The Secret of Loblolly Creek

Chapter One

Am I making a mistake?

This was the question Maria Thorpe asked herself on a Saturday afternoon in late September; asked herself as she watched her eight-year-old son, Jacob, trundle down the road—away from the house, away from the neighborhood, away from his mother’s protection, out into the world.

And she wondered.

The weather here in southeast Georgia was oddly cool for this time of year.  If any day could be described as ideal for exploring, this was the one:  from one end of the sky to the other there was hardly a single cloud to be seen, other than a few pale wisps in the east.

And yet Maria’s instinct was to run outside, collar the boy, and tell him that she had changed her mind; that he would not be allowed to explore the area around Loblolly Creek after all.  Sure, Jacob would complain.  But Maria was his mother and she made the rules.  Jacob could fuss all he wanted.  Like it or not, he would still be coming home.

But she stayed where she was, allowing only her eyes to follow the boy into the midday sunlight.  Jacob needed to go out unsupervised sometimes.  She just wished he had set his sights on someplace other than Loblolly Creek.

Maria was native to the Georgia low country, and had lived here all her life.  Better than most, she knew the dangers of the vast maritime forests through which Loblolly Creek wound its way.

But she also understood how alluring, how attractive, such a thing could be—especially to a young child.  Loblolly Creek was a shallow, glistening rivulet barely large enough to be named.  And yet like many other such streams it was home to a wondrous variety of animals:  minnows, frogs, water boatmen, eels, enormous dragonflies, and more.  In the end, Maria simply couldn’t deny her son the small wonders of a place like Loblolly Creek.

So yesterday, when Jacob had asked her for permission to explore a bit of the area that surrounded it, Maria’s answer was yes.  It was not an easy one to give.  From time to time alligators had been sighted in Loblolly Creek, and the surrounding woods were known to be home to a small population of feral hogs.  Nevertheless, after talking to her husband, John, later that night, and making sure he had no objections, Maria let her decision stand.  Other parents were allowing their young children to poke about in the same general region.  It wasn’t a big deal.

Even so, Maria had been stern in her warnings.

“You’ll have to be careful, Jake,” she’d told him.  “You’ll have to watch where you’re going at all times.  And don’t follow that creek too far.”

“I won’t, Mama,” the stocky, towheaded little boy assured her.  “I promise.” 

And now, remembering that promise, Maria left the window, got busy with household tasks:  doing laundry, folding sheets, whatever, anything that might take her mind off her anxiety.  But her thoughts remained with her son.  They could not have been anywhere else.  If only she and John had gotten him the dog for which he had long been asking.  A dog would die protecting Jacob if some predatory animal arrived on the scene.  But John had nixed the idea, citing the expense and responsibility of keeping a pet.  At the time, Maria had agreed.  But the more she thought about it the less certain she was that they had made the right decision.  A boy needed a dog, right?  As she went into the kitchen, she made up her mind to talk to John about getting one for Jacob after all.

***

A fib.  Not a lie, just a fib.

Jacob had been fibbing.  That was the word he would have used, if you’d pushed him hard enough.  To say that he had fudged a little would also have been accurate.  But lying?  No.  That was just too harsh.  He hadn’t told his mother anything false necessarily.  He simply hadn’t told her the whole truth.