Hell With the Lid Blown Off (18 page)

Alafair Tucker

The day after the storm was one of the longest days Alafair could remember living through. She had planned to survey the damage to her large truck garden in the afternoon, but the weather kicked up again with heavy intermittent rain, wind, and a couple of brief hailstorms. During a lull, she scribbled a note to let Kurt know what had happened to his wife and sent Chase running with it. Chase didn't come back, but Blanche and Sophronia did. They said they were eager to see the baby, but Alafair suspected that after living through the tornado, the girls were too spooked to be away from their mother for long. When she did propose leaving them alone while she made a foray to her garden, they objected strenuously.

So for a few hours Alafair was stuck in a dark, leaky house with boarded-up windows, three nervous young girls, a shattered old man, a fretful yellow dog, and a stupefied infant that the wind had blown in. And Mary.

Mary heaped plates with the food she had brought for them from her own house and firmly insisted Alafair and the girls take their dinner into the parlor to eat and keep Mr. Eichelberger company. Then she busily shuttled around Alafair's kitchen with the foundling on her hip, stirring up a pot of stew for their supper.

Alafair found herself looking at Mary with new eyes. Martha had always been her mother's lieutenant, and Mary was her older sister's laughing, easygoing shadow. But Martha was stuck in town, and circumstances had thrust Mary to the fore. She stepped up heroically.

Married less than two months, she had taken in her suddenly homeless sister's stricken family without a second thought, and for who knew how long? She had provided shelter and sustenance to her parents and siblings as well, and had opened her home to her little cousin as though he was her own.

What a heart she has
, Alafair thought, on the verge of tears. And Kurt as well. No wonder they fell in love. They were made for each other.

Shaw Tucker

Shaw and Streeter McCoy came back to the house a little after noon in the middle of a downpour. The men pulled off their sodden boots and hung their limp hats on the back porch before they entered, but they were both so wet that they couldn't avoid dripping all over the kitchen floor. Not that it mattered.

Shaw entered first and found himself eye-to-eye with Mary, who was standing at the stove with a wooden spoon in one hand and an unknown, round-eyed infant on the other arm.

“Who's this?” It wasn't the first thing Shaw had planned to say, but this was a day full of surprises.

“We don't know, Daddy. Chase found her out beside the path that crosses the pasture between my place and here. We figure she got picked up by the tornado and blown in from who-knows-how-far. She's shook up, but we can't find anything else wrong with her. It's a miracle she wasn't killed.”

The little pink fingers clutched Shaw's big brown finger and her wide blue eyes gazed into his kind hazel ones. His wet black hair was sticking out every which way and his bristly mustache was floppier than usual. It occurred to him that she must be wondering what manner of creatures inhabited this place to which she had been delivered. He straightened. “If that don't beat all,” he said. One more odd thing to add to the list.

“Her folks must be frantic. If they're alive,” Streeter said.

Alafair had heard their voices and came into the kitchen in time to hear the end of their exchange. “That's why we've got to let Scott know we have her. You fellows stand over by the stove with Grace and dry off. I'll dish you up some of this stew Mary made and pour you a hot drink.”

“I don't think we'll be dry anytime in the near future,” Streeter observed.

Shaw smiled because it felt so true. “We'll have a quick bite, Alafair, but the buckboard is ready and we're going to try for town right quick before the weather gets any worse. The boys haven't come back yet so I don't know if the road is cleared enough or not. Even if it is we may not be able to get through because of the mud. I can't say how long the trip will take. We're bound and determined, though. Streeter's hankering to get home and I'm hankering to deliver the remains of the departed to the undertaker. We've already put Miz Eichelberger in the wagon and pulled a tarp pulled over the bed.”

“I want to come with you,” Alafair said.

“I know you do, honey. But you can't. Not now.”

Alafair drew herself up, desperate to make her case. But she had long ago learned to judge by the look in Shaw's eyes when it would be productive to argue and when it was better to keep her peace. She didn't argue.

Trenton Calder

Me and Gee Dub and Charlie had the worst dadblamed time clearing that road. I swear the mud was ankle deep and our horses didn't like that one little bit. We had better luck when we got down on our feet and dragged stuff off to the side with might and main and our own six hands. Mostly the road was blocked with tree limbs and the like. There were a fair number of entire trees, though, and we had to do some sawing. One big old loblolly pine near to got the best of us. We ended up sawing a chunk out of the middle and using the horses and some ropes to lug it out of the way.

After we had been at the task for a few hours, we were all covered with enough sap and mud and muck and gunk head-to-toe that it was hard to tell which of us was which. The more dirty and miserable we got, the more we took to joshing about it. Gee remarked that when the wet slop on us finally dried out, it'd be hard as cement and we'd be found later in various statue-like attitudes, unable to move one way or the other. We all got tickled at that and laughed and hooted a lot more than the joke was funny. What else can you do?

We found more than just trees that we had to move. There was a piece of somebody's wall with the unbroken window still in it. Charlie found a perfectly good mop in a bush. We could more or less track the path of the twister by the line of trees standing up with no leaves or branches and the steel windmills that were twisted like corkscrews. The bridge across Cane Creek was partly torn up. We pondered on that for a spell, then decided to re-lay as many sound boards as we could find. When we got done, you could walk across if you watched your feet. We reckoned a wagon might stand a chance. We came across a number of trees that had been decorated with odd objects; a tin bathtub, clothes, dead animals. No more dead people, thank goodness.

As we got fairly close to the turnoff toward town, one of Mr. Tucker's brothers, Howard McBride, met us on the road. His dad, Mr. Tucker's stepdaddy, had asked him to see if he could get to the farm. Howard already knew what had happened to Phoebe and John Lee Day because of Gee Dub's trek into Boynton the night of the storm. Word gets around fast. Anyway, Howard fell to helping us, but it was nigh to a hopeless task. It kept raining off and on, and eventually the road could have been clean as a whistle and it still would have been too boggy for any wheeled conveyance to navigate—and maybe any animal as well.

Early in the afternoon Mr. Tucker and Streeter caught up to us in the buckboard. We had only cleared the road about halfway to town. Mr. Tucker had poor Miz Eichelberger in the bed of his wagon and he wasn't about to admit defeat. He got down off the bench and took his team by the head and led them off the road and into the field, where the grass made better footing for the horses. All us fellows went along ahead of him and hauled debris out of the way and, foot by foot, we made progress. Of course, we couldn't get all the way into Boynton like that. Every few hundred yards, Mr. Tucker would have to take the wagon back to the road to avoid trampling what was left of somebody's crop or fence. Then we'd have to scatter sand or put boards down in front of the wheels every time the wagon sunk in the mud. Which was a lot.

It was late afternoon before we made it.

Shaw Tucker

The streets of Boynton were littered with greenery, shingles, and pieces of fence. It was a mess, but the houses and buildings had only suffered minor damage. Shaw's shoulders finally relaxed and he let out a breath when his small caravan finally turned due south onto the brick-paved main street and began to move at a normal pace rather than a slog. The spate of water that had rushed down the street had receded, leaving leaf- and grass-filled puddles and runnels.

Howard McBride veered off toward his parents' house and Trent headed to the sheriff's office to deliver their reports. Shaw sent Charlie to Alice's house to do the same. He kept Streeter and Gee Dub with him to help unload the body.

They had just pulled up in front of Mr. Lee's funeral parlor when Trent returned and informed them that neither Mr. Lee nor Scott was in his accustomed place. They were both still at the makeshift morgue in the Masonic Hall.

Shaw didn't like the sound of that. He exchanged a distressed glance with Streeter before climbing back up onto the buckboard. “Well, come on then, boys. May as well get it done.”

Scott met them in front of the building. His normally jolly demeanor wasn't jolly anymore. The blue eyes were heavy with concern. He shot a sour look at Trent. “Where have you been?” he barked. Trent wasn't offended. He could tell Scott had been worried.

“Trying to get the road northwest of town cleared. Not having much luck at it, either, as you can tell by the sight of us.”

“I hate to ask,” Shaw said, “but how many folks have been killed that you had to bring them to the hall?”

Scott turned to his cousin. “We've got six killed thus far, all from outlying farms. We've got us a clinic in here, too. Maybe two dozen hurt. Every doctor in town is here. I've sent my boys and whoever else I could find to check as many places as they can. I hear John Lee's got a broke leg. How are y'all faring?”

“Me and Alafair have some damage to the house but nothing we can't fix. Lost most of our clothes and bedding, though. John Lee is banged up good. They've lost most everything. They're at Mary's right now. I'm afraid I've got another casualty for you. Miz Eichelberger was killed…” The expression of dismay on Scott's face caused Shaw to hesitate for an instant. “Mr. Eichelberger made it through, but their house is gone. We've got him out to our place. Also, Mary found a little baby girl alive and unhurt out in the back pasture. Is there anybody missing a youngster?”

Scott's eyebrows shot up. “I'll be switched! A baby? Nobody's come looking for a baby yet. I do have the bodies of a young couple that got found over southwest next to what was left of a conestoga. Nobody has been able to identify them yet. I figure they were traveling and got caught in the storm. Maybe the little gal Mary found was theirs.”

“May
be
.” Shaw thought this as likely an explanation as any. “Well, I guess we'd better deliver this dear soul inside, then. By the by, did you ever discover who it was that Gee Dub dragged in last night?”

One of Scott's eyes twitched. “He's not a pretty sight, but there's no doubt it's Jubal Beldon.”

“Ah. Tore up bad, is he?”

“Real bad.”

“You know, Scott, a white-maned bay showed up in Kurt Lukenbach's yard last night, saddled and wild-eyed, with a wound in his side. My guess is that the twister sucked Beldon right off his horse.”

Scott thought about this for a minute. “You sure it's Beldon's mount?”

“It looks like his, for certain.”

“Well, that's interesting. When I come over here to the hall early this morning, the undertaker was waiting for me. He informed me that Jubal is a lot deader than the others.”

“What did he mean by that?” Shaw asked.

“Mr. Lee said it looks to him like Jubal has been dead too long to have been killed by the storm. 'Course he can't say for sure, but by the state of the body he guesses that Jubal died a day or two before the storm picked him up and tossed him around.”

“But he's not sure? What did Doc Addison say about Jubal when Gee Dub brought him in?”

“It was Doc Perry who checked him over. Said he had a broken neck and a punctured artery in the leg and he was probably slammed about in the wind. Said the sand and debris had scoured the skin right off him.”

“So last night he didn't think Jubal's death was suspicious?”

“Shaw, with all the hullaballoo that night none of the doctors had a lot of time to spare for the dead. They were too busy with the living. They turned those who had passed on over to the undertaker. But Mr. Lee noticed right away that rigor was advanced and Beldon's backside was livid. So it seems likely that Jubal didn't die in the tornado after all. He was already dead when the tornado skinned him. He broke his neck, all right, but that puncture wound in his thigh would have been lethal. Now, that could have been done by debris turned into a missile by the tornado, or it could be somebody slipped a blade into his leg. Mr. Lee said there was nothing left sticking in the wound. I looked at the wound myself, and it was a mighty even-edged little slice.”

“I'll be whipped! You think somebody may have murdered him?”

“I don't know, Shaw, but I need to find out. I hope it'll turn out that his horse threw him on his head and he fell on something sharp to boot. But if it's murder…”

“Do you suspect anyone in particular?”

Scott shrugged. “Considering that it's Jubal Beldon, I got about a hundred suspects.”

The conversation was interrupted by Dr. Jasper Addison, who loomed up in the door of the hall, his shirtsleeves rolled up and his long white beard frazzled and on end. “Scott, we're out of disinfectant. Find out if anyone has whiskey. Don't give me that look. I don't care if it's legal or not, and don't you go arresting anyone who comes forth.”

Scott laughed, relieved to have something to laugh about. “Don't kick up a row, Doc. We have a bunch of carbolic soap at the mercantile, and it's all yours.”

AFTER

Trenton Calder

In the end, there were about a dozen people who lost their lives to that storm, if you count Mr. Warner and Nanny Jensen who were both banged up so much that they died by and by. The first funeral was held three days after the tornado in the midst of a rain. The cemetery was so boggy that Mr. Lee's motorized hearse had to be pulled to the grave sites by horses. I hated that. I hated the idea of being laid to rest in the mud.

There were two bodies that didn't get claimed right away, and one that Scott kept hold of. It was the middle of summer so we couldn't wait too long before doing something with them. Mr. Khouri had a refrigerator in the back of his store. No, we didn't store the bodies alongside the slabs of pork, but Mr. Khouri did supply us with ice. After a day or two, though, Mr. Lee the undertaker had to go ahead and embalm the unclaimed deceased.

Anyhow, it was going to take a while to identify the young couple that nobody knew. Scott sent me out to where they were found, and I set about searching all around for something that would help us figure out who they were. They had been driving a wagon packed with household goods, which the storm had scattered over half the county. I found their mule dead in a field, lying halfway in a farm pond. I trekked up to the farmer's house to tell him about it so he could haul the animal out and bury it before it fouled his water. Eventually I picked up a piece of a book with “E.J. Mitchell, Mina, Ark.” written in pencil on the inside cover. Now, that book could have belonged to somebody else, but I didn't know of any Mitchells and I knew most everybody who lived around Boynton. So I figured that would give us someplace to start looking.

The other strange thing was that nobody came looking for Jubal the next day. It's true that the Beldon farm was just about as close to Morris as it was to Boynton, and given the state of the roads it was likely that the Beldons were hunting for their kin off in that direction. But finally Scott figured that he'd better make the trip out there and let them know that Jubal had been called to his reward in a manner that called for investigation.

Ruth Tucker

Beckie MacKenzie was not herself. That was Ruth's assessment. She supposed that she shouldn't be surprised by the older woman's somber mood. After all, Beckie's beloved Wallace had left and her house was partially staved in.

Beckie had always been an energetic person whether she was in a good mood or not, but since she had come home from Muskogee she seemed so listless and uninterested in the normal things of life that Ruth wondered if she was ill. Ruth tried to question her about it, but Beckie had nothing to say on the subject.

And then Wallace came home. He came into the house through the kitchen, where Ruth was cleaning up after dinner. She was actually relieved to see him.

“Wallace MacKenzie, I do declare! I figured you and Randal would be all the way to Denver by now.”

He plopped himself down on a kitchen chair with a sigh and took off his flop-brimmed hat. He looked tired. “No, Randal and I have delayed our trip indefinitely. In fact, while we were in Muskogee, we both enlisted in the Army. We're supposed to report to Fort Riley, Kansas in two weeks.”

For a moment Ruth doubted her own ears. “The Army…” she repeated.

A familiar flash of irony appeared in the blue eyes. “Try not to look so surprised, Ruth. Yes, the Army. We came to the conclusion that war is probably inevitable so why not volunteer before we're drafted?”

“So you've come to take leave of your grandmother?”

He looked away. “More or less. We spoke about it before she left Muskogee, so she won't be surprised. Grandmother sent a note to Father yesterday and told him that a twister had come through here while she was away, and she has damage to the house. Father was going to come and arrange repairs for her, but I said I'd do it. I just arrived on the train a few minutes ago.”

“I don't know if you could see it when you came up from the station,” Ruth told him, “but the cottonwood over to the side of the house was broken right in the middle and the top crashed through her bedroom window. Streeter McCoy had a look at it and said the upstairs is still structurally sound, but she had a lot of water damage in that room and water leaked down into the music room, as well. Trent Calder and my brother helped board everything up. It hasn't rained today so I don't know if it's still leaking, but that wall needs rebuilding and the window will have to be reframed.”

Wallace nodded. “I can do that, if I can get my hands on the materials.”

“Streeter said that all in all it could have been a lot worse. Well, Wallace, I have to say that I'm mighty glad you're here. Your grandmother has been in the dumps since she got back. She'll be elated that you've come.”

Wallace stood up. “I hope so. Would you do me the favor of letting her know I'm here?”

It was a strange request, but it was his tone that gave Ruth pause. He sounded unsure, which was not like Wallace at all. She dried her hands and hung the towel over the washbasin without questioning him. “Certainly. Go on upstairs and have a look at the damage.”

Ruth found Beckie sitting in her armchair in front of the parlor fireplace, as she had been for much of the day. “Miz Beckie, guess what? Wallace is here. He's come to repair your storm damage. Ain't that nice?”

Beckie didn't look up at her. “Has he indeed?”

Ruth blinked, surprised at Beckie's lack of enthusiasm. “He has. He's gone upstairs to survey the damage. You want to say hello to him?”

“…Grandmother.” Before Beckie could give Ruth an answer, Wallace spoke from the parlor door.

Ruth stepped back and Wallace took her place beside Beckie's chair. It occurred to Ruth that she ought to leave them alone, but she was too intrigued by this unexpected situation not to listen.

For a long moment the two simply looked at one another, Beckie from her chair and Wallace standing at her side. It was Wallace who spoke first. “Father got your note. He was going to come himself, but I volunteered to come instead.”

Beckie's tone was subdued. “You didn't need to do that.”

“I wanted to, Granny. Who knows when we'll see one another again?”

When Beckie responded there was a quaver in her voice. “Did Mr. Wakefield come with you?”

Wallace paused. “He did. He's staying at the hotel in town, though. I'll stay here while I'm doing the repairs, if you don't mind.”

“Does Mr. Wakefield intend to assist you?”

“No, Grandmother, he does not wish to impose.”

Beckie stood. “That will be acceptable,” she said. She left the room, but Ruth noticed that she affectionately placed her hand on Wallace's arm as she brushed past him.

Neither Wallace nor Ruth moved until the sound of a mournful piano etude drifted in from the music room.

Ruth couldn't contain her curiosity. “Whatever has happened?”

Wallace shook his head. “She's conceived a dislike for my friend.” He headed for the stairs and Ruth followed him.

“Did they have a row?” Ruth asked his back as they trooped up the stairs. “Randal is such a nice fellow that I can hardly credit the idea.”

Wallace didn't answer until they reached the landing on the second floor. He slid Ruth a sarcastic look out of the corner of his eye. “Let's just say she doesn't approve of his politics. That's as good a reason as any.”

“Well, that seems unfair. My daddy says everybody's entitled to his own feelings.”

Wallace turned to go into his grandmother's bedroom. “Gram has her own ideas about what a person is entitled to feel.”

Alafair Tucker

It was going to take weeks to clean up and repair the damage done to the farm by the storm. Fortunately, Alafair and Shaw had more help than they knew what to do with. As soon as the road to town was cleared enough to travel on, Alafair slogged to Boynton on the back of her gray mare to spend a couple of hours with Alice and the new grandbaby. When she returned home, her sister-in-law Josie Cecil came with her.

When Shaw returned to the house at suppertime, he was amused to find that his eldest sister was on her hands and knees in the girls' bedroom, scrubbing the floor with hot lye water. Alafair had been relegated to a chair in the parlor along with Mr. Eichelberger. She didn't look all that happy about it.

She looked up at Shaw with an expression of exasperation mingled with relief. “Sure glad you're home.” She kept her voice low. “Your sister is going to ‘help' me right out of my mind.”

Shaw laughed and gave her a sympathetic pat. But he knew better than to gainsay Josie. He greeted Mr. Eichelberger and sat down next to Alafair. “What are you writing, sugar?”

She handed him the list she had been making on a piece of butcher paper. “I took inventory of the garden. This is what we've lost altogether, and this is what I figure will come back. The potatoes, carrots, and turnips will be all right, but I don't know about the squash and pumpkins. The greens are gone but they'll likely come back. The sweet corn is in bad shape and the tomatoes are ruined. I can probably save some of the bean plants. I'll salvage what I can. I've already canned enough early vegetables to get us through the winter, I think. But we'll have to make do with less.”

“I thought I heard you, Shaw.” Josie appeared at the bedroom door with a bucket in one hand and a scrub brush in the other. “Alafair, you won't have to do without anything. Between all us Tuckers and the ladies at church, we'll round you up enough canned goods to last through next year.”

Shaw winked at Alafair. “See, honey?” Alafair's sour look prompted him to change the subject. “How are Alice and little Linda doing?”

Alafair's mood improved instantly at the thought of her new granddaughter. “They're just fine as cream gravy. That is one beautiful little baby, if I do say so myself.”

Josie placed her bucket against the wall and sat down on the sofa next to the silent Mr. Eichelberger. “Alafair told us about how all y'all's clothes got ruined. Me and Martha are going to collect togs enough to tide you over till you can get some more made. Martha offered to do some sewing, and Alice, too, when she gets to feeling better. Walter says you all are not to worry about money. Him and Alice have plenty to share. After I fix y'all some supper I'm going back to town and betwixt me and Martha we'll take care of Alice, so Alafair doesn't have to make that trip into Boynton every day unless she wants to. Oh, by the way, Shaw, my boy Joe went on the train to Okmulgee yesterday and talked to Charles. His lumber yard didn't suffer any storm damage. He will sell you the lumber y'all need for repairs at a discount.”

One corner of Shaw's mouth twisted up in his signature quirky smile. “Charles may be family, but what say we let him speak for himself on that matter?”

“Charles will sell you the lumber at a discount.” Josie was firm on that point.

Shaw spared a moment of pity for his brother.

Trenton Calder

Me and Scott rode to the Beldon farm early the next morning. We started before dawn, because those folks lived way to the heck and gone and we didn't know what state the road was in out that far. As it turned out, once we got past the storm path about three miles west of Boynton, the road was boggy but clear enough. The Beldon farm was pretty big—near to half a section the old man had bought off of Sarah Fishinghawk when he came to the state back in '07. They raised cotton, mainly, but he had a nice little herd of whiteface cattle, too. We rode by the cotton field on the way to the house. The cotton had taken some damage from hail, but the twister had skipped them over and the crop was still standing. The house stood pretty close to the road so Scott started hollering to let them know we were coming as soon as we turned up the drive. Miz Beldon hollered right back that she was in the kitchen and we ought to come on through.

We found Mildrey Beldon sitting in the corner of her kitchen, brushing Lovelle's long, yellow hair. The little gal was standing between her mother's knees, hanging on to a doll and doing her best to endure the grooming session. It was probably seven o'clock in the morning by the time we got out there, but two of those Beldon boys were still at the kitchen table wolfing down biscuits and gravy and giving us the stink eye. Hosea was not one of them.

When me and Scott came into the kitchen, Miz Beldon stood up. Lovelle went to squirming. “You about done, Mama? I want to go play.”

“All right, honey, there you go.” She gave Lovelle a little push, and the child dashed out of the room. Neither of the boys at the table moved.

“Welcome, Sheriff, Deputy Calder.” Miz Beldon said. “Y'all have a seat and I'll fry you up some eggs.”

I'd have taken her up on it, since at the time I was newly grown and had a hollow leg, but Scott shook his head. “Thank you, Miz Beldon, but we cannot avail ourselves of your hospitality. I'm afraid we have come to deliver some bad news about your boy Jubal.” The two at the table stopped stuffing their faces and fell to listening.

Mildrey eyed Scott warily for an instant, then nodded and sank back into her chair. “I was wondering where he was. He get caught in the tornado?”

“Well, ma'am, it looks like he died the day before the twister hit. Near as I can tell right now he fell off his horse and broke his neck. I'm dreadful sorry.”

Mildrey looked thoughtful. She picked up a peck basket full of green apples from the sideboard and positioned it in her lap. I had noticed an apple tree beside the house when we rode up, loaded down with unripe apples. “I wondered. He pretty much comes and goes as he pleases. But he ain't usually gone this long.”

I just stood behind Scott and didn't say anything, but I could feel my eyes bugging out. You never can tell how folks are going to react when you tell them that somebody in the family has died. Sometimes those who you'd never suspect of caring will fall clean to pieces, or someone who you know loved their kin will have no reaction at all. But I didn't have much experience with delivering bad news back then. I was flabbergasted that a mother didn't have a tear to spare for her dead son.