Mildred Johnson was worrying over her withered pole beans when two bedraggled figures came into view. One was limping, the other slumped over. They moved slowly down her long driveway. She thought about going inside to get her daddy's pistol but something told her not to.
They came closer. Mildred realized they were man and woman. Their clothes were torn and ragged. The lady now seemed to be pulling the limping man along, their feet kicking up puffs of dirt from the dry summer road. A zither of wind stirred the tree tops and set her Uncle Sam whirligig in motion, sawing away at the tin dollar bill. The wind and the mechanical, tinny sawing sound were all she could hear.
Elliot watched the old lady in the blue house dress put down her watering can. Her little house was nothing more than a well-kept shotgun shack, but the clothes on the line and the lawn chairs looked so comforting his energy returned slightly. Olivia picked up her pace, too. The old lady was waving at them as all her lawn ornaments swayed in the breeze. The sun went behind a cloud, casting shadows from the pine trees that lined the country lane.
"Hello! Who are you? Where did you come from?"
They reached the edge of the yard, panting. Walking a mile when you're hurt is no picnic, but it's ten times worse in the humid air.
"I'm Olivia Benson and this is Elliot Stabler. We're lost and we haven't eaten and he's hurt," she said, breathing heavily.
"I'm Mildred Johnson and you both look like you were hit by a train," the old woman frowned, eyeing them up and down.
"We're police officers from New York. Our badges are gone, and you'll just have to believe us. Please," Elliot pleaded, looking as sincere as he could.
"Just as well," Mildred said. "You both come in and clean up and I'll fix you something to eat."
Elliot straggled in on one foot. He leaned on Olivia like a crutch until they reached the kitchen table. It could only seat two. Mildred was jabbering somewhere in the house, which was long and narrow.
"My husband died twenty years ago and I been on my own since then. Oh, I go to church and Mary from down the river road carries me to town on Wednesdays for groceries but mainly I listen to the radio and watch my stories."
Elliot rolled his eyes and looked around the kitchen. There was no phone. Just a daisy-shaped wall clock and an assortment of pot holders, Jello molds and Bundt cake pans all over the pale green wall.
"All right. Here are some towels and washclothes. My grandchildren left some clothes her last time. They're both great big kids, so the clothes might hang on y'all a little but at least they're clean," Mildred prattled in an uninterrupted stream of consciousness.
Olivia took first dibs on the shower and gratefully took a threadbare towel and washcloth. The hall was lined with pictures, mostly black and whites of dour looking people sitting in chairs on porches. A newer picture must have been Mildred's grandkids...boy and girl, obviously twins, both awesomely overweight. Two sets of t-shirts and sweatpants sat on a shelf in the small bathroom at the end of the hall. Olivia chose the set that looked a little more shrunken. Mildred had set out a fresh bar of Ivory Soap and a bottle of baby shampoo that looked at least fifteen years old.
There actually was no shower, just an ancient clawfoot tub and an old enamel saucepan. With a sigh, Olivia slowly eased herself carefully into the tub and let the hot water cover her body.
"So Mary always says I over-react when those preachers start asking for money but I honestly don't think - "
Mildred had Elliot trapped in the kitchen. He'd listened to her jabbering about soap operas and politicians and televangelists. She was force feeding him Oreo cookies and milk when she noticed his tattoo and started in on her husband's hitch in the Army in 1951. He could barely keep his eyes open but felt obligated to pay attention. It was starting to sound like Mildred was speaking a foreign language.
"Then every blackbird in Cross Keys swooped down and stole our pickling cucumbers - "
A half-hour later, Olivia emerged from the bath, pink and clean-smelling. She also looked like a melting candle in the clothes she had on. "My turn," Elliot said quickly, moving as fast as he could down the hall. He left Olivia in the kitchen to hear about 1938, aka The Year Without Pickles.
The bath water felt good against his skin. Elliot's ankle had turned a violent purple color and it was swollen about three times its normal size. His body was covered with cuts and scrapes, mainly from their run through the briars. He poured a saucepan full of water over his head and watched the dirt run off his face and into the soapy water.
Despite the warm water, Elliot's ankle stiffened so much it was a trial just to get out of the tub. The sweatpants went on easily, but he couldn't contort his foot enough to get the socks on. So he hobbled to the door and called Olivia's name down the hallway.
Mildred was on 1946, The Year the Mule Kicked Down the Barn Door. She stopped in mid-thought when Elliot called and said, "You better check on your friend." Olivia found Elliot sitting on the edge of the tub, wearing only sweatpants. She hesitated in the doorway.
"I need some help here, Liv. Could you get these socks on?" he asked, throwing her what were actually baby blue slipper socks Mildred had provided. Olivia knelt over to help him out and groaned.
"Oh, hey...Liv, take it easy. Sit down," Elliot said. She perched next to him on the side of the tub, trying to catch her breath. "I forgot. I'm sorry."
She shook her head and waved her hands. His ankle was the size of a grapefruit and now the color of a stormy sky. Olivia had her eyes locked on it and didn't feel him reaching over. Elliot lifted her shirt up past her ribcage and sighed. Her stomach was the same miserable color. He ran his hand across her warm skin. She was too shocked at his actions to say anything, and even if she could, a sharp knock at the door broke the moment in half.
"Can I help?" Mildred asked. Elliot's hand dropped and Olivia stood up quickly, wincing. She let Mildred in and left her to help Elliot squeeze his big feet into the size five socks. There had to be a phone somewhere in the house. The living room was done in modern old lady, complete with doilies on the chairs and glass jars full of petrified ribbon candy. Under a macrame plant hanger, Olivia spotted it...an orange rotary phone sitting next to a box of Kleenex.
"Now how about that lunch?" Mildred chirped. Elliot was lurching behind her gamely, the slipper socks threatening to fall off. "I hope you both like pimento cheese! Why don't you have a nice seat here in the parlor, and I'll call you when it's ready."
Elliot fell heavily on the old couch. Poor Olivia had to lower herself slowly into the dusty cushions. The clatter in the kitchen was a reassuring sound, but a horrible throught popped into Elliot's head. "Soon as we eat, we make a call and get out of here as fast as we can," he whispered. Olivia looked stunned.
"Why?"
"Because I don't want to put Mildred in harm's way. For all we know, those hillbillies are still out there looking for us."
Olivia cast a long glance out the window behind them. He was right, she knew it. But it was comfortable just to convalesce and not have to sleep on the hard ground, even with Elliot as a pillow.
"At least I found the phone. We can just call Cragen and he can sort things out," Olivia reasoned. "Except...I don't feel comfortable with having the local cop shop involved. A moonshine operation that large can't just be overlooked, you know?"
"Lunch is ready!" Mildred called. It took the two of them a full five minutes to make it into the small kitchen. Lunch was Campbell's Soup, pimento cheese sandwiches on white and a glass of ice tea. Neither Elliot or Olivia had any experience with this kind of sandwich before, but they dug in as Mildred looked on approvingly.
"Y'all eat just like my grandchildren," she said, as they finished up. Elliot smiled and looked down to keep from laughing.
"Mildred, I want to ask you, is there a big moonshining problem around here?" Olivia asked, trying to be polite as possible.
"Always has been. They'd blow up the stills and they 'd just get built up again. Oh, there's some right shady folks up-river who don't associate with the townsfolk. Police just leave them alone," she said thoughtfully.
"How far away is town?"
Mildred popped a butterscotch candy in her mouth. "About five miles to West Fork. There's a hospital, a Wal-Mart, Ben Franklin...anything you need."
"So we're not in West Fork now," Elliot said.
"No. This is Undun. It was supposed to be West Fork but a big flood came through and washed away all the buildings. That's how we got our name. Spelling was not a priority back in those days, no sir," she cackled. "You didn't mess with those folks up in Slagtown, did you?"
"Sort of. Can we use your phone? We don't want to put you in any danger. And we'll pay you back for the long distance call. I don't know how, but we will," Olivia said. Mildred nodded and smiled.
"You really are poh-lice from New York, aren't you? That must be exciting. I went there once in 1948. We took the train - "
Olivia left Elliot to listen to the story and went to call Cragen. He strained to hear the conversation over Mildred's ramblings and was gratified that Olivia wasn't raising her voice at all. The click of the receiver in the cradle was followed by a sigh of relief.
"He's wiring some money down and sending some ATF guys out to that house," Olivia said, standing in the doorway.
"What about us?"
"State police have a cruiser enroute to pick us up and take us into town."
"You two should go to the hospital and get checked out before anything. You're both a mess," Mildred said, taking a bite of an Oreo. "And get a good night's sleep."
"Well, I don't think he'd object to us spending the night and seeing a doctor," said Olivia. "We both need X rays, at least."
"There's a motel just outside town my grand-neice owns. I'd let you guys stay here if I had the room," Mildred said. "I'll give her a call and see if we can't arrange anything."
"One other thing, El," Olivia continued, "Cragen wants us to keep a low profile. Very low."
Mildred packed their torn clothes and three more sandwiches in a plastic grocery bag. When the dark blue and grey cruiser pulled up, Elliot was afraid the old woman would cry. "We really will pay you back for your kindness. I promise," he said.
"I'm just doing the Lord's work. All I ever wanted to do in life was to live by the side of the road and be a friend to man," Mildred countered.
Olivia gingerly hugged her. Mildred whispered something in her ear Elliot couldn't quite catch, but it left Olivia with a puzzled but happy grin. When Mildred hugged Elliot, she didn't say a thing. She just looked sad as they climbed into the police car, and waved until they were out of sight.
West Fork was not how they pictured it. It was not quaint, it was not charming. The town was more of a highway waystation, complete with a Cracker Barrel and every fast food restaurant you could name. Trooper Douglas McEntire drove by the entire lot on the way to Carver County Memorial Hospital. The wind was picking up in earnest, and the sky was beginning to darken.
"That's a pretty small hospital," Elliot said when they pulled up. It was one old building on the side of a hill.
"Yeah, all the bad cases go to Winchester or get MedStared to Charlottesville. They're fine at fixing up strained ankles and busted ribs, though," Douglas said, smiling at Olivia in his rear-view mirror. He couldn't have been much older than 25. "I'm going to drop you guys off and see what the ATF recovered. I'll be back in an hour."
The X-ray confirmed Elliot's suspicions. His ankle wasn't broken, just terribly swollen and sprained. The doctor, who looked as old as the hospital, fitted him for a brace and chewed him out for walking on it. Olivia was in the ER much longer. Her doctor was worried that one of the broken ribs could punch a hole in her lung. He taped her up and left her sitting on an exam table while conferring with all the other doctors. Elliot came in on a crutch, his ankle now completely immobile.
"You okay?"
Olivia patted the space beside her on the table. The paper crinkled under Elliot's weight as he eased up. He could tell she was worried. Hell, he was really upset.
"So," he said, not really sure what she would want to hear. It came out like a sigh. To Elliot's surprise, she moved closer and rested her head on his shoulder. "Maybe Cragen should trade us in on newer models."
She laughed a little, not lifting her head. Feeling bolder, Elliot took her hand in his own and rested them on his knee.
"It wouldn't work," she said, not moving away. Elliot jumped a little, wondering if he'd crossed some dumb boundary.
"What?" he mumbled, trying to keep his voice even.
"Cragen couldn't trade us in because no one would do this for the chickenscratch they pay us."
It was his turn to laugh, but before either of them could say anything else, the doctor came back in. Olivia sat up but didn't pull her hand away. Instead, she squeezed his hard, and he squeezed back.
"Miss Benson, everything looks good. I will suggest that you see your doctor when you get back to New York, though. For now, we'll tape you up and give you your walking papers," the doctor said, winking at Elliot. He untangled his hand from hers.
When Olivia's midsection was completely immobile, they met up with Trooper McEntire again. He'd picked up some clothes for them at Wal-Mart and handed them an envelope full of cash. "Your captain has set up a rental for you guys that can be picked up tomorrow," he said.
"Where are we going to sleep?"
"Miss Johnson arranged for a special rate for you at Sandy Bottom Inn, down on the river. They only had one vacancy, though. Sorry," said the trooper, shrugging. Elliot felt a little embarassed. They walked through the parking lot, not noticing a red pickup truck that cruised by slowly, that followed them to Arby's and halfway down to Sandy Bottom before turning on a side road.
