Amy Greene - Long Man

Ellard held his hat in his lap. “I don’t see that it matters now. There’s a child missing.”

Harville nodded. “I’m sorry to hear it. I’ve been concerned something like this would happen.” He looked at Washburn. “I want you to work with Sheriff Moody however you can.”

“Of course,” Washburn said. “I’ve made some calls about getting dogs out there—”

“Let’s leave that to state law enforcement,” Harville interrupted.

Washburn shrugged in his stiff-looking suit coat. “So far the state police have been slow to get involved. They might be more inclined to act if we put some pressure on them.”

“I’d rather not step on any toes, if we can avoid it,” Harville said.

“With respect, sir,” Washburn said. “We can’t worry about that.”

“I want to hear from the sheriff. What’s the quickest way to solve this?”

Ellard stared at the desktop, sun from the window lighting the objects there, a wire basket, an ashtray, a stamper, a mercury glass paperweight shaped like a globe. Anything to keep from looking at Harville’s smug face. “If the water was drained, we could cover more ground.”

Harville regarded Ellard overtop his spectacles. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

“We’re going to need a drawdown. That’s all there is to it.”

Harville’s bushy eyebrows lifted. “A drawdown? We can’t do that.”

“I don’t see why not.”

“It would take a week to drain the lake. They’ve got to be out in two days.”

“Two days?” Washburn broke in. “You still mean to enforce the deadline?”

“I hope it won’t take a week to find her,” Ellard said. “But I have to plan on it.”

“I don’t have the authority to order a drawdown anyway,” Harville told him.

Ellard put on his hat. “Well then, I need to see somebody that does.”

“Wait a minute,” Washburn said. “Let’s talk about what we can do, not what we can’t.”

Harville turned from Ellard to Washburn. “You can go down and be with the family.”

Washburn shifted in his chair. “I’m heading out to Yuneetah as soon as we’re finished here. I’ll talk to the public relations staff first. We should get the child’s picture in the Sentinel —”

“Public relations is not your area either,” Harville spoke up, cutting the boy off again.

“Public relations,” Ellard said, his blood heating and his voice rising. “What in the hell are we talking about?” He rounded on Washburn. “What’s wrong with you, son? I might as well have come here by myself. You’re supposed to be an advocate for these people. You know them. This man don’t. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, letting him run over you this way.”

“There’s no reason to get loud,” Harville said. “We’re all on the same page.”

“But not on the newspaper page,” Ellard said. “Ain’t that right?”

Harville pursed his lips. “Why don’t you tell me exactly what I can do for you?”

“I done told you,” Ellard said. “I need a drawdown. I need the state police. I need the word out in the newspapers. I need bloodhounds. And I need you to put yourself in James Dodson’s shoes. He’s looking for his daughter while we’re sitting here talking about what all you can’t do. Washburn don’t have any children, but I’d say you’ve got some. Grandchildren, too.”

Harville slouched behind the desk, as if wearied by the turn things had taken. “Yes.”

“Then you ought to understand. Unless you think your babies are worth more than ours.”

Harville flushed. “I won’t sit here and listen to this.”

Ellard got up with balled fists. “You ain’t hearing me noway,” he said. Washburn sat forward, knees knocking against the desk. Ellard made himself pause. He lowered his voice. “That’s all right, Harville. I see how it is. It’s my problem and you people don’t give a damn.”

“I’ll do whatever I can to help you,” Harville said. “But there won’t be any drawdown.”

Ellard went to the door and turned back. He drew breath to speak but couldn’t think what he wanted to say. Finally he opened the door and shut it behind him. By the time he got to the elevator he’d run out of steam. He walked out of the building into the street with his head down.

When Washburn called Ellard’s name he didn’t turn around. “Sheriff!” he called again. Ellard stopped at the car and saw Washburn coming down the wide steps toward him, past others on their way inside. “You can’t just leave,” the boy said, out of breath as he reached the curb.

Standing between the bleak buildings, the sun glaring off the vehicles motoring by, Ellard felt cornered. He had to look way up to see the sky. “No use wasting more time going over it.”

“Clarence Harville’s a decent person,” Washburn said, not sounding convinced himself.

“Right now I ain’t too worried about Clarence Harville one way or the other.”

“Will you come back in with me?”

“I told you, I’m done wasting time. He don’t care if that child’s alive or dead.”

“Well, I care,” Washburn said. “I mean to help you find her.”

Ellard looked Washburn in the face. “What if we don’t find her? Are you going to help me cuff Annie Clyde Dodson and drag her off of her farm? Like that man in there wants?”

Washburn averted his eyes. “I don’t know.”

“That’s right. You don’t know nothing. What do you think will happen down yonder?”

“I think we’re going to find the child and give her back to her mother.”

“Maybe. But she might be tied up dead in a barbwire fence. Or tangled up in a brush pile.”

Washburn paled but he didn’t respond.

“I’ve found them with their eyes eat out by the catfish, and I’ve found them without a mark on them, like they’re just asleep. That might be the worst. Are you ready to see that?”

“No,” Washburn said softly. “But I’ve seen a lot of good things done in Yuneetah over these last two years. If you’ll work with me, we might get one more good thing done.”

The boy sounded so young and chastened then that Ellard felt sorry for him. “I don’t want to argue with you, son,” he said. “We ought to get along if we mean to help the Dodsons.”

Washburn nodded. “If Harville won’t see reason, I’ll go over his head.”

Ellard opened the car door. “I got to get on back.”

“I’m behind you,” Washburn said.

Ellard didn’t know if the boy meant on the way to Yuneetah or something else. He felt alone either way as he got into his car. He dreaded the long trip back home. He had too much time to wonder what was waiting for him. Too much time to think about his exchange with Washburn. He already regretted what he’d said about Gracie. He didn’t know what had come over him. Ellard supposed he wanted to knock the boy down a peg, standing there on the curb in his polished shoes, looking so hopeful and sure of himself. Washburn was an idealist. He believed progress was the answer to everything. Ellard wished he saw it like Washburn did, but in his experience the state was motivated less by altruism and more by their own selfish pursuit of power. The boy needed to believe that Harville was a decent man, that the Tennessee Valley Authority was trying to save the people of Yuneetah. But Ellard had come to the conclusion after twenty years that there was no saving his people. Sometimes he thought they didn’t want to be saved. He’d had many rows with his neighbors on the porch of Joe Dixon’s. For all their common sense they’d rather starve than take what they called handouts. They voted Republican or Democrat according to what side their grandfathers had picked before they were born. They said there had always been a Depression going on around here. It was hard to get much poorer than they had been. But to Ellard it seemed foolish for any but the wealthy to back a man like Herbert Hoover, giving aid to banks and railroads and corporations instead of workingmen with families.