No Distance Too Far (25 page)

He walked on around the single-story house and climbed the back stoop to rap on the door. No answer, but at least the handle turned on this one.

“You want me to come in with you?”

Joshua jumped at the sound of Trygve’s voice from near behind him. “I guess. You s’pose they just went off and left everything?”

“The dog and the cattle even?”

“I know.” Joshua pushed open the door and stepped into a pantry. Two more steps and he was in the kitchen, which smelled musty. A cold cast-iron stove stood against one wall, a table with four chairs took up the middle. “Anyone home?” he called. The house hunkered down, holding its secret close. Even the air felt heavy. A closed door most likely led to the bedroom. He opened the door, which creaked like it was nearly rusted closed.

“Oh, Lord.” He breathed the words in the way that said both prayer and exclamation.

“How long you think they been there?” Both men stared at the two figures lying side by side in the bed, the quilt pulled up to their chins. The man lay on his side, the woman on her back.

Joshua closed his eyes and backed out of the room, shutting the door as he went. He headed for the back door, in a hurry to get the smell and sight banished from his mind. How long had they been dead? Weeks? Months? Had no one come by and checked on them? Had they been sick? How sick? Questions that had no answers.

“What do we do now?” Joshua asked and then took a deep breath of the fresh air.

“We feed the dog and check on the animals.” Trygve sucked in a long breath also.

“And one of us rides to the nearest town and reports to the sheriff that these two people are dead in their bed.” Joshua realized he was hoping Trygve would volunteer but knew he’d have to do it. “Let’s unhitch the horses and see what we can do about the animals. I’m wondering where the local church is, rather than the sheriff.” He pointed toward the barn. “Move the wagons over there.”

Trygve climbed up on the lead wagon and led the way for Gilbert. As they unhitched, Joshua told Gilbert what they found.

“There’s a grave under that big oak tree,” Gilbert said, pointing his finger at a tree a hundred yards or so behind the house.

“I’ll go take a look,” Joshua said.

The questions continued to bombard him as he strode over. The mound of dirt was child size, and a small child at that. A cross made of two flat sticks held together by twine with the name Albion scratched on the crosspiece told the story. Had whatever took the child killed the parents also? Cholera from bad water? Typhoid fever? He headed back to the wagons.

Trygve stepped down from their wagon with a couple of leftover biscuits in his hand. He knelt down and held them out to the dog.

“Here you go, boy. I’ll get us some rabbits tonight, and you can have that too.”

The dog wolfed the crumbled biscuits and, tail wagging, stared at Trygve.

“Give him one of those eggs mixed with a bit of milk. Too much might make him sick.”

Gilbert walked back from checking the stock tank. “Dry as dry. What do you think they’ve been drinking?”

“Perhaps a creek or maybe mud puddles from that last rain. Use some of our water to prime that well and start pumping. Our horses need water also. But smell it and take a small lick first.” He turned to Trygve. “Go ahead and set up camp. There’s a woodpile alongside the house. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“I’ll set a line of snares. Should be plenty of rabbits around here.” He glanced back toward the house. “You don’t suppose they starved to death?”

“With cattle in the field?” Joshua swung aboard the horse they used for riding most often. “I’ll stop at the nearest neighbor too.” He set the horse to an easy lope and headed back the way they had come. The last town was maybe five or six miles away.

About two miles back on the road, he turned off on a lane that led to a rather prosperous looking farm, although anything was prosperous compared to the one he’d left. A dog barked as he neared the house, and a woman came out on the porch to greet him. When he told her his story, she shook her head, murmuring reassurances.

“No wonder I’ve not seen her in so long. I told my husband I wanted to go over there, but the mister, he didn’t take well to anyone coming by. You said the little boy died too? Oh, this is too sad.”

“Is there a pastor or anyone around I can tell about this?”

“You go on into town”—she pointed back the way he’d come— “and tell Hanson at the general store. He is also part-time sheriff and the postmaster. He’ll know what to do.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“How did you happen by there?”

“We had an agreement with him to drill a new well and erect a windmill. He paid his deposit last fall, but winter came before we could get over here.”

“You drill wells and put up windmills?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“When you come back, you come by here and talk to my husband.

He’s out seeding now, but he’ll be up to milk before supper. He’s been talking about doing just that.”

“I will do that.” Joshua touched the rim of his hat with one finger and turned the horse around to lope back down the lane.

When he got to town, he slid off the horse and tied him to the hitching rail in front of the silver-sided building with a sign that said
General Store, James Hanson, Proprietor
. A cheery voice greeted him when he walked through the door.

“How can I help you, young fella?”

Joshua smiled back at a middle-aged man whose droopy eyes belied the smile that bracketed his rounded cheeks. He introduced himself and told his story again.

“And here I thought they just ran out on their bill. How sad. I shoulda gone out there, but . . .” He heaved a sigh and untied his apron. “Let me go get the missus to run things, and I’ll get my son to hitch the team up to the wagon. I imagine we should bury them in the cemetery by the church.”

“Could we bury them out there on their farm? The grave of their little boy is there.”

Mr. Hanson nodded and held up one finger. “Wait here.” He pushed through a hanging curtain, leaving Joshua to look around.

There he was where he could get supplies, and he had no money with him. He checked his pockets. One dollar bill and some change. He’d have to send one of the others back tomorrow. He eyed the rows of canned goods, picked up corn, green beans, and peaches and set them on the counter. The peaches would taste mighty good that night.

When Hanson pushed aside the curtain, he’d divested himself of his apron and added a hat. He eyed the cans on the counter. “That’ll be forty cents. You need anything else?”

Joshua dug his change out and counted out the necessary amount. “Do you have a sack I can use? I’m riding bareback.” With the sack slung over his shoulder, he followed Hanson out the door.

A team pulling a wagon came around the corner as they stepped off the wooden stairs. “You want to ride with us?” Hanson asked.

Joshua handed back the sack. “If you bring this, I’ll get back more quickly on my horse.” At their nod, he swung aboard his horse and galloped out of town, back the way he had come. On one hand he knew there was no rush. After all, these people had been dead for some time, but on the other, he had a feeling he needed to get back. Besides, he needed to go to that neighbor and see if he meant to do what his wife said. They could do the job immediately since they had several days before they were due at the next farm.

Back at the farm Gilbert had filled the stock tank. Trygve had rounded up some chickens gone wild, set his snares, and explored the barn. There were oats in the grain bin, a dead calf in the box stall, and some hay left in the haymow. He couldn’t move without the dog following his every step.

“Did you look more in the house?” Joshua asked.

“Nope. Don’t plan to. Do you suppose those folks own this property or the bank does?”

“No idea. But I do think this place was going downhill before they died. The sheriff is on his way out. I think he plans to take the bodies back into town in the wagon.”

Trygve shook his head. “I wouldn’t want that job.”

“Me either. Maybe we should kill one of those chickens for supper.”

“I don’t think so, but I did find one of their nests. Will give us some more fresh eggs.”

“Not sure we should eat anything here until we know what they died from.” Joshua stared at the house, thinking again on the mystery therein. This place was a ways off the road, but still, how could no one have come by in . . . months perhaps?

When Hanson and his son drove up to the house, Joshua met them. “The back door isn’t locked. The front is.”

“What made you go looking?”

“Well, he hired us to drill him a well and put up a windmill. I was just trying to do my job.”

Hanson handed him the tow sack. “We’ll be about ours, then. I’ll call you if I need more help.”

Joshua nodded and headed toward their camp. He turned back and raised his voice. “If you do take them back to town, you might want to dig up the child’s grave and take him too. Bury them all together.” What did it matter to him? They’d be on the road again in the morning in some direction. What would happen to this place? With some work it could become a decent home for a young couple just starting out. Or for a single man. He climbed into the cook wagon and rattled the grates to shake the ashes down into the oblong metal box. That needed to be dumped too. And he wanted to get back to that neighbor.

He heard the jingling of harnesses and the clopping of trotting hooves. Peering out the screened door, he watched as a different wagon bypassed the house and came toward the barn. He went about laying a fire, lit a match, and watched the paper and shavings catch, sending a fine tendril of smoke straight upward. He added some small pieces, turned the damper wide open and, as the flames grew, added larger wood and set the lids back in place.

“Man here to see about drilling his well,” Trygve announced from the doorway.

“Be right there. You want to get the rice started? Chop up the rest of that ham and throw it in.” Joshua pointed to the cans on the table. “We’ll have those too.” He stepped outside. “Good day.”

The man spoke from his seat on the wagon. “My wife said you came by. You want to come drill my well say, tomorrow, I’d be right pleased. Sorry, Calhoun’s the name.”

Joshua named the price, and they shook hands. “We’ll be there soon after sunrise tomorrow.”

He watched the man stop to talk to Hanson and then trot on out the lane. Now maybe he could get answers to some of his questions. If they had any.

19

ATHENS, GEORGIA

P
lease, God, don’t let Elizabeth die. Please.

“We need to hurry, Dr. Bjorklund. The train is coming into the station.” The driver looked at her over his shoulder.

“Thank you. Can I buy my ticket on the train?”

“I think so. But in case not, I’ll let you out right at the station door. You go buy your ticket, and I’ll get your bags to you.”

Grateful for the man who’d been thinking further ahead than she had, she nodded and thanked him. Elizabeth was all she could think of. If only she had telephoned Dr. Morganstein requesting advice, perhaps she could have met with her in Chicago if she had much of a layover. Maybe she could still telephone from the train station.

She stepped down from the buggy as soon as it stopped, not waiting for the driver to assist her, and headed for the ticket window. She could hear the screeching wheels of a train stopping on the other side of the building. Surely they’d make it wait long enough for her to get on.

“I need a one-way ticket to Chicago please.”

“You’d best hurry, miss. This engineer will do anything to stay on time.”

“Thank you.” Astrid knew running was not ladylike, but she picked up her skirts with one hand, held her hat on with the other, and ran around the building. The conductor saw her coming and motioned her to slow down. All was well. Astrid fought to catch her breath. All these weeks of sitting around had certainly weakened her body even while the lessons had built up her mind and spirit. “Thank you.” She let him guide her up the steps. “My bags aren’t here yet.”

“Yes they are, if that man flying around the corner is for you.”

Astrid glanced over her shoulder. “Yes, that’s my driver.”

She’d just settled herself in her seat, the driver having stuffed her bags in the overhead shelf and wished her a good trip, when the conductor called, “All aboard.” The driver jumped to the ground as the conductor swung aboard and the train began moving.
Thank
you, Father,
circled through her mind, being chased by
In all things
give thanks.

Thoughts of Africa evaporated as her mind clacked
Save Elizabeth
along with the train wheels speeding north. Keeping her thoughts on praising God instead of worrying over her friend and mentor took severe concentration. At the least slip, fear snaked in and tied itself in knots around her heart.
Bring into captivity every thought.
Pastor Solberg had reminded them of that verse over and over. He said that was the only way to conquer fear and worry. He’d also said they had to prepare for the difficult times in advance. Like runners practice for a race, as the apostle Paul had said.