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The Granite Heart (An Ozark Mountain Series Book 2)

Page 3

by Alan Black


  Susanne heard a young man’s voice say, “That is what I have been waiting for.” She spotted the young man, not much more than a boy. She had never seen him before, so he was new to the church and he did not attended their school. She saw the recognition on LillieBeth’s face.

  LillieBeth said. “Hello Roy. How is the trigger finger today?”

  Roy flexed his finger. “It is just fine. That smile was worth waiting for. Are you going to show us what brought it on? I tried so hard yesterday up in Branson and couldn’t get you to smile.”

  Susanne was curious about the boy. It was obvious from Clare’s expression that she did not know the boy either. Art Hazkit looked sternly at the boy, at his daughter and back again at the boy. It was obvious he would have a discussion with the boy before the day was out.

  LillieBeth nodded at Roy, “Sure, I will show you, but that smile was not for you. Why would I smile at a boy who could not even win a shooting contest against a girl?”

  LillieBeth turned the box around. There, inside, were five little egg-shaped brown jasper stones with white rings around them. The girl slid a finger over each little stone. To anyone who knew the girl, it was clear the stones held meaning for her, just as they had held meaning to Hoffman or he would not have placed them in the box.

  Clare said, “You can explain the stones later, honey. What else is in the box?”

  LillieBeth grabbed a bundle of papers at the bottom and unwrapped it. Someone whistled. Susanne strained to see the bundle of papers, but could not get close enough through the crush of people. Whispers of ‘cash’ spread back from the young girl like ripples on a pond racing away from a tossed pebble.

  LillieBeth shrugged. “Here Daddy, this is for you.” The girl tossed the papers to Art Hazkit. She did not look concerned about the contents.

  Susanne smiled. She knew LillieBeth was not concerned if it was cash. The girl may be maturing quickly, but money was an adult worry. LillieBeth had been sure of her own place in the world since Art had gone off to fight in France. The young girl…young woman evidenced a supreme confidence in her own ability to provide and care for her family. Cash was not part of the equation as she provided for herself and her mother by her own hands and with her rifle.

  Sheriff Grissom looked over Art Hazkit’s shoulder, “Art, that looks close to a thousand dollars.”

  Art turned and without a word walked to Nicholetta’s Cadillac, followed by most of the crowd.

  LillieBeth looked at the little chest. She pulled out the last two items. “He left a button from a Confederate States uniform. And an old picture. It says ‘Emmaline Wallanski Hoffman on her wedding, 1847’. This must be his mother.” Glancing up, she said, “That was all he left.” She carefully touched each stone again. She put the button and picture back in the box with the stones, closing the lid softly.

  Susanne wondered about the stones. They were nothing special, just common rocks that anyone could pick up alongside the road and were forced to pick up when clearing a garden. Yet LillieBeth had touched them as if they held more meaning for her than if the box had been filled with diamonds and rubies.

  Everyone turned as the maroon car started up, sped out of the glade and raced down the road generating a cloud of dust. Art returned holding a paper high in his hands. “I got it. I bought Hoffman’s place.” His grin split from ear to ear.

  Susanne was happy for Art and Clare. Everyone knew the Hazkits were losing the small rented cabin they called home. Their landlord needed the place for her own family. Although the Hazkits shared their trouble with everyone in the congregation, no one knew of a home for rent or lease in the area. She nodded her head. Once again, God supplied.

  Art said, “Sheriff Grissom, what say I ride along with you to Galena tomorrow? I need to get my new place recorded at the land office in the courthouse.”

  Grissom nodded. “I don’t expect any problems with those two knot-heads I have to take to Galena, but I will be glad of the company.” He pointed at the signed deed. “It seems you got a right good deal there, Art. $420 is half a fortune, but the land is cheap at ten times that price.”

  Art laughed, “I got his cousin down to $400.00 for the lock, stock and barrel. He went lower because we would have to build a house on it.”

  LillieBeth looked up from her seat on the ground, “But, Daddy. Mr. Nicholetta asked how Fletcher lived and I told him the truth. He did not ask if there was a house. There is a real pretty house. Fletcher built it and no one has ever lived there. It is empty and just waiting for us to move in.”

  SUNDAY - NOON

  Susanne Harbowe stood in the shade of the little oak trees surrounding the dolomite bald knob surrounding the Methodist Church. It was not a hot spring Sunday, but it was warm enough the shade felt comfortable after being inside for church services. Her eyes were threatening to brim over with tears, but where no clouds were threatening in the sky, her eyes, red rimmed from crying, were ready to let loose a deluge. She wanted to be alone to cry again, to run away and hide, to pray it would all go away. She had been frustrated in being alone. LillieBeth clung to her side. She was flustered and comforted all at the same time.

  She had cried off and on throughout the church service. That was not exactly up to Methodist standards for 1920, but it was not so rare it brought unwanted attention. The Bible did that to some folks from time to time and good country folk minded their own business when it came to other peoples’ relationship with God.

  Susanne had not been overcome by hearing the Word of God fitly spoken or by the pleasant and well-trained voice of their new preacher the Right Reverent David James. She cried every time she looked at James. He was a handsome man, but not so pretty as to bring women to tears, not even a plain looking woman like Susanne Harbowe. She cried because she did not know whether to be angry with James, disappointed in him or just plain confused by the man. Halfway through his sermon, she decided to be confused with herself and quit looking at James. She was listening only to His words, His message and His Heart. God would give her answers and comfort somewhere in His Word.

  No matter how hard she tried, her mind kept coming back to her confession to Reverend James about being forced into an unvirtuous act. If it was not for the support of her long time best friend, Clare Hazkit and her newest friend LillieBeth, she would have run from church and hidden in her small room attached to the back of the Hollister’s house.

  Susanne had long ago apologized to God for any wrongdoing on her part. She knew she was forgiven by Him. She tried to apologize to James, but it had not gone well.

  The Braunawall’s attack happened as she was fast approaching twenty-two without prospects of a husband. To have a handsome young man like Trance Braunawall coming to call was exciting. She freely admitted going for a walk along the lane with the young man. As James pointed out that obviously was a lack of good judgment on her part.

  She did not consent to his brother, Dangle, jumping out from behind a tree nor to both men having their way with her, each in turn. She had struggled and repeatedly asked, begged, pleaded and cried for them to stop. They only laughed all the more.

  It had been horrible. It was also horrible for her to keep it a secret for two years. She told no one, not Clayton Grissom the Methodist lay minister and the Oasis sheriff, not any of the circuit preachers coming to teach at their church, and not even her best friend and confidant Clare Hazkit. But, James was now a permanent minister at their church. It would have been doubly wrong to keep such a secret once he asked.

  Susanne had sat with Art and Clare throughout the service. Now she stood waiting for more storms to come into her life. There was no reason to tell Grissom about her rape. The Braunawalls were going to jail and would be tried for murder. In her mind, that would be punishment enough.

  LillieBeth said, “Yes.” in answer to a question no one asked or heard asked. The young girl grabbed Susanne’s arm, dragged her out of the shade and across the bald knob. She stormed up to Clayton Grissom. A small crowd of men f
rom church, including LillieBeth’s own father, surrounded the big man. She bulled her way through the men to stand in front of Grissom, dragging Susanne behind her. The big man’s bulk dwarfed the girl’s slight twelve-year-old frame. She was raised to not interrupt grown up conversations, but stood there making it clear she had something to say.

  Susanne was worried about LillieBeth. What would the girl say? Was she ready to tell the man about the Braunawall’s attack on her, on LillieBeth, on Clare? What would be the use? Trance and Dangle were guilty of murder. They were guilty in front of witnesses. They would hang by the law. Accusing the Braunawalls of rape and assault would not add or shorten one inch to the rope around their necks.

  She knew LillieBeth was unafraid. It was obvious she had something to say and would not be denied. It was odd to see a girl of her stature confronting the man who was a lay minister, the sheriff and a member of both the church and school boards.

  Susanne could see the resolve on LillieBeth’s face. So, hand in hand, they waited for a lull in the conversation. Susanne knew Clare had put up LillieBeth’s hair in an adult style bun. It was the first time she had seen the young girl in anything other than a young girl’s braids or a child’s pigtails. Clare must have recognized LillieBeth’s emerging maturity. The child of her childhood friend was not a child any longer. It made her feel old, sad and happy all at the same time.

  The bun on LillieBeth’s head must have suddenly itched. The girl pulled at the bun, yanking it free, letting her light brown hair flop loose, long and unruly. It covered her ears and most of the freckles on her neck and cheeks. Now Susanne recognized the young girl she knew so well. Yet she looked different, more mature, more confident and harder.

  Grissom stopped speaking to the men with him and looked at her.

  Before he could speak, LillieBeth said, “Sheriff Grissom, you will not bury my friend Fletcher Marlowe Hoffman in a pauper’s grave.”

  Susanne would be half-frightened to speak to any man that way, giving orders and making such demands. Clayton and Grace Grissom were friends, but it was not a ladylike manner. LillieBeth held her head up, obviously convinced she was in the right. Right was right.

  Grissom nodded. “Art already told me you would feel that way.”

  LillieBeth looked at her father. He smiled back and gave her a wink of approval.

  “Sheriff,” she continued, “if his family will not stand up for Mr. Hoffman, then I will. I want him brought home to his place and buried decent.”

  “His place?” Grissom asked. “It’s the Hazkit place now. Your daddy bought the land right and proper; paid for it in cash in front of witnesses.”

  A few men in the crowd laughed and slapped Art on the back, commenting on how he snookered that city feller. It was everyone’s opinion Hoffman’s cousin from Chicago was a fool, selling off a recently inherited place for a few hundred dollars, throwing away thousands or even tens of thousands of dollars.

  Susanne agreed with all of the men and with Grissom. It was Hazkit’s place and Hoffman had no place there, living or dead.

  LillieBeth said, “It is a Hazkit place, but we would not have it if Mr. Hoffman had not left me the money as an inheritance. He was my friend and finally, I was his. How can I do different now than to give him a good place to rest?”

  Grissom nodded. “I can certainly bring his body by on the way past to Galena tomorrow. I am taking his killers to the county jail for trial. But, I haven’t ever been on his land. Where do you want me to put him for viewing and the like? You want him in the parlor of that secret house you say is there?”

  LillieBeth shook her head no. “Sheriff, Mr. Hoffman did not live inside his house in life and I doubt he wanted to be inside it after death. There is no one to view him or come pay their respects except me. I do not see the need for such stuff nor would Mr. Hoffman if he were here. What I want, and I expect Mr. Hoffman would agree, is for you take his body and bury him on his land. Just at the end of the lane to his house is a meadow. Bury him at the south end so that his grave overlooks the White River Valley.”

  Art Hazkit said, “I expect that would please him some. I think it would me, if I were him.”

  LillieBeth said, “What would please him more is if you forced the Braunawall’s to do the digging! They murdered him so it only seems fitting that they dig through rock and root to lay him in his grave.”

  Susanne was in agreement. She was sure God would judge the Braunawalls for all of their sins. Mankind would hang them for murder. Any extra punishment would be fitting as well.

  Most of the men in the crowd smiled and nodded in agreement with LillieBeth. Some of the men did not smile, clamping their jaws tight in anger. No one in the whole churchyard liked or even knew Hoffman except LillieBeth, but murder was murder. He was an old man; seventy-one by anyone’s guess, a loner, mean and crazy, who had been living on borrowed time for many years. None of that mattered. Murder was plainly and simply wrong.

  No one in Stone County knew why Trance and Dangle Braunawall had shot and killed the old man. Susanne could only guess it was in retribution for the old man stopping their attack on LillieBeth or their fear at leaving behind a witness to their assault on the young girl.

  The Braunawalls were not talking about their motives. Neither would Susanne. It was LillieBeth’s story to tell and if she did not, then it was a secret to keep and not gossip about. She expected if she told anyone, Trance and Dangle would not survive the trip to Galena to stand trial. Instead, both men would decorate a hastily designated hanging tree, if not just shot and left for dead in the woods.

  Art said, “Sheriff, I need to go over to Blue Eye tomorrow to let my boss know I plan on quitting so I can work my own land.”

  Their church was a small gathering in a small community. Everyone knew everyone’s business. Susanne did not imagine Art Hazkit’s boss at the Blue Oak Charcoal Company would be upset he was quitting. There were more men coming home from the Great War in Europe than there were jobs to support them. The job Art was leaving would be filled before he could mount his mule and ride away.

  The land and extra cash LillieBeth had inherited from her late friend would sustain the Hazkits without Art working so far from home at a job that was bad for his health. Cutting oak trees was hard, but hearty work. Burning the oak logs for charcoal put smoke and soot into Art’s lungs. Lungs already scarred by German gas from the War to End All Wars.

  Art continued, “I need to go to Galena to file the deed and get it recorded at the courthouse. I know I bought Hoffman’s place fair and square, but it is such an unexpected windfall I don’t think I will rest comfortable until the title gets recorded.”

  Grissom said, “Sounds wise.”

  Art said, “I figure I can swing by Oasis close to dawn and ride over to Galena with you. I can keep you company while you drag those two pieces of walking cottonwood blossoms to judgment.”

  LillieBeth yanked Susanne’s arm as she pulled her away from the crowd. She said, “Whew! I do not know what got into me talking that way to Clayton Grissom. I was sure Daddy would tan my bottom for butting in on men…” Her voice drifted away.

  Susanne looked over her shoulder. Approaching fast, with a ready grin, was the young man LillieBeth had called Roy.

  She looked at her friend. “Do you want me to step back and give you time to converse with your new beau?”

  LillieBeth shook her head. “Please chaperone. I know that would please Mama. And I am not sure I want to be pleasant to any man right now.”

  Roy said, “Hello, Miss Champion Rifle Shooter.”

  LillieBeth said, “Hello, Mr. Turner. Miss Harbowe, this is Roy Turner. He just moved in with his grandpa about halfway between here and Oasis. Roy, this is Susanne Harbowe. She is the teacher at our school and a dear friend of our family.”

  Roy smiled. It was an infectious grin. Susanne could not help but smile back.

  He said, “Miss Harbowe, I was hoping to meet you. Grandpa said that I might as well come up to your
school some during the week. He thinks it will keep me out of trouble. I have most of my schooling out of the way, but I could use a quiet place to study my Greek and Latin, not the reading or translating, but mostly putting the words back into good English grammar. And I really need some help with geometry if you are up for it.”

  Susanne said, “Of course, Mr. Turner. We do not have many young men your age still attending school here, but it will be a pleasure to assist in your higher studies in any way I can. Do you intend to go to college?”

  Roy nodded. “Yes. I was actually planning to study law at Harvard. Dad was graduated from there, but that has been set aside since he and my mother are gone now. I expect to go to the law school up at the university in Kansas City next fall. I got my letters from them and everything.”

  Susanne said, “And how did you meet our friend LillieBeth?”

  Roy laughed, “I’m not surprised she didn’t tell you. I’ve noticed she plays her cards close to the vest.”

  LillieBeth said, “What? I do not play with California prayer books. Daddy says they are a waste of time and if you don’t have anything better to do than play cards, you might as well clean your rifle.”

  Roy laughed. “That is not what I meant. I mean that you just don’t talk about yourself.”

  LillieBeth said, “Oh. I guess that is true.”

  Roy looked at Susanne. “LillieBeth and I competed against each other at a shooting match in Branson yesterday. I have to admit that she squeaked out a win against me.”

  LillieBeth said, “Squeaked? I say I beat you fair and square, shot for shot and shell for shell.”

  Susanne said, “LillieBeth, you won?”

  “Yes, Miss Harbowe. No matter what this flannel mouth city boy says it was not much of a shooting contest. We just shot at paper targets that did not move like any decent rabbit or squirrel.”

 

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