My Father Like a River Read Online Free PDF

sky, but he could
tell that the sun was starting to slip behind the mountains. Fewer dapples of
light were on the forest floor, more shadows. Soon the prisoners would be
heading back, one man fewer. Come suppertime, the ginks would be spooning beans
off a tin plate while Sinkler sat in a dining car eating steak with silverware.
By then, the warden would have chewed out Vickery’s skinny ass but good, maybe
even fired him. The other guards, the ones he’d duped even more, would be
explaining why they’d recommended making Sinkler a trusty in the first
place.
    When the trail narrowed again, a branch snagged
Lucy’s sleeve and ripped the frayed muslin. She surprised him with her profanity
as she examined the torn cloth.
    â€œI’d not think a sweet little gal like you to know
words like that.”
    She glared at him and Sinkler raised his hands,
palms out.
    â€œJust teasing you a bit, darling. You should have
brought another dress. I know I told you to pack light, but light didn’t mean
bring nothing.”
    â€œMaybe I ain’t got another dress,” Lucy said.
    â€œBut you will, and soon, and like I said it’ll be a
spiffy one.”
    â€œIf I do,” Lucy said, “I’ll use this piece of shit
for nothing but scrub rags.”
    She let go of the cloth. The branch had scratched
her neck and she touched it with her finger, confirmed that it wasn’t bleeding.
Had the locket been around her neck, the chain might have snapped, but it was in
her pocket. Or so he assumed. If she’d forgotten it in the haste of packing, now
didn’t seem the time to bring it up.
    As they continued their descent, Sinkler thought
again about what would happen once they were safely free. He was starting to see
a roughness about Lucy that her youth and country ways had masked. Perhaps he
could take her with him beyond their first stop. He’d worked with a whore in
Knoxville once, let her go in and distract a clerk while he took whatever they
could fence. The whore hadn’t been as young and innocent-seeming as Lucy. Even
Lucy’s plainness would be an advantage—harder to describe her to the law. Maybe
tonight in the hotel room she’d show him more reason to let her tag along
awhile.
    The trail curved and then went uphill. Surely for
the last time, he figured, and told himself he’d be damn glad to be back in a
place where a man didn’t have to be half goat to get somewhere. Sinkler searched
through the branches and leaves for a brick smokestack, the glint of a train
rail. They were both breathing harder now, and even Lucy looked tuckered.
    Up ahead, another seep crossed the path and Sinkler
paused.
    â€œI’m going to sip me some more water.”
    â€œAin’t no need,” Lucy said. “We’re almost
there.”
    He heard it then, the rasping plunge of metal into
dirt. The rhododendron was too thick to see through. Whatever it was, it meant
they were indeed near civilization.
    â€œI guess we are,” he said, but Lucy had already
gone ahead.
    As Sinkler hitched the sagging pants up yet again,
he decided that the first thing he’d do after buying the tickets was find a
clothing store or gooseberry a clothesline. He didn’t want to look like a damn
hobo. Even in town, they might have to walk a ways for water, so Sinkler
kneeled. Someone whistled near the ridge and the rasping stopped. As he pressed
his palm into the sand, he saw that a handprint was already there beside it, his
handprint. Sinkler studied it awhile, then slowly rocked back until his buttocks
touched his shoe heels. He stared at the two star-shaped indentations, water
slowly filling the new one.
    No one would hear the shot, he knew. And, in a few
weeks, when autumn came and the trees started to shed, the upturned earth would
be completely obscured. Leaves rustled as someone approached. The footsteps
paused, and Sinkler heard the soft click of a rifle’s safety being