The Darcy & Flora Boxed Set

by Blanche Day Manos

  I smiled at Mrs. Eldon. Mom and I hurried away from that desolate spot toward the welcome warmth of my car.

  Chapter 25

  In Oklahoma, the temperature can change abruptly from one extreme to the other. A bright sun shone in a cloudless sky, trying to lull us into thinking that winter had packed up its bags and moved on when in actuality, cold weather would be here for at least another month. Nevertheless, I opted for the comfort of my red sweatshirt over blue jeans to get me through the day. Although the sunshine looked warm and inviting, I didn’t trust it. I glanced in the mirror, decided to wear my hair down instead of in a ponytail, and headed for the dining room and that cup of hot coffee I could smell. No matter how early I started my day, Mom usually had coffee made by the time I opened my eyes. She liked to begin her day with a quiet time of Bible reading and prayer.

  Fifteen minutes later, I polished off the last bite of oatmeal pancake and drained my glass of orange juice. Jethro sauntered over and rubbed against my leg.

  “And what are you going to do today, old friend?” I asked, getting up to pull his box of Kibbles from the pantry. “You say you’re going to sleep on your cushion and keep an eye on the birds? Have a good time!”

  He arched his back, favored me with a silent meow and tiptoed to his food dish.

  I shook food into Jethro’s dish then glanced at Mom. “How do you feel about going out to the acres and checking on the progress of our new house?” I asked.

  “That’s a good idea! Maybe getting out in the countryside and fresh air will clear our minds off Eileen and you getting shot at and that old gun and Mama’s first marriage. Whew! What is going on, anyway?’

  I carried our dirty dishes to the sink, rinsed and stacked them in the dishwasher. “It’s just me, Mom. None of these disturbing things would be happening if I were still in Dallas. Maybe I’m what Grant said I am, a magnet for danger.”

  Mom sniffed. “Oh, pshaw! I don’t want to hear that. Better wear a coat, Darcy,” she said, heading for the hall closet. “The sun looks nice, but I’m sure the wind is still nippy.”

  “Yes, dear,” I called in a singsong tone. At times my mother forgot that I had grown up long ago and still treated me like I was a child.

  As we hustled into my little SUV, I glimpsed a pick-up truck turning the corner, heading away from our house. Was it the same vehicle I had seen yesterday? Was someone watching our movements? The truck disappeared before I got a good look at it.

  As I drove out of town, I kept an eye on the rearview mirror for any sign of someone following. Maybe I was paranoid. If we did have a stalker in a vehicle, it couldn’t be Jasper because he didn’t drive. Surely the man who had shot at me wouldn’t be so bold as to venture out in daylight. Grant was scouring the countryside looking for him.

  We left the highway and turned onto the dirt road leading to the edge of Granny Grace’s acreage. As we neared the house place, I grabbed Mom’s arm.

  “Look! They’ve actually gotten up part of the frame. Oh, my goodness! It is starting to take shape.”

  Mom grinned. “It sure is. I’m beginning to get excited about it.”

  We walked around our future home, imagining what the living room, kitchen and bedrooms would look like. I was pleased to see the openings for two fireplaces, one in the living room and another in the dining room, a plan Mom had suggested and with which I agreed. The old hand dug well, located behind the house, had been cemented over, so Cub must have decided he was not going to find any more hidden treasure in it.

  The wind in the bare tree branches lifted my spirits. A cardinal sang his cheery song from a high cedar. I was reminded of an old verse I had learned as a child: “A cozy cottage, snug and warm, With four strong walls to shield from harm.”

  “I want to sit here on this rock and look at our beautiful house,” Mom said, sinking down on a gray boulder. “I think my mother would be pleased that we are building out here on her land. I just wish she could see the house when it’s finished.”

  I put my arm around her. “Who is to say she won’t, Mom? We really don’t know how near Heaven is, and I don’t believe it has locked doors; so perhaps Granny Grace is free to go where she pleases.”

  Mom looked at me in faint alarm. “Now, Darcy, don’t let your imagination run away with you. I don’t know if that is biblical.”

  I ruffled her springy curls. “I’m going to walk around. I imagine all the snow and rain we’ve had this winter has caused the creek to rise. It’s a good day for me to stretch my legs and get some exercise. Today almost feels like springtime.”

  Although I didn’t mention it to her, it was also a good time for me to listen for any unusual activity such as the sound of someone digging. The sun seemed brighter as I recalled my earlier explorations and how Grant had found me, cowering on the ground, terrified of the ghostly webs that stopped my progress. Since that day, my heart had been singing the same refrain: Grant Hendley loves me.

  “Don’t go far, Darcy,” Mom said. “There are lots of trees around here, and when you’re out among them, they all look the same. A person could get lost.”

  “Lost on Granny’s land?” I laughed. “I don’t think so, Mom.”

  The crisp air smelled of river and creek and that mysterious, elusive fragrance of damp woods. I breathed deeply as I walked through a clearing where, at one time, Granny Grace and Grandpa George’s house stood. I ambled on past that vacant house place, to the old apple orchard. The trees had lost branches and the limbs twisted in strange shapes from lack of pruning. However, each spring and summer, those limbs still bowed low with shiny red apples.

  The orchard bordered an area that had been cleared of trees a long time ago and used as a burying ground. Early day people had no way of traveling except by horse and wagon. Funeral homes were few and far between, so there were many family burial plots or cemeteries behind churches. Granny and Grandpa and various family members were buried at Goshen Cemetery, not here. This lonely place had been deserted for many years. Briars and thickets covered the ground. A few leaning headstones pushed above tall brown grasses.

  When I was a young child and spent the night at Granny’s, I would stare out my bedroom window at the moonlight dancing across these grave markers and shiver. Did ghosts flit above the resting places of people who died many years ago? I gazed at the cemetery until my childish imagination overpowered me, then I would duck under the covers and feel deliciously safe from whatever evil lurked on the other side of the orchard.

  After Mom and I moved into our new house, I planned to have the area cleared of all the undergrowth. I would try to restore and preserve the orchard as well as the cemetery.

  A dead bough had fallen from a cottonwood and sunk into the soft ground. The limb had been there for quite a while from the looks of it. The branch must have landed with some force because it was deeply embedded in the earth. I tugged the limb until it suddenly loosened its grip on the ground, causing me to stagger backward. As I started to toss it aside, I noticed something clinging to the sharp end that had been underground.

  Bending closer to the object, I rolled it between my fingers. Small bits of a rotting cord crumbled onto the ground. I dropped to my knees for a closer look.

  The scrap appeared to be a remnant of a braided cord, frazzled ends sticking out from three thick threads twined together. Most of the color had faded long ago but where the strands crossed over each other, I could detect a faint tint of olive or brown.

  Sunlight glinted on an object beside the hole created by the displaced limb. It appeared to be aluminum, an oval shape maybe two inches in diameter. A few threads, similar to the ones on the end of the tree branch, clung to a hole near the edge of the oval.

  Perhaps the oval was a maker’s label from an old piece of farm equipment. I rubbed the label against my jeans and held it up to the sunlight. Faint letters appeared through the mud. I could make out an M, R, K. I turned the aluminum piece around and breathed on it, brushing it against my pants again. With my
fingers, I traced the indentations of letters stamped into the aluminum. The letter C emerged then A, U, L, D, F, E. The small of my back felt as if a hand gripped it in an icy vise.

  I scrabbled in the dirt for something to dig with, something more than my hands. Frantically, I grabbed the fallen branch. With the branch, I lifted debris that had lain in this spot for a very long time. Sweat trickled down my face. My breath came in short bursts. Finally, a long, narrow depression in the ground lay before me, an oblong shape that sank five or six inches lower than the surrounding graves. The limb, blown from the tree and shaped like an arrow, had landed directly in the middle of this depression. This indentation was the size and shape of a grave but if so, this grave was unmarked by any headstone.

  My breath came in gasps. I could go no further. This scar in the earth was revolting to me. Fear gripped me, terror of what must lie beneath the layers of leaves. My arms and legs felt like water as I sank back on my haunches.

  Once more, I held the aluminum oval up to the sunlight, turning it until I could make out all the letters. The letters were faint and parts of them had been obliterated but the name, but after nearly a hundred years, the name was still there: Markham Cauldfell.

  The wind in the cottonwoods above me seemed to cease. Because a tree limb had plunged to the ground in this, the twenty-first century, I was transported back to a turbulent time of war and death and a dark secret.

  My chest ached. I didn’t realize I was crying until I saw tears falling on the cold disc that seemed to burn my hand. I stared at this name from the past, my grandmother’s past. In my hand lay the identification tag of a man who had played an unexplained part in the life of my family, the dog tag of a World War I soldier. I closed my eyes until the trees around me stopped spinning.

  I stumbled to my feet and sense a presence beside me, slipping an arm around my shoulders. My eyes flew open and I looked wildly around. The only living things I saw were the trees and a hawk riding the air currents in slow circles above me. No one was near, yet I could have sworn that for a brief instant someone stood close.

  I convinced myself that a lonely, deserted cemetery had created the impression of a presence beside me. Surely that was the answer to the nearness I had felt. My imagination must have been working overtime.

  “Oh, Granny Grace,” I whispered to the wind that lifted the lifeless leaves of the cottonwood. “Oh, Granny, I think I’ve found the grave of your husband.”

  Chapter 26

  My legs felt shaky. An overpowering sadness gripped me. I turned to retrace my steps up the hill toward my mother. What would she say when I told her of my experience and the dog tag I had found? Would the tag provide an answer to our questions or create more confusion? I wanted to go home, sit down with a cup of coffee, call Grant and ask him to help us make sense of this shocking find. I gripped the oval in my fist, the tangible proof of a long ago secret.

  The closer I got to our new house, the faster I walked. I was jogging by the time I reached the boulder where my mother had decided to rest. She was gone.

  “Mom!” I called, “Where are you?”

  I didn’t see her in the Escape but I opened the doors anyway to check, thinking that perhaps she was ill and had lain down across the seats to rest. Her purse sat on the floorboard where she had left it. The car was empty.

  The wind had grown colder during the time I knelt at Markham Cauldfell’s grave. Holding my breath and straining my ears, I listened for the sound of my mother’s voice. Had she gone into the woods and lost her way?

  Gulping back the panic that threatened to choke me, I slipped Markham Cauldfell’s dog tag into the pocket of my jeans and ran into the woods, searching and calling. Thirty minutes later, there was still no trace. It was as if the ground had opened and swallowed my mother.

  Grabbing my cell phone from the pocket of my jacket, I punched in Grant’s office number. A little sign popped up that said ““No Service. The only thing to do was get in the car and try to find higher ground. Perhaps the phone would work atop the next hill. Should I leave the area? It seemed to me that by driving away I was deserting her. Surely she was somewhere near. Had she heard or seen something that piqued her interest? Had she fallen and hit her head? Was she lying unconscious somewhere, and had I walked past her?

  Tears stung my eyes. Taking a deep breath I prayed, “Dear God, help me find my mother.” That was the only prayer I could think of, the only words that kept circling in my mind like that hawk overhead. I hoped the Lord heard.

  I scooted behind the wheel of my car and backed out of our newly graded driveway, all the way down to the road. The image of Mom did not appear in my rearview mirror although I kept glancing at it, hoping to see her come out of the woods and wave at me to stop.

  Trees grew thickly along the road and I drove slowly, searching for any sign of a small, gray-haired woman in jeans and denim coat. Atop a rise in the road, I flipped open my phone and pushed “redial.” Grant answered on the first ring.

  At the sound of his warm, familiar voice, I started to cry.

  “Darcy, slow down. It’s all right. Take a deep breath and tell me what’s wrong.”

  I gulped. “Grant, I’m at Granny Grace’s place, and I can’t find Mom. She’s gone.”

  It took only a few seconds to tell him what had happened, about finding Markham’s Cauldfell’s grave and Mom’s disappearance.

  His voice hard, his tone, professional. “I’m on my way. Stay there, Darcy.”

  I put the phone on the seat beside me and slowly backed the Escape down the road and into our driveway. Everything looked exactly as it had a few minutes ago. There was still no sign of Mom.

  Could she have fallen somewhere and broken her leg? I slid out of the car and stood still, listening. The wind rattling the tree limbs carried the chill breath of snow. “Oh, no,” I breathed. “Please, Lord, no snow yet.”

  Going back to the boulder where she had sat, I searched around its base. There was no evidence of a struggle, nothing dropped on the ground. I walked around the big rock in a widening circle, my eyes combing the ground for anything that might show me where she had gone.

  Grant’s truck roared to a stop beside my Escape. I ran to him and grabbed his arm. “She’s gone, Grant. I’ve looked and looked. Something has happened to her. Somebody must have taken her.”

  Grant gripped my shoulders. “Darcy, just get in the car and wait a bit. Jim is on the way. We’ll look until we know what happened to Miss Flora, I promise you. Now get in out of the wind, all right?”

  I nodded and stumbled toward my car. Grant knelt beside the boulder, scrutinizing the ground. Jim Clendon’s truck, spraying gravel, screeched to a stop beside Grant’s.

  Nervously, I sat in my Escape, the rising wind rocking it now and then. Sunshine pouring through the glass warmed the interior, but I could not stop shaking. The cold I felt had settled in my bones. Surely I could do something or think of where she might be, but my brain seemed numb. I couldn’t get beyond the chilling fact that she had been sitting on the boulder when I left her, and now it was as if she had never been sitting on that big gray rock.

  The hours passed slowly while I worried and prayed. At last, Grant and Jim reappeared coming toward me through the woods. I opened the door and slid out.

  “Well?” I said. “Did you find anything?”

  Grant opened his right hand. A small blue handkerchief edged in white lace lay in his palm. “Do you recognize this, Darcy?”

  I grabbed it and pressed it to my cheek. “It’s Mom’s, Grant. Where did you find it?”

  Jim awkwardly patted my shoulder. “Now, Darcy, don’t get all worked up. This is a good sign. It tells us she probably dropped it to give us a clue. Now we’ll know where to start searching.”

  Grant gently pulled the handkerchief from my fist. “I’ll need that, Darcy. It’ll give the dog a scent to go on,”

  “The dog? Are you going to get bloodhounds out here?”

  “Ben Ventris’ hound, th
e one that Pat and Jasper took in, he’s part bloodhound and I remember Ben telling me once that he was really good at trailing. We’re going to Pat’s right now.”

  For the first time, I felt a twinge of hope. At last there was something to go on, some solid clue. Surely Ben’s dog Murphy could find my mother.

  “I’ll go with you, Grant. Come on, hurry!”

  Grant put his arm around me. “No, Darcy. You can’t come with us. The most important thing you can do is go back home and stay by the phone. Miss Flora may try to call you. Or, if she’s kidnapped for ransom, the kidnapper may call. She might possibly return on her own. When you get home, phone all of Miss Flora’s friends. Ask if any of them have seen her. I’ll check back with you as soon as I know something.”

  I swiped at my eyes with my coat sleeve. “But Grant…”

  He frowned. “I mean it, Darcy. Let us handle this, please. For Miss Flora’s sake.”

  Defeated, I trudged to my car and drove slowly down our long drive. As I reached the county road, I looked back. Grant and Clendon were getting into their trucks, doubtless to go to the home of Pat and Jasper Harris and get Ben’s hound, Murphy.

  Chapter 27

  So began the longest afternoon and night of my life. The old farmhouse was empty without my mother in it. Jethro rubbed against my legs, meowing. I carried him with me as I walked through the empty rooms. Common sense told me Mom wasn’t in any of the rooms but I checked every nook and cranny including the closets. My cat’s furry warmth in my arms was somehow comforting.

  Putting Jethro down on his cushion, I went to the phone and began dialing my mother’s friends. I heard the fear in Jackson Conner’s voice and had a feeling that Grant was going to have company in his search, whether he wanted any or not. The list of those who loved Flora Tucker was long. I called all of her church friends, even people considered to be only acquaintances. Our pastor, Don Huggins, said he was going to set up a prayer chain immediately and would join the search party.