Dark Coulee (15 page)

What could be more natural than to walk up to him and put her hand on his cheek? But she resisted. Meg walked up to her and leaned into her side. “Sorry, Mom.”

Claire wrapped an arm around her daughter. “I’m not really mad at you. I know I told you you could walk anywhere you wanted to in town, but you need to let me know where you’re going to be.”

“Mom, I told you. I said I was going to visit a friend.” “Right.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure you would let me go see Rich and King Tut, so I just went.”

Claire squatted down and looked Meg straight in the eyes. “You can go and see Rich whenever you want to. I know he’s your friend too. And I know you need to visit King Tut. But from now on, tell me. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Go in the house and get ready for supper.”

Meg ran up to the house, stopped and waved at Rich, then went in.

“How’s King Tut?” Claire asked.

“Adjusting. Meg thought he looked silly with his blinders on, but I explained why I put them on all the birds.”

“So they can’t see what’s all around them. Maybe I need a pair.”

“How’re you?”

Claire thought for a moment and said, “Not too bad. How’re you?”

“Lonely as hell, but aside from that, busy. My season is just starting. Eric’s been over to help. Sorry you missed our first pheasant drive.”

“Me too.”

“Hey, he mentioned the Spitzler kid, Brad.”

“Eric did? What did he say?” Claire was more than interested.

“He said that Brad blew up in school when someone said something about Pit Snyder being arrested.”

“Brad blew up, huh?”

“Eric said it was quite out of character.”

“I would expect so. He’s a pretty good kid. I think I need to go talk to him again. Thanks.”

“I’ve got my ear to the ground. I’ll keep you posted.”

As much as she hated to mislead him, she couldn’t help saying, “Maybe I’ll be able to make one of those pheasant drives soon.”

I
’M staying home from school today. The sunflowers need to be harvested,” Brad said somewhat defiantly.

“Can’t it wait until the weekend?” Ella Gunderson heaped some scrambled eggs on his plate. She did a pretty good job with scrambled eggs because the whole point of the dish was that they were scrambled. Her eyesight didn’t hold her back from doing that.

“I need to get the combine ready to roll. It probably needs some repairs, and I might need help with them. We’ve never had sunflowers before. I think I know what to do, but I need to check in with another farmer who has harvested them.”

“So you would like to stay home from school and take care of that?”

“Yes, I would. If it’s all right with you.”

She put some eggs on Jenny’s plate. The girl’s blond hair was oily and pulled back in a ponytail. Her eyes had a heavy, bruised look to them. She was wearing the same T-shirt she wore to school the day before. It had what appeared to be black notes and the words
pearl jam
written underneath the notes. What ever could that combination of words mean. Ella had decided not to ask about it. She’d rather not know. But she didn’t like Jenny wearing her clothes twice in a row. Ella had washed all the dirty clothes in the house. Jenny had no excuse for that behavior.

“I wish you would change your shirt before you go to school today, Jenny. Please. I put some clean shirts in your drawers.”

“I’m not going to school. I don’t feel good.”

Ella didn’t doubt that. Jenny obviously had another stash of pills and was dipping into them. Plus, Ella had found a couple empty beer cans under her bed. It occured to her that Jenny hadn’t put the shirt on for the second day in a row, she simply had never taken it off.

Nora was eating her scrambled eggs quietly, swinging her legs back and forth, a nervous habit she had.

Ella decided it was time to do something.

She let the frying pan she was holding drop to the floor. It hit the linoleum with a loud bang, startling even her. She never behaved like that, but she needed to get through to these children.

Brad jumped out of his seat, Jenny put her fork down, and Nora put her hands over her ears. Poor child, her father probably did such things. They all three were staring at her.

She picked up the frying pan. “I’m sorry about that, but I needed to get your attention. I think we all need to talk.”

She put the pan in the sink and turned to find them all sitting at attention, their eyes drilling into her. “Jenny and Brad, neither of you have to go to school today if you choose not to. But as of next week this changes. If you do not go to school every day that I am here, I will have to leave, and I will report you to the truancy officers. I have come to your house to try to restore order and to help you. But I cannot help you if Jenny continues to down pills and leave the world behind and if Brad keeps pretending that everything is all right when it’s not. Nora, you’ve been a good kid. But I think you need to hear this too.”

Ella took a deep breath and continued. “I’ve given you a lot of room to move because your father is dead. I am sorry he’s gone, but I think you all can have a good life without him. If you shape up. I miss my own house. I do not want to stay with the three of you unless I get something out of it. When you are all helping me cook and clean, when we do homework together, when you ask me how I am doing, when I feel like we’re making progress, then I feel worthwhile.”

She stopped for a moment to let what she was saying absorb into their brains. “I need to feel worthwhile. Everyone does.”

She turned to Jenny. “So if you have any pills left, bring them to me, and then go to bed until you feel good enough to get up. At that point, I would like you to take a shower and come and help me around the house. I’m almost ready to start digging out your dad’s closets.

“Brad, make your calls and find out what we need to do about these sunflowers. I’ll help out however I can. If you can harvest them all this weekend, that would be great.”

Ella sat down next to Nora. “And how about you? What would you like to do today?”

Nora’s big dark eyes stared back at her with a serious, worried look. “I want to go to school. We read the most books of any class, and so we get to have pizza for lunch as our prize. I don’t want to miss that.”

Mrs. Gunderson wrapped an arm around her and squeezed her tight. The smile on Nora’s face told her that she would be fine. “Good girl.”

Jenny stood up. “Don’t leave us yet, Mrs. Gunderson. Give us a little more time. We’ll try to do better.”

“Go back to bed, Jenny. I’ll see you in a while.”

Brad stood up. “Mrs. Gunderson, we’ll all try to help out more. I’m going out to the field and check how ready the sunflowers are to be picked. I talked to a farmer a couple days ago, and he gave me a few pointers.”

“While you’re out there, would you bring in a few for me to make a bouquet?”

“Sure.” Brad turned to go, then stopped and asked, “Mrs. Gunderson, what’s going to happen to Pit Snyder?”

“I don’t know. I’m afraid he might have to go to jail if he murdered your dad.”

Brad’s shoulders slumped, and he walked outside, letting the front screen door bang behind him.

Pit Snyder’s bail had been set at a quarter million; the judge had not seen him as a flight risk. He had posted his bail and was to be released later today. Claire didn’t think he would stray.

Claire had done paperwork all morning and then ridden around on duty most of the afternoon. She had called Mrs. Gunderson before she went out on her rounds and asked if she could stop by later to see the children. She would tell them all what had happened and watch their reactions.

Pulling in to the farm this time, she noticed how run-down it was. Many of the farms in this area were very well kept up, but at the Spitzlers’ all the outbuildings needed paint, and the fences were sagging and broken in places; the windmill had lost some of its blades and screeched when it turned in the wind. The wail of the windmill reminded Claire of Rainey Spitzler. But since the dream of the no-handed woman, many things reminded her of that poor woman.

Chickens scooted across the driveway as she pulled up to the house. She would love to keep chickens and walk out in the morning to gather fresh eggs. Maybe she and Meg should talk about doing that this next summer. Rich might help them get set up. Rich. Not the time to think about him.

Ella Gunderson stepped out the kitchen door and waved at Claire. She was wearing a red sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. Claire had never seen her dressed so casually. On her head she had tied a red bandanna.

“Excuse the way I look,” Mrs. Gunderson said as she came forward to shake Claire’s hand. “We are cleaning. Jenny and I.”

“How is she doing?”

“It’s hard to say. She’s been in a slump the last few days, but I gave all the kids a pep talk today, and they seem to be coming around. I’m not a counselor. I don’t know what to say to them about their dad.”

“How do you think he treated them?”

Mrs. Gunderson took off the red bandanna and snapped it in the fresh air. “I’m afraid he was more than strict with them. If I raise my voice, they all quiver and shiver. That’s a learned reaction. You know what I mean. They’ve been taught to be afraid.”

“Yes. Do you think he hit them?”

“I doubt it. I don’t think that was Mr. Spitzler’s style. I would say intimidation was more up his alley. He did it to me when he came in for a school conference. He could be very mean when he set his mind to it. I guess they call it mental abuse.”

When they walked into the kitchen, Claire couldn’t believe the change that had been wrought in the house. The windows were clean, and the sun shone in. The countertops were swept clear. Dishes were all in their places in the cupboards. A big bouquet of sunflowers sat in the middle of the old round oak table, their heads heavy with dark seeds.

“It looks so nice in here.”

“We’ve all been working hard. I think some of these floors and counters hadn’t been cleaned in years. Probably four years. Since their mom died.”

Jenny walked into the kitchen and, when she saw Claire, pulled back into the doorway. The teenager looked beaten, her shoulders slumped over, her mouth petulant. Claire felt like giving her a good scrubbing and taking her for a long walk. Get some energy back into her. She was too young to act so weary.

Mrs. Gunderson continued talking. “Nora’s my eyes. She points out the dirt and cleans it up. We’re quite a team. But Jenny’s helping me today.”

She walked over to the girl and put an arm on her shoulder. “Jenny’s been a big help.”

Jenny looked at the floor. “I’ve hardly done anything.”

“Just you making the effort means something to me,” Mrs. Gunderson said warmly, even in the face of Jenny’s sullenness.

Jenny melted a bit. “Thanks, Mrs. Gunderson. I’m sorry I slept so long.”

“We’ve got the weekend coming up. Don’t worry.”

Claire spoke up. “Is Brad around, Jenny? I’d like to speak to the two of you.”

“Again?” Jenny snapped.

“Yes, this is important. Pit Snyder has been accused of murdering your father. If either of you know anything more about it, I need that information now. Before it’s too late.”

Brad walked in the door behind Claire. “What’s going on?”

“Let’s all sit down,” Mrs. Gunderson said. “I made some lemonade. I knew we would all need a drink after all the work we’ve done.”

They sat down around the table, and she brought out a pitcher and handed it to Jenny. “Jenny, dear, would you please pour the drinks so we don’t need to wipe up the floor after me?”

“Sure.” Jenny poured out four glasses.

Claire took a sip and turned to Brad. “Pit Snyder was arrested last night for the murder of your father. I wanted you to know. He has not confessed to this murder, however, which surprises me. Have you had a chance to think about what happened that night?”

Brad was silent for a moment, pulling himself in, and then he spoke. “I told you what I knew.”

“You told me that Pit was there. Who else was around your father? Did you see anyone else?”

“No, no, no.” Brad shook his head like he was drowning. “I don’t think Pit killed my father. I know he wouldn’t.”

“Brad, you didn’t answer my question. Did you see anyone else?”

“No,” said Jenny. “We didn’t.”

“I thought you were having trouble remembering what happened, Jenny. Is it coming back to you?”

“I don’t remember seeing anyone else. And Brad would know for sure. He didn’t even drink a beer that night.”

Claire felt like she was getting noplace. They weren’t going to give her any more information about what happened, so she decided to take a different tack.

“I’ve been hearing a lot about your mother’s death.”

Jenny’s head lifted up like that of a deer on the alert.

Claire went on. “That must have been a horrible thing to watch happen to your mother. Do you still have the sorghum press on the farm?”

Brad nodded. “Yeah, it’s out back in the woodshed. It weighs about a million pounds, and Dad was always too lazy to get rid of it.”

“Can I go take a look at it?”

Brad shrugged his shoulders and gave her an odd look. “I guess so. I don’t know why you’d want to see it. Mr. Snyder came out a few days after Mom died and hosed all the blood off of it and helped move it back in the shed. There’s really nothing to see.”

“I’ve never seen a sorghum press.”

“I’ll show you the way.” Brad stood up.

“Jenny, why don’t you come with us?”

“I need to help Mrs. Gunderson.”

Mrs. Gunderson waved her hand. “You can go along, Jenny. I’ll sit here and take a break until you get back.”

Brad led the way. They walked through tall grass until they came to an old shed that had lost all its paint and had weathered dark brown. A rusted metal roof seemed to be holding it together. A stack of wood filled the wall floor to ceiling, but behind it Claire could see a large machine.

“That’s it,” Brad said and pointed to the press.

Jenny stood near him with her arms crossed over her chest. She looked up in the rafters. “Barn swallows.” She pointed a nest out for Claire.

“Could you show me how it worked?” Claire asked Brad.

“I’m sure it’s too rusted to work.”

“Just explain it to me.” Claire walked back toward the hulking machine, stepping over piles of wood. Three metal cylinders sat in a large wooden frame with a huge metal cog on the side. It was nearly as tall as she was.

Brad and Jenny reluctantly followed her.

“Where would you put the sorghum stalks in?”

Brad pointed to between the rollers. “They would go in here. The juice would flow out the bottom, and the remains of the stalks would get spit out the other end.”

“What were you doing that day?”

Brad answered, “I was helping Dad bring the stalks.”

“What were you doing, Jenny?”

“I was watching the juice come out the bottom and telling Mom when we needed to change buckets for the juice.”

“Where was Nora?”

“She was in taking a nap. She had a headache,” Jenny explained.

Claire leaned against the sorghum press. “What happened?”

Jenny looked at Brad. He looked at the ground.

“How did your mother happen to fall into the press?”

“It happened so fast—” Brad started.

Jenny interrupted. “Brad, we can tell now. Not that it matters. Dad’s dead. He can’t do anything to us.”

Brad swallowed and looked at Claire. “If you want to know what really happened—he pushed her.”

“Your dad did?”

“Yeah, Dad hit our mom on the back as she was feeding in the sorghum. I don’t know if he meant her to fall forward, but she did. He hit her hard, and she reached out with her hands to stop her fall, and they went into the rollers. They went into the press. Her hands were squished. I ran to stop the machine. She didn’t even scream. Her face went blank, then white, and she fainted. The pain must have been so intense.” Brad was crying by now. “See, you can’t get the press to back up. There isn’t a way it does that. So we couldn’t get her hands out. We had to pull her away from the machine. We wrapped her arms in a blanket we had out here. Dad took off his belt and my belt and cinched them around her arms. We loaded her in the car. She sat in the back with Jenny and me. Dad drove. But before we left the farm—”