Harvestman Lodge

by Cameron Judd

  “Is there more to see in there?” Melinda asked, and Erlene seemed to tense. She said nothing for a moment.

  “Did I say something I shouldn’t have, ma’am?”

  “Ain’t nothing in there you’d want to see or know. That’s the room where the ghosts of secrets whisper, child. The kind folks don’t want revealed … though all secrets are revealed in their time. Even ugly secrets stained dark by the sins of evil souls.”

  Melinda was puzzled by this melodramatic double-talk. “What is the plowman plaque on the door? It’s very well-designed and pretty. And what does RISING ANGEL mean?”

  “I can’t speak to you of the Angel, because it rouses such a sickness in my spirit. But I will tell you about the plowman. You know what the Bible says of white-washed tombs, miss? Beautiful on the outside, full of foulness and rot within. Such was the place where that plowman image once hung. It hung in a pretty building where the ugliest secrets of Kincheloe County were hidden.”

  “What was that, ma’am?”

  “The Harvestman Lodge, child. That plaque there, made by my own hand, hung above the fireplace mantle inside the Harvestman Lodge.”

  Melinda’s heart raced. “What happened there, Miz Ledford? Nobody ever seems to want to say.”

  “Not many really know, my dear. A lot make guesses and come up with stories, but not many know the facts of it. The true facts.”

  “Do you?”

  “I do, child. They’re carved into my very heart.”

  “Miz Ledford … will you let me see inside that room? I want to know the truth.”

  “The truth can set you free just like the Lord says. But some truths burden a soul. Are you sure you want to know, child?”

  Melinda thought of Eli and his determination to learn what was behind the hidden scandal of Harvestman Lodge. It seemed right to her that she be able to reveal it to him, assuming Erlene Ledford really did have valid knowledge.

  “Yes, ma’am. I want to know.”

  “Then that door will be opened for you, dear. Wait here. I have to fetch a different key.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  IT HAD BEEN A DAY not to be forgotten, however much she might wish it could be. The horror of the bloody crash she’d covered by morning, the disconcerting strangeness of the old woman Erlene Ledford and her even stranger Hall of History dioramas, and the sad-but-vague tale embodied in the final diorama in that back room … all these things together had Melinda Buckingham distressed and shaky.

  She wanted to be alone. Not fully alone, though: alone with Eli. Reaching Hodgepodge, she was delighted to see his car parked in its usual spot. She whipped in beside it, only then noticing that Jimbo Bailey’s truck was parked nearby as well.

  She met Jimbo coming out while she was going in. There was no missing the redness of his eyes, nor the smell of alcohol hanging about him. “Hi, Jimbo. Are you feeling all right today?”

  She’d never seen him looking so maudlin. “Fighting the blues, missy. Some days you just think about … things. More than you do other days. Y’know?”

  She smiled sadly and hugged him, and felt his shoulders heave. “Jimbo, I’m so sorry. So sorry. Have all the courage you can … sometimes things go better than expected.”

  “You’re a dear one, Lindy. Yes indeed. Pray for old Jimbo when you think of him, will you? Pray for me. The Lord’ll listen to such a one as you. Me, I’ve hung up the phone on Him too many times. I doubt he pays much heed to me now.”

  “I promise, Jimbo. Prayer every day. And don’t you stop praying yourself. I believe He hears us all, no matter how many times we’ve ‘hung up the phone on Him,’ as you just put it. He doesn’t demand that we earn the right to talk to Him. He just listens.” She hugged Jimbo again and he hugged her back.

  “Thank you, missy. But there’s more than me to be prayed for now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Flora. My little sister, Flora. She’s found she’s got the same kind of bad heart I do. Something that runs in the family, I guess.”

  “Oh, Jimbo.”

  Tears rolled down his face. “I’m discouraged to the pit of me, Miss Melinda. So blue and discouraged.”

  “Courage, Jimbo. Courage.”

  He somehow managed to smile into her face. A feeble smile that clearly required a great effort. “I’ll do my best, Lindy girl. I promise it.”

  MELINDA DUCKED INTO THE ladies’ room and with fresh water and and rejuvenation of makeup did her best to cover the tracks of an emotionally straining day. When she’d done what she could, she went to Eli’s office and found him in little better shape than she had been.

  “Jimbo paid his visit to me this afternoon,” Eli said, his eyes tellingly red. “He told me about his health situation, and his sister’s … and he told me he has been talking to Mr. Carl, and will be cutting back on his work. They’re going to hire somebody to replace him at the newspaper office, so he won’t have to do the sweeping and facility maintenance and so on there … but he told me he asked to keep up what he does here. He said he told Mr. Carl that his ‘favorites’ were down in this building. And then he gave me the gift you’d told me he had for me. Something for you.”

  “Gift? What in the world is it?”

  “Something it isn’t the right time to give you. Not just yet, anyway. But in time, if all goes well … ”

  She knew right then what it had to be. “Oh my gosh … you don’t mean … ”

  “Well, I didn’t plan to say it, but yeah. If it’s what I think you’re thinking, that’s what he gave me. Let’s change the subject, huh? We’re not ready for this kind of talk.”

  “I met Jimbo coming out the door just now. He’s in a hard way today.”

  “I know. He cried a bit when he gave me … oh, what the heck, I may as well say it straight out so I don’t have to keep dodging around the subject. Jimbo gave me rings. Engagement and wedding. He told me he only hopes he can live to see the two of us put them to use.”

  “Rings. That’s what I’d guessed. Obviously he sees us as the real deal, a long-term pair.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Can I see them?”

  “No. Like I said, we’re not ready for this yet. Believe me, I know what can happen when you jump into something in too big of a hurry. On down the road, as we move ahead, sometime after that you’ll see me bring out the rings. The one with the diamond first.”

  “Diamond.”

  “Of course. Most engagement rings have them. This isn’t a big one. The other ring will come later, at the wedding.”

  “Eli, Jimbo didn’t go out and buy those rings for us, did he?”

  “He didn’t, no. He said he has had them for a good while. But I think I know where they came from.”

  “And … ”

  “He happened to mention during the conversation that he thought it was wasteful that his widowed older sister – he’s got a baby sister, too, a year younger than he is, the one with the just-diagnosed heart trouble – anyway, the older sister buried her husband with his wedding band still on his hand at a time she was very poor and could have benefited from selling it. Jimbo thinks that was sentiment overruling good judgment.”

  “Oh my … you don’t think they’re the rings Jimbo’s own wife wore?”

  “That’s exactly what I think. They are pretty basic, nothing very valuable in money terms. But coming from Jimbo, they’ve got value of a greater sort.”

  “Yes, they do.” Melinda paced around the office, restless. “Dear Lord, can this day get any more strange?”

  “Tough one?”

  “Extra tough. And so … weird. You know about the accident on the highway this morning.”

  “I heard, but not much. Just the tail-end of a radio report. I’ve not even seen today’s newspaper. I’ve been working here all day, except for being called downtown right after lunch to talk to Caine Darwin about the whole historical drama business. Apparently I have finally persuaded him he would do better finding an experienced play
wright, somebody with a track record a little stronger than one paperback novel. He agreed to back off the idea of hiring me for the job.”

  “Are you relieved?”

  “Yeah, though it was flattering to be thought worthy of such a task. But get back to your day. You were at that accident scene?”

  “Yes. I even shot video … selectively. Some of it was just too gruesome to put on tape. Four people dead on the scene, three of them, parents and a child, crushed inside a VW that was completely underneath a tractor-trailer rig. Seeing that child is something I’m never going to forget.”

  “The fourth dead one was the trucker, right?”

  “Yes. From Maynardville, I think.”

  “Maynardville … did you get his name?”

  “Moody. James Dale Moody.”

  Eli blanched. “Oh, dear God.”

  “What? You know that name?”

  “He was here, Melinda. He was here he same day you moved into your office. And years before that, too, when he was a little boy and this place was a motel. In fact, he was sure this very room my office is in was the same one his family stayed in.”

  “You talked to him.”

  “Yes. Not to speak ill of the dead, but I didn’t much like him. He was a dirty-minded, foul-mouthed jerk.”

  “And now he’s dead. Along with three others.”

  “So that was your morning. Blood on a highway.”

  “More than I ever want to see again.”

  “It must have taken a long time to put that story together. The day’s over now and this is the first I’ve seen of you.”

  She shook her head. “The story came together fast, actually … we had it on the air by noon. What ran me late was a stop I made on the way back. I visited with Micah Ledford’s great aunt, Erlene, in her ‘Hall of History.’ You know, the sister of Essie of Essie’s Store fame. Smooth spot on the concrete, bonnet, and all that. Remember Micah talking about her?”

  “I do. And I also remember that Jake Lundy describes Essie’s sister as ‘slap crazy’, or something along that line. Is he right?”

  “Probably. But some of what she told me had the feel of truth about it. For what that’s worth.”

  “Sometimes it’s worth a lot, or so I was told by the historians I worked with at the university. They put a lot of stock in that intuitive feeling that sometimes is almost all there is to go on in deciding just what the truth is about this or that historical question. So what exactly did she talk to you about?”

  “About the Harvestman Lodge, and what happened there.”

  Eli experienced a hitch in his breath. “And what did happen there?”

  “The diorama she has made in her back room has a model of a brick building sitting on a hilltop, grass around front and woods around the back part. Above it on a thread is a tiny suspended figure of an angel, face turned up to the sky like it’s flying toward heaven. Erlene calls that diorama ‘Rising Angel,’ and says the angel is a child who died a wrongful death because of evil things that happened in the building. She knew the child because the mother used to have Erlene watch her for her when she couldn’t. Erlene began calling the little girl her ‘angel.’”

  “And this child died in Harvestman Lodge?”

  “She either died there are because of something that happened there. Erlene didn’t give many clear details.”

  “Nobody ever does. That’s the odd thing about that whole business. Nobody, anywhere, is willing to say outright just what the supposed wickedness of Harvestman Lodge was all about. I wonder sometimes if anybody really even knows.”

  Eli opened a drawer and removed a couple of candy bars. He offered one to Melinda, who took it, having eaten almost nothing through the day. They munched quietly a few moments before Eli spoke again.

  “You know that thing we’ve talked about, exploring some old buildings out in the county? Let’s get that done this weekend. I’m ready to see just what there is left of this Harvestman Lodge place. And my grandparents’ old house.”

  “Let’s do it.”

  “Consider it a date. We’ll start early … pick you up at eight o’clock. Hey, I got some royalties in the mail yesterday – did I tell you? – so I can afford to buy us some breakfast come Saturday morning, to fuel us for our big adventure of exploration. I know just the place for good coffee and biscuits.”

  THE MEMBERS OF THE Kincheloe County Planning Commission met in a side-room that was part of the county clerk’s office suite. It was an informal situation, just a jumble of chairs in a room encircled by filing cabinets. There was a table, but it was stacked with papers and shoved off into the only unused corner.

  This was Eli’s first-ever visit to what had been a minor part of departed reporter Jeff Ealey’s regular news beat, so his entrance got some attention from the middle-aged and older men who made up the planners’ group. One of them, farmer Burton Jackson, had read Eli’s novel and made positive mention of it, which broke the ice and launched introductions and conversation. Eli settled down with his pad and began jotting notes as the meeting kicked off. Just after it began the county’s official attorney, Jim Farley, entered and flopped into a chair after muttered greetings and predictable jokes about “the late Jim Farley.”

  The agenda was short, non-controversial, and uninteresting, and the planners were halfway through it when the door opened and another latecomer arrived, his stance was so tense he looked ready to fight.

  “Come on in, Mr. Buckingham,” said the chairman. “We ain’t got to the beer board business yet, which I assume is why you’re here.”

  “I’m patient,” Ben Buckingham replied as Eli subtly watched him, realizing this man might someday be his father-in-law. Buckingham’s countenance brought nothing of Melinda to mind. His hair was the kind of jet black only cheap dye can bring about, far removed from Melinda’s sandy locks. “Go on with what you’re doing.”

  That didn’t take long, and when the final planning agenda item was covered the chairman announced that the meeting of the Kincheloe County Planning Committee would now adjourn, with the committee members immediately reconvening as the county beer board.

  “We have only one new request for a beer sales permit before us,” the chairman said. “However, I don’t see the petitioner present with us – “

  The door opened just then and a man of about thirty-five entered, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Flat tire.”

  “Been there, done that,” Burton Jackson said. “We’re just getting started on your request, if you’re … “ Jackson squinted at his copy of the agenda. “ … if you’re Mr. Walters.”

  “I am. Bill Walters. Good to meet you gentlemen.” Walters dropped into a chair two seats down from Ben Buckingham. Meet the enemy, Mr. Walters.

  The chairman nodded. “All right, then. We’ve got Mr. Walters’ petition for a beer license before us for the new In-and-Out Market on Mountcastle Road. Attorney Farley, do you have any relevant information to share regarding this petition?”

  The weary-looking county attorney sat up a little in his chair and cleared his throat. “I have examined the request as well as the location of the market in relation to churches and schools, and also the background of Petitioner Walters. I have found no problems or irregularities that would stand in the way of an approval of his request.”

  “Thank you, Attorney Farley. Do any board members have a question for the attorney?”

  No questions. The chairman coughed lightly into his fist and asked his next statement with a look of dread on his face. “Now, is there any member of the public here who might wish to make comment upon this request for a beer license?” He looked at Ben Buckingham. “That’s your cue, Ben. Lay it on us.”

  Another board member spoke first. “Before you talk, Ben, can I make a request of you?”

  “What’s that, Earl?” Ben Buckingham said.

  “Next meeting, can you bring in the Crosswaite cousins to present what you’ve got to say? Because your same old song-and-dan
ce is getting pretty dang tiresome. Theirs might be a little more entertaining.”

  Chuckles passed among the board members. Another spoke. “Or if you can’t get Buster and Custer, can you maybe just tape record what you always say and leave us the tape to play at each meeting? Because you say the same dang thing every time, and it’d save you a lot of talking if you didn’t have to speak it so many times.”

  Another round of light chuckles. Ben Buckingham, though, had no smile on his face as he bounded to his feet.

  “Gentlemen, if my words are tiresome and repetitive to you, that is only because truth is, by its very nature, unchanging. What was true on Wednesday, for example, remains true on Thursday.”

  “Wrong, Ben,” said Committeeman Earl. “If I woke up on Wednesday and said, ‘Hey, it’s Wednesday,’ true enough. If I woke up and said it again Thursday morning, whole different story.”

  Chuckling again. The joke-maker grinned. Buckingham looked like might jump him with fists flying. He contented himself with words instead.

  “You gentlemen – and perhaps I use the term too loosely in your case, Earl – you know what I mean by unchanging truth,” Buckingham said. “Fundamental truths do not change. Like the truth that two-plus-two makes four, that all men are created equal, and that alcohol is the ruin of lives all across this county, this region, this entire state! You see the grim realities of drunken driving, the trading of good health for destructive addictions, the pollution of our communities with dens of drinking and sin … and yet no one but me has the courage to stand up and speak the truth about the evil done by the sale of the devil’s brew across Kincheloe County. I have told you long ago that I will be present each time this board meets so that I may be on record opposing any beer license request, and that, gentlemen, is a truth guaranteed not to change no matter what day of the week it may be! If Mother Teresa herself showed up to ask for a beer permit, I would be here to oppose it.”