Beneath Still Waters Page 12

  “Tobe, you did what you were expected to do. What’d you think you were going to do over there?”

  Tobe laughed. “I didn’t reckon on liking it.”

  “You weren’t yourself over there. None of us were.” A small flash of lightning sparked, followed by the low rumbling of thunder. Hick saw rain in the distance, dark streams of water quenching the dusty earth.

  “Oh, I was myself alright,” Tobe contradicted. “I was the big man. I always liked to be the big man. Best shot in the company. I’ve got a box full of medals congratulating me on the men I killed.” He took a long swig. “I’d trade ’em all if I could bring just one of those boys back. Give just one of them the chance to have a Bobby of his own.” He paused and smiled a crooked smile. “But I don’t reckon that’ll be happening, now will it?”

  Hick shook his head and answered, “No, Tobe, they can’t come back.” He paused and then said, so quietly that at first Tobe couldn’t hear him, “I killed a civilian.”

  “What?”

  Hick reached for Tobe’s bottle and drank deep. It burned all the way down and sat in his stomach burning and churning. “I killed an unarmed civilian. Hell of a soldier I was.” He took another long drink, noting that the storm was going around them, close enough to feel the cool dampness, but not close enough to wet the parched earth.

  Tobe took the bottle back from Hick and asked, “What happened?”

  The whiskey was already going to Hick’s head. The heat, the hunger, and the lack of sleep made his eyes feel heavy and his head light. He liked it and reached for another drink. “My company got hit pretty bad. There weren’t many of us left and we were all split up. Hell, I hadn’t been in Belgium a month. I didn’t know how to fight … I didn’t even have my bearings. None of us did. A bunch of green kids thrown out into an ice cold forest.” He took another long drink, vaguely aware that it no longer burned going down.

  “I followed my sergeant into an old farmhouse. It should have been deserted. Hell, it was in the middle of a battlefield. We went inside and I got jumpy. I saw a shadow move and called for it to ‘Halt!’ Instead it ran. What the hell was I supposed to think? I shot it.”

  Tobe nodded, drunkenly. “That’s what we do in war, my friend. We shoot to kill and we ask questions later.”

  “Like you, I was a good shot. Right in the head. My God, I’d never seen so much blood. No weapon … too young to be a soldier.” Hick snatched the bottle from Tobe swallowing a long drink. He handed the bottle back with shaking hands. He shook his head. “Not even a soldier.” A small breeze blew up, cooling the sweat from Hick’s forehead.

  “A life is a life whether they’re in uniform or not,” Tobe reasoned.

  Hick shrugged, his speech beginning to slur. “That’s the face I see. I see it every day … a life wasted for nothing.”

  “It was all for nothing,” Tobe contradicted, and then he began to laugh. “And here we sit, as good as dead ourselves. We sell our souls to Uncle Sam, and he gives us a flag-draped coffin and a free headstone.”

  Hick took another long drink from the bottle, realizing that for the first time in a long time, nothing hurt. The cool breeze from the storm and the lightness of his head were pleasant. He felt nothing but a mellow softness in his brain that made the war seem very far away. For an hour, he sat beside his friend sharing the whiskey until it was gone. The last thing he remembered was Tobe rising to get another bottle.

  16

  Hick woke in his bed with his head aching and the room spinning. He went straight to the bathroom, too sick to marvel at how he had gotten home. He lay on the floor moaning and cursing himself for being such a fool.

  Vaguely, he recalled Adam’s face over him, looking concerned, and he seemed to remember being driven home, although they must have stopped for him to be sick. It was all fuzzy, but details were beginning to come back. He remembered asking Adam to not say anything to Pam or his mother, and he remembered Fay’s concerned look as Adam helped him into the squad car. After that, nothing. He couldn’t recall how he got into the house or into bed. He glanced out the window and his car was in front. No one would know what he had done the day before except Tobe, Adam, and Fay, and yet shame overwhelmed him.

  Sitting at the kitchen table, he put his head in his hands, the incessant pounding made opening his eyes painful. His watch read five o’clock. He needed to get ready for work, but every time he moved his stomach lurched and the room spun.

  Finally, after a half an hour, he was able to lift his head and walk to the bathroom. He cut himself shaving, which he never did, and pulled on a shirt, slightly more rumpled than usual. With no time to make coffee, he would have to run into the diner. Black coffee was just what he needed to clear the dust and cobwebs from his brain.

  The strong smells of eggs, pancakes, and bacon assailed his stomach when he lumbered through the doorway. Making his way to the counter, he sat down and covered his eyes with his hand, trying to shut out the bright light that poured in through the large picture windows.

  Maggie appeared with a cup of black coffee. He didn’t open his eyes, he didn’t have to—her sweet perfume blended with strong coffee, and he knew it was her. Blindly, he reached for the coffee and put it to his lips, its bitterness making his stomach flop, but he forced it down and asked in a raspy voice for more.

  When she reappeared, she put a glass in front of him. It didn’t smell like coffee and he opened one eye. “What’s this?”

  “Drink it,” she said, quietly.

  He raised the glass to his lips and took a sip, then grimaced. “God, what is it? It’s awful!” Painfully, he raised his eyes to her face.

  “Tomato juice, a raw egg, and Tabasco. I know a hangover when I see one.”

  For once, he was too sick to blush.

  “Drink it down,” she told him, “it’ll help.”

  He held his nose and drank, feeling his stomach heave with each swallow. He sat there, tortured by all the typical sounds that had never bothered him before. The clanking of silverware against dishes, the cheerful patter of the townsfolk, even the bell clanging against the door every time it opened. Everything caused his head to pound in agony. She came back with another cup of coffee. Again, he opened one eye and looked at her. “How do you know so much about hangovers?”

  “You’d be surprised at how many of our ‘respectable’ citizens come in here looking just like you.”

  He forced a faint smile.

  “What were you thinking? You’ve never been so asinine before.”

  “I went to get Tobe’s gun.”

  “You tried to drink with Tobe Hill?”

  “I didn’t try. It just happened.”

  She shook her head. “How?”

  “We started talking about the war and one thing led to another.”

  “You talked about the war?”

  He nodded.

  She tried to sound careless when she asked, “What did you say?”

  He put the cup on the saucer and looked into her face. “I said I did some things over there that I can’t seem to get past. Mistakes that can’t ever be made right.”

  “Do you think … ” She hesitated and lifted the cup and saucer wiping the counter beneath them. “Do you think you’ll ever get past them?”

  “I don’t know. I’d be lying if I said I knew. I’m afraid if people … I … I’m afraid if you knew what I did, you’d hate me. I’d rather die than know that you’re alive somewhere thinking less of me because of what I did.”

  “Order up, Maggie,” called a voice from the kitchen.

  She glanced behind her and then turned her attention back to Hick. “I could never hate you. There ain’t nothing you could have done to make me hate you, because I know you’d never do anything wrong on purpose.”

  “You got orders here, Maggie!” the cook called again.

  She left and took the food to a booth across the diner. When she returned, she had an intense look upon her face. “Hickory, when you came home and decide
d you needed to punish yourself, you punished me, too. Don’t forget that. Don’t ever forget that.”

  He pushed himself to his feet and turned away, pausing at the doorway to look back at her. Maggie was wiping a corner of her eye with her apron.

  He walked across to the station and was met by Adam searching his face, trying to understand what had happened the day before. “I’m okay,” Hick said, trying to reassure him. Proudly, he held up the rifle. “Wash, can you lock this away where Tobe Hill can’t get it?”

  “Hellfire,” Wash said in admiration, “how’d you get it from him?”

  Hick’s eyes met Adam’s. “We just talked about old times. That’s all.”

  “How did the talking go?” Adam asked him.

  Hick knew what he meant. “It went okay.”

  “And everything is okay today? I’m not going to have to go back out to Tobe’s for any reason, am I?”

  “No reason at all,” Hick assured him.

  Adam seemed satisfied.

  Hick sat at his desk staring at the mound of paperwork. It needed to be done, yet his head ached and his stomach was queasy. The process of filling out forms took more fortitude than he seemed to have. The door to the station opened and he glanced up to see Fay coming in. He blushed, knowing she had seen him passed out and drunk on her porch but, after all, how many times had she found her husband in the same position?

  She sat in the chair before his desk with a puzzled look on her face.

  “How are you today, Fay?” he managed to ask, feeling uncomfortable and foolish.

  Her purse was in her lap and she stared at her hands wrapped tightly around it. “Hick, I’m worried.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s Tobe.”

  Inwardly, he groaned. “Is he drinking?” He glanced at his watch. It was seven o’clock at night. There had been very few days that had found Tobe Hill still sober at that hour.

  “No,” she answered. “He took his bottles and dumped them in the yard and sat down at the table. He ain’t moved, ain’t ate nothing, ain’t drank nothing. He’s just sitting there.”

  “Did you speak to him?”

  “I did. He just asked if I would mind taking Bobby and going to my mother’s for a day or two. He said he’s got some things he needs to work through.” Her voice lowered. “He was looking at his pistol last night after Adam took you home.”

  Hick’s heart stopped. Trying to sound calm he told her, “We was just talking about old times yesterday. Likely, he wanted to just look it over. I’ll go on out there and make sure everything’s okay.”

  She looked unsure. “Do you think it a good idea to go alone? Maybe you should take Wash or Adam.”

  Hick shook his head. “There’s nothing wrong, Fay. You’re worrying about nothing. Go on to your mother’s. Things’ll be fine.”

  She rose and paused uncertainly at the doorway. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Just go by Adam’s and let him know. Tell him there won’t be a repeat of yesterday.”

  She nodded and paused at the doorway. “It seems odd, really. It’s been so long since he’s been sober, I almost forgot what he was like.”

  “Things’ll be fine.”

  She nodded and left and he watched her cross the street. With a pounding heart, he climbed into his car and sped out of town toward Ellen Isle. There could be only one reason for Tobe to be looking at that pistol, and Hick dreaded what he might find when he pulled up to the house. Tobe was not on the porch as usual.

  Hick rushed up the porch and pounded on the door. “Tobe! Open up.”

  Relief flooded through him when the door opened and Tobe’s face appeared on the other side. It was drawn and sickly. “Hey, Hick. How you feelin’ today?”

  Hick forced his way into the house and looked around. The pistol was in the middle of the kitchen table. “Is that loaded?”

  “A gun ain’t much good without ammo in it.”

  Hick sat down at the table and stared at it, wondering if he should grab it and go, or wait it out and see what Tobe had in mind.

  Tobe sat heavily in the chair across from him. Scratching his eyebrow he said, “I forgot how lousy it is bein’ sober.” He looked terrible, the pain pouring from his body in the sweat that soaked his skin.

  “I think you ought to give me the gun,” Hick said in a soothing voice.

  Tobe glanced up. “Why?”

  “Because you’re gonna feel worse before you feel better. I just think a loaded weapon is a dangerous thing to have in eyeshot.”

  “No,” Tobe replied, “you took my shotgun. I want to keep the pistol … in case.”

  “In case what?”

  “In case it gets too bad.”

  Hick leaned forward. “I can’t let you keep it. I’m afraid you’ll hurt yourself.” Hick tried to put his hand over the pistol, but Tobe was larger and his long arms reached the gun first, his fingers wrapping around the pistol. Hick’s hand closed over Tobe’s, but Tobe wrenched backward, pulling Hick from his seat and sending the chair clattering across the floor. Tobe shook the gun, but Hick would not release his grip. Looking his friend in the eye, Hick said, “You need to let go. It’s dangerous for you to have this in the shape you’re in.”

  Tobe simply shook harder. “You done took one gun from me. I don’t aim to give you another.”

  Tobe was a good three inches taller than Hick, so Hick found himself off balance trying to keep the gun within his grasp over his head. He gave one mighty tug, trying to loosen the weapon, but instead his hand slipped into Tobe’s. The next thing Hick knew, there was a blinding flash and loud explosion, followed by a searing pain at the edge of his ear, and then he was on the floor, his back against the wall, his head throbbing.

  “Oh, Jesus!” Tobe cried, flinging the gun away and rushing to Hick. He bent over his friend, his face colorless, his eyes round with disbelief. “Hick?”

  Hick raised his head, dazed, the blast echoing in his ears. He put his hand on Tobe’s shoulder. “Help me up.”

  As he sat up, the blood began to trickle down his neck. He could feel it cool and sticky against his skin. He felt woozy and sick when he rose.

  “My God, Hick,” Tobe said, in a shaky voice, “I don’t know what happened.”

  “It was an accident,” Hick managed through clenched teeth. “I bumped your hand. I know it was an accident.”

  Tobe helped him to a chair. “Let me get Doc,” he said.

  “No,” Hick returned, quickly. “I don’t want anyone to know. Tobe they could put you away for this. You barely grazed me.”

  Tobe looked unconvinced. “Hick, there’s a piece of your ear on my floor.”

  Hick looked into his friend’s face. “Tobe, I want you to listen to me. I’m going to go home and tomorrow this will be over. I don’t want you to say a word to anyone about what happened to me today. You hear?”

  “Let me get the doc,” Tobe begged.

  Hick rose from the chair. “No, Tobe. I mean it. It looks worse than it is. You go to bed. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

  Hick walked to his car, trying to stand up straight and walk as if nothing was wrong. The pain was intense, his ear throbbed and burned. The blood was soaking into his shirt staining it dark red. He glanced once more at Tobe’s stricken face and managed to wave before he climbed inside.

  He drove into town, intending to stop by the station and get the extra shirt he kept there. Getting out of the car, he noticed Maggie in the diner mopping the floor. Unsteadily, he headed across the street and stumbled inside to get some ice.

  Maggie glanced up as he opened the door. In an instant, her face faded from copper to white.

  “Hickory! My God, what happened to you? Sit down.” She pulled up a chair and he gratefully sat down, feeling the blood flow down his neck.

  “I just had a little accident. Do you have any towels?”

  “Towels,” Maggie repeated automatically and spun around, grabbing one from behind the counter. She placed it
to his ear and said, “Accident? What happened?” Her face was unnaturally pale; her lips were white and trembling, her eyes wide and fearful.

  ”It wasn’t anything. Just a disagreement over a pistol between me and Tobe.”

  “Hickory, he could have killed you,” she said, an edge of hysteria to her voice.

  “It wasn’t his fault. Please, don’t tell anyone. It was just an accident.” He gingerly felt his ear and winced in pain. “Do you have any ice?”

  “Ice,” she repeated and scurried into the kitchen. Suddenly, he heard a loud crash coming from the back of the café and he rose to see what had happened. Maggie was on the floor scooping up the little cubes of ice, and there were tears on her cheek. She looked up when he entered and said, “I’m sorry. I dropped it. I’ll rinse it—”

  ”You don’t have to rinse it,” Hick told her. “I just need it wrapped in a towel. I’m not going to eat it.”

  She wrapped several cubes in a towel and rushed to him, placing it against his ear. He could feel her hand shaking and he reached up to get the towel and instead found his hand around Maggie’s. Their eyes met and neither of them moved for what seemed to be a long while. His forehead met hers and they leaned together, he could hear her breath, it came in short, ragged sobs. His eyes were closed. He couldn’t look at her face. He hadn’t been this close to her since he returned to Cherokee Crossing, and he felt a sudden need to hold her. His hand tightened around hers and he swallowed hard.

  “Mag, I want so much—”

  The bell on the door startled them and Matt’s voice was heard from the front of building calling, “Maggie? You here?”

  Her hand instantly went down, the spell broken. “I’m back here,” she called to him in a shaky voice.

  Hick held the towel to his ear and walked to the front of the café greeting Matt with a handshake.

  “Jesus, Hick,” Matt exclaimed. “What happened to you?”

  “Just a little work related accident,” Hick told him, trying to sound casual. His shirt was soaked with blood, it was dried on the side of his head and he knew he looked worse than he really was.

  Maggie emerged from the kitchen pale, but composed. “Hi, Matt,” she said. Her hands were still shaking and Matt asked her, “You okay?”