Coffin To Lie On

by Risner, Fay

  A Coffin To Lie On

  Fay Risner

  Cover Art 2015

  All Rights Reserved

  Author Fay Risner

  Published by Fay Risner at Smashwords.com

  Copyright (c) 2015

  All Rights Reserved

  By Fay Risner

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to the actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locals are entirely coincidental. Excerpts from this book cannot be used without written permission from the author.

  Booksbyfay Publisher

  author, editor and publisher Fay Risner

  I entered this story in the Arkansas Writer's Conference at Little Rock, Arkansas in 2007 as a short story in the contest Westward Ho. A Coffin To Lie On was awarded second honorable mention.

  In Chapters nine and ten, this part of the book was taken from a short story I entered in White County Creative Writers, Searcy, Arkansas in 2005 with the title The Lonesome Whippoorwill. The short story was awarded second place in the Western Short Story category.

  Fay Risner's books

  Nurse Hal Among The Amish Series

  A Promise Is A Promise Doubting Thomas

  The Rainbow’s End

  Hal’s Worldly Temptations

  As Her Name Is So Is Redbird

  Emma’s Gossamer Dreams

  The Courting Buggy

  Amazing Gracie Historical Mystery Series

  Neighbor Watchers Poor Defenseless Addie

  Specious Nephew

  The Country Seat Killer

  The Chance Of A Sparrow

  Moser Mansion Ghosts

  Locked Rock, Iowa Hatchet Murders

  Westerns

  Stringbean Hooper Westerns Tread Lightly Sibby

  The Dark Wind Howls Over Mary The Blue Bonnet-novella

  Small Feet’s Many Moon Journey A Coffin To Lie On-novella

  Ella Mayfield's Pawpaw Militia-Civil War

  Fiction

  Grandma Robot-novella

  Christmas books

  Christmas Traditions - An Amish Love Story

  Christmas With Hover Hill

  Leona’s Christmas Bucket List

  Children Books

  Spooks In Claiborne Mansion

  My Children Are More Precious Than Gold

  Mr. Quacker Listen To Me Honey

  Nonfiction about Alzheimer’s disease

  Open A Window - Caregiver Handbook

  Hello Alzheimer’s Goodbye Dad-author’s true story

  Cookbook

  Midwest Favorite Lamb Recipes

  Books published by Booksbyfay Publisher

  Romance

  Sunset Til Sunrise On Buttercup Lane by Connie Risner

  Military-nonfiction-Vietnam War

  Redcatcher MP by Mickey Bright

  Chapter 1

  Miranda Tollifson sat quietly as long as she could with her hands in her lap, watching Swedish Hildur Landers do the work in her kitchen. The heavy set, middle aged woman had been employed by Anselm, Miranda's husband, to do the housework and cook for her. That was nearly ten years ago.

  Right now, Hildur was cleaning up the kitchen for the last time that day. Anselm was working on one of his carpenter projects in the barn. Miranda felt bored. She was the only one doing nothing.

  Finally, she got up and left the room. When she returned from the parlor, she had her arms full with her whale bone swift and skeins of brown wool yarn. She attached the swift to the table and spread the swift out so the pegs were wide apart.

  After she draped the yarn skein over the pegs, Miranda rolled the yarn end into a ball. She pulled on the yarn to loosen the string and kept rolling the ball as the swift turned.

  Hildur stopped drying dishes to watch. “Dat iss easier dan making de Mister sit vit his arms out, holding de yarn. Ja? My mister would not do it. Dat iss vat I make my girl, Clara, do for me.”

  Miranda laughed. “I know what you mean. I think by now you've noticed Anselm isn't the sit still type of husband. He won't help me. I had to resort to another way that didn't include him.”

  Hildur gave a jiggling belly laugh. “Dat iss vat my Clara tells me, too. I should find another vay. She does not much like helping me when I am winding yarn. Vat are you going to do vit dat yarn?”

  Miranda concentrated on rolling the yarn evenly on the ball while she talked. “Knit some warm socks for Anselm.”

  Hildur shook her head in approval. “Dat brown iss a good color for socks. Did you use walnut hulls to stain de wool?”

  “Yes, boiled walnut hull water works the best for me when I want a brown stain,” Miranda said.

  “Ja, I agree.” Hildur put the stack of supper plates away before she asked? “Did you haf a good turn out for de meeting de other night?”

  “Anselm seems to think he did. By the way, thank you again for making those good molasses cookies. Everyone liked them. Even Florence Swensen said the cookies were tolerable. I think that's as close to a compliment as she will ever get.”

  “Even dat much from dat old vulture vas good. She dinks she iss a better cook dan anyone else,” Hildur said with a grin.

  “Hildur, you shouldn't call Florence names,” scolded Miranda teasingly.

  “Dat iss vat she reminds me of vit her long, beak like nose dat picks a body to de bone. You take a look at dose long fingers of hers. Dey look like vulture claws if I ever seen any,” Hildur declared.

  “Very few women came to the meeting. Brunnhilde Fjelde, Prudence Sorenson, Birgit Bjornson, Gretchen Krebsbach and Florence. Those women pretty much stick together. They weren't thrilled by the conversation.

  Now the men, on the other hand, were as excited as children at Christmas about going west to homestead,” Miranda shared in a dispirited tone.

  “Dat homestead act may turn out to be pipe dream for most folks. Men are always looking over de horizon for something better or different. De government turning all dat free land loose for de taking vas just enough to put de men's wonder lust bones into motion. Dat free land iss not worth a hoot if de land does not live up to what de government made it out to be. I am glad my husband and me are too old for such nonsense as dis so I do not haf to vorry about picking up stakes,” Hildur stated.

  “I understand. It was clear the women at the meeting wanted to live here until they died. This is their home. Too bad their husbands don't see it the same way. Or, that the women aren't given a say in the matter like Anselm did me,” Miranda surmised.

  I think this year's drought played a factor in this urge to move. The poor wheat and corn crops means now farmers will not have enough food supply for their animals for the winter. If the farmers use their funds to buy feed for their animals, there won't be money to buy seed grain to put in crops next spring.”

  “Dat is right,” Hildur agreed. “My husband vorries about dat, but he dinks ve vill make it through the winter if we sell some of de cows.

  Vat vit railroad freight rates vat dey are and de poor economy in Minnesoota, de farmer does not have any profit left if he gets a poor crop. My husband iss an optimist. He says ve vill get by until times get better.”

  Miranda stopped rolling to muse. “The war lasted too long. That's what put the economy in this
slump. Hildur, it makes me wonder what men were thinking when they left their home and families for five years. They killed each other and destroyed half our country.”

  Hildur rolled her eyes. “Dey were not tinking. Once dey started fighting, dey could not stop. Makes little sense at all. Ya?

  Now here iss all dis talk about loading vat dey can carry on one of dose covered wagons. Which iss very little considering vat dey accumulated over the years. They vill uproot their families and take off for de wilderness. Dat does not make sense either. Wouldn't you tink men learned their lesson vit de war?”

  “It's a lot clearer to us women than it is to men. At the meeting, Clarence Swensen prodded the farmers to head west. He did most of the talking as usual.

  According to him, the men should sell all their stock except their horses in Redwing. That's only twenty five miles from here so it wouldn't take long to drive the stock to town.

  Buyers from southern states are looking for horses and cattle to replace what they lost in the war. They're paying good prices. The men plan to hang on to what money they make from the stock sales until spring.

  We'd book passage on a paddle boat down the Mississippi River to the Missouri River and get off at Independence, Missouri. There we'd hook up with a wagon train.

  We'd buy a wagon and supplies when we got there. What we packed for the trip would be unloaded from the boat and on to our wagon.” Miranda paused while she collected her thoughts. “Clarence sounded like he knew what he was talking about. At least, the men thought so.”

  Hildur harrumphed in disgust. “I haf known dat man to be wrong before. He might get all of you in a terrible yam vit his big ideas. Does Mr. Swensen haf a final destination point?”

  Miranda nodded yes. “He's heard talk about a place called Willamette Valley in Oregon. Seems it lies smack dab in between three mountain ranges. The valley is supposed to be very fertile. Clarence says the climate is warm but a bit dry in the summer. Cool to chilly in the winter, but not frigid like here. No head high snows such as Goodhue County, Minnesota gets most winters.”

  Hildur snorted softly. “Willamette Valley is a place I vould haf to see to believe. It sounds like a yoke someone has pulled on Mr. Swensen. It iss hard to believe he fell for it. Weather like dat vould be too nice.” Hildur frowned when she saw the worried expression on Miranda's face. “Your mister really dinking on moving west?”

  Miranda nodded. “Yes, I'm afraid he is.”

  Hildur shook her finger at Miranda. “You better haf your mister check to make sure Clarence Swensen has the right information about dat land.”

  Miranda sighed deeply. “You're right. I suppose Anselm thinks it would be all right to live in Willamette Valley on Mr. Swensen's say so. I'll ask him to do some checking on Oregon to make sure Mr. Swensen has the right facts. I must admit Willamette Valley does sound like a good place to live if the getting there didn't kill us off first.”

  “Dat iss another thing! Ve hear all the tales about how awful hard travel across the country iss. Are you sure a trip like dat iss going to be such a good idea for you, Miranda, vit your health vat it iss?”

  Miranda let out a frustrated sigh. “That's a good question. One I don't have an answer for right now. Anselm has left it up to me to decide what we do, because he has the same worries as you do about my endurance.

  I'm not sure I want that burden on my shoulders, and it bothers me. I can say we stay here if I want to, but what if we stay behind because of me? If we have another dry summer, it means we lose what little money this farm has made us. By then buyers for farm land might not be so interested. They might try to buy our property dirt cheap.”

  Hildur teared up. “I understand. You know I vould vorry about you and your mister until you are settled in dat strange place. For sure, I vill miss helping you if you move.”

  “Thank you so much. I've appreciated all the hard work you do around here on my be-half. I'm such a terrible cook. I know Anselm will miss your good cooking as much as me.

  But don't start worrying about us leaving yet. We aren't going to decide until spring,” Miranda assured her.

  “Dank you. Dat iss good to know.” Hildur slipped her black bonnet on. “I better start for home and see to my own family's supper.”

  Miranda put her yarn ball against the swift so it wouldn't roll away. She got up and walked across to the wall pegs and helped Hildur get her arms in her black wool coat. “I'll be glad when the days get longer. You be careful going home in the dark.”

  “I vill. Once you get to dis big valley, if you go, you please let me know you and de mister are safe. If I didn't hear from you, I vould always vorry about vat happened to you,” Hildur said.

  “Of course, I promise. As soon as I could, I would write you and my folks a letter, but Hildur I don't know if we're going yet,” Miranda assured her.

  Ignoring her statement, Hildur asked, “How long do you expect this trip to take?”

  “I don't know. I hope it wouldn't take long,” Miranda said.

  So much about this venture was unknown to her. The length of the trip was just one of her worries, but she doubted Anselm had the answers.

  Chapter 2

  As the seasons changed from winter to early spring, Miranda ingrained in herself memories of their farm. She'd always been proud of her garden with its delicious bounty. Her garden would lay fallow this spring. Her house was one of the nicest in the area. She'd miss her comfortable home.

  She knew she'd miss the summer months in Minnesota. After Anselm's day was done, he always rested beside her in their porch rockers. They never grew tired of listening to the music of the whippoorwills at dusk.

  Anselm loved the small brown birds' songs as much as she did. He was good at whistling a mocking reply that sent the birds into frenzied responses.

  By the time their surroundings showed signs of spring, Miranda had done a lot of hard pondering about the move. She did a tug of war with herself, wavering against and for the trip. Finally when the trees budded, she knew it was time to decide. It wasn't fair to keep Anselm wondering any longer.

  She didn't want to hold her husband back from his dream. Against her better judgment, she made the decision to go west for the man she loved.

  When she told him they could move west, Anselm was like a young man again. A spring in his walk returned that had left years before. It made her happy to see him exuberant, but Miranda couldn't share the way he felt about leaving the only home she'd known. This area was a safe place where everything but the weather was predictable. She didn't like heading west into the unknown.

  The one request she made was that Anselm do some investigating on his own to find out if Willamette Valley was as great a place to live as Clarence Swensen made it out to be. He promised to do that for her.

  When it came time to sell the hogs, Anselm felt a pang of sadness hit him as he walked along with other farmers driving their hogs to the market in Redwing. His sows were fine stock, because Anselm had spent years breeding his hogs to be prize winners. Farmers bought their hog stock from him. He hated to part with them, but he couldn't take them on the trip.

  Anselm butchered off the laying hens until he had only a dozen hens and one rooster left. Just the right amount of chickens to crowd in a crate attached to a covered wagon.

  By being careful with his hay supply and corn, Anselm was able to make it through the winter with his four work horses, twenty cows, their calves and one bull.

  The farmers weren't sure how easy it was to find replacement stock for their cattle herds. They decided to take their stock cattle on the journey. That meant branding the cattle so they could pick out their own herd when they arrived in Oregon.

  The day the families left for Redwing to board the paddle boat they would drive the cattle and load them on the boat for the trip down the Mississippi River. Once they joined the wagon train encampment at Independence, Missouri, the cattle would be mixed with the herds belonging to other travelers. The men had been assured b
y Clarence Swensen there was plenty of grazing for cattle and horses as they traveled west.

  By breeding his cows for winter calving, Anselm's calves were sturdy enough to follow the cows by spring. He and the other men expected a death loss on the trip. Even with the loss, they hoped to have stock to build into a herd once they settled in Willamette Valley.

  One evening in late March after Hildur Landers left for home, Miranda plopped down in one of the rockers on the cabin porch. She pulled her brown wool cape tighter around her to ward off the cold and stared at the winter, star studded sky.

  Usually Anselm joined her after supper for the evening. In the winter, they sat by the fire in the parlor, but tonight he was busy in the barn. His hammer pounded loud above the squeaks of her rocker. Imagine at his age, with a good farm he'd worked so hard to improve, that man decided to go west and start over. The thought to Miranda was unbelievable.

  She shuddered. It wasn't a fit night to be outside long. Besides, she wasn’t used to rocking alone. She’d rather Anselm was beside her, sharing the full moon and bright star filled evening, but it could only be for a few minutes. After all, it was still winter.

  Finally, Miranda chilled enough she had to give up rocking. She was ready to go inside and warm up. She stood and put her hand on the door latch. She paused to listen to the carpentry sounds. Curious about what her husband was building, she walked to the barn through the slushy snow.