Chapter 3 - The Gate at Blackwater Creek
I stared at the envelope.
My father's name looked wrong in somebody else's handwriting.
Hal Lennox had been dead for three years.
I'd buried him on a cold November morning in a cemetery outside Salina, Kansas.
I'd stood beside Charlene while she cried into a handkerchief.
I'd listened to the pastor describe my father as a man who had devoted his life to keeping his family together.
At the time, those words had made me want to scream.
Now I was holding an envelope suggesting that my father had known something about the worst night of my life.
"Eli."
My voice sounded sharp.
"Where did you get this?"
He glanced toward the soldiers leaving the gym.
"Not here."
Dwayne Tillman joined us.
He looked older than I remembered.
His beard had gone almost completely gray.
But his eyes hadn't changed.
They were the same steady eyes I'd seen above the river that morning.
"Erin," he said, "I think you need to hear him out."
I looked from one man to the other.
"You knew about this?"
Dwayne hesitated.
"Not all of it."
That answer frightened me more than a simple yes would have.
General Haskett approached.
"Major, are you all right?"
"Sir, may I have a few minutes?"
He studied the envelope.
Then he looked at Dwayne.
"Something I should know about?"
Dwayne answered carefully.
"Possibly, sir."
The general's expression hardened.
"Then don't let this turn into a hallway rumor."
He lowered his voice.
"Meet me in the conference room in twenty minutes."
I nodded.
He walked away.
I turned back to Eli.
"Start talking."
Eli glanced at Brody, who was standing near the empty third row.
"Your brother needs to hear this, too."
I didn't like the sound of that.
Brody approached slowly.
"What is it?"
Eli held his gaze.
"Do you remember the north maintenance gate?"
Brody went pale.
I felt my pulse jump.
The north gate.
Six years earlier, during three days of nearly continuous rain, the creek had swollen beyond its banks.
Our small Army training detachment had been assisting local emergency responders near an old flood-control service road.
The maintenance gate controlled access to a narrow concrete channel beside the creek.
It wasn't supposed to be opened during heavy flooding.
Everyone knew that.
At least, everyone who had read the safety briefing.
That night, someone had reported two soldiers missing after their vehicle stalled near the crossing.
Dwayne and Eli had gone to investigate.
Brody had followed against my orders.
By the time I reached the channel, the water was already swallowing the road.
I remembered trying to reach the stranded men.
I remembered the roar.
But most of all, I remembered a metal gate slamming against its frame.
Once.
Twice.
Then breaking loose.
I had always believed the flood had forced it open.
"Eli," I said, "what are you telling me?"
He looked at Brody.
"Tell her."
Brody didn't move.
I turned toward him.
"Tell me what?"
His mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
I felt the first sharp edge of anger.
"Brody."
He rubbed his forehead.
"Erin, I didn't know it would happen."
A terrible understanding began forming.
"What did you do?"
He looked toward the exit.
Then back at me.
"I opened the service gate."
I couldn't speak.
He continued quickly.
"Only partway. I thought it would drain water away from the road."
I stared at him.
"You opened a flood-control gate?"
He shook his head.
"It wasn't a flood-control gate exactly."
"Don't."
My voice cracked.
"Don't start explaining away the words you just said."
He looked down.
I took one step backward.
Six years.
Six years of nightmares.
Six years of physical therapy.
Six years of wearing a brace whenever my arm began to fail.
And now my stepbrother was telling me the disaster hadn't happened the way I remembered.
"Who told you to open it?"
Nobody answered.
I looked at Eli.
Then Dwayne.
Eli held out his hand.
"Let's go to the conference room."
I wanted to rip the envelope open immediately.
Instead, I walked.
Because I was an Army officer.
Because I had spent my entire adult life learning not to let panic make decisions for me.
And because I knew if I started shouting at Brody, I might not stop.
Twenty minutes later, the four of us sat around a polished conference table.
General Haskett closed the door.
"All right," he said.
"Tell me what this is."
Eli placed a photograph on the table.
Not my photograph.
A different one.
It showed the north maintenance gate before the flood.
Beside it stood a white county utility truck.
On the door was a faded municipal seal.
Eli tapped the image.
"This was taken two hours before the rescue."
The general leaned forward.
"Where did you get it?"
"A county maintenance worker."
"When?"
"Last month."
I stared at Eli.
"Why last month?"
His jaw tightened.
"Because he finally agreed to talk."
Dwayne folded his arms.
"The worker's name is Martin Vale."
I remembered hearing that name during the original investigation.
"He was the county supervisor."
Eli nodded.
"He was."
General Haskett studied the photo.
"Continue."
Eli opened the envelope.
Inside were photocopies of maintenance reports, an old map, and a handwritten letter.
He slid the letter toward me.
My father's handwriting.
I recognized it immediately.
The careful capital letters.
The uneven spacing.
The little hook he always put at the bottom of his y's.
My hands began shaking.
I read the first sentence.
Erin, if you're reading this, it means I finally ran out of ways to keep the truth from hurting you.
I stopped.
My chest tightened.
I looked at Eli.
"How did you get this?"
He hesitated.
"Your father gave it to me."
I stared at him.
"When?"
"Six months before he died."
The room became very quiet.
I lowered my eyes to the letter again.
I know you think I asked you to protect Brody because he made one terrible mistake.
That was only part of it.
I couldn't breathe.
The next line was worse.
I helped hide the other part.
I looked up.
General Haskett had gone still.
Dwayne stared at the table.
Brody closed his eyes.
And suddenly I understood something that made my stomach turn.
The newspaper story hadn't simply been an exaggerated account of a rescue.
My father had known the gate was involved.
He had known Brody opened it.
And he had asked me to remain silent anyway.
I looked at my stepbrother.
"Did Dad know that night?"
Brody's face crumpled.
"Yes."
I felt tears burn behind my eyes.
"How?"
Brody whispered.
"Because I called him before I called anyone else."
General Haskett leaned forward.
"Mr. Ruddock."
His voice was quiet but commanding.
"I need you to be very precise."
Brody looked at him.
"Did you tell your father you had opened the maintenance gate before the rescue began?"
"Yes, sir."
"And did you report that fact during the original investigation?"
Brody swallowed.
"No, sir."
I looked down at the statement he'd read in the gym.
He had told the truth about who saved him.
But not the truth about why anyone needed saving.
The distinction suddenly felt enormous.
General Haskett remained silent for a long moment.
Then he said, "I need to consult legal counsel before we go further."
He stood.
"No one is to alter, destroy, or conceal any documents."
Eli nodded.
Dwayne nodded.
Brody looked sick.
I stared at the letter.
At the bottom of the first page, my father had written one more sentence.
Charlene didn't know about the gate at first.
I read it twice.
Then I turned the page.
The next sentence was underlined.
But when she found out, she made a choice that I was too weak to stop.
May you like
And beneath it, my father had written:
Ask Brody what happened at the county office on September 18.
