Not by Sight
Ozark Mountain Trilogy —Book 1

Prologue

" "We live by faith, not by sight."
2 Corinthians 5:7

Jimmy Dale Oldham had never killed anything bigger than a June bug.  Hunting was supposed to come as natural as breathing to every Arkansas boy.  Not him. At least if he could hit his mark, the kill would be quick and clean and the animal wouldn’t suffer. That might be the best he could hope for.

He took careful aim through the scope of the Winchester 94 30-30 caliber rifle he inherited as his birthday present. He slowly squeezed the trigger and an empty soup can popped off a log about fifty yards away.  He pretended it was a feral hog. He’d never shot one but was convinced he could do it now. Maybe. He didn’t dare give in to the revulsion he felt every time he saw his dad shoot and butcher wild game.  Or admit how disappointed he was that this birthday present was not the Smartphone he had hoped for.

Dad said that turning twelve was a rite of passage. And being given a rifle passed down for three generations was something special—especially since Winchester had stopped making this model. Grandpa and Dad had hunted with this rifle and downed every kind of wild game that roamed the Ozark Mountains—and had wall mounts to prove it.

Jimmy Dale ran his fingers along the smooth, polished wood handle. He had always admired the look of Daddy’s prize Winchester and the respect it had earned from less-successful hunters who recognized his father’s exceptional marksmanship. He was proud to make the rifle his.  He just preferred not to shoot anything that breathed.

He glanced up at a red-tailed hawk flying away with something squirming in its talons. He wondered how long he could put off going with Daddy and Uncle Jake to hunt the sounder of feral hogs that were ruining crops, burrowing into lawns, and eating up all the wild turkey. There were plenty of boys his age who could shoot a pesky porker without thinking twice about it. Maybe once he did it a few times, he would toughen up and be like them. Then his dad would be proud of him. His stepdad sure wasn’t.

Jimmy Dale stood erect, the afternoon sun browning his bare shoulders, and lifted the rifle. He took aim and ever so carefully squeezed the trigger. Another soup can popped off the log. Perfect. No squealing. No bleeding. Nothing to butcher. His kind of “kill.” He fixed his gaze on an empty gallon milk jug set on a big rock near the tree line about a hundred yards away.  He hadn’t hit one—yet. But there was a first time for everything.

He took off his red cap, wiped the sweat off forehead, then put the cap back on and raised his rifle. He got the plastic bottle in his sights and squeezed the trigger. Missed. He cocked the rifle and took another shot. Missed again.

He spit out a curse word he knew was grounds for his mom to wash out his mouth with soap. He discharged the empty shell and dug his heels into the dirt. Holding his breath, he took careful aim, his index finger positioned on the trigger—and squeezed. The plastic bottle didn’t move. He hadn’t even grazed it.

He threw his hat on the ground. He stunk at this!  How come girls never had to prove themselves this way? It wasn’t fair. He gripped his rifle tight and trudged through a field thick with larkspur, primrose, Indian paintbrush, and black-eyed Susans.   He stopped at the rock and reached out to snatch the milk jug and move it back fifty yards just as a deep voice bellowed from nearby in the woods.

“That’s some wild shootin’, boy!”

Jimmy Dale jumped, his heart beating like a scared rabbit’s, and saw a silhouette of someone in the dark woods—it appeared to be a bearded man, a little girl clinging to him like a monkey.

“I thought I was alone out here,” Jimmy Dale confessed, his face scalded with humiliation.  “I’m pretty good at fifty yards, but can’t seem to hit anything beyond it.  Name’s Jimmy Dale Oldham. Folks call me J.D.   I live over yonder about a mile.” He nodded toward the west. “What’s your name, Mister?”

The bearded stranger didn’t answer. He said something to the little girl and set her on her feet, then reached down to the ground and started dragging something across the forest floor and out into the light. It was an injured man, the front of his shirt soaked with blood.

The bearded stranger let go of the man’s wrists. The guy’s arms fell to the ground like dead weight, his face hidden by tall clumps of Indian paintbrush.

“You killed him.”  The bearded stranger locked gazes with Jimmy Dale.

“Me …?” Jimmy Dale struggled for a moment to find his voice.  “I-I didn’t see a soul out here. I wasn’t aiming for him. Honest. I was just shooting at that milk carton.”

“You missed.”

“It was an accident.”

“So you say.”

“Is he really d-dead?” Jimmy Dale’s knees began to wobble and he couldn’t bring himself to look at the body.

“Ain’t got a pulse.”

“I-I didn’t mean to do it.”

“He’s just as dead either way. The law’ll expect you to pay for what you done.”

“Please, Mister. I’ll tell the sheriff it was an accident. You saw everything. You can tell him.”

“All I seen was a man shot! I don’t know nothin’ about the why or how of it!” The stranger’s gruff voice made his little girl whimper, and he shot her an admonishing look, his index finger to his lips.

Jimmy Dale took a step backward. He remembered hearing about another boy who shot and killed a man, was tried as an adult, and went to jail. How could this be happening to him? What would his parents say?  His whole life might be over before his voice even changed. Or he got his driver’s license. Or a Smartphone.  He glanced out across the field and wanted desperately to run. But the stranger knew his name and where to find him.

“Sir—” Jimmy Dale felt urine soak the front of his jeans—“I-I don’t know what to do. I didn’t mean any harm. I’ll swear to it on the Bible. Please …you have to believe me. This man probably has a family. We should tell someone.”

“I know him.  He don’t have kin.”

The bearded stranger was about his dad’s age. Piercing eyes. He wore denim overalls and no shirt.  His arms were hairy, his biceps big and lumpy like Uncle Jake’s.

“Go on home, boy.” The stranger spoke softly now. “What’s done is done. I’ll see to him.”

“What’re you gonna do?” Jimmy Dale’s heart pounded so hard he was sure his accuser could see his bare chest moving.

“Ain’t your concern.  Don’t  never speak of this to nobody or I’ll be forced to tell the sheriff what I know, and they’ll throw you in jail ’til you’re an old man. Now go on. Git! Keep your mouth shut and don’t never come back here.”

“I won’t. I promise.” Jimmy Dale turned on his heel, holding tightly to the murder weapon, and raced full throttle across the open field, wildflowers flattened under the thrusting blows of his Nikes, his rush of adrenaline fueled by fear and shame. If only he hadn’t tried to hit the stupid target at a hundred yards! His birthday rifle had been used for decades to put food on the table and trophies on the wall, and now he’d put a man down with it.  His dad would be devastated if he ever found out his son had killed a man. He couldn’t let that happen.

Jimmy Dale fell on his knees when he reached the place where he had fired the fatal shot and retched until his lunch came up. He found his cap and put it on, then looked back at the tree line. The bearded stranger and the little girl were gone. So was the body.  Nothing Jimmy Dale could say or do would bring the man back to life. All he could do now was try to forget it happened and hope the stranger did the same.

Chapter 1

Abby Cummings floated in the opaque gray fog that separated slumber from wakefulness. The buzz of her alarm clock would soon fill the silence. She would have to open her eyes and face the day she’d been dreading for weeks. Why was it still traumatic after five years? Everyone told her that time heals all wounds. Not hers. And especially not today.

She turned on her side and stole a glance at the clock before clamping her eyes shut again. Four forty-five. She still had thirty minutes. She hugged the same pillow that had faithfully muffled her anguished sobs and despairing cries, and had been pummeled with her blows of helplessness.  Not that using her pillow to vent had ever made her feel better. Or stopped the torment of living without closure. But it had afforded her a private place to deal with raw emotion without feeling judged for it.

Her family seldom talked about what had happened anymore. But the past lurked in the shadows, uttering the same relentless litany of questions for which only God had answers. The anniversary always brought it back with bone-chilling clarity.

Abby sighed and sat up, rubbing her eyes and letting her legs dangle over the side of the bed. She turned on the lamp and glanced at the empty toddler bed across the room, still made up with a pink-and-white fitted quilt. She could almost see the tiny figure that once occupied it, cheeks rosy with sleep, a smile twitching the corner of her mouth as a sweet dream danced through her mind.

She ached for those tender moments of cuddling with her sister and singing lullabies. Riley Jo’s curls always smelled like baby shampoo and seemed softer than the shared pillow that cradled their heads.

Abby swallowed the sting in her throat and told herself not to cry. She needed to be brave today. Her mother would be more fragile than usual—not that she would admit it to anyone.

Abby slid out of bed and onto the wood floor. She stepped over to her dresser, opened the top drawer, and carefully removed a small white-satin box. She took out the gold heart ring with a tiny diamond she’d received for her tenth birthday and held it in her palm. She pressed the ring to her cheek and closed her eyes, remembering the sound of her father’s voice.

“You’ll always be my princess,” Daddy said, sliding the heart ring on her finger. “Even when you’re all grown up and some handsome and brilliant young man convinces you to marry him …”

The blaring alarm clock stole the sweetness of the moment, and Abby rushed over and turned it off. She let her racing pulse settle down and held the ring to the light once more, blinking back her tears. Finally, she returned the precious keepsake to the satin box and tucked it in the corner of her drawer. Not even happy memories would ease the angst of reliving this painful, life-changing day for a fifth time. She just wanted to get it behind her.

She picked up her khakis and Angel View staff shirt from the overstuffed chair next to her bed and pushed herself toward the bathroom.

It would be a tough day to get through. Working would help. But she wasn’t going to pretend it was just another day, even if the rest of her family did. .

__________

Abby hurried along the glass wall at Flutter’s Cafe, balancing a tray of empty breakfast dishes on one palm, the sadness in her heart soothed by the magnificent, lava-colored sky visible as far as the eye could see. Sunrays fanned out from the golden rim separating earth and sky and turned the blanket of fog on Beaver Lake a glowing shade of pink—

bby felt a jolt, and then the tray flew from her hand and landed with a deafening crash. Glass shattered. Silverware clanked on the stone floor. Her cheeks flushed as she stared at her mother.

Kate Cummings scanned the broken dishes, a look of realization replacing her blank stare. “That door really whacked you. Let me see. ” She gently brushed the hair off Abby’s forehead and looked for any sign of injury. “You’re going to have a bump, honey. But it’s not bleeding. How do you feel?”

“My pride hurts a lot worse than my head.” Abby felt her cheeks warm as she imagined customers staring. “What about you?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.”

Her mother smoothed her neatly coiffed hair that was almost as gray as it was auburn, then straightened the Angel View owner-manager name tag she had worn ever since Abby could remember.

“Sorry, Mama. You can take it out of my paycheck.”

“I’m not going to dock you.” Her mother smiled, though her eyes looked tired and sad. “Just be careful.”

“The sunrise was awesome, and for a moment I almost forgot … anyhow, it won’t happen again.”

Her mother seemed to go a little pale at the reminder. Abby ducked down to pick up the silverware and broken dinnerware.

“Don’t fool with that, honey. You’ll cut yourself.” Mama reached for her arm and pulled her to her feet.

Abby avoided eye contact. It was impossible to hide her feelings, and it seemed obvious that her mother was working hard to contain her own.

Savannah Surette, her ponytail swaying from side to side, hurried over to them. “Here, boss,” she said to Mama. “Let me get that. I’ll fetch the broom and have this cleaned up in no time.”

“Thanks.” Her mother glanced over at the bustling dining room and then out the window at the June sunrise that painted the clouds covering the lake. “I’m sure the guests hardly noticed our little mishap—not with a view like that.”

“That’s fuh shore,” Savannah said. “The bayou was pretty, and we had oodles of fog, but we didn’t have Angel View Lodge. First time I’ve ever lived in a place where I could look down on the clouds. Takes my breath away.”

“You and Benson are a great addition to our staff.”

“You mean for a couple of crazy Cajuns who talk funny?” Savannah laughed. “We do love it here.” She looked down at the mess again. “I’ll be right back.”

Mama put her arm around Abby. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt.”

“Sorry for the hassle. I’m a little off today.” Abby waited, longing for her mother to say something—anything—to acknowledge the anniversary.

“Well, an Angel View sunrise can distract the best of us.” Her mother’s cheery demeanor belied the heaviness in her voice. She wet her finger and wiped something off Abby’s cheek. “It’s a good thing that Beaver Lake is beautiful in every season. Mother Nature draws the guests. All we have to do is make them comfortable.”

“You sounded like Daddy just then.”

“I’m surprised you remember details like that after all this time.”

“I do. And I remember the last time I heard his voice was five years ago today.”

Mama flinched ever so slightly, and Abby could almost hear the dead bolt slide across the door of her heart. “I’m well aware of what day this is.” She seemed to stare at nothing, her eyes watering. “I’m glad you find comfort in remembering. I don’t.”

“Don’t you ever wonder if Daddy and Riley Jo are still alive?”

“I accepted a long time ago that they’re not coming back. Maybe one of these days we’ll find out what happened so we can put it to rest.”

Abby bit her lip. “People still gossip. Why don’t you defend Daddy?”

Her mother ran her thumb across the diamond wedding band she still wore. “We’ve been through this, Abby. My being defensive won’t stop the gossip. Or change anyone’s mind. Gossip is pure poison, and there are always casualties.”

“Well, I refuse to be a casualty.” Abby folded her arms across her chest. “I’m the only one in this family who ever defends Daddy.”

“And has defending him put a stop to the talk?”

“At least everyone knows where I stand.”

Mama tilted Abby’s chin and looked her squarely in the eyes. “There’s a pain so deep in me, there’re no words for it. But I don’t feel obligated to discuss my private thoughts with anyone.”

“Because you have doubts?”

“Because I don’t. Now drop it.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Abby set her lips in a straight line and turned away.

“It’s hard enough getting through each day without them," Mama said. "It doesn’t help when my own daughter criticizes me for the way I handle my grief. I can only be what I am. I can’t live in the past, even if people in town are still whispering about it. I’ve put it behind me the best I can.”

Well, I haven’t. Abby looked back into her mother’s pretty face and sad blue eyes, wishing she hadn’t brought it up.

Savannah came out of the kitchen, carrying a large plastic bucket, a broom, a mop, and a dustpan. “Benson said to tell y’all that he’s making gumbo and cornbread for today’s lunch special. That oughta make your taste buds stand up and sing.”

“Everything he’s made so far has,” Mama said. “I’m enjoying adding a little Cajun flair to our Ozark cuisine.”
As Abby left the conversation, she glanced out at the tinted fog on the lake, powerless to shake the heavy, ominous, unsettling feeling that she had anticipated would descend on this day. The only thing harder to bear than the unanswered questions was the fact that her mother had stopped asking them.

__________

Buck Winters sat with a friend at Flutter’s Café and observed his granddaughter taking the breakfast order of the folks at table six. Even though Abby was pleasant, he could tell that the smile she wore was strictly professional. She was probably embarrassed and upset about the earlier mishap.

Abby liked to please. And Kate had high expectations of everyone on staff, including her kids. Probably because Kate and Micah had built Angel View Lodge from the ground up and invested so much of themselves. After he disappeared, it had become almost a monument to his memory.

Buck’s gaze followed his granddaughter as she tended to customers. Abby was so much like Kate at sixteen, her hair long and thick and the color of an Irish setter. Deep blue eyes. Fair skin and a natural blush to her cheeks. Cute figure. Sweet from the inside out. It was both a wonder and a blessing that she didn’t have a serious boyfriend to complicate her young life. One more year of high school—and then she would be off to college.

“Where’d you go, Buck?” Titus Jackson said. “You seem miles away.”

Buck lowered his gaze and peered over the top of his glasses at the retired history professor who reminded him of Sidney Poitier. “Sorry, Titus. I was thinkin’ about Abby. Seems like yesterday she wore her hair in pigtails and I carried her on my shoulders down to our favorite fishin’ hole.” He chuckled. “And I’d hate to guess how many times I put the arms and legs back on that baby doll she just wouldn’t part with.”

Titus took a sip of coffee. “And now she’s lost interest in the doll and the fishing?”

Buck smiled. “At least she’s not boy crazy. That’s one headache we don’t have yet. She hangs out with Jay Rogers, a real nice kid from school, but they’re just friends.”

“I imagine it’s hard on Kate, raising Abby, Hawk, and Jesse without the love and support of a husband.”

“It helps havin’ her dad livin’ with her,” Buck said. “I do what I can. But it’s hard on those kids growin’ up without a dad. I’d give anything to see Micah walk through that door with Riley Jo and put an end to this nightmare. In case you didn’t know, it was five years ago today that they disappeared.”

Titus ran his finger around the rim of his cup. “I didn’t know y’all when they went missing, but it’s easy to see the painful effects of it. Mind if I ask you a personal question?”

“Go ahead.”

“Did the sheriff ever have a lead in the case?”

Buck shook his head. “Micah and Riley Jo just seemed to vanish. Micah’s truck was still parked in the driveway. Kate was the only family member around that afternoon. I'd taken Jesse to a movie, and Hawk was workin' at the lumber company . Abby'd spent the night with a friend but called to check in that morning. I was sittin' in the kitchen at the time. Micah answered, and they had a right cute exchange. Before they hung up, Micah said he'd see her at dinner. Sure sounded to me like he planned to be home.”

“So Kate was the last person to see Micah and Riley Jo?”

"As far as we know. Micah came into the office and told Kate he was takin’ Riley Jo fishin’. Kate was busy and didn’t see them leave. None of the guests didn't either, which I found kinda odd. Sheriff’s deputies searched the path to the lake and combed the woods around it. Never found any sign of them.”

“Has anyone else disappeared?”

“Nope. I suppose you’ve heard the rumors.”

Titus shrugged. “I’ve heard a few oddballs say Bigfoot got them—or aliens. And I’ve heard others say Micah ran off with another woman and took Riley Jo with him. I’d rather know what you think.”

“Thanks for that. Speculation’s been hurtful. Truth is, Kate and Micah had been fussin’ at each other for a couple weeks over a business issue they disagreed on. The sheriff had to consider the possibility that Micah left her. Never rang true with me. But you never really know what’s goin’ on inside a person either.”

“Any idea why he’d take his youngest daughter with him?”

Buck wrapped his hands around his coffee cup. “All I can figure is Riley Jo was the only one of his kids young enough to forget the past. She’d be able to adapt to his new life. But even if he wanted out of the marriage, I can’t see Micah bein’ cruel enough to take Kate’s baby girl away from her.”

“So this is what the rumor mill’s been feeding off of all this time?”

“No. Kate and me and the sheriff are the only ones who know they were havin’ a squabble.” Buck stroked his mustache. “Gossip started flyin’ after a couple town busybodies thought they might’ve spotted Micah and Riley Jo at the corner of Main and Cleveland, gettin’ into a car with some blonde woman. Of course, neither of them can describe the car or the woman. And, at the busiest intersection in town, no one else saw them. But as time went on, the story got enhanced. I’m sure some folks believe it.”