Wild Hearts

by Sharon Sala

  “Weird,” she muttered.

  In her whole life, she had never known her dad to clean that thoroughly. Then she shrugged it off. Once in a while he did have someone come out and clean for him. That was probably what had happened here.

  She sat for a moment, looking at all the drawers and slots, and then began opening them one by one. The drawers were empty. All the slots where things could have been filed were squeaky-clean. When she looked in the first hidden drawer she found a penny and then leaned back, her hand shaking as she took it out. The date on it was 1943. She distinctly remembered finding this penny beneath an old brick when she was just a kid. Certain it was worth millions because it was so old, she’d run to the house to show her mother, only to be told it wasn’t all that old and it was still only worth a penny. Not to be deterred, Dallas had cleaned it up, then hidden it in the secret drawer to let it get older. She dropped it back into the drawer and pushed it shut with a click.

  Only one secret drawer left, and it was at the back of the long drawer. She pulled the drawer out and set it aside, then got down on her knees and pushed. When a second door gave way, she thrust her hand inside, and when she felt a folded piece of paper, her heart actually skipped. She pulled it out, then sat down with her back against the desk to read it.

  It took her a few moments to realize what she was looking at, and then she read it again in disbelief.

  “What the hell? Why would you do this?” she mumbled, and then noticed the date.

  It was the same year that she’d started college. Surely this was no longer valid? But what if it was? And that was when she panicked.

  She scrambled to her feet and ran for the phone book, found the number she needed and called it with her fingers shaking so hard she kept misdialing. Finally the call went through.

  “First State Bank. How may I direct your call?”

  “I need to speak to Mr. Standish. Tell him Dallas Phillips is calling.”

  “One moment, please.”

  Dallas groaned. God, but she hated hearing music when she’d been put on hold. The longer she waited, the worse it became, until the tension was making her sick to her stomach. Unable to sit still, she began to pace. When Gregory Standish finally answered, his voice was so forceful it made Dallas flinch.

  “Hello, this is Standish.”

  Dallas opened her mouth and then had to pinch her nose to keep from screaming.

  “Mr. Standish, this is Dallas Phillips.”

  “Dallas, my dear, I was so sorry to hear of your father’s passing. You have my sympathy, of course. Now, what can I do for you?”

  “I just found the paperwork on an old loan my Dad took out at your bank some years back. I knew nothing about this and wonder if you can tell me when it was paid off.”

  Standish frowned and then cleared his throat. He had been dreading this conversation, although he hadn’t expected it to happen for a few weeks, which was when the balance of the loan, in its entirety, would come due.

  “Let me check our records. The computers are slow today, so give me a few moments.” She heard the clicking of keys as he checked the computer. “Ah, yes, here we are. Your father did indeed take out a loan some years back. He’d been paying on it regularly until two years back, but I’m afraid he’s been in arrears ever since. I believe he and I discussed this briefly earlier in the spring, but I hadn’t heard from him since.”

  “How much does he still owe?” she asked.

  Standish cleared his throat again.

  “A little over fifty thousand dollars. Interest accrued rather rapidly with the missed payments.”

  The room was beginning to spin. Dallas dropped down on her knees to keep from falling.

  “What did you tell him when you...when you talked in the spring?”

  Standish cleared his throat one more time.

  “I believe he understood that if the money wasn’t paid in full, he would lose the collateral, which was his farm.”

  Dallas gasped. “The farm? The one that’s been in our family for over a hundred and fifty years?”

  “Yes.”

  “What date would that take place?”

  “Twenty-seven days from today.”

  “I’m listed on his checking account. Can you please verify the amount in that account?”

  More clicking of keys.

  “Seven thousand, five hundred and twelve dollars, and thirty cents.”

  “And his savings account?” she asked.

  “He doesn’t have one.”

  “What? I don’t understand. Dad always had—”

  “Actually, the amount in his checking account is from a transfer from savings made about six months ago. I’m afraid that’s all that’s left.”

  “So my Dad was about to lose the farm?”

  “Yes, and I’m sorry to be the one to give you this news.”

  Stunned, Dallas disconnected without even saying goodbye, then stood and stared out the window at the scene before her. She’d seen it a thousand times before and never thought it remarkable in any way. It was the same pasture, with the same mountain looming behind it. She looked at the barn, built before the house in which she was standing, and then thought of all the people who’d lived here, and the years of toil and hardship they had suffered to keep themselves afloat. Generation after generation had lived and died beneath this roof, and now she was going to lose it because she’d wanted to go to college, and her parents hadn’t told her no. They hadn’t told her they couldn’t afford it. They’d never said, “You need to work your way through if you want to go.” They’d just sent her on her merry way, and she’d never thought twice about how they’d made it work, because she’d been so wrapped up in losing Trey and, at the same time, realizing she was about to live her dream.

  All of a sudden bile was burning the back of her throat and she was racing to the bathroom. She threw up until her sides were aching and her throat was raw, and then she staggered to her bedroom and collapsed from the weight of her guilt.

  Five

  One hour passed, and then another, as Dallas wept beneath the shock of what she’d found. Even worse, she knew when this was revealed the authorities would immediately use it as the reason for his suicide and look no further. In her heart, though, despite learning of this debt, she could not believe he would have felt the situation was hopeless.

  He already knew Dallas made good money, really good money. She had three times the amount of the outstanding loan in her own savings account and a healthy checking account. All he would have had to do was confess what was happening and she would have given it to him in seconds, and the farm would be saved. This debt was not the kind of “all is lost” incident that would precipitate suicide. He wasn’t so vain that he couldn’t face what had happened, either. There had to be more to it.

  She drifted off to sleep, and when she woke up it was nearing sundown. Time to do chores all over again.

  She got up and washed the tears from her face, changed her shoes and headed outside. The moment she felt the chill in the air she made a U-turn and went back for a jacket. Fall was a fickle time of year in West Virginia, and while she’d been sleeping¸ the weather had turned. The air was nippy, and the sky was laced with long, thin gray clouds.

  The chickens bunched together, clucking almost anxiously. Before she would have chalked the noise up to them trying to get to the feed first, but since her dad’s death, nothing was the same. They watched her as she moved around inside the coop, some even following her a bit. She paused to look at them, wondering if they were anxious because some predator had spooked them. She quickly checked the perimeter of the coop, as well as the fenced-in area, but it was secure. When she put out the feed and the scratch, they were around her feet, clucking and pecking but still huddling together, their little squawks and clucks all running together until, in her mind, she imagined they were talking.

  Do you see what’s happening? Do you see? Do you see? Winter will come. What will become of us? What will become o
f me?

  She paused, her hand in a nest and the warm egg beneath her palm, and had a moment of déjà vu, remembering something from her childhood.

  * * *

  Dallas was squatting down beside the chicken feeder, petting an old hen, and her mother was standing in the spot where she was standing now. The hen seemed droopy, and Dallas was asking her mother if she might be sick. Her mother said the hen wasn’t sick, she was just old.

  The moment Dallas heard that, she picked up the hen and started running out of the chicken yard.

  “Dallas Ann! Where do you think you’re going with that hen?” her mother yelled.

  Dallas stopped, her eyes welling with tears.

  “I’m saving her life.”

  Her mother frowned.

  “What do you mean, you’re saving her life? I told you she wasn’t sick.”

  “But Daddy says you always cook the old ones. She knows you’re going to eat her. She’s not sick. She’s sad, Mommy. She doesn’t want to die.”

  * * *

  A hen flew off the roost between the door and Dallas’s line of sight, startling her back to reality. She put the warm egg in the basket and moved on down the row of nests, taking the memory with her. She had been so shocked by her father’s death and the immediate need to prove that he’d been murdered that she hadn’t thought about what would happen to this place until today, when she’d come face-to-face with losing it. Would Charleston still hold as much glamour for her, knowing she’d given away her heritage and this way of life for something shiny?

  Her heart was heavy as she started toward the barn. The cattle herd, which now consisted of less than twenty head, was at the far end of the pasture near the foot of the mountain. Thankful the grass was still good enough to sustain them, she had to think about what would happen to them, too. Did she want this life to disappear? Where would she go when she longed for the mountains again?

  She was halfway to the barn when she heard a car coming up the drive. She waited beneath the oaks as the driver saw her and pulled up to where she was standing.

  The old man behind the wheel was a neighbor, as familiar to her as her father.

  “Hello, Mr. Woodley. Did you come for eggs?”

  “Yeah...yeah I did, girl. That and to tell you how sorry I am for your loss. Dick was my friend. I’m sure gonna miss him.”

  Dallas’s eyes welled. Their shared loss was true and touching.

  “How many eggs might you be wanting?” she asked.

  “Hazel said get three dozen if you have them to spare.”

  “We have that and more. Drive on down to the barn. I’m heading that way myself.”

  The old man eased his pickup past the trees and parked at the barn. By the time she got there, he was standing in the breezeway waiting.

  “Just give me a second and I’ll bring your eggs right out,” she said.

  Woodley was looking up at that rafter.

  “Is that where they found him?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He kept looking and finally shook his head.

  “I just can’t wrap my mind around him being able to do that.”

  Dallas set the eggs down. “What do you mean?”

  “He wrenched his right shoulder real bad last week. It was paining him something fierce. He even said he was thinking about going into town to see the chiropractor. So I don’t see how the hell, excuse my language, he managed to throw a rope over that rafter, then climb those stairs to tie the end off, put the noose over his head and hang on long enough to jump. That’s what I mean.”

  “Oh, my God!” Dallas cried, then threw her arms around his neck and burst into tears. “You think he was murdered, too, don’t you?”

  Woodley didn’t seem to mind her emotional outburst and patted her in a consoling manner.

  “Well, I sure don’t think he killed himself. Dick Phillips wasn’t a quitter.”

  Dallas fished a tissue out of her pocket and began wiping her eyes.

  “Did my dad ever confide in you about money trouble?”

  Woodley frowned. “I knew he was struggling financially, but he knew that would happen once he quit growing tobacco.”

  Dallas was floored, realizing she hadn’t known nearly as much about her father as she’d thought.

  “I don’t think I knew that. When did that happen?”

  “A couple of years ago. He woke up one day and said God told him he didn’t have any right to be angry that his wife had died, when he’d been partly responsible for making it happen.”

  Dallas felt like she’d been punched in the chest.

  “Oh, my God! Mom’s lung cancer! She got lung cancer because she smoked, and she didn’t quit even after she was diagnosed.”

  Woodley nodded. “He said he didn’t have the heart to raise tobacco anymore. He didn’t want to feel responsible for another death from smoking.”

  Her mind was racing. Two years. Right when he’d begun missing loan payments.

  “Did he worry that he would lose the farm?”

  Woodley frowned. “Oh, Lord, no! He said he was coming into big money soon, more than enough to pay off the loan, and his troubles would be over.”

  Her eyes widened. “Big money? How was that going to happen?”

  “He never said, but I believed him. Dick Phillips wasn’t a man who lied.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Woodley. Thank you.”

  “Why, shoot, girl, I didn’t do anything.”

  “You did. You gave me hope. Hang on a second and I’ll get your eggs.” She ran into the cooler for three cartons of eggs and hurried back out.

  “Here, and I won’t take anything for them. You’ve given me something far more valuable than money. You tell Hazel I said hello.”

  He took the eggs and smiled. “I’ll do that,” he said.

  “Oh...I’m having a memorial service for Dad day after tomorrow, 10:00 a.m. at the church. It’s not a funeral. It’s a celebration of Dad’s life, and whoever wants to speak about him will have the floor to do so. I’ll be looking for you and Hazel to come here for dinner afterward. It’s tradition in these mountains for friends and family to come eat, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

  He smiled again. “We’d be proud to accept.”

  She watched until he was gone, and then all but raced into the egg room to clean and carton up the ones she’d just gathered. As she was getting new cartons out, she noticed a bunch of large plastic boxes about the size of trunks. They were stashed beneath the lowest shelf, and she was curious as to what her father had been planning to do with them. They weren’t meant for anything but storage. She nosed around a little more and found a brand-new padlock and keys still in the packaging, but thought little of it. She wondered what he’d been planning, and then she let go of the thought and put the new eggs to the back to make sure she would use up the older eggs first. When she left, she carried all of the empty egg baskets and dropped them off at the coop on her way back.

  She would never have believed that she could feel relief today, but she’d been wrong. The moment she reached the house she called the sheriff’s office, hoping he wasn’t gone for the day.

  A different voice, a man this time, answered the phone.

  “Sheriff’s office.”

  “This is Dallas Phillips. Is Sheriff Osmond in?”

  “I’m not sure if he’s still here. Hold, please.”

  She waited, thankful there was no music in her ear, and moments later her call was picked up.

  “Sheriff Osmond. How can I help you, Miss Phillips?”

  “I found out something you need to know.”

  “I’m listening,” he said.

  “A neighbor of ours just stopped by to get eggs.”

  “Eggs?”

  “Oh, sorry. Yes, eggs. We sell them, remember? Anyway, he and Dad were really close friends, and when he went with me to the barn, he kept looking up at where Dad was hanged and finally said Dad wouldn’t have been physically able to manage it himself.
He said Dad wrenched his shoulder pretty badly last week and was still in severe pain, which was something I didn’t know. He said Dad had been talking about seeing the chiropractor this week because he was hurting so much.”

  The silence was telling.

  “Sheriff Osmond? Are you there?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Could you give me that man’s name and phone number?”

  “It’s Otis Woodley. Just a moment while I get the phone book.”

  She came back within moments and gave Osmond the information.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll make sure the coroner gets this information and see if he can verify it. If you learn anything else, like someone who might have held a grudge against him, give me a call. I’ll do the follow-up investigating on whether there’s merit to it or not. I don’t want you getting involved in something that could turn out to be dangerous for you.”

  “Yes, sir, and thank you, Sheriff Osmond.”

  He almost chuckled. “Thank me for what?”

  “For listening. For not blowing me off.”

  “I’ve been in law enforcement a long time. Just when I think I’ve seen and heard it all, something will pop up and make a liar out of me. I never write anything off until I know all the facts there are to know. Take care. I’ll be in touch.”

  Dallas disconnected with a sense of satisfaction. It wasn’t a lot to pin her hopes on, since there was no obvious bad guy hovering in the wings, but it was something, and that was more than she’d had when she got up this morning.

  * * *

  Trey’s day had been beyond hectic, and having to bring Carly Standish, the local bank president’s daughter, into the station for shoplifting had only made it worse. She’d been defensive and then dissolved into tears when confronted with the security tape showing her stuffing a blouse into her oversize purse.

  By the time her mother, Gloria, showed up with the family lawyer, he had also received a phone call from her father, Gregory. The call was rude, threatening and brief. When it was over, Trey was happy that he and his family didn’t owe that bank a dime. Gregory Standish was not a man who liked to be thwarted.