by D. M. Pulley
His father didn’t stay over that night, and there were no visits back to the tavern. He’d already left to go back to Detroit when the right question finally popped into Jasper’s head. “Can we go roller-skating?”
There weren’t many chances to ask that question in the days that came next. Uncle Leo and Wayne spent twelve hours a day working the fields, harvesting hay. Even Aunt Velma came out of the house and pitched in.
Jasper mostly rode the rear bumper of the tractor while Wayne drove the giant green machine up and down the fields, pulling the mower and then the rake. Uncle Leo followed behind it, raking loose cuttings into windrows and sneezing.
“Is Uncle Leo sick?” Jasper asked Wayne after he’d cut the engine at the end of a row.
“Nah. Just allergic.”
“To what?”
“Hay . . . Kinda funny, right?”
Uncle Leo walked up, wiping his face with a wet handkerchief. His eyes and nose were running and beet red. “That’s enough for one day. Wayne, take the tractor back to the shed. Jasper, go water the cows before supper. I’m gonna finish up here.”
“Yes, sir,” both boys said in unison.
Jasper raced across the cut hay field toward the barn. He filled each giant water dish so quickly he splashed half the bucket on himself, but he hardly noticed. He threw the pail back onto its nail and dashed back to the far corner. He glanced over his shoulder before pulling his mother’s diary out from its hiding place between the siding plank and the girt.
His eyes traced her name several times before attempting once again to read the first entry.
August 1, 1928
I’m going to die here . . .
Jasper stared at the word die, not sure if he was reading it right. “Die?” he whispered. He looked at the date again as he always did. His mother had been fourteen.
“Whatcha doin’ in here?” a voice called from the barn door. It was Wayne.
Jasper spun around, hiding the book behind his back. “Uh. Nothin’.”
“Oh, yeah?” Wayne smirked and walked over to him. “What’s that you’re hiding?”
“None of your b—”
Wayne whacked Jasper’s arm before he could finish. The diary went flying, landing just outside the pigpen. Poor Roy snorted at it and walked to the other end of the pen like nothing had happened.
“Hey!”
“Hey, yourself.” Wayne picked up the book and turned it over. “What is this?”
“None of your business!” Jasper yelled and swiped at the diary in his cousin’s hand.
“Where’d you find it?” Wayne asked, holding the book high over Jasper’s head and thumbing through the pages.
“It’s mine, dammit! Give it back!”
“It’s your mom’s,” Wayne stated the obvious and then finally looked down at his cousin flailing his hands. “Can you read it?”
Jasper’s arms went limp. “No.”
“Do you want to? I can help.”
Jasper frowned, thinking about it. “I don’t think she’d like that very much.”
“So? She’s not here. C’mon. I’ll show you.” Wayne sat down with his back to the side of the barn and ran his finger under each word.
August 1, 1928
I’m going to die here on this farm.
Jasper reluctantly squatted down beside him and followed his cousin’s dirty fingernail as it navigated the page.
It’s already happening. I can feel it in my bones. Every day is the same awful routine. Milk the cows, wash the dishes, clean the laundry, haul the water, feed the pigs, weed the garden. There’s no end in sight! I’m supposed to keep slaving away day after day until what, I ask you? Until I get married to a sweaty, sunburnt, dirt-poor farmer of my very own? I’m amazed my mother hasn’t dropped dead a hundred times already.
If I stay here, my fate is sealed. Mama doesn’t even want to send me off to high school. She says there’s really no point in it anyway. What good would it have done her? She says once Pearl is married off, she’ll hardly be able to manage even with my help. Then she gives me that disappointed look of hers, and I know what she’s thinking.
My mother never really wanted me. I was the last one born, and I can see it in her eyes whenever I don’t dry a dish the right way or miss a weed in the vegetable garden. She figures she should have stuck with three. I figure she should’ve run screaming from the start.
But instead, I get to be the unlucky, unwanted, unnecessary number four. It’s like I’m that ugly weed I didn’t pull today, that prickly flower that hurts your hands when you yank it from the dirt. I’m not a hearty potato like Alfred. I’m not a hayseed like Leonard. I’m not a lovely, little daisy like my older sister, Pearl. I’m a weed.
It’s only a matter of time before they find some excuse to pull me up and throw me away. That would suit me just fine. I’m so tired of being rooted here in the dirt. I’d stow away on the creamery cart to Burtchville just to escape the ever-loving smell of manure. No matter how many times you wash, you can never seem to lose the stink of it on your hands and clothes. It just gets under your skin. Papa might call it the “smell of money,” but to me, it’s all just shit.
Wayne let out a low whistle. “You better not let Pop find this.”
Jasper agreed. His mother’s bad language would earn them both a whipping just for reading it out loud, but it was still his best hope of finding her. “Will you keep it a secret for me?”
“No problem, kid.” Wayne tousled his hair. “C’mon, we’d better get cleaned up for supper.”
CHAPTER 10
They ever have any run-ins with the law?
The next morning, Jasper woke to the sound of tires rolling down the gravel driveway. They stopped, and an engine cut off. He sat up in bed with a start. Squinting out the window, he saw a black sedan was parked in front of the barn.
Mom?
It was a stupid thought, he realized. He’d never seen the car before. A hard knock on the door shook the house. His aunt answered it.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Are you Mrs. Leonard Williams?” a gruff voice asked.
“Yes.”
“I need to speak with your husband.”
“Of course . . . Come in, Officer. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
“No, thank you.” Hard footsteps slapped the floorboards, and a chair was pulled out from the table with a stuttering scrape. “Is your husband here?”
“Yes, out in the barn. Make yourself at home. I’ll go get him.”
The door opened and closed. The kitchen chair creaked as a large weight sank onto it. Jasper peeked out from behind the curtain at the back of the police officer’s head. He was wearing a light-blue shirt and a wide-brimmed hat, but it wasn’t a policeman’s uniform. A gun hung from a shiny leather holster at his side. Jasper glanced over at Wayne peeking through the other side of the curtain from his pillow. They exchanged bewildered looks.
The police officer let out a low whistle as he surveyed the room. Both boys ducked behind the curtain.
The front door opened again, and two sets of feet came into the house. The chair sputtered as the officer stood back up.
“Morning, Officer,” Uncle Leo said.
“Good morning. I’m Detective John Russo. Are you Leonard Williams?”
“I am. What can I do for you, Detective?”
“I’m investigating the disappearance of a woman—a Mrs. Wendell Leary. I understand you know her?”
“I do. Which police department did ya say you’re with?”
There was a pause as the detective flashed his badge. “Detroit PD. Perhaps we should talk outside.”
Through the curtain seam, Jasper could see the detective motion to the alcove where he and Wayne were listening.
Uncle Leo nodded. “Why don’t we step out to the barn. You caught me right at feedin’ time.”
The two men left the house, and it was all Jasper could do not to run right after them. Wayne grabbed him by the shoulder
and motioned to the window. Catching his meaning, Jasper threw on his pants and shoes and went to open the sash.
His aunt’s voice stopped him cold. “Good morning, you two,” she sang, pulling the curtain wide open.
Jasper spun around. Precious seconds ticked by. “Morning, Aunt Velma.”
“Hey, Ma, who was that man?” Wayne asked.
“A police officer from Detroit.”
“No foolin’? What’d he want?”
“That’s really none of your business, young man. I need the two of you to collect extra eggs this morning in case our guest wants to stay for breakfast.” She handed a basket to Wayne.
“I’ll—I’ll get started.” Jasper snatched the basket from his cousin and was out the door before his aunt could object.
He ran a wide loop past the chicken coop and straight to the back side of the barn, where he’d be hidden from the house. It took several moments, darting from slat to slat, to locate the voices of the men inside. Uncle Leo was slopping the pigs.
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Leo was saying.
“They didn’t have any problems?”
“It’s not really any of my business if they did.”
“What sort of man is Wendell Leary in your opinion?”
“Old Wen’s a nice enough guy. We were all happy when he came along.”
“Is he prone to violence? He ever smack her around?”
Uncle Leo slammed the slop bucket on the ground. “I don’t know where you were raised, Detective, but where I come from, you don’t insult a man with those sort of questions. Wendell is good, God-fearin’ folk, and if you’re implying otherwise, we’re gonna have words.”
“Fair enough. We have to ask these things, sir. Nine times out ten, in these sorts of cases, the husband is to blame.”
Jasper gaped at the detective through the wood planks. His dad had never laid a hand on his mother as far as he knew. Once she’d even screamed in his face for him to hit her. He never did. He’d just picked up Jasper and taken him to play catch.
“Are you suggesting that there’s been a crime?” his uncle asked.
“We haven’t ruled it out. According to her employer, a Perry Galatas, she’s been missing work for quite some time.”
“People up and quit jobs all the time.” The sound of another bucket of slop hitting the trough drowned out the detective’s response.
When the noise let up, he was saying, “. . . don’t often leave their car in the woods and disappear, do they?”
Uncle Leo stood rooted to the spot for a beat. “Where’d you find it?”
“A farmer a few miles up the road went looking for his dog in the woods. He stumbled on a forty-seven Chevy buried under a pile of branches. Looked like someone had gone to some trouble to hide it. There was no sign of Mrs. Leary. No hospital has any record of her. County sheriff didn’t know a thing about it. The car’s been down at the impound lot in Port Huron for almost a week. No one’s come to claim it.”
“Why didn’t they contact Wendell?”
“They did. He was hoping she’d come back for it, at least that’s what he says. He finally filed a missing person report. They’re processing the car as evidence today.”
“Evidence of what, exactly?”
“Well, for starters, I understand she’s wanted by the sheriff for questioning . . . Abandoning a car on county land isn’t a serious offense, but it does raise some questions. And then, of course, there’s the possibility that someone else was involved.”
There was a long silence.
“I’d hoped we might find her here. Hiding out. Pulling a Houdini like that makes a husband pretty angry. You sure she wouldn’t come back here?”
“I am. She was never afraid of Wen. Besides, she never really took to farming life.”
“Yes, I hear around Burtchville she was a colorful sort. I understand she has a son?”
Uncle Leo didn’t answer right away. “Yep. He’s been stayin’ here with us for a while.”
“Since when?”
“About two weeks. Althea brought him up here, said there was some things she had to do.”
“Was this unexpected?”
“A bit.”
“She ever leave him here before?”
“Sure. We’re family, ain’t we? Nothin’ strange about a nephew coming to visit for a few days here and there.”
“She ever leave him this long?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Back when he was about a year old, he came and stayed here for a spell.”
Jasper’s mouth fell open. He had no memory of being left the first time.
“How long?”
“A few weeks. Frankly, I encouraged it. City’s no place to raise a boy. Besides, the wife really enjoyed having another little one around for a bit.”
“Did Althea tell you what she was doing or where she was going this time?”
“Not really. Just said there was something she had to do. I’ve learned not to ask too much.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because Althea’s a private person.” His uncle sighed. “There’s nothin’ wrong with that. Last I checked, it ain’t a crime. I’m pretty private too, and I can’t say I’m liking all these questions. What’s it to you way down there in Detroit anyway? Isn’t this a bit outside your jurisdiction?”
“Althea’s a Detroit resident. The county sheriff here called it in to see if we had an open case.”
“Do you?”
“Not yet. Let’s just say we have our interests, but nothing for you to worry about. We’re the good guys in this. Did she ever mention any enemies to you? Anyone she felt threatened by?”
“You don’t really think somethin’ like that’s goin’ on, do you?”
Something like what? Jasper wanted to scream.
“We’re not ruling it out. Will you answer the question?”
“No. She never talked about anyone, but she never talked much to begin with. Christ, Althea . . .”
“She seem nervous last time you saw her? Jumpy?”
Jasper remembered her hands gripping the steering wheel, trembling when she screwed open the flask.
“A bit.”
“Take my card. If you hear from your sister or think of anything at all . . .”
A hand slapped over Jasper’s mouth.
“We gotta move,” a voice hissed in his ear. It was Wayne. Jasper had no idea how long he’d been there listening too. He dragged him away from the barn by his arm and over to the chicken coop. “Sorry, kid, but he was done with the pigs. He always comes out to the pump after.”
In the distance, Jasper could see his uncle rounding the side of the barn to the well pump. He was carrying two buckets. Wayne grabbed the basket from Jasper’s hands. He’d forgotten he was holding it.
“I don’t think Detective Russo will be stayin’ for breakfast,” Wayne said and swung open the wire door to the chicken coop. A flock of feathers flew up at them as the hens scattered about. Wayne flopped open the wood ramp to the outdoor run, and most of them scrambled away. Jasper just stood there in a stupor while Wayne did the rounds, collecting eggs from the old apple crates.
A loud squawk snapped Jasper back to his senses. The family rooster pecked at his legs and then tried to eat one of his shoelaces. Jasper kicked him off. Wayne finished collecting and pushed him back out the door.
“Wayne?”
“Yeah?”
“Did I come stay with you when I was a baby? For like two weeks?”
“I remember somethin’ sort of like that. I was a lot younger than you are now.” He held the door to the coop open for Jasper, then latched it shut. “I remember being all excited about being a big brother. I kinda hoped you’d stay.”
Jasper stared at the ground and said nothing.
CHAPTER 11
Did you ever feel like they were hiding something?
Later that afternoon, Jasper dragged Wayne back into the barn.
“I don’t understand wha
t you think this has to do with anything,” his cousin protested.
Jasper didn’t respond. The smooth prints of hard-soled shoes scarred the ground where the detective had stood and accused his father of terrible things. He tried to imagine his mother burying their family car under branches deep in the woods. It didn’t make sense.
Did she ever mention any enemies to you? Anyone she felt threatened by?
“She wrote that stuff years ago, you know,” Wayne continued, but he let himself be pulled along by the younger boy anyway. Probably because he felt bad for him. Jasper didn’t care why. The dried leather binding felt stiff in his hands as he pulled it from the gap between the siding slats and the girt. The yellowed paper still smelled of smoke and crackled as he ran his fingers over her name.
“You have to show me how to read this.” Jasper sat down in the dirt with the book in his lap.
“Why?”
“Because I need to know what it says,” Jasper pleaded, grabbing his cousin’s arm and pulling him down to the ground. He shoved the book into his cousin’s hands.
“All this thing says is your mom was a big blabbermouth as a kid.”
“Shut up!” Jasper was on the verge of tears. “It’s all I have, and if you don’t help me . . . I’ll . . . I’ll . . .”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake.” Wayne smacked the top of Jasper’s head. “Don’t give yourself a hernia. If I do this for you, whatcha gonna do for me?”
“I’ll do all your chores for a week.”
“Hmm. Two weeks and we have a deal.”
“Fine.” Jasper sighed.
“Alright. Then school’s in session. If you want to read this stuff, all you have to do is recognize the letters. It’s the same alphabet as before. You can read, right?”
Jasper nodded. He’d been reading since he was four. Don’t go thinking you’re something special just because some things come easy, baby, his mother had warned when he started showing off. Knowing how to read don’t make you smarter than anybody else, and thinking you are is the surest way to ruin your life.
“Good. Then you can read this stuff once you get used to it. A few letters look a bit strange, that’s all. There’s L. There’s an S. The ever-important I. Doubt you’ll even see a Q in this—them’s pretty rare. Now see if you can follow along with me.” Wayne cleared his throat and put on his best girlie voice.