Authors: Theodore Taylor
"I am steering clear of him."
"I hope so," said Dell, skeptically. "Who was that?"
"Mrs. Howell."
"My Lord," Dell said in an anguished tone.
***
AFTER dinner Sam called Deputy Truesdale on her phone. She said she was sorry to bother him and asked if he had a moment.
"I'm sittin' here watchin' the Giants beat the Dodgers. Nothin else. Haven't talked to you in months, Samantha."
Sam quickly told him about the meeting with Julia Howell and her call an hour ago to say she remembered a piece of paper on which Alvin had written forty-eight hundred dollars.
"I think she told me about it years ago. He hadn't written what it was for, right?" Truesdale asked.
"Right. And she doesn't know what happened to the paper, either."
The deputy's laugh was desert dry. "Well, Samantha, I know what you're tryin' to do once againâconnect that money to Buddy Bailey an' the cockfights.
Doesn't work. That information wouldn't be worth doodlysquat in front of a juryâ"
"But if she testified..."
"Sometime I got to teach you a little bit 'bout evidence, not that I know much myself. Meanwhile, Miss Samantha, I haven't forgotten Mr. Buddy Bailey, an' I might tell you why sometime down the road."
Even without the phone, Sam's sigh could've been heard in Currituck.
***
JUNE: Chip had gone back to Columbus for more cosmetic surgery on that scorched biscuit of a left ear "to make it prettier," he'd said, before entering Ohio State in the fall. Already Sam's phone bill was showing signs of distress.
On this humid Sunday morning, with high white clouds from the Atlantic drifting over the coastal plain, Sam pedaled out to the highway to retrieve the
Pilots
from their orange ovals, dropped Mrs. Haskins's paper on her front doorstep, then pumped on home.
Her plan for the day was to do chores after breakfast, study a little, go jump in the canal before lunch, then head for Dairy Queen at about one.
The plan was altered a few minutes after eight when
the phone rang in the kitchen. A moment later, her mother called up the stairs, "Deputy Truesdale is coming by. Wants to talk to us."
The bo'sun wasn't home. He'd gone fishing on Albemarle Sound, out of Grandy, at daybreak.
At about eight-thirty, Truesdale's car came up Chapanoke, and soon he was sitting at the kitchen table in shirtsleeves having biscuits spread with Dell's best blackberry jam. Having talked about the hot weather, complimented Dell on her biscuits, the jam, and the good coffee, he still hadn't said why he was there.
Finally, with a grin on his seamed face, he said, "I arrested Buddy Bailey last night on suspicion of murdering both Tom Telford and Alvin Howell. We may even charge him with the murder of that game warden eight years ago. I got a warrant signed yesterday mornin' an' got him into county jail last night. So, Samantha, I think you were right all along."
Sam was almost speechless. She'd thought Truesdale had given up. "How'd you find out?"
The deputy grunted a throaty laugh. "Well, it's like takin' out an oak stump. I been diggin' 'round it for six months, tryin' to get at the taproot. I bet I talked to Jack Slade fifteen times. You know, he's like one of those foxes he used to trap. He played me along, gave me a teensy bit every time we talked...."
Truesdale paused to sip his coffee, and Sam asked, "What did he finally tell you? And when?"
"Friday. He had Grace Crosby call me. Grace said Jack had something to say. He sure did. Buddy shot Alvin because of a gamblin' debt, an' he shot Telford when he was caught poachin'. He'll get life if not worse.... Seems Buddy'd made a business of poachin' for a long time. Sold bear steaks to a Washington restaurant, one of those places that caters to people who like wild meat."
The deputy paused again, reflecting, then chuckled softly. "Never can tell what your fellowman will do, especially if he's old an' cantankerous. Seems that Buddy promised some of those frozen bear steaks to Jack an' never delivered 'em. Well, Jack decided he'd get a lick in."
Truesdale shook his head and chuckled again. "Some lick..."
Tom Telford and Alvin Howell could finally rest in peace,
Sam thought. She said, "Excuse me," and raced up the stairs to call Columbus.
***
The last time I saw Henry he was in the cedar swamp exploring a rotten log that hosted a village of white ants. He pulled outward with his claws, opening the
wood, then his darting tongue scooped up the fleeing insects. Henry split many such logs in his constant quest for food. About ten minutes was all it took to finish off the appetizers, then Henry happily meandered back toward the black gum groves.
Bears, like most humans, have no desire to slog along in mud and muck. Skilled at keeping their paws dry, they seldom wade in ponds except to dine on fish. They maneuver through the Powhatan, from dry spot to dry spot, taking advantage of fallen trees to cross streams.
For Henry, that particular day was like all his yesterdays and tomorrows, occupied essentially with finding food and getting sleep, unless he was unlucky enough to meet a two-legged creature with a gun.
I'll always remember the Powhatan. Those strange but beautiful, lonely acres gave me my father and Tom Telford and Henry and a girl named Samantha. I found her up on our roof. But the greatest gift of all was when the swamp told me that I didn't need to hide anymore. Anymore.
Reader Chat PagePowhatan Swamp
English I
Charles Clewt
Ohio State University