dk.solesurvivor-第31部分

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ea　by　those　names。　That's　as　far　as　I　carried　it。　Because　then　I　was　awakened　by　those　bastards　in　my　hotel　room；　a　pistol　in　my　face；　and　told　to　butt　out。'
　　
　　To　the　end　of　the　gravel　road　and　onto　the　paved　state　route；　where　sizzling　silver　rain　danced　in　a　froth　on　the　blacktop；　Barbara　fell　into　a　troubled　silence。　Her　brow　was　creased；　but　not…Joe　sensed…because　the　inclement　weather　required　that　she　concentrate　on　her　driving。
　　The　lightning　and　thunder　had　passed。　Now　the　storm　threw　all　its　energy　into　wind　and　rain。
　　Joe　listened　to　the　monotonous　thump　of　the　windshield　wipers。　He　listened　as　well　to　the　hard…driven　drops　snapping　against　the　glass；　which　seemed　at　first　to　be　a　meaningless　random　rattle；　but　gradually　he　began　to　think　that　he　perceived　hidden　patterns　even　in　the　rhythms　of　the　rain。
　　Barbara　found　perhaps　not　a　pattern　but　an　intriguing　puzzle　piece　that　she　had　overlooked。　'I'm　remembering　something　peculiar；　but。。。
　　Joe　waited。
　　'。。。but　I　don't　want　to　encourage　you　in　this　weird　delusion　of　yours。'
　　'Delusion？'
　　She　glanced　at　him。　'This　idea　that　there　might　have　been　a　survivor。'
　　He　said；　'Encourage　me。　Encouragement　isn't　something　I've　had　much　of　in　the　past　year。'
　　She　hesitated　but　then　sighed。　'There　was　a　rancher　not　far　from　here　who　was　already　asleep　when　Flight　353　went　down。　People　who　work　the　land　go　to　bed　early　in　these　parts。　The　explosion　woke　him。　And　then　someone　came　to　his　door。'
　　'Who？'
　　'The　next　day；　he　called　the　county　sheriff；　and　the　sheriff's　office　put　him　in　touch　with　the　investigation　mand　centre。　But　it　didn't　seem　to　amount　to　much。'
　　'Who　came　to　his　door　in　the　middle　of　the　night？'
　　'A　witness；'　Barbara　said。
　　'To　the　crash？'
　　'Supposedly。'
　　She　looked　at　him　but　then　quickly　returned　her　attention　to　the　rain…swept　highway。
　　In　the　context　of　what　Joe　had　told　her；　this　recollection　seemed　by　the　moment　to　grow　more　disturbing　to　Barbara。　Her　eyes　pinched　at　the　corners；　as　if　she　were　straining　to　see　not　through　the　downpour　but　more　clearly　into　the　past；　and　her　lips　pressed　together　as　she　debated　whether　to　say　more。
　　A　witness　to　the　crash；'　Joe　prompted。
　　I　can't　remember　why；　of　all　places；　she　went　to　this　ranch　house　or　what　she　wanted　there。'
　　'She？'
　　'The　woman　who　claimed　to　have　seen　the　plane　go　down。'
　　'There's　something　more；'　Joe　said。
　　'Yeah。　As　I　recall　。　。　。　she　was　a　black　woman。'
　　His　breath　went　stale　in　his　lungs；　but　at　last　he　exhaled　and　said；　'Did　she　give　this　rancher　her　name？'
　　'I　don't　know。'
　　'If　she　did；　I　wonder　if　he'd　remember　it。'
　　
　　At　the　turnoff　from　the　state　route；　the　entrance　road　to　the　ranch　was　flanked　by　tall　white　posts　that　supported　an　overhead　sign　bearing　graceful　green　letters　on　a　white　background：　LOOSE　CHANGE　RANCH。　Under　those　three　words；　in　smaller　letters　and　in　script：　Jeff　and　Mercy　Ealing。　The　gate　stood　open。
　　The　oiled…gravel　lane　was　flanked　by　white　ranch　fencing　that　divided　the　fields　into　smaller　pastures。　They　passed　a　big　riding　ring；　exercise　yards；　and　numerous　white　stables　trimmed　in　green。
　　Barbara　said；　'I　wasn't　here　last　year；　but　one　of　my　people　gave　me　a　report　on　it。　ing　back　to　me　now。　。　。　It's　a　horse　ranch。　They　breed　and　race　quarter　horses。　Also　breed　and　sell　some　show　horses　like　Arabians；　I　think。'
　　The　pasture　grass；　alternately　churned　by　wind　and　flattened　by　the　pounding　rain；　was　not　currently　home　to　any　horses。　The　riding　ring　and　the　exercise　yards　were　deserted。
　　In　some　of　the　stables；　the　top　of　the　Dutch　door　at　each　stall　was　open。　Here　and　there；　from　the　safety　of　their　quarters；　horses　peered　out　at　the　storm。　Some　were　nearly　as　dark　as　the　spaces　in　which　they　stood；　but　others　were　pale　or　dappled。
　　The　large　and　handsome　ranch　house；　white　clapboard　with　green　shutters；　framed　by　groupings　of　aspens；　had　the　deepest　front　porch　that　Joe　had　ever　seen。　Under　the　heavy　cape　of　gloom　thrown　down　by　the　thunderheads；　a　yellow　glow　as　weling　as　hearth　light　filled；　many　of　the　windows。
　　Barbara　parked　in　the　driveway　turnaround。　She　and　Joe　ran　through　the　rain…previously　as　warm　as　bath　water　but　now　cooler…to　the　screened　porch。　The　door　swung　inward　with　a　creak　of　hinges　and　the　singing　of　a　worn　tension　spring；　sounds　so　rounded　in　tone　that　they　were　curiously　pleasing；　they　spoke　of　time　passed　at　a　gentle　pace；　of　gracious　neglect　rather　than　dilapidation。
　　The　porch　furniture　was　white　wicker　with　green　cushions；　and　ferns　cascaded　from　wrought…iron　stands。
　　The　house　door　stood　open；　and　a　man　of　about　sixty；　in　a　black　rain　slicker；　waited　to　one　side　on　the　porch。　The　weather…thickened　skin　of　his　sun…darkened　face　was　well　creased　and　patinaed　like　the　leather　of　a　long…used　saddlebag。　His　blue　eyes　were　as　quick　and　friendly　as　his　smile。　He　raised　his　voice　to　be　heard　above　the　drumming　of　the　rain　on　the　roof。　'Mornin'。　Good　day　for　ducks。'
　　'Are　you　Mr。　Ealing？'　Barbara　asked。
　　'That　would　be　me；'　said　another　man　in　a　black　slicker　as　he　appeared　in　the　open　doorway。
　　He　was　six　inches　taller　and　twenty　years　younger　than　the　man　who　had　mented　on　the　weather。　But　a　life　on　horseback；　in　hot　sun　and　dry　wind　and　the　nip　of　winter；　had　already　begun　to　abrade　the　smooth　hard　planes　of　youth　and　bless　him　with　a　pleasantly　worn　and　appealing　face　that　spoke　of　deep　experience　and　rural　wisdom。
　　Barbara　introduced　herself　and　Joe；　implying　that　she　still　worked　for　the　Safety　Board　and　that　Joe　was　her　associate。
　　'You　poking　into　that　after　a　whole　year？'　Ealing　asked。
　　'We　weren't　able　to　settle　on　a　cause；'　Barbara　said。　'Never　like　to　close　a　file　until　we　know　what　happened。　Why　we're　here　is　to　ask　about　the　woman　who　knocked　on　your　door　that　night。'
　　'Sure；　I　remember。'
　　'Could　you　describe　her？'　Joe　asked。
　　'Petite　lady。　About　forty　or　so。　Pretty。'
　　'Black？'
　　'She　was；　yes。　But　also　a　touch　of　something　else。　Mexican　maybe。　Or　more　likely　Chinese。　Maybe　Vietnamese。'
　　Joe　remembered　the　Asian　quality　of　Rose　Tucker's　eyes。　'Did　she　tell　you　her　name？'
　　'Probably　did；'　Eating　said。　'But　I　don't　recall　it。'
　　'How　long　after　the　crash　did　she　show　up　here？'　Barbara　asked。
　　'Not　too　long。'　Ealing　was　carrying　a　leather　satchel　similar　to　a　physician's　bag。　He　shifted　it　from　his　right　hand　to　his　left。　'The　sound　of　the　plane　ing　down　woke　me　and　Mercy　before　it　hit。　Louder　than　you　ever　hear　a　plane　in　these　parts；　but　we　knew　what　it　had　to　be。　I　got　out　o　bed；　and　Mercy　turned　on　the　light。　I　said；　〃Oh；　Lordy；〃　and　then　we　heard　it；　like　a　big　far…off　quarry　blast。　The　house　even　shook　a　little。'
　　The　older　man　was　shifting　impatiently　from　foot　to　foot。
　　Ealing　said；　'How　is　she；　Ned？'
　　'Not　good；'　Ned　said。　'Not　good　at　all。'
　　Looking　out　at　the　long　driveway　that　dwindled　through　the　lashing　rain；　Jeff　Eating　said；　'Where　the　hell's　Doc　Sheely？'　He　wiped　one　hand　down　his　long　face；　which　seemed　to　make　it　longer。
　　Barbara　said；　'If　we've　e　at　a　bad　time…'
　　'We've　got　a　sick　mare；　but　I　can　give　you　a　minute；'　Ealing　said。　He　returned　to　the　night　of　the　crash。　'Mercy　called　Pueblo　County　Emergency　Rescue；　and　I　quick　got　dressed　and　drove　the　pickup　out　to　the　main　road；　headed　south；　trying　to　figure　where　it　went　down　and　could　I　help。　You　could　see　the　fire　in　the　sky…not　direct　but　the　glow。　By　the　time　I　got　oriented　and　into　the　vicinity；　there　was　already　a　sheriff's　car　blocking　the　turnoff　from　the　state　route。　Another　pulled　up　behind　me。　They　were　setting　up　a　barrier；　waiting　for　the　search…and…rescue　teams；　and　they　made　it　clear　this　wasn't　a　job　for　untrained　do…gooders。　So　I　came　home。'
　　'How　long　were　you　gone？'　Joe　asked。
　　'Couldn't　have　been　more　than　forty…five　minutes。　Then　I　was　in　the　kitchen　here　with　Mercy　for　maybe　half　an　hour；　having　some　decaf　with　a　shot　of　Bailey's；　wide　awake　and　listening　to　the　news　on　the　radio　and　wondering　was　it　worth　trying　to　get　back　to　sleep；　when　we　heard　the　knocking　at　the　front　door。'
　　Joe　said；　'So　she　showed　up　an　hour　and　fifteen　minutes　after　the　crash。'
　　'Thereabouts！
　　Its　engine　noise　masked　by　the　heavy　downpour　and　by　the　shivery　chorus　of　wind…shaken　aspens；　the　approaching　vehicle　didn't　attract　their　attention　until　it　was　almost　upon　them。　A　Jeep　Cherokee。　As　it　swung　into　the　turnaround　in　front　of　the　house；　its　headlights；　like　silver　swords；　slashed　at　the　chain…mail　rain。
　　'Thank　God！'　Ned　exclaimed；　pulling　up　the　hood　on　his　slicker。　The　screen　door　sang　as　he　pushed　through　it　and　into　the　storm。
　　'Doc　Sheely's　here；'　Jeff　Ealing　said。　'Got　to　help　him　with　the　mare。　But　Mercy　knows　more　about　that　woman　than　I　do；　anyway。　You　go　ahead　and　talk　to　her。'
　　
　　Mercy　Ealing's　greying　blond　hair　was　for　the　most　part　held　away　from　her　face　and　off　her　neck　by　three　butterfly　barrettes。　She　had　been　busy　baking　cookies；　however；　and　a　few　curling　locks　had　slipped　loose；　hanging　in　spirals　along　her　flushed　cheeks。
　　Wiping　her　hands　on　her　apron　and　then；　more　thoroughly；　on　a　dish　towel；　she　insisted　that　Barbara　and　Joe　sit　at　the　breakfast　table　in　the　roomy　kitchen　while　she　poured　coffee　for　them。　She　provided　a　plate　heaped　with　freshly　baked　cookies。
　　The　back　door　was　ajar。　An　unscreened　rear　porch　lay　beyond。　The　cadenced　rain　was　muffled　here；　like　the　drumming　for　a　funeral　cortege　passing　out　on　the　highway。
　　The　air　was　warm　and　redolent　of　oatmeal　batter；　chocolate；　and　roasting　walnuts。
　　The　coffee　was　good；　and　the　cookies　were　better。
　　On　the　wall　was　a　pictorial　calendar　with　a　Christian　theme。　The　painting　for　August　showed　Jesus　on　the　seashore；　speaking　to　a　pair　of　fishermen　brothers；　Peter　and　Andrew；　who　would　cast　aside　their　nets　and　follow　Him　to　bee　fishers　of　men。
　　Joe　felt　as　if　he　had　fallen　through　a　trapdoor　into　a　different　reality　from　the　one　in　which　he'd　been　living　for　a　year；　out　of　a　cold　strange　place　into　the　normal　world　with　its　little　day…to…day　crises；　pleasantly　routine　tasks；　and　simple　faith　in　the　rightness　of　all　things。
　　As　she　checked　the　cookies　in　the　two　ovens；　Mercy　recalled　the　night　of　the　crash。　'No；　not　Rose。　Her　name　was　Rachel　Thomas。'
　　Same　initials；　Joe　realized。　Maybe　Rose　walked　out　of　the　crash　suspecting　that　somehow　the　plane　had　been　brought　down　because　she　was　aboard。　She　might　be　anxious　to　let　her　enemies　think　that　she　was　dead。　Keeping　the　same　initials　probably　helped　her　remember　the　false　name　that　she　had　given。
　　'She'd　been　driving　from　Colorado　Springs　to　Pueblo　when　she　saw　the　plane　ing　down；　right　over　her；'　Mercy　said。　'The　poor　thing　was　so　frightened；　she　jammed　on　the　brakes；　and　the　car　spun　out　of　control。　Thank　God　for　the　seat　belts。　Went　off　the　road；　down　an　embankment；　and　turned　over。'
　　Barbara　said；　'She　was　injured？'
　　Spooning　lumps　of　thick　dough　on　greased　baking　sheets；　Mercy　said；　'No；　both　fine　and　dandy；　just　shaken　up　some。　It　was　only　a　little　embankment。　Rachel；　she　had　dirt　on　her　clothes；　bits　of　grass　and　weeds　stuck　to　her；　but　she　was