Hideaway Home

by Hannah Alexander

  She smiled up at him. “You’re calling me Mrs. Potts now? This sounds serious.” She gestured toward the sofa in the parlor where Red had sat plotting an investigation with Ivan and John on Monday. “We can close the French doors and talk about anything you like,” she said. “Will a little privacy meet your requirements?”

  He nodded and led her there, gesturing for her to be seated, then closed the French doors and sat across from her on a straight-backed chair. “I was wondering, since you know so much about history, if you could tell me anything about the Bald Knobbers.”

  Her perfectly arched eyebrows raised a fraction of an inch. “You want to talk about local history at a time like this?” She turned and peered through the windows into the other room, where Bertie seemed to be in deep conversation with Mr. Potts near the fireplace. “And here I thought you were coming to me for a little advice about romance.”

  Red said nothing, but glancing toward Bertie, he felt a tug of frustration. “I think the most important part of romance is keeping that loved one safe.”

  Arielle returned her attention to him. “Well, of course, but safe from what, Red? Do you perceive Bertie to be in some kind of danger?”

  “Haven’t decided yet, but I aim to do my best to find out.” He forced himself to stop casting quick glances toward Bertie like a love-struck schoolboy and focused on Arielle. “I know the Bald Knobbers hung out around Hideaway sometimes. I thought, you knowing so much about local history and such, you’d have a little information about them.”

  She nodded at Red, her eyes bright with curiosity and concern. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking of resurrecting that vile group of fiends.”

  “No, but maybe somebody already did.”

  She leaned forward and placed a hand on Red’s arm. “I remember how much you and Ivan and your friends loved to play Bald Knobbers down in the caves below the Moennig farm. You children found trouble more times than I care to remember for playing where it wasn’t safe.”

  He knew what she was talking about. Those caves had been flooded half the time, and Cecil Martin had almost drowned there ten years ago.

  “It was always John Martin’s idea to play there,” Red said. “He was always hung up on the Bald Knobbers for some reason.”

  “He might not have been so eager to idolize that gang if he’d known how roughly they played.”

  “Maybe not, but his grandpa told us the caves were an outlaw hangout at one time, so we couldn’t resist goin’ down there. We’d heard the story about the Bald Knobbers raiding the place sometime back in the early nineteen hundreds.”

  “Those wouldn’t have been the original Bald Knobbers,” Mrs. Potts said.

  “Tell me what you know about them.”

  “The stories are quite embellished, and I think they might be much more legend and myth than fact now.”

  “So you’re saying you think the tall tales about those vigilantes is a load of hooey?”

  An affectionate smile lit her face. “Trust you to put it that way, Red Meyer. What kinds of things do you wish to know?”

  He shrugged. “Mr. Cooper told me the Bald Knobbers was the meanest, cruelest bunch of men in Taney County.”

  Mrs. Potts leaned back, resting her elbow on the armrest while managing to keep her posture straight. “Actually,” she said, her voice taking on a lecturing tone, as it often did with him, “the Bald Knobbers were a bit of a mixed baggage, or at least the original ones were.”

  “They sure made a name for themselves,” Red said. “Folks still talk about them in these parts, even this far from their hangouts around Forsyth.”

  She nodded. “They made a lot of people anxious.”

  “I think I learned in school that one of their methods of warning a victim that they were out to get him was to place a bundle of hickory switches at their door.”

  She nodded. “If that didn’t straighten the poor victim out, then they’d sometimes use those switches on him.” She stopped and cleared her throat, obviously uncomfortable with the subject. “These weren’t gentle little taps, either. They drew blood. They intended to injure with those switches.”

  “What would you say if I told you I saw those very same kinds of switches on Joseph’s front porch?”

  This definitely caught her attention. She leaned forward. “Red, are you certain? Couldn’t you have just seen some branches the wind whipped up? Because I have to admit this theory about a resurrection of the Bald Knobbers seems a stretch for me.”

  “I know, but just listen,” Red said. “I heard that sometimes the farmers would have their livestock run off their land when the Bald Knobbers wanted them to leave their property. Joseph was missing livestock, and someone even let Ma’s horse out of the stable the day I arrived. There have been several incidents like that, which is why I keep wondering if someone’s trying to hide behind a Bald Knobber hood. They was thieves.”

  “They were thieves.”

  “That’s right. And murderers. Masquerading as men providing justice, when they really hurt a lot of innocent people.”

  She nodded, her dark eyes narrowing at him. “Red, are you trying to compare Joseph Moennig with Bald Knobber victims sixty years ago?”

  “I think I remember hearing about copycat groups that sprung up after the first one was disbanded. These folks was more vicious than the originals.”

  “Were, Red. They were more vicious.”

  “Yup.”

  She looked pained for a moment, then shook her head. “What we’re thinking here is pure conjecture, unsubstantiated by dependable sources.”

  “I know, but there’s still enough old folks around these parts who remember what went on back then.”

  “Memories can become faulty with the passage of time,” she warned him.

  “Did you hear about that brick someone put through Ma’s window last week? And Earl and Elizabeth Krueger and their five kids seem to have took off. I just heard today that nobody’s seen aught of them since. They disappeared in the middle of the night, the same day Joseph died.”

  She looked down for a moment, then slowly shook her head. “That still doesn’t convince me that there has been a revival of the Bald Knobbers. Have you spoken with the sheriff about any of this?”

  “The sheriff don’t seem interested in my ideas, or anybody else’s. So Ivan, John and I plan to check it out for ourselves.”

  “Well,” she said, leaning forward, the affectionate smile back in place, “you’re always welcome to visit me at the library. We have some books there you’re welcome to check out. I plan to go straight there as soon as we leave here.”

  He nodded. “I just might do that.”

  Her expression betrayed her doubt. Red had never stepped foot inside the library except when he helped Ivan and Gerald build the shelves for her.

  “I need to change clothes and get a haircut first, then I might check that out.” He stood up. “Thanks for answering my questions.”

  She offered him her hand, and when he took it, she let him help her up. She was always doing little things like that, teaching him how to behave like a gentleman without making a big deal out of it. She’d been the one he’d gone to for advice before his first date.

  As if reading his mind, she asked, “I suppose you’re thrilled to see Bertie again. It must have been lonely without her.” There was no missing the friendly curiosity in her eyes.

  He glanced into the living room, where Bertie sat on the sofa, talking to Gerald, who sat across from her in an over-stuffed chair. “It was more than lonely.”

  Arielle patted his arm. “Don’t expect to pick up where you left off the day you went away. Bertie’s as true as the flow of the James River, but give her time to adjust.”

  She didn’t look at his leg, but he knew what she meant. He decided not to tell Arielle, yet, that he wasn’t going to even try to pick up the romance where it had left off. Bertie loved somebody who didn’t exist anymore.

  Arielle gave his hand a final pat, then stepped
out to speak to some neighbors who had just arrived with more food. To avoid the growing crowd, Red slipped out to the back hallway. He would change his clothes so nobody else would ask him if he’d been rolling in the dirt, then he’d hightail it to the barbershop, before surprising Arielle by actually stopping in at the library for those books. He nearly smiled when he imagined her reaction.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Bertie’s arms became tired after hugging so many folks who’d decided to “just drop by” to say hello, welcome her home and offer condolences on her loss. She was grateful for Lilly’s warm hospitality, and for Gerald Potts, who stayed nearby, such a comforting presence, strong and supportive as the crowd grew.

  “Lilly told me you and your friend are staying here instead of at the farm,” Gerald said.

  “I don’t think the choice was ours. Lilly pretty much insisted.”

  “Good,” he said. “I don’t feel comfortable about this whole situation yet.”

  “You, too?” She sat down on the sofa, and Gerald sat beside her. “Are you saying you don’t think Dad’s death was an accident?” she asked softly.

  He glanced around the room. “I’m not convinced about anything yet.”

  “Then, as mayor of the town, can’t you ask Sheriff Coggins to check further into the case?”

  He grimaced and reached down to pat her hand. “Let me tell you a little about being mayor of Hideaway. If you ever tried to herd a flock of chickens, then you know it can’t be done. The position of mayor in our town doesn’t pay, and it doesn’t earn a person any respect. If anything, it makes a man the object of jokes and a dartboard for any complaints.”

  “So the sheriff won’t listen?”

  “He doesn’t think there’s a case.”

  “But Red does.”

  Gerald nodded. “That’s right.”

  “He doesn’t even want me to go out to the farm to do the chores, but Red Meyer is discovering he doesn’t get everything he wants.”

  “I’d be honored to take care of the animals for you, but I think Ivan and Red have already taken that task on themselves.”

  “I would like to go out and get my bicycle, but Red doesn’t even seem to want me to do that.”

  “He’s worried about your safety, and I don’t blame him. If I’d had a pretty young lady like you waiting for me for three years, you can bet I’d do everything in my power to keep her safe.”

  Bertie allowed herself to smile at the compliment.

  “I know you’ve had very little time to make plans for the future,” Gerald said gently. “But if there’s any way I can help, you’ll let me know, won’t you? After all, you were my best worker at the Exchange before you left, and there’ll always be a job for you if you want it.”

  “Thank you, Gerald. I appreciate that.”

  “Have you considered further schooling?”

  “I’m a certified machinist.”

  “I’m talking college, Bertie. You’re young. You have a whole future ahead of you, and there’s plenty of equity in your farm to help you with that.”

  She nodded. “I’ll be thinking about it in the next few days.”

  What she intended to do as soon as possible was collect a batch of comfrey leaves from the lower forty acres, which overlooked the James River. She just wouldn’t say anything to anyone when she went. If she did, she believed she’d be hogtied and dragged back to town.

  Gerald gestured toward the front porch, where Ivan and Edith were holding a lively conversation.

  “My son doesn’t seem to be able to drag his attention from your friend. She was all he talked about on our way here.”

  “You noticed that, did you?” Bertie said dryly. “She’s been my roommate in California for eight months, and she insisted on coming with me when Red called with the news about Dad.”

  The screen door opened, and two familiar figures stepped into the entryway of the guesthouse. Bertie suppressed a scowl. Gramercy and Drusilla Short.

  “Here comes trouble,” Gerald muttered.

  Drusilla waddled beside her husband across the living room toward Bertie. There was no smile of greeting on their faces, and no expression of grief over Bertie’s loss. Dru was broad at the hips, with heavy legs, which made her waist seem smaller than it actually was. With her gray-blond hair and muddy yellow eyes, her unfortunate coloring made her look as if she was always scowling.

  That wasn’t the reason Bertie had never found her to be a pleasant person.

  Gerald stood. “I think it’s time for some crowd control,” he said. Then he walked toward the Shorts and greeted them, his voice clear and firm.

  From the edge of her vision, Bertie could see Red slip from the sitting room into the back hallway. Escaping the crowd, no doubt. She wondered how many times he’d been forced to explain his leg injury since he’d arrived home Monday. Hideaway folks were a curious bunch.

  She figured if she listened for a few moments to any nearby conversation, she was likely to learn more about his injury than she’d heard from him.

  Arielle Potts walked across the living room to join Bertie in the sitting area in front of the fireplace. She gave Bertie another warm embrace and sat down beside her on the sofa, offering no explanation about her private discussion with Red.

  “Bertie, you can’t know how happy I am to see you home again.” Her voice, as always, was musical and throaty. She glanced around the large, crowded living room. “Lilly is a gracious hostess, and I know you’ll want to be near Red, but you must remember that you’ll always be welcome in our home, as well. You may want some peace and quiet after all this.”

  Gerald reappeared from his welcoming duty and sank down in the chair across from his wife. “That was one of the most pleasant visits I’ve had with the Shorts.”

  “Why?” Arielle asked. “Because it was so brief?”

  He clucked his tongue and pointed at her. “You’ve hit the nail on the head. I’ve been asking Bertie about her plans for the future.”

  “And what was her answer?” Arielle looked at Bertie.

  “So far she’s giving me the runaround.”

  “Now, Gerald,” Bertie teased, “you know that isn’t true. I’m not sure what I’m going to do yet.”

  “I think she should stay in Hideaway,” Gerald said to his wife. “If she and Lloyd can sell the farm, Bertie would be able to attend college with her portion of the proceeds, and have a nice nest egg to tide her over until she decides what she wants to do with her life.”

  “But what if she decides she wants to keep the farm going?” Arielle asked, giving her husband an enigmatic look. “What she needs right now is time to recover.”

  “It never hurts to plan ahead,” he said.

  “Her father’s funeral is tomorrow, and she shouldn’t have to make any big decisions right now. She has a good head on her shoulders, and she’ll know when the time is right to make any kinds of changes.”

  Bertie silently blessed Arielle for her support. Gerald, with his thick, broad shoulders, firm jawline and piercing blue eyes, was the kind of man who made solid, quick decisions, who got things done and did his best for the town, whether or not his efforts were appreciated. His wife provided the tender heart and wisdom, and she wasn’t afraid to voice her opinions to her husband. Sometimes firmly.

  They were a good balance, even if they did strike sparks off one another from time to time.

  “There you are, Bertie Moennig.” Louise Morrow, one of her closest—and nosiest—neighbors, rushed to the sofa with a plateful of food. She nodded to Gerald and Arielle, sat beside Bertie, giving her a one-armed hug, and then handing her the plate. “This is for you. Thought you’d be famished. Lilly mentioned you hadn’t eaten yet.”

  Bertie accepted the plate with sincere gratitude.

  “How are you holding up, honey?” Louise’s graying brown hair was tied back neatly in a bun, her gray-green eyes soft and slightly out of focus—she’d always hated wearing her glasses.

  “I’m fine,
Louise, thank you.” Bertie picked up the fork and cut into the thick slice of meatloaf. With a silent prayer of thanks, she savored the food. Fried potatoes and gravy, cornbread and green beans fresh from the garden, cooked with bacon. The neighbors had gone all out.

  She ate without talking for a few minutes while Louise, Gerald and Arielle talked around her, and she caught a few snatches of conversation here and there from others in the room who had already greeted her and offered their condolences.

  Bertie had lost friends and loved ones before. She had experience with grief. But missing someone she knew she would see again someday was a far cry from that cold fear that she might be saying goodbye forever. Thankfully, she knew she would see Dad again. He’d had a strong, enduring love for his Lord, as had Mom.

  But even though Bertie knew they’d be together again, it wouldn’t be here on earth. She already missed him with a deep sense of loss.

  She picked up on the conversations around her.

  “…was a good man, dependable and honest…”

  “…can’t understand why Butch isn’t checking this out better…”

  “…never seen the like…don’t know what this world’s coming to…”

  “…best food in the four-state area!”

  “…oughta try the mountain oysters…”

  “…what’s the filling in the fried pies? Tastes like some kind of berry…”

  After only a few bites, Bertie realized her appetite wasn’t as keen as she’d first thought.

  Arielle gave Bertie another hug, and rose to her feet. “Everyone is going to want to talk to you now that you’re home. We’ll give you some time to get your bearings, but you must remember that our home is always open to you, Bertie.”

  Gerald held up his hand. “One more thing, Bertie. I really could use some help down at the MFA Exchange this summer. We’re busier than we’ve ever been, and I need someone in the office with knowledge about farming.”

  Arielle gave her husband a look of exasperation.

  Bertie hesitated. “If I decide to run the farm myself, I won’t have time for any outside work, Gerald.”