If You Believe

He cast a sureptitious sideways glance at her.

She was sitting hunched over, her hands curled in her lap. Pale-faced, sad-eyed, she stared out across the land. He knew that she was searching the fields, waiting for Mad Dog to return.

"I think he loved you," he said softly.

There was a bng, quiet moment, and then slowly she nodded. "So do I, Jake. "

They lapsed back into a familiar silence. He dug deep for the courage to say what needed to be said. "My mama loved hin, too. "

She turned to him, surprised. "What?"

Jake tried to smile. "Im his son. "

She seemed for a moment to stop breathing. Her eyes widened. "Does he know?"

He nodded. He asked me to go with him when he left. "

A sad smile shaped her lips. "That sounds like him. Why didnt you?"

He gazed steadily at her. "I . . . J guess I thought you Were as much a mother as he is a father. "

"Oh, Jake . . . " She breathed his name, too moved by his simple words to say more.

"Hell be back. "

She shook her head, dashed away tears with the back of her hand. "No, honey, he wont be back. "

"Im not just saying that. Ive gotten to know him. Hell be back. "

She gave him a fragile smile, but didnt say anything.

Jake wouldnt give up so easily. "Hell be back. " He said the words over and over again, trying really hard to make himself believe them.

Two short, sharp blasts of the trains horn roused Mad Dog from a restless, dreamless sleep. He blinked blearily and pushed away from the cold, shuddering boxcar wall.

Running dirty fingers through his equally dirty hair, he sat up and glanced outside.

The countryside whipped past him in a freezing white blur. He had no idea where he was; the landscape looked like Texas, or Arizona, or New Mexico—any of a dozen places hed been in the last few weeks. The days and nights were beginning to blur together in his mind, merging into a hazy, forgettable collage of snow-covered towns and empty train cars.

Jesus, it was cold. He rubbed his hands together and blew into them, trying to create the momentary illusion of warmth.

The horn blared again; its piercing wail hovered for a split second in the frosty air, then melted into the wheezing chugs of the locomotive and disappeared. Giant iron wheels locked and screeched, grinding and bumping along the tracks as the engine began to slow down.

The trains speed decreased, and the whipping air faded into a gentle, snow-scented breeze. Without the wind, the pungent smell of the boxcar became overpowering.

Old horse dung, musty burlap . . . human sweat.

Mad Dog winced. Christ, he needed a bath. He tugged on the wiry hair at his chin, and stared outside. Before he knew it, he was thinking about Lonesome Creek again.

Mariah.

Her name came to him on the breeze, winging through his mind like a breath of fresh air. Hed done that a lot lately, thought of Mariah and Jake and the farm. It was strange; all his life hed thought about where he was going. Every new town was like an unopened Christmas gift, a treasure just waiting to be found. But lately things were different. He was thinking more about where hed been and what hed left behind. And more and more, that place, that time, felt like the unopened present.

He sighed, shoving his hand through his hair again. Hed never done that before, looked back, and he didnt like it.

Hed done the right thing. Of course he had. Sooner or later, hed forget Mariah. He always forgot women. It was one of his gifts.

That and offending people.