Counting Miracles

Chapter Seven

I

Jasper saw the white deer, though not in the way he wanted.

It was on the morning news, something Jasper seldom watched. He’d long since grown bored by the television, but for whatever reason he’d felt an undeniable urge to tune in shortly after he awakened on Tuesday morning.

He saw the blurry photo taken from Scenic Road before the segment segued into a video that a hiker had supposedly taken the day before. Roughly ten seconds long, it showed the white deer standing near a rocky outcropping and seeming to be staring at the camera, its head held high. Because of the foliage around it—and the shakiness of the video—it was difficult to make out the antlers or even its size, and soon enough it turned and started walking away until it vanished into the forest. The newscasters, practically vibrating with excitement on the early-morning broadcast, noted that the video had already gone viral.

Jasper wasn’t sure what viral meant, only that it probably wasn’t good. He guessed that it meant that more people would learn about the white deer, possibly luring even more poachers to the area.

Jasper turned off the television and mulled what to do next. Trying to save the white deer meant finding it first, and fortunately there were now two locations where it had been spotted. Even more important, he recognized the area where the video had been taken. There had been a unique outcropping of boulders in the background; decades ago, his kids used to scramble and climb over them on weekend hikes. A few times, they’d even picnicked nearby.

Walking to the kitchen, Jasper opened one of the drawers, where he stored his maps. Most of them were worn and out of date, but near the bottom, he found the one he wanted. It was a county map representing the city of Asheboro along with portions of the Uwharrie National Forest.

At the table, he used a pen to mark where the photo had been taken off Scenic Road; another mark, near the boulders, indicated the video. He estimated the distance between the two places at a couple of miles, and he drew an oval between them. This was, he assumed, the white deer’s current range, and it made sense to him. He knew there was food and water in the area, and as Charlie had said, the deer would likely remain there until either the food stores were depleted or it felt threatened.

Smart poachers, he suspected, would also be able to estimate the white deer’s current range. Anyone could mark spots and draw an oval on a map, even if they didn’t know the location of the boulders. A deer’s range was a deer’s range, so all they’d have to do was draw a circle out from the photograph on Scenic Road. At the same time, it was one thing to find and kill the deer; it was another thing entirely to transport a heavy carcass from the forest without being discovered, which meant they’d need access for their vehicles. They’d have to know the roads that led in and out of the forest and predict how busy they might be at various times of day; they’d also have to find or create their own off-road trails to lead them close to the white deer’s range. They’d need to know the locations of the campgrounds and the ranger stations, if only to avoid them, not to mention steer clear of hikers and folks who showed up in Jeeps to go off-roading. It had been years since Jasper had driven through the forest, and because he suspected that there were more roads and trails now than in the past, his first step was to figure out how a poacher might approach the deer’s range and then exit the forest without being caught.

Before he set out to do just that, Jasper brewed a pot of coffee and made an egg sandwich for breakfast. The egg was burned at the edges, but he’d never been much good at cooking. That had always been Audrey’s passion, demonstrated in the dishes she used to bring him before she left for college.

When she had left for Sweet Briar, Jasper’s savings had been nearly depleted. He was eighteen, and needing a job, he’d found work with a contractor named Ned Taylor, who was unlike Stope in nearly every way. Elderly and overweight, with a shock of unruly white hair, he puffed ceaselessly on a corncob pipe whenever he was at the site. Most gratifying of all, he praised the quality of Jasper’s work from the very beginning.

Jasper had barely settled into his new job, however, when his life was upended again. In September, only a month after Audrey had left, Hurricane Helene unleashed massive rainfall and a nearby creek in Asheboro quickly rose to dangerous levels. Fortunately—or unfortunately, as the case may be—Jasper was at his house in town, not the cabin, when it began to flood. He pushed through water that soon reached his waist, gathering up photographs from the mantel, his father’s Bible, and as many of the carvings they’d made together as he could carry, hauling it all to his truck, which he’d parked on higher ground, just in case. As the storm continued to rage, a loblolly in the yard snapped and crashed through the roof. Days later, after the water finally receded and hot weather returned, mold began growing on the walls and the floors, ruining pretty much everything in the house that the storm hadn’t.

Like his neighbors and others in town, Jasper contacted his insurance company. He wasn’t worried. Like the other bills, he’d continued to pay the premiums after his father had passed, but when he finally met with the claims adjuster, Jasper discovered that buried in that policy was an exclusion for damage caused by flooding. The adjuster pointed out the section and read the words aloud, emphasizing the point. The policy would, however, pay for the roof damage.

The claims adjuster slid a check across the table. It wasn’t much and nowhere near the amount it would take to repair the house. In the silence that followed, Jasper heard his father’s voice: “James 1:12.” Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial.

He deposited the check, moved into the cabin, and continued working for Ned. In the evenings and on weekends, he removed sodden, moldy furniture from the house in Asheboro. He stripped off the roof, tore up the floors, ripped out the plaster walls and all the electrical wiring. He hauled the debris to the dump. In the end, only the framing and plumbing remained, and he sold the property to another contractor, someone Ned had known for years. That check went into his savings as well.

In November, Ned asked him to drive to Charlotte to pick up a bathtub that had been delayed in delivery. On the outskirts of town, he noticed two new subdivisions, right next to each other, with dozens of homes already built and others still under construction. Independent contractors like Ned were slowly giving way to developers who built hundreds of homes at a time, and on a whim, Jasper decided to tour one of those neighborhoods. He found himself awed by the organizational prowess necessitated by such developments, despite his certainty that he would never want to live in such a neighborhood. There was an almost desolate feel, even on those streets with completed homes. Staring at the tracts of sterile, cookie-cutter houses, he suddenly realized that what would help make the neighborhood more inviting were trees . Not the skeletal saplings that had been planted haphazardly by the new owners, but beautiful, leafy trees that grew quickly.

The idea wouldn’t go away, and as more subdivisions were built over the next year, he toured them as well, growing ever more certain that he was right. In early 1960, he visited the local library in search of an ideal tree, but it was no help; nor was the library in Raleigh, though the woman at the main desk recommended he visit the school of agriculture at North Carolina State University. It took time and persistence to get a meeting, but the professor there—the same one who would later instruct him on how to cultivate morels—told him about a tree that the USDA was thinking of formally introducing to the United States.

The professor shared photographs and information, and Jasper took it all in. Originally from Korea and China, the tree grew quickly, bloomed with white flowers in the spring, had a lovely pyramidal shape, and showcased brilliant colors in the fall. Its scientific name was Pyrus calleryana; at the U.S. Department of Agriculture, they were thinking about calling it the Bradford pear, even though it would bear no edible fruit. The professor added that few people—outside of agricultural research universities and the USDA—seemed to be interested in the tree at the present time, but he predicted the market would eventually grow to be substantial.

Jasper worked with Garner’s Nursery in town to procure the obscure seeds from Korea; Mack Garner had served in the Korean War, and his wife was originally from Seoul. Using the insurance money and the proceeds from the sale of the house, he leased some inexpensive land about twenty miles away and bought fertilizer. He took a week off work, tilled and fertilized the ground, and planted enough seeds for five thousand trees. He hand-watered them on evenings after work and on weekends, and surprising no one more than himself, the seeds sprouted and burst from the soil almost immediately.

He showed Audrey what he was doing when she came home for the summer. In the previous couple of years she’d grown even more beautiful in his eyes, and they’d continued to see each other whenever she was home. They took long walks and split chocolate sodas, and she’d regale him with stories about her classes or her professors or the friends she’d made. Sometimes, when he wondered aloud whether she wanted to leave her previous life—and him—behind, she’d laugh and dismiss his words as nonsense. He told her regularly that he loved her and she said the same to him, yet when he said goodbye to her in August for the third time, her parents looked on with the same grim expressions he’d long since grown used to.

Meanwhile, he’d continued working for Ned and had leased even more land. He planted tens of thousands more trees. He showed Audrey’s parents what he’d been up to. It didn’t fully change their mind about him—there were no sales yet, or even a market—but he liked to think that her mother’s expression seemed less pinched after that, even if her disapproval was still plain.

After Audrey graduated, in May 1962, she wasn’t ready to begin teaching. In her mind, she’d been in school for a long time and needed a break, so instead, she went to work at her mother’s clothing store. Jasper was thrilled by her return to Asheboro, and they picked up right where they’d left off. Then, in the spring of 1963, the USDA formally introduced the Bradford pear to the U.S. market. By that point, with Jasper’s trees flourishing, the first year’s crop was large and mature enough for sale. He quit working for Ned to devote himself full-time to the trees. He dug them up—wrapping the soil in burlap—loaded them into his pickup truck, and began meeting with developers in Charlotte, Greensboro, and Winston-Salem. His sales pitch was simple; he showed them the information from the USDA, kept his prices reasonable, then offered to place the trees in the fronts and backyards of the subdivisions so the developers could see for themselves how much aesthetic value they conferred. He also visited nurseries, and—because he had pretty much a monopoly on the tree—in no time at all, orders began flooding in. He sold not only the entirety of the first year’s crop, but much of the following year’s as well.

Flush with cash for the first time in his life, he made his way to Audrey’s house. Again, he asked to speak with her father; again, he had his mother’s wedding ring in his pocket. This time, her father agreed, and he proposed to Audrey two days later.

They were married in October 1963, and spent their honeymoon on Sullivan’s Island, just as she’d always wanted. She moved into the cabin, and though she was pregnant within a month, she insisted on making the place their home, not simply his. She bought new furniture and sewed curtains and spread rugs in the living room and bedrooms. She bought pots and pans and plates and utensils that matched. They set up the nursery in what had once been Jasper’s room, and whenever she cooked, the cabin would fill with delicious aromas. They made love almost every night, and for Christmas that year, as a gift, he built and installed the bookshelves she wanted, because he knew it would make her happy. He also spread before her rough floor plans for a lovely white house with a porch and a kitchen large enough to allow the whole family to gather. Because he knew she wanted at least four children, he’d filled the second floor with bedrooms and bathrooms. Surveying Jasper’s plans, her eyes brimmed with tears of joy.

He started construction the following year, after Audrey gave birth to their first child, and after yet another bumper crop of Bradford pears.

II

After rinsing his cup and plate, Jasper made a few peanut butter and honey sandwiches for both himself and Arlo and filled a thermos with the remainder from the coffeepot. He fed Arlo a bit more than usual and stuffed a handful of Milk-Bones into the pocket of his jacket. It was going to be a long day.

He grabbed his binoculars on the way out the door, and thinking he might want company, he decided to let Arlo ride in the cab. He rolled down both windows, watching as the dog raised his nose to the wind. When he stopped at a nearby gas station, there was a young man behind the register with long hair and a pierced earring; on his neck was the tattoo of a spider. Jasper asked if they carried any recent maps of the Uwharrie National Forest, but Spider Tattoo shook his head.

“We don’t sell maps.”

“How can you not sell maps?”

He seemed baffled by the question. “Uh…most people just use their phones.”

Jasper had no more luck at the next gas station, nor at the third one he visited, proving again that the modern world had left him far behind. Resolving to figure it out on his own, he started toward the main entrance of the forest. Beside the entrance he spotted a sign bearing a general map of the forest, including its main roads. Jasper stopped the truck. In his glove compartment, he found a broken pencil and an envelope with an ancient repair bill tucked inside. On the back, he copied the map as best he could.

Though his truck was old, it had four-wheel drive, which was helpful as he followed a road into the forest before turning at a fork that led toward the campground. He spent a short time there looking for suspicious vehicles or people before realizing he wasn’t exactly sure what either might look like. Beyond the campground was a fire access road, and he followed that until reaching a junction that led to yet another fire road and then, finally, back to one of the main roads. Every now and then, he’d stop the truck and sketch the new roads onto his makeshift map; he also used his binoculars to scan the forest, even though he was nowhere near the area the white deer had been spotted. Just in case.

By midafternoon, Jasper had figured out the lay of the land. He’d covered all the main roads and fire roads, even a few of the off-road trails. He had a good sense of how a poacher might access the deer’s range and, crucially, exit the forest without being seen.

Jasper stopped to have lunch, and as far as he could tell, Arlo enjoyed the sandwiches as much as he did. He finished two cups of coffee, then loaded Arlo back into the truck. Next up was what he knew would be the most important scouting of the day.

He followed a fire road in a southerly direction until it ended, then bumped along an off-road trail that angled even farther south. Anyone trying to get to this area of the forest with a vehicle would have to go the same way; his earlier exploration had revealed that the terrain on either side of the trail blocked other possible access. The truck squeaked and bounced, the elevation gradually increasing. Jasper stopped more frequently and scanned the area with binoculars. He saw nothing but birds and trees. Eventually, the off-road trail came to an end, but it was still too far away from the white deer’s current range for a poacher. Hauling a heavy carcass all the way to this spot would be all but impossible.

Jasper reversed the truck fifty yards. He looked around but saw no evidence that a vehicle had left the off-road trail and entered the forest. He backed the truck up again, then a couple more times, until he finally spotted a small sapling, recently snapped near the base. Looking closer, he saw tire tracks on either side of it.

Gotcha.

He followed the tracks, this time into the virgin forest. He drove slowly, veering around trees and rocks and over the undulating terrain. He continued to head south, in the general direction of his cabin, and eventually came to an area thick with heavy underbrush. Off to one side was a large berm. Dusk, he assumed, was still a few hours away.

Jasper got out of the truck. The temperature was beginning to drop, and he looked around, thinking he knew exactly where he was. In one direction was Scenic Road; in the other was the spot where the white deer had been filmed. He estimated he was a half a mile away from the heart of the white deer’s range, but a poacher would want to get his vehicle even closer. Newer trucks, unlike his, might be able to handle the dense undergrowth ahead, and sure enough, he was able to find the spot where a vehicle had continued south. Most likely, he thought, it had been a truck with oversized tires, like the kind he’d seen in the Littletons’ driveway.

The teens, he had to admit, had done well in identifying the white deer’s range on Sunday. After all, they’d only had the single photograph to go on at that point. He wondered how much farther south they’d taken the truck, but he’d have to proceed on foot to figure it out. It was getting late for that, though, so instead, he crawled back into the cab. He inched the truck toward the nearest berm, eventually pulling behind it and turning off the engine.

Then he walked back to the spot where he’d originally stopped, ignoring the tightness in his back, and nodded to himself, thinking the parking spot was a good one. Assuming the Littletons and Melton would use the same route the next time they came, his truck was out of sight. Good enough.

Crawling back into the cab, he glanced at Arlo.

“I think we should rest our eyes for a bit, don’t you?”

Arlo yawned as though in agreement and Jasper slouched lower, making himself comfortable. Closing his eyes, he figured he had plenty of time.

Poachers, he knew, were more likely to commit their crimes in the hours after sundown, and again in the hours before the sun came up.

III

Jasper dozed but didn’t sleep. He kept the windows rolled down, listening with half an ear for the sounds of any approaching vehicle.

Dusk arrived, then, finally, darkness. Though his nighttime vision had faded over the years, Jasper figured it wouldn’t matter. Approaching headlights, or a spotlight, would be impossible to miss in the forest.

He poured the last of the coffee from his thermos. He fed Arlo another sandwich. Every now and then, he got out of the truck and walked to the other side of the berm, but aside from the hoot of an occasional owl, the forest seemed empty.

He stayed until just half past ten, by which point he figured the white deer—and other deer—had bedded down for the night. It took a series of cranks to fire up the engine and he slowly inched his way back through the forest to the off-road trail, and then to the fire road and finally the exit. Once he was back at the cabin, he set his alarm clock for very early in the morning.

Tuesday turned into Wednesday as he lay in bed, and maybe it was the coffee, but he couldn’t sleep. Instead, he stared at the ceiling, his thoughts wandering back to the early years of his marriage, after he and Audrey had become parents. They’d named their oldest son after King David, one of the writers of the Psalms, and he remembered the exhausted pride on Audrey’s face as she’d held their son in her arms. When he bent lower to kiss her, she’d whispered, “Look what our love has made,” and his eyes had filled with tears.

He remembered working with Ned as they began construction on the new house, and the way Audrey insisted on visiting the site every afternoon, so she could follow the daily progress. He recalled the almost casual way Audrey rolled over in bed one day, and let him know that she was pregnant again. Mary—named after Our Savior’s mother—was born in June 1965, three days after they’d moved into the new house. Though Audrey should have been exhausted, she immediately threw herself into decorating, adding her personal touches and flourishes, even while taking care of two children who were still in diapers.

Through all of that, Jasper continued to expand his business, selling Bradford pear trees in states as far away as Tennessee. He leased more land and hired employees, eventually topping out at more than a dozen. He owed nothing on his house and had money in the bank. But because he worried about what he’d read in Matthew 19:24—that it was easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than it was for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven—he donated the funds necessary to renovate the church and supported the local food bank. For the most part, he kept only what he needed to support his family, and though his generosity sometimes made Audrey nervous, Jasper assured her that they would never lack for anything that mattered.

So much from those early years, he thought with an ache, were mostly a blur. He could recall the occasionally messy house and how lovely Audrey looked whenever she smiled. He remembered the births of Deborah, named in honor of the judge and prophetess, and Paul, named in honor of the apostle and martyr. By 1969, they’d become a family of six, and Jasper could still bring to mind the feeling of pride he experienced as a husband and father whenever they sat together at church or when they clustered around the dinner table.

As for Audrey, motherhood came as naturally to her as breathing. From the very beginning, she knew intuitively whether a baby was crying because he or she was hungry or needed a diaper changed or whether the baby simply wanted to be held. She smiled and laughed even on days with little sleep and was unfazed by the challenge of dragging all of them to the grocery store or getting them dressed for church, even when they were running late. She brought them to the pediatrician regularly but not obsessively, and somehow found time to make a journal for each child, in which she not only kept track of their development but made notes about their delightful quirks and idiosyncrasies. She sometimes admitted to Jasper that she wished she could lose the baby weight—an extra twenty pounds that never went away—but to him, she was even more alluring than when she’d first jumped into his truck, so long ago.

As his thoughts continued to drift, a carousel of images rolled through his mind.

The wonder he felt as he held his firstborn in his arms, right after birth…

Listening to Mary giggle as she was learning to walk…

Little Deborah squatting next to a toad as it hopped through the grass…

Paul’s exuberant joy at learning to ride a bike…

Audrey on her first day of work, after Paul started kindergarten, when she began to teach at a school in the county…

When he concentrated, it seemed as though he was able to recall most of their lives together. He remembered the way the children would crowd around him on the porch and watch with fascination as he whittled pirates and ballerinas or animals from their favorite picture books. He could see their gap-toothed smiles as they posed for school photos. He summoned up memories of the family reading the Bible together every Wednesday and Sunday evening, always his favorite nights of the week. He thought briefly about their teenage years, that turbulent period on the verge of adulthood. Rules were sometimes broken, bedrooms were often messy, and the boys ate so much that Jasper sometimes opened the cupboards only to find most of the food gone. He remembered first loves—David, who’d fallen for Monica at sleepaway camp in Pinehurst, only to have his heart broken; Deborah, who was crazy about a boy named Allen when she was a sophomore, whom she swore she would end up marrying. He recalled with fondness the hours he’d spent teaching Mary how to drive, the car jerking back and forth as she tried to master using the clutch. He recalled the night that he caught Deborah kissing Allen as they stood on the front porch, and the gentle way Audrey had reminded him that their daughter, like her older siblings, was also growing up. He thought about Paul’s excitement and nervousness when he was selected to represent the high school in a statewide debate contest and how he’d practiced for hours in front of the mirror.

Still, it was their love for one another as family that Jasper always remembered most. While they struggled with challenges and disappointments just like everyone, there was joy and caring as well, and for more than two decades, Jasper believed that his family had been singled out for blessings by the good Lord Himself.

Until, of course, it wasn’t.

IV

Jasper was finally able to nod off for a couple of hours, then woke to his alarm long before the sun came up. The night had been a short one and his body thrummed with exhaustion and pain. His psoriasis itched and prickled as though he were being continually stung by wasps, but he forced himself out of bed. When he hobbled to the kitchen, he could feel the tightness in his back and soreness in his joints, thinking that all the driving and bumping over rocks had done a real number on him.

He wondered what the day might bring. Would the Littletons and Melton come back to finish what they started, even though it was a school day? He didn’t know. And if they did show up before dawn this morning, what could he do to stop them? Again, he didn’t know.

He dressed in dark clothes and though he wasn’t hungry, he forced himself to eat something. He grabbed an old backpack from the mudroom before stepping outside. A blanket of mist hovered over the earth, and though the moon was only half full, it was enough to paint the treetops silver.

He helped Arlo into the truck. From the work shed—and following a hunch—Jasper fetched a leaf rake, along with some plastic garbage bags. He loaded them into the bed of the truck and drove beneath a star-filled sky to the spot in the Uwharrie where he’d parked the night before. Again, he waited, watching for approaching headlights and listening for vehicles; again, there was nothing.

Once the sun came up and burned off the mist, Jasper figured it was time to leave. The truck bounced and dipped in the forest and on the trail, sending flares of pain up his spine; eventually he reached the relative smoothness of the fire road and then asphalt. From there, he drove to the Lowe’s in Asheboro to purchase a large jug of deer repellent, along with six ultrasonic devices that promised to keep deer away. Just in case. Then it was back to the southern Uwharrie again, where he parked once more behind the berm.

Grabbing his binoculars, he got out of the truck. Arlo walked beside him as he started the longish trek toward Scenic Road. Though his pace was measured—he didn’t want his heart acting up—his back continued to tighten, and he was slowed even further by numerous ridges and hills that dotted this part of the landscape. In his youth, he would have scampered over them with ease. Now, however, he often found it necessary to stop and catch his breath. As he panted, he’d put his hands on his hips and lean back to stretch his back muscles, sometimes letting out a groan. In those moments, Arlo would gaze up at him as though wondering what was going on.

He eventually reached a point within sight of Scenic Road, near the spot where the original photo had been taken. Then, orienting himself in the direction of the boulder outcropping, he began to trek toward it, through what he assumed was the center of the deer’s range.

Again, it was tough going in places. Ridges. Hills. Rocks and boulders. A small stream. Shrubs that seemed intent on grabbing at his ankles. His hips and knees joined his back in a chorus of pain; his skin continued to sting. He tried to tell himself he was on an adventure, albeit a painful one taking place in slow motion.

He thought about the dead deer he’d found last Sunday. Wildlife officials, he assumed, had already removed the carcass, and he wondered if the bandanna he’d tied as a marker was still in place. It wasn’t important enough to retrieve it; he had lots of bandannas, and the detour was the last thing he needed. Instead, he trudged up and over another ridge, a little past the halfway point in the deer’s likely range, and stopped when he came to a small clearing. When something unusual in the center caught his eye, he raised the binoculars and focused farther. It took him only an instant to identify dry corn kernels scattered on the ground. He felt a surge of disappointment and disgust, but no surprise at all. It was what he’d been expecting, his suspicions confirmed.

Deer bait.

All hunters knew that deer loved corn, and as he closed in, he noticed hoofprints around the piles. By the differing sizes of the prints, he knew it wasn’t just one deer; there had to have been several. That also meant the corn couldn’t have been here long or there would have been nothing left at all. As he stared, his mind flashed to last Saturday, when he’d been whittling with the boy. He remembered that it had been raining then. Putting together those clues meant that the corn had been placed here and eaten in the last few days. But when exactly?

By Melton and the Littleton brothers on Sunday?

Probably.

They’d put the bait out, assuming it might take a day or two for deer to locate it. Then, knowing the deer would return in search of more, he assumed they’d be back to dump more corn. And after that…

Jasper turned, surveying the area. Where there was bait, there was also a need for a place where the poachers could hide themselves. On the southern side of the clearing, the forest was thin; ahead and to the east, there was a small ridge fronted by boulders. It took a minute or so, but he finally spotted what he was looking for on the northern side of the clearing, in the general direction of where he’d parked his truck. The trees were thickest there, and he made his way toward a fallen tree covered by a pile of branches. Though it had been hastily constructed, he noticed a clear firing window among the piled branches. Behind it, in the dirt, he found numerous prints.

Not hoofprints, not boots. Sneakers.

Again, it wasn’t proof, but it was pretty darn circumstantial.

Jasper made the agonizingly long walk back to his truck, this time using as direct a route as possible. From the bed of the truck, he retrieved the shovel and rake, along with a garbage bag. He put the jug of deer repellent and the ultrasonic devices into the backpack, loaded up, then started back the way he came. By the time he reached the corn, his legs were wobbly, and he felt as though he’d hiked all the way to Canada, but he still had work todo.

He raked the remaining kernels of corn into small piles and used his hands to scoop it into the garbage bag. He then opened the jug of deer repellent. The air filled with the smell of rotten eggs as he splashed it in a circle around the baited area. He splashed more repellent at the tree line surrounding the clearing. Then he set up the ultrasonic devices where he knew they’d get some sun, since they were powered with solar batteries. He didn’t know how well the devices would work or how long the repellent would last—the batteries might not receive enough sun to charge; the next rain might dilute the repellent to nothing—but it was all he could think to do for now. Finally, he raked over the obvious signs of his own footprints.

Weary yet pleased, he limped back to the truck before finally heading home in the early afternoon. He ate canned tomato soup and lay down for a nap; this time, he fell asleep quickly and the alarm woke him right on time. He and Arlo were out again well before dusk. He drove the truck to the berm and parked behind it, settling in for another vigil. The corn, he knew, would have to be replenished.

Lowering the truck windows so he could hear better, he watched as the sun dipped below the tree line and the sky above began to wash out. Beside him, Arlo was already asleep. The earlier march through the forest must have worn him out, too, and Jasper reached over to give him a couple of gentle pats. Arlo’s ear twitched, but that was it. He remembered Arlo when he’d been young and full of energy and the way he used to spin in circles whenever he realized he was about to ride in the truck.

“Old age has changed you,” he mumbled. “Just like me.”

Gray light gave way to twilight and then finally to darkness. The change was subtle, almost unnoticeable at first, much like the course of his own life. He thought back to the business he’d owned and the hundreds of acres of Bradford pears he’d once harvested annually. That, too, had eventually changed. Where he’d once had a monopoly, with every passing year, new competitors began to emerge. Finding new customers and markets became increasingly difficult. Sales eventually stagnated, then slowly began trending downward, even though he worked harder than ever. He stopped renewing leases on some of the land, and then more of it. When inflation soared during the late 1970s, mortgage rates rose to crushing levels, which meant fewer homes were built. The cost of fertilizer and diesel fuel went through the roof. Nurseries took less product. Like most people, he hoped the situation would right itself but in the meantime was forced to lay off one worker after another, a situation he found agonizing. Even their acceptance of a severance package did little to assuage the guilt that Jasper felt. When he looked into the eyes of those he’d had to let go, he saw husbands and wives, sons and daughters, parents. He saw God’s children, and prayed for forgiveness, even though he knew there’d been no other choice.

By the mid-1980s, Jasper found himself left with a single grove of maturing Bradford pears. As he had more than twenty years earlier, Jasper now worked the fields alone. The palms of his hands grew thick with calluses, and for the first time in his marriage, he was grateful for the money that Audrey earned as a teacher.

In April 1986, Jasper was forty-six years old. His eldest son was twenty-one and about to graduate with a degree in theology from Wake Forest University, with plans to pursue his master’s in divinity. He hoped to become a pastor. Both of his daughters were at the University of North Carolina, one majoring in biology, intending to become a veterinarian, and the other planning to major in elementary education. Paul was looking forward to starting his senior year in high school.

The weather that spring was fickle, until it began to rain, day after day, for nearly two weeks. The ground was fully saturated when warm, humid air from the Gulf of Mexico began colliding with colder, dry air from the north. Storm cells began to form in Georgia and South Carolina, then finally North Carolina. Near Asheboro, in an area mercifully devoid of people, one of those storm cells spawned a tornado—or at least that was the assumption. Because there’d been no witnesses, the only evidence of the tornado was reconstructed in the aftermath: two small outbuildings leveled and thousands of trees whose leaves had been stripped from the branches while being uprooted and tossed like straws.

Because the situation was so odd as to be almost unbelievable, a photographer from the newspaper traveled to the location to document it. Photos would show that on the surrounding farms, neither houses nor barns had been affected. Neighboring crops of corn and cotton and tobacco continued to stretch toward the sun, completely undamaged. Only in one relatively confined area was the destruction utterly complete.

Jasper remembered standing with the photographer and staring at the ruins of what had been his last remaining grove of Bradford pear trees. Though the trees had been insured, he had contracts yet to fulfill that summer, which meant that he’d have to buy the trees from other growers and sell them, likely at a loss. No doubt, he would be left with practically nothing.

Dizzy at the realization, Jasper continued to stare at the toppled trees. The ninth verse in the fourth chapter of Job came to him unbidden: By the breath of God they perish, and by the blast of His anger they come to an end.

For a moment, Jasper wondered what he had done to anger God, before quickly shaking his head. He reminded himself that he led a blessed life, and thought instead about another storm from his past, the hurricane that had destroyed his house but also enabled him to start his business in the first place. He reminded himself that the Lord works in mysterious ways and thought about 1 Corinthians 10:13, which promised that God is faithful, and He will not let you be tested beyond your strength.

Despite the assurances of his faith, he had difficulty sleeping at night for months. He worried about paying for his children’s college educations, and he worried about supporting the local food bank, for he knew that other families faced struggles far worse than his own. He’d been correct about the insurance proceeds; there wasn’t enough for him to fulfill his contracts. Though he could have declared bankruptcy and simply walked away from his obligations, he thought about Psalm 37:21, which said that the wicked borrows and does not pay back. So he and Audrey went to the bank.

They took out a mortgage on their home, the first one they’d ever needed. As they signed the papers, Jasper wondered how he was going to be able to rebuild his life, but as they walked out the door, Audrey took his hand in hers, and in that moment he was sure everything was going to be okay.

V

It was just after nine in the evening, and the world was inky black when Jasper noticed flickers of lights to the north, blinking in and out of sight like distant fireflies.

“Looks like someone’s coming,” he muttered to Arlo.

Beside him, Arlo yawned and then sat up, looking around. A minute or so later, he cocked his ears, his head tilting to the side. Jasper rolled up his window, then reached across Arlo to do the same on the passenger side, on the off chance that Arlo decided to bark.

It was another few minutes before the world in front of him momentarily brightened; the sound of an engine was unmistakable. Poachers, with spotlights and rifles beside them in the cab, a bag of corn in the bed.

The Littletons and Melton?

Just the Littletons?

Someone else?

He’d stationed his truck here because he wanted to know with absolute certainty.

The world went dark again and the sound of the engine faded away. Jasper waited another ten minutes to make sure they were gone, then turned the key.

The engine cranked but wouldn’t catch. Jasper took a deep breath and tried again while pumping on the accelerator. Again, it failed to spark.

He closed his eyes, feeling a sudden tightness in his chest. He let the engine sit for a moment before trying again. He turned the key and pumped the accelerator, heard the engine finally turn over in protest, then catch with the loud squeal associated with a loose fan belt.

Good God, he thought. The sound was loud enough to have awakened the dead and he hoped that whoever had passed was far enough away that they hadn’t heard it.

He shifted into first but kept his lights off, slowly rolling around the berm. He could barely see his tracks beyond the windshield, and even at a crawl, he had to jerk the wheel at times to avoid trees and gullies. His eyes regularly flashed to the rearview mirror as he looked for headlights. Even after reaching the off-road trail, he felt nervous—armed men with a disregard for the law could be dangerous. Still, Jasper fought the urge to drive faster. Arlo seemed to sense his tension and let out a whine, then another. He wondered how long it would take them to reach the clearing and get back to their truck.

Jasper couldn’t be certain, but in time, he reached the fire road and let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. He felt safe enough to turn on his lights and speed up, knowing it would lead to the main road. After a while, that road would reach a junction, and the poachers could turn left or right to use one of two exits that bypassed both the campground and the ranger station.

It was only when Jasper reached the junction that he realized his mistake. He hadn’t thought to find a place to hide his truck here, that would allow him to see which direction the poachers went.

He headed a quarter mile in one direction, then turned the truck around and did the same in the opposite direction. Scrutinizing both sides of the road, he searched for a terrain feature large enough to obscure his truck but couldn’t find anything.

Which meant he’d have to make a choice.

One direction led toward Asheboro, the other to county roads and eventually a highway.

Following his hunch, he decided on the exit that led toward Asheboro, and ten minutes later, he was out of the forest. He drove another few hundred yards and finally turned onto a side street. He turned the truck around and shut off the engine, hoping he was right.

He waited half an hour.

Then an hour.

Then more.

His mind wandered as fatigue settled in. Arlo began to snore.

Well into the second hour, it had become difficult for Jasper to keep his eyes open. Just then, he saw trees begin to brighten as though illuminated by headlights. He sat up straighter. He stared intently, until finally he spotted a black pickup emerging from the forest. The truck rolled onto the street without stopping, and a moment later, it passed by him, even as it continued to accelerate.

Jasper turned the key, and to his relief, the engine cranked on the first turn. He began to follow. In the distance, he could see the vehicle’s taillights. If the truck’s destination was a specific neighborhood in Asheboro, which he suspected, the truck was going to take a left at a stop sign ahead.

It did.

Jasper continued to drive without his headlights until he reached the stop sign. Right before he made the turn, he flipped on his lights. By then, the truck was nearly out of sight and Jasper pressed the accelerator, closing the distance slightly. The road was devoid of other traffic, and he didn’t want to arouse suspicion, so he remained a reasonable distance behind.

They reached Asheboro and then the downtown area. The truck ahead turned again. Jasper slowed, growing more confident in his suspicion; when he turned, he saw the flash of taillights as the truck turned onto yet another street, the same one that Jasper had visited two nights earlier.

Up ahead, he watched the black pickup pull into Clyde Littleton’s drive. He pulled over to the side of the road and waited a few minutes, then quietly got out of his truck, leaving Arlo behind. He approached on foot, heading toward the house, trying his best to keep in the shadows. He felt foolish; he wasn’t a spy or a criminal and figured that if any of the neighbors were to look out their windows, he’d stand out like a neon sign. But no one seemed to be watching.

Finally, as he neared the Littleton house, he ducked into the neighbor’s bushes. Though landscaping still blocked much of his view, he was able to confirm that no one was hauling a carcass from the bed of the truck. Nor did he hear voices, which meant the boys had already gone inside the house. He breathed a sigh of relief, knowing the deer was still safe. More than that, he’d learned what he’d suspected all along.

The Littleton boys were intent on bagging their trophy.

VI

Back at home, Jasper undressed and went to bed, aware that this night, too, would be a short one. He fell asleep quickly and woke to a blaring alarm on Thursday morning. He fed Arlo and ate an egg sandwich with his coffee, feeling old and tired and achy in every part of his body. His back, knees, and hips were so sore that moving was difficult; his skin felt as though it was being jabbed with a thousand needles and itched like crazy. But he had work to do to keep the deer safe now that the Littletons had replenished their bait. It was the reason, he suspected, they’d gone into the forest last night.

He drove into the Uwharrie again, headlights on, jolting and bouncing all the way back to the berm. This time, he’d brought a flashlight as well as the rake and an additional garbage bag. He picked his way slowly through the forest, watching his steps. The last thing he wanted was to twist an ankle. He checked his watch, feeling the pressure of time. He wished he could move faster and wondered whether he should have started earlier, though having done so would have meant he likely wouldn’t have slept at all.

Even Arlo seemed to be dragging, content to stay at Jasper’s side instead of wandering ahead with his nose to the ground.

When Jasper finally reached the clearing, he saw fresh corn dumped into numerous piles. He moved as quickly as he could, using the leaf rake and his hands to scoop all of it into the garbage bag. He also understood the fresh corn meant that the Littletons were planning to come back, either this morning or tomorrow, since the forest would be crowded with people once turkey season began. If he had to guess, he’d say they were probably on their way right now. They, like him, knew the deer would be waking soon and would begin looking for food.

Once he’d collected the corn, he slung the bag over his shoulder with a grunt and retrieved the rake and flashlight. By then, the moon had drifted below the horizon and the stars had begun to fade. He shined the light on his watch, knowing he was running out of time. He started back toward the truck, but his concern that the Littletons might be approaching meant he had to keep the flashlight off, slowing his progress.

At the northern edge of the clearing—just past the fallen tree where the Littletons had built the hide and planned to station themselves—he stumbled. As he caught himself, however, his back suddenly lit up with a spasm that paralyzed the rest of his muscles. He collapsed, his knee slamming into a rock and sending shock waves of pain up his leg. On the ground, he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe while pain from the spasm crashed over him in full fury, making him nearly pass out. His knee felt as though he’d crushed the bone with a hammer.

Not now, he thought. I’ve got to get out of here .

Above him, the sky was beginning to lose its inky color, turning an indigo shade.

He knew he had to get back to the truck, but the back spasms, coming in steady waves, made it nearly impossible to breathe, let alone move. The pain in his knee radiated all the way to his hip, agony throbbing with every heartbeat. When Arlo nosed at his face, he couldn’t summon the energy to shoo the dog away.

He concentrated, trying to think of anything else, but the pain triggered the memory of even more pain. All at once, he had a vivid recollection of a Fourth of July weekend in 1983, a little more than two years after his business had been destroyed. He was working in construction again and the kids—though all four were technically young adults by then—were spending the long holiday weekend at the house. They’d gone to church as a family, and afterward, Audrey had set out fried chicken, cole slaw, and potato salad on the picnic table in their backyard. For Jasper, it was a meal he would never forget, because it was the last time that all of them would ever eat together.

The following day, on Independence Day, the kids went their separate ways. Mary and Deborah went to the coast with friends, albeit in different groups. David went to a barbecue that a friend was throwing, and Paul went boating with a couple of buddies. Some but not all would watch the fireworks display in Asheboro later that night; Deborah planned to watch the ones in Wrightsville Beach and wouldn’t return to the house until after midnight. After the fireworks were over, Paul planned to host a bonfire behind the house with some friends, as he’d done a handful of times in the past. Later, Jasper would learn that some of the young men had brought liquor and that Paul had joined in the festivities.

Jasper and Audrey stayed up late, waiting for the kids to get home. Mary arrived first, then David, and finally Deborah. The five of them visited for a while as they sat at the kitchen table. Paul was still in the backyard with his friends, seated around the fire pit with flames leaping toward the sky. Glancing out the back window, Jasper had considered reminding Paul to be cautious, as the wind had begun to pick up. Coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist, Audrey had kissed him on the cheek.

“Let him be,” she urged, reading his mind. “You know he’ll be careful and he’s having fun with his friends. Let’s go to bed.”

Jasper and Audrey retreated to the bedroom. Audrey slipped into her nightgown and Jasper put on his pajamas. As always, they faced each other in those final moments before sleep. In the darkness, he could see a slight smile playing across Audrey’s lips. She loved having all the children home.

The next thing Jasper could remember was waking up and coughing so hard that it felt as though his insides were being twisted. It took less than a second for his mind to process what was happening; he saw flames on the back wall and the ceiling, black smoke everywhere. The room was on fire, his house was on fire. Jasper bounded from the bed and tried to shake Audrey awake. Her body remained limp, and panic took root. He shouted at her and shook her harder, but still, she didn’t stir. Jasper scooped her into his arms and started toward the bedroom door. As soon as he opened it, there was an explosion of light and energy, and he felt himself being hurled backward. For long minutes, there was nothing but unconsciousness until the pain finally woke him.

Flames were opening and closing like fists, hot orange tendrils dancing all around him. Jasper, himself, was on fire, and he felt the hellish fingers devouring the flesh on his arms and legs and torso. Although he couldn’t see clearly, he realized his head, face, and neck were burning as well. With a scream, he instinctively batted at the flames and frantically began to roll. The smoke had become a blackened fog, so thick that he could barely see, and he smelled something that reminded him vaguely of cooked meat. Once the flames on his body had been extinguished, his next thought was of Audrey and the children. Their images blinked into his consciousness as though a switch had been thrown. Audrey, he thought, David, Mary, Deborah, and Paul…

I have to save my family —

Everything seemed to be on fire now. The walls and floors and ceiling were burning, as was the furniture. Somehow, Jasper found the crumpled shape of Audrey’s body near the window, engulfed in flames. Her skin was blackened from head to foot. He beat out the flames and lifted her from the ground, watching in a stupor as his own skin peeled away. Somehow, he staggered down the steps and out the front door, where he placed her on the grass.

His neighbors’ homes on either side of them were also on fire. A fire truck had already pulled to a stop out front, and he heard more sirens in the distance. From the corner of his eye, he saw Paul on the lawn, screaming hysterically while being restrained by a police officer. He saw his neighbors, standing amidst the small crowd that was already forming on the sidewalk. There was no sign of his other children and he wondered where they were.

Oh, God, please…No…

Already, two firemen were beginning to unwind a hose from the truck. Another fireman rushed toward him, but Jasper turned and raced up onto the porch and back into the house.

The heat was a living thing, and the sound of the fire was like that of a jet engine; he felt the skin on his face instantly begin to blister. Flames were devouring the entire structure, as if swallowing it whole. He didn’t care. He staggered toward the staircase, which had already become an inferno. He thought about his children and pressed forward, only to feel two sets of hands suddenly jerk him backward. Jasper struggled and screamed for his family, trying to fight the hands off, but both of the firemen were young and strong. A moment later, he was being dragged across the porch and onto the lawn.

The world descended into slow motion then, images forming and dissolving with dreamlike suspension.

Flames leaping toward the sky…neighbors huddling together across the street…water gushing from hoses…more police cars suddenly appearing, coming to a stop on the neighbor’s lawn…Audrey’s blackened body in the grass, surrounded by paramedics…

But most of all, it was his own screams that he would always remember—his own, and Paul’s. Only when his throat gave out, hoarse and raw, did Jasper begin to feel the agony of his burns, so intense that the world around him shrank to nothing at all. Mercifully, he passed out.

VII

Arlo licked the tears from Jasper’s face.

He’d relived that night a thousand times and always cried when he did; even after the passage of decades the grief and shame and sense of failure had neither faded nor diminished. He hated himself for having been unable to save his family.

He moaned as his back spasmed again, and the world came into focus. He tried to remind himself that the Littletons were coming and that he was running out of time. In the distant past, he would have prayed to God for strength; would have prayed that He lessen his pain. Instead, Jasper simply closed his eyes, allowing himself to succumb to the memories. Once they began, he’d long since learned, they were almost impossible to stop.

Only later would Jasper learn what had happened to him: that he’d been rushed by ambulance to UNC Hospital in Chapel Hill, where he was placed in a clean room and put into a medically induced coma for more than eight weeks. He had second- and third-degree burns over more than 60 percent of his body. His wounds were methodically cleaned and debrided for weeks. He heard that the doctors even covered parts of his body with maggots to further remove dead tissue. He was treated with intravenous antibiotics and received skin grafts, both from his own body and from donors. For more than a month, no one knew whether Jasper was going to live or die. He suffered from arrhythmia, dehydration, and edema; twice, he caught pneumonia. There were a few days when his wounds bordered on becoming septic, which probably would have resulted in the amputation of both legs, but somehow each time the infection receded.

Eventually, he opened his eyes, emerging into a state of unimaginable agony. Tears leaked steadily from his eyes whenever he was conscious. The nurses wouldn’t allow him to have a mirror, but he guessed by looking at his arms and legs and torso how his face must look. He was eventually transferred from a clean room to the ICU, then finally to a regular bed. It was around that time that a psychiatrist began to visit. Finally, after months in the hospital, he was moved to the North Carolina Jaycee Burn Center.

His stay there was even longer. Because the burns had damaged some of his nerves, he had to relearn how to stand and walk. He had to relearn how to hold a fork and spoon. He felt like a middle-aged toddler. Finally, more than a year after the fire, he was released from the burn center, but even then, his treatment was not finished. He had four additional skin graft surgeries over the next five years.

Two weeks after waking from the coma, he learned what had become of his family. The sheriff, along with a younger deputy named Charlie—who would eventually be elected sheriff—were in his room, as was a psychiatrist, a social worker, and the pastor from his church. They stood in a half-circle around his bed, their words spoken grimly, quietly. He was told that Audrey had died from her burns, while David, Mary, and Deborah had died of smoke inhalation. Jasper wasn’t sure whether it was true, but he chose to believe that his three oldest children hadn’t suffered in the flames because the alternative was too horrific to contemplate. He was also told there’d already been a small memorial and that his family had been buried in the local cemetery.

Paul hadn’t passed away in the fire. Instead, because four people in his family had died and three houses had been destroyed, Paul had been arrested on felony charges, including negligent homicide. At the jail, in front of the officers who’d arrested him and their superiors, he waived the right to an attorney. He confessed to everything, things he’d done and maybe things he hadn’t; that he drank for the first time in his life and had too much, that he had continued to feed the fire even after the wind picked up, until it was far too large for the conditions; that even after embers made their way to the roof, igniting flames, he hadn’t called the fire department right away, instead attempting to put out the fire himself with the garden hose. In his panic, he hadn’t rushed inside to awaken his family. In addition to being recorded on videotape by the police, he wrote out an account of the events. He’d wept through much of it, repeatedly asking how his father was, only to learn that Jasper had been taken to the hospital and was in critical condition. Because Paul couldn’t stop crying, he had been placed on suicide watch in the county jail.

When his court-appointed attorney again showed up, hoping to reduce the charges to manslaughter, Paul had refused the offer of lesser charges. Instead, he demanded the earliest trial possible, one before a judge and without a jury. While Jasper hovered between life and death, his body fighting one crisis after another, Paul’s request was granted. The legal process moved quickly, pushing through in weeks what might have otherwise taken months or even years. Standing dry-eyed and calm before the judge, Paul pleaded guilty. When his attorney began to argue for leniency at the sentencing, Paul fired him on the spot and demanded instead the maximum penalty allowable by law. The judge—the Honorable Roger Littleton—instead took pity. He refused to impose the maximum sentence, which could have kept Paul locked up for twenty years per offense. Instead, Paul received a sentence of six years, and was informed that he’d be eligible for parole in three.

On Paul’s first night in prison, using the sheets from his bed, he hung himself.

That day in the hospital, after learning what had happened to his family, Jasper could remember turning away and asking to be left alone.

He didn’t speak for weeks, even to the psychiatrist. There was nothing at all to say.

His livelihood had been destroyed, his body was in ruins, and his entire family had died.

In the weeks that followed, he dwelled on his fate, feeling that the pattern of it somehow was familiar. He finally realized that he indeed knew the story well; after all, he’d read it dozens of times in the Bible.

Jasper had somehow become Job.

VIII

Arlo whined, bringing Jasper back to the present. He drew a series of deep breaths, steeling himself, and slowly rolled onto his side. His back tightened but fortunately didn’t spasm; his knee, however, made him wince. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, didn’t know how much time was left, only that he didn’t have much. Dawn was coming and the Littletons, with or without Melton, would be here soon.

He wasn’t sure he could stand, let alone make it to the truck. But he knew he couldn’t stay near the fallen tree either. Casting about for somewhere to hide, he remembered the ridge and boulders on the eastern side of the clearing. It would have to do.

Get up, he told himself.

But he couldn’t. Struggling to stand made his back tighten again, and he realized he needed support, something to grab onto.

Or better yet, a stretcher, with three or four strong men to carry it.

He smiled at his own joke, until his knee throbbed again, making him wince. Scanning his immediate surroundings, he finally located a small tree. He pulled himself toward it, dragging his bad leg. In his peripheral vision, he saw Arlo staring with his head cocked, as though wondering what sort of game this was.

Jasper gritted his teeth and inched forward again. He reminded himself that he’d once struggled through a flooding house; he’d once run into an inferno. He caught his breath, covered a few more inches and rested, trying to keep the muscles in his back relaxed. Then he went through the process again. And again. And again.

He finally reached the small tree and slowly began to pull himself up. Though his back and knee seemed to be screaming at him, they held up enough to allow him to stand. Just then, he saw a pinprick of light in the distance and heard an engine.

They’re almost here.

What would they do if they found him? If they knew he’d report them for poaching? If they knew he’d taken the corn and poured deer repellent and deployed those ultrasonic devices to keep the deer away?

He pictured Josh’s flare of rage as he raised his rifle to kill Arlo…he remembered the ease with which the boy had swung the rifle in his direction. He saw again the empty smile, masking the fact that human emotion eluded him…

Josh wouldn’t kill him, would he?

Of course not .

For the first time, Jasper realized he was frightened. He was foolish to have done all this, stupid to have believed it was his responsibility to keep the white buck safe from harm. He didn’t want to test Josh’s anger. Gritting his teeth, he limped a single step, then another, slowly and painfully making his way back to the rake, flashlight, and the bag of corn. He wondered if he’d be able to bend low enough to retrieve them without his back seizing up again.

Eyeing the forest to the north, he saw another pinprick of light, no doubt a flashlight sweeping the darkness.

They were closer now.

And soon enough, he knew, Josh was going to be very, very angry.