The Pilgrim Song (35 page)

“Josh went out to haul somethin’ for somebody in town,” he muttered. “What’s he doin’ way out here in the middle of nowhere?”

Carefully he moved forward, and then he saw Josh with Dora Skinner. Alarm ran through Clint. Dora Skinner’s bad reputation was no secret. Men talked freely of how immoral she was, and it disturbed Clint greatly to see Josh out with her. He started to head back the way he had come, and then he heard Dora say, “That’s all of it, Josh. We made a good haul this time.”

Clint took two steps forward and saw Josh pulling a piece of canvas over a cluster of bottles, and at once he knew the truth.
They’re bootlegging whiskey!

Clint did not hesitate. “Hello,” he called, giving warning, and then walked out of the woods. He saw Dora turn to him, her eyes wide with alarm, but Josh simply stood still, his eyes fixed on Clint.

Clint stopped in front of the pair. “This won’t do, Josh.”

“It’s none of your business, Clint,” Josh snapped. Ashamed and angry at being caught, he burst out, “Just go on your way and leave us alone.”

“I don’t think I can do that. Have you thought about your family? If you get caught, it’ll break their hearts.”

“Like he said, that’s none of your business, Clint,” Dora put in.

“Yes, it is my business. I’m a part of the Winslow family, in a way. At least I care for them. Josh, what are you thinking of?”

Josh’s mind was racing. As usual when he was on these runs with Dora, he had been drinking and could not think clearly. He had never known such shame, for he knew Clint Longstreet was right. “Look, just forget about this, Clint. I’ll be okay.”

“You’ll be in the penitentiary is what you’ll be,” Clint
said grimly. He would have said more, but suddenly his ears caught another sound. He whirled and peered down the old logging road that Josh and Dora had followed. “Somebody’s coming,” he said tersely.

“Revenuers!” Dora cried, turning to run. “Come on, Josh! Don’t just stand there!”

In a drunken haze, Josh broke into a stumbling run and followed Dora. The two disappeared into the woods, leaving Clint there.

“Gotta get this truck out of here,” he said. “They’ll tie all the Winslows to this mess.” He jumped into the truck, started the engine, and gunned it. The road was twisted and narrow, and he did not know where it would lead. Logging roads often just ended in the middle of a stand of large timber, where the loggers had cut back so far, then quit.

The truck lurched and careened over the uneven, broken ground. Clint saw first-growth timber ahead and knew that he was caught. He turned and headed into the woods, but he had not gone twenty feet when he ran into a six-inch-thick sapling that brought the truck to an abrupt halt.

Clint climbed out of the truck, knowing what he had to do. He turned and waited as the car, bumping and lurching, appeared. It stopped and two men got out with shotguns. One of them called out, “Put your hands in the air,” and Clint did as he was directed. He had only one thought:
I’ve got to keep the Winslows out of this. They’ll die if they find out what Josh has done.

****

Sheriff Beauchamp stared at Clint. The two government revenue men were seated at the table along with him. The interrogation had gone on for over an hour, and Clint had volunteered nothing. Finally Beauchamp said, “Look, Clint, you can’t be in this alone. If you’ll turn state’s evidence, it’ll be easier for you.”

Clint had already settled this in his mind. “Just me, Sheriff, that’s all.”

The sheriff was bitterly disappointed. “I was there the day you were baptized,” he said. “I guess that didn’t mean anything, did it?”

Clint Longstreet had no answer. He dropped his head and thought of the hard things that were to come. He prayed,
Lord, help me keep my mouth shut. Please keep the Winslows from finding out what Josh has been doing.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Out of the Past

“Why, good afternoon, Sheriff,” Lewis said, smiling and opening the screen door. “Come in out of the cold.”

Sheriff Beauchamp was wearing a green wool mackinaw and a broad-brimmed felt hat pulled down over his forehead. He pulled off his thick brown leather gloves as he entered, then stood hesitantly. When Lewis put out his hand, he took it but still said nothing.

“Come into the living room,” Lewis said. “We’ve got a nice fire going in the fireplace.”

At that moment Hannah stepped out of the kitchen and saw the officer. She smiled, for she liked the burly man very well. She came forward, wiping her hands on her apron. “I’ve just put some coffee on, Sheriff. You go sit down, and I’ll bring you some.”

“This isn’t a social call, I’m afraid.” Beauchamp pulled off his hat and turned it around by the brim. He had become quite fond of the Winslows, and now he looked ill at ease. “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.”

Both Lewis and Hannah stared at him; then Lewis said, “Well, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Clint. He’s in jail.”

“In jail!” Hannah exclaimed, dismay washing across her face. “Whatever for?”

“It’s pretty serious business, Miss Hannah. He was arrested for transporting illegal alcohol.”

Lewis shook his head. “I don’t believe it!”

“Well, we don’t have much choice but to believe it, Lewis. Two federal officers caught him red-handed. He was in your truck out in the woods. They brought him in, and I had to hold him.”

Lewis turned to Hannah and noted the shadows around her eyes and the corners of her mouth as she tried to conceal her shock. He waited for her to speak, but when she did not, he turned again to the sheriff. “What will happen now, Noel?”

“It’s hard to say, but we have to face up to the fact that he’s going to go to prison. I don’t suppose you have any money for a lawyer?”

“No, we don’t.”

Beauchamp shrugged his beefy shoulders. “No one does these days.”

“But what does he say?” Hannah burst out.

“That’s the trouble. He won’t say anything. I think he’s shielding someone. We know he wasn’t in this thing all by himself, but he won’t talk about where the whiskey came from, and when we asked him if he was alone, he clammed up. That won’t get him very far in a courtroom. They’re crackin’ down more on the moonshiners they catch in this county. Why don’t you go talk to him, Lewis, or you, Hannah? After all, you’re all the family he’s got around here.”

Lewis glanced at Hannah. “Yes, we should go, but one of us needs to stay here.”

“I’ll go, Father,” Hannah said.

“That’s fine. I’ll take you in, Miss Hannah, and I’ll see that you get back too.” Beauchamp shook his head sadly. “I hate to think I’ve been fooled. I really thought Clint meant it when he said he was converted—but this looks pretty grim.”

****

Josh paced like a caged animal, wondering what he and Dora should do next. They had fled through the woods until they had to stop to catch their breath. Dora said, “It’s all right now, Josh. They can’t follow us through these thick woods.”

Josh stared at her uncomprehendingly. He continued walking, with no idea where he was going, but Dora tugged at his sleeve, saying, “We’ll have to go west if we’re gonna hit the road, but we’d better not get on the highway because they’ll be lookin’ for somebody. They won’t believe Clint was by himself.” Dora plopped down on a big rock.

Josh didn’t answer. He just paced back and forth, still unable to think clearly, although the shock of almost getting caught had definitely sobered him up.

Dora stood up and tugged on his sleeve. “C’mon. I’m ready to move on now. Let’s head west.”

Josh hardly felt the chill in the damp air. He followed her lead, marching on through the woods like a soldier who had been shot but chose to ignore his wound even as it drained away his strength.

They got to the point where they could see the road and began moving parallel to it while remaining a hundred yards away, out of sight. Cars passed from time to time, and they pulled back deeper into the woods.

Finally they reached a grove of pecan and hickory trees, and Dora said, “Let’s slow down. I’ve got a stitch in my side.” She leaned up against one of the trees, breathing heavily, her face pale. She watched as Josh paced again, then said, “We’re going to make it now. We were lucky to get away.”

Josh twirled and glared at her, his face twisted in a grimace of anger and fear. “Lucky!” he exclaimed. “I wouldn’t call it that.”

“They didn’t catch us, did they?”

“Yeah, but they’re bound to have caught Clint.”

Dora did not answer. She knew Clint was very close to the Winslows, but he was not a family member. In her world family was everything, and outsiders had to look out for themselves. She had discovered, however, that Josh Winslow had odd ways of thinking. His ideas often took turns she would never have dreamed of. Overhead a red squirrel chattered angrily, then ran out along a branch and launched himself
into space. He caught on a branch of a pecan tree, which sagged with him; then he scampered up it and disappeared. Silence fell back over the grove, broken only by the lowing of a cow in a distant pasture.

Josh pulled his cap off and ran his fingers through his hair, despair etched on his face. He stared at the cap as if it were a foreign thing, something he had never seen before. His hands trembled, and when he lifted his eyes, bitterness darkened them. “I never should have gotten into this!”

“You always knew there was a chance of getting caught,” Dora said, glancing around nervously. “We’d better move on.”

Josh, however, stood immobile, shut his eyes, and whispered, “I always knew I might get caught, but I didn’t intend to get someone else involved—especially someone innocent. I should have known better. I must have been crazy to get into a thing like this!”

Dora came over and leaned against him, caressing his face with her fingers. Her answer to everything was physical. She whispered, “It’ll be all right.” She reached up to kiss him, but he shoved her away.

“All right? How’s Clint going to be all right?”

“Well, it wasn’t my fault!” she said angrily. She was not used to being rejected, and now she was angry. “What do you expect me to do?”

“I don’t expect you to do anything, but I’m telling you this, Dora—it’s all over right now.”

“What do you mean? Between us?”

“Between us and between me and your family. I’ll never touch another bottle of moonshine as long as I live.”

Dora grew wary. She had fancied herself in love with Josh Winslow, but he was, after all, an outsider. She had always known deep down that he would never be a permanent part of her life. She was a woman, however, who took pleasure whenever it came and had learned to kiss joy as it flew by. Now her deep roots into the culture of the backwoods stirred, and her lips drew into a straight line. “All right, if that’s the
way you want it—but you’d better keep your mouth shut.” Her eyes narrowed and glinted as she added, “Daddy will kill you if you talk. You know he will.”

At that moment Josh realized how deeply he had fallen. He understood then that when a man sins, he does not sin only against himself or against the person he lays his hands on. He remembered a sermon he heard once on the verse that says “None of us liveth to himself, and no man dieth to himself,” and now the meaning of that sank deep into his spirit. He said, “Good-bye, Dora,” in a spare tone and then started walking toward the road, leaving her standing there.

Dora took two steps toward Josh, stretching her arms out toward him, and for one moment there was a tenderness on her hard features. She understood suddenly that she cared more for this man than she had realized, but now it was too late. She let her hands fall, and her features became set as she whirled around and plunged between the tall trees. She knew she would have to tell her family. But she also knew their vicious streak well, and she feared for Josh’s life.

****

Hannah had never been inside of a jail, and she was struck at once by the fetid odor—a mixture of urine, stale tobacco, and unwashed bodies—that overwhelmed her. She walked down the short corridor, noting that there were two cells on each side, all empty except for the last one on the right. She stopped as Sheriff Beauchamp inserted a key into the lock. It made a creaking, rusty sound until it clicked; then he pulled the door open. “I’ll have to lock you in here, Miss Hannah.”

“That’s all right, Sheriff,” she said, stepping inside. The cell seemed quite old, and she noted that the bunk bed was well rusted. It squeaked as Clint rose to his feet and watched her with a strange expression as Beauchamp’s footsteps faded and the door at the end of the corridor clanged shut.

“Hello, Hannah.”

“Clint—!” Hannah walked up to him and looked up into
his eyes. “What happened, Clint?” she said, her voice unsteady.

Clint did not answer for so long that she thought perhaps he wasn’t going to. Finally he stepped back against the brick wall. “I was arrested.”

“I know that, but I’ll never believe you did it.”

“They caught me in possession of bootleg whiskey.”

“I know that too, but what were you doing there? You’re not telling me everything, Clint.”

Clint Longstreet studied the woman in front of him. His love for Hannah had grown slowly, but now he realized how much of his heart she occupied. He had never known love before, and what he had experienced of it was insufficient. It was like a short blanket that didn’t cover everything as it should, where your shoulders or legs had to protrude in the cold night. But this woman was
everything
to him. And now as he saw the hurt and dismay in her beautiful eyes, he felt a stab of pain, knowing that she was going to be hurt and there was nothing he could do about it.
But it would hurt her far more to find out about Josh,
he thought.
I’ll just have to bear it.

He crossed his arms over his chest and said, “There’s nothing you can do for me, Hannah. Just turn and walk away. Forget you ever met me.”

“I can’t do that,” Hannah said, her voice husky. “I . . . I haven’t told you everything about myself, Clint, but I have come to care for you. And now I’m like a beggar that’s put all my meager belongings in a safe place. My love is with you, Clint. I can’t change that, and I don’t want to.” She moved forward and whispered, “Whatever happens, I’ll be here for you.”