The Devil's bed

Her smile grew. “We had a Model B when I used to help my dad in these orchards. That was a monster. Not like this Kubota.” She put a hand on the tractor, but she pulled it back quickly from the sting of the metal that had turned hot in the afternoon sun.

“You know about the Kubota?”

“An M-series narrow. Specially built for orchard work. Hydrostatic power steering. Synchronized main and shuttle transmission. Three Vortex Combustion System diesel engine. Eighty PTO horsepower.”

Bo let the fact that he was impressed show. She laughed, and he liked the sound.

“I’m not as smart as I seem,” she confessed. “Dad and I talk on the phone almost weekly. He told me everything. He was so proud of his new toy. What interests you so much about the tractor?”

Manning had been explicit in his directive. The First Lady wasn’t to be worried.

Bo said, “On the farm, I fell in love with machines. The smell of grease and gasoline and field dust. I appreciate their purpose and their power.”

“But you didn’t become a farmer.”

“Wrong temperament,” Bo replied.

“Katie! Katie!”

The First Lady turned back as Earl galloped toward her down the orchard row. He was a big, ungainly man who ran without any grace but a lot of joy. He smacked into a low-hanging branch, spun around, and came on as if nothing had happened. When he reached them, he was breathing hard and smiling big.

“Hi, Bo.”

“Morning, Earl.”

“Beautiful, huh?”

Bo looked at the First Lady, and thought, Yes. Then Earl touched the tractor, and Bo understood what he’d meant.

“I get to drive it sometimes,” Earl said.

“But not now,” Kate told him.

Earl looked disappointed and climbed onto the seat anyway. He began to pretend to drive the machine, making engine sounds.“Vrrooom! Vrrooom!”

The First Lady moved to the flatbed and sat in the shade of an apple limb. She put her sandals beside her and crossed her long, brown legs. “I used to come here with my father almost every night. He’d bring his telescope and we’d look at the moon and the stars for hours.”

“It’s easy to see why he loves it.”

“Am I keeping you from your work?” she asked.

“You are my work.”

“My aunt thinks the world of you, you know.”

“I’m pretty fond of Annie. I owe her my life. What I’ve made of it, anyway.”

“What about the others?” she asked. “The children who lived with you in the bus.”

“Otter, Egg, Pearl, and Freak.”

“Those were their names?”

“Street names. We all went by them.”

“What was yours?”

“Spider-Man.”

“So, what happened to the others?”

Earl was pretending to shift through gears and bouncing on the seat as if he were driving over rough road.

Bo leaned against the ridges of the Kubota’s big rear tire. The limb that shaded the First Lady also shaded him.

“They still had homes somewhere. Social Services sent them back to their parents.”

“And they all lived happily ever after?”

“Pearl got pregnant at sixteen. The first time. She has five children now by three different men. Her oldest daughter ran away this summer. Pearl still hasn’t heard from her. Otter’s an alcoholic, been in and out of treatment for years. Those are the success stories,” Bo said.

“The other two? Egg and Freak?”

“Egg’s doing time in Eddyville, Kentucky, for armed robbery. Freak died of AIDS, two years ago. He was a heroin addict.”

“I’m sorry, Bo.”

“Me, too.”

“What about you? Are you happy with the life you’ve put together?”

“Happier some days than others. Isn’t it like that for everyone?”

Instead of answering, she rose and said, “I should be getting back. Earl, are you coming?”

“Yeah. Do you want to go swimming?” He climbed down from the tractor and took his sister’s hand.

Before she started away, the First Lady said, “Shouldn’t that tractor be moved?”

“Your safety is our priority right now,” Bo said. “Eventually I’ll have one of my people put it in the barn.”

“Or put it there yourself. Why give someone else the thrill?” She laughed, turned away, and headed toward the house with Earl, following the orchard lane Tom Jorgenson had taken a couple of days before. The two FLOTUS agents trailed her.

When they’d gone, Bo walked to the apple tree behind the flatbed and climbed the trunk. He eased out onto the limb that seemed to have been the culprit in Tom Jorgenson’s accident. He crouched and examined the bark. Some of the very small sucker branches were bent or broken. It looked to Bo as if someone might well have climbed out onto that limb not long before him.

chapter nine