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.