Autumn giggled, “Mama…you’re so scandalous!”
“I am not,” Vaden argued. “I’m just honest. And as soon as we get a few batches of caramel and candied apples finished up for the fair tomorrow, we’re taking a walk out to that old graveyard. I just have to see if there’s anything amiss with that grave.”
Autumn nodded. “I’ve been wantin’ to go out there since all this began this year…especially since I’ve seen the Specter myself. There just has to be somethin’ to it, doesn’t there?”
“Absolutely,” Vaden agreed. “And it all starts out at that grave.”
Autumn grinned and, lowering her voice, said, “You know, Mama…even though I might not sleep for the rest of my life—even though it might scare the waddin’ out of me and turn my hair white—I wouldn’t mind seein’ a bone or somethin’ stickin’ up out of that ol’ cowboy’s grave.”
“Me neither,” Vaden admitted in a whisper. “I hope it wouldn’t be a whole hand or anything though. Maybe a foot or a knee…but a whole hand really would give me nightmares for a month.”
Autumn and her mother both giggled, delighted with the anticipation of adventure.
“Then let’s get to those apples, Mama,” Autumn suggested. “I want to see that grave!”
❦
“What’s holdin’ you off, son?” Ransom asked as he helped Gentry heft a pumpkin nearly the size of Jethro into the wagon.
“What do you mean?” Gentry asked—though he well suspected what Ransom meant.
Ransom chuckled, leaning back against the wagon for a moment. “Gentry, when I decided I was good enough for Vaden—well, in truth, I still haven’t decided that. She decided for me, I guess. But when I decided to risk my heart and try to be the man she deserved, well, waitin’ around any longer to have her all to myself just wasn’t gonna do. So I need to know…are you just stringin’ Autumn along? Or are you wantin’ to—”
“I ain’t stringin’ her along,” Gentry interrupted. He was miffed. No—he was angry. How could Ransom think he was the kind of man to string a girl along? How could he think, for one moment, that Gentry James was the kind of man that would get a father’s permission to court a girl, spend every free moment he could sparking with her, and not have serious intentions toward her?
“Oh, now…now don’t go gettin’ your pride involved,” Ransom chuckled. His eyes narrowed as he studied Gentry for a moment and added, “Though I think it’s too late for that. Am I right?”
Gentry inhaled a deep breath, pulling off his glove and his shirt to try and cool himself off. “Yes, sir,” he answered humbly at last.
“I figured as much,” Ransom mumbled.
“I don’t have anything, Ransom,” Gentry said. “I own my horse, my saddle rig, and I’ve got enough money to live on for maybe a couple of years. That’s it. I don’t own any land, no house…and all I’ve ever done is cowboy. I know everything there is to know about cattle, but when it comes to anything else…” He shook his head. “Hell! All I know about farmin’ is what I’ve seen you do from the harvestin’ end. What girl would want that for a husband?” He looked up to Ransom, adding, “And what father would want that for his daughter?”
Ransom nodded. “Well, there’s a lot more to bein’ a good man than ownin’ things, Gentry.”
“I know,” Gentry agreed. “But you gotta put a roof over your woman’s head…keep her warm and safe.”
Ransom grinned. “Son…you can do all that with nothin’ but a slicker tied to a tree and your body.”
Gentry chuckled, and so did Ransom.
“It still don’t make me worthy, Ransom. You know that.”
“Well, forgive me, but I disagree,” Ransom said. “There’s two reasons I have what I have, Gentry. The first reason is because my family was slaughtered by outlaws on the move from Georgia out this way. I knew where the money box was hid with all my daddy’s money and his property deeds in it. That’s the first reason.”
Gentry frowned—horrified at the loss Ransom Lake had just revealed to him. Sure, it had been hard and lonesome being raised an orphan, but it hadn’t been tragic.
“And the second reason I have what I have is because the most beautiful woman God put on this earth ever managed to convince me she loved me.” He shook his head, smiling. “Somehow she still manages to convince me of it,” he mumbled. “And that’s why I want to say somethin’, and I want you to hear me out. I don’t want your temper flarin’ up or nothin’ like that, all right?”
“I can try,” Gentry chuckled. “It all depends on what you’re plannin’ to say…’cause if you’re gonna suggest that I marry your daughter and then live with her daddy and mama—”
“Nope. Nope,” Ransom interrupted, shaking his head. “That wouldn’t do at all…not for you and Autumn…and not for me and Vaden,” he added with a wink. “So swaller that pride of yours a little longer, and hear me out.”
“Ransom, I can’t take any more charity from you,” Gentry said. “I can’t. My manly pride may be a weakness, but—”
“I haven’t ever given you charity, Gentry,” Ransom rather growled. “Without your help, I could never have finished up gettin’ that apple crop in. And you’ve seen what a job it is with these pumpkins. So I don’t wanna hear that again.”
Gentry nodded. “Go on then, sir. I’ll hear ya out. I owe you that.”
Ransom nodded and said, “All right then. Now…I got this old house about a mile and half away from here. It hasn’t been lived in for over thirty years. There’s an orchard over on that property—not as big as mine here, mind you, but a nice size. And though it needs some lookin’ after, it still produces well enough. The house needs work. Vaden and I have fixed it up here and there, but it’s needin’ a bit of elbow grease all the same.” Ransom shrugged. “I offered the place to Cole when he got married, but he had plans of his own…and I’m glad. Sawyer was the same. And even my youngest boy, Price…he’s a thinker, not a farmer. Which leads me to you, Gentry James.”
But Gentry shook his head. “I said no charity, Ransom,” he began.
“Well, sellin’ it to you wouldn’t be charity, now would it?” Ransom asked. “It’s a good piece of land, with a good orchard and a fine house on it. I’ll sell it you, Gentry. I’ll sell you that house, orchard, and the property it’s on…for a fair price.”
Gentry chuckled, however. “And just how am supposed to pay you, Ransom? It ain’t like I got a pocketful of diamonds or somethin’.”
“I know, I know,” Ransom said. “I figure with the price I have in mind, it’ll take you about six years of farmin’ and apple harvests to pay me…and still have enough to live on otherwise. This ain’t charity, Gentry. Before you showed up, I was seriously considerin’ sellin’ that piece of property to Jasper Wyatt in town. He’d asked me about it, but I just couldn’t let it go to Jasper for some reason. It just didn’t seem right…so I held onto it. I wanted someone good on that property. It belonged to my aunt and uncle who were killed with the rest of my family, and part of me just didn’t want to let it go…unless it was to family. Do you understand?”
Gentry studied Ransom for a long, long time. He could see the man was sincere. Ransom Lake was a good man—a great man. The fact was Gentry had never come across another man like him.
“You’d sell me that property just so I could marry Autumn?” Gentry asked.
Ransom grinned. “Fact is, I had already decided to offer it to you before I ever sent you out to fetch Autumn home that day in the rain. You’re a good man, Gentry James. A rare men among men. You’ll take that land and that orchard, and you’ll do what you have to do to prosper by it. I know that for certain. And as far as Autumn is concerned…I ain’t gonna lie to you. Havin’ my baby girl livin’ so close to home would be a blessing to me…and to her mother. It’s hard for us to have our boys so far away, even though that’s what we raised them to be…their own men.”
Ransom chuckled then, winked at Gentry, and quietly said, “But you can still
marry Autumn and keep her sheltered, warm, and protected with nothing but a slicker and your body for a time if you want to.”
Gentry laughed. He realized then that Ransom Lake wasn’t just the father of the woman he loved, nor was he just a great man with a desire to help others. Ransom Lake was Gentry’s friend. In fact, he’d never had a friend he felt so akin to.
“Then do I have your permission to ask Autumn to marry me, sir?” he asked.
“The sooner the better, Gentry James,” Ransom said, slapping Gentry on the shoulder. “Do we have a deal then?” he asked, offering a hand to Gentry.
Gentry struck hands with Ransom. “All those years I spent hoppin’ over the orphanage wall snitchin’ apples off ol’ man Boyd’s trees…I never figured it was because I’d end up an apple farmer.” Ransom chuckled, and Gentry added, “Though I can say the idea gives me a feelin’ of hope and lookin’ forward to workin’ through life that I never have had before.”
“It’s a good life, son,” Ransom assured him. “And you know how Autumn loves apples. It’ll probably be a dream come true for her…knowin’ she’ll always have apples just outside the front door the way she always did.”
“I like the idea of makin’ her dreams come true,” Gentry said.
Ransom smiled. “I suspect you did that the first time you kissed her, son. It’s them dimples, I think.”
Gentry shook his head and smiled—dimples and all.
“Of course, I think you best come clean to Autumn about that other thing, though,” Ransom added, returning his attention to the pile of pumpkins near the wagon.
“What other thing?” Gentry asked, perplexed. Then, as realization struck him, he said, “Oh…that other thing.”
“Mmm hmmm,” Ransom mumbled.
“Yeah…I guess I better iron that out if I expect her to say yes when I ask her to be my wife and sleep under that slicker tied to a tree…ain’t that right?”
“That’s right.”
Gentry nodded. His mind, which had been so hopeful, elated, and joyous a moment before, was a bit tainted with worry now. Ransom was right. He’d better come clean about that other thing before proposing marriage to Autumn Lake.
❦
“I’m sure glad you came with us, Aunt Myra,” Autumn said as she, her mother, and her Aunt Myra walked rather slowly toward the old graveyard just outside of town. “There’s always comfort in numbers.”
“Safety too,” Myra added.
The breeze was cool and crisp, and Autumn was glad she’d brought a shawl. The sun was already sitting low in the west, and she rather wished she and her mother had been able to finish up their apples a little earlier in the day. But the Lakes’ caramel and candied apple table at the county fair was one of the most popular every year, not to mention being quite lucrative. Therefore, it had been a priority to get as many apples finished as possible. But being productive had left Autumn, her mother, and her Aunt Myra heading out to the old graveyard at a less desirable time of day.
A big owl hooted as it flew overhead, startling the three women and causing them to link arms for comfort.
“Oh, I hope we don’t find nothin’,” Myra rather whined. “I think I’d drop dead if I was to walk out there and see that ol’ cowboy sittin’ up in his grave.”
“Oh, now, Aunt Myra,” Vaden reassured. “It’s just an old frightening story. It’s not real.”
“Then why are we all seein’ the Specter ridin’ here and there all night long?” Myra asked.
Autumn shrugged. “I don’t know, Auntie.” She smiled then and added, “But isn’t it just too fun to be out here, creepin’ toward an old graveyard, and not knowin’ what we might find?”
“I hope we don’t find anythin’,” Myra mumbled.
But Autumn frowned. “Oh, I hope we do. I’ll be just devastated if we walk into that old graveyard to find it’s all nice and grassy with no bones stickin’ out of the ground.”
And then they were upon it. The old graveyard stood silent, the October breeze lifting the drying leaves that had fallen from the oaks and maples planted around the graveyard, sending them softly swirling among the tombstones.
Autumn had never, ever cared for the old graveyard. To her, it had always looked rather neglected and spooky. But as she gazed upon it now, looking as if the trees had intentionally sifted their lovely leaves to drift down and adorn the earth with color, the old graveyard didn’t look so daunting.
“Oh, good heavens!’ Myra exclaimed in a whisper. “However did I let you two talk me into this?”
“Oh, settle down, Aunt Myra,” Vaden whispered. “I think it’s very lovely…in a frightening sort of way.”
“I think it’s lovely in any sort of way,” Autumn whispered. “Look at the leaves, Mama! They’re beautiful! And the squirrels haven’t stored away all the acorns yet. Oh, let’s collect up a few and take them home.”
“Autumn Lake,” Aunt Myra exclaimed in lower whisper than before, “you have enough acorn hats at home to build a house with! Whyever would you need any more?”
“I think I see it!” Vaden softly said then. “I think I see the old cowboy’s grave! I think I see the Specter’s very restin’ place!”
“Where?” Autumn and Myra asked in unison.
“Look over there,” Vaden said, pointing west. “There. Do you see it? Over there all by their lonesome are two matchin’ tombstones. You see there? Under that big maple.”
Autumn’s heart began to hammer with trepidation, for she did indeed see the two tombstones that stood separate from the rest.
Gulping the lump of fear that had risen in her throat, Autumn said, “Well, we’ve come this far. Let’s go see if that ground looks disturbed at the old cowboy’s grave.”
“Oh, sweet heaven!” Myra whined. “I’m too old for this!”
“Just settle down, Auntie,” Autumn said. “Chances are it’s just two graves sittin’ over there. Chances are we’ll brush the leaves away to find nothin’ at all has been disturbed.”
Gulping once more and looking to her mother for encouragement, Autumn linked arms with Myra’s on her left and Vaden’s on her right. “Come on, ladies. Let’s show a little backbone here.”
Slowly the three women crept closer and closer to the two lone tombstones. As they approached, Autumn was somewhat relieved by the fact that leaves covered the ground like a warm, golden blanket. The leaves had not been disturbed, but they could have easily just fallen during that very day.
“Here lies Catherine ‘Cat’ Russell,” Vaden read aloud in a whisper. “Weep, oh reader, weep…for Catherine buried here so deep…was murdered in her sleep.” Autumn held her breath a moment as her mother continued, “And there’s the date she died. It’s sad no one knew when she was born.”
“Th-then that’s the Specter’s grave next to hers,” Myra stammered. “The cowboy lies there.”
Vaden nodded, and Autumn followed her mother’s gaze. “You read it, Autumn,” Vaden whispered.
“All right,” Autumn said. “Here a cowboy lies,” she began. “Beware if you are wise. For vengeance, he will rise. Here lies Ritter ‘Ritt’ Houston…murdered where he slept.”
“Who writes epitaphs on tombstones anyhow?” Myra asked. “They’re so often terribly morbid.”
“Can you see if the cowboy’s grave has been disturbed?” Vaden asked Autumn.
But Autumn shook her head. “I-I’ll have to brush the leaves away to see for certain.”
“I’ll help you,” Vaden whispered. Reaching out and taking her daughter’s hand, Vaden walked with Autumn toward the tombstone.
“Don’t stand on him like that!” Myra exclaimed. “For Pete’s sake, Vaden! He’s liable to reach up outta that grave and pull you in.”
“Shhh,” Autumn whispered to her rattled aunt. Kneeling down next to her mother, she began to help gently brush the leaves away. “I-I don’t see that anything has been disturbed yet. Do you?”
“No,” Vaden answered. “I suppose it’s all just an old
story…and someone is—”
“Mama?” Autumn breathed then as her hand touched something beneath the leaves. “Mama…look.”
Vaden gasped as Autumn brushed the leaves away to reveal freshly turned soil.
Spurred by near panic, Autumn and Vaden hurriedly brushed away the rest of the leaves. There, stretched out before the tombstone, was not only a patch of freshly turned soil the length and width of a man’s body but something protruding from the soil as well.
“What is that?” Myra asked.
Bravely reaching out, and with a trembling hand, grasping what she now recognized as cloth, Autumn tugged. Slowly a long length of dirty white fabric, stained with something dark, began to stretch forth from the grave.
As Autumn held up the length of torn, tattered, and blood-stained sheet, all three women screamed at the top of their lungs when a deep voice shouted, “What’re you doin’!”
Once Autumn, Vaden, and Myra quit screaming long enough to open their eyes, they screamed again—this time scolding Gentry, Ransom, and Dan as they stood grinning and chuckling to themselves.
“Ransom Lake!” Vaden scolded. “I oughta skin you alive!” Vaden cried, although running headlong into his arms.
“Dan Valmont!” Myra shouted, rushing into her husband’s embrace as well. “You nearly scared me to death! Nearly to death, I swear it!”
Autumn didn’t scold Gentry, however. Instead, she stood frozen—paralyzed with frightened disbelief as she held out the strip of old, bloodied sheet toward him.
“It’s true,” she breathed. “There really is a Specter.”
Gentry caught Autumn in his arms as she fainted. “Autumn? Autumn?” he said, kneeling to the ground and gently caressing her face with the back of his hand. “Autumn?”
Her stormy autumn-sky eyes opened, and she smiled up at him.
The Haunting of Autumn Lake Page 17