The Deadly Fields of Autumn

by Dorothy Bodoin

  The scene changed. We were back on the main street of Jubilee in front of the Pink Palace Hotel. The white-whiskered man in the tattered Confederate uniform sat on a bench observing a lady alight gracefully from the stagecoach. She was a showy woman, elaborately coiffed and clothed.

  The plot thickens. Was she competition for Susanna?

  Outside in the real world, the rain continued. It sounded like pebbles of ice landing on the windows.

  Windows!

  They were open in the bedroom. Lightning crackled across the sky as I rushed up the stairs to close them.

  Now to see who the gorgeous newcomer was. I hoped she hadn’t come to Jubilee to make trouble for me.

  For you?

  For Susanna. I meant Susanna.

  I slipped back into my chair. On the screen cereal flakes danced around their open box to a catchy little tune.

  It had happened again. Why was I not surprised?

  Crane must be on his way home. On the lane. In front of the house. All of the dogs had fled to the side door, barking all the way.

  I turned off the television in mid-tune. The movie played only for me. It stopped when anyone else entered the house. I should have remembered that.

  For the rest of the viewing audience, it was dancing cereal.

  Nineteen

  I came home from school the next day to find a strange car in the driveway and Julia sitting in the kitchen with the table set for tea.

  The collies circled around me excitedly, eager to tell me about the visitor who had appeared in my absence, all except Raven and Sky, who shared space under the table in the dining room. They all remembered Julia from her last visit.

  Misty had apparently coaxed Julia into a game of Fetch as the white goat lay on the floor.

  I sidestepped it and Julia rose to hug me.

  “Welcome home, Julia,” I said.

  Julia’s eyes were misty. “It’s so good to see you looking well and happy.”

  After a day in the Marston trenches, I thought I looked bedraggled. An ink blot stained my white sleeve, my hair was windblown, and… Oh, what did it matter? Julia was home, this time to stay.

  She was the one who looked good, dressed in a soft aqua sheath and as cool as a lake breeze. Her bright blonde hair was longer, and she wore a new ring, a turquoise stone set in a golden claw.

  “I bought cameos in Naples for you,” she said. “A nice assortment of bracelets and brooches.”

  “That’s lovely, but all I wanted was my sister home.”

  As she poured the tea, I noticed a loaf of pumpkin bread on a china dessert plate.

  “Camille just brought it,” Julia said. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed American baking.”

  I cut thick slices for us. “You can have as much as you like now.”

  “Not if I want to stay thin,” she said. “And I do. Tell me what’s new. Then I’ll tell you about my travels in Italy.”

  “I don’t know where to begin.”

  But I did. “I have a new ghost,” I said. “It’s a different kind of ghost, truly unique.”

  She listened to my tale of the movie that had haunted me ever since I’d found the old television set at the estate sale.

  “I was watching it yesterday,” I said. “It comes and goes like a… Like a ghost, and every time this happens, the story is at the same point where it left off.”

  “I don’t know how that can be.”

  “When anyone else is with me, there’s regular programming on,” I said.

  I had clearly impressed her. “That’s unusual even for you. What do you think causes this—anomaly?”

  “I don’t know. Brent’s idea is that there might be a tiny CD embedded in the set.”

  “Seriously? I can’t imagine how that would work. Shall we take it apart and see?”

  “No,” I said quickly. “I don’t want to risk losing my movie.”

  “Good heavens, Jennet. All this angst over a Western?”

  “It’s more than that,” I said.

  I didn’t know how to explain the hold it had on me. The movie had intrigued me from day one, both the story and the mysterious way it came and went. What if I never saw it again? If Luke, Susanna, the old Confederate veteran, and the as yet unnamed newcomer from the stagecoach never returned?

  I’d be devastated and frustrated that I’d never solved the mystery.

  “I’d miss it,” I admitted. “I want to know what’s going to happen next. The actor who plays Luke is a dead ringer for Crane.”

  “Finish your tea and we’ll see if it’s on now,” Julia said.

  I did, in a few gulps. “I don’t think it will be.”

  The dogs followed us into the living room where I’d moved the set, all except Sky and Raven. I turned the TV on. Western movie or dancing cereal? I held my breath.

  Neither. It was a trailer for a new science-fiction movie.

  “The ghost isn’t cooperating today,” Julia said.

  ~ * ~

  We had a quiet evening with no surprise company and a silent cell phone. No Rescue League emergency and no call from Jennifer or Molly about Charlotte Gray.

  “What do you plan to do now?” Crane directed his question to Julia as we settled in the living room with our after-dinner coffee.

  “I’d like to stay in education, on the college level, if possible,” she said. “But for the immediate future I’m going to relax and unwind. I feel like I’ve been on a merry-go-round.”

  “Just on a jet plane.” I touched the bracelet that Julia had given me, seven large pink cameos, all with different faces, joined by delicate scrolls of gold. It had a rosy shine in the lamplight.

  “Maybe you can help me solve my television mystery,” I said.

  “Not if I never see this entrancing movie and you won’t let me dissect the TV.”

  “I haven’t seen it either,” Crane said.

  “What’s it about?” Julia asked.

  “A girl comes to Jubilee in the Colorado Territory around the 1870s and meets a handsome rancher. He seems to be enamored of her. A new lady just came to town.”

  “It doesn’t have much action for a Western,” Crane said.

  “I’d classify it as a women’s Western.” I refilled our coffee cups.

  “A new genre.” Julia glanced at the television. “Shall we see if it’s on now?”

  I set my cup down and walked over to the set. As they had before, the top and sides of the cabinet felt warm as if it had been on for hours.

  “It’s definitely vintage,” Julia said. “Before the invention of the remote.”

  “I’d like to see the dancing cereal flakes,” Crane said.

  I smiled. “Crane is one of the few people in the world who likes commercials. I have to admit that was a cute one.”

  As I had anticipated, a contemporary program was playing. It looked like one of those ghastly reality shows. I couldn’t turn the set off fast enough.

  We sat quietly for a few minutes, drinking coffee.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s disappointing.”

  True to her nature, Julia was philosophical. “Tomorrow is another day, as Scarlett O’Hara said.”

  “What are you going to do tomorrow, Julia?” Crane asked.

  “Go shopping. I need a new fall wardrobe, clothes appropriate to wear while I stand in front of a class expounding on Victorian literature. Then I’m going to look for a car. I’m not sure what kind I want.”

  “I wish I could go with you,” I said.

  “We have all the time in the world now,” Julia reminded me. “I’m not going anywhere in the immediate future.”

  Nor was I.

  In spite of the mysterious threads that continued to wrap around me, having Julia home was wonderfully energizing. I felt that I could find out what Charlotte was up to and perhaps solve the mystery of the elusive movie. Maybe I’d even have an ally in my conflict with Veronica the Viper.

  ~ * ~

  The peace and quiet of
our evening was too good to last.

  Crane had built a fire more for atmosphere than warmth, although the fall evenings and mornings were chilly. Firelight makes everything softer and in general better.

  Julia said, “You two are living the American dream. A house in the country, dogs, important jobs. This is what I’d like for myself someday.”

  The rippling notes of my cell phone woke Misty, who had fallen asleep at my feet and propelled me out of my chair. I’d left the phone on the credenza in the dining room.

  Molly’s name came up on the screen.

  “Hi, Jennet, it’s Molly. Is it too late to call?”

  “No, it’s okay.” I glanced at the clock. It was nine-thirty. “What’s happening?”

  “Ms. Gray came back. But here’s something funny. She didn’t park in her driveway. She left her car parked at the other end of the street. She didn’t have to. We raked all the leaves.”

  “Are you sure it’s her car?” I asked.

  “It’s the only blue car around here,” she said. “Besides, we checked the license plate. It has her birthday, March, on it, and she has a sticker on the back window that says I (heart) Collies.”

  That was indeed odd, and I was thankful that the girls had been so observant. They really wanted to help Charlotte.

  “I hope she stays put for a while,” I said. “I have to go to school tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, so do we.”

  But I could call her. Yes, I’d do that.

  Thanking Molly for the information, I ended the call and punched in Charlotte’s number. Her phone rang six times, then a voice directed me to leave a message.

  Should I? It was so easy to ignore or delete a voice mail. Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. In any event, it was too late for a visit tonight. I’d have to take a chance that she’d be curious to know why I wanted to contact her again. I left a short simple, message:

  It’s Jennet, Charlotte. I have to talk to you soon, tomorrow if possible. It’s very important.”

  I hoped I’d finally have some answers. Incidentally, I wondered why Charlotte had avoided parking in her own driveway. I could think of only one reason. She wanted it to appear that she wasn’t home.

  The next question was why.

  Twenty

  I was so busy in school the next day that I didn’t have time to dwell on the mystery of Charlotte Gray. My first American Literature class was extremely annoying. I tried to interest them in Rip van Winkle, only to be bombarded with requests and, in some cases, demands for hall passes.

  I refused them all and continued giving them background notes on Washington Irving’s contributions to American literature.

  “That’s a nice pin, Mrs. Ferguson,” Amie said.

  This comment was typical of the female fringe of Fourth Hour. A compliment at an inopportune time designed to disrupt the business of the class.

  “Thank you,” I murmured.

  I had pinned a cameo brooch, Julia’s gift, to the collar of my white blouse. It was glossy brown in a gold oval, with an unusual forward-facing head.

  For a moment I allowed myself a delicious fantasy, standing at a podium, wearing the same long navy blue skirt and white blouse, giving a lecture on Emily Bronte to a college class. Oh, rarest of miracles, they were listening to me. Taking notes. Asking relevant questions.

  That could happen at some time in the future. If I wanted it to.

  “Sign this, Mrs. Ferguson.” Rachelle sidled up to me and thrust a piece of paper in my direction. “I need a drink of water.”

  “No, you don’t,” I said. “Go back to your seat.”

  “But I have a sore throat. The fountain’s just outside the door,” she added as if I weren’t familiar with the building.

  “No passes,” I said.

  “I’m going to choke.”

  When I didn’t answer, she stamped her way back to her seat by the window, muttering something that sounded like, ‘I hope you choke.’ Her two blonde cronies giggled. I glared at them.

  Should I interrupt class to write a discipline referral? I wondered.

  No, not this time. Not for this sotto voice defiance. By rights, that wish for a choking spell should have been aimed at Principal Grimsley, whose rule I was enforcing.

  I gave the class the last note about thunder being caused by men playing nine pins, or bowling, in the sky, and we were ready to begin the story. If only it had a catchier opening.

  ~ * ~

  Thunder rolled in as the echo of the last bell faded. Wonderful. Stormy weather on the way home. It was my week to drive.

  Leonora stood at the door. “Ready, Jen?”

  I slipped my raincoat on and grabbed my gradebook. I wasn’t taking any schoolwork home tonight.

  Leonora had the foresight to keep an umbrella in her closet. Mine was in the car.

  “Let’s hurry,” she said.

  The storm caught up with us on the freeway. Thunder and lightning and slick pavement. Was it raining in Foxglove Corners? I hoped to take the dogs walking to Sagramore Lake. If the rain turned the lanes to mud, I’d have to drive to Charlotte’s house. Feeling suddenly tense, I turned on the lights.

  She’d had all day to return my call but hadn’t left a voice mail for me. I suspected she didn’t want to talk to anyone. Why was Charlotte so secretive? I didn’t think it had anything to with Bronwyn; therefore it could be argued that her comings and goings weren’t my concern. I could be wrong, though.

  Halfway to Foxglove Corners, I left the freeway to travel on a country road strewn with downed branches. I had to drive more slowly and steer around occasional obstacles which included a deer leaping out of the woods into my path.

  Leonora screamed. I slammed on the brakes, sliding to the verge where, thank God, the car stopped. When I looked for the deer, it had vanished. By the time I dropped Leonora off at her house, my nerves were frazzled. At least the storm had passed.

  I didn’t see Julia’s rental car, and it was too early for Crane to be home. Even after all these weeks, it felt strange not to see Raven rushing out to the car, the first of the dogs to greet me.

  I’d had to get used to this low key homecoming because Crane and I were in agreement. From now on, Raven would live in the house with the rest of the collies.

  Inside, I made time to drink a cup of tea with a slice of pumpkin bread. Nicely energized, I left fresh water and bones for the dogs and set out for the lake.

  The rain had washed the countryside clean and left a myriad scents in the air—and more leaves on the ground. I left the windows open, breathing in the freshness.

  Freshness for new beginnings.

  On reaching Sagramore Lake Road, I was happy to see Charlotte’s blue car parked a block away from her house. I’d been half afraid she’d be gone, and indeed, the house had a sad abandoned look. The drapes were drawn, and the interior dark. And empty?

  Nonetheless, I parked and walked up to the porch.

  Was that a bark quickly hushed?

  I was about to ring the bell when the door opened. There stood Charlotte with a suitcase in one hand and Bronwyn’s leash in the other.

  A flush spread over her face. “Oh,” she said. “Jennet. I’m on my way out.”

  Bronwyn wagged her tail but didn’t utter a sound. This was far from the welcome I’d expected, but at least I’d arrived in time to intercept Charlotte.

  “Do you have a minute to talk?” I asked.

  “Not really.”

  “You didn’t return my call.”

  “No, I was going to. I had so much to do.” With a sigh, she set the suitcase on the floor.

  “Come in then,” she said. “I suppose I have a minute. No more.”

  Such an enthusiastic welcome. It wasn’t in my nature to be pushy except when I was trying to solve a mystery.

  I stepped inside, past the suitcase, past Bronwyn, and took a seat on the sofa. The living room reminded me of the ones we’d recently seen in the ghost town, Ashton. Clean and sparse, all p
ersonal possessions stored away. Charlotte remained standing.

  How was I going to begin? Express concern for Bronwyn? Or come right to the point?

  “Is something wrong, Charlotte?” I asked.

  She didn’t meet my eyes. “Why would you say that?”

  “I have one of my feelings. I’ve learned to trust them.”

  She hesitated. “Well, something did come up. I decided to leave Foxglove Corners for a while.”

  I waited. Surely she was going to say more. Or not.

  “When a person adopts one of our dogs, she becomes family,” I said. “Whatever the problem is, we’re here to help.”

  She was silent. I couldn’t think of anything else to say, to encourage her confidence, except: “Please let me help you.”

  She sat at the other end of the sofa. “There is something, but I don’t know what you could do.”

  “Tell me,” I said. “You may just need a new perspective.”

  “I need more than that.” She sighed again. “That hit-and-run on Huron Court. Do you remember it?”

  “Of course,” I said. “The victim died.”

  “Yes, well, I was a witness.”

  A witness, then. I was afraid she was going to say something else.

  “I thought there was only one witness,” I said, “and the witness disappeared.”

  “I don’t know what you heard. There were two of us. Do you know the field of flowers on Huron Court?”

  “I do. My friends are the ones who planted it.”

  “It’s still beautiful in the autumn. That day I took Bronwyn for a ride. I’d just passed the field when I heard a crash. Beyond the next bend in the road, I saw the wreckage. I pulled off to the side and dialed nine-one-one. Someone else had stopped, a young man who kept saying he was a medical student. His name was Jeff.”

  One aspect of Charlotte’s story didn’t sound right. Unless I was mistaken the one witness was a man in a gray car. The police were looking for him. I told Charlotte what I’d heard.

  “There were two of us and the man who was in the accident,” she insisted. “The girl had been thrown out of her car. It didn’t look good. She was still. Her raincoat was covered in blood. I knelt on the ground to see if there was anything I could do. Thankfully she was unconscious.