Pillars of Salt by J. A. Adams

Author:J. A. Adams [Adams, J. A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 187b786c-c05c-11eb-8529-0242ac130003
Publisher: Atmosphere Press
Published: 2021-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

HENDERSON SWAMP

It had turned colder, and a piercing wind blew snow across the highway, so we wasted no time getting out of Dodge, stopping only for gas and a late lunch at a Burger King in McComb. Placide made much better time on I-55, while I spent the hours recording every detail I could remember, in case I was called on to testify in a future courtroom.

I walked in the house that evening, relieved to discover that Ethel and Louis had called it an early night, so I wouldn’t have to come up with some cockamamie explanation about Father’s car exploding until morning. I had decided during the trip that I’d move out of Aunt Ethel’s before I put their lives in danger, too, and I wasn’t excited about telling Ethel that bit, either. When I flicked off my bedroom lamp a little later, my mind stayed in high gear, with visions of exploding cars and overweight cowboys in $300 boots rattling around in my brain, both while I was still awake and in my dreams for a few restless hours of sleep.

“Aitchie!” Aunt Ethel exclaimed, startled when I came downstairs around 0800 hours. “I didn’t even know you was home! You’ll be the death of me yet, boy.”

“Sorry,” I said, hugging her on my way to the coffee pot. “It was late and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“No harm done I suppose. Next time, though, mind you,” she scolded, shaking her index finger at me, recalling a lifetime of that wagging finger over some childish infraction, such as leaving the milk on the counter. Of course, Victor and I had figured out early that it was an empty gesture. Louis, now, that was a different story. If he said, “Next time,” we knew there’d better not be one.

“OK, Ethel,” I promised. I plopped down, elbows on the table. “Look, Ethel, I need to talk to you. Something has come up.”

“Now what?!” Ethel turned off the flame and sat across from me, concern contorting her face.

I proceeded to tell her things I had never expected to have to tell anyone, least of all Aunt Ethel. Of course, I left out some of the messiest details, but it didn’t soften the blow.

“I’m afraid some people are angry with me. I’ve discovered that foul play was responsible for Father’s death. People would rather I not nose around.”

Her expression changed from worried, to tears, to wide-eyed disbelief as I continued my grim saga. Sometimes she just shook her head and clucked her tongue. Occasionally she interjected, “Oh, Aitchie!” or “My lands!” As distressed as she was, I knew she was a tough old bird. Hell, hadn’t she survived the Great Depression on this old farm, World War II with Uncle Louis in Italy, and the turbulent Civil Rights 60’s in a small southern town? She’d take this in stride.

“Anyway, Aunt Ethel,” I continued, “I’ve got to move out of here for a while. I’ve put your lives in danger, as well as my own.

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