Mother Lode (47 page)

He continued on, watching the skies. Timing
was everything. If the snow started too soon, they’d have to go
back. If it was late, she’d be cold and want to go home before it
came.

Finally, he turned onto an old lumbering
road that veered north.

“It’s beautiful, Jorie. I’ve never been back
in here. Look at the maples—gorgeous color. They’re still holding
their leaves. And the oaks, of course. They always do—sometimes
through the whole winter. Strange, how they cling so, when their
life is over.”

He swallowed hard.

“It reminds me of the time when you were
about eight, and we were somewhere in a forest. We pretended I was
Titania, queen of the faeries, and you came to save me from the
leprechauns. ” She turned to him. “Do you remember?”

“Yes.”

“You idolized me. I could do no wrong in
your eyes.” She squeezed his hand.

He wished she’d stop this kind of talk. It
wasn’t making his task any easier.

“Can’t you say something, Jorie?”

“I reckon all boys feel that way about their
mums at that age,” he managed.

“Oh, but we were different. We had a world
into which no other could tread. And that made our bond very
unique.”

It certainly did.

He drove on about a half a mile, stopped the
horse, and helped her out of the buggy.

“Let’s go down this trail.”

The blue sky was almost gone, and the clouds
were gathering quickly. They walked for about twenty minutes. Twice
the trail split and each time he took the path to the left.

His gaze went skyward. The first large, lazy
flakes were descending slowly. He licked one off his lip.

“It’s starting to snow, Jorie. We should
turn around.”

“It won’t last. We’ll be all right.”

Soon it was coming down fast, turning
serious.

“Jorie, we have to get back!”

They turned around and walked until the
trail split.

“Which way did we come?”

“This way.”

They pushed on. Finally his mother said,
“I’m sure we didn’t come this far. Are you certain we’re going in
the right direction?”

“No. Perhaps it was this way.” He led her
onto another path.

“It’s coming down so fast! I’m
frightened!”

Walking became more difficult. The snow fell
so thickly they could barely see in front of them. Unseen branches
tore at their sleeves and caught in their hair.

He could hear her gasping for breath, as her
steps lagged.

“I can’t go much farther. I’m slipping,
Jorie!”

“Take my arm.”

“Do you know where we are?”

“I think so.”

“I believe we’re lost!”

She clung tightly to his arm except where
the path was too narrow to pass two abreast. Then she would let go,
and fall behind for a few steps.

Suddenly she slipped and fell, letting out a
shrill shriek. He turned to see her on the ground grasping her
ankle. He knelt beside her.

“It’s my ankle.”

She held it with her hand, rocking back and
forth.

“Do you think you can walk on it?”

She tried, soon crumpled to the ground.

“Here, I’ll put some snow on it, to keep the
swelling down.”

He packed her ankle with snow and made a
pillow of leaves for her. “Lie down, Mother. Rest.”

He helped her to a reclining position. She
held her arms up to him and he bent to her. The snow was pouring
down now, sticking to her lashes and whitening her hair. How old it
made her look! How frail!

“Jorie, you can’t stay here! Go on ahead,
find the path. Then come back for me.”

“Yes, all right.”

“Go!”

He could see she was in pain and afraid, but
she smiled bravely. “I may die, here. What will my poor Jorie do
without his mummy?”

“Just rest, Mother.”

“I’ve always loved you, more than anyone,
Jorie.”

He brushed the snow from her face, kissed
her on the cheek. He knew if he stayed a moment longer, he would
lose his resolve.

“Go, Jorie. You must hurry.”

The hooting of an owl reverberated through
the woods, answered by the cackle of a crow. He stood, turned
quickly toward the path obliterated now by the silence of the
falling snow. Leaving her there was the hardest thing he’d ever
done. He had never loved her more.

Chapter 38

Arthur Johnson came to the Foster house to
check on his patient. When he was leaving, Earl walked down the
steps with him.

“He finally broke last night. He told me
everything,” Earl confided to his friend.

Arthur sighed. “He told me as well. In his
cell.”

For the second time Earl felt a pang of
jealousy. How hard he’d tried to get Jorie to confide in him.
Arthur sees him once and the lad spills all.

“Do you believe it, Earl—Catherine’s plans
for the girl?”

“Oh, yes! It’s all laid out in her diary
like a blueprint.”

The doctor removed his hat, ran a hand through his
white hair, and replaced the hat, all the time his lips working.
Earl knew he was fixing to say something. He watched the doctor
work up to it.

Finally Arthur spoke. “You
see, the boy came to me
before
. . . her death. He told me some story about the
perverse designs she had for his little sister. He asked for my
help in getting his mother committed, to protect the
child.”

Earl was stunned.

Arthur rubbed his forehead. “I refused.
Frankly, I thought . . . The boy has a wild imagination, you know,
Earl. Believes he receives guidance from his starline. . .The
things he told me that day were just too bizarre for me to
believe.”

Arthur looked at the ground, then raised his
head suddenly. For a brief moment Earl got a glimpse of the torment
behind his friend’s faded brown eyes.

“I didn’t even try to talk to Catherine.”
The doctor nodded good-bye, turned abruptly and walked away.

Earl stood watching his comrade climb into
his buggy and drive off. He felt a certain bond with the old man
now. Perhaps the yoke of guilt would be a little easier to
bear.

The judge had cancelled two poker games. Now
another Friday had rolled around, and tonight the game was on.

Jorie had been with Earl for two weeks and
had shown no signs of doing himself in, or running away. Earl
figured it was safe to leave him.

The seed of a plan was sprouting in his
mind, but it depended on his getting all the players to agree to
the terms.

He wouldn’t walk tonight. He’d take the
buggy, just in case he could pull off his scheme. Bigot would just
have to put up with it.

When he arrived, the usual props were in
place—‘Matilda’ and the cards and chips, though no one seemed eager
to begin. He could hear the argument in force.

Boyce sat with his arms crossed, still
miffed by the way the hearing had turned out. The judge was blowing
halos above his head.

“I was hoping you’d have calmed down during
our little hiatus. Cheer up, Buck, there’ll be other cases. Maybe
some actual trials, for you to win.” He smiled at Boyce. “Or
lose.”

“This one was hot, and you let it slip
away.”

Doc Johnson looked uncomfortable.

George asked, “Anyone like some beer? Iva’s
special brew.”

“I’m talking to you, McKinney! I think you
let this one get away!”

“I’ll have one,” the doctor said.

“Comin’ up.” George left the room.

Buck Boyce couldn’t contain himself. “Holy
shit! The old man’s retiring, doesn’t want to bother with another
trial.”

“Calm yourself,” the doctor advised. “You’ll
have your asthma trouble back.”

Turning his wrath on Earl, Buck said, “I
blame you, Foster. You had it in the palm of your hand.” He was
pacing back and forth. “I know you had enough on the boy to bring
him to justice. Then you just spread your fingers and let it all
slip through. What the hell’s going on?”

“It was never more than a notion in the
first place, Buck. A sort of feeling. As I said in court—”

“I don’t give a damn what you said in court.
What the hell happened to make you do an about face?”

“Just didn’t hold up. Wasn’t enough to go
on.”

“Bullshit!”

George came back with a pitcher and glasses
in time to quip, “Buck, you’d kick if you were hanged with a new
rope.”

As Arthur picked up his beer, Buck picked up
the deck of cards, shuffling them crazily.

Earl was itching to get on with his real
business. He wiped his mouth, in preparation of what he had to
say.

“This pot of gold, we have here—”

“Gold?” the judge laughed.

“All right. Guess they’re
mostly coppers. This pot of copper —
Matilda
, is getting mighty heavy. I
was wondering if we couldn’t put her to some use.”

“What are you getting at?” Buck wanted to
know.

“Are you saying what I think you are?”
George asked.

“I’d like to see the Radcliff boy get out of
town, make a new start.”

“Well, if that don’t beat all,” Boyce tossed
the deck of cards in the air.

“What are we saving her for? The Second
Coming?” Earl wet his lips. “I realize Jorie will get his
inheritance,” Earl said. “But it will have to go through probate,
and that will take time.”

“Up to six months,” the judge said.

“He can’t survive in this town that long.
Well, boys, what do you say?” Earl held his breath.

With clenched teeth Buck spat, “Not on your
life.”

“I think it’s time we gave the little lady
up for a good cause,” George said.

“I would like that very much,” Arthur
concurred.

Best thing for all of us, Earl thought.

The judge said, “Three ‘yeas’ and one
‘nay’.” He looked at the sheriff.

Earl spoke slowly, and with an authority he
didn’t feel. “The way I figure, if someone doesn’t want to support
this cause, he could withdraw his share of the winnings from the
pot.”

“We don’t even know how much that would be!
Never kept track,” Buck said.

Earl was prepared for this. “True. That
might pose a problem. Guess he’d have to estimate what he’d won
over ten years or so. Of course, some of us did better than
others.”

“Jesus, Foster.”

“And don’t forget, a good
deal of
Matilda
came from young Radcliff’s father.” Earl stopped to let this
sink in. “But the rest of us would accept a fair estimate, wouldn’t
we? A matter of honor.”

“Right.”

Earl looked at the others. “So, if you’re
with me—”

“Hold on here.” Buck
leaned forward. “I say whoever wins the game can do whatever he
wants with Matilda
.”

“All of her?” the doctor asked.

“All of her,” Buck said.

Earl felt the perspiration pop. That wasn’t the pact
he’d hoped to get. But at least it gave him a fighting chance.

George pushed a little smoke in Buck’s
direction. “Our prosecuting attorney here, would probably use it to
finance his campaign. Am I right?”

Buck waved the smoke away.

“All right. Fair enough,” the judge
said.

The doctor agreed.

“It’s a deal.”

“Ante up.” The doctor dealt the first hand.
“You betting, George?”

“One.” The judge pushed a chip toward the
middle of the table.

“Earl?”

“I’m in.”

Arthur turned to Buck. “What are you going
to do?”

“Submit a petition for another hearing.” The
prosecuting attorney was still bristling. ”And I’ll give my reasons
to the paper.”

“And what might they be?”

Buck straightened his tie. “You’ll see.”

“You had your hour in court. It’s a little
late to be thinking about doing your homework.”

“It would look mighty strange if you refused
to grant a hearing on the request of the prosecuting attorney,
George.”

George blew another halo of smoke. “And it
might look peculiar if the outgoing judge didn’t support you in
your upcoming campaign, boy.” The judge bestowed a benevolent smile
on the prosecuting attorney.

Earl reveled in a moment of victory, hearing
Boyce called by the name usually reserved for him.

After Earl and Arthur folded, Buck and
George were head to head; Buck won the hand with a flush. Pleased
with his win, he seemed pacified for the moment.

It was ten minutes to ten,
only time for one more hand, and Earl didn’t know if he was ahead
or behind. He studied the loose pile of chips in Buck’s corner, and
tried once again to figure the amount. He knew they had to be
pretty close, but he wasn’t sure
how
close. He wished for once he
wasn’t so orderly, hadn’t stacked his up in neat piles of ten for
everyone to calculate so easily.

The win seemed to improve Buck’s mood. He
gathered in the cards, started shuffling the deck, “I’ve got a
proposal of my own.”

“Put it on the table,” said George.

“Since this is a farewell party for Matilda
here, what do you say we raise the stakes for the last hand?”

“To what?” Earl asked.

“A nickel.” Buck slapped the deck down on
the table.

Earl knew he couldn’t afford it, and he
suspected Boyce knew it, too. All these years they’d played for a
penny. He hadn’t even been able to buy Cora the new stove she
wanted. He broke out in a sweat, which he was sure gave Buck
immense satisfaction.

“Maybe not everyone can manage the
increase,” offered the doctor, not looking at anyone in
particular.

“Let’s do it,” Earl said finally, with an
unaccustomed recklessness.

The others agreed. Buck pursed his lips and
studied Earl. He picked up the cards and began shuffling again, his
eyes still on the sheriff.

Earl felt uncomfortable, couldn’t resist
scratching his elbow. “Well, let’s get on with it.”