The Silver Star(81)

“No, it’s not,” Liz sobbed. “What about Doris and the kids? What about that new baby?”

“He had money and all those houses he rented out,” I said. “She’s better off without him.”

“But those kids don’t have a dad anymore.”

“We don’t have a dad,” I said. “We got by.”

“No, we didn’t. Look at what’s happened. And it’s all my fault.”

Liz’s sobs got even louder. She was working herself into a state, heaving and gasping for air, and I worried that she might have a complete breakdown and maybe take sleeping pills again or do something just as bad. Then she started shaking her head and going on about how she’d killed Maddox, killed Maddox, killed the mad ox, willed it, killed it, she made the mad ox die, she made the bad bear lie, trapped in a dark box, the mad ox, the bad bear, the bad ox, the mad bear, the dark box, the big trap, the backseat, the black car—she made it halt, and it was all her fault, all her fault, all her fault.

“It’s not your fault,” I said. “He started it all. But now it’s over.” I began stroking her hair and repeating, “It’s not your fault. It’s over, it’s all over,” and after a while she stopped crying and nodded off.

I sat with her, listening to her even breathing, then got up to turn off the light and leave when Liz suddenly said, “Beware the bear.”

I looked back down at her. Liz was talking in her sleep.





CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX


Truth be told, I worried that it might not be over. What if someone had seen us getting into Maddox’s car in the alley? What if a neighbor on the hill had seen the three of us drive up? At the very least, the police must wonder what the heck Maddox was doing in the Wyatts’ backyard.

The next day was Sunday. When I woke up, morning light filled the bedroom, and the birds outside our window were making their usual racket. Next to me, Liz was sleeping right through it, and I took that as a good sign. Downstairs, Uncle Tinsley was dressed in a seersucker suit and a striped tie. He said he’d decided to go into town and, as he put it, show his face and take the pulse of the people. And the places to do that were the Baptist church and the Bulldog Diner.

Liz woke up a little while later and she seemed better, but she still looked pale and fragile. She spent the morning playing the guitar while I worked in the garden, weeding around the irises and thinking about my sister. Liz deserved a medal for what she’d gone through, I told myself.

I put down the trowel and went up to the bird wing, where I took my dad’s Silver Star out of the cigar box in the cradle. I had never actually put it on. I felt you had to earn the right to do that. Liz certainly had, not just for everything she’d gone through but for protecting her kid sister from their mother’s wackiness until I was old enough to handle it. So had Uncle Clarence, not just for shooting Maddox but for taking on the work of a man when he was only a boy so that my dad would have a home. So had Aunt Al, for breathing in lint every night at the mill and then going home to care for her sick husband and her special little Earl. So had Uncle Tinsley, for taking in his two wayward nieces, and Mom, for coming back to a place she hated, to be there for Liz. All I’d done was get into a fight with Lisa Saunders and backtalk Miss Clay.

I took the Silver Star downstairs. Liz was sitting on the piano bench with her guitar.

“This is for you,” I said, and held out the medal. “You deserve it.”

Liz put down the guitar and took the medal. She looked at it for a minute. “I can’t take this,” she said. “It was your dad’s.” She handed it back. “But I’ll never forget that you wanted to give it to me.”


Uncle Tinsley returned after lunch. We followed him into the living room, where he sat down in the brocade wing chair and loosened his tie.

Everyone in Byler knew about the shooting, of course, he told us. That was all anyone was talking about. What no one could figure out was what Maddox had been doing behind the Wyatt house. The police had asked Doris. She didn’t know, but she was demanding an investigation. They’d also talked to the Wyatts’ neighbors, but people on the mill hill hated Maddox and didn’t much like the cops, either. So no one saw anything and no one heard anything—except the gunshot. Everyone heard that.

The town was full of speculation. Maddox couldn’t have been up to any good. People suspected it had something to do with the feud. Was he just lurking? Spying on the family? Maybe he was planning an ambush. But if that was what he was up to, why was his car parked out front? Still, he had that revolver on him. At the very least, he was trespassing, and a man had the right to protect his family and his property. That was why, after questioning Uncle Clarence, the police hadn’t arrested him. His story was simple and made sense. People in these parts were always getting into hunting accidents. Over in the next county, some bird-watcher from up north who was wearing a white shirt was killed on opening day of deer season.