Snow Ordinary Family

by Wendy Meadows

  “Murder,” Sarah said, spotting Abigail peeking her head into the foyer. The poor woman looked absolutely distraught. The situation was no longer exciting like a television episode. “Abigail, honey, go back to the kitchen.”

  Abigail ignored Sarah, however. She eased into the foyer and walked up to Jenson, who stood cowering in the corner of her immaculate living room, dripping snow and filth all over the carpet. “Why?” she demanded in a tremulous, hurt tone. “Mitchel Cochran is dead. The feud is over. Why?”

  “The gold,” Jenson hissed without a moment of remorse. “I want the gold. Just like everyone else.”

  Abigail sighed. “The gold is cursed,” she said and tried to touch Jenson's arm. Jenson yanked away. “Oh, your papa would be so upset with you, Jenson. He worked so hard to give you such a good life.”

  “You stupid old biddy,” Jenson snapped, “my papa, your darling son, was involved all along. He's not the golden boy you think he is.”

  Abigail frowned. “I know my sweet Caleb is a troubled soul,” she admitted and looked at Sarah. “A mother hates to acknowledge the darker truths about her children. A mother will always take delight in her own son, even when she knows the truth.” Abigail looked down at her wrinkled hands. “I know my son had a drinking problem...for many years. He has a troubled heart...but there is goodness in him, and I take joy in knowing that.” Abigail raised her eyes. “I will not tolerate you bad-mouthing your father, Jenson. Besides, a woman has to live her own life,” she told him with a dignified look around the neat little cabin living room. “I have lived a long and beautiful life, and my sisters and I ended the feud. That was our gift to all of our loved ones. Today was supposed to be such a wonderful day...”

  Sarah heard movement. She turned her head and saw Betty and Martha appear, both dressed in lovely though faded evening gowns that reminded Sarah of the nineteen-thirties. “What is happening?” Betty asked in a worried voice.

  “Yes, indeed, tell us,” Martha pleaded with Abigail. Both looked terribly distressed to see Jenson handcuffed and dripping with filthy snow.

  Sarah took her gun and placed it back in the ankle holster. “Ladies,” she began to speak but then stopped and sniffed the air. The smell of three different, powerful perfumes entered her nose. “The poison!” she yelled and grabbed Jenson, swung him around, and stared him straight in the eyes. “You were going to kill them, weren't you?”

  Jenson cast his gaze down at the floor. “I don't know what you're—”

  Sarah dug her hands into the pockets of Jenson's coat and began digging around. “Aha,” she said and pulled out a small, fancy bottle of perfume. “Why do you have my perfume?” Abigail asked in confusion.

  Sarah tossed the perfume bottle to Amanda and pulled a glass tube full of red liquid out of Jenson's right coat pocket. “This must be the poison.”

  “I...don't understand,” Abigail confessed. She looked at Jenson with confusion. “Jenson, please, tell me what this is all about.”

  Jenson kept his eyes low. He was surely busted but he wasn't about to let his tongue run loose. “I want to speak to my attorney.”

  Sarah shook her head in disgust. “Abigail, honey, before I tell you what's happening, please, tell me one thing. Tell me how you think you killed Mitchel Cochran,” she begged.

  “Please, love,” Amanda pleaded with Abigail.

  Abigail looked at her sisters with reluctance and understanding. “Maybe the time has arrived for us to...reconsider our desire to remain silent?”

  Betty and Martha stared at each other and then slowly nodded their heads. “Indeed, it has,” they agreed and looked at Sarah. “We fear we have been very foolish.”

  “Not foolish,” Sarah promised. “Just cautious. Now please, talk to me.”

  Abigail motioned for her sisters to join them in the roomy living room beautifully decorated with antique furnishings that could make a person's heart melt. Sarah grabbed Jenson's arm and stationed him on the entry way tiles so he wouldn’t make a mess and fastened his handcuffs to a radiator temporarily. He could see and hear them, but he could not budge.

  Abigail strolled over to a stone fireplace with its roaring fire and warmed her old hands. “We knew the time had come for Mitchel Cochran to die,” she told Sarah in a low voice.

  “We had waited much too long to begin with,” Betty added.

  “Indeed, we did,” Martha agreed.

  “We wanted to kill Mitchel Cochran many years ago, but we could not,” Abigail continued.

  “Why?” Sarah confessed.

  Betty and Martha walked over to a pink and white settee and sat primly. “It's all about the feud,” Martha confessed, and Betty murmured in agreement.

  “Indeed, it is,” Abigail nodded. She turned to Sarah, slowly beginning to warm up by the fire’s warmth, and then walked her eyes to Jenson. “It was always said that Stephen Greenlight killed Billy Cochran.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Jenson snapped.

  “Mind your manners,” Sarah warned Jenson. Jenson saw that the woman was prepared to fill him full of bullets and looked down at the floor.

  Abigail, unable to look at her grandson any longer, turned back to the fire. “The truth is...my sisters and I killed Billy Cochran...by mistake.”

  “Oh yes, a mistake indeed,” Betty agreed.

  “A horrible mistake,” Martha nodded.

  “My sisters and I were very young,” Abigail continued. “We so loved Stephen and were delighted when our Papa agreed to a visit. It was spring, and after a long winter Papa knew us girls needed to catch our breath. So he packed us up, along with Mother, and we traveled to this area. Oh, Stephen was so excited to see us—”

  “But not Miren...that awful, awful woman,” Betty added.

  “Awful indeed,” Martha agreed with a sorrowful nod.

  “Miren went and told Billy Cochran that my Papa had arrived for a visit. Billy Cochran was furious and threatened to kill Papa unless he left. Papa refused. Billy Cochran gave Papa until the next day to leave—”

  “And promised to shoot Papa if we stayed,” Betty told Sarah.

  “That awful man meant his words, too,” Martha added. “We girls became very scared for Papa.”

  “Indeed, we did,” Betty agreed. “Papa was a brave man, but he wasn't very fast with a rifle. Everyone knew Billy Cochran could outdraw and outshoot Papa.”

  “Yet poor Papa refused to leave,” Martha continued.

  “And so, we girls,” Abigail picked up, “decided to take matters into our own hands. When night fell, we snuck away from the Greenlight cabin after everyone had fallen asleep and we handled things.”

  “Indeed, we did,” Betty nodded.

  “For Papa, of course,” Martha added. “We loved our Papa very much and couldn't let him die.”

  Sarah looked at Amanda. “Sit down, June Bug. We're in for a long story.”

  Amanda looked down at her boots, wrinkled her nose, and sat down next to Betty and Martha and waited for the story to begin as the storm howled and raged outside. “At least we're inside,” she said in a grateful voice. “Now all we need is popcorn and a hot coffee.”

  8

  Sarah closed her eyes and listened to Abigail begin her story. She shut out the world and awakened the writer inside her heart, bringing the story to life in her mind just as she did when she sat down at her own typewriter.

  It was a dark and cool night, Abigail told them, as three young girls bravely escaped into the dark wilderness of an untamed land. The girls, desperate to save their Papa, aimed their sights on the camp of a horrible man determined to cause death and misery to their family. “Careful now,” the oldest of the girls, Abigail, whispered to her sisters. “We mustn’t be heard or seen.”

  “Papa will be very mad at us if he finds out,” the second sister, Betty, whispered.

  “Oh, simply furious,” the youngest sister, Martha, agreed as they crept past the tall, dew-soaked trees that appeared older than time.

  Abigail, more famili
ar with the wilderness, followed a moonlight-bathed path toward the camp of her Papa's enemy. She understood the wilderness—the dangers and the beauty—and knew how to respect the land her bare feet walked upon. “We're going to steal that awful man's rifle and throw it in the lake and then go back home safe to our beds.”

  “If that mean man doesn't have his rifle, he can't shoot Papa, right?” Betty whispered.

  Abigail assured her sisters the plan would work. They continued to follow the path, walking under a full moon, until Abigail led them to a clearing. In the clearing, she spotted a small, dark cabin. “We have walked a very long ways,” she said. “But we made it. There's Billy Cochran's cabin.”

  Betty and Martha peeked at the cabin through the early spring underbrush and became very scared. “How are we going to steal that awful man's rifle?” they asked as owls began to speak overhead, hidden in the trees.

  “We'll sneak through the front door,” Abigail explained in an uncertain voice. “Papa keeps his rifle next to the front door...I'm certain most men do.”

  Betty and Martha looked at each other with worried eyes. What if the door was barred and locked from inside? “We have Papa to think about,” the youngest sisters reminded each other and looked back at Abigail with determination. “Let's hurry,” they pleaded. The lake was still a good walk from the cabin in the clearing and the bears would surely be hungry after sleeping all winter.

  Abigail bravely drew in a deep breath and got her bare feet moving silently down the rocky path. When she came close to the cabin she slowed down, peered all around to search the moonlit night, and then whispered to her sisters: “Billy Cochran lives alone in this cabin. That awful Miren is back at Stephen Greenlight's cabin. If we're quiet, we should be able to steal the rifle without being seen or heard.”

  “Not seen...not heard,” Betty and Martha whispered back and worriedly followed their big sister up onto the wooden porch. The porch floorboards creaked and whined under their feet. “Walk lightly,” Betty whispered in desperation, and they all went up on tiptoes.

  “Listen,” Abigail said and stopped moving. Betty and Martha froze and listened to the night. The sound of heavy snoring rushed out of the cabin like gravel flung off a cliff. “Billy Cochran is fast asleep...we need to hurry.” Abigail gently pushed open the front door to the one-room cabin filled with darkness and the smell of sweat and dirt. In the far corner, her eyes made out the dim shape of a narrow bed. Billy Cochran lay fast asleep, his snoring loud as thunder. “Okay,” she whispered, “it's safe.”

  Betty and Martha nodded their heads and eased into the cabin behind Abigail. Abigail dropped down onto her knees and began feeling around for the rifle. Betty and Martha came up behind her. “The rifle has to be close to the door,” she whispered.

  Betty, feeling a strange premonition wash over her, raised her eyes and looked at the fireplace. To her horror, she saw the bright moonlight flooding through the open door and reflecting dimly from the rifle’s barrel. “Oh no,” she whispered urgently to her sister, “the rifle is hanging over the fireplace.”

  Abigail raised her eyes and spotted the rifle. “I'll get it,” she whispered and carefully crawled across the floor to the fireplace.

  “Hurry,” Betty pleaded.

  “Oh, please hurry,” Martha added.

  Abigail reached the fireplace, stood up, and began reaching for the rifle. Only her arms weren't long enough to reach the rifle. “I need a chair,” she said in a tiny whisper.

  “Oh my,” Betty and Martha gasped. They picked up the old wooden chair from the crooked kitchen table and carried it over to their sister as Billy Cochran snored away. Abigail positioned the chair in front of the fireplace. “Hurry,” her sisters urged.

  “I will,” Abigail promised and quickly climbed up on the chair. “I can reach it,” she whispered.

  Betty and Martha watched their sister cautiously take the rifle down off its wooden rack and then prepare to climb down from the chair. As Abigail began to climb down, the barrel of the rifle struck a metal cup hiding in the shadows of the mantle. The metal cup flew off the mantle of the fireplace and crashed down onto the wooden floor with a terrific clatter. “What...who's there!?” Billy Cochran yelled, startled out of a deep sleep. “Who's in my cabin!”

  “Run!” Abigail screamed, spotting Billy rising from his bed. She jumped off the chair and began to race toward the front door. Betty and Martha made it out first. “Run!” Abigail yelled again as her feet reached the threshold of the cabin, still clutching the rifle. But before Abigail could make it through the doorway, Billy Cochran grabbed the back of her dress. “No!” Abigail screamed and struggled and finally yanked herself away from Billy as hard as she could. The back of her dress tore loose. Abigail stumbled forward, tripped over her feet, and tumbled down onto the narrow front porch. Her momentum carried her forward and she tumbled right off the porch into the dirt. Abigail felt the rifle fly free from her hands and land on the ground next to her, banging onto a rock. When the rifle struck the hard ground, it came to life and left Abigail nearly deaf for a moment. Then a loud, painful cry split the air.

  “You...shot me!” Billy Cochran cried out and stumbled back into his cabin holding his chest. Then, panting and heaving in tremendous pain, he collapsed onto the floor and dropped dead.

  “Oh my,” Abigail cried in shock. “I didn't mean to...it was a mistake…honest!”

  Betty and Martha ran over to their sister, pulled her to her feet, and began to run. As they did, Stephen Greenlight appeared along the path coming toward them. “What are you girls doing out at this time of night?” he demanded, holding a rifle of his own. “I came here to try and talk some sense into that man. What are you doing here? Was that a rifle shot I heard? Tell me none of you are hurt!” His eyes went wider when he saw Abigail’s torn nightgown.

  Abigail, unable to contain her emotions any longer, burst into tears in Stephen’s arms. “I didn't mean to shoot him, honest,” she cried. “The rifle went off by mistake...honest.”

  Stephen put his arms around Abigail and stared at the dark cabin. He was a hard, toughened woodsman but had a gentle way about him when it came to family. “Stay here,” he said, letting go of Abigail and walking into Billy Cochran's cabin. Minutes later he came out, picked up Billy Cochran's rifle, and returned to where Abigail and her sisters huddled together on the path. “Billy Cochran is dead,” he said in a careful voice.

  “We only wanted to steal his rifle and throw it in the lake,” Betty cried.

  “But he woke up and chased me,” Abigail said through tear-filled eyes. “He grabbed my dress...I yanked free so hard that I fell off the porch...the rifle hit the ground and went off all by itself...honest.”

  “That's the truth,” Martha insisted, “We saw the whole thing.” She wrapped her arms around Abigail. “We came here to save Papa...”

  Stephen stroked his thick beard and looked around. “Okay, girls,” he said in a calm voice, “here's the deal. Tonight, we're going to make a pact. No one is to ever know the truth. No one ever needs to know the truth. I'm going to say I killed Billy Cochran because he stole my gold. Everyone knows that Billy Cochran has been stealing from my claim anyways. I'll say I came to confront him and he drew his rifle on me.”

  “But there isn't any gold,” Abigail insisted.

  Stephen leaned Billy's rifle against a tree, bent down, and put his hands on Abigail’s shoulders. “Oh yes, there is,” he promised. “I have lots and lots of gold. I've been letting Billy steal from a claim that has a little gold on it, but the real claim, girls,” Billy smiled, “is loaded. And someday all that gold is going to be all ours. I'm going to share it with all of my family.”

  “Even that awful Miren?” Abigail dared to ask as she wiped at her tears.

  Stephen sighed. “Love makes a man blind...I guess I'm like Samson in the Bible,” he said in a miserable voice. “For whatever reason there is, I love her. But listen to me,” Stephen added, “after I confess to killing Billy, I
have a terrible premonition that woman is going to pack her bags and hit the trail. She never married me for love, girls. I'm a strong man who has a good nose for gold. That's why Miren married me. But...” Stephen looked at the dark cabin and then focused his eyes on the faces of three very scared girls that he loved with all of his heart. “Family comes first. And...who knows? Maybe this is a blessing in disguise. Now, you girls get on back to my cabin and let me take care of business.”

  Abigail looked at her sisters. “Let's go,” she said and quickly hugged Stephen. “We'll never forget you or the sacrifice you are making here tonight for our sake. And we promise...someday, we'll show you how grateful we are,” she said and ran off into the bright moonlight with her sisters.

  Sarah emerged from her reverie as Abigail finished her tale and found herself still in the warm living room. “How does Mitchel Cochran play into this?” she asked.

  Abigail turned away from the fire. “Miren,” she said sorrowfully.

  Sarah walked over to the fire and warmed her hands. “I thought Stephen Greenlight set it in his mind to kill Billy Cochran to take back his wife and gold. I was wrong. Tell me what else I need to know to understand.”

  Abigail sighed. “After Miren found out that Billy had been shot, she became a very bitter woman, but to everyone's surprise, she remained married to Stephen.” Abigail looked at her two sisters. “Stephen was blinded by that woman.” Abigail looked at Jenson too and then tore her eyes away. “Over time Miren convinced Stephen to allow her brother to come and live with them, a very ugly man by the name of Roger Cochran. Why Stephen agreed to let another Cochran into his life is beyond me. As far as everyone was concerned, with Billy being dead, we believed the feud was over. But we were wrong.”

  “Very wrong,” Betty agreed.