Tag Archives: Davy Crockett

Davy Crockett’s Butterfly Chapter Thirty-One

Looking up, Harriet saw a butterfly making its way from one tree branch to another. She pointed. “Davy, there. Isn’t it pretty? Just like you. It won’t stay. Just like you.”
He lowered his forehead to meet hers and whispered, “Oh, Harriet, don’t say that.”
“I’m sorry.” Lifting his head with her hand, she wiped tears from his ruddy cheeks. “Now we can’t let anyone think you cried. It’s not manly.” She straightened his shoulders and smiled. “Go home. Be happy. And promise me you’ll never run away again.”
“I promise.”

***
Elizabeth cried into Robert’s shoulder as David rode his chestnut back to the farmhouse, his hands cupped. Dismounting, he walked over to her. When she saw him, she quit crying, her eyes widened in incomprehension.
“I couldn’t leave without one last gift.” He opened his hands.
“A butterfly,” Sissy said in awe.
“It’s purty,” Matilda added, a cheery tone returning to her voice.
“Butterfly,” Elizabeth whispered. “Yes, I remember. The day you came home. Those big, rough hands, but they held that delicate li’l creature so tenderly … with … so … much … love.”
She dissolved into tears again, and Robert held her saying in a muted voice, “I guess you should let the butterfly go now.”
“I guess so,” David replied, letting it fly away.
“Yes,” Elizabeth said, her voice raspy with emotion, “butterflies ain’t supposed to be cooped up. You enjoy them for the moment you have them in your hands, and thank God you at least had that moment.”

***

Lonnie looked across the sofa at Tiffany who was leaning into Dave and holding his hand. “Imagine. A little gal with a butterfly tattooed on her shoulder.” He smiled at Dave. “So Puppy’s got himself a butterfly.” Sighing, he returned his gaze to the television screen. “That’s good. Hang on to your butterfly, son. I had a butterfly once too. Once they’re gone, you can’t get them back.”
Dave looked to the wall where his mother’s portrait was hanged and understood what his father was trying to say. He glanced at Vince in the kitchen and thought he would have never seen him washing dishes. His eyes went to Tiffany who made his heart happy and then to Lonnie who had never seemed so content. Dave became aware that his father’s warm hand had moved discreetly to his knee and slightly squeezed it. Content with his butterfly, he smiled, pleased at last to be home to stay.

Davy Crockett’s Butterfly Chapter Thirty

Tiffany entered through the dirty screen door and announced to Lonnie and Vince in her best sorority girl voice she was Puppy’s new wife and she was as happy as a speckled pup to meet them. Not wanting to share the moment, Dave picked up his suitcase, went to his car, opened the trunk, put in his luggage and unlocked the car door. Sighing, he plopped behind the wheel and put the packaged Bible next to him, ready to put the key in the ignition.
Puppy? It was Allan’s voice, much to Dave’s dismay.
He glanced over to the passenger seat where sat Allan, dressed in a navy blue suit, white silk shirt and a pink tie. His hair was no longer gray but a short cropped dark brown and his teeth no longer yellow but white and all in place. No nicotine stained his fingers, and his nails were manicured. Serenity shone in his eyes. In short, he appeared as he never did in life, without the scars of mental illness and homelessness.
I just came back to say it’s okay.
“It’s okay?”
And to say I’m sorry. Don’t think badly of me. Remember, I’m the only one who believed in your dreams.
“It didn’t help when the only one who believed in me was crazy.”
I know. Allan paused to look at the house and back at Dave. So you’re leaving them behind, right?
“I guess.”
You know, hate does absolutely nothing for you except kill your soul.
“That’s a smart thing for a crazy person to say.”
Didn’t you know? After you’re dead, you don’t have to be crazy anymore.
Dave smiled and replied, “I’m glad.”
Another thing I’ve learned. Allan leaned toward Dave, with a seriousness he had never possessed in life and in a tone more mature than ever before. All those times I ran off from home, from college, jobs and from half way houses, it was all such a waste. You can’t run away from yourself.
For a long moment Dave considered his older brother’s observations and then looked over at the house. He removed the key from the ignition, got out of his Jaguar with the Bible package under his arm and walked to the front porch. Turning back he saw Allan standing in the driveway. “I’m curious. Up there. Did you meet Davy Crockett?”
You’ll never believe it. I am Davy Crockett. Or, at least, the spiritual essence that was Davy was me too. I know it’s confusing. You’ll understand when you get there.
Allan blew Dave a kiss and disappeared. Dave entered the front door and tried not to smile when he saw Lonnie standing and peering at the butterfly tattoo on Tiffany’s shoulder.
“You can touch it if you want to,” she said with a giggle.
“Puppy,” Vince said, looking up to see his brother standing in the front door.
Lonnie turned around and said with a laugh, “Ain’t this little gal something? I ain’t never seen a woman with a tattoo before.”
“It’s just a little one, Pappy,” Tiffany said with affection. “It’s okay if I call you Pappy, isn’t it?”
“Darling, you can call me anything you want.” He smiled at Dave. “Puppy, I haven’t seen such a cute little darling like this in I don’t know how long.” He laughed until he stopped to add, “And her name ain’t Tympani. It’s Tiffany. Now that’s a cute little name, Tiffany.”
Vince walked to Dave and said, “I like her, Pup. She makes pop laugh. I haven’t seen him laugh this hard in years.”
“I’m glad you came back, Puppy,” Lonnie said. “You got to help us eat all those groceries you bought. Now, all you kids sit down and watch Rawhide while I make lunch.”
“No.” Tiffany put her arms around Lonnie’s waist which made him laugh again. “I’ll fix lunch while you boys watch TV.”
“She’s a firecracker, ain’t she?” Lonnie said with a twinkle in his eyes.
Tiffany walked to the kitchen but stopped when she saw all the dirty dishes in the sink. Turning around she put her hands on her hips. “First I have to clean up this mess.”
“No, let me clean up the dishes,” Vince replied, stepping to the sink. “I messed things up so I ought to clean them up. It’s not going to kill me to get my hands in soapy water.”
Kissing him on the cheek, she said, “That’s sweet of you, Vince. We got a deal then. You wash dishes, and I’ll fix lunch.”
“Well, boys, we better do what Tiffany tells us, or she’ll beat us up.”
“That’s right,” she said with a giggle. “I will.”
Dave held up the Bible package. “I guess I can wait until after lunch to mail it.”
He put it on the table, walked over and sat in the middle of the sofa. Tiffany sat on his right and, to his surprise, Lonnie sat to his left instead of in his lounge chair. Leaning back, he decided being close to his family was not that bad.
“Dad, if you feel up to it, tomorrow you and I can go to the lawyer’s office and start work on that guardianship.”
“Well, if that’s what you want to do, son,” Lonnie said, staring at the television screen. “It’ll be fine with me.”
“Which lawyer are you going to?” Vince asked as he filled the sink with hot water, adding liquid dish detergent.
“Is it the one who did your will, Dad?” Dave said.
“Yep.”
“Fred Long.” Dave looked over his shoulder toward the kitchen.
“Hell. Fred Long was the assistant DA ten years ago who got my driver’s license taken away. I don’t want that jerk sticking his nose into my family’s business.”
“Now, Vince, you shut up. This don’t concern you. It’s between me and my baby boy.”
“Yes, sir,” Vince said like a chastened child. He concentrated on washing plates, cups and glasses. “I guess if you went by me, you couldn’t go to any lawyer in town. I’ve had bad luck with all of them.”
“Shush. Wishbone is saying something. He sure cracks me up.”

Davy Crockett’s Butterfly Chapter Twenty-Nine

“David! David!” Abner yelled as he led a group of horsemen coming down the trail to the farm.
“Uncle David!” William waved with merry abandon, pulling his horse up in front of the cabin.
David pulled away from Elizabeth to grin and salute the oncoming party. He was relieved he did not have to respond to her question about why he had to leave.
“Hello, Aunt Elizabeth!” William said, dismounting.
“Doin’ fine, Elizabeth?” Abner asked.
“William, Abner,” she said without emotion as she stood. “How’s my sister?” Before Abner could reply, she turned toward the cabin and called out in a stolid voice, “Children, your father’s about to leave.”
They came from the kitchen. Robert stopped short when he when he saw William and nodded to him. Sissy stood back, held her left elbow with her right hand and smiled. Matilda came right down the steps and hugged David.
“Oh, Papa, I’m goin’ to miss you so much.”
“Now, let’s be honest, girl,” he reproved her with gentle humor. “You got Mister Tyson to watch over you. And you got to take care of him, too. Then there’s your ma, brother and sister to fuss with. You won’t have time to think about me.”
Matilda pulled away, her eyes widened in full realization of what was happening. Her hand went to her cheek, and her lips quivered. “I mean it, Papa. I’m really sad.” She looked at him and whispered, “I’m never goin’ to see you again, am I?”
“Of course, you will, Matilda,” he replied with a promptness that belied his sincerity. “Why, by this time next year, we’ll all be back together in Texas. We’ll have a ranch with plenty of hands to work it, and, who knows, maybe I’ll be president of the new nation of Texas.”
“Of course, Papa.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I’ll be the daughter of the president. And Thomas’ll run the best store in Texas.” No more could come out of her.
Sissy stepped forward as Matilda retreated to Elizabeth’s side. “I’ll miss you, too, Pa. But I want you to go ‘cause I know it’ll make you happy, and how can I be happy if my pa ain’t happy?”
“And you be happy too, promise?” David reached for her, and she let him hug her.
“I promise, Pa. Don’t worry.” She smiled and looked back at her sister. “I’m goin’ to git Matilda to give me lessons on how to be more sociable.”
“That’s good.”
Sissy walked up the steps to hug Matilda who had dissolved into tears. Robert stuck his hand. “Good luck, Pa.”
David grabbed him and held him. When Robert pulled away he smiled.
“It’s all right, Pa. I understand.”
“Understand what?” David wanted him to explain it so he could understand too.
“Why you have to leave.”
“I really meant to stay. I changed my mind when I came home to say good-bye,” David explained to him. He stared intently at Robert. “I didn’t lie about changin’ my mind. I meant it when I said it.”
“You got me confused,” William said who had been listening in on the conversation. He wrinkled his brow and shook his head.
“He’s goin’ with you,” Robert replied. “And it’s all right.” He looked back at his father. “Some folks can’t sit still, and some of us can. That’s all there is to it.”
It had to be more than that, David thought, but this was neither the time nor place to figure out why he had to keep moving from place to place and person to person. Perhaps, one night as he lay on the Texas prairie staring up at the stars, he might at last understand. Maybe it was just a habit he did not want to break.
“Now, remember what I told Matilda. Next year, you’re bringin’ your ma and sisters to Texas.” He could not resist one last lie to his family.
“Yes, Pa,” Robert said. “You can take me huntin’ and fishin’. We’ll make up for all the times we missed together.”
Elizabeth came down the steps and hugged him, burying her head in his shoulder. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
“Don’t feel bad,” he replied, kissing her cheek. “Remember, I’m jest that scairt li’l runaway boy.”
She pulled back, put on a brave, perky smile and said in a quavering voice, “Then run away.”
“We need to git on the road, David,” Abner said. “We want to git at least halfway to Memphis by night fall.”
Robert picked up David’s rifle and bag to hand to him. After tying them to his saddle, David mounted the chestnut and with forced bravado let out a yell and took off up the road, and the other men hollered and followed. They had not gone far, just to the clump of trees where Davy stopped when he came home. A monarch butterfly flitted by, alighting on the branch of a mulberry bush.

Davy Crockett’s Butterfly Chapter Twenty-Eight

When Davy opened his eyes the next morning he frowned. He did not want to tell Harriet and her father he had decided to leave. Climbing down the ladder he saw Griffith and his daughter already at the table eating breakfast. Harriet looked up and smiled.
“Well, hello, sleepyhead,” she said.
Griffith looked over his shoulder at him, his eyes solemn. “Good morning, Master Davy.”
Grinning his best, he joined them, loaded his trencher with biscuits, eggs and ham in thick slices. After a few minutes of happy banter about how the air had turned crisp much earlier in the season than usual, Davy became quiet.
“I have to leave,” he said in a whisper.
“What?” Harriet asked.
“Master Davy has to leave, dear,” her father said. “I’m sure he doesn’t want to nor has he made his decision lightly.”
“You’re right, sir,” he replied, nodding in agreement. “When I went to the store yesterday afternoon Mister Goodell made it clear that he ain’ goin’ to give up this missin’ captain matter any time soon. I think it’d be best for everyone if I left. With me gone, I don’t think Constable Franks will poke around no more.”
“So you’re disappearing,” Harriet said, only just concealing her anger. “After living with us, and working for us and—and making me fall in love with you—“
“Harriet,” her father interrupted. “I told you I’m sure Master Davy didn’t come by this decision easily.”
“Besides,” Davy continued, looking down at his trencher, “I miss my ma and sisters sorely.” He looked up at her. “I told you, Harriet, how much I miss my ma. You know that.”
“Yes, I know.” She pinched her lips in consternation.
“The reason I left in the first place was ‘cause I was scared of gittin’ a beatin’. I’m too big for that now.” He paused to see if Harriet had a comment; she did not. “And I imagine they need me. Pa’s always in debt for one thing or another, and I’ll have to work it off.”
After a few minutes of silence as they ate, Griffith pushed aside his trencher, stood and announced, “Of course, you’re right, Master Davy. The sooner you leave the better. Goodell or Franks might show up again at any time, and it’ll be the devil to pay for sure.”
“I guess you’re right,” Davy mumbled.
Putting his hand in his pocket, Griffith pulled out a couple of dollar coins and handed them to him. “I wish I had more to give you, but I seem to—“ His voice trailed off as he looked out the window. “Why don’t you two young people go for a walk in the woods while I put together your bundle? Be careful no one sees you.”
Davy and Harriet went outside, looked down the path toward Christiansburg and walked up the hill into the trees. At first she resisted holding his hand but relented when they stopped under their favorite tree. No words were exchanged, but he watched her face as it twisted with pain. She burst into sobs, falling into his arms, alternately hugging him and hitting him with tight fists.
“Please don’t leave me! Why do you have to do this? What am I going to do? I can’t live with father without you. He’s—he’s so sick and I can’t take it all by myself.” Tears flooded down her cheeks, and strands of blonde hairs matted on her face.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I’m really sorry, but I can’t stay.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Your pa and me, we lied to you about Captain Stasney.”
Wiping her eyes, she peered at him with curiosity and asked, “Lied?”
“The captain chased me into the woods.” He nodded further up the hill. “Way, way up there. I tripped, and he was about to attack me when your pa jumped on his back. After a big tussle, he killed ‘im.”
“That’s self-defense,” she said. “Constable Franks can see that.”
“Not after we lied for the past two days.”
“So that’s that.” Sighing, she stepped away to lean against the tree.
As he looked at her sad blue eyes, askew blonde hair and pink lips, Davy had an idea which sprang from his mouth before he had a chance to consider it too deeply. “Come to Tennessee with me,” he said. “We can git married in Morristown. I’ll hire myself out to a farmer and make money so we can set up housekeepin’. I love you so much. Come with me. There’s nothin’—nothin’ but problems here for you. We’ll be so happy.” He held his head close to hers. “Please say yes. Say yes.”
“No.” Her voice was soft but firm.
Davy stepped away.
“Father needs me too much.” She looked him in the eyes with serious determination. “Before all this broke open, Mister Goodell, who was trying to be helpful, I suppose, told me all about mercury poisoning. Father is slowly going mad, and he’s going to die. I have to be here to take care of him.” She smiled with sad irony. “Unlike some people I know, I can’t run away.”
“You don’t hate me, do you?” He took her hand. “I don’t think I could take it if you said you hated me.”
“How could I hate you when I love you so much?” She squeezed his hand.
“I’m sorry about your pa.” He paused. “Have you given much thought about what you’ll do after he—well, you know, after he—“
“Get married, I suppose,” she replied without much emotion.
“No,” he said. “Miss Dorcas, she’s a nice lady. Go live with her. She can teach you how to make dresses.” He held her in his arms with tenderness and whispered, “Please don’t marry nobody you don’t love.”
“If I can’t marry you,” she said, her voice cracking, “it doesn’t make any difference who I marry.”
He kissed her soft lips, choking back tears. They hugged in desperation because it was for the last time.
“Harriet!”
They turned to see Griffith standing at the bottom of the hill, looking around nervously and waving the packed bag.

Davy Crockett’s Butterfly Chapter Twenty-Seven

Crisp, cool air filled the streets of Christiansburg two mornings after Captain Stasney’s death as Davy and Harriet escaped the house because of another eruption by her father. Griffith had been placid for more than twenty-four hours after slicing the captain’s body into pieces, leaving them in the woods for the hungry wolves. The two young people tickled each other’s palms before clasping hands. In his mind Davy almost believed this nightmare never happened. If there is no body there was no murder, Griffith said, and Davy began to believe it. He began to think about his future. Davy wanted to marry Harriet.
Before he could say anything, however, Miss Dorcas called out to them from her open front door. “Yoo hoo, Harriet, Davy.”
Walking over they smiled at the plump spinster and dropped each other’s hands.
“Darlings, I don’t want to be nosey,” she said, her eyes still glancing about, “but, is everything all right?”
“Why, yes, Miss Dorcas,” Harriet replied.
“Of course, my dear.” She giggled and clapped her hands around her face. “But you were so distraught the other night when you stayed with me.”
“You know, Miss Dorcas, sometimes, my father doesn’t always feel well,” she said, looking down at the ground.
“It’s just that some people do talk, and Christiansburg is a small town. Oh dear. It’s just gossip but sometimes—“
“A man was lookin’ for me,” Davy said, interrupting her with as much courtesy as he could muster. “He told folks I owed ‘im money. It was a lie.”
“Of course it’s a lie,” Miss Dorcas gushed. “You’re too good a boy to keep a man from his money.”
“Father talked to him,” Harriet said. “He straightened out everything. Everything’s fine now.”
“That’s good, dear,” she replied. “I’m glad. It’s made me very happy to see you two young people happy, and I’m happy you can continue to be happy.”
Davy and Harriet tried not to laugh until they had taken several steps from Miss Dorcas’s house. They agreed that the old woman was a dear but a bit daft. By the time they returned Griffith was in good spirits.
“I’m pleased you went for a nice walk,” he said. “You children work so hard. I feel bad you don’t get to be just children more often.”
At lunch Griffith laughed as they told him how silly Miss Dorcas had acted. Harriet was in the process of washing dishes when they heard a giant clomp at the door. Griffith, with Davy behind him, opened it to see Goodell again, this time with Town Constable Franks, a rangy, long-haired man with gray strands in his beard.
“Mister Griffith,” Goodell said, “I told the constable about the missing sea captain, and he wants to ask you a few questions.”
“Of course,” Griffith replied.
“What do you know about this Captain Stasney?” Franks said.
“He was after Master Davy here,” he replied. “The boy almost became his cabin boy, but then the man revealed his true character. I would tell you what kind of man he was but my daughter is standing here. Naturally, Master Davy ran away.”
“Why would he bother to chase after the boy if no money was involved?” Constable Franks asked.
“Master Davy had to cut him on the tongue to get away.” He glanced at the storekeeper. “Mister Goodell, you can testify how badly the man’s tongue was slit.”
“It was split bad,” Goodell confirmed.
“If somebody cut your tongue like that, constable, you’d want to get even too,” Griffith said.
“I suppose so,” Franks whispered, looking at Goodell and then at Davy, who stepped behind Griffith.
“Master Davy’s a good boy who did a bad thing to get away from a bad man,” Griffith summarized with a tight smile.
“Is that true, boy?” Franks asked.
Davy stepped out from Griffith’s shadow, nodded and returned behind him.
“Do you have any idea why a man would disappear without his belongings?” Goodell asked in an aggressive tone, glaring first at Davy then at Griffith. “People don’t do things like that. I know I wouldn’t run off without my clothes.”
“No, I don’t know why he would do that,” Griffith replied, “but he didn’t seem like a rational man to me.”
“There’s some reason for the captain to leave his belongings at the inn,” Goodell persisted.
“I’m sure there is, but Mister Griffith ain’t bound to provide that reason,” Franks said. He nodded and turned. “If you think of anything the captain said to you that night that would explain his disappearance, I’d appreciate you telling me.”
After Constable Franks walked away, Griffith pursed his lips and stared at the storekeeper. “Good day, Mister Goodell. I have my business to tend to.”
“I want to talk to the boy,” he demanded.
“He’s busy too,” Griffith said, shutting the door.
Davy watched out the window at Goodell as he stalked away. He felt as though he were a captive in the steam-filled room, because he knew Goodell would hook his elbow as soon as he came out for whatever reason.
“Don’t worry about Mister Goodell, Master Davy,” Griffith said as he resumed shaping the crown on a hat. “He can’t do anything to you.”
In the late afternoon Griffith asked Davy to go to the general store to buy some liniment to ease his back which ached from bending over the workbench. Harriet tried to intervene, but her father retorted that his back was killing him, he needed the liniment and that was that. Harriet squeezed Davy’s hand, and he walked out and down the street. He hoped against hope Goodell had let the incident slip from his mind also.
That was not to be, because, before Davy could say anything about liniment, Goodell pushed him against a wall, wagging a finger in his face.
“I know Captain Stasney is dead,” he said in a spitting low voice. “I can tell by the fear in your eyes. Either you killed him and got Griffith to cover it up, or you got that poor old madman to kill Stasney for you. And I’m not going to let you get away with it. You think you can swagger into town, pick out the prettiest girl for your own when you don’t deserve her? What can you give her? Nothing. She deserves better than a no-good vagrant.” He paused to peer into the boy’s face. “What do you have to say about that?”
Blinking, Davy took a moment to find his voice. “I need a bottle of liniment.”
That night, after a quiet supper, Davy retired to his bedroll in the attic loft but could not sleep. He knew Goodell meant it when he said he was not going to let him get away with Stasney’s death. If only he and Griffith had reported the fight that night, Constable Franks would have believed them. No one would believe them now that Griffith fed the body to wolves and they lied repeatedly that the captain just disappeared. Davy faced a tough decision. He could accept blame for a crime he did not commit or he could betray his employer and tell the truth. That would make Harriet hate him.
His only option was to run away again. Constable Franks, Goodell and the good folks of Christiansburg would assume he was indeed guilty of murder and leave Griffith and his daughter alone. Eventually they would forget about the strange sea captain’s disappearance. The last question left was his departure. Just slipping away in the middle of the night did not seem right. Davy had spent the last sixteen months in the home of the Griffiths. He learned a trade and accepted room and board and their affections. He could not forget that Harriet had completed his education, teaching him to read, write and do ciphers. Besides, he loved her too much to leave without one last kiss.

***

Walking arm in arm with Sissy back to their house, David felt he had finally made peace with his children. On the porch Elizabeth stood with his saddlebag packed and held his rifle. When they reached the steps, Sissy leaned over to kiss David’s cheek.
“I think you and ma need some time alone.” Sissy walked up on the porch, paused to kiss her mother and then slipped into the kitchen.
“You must have said somethin’ right,” she murmured.
“I want to say somethin’ right to you too.”
“I made you some vittles.” Elizabeth thrust the pack and rifle toward him.
“I shouldn’t have said some things.”
“I’ve been rough with you, too.” She lowered the pack and rifle to the porch.
“I always believed you thought less of me for takin’ your money. It made me hate myself. It’s the man who’s supposed to supply money to his wife, not the other way around.”
“You mustn’t do that. You mustn’t never hate yourself. You didn’t take that money. I gave it to you willingly.”
“And I thought all these years the reason you looked at me the way you did was ‘cause you didn’t have no respect for me.”
“I was afraid of that. That’s why I never mentioned it.”
“I knew you was savin’ it, like some weapon, to use when you really got mad at me.”
“Oh no. Never.” Her arm impulsively went out. “Didn’t you know me better than that?”
“I guess not.” He looked down, ashamed of himself and wistful so many years were wasted. His eyes met hers with sincerity. “But I did love you.”
“I want to believe you did.”
“Maybe not exactly the same type of love I felt for Polly. That was a special love.”
“Like I loved James.” Her faced opened to old memories and emotions.”
“That’s right. I think you have to be young to love like that.”
“It certainly helps.” Elizabeth’s eyes softened.
“Now the kind of love I feel for you ain’t burnin’ fire but a nice comfortable glow that warms us even if we ain’t by each other’s side, which is good ‘cause I haven’t been by your side enough.”
“No need to apologize for that again.”
“But I still have to go today.”
“Why?” Her voice cracked a little.
“’Cause I’m afraid.”
“I know.” She stepped forward to take his hand. “You’ve been afraid of somethin’ for as long as I’ve known you.”
David sat on the porch, pulling Elizabeth down to his side. “It ain’t a fear of dyin’, but to die and to have nobody care.”
“I’d care,” she whispered.
“I know.” He squeezed her hand. “But I want people I don’t know—people who ain’t been born yet—to care that I lived and I died.” Memories of the years he spent wandering around Virginia overcame him, the loneliness and the fears. “You don’t know how it was to be on your own when you’re a youngin’. I was scared of a whippin’ at first. Then I was scared of bein’ alone. And scared of bein’ found out.”
“Found out for what?”
“For bein’ a liar.” He smiled in repentance. “I have to admit I turned lyin’ into a payin’ business.” Thoughts of Baltimore made his face twitch. “There was many a night that somebody could’ve slit my throat and thrown the carcass out. An unknown boy in an unknown grave.”
“My little boy—“
“That’s why I went back home to Morristown. At least if I dropped dead in Tennessee they’d say, ‘Why, there’s David Crockett lyin’ on the ground.”
“What a thing to say.” She rubbed his arm as she smiled gently.
“So behind the bluster of David Crockett, the Indian fighter, congressman and hunter is jest a scairt li’l runaway boy.” David looked deep into her eyes and saw love, compassion and understanding, everything he ever wanted from his wife. Leaning in, he kissed her lips.
“Don’t go,” she said in a choked whisper.
“You know I can’t stay,” he replied, his voice cracking. “I don’t have it in me to stay.”
“Don’t go, please. Don’t go.”
“Abner and the boys will be here anytime,” he said, standing.
“It’s my fault.” She grabbed his arm. “It’s both our faults. We always took for granted we didn’t love each other. We saw how we acted and thought we knew why. You’re not the only one who’s lonely. I guess I pushed you away when you was here ‘cause you was gone so much. But I ain’t pushin’ you away now. I’m beggin’ you to stay. Why won’t you stay? Why, oh, why?”

***

With his suitcase in hand, Dave turned away from the door but stopped short when he saw a rose pink Mercedes pull into his father’s driveway. Only one person had a Mercedes that color. Appearing from the car Tiffany, dressed in blue jeans and a tank top that showed her butterfly tattoo. Her hair pulled back in a ponytail, she smiled and walked up with an easy gait. He put down his suitcase and waited for her to reach him. He smiled and kissed her.
“Hi, honey.”
“I know you don’t want me here,” she began with deliberation, “but you can’t always get what you want.” Crossing her arms, Tiffany looked down. “I know that’s true because I’ve always gotten everything I’ve ever wanted.” She looked into his eyes. “Even you.” Soft laughter from her lips sounded sad. “When I walked into that news room the first night of my internship, you were bending over the desk, looking at a page proof or something. What a butt. Then you looked up, a smile on your face and those eyes wide in—oh, I don’t, innocence, openness, honesty—I don’t know what, but I fell in. The gentleness, kindness, patience. On top of that you knew exactly what to do, how to do it, do it fast and do it good. Not only a cute butt but an awesome brain. So I just had to have you. Just like I just had to have my first bike, a high school prom dress from Neiman-Marcus, a tattoo and a shiny pink Mercedes.”
Tiffany looked as though she were not proud of herself at this moment. “I was kind of surprised how easy it was to turn your head. You seemed hungry for attention. Then I clinched the deal by telling Daddy about you. His public relations director got a job in Houston with some oil company and Daddy didn’t know where to get another. After he called you in for an interview he told me you were perfect for the job.”
The perfect prostitute—no, he told himself—Vince was right about not beating himself over things he could not change.
“Sure enough, Daddy hired you, you got a divorce and we got married. Once again I thought I had gotten my way. But now I know I don’t have you at all.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No. I’m sorry.” She shook her head with remorse. “I’m such a fool. Daddy didn’t care that I wanted you in the job. He had about twenty applicants, and he said you were by far the best. He told me all this when I called to tell him your dad was sick and you had to go home. He actually lectured me. He didn’t want me to run you off. He wasn’t going to lose his best executive because I was a spoiled brat. Do you know what a shock it was to find out I’m not the center of the universe? You’re not a planet revolving around me.” She stared at him. “Do you still want a spoiled brat in your universe?”
“You’re not a spoiled brat, and yes I still want you.”
“Good.” Tiffany smiled. “I still want you too.” Her shoulders relaxed, and her face opened. “I had a nice long talk with Linda and the boys. They’re wonderful, by the way, and they love you very much. I like Linda too. She’s very real. She told me to tell you she holds no grudges. From the start she knew you needed more than she could give.” She grinned. “We talked it over and decided you needed someone to hold you and tell you everything is going to be all right.” Reaching out, she took his hand and squeezed it. “You know, you’re not the worst little boy in the world nor are you the best.” She held his hands up to her face. “I’m not giving up on you but I won’t be shut out.”
“I’m realizing that.”
“I know all about Allan. He had mental problems and was gay. Linda said he always wanted to be Bette Davis. That’s more interesting than my cousin who wants to be Billy Graham.”
Dave put his hands in his pants pockets and looked down. “I thought if you knew I had a crazy gay brother you wouldn’t love me anymore.” He paused to gather his thoughts. “You lived in such a perfect world. You couldn’t understand people who weren’t perfect.”
“Maybe you’re right,” she said, “but I’m willing to learn. You see, I really need you to help me grow up as much as you need me to tell you everything is going to be all right.” Looking over Dave’s shoulder, Tiffany saw Vince and Lonnie watching television inside. “Linda says Vince isn’t so bad as long as he’s not drinking, and your dad is really quite sweet and funny.” She walked past him toward the screen door. “Of course, I want to make my own decisions about them, so I’m going in now and introduce myself.”
“I’ve already told them I’m leaving.”
“Then leave, and I’ll see you back home in a few days.”

Davy Crockett’s Butterfly Chapter Twenty Five

“So you thought you could cut Captain Elmer Stasney and git away with it?”
All Davy could do now was to listen to his heart pound in his chest. When he opened his mouth nothing came out.
“What? I can’t understand you,” Stasney said, taunting him. “You used to have a bunch to say, but you ain’t got nothin’ to say now, do you?” He kicked at Davy’s legs. “You know how long it took me to find you? That Adam Meyers told me what kind of little scalawag you are and that you deserve anythin’ I did to you. That old farmer had to bleed before he remembered who you were.” He kicked at Davy again. “After a while it got easy to follow your tracks. Everybody remembered the boy with the big mouth. You talk too much. Your wild stories make you stick in people’s minds. That’s a bad habit, boy.” He bent down to whisper, “Maybe I should slit your tongue like you did me and see how you like it. I was goin’ to give you everythin’ I had. If you had done right, you could have had my Jezebel when I died, but you cut me.” His voice hardened. “You bit the hand that fed you.”
Whimpering, Davy started to inch his way up the hill away from Stasney.
“I’m goin’ to git you back to the Jezebel and take you down to my cabin and do what I should have done that night you cut me. This time you won’t git away.”
“Ahh!”
Davy recognized the scream. It was Griffith. As Stasney fell forward with Griffith on his back Davy scrambled to his feet. Instead of running away he stumbled backwards until he bumped into a tree.
“What the—“ Stasney blustered, looking over his shoulder at the slightly built blond-haired man who was grunting,, wild-eyed, grasping and clutching.
“This ain’t your fight, man! This boy’s broke his bond!”
“Shut up!” Griffith shouted as he pulled out his knife and started stabbing at Stasney’s back.
“Stop!” He twisted around and flailed his arms, trying to knock Griffith off. One swing caught the hand holding the knife which caused it to fly from Griffith and land at Davy’s feet.
Griffith leaped over Stasney’s head toward Davy who bent over to pick it up and stare at it without comprehension. The boy held it out to him, but Stasney grabbed Griffith’s feet and pulled him back.
“I’m goin’ to kill you, man!” Stasney said in a growl.
Wrenching a leg free Griffith stomped at Stasney’s face over and over again until his other leg escaped the captain’s clutches. He scrambled forward to snatch the knife from Davy’s hand, twisted around and shoved it into Stasney’s left eye. As the captain screamed in pain Griffith stabbed his right eye. Stasney lifted his head, and Griffith crammed the blade under his jowls and rotated it. Blood spurted from the captain’s mouth and muted gurgling sounds made their way around the flow. Stasney collapsed, his body going limp.
“Is he dead?” Davy asked.
“He will be.”
“They can’t call it murder. He said he was goin’ to kill you. Of course, you jumped ‘im, but he was coming’ after me. Self-defense, or somethin’. They can’t git you. Do you know the constable? I’ll tell ‘im. I’ll tell ‘em all. The captain deserved it.”
“There’s not going to be a trial,” Griffith said.
“What?”
“You have to have a body to have a trial.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was just a stranger passing through town.” He looked at Davy. “He never saw you. You didn’t see him tonight. If Goodell asks you anything about him, say you never saw him.”
“You’re goin’ to bury him out here in the woods?”
Wolves howled in the darkness.
“No.” Griffith lifted his knife and looked down at Stasney’s bleeding body. “Go back to the house. Clean up. Get a good night’s sleep.”

***

When David rode back to the farm from the Kimery store with a new leather-bound Bible in his saddlebag he saw Elizabeth sweeping the dog trot. Dismounting his chestnut David walked with deliberation to the edge of the porch. To catch her attention he coughed a little. She continued to sweep, so he decided to jump right into the conversation.
“I appreciate what you done this mornin’,” he said.
“What did I do?” Elizabeth kept looking at the broom. “I don’t remember.”
“You told Robert to be good to me.”
“Oh yes. As well as he should. Thou shalt honor thy father and thy mother so that thy days upon the earth shall be increased. That’s what the Good Book says.”
“The Good Book says a bunch of things that folk don’t abide by. You do, and I want you to know I appreciate it.”
“Thank you.” She did not break her rhythm in sweeping.
“Last night, when I said I had to go to Texas,” he added, “I didn’t mean to say I didn’t know how good you are or how hard you work. I didn’t mean to say I didn’t love you.”
“I know.” Elizabeth stopped sweeping, turned and smiled. “Jest ‘cause I got mad don’t mean I don’t love you.”
“That’s good.” David grinned. “That’s good to know before I leave.”
“The children, Robert, Matilda and Sissy too, they love you. More than they want to say.” She furrowed her brow. “We’ve been hurt, that’s all, and it hurts more when you love the person doin’ the hurtin’. That’s why I told them to be good to you.”
Not believing what he heard, David swelled with happiness. Never had Elizabeth ever told him so outright how she felt about him. “Come to Texas with me!”
“What?” She smiled. “Do you want me to smack you with this broom?”
“I don’t care! Go ahead and smack me! Jest as long as you go to Texas with me!” He took her hand to bring her down the steps. “It’s a wonderful land!”
“How do you know?” Her eyes sparkled. “You’ve never been there. Anyway, I don’t care if it’s flowin’ with milk and honey—“
“But it is!”
“You and your ideas.”
“I’ve heard you don’t have to can food. Jest pick the fruit off the trees whenever you want!”
“There ain’t no place like that, except maybe heaven.”
“That’s what I’m tryin’ to tell you! Texas is heaven on earth!” He put his arms around her thick waist.
“No, that’s too far.”
He felt her body tense in his embrace, and he knew his brief flirtation of taking her with him was over. “Too far from what?” David asked as he pulled away.
“I don’t know.” Her smile faded. “Family, I guess.”
“From the Pattons?”
“Well, they are my family.”
“Like the ones who took you to court.” David felt his temper slip as he endured her rejection.
“Well, they meant you, when they went to court.” She paused, her eyes wandering about. “But it’s not jest the McWhorters and the Edmundsonses.”
“You afraid you’ll fergit James Patton if you move to Texas?” David had never given voice to his suspicions that she was still dedicated to her first husband who died in the Indian War. For years he used that thought as an excuse to leave on hunting trips and political campaigns. She did not need him, he reasoned, because she had her memories of James Patton to comfort her.
“And I suppose you don’t think you’ve made it quite clear you loved Polly more than you ever loved me?” She lifted her head in anger.
“If Polly hadn’t died, she’d be here, and she wouldn’t give me no argument. She’d say go, and I’ll follow.”
“That’s foolishness!” Elizabeth snapped. “How do you know for sure how she’d act after a lifetime of bein’ left alone like I have? Yes, you’d have left her jest like you left me and don’t deny it!”
“If you’d stop lovin’ a ghost and love me, you’d say my heart belongs to you, and it goes where you go!”
“And if you loved me, you wouldn’t talk like that!”
David and Elizabeth stared at each other in an emotional standoff.
“You never understood me,” he said. “You lived with me, and we’re nothin’ but strangers.”
“I ain’t goin’ to say another word, Mister Crockett,” she said, turning to walk up the steps. “If you got to go Texas, you go. If you die in some God forsaken land, you die.”
“That’s what you really want, ain’t it?” His anger overcame his common sense. “You want me to die so you can finally be alone with your memories.”
Elizabeth turned sharply on the top step, her eyes wide and glaring, and hissed, “Oh, go to hell!” She gasped, put her hand to her mouth and shook her head.
“No, I ain’t goin’ to hell, I’m goin’ to Texas.”

***

Sarah Beth invited Dave to spend the night in her guest room and leave the next morning. His original intention was to fly home without delay in hopes of making it to the Gainesville Social Security office as soon as possible, but her calm friendliness made him realize how tired he was. Mary dragged Myrtle, who was still asking questions about David Crockett’s love life, out the door. Sarah Beth pulled out a homemade stew from her refrigerator and put together simple sandwiches. Much to Dave’s relief, she changed the topic of conversation from his famous ancestor to discuss her own family. Her husband died of lung cancer after a long affair with cigarettes.
“He seemed so surprised to discover there actually was a link between smoking and cancer.” She shook her head. “After all those years of making fun of pointy-headed scientists who didn’t know what they were talking about, he found out too late they were right.”
She had two sons and a daughter. The elder boy was gay. Her husband on his death bed refused to speak to his alienated son one last time. Now her son visited Sarah Beth often with his close friend of many years whom she found to be warm, compassionate and funny. Her daughter was a middle school teacher who only just discovered her devoted husband was a cocaine addict. Their early stages of discussing divorce were complicated by the fact their two-year-old son adored his father. Her younger son, a computer technician, wanted to marry but was shy and did not make a good first impression. By the third or fourth time a woman talked to him, however, she would find a gentle and selfless human being. Alas, Sarah Beth said, most women did not want to try that hard to find out how wonderful her son was. After a pause, she smiled and patted Dave’s hand.
“Please don’t feel like you have to tell me about yourself.” She looked with awareness into his brown eyes. “In fact, it’d be best if you didn’t. I’d rather believe the children of Davy Crockett had nothing but love and happiness in their lives.”
The next morning Dave’s plane lifted from Roanoke, and the family Bible packed in a sturdy cardboard box, sat on his lap. Sarah Beth had a very nice family who loved David Crockett more than Lonnie’s brood ever did. He did not want to disappoint them by letting the Bible get away from him.
Dave personally was not very impressed with his ancestor, once he grew out of his childhood infatuation with the movies, songs and trademarked toys. The autobiography was hard to read, written in the old Tennessee vernacular and filled with silly claims of riding streaks of lightning, grinning down bears and things too inconsequential to remember. Also suspect was Crockett’s departure at age fifty for Texas leaving behind his wife and three teen-aged children. While he knew it was not fair to impose current values on someone who lived a hundred and fifty years ago, Dave still could not indulge in ancestor worship. Dave wished he could have told Myrtle that Polly had been the love of David’s life, mourning her early death until his demise at the Alamo, but he could not. Whether his second wife Elizabeth became the stable, enduring love of his life was also unknown. Myrtle would just have to draw her own romantic conclusions.
Back in Gainesville, Dave walked into his father’s house with the Bible in his hands. He had never seen Lonnie rise so fast from his easy chair.
“Did you get it?”
“Right here.”
Lonnie’s face exploded with a large grin. Vince appeared in the door to the hall wiping his face with a hand towel.
“Good,” his father murmured. “That’s good.”
“It’s not ours anymore,” Dave said. “The woman who bought it just let us borrow it long enough to show at the Social Security office and then I have to ship it back.”
“I don’t care about that,” Lonnie said, “jest as long as I can get my Social Security.” His hand went to his face stubble. “I better clean up before we go.” He paused to look at Dave. “You do want go to the Social Security office right now, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Good.” Lonnie turned for the hall.
“I got to get home tonight,” Dave said.
Lonnie disappeared without hearing him, and Vince went to Dave.
“You still not goin’ to be his guardian?”
“You can do it,” Dave replied.
“I ain’t never sold a house before.”
“Get an agent. Hope for the best.”
“That sounds like you’re still mad.”
“I’m not mad. I’m just tired.”
Lonnie reappeared freshly shaven and in his Sunday suit. They drove to the Social Security office downtown.
“This car drives good,” he said after a long silence.
“Thanks.”
“What is it? One of them fancy new Chevies?”
“It’s a Jaguar.”
“What’s that? A Oldsmobile?”
“It’s English.”
“What? One of them foreign cars? I don’t know nothin’ about those things. If it breaks down I can’t fix it for you.”
“Jaguars don’t break down that often.”
“Well.” Lonnie shrugged. “Can’t do nothin’ about it now.”
They did not have to wait long before they went into the Social Security clerk’s office. At first the man was impressed with the physical historical document. When he heard what they wanted, he went to a filing cabinet and pulled out the needed forms. After they filled out every blank he smiled at Lonnie.
“This shouldn’t take long, Mister Crockett,” he said. “You can go ahead and start filling out an application for the nursing home.”
The ride back was less tense, and Dave began to speak freely. “I’ll wrap up the Bible and send it back today.”
“That’s good.” Lonnie paused. “You done good.” He added, “You grew up into a good man.” As they pulled into the drive way he tapped his foot. “Was she a nice lady?”
“Very nice. She had an aunt and a cousin there too. They were nice.”
“That’s nice.” He paused to sigh in profound relief. “It’s all very nice.”

Davy Crockett’s Butterfly Chapter Twenty-Four

With a final kiss on Harriet’s forehead, Griffith turned her toward the door and watched out the window until she disappeared down the road. He walked back to his work bench where he picked up various knives to examine them for length, strength and sharpness.
“I know all this is very scary, Master Davy, but I assure you no harm will come to you.”
“What are we goin’ to do, sir?” he asked with apprehension.
“Go outside, sit on the step until Captain Stasney arrives.”
“What?” Davy did not understand.
As Griffith held one short knife up to his eyes, “Wait for him to arrive, and when he does, run as fast as you can into the woods and up the hill. Don’t stop. Don’t look back.” He put the knife aside and picked up another, testing it for sharpness. “Don’t worry. He won’t catch you.”
“Maybe Mister Goodell won’t tell him where I am,” he said. “Maybe he decided I was tellin’ the truth.”
“Oh no. Goodell will tell him, probably already has.” He paused as he took a whetstone to his knife. “I never really liked Goodell. He likes to look down his nose at people.” He turned to Davy. “Now go to it. Or would you like something to eat first? No, I suppose you’re too nervous for food, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
Before Davy could say anything else Griffith marched out the door. He took a moment to recover from his master’s abrupt departure. Davy decided he had no alternative but to wait for Stasney. Going outside he could not see where Griffith had gone. Breathing deeply, he did as he was told and sat on the stoop. How his life had been turned upside down in the last few hours, Davy mused as he stared down the road and listened to distant call of wolves. Rough clumping through gravel caught his attention. Davy focused on the dark approaching hulking figure. Shivers echoed up his back as he recognized that gait. Stasney was coming.
“Boy!” he bellowed.
Straight away Davy jumped to his feet and ran up the hill into the woods.
“Come here!”
He could not withstand temptation to look back at the captain who rampaged toward him. Griffith was correct. He should not have glanced. But he kept running through the woods. Even though he had stamina and speed on his side, Davy also was aware Stasney had fanatical determination to kill him. One mistake on his part and Davy could be dead. Why had Griffith abandoned him, Davy wondered as his breath became labored. His foot caught on an errant tree root, landing him face down in the dirt and leaves. As he rolled over he saw Stasney towering over him, his forked tongue slithering in and out through his thick dark lips.

***

“I can do the right thing first,” David said, looking from Elizabeth to Robert. “You don’t have to tell me. And the right thing for me to do is to go. Nobody’s been happy since I came back. The only answer is for me to leave.”
“Don’t that make it good for you, to do what you wanted to do in the first place?”
“Robert, hush,” Elizabeth said.
“But I can leave with things better than they are.”
With a grunt Robert picked up his axe and barged out the barn door.
“I mean, it, Elizabeth,” he said, looking at her with sincerity. “I’m goin’ to make everythin’ right.”
“Of course you are, Mister Crockett.” Her face was stony, and her eyes fixed.
David turned to saddle his horse, and she left. Before he rode away to Texas he was going to prove to his family that he could tell the truth. His first step was to go to the old Kimery store to talk to Thomas Tyson. October air was crisp. The summer heat had passed. Harvest time was upon them. David wanted his last Tennessee crop to be a good one. Walking into the general store David girded his inner strength, bravely smiled and approached the storekeeper.
“Mister Tyson, I owe you an apology and an explanation.”
Tyson’s eyes widened.
“I shouldn’t have left the way I did yesterday,” David continued. “It was stupid. It was cowardly.” He paused. “I may be a liar, but I’m no coward. And I apologize for hittin’ Matilda.”
“You tell Matilda you’re sorry?”
“Not yet.”
“You should tell her before talking to me.”
“You’re right. But I wanted you to know ’cause you’re important to her. You want to marry her one day, don’t you?”
“Yes.” His blue eyes blinked through his thick glasses. “I don’t think it would be fitting before she was sixteen.”
“I appreciate your respect for her. If it means anythin’, you have my blessin’.”
“It means something.”
“I’m leavin’ for Texas in a few days. So for what it’s worth, I’ll never hit her again.”
“And I swear I’ll never hit her.”
“I know that. I’m not worried about Matilda, but I got some fences to mend with Robert.”
“I don’t think I got that kind of mending materials.”
“I ain’t never bought one of these before.” David walked over to the table of Bibles.
“Don’t you believe what’s in it?”
From his childhood David had been told of God, Jesus and the Holy Ghost, but he had never taken time to think about them. He loved and respected his mother who lived by the Bible and would have read it if she could read. David would never have heard of Creation, the Flood, Exodus, Virgin Birth, Crucifixion and Resurrection if not for his mother. On the other hand his father believed in the parts of the Bible that allowed beating children, vengeance, wrath, abominations and Armageddon. David found his route through life somewhere in the middle, not quite as holy as his mother but not as evil as his father.
“Of course I believe in the Bible,” David told Tyson.
“I want you to know I’ll bring up your grandchildren in the church and follow the teachings of the Bible,” the storekeeper said.
David continued flipping through the pages and nodded. “Matilda’ll be in good hands. And she knows I love her.” He looked at Tyson. “She does know that, don’t she?”
“Yes,” he replied, “and she loves you. That’s why your slap hurt so much.”
“But she forgives me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive in her eyes.”
“That’s good.” David shut the Bible and turned to Tyson. “I want to buy this.”

***

“Mother doesn’t like to think of sad things,” Mary said, smiling at Myrtle. “Unfortunately, Harriet’s marriage was not a happy one.”
“I’m afraid few people have happy marriages,” Dave replied.
“Sadly, that’s true,” Sarah Beth confirmed, “but Harriet and her husband had three robust children who produced many grandchildren which made Harriet’s long old age very pleasant and comfortable.”
“Her husband Charles was much older than she and preceded her in death by many years,” Mary added.
“That was not the first tragic death in Harriet’s life,” Myrtle interjected. “Harriet’s father died not long after Davy went back home to Tennessee. It was a hunting accident.”
“Well,” Mary said, “rumors had it he shot himself, having succumbed to mercury poisoning, common to hat makers of the day.”
“Mary, I don’t like those stories. Taking one’s own life, well, it just isn’t done in proper families. Besides, why would he kill himself? He hadn’t done anything wrong.”
“Mother, if a person has gone mad from mercury poisoning, he doesn’t need a reason for suicide.”
“Anyway, Harriet went to live with the seamstress in town, Miss Dorcas Hinton. Within a few months storekeeper Charles Goodell began courting her and they were married soon thereafter.”
“They didn’t really love each other?” Dave asked.
“According to family tradition,” Mary replied, “it was more a marriage of convenience. While there was no talk of any actual strife they had no great romantic feelings either.”
“Most marriages back in those days were for convenience,” Myrtle muttered with a sigh, “the convenience of the man.”
“As you mentioned, Dave,” Sarah Beth said, “very few marriages are great love affairs.”
“One reason we know Charles was not the love of her life,” Mary added, “was that as Harriet grew older the more she talked about her lost love Davy Crockett.”
“Oh.” Dave began to see why the Bible was important to them.
“Each son brought his fiancée to meet his mother,” Mary continued, “and Harriet told her the story of the love she almost shared with the famous Tennessee hero. It was a cautionary tale not to let love slip away. Her sons had sons who grew up and presented their new wives to Grandmother Harriet who told them she had loved the martyr of the Alamo. Even on her deathbed her last words were about Davy Crockett.”
“The story always brings tears.” Myrtle pulled out a lace handkerchief to daub her eyes. She laughed. “Menfolk in our family don’t seem to understand how wonderfully sad this story is.” She glanced at Dave. “You’re probably just like them and think we’re just silly women crying over a silly old love story.”
“No, I understand,” he replied, thinking of Tiffany and Linda.
“Then you know why I was so excited when I saw the Bible in that Dallas bookstore,” Sarah Beth said. She looked at Myrtle. “My aunt would have never forgiven me if I hadn’t brought it home.”
“No, I wouldn’t have.”
“I hope you can trust me to take the Bible back to Texas,” he said. “I promise to return it as soon as possible.”
“Actually,” Mary offered, “we should let you buy the Bible back for the price Sarah Beth paid. After all, it is your family’s Bible.”
Dave saw Sarah Beth and Myrtle hold their breath. He would not even think of returning such a valuable document to the house of Lonnie Crockett who possibly could throw it out next week as part of the garbage. These people cared for it, as his mother had, sheltering it and placing it on display only on special occasions, a perfect artifact to illustrate their sad family story of unrequited love.
“No, the Bible belongs here.”
Exhaling, Myrtle stood and smiled. “Well, whatever you think best.”
“I’ll get the box I packed it in.” Sarah Beth stood to go to another room.
“Thank you.” Dave got to his feet, relieved his errand was accomplished.
Myrtle caught him off guard by grabbing both his hands and holding them to her bosom. “So, tell me, dear boy, does your family have any wonderful stories of Davy Crockett? Did he ever find another true love?”

Booth’s Revenge Chapter Thirty-One

Boston Corbett stood before a congregation of Methodist Episcopalians in a rural church set among a stand of cottonwood trees outside of Camden, New Jersey. He was in fine voice and form, ready to give his testimony of a life lived as a “Glory to God” man.
“Brothers and sisters, I stand before you tonight not as a proud man, but a man who walked the streets of hell before seeing the light and moving into the sweet arms of Jesus.”
Corbett paused because he knew a chorus of “Amen!” and “Preach on, Brother!” was about to shake the rafters. And he was right.
“God blessed me with a righteous wife, valued more than pearls and rubies, and, in his own wisdom which we do not understand, he took her away from me as she gave birth to our precious daughter who only spent a moment on this Earth before going home to be with Jesus and all the saints and archangels.”
“Poor baby girl!” erupted among the womenfolk worshipers.
“Faced with such sorrow, I believed the false promise of Satan himself that I could find comfort in the demon liquors. My life sank. My soul shrank. And I drank and drank. All for naught. All in obedience to the devil himself.”
“No, no, no.” This was more of a mere whisper wafting through the pews.
“But God did not allow it!” Corbett bellowed. The crowd cowered in apprehension. “God grabbed me by my collar and said, “Boy, you will not waste this life I gave you! You will not dismay your wife and child who are by My side at this very moment! You will repent and spread the Gospel throughout this land on the verge of war, and I will prevail!”
The folks sprang from their seats, clapping and shouting hallelujah. Their usual pastor, a man of small stature and graying hair, motioned for them to sit and be quiet.
“And from that moment on, I became a soldier in the army of the Lord. Preaching on every street corner, singing in every choir and glorifying God in every church. When my country sent me to war to end the evil that was slavery, I continued to fight for Jehovah too. Even when I was captured at Culpepper Court House in Virginia and was sent to that horrible plot of land called Andersonville Prison in Georgia, I continued to shout, I continued to pray, I continued to praise until the devil’s legions themselves could not take it any longer. They traded me back north to home.”
Another round of hallelujahs and amens interrupted his preaching.
“After I returned to the Army of Righteousness, I continued my crusade for my Heavenly Father. Then came that moment which has brought me to the attention of all you God-fearing American saints. That evil practitioner of the devil’s art of theater killed our Father Abraham.”
Corbett was thrown off his timing as he heard a man turn to the fellow next to him and say, “I don’t know if I don’t enjoy going to a good show, every now and again.”
“We trapped him at that barn in Virginia. I was ordered not to shoot and kill him but I obeyed a Higher Authority and did shoot!”
More amens and hallelujahs.
Staring at the congregation for a long moment, Corbett lowered his voice and continued, “But evil did not die that night. Evil never dies! Evil will lurk in our hearts forever! Be ever vigilant against evil!”
The general mood of the people was to jump up and applaud, but the hand of the good, gray-haired pastor kept them in their seats.
“For, you see, God came to me that night. He told me John Wilkes Booth must not die at that time. He came to me in the form of a powerfully built short man with red hair and divine inspiration in his eyes.”
A murmur rose among the people. Women fluttered their fans wildly in the August heat, and the men shifted uneasily in the pews.
“He offered a substitute sacrifice for the nation, the corpse of a young man who looked like Booth but who was not Booth. Perhaps he was Jesus Christ come down to atone for our sins once again—“
Almost in unison, a moan rolled through the room as each man, woman and child stood and without further hesitation left the church, returning to their homes.
Corbett had seen this before. For some reason, the sheep of this Earth were not ready for the kindly shepherd to herd them on the path of righteousness. He would not be discouraged though.
“Brother Corbett,” the elderly minister said to him in uncertain tones, “I don’t understand the meaning of your parable there at the end, and neither, evidently, did my parishioners. The saddest aspect of this, it seems, is that we had not taken the offering yet so I have nothing to pay you for your—for the most part—excellent testimony.”
Corbett smiled and patted him on the back. “Don’t worry, brother, the Lord will pay me much more richly than you ever could.”
As he had learned in previous encounters with retreating admirers, it was best that he leave town that night and find lodgings a few miles down the road. The cool night air felt good against his warm face as he rode his handsome little horse, the very mount that took him to the Virginia farm three years ago. A small inn appeared on the road as he expected. Rapping at the door and rousing the keeper from his sleep, Corbett asked for lodging for the night, and the owner yawned, scratched his head and showed him to a small room in the back. The next morning at breakfast, he read the Camden newspaper.
On the front page was a story from Washington City. President Andrew Johnson fired Secretary of War Edwin Stanton, calling him a “fountain of mischief.” The president requested Stanton’s resignation and, when the letter was not forthcoming, dismissed him a week later. The story quoted Johnson as saying he conformed to the letter of the law as laid out in the new Tenure of Office Act. The newspaper also reported that the president had selected Gen. Ulysses S. Grant as the replacement. The article ended with the statement that Stanton had relented and left his job under protest.
As he sipped his coffee, Corbett looked out the inn’s dining room window to see dogs seek shade beneath a stand of oak trees. Something was awry, he told himself. God was on the verge of calling him again to save the soul of the United States of America. In his saddlebag, he had several letters from churches in faraway Kansas, beseeching him to share his testimony. Corbett shook his head. He must delay his trip out west because the Lord would be calling him to Washington City soon.
* * *
Dr. Leale shook the chill from his bones after removing his outer vestments and settled into a comfortable chair, which faced the fireplace in his parlor. He had just returned home from a day’s work at the military hospital. December of 1868 was particularly cold, and his omnibus ride did nothing to protect him from the sharp winds whipping in from the frozen Potomac River. Before mounting the steps of the omnibus, he had bought a newspaper to read on the way home, but instead he hunched over and closed his eyes, which he felt were about to freeze in their sockets. Now comfortable in his favorite chair and sipping a hot cup of coffee–which his wife presented to him as he entered the parlor–Dr. Leale was ready to read the news.
The House of Representatives, by a vote of 108 to 57, refused to impeach President Johnson because he fired Secretary of War Stanton and replaced him with Gen. Grant. Leale did not know what to think of the legislative maneuverings, but he did feel certain that once the newly elected Representatives were sworn into office after the New Year, a new attempt to impeach the president would surely come to pass.
Leale’s role in the larger drama of President Lincoln’s assassination, the trial and execution of the conspirators and now the political battle to remove President Johnson from office often seemed inconsequential to him. Because he had been the initial physician to attend the slain president, Leale had been part of many ceremonies surrounding the funeral. The assassination conspiracy trial in 1865 drew him to the courtroom, where he met Lincoln’s mysterious stepbrother. Then Rep. Benjamin Butler asked him in 1867 to write a report on the details about the damage done to the head of President Lincoln for the congressional report being prepared.
However, in the back of his mind, Leale could not shake the memory of watching Lincoln delivering a message from a window of the Executive Mansion shortly before the assassination. The president’s face looked odd to the doctor. Exactly why it was odd Leale could not figure out. Neither could he understand Secretary of War Stanton’s behavior that night at the boarding house across the street from Ford’s Theatre.
Leale’s wife Rebecca came to the parlor door to announce dinner was now on the table.
“In a moment, dear. As soon as I finish this story about the impeachment vote.” He searched for some clue about what tied the three events together. The newspaper article quoted Gen. Grant about the impeachment effort. On the one hand, he indicated he was pleased to oblige President Johnson and take on the interim position but on the other, he made overtures of reconciliation with Stanton. All of this puzzled Leale, making him more drawn to the political machinations. A few minutes later, Rebecca returned to the parlor, leaned over his chair to kiss him on the cheek, a gentle reminder his meal awaited him.
“Eating a cold dinner will not bring justice to this town,” she whispered.
He looked up from his newspaper, smiled then a cloud crossed his face. “If only you had seen Mr. Stanton that night. Something was wrong, terribly wrong.”
“Like the way President Lincoln acted that time. You wanted to go to the theater to see if he looked the same and what made him look that way.”
“Yes, dear. You do understand, don’t you?”
“Yes, I understand.”

Davy Crockett’s Butterfly Chapter Twenty-Three

Davy walked slowly back to the cabin, his mind racing about what to do about Captain Stasney, Inside he saw Harriet was back, busy in the kitchen chopping vegetables for a stew, and Griffith laboring over the crown of a woman’s hat. He watched her look up, smile at him but then frown.
“What’s wrong, Davy?’ she asked.
He opened his mouth but no words came out. Davy first thought to lie and say there was nothing wrong, but decided even he was not a good enough liar to fool them.
“I’m in real bad trouble,” he whispered.
“Father, please stop and listen,” she said with urgency.
“Huh?” He looked up and scrunched his brow.
“Davy says he’s in trouble.”
“There’s this man in town,” he began tentatively. “He’s the sea captain I almost went to work for. In Baltimore. He’s telling Mr. Goodell I broke my bond and ran away. But I didn’t. My parents didn’t apprentice me to him. Honest. I know I lie but I’m not lyin’ about this.”
“I don’t understand,” Harriet said, her voice cracking. “Why would he track you down all the way here from Baltimore just because you owe him money?”
“Master Davy?” Griffith asked seriously.
“I cut him,” he said in an even voice. “I cut ‘im bad. I had to to git outta there.”
“Was he trying to hurt you?’ Harriet dried her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Where did you cut him?” Griffith asked.
“He was lickin’ his knife and I grabbed it and cut his tongue. I cut it real bad. It’s forked, like a snake’s tongue now.”
“Why was he licking the knife?” Harriet wrinkled her brow.
“Hush, Harriet,” Griffith instructed her. He looked at Davy, his brow knitted. “Did that man do anything to you, boy?”
“No, sir. But I know he meant to.” He glanced at Harriet and dropped his head. “Mister Griffith, sir, he showed me a book. It was a book I wouldn’t want nobody to look at.”
“You don’t have to say anymore,” he said.
“I don’t understand, Father.”
“You don’t have to understand, dear. Just know this is a very sick, very evil man who is after our Master Davy. I’ve seen men like this before. Children aren’t safe around them.”
“Father, you’re scaring me,” she said, her voice trembling.
“Harriet, darling,” he whispered, hugging her, “go to Miss Dorcas’s house. Ask her if you may spend the night. If she asks why, tell her I’m having one of my fits. She’ll believe you. Whatever you do, don’t leave Miss Dorcas’s side until I call for you tomorrow morning.”

***

Stung by Elizabeth’s outburst, David kept quiet during the evening meal, sat out by the barn until all the lamps had gone out. The next morning, after a quiet breakfast with the family, he followed Robert to the barn. His son walked to the shelf where the farm tools lay. He paused when his gaze caught the glint of a new rifle’s metal barrel reflecting in the morning light. Picking it up Robert also saw the saddlebag, bedroll and other items for living on the trail. He looked at David.
“Who’s this for?”
“William,” he replied softly. “It’s part of his inheritance from his grandpa. He needed these things now instead of waitin’ for the will to be settled.”
“Oh.” Robert pinched his lips shut as he put the rifle down and grabbed an axe from the shelf.
“I need to talk to you about somethin’.”
Robert brushed past him, carrying the axe toward the barn door. “I’m too busy to talk to an old drunk.”
“What do you mean by that?” David grabbed him by the arm.
“I got firewood to chop.”
“What did you mean about an old drunk?”
“You’re an old drunk.”
“I’m gittin’ sick and tired of that chip on your shoulder. So you think you had it bad? Well, you don’t know what bad is. You should have been on your own as a boy in the big city. You’d know what bad was.” His eyes fluttered, and his feet shuffled. “If I ain’t been here it’s ‘cause I worked to—to provide for you and the family. That Congress salary came in purty handy, didn’t it?”
“I ain’t never seen any of it.”
“I know, boy.” David stepped back and looked down.
“Don’t call me boy.”
“I know you ain’t no boy no more. I mean, you’ll always be my boy.”
“You never acted like I was your boy.” Robert pinched his lips as his hands tightened around the axe.
“You know that ain’t so.”
“What did you want to tell me?”
“Well, your ma and I had a talk and we decided it might be better for everybody if I went ahead to Texas.”
“I don’t think ma had any part of that decision.”
“You callin’ me a liar?”
“Yes, I am.”
That made it just about unanimous, David thought. All members of his family thought he was a liar. They did not understand the intricacies of political expedience.
“Anyway, your cousin and uncle will be here in a few days. I promised to lead ‘em to Texas.”
“I always thought us young fellows got to go out West. William gits to go, but I don’t.” He exhaled with bitterness. “But you go ahead. I’ll stay here and do your job, tend to your wife and daughters.”
“You don’t have to tend to nothin’,” David replied in a huff. “I’ve always tended to my own.”
“The way a lie floats off your tongue, it’s like you actually believe it.”
“Don’t call me a liar!” David pushed Robert.
“Don’t touch me,” he replied in a soft sinister tone as he dropped the axe.
“I’ll do what I want!” David pushed him again.
Robert punched his father in the gut, knocking him to the ground. “Why don’t you go crawl into a whiskey bottle and stay there?”
“Stop it!” Elizabeth commanded in a loud impatient voice as she appeared in the barn door. “I won’t abide fightin’ on my farm!”
“He makes me so mad.” Robert stepped back, his face a bright red.
“I know he does, but I said no fightin’.” She looked down at David. “Well, don’t jest sit there, Mr. Crockett. Git up.”
“He called me a liar.” David realized he sounded like a child making excuses to his mother after being pulled up by the ear.
“It’s not like nobody never called you that before,” she said. “Now git up.”
As he stood David grumbled, “Polly’s children never talked to me like that.”
“Yes, they did,” she replied. “You don’t remember.” Elizabeth turned to Robert. “And you, young man, you have to git hold of yourself.”
“Why don’t you tell ‘im he can’t go?”
“You think it’d make any difference if I did?”
“No,” Robert said sourly.
“Remember what I said the other night?”
“No.”
“I said be good to your father.”
David remembered her telling him that when he slid into bed the night he decided not to stay. She also told him to be good to them. Both of them failed.
“He ain’t never been good to me.” Robert pointed to the new rifle and gear on the ground near the tool shelf. “He got William a gun and saddlebag and stuff. He ain’t never given me nothin’ like that.”
“There’s too much pain in the world without hurtin’ your own blood.” She paused to soften her voice. “Now you don’t begrudge your cousin a few nice things, do you? He’s had so much grief in his life.”
“I guess not.” Robert looked down. “William’s all right. He’s always done right by me. I guess he can have those things.” He looked up with anger at his father. “But why can I git ‘em too? I’ve had grief. I worked hard. I deserve somethin’.”
“You deserve everythin’, and one day you’ll git it,” Elizabeth replied in quiet assurance.
“So he gits to do anythin’ he wants,” Robert said.
“Somebody has to do the right thing first.” Elizabeth stared at David. “Most times it’s the parent, but sometimes not.”

***

“This must look familiar,” Sarah Beth said, holding up the worn leather-bound Bible.
“Yes,” Dave replied. “This is it.” He remembered when he was a child his mother would carefully remove the Bible from a bottom drawer of the bedroom dresser, as though she were handling a holy relic. His father, even though the Bible was from his side of the family, never seemed to care about it much. The pages were yellowed and very thin, seeming to fall apart if someone breathed too harshly on them.
Dave turned a few pages, the large elaborate initial letters of chapters stirring pleasant memories. Allan and Vince seemed to be nicer when their mother brought the old book out so they could admire the pretty pictures of Moses, David, Jesus, Paul and all the other characters in between. In the middle of the Bible his finger touched David Crockett’s signature. A few pages over he saw his grandmother’s handwriting which inscribed the birth of Lonnie Crockett. He tapped it.
“This is what I need,” he said. “Dad needs to present this to Social Security so he can get into a nursing home.”
“You may borrow it, of course,” Sarah Beth said.
“Your father is so fortunate to have such a loving son to go to all this trouble for him,” Myrtle gushed.
“I was visiting my sister in Dallas in July,” Sarah Beth explained as she motioned for all of them to sit. “We decided to go antiquing one afternoon. In this one bookstore I was getting bored. My sister wanted a first edition Dickens, I think, which didn’t interest me. My eyes caught the dark leather of that book on a table of old Bibles. When I first picked it up I could see it must be over a hundred years old. Then I opened it to the title page and saw the date eighteen thirty-five.”
“Oh, let me tell the story about Harriet,” Myrtle interrupted.
“She’s not to that part of the story yet, Mother,” Mary said with a bit of amusement.
“I could not believe my eyes when I turned to the family pages in the middle,” Sarah Beth continued, smiling at her aunt. “When I saw Davy Crockett’s signature I had to buy it. Even my sister forgot all about Dickens when I showed it to her.” She looked back at Dave. “I could tell the woman in the shop was a bit pained when I brought it to the counter, but I had to have it. The price was reasonable.”
Dave could not help but like the women. Sarah Beth was gracious, Myrtle vivacious and Mary patient. They seemed sincere in their interest in his family, but he did not understand why.
“Aunt Myrtle,” Sarah Beth said, “You may now explain why we are so enamored with Davy Crockett.”
Myrtle’s face brightened. “Our great great grandmother Harriet Goodell loved her husband very much, but she always said her first love was Davy Crockett.
“Her maiden name was Griffith, and her father Elijah was a prominent hat maker in Christiansburg, Virginia, in early eighteen hundred. Harriet’s mother died when she was twelve, leaving her to be mistress of the house. Apprentices came and went. All that changed one day when this handsome boy with beautiful red cheeks wandered into town. Harriet convinced her father to take him on as an apprentice.” She paused for emphasis. “And that young man was Davy Crockett. Smart as a tack, he picked up on learning the trade quickly, but he could not read, write or do his numbers. Harriet took it upon herself to teach him everything a child should learn in school, for, evidently, Davy had not gone to a real school a day in his life. That boy, as you probably know, came from a family in the depths of poverty.
“He lived and worked with Harriet and her father for almost two years, and during that time he learned to read, write and do arithmetic as good as anyone. Harriet said she thought he was a genius to have overcome all those obstacles to do what he did. Of course, during that time Harriet and Davy fell in love. By all accounts she was beautiful with golden ringlets, and, of course, he was extremely handsome. There was talk of marriage and Davy’s taking over the family business, but history had to run its course. Davy Crockett could not stay in a small Virginia town married to a hatter’s daughter. He was destined for greatness, and Harriet married Charles Goodell, who owned the local general store.” Myrtle’s face saddened. “They did not live happily ever after, but very few of us do.”

Davy Crockett’s Butterfly Chapter Twenty-Two

Captain Elmer Stasney slid his split tongue between his dark thick lips as he talked to Goodell. Shivers ran through Davy’s body. He ducked back to avoid being seen. After the captain walked away from the general store Davy crossed the dusty street to talk to Goodell.
“That was an odd lookin’ man, warn’t he?” Davy said, keeping his eyes down.
“He shouldn’t be too odd looking to you,” Goodell replied. “You were bound to him.”
“No, I warn’t.” His eyes widened as he looked up. “Honest. We talked about me being a cabin boy, but I changed my mind.”
“That’s not what he said.” Goodell’s voice was harsh.
“He’s lyin’.”
“Why would he come all this way to hunt you down if it didn’t come down to money?”
“Money?”
“Money he paid your parents for your indenture.”
“He never met my parents.”
“Master Davy,” he said with exasperation, “they drove you up in a wagon from Tennessee because all you could talk about was how you wanted to be a sailor.” Goodell paused to look into the boy’s fluttering brown eyes. “Did you want to be sailor?”
“Yes—I mean, I always liked ships, I gotta admit, but my ma and pa ain’t never been further away from home than North Carolina. Honest.”
“How did you get there, all the way from the mountains?”
“I ran away from home,” Davy admitted. “Pa was goin’ to beat me for skippin’ school.”
“I could almost believe that.” Goodell smiled with irony.
“I worked for one teamster then another until I got to Baltimore. Ships drew me, I guess. I met the captain and he offered me a job as a cabin boy.”
“Then you just changed your mind and ran off.”
“Yes, sir.” He gulped and looked away. “He scared me.”
“How did he do that?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“Master Davy, sounds like you haven’t had time to come up with a good story yet.”
He sputtered a moment, became flustered and then spat out, “Did he tell you how he got that tongue?”
“No,” Goodell replied. “I figured it was none of my business.”
“Well, I did it. I had to cut ‘im to git away.”
Goodell turned to go back into the store. Davy scampered after him.
“He was lickin’ the knife to scare me, and I grabbed it and cut ‘im.”
“Why would he be licking the knife?”
“I don’t know. To scare me.”
“So he tracked you down after all this time just to get even?”
“Yes.” He felt as though he were about to cry. “I don’t think he’s normal. Couldn’t you tell he was a li’l tetched in the head?”
“He said the main reason he was looking for you was because he went to your folks’ place in Tennessee and your ma cried when she found out you’d broken your bond. You shamed your family by doing that, Master Davy. Anyway, Captain Stasney said he didn’t mind losing the money, but he hated to see a woman crying because she didn’t know where her child was.”
“He saw ma?” Davy caught a mistake in the captain’s story. “He’s lyin’. I never told ‘im where I lived. How could he go see ma and pa when he didn’t know where to go? All he knew was that I was from the mountains.”
“Master Davy, he didn’t sound crazy to me.”
“But he didn’t say where in the mountains he went, did he?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“Mister Goodell, that man is crazy,” he insisted. “I’m afraid he wants to kill me.”
“Like Mister Jefferson took your advice on running for president and how you killed a bear when you were just a little boy?” The storekeeper shook his head. “I can’t remember all the wild adventures you’ve told me about.”
“I know I tell stories, but this ain’t—“
“Master Davy, there ain’t a friendlier boy I ever met than you. If I had to pick a fellow to go fishing with, I’d pick you.” He paused to look him straight in the eye but added in a whisper, “But I don’t believe you.”
Davy looked around, trying to figure out how to convince Goodell to help him. “Please don’t tell ‘im anythin’ until I git to tell Mister Griffith I have to leave.”
“With Captain Stasney, or are you going to run away?”
So this was what his life had become, Davy told himself. He was a winsome lad everyone liked but nobody trusted. Lying had created a cold, empty life for him, but starting to tell the truth at this point was not particularly helpful. Davy had to learn to be more honest, but today was not the day to do it.
“Of course. I’m going back with Captain Stasney. I’ve learned my lesson.”

***

Sissy was wrong. Somebody else did want David Crockett. William Patton and Abner Burgin and other good men wanted him to lead them to Texas. Sam Houston wanted him, and the good people of Texas would want him when he got there. Not if, he thought as he walked away from his daughter dressed in black, but when. His great commitment to his family failed in less than twenty-four hours. He decided it was not his fault. Inside their cabin Elizabeth bent over a large pot she had pulled away from the fireplace on a spit. David heard her humming a vague tune he had heard at some church meeting he had attended with her years ago. She was happy for the first time in a long time. It grieved him he was going to ruin that, but he had his own happiness to consider.
“Elizabeth, the children are dreadful sore at me.”
“Tell me somethin’ I don’t know.” She chuckled to herself. “Give ‘em time.”
“Robert thinks I don’t have it in me to stick around even a month.” He paused. “I don’t think he wants me to stick around.”
“Prove ‘im wrong. After a few months, a few years, and he’ll know.”
David sat on a bench by the table, watching her smiling, serene face. “I hit Matilda. I never thought I’d do that.”
“I know. She told me.” Elizabeth swung the pot back over the fire and then sat across the table from him. “I’ve felt like smackin’ ‘er a few times myself.” She reached across for his hands. “You know, you can’t blame ‘er. What’s jest a good story to you can be a lie to a li’l girl.”
“And jest now,” he continued, pulling away from her, “Sissy told me not to touch her, that nobody wanted me.”
“Your ma’s death dealt a real hard blow to ‘er . Rebecca had a gentle way with her, touched her heart in ways that even I couldn’t do.” She explained. “And when you went off like you did—“
“But I had to campaign—“
“I know you had to campaign, but you also had a daughter that thought you didn’t care.”
“How can you prove a thing like that?” David crossed his arms across his chest. “How do you prove you care?”
“Jest bein’ under the same roof for a spell is a good start,” she replied with a smile. “It takes time.”
“You know William, Abner and the others are showin’ up any day now expectin’ me to go Texas with ‘em.”
“They’re grown men. They can take disappointment.”
“It’d be like breakin’ my word to ‘em.”
“So?” she asked, her voice turning cold.
“If a man ain’t true to his word, then what good is he?”
“What are you sayin’, Mister Crockett?” Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed.
“I have to go,” he whispered.
Standing, she went to a side cupboard, opened a bin and grabbed carrots, potatoes and onions. She came back to the table, dumping the vegetables. Trembling, she picked up a large knife and stabbed the potatoes. David reached across to stay her hand.
“I don’t think you should be doin’ that.”
“You always have to go.” Her voice became raspy with anger. “That Christmas, snow on the ground, larder full and you had to go huntin’. We had plenty of food, but you said we needed meat. We always needed meat.” She said the word as though it were an obscenity. “We didn’t need meat. We needed you.”
“Give me the knife, Elizabeth.”
“You was gone for weeks, and then they came with your horse. They said you was dead. I’d already lost one husband to war, and now I’d lost another jest ‘cause he said we needed meat.”
“Elizabeth, you better sit down.” David took the knife from her hand.
“They said I’d better go collect the body. Collect the body. Do you know what that means?” She turned away. “But I found you alive, half dead of cold, but alive, so I bundled you up and brought you home. And when you was well, you left again. We had to have meat, you said.”
He stood and walked around the table, not knowing what to do or say. Elizabeth had never revealed raw emotion like this before. She was pleasant or extremely stoic, perhaps sometimes derisive. David had come to think of her as a sturdy workhorse, ever plodding, never feeling anything.
“And then came the politics and long weeks of talkin’ and buyin’ whiskey. That’s how you win votes, makin’ jokes and gittin’ drunk. That’s not how a farm is run. I git up every mornin’ and milk cows and feed chickens and plow fields, whether I feel good or not. You had politics. You went off to Murfreesboro and the legislature, run off to Washington and Congress, run off to New York for God knows what reason and I had to stay here and work the farm!” She swung around to glare at him, her eyes red with hot tears.
“Elizabeth, you didn’t say nothin’,” he relied.
“Poor John Wesley! He didn’t git to be a normal boy! He lost his mama and he lost his childhood. He hoed the field right next to me while you got drunk!”
“Elizabeth, I was an elected representative of the people,” he said as self-righteously as he could. “The people, the poor people, had to have one of their own to stand up for them.”
“Who was goin’ to stand up for us? John Wesley had to stand up for us! William had to work for us. Margaret had to be mother to our children. I had to work the land and run the mills you bought and left behind!” She pointed to herself. “I was the one knee deep in river water as the floods swept the mill away! And where was you? In Murfreesboro, standin’ up for the poor man! Who stood up for me?”
“I know what you did,” he said. “Thank you. I’m sorry if I never said that.”
“All the old folks I tended to until they died, all the babies I succored, what was that for, Mister Crockett?”
“It’s what folks do, Elizabeth.”
“No, some folks hunt for meat, git drunk, laugh with strangers and say aye or nay in Congress and call it work!”
“I’m sorry.”
“And that’s what I git for years of aches and pains and tears and blood and loneliness? After all these years of keepin’ on keepin’ on, farmin’ and tendin’ to everybody else, that’s what I git? I’m sorry?” Her large frame shook in spasm with holy anger. “No well done, thou good and faithful servant? No rest and comfort in my old age? Never! Not in this lifetime! Not from David Crockett!” Her hands flew up to her face and slowly wiped the tears from her broad tanned worn cheeks. She breathed in deeply several times and blew her nose on her apron. “I’ve supper to finish. The children must be fed.” She turned her back to him. “I won’t never speak of this again.”

***

As Dave’s plane lifted off from Dallas-Fort Worth Airport he put his head back and closed his eyes, thinking of what Tiffany said on the telephone.
“You didn’t have to hide all that stuff from me.”
She did not know, he thought. She just did not know. How could he tell her how he had to grow up in the house on Rice Avenue where his mother died, his father did not care and his brothers were not normal? He always relied on his mother’s laughter to make life bearable. Dave knew the exact time he decided he could not trust his father anymore. It was when Lonnie refused to bail Vince out of jail for drunk driving. It was not the money that bothered him; it was the fear that if he ever made a foolish mistake and wound up in jail his father would not bail him out either.
A tremble spurted through his shoulders, causing a plane passenger next to him to look askance before returning to her book. Dave remembered when he was five and Allan would jump from behind a door to scare him. Because Dave screamed, Allan laughed hysterically and repeated the sneak attack so often that Dave trembled when he walked through a dark room alone. He did not enjoy carnival rides because Allan liked to pretend he was going to push him out of the car. Allan also thought it was funny to chase little Dave around the house with a hot iron. Not only did Dave not trust Allan, he also thanked God his brother was dead.
He could not trust Vince either. Dave never got through a complete sentence without Vince interrupting him and calling him stupid or a liar. Dave’s shoulders shook again, causing the passenger next to him to shift in discomfort.
No wonder he did not want to tell Tiffany all this stuff, he told himself, but he had to tell her if their marriage were to survive.
The plane landed, Dave rented a car and followed Sarah Beth’s directions to her house. Now he had to convince this woman to give back the family Bible. He pulled up in front of the house and took a deep breath.
“Hello, you must be Dave,” Sarah Beth said as she opened the door. She was not as old as he expected, in her early fifties, perhaps. Her face was pleasant, and she was dressed in a blouse and pants that were flattering but not overtly stylish. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said, leading him into her living room. “I invited my aunt Myrtle Goodell and cousin Mary Jenkins over to meet you.”
The cousin was maybe Dave’s age and quite attractive and seemed too dignified a person to be interested in the descendants of Davy Crockett. Her mother Myrtle, on the other hand, absolutely glowed, her grayish silver hair recently permed and her dress pressed with efficiency.
“Imagine,” the old woman gushed as she went to Dave, her hand extended, “an actual grandson of Davy Crockett!” She shook his hand with vigor. “How many greats?”
“Pardon?” He leaned forward, not quite understanding what she meant.
“Are you a great grandson or a great great grandson?”
“Oh.” He smiled sheepishly. “Three greats.”
“I’m the great great granddaughter of Davy Crockett’s first true love,” Myrtle announced proudly.