Althea stared at the two men on the porch.
Assuming that Sheriff Mason would find Will Cooper, she’d been
surprised to find him standing at her back door with a tall,
unkempt stranger. The man looked as if he lived in a hog wallow,
and when the breeze eddied around the confines of the porch, she
caught an overripe whiff of his unwashed body. His long sandy hair
stuck up in cowlicks all over his head, and his frayed dungarees
and shirt were of some undefinable color. He looked even worse than
Cooper Matthews had.
“
This is Jefferson Hicks. He’ll be
happy to hire on for a day or two, won’t you, Jeff?”
The man grunted without taking his eyes off
his feet.
Jefferson Hicks! Althea gaped at him,
astounded. He was the man she’d seen on the street yesterday. Even
as isolated as she and Olivia were, she’d heard talk about the
total ruination of Decker Prairie’s last sheriff. He’d killed
Wesley Cooper, she remembered that much. From then on he’d slid
downhill.
Will shifted his weight from one foot to the
other and adjusted his hat. “To be honest, I have to tell you that
Jeff has been spending a little time in the Decker Prairie jail.
Farley Wright caught him in his henhouse taking a couple of eggs.
It was a minor charge, but I thought you should know.”
“
Um, yes—I can’t think of—I’m sure—”
Althea stumbled along, feeling trapped. She gazed at the top of
Jefferson’s downturned head and hesitated to commit herself. He was
still a young man, if her memory served, but he seemed more
dilapidated and rundown than her house. She’d heard that he’d taken
to the drink after that incident with Wesley Matthews. But the man
looked like a total derelict. How much work could he have left in
him? And what kind of a job would a man do who’d squandered his
life on alcohol? The calm hand of reality stopped her questions—it
wasn’t as if she had a lot of choice. “I haven’t met many men who
were willing to work. What about you, Jefferson Hicks? Are you
afraid of work?”
“
No, ma’am,” he mumbled.
“
All right, then. Mr. Hicks, I’ll pay
you ten cents an hour and I’ll give you a meal. That’s
satisfactory, I hope.”
He nodded, although he wouldn’t look her in
the face. Maybe that was preferable to the insolent, disrespectful
gazes Cooper Matthews had directed at her.
Obviously relieved, Will smiled and clapped
his hands together once, making both Jeff and Althea jump. “That’s
fine! I’ll be back around sundown to pick him up.” He left the
porch and clambered up to the wagon seat. Taking up the reins, he
turned the horses back toward the road through the tall grass.
“Jeff, you mind what the lady says.”
Jeff cast what Althea thought was an angry,
desperate look in the sheriff’s direction, but he remained mute. He
followed the wagon with his eyes until it was out of sight, then he
turned to her.
A chasm of silence opened between them as he
studied her skirt hem and she studied him.
He’d been a very attractive man. Althea
remembered that. On one of her rare trips to town, she’d seen him
from a distance when he was still sheriff, and had privately
admired his tall, long-legged stride as she’d watched him walk down
the street.
His shoulders were the same, wide but not
bulky. He was more lean now than muscled, and more than a little on
the thin side. His face had fallen into gaunt lines, as if he never
had a square meal anymore. And she’d remembered him as being
taller. Then she realized that he was slouching, the way youngsters
did when they felt self-conscious. The ghost of his good looks
remained, but if Will hadn’t told her his name she wouldn’t have
recognized the former sheriff. Even so, his rolled-up shirt sleeves
revealed sinewed arms that appeared to have strength left in
them.
Breaking off her stare, she asked, “Do you
know anything about patching a roof? That’s what I need done
first.”
Still not looking at her, he stepped down
from the porch and backed up to inspect the top part of the house.
“Some.”
“
Good. You’ll find some shingles and
nails in—in the—over in there.” She pointed at the barn. Its big
sliding door faced the porch. “There’s a ladder in there too. And
please don’t forget to close the door when you aren’t in there.
That’s very important.” From within the house, she heard Olivia
call her.
He lowered his gaze from the roof to look at
her for an instant, long enough for her to see that his eyes were
deep green, like the last leaves of summer, just before they
turned.
“
If you need anything else I’ll be
right inside. Just knock.”
He nodded and walked across the yard toward
the barn. Althea crossed her arms over her chest and watched him
go, shaking her head, half in pity, half in irritation.
Some people were prisoners of their own
making. They let months and years slip away from them with nothing
to show for the passing of time but hearts full of regrets or
bitterness. Jefferson Hicks was a champion example of such a
man.
Olivia called again, more insistent this
time. She turned and went to answer her sister’s summons.
~~*~*~*~~
Jeff waded through the weeds and grass to
reach the barn. Sharp-spined thistle snagged his jeans and Queen
Anne’s lace bobbed in the breeze. He wished Mason had thought to
bring a scythe while he was piling up the tools. Grabbing the pull,
he tried to slide open the barn door but it wouldn’t budge more
than six inches. He braced his foot on the jamb and pulled again
with both hands. The door gave way with a deafening screech of
rusted wheels, crashing across the front of the barn, and Jeff
landed on his back in a patch of thistle. His palms were stabbed in
a hundred places with its needle-like spines. A group of sparrows
that had apparently been nesting under one of the eaves evacuated
with alarmed chirps and resettled in a nearby pear tree.
“
Damn it to hell!” Jeff groused.
Regaining his feet he looked at the insides of his hands and saw
stickers lodged in them. He stepped into the cool dimness of the
barn, absently pulling out the spines with his teeth.
The feeling of abandonment was strong here,
stronger than anywhere else on the property. Livestock—a horse or
two, maybe a couple of cows—had once occupied the stalls. The vague
scent of them still lingered. But nothing lived in here now except
the spiders that wove curtains of webs draping the rafters and
probably a lot of mice.
Jeff searched the walls and all the corners,
looking for the materials he needed. He found old horse harness and
a plow, rusting farm tools, a crate of filberts, a keg of axle
grease, a box of shingle nails, and a few milk cans. He even found
the ladder. But no shingles.
Up in the loft he found the remnants of a hay
crop, a trunk, and some old picture frames, but no shingles.
Exasperated, he stood in the doorway and
glanced back at the house, loath to go up there and ask questions
of Althea Ford. He didn’t want to look into those probing blue-gray
eyes again so soon. Even though he’d mostly kept his face lowered,
he’d felt the searing touch of her gaze as she examined him.
But where the hell were the shingles?
Jeff went back outside and battled more weeds
and blackberries to circle the old building, searching for a shed
or a springhouse, anyplace that might have been used for
storage.
After he narrowly missed stepping on the
opening of a hornet’s nest, his patience shortened to the quick. He
stood in the thin midday shadow of the barn and dragged his arm
across his sweating forehead. If he could lay an egg to replace the
one he took from Farley, he’d do it or die trying, just to get out
of this damned job. Mason had said this sentence wasn’t about his
pilfering, but that’s what had landed him in jail.
Looking at the house again, he searched the
windows for a watchful face. Then he scanned the sea of grass
surrounding him. If he stayed off the road— Maybe he could cut
across the fields and walk back to town. Let Will find Cooper
Matthews to come out here. After all, he’d made the promise to
Althea Ford, not Jeff.
If he stayed out of sight in Decker Prairie,
he could avoid Mason. All he wanted was enough money to buy some
whiskey at the Liberal and find forgetfulness. Alcohol offered a
kindly oblivion for only the cost of a bottle. For a few hours he
wouldn’t see a dead boy’s face in his mind, or Sally’s note. If he
had a whale of a headache afterward—well, nothing in life was free.
Money . . . he rummaged in his empty pockets.
Oh, yeah—he didn’t have any. That was how this had all come about
to begin with.
But if he lasted the afternoon here, the Ford
woman would pay him and he could buy that whiskey.
Just then he noticed a small lean-to addition
near the front end of the barn. Slogging back through the grass, he
pushed open its door. Amid a jumble of stuff, including the
shingles, he found an old iron bed, a table with a bowl and
pitcher, and a battered chest of drawers.
Jeff stepped outside and looked at the steep
roof again. He only had to last through the rest of the day. When
Will came to pick him up he’d tell him he didn’t want to come back.
Maybe the sheriff would forget about teaching him a lesson, and he
could go get that whiskey.
Now if he didn’t fall off and break his fool
neck—
~~*~*~*~~
“
Who did you say he is?” Olivia stood
at the side window in the parlor and craned her neck, trying to see
the top of the ladder that rested against the house on the other
side of the glass. With her head tipped back, her long, silky curls
brushed her waist.
“
His name is Jefferson Hicks,” Althea
repeated, lifting her voice. She sat in her favorite chair, the one
with the needlepoint seat and back that she’d stitched herself. In
fact, needlepoint was the only diversion she permitted herself.
Right now, however, she used her needle and thread to mend one of
her chemises. The hammering overhead had begun about two hours
earlier, and while she had no idea whether the man knew a thing
about roofing, just hearing the noise was a relief. At least
something was getting done.
“
That name sounds familiar but I don’t
remember him. Who is he?”
“
He was the sheriff in town, Olivia.
You remember that.”
“
Hmm, maybe. Why isn’t he the sheriff
anymore?”
Why, indeed. “He started drinking. He
eventually left his job.”
“
Is he married?”
“
I believe he was. I’m not sure he is
now.” How could he be? What woman would let her husband deteriorate
into the town drunk? Althea wondered. If she were his wife, she
certainly wouldn’t have allowed that. In Althea’s opinion, it was
almost sinful to waste a life by frittering it away.
“
I didn’t see him. Is he
handsome?”
“
Yes, at least he used to be. The
liquor has taken a toll on him.” She glanced up from her mending.
It wasn’t like Olivia to express an interest in any man. But she’d
been feeling so much better, perhaps she was coming out of her
shell. The hope Althea had nursed in her heart for her sister
sparked a little flame. “Why are you so curious?”
Her sister shrugged. “Oh, no reason. He won’t
do the work as well as Daddy would have liked,” she observed with
an artless finality.
“
I’m sure that’s true,” Althea said,
and bit back a sigh.
“
Daddy was very particular about the
way things should be done, and he wouldn’t have wanted just anyone
pounding on his house, Althea.” Olivia’s slightly imperious tone
made Althea clench her back teeth. Their father had been a
difficult man to please in all things save one. Olivia had given
him as much joy as a joyless man could feel. Althea had given him
as much displeasure.
“
Then it’s a good thing he won’t know
about this, isn’t it?” Althea asked.
Olivia stayed at the window. “I guess. I see
your Mr. Jefferson has been in the barn.”
“
Hicks, dear. His name is Jefferson
Hicks. Of course, he’s been in the b-barn. That’s where the ladder
was.”
“
Well, he’s left the door open.” She
turned then and looked at the clock. “Goodness, it’s nearly three.
I believe I’ll go up and take a nap for a while. That is, if I can
sleep with all that hammering.” She dropped a light kiss on the top
of Althea’s head and swept from the parlor.
Althea heard her soft tread on the stairs but
remained in the chair. She would not get up and look, she told
herself. She wouldn’t go see that open doorway for herself. Perhaps
Olivia was mistaken—
Overhead, she heard muted footsteps and
supposed that Jefferson Hicks was walking around up there. She put
aside the mending, then took it up again. Finally she put it down
and rose from her chair.
She approached the window with a sense of
dread, and when she looked across the yard her fear was confirmed.
The barn door was open, and she saw the black, yawning portal that
brought back the horror of that summer afternoon as vividly if it
had happened yesterday.
~~*~*~*~~
Tucking the hammer into the waistband of his
jeans, Jeff kept a tight grip on the rim of the chimney and
straddled the peak of the roof to look out across the valley.
Somehow up here the world looked different—cleaner and new-born
under the afternoon sun. From the roof, Decker Prairie seemed more
like a sleepy village instead of a busy town.
A high-pitched call overhead caught Jeff’s
attention. He shaded his eyes and looked up in time to see a
peregrine falcon cross the sky, its wings spread to catch warm
drafts of air. Off in the distance, a ribbon of shining creek wound
across the Ford land and disappeared into the woods. And even
farther away was Mt. Hood, a snow-covered giant with miles and
miles of fertile farmlands on its western side.