The Mulberry Tree

“Did he see you?” Bailey asked.

“Oh, yeah. He saw me, and when he did, the arrogant look of James Manville left his face, and he was that scared little boy again. But I put my finger to my lips and shook my head to let him know that I’d never tell, and Luke smiled back at me. I always liked Luke.”

“I want to know everything about him,” Bailey said.

But Burgess smiled. “Sorry. Can’t help you there. All I know is that Frank left town right after graduation, stayed away for a few years, and when he came back, he had a kid with him. I once asked Kyle why we never saw the kid, and Kyle said that he was deformed, so Frank kept him hidden away up in the mountains so people wouldn’t make fun of him. It wasn’t any of my business, so I never asked any questions about him. I never even saw the kid until he was a teenager. He used to sneak down out of the mountains and visit . . . ” Burgess paused for a moment. “A farm. There was a nice little farm on—”

“Owl Creek Road,” Bailey said. “The old Hanley place.”

“Yes! That’s it. Have you seen it?”

“Yes,” Bailey said softly. “It’s beautiful. There’s an old mulberry tree in the back that—” She stopped; the man’s machines had begun to beep wildly. “I’m sorry, I’ve upset you. I think we should go.”

“No, please don’t leave,” Burgess said. “It’s lonely here, and I’d like to talk. I go days without saying a word. I used to be known as a pretty good storyteller.”

Bailey looked at Matt, and he smiled.

Burgess was silent for a moment as he looked from one to the other of them. “Maybe you’d like to hear about the Golden Six and what really happened.”

“Yes,” Matt said. “We’d like to hear anything you can tell us.”

For a moment Burgess closed his eyes. “Dying has made me want to tell the truth.” He opened his eyes and looked at Bailey. “It was all caused by that bitch, T. L. Spangler. You know that?”

“I read most of the book,” Bailey said softly. “All that I could stand to read of it, that is.”

Burgess shook his head. “No, n

ot that part. Not what was written in that book. She tried to justify the horror she’d caused, but she knew what she’d done. I hear she’s in Washington now,” Burgess said, then smiled. “Politics. Backbiting and underhanded tricks. That’s where she belongs.” He paused a moment to calm himself. “It all started with a bet, a bet that Roddy lost, a bet that changed the lives of a whole lot of people. If you’ve read the book, then you know all about that social class crap she harped on, but some of it was true. We were kings in Calburn and nobodies in Wells Creek.

“But what that ugly woman didn’t write in her book was that she was behind all the hatred that happened in Wells Creek. You see, Roddy— Is he still alive?”

“Yes,” Bailey said. “He’s alive. And he’s mean and he’s crazy, but he’s still marrying little girls and producing babies.”

Burgess smiled. “Then he hasn’t changed at all. He always was mean and crazy, but back then he was also beautiful, and few people outside Calburn could see past that beauty. Your father could,” he said, looking at Matt, who’d taken a seat beside Bailey. “Kyle couldn’t stand Roddy, just plain detested him, and contrary to what’s been written, it had nothing to do with Roddy’s ‘parental origins’ or his ‘social status.’ Roddy was born mean, and he never changed.”

“And my father disliked him,” Matt said thoughtfully. “But I thought the Golden Six were—”

“One for all and all for one?” Burgess said, then tried to laugh, but when the machines started beeping again, he calmed himself and held up the arm that was filled with needles. “I’d take them out, but they’ll just put them back in,” he said with a sigh. “Now where was I?”

“A bet,” Bailey said. “You said it all started with a bet.”

“Yes. I remember that day clearly. We were in Wells Creek High School, standing by the lockers. It was Kyle, Roddy, Frank, and me. Roddy was trying to impress Kyle. Talk about an impossible task! But Roddy was even more full of himself back then, so he bragged to Kyle that he could get any girl in the world. For some reason, instead of ignoring him as he usually did, Kyle turned around and glared at Roddy. Then Kyle gave this little smile that I’ll never forget. ‘Her!’ Kyle said. ‘Get her.’ It was Theresa Spangler. Have you seen a picture of her?”

“I have,” Bailey said, then looked at Matt. “Have you?”

Puzzled, Matt said, “Sure, she was on the cover of Time.”

“No,” Bailey said, “not a recent picture. Have you seen what she looked like in high school? Back then, she was—”

“A dog,” Burgess said. “A real bowzer.” He closed his eyes for a moment as he remembered that day. “Roddy went to her and gave her his best sexy looks, his oiliest, most lustful come-on lines, but Spangler wasn’t affected by him. She told Roddy to drop dead, that she wanted nothing to do with him.

“You should have seen his face.” Burgess chuckled. “Roddy thought all the girls at Wells Creek were mad for him, but here was this dog telling him to get lost. By then a crowd of girls had gathered, and they were whispering among themselves. Roddy’s pride was hurt, so he said, ‘Who’d want an ugly old hag like you anyway?’ and started to walk away. But Spangler—” Burgess had to take a breath before he could go on.

“Loudly, down the length of the hallway, Spangler said, ‘You might have beauty, and I might be ugly, but I have brains and you don’t. I can get my face fixed, but you can’t get a brain. Someday I’ll be in the White House, while you’ll be in a shack dreaming of the days when you were beautiful.’ ”

“Yeow!” Matt said. “She was certainly right on the money, wasn’t she? Smart girl.”

“A good memory, anyway,” Bailey said. “But she stole the whole thing from Winston Churchill.”