Family Ties. Ernest Hill

paused again. “Well.” He sighed, then looked at me. “If I just had to guess, I would guess that he would probably try to find you.”

      “Me!” I said, shocked.

      “It’s just a hunch,” the reverend said.

      “But that doesn’t make sense.”

      “Perhaps it doesn’t, but that’s what I believe.”

      “Why?”

      “He idolizes you,” the reverend said.

      “He told you that.”

      “He didn’t have to.”

      “I don’t understand.”

      “I’m his spiritual advisor.”

      “And?” I said.

      “And over the years, whenever he was in the midst of a problem, he would often tell me he wished he could talk to you.”

      “Really?”

      “Yes,” he said, “really.”

      There was silence for a moment.

      “You seem surprised,” the reverend said.

      “I am.”

      “Why?”

      “I didn’t know he still felt that way.”

      “You’re his brother and he loves you,” Reverend Jacobs said. “Time and distance haven’t changed that.”

      I was quiet.

      “Put yourself in his shoes,” Reverend Jacobs said, offering his advice. “Where would you go if you were him?”

      “As far away from here as I could get,” I said.

      The reverend looked far into the distance. Suddenly, he thought of something. He leaned forward and gazed at me. “What about your mother’s sister?” he said. “The one they call Peggy. Where does she live?”

      “Chicago,” I said.

      “Perhaps he would go to her.”

      I hesitated before answering. That was a possibility, but would it be wise to admit that to the reverend? After all, the police had come to him once, and who was to say they would not come again? And if they did, would he share with them that which I had shared with him? No, I did not know him and because I did not, it would be crazy to trust him.

      “No,” I said. “Not in a million years.”

      “Why not?” he asked.

      “Aunt Peggy is a straight arrow,” I said, making up the story as I went along. “She would turn him in, in a heartbeat. Curtis knows that. He would never go to her. Besides, she’s here—I just spoke to her a few minutes ago.”

      “Would he go to your father’s people?”

      “I doubt it.”

      “Why not?”

      “He never met Daddy,” I said. “And Mama kept him away from Daddy’s people. So he doesn’t know them and they don’t know him.”

      Reverend Jacobs leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin with his fingers. “Then it’s a crapshoot,” he said. “And your guess is just as good as mine—he could be anywhere.”

      I looked at my watch, then at Peaches. “Well, we better go,” I said.

      We rose to our feet. So did Reverend Jacobs.

      “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

      “Yes, sir,” I said.

      We all walked to the door.

      “What are you going to do now?” Reverend Jacobs asked me.

      “Keep looking,” I said.

      “Where?”

      “Any place I think he might be.”

      Reverend took a deep breath. “I wish I could have been of more assistance,” he said again. “But this thing has me baffled.”

      “Well, if you think of anything, please let me know.”

      “I’ll do that,” he said.

      I turned to leave, but he stopped me.

      “Wait a minute!” he said.

      I turned back to face him.

      “What is it?”

      “There is somebody he may have turned to.”

      “Who?” I asked.

      “Reggie Wayne.”

      “Excuse me?”

      “If he didn’t come to me, and he didn’t go to your mother, he probably went to Reggie.”

      “Who is he?” I asked, confused.

      “One of the kids he counseled,” Peaches said.

      “Where can I find him?”

      “In the Quarters,” Reverend Jacobs said. “He lives with Junior Miller in a house near the cemetery.”

      “Which house?”

      “I know where it is,” Peaches said.

      “Good,” I said. “Let’s go.”

      Outside, I paused and looked toward the dense forest just behind the church, and then I turned and looked down the long, narrow road winding its way deep into the countryside. Little Man was out there somewhere. If only I knew where. In the distance, I heard the sound of a siren blaring. My frazzled nerves flared. Yes, this was a manhunt, a full-fledged manhunt. One in which the chief did not want to take Little Man alive. No, he wanted him dead. Oh, but that would not happen. I would get a gun and kill him dead before I allowed him to kill the little brother I long ago vowed to protect.

      7

      We crossed the church grounds and made our way to Peaches’s car. I heard the menacing sound of the sirens again. Convinced they had something to do with Little Man, I quickly climbed in and clicked on the radio. If he had been captured, surely the station manager would interrupt the broadcast to inform us of the news. I listened for a moment. The voice emanating from the radio spoke calmly of local happenings and of weather forecasts, but nothing about Little Man. I concentrated on the radio until instinct made me turn and look back toward the church. Reverend Jacobs had exited his office and was now standing near the window watching us. Our eyes met, and in that instant, I wondered if he had told the police what he had just told me. Suddenly, I felt my level of anxiety rise. What if he had told them? What if the police got to Reggie before me? No, I did not trust the good reverend, and I knew exactly why I did not trust him. I had done time, and the time I had done had taught me to trust no one.

      I watched him for a moment and then turned back in my seat as Peaches guided the car off the church grounds and onto the narrow streets leading back to town. Inside, I was overcome by a strong sense of urgency. I was convinced that I could not trust Reverend Jacobs. But could I trust Reggie? Who was he? And why would Little Man turn to him? None of this made sense to me. I looked at Peaches, but she was not looking at me. She was staring straight ahead, and I could tell from the expression on her face that she was also thinking about the conversation we had just had.

      “So, do you know this guy?” I asked her.

      “Yeah,” she said. “I know him.”

      “What can you tell me about him?”

      “Not much to tell,” she said. “He’s just another black kid from Brownsville with another sad story.”

      “Well, if he’s from Brownsville, I should know him,” I said. “Who are his people?”

      “I