Deep Down (I) by Karen Harper Page A

wound like thin yarn; old hornets’ nests, turtle shells, deer antlers and all sorts of animal skulls he’d found in the forests that peered at her with empty eyes.
    “Any more news of Mariah?” he asked, making her memories vanish into the here and now.
    “Nothing for sure. We do know she stopped at Charity and Junior Semple’s, then maybe headed for the Sunrise area. Can you think of any ginseng spot there she might have wanted to count?”
    He frowned and shrugged. He’d sat down on the stump beside the long knife he’d stuck there. It bounced sunlight onto his pant leg as he said, “It was under Snow Knob at Sunrise Mountain that my people were herded years ago, like cattle, to be driven westward on what was called the Trail of Tears.”
    “Oh. When their land was taken from them.”
    He nodded. “Nothing has changed. It is still taken from us one way or the other. Sacred sang, coal from the mines on the other side of the peaks, the very bones of the land—the trees.”
    “At least this area hasn’t been logged for years.”
    “It’s still scarred with all those old logging roads from when it was. And they will try again.”
    “The government?”
    Looking down at the blade, he shook his head. “Men with dollar signs in their eyes like in a cartoon I saw once. Men like Ryan Buford.”
    “Who is Ryan Buford?”
    “If you don’t know, a blessing. A snake in the grass. Supposedly a surveyor, but he looks at the trees with hungry eyes and uses words like weapons. I asked him once about a curve in the road and he said, ‘You mean an asymmetrical horizontal alignment?’ and laughed. He is the worst of those who pretend to walk the forest as a friend but would like to kill it.”
    “Did he try to buy your land?”
    Seth shook his head. “He doesn’t want my land, just the trees.”
    “I’ve heard some do sell their trees off their properties—and some are taken, rustled by timber thieves. But not around here, not that I’ve heard about. You don’t mean that he has been here to try to—”
    “I should not have mentioned his name, because I vowed I would not. He just came to my mind when I thought of those who stole my people from this land in the Trail of Tears. I hope, Jessie Lockwood, that you find your mother safe and soon, and there will be no more tears for you.”
    She was deeply touched. “Seth, if you think of anyplace she might have been, especially up near Sunrise, please let me know. Or if you know anything about anyone who would want to hurt her—stop her,” she said as she rose. Her voice snagged. Her view of him blurred to make two Seths, two tree stumps, two shining silver knives.
    Raising a hand to him in farewell, she turned away and started home.

Chapter 8
    8
    I t was almost dark when Drew phoned to say he was back in Deep Down. “If it’s okay, I’ll come out to debrief you on today,” he told her. “Besides, I have a bribe. After I got Junior a nice, snug jail cell, I got carryout Chinese from King Wah in Highboro, Peter Sung’s favorite place there. Since your trip to Hong Kong was cut short, I thought you might like some Szechuan.”
    Jessie recalled that King Wah was one of the restaurants—the last one—her mother had listed on her calendar next to Vern Tarver’s name, so Drew might have an ulterior motive for stopping there.
    “If you have half the cuts and scrapes I do,” she said, “as you said before, I can patch you up. Where are you now?”
    “Turning onto your road. You’ll see my headlights in a minute. If you didn’t want a friend dropping by with dinner, I was just going to be the sheriff.”
    “I’ll take both—and the Chinese,” she told him, before realizing she sounded almost as eager as he did. Or was that overeager?
    She met him at the front door. “You clean up well,” he told her. “Sorry I’m still a mess. I just hope we didn’t roll through a poison ivy patch or a chigger hangout because my back is itching like