skipping over roots. The man's power drawing him along.
They came to Mary Burke's grave again. Hale had placed fresh flowers on it.
'You did nice, Hale.'
'Thank you.'
No matter where you went you always came back. They stood like that for a while again. Sam Burke had been unable to face the truth, and had sacrificed himself to his perpetual lie. Her aunt was dying by inches afraid of light. Reb had betrayed him for loot she could make herself on a good weekend in Tucco's club. The wind's sad whistling drew Crease's attention across the cemetery.
'You think she's happy?' Hale asked.
It must've been a subject that wasn't supposed to be breached, because Dirtwater placed his hands firmly on his son's shoulders, shook his head at the boy.
'He doesn't like me asking questions like that. It upsets some people. I ask about heaven and God and if dead people are awake or sleeping. I can't help it. I can't help thinking things like that. My mother says it's because little boys aren't supposed to be around death all the time.'
'It's not that,' Crease said. 'It's just that nobody has any of the answers, and they usually don't like to be reminded.'
'You don't mind, do you?'
'No. I've been around a lot of death too. I've been curious on occasion.'
'He says he can still see your sadness, but there's something else to it.'
Like you didn't have enough on your mind, the kid had to just keep on spooking you.
'He says you're getting back to who you're supposed to be.'
'That so?'
'It is.'
'Maybe he's right. Maybe not.'
Crease stared into the boy's eyes, seeing the child he was in there. You could witness a lot in Dirtwater's face, and you could see as much, maybe even more, in his son's. The whispers of the wind made him turn his face aside, wondering what his old man would have him do now. Give up and run for it? Ambush Tucco while he was asleep in Morena's arms? Dirtwater stepped up, as if knowing Crease's thoughts and wanting, in some way, to take the place of his father. It could get on your nerves, all this silence.
'You know what happened to her?'
'Mostly.'
'Maybe that'll make her happy.'
'I don't see how.'
'He says that maybe you're thinking about it in the wrong way.'
Crease figured that was probably true. 'Okay, so how should I think about it?'
He kept his eyes on Dirtwater while the man spoke tohis son in a language that wasn't language. He kept his eyes on him even while the boy talked. 'You know who did it?'
'Yeah.'
'You know why?'
'Yeah.'
'What's left to learn then?'
'What happened to the money.'
'Does that matter now?'
'Only because it caused all the trouble in the first place. It was my father's destruction. I'd like to find it and burn it, if I could. But I don't know who stole it.'
Some mysteries you're not meant to answer. Some of them are supposed to continue on and on, marking your life.
'He says maybe somebody didn't steal the money. Maybe something else happened to it.'
'What else could happen to it?'
'He doesn't know that, he's just offering a suggestion.'
There would never be an end to this for him if he couldn't track the last piece of the mystery. He wouldn't be able to face Tucco with his head clear and his hand ready, not with the little dead girl in his back seat and Teddy hissing in his ear. The goddamn fifteen grand would be his finish too.
Chapter Fifteen
Five hours she'd had on the loose.
He'd made an understandable mistake. He hadn't gone far enough when he was play-acting around here before. He'd stepped into his drunk father's shoes and imagined himself being Edwards at the door, but he hadn't thought enough about the girl.
Six years old.
Your aunt lets you off at the far end of the abandoned mill, tells you to shoo. Gives you a little push.
A six-year-old, you don't realize how sharp they are at first. They constantly surprise you-how much they hear, how much they know that you never expected them to pick up.
Mary Burke would've heard her aunt and Purvis discussing the cash. How important it was to them, how much they needed it to get out of debt, make the guys who'd taken Purvis' leg leave them alone once and for all. On the drive up to the mill they were probably laughing, talking about resettling somewhere, raising a family of their own. While Mary was in the back taking it all in, knowing that her aunt had just traded her in. For what, Teddy? Why is this happening? For some short green, Mary, that's the truth of love.
You're six years old. Teddy's giving you good advice but it isn't enough. You see your aunt walking away, getting back in the car. She's angry, there's something that's upset their plans.
Would you walk into a deserted mill, no matter what she'd told you? Hell no. You'd follow your aunt.
He saw Sarah Burke and Daniel Purvis getting into their car and pulling away onto the logging trail, heading back to town. Mary would start running after them, maybe crying.
You race along the trail for as long as you can, but soon you tire and the car is long gone. The forest is terrifying in its dark implications. You're alone and wailing and Teddy's abruptly gone silent.
What do you do, even if you are a smart six-year-old? You're still a baby. You hunch down and sob, waiting for somebody to come find and help you. Where are Mommy and Daddy?
Teddy mutters, Don't rely on them, you're on your own.
It's been a rough day. You've learned a lot about life and your family. Your aunt is a liar who loves only, entirely, another person. Your father and mother cannot protect you. Teddy really doesn't know so much and he's got a mean streak. These lessons would wear anyone out.
You hide and you take a nap. It's the thing you do when you are angry. When your face is covered with hot tears. You find a small warm spot to curl away in.
Even a happy child can fall into a state of depression. Let's say a half hour following the trail, a couple hours of bitter, dreamless sleep in the woods, wedged between two logs, using Teddy as a pillow.
When you awake, you're disoriented, but you don't cry anymore. You've been transformed by your new world view. Teddy is jazzed up again and really chattering away. You hug him close and start back along the trail the way you've come. Another half hour.
You stand outside the mill. You see a man in the woods but you don't trust him. There's no reason for you to. He's crouched behind weeds, his handsome face is marred by self-interest. Aunt Sarah told you to walk inside and you'd be found. You don't believe her, but you haven't got many options left. You're tired and hungry. So's Teddy, and he's really bending your ear about it.
You are quiet. You like to play hide-and-seek. Your father is not here to use his commanding voice to draw you from the niches and nooks of the house. You can be in charge of the game.
So it goes like this. Your body is at ease in the shadows. There are great bulks of machinery strewn about in the long, wide room.
