by Rob DeBorde
After disembarking, the Wyldes were met by Charlie Hendricks, owner and operator of Astoria’s oldest store, Hendricks’ Dry Goods. Charlie was short, round, and bald, but had a generous personality that he claimed made up for the physical “gifts” God had seen fit to give him. He knew everyone in town and had made it his business to meet their extended families. As a result, he was always up on the latest gossip, local and otherwise.
Joseph offered his hand. “Hello, Mr. Hendricks. Thanks for coming.”
“Well met, as always,” Charlie said, glancing past Joseph to the boat. “Where’s Katherine? Don’t tell me she didn’t make the trip.”
“She and her father disagree on the specifics of the relocation,” Joseph said, hoping his tone and arching eyebrow were enough for Charlie to move on to another subject.
“Oh,” Charlie said, glancing at the twins. “Well, I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you. Afraid I’m not much in the way of company. And my cooking is even worse.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” Joseph said, following Charlie up the pier. “Lot of activity about.”
“It’s the ore. They found another vein above Paulsen Creek. Big one, I’m told. The barges come in almost daily, now.”
Kick climbed onto a pile of ropes to get a better look at the nearest barge.
“Is that it? I thought it was orange,” he said, mildly disappointed.
“It is, once it’s been refined,” said Charlie. “That’s mostly shale. The good stuff is locked inside in little-bitty pieces. They’re actually building a refinery across the river so they don’t have to transport so much unusable material.”
“Across the river?”
Charlie frowned. “They say it’s because the north side gets more sun—more sun! You believe that? Politics is what it is.”
“I’m sure,” Joseph said. He slowed his pace, adding space between them and the twins. “I appreciate you looking out for the marshal.”
“Happy to do it.”
“How’s his mood?”
“Lousy.”
Joseph nodded. “He can be a hard man to like.”
“He’s always been friendly to me, but he is on his own. Has been for … eight years?”
“Nearly ten.”
“I know you and Kate have been to visit—more than some families, to be sure—and he has friends here, acquaintances and such, but a man of his experiences, of his fame…” Charlie hesitated, and then added, “Frankly, I’m not surprised he got a little confused. It happens at his age.”
Joseph nodded, but the truth was that it did surprise him. He’d heard the details of his father-in-law’s “confusion” from the Astoria constable, who’d held him for a day before releasing him to Charlie. It just didn’t feel right. The man had slowed down in recent years, perhaps become more forgetful, but a sudden breakdown seemed unlikely. Jim Kleberg was a hard man, but he was still his own man. Joseph would not believe otherwise until he spoke to the marshal.
He owed him that much.
* * *
“Oh, it’s you,” said the marshal, frowning over a smile before it could begin. He’d come quickly to the top of the stairs but now descended without enthusiasm.
“Hello, Marshal,” said Joseph.
He was sixty-four years old, ten of them retired, but Jim Kleberg still appreciated being addressed as “Marshal.” The job was who he was and always would be. The man standing at the bottom of the stairs was smart enough to know that.
“Where’s the clan?” he asked, offering a hand to Joseph, who shook it.
“I sent Kick and Maddie up to the house to get started. Kate didn’t come.”
The marshal looked Joseph up and down, lingering over the man’s right eye.
“Okay.”
Charlie came through the door behind Joseph. “Hello, Marshal. All’s well I assume. Did you find the sandwiches I left?”
The marshal nodded. “Wasn’t hungry, but thanks.”
“Oh, all right,” Charlie said. He stood for a moment, waiting for one of the other two men to say something. Finally, he did. “Well, perhaps I should check in on my roses, let you two catch up.”
Charlie walked though the kitchen to the back door. The marshal waited to hear the latch before turning to Joseph.
“Your idea to set me up here?”
“Charlie volunteered.”
“Figured as much,” the marshal said, rubbing his hands together. “Treats me like a damn baby, always following me around, watching, asking questions.”
“He’s just worried. We all were.”
“I ain’t no invalid. Offered to do some gardening, but Charlie hid all the shovels. Afraid I’d dig up his prize roses or somethin’. Damn things looked dead anyway.”
Joseph waited for the man to say more, but instead the marshal walked into the living room and sat down in an oversize chair facing a large picture window. Joseph followed, stepping around the chair to stand next to the fireplace, where a mound of embers still radiated warmth.
“Well, it’s good to see ya, I guess. How long you stayin’?”
“The steamer’s running back tomorrow afternoon,” Joseph said. “Should be enough time to get things in order, I think.”
“Not much of a visit.”
Joseph looked at the marshal.
“Marshal, you know why we’re here. You’re coming to live with us in Portland. I’m sure you remember—”
“You think I don’t remember?”
“I didn’t say that.”
The marshal leveled a long, bony finger at the younger man. “But that’s what you think.”
Joseph wasn’t ready for this conversation—had, in fact, little desire to have it at all. It dawned on him that his wife had not come for this very reason.
“I know this isn’t what you wanted, Marshal.”
“Damn right it isn’t!” the marshal said, and was up from his chair and out the front door before Joseph could stop him.
* * *
Joseph found the marshal on the porch, leaning against a weathered railing. Astoria spilled out below the house, the glow of a few street lamps already visible in the predusk light.
“I’m sorry, Marshal. I know this isn’t easy, but it’s for the best.”
“You sure?”
“I am.”
The marshal took a deep breath and let it out.
“What if I ain’t?”
“Well, I’m sure once you’re in Portland this will make more sense. You always said you wanted to be closer to your grandkids.”
“That’s not what I mean.” The marshal rubbed his forehead, trying to dislodge the thought that had been there since he’d agreed to the move four days earlier. “What if I’m not supposed to leave?”
Joseph shook his head. “The house will be fine. And we’re not going to sell it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“No, I … I don’t know.”
Joseph measured his words carefully. “It’s all right, Marshal. It happens to everybody as they get older.”
“You really want to have this conversation?”
Joseph closed his eye. The world didn’t look any different, but the gesture wasn’t for him.
“Maybe we should head up to the house,” he said. “We’ve got a lot to do.”
“What? You think I won’t be a son of a bitch around the gran’childs?”
“No, but I thought you’d want to supervise while a pair of eleven-year-olds packed all your worldly possessions.”
The marshal was unable to suppress a grin this time. A small laugh escaped, as well.
“Eleven?” The marshal turned the number over in his head. “Eleven years ago last week, right? Wednesday?”
“That’s right.”
“See? I ain’t lost all my faculties yet.” The marshal took another long look at the hill that rose up behind Astoria. He could see his house and the cemetery beyond, its fence reflecting the last rays of sunlight. “Startin’ to forget the rest, though.”
“Come to Portland,” Joseph said, and put on a hand on the man’s shoulder. “In a week’s time, this will feel right, you’ll see.”
“I’ll see, huh?” The marshal returned his gaze to the town. “Says the man with one good eye.”
“I see well enough. I see a man who helped me once—saved me.”
“I don’t need saving, Joseph.”
“I know.” Joseph could feel the anger slip from the marshal as he gently applied pressure to the older man’s shoulder.
“I forgot some things, is all.” The marshal smiled again. “Course, last time I remembered anything I wound up covered in mud and splinters.”
“Don’t worry. I told Maddie to hide all the shovels.”
* * *
Maddie pushed open the curtains on the front window, letting in what little daylight remained, before turning back to the room. To say that the marshal’s home was sparsely decorated would be generous. The only furniture on the first floor consisted of a well-traveled trunk, three mismatched chairs, a small square table, and an old rocker pushed into the corner next to a fireplace that otherwise dominated the space.
“Not much to pack,” Kick said.
“I think there’s more upstairs,” Maddie said, not really sure if it was true. They’d stayed at the house at least a dozen times, but she couldn’t recall it ever being so empty. Maybe it would seem different with more people inside.
Kick took a seat in the rocking chair. “I always liked this chair,” he said, pushing hard off the floor. Soon he was trying to see how far he could rock without tipping over, each swing squealing a little louder on the bare wood floor.
“Kick, stop it. Mother said no furniture.”
“Too bad,” Kick said, gracefully hopping out of the chair. “I’m going upstairs. You coming?”
“I’ll be up in a minute.”
Kick stared at his sister for a beat and then jogged up the stairs.
Maddie glanced about the room, her eyes lingering on the rocking chair. She was glad they weren’t taking the furniture.
* * *
A few minutes later, Maddie found her brother lying on the marshal’s bed, staring at the ceiling.
“Done packing already?”
“Look,” Kick said, pointing straight up. Maddie followed the direction of his finger to the uneven brown mark on the ceiling.
“What is it?”
“A leak. I mean, it was a leak—it’s dried up, now. But it must have been a good one to leave that big of a stain.”
“We should tell Gran’pa, make sure he knows.”
“He knows,” Kick said, smiling. “It’s right above his head. I bet it dripped on him while he was sleeping.” Kick tapped his forehead several times with a finger. He then stood up on the bed, never taking his eyes off the watermark on the ceiling, and spun to look at it from different angles.
“Looks like a witch from this side. Or maybe a cat.”
Maddie frowned. “You’re not supposed to stand on the bed.”
“I took off my shoes.”
Maddie stared at her brother, trying to mimic the glare she’d seen her mother use on more than one occasion.
“You ain’t Ma,” he said and dropped into a sitting position on the edge of the mattress, which instantly propelled him into the air again and onto his feet directly in front of his sister. “Ma’s got crazy eyes.”
Maddie tilted her head down slightly. She was taller than Kick, just barely, but enough that when they met eye-to-eye he had to look up slightly.
“You’re supposed to do what I say,” she said.
“Says who?”
“It’s implied. I’m the oldest.”
“By three minutes.”
Maddie turned and walked away. “Not my fault you were born lazy.”
Kick stared after his sister. He could chase after her, try to come up with a witty retort, which Maddie would no doubt knock back at him, smarter and sharper … or he could see what else was hidden in the watermark above the marshal’s bed. Kick went limp and fell backward onto the bed.
“Hey, from this angle, it looks like a wolf.”
* * *
Joseph and the marshal arrived at the house to find few things packed. Kick had thoughtfully cataloged all the leaks, which he described for his grandfather in great detail. Maddie had managed to organize the kitchen, although she was quick to point out there was little in the way of edible food. Joseph had expected this, which was why he’d brought a few provisions from home. To the marshal, who had subsisted on Charlie’s cooking for half a week, day-old stew had never tasted so good.
The next morning, all were up with the sun to organize and pack the marshal’s belongings. He’d decided to bring only a few boxes of clothes, books, papers, and other artifacts of his years as a United States marshal. The rest would be stored in the attic. Anything too big to fit up the narrow staircase would stay where it was.
It was while his grandfather picked through an upstairs closet that Kick decided to ask the question that had been buzzing around his brain all morning.
“Did you really dig up a grave?”
The marshal popped his head out of the closet and stared at Kick, wondering if he’d heard the question right. The wide-eyed look on Maddie’s face suggested he had.
“Well, yes, I suppose I did.”
“Really?”
The marshal wondered who had told the kids, before deciding no one had. It was more likely one of them had overheard a conversation not intended for his or her ears, probably hers. Maddie would have told her brother, of course, and Kick simply wanted to know more. Who wouldn’t?
“Yup,” he said. “Several, in fact. Cracked open the coffins with an ax. Wasn’t hard; most of ’em were rotted through.”
Maddie was just as shocked as her brother, which was how the question escaped her mouth before she could stop it: “Why?”
The marshal hesitated. “I don’t know. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
The marshal turned back to his search, leaving Maddie and Kick to work out a follow-up. Kick made a gesture with his hand, suggesting they should press a little more. Maddie shook her head.
“Of course,” said the marshal, poking his head out of the closet. “Probably best not to talk about it, least not around your folks. It makes your pa uncomfortable—ghosts and such.”
Both kids nodded.
“How about you get up to the attic, see if there’s anything worth rescuing ’fore we fill it up with the rest of this junk.”
“Sure,” said Kick, bolting up the narrow staircase on the right side of the closet. Maddie lingered for a moment and then followed her brother up.
The marshal waited until he could hear both kids moving around above before allowing a wave of anxiety to wash over him. He was forgetting something again, something important. It was closer this time. He thought the answer was in the house. He’d find it.
Someone would.
* * *
Joseph twisted the rocking chair around the turn at the top of the stairs and placed it in the corner where it fit snuggly against the sloping roof. With barely five feet of clearance at its highest point, the attic was also a tight fit for Joseph. Despite his superior senses, he’d already banged his head twice on the same overhead beam. If Kate found out—and she would—he’d never hear the end of it. Joseph started back down the stairs, but stopped on the second step, where his six-foot frame could stand without hunching over. He rubbed the back of his head.
“Still hurt?” asked Maddie.
“A little. How goes the search? Find anything interesting?”
“There’s a very nice saddle, but I assume that’s going to stay.”
“It is.”
“Everything else is old, broken, or both,” Maddie said, flipping open a large chest. “It’s too bad these dresses weren’t stored better, because some of them are very pretty.” Maddie held up a long yellow dress. The color was still vibrant, but the edges were frayed
and the fringe had been eaten away.
“Those must have belonged to Martha,” Joseph said.
“I thought so.”
The twins had never met their grandmother. Joseph had known the marshal’s wife only briefly before she died, and at the time he was not the kind of man most mothers sought for their daughters. Still, she’d treated him fairly, some might say generously. Joseph hoped he’d paid her back in kind.
“How about you,” Joseph said, turning to look directly at a stack of boxes. Kick popped up from his hiding spot, a mischievous grin on his face.
“I found some more leaks. Oh, and this…” Kick picked up a small wooden box about eighteen inches wide and twelve inches deep. The top had decorative vines carved around the edges with a rose in the center.
“What is it?” Joseph asked.
“It’s a box.”
“Yes, I mean what’s inside it?”
“Oh,” Kick said. He flipped open the lid, revealing a cloth-covered interior but nothing else. “It’s empty.”
“Bring it here.”
Kick stepped over the clutter and passed the box to his father. It was heavy, probably too heavy for an empty box. Joseph ran his fingers across the lid, letting the carvings tell their story. He’d never encountered the box before, but knew right away that the marshal had made it. He recognized the cuts in the wood as coming from the same hand as had made the mirror frame hanging above Kate’s dresser. Joseph raised the lid. Most of the aromatic information stored within had been released the first time Kick opened the box, but Joseph could still pick out a single, earthy scent beneath the musty wood, and maybe one more—the ocean.
“See? Empty,” said Kick. “If the marshal doesn’t want it, can I have it?”
Joseph closed the lid and handed the box back to his son.
“Ask him.”
* * *
The marshal stared at the box in his lap. He didn’t have to open it to know what was inside.
“I’m sorry, Kick, but I can’t let you have this. Belonged to your grandmother, and I think your ma might want it.”
“Oh.”
“She used to keep seashells in it. I don’t know what happened to them.”
Kick’s eyes lit up. “I do! There’s a pile of shells up in the attic.”
“Well, why don’t you go collect ’em. If you see one you like, keep it. Maddie, too.”