The Steep and Thorny Way(66)

“Joe?” Laurence hopped on top of our log and gave a start when he saw us lying down in the ferns.

I jumped to my feet and pointed the pistol straight at him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Laurence raised his hands and stumbled backward off the log. “Put that down, Hanalee.”

Something ugly snapped inside me when he said my name. I climbed after him with the derringer aimed at his chest, and my finger hungered for the feel of a pulled trigger.

“Put the gun down.” Laurence backed into the base of a fir. “Put it down!”

“No! Not before you answer a question.”

“What question?”

My right thumb hesitated on the hammer. “Were you at the Dry Dock the night the Junior Order of Klansmen lynched my father?”

“Stop pointing the gun at me!”

“Were you there?”

Laurence looked away from me. “No.”

“Don’t lie to me.” I raised the pistol toward the center of his forehead, seeing the shine of perspiration there.

“C-c-come on.” Laurence’s hands trembled in the air. “P-p-put down the gun, Hanalee.”

“You taught me how to use this gun, Laurence. You taught me how to shoot with my aim dead-on, and you told me, ‘Don’t ever let them hurt you, Hanalee. Don’t ever let them make you feel small.’ Do you remember that?”

His lips turned a grayish shade of blue, but he managed a meager nod.

“Do you remember how you swore you wouldn’t let anyone hurt me or belittle me?”

“P-p-put—”

“Were you part of the group that tied a rope around my father’s neck and raised him off the ground?”

“No!” cried Laurence. “I swear, I wasn’t there.”

“I sure don’t remember seeing you in church that Christmas Eve.”

“I wasn’t there.”

“I don’t believe you; I didn’t see you.” I stepped two feet closer to my former friend—my beloved, blue-eyed boy who resembled Fleur so much it hurt my chest—and I shoved the gun against the skin above his eyes.

“Oh, God.” Laurence burst into tears and lowered his elbows.

“Hanalee, don’t!” yelled Joe behind me. “He’s telling the truth. He wasn’t part of the Klan that night.”

“I don’t believe that. I know I didn’t see him in church.”

“He wasn’t there,” said Joe. “I know—because he was with me.”

The pistol quaked, Laurence shook, and the entire world seemed to quiver and rumble and brace for a volcanic eruption. Joe’s words changed and re-formed and replayed in my brain before they made any sense.

He was with me.

The boy.

The other boy in the car.

Laurence.

I glanced back at Joe, my aim still centered on Laurence’s head. “He was with you that Christmas Eve? In the Model T?”

“Yes.” Joe nodded.

“But . . . the boy . . .” I shook my head, confused. “The boy from the party?”

“I never went to any party.” Joe took a step forward. “It was just him and me, sharing a drink, finding a moment to spend together.”

“That’s a goddamned lie,” said Laurence, spitting as he spoke. “I know what you’re implying, Joe, but that wasn’t me. I’ve got a girl right now—Opal. Voluptuous, eager-to-please Opal.”

“You want to die by Hanalee’s hand, Laurie?” asked Joe, planting his right foot against a log with a fern growing out of the middle. “Or do you want to speak the truth?”

“I don’t engage in hanky-panky with other boys. I’m not some goddamned fairy.”

“You mean you don’t get caught engaging in hanky-panky with boys,” said Joe, “but you sure were eager to . . .” Joe stepped back and rubbed the back of his arm across his mouth, as if wiping away a remembered kiss. “I kept my mouth shut when the sheriff questioned me, Laurie. I protect the people I love. I don’t throw them to the wolves.”

My arm vibrated from the force of Laurence shaking on the other side of my gun.

“I don’t love boys, Joe,” he said. “That’s disgusting.”

Joe lifted his chin and swallowed, and his eyes filmed over with tears. “You sure didn’t act like it was disgusting when you kissed me.”

Before I knew what was coming, Laurence shoved me aside. He lunged toward Joe and punched him in the face with a sickening crack that sent birds scattering out of the trees. Joe fell back and slammed to the ground. Laurence groaned and bent over at his waist, his right fist cradled in his left hand. I gasped and stepped closer and found a shock of bright red blood pouring from Joe’s nose. He covered his face with his fingers and rolled onto his side with his eyes squeezed shut. Both boys moaned in pain.

“Go home, Laurence.” I nodded in the direction of the Paulissens’ house. “Go soak your hand and calm down.”

“He’s a dead man.” Laurence backed away, still bent over with his fist tucked against his chest. “I was trying to help you, Joe, but you’re a dead man now.”

“Stop threatening him, and don’t you dare bruise Fleur’s arms ever again.” I clasped the derringer firmly in my right hand and aimed the barrel toward his brown shoes, debating if I should raise it toward his head again. “Do you hear me, Laurence?”