Unbury Carol(107)

“He went and became something of an outlaw, huh,” Carol said, musing.

“James Moxie?”

“That’s right.”

“That’s right, he did. When I first started here in Harrows, his photo was still up in the station. From what I hear he wasn’t so bad. Wasn’t so bad in the graveyard anyway.”

Carol nodded. “Are you going to take him in?”

“For what now?”

“For Dwight.”

Opal paused. But he’d already thought this through.

“No, ma’am. I don’t plan to. Seems to me he’s taken care of my business for me. If it was him that done the taking care of it.”

He winked.

Carol was quiet before speaking again.

“Sheriff, this is the second time in my life a man has acted insane because of my condition. Why do you think that’s so?”

Opal shook his head. “Can’t say I know that answer.”

But Carol thought she did. “It must be hard,” she said, “being that close to death. Even the phony kind.”

“I don’t know,” Opal said. “Ask Manders.” Then he paused. He looked Carol long in the eye. “Where is he now?”

“James?”

“Yes.”

Cole had already told Opal that James Moxie had been spotted twice leaving town. Both times with Rinaldo. Once they’d come back with this very owlfly. And the second time? Cole said they’d headed south. That’s all he knew. But then, everything was south from Harrows.

“Mackatoon,” Carol said.

Opal wanted to ask if he was going to stay there. But he didn’t.

Farrah entered the tavern and, smiling, sat beside her lady.

“I don’t know how much you’re talking,” she said. “But I know that you’re talking too much.” Then, turning to Opal, “You’re the one making her do it. My lady needs a break. What say we do this another day?”

Opal nodded and looked at Carol. “I agree,” he said.

“Now, Farrah,” Carol said, taking her friend’s hand in her own. “The last thing I want is rest.”

“Oh, Carol!” Farrah said, suddenly gripping her lady’s hand. “I knew something was wrong! I knew it!”

Opal rose and put his hat on his head. He addressed Carol.

“You planning on staying in Harrows?” he asked gently.

Farrah burst out, “She doesn’t deserve to have to wake in Harrows one more morning.”

But Carol answered differently.

“You asked where James Moxie was,” she said. “But you didn’t ask whether he was coming back.”

Opal waited. So did Farrah.

“Well…” Opal said. “Is he?”

Carol smiled.

“I think he’s certainly proven he deserves…” She looked to the owlfly. Something beautiful, something simple, passed over her eyes. “Another chance. I think we both have.”

“Well,” Opal said at last. “I respect you for that, Carol. I respect you for many things. It’s a good thing we all know about your condition now. We’ll keep a good eye on you from hereafter.” Then, “And the other eye on James Moxie, if you don’t mind.”

“He’s coming back?” Farrah asked. “You two are gonna…”

Carol patted Farrah’s hand.

“Don’t rush it,” Carol said. “Love is more complex than just coming and going.”

Opal tipped his hat. Before leaving the tavern he asked, “You might know anything about a cripple? A man with only half his legs? Anything to do with all this? Your boyfriend’s friend didn’t tell me much about him. Only that he fooled him…twice.”

Carol looked to Farrah and then back to Opal.

“No, Sheriff. I certainly don’t.”

“The strangest thing…”

Opal left then, and shortly thereafter Farrah helped her lady up and the two stepped out of the tavern together. Arm in arm they walked, Carol carrying the glass case with her free hand.

“You know what I’d like to do?” Carol asked.

“What’s that?”

“I’d like you and me to walk through the garden and you can tell me all about Clyde.”

“That old hog? All he does is sleep and snore!”

Carol smiled. “They all do.”

“Truth is,” Farrah said confidentially, “I love him very much.”

“I know you do.”

Carol thought of the many variations on love and the myriad ways it was shown. She recalled Hattie in the workroom, John Bowie on the porch, and James Moxie on his knees in a grave, staring into an empty casket he’d broken open himself.

Arm in arm they walked, and talked about Harrows, about Clyde, and about the days Carol and James Moxie met at a tavern and tried their hands at union, and how those days had circled back, like the Trail, in a way, from north to south and then back north again, all a bundle of shadows and unknowns, places without sun, places where things might hide, and yet the life-force, the throughway, the vein of all this life and living.

The Trail.

“I liked that,” Farrah said. “What you said about love.”