by Donis Casey
Holly took a bite and rolled it around on her tongue experimentally. “It reminds me of Indian pudding. My mother used to make it a lot, and sometimes I’d make for my father. But that is mixed with eggs and molasses and baked for a long time. Not fried, like this. I like to eat it in a bowl with milk.”
“I make a kind of cornmeal pudding too, sometimes, but this is fast and easy in the morning.” Alafair told her. “And we’ve been known to eat mush soft with milk and honey. But my youngsters like it best when it’s fried. It’s good with gravy, too.”
“It’s good,” Holly admitted.
Alafair waited until Holly was on her second slab of mush before she said, “What are your plans, now, honey?”
“I wish that I had gotten up in time to hitch a ride into Boynton with Mr. Tucker when he took the children to school.” She glanced out the kitchen window. The sky was still clouded, but the rain had stopped. “As soon as I’ve helped you clean up, I’ll walk on into Boynton.”
“There’s no need to walk. It’s like to start raining again any minute. I’ll be happy to give you a ride to Boynton. Now, don’t argue. It’s no trouble at all. I need to buy some sugar, anyway. I’m baking today. You know, if you can see your way clear to wait until tomorrow, I’ll give you a ride all the way into Okmulgee.”
Holly shook her head firmly. “You have been so kind, but I’m so close now that I don’t want to wait another day. I’ll find my way to Okmulgee today.”
Alafair’s gaze wandered off for a moment. Holly knew she was scheming, trying to think of a way to persuade her to accept more help. She tried not to smile.
Alafair looked at her again. “You know, Gee Dub had an idea last night. Shaw’s nephew Joe Cecil works as a railman on the milk run between Muskogee and Okmulgee. The train stops in Boynton at eleven. Once in a while, Joe lets one of my young’uns hitch a ride to Okmulgee in the caboose with him. Why don’t we give that a try? I’m sure Joe would be happy to help, and it’d save your shoe leather, for sure.”
The amber eyes widened. “I shouldn’t let you do one more thing for me, Mrs. Tucker, but that is a tempting offer.”
“I can imagine that you’re mighty anxious for this long trip to be done.”
“Oh, yes.” Holly pushed her chair back from the table enough to enable her to reach into the pocket of her voluminous skirt and draw out a small leather folding wallet. She removed a paper sleeve that held a three-by-five snapshot and handed it to Alafair. “This is Dan.”
Alafair studied the close-up of a man in uniform, his hair freshly shorn, no more than dark stubble. The eyes were light, maybe blue, but the black-and-white photograph made them look dove gray. He was not smiling, but he did look amused about something. “Nice-looking fellow,” she said.
“A friend of his took this picture with his brownie camera a few days after we were married.” Holly carefully replaced the photograph in her wallet and slid it back into her pocket before she replied. “I don’t know what happened. Why he didn’t come for me after the war. Maybe he meant to come here to Oklahoma and find a house for us, then send for me. Something must have happened to him before he could contact me.”
“How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”
Holly decided to study her hands. “Almost a year. He was stationed near where I live. I had a war job at the shipyards in Portland and he was with Army procurement. That’s where we met, in Portland. He was handsome and charming. I had never met anyone like him before. We were married within six weeks. It was just before he was shipped off to England. He wrote me the most wonderful letters for several months. Then the letters stopped. He had told me that his enlistment was up when the war ended. I figured that he was being mustered out and shipped home, and that he’d show up on my doorstep in a few days. Or weeks. But he didn’t.
“He quit answering my letters, but they didn’t come back, so he must have gotten them. If he was dead or missing the Army would have notified me, surely. Finally, I got the name of his sergeant from one of Dan’s letters and wrote to him. He wrote back that he suspected Dan had gone back to Oklahoma because that’s where his family is. I thought Dan was from Kansas. Olathe, Kansas. That’s what he had told me, that he was a streetcar conductor in Olathe. But the sergeant’s letter said that they didn’t know where he was, either, and if I heard from him to let the sergeant know. As I told you, I’ve tried to wire Dan’s parents, but I’ve never received a reply. Maybe I got something wrong with their name. If I can find out where they live, perhaps they can tell me what has happened.”
Alafair listened to Holly’s story with a growing feeling of dismay. Holly Johnson did not seem like a stupid girl, but rather than go through official Army channels to find out what had happened to her husband, she had taken the first clue she was given and started out on a two-thousand-mile trek to find someone who more than likely didn’t want to be found. What lengths people will go to in the name of love.
“Miz Johnson,” Alafair said. “Holly…”
Holly didn’t let her finish. “You think he’s abandoned me.” It was not a question.
Alafair cocked her head to the side. “Do you really want to find him, sugar?”
“I don’t know anymore.” She was relieved to say it aloud at last. “I did when I first left Portland. I really did. But it’s been such a long trip with no word. No joy. Where is he? If it weren’t for this photograph I don’t know if I would remember what he looks like. Am I still married or not? I have to know one way or the other.”
Alafair stood up. “Don’t worry about dishes. You go on and get your things and we’ll leave for town as soon as you’re ready. I’m going to take you by the jailhouse before the train comes. My husband’s cousin is the town sheriff in Boynton. Tell him your story. He may be able to give you some advice about your rights.”
Chapter Seven
Holly was prepared to be frightened of Sheriff Scott Tucker. As far as she was concerned, Oklahoma was a foreign country and she didn’t know anything about how things worked here. She had a preconceived notion of what a small-town Southern lawman was like, and she had steeled herself to deal with someone who was threatening at worst, and at best, not inclined to take her seriously. She had encountered a lot of condescension on this journey. And not just from Southern lawmen.
But Scott Tucker didn’t look like someone to fear. He was a man well into his fifties with a kind face and mild blue eyes who regarded her with curiosity when she walked into the jailhouse with Mrs. Tucker at her back. He laid aside the paper on which he was writing and clasped his hands together on the desktop. He nodded at Alafair, but his attention was on Holly.
“Hello, Miss,” he said. “What can I do for you?” He unfolded one hand and gestured at the chair in front of his desk.
She accepted the invitation and sat down stiffly. “Sheriff, my name is Holly Johnson. I’ve come to Oklahoma from Maine, trying to track down my husband who disappeared after he was discharged at the end of the war. I have found out that his parents live in Okmulgee and I’m on my way there this morning. But Mrs. Tucker thinks it would be a good idea to ask your advice about my situation before I continue my search for Dan.”
Sheriff Tucker straightened in his chair. “His name was Dan Johnson?”
She blinked, surprised at his response. “Yes, sir. Daniel Johnson. Have you heard of him? If he was going to Okmulgee, it is possible that he passed through Boynton on his way there.”
Scott glanced at Alafair again, and Holly felt, more than saw, that Alafair had moved closer to her. Scott stood up. “Miz Johnson, I’m sorry to tell you that Private Daniel Johnson is the name of the man who was found dead beside the road just east of town a while back. That was a couple of months ago. Back in December, if I remember right.” He walked over to a tall wooden file cabinet behind the desk and opened the top drawer.
Holly watched blankly as he rummaged through t
he drawer. She didn’t know how to feel. Not particularly surprised. Not grief-stricken, or even very sad. If she felt anything at all, it was vague relief that this long quest could be nearly over.
“We figured that he died of the influenza,” Scott was saying as he searched. “So many did throughout last winter. We buried him with all respect in the town graveyard. He was still in his uniform when he passed.” When Scott turned to face her, he was holding a U.S. Army identity card in his hand. “This was found on him. He didn’t have a poke or a wallet that we found. Just this and a beat-up identity tag in his pocket. I’m real sorry for your loss.” He handed the card to her and left her with her thoughts. He gestured to Alafair, and she followed him to the other side of the room, where he made a show of pouring her a cup of coffee.
“I contacted the Army after we found the body,” he said, keeping his voice low so Holly couldn’t hear. “This Dan Johnson was a deserter. Seems he was wanted for killing another soldier in a fight. I did get hold of his parents in Okmulgee. After they found out what he did, they told me they’d just as soon forget him. That’s why he’s buried over in the graveyard yonder and not in Okmulgee.”
“I declare! Their own son?” She was too shocked to keep her voice down, but Holly didn’t turn around.
Scott shrugged. “Seems he was born sorry, to hear his dad tell it.”
“Well, it’s a sad thing. I hate the thought that he died all alone out in the cold, no matter what he did. Still, it sounds like yon child is well shet of him. And to tell you the truth, I think she may be relieved.”
They made their way back to Holly’s side. She had not moved since Scott handed her the identification card. She was still staring down at it, clutched in her hand.
“Miz Johnson?” Scott said. “Is there anything we can do for you now?”
Holly looked up. Her face was bloodless and the amber eyes were round as dollars. “Sheriff, this is not my husband. That’s the right name, but I don’t know who the man in this photo is.”
***
When Alafair turned her buggy into the gate of the big gray house on the edge of town, her mother-in-law was already standing on the porch, leaning against a pillar with a dishtowel in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other, waiting for her. Alafair wasn’t surprised to see her. Half-Cherokee, half-Scots Sally McBride could sense things that others couldn’t, especially when it came to her family. By the time Sally had led her through the parlor and into the kitchen, Alafair had told her all she knew about the mysterious Holly Johnson and the search for her missing husband. Sally deposited her at the kitchen table and set her up with dried-apple pie and milky tea before offering an opinion.
“It seems to me that if the child’s husband is a killer and a deserter, she’d best leave well enough alone.”
“Yes, but she’s determined to find out if she’s still wed.”
Sally shrugged. “I don’t know why. He run off and left her. She ought to find herself another man and get on with it.”
“She’s not a Cherokee woman, Ma. She can’t just put her husband’s saddle outside the door and call herself divorced.”
“I don’t know why not. Who’s going to know, especially if the scoundrel is here in Oklahoma and she’s all the way back in Maine?”
Alafair snorted. “Well, she doesn’t see it that way.” She took a bite of pie and chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “Scott says the first thing to do is to contact Johnson’s folks in Okmulgee and see if they’ve heard anything from their son since Scott last talked to them. Then he has to find out who they’ve got buried out in the graveyard if it isn’t Daniel Johnson.”
“So your poor girl is right back where she started. What is she aiming to do now?”
“One step at a time, I guess. Scott is going to drive to Okmulgee this afternoon to talk to the Johnsons and maybe the police, and Holly is going to ride along with him. I told her that if things don’t work out she’s welcome to come back and stay with us a spell, at least until she knows what her next move is.”
“You think she will?”
“I don’t think she wants to, particularly. But I don’t know what choice she has right now. She’s flat broke. I offered to wire Charles about hiring her on at the sawmill. I think she’d be open to that. Tell you the truth, I can’t decide whether I want her to come back here or not. I think Gee Dub has an eye for her. She’s a pretty girl and I think he feels an obligation to look out for her, since he’s the one found her on the road. In the normal course of things I’d be glad to see him interested in a nice girl. But Holly’s got a peck of troubles and he don’t need that right now.”
Sally placed her elbows on the table and leaned toward Alafair. “How is Gee Dub? I haven’t seen him since the day he got home and we all had dinner here at the house. I thought he looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or split logs.”
“Shaw says he just needs time to get readjusted. But something bad happened to that boy overseas. He’s changed, Ma. Nobody sees it but me. But I don’t know what to do for him.” She put her fork down, troubled. “I went to clean his room the other day and found two boxes for rifle cartridges under his pillow, both empty but for one cartridge in one of the boxes.”
“Forty dead men.”
Alafair started and turned to see Shaw’s stepfather, puckish, white-haired, little Irishman Peter McBride, standing in the kitchen door. “What did you say, Papa?”
Peter came into the kitchen and sat down at the table “Sally, mo chroí, I’d admire to have a slice of that pie.” He turned to Alafair. “You’ve heard the tale about when I first got off the boat in America, darlin’, and how I was met at the end of the gangplank by a tall man in a blue uniform who offered me a job and three squares a day if I’d join the cavalry and go off to tame the Arizona Territory. I was eighteen and had a thirst for adventure and no brains, so I said ‘where do I sign?’ They put me in a wagon with a dozen other stout lads and took us to training camp, where they gave me my own blue uniform and a rifle. Back in them days rifle cartridges came in a box of forty. So when my sergeant handed me my box he said, ‘Here’s your forty dead men, McBride. Don’t waste them, ’cause the man you miss may be the one who kills you.’”
Chapter Eight
Holly had nothing to say on the long drive to Okmulgee with Scott Tucker in his Paige automobile. The constable made one or two gentle attempts to engage her, but when she only offered monosyllables in return, he mercifully left her alone. Though Scott had to do some fancy driving to avoid getting stuck on muddy stretches of road, the late February day had cleared off and was sunny and new-washed bright after the rain. But rather than admire the scenery, Holly spent most of the trip wondering how she had gotten herself into this situation. She was two thousand miles from home with no money, no husband, no prospects. There was always the possibility that her newfound in-laws would offer to take her in or at least assist her in some way. In truth she had no confidence that Dan’s parents were going to be of any help. She could hardly believe they existed. Sweet Lord, what an awful mess.
The Lord hadn’t been much help to now, either. Though she had to admit that He had placed the Tuckers in her path. They were not the first people to treat her kindly since she left Maine, but they were the first in a long time, and it disarmed her and made her nervous. She had fallen into the habit of being wary.
Well, in truth, it wasn’t Sheriff Tucker who made her nervous. Or Mrs. Tucker or Mr. Tucker or all those cheerful little children. Holly banished the image of Gee Dub Tucker that rose to mind unbidden and made an effort to pay attention to her surroundings. Farms had given way to smaller and smaller homesteads. She could see the beginnings of neighborhoods and the odd business as they neared town.
Okmulgee was a much bigger town than Boynton. As they drove into the business district Holly was reminded of Muskogee, the bustling city where only two days earlier she had run
out of money and begun walking. Scott drove directly to the police station and pulled into a parking space on the main street.
Scott had telephoned ahead and Chief Bowman was expecting them. The desk sergeant directed them down the hall to the Chief’s office, where after introductions he invited them to sit and got down to business.
“Yes, Miz Johnson, I recognize him. I have had occasion to make your husband’s acquaintance in the past and I believe I can direct you to his parents’ house. I hadn’t heard that he passed. I’m sorry for your loss.” He handed Dan’s photo back over the top of his desk before he picked up a note pad and began scratching out a map.
Scott held out the dead soldier’s ID card for the Chief’s inspection. “Well, we have us a mystery here, Mr. Bowman. A young fellow who died on the road outside of Boynton a while back had this on him. If you’ll notice, the photograph ain’t of the same man that Miz Johnson here, and now you, have both identified as the real Daniel Johnson. Have you ever seen this boy before?”
Bowman studied the identification card with interest. “I can’t say I ever have. Well, now, this is a poser. Are y’all proposing that the real Dan Johnson is still alive? Because, if that’s the case, I have to say I’ve never heard word of him coming back to town.”
“That’s just it, Chief Bowman,” Holly said. “No one seems to know where he is. I’m relieved that the man I married really is Dan Johnson, but what has happened to him? And why was some poor flu victim in possession of Dan’s ID card with his own picture on it? I’m praying that Dan’s parents can solve this.” Her voice caught in her throat and she fought back a spate of tears. “This is torment, Chief Bowman.”
Both men hastened to hand the perhaps-widow their handkerchiefs and make soothing noises. “Miz Johnson, we will do everything we can to help you figure this out,” Bowman said. He stood up and bellowed, “MacIntosh!” and the desk sergeant appeared in his door. “Mac, escort the young lady here to the couch in the D.A.’s office and get her a glass of water.” He turned back to Holly. “The District Attorney is in court right now, so you can rest for a spell and gather your wits while I give Mr. Tucker directions to your in-laws’ house.”
