I made my way up the steps and into the house. Jaeger followed. Shep stayed outside, happy to go inspect the chicken pen and farmyard to see if there was anything for him to herd. I was relieved of worry about the dog. He knew his way around the place, and Jaeger wasn’t opposed to bringing Shep inside the house when the ice crystals formed on his face.
Jaeger had not changed a thing inside the house since the death of his parents. The only addition was Lester Gustaffson, the hand he had hired to get through the last harvest and the upcoming planting season. Jaeger had let the young Gustaffson boy a room, and by all appearances their arrangement looked to be working out well.
“Hey, there, Mrs. Trumaine,” Lester said with a quick smile. He looked a lot like his Uncle Lloyd, our previous extension agent; tall, broad-shouldered, a shock of yellow hair on the top of his head that looked blessed by the touch of a sun god. Even deep in January, Lester had a touch of color on his skin. He was obviously one of those people who tanned when they were outside instead of burning red.
I didn’t know Lester well, but we had seen each other enough over the winter to be on friendly terms. “Good to see you, too, Lester.”
“Do you have time for a cup of coffee?” Lester held up Lida’s blue porcelain coffee pot.
“No, thank you. I’ve got to get into town.”
“My guess is your drive’s going to be slow going.” Jaeger made his way into the kitchen and pulled a coffee cup out of the cupboard. “I was out this mornin’ with the plow. You should be fine over to the county highway. Take that curve by the Standishes as slow as you can. Snow’s as tall as the truck, and with the wind blowing you’ll be drivin’ through a tunnel you can’t see out of.”
“That curve’s always bad,” I said. “Probably will be until April.”
“I hope not.” Lester poured Jaeger a cup of coffee, then made one for himself.
“You boys heard about that Rinkerman girl didn’t you?” I said. I hadn’t moved from my spot in the front room.
“Did they find her?” Jaeger said.
“No.” I hesitated to say anything else.
“I was hoping they would,” Lester said, then took a sip of his coffee. “I sure don’t see how a girl like that can survive out in this weather.”
I flinched. I wasn’t sure why. Then I took a deep breath and stared at Jaeger. I trusted him. I wasn’t so sure about Lester, but I respected Jaeger’s judge of character. “I think I might have seen her last night on the way home.”
Jaeger set his coffee cup on the counter and returned my stare, covering every inch of my face. He knew me well enough to know that I was concerned, exposing myself. “Where’d you see her, Mrs. Trumaine?”
“In town. On Villard in the backseat of a car, a couple blocks down from the Red Owl. I stopped in to see Frank Aberle and picked up some staples for the larder.”
“No sense in wastin’ a trip into town,” Lester said.
“Exactly,” I answered, not taking my eyes off Jaeger. I wasn’t convinced that he believed me any more than George Lardner did.
“You’re sure it was her you saw?” Jaeger said.
“I thought it was, but I couldn’t be sure. I slammed on the brakes and sent the truck into a spin. By the time I got myself oriented, the car was gone.”
Jaeger stiffened. “You called the police, right?”
“Yes. George Lardner said there was more than one moon-faced girl in Dickinson, and there’s probably more black cars than you can shake a stick at. I couldn’t tell him the make or the model, so he was probably right.”
“I have a black car,” Lester said. “A ’52 Chevy sedan parked out in the barn. No use drivin’ a car in this weather. If I go anywhere, I take Jaeger’s old Harvester truck. That thing’s a brute.”
“There are a lot of black cars in the county,” Jaeger said. “But I don’t know about girls like Tina Rinkerman.”
“Me, either,” I said. “George was supposed to tell the sheriff, but I never heard back from him. Guy has his hands full. I wish I could say for sure that I saw her, but I can’t. Weather was bad, and I only got a quick glimpse of the girl in the backseat. I can’t be positive. I’m not sure George believed a word I said. I’m not sure I would have, either.”
“I believe you, Mrs. Trumaine,” Jaeger said.
“Me, too,” Lester offered.
“All right,” I said. “You boys keep an eye out for a black car if you’re out and about today. If you see something suspicious, call Guy Reinhardt as soon as you can.”
“We will,” Jaeger said.
I left the Knudsen farm feeling a little better than I had when I’d arrived. I appreciated not having to worry about Shep all day, and I was relieved to tell someone who believed me what I had seen. The more sets of eyes looking for that girl the better as far as I was concerned.
CHAPTER 18
I was tempted to head toward South Heart instead of going into Dickinson. Anna needed me, but so did the Rinkermans. Or so I thought. But I knew I had little to offer the Rinkermans except my company. I felt bad that the tragedy of their missing daughter seemed to be overtaken by the murder of Nils Jacobsen. Maybe Darlys or Connie had already thought of sending someone else to see to their needs. The Ladies Aid had more members than the three of us, but I wasn’t quite sure how many members there were. I hadn’t been to a meeting yet.
Going to the Rinkermans’ house didn’t really seem like a good idea. I wasn’t convinced that I’d be able to contain myself and not tell them about my experience driving down Villard. There was no use giving the family false hope or adding to their worry by telling them that I might have seen Tina. I knew my presence would be more hurtful than helpful. No point in that. I drove on toward Dickinson with a small amount of guilt simmering in the pit of my stomach.
Jaeger had done a fine job plowing the road and informing me about the snow tunnel on the Standishes’ curve. It was like driving through a snow globe, all shaken up. I couldn’t see an inch in front of me. I was surrounded by pure white, going as slow as I could, with nothing to rely on but my faith in an unknown driver coming from the opposite direction, using the same precautions I was. By the time I drove out of the tunnel, I was past Mills and Burlene’s house, but I was still curious about who had called them the night before. Hard telling who the caller was. I wasn’t about to break my rule against eavesdropping on the party line, even though I could almost convince myself that there would be a good reason to.
Once I was on the county road into town, I had an easy drive. I arrived at the Jacobsens’, giving Abigail enough time to take the children to church. Unlike the day before, I was able to park in front of the house. There were almost no cars on the street or in the courthouse parking lot. If I’d had a little more time, I would have parked the Studebaker in the lot and plugged in the block heater, but I was worried about being late. I had jumper cables with me if I needed them.
I hurried up to the door, knocked, and was greeted by Lene Harstaad. She had missed the day before, and I was happy to see her. I secretly hoped she’d brought some of her sandkakes and homemade strawberry jam to add to the kitchen table.
“Well, there you are, Marjorie Trumaine. I was beginning to get a bit worried about you, out on the road by yourself and drivin’ that contraption you call a truck.” Lene ducked her head out the door and looked up to the sky. “Good thing that snow stopped or we’d be back to diggin’ out again, don’t ya know? Clear skies are comin’ the next two days, so they say. I’ll believe good weather when I see it. Come on, get in here before we let out all the heat.”
I smiled, made my way past Lene, and stepped inside the Jacobsens’ house. Lene was one of those women who minced no words. She said what she meant and meant what she said. I liked that about her, but I still wasn’t used to her brusqueness. I could see that she had a caring heart and she didn’t wear her emotions on her sleeve. I understood that. Life on the farm was hard, full of disappointments and bad luck. Spirits could be broken and
never healed.
The television was off, no one was in the front room, and the house smelled clean, free of stale cigarettes and the presence of a crowd. Open curtains brought in some sorely needed daylight, allowing me to see that all of the furniture was back in its place. Any sign of yesterday’s gathering of mourners was gone, erased with the sweep of a broom and the wipe of a dust rag. Someone had spent a fair amount of time straightening up around the house. There was a hint of pine scent in the air from the floor cleaner. I wondered when Lene had arrived. Probably at first light.
“If I’d known you were going to be here, I would have swung by to see the Rinkermans.” I stopped in the middle of the front room and took off my coat. This time, I wore my boots and brought black pumps with me. I wasn’t about to freeze my toes off two days in a row. I had been tempted to put my long johns on under my dress and take them off after I’d arrived, too, but that would have looked silly, especially if I’d been in an accident. Imagine what the ambulance driver would have thought.
“Darlys and Theda are out there today,” Lene said. “Took them some of the bounty that was piled up on Anna’s table at the end of the day. With Anna’s blessings, of course. Even in her state, she couldn’t stand to think of food goin’ to waste or them people in South Heart bein’ without somethin’ she had.”
I was relieved to hear that the Rinkermans were still in Darlys’s thoughts. I shivered, though, as Tina’s face flashed through my mind. “They haven’t found the girl yet?”
“Not that I know of.”
I hesitated a bit before I asked the question that George Lardner had planted the seed to. “Do you know if there are any other girls in town like Tina Rinkerman?”
Lene’s face flushed red, and both hands immediately latched onto her hips, her elbows pointed like sharp arrows. “Why would you ask me such a thing, Marjorie?”
“I thought you might know. I can’t think of anyone else.”
Lene glared at me in a way she had never done before and didn’t offer another word. I sat down in the nearest chair to change out of my boots and into my shoes. “How is she today?” I said, changing the subject. I dropped my voice to a whisper as the furnace kicked on.
Lene relaxed her arms and face, and said, “Still in shock, if you ask me. Doc came by to check on her last night and left her some of them sedatives. I’m not one for pills, but in this case I think their use is warranted. Can’t say for sure if she has taken any, but I suspect so. Her eyes are glassy, and she hasn’t said ten words this morning.”
“She needs her rest,” I said. I cocked my ear toward the bedroom but didn’t hear a thing. “Any word from the sheriff?”
Lene stepped closer to me, squaring her shoulders and pursing her lips as if she was trying to hold something back. Her German heritage was in full view.
I wondered if Lene was a member of the German-Hungarian club along with Frank Aberle. I’d had little time previously to consider the relationships between the people in town and the farmers in the outlying fields as closely as I had in the last few days. In indexing, one entry was normally related to another in an apparent or obscure way, linked most often with a See also reference. I could link words like season and migration contextually in the index I was working on, but I had no idea if Lene knew Frank, if she was connected to him in any way. It didn’t matter if they were connected, really. The consideration was nothing more than a realization that all of my years spent on the farm and tending to my own unending string of tragedies had left me without the relationships that most folk seemed to take for granted. I had lost Ardith Jenkins, Calla Eltmore, and Lida Knudsen, the pillars of my entire social foundation, all in a matter of months. The truth was I felt lonelier standing there talking to Lene than I did when I was home alone with Shep.
Lene did nothing to fight off the scowl that appeared at the mention of the sheriff. “From what I understand, he came by early this morning,” she said. “I missed his visit, but Abigail was here. There’s no change, no one to arrest, to no one’s surprise.”
What’s that supposed to mean? bubbled on my tongue, but I swallowed hard, and the words disappeared. I knew what she meant. We both were at the limits of our restraint, and I wasn’t sure why that was.
I made a mental note not to mention Tina Rinkerman or the sheriff to Lene again. “I’m sure everyone’s working as hard as they can to find out what’s going on, Lene.”
She stood over me, on edge, her eyes narrowed, ready to tell me exactly what she thought of Guy Reinhardt, but I really didn’t want to hear her opinions. I stood up, slipped on my pumps, and said, “Has Anna eaten this morning?”
I heard a rattling in the kitchen. A dish touching a dish with little regard to a chip or damage. I had assumed that Anna was in the bedroom, that me and Lene were the only ones in the house. I looked toward the kitchen in unison with Lene.
“That neighbor lady is fixing her a plate now,” Lene said. “I took her some hot tea and toast after the children left, but she refused to eat or drink.”
I was more accustomed to Lene’s ways and attitudes than I was to Helen Greggson’s, but I was tiring quickly of Lene’s company. “I’ll see what I can do.”
I headed into the kitchen, leaving Lene to herself and whatever she was doing before I arrived.
Helen was standing at the stove stirring some familiar smelling knoephla soup. She didn’t seem to notice my presence, so I stowed my purse in the cupboard. I was already starting to develop habits and patterns here, even though I had no idea how long I would be attending to Anna’s needs as part of the Ladies Aid.
“Good morning,” I said.
Helen flinched a little bit, stopped stirring, and looked to me. “Oh, I didn’t hear you come in. Lost in thought, I guess. Good morning, Marjorie. How was your drive in?”
“Slow going, like usual.”
“Yes, well, it is January.”
I heard the tips of hard straw hit wood and I knew Lene had taken the broom to the floor. She seemed happy to work out her frustrations on whatever dirt remained.
Helen started stirring again but kept her eyes on me. “Thankfully, Abigail wanted to take the children on her own. I had no desire to step into that church. Last time was for a wedding, and that was years ago. I’m not much for churches, but I guess when bad times hit, there’s a comfort to be had and people to keep you company. If you want such a thing.”
I feigned a quick smile. I wasn’t going to get into that conversation any more than I was willing to do any kind of battling with Lene. I’d already stepped into one hornet’s nest. I wasn’t anxious to step into another. “What can I do to help?”
I looked around the kitchen. The counters were clean and cleared. The kitchen table was half full of non-perishables, breads, cakes, cookies, and pies. Hot dishes and salads must have been in the Kelvinator. Leftovers would be warmed up, and enough food to feed an army would parade through the door after church services were over.
“I think some chicken broth would be easy on Anna’s stomach. Do you want to be the one to take her something to eat?” Helen said.
“Yes, sure, I’d be happy to.”
“I heard the Harstaad woman tell you that the sheriff stopped this morning.” Helen lowered her voice and looked out to the front room suspiciously.
I stepped closer so we could talk without Lene hearing. Helen Greggson looked like she had something she wanted to tell me. “She said there was no change.”
“That’s true,” Helen said, whispering. “They don’t have any suspects, but they’re bringing in Toren Rinkerman and his three boys for questioning.”
“Why would they do that?” I said, surprised by what I heard.
“I don’t know for sure,” Helen said, “but I think it has something to do with where they found Nils. He wasn’t killed that far from the Rinkermans’ place from what I understand.”
CHAPTER 19
Daylight stole in around the edges of closed blinds, a pale yellow glow that could not
reach far enough to make any difference inside the gloomy bedroom. The light could not serve its purpose with the blinds closed. If only banishing grief and sadness was as easy as turning the slats on a blind.
“Anna,” I said, easing the door closed behind me. “I’ve brought you some broth.” I stopped to balance the bowl and allow my eyes to adjust to the shadows.
The room looked and smelled the same as the day before; disarray and sourness accosted all of my senses. A wastebasket sat at Anna’s feet, and the bedsheets lay tangled up in a mess that reminded me of a dove’s nest: haphazard, poorly constructed, with whatever sticks and leaves that could be found, offering no safety or security. Anna was sleeping in fits.
Anna looked up at me, pale and uninterested. “I would have thought you of all people would know that I’m not hungry and have no desire for food.” She was sitting at the foot of the bed, hunched over as if she didn’t have the strength to hold up her head. My guess was she’d used the wastebasket as a catchall for whatever bile remained in her stomach.
I made my way to the dresser and set the broth on a doily so the heat and moisture from the bowl wouldn’t mar the wood. “I know you can’t stay in here forever.” I felt like a hypocrite. Who was I to offer Anna advice or encouragement? I couldn’t even bear to part with Hank’s clothes. I sat down on the bed next to Anna and took her cold, fragile hand into mine.
“Mother said that, too. She is frustrated with me, but that’s nothing new, is it?”
There was no way for me to know. I had no idea what Anna’s relationship with her mother was. All I knew was that Abigail was where she needed to be, in charge, looking after the children and house the best she could under terrible circumstances. I didn’t answer the question. I sat there quietly trying to figure out how I was going to get Anna moving again. Or not. She would have to figure out how to live again on her own, for her own reasons. No one could goad her into living again. I knew that.
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