Chapter 4
Stevie and his friends ran through the fields as if the hounds of hell were snapping at their heels. Stevie felt a wild elation and ran faster than his friends as they heard a dog barking. That would be Ned Cain's old hunting dog; no other dog in the county had a bay like that one. Ned had let it out of the pickup truck and that meant that Ned, with a double barreled shotgun, wasn't too far behind.
Stevie was running, sprinting, when suddenly he was running on thin air. He had shot right over the embankment of the drainage ditch and came crashing down, tumbling, with an impact that knocked the breath out of him. He was still struggling to his knees as his friends came sliding and falling into the ditch. "Come on," he panted, leading the way as they ran, hearing the howl of the hound closer.
The fat would really be in the fire if old Ned caught them. Ned had a county-wide reputation for being a tough customer to cross; breaking in his house was tantamount to murder in his eyes and he wouldn't hesitate to use his shotgun. It wasn't because of his good looks that he ran the biggest spread in the county. He was a good, hard-drinking, two-fisted foreman who always got the crop in on time and stood for no nonsense.
And Stevie knew that they couldn't outdistance or outsmart that old hound; he was just too fast and wise for that. They ran hard, trying to get as far from the house as possible. A roar tore the stillness of the night and reverberated across the fields. That would be Ned shooting off the shotgun. He wasn't that fast on his feet that he could be close enough to get off a shot, but he probably knew they were in the ditch and was alerting the whole damn camp. In a few minutes, all of those fieldhands would be up and out and they all loved to hunt. Stevie had to think of something fast.
He could hear the hound now echoing behind them. He was in the ditch and it was now a matter of seconds before he'd be on them and have them cornered. Stevie had to think of something. If they were caught, it was curtains. Almost all of them were carrying marijuana. Not even his father could get them out of this one!
"Split up!" he yelled. "Jeb, Dan, come with me! Split up, it'll confuse that hound for a while!" he panted, yelling over his shoulder. One of the boys peeled off and headed up the embankment, showering dirt down as he ran. Then another boy went up the other embankment, each of them running low across the fields in opposite directions. Each of them began peeling off, confusing the scent for the hound. Ned's beast would stop, sniff the scent leading up and scamper up the embankment and stand sniffing the wind, its tail wiggling.
Each time he stood, realizing it was just one scent and that the main spoor was still in the ditch. Down he would leap again, bounding along until he came to another odor leading up and out of the ditch. Ned was catching up with his dog now, puffing along, his huge frame laboring. "No, you damn dumb son-of-a-bitch, they're only fooling you!" he bellowed, pausing to whistle the dog back into the ditch.
Finally, the false scents were gone and he heard the dog up ahead, growling and tearing at something. He grinned. Running hard, he thought, now I got them.
But it was a trick. The dog was tearing a shirt to pieces. A blue work shirt that Stevie had peeled off and tossed up on the embankment. Everyone wore blue work shirts and they'd never be able to trace it to him. "Here, boy," Ned bellowed as the animal tore the shirt to ribbons. The dog obeyed and came down in the ditch, whimpering, crawling to Ned who reached down and petted him. Ned smiled. "We got 'em now, boy." He pumped another shell into his shotgun. Up ahead was the dike. Beyond that was a drainage ditch full of water. They either were trapped or had to crawl out of the ditch into open country where he, Ned Cain, one of the best shots in the county, could pick them off. "It's all over, boy," he said gloatingly, his shotgun ready as he walked carefully along, "It's all over."
Although Ned was a good foreman, a good shot and hunter, a man who could belt down a pint of white lightning like it was sweet branch water, he was not renowned for his thinking. So it was with amazement that he saw his hound heading back down the ditch toward him with its tail between its legs. The hound shot by him like a whippet and Ned called the dog, turning to watch it disappear from sight and scratching his head, saying, "Now what in hell..." and turning just in time to hear and see a wall of water bearing down on him!
Stevie and his two friends had made the dike and used all their strength opening the flood gates, then ran off toward a copse of trees. There, in a small arroyo, they flopped to the ground and panted for breath as they heard shouts and the sound of feet running toward the dike. Stevie lay looking at the stars through the branches and started to laugh. It was just too damn funny. Old Ned Cain was probably treading water in another county by now.
"We'd better get home, Stevie," Jeb said, getting to his feet.
Stevie looked up at him. "Jeb, you ain't any smarter than Ned. I oughta throw you in the ditch with him. Come on," he said, getting to his feet.
"Where we going?" Dan asked.
Stevie put his hands on his hips and looked disgusted. "We're going to the dike and help close it because of what them damn vandals did. Probably them hippies, I bet. Come on," he said, kicking Dan with his foot, "Get on your feet. We stay away and they might suspect us. Besides, that dike is hard to close once it's open and all that water is giving Ned Cain a bath."
They hurried across the field, laughing and giggling, toward the men with flashlights and lanterns who were laboring to close the dike while a few hundred yards down the drainage ditch they could hear Ned doing some loud, righteous cussing.
The day came and, on the surface, it was nondistinguishable from any other day at the camp. Men ate hasty breakfasts and piled, sleepy, joking, into trucks that would drive them to the fields where they would bend in the hot sun all day long. Women said goodbye to their men and scolded the children who ran around screeching at one another. Ned Cain stood by his pickup truck, glowering at each of the workers. Somewhere, there were enemies. The men kidded him, giving him sly smiles with a few of them pretending to swim up into the trucks. Just as one truck was pulling away, a voice called, "Glug, glug, glug!" and the men roared while Ned glared.
Rachel went down to the admissions office to tell Maria all about it. Maria clucked her tongue and allowed as "How a body ain't safe in their own home no more."
Sheriff John Capp came rocking off the highway in his car and eased himself out, putting on his hat and sunglasses. He was a tall lean man with a face tanned the color and consistency of old leather. Deep lines bracketed his mouth and fanned out from the corners of his eyes. His walk was slow and careful and he wasn't known as the most talkative man in the county. He examined all the evidence, listened to both the Cains with politeness and only grunted at their questions.
He trudged out to the drainage ditch and stood with his hands in his hip pockets, looking down at the water still lying there and grinning at Ned. "Looks like they outfoxed you, Ned."
"Did you get elected sheriff just to tell me that?"
John directed a jet of tobacco juice down into the ditch. "Look at the bright side of it."
"How's that?" Ned hitched his pants.
"Least you got a good bath."
John and Ned walked back to camp with John trying not to laugh, talking about the crops to change the subject.
At Ned's pickup truck, joined by Rachel who stood by her husband, a loyal wife, Ned said, "Well, what are you going to do?"
John tipped his hat to Rachel, shifted his wad of tobacco and said, "Do? Well, I think I just might go have a cup of coffee with Maria."
Whatever John Capp was, he was a good cop. He knew his job and did it well with a minimum of trouble. He knew the people of his county and acted accordingly. And he knew the migrant works and how they had to let off a little steam, sooner or later. He knew when to arrest a man for being drunk and when to give them a night's sleep in a warm cell. And, knowing that working men drinking together are going to fight sooner or later, he kept violence at a minimum by instinctively zeroing in on the one guy who was making all the trouble and ending the offender's night with a straight right to the mouth or, when he thought the argument was valid and the men evenly matched, he wisely looked the other way, letting them all get some steam off.
He knew the life of a field hand is hard and the prospects for getting ahead pretty slim so he allowed some illegal practices to take place; like moonshining and gambling and, yes, one whorehouse. Yet, he ruled them firmly, giving one and all holy hell and trouble for months whenever they strayed out of line. Laconically, his pale blue eyes hidden behind his trooper's sunglasses, he would say, "Every man has to have something in his life. Men are going to drink, bet, fight, and whore no matter what anyone does or says. Better I know where they're doing it and just how much."
Short of keeping an eye on the Cain's place, John wasn't about to do anything else. In reality, there wasn't anything he could do. Besides, something was wrong. Ned either didn't have all the facts or was lying. And Rachel. Rachel was sure different this morning. Tired looking and kind of jumpy. Yet happy. Happier than John had seen her in a long while.
Nervous too. When they were talking by the pickup truck John noticed Rachel stiffen suddenly by Ned's side and glance nervously over his shoulder at something behind him.
John tipped his hat to Rachel, shifted his wad of tobacco and said, "Do?" And he played the hayseed sheriff, taking off his hat and scratching his head as he slouched and turned to see what spooked Rachel. Behind him was a brand new camper he had noticed when he drove into the camp. He made a practice of memorizing the license plates of any new car or truck in his jurisdiction.
But it wasn't the sight of a camper that startled Rachel. It was the sight of a white-faced young girl getting out of the camper, looking up and seeing them standing there and putting her hand to her mouth and backing into the camper and closing the door. And the look on the girl's face. John had seen that look before. He turned back to the Cains and grinned. "Do? Well, I think I just might go have a cup of coffee with Maria."
"Is that what we pay your salary for?" Ned asked, getting into his pickup and slamming the door.
John kicked some gravel at his feet. "Stay out of ditches, Ned. Mrs. Cain." He tipped his Stetson and walked over to the admissions office to have a cup of coffee and jaw a while with Maria. Maria was a good broad and, if he got her yakking, she'd give him all the dirt for a few miles around.
There had been too many footprints around the den window outside the Cain's house. And a wood box had been dragged from the kitchen door to the window. The breaking and entering job looked like an amateur job and kind of hasty. Any burglar worth his salt would check a house carefully before trying to break in. Besides, he was pretty darn sure that there weren't any cat-burglars and the word was out that he was mean and unreasonable when it came to breaking and entering cases and his county was a good place to pass through without stopping.
. And that girl in the camper was a stranger and that look she gave him told him she was in some kind of trouble. He swung into the admissions office with his Stetson slung low over his eyes, grinning at Maria with a freckled smile. "Maria, if you've changed your socks lately, I'll have a cup of that stuff you call coffee."
Latin Maria, fresh from a good workout the night before, lowered her long dark lashes and shook a shoulder at him. "Here's John, the sweet-talking sheriff."
John was right about Jane, she was in trouble. She had slept through the night and all the running and yelling and the gunshot like she was a stone. She had slept, exhausted, even when Rachel had come back into the room and covered her more completely and hid the rubber dildo she had so expertly brought the girl to orgasm with and straightened everything up. She had slept through Ned storming into the house soaking wet; she had slept through his profane harangue as he stood dripping in a puddle and shook his fist at whoever it was that had made such a fool of him.
She had slept, her only movement the deep, steady rise and fall of her breasts, until, near dawn, she had slowly opened her eyes and lay staring, wide awake, without moving. She stayed that way for a long time, staring up without moving or blinking. It was in her eyes, it was a-kind of sun-seared look. She seemed to be staring inward rather than outward.
After lying still for a long time, she slowly looked around, accepting the reality of being in the den, a strange room, with a sad acceptance. It was true. It wasn't a dream. She got out of bed slowly, every muscle in her body aching, her head reeling. She draped herself in a blanket and walked to the window and stood shivering, with wild sad eyes, waiting for the sun to come up.
It came slowly, long shafts of sunlight striking across the fields and turning a low storm cloud on the horizon a deep purple edged by bright yellow. It seemed to swell and bulge on the horizon, turning orange and causing the fields to shimmer in heat waves. It was going to be a hot sunny day.
Suddenly, Jane was all desperate action. Soon the camp would be full of men going to work and she would be seen walking to her camper in a bathrobe. Or, she could wait until everyone was gone. She couldn't stay in the house that long. She never wanted to see the house or Rachel Cain again. She dressed hastily and stole through the house and out the door quietly, hurrying to her camper and only breathing a sigh of relief when she was safe inside her camper, the door shut and locked and the curtains drawn tight.
But her relief was only temporary. She fell on her cot and cried for a long time. Finally she got up and put a cold rag on her face. Every person, as Sheriff John Capp wisely observed, has to let off steam one way or another. Nature takes over when we are faced with an emotional storm in our souls. We drink, or go into shock, or go crazy. There is, in each person's life, a time when they are all alone, faced with grim facts. Such a moment is a test of character and will to survive. Jane was facing such a moment in her camper. Years of breeding and tradition were in her family. Like seasoned combat troops, they had learned not to panic or retreat when the going got tough. Tenaciously, they dug in and held fast.
Such grit can't be inherited, science says, yet Jane felt a strength going way back in her family. In a state of shock, she stumbled around the camper, getting dressed and determined, in one way or another, to face the day, to get busy, occupy her mind, to work hard, giving herself completely to whatever she could find to do.
She forced her will to concentrate on her dress. She dressed in jeans and cowgirl boots with a blouse and a fringed frontier jacket. She was going to look neat and clean and run her classes for the younger children, the job she had been sent to do. And she wouldn't think. She simply forced herself not to think about the night before. She had to let time go by, time in which she could gather strength and have the benefit of a perspective before she thought about what had happened and what to do about it. She allowed herself one thought: no matter what, she was going to have a talk with Rachel Cain. And this time, there wouldn't be any friendliness or white lightning or tea.
She brushed her hair and pulled it back in a tight bun that looked business-like and severe. She paid special attention to her face and was grateful that the western jeans and blouse and coat hid all her bruises. She stood before the mirror, taking a deep breath. She looked neat and clean. There were circles under her eyes and she tried to smile to hide the look on her face. She looked ghastly, but was determined to get through the day.
She stepped from the trailer and froze, seeing Ned and Rachel Cain standing by a sheriff who turned and scratched his head and looked at her. The look on Jane's face was wild. She had to retreat back into the camper and close the door, her heart thumping with fear. What was Rachel up to? Was she going to try and destroy her completely? Why would she do an insane thing like that? Why last night? Nothing made any sense.
She lifted a corner of one curtain and peeked, watching Ned drive off and Rachel walk up the hill to her house, and the sheriff amble off to the admissions office. She watched for a long time, shaking, and saw only a few dogs trot by and a chicken peck around. Summoning up her courage, she told herself it must have been another matter or the sheriff would have come over to her. Holding her breath, she opened the camper door, books in her hand, and stepped out, locking the door. The camp seemed empty with just the sound of children's voices playing out of sight and a dog barking.
She walked toward the empty drying shed that she was going to use as a classroom for the day when a voice called out, "Oh, Miss!"
Jane whirled to see the sheriff walking from the admissions office with that no-hurry western style of loose walking. He ambled up to her, stuck his thumb in his heavy gunbelt and took off his Stetson. "Howdy. I'm Sheriff John Capp and you must be that new travelling schoolteacher. You're Miss Simpson." His face was freckled behind his sunglasses and his smile was warm and welcoming.
"How do you do. My first name is Jane."
"I know. I know you came in last night or the late afternoon and you're here to help out. Those little ones need some kind of help and I'm mighty glad you're doing it and if I can be of any help to you or somebody gives you a hard time, I'm available to help."
"Why, thank you. That's very nice."
"It's my job. One word of caution, ma'am. Camps like this are a good place to stay out of on pay night. Maybe even the night after. These boys get a little wild round that time of the month. They don't mean no harm, but they do get out of line. If I was you, I'd arrange to be elsewhere on those nights."
"Thank you again, Sheriff Capp. I'll keep that in mind." Jane turned to go.
"Ma'am?"
"Yes?"
"Did you notice anything unusual in camp last night?"
Jane stiffened. She couldn't help it. "No. Unusual? N-no. Nothing. Why should I see anything unusual?" she asked defensively.
John took his time answering her, looking at her from behind his opaque dark glasses. "It's just that someone tried to break into the Cain's home last night and it seems there was a kind of posse out to get them."
Jane pretended to be busy with the books in her hand. "No, I didn't see or hear anything last night."
"Uh huh. You slept in your camper?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Nothing. You must have slept deep."
"Yes," Jane said, somewhat frostily. "I was quite tired."
"Uh huh. Well, if I was you, I'd keep my door locked at all times."
"I will, sheriff, and I thank you again."
"Never can tell, it could be hippies."
"Hippies?"
"Yeah. There's a whole commune of them back in the hills. Ain't like them to bother folks unless it's to come out and beg for food. Still, you never can tell. One of them might get doped up on something and wander down here."
Jane was interested in the hippies from the viewpoint of children and education. "Are they ever any trouble?"
John shrugged. "Depends on what you mean by trouble. They keep to themselves a lot. Seldom come down unless, like I said, they beg old fruit and vegetables from growers and stores. If they got any dope, I can't see it. They picked their spot well, they can see any vehicle coming a long way off and they have plenty of time to hide anything. I go up there looking for runaways, usually."
"Are there any small children up there?"
"Yeah. They got a big family going and God knows who belongs with who half the time. Still, they don't break any laws."
"Does the county make any provision for educating the children? I mean, those of preschool age?"
"None." John shook his head. "Have a hard time getting the school-age kids to show up. County goes looking for them and they hide. Spooky lot and I'm still not sure I know everything that's going on there. Best you stay away, ma'am. Rumor has it there's plenty of drugs around hippies."
"Thank you again, sheriff, now I must get my classes started."
"Fine. Ma'am?"
"Yes?"
"You feeling all right?"
"Yes, why do you ask?"
"You don't look like you're feeling well."
"Oh? A touch of the flu, I think. I'll shake it off."
"Take care. That stuff is going around. Will you be spending another night in this camp"
"I... I'm not sure. I mean, in all probability, I will. I haven't thought about it."
"Well, if you do, keep your door locked. Ma'am." He stepped back and touched his hand to the brim of his cap. He watched Jane walk off with an appreciative eye as her buttocks swung from side to side as she walked. He took off his hat, raked his hand through his hair and set the Stetson on his head at a business angle. That was quite a tantalizing little piece with a real proper manner and face. "John," he said to himself, "Something happened here last night and that young lady knows something about it." He walked to his patrol car and decided to radio headquarters and told the dispatcher he wanted all the Boston authorities could give him on one Jane Simpson, Caucasian, early twenties, extremely attractive, occupation school teacher, drivers license number XLU 34198.
He switched off the mike, looked up at the Cain's house, looked at Jane's camper, and shook his head. Part of being a sheriff was being patient. Something more than just a burglary attempt went on at or outside the Cains' house last night and sooner or later he'd find out. John gunned out onto the highway and commenced his daily rounds from sunup to sundown. Evenings, his deputy took over with John coming in if help was needed. People had a way of hiding things about themselves from him. It was natural and John expected it. He shook his head, thinking that he already knew more about people than he wanted to know.
Jane threw herself into the day, greeting the children with a grasping eagerness. She needed them far more than they needed her. She won their confidence and control in a short time. Soon, she had them clustered around her as she read them short stories. She kept the length of the classes relatively short, allowing periods for play and resting.
By lunch time, she was enchanted by the children and one boy in particular, Jose, a little Mexican boy with black button eyes who was very bright and burning to learn how to read. "Learn me this," he would say, pointing to a word. In the afternoon, she spent time with individuals; Jose in particular, for he was charming and very bright and she held him in her lap as they went through the alphabet and she felt an odd comfort and thrill from his young body.
Late afternoon came and the children were sleepy and getting irritable so she declared an afternoon siesta and soon, they were all asleep in the shade. All except Jane, who sat guard over them and thought of the night before. It was like being touched with the tip of a very immense and cruel pain and she flinched from it, putting her hands to her eyes.
A sound behind her made her jump. "Oh, you scared me!"
A young boy was standing behind her. A good looking boy with freckles, clear blue eyes and a quiet cool smile that reminded her of someone or thing. He stepped back, saying, "Sorry, ma'am," in a quiet voice.
"It's all right," Jane whispered, pointing at the children and then indicating they'd better walk a distance from the open drying shed if they wanted to talk.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, if I disturbed you or anyone," the boy said when they were far enough away from the shed.
"It's all right. It was just so quiet and I was... thinking. What did you want?"
"My name's Stevie, ma'am, and when I heard you was here I thought I'd come over and see if you had any books to lend. You know, I was hoping you'd be a lending library or something."
Jane smiled. "How old are you, Stevie?"
"Just sixteen, ma'am."
Her smile broadened. She found herself thinking something she had never thought before: he was at such a beautiful age; old enough and certainly big enough to be a man, yet still a boy. Big for his age, but still a boy. "Well, I don't have too many books for someone your age, but I could scare some things up. You see, I'm here for the pre-school children so most of the books I have would be for their age."
"Oh, that's all right," Stevie said brightly. "They're not for just me, they're for some little kids."
"Well, I'm going to see all the children in the county."
"I doubt you'll see these, ma'am."
"Why not?"
"They're back in the hills in the communes, ma'am."
"Yes, the hippies. The sheriff was here this morning and told me about them."
"The sheriff's my pa, ma'am. I'm Stevie Capp," Stevie said brightly, grinning engagingly and looking like such a nice clean-cut American kid.
"Really? How nice. Does your father know that you go up to the commune, Stevie?"
"No, ma'am, he doesn't, and he sure would tan my hide if he did know." Stevie was charmingly honest and his grin made him look like his father. "I go up there when I'm hunting sometimes and I see those kids and I thought I could do something for them."
"How nice, Stevie. Tell me something. If you were to take me up there, how do you think they'd receive me? I mean, would they mind my teaching their children to read?"
Stevie looked quizzical and scratched his head like his father. "They seem a pretty nice bunch. Some of them are weird and all of them are a little nuts. I don't think they'd hurt anybody. Yeah, they might like it."
"If I wanted to go, would you take me up there?"
"Sure, only it would have to be this evening, tonight, because I'll be playing basketball every night for the rest of the week."
"Basketball? Really? I bet you're good at it. Mmmmm." Jane pretended to decide, when in fact she had made up her mind immediately. She didn't want to spend another night in the camp and she didn't want to be alone until she absolutely had to. This way, she would have Stevie's company and plenty of children to pay attention to. "How far is the camp from here?"
"Not far. Under an hour. Lots of dirt road."
"Will my camper make it?" Jane asked, pointing to it. "That?" Stevie asked, shading his eyes. "Sure. Easy,"
"Would you please guide me up there after dinner? I'd pay you for your time."
Stevie put his hands in his hip pockets and shuffled his feet, looking embarrassed. "I said I would. You don't have to pay me nothing."
"We'll discuss that later," Jane said. Then she did a thing she never felt she was capable of. She flirted with the boy, teasing her hips back and forth and smiling at him in a knowing way. She laced her long fingers together and tried to be cool. "Shall we meet at my camper around seven?"
"Sure thing." He acted as if he hadn't noticed her flirting.
"Good, it was nice taking to you, Stevie, and I'll see you at seven." She held out her hand.
Stevie took it reluctantly and said, "Seven o'clock."
Jane went back to her sleeping class and sat down. She looked at the children, at their young sleeping faces. Whatever happened last night, whatever Jane was, she was now helping young children toward learning and that was a good and positive thing. Whatever else took place, the day was good and she still had good instincts and motives. Tonight, she would be doing still more good things. Yet, she was deeply troubled and her eyes were clouded and doubtful from so much pain and bewilderment. And her action toward Stevie-she had never felt that way toward grown men, let alone a young man. Yet, for a minute, such a lewd evil thrill and thought entered her mind and she felt a strange little twisting sensation deep in her groin.
Last night. It had to be last night and an after effect. Her mind was confused. She resolved she wouldn't think that way any more. Tonight she would be on her guard with Stevie and she was going to do something fine and decent: show she cared enough to journey right into a commune and teach the children. She imagined herself loved by all the children up and down the county, bringing a ray of intelligence into their lives. She thought of herself like a modern Florence Nightingale, bringing the promise of knowledge to hungry young minds.
She daydreamed of helping all the children, even those of Stevie's age, inspiring him to go to college. She made a mental note to stock up on adult books - the classics - the next time she went to town for supplies. She would be famous within the county. And she would prove she was really a worthwhile person. What happened with Rachel Cain would never happen again.
Despite the heat of the late afternoon, Jane felt a chill and she pulled her jacket tight around her. She would talk to Rachel. Tonight, she didn't want to stay in the camp. She figured she'd take Stevie home then find a side road somewhere and sleep. She needed rest and tomorrow, when the men were gone to work, she would confront Rachel.
When the classes were over, Jane went back to her camper and cooked a simple dinner over a sterno stove and lay down to rest before Stevie came.
She looked at her face in a hand mirror. Her face had changed. What was it? She held the mirror at various angles but couldn't pin it down. She knew she had changed inside, for she was feeling things she had never thought of before. She squeezed her eyes shut and refused to think of anything but her good qualities.