Counting Miracles

Chapter Five

I

On Sunday evening, after cleaning Arlo’s wounds, Jasper whittled on the porch until dark, then wandered back inside the cabin. He opened a can of chili for dinner and split it with Arlo, but his mind continued to whirl, and his stomach remained too clenched to eat. He couldn’t forget staring down the barrel of a rifle, or the empty smile of the young man gripping the gun. After forcing down only a few spoonfuls, he gave the rest to Arlo.

As he was rinsing out the bowl, his mind turned to the dead deer he’d found and he wondered how long the white deer would survive in a world where people prized the killing of beautiful things.

A lifetime ago, he remembered, a different white deer had been spotted in the Uwharrie. He was seventeen and the news had been just as exciting back then as it was now, so his father brought him to the forest in the hope of a sighting. It was the last time they’d spent a weekend together at the cabin before his father’s heart had given out.

They’d spent hours in the forest trying to find it. His father was an excellent hunter; he could tell at a glance how recent a track might be, he knew that scat could indicate the health of an animal, and he had an instinctive feel for places where deer might have bedded overnight. In late afternoon, when they’d finally stopped to eat, his father began to speak. It was an odd conversation, for his father never mentioned peaches or even a single Bible verse. Instead, he related to Jasper some of the myths and stories associated with white deer. He said that King Arthur had tried and failed to trap one, and that the Kings and Queens of Narnia had chased one, only to tumble out of the wardrobe. He mentioned that the Ojibway—a tribe in the upper Midwest—regarded the white deer as a reminder of our own spirituality, before sharing with Jasper a legend from the Chickasaw.

In the legend, a young warrior named Blue Jay fell in love with Bright Moon, the daughter of the chief. The chief, who didn’t believe Blue Jay was worthy of his daughter, decreed that the young couple could only be together if Blue Jay brought to the chief the hide of a white deer. Blue Jay spent lonely weeks in the forest in search of one. Finally, he found just such a deer and loosed an arrow, and though it struck home, the deer strangely didn’t die. Instead, it fled, luring Blue Jay deeper into the forest, until he eventually became lost. Bright Moon, with a broken heart, never loved another man again. Instead, in the smoke of the evening campfires, she often saw the white deer fleeing through the forest while her Blue Jay chased after it; in the legend, she lived the rest of her life praying for the deer to die so Blue Jay could finally return to her.

As he listened, Jasper wondered whether his father had also been speaking about himself. Somehow, he had the sense that his father wanted him to know the depth of his longing for the wife he had lost, a woman Jasper never knew. He wanted his son to understand why he’d never remarried or even dated. Perhaps, Jasper reflected, his father saw himself in both Bright Moon and Blue Jay.

Struck by these insights, he sat in silence. His father moved on to another myth, this one from Europe, before they resumed their search once more.

But they were never able to catch sight of the white deer, much to his father’s disappointment. A few weeks later, as Jasper stood over his father’s grave, he found himself wondering whether his father had sensed his time on earth was coming to an end; he wondered whether his father saw in the deer a last chance to glimpse the woman he had loved and lost.

In Celtic mythology, after all, white deer were believed to be messengers from the otherworld.

II

After breakfast the next morning, Jasper collected the keys to his truck and another bandanna. Arlo followed him out the front door and Jasper cautiously descended the steps to the dirt and gravel path out front.

The truck was more than half a century old, its paint faded and upholstery torn. When the engine was cold, it sometimes took three or more turns of the key before it coughed to life. Jasper often wondered whether he or the truck would give out first.

The tailgate groaned as he lowered it. Arlo wagged his tail but made no move to hop up. Instead, Jasper pulled out a set of plastic steps and Arlo walked up the steps as if he were royalty.

“You’re welcome,” Jasper said.

Closing the tailgate, he climbed behind the wheel and set off for town. When he reached the parking lot of the sheriff’s office, he tied the bandanna over his face. At the tailgate, he set out the steps again and Arlo descended with dignity.

Inside, the deputy at the counter appeared discombobulated, her mouth forming the shape of an O before she quickly looked away. The bandanna, Jasper knew, helped only a little.

“Good morning,” she said, sliding some papers off to the side. “Can I help you?”

“Is Charlie in?” he asked, referring to Sheriff Donley.

“He’s on the phone right now,” she answered, seemingly engrossed in the sheaf of paper on her desk. “Can I ask what this is in reference to?”

“Poaching,” he said. “And more.”

“Oh,” she said, her gaze sliding to Arlo. “You know you’re supposed to have your dog on a leash, right?”

“I don’t have one with me. But he’ll mind me.”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded, eyeing the gray in Arlo’s muzzle and the old, scarred man standing in front of her. “I guess it’s okay. Would you like to make a statement?”

“I’d prefer to speak to Charlie in private, if it’s not a bother.”

“And you are?”

“Name’s Jasper. Charlie and I go way back.”

Minutes later, he and Arlo were led back to the office, where he found Charlie behind his desk. Charlie stood, offering his hand as Jasper removed the bandanna.

“Jasper, my old friend,” he said. The politician in him—sheriffs were elected officials—found it easier than most people to make eye contact with Jasper; then again, they had known each other for more than three decades, so Jasper’s appearance no longer shocked him. Even so, he always smiled a bit too aggressively, overcompensating. “I haven’t seen you around much lately. Still hiding out in that cabin of yours?”

“It’s home.” Jasper shrugged.

Charlie motioned to the chair in front of the desk. “You know, you should really have your dog on a leash.”

“The lady out front said the same.” Jasper took a seat while Arlo splayed out on the floor and promptly closed his eyes.

“What can I do for you?”

Jasper related the events of the day before. As he spoke, Charlie took notes on a yellow legal pad before finally looking up.

“And you said you found the deer yesterday? On Sunday?”

“Yes.”

“Poaching violations should be reported to North Carolina Wildlife. Have you contacted them?”

“I came here instead.”

“I can handle it for you,” Charlie said, then confirmed he had the location correct.

“That’s it.” Jasper nodded. “Tell them to look for a red bandanna, too.”

“I’ll let them know.” Charlie tapped his pencil against the pad. “And you don’t know who the teenagers were?”

“No.”

“Nor do you know for certain that they were the ones who killed the deer?”

“No, but who else could it be?”

Charlie leaned back in his chair. “I’m not saying that I don’t believe you, but it’s a bit of a quandary since you didn’t witness the crime. I’m pretty sure that the wildlife officer is going to say the same thing. And because you don’t know who the teens were, there’s really nothing they can do anyway.”

“Have you heard there might be a white deer out there?”

“Who hasn’t? It’s all the talk at the diner the last couple of days.”

“I think those boys were out there looking for it.”

“They might not be the only ones. Word’s gotten out about the sighting and it’s probably all over the internet by now. Those albino deer are only one in thirty thousand I’ve heard, so it’s no wonder.”

“Is there anything you can do?”

“It’s not my jurisdiction,” he demurred. “It’s a national forest, meaning it’s federal, and we both know there aren’t enough wildlife officers to keep the forest completely safe from poachers. It’s always been a problem, not just now.”

“Maybe you should talk to the teens anyway. I told you that one wore an Asheboro High School wrestling shirt. That could be a start.”

Charlie rubbed his chin, looking again like the politician he was. “The high school is in the city, not the county, so the Asheboro police would be the ones who’d have to look into it.”

“The boy took a shot at my dog.”

“I know it’s upsetting, but what you’re actually talking about in criminal terms is an illegal discharge of a weapon, which is just a minor misdemeanor. And frankly, you’re in a bit of a gray area there, since the dog went after him first.”

“What about the boy pointing the rifle at me?”

“That’s also a misdemeanor. And again, there were extenuating circumstances because of the dog, so I doubt anything would come of it. I’m just glad you’re okay. We both know it could have been worse.”

Like it was for the fawn, Jasper thought. And could be for the white deer.

“Then how can we keep that deer safe?”

“Look, Jasper…do you still hunt?”

“Not in a long time.”

“Still, like me, you’ve probably figured out that the white deer isn’t from around here. More than likely, it wandered into the area temporarily in search of food or water or whatever. It’s probably smart, if it’s survived enough hunting seasons to reach adulthood. The point I’m trying to make is that this weekend, once turkey season begins, there’s going to be a lot of commotion. Guns fired, hunters traipsing around—which means that the deer will likely hightail it back to wherever it came from.”

Jasper glanced toward the window, knowing he was right. Still, the deer would be in danger until then.

“If I were you,” Charlie added, “I’d try to put it out of your mind. And I’d be careful in the Uwharrie for the next few days. Remember what I said about the internet. You never know who you might run into out there.”

The meeting ended, and back at the truck, Jasper mulled Charlie’s words. Maybe he should try to put it out of his mind, but he realized that he couldn’t. The teens he’d encountered needed to be held accountable. They were guilty of poaching and given the chance, they’d do it again. Nor was it acceptable to shoot at a man’s dog or point a rifle in Jasper’s direction.

On a deeper level, Jasper couldn’t shake the feeling that he and the white deer were connected somehow. He wasn’t sure whether it was an omen or a message, but as he sat in the truck, he felt with a growing certainty that the white deer’s appearance had been meant specifically for him.

Like his father and grandfather, after all, Jasper had always wanted to witness a miracle.

III

There had been a time when Jasper didn’t know whether he would ever feel normal again. His father’s death—so utterly unexpected—left a hole that even Audrey’s presence couldn’t fully fill. In the small home in town where he’d always lived, he was surrounded by the remnants of the life he’d shared with his father: photographs of the two of them on the mantel, fishing gear they’d used on lazy afternoons, carvings crowding the windowsills and every other surface. On the end table near the padded rocking chair in the living room was his father’s Bible.

In the weeks that followed his father’s death, Jasper would wander the silent house, hollowed out by grief. In those moments, he would turn to the Bible, trying to find solace in the words his father so often quoted or had scribbled in the margins.

Psalm 34:18 said: The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit. Matthew 5:4 said: Blessed are those that mourn, for they shall be comforted. He dropped to his knees and prayed not only for his father’s soul, but for his own. Every now and then, Audrey would stop by after her classes with a casserole or a freshly baked pie. They would eat together, speaking quietly. She’d ask him how he was doing while every word and gesture radiated a deep sympathy, and as those terrible weeks and months wore on, Jasper grew to love Audrey with a devotion he hadn’t thought possible. Love is, more than anything, patient and kind (1 Corinthians 13:4), and indeed, she seemed to understand that Jasper needed to grieve on his own time line before reentering the current of life.

Without his father to support him, Jasper dropped out of high school and began working full-time at the peach orchard. Though it meant he wouldn’t see Audrey at school, he had no other choice. He paid the household bills, packed his father’s lunch pail, and worked from dawn until dusk. A man named Richard Stope had taken over his father’s former position. Stope was the owner’s son-in-law, and he’d long been jealous of the trust that Jasper’s father had earned from the owner. He was a hard man and he’d place the blame on others when anything went wrong. More than once, Jasper had seen him strike one of the seasonal workers. Years earlier, when asked by Jasper why Stope acted the way he did, his father responded with “Proverbs 24:2.” That evening, Jasper read in his father’s scribbled handwriting, For their minds devise violence. And their lips speak of trouble. In the past, Jasper knew that Stope had tried to get Jasper’s father fired for one infraction or another. Now, Jasper kept his distance and focused on his job.

But Stope’s jealousy found a new outlet in Jasper. If Jasper worked fifty hours, Stope would find reason to pay him for only forty; if one of the truck engines malfunctioned, Stope blamed Jasper. In time, other workers began to distance themselves from Jasper, knowing that Stope would make their lives miserable, too, if they associated with him. Instead of having lunch with the crew, Jasper would eat by himself. If he had to repair an engine or fix the irrigation pumps, others no longer would help him. Once the repair was completed, he’d be blamed because the job took too long.

Finally, after he’d been working full-time more than a year, two peach trees at the farthest end of the property were struck with brown rot. The fungus had spread from a neighboring grove, where an entire section of the peach crop had been affected. But Stope singled out Jasper for responsibility. While other workers watched from the corners of their eyes, Stope fired him. By that point, Jasper had expected as much, so he merely nodded.

It was 1958. He was eighteen and his father had been dead for a little more than a year. Audrey would soon be graduating from high school. Jasper had a small amount in savings, so he’d be okay. As he turned to leave, Stope called out, “You’re a good-for-nothing country cracker, just like your father.”

Jasper stopped, his shoulders suddenly tightening. In his mind he heard his father whisper, “Proverbs 29:11.”

Fools give full vent to their rage, but the wise bring calm to the world.

He relaxed his shoulders and took another step toward the warehouse where he kept his father’s lunch pail. Stope rushed forward and grabbed him by the arm.

“You’ll leave the property now,” he demanded.

Jasper could feel the eyes of the other workers on them. He deliberately shook off Stope’s grip, and took another step to retrieve the pail. Stope closed the distance again, his face red and eyes flaring.

“Don’t ignore me, boy!”

Wheeling Jasper around, Stope cocked his fist; as the blow connected, Jasper felt the edges of his vision go black and he collapsed in the dirt. Knowing what his father would have wanted him to do, Jasper rose. He looked Stope square in the eye then slowly turned his head. He pointed at his other cheek, just as Jesus had urged, in case Stope wanted to strike him a second time.

Stope’s face flushed a dark purple. He clenched his fist again. But a sense of amazement, even awe, seemed to settle over the other workers like an indrawn breath. Stope must have felt it, because instead of striking Jasper a second time, he eventually lowered his gaze.

Jasper continued toward the warehouse and retrieved his lunch pail. Leaving the peach orchard, he walked to what had been his father’s truck, knowing he’d never return.

IV

After leaving the sheriff’s office, Jasper drove to Asheboro High School and pulled into the parking lot. He paused to rub Arlo’s head.

“You have to stay this time,” he said. “I can’t be bringing you into the school with me.”

As he approached the entrance, he marveled at how much larger the school was compared to the one he’d attended, and how many cars filled the parking lot. When he was young, no one he knew owned their own car, but these days, it seemed like practically every kid had one.

He attempted to enter the building, only to realize the front door was locked. He tried a second time before he heard a voice crackle through the intercom.

“Can I help you?”

He had no idea to whom he was speaking; he couldn’t see beyond the reflective glass. “I was hoping to see if you had any yearbooks.”

There was a pause. “The yearbooks won’t be ready until May. Are you here to place an order? Do you have a student in school here?”

“No. I wanted to look through the yearbook from last year.”

“I’m sorry…who did you say you were?”

Jasper offered his name.

“And you have a child at the school? Or a grandchild?”

“No. I just want to look at a yearbook. Doesn’t the school keep copies of their own yearbooks?”

“I don’t know. I’d have to check. But if you’re not a parent or guardian, and you’re not here on official business, I’m afraid I can’t let you in.”

“But it’s a school—”

“Exactly,” the woman said, cutting him off. “There are safety issues. I’m sure you understand.”

“All I want is to look at a yearbook from last year—”

“Sir,” she interrupted, “I can’t let you in unless you’re a parent or you have an appointment…”

Jasper shook his head and walked away.

V

Back at home, Jasper whittled on the porch, thinking. Around midafternoon, he drove to the doctor’s house and knocked on the door.

It took about a minute before the boy unlocked and opened the door.

“Hi, Mr. Jasper,” Mitch said, brightening. “What are you doing here?”

“I came by to see you.”

He shuffled his feet. “My mom says I’m not supposed to let anyone into the house unless she’s at home.”

“I wouldn’t want to upset your mother, so I’m happy to stay on the porch. I was just wondering if Casey has last year’s yearbook from the high school.”

“I think so,” the boy said. “But she’s not here now. Why do you want her yearbook?”

“I’m looking for someone who might go to her school.”

“Why?”

“I’d rather not get into it, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Because it’s a secret?”

“You could say that,” Jasper equivocated. “I don’t need to take it—I just want to look at it.”

The boy went back toward the living room, where he grabbed a cellphone from the coffee table. “I’m not supposed to go into Casey’s room without asking, but I’ll text her, okay?”

Jasper nodded.

In a couple of minutes the boy looked up from his phone and smiled. “Hold on,” he said, vanishing up the steps, then reappearing with a book under his arm.

“I told her that you said it was super important,” Mitch said, handing it over. “And I’m supposed to put it right back after you’re done. And she doesn’t want you to read anything her friends wrote in it.”

“I won’t.”

Jasper took a seat on the porch swing, the boy joining him with obvious curiosity. Opening the leather-bound volume, Jasper turned to the index, finding the appropriate page. Sure enough, there was a group photo of the wrestling team.

He quickly identified the teen in the wrestling shirt he’d encountered—Carl Melton. As he continued to scrutinize the team photo, he recognized a second face. One of the boys standing in the back row was the taller one—the one who’d been holding the gun.

Josh Littleton.

Jasper looked up, blinked, and took a breath.

Dear God, he thought.

The Littletons.

Following his hunch, he checked the index a second time. Directly above Josh’s name was another entry, and Jasper flipped through the pages, finding it. Eric Littleton, Josh’s younger brother, had been the final member of the trio. Jasper closed the book and handed it back to Mitch.

“That’s it?” the boy asked.

“That’s all I needed. Thank you. And make sure you thank your sister for me, too.”

“I will.”

Jasper stood a moment, lost in thought about the Littleton family, and Mitch shuffled his feet before him. Coming back to the conversation, Jasper asked, “How’s your sister doing?”

Mitch glanced away and shuffled his feet. “She said that she wants to move in with my dad. Starting this summer.”

“Doesn’t he live in Greensboro?”

“I’d hate it if she left.”

Knowing how much Casey meant to the boy, Jasper put a hand on his shoulder. “She might have been talking just to hear her head rattle.”

“What does that mean?”

“Let’s just hope she decides to stay, all right?”

Mitch nodded.

VI

Maybe it was because of his conversation with Mitch, but when Jasper returned to his cabin, he decided to visit his family.

They could be found at the foot of an ancient live oak with thick, low-slung limbs, some draped with Spanish moss. It was the perfect climbing tree, and Jasper could remember his children testing their balance and courage as they scampered and clawed their way up and around. For a few years, there’d even been a swing; Jasper could remember the day he’d hung it and how each of the children had begged him to push them higher and higher.

Now, the swing was gone and the tree hadn’t been climbed in decades. It was here, though, where Jasper had buried his wife and four children, the small plot surrounded by a low brick wall. The pansies he’d planted last November still held their blooms, but next month, the spring flowers would emerge from the mulch—trillium, creeping phlox, dwarf crested iris, bloodroot, and trout lily. Audrey had always loved flowers.

The headstones were arranged in a semicircle, with Audrey in the center. He’d known she would have wanted that, for she’d always been the center in all their lives. She was the sun while her children were the planets. He had chiseled the names and dates into the headstones himself, along with a line of scripture for each.

Jasper carefully lowered himself and began pulling weeds that had sprouted amidst the pansies, his memory returning to 1958, not long after he’d been fired from the orchard. Though Audrey had been coming by his house and the cabin every so often for more than a year, Jasper had yet to kiss her, even if he already knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Whenever they spoke, he felt as though he could listen to the sound of her voice forever. She told him she wanted to be a teacher at a school outside of town, where she could work with rural students. She said she wanted to have at least four children and live in a two-story house with a porch and a kitchen large enough for the whole family to gather in. She wanted to spend her honeymoon on Sullivan’s Island, near Charleston, where they could watch porpoises ride the breakers. That she was so clear about the specifics of her life was dizzying to him. Like his father, Jasper had never been much of a dreamer, and he made a silent promise to himself that he’d find a way to make all her wishes come true, even if he had no idea how to go about it.

But it was her eyes, not her dreams, that captivated him most. Whenever he stared into them, he was unable to look away, as though she’d cast a spell. A few weeks before she graduated high school, Jasper brought her a bouquet of freshly picked daisies. Her parents thought little of him as a prospect for their daughter, and when Audrey’s mother saw Jasper standing on the porch with flowers in hand, her face contracted in a pinched expression. Audrey, though, had bounded down the steps and shooed her mother away while the two of them sat on the porch. Her mother reluctantly closed the door and Audrey buried her face in the bouquet.

“They’re wonderful,” she said, breathing in. Jasper finally whispered the words he’d been holding inside him since the moment she first climbed into his truck. “You’re wonderful, too.”

They visited for an hour and split a piece of pie. Crickets were chirping and from the woods, Jasper heard the hoot of an owl. Stars pricked the nighttime sky, and he knew it was time for him to go. Just as he was about to step down from the porch, however, he turned to face her. He placed a gentle hand on her waist and edged closer; a moment later, her lips met his for the very first time. He tasted remnants of apple and cinnamon on her breath, and on the way back to his house, his legs were so shaky, he nearly drove his truck into a tree.

Over the summer, their relationship blossomed quickly, like wildflowers in a meadow. They went for walks in the evenings, after the heat of the day had passed, and sometimes stopped for a soda downtown. They went on picnics and saw the occasional movie, mainly because she loved them. At the bookstore, she’d point out to him novels that had moved her most deeply—despite widespread suspicion of the Soviets, she gravitated to Russian writers like Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky. And on Independence Day, while fireworks exploded in the evening sky, he finally whispered to her that he loved her.

“Oh, Jasper,” she said with a wide smile, “I love you, too.”

That August, she left for college. The day was sweltering, and they’d spent their last morning together at her home, under the disapproving glares of her parents.

He asked to speak to Audrey’s father alone. In his pocket was his mother’s wedding band, and he formally asked for her father’s permission to propose.

In controlled tones, her father explained the impossibility of such an event. They were too young, he clarified, but left unspoken the fact that Jasper hadn’t graduated from high school and had no job, let alone prospects for any type of career.

Jasper left with the ring in his pocket and later, when Audrey climbed into the backseat of the family Cadillac for the drive to Sweet Briar College in Virginia, Jasper forced a brave smile. He waved despite the nausea he was feeling, and as he returned to his house, he wondered whether she would forget about him. But she didn’t; instead, the distance seemed to draw them even closer together. He wrote to her twice a week and would read the letters she wrote in response again and again. Occasionally, he sent her small gifts in the mail—usually something he’d whittled, but he also sent a scarf and a small locket—and spent every possible minute with her during Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks. And always, whether he was with her or when she was away at college, he continued to ponder how to make all her dreams come true.

Now, a lifetime later, he rubbed the granite, feeling her engraved name beneath his finger. He did the same with each of his children, and despite the ache in his heart, he related all that had happened in the last couple of days. Toward the end, he found himself speculating again on whether the white deer had appeared because God knew that Jasper longed to witness a miracle. A rational voice inside dismissed the notion as ridiculous, but he’d lived long enough to know that hope and doubt could coexist, so Jasper raised his eyes to scan the forest. He looked left and right and then attuned himself to the sounds beyond, but there was nothing but birdcall, and the white deer did not appear. Shaking his head, he chided himself for his foolishness.

After a while, Jasper rose, his knees and hips and lower back emitting sharp twinges. His skin stretched painfully with every move, and as he stared one last moment at the headstones, he felt the dark weight of loneliness settle, suffocating him.

“I love and miss you all,” he said aloud, before trudging back to the house.

VII

Knowing he still had time before Charlie called it quits for the day, Jasper phoned him at the sheriff’s office. He let Charlie know that he’d identified the boys he’d seen in the forest.

“I’m not going to ask how you learned their identities, but are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Jasper answered, before reciting the names.

He heard Charlie draw a long breath, then pause before responding. “You’re welcome to come in and file a complaint, but even putting aside jurisdiction issues, it’s not going to do you any good.”

“Why?”

Charlie’s silence filled the telephone line. Finally: “You know the reason as well as I do.”

In fact, Jasper did. After hanging up, he considered the situation over his dinner of tomato soup. Because Arlo wasn’t a fan, Jasper spooned some Alpo into the dog dish before finally reaching for his keys. Arlo looked up from the dog dish and licked his lips, as though wondering where they were off to next.

“It’s just me this time. You gotta stay.”

Jasper patted the dog on the head and left to make the short drive back into town. Eventually he turned onto a street lined with stately homes, occupied by families whose wealth had passed from one generation to the next. In the driveways he noticed Mercedes and BMWs, even the occasional Bentley. Jasper slowed as he approached a brick colonial partly hidden by lush landscaping. This was the house, Jasper knew, where Josh and Eric Littleton lived; it was also in this house that their father, Clyde, had been born and raised alongside his brothers, Roger and Vernon.

As in Honorable Judge Roger Littleton.

As in District Attorney Vernon Littleton.

The Littletons had a long history in the area, one that dated back to before the Civil War, having built a fortune in railroads and land speculation before branching into law. They were still among the richest families in the state; even now, the family owned tens of thousands of acres, most of it leased to farmers. For as long as Jasper had been alive—and longer than that, he was pretty sure—there had always been a Judge Littleton in Asheboro. Roger, Vernon, and Clyde’s father and grandfather had been judges; Vernon, meanwhile, had been serving as the district attorney for almost three decades. When their generous political donations, along with their having friends in high places, were added to all this, it went without saying that the Littletons had been, and still were, the law in the county.

But if Roger and Vernon Littleton were respected in the community—or perhaps, at times, feared—Clyde was merely tolerated. In his teens, one of Clyde’s friends had overdosed while at the Littleton home, and there were rumors that Clyde had supplied the drugs. When he was in his twenties, word around town was that Clyde had beaten his girlfriend. Though no charges had been filed about either of those things, the whispers in the community were enough to prod Clyde into leaving town, at least for a while. In Raleigh, he supposedly cleaned up his act. He became a developer and met a woman named Anne, whom he eventually married. They had two sons, and fourteen years ago, after his misdeeds had faded from memory, Clyde and his family returned to Asheboro, where they moved into the original family home. One of his first projects in the area was the subdivision Jasper had tried unsuccessfully to stop.

Clyde also enjoyed hunting, or rather a particular kind of hunting. For Clyde, the more exotic the animal the better, and Jasper had heard that many of his prizes had been mounted for display throughout his house. He’d killed a lion, a jaguar, and a panther. He’d shot and killed a rhinoceros in Namibia and had traveled to the Himalayas to kill a bharal, or blue sheep. Though not all the animals he’d hunted were endangered species, some of them were, and Clyde was notorious in certain corners of the hunting world thanks to his penchant for posting his exploits on social media. His argument was that he did things legally and with the government’s full approval, but Jasper—like many—had no doubt that Clyde sometimes skirted the rules, bribing government officials to look the other way.

A few years ago, Clyde’s social media post had been picked up by the local news station. In the first photo, Clyde was shown holding up the head of a giraffe he’d shot in South Africa; in the other picture, he was holding its heart and grinning. When he defended his actions—it was legal, the meat was donated to the locals, the bull had been an old one—animal rights activists from as far away as Florida had demonstrated outside his office in downtown Asheboro. There were signs and people chanting slogans through bullhorns, but the protests had been quietly dispersed by the police.

And now his sons were prowling the forest where a white deer, another exotic animal, had been spotted practically on their doorstep.

Sons chasing their father’s approval? To Jasper it seemed obvious.

At the entrance to the driveway was an elaborate wrought-iron gate. On the keypad, Jasper hit the call button. It was answered by a woman announcing the Littleton residence.

“I’d like to speak with Anne or Clyde Littleton.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“I don’t. But it’s about their sons, Eric and Josh. It’s important.”

“And you are?”

Jasper offered his name before the speaker went silent. He expected that when he heard the woman again, she would tell him that neither of the Littletons was at home, or another excuse. Instead, the gates swung open.

Jasper pulled slowly up the long drive, bringing his truck to a stop behind a black pickup. He got out and walked to the door, remembering at the last minute to retrieve the bandanna from his pocket and wrap it around his face. He knocked and then stepped back from the entrance.

It was Anne who opened the door. She was a small, brittle-looking woman who wore her hair pulled back into a tight bun; he recognized her from photos in the newspaper. The Littletons were frequently profiled for their local charity work, and the new wing of the hospital had been named after the family.

“Good evening, Mrs. Littleton,” Jasper greeted her. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

Anne’s eyes skittered away from his face. “I was told it had something to do with my sons?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Over her shoulder, Jasper saw Clyde descending the grand staircase into the marble-tiled foyer. As he approached, his eyebrows lifted in recognition.

“I remember you. I hope you’re not here to complain about the Neely Ridge subdivision.”

Jasper shook his head. “No, sir. It’s about your sons.”

Jasper was led into a library off the foyer, lined with mahogany shelves stretching to the ceiling. One wall featured the mounted head of a black panther; across from it was the bharal. Next to the fireplace stood a taxidermied grizzly bear, maybe nine or ten feet tall. Clyde gestured at a chair that looked like an antique and Jasper took a seat. Anne perched on the edge of the couch, while Clyde remained standing.

“What did you want to tell me about my sons?” Clyde asked.

Jasper recounted the events of the previous day, and by the time he finished, Anne’s hands were clenched tight in her lap. Clyde, however, stood arms akimbo, his expression no longer friendly.

“Let me get this straight. You’re accusing Josh and Eric of poaching, you’re claiming that Josh took a shot at your dog, and you’re also claiming that Josh pointed his rifle at you?”

“Yes, sir. And demanded money. And destroyed my morels. That’s exactly what happened.”

“My sons wouldn’t do any of those things,” he said. “They’ve been around guns their entire lives. They know not to point a gun at someone or shoot at someone’s pet. And why on earth would they kill a young, worthless deer?”

“I believe they were hunting the white deer.”

“That doesn’t explain why they’d shoot a different deer, though, does it?”

“I suspect your son was testing the sights on the rifle,” Jasper responded. What he didn’t add was that maybe Josh wanted to kill it, simply because he could.

“Well, then, let’s ask them about all this—shall we?”

Clyde left the room and shouted upstairs for Josh and Eric to come down. When the boys entered the room, they exchanged nervous looks before turning their gaze to their father.

“Jasper here has been telling us quite a story,” Clyde began. “Were you boys in the Uwharrie yesterday morning?”

“Yes, sir,” Josh said.

“Can I ask why?”

“Scouting,” Josh replied, the word coming easily. “Turkey season is about to open, so we were out there to find where they might be.”

“Did you see this man out there?”

“Yes, sir,” Josh said. “We came across him right before we left. We were talking, and when I tried to look at the mushrooms he’d collected, this man’s dog attacked me.”

“This man here,” Clyde said, motioning to Jasper, “also claims that you poached a young deer.”

Josh shook his head. “No sir. He accused us of it, but we told him then that we didn’t know anything about it.”

“And his dog attacked you?”

“Yes, sir. Out of the blue. I stumbled when I was trying to fight off the dog, and that was when the gun went off. It was an accident.”

“Did you then point your gun at him? And demand money? And destroy his morels?”

“No, sir. I mean, I don’t think so. Like I said, I stumbled, and the bucket must have tipped over when I fell. I was on the ground trying to get the dog off, which is probably why the mushrooms were crushed. And when I was getting up, maybe the barrel might have swung in his direction, but if so, it was an accident. I was pretty shaken up, you know? And no, I didn’t shoot at his dog or ask if he had any money.”

Jasper listened, amazed at how easily the boy could lie. Clyde swung his gaze to Eric.

“Is that right, son? Is that what happened?”

Eric shifted from one foot to the other, looking frightened. “Yes, sir.”

Clyde nodded before turning back to Jasper. “Is there anything you have to say about their recollection of events?”

Jasper met Clyde’s gaze. Proverbs 14:5 had always been one of his father’s favorites: An honest witness does not deceive, but a false witness pours out lies.

“Your boys aren’t being truthful,” he said.

Anne flinched, while Clyde’s expression hardened. “My sons aren’t liars,” he bit out. “Which makes me wonder what you really want. Did you come here for money?”

“I came because I thought that as parents, you’d want to know what your sons did, so you could hold them accountable.”

No one said anything for a moment and Clyde brought a hand to his chin, pretending to search his memory.

“Funny you should offer parenting advice…I think I remember hearing something about your son. Didn’t he end up in prison? It had something to do with a fire, didn’t it?”

Jasper said nothing, but Clyde knew he’d hit the mark.

“Next time, look in the mirror before you start questioning the way I raise my sons,” Clyde added. “As for your allegations, I’m confident that my sons didn’t do anything wrong. I’m curious, though, as to whether you’ll apologize to them for what your dog did to my older boy?”

Again, Jasper remained silent. After a few beats, Clyde took a step back and gestured toward the foyer. “Then I think it’s best if you leave. My patience is at an end, and you’re not welcome in my home.”

With that, Jasper was shown the door.

VIII

Jasper hadn’t been in the cabin for more than a few minutes before the phone rang. When he picked up, Charlie was on the other end.

His tone wasn’t happy. Not only were the Littletons upset, they felt that they’d been threatened.

“I didn’t threaten them,” Jasper countered. “I told them what their sons had done.”

“Did you call them liars?”

“I said that their sons weren’t being truthful.”

Charlie sighed and Jasper could hear his frustration. “Look, Jasper. Just let it go. We both know they’re not the family you want on your bad side. Just stay away from them, okay? No more visits to the Littleton house.”

After hanging up, Jasper stood in the kitchen. Beyond the windows, the world was dark, and he wondered where the white deer might be. Was it still in the area? Were hunters in the forest right now, trying to kill it? He wondered how long it would be until the Littleton boys tried their luck again, and whether the deer would end up stuffed and mounted as a trophy because of their desire to emulate their father.

In the darkness, there was no answer. All he really knew was that it was up to him to save it.