and chew the round lobe before he turned her to face away from him. He'd plant his hands on her hips and press himself into the cleave of her bottom, then reach up to fill his palms with her breasts. He'd whisper, “Bend over,” and she would, because he asked. He'd pull up her nightdress, exposing the halves of soft flesh and guide himself between them, gently thrusting until she pushed back and he knew she was ready to buck as hard and fast as he would like. Chester would explode with his imaginings and remind himself to start going back to church.

He'd have a good deal of money by spring and with what his father gave him secretly before he passed, Chester'd have enough for payment on a little acreage near the old Rusholme crick to start a small farm of his own.
He'd ask Wallace Shadd for his daughter's hand and soon as they were old enough, they'd be joined in the church as husband and wife.

Chester's boat floated up and struck the dock. He took a quiet moment to ensure there were no police to give him trouble and no temperance types to give him grief, before he hauled up the case of liquor. He shifted the load to his shoulder and started walking through the dark night. Thinking on Addy Shadd and a trip back to Rusholme, he began to sing. He was wishing he knew a better song than the one that came to his mind, though, as it was something lewd he learned at the blind pig in LaSalle.

Remy had yet to arrive. Chester deposited the crate in a small shanty near the water and sat back on his heels to wait. He listened to the river lap the bank and mused on the sharp white stars in the big black sky before the clouds moved in and hid the moon.

It was a Ford truck and not an automobile whose round beams flashed in his eyes a short time later. Chester stood and knew right off the driver was not Teddy Bishop or his friend Remillard. He stuck his hands in his pockets and felt the folds of the ten-dollar bills. If it came to that, he'd pass them over, but maybe the truck never saw him at all and he could just creep downriver into the tall bulrushes and wait till whoever it was left.

He heard the truck stop and two doors open and close, but he didn't turn to look as he put some distance between himself and the shanty. After a moment, he heard his name
and knew by the tone that whoever called it was uncertain. “Chester Monk? That you, Chester?”

Chester turned, the voice sounding familiar, but he didn't know it was Leam Shadd until his old friend stepped into the truck's headlamps and revealed himself. A chill went through Chester at the strangeness of seeing Addy's brother, all the way from Rusholme, standing there in front of him now. His heart skipped at the idea Addy herself might be in the darkness of the truck, but he quickly reckoned that wouldn't be the case. It was more likely that L'il Leam had come to work for Teddy Bishop too.

It was no less than a thrill to see him there. “L'il Leam Shadd!” Chester let go a howl like he'd seen men do after a snort of jack. He liked the feel of it in his chest and howled again to show off a little as he strode toward the vehicle. “Like an apple on a pear tree! I can't hardly believe my eyes to see you out of Rusholme!”

L'il Leam stood in the bright headlamps, astonished by Chester Monk's manner. Was it possible the big fool didn't know what he'd come for? He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, suddenly unsure. “I didn't expect you'd be pleased to see me, Chester Monk.”

“Pleased to see you? Why, you felt like a brother to me since I known you. What's that look on your face for? Leam?” Chester nearly lost his legs. “Addy?”

L'il Leam flinched, remembering the blood on the mattress, and thought his friend must be a fiend to appear so innocent. He walked forward, distracting the bigger boy
from seeing Big Zach Heron climb out of the truck. “How do you dare ask about my sister after what you done, Chester? How can you look me in the eye?”

For the first time, Chester allowed for the possibility that Addy might have thought he abandoned her. It suddenly occurred to him that he should have sent those letters he'd written after all, and not been so ashamed of his childish scribble and sorry poetics. Or that he should have found a way, any way, to return to Rusholme to see her over these weeks past. He'd have kicked himself if he could, for being such a fool. It pained him greatly to know he caused Addy enough distress to have her brother come hunt him down.

“I love your sister well and truly and if—” Chester didn't have the breath to finish as Zach Heron snuck up behind him and used his big hamhock arm to put a choke-hold on the boy's neck.

It was disturbing to L'il Leam that Chester didn't seem to understand how wrong he'd been to pluck Addy in the brutal way he must have. And a further wrong to run away like he had and never to inquire about her spirit or condition. But looking into the choking boy's wide bewildered eyes, it was clear Chester thought himself without fault. L'il Leam's blood boiled at his disregard. Zach Heron hissed, “Do it. Do it.”

The knife had been Zach Heron's idea. He thought to mark Chester's face, a slash on his cheek or above his eye, to brand him as the one that had done Addy wrong and to keep him away from Rusholme forever. L'il Leam
agreed. It seemed a right and fair thing to do, and more lasting than whatever minor discomfort his own small fists might inflict. Slowly, L'il Leam pulled the long blade from his pocket.

Chester Monk looked at him, not comprehending why this boy he called brother might have come here with a knife, nor what exactly he intended to do with it. He tried to cry out, but Zach Heron clamped his huge salty hand over his mouth. L'il Leam raised the knife and caught the glint of the automobile light. A north wind kicked up a maelstrom of dry maple leaves at their feet. Chester tried to shake his head. Zach Heron throttled him, shouting, “Do it, Boy! Do it!”

L'il Leam couldn't cut his friend, but it wasn't because he thought Chester was innocent. He couldn't do it because he had not the spirit to make a man suffer no matter what suffering that man made. L'il Leam stood there, watching Chester's eyes bulge and redden, listening to the sickening quiver of air stuck in his closed-off throat. Zach Heron sucked his teeth, feeling powerful, tightening his grip.

With some extraordinary effort, for his fight was fading and he could sense peace in some near place, Chester Monk decided he would not die like this. It was his foot he thought to use, and wished he'd thought it sooner. With the scant strength he still possessed, he lifted his leg, then brought the full force of his heel into the kneecap of the huge man behind him. Heron yelped in pain and lost his hold and that was enough for Chester to break free.

It was not that Chester planned it as such, but L'il Leam was standing only a foot away with the knife. Chester snatched the knife when he was clear of Zach Heron and held it up against both men as he struggled to fill his lungs with air.