Moonbog, page 20
“He’s dead, isn’t he!?” Linda screamed. Her body shook as she leaned forward and gripped the front seat. “I know he’s dead!” She looked back and forth from her husband to Shaw, his eyes glassy.
“We don’t know that for certain,” her husband said. His voice was tensed and not reassuring.
Shaw swallowed with difficulty and spoke. “I know that . . . that finding that sneaker . . . well, it doesn’t look good, I won’t kid you. As evidence, this is at least an indication, I say an indication of foul play. But until this search turns something up, Linda, you just can’t say for certain that Jeffy’s dead.”
Linda’s face twisted, trying to force a smile, but the expression only made her face look that much more grotesque.
Bob Hollis nodded to Shaw and then said to Del, “Please, take us home now.” Del put the car into gear and slowly pulled away.
Shaw stood in the middle of the dirt road, dust swirling around him as he watched the cruiser round a bend in the road and disappear. The loss the Hollises were feeling was too intense to ignore. He and Sylvia had never had children. They maintained that they didn’t want children, at least to their friends. But for many years Shaw had felt a gnawing suspicion that he was sterile. He had never been to a doctor to confirm it, but after years of trying to conceive, they had given up hope of having children. It was only in the past year, since the first young boy had disappeared, that Shaw had felt grateful that he and Sylvia would never know what has to be the absolute worst pain—that of out-living your children.
“Damnit!” he swore softly to himself as he watched the spot where the cruiser had disappeared. He let his eyes wander aimlessly along the length of road until the crackling of his walkie-talkie snapped him to attention.
“Shaw here,” he snapped, raising the receiver to his mouth.
“Chief, this is Win Cameron. I just talked to Del. We’re taking a half hour for lunch and will meet you at the rock right after.” There was a short pause, then Cameron added, “Over.”
“Yeah. Right. Over,” Shaw said. He snapped the off button, clipped the walkie-talkie to his belt and walked to where Wescott and the other men were standing in the shade of the large boulder. “OK, Jeff, I want to see where you found that sneaker.”
V
“You’re shitting me!” Les said, unable to hide his surprise. He swallowed hard as his eyes shifted nervously along the length of the diner. He was sitting on the last stool at the end of lunch bar in the Sawmill, next to the cash register. Del stood beside him, hands folded as he leaned on the countertop waiting for his order to be made up.
“It’s his all right,” Del said with some satisfaction. “Now maybe we’ll get this thing going, get this damn search over with.”
“Ummm, yeah,” Les replied. He shifted in his seat and looked down the length of the counter again. It was beginning to fill up with men from the search parties coming in for a late lunch. A few of the guys from the road crew came in and, when they saw Les, looked at him a bit funny, wondering if they had seen him out searching or not.
Del shifted anxiously from one foot to the other as he watched the waitress wrapping up the sandwiches.
“Where . . . uh . . . where did they find the sneaker?” Les asked softly. The restaurant was getting noisy as men filed in. Apparently Del hadn’t heard Les’ question. He reached over and tugged at Del’s sleeve. “Where’d you find it?”
Del was about to answer when the waitress came over and plunked down the two paper bags. She started ringing the sale into the register. As Del dug in his back pocket for his wallet, he said, “I guess it was just a bit due west of where the Little River Road ends.” Del put a ten dollar bill on the counter. “Sort of over near Old Man Logan’s place.”
“Out by the rock?” Les asked. There was something in his voice that made Del pause and look at him intently for a quick moment.
“Yeah,” Del said slowly, measuring his words, “‘bout a half mile or so from there.”
There was a loud clang, and the register drawer slid open. “That’ll be five eighty-seven,” the waitress said. She took the ten spot and began counting out change. Del crinkled down the tops of the brown bags. He held out his hand for the change, counting the bills before slipping them into his wallet.
“You boys headin’ out now, or are you gonna’ sit on your butts all afternoon?” Del asked, looking from Les to several other men from the road crew.
Les slouched down on his stool, saying nothing. Someone at the back of the diner said loudly, “Aww, don’t sweat it! We’ll be there!”
Del smiled faintly, picked up the bags, and left the Sawmill. Les watched him leave and then, after he heard the cruiser start up and pull away, he stood up quickly. “Well, I guess I gotta’ get on home now,” he said to no one in particular. “You boys’ll do all right without me, won’t yah?”
“We did all morning,” someone in a booth behind him said. Les turned and saw Frank Schroder staring at him over the top of his hamburger.
“Yeah,” Les said, “I ain’t feelin’ so well. I thought I was feeling better, but it’s hitting me again.” He strolled toward the front of the diner and left, making a point of walking slowly, as though in pain.
VI
“Cries like a little bitty baby,” Robbie said mockingly. He reached for his younger brother and tweaked him on the cheek. Sammy swatted his brother’s hand away with a vicious swing.
“Cut it out,” Sammy said, his voice edged with tension. “Leave me alone.”
“Cryin’ like a baby girl,” Robbie said. He started dancing around his brother as he stood on the sidewalk outside the school. Whenever he got close to Sammy, Robbie would poke at him and try to tweak him again.
“I said cut it out!” Sammy cried. He took a half-hearted swing at Robbie, who easily danced out of reach.
Robbie stuck his tongue out and wagged it. “Nah-nah-nah!”
Sammy’s anger was rising. This time, when he swung out at his brother, Robbie’s bouncing step brought him right into arm’s reach. Sammy’s open hand hit his brother’s face with a loud crack and almost spun him around. Robbie’s books fell to the ground with a flutter, and papers blew out onto the sidewalk.
Sammy stared with astonishment as the red print of his hand rose on his brother’s cheek. Robbie’s eyes began to water as he thoughtfully rubbed the side of his face. Then, softly, he muttered, “Now you’re gonna’ get it.”
“I didn’t mean it,” Sammy cried out fearfully. “You started it!”
“You’re gonna’ get it!” With that, Robbie sprang at Sammy.
“I didn’t mean—” Sammy started to say, but the wind was knocked out of him as the weight of his brother bore him backward. He lost all sense of balance, and didn’t realize he was falling backward until his rear end hit the sidewalk. His tailbone struck the asphalt, sending a chilling pain up along his spine. His brother’s fists were a blurred flurry around his head and chest as he twisted on the ground, resisting Robbie’s attempts to pin him down.
Grit and pebbles on the sidewalk ground into the back of Sammy’s head as he struggled uselessly to free himself from his brother’s pressing weight. Robbie had Sammy pinned to the ground, with each knee pressing into his biceps.
“You’re gonna’ pay for that, little baby,” he hissed, bringing his face close enough so they almost touched noses.
Sammy was aware of the smell of the spearmint gum Robbie had been chewing. He was surprised that he noticed something like that when he was about to get the crap beaten out of him. He closed his eyes and waited for the first punch to land. Suddenly, Robbie let out a dull, choking groan. Sammy thought the first punch was on its way. He was surprised when he felt R.obbie’s weight suddenly lifted from him. He blinked his eyes open and grabbed a lungful of air, like a drowning swimmer.
“You ought to be ashamed of yourselves!” Sammy heard his mother yell. He knew now what had lifted Robbie away. “Fighting in the middle of the street! In front of the school! Like a couple of hoodlums! Just wait ‘til I get you home!”
Groaning with pain, Sammy rolled over onto his side before standing up. He saw that his mother had Robbie by the collar and was giving him a rough shaking. She spun him around, aimed him toward the car, and gave him a vicious swat on the butt to get him started.
Sammy dusted off his pants as he watched Robbie climb into the back seat. He bent down and hastily gathered the fallen books and papers that had scattered across the sidewalk and grass.
“You too, young man,” Leah commanded. She stood beside the car watching him with her arms folded.
‘Just . . . just lemme’ get . . . get these,” Sammy stammered. He grabbed the papers in huge fistfuls, rumpling them as he jammed them into his notebook.
“Hurry up!” Leah said, and then she started for the driver’s door. “Just wait ‘til your father hears about this!”
Sammy hurried to the car and jumped into the back seat with his brother. Georgie was sitting silently in the front, trying hard not to look back at his two brothers.
“Just wait ‘til he hears about this,” Leah repeated. “Especially you, Robbie. You should know better!”
Robbie shrugged his shoulders and peered angrily at Georgie. He had to have someone to direct his anger and humiliation at, and the faint, twisted smile on his little brother’s face was enough to get him going.
“Turn around, will yah?” Robbie said to Georgie.
Georgie quickly snapped his head forward, but his eyes strained to see out the corners. Sammy sighed deeply and shrank down into the back seat. He wanted to disappear.
Leah started the car and pulled out into the street. She drove grimly, but kept checking the two boys in the back seat to make sure they didn’t start anything.
“I said turn around,” Robbie repeated, making a threatening gesture toward Georgie. Georgie shrank back.
“And stop laughing!” Robbie said, louder.
“Quiet back there!” Leah snapped.
“I wasn’t laughing,” Georgie said, a pathetic whine in his voice. His grin widened.
“Well cut it out, whatever you’re doing.”
“That’s enough, Robert!” Leah said. She glanced at him in the mirror and saw the exasperated look that clouded his face. She was angry with them for fighting in front of the school, but as she drove toward home, she remembered the night before and was beginning to think she might not mention the incident to Les.
“Well, Georgie’s making fun of us,” Robbie protested.
“Yeah,” Sammy echoed.
“I was not,” Georgie said, sounding innocent. He put his arm over the back seat, tucking his chin into the crutch of his elbow so he could stare at Robbie and Sammy.
“Mom,” Sammy said, “tell Georgie to turn around.” He gave Georgie’s arm a poke.
“Hey!”
“You two better cut it out—and fast!” Leah said harshly.
“Well tell him to leave us alone,” Sammy said, and again he gave his little brother a push. The push—wasn’t much, but Georgie exaggerated and fell over in the front seat.
Suddenly, without a word of warning, Leah’s hand lashed over the back of the seat and caught Sammy on the side of the head. There was a loud crack that sounded like a gunshot. The blow wasn’t very hard or direct enough to hurt, but it caught Sammy by surprise and was hard enough to bring tears to his eyes.
“Don’t make me stop this car right here in the middle of town to give you both another licking!” Leah said.
Sammy sat back in the seat with a huff and focused a cold stare of hatred at his mother’s back. “You’ll be sorry,” he said, whispering so softly he could barely hear himself above the sound of the car.
“What did you say?” Leah asked. There was an edge to her voice that frightened Sammy. He looked over at Robbie, who was making a point of staring out the side window.
“Nothin’!” Sammy said, folding his arms across his chest. It was happening again; Georgie and Robbie start it all, and then when he gets involved with the scrap, he’s the one who gets the swat on the side of the head. He watched as his mother’s eyes shifted from the mirror back to the road ahead, then he whispered again, “You’ll be sorry!”
VII
“You wanna’ go outside for the rest of the afternoon, Alf?” Marshall asked his cat. Alfie had just finished a bowl of milk and was sitting on the countertop lazily licking his paw. He paused and regarded the old man with a vague interest, then gave a faint meow.
“You can go out or you can stay inside ‘til I get back. I gotta’ go for a bit of a walk, you know?” He smiled as he rubbed his knuckles on the top of the cat’s head. “Well, why don’t you hold the fort for me. I won’t be long.”
He went over to the refrigerator and reached behind for his walking stick. For a moment, he regarded his sweater, hanging on a hook in the anteway, but then he decided that the day was warm enough to forego it; besides, he planned to be back before dark. He knocked the dottle from his crusted pipe, then slipped it into his shirt pocket along with a pouch of tobacco and his lighter.
At the door, he paused and stared back at Alf, who looked increasingly comfortable on the countertop. “You sure you don’t want—ah, never mind.” He flipped the door lock, took a step outside, and pulled the door firmly shut behind him. He stood on the doorstep, looked skyward, and inhaled deeply. He started toward the road.
At the end of his driveway, he paused again admiring the afternoon as he considered which way to go. Usually, on his afternoon walks, he headed downtown to pick up a copy of the evening paper. Maybe if he met one or two of the old fellas he worked with on the railroad, he would stop and chat, exchange pleasantries. There were fewer and fewer old-timers every year, and that thought always depressed Marshall.
The railroad had been an important part of his life. He had first gone to work for Maine Central way back when he was in high school, as a summer job. Unlike his brother, Steward, he had always preferred working with his hands rather than his head. Steward had gone to college and had come back to Holland to work as the accountant at the lumber yard until it closed. Right after graduation from high school, Marshall had gone to work full time for the railroad, right up until his retirement four years ago. Now, both he and the railroad were suffering a gradual but steady decline.
Marshall finally decided that he could do without a newspaper this afternoon. He turned left and headed up the road a few hundred yards to where a path veered off into the woods toward the Bog. He ducked low as he passed under the thick growing trees and struck out along the path.
Once within the quiet of the woods, he let his mind focus on what he had been pushing back all day. He finally admitted to himself that it wasn’t just that there weren’t many old-timers to talk to in town, or that he didn’t really want a newspaper that kept him away from downtown today. It was something else. Today, June 7th, was the day—that day so long ago that had forever changed his life.
The early summer of 1949 had been one of the hottest on record. The winter hadn’t been particularly hard, but still, everyone was grateful when the trees filled with leaves, the days got longer, and life returned to the woods and fields. June 7, 1949 had been a scorcher. At four o’clock, after work, Marshall and several others had decided to meet at the swimming area, at a curve in the river just below the lumber yard. To Marshall, though, no one but Louise mattered. She had been the only reason Marshall had gone that day—he had to talk with Louise.
They didn’t get much of a chance to talk, though, not with a dozen or more people basking in the sun on the rocks beside the river or splashing in the water. After more than an hour, as the sun lowered toward the western hills, Marshall indicated his urgency to speak with her. They arranged to swim to the further shore and meet on the steep rock cliff just around the bend in the river, where the water turned to rapids. Marshall crossed over first and climbed up, breathless, halfway up the rock face. It wasn’t long before Louise joined him there.
They found it difficult to look at each other. Louise’s marriage to Marshall’s brother, Steward, had never been a marriage of love, just of circumstances. For several years she and Marshall had been having an affair, but as time went on, the strain of secrecy and guilt had put increasing pressure on both of them—especially Louise. She had been raised in a strictly religious household, and the guilt of infidelity and incest was becoming too much for her to bear.
Since Marshall had received the letter from Louise, saying that she just couldn’t continue to live two lives, that they should ask God to forgive them their sins, and that they would have to stop seeing each other privately, he had been anxious to talk to her. He was convinced that it was just social pressure, not Louise’s real feelings, that were pushing them apart. He wanted to ask her—tell her to get a divorce from Steward so they could be married.
Sitting in the shadow of the cliff, looking out over the river and the town in the distance, Marshall and Louise talked. What they said is forever between the two of them and the river. The golden glow on the further shore darkened, but their conversation was still unfinished. They agreed to see each other once more—only once, Louise insisted and decided to get back before someone noticed that they were missing.
Marshall dove into the water first and struck out directly for the other shore. The river turned into rapids just a little ways down stream, but the current wasn’t too strong, not for a good swimmer. He made the shore and walked back to where the group was gathered. As everyone was gathering their things together, someone asked where Louise was. No one knew.
Suspecting the worst, three of the men swam over to the other shore. People on both sides of the river began walking along downstream, scanning the shoreline in the gathering dusk for any sign of her. On the far shore, the party found her bathing cap on the rock cliff just a few hundred feet from where the rapids began. That was all.
