A Tribute To A Century Old Woman

We lost the head of our family December 5, 2020. We were so fortunate to have Minnie Risner in our family for a 100 years. I realized a few years ago she had many stories to tell so I wrote a book about her life. Some families will think about parts of a loved one's life after they died and have questions, but it's too late. Hopefully, Minnie's family will never have to wonder about anything that happened to Minnie, because their questions were answered. Minnie was an amazing Christian, wife, mother, and friend who excelled at anything she did. She led by example for her family and anyone else who knew her, and she was loved by everyone. At age 9, she was in the timber picking greens for her mother to cook and found a pretty wildflower she just had to have. She dug it up and transplanted it in a tin can. An aunt saw how much Minnie prized that flower and asked if she could buy it. Minnie refused to sell. That was the beginning of her love for plants. She was taught by her mother about gardening and her Grandmother Jewell about flowers. She picked up knowledge along the way by reading to share with others. She was our Master Gardener. During warm weather, her company received a tour of her bountiful garden and beautiful flowers that she was so proud of. The next thing to do was sit on the front porch in the shade and drink ice tea while they visited. Turning fourteen was the beginning of Minnie's growing up. School ended at eighth grade in Risner Big Rock one-room schoolhouse. The school sat next to Risner Big Rock House, the home of her future husband, Henry. Minnie became good friends with the young school teacher who lived with the Risners. In the spring and fall, the school was let out for six weeks so the children could help in the fields. The spring of her fourteen year, Minnie planted corn for her Grandpa Harvey Phillips and her Uncle Jim while they prepared the soil and laid out the rows. Minnie was so quick at planting she had time to fish in the Myatt River while she waited on the next row to be laid off. One time she caught a very large fish and was very excited when she pulled it out of the water. She ran back to her grandpa to get help to carry the fish. In Arkansas's summer heat, Minnie hoed her father's cotton field. She helped her father with the milking, and her mother prepared her to be the immaculate housewife she became by teaching her cooking, canning, housework, and sewing. Life for children was harder a 100 years ago and death was an accepted part of their life at an early age. At ten, Minnie went with her mother to her Aunt Emma's house to help sew clothes for stillborn twins. As soon as the twins were dressed, Minnie was allowed to see how well the garment she sewed looked on one of the babies. In her teen years, she sat at the bedside of a very sick friend with other teens until the boy died. All preparation for doing the same through her adult years. Children didn't get allowance so during the winter Minnie set box traps and caught rabbits. She could kill the rabbits herself, skin, gut them and hang the hides and carcases on the clotheslines to freeze. She had customers in town who bought the meat, and someone bought the furs. She went on to become a good shot with a 22 rifle, because they lived in an area where poisonous snakes crawled in the yard, and blacksnakes were after her chickens and eggs. When company came for a meal, Minnie usually fixed fresh fried chicken. There weren't any freezers or refrigerators because they didn't have electricity, and they were lucky if they had an icebox. Minnie had a flock of chickens. The hens laid out, hatched chicks that became her chicken dinners. The lot the chickens were in grew grass as tall as the chickens. Just their heads showed when they stood up. Minnie got as close as she dared, sighted a rooster, and shot. He went down. She hurried to the spot, knowing she had work ahead of her before the company came. She had to scald and pick off the feathers, cut the rooster up and get him in the skillet. She was so glad she hit the rooster on the first shot, but when she picked him up she realized he was her flock rooster which wasn't good. She wouldn't have more chicks hatch that summer, and the tough rooster wouldn't fry well. She'd have to stew him or fix chicken and noodles. Minnie was a great cook, but there was one time when she had made a cake that failed. In her day, there weren't cake mixes so she mixed a cake up from scratch, expecting her sister Ethel and Ethel's husband, Frandell Risner, who was Henry's brother. Minnie was hurrying and forgot the baking powder in the cake. The cake was flat when it baked. Minnie didn't want her company to see that horrible cake. Frandell would have teased her. So she threw the cake back under the front porch and made another cake. Her company came and she went outside to greet them. The family dog came out from under the porch dragging her cake like it was a delicious bone. Minnie had to confess what happened. In Minnie's teenage years, she did have some fun times, and she was competitive. She'd find out when the neighborhood boys were going to have a horse race. She was so petite she had to climb on a tree stump to slide on her dad's plow horse. Minnie would take off to the country road to enter the race. More times than not she won the races. I teased her it was a wonder she found a husband. She was always better than the boys at what they did. At fourteen, Minnie was playing hide and seek. She hid in her father's barn loft where she could see the tree that was base out through a loft window. When the coast was clear, she decided the quickest, least-watched way to get to base was to jump from the loft into the horse manager of hay and climb out the barn window. She didn't have the plan well thought out. The distance down from the loft was more than she thought, the hay manager wasn't as full of soft hay as she thought, and she broke her right leg. They didn't have a car so her father Fred went to the neighbor and asked him to drive them to the doctor. So for months, Minnie wore a cast which slowed her down. Trips to the doctor and shopping were made in the farm wagon in those days. Minnie had something in common with George Washington. She couldn't tell a lie. When it came to questioning her about her health, she wasn't a complainer, and she didn't want to confide in anyone if she was ailing. She didn't like going to doctors or taking medicine. She wasn't raised that way a hundred years ago in the heal yourself days with herbs from the timber. So I'd asked if she was feeling okay. Minnie would give me a thin lipped smile and a slight nod yes. I soon figured out, she didn't consider that a lie when she didn't speak. Knowing that I confided in the last doctor she had so the doctor knew to watch the answer she got from Minnie. Minnie had lived long enough to give sage advice when asked. I bent her ear more than once, and wish I had written down what she told me. The only advice I remember is when I told Minnie someone had given me something I didn't really want, but I took it because I didn't want to hurt the person's feeling. Minnie said, "That was good you did that, because that person may give you something next time that you really like." At fourteen, Minnie was baptised in the Myatt River next to her future husband's childhood home and the school they both attended. Minnie always liked to read. Her favorite book up to then was Uncle Tom's Cabin until she was given her first Bible. She had read her Bible through many times. When we cleaned her house out, we found Minnie never had a Bible she didn't like. We knew that from her collections of them scattered around the house. She taught Sunday School and in the late 1980s when Henry and Minnie moved back south for four years, Minnie opened up the country church at Pleasant Valley they used to attend and became the lay preacher there. Her mother was the song leader. I'd always found Minnie meek and soft-spoken. I was surprised to see her stand in front of a congregation and preach. Her knowledge of the Bible gave her the confidence to deliver the message. Minnie believed in the power of prayer. She kept an updated prayer list and before she went to bed, she prayed for each person on the list. What was amazing to me was when she added President Ronald Reagan to her prayer list after he was shot in the 1980's assassination attempt. That wasn't all, she sent him a letter telling him she was praying for him and a get well card. That got her a card back from the White House from Ronald and Nancy. I didn't know that until I was working on her book. I kept saying who does that? What an amazing thing for her to do. By the way, she still had connections to the White House when she turned 100, because she got a birthday card from President Trump and his wife in September. Minnie looked forward to her family gathering in her large basement family room on every holiday and her birthday. She loved having everyone with her when they all had such busy lives the rest of the time. She'd never learned to drive so she loved outings to our place where we gave her tours of our garden and animals. As soon as we'd eaten, she'd be saying, “You can take me home now when you have time.” She didn't want to stay gone too long just encase she had company. When I wrote Minnie's story I interview relatives and friends. In later years, Minnie attended the Christan Fellowship Church that used to be in Belle Plaine. Her Pastor Jack Andrews told me it never failed when he saw Minnie, he'd say, “How are you today?” She replied, “Aw, like common.” I looked through some of Minnie's Bibles and found this handwritten passage in the back of a scuffed Bible she used so much. I believe she looked to that passage for comfort when her father died. He was not a well man and was severely burned by a grass fire he started. He'd have been in a lot of pain. Today, I think Minnie would again turn to that verse for comfort for herself, and I believe it applies to her. She was in pain from her broken wrist, and weary because at the end of her life she needed so much help at the nursing home. Revelation 21:3-4 "And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, 'Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” One thing I am sure of when Minnie stands before God, if he asks how she is, her reply will be, “Aw, just like common.”

Christmas With Hover Hill by Fay Risner

One more Christmas book to tell you about. I always like adding humor to my stories, and this book has plenty of humor. One of my ideas for the book came from watching NBC Today years ago. A piece was on using robots to work as servants. Another idea I saved was one of many pictures I took at the Kalona Salebarn Carriage sale. They usually had one in the spring and one in the fall. I wanted a supply of horse-drawn pictures to use on my Nurse Hal book covers since I make the covers myself. The most usual horse-drawn item was a Cinderella Coach. I couldn't imagine what it was used for, but I had to have the picture to use someday. Lately, as much as possible, I set my stories in Iowa. So what this book consists of is a robot with an attitude that was a Christmas gift for a Northern Iowa College Professor. She loves her brother but hates the gift. So what caused her to change her mind when she takes off on a leave of absence to parts unknown with a very expensive robot after her brother says he will take the gift back. How does the Cinderella Coach fit into the story? You have to read the book to find out. Sold on Amazon and Barnes and Noble in paperback. Ebook in kindle, nook and smashwords.com

Synopsis Elizabeth Winston grew up not caring about Christmas. This Christmas is going to be much worse than the holidays she and her brother, Scott, shared with her divorced parents. Her former boyfriend, Steven Mitchell, showed up to pester her about renewing their relationship now that his marriage has ended, and Elizabeth vows that is not going to happen. She looks forward to sharing Christmas with her brother, Scott, but he says he won't be able to spend Christmas with her this year. He has a business trip. His present for her is an expensive and obnoxious robot house man by the name of Hover Hill that he says will make life easier for his sister. Just her luck to be stuck with a mechanical man to share the holidays with. To make matters worse, Elizabeth is fit to be tied when she figures out the robot was planted by ex-boyfriend Steven Mitchell to brainwash her into taking him back. Her brother, Scott, betrayed her when he helped Steven by saying the robot was his gift. She's so mad at both men she slips out of town, taking Steven's expensive robot with her and leaving her old life behind only to walk into a new set of problems. She just wanted to hide out for six months, but that isn't easy in small Wickenburg, Iowa. Gossip about her flies faster than the rumors that come out of the Silver Dollar Tavern. Susie, at the Maidrite Diner, bragged to her customers she got a good look at the handsome man that Elizabeth is shacking up with. The minster's wife complained local farmer, Bud Carter, hasn't been to church for a month of Sundays. She wondered what his problem was. Holly, from the Antique Store, said the reason why is Bud's spending more time at the pretty newcomer's house in the country than he is at his place. The grocery store checker said Elizabeth acts nervous like she's hiding out from someone. If Steven Mitchell or her brother comes to town looking for her, with all the attention Elizabeth is getting now, she fears all they have to do is ask, and they can get directions from anyone in town to the old Carter house before she makes it through Christmas With Hover Hill.

Christmas is near, and most of us are staying home looking for something to keep us busy. If you're looking for holiday stories, here is one I wrote. I save ideas just in case some day I might be able to write a whole story. I'd never paid much attention to the bucket list idea until I was in Walmart one day. I was in the restroom, trying to the the automatic soap dispenser to put soap in my hand. After several swipes under the dispenser, a shopper came up beside me and used the dispenser by her. I asked, "How did you get soap? I can't make this dispenser work." It tickled the woman. She swiped her hand again and said, "Just like this." She had a hand full of foamy soap, but the procedure she used looked to me about like what I had been doing. Oh, well, I'd try again. I swiped and had a handful of soap. The woman smiled. "There you go. You can take that off your bucket list." We both laughed, and she disappeared. Suddenly, I'm looking at myself in the mirror and wondering why I looked like I should have a bucket list. So when I wanted to write a story, I went through my saved ideas, came up with one and still mulling over I should have a bucket list, I came up with this story. The poem was a Christmas gift from a nephew that I had saved. I felt it went along with this story. You might find this book different than most Christmas stories, but I think you will like it. Paperback books are found at Amazon and Barnes and Noble in 12 font and large print. The ebooks are in Kindle, Nook, and smashwords.com.

When Leona Krebsbach found out just before Thanksgiving she didn't have long to live, she took charge of her life like she had always done since the doctor thought she might die in a month. She bought a small spiral notepad and titled it Christmas Bucket List. On each page of the notepad, Leona listed something she needed to get done while she still had time. Details like her funeral headed the list. She didn't want to leave anything for her daughters to have to worry about after she was gone. She kept her illness a secret until after Thanksgiving when she had all but one thing completed on her bucket list. Finally, she was as ready to die as she was ever going to get. She called her daughters and invited them to a tea party. Now was the time to tell them. At her age with a long life behind her, Leona Krebsbach wished she felt better prepared mentally for the end. She should have been ready to go, because she would be with her beloved Clarence. If only she had managed to atone for that one regretful time that happened so many years ago. If that didn't weigh on her, she knew her mind set would be different, but she couldn't change the past. Even if she wanted to, she didn't have enough time. She reasoned her bucket list wasn't designed to take care of that one regret unless a miracle happened to change Leona's Christmas Bucket List.

Book 12 of the Amazing Gracie Mystery Series. On sale at kindle, nook and smashwords.com and paper back in regular and large print in Barnes and Noble and Amazon. Synosis Gracie Evans wasn't the only one upset when the Locked Rock, Iowa newspaper editor wanted to compete with big city papers by starting a gossip column. Appearing in the gossip column wasn't the way Locked Rock citizens wanted to find themselves in print. That didn't stop the newspaper from selling more copies, because everyone had to find out if they were in the gossip column each week. Shortly after two women were mentioned in the gossip column they were murdered. Gracie Evans suspects a mouse trap drummer who has been going door to door. He has an eye for pretty young women, but Gracie doesn't have proof that he murdered the women. Who wanted to punish the women mentioned in the column by murdering them? Chapter 1 The time was early spring It was a morning in 1906 right after breakfast at Locked Rock, Iowa's Moser Mansion Rest Home for Women. A squirrel scampered across the yard to the maple tree with one of last year's walnuts in its mouth. In flower beds on the block, yellow daffodils and all colors of tulips shimmered in the slight breeze. As usual, the three Moser Mansion residents were lined up in their rockers on the front porch. Melinda Applegate and Madeline Patterford had slipped into quiet reverie with their chins resting on their chests until Gracie Evans's sudden brassy voiced outburst startled them. The two women flinched as they came out of their stupor, trying to make sense of Gracie's explosion. Gracie crumpled up the latest Wednesday copy of the Locked Rock Review newspaper and slapped it on the lap of her dark brown cotton skirt. She rubbed the long, dark gray braid wound around the top her head with an arthritic forefinger as she groused, “This newspaper's new-fangled notions beat everything I ever seen.” Melinda raised a perturbed eyebrow as she watched Gracie mistreat the newspaper. “Gracie, could you be careful with the Locked Rock Review? I haven't had a chance to read it yet.” Madeline patted her dark French knotted hair back in place as she leaned forward in her rocker to look around Melinda. She stared down her long slender nose at Gracie. “Oh brother! This early in the morning and you're already dissatisfied with something. Melinda's right. Take care not to damage the Locked Rock Review just yet. I want my turn to read the newspaper, too.” “Here, take it.” Gracie grouched as she whipped the wrinkled newspaper out at Melinda. As she grabbed the paper, curly, white-haired Melinda said sweetly, “Thank you. Now, what is wrong with the newspaper this time?” Madeline leaned forward again to listen. “The owner, Roy Madison, is going to let the newspaper put in a gossip column. The editor, George Hightower, has a help wanted ad in there to find a person to write the column,” groused Gracie. Melinda groaned. “That is too bad. Maybe no one will apply for the job. I'm surprised at Mr. Madison. As the owner of the newspaper, you would think he wouldn't want to do such a column in this small-town newspaper. Hopefully, he will change his mind if he hears enough complaints against such a column.” Madeline shook her head. “Oh, brother! That won't happen, Melinda. Moxie Applegate told me when I was at the library last Wednesday she heard the editor has quit the newspaper over a dispute with the owner. He's just waiting for the new editor to arrive from out east before he leaves. I gathered from Moxie that the man tried to stop Mr. Madison from running the gossip column and was ordered to do so or quit. So he quit. A new man is arriving all the way from Boston to take over. Moxie understood Mr. Madison said the new editor can do what he wants with the newspaper. He's giving the man free rein. Mr. Madison is hoping that the man will be able to increase sales with his fresh ideas. That's what Moxie said.” “This is the first I've heard of a shake-up at the newspaper. You sure were quiet about it,” Gracie declared. “Really, I hadn't heard about this either. Is this so, Madeline?” Melinda gasped. Madeline shrugged her shoulders. “Really, and I'll have you know I didn't know there would be anything note-worthy about what happens with the newspaper's staff coming and going. So Gracie you might as well get used to changes in the newspaper and expect more of them to come that we aren't used to reading about. This eastern editor will be doing things the way they're done out east. In that area, the large city newspapers have had gossip columns in them for some time.” “Guess that explains why the editor said the reporter of the gossip column would remain anonymous. In a small town like this, reporting dirt on friends and neighbors could very well get a person tared and feathered some dark night. It must be a whole different situation when the big cities out east do it,” Gracie surmised with a grunt. “Why is it so different?” Melinda asked. “In the large cities, the newspapers can talk about anyone they want. With the population being as large as it is, not as many people know the people getting talked about in the gossip column so it doesn't matter,” Gracie surmised. “Well, I expect it matters to the people who are mentioned in the newspaper,” Melinda declared. “Right,” Madeline added. “What is put in those gossip columns are never anything nice, and usually ruins reputations. There's no undoing what is said in print.” “That's true for sure,” Melinda agreed. “But I wonder what gossip there would be in a gossip column for a small town like this one which would surprise anyone. All we have to do is talk to our friends to find out what is going on with other people in town.” Madeline began her rocker in slow motion. “The newspaper we took in New York had mostly stories about what man was stepping out on his wife with another woman.” “Well, you know what they say?” Gracie rubbed the arm of her rocker as she studied the street down to Main Street. “I'm afraid I'm going to be sorry, but no, Gracie, what do they say?” Melinda asked with her left eyebrow raised. Gracie looked down her nose at the curly, white-haired woman beside her. “If everything is all right in the hen house, men don't have to borrow eggs from the next-door neighbor woman.” “Really, Gracie. I don't think I have ever heard that saying before. What does borrowing eggs from a neighbor have to do with a man cheating on his wife,” Melinda declared. “Melinda, Gracie is trying to say the man didn't go next door to get just eggs from the woman who lived there,” Madeline explained. Melinda's face turned beet red. “Oh? Ohhh!” “Gracie you've been single your whole life. And you are an expert on married men who cheat on their wives how?” Madeline asked. “Just going by what I've seen around here over the years,” Gracie said quietly. Madeline snapped, “Well, I can tell you what I know about a newspaper in the big city. My brother wound up in one of the newspapers in New York. That paper had a very mean gossip column, and my brother was in it.” “Was he running around on his wife or was the gossip column wrong?” Gracie asked. Madeline slowly nodded. “Well yes, my brother was guilty of cheating on his wife, but the awful experience of having the multitude of readers in that newspaper know a shameful thing like that about my brother proved to be an embarrassment to my whole family.” “Oh my! Madeline, I am so sorry to hear that happened to you,” Melinda commiserated. “Gracie must be right. That just goes to show you a gossip column is a bad thing to have in our newspaper.” “Well, that is all past history. My brother said he was sorry for what he did. He made up with his wife after he was exposed in the newspaper and remained faithful after that. I got over it. So did the rest of the family, because we love my brother and his wife and their children,” Madeline shared. “If getting caught made things better in the long run for your brother and his family maybe it wasn't such a bad thing,” Gracie declared. “Thanks to my sister-in-law's forgiving nature, my brother turned out to be a good example. That is if there is such a thing when people's mistakes have been aired in the newspaper. Plenty of families were split apart and their lives ruined by such news leaking out in the gossip column,” Madeline declared. “The subscribers never forget bad rumors they read about someone they know.” “Guess we will have to wait until next week and see if anyone applies for the job,” Gracie said. “Maybe we're worrying for nothing. We may not be the only ones in this town that think Roy Madison has a bad idea. What the readers ought to do is speak up and tell him to forget the gossip column.” For once, Melinda and Madeline nodded agreement with Gracie. “If we hear anyone mention they feel the same way we do, we should tell them to threaten to drop their subscription to the newspaper if a gossip column is put in it,” Madeline decided. “That is a good idea. Gracie, wasn't there any good news in the newspaper?” Melinda asked. “Find out for yourself. It's in your lap,” Gracie said as she leaned back in her rocker. “Fine! Hopefully, I can make heads or tails out of the news if I can make out the words in the crinkled places.” Melinda narrowed her eyes as she scanned passed pages one and two to the third page. “Here is Moxie Applegate's social column. It's always interesting. She says Thad Sawyer and his wife Ivy were in town Saturday to do their shopping. The seed corn salesman has been making his rounds of the farms with corn for farmers to plant. Sunday night was a shivaree at the Cloy Smith home for their daughter, Renee, and her new husband, Roy Hansen. Folks said they had trouble hearing the next day after listening to all the pot banging, but they sure had fun. Mr. and Mrs. Elmer Scancot had supper at the Lyle and Mary Kroy home.” Melinda laid the newspaper down. “Not anything harmful in Moxie's column. That's for sure. It's always nice to read about what other people in the area are doing.” “Depends who you are,” Madeline said, grinning. “From what I heard after church last Sunday when women gathered to visit, there was one person who felt slighted by Thad Sawyer. A neighbor to the Sawyers said usually the couple stop by her house on the way into town to take her sister and her along with them. Or at least get their order for groceries so the Sawyers can stop by with the groceries on their way home. They hadn't done it, and she was miffed, thinking they slipped by her house on purpose so as not to bother with them.” Gracie defended the renter of her Three Oaks farm. “Thad probably was in a hurry to get back to planting corn. He didn't have time to fool around in town waiting for two old women and his wife while they all tried to get their shopping done.” Madeline continued, “Well, Elmer Scancot's sister, Eunice Smith, was telling the Hopwood sisters that Elmer and his wife haven't been to visit with her, their own kin, in months. She saw in the newspaper's social column when they do come to town they spend an evening with the Kroys. Listening to them complain tells me that even Moxie's social column isn't all that great if people read it and get riled up at others.” Gracie and Melinda didn't have a defense for Moxie so they relaxed back in their rockers and closed their eyes, pretending to nap. After lunch, the Moser women decided to walk to the library uptown. Moxie Applegate had extended the library hours to all day Wednesday since Locked Rock was growing in size and there was more interest in the library. It was a beautiful spring afternoon to be outside. The walk was just a little over a block long and good exercise if Gracie was to believe Madeline. The women waved at people in their buggies as they rolled by and shouted a greeting to people sitting on their front porches. Locked Rock, Iowa was never very busy on a Wednesday, and this afternoon wasn't any different. Saturdays were sale days when crowds showed up in town. The farmers and their wives called Saturday trading day when they came in to trade their excess vegetables, fruit, eggs, and grain for groceries and livestock feed. Men stood in groups in front of the stores. They discussed the weather, commodity prices, and how well their corn crop was doing. When that subject was exhausted, they spun a few tall tales while they waited for their wives. “If the library is as busy as usual this afternoon, we should get some opinions about the gossip column in the newspaper from some of the other women,” Madeline said and got agreeable nods from the other two women. “Remember, Gracie, we're going to tell anyone that complains that they should stop buying the newspaper,” Melinda reminded her. Gracie grouched, “I'll remember.” As they crossed the street, Gracie walked in the middle of the group. Melinda was waving energetically by the time Gracie looked her way. “Who are you waving at?” “Donald Jackson. See, he's waving back,” Melinda said quietly. Gracie humphed. “Business must not be very good if he has the time to stand in the doorway watching people go by.” “The way I got it from Lois Harwood at church Sunday, the dressmaker's business is so good he has hired three dressmakers to help him out,” Madeline informed them. Gracie eyed Madeline. “Is gossip all you do with women after church?” “Those discussions weren't the same type of gossip as the newspaper plans to print,” Madeline defended. “Really, the dressmaking business is that good these days?” Melinda whispered, perking up as she turned toward the store. “We should go over there and look in his shop window to see the latest fashions. You know he changes the clothes in that window with the seasons.” Madeline was all for that. “Let's do it. The winter selection will be put away by now and the new spring fashion on display.” “What do you think, Gracie?” Melinda asked when Gracie didn't offer to walk toward the dress shop. Gracie was studying Madeline again. “It has occurred to me we don't need to read the newspaper for gossip. All we have to do is stand in the same group of women after church that Madeline visits with if we want to know what is going on around here.” “Oh, brother!” Madeline hissed. Melinda groaned. “Gracie, Madeline won't share any news with us at all if you keep aggravating her. How about looking at the latest fashions in the window?” “All right, but can't we go to the library first?” Gracie complained as she studied the pale-faced, beady-eyed man with a walrus mustache leaning against the door facing with his legs crossed at the ankles. “No, we can do that afterward,” Melinda said, all excited about what she'd see in the dress shop window. Madeline sided with Melinda. “This won't take long. Perhaps, there will be an outfit that strikes your fancy, Gracie.” Melinda snickered as Gracie grunted, “That will be the day.” The women liked to tease Gracie for her lack of fashion sense. The elderly, former farmer always stuck with her usual outfits, a tan blouse and a brown full cotton skirt. Her friends knew that about her and liked to point it out to her every time they had a chance. “You have choices, Gracie,” Melinda said sweetly. “You can wait here until we come back, and go on in the library. We'll meet you there, or you can come with us now.” Madeline and Melinda looked both ways to make sure they wouldn't get run over and headed across the street. “I'm coming with you.” With a glum look on her face, Gracie tagged along behind. “Good afternoon, ladies,” the dress shop owner greeted politely in his monotone voice. “Good afternoon, Mr. Jackson,” replied Melinda. Madeline added her greeting and explained, “We wanted to check out the fashions in the window.” “Go right ahead, ladies. I just put the latest spring garments out for display,” Mr. Jackson said as he waved his hand at the window. Gracie shifted until she was behind the other two looking over their shoulders as they stared through the window. “Is that not a pretty dress to wear to church?” Melinda asked with awe in her voice as she stared at a soft, white lawn dress with long sleeves and a full ankle-length skirt. Madeline pointed at the dress next to Melinda's choice. “I'm rather partial to the dark blue one with the slim-fitting skirt. Do you have a favorite, Gracie?” “Nope! Nothing here in my style. Can we go now?” Gracie hissed. “Ladies, I have your sizes on file. Any time you are ready to order a dress of your choosing it can be made in a week's time,” Donald Jackson pitched. “That's fast,” Madeline declared. “I've hired three new dressmakers to help me get garments ready faster,” Mr. Jackson declared. Melinda smiled at the shop owner. “Well, let me think about it, Mr. Jackson.” “I agree. I do have plenty of clothes. I just like the excitement of wearing something no one has seen me in before,” Madeline said. “Can we go now?” Gracie insisted, not daring to look at the store owner as she tugged on Melinda's white blouse sleeve. She was sure he was frowning at her. Probably blaming her for him losing a sale. “Guess we better,” Melinda said with a sigh. “Thanks so much for letting us look and dream,” Madeline declared, smiling at Mr. Jackson. Gracie glanced his direction then before she could turn her back on him, Mr. Jackson's mouth curved into a weak twitch. Gracie assumed that was the best grin he could bring forth at the moment. His pale blue eyes seemed to ice over as he eyed her, giving Gracie an inner shiver like a cold north breeze had struck her. After they were out of hearing as they crossed the street, Gracie said in a hushed voice to the other two, “I don't know how you two can stand to be around that man. He gives me the creeps.” “That is just your opinion, Gracie. He's a nice man and has always been polite to me,” Melinda disputed. “I agree,” Madeline said, siding with Melinda. “Besides, he is always up to date on the fashions from out east. Women in this town appreciate his sense of fashion. We would all look like frumps without him updating our wardrobes. Just ask anyone.” Gracie shrugged her shoulders. “I still say there is something strangely off about a man who prefers to own a business that sells women's unmentionables.” “Oh, brother,” Madeline snapped. “That's just one sideline to having a dress business.” “Right,” Melinda agreed. “We need someone to buy underwear from so it is a good thing that Mr. Jackson sells such things.” “I can't help it. Even the fact that the man has all of our body sizes written down seems creepy to me. I prefer to sew my own unmentionables like I always have,” Gracie hissed as Melinda opened the library door. From behind Melinda and Gracie, Madeline grumbled, “Gracie, you're like a spit in the wind. What you say can easily blow back to splat your face if you don't keep your opinion to yourself.” “Enough you two. Someone might hear you,” hissed Melinda as the entry door hinges creaked when she opened the door. Quickly she turned a smile on as most of the women turned from the shelves of books to see who entered. And this is how the tale of the Locked Rock, Iowa gossip column murders began.

Jacob's Spirit - 4th and last installment.

Chapter 13 Two weeks later Ellen decided after morning chores, it was time she weeded her flower bed in front of the house. Lambquarters and dandelions were about to overshadow the flowers. She stepped out on the porch and breathed in deeply. Nothing beat the fresh country air mingled with a hint of mowed hay and fresh-cut grass in the house yard. From the cheeps and chirps coming out of the trees and bushes, the birds sounded like they loved the day as much as she did. Wrens flew in and out of the two wren houses Jack hung in the lilac and spirea bushes. Those spunky little birds were favorites of Ellen's. She loved to hear them chortle when they were happy. They made her laugh when they were irritated. The way they darted at her with warning chatter made her duck when she came too close to their birdhouses while she was mowing the yard. She didn't blame them for being very protective of their nests. Splotches and the other cats were always on the prowl for baby birds that fell out of the nests. The land was flat so Ellen could see for over a mile, but that wouldn't be for very long. She could row the corn plants in the fields right now. The corn stalks grew fast and would soon be so tall she wouldn't be able to see any activity in the neighborhood unless it was right in front of her driveway. Ellen listened to the cattle bawl to their scampering calves in the pasture behind the barn. The worried cows were telling their calves to slow down and stay close. The fat hogs nosed feeder lids up to eat and let the lids fall with a tinny bang when they backed away. Once in a while, a bossy hog would squeal roughly at another one. The rooster crowed often and clucked to his hens to join him when he found a swarm of juicy bugs. Pleasant country sounds to a farmer and his wife. Once she sank to her knees in front of the house, Ellen pulled the weeds and sprigs of grass from around the yellow and orange marigolds as she hummed Ain't No Mountain High Enough. She'd heard Diana Ross sing that song on the radio. A disturbance among a flock of crows pecking at gravels in the road and at corn spilled from a grain truck made Ellen curious. She twisted to look over her shoulder toward the road. Something caused a squirrel to scamper up a buckeye tree at the end of the driveway. She put her attention back on the flower bed until she heard gravel crunch under a slow-moving car's tires behind her in the driveway. That was what was the matter with the crows and the squirrel. A car had slowed down to turn in. The shiny black Buick drove close to the house and stopped. Two women were in the front seat. The driver's side window whined down as Ellen stood up and slapped the dust off her knees. “Hello,” called a lady dressed in a fashionable, navy blue pantsuit and white ruffled blouse. “Good morning,” returned Ellen as she shaded her eyes from the sun and walked to the car. “Can I help you?” “I'm Susan Chester. Years ago, this farm used to be my mother's childhood home when her family homesteaded the farm. We were driving by, and Mother thought she'd like to see the place one more time. Would you mind if Mother and I looked around?” The driver asked. She opened the door and turned sideways so her black loafered feet touched the ground. “No, I don't mind at all,” Ellen said. “As a matter of fact, I'd love to hear the history of this farm. I know very little about it.” “Thank you so much. Wait until I help Mother out. She's going to be delighted by this.” As Susan rushed around the car, Ellen noted she had dark brown hair with gray threaded through it. If Ellen guessed right Susan looked to be in her fifties. Standing against the open door, Susan helped her mother from the car. The frail, short, elderly lady supported herself with a wooden, ornately carved cane. Susan held a protective hand on her mother's elbow to help her walk across the gravel driveway. Slowly they walked around the front of the car toward Ellen. Susan introduced, “This is my mother, Alice Reasoner. Her family name was Stonebaker. Ellen stuck her hand out to shake hands with the older woman. “Nice to meet you, Alice. I'm Ellen Carter. My husband, Jack, and I own this farm now. We've lived here fifteen years.” The woman's eyes saddened as she stared at the fairly new, ranch style home. “I wish I had stopped in sooner. This isn't the house I lived in with my family.” “No, but we lived in the same house you did when we first moved here so I know what the two-story house was like. We tore the old house down a few years back. It was in need of a lot of expensive repairs when we moved in. We decided it was wiser to build a new house,” Ellen explained. “I took plenty of pictures of that house before we had it demolished. If you would like to have copies of them, I'd be glad to get them made for you.” Alice smiled at her. “Yes, I believe I would. Looking at pictures would be nice to help refresh my memory since I don't recall as good as I once did.” “You have a nice home,” Susan complimented. “Thank you, we like it. Leave an address with me so I can send you the pictures when I get them developed.” Ellen replied. Susan smiled. “I'd be glad to.” Ellen suggested, “Maybe we can walk behind the house for a better view of the farm site if you would like that. At least, you can see as far as the corn and bean fields. Behind them is the hayfield and pasture where we keep the cattle.” She led the women to the back yard. That gave them a full view of the outbuildings and the flat Iowa farm fields that once belonged to Alice's family. The sheep had bedded down in the shade of the barn and were chewing their cuds. They rose at the sound of strange voices and headed single file to the pasture. Susan pointed at the sheep. “Quite a flock of sheep you have there. Oh look, Mother, see the cute lambs.” When her mother didn't answer, she looked at her to see why. Alice turned her head one way then the other with her full concentration on the surroundings. “Susan, it's hard to believe how things have changed.” Astonishment filled the elderly woman's voice as she recalled the way the farm looked in her youth close to a century ago. “The outbuildings are gone that stood over that way.” The woman pointed near the barn. “Pa had a tool shed and chicken house next to the barn.” She pointed at the grass beyond there. “What now is your sheep pasture used to be a large grove of walnut trees and apple trees of several varieties. We kids picked the nuts up. What we didn't crack and pick out for Mom to use to bake with, we sold to earn money. Part of the apples Mom canned into applesauce. She had us pick the red delicious apples by the pails full and carry them down to the root cellar. It set just west of the house. We poured the apples in bins, and they lasted us all winter. My oh my! What a treat those apples were during the winter when Mom gave them to us on special occasions. On years when we had a plentiful bounty, there were plenty of apples left to sell. We were a large family, and my folks were always looking for ways to make money.” The elderly woman twisted on her cane and grew solemnly quiet as she stared at the barn. Her face saddened. “Is something wrong, Mother?” Susan asked. “My brother, Jacob, fell off that old barn's steep roof and died.” Chapter 14 “That is sad. Mother, you never told me before that you lost a brother to an accident. How did it happen?” Susan asked. “Jacob wanted to help the men re-roof the barn so bad he pestered Papa to let him help. Papa said no. He told the boy he was too young to be up that high with the men. Jacob wasn't one to give up if he wanted something. He was stubborn that way. So he kept wheedling Papa until when the neighbor men came to help with the roof our papa gave in. He said Jacob could help put the tin sheets on. My brother was thirteen if I remember correctly. My oh my, that happened so long ago, but that dreadful day feels like it happened yesterday in my head. I was two years older than he was. It was a day that stuck with every member of my family until the day they died. Jacob was so proud when Dad handed him his own hammer and a nail apron of his very own just like the grownups. He put that apron on and filled it with roofing nails. Then he strutted around in front of the men to show them his apron, bulging with nails. Only Papa never thought about Jacob being a boy who never did know any fear. If he'd had time to give his decision a second thought he'd have told Jacob to stay on the ground where he belonged. For the rest of his life, Papa said many times he sure wished he had done just that. Jacob always liked high places. He would climb higher in the apple trees than the rest of us to pick the apples. He shinnied up the walnut trees just like a squirrel to shake the limbs so the nuts would fall for us to pick up. Poor Mom missed Jacob so much after he was gone. If she knew the tricks he pulled, she'd have tanned his hide good for doing them stunts. If she had known how that day was going to end, she sure would have told Papa to keep Jacob off the barn roof. Anyway, Papa did tell the boy he didn't want to catch Jacob climbing up on the high pitch, but my brother didn't listen. As soon as Papa wasn't looking, Jacob climbed up to the pitch of the roof to work. He lost his balance and slid all the way down and plummeted off the barn. It was right over there in front of that barn door where he landed.” Alice pointed to the door that Ellen let the sheep out of each morning. She continued, “When Jacob hit the hard barnyard ground, he lit wrong on his leg, and it snapped.” Ellen gasped as she remembered the little boy she saw sitting in that very spot with a broken leg. Alice and Susan focused on her. “Oh, I was just thinking how terrible that was for him. Do you remember how Jacob dressed?” “Sure, he wore what all other boys did back then. A chambray shirt and overalls,” Alice replied. “Did he have a straw hat?” Ellen asked. Alice nodded. “Of course, he did. All the men and boys wore a straw hat in them days. They were out in the sun most days. Why do you want to know that?” Ellen knew she sounded too eager so she said casually, “I was just trying to picture your brother on the ground. Do you happen to have a picture of him?” Alice nodded. “No, cameras cost a lot of money in those days. We couldn't afford one.” “Mother, go on with your story,” Susan encouraged. Ellen patted the elderly woman's shoulder. “Yes, I am so sorry I interrupted you, Alice.” “Where was I? Oh, yes, the women fixing a meal in the kitchen heard Jacob scream all the way to the house from the barn. They dropped their spoons and knives and boiled out of the house to run to the barn to see what happened. The men and my other brothers scrambled down the ladders and gathered around Jacob. Everybody watched as Papa gathered the little fellow in his arms and followed along as Papa carried him to the house as fast as he could. Jacob was in bad shape, and my folks had their hands full taking care of their hurting youngun, crying, and moaning like he did. The neighbors stood around on the front porch for a while, talking, and waiting for news of Jacob's condition. Finally, they decided to go home and come back another day. Oh, they could have finished roofing the barn right there and then that day, but the banging would be loud and irritating to an anxious family and a hurting boy. You can imagine how all that banging would sound to an upset family I reckon.” Ellen thought about how she'd felt while she listened to the banging noises she'd heard for months. “You bet! I can agree that would be annoying all right. The neighbor men were just being thoughtful.” “Yes, we had good neighbors back in them days,” Alice assured her. “What happened to Uncle Jacob after that, Mother?” Susan asked. “Yes, finish the story,” Ellen encouraged. “Well, Jacob's shin bone poked clean through the skin about halfway up his lower leg. It was a horrible sight for all of us to see. I'll never forget it, and the rest of my brothers and sisters said the same thing. The poor little guy was in so much pain it hurt the rest of us to hear him crying. We felt so helpless since we didn't have a close doctor in them days. We all took turns caring for his needs and sitting up with him. Mom and Papa had to tend to Jacob's injury themselves. Papa got the bone set as best he could, but Jacob remained in pain. He groaned, cried, and talked out of his head from the high fever brought on by infection. In a few days, the leg swelled up to three times its normal size. The leg turned black, and the wound oozed green pus under the bandage. We knew he didn't have long to live when Papa told us his leg had blood poisoning in it. He died of what we now know as gangrene a week after the accident.” “How sad for your family.” Ellen patted the woman's bony shoulder. “It was. Jacob was my youngest brother and such a mischievous little guy. Everyone in the family loved him so much.” Alice pointed toward the sheep pasture. “Papa dug the boy's grave over in the back of that pasture under one of those oak trees in that row. I believe it was the third one from the end headed this way. I've looked over this way every time we drive by and think about my brother's grave. It saddens me the wooden cross that marked his grave has been gone for years.” “Mom, the wood would have rotted a long time ago,” Susan said. Alice nodded agreement. “I know.” “You didn't have a funeral for Jacob?” Ellen wanted to know. “Sure we did. Just as luck would have it, we heard a traveling preacher was close by on his circuit. Papa went for him. My folks had Jacob laid out in the parlor in the wooden coffin Papa and my other brothers made him. Neighbors from all around came for the funeral.” Chapter 15 “Why didn't your family bury Jacob in a cemetery?” Ellen asked. “Wasn't a community or church one around. Why, it was miles to the nearest town. Back then, farmers had their own family cemeteries and some let the neighbors bury their family members in them. Papa and Mom migrated here from Germany and homesteaded this farm. Jacob was the first to die in our family, so Papa thought we should have a resting place on our own land. Besides, Papa always felt guilty after that for giving his permission to Jacob to go up on the barn roof. He wanted his son's grave close by so he could go visit the boy when he felt like it. Just to pray over Jacob and tell him how sorry he was for letting him get hurt. Mom always had a yard full of flowers so she'd walk out there often with a bouquet of whatever flowers were blooming at the time. It gave my folks comfort to be able to tend to Jacob's grave. When the depression hit, one of my brothers was having a poor go of it on this farm. My folks lived with him and his family. Finally, my folks lost the farm when they couldn't pay the property taxes. None of the rest of the family died before we moved away, and Papa had never gotten around to putting in a fence around Jacob's grave. My other brothers, sisters, and me had already all grown up and moved away from home. We had families of our own. By then there were well-kept cemeteries for everyone to be buried in. No one in this neighborhood wanted to be buried by Jacob. Once the farm changed hands, it wasn't likely the owners would want a growing cemetery taking up space in their pasture. So Jacob's grave wasn't taken care of after my parents and brother and his family moved. By the time, the farm changed hands a few times more the cross was gone, and the next owners didn't know about the grave. It's been so long now, I guess no one in the neighborhood is left to remember that Jacob is even laid to rest by that tree except me. My generation of the family is about gone and the one before me is gone. My oh my! No one left to care about poor Jacob's resting place.” Alice wiped the back of her hand across her cheeks to dry the tears. The three women stared at the base of the third oak in the row of trees. Each consumed with their own thoughts about the little boy who didn't get to see his fourteenth birthday. Three years before, Ellen buried her border collie, Sherman, in the pasture under the oak tree second from the end. A dreadful thought came to her now that she was reminded of burying her dog. What if she had picked that third tree to bury her dog under and dug down into the rotted coffin? The only reason she didn't choose the third tree was she'd noticed the sunken ground. At the time, she thought the ground looked odd and decided to bury the dog by the next tree. Now she knew a human being was most likely buried in the sunken spot. She vowed she wasn't going to dig in that spot for any reason. She might even let Jack invest in weed spray to kill the thistles in the pasture from now on. It had been her idea to save money by spading off the thistles each spring. Not that she ever spaded deep enough to disturb a grave, but she just didn't like the idea of poking the ground over a grave. It wasn't respectful. “I buried my favorite border collie by the second tree about three years ago,” Ellen shared as she pointed across the pasture. “What happened to him?” Susan asked. “Sherman wasn't trained well enough to follow commands yet. One morning, he happened to see the neighbor's hogs in the cornfield across the road. Before the field was planted, the neighbor let the hogs run. Sherman thought it wasn't right that the hogs were close to the fence. Guess he thought they were going to get out and come over here. He barked and growled, then took off on a dead run. I yelled at him to stop, and he didn't listen. About the time he was in the middle of the road a grain truck loaded with grain barreled down on him and killed him.” “I bet you missed him if you thought enough of him to give him a grave. Just think, the spot you picked is right next to my brother.” Alice smiled as a comforting thought came to her. “Jacob loved dogs. He must be pleased to have a dog resting next to him. He's probably claimed your dog as his own by now.” An image of the boy in pain Ellen saw from the window on that May night flashed through her mind. “Alice, what time of year did you say Jacob's accident happen?” “Early May best I remember. Just when the days began to warm up so the men would be comfortable working on the roof on a sunny day.” The old woman's eyes clouded over at long ago put away memories coming to the surface. “Mother, how old did you say Jacob was?” Asked her daughter. Hoarse from so much talking, Alice croaked, “He turned thirteen in January and thought he was near growed.” Ellen digested the information, thinking that was about the age of the boy she saw. “Alice, which leg did Jacob break?” “Oh my, oh, that was so long ago. I think it was the left one.” Yes! The little boy in front of the barn might have had a broken left leg. Suddenly, the details she saw that night in May and what the elderly woman was describing seemed so eerily similar. Enough so that the very idea made Ellen scared and excited all at the same time. Alice wobbled as she shifted on her cane to face her daughter. “Susan, reckon we better go. I'm getting a bit tired from standing on my feet so long. I need to sit.” “You're welcome to come in and have a cup of coffee with me while you rest. I'd love to visit with you some more,” Ellen invited. Alice shook her head as she trudged on heavy feet toward the car with Susan hanging on to her arm. Her weary voice trembled. “Not this time. I want to thank you for letting me look around though, but it has brought all the sadness back connected with this farm. Believe I just ought to go home and rest.” “Maybe another time for sure, Alice. You are both welcome to visit any time you want,” Ellen assured her. She could see remembering back to a sad time for her family had taken a lot out of the elderly woman. Susan nodded as she helped her mother get seated. “Understand, Mother has buried that story about her brother so deep in her memory, she didn't ever bring it up. Looks like doing so today has taken a lot out of her.” Ellen sighed. “I agree. Poor Alice summoned up a lot of energy to tell us her story. I appreciate that she did.” “Anyway, we both enjoyed the scenic view of the countryside as I drove here today. This is a lovely part of the country. I'd love to bring Mother back for another visit. Maybe next time won't be so hard on her,” Susan replied. “I've always thought this area is pretty. I can see why homesteaders picked here to farm a century ago. You're right about your mother. Now that she has the story of Jacob out in the open, coming here next time will be easier for her,” Ellen said. “Oh, don't forget to give me Alice's address.” “Oh yes. Thanks for reminding me.” Susan opened the glove box and got out a small, black leather box. She opened it up and took out a business card. “I'm an insurance agent. My address is on the card. Mother lives with me now.” “I'll get her the pictures soon,” Ellen assured. She backed out of the way and waved at the car as it moved down the driveway. Chapter 16 About an hour later, Jack's old farm truck rumbled into the driveway and took off toward the outbuildings. Barely able to contain her excitement, Ellen peeked out of the living room window to see which way Jack headed. When she saw him stop the pickup and back up to the feed shed, she ran to tell him she had company while he was in town and what she'd found out. “Guess what happened, Jack?” She spoke in-between pants as she stopped by the back of the pickup. “The hogs got out while I was gone to town after the feed. Sorry you had to get them back in by yourself,” Jack guessed as he concentrated on unloading the feed sacks from the pickup bed. Ellen shook her head as he lifted a sack to his shoulder and took it to the stack inside the feed shed. “No, not this time. I had visitors.” “Who was it?” Jack asked, placing the sack on the stack. He returned to the pickup with his eyes on the next sack. “An older woman and her daughter. The older woman lived here when she was a child.” “What did they want?” Jack lifted the sack onto his shoulder and returned to the shed. “The older woman wanted to walk around the place and reminisce about living here. She liked growing up on this place, but she missed the old house we tore down. It was her childhood home. I told her I'd send her some pictures of it. Remember all those pictures I took inside and out before we had the house razed. They are going to a good cause now.” Jack laid the sack on the stack. “Uh huh, I guess.” “Well, her name was Alice, and she told me the most amazing story about what happened on this farm,” Ellen said, mounting excitement growing in her voice. “That right.” Jack reached for another sack in the pickup bed and walked back to the shed. “Do you want to hear the story or not?” Ellen snapped. She was tired of watching her husband pace back and forth. She wanted him to stop working and pay attention to her. What she had to tell him was important. Jack laid the sack down and headed back. He stopped on his return and focused on her. “Sure, what did she have to say?” “Years ago, her brother, Jacob Stonebaker, was killed when he fell off our barn roof. Well, he didn't exactly die when he fell. His leg broke, and the bone came out of the skin. They didn't have a close doctor, so the wound got gangrene and then Jacob died,” explained Ellen. “Really? That poor kid must have really suffered.” Jack's face scrunched up as he heard the excitement in Ellen's voice. He was curious now. What did she found so exciting about such a sad story? “Really and get this. He turned thirteen in January and fell off the barn in May.” Jack wrinkled his nose at her, not getting the point. “So?” “Don't you see? The banging we've heard started in January and ended in May. The boy's father gave him his own hammer and nail apron. That hammer we found where I saw the little boy sitting in the barnyard has J.S. carved on the handle. I know because I looked the hammer over. That could easily stand for Jacob Stonebaker's initials. Another thing! The older woman said Jacob broke his left leg. Remember the boy I saw that night in front of the barn. I told you his left leg twisted under him like it was broken. Don't you think that's quite a coincidence that I saw a boy who matches the description of Alice's dead brother?” “I might if you hadn't been dreaming while you were sleepwalking that night. I don't believe a spook named Jacob lives in our barn. In fact, I don't believe there are such things as spooks.” Jack threw another sack on to his shoulder and turned his back on Ellen. He was ready to end this weird conversation. “He doesn't live in our barn exactly. Don't you see? He just wanted to finish the roofing job he didn't get done before he fell off the barn and died,” Ellen said, exasperated by Jack's attitude. Jack twisted around half way to the feed shed. “You telling me you do believe in dead people who you can see?” He responded with a serious face. Ellen tried to defend herself. “No, of course, I don't believe in dead people returning, but I have heard stories about such things. There are people who believe such things.” Jack turned around to face at the feed shed door. “Yeah. Sure! Answer me this. Why after all these years would this spook wait until now to suddenly appear?” “Well, I don't know the answer to that, but I happen to think Jacob did return to help roof the barn. His sister said he had looked forward to helping the men and was really eager to get on the roof. Besides, you haven't found out any other reason for the banging noises, have you?” “Nope,” Jack said shortly on his way back to the pickup. “You didn't tell those two women what you think you saw did you?” Ellen slowly shook her head. “No, I wouldn't do that.” Jack looked relieved. “Good! Want to help me unload the rest of the feed?” “No way! I have to start lunch.” Jack didn't appear to believe her. She might as well drop the subject and retreat to the house before he put her to work. That evening after supper, the Carters settled down in the living room. Laid back in his recliner, Jack watched television as usual, and Ellen read her Good Housekeeping Magazine while she rocked. Mid-evening, the banging began in the barn. Bang! Bang! Bang! “Oh no! Jacob is back. Guess I was wrong. He isn't done roofing yet,” Ellen blurted out. Jack scowled at her, causing Ellen to put her hand over her mouth. “I don't know what to think about that overactive imagination of yours, but you have got to stop thinking this nonsense. You just wait here. I'm going to find out what that banging noise is right now and put an end to all this nonsense.” “Don't worry. I haven't any intention of going to the barn with you. I don't want to run into Jacob face to face. The one time I saw that poor little boy spirit with a look of suffering on his face was enough for me,” Ellen assured him. Jack was exasperated by what he thought was his wife's twisted logic. “I am going to prove you wrong once and for all, before you tell the neighbors our barn is haunted. I don't want the word to get around the neighborhood that you are mentally ill. What would people think of us?” “Go ahead and find out for yourself. I'll let you meet Jacob this time. I understand from his sister, Alice, he was a nice little boy but mischievous. He liked monkey antics just like you and playing jokes on his sisters. You two will get along just fine.” Jack waved his hand downward at Ellen as he opened the front door. While he was closing the door, Ellen called, “Tell Jacob I said hi and to knock off the banging. We're tired of listening to it.” Chapter 17 Ellen rocked as she listened to the night time noises outside, filtering through the open window. The tree frogs were in a sing-along with the crickets, and a hawk moth flapped its wings against the screen. She closed her eyes and pictured when Jack entered the barn. The door banged shut. When he flipped the light switch on, the ewes muttered. As he walked among them, they baaed louder. In a few minutes, the hammering noises started again. This time the noises took on a faster tempo and grew louder. The sheep sounded upset. They tried to drown out the noises with deafening, protesting bleats. Ellen grew apprehensive, trying to figure out what on earth was going on in the barn. Jack was out there alone with those noisy sheep and with the spirit of Jacob or whatever was causing the banging. He should have been back by now if he didn't find anything wrong. She didn't like the idea of going to the barn after Jack told her to stay in the house, but she couldn't stand the suspense. She had to go find out if Jack was all right whether he liked it or not. Maybe he needed her help. Walking quietly, Ellen slipped in the barn's walk-in door and edged her way along the hallway. She glanced at the wall. Jacob's hammer was gone. He must be hammering away with it from the sounds of things. Easing between the now empty lambing pens, she opened the door to the holding room. As she looked around the room, she spotted Jack on his knees by the corn bin wall. Ellen couldn't believe her eyes. He was nailing a piece of tin on the bin wall with Jacob's hammer. “Jack?” He looked over his shoulder at her and went back to hammering. “I thought you didn't want to be in the barn tonight. What you doing out here?” “The hammering didn't stop after you left. The banging was worse. I thought you must need help. It sounded like you and Jacob were in a hammering duel to see who could drive a nail the fastest. I couldn't imagine what was going on. My curiosity got the better of me so I had to come see if you were all right,” Ellen explained. “So the banging I heard all these months was you doing it by yourself?” “No, just part of the banging was me tonight. If you remember, I've been with you in the house when we heard the banging noises.” Jack stood up. He pointed to the piece of tin on the corn bin wall and a small pile of shelled corn in the straw bedding. “See that tin I nailed over a hole. That rat hole has been the problem all along.” Ellen squealed, “I don't believe you. The rats made the banging noises for all these months.” “No, Silly. The sheep did the banging,” Jack declared. “Sure! The sheep did the banging all those times,” Ellen said in a disbelieving tone. “They sure did. The rats gnawed a hole through the corn bin wall,” Jack explained. He was overdoing it on the patient tone as if he had to be explicit and simple for her at the same time. He wanted to make sure Ellen understood. “The rats went inside the hole to eat corn. The sheep smelled the corn and saw a few kernels on the floor the rats dropped. The ewes ate those. They were smart enough to know how to get more. Each time one of them banged on the corn bin with her hoof, corn fell out of the hole. When we came into the barn to look around, the ewes stopped what they were doing to see if we were going to feed them. I just happened to catch one of the ewes in the act this time of hitting the wall with her hoof.” “So Jacob wasn't here,” Ellen said, clearly disappointed now that Jack had solved the problem to his satisfaction. Jack nodded. “No, Jacob wasn't ever here for sure, and I just put an end to the banging noises unless another rat gnaws a hole in the corn bin.” “Okay, you win.” Ellen started for the door. “Let's go back to the house.” Jack hung the old hammer on its nail in the hallway and followed her outside. He sped up and rushed around her. The program he'd been watching on television must be about over. He wanted to see how it ended. Ellen trailed behind, thinking about the time she saw Jacob with his broken leg, sitting in front of the barn. She paused and turned to look up at the steep barn roof. Then she stared at the spot on the ground in front of the barn where she saw Jacob. How could she have imagined him? He looked just like his sister described him and so alive. If she hadn't seen the real Jacob, how could her description of the boy be so much like Jacob's sister's. Besides, that hammer Jack picked up off the ground had the initials J. S. on it. The hammer had to belong to Jacob, and he'd taken it off the barn wall that night to use it. Jack couldn't explain away the hammer so he'd just ignore that detail. That husband of hers needed a practical explanation for everything in his life. His problem was he didn't have any imagination. Well, at least not like the suggestive imagination she had. Jack needed to use logic to explain the banging noises. The ewes kicking the corn bin wall was the right explanation for Jack. In his mind, her seeing Jacob was only a dream. She smiled at a thought. Wouldn't Jack groan if I suggested that Jacob's spirit might return every year from January until May to work on the barn roof since he seemed to like them? It made perfect sense to her. Jacob's sister, Alice, said Jacob turned thirteen in January and was roofing the barn in May when he fell and broke his leg. The months coincided with when they heard the first banging noises to when she saw Jacob. Then again, maybe she better stop trying to convince Jack and keep that notion to herself from now on. Jack might quit waiting for the neighbors to have her committed and do it himself. Jack turned around and realized Ellen wasn't right behind him. He came back to where she'd stopped. “Come on, Slow Poke. Give that imagination of yours a rest. I don't believe I can stand your cooking up anything else for a while.” Ellen could see from the glint of humor in his eyes that she'd be in for a fair amount of teasing in the future. “You're like an old dog with a bone. You're going to gnaw this bone for a long time, aren't you?” “Not a real long time,” Jack drawled, grinning at her. “I won't have to. I know you too well. You will come up with something new and far fetched before long.” “Oh, you think you're so funny.” Ellen slipped passed him and headed for the house. She stopped short, thinking she wanted to get the last word in with Jack just once, and she had an idea. “I've been thinking.” “Oh no! Now what?” Jack grumped, stuffing his hands in his jeans pockets as he waited for her to let him in on her idea. “It's not right that Jacob doesn't have a marked grave. Now that we know his resting place is by that third oak tree I want to plant flowers for him by the tree. I'm thinking I can transplant some of my mums, irises, and peonies there. That way he will have blooming flowers over him all summer. Those perennials were here when we moved in, and I imagine the same flowers were here when Jacob was alive. I'll bet that was the kind of flowers his parents put on his grave ever so often. Maybe it will help him rest easier so he doesn't have to return if someone still remembers him.” Jack shrugged. “Sounds like work to me.” “No, it's not. I transfer flowers around here all the time. Now where was I? Oh, yeah! Jacob's sister said his father made Jacob a wooden cross. It had rotted away a long time ago, so no one even remembers Jacob's resting place but her. Could you make another one? I could paint his name on it. I'll ask Alice for the exact dates to put on the cross. She will like seeing a marker at the head of Jacob's grave when she drives by.” “I suppose I could do that much. You know don't you that the sheep will eat the flowers down to the ground right away,” Jack declared. Ellen tapped her lips with a finger as she thought. “Oh yeah, you're right. We can fix that problem. You need to buy hog panels to fence in the grave to keep the sheep away from Jacob's cemetery. That will keep them from eating his flowers. Fix one panel so it swivels in and out so I can take the mower in there to cut the grass.” Jack's eyes narrowed as he calculated the cost of panels. “How many hog panels are you talking about?” Ellen shrugged. “I don't know. Measure the spot. My border collie is buried under the next tree. The pen might as well be large enough to include him, too. I'll plant the flowers in a row between the two graves.” “Sure thing. Any other animals you want to bury in that spot as long as you're taking pasture grass away from the sheep?” Jack asked sarcastically. Ellen shook her head, ignoring Jack's tone of voice. “No, not yet, but there will be plenty of room if I need to bury one. One thing is for sure, Jacob's going to rest easier if we fix up his resting place. It must have been sad for that little boy to think he had been totally forgotten all these years. Maybe that was the reason for the sad look on his face instead of the painful leg when I saw him.” Her face lit up at another thought. “Alice said he probably liked the idea of having a dog buried beside him. She said he liked dogs. You should make a cross with Sherman's name on it, too. Don't you think Jacob will be happy with a cemetery with his very own dog in it, Jack?” Before Jack could answer, Ellen took off for the house. The soft groan she heard emitted behind her was satisfaction enough that she'd had the last word. Jack was too soft-hearted not to fence in the graves. Two weeks later, Jack had Jacob's cemetery fenced in. The irises and peonies were blooming behind the two crosses for Jacob and Sherman, the border collie. On another board painted white Ellen wrote in black letters Jacob Stonebaker's Cemetery. She nailed the board to the third tree, facing the road so Alice could see the sign if she happened to come by. Ellen was so proud of the way the cemetery looked she took a picture of it to send Alice. That way she'd see what they had done right away in case the elderly woman didn't get another chance to drive by their farm. On a night it was too hot to sleep, Ellen knew a few cooler nights were still yet ahead with blackberry winter a few days away. She hated to turn on the air conditioner just yet and have to turn it right back off. She tossed and turned. Finally, she decided to go to the kitchen to get a glass of water. On her way by the hall window, her mind went to the night in May when she saw Jacob. When she retold the tale later, she'd always say the fact she saw him would always be a puzzle to her. Ellen parted the lace curtains and glanced out at the barnyard. What she saw made her freeze to the spot. Jacob was back, and beside him was Sherman! Only this time, the boy was standing on both feet. On his head, his straw hat was in better shape. The boy smiled at her to let her know he wasn't in pain anymore as he mouthed the words, “Thank You.” Ellen understood what he meant. He wanted to tell her that he appreciated her concern for him, and he was content now. He patted Sherman on the head then gave her a sideways wave goodbye with his right hand. Beside his leg, he held his hammer in his left hand. He gave the appearance of being done with his work, and he wanted her to know she wouldn't have to worry about him coming back anymore. Ellen wondered if he'd hook his hammer back on the nail on the hallway wall before he left. She hoped he did. Next time Jack looked for the hammer, he'd accuse her of losing it. She didn't intend to explain about her latest visit with Jacob so she'd just have to take the blame. While she watched Jacob's spirit fade away, Ellen returned his wave and whispered, “You're welcome, Jacob. I'm glad that you can rest in peace now.” THE END About the author Fay Risner lives with her husband on a central Iowa acreage along with their chickens, goats and cats. A retired Certified Nurse Aide, she now divides her time between writing books, working in her flower beds, the garden and going fishing with her husband. Fay writes books in various genre and languages – historical mystery series, Stringbean western series, Amish series set in southern Iowa and books for Caregivers about Alzheimer's. She uses 12 font print in her books and 14 font print in her novellas to make them easy to read and reader friendly. Now her books are in Large Print. Her books have a mid western Iowa and small town flavor. She pulls the readers into her stories, making it hard for them to put a book down until the reader sees how the story ends. Readers say the characters are fun to get to know and often humorous enough to cause the readers to laugh out loud. The books leave the readers wanting a sequel or a series so they can read about the characters again. Enjoy Fay Risner's books and please leave a review to make others familiar with her work. Other Books by Fay Risner Nurse Hal Among The Amish Series A Promise Is A Promise Doubting Thomas The Courting Buggy The Rainbow’s End Amish Country Arson Joyful Wisdom Hal’s Worldly Temptations Second Hand Goods As Her Name Is So Is Redbird Emma’s Gossamer Dreams You have Got To Love Adalheida Wasser Amazing Gracie Historical Mystery Series Neighbor Watchers Poor Defenseless Addie Specious Nephew Will O Wisp The Country Seat Killer The Chance Of A Sparrow Moser Mansion Ghosts Locked Rock, Iowa Hatchet Murders The Wayward Preacher Westerns Stringbean Hooper Westerns Tread Lightly Sibby The Dark Wind Howls Over Mary The Blue Bonnet-novella Small Feet’s Many Moon Journey A Coffin To Lie On - novella Ella Mayfield's Pawpaw Militia-Civil War Christmas books Christmas Traditions - An Amish Love Story Christmas With Hover Hill Leona’s Christmas Bucket List Fiction Listen To Me Honey novella Jacob's Spirit-novella Cowboy Girl Annie -novella Robot Grandma - novella Katrina's Gift - novella Nonfiction about Alzheimer’s disease Open A Window - Caregiver Handbook Hello Alzheimer’s Goodbye Dad-author’s true story Detective Renee Brown Mystery Series The Answering Machine Knew - novella One Big Bat – novella Crystal's Beau - novella Mrs. Pestkey's Cat Knew Innocent Until Proven Guilty

Jacob's Spirit novella second and third installment

Second and Third installment of Jacob's Spirit novella Chapter 5 Once inside the warm house, Ellen stood for a moment, shivering as the warm air covered her. With fumbling fingers, she unzipped her coveralls and let the house's warmth soak into her clothes. She knew she didn't have much time to waste on the luxury of warming up if she wanted to save those two lambs. She'd have to make do with what heat she could absorb while she worked. Every minute counted. Ellen opened the refrigerator door and selected a hundred-millimeter bottle of medicine from among the other animal medicine bottles she kept on the door's bottom shelf. From that bottle, she'd draw the medicine to give the ewe a shot that would hopefully make her come to her milk. Ellen got the syringe out of a cupboard drawer and drew in two millimeters. She left the syringe lay on the counter and put the bottle back in the refrigerator. What she figured out fast when she became a sheepherder was she had to do more than just have patience as Jack had told her. She learned a lesson that included the hogs and cows, too. Vet bills become costly, so Ellen read up on animal diseases and veterinary medicine. She became the farm's amateur vet to save them money. Thank goodness for computer knowledge, books written by experienced herdsmen, and veterinary medicine catalogs to order the medicine from. A sack of lamb milk replacer was propped against the side of the refrigerator. Ellen dipped the plastic measurer included in the sack of powdered milk until it was full and dumped the powder into a bowl of warm water. She stirred until the powder was well mixed. Next, she brought two pop bottles topped with skinny, black rubber nipples out from under the sink and filled them. She stuffed the bottles in her coveralls pockets and hoped the milk stayed warm while she fought her way back to the barn. Ellen squeezed the plastic syringe in one gloved hand, making sure the needle was pointed away from her. That was a must while she climbed over the fence. Bang! Bang! Bang! The banging noises again! That didn't help Ellen feel any steadier when she reached the fence. She wasn't sure she'd successfully make it over the slick fence. If that wasn't worry enough, listening to the loud banging at that moment didn't make her eager to go to the barn. Ellen held on tight to the panel and braced one foot in the icy space, dreading the thought that she could lose the syringe in the snow and have to hunt for it. She'd worried for nothing. She managed to climb safely over the fence and plod through the snow to the barn with the syringe still in her hand which was good news. By the time she made it to the pen, the medicine in the syringe had frozen which wasn't so good. She held the syringe under the heat lamp and waited for the medicine to turn to liquid again. Thank goodness it didn't take very long. Ellen forced the ewe into the corner of the pen and leaned into her so the mother had to stay put while she received her shot. The ewe wasn't crazy about the idea and struggled to get away. With only one free hand to hold the strong ewe around the neck, Ellen was relieved when she had the shot given in the neck and could turn the ewe loose. She felt a nudge on the back of her leg and looked behind her. The lambs had warmed up and were hungry. That was a good sign. One was nosing her leg, looking for milk. The other lamb was nudging the twin and bawling at the top of its lungs. Ellen backed away from the mother and lay the syringe on a ledge above the pen. She pulled a bottle out of one pocket and picked up a lamb. She stuck the baby under her arm and squeezed the plastic bottle. Warm milk squirted from the nipple into the lamb's mouth. That was all the hint the baby needed to start sucking. It emptied the bottle in no time. Ellen put that lamb down and picked up the twin. She was glad to see that baby was as hungry as the other one. Now the two of them would lay down under the heat lamp and sleep. A satisfying feeling welled up in her that not even the bitterly cold temperature could dampen, knowing she had helped the two lambs survive. Ellen listened to the restless sheep in the holding room. The banging noises had stopped sometime. She had been so intent on taking care of the lambs that she didn't even notice when it happened. For her peace of mind, she was just glad that the noises had ceased. She left the lambing pen room and stood just inside the holding room, watching for any ewes by themselves. She didn't see any loners so she made a pass through the milling flock as she looked for more new lambs. She was relieved to find this check was a dry run. In the worst way, she wanted to get back to the house for a cup of coffee. She needed to warm up and get some rest before she made the next trip in two hours. So she made the trek out of the barn, waded the barnyard snow, climbed the fence, and walked around the house to the front door. She guessed where the steps were and was right this time, scooped the snow off half the porch again so the door would open, and entered the house. Ellen took off her coveralls, cap, and scarf and lay them over a chair on top a heat register to drip dry. She slipped the bottles out of the coverall pockets. Once she rinsed them out in the sink, Ellen turned them upside down in the dish drainer. Now the bottles were ready for use again if she needed them. It didn't take her long to warm a cold cup of coffee in the microwave. She wrapped her stiff fingers around the cup and savored the warm liquid as she drank it. Before she lay down on the couch, Ellen set the Big Ben alarm clock for midnight. She knew she wouldn't wake up until morning if not for that clock's loud alarm. With a heavy blanket for cover, she curled up, ready to doze off. Bang! Bang! Bang! At first, Ellen thought she was dreaming already. She opened her eyes when she heard the noises repeated and decided it must surely be something blowing in the wind this time. Bang! Bang! Bang! No, this was the same crazy noises she had listened to on other nights. Banging that seemed to be coming from the barn. Just her luck, Jack wasn't home to send to the barn to look for what caused the noises. She was on her own. She'd have to suck it up and go back out there in two hours. Ellen threw her arm over her eyes and tried to ignore the noises as she dozed off. Two hours later, the alarm clock jingled. She rubbed her eyes and turned off the alarm. It couldn't be time to get up yet, could it? She felt like she'd just dozed off. To make sure, she glanced over at the time on the clock. It was midnight all right. As Ellen bundled up again, she worried about what might be happening in the barn. So far Jack hadn't found what caused the noises. This late at night, the thought of what could be the problem spooked her. If dealing with a blizzard wasn't enough, she had weird banging noises to worry about. Chapter 6 As bad as the storm still was, Ellen debated whether to skip this check. She listened to the roar of the wind with dread. She would again be in the midst of the storm. The wind whipped around the house, and falling snow hit the back of the house with a force that sounded like sleet. At the moment, the one thing she didn't hear was banging sounds. Maybe that was a good sign. She would hate to lose lambs because she'd turned into such a big chicken she couldn't make herself go to the barn. When Jack came home in the morning and found out she didn't check the sheep in the night, he'd never let her hear the end of it. She didn't have a choice. She had to suck it up and make the midnight rounds in the barn. Ellen stepped outside and found weather-wise nothing had changed, but she knew that already from just listening in the house. She waded the snowdrifts that had covered over her tracks from before as if she hadn't been outside. Once she climbed over the fence, she leaned into the wind and struggled to get to the barn door. When she went through the lambing pen room, she glanced over at the twins. They were curled up together, still sleeping. The ewe was beside them with her head resting on her two outstretched front legs, enjoying the lamp's heat, too. Just in case, Ellen opened an empty pen door, so she'd be ready and walked into the holding room. When the sheep parted, she spotted a ewe muttering to a shaky, wet lamb, just born, on the far side the room. She picked the lamb up by the hind legs and headed backward. What that baby needed was some quickly provided warm nourishment. Once she had the lamb and ewe in the pen, Ellen pushed the ewe against the pen wall and grabbed her front and hind leg down near the hooves. With a grunt, Ellen flipped the ewe on her side. Trying to stay out of the way of the ewe's four thrashing legs, she plopped down on the ewe's spongy, soft wool-covered stomach. Good thing the lamb stayed fairly close even though it had shied away when Ellen tackled its mother. Ellen had to stretch and could just barely reach it. She placed the lamb on its belly in front of the ewe's bag and squirted thick colostrum milk into its mouth. Unlike the last ewe, she was glad to find this mother's milk supply was right there. The lamb readily nursed. In a few minutes, it had all it wanted to eat and stopped sucking. Ellen pushed the lamb away. She got up fast, trying to avoid the ewe's flying hooves. She put her hand behind the ewe and twisted her over on her stomach. With a struggling effort, she managed to rise to her feet by herself. Ellen turned the heat lamp on and put the lamb under it. That heat made the wet baby shiver almost as much as the warm milk had. The lamb sank down in the glow of the lamp and closed its eyes. Ellen was sure this newborn would be all right as soon as it dried off. She studied the ewe a moment to see if she tried straining. It didn't look like the ewe was going to have another lamb. Surely, she'd have given birth by now. Ellen made another trip around the holding room. She didn't hear any new lamb cries or see any of the ewes off by themselves muttering to babies. No banging noises either which was a good thing. In the shadow of a support post in the middle of the room, Ellen looked down just in time. She almost stepped on a limp, chilled lamb sprawled in the bedding. The newborn looked dead. Ellen squatted down and watched its sides. She could see its shallow breathing. She grimaced. She had probably missed finding the lamb before while it was in better shape. Now the poor baby was too cold to nurse. While Ellen seemed interested in the lamb, one of the ewes came forward and nudged the lamb with her nose. She muttered to it, proving she was the mother. Glad to see the ewe claim her motionless baby, Ellen picked the lamb up and walked backward to the pens. She put the ewe in one and lay the lamb gently down in the straw under a heat lamp. Since she was going to have to take the lamb to the house to warm it up, Ellen rushed into the hall and headed to the stack of empty feed sacks piled against the corn bin wall just inside the barn door. She grabbed a sack and rolled it around the lamb to shield it from the northwestern gale outside. Time to make the trip back to the house. Climbing over the fence while she held onto the sack bundle with one hand wasn't easy, but she made it. She staggered through the snow to the front door. Ellen was able to open the front door a crack and squeezed inside. She didn't want to take the time to shovel snow while she had an emergency on her hands. She carried the precious sack into the kitchen and unrolled it next to a heat vent so the warm air would hit the lamb. She noted the snow melted water tracks her boots left across the kitchen floor. She kicked them off and carried them to a boot tray under the coats. When she finished caring for the lamb, she'd have to grab the mop and take care of that mess before she stepped in the water and soaked up her socks. She only had three pairs of heavy boot socks, so she had to keep them dry as long as possible. What she needed now was newspapers from the rack in the corner of the living room. She rushed in there and grabbed a handful off the pile. After she spread the newspapers on the warm air vent, she laid the lamb on them. Next, she turned up the thermostat so the furnace would run for a longer period. She placed a layer of newspapers over the wet lamb to help hold the heat in and placed the corn sack on top to hold the papers in place. Since the lamb wasn't able to drink, Ellen was going to have to tube feed it. She mixed up two-ounces of milk replacer in a bowl. She pulled the newspapers back to uncover the lamb's head. Keeping her fingertips on the side of the lamb's neck so she could feel where the tube was going, she inserted the red, rubber feeding tube down the lamb's throat. She poured the warm milk slowly into the two ounce syringe attached to the tube. The milk dripped from the syringe into the lamb's stomach. The cold lamb was barely conscious, but it shivered when the warm milk hit bottom. Ellen had done all she could do for the lamb. Only time would tell while it dried off and warmed up if she had done enough to help the lamb survive. From experience, she knew in about two hours the lamb would be crying to be fed a bottle of milk or be lifeless under the newspaper insulation. As Ellen covered the lamb back up with the newspapers, she spoke to it. “Please don't die, Baby. Your mama is waiting to take care of you in the barn.” Chapter 7 After she flopped on the couch, Ellen set the alarm clock for two in the morning and covered up for her next nap. She pulled a blanket over herself to help rid herself of chills. Soon in a hazy state, Ellen wondered about putting all this effort out for Jack's sheep. She could have been comfortable while blissfully asleep in her warm bed all night. Best of all, the night would have been spent without an alarm clock annoying her into wide-eyed alertness every two hours. All she had to show for the evening was a weary to the bone tiredness and a searing chill clear through her. Plus, the motionless mound of newspapers on the kitchen floor in the warm draft from the furnace vent which was making the house stink like wet wool. Bang! Bang! Bang! Oh no! That noise was back again. She put her hands over her ears to shut the banging out. At that late hour, Ellen was too tired to do more than have a fleeting feeling of regret before she dozed off. She futilely wished that Jack was home to send to the barn the next time. It seemed to Ellen like she had just drifted off to sleep when she heard the clock's loud clattering alarm going off beside her. She turned off the alarm and put her feet on the floor. She groaned, “That was a fast two hours.” From the kitchen came loud crackling rustles of newspapers and a startled baa brought on by the noise from the clock. Ellen got to the door just as the paper mound flew apart. The lamb tried to scramble to its unsteady feet. With each attempt, its legs sprawled out in every direction. It couldn't get a footing on the slick linoleum. With a sigh of relief, Ellen felt a rush of success. She had saved this lamb's life. Now she could take it back to the barn. The next hurdle was the lamb had been away from its mother for two hours. She hoped the ewe claimed it and let it nurse. Otherwise, she'd have to bottle feed it. Either way, this was one more lamb she could mark on the live side of the tally sheet. While Ellen dawned her winter garb, the lamb was still busy trying to stand. All four legs kept sprawling out, and the lamb bawled louder with each frustrated try. Ellen grabbed the lamb and wrapped the feed sack around it to ward off the shocking cold outside. She tromped down the porch steps, surprised to see they were visible. She glanced around. The wind had calmed. Only a few lacy snowflakes floated lazily from the black sky and lit on her and around her. After she rounded the house, Ellen saw Mother Nature had shoveled the path for her along the fence. She could open the gate to get into the barnyard. That was a great sight since she wasn't so sure she had the energy to climb over the fence even this one last time. Ellen hurried into the barn and stopped at the lambing pen where the lamb belonged. She set the bawling bundle down and watched to make sure the ewe accepted the lamb. The ewe ran to greet her baby and sniffed along its body and under its tail to make sure the baby was hers. She recognized the lamb and gave it a few licks of her tongue to tell it she was its mother. As the lamb wiggled its tail in agreement, the ewe nosed it along her side, trying to say get busy eating. Ellen watched the lamb goose the ewe's udder. Then its head disappeared under the ewe. Ellen heard smacking as the lamb's tail twitched back and forth. She said under her breath, “Thank goodness. I'm not going to have to carry bottles for that lamb.” After the lamb had been away from its mother for two hours, the ewe might have decided not to claim it. Now that the lamb was dried off, it could have smelled strange to the ewe since it slept under the newspapers. If the sheep butted the baby to keep it from nursing, Ellen would have had to take the lamb back to the house and put it in a cardboard box. It would be her responsibility to feed it. If left in the pen too long, ewes had been known to kill newborns by butting them when the ewes didn't want anything to do with the lambs. Lambs thrived and grew faster when they nursed mothers milk. Besides, Ellen was always glad not to have the bottle feeding job when she could get out of it. Ellen made a pass through the holding room and all was quiet. She went back to the lambing pen that held the ewe she gave the shot to and found the ewe now had a good milk supply. That was good news. She left the barn with a lighter step to her gait as she went back to the house. It helped not to have to fight the drifts to get back and forth. A gust of wind blew a clump of snow loose from the porch roof. It sailed down and narrowly missed Ellen as she climbed the steps. Thinking ahead, she reminded herself she still had one more check to go before morning. Yippee, I can hardly wait. Before she curled up on the couch, she set the alarm for four in the morning. On that final check before morning chores, Ellen had a dry run. She was glad not to find any lambs to pen up. She'd done enough for one night with the weather as difficult as it was. Now the wind had died down. The barn temperature was rising from the body heat of the flock. Lambs born just before daylight would have a better chance of getting on their feet and nursing without her help. All she'd have to do is put the mothers and babies in a pen with a heat lamp on. Maybe things weren't so bad after all. The snowstorm was over. Mother Nature had shoveled Ellen a path to the barn which was great since she was too tired to use the shovel anymore. A peek in each of the lambing pens assured Ellen the night's newborn lambs were all fine and quietly napping. As she walked back to the house, Ellen told herself this time she was going to sleep in her bed without setting the alarm. She felt like she could sleep for a week. At least, she deserved to sleep until she was rested even if it was after six in the morning when she woke up. Stiffness had settled into her leg muscles from fighting the frozen drifts and climbing the fence so many times. It felt good to stretch out in her bed. Besides, she was tired of laying on the couch. It wasn't all that comfortable. She hoped she'd dream of warmer nights when it was her turn to go to the barn to check for lambs. Hopefully, she'd dream about falling into enormous drifts of delicious vanilla ice cream instead of wading cold snow. The minute Ellen closed her eyes, her ears picked up the banging noises from outside. Bang! Bang! Bang! The rhythmic banging caused her to open her eyes wide. She stiffened and listened. No way was she going back to the barn right now to find out what was causing the noises as tired as she was. She was tired enough that she could sleep through anything, and those noises always stopped when she entered the barn. What Ellen decided she didn't want was nightmares about running into spooks frolicking around in the barn. She chided herself about letting her vivid imagination get the better of her. Whoever heard of anyone that had a haunted barn. Chapter 8 January made an icy slide into February. Jack and Ellen heard banging for a few nights, and then the noises stopped a few nights. The cause of the banging sounds remained undetected by Jack every time he searched the barn. The noises stopped as if on cue the minute one of them entered the barn. After listening to them for so long, the sounds were as irritating to Ellen as the first time she'd heard them. February sailed into windy March. The month of March didn't start out any more peaceful than February. The banging persisted, but at least, lambing season was almost over. There were only a few late lambers left to watch, so it wouldn't be long before Jack and Ellen wouldn't have to make special trips to the barn at night. One morning when Jack went with Ellen to do chores, he spotted a slim, blue Bic cigarette lighter laying at the base of the wall ladder to the hayloft. He picked the lighter up. “How do you suppose this lighter got in the barn? Have you taken up sneaking a smoke, Ellen?” Ellen snapped, “No! You know better than that. I sure don't remember seeing the lighter there before, but I might have walked right by it without noticing. You and me are the only ones who have been in this barn in ages.” Her eyes widen as she added, “As far as I know.” Jack flipped the switch wheel and turned the lighter on. The flame went as high as it could go. “Anyone that tried to light a cigarette with this lighter would have burnt their nose.” He looked up toward the loft opening and said softly, “Ellen, I'm climbing into the hayloft. If I yell at you to run, you get to the house fast, lock the doors and call the sheriff's office.” “Why?” Ellen whispered as she frowned at him. “Stand over by the outside door. I'll tell you as soon as I come back down.” Jack climbed the ladder steps. He hoisted himself into the loft and disappeared from sight. Ellen backed up to the outside door, opened it, and impatiently waited to hear from Jack. She decided to stick one foot outside and leave the other one in. If she had to run for help in a hurry, she wanted to be ready. It crossed her mind that by the time Jack tried to come back down it might be too late for him to tell her what was wrong in the loft. She didn't even want to think about what he expected to find. In a few minutes, Ellen patted her chest with relief as she saw Jack appear and climb down the ladder steps. As soon as his feet touched the floor, Ellen ran to him. “Did you find anything wrong?” “A bale of hay broken and made into a bed up against a stack of bales. A tramp spent the night up there, sleeping in that loose hay. That lighter had to belong to him. He had the lighter turned up to the max so he could see what he was doing when he climbed the steps to the loft and made his bed.” “Oh my! That is scary. A stranger stayed in the loft overnight. He had the flame on that lighter up way too high. If he'd accidentally dropped it, he would have burnt down the barn,” Ellen declared. “That's right. Something else I hate to tell you, but he was probably already up there when you came to check the sheep last night after dark,” Jack suggested with a grimace. “Great! Just what I want to hear and picture in my mind,” Ellen said dryly. Jack nodded. “I'm sure the tramp left the barn early this morning. I'm guessing he turned the lighter on to see to climb down the steps. When he got to the bottom, he turned the lighter off and missed his pocket when he went to put it away.” Later, Ellen wished Jack hadn't put that idea in her head. Now just the thought of a scary man hiding in the loft overnight would be enough to make her nerves jittery every time she had to go to the barn at night. Her mind raced with what might have happened to her if she had come face to face with a strange man. It gave her the creeps when she thought this might not have been the first time a bum spent the night in the loft, and it might not be the last. All day, Ellen glanced out the window toward the barn. Her mind raced as she obsessed about running into unexpected visitors out there at night. When it was time to check the sheep, she hated to go. This might be the night someone would be sleeping in the hayloft again. Maybe the same tramp would come back after dark, looking for his Bic lighter. Talk about a good mystery for Agatha Christie to write. The title might be Ellen's Death In The Barn At The Hands Of A Tramp. That evening as if worrying about the tramp wasn't enough, the banging started again after Jack and Ellen settled down in the living room. With that horrible incident from the night before in mind, Ellen laid her book in her lap as she asked, “Hear those irritating banging noises again? You don't think it's another bum looking for a place to bed down tonight do you, Jack?” “No, I doubt a tramp would make any noise to let us know he was hiding in the barn. If you recall, we didn't have a clue the other one was around last night. He was very quiet, because he knew we wouldn't want him to be in our loft. I bet he probably hated losing that good igniter though when he went to light up a cigarette today.” Jack grinned at the thought. “I don't find anything funny about this. I'm just glad that he didn't come back to look for his lighter. That's all I'd need to give me a heart attack, running into a scruffy looking stranger in the barn,” Ellen retorted. “I wouldn't worry too much about it. That was a rare thing to happen. Probably will never be another visitor in our loft. You're safe enough in the barn at night,” Jack reassured her. Bang! Bang! Bang! Ellen rubbed her forehead. “When will that banging ever stop? I'm having enough trouble sleeping at night without having nightmares about what is roaming around in the barn and wrecking it.” Jack eyed her for a few seconds. Finally, he asked, “What's that book you've been reading for so long?” Ellen held the book up. “Why are you trying to change the subject? I don't know what that has to do with the noises. I'm reading Sleeping Murder by Agatha Christie. I don't get many pages read at a time with as busy as I've been. It's taken me all winter to read this one book. Why you want to know?” Jack studied her intently. “What's the book about?” “A young woman who had a reoccurring dream about seeing a murder. She goes to look at a house that's for sale and finds the inside of the house is like the one in her dreams but without the dead body on the floor. Why?” “There you go. You have that spooky story on your mind every night when you go to bed. You just naturally dream about strange things like murders and tramps. You should find stories to read that don't leave such an impression on you after you go to sleep,” Jack suggested. “I guarantee you would sleep better at night.” “I don't know why you bothered to bring this subject up. I don't think my choice of reading material has anything to do with what has been banging out at the barn,” huffed Ellen. She amended, “At least, I haven't been dreaming about a murder.” She paused as she raised an eyebrow at Jack and added, “Yet.” “You're the one who said you dream about murders and tramps. I just gave you a reason why you don't sleep well. I didn't mention the banging noises, now did I?” Jack asked, sounding irritated. “No,” Ellen said quietly. “Guess you didn't.” Chapter 9 If dealing with mysterious banging noises and worrying about tramps using their hayloft for a Motel Six wasn't enough, Ellen soon had one more tale to add to her story. One evening, she was in the barn on the final check of the sheep before bedtime when the electricity went off. The power failure plunged her and the sheep into darkness. The sheep didn't seem to mind. They probably thought Ellen was leaving the building and had turned the lights off. They were used to living in the dark at night. She had been tossing straw for bedding into some of the lambing pens, getting ready for the last of the new lambs. That was when total darkness hit. Ellen was afraid to move. Had someone turned the lights off on purpose? Perhaps, a tramp was with her in the barn again. She listened intently. No noises came from outside the lambing pen door. She heard only muffled noises from the sheep and their lambs in the holding room as they bedded down for the night. After she propped her pitchfork against the pen, she felt her way over to the switch to flip the lights on. With her hands out in front of her, she stopped when she felt the wall. Ellen reached up to where she thought the light switch should be and stuck her hand into a cobweb. She quickly wiped her fingers on her jeans, hoping the spider hadn't ridden along on her hand and the webs. On the next try for the switch, she found it. She flipped it a few times and nothing happened. Great! The electricity was off. How could that happen on a calm night like this one when the wind had laid. She could understand a power failure happening in a lightning storm or during a really windy day. She didn't have any idea how long the lights would be off. Since there wasn't anything she could do in the dark, she might as well make her way along the walls to the outside door and go to the house. As Ellen reached for the knob on the lambing pen door, she heard the outside door's rusty hinges squeak. The sound grated on her frayed nerves. Her heart pumped faster as she drew her hand back away from the knob and waited. Someone opened the outside door and came in. She diffidently heard footsteps coming her way. Great! A tramp was going to climb into their hayloft for the night again. He had managed to put her in the dark, and she was out in the barn alone with a stranger. Jack was watching television. He didn't have a clue what was happening to her. It might be too late for her by the time he realized she'd been gone too long. Ellen needed a weapon to defend herself. She felt along the top of the pens until she'd backtracked to where she'd leaned the pitchfork. Her hand flailed around until she found the wooden handle. With both hands in a tight grip on the handle, she realized she wasn't too steady on her feet. Her knees started shaking about as much as her hands trembled. She had a right to be scared. A dangerous stranger was on the other side of the door. One who might murder her if he knew she was here. With the tines pointed toward the door, she braced herself against a lambing pen to keep from sinking to the floor. She tried to keep her breathing shallow so she wouldn't be too noisy. She was afraid she might cry out and give away she was there so she bit her bottom lip. Ellen told herself her best hope was the tramp couldn't know she was in the barn. He'd climb the ladder and hide in the loft like before. As soon as she felt safe, she could slip out, hopefully undetected and make a run for the house. The lambing pen door hinges creaked as the door slowly opened. The hair stood up on the back of Ellen's neck. Oh no! He's coming in here! Her throat constricted, trying to hold back a scream. She raised the pitchfork's business end higher just as a flashlight beam blinded her. A male voice said, “Thought you might need a flashlight to see how to get back to the house.” Ellen leaned the pitchfork against the wall and braced herself with a death grip on the pen while she patted her chest. “Oh for Pete sake, Jack! It's you!” “Who did you think it would be? What were you doing with the pitchfork? It's too dark to do any work, isn't it?” Jack asked. Ellen kept a hand on the lambing pens as she came to meet him. “I heard you coming, but I didn't know it was you. Do you know how close you came to getting stuck with the pitchfork? I almost turned you into the largest shish kabob you ever saw. You should have called out who you were, before you sneaked up on me. You know how jumpy I've been lately.” “I wasn't trying to be quiet. I figured you would hear me coming. Who did you think it would be?” Jack chuckled as he eyed the pitchfork behind her, thinking she wouldn't have the nerve to hurt him or anyone else. “I did hear someone coming, but I had no way of knowing it was you. I thought it might be that tramp again, going up to the loft for the night.” Ellen sure didn't want to hurt Jack with the pitchfork. Push come to shove, she was pretty sure if it came to her life or a tramp's, she'd have poked a stranger invading their barn if she was cornered. Ellen was aggravated at Jack for not speaking up when he entered the barn. She knew she was way too jumpy, but Jack should be more understanding. The next morning they found out when the electric company called that they had just started doing what they called brownouts around bedtime to save electricity. The night before had been the first brownouts, and the Carters hadn't known it was going to happen. From then on, Ellen carried a flashlight to the barn just in case she found herself in the dark. Chapter 10 Bang! Bang! Bang! One evening after supper, Ellen's nerves got the better of her. “Enough is enough.” Unable to concentrate, she slammed her book shut and dropped it onto her lap. “I wish that incessant banging racket would stop. It's driving me batty.” Jack tried to suppress a grin. “We'll find out what that banging is all about one of these days.” He teased, “Who knows. Maybe it's a ghost repairing the barn. Gosh dang, I hope he's doing a good job. He has to be tired by now, what with putting in those long hours he's put in all these months and working in the dark to boot.” “Very funny,” snapped Ellen. Why did Jack have to bring up ghosts? He knew that would set her imagination spinning. Leaning her head back against her rocker, she closed her eyes and pictured a transparent spirit with a hammer in his hand. He struck at a nail until it sank into a loose board. After he was done, he faded away. Ellen shook her head as if that would stop her from thinking such thoughts. If only it was that easy to get rid of the banging noises or tune them out. Before bedtime, Ellen dreaded her turn to check the sheep, but she wasn't about to say so to Jack. That would just lead to more teasing on his part. Dang Jack. He made her a bundle of nerves by putting such thoughts in her head. Ellen flipped on the hall light and walked to the lambing pen doorway. She opened the door, felt for the light switch and turned it on then peeked in. Nothing out of the ordinary in there except what was in her imagination. Since Jack mentioned a ghost, that was all she could think about while she was in the barn. She was more aware of moving shadows and the skittering sounds of scurrying mice. She couldn't shake the feeling some spirit might be hiding somewhere in a dark corner watching her. She would walk right passed him, and he'd jump out at her. She didn't want to imagine what the ghost would do next. Dang Jack. He made her a bundle of nerves by putting such thoughts in her head. Suddenly, sprigs of hay flitted down from above and landed right in front of her. As she watched the sprigs land by her tennis shoes a prickly sensation crept across Ellen's scalp. Maybe that's not a ghost up there! Looks like I have more to worry about from a tramp right now than I do a ghost. She aimed the flashlight beam at a small crack in the floor. It reflected off two glaring eyes. “I know you're in the loft. Come down here this instant,” Ellen ordered. She backed away. The unblinking eyes continued to stare at her through the crack, watching her movements. She turned and darted back down the hallway to flip on the light. She had better go find out before she said anything to Jack. He'd have another reason to make fun of her if she was wrong. “Whoever you are, I'm telling you right now, you can't sleep in our loft. Get down here!” Ellen ordered. The eyes continued to glare at her. With shaky knees, she climbed the ladder determined to find out who was using their loft for a hiding place and get rid of him. She sure didn't want to wake up in the night and find their barn on fire. Walking to the edge of the stacked square hay bales, Ellen sniffed a mixture of alfalfa and clover. A pleasant aroma normally, but at the moment, the scent made her want to sneeze. The good news was, she didn't smell cigarette smoke. She looked down at the fingers of light filtering up through the loose hay from the hallway below. Whoever was peering through the crack had moved. She pointed the flashlight along the empty floor behind the haystack, but the small beam created too many shadows. She couldn't see anything out of place. All was quiet at the moment. Whoever it was had to be hiding behind one of the stacks of bales up against the wall below the loft's outside door. Ellen slipped over the side, prepared to go down below to search. She just hoped if she scared the person into coming out of hiding he didn't harm her when he made his get away. Finding finger and toe holds between the bales, she climbed slowly down the stack. When her toes touched what she thought was the floor, Ellen felt a soft lump under her foot. Thinking the lump was a pile of loose hay, she let her weight down. A piercing squall shattered the quiet, causing Ellen to swallow hard. Scuffling ensued under her foot, rattling the loose hay that flew in every direction. Ellen jerked her foot up, ready to climb back to the top of the stack. Something had a tight hold on her leg. Needle sharp pains stabbed through her left ankle, causing her to thrust her foot against the haystack to rid herself of whatever was hanging on. “Let go of me!” She shouted, her voice trembling with a combination of fright and pain. Chapter 11 Piercing pains in her ankle ran up Ellen's leg. Now she was frightened enough to let out a scream to equal the one she'd heard below her. She lost her grip on the flashlight while she tried to keep her balance as she clung to the stack of bales. The flashlight hit the floor with a thunk and tumbled away. Ellen didn't wait to see where it stopped. She scrambled back up the bales as fast as she could. Behind her, Ellen heard the rustle of loose hay along the length of the loft, headed away from her. She looked down and directed her flashlight toward the noises. Her calico cat skittered through the flashlight's beam, running in the opposite direction. The cat scampered up as high as it could go on a stack of bales in the far corner and crouched down, eyeing Ellen with a grievous stare. Oh, my goodness. It's just my cat. “I'm so sorry, Splotches. I didn't mean to step on you,” Ellen apologized between puffs. Ashen faced, she felt her heart beating non-stop against her ribs. She plopped down on a bale to catch her breath and grabbed her ankle in a tight grip. Holding it wasn't enough to help rid it of pain. That cat had dug into her ankle on both sides with all her claws leaving lines like on a road map. Sighing deeply, Ellen summoned the energy to stand and walked over to the loft opening, turned around, and backed down the ladder. “What are you doing up in the loft this time of night?” Out of nowhere came the sharp question. Ellen's head snapped in the direction of the outside door. Jack leaned against the door frame, waiting for an answer. “Jack, I already told you once before not to sneak up on me!” Ellen scolded, missing the last step. She staggered when her feet touched the floor. If bumping against the wall hadn't saved her, she would have landed flat on her face. Jack didn't budge to help her. He stayed where he was with his hands jammed into his jeans pockets, waiting for her explanation. “If you must know, I thought I saw eyes watching me through a crack in the loft floor. I wanted to find out who was up there this time,” Ellen snapped. The corners of Jack's mouth twitched. “Who was it? Surely not the ghost or was it? Did he have one of my good hammers?” Jack pointed at the barn wall. “That old one hooked to the nail isn't worth using on a large project.” “Ha! Ha!,” Ellen said curtly. “All I found was just my calico cat, Splotches, looking for a mouse in the loose hay.” She kept her eyes on the floor and tried to ignore her painful ankle. She started toward Jack and had to really concentrate to walk without limping. Now before she got to the house was the time to plan how she was going to keep Jack from finding out she was wounded. Ellen didn't want to look at Jack's smirking face if he ever found out the truth about what happened. So it sure wouldn't do to tell him she stepped on the cat, looking in the hayloft for his ghost or a tramp. She'd have to wait until she was in the bathroom to see how bad the scratches on her ankle was. Iodine would help avoid an infection, but she didn't look forward to using it. That stuff was going to burn like fire. Maybe for a few nights, she'd have to sleep in her socks to keep Jack from spotting the claw marks painted with iodine. He'd think nothing about her wearing socks. Her feet were always cold. What she hadn't counted on was being lectured by Jack all the way to the house as he followed her. He didn't like her exploring the hayloft by herself after dark. “You know how dangerous a thing that was to do. At the very least, you could have scared up a wild animal like a coon or a possum. Either animal would have attacked you if they felt cornered.” Ellen kept walking. Her mind was on taking a couple of Tylenol as soon as possible and checking out her ankle wound. “Are you listening to me?” Jack snapped. “Yes, I hear you,” Ellen retorted. “Good! You have to face it. At the very worst, you might have come face to face with a tramp who would just as soon kill you as let you go.” Jack caught up with Ellen and placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “The next time you hear noises in the barn, you come get me. Is that clear?” “All right! You've made your point, Jack,” Ellen said, too exasperated by the way her ankle felt to want to put up with her husband's lecture. “Don't get sore at me. I just don't want anything to happen to you,.” Though Jack was serious, he said it in a softer tone. Suddenly, Ellen felt bad for snapping at him. “You're right. I promise I won't go up to the loft at night again by myself if I hear noises.” She put a hand over her mouth. “Oh, no!” “Now what's wrong?” “I didn't do what I went to the barn to do in the first place. I forgot to check the sheep. I'm sorry, Jack.” She started around him to go back to the barn. Jack stopped her by grabbing her arm. “Hold up. You go on in the house. You're as white as a sheet. Looks to me like you need to sit down. I'll go to the barn.” Ellen's nose scrunched up as she said, “I left the flashlight in the loft, and it was still yet on, running down the battery. If you want, you could get it for me while you're in the barn.” Jack's left eyebrow raised. “Okay, anything else?” “No, that's it, but gee, thanks for helping me out!” Ellen exclaimed. “You're welcome. Just remember you owe me one,” Jack said with a smirking grin. Perfect! Ellen thought as she hurried to the house. While Jack was gone that just might be enough time to doctor her ankle. Chapter 12 One sleepless night in early May, Ellen finally gave up trying to doze off and slipped out of bed. Jack was snoring so loudly she couldn't possibly go to sleep if she did get sleepy. When her bare feet touched the cold floor, she hissed. She needed to put socks on to warm her feet up. That and drinking a cup of warm milk might help her doze off. When she passed the open, living room window, a blast of chilly air billowed the curtains out in front of her. Ellen stopped to gather the white lace panels in her hands. She parted them to look outside to see if it had frosted yet. During the Three Kings, they always had at least one night it frosted. That evening, she had covered up her strawberry bed which was full of blooms. She was glad to see the ground didn't have a frosty white sheen to it. It dawned on her as she studied the still night, she hadn't heard the banging noises for at least a day or maybe two. By now, she'd gotten used to the noises though she still didn't like listening to them. Sometimes, she was even able to tune the sounds out and lose track of how long it was from one time to the next that she'd heard the banging. Other than the cool temperature, it was a pretty night. The barnyard glowed with a yellow cast, lit by a large full moon. The sheep were quiet, sleeping in the barn. Until the sheep shearer came, Jack kept the flock locked up at night. A stray rain shower or dew sinking into the thick wool was enough dampness to make shearing tough. Suddenly, a movement in front of the barn caught Ellen's attention. She knelt at the window, folded her arms on the sill, and studied what had caught her attention. She blinked, opened her eyes wide, and blinked again. She would have thought she was dreaming if she didn't know for sure she was awake. How could she not have seen the shadowy form before? In just a blink of her eyes, he had materialized. She shut and opened her eyes again. He was still there. In front of the barn, a small boy sat on the ground. He was dressed in a blue chambray, long-sleeved shirt and faded blue overalls like farm kids wore years ago. His left leg twisted under him in an awkward way. Beside him lay his straw hat with the crown flattened and the brim frayed. Next to the hat was a claw hammer. From across the length of the barnyard, as if drawn together like a magnet to metal, Ellen and the boy's eyes met. The pained expression on his face tugged at Ellen's heart. His lips moved wordlessly as if he was speaking to her, but from that distance, she couldn't make out his voice. Ellen squinted, trying to read his lips. It looked like he was begging her for help as he pointed to his twisted leg which surely was broken. Overwhelmed by the pained look on the boy's face, Ellen felt like the distance closed between them. She turned the curtains loose and reached out a hand to help him. The cold, unyielding window screen bit into her fingertips, stopping her. At first, the gusty northern breeze carried the strong scent of sweet honeysuckle from the vine below the window. Suddenly, with a whirlwind force, the wind swirled the lace curtains around Ellen's face, blocking her view. She couldn't stay there any longer, staring helplessly out the window. She knew she had to do something to help the boy. Ellen rose to her feet. “Wake up, Jack! Come to the barnyard quickly,” she shouted as she ran for the living room door. Beneath the flutter of her white cotton nightgown whipping around her legs, her bare feet fairly flew over the lawn. When she rounded the house, the barnyard came into view. Ellen stopped abruptly to survey the yellow glow on the ground in front of the barn. It was empty. The boy had promptly vanished as fast as he had materialized the moment she took her eyes off him. “Where's the fire?” Jack puffed, rushing around the house. He hopped on one bare foot then the other, zipping his jeans as he hobbled along. “There's no fire. I saw a little boy sitting in front of the barn, and I wanted you to come see for yourself. We need to help him. He was hurt,” Ellen said. Jack looked confused. “A boy? Did you recognize him?” Ellen shook her head. “No, I've never seen him before. He was a cute little fellow though.” “How old was he?” Jack asked, staring at the empty barnyard. “He looked to be about thirteen or fourteen years old. The oddest thing was he was dressed like people dressed years ago in a blue chambray work shirt and overalls.” “You think that was the oddest thing about your whole story?” Jack scoffed, staring at her like she had a screw loose. Ellen shrugged. “Well, I just meant the way he dressed was peculiar. We wouldn't see farm boys dressed like that today. Beside him were a smashed straw hat and a claw hammer.” “A smashed hat …. a claw hammer …. and a boy dressed funny? You saw all that out here in the dark from inside the house?” Jack said slowly, not sure he had heard Ellen correctly. “The moon gives off plenty of light to see by,” she excused. “Look around you and see for yourself.” “Maybe, but what would a strange boy be doing out here this time of night?” Jack combed his fingers through his hair while he tried to clear his sleep muddled mind. “I don't know why he was out here. Since he was a stranger, he might have been a runaway. All I know is he was hurt. I could see that, and he was in a lot of pain,” Ellen declared. “He wanted me to help him. I know he did.” “You could tell all that from in the house?” Jack repeated. Ellen nodded insistently. “Yes, the boy's left leg was broken. It had to be from the way the leg was bent backward under him. There was pain written all over that poor little boy's face.” “Listen to me, Ellen. You have been upset between the tramp sleeping in the loft and all banging noises we can't find an explanation for. Are you sure you weren't sleepwalking and dreamed all this up?” Jack sounded concerned. “No, I know for sure I wasn't sleepwalking. I was having trouble falling asleep. That's why I was up.” “Because of the banging noises?” Ellen looked at her bare feet as she recalled what had happened. “No, because of your snoring. There hasn't been any banging for a few nights. I was on my way to the kitchen to get me a glass of warm milk. I just happened to look out the window and saw the boy sitting on the ground in front of the barn.” Ellen could see Jack still wasn't convinced. He slanted his head to one side as he studied her. “Are you still reading that mystery book about a woman who dreams she sees a murder in someone else's house? Maybe that book is what triggered your dream.” “Jack, I finished that book a month ago, and I wasn't dreaming tonight,” Ellen snapped. “I think that story has stuck with you in your sleep though,” Jack declared. Ellen shrugged her shoulders, tired of arguing. That surely wasn't how it happened, she thought. I know what I saw, but Jack isn't going to listen to me. She walked through the barnyard gate. “I want to go look at the spot where I saw him.” Jack followed her, grumbling that he wished he had his work boots on. “If you step in sheep poop, your feet will wash,” Ellen retorted. “I don't have any shoes on, either.” “That isn't what bothers me. My feet are too tender to be walking out here,” Jack complained, stepping gingerly on the hard, rough hoof pocked ground. Ellen ignored his grumbling as she knelt down. “Oh, my! Here's his hammer. Right where the little boy left it. I could see the hammer on the ground from the window. All that's missing is his hat. It sure was flattened. He must have fallen on it when he broke his leg, but he liked it well enough to wear it anyway.” She looked the hammer over and handed it to Jack. “Look at the old, scared up, wooden handle.” Now she was convinced that she had seen the boy. “Maybe we should look around for him. He couldn't have gotten far dragging a broken leg. Think we should call the sheriff's office and get some help out here to search for him?” Jack shook his head as he glanced at the hammer. “No, I'm not convinced you saw a boy. We'd be mighty embarrassed if the sheriff sent his deputies out here to search this time of night and they came up empty handed. Besides, this old hammer was in the barn when we moved here. It hangs on the hallway wall. You've passed by it many times. You must have used it and didn't put it back. You know you're always leaving my tools lie around.” He's right about me using his tools and forgetting to put them back sometimes, conceded Ellen to herself. But I've never used that hammer. I'd remember if I did. Jack's right about it always hanging on the wall though. Wonder what this hammer has to do with that boy? Clearly, Jack hadn't appreciated being woke up abruptly in the middle of the night to go on her wild ghost chase. “I can tell you I have never used that hammer. Why don't we go back to bed and try to get some sleep?” Ellen felt foolish after hearing Jack's reasons why she had imagined the little boy. She wasn't going to convince him she was telling the truth unless she had more proof. The next morning before she turned the sheep loose, Ellen set her grain buckets down and did a search of the barnyard, looking for the boy's high top farmer shoe tracks. She didn't turn up anything but sheep hoof tracks. Nothing to get excited about. Ellen didn't find any evidence to support who she saw in the barnyard the night before or who she thought she saw. Feeling helpless, she knew she didn't have anything to back up what she saw unless she could find the little boy. So not talking about what happened might be easier than trying to convince Jack she saw something unusual in the barnyard. The best she could hope for was he'd forget that night ever happened. The only problem was she wasn't going to be able to forget what she saw. She poured grain in the feed bunks and opened the door. The sheep jumped out of the barn and bucked as they raced to the bunks. As always they were glad to be free for the day. Ellen went into the barn to look for a late lamber. She walked through the dust motes, shimmering in the sunlight. Cobwebs swayed from the ceiling as a breeze came through the open door. One day soon, she reminded herself, she'd have to get the old broom and bat down all the cobwebs before they dangled low enough to stick to her red stocking cap. The barn was the same as any other day. Nothing seemed out of place and she didn't find any new lambs. Only a litter of cute newborn kittens with her calico cat, Splotches, snuggled in the straw bedding in one of the lambing pens. Ellen counted five babies as blotched with colors as their mother was. She wasn't so sure she was glad to see that. Calico kittens were always females. That meant she had five more potential mothers. As she walked in the hallway, she glanced up at the old hammer Jack had hooked back on the nail. She took the hammer off its nail and turned it over in her hands. She found the initials J S crudely cut in the hammer's wooden handle. Who did that hammer belong to? A few days later, Ellen realized for sure she hadn't heard any banging noises since the night she saw the little boy. Just maybe since the banging had stopped and the boy hadn't reappeared that meant he moved on for good. She might be able to forget she's seen him now. No need to be so nervous around the barn anymore, thinking the boy was going to materialize in front of her. Now what she needed was a few good nights uninterrupted sleep. Maybe that would help her get rid of all the anxiety she'd felt for months.