The Truth of the Matter (9 page)

“I’ve never done much fishing,” Ellie said, and for the next twenty minutes Roebuck showed her how to cast and reel the fly in slowly and unevenly. He showed her how to flip her wrist to get the maximum whip in the rod, and soon she was casting as far as he was.

For a half hour they sat quietly in the gently rocking boat, casting and reeling without success, Roebuck with the Wonder Worm, Ellie with the spotted dragonfly. Then Roebuck wedged his casting rod beneath a wooden seat and let his line play in the water. He slouched down on the dry, sun-warmed bottom of the boat and rested his head on the old cushion he’d been sitting on. Gazing up at the afternoon sky, he watched the clouds rock in perfect unison with the lazy waves of the lake waters.

“Looks like dinner will be out of a can,” Ellie said, wiping the sweat from her forehead with her sleeve.

“You have to be patient with fish,” Roebuck answered, and that’s when the bass hit the Wonder Worm and jerked Roebuck’s rod and reel into the lake.

Roebuck yelled and jumped up just in time to close his fingers about the handle of the rod six inches under water. He kneeled in the bottom of the boat and began to reel. “He’s hooked! He’s hooked!”

Ellie was squealing, clapping her hands.

The rod bent in a half-circle as Roebuck worked frantically with the reel. His thumb slipped and the line played out as he cursed and tried to keep his balance in the rocking boat. He got the fish under control again and began reeling more frantically than ever, feeling every movement of the unseen fish, every vibration of the desperate struggle for life.

The bass leaped and Roebuck saw its glistening silver flank as it hung for a moment above the surface of the lake. Then it was back in its cool world of silence with only the threadlike fishing line cutting the surface of the water in mad zigzag patterns to attest to its struggle below, pulling, pulling it back up to another world of heat and dry death.

“The net!” Roebuck yelled. “Get the net!”

Ellie fumbled in the open tackle box before she thought “We didn’t buy a net!”

“No net! No net!” Roebuck’s voice was incredulous.

The battling fish was near the boat now, and Roebuck tried to land it without a net. He bent over and gripped the line, pulling it carefully toward him, feeling the pressure of the fish trying to change direction.

For a second he saw a silver head, a gaping mouth, magnified beneath the water. Then as he tried to lift the fish into the boat the line snapped and he fell back to a sitting position in the boat bottom.

“No net,” he repeated miserably, sitting with the wet, limp line in his hand.

They sat in silence as the boat rocked.

“He was a big one,” Ellie said. “At least five pounds.” And she began to laugh.

Roebuck sat looking down at the broken line for a while, then he began to laugh with her. “Chili again for supper,” he said, wiping his eyes and struggling back up to sit on the boat seat.

“I guess I feel like having chili,” Ellie said, still smiling, reeling in her line.

Roebuck closed the tackle box and reached for the oars. He drew a deep breath and began rowing toward the bank. “I think that fish was closer to ten pounds,” he said.

There were still a few hours of daylight left after supper. Roebuck got the smaller of the two pistols he’d bought in Illinois, a .22 caliber, and looked about for a place to target shoot. He lined up four tin cans on a stump behind the cabin and backed off about twenty-five yards.

With four evenly spaced shots he cleared the stump.

“You sure can shoot,” Ellie said admiringly.

Roebuck walked to the stump to replace the tin cans. “I can outshoot any son of a bitch!” He held up the punctured cans, turning them so Ellie could see light through the holes.

“Nothing cheap about any of those,” she said.

Roebuck walked back to stand beside her. He raised the pistol and again cleared the stump with four shots.

“I’m going inside,” Ellie said. “You coming?”

He looked closely at her. “You bet.”

Tucking the revolver in his belt, Roebuck followed her into the cabin.

It was warm inside, so Roebuck opened all the windows a crack and a lazy breeze stirred through the cabin. He went into the bedroom behind Ellie. She turned back the bedspread and they both undressed casually, unhurriedly, without having to speak.

He made love to her then, taking her slowly, almost leisurely, giving something of himself as he felt her respond warmly beneath him.

“You were gentler that time,” Ellie whispered, resting her tousled head on his chest. She had her eyes closed, her wide, flushed lips curved in a sensuous smile. “How come you were gentler?”

“I don’t know,” Roebuck said. He lay for a while longer, then he stood and slipped into his pants.

Ellie watched him as he walked to the bureau and reloaded his revolver. Without a word he crossed the cabin and went out through the screen door into the fading light.

She lay listening for a long time to the measured
crack! crack!
of the pistol as he took dead aim at his tin cans.

Idyllic was the word. Roebuck’s tension and fear drained out of him, and the rest of the week with Ellie at the cabin was the most enjoyable week he’d ever experienced. Ellie soothed him with just her presence, as the glittering lake and rolling green scenery soothed him. Roebuck could rise now in the morning, dress quickly, drink a strong cup of coffee and step outside to breathe fresh air instead of fear. Who would think to look for them here? Let the police, let Benny Gipp continue their wild pursuit while Roebuck fished, basked in the sun and made love in his lakeside paradise.

In time Roebuck even came to enjoy sitting for hours with Ellie before the hypnotic flames in the fireplace. He always built a small fire, for effect rather than heat, for the days were healthy, sweltering hot and the nights were warm. But Ellie loved to sit curled on the worn hide-a-bed sofa before a fire, sipping a sweet soda highball, and it was Roebuck’s pleasure to see her happy.

Roebuck occasionally wondered why this was so. Why did Ellie appeal to him and intrigue him more than any woman he’d met? Curiosity was part of the answer. Ellie possessed a calm strength and equilibrium that he did not quite understand. It seemed the more she was called on to do, the greater was her quiet, single-minded resourcefulness. She was self-possessed, and Roebuck possessed her. Did opposites attract in that manner?

The second week at the cabin was almost over. Roebuck and Ellie had lived an almost solitary existence. They had a waving acquaintance with a few of the other fishermen who passed them sometimes on the lake in rowboats or flat-nosed john boats with quiet outboard trolling motors. Once they had even shared some cold beer in the middle of the lake with a couple from a cabin on the opposite bank. But that couple had gone back to Nebraska now, and Roebuck’s and Ellie’s anonymity was again complete.

On Friday of the second week they had a long talk at breakfast and decided to rent the cabin for another two weeks. It suddenly occurred to them that their refuge might be reserved for the week after their scheduled departure, so immediately after breakfast Roebuck tucked his wallet in the hip pocket of his comfortable jeans, put on a clean sport shirt and set out to find Hobey as quickly as possible to make arrangements for the cabin.

It was best to leave the station wagon where it was parked, he thought as he stepped outside. The car was seen enough on Ellie’s occasional trips into Danton, the nearest town, to buy groceries and liquor. Whistling under his breath, Roebuck climbed into the boat, pushed off and began rowing across the lake. The ascending sun felt marvelous on the back of his neck.

A half hour later Roebuck returned and called to Ellie as he pulled the boat part way up onto the bank and secured it with a loop of rope about a gnarled tree trunk.

“We’re good for another two weeks!”

“Wonderful!”

They looked at each other in surprise at the sound of a car making its way up the dirt road to the cabin.

Roebuck felt the fear close on his heart. He turned instinctively to get back in the boat and push off into the lake, but he realized the car would emerge from the woods even before he managed to get the boat in the water. He moved toward the cabin, then froze in mid-step as a shining two tone police cruiser with a huge red light flanked by two loudspeakers on its roof came bouncing slowly up the road, made a right angle turn and braked to a precision stop facing the cabin.

No place to go, no place to run. Roebuck and Ellie stood motionless. There was one man in the car, and with racing heart Roebuck read the letters on the oversized gold shield painted on the door:
SHERIFF’S CAR, CLARK COUNTY.

The man sat quietly behind the steering wheel for a moment before getting out and slamming the lettered door neatly behind him with an automatic, backward motion of his arm.

He stood straight and still in his spotless khaki uniform, looking at them unsmilingly for a second before walking toward them. Roebuck saw that he was a big man, about fifty, with angular but flesh-padded small features and the beginnings of a paunch that he seemed to be holding in. As he neared them he removed his uniform cap to reveal iron-gray hair that appeared bent rather than combed to the side with a razor part. He was immaculately uniformed, and Roebuck noticed with surprise that even the bullets in his cartridge belt were buffed to a shine.

The voice was warm and affable, totally incongruous with the man’s military appearance.

“’Lo, there.” He turned a handsome smile on them. “I’m Sheriff Boadeen, Rodney Boadeen, sheriff of Clark County.”

A lump of fuzz lodged in Roebuck’s throat. “Is there…something wrong?”

The sheriff folded his hands behind him, as if he were standing at parade rest. “Nope, nothing wrong, just checking. I make it a habit to get to know people who spend time at the lake.”

“I’m Ellie Watson,” Ellie said. “And this is my husband, Lou.”

“Glad to meet you folk.” The sheriff shook Roebuck’s hand with a curt, firm grip. “Catching many fish?” He addressed the question to Ellie, giving himself a chance to size her up in her tight blouse and hip-huggers.

“Some big trout,” Roebuck answered. He saw that Ellie was aware of Boadeen’s appraising eye, though she didn’t blush or appear discomforted.

Sheriff Boadeen smiled at Roebuck. “Trout’s good at this lake when the weather’s hot.”

Roebuck attempted to light a cigarette, dropped the pack as he was pulling it from his breast pocket and had to stoop to retrieve it.

“You seem a bit nervous,” Boadeen said, arching an eyebrow and peering down at him.

“I am,” Roebuck said as he stood. “That’s why I’m here, for my nerves. I’m a government test pilot and I just had a pretty bad crack-up in the desert. Damn near finished me.”

The sheriff looked interested. “How’d it happen?”

“Flameout. New fighter plane with swept-back wings. Went down like a rock. The doctors said it was a miracle I escaped with only minor cuts and bruises, and the government gave me a month to get myself back together. Something like that shakes a man.”

“Surely would,” the sheriff said. “But I thought you fellas went right back up before you had a chance to lose your nerve.”

“I did go back up,” Roebuck said, “as soon as the doctors let me. I can still fly as good as the next man, but a test pilot’s got to fly even better than that.”

Boadeen stuck out his lower lip reflectively and nodded.

“Can we offer you something to drink, Sheriff Boadeen?” Ellie asked. She glanced toward the patrol car with its engine still running.

“Ain’t got that much time,” Boadeen said, looking her over with a smile. “But maybe some other day.”

“Drop in whenever you’d like,” Roebuck said in a strained voice.

“Surely will,” the sheriff said. “I get up here to the lake pretty often. Like to see what I have to deal with in case we have trouble. You’d be surprised the calls I get to come up here. Young couples, honeymooners and the like that rent these cabins, are a big temptation to a certain type of mind, if you know what I mean.” He looked again at Ellie. “We had an assault up here last year and you folk wouldn’t believe what this scum did to the young woman. Caught her alone when her husband went into town for supplies and just purely gave her hell. I mean to tell you! Soda bottles, candles, anything that’d fit! I caught him myself, and you can bet I made him pay some for what he did to that poor girl. Laid my club on his head to the tune of twenty stitches!”

“At least you caught him,” Ellie said, returning the sheriff’s direct stare.

“Oh, sure,” Boadeen said with disgust, “then he got a light sentence so’s he could be paroled in a few years to do the same thing all over again.” He straightened slightly as he looked from one of them to the other. “If I had the power to do things my way, the state wouldn’t waste money on that kind of scum. One offense and the gas chamber. That way they wouldn’t have a chance to prey on decent folk.”

Roebuck cleared his throat. “It’s good to know that somebody like you is here for protection, Sheriff.”

“Why, I thank you, Mr. Watson. I don’t get many compliments in my job. Most people aren’t like you; they don’t realize what this great country would be like if the thieves and rapists and murderers were allowed to exist with impunity.”

“It wouldn’t be much of a country at all,” Ellie said, flashing a look at Roebuck.

“Going downhill as it is,” Boadeen said with a frown of disgust, “with all them civil rights agitators and college demonstrators. Tell you what they ought to do—not to the kids, of course, the ones that really think they know what they’re doing—but to the bearded long-haired commies and agitators. They ought to lay their long-haired heads open the first time they cause trouble. Then they wouldn’t be so loudmouth quick to cause trouble the next time.”

“You’ve got a point,” Roebuck agreed.

Boadeen hooked a thumb through the huge ring of keys that hung from his thick leather belt. “Well, it certainly is good to have folk like you here at the lake, somebody a man can talk to.”