I reach into my pocket and spread millet on the ground. The other hens, each one of them named for a famous witch or wise woman, come chattering out of the henhouse in a line, followed by Gentry, the proud little rooster who thinks he runs the place. I squat and watch them peck.
Gentry. That name. It’s what Granny called Josiah Bellflower, the night she shot at him.
“Mornin’， Gracie.” I turn to see Morris limping toward me. His face is still swollen, and his right arm’ll be bound up in a sling for a while, but it’s good to see him on his feet again. I only wish Granny was. She’s wasting away to nothing, lying in that bed.
Morris lowers himself gingerly onto Granny’s bench under the peach tree. I brush off my hands and go sit next to him.
“You’re lookin’ mighty thoughtful,” Morris says.
“I got lots on my mind, I reckon.”
“You’re gonna be worn plumb through if you don’t stop workin’ so hard. You should give Caro more of the chores.”
“She works hard enough.”
Morris sighs. “Me being laid up ain’t helping.”
“Now, stop that. You’ll be back to work soon as you’re healed. You can’t rush things. Your body needs to rest.”
“How’s Abby? Ebba said you went up to the lighthouse last night.”
“Her pa’s near the end.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Yeah, it’s hard. What’s worse is that he wants her to marry Harlan Northrup before he passes.”
Morris whistles, low. “Well, that’s some horseshit.”
“That’s what I said, too. I don’t know how I can stop it, but I aim to try.”
Morris heaves a thoughtful sigh. “I don’t know about that, Gracie. Keep that business between Abby’s pa and Harlan. Best stay out of it.”
“It’s more complicated than that, Morris.” The question I want to ask him is right there on my tongue, but even though I know he’s the safest person in the world to ask, I still take three quick, shallow breaths before the words leave my mouth. “When did you figure out that you and Seth were more than just friends?”
“I can’t think of a specific time that I knew. He was just my favorite person to be around, and I didn’t feel no pull toward girls like most boys do. Then one night, we were rasslin’。 We’d had some moonshine. It made me brave. I kissed him and he kissed me back. It just felt natural. Right.”
“Sounds nice.”
“Why are you asking me about that, Gracie?”
I toe the ground with my bare foot, making circles in the silt. Embarrassed, I look down at my hands. “Because maybe I feel the same way about Abby.”
Morris smiles. “I knew it. Them’s the berries, Gracie.”
“She told me she loved me and we kissed last night. It was the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Morris. I want her to go with me to California, once things settle.”
“Listen. I’m real happy for you, but Abby ain’t never gonna leave Tin Mountain. You know that. Her kin’s always been here, and she’s already taken over as lighthouse keeper. ’Sides, the world’s not made for people like us to have a happily-ever-after like normal people.” Morris shakes his head. “Much as I love Seth, someday I’ll have to let him go for his good as well as my own. Two men living together? One of them colored? They’d kill us.” Morris barks a humorless laugh. “Best thing to do is have your fun now. But when it’s time for you all to part, and she marries Harlan or somebody else, don’t you dare be mad at her.”
I swallow the catch in my throat. “That don’t seem fair or right at all.”
“What is, Gracie? Ain’t much about life that’s fair when you think about it. Look at Granny, laying in there, half a heartbeat from the end. Hell, look at me.” He gestures to his busted nose. “Life’s just one burden after another, till we die. But it’s the happy things—the good things—that make it all worthwhile. Things like kisses.”
“Morris Clyde, I never knew you for a philosopher.” I jostle him gently.
“I’m smarter than I look.” Morris leans his head back against the peach tree’s trunk and closes his eyes. “Lands, I’m sure tired.”
The wind kicks up, blowing the sheets on the clothesline. For just a second, I imagine a shadowy figure beyond, where Granny’s vegetable garden falls off into the woods. I strain my eyes and study the cedars, but nothing’s there.
I’m nerved up by everything lately.
The sound of tires crunching on gravel carries up the mountain. Somebody’s coming. Ain’t nobody up on these curvy roads this early unless they’re aiming to meet Jesus.
Headlights sweep across the front yard.
I stand, a twist of dread in my gut. I shake Morris, and he startles awake. “Somebody’s here.”
“What?”
“I think it’s the law.” I peer around the side of the house. The hulking outline of a car sits there, with a single domed light on its roof. “It is. We need to hide you.”
“Maybe they’re just here to ask about who jumped me, Gracie.”
For Pete’s sake. Morris Doherty might have a brain for philosophy, but when it comes to common sense, he’d drown faster than a turkey in the rain. “You think the Northrups ain’t got the law in their pocket? I’d bet all the money I got that Harlan and his daddy reported your still. We gotta hide you.”
Morris lumbers to his feet, all stiff and sore. He leans on me for support, and we make our way around the side of the cabin, Morris’s breathing labored from the effort. When we get to the back porch, I can see Ebba stirring through the screens. “The law’s here,” I whisper.
“What?” Ebba blinks at us in the dim light and wipes the sleep from her eyes.
“There’s a car out front. Looks like a copper. I’m gonna hide Morris under the porch. Don’t answer no questions until I get in the house, hear? And don’t let Caro pipe up, neither.”
Ebba waves us away and pulls on her housecoat. A booming knock comes, loud enough to shake our little cabin to its foundations. My mouth goes dry.
“Get under the porch,” I whisper to Morris. “All the way to the back. And don’t you dare move until I come back and say it’s all right.” Morris stumbles to his knees and crawls under the porch, wincing as he works himself backward on his one good elbow. I peer under at him. Sure enough, he’s fairly disappeared into the shadows. “Good. I’m gonna go in now.”
“Be careful, Gracie.”
“I will. Now shut up and keep still and pray they ain’t got a dog.”
I ease up onto the porch, stepping over the loose boards. I pry open the screen door, making sure it don’t slam behind me. Granny’s breath rasps softly from the daybed.
I creep past Caro, who’s sound asleep in the main room, and stop and listen, waiting for the right moment to make my entrance so I don’t get a gun pointed at my face.
“Now ma’am, we know Morris Doherty lives here.” The cop has a voice like metal scraping over rusty gears.