Tamarack River Ghost (34 page)

“For the moment, yes,” Josh said quietly.

“Well I have one more thing to say to you. You are fired. I don’t want to see your sorry ass around here ever again,” Lexington said.

“Thank you,” Josh said, with a bit of sarcasm in his voice. “I was about to quit anyway.”

Josh returned to his office, found a box, and gathered up his camera, laptop computer, a photo of Natalie, and a few other items and carried
them to his truck. He tossed the morning
Journal Sentinel
in with his other things. As he slowly drove back to his apartment, his mind was in a fog. He felt relieved and concerned at the same time. Relieved that he didn’t have to work at a job that went against all his principles. Concerned because he now was without an income—and without a girlfriend. He did not see the brilliant yellow aspen leaves or the maples that were in full fall splendor. He did not hear the long skeins of Canada geese winging their way south from their summer nesting sites deep in Canada. He saw nothing of autumn’s beauty that was once more visiting central Wisconsin.

He parked his pickup and climbed the stairs to his apartment, carrying his box of office possessions. He put the box on the table, the photo of Natalie that he’d taken last winter when they were cross-country skiing on top. He stared at it. Natalie was smiling, obviously enjoying the day. Could she possibly have had anything to do with the fire at Nathan West’s big operation? Now that he knew she was really M.D., at least the M.D. that contributed poetry to the paper, he was both relieved and furious. He thought he knew this woman, thought he knew her well. But she had secrets, obviously lots of them. Why hadn’t she told him that she wrote the M.D. poems? He wouldn’t have told anyone.

He put the photo facedown on the table and sighed deeply. In a matter of twenty-four hours, he had lost both his job and his girlfriend. He slumped deep into the chair and rubbed his eyes. He could feel a headache coming, one of the throbbing head-busters that started just above his eyes and then moved around to his neck. The kind that aspirins barely touch, that wouldn’t stop until it ran its course, which sometimes took more than twelve hours.

Josh walked to the bathroom, turned on the cold water, opened the medicine cabinet, and dumped three aspirins in his hand. Maybe three would help stop the pain. He went to his bedroom and sprawled out on the bed, not even bothering to take off his shoes. What would he do now? What could he do? Since he had graduated from college, he had always had a job—when
Farm Country News
was flourishing, even a good job and a good boss. How he missed Bert Schmid. He could talk to Bert, share his problems with him. His new boss—former boss, he reminded himself—was
a money-obsessed tyrant. All that Lawrence Lexington had on his mind was money and how he could make more of it, newspaper be damned. The newspaper’s employees were merely cogs in his moneymaking machine.

When Josh awakened, the room was nearly dark. He glanced at his clock. He had slept all day. He went to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee—his head felt better, but the sickening feeling of loss was still overwhelming. He saw the
Journal Sentinel
sticking out of the box of his office possessions. He looked at the photo on the front page—the Nathan West building with smoke billowing from its roof—and then he began reading.

Josh read the article a second time.
What a fool I have been
, he thought.
What a fool
. He immediately went to the phone and called Natalie’s number. No answer. When her voicemail kicked in, he said, “It’s Josh, Natalie. I’ve made a fool of myself. A complete fool. Can I come over? I have lots of explaining to do.”

He slumped back into his chair, remembering when he and Natalie first met and she had accused him of tipping off Dan Burman, whom she suspected of game poaching. Now he had done the same thing, but much worse. He had suspected Natalie had something to do with starting the fire at Nathan West, and the truth was she arrived first on the scene afterward, prepared to rescue anyone who might have been trapped in the flames. He had the story completely backward. No wonder she was so angry with him. She had every right.

Rather than wait for her to call—he feared that she probably wouldn’t—he pulled on his jacket and ran down the stairs and out to his truck. He stopped at the Willow River Bakery and bought a chocolate cake, then drove to the liquor store, where he bought two bottles of wine. He headed toward Natalie’s cabin. He was feeling better, much better. He saw smoke coming from the cabin’s chimney. She had a fire going in the fireplace. He parked his truck. Carrying his peace offerings, he walked up to the cabin door. He knocked. Knocked again. Then knocked a third time. Finally, Natalie, her eyes red from crying, answered the door. She had heard the phone message and couldn’t help but smile when she saw a very contrite Josh standing at her door, holding two bottles of wine and a chocolate cake.

The following morning, after Natalie had driven off to work, Josh returned to his apartment. He felt better than he had for days, but he still worried about finding a job. He was well aware of the limited demand for agricultural reporters. One of his other worries had been ill-founded—Natalie didn’t care that he had lost his job; in fact, she was pleased that he no longer worked for what she called “that scumbag phony newspaper.”

They also had a long discussion about why she had kept secret that she was really M.D., the person submitting anti–factory farm material to his newspaper. She had tried to explain that she thought it best not to tell anyone that she was M.D. If someone found out that the conservation warden had picked sides against large-scale agriculture, she’d have lots of difficulty doing her job. She thought, once they had gotten better acquainted, that she’d tell Josh—but she hadn’t, fearing that as a good writer he’d see her attempts as amateurish.

“Amateurish they are not,” said Josh. “Good poetry? That, I don’t know. But what you wrote surely had an edge to it, and it came from the heart. That’s what good writing is all about, no matter what label you put on it.”

Josh had just gotten out of the shower when the phone rang. “This is Billy Baxter, over at the
Argus
.”

“How you doing, Billy?”

“I’m fine. I was wondering if you’d have time to join me for a cup of coffee at the Lone Pine this morning, say around ten?”

“Sure, meet you there,” said Josh. He wondered what Billy wanted—he was quite sure that few people knew that he had lost his job at
Farm Country News
.

When he arrived at the Lone Pine, Billy was already there, sitting in a booth off to the side, away from the old timers clustered together for their morning coffee discussions. He already had a cup of coffee in front of him.

“Slide in, Josh,” Billy said as he waved at Mazy to bring over another cup. “That was some fire over at the river—put the kibosh on that big hog outfit, at least for a while. Heard that your game warden friend got hurt. How’s she doing?”

“Oh, she’s doing fine. Got a little too much smoke.”

“Glad to hear that she’s okay. So how are you and
Farm Country News
getting along these days?”

“Not too good. Lexington fired me.”

“Really. Well, I’m not surprised. I could see it coming. You didn’t fit with what that Lexington guy is trying to do. I saw that right from the beginning. I’ve been reading your work for years—good stuff. It’s not like what
Farm Country
is publishing these days.”

“You’re right, Billy. Lexington has no idea what good journalism is; his ideas are all green—and I’m talking about money.”

Billy laughed. “It’s a bit ironic that I’m talking to you this morning.”

“How’s that?”

“I’ve wanted to lure you away from
Farm Country News
ever since Lawrence Lexington took over—see if I could convince you to join our staff—for probably less money than you’ve been earning,” Billy said, smiling.

“Well, as of yesterday, my income is zero. So I’m all ears.”

“Remember a while back, when I mentioned I wanted to improve our paper’s website?”

“I do remember you mentioning it.”

“Well, I’m ready to move ahead, and I’d like you to take charge of doing it. In fact, I’d like you to be our new online editor.”

“Really?” A smile spread across Josh’s face.

“Not only that, I’d like you to develop an online agricultural section that we’ll market throughout the Midwest. Something like what the old
Farm Country News
was doing with its print edition.”

Josh couldn’t believe what he was hearing—to be employed again and doing something he believed in!

“When do I start?” Josh asked, smiling broadly.

“Right now, if you want. I’ll find a desk for you at the
Argus
office, and you’ll be good to go. Stop by after lunch—give me time to organize an office for you—and we’ll get you started.”

They talked a bit more about details—salary and benefits (same as he had received at the old
Farm Country News
), expectations (an online agriculture section up and running in a couple of weeks), and a general discussion about what possible stories to include. They talked generally about the important role the press must play, no matter whether a local, regional, or national paper.

“The press is the watchdog for our society, has been, and will always be,” said Billy. “What goes on in society needs watching, especially so in agriculture. These big-time farming operations like Nathan West need somebody to keep an eye on them. That’s one of the reasons I hired you, Josh. Because you know agriculture and you also know journalism.”

Josh listened to his new boss’s speech; it sounded nearly identical to one Bert Schmid used to give. He was pleased to hear someone saying what he had long believed and because of Lawrence Lexington’s new approach had found himself straying from.

They also discussed online advertising, which they agreed could be a problem, but Billy said the
Argus
’s advertising department was prepared for and even looking forward to the challenge.

Promptly after lunch, Josh drove to the
Argus
offices, got a quick tour of the facilities, met the staff, and found his desk and computer.

Anxious to get to work, he got on the phone with Ed Clark at the Nathan West site, told him about his new position with the
Argus
, and arranged for a meeting. He wanted to do a follow-up on the big fire. He left word with the receptionist and was soon driving toward Tamarack Corners.

He drove slowly, taking time to see the beauty of the fall colors, the brilliant yellows of the aspens, the deep reds of maples contrasting with the golden cornfields waiting to be harvested. He noticed the clear blue, cloudless sky and the green pastures with Holsteins grazing here and there. He couldn’t remember when he had enjoyed this trip more than today— the only thing that would have made it even more perfect would be Natalie sitting beside him, enjoying the day with him.

Soon he arrived at the Nathan West building site; the remains of the hog barn were a tangled mess of burned wood and twisted metal. He drove past the destruction to the farm office, where Ed Clark was waiting for him.

After shaking hands, Josh thanked Ed for agreeing to meet with him.

“I know you’ve probably got lots to do, so I won’t take up much of your time,” said Josh.

“Matter of fact, I’ve got lots of time,” Ed said. “I resigned from my job with Nathan West this morning.”

Surprised, Josh blurted out, “Why?” As soon as he said it, he thought it was none of his business and he shouldn’t have asked.