Authors: Theodore Taylor
Chip sang out the first bearing for Number 43-89. Then they moved a quarter mile down the trail to get another coordinate. They were now into vine tangles. Virginia creeper and supplejack and woodbine all twisted with dried honeysuckle in jungles so thick the eye couldn't penetrate more than a few inches.
"It's like I'm seeing it for the first time," Sam said.
"Happened to me when I started working for Telford. When that yellow-and-white honeysuckle is in bloom in the spring, the whole place smells like perfume."
By midmorning, tracking another bear, they were deep in the cedar swamp, with the mistletoe clumps clinging high up and gray-green Spanish moss festooning the low-lying branches.
"Telford called it a living laboratory."
At last she was beginning to see why. Telford, wherever he was, remained close to them.
Just past noon, Chip took Sam back to Chapanoke. That dull Dairy Queen beckoned once more. Hard to
believe Sam Sanders, the swamp-hater, now wanted to linger in the Powhatan.
***
THE NEXT Sunday, six weeks after they'd departed, Uncle Jack and Aunt Peaches arrived back from Paris and the Mediterranean and Africa and were shocked at the sight of Baron von Buckner, CDX, SDX, RDX. "My Lord," said Uncle Jack. "What happened to him?"
Fortunately, Sam's mother and papa were attending an open house at the Coast Guard base. They did not have to listen to Uncle Jack and Aunt Peaches.
There were visible ridges all over Buck's usually sleek coat where the thorns had cut him. The slashes had healed, but left forever were ripples that ran from his neck to his hindquarters. His nose was scored, and there was a chip out of his right ear.
Aunt Peaches began to simper and weep, kissing Buckie on his mouth. "I can't believe this, Samantha.'
"I'm sorry, Aunt Peaches. He chased a bear named Henry into the swamp. I ran as fast as I could to catch him."
"How could that happen?" asked Uncle Jack. "If you'd called him, he'd a come right back."
"Believe me, I called him. I had to spend a night in a stump because of Buck. I tried to catch him. Did you have fun in Paris?"
"Who cares about Paris?" moaned Aunt Peaches. "I'm brokenhearted, Samantha."
"And no one'll ever want to breed a bitch with him. One look an' they'll say he's got a permanent skin rash," said Jack.
"I don't plan to charge you, Uncle Jack."
"It's not money. We trusted you, Samantha."
"I'm truly sorry. If he hadn't run after Henry it wouldn't have happened."
Sam decided not to tell them she now had a boyfriend because of Buck.
"We'll take him to a skin doctor," said Aunt Peaches.
"We'd a been better boarding 'im," said Uncle Jack, consternation all over his jowls.
"I guess," Sam said, apologizing again.
"Fifty thousand-dollar dog now worth maybe half that. People go by looks as well as papers when they get ready to breed."
"I really am sorry," said Sam again, certain Buck had never had such a good time in his four years on earth.
Soon the Le Sabre went up Chapanoke with Baron von Buckner looking back. Sam could have sworn he was grinning.
***
FEBRUARY: Sam and Chip sat in the coffee shop across the wide street from the three-story Albemarle County
Courthouse. It had been built during the Civil War. They were awaiting the decision of the Fish and Wildlife Committee on lifting the ban.
Sam was jumpy. "I don't know why they have to take so long to make up their minds."
Chip said, "Just relax and think positive thoughts."
The hearings, postponed from January, were taking place in a room on the first floor of the courthouse. James Emerson from the National Wildlife Conservancy had testified in the morning, along with Joe Simonette, who'd taken Telford's job. They presented the current estimated Powhatan bear count, 290, give or take 20. Others speaking to keep the ban had come from Raleigh, Charlotte, and Norfolk.
Sam's papa and some of the same men who'd spoken that November night in the Community Center represented the hunters. The district congressman, Mallory, said passionate words on their behalf, likely earning votes. All the hunters were eating down at the Elks Lodge.
When he'd spotted her at the hearings, the bosun had come over to ask, "What're you doin' here? Why aren't you in school?"
"I cut classes. This is more important."
"To who?"
"To me, Papa."
With a shake of the head, he'd walked away. This new daughter was unsettling to Stu Sanders.
The day was dreary. Light, cold rain fell. The mood inside the coffee shop, with its permanent aroma of fried potatoes, matched the somber exterior.
Truesdale had come in for a hurried lunch. Chip asked him what was going on with Buddy Bailey. "Not a thing. I say again, we've got no proof he did
anything.
Can't charge a man with murder when you've got no proof."
To Sam he said. "You ready to swear that was Buddy? You ready to swear you saw his face? You see, for a fact, that he was carryin' Telford? You see Telford's face?"
Sam answered, "No, sir," to each and every question.
Truesdale said, "The prosecutor'd send me back to the police academy if I brought him this case...."
After finishing his bowl of chili at the counter, Truesdale came over to their Formica-topped table. "What's the news from across the street?" he asked.
"We're supposed to know soon," Sam answered "They promised a decision after lunch."
Truesdale said, "Good luck," and departed.
"I still wish they'd let you testify," Sam said to Chip.
"Better that Simonette did it. I get too emotional."
"You know more about those figures than Simonette."
"They were Telford's."
A few minutes later, Simonette came in and sat
down. He'd been making calls to the university. "What's good to eat here?"
"Almost everything," Sam said. "Country cooking."
Simonette was older than Telford and built like a fireplug. His thick black hair was a crew-cut mat, and he likely needed to shave twice a day. He looked like a Greek middleweight wrestler. He ordered a hot turkey sandwich with mashed potatoes and gravy.
"I stopped by the hearing room on the way over. They're still talking. It could go either way," he said.
"If we lose, can we appeal to Washington?" Chip asked.
"Washington is in that room over there," Simonette said. "If we lose, bears will be shot in the fall."
Sam asked, "Why does it have to be so cut-and-dried?"
"That's the way hearings work. You present your case and sit down. Then they can ask questions. You heard it all."
Everyone except the politician had been low-key, even her papa. The committee chairman said they only wanted facts, like Truesdale said he wanted. Wasn't there ever any place for emotion? Chip had talked about how the bears felt at the Community Center, Sam remembered. Was it just young people who thought that way?
Even Mr. Emerson, the Conservancy man who'd testified first and was already on his way back to Washington, had sounded like he was announcing numbers in a bingo game.
"But I don't hear anyone getting angry about the killing, if it happens."
Chip laughed, saying to Simonette, "She's worse than I am now."
Sam blew out a breath of frustration and moved around in her chair. "I just don't think it should be necessary to even hold these hearings. That's supposed to be a wildlife refuge back there.
Refuge!
"
As his steaming turkey was served, Simonette said, "Tell me one thing on earth that is forever."
"Some things should be," Sam replied, then sealed her lips.
Chip said, "Be realistic."
Ten minutes later they walked across the street and up the courthouse steps, then turned left down to the musty, well-worn room in which felonies were tried. The committee members, seated at the table where the prosecution usually resided, were still deliberating.
The hunters had already returned from the Elks Lodge, and Sam went over to her papa. "Hope you won't be angry with me again...."
He gave her a half-smile. "Hope you won't mind if I bring home a carcass...."
The bo'sun was always the fighter, always confident.
Sam returned to sit beside Chip and Simonette, taking Chip's hand in hers.
A moment later the bow-tied chairman shuffled some papers and looked around the room, saying, "We have made a decision...."
Sam thought impatiently,
Well, what is it?
"We'll abide by state regulations. To hunt big game in North Carolina a state license, costing fifteen dollars, is required, as well as a special permit that costs an additional ten dollars. The special permit allows deer hunters to shoot bears as well as deer. One bear per hunter per season is the limit...."
Get to the point,
Sam said, silently, to the bureaucrat in the bow tie.
"... The coastal plain, excluding the Powhatan refuge, allows the taking of bears between mid-November and January first...."
Sam gritted her teeth.
"... The committee, by unanimous vote, has decided to open the Powhatan for a deer season beginning and ending with the usual dates and usual limits...."
The hunters roared approval.
As soon as the noise subsided, the chairman continued, "And also by unanimous vote, the committee decided to extend the moratorium on the hunting of bears in the Powhatan for another five years...."
Leaping up, Sam and Chip let out a simultaneous whoop and wrapped arms. Joe Simonette grinned.
The bears had won. So had Chip and Tom Telford. And Samantha Sanders.
***
THROUGHOUT the late winter, Chip and Simonette monitored the bears; Sam helped whenever she could. When spring returned they began snaring again.
Thoughts of Buddy Bailey and Tom Telford haunted them day after day and week after week. One afternoon in April, they saw Buddy Bailey in his paint-spattered, rattling brown pickup on the highway by the canal. He was driving slowly, and they passed him about a mile beyond Dunnegan's. They looked at him. Block-headed and small-eyed, his huge body filled the cab. A free man, perhaps forever.
He glanced over at them. His gimlet eyes were frightening. He was wearing a white cap with "Dutch Boy" inscribed on it. Not the floppy hunter's hat he'd worn that day on Trail Six.
Chip said, "I wonder if he knows who we are?"
Sam answered, "I hope not."
Her papa had said, "You let Buddy Bailey alone. Understand me. You're not the law."
Just being near the man had made their pulses speed
up and their stomachs hollow out. They pulled far ahead of him.
Nearing Chapanoke, Sam said suddenly, "I want to go see Julia Howell again. Don't take me home." She told Chip how to get to Tucker Road.
Â
A LITTLE later she was knocking on Mrs. Howell's door, and when Alvin's widow opened it, Sam said, "Hi again, could I talk to you for a moment?" She introduced Chip.
Julia Howell was puzzled but said, "Come on in."
Sam explained, "I'm still trying to find out who lolled your husband."
"Oh, I do wish you'd give that up." Mrs. Howell said, "You're so young and have so many other things to do in life."
"I've tried to give it up, Mrs. Howell, but I can't. Chip and I think we know who did it. It's the same man who killed Chip's friend. You've heard about Tom Telford?"
Mrs. Howell frowned.
"It was in the papers. He was doing a bear study in the swamp and then just disappeared last October...."
"Oh, yes, I did read about him," the widow said. "Do you know a man named Buddy Bailey?"
Mrs. Howell shook her head.
"He's a housepainter. Lives in Skycoat."
Mrs. Howell shook her head again.
Sam offered, "He used to go to cockfights."
Mrs. Howell shook her head once more. "Alvin never mentioned him that I can remember. But like I told you before, he didn't tell me much about the chicken fights. In fact, he didn't tell me anything. He knew I didn't want to hear it."
"Do you think it's possible that Mr. Howell owed Buddy Bailey some money?"
"I have no idea. I guess it's possible."
Sam persisted. "Did Mr. Howell ever say he needed some money to pay a gambling debt?"
"Child, that's the last thing Alvin would have ever told me. I'm sorry I can't help you. I'd like to forget my husband ever had anything to do with cockfights."
Sam looked over at Chip. He shrugged. She said, "Well, thank you for talking to us."
Mrs. Howell nodded. "Please try to forget Alvin. Try hard for both our sakes. The memories are painful."
"I'll try," Sam promised but knew she wouldn't.
Outside Chip said, "I think she's right. I've had to go beyond the plane crash, and now I think we have to go beyond Tom and Buddy Bailey."
Sam remained silent as they drove back to Chapanoke. Just before she got out of the Volvo, Chip said, "I'll try to bury Tom and you try to bury Alvin Howell. Okay?"
She nodded, kissed him, and went into the house. It wasn't that easy. She'd lived with Alvin Howell for a long time.
Just before dinner the kitchen phone rang and Dell said, "Samantha, it's for you. Some lady."
Sam then heard the voice of Julia Howell. "I got to thinking after you left," she said. "I saw a slip of paper a few weeks before Alvin was shot that had forty-eight hundred dollars written on it. He'd written it down with a question mark. I asked him about it and he said, 'Never mind.' He seemed angry that I'd asked. I told the deputy about it back then. He just shook his head. But it might have been a gambling debt."
"Did you save the piece of paper?" Sam asked.
"I never saw it again," Mrs. Howell said.
"Did it have Buddy Bailey's name on it? Even his initials?"
Dell's head swerved around. Her eyes widened at the mention of that name.
"Not that I recall," Mrs. Howell said.
"Thank you for telling me."
"That's all the help I can be. But I do wish you'd forget the whole thing. Good-bye, Samantha."
Sam said good-bye and hung up as Dell queried her sharply. "What's that all about? Didn't Papa tell you to steer clear of Buddy Bailey?"