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.

The first installment of a novella that was inspired by my living most of what happened in this story while raising sheep on my parents' acreage.

Jacob's Spirit Novella Fay Risner Cover Art Picture of Duane Risner Circa 1971 All Rights Reserved by Author Fay Risner 2017 Published by Fay Risner at Smashwords Copyright 2017 Fay Risner Revised 9/7/2020  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to the actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locals are entirely coincidental. Excerpts from this book cannot be used without written permission from the author. Booksbyfay Publisher Author, Editor, Publisher Fay Risner fayrisner@netins.net This book was written for my son, Duane Risner, because the story was one he shared with me the day an elderly visitor stopped by to reminisce with him. The cover picture taken of him when he was 10 years old is a double exposure taken back in the day forty-odd years ago when cameras used film. I had forgotten to roll the film to the next number. Dear Readers, This story is part fiction and part nonfiction and here is why. Years ago, we lived on a farm that was homesteaded in the 1800s. In the 1970s, an elderly woman and her daughter stopped by one day to reminisce and look around at the elderly woman's childhood home. Our son, Duane, gave her the tour, and she shared her memories. She pointed out where farm buildings used to be and groves of walnut and apple trees. As her memories flooded back, she pointed to the far side of the pasture toward a row of trees. She told Duane and her daughter about a young brother that was buried there. He fell off the steep barn roof and broke his leg. One end of the bone came out through the skin. In those days, country doctors were a scarcity. Since there wasn't one close by, the family tended the child and hoped for the best. He died of gangrene. I'm not sure why he was buried on the property, but there might not have been a public cemetery close. Or, maybe the family intended to have their own family cemetery when the first death occurred. The first owners would never have dreamed that a hundred years later the farm would be sold several times to other people that weren't related. We drive by other family country cemeteries like that in our area. The small burial places are now known as pioneer cemeteries. The boy's marker had been a wooden one. After it rotted away and the property changed hands, the boy buried under the trees was forgotten. Today I doubt there is anyone left in this area that knows the story. Birth certificates were required or death certificates in the 1800s so nothing was documented about a young boy that died from gangrene. Since the elderly woman wasn't sure of the grave's exact spot under one of a line of trees, I can't pinpoint where the body was buried. I don't even know the given name of the little boy so I made up the exact location and name. As for the rest of the story, my husband and I had a large flock of sheep while we lived at that farm which was on a busy highway. One winter, I really did hear strange banging noises at night that seemed to come from the barn. I did grow nervous about going to check the sheep by myself since we discovered a tramp had slept in the hayloft and dropped his lighter. So there is much of me in the character Ellen Carter except I didn't get a chance to meet Jacob's spirit as Ellen did. My husband, Harold, is the one who solved the mystery about the banging. You will discover the answer at the end of the story. I do want to thank my son, Duane, for letting me use this childhood picture of him when he was around ten years old. Back in the day when we used film, I forgot to wind the camera to the next number before I took another picture of him. That made the picture double exposed. When I ran across the picture, it made me think of Jacob's spirit standing by the barn. I decided it would make a good book cover. In 2003, I entered a short story version of Jacob's Spirit in the Arkansas Writer's Conference in the category Grif Stockley Mystery. I was awarded third place. By writing this story in book form, here is my attempt to keep a little boy's memory alive that I call Jacob. Enjoy, Fay Risner The Barn In the barn, the ghost, the girl When I came home from school She sat upon the hayloft stairs In a dress of layered tulle Half-hidden from the shadows Her body turned away Her little gloves, pale and clenched Over her little face It was as if she took my hand It was as if she knew The earth held only part of her And I should know it too I’d seen the man out in the field Immersed in dancing flames A barn had once burned down out there Long before we came The land stretched wide beyond the house Who knows what lay beneath What other men were lying there And would show themselves to me It was as if he took my hand It was as if he knew The earth held only part of him And I should know it too It was as if they caught my ear It was as if their breath Would say, would sing The dance of life continues after death Chapter 1 January 21, 1977, a day in the life of Ellen Carter that she would always remember. That date helped her mark the beginning of her favorite story. A tale that she passed down through the years to her family. Of course, she knew none of them believed what she told them had really happened. They were certain the story wasn't anything other than a tall tale spun out of her imagination. Who knows? Perhaps, as the story was retold by family members from one generation to the next, there might have been an unintentional addition made here and there to the facts that helped to liven up the story. If Ellen's relatives did that, they were actually the ones that made her story the tall tale. That particular Saturday evening in January was one of those bitterly cold winter nights preceded by an accumulation of fourteen inches of snow in the two days before. After plowing the state highway for two days for the Department of Transportation, Ellen's husband, Jack, had spent all day Saturday cleaning paths around their house and the driveway so they could get out if they wanted to go somewhere. After supper, he stretched out in his recliner to watch television or fall asleep. Whichever came first. Ellen cleaned up the kitchen before she came to the living room and sat down in her rocker. A cold draft on her back caused her to shiver. It radiated off the window behind her that faced the north. She got up, pulled her rocker away from the window, and went back to reading a book. She tilted her ear toward the window as she stopped reading and rocking simultaneously. Concentrating on what was going on outside, she laid the book, Sleeping Murder by Agatha Christie, in her lap. She shoved her long brown hair away from her face and listened intently. Bang, bang, bang! “Jack, what's that noise?” “What noise are you talking about?” Jack mumbled, keeping his eyes and ears glued to the television. Ellen slowly shook her head. That television was the worst invention in this modern age as far as she was concerned. The program Perry Mason was on. Jack never missed that show if he could keep both eyes open. She frowned at her husband. He wasn't paying any attention to what was worrying her. He was stretched out with his legs crossed at the ankles. The lanky, dark-haired fellow's only movement was an occasional downward, nervous wiggle of his big toe stuck out of a hole in the toe of his Rockford sock. “Sh! Jack, will you listen? That noise!” Ellen hissed. She wrapped her hands around the rocker arms, braced herself and stood up. “Something is banging around outside. Hear it?” She walked behind the rocker to the window. Cupping her hands around her slim face to shut out the ceiling light's glare, Ellen leaned against the cold pane and tried not to breathe. If she fogged up the glass with her warm breath, she'd never see anything. She looked beneath the row of sparkling icicles on the house eave at the dense darkness. With her eyes squinted, she strained to see beyond the barnyard to the barn. “What do you see?” Jack tried to sound interested as he divided his concentration between Perry Mason and her. She knew his curiosity about what she heard wasn't that great. He might miss something that was important to Perry's case. “Nothing at all. It's pitch black and quiet now.” Ellen couldn't hold her breath any longer. She inhaled deeply and let out a puff. That warm air fogged up the glass. With a shrugged, she gave up and backed away from the drafty window. With a loud sigh, she picked her book up from the rocker seat and settled down. A commercial was on so that got Jack's attention. He twisted his head toward the window and listened intently a moment. “The wind is really strong tonight. I guess it's blowing in another snowstorm. Probably tore a barn board loose and causing it to flap in the breeze. Or, one of us forgot to hook a barn door at chore time.” Jack gave Ellen an accusatory look over the top of his dark-framed glasses. “I'll look around while I'm checking the sheep for new lambs. The ewes will start popping at any time. I suppose it's my turn to go to the barn, isn't it?” “You know very well it's your turn.” Ellen chose to ignore the twinkle in Jack's eyes as she looked at the wall clock. Almost ten o'clock. Any time now one of them usually went to the barn to check the sheep. She wouldn't even dignify Jack's accusing her with an answer that the banging might be her fault. She was very careful about shutting and locking the barn doors, and he knew it. Since Jack didn't get a rise out of Ellen from his suggestion that she left a door open, he teased, “I'm thinking if it is going to snow soon I might ought to stay near the phone. If my boss at the DOT shop calls for me to come to work to plow snow, I can get going faster.” Ellen knew what her husband was up to with that staying near the phone ploy. “I just looked outside, and I didn't see snow falling yet. The snowstorm we had yesterday and the day before is long gone. According to the weatherman on channel two, there isn't another storm due this week. If it makes you feel any easier about going to the barn, I'll listen for the phone to ring. I'll come get you right away if you need to go to work.” “Guess you settled that problem.” Jack went to the coat pegs in the kitchen and bundled up in his winter garb. He grabbed the flashlight on the shelf above the pegs. When he opened the door, he braced himself for the blast of cold air that assailed him. “Here I go. Watch for my signal if I need your help.” Ellen rushed back to the window and cupped her hands around her eyes. With her nose pressed against the glass, she listened to the wind howl. Inhaling deeply, she held her breath again to keep from fogging up the pane while she waited for the signal from Jack. He always flicked the light switch twice if he needed help to pen up a ewe with newborn lambs. Chapter 2 Ellen thought about Jack acting like he didn't want to take his turn going to the barn. She knew he was teasing, but it sure didn't hurt him to take turns with her. After all, when he was called to work during lambing season to plow roads at night, like the last two nights, she was stuck with taking care of the sheep by herself. She could have flipped the light switch several times, and it wouldn't have done her any good. Jack wasn't home to come help her. During inclement weather, Ellen was stuck with taking care of the sheep and other chores while Jack was gone. It was a well-known fact that lambs usually were born in a blizzard. She'd read going into labor during storms, whether it be humans or animals, had something to do with the barometric pressure dropping. In a few minutes, the barn lights went off. Jack was outside, projecting his flashlight beam over the front of the barn. The golden circle of light headed north as Jack walked around the side and headed toward the back of the barn. Soon he came around the opposite side of the barn and climbed over the fence. As he walked across the back yard, the kitchen window's light cut him a path to the house. Lacy snowflakes floated through the flashlight's yellow light, looking like those stirred up in a Christmas snow globe. Ellen hoped the ewes waited a few days to start dropping their lambs so both Jack and she would be home to take care of them. Thinking about snowy winter nights made Ellen wonder if Agatha Christie ever started any of her mystery books with – It was a densely dark, freezing cold and stormy night. The minute Jack came through the door, she barraged him with questions. “That was quick. It's snowing, huh? Don't worry. You didn't get a call to go to work yet. You didn't signal for me to come. Weren't there any new lambs? What were the banging noises? I haven't heard it since you went outside.” She took the flashlight from him and placed it on the shelf while he took his wool parka off and shook the melting snowflakes into the waste can. Jack slipped free of his coveralls and hung them on the empty coat peg before he spoke. “How about a cup of coffee? I sure could use one to warm me up.” “Sit down at the table, and I'll get us both one.” Ellen poured water in the compartment on the Mr. Coffee maker and flicked the switch. While he watched his wife scurry around the kitchen, Jack sat at the table and rubbed his hands together to warm them up. “I'll answer your forty questions if I can remember them all. No, there weren't any new lambs. For that I'm glad. This would be a hard night to fool with warming them up and not freeze ourselves. I didn't see any of the ewes hanging off in the corners by themselves. That's a good sign. I think the sheep will be all right until we check in the morning at chore time. Yip, it has started to snow, but just lightly. The channel two weatherman just might have been wrong with his forecast about no snow, but what else is new. Hopefully, we're just going to get a dusting that blows across the blacktops, so I wouldn't get called to work for that. The wind is cold and strong, blowing the storm through fast looks like.” “I told you the weatherman said the snowstorm was over for a week at least,” Ellen said. “I hope he knows what he's talking about and all we get is those few flakes. Let's see. Where was I? No, I didn't find anything that would cause the banging noises. I checked all the way around the barn which wasn't easy. Behind the barn, the drifts are knee and thigh-high. No loose boards that I noticed anywhere. Since the noises stopped when I got to the barn, it was impossible to tell where the banging came from.” Ellen placed two cups of steaming coffee on the table. “But you heard it when I did, didn't you?” Ellen didn't want him to say later that she had been hearing things. Jack nodded as he blew into his cup and then took a sip. “Yip, in here with you, I heard the banging, and right after I went out of the house, I heard the noise again.” In less than five minutes after they became relaxed in the living room to watch the news and weather, the rhythmic noises, like something banging around, started again. The banging continued after they went to bed and most of the night. Ellen couldn't sleep for listening to the disturbing racket. She didn't know how Jack managed to sleep. Then again, maybe it was because he snored so loud, he couldn't have heard any other racket over his own. Finally, Ellen slipped out from under the quilts and sat up. She wrinkled her nose in disgust when her toes touched the cold floor, but she was determined to take another peek around outside. She tiptoed to the window and scanned the back yard. Everything seemed to be all right between the house and the barn. Jack was right about them just getting a dusting of snow. It had stopped snowing. By mid-morning, the sun's heat would have the white coating melted away. Standing that close to the window, she shivered from the cold radiating off the glass. Her nightgown wasn't thick enough cotton to withstand the draft. She crawled back into her warm bed. More than likely whatever was making the noises would still be there in the morning. No sense losing sleep over it, she told herself. She grinned. That thought sounded like something Jack would say to her if he knew she was up. She shouldn't be up that late at night, wandering around the house barefoot on the cold floor. Jack would tell that, too. Ellen slipped back under the covers and noted that Jack was still sound asleep. Nope, he certainly wasn't worried about the noises or anything else in the middle of the night. He was dead to the world as they say. Chapter 3 One night a week later, Ellen laid her half-finished book on the living room lamp table and glanced at the wall clock. Ten o'clock. Her first check for lambs since chore time. She was home alone. Jack had been called out to watch the roads because of an impending snowstorm. After she'd listened to the wind howl around the house for the last two hours, she dreaded looking out the window. But she grew curious about what she was going to face when she went outside. The wind had just about gotten loud enough to drown out the banging noises she'd been hearing for days. Ellen roe from her rocker and peeked out the north window. Since she'd left the barn at chore time, what she'd been hearing was a blinding blizzard. It had settled in, slapping snow between the house and the barn. She stared into the snowy darkness. Behind the virtual swirling white wall obliterating the barnyard was the outline of a large dark structure she knew to be the barn. Oh, for Pete sake! Why did I let Jack turn the buck in with the sheep so early last summer during that cool spell in August? At the time, he said the sheep would only breed on cool nights. I might have known he would wind up working at night during lambing season. That means I get stuck with all the sheep checks during snowstorms. All I had to do was be smart enough to count ahead one hundred and fifty days to find out what time of year the sheep would lamb. I sure know now without counting since it's midwinter. I'll be prepared next summer when Jack wants to turn the buck in with the ewes in August. I'll tell him to wait a month or two until the nights are really cool to breed the ewes. Remembering back to last spring, buying sheep was Jack's idea. She usually realized too late that he could be quite the salesman when he wanted to be. This time his bright idea came after trying to figure out another way to make an income on the farm. “Small animals were easier to handle than cattle,” he had told her. “The barn is just the right size to keep sheep in. What do you think?” “Go for it.” Ellen mistakenly consented without first checking into the details of sheep raising. She just couldn't imagine how much work sheep would be. At the time, Ellen thought she'd like to watch lambs romp after each other in the barnyard. In the spring when she traveled by farms with sheep, she'd always loved watching lambs frolic after each other. Jack didn't waste any time. At the next sale barn livestock auction, he bought fifty Suffolk ewes and a buck. As long as the ewes were on grass in the summer having them wasn't a big deal. They weren't part of the chores. When fall arrived, Jack fed the ewes shelled corn in outside bunks, so they still weren't part of Ellen's chores. She kept her hens and broilers fed and watered and remembered to gather the eggs each afternoon. Another chore to her was their large garden she kept hoed. In season, she gathered the vegetables and freeze or canned them for winter use. Besides her household duties, those chores kept her busy enough. When lambing time was close, Jack began his campaign to get Ellen to help him take care of the sheep. He began by telling her the research he'd done on ewes. From what he'd read about caring for ewes and lambs at lambing time, it was clear to him the sheep needed a woman's touch. Precisely, he meant Ellen's special patient care and lots of attention. She fell for it, looking forward to the thrill of finding newborn lambs; a single, twins, or triplets wobbling along beside their mothers. Penning up the lambs with the mothers and watching to make sure the lambs thrived before she turned them loose sounded like fun. If the fact was in the books Jack read, he failed to mention the percentage of lambs she'd have to bottle feed four times a day. Some ewes had a bad bag so the lambs couldn't nurse, or a ewe wouldn't claim her lambs. Jack sure didn't bring up the fact that there was a percentage of ewes having multiple births that would have to have the lambs pulled in order to save them. Later when the first difficult delivery happened, he told her the job was hers since her hands were smaller than his. He reasoned it was easier for her to go in after the lambs. Now that Ellen was ready to leave the house, she thought back about the exact words Jack used to con her into taking care of the sheep. At no time did he mentioned freezing cold weather and winter blizzards when she'd be doing lamb checks. At that moment as she listened to the storm, Ellen dreaded going outside, but she didn't have a choice. This time of year she wore a heavy flannel shirt, long johns, and jeans. Now she struggled into her olive-green coveralls that hung on the peg next to Jack's woolen coat. She pulled a red knit cap over her brown hair and tied a wool gray scarf around her neck. With all that outerwear on, she could barely move. She hoped she'd be warm enough. After Ellen stuffed her boot sock covered feet into her snow boots, she put on wool-lined chore gloves. Now she was about as insulated from the blizzard as she was going to get. She grabbed the large, square, red flashlight off the shelf above the coats. With a grimace, she did a double check to make sure she hadn't forgotten an article of clothing. She couldn't think of what it would be, so she guessed she was prepared to face the elements. She had to be since she didn't have a choice. Jack wasn't there to take her turn. It wouldn't be right to let baby lambs suffer in the frigid barn without attention. It certainly wouldn't help their farm's profit column where sheep raising was concerned if she let any newborn lambs freeze to death from neglect. Ellen gripped the doorknob tight in case the wind caught the door and blew it out of her hand. She braced herself and faced the bitter blast of air that hit her in the face. The gust threatened to knock her sideways. Gripping the porch post, she stepped across the porch in the knee-deep snowdrift. In the glow of the front yard night light, the eddying motion of the dense, white haze was proof of what she imagined the storm would be like as it obscured everything from her sight. She was used to Iowa winters, but she had to steel herself for what was ahead of her before she moved forward. The porch steps were buried as deep as the whole porch foundation. Taking a guess about where to step, Ellen plunged off. She missed the steps and sank knee-deep into her flower bed. She waded around the corner of the house and was struck by a strong nor-eastern gust, carrying a swirl of blinding snow. It was hard to see what was right in front of her let alone what was ahead of her. Moist flakes lashed at her face. She ducked her head so that her nose and chin were inside her coveralls and scarf. No longer than Ellen had been outside, her chin was stinging from the snow plastered on it. Her nose burned as she inhaled the freezing wind. Ellen squinted to see where to put her feet as she tried to figure out what was ahead of her. A powder-like mist blew along the top of the white heap that had barricaded the barnyard gate on both sides of it. Ellen could see for sure she'd wouldn't be able to get the gate open. Shoveling would do no good. The wind would drive the fine snow right back in the hole where she took a shovel full out and all over her, too. She'd have to climb over the cattle panel fence behind the house. Walking into the storm's full force, her glasses plastered with snow, blinding her. Ellen stopped long enough to take off her glasses and put them in one of her coverall pockets. Then she grabbed a fence post with a heap of fluffy snow on top that reminded her of white icing on a cake. With a grip on the wooden post, she climbed the panel and swung one leg over. She was able to get a toe hold in the panel. With as tight a grip as her cold fingers would allow on the panel, she swung the other leg over and climbed down. Ellen made her way across the barnyard to the barn which looked like a black, snow-capped mountain until she was closer. Once she reached the barn wall, she found the drift in front of the gate had made its way along the barn. The drift was deep in front of the walk-in door and about a foot and a half away. She opened the door as far as she could and squeezed through the crack. Chapter 4 Inside, the barn was pitch black, and the banging noises were clearly audible, sounding really close by. Ellen's hand trembled as she felt for the light switch beside the door frame. She flipped on the barn lights and was thankful to still have electricity on a night like this one. At times, in wind and ice storms, the electric wires became disconnected. That put them in the dark for hours. At least, she might be able to see what was making the banging noises if the sounds kept it up long enough. As the other rooms in the barn lit up, the sheep became disturbed, realizing that they weren't alone. They moved restlessly in the straw bedding, making loud rustling noises with their feet. In unison, they bawled, making a lot of racket. They thought it was feeding time. She pulled her handkerchief out of her coveralls back pocket and wiped the melting snow off her face. Then she dried off her glasses so she could use them. The barn felt almost warm to her face compared to the tempest raging outside, even though with the wind chill the temperature was around zero. It was the heat from the animals that made the difference. As Ellen walked into the lambing pen room, she heard an unmistakable sound, the soft muffle of a new mother in the holding room. What she wasn't hearing by the time she reached the holding room door was the banging noises. That had stopped. As nervous as the banging made her, she was glad not to hear it with her so close. She opened the door. The startled sheep scattered. In one corner were two shaky lambs wobbling on their feet. They gave squeaky baas at their concerned mother as she licked first one than the other, trying to dry their wet wool as fast as she could. Ellen picked up the newborns by their back legs. Ice crystals had formed on their short white nap already. They needed to warm up fast so they would feel like nursing. She held the lambs down low so the ewe could see and smell them while she backed toward the lambing pen door. The worried mother stayed right with Ellen and her lambs until the family was in one of the eight lambing pens. Quickly, Ellen shut the door to keep the other sheep out and went back to shut the pen door. She looked over the pen wall at the new family. This was too cold a night to walk off and leave the lambs with the hope they would survive on their own until morning. Ellen went in the pen and pushed the ewe against the wall. She held the mother there with her legs while she reached under the ewe's belly. She squeezed both teats, checking for a stream of milk. Just her luck, the ewe hadn't come to her milk, or she had a bad bag. Either way, that meant the lambs would have to be fed by Ellen at least one time until she gave the ewe a chance to feel better. When she came back from the house, she'd bring a shot of medicine that helped new mothers let down their milk. Ellen wasn't thrilled that she had to make a trip to the house and come back to the barn right away. She'd have to fight the snow and climb the fence with two bottles of warm milk and a syringe of medicine. Knowing that every minute was precious to the new lambs' survival, she positioned a heat lamp over the shivering twins to help them dry off and hurried away. When she opened the walk-in door, a sharp blast of crisp wind drove the snow at her and took her breath away. Ellen shivered as a good handful of snow came off the top of the door and slipped passed the back of her coveralls collar and scarf. It melted and trickled down her back as she climbed the fence. As Ellen battled the frozen drifts, she tried to step in the half-filled tracks she'd made coming to the barn. It was easier than walking in deeper snow, making new tracks. She rounded the house and found the porch buried deeper with snow than when she left. The drift was piled high against the front door and along the porch to right under the window sill now. Ellen could see the top of the handle of the scoop shovel she left leaning against the wall. She grabbed the handle and tugged it out of the snow. The shovel was plastered with wet snow. She bumped it against a porch post until the snow fell away in clumps. Now she could clear the portion of the porch in front of the door. That's all the digging she needed to do to get into the house.