worry, though. What age is this boy? He’s your son?”
Over to you, Mr. Maitland. Let’s see how
you
do at telling the truth.
Bib Maitland’s scowl relaxed briefly and he made another frightening attempt at a smile. “Aah, you know how kids is—tell ’em they cain’t do this or that and they git their noses out of joint. Little Cal, he’s as butt-headed as his mama and he’s bad to sull up and run off everwhen he cain’t git his way. He’s probably headed back home right now. I just thought, bein’ as I was up this way, I might try and find him, give him a ride back to Bear Tree. But long of you sayin’ as you ain’t seen him, I reckon—”
Delighted with the success of turning the questions back on her questioner, Elizabeth pressed on. “Maybe we should call the sheriff and let him know Calven’s missing. Since you don’t have a phone, I’ll be glad to—”
“How come you to know his name’s Calven?” Maitland snapped, voice and eyes cold and suspicious. “And what fer are you so quick about callin’ the law? This ain’t none of your business, you hear me?”
His angry eyes looked past her and she turned to follow his gaze. It swept the slope, following the trace of the trail that led through the pasture and up into the woods toward Mullmore. He studied the path intently for a few seconds then fixed Elizabeth with a withering stare. “I know who you are. You and your man are more of them goddamned Florida people. I remember back when you uns bought the place from ol’ lady Baker. And I’ll lay money you’re the nosy bitch what called the law on me t’other day.”
The vehemence of Maitland’s words was like a hurled weapon and Elizabeth pulled back from the truck. She opened her mouth to say something—just what, she had no idea—but Maitland continued, leaving no room for interruption and spitting venom with every syllable. He leaned out the window, his narrow, pale eyes holding her.
“You new people come to these mountains, buyin’ up our land and sendin’ the price of an acre up to where a pore man cain’t afford to farm no more. You let your dogs run loose in folkses fields and amongst their livestock and you put up yore yeller signs to keep folks from huntin’ the same woods they hunted with their daddies and them
their
daddies afore that. You think you know everything they is to know and you think you can tell us how we ought to do, but I’m here to tell you, lady, you don’t know shit.”
A fleck of spittle hit her cheek and Elizabeth fought back all the words that were tumbling over one another in an eager desire to justify her right to be here on this land—this land she had loved and tended for twenty-some years. But her inner good sense prevailed.
Walk away, Elizabeth. The guy is not rational. There will be nothing you can say that won’t just piss him off even more.
Wiping her cheek, she backed away from the truck, then deliberately crossed the road behind it in order to approach her house through the garden.
If I walk up the road, he might follow me, ranting all the way. I’ll cut through the garden and the front yard and go in the basement door.
Once in the house she could call the sheriff, if this man didn’t leave. And Sam’s gun was there.
8.
L ONG S HOTS AND F ORLON H OPES
Saturday, October 8
Elizabeth climbed the slope on the far side of the garden, keeping her pace deliberate and unhurried.
Like dealing with a mean dog—run and it’ll chase you; walk away slowly and, with any luck, it’ll leave you alone.
From the corner of her eye she could see that the truck had not moved and that Bib’s head was turned toward her. As she reached the front yard and started for the basement door, the truck’s motor growled to life. She stopped and waited, relieved to see the big vehicle back off the gravel, turn, and head down the road.
When it was out of sight she looked up the mountainside, to see Rosemary hurrying down the narrow cow trail toward the
Over to you, Mr. Maitland. Let’s see how
you
do at telling the truth.
Bib Maitland’s scowl relaxed briefly and he made another frightening attempt at a smile. “Aah, you know how kids is—tell ’em they cain’t do this or that and they git their noses out of joint. Little Cal, he’s as butt-headed as his mama and he’s bad to sull up and run off everwhen he cain’t git his way. He’s probably headed back home right now. I just thought, bein’ as I was up this way, I might try and find him, give him a ride back to Bear Tree. But long of you sayin’ as you ain’t seen him, I reckon—”
Delighted with the success of turning the questions back on her questioner, Elizabeth pressed on. “Maybe we should call the sheriff and let him know Calven’s missing. Since you don’t have a phone, I’ll be glad to—”
“How come you to know his name’s Calven?” Maitland snapped, voice and eyes cold and suspicious. “And what fer are you so quick about callin’ the law? This ain’t none of your business, you hear me?”
His angry eyes looked past her and she turned to follow his gaze. It swept the slope, following the trace of the trail that led through the pasture and up into the woods toward Mullmore. He studied the path intently for a few seconds then fixed Elizabeth with a withering stare. “I know who you are. You and your man are more of them goddamned Florida people. I remember back when you uns bought the place from ol’ lady Baker. And I’ll lay money you’re the nosy bitch what called the law on me t’other day.”
The vehemence of Maitland’s words was like a hurled weapon and Elizabeth pulled back from the truck. She opened her mouth to say something—just what, she had no idea—but Maitland continued, leaving no room for interruption and spitting venom with every syllable. He leaned out the window, his narrow, pale eyes holding her.
“You new people come to these mountains, buyin’ up our land and sendin’ the price of an acre up to where a pore man cain’t afford to farm no more. You let your dogs run loose in folkses fields and amongst their livestock and you put up yore yeller signs to keep folks from huntin’ the same woods they hunted with their daddies and them
their
daddies afore that. You think you know everything they is to know and you think you can tell us how we ought to do, but I’m here to tell you, lady, you don’t know shit.”
A fleck of spittle hit her cheek and Elizabeth fought back all the words that were tumbling over one another in an eager desire to justify her right to be here on this land—this land she had loved and tended for twenty-some years. But her inner good sense prevailed.
Walk away, Elizabeth. The guy is not rational. There will be nothing you can say that won’t just piss him off even more.
Wiping her cheek, she backed away from the truck, then deliberately crossed the road behind it in order to approach her house through the garden.
If I walk up the road, he might follow me, ranting all the way. I’ll cut through the garden and the front yard and go in the basement door.
Once in the house she could call the sheriff, if this man didn’t leave. And Sam’s gun was there.
8.
L ONG S HOTS AND F ORLON H OPES
Saturday, October 8
Elizabeth climbed the slope on the far side of the garden, keeping her pace deliberate and unhurried.
Like dealing with a mean dog—run and it’ll chase you; walk away slowly and, with any luck, it’ll leave you alone.
From the corner of her eye she could see that the truck had not moved and that Bib’s head was turned toward her. As she reached the front yard and started for the basement door, the truck’s motor growled to life. She stopped and waited, relieved to see the big vehicle back off the gravel, turn, and head down the road.
When it was out of sight she looked up the mountainside, to see Rosemary hurrying down the narrow cow trail toward the
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