Love Mercy (40 page)

Rett nodded, amazed at her grandma’s composure. She flipped the cell phone open, the blue light from the screen illuminating her face. “No service.” Rett felt like crying.
El Señor
, she prayed, feeling her breathing grow shallow. Stars popped and sizzled in front of her eyes. We really, really need some help.

In seconds, she felt a warm peace wash over her. Her breathing slowed, and the stars started fading away. They’d be okay. Somehow, she knew that.

Love struggled up and peered over the hood of the jeep at the barn. “You know, I wonder . . . Oh, Lord, have mercy. It’s August.”

Rett crawled over to Love and crouched next to her. She could see a light silhouetting a figure in the window. The figure held some kind of lantern. Even from their distance, maybe the length of a football field, Rett could also see it was August. He cradled a rifle in one hand and held a lantern in the other.

“What’s he doing?” Rett asked, confused.

“I don’t know,” Love said. “But he must not realize it’s us.”

“August . . . Pops,” Love called out. “It’s Love. What’s going . . . ?”

Before she could finish, he threw open the window and pointed the gun in the direction of her voice.

“Down!” she hissed, jerking Rett’s arm.

“You’ll not take
me
, you dirty bastards!” he yelled. “Here’s one for stinkin’ Herr Hitler.” The
tat-tat
of his shots echoed through the trees.

Love leaned her head against the jeep’s door. “He thinks he’s back in the war.”

Nervous laughter gurgled in the back of Rett’s throat. She knew that was totally not cool, but this was like some kind of insane music video. Did people really do that, go crazy and think they were in some other time? Did her great-grandpa August really believe she and her grandma were German soldiers? That was so messed up.

“Well, okay,” she said, not knowing what else to say.

“If we’re lucky, Gabe or some of the others heard those gunshots,” Love said, glancing up at the early night sky. Stars were starting to show themselves, like tiny white carbonated bubbles. “But we have to find a way to try to warn them. I don’t want them riding up without knowing what’s happening. Someone could get hurt.”

Somebody already has, Rett almost said.

“What should we do?” Rett asked, shivering. A cold breeze shook oak leaves in the trees above them, a soft rattling sound, like an old-time recording of people applauding.

“I’m going to try to move over to that rise over there.” Love pointed to a hill behind them. “The phone might pick up a signal there.”

“I should go,” Rett said. “You’re hurt.”

“No. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

“But, grandma—”

“No argument!” Love snapped, and Rett could hear the steel in her voice.

Except Rett always argued. Her grandma would learn that. “So, what if you get shot again?”

Love gripped her shoulder. “I won’t.”

Rett folded her arms across her chest. “But if you
do
.”

Love’s mouth turned into a slashed line. “Do not mess with me right now, Rett. Just do what I say and wait here.”

“Fine, General Johnson,” Rett said, holding up her hands. “Just be careful.”

“I will.” Love’s voice softened. She reached over and patted Rett’s knee. “I’ll be okay. We’ll all get out of this alive.”

“I know,” Rett said, making her voice sound more confident than she felt.

She watched her grandma crawl through the grass until she couldn’t see her any longer. Then she turned and stood up slightly, trying to see if August was watching. He’d moved away from the window, but she could see the lantern’s light bobbing inside the barn. What was he doing? Was he scared? Did he think that his buddies had deserted him? It made her sad to think he was feeling that way, alone and scared, especially when it wasn’t true.

For some reason, she remembered what she’d once read about writing—songs, books, poems, whatever—how it was really just carrying the Golden Rule to its complete meaning, that being a writer meant trying to see things from someone else’s point of view, imagining yourself to be them. She tried to imagine August’s fear, how alone he felt, what he’d be wishing for, who he’d be hoping to see. It hit her like a slap on the head.

“August!” she called out. “It’s Aggie. I want to talk to you.”

Behind her, she heard the faint sound of her grandma’s voice cry, “No. Lord, me.
Me
—not her. Please.
Please.
”

Rett called out to her great-grandpa again. “It’s Aggie. Your baby sister. Can I come see you?”

There was a long silence, and she thought that maybe she’d done something really stupid, when she saw August move back in front of the window and hold up his lantern. His face glowed from the light. “Aggie? Is that you? Are you all right?”

She swallowed hard, then stood up, ignoring the sound of Love’s voice behind her telling her to get down.

“Yes, August, it’s Aggie. I’m fine. I just want to talk to you. Can I come see you? I have . . .” Her mind went blank for a second. “I . . . uh . . . I have supper. Mama sent it. I have fried chicken.”

His laugher rang out, and he opened the old window. “Mama’s chicken? That’ll sure hit the spot.”

Rett moved slowly around the front of the jeep. “Can I come and bring it to you? It’s getting cold.” She held her breath, watching his figure in the window. He brought the lamp up closer to his face. One hand held the lantern, the other was empty. He’d set his gun down. She exhaled in relief.

“I’m coming to the barn now,” she said, walking slowly toward the building. Beneath her feet, the snap of dried grass sounded as loud as gunshots.

Please don’t let him shoot me, Mr. God, she silently prayed. I really kind of want to live. She continued walking toward the barn. “I’m almost there, August. Don’t forget, it’s me, Aggie.”

“For heaven’s sake, I know who you are,” his deep voice said in a slightly peeved tone.

His tall figure in the window bent down to pick up something. She froze. “August?” Her voice wavered.

“Who’s that behind you? Stop!” August’s voice was harsh. “Who goes there?” He pointed his rifle at something behind her.

Surprised, Rett turned around to see her grandma Love, still clutching the soaked gauze pad to her shoulder. In the moonlight, Rett could see the pain in her shadowed face.

“August,” Rett cried in a panic.“Don’t shoot. It’s . . . it’s my friend . . .” Her mind frantically searched for a name that sounded old-fashioned, someone who might be friends with his sister, Aggie. “Lucille. Lucille . . . uh . . .” She almost said Ball. “Jones. Lucille Jones. She’s spending the night with me.”

“Luci?” he said, lowering his rifle. “Why, I haven’t seen her since she was a little girl. How’s your mama feeling?”

“She’s fine,” Love said in the calmest voice Rett had ever heard. “She’s gotten over her shingles now. Feeling much better.”

“Shingles,” August said. “That’s a shame. Never had ’em, but I know they can hurt like the dickens. You two come on in and stay for supper. I want to hear more about your mama.”

“Okay,” Love said, coming up beside Rett and putting her good arm around her shoulder. “We’re coming through the door now. Don’t you shoot us.”

August’s deep laugh echoed through the empty barn. “What a crazy thing to say, Luci girl. Why in the world would I shoot you? Aggie, you say you got fried chicken?”

Rett and Love walked inside the barn. He’d set the rifle down on an old wooden box, but it was still within his grasp.

Rett immediately went over to August and slipped her arm through his, pulling him out of reach of the rifle. “The chicken’s out in the car, August,” she said, glancing over at Love, who had already placed herself between August and the rifle. “Let’s take the lantern and go on home.”

“Fried chicken,” August said, picking up the lantern, not even glancing at Love or at the rifle. “That sure would hit the spot right now. You know, after supper, I think I’d like to take a nap. I’m feeling a little tired.”

“That’s a good idea,” Love said, coming up behind them. “I think maybe we all could use a nap.”

Rett hugged August’s arm to her side, smelling the sour-sweet old man scent that came from him. He stumbled when they stepped over the barn threshold, and she caught him before he could fall.

“It was a long day in the fields,” he said, sighing.

“Yes, I bet it was,” Rett agreed, tears suddenly burning her eyes. This man, it just occurred to her, was her blood, her daddy’s grandpa. Without him, she would not be here right now. She would not be anywhere. By some mysterious meeting of sperm and egg and sperm and egg and sperm and egg, Loretta Lynn Johnson was on this earth, able to sing and write songs and fall in love and get scorned. And live. Most of all, live. Just like Patsy’s baby. Patsy and Dale’s baby. For some reason, that baby was now a part of this world, and someday, someday, Aunt Rett would tell him or her this story. The story of the day great-great-grandpa August thought Aunt Rett and Great-grandma Love were German soldiers and how he shot Love without meaning to and how Rett pretended to be his long-dead sister.

She glanced behind her to make sure her grandma was all right. Love walked slowly behind them, carrying the rifle.

“Are you okay?” Rett asked. “Do you need some help?”

“I’m fine,” Love said. “Just needs a little antibiotic cream and a Band-Aid.”

August stumbled again, and Rett slipped her arm around the old man’s waist. “We have some water up in the car. Bet you could use a drink.”

He looked down at her, his watery eyes blank. “Who did you say you were?”

She inhaled, no longer needing to lie because they were all safe. “I’m Rett. Your great-granddaughter. Your grandson, Tommy’s, daughter.”

He cocked his head. “Tommy’s daughter? Why, I didn’t even know he had a daughter. How is Tommy doing?”

Her heart ached at his question, but she smiled up at him. “He actually has three daughters. I’m number two.”

“Tommy’s a good boy,” August said. “Real smart. Always quick with figuring things out. He can think on his feet, that boy.”

“Really?” Rett said, leading him toward the jeep. She turned her head again to check on Love, who was slipping the rifle under some blankets in the back of the jeep. “You still okay back there?”

“Yes, I am. You’re going to have to drive, though.”

“I can do that,” Rett said.

“I know you can,” Love replied. “And I can’t wait to get back to the ranch and tell everyone how proud I am of you. Sweet Pea, you really saved the day.” Rett could tell that her grandma wasn’t being sarcastic, that she really was proud of her. It felt good. It had been a long time since someone had said she’d done something right.

“You saved the day?” August asked, cocking his head. “What did you do?”

“Oh, nothing,” Rett said, helping him up into the passenger seat. “Just a little quick thinking on my feet.”

“Just like Tommy,” August said, patting her hand. “He’s a good boy. A smart boy. Never had a bit of trouble figuring things out.”

“So I’ve been told,” Rett said and laughed.

THIRTY-ONE

T
hey settled August in the front passenger seat, wrapping an old blanket around his trembling shoulders. Love slipped into the back of the jeep. The bleeding on her shoulder had slowed, so she told Rett not to rush, that these fire roads were tricky at night.

“I’ll get us home in one piece,” Rett said.

August had grown silent, his head lolling to one side in exhaustion. Oh, Pops, Love thought, tucking the blanket around his exposed neck. I’m so sorry I didn’t do something before it came to this. She would never forgive herself for what happened. It would be something that would haunt her for the rest of her life—what
could
have happened. She’d never forget those terrifying seconds when her granddaughter stood up and started walking toward the barn. Love never prayed more desperately or more sincerely:
Lord, please, not Rett. Take me, not Rett. Please.

He was gracious and spared them all.

Halfway back to the ranch, Love was finally able to reach Gabe on his cell phone. “We found August. He was at Big Barn. We’re on our way home.”

“I’ll let the others know,” Gabe said. “Is everything all right?”

Other than her shoulder feeling like someone had burned it with a blow torch? “Yes, we’re all fine.”

By the time they reached the pasture nearest the ranch house, Zane and Mel were waiting for them on horseback. In the distance, Love could see a trio of police cars and dozens of people milling about the ranch’s back patio, lit up like daylight from security lights that August installed years ago.

Zane hopped off his horse and undid the last gate.

“Hey, there, cowboy,” Rett called, laughing. “Thanks! I’ve been having to latch and unlatch every gate myself.”

“Why didn’t Love—” Mel started, then she spotted Love’s bandaged shoulder. A small amount of blood had seeped through. She scrambled off her horse and ran over to Love. “What happened?”

“I’m fine,” Love said, nodding over at August. “We need to get Pops home. He’s very tired.”

Mel glanced over at August, whose chin touched his chest now. “What—”

“Let’s get him home,” Love said firmly. “We’ll tell you everything once we get him settled.”

Because Gabe had called search and rescue, and they’d been setting up plans for a search if August didn’t show up, paramedics were on the scene. Despite his cranky protests, they gave August a quick exam and said that he seemed okay physically. They suggested it might be good to take him to the hospital for a more thorough exam.

As Love kept trying to tell them as they undid her clumsy bandage, her wound had turned out to be superficial. They cleaned it up, bandaged it much more professionally and also recommended that she stop by emergency. She assured them she would at the same time they took August. When questioned by the sheriff’s deputy in charge of search and rescue, Love remained obstinately vague about how she got the wound, insisting that it was accidental; she might have fallen on something in the barn; she really didn’t remember.