Bury the Hatchet in Dead Mule Swamp

by Joan H. Young

  “We’ll tape these to the wall in the corner,” he said, “You won’t have to worry about anyone tripping or getting caught in them.”

  “This is awesome!” Chad exclaimed, turning and taking in the décor on each side of the room. “Ma! Where are you? We’re here. Where’s the murder going to be?” he continued. Mick was still talking to me, but I couldn’t take in two conversations at once.

  Audra pointed at the stage, to the bedroom furniture, and said, “Right there, Chad. It’s obvious.”

  “I’ll be down in a second,” I called to them.

  Chad whirled around, hunting for my voice, and finally looked up. “Hi, Ma! We need to run through the skit a couple of times to see how it works.”

  There was no direct way to get from the balcony to the main floor, and on the return trip via the hallways, I ran into Todd Ringman.

  “Just checkin’ the mechanicals,” he assured me, saluting with two fingers as he pushed open the Ladies Room door.

  “Great,” I said, but he had already disappeared behind the windowless panel of dark wood.

  Mick must have gotten the cords plugged in because as soon as I reached the ballroom, amplified chords began to sound from a guitar. Bluegrass means acoustic, doesn’t it? I guess not anymore. Songs were still blaring from the CD player, but the musicians began jamming over the top of that noise.

  I was showing the kids the backstage areas where they could change and make entrances and exits, when the lights went out. The dim recesses of the stage became murky with no windows located there, and the loud music ceased abruptly mid-song. The quiet was so welcome, I realized my ears were ringing.

  “Sorry,” Mick called from the balcony. “I think our amps did that.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” hollered Todd. He motioned to one of the musicians, opened the door that led directly to the basement and said, “Th’electric panel’s down here. I’ll show ya’.” Raising his voice again, he yelled at Mick, “Ya’ might need t’ get an extension cord and plug those lights in a differ’nt circuit.”

  “Where can I buy one?” Mick yelled back. “I’ve used all ours.”

  “Jouppi’s Hardware,” Todd and I said simultaneously. “South end of Main Street,” I added loudly.

  I heard Cody scream “Geronimo!” from the hallway.

  It was just past one, and there were still hours to go until the Ball began, when the noise level was sure to be exponentially louder. I shook my head in hopes of stopping the ringing in my ears and the ringing switched to my pocket. It was my phone.

  Chapter 43

  “Ana, I’m glad I caught you,” Jerry’s voice squawked from the speaker.

  “It’s a cell phone, Jerry. It’s usually where I am.” I was suddenly peeved that he wasn’t here helping to direct all this chaos.

  “And where would that be?” he asked as if it were an ordinary day, and not the day of the event he’d predicted to be the biggest in a decade.

  “I’m at the school. Where are you? It’s crazy here. We could use some help,” I said pointedly.

  “On my way,” he soothed, as if nothing could ruffle his feathers. “Go home. Take a hot bath and relax. I want you to be cheerful this evening. I’ll pick you up at six-fifteen.”

  “It won’t take me that long to get ready,” I protested. “There’s a lot going on here. Two people who can make decisions would be useful.”

  “At your service,” he announced in stereo, and I looked up to see him striding in the door.

  For the next two hours both of us solved problems, helped move equipment and props, and rescued tables from Cody’s continuing exuberance. We were so busy I forgot to eat the lunch I’d brought with me. Finally, the band was running through a mellow tune with no competing music while Mick gave a thumbs-up from the balcony, the kids had gone back to my house to eat taco salad, and Janice stuck her head in the door to tell us that she’d be back to plug in the coffee urns at six. I sat down on the edge of the stage and pulled Jerry down beside me.

  “We may be ready,” I sighed. “I think I will go home and clean up now.”

  Jerry patted my knee. “I want you to know that even if Cora turns me down on the... well, you know...” he glanced around, “that this has all been worth it simply for the boost it has given Cherry Hill’s morale.”

  “I hope you’re right,” I said in a tired voice.

  “People have really noticed your community spirit. They won’t forget,” he said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It takes a long time for someone with no local roots to be accepted in a small town. But you are becoming one of us. I like it.”

  “I like it, too,” I said, offering a tired smile, but I really was pleased at his kind words. “Can you handle things from here on out?”

  “I’m staying till five-thirty. Adele said she’d close early and come over to watch things till we return.”

  “Why don’t I just meet you here?” I asked.

  “Not on your life. I’m picking you up properly. Six-fifteen, on the dot.” He rose and practically lifted me by the elbows. “Cheerful, remember?”

  “OK, Cyrano, or maybe I’m Cyrano de Bergerac and you’re Christian de Neuvillette. Anyway, tonight all will be revealed to the lovely Cora-Roxanne and we’ll determine if she loves you. I’ll be elegant, cheerful, oh yes, and a glittering, jealousy-inducing bauble. But I need a shower and a snack to pull it off.”

  Chapter 44

  Jerry was a terrific dancer. We glided around the ballroom floor to the strains of “The Autumn Waltz.” Its haunting melody was beautifully played by the band, and the words were strangely appropriate for the underlying plot of the evening. I wondered if Jerry had requested it as the opening song. At first, we were the only dancers on the floor. Jerry had proudly announced the opening of the Harvest Ball and taken my hand to lead me to the center of the room. It was impossible to guess how many people had already arrived. Every hay bale or bench placed around the edge of the room had several people seated on it, and spaces between were filled two or three deep with those who were standing. I had no idea how many others were in the hallway, or had already lined up to pile plates with food.

  Someone was taking pictures, and a flash exploded in my eyes, twice. After two passes around the room, Jerry motioned for others to join us, and couples did so, slowly. Some appeared shy or awkward with forgotten skills, but soon the floor was filled with dancers wearing every sort of outfit from tuxedos and prom dresses to bib overalls.

  It was a bit of a shock to realize how few of those in attendance I knew, but I was searching hard for one particular person. She was there, standing along the west wall, and Tom was seated next to her on a bale of hay. I might have had to look twice if I hadn’t seen Tom. Cora was definitely not wearing her customary faded denim. She had on a forest-green jumper with a pleated bodice that somehow reminded me of Audrey Hepburn. Beneath the jumper was a creamy silk blouse with full sleeves. Instead of braids wound around her head, her hair had been carefully pulled into a French twist, and the edge was lined with something decorative that sparkled elegantly in the light. I thought she might even be wearing a touch of makeup. She was definitely tracking our sweep around the room, but I successfully avoided eye contact.

  After the first dance, I told Jerry I wanted to get something to eat and drifted toward the front hall. Adele was in the foyer, hawking raffle tickets.

  “A dollar each, ten for six dollars, or an arm’s length for ten dollars,” she announced, over and over, as people entered the front doors.

  The temperature had plummeted all day and people were bundled up in outerwear that didn’t necessarily match their party clothes. Most stood on the tile cherry bomb shivering, removing gloves and unwinding scarves. Some even turned to look at the Judge Oldfield historical items in the display case. Geraldine Longcore was there with Adele, directing people to the coatroom and game room for the youngsters, and helping to collect raffle money. Children impatiently waited
to have jackets unzipped and to be released for play. Adele had wisely worn a sweater, but Geraldine looked cold. I guessed it to be in the mid-twenties outside, the first really hard freeze of the season, and every time the door opened, frigid air rushed in. I’d worn my wool cape and had still been chilly.

  The women were doing a fine job of directing traffic, and I told them so, then headed for the buffet line, which was long. As it moved almost imperceptibly forward, I pondered Jerry’s actions when he had picked me up. He’d arrived right on time and wore a long black coat over his grandfather’s suit. He was carrying a top hat that might have been beaver. It was sartorial perfection on a handsome man. I invited him in, and he looked me over from head to toe, but not in a way that made me uncomfortable.

  “You look fabulous,” he said. “I hope these flowers will work.”

  He opened the corsage box he’d also brought in and removed a beautiful arrangement of four small green orchids surrounded by sprigs of white buds. The flowers were backed with loops of ribbon in a soft green.

  “Oh, Jerry,” I said, “that’s really lovely.”

  “I told them about your jade and asked them to tone down what they call ‘lime-green’ blossoms.”

  “I think it will be perfect.”

  He had then taken the corsage from its bed of cellophane and leaned in to fasten it on my dress. His fingers were cool against my skin as he slipped them expertly behind the fabric to protect me from the long pin he wielded with his right hand.

  Already close to me, he pulled me closer and kissed me full on the lips, holding me just a moment longer than I expected.

  “I sincerely want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me in the past six weeks,” he said when we’d separated.

  “I’m... You know... I still don’t think your plan is going to work,” I finally managed to get out, feeling a bit breathless.

  “Understood. But it won’t be for lack of trying.” He smiled broadly and fingered his mustache.

  My feelings were definitely mixed. I had come to appreciate Jerry Caulfield as a man who cared deeply about this town, and who was willing to perform amazing feats to try to win back the woman he genuinely loved. And although I didn’t want a romantic relationship with anyone, I wasn’t immune to his attentions and gentle touch. And yet, it irked me that men thought they were so dashing and irresistible that bestowing a kiss was the best way to thank a woman. Yes, I was both touched and annoyed. I was just thinking this was probably a good thing, since neither of us could afford letting our friendship become something more, when a voice at my elbow interrupted my reverie.

  “Ana,” Jimmie Mosher said eagerly with eyes opening wide, “you look seriously awesome!”

  He was carrying a tray loaded with cups of coleslaw. I opened my mouth to greet him but he launched into a monologue.

  “Do you know where coleslaw came from? It’s a Dutch nickname for koolsalade that they shortened to koolsla, and Americans just said coleslaw. Cabbage is older than snot—oh, sorry about that—older than, well, lots of vegetables, but not the kind we know with heads. That’s only been around for about four hundred years.”

  I shook my head and blinked. “Jimmie, slow down,” I said, trying to grasp the relevance of the history of cabbage salad.

  “Gotta go,” he said abruptly and scooted off in the direction of the front of the line, knees slightly bent to cushion the tray.

  Chapter 45

  My inward thoughts were pushed aside as people I knew approached and greeted me. Hunter, the oldest of the Sorenson kids—I thought I remembered he was eight or maybe nine—had his two little sisters in tow. The youngest, I recalled her name was Ruthie, was being held tightly by the hand by the older girl.

  “Hello, Mrs. Raven,” Hunter said seriously. “I’m watching the girls tonight while Mom drives the team.”

  “You’re doing a fine job,” I assured him. “Why don’t you get in front of me? Ruthie might get impatient waiting a long time for something to eat.”

  The children willingly accepted that offer. Hunter must have had to grow up a lot in the past year. I recalled that his uncle Karl was planning to move to Cherry Hill to help with the implement business, but didn’t have a chance to ask the boy about it because I was distracted yet again.

  John Aho and his wife, Marie, passed me with loaded plates. They were laughing, and John was cleaner than I’d ever seen him, even at church. They both wore new jeans and plaid flannel shirts.

  “Ana!” John said. “What a great evening, and it’s hardly begun. Hurry and eat. They’re going to call a square dance soon.”

  “I’ll be right there,” I assured him. Their apparel seemed better suited for that dance than my black gown.

  Finally, I reached the food table, and was amazed at the feast Janice had created. There were trays the size of snow saucers loaded with sandwich buns in three varieties, white, wheat and rye. Large slow cookers filled with spicy pulled meat simmered just beyond the bread, followed by plates heaped with sandwich meats and cheese. Cups of coleslaw and applesauce were arranged next. The applesauce appeared to be homemade, not from cans. There were also trays filled with raw vegetables and fruits, and huge bowls of chips and pretzels. At the very ends of the two lines of tables were the tarts I knew Janice and her crew had been making.

  Janice was presiding over the line I was in, and Jack Panther kept the other one under control. I caught his eye and nodded at him. I guessed that Jimmie and Suzi were the runners for both lines, bringing more food from the kitchen as needed. Janice grinned from ear to ear when I reached her.

  “What do you think?” she asked, but the question was rhetorical. She knew the dinner was good.

  “This is beyond amazing,” I answered anyway. “I didn’t think you were doing so many different foods.”

  “Stores just kept donating items and asking what they could do to make it bigger and better. There’s a list over on those posters of all the places that contributed.”

  I looked in the direction she pointed and noted the names of businesses from most of the nearby towns, even convenience stores.

  “No one wanted to be left out,” she added. “If nothing else, they sent over bags of chips and things like that. Or beverages. We got lots of bottled water and juices and iced teas.”

  That made me recall the cash bar Jerry had been planning. It was the one aspect of preparations I hadn’t been involved with. I asked Janice where it was.

  “On the other side of the entrance hall. They didn’t have time to clean up another room, but the table’s in the hall. Just the bartenders are using the room.”

  “Thanks for the directions,” I said with a wink. I picked up a pumpkin tart and headed for a table with utensils, balancing my loaded plates of food.

  The café tables in the hallway were filled with happy people, eating and talking. Mavis and Harold Fanning were nibbling from a single plate of chips and sipping cocktails. They shared a table with a couple I didn’t know. As much as I wanted to keep my eyes on them, I couldn’t figure out how that was going to be possible in the crowded building.

  I could hear yells and laughter coming from the end of the hall and assumed Cheyanne had things in hand there. Just once, I thought I heard a shrill “Geronimo,” above the general clamor.

  I’d been thinking about drinking something stronger than cider or coffee, but my hands were full and my purse was locked in Jerry’s car. Nevertheless, I wandered in the direction of the bar because all the tables nearby were taken. Fewer people were buying drinks, but there was a short line and I could see two bartenders in white formal shirts and black pants and vests disappearing into the room behind them, returning and filling glasses or opening bottles.

  The noise level was impressive, but everywhere I looked people were smiling, talking with one another and enjoying themselves. The Ball was definitely a success so far.

  A group of young teenagers sat on the floor at the far end of the hall, giggling and feeding each other ve
getable sticks. Sunny and Star Leonard were there. I wasn’t going to horn in on the kids’ fun, but I hoped I’d have a chance to talk to the girls before the evening was over. I hadn’t seen them lately.

  My eyes moved back to the bar just as Virginia Holiday reached the front of the line. She was even more overdressed than usual, with multiple necklaces and rings. Long multi-colored earrings dangled to her shoulders. She wore a gold lame, high-waisted dress with asymmetric straps and a full skirt. It looked vintage rather than modern, but the style suited what I had come to recognize as her personality. The necklaces were a mixed collection of strands of colored stones, carved African wildlife charms, gaudy glass and beads. She always seemed to think that more was better, and tonight she’d outdone herself. Her long hair hung loose as always, and a gold silk rose was pinned above her right ear. I was a bit surprised to see that she’d ordered a double Scotch, but the bartender apparently thought nothing of it, filling the order without so much as the blink of an eye.

  There was an empty chair at the last small table, and I asked the occupants if I might sit there. While I was eating and getting acquainted with the couple, and the woman’s mother, who had all driven in from Thorpe, I saw Alex and Shane from the canoe livery enter the hallway, laughing and shoving each other playfully. I waved, but they didn’t notice me. I was glad they’d made it. They must have ridden in the horse-drawn wagon because I saw them pulling strands of golden straw from their hi-tech fleece jackets.

  There must be over three hundred people here already, I thought, between rounds of small talk. Of course, I didn’t know most of them, but it surprised me how many people I did know. I was just finishing the last of my tart when Jerry appeared beside my chair.

  “You need to be in the ballroom. Soon,” he insisted.