Thing With Feathers (9781616634704)

by Sweazy-kulju, Anne

  Wendell broke into a huge grin, lifted his paper and slapped his thigh with it. “Yes, sir! It will be swell, Victor! I will make it the best Christmas you ever remember.”

  Chapter 80

  December, 1941

  Cloverdale, Oregon

  It had taken Sean’s attorney, Charles Reynolds, a few months to settle Blair’s financial and child welfare matters with the courts in Oregon and Illinois, and to clear Victor of any wrongdoing in the killing of Julius Bowman.

  Sean knew Victor was living with Wendell in Chicago. Wendell sent along regular updates about the boy. Victor didn’t know he was not wanted by the law for murder.

  Shortly after Victor arrived in Chicago, Wendell had sent word so that Sean would not worry for the boy. More recently, the two men had a long distance conversation, and it was decided not to tell Victor about the Alter Ego Rule of defense, or at least not yet. The men reasoned that Victor was thriving in Chicago. He had a future there. There was no future for Victor in Cloverdale. The boy was not raised on the farm, and he had no knowledge of, or desire to, run Sean’s farm for the rest of his life. Sean knew his weakened heart could give at any moment, and there were no other family around for Victor. The Marshall’s were all gone. Victor, who had legally changed his last name to Marshall, would be the only one left. Until he turned eighteen, it would be best for Victor if he stayed in Chicago, they’d decided.

  The day Sean signed over guardianship papers in Charles’ office, he’d cried. Sean was officially a very lonely man.

  “This was Will’s enterprise and he died. I don’t have any family left.”

  Bierlitz nodded somberly that he understood. It was all the same to him as long as he was getting the gristmill. The tiny mill had made a fortune for the Marshall’s over the past decade. It seemed like everything they touched turned to gold, like Midas. But there was a cost, and a steep one at that. Given a choice between fortune and family, well, Kyle Bierlitz was no good without his family. ‘Course Sean Marshall was never given any such choice, Bierlitz was certain. Kyle’s tiny wife and children were his life. But he was hoping he would be blessed with both family and fortune, with the gristmill operation.

  “All I ask, Kyle, is that you toss a loaf or two our way each week with your payment. That’ll help Lorette out some with her workload. I have left instructions with my attorney that if I fail to outlive those payments, the mill is yours, free and clear.”

  Kyle Bierlitz almost choked. “Are you…really Sean?”

  “I chose you because I know you’re a Christian man and you have eight children to feed. This mill should do real good for your family.”

  Bierlitz hoped the mill would bring him some wealth. Eight children is a lot of mouths to feed, which was why Marshall was willing to let it go to him so cheap. Marshall could have easily asked three times the amount Kyle was paying. And now he was being told by the man that financial obligations would cease when he did. The good people of Tillamook County had long agreed that the Marshall’s were kind-hearted folks. Sean Marshall sure made a believer of Kyle Bierlitz on that day. He shook Sean’s hand with firm appreciation.

  Sean checked the mailbox on the way up to the house. He could smell Lorette’s roasting turkey, and his stomach growled. Sean had not bothered to stop to eat all day and it was late afternoon already. He flipped through the few envelopes, noting one from the Baptist church in Tillamook, probably another request for donations. He flipped to the next one, and his heart skipped a beat. A pale pink envelope with lettering by a feminine hand. Rational thought told him it could not be from Blair. He’d buried his beloved wife months earlier. Still, he tore it open urgently. Seconds later, his heart hurt so powerfully that he had to drop the remaining mail and clutch his chest.

  Well, what did I expect? Rebecca is a lovely woman, still young and vital. And her bed is cold. Sean sat on the porch step and stared out over the green pastures, watching the Holsteins graze and lounge lazily. They had not a care in the world. “God, please make me one of those cows next time,” he said to the clouds above him. He picked the invitation up and looked it over.

  She was to wed Elrod’s younger brother, Evan, on Valentine’s Day. Sean supposed he should be happy for Rebecca. He would be if it was truly what she wanted. Her happiness was more important to Sean than his own.

  Chapter 81

  February 14, 1942 rolled in on 80-degree sunshine. In a haste of last-minute preparation, the Tjadens decided to move the small ceremony to where the bath houses once stood, on Tjaden Hill, overlooking the bay. It was a supreme day. The bride was beautiful, and Evan Tjaden appeared to be the happiest man on earth. Sean attended with Lorette on his arm. Lorette still felt responsible for Will’s death, and she was feeling rather lonely herself, so she fawned over Sean twenty-six hours a day. And Sean stopped minding the constant attention so much, since he had become such a lonely man himself. Besides, the woman could cook, and cook she did. Lorette had gained twenty pounds since Will’s death.

  Rebecca had invited Charles Reynolds to the wedding, too. They’d had several meetings over Sean’s estate and the next thing, he was representing the whole Tjaden clan. But Rebecca intimated to Sean, secretly, the real reason she asked Charles to come: he was a successful bachelor who she believed had eyes for Lorette. It seemed Lorette had eyes for Charles as well. By the time the reception had wound down, Lorette and Charles were slow dancing all alone to the musicians’ guitars.

  The bride and groom had left for their honeymoon, which they would spend in Seattle. Sean asked Charles if he would mind seeing Lorette home—it was the least he could do for Lorette. Besides, he felt like taking a walk.

  Visiting a graveyard in order to gain piece of mind might seem odd to some folks. Sean had gained solace from the place ever since Blair took him for a tour there. That was a lifetime ago. He walked slowly by the headstones, taking time to read each one. Some made him feel sadness for the loved ones who so plainly suffered with their losses. Others made him smile, like the little stone next to a giant one for a woman who died at an enviable age. The little one was for her dog. According to the inscription, Cece died only days before her master. Maybe after ninety years, the old woman decided it pointless to go on without her best friend. Those were the kinds of things Sean thought about when he visited the Pioneer Cemetery.

  He stopped in front of an average-sized headstone with beautiful carvings in marble about the edges, and he dropped to his knees. The more masculine headstone on the far side could not escape Sean’s attention either. That was Will’s final resting place. It was still hard for him to believe that his brother was gone. On the opposite side, behind Sean, was Blair’s resting place. Her headstone was a travertine marble slab, with “HOPE” inscribed at its top. The remainder of the stone was inscribed with the first stanza of Blair’s favorite poem, followed by her name and the dates of her life. Blair had been born on September 1, in the year 1911, and she’d died 30 years later on her birthday. A small cry escaped him. He gazed at his father’s marker with eyes blurred by tears and spoke softly.

  “Father, I’m losing everything, everyone. I think maybe it’s me who’s lost.”

  Seconds ticked by. Maybe he’d hoped his father’s voice would reach out to him. The breeze blew the boughs of the great spruce trees, and the only sound that came back to Sean was the rustling of needles overhead. Sean looked up at the sky.

  “Why are you doing this to me!” he shouted at the heavens. His shoulders sagged, and then they shook lightly.

  “Father, you said there would be little victories. I have lost my parents, my wife, my child, my brother…I had to watch Rebecca marry Evan today. I couldn’t saddle her with an invalid husband, Pa. She’d already lost one husband. I think that was the right thing, the best thing for Beck. But, Pa, I have nothing left.

  “I know I’ve lived as a righteous man. I deserved a victory, just one li
ttle victory. You said it might not come soon enough to suit me. Well, I waited. And while I waited, I lost my wife and Rebecca’s married another. My son had to grow up under the evil tutelage of the preacher. It is a sad thing to admit, Pa.

  “I have grown sickly and weak. I’m angry, Father. My heart is sick and I’m very angry. I don’t want to feel like this any longer. Please help me overcome.”

  He’d been kneeling for a long time, and his legs were tiring of the position. He put a hand down to push himself up, and it touched something cool and damp. Sean whipped his head around, and there sitting in front of Blair’s headstone, was a dog trying to get his head under Sean’s hand by pushing at it with his nose. Sean didn’t know much about dogs. The family had never owned one. But he knew he need not be threatened by this pup. It was wagging its tail and begging for a petting.

  “Hey, where did you come from, fella? Oh. Excuse me. Ma’am? Are you lost?”

  His fingers tousled her ears. She was a pretty dog, medium-sized with long, wavy black hair and not a speck of color anywhere. She was a bit skinny for her size, and her coat, stuck here and there with burrs and twigs, looked like she’d seen better times.

  “I’ll bet you’re hungry, aren’t you?”

  The dog barked once and wagged her tail again. She’d been somebody’s pet once, but not for any time recently by the looks of her. Perhaps her master had been made a guest of the cemetery and the poor girl did not know where else to go. Sean knew just how she felt.

  Sean looked back at his father’s headstone. “A dog, Father? This is how you help me?” He looked back down at the attention-starved animal by his side. “Well, it’s something, I guess. Thank you.” To the dog, Sean looked thoughtful before saying, “I guess you’re gonna need a name, huh? How about Cinders, because you’re all black? Do you like that?” Sean thought Blair would have approved of the name.

  The dog barked and wagged again.

  “Well, come on, Cinders,” Sean called to her as he walked back toward his home, his gait a little lighter.

  Lorette was so grateful to the stray for putting a smile on Sean’s face that she gorged Cinders on table scraps. Stuffed and content, the dog curled up on the braided rug next to Sean’s ham radio set and rested, keeping one watchful eye on her new master. Every now and then, Sean would reach down and pet Cinders on the head or tousle her ears. When it came time for Sean to turn in, Cinders jumped up and beat him to the bed, making herself at home at the foot of his quilt. “Oh no, Cinders. Until you’ve had a bath, you sleep on the floor.” He laughed good-naturedly when the dog sulkily jumped down to the floor with her tail between her legs.

  The next morning Sean rose with a touch of nausea and decided he had eaten too much cake at the wedding. He had felt himself giving in to melancholy, as Rebecca and Evan’s reception had worn on, but when he ate the chocolate wedding cake with its impossibly rich butter cream frosting, he’d felt his mood brighten. So he’d kept right on eating it. If he thought about it, he’d been neglecting his diet and exercise for some time. There were some things his doctor said he could do in the way of light exercise and light chores, but Sean hadn’t bothered. He’d been lolling around for quite a spell. He looked at the pooch who had sneaked up onto his bed in the middle of the night and was currently sleeping soundly with her head on his pillow. Perhaps if he had come upon Cinders sooner, he could have benefited from walking her daily. Perhaps today was the day he would begin to take better care of himself. He had to smile as he watched the little dog sleep. “Brother!” Sean said aloud. Just standing there was making him light-headed and short of breath. He knew he should eat something solid, but first, Cinders would get her bath.

  “Cinders, it’s high time you had yourself a bath, girl.” The little dog was comfortable in the bed, but she dutifully raised herself and followed her new master out the bedroom and across the parlor to the front door. Lorette met them at the door. “Morning, Lorette. Giving the pup a sorely needed bathing,” he offered her.

  “Sean, why don’t you let me do that? Your color is a bit off. It worries me. Are you feeling alright this morning?”

  “Oh, my belly’s feelin’ a little pinched, I guess. I ate too much cake yesterday. But I’m fine. Really,” he added when he noted her disapproving look. He led the dog outside to where the hose was tied up. He removed the soap bar and a currying brush from his back pocket. “Okay, girl. It’s gonna be a bit cold at first.” He turned on the hose and doused her.

  To her credit, the canine stood still for the bath, even though the combing had to have tugged uncomfortably at her fur. When she was done, tangle-free, sweet-smelling, and soaked, she ran back into the house, shaking the water from her fur excitably.

  “Well now, my little princess. Don’t you look pretty?” Lorette tied a pretty bandana around the little dog’s neck.

  The dog preened and seemed to delight in the compliments.

  Lorette looked out the front door. “Where on earth is your master now? I swear that man just goes and goes.” She went out the door looking for Sean, fully prepared to admonish him for so much activity before he’d even broken his fast. She spotted water trailing down the drive in great rivulets. Rounding the corner of the house, she saw first the bottoms of his boots and she raced the remaining distance. “Oh, dear Lord. Mr. Marshall! Sean!” She patted his cheeks and lifted his head.

  He was unconscious but alive.

  “Please wake up, Sean! Please! Oh, Lord, please don’t let him die. Oh Lord!” She hefted him over her shoulder and carried him to the house. She laid him across his bed and fetched cool water. Then she called for the doctor.

  Chapter 82

  The physician snapped his doctor bag shut. “He needs complete rest. His heart has suffered a sizable attack. He can’t take much more.”

  “Yes, sir.” Lorette twisted her dishcloth nervously in her hands.

  “Give him meaty broths, and lots of it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And don’t let him get out of this bed. I’ll be back to check on him in a couple of days. He is out of danger for now.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll watch him very carefully.”

  The doctor left. The instant Lorette locked the deadbolt behind him, she fell into a parlor chair and sobbed. She peered into the shaded bedroom where Sean Marshall labored to breathe. Oh how she’d grown to love the man. She’d loved Will too, but that was different. She could not bear to lose Sean as well, and so soon. Cinders rose on her back feet and laid her head in Lorette’s lap for a petting. The home nurse smiled through her tears and obliged, thankful for the company.

  Two days later, the physician visited, as promised, and was happy to see the color improve in his patient’s face. This nurse apparently knew what she was doing. He pronounced Sean healthy enough to take short bouts around the house, but he was to be restricted to indoors. It would not do for Sean to develop a cold in his weakened condition. He would surely develop pneumonia and would have no strength to endure it. Cinders jumped from Sean’s bed and ran into the kitchen where Lorette and the doctor talked over tea. The little dog went over to Lorette’s chair and sat next to it. Lorette quietly slipped the little tail-wagger a bit of her crumb cake.

  “Cute little beggar. Is she yours?” The doctor asked.

  “No, no, she followed Sean home on one of his walks—at the cemetery, sake’s alive. Won’t leave his side, except for food and such. The lass was in a state when he found her—or, she found him, as I heard him tell it. But she cleaned up right smart, didn’t she?” She reached down and tousled the little dog’s ears. Cinders preened as if she knew what they were saying about her.

  “Was she sitting on the grave of her master, I wonder? Perhaps she had nowhere else to be,“ the doctor said. He shook his head in sad sympathy for the pup.

  “I wondered the very same thing, doctor. But now I think perh
aps she is an angel. One thing I do know is, they needed each other. I believe she is good for him. Maybe my broths are not the only reason Sean is perking up, I dare say. He’s quite taken with her,” she told him.

  The doctor cleared his throat. “What I am going to say has no bona fide medical findings to support it. But, I think I see a like-mindedness in you, Lorette. I believe the canine is capable of extending a man’s life. I base the theory on several of my own findings: first, I have seen illness depart shortly after loneliness departed, in a patient who was given a puppy as a gift. She has been well ever since. Next, it is a fact that a canine must be taken out and walked, several times each day, which would require the responsible pet owner to get up and out of doors and move. Regular, reasonable exercise and fresh air is monumentally important to good health and long life. And finally, I personally know of several elderly persons who admit to living for their pets. They do not wish to leave them orphaned or they worry for their care, much as if they were their children. It is frankly astounding how some people will cling to life for the canines they love. As I said, medical science can not confirm such an assertion, but I know it has merit just the same.”

  Lorette slipped Cinders another bite. “Oh, I am absolutely certain of it, doctor.”

  “As you feel Sean getting stronger, when he is ready for light exercise, accompany him on short walks with the pup. Be sure he is bundled up, this weather is a fluke. It is still winter.” He rose and reached for his hat. He thanked Lorette for the tea and patted the little dog’s head. “She’s a dark beauty, isn’t she? Her eyes tell me you are correct, Lorette. She’s been through it, poor little thing. But this one is much stronger than she appears, eh?” To the dog he said, “you take care of Mr. Marshall, girl.”