Tattler's Branch (21 page)

Shade Harmon kept
his eyes on the lady’s back. Dr. Still
 
—what an appropriate name. Even after that steep climb this morning and then being locked up in that room, she kept her composure. And then she’d unrolled that snake shed for the boy like it was no more than a strip of crepe paper, like they were going to have a birthday party. Still Waters
 
—that’d be the perfect moniker for her.

He’d need to keep on his toes while around her; that was sure. He could see she was always thinking of ways to outwit him. Saying she wouldn’t come with him unless he brought the boy inside
 
—and him holding the gun. Little Miss High-and-Mighty was about to find out who was in charge of this roll of the dice.

He pulled at the handkerchief he’d wrapped around the cut on his hand. It was healing well
 
—no fresh blood
 
—but the hankie was stuck like glue. He’d have to soak it off.

Man, he had his share of troubles. And that kid, he’d sure put a crimp in his plans, nosy brat, always sneaking around, spying. Shade’s luck had held, though, as it usually did. The boy had become the perfect tool for keeping the doctor in place.

He pushed his hat up a ways with the barrel of the gun. What was taking so long? He watched her swing a little girl back and forth in her arms as she waited on the porch. Talk about your phenomenal luck. Meeting up with Grunt and the boys last night for one last game had been the flukiest thing yet. Hoppy had goaded Grunt about playing with coins instead of bills. Grunt just shook his hangdog head, managing to stutter a few words about a new baby in his house, a foundling his wife had taken in. A lightbulb had gone off then, nearly blinding Shade with knowledge. It all made a perfect, if illogical, sense.

He’d thought of following Grunt home and taking the baby by force, but he didn’t want it to go down that way. A gambler’s best bet was to stick to the plan
 
—never let them see your hand.

The little girl laughed. Soon, Shade would hold his own baby girl in his arms. He pictured them years from now, Betsy Lane laughing with delight over some little something. Maybe he could find some of those Mother Goose books to read to her. Little Miss Muffet and all that.

Finally the doctor was coming down the steps and heading to the buggy. Shade leaned across the seat and opened the door from the inside. The doctor stepped up awkwardly, then slid inside with Betsy Lane in her basket cradle. He flicked the reins and the buggy rolled out of the yard.

On their way to the Beckers’, the doctor had shown a keen interest in the house with the
Quarantine
sign. She was more than likely hoping someone there would notice her through the buggy window. Now as they approached the house again, he ordered her to duck down in the seat.

She gave him a look and stayed as she was. “They’re all inside,” she said.

He admired her poker face. She was a cool customer. The gun rested with authority in his lap. The horse’s hooves clip-clopped along the dirt road. They could have been any family out for a ride.

A family? Why hadn’t he seen the possibility before? Nobody would question a family traveling with a baby. He wasn’t exactly changing the plan; he was just adding to it, taking advantage of the situation, as it were.

After a few minutes, Shade pulled the horse over into a grove of trees. He wanted to see his daughter.

“Give her to me,” he said.

The doctor put the basket on the buggy floor. “Hello, sweetheart,” she said as she lifted the baby from her nest of blankets. “Oh, you’re fresh as a daisy.” She passed the bundle to him, saying, “Support her head.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m her father, aren’t I?”

His hands trembled as he undid the soft flannel wrap. It was her
 
—his baby girl. She yawned and stretched with her whole body, then opened her eyes wide and looked straight at him with her blue all-knowing gaze. She didn’t cry or startle. His daughter hadn’t forgotten him. The world stood still. Every bit of everything he’d ever gone through was worth this moment.

He traced her cheeks and she turned her face toward his hand. He laughed. “She looks good. Her face is fuller, and her hands
 
—look how plump.”

“The Beckers take good care of her.”

“Well, I’ll be taking care of her from here on out.” He lifted the baby to his shoulder and patted her back. “Her name’s Betsy Lane,” he said.

“That’s quite lovely. Is it a family name?”

“Of a sort,” he said, laying the baby on his lap so that he could see her face again. He couldn’t get enough of her almond eyes and her loopy smile. She began to whimper.

“Cletus put a bottle of milk in the basket. Do you want to feed her?”

“Do I need your permission?” he snapped, the gun resting under the baby giving bravado to his words.

“Of course not,” the doctor said with a shrug.

Betsy Lane squirmed and mouthed one tiny fist. “It’s not like I’ve never fed her before,” Shade said.

He tipped the bottle. Betsy took the nipple and sucked. There
 
—he knew what he was doing. Then milk flooded from
her nose and she turned a frightening bluish color. Without a thought, he handed her over.

The doctor mopped milk with the corner of Betsy’s blanket. When Betsy recovered, the doctor handed her back. “Try holding her in a semireclining position while she feeds. See if that helps.”

It made the feeding easier, and she didn’t strain to suck as she did with the nipples he’d bought at the store. “She likes this better
 
—seems like she doesn’t have to work so hard to get milk.”

“We enlarged the hole in the tip. The milk flows better that way. You might want to let her rest a bit every few sucks. She tires easily.”

“Why is that?” he asked without thinking.

“May I speak frankly?”

A cloud descended. He wasn’t interested in her esteemed opinion. He’d had his fill of opinions. “Why should I care what you think? If you were any kind of an expert, you wouldn’t be practicing in this backwater town.”

“Fair enough,” she said.

A ring of bluish-gray circled Betsy’s mouth. Her tiny nostrils flared with effort. A sense of urgency flooded Shade. There wasn’t much time. The sooner he got Betsy to a big city hospital, the sooner she would get well. He handed the baby over again.

The doctor finished the feeding as Shade drove the buggy back to the boarded-up house. He watched as best he could
and noticed that the doctor pulled the nipple frequently, giving Betsy plenty of time. He could do that.

He guided the horse around back of the house. He’d leave the rig at a hitching post once they got to the depot. Someone from the livery would pick it up in the a.m. He liked how that worked. Bunch of hicks
 
—didn’t even question his made-up identity. Like every other business, all they wanted was his money.

“What the
 
—!” He jerked the reins.

The doctor inhaled sharply. “Timmy,” she said.

The boy was sitting on the porch in front of the open door. A small white dog huddled under his arm. The doctor settled the baby in the basket before pushing her door open and jumping down from the buggy. Shade was left to tote the basket across the yard like some kind of hired help.

The sky darkened. The wind picked up and with it came a hard, slanting rain. He hurried them all inside and slammed the door behind him. After carefully depositing the basket on a table, he turned on the boy, raising his hand.

The doctor stepped between them. “Don’t you dare.”

“Get him away from me, or so help me
 
—”

She turned on her heel, giving him her back. The dog and the boy followed her. The room looked the same, with the window still boarded, and he knew he’d locked the door. The door key he’d found on the mantel when he first broke in was still in his pocket. He would’ve sworn it was secure as could be, but the boy had made a fool of him.

“How’d you get out?” He grabbed the boy’s arm and gave
him a shake. Timmy puckered his mouth to spit. Shade popped him lightly on the lips. “You want me to kick that dog across the room, smart aleck? Turn your pockets out.”

Timmy turned his pockets inside out. A knitting needle clattered to the floor. He’d picked the lock.

Shade pitched it out of the room. “You’re quick. I’ll give you that. But if you’ve got a lick of sense, you won’t try that again.”

He didn’t bother slamming the door, just pulled it to and turned the key. Man, he was tired of those two. Back in the kitchen, he searched through his rucksack for the boiled eggs and hard cheese and soda crackers he’d brought to tide him over on the train trip.

Thunder shook the windows. He’d better dash out for some water before the rain got worse. He pulled on the rain slicker from his pack and grabbed a chipped granite bucket. In a minute he was back with the water bucket and the mason jar. The temperature had dropped considerably with the rain, but it was July. Nobody was going to freeze. And it wouldn’t hurt the fancy doctor and the boy to suffer some discomfort after all they’d put him through.

He pulled out a chair and ate an egg and a few soda crackers. He wished he had a cup of hot coffee. Maybe when they got to the depot. He looked at his watch. He’d gotten a lot done already; there was plenty of time for him to take a rest. The train didn’t pull out of the station until nine. It would take them an hour, maybe two, to get there, depending on the road conditions. He didn’t want to be there early.

With his foot, Shade scooted another chair around to face him. He propped his feet up and slid his hat down over his eyes. Things were going pretty much as he’d planned. The boy was a pop-up, but he could be managed. Instead of a sleeper car, they’d sit together in facing seats. He could see how they’d look like a family to the other passengers.

Rain pounded on the tin roof. Otherwise the house was quiet. He closed his heavy-lidded eyes.

He startled awake and looked at his watch. He’d slept an hour. How was that possible? The baby was crying
 
—sitting right on the table where he’d left her. He looked in the basket. Her bottle was still half-full. There were several clean nappies in the space at her feet.

It took forty-five minutes for Betsy Lane to take another third of the bottle. He changed her diaper, being ever so careful not to jostle her so the milk wouldn’t come back up. She was asleep before he finished. He picked the basket up and carried it to the bedroom door. After unlocking the door, he carried the basket in and set it down at the lady’s feet.

“Could you bring some water and a basin?” the doctor asked. “The dog needs tending.”

She had made a pallet of sorts in the corner and the boy slept curled around her like a kitten. The dog was in her lap, its fur bloodied, he now saw.

He would put the dog outside, but it might start a ruckus. Dogs were like boys, nothing if not trouble. Leaving the door ajar, he went back to the kitchen and got the water bucket.
He didn’t see a basin, so he took her the mason jar. She’d have to make do.

When he took in the water, the boy sat up and stretched. Shade could hear his belly growl. They were way more trouble to him than they were worth, but he took the eggs, the cheese, and the crackers to them. Nobody even said thanks. How ungrateful could you be? Now he’d have to put out money for food on the train.

“Eat up,” he said. “We’ll be heading out soon.”

Back in the kitchen, he sat drumming his fingers on the tabletop. The rain on the roof mimicked him. Somewhere down the ridge, lightning popped and a tree crashed to the ground. He wished the storm would let up. The road would be a mire of mud. He should figure in extra traveling time for that.

The waiting was making him edgy. The sheriff had probably formed a posse by now. They’d be scouring the hollers for the doctor and the boy. He looked out the window. The gloomy lingering clouds made it seem dark as night already.

Shade’s plan took on a sense of urgency. It would have been better to take an earlier train. Too late now; he’d have to play the hand he’d been dealt. Flipping open the blade of his pocketknife, he sliced the oilcloth table cover into two pieces. Now he was ready.

Armina’s hopes
were dashed when she saw the size of the crowd gathered outside the clinic. They wouldn’t be standing there in the rain if Doc Lilly had come back.

Sheriff Clay hustled her and Hannah in through the office door. A deputy was waiting. He looked even younger than the sheriff.

“You find anything?” he asked.

The sheriff filled him in. The deputy shook his head when he heard about the grave. “This changes everything,” he said. “We’ve got a killer on the loose.”

“Yep,” the sheriff said. “I reckon I should let the folks know so they can lock up tight tonight.”

“A killer?” Mazy said, coming into the room. A well-thumbed telephone book drooped from her hand and a yellow pencil stuck out from over her ear. “What do you mean, a killer?”

The sheriff led her to a chair as if she might keel over at any moment. “Listen, Mazy, you have to be strong. I’m going back out right now. I’ll find her. I promise.”

“Who would hurt Lilly? I can’t even believe this.”

“And Timmy,” the deputy said. “Timmy Blair’s missing also.”

“But she’s been gone too long,” Mazy said. “And it’s storming. I thought you were going to get her and bring her home.”

“She wasn’t there, Mazy,” the sheriff said. “I think that’s a good thing.”

Mazy stood and stomped her foot. “You go find her, then. You go get her and bring her home before Mama gets here.”

“Your mother’s coming?”

“Everybody’s coming. I called the post office in Troublesome Creek and the postmaster said he’d send someone to fetch Mama and Daddy. She’s already called me back.”

Mazy lifted her chin. Armina was proud of her. She hadn’t just sat back wringing her hands, waiting to see what someone else would do.

“I’ve also notified the United States Bureau of Mines,” Mazy said. “They’re going to find Tern and hasten his homecoming. The telephone’s really powerful if you know how to use it.”

A man rapped on the door glass. Sheriff Clay let him inside.

“Chanis,” Stanley James said, “I got a call from Washing
ton, D.C. I hear the doc is in trouble. My men and I are here to help.”

Stanley was the foreman over all the mine workers in Skip Rock. That was a powerful lot of men. Armina hoped Sheriff Clay didn’t get all territorial.

“I can use all the help I can get, Stanley,” the sheriff said, shaking the older man’s hand. “Let me fill you in.”

After the men left, Armina watched out the window with Mazy and Hannah. Soon horses were brought in and the men were divided up into groups. “Search crews,” she said. “They’ll soon find Doc and Timmy.”

The deputy came back inside. Rain dripped from the brim of his hat and splattered on the floor. “I’m to escort you ladies home.”

A terrible ringing sound made them jump
 
—even the deputy did a little leap into the air.

Mazy hurried into the front room. The ringing stopped and they could hear her shouting, “Hello!” She came back with the telephone cord stretched as far as it would go. “Armina, it’s for you.”

“It can’t be for me,” Armina said. “I don’t even know how to use that thing.”

“It is for you,” Mazy insisted. “It’s your husband. Now come here before we get disconnected. It’s a long way to Boston.”

Armina hollered hello like she had heard Mazy do. Mazy adjusted the contraption until Armina was speaking in one place and listening in another. “Ned,” she yelled, “you need to come on home now.”

“Hey, Armina,” she heard him say. She nearly dropped the shiny black telephone it startled her so. “I’ll be starting home in the morning. I passed all my boards! Can you believe it?”

“That’s good, Ned. You need to come on home.”

“Are you okay? Is everyone okay there?”

A blinding flash of lightning stilled Ned’s voice. Armina felt a tingle shoot up her arm and down her back. The lights in the office winked and then went off.

Armina let loose of the gadget and patted her head to make sure it was still on straight. They all huddled together in the middle of the room until the deputy said it was safe for them to make a run for home.

The rain lightened until they were in sight of Doc Lilly’s house. Then the clouds let loose with a real frog strangler and the wind whipped their big black umbrella topsy-turvy until the spokes stuck out like the bones of a turkey carcass.

Armina put another pot of coffee on the stove. What else was there to do? Mazy kept wandering back to Doc’s room like she might have overlooked her before. Hannah peeled potatoes. Other women began to show up: Tillie, Mrs. Blair, poor old Emma Hill, and even the newly widowed Mrs. Clover. Word sure traveled fast in the coal camp.

Tillie brought four frying chickens already cut up for the skillet, Mrs. Blair had half a bushel of green beans, Mrs. Clover had the makings for a four-layer chocolate cake, and poor Emma brought a peck of words.

Armina wished they had stayed away, but this was not her
house, and you couldn’t turn folks away in times like this. Plus, the company provided a good distraction for Mazy.

Mrs. Blair said she took comfort that Timmy was with Doc Lilly. Mrs. Clover simply said she needed to be here. Tillie led them in a prayer, and Hannah read the Twenty-third Psalm. Only Emma nattered on until Hannah gave her a pen and paper and asked her to write a list of what they might need to feed Doc’s family when they arrived. Everybody petted on Mazy, who was so anxious and scared.

Armina studied the situation. Her mind kept spinning back to the baby
 
—thinking and thinking on where that man would take Doc Lilly. Timmy, she figured, had just got tangled up in the mess somehow. He was a boy searching for trouble, after all.

Despite the rain, she had to get away from the hubbub in the kitchen; all that peeling and stirring and cooking and sharing was making her edgy. She’d put Kip on a leash and take him for a walk. Doc was funny about him being off leash when it was storming.

Doc Lilly’s canvas shoes were by the crock in the foyer where Armina had put them when they came in. Armina retrieved her walking stick and fished in the crock until she found Kip’s leash. She gave a low whistle. The dog didn’t come. And then she remembered seeing his little tail bouncing down the alley across from the clinic. He’d been going to find Doc Lilly. Armina was sure of it.

She stopped in her own house long enough to get a jacket and some mud boots and then hastened down the road to the
clinic. She stood where Kip had found the second shoe and looked across the road to where she had seen him running.

The area behind the stores looked forlorn in the rain and the muck, with trash scattered about and discarded papers clinging wetly to the scrub behind the buildings. There was no reason for Doc to have been in this place. But Kip had told her differently. Using her sycamore walking stick, she poked around and struck pay dirt. A bit of colored cloth hung from the branch of a thorny black locust. The ground just beyond the tree looked trampled, and a little ways farther up, a rusty blackhaw sported a broken limb.

Behind her, she could hear horses nickering and men shouting. That would be the search party returning, she was sure. She scrambled back up the slope, using her walking stick for ballast. Maybe they’d found Doc.

The men were gathered in front of the commissary’s long porch. Every single face looked long and dejected. Nobody paid her any never mind when she joined in the midst of them. Why did it always take a woman to get things done?

“I need to speak to the sheriff,” she said, but the men just talked right over her. She pounded the porch floor with her walking stick. That caught their attention. “I need to talk to the sheriff!”

Sheriff Clay tipped his hat. “Miz Armina.”

“You’d best come see what I’ve found,” she said.

Like a pack of hunting dogs, the men all followed her around the building. With her stick she pointed to the piece of fabric impaled on the thorny locust. “There’s mashed-down
weeds and broken branches down thataway. And I seen Doc’s dog heading this way this morning. Kip was tracking her.”

“The Beckers’ place is on the other side of this mountain,” the sheriff said.

“Anne and Cletus,” Turnip interjected.

“And the baby I told you about,” Sheriff Clay said.

The rain that had held off for a while commenced pounding down. Lightning cracked and a tree crashed somewhere up the mountain.

“Miz Armina, all right if Turnip escorts you home? You don’t need to be out in this.”

Why was it always Turnip? The Lord was trying to tell her something, but she wasn’t about to let her pride slow the sheriff down. “You bring her and Kip and Timmy home this time, Sheriff. Else I’ll whack you good with this here staff.”

The men got a laugh out of that. They didn’t know she was serious as a snake with both eyes open. She was of a mind to thrash the whole lot of them. And one thing was for sure: if Doc Lilly wasn’t brought home tonight, Armina was climbing the mountain herself come first light.