Crazy Woman Creek Read online

  “Lunatic female,” muttered the sheriff between noisy chaws of tobacco. “All of ‘em, loony.”

  Luke stared pensively at the sheriff a few seconds. Then abruptly he left the window, rounded his desk, and pulled his hat from the rack in the corner of his small office area. He scooped up the loose papers on his desk, folded them over twice, and shoved them in his shirt pocket.

  “I’ll be back in a while,” he said, moving toward the door.

  “Where you going?”

  “Aeschelman’s,” he said, smashing his hat onto his head, “to send these letters.”

  “Hmpf,” grunted Sheriff Morris. Then, pointing to Luke’s lunch, “You goin’ to eat that?”

  Luke turned back to his sandwich and pickle. “Help yourself,” he said with disgust. Then he strode out the door, not refraining from indulging, as Lenora had, in the type of deliciously loud and satisfying exit that perfectly suits a heated farewell.

  #

  A bell tinkled over the door at Aeschelman’s General Store. Lenora looked up from the rear corner of the mercantile toward the street and at once recognized the tall silhouette of Deputy Davies darkening the doorway. Not desiring to be grilled again about James’ disappearance, her first inclination was to hide. But that was silly. There was no reason to fear more questions; she had harmed no one. A furtive glance around the compact store told her that she had no place to hide anyway. She squared her shoulders, preparing to engage with the deputy. She knew he’d have something to say to her, likely probing and insulting. He always did.

  Mr. Aeschelman heard the bell too, walked through the rough brown curtains, and stood at the counter waiting expectantly.

  “Morning, Faustus,” said Luke. But instead of stopping at the counter he proceeded directly to the rear of the store where Lenora had her eyes fixed on a display of mouse traps. His boots clunked on the bare wood floor in a thoroughly masculine fashion, commanding the attention of both the storekeeper and Lenora.

  “Ma’am,” said Luke, tipping his hat as he approached.

  Luke stopped a few feet away from Lenora. Even without looking at him his very nearness made her chest tighten and her stomach flutter. The weather was warmer now so he wasn’t bundled as usual in his thick corduroy coat. His shiny deputy star was pinned to his cream-colored shirt, which like everything he wore had served him many years but was clean and complemented a muscular physique. He had a sturdiness about him, like a well-built house, a place that never changes, a place you can always come back to. Lenora set the mouse trap back on the shelf and turned to respond, but he spoke again before she had a chance.

  “You look lovelier than usual today, Mrs. Rose.” He smiled, his eyes taking her in, head to toe, appreciatively.

  “Thank you,” she said. Her voice may have been stiff but the rest of her quivered like jelly. She was self-conscious under his gaze and annoyed at herself for enjoying his compliment so much. She shouldn’t be noticing the deputy and his fine points at such a time as this. The man was tall, handsome, and, when he wasn’t accusing her of murder, decent and likable. But he always seemed to be hanging around, wanting something from her. She wondered when the vexing questions would start.

  “Dressed like that, it’s hard for me to imagine you in your barn, feeding farm stock and mucking stalls.” Luke smiled again and pushed his hat back.

  Lenora chuckled at the absurdity, which broke the ice at least temporarily. She returned the smile.

  “I borrow James’ work clothes for chores.”

  Luke’s smile disappeared. “I have to ask you something,” he said, straightening up.

  Lenora looked up at him, but for the first time the thought of being interrogated didn’t make her defensive. Perhaps it was nothing more than his obvious efforts to make her feel at ease, but something surely had changed in their tenuous relationship. She no longer felt like Luke was on the opposing side.

  “Why do you burn your bridges behind you?”

  Lenora sighed audibly. “Sheriff Morris doesn’t take me seriously. Never has. It’s all I can do to keep from screaming when he starts into it.”

  “I tried to tell you before. He’s old fashioned. He treats all women with a certain ... gruffness.”

  “The word is condescension. And knowing that he treats all women badly is supposed to kindle a flame of charity in my heart for the man?”

  Luke grimaced. “I know he’s a leathery old boot, but you could at least try to be patient with him.”

  “I will try, Deputy Davies, I promise. Because you ask. But before I take on such a herculean task, don’t you think I should master something easy, like walking on water?”

  Ignoring her sarcasm, Luke pulled the letters from his pocket and waved them in front of her. “Sheriff Morris instructed me to contact every town downstream from where we found your husband’s horse,” he said. “He really is making a sincere effort to find your husband.”

  Lenora’s conscious was smitten. At some deep level she knew that both Deputy Davies and Sheriff Morris were doing the best they knew how to find James. They’d been handed a difficult and frustrating task, made all the more difficult by a prickly wife who was angry at her loss and fearful of her future. She also knew, upon reflection, that her criticism of Sheriff Morris’ investigation was a criticism of his deputy as well. She felt very ashamed of her caustic words.

  “I apologize, Deputy Davies. I must learn to tame my tongue.”

  Luke nodded in appreciation.

  “Truly, I am grateful for all you and the sheriff are doing on my behalf. It can’t be pleasant for you.” Lenora moved her shopping basket to her other arm and began removing her day gloves. It gave her something to do. It was an awkward moment.

  It must have been awkward for Luke also, because he changed the subject. “You hired Sam Wright yet?”

  “No, not yet. Some of the neighboring ranchers have been by in the evenings, taking turns at helping. Such nice people.”

  “All good people,” agreed Luke.

  “But then Ben Slocomb came over recently and offered to help every day until James returns,” she said. “I offered to pay him, even if it was just a little, but he refused.”

  “That’s neighborly of him.”

  “Indeed. I hope his parents aren’t behind it. They need his help as much as I do.”

  “I’m sure they don’t mind lending him to you for a while. He has brothers who can help. Ben’s young and strong. Ranch chores won’t hurt him.”

  “I’m sure they won’t. But I can’t be taking advantage. I don’t know how long this trial will last.”

  Lenora’s reference to her missing husband sobered their pleasant encounter instantly, like a swiftly passing cloud darkens the sun. Lenora needed to remind herself why it was that she had engaged Deputy Davies in the first place, lest her newfound interest in the all-too-available deputy cause her to forget who she was, the very-much-married Mrs. James Rose.

  It appeared to Lenora that their business was finished, but nevertheless Luke leaned idly against a wood column as if he were reluctant to end the conversation. But before either of them could say another word, the bell over the entry door tinkled loudly, momentarily pausing their conversation while they both turned to see who entered. Lenora’s guard went up when she recognized the shopper—the biggest gossipmonger in Buffalo. Luke stood up straight as well.

  “Mrs. Biggerstaff,” he said, deferentially putting his fingers to his hat.

  “Why Deputy Davies, how nice to see you,” cooed the bosomy older woman, grabbing Luke’s arm. Her face lit up like saloon gas lights on payday. “I just saw Mrs. Mendelssohn down by the bank and I was telling her how chivalrous it was of you to carry poor Mrs. Rose out of the service last Sunday the way you did the poor thing so alone now and her husband drowned and all and that ranch to take care of and having to care for all those smelly animals and—”

  Lenora stepped from behind Luke, her face flushed with embarrassment and annoyance.

  �
�Lenora,” gasped Mrs. Biggerstaff, clasping her hand to her chest. “I didn’t realize you were with the deputy,” she said, a little too tartly for Lenora’s liking.

  Reluctantly, it seemed to Lenora, the older woman released her hold on Luke’s arm. “I’m not with the deputy,” she said, trying to modulate her voice in such a way as not to sound defensive. She hoped her face didn’t reveal how hard her heart was pounding.

  “Oh,” said Mrs. Biggerstaff.

  Lenora heard a lot in that oh―none of it good. “I was just leaving,” she said. Then, remembering her manners, “Thank you again, Mrs. Biggerstaff, for accompanying me home on Sunday. It was very nice of you and the doctor.”

  “It’s what Good Samaritans do, dear. Nothing more.”

  “Nevertheless, I appreciate it. Please give my regards to Dr. Biggerstaff.”

  “You haven’t come to see him, dear. He’s worried about you. You promised.” Mrs. Biggerstaff shook her finger at Lenora in a teasing way.

  Yes, she had promised. But doctors cost money, something that had become very dear of late. Besides, she felt fine now, and no one ever died from swooning. In fact, in every dime novel Lenora had ever read, it usually led to something good.

  “If you would be so kind to relay to him that I’m feeling perfectly fine. If I have any more episodes—which I surely won’t—I promise to come to town and see him. And now,” she said, wresting the conversation away from the busybody and turning back to Luke, “If you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Biggerstaff, I must be about my town business so I can get back to my,” she paused here, “animals.”

  Mrs. Biggerstaff stiffened slightly but smiled sugary-sweet and bid them adieu. She left them and walked, stiff shouldered, to the counter to speak with Mr. Aeschelman.

  “Deputy Davies,” Lenora said, hotly aware that Mrs. Biggerstaff was listening to every word, “You were going to tell me where I might locate Sam Wright.”

  Luke seemed to know his lines without benefit of a script. “Ah yes,” he said. He gave her the directions to find Sam, told her how much to pay “and no more” for the ranch hand’s services, urged her to contact him immediately if Sam gave her any trouble, and then, rather formally, wished her a fine afternoon.

  #

  “Faustus,” said Luke, after the women had exited the store. “I want to send a telegraph. Can you get someone to deliver a message to the operator at Fort McKinney today?”

  “I send Joss today,” said the eager proprietor, speaking of his teenage son. Mr. Aeschelman bent down and pulled a sheet of paper from under the counter. “Joss ride horse,” he said, setting the paper on the counter directly in front of Luke. Then Mr. Aeschelman took the pencil out from behind his ear and handed it to Luke.

  “You write,” said Mr. Aeschelman, “I work.” Luke nodded, and with that the storekeeper excused himself and went behind the brown curtain to the private area of the mercantile.

  Luke began to write.

  Buffalo, Wyoming Territory, May 12, 1880

  Dear Sheriff Clarke,

  I trust you are well. I am faring as to be expected.

  Sheriff Morris and I are investigating the disappearance of James Rose, a rancher who may have had dealings with an itinerant ranch hand with whom you are acquainted, one Samuel Wright. It would be advantageous to our investigation to receive from you any and all information you may have concerning Mr. Wright. No detail is insignificant.

  Cordially,

  Deputy Luke Davies

  Chapter Ten

  The spicy-sweet scent of cinnamon sugar filled the little kitchen where Lenora pulled a warm coffee cake from the oven in anticipation of a visit from Mrs. Nolan. Busyness, Lenora had learned, was an antidote to worry. And since James had disappeared, socializing during daytime hours no longer seemed like sinful idleness. There were days that Lenora thought she would go insane from the endless hours of extreme quiet, from loneliness as sharp as a scythe. She had begun to dread her morning trips to town, because when she returned at day’s end the rooms in her house seemed gloomier than when she left. Being around people was a highly sought after distraction from the accusing voices in her head. Worse, the empty rooms of her little house seemed to buzz a constant reminder, he’s not here, he’s not here, he’s not here. At the ranch there was no escaping James’ absence. At least when she was in town she felt like she was taking steps toward finding him, and best of all, she was among people. At the ranch she only waited, existing, slogging through interminable days of meaningless sameness, endless chores, and hours of unwelcome solitude.

  Lenora filled the coffee pot with well water, put ground coffee in the basket, and set the pot on the rear of the wood stove where it was farthest from the fire. She would start the coffee percolating after Mrs. Nolan arrived so that it would be fresh with their cake. She sniffed the cooling pan, pleased with its fine appearance. She removed her apron and smoothed her hair. Despite the present evil circumstances, she was so anxious for someone to talk to that in a quirky way having a guest over almost seemed like a celebration.

  Almost on cue Ulysses started barking loudly in the yard, heralding the sound of horses’ hooves. Lenora peered through the front room window and saw her guest about a quarter of a mile away. She went outside to greet her. Spring had been late this year, but hyacinth bulbs blooming thickly on each side of the front porch were worth the wait. Their delicate purple glory provided a cheery welcome, belying the heaviness that permeated the little ranch house.

  The sound of the horse and wagon grew louder, as did Ulysses’ barking. In a few minutes Lenora’s smiling visitor was pulling to a stop in front of the house.

  “Etta,” said Lenora, smiling up at the wagon after it came to a stop, “so good to see you.” She meant it sincerely. She craved the fellowship of this understanding woman more than ever right now.

  “Lenora, dear,” said Mrs. Nolan, smiling broadly. “I should have come sooner. Here, help me down.” The woman handed her cane to Lenora, who held it in one hand and offered her other one to support her guest as she alighted.

  “You go on in the house and move the coffee pot to a hot spot on the stove,” said Lenora, handing the cane to the older woman. “I’ll tether the horses.”

  Once the horses were tied securely in a grassy area for grazing, Lenora returned to the house, anxious to indulge in a few hours of unburdening herself to a dear friend.

  “My, that cake smells good,” said Mrs. Nolan, seating her herself on a wooden chair and leaning her cane against the kitchen table. She leaned over the cake that Lenora had set in the center of the table and inhaled. Yards of navy cotton skirting spread around her like a tent. She wore a crisp white blouse with a black cameo at her throat. Her white hair was parted in the middle and pulled into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. For a woman in her sixties, she had an unusually flawless complexion and a wisp of natural pink in her smooth cheeks.

  “Have you had many visitors?” asked Mrs. Nolan as she watched Lenora pull cups and plates from the wall cupboard.

  “Yes, several. Womenfolk from the neighborhood. One or two from church.”

  “Good. You shouldn’t be alone out here day after day.”

  “True. But when they come I almost feel more sorry for them than I do for myself,” said Lenora, pulling silverware from a box behind a curtain beneath the dry sink.

  Mrs. Nolan gave her a puzzled look.

  “They think I’m a widow. It’s more awkward for them than for me.”

  “Hmm,” said Mrs. Nolan, not taking her eyes off Lenora.

  After a while the coffee began to percolate, letting off little bursts of steam. When they were both settled at the table, coffee in their cups, crumbly coffee cake on plain white china plates, Mrs. Nolan reached across the table and took Lenora’s hand.

  “Tell me dear, how are you faring? You alright?”

  The pure compassion Lenora saw in those ancient eyes undid her. She started to speak, but so many thoughts bubbled to the front of her mind all at once
that her mouth became like a crammed funnel, and nothing came out. She felt the hot sting of tears forming at the back of her eyes. Mrs. Nolan waited patiently for Lenora to sort her thoughts.

  “Where do I begin?” said Lenora, setting her fork onto her plate. “You ask how I’m doing,” she said. Lenora closed her eyes briefly to compose herself, knowing that speaking aloud the worst of it—hearing it with her ears—would likely cause her to fall apart. “It’s a nightmare,” she finally said, “It’s Hell. I don’t know where he is or what has happened to him. Or if anything has happened to him at all!” She started to sob, reaching for a cloth napkin to muffle the sound.

  Mrs. Nolan held Lenora’s hand and let her cry. When the sobbing grew quieter, she released her hand. “What do you mean you don’t know if anything has happened to him? They found his horse.” Mrs. Nolan spoke the words tenderly and quietly, as if trying to soften their impact.

  “But they didn’t find him.”

  The older woman pondered Lenora a moment. “Lenora dear, what is it? Do you fear the condition of the body? Sheriff Morris and his men are doing their best to find it before it’s, it’s … destroyed.”

  “No, not that.” Lenora looked down at her lap where she folded and refolded her napkin. After a few seconds of weighty silence, she lifted her head to meet the kind eyes of her friend. “They’re looking for a body, Etta. But I’m not sure there is a body.” Lenora took a deep breath to steady herself, pausing before speaking. “I think it’s very possible that James left me.” With these nearly whispered words, the most painful of revelations, tears started to stream nonstop down her face, spilling onto her white calico work dress. She opened the napkin and covered her face, quietly sobbing. Her torso shook with grief.

  “Lenora,” soothed the older woman, “James would never do that. He would never leave you.” Mrs. Nolan pushed her half-eaten coffee cake aside and scooted her chair closer to Lenora’s. She wrapped one arm around the heaving younger woman. “Lenora, what happened? You must tell me what is going on. What you know.”