by Gayle Hayes
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Emma tried to busy herself with watering Harold's Boston fern, philodendron, ivy, and spider plants. Carole had insisted they would make the office less intimidating to clients, and caring for the foliage also gave her an excuse to look in on Harold. He thought plants belonged in a garden. The trailing philodendron was the most annoying. It always preferred the one vacant spot where Harold needed to stash a file temporarily.
Now, he read Emma's final essay in a breathy fashion that was barely audible. Occasionally, he read aloud when a phrase seemed especially accurate.
"Although Harold told me my grandmother thought he used her badly, I know him well enough by now to know that is not the truth. Harold is incapable of using anyone, and especially of pretending to love someone. I believe Harold told me that because he knew it was what my grandmother would want me to believe. The fact that he was willing to degrade himself for my benefit, so I could get my inheritance, confirms my belief Harold did not use my grandmother.
"So far, I was wrong about what I learned from Phyllis and Carole. Yet, I believe even if I am wrong in my grandmother's eyes, I am still right. This essay is my last chance to earn the inheritance by saying what my grandmother wanted me to say. However, once again, I have learned something different. In this case, Harold has taught me true love sacrifices itself for someone else. This is the truth as I see it.
"I weighed the pros and cons of stating my truth or saying what grandmother wanted to hear. I am not used to having financial security, so I do not believe I will miss whatever inheritance my grandmother left me. If it is a small inheritance, it would not be worth sacrificing the truth for it. If it is a large inheritance, I would not enjoy it if I knew it cost me my good conscience.
"Even though I did not learn what grandmother wished from this visit, I am grateful for the time I spent with Harold, Phyllis, and Carole. They are my friends now and more valuable to me than anything my grandmother left me. Instead of trying to control me, my new friends have opened their arms and allowed me to be myself. Grandmother left me her three friends in Buffalo Jump. That was the best inheritance of all."
Harold's eyes overflowed with tears as he finished the essay. He fumbled in his pockets for a handkerchief, and then reached for a tissue from the box on his desk. He blew his nose and swallowed the lump in his throat.
"Emma, that was the best essay yet. Thank you for your kind words," Harold said.
"Can you tell me what grandmother wrote? What did she want me to say?" Emma asked.
Harold handed Emma the three paragraphs her grandmother had written. She read and re-read Frances' comment about Harold.
If Babe is honest with Emma, she will realize as I did that he only wanted me when he couldn't have me. Emma will set herself up for a broken heart if she gives herself to a man. Men want one thing. Once they have it, you're of no use to them. ~Frances Favager
"It's sad that she was so misguided. Everything about her is so negative. I'd like to find something positive to remember her by," Emma said.
"Look at it this way, Emma. She could have left you nothing or she could have left you everything without trying to be sure you learned something along the way. She wasn't perfect, but she cared about your wellbeing."
Emma smiled. "Harold, you are a wise man, and I'm glad I got to know you. I can see why my grandmother fell in love with you," Emma said.
"Well, she'd be mad as hell that I left the window open for a thief." Harold laughed.
"Maybe the deputy is right. Whoever stole the scrimshaw may need groceries or money to pay the rent. At least I was able to see it and touch it for a little while. I might even get it back. It's great to know I'm one of several generations of Americans, though. I'm anxious to start searching for more information on my roots," Emma said.
Harold worked in his office for the remainder of the afternoon. Among other things, he added a codicil to his will. Later, while he waited for Emma at the inn, Phyllis notarized his signature and that of her housekeeper and maintenance man, who were witnesses to the document.
While Harold and Emma enjoyed dinner at Billy's Balsamroot Café, the members of the Montana Mountain Lions gathered at their clubhouse on the banks of the Missouri River. Jordan showed the boys the Iraqi currency Billy displayed in a shallow box with a clear glass lid. Zach was unimpressed. "That ain't worth nothin', stupid. Saddam Hussein is dead, and nobody cares. What ya get, Ethan?" Zach asked.
Ethan had hidden the box of scrimshaw under his bed until he found a plastic bag with handles his mother recycled from the grocery. Now, he carefully uncovered the scrimshaw box and tossed the bag aside. "This is worth thousands of dollars. There's a note in here says so," Ethan boasted.
Zach looked at the whale teeth, turning each one over before tossing it back into the ditty box. "Shit, Ethan, those are nothin' special. My dad's got at least a hunnert elk teeth on a chain around his neck," Zach said.
"Zach's right. These things are real old. Who cares what some kid got for his birthday in 1890?" Dylan said.
"Old man Lowe must've had some real cash in his office. My dad said lawyers steal from the poor and give to the rich. And all of them are rich," Noah said. He was giggling.
"You need to take that back and get something better. You too, Jordy. This stuff's not getting you guys into the club for damn sure," Zach said.
Jordan and Ethan did not want to return to Billy's café or Harold's office. They did want to be members of Zach's club. The two boys left the clubhouse carrying what seemed to be worthless boxes of old junk. It was near closing when Jordan slipped into Billy's café unnoticed and hid in the storage area off the kitchen. After everyone left, Jordan opened the door to the rear parking lot where Ethan waited with the box of Dinars from Iraq. Jordan replaced the box where it had been displayed above the front counter. The two boys locked and closed the door behind them and walked down the street to Harold's law office.
This time, the boys found the bathroom window in Harold's office was closed and locked. They tried the front door, but it was locked, too. The two boys sat at the rear of the building where they were concealed by brush.
"What you going to do, Ethan?" Jordan asked.
"I'm thinking. Hey, you didn't take anything from Billy's, Jordy."
"I didn't see nothin' worth taking. The cash register was open, and there wasn't nothin' in it. Zach doesn't want her war stuff. I almost took one of them huckleberry pies, but I don't think that's what Zach had in mind. Maybe he'll let me break into someplace else," Jordan said.
"I have an idea," Ethan said.
"Did you see something at Billy's?" Jordan asked.
"Naw. I think I'm gonna go by old man Lowe's house and tell him I found this box on the street. Maybe he'll give me a reward. Then I'll have some cash to give Zach," Ethan said.
"That's a great idea! I'll go with you if you want," Jordan said.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
"Well, what did you think?" Harold asked Emma as they walked down the steps of the interdenominational church in Buffalo Jump Sunday morning and headed to Billy's Balsamroot Café.
"I've been to Mass before. My parents took me to various churches so I could decide for myself which one to join," Emma said.
"Why didn't you say so? I wouldn't have insisted you go with me, you know," Harold said.
"I wanted to go. It's important to you, so I wanted to go. It's only a ritual. It's not a big deal," Emma said.
"What do you believe in if not God?" Harold asked.
"It's not that I don't believe. I don't know what to think. Religion has caused a lot of misery in the world. And people who do believe sound stupid at times. My parents' friends actually believed they were in heaven watching me when I graduated from law school. It's sad," Emma said.
"Well, Emma, I think you're entitled to believe or not believe. I won't try to change your mind. But you might be judging God by the company he keeps. He loves all people. Some of them say stupid, hurtful things, but he
loves them anyway. Haven't you ever loved someone without agreeing with everything they do?" Harold asked.
"Yes. I get it, Harold. But if people say they believe my dead parents can still see me, why should I trust them when they tell me they believe in God?"
"It's not about trusting them. It's about trusting him," Harold said.
"I'll try to keep an open mind. How's that?" Emma laughed.
Harold opened the door for Emma, and the hostess at Billy's jotted his name on a pad. He joined Emma on the bench in the foyer of the restaurant. Harold read the parish bulletin he'd picked up as they left the church. Emma listened to conversations without appearing to be eavesdropping.
Emma ordered the Silver Bow Sampler, which included an egg, sausage link, two strips of bacon and two pancakes. Harold decided on the Pondera Pancakes, which was a stack of buttermilk pancakes almost as big around as the plate.
That morning the scuttlebutt around the restaurant had to do with the magical reappearance of Billy's Iraqi Dinar collection. The general consensus was someone on Billy's staff played a practical joke and was probably surprised the sheriff's office became involved.
Most people were still upset over Ryan Alexander's death on the football field the day before.
The sampler and pancakes were served. Harold and Emma ate for a while without talking.
"Do you think the Alexanders will sue the coach?" Emma asked.
"Hard to tell. They're nice folks. But losing another child might be too painful. People lash out when they're in pain," Harold said.
"I know. It seems every divorce I handle is painful. You'd think a few couples would agree they made a mistake. Once kids are involved, the custody issue brings out the worst in people. I've thought about doing criminal law. At least you're not surprised when a criminal does something vile," Emma said.
As Emma and Harold left Billy's, she noticed the photo of Ryan Alexander on the front page of the Buffalo Jump Independent. There was something familiar about him, but Emma knew she had not been in town long enough to know anyone. She did not give the photo a second thought.
Emma and Harold walked to the inn.
"If you're going to be around for a while, I could use some help researching that case. You know, in case they want me to represent them," Harold said.
"I have the entire week off. I'd love to help you. It would be a nice change of pace," Emma said.
"You don't sound any too happy with your job in Denver. I could use a partner in the office if you get to the point where you need a change. I want to keep practicing, but the load gets to be too much from time to time," Harold said.
Emma was beginning to like Buffalo Jump, and she was not "any too happy" as Harold noted. She had not considered staying, however. She would miss the vitality of a big city and believed she would have the best chance of meeting someone compatible there. Still, she appreciated Harold's offer and did not want to hurt his feelings.
"That's very generous of you, Harold. I won't rule it out, but I need to give it more thought," she said.
Phyllis waved at Harold and Emma as they approached the inn. "I hope you two said a few prayers for us," Phyllis said. She and Carole were packing her SUV with picnic supplies.
"Harold's the one with the connections. I was only an observer." Emma laughed.
"I think we're about ready. Is there anything you'd like to get from your room, Emma?" Phyllis asked.
"No. I dressed for the picnic. I'm good to go." Emma said.
"Me, too. I'll take off the tie and jacket, though," Harold said.
Phyllis suggested that Emma sit in front so she could see the scenery better.
"That's fine with me. I never get to cuddle with Babe," Carole said.
While Harold and Emma enjoyed the drive to the Gates of the Mountains with Phyllis and Carole, Ethan Taggard mowed his grandmother's lawn. His mother had praised him that morning for volunteering to help. What she did not know was Ethan planned to hide the scrimshaw set in his grandmother's shed. He was afraid his mother would give up pestering him to clean his room and do it for him. All his best hiding places were already taken. She would be sure to find the scrimshaw set.
Ethan and Jordan had planned to give the scrimshaw back to Harold the previous night. As soon as they rounded the corner and were within sight of his front porch, the boys saw Harold talking to Emma on the porch swing. They turned and walked away before Harold saw them. Then Ethan hid the scrimshaw under his bed, knowing his mother would not clean the house on Sunday morning.
Emma was glad to get out of town for a while and enjoyed the scenery on the way to the Gates of the Mountains southwest of Buffalo Jump. The Gates of the Mountains was named by Capt. Meriwether Lewis during the Lewis and Clark Expedition in the early part of the nineteenth century. Lewis and William Clark explored the Missouri River and found the gateway through the mountains at the bottom of limestone cliffs over a thousand feet high.
Phyllis led the way to the open-air tour boat for the two-hour trip up and down the scenic Missouri. Emma photographed geese, ducks, osprey, and eagles. Mountain sheep families effortlessly made their way up and down the cliffs rising out of the water. Another tourist offered to take a photo of the four friends cuddled together on one seat of the boat. It was a perfect day to be outside. Like the Chinese Wall, the sheer, rugged cliffs of the Gates of the Mountains were powerful reminders of a more primitive era. Emma understood why her grandfather had yearned to return to Montana to vacation each year.
After the boat tour, Phyllis and Carole set out a picnic of fried chicken, potato salad, and crisp celery and carrots. Carole sliced tomatoes. A strong breeze ruffled their napkins. With the sun at their backs, the four stuffed themselves with picnic food and still found room for one of Billy's huckleberry pies along with strong coffee from a thermos. After eating, everyone except Emma took a nap.
Emma sheltered her eyes from the sun after reading about the area on her phone's browser. She enjoyed the view of the canyon and water below. It was utterly quiet except for a squirrel chattering nearby. A hawk circled quietly overhead. The day use area cleared out, leaving Emma and her friends alone.
She tried to imagine being an explorer more than two hundred years before. Emma was used to having the convenience of her cell phone, a full stomach, and an easy ride back to Buffalo Jump in Phyllis' SUV. The early explorers might have hunted for their food before they cooked it over an open fire. There would have been no huckleberry pie. Possibly, they would have picked huckleberries elsewhere and ate them raw. They might have been busy caring for the pirogues used to explore the river, setting up their camp, and making notes in their journals. They would not have known what was happening in the rest of the world. What did this country look like before interstate highways? How did they find their way without a GPS? They were special men with the courage and skills to be survivors. The Lewis and Clark expedition would have been the ultimate in reality TV.
Once they were back in Buffalo Jump, everyone agreed it was one of their best outings. Emma helped Phyllis and Carole unload. Harold went to his office. After the burglary, he felt less secure. He was glad to see nothing had changed since that morning when he took time to print, sign, and date a letter to Emma before Mass.
Harold removed the tie he draped over his suit coat earlier. Then he took the suit coat from the chair and slipped his arms into the sleeves. He felt chilled. He quickly sorted the mail as if he were dealing cards. Junk went into the wastebasket. Bills formed a short pile on his desk. He set two envelopes aside until Monday morning.
Harold was about to leave the office when Ethan Taggard came through the door with the scrimshaw set.
"Hello, Mr. Lowe. I found something that belongs to you, I think," Ethan said.
Harold recognized the box. "Well, I'll be. Where'd you find it, son?"
"It was, uh, in the alley next to the post office. It looks important, so I thought you might be offering a reward or something," Ethan said.
"Well, it
is important. It belongs to a friend of mine. I'll make sure she gets it back. I'll need to ask her about a reward, though. You're one of the Taggards aren't you?" Harold asked.
"Yeah…Ethan. I could really use that reward. I can stop by tomorrow," he said.
"You bet. I open at nine," Harold said. He put his hand on the boy's shoulder and walked to the door with him.
"See you then, I guess," Ethan said. He slipped out of Harold's grip and hurried over the sidewalk to Main Street.
After Ethan left the office, Harold picked up the ditty box and removed the note Frances had written for Emily. There was no mention of him in it. He did not find his name anywhere on the box. The brown wrapping paper with his name and address on it was still lying on the floor where he found it. He wondered why Ethan Taggard was pretending he found the box. Unless he knew the thief or was the thief, he would not have known the box came from Harold's office. If the boy knew the thief, he did deserve a reward for returning the scrimshaw. If Ethan was the thief, he would be charged with theft as a juvenile delinquent. The thought made Harold feel sick to his stomach. He hoped the boy had convinced the real thief it was best to return the scrimshaw.
Harold sat down to let the nausea pass. The scrimshaw reminded him there was still an unopened envelope from Frances. He could visualize her handwriting on the outside: to be opened LAST after you discuss Emma's essays with her.
After rummaging through the scattered paper and unopened mail on his desk, Harold found what he was looking for and reached for the letter opener. The envelope with Frances' note was small, and the message was short. Even so, Harold read it several times as if he could not comprehend the meaning. The nausea became worse. Harold folded the note and placed it in the inside pocket of his suit coat. Tears filled his eyes. The pain in his chest reminded him of his previous heart attack. The thought led to anxiety and more nausea. He reached for the phone to call 9-1-1 but felt like he was choking. Harold clutched at his throat with his right hand and slumped in his chair. His head came to rest on the pile of bills. Then he lost consciousness.
