Chapter 18: REUNION
Perfect timing... Jolie Rouge turned off the river into a slough just as twilight was descending, proceeding at dead slow far enough around the first bend so that she wouldn't be seen by any traffic on the main channel. Equidistant from both banks, Cap'n Booger gave the order to cut engines and drop anchor. From his vantage point in the wheelhouse Jess could see why... here were no handy, friendly sand spits or any convenient tie-ups. They were surrounded by jungle... or what Jess imagined a real jungle to be—impenetrable vegetation spilling over into the inky water.
One reason for maintaining position in the center of the slough, according to the captain, was the abundance of water lilies indicating dangerously shallow water. The other reason was the proliferation of overhanging tangled vines providing natural conduits for snakes. Also, the captain averred, the mosquitoes, gnats and no-see-ums weren't quite as bad away from the banks. Nevertheless, the sultry atmosphere was soon permeated with the fumes of rancid fat and punctuated by slaps and curses. A lenticular cloud of tobacco smoke gathered and hung above the boat.
Friday, November 28th... For the second night in a row, Jess' descent into the arms of Morpheus was cut short by the whisper of the door to the promenade being eased open. Instantly awake, his hand groped under his pillow for the gun that wasn't there—his only gratification being that his lightning-fast reflexes were still more or less intact, including that uncanny ability to come awake immediately danger threatened.
"Jess!" The voice hissing his name was Painter's. "Get dressed. Time to go."
"Now? What time's it?" Jess pulled aside the netting and planted his feet on the floor, feeling around for the britches he'd dropped there.
"After midnight."
"Can't this wait for daylight?"
"Not 'less you wanna travel blindfolded. Git movin'."
Jess noted the big man had reverted to cracker vernacular. "I need to bring anything?"
"No... jus' yerself. Man's waitin' below."
"You want me to go along?" Jay Dee's sleepy query came from his own tented berth on the opposite bulkhead.
"Not you, kid. Jus' Jess. Sorry I woke ya."
"S'okay. Don't let Jess fall outta the boat," Jay Dee joked. "Hate to have to tell Slim his right hand man got et by an alligator."
"Thanks for yer concern," Jess grumped.
Down the ladder and out onto the foredeck, Jess could see, in the dim glow of a single lantern, two pirogues nosed up to the prow. One was occupied by a slight shadowy figure. The other was empty... one of the two Cap'n Booger had acquired at their last port of call and carried athwart the foredeck when the boat was on the move.
"We goin' in that?"
"Yep. Climb in."
When was the last time I rode in a rowboat? Uh... never...
Though bursting with questions, Jess kept quiet as Painter jumped in and pushed off. With the addition of the big man's weight, the waterline was now mere inches below the gunwhales. The boat was narrow enough Jess could maintain a death grip on either side.
Wonder if there's any alligators still hangin'around?
"Keep yer hands inside the boat."
Great. The man reads minds... sees in the dark, too...
Drawing hardly any draft at all, the other smaller, lighter pirogue was already speeding back toward the river, its driver having not uttered a single syllable. Paddling furiously, Painter soon caught up but maintained two lengths behind. Jess reckoned if the man needed help, he'd say so.
At the juncture with the river, the lead pirogue hugged the shore tightly for a hundred yards southward, aided by the current, then turned abruptly into what Jess soon understood was another river rather than a slough. The current here was sluggish, but noticeable. Their guide kept uncomfortably close to the shore, beneath moss- and vine-laden branches leaning far out over the water. The starlight was bright enough that Jess could see their current watercourse was straight for a considerable distance.
"Where are we?" Jess ventured to ask.
"None a yer bidness," Painter said tersely. "Need you to help paddle now."
"I ain't never..."
"You'll learn. Paddle's under your seat."
From time to time they passed a treeless hummock that afforded Jess a clear view upward, which did him no good whatsoever as the constellations he knew weren't where they were supposed to be. Trying to recreate in his head a visual of the last chart he'd seen, he realized that was pointless as well... they were outside its boundaries. After an eternity he got the hang of paddling and found his rhythm though it seemed they were making little headway. He had no sense of time or direction, much less distance traveled. And his arms ached.
The lead pirogue executed a turn to port and simply disappeared through a curtain of moss. Painter followed suit. Jess fought panic as thousands of scratchy strings flowed over his head and shoulders—stuff wasn't as soft as it appeared. Vegetation scraped both sides of boat as they squeezed along a tiny slough.
We'll never make it through...
"If a snake falls off a branch into the boat, do NOT move. I'll take care of it."
Snakes. Shit...
Suddenly they debouched into a large, roughly circular pond with a crude floating dock against which nestled at least a dozen other pirogues. Sitting on barrels on a boardwalk landing were three individuals who stood up to greet the arrivals. One held aloft a lantern while the other two hitched the tie ropes to bollards. Jess and Painter's guide scrambled out first. In comparison—and in the light—Jess could now see this was a skinny young boy in tattered overalls and a shapeless slouch hat.
They send out a kid not even old enough to shave... alone... at night... to deal with strangers?
"No trouble, Sammie?" One of the greeters queried.
"Naw." With a disdainful look aimed directly at Jess, the barefoot boy loped away and vanished in the darkness beyond.
What the hell?
Painter climbed out next and presented his face close to the lantern light for vetting. The other three men nodded in satisfaction. Evidently they all knew each other. Heads turned inquiringly toward the man still in the boat.
"That him?"
"Yep."
Jess attempted to stand up and found to his mortification that his legs had gone to sleep. As the pirogue rocked, Painter gripped him by the upper arm and hauled him willy-nilly up onto the pontoon, thrusting him into the light for inspection and verification. Jess thought he might have caught a flicker of surprise in their eyes... but it was too gloomy to tell for sure.
The three were as tall and brawny as Painter—also as hairy, dirty and smelly. Being somewhat acquainted with Gulliver's Travels—thanks to Andy Sherman's tutor some three years ago—Jess knew exactly how puny and defenseless that Gulliver dude must've felt in the land of the giants.
The man with the lantern jerked his head toward an unseen path. "Let's go then."
Grateful to find his feet on solid ground for a change, Jess found himself second in line in the queue, followed by Painter and the two other men. Instead of following the obviously well-maintained trail, they chose one of the less-defined paths that shot off in all directions. As they meandered aimlessly through a heavy understory, Jess understood he was deliberately being misled so that he could neither find his own way out again nor describe to anyone else where he'd been. At times he could hear moving water close by.
Fair enough... I'd do the same to keep my hideout secret.
Growing weary and balky, Jess was about to allow irritability to override common sense when the man ahead stopped, causing Jess to plow into his backside. Solid muscle there, no flab.
"Sorry."
"S'okay. This's where we leave ya."
"What?" Jess squawked as the man and his companions hiked away, leaving him and Painter disoriented and alone in the dark.
"Hush an' stand still. Someone'll come for us directly." Painter's voice was a comfort. He didn't speak again until some minutes later a flickering light approached, resolving itself into a pitch torch held by their erstwhile guide, who beckoned to them to follow.
"Mind yer feet."
Jess sensed they were moving to higher ground though the inclination was very slight. And then they came to a clearing with a dwelling of sorts in the center. Enough pitch torches were lit around the perimeter to fully illuminate the structure, which indicated they were so far removed from civilization that the denizens had no worries about their light being seen. Two dozen or more people awaited them on the front porch—men, women and children. All silent. All expectant.
One man, leaning heavily on a cane, detached himself from the group and came stiffly down the stairs. Approaching Jess, he stopped short within a few feet. The boy held up the torch so that the two men could clearly view each other's faces.
Jess had called himself preparing for this occasion since before leaving Laramie... rehearsing what he would do, what he would say when—not if—the moment arrived. But words failed him as he gazed into a face he knew only too well. He'd seen a younger version of it in the mirror that very morning.
Gray-haired and gray-bearded, deep-seamed and battle-scarred, Tony Harper appeared decades older than his forty-one years. Still blessed with a full set of teeth, though discolored and chipped, he displayed every one of them in an ear-to-ear genuine smile.
"Never thought I'd see this day," he rumbled.
"Me neither," Jess mumbled, feeling tears welling up and afraid to say more. Afraid to take those two measly steps that would enable him to envelope his long-lost brother in a hug.
An indignant complaint broke the impasse. "Y'all gonna stan' there jawin' all night or go inside? Bug're eatin' me alive an' m'arm's gettin' tard!"
"Show some respect, Sammie. This here's your Uncle Jess."
The youth dipped his head. "NicetameerchernowgooninMa'swaitin'."
Tony shook his head. "Please excuse the lack of manners. That one's wild as a Texas jackrabbit. Reminds me of me at that age. You got kids of your own?"
"No... I ain't never..."
"Jess... you're gonna have to speak up. I'm deaf in one ear and blind in one eye." He gestured to the left side of his face with the visible burn scars that ran into his hairline. When he reached out and tentatively put a hand on his brother's shoulder, Jess trembled with the effort of keeping his emotions contained.
"Let's do like the brat says an' go into the house. Ollie put on the coffeepot soon's we heard you'd docked. Got a pallet made up for you, too."
Together they ascended three rickety steps to the porch where Tony paused, addressing the people standing well away. "Thanks for keepin' watch. Everything's all right. Y'all can go home now, but come back tomorrow. We'll have us a barbecue an' y'all can meet my little brother I haven't seen in..." He turned to Jess. "How many years?"
"Twenty-three by my reckoning."
"Hear that, folks? Twenty-three years! We got us a lot to catch up on."
The boy called Sammie extinguished the torch in a bucket and went off to do the same with the others.
Tony led Jess into the house.
For a domicile cobbled together out of seawrack, stolen lumber and bits of castoff tin, it was homey and comfortable. Free rock being in short supply, the fireplace was constructed of coquina-limestone bricks mortared with mud. One large room served as a parlor of sorts with a kitchen and dining area off to one side. At the other side two doors presumably accessed bedrooms. A ladder led up to a sleeping loft. In between, a settee and several chairs in front of the fireplace constituted the seating area. All the furniture was handmade or scavenged. Everything appeared scrupulously clean.
A short dumpling of a woman with graying brown hair done up in a topknot stood by the table with three little boys in nightshirts clinging to her apron. She smiled shyly as Tony introduced her as his wife, Olivia... 'Ollie' for short. The five-year-old was Jonathan. The three-year-old twins were Jess and David. Three dark-haired, blue-eyed boys named after their supposedly deceased uncles. When Tony mentioned Olivia had been a war widow, Jess vaguely assumed the missing boy, Sammie, must be hers from the previous marriage.
Jess suddenly remembered Painter. "Uh... where's he gone?"
"He'll be back in the morning. The Edwards' oldest boy just married one of the Johnson's girls an' they moved into their own place, so Joe and Mary Lou's got a bed goin' spare."
Jess was finding it peculiar that these swamp dwellers spoke of their neighbors as would any ordinary family in any ordinary neighborhood in any ordinary town. It was almost impossible to accept that they'd developed a culture and a sense of community completely outside the mainstream of society. Did they really believe it would go on forever? That civilization wouldn't encroach and drive them out?
Ascertaining that Jess didn't need feeding, Ollie rounded up the boys to put them to bed. With his back to the door, Jess didn't hear Sammie come in and scale the ladder to the loft. He and Tony were sitting at the table, drinking coffee over Jess' letter laid out before them, with Tony asking for elaboration on each point. Sheer exhaustion won out over caffeine overload. Jess' eyes were gritty and he could no longer maintain his train of thought. He was only vaguely aware of Ollie's insisting he exchange his clothes for a clean nightshirt, turning her back while he did so. That pallet on the floor might as well have been a feather bed, so soundly did he sleep.
Saturday, November 29th... Jess jerked awake... something was wrong... the floor wasn't moving! Before opening his eyes, he let his nose and ears sort out familiar from unfamiliar. Cooking smells. Children's voices. A woman's voice. Painter's hearty laughter. From his vantage point, lying on his side on a pallet on the floor, mostly all he could see were legs and feet under the table. Footsteps approached. A face appeared, upside down, with short-cropped curly dark hair and brilliant blue eyes.
" 'Bout damn time you woke up." It was that boy again. With the attitude.
Jess sat up, conscious he was wearing only a nightshirt. "Where're my clothes?"
"Burned 'em. Ma set ya out some new 'uns on the bed in yonder." He pointed toward one of the bedroom doors. "We didn't wait breakfast on yuh." The sulky face disappeared as the youth trotted out the front door.
What the hell is that kid's problem?
Dressed in a duplicate of what his brother was wearing—worn patched overalls and cotton undershirt—Jess joined the others at the table. The food was plain, but nourishing and plentiful. Ollie was a quiet whirlwind of efficiency—cooking, serving, taking care of the boys all at the same time. Jess was aware of activity outside... people arriving and bustling around, chickens squawking, goats bleating, children shouting. However were he and Tony going to have a private conversation with all this commotion?
"I was hoping you and me... we could talk somewhere... alone?"
"You still like to fish?"
"Does a bear shit in the woods?" Jess grinned. "I remember how you used to take me out to the creek... just me. Not the others."
"We'll do that, then. Just you an' me at my secret lucky fishin' hole."
Jess grinned. "Feel kinda bad leavin' everyone else to do the work, though... 'specially Ollie."
"Olivia is the soul of practicality. She finds ways to get everyone else to do things while she sets out on the porch on her royal behind and waves her royal hand."
"If only!" came the sharp retort from the direction of the stove.
Somehow, in the middle of everything else she was tending to, Ollie managed to pack a picnic basket for the fishermen. Stepping to the front door, she gave out a piercing whistle that summoned Sammie.
"Carry this out to the fishin' hole for your daddy and uncle. Then come right back. I need you to keep these boys out of trouble while I help set up for the barbecue tonight."
"Dammit, Ma!"
"Don't you sass me or I'll tan your hide."
With a lemon-sucking expression and a bottom lip poked out to there, the kid followed the two men along a tortuous path to the 'secret fishin' hole.' Jess carried the poles and a burlap bag containing who knew what. They had to move at a slow pace to accommodate Tony's walking stick.
They stepped out of the undergrowth onto a pocket of sandy beach surrounded by a horseshoe-shaped bend in a slow-moving tea-colored river. An unlikely accumulation of flat sandstone boulders provided good seating while tall hardwoods overhead lent shade. By some quirk of nature a coolish breeze kept flying pests to a minimum. Jess had seldom seen a more perfect spot for bank fishing.
From the burlap bag, Sammie took a tin can and a hand spade and disappeared into the woods, coming back a few minutes later with a collection of fat, juicy worms. A net bag containing six bottled beers and two canteens was carried out to midstream for immersion and secured with a long line to a tree.
"You sure you gonna be okay... alone with him?"
"We need time alone to talk about grown-up matters, honey. You go on back and help your momma all you can today... for me. Okay?"
"Okay. Come back for you at sundown?"
"That'd be fine. Go on now. Shoo."
Honey?
Something tickled at the back of Jess mind, something he ought to know but couldn't quite pin down. Oh well... it'd come to him eventually. In the meantime...
Hours went by. They talked about everything under the sun... not just family-related but Jess' checkered career as a not-quite outlaw, his hard-earned rep as a gunfighter, his new incarnation as an almost-cattle rancher. Tony traded his less spectacular accounts of working with racehorses for the Pettuses, his failed foray in farming, his exploits during the war. He faltered some when it came to his injuries and his imprisonment at Fort Pickens. He couldn't... or wouldn't... disclose what happened in Boggy except to say he really couldn't remember doing what they said he'd done...
"It's all foggy, Jess... like a nightmare. I can't believe I could've murdered my wife and that fellow in cold blood like that... but I guess it must be true. I was in bad shape. I don't even recall Painter bringing me out here. Laila—that's his wife—took care of my daughter until I could get us settled."
"About your little girl..." Jess ventured cautiously. "Whatever became a her?"
Tony gave him such an odd look Jess cringed, afraid he'd brought up a truly untouchable subject.
"Why, Sammie's fine. Healthy as a horse. Swampwise as any boy an' twice as strong. A little rough around the edges but I'm hopin' time an' Olivia can straighten her out some. Ollie knows girls. She had two girls of her own but they died from the cholera same time as Painter's sons."
Sammie. Samantha. Of course. How could he not have known? Dark hair and those Harper eyes... just like her half-brothers. Of course she was Tony's daughter.
"Tony... there's something I need to tell you about. Something that happened three years ago but only came up again back in October—the real reason I'm here now. If it hadn't a happened, I'da never come lookin'... 'cause I figured you was long time dead..."
"Quit beatin' around the bush an' spit it out, Jess."
The explanation was long-winded and complicated. Tony suggested they break for lunch with whatever Ollie had packed for them. Consumption of all the beer aided in the recitation. The canteens proved full of lemonade. Shadows grew long as the afternoon progressed. Tony had neither questions nor comments until it seemed Jess had finally arrived at the end of the tale.
"I have no idea how much money it'll come to. Jan Kelly—BobCat's wife what wrote the letter—she says it's 'substantial.' How much would that be?"
"It's relative. If you have a hundred thousand dollars, one thousand would be a pittance. But if you have only one dollar, a thousand would be 'substantial.' The problem I see here is taking Sammie out of here an' proving who she is."
"Can you?"
"Can I what?"
"Can you prove she's your girl? Our ma's granddaughter?"
"Might could."
"Then why don't you come out with me? All of you... Ollie, Sammie, the babies? Come back to Laramie with me. Come back to the real world. You don't have to live like this... in hiding for the rest a yer life." Jess put as much passionate persuasion into his plea as he could muster.
Tony shook his head. "This is our real world, Jess. All we'll ever have. There's no statute of limitations on murder. They catch me, I go to prison an' die there. An' with... well, you know... what's wrong with me... I can't ever be trusted in polite society."
"Actually, I don't know," Jess said. "I only know ya got hurt an' you never got the doctorin' you needed. You could change your name... you could... we could get you medical treatment, a hospital where they take care a..."
Tony grimaced. "Just another form of prison. In no time I'd be a droolin' idiot in a straitjacket in a padded cell. No. We're better off here. Our community looks after its own. What would happen to Olivia and the children in the outside world? Who'd take care of them?"
"Well... I would. No question."
"Think about it, Jess... you're not even thirty. You've got your whole life ahead of you. A wife and children of your own to find someday. And a ranch of your own. You've already admitted that all you have is a horse and saddle and a borrowed family... what makes you think you could support my brood as well… on a ranch hand's pay?"
"I'd find a way… get a better job..."
"No, Jess. Just... no."
"What about Sammie's money? It's hers. She could go to school... have a chance to grow up to be a real lady... don't you think she oughta have a choice in the matter?"
"Well..." Tony drawled. "That's a whole other issue, isn't it?"