by Marja McGraw
“What am I going to cut them with, and how are we going to attach them?”
“I’ve got heavy duty scissors, a hammer and nails in my toolbox. And while you’re cutting the bag up, I’ll clean out the chimney and go find some firewood. We’d better make another run to the creek before the storm hits, too.”
“I don’t think I’m cut out to be a pioneer woman.”
“Sure you are.” End of story, don’t give it another thought – typical Pete. He left me sitting at the table and headed for the fireplace, ready to get to work.
I cut up the sleeping bag, which wasn’t all that easy to do, and began nailing the pieces into place. When I reached the front window, he helped me. He wanted to be sure we could prop that piece of the bag up so we could see outside if we needed to. After helping me, he went back to cleaning the chimney.
We gathered everything we could find that would hold water and headed for the creek, filling each one and carrying them to the house, only to turn around and go back for more. We carried quite a bit. Pete had taken a moment to wash his face and hands in the creek. He was covered with soot from the chimney.
By the time we were done, I didn’t feel so cold anymore. Physical labor can warm a body up.
“I’ve got a surprise for you,” Pete said. “Wait until you see what I found.”
“I can’t wait. Another bucket?” My sarcasm wasn’t called for, but by this time I was tired.
“Wait here. No, actually, you’d better come with me. I may need your help carrying this thing. Come on, it’s in the shed, or whatever that room is.”
I followed him outside, wondering what he could have found that I might like.
I grinned from ear to ear when he stopped and stood next to an old tub. It was small, but big enough to bathe in. “This must be what they used on Saturday nights,” I said, examining it for rust or holes.
“Yep. This here would be whut the town ladies used to get all purtified and smellin’ nice.”
“Why, you silver-tongued devil you. You do know how to soft talk a woman.”
We carried the tub inside and set it near the fireplace.
“It’s going to take a heap of water to fill this thing,” I said.
“We won’t be able to fill it, but at least we can get enough water in it for you to feel good about yourself again. Besides, it’ll be cold enough in here that you won’t want to linger too long.”
“That’s true. How are we going to heat the water?”
He held up his finger, an indication that I should be patient. He returned to the shed and came back with a big cook pot, obviously meant for heating water. Either that or he was making the biggest pot of stew in history. Setting it down, he headed for the cook stove and began examining its chimney.
“I’m going to clean this as much as I can, but we’re going to have to probably wait outside the first time I light up. I’m sure initially there’ll be a lot of smoke. Once that burns off, we can come back in and put the stove to use. Why don’t you see if there’s any wood around here that we can burn while I work on this?”
My first thought was that we could break up the frame of the old couch to use, plus I’d see what I could find outside. Glancing out the front window, I saw the wind had died down, at least for the moment. The clouds had grown even darker, so my gut feeling this was the calm before the storm. I hurried out the front door, glancing toward the incline and finding it clear. Thunder roared not far away, making me jump. I wondered if this was going to be one of those monsoon storms my mother talked about. I counted the seconds, waiting for the lightning to see how far away it was. I counted to five.
I headed toward the shed, thinking there might be some dry wood in it, but turned back to the yard realizing I’d better find wood there first, while it was still dry. I tried to break some branches off of the tree that had lain in front of the house for probably many years. I was able to break off some small ones, but Pete would have to figure something out with the heavier ones.
There were enough trees around the house to offer me plenty of small twigs and branches, and I gathered what I could carry. Bubba followed along behind me and sniffed his way around the area.
“What’s left to sniff, Bubba? You must have been over this area three times already.”
He glanced up when he heard his name, but soon went back to sniffing. There was one spot that particularly held his attention, and out of the corner of my eye I saw him mark his territory.
I carried my bundle of wood inside the house and set it next to the fireplace. Pete was still working on the cook stove chimney, so I returned to the wilds of the front yard to continue picking up firewood.
The wind began to pick up again. I smiled, glancing up at the blackened sky. There were more adventures ahead.
Pete found me by the side of the house. “I’ve started a fire in the stove, and I pulled back everything on the windows so the wind would blow the smoke out.”
Smiling again, I whistled while I worked. It was unexplainable, but I was happy. Here we were, stranded in a ghost town with a cowboy stalking us, and I was delighted. Was this Sandi’s Great Adventure? Had I already forgotten the spooky feelings I’d had when we were exploring the town? Somehow the sheriff’s house had welcomed me. I felt safe in and around the home, even with the cowboy showing up from time to time.
Smoke was coming out of the window openings, but not for long. It hadn’t taken much time for whatever was on the stove to burn off. I wondered if Pete and I could buy this house, fix it up, and use it for a vacation getaway. That idea stopped me cold. What the heck was I thinking?
Those were the thoughts I was having when the first raindrops began to fall. I glanced toward the house and saw Pete carrying firewood through the door, and I turned to follow him.
“Bubba, come on.” He probably didn’t even feel the rain with so much fur, but he turned and followed me. Again I smiled, thankful that Bubba was such a well-behaved dog.
Pete put the big pot on top of the stove and rebuilt the fire. I was content to sit at the table and pick up the sheriff’s books again. I read through several pages, but he hadn’t written about the day to day life in Wolf Creek to any great extent. It was mostly about the legalities of the town.
The Johnsons were angry because one of their cows died, and they were sure someone from the Holcroft family had killed it. Sheriff Croft had spoken to both men before it got out of control. According to him, it appeared a wild animal had killed the cow. Mr. Johnson and Mr. Holcroft finally shook hands and agreed to let the argument die.
I skipped through some of the pages. Ten-year-old Tommy Thomas (real creative name there), had stolen some candy from the general store. The sheriff had handled that, too. Tommy had to work off the cost of the candy, after his father took him for a visit to the woodshed.
Deciding to move to the second book, I picked it up and saw it had writing on the front, and it was still legible. Book of Crimes, 1880. Opening it, I saw that just as with the first book, it said, “Property of Sheriff Joseph Croft,” and under it 1880 was repeated. The first couple of pages were more of the type of information logged in the first book. I almost put it down, but as I turned to the third page, something caught my eye.
Annie says the town weeped today. We buried the Newton child. She was only fifteen years old. Goin back to my other record book, I read my notes agin and agin about the killin. Who would do such thing? Why would some varmint take the life of such a sweet young gurl? I do not even have a man to point a finger at. I have to figger this out an somebody has to pay for this crime.
I stopped reading and immediately picked up the other book. I’d missed something big by skipping to the second set of records. Thumbing through the pages, I finally found what I was looking for.
Big Joe Newton came runnin to the shop today with the tears of a child runnin down his face. I set my strait razer down an made Henry leave without finishing his shave.
So the sheriff was also the barber. Made s
ense to me because in a town as small as this one, I was sure there weren’t enough things going on to keep him busy on a full-time basis. The sound of thunder was closer as I read on.
Big Joe said his Jenny had walked down to the crick to try her hand at fishin after her chores was dun done this mornin. Her brothers was workin the farm an did not go with her. She did not come back, an the boys left their chores to search for her. Litle Joe come running back to fetch his daddy cause he found Jenny in the bushs. Her throat had been cut, real bad. I went running with Big Joe an found they had took her to the house. Litle Joe had run for the doctor, but I could see it was to late. That litle crikket was dead.
The murder of a teenager in a small town like Wolf Creek? That didn’t feel right. Maybe somebody passing through had seen the child and killed her. I could see it took quite an effort for the sheriff to write his report. Between being upset and probably not much schooling, he had problems putting things on paper, but he managed to do it despite his lack of education. I could almost feel his shock as he wrote his report.
Another boom of thunder made me glance toward the window. The sound was closer and the rain was coming down heavily. The room seemed darker.
Chapter Eight
Pete set a mug in front of me. “I know you like tea, and I saw you brought some bags with you. Did you bring any sugar?”
I nodded, my mind still more than a hundred years away from the cabin, but still grateful for the interruption.
“What’s up?” He knew me well and he could see something wasn’t quite right. He sat down across from me at the table after finding the sugar.
“I’m reading the sheriff’s records. Nothing much ever went on here, until a teenage girl named Jenny was murdered. Annie, the sheriff’s wife, said that the day they buried the girl, the town wept. That’s so sad.”
“Yes, it is.” He slid the record book away from me and read for himself. “Did you read all of this?” he asked.
“No, you brought me my tea. Did I miss something?”
“It says here the sheriff went back to where they found the body and there was a bloody straight razor on the ground. He examined it, and he was sure it was one of his, one he thought he’d lost. He goes on to say that other than the razor, he didn’t see anything else that might be used as evidence.”
“It’s hard enough when we hear about crimes like this today, but back in those days it must have been… I can’t think of a good word to use, except to say it must have shocked and rocked this little community.”
“Yeah. The sheriff sounds like he couldn’t believe he had to investigate this kind of crime. If he was actually the barber, then he probably had no idea how to investigate a murder.”
I picked up the second book again. Tapping the cover, I said, “Apparently he started this one about the time of the girl’s funeral.”
“Why don’t you drink your tea and relax for a few minutes? I know how upset you get about this type of thing.”
“This type of thing? How upset I get?” I raised my eyebrows at him.
“You know, someone hurting a child, or in this case, a teenager.”
“It infuriates me, to say the least. But I think I can be more objective about this girl since the crime was over a hundred years ago. The killer would be long gone, too, and I hope he died a horrible death!”
“See? There you go.” He glanced at Bubba. “Mt. Sandi is about to explode. Cover your ears.”
Bubba wagged his tail, not having a clue about what was going on.
“Well, I can’t help it. Why would someone hurt an innocent teenager?”
He sat quietly while I spewed venom over a child’s death. He understood my anger, and even though he didn’t say anything, I knew he felt exactly the same way. I’d seen the look on his face when he heard a particularly horrendous story on the news or read about it in the newspaper.
My rant didn’t last too long, though, because it was an old crime. For all I knew, they’d caught the murderer and hanged him. One could always hope.
Feeling a shiver, I put on the jacket I’d brought along on the trip. I wasn’t really sure if the shiver was caused by the cold or what I’d read. Maybe it was a combination of the two.
Pete picked up the books and set them aside. “Have you looked out the window lately? It’s pouring.”
Standing up, I walked to the front window. “I noticed that.” I dropped the curtain and pushed a nail into the wall to hold it in place. It had become much colder.
Thunder boomed, sounding like it was directly over the house. I jumped and Pete laughed, just before he put his arms around me and held me close. I hadn’t realized he’d walked up behind me.
Turning my head around and looking over my shoulder, I smiled up at him. “I’m beginning to warm up now.”
“Let me see if I can’t help you even more.” He began building a fire in the fireplace, using a newspaper we had with us and some of the wood we’d collected. That wasn’t what I’d thought he had in mind, but still…
“This is kind of romantic.” I walked to him and rubbed his back, feeling his muscles ripple. Good grief! Were we becoming a romance novel in real life? A warm feeling came over me and I smiled again.
“If you think sitting on the floor or at that old splintery table is romantic, then guess this will be a good vacation. By the way, we have to be careful with this fireplace. There’s no screen. We’ll have to put it out before we go to sleep. And cross your fingers that the flue works. We don’t want the house to fill up with smoke.”
“You sure know how to break a mood,” I said, turning and walking back to the table. “What would you like for dinner? Those steaks?”
“No, we can’t barbeque in this rain.”
“Oh, yeah. There is that little problem.”
“Maybe we can heat some wieners and beans on the old stove.” He had the fire going, and he held his hands in front of the flames, warming up.
“Actually, that sounds good. I haven’t had franks and beans in a long time.” Glancing at my watch, I saw it was only three o’clock. I could have sworn it was at least five. My, how time flies when you’re having fun.
“I have an idea.” Pete went through our supplies and pulled out a roll of tin foil. While I watched, he created a little island of foil in front of the fireplace. “This ought to keep the house from burning down. It would only take one spark on these old wood floors, and…”
“I think I’ll read more of the sheriff’s records before I start fixing our food.” I was surprised that the vintage house was actually beginning to warm up. Not much, but enough that I could take off my jacket.
He continued to stand near the fireplace, soaking up the warmth. He’d never admit he was cold, being the alpha male and all that, but I knew he was.
“Do you think anyone could be worrying about us?” I asked. “Normally we’d call to check in with Stanley and see how things are going at the office. My mother would probably expect a call, too.”
“No, they know we’re on vacation, and they knew we were going to drive up into the mountains. They’re smart enough to know that there’s probably no cell phone reception up here.”
“Oh. Just thought I’d ask. I guess there’s no one to come to our rescue.”
“We don’t need anyone. We’ll figure out how to get out of here. But for now, it’s just you and me, babe.”
“And a horse, and rider of questionable origin.”
He laughed. He was going to have a good time on his camping trip, no matter what.
Bubba pawed at the door, needing to find a bush. Pete let him out and returned to the fireplace.
Pulling the lantern closer, I turned it on and sat at the table, opening the sheriff’s 1880 record book. I wanted to find out if they ever found Jenny’s killer. I skipped to just past the part Pete had read about finding the bloody straight razor.
I went to the Newton place today, but my heart werent in it. I had to tell Big Joe there aint nary a clue to who kilt his
litle Jenny. I racked my mind, trying to figger out who might have taken that strait razer of mine. It just aint coming to me. I can not even recall when I last seen it. I been asking at all the litle farms an homes if anybody seen anything. Not a sole seen nothin. Not a lick of inferm information to go on.
I suspishoned Daniel Mack for a spell. Him livin out of town an bein so unfrendly made me think of him, but he had gone on down the mountain that day. He was not here when the tragidy happened.
My Annie thinks mebbe a rascal was passin threw an caused this tragidy. I am guessin he might have been more than a rascal. More like a dirty low down varmint would be my thoughts. I am goin to catch this killer if it is the last thing I do in this life. That litle gurl did not deserve to die like she done.
The sheriff mentioned a few of the town’s people he talked to, and reiterated that no one knew anything significant about Jenny’s death. He added that he watched people’s eyes when he talked to them, saying that when people lie, they got a certain look, and he didn’t see that look in any of the people he talked to. I read a bit further before putting the record book down.
My Annie had scoolin that I did not. She tells me that she will work on my spellin an words with me so my records will be ciphered better. She even had to spell cipher for me. She shakes her litle head when she reads my words, sayin she wanders if I am a lost coz.
Annie been tellin me that the ladys in town are scared of there own shadow since Jenny died. I got to do something!! What I do matters, not how I spell the words of the storys.
Yeah, well, I’d have been frightened, too. However, I thought about Annie’s comment. She might have been right about some stranger passing through town. For the most part, up until Jenny’s murder, it sounded like a typical little old western town.
Bubba scratched at the door and I walked over to let him in, opening and closing the door quickly to keep the cold air out. He walked directly to Pete and shook the rain off of his coat, soaking him and causing hissing noises in the fireplace.
