The Widows of Braxton County (21 page)

Harry Rosenthal, a good friend and neighbor to the late Mr. Krause, has confirmed Mr. Walker’s statement concerning the atmosphere in the Krause household. He stated that his friend had long been dissatisfied with his wife’s lack of submission and displays of temper. Mr. Rosenthal also pointed to Mrs. Krause’s lack of attendance at regular church services and went so far as to call her a “fair weather Christian.”

Other neighbors have attested to Mrs. Krause’s slovenly ways and her inability to maintain a proper home for her husband and children. According to them, it was a great burden that the late Mr. Krause bore stoically.

The matter will come to trial later on this year.

The clipping slipped from Kate’s finger while her mind raced. Will’s great-great-grandmother had killed her husband, but everyone said that the murderer was never found guilty. Had she been vindicated?

Kate flipped through the album, looking for an answer, but came up empty.

The coincidence was too much to contemplate. She had buried her husband, also a victim of a stabbing, yesterday. Then today she found this article.

Kate hugged herself tightly as she rocked back and forth. A sense of dread slowly grew. Trudy had warned her.

History might repeat itself.

Chapter 34

K
ate scrubbed her face with her hands as she got out of bed. She hadn’t slept well last night. It seemed that she had spent most of the night drifting in and out. At one point, she was so groggy that she could’ve sworn she heard the distinctive sound of the antique music box drifting up through the floor grate. She had to get moving. Joe’s attorney was coming to the house later on in the afternoon to go over the will.

After Kate showered and dressed in jeans and a cotton shirt, she felt better. The curiosity generated by the old newspaper article nagged at her, but it was a perfect fall day with crisp air and bright sunshine—too nice a day to dwell on the past and a good one to finish cleaning out her new bedroom. But first she needed to purchase plastic storage bins.

She hurried to the kitchen and grabbed her purse. Looking out the window, she spied Trudy working in the garden, pulling dead plants.

“I’m headed into town. Do you need anything?” Kate asked as she joined her.

Trudy tossed a handful of the plants into the waiting wheelbarrow. “This garden needs to be tilled before a hard freeze,” she said, ignoring Kate’s question. “Joe always took care of it . . .” Her voice trailed off. Then, clearing her throat, she continued. “You’ll need to get someone over here to do it.”

Kate scanned the garden. Amid what was left of Trudy’s garden, she spied this year’s crop of pumpkins. Their bright orange stood out against the black dirt and brown vines. Fond memories of carving jack-o’-lanterns, trick-or-treating, and, when she was older, soaping windows and hanging toilet paper from tree branches, flitted through her mind.

“Bet this is a popular place to steal pumpkins,” she said, waving a hand toward the splotches of orange.

Trudy yanked at one of the plants and snorted. “They wouldn’t dare,” she exclaimed. “The bigger ones are headed to the farmers’ market and we’ll can the rest.”

Kate thought of the part she liked least about carving pumpkins—pulling out the stringy, slimy seeds—and shuddered. Maybe she’d suggest that Trudy and her church ladies have a canning party, hopefully after she went back to work for Doc.

Turning her attention back to Trudy, she noticed her glaring at her.

“Did you hear what I said?” Trudy asked gruffly. “I need this garden tilled.”

Kate gave an exasperated sigh. “Okay. Do we have a tiller?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll take care of it tomorrow,” Kate replied, pivoting on her heel.

“You’re a woman. You can’t run a tiller,” Trudy scoffed.

Kate turned back. “I don’t see why not. I can give it try,” she said defiantly.

With a shake of her head, Trudy resumed pulling the plants.

Fifteen minutes later, Kate strode into Krause Hardware, still fuming over her conversation with Trudy. She was tired of hearing the words
you can’t
. It seemed like people had been telling her that her entire life.

As she passed the counter, Will paused in waiting on a customer and smiled at her. She returned his smile and headed toward the shelf containing plastic containers. While she was making up her mind what sizes to buy, Will greeted her.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“I’m cleaning out the back bedroom and I need containers to store all the stuff.” She pulled out one of the larger storage boxes. “This should do for all of Trudy’s material.”

“What else are you packing up?”

“Christmas decorations, photo albums—” She stopped. “I found something you might like to see.”

Will’s face remained expressionless. “What would that be?”

“An old photo. Doris thinks the child in it is your great-grandfather, which means the couple would be your great-great-grandparents.”

Will grabbed a smaller container off the shelf. “Would this one be big enough for the Christmas decorations?”

Kate gave him a puzzled look. “Aren’t you interested in the photograph?”

“I’ve seen pictures of Willie.”

“But what about Jacob? Doris didn’t think there were many photographs of him.”

“Kate—” he began.

She interrupted. “And what about Hannah? Everyone seems reluctant to talk about her.” She gave him a speculative look. “Was it because she was arrested for Jacob’s murder?”

Will’s face flushed. “How did you find out about that?”

“I found an old newspaper article written about her arrest. Was she convicted?”

“No,” he spit out.

“Then what happened to her? What’s the big secret?” she persisted.

“You’re talking about an event that occurred over a century ago, and it’s one that some have never let go. Maybe if they had, lives would have been different.”

“If it happened so long ago, then why can’t you tell me?” she asked. “I could ask Trudy if you won’t.”

“I wouldn’t. You won’t like her reaction.” His voice dropped. “It will only upset her. Do you want to risk another stroke?”

“Of course not.”

“Forget about Jacob and Hannah.” Noting the defiance in her face, he exhaled slowly. “Look, Willie was only a child when Jacob died, and he adored his mother. Her arrest changed the course of his life, and as an adult, he never spoke of it. My family has always respected that.”

“You’re telling me that in all this time, your family has never discussed Hannah?” she asked, amazed.

“There’s no point. The past can’t be changed.” He gave her a careful look. “I think
you’d
be better off focusing on today and what might happen tomorrow.”

Will’s words echoed as Kate sat down with Trudy and Joe’s attorney, Mr. Tolliver. Eyeing him from across the table, Kate was reminded of a partridge. He was plump and brown. He had thinning brown hair and brown eyes. His suit was brown—he even wore a shirt that was tan.

After reading all the conditions of the will, he sat back, looked first at Kate, then Trudy. “Do you understand everything we’ve gone over thus far?”

Trudy gave Kate a sour look. “Sure. She gets everything.”

“Now, Trudy, that’s not true,” he answered in a condescending voice. “You’re the beneficiary of one of his life insurance policies. Then there’s the money he paid you for your share of the farm when your husband died.” He smiled. “You’ve been taken care of quite handsomely.” He focused on Kate. “Do you have any questions?”

“What happens next?”

“Well,” he said slowly as he gathered up the papers spread across the table. “First we have to file the will, then we’ll need to do an inventory of all the assets.” He smiled again. “Once the will has finished probate, you’ll be ready to start liquidating.”

Trudy’s attention traveled around the room, settling on one heirloom at a time. Mr. Tolliver noticed.

He reached across the table and patted her hand. “I’m sure Kate will be willing to give you those things that have a special sentimental value, Trudy. She won’t sell them.”

“Excuse me?” Kate asked.

“Once the probate is finished, we’ll start making arrangements for the farm and estate sale.”

“I didn’t mention selling out,” Kate replied.

He appeared flustered. “Managing a farm is a big responsibility and you have no experience. I assumed you’d want to liquidate and return to your family . . . Des Moines, isn’t it?”

“Rose Clement manages her operation.”

“But Rose has been farming all of her life,” he said with a patronizing smile.

“And she’s willing to help me. We’ve already discussed it.”

Mr. Tolliver made a tut-tutting noise. “Really, Kate, I think that would be very foolish. As it stands now, you can walk away financially secure for the rest of your life. If you persist in this, you will be risking your future.”

“Isn’t that true of anyone who runs a business?”

“Yes.” He shoved the papers back in his briefcase and stood. “If you really want to become a businesswoman, why don’t you open . . . say, a craft shop? You’d have more success in a venture like that than running a farm.”

Kate’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t want to run a craft shop. I want to run this farm, and I’ve already made a detailed business plan.”

He shook his head slowly. “It’s highly unlikely that you’ll succeed,” he said.

Kate handed him his briefcase. “I appreciate your concern, but I believe according to the terms of the will, this is my decision to make and I’ve made it.” She shook his hand and steered him toward the front door. “Start the probate and we’ll go from there.”

When she returned after escorting Mr. Tolliver out the door, she found Trudy wandering around the parlor, straightening pillows and fussing over the framed photographs of long-dead Krauses.

She wiped one of the photos with the corner of her apron. “What are you going to do about me?”

“I’m not going to do anything about you,” Kate replied, leaning against the door frame. “Let’s be honest. The only thing that tied us together was Joe and he’s gone now.”

Trudy swiveled toward her. “I
knew
it,” she exclaimed. “You’re going to kick me out of my home.”

“No, I’m not. I have to live in this house until everything is settled, but after that?” She shrugged. “As far as I’m concerned, you can stay here as long as you want. I’ll find a place in town, or build a small house for myself.”

She saw the doubt in Trudy’s face. “You can believe me. I don’t know if it’s a good idea, considering your health, if you live alone, but that’s your choice. You do have enough money to hire help now.”

“Well,” Trudy said, crossing her arms over her chest, “I don’t believe you. You married Joe to get this farm.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “That’s absurd. The first time I ever set foot on this place was the day after our wedding.” She looked toward the window. The sun was sinking lower, but she still had enough daylight to till the garden. That sounded like a better plan than standing here and listening to Trudy.

Without a word, Kate ran upstairs and changed into a pair of old jeans, a sweatshirt, and a pair of old shoes. Fifteen minutes later, she’d pulled the tiller out of the machine shed and was trying to figure out how to start it. Once she did, the machine bucked to life, startling her, and she lost her grip on the power bar.

She pulled her hand through her hair. “Okay,” she muttered, “I can do this.”

Adjusting her grip and tightening her grasp, she tried again. This time the tiller’s tines dug into the black earth, churning it up. Slowly, she pushed the tiller ahead until she reached the other side of the garden. Stopping, she pivoted the machine and began to till a second strip across the garden.

Forty-five minutes later she’d finished. A fine layer of grit covered her face, her shoes were filled with dirt, and her clothes were filthy. The tracks she’d made in the turned-over soil weren’t straight; they waved from side to side. But the garden
was
tilled.

Pleased with herself, she pushed the tiller back to the garage. She’d shown Trudy and she’d show Mr. Tolliver.

After Kate’s shower, supper with Trudy had been a dull affair. They’d eaten in stony silence, and Kate had been relieved when Trudy had retreated to her bedroom. Trudy hadn’t commented on her newly tilled garden.

Now Kate sat with an afghan wrapped snugly around her, moving slowly back and forth on the front-porch swing. Mr. Tolliver’s warning had made her all the more determined to succeed. She thought about the coming months. She had challenges ahead and things to look forward to with anticipation—her job at Doc’s, managing the farm, volunteering at Essie’s House. It might not be the life she had planned, but it could be fulfilling.

A sliver of pain lifted from her heart.

A set of headlights coming down the road drew her attention. She watched it pull into the driveway and was surprised when she recognized the driver.

Will.

Joining her on the porch, he eyed the front door. “Is Trudy around?” he asked warily.

“She’s in her room,” Kate replied with a small chuckle.

“Whew.” Will made a big show of wiping imaginary sweat off his forehead. “I wouldn’t want to find myself staring down the barrel of a shotgun.”

Kate jerked her head toward one of the wicker chairs. “Have a seat and tell me what brings you out here.”

“I’d like to apologize,” he answered earnestly as he sat. “I know I was short-tempered at the store today.”

Kate thought for a moment. “I should be the one to apologize. Hannah is your ancestor, not Joe’s, and I shouldn’t pry into your family’s past.”

Will gave her a small nod of acknowledgment. “Friends again?”

Kate smiled. “Friends.”

Will propped one leg on his knee. “I heard a rumor today—”

“
No,
” Kate exclaimed with mock surprise.

He chuckled. “I heard you weren’t selling out and had plans to stick around.”

“You must’ve talked to Rose.”

“Nope—chatter at the Four Corners.”

“What do you know?” Kate said, slapping her knee. “For once they got it right.”

“You’re staying?”

She nodded. “I have a business plan started, but I don’t think there’s much I can do until the estate is settled.”

“You’re going to run the farm.”

“I’m going to try.” Kate leaned forward. “Do you think it’s a bad idea?”