The Witch of Tin Mountain(43)

“Oh, we will,” Ebba says, fixing him with a cold stare.

“Ladies.” Marshal Pettigrew lifts the brim of his hat and leaves, letting a wash of humid air in through the kitchen door. We hear the engine turning over, and then the crunch of tires as he turns down the road.

I cross my arms over my chest to still my quivering. “Once that marshal gets to Blytheville and he don’t find Morris, he’ll be back. I only said what I said to buy us some time.”

I think about California. I think about the money that’s taken me years and years to save. I think about Abby’s kiss. I think about Granny and little Caro, whose mama ain’t fit for shit and might be gone forever. I think about that demon preacher and the rash burning on my back. But mostly, I think about Morris, and how if he stays in Tin Mountain, it’ll mean jail or Al Northrup’s hillbilly justice.

Right then and there, I know what I need to do.



We sit in silence, the three of us piled in Seth’s old Ford, none of us daring to say what we most want to say. Morris slumps against the window, his eyes on the dirt road as we chug our way down the mountainside. It’s still dark, and if we’re lucky, no one else will be out this early.

When we get to the logging depot, Seth parks the truck and cuts the engine. We sit there for a minute, the air thick with the scent of fresh-mowed timber.

Seth clears his throat. “Pa gave me all the rail connections. I wrote it all down for you.” He hands Morris a folded piece of paper. “He says there’s a stop just outside Billings. That’s where the ranch is. You’ll need to bail out before you get to each depot, so nobody sees you’ve stowed away. Wait till the train is going slow, though, and try to land on your good side.”

Morris nods. “He knows I’m coming, then?”

“I called him last night from the post office.”

I panic for a minute. “But the operators . . . you know Opal Richards just works that switchboard so she can be the first to spread gossip.”

“Don’t you worry, Gracie, I was careful. Pa knows. He’s anxious to catch up with my cousin Myrtle. Opal ain’t smart enough to figure the real story out.”

“Lands, Seth, couldn’t you have picked a better name than Myrtle?” Morris shakes his head.

“Ain’t no time for bickering,” I scold. “Come on. Let’s get you on that train.”

We fall out into the morning air. It’s already humid as hell. Seth hauls Morris’s knapsack out of the bed of the truck, packed with enough food and water to see him through the journey, along with my savings—all one hundred eighty dollars—and a hunting knife just in case somebody has a mind to rob him of it. Two trains sit on the tracks, one pointed north and the other south. The north-facing train has three boxcars, but only one of them is open. I walk toward it and hoist myself inside. It’s empty apart from a pallet stacked with square bales. The scent of dried alfalfa and fescue pricks at my nose, making me sneeze.

I check behind the bales to make sure there’s no one else stowing away. Even though I spent most of my time in the first-and second-class carriages as a child, I’d occasionally ridden in a boxcar to get back home. It’d only taken one encounter with a territorial hobo to show me I needed to check every inch of a car before bedding down. Being picked up and dumped out of a moving train was not a pleasant way to wake up.

After I’ve searched the car, I motion for Seth and Morris to come over. “This’n is empty. Hurry up, now.”

Morris turns to Seth. He whispers something in his ear, and then they hug for a long time. I swallow the lump in my throat, all the while nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockers. We need to hurry. The loggers could show up for work at any time. Finally, they stop canoodling and amble toward the tracks. With the way he’s leaning on Seth, I can see Morris is still hurting bad. With any luck, this train will make a long run, and he won’t have to hop on another one for a while. We’re doing the best we can. The rest is up to Morris and fate.

Seth hands up Morris’s pack and then helps lift him onto the edge of the car. I take his good arm and try to pull him inside. “I got it, Gracie,” he says, waving me away. “I need to be able to do the rest on my own.”

Once he’s inside and hidden behind the hay bales, it’s time to say goodbye and I ain’t good with sentimental bullshit. “When you get to Montana, you better write to me.”

“How? They’ll see my name on the envelope.”

“You’re Seth’s cousin Myrtle, dummy. Remember?” Morris has never been the brightest bulb in the room, and that’s part of why I’m so worried.

“You take care of Caro and Granny for me, ’cause Lord knows Mama won’t.” Tears glisten at the corners of his eyes. “And Gracie, if they . . . If they catch me, I’ll be okay, hear?”

“Now, don’t start that. They won’t. Just use the sense God gave you.”

He laughs. “If there really is a God, He wasn’t too generous when it came to me.” Morris smiles sadly. “I know this ain’t easy. And I know what it cost you to do this for me. Thank you.”

I try not to think about anything other than Morris getting to Montana safe, working cattle with Seth’s pa. I can always make more money. But the feeling deep down in my gut, that scrapes at me like a rusted nail, tells me that after today, things are gonna get harder than they’ve ever been, and it’s real likely this is the last time I’ll ever see Morris. A tear snakes its way down my cheek, and I wipe it away, annoyed.