Authors: Kathryn Long
"Missy, I don’t know how to answer your question. I’m as confused as you are. Things just happened too fast for us to absorb it all, I guess." She reached out to put her arms around her young sister. "Maybe in time …" She cut it off. Everything she thought of to say came out like a cliché.
"Are we really going to Oklahoma?" Missy looked up at Jess with worried eyes.
"I don’t think we have a choice," Jess answered solemnly as she glanced around the room. Boxes, some full and some still waiting to be, were strewn about. They’d started the task of packing two days ago and needed to finish by Saturday. Jess had been forced to make the painful decision of vacating the apartment. She could hardly afford the rent, and bitter resentment filled her when she thought of the meager funds they had left. Their parents, while still alive, were not exactly a financial success. Mom had worked as a playground monitor and Dad spent his nights in a factory, his days trying to become a successful artist. His paintings were beautiful, Jess had to admit, but not striking or different enough to be noticed in the art world.
Maybe her mom’s family was right. Money and success are most important. At least that’s how Jess felt right now.
Birds were chattering incessantly outside the window and the screams of children as they ran through the sprinklers added to the pleasant din. The sounds reminded Jess to be grateful, no matter how small the blessing, that summer meant no school time would be missed and the drive to Oklahoma should be easy.
Oklahoma. What would life on Uncle Fred’s ranch be like, she wondered? Would Deek adjust despite his angry protests? And Uncle Fred. Could he be as kind and generous as he had sounded on the phone? Would their lives ever regain some sense of normal? So many questions. They made Jess realize how uncertain all their futures had become. In just one quick second everything had changed. She shook her head and began to cry. In just one second …
Chapter 2
Emma stood by wringing her hands in a constant, repeated motion. Her worried brow deepened the creases of the already weathered skin and the usually pleasant cornflower-blue eyes were now a reflection of painful concern.
"Is he … will Fred be okay, Doc Willis?" she asked cautiously.
"Emmy, I can’t tell you much yet," he began and turned to gently take her hands in his. "I’m doin’ the best I can."
She nodded and took a few steps back to sit down in a rocker where the nervous motion of hand wringing transferred to rocking, back and forth, back and forth.
Doc Willis tried again. "Emmy, why don’t you go on home and get some rest. The ambulance will be here any minute." She began to protest, but he held up a hand to stop her. "There’s nothin’ more you can do here."
Resolutely she nodded once more, and then pushed off the rocker with her arms. When she was standing she glanced at Fred’s bumped and bruised form. "What in God’s name would make somebody do such a thing?" she cried and looked back at the doctor, but she left before he could say a word. She knew he didn’t have any explanation. No one did. It just didn’t or couldn’t make sense. Fred was the kindest man in Oklahoma. Everyone loved him. "Nope," she argued aloud. "It don’t make a lick a sense."
As she stepped out onto the porch, red lights flashed in the distance. They were just approaching Lazy K's drive. Emma guessed that would get the ambulance to the front door in less than two minutes. She decided to wait.
As the lights neared Emma realized that another vehicle followed close behind the first. Sheriff Gentry. "
Humph
," she grumbled. "About time."
She stepped aside as the paramedics flew by with a gurney, but then placed herself back in front of the door before the sheriff could get through.
"Miss Emma," Gentry said gruffly and tipped his hat in greeting.
"
Sheriff
Gentry," she nodded with a mocking emphasis. Before moving aside, she added, "I do hope you’ll be investigatin’ this here case thoroughly."
"I’ll be doin’ my best, ma’am," he returned in a defensive tone while tipping his hat once more.
"Yep. You just do that." She spat on the ground before turning and descending the stairs. She marched across the yard to the barn where her horse was waiting. Common sense told her to stay and make sure Caleb Gentry asked all the right questions, but Emma knew he wouldn’t have stood for it. Just because she was his great aunt, it didn’t hold water.
He was sheriff, he once told her, and would do things his way. She’d started to argue, but then he’d gotten real angry, warning her to stop meddling.
"That just about beats all. Me? Meddlin’
?"
She kicked at a stone in her path. "Uppity, pompous know-it-all."
As she saddled Lady, Emma recalled the time her cousin, her dear brother’s wife Ester, had given birth to Caleb. Emma had felt joy and happiness, as did everyone in the family. Yet, as years went by, that joy turned to sorrow for Ester. First, her husband passed away, and then Caleb got into one scrape after another, tearing his mama apart with grief.
To make matters worse, Ester remarried a drifter who'd come into town and charmed her. Duane Gentry. He'd adopted Caleb, not being able to stand the idea of the Thomas name lingering around. It didn't take long for drifting to tickle his bones again. Duane got up one morning, packed his meager belongings and left. Ester died five years ago, probably more from worry of Caleb than from that stroke, Emma suspected.
Of course she was just a "meddlin’" old woman according to Caleb and his so-called friends. But she was nobody’s fool. She knew that badge didn’t mean squat, unless you earned it. And he was playing both sides of the fence, she suspected. Or her name wasn’t Emma Jane Thomas, born and raised in the great land of Oklahoma. Her family roots went clear back to the Homesteader’s run of 1889, she told everyone proudly. And no sniveling, snot-nosed, wet-behind-the-ears, young pup was gonna tell her what to do. "No siree dobbins," she muttered as she hoisted herself onto Lady’s saddle and road home.
* * *
Emma threw her jacket over the chair and walked to the kitchen. While putting the water on, the sudden, shrill ring of the phone nearly caused her to drop the kettle from her hand.
"Hello?" she said hesitantly, not accustomed to very many phone calls.
"Emma?" It was Mac Yearling who worked at Lawton General.
"Yes, Mac."
"They just brought Fred in a few minutes ago," he began and cleared his throat before going on. "Emma, he’s lapsed into a coma, not respondin’ to anything."
She wasn’t sure what to say. She felt numb, like her mind had vacated her body and she was floating, observing herself from above. The whistling teakettle abruptly brought her back down. "A coma," she repeated before sitting in the chair. Her knees were knocking.
"The doctors are goin’ to run some tests, MRI and anything else they need."
"MRI?" Emma repeated in a flat tone.
"Yes, Emma. It's much better 'n a CAT scan. With this kinda image, they can catch everything from fractured bones to internal bleedin'. Of course we won’t know much more till mornin’," he offered. "Is there … are you okay, Emma?" His concern was truly genuine since he cared for Emma deeply. They’d been friends for decades, went to Chickasha Elementary together up to ninth grade when he had to drop out at fifteen to help tend the cattle ranch. Later on Mac had lost the only home he'd ever known, forcing him to move to Lawton where he got a job as an orderly at the hospital.
Emma was fortunate and had finished high school. Afterwards, her daddy, Emmit Thomas, sent her on to college where she studied music. Though she could have had a promising career with the New York Philharmonic, Emma chose to come home and care for the ailing Emmit who had had several strokes, leaving him partially paralyzed. Yes—Mac felt deeply about this—she was one, exceptionally great lady. He was only sorry he hadn’t gotten the opportunity to marry her. He sighed at the thought. He always knew how much of a sacrifice she’d made—to settle for giving piano lessons to the locals, to remain a spinster—all in taking care of Emmit who lived for nearly twenty years before that final stroke. Still, she was only sixty-five. She had time left for marriage. Yet, so far, he was too much of a coward to bring the subject up, he admitted shamefully.
"No, Mac. I’m fit as a fiddle. Just a bit tired. Best get some shut eye, I guess," she explained. "I’ll call in the morning." As she hung up the phone the day’s trauma finally got to her and so she cried. Not her usual behavior, she knew, and that angered her. She needed to be strong. That was the only way to make certain this whole mess was cleared up. Fred’s attacker would be found, even if she had to go out and—lord, she was tired! "Best go on to bed, Emma Jane," she told herself. "Tomorrow’s gonna be a right busy day. Yes siree."
They’d just passed through St. Louis and Jess could now feel the ache in her arms, back and neck intensely. Her eyes were heavy, too. She needed to rest. "All right guys. We’re gonna stop for a little bit at the next road rest."
"Yay!" Missy exclaimed.
"About time," Deek muttered.
Jess rolled her eyes. He’d been a real pain in the rear since they’d left Ohio this morning. He hadn’t said more than a dozen words, but all of them came out in a mumble or grumble. His gestures were the worst though, she noticed. He had gotten in the car, reluctantly buckled his seat belt when Missy reminded him, crossed his arms in front of his chest and with a determined scowl, just sat there, never once changing position or expression for twelve hours. Even when they stopped to get gas and use the facilities, he had remained still. Jess could hardly believe Deek could hold it that long. Surely he’d get out at the next stop. She worried he might get a bladder infection or something. That’s all they needed. She could barely afford gas, let alone a doctor.
Well, I'll make him get out at the next stop, even if I have to kick him out the door
, she decided.
"I’m gonna try and get a couple hours sleep when we get there. So you two can stretch your legs, but don’t wander off too far," she warned. "You don’t know what kind of crazies may hang around these places."
"Then why don’t we just get a motel?" Deek asked with sarcasm dripping from his voice.
"Because I don’t have enough money," Jess answered in the same tone before turning to glare at him. She was getting short-tempered from the tiring drive. She knew this didn’t help, but couldn’t seem to stop it. Why wouldn't he just try to make the best of things? He could be such a jerkface, to use his expression. Maybe once they got to the Lazy K, maybe then he’d come around, she hoped.
The rest area was one of those state welcome centers with a much more elaborate set up than other stops. The kids could hang out in the air-conditioned, huge tourist information building and cool off. She gave them each a couple dollars in change to buy some snacks and pop from the vending machines.
"Don’t go off any place alone, stay away from those deserted places and don’t talk …"
"To strangers," Deek finished. "Yeah, yeah. We know the drill." He continued his grumbling all the way out of the car and up the walk.
Jess lay back in the reclined seat and closed her eyes. "Welcome to Missouri. We’re halfway there, Uncle Fred," she said aloud to no one but herself. Maybe she’d sleep three or four hours …