can’t track ’im no more through the woods.”
Ma chuckled to herself and said, “Well ya don’t have to worry ’bout havin’ too many to carry.”
“No harm in tryin’, I guess, but Andy’s worthless when it comes to carryin’ anything,” Clyde said.
“Maybe Door’n can go with us and help carryin’?” Sonny said.
Clyde took a plug of chewing tobacco from his bibs, biting off a piece. He turned to Dorian. “You doin’ anything after dark?”
Billie was concerned about the late hours involved with the hunting trip. She said to her father imploringly, “You can’t expect him to go huntin’ with you, then send him on his way in the middle of the night.”
Clyde paused for a moment and said, “So, he can spend the night in the smokehouse. The roof leaks, but that ain’t no problem, ’less it rains.”
“Well, yes, I suppose I can go on the hunt. I don’t see any harm in doing that,” Dorian replied.
Dorian knew he must be constantly mindful of the Principal Mandate, of not interacting with people, but in this case he felt he had no choice. There was nothing he could do for the time being, until he found a ruby. He reasoned he could go along and hope these people will eventually be able to help him. Besides, going on a coon hunt at night with a bunch of hillbillies far removed from civilization didn’t seem to present any significant problem. The experience might even prove entertaining. At least for now, he had a temporary place to stay.
Everything has turned out quite well, considering the possibilities, he thought. He now felt that he could obtain another ruby soon enough, and then be on his way to continue his mission. But unknown to Dorian, the time-traveler, he was stranded in a place where finding a suitable ruby would prove to be quite difficult. What surrounded him were the hills of the Missouri Ozarks in the midst of the Great Depression.
Dorian grinned to himself. It looked as if his luck has changed... or had it? How could things possibly get worse?
CHAPTER FOUR
The Hunt
Amber ratcheted the hand pump, drawing water into a pan to put it on the stove. The cast iron pump with its wide spout was the nearest thing to running water in the kitchen. The well was directly under the porous stone sink where Billie and Amber stood washing dishes. The well was fed from the roof by a network of steel gutters that circled the back porch, with a trough angled down to direct the channeled rainwater. Most farm homes of the period had a well outside, and the water had to be drawn up with a rope and bucket to be carried inside.
Ma put away some of the pots and pans, then went to the kitchen table to gather up the rest of the dishes. A large, strong woman, but not obese, she had grown up knowing all the country ways of canning foods and tending to livestock. She knew all the things that kept a homestead running smoothly, within the limits of what little they had on hand. She emptied some freshly churned buttermilk from a big, brown churn and set it down nearby for Billie and Amber to wash.
The air smelled of woodsmoke from the kitchen fire, the warmth quite pleasing in the cool evening air. Dorian got up from the table and walked to the sink beside the girls. “Can I give you a hand with that?”
“Nah. Them girls can do it,” Ma said.
Clyde pushed back his chair and rose from the table, slowly standing upright, hooking his thumbs at the sides of his bib overalls. Ma began cleaning the supper table, as Clyde headed off toward the living room.
Dorian reached for a long handled cup hanging on the wall, putting the dipper into a bucket for a drink of water. He left the kitchen, wandering into the living room through a maze of clutter. The house was clean enough, though somewhat untidy. Clothes were stacked on the floor from lack of closet space, and wooden boxes were scattered about the room with blankets piled on them. A wooden Atlas dynamite box served as a footrest in front of an old easy chair, next to a pot belly stove. Dorian scooted sideways, scanning from ceiling to floor. The plaster walls were quite uneven he noticed as he bumped into a barrel-topped trunk. Propped up against the wall next to a stone chimney was a small caliber rifle. Next to it, a gallon earthenware jug of moonshine, with a corncob stuffed in the opening as a stopper. To supplement the family income, Clyde had been in the moonshine business for several years. It was distributed to some with ailments, though more often to those who enjoyed its consumption.
Clyde edged into a corner pushing the Atlas box aside with his foot and settled down a bit slowly in the easy chair beside the pot belly stove. He reached across to the wood rack and slivered a toothpick from a piece of kindling. Putting some tobacco in his pipe, he laid back in his chair. Clyde took a long puff on the pipe and let the smoke drift out slowly. It was his custom after a meal to sit alone in his favorite chair, not wanting to be disturbed by anyone.
Dorian walked out through the screen door into the night air of the front porch. Amber heard the door slam, and said to her mother, “Ain’t ever heard of a man wantin’ to help out in the kitchen.”
“Yeah, and we don’t know who he is or where he came from. Remember that,” Ma said.
“You can tell he’s from the city.”
“You jes’ watch yerself ’round him, ya here?”
“Seems like a nice ’nough man.”
Ma threw her dishtowel down on the counter. She shook her finger at Amber. “He’s still a stranger, and ya can’t trust him. Don’t take your eyes off him for a minute while he’s nearby.”
Ma noticed that Amber had removed the braids and the rags that secured her hair. Now brushed straight, it shined delicately in the dim light, giving her the appearance of a more mature woman, instead of a young girl. Ma lifted the hair off Amber’s shoulder, letting it flow across her hand.
“Yes, don’t take your eyes off him for a minute. Shouldn’t be hard for you to do.”
Clyde called out from the living room, “Billie, come in ’ere a minute.”
Billie put down a dishtowel, wiping her hands on her apron, as she walked to the next room.
“Yes, Pa.”
“You met up with Door’n down by the river?”
“I did. Don’t know where he come from.”
“I thought first he might be runnin’ from the law.” Clyde paused for a moment to think. “That’s it,” he said, snapping his fingers. “He must’ve robbed the bank in Springfield. We find out where he hid that loot and take it from him. Billie, did ya look in his car?”
“He ain’t got no car.”
“That’s what he said, huh?”
“Well, I didn’t see one, no wheres.”
“The get-away car, he’s done pushed it in the river. That means he hid the money down by the river.”
“Oh, Pa, he ain’t no bank robber.” She turned and walked back to the kitchen, a sheepish grin on her face.
“Well, how do you suppose he got here, effen ya didn’t see no car?” Clyde said, jabbing the air with a finger.
Dorian sat on the front porch, listening to the chirps of summer insects, his feet dangling off the edge. He stared up at the night sky, gazing wondrously at the stars watching the full moon go in and out of the clouds near the horizon.
Billie appeared at the front door. She swung the screen door open and stood in the entrance, her body silhouetted by the light behind her. She walked across the porch and stood beside Dorian, an arm wrapped around one of the support posts that flanked the steps.
“You like lookin’ at the stars?” she asked.
Dorian