A Prodigal's Path

By Carol Crandell

When Judge Sarah remands Danny Jenkins and Sam Andrew into the custody of Mort and Mary Bishop, Danny struggles to accept that if he blows his chance with Mort, he takes Sam down with him. As Sam succumbs to Mary’s mothering, Danny nurses his anger and resists Mort’s guidance. At school, Danny finds that his running ability threatens

• Language: English
• Publisher: URLink Print & Media, LLC
• Release date: Jun 18, 2018
• ISBN: 9781643670065

Carol Crandell

Carol Crandell, a retired English teacher who taught Oregon children how to write, learned to write with her students. She holds a master's degree in English from Portland State University and is the author of Merry-Go-Round, a memoir in prose and poetry. It does not matter that she now lives in a green valley with lots of rain, the basalt rims, desert sand, and sage are in her blood. Her earlier life east of the Cascade Mountains left indelible memories, smells, and sounds that find their way into her writing. For now, her companion in life is Twiggy, a fifteen-pound tabby cat.

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Copyright © 2018 Carol Crandell

All rights reserved

First Edition

URLink Print and Media

Cheyenne, Wyoming

First originally published by URLink Print and Media. 2018

ISBN 978-1-64367-005-8 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64367-006-5 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

In memory of

Pat Briley (1933 – 2011)

The best friend a mule ever had

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Chapter 1

H ey Danny! Slow up will ya?

Sam caught the yard gate before it slammed against his leg. Latching it securely, he trotted down the cracked sidewalk behind the tall figure striding away into the darkness. On the corner of the block, a lone streetlight lit the tangle of tumbleweeds and loose papers piled against the curb by the March winds blowing off the hills north of Burns, Oregon.

Danny waited, one shoulder propped against the lamppost as his cousin, Sam, came to a halt beside him. Hunching lower into the upturned collar of a faded denim jacket, he jammed his fists into the pockets. Inside, frustration built, turning into a slow burn. It had been three months since his world had fallen apart.

Images swirled through his mind like a slide show. Sam brought home for fighting at school, again. Uncle Mitch coming home drunk after losing yet another job and Aunt Carrie, his mother’s sister, screaming at him while their toddler wailed in counterpoint. The cool night air and music fading into nothing as Mitch’s pickup jolted down the winding ranch road to the highway. Who would guess that the jerk would call the cops?

Then he sat on the hard wooden seats in the courtroom. Aunt Carrie melting down, leaving the room sobbing hysterically, "I quit. Do what you want with these kids! I’m taking my kids back to Portland!" After that, Judge Sarah had placed Sam and him with Mrs. Skinner in her already overcrowded foster home.

Tonight Mrs. Skinner’s order to help with the little’uns was too much. What did he know about bathing toddlers? ’Sides, he’d been trying to make sense of a biology chapter while trying to block out the blare of the television that echoed through the thin walls of the old house. Something snapped. He knew he was the oldest in the group, but he resented doing things he knew the county paid her to do. It wasn’t as if he didn’t help around the place; he kept the wood box filled, kept his own room cleaned, and helped around the house with other chores, not to mention the baby sitting. He shook his head trying to dispel the inner darkness, but he still felt guilty for shouting at her and walking out. She hadn’t had to take him and Sam, after all, when the alternative was juvenile detention for him and a foster home in Bend for Sam. She already had her hands full.

He glanced at the red haired boy whose head came almost to his shoulder. The hero worship in Sam’s eyes made him wince and he looked away. If not for Sam . . .

Sam pulled his windbreaker tighter. Let’s walk, Danny. It’s cold out here.

They trudged along Highway 20, the main street through town, ducking in and out of the circles of streetlight. Danny watched each shiny car that passed and noted the girls snuggled next to the boys who drove casually up and down the street. Envy stirred, thrusting aside the slow burn of rage that had consumed him earlier. He walked faster and faster, almost breaking into a run, but Sam’s puffing beside him broke through his fog, and he stopped beside a car parked in front of a small frame house.

Light from the corner glinted on the shiny chrome but wrapped the two boys in shadow. Without thinking, Danny reached for the door handle. It clicked open. A quick glance showed keys dangling in the ignition. He slid into the bucket seat. Go around and get in Sam, he whispered.

Sam slid into the seat beside him and pulled the seatbelt tight. What are you gonna do, Danny?

Just take her for a spin. I’ll bring her right back and nobody’ll know. He ran his hands over the smooth fabric of the seat and caressed the running horse that decorated the center of the steering wheel. A Mustang. Yes! His fingers slipped to the keys and turned the ignition. A throaty rumble woke beneath the hood and he shivered. This would be fun. Stepping on the clutch, he shifted into gear and eased the car away from the curb and into the street. He blended into traffic until he reached the outskirts of town at the end of the reduced speed limit. Revving the engine, he clutched smoothly and shifted into high gear. The car responded like a colt out of the starting gate as he accelerated rapidly, heading west into the open country.

Ooooeee!! Whadda ya think of this, Sam? he chortled. The fence posts lining the highway whipped past, caught briefly in the headlights that skimmed the edges of the wild. Beside him, Sam stared grimly into the blackness beyond the windshield, trying not to watch the needle of the speedometer as it climbed. One white-knuckled hand clutched the armrest, and his freckles stood out like cinnamon specks on his white face. He closed his eyes tight in terror.

The strobe of flashing lights from behind lit up the interior of the car and a siren wailed as they crested a long hill and flew down the other side. Danny stomped the accelerator and the car leaped forward.

Stop, Danny! Sam shouted.

Sam’s fear pierced Danny’s euphoria like a pail of ice water dashed in his face. Shit! Danny sucked in a deep breath, hit the turning signal, and tapped his brakes. Narrow shoulders and a deep ditch bordering the highway left no safe place to stop. Danny slowed the car and watched for a wide spot as the red and blue of the patrol car lights continued to flash through the rear window. There. The headlights revealed a break in the darkness, showing white against a side road. He braked hard, tires spinning in loose gravel as he pulled off the highway, the flashing lights coming to a halt behind him.

With both hands on the steering wheel, he sat with head bowed, Sam quiet in the seat beside him. He’d done it good this time.

Danny sat up when the beam from a flashlight beat at him through the side window, and, at a gesture from the tall shadow standing outside, opened the door and stepped out.

Slowly, a deep voice said. Turn around and place your hands on the car. Spread your legs. While the one with the voice held the light steady, other hands patted him down.

Nothing, sir, the hands said. What about the other one?

Leave him out of it, Danny muttered. Sam didn’t do nothin’.

The shadow with the light, nodded. Sure, but we have to check anyway. The gruff voice gentled. Come on out here, Sam.

The two boys stood side by side, blinded by the bright lights and unable to see clearly the faces of the two officers.

Where were you heading son? the voice with the light asked.

Danny shrugged. No place. Just down the road a ways and back to town.

Hmmm. Let’s see your license, the voice continued.

Don’t have one. Danny slumped. Bad to worse.

Your car?

No, Sir. Now they’d nail him for car theft, too!

So, where’d you get the car? The quiet voice was neutral, not accusatory.

Found it parked on the street. Danny shrugged. "Keys were in it and the door was unlocked. Just thought I’d see what it felt like. Then when it started and I heard that engine, I just had to drive it! I was going to put it back, honest. I wasn’t stealing it!" He glared defiantly at the officer but couldn’t read his expression hidden by the shadows.

Think we’ll let the judge sort this out, the man with the light said, turning to his deputy. Put the kids in the patrol car and you drive the Mustang back to town.

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An hour later, Danny and Sam waited on a hard bench in the holding area at the county jail. Danny scowled. He hadn’t meant to get Sam into trouble, but here they were, together, as they waited, he wasn’t sure for what. Sorry, Sam. He glanced at the smaller boy slumped beside him. Not exactly what you expected, huh?

Sam shook his head from side to side, his eyes partially hidden by thin red hair that fell across his forehead. To Danny’s eyes, Sam looked paler than usual. Worried, Sam?

The boy nodded and raised one hand to swipe at his eyes. Then he looked up at Danny. What’s going to happen to us Danny? We never hurt anything.

"I know that, and so do you. Still, we took the car – I took the car and you rode along. This isn’t my first time, either. Reckon that means trouble for me. But you? Bet the judge just warns you. It is your first time, right?"

Sam nodded. His thin shoulders hunched as he slumped lower on the bench.

The hall door opened and the burly sheriff entered, keys jingling in his hand. Come on out, boys. You’re wanted in the judge’s office. He led them down the hall and into a room where four chairs faced a large oak desk. Mrs. Skinner, their foster mother filled one of them, and Danny saw her scowl at him before he focused on the woman seated behind the desk. Judge Sarah, the one who had sent him and Sam to foster care, frowned at him. The overhead lighting silvered her short hair and fatigue emphasized the fine lines fanning out from her eyes and the corners of her mouth.

She looks old tonight, he thought. She’ll throw the book at me for sure.

Sit down! She pointed to the empty chairs. Danny felt impaled by the steady look from her hazel eyes. Those eyes dredged up all of his secrets, sifting through them one by one before she shifted her gaze to Sam and then back, again, to Danny.

You do realize, young man that taking a car is a felony, and I can send you both to MacLaren, for at least a year?

Danny looked down at his worn tennis shoes with the laces dragging and tried to swallow around the lump that seemed to swell in his throat. Sam in MacLaren? No way! He couldn’t let that happen.

I should do it, she snapped, slamming her hand down on the folder that lay open on her desk. "This tells me that you’ve done this twice before Danny  . . . and, this time, you took a younger boy along with you. Her angry voice beat at him. You could have been killed! The deputy who stopped you said that he clocked you at almost 100 miles per hour!"

More like one-ten, Danny muttered.

The judge made a funny muffled sound, and Danny’s head snapped up. She was staring at him, and he thought he saw a hint of a smile behind the hand she had lifted to her mouth. Had she tried to hide a laugh? At him? Nah. He glared at the floor.

No! She shook her head. A year in juvenile would be too easy, but I think a year of hard labor would fill the bill nicely. Maybe you need to dig a few holes and fill them up again.

Danny gasped. He looked at Sam who looked stunned. But . . . you can’t . . .

Oh yes I can! She shook her finger at him. Just you keep that in mind.

Beside him, Sam rubbed nervous hands back and forth on his jeans. He looked terrified. Danny’s mind raced. He couldn’t let Sam get punished. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Ma’am? he asked quietly.

Judge Sarah looked at him for a long moment before nodding.

Please don’t sentence Sam the same as me. It was all my idea. I was upset and mad at Mrs. Skinner when I took the car. All Sam did was come along. He watched Judge Sarah’s face as she glanced at Sam. ’Sides that, he ain’t very big and strong.

All right. Judge Sarah finally broke the stillness. She nodded before turning to the big man standing beside the door. Clive, I want you to send a deputy with the boys back to Mrs. Skinner’s house so they can get their things. They’re going to spend the night right here. In jail. She turned to the faded woman seated before her. I know all this is hard for you Maria, but I do think these boys need a man’s hand.

Come on boys. Clive gestured to the door. Let’s get going. Mrs. Skinner? I’ll have the deputy follow you with the boys. He held the door, as she gathered her purse and buttoned her shabby brown coat, tucking a scarf around her neck.

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A short time later, after waiting for coffee to perk, Judge Sarah and Sheriff Clive sat with steaming coffee mugs cradled in their hands. She sighed deeply and looked at Clive. I really don’t know what to do with those boys. We don’t have juvenile facilities and I don’t want to see Danny put in with chronic delinquents. At heart, he’s a good kid. He’s just not handling the stress and changes in an acceptable way. She took a sip of coffee before thinking out loud. They can’t go back to Maria.

Clive shook his head. Yeah, it’s a problem all right. Maybe that’s something the county commissioners need to think about.

Could be, but that doesn’t help me now. She fell silent and they sat in the quiet of the late night. Then she shrugged and looked at Clive. So, how did your day go?

He chuckled. Well, you know Mort Bishop and that old stock trailer of his . . . I met him out on the highway heading to the feed store. He shook his head, chugged the last of his coffee, and went to pour another cup. Want another? he asked over his shoulder.

No. One’s enough, she said. Now, what about Mort?

Clive settled back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. Trailer lights still don’t work; he says he can’t afford to get them fixed, and that he don’t know nuthin ’bout electrical stuff’. You know Mort.

Judge Sarah nodded.

Anyway, I wrote him another ticket, the third one. Told him to come see you. What are you gonna do with him?

She started to shake her head but looked at him, her eyes widening.

Mort! they said in unison.

Mort could straighten ’em out . . . if they can be straightened! Judge Sarah set her mug on the desk beside her and looked at the clock. Hmmm. Ten o’clock. A bit late, but I bet they’re still up. Think I’ll give Mary a call. She grabbed the phone and waited for two rings. Mary? Sarah here. I have a bit of a problem on my hands and wondered if I could drive out and visit with you tomorrow? Clive watched as she nodded. If you’re coming to town anyway, why don’t we meet for lunch? I can tell you what I’m thinking about. About one? Good. I’ll be caught up here by then, I hope. See you tomorrow.

She turned to Clive. "That’s set. I’ll talk to Mary and see how she feels about taking on two boys. It has been awhile since they’ve had any kids around the place."

If you’re through here, Clive turned off the coffee maker, I’ll lock up and walk you to your car. Jeff should be getting back with the boys by now

They met Jeff and the boys in the front office. Take them to the cell block, Jeff. I’ll be right back. Clive held the door for Judge Sarah.

In the cell block, Jeff led the boys to separate cells. Can’t let you share a cell, boys. The single bunks are too narrow. But they’re not that bad. He saw panic flicker across Sam’s face and stopped. Placing a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder, he tried to reassure him. It’s only temporary, Sam. County’s got no other place to put you. It’s not like we’re locking you up for a major crime. Judge Sarah just wants you to be safe. ’Sides that, if you’re ’in jail’ you get to eat purty good.

Sam nodded, but didn’t reply. His feet dragged as he lugged a duffle bag over to the bunk. He looked at Danny, sitting slumped on the bunk in the adjoining cell, and visibly flinched when the cell door clanged shut.

Danny sat on the bunk, his face a picture of gloom, as he listened to the echo of Jeff’s footsteps fading down the hallway. A click of a switch cut off all the lights except for a low wattage bulb creating a pool of dim light near the far doorway. Behind the deputy, the door clanged shut with a metallic thud.

There was a muffled sob in the next cell.

Sam?

Silence.

We’ll be okay, Sam. Something will work out. Danny reckoned he lied, but what the heck if it helped Sam? He lay back on his bunk, staring at the ceiling, exhausted but unable to sleep. It would be a long night.

Chapter 2

The next day over lunch at

the nearby café, Judge Sarah and Mary caught up on the small events of their week. Finally, over coffee, Sarah sat back and looked at Mary. How would you feel about having kids in the house again?

Mary’s eyebrows rose two notches and she grinned. Funny question, Sarah. You know I’m past all that! She cut into the strawberry pie and popped a forkful into her mouth. Sarah waited.

Mary finally gave in. Why do you ask?

I have two boys, one sixteen and the other thirteen, sitting down in the jail cells because there’s no place else for them. They were with Maria Skinner, but she has too many little ones under foot and no man in the house to help with discipline. These boys aren’t bad kids, Mary. Sam, the youngest one, lost his mother about six months ago and came to live with his dad, Mitch Andrews. The courts in Portland sent Danny to live with his Aunt Carrie, Mitch’s wife. Unfortunately, she couldn’t handle them and walked out leaving the boys with Mitch. He works on a ranch out a ways, likes his booze, and knocks the boys around when he’s drunk. I just don’t know what to do with them. She pushed the last of her dessert around on her plate while she waited for Mary’s thoughts.

I’d have to talk to Mort, Mary said softly, as she nodded. You know, I’ve been concerned about him. He loves those mules, but he’s not getting any younger. We’re having more and more trouble keeping up the place and Mort knows it. I see the spark just going out of him. Joe is busy with his own place and growing family and doesn’t share his dad’s interest in the mules. That leaves Mort with less and less incentive to keep going. If he has to give up the ranch . . . well, I just don’t know, Sarah."

Sarah leaned forward. So, you’ll talk to him? It doesn’t have to be permanent, and the county will pay for the boys’ upkeep.

Mary nodded. He came to town with me. Said he had to talk to Pete about something for one of the mules. I’ll catch up with him and we’ll see. How about our stopping by your office later this afternoon?

Perfect! Sarah reached for the lunch tab and headed for the cash register. Oh, Mary! She gave her friend a quick hug. This just might work out after all.

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At three, after a tedious day with nothing but meals and his biology book to break the boredom, Danny looked up when he heard boots clump in the hallway. It was Clive.

Judge wants you in her office. He opened the cell doors. Let’s not keep her waiting.

Uh oh! Danny glanced at Sam whose look asked, ‘Now what?’

Come on in here, boys. Judge Sarah’s voice welcomed them. I want you to meet Mort Bishop and his wife Mary. This is Danny Jenkins. She patted the taller of the two boys on the shoulder. And this is Sam Andrews.

Danny looked from Judge Sarah to the man seated in one of the chairs before her desk. He wore faded jeans and worn boots and balanced