Free The Thicket by Joe R. Lansdale Page A

believe so.”
    “Then why worry about your sister? If it is part of his plan, then it does not matter how much you worry or concern yourself, because it is all going to come out a certain way anyway.”
    “Grandpa was not a worrier,” I said. “I am. He trusted in God. He trusted in his plan.”
    “And God pulled a good one on him, did he not?”
    “There is a reason.”
    “Unknown to us, of course.”
    “Someday, perhaps, in heaven.”
    “If you are in town, and there are horses running down the streets, coming from both directions, fast, do you look both ways before you cross the street?”
    “Of course.”
    “Then you do not have the faith you claim,” he said. “If it is all preordained, then you will be hit or not hit by those horses no matter which direction you glance, because it is all laid out.”
    “It is common sense,” I said.
    “Not if you believe as you do.”
    This was making my head hurt, and it reminded me of the sort of confusing questions Lula asked. I decided to abandon the talk by going silent.
    Shorty put his eye back to the telescope. “Do you know how I became interested in the stars and the moon and the planets?”
    I didn’t really care, but since I was looking for his help, I decided to at least feign a bit of interest. “No,” I said. “How?”
    He turned from the scope and looked at me.
    “A book by a man named Lowell. He wrote about Mars, about the canals he thinks are there, and if you look through the telescope—though the one I have is not truly sufficient to the task—you can certainly understand why he might think such a thing. Then the story I read that I mentioned, admittedly fiction, expounded on that, and excited my imagination. I had to save quite a bit from my dealings here and there to afford to send off for this telescope.”
    “Was it worth it?”
    “I believe so. Yes.”
    While we were having this talk, all I could really think about was my sis out there in the wilds with those horrible men, one of them the murderer of our grandfather, and all of them bank robbers and killers and no telling what all. I kept wanting to bring that up, but I knew it was no use. We were not leaving tonight. I knew, too, from a reason standpoint, Shorty and Eustace most likely knew what they were talking about as far as catching sight of any sign.
    “You are wishing none of what has happened to you had happened,” said Shorty. “And you are wishing that your sister will escape, and that she and you will meet up and things will be as they were. Well, she might escape. It could happen, but through no wish of your own—through luck and circumstance, perhaps good planning on her part, initiative taken. Is she a good planner, a good thinker?”
    “Not really, no,” I said.
    “There you have it. What you have to harden yourself to is us finding her and getting her back, and knowing things will not be as they were but as you make them. And we may not get her back. Though I can guarantee within reason we will find her if she is alive, and possibly if she is dead, and we will find them as well and take care of your business and seal our agreement. But once again, things may not be so happy when it is all over.”
    “I understand that,” I said.
    “Maybe you do, but youth can confuse you. Let me tell you a little something about why I do not believe in wishes. I was born to a man who named me Reginald Jones. I thought for a long time I would grow to be a normal height and be a son he could treasure. But I did not grow to a normal height. He called me his goddamn midget. My mother loved me and called me Reggie. She died when I was nine. My father put me to work at that age, and I do mean work. He was a harsh man. When I was ten he rented me out like a mule to a cotton farmer. On the way to work one morning, riding a paint pony called Old Charlie, I fell off and burst my eardrum. It was a terrific fall. I could hardly stand upright, and all the world seemed to tilt. I rode home,