Bury the Hatchet in Dead Mule Swamp

by Joan H. Young

  Jerry stepped back and pointed to the steps. “Ladies, if you would kindly join the audience, I have another announcement I would like to make.”

  Adele gave Jerry a questioning look, but she didn’t balk at being hustled off stage.

  The room quieted. People seemed to sense that whatever was about to happen hadn’t been in the publicly known order of events. I liked the feeling of being “in the know.”

  Jerry began. “Mavis Fanning, please come up here.”

  My head jerked up, and probably my jaw dropped. What was Jerry up to?

  Mavis looked even more stunned than I. She had been chatting with a group of well-dressed women, and didn’t hear Jerry at first. One of her friends poked her and turned her around, and she finally saw Jerry beckoning her. She minced her way to the stage, playing coy with the audience and shrugging her shoulders.

  “Mavis, I have a deal for you,” Jerry said.

  The woman was not quite as tall as Jerry, but she could nearly look him in the eye. You could practically see sparks and questions flying out of her, but she said nothing.

  Jerry took it in stride and continued. “It has come to my attention that you would very much like this building for use as a fitness center, to promote good health for our fine citizens.”

  I swiveled my head trying to find Harold, but couldn’t locate him. It crossed my mind that I hadn’t seen Virginia Holiday in a long time, either.

  Mavis opened her mouth but closed it again without saying anything. She gave an almost imperceptible nod. Whispers and coughing broke out randomly throughout the room.

  “I will make you an offer.”

  Mavis found her voice. “For this building?”

  “Not in its entirety. You may have the use of this gymnasium and two classrooms for office space and what-not, free of charge, for two full years, until you find another suitable building.”

  “Then what ‘deal’ are you proposing,” Mavis sneered.

  “This is offered in exchange for one small item which shall not be named in public.”

  Mavis’ face fell. Her haughty attitude disappeared momentarily, but then she recovered. “I have nothing to hide,” she boasted.

  From the audience came the voice of a young woman, clear and precise, “Mom, I told him you took it from my room.” Had Jerry arranged Claire’s presence, too?

  Jerry’s voice was smooth. “Mavis, it’s all worked out. If you present me with this item within twenty-four hours of the end of this Ball, say by ten p.m. tomorrow, you’ll have a free facility for two years. If you persist in feigning to have no knowledge of this topic, I’ll have no choice except to...”

  “It’s a deal.” Mavis said through clenched teeth. She stuck out her hand.

  Jerry shook it solemnly and looked my way. I nodded in silent agreement, and earnestly hoped making anonymous calls was Mavis’ only secret.

  Chapter 49

  Clearly the audience expected the play to begin soon. They were starting to become restless, and someone called out, “Move things along.”

  Jerry nodded in the direction of the voice. “My next announcement has to do with the fundamental purpose of this event. Please humor me for just a few more minutes.” He wasn’t about to be hurried.

  I looked around the room. Harold and Claire had now joined Mavis, and they were huddled together, whispering. Sherri Sorenson brushed past me, wearing a barn coat exuding odors of warm horses and cold air. She sat on the floor next to her children, leaned over and squeezed their shoulders. Ruthie scrambled into her lap. Farther to my left, Cora was still on the bench with Tom, but she looked fidgety, near the end of her social patience.

  “Cora Baker, will you come up here, please?” Jerry’s voice boomed through the sound system. Was this question really louder, or did it just seem that way to me?

  I saw Cora jump and glance from left to right, as if she were looking for a different Cora Baker. Then she composed herself and with a dignified air, rose and walked to the stage. She raised her face to Jerry and said something, but she was so much shorter the microphone didn’t pick up the words.

  “She says I’m very good at wasting everyone’s time,” Jerry explained with a wide grin. There was scattered clapping and laughter, but people weren’t sure if this was some new joke, or something more serious. The interchange with Mavis had been tense, and now it appeared there was to be another public conversation spoken in riddles with a threatening undercurrent. Children were squirming and becoming restless.

  Jerry raised a hand to still the clapping and whispering which had begun. He took a second mic from a stand and handed it to his diminutive stage partner. “Cora, I have two questions for you. I’m certain of the answer to one of them but not so sure of the other.”

  “Get to it,” Cora said tightly. For this attempt to hustle the proceedings, she received applause. She had donned her no-nonsense persona, and didn’t waste a moment before saying to the crowd, “Settle down, and let the man speak his piece.”

  The audience quieted, charmed by the feisty little woman. I had no idea she would be so comfortable behind a microphone. There seemed to be a lot about Cora I didn’t know.

  Jerry couldn’t hide his delight at the repartee. His eyes sparkled. “Cora, I’ve heard you have quite a collection of local history memorabilia. In fact, you’ve brought some of it with you tonight.”

  “You know I do. Everyone here knows I have it. If you’d come to the point, there might be an interesting skit that features some of the pieces,” Cora snapped back.

  “I’d like you to leave this furniture here permanently.” Jerry pointed to the set stage.

  “Whatever for?” Cora questioned, perplexed.

  “This building is to be the new Forest County Museum, and my first question is, will you be the curator?”

  Now it was my turn to grin. Cora was non-plussed. She looked up into Jerry’s face, perhaps searching for motives. She looked into the audience, scanning for someone. I wondered if she was hunting for me. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath.

  “Are you serious?” she managed, her voice cracking.

  “I am quite serious,” Jerry answered. “It’s yours if you say yes.”

  “Yes, oh yes!” Cora said, reaching out for something solid to steady herself, and grabbing the footboard of the historic bed. When she had regained her mental and physical balance she continued, “But you said you had two questions.”

  “It’s true. And I won’t waste any time getting to this one.” His voice softened. “Cora, will you marry me again? I miss you.”

  The audience was stunned into the complete silence of expectation. I thought Cora’s reaction to this question would be even more extreme. Perhaps she would need to sit on the bed. Much to my amazement, she raised herself quickly to her full height and looked directly at Jerry. But she spoke into the microphone so everyone could hear the clear enunciation of her response.

  “Why you arrogant, pushy, son of a flea-bitten dog! Gerald Richard Caulfield, you’ve been dating Ana Raven for a month and now you have the nerve to pose this question to me?”

  Jerry looked contrite. He stuck his free hand in his pocket, and I saw the insecure little boy again. Curious faces turned toward me and my neck reddened. I realized what I needed to do and hurried to the stage.

  Taking the mic from Cora, I said to her, and everyone else, “It’s all been a ploy so we could prepare the building for you.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was close enough. I handed the microphone back to her, nodded solemnly to reiterate the point, and backed up into the set for the play.

  Jerry’s eyes were full of pleading. “Will you think about it?” He asked gently.

  “I don’t need to think about it at all,” Cora snapped. “Of course I will. Someone needs to keep you from trying to manage the world. And anyway, I can’t run a museum from sixteen miles away.”

  Jerry leaned over and pulled Cora to his side. The audience broke into applause once more, and I emerged from
the shadows and tried to embrace Cora and Jerry at the same time.

  Cora broke free and poked Jerry in the ribs. “Introduce the play, for heaven’s sake. People have been waiting long enough.”

  From deep in the wings I heard Chad’s voice. “Finally.”

  Chapter 50

  More door prizes were awarded, and then Jerry announced the reenactment of the murder of Judge Reuben Pierce Oldfield, which had occurred on November 23, 1924. He read the names of the students who had traveled from Michigan Tech just to participate in the Harvest Ball. The townsfolk seemed impressed. I only hoped the kids would do a good enough job to meet Cora’s standards of history preservation.

  He explained that the cast of characters, in order of appearance, were Dieter Volger, founder of Volger’s Grocery and grandfather-in-law of Adele; Nora Bradley, the young wife of Zeke Bradley, who worked at Keto Brothers Oil and Service (now Aho’s). John waved his hand, grateful for the recognition. The lawyer, Arnold Schoenbrunn, and finally, there were Judge Reuben Pierce Oldfield and his wife Winnifred. That was six characters and four actors. I didn’t know who had multiple roles.

  Clearly, the kids had coordinated with Mick, the sound and light guy. The play began, not in the bedroom, but in front of a painted flat which was handily carried from behind, so the stagehand couldn’t be seen, and placed near center stage. The backdrop was a general store, simply painted, but it created the atmosphere. A beam of light from a Fresnel lens focused people’s attention on the scene. Dieter Volger dusted a shelf of canned goods.

  I chuckled at the portly German man with his hair slicked and parted in the middle. The butcher’s apron tied around his waist served to keep the padding in place which Chad had stuffed beneath oversized shirt and pants.

  From stage left, a thin young woman, whom I recognized as Brittney, carrying a basket, entered the store and greeted Dieter, who went back to his dusting. She pantomimed a careful examination of goods on an imaginary shelf near the front of the stage, occasionally slipping something under a cloth in her basket. Finally, she carried one more item to Dieter and indicated she wanted to make her purchase. “Just the one bag of sugar today, Mrs. Bradley?” Dieter asked.

  “Yes, please,” Nora lied, not mentioning the concealed goods. After she left, Dieter put his hands on his hips and shook his head. The stage light dimmed.

  When the light came up, Dieter was bent into a large pickle barrel, with his head out of sight. Ryan, dressed in modern clothing, walked across the stage bearing a sign that read “two weeks later.”

  Essentially the same scene was repeated several more times, with Nora paying for one or two items, but pilfering several more in the bottom of her basket.

  Finally, Dieter walked to the front of the stage and asked the audience, “Vat am I to do? She is a nice girl, ja? Her Zeke, he fixes my car. He fixes all the cars. I do not vant to make him angry.” He raised his arms and shrugged.

  For the next scene a small table was added to the set, with various cuts of meat displayed. There was a turkey, several plucked chickens (which I hoped were rubber), and a paper maché ham. Dieter once again was scrubbing the pickle barrel. Nora entered, and seeing Mr. Volger’s face hidden she grabbed the ham and scurried away.

  Dieter gave a yell. “Aha! I haf caught you. I see you through this knothole.”

  He grabbed her by the arm and Nora began to protest and cry.

  “Nein. No more. You vill go to police vit me. I cannot lose a ham to save my Sunday drives. You vill pay for this crime.” He led her off stage and the lights dimmed again.

  When they came up next, a cloth had been draped over the flat, and because the store shelves had been ingeniously painted, the backdrop looked like a window and the cloth became the curtain. We were seeing the inside of a house. Nora and a thin man wearing a greasy coverall were arguing.

  “You’ve gone and done it now!” the man said.

  “Zeke, I didn’t mean any harm. I just wanted us to have a nice dinner for our anniversary.”

  Zeke began to pace back and forth, and then said, “Well, you have to go before the judge tomorrow. They released you into my custody until then, but I don’t know what to expect next.”

  “They won’t do anything much just for wanting a little old ham, Sugar,” Nora whined.

  The scene ended.

  Again the lights came up, and now the cloth had been draped to completely cover the backdrop in vertical folds. In front of that was a desk on a raised platform. Judge Oldfield sat there, holding his gavel. I nearly cracked up. Chad had been transformed by means of a wig, fake beard and sideburns, and even more padding. He wore glasses and a dark suit, making it almost impossible to tell he was the same boy who had played the grocer. But I was his mother. I knew.

  Zeke and Nora appeared before him, and he handed down a sentence of thirty days in the county jail. Nora was distraught, and Zeke was not pleased.

  The play continued with various scenes through Nora’s release, the theft of the more expensive objects, and her sentencing to a year in prison. The lawyer who recommended counseling for Nora was played by Audra, her already round frame easily believable as a well-fed professional, when dressed in a suit and sporting a false mustache.

  At last the lights came up on the bedroom which had been brought in for the occasion. There was a slight rustling as the audience shifted to view this scene, which was farther stage right, to the audience’s left.

  The judge was sitting on the edge of his bed and wearing a long, striped flannel nightshirt. Winnifred, Audra again but now in a nightgown and ribboned cap, bustled around the room, setting a glass of water on the nightstand, and fluffing pillows. The judge removed his slippers and swung his feet into the bed. “Now, Winnie, stop your fussing, and come to bed,” the judge said, gently shooing her away as she tried to tuck him in. This got a laugh from a fair number of people, and Winnie hammed it up. I suspected the next line was improvised.

  “Oh, shut up, you old fool. Just because you’re in charge in the courtroom doesn’t make you king here.” With this she climbed into bed and gave him a peck on the cheek.

  Again the lights dimmed, and a silvery crescent moon floated above the scene, arcing from one side to the other, suggesting the passage of time.

  A yellowish light began to glow softly. Winnifred rose from the bed and spoke to the judge, who continued to snore. “You just rest yourself, dear. I’ll start breakfast. It’s cook’s day off.” She patted the large lump beneath the covers and left the scene. The yellow light grew brighter.

  From the far side of the stage, Zeke Bradley approached the Oldfield “house” in a crouch, looking left and right. When he neared it, he raised the butt of the gun he carried and smashed an imaginary window. I had to admit the actors were doing a great job. The sound of smashing glass was heard at just the right moment.

  The judge roused himself from sleep, looking confused, while Zeke climbed in the window and delivered his famous line. “If Nora’s going to prison, I’m going with her. She’s the best dad-gummed cook I’ve ever lived with!”

  Then he lowered the pistol and fired a shot. The judge looked startled and placed a hand over his chest. When he lifted it away his fingers were covered in blood. There were gasps from the audience, even though almost everyone knew the local story by heart. Reuben Pierce Oldfield looked at Zeke, and opened his mouth as if to speak, then fell back against his pillows.

  Winnifred rushed into the bedroom, crying, “What have you done? Ezekiel Bradley, you’re a bad, bad man.”

  Police whistles were heard and the sound of running feet. The lights went out once more.

  Everyone waited patiently for the next scene, but the lights did not come up.

  Chapter 51

  Mick’s voice boomed from the balcony, “I think we’ve tripped the breaker again.”

  Whispering began to swell throughout the room.

  “I got it,” someone yelled. I was pretty sure it was Todd Ringman. This was followed by the sou
nd of heavy footfalls descending steps. I assumed this was on the backstage flight that led directly to the basement.

  There was a banging and clanging, as of a heavy chain hitting metal, followed by thumping. Someone had fallen down the stairs. “Oof. Ouch!”

  “Uh. Damn! Who’s there?”

  At this, someone began to giggle, and then ripples of laughter and guffaws could be heard. People were hoping this was part of the show.

  The chains, and the person connected to them, must have recovered, because the clanking slowly began to rise to stage level.

  I sensed everyone around me becoming still. As my eyes adjusted, I saw a dark figure making its way across the stage, holding a thick threatening bar. A beam of light flashed upward from the end of the bar, onto the haggard face of a man in prison stripes, wrapped in chains. Blood flowed from a gash on his forehead.

  “It’s Zeke’s ghost!” a child’s voice wavered fearfully. There were screams from many young girls, and even the adults seemed unsure if this was supposed to be part of the play. The blood looked all too real, not overly bright and sticky as we’d seen on the judge’s hand.

  The flashlight clicked off, and after a moment of silence, someone began to clap. Others assumed this signaled the end of the play and the applause grew in volume.

  Just as people began to stir restlessly, wondering why the lights’ still hadn’t come on, there was a low rumbling sound that reverberated underneath the clapping, and the whole building shook. Not a massive shifting, but just enough that everyone noticed. There was another shock and something hard clattered to the floor. Immediately, everyone went dead silent.

  “What was that?” a woman asked, her voice tentative, but clearly audible in the hush.

  “It’s an earthquake!” another woman screeched.

  “Could be a cryoseism. A frost quake.” A man’s voice this time.