Mud Creek (31 page)

“He drowned?”

“He froze, then he drowned.”

“I’ll be damned…” Harry shuddered. “Hell of a way to go.”

She smiled. “I’m happy to note that it wasn’t quick, either.”

They started across the pasture, and she remembered to inquire, “Did you find the money?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“In the chicken coop, where he hid it the first time.”

“The man was a fool,” Violet said.

“He probably assumed he was being clever. He figured we’d never expect him to put it back in the same spot. It was actually a brilliant idea.”

“Don’t paint him with compliments. He never deserved any.”

“All right, I won’t.”

They reached the house, and she asked, “What now?”

“
Now,
we get the heck out of here.” He glanced around and grinned. “And since Albert can’t complain, we’ll ride out. If we take two horses, who will miss them?”

“Not a soul,” she replied. “Not a single soul.”

She went inside, grabbed a couple of pillow cases and stuffed them full of food and clothes. When she came out, Harry was at the door with the saddled horses.

He helped her to mount, then climbed up himself, and they headed for the road.

“It’s over. It has to be.”

“You’re probably right.”

Helen sighed—with regret, but with relief, too.

She and James were out on the road again, at the rutted track that led into Albert’s yard.

After their prior visit, Helen had been alarmed by her sister’s condition, by the presence of Harry Carstairs. She’d sensed danger for Albert, and though she couldn’t have explained what form the jeopardy might take, she knew it would be bad.

She and James had debated endlessly over what they should do and if they should do anything. Albert wouldn’t welcome any advice from them. But James had been in Mud Creek and had returned with a few more awful tales about Harry Carstairs.

The previous summer, he’d nearly been shot in the saloon for cheating at cards. Helen suspected it was just a minor example of a long and despicable trail of mischief perpetrated by the man.

Ultimately, they’d decided to speak with Albert, to tell him what they’d learned about Carstairs. While they were at it, James would quietly bribe Carstairs so he’d go away. He believed Carstairs was on the lookout for easy money, that a bribe would induce him to leave.

So they’d ridden over.

Albert’s house was in even worse shape than usual, and they stared with a mixture of dismay and apprehension.

The front windows were smashed out, the porch boards yanked away, as if someone had chopped the wood with an ax. The door was wide open, the kitchen one, too, so Helen could see straight through to the yard out behind.

There was no reason for the two doors to be open.

The gate to the south pasture hadn’t been closed. The cows were out, mooing, appearing lost and concerned. The horses were loose, too, seeming as perplexed as the cattle.

Albert’s dog watched the milling animals, as bewildered as the others at the change of routine. The dog peered over at James as if to ask,
should I do something about the cows?

“I have a really bad feeling about this,” James murmured. “I can picture Albert throwing up his hands and walking away, but he wouldn’t have abandoned the cattle or horses.”

“I agree. He’d have sold them.”

Cattle and horses were a valuable commodity, and Albert had always been short on funds. Helen couldn’t imagine any scenario where he would have run off without attempting a sale.

If nothing else, he’d have given the livestock away, would have stopped in Mud Creek on the way out of town and posted a notice that the herd was available for free. Any number of people would have been happy to come and fetch them.

And what about his other possessions?

The ranch contained many vital items that others could use. The plow. The hoes and shovels. The furniture. The stove. Even the lumber from the house and sheds would be a boon for a neighbor.

Sales were common. Auctions were common. Gifts were common.

Why would Albert have left it all behind?

Before she and James had ridden out, Mary had pulled her aside. The shrewd Indian woman had furnished Helen with an amulet similar to the one she’d made the prior summer.

It was meant to ward off evil spirits, to keep Helen safe. Albert had stumbled on the first one and had tossed it in the creek. Mary had crafted another for her, and Helen would never remove it.

She reached to her chest and fingered it, as she whispered a Christian prayer.

Let everyone be all right. Protect James. Protect my sister.

James noted her unease. He leaned over and patted her hand.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I’m just sad. I traveled here with such high hopes. I was so sure it was the best decision for Violet and me.”

“You can’t kick yourself for failing to grasp the true conditions. It’s typical to be unprepared. That’s the norm.”

“But I feel guilty, as if this horrid ending is my fault.”

“It’s not your fault. Walt was in deep trouble long before you ever agreed to marry Albert.”

“I’m scared of what we’ll find in the house.”

“Which is understandable. You don’t have to come in with me. You can wait out here, or you can head home. I’ll tell you about it later on.”

“No, I want to see for myself.”

They sat, pensive, gaping.

“The day’s not getting any younger,” he finally said. “Let’s have a look.”

“Might as well.”

They urged their horses forward and circled around to the back door. The dog ran up, greeting them like old friends.

James entered first, then Helen, and she called, “Violet? Albert?”

There was no response. The air was dead, as if there had never been inhabitants, as if it had been vacant for years.

Dirty dishes still lined the counter, rotting food making her gag and cover her nose, but besides the general squalor, the place had been ransacked. The furniture was tipped over, drawers yanked out and the contents dumped. Parts of the walls and floor had been pried away.

Apparently, vandals had been hunting for an important object. She wondered if they’d found it.

Violet had kept her belongings in a trunk under the stairs. Helen walked over and peeked in. It was empty.

“Violet’s left,” she told James. “Her clothes are gone.”

“That’s not a good sign.”

James followed her as she climbed the stairs to Albert’s bedroom.

It, too, had been ransacked. His clothes, boots, and coats were still there, but his shotgun and six-shooter were missing.

“Violet’s things are gone,” she pointed out, “but Albert’s are still here. Where do you suppose he is?”

“I don’t have any idea, but he wouldn’t have hit the road without his boots.”

The morbid observation made her shiver.

They went down to the front room. Her mother’s chord organ, that Helen had lovingly transported from New York, had been shattered. The back was ripped out, the instrument’s innards scattered on the floor.

“Someone was desperately searching,” James mused.

“For what? Albert was poor. He didn’t have any property worth taking.”

“Someone thought he did.”

James grabbed the sofa and set it upright. A sturdy metal box had been hidden underneath. The lock had been pried off, and it was empty.

“Looks like a moneybox,” James said. “Have you seen it before? Was it Albert’s?”

“I don’t know.”

“He could have had some savings, I guess.”

“Why didn’t he use it then? Why live like this if he didn’t have to?”

“Maybe it was for his escape,” James explained. “Maybe it was his way to buy a ticket out of here.”

Miserable, at a loss, she gaped at the chaos. “What should we do? I’m too distressed to decide on my own. Just order me around.”

He draped an arm over her shoulders and pulled her close, kissing her forehead, her nose, her lips.

“I feel terrible,” she lamented.

“With good reason.”

“If we hadn’t spent so much time debating…” She sighed. “We should have visited sooner. We shouldn’t have waited.”

“It wouldn’t have helped, so don’t blame yourself. This disaster has been building since the day Walt arrived.”

James shut the front door, blocking out the wind that had been whistling through. Then he led her to the kitchen.

“I’d better round up the cattle,” he said.

“All right.”

“Would you like to tag along? Or if you’re not afraid to stay here by yourself, you can sift through the jumble, start a pile of the items you’d like to have at my place. We can come over with the wagon.”

“Are you that certain Albert has left?”

“I’m not certain of anything. After I get the cattle squared away, I’ll snoop out a few spots to make sure he’s not lying out there, injured or…whatever.”

She frowned. “What do you mean by
whatever
?”

“Nothing. I’ll simply check to see if he’s having any difficulty.”

“I’ll stay and clean. If he returns, I’d hate to have him stumble on this mess.”

“I’ll leave my shotgun.”

“You don’t need to. Whoever did this is long gone. They won’t be back.”

“You just never know,” he answered, giving her the reply he often gave.

He walked out to fetch the gun, brought it in and laid it on the table, then he headed off to deal with the wandering animals. They were glad to have him take charge, so they were easily herded into the pasture. He dismounted and shut the gate behind him, then he rode off across the prairie.

She went inside and began the arduous task of tidying the destruction.

As she washed and straightened, she’d hoped for a boring hiatus, but she couldn’t achieve any peace of mind.

She kept glancing out the window, watching for James. She kept thinking about her sister and Harry Carstairs, about Albert being alone with the despicable pair.

“What happened, Albert?” she asked to the quiet room, but her only response was the wind rattling the rafters.

It was obvious Violet had fled with Harry, but what sins had they committed prior to slithering away? Had they robbed Albert? Had they harmed him?

Before she’d entered the yard, she’d prayed for James and Violet, but she’d been worrying about the wrong person.

Albert wouldn’t have wrecked the house. He had many unpleasant traits, but he wasn’t crazy.

The damage inflicted on the property was the behavior of a lunatic who was mad and out of control, who was spoiled and fussed over and intent on having his every whim satisfied. That sort of vain individual wouldn’t hesitate to grab for what he wanted, to take what wasn’t his.

But it wasn’t a man who’d run amok. It was a woman. It was Violet, the sister she’d never understood, who could have been a stranger.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, Helen saw James loping across the pasture. The worst wave of dread swamped her.

She hurried out to meet him, and as he approached, his expression was grim.

“What did you find?” she asked.

“It’s bad news, Helen.”

“Is it Albert? Is he injured?”

He dismounted, came over and took her hand.

“He’s dead, Helen,” he gently informed her.

She shook her head, as if she hadn’t heard correctly.

“Dead? How?”

“It appears that he drowned, crossing the creek. It’s still mostly frozen. The ice probably broke. I’m guessing he fell in and couldn’t climb out.”

Tears welled up in her eyes. “Where is he?”

“I pulled him up into the grass. I need a blanket to cover him, then I’ll bring him in and build a coffin. We’ll bury him tomorrow. Carl and Robert can dig the grave.”

“They’ll be devastated.”

“We’ll have a funeral; I’ll say a few words.”

Too stunned to stand, she sank down on the step.

“You don’t suppose,” she haltingly stammered, “that Violet or Carstairs might have…killed him, do you?”

“It didn’t look like he’d been hurt. I think he drowned.”

She studied him. “You’re not sure.”

“Let’s tell ourselves that’s what occurred. It will help us to sleep at night.”

He gestured to the door. “Get me a blanket or two. I’d like to take care of this so we can head on home.”

She retrieved the blankets, then he took off again. She busied herself, not with cleaning—Albert would never be back—but doing as James had initially suggested.

She started sifting through the dishes, the silverware, the pots and pans, picking what they could use, what they could sell, what the boys might like to keep.

Yet there were so many decisions to be made, a family’s entire life to be sorted. The burden seemed too enormous for one small woman to handle, and she could have wept for a week.

Before long, James returned, his gloomy bundle draped behind the saddle. He didn’t ride to her, but stopped out at the shed where Albert stored his tools. Shortly, she heard sawing and pounding. Very quickly, the coffin came together, providing stark evidence that James had built more than his share of them over the years.

After he finished, he had his horse drag the solemn box over to her.

“We’d better leave the body locked up in the house tonight.” He flashed a ghoulish smile. “I don’t want him setting outside. The coyotes might feast.”

She winced. “I hadn’t considered that.”

He needed her help to wrestle the coffin into the front room, but that was the only portion of the grisly chore for which he sought her assistance. She waited on the stoop as he carried Albert’s corpse inside, as he nailed the lid shut.

He walked out and pulled the door closed.

They stood arm in arm, staring at the ruined yard, the broken equipment, the sagging fences, the decaying outbuildings.

It was such a depressing scene, like a war zone where an invading army had marched through and left nothing salvageable.

She thought of Walt, how eager he’d been in New York as he’d arranged his affairs to make the journey west. She thought of a much younger Albert, how excited he’d been when he’d proposed in her mother’s parlor.

How could all those poignant hopes and dreams have ended so badly?