The Hunter

Jim Roy recalled the Christmas day two years ago when Will had proposed marriage to Eva. She had accepted at once. After he had left, Eva celebrated with her two children. "I thought he'd never get around to it," she had laughed. Once again light was shining in her blue eyes.

Now Jim Roy's eyes moved to the young bride dancing with her groom on the pavilion. She was lithe and graceful, attractive in a country girl way. She's Mrs. Bonnie Chastain now, the man thought. I guess prettier women have been married in this church, but I'll bet there's never been one more radiant than my little sister.

After a moment, Jim Roy noticed that an elderly woman was motioning for him to come to her. He approached the lady, whose name, he remembered, was Mrs. McCall. She had been wheelchair-bound for most of her life, the result of a bout with polio.

"You know who I am, don't you?" she asked as Jim Roy drew near.

"Yes Ma'm. You're Ellen McCall, Carl Chastain's grandmother."

"That's right. Here, sit down and talk to me."

The young man sat beside her in a cane chair. For a moment nothing was said as both watched the couple on the dance floor. "Nice couple, aren't they?" the woman finally murmured.

Jim Roy managed a smile. "They sure are."

The old woman turned, gazing at him with hazel eyes whose pupils had faded around the edges. Her white hair shimmering in the breeze, she said, "I guess an old lady like me can speak her mind."

"When Carl first brought Bonnie home to meet us, we didn't know what to make of her. If you don't mind my sayin' so, most of the other girls he courted were prettier, and smarter too."

"But I swear, that Bonnie had more life to her than any three women. Always smiling and cheerful. She's got a knack for makin' folks feel good. You know what I like to call her?"

"What's that?"

"Our little ray of sunshine. Nobody can light up a room like Bonnie when she walks in. And that sweet voice of hers. They asked her to sing 'Amazing Grace' at my last birthday, you know. And my goodness, she was like an angel come down from high to sing for me. We just love her to pieces."

"It's nice of you to say that."

The old woman turned to Jim Roy, studying him carefully. "How come you're so different from her? You take after your late father, I reckon."

"In some ways I do. Not all."

"Your problem, son, is that you go around with such a long face. Like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders. You need to brighten up, now your mother 'n sister are married off. You've got a good job, managing the hardware store. But the girls, they like a fella who can smile and make them laugh."

"I guess so."

"So try to be a little more cheerful, Jim Roy. Will you?"

"Yes, I'll try."

The old woman's smile faded. In a low voice she said, "I don't know that you will."

Now uncomfortable, Jim Roy said, "It was nice talking to you, Mrs. McCall." He got up and slowly walked to the back steps of the church. From there he looked out over the cemetery. His eyes were drawn to a marble tombstone near the back on the right side.

He did not need to read the name chiseled there. He had stood before that grave dozens of times; watched as his mother and sister placed flowers there. That tombstone wandered through his dreams, sometimes accompanied by the sharp report of a hunting rifle.

Shaking his head, Jim Roy walked down a path to the river. He sat down on a wide gray rock at the edge.

Well, river, he said to himself, here we are again. You've held my secrets. And Sheriff Ramsey even now looks at me in a certain way. But whatever his suspicions, he's kept them to himself.

The young man's face grew dark as he looked across the boulders and green water of the Santeetlah. Again came more thoughts. River, I have a question for you. Why is the cost of human happiness so high? Why must it sometimes be bought with blood and guilt and shame? I'd really like to know, because I've lain awake so many nights wishing I knew the answer.

From his pocket Jim Roy withdrew a small bronze-colored object: the spent shell of a .27 caliber rifle. He felt its smooth cool surface in the palm of his hand.

And another thing, river. Was it worth it? Was happiness for those two women up there at the church worth the price paid? The life of Floyd McCarter, and the shadow over mine? I'll never be free of this burden of guilt. What I did will haunt me for the rest of my life. Was I right to give up any chance of real happiness in exchange for theirs? Tell me, river.

The river's cold waters flowed around the boulders, seeming to murmur as they went, "Did you love them that much?"

A sad smile came to the young man's face. "Yes," he said quietly. "I loved them that much."