Bruce pulled a knife from his pocket and sliced through the ropes around my feet. When they fell away, he cut the ropes binding Burke’s ankles then we three lurched outside. I coughed and sputtered and filled my lungs with cold, fresh air.
Once outside, Bruce cut Mom’s ropes and the ones around Burke’s and my wrists.
“That man—that Jude! He’s still in there. And so is Ranger,” Mom cried, pointing at the crackling inferno.
“No, they’re all right. Look!” Burke said. The smoke-darkened shapes of a man and a dog reeled out of the barn.
Jude fell to one knee, coughing and gagging. Ranger struggled over to Burke and flopped down at his feet, feebly licking the old man’s hand.
Burke patted Ranger and told him what a good dog he was. Mom and I held onto each other, shaking from cold and excitement. We looked up at Bruce.
Mom’s voice was hoarse. “You saved our lives. We would still have been in there except for you.”
The fire roared and the roof collapsed, a blazing inferno shooting sparks high above the dead branches of the surrounding oaks.
Bruce stood staring at the fire, slowly shaking his head from side to side like a bull trying to clear his vision. “I just didn’t know, Miss Flora. When Jude talked me into it, it seemed like a good joke, a way to get even…” His voice trailed off.
A familiar red hound bounded into the clearing and trotted over to Ranger.
“It’s Murphy!” I said. “But where is Grant? I thought he was using Murphy to try to pick up your scent, Mom.”
Two figures emerged from the woods. They were slightly rimmed in white from the sleet but I would know that pair anywhere. “Grant,” I called, running toward him. “Grant, we’ve found Mom and Burke. They are all right.”
At that moment I didn’t mind the sleet nor the icy raindrops sliding under the collar of my coat. Grant’s strong arms closed around me and he pulled me up against his chest. The world stopped spinning for a brief instant and everything was well.
Then he released me, tilted my chin toward him with one finger and asked, “Darcy, are you and Miss Flora well? Are you hurt?”
Mom walked to us and Grant wrapped one arm around her. She smiled.
“We’re fine now, Grant. Darcy and I are safe and so is Burke.”
Jim Clendon stopped beside Jude and stood looking down at the coughing, choking man. “What happened to that old barn?” he asked. “Did somebody set it a-purpose?”
“Well, I think I’ll just be going on home now, folks,” Bruce said, edging away from the group.
“I think you won’t, Mr. Dowell,” Grant said. “Stop right there. I’ve got a bunch of questions to ask.”
Jude rose to one knee and pointed a shaking finger in Bruce’s direction. “Don’t let him get away. He’s in this as deep as I am.” A fit of coughing interrupted him.
Burke Hopkins nodded. “He was in cahoots with that jaybird,” he said, nodding toward Jude. “But he saved our lives, Grant. I’ll not forget that any time soon.”
“Jim, radio for help,” Grant said. “We’re going to need medical assistance for Melton and I think that dog of Burke’s could use some looking after. Better ask for the fire department too. We can’t count on the rain to keep that blaze from scattering. Looks to me like Jude is going to have to go to the hospital for a bit but I believe Bruce is well enough to go back to the office to answer some questions. Darcy, can you and your mother get home by yourselves?”
Mom and I nodded. “Wild horses couldn’t keep us away,” she said.
Chapter 32
The sleet and rain that helped put out the fire at Old String’s place turned to snow. Giant, cotton ball flakes fell softly for three days and when the snow ended, Ventris County lay under 20 inches of white. During this time my mother read and re-read Granny Grace’s journal. She cried, I cried, and we talked about little else. Our own family mystery was resolved and we were at peace with it. According to a phone call from Grant, he had wrapped up the loose ends having to do with Eileen, Jude, Bruce and our land. He said he would explain it all when the storm let up and we could talk face to face.
“Darcy, we need to get everyone together. I feel that our friends and the people involved in this mystery we’ve been embroiled in should know the story in my mother’s journal,” Mom said as we sat at her old wooden table eating oatmeal and toast and sipping coffee.
I glanced out the kitchen window at her rose bush gently brushing the screen. A cardinal flew down on one of the limbs, a brilliant crimson accent that reminded me of a rose against the snow.
“That’s a good idea, Mom. Why don’t we phone everyone and see if they can be here tomorrow? It’s Saturday, Grant’s day off.”
So that’s how it came about that six people sat around the fireplace the next day, coffee cups in hand. Grant, Jackson Conner, Pat, and Burke all came. Mom and I were sorely disappointed when Miss Carolina turned down our invitation.
“Too stressful on sister,” she had told us on the phone. “Why, she just might die of a heart attack right there when that journal is read.”
So Mom swallowed her frustration and prepared to go on without the Jenkins twins.
“Most of you know that my mother, Grace Daniels, was married before she married my father, George,” Mom said.
Surprise registered on Pat’s face, further evidence that this good woman truly had not read the journal. Burke must have learned about my grandmother’s secret from his father, the minister who performed the wedding ceremony for Grace and Markham Cauldfell because he did not change expressions. I had told Grant about the journal and Mom told Jackson the sad story it recorded but neither man knew the details.
“I’ve asked Darcy to read my mother’s journal aloud. I’m afraid I’d just bawl and couldn’t even see the words. So, Darcy, go ahead,” Mom said as she settled down on the sofa beside Jackson and picked up the purring Jethro.
Lord, please help me through this, I prayed silently. A lump that felt like the size of a walnut was in my throat. It would be hard to talk around it.
“Remember that my grandmother wrote this journal in 1918. World War I ended on November 11, 1918. The journal was written in the final days of the war and shortly after. I’ve researched this period in our area so I’d like you to think about life during that time as I read, sort of put yourself back in time. People were growing Victory Gardens and trying to conserve and cut back on expenses. They had “meatless Mondays” and “wheatless Tuesdays.” Flu killed many people and then a smallpox epidemic broke out. Granny Grace began the journal when Grandpa George joined the army,” I told my audience. “I am skipping those pages. I’ll begin reading in the summer of 1918.”
I glanced at Mom for support, opened Granny Grace’s journal, and began to read.
August 1, 1918—I haven’t gotten a letter from George for many weeks. Is he injured? Why haven’t I heard? Mama and Papa tell me not to worry but this is such a terrible war, how can I not? I think daily of our plans for a life together as soon as he is home. Papa is going to give us a few acres. We will build our house on those acres. I can hardly wait. Thank goodness we have missed the flu that took a toll on so many of our neighbors.
August 20, 1918—I spoke too soon about the flu. First Papa, then Mama took that terrible disease. I nursed both of them but feel healthy and hale, physically. Spiritually, I’m shattered. I pray every day for George but still no word from him. A new person has bought 40 acres close to our farm. His name is Markham Cauldfell and he is recently released from the army, on a medical disability, he said, but he looks healthy. He showed me his dog tag, he called it, that the army uses for identification. He keeps it in his pocket. He calls it a proud possession. In fact, he is a good looking young man, tall and dark with a quick smile. He is not encouraging about George. He said I would not believe how hard it is to “dodge all those bullets,” his words.
September 1, 1918—I have not been able to write for several days. I barely even know how to go
from day to day. The dreaded news came August 21. My George was killed in action in some horrible place in France. My dreams are gone and my heart is shattered. I care for nothing in this world. Please, God, let me die and go to be with my love.
September 30, 1918—I go through each day as if I’m in a trance. I can’t remember things that I’ve always known. I feel so numb. Surely it cannot be true. Surely George is not dead. Markham keeps asking me to marry him. He tells me he loves me and that marriage is the best way to forget my pain. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I need to forget the past and move on. I don’t love Markham Cauldfell but perhaps I could learn to love him. Nothing matters to me anymore. I know I will never be happy but if I could make someone else happy, my life might have meaning.
October 21, 1918—I have made the worst mistake of my life. On October 7 I married Markham Cauldfell. My parents warned me that I had not known him long enough but would I listen? No! Not the stubborn Miss Grace Wolfe! We went to Siloam Springs to be married. His parents live there and are still weak from recent bouts with the influenza. Oh, how could I have been so wrong? Markham drinks. He drinks a lot and when he is drunk, he is mean and abusive. I dare not tell my father for fear he would kill Markham. I cover up the bruises on my arms with long sleeves but I do not know how much more of this I can take. The little house on Papa’s land where we live has become a hell on earth. I hear him coming home now. I’ve got to hide this journal!
I paused to wipe my eyes and gulp some coffee. My audience seemed to be spellbound. I noticed Mom was sniffling and had her head on Jackson’s shoulder. Pat looked horrified and Grant was sitting forward, his elbows on his knees. Burke’s mouth was a thin, straight line across his dark face.
At that moment, someone knocked at the door.
Mom got up to open it and Jackson went with her. Women’s voices came from the front hall and I heard Mom offering to take our visitors’ coats. Miss Carolina and Miss Georgia came timidly into the room. At once Grant, Jackson and Burke sprang to their feet.
Jackson seated them on the sofa.
“Would you like some coffee?” Mom asked.
Georgia smiled. “No. No, thank you, dear. We’re tea drinkers but don’t fix any for us. We’ve both drunk tea all day. One more cup and I’m afraid I’ll go floating away.”
Carolina placed her large handbag on her knees. “We are sorry to interrupt you, Darcy. We understand you are reading your grandmother’s journal. At first I did not believe Georgia should hear all this melodrama from the past. I didn’t think I wanted to hear it either; sad reminders, you know. But then we decided it was actually our duty to come.”
They arranged their skirts around their ankles and folded their hands. Both wore identical dark dresses and serious expressions. I wondered when Georgia, who, judging from the old photograph, dressed in the latest style 70 years ago, decided that her wardrobe should be outdated and plain. Their white faces and gray hair contrasted harshly with their dark attire.
Georgia smiled at Mom as she and Jackson resumed their seats. With all three women sitting side by side, I marveled at the resemblance between my mother and the twins. Why hadn’t I seen it before?
“We are glad you’re here,” I said. “I hope Granny Grace’s words don’t upset you. It’s a sad story that she tells.”
Carolina nodded. “Yes. We understand that.”
“Darcy, would you like for me to read? Or maybe Grant?” Mom asked.
“No. I’ll be fine. It’s just that I can feel the pain Granny must have suffered. The next entry is long and I warn you that it will be shocking to everyone but Mom and me.” I glanced at the twins. “And possibly Miss Georgia and Miss Carolina.”
I took a deep breath and continued.
November 1, 1918—I am so shaky I can hardly write. A terrible, terrible thing has happened. Did I do wrong? Oh, if only I had kept quiet but I couldn’t. I couldn’t keep Markham’s mistreatment a secret any longer. It started when he came home after being in Levi all day at some saloon. Markham was in a dark mood and at once complained that supper wasn’t done to his liking. He picked up a bowl of fried potatoes and flung it against the wall. Then he told me he was going to teach me how to be a good wife, how to cook things as he liked them. He came toward me and I ran. He stumbled and fell and just lay there. I guess he had passed out from too much liquor. I ran and ran until I got to my parents’ home. I was so scared and I was crying. I must have been quite a sight as I burst through their front door.
Mama and Papa had guests. Judge Ira Jenkins and his wife Polly were eating supper with them. When I ran into the room, they leapt up and hurried to me. Mama put her arms around me like I was a child and kept saying, “Shh, shh. It’s all right.”
“No, it isn’t all right,” I told her. “Markham is drinking again. I’m afraid of him. I don’t want to go back to that house ever again.”
Papa patted my shoulder and told me he would not let me go back and he asked if Markham had ever hit me. When I said Yes, I thought he would grab his gun and go after Markham. I believe he would have if Mama hadn’t intervened.
Judge Jenkins said he had known Markham was no good for a long time. Seems he had run-ins with him in Levi; things Markham never mentioned to me. The judge said that he had put Markham in jail several times. So I guess on those nights Markham never came home, he was sobering up in jail.
Mama and Miss Polly had me sit down and drink a cup of tea. The judge and Papa were talking about charges to bring against Markham when all of a sudden, the door flew open and there he was. He was swaying on his feet but he had a gun, waving it around. I think all three of us women screamed. Papa started toward him and Judge Jenkins stepped between them, advising Markham to calm down and go home. Well, Markham started calling the judge some bad names…words I had never heard before and they were awful. Then he pointed his gun at the judge. Judge Jenkins is known for having a short temper and he lost it right then and there. He pulled a big gun out of his coat and before anybody could say more, he shot Markham…shot him through the heart right there in Mama and Papa’s living room.
Miss Carolina interrupted. “And the gun he used is right here.” She pulled a box out of her handbag. It was a cedar box such as old time ladies once kept their jewelry in. She lifted the lid to show everyone the ancient Remington .44 nestled inside.
Chapter 33
A log dropped in the fireplace, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney.
“Miss Carolina, please let me have that gun. It is old but it might go off accidentally. It’s fully loaded except for one bullet,” Grant said, leaning toward Carolina.
“Yes, it was loaded except for the one bullet that killed Markham,” she said. “Don’t worry, Sheriff. I took all the bullets out.”
Pat’s frightened voice broke the silence. “I don’t understand. That gun—it looks so old. Why on earth did you keep a murder weapon, all those years, Miss Carolina?”
Mom stared at the box in Miss Carolina’s hands. “She didn’t keep it. It lay in a well for nearly a hundred years.”
Pat drew a quick breath. “Do you mean that’s what Cub found instead of gold or money?”
Mom nodded. “It is. But how did you come to have it, Miss Carolina?”
Miss Georgia turned toward my mother. She had a handkerchief in her hands and kept twisting in through her fingers. As she looked at Mom, she spoke to Miss Carolina. “Let me tell her, Sister. You see, Flora, we didn’t know what Cub had found. The only thing we knew was he had found something that had been on your land and it had been there for a long time. We were afraid it had something to do with what had happened so long ago. Mama told us, after Papa died, that he had shot a bad man once and that Mama and Papa and your parents got rid of his body. She said she herself threw away the gun that Papa used to kill Mr. Cauldfell, even though that gun had been in our family since the Civil War. Whatever it was Cub found, we didn’t want anything known that could cast aspersions on our parents. They were such good people.”
A dull red crept up Pat’s neck. “Would the name of that young man be Jasper?”
“Yes. Yes, it was Jasper,” Georgia said. “But I want you to know that he meant no harm. We told him that it was dangerous for you to have whatever it was in your possession and he would be doing you a favor to bring it to us. So that’s what he did.”
Burke shook his head and chuckled.
“I can’t see what’s so funny about a breaking and entering, Burke, even if nobody meant any harm,” Grant snapped.
Jackson grinned too. “I see a bit of humor there…who would be less likely suspects than these two frail ladies. But I would advise both of you against taking up a life of crime.”
“So I guess my son knew when he saw that old gun with the journal that the gun must be what you two wanted,” Pat said slowly, narrowing her eyes in thought. “He was probably in a hurry to get out of Flora’s house before he got caught and just grabbed up what he saw on the table. And, Jasper being Jasper, he wouldn’t have wanted you to have the journal since it had Miss Grace’s name on it. He has a strange sense of honor.” She sighed. “But at least, he’s got one.”
Carolina nodded and clicked the lid down on the cedar box.
“Go on with the journal, Darcy,” Mom directed.
“Granny’s entry stopped there,” I said. “She didn’t write again until the next week.”
The Darcy & Flora Boxed Set Page 50
