The Mystery of the Moonlight Murder

by Roderick Benns

  Elmer and Summer laughed. He grinned and then seemed to be thinking about something else.

  “Wasn’t there a murder in Borden recently? I heard they caught the person who did it. Actually, I heard he was Cree, like you,” Matthew said, not realizing the connection.

  “My father did not do that. He’s innocent!” said Summer. “Your father!” exclaimed the youth. “Oh!” Elmer explained the whole story to Matthew.

  “You were there?” he said impressed. “That’s incredible, Summer, I do hope they find the real killer, now that I know your father didn’t do it. It’s a terrible thing when someone makes up their mind about you, especially when they don’t even know you.”

  Summer and Elmer studied his face and wondered if Matthew was also talking about his own experiences with being misjudged. It was quiet for a few awkward seconds until Elmer switched subjects.

  “Is working on the railway the only kind of work you want to do?”

  Matthew studied the ground near his feet. “I’d take any job, really but most places aren’t willing to hire someone like me.” Summer nodded. “You mean…because your skin is dark?” she said, rubbing her own skin on her arm to make her point.

  He shook his head in agreement. “But railways will sometimes hire black people, as porters and baggage handlers. I’ve seen it with my own eyes,” he said, trying to stay positive.

  “Where do you live when it’s winter?” asked Elmer, wondering about his travelling lifestyle.

  “Well, I’ve always lived with my family, with my parents and two younger sisters. We’ve only had one winter here. It’s

  not something I look forward to seeing again, no sir-ee,” he said with seriousness. “It’s a lot different in Oklahoma, that’s for sure.”

  His body seemed to experience a chill, even though the hot August sun beat down.

  “Where will I live? I don’t know.” Matthew looked distant. “I need a job and then a place of my own, I expect. You ever wish you could see what life has in store for you?” he asked. He didn’t wait for an answer.

  “I do,” Matthew continued quickly. “But that’s what happens when you get older,” he said, his chest swelling again. “You start wondering about your future.”

  Elmer nodded in a good natured way and then there was more silence before Matthew spoke again.

  “Hey, what are you doing in Langham anyway?”

  “Selling butter,” said Elmer, jabbing his thumb toward his uncle. “My Uncle Ed is selling it here for my mother. Then we have to pick up some supplies and a newspaper for my father and head back.”

  “Oh, I thought you might have come to hear what that fellow has to say…what’s his name…Dumont?”

  Elmer dropped his jaw. “Dumont? André Dumont?”

  ***

  Back at the homestead, William was trying to convince Mary that resting her leg while working in the henhouse was not really resting her leg at all. The sound of an approaching wagon interrupted the discussion. William soon found himself greeting Harold Devonshire, one of the Diefenbaker’s neighbours on the north side of their property. John, who had been working in the garden, approached the visitor, too, when his father waved him over.

  “Hello, William, Mary. Hello, John, hello,” said the Englishman, removing his hat temporarily while he greeted the Diefenbakers. Harold, who was tall and thin with equally thin hair, liked to repeat most things twice, if not more. Having just arrived from England two years ago, his English accent was unmistakable.

  “Harold, how have you and Margaret been?” asked William. “We’ve been meaning to come by to see how you coped with the fire.”

  “Ahh, not good, not good” he said. “We lost nearly half, I’m afraid. Nearly half.”

  “Oh, Harold,” said Mary sympathetically, putting her hands to her mouth in shock. “We’re sorry to hear that. Is there anything we can do for you? And so close to the harvest!”

  “No, no. We’re alright. I thank the Lord last year was a good crop. We’re going to make it, though I know it won’t be an easy year. It won’t be easy but we’ll do it.”

  “Coffee?” William asked.

  “No, thank you. I’m here on other business. I just wanted to ask if your farm was broken into. Anything stolen…stolen at all?”

  “No, but the police were here just this morning warning us there had been more than the average number of breakins. Why? Don’t tell me you were robbed, too?” asked William.

  Harold nodded. “Oh yes, yes sir. Lost all of our canned goods we had stored. I’m just on my way into Borden now to replace a few things…a few things, anyway.”

  William and Mary offered some of their own canned goods, but Harold politely declined.

  “And it’s not just me, that’s the thing,” Harold went on. “Karl Petersen had his watch taken that his late wife had bought for him…”

  “Not Karl, too!” said Mary.

  “…and Otto and Justina Kowalski had their savings stolen from under their bed. Last week, Nicholas and Liza Petrenko had some family heirlooms taken. In fact, for whatever reason, it seems like your house is the only one that hasn’t been robbed in the area lately, at least as far as I can tell. The only one. Why is that, I wonder?” asked Harold.

  John, who had been listening with disbelief, wondered why, too. William and Mary were still reeling from all the news that had affected their neighbours.

  “Well, I have no idea, I…” began William.

  “If the timing was different, I’d be blaming it on the escaped convict. But that only happened last night,” Harold interrupted.

  “What escaped convict?” asked Mary, apprehensively.

  “You didn’t hear? Last night, the prisoner transport car? Some big-time murderer escaped. They say he’s from Winnipeg, Winnipeg, they say. Anyhow, I would have blamed him for the thefts, too, except most of these breakins happened before.”

  “This is incredible,” said William, hardly believing the level of chaos that was occurring lately.

  “People are upset,” said Harold, clearly getting more agitated. Old Hans is murdered next door to you. Then we have to deal with fire that destroys our crops…except yours, I hear?

  “We were lucky…” Mary started to explain.

  “Ploughed the furrows in time…” finished William.

  “Lucky indeed,” said Harold. “On top of murders and fires, now folks’ homes are being robbed from under our noses. I mean, what kind of country is this? What kind?”

  William and Mary had never seen Harold so upset, but he seemed to have good reason to be.

  “We need some changes around here, that’s what I say,” he said, climbing back onto his wagon. He said ‘changes’ with a strange gleam in his eye. “Some folks are ready to try and make that happen.”

  “Now, what do you mean by that?” asked William.

  “Oh, nothing, I guess,” Harold replied. “Just talk. Just talk. I better get into town. Bye now.”

  Harold signalled his horses to begin moving, nodding at the Diefenbakers as he turned the animals toward Borden.

  Chapter 13

  ‘Maybe Dumont is Right’

  Elmer was obviously surprised, but Matthew Carver didn’t know why.

  “Yes, André Dumont. That’s him. Why, do you know this Dumont fellow?” asked Matthew.

  “We’ve met before,” said Elmer, looking at Summer. Elmer snuck a glance at his uncle who was still deep in conversation with the store owner.

  “Well, he’s all done talking now, anyway, so I was going to let you know you missed it. He finished up about three-quarters of an hour ago.”

  “What did he talk about?” asked Summer.

  Matthew lifted his hat and scratched his head. “Well, that man can really speak, I tell you. He had nearly twenty people gathered around, even though there were only five or six at first. He was telling folks what’s wrong with the West, for the Métis, the Indians, and settlers. He even mentioned people of colour, like me. I think I like him,”
Matthew concluded.

  “That’s what he does in Borden!” Elmer exclaimed. “We have to tell John,” he said to Summer. “Who’s John?” asked Matthew.

  “Our big brother…er, my big brother,” said Elmer.

  “Well, tell him he can still catch the big rally. It’s not like he won’t have another chance to hear him,” said Matthew. Elmer and Summer scrunched their foreheads. “Big rally?” Summer asked, unsure of the word.

  Matthew nodded. “Yeah, you know, a big get-together. It’s tomorrow. He invited everyone to come and show support for the cause. It’s going to be on some farm… what did he say now …oh, yeah… the Petrenko farm. One hour after sundown.”

  “Petrenko? Mr. Petrenko’s farm isn’t very far from ours!” said Elmer, scarcely believing his ears.

  “Really? I think it’s going to be a whopper. He said people were coming from all over the area. He said it was time to take back the West for everyone. It sounded good to me, but I’m not really sure what that means, mind you. I’m surprised you didn’t know about the rally since you live nearby.”

  “Me, too,” said Elmer simply.

  Ed, having concluded his transaction, turned toward Elmer and Summer and motioned them over to the wagon where he wanted to get the butter unloaded for the store owner who was waiting.

  Elmer and Summer said they had to go, pivoting their feet in

  the direction of Ed. “It was nice meeting you, Matthew!” called out Elmer.

  “Good luck looking for a job!” shouted Summer.

  Matthew waved back and smiled. “Thanks, maybe I’ll see you around again sometime!”

  Once Ed, Elmer, and Summer unloaded the wooden pails and tubs, the butter then had to be transferred to the store owner’s own storage containers. The small packages Mary had prepared were fine as they were. Soon the store owner was counting out money for Ed and they shook hands. Ed grimaced slightly, still feeling some pain in his arm that had been burned in the fire. He put it out of his mind as he used some of the new money to get the few things Mary had requested for him to pick up in the store.

  Elmer and Summer showed interest in looking around the general store, although it wasn’t as well stocked as Taggart’s in Borden, they decided.

  “Uncle Ed, can we pick up the newspaper for Father?” Elmer asked. “The Langham Times building is just across the street,” he said, pointing through the open doorway.

  Ed considered the request. “I guess so,” and handed him a coin. “Make sure you get the most current one,” he said. Elmer and Summer sprinted for the door.

  “Oh, Elmer!” called Ed.

  “Yes, Uncle Ed?”

  “Take your time but hurry back,” he replied, then let out a high-pitched laugh.

  Elmer groaned. His uncle always had the same jokes. Across the street the small office of the Langham Times looked like it had been built on an angle, giving it a decrepit look. Elmer picked up a newspaper on the counter and handed the man a ten cent piece. The man returned five cents to him and Elmer slipped it into his pocket, as he and Summer looked at the cover and exited onto the street. Summer’s ability to read English was not as strong as her ability to speak it, so she asked Elmer to read the headlines to her.

  One of the main newspaper headlines read ‘Federal Election Likely This Fall.’ A sub-head underneath read ‘Laurier Under Pressure Across Canada.’

  “Wow, an election might happen soon,” said Elmer. “That will get everyone talking. I can’t wait to tell John about Mr. Dumont, too, and…”

  Summer thumped Elmer on the arm. “Look! Over by the blacksmith shop,” she said, pulling Elmer behind a parked wagon.

  It was Earl T. Wright’s unmistakable canary yellow wagon. There was Earl, standing in front of it, speaking to André Dumont.

  ***

  The night had been sleepless and anxious. Might this be the price of revenge? Actually, he didn’t care because he now knew that this was the area where his quarry often made his travels. The one he sought had been spotted frequently north of Borden lately. Soon he would find him and the wait would be worth it. The warm sun shone on his grizzled features. His wrists still ached from the handcuffs from last night’s escape and he rubbed them gingerly. For now, he would camp near this abandoned shack he had found on the edge of Borden. Soon a wagon would eventually move northward and he would ride it without detection. When the time was right, he would make his move.

  ***

  “What are they doing?” he whispered hoarsely to Summer.

  “At Mr. Schneider’s funeral, Mr. Wright said he was worried about André Dumont. He said he was dangerous. Now he’s chatting with him? We have to get closer.”

  Elmer and Summer navigated deftly between wagons parked in front of the various businesses, ensuring they were not seen. André and Earl were standing near a business that boasted a large porch with many shrubs and flowers, which provided effective cover for Elmer and Summer to listen.

  “…I liked Hans, but, as I said, he surprised me. But enough about that. What do you need from me if I agree to this?”

  “Just show up, for now,” André replied. “Just be there, lend your support, and I won’t ask much more of you, other than the odd message delivered here and there.”

  Elmer and Summer looked at one another. She glanced back to see that Ed had just walked out of the store. She tapped Elmer on the arm and pointed, wide-eyed, to Ed.

  Ed walked toward the wagon and quickly surveyed the main street, looking for Elmer and Summer. They abruptly appeared from behind a wagon only a few strides away. “And just what are you two doing?” asked Ed.

  Elmer held up the newspaper. “Just got the Langham Times, Uncle Ed.”

  “From behind a wagon?” he asked, challenging the answer. “We were pretending we were reporters. We were investigating,” he said sheepishly.

  Summer chose to simply nod and look at the ground.

  Ed peered at them with curiosity. “Well now, that’s great… reporters. And right now you’re both going to be in new careers. I call it manual labour. Let’s get all of this unloaded and then back home we go.”

  “Yes, Uncle Ed,” as they snickered quietly over Ed’s joke.

  ***

  Back in Borden, the front door of the Royal North West Mounted Police office closed and a visitor shuffled away.

  “What did you make of that old Métis man, Sergeant? Think there’s something there to investigate?” Constable Wood bent his tall, well-toned frame over to peer outside the small window of the police office, watching the old man hobble away until he reached his equally tired-looking horse.

  Sergeant English sat up rigidly in his desk chair, tugging his scarlet red uniform downward to get rid of stray wrinkles.

  “We’ve got enough to do with this train escape, that’s for sure. Those reinforcements can’t get here soon enough to help conduct a proper search.”

  “So you don’t want me to bother?” replied the younger officer. “I didn’t say that,” Sergeant English said harshly. “You follow up on every lead that comes your way, Constable. Every one of them. Now get on that new-fangled phone to Regina or Winnipeg to get some decent answers.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  ***

  John wiped the sweat from his forehead with his arm and leaned briefly on the shovel he had just been using. The sun was relentless, other than the brief mercy of a few white clouds. They passed in front of the sun for only a minute or two, their fleeting nature exposed by warm prairie winds.

  He kicked a weed he had been about to dig up. It wasn’t as

  effective as using the shovel but it sure felt better, John decided. He glanced toward the homestead and saw his mother peer out at him through the small window. He wondered if she had seen him kick the weed. She didn’t come out and holler at him, so that was a good sign John decided.

  The battle of weeds and vegetables being waged in the Diefenbaker garden didn’t seem nearly as important as the battle being waged in John’s head.
How could he have gotten himself grounded at the homestead? It was a stupid decision, he thought harshly, to go swimming at a time when he needed to be able to count on what little freedom he had. He had only three days left until River’s Voice was transferred and here he was, pulling weeds like there was nothing wrong. John felt hemmed in by his own life.

  William came from the barn where he had been making a repair to Lily’s cow stall. His eyes quickly combed over the work John had been doing to make certain reasonable progress had been made. John hoped his father didn’t say he missed any weeds. He hated retracing his steps when it came to getting work completed. John always tried to do it right the first time so he wouldn’t have to do it again.

  “Looking good, John,” said his father simply, stuffing a sweaty rag into his overalls after wiping his face.

  John nodded, quietly happy about the answer. Maybe this was a good time to ask a few questions that had been simmer—

  ing in the back of his mind. Asking his father questions came naturally for John, especially since William was also his teacher. “Father, what will happen to Summer if River’s Voice is… well, if he’s found guilty and sent to jail…forever?

  William looked off into the distance, gathering his thoughts. “It’s not an easy thing to answer, John. My guess is that she would continue to live on the reservation, with her grandparents and the rest of her Cree band,” he said. “Hopefully they will get feeling better soon.”

  “What’s wrong with them?” John asked.

  “From what I’ve heard, it’s influenza.”

  “Isn’t that what Mrs. Braithwaite died of last year? What if they don’t get better? Then what?”

  “I can’t answer for sure, John,” said his father. “Sometimes we have to see what life brings us. I know that there are other relatives on the reservation who will step in and help.”

  John attempted to dig another weed in front of his father, but somehow it didn’t work. That always seemed to happen. Whenever his father was watching he couldn’t seem to do something perfectly, even if he knew how to do it when he wasn’t being watched. His father reached out for the shovel, obviously wanting to demonstrate. John sighed.