Mystery Walk

pocket. His heart was beating like a drum corps. He took his suitcase out to the porch, where his father was squinting toward the road, his head cocked to one side as if listening.

'Hot day,' John said. 'Listen to that corn rustic'

'Dad?' Billy said. 'I don't know if you can understand me or not, but . . . I'm going away for a while. See? My suitcase is all packed, and . . .' There was a lump in his throat, and he had to wait until it subsided. 'I'll be gone until October.' A sudden thought speared him: Your Dad won't be here, come October. He forced it away, looking at the good side of his father's face.

John nodded. 'Crickets sure like to sing on a hot day, don't they?'

'Oh, Dad ...' Billy said. His throat constricted and he grasped one of his father's leathery hands, dangling over the chair arm. 'I'm sorry, it was because of me this happened to you, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. ...' Tears burned his eyes.

'Splash!' John said, and grinned. 'Did you see that? Old bullfrog jumped down at the pond!' He squinted and leaned forward, visoring his eyes with his free hand. 'Looky there. Company's comin'.'

Dust was rising off the road. Not now! Billy said mentally. It's too soon! Birds scattered up out of the lumbering van's path; the vehicle didn't stop this time, but braved the rocks and ruts all the way up to the front yard. On the van's sides, written in spooky-looking white letters, was dr. mirakle's ghost show.

'Who's our company today?' John asked, the grin stuck lopsided on his face.

'The man I told you about, hon,' Ramona said from behind the screen door; she came on out carrying a paper sack with a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich, a bologna sandwich, and two red apples in it. Her eyes glazed over as the van's door opened and Dr. Mirakle, looking as if he'd slept in his seersucker suit and straw hat, stepped out.

'Fine afternoon, isn't it!' he called and approached the house on his stubby legs; his wide smile lost wattage with every step he took, as he felt Ramona Creekmore's icy glare on him. He cleared his throat and craned his neck to see the roof. 'All finished?'

'He's finished,' Ramona said.

'Good. Mr. Creekmore, how are you today?'

John just stared at him.

Mirakle stepped up to the edge of the porch. 'Billy? It's time to go now.'

As Billy bent to pick up his suitcase, Ramona caught at his arm. 'Just a minute! You promise me one thing! You take good care of my boy! You treat him like you'd treat a son of your own! He's a hard worker, but he's nobody's mule. You treat my boy fair. Will you promise me that?'

'Yes, ma'am,' Mirakle said, and bowed his head slightly. 'I do so promise. Well . . . I'll take this on to the van for you, then.' He reached up and took the suitcase, then carried it to the van to give them a moment alone.

'Billy.' John's voice was slow and sluggish; his blue eyes were dull, hazed with half-remembered days when the young man standing before him was a little boy. A smile worked around the good edge of his mouth, but wouldn't take hold.

'I'm going away, Dad. I'll work hard, and I'll mail you money. Everything'll be fine. ...'

'Billy,' John said, 'I ... I want ... to read you something.' Emotion had thickened his speech, made it more difficult for him to say the right words. He was trying very hard to concentrate; he turned in the Bible to the Book of Matthew, and searched for a particular passage. Then he began to read, with difficulty: 'Matthew seven, verses thirteen and fourteen. 'Enter ye in . . .at the strait gate; for wide is the gate, and broad is the way that . . . leadeth to destruction, and . . . many there be which ... go in thereat. Because strait is the gate and . . . narrow is the way which leadeth unto life, and few there be . . . that find it.' ' He closed the Bible and lifted his gaze to his son. 'I'm readin' better,' he said.

Billy leaned down, hugged him and kissed his cheek; he smelled of Vitalis, and Billy was reminded of the times they used to get their hair cut together at Curtis Peel's. When he raised up, his father's eyes were shining. 'Good-bye, Dad,' Billy said.

Ramona put her arm around her son, and they started walking toward Dr. Mirakle's van. 'Be careful,' she said, her voice husky with emotion. 'Be strong and proud. Brush your teeth twice a day, and hang your clothes up at night. Just remember who you are: you're Billy Creekmore, there's Choctaw blood in your veins, and you can walk with the likes of anybody!'

'Yes ma'am. I'll send the money every week, and I'll . . .' He glanced up at the van, and a shadow of true fear passed over him; he felt like a shipwrecked sailor, slowly drifting away from land. 'I'll be fine,' he said, as the feeling began to fade. 'You should take the car down to the gas station and put air in the tires. I meant to do it myself, but . . . time just got away. . . .'

'You write now, you hear? Mind your manners, and say your prayers. ...'

Mirakle had leaned over and opened the passenger door. Billy climbed up into the slightly greasy interior; when he closed the door, his mother said, 'Remember who you are! You've got Choctaw blood in your veins, and ...'

Mirakle started the engine. 'Are you ready, Billy?'

'Yes sir.' He looked toward the house, waved at his father, and then said to Ramona, 'I love you.' The van started moving.

'I love you!' she called back, and walked alongside the van as it eased over the ruts. 'Get your sleep, and don't stay out until all hours of the night.' She had to walk faster, because the van was picking up speed. Dust blossomed from beneath the tires. 'Do right!' she called out.

'I will!' Billy promised, and then his mother was left behind as the van moved away. Ramona stood shielding her face from the dust as the black van reached the highway. It turned left and disappeared behind the curtain of full green trees, but Ramona stood where she was until the sound of its engine had faded, leaving faint echoes in the hills.

29

Ramona turned away and walked back to the house through the hanging layers of dust. She sat on the porch with John for a few minutes more, and told him she was going to take the car down to the gas station, then drive in to Fayette for a little while, and she'd be gone for maybe two hours. He nodded and said that was fine. In the house, she took two dollars from the kitchen cookie jar, made sure John would have everything he needed while she was gone, then took the car keys from where they lay on the mantel. It was four-twenty when she got on the road, and she wanted to reach a particular shop in Fayette before it closed at five.

In Fayette, Ramona parked the Olds near a rather run-down pawnshop and loan service. Arranged in the window were displays of cheap rhinestone rings, radios, a couple of electric guitars, a trombone, and a few cheap wristwatches. Above the doorway a sign read hap's pawns and loans and you're always happy when you trade with hap. She stepped into the shop, where a single ceiling fan stirred the heavy, dusty air 'Is Mr. Tillman in today?' she asked a sallow-faced woman behind one of the counters.

'Hap?' The woman had flame-red dyed hair and one glass eye that looked off into empty space; with her good eye she quickly appraised Ramona. 'Yeah, he's back in his office. What do you want to see him a—' But Ramona was already moving, heading back along an aisle toward the shop's rear 'Hey! Lady! You can't go back there!'

Ramona stepped through a green curtain into a narrow, dank corridor. She rapped on a door and entered the office without being asked in.

'Hap' Tillman's thick body was reclining in his chair, his legs up on the desktop, as he smoked a Swisher Sweet cigar and paged through a Stag magazine. Now he sat up, outraged that someone had dared to invade his inner sanctum, and was about to curse a blue streak when he saw it was Ramona Creekmore. The red-haired woman stuck her head in. 'Hap, I told her not to come back here.'

'It's okay, Doris.' He had a fleshy, square-jawed face and wore a stark-black toupee that was entirely at odds with his gray eyebrows. 'I know Mizz Creekmore. You can leave us be.'

'I told her not to come back,' Doris said; she shot Ramona a black look and closed the door.

'Well! Mizz Creekmore, what a surprise to see you of all people!' Tillman tapped ash off his Swisher Sweet and plugged the cigar into his mouth. Around his desk was a sea of stacked boxes; over in one corner were black