Dry Rot

by S. L. Stoner

  Philander shook his head slowly. “I’m afraid not, Leo. But, keep your hopes up. John here is still looking. He has a real knack for solving problems like yours.”

  That bit of news hit Leo hard. His body sagged for a second before he gulped a deep breath and lifted his chin. “I trust you fellows,” he said. “The two of you will spring me out of here. I’m certain of that.”

  Sage jumped in, telling Leo about Mackey signing the contract. That news snapped the familiar Leo further back to life. “Hip! Hooray!” he exclaimed, and danced a little circle in his cell. “By golly, that’s the best darn news I’ve heard since I’ve been in here. Lordy! Imagine that? We won the strike!” Tears pooled in the union leader’s eyes and trickled down his pale cheeks, reminding Sage of the men who’d stood that morning on the hill above the city, tears of relief in their eyes. Sage’s heart ached even as his determination hardened.

  s s s

  Unstoppable mental images whirling through Sage’s mind kept sleep at bay. Leo’s haggard face. Mackey’s sobbing grief. Joy lighting the strikers’ careworn faces. The sneer twisting O’Reilly’s lips. And, it seemed like Sage’s every shift in position aggravated one small pain or another. Finally, he threw off his tangled bed clothes, struck a match to the lamp wick, and started pacing the room.

  Idly, he stared at his face in the bureau mirror, fingering the shock of white at his temple. It was a permanent reminder of that careening sled ride down the backside of Chilkoot Pass. He’d lain nearly unconscious in the snow, blood dripping from his head, his leg broken in two places. Crippled and alone in the empty expanse of the Yukon winter, death loomed inevitable. Determination alone kept him going. Inch by painful inch, he’d crawled through the snow until he reached help. He needed some of that fortitude now.

  Lifting the lamp higher and leaning forward, Sage saw that fatigue sagged his features as much as it did Leo’s and Fong’s. “No,” he vowed firmly to his reflection. “I won’t give in. We are going to free Leo, period,” he declared in a voice that boomed unexpectedly loud in the quiet night.

  Downstairs, a search of the pantry yielded Sage a piece of pie and a cool glass of milk. Leaving his dishes in the sink, along with a mental apology to Ida, Sage carried his lamp through the swinging doors into Mozart’s darkened dining room. Sitting down at the small table beneath the musicians’ balcony, Sage cradled his head on his folded arms. Soon the soft flutter of the lamplight nudged his eyelids closed. In that flickering golden haze his mind drifted into a morning of sunlight and spreading mist. In the distance, the glistening stalks of tall grasses nearly concealed the dense white of a crane’s sinewy neck as her beak foraged for seeds and bugs.

  What was Fong’s point about that memory? Sage’s tired mind turned that question over gently, like a half-forgotten pebble in his palm. “So busy looking, the cranes didn’t notice the danger around them” or something like that. More words tumbled through his head, not a one of them the answer.

  Sage sighed, opened his eyes and straightened up. “Might as well head upstairs,” he said aloud, taking up the lamp and starting to rise. With the movement, the flame flared, its light catching the gleam of the newly-painted wall above the wainscoting—Daniel’s gift. In that instant, another light flared even brighter in his head and he knew. Shock dropped him back into his seat where he sat silently as each piece slipped snugly, irrevocably into place. He knew who killed old Abner Mackey and why.

  THIRTY

  Herman Eich lay on the cot, the pillows at his back angling him nearly upright. When he saw Sage, he smiled wearily. Once Eich expressed his gratitude for rescue and care, he lapsed into silence. Neither man spoke until Sage asked, “So, at what point did you realize it was Daniel?”

  Eich didn’t hesitate,“I think the night you rescued me from that hut. When I lay on my cot and I was barely conscious, going in and out. Daniel was above me, tending to me. He leaned close and I looked into his eyes. In them I saw despair, hopelessness, and shame, too. I knew then what had happened. And, he knew that I knew.”

  Eich’s long boney fingers stroked the embroidered silk coverlet. “Mrs. Fong tells me that Daniel came to sit with me many times while I remained unconscious. Once she told him I was improving, that I would remain among the living, he never came again.”

  “Mother said that in the midst of your fever , you kept saying ‘rage is a bellow.’ Were you talking about Daniel?”

  “Hmm, I don’t remember saying that. It does sound like what I was thinking. Daniel’s suffering seemed so restrained. I kept thinking that if he’d just let out his grief, he might live

  again. Instead, he bottled it up, he withdrew further. I knew part of it was guilt over his family’s death, yet I sensed there was also a burning anger that seemed unquenchable—something he refused to talk about. I kept thinking that if he screamed his throat raw, he’d feel better. Just from letting it out. Instead of improving in spirits over time, though, he seemed to withdraw more, becoming even more agitated in his behavior.”

  Sage was pulling it together even as he formed the words, “Last night I realized that I saw Daniel for the first time when Chester and I inspected for dry rot down in the Marquam Ravine. We stood there talking about the dry rot, about how the Mackeys creosoted over the rotten timbers and made money selling the lumber a second time to someone else. A man popped out of that abandoned hut and raced away up the hill. I thought he was one of those madmen who live like hermits. I barely saw his face and it was dirty and unshaven. Still, I nearly recognized him when you brought him, all scrubbed clean, into Mozart’s kitchen that first time. I wonder why I didn’t realize it sooner. Of course, he was the man I’d seen in the gully. He’d been camping out in that hut, staying close to where his wife and baby died. That’s why he immediately thought of looking there for you.” Sage sighed heavily. “Anyway, I think he overheard what we said when we stood underneath the bridge. And, if he did, I’m sure he believes that if the fire wagon hadn’t fallen through the bridge, his wife and child would still be alive. Knowledge like that would make any man vengeful. Chester and I gave him a target for reveng—Mackey. The wrong Mackey, as it turns out.”

  Eich rubbed a hand across his face. “I thought if I found something for him to do, took his mind off what happened, he would eventually move beyond the grief. Instead, he seemed to go deeper into it,” he said.

  “If he killed old man Mackey, that explains why he didn’t come out of it. We’ve been talking every day at Mozart’s about the murder, about the dry rot and the bridges. Who knows what he overheard? Now that I think of it, I bet he hung around painting just to eavesdrop on what we said.”

  “And so, because of my grand idea, he learned that he’d killed an innocent old man,” Eich said, sadness heavy in his face.

  “I’m sure he did. And he also learned another innocent man is likely going to die because of his actions. But you had no way of knowing that would happen.”

  “Where is Daniel now?”

  Sage shook his head.“I don’t know. I looked for him at your shed when we realized we’d been so busy that we’d forgotten to pay him for his work and for the paint he used. He wasn’t there. He’s fixed the place up for you—new blankets, pillows, caulk in the cracks and whitewash. It’ll be a lot warmer. Daniel’s not there, though, and all his belongings are gone.”

  Eich sat straight up in bed, urgency strengthening his voice. “Sage, you need to find him soon. He lacks sufficient funds to turn his back on a week’s worth of wages and still buy me new blankets.”

  As Eich spoke, a thought raced through Sage’s brain. “You think he intends to kill himself?” he asked.

  “I’m certain of it. He’s a young decent man with guilt lying far too heavy on his soul.”

  s s s

  In less than an hour, Sage located Sergeant Hanke. Shortly after that, the two men slid down the ravine bank toward the abandoned hut. Hanke moved no quieter than he’d moved in the past. Even a near-deaf person could hear thei
r approach. Certainly their noise alerted Daniel because, when they got within twenty feet of the hut, he burst out its open doorway and disappeared around the far side. They quickly reversed direction. Still, he made it onto the broken bridge at least sixty feet ahead of them. When he reached the middle of the span, Daniel faced them, his eyes staring pinpoints of brown.

  “You come any closer and I’ll throw myself off this bridge and you’ll never get the proof you need to free Mr. Lockwood.”

  Sage and Hanke slowed as they be stepping across the bridge, stopping only when Daniel slung one leg over the rickety railing, his face a mask of determination. Sage glanced toward the ravine bottom, littered with trash and bone-breaking rocks. He raised both hands, palms out to calm the man.

  “It’s okay. It will be all right. The whole city will soon know about Mackey’s phoney bridge repair scheme. People will understand why you did what you did. If a man has a good reason, he’s not hung.”

  Daniel’s laugh was harsh, defiant. “Ha! How will they understand when I don’t even understand why I killed that poor old man in such a horrible way? He told me he’d done nothing wrong. He begged me. Clarisa . . . Clarisa, she’d be so ashamed of me.” Daniel yanked his leg off the railing, shouting, “You just leave me be!” as he whirled and trotted away across the bridge, heedless of the loose boards and man-sized holes.

  Sage and Hanke thudded after him, never quite catching up. Hanke shrilled his police whistle but no reinforcements appeared. He dropped further behind. Cold air seared Sage’s lungs as he gasped for breath and strained to keep up. Daniel raced on with Sage close behind. As they pounded down block after block, the heavens opened and sheets of rain slammed down. Sage tucked his chin into his collar to avoid breathing in water.

  A block from the river, Daniel paused at a construction site. He glanced behind, located his pursuers, then stooped to shove bricks into his overcoat pockets. Standing erect, he staggered forward wobbling under the extra weight he’d taken on. He thudded up the ramp onto the Morrison Bridge, his feet drumming on the wood decking. When he reached midspan he halted and turned to face Sage, who also halted with one hand on the bridge rail to steady himself as he tried to catch his wind.

  Daniel’s harsh voice carried to Sage across the twenty-five feet that separated them. “I was selfish, thinking only of myself. If I’d been upstairs to help with the baby . . . Clarisa, she was so tired . . . I knew it. . . The candle . . . She’d asked me to buy an oil lamp but no, I was too busy and didn’t have time. Ha! Oh no, not me, the good husband and father. No, not me helping her out with the baby.

  I told her I needed my sleep for work the next day. Didn’t want anything to interfere with my great plans. I had just got a new job painting the inside of one of those hilltop mansions. I was thinking that I was finally on my way to being a painter for the rich nobs in this town. I planned to outdo myself on the job, win more referrals so that soon, I’d be able to buy a house for me, Clarisa and Daniel. Maybe even hire a woman to help Clarisa out.” Self-loathing gave his words a bitter bite as tears ran down a face twisting with pain.

  Sage caught his breath and eased erect, searching for words capable of forestalling the event he feared was about happen. “You still have gifts to offer the world, Daniel. Those flowers you painted on the balcony—that’s something good you can give people. Something beautiful.”

  Daniel’s face twisted. “You like those flowers? That was the pattern I planned to paint on Daniel’s nursery walls in our new house. Instead, I painted them on Mozart’s balcony to be with the music. Two beautiful things side by side. Like Clarisa and baby Daniel in their grave.” His voice broke. Sage stepped toward him, hand outstretched in supplication.

  Daniel moved quickly, slinging a leg over the top of the railing.“Don’t come any closer, Mr. Adair. You do, and I’ll jump and you won’t be able to save Leo Lockwood.”

  “What about Leo?” Sage asked, even though he knew the answer. He needed to keep Daniel talking—he needed to slow down the man’s frenetic momentum.

  “He didn’t kill Mr. Mackey, I did. I guess you figured that out, otherwise you wouldn’t be here with that policeman.”

  “I didn’t know until this afternoon.”

  “Mr. Eich knows too. I saw it in his eyes.” Daniel’s voice became pensive. “He has warm eyes Mr. Eich does, but his eyes are so full of sorrow. Guess he’s seen too many fools in his days.” “We figured out why you killed Mr. Mackey. You overheard us talking about the dry rot the day we inspected underneath the Marquam Ravine trestle.”

  “It was a mistake tying up that old man and setting the fire. A dumb stupid mistake. Just like the mistake I made leaving Clarisa all alone upstairs to care for Daniel when she was so tired. Just like the mistake I made running outside to yell for my neighbors to fetch the fire wagon. It was wrong to run outside like that. I should have gone upstairs the minute I woke up and smelled smoke. I should have died with them.”

  Daniel stared upriver, his lips pressed into a grim line of self-disgust. His chest heaved with a deep sigh and he looked at Sage. “Once I started painting at the restaurant, I overheard that you went down to the Mackey strike so I stayed around, eavesdropping every chance I got,” he said. “That’s how I found out that I’d made a mistake. That old man didn’t know anything about the rotting bridges. He tried to tell me that. I called that poor old man a liar. He told the truth didn’t he?”

  Should he lie? Given the intensity of his despair, would Daniel spot a lie? Sage took a deep breath and held it before sighing it out.“Yes. Only Earl Mackey, the son and not the father, hid the bridge rot. But Daniel, there was no way for you to know that. It took us a long time to discover that,” Sage said, his voice gentle as he sought to give the agitated man comfort.

  A half sob escaped from Daniel. He twisted to stare down into the sullen gray water below.

  Sage inched forward slowly, hoping to grab the man around his waist while he was distracted by the water flowing below. Daniel raised his head, a knowing look in his eye. Sage halted.

  Daniel spoke directly to Hanke, who now stood quietly just behind Sage. “It’s all buried beneath the dirt floor of that hut in the ravine—Mr. Mackey’s watch, a length of the rope I used to tie him with, and my written confession. Look for a tin box with the top waxed shut to keep out the damp. Dig on the uphill side, in the far corner. I was planning to send a note to the police telling them where to find it.”

  He looked back to Sage.“Thank Mr. Eich and Mrs. Clemens and Miz Ida for their kindness to me. You too. I wish I deserved it. You are good people. Real good people.” In the next instant, quick and silent as silk sliding from a chair, he disappeared over the bridge railing.

  Sage and Hanke froze, rain pelting their faces, before jumping to the railing and searching the rushing water below. Nothing floated below except bits of bark torn loose from log rafts. No arms flailed in the air grabbing for life. Racing across the bridge, dodging a carriage and van, they peered downstream. Nothing there either, except for the disappearing pockmarks of relentless rain upon the water’s surface.

  THIRTY ONE

  One week later

  Once again the steady pelt of rain dinged the tin above their heads, filling the shed with its noise. “Another gray winter afternoon at the bottom of the heavenly downspout,” Sage grumbled in his mind as he hunched over his cup of tea. He hated the thought of Eich enduring months of this noisy, penetrating damp. Even Daniel’s skillful efforts failed to completely eliminate its pernicious presence. The endless damp would bring death to healthier men than the ragpicker this winter.

  He looked at Eich, who rested quietly on his cot. The man’s watching brown eyes glowed with an inner warmth. Sage cleared his throat. “I’ll be glad when this damnable winter is over. Seems like more rain than usual,” he said.

  Eich raised himself off the cot to take up a piece of wood, open the door to the potbellied stove, and poke at the dying embers. “I don’t know but that I like the wi
nter best. That’s when nature reveals her elemental structures. The shape of her bones. The powerful havoc of her skies. The promise of renewal in every raindrop.” He laid a log upon the flames and returned to the cot.

  Sage shifted on the tall stool. “Ah, I bet you’ll be glad when it stops raining. It has to be hard pushing that cart through the mud and all.”

  Eich lifted his hands, palms up. “There is some discomfort, I admit. Still, I don’t mind it. I think of rain as a life-giving force. Maybe that comes from my youthful trudge across the Southwest desert. Nearly died of thirst. Nothing out in that country except stone, gravel, stone and more stone. You ever think about how many different kinds of raindrops fall to the earth here in the Pacific Northwest? A man needs so many different words to describe them.”

  Sage shook his head. “When I worked in the woods, I thought on it a bit. It wasn’t something that gave me any pleasure. These days, I just try to stay out of the wet.” He shifted position again. “Even so, I bet the men are glad to be out working in it today. Mackey’s rushing to repair the bridges all around town before any more of them collapse. He’s got crews working seven days a week, ten hours every day. For the first time though, they’re receiving pay at time and one-half for those two extra hours and for that extra day thanks to the labor contract Mackey signed.”