The Mulberry Tree

You owe me, James Manville, Bailey thought as she gave Rodney a weak smile that she hoped wouldn’t show her revulsion.

Rodney bent over her and ran his hand down her arm. When it started to stray toward her breast, she twisted her shoulder.

Smiling, Rodney stood up. “What you need is a little drink.”

“No, thank you. I just—”

“You’re refusin’ my hospitality?” he said, all humor gone from his face.

“No, I just—”

“Well, good then, we’ll have a little drink, then you and me can spend the rest of the day . . . talkin’.” He wiggled his eyebrows at the last word as though he knew she wanted to spend the day doing something else with him.

Bailey was sure she was going to be ill, and if the man weren’t still holding a shotgun, she’d have left.

The next moment she nearly fell out of the chair when Rodney bellowed, “Woman! Get out here. Can’t you see we got company?”

There were two doors out of the room they were in, one open and one closed. Through the open door, Bailey could see a dirty, rumpled bed. The closed door opened a bit, and the pale face of a girl who looked about thirteen or fourteen peeped through.

“Out!” Rodney shouted, and the girl stepped into the room.

Bailey was shocked to see that she was heavily pregnant. She didn’t look old enough to be out of elementary school, much less having a baby.

Bailey looked up to see Rodney watching her, and there was pride on his face. “Mine,” he said smugly. “I’m good at makin’ babies. You got any?”

Bailey could hardly take her eyes off the girl, who was looking down at the floor and awaiting orders.

“You got any?” Rodney said louder.

“Any? Oh. You mean babies. No, I don’t have any children.”

“Well, maybe I can help you,” Rodney said. “Maybe you and me—”

The door behind the pregnant girl slammed open, and out stepped a beautiful girl of about fifteen. She had on a worn-out dress, but it was clean, and her blonde hair was clean and tidy.

“She don’t want any of your kids, and if you touch her, the cops’ll be out here again,” she said as she handed Rodney a can of beer.

“Nobody asked you,” Rodney snapped. “And where’s her drink?”

“She don’t want a can of warm beer at ten o’clock in the mornin’. Do you, miss?”

Bailey gave both of them a weak smile. “I really just wanted to ask a few questions.”

“About the Golden Six?” the girl asked, and there was so much derision in her voice that Bailey was taken aback. “About the glory days when he wasn’t a bum and worthless?”

“Get out of here!” Rodney shouted. “Leave me and my visitor alone.”

The girl didn’t so much as blink at the order, or at the volume at which it was delivered. “You leave her alone, you hear me?” She turned to Bailey. “He touches you, and you call out, you hear?”

Bailey could do nothing but silently nod.

“So go ahead and ask him your questions. He knows all about those six boys, and he’ll talk all day if you’ll sit and listen. His life stopped on the day Frank McCallum died.”

With that she put her arm tenderly around the pregnant girl’s shoulders, led her from the room, and closed the door behind them.

“Don’t pay her no mind,” Rodney said as soon as the door closed. “You’d think a daughter’d have more respect for her father than that girl does for me. The other one, the young one, she’s my wife.” He looked at Bailey. “Now you just ask me all you want.” He gave her a threatening look. “Unless you’re writin’ another book that’s bad about us.”

“No, I promise I’m not writing a book of any kind. I . . . ” She couldn’t think of a lie quick enough to explain why she wanted to know about him. And, truthfully, at this moment she couldn’t remember why she was there.