The Old Buzzard Had It Coming Page 7

  Alafair was drifting in that state between sleep and wake when she heard the brief click click click of Charlie-dog’s toenails on the kitchen floor. Her eyes flew open. There was one tiny rustle, another half-dozen clicks, then silence. The brief, almost imperceptible creak of the back door screen.

  Alafair didn’t move, didn’t breathe for a minute, giving the night-mover a brief head start. The instant she heard the back door latch settle into place, she rolled out of the bed and grabbed her shoes. She didn’t worry about waking Shaw. She could have jumped on the bed without bothering him.

  Alafair glided through the bedroom and the parlor into the kitchen. She was not surprised to see that Phoebe’s pallet was empty. She had been half expecting just such a move since Phoebe’s unusual behavior at the Days’. She snatched her coat off the coat tree by the door, and struggled into her shoes as she peered out the kitchen window into the yard. The moon was winter bright, illuminating the yard whiter than a torch. All was black shapes, except the few patches of unmelted snow, and the white quilt-wrapped shape of Phoebe floating quickly across the ground, past the outhouse, past the hen house, tool shed and barn, even past the stable at the top of the long rise behind the barn, accompanied by the yellow shepherd.

  Alafair’s brow wrinkled. Where was she going? She would have thought the barn the logical place to hide someone, especially in the winter, up in the loft, with the hay for warmth.

  Alafair wrapped a scarf around her head and slipped out the back door, walking hurriedly after the receding figure. The thought of hay had given her the answer. Phoebe was heading for the soddie, or course—the original dwelling Shaw had thrown up when they had first bought the land fourteen years earlier and needed a place to stay while the house was being built. It was used for storing baled hay, now.

  It was small, snug, well-insulated with hay and earth and safe enough as long as the foolish youngster didn’t try to make a fire. Alafair puffed along in the cold and dark, keeping well back from Phoebe, who had the dog with her.

  It was a twenty-minute walk to the soddie in the dark, long enough for Alafair to brood on every aspect of Phoebe’s uncharacteristic behavior. Just how deep did this secret friendship with the Day boy go? Was it only a friendship, or something more? They were both just children, after all, not at an age known for levelheaded and thoughtful behavior. Oh, Lord, had sweet innocent Phoebe fallen for a murderer? Worse than a murderer, a parricide? Tears of anxiety stung Alafair’s eyes. She’d wring that silly girl’s neck. Look at her, so intent on meeting her sweetheart that she didn’t even know she was being followed, traipsing around in the freezing cold wrapped in a quilt. She’d catch pneumonia. Alafair made a mental note to force hot rose hip tea down her and wrap her feet over a hot water bottle. To wet a strip of flannel with camphor and bind it around Phoebe’s throat. She inventoried her fever medicines in her mind. Did she have enough onion and garlic in the house?

  She shook herself back to the task at hand. She could see the soddie in the middle of the stubble-field, now, and Phoebe and the dog’s ghostly forms making a beeline for it. Phoebe stopped in front of the doorless door and stooped to say something to the old yellow shepherd. Alafair quickly squatted down herself, to avoid being seen. Phoebe ducked into the soddie, leaving the dog sitting beside the door gazing after her. Alafair counted to sixty, then moved up to the shack as stealthily as she could.

  The dog saw her, of course, but knew who she was long before she drew very near. He made no noise other than a few dull thumps as his tail hit the ground when he wagged his greeting. Alafair put her hand on the dog’s head and urged him to accompany her around the side of the soddie, where one high window, unstuffed with hay, might enable her to hear what was happening inside.

  She could hear them, all right, two young voices, one female, one male, speaking softly to one another in a murmur, just below Alafair’s ability to comprehend. She anxiously pressed herself up to the wall near the window, her ears strained to the limit.

  She listened, frustrated, as the young people talked for ten, maybe fifteen minutes, and then fell silent. Alafair sank down next to the house and draped her arm over the dog, feeling like she might explode. She desperately wanted to burst into the soddie, fling the two apart, and dash the boy’s brains out against the wall.

  If he cared for Phoebe, even if he only felt himself to be her friend, how dare he involve her in this nasty business? She indulged herself in her fury at John Lee for a minute, even as she was perfectly aware that there was enough guilt to go around.

  She only had to restrain herself for a couple of minutes before she heard Phoebe step out the door again and whistle softly for the dog. Alafair pushed the dog away from her before Phoebe could come around the side of the shack to look for him. The dog shook himself and walked calmly around the corner to Phoebe, with a single backward glance at Alafair, unsurprised by the inexplicable vagaries of human behavior. Alafair squeezed herself into the littlest package she could.

  “There you are, you old Charlie-dog,” Phoebe said, very plainly. “Let’s get on back.”

  When Alafair heard Phoebe’s footsteps recede, her breath escaped in one huge whoosh of relief, and not simply because she had not been discovered. Phoebe had not been alone with her fugitive friend long enough for anything untoward to have happened.

  Alafair sat still for a minute, pondering. As she saw it, she had two long-range problems. First, she had to find out what there was between Phoebe and John Lee. Second, she had to know if this boy had killed his father, and if he had, were there mitigating circumstances? Her two long-range problems were momentarily precluded by two more immediate questions. Namely, was she going to rush into the soddie and demand that the boy tell her what he thought he was up to? And if she was not going to do that, how was she going to get back into the house without alerting Phoebe?

  How long had she been away from the house? Forty-five minutes, probably. What if one of the kids had awakened and wanted her? Well, it would be a disaster, that’s all. But it was unlikely.

  Alafair rubbed her cold hands together and blew into them. She knew she wasn’t going to confront John Lee, not right now. He wasn’t going anywhere in the short run, and if she kept her counsel for a little while, she might learn something. She would have to be subtle as a summer breeze, she knew, since dealing with a wary teenager is more difficult than approaching a scared deer. And that included not just Phoebe, but all of Alafair’s older kids, as well. They might not know everything about the situation, but as sure as the sun rises, they knew more about Phoebe and John Lee than she did.

  She settled back against the grassy wall to wait a while, until Phoebe was settled back on her pallet and dozing, and Alafair could slip back through the front door.

  A shuffle from the entrance froze Alafair as still as a rabbit. She held her breath as she listened to footsteps move away from the door of the soddie and the figure of John Lee appear just within her line of vision at the corner of the soddie. Alafair didn’t panic. She knew if she stayed still, he probably wouldn’t see her in the dark shadows. He walked out into the field about twenty paces and proceeded to relieve himself.

  Alafair studied his compact figure with interest as he did his business. It didn’t occur to her to be embarrassed. She had lived her life too close to nature to be bothered by a little pee.

  The moon was bright and she could make out considerable detail about the boy, even if it was too dark to see his features. He was not a tall youngster, maybe five feet eight, but at nineteen, likely to add an inch before he was done. He was pretty broad in the back already, and narrow hipped, with lanky limbs and an untrimmed shag of hair. Years ago, he had been just one of the flocks of kids who had hung around when all the offspring were little. He hadn’t been a brat, she remembered that. He said, “Yes, ma’am,” and all. Usually barefoot, even when Alafair thought it too cold.

  John Lee finished his task and put himself back together, then stood for a few minutes gazing up at
the full moon before he visibly shuddered with the cold and turned with some reluctance and returned to his den in the hay bales.

  Alafair felt a twinge of compassion for the fugitive. Maybe he was guilty and maybe not, but he was young, probably scared, and definitely cold, dressed as he was in nothing but a long-sleeved shirt and overalls. At least he was shod. She hoped Phoebe would have the sense to smuggle some old quilts or blankets to him.

  She thought about Phoebe disappearing with Naomi earlier that day, and wondered if Phoebe was telling Naomi about John Lee’s hiding place, or if it had been the other way around.

  She could hear him scuffling around inside the soddie as he resettled into his lair. He emitted a sigh loud enough for Alafair to hear, and then silence. Alafair glanced at the moon. She stood up slowly, stiff and frozen-toed, and made her way home.

  ***

  Alafair figured that the longer she waited to make her move, the more likelihood there was that John Lee would escape or be caught. She decided to do it early, while Shaw was taking the kids to their various pursuits and she was alone on the farm for an hour or so. The idea that she might be in danger from John Lee never occurred to her.

  It was a miserable morning, still dark long after it should have been because of the heavy overcast. The wind was like a knife, freezing cold and full of little stinging bits of sleet. Alafair wrapped herself up like a mummy and filled a lard pail with some biscuits and bacon and hot coffee in a jar. She practically ran the quarter-mile to the soddie, partially because she was in a hurry and partly because it was so cold she feared that if she slowed down she would freeze solid in her tracks. She slowed a little as she neared the shack, and approached warily, not wanting to startle John Lee if he was watching. She stood before the door for a couple of seconds, took a deep breath, and ducked inside.

  She saw nothing, except the u-shaped wall of hay bales that Shaw and the boys had piled floor to ceiling. Alafair stood still and studied the wall, her gaze sweeping slowly from side to side, top to bottom, trying to find the hay equivalent of a secret panel. She knew that in the fall, Shaw and his hired day-laborers had packed the soddie cram-full of baled hay, and as winter progressed, he had pulled out bales by the half-dozens, through windows and doors, until little packets of emptiness existed around the shack, like the anteroom she was standing in.

  She was reasonably certain that the boy didn’t have to remove a bale to reach his hiding place, since a bale of hay is heavy, and Phoebe certainly wouldn’t be able to maneuver one with any ease. The bales were stacked in a flat, straight wall to within six inches of the ceiling. Climbing over would be so difficult that it was practically impossible.

  Her eye followed the six-inch opening along the top. The bales were flush with the east wall, but stood out from the west wall about eight inches. Not enough to allow a human body to pass through. Not at first sight, anyway. Alafair stepped up and examined the opening, passing her hand around the hay wall. Only the front bales stood close to the wall. The bales behind were set back a good eighteen inches. She took a deep breath, blew it out, and making herself as skinny as she could, squeezed between the hard, scratchy hay and the soddie wall. For half an instant, she thought she wasn’t going to make it, and an image of herself permanently wedged solid, waiting for rescue by some unsympathetic and highly amused offspring, popped into her mind. The very thought caused her to shrink another couple of inches and pop through into the corridor formed by the bales and the outside wall. She blew out a relieved breath, then paused a moment to pick hay out of her clothes and hair. The little hallway she found herself in was only about six feet long, and turned at an abrupt right angle at the back wall of the soddie. Alafair tiptoed forward and hesitated at the corner. For the first time she felt apprehension. She expected it might not be wise to startle a well-grown young fugitive in his hiding place. It was much warmer inside the soddie, with its tons of hay insulation, but she could still see her breath in the air. She held her breath and inched her eyes around the corner.

  He was there, all right, sleeping like a baby, curled up in one of her better down comforters on a bed of loose hay and rough blankets. His nest was in an opening not six feet by six feet, as cozy and padded as a vixen’s den. Alafair stood and looked at the sleeping boy for a long time. He was lying curled up on his side, swathed in blankets up to his eyes, so that all she could make out was a shock of black hair and two long fringes of black eyelashes. Light, such as it was, and air, were coming in from the high, narrow window just under the roof. The sun was fairly up by now, but it was still very dim, and chilly. A bucket of water sitting next to the wall was covered with a dark skin of ice.

  Alafair looked at the sleeping boy and saw just that—a boy. Certainly no violent murderer. Any fear she may have felt vanished.

  She took a step or two forward so that she was standing over him. “John Lee,” she said in a normal voice. When he didn’t stir, she tried again. “John Lee Day,” she said, louder.

  In the dimness, Alafair saw his eyes open and regard her dreamily for a second, then fly open in consternation. He sat up abruptly, and the comforter fell away from his shoulders.

  There was a long silence as they gazed at one another. Alafair was pleased to see that John Lee’s startle had faded quickly, and he sat looking at her matter-of-factly, plainly trying to decide if she were friend or foe.

  And Alafair realized clearly that whether he had done it or not, she was his friend. Not that she would help him go unpunished if he were guilty. Rather that Alafair Tucker, mother of children, wasn’t going to allow this child to suffer needlessly if she could help it.

  John Lee, for all his rough condition, had the aura of innocence about him. And not just innocence of the death of his father, but soul innocence. How is it that some people can grow up in grinding poverty, in an atmosphere of violence and oppression, forced into literal slavery, and still maintain their innocence? Some are simply in a state of grace, and why God chooses whom he does, Alafair thought, is a mystery.

  John Lee unfolded himself from his blanket and slowly stood up to face her.

  “Miz Tucker,” he greeted warily. “How did you find me?”

  “Phoebe didn’t tell me, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  “Phoebe?” he echoed, with entirely convincing wonder. “Phoebe ain’t got nothing to do with this.”

  An involuntary smile curled Alafair’s lips. Good for you laddie-boy, she thought. But she said, “It’s no use, John Lee. I followed her here last night.”

  He drew a breath, but said nothing.

  “She’s in big trouble, you know,” Alafair observed.

  “I made her help me,” he replied evenly. “She didn’t want to.”

  “Why did you run away, young’un?”

  There was barely a pause before he answered. “Because I killed him.”

  Alafair’s heart dropped. “Killed who?” she asked, giving him every chance.

  “My daddy,” he answered, throwing the chance away. “You don’t need to pretend, Miz Tucker. I know he’s dead. I seen him there, next to the house, all dead and froze.”

  “Doc Addison says your daddy froze to death,” Alafair said.

  “No, ma’am,” John Lee said with conviction. “I shot him.”

  Alafair folded her arms across her chest. “Why did you do that, son?”

  “Well, ma’am, he was trying to brain me with a rock. I had socked him, you see. I struck my own daddy, and he wasn’t having none of it.”

  “Why’d you hit him, John Lee?”

  John Lee bit his lip, then answered slowly. “He liked to hit my ma, Miz Tucker. He done that a lot when he was drinking, and sometimes when he wasn’t. I finally had all I could stand, so I jumped on him. I guess I pummeled him a mite. He chased me around a while, but later that evening, when he come at me with the rock, I shot him. I didn’t know I killed him, not ’til we found him that morning. He acted right shocked, when the bullet hit him, but then he just staggered off to
ward the barn. Didn’t seem to bother him that much. He didn’t even bleed that I saw. When I seen that the mule was gone the next morning, I figured that he just had rode off down to his still like he’s done a hundred times before. I didn’t know he was dead ’til my sister found him a few days later. Then I got to thinking about hanging, and after I fetched the sheriff, I run off. I know I shouldn’t have done it.”

  Alafair was listening to John Lee’s story with a growing sense of confusion. “What kind of gun did you shoot him with, John Lee?” she managed to ask.

  “A little old two-shot derringer. I wouldn’t have thought it would kill a flea.”

  “Them things aren’t easy to come by,” Alafair observed. “Kind of expensive, too. Where did you get hold of such a thing?”

  John Lee hesitated for so long before answering that Alafair was fairly certain that the answer was a lie. “I saved up money for it,” he told her. “I was going to give it to my ma for protection, but I had it in my bib pocket that evening.”

  “Was that before or after you met Phoebe on the road?”

  “Well, it was before. I was trying to cool down, walking along the road, when I run across her. I didn’t tell her nothing. She didn’t know. She was just so calm and gentle, and made me feel better, so I asked if I could walk her home.”

  Alafair’s hand went unconsciously to her forehead, which wrinkled with perplexity. “Sheriff Tucker says you were riding the mule when you came to tell him that your father was dead.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I came across him as I was walking over here, thinking to borrow a horse. He was just grazing by the side of the road as calm as you please, all saddled and everything. I caught him and rode him to my Aunt Zorah’s and told her the situation. She didn’t seem much surprised. She went to get the kids straight away, and I just rode off to think a spell.”