The Right Side of Wrong Page 5

  “Well, Grandpa says you saved his life. He’d been dog-et, or froze to death, if it hadn’t been for you.”

  “I did what was necessary. You’ll do the same, once you get growed, when the time comes.”

  We sat quietly until I finally found something to say. “You rebuild this whole house?”

  “Yep. I intend to bring it back to the way it was when I was a baby.”

  Pepper’s eyes widened. “You lived here? That must have been a hundred years ago.”

  He didn’t bat an eye. “Sure did. That was over eighty years ago, instead of a hundred, but I wasn’t much more than a tadpole when we left. I’d barely lost my tail. My daddy took a notion to live down in the Valley and that’s where we stayed until I bought this place a few months back and decided to retire here, right?”

  “Retire from what?”

  “Work.”

  Pepper didn’t like it that he kept his personal life to himself, but I didn’t want her to make him mad.

  “What you’re doing now looks like work to me. I can help you if you want.”

  “You know anything about construction?”

  “He thinks he does.” Pepper spoke up. “He’s always building something. Grandpa says if he don’t quit wasting his lumber he’s gonna wear his tail out.”

  Mr. Bell’s eyes softened. “I reckon we’ll have to save your sitter. You’ll need to come over here and help me drive a few nails, then.”

  “You mean it?”

  “Sure do. I can always use a good hand, ’cause there are certainly things a man my age cannot do, but a young person can, right?”

  “Can I help too?”

  He gave Pepper a steady gaze. “Can you use a hammer too?”

  “Nope. I’ll bend the nail every time.”

  “She don’t hold the handle right,” I pitched in.

  “That’s all right. She can do other work, then. Missy, I imagine you know tools, and you can fetch for us if we need it, right, and measure?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, y’all need to ask your grandpa, so he’ll know where you are. Your folks don’t know much about me and a stranger moving into town is always suspicious until everybody gets to know him, right? Now, you two run along and tell your grandpa where you’ve been and that it’d be a pleasure to visit with him. He and I’ll meet up sometime soon and get to know one another.”

  We were dismissed, most likely because Mr. Tom wanted to get back to work. “I can bring my own hammer next time.”

  “That’ll be fine. A man ought to bring his own tools to a job.”

  “I don’t have any tools,” Pepper said.

  “That’ll be fine, too. You bring yourself and I’ll put you to work, if Miss Becky says it’s all right.”

  I stopped on the end of the half-finished porch. “You know Miss Becky?”

  “I make it a point to know about my neighbors, son.”

  “So you knew who we were when we got here?”

  “I had an idea.”

  I didn’t want to leave. For the first time in my life I was fascinated by someone other than Grandpa and Uncle Cody. But he was already measuring another 2x6 with a tape and a thick yellow carpenter’s pencil.

  He was through sawing the joist before we were halfway down the overgrown lane full of green grass and weeds. The sound of hammering followed us back to the highway. Hootie loped ahead, sticking his nose into every clump of grass he found. A pair of quail whirred out from under the overgrown barbed wire fence beside the two-lane track in front of us.

  “You didn’t cuss one time while we were talking to Mr. Tom, right?”

  Pepper grinned at how I made fun of Mr. Tom’s mannerisms. “Course I didn’t, dumbass, right? I liked that old son of a bitch too much to cuss around him, and besides…,” she shivered. “Did you see his eyes?”

  Chapter Six

  The next morning, Miss Becky cracked two eggs into the iron skillet on the stove as Ned came in from feeding the cows. “Did you meet that new man who moved into the Buchanan place?”

  “Yep, seemed like a nice enough feller.”

  “I hear he was borned there.”

  “How’d you know that?” Ned was annoyed that she knew just as much as he did.

  “Lizzie told me when I went visitin’ yesterday. Poor thing lays in that bed all day with her mind a million miles away while Harold sits on the porch and spits. She said her family knew his daddy and mama when they lived here, but that was so long ago she could barely remember.”

  Ned grunted. “Well, she seems to remember a lot when she wants to. How could her mind be a million miles away when she knows more about what’s going on than us?”

  “It comes and goes. We’re all in and out over there every day to make sure she’s all right. Harold ain’t much for changing her, nor bathin’ her neither.”

  “Well, I’ll go over myself and see if I can lay eyes on this feller.”

  “You do that, and see if he wants to come to dinner. We need to be good Christian neighbors.”

  “Umm humm.”

  Half an hour later, Constable Ned Parker pulled his sedan in front of the Buchanan place, stopping several yards short because of the lumber and building materials stacked there. He killed the engine and studied the completely new, rebuilt porch. Instead of immediately getting out, he waited to see if any yard dogs were laying under the porch. Country folks knew better than to get out of the car at a strange house.

  The front door was wide open, and a lean old man in jeans and a faded blue work shirt stepped across the threshold. Ned’s first impression of Tom Bell was of leather and steel.

  “Get out!” The man plucked a well-worn, wide-brimmed black Stetson from a nail on the outside wall and settled it on his head. The color was a surprise, because no one in Lamar County ever wore a black hat, preferring the traditional silverbelly with a three-inch brim, not the four-inch size like the one on Bell’s head. Even the crown was taller than those on the Lyndon Johnson style hat Ned, Cody, and the rest of the Center Springs men wore.

  Ned stepped out of the car and crossed the distance. “Ned Parker.”

  They exchanged a firm, appraising grip. Two sets of strong eyes met under a warm spring sun.

  “I’m Tom Bell, Constable.”

  “The kids said you knew who I was.”

  “Like I told them, I make it a point to know my neighbors.”

  “That’s why I’m here. I wanted to meet you, too, since the kids was already over here bothering you a few days ago.”

  “They were no bother. Both seem like good youngsters. It was a pleasure to visit with them.”

  “They’re a couple of outlaws I need to keep an eye on.” Ned studied the new porch. “I meant to drop by a while back, then when I did, you wasn’t here.”

  “I had to go to the Valley to finish up some business. I only got back to the house last week.”

  “Well, I want to thank you for stepping in and gettin’ Cody out of trouble. I oughta be ashamed of myself for not doing it before now.”

  “You bet. It was a sorry piece of work to do that boy the way they did. I wish it’d been them that night instead of dogs. It’d be a pleasure to shoot the ones that tried to kill him.”

  You’d do it, too.

  “Well, we owe you for what you did for Cody. He’ll be by directly to thank you hisself.”

  “The kids tell me he’s doing all right.”

  “Yep. That redheaded wife of his had him up and around pretty quick, and he gets better every day. I imagine he’ll be back to work before you know it.”

  “That’s good.”

  They stood in comfortable silence as Ned appraised the new construction.

  Bell kicked a short piece of wood toward a small fire in the yard. “Kinda airish today, for so late in the spring.”
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  “It is that, but it ain’t as cool as it was when you met Cody.”

  “I’d call that morning downright chilly. He ain’t been constable long, has he?”

  Ned frowned. “Nope. He got elected in my place a few months ago, when I retired.” Tom glanced at the badge on his shirt. Ned answered the unvoiced question. “The judge put me back in again around Thanksgiving.”

  “You don’t hear about too many constables being appointed where I come from. They’re usually elected.”

  “You’re right. Judge O.C. Rains does things a little different in this county. Probably won’t be another one appointed, neither, but he did it and I’m glad. I hear you’re trying retirement now, too.”

  “If you can call this retirement. I’ve been working twelve hours a day since I moved in. That’s your house up there on the hill, the first one this side of the creek bridge, right?”

  “Sure is…been the family home place since grandpa built it. I heard this Buchanan land was sold. Glad to see you putting it back together. Looks like you had some building experience.”

  “Figured the Chevrolet wearing a red light and a long antenna parked in the yard was yours.”

  It annoyed Ned to have Tom Bell turn the conversation back around in the opposite direction he intended to go. O.C. was convinced Bell was a good man, but Ned needed to find out for himself. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a lot about Tom Bell he needed to know. “I see you decided to rebuild the porch first.”

  “Yep. I knew I’d spend considerable amount of time here. I intend to work my way through this, one small bite at a time.”

  “That’s the way to do it all right. A lot of folks bounce around from one place to the next on a job like this.”

  “I like a plan.”

  “I can see you do.” He tried again. “The kids say you’re from the Valley.”

  “Yep. Two stores in a little community this size is unusual. I traded with Oak Peterson a few days ago, since the post office is in his store. That’s where I get my retirement check. I might drop by the domino hall one of the days. I’d like to sit in on a hand of forty-two. They don’t have any trouble in there, do they? Since the county is dry I’d imagine drinking stays on yonder side of the river.”

  Ned was surprised at how good the wiry gentleman was at deflecting his questions. No matter how hard he worked to bring the conversation around to his interests, Tom easily directed it to other topics.

  “Aw, every now and then some knothead gets aggravated over a game, but I don’t never get called in for it. I imagine a bottle or two shows up when they take a notion, but you’re right, most the drinkin’ is done over there in Juarez. The problem is the drunks always drive back home.”

  “Juarez?”

  “Yep, that’s what we call the beer joints across the river there in Oklahoma. It’s the same as Juarez…”

  “Across the Rio Grande,” Tom Bell finished the sentence for him. “I know it well. We call them cantinas down in the Valley, but I imagine you have another name for ’em up here.”

  “Yep. We call ’em joints, or honky tonks.”

  “They’re all the same. There’s always a certain amount of drinking going on near where men live and work.”

  “You lived in the Valley a long time?”

  “All my life.”

  “The kids said you was born here. The place changed hands a few times, but the last few years all it’s been is squatters moving in and me having to tell them to leave.”

  “I can tell it’s been empty a long time, but the bones are still good. That’s cause the roof held. Your squatters must have kept the holes patched. Had it leaked, the whole place would have rotted, and as it was, there were still a few places that let the water in. It’ll make a good house when I’m done, good enough to finish out my days, what’s left of them.”

  “You live by yourself?”

  “My wife died thirty years ago. Never saw the need to get remarried. How do y’all get along with others up here on this river?”

  Ned immediately understood the question. “It stays quiet here in Center Springs. They have trouble from time to time in Chisum, between the coloreds and the whites. Usually they stay to themselves and we do the same. I believe most of the trouble comes from that fool Griffin, who was elected sheriff a while back. Before him, it was Sheriff Delbert Poole who kept things stirred before and after the War.” He thought for a minute. “You ain’t kin to either one of them, are you?”

  “No. I am not.”

  “Well, there’s good and bad folks on both sides of the fence. Across the river, the Indians pretty much stay to themselves.” Ned elected not to mention that Miss Becky was full-blood Choctaw. “Mostly Choctaws, but there’s a good mix of Cherokee and a few Comanches. Every now and then you’ll hear about trouble between one tribe or another, but it stays up there. About the only trouble we have from Oklahoma are the beer joints across the river bridge. Down here it’s mostly bootleggers.”

  “I’d like to stay away from trouble, and entanglements, if I can.”

  “You aren’t expecting any trouble, are you Tom?”

  Shaded by his hat, the man’s eyes flickered. “No. There’s a certain amount of trouble around every man, it’s the nature of things, but I’m too old to entertain such foolishness now.”

  “You ain’t wanted for anything, are you? No warrants from way back?”

  Ned never took anything for granted. He almost learned the hard way, back in 1932. He’d gotten a call of a machine gun firing down in the bottoms on the Texas side of the river. Green and full of himself, Ned drove down through the fields until he heard the unmistakable chatter of an automatic weapon.

  He parked his car on the dirt road and forgetting his revolver on the seat, slipped down the steep river bank to find a Model A parked on a sandstone ledge. Ned never did figure out how the man got the car down there, but sure enough, he was blasting away with a drum-fed Thompson. At the time, it was still legal for a citizen to own a machine gun.

  He was already down the steep bank when he realized he was unarmed at the same moment the well-dressed man noticed him. Ned did the only thing he could think of. He held up his hand in greeting, and walked slowly across the pitted riverbed. He introduced himself as the local and very new constable and politely asked the man to put away the Thompson and leave.

  After visiting a few minutes, the round-faced man loosened his tie and studied Ned for a long moment. The tension broke when he pitched the machine gun into the back seat.

  Ned relaxed as he watched the man get behind the wheel and close the door. He flashed a quick smile and thanked Ned for his courtesy. “I’ll go now, but you’re probably the first and only law that’ll ever run me off, and that’s ’cause you treated me with respect. I like you, Ned. You can tell everyone that you met Machine Gun Kelly. Good luck in your new job.”

  Without another word, he drove off. Ned never forgot that lesson.

  Tom Bell chuckled. “No, I don’t have any warrants. I retired to live out my last days up here. How’s your Mexican situation in these parts? I thought about hiring a hand to help me out for a while.”

  “A few come through, following the crops, but mostly its local people we hire. I haven’t heard anyone speak Mexican in years. Do you speak it?”

  “Had to, growing up in the Valley. They’re mostly hard working people, like the rest of us, and I know I can trust them to see a good job well done.”

  “Well, there’s a good man I know named Ivory Shaver who lives in the bottoms. He picks cotton for me in season and he’ll give you a full day’s work for your money. I’ll let him know you’re looking when I see him up at the store.”

  They paused again and studied the trees around the house.

  “So you still farm, Ned?”

  “Yessir, some. The constable’s job don’t
pay that much, and the government gets part of that.”

  “I know what you mean. I might borrow a breaking plow, if you still have one, to start me a little garden right over there.”

  “I’ll do more than that. The next time I hitch Lightning up to break up our garden, I’ll walk him down here and do the same for you.” Lightning was one of the last surviving plow horses in Center Springs.

  “I’d appreciate that, but I’ll pay you.”

  “No need. We’re neighbors, but you bein’ from down south, you need to know we don’t put our gardens in until right after Easter, else a frost’ll bite everything back.”

  “That’s good to know. I need to get used to frosts and such. It’s a deal, but I still expect to pay you.”

  “We’ll talk about that some other time.”

  They examined the land under their boots and brogans.

  “Well, I reckon I’ll get on up to the store. I hope the kids don’t get in your way. Top said you told them they could piddle around with you, so you let me know if they get to be a bother.”

  “They won’t be. I enjoy visiting with young people. Reminds me of how life should be, right?”

  “All right then, good to have a new neighbor.” Ned felt like he was the one who’d been questioned, instead of the way he intended the visit. It was a feeling he’d never experienced.

  They shook. Tom stood in his busy yard full of building materials and watched Ned turn the sedan around. When he was straightened out, Tom threw up a hand to wave goodbye before returning to work.

  Ned left, feeling fine about his new neighbor he’d learned nothing about, and wondering who he’d been talking with.

  Chapter Seven

  Deputy Sheriff John Washington was waiting for Ned on the side of the two-lane road not far from the little community of Direct, pronounced Dye-rect. The almost mythical black deputy from Chisum, he usually handled issues among his people on the south side of the tracks, but was always willing to help his good friend Ned whenever the constable called.