"Mama, am I gonna stay at Grandma Ming's?"
"No, Bandershanks, you'd better go to Miss Ophelia's house with me.
It'll probably be late before we come home. When there's a death, you
never can tell what's to be done. Here, stick this other shoe on and
let's go to the kitchen and get you some breakfast."
"I want lots, and lots, and lots of breakfast!"
Doanie was back before the butter in my biscuits had melted and before
I'd tasted my strips of fried salt meat. She pushed the kitchen door
shut and came straight to the cook stove, wringing her hands together
and saying, "Chile, this is the coldest day the Lawd done made!" Doanie
blew her breath on her fingers and kept rubbing her hands. She held
them up over the steam coming from the teakettle.
As soon as Doanie's hands got warm and limbered up, Mama told her to
help me wash my face. Doanie poured lots of water in the wash pan, and
I thought for a second or two she was going to scrub my ears off.
Finally, she gave my face one last swipe and emptied the pan of soapy
water out the back door.
"Now. That does hit. Dry yourself off good. You looks clean as a kitten
with a fresh-licked face!"
The minute Doanie got my mittens and wraps on me, I ran out to climb in
the buggy. Sun Boy had already loaded on the stovewood and had stacked
it all the way up to the back of the seat. So when Doanie came out
bringing the collard greens and meat and coffee and buttermilk-and all
the sheets and quilts and stuff Mama had gathered up—she had to pack
the whole works in front. The sack of eggs she set up on the seat by
me.
Mama told me to prop my feet up on the pile of quilts. The thickest one
she slid out and unfolded to wrap around our legs. Even that heavy
cotton quilt didn't keep us from shivering and shaking as we drove down
the road.
After we crossed Rocky Head Creek, we turned right on a little side
road. Mama said it was a short cut, a different road from the one we
took Sunday when Papa went with us to Miss Ophelia's.
We heard a gunshot way off up the creek.
"Who's that shooting, Mama?"
"Just somebody hunting squirrels, or maybe partridges. I sure wish your
papa had time to kill us some. We haven't had a partridge on the table
since Thanksgiving Day! And not many squirrels."
As soon as we got out of the creek bottom, we crossed over a steep
ridge, and then I could see fields and two houses—one was Ned's house,
and the other one, with two chimneys, was Miss Ophelia's. It took only
a few more minutes to get there.
"I declare, look at the wagons and buggies, Bandershanks! We'll have to
go on around to the side yard."
Papa was standing on the porch, talking to some men. More men were down
at the wagon shelter, where they were looking at Mister Ward's
automobile. One man was up in it, trying out the hand wheel and the
pedals.
As soon as Papa noticed us, he came around the house to help us get
out.
"Nannie, drive Dale up in the yard, and I'll hitch him to this corner
post. It's a good thing you brought this dry stovewood, 'cause when I
got here, there wasn't a stick cut. I finally got Ned to chop kindling
for both fireplaces."
"Jodie, what have you found out?"
"Not much, yet. You remember Miss Dink's half-brother, Mister Hiram?"
"Of course. He was the man who brought Bandershanks home."
"Well, Uncle Hiram, as they call him, found Ward early this morning,
lying down yonder below the barn, about halfway between the barn and
the woods."
Papa kept talking as he lifted Mama down to the ground. "Uncle Hiram
couldn't tell if Ward was dead or not, he said. So he hobbled across
the field quick as he could to Ned's. He got Ned and some of his boys
to help tote Ward to the house. He sent Ned's oldest boy to Ralph
Ware's to phone for the doctor, and he got Ned to run and tell Wes and
Lida Belle. 'Course it was pretty soon after that when Wes phoned me,
like I told you."
"Yeah. Then what?"
"Ralph said he never could get the doctor."
Papa helped me down. When my feet touched the ground, they felt so
stiff I had to grab Mama's skirt to keep from falling.
"Is Doctor Elton here yet?"
"He got over here right after I did, but Ward was already dead. He
didn't even examine him—just took one look at him and said he'd been
dead all night."
Mama picked up the bucket of buttermilk and the eggs. She let me carry
the sack of coffee. Papa gathered up some of the other sacks and boxes,
and we walked up to Miss Ophelia's house.
"How is Ophelia taking it?"
"Oh, she's in hysterics. I reckon anybody would be. But, Nannie, old
Miss Dink is the one in bad shape."
"Worse off than she was yesterday evening?"
"Yeah. Lots worse. Lida Belle says the old soul's talking out of her
head."
"Lida Belle's here?"
"Her and Wes both. I figure they don't want anybody suspecting that
anything's wrong at their house."
"Has anybody notified Ward's folks yet?"
"Uncle Hiram's gone back home to get his wife and to get word to the
kin over around Millers Crossing."
"What about Ophelia's young'uns?"
"Most of them are at the schoolhouse. Uncle Hiram came the day before
yesterday to take Miss Dink back to his house, but she was too bad off.
So, he took the older young'uns home with him. I guess he figured it
would help Ophelia. This morning he brought them back, straight to the
schoolhouse. Then he came on over here."
"How'd he know where to look for Ward?"
"He didn't. He said when he first got here Ophelia told him Ward
sneaked home Sunday but didn't stay long."
"But, Jodie, she vowed she hadn't seen him!"
"Well, anyhow, Uncle Hiram went down to the barn to feed the mules and
to milk the cow. But the cow got out of the pen and was already way
down the lane. He went to drive her back up, and that's when he saw
Ward slumped down by the fence."
Papa pushed open the back door. There was nobody in the kitchen, and we
didn't hear any sounds coming from the other part of the house.
"Nannie, some of the men seem to think Ward might've shot himself on
purpose. And I wouldn't put it past him. He was a crazy, curious man.
But, I oughtn't to criticize the dead."
"I'm wondering about Ward's automobile. When do you guess he—"
"Ned told me this Hicks fellow and another man brought it a few minutes
before I got over here. 'Course they left, right away."
As soon as Mama hung her cloak and mine behind the kitchen door, she
led me into the fireplace room, where Miss Ophelia and Miss Lida Belle
and a big wide lady Mama called Mrs. Lee were sitting.
Miss Ophelia was holding her little baby boy on her lap and was rocking
him back and forth. We could tell he was about to fall asleep, for
every time he tried to open up his eyelids, they drooped back down
again. He was two times as fat as he was that night when he was
sleeping in the Christmas hay at church.
Mama spoke to all the women, and they spoke, but nobody did any more
talking. They all kept sitting there, quiet. There wasn't a little
chair for me, so Mama crossed her knees and let me squeeze in on the
edge of her rocker.
The old ladies had drawn their chairs close to the hearth, and there
they sat, their hands folded, just looking into the fire. After I had
watched them for a while, I noticed they didn't even have their
snuff-dipping brushes in their mouths. The front door squeaked.
I looked around. Papa and Doctor Elton and Mister Wes were coming in
from the hall. Papa and the doctor took off their hats, and after
Mister Wes sat down in the chair next to Miss Ophelia, he pulled his
off, too. He held it in his hands, twisting it round and round, folding
and refolding the middle crease.
"Miss Ophelia," he said, "I hate to trouble you at a time like this,
but I reckon I'll have to ask you a little bit about Ward."
"It's all right, Mister Wes."
"The county coroner sent word by Mister Jodie that we don't have to
have no reg'lar inquest 'less we figger somebody shot Ward. 'Course we
don't rigger nothin' like that, but when somebody dies under odd
circumstances, we sorta have to look into it."
"Yes, sir."
The baby fretted and whimpered, and I just knew if Mister Wes didn't
quit talking so loud, he was going to wake up and cry. Miss Ophelia
kept rocking her chair real easy, and he drifted back to sleep. Miss
Lida Belle leaned over to Mrs. Lee and said something about seeing to
the cooking.
They both got up then and went into the kitchen.
Mister Wes kept on twisting his hat and talking to Miss Ophelia. He
asked a lot of strange questions. She said, "Yes, sir" to some, "No,
sir" to others. I couldn't tell if she knew just what he was talking
about or not. I surely didn't.
"Miss Ophelia, if you wouldn't mind, just tell us what happened
Sunday."
"There ain't much to tell, Mister Wes. Ward, he s'prised me! He slipped
home Sunday morning—first time I'd seen him since Christmas. He was
just ranting and fussing, like he always does. And, I don't like to say
it here in front of Miss Nannie, but he was drinking—like he always
does."
"Did he say anything outta the ordinary?"
"Well, he did talk a right smart. Seemed like Ward hated ever' body and
ever' thing yesterday, even himself. He blessed me out twice for
letting the young'uns go home with my uncle. Oh, God 'a mercy! The
young'uns! Their own pa, lying yonder in the front room, cold dead, and
they don't even know it! Ohhh-hh-h! I forgot my poor young'uns. They're
all I've got left in this world."
Mama put me down so she could go over to Miss Ophelia. Miss Ophelia's
hollering and crying got louder. Mama told her over and over not to
worry about the children. Finally she got quiet; then Mama took the
sleeping baby from her arms and eased him down on the bed nearest to
the fireplace.
"Miss Ophelia, did Ward say anything a-tall about goin' huntin'?"
"Yes, sir, Mister Wes. 'Bout middle of the evening, just 'fore Miss
Nannie come in bringing us them vittles, I was in the kitchen, and he
come in. He was riled 'bout something, and in a rush. I asked him to
chop a little wood, and he said he didn't have time. Said he was going
a-hunting.
"I told him, 'Ward, this is Sunday. You oughtn't to hunt on Sunday.' He
said, 'To Hell with the day o' the week. I'm goin' ahuntin'. And, I
just might kill myself a coon!' Then he grabbed down his shotgun and
went storming out the back door."
"Did you hear any shootin'?"
"Yes, sir. Later on, while Miss Nannie and Mister Jodie was here, I
heard lots of shooting."
"Which way did Ward go?"
"Mister Wes, I don't have no clear notion. I heard Aunt Dink groaning,
and I went running in the side room to see 'bout her. Oh, God 'a mercy!
Poor Aunt Dink! She ain't had a mouthful to eat this morning! I'd
better go see 'bout her."
"Now, now," Mama told her. "We'll look after Miss Dink. Doctor Elton's
right here, so don't you worry."
What Mama told Miss Ophelia didn't do a bit of good. She just started
wailing and crying all over again. I couldn't stand to hear her, so
when Papa and Doctor Elton and Mister Wes put on their hats and left
the room, I followed them.
Papa didn't notice I was walking along behind him, for he was listening
to the doctor and Mister Wes, who were talking low, both at the same
time. Doctor Elton tried to tell Mister Wes when
rigor-something-or-other set in, but Mister Wes kept asking questions.
Then he wouldn't wait for the doctor's answer before he started talking
again himself.
A hard gust of wind swept through the house as we were crossing the
open hall. Both Papa and the doctor had to grab at their hats to keep
them from being blown away.
"This dratted wind cuts like a razor," Mister Wes muttered. He turned
his cloak collar up to his ears and opened the door of the front room.
There lay Mister Ward on the bed! Somebody had spread a white sheet
over him, so all I could see was his muddy boots sticking out at the
bottom, his red hair at the top.
Two or three men sitting in front of the fireplace got up, and some
more men I had seen in the hall walked in right behind me. Then Old Man
Hawk came in.
Nobody in the room was saying anything. They all seemed to be waiting
for the doctor, or Papa, or somebody, to pull back the white sheet.
The doctor bent over the bed and pushed the sheet to one side. He
unbuttoned Mister Ward's hunting coat and ran his hand down inside the
big pocket.
"Here're some soggy matches," he said, "and two shells—and his bottle.
It's empty. Here, Jodie, set it up there on the mantel. Well, I'll be
damned! A squirrel!"
Doctor Elton pulled a chunky red squirrel out of Mister Ward's coat
pocket and held it up so we could all see it. Nobody said a word. The
doctor looked at the squirrel again and felt of it.
"Umm-mm-m. A young fox squirrel. A pretty thing."
"Can I hold him some?" I asked the doctor.
"Bandershanks!" Papa seemed surprised to see me, but he didn't scold.
He only watched as Doctor Elton handed me the fat, curled-up little
squirrel. I ran my fingers along over its back and smoothed down its
soft, thick, reddish-brown fur. Its tail was bushy and fluffy as could
be.
"Better give him back to me, honey," the doctor told me a few minutes
later.
He took the squirrel, and as soon as Mister Wes pulled the sheet over
Mister Ward's face, we all walked out to the front porch. I held to
Papa's hand.
"I reckon we may as well let Ward's dogs have this squirrel for their
breakfast," Doctor Elton said. "What do you think, Wes?"
"Yeah, just throw it to the dogs, Doc. Ward must've shot it right 'fore
he started back to the house. I see he didn't gut it."
Doctor Elton turned the squirrel over again to look at its stomach.
"No, he didn't."
Papa gave a shrill whistle. Two hounds asleep at the gate pricked up
their ears. He whistled again, and they came trotting toward the porch.
Doctor Elton tossed the squirrel to them. Both dogs pounced on it and
began pulling it to pieces.
Mister Wes started his loud talking again. "I don't figger there's no
need o' havin' a inquest. Do you, Jodie?"
"It's for you to say, Wes. You're the new J.P. But it looks to me like
Ward just went squirrel hunting yesterday evening and had an accident
right before he got back to the house."
Mister Wes walked across the porch toward Doctor Elton. "What you
think, Doc?"
Old Mister Hawk and the man he was talking with both quit chewing their
tobacco and moved closer to the doctor, too. Old Mister Hawk cupped a
hand behind one ear, like he thought the doctor was going to say
something special. All the other men got quiet. And I stayed still,
because I didn't know what Doctor Elton was fixing to tell Mister Wes.
"Y'all, this is a bad business. Death always is. A man in his prime is
gone. And a sickly young widow has eight young'uns at her knees and
another on her lap. Their prospects are mighty bleak. Her kinfolks will
have to take them in, I reckon. But it appears that Ward's was a case
where a man brought death on himself, one way or another. And I
honestly doubt if an inquest would do him or anybody else any good."
"We just won't hold none then. I'm gonna go down the lane and look
'round one more time so's I can figger just where Ward was tryin' to
climb over the fence when his gun went off. It's a pity the rain washed
out his tracks. All a-body can see is where we've been trompin' this
mornin' and all them holes Uncle Hiram punched in the ground with his
peg leg."
Every one of the men, except Papa and Doctor Elton, followed Mister Wes
down toward the horse lot. Some of them stopped at the wagon shelter to
look at Mister Ward's automobile again. The others went on down the
lane.
"I've got to get on back," the doctor was saying. "There's plenty of
sickness this time of year, and folks will be calling for me. In winter
I'm a popular man, you know. An old, tired, popular man! Ah, Jodie, I
got called out at midnight last night, and I haven't seen my pillow
since."
They stopped at the yard gate. As the doctor unhooked the latch he
turned and looked straight at Papa.
"Jodie, I just hope the Good Lord will forgive me for times when I
meddle in His affairs."
"You don't meddle."
"Sometimes, it's not what you do, Jodie. It's the way you say a thing,
or don't, that changes matters. I'm telling you, this whole business
worries me."
"It's enough to turn anybody's hair."
"Me and you might have made a mistake—mainly me. Maybe we should've
reported Ward's whiskey still before we did. Maybe he wouldn't be dead
today, if we had. Maybe it's a blessing he is dead. I don't know. When
I think of that stillborn baby, I— Damn my tongue! Jodie, forget I
mentioned a baby! My tongue slipped! I gave my word not to—"
"I already knew about the baby—Nannie and me. And we're not aiming to
talk it. 'Twouldn't help Wes's daughter, nor nobody."
"That's the truth! Jodie, I don't know how you look at it, but as I see
it, it's best now to let Ward's folks bury him and not stir up a ruckus
over the technicalities of just how he died. Far as I'm concerned, it
don't make a continental how the gun went off. It's not the how of
death that's of any consequence. It's death. If there was ever anything
any 'count in Ward Lawson—and there must've been at some time; nobody's
worthless all their livelong life—it died a good while back. When, I
don't know. But it wasn't Sunday at sundown when that lead ripped
through his jugular vein!"
Papa and the doctor walked on through the gate into the grove of trees
in front of Miss Ophelia's house, where the dozen or more buggies and
wagons and saddle horses were waiting. But Doctor Elton wasn't bobbing
and bouncing along the way he usually walked. He was dragging his feet,
and when he got to the side of his big black buggy, he had to catch one
hand on the dashboard and the other on the armrest so he could pull
himself up to the seat.
Papa tugged at the bridle bit of one mare just enough to make her start
backing the buggy a few feet. The doctor gave both mares a light touch
with the whip, and they struck up a smooth trot. Turning halfway round,
Doctor Elton lifted his hand to Papa.
When I saw Papa was going toward the barn instead of coming back to the
porch, I scooted down the bare, windy hall to the kitchen.
More and more folks, most of them strangers, kept coming to the Lawson
house. And it seemed that everything was going wrong and nobody knew
what to do. I didn't know what to do either. Mama said for me just to
be sweet and stay out of the way.
Uncle Dan brought Miss Ophelia's children home. But the girls didn't
want to play with me. They just stood around, looking at the houseful
of people. The middle girl, Sissie, never would take her thumb out of
her mouth—not even long enough to tell me her real name. Eftie, the
biggest one, couldn't play because she had to tend to her baby sister.
The boy named Philip wouldn't play with me either. He had a bad
earache. He had been crying with it when they all came home from the
schoolhouse, and he kept on crying, even after Mama heated up a skillet
of salt and fixed a poultice sack for him to hold against his ear.
Finally, when Aunt Vic warmed some milk for him to drink, he began to
feel better.
While Aunt Vic was making biscuits, Mama and Miss Lida Belle were
trying to decide what would be the best thing to do for Miss Dink.
"It's dreadful cold in that far side room," Miss Lida Belle told Mama.
"Let's move her 'cross the hall to the fireplace room."
Mama sent me out to the woodpile to get Papa. He came, and together
they rolled Miss Dink up in a blanket, and Papa toted her across the
hall. When Papa laid Miss Dink on the freshly made bed, she sank down
into the feather mattress so far I could hardly see her wrinkled face.
Something had made her cheeks turn a strange yellowish color. And she
wasn't laughing like she had been that day she told me and Mama how a
long time ago she smeared hog lard on Miss Ophelia's seven-year itch.
"Nannie," Papa whispered as he started out, "soon's you get time, ask
what clothes Ophelia wants us to use."
As soon as Mama went over to Miss Ophelia's chair and began talking to
her, she started crying again.
"Them things in the big trunk is all. They're all he's got, Miss
Nannie."
I didn't know what trunk or what things she was talking about till a
few minutes later when I followed Mama and Miss Lida Belle into the far
side room. There we found two trunks over against the back wall, one
flat on top, the other humpbacked—both dusty. Mama lifted the lid of
the humpbacked one.
"It smells terrible, Mama! Just like Grandma Ming's big old trunk! That
one with all them little white balls in it."
"'Course, hon. All trunks have to have camphor balls in them, else the
moths will get in."
There wasn't a thing in the tray of the trunk except a handful of dry,
shriveled-up roses. Down in the bottom, though, we saw a long white
dress with lots of lace on it and a man's dark Sunday suit.
Miss Lida Belle caught her breath. "Nannie! It's their wedding clothes!
Is there a white shirt?"
"I'm afraid not."
"This other trunk is slam empty, Nannie."
Mama pulled out a wrinkled black coat and a pair of pants and handed
them to Miss Lida Belle. Then she laid the wedding dress and the dead
roses back in place.
"Move your fingers, Bandershanks. This heavy lid could cut them off."
"Well, Wes's got two white shirts. I'll just go get one o' them. He'll
never miss it, but don't say nothin', Nannie."
"You want Jodie to take you home in the buggy?"
"Naw, naw. I'll cut through the woods. It's not more'n a quarter of a
mile."
While Miss Lida Belle was gone, Mama set Miss Ophelia's ironing board
up on the backs of two straight chairs and put two flatirons on the
kitchen stove to heat. But she couldn't find Miss Ophelia's cake of
beeswax.
Aunt Vic knew what to do. She just stepped out in the back yard and
broke off a few little sprigs from a cedar tree.
"Cedar's just as good as wax when it comes to making your iron smooth,"
she told me as she was stacking the prickly green needles on the end of
the ironing board.
Mama had the wrinkles pressed out of the suit by the time Miss Lida
Belle got back with Mister Wes's white shirt and a celluloid collar
that went with it.
"Lemme run the iron over these cuffs, Nannie. Looks like the last time
I ironed this shirt, I must've just give it a lick and a promise. Here,
I thought I'd better bring this too."
Miss Lida Belle handed Mama a narrow string of a black tie. Mama handed
it to me.
"You can tote the tie, Bandershanks."
We took the tie and the suit and the shirt and stiff collar up to the
door of the front room and handed them to Papa. Mama didn't say so, but
I knew Papa and Uncle Dan were going to dress up Mister Ward.
I knew why: you have to get dressed up in Sunday-go-to-meeting things
when you die and go to Heaven. God's up there, and it wouldn't be very
nice to go to see God with just weekday clothes on.
Up in the middle of the day, Mama and the other women put dinner on the
kitchen table. Some of the folks who had been there all morning ate;
some didn't.
Mama couldn't get Miss Ophelia to eat anything. Not till Mama said,
"Now, Ophelia, you'll just have to eat a little something to keep your
strength up," would she even sip any black coffee. She nibbled at a
piece of pound cake.
Aunt Lovie had brought the cake, and it was good. Aunt Vic let me have
two slices of it to keep up my strength.
Another wagonload of people came right after dinner. Papa went out to
the well lot to meet them, and so did I. They were wrapped in heavy
cloaks and had warm bricks and blankets at their feet, but their faces
were red, and they looked cold.
The man holding the reins said, "Whew, Mister Jodie, we finally made
it, but I don't know if I'll ever thaw out or not!"
"It's the worst cold spell we've had, all right. Y'all just go on in.
I'll hitch your team, and all."
As soon as the people got in the house, they went straight into the
front room. The women all looked at Mister Ward and cried. The men bit
their lips together tight and didn't make a sound.
I wanted to go home.
I went back outside, looking for Papa. When I couldn't find him, I ran
into the kitchen, where Mama and Aunt Vic were getting food warmed up
for the kinfolks who had just come. Aunt Vic said that they lived far
away and were bound to be tired and hungry.
"Mama, I wanta go home."
"We'll be going now in just a little while."
The sun was down to the pickets of Miss Ophelia's garden fence when we
finally did put on our cloaks to leave. Papa got some boy with Mister
Goode to ride Jake home so he could go with Mama and me in the buggy.
Aunt Vic followed us to the door.
"Vic, me and Jodie will be back over here around midnight to sit up
till day. Then you and Lovie and Dan and some of the others can get
some rest."
"I won't mind staying up all night, Nannie. Somebody's got to keep
coffee boiled."
"I know, but there's no need for so many to sit up. And the way things
have turned out, we may be here helping most of the day tomorrow. Jodie
said the carpenter Ward's folks got to make the coffin can't send it
till way up in the morning."
On the way home Papa and Mama talked of all the folks who had come to
the Lawson house and of what was said and what was left unsaid. Mama
thought it was a shame none of Ward's folks had sent for the preacher.
Papa thought it was too late for a preacher to help matters.
Papa wanted to know if Miss Lida Belle had mentioned Addle Mae. Mama
said that woman didn't part her lips about the girl all day long.
Then Mama told Papa where Miss Lida Belle got the white shirt. And Papa
told Mama about the red fox squirrel the doctor found in Ward's pocket.
"Poor little squirrel!"
"What makes you say that, Bandershanks?"
"Mama, they threw him to the dogs! And he was so soft and warm. He was
a pretty thing! Wasn't he pretty, Papa?"
"So soft and warm?"
"Yes, sir."
_"Great Jehoshaphat and gully dirt!_ Yeah, he was pretty! But I didn't
know he was still warm! My Lord! Nannie, do you realize what that
means?"
"I sure do! If he wasn't cold yet, somebody stuffed that squirrel into
Ward's coat pocket this morning!"
"Exactly!"
"What's the matter, Papa?"
"Nothing, Bandershanks. We probably won't ever know all the truth about
that fox squirrel, or about the so-called coon Ward wanted to kill."
I leaned over to put my head in Mama's lap. She told me that I could
just go to sleep and she'd wake me when we got home. So I shut my eyes
tight. Dale's feet kept clumping. The wheels kept grinding.
"Poor little gal. What a day for her. Look, Nannie, she's already sound
asleep."
But I wasn't. So, I shut my eyes tighter.
"Jodie, what do you aim to do?"
"It's too late now to do anything this evening, Nannie. Besides, I
don't know that we ought'a try. If you stop to think about it, you
couldn't prove who put the squirrel in his pocket. I reckon the doctor
saw that. I'm trying to remember just what all he said. Him and
Bandershanks was the only ones who touched that red fox squirrel. I
know he must've noticed it was still warm."
"Do you figure it was Wes, or who?"
"I just don't hardly know what to think, Nannie. When I recollect and
piece together what Doanie told you, and what Ophelia told Wes, and
what Doctor Elton told me, it all seems clear enough. Either Wes or Ned
killed him, I reckon. Still, Ward could've shot himself."
"Yeah, he could have."
"And any one of several persons, who did or didn't know what all had
happened, might've slipped the squirrel into Ward's pocket to cover
suspicious-looking circumstances. It might've even been that Hicks
fellow who was in on the whiskey-making. Remember, he was over there
early this morning."
"Jodie, it's bound to have been Wes Bailey."
"Well, maybe. Ward ruined Addle Mae. But, Nannie, had you thought of
this: Wes couldn't afford to kill Ward. If he did, folks would ask why,
and that would bring up Addie Mae's name. So Wes didn't dare."
"You guess then it was Ned?"
"I wouldn't think it of Ned. But Ward must've thought Ned had told the
Law about the still. You remember Ophelia said that Ward was going to
'get him a coon'? The _coon_ was Ned!"
"Jodie, oughtn't we to tell somebody about—"
"Nannie, for the time being, I aim to put the whole mess outta my mind.
Sometimes, what happens is best left to the Good Lord. He can handle
justice for all kinds of creatures: black coons, red squirrels, white
men, black men—any kind, any color. Your pa used to preach that."
"Yeah. Pa got it outta the Bible. It says He takes note when a sparrow
falls."