by Eva Pohler
“Then what happened?” Tanya asked.
Simol waited for the server to finish handing over the plates of food. She asked if she could bring them anything else. Sue asked for Tabasco sauce, and the woman left to get it.
Meanwhile, everyone began to dig in. The meat melted in Ellen’s mouth.
Sue purred, “This is delicious. Definitely better than that other place we went to.”
After the waitress had delivered the Tabasco sauce, Tanya nudged Simol. “Will you tell us what happened that night?”
“I held up the flame, to make the spirits hiss and scream, to frighten you away. Something pushed my lighter from my hand. I didn’t drop it by accident. I don’t know what pushed me.”
“The spirits stopped the fire from spreading and saved our lives,” Ellen said. “After Sue asked them for help.”
“That’s right,” Sue said.
“The skeleton you left behind,” Bob said. “Do you know where it came from and where it is now?”
Ellen held her breath. She’d been dying to ask the question but had been too afraid of losing the woman’s trust.
“I found it not long after I moved there,” the old woman said. “It was inside one of the bedroom closets wrapped in a blanket in a box on a high shelf. I was lonely, so I started talking to it, and I felt like it protected me from the bad spirits. I noticed that whenever I was holding the child, I could control the fire. I could make the fire appear and disappear. I believe she was helping me—I imagine the bones belonging to a little girl. I call her ‘Achak,’ which means ‘spirit.’”
“Where is she now?” Bob asked.
“I buried her behind the building so the workers wouldn’t take her away.”
“I’m sorry I took her arm,” Ellen said. “One day, I’ll get it back, and I’ll bury it with the rest of her, if you show me where you put her.”
Simol nodded.
“You still haven’t heard from the lab?” Bob asked Ellen.
Ellen shook her head.
Bob turned back to Simol. “Can you tell us a little about your life? Have you always lived in Tulsa?”
“I grew up on a small reservation in Kansas. I stupidly married the best-looking boy in my tribe. He was a brute, but I didn’t mind it, until I became pregnant. When my baby was born blue and cold, I decided to leave. I was so angry. I hated everyone. I didn’t want to have anything to do with my family. They betrayed me by telling me I should stay with my husband. And I didn’t want to have anything to do with other people. They seem to betray one another at every opportunity.”
“Where did you go?” Tanya prompted before taking another bite of her chicken.
“First I went to Kansas City, but I could find no work there. I went from town to town. I hitched a ride with a trucker. He stopped here in Tulsa. I decided to stay. When I found that place I call home, there was no one there. I didn’t plan to stay, but I liked it. I took a job cleaning bathrooms at Cain’s. When this place opened, I moved here. This has been a good place for me. I get one free meal a day, and they let me wash up in the restroom before and after business hours. I don’t have far to walk from home. I make enough money to buy the few things I need—mostly food and clothes and wine.” Then she added, “But I guess that’s all in the past. I’ll have to find a new home.”
Tears filled the old woman’s eyes.
“We’ll help you,” Ellen insisted.
Simol made no reply.
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Home Again
Thursday morning, Ellen and her friends woke up early and met Simol in the lobby before taking her to breakfast at the Gypsy Coffee House, a couple of blocks east of Cain’s.
“Did you sleep okay?” Ellen asked her during the ride over.
Simol merely shrugged.
“Well, we paid for the room through the month,” Sue said.
“It’s easy walking distance to Oklahoma Joe’s,” Tanya added.
Ellen pulled into a parking spot. “We’re coming back on December first for a court hearing, and after that, we’ll help you find a more permanent place.”
Simol said nothing.
While they were waiting for their food, Ellen received a call from Bob.
“I have bad news,” he said over the phone.
“Spit it out,” Ellen said, her stomach clenching into a knot.
“Are you sitting down?”
“Yes.”
“What’s wrong?” Tanya whispered.
Ellen held up a hand. “Spit it out, Bob.”
“The building was trashed.”
“What do you mean, trashed?”
“I mean someone broke in last night or early this morning, spray-painted vulgar threats all over the walls and floors, broke most of the windows, and busted all the bowling pins. Pieces of them are lying all over the place.”
“Oh, my God,” Ellen whispered, finding it hard to speak. Would they ever get a break?
“Ellen what happened?” Sue demanded.
“We’ll be there as soon as we can,” Ellen managed to say into the phone before hanging up.
“Is everything okay?” Tanya asked.
Ellen could find no words. It was all becoming too much for her. She covered her face with both hands and burst into tears.
When their food arrived, they asked the waitress to pack theirs to go, and they sat with Simol while she ate. The old woman told them to go on without her, that she could walk, but they didn’t feel right leaving her. They were all upset over Bob’s news, including Simol. They dropped her off at Oklahoma Joe’s before pulling up to the curb of their own lot. The gates were wide open and a huge truck was parked next to the building. A crew of four men in white hooded jumpers and gas masks were taping yellow caution tape around the entire perimeter, and they had already sealed off the windows and doors with plastic.
One of them waved and said, “You can’t go in there. We’re removing asbestos.”
“We’re the owners,” Sue said as she held on to Tanya and Ellen for support. She wanted to see the damage, too.
“Have you actually started the removal yet?” Ellen asked.
“No. I guess it’s okay for you to enter. But we’ll be starting soon.”
“We just want to take some photos of the vandalism, so we can report it,” Tanya explained.
“Okay,” the man said. “Let me know as soon as you’re done.”
Ellen and Tanya hobbled with Sue between them through the east entrance, at the dining hall. The floors were swept clean, but yellow spray paint defaced the floors and walls. When they reached the ballroom, they found glass all over the floors along with some of the broken bowling pins. Threats were painted across the brick walls:
Leave Tulsa.
Get out.
Signed, the Bitch Slappers
They found more of the same in the roller rink. Bob was there. He was wearing a white jumper and hood, like the other men.
He removed his mask and said, “I’m sorry, ladies. This is terrible, I know.”
“We’re not going to let this stop us,” Ellen said with resolve.
“But we need to seriously consider beefing up our security,” Sue said. “I think we need to call that company back and let them install the electric fence, coded gate, and security cameras.”
“I agree,” Tanya said. “We’ve already invested quite a lot of money. I don’t want to lose it to vandals.”
Ellen wasn’t sure where she was going to come up with more money. “Let’s hope the oil well pays off.”
“Speaking of which,” Bob said. “Did you see them back there?”
The ladies shook their heads.
“They’re already back there, behind the building. They were here when I arrived, assembling the rig. I spoke with the owner of the company. Nice guy.”
“When will we know if there’s an oil reserve there?” Ellen asked.
“We already know it,” Bob said.
“I think what Ellen means is, when will we know how lucrati
ve it is?” Sue clarified.
“It’ll take a few days to assemble the rig,” Bob said. “Then I believe they have to pass an inspection before they can move forward. They’ll have to install casing pipe and wait for the cement to dry. Once they get down there, they can take measurements that will give you a fairly accurate prediction. I don’t know, maybe a few weeks?”
Ellen bit her lip. Meanwhile, the expenses kept adding up. Maybe Paul had been right. This was a money pit. Now she had to go home and face him.
After scheduling the company to come out and secure their property the following week, Ellen and her friends drove to Oklahoma City Thursday night (Nolan was unavailable) and caught the train back to San Antonio Friday morning. Sue enjoyed the special treatment she received as a handicapped passenger. Ellen would have been embarrassed to drive a wheelchair onto a lift and be stared at by everyone in line waiting to board the train. But not Sue. She thoroughly enjoyed being the center of attention.
They had a layover in Fort Worth, where they grabbed Subway sandwiches. Tanya’s husband Dave met them at the station in San Antonio at midnight to take them home.
Paul was already sound asleep when Ellen arrived. She could hear the buzz-saw sound of his snoring. Even though she had slept like a dog during most of the train ride, she still felt unrested. So, without waking her husband, she crept to her son’s old bedroom, changed into a nightgown from her suitcase, and crawled into bed. For the first time since they’d received their first threat in Tulsa, Ellen felt safe.
But she had a hard time falling asleep. She hated that she didn’t have better news for Paul and for other friends and family members who would be asking about her project. Most of them had been naysayers, like Paul, warning her of a money pit. Now she would have to say that she and Sue and Tanya were still waiting on this, still waiting on that. Ellen didn’t know if the bodies she discovered in the walls were riot victims. She didn’t know if Jillian Bridges would be able to use Van Hurley’s affidavit in the reparations suit, since it had been stolen from Patty Cole’s basement. Ellen didn’t know if she would be able to convince Pete Mayo to let them recover the bodies she’d found in The Brady Theater. She didn’t know if they would strike enough oil to pay for the rig and the drilling, much less the massive restoration. She didn’t know how much asbestos was in the building, or how much the removal would cost. She wasn’t even sure how bad the final cost would be for the added security—at least a hundred thousand dollars, she’d been told. She didn’t know how much the restoration would be, since the contractor was working with too many unknown variables when he bid on the work. And she didn’t know if, once the place was finally restored—if it was ever restored—they would find a buyer.
And then there were the threats and the fear.
On top of all of this was the extreme guilt she felt over displacing Simol.
White people’s rules.
Ellen tossed and turned, but could not fall asleep.
Sometime after the morning light had filtered in through her son’s curtains, Ellen heard Paul moving around. She held her breath as he walked down the hall toward Nolan’s room. Not ready to face him, she closed her eyes and pretended to be sleeping. He opened the door.
When she didn’t hear the door close again, she wondered if he had left it ajar, or if he was still standing there. She didn’t have to wait long for the answer, as she heard him shuffle across the floor to her bedside. Was he planning to wake her? Was there no postponing the inevitable?
Still holding her breath, she was shocked when she felt him lean over and gently kiss her cheek.
Had someone broken into her house?
She blinked several times and met his tender gaze.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning.”
“Want some breakfast? Eggs? I could make waffles?”
She let out the breath she’d been holding. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know. I want to. I’ll go get the coffee started.”
He turned to go, but she grabbed his hand. “Wait, Paul.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I think you were right—about that building being a money pit.” Tears filled her eyes. “I’m so sorry I didn’t listen to you.”
“Let’s not talk about it now,” he said. “I’m just so God-damn glad you made it home alive.”
The tears spilled down her eyes, and, in that moment, she remembered the old Paul and the old Ellen. She remembered why they’d married and who they were. She remembered that she loved him and that he loved her. And she wondered how on earth it had come to her sleeping in a different room, speaking in code, and feeling unable to simply reach across the room for him as she was doing now.
“Paul,” she whispered.
He took her in his arms, and she found that old, familiar place she’d been longing for.
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Calling Van Hurley
Over the next several days, Ellen got back into the swing of being home. She went to the grocery store and planned meals for each day of the week. She dusted, swept, mopped, and cleaned the bathrooms. She reorganized the Tupperware and the canned goods in the kitchen and cleaned out the microwave, the oven, and the refrigerator. She washed all the bedding and all the other laundry. She caught up on two of her favorite shows. She read a new mystery novel. She called each of the kids and had long conversations with them, inviting them all to come up for Thanksgiving the following week. She also called her brother, Jody, and invited him and his family to join them.
And she watched television with Paul, and, some nights, even shared his bed.
Their bed.
Tonight, they were watching The Carbonaro Effect.
“Did I tell you I saw him perform in Tulsa?” she asked Paul.
“No. Was he in a shopping center or something?”
“On stage at The Brady Theater.”
“How was he?”
“Amazing.”
She realized as she watched the magician on television that she’d been hiding lately. Yes, she’d been very productive and had gotten everything done in preparation for Thanksgiving, but she was throwing herself into those tasks to avoid solving the problems in Tulsa.
She continued to distract herself until the Saturday before Thanksgiving, when a box arrived addressed to her from the online lab. She carried it to the kitchen table. Paul had gone to play golf, so she was alone in the house. Her hands trembled as she cut the box open and pulled out the letter lying on top of a sealed plastic bag.
The letter read:
Dear Ellen Mohr:
After several studies, we at Forensic Anthropology Labs, Inc. believe the specimen you sent to us to be the humerus, elbow, radius, ulna, wrist, and phalanges of a human female child who died in the range of eighty to one hundred years ago.
We believe the specimen to be human due to the circular and oblong patterns of trabeculae in the spongy bone of the shafts. This is usually more dense or granular and often homogenous in animal bones, without the pattern seen in human bones. Additionally, your sample lacks a sharp line or border between the spongy midshaft and the internal aspect of the bone. That is almost always present in animal specimens.
Please note the rate of correct species identification using this method to be between 82-87%.
Our belief that the sample is from a female child is based on measurements taken of the bones and used in a time-proven formula trusted by forensic pathologists for nearly a century. Two formulas were used on your specimens. First, we measured the length of each bone and divided it by the diameters of both their midshafts and the rounded ends. Second, we took the diameter of the midshafts and divided them by the diameters of the rounded ends. Using both formulas, and applied to all skeletal pieces, we concluded them to be from a female who was in the range of three to five years of age at the time of death.
Please note the rate of correct adult/child identification using these methods to be in the order of 88-90%, and the ra
te of correct gender identification to be 76%.
Our belief that the postmortem age of the sample ranges from eighty to one hundred years is based on our observations of the condition of the bones, using a bone-weathering grid, used by forensic pathologists for over sixty years, and including the following: The lack of grease, soft tissue, and marrow suggests the specimens are older than one year. The severe longitudinal cracking places the specimens in the 50-100-year range. The severe flaking of the outer surface of each bone puts the specimens in the 40-80-year range. The coarse, rough, and fibrous texture of the surface of each bone, along with the presence of splintering on each specimen, places them in the 70-100-year range. One such splinter completely detached during our observation, causing a crack to the inner cavity, which suggests a 80-100-old specimen. The presence of heavy fragmentation, exfoliating powder residues, and open cracks suggest the specimens to be at least eighty years old (postmortem) but no more than one hundred.
Please note that postmortem time range estimates are usually large, encompassing twenty to fifty years, and so the correct time range estimate consequently has a higher success rate, usually in the order of 96-98%.
We hope our services have been helpful to you. Please contact us if you have any questions or if you need further assistance. We have enclosed our bill and an envelope for your convenience, along with your bone specimen, wrapped per our specifications.
Cordially,
Carl Fromme, Senior Forensic Anthropologist
Ellen reread the letter, her heart in a flurry of erratic beats. She couldn’t wait to share this news with Bob, because the postmortem time estimate suggested that the child was also a victim of the 1921 race riot.
Why had a child been killed and hidden away in a closet for Simol to find years later?
The arrival of the box spurred Ellen to action, reminding her that she was on an important mission.