by Donis Casey
Martha sat down beside her, intrigued but not surprised by her mother’s reversal. “No, I’ll stay here with you.”
Alafair patted Martha’s knee and turned her attention back to the service, which was finally breaking up. Walter Kelley was now standing off to one side, surrounded by well-wishers. He was a popular man in town, the busiest barber, the owner of two or three town buildings, as well as the proud owner of one of the town’s growing number of automobiles—a shiny black Ford touring car. He also had electric lights and indoor plumbing in his white house on Elm Street, and a telephone in his barber shop that he would let anyone use, free for local calls, though the town was small enough that it was probably easier to holler out the window. For long distance calls, most people paid the barber a nickel. He was a young man to be so well-off, Alafair thought. Late twenties or early thirties, tall and good-looking. But he worked hard, Alafair admitted to herself, even if he was too glib and a bit “hail-fellow-well-met” for her taste. He looked ill-at-ease and at odds with himself now, though, with all the people crowding around him, like he’d rather be anywhere in the world but here.
Alafair had lost sight of the other bereaved party, Louise’s sister Nellie, and she cast a glance around the crowd. She finally saw the woman, still supported by her husband, walking down the path toward her. Like other local farm people, the Tollands were known around town, but that was all. They bought their supplies at the Boynton Mercantile. They had taken out a loan at the First National Bank. They went to the Baptist Church, which Alafair did not, so she knew them only slightly. As far as she knew, they paid their debts and got by. When they passed her on their way out of the cemetery, Alafair nodded at them. Mrs. Tolland didn’t seem to notice her, but Ned Tolland nodded back.
Nellie suddenly stopped in her tracks, and her husband, unprepared, stumbled. Alafair followed the woman’s gaze and was not surprised to see it riveted on the half-hidden girl outside the fence. There was a long moment of silence as Nellie stared at the girl and the girl stared back, and Alafair stared at them both. Finally, Nellie Tolland’s face screwed up with distaste and she spat on the ground. Without a word, she and her husband turned around and left the cemetery another way. The girl didn’t move.
Martha made a little sound of surprise, but Alafair’s attention was already back on the barber, who had extricated himself from his knot of well-wishers and was trudging their way with his eyes on the ground and his hands in his pockets. He touched his hat brim as he passed the two women on the bench.
“Miz Tucker,” he said softly. “Miz Martha.”
“Our prayers are with you, Mr. Kelley,” Alafair said to him.
“Thank you,” he responded. He took one more step, then froze as he caught sight of the girl. His right hand came out of his pocket and unconsciously covered his heart, as though the surprise was just too much. He turned toward the east exit, but paused when he saw Ned and Nellie Tolland’s retreating backs. He looked desperate for a moment, trapped, but he recovered quickly and smiled at Alafair and Martha. “I’m glad y’all come,” he said, then turned around and walked back toward the grave site. Alafair looked back over the fence, but the girl was gone.
“Well, that’s strange,” Martha observed. “Who do you suspect she was, to cause the family such distress?”
“That’s a good question, honey,” Alafair replied.
***
Shaw listened to the tale of the mysterious woman with interest as he steered the team of mules down the road toward their farm. He cast a glance at his dark-haired wife sitting in the buckboard seat next to him, and smiled when she finished her story. He knew that no one was more sensitive to disturbances of the heart than Alafair. “And just what do you make of all these goings-on, darlin’?”
“I don’t know, Shaw,” she admitted. “But there’s a story here that we don’t know nothing about, that’s for sure. Could that gal have anything to do with Miz Kelley’s murder?”
“Scott told me that as far as he’s been able to find out to now, Miz Kelley was last seen alive in the company of a young fellow, the day before she turned up in Cane Creek. He didn’t mention anything about a girl.”
“Do you suppose Scott saw her standing there by the fence?”
“Scott don’t miss much,” Shaw assured her.
“Maybe we should mention it to him just in case.”
Shaw laughed in spite of himself. “Don’t get yourself all fretted, honey,” he admonished. “I’ll say something to Scott next time I see him, but I’ll bet you he will have already asked Kelley and the Tollands about her.”
“I just don’t want that poor woman’s murderer to get away.”
“He won’t,” Shaw reassured.
As Shaw spoke, one of the mules sidestepped and the left front wagon wheel ran over something with a noisy bump. Charlie jumped up from where he was seated in the back of the wagon next to Martha, Alice, and Gee Dub. He leaned over the side behind his father’s back to scan the road. “It’s a shoe, Daddy!” he exclaimed.
“A shoe?” Alafair repeated.
“Stop the wagon, Daddy,” Charlie begged. “I’ll fetch it.”
Shaw obliged, and Charlie leaped out of the wagon onto the road as the rest of the kids stood up for a better look. The Tuckers’ dogs had been following the wagon, and as soon as Charlie hit the ground, all three dashed to his side for a sniff and a better look. Charlie ran around behind the wagon and scooped up the object, then darted over to the side of the road a few feet back. “Here’s the other one,” he called. “Hey, maybe the dogs can track them back to whoever lost them! Come here, dogs.” Crook and Buttercup, the hunting hounds, and Charlie-dog, the kids’ pet, pressed around the boy and snuffled eagerly at the shoe. Charlie-dog had never been much of a tracker, so was more interested in trying to get Charlie-boy to play. But the two hunting dogs knew their business and set about immediately to pick up a scent.
The people in the wagon watched with interest for a few moments as the dogs methodically swept back and forth across the road, noses to the ground, running a few yards afield, then back to the road.
“Them dogs can’t find a scent,” Gee Dub said, as they circled back and forth.
Charlie shook his head impatiently. “Wait a minute.”
“No, Charlie,” Alafair admonished. “Come on back up here. There’s no trail for the dogs to find, and we have to get home.”
Resigned, Charlie whistled sharply, then trotted back to the wagon with the dogs wagging and panting around him. He handed the shoes up to his father. Shaw passed them over to Alafair before he hauled the boy back up into the wagon by one arm, then picked up the reins.
Charlie thrust himself between his parents on the wagon seat. “Whose shoes are they, Mama?” he asked.
“Don’t know, son,” Alafair told him. “Well, look here, Shaw. It’s a perfectly good pair of men’s dress shoes. And right out in the middle of the road! Look almost new, except that this run-over one has been chewed on by some critter.”
“One was in the road, Mama,” Charlie corrected her. “The other was way up under a bush to the side of the road.”
“Somebody must have lost them out of a wagon,” Shaw speculated. “They look expensive. Somebody is mighty sorry he lost those.”
“Can I have them, Daddy?” Charlie asked.
“You’d have to grow a bunch to be able to wear those,” Shaw told him with a laugh.
“How about me, Daddy?” Gee Dub asked from the back.
“They look to be too big for you, too, son. Even too big for me, I think.”
“We’re just going to hold them for whoever lost them,” Alafair assured them firmly. “I’ll ask Hattie at the Mercantile to post a notice.”
“What if nobody claims them?” Charlie wondered.
“Well, they’re too good to waste,” Alafair admitted. “One of you boys will have to get down to growing big feet.” She placed the shoes on the floor of the buckboard and Charlie fell back into his place beside
his brother. Alafair shook her head. “Mysteries by the bushel,” she observed to herself. She looked over at Shaw. “You know, this has been a strange couple of days. I got a funny feeling about it all.”
Shaw looked at her askance. “Uh-oh,” he teased. “Sounds like you think God is trying to tell you something again.”
Alafair took the jibe good naturedly. “Oh, don’t worry. There’s not a thing that’s happened in this last week that has anything to do with me or mine.”
“I hope it stays that way,” Shaw said.
“So do I,” Alafair seconded, in all sincerity.
Chapter Three
Kelley’s Barber Shop was doing a booming business on this Saturday before Easter in the year 1913. Besides the need to get the top trimmed and the sides shaved for the holiday, the men from town and the surrounding farms had plenty to discuss. Cotton futures looked to be unchanged. The price of crude oil was up. You could count on that. March had been cooler than normal, thus far. The new president had just been in office less than a month, not long enough to judge him rightly. He was, after all, a Democrat, and that couldn’t be good. However, he did preach against big business, so he wasn’t all bad. Then there was this business in Mexico. Should we really have sent troops? And Governor Cruce! What a disgrace. The man should be impeached.
Walter Kelley was holding forth with the best of them. It had been eight months since his wife had been found in Cane Creek, murdered, and folks were finally beginning to treat him like they had before the tragedy. Walter was a gregarious man, and having people tiptoe around him, afraid to laugh and gossip for fear of upsetting him, had been torture. His business had suffered, too, at first, until the sheriff had satisfied himself that Walter could not possibly have killed his wife himself. He had been in Kansas City at the time, and numerous witnesses had testified to that fact. Which was a good thing, too, because he had originally planned to be home the very day Louise was found in the creek. If his uncle hadn’t dropped in unexpectedly and caused him to extend his trip, he’d have probably been home in time to be the prime suspect.
Walter had been in a fog for several weeks, after the sheriff had wired him to come home because Louise had been stabbed. He was just beginning to feel normal again. He didn’t miss Louise, but he was sorry that she had died that way. Everyone knew that they hadn’t been particularly happy together. Walter had an eye for the ladies, and he liked to have fun. He hadn’t meant to hurt Louise. He just was who he was.
And Louise was not blameless, to Walter’s way of thinking. First, she had threatened to leave him, or at least to start stepping out on him. He had suspected for quite awhile before she had met her unfortunate end that she had a lover, since she would disappear at the oddest times. But then she had gotten religion so bad that it was annoying. She had kept praying at him to change his ways.
For weeks after the funeral, all the ladies of the Christian Church had kept him fed like a king. Every single night one lady or another would stop by the barber shop at closing time, toting a casserole, or a roast, or some fried chicken. When business was slow and he went outside to sit on the bench in front of the shop, every woman who passed by would pause and offer her sympathy. During the last couple of weeks, he began to notice that some of the ladies were stopping by with their marriageable daughters in tow. He was, after all, quite well to do, and a good catch, if he did say so himself.
Today, Shaw Tucker was in the shop with his two sons, which made Walter happy. He liked the voluble Shaw and both the boys, and he liked the fact that when Shaw was in town with the family, it was likely that Walter would get to pass a few words with some of Shaw’s vivacious daughters. All the Tucker girls were sharp and friendly, but the elder two, Martha and Mary, didn’t seem to appreciate his banter as much as the next two, fraternal twins Alice and Phoebe. Phoebe had married their neighbor boy, John Lee Day, last winter, which was all right with Walter. Phoebe was sweet and pretty, but he had eyes for Alice.
It had taken him a long time after Louise’s death to realize that he was free to court a nice girl, and Alice Tucker suited him right down to the ground. She was tall, blond, blue-eyed, and flirtatious. She had a tongue like a razor and an iron will, which daunted most men, but Walter felt he was easily her match. Walter hadn’t broached the subject with Alice, or tested the waters with Shaw. He had just become aware himself of his interest in the girl. He thought, too, that she might be interested in him, since she had taken the time to talk to him at Louise’s funeral. One problem he did foresee, however, was Alice’s mother, Alafair. He really didn’t think she liked him.
“So, Mr. Tucker,” Walter found himself saying to the man in his chair, “how’s Miz Tucker lately? I ain’t seen her around town in a bit.”
“She’s doing fine, Walter,” Shaw assured him. “The new baby keeps her close to home nowadays. The little gal is getting up big enough, though, that I expect Alafair will begin ranging farther from home before long.”
“How many girls is that for you, Mr. Tucker?”
Shaw laughed before he answered. “That’s eight girls, and a prettier bunch of butterflies you’ll not find. And I’ll tell you, little Grace is one lucky imp. She’s got seven mothers besides her own. You never saw such a doted-on baby.”
“What do you boys think about another sister?” Walter asked the two youngsters, who were sitting in bentwood chairs, waiting their turn.
“We’re used to being outnumbered,” Gee Dub told him. “And she is mighty cute.”
“She’s funny,” Charlie admitted, “but you got to watch her every minute. I swear she’ll eat anything. Mama caught her about to chomp down on a big green caterpillar the other day. I’d have liked to see that. Grandpapa said it would have made her bonny. Grandma and Grandpapa come over a lot since she got born.”
“He thinks his Grandpapa hung the moon,” Shaw informed the barber.
Charlie looked over at his father. “Are Grandma and Grandpapa coming over for Easter, Daddy?”
“No, we’re going over to their place, son,” Shaw told him, “along with all your aunts and uncles and cousins.” Shaw dropped his head forward onto his chest to afford Walter access to the back of his neck. “What are you doing for Easter, Walter?”
Walter shrugged in the midst of his clipping. “Go to church and then home, I reckon. I have lots of family back in Missouri, but none of them live out here.”
“What about your late wife’s family?”
“Oh, I think they’d just as soon shoot me as look at me,” Walter told him mildly.
Shaw paused, then let the comment pass. “Why don’t you come out to my folks’ farm for dinner after church on Sunday,” he invited. “Don’t seem right to be alone on Easter.”
Walter paused, pretending to consider the offer. He didn’t tell Shaw that he’d already had three invitations to dinner. “Why, I’d be right pleased, Mr. Tucker, if you think it would be all right with your mother,” he finally answered. His heart perked up a little at the thought of having dinner with Alice.
***
“Walter Kelley!” Alafair exclaimed. “You invited Walter Kelley to Easter dinner?”
Shaw was taken aback at her tone. Alafair was usually the first one to claim the lonely, and comfort the bereaved. “Well, yes, seeing as he didn’t have nowhere else to go, and there will like to be so many people at Ma’s tomorrow that no one will even notice one more. Don’t you like Walter?”
They were sitting in their bedroom after dinner while the kids cleaned up the kitchen and Alafair nursed six-month-old Grace. Shaw was sitting on the bed, and Alafair was in her rocking chair with a baby blanket thrown casually over her shoulder and the baby’s head for modesty. Her dark eyes gazed at Shaw accusingly. Alafair huffed at his question, but her expression softened. “Truth is, I don’t know him but to speak to him,” she admitted. “I don’t like what I hear about the way he treated his poor murdered wife. Her sister Nellie Tolland hates him like the devil for making her so unhappy. According
to Miz Fluke, over at the post office, Nellie isn’t convinced at all that some passing tramp done Louise in, like Scott thinks. She thinks Walter was involved in some way.”
“I’m surprised at you, Alafair,” Shaw scolded gently, “listening to gossip and all. Nobody but the ones involved knows what goes on in a marriage. I wasn’t acquainted with the late Miz Kelley, but I’ve known Walter for years, and a better natured person I never did meet, always smiling and laughing. I’m thinking that the wife was the discontented one. What was she doing while her husband was out of town that got her knifed and dumped in a creek, anyway?”
Alafair shifted in her chair to ease the leaden weight of the baby on her arm. “Well, maybe you’re right,” she conceded. “Louise Kelley did seem like kind of a sour woman to me. Of course, maybe she had reason to be. I do know that Walter is just a big flirt.”
“So’s my papa,” Shaw pointed out. His mustache twitched ironically.
Alafair laughed. “Yes, but as far as I know, your papa never did anything but flirt.”
“And you know that Walter Kelley did?”
“Well, no, not for sure,” she admitted.
Shaw stood up and grabbed the baby’s toe, and was rewarded by a coo from under the blanket. “You always take the woman’s side,” he teased Alafair, “even when there’s no earthly reason to.”
She reached up and smoothed back his newly trimmed and oiled hair. “We poor put-upon creatures have to stick together,” she informed him. “But you’re right, I guess. I don’t really know the man, and I trust your judgment. So bring him along and any other poor bereft soul you come across.”
Shaw brushed her forehead with his lips. “Good. You’ll see he’s a nice fellow, and it’s always good to be neighborly.”
“I expect,” she said to his back as he left the room. She pulled the blanket off her shoulder and looked down at Grace, who had finished lunch and was lying with the nipple in her mouth and a look of utter contentment on her face. Her enormous black button eyes popped open and gazed at her mother with interest. May I help you, her expression said? Alafair stifled a laugh and her heart melted in her chest and ran right down into her shoes. Grace was the twelfth little baby to gaze up at her like that, with eyes full of mischief, or fear, contentment, rage, or adoration. Two had died and ten had lived, and Alafair loved every one of them with a love so big that it was a miracle her body could contain it. She tapped the baby’s nose with her finger and sang to her softly.