Unbury Carol(58)

“I expect you could use something from me, Jimmy.”

“I could,” Moxie said, glad Jefferson had brought it up.

“Well, you done seen for yourself I got enough.”

“I did.”

With difficulty, Jefferson got up and crossed the room. Moxie heard him rummaging behind a stack of leather-bound books.

“You want something to drink, Jimmy?”

“I thank you, but no, Jefferson. On the return I’ll say yes.”

Moxie rose. Jefferson handed him a yellow canvas bag.

“You look good, Jimmy. Don’ worry ’bout who’s tailing you. He’s the one to worry.”

Moxie nodded. “Use the clothes I brought you, Jefferson. It’s good to see you, old friend.”

Jefferson took his hand. “I’m just upset I ain’t going with you!”

Moxie saw longing in his friend’s eyes, as if every bone in Jefferson’s body was fiending for the Trail.

Then Jefferson walked Moxie to the door.

“I’m gonna take another look at your four-legger…”

Outside on the front step, Moxie said, “Jefferson, if a crippled man comes through here, you don’t need to be talking to him. Any man with a physical problem or anything like one. You got it?”

“Sure, Jimmy, I got it.”

“A one-armed man, a limping man, even a man with just one eye, anybody like that comes knocking at your door and I’d like to be sure you won’t answer is what I’m asking.”

“Sure, Jimmy.”

Moxie patted his good friend on the shoulder.

“If the good old days were as good as we believe them to have been, then you should see me soon, on the return. I’ll bring you any books I find.”

“That’d be fine, Jimmy.”

“Thanks for the meat, Jefferson.”

Moxie crossed the lawn gripping the bag Jefferson gave him. He tied it to where the green sack had been and unhitched the mare. In that moment it was very clear to him how far Harrows was. As if he could count the pebbles of dirt between himself and Carol.

The length of the Trail.

“That’s a good girl,” Moxie said, patting the mare and mounting her.

“That’s a fine girl, all right, Jimmy! Old Girl!” Jefferson called from the front step. “And she’s gonna get you there by nightfall, no worries.”

Moxie tipped his hat goodbye and turned the horse around.

The pair were rested, fed, and ready for the remainder.

Jefferson’s brick schoolhouse behind him, Moxie knew there would be no more friends along the way. Just Carol at rest, and those who didn’t want him to wake her.





The sheriff knocked twice before he tried the handle. The deputy made a noise like he was about to say something but Opal looked at him and he didn’t. The door was locked and so Opal knocked again.

He called Dwight’s name and his voice boomed across the quiet yard. It was full morning now—the ride over had taken longer than Opal said it would—and the sun was up and showing. Cole looked to the sky and saw it above the house and for a minute couldn’t believe anything foul whatsoever could take place within such a home.

“I suppose we ought to go around back then,” Opal said. Cole nodded but didn’t make to move and the sheriff looked at him sternly and Cole understood that he was the one who was supposed to go around back then.

He left the sheriff standing at the door and took the stone steps Carol had put in herself across the grassy yard. Yellowed spots showed in the sunlight and Cole thought them dead. Squirrels scurried up the big willow trees. He heard the sheriff call Evers’s name again as he turned the corner of the house; there he saw the top of the gardens, down the hill he was now ascending, and the stone path that must lead to the back door. He, too, called Evers’s name, not wanting to chance upon the man relaxing, working, or, worse, grieving.

“Mister Evers! It’s Deputy Cole and Sheriff Opal! We’re here to see you’re doing all right!”

There was no answer, and Cole wondered if the quiet was what Opal called the “loaded” kind.

“Mister Evers! Deputy Cole here!”

He knocked on the back door and heard the empty echo follow. He thought of Opal trying the front door and knew that if he didn’t try this one here he would get a talking-to when he came back around. He called out one last time and tried the handle and found it was locked and blew out a sigh of relief.

He’s not home.

Cole stepped away from the door and then thought he hadn’t tried hard enough. He thought of Opal saying as much.

He turned and tried the handle again and the door opened. Cole peered into the darkness.

“Mister Evers? Deputy Cole here. Sheriff Opal is out front. We’ve been trying to get your attention. Opal wants to talk to you some.”

No answer came, no movement from within. Cole stepped in and closed the door behind him but then opened it again to give him some light. He crossed the room and found himself in the family kitchen. It was strange, uninvited as he was, seeing dishes that weren’t his, a glass on the counter, a bowl of something on the table. He took the hall to the front door, unlocked it, and found Opal still standing there.

“Just let yourself right in, did you?”

Cole raised his brows. “I thought that’s what you wanted—”