Black Creek Read online

  "Joe," he said as Joseph approached. The track's owner was an old man, widowed some years back. His family had owned the horse track for several generations.

  "I was very sorry to hear about this, Marlon," Joseph said.

  "I appreciate that, sir." He ran his hands over his few remaining wisps of hair, flattening them atop his head, though they were knocked immediately back out of place by the breeze.

  "They left two horses, I heard."

  "They did, one of them my own. Thank God for that, at least. And, of course, that no one was hurt.”

  “Amen. Who owns the other horse?” Joseph asked.

  “A physician out of Richmond. He pays for the board and training, comes out once a month or so. Plus for the races, of course.”

  “What about the rest?”

  “Well, one was mine. Three are owned by locals, and the other two by out of towners. Same arrangement I have with the gentleman from Richmond. None of whom will be too pleased about all this. Not sure how I’ll tell them.”

  "Hopefully you won't have to,” Joseph said. “We'll find Jonah before long. Maybe even soon enough to get the horses back."

  "I know you'll try. I have a mind to get my hands on that little bastard myself. Can't imagine what you're feeling. Sorry for saying."

  A man who Joseph recognized as a local reporter broke off from the crowd behind Marlon and called over to the two lawmen, who still stood near the track. "Any comment, chief?" he asked as he jogged over toward them.

  "Is Hope here?" Joseph asked, turning his attention back to Marlon.

  "Yes sir. In the barn."

  "Alright. Thank you." The old man turned back to the gathered well-wishers.

  "Marlon," Joseph said. He looked back again. "We'll figure something out. Even if we can't get your horses back. The town will pull together for you." The old man smiled, but said nothing.

  The barn was strangely quiet, and his steps echoed on the hard ground. As the young stable boy had said, most of the stall doors were smashed and lying in splinters. When he reached the back half of the barn, he could hear a soft whinny coming from one of the undamaged stalls. Joseph peeked inside. A beautiful horse, and not a sign of damage on the door.

  "Daddy!"

  Joseph whirled, startled, as a young woman grabbed him tight around the chest. He hugged her back. After a moment, she released him.

  "Hope," he said, laying a hand on her shoulder. She was dirty and sweaty, her reddish-brown hair pulled back but with a few strands of hair lying across her forehead. She smiled and brushed them back, in a way that reminded him painfully of Mary.

  "How are you doing?" she asked.

  "I'm doing okay. Just working," he said. He knew the lie was not believed, but she continued to smile anyway. "How are you? I'm sorry I haven't been home. I've been sleeping at the office."

  Her smile faltered a bit. "I know. I'm not doing great, but I'm trying. Working helps. So would having you home,” she added, with a slightly accusatory look. As a child, that look of hers was endearing. At twenty, it still was, but held a bit more weight.

  "Soon," he said. Hope hauled up a small bundle of hay and tossed it over one of the stall doors. She rubbed the horse's muzzle before it turned away to eat.

  "What's this one's name?" Joseph asked.

  "This is Pilgrim," she said. "He's the oldest." She brushed a tear from her eye. "It was Jonah again, wasn't it?"

  Joseph put his arm around his daughter, and she laid her head on his shoulder. "Looks that way."

  "What does he want?"

  "Nothing. Jonah has never been anything but an entitled brat since he was a child. The way he looks at it is if he can’t live here, then he'd just as soon ruin the town for the rest of us. Me most of all."

  "You knew him when you were young?" she asked.

  "I did. Not well. Your mother and he..." he held back a bitter laugh. "They were friends actually, when they were children. Mary grew up and he didn't, so they drifted apart. I don't think they saw each other much even by the time he was kicked out of town."

  Hope squeezed him tight, then pulled away. "I heard Mr. Crawford say they think they'll find him any day now." She picked up another bunch of hay and carried it several stalls down the hallway, where she tossed it inside.

  "I'm sure he did," Joseph said as she went, sounding less genuine than he had intended to.

  She was crying again as she came back to him. "Dad," she said as Joseph wiped a tear from her cheek. "Are you going to kill him?"

  "Yes," Joseph said.

  She sniffled and nodded. "Good."

  Most of the crowd had dispersed by the time Joseph and Hope emerged from the barn. Gray and the sheriff were standing nearby speaking to the owner and, to Joseph's surprise, Hank. The men were laughing and smiling.

  "Gentlemen," Joseph interjected. "Didn't expect to see you here, Hank."

  The man's smile was warm, but his eyes almost cold. "I was just wandering the town and saw a crowd gathering. I was curious, and when I heard what happened, I had to help."

  The owner turned to Joseph, beaming. "Mr. Thompson here is acquainted with several top-notch trainers in Baltimore. He's offered to cover the the cost of all our repairs and several new horses. Until I can pay him back, of course."

  "I won't hear of it," Hank said with a shake of his head.

  "Very generous," Joseph said.

  His skepticism must have been palpable. "Mr. Mayor, I respect your concern about my motives here, and the chief has seemed no less suspicious himself. It’s plainly clear to me that I picked a particularly inopportune time to move to town, and tensions are high. I promise you, I mean no harm. I truly hope to make a home here. To be frank, I have more money than I could ever know what to do with. I’m happy to help the town however I can."

  Joseph felt a pang of guilt, and his face softened. "It would be much appreciated," he said. "I apologize. Tensions are high, as you said."

  "Hello, Hope," Gray said, changing the subject. "How are you holding up?"

  "I'm okay," she said. "Better than him."

  "Have you gone back home yet, Joe?" Gray asked.

  "Sheriff, Hank," Joseph said, ignoring the question. "This is my daughter, Hope."

  "A pleasure," Hank said.

  "Well then," the sheriff said, slapping his hat back atop his head. "I believe Gray and I have some work to do. Back to the station, Gray?"

  "Probably should," he answered as the sheriff sauntered off, his own eyes lingering on Joseph.

  "Go home, Joe," he said, then turned and left. "Walk with us back into town, Hank?" Hank followed, and the owner ambled away with a nod, leaving Joseph and his daughter alone. Her eyes were moist as she looked up at him.

  "Let's go home," he said.

  ***

  Joseph's home sat sat at the edge of the forest, less than a mile north of the town proper. It was situated in a circular clearing just inside the trees. As the story went, Joseph's grandfather and his brother alone had leveled each tree and built the home with their own hands. Later in his life, he and his son, Joseph's father, had expanded the house to twice its original size.

  One day, you and I will do the same. Joseph could still hear his father's voice.

  Joseph and the late Mayor Thomas Brooker never did get to undertake that project, but the old home was impressive enough in its current state. It was, in fact, the largest single building for many miles in any direction. As Joseph and Hope plodded along the narrow dirt path through the trees and out into the clearing, he felt a tightness in his chest. He must have hesitated, as his daughter gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and led him forward.

  The path carried them across an old but sturdy wooden bridge, a creek bubbling quietly beneath their feet, and straight up to the front porch. Hope stood aside as he approached the door. Taking a breath, he pushed the door open with a creak and stepped inside. Nothing appeared to have changed, of course, though everything had changed. Mary's favorite hat and coat still hung near the doo
r. He made his way down the hall and into the kitchen. Only a single unwashed dish on the table gave any indication the home had been lived in these past few weeks. Hope scooped it up and carried it into the next room.

  In the living room he found Mary's Bible undisturbed upon her chair near the fireplace. As he stood there he expected to feel a heaviness, some more profound sense of loss. He did feel some of that, but more than anything he felt happy to be home. And then he felt guilt; guilt for daring to feel comfortable in this place at this time, and then an even more terrible guilt for having left his daughter alone for so long.

  "Are you hungry?" Hope asked from the doorway, her voice quiet.

  He turned to her. "Yes. I am."

  They ate together on the floor by the fireplace, a simple but still wholly satisfying soup.

  "Tell me about when you met mom."

  "You’ve heard this before, I'm sure," Joseph said.

  "I know," Hope said, her eyes cast down at her bowl. "I want to hear it again."

  "I was seventeen years old, your mother fifteen. I had gone into the woods with a few friends. Always a showoff, I was hanging by my feet from a tree branch. The branch snapped, and I broke my ankle. The other boys carried me back to town, straight to the doctor. He sent for my father, who had just become mayor, then he set my leg.

  “After I got through screaming, I noticed a hand on my shoulder. It was the doctor's young nurse in training. Beautiful, brown hair. Blue eyes. Shy smile. She looked a lot like you. She took care of me that day, and by the end of it I knew she would eventually be my wife. She didn’t know it for a while longer.”

  He felt the tightness in his chest again, and a pressure behind his eyes. He coughed. Hope was quietly crying, he noticed, and he scooted nearer to her, placing his arm around her shoulder.

  "I miss mom," she said.

  "Me too."

  "Thank you for coming home, dad."

  "I'm sorry I took so long. I didn't think I could bear it, coming back here. But that was selfish of me."

  The fire cracked and sent embers dancing upward. The light through the windows was fading as the sun began to set.

  "I just don't understand," she sobbed.

  He kissed her temple.

  "I don't either," he said. "I think Jonah probably envied our life. He hated my father for running him out of town. And he might hate me for being the man who married your mother. She said he always treated her differently than the other girls, even after they were no longer friends."

  "If he loved her, why hurt her?"

  He laughed softly. "I doubt he’s ever loved anyone. If anything, Jonah saw her as something he wanted, and once he couldn't have her, she was merely a tool he could use to hurt me."

  "You shouldn't blame yourself."

  "I don't," he said. "I blame Jonah. And I will make him regret it."

  A frantic pounding came from the front door, and Joseph started. Hope stood up quickly. "No, let me see who it is," he said. "Just help me up."

  Whoever was at the door kept knocking heavily as he ambled down the now-dark hallway. "I'm coming," he shouted, and opened the door. To his surprise, the young blacksmith's apprentice greeted him.

  "Harry, what’s going on?"

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Mayor, sir. Chief Crawford sent me. There's something going on in town."

  "Alright. Just a moment." He went back into the hall, snatching his revolver down from its mount on the wall. "Hope, stay here," he said as he loaded the weapon.

  "Be careful, dad," she said.

  "I will,” Joseph said, turning back to the young man. “Let's go."

  Eva

  July, 1972

  Richmond, Virginia

  "Eastern Airlines Flight 480 from New York City, now disembarking."

  The intercom echoed through the sparsely-populated terminal as Eva emerged from the boarding tunnel. She had only a small bag, which she dragged along beside her as she walked quickly, just ahead of the press of passengers emerging from the plane. As she made her way down the long terminal hall, she glanced around for a clock, finding one along a far wall.

  7:20

  Just in time, she thought, picking up her pace. She was to meet a buyer by the name of Frank at 8:00 PM. He was a wealthy evangelical preacher, a fairly famous one apparently, at least among people who had interest in that sort of thing. He was looking for something, and she knew where he could find it. Even better, he was willing to pay an awful lot of money to find out.

  The problem was now that the whirlwind haze of a long, drunken weekend had been washed away by the stark, nauseating fear of her first plane trip, she was beginning to have a bad feeling about this whole deal. What had started as a flirtatious smile from across the room in a college town bar quickly turned into drinks, more drinks, and a blurry night at a hotel in which Eva had given up whatever bit of purity she'd had left, though it wasn't much.

  In the light of the new day Eva finally got to know her mysterious suitor, and fortunately it turned out the two of them shared a number of interests. Chief among them was a propensity for a certain entrepreneurial spirit in defiance of the law. At least, that's what she'd let her new lover believe. Sure, she'd done a bit of thieving and vandalism in her time, but he was the real deal. He drove an expensive car and wore a suit that would have taken Eva years to save for.

  If, for whatever reason, he thought her capable of being on his level, why would she correct him? So when he gave her an opportunity, an easy job that would bring in thousands and be done and over with in time for the two of them to spend the next weekend shacked up in another hotel, of course she took him up on it.

  The other problem was that, now, Eva was damn near certain the information she was selling this preacher was fake. It wasn't so much that she had any problem with lying, but alongside the clearing of her hangover, it was all starting to seem a bit suspicious. She had tried to cancel the deal by phone but Frank had insisted, raising his price so much she had given in to the temptation. She didn't feel great about conning a preacher either. Eva was not religious by any stretch, but she also didn't usually believe in pushing her luck.

  Eva made it out of the terminal and onto the sidewalk, where a slow trickle of other travelers passed her by as she hailed a cab. The driver made a move to help her with the small bag, but she waved him off and tossed it in the back seat alongside her.

  The driver, an elderly Italian man who wore a flat cap and smelled vaguely of alcohol, turned around to look at her. "Welcome to Richmond, miss," he said.

  "State capitol building," she replied and the driver turned back around, looking disappointed in her lack of engagement.

  She rifled through her bag as they pulled onto the highway, pulling out a slip of paper with an address and map coordinates written on it. "Let me ask you something," she said to the driver. He looked at her in the rearview mirror. "Any idea where this address is?" She held the slip over the barrier and he glanced at it.

  "Vaguely. About an hour outside of Richmond, way out in the middle of the woods. Not much out there, other than some old historic ironworks or something, that's probably what the address is. Can't imagine what business a young lady would have out there."

  "I wouldn't worry about it," she said.

  I knew that already.

  The story, at least the one she'd gotten, was that they'd find some old fossils in the woods that this preacher wanted. Make the deal, split the cash, and abscond with her new, mysterious lover.

  This isn't the best move I've ever made.

  The ride into downtown was short, and she was glad of it. Not long after they exited the highway, the old, sputtering cab came to a stop along a main street, across from an old, stately white building surrounded by metal fences. "Be careful out here, miss," the driver said as she climbed out of the car.

  "I'll be fine." Eva leaned in the passenger side window and handed the driver a fifty dollar bill, the last money she had. Hopefully, not for long. The cab pulled away, and when its dim ta
il lights disappeared around the corner, Eva was left in near darkness on a street which was sorely lacking for streetlights.

  Before long, another car rolled to a stop in front of her. The passenger window rolled down, and she could faintly see a man alone in the driver's seat.

  "Eva," he said.

  "Frank."

  He reached across and opened the passenger door, briefly illuminating himself with the overhead lights. An older man, he wore a suit and had a full head of neatly combed white hair. He smiled as she sat. "Nice to meet you," he said.