In Search of Eden, page 30
“I’m wanting to find out about my mother’s life,” she said. “I know she and my aunt came from Thurmond but left in the late sixties.”
“Do you know their maiden name or whereabouts they lived?”
“My grandmother’s name was Lois Gibson, and my grandfather’s was Beck Maddux. I think they were from somewhere near Thurmond. I don’t know any more than that.”
“There were some Madduxes who lived up above Piney Ridge,” he said. “And I might know somebody who can help you. She’s old, though, and doesn’t hear so well. She can’t use the telephone much.”
Miranda sighed. “I can come there again.”
Arrangements were made. Frank graciously volunteered to meet her on his day off—this Saturday. He would personally take her to the resource person who lived deep in the woods. She suppressed a chill at the prospect of entering those dark woods again. She firmly took herself in hand. Answers were what she had come for, and if answers lay in the dark forest, then that’s where she would go.
Her mother’s documents arrived the next day, and she opened them eagerly. They didn’t really tell her much she didn’t already know, though.
She didn’t see much of Lieutenant Joseph. He was busy arranging for the town meeting. There had been so much media coverage that Miranda didn’t see how anyone in the small town could fail to be informed of the threat with the Irish Travelers by now. However, Abingdon was also a tourist destination in the summer, and many decent folks came through town with their campers and fifth wheels and RVs, especially when the various festivals came around. Earl and Jim’s was full of vehicles, which kept Eden extremely busy making notes of all the license plates. For all the bad PR the Travelers were getting, Abingdon folks seemed friendly and trusting, certain that all the bad people were in the next county over from their own.
Miranda attended the town meeting with everyone else and was duly warned. She actually thought Joseph and Henry did an excellent job of outlining the different scams and giving people guidelines of what to watch for. After the meeting she looked his way, but he was busy at the front of the auditorium answering questions. Miranda left the meeting and was leaving to walk home when Eden appeared on her bike. She waved a manila envelope. “I got what you wanted,” she said with a big grin.
“I can’t believe how quickly you got all this. How did you do it?”
“Easy,” she said. “Maude Lucy, the secretary at the church, was there and I just asked her. She wrote it all down and said you were real nice to think of the children.”
Miranda felt a little twist of guilt, which she ignored because she was going to make it true. She took the envelope and thanked Eden, who grinned again and took off on her bike. She hurried home to her small apartment, went inside, and turned on the light. Her hands shook as she opened the clasp on the manila envelope and slid out the smaller ones. She read through the names and birth dates.
Rhonda Hatch
July 8, 1994
Letitia Hoyt
December 2, 1999
Jason Lester
April 19, 1998
Evan Montgomery
February 2, 1996
Darnell Smith
June 10, 1991
She put them aside with a sigh. None was her child. She had known that, though, hadn’t she? Tomorrow she would ask Eden to return the envelopes to the secretary with a request to deliver one to each child on his or her birthday. From an anonymous donor.
She was set back a little by that dead end, but by Saturday morning she felt refreshed, and she steeled herself for the return to West Virginia. She packed another lunch and decided to make a quick stop at the farmers’ market in the ball park across the street before leaving. It was in full swing, and she needed a few things. Besides, the day shouldn’t be totally without cheer, should it? She walked slowly through the booths. There were farm fresh eggs, local honey, fruits and vegetables, baked goods, and crafts. She bought eggs, a sack of peaches, a jar of honey, and a Ziploc bag of homemade peanut butter cookies and was ready to leave when she heard a familiar voice behind her.
“Try the strawberries,” he said. “They’re perfect right now.”
She turned with a smile. “Hello, Joseph,” she said without thinking, then blushed. She usually called him Lieutenant Williams.
He smiled in return. “Hello, Miranda. Where are you off to?”
“You can tell?”
“You have a very determined expression on your face. And besides, I saw you loading up your car.”
“I’m trying to keep up my spirits. I’m going back to West Virginia today.”
“I thought you’d had enough.”
She shrugged. “I’ve been given the name of someone who might have known my mother’s people. The gentleman from the visitor center is going to take me to the woman’s house.”
He frowned and got a concerned look on his face. “You’re going off with someone you don’t know into the back roads of West Virginia?”
She grinned. “I don’t think there are very many seventy-year-old serial killers who volunteer at the Thurmond Visitor Center.”
He didn’t smile. The frown didn’t budge. “Even so, I don’t think it’s wise for you to go driving around those mountain roads alone.”
“I’ve got my cell phone,” she reassured him. “And Mr. Cooper’s car is in pretty good shape.”
He continued to frown, then glanced at his watch. “If you can give me another half hour, I’ll take you myself.”
She was speechless. She hadn’t been expecting that, but suddenly the prospect of having solid, dependable, protective Joseph sitting beside her as she drove into the dark woods seemed very appealing. “Thank you,” she said. “I would like that very much.”
The frown disappeared. “I’ll go back to my office and take care of a few things. Shall I meet you at your place?”
She nodded. “I’ll put the eggs away and make a few more sandwiches.”
He smiled. She turned away before she could embarrass herself any further.
Miranda made three more sandwiches, added the peaches and cookies and a few more bottles of water, and was ready and waiting when Joseph knocked on the door.
“Let’s take my truck,” he suggested. “It’ll take the curves better, and it looks like rain.”
She glanced up at what had been a sunny sky. Sure enough, a bank of dark clouds was gathering along the western horizon.
“You’ll get no argument from me,” she said.
He took the cooler and put it in the back of the truck and then opened the door for her. After a few more minutes they were driving slowly through downtown Abingdon, then headed for the interstate.
“What’s Eden doing today?” she asked.
“I believe she and Grady have plans. Something about going down to the campground and making traps for crooks. Ma’s going with them,” he said, “so it should be all right.”
Miranda smiled. “I like Eden. A lot.”
Joseph nodded. “I do, too. She’s a lot for one person to manage, though. She’s kind of like a border collie. You’ve got to give them work to do or they dig up the garden and chew on the hose.”
Miranda laughed. “That sounds like the voice of experience.”
“With both the dogs and the child.” He smiled and they drove in companionable silence for a few miles.
“Have you ever lived away from here?” she asked.
“I went away to Ferrum, Virginia, to go to college.”
“What did you study?”
“This,” he said. “Criminal Justice. I knew I wanted to be a cop from the time I was a kid. My dad was police chief.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t take over his job.”
Joseph shook his head. “Not for me.”
“Have you been anywhere else?” she asked.
“I did a hitch in the marines,” he said. “Went to Haiti and Somalia. I like it better here.”
Miranda tried to recall what she knew about those conflicts. “I’m sure,” she said.
His face looked sober. “It was an awful mess,” he said. “After my tour of duty I came back home. I suppose you know the parts of the story I’ve left out.”
She felt a little embarrassed. “As you said before, it’s a small town.”
“Your turn now,” he said. “Tell me about yourself.”
She did, leaving out some facts of her own—only one important fact, the important fact—and as she wove a tale around it, she wondered why she didn’t tell him. Why she didn’t tell anyone. Shame, perhaps? Yes. That was it. She was ashamed, not so much of having gotten pregnant but of having lost her baby. It felt for all the world as if she’d been horribly careless, had just mislaid him or her, set the baby down somewhere and then walked away. Maybe after she found the child, she would be able to admit having had it to begin with.
“So your father left when you were eleven. Have you seen him since?”
“I went after him twice,” she said. “Found him once. The first time.”
“But nothing after that?”
She shook her head and thought about telling him that he had called looking for her, but that would just lead to questions about why she was here. Besides, she had missed the call, and who knew when or if he would call again. She supposed it just wasn’t meant to be. “I wouldn’t have any idea where to look for him, even if I took a notion to. My mother died earlier this spring. Cancer. So I came here.”
“Why here?” he asked, and he didn’t look accusing, simply curious.
“My mother had a connection in Abingdon,” she said. “I don’t know who it was, and I’d like to find out.”
“Hmm.” He looked intrigued. “What led you to the conclusion she was connected to someone here?”
“A postmark on a letter.”
He turned to look at her. “That’s it?”
“It was an important letter.” She closed her mouth. She had already said too much, and she sincerely hoped he didn’t ask her any more questions because then she would have to tell him she wasn’t going to answer them, and it would spoil their nice day.
He didn’t ask, though, just continued driving. “Tell me some of the places you’ve been,” he said.
She warmed to the subject, telling him about all the places she’d visited and the ridiculous jobs she’d had, about clipping a prize-winning poodle and it turning out like a rat and her having to leave town because the owner threatened to sue, about her job at the school and dressing up like Pippi Longstocking when she was crossing guard, about doing pest inspections for Mice B Gone Exterminators and the reproductive habits of rodents. They ate the sandwiches and laughed and talked so much that she was surprised when they turned off the highway and climbed the winding road to Thurmond.
Joseph got out first and looked around the abandoned town. He could see why it had spooked Miranda last time. There was a rushing sound that turned out to be the New River passing through the gorge. Misnamed, for it was actually one of the oldest rivers in the world, second only to the Nile. The town itself was at the bottom of the gorge, and the steep rock rose high above his head. It did feel oppressive and ominous. A light rain had begun falling, and all around was gravel and slick wet black tracks and coal tipples and water towers and old abandoned locomotives. The town looked as if soot had been ground down into it, as if everything would be forever coated with a gray shadow that no rains could wash away. As usual in West Virginia, the town, or what was left of it, was a narrow strip situated between the mountain, the railroad tracks, and the river.
Joseph followed Miranda into the visitor center. As she had said, an old man was there to meet her. Joseph realized his concern had been groundless. The man was probably seventy or so, tall but stooped. He had white hair and a gallant manner.
“I’m pleased to meet you both,” Frank Galton said upon being introduced. After a few pleasantries, he gave them the specifics of their destination. “The person we’re going to see is Ada Tallert. She was the schoolteacher in Thurmond at the one-room schoolhouse. After that closed down, the children took the bus to Oak Hill. Anyway, she’s the only one who’s still around who might have known your mother. Most everybody’s died or left,” he said.
Joseph wondered why Mr. Galton had stayed around Thurmond but didn’t ask. A person’s home was their home, no matter how bleak it seemed to outsiders. He felt a sense of apprehension for what Miranda might find, though. He didn’t analyze the protective feelings he had for her, but he was glad he had come along. The rain went from light to pelting.
“I’ll drive my own car, introduce you, and then be gone,” Mr. Galton said.
Miranda thanked him. They climbed back into the truck and began the slow crawl up the sheer mountain above them. The rain poured harder. Miranda began to shiver. Joseph turned on the heater. She reached for her jacket.
“I’m awfully glad you’re here,” she said.
“Me too.”
They followed Mr. Galton’s small car up the winding road, taking dogleg turns that would be challenging in the dark. After a half hour or so, they turned off on a small graveled road and pulled to a stop in front of a wood-frame house. The porch was cluttered with children’s toys and a refrigerator box that looked as if it doubled as a playhouse. There was a bike someone had left out in the rain.
“Mrs. Tallert lives here with her granddaughter,” Mr. Galton said. He knocked on the door, and a young woman answered. She was barely five feet tall with short blond hair and a friendly smile. Mr. Galton introduced them and excused himself.
“Y’all come on in,” the woman said, opening the door wide. Two small girls wearing pajamas sat on the sofa drinking juice out of boxes. Their faces were covered with scabs and spots. “I hope y’all have had the chicken pox.”
They both assured her they had. She led the way to a bedroom in the back where a woman Joseph presumed was Ada Tallert sat prim and straight in a recliner watching a preacher on the television.
“Some people here to see you, Grandma,” the young woman shouted.
“Well, lower your voice, Francie. I’m not completely deaf, you know.” She turned her sharp-boned face toward the two of them and graced them with a smile. “Come in and sit down. Will you have some refreshment?”
“I can make y’all some coffee,” Francie volunteered.
“I would love a cup of coffee,” Miranda said with a grateful smile, and Joseph added his own thanks.
“Grandma, you want something?” she shouted again.
“No, thank you, darling,” Mrs. Tallert answered in a normal tone of voice and gave her head a little shake. The granddaughter left the room. Mrs. Tallert turned her steady gaze on the two of them.
“Sit down,” she invited them.
Joseph found a folding chair and set it up for Miranda. He sat down on the foot of the bed.
Miranda chatted with Mrs. Tallert for a minute or two. Miranda was really very good at drawing people out, he noticed. The old woman was telling about her daughter, who had died recently, about the early days of the school, about her husband, who had been the yardmaster of the railroad. The granddaughter came in and handed them each a mug of coffee. They both refused cream and sugar, and she left, closing the door after her.
The conversation lagged for a moment as they sipped. Mrs. Tallert took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She pulled the wrap she wore around her shoulders a little tighter. “So,” she said, her expression becoming sober, her voice almost grieved. “I hear you want to know about what Wolf Maddux did to his girls.”
And even though he was drinking hot coffee and the kerosene heater at his feet breathed out warm air, Joseph felt the hairs on his neck stand on end.
chapter 41
*
The room was absolutely silent except for the pelting of the rain on the window as she began to speak.
“It was back in the forties when I first met him. He was a little boy. His real name was Beck. Beck Maddux. Now that I think on it, he wasn’t an especially evil child. He just had a, well, I don’t know, like a blank spot where most of us know right from wrong. He could’ve been a handsome child if it weren’t for those eyes. He was towheaded, just real white blond hair on him, so white it looked like cotton. But those eyes were the palest blue and just like a piece of glass, but there wasn’t anything behind them. It was like looking into a doll’s eyes. There was no life back of them.
“His home was bad, but so was some others that turned out preachers and good men. I guess it’s just no telling what makes one do one way and another do another. I was schoolteacher down at Thurmond in those days. I boarded with the Anse Holt family. They were decent people, because my daddy came himself and saw to it before he would leave me. But I had the school there at Thurmond and would teach there five days a week, and on the weekends my daddy would drive over from Hinton and carry me home.
“That boy, Beck, was a smart child. He knew how to read and could do his sums, but he wouldn’t work for nothing. Just stared out the window most of the time. I sent a note home to his parents telling them he wasn’t doing his work, and his daddy came and met me after school. He said he was sorry, and then right in front of my eyes he pulled off his belt and whipped that child bloody. I hollered for him to stop, and cried and took on, but he didn’t even change expression. He was just like a machine. Whomp, whomp, whomp, whomp. And the strangest thing was, I looked down at Beck, and he wasn’t changing expression either. That child’s face was frozen into a mask, and from that day on no matter what Beck did, I never told his parents. Maybe I should have, but I didn’t.
“I saw him do some things that frightened me, just chilled me down to my bones. I saw him take a dog once . . .” She paused and looked at their faces, then shook her head. “Well, eventually he grew up and went to work in the mines. His daddy died of the black lung, and for a while it looked like Beck might be going to turn out all right. I guess he didn’t have much energy left for fighting and fussing after a day below ground. I saw him one day down at the company store, and he spoke to me real sweet. He said ‘Miss White’—that was my name before I married—he said, ‘Miss White, you was one of the only people in my life that’s been good to me, and I want you to know I appreciate it.’ I cried about that.” She was crying now, and Joseph saw Miranda reach for her hand.
