by Alice Duncan
Her sympathy was so sincere, I darned near succumbed to self-pity. “I had to sit in on a session with Uncle Joe the first night I was here. It was . . . well . . . it was pretty creepy, actually. I didn’t like it.”
“No one in her right mind would.”
Her understanding perked me up some. “I’m awfully sorry Phil got mixed up in this. He’s a good friend, and I never meant for him to get hurt.”
“I’m sure of it, dear. Don’t worry. Phil’s head is harder than the average boulder. I’m sure he’ll be all right. But I do appreciate you calling the doctor, just to be on the safe side.”
“I’ll pay for it,” I assured her, feeling it was only fair, even though I didn’t have a single notion as to where I’d come up with the money.
Dr. Hanks was a nice man, though. He’d probably take groceries in exchange for his services. After entertaining that thought for a couple of seconds, I decided it wouldn’t do, because it would mean my parents would be out the money when it was really my responsibility. Well, except that it was my mother who had forced me to visit Minnie. She probably wouldn’t see it that way.
Then it hit me: I’d pay him in pickles! And eggs! I’d done at least half the work in getting those darned cucumbers and onions in the pot, and I’d gathered every single one of the eggs. And Minnie was the one who’d initiated all the nonsense. Not even Libby could object to giving the kind-hearted doctor a few quarts of preserves and a dozen eggs. Well, she could, but she’d better not, or she’d get an earful from me, even though my mother would kill me if she ever heard about it.
I caught sight of Olin Burgess hunkered behind a stand of mesquite trees at the edge of Minnie’s property. At least, I think I did. The vision was so fleeting I couldn’t be sure, and when I turned to peer harder, there was no trace of him. I shivered, even though the day was getting warm.
Olin Burgess. Again. On Minnie’s property. What did it mean? Nothing good, I was sure.
When I guided the pony cart around the drive and came within sight of the house, I noticed from the Studebaker car parked in front of the porch that Dr. Hanks had already arrived. Good. Perhaps this indicated that things were proceeding normally for a change.
I ought to have known better.
Phil was still in the kitchen when we rushed into the house, being fussed over by Minnie and Libby and Dr. Hanks, and looking martyred. I saw some of his hair lying on the floor, and presumed the doctor had been forced to cut it from around the wound on the back of his skull. Poor Phil. Another wave of guilt washed over me.
Libby pinned me with a hateful look and said, “What’re you doing here. Thought you was supposed to be workin’ at the Gundersons’ place.” She sniffed. “Figures.” The way she said it made it sound as if I always shirked my duties.
“Mrs. Gunderson asked me to drive her here,” I said, my voice stony.
“Hmph. I’m cookin’ up some chicken soup. Chicken soup’ll fix him right up.”
“Thank you,” I said, and was proud of myself.
Since the doctor was still inspecting Phil, Mrs. Gunderson and I had to hang back, Mrs. Gunderson wringing her hands and I trying to offer Phil my sympathy from afar via encouraging nods and smiles for a few minutes. Fortunately the worst was over, and as soon as the doctor stepped away from the patient, Mrs. Gunderson swooped. I saw Phil roll his eyes heavenward right before his mother embraced him and began clucking over him.
But the news was good. Dr. Hanks pronounced Phil alive and almost certain to remain that way.
“However, young man, I want you to remain here with Mrs. Minnie and Miss Libby for the day,” he added, packing gauze and tape back into his black bag. “And I want your mama and Miss Annabelle here to keep a sharp eye on you.”
His big smile for Phil’s sake faded when he turned to give me instructions. “Watch out for any unusual behavior. Don’t let him sleep for more than an hour at a time for the first few hours. Call me if he feels sick to his stomach or his vision blurs or anything like that. He’d probably better stay here, if that’s agreeable with everyone, Mrs. Gunderson and Mrs. Blue, because he shouldn’t be bouncing around out on that desert for a day or two.”
“That’s all right with me if it’s all right with you, Minnie,” said Mrs. Gunderson.
“Of course, he’ll stay here,” Minnie cried as if she wouldn’t dream of allowing him out the door.
Over their heads, Phil and I shared a glance. I have a feeling he and I were thinking the same thing: that nobody’d bothered to ask Phil what he wanted to do. It was probably just as well. Being a man, he would have tried to act big and tough and do his regular chores. With that head wound. The mere thought gave me an icky feeling in my stomach.
“Good. He’ll probably have the dickens of a headache, but I’ve left a couple of doses of laudanum, if he needs them. Don’t give them to him until . . .” Dr. Hanks pulled out his watch and squinted at the dial. “Well, let’s say suppertime. If he’s experienced no unusual symptoms by then, and if his head is hurting a lot, you can give him a dose after supper. Then he should sleep well through the night.”
“I don’t want no laudanum,” came Phil’s grumbled complaint at the doctor’s back.
“Any,” his mother said promptly, reminding me of me when I was dealing with my brother Jack.
“Any laudanum,” amended Phil unhappily.
The big, comfort-giving grin returned to Dr. Hanks’ face as he refocused his attention on Phil. “You don’t have to take it, son. It’s just for in case.”
“All right.” Phil endured his mother’s fidgeting and stewing for another minute, then said, “It’s all right, Ma. I’m going to be fine. I’m fine now.”
Dr. Hanks chuckled. “You can stop your fussing, Mrs. Gunderson. He’s right, you know. He’s a big, strong feller, and he’ll be just fine. Give him a day or two of rest, then he can go back and do whatever he wants to do.”
“More likely whatever Pa wants me to do,” Phil muttered.
“I’ll sit with you, Phil,” I offered. “And play cards and do whatever you want to do.” Recalling where I was and in whose company, I ignored Libby and spoke to Minnie. “I can do my chores on the sun porch, where Phil is. And when he’s sleeping, I can do whatever you want me to do outdoors or in the house.” I absolutely hated the whiny quality in my voice. But it worked.
“Don’t you even think about chores today, child,” said Aunt Minnie before Libby could start haranguing me about how useless I was. “You just sit with Phillip.”
“She can shell peas and chop cucumbers,” growled Libby. She would.
The doctor decamped shortly after that, but not without an embarrassing scene. As soon as he picked up his black bag and turned to head out the door, I spoke up.
“What do I owe you, Dr. Hanks?”
His head swiveled and he gave me an odd look. “You’re payin’ the bill, Miss Annabelle?”
“It’s my fault,” I said, starting to think maybe I wasn’t entirely to blame for everything. It hadn’t been my hand that had struck the blow, after all. More to the point, if Minnie had any sense, Phil wouldn’t have been in jeopardy to begin with. It was too late to take back my words, however, so I was stuck.
“Nuts, Annabelle.” Phil. Grouchy, the fiend. “I can pay my own way.”
“But I’m the one who asked you to come.” By that point in time I was feeling pretty darned martyred myself. Now even Phil was giving me a bad time.
“Annabelle, I don’t think you ought to have to pay the doctor,” said Mrs. Gunderson, but there wasn’t a lot of conviction behind the statement.
“Nonsense, child. I’m the one who will be paying Dr. Hanks.” This astonishing declaration came from my own lunatic aunt Minnie. I stared at her, and she nodded firmly. “The poor boy was good enough to stay here last night because of all the trouble’s been going on here lately. If the sheriff had done his job and found the killer of that poor man, dear Phillip wouldn’t have had to sacrifice himself.”
I don’t know if I’d have put it in those exact words, but I was thankful for Minnie’s brief bout of clarity and hoped it would last.
“You just wait a minute, Dr. Hanks, and let me get my handbag.” So Minnie bustled out of the kitchen, and we all stood around looking at one another until she bustled back in again, handed the doctor a couple of bills, and he left.
“Let me help you back out to the porch, Phil,” I said, offering him my arm.
He shook it away. “I can walk on my own, Annabelle. I don’t need help.”
“There’s no need to be ungracious, Phil,” said his mother, taking his other arm.
“I should think not,” said I, through clenched teeth.
“Oh, for Pete’s . . .”
But Phil didn’t finish his sentence because a knock came at the door.
“Lord have mercy, who’s callin’ now?” demanded Libby. She’d picked another bushel or two of cucumbers that morning, I guess while Dr. Hanks had been tending to Phil, and was preparing brine for more pickles. You had to really stay on top of cucumbers, or they’d take over your life. The same held true for some of the squashes we grew and that ripened later in the season.
Since Minnie had her hands full loosening garlic cloves from their outer wrappings, I said, “I’ll get the door.” To Phil’s mother, I added, “Do you know where the sun porch is, Mrs. Gunderson?”
“For the love of God, Annabelle, I know where the porch is.” Phil’s voice was loud and annoyed.
I gave him a gracious smile. “Fine. I’ll be right back.”
You could have knocked me over with a feather when I saw Emory Copeland standing at the door, holding his hat politely in his hand, and looking as if he wished he were elsewhere. I threw the door wide. “Mr. Copeland! What a surprise.”
His smile was a trifle lopsided. “Good morning, Miss Annabelle. I’d heard you were here.”
Everyone in town had heard I was here by this time. Word spread quickly in Rosedale, probably because so little ever happened there. “Oh, yes. My mother made me–I mean, my mother asked me to come out and keep Aunt Minnie company for a while.”
“I see.”
We stood there, looking at each other, until I realized I was supposed to play the genial hostess to this uninvited guest. I jumped back a foot or so. “I’m sorry, Mr. Copeland. I’m so surprised to see you out here, I plumb forgot my manners. Won’t you come in?”
“Thank you, Miss Annabelle. I probably should have telephoned first, but I was out this morning and thought I’d stop by.”
For what? would have been my first question if I weren’t minding my P’s and Q’s. Since I was, I only said, “Fine, fine. Um . . .” Minnie was busy in the kitchen. Phil and his mother didn’t have anything to do with the everyday running of Minnie’s household. Libby was up to her elbows in pickle brine. “Why don’t you sit in the front parlor. I’ll . . . um . . . see if I can find Minnie.”
Anybody with a nose could tell there was serious cooking going on in the house and would have headed naturally to the kitchen. But Mr. Copeland owned a shoe store, I knew he wasn’t a close friend of Minnie’s, and I also didn’t know how much truck he had with cooking on a day-to-day basis. And anyhow, he was a gentleman caller.
“I hate to put Mrs. Blue out,” he said without much force.
But I sensed he meant it and that he didn’t really want to be there. How odd. Oh, well, everything else lately had been odd, why not Mr. Copeland? Maybe Minnie had ordered a pair of shoes and he couldn’t get them sent from back East or something–although why that would occasion a personal visit was beyond me. “That’s all right,” I assured him. “I’ll be right back.”
Minnie looked at me as if I’d lost my mind when I announced that Mr. Copeland had come to call. Libby frowned as if she suspected me of lying about it. Old bat.
“Mr. Copeland?” Minnie wiped her hands on a dish towel and shook her head as she removed her apron. “I swan, is the whole world going to come and visit us?”
“It’s that murder,” Libby said darkly. “Folks is nosy.”
“Mr. Copeland?” I said. “He’s never struck me as the nosy-parker type.”
“Shows how much you know,” said Libby, stirring.
I ignored her. “He’s in the front parlor. Want me to bring tea?”
“Let’s see what he wants first. All these interruptions are putting us behind on our preserving.” Fluttering like one of her hens, Minnie fluffed out her skirt and bustled down the hall toward the front parlor.
I followed her after poking my head into the sun porch to see how Phil and his mother were doing. “Everything all right in here?”
“Right as rain,” Mrs. Gunderson said brightly.
Phil grunted.
So things were about the same, I gathered. Mr. Copeland had risen politely by the time I got to the front parlor.
“Take a seat, Mr. Copeland,” Minnie said, waving him back onto the sofa. She sat with a huff, brushed a couple of strands of hair back from her face, which was moist and red from the heat in the kitchen. “I must say your visit comes as a surprise.” Her tone let him know it wasn’t an altogether pleasant one.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Mrs. Blue, but I have something I need to discuss with you.”
Minnie and I glanced at each other. I’m sure we were thinking the same thing. It turned out were right, but it took Mr. Copeland a while to get to the point.
“Is that so?” Minnie gave him one of her sweet-little-old-lady smiles.
“Er, yes. You see, Mrs. Blue, I’ve been thinking about things lately, and I’ve made a decision.”
“Oh?” Minnie waited politely. So did I.
He withdrew a handkerchief and wiped the perspiration from his upper lip. It wasn’t that hot yet, at least not in the front parlor. I diagnosed nervousness.
“Yes. You see, Addie and I have been talking things over recently.”
I should hope so. Addie was his wife. Minnie, I guess believing she ought to say something, offered, “Is that so?”
“Yes. You see, we both find the hustle and bustle of town life a little wearing on the nerves.”
Again, Minnie and I looked at each other. The Copelands found living in Rosedale wearing on their nerves? Rosedale? A town with only twelve thousand or so human inhabitants? Of course, there were all those cows and sheep outside of town, not to mention approximately three million gophers, rattlesnakes, scorpions, millipedes, owls, bats, and assorted ticks and mosquitoes. Still, it sounded shaky to me.
Minnie said, “I see.”
“Yes.” Again, Mr. Copeland found it necessary to employ his handkerchief. “So, you see, I told Addie–Addie is my wife, you know.”
We both nodded. We knew.
“Well, I told her that I’d ride around a little bit and see if I could find us a nice place outside of town. You know, in the country.”
Minnie said, “I see,” again. I just nodded and smiled.
“And we’ve always considered your house to be quite charming.” Mr. Copeland was beginning to sound a wee bit desperate, as if even he didn’t believe what he was saying.
I know I didn’t believe it. What I also didn’t know was why he was saying it.
Neither did Minnie, I’m sure, but she was getting impatient with his hemming and hawing. She said, and rather shortly, too, “I’m not selling the place, Mr. Copeland, if that’s what you’re here about.”
You’d have thought Minnie had told him his pet dog had died, the way his face fell. “You aren’t?”
“No.” Firm. Very firm.
“Um . . . I can offer you a good deal of money, Mrs. Blue. I’m sure I can pay you more than the place is . . . that is to say, I’m sure I can offer you more than the market value of the house. Land around here isn’t very expensive yet.”
Minnie stood up. “Then I suggest you buy yourself a parcel and build a house on it, Mr. Copeland. I hate to rush you off, but I have a lot of work to do, and things have been very unsettled arou
nd here lately.”
Since he couldn’t do anything else, Mr. Copeland stood, too. He was terribly unhappy. “But Mrs. Blue, I’m sure we can come to some sort of–”
Minnie cut him off. I was getting downright proud of her. To think that my aunt, whom I had always considered nominally insane, could actually stand up for herself in this way . . . well, it made me feel kindlier toward her. A little. “There’s no sort of offer you could make that I would entertain, Mr. Copeland. I’m sure you and your wife would prefer a home with more modern accommodations, anyway.”
“No, really–”
”Well, I’m sorry about that, but I’m not selling. And I won’t be selling, either. Not in this lifetime.”
The expression that crossed Mr. Copeland’s face shocked me. For a fleeting instant, I half expected him to whip out a gun and shoot her.
But I was being silly. Mr. Copeland was the most mild-mannered of gentlemen. He sold shoes, for crying out loud! Anyhow, the expression was so fleeting, I was afterwards certain I’d misread it. Phil occasionally accuses me of being too imaginative; maybe he’s right.
After Mr. Copeland left, Aunt Minnie and I walked back to the kitchen together. “I swear, I don’t know what’s come over people lately,” Minnie groused. “First a murder in my own yard, and then everybody in town seems to want to buy my house. Then the poor Gunderson boy gets knocked out. It’s evil, I tell you. It’s because of that girl.” She eyed me with disfavor. “Why don’t you do something, Annabelle? That’s why I asked you to come out here.”
Since my mother would skin me if I yelled at her, I only said, “I don’t know what to do, Minnie. If I knew what to do, I’d do it, believe me.” And, with an indignant flounce, I left her at the kitchen door and stomped out to the sun porch.
I guess I stomped pretty hard, because Mrs. Gunderson put her finger to her lips. “Shhh. Phil’s trying to sleep.”
“No I’m not,” came a growl from the bed.
“Sorry I made so much noise. You’re not supposed to sleep too long at a time, Phil. Dr. Hanks said so.”
“I heard him.”
Oh, my, weren’t we cranky today? Not that I blamed him much, poor guy. I sighed deeply. “I’m sorry, Phil. It just feels like everybody’s picking on me today. Now Minnie wants to know why I haven’t ousted the ghost of Julia Gilbert, whom she claims is causing all the problems.”
