Chapter 10: The Long Day
Thursday was the longest day Maggie Holloway could remember. She woke before dawn, fed Biscuit, made her coffee, and went about her morning exactly as she always did, because Sheriff Benson had told her the most important thing she could do was act normal. Roy Beckett's men were watching the roads, and if Maggie changed her routine, they might guess something was coming. So she did the things she always did, and she did them slowly, and she tried not to think about the men in the barn, or the raid planned for dawn, or the club riding toward Millbrook.
She began the day in her garden, watering tomatoes and beans, and she let Biscuit run ahead of her through the damp grass. She made her coffee and sat at the kitchen table, and she said a small, quiet prayer for the four men in the barn, for Sheriff Benson, and for the riders on the road. Then she washed her cup, put on her coat, and picked up her purse, and she looked like any other old woman on any other morning in Millbrook. Only her hands, trembling a little as she turned the key, would have told a different story.
She drove into town for groceries, and stopped at the market, where she chatted with the owner about bean prices, and bought exactly what she always bought: milk, eggs, bread, and apples. She stopped at the library to return a book, and the librarian asked how she was, and Maggie said she was fine, and asked about the librarian's garden. She stopped at the church to drop off a casserole for the bake sale, and the ladies asked her to stay for coffee, and she stayed for one cup, and listened to their talk about the school roof and the harvest festival, and said nothing about barns or bikers.
After the church, she stopped at the post office, where the postmaster asked about Lily, and Maggie said her granddaughter was doing well in Des Moines, and that she hoped to visit soon. She stopped at the hardware store for a bag of dog food, and the owner asked about her garden, and Maggie said the tomatoes were coming along nicely. She smiled at everyone, and everyone smiled back, and nobody guessed that her hands were trembling when she reached for her keys, or that she was counting the hours until dawn. She was an old woman running errands, and that was exactly what she needed to be.
All the while, her mind was elsewhere. She thought about the four men in the barn, and wondered if they had slept, and if they were afraid. She thought about Sheriff Benson, and hoped the warrant had been signed. She thought about Big Jim Callahan and his riders, somewhere out on the highway, riding toward her town. She thought about her granddaughter Lily, far away in Des Moines, and wished she could call her. But she kept her face calm, and her voice steady, and nobody in town guessed that the quiet old schoolteacher was carrying a secret big enough to shake the whole county.
Out at the Beckett farm, Roy Beckett was having a bad day of his own. He had found fresh tire tracks near the barn that morning, tracks that did not belong to any of his trucks, and a scrap of wool caught on a nail by the barn door, the kind of wool that might come off a blanket. He had questioned Lyle, who swore he had seen nothing, and Garrett, who swore the same, and he had walked the fence line twice, looking for signs of a visitor. He found nothing more, but the tracks nagged at him, the way a loose tooth nags at a man. Someone had been near his barn. Someone had been watching.
Lyle and Garrett had spent the morning walking the fence line, looking for signs of a visitor. Garrett found a footprint in the soft ground near the barn door, too small for any of his crew, and Lyle found a button in the dirt, the kind that might come off an old woman's coat. Garrett laughed it off and said it could have been there for years. Lyle said nothing, but he kept the button in his pocket, and he kept looking over his shoulder for the rest of the day. When they reported to Roy, he told them to stop imagining things, but his voice was sharp, and he ordered an extra man at the barn that night, just in case.
That afternoon, he drove into town himself, and parked across from the market, and watched Maggie come out with her groceries. He watched her load her bags into the truck, and pat Biscuit's head, and drive away, calm as any other day. He told himself he was being foolish, that an old woman buying milk was no threat to him. But as he drove back to the farm, he could not shake the feeling that the ground was shifting under his feet, and that something was coming, something he could not stop. He posted an extra man at the barn that night, and told his crew to stay alert, and sat up late in his office, staring at the bills on his desk, waiting for a morning he did not know was going to change everything.
Back at the farmhouse, Maggie made herself a simple supper and ate it at the kitchen table, with Biscuit lying at her feet. The phone rang as the sun was setting, and it was Sheriff Benson, calling to tell her that everything was ready, and that the raid would go forward at dawn. She thanked him, and hung up, and sat for a long time in the quiet house, watching the road through the window. Somewhere out there, the riders were waiting in town, and the troopers were taking their positions, and four men in a barn were holding on to hope. Maggie put on her coat and walked out to the porch, and stood there under the stars, and waited for morning, the way she had waited for so many things in her long life: patiently, and without giving up.