The Widows of Braxton County

by Jess McConkey

  Twenty minutes later, Kate was still following Trudy, pushing the cart up and down the grocery aisle while Trudy picked over the iceberg lettuce, squeezed the bread, and thumped the watermelons.

  The back of Kate’s neck began to tingle, and she glanced over her shoulder. Two women watched from the end of the frozen food aisle. Their carts close together, their eyes focused on Kate—and avid curiosity was written on their faces. When one of the women lifted her hand and whispered to her companion, Kate quickly turned her attention back to Trudy. But she’d disappeared.

  To catch up with her mother-in-law, Kate hurried around the corner of the next aisle and smacked into a cart belonging to an older woman.

  “I’m so sorry,” Kate apologized as she tried to separate the carts’ locked wheels.

  Dressed in knee-length denim shorts, a drab green shirt, and scuffed tennis shoes, the stranger turned and smiled. Her face had the color of tanned leather and was webbed with fine lines, but the blue eyes staring at Kate appeared young and lively. Kate guessed her to be Trudy’s age, or maybe a little older.

  Her smile widened. “That’s all right. I shouldn’t have left it in the middle of the aisle.” As she reached over to help disengage the carts, her focus darted to a spot on Kate’s left.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Trudy,” she said in a clipped voice.

  “Rose,” Trudy replied stiffly.

  Kate’s attention bounced back and forth between the two women who continued to size each other up like two gunfighters facing off down the center of Main Street. At any minute she expected one of them to mutter the timeworn line—“This town ain’t big enough for the both of us.”

  To break the building tension, Kate shot out her hand. “Hi, I’m Kate.”

  The woman, Rose, eyed her hand suspiciously then reluctantly took it in her own.

  “Rose Clement,” she said with a quick shake before again focusing her attention on Trudy.

  “I’m Joe Krause’s new—”

  “I know who you are,” she said, turning toward Kate and studying her. Her lips pursed and she shook her head. “Good luck. You’ll need it.” With a parting glance at Trudy, Rose yanked on her cart to free the wheels, then quickly pushed the cart down the aisle.

  Kate stared after her, stupefied. “Who was that?”

  “Rose Clement. Her farm’s on the other side of Dutton.” Trudy gave a snort. “She’s buried two husbands and is looking for another one.”

  A perplexed look crossed Kate’s face. “But she’s—”

  “Eighty if she’s a day,” Trudy said, finishing her sentence for her. “And she’s been a thorn in the side of this family for each and every one of them.”

  “Why?”

  Trudy grabbed their cart and began to move away. “Never mind. Just stay away from her.”

  Kate dropped the subject but, on the drive home, wondered what had caused such animosity between Trudy and Rose. It was evident that the hatred was shared. Staring out the window, she reminded herself to ask Joe about the feud the minute they were alone.

  When they pulled into the driveway, Kate’s heart thumped with excitement. Joe’s pickup sat next to the house. He was home early. As soon as the car came to a stop, she flung open her door and ran off in search of him.

  She found him out back, walking toward the fence line that separated the bean field from the yard. One hand held a rifle, with its barrel resting on his shoulder. In his other hand, he carried the carcass of a small animal. Blood matted the striped yellow fur. Kate’s sandals slid in the dry grass as she came to a halt. She watched with tears pouring down her face as her husband walked to the fence and flung the body out into the field.

  “What have you done!” she screamed at him.

  Joe whirled, dropped the rifle, and strode toward her. “Kate—what’s wrong?”

  “You killed him,” she sobbed.

  He grabbed her upper arms. “Killed who?”

  Her throat clogged and she could barely answer. “My cat!”

  He shot a look over his shoulder at the bean field. “That old yellow tom?” He sighed. “I caught him killing Ma’s baby chicks.”

  Kate jerked away from him. “You didn’t have to shoot him,” she exclaimed.

  “Yes, I did,” he said in an even voice. “We can’t have an animal around killing stock. If he’d stayed in the barn where he belonged—”

  Kate’s wail cut him off and she fell to her knees. Oh God, it was her fault. If she’d left well enough alone and not lured him closer to the house, he might not have attacked the chickens.

  Trudy, hearing the commotion, came running around the corner of the house, a bag of groceries still in her arms.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Kate’s upset that I shot the old yellow tomcat. I caught him in with the chickens.”

  Trudy stared down at Kate sobbing in the grass, and with a shake of her head turned on her heel.

  “You’d better learn how to control your wife, Joe, before she embarrasses you in public.”

  Chapter 7

  Summer 2012, the Clement family farm

  Rose Clement parked her pickup in the shed and, after unloading and putting away her groceries, grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator. She strolled out onto her wide front porch and plopped down on the porch swing. Holding the ice cold can to the side of her face, she looked out over the waving stalks of corn.

  My goodness, it was hot and if the rains didn’t come soon, the crops would suffer terribly. Already yields were going to be down. She knew the young man who rented her farm ground was worried and was already hinting at leasing at a lower price next year.

  She shrugged. She’d probably agree. Her bank account would see her through a couple of bad years, and she had no wish to put the young farmer out of business.

  The swing moved slowly back and forth as she gently pushed with one foot. The same couldn’t be said for some of her neighbors. Many were hanging on by a thread, and a failed crop could put them under. Even the Krauses. She frowned, thinking of her encounter with Trudy. She detested that woman, but did she hate her enough to take joy in her son Joe’s failure? He’d been a gambler and speculator just like his grandfather, and now it looked as if it was about to catch up with him. If the rumors were true, he could lose everything. If that happened, she hoped she’d find some sympathy for him even if they had always acted like they were above everyone else. That act had never fooled her—she knew the truth.

  Rose thought back to the stories her grandmother Essie had told her about the first Joseph Krause and his father, Jacob. And Jacob’s wife, Hannah. Essie had only been a child at the time, but she had big ears. Rose always surmised that Essie had noticed things that had failed to be obvious to the adults of that time.

  Poor Hannah. According to her grandmother, Jacob had ruled his family with an iron fist and would’ve run the county the same way if someone hadn’t killed him first.

  Frowning, she shook her head. Old Jacob’s descendants weren’t much better. She’d heard how Joe had found his new wife on an online dating site. Rose sniffed. Didn’t surprise her—the women around here were smart, and they knew if they took on Joe, they’d get Trudy in the bargain. Already the gossip mill was churning with stories of how Trudy treated the young woman like her personal slave.

  The new wife seemed friendly enough and Rose did feel sorry for her, even if she didn’t have much sympathy for the rest of them.

  She drained her beer and stood, her old bones creaking and popping. Too hot to sit outside any longer and time to push thoughts of the Krauses aside. Whatever happened to Joe and his new wife wasn’t her business. Rose opened the door and took one last look at the still green fields.

  What had Essie always said? . . . “The sins of the father . . .”

  Chapter 8

  Summer 2012, the Krause family farm

  The last thing Kate wanted to do was to attend a party in her honor. For the past two days, the old house had creaked with t
ension. She still followed Trudy’s instructions, but she was done acting bright and shiny for the woman. She couldn’t forgive Trudy’s lack of empathy toward her over the dead cat.

  Joe had tried to make amends. After she’d calmed down, he’d gently explained that the hogs, chickens, and cattle were part of their livelihood and anything that put that at risk had to be eliminated. He also cautioned her against getting attached to any of the animals. Baby calves grew up to be steers that were shipped off to the slaughterhouse. The fluffy baby chicks that had cost the tom his life would one day be Sunday dinner. It was part of life on a working farm and she’d have to learn to accept it.

  Kate grimaced at her reflection in the mirror. In a way, she felt sorry for him. In showing compassion to her, he’d driven a wedge between himself and his mother. Yesterday, Kate had overheard a conversation where his mother accused him of coddling his new wife. He was willing to find Kate a kitten and allow her to keep it in the house, but Trudy’s response to Joe’s plan was swift and to the point. She had no intention of sharing her house with a cat.

  Kate, of course, had a remedy for that—move Trudy into the retirement apartments. And as soon as this party was over, she’d insist Joe keep his promise.

  Leaning closer to the mirror, she put the finishing touches on her makeup. Not that it would do any good. It was so hot that once she stepped outside, it would melt off her face. She cocked her head to the side. The skin underneath her tan looked pasty, but two quick swipes of her blush fixed it.

  “Kate, honey,” Joe called up from downstairs, “our guests are here.”

  By the time the party was in full swing, some of Kate’s tension had vanished. She’d never remember all the names she’d heard this evening, but everyone seemed nice. The men had drifted off to one corner of the yard, and Kate caught snatches of their conversation while they discussed the current heat wave, crop prices, and sports. Once or twice she’d heard one of the men mention Ed Rodman, but she was too far away to hear Joe’s response.

  The women sat clustered in lawn chairs near the back porch and the conversation flowed easily. Trudy hadn’t joined them. She flitted back and forth between the house and the yard, picking up plates and replenishing drinks. A couple of times the women had tried to draw her into the group, but she’d declined their overture. When she’d hustled off yet again, one of the women turned to Kate.

  “How do you like Dutton?” she asked.

  Kate gave a little shrug. “I really haven’t seen much of it—just the grocery store.”

  Another one of them spoke up. “We heard about it. You ran into Rose Clement. What did you think of her? Did—”

  “Doris,” another woman interrupted, “you shouldn’t put her on the spot.”

  “Oh, come on, Betty. Kate’s living with Trudy. I’m sure she got an earful about Rose.”

  Kate squirmed in her chair. “Ah no. Trudy didn’t say much.”

  “That’s a first,” Doris replied, rolling her eyes. “According to my mother, Trudy’s been feuding with Rose ever since she married into the Krauses.”

  “I know your mother is Rose’s friend, but Kate doesn’t need to hear about that old fight,” Betty chided.

  “She does if she’s going to live with Trudy,” Doris argued.

  Kate sat forward. “I don’t expect to be living with her much longer. She’s planning on moving into the retirement apartments as soon as one’s available.”

  “What do you mean? I heard there’s—”

  Betty’s foot shot out and nudged Doris before she could complete her sentence. “That’ll be nice for you, Kate,” she said smoothly. “My dad always made jokes about too many hens in the henhouse,” she finished with a laugh.

  A third woman leaned forward and placed her hand on Kate’s forearm. “You mustn’t let Trudy get to you, sweetie. And take anything you might hear about her with a grain of salt. She’s led a hard life and it’s turned her into a hard woman. Ninety percent of the people in Dutton are intimidated by her.”

  “Rose isn’t, Marjorie,” Doris interjected, “and that’s why Trudy and her don’t get along.”

  Marjorie gave a snort. “I know your family’s friends with her, but there are those who don’t think Rose is all that sweet either.”

  The questions that had been troubling Kate since meeting Rose came to the surface. These women wanted to gossip, why not make the most of it?

  With a quick look over her shoulder to make sure Trudy wasn’t nearby, she leaned forward. “I really would like to know why Rose and Trudy don’t get along,” she said in a low voice.

  Doris and Betty exchanged a look, then Betty shrugged.

  “Rose has never liked the Krauses,” Doris said, scooting closer to Kate. “No one knows exactly why, but it has something to do with the murder—”

  Kate drew back. “Murder!”

  Doris’s glance darted to the side. “Shh, not so loud. Joe and Trudy don’t like it when people bring it up.” She looked over at Joe before returning her attention to Kate. “Jacob Krause was found murdered in his bed.” She pointed over her shoulder. “Right here in this house. Rose’s great-grandfather was the sheriff—”

  Kate quickly did the math, then held up her hand. “Wait, wasn’t Jacob the one who homesteaded this farm?”

  Doris nodded.

  “That was over a hundred years ago,” Kate said, her eyes widening in surprise. “How could that matter now?”

  “The Krause family curse,” Doris replied calmly.

  Kate shook her head in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

  “Doris, I think you’d better leave well enough alone,” Betty said sternly.

  “No . . . no . . . that’s okay,” Kate murmured. “I want to hear the story.”

  “Well,” Doris said, settling back into her chair as she warmed to her subject. “On July 2, 1890, someone slipped into the house and killed Jacob. Rose’s great-grandfather was the sheriff and the case was never resolved.”

  “No one was found guilty?”

  “Not exactly. Jacob’s oldest son accused Rose’s great-grandfather of botching the investigation. Shortly afterwards he resigned and moved his family over by Montgomery. According to Rose, those accusations ruined her great-grandfather’s life, and it took her family a long time to regain respect.”

  “How does a family curse play into this?”

  “The Krause family won’t talk about it, but from what people have pieced together over the years, they’ve always believed Jacob’s restless spirit roams—”

  “Whoa . . . wait a second. You’re telling me this place is haunted?” Kate shot a nervous glance toward the house.

  “Stop it, Doris,” Betty said, “you’re scaring her.”

  Kate shook her head. “No, that’s okay. I want to hear the rest of the story.”

  “Not much more to tell . . . because the killer was never brought to justice, they believe his ghost wanders this homestead and any sighting is an omen of bad luck.”

  Kate glanced toward the old cabin. Was Jacob’s spirit there along with the mice and pigeons? She stifled a nervous laugh.

  “That’s just a bunch of bull,” Marjorie interjected.

  “But, Marjorie,” Doris began, “you’ve got to admit the Krauses have suffered a lot of tragedy. Fred was killed in Vietnam; two of Joe’s great-uncles died in World War Two; another great-uncle was killed in a farming accident. And they haven’t exactly prospered. At one time, they were the richest farmers in the neighborhood, but now Joe is barely—”

  “Kate,” Betty broke in, glaring at Doris, “your glass is empty. Let me fetch you some lemonade.”

  “I’m fine,” Kate muttered, trying to digest all this information about her new family. “I do have one more question—how many people have claimed to see Jacob?”

  “Oh, they don’t see him,” Doris replied. “It’s a scream heard at midnight.”

  The glass fell from Kate’s numb fingers.

  Kate cornered her mother-
in-law later that night after all the guests had left. Joe had gone to bed and they were alone in the kitchen.

  “Trudy, I know you resent me—”

  “I don’t resent you,” she sputtered. “I don’t know how you could think that.”

  Kate chose not to remind her of the disapproving stares, the snide remarks, and the way Trudy treated her like a slave. “Okay, but do you agree that we got off to a bad start?”

  Trudy’s attention shifted away from her. “Maybe.”

  “Well, I’m sorry for the part I played, but I am a member of this family now and I’m going to be the mother of your grandchild. Don’t you think I deserve to know this family’s secrets?”

  Trudy bristled. “It was that Doris Hill, wasn’t it? She never could keep her mouth shut, and her and her mother are thick as thieves with Rose Clement. I figured she’d stir up trouble when Joe wanted to invite them.”

  “It doesn’t make any difference who did the talking. Do you believe this family’s cursed?”

  Her mother-in-law crumpled into a chair and covered her face with her hands. “Joe doesn’t want me talking about it.”

  “I won’t tell him.”

  Trudy’s hands fell away from her face as her eyes grew hard. “I knew you’d bring trouble to this house from the minute Joe told me he planned to marry you,” she said in a vehement voice. “Finding you on that damn computer, like the women around here weren’t good enough for him. Getting you pregnant. Sneaking off to marry you. I told him then no good could come from it, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  “You didn’t answer my question—do you believe there’s a family curse?”

  “Yes,” she exclaimed, “ever since Jacob Krause was found murdered, this family has suffered.”

  “But every family has problems,” Kate argued.

  “Not like ours . . . too many deaths . . . too much loss. And now you’re here, and I see my son pacing the floor in the middle of the night and worrying about losing this farm.”

  “I imagine Joe’s money problems started way before I came into the picture.”

  “But if he’d have married Denise Michelson like I told him to do, her daddy would’ve helped him. He’s a banker and got plenty of money.”