LIFE GOES ON

 

Life Goes On In The Time of Plague

This letter was written by an ancestor, Ephraim Shafer.  He was born September 30, 1859, married Melinda Koch and they had five children. The first two were twins.  Born July 19, 1883, Mabel died when she was just two years old.  The other twin, Miriam, was a comfort to Ephraim as his wife died October 20, 1898. Ephraim lived a long and loving life.

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Hepburnville, Pa

Dec. 4th 1918

Mr. S. B. Shafer

Ridgeway, Ont.

Dear Brother,

     I have been wanting to write to you for a long time and will not put it off any longer now. You have no doubt heard of Miriam's death, the shock of which has been as sudden to me that I can't hardly believe it to be possible even now. She had been employed as cashier and bookeeper for the "Guardian Life Insurance Co." at Williamsport for nearly two years, she had a good position and liked her job. But like thousands of other she was caught by the Influenza epidemic which developed into pneumonia. She was boarding at the W.W.C.A. when she took sick, she went to the Williamsport Hospital, and was there just one week and one day, when she died on Nov. 9th. The shock of her death has unnerved  me, that I have not been able to even write about it before now. This Influenza is getting to be a terrible disease around here. Some of the schools in our township have been closed on acc't of the teachers and scholars both being sick. Last week Lilian Albert, Frank Solomon's oldest daughter, was buried. She died from the effects of the same disease. She leaves two small children, one of them also being sick with Influenza.

Isn't it strange that War and Pestilence nearly always go together? Just now when almost everybody is rejoicing over the ending of the war, I feel terribly despondent. I caught a severe cold and somehow it don't want to let go of my system. Rheumatism is also bothering me a lot this fall. It seems it never rains but it pours.

We had a nice fall weather for some time, pretty cold, but not severe. We just finished hauling in our corn fodder yesterday. This evening it is snowing a little for the first. Our corn crop was good this year, but potatoes were only about one half of a crop. I must close now. Please write soon.

Your Bro.

Eph. Shafer



The Leaving

 

Though this story is based on fact, the story is fiction. All names and places are fiction. Some of the details come from a family book, Folklore of A Pennsylvania Colony in Nebraska compiled and edited by Elma Heim Larimore, Humbolt, Nebraska, 1955

 

The Leaving

 

Mother tells this story.

Jacob Eider was a traveler, a wanderer, all his life. In the 1820's he walked several time some two hundred miles several times from the small settlement at Flowering Grove to Philadelphia to conduct business, study the latest farming methods of the day and to witness demonstrations of new farming equipment.

     Some of the younger sons had mean pieces of land in Flowering Grove at a place they called Quaker Hill.  In the Pennsylvania settlement, when an elder died the land was divided among the man's children. It was a new order as they had come from a land where property was ceded to only the eldest son. They had seen how that practice caused pain and even murder in the old country. However, in Pennsylvania, the new practice meant that the youngest sons often was apportioned land that the older sons didn't want.  The land Jacob Eider got was called bottom land, land which had few large flat places and which mostly dipped down to the river where the ledge rock was close to the surface and the topsoil thin.  He worked himself plum out to make a prospering farm on that land. Jacob was enterprising enough to establish a saw mill and when he had made some money on that bought part ownership in the local grist mill.

   It came one Spring after an especially hard winter when the frosts heaved great slabs of shale out of the ground, the first plowing that year the new plow Jacob had ordered broke on the shale rock.  He left it where it lay and walked the team back to the barn.  He told his wife Elma to pack up things.  They were going to Nebraska as soon as they could sell out.  Elma, of course, had only to obey, though Mother said she cried when she found herself alone in the house.     

      Jacob was not without means. He planned to sell the sawmill and his share of the grist mill.  It was farming he loved, and the new methods he had learned and news about virgin prairie had fired Walking Jacob to move out west.. The day his new plow broke must have been the last straw.

     He sold all of his holdings for nine thousand dollars - a princely sum in those days.  He collected five thousand in bank notes and purchased three covered wagons and teams to pull them.  He and Elma packed all of their household goods, and headed west with their two sons the long trek through Ohio where they stayed with relatives awhile.  Jacob walked back to Flowering Grove from there to collect the remaining four thousand dollars owed him for the farm which he carried in the form of bank notes in a satchel tied to a stick slung over his shoulder.  They said he stopped only to have his shoes resoled twice.

    When he returned the family continued on to Dawson Mills, Nebraska where some of the Eiders, Jacob's uncles, already owned four quarters - thousands of acres of virgin prairie land.  He was to receive a portion, an eighty they called it, on the understanding that he would pay a portion of his profits to the elder Eiders after a period of five years.              

   Against the odds, he prospered, Walking Jacob.  His prosperity lured others in Flowering Grove to try their luck.  The departure of each of these people was like a death in the community.  The old folks said it was the end of things.  What with farms being divided up among the children and getting smaller and smaller, forcing so many into the dairy business that the milk prices fell so low that hardly anybody made anything.  It was no wonder that many of them decided they had to have space.

*** 

     It was customary for the ones who left to come back to the old country in Pennsylvania from time to time to keep in touch with their roots.  When they arrived in November to spend the winter, they were treated like Prodigal Sons.  The fatted calf was killed.  The best food and entertainments to be had were offered these guests. The youngsters met their Nebraska kin for the first time.

     So it was that Grandmother Fretz had put Frederick and Carl Eider from Nebraska in the house in her best front bedroom and provided for them to their hearts' content. Other cousins stayed with other families in the valley.

     Mother used to talk about the fun the young people had. They planned dances and get-togethers for the visitors and Grove youngsters, sleigh rides, hymn sings, round robin picnics and the like. Every few days they were entertained by another family all winter long. The old folks weren't so happy to see the Nebraska people as they came with fantastic tales of the rich western lands.

     Elizabeth, Grandpa and Grandma Fretz's oldest daughter was sweet on Carl Eider, Mother said, by the time he was to go back home to Nebraska in March in time to help with the farm work.

     She asked her parents if she could go to Nebraska with her cousins to live.  It just about broke Grandma and Grandpa's  hearts for they had never denied their children anything.  This time they said no.  Elizabeth was not a healthy child.  She always seemed to have a cough.  Momma Fretz couldn't bear to let her out of her sight for very long.  She was also afraid of dying before she could see her daughter again. That and the stories of  rabies, locusts and tornadoes the Nebraska colony suffered had reached Pennsylvania. They could not imagine living out there in the wide open prairie with no doctors or professional services of any kind.

     Eliza, that's what they called her, was completely undaunted by the tales of hardship in Nebraska. She wept and cried out, "I love him something awful."  When her pleas went unheeded  she went on a hunger strike.  Things reached a crisis by August when she became so weak she couldn't leave her bed. Mother was sent to her room but she said she crouched on the upstairs landing and listened to Grandfather and Grandmother talking with the bedridden Eliza until the wee hours of the morning.

     The sisters Martha, Salome and Momma Fretz took turns crying.  Mother said she could hear Grandfather's strong, deep voice of reason between the women’s hysterics, but that in the night Mother trembled to hear Eliza's pitiful wailing in the old German tongue: "These hills, these dark hills are my prison soon to be my tomb."

     It was Grandfather who finally made the decision to let their precious Eliza go out west.  Mother said she was terrified to hear him say one evening after another long session with Eliza, whose hacking cough now interrupted her every utterance, "She'll die, Mother, if we don't let her go. Some things are just meant to be."

      When they told Eliza they were giving her permission to go to Nebraska to be with her beloved Carl.  Eliza began to eat and gather her strength after she was told.  She took long walks and ate all the good things provided to her.

    Mother, just a little girl then, was permitted to go along with her mother and Eliza to Williamsport to get her trousseau.  Momma Fretz spent a terrible sum for warm coats and underthings, good shoes and boots. She had been impressed by letters over the years describing the harsh prairie winters.

     She also bought lengths of fancy fabric to sew dresses so different from the plain  grey or dark blue serge worn in Flowering Grove.  Momma Fretz knew that the Nebraska people had given up much of the ways of the plain life they had lived in Flowering Grove. It pained her something terrible, but she bought those fancy fabrics. They brought the things back from the city in the wagon drawn by the team they used to go to market.

     Mother remembers that evening after supper Eliza came down with one of the new dresses on.  The dress had ruffles, of all things,  at the bottom of the skirt. The bodice was fitted at the breast and waist. She kept her head down as she approached Grandfather.  The utter daring of that dress took the breath away.  It would have been considered sacrilege by Grandfather a short time ago.  But now they were losing their child and all of that didn't seem of the greatest of importance. 

     Grandfather stood with his hands clasped behind his back and stared silently at his fair haired daughter.

     Eliza, Mother saw, had been trying to suppress a giggle at the wonderment of being allowed to wear such a beautiful garment.  At the sight of Grandfather's stern face she blushed scarlet and tripped a bit on the edge of the carpet.

     Grandfather reached out to steady her then clasped her hard to him and kissed her flaxen hair. Mother was terrified to see Grandfather weep for the first time.

     He held his daughter away, drew a velvet box from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, and handed it to Eliza.  Eliza stood transfixed like the rest of use to see the tears coursing down her father's face.  She took the box, opened it and lifted out a gold watch on a long gold chain with a pearl studded slide.  Grandfather's gift to the new bride to be was the most wondrous precious thing any of them had ever seen. 

     Momma Fretz handed Eliza another gift.  Her mother had chosen a set of silver and ivory brushes and combs.  Mother said she hadn't seen anything that rich in her life.  Momma Fretz must have spent all her strawberry money she saved in the old tin coffee box.

     They packed for almost a month and cooked and baked and canned juices for Elizabeth's long train ride to Nebraska during which she would have to make several tranfers by stagecoach as the railroad systems had yet to be completely standardized.  She would make the difficult trip alone.  Carl had written that trouble on the farm meant that he couldn't make the trip back out east to accompany his young bride to be.  That news, of course, caused more pain and trepidation to Grandpa and Grandma. But Elizabeth was adamant that she would make the journey alone.  She, a girl who had never traveled farther than to Williamsport twenty miles away from home.

     Before Eliza left there was a most touching scene.  She asked the family, Uncle Daniel, my mother Salome, Uncle Sam, Uncle Chet, Uncle Harry and Grandpa and Grandma to take her out to Flowering Grove cemetery near the old Meeting House so that she could say her goodbyes to family members who had passed away. Later Grandma Sarah said that she thought Mother Fretz would die soon.                

   Eliza stood at the foot of the family plot, living loved ones all around her.  They joined hands while Eliza sang EIN' FESTE BURG. A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.  She promised her Momma Fretz that she would always love her and her family and never lose them. 

    Momma Fretz, exhausted from the preparations for Eliza's journey, took to her bed for what was to be the last time.

    On August 24 they loaded the wagon with five great trunks.  Momma Fretz called her daughter to her room.  She insisted that Eliza dress plain in black, with black shoes and stockings for her trip. She placed the traditional white mesh cap on her daughter's head and tied it under her chin  herself.

    Grandfather drove Eliza in the spring wagon to the Williamsport depot. The boys followed with the market wagon loaded with Eliza's trousseau.  They started out in the middle of the night and arrived in the early afternoon and purchased a ticket to Nebraska for twenty-eight dollars and fifty cents. The family lunched together in the Railhead Cafe.  Grandfather prayed before and after the meal.

    The train, a terrifying machine belching coal smoke, shook the ground as it roared into the station. Eliza clutched a box she hadn't let out of her sight since leaving the Grove and boarded the train at 3:30 in the afternoon.  The family lined up on the platform to wave goodbye and call out their love in German to their sister, the light of all of their lives.

   Mother tells that the train pulled slowly out of the station and through their tears they saw Eliza untie her plain white cap and remove it from her head.  They saw her take the pins out of the neat bun at the nape of her neck.  Her hair which had never been cut fell around her shoulders in all of its brilliant golden glory.

     They all just had time to see her place something else on her head.  Later they couldn't agree.  Harry insisted he saw something red.

    They knew what it was for sure when the first letters arrived weeks later in Flowering Grove from Nebraska telling them that their daughter and sister had arrived safe and sound wearing the most stylish straw hat they had ever in their lives seen, complete with an enormous red satin bow."

     Reading the letters and weeping, Grandfather said by way of benediction: "Gott ist groß" and began singing Ein König voller Pracht
Ein König voller Pracht,
voll Weisheit und voll Macht.
Die Schöpfung betet an.
Die Schöpfung betet an.
Er kleidet sich in Licht.
Das Dunkel hält ihn nicht
und flieht, sobald er spricht,
und flieht, sobald er spricht.
So groß ist der Herr, singt mit mir.
So groß ist der Herr, ihn preisen wir.
So groß, so groß ist der Herr.
Von Anbeginn der Zeit
bis in die Ewigkeit
bleibt er derselbe Gott,
bleibt er derselbe Gott
als Vater, Sohn und Geist,
den alle Schöpfung preist,
als Löwe und als Lamm,
als Löwe und als Lamm.
So groß ist der Herr, singt mit mir.
So groß ist der Herr, ihn preisen wir.
So groß, so groß ist der Herr.
Sein Name sei erhöht, Amen
denn er verdient das Lob.
Wir singen laut:
So groß ist der Herr!

Amen

 

 

 



Serving the Paper

Night after night we would sit around the kitchen table listening to the stories our Maine friends told.  Most of the stories were hilarious, some were incredibly sad. In Maine good story telling is an art. The story I write here I has been altered. They are based on actual stories told to us, though the names and places are fiction.

SERVING THE PAPER

Two of the skinniest little boys you ever saw are huddled together on the front landing of the Jefferson Market Basket. About 5 and maybe 7 years old.  Ripped shorts, no shoes, no shirt. Shoulder blades sticking out like little wings, every rib visible. Honest to God arms like toothpicks.  Black shadows of dirt or maybe bruises all over their faces and chests.

Stuart Greenlaw, a deputy sheriff had stopped at the market on his lunch break to pick up a gallon of milk and some lottery ticket for his wife. Went over to see what the grocery store owner Donna Brunell and a few other people were looking at.  Donna comes right over to Stu and says, We gotta get them some help.  McCabe kids. Mother was in here this morning looking like all hell broke on her. Better call it in, Stu.

 Stu kneels down in front of the boys. Can't get a word out of them. "Where's your momma?" he asks a couple of times. Tiny filthy feel scuff at the dirt in the lot, eyes looking enormous in emaciated faces. Finally the older boy mumbles, "Left."  Stu tells them to wait right there he was going to get them something to eat.

Donna and Stuart come back outside and hand each of the boys a popsicle.  The boys hold them still wrapped in paper and just stare at them.  Stu helps them get the paper off.  They take little licks and red juice runs down tiny arms. Stu's radio crackles and he speaks to dispatch: "Greenlaw here. Might have a 273 here at the Jefferson Market.  Have Stilwell meet me here as soon as possible."

Leland Stilwell and Stu are the only two Sherriff's Deputies for the whole area around Jefferson Township.  They've worked together for years and were friends before that. Henry is kindly known by all as Chief Tall Tree as he is close to 7 feet tall, high cheek bones, trim and rugged as an Injun they say.  Doesn't smile much. Kindest man on earth but the bad guys don't know that. He has what they call the evil eye. Scare you straight the minute he sets eyes on you. Stu stands almost a foot shorter than his friend and is always smiling.  They make quite a remarkable pair.

Deputy Stilwell arrives in a Police Unit. Stu walks over, points his thumb back toward the boys. "Abuse case Leland.  Mother abandoned them.  Think they live somewhere over this side of the Wiscasset bridge off Rt. 1."

 Leland says, "Yeah. I know em.  Been called out there a bunch of times.  She'd never bring charges.  Even threatened to call the county. She said no, he'll kill me.  So, we let it go. Sheriff's Office said just keep an eye on it.  She didn't register the kids for school so they woulda been picked up probly this week anyways.  Well, the shit's hit the fan now.  Get em in the back.  We'll take em to the school nurse, see if EMS should get involved.  After you take your stuff home to Jean, come out and meet me at the school." 

Stu lifts one of the kids. Light as a feather.  Leland gets the other one.  They're too weak to make any resistance, but they are both crying weak little kitten sounds, red popsicle juice dripping down their chins, tears making tracks down their grimy cheeks.  Stu is saying over and over, "It's OK. There now. It'll be OK.  We'll get your momma.  We'll get your momma soon as we can."  They get the kids still holding on to each other for dear life buckled in the back.

When Stu gets back to the school Leland is leaning against the wall outside the nurse's office.  "Nance cleaned em up a bit, got em some warm clothes, he says. Fed em some cottage cheese, threw it all up.  Nance had me call EMS.  She said they need medical attention. Probably glucose and maybe a protein drip." They can hear the kids crying inside.

Leland and Stu leave as the EMS people take the kids away to the hospital in Augusta.  Word comes later that night that they are doing OK on a drip.  The hospital has turned the case over to the Lincoln County authorities listing child endangerment, and abuse evidenced by the bruises covering their little bodies. 

A week later a call comes in to Stu from The Lincoln County Sherriff's Office  that  the boys' mother has been ringing up daily to find out where her kids are. She's with her sister over to Edgecomb and has signed a restraining against her husband which the judge approved. The Sherriff says Stu and Leland are to serve papers on the father who is living out Wiscasset way in the family trailer.  He's beaten the living shit out of his wife, and the kids too. He'll have to appear in court on violating the restraining order.  But first he has to sign the papers. 

Stu drives his pick-up over to Brownsville to collect Leland. Faster that way, and with bad weather and all.  The deputies wear khakis and windbreakers, badges underneath on their shirts. Incognito, Stu says.

The weather has turned a nasty coastal storm.  Blowing like hell, rain turns to sleet.  Stu and Leland head out to Wiscasset. The pick-up bumps along the dirt road off Route 1 which hasn't been graded for years. A few lobster boats are seen here and there on the side of the lane.  Some in fair shape, some wrecks.  Lobstering is done for the season- lobster is cheaper than beef. It's been a bad year all around. 

The McCabe housetrailer is parked at the end of the lane.  Leland runs the plates on the old Escort parked in the driveway.  Dennis McCabe.  Bugger's in there, Leland growls. Bang on the rattletrap door.  Guy finally opens up. Stands there blinking in Leland's torch light, looking like Digger O'Dell would soon be digging a grave for him. 

Stuart: "You are being served by the Lincoln County Sheriff's Department for non compliance of your restraining order.  You are unlawfully on these premises." He holds out the paper telling McCabe to sign.

 Eyes bloodshot, sores around the guy's nose, looking up and down from Leland's stony face to Stu he can barely stand. McCabe spits, "You can go to hell with your paper.  I ain't signing no goddam paper." McCabe makes a move to shut the door but Leland sticks his mammoth boot in the jamb, muckles on to McCabe's arm- 'bout breaks it.

"You don't sign, we'll have to take you in."  Leland tells him his rights, drags him out of the trailer and over to the pickup.  "Gotta get my stuff," McCabe whines. Crazy bastard, Stu thinks. Not going in there to get a gun. Leland reads his mind and nods. Stu takes one arm, Leland takes the other and they throw McCabe up into the truck bed.  Leland reaches in and cuffs McCabe's left arm to the gun rack above the back window.

Now it's sleeting to beat the band.  Stu drives; Leland rides shotgun.  Get about 2 or so miles out and McCabe starts banging on the back window with his free arm.  Then beats his fist on roof of the truck, screaming like a stuck pig. Hair plastered to his head, shirt stuck to his body, and the guy is shaking so hard in the cold the gun rack is rattling. McCabe is yelling something now. Stu puts his window down a crack, slows the truck and pulls over. 

"I'LL SIGN! I'LL SIGN!  I'M ABOUT TO SHIT THE BED OUT HERE!"

Leland gets out, uncuffs McCabe and passes the paper and a pen up to him.  Tells McCabe to use the tool box to write on. There on the bottom. McCabe scribbles his name on the form, hands it down to the Deputy.  Leland looks it over real slow, hands to paper back up. Tells McCabe to print his full name beneath the signature and date it. "And do it so I can read it good," he says.  McCabe does this though he's shaking so hard he can hardly hold the pen. Leland takes the paper, looks it over.

"Guess that'll do," he tells McCabe. " Come down outta there. " McCabe jumps down.  His knees buckle, he tips over and finally manages to stand up.

"OK.  You'll be notified about the court date.  Better show up or we'll do-si-do again."  Stu starts up the motor and Leland gets back in the truck.  Now McCabe is screaming again, face up against the passenger side window, hands either side of his face on the glass. " HEY!  YOU CAINT LEAVE ME HERE!"

Stu puts the truck in gear. Leland leans over, looks McCabe straight in the eye and growls, "You go shank's mare ya bastard McCabe. We only get paid the one way."

The truck's tires throw up dirt getting back onto Rt. 1. Moody's for pie and coffee, Leland?  Ayah.

The New House

THE NEW HOUSE

The house is haunted.  About 10 years ago our place was surrounded by some 40  acres of woods.  A miracle in small town suburbia, just 20 miles from  New York City.  Then a developer, a Mr. Levine, a shyster by all accounts got permission to build on land which we knew was wet lands property.  There was a pond out there just beyond our woods.  I used to take my young son out there to catch tadpoles. 

The land was a peat bog.  On fire ever since we were kids. The smoke could be see most days drifting over the highway beyond.  We were under extreme caution by our parents never to walk in there.  They said, and rightly so, that we could break through what looked like solid ground and end up in a burning hot pit.  Even firemen didn't go in there unless the brush caught on fire.  They just waited year upon year for the underground fire to burn itself out.  The place came to be known as Burning Hollow.

When the EPA came to take plug samples they look them from the edge of the peat bog.  Of course they came up clean.  Somebody greased somebody's hands.  The parcel was worth many millions of dollars.  Our Mr. Levine got permission to build on 8-10 acres.  We had had our land surveyed and somehow the line was misjudged by Mr. Levine.  And a house went up on a 1600' lot in a AA rated zone where houses should have been on no less than 2400 foot lots.

The New House went up.  We checked and rechecked our line.  The town upheld Mr. Levine's maps.  Soon the monstrosity went up, tall enough to block the sunrise on that side.  The house was painted charcoal black looking like a slag heap of my youth in Pennsylvania.

There was quickly a buyer for the house.  The realtor told her client that our back acre was a park, common land.  Common land!  I called the realtor and told her that common land didn't exist in Ridgedale.  It's something they have in parts of England.  Everyone makes excuses to us for their lies. Our lives were busy.  A kid in college, both of us working day jobs, and nights fixing up our own house. Not a lot of extra money to hire a lawyer.

A man moved in The New House for which he paid 2 million dollars. He married a typical type.  She was a woman who found herself a stock broker husband, and with voice lesson was attempting to lose her Bayonne accent.  Hair, nails, skins worked on each week.  Dressed just so.

They had a couple of kids.  She decided she wanted a pool in the back yard of the house which was much too close to our line as it was.  She was insistent.  She made threats against poor Jeffrey Bitner who had the bad judgment to marry her.  Jeffrey had trees cut down over our line.  One, a pink Dogwood given to me by my students when  my son was born.  A 20 year old tree.  I called the police.  Jeffrey's surveyor came out and we heard the buzz of his metal detector right where we told him the pin was under a pile of stones at the corner of our property.  We heard him swear and say, "I'm screwed.  I have to tell my employer that  you are right and he's wrong."  The pool went in anyway.  And the iron fence sits today not six inches from our line.  Not code!

The pool dug, it rained for a week without stopping.  The ground around the new pool turned to a mud pit.  The new pool filled with silt.  The wife said if she couldn't swim in the pool by the 4th of July she would leave.  She got her swim.  A couple of years.  She and her friends swam and sunbathed naked- the kids farmed out to camps somewhere.  Then the shouting began. 

The woman showed up at a neighbor's place in a silk kimono one night.  Banged on the door saying she needed help.  She had bruises all over her face and a split lip.  She had them call the police.  She moved out with the kids, Jeffrey sold the house.

Couple number two.  A prominent doctor.  Wife and three kids.  A boy, a girl and another boy, the youngest.  They bought a summer place on a small lake just over the border in New York.  They were enjoying their boat on the lake when a drunk drove his boat out of a side cove and hit their boat broadside.  Everyone in the water, hurt, but OK.  Except for the wife.  She had been decapitated in the accident.  The kids saw it all.

The little girl cried day and night for her mommy.  The  youngest told us that his mom was coming home for Christmas.  A series of nannies came and went.  Most had stories to tell of harassment, and other ill treatment.  The kids would become emotionally attached to one and she would be gone with no explanation.  The house was sold to couple number three.

A nice Chinese couple.  Quiet, hardworking.  They owned a cleaning establishment in the area.  They sold the house in less than a year.  We figured the walls of The New House were taking.

Couple number three are in there now.  A second marriage for both.  Her two kids and two boys they had together.  The shouting began two or three years ago.  We chalked it up to PMS, hers.  The children screamed. The teenage girls stormed out of the house.  Doors slammed, furniture thrown off the deck. Windows open all summer, we heard the uproar almost daily.   

A couple of months ago we saw about four policemen in our back field.  My husband went out to see what was going on.  There had been a home invasion.  The couple in The New House they said were each having affairs and had gone out for the night with their respective lovers leaving a 12 year old daughter to babysit the younger kids.  She woke when a stranger put his hand on her leg in the dark.  She screamed; the man ran; she called 911.  The police said in addition to their investigation of the break in their might be a case for DYFUS.

Last night, the weather turned mild, the windows were open to more terrible  screaming.  Words, threats.  They went inside and we could still hear the melee continuing.  The boys were outside beating the bushes with their hockey sticks, no doubt in frustration, fear, loathing.  They will have caught the infection.

There are demons in that house.  It is said a girl fell into a burning peat pit over there.  Indians cut peat for their fires centuries ago.  Who knows what strange spirits walk?  Who knows what a place absorbs?  There needs to be an exorcism over there. The New House is haunted. 

Wolf Man

 

 

 

MAINE STORIES

This story is fiction.  The names and places herein are fictional and are not meant to describe any real people living or dead or places.  The story comes entirely from my imagination.  Ann J. Ahnemann

_______________

People who deny the existence of dragons are often eaten by dragons. From within. -Ursula K. Le Guin

Wolf Man

Nobody knew right off where he came from.  Just showed up at the Market one day.  Most people in town don't get too exercised by much of anything.  The common phrase is, You saw it in Maine.  And if people are surprised by something, you wouldn't know it.  Call it Yankee stoicism or whatever you like.  That's just the way it is down east.

This time it was impossible not to see the effect of this particular apparition.  There were wide eyes and side-along stares at the huge man-  6 feet tall and weight lifter huge.  He was immediately dubbed Iron Mike.  As time went on Iron Mike's hygiene markedly deteriorated. His hair grew a mangled wooly mass with bits of something or other stuck in it.  His beard just about covered his entire face. 

It wasn't long before everyone in town began referring to the stranger as the Wolf Man or just plain Wolfie. No matter what the weather he wore overhauls, a black leather bomber type jacket and carried an enormous pack on his back. Walking stick in hand he might appear anytime of the day or night anywhere from along the Washington Road, East Pond Road, Route 36, Bunker Hill and Goose Hill and as far as Waldoboro. If you know those roads you know you would come up over a rise losing for a second the sight of the road ahead to plunge down the other side.  And there he'd be, suddenly in your headlights, a hunched over beast of a man. It was like seeing Big Foot. 

The Wolf Man was more clinically known by the State. State Welfare clued in Sheriff's Deputy Leland Stilwell.  He lives up in the town of Sommerville, known to the locals as Scummerville. Some of the places up there are pretty rough. As Wolf Man was living up that way the State charged Deputy Stilwell to look in on him for the State Welfare Department. The Deputy was just the man for the job being near 7 feet tall, with chistled high cheek bones, and tough as nails. All belying the fact that he was a genuinely nice guy, well known and liked in the community.  Helped a lot of folks around, most famously those starving kids that showed up at the Market years ago and their mom. Sent them cash money over the years even though the mother had a string of loser lovers. Leland kept track of her boys. Took them places, watched their football and soccer games, remembered their birthdays. The oldest is now in construction and the younger boy went on to be a EMS supervisor.  Grown now, they aren't shy about telling everyone what Deputy Stilwell did for them.

Deputy Leland Stilwell is known affectionately as Chief Tall Tree.  He'll never make Chief of Police of course. He's due to retire. And be glad of it.  Too much nonsense going on these days what with drugs, meth labs and all.  And his best friend and former partner Stuart Greenlaw is no longer a Deputy. Stuart drives bus for the school since he lost his spleen and half his stomach when he was caught between the open door of that drunk kid's car and dragged. Stu acts as dog catcher when he's not driving bus.

Deputy Stilwell was clued in by the state as to the Wolf Man's background. His given name is Morrison Roland Railsbach. He is a Viet Nam veteran, spent some time in the VA in Augusta.  There are records that he was treated for post traumatic stress, and a host of other mental disorders, hearing voices, hallucinating and drug abuse. The VA report states that  he would rave on and on that he had spent his tour in Cambodia. Kept saying over and over he could read a goddam map and he didn't give a shit what the government said, that no troops were in Cambodia. Left us there to rot. Nothing to eat but dog. Then he'd go off with a string of unintelligible nonsense punctuated with obscenities. They put in a straight jacket if he got to banging his head on the wall or went for an orderly. Spent most of his time sitting in stony silence in the all purpose room. Nobody bothered him or wanted to be near him. The counselors couldn't make much headway with him and prescribed a host of meds and basically that was the end of treatment. The VA reported that one day he just up and disappeared. This Fall the sightings of Iron Mike are the first anyone's seen him in a long, long time.   

Any stranger in a small town is suspect.  Everyone knows or is related to almost everyone else in town and they take care of their own. The Wolf Mane is a mystery.  Mysteries aren't real popular in the Village.

Folks would fairly grill Donna at the Market about him as they would see Wolfie go in from time to time.  She told them he never gave her any trouble.  She did tell Deputy Leland Stilwell that when Wolf Man came in he smelled like he been dragged through a manure pond.  Pants so dirty it looked like they could walk on their own.  Customers who happened to be in the store when Wolfie appeared parted like the Red Sea when they saw him, of course. But he never bothered anybody.  Would bring his beer and 5 or so cans of Bush's Country Style and a couple of boxes of Milk Bones to the counter, dig food stamps he used to pay for the beans and a few crumpled bills for the beer out of the pack he always carried, and would say something like 'aftanoon mam' real polite like.  Donna she said that under those bushy eyebrows he had the most amazing shade of blue eyes she'd ever seen a human person have.  Donna would give him day old bread. She felt sorry for him. Told the Deputy so. He had to agree with her that this 'Wolf Man' had probably gotten a real bad shake in life.

Deputy Leland Stilwell had seen more than his share of trouble.  His father would be drunk most of the time, beat on his mother, took a belt to Leland and his brother.  He still has the scars on his back from where the buckle dug in. He knows a lot about what trouble can do to a person.  And worse, his only son is an alcoholic. Leland buries a six pack or two of Shipyard he likes to drink once in awhile in the woods up there behind his place so his son can't get at it.

Leland has tramped those woods since he was a kid and hiding out from his dad. He knows well where the Railsbach cabin is. It's a ramshackle affair, built from scraps in the woods up off the Valley road bordering on the old Henry Watson place. Someone, Morrison most likely, has purloined boards from the shed where Henry used to shelter his ox team he kept for hauling timber.  Nothing but a ruin now really, mostly collapsed and the right side of the roof stove in to the ground.  Henry's grandkids own the farmland now.  Call it a farm still.  There's not any farming going on out there anymore. Some haying maybe the kids let a neighbor pay a small stipend to do.  

Leland knows Carrie and Jim 'Jigger' LeBlanc who live in Carrie's granddad's old house now.  Carrie reported to Leland that she knows a woman who comes now and then to see Morrison.  Brings him stuff, checked on him last winter.  The woman drove into the door yard a year or so back and knocked on the back door.  Said her name was Alice Railsbach Timmerman. Asked would they mind if she parked her car in the dooryard when she came in to check on her  brother, the road out there being completely grown over.   

Jigger wasn't real happy about it. He hated the fact that this Wolf Man lived just on the other side of their property.  Didn't want to have a damn thing to do with him. Told his wife i'd be better for everyone if the man was dead. But it was his wife's place afterall.  Jigger had it in mind to keep the shotgun loaded. Carrie told Jigger not to be a horse's ass about it.  She liked the woman.  About 50 years old.  Neat.  Well spoken. The pain of her brother's situation written all over her.  Carrie told Alice OK by her, long as he stayed away from the house. And she reminded Alice her brother better keep the path to the old burial place out there clear. It's the law.

 There are a number of burial plots on people's property from days gone by when folks buried their own right on their own land. Six or so graves marked by leaning slabs of stone were out there on Henry's place in a small clearing in the woods, engraved with long forgotten names and dates, most so weatherworn as to be almost unreadable. One for a baby that lived only two days.

Railsbach's sister Alice told Carrie she'd drive up the lane by the house when she came and tramp back through to her brother's cabin on foot. Gave Carrie the number she could be reached if there be a need.  Carrie kept Leland in the picture about the arrangement.  So that's how it went  until  people began seeing Wolf Man in town this particular Fall. 

You can believe Wolf Man suffered some terrible abuse from kids on their bikes daring each other to ride by and grab a hunk of Wolfie's mangy hair, or pitch a stone or two at him and ride away like hell on wheels.  Wolfie would just keep on walking, not even giving a glance at the kids.  Guys in the pick-ups driving by the man would give loud blasts of their horns as they blew by him. Wolf Man never even flinched.

Funny thing. There wasn't a stray dog that didn't love him. You would sometimes see two or three of the sorry creatures loping along beside him.  He would throw down some of the day-old bread to them, even stop and give those curs a pat or two. Feeding strays is a no-no in deer hunting parts.  Gets so a pack of wild dogs will chase deer until the deer drop of exhaustion to escape, or break a leg trying.  Stuart swears when he went to his truck to get his loop to catch one of those dogs Wolf Man appeared out of nowhere and stuffed the dog down into his pack quick as a wink.  Stuart  figured a dog catcher wasn't paid enough to mess with that shit and drove on.

Sometime in late November Deputy Leland got a call from the Lincoln County Sheriff's Department that Carrie LeBlanc reported there was trouble out at her place.  Alice, Railbach's sister, had come to the door out of breath and said her brother had gone crazy.  She said Morrison didn't seem to recognize her, even threatened her.  His own sister!  Alice was crying and telling Carrie he must have gone off his meds and They better call the Sheriff's Department. 

Deputy Stilwell and his new young partner Deputy Davy Burgess took the cruiser out to Henry's Place.  When they got there Alice and Carrie both were crying in the door yard.  Jigger was dancing around toting a shotgun.  Leland told Jigger not to do anything stupid.  Then he told them all to go in the house and stay there until he and Deputy Burgess got back from seeing to Morrison back at the shack.

Leland told Davy to just follow his lead. Davy was only too glad to comply.  He was new to the job. Grateful to be working with Deputy Stilwell a veteran officer and one of the most respected Deputies in the Lincoln County Sheriff's Office.  For a newbie Deputy it was a real feather in his cap to have been accepted as partner by Leland Stilwell. Most of all he didn't want to screw up.

Hiking to Railsbach's cabin was tough going.  The deputies had to break through thick undergrowth. An eerie silence closed in. There was not a sign of life, not even birdsong.  When the cabin appeared before the two deputies Leland said he would go around back to see if Morrison was out there.  Deputy Burgess stood looking around a moment a the wreck of the place, all pasted together with tar paper, and mismatched boards, some with different color paint peeling off, open spaces and inch wide between some of the boards.  All around rusted wrecks of unrecognizable things, trash, tires, whatall, just about grown over with weeds. Silence.  Like not a soul was alive in that wreck of a place. Deputy Burgess decided to knock on the door. 

His knuckes were inches from the weathered boards of the door when the thing crashed out out him, came right off its hinges, and a huge figure exploded out into the light.  Deputy Burgess fell straight down to the ground on his back knocking the breath clean out of  him.

 In a second the mammoth man was on him, a maelstrom of fists like hammers, of foul breath, black teeth and blue devil eyes burning beneath wild hair. Davy didn't even see the knife then, but felt pressure and then the burn as the blade went into his shoulder. His neatly creased khaki sleeve turned red.  Then Davy saw the arm raised again, sun glinting off of what must be a 9 inch blade, and Davy knew he was done for.  He only had time to croak, Help me! Help me. Leland!  He's killin' me!  

Leland came running around from the back of the shed.  He saw Davy on the ground bleeding, saw Morrison looking and sounding like fury itself, saw the blade, shouted at the man who was beyond this world, drew his revolver and fired. Leland is a very good shot. If the man hadn't been so wild he would have hit an arm, maybe. As it was the bullet entered square in the middle of Morrison's forehead.  Leland checked Davy to see that the knife wounds, while deep, weren't life threatening.  He tore his shirt up and used it to bind up the worst of the cuts on Davy's arm. Then he bent to close the lids over Morrison's eyes.  Those sapphire blue eyes are what Leland could never get out of his mind.

Leland called for EMS and back-up and told Davy not to move.  It was only then that horrific howling coming from inside the shed registered.  Leland stepped over the sill to see a dog shredding it's paws to get out of a wire pen in the corner of the shed.  The howling went on and on.  Leland went out and knelt by Davy while he called his friend Stuart Greenlaw to get out to Henry's place to see about a dog that needed taking care of. He briefed Stuart about the situation and hung up.

Things got sorted out a bit.  The LeBlanc family, Railsbach's sister all were put in the picture.  Even Jigger was sobered to near silence by the state of affairs.  Davy got to the hospital in fair shape, Morrison's body was taken away to the Coroner's office, Stuart Greenlaw came to take away the dog they found in the shed.

The dog was a Husky mix by the look of him, who howled pitifully at passing Morrison's blood stain on the ground.  He kept looking and pulling back so Stu had to drag him with the loop to his truck.  The dog never ceased his howling, but never made a move to snap or bite either as Stu lifted him up into the cage in the back of his pick-up. Stu drove home and tied the dog onto one of those huge White Pines that line his driveway til he could figure out what do with the miserable creature. Sometime during the night the howling stopped. The dog was dead when Stu went out to feed him the next morning.  It crossed Stu's mind the dog died of a broken heart, but he never would say that to anyone.

 The Lincoln County Sheriff's Department got the scene roped off. They debriefed Deputy Stilwell and Deputy Burgess at the hospital and consulted with Stuart again a day or so later because of things they discovered out behind the isolated shack: neatly arranged stones over mounds of dirt.  Dried weeds arranged at the head of each mound.  Must have been eight or ten mounds.  The Sheriff's Department had Digger O'Dell open up those mounds. They more than half expected to find human bodies.  What they found were dead dogs.  Stuart came out and had a look.  Eight of them, each in a separate grave, neatly wrapped in burlap and placed just so with what looked like deer bones arranged in odd patterns around the carcasses.   All of the dogs appeared to have died of old age.  None had been mutilated in any way. It was Stuart's opinion that these dogs had been buried with great care. He could find no evidence that any of the dogs had been killed. Some of the carcasses looked like they had been there awhile- just mostly bones.  Some still had some hair on them. But those decorated graves.  Damnest thing Stuart or anyone had ever seen in their lives.

 

 Leland, of course went to Augusta to see Davy at the hospital.  Leland was mad as hell, had been since it all happened. Couldn't sleep he was so mad. He drove along to Augusta General muttering to himself.  That numbnuts kid, that peckerheard  Davy.  He knew Morrison had mental problems, and that his sister Alice said he was having some kind of fit.  And he up and goes and knocks on the guy's goddamn door!  Goddamn Davy.

Not long after Deputy Burgess got out of the hospital Deputy Leland Stilwell put in for retirement. He didn't tell anyone, but that first time he went in to see Davy the doc insisted that Leland have a physical.  Turns out when the blood tests came back Leland found out he had diabetes.  He threw out the bags of Horehound candy kept in his truck to munch on all day and give to the kids who knew he always had some. He stopped drinking beer altogether.

Stu hadn't seen Leland for a few weeks which was unusual.  He figured that Leland needed some time to himself.  He knew that the Sheriff's Department had given Leland a month's leave after the shooting.  He called Leland at his home.  Leland's wife Louise answered.  She said she'd have Leland call.  And then, You know he's put in for retirement, Stu?  That was a surprise. When he asked Leland about it he said, Ayah.  Bout time.  And that was all he said about it. Leland and  Stu still went to Moody's Diner some evenings.  Stu had the walnut pie while Leland sipped black coffee.  It was good just being together jawing again, telling stories, talking over old times, laughing, flirting with the waitresses, just like always- Leland's deep bass a counterpoint to Stu's lively tenor.

One morning before sunup Stuart's phone rang.  Jean came downstairs still in her nightgown knowing by Stu's tone it was serious.  Stu hung up the phone and turned to Jean white as a sheet, shaking.  Leland, he said, had been found out beyond the Railsbach cabin. Dead.  He shot himself with his own service revolver.  Stuart told Jean, he told no one that he was feeling bad, he left no clue, no note, nothing at all.  Not a goddamn thing.

 

EPILOGUE

Leland left a good bit of money to Louise, his wife- money that he started salting away when she was diagnosed with M.S. and could only get around in a wheelchair after their son was born. It was enough she could move into a new assisted living place in Wiscasset near the water and live out the rest of her days in peace.  Leland's son got a good job in Texas wanting to get as far away from the State of Maine as possible. 

Morrison Roland Railsbach had three brothers and three sisters all of whom except his sister Alice lived in Massachusetts.   Each got  a share of what little money there was from the sale of Railsbach's land to Jigger and Carrie LeBlanc. Railsbach, it turns out, had a child who also lived in Massachusetts.  He had never adopted her.  She got nothing from Railsbach.  But she was used to that.

The Backside

Michael Bloom gunned his M3 into the parking lot, looked in the rear view to see a lavender bruise beginning to show. He grabbed his riding kit and ran to the jockey's room.  He was late and his eye was still stinging from where the brass bucket on Mae Rodiker's purse had hit him before she left his hotel room.  Bitch, he muttered as he ran.  Goddamn jock chicks.  When will I learn?  Last one, last one.  I swear!

The jockey's room was all bustle with ten or more jockeys in various stages of dress, most of whom Michael knew. Some waved, some too ramped up about their coming races ignored him, some oblivious with their headsets on. Jerry Dunkle looked up.  "Hey, Mike! Late again?"  A sly smile.  "Looks like she got ya good!"  Michael tossed the finger to his friend.

Dickens Stables silks off the peg. His own too worn boots. Crop. Goggles. Check. Then out to see Madeleine Culpepper, trainer of his mount Kippy's Kat. Maddy was all smiles as usual.  "She's OK," she told Michael.  The vet gave the OK. Seems a little off though today.  See what you think. 

Michael entered the holding stall and seeing him Kip gave a little whinny. "Hey girl. How we doing today?" The filly nuzzled Michael.  She knew him and he knew her. Michael was known as an extremely competitive rider.  What was less well known was how much he loved horses.  He loved horses more than people. And the horses responded to him.  He could get a horse to do anything he asked. Michael had enough prizes to fill a small room.  He had ridden tracks from Santa Anita and Hollywoood Park and many of the other 20 or so California racing venues. 

Coming off a bad spill at Hollywood Park which snapped Michael's collarbone and given him a concussion, now at 32 years of age he was finding it more and more difficult to get a ride.  When Dickens called he took the offer to ride for him even though Michael hated Reg Dickens who cared about the money more than he cared for his horses.  He was known to have run several of his animals to death.

 After that last spill, broken bones and a serious concussion Michael had read the handwriting on the wall. Knowing his racing days were coming to a close he bought a nice parcel of land out between Chico and Red Bluff near the Sacremento River. A small ranch house with a stable in back.  Real fixer-uppers, but his to fix.  He didn't tell a souI besides Tony and Maddy. In the good years he made more than a million dollars a year.  He lived frugally by jockey standards.  A couple of designer suits, a  comfortable condo, 7 year old race-ready M3 were his few indulgences.  He drank little, didn't do drugs, and only rarely indulged in continually offered free sex. Those never stayed around.  He didn't spend his money on their whims. They called him cheap.

 He shrugged off the jokes of the jockey.  Mike the Monk they called him. He salted most of his money away. His dad won the Breeder's Cup and placed 3rd in the Kentucky Derby and a few years later he suffered a horrendous smash-up rendering him wheel chair bound until he died.  His mother died not long after- of depression or mostly of a broken heart. Michael always knew that life as a jockey would be short and uncertain.  He was smart enough to plan ahead for the inevitable.

He thought he must be crazy to have taken Dicken's offer to ride.  The pull of the track, the sights and smells of horses, the thrill of the ride. More like proving to himself that he wasn't completely washed up.  That he still had what it took. All this on his mind he ran his hands down Kat's flanks, and down her legs, paying special attention to how her knees and ankles felt.  Maybe a little tender on the front right.  Kat shifted when Michael rubbed her there.  The vet hadn't found anything. "We'll give it a go girl," he said patting Kat's neck.  Maddy watched from the gate.  He winked at her.  An old friend.  Madeleine Culpepper. She's too good a trainer for Reginald Dickens.

"Yeah, Mike."    Like she read his mind.  "Love this mare.  A beauty.  All heart.  How Dickens got her I can't imagine."  

"How'd you end up training for him?"

"Same reason you're riding for him, I imagine."  She had racing Thoroughbreds in her blood as did Michael. Even with the corruption, bad owners, bad tracks and all, there were good times like no other.  And there were the lovely courageous horses, born to run. End of story. A story told a million times at a million stables. One last hug with Kippy's Kat.  And a word of praise to her groom Tony Vasques. He had her looking shiny as a new penny.  "Could use new shoes," Tony grumbled.  Everyone knew that Reginald Dickens was going down.  His string was down from 30 or more in his fat days to just 5 horses at present- only two of which were any good.  Kipper's Kat and the difficult 2 year-old colt Loose Cannon who could be heard in the stallions' shed making a ruckus as they spoke.

The week wore on at the godforsaken track.  Races run, horses injured, jockeys wrists smashed, bones broken.  Michael actually benefited form jockey spills getting some unscheduled rides. He won a few, Loose Cannon being one of the winners. Michael managed to settle him, just barely. Last race of the meet.  Kippy's Kat went into the gate like a lamb.  She found her feet and began to dig. Michael kept her in third until the last pole.  Then he asked her.  And oh God did she try.  But it wasn't there.  Michael thought in those seconds that he should pull her up, but on nothing but heart she went on to a disappointing second to last.

Showered and changed into a suit, Michael went out to the barn before he went to the after party. Kippy's Kat nickered when he entered her stall.  "You aren't right girl. I know that."  Kat tossed her head as if to agree.  Michael saw she wasn't putting any weight on her front right.  It wasn't a resting stance.

The party was in full swing when Michael arrived. Jockeys, owners, trainers and some journalists by invitation only.  Dickens was in high spirits, loudly talking trash as usual like he owned the place. He hugged Michael.  "Got us some money, Mikey. You showed Canny who's boss!"  

Madeleine was sitting at a table in the corner of the room picking at her food. Michael went over and took a chair beside her.  "So?"

"So?' she answered. 

"So, what next?"

"You tell me."

They ate in silence.  A journalist was chatting loudly at the next table with Reginald Dickens.  He always was a press hound and this Dutworth woman could give him very good and useful press.  She was famous and seldom seen in California. A  Brit who had won numerous prizes for her articles about racing. Liza Dutworth.  Must be slumming, taking a little vacation in California to escape the damp and drear of her homeland. And she was acting very chummy with Dickens, touching his shoulder as she spoke, as he patted her thigh a few times.

Michael and Maddy heard it clearly what she was on about.  "I have no problem with eating horsemeat.  No problem at all.  It's when they lie!  Pass it off as beef which is much more expensive."  Michael and Madeleine kept their eyes on their plates of food and managed to control their faces.  Madeleine's state of mind was only betrayed by the slight tremble of fork she held.

Someone at Dutworth's table spoke up.  "To me it would be like eating dog!"

"Yes. We could eat dog," Dutworth chirped.  "There are enough unwanted ones, but apparently you only want a scabby one! If you're vegetarian, great. But if you choose to eat meat, it doesn't matter which meat, other than taste.  My 10 year-old pet bullock is by far more intelligent than any horse or dog I've ever met, so it's no use drawing the line at 'pets'.  If horse meat is cheaper and easier, why on earth are we still farming cattle?"

Even the most seasoned journalists at her table were looking stunned. Dickens, however, was actually leaning toward her and nodding agreement.  She forged ahead, "The poor old pig is the most intelligent of all domesticated animals and share with humans and great apes the ability to recognize itself in the mirror.  Eat every living creature and wear its fur, or choose not to, but please don't be selective."

At that last one by one her table mates drifted away. Only Reginald Dickens remained seated, his shoulder almost touching Liza Dutworth's. Michael and Madeleine stood and together left the room.  Outside, they stood mute staring toward the stable where the setting sun had set the tin roof ablaze.

"I'm going back to my hotel," Michael said.  "I feel like I'm going to vomit."

"Call me later," Madeleine said.  "I have something to tell you which can't be spoken of here."

Michael showered again when he got back to his room. He let the hot water gush over his head for a long time.  Wrapped in the bath rug he opened the small fridge and took out all the small bottles of whiskey he found in it.  After downing two, he called Maddy.  She answered on the second ring.

"So, what do you have to tell me?  Can't be as bad as what we heard tonight."

"Don't be too sure," Maddy said.  "Good ol' Reg Dickens is selling Kitty."

"Selling? To whom? How do you know?"

"Tony heard him talking to some guy on the backside.  Rough, Tony said. Heard the name Munez mentioned. Ring a bell?"

"Christ!  Jose Munez, the owner of The New Mexico Livestock Auction?!"

"The very same."

"Kill buyer!!"

"Yep.  I know. If you want my opinion that's where our Kitty's going. Word among the grooms is that the vet at this hellhole is crooked.  He's paid off regularly to pass hurt horses."

"I would have known if she was hurt bad!"

"No you wouldn't. Don't be a damned fool!  A couple of shots of phyenibutazone, bute, and no one would be the wiser.  She wasn't X-rayed. And she won't be as she'll be on her way to New Mexico probably by morning, Mike."

"Meet me at the stable at 2 am. We've got to get her out of there," Michael said.

Just before 2 Michael walked the backside to see Maddy and Tony coming toward him from the opposite direction. Michael had called Tony Vasques and explained what was happening.  A horse van they didn't recognize was parked in the lot.  A man was leaning against the truck smoking a cigarette.  Michael approached him and said, "There is no smoking allowed here."  The man looked up in surprise and grunted.  He hadn't seen Michael come up.  As the man ground out his cigarette in the dirt Michael had time to see in the half moon light that the New Mexico license plate. Maddy waited back by the barn.  Tony advanced to stand behind Michael. Having made his living wrestling high strung Thoroughbreds he was built like the Incredible Hulk. 

"Heard you are here to pick up a horse." 

"So?"

"Would you happen to know the horse's name?"

"Maybe."

Michael held out a stack of bills.  "A hundred to tell me which horse?"

The man shrugged, took the money and said, "A filly.  Kipper's Kat. I'm to meet the owner and pick the nag up in an hour."

Figures, Michael thought.  Just before the morning gallops. "How much you pay for her?"

"Boss okayed $500, plus papers."

"What would you take to sell her to me?"

Long silence.  But Michael could see the man was mulling it over, interested. Then, "I could get in a lot of trouble.  Gonna cost ya."

"How much?"

"Three grand.  Cash."

"Deal.  Just give us a few minutes to get to the casino bank.  And you've got your money."

Maddy came up, had a quick word from Michael and grabbed the debit card he handed her.  She dug her own out of her bag and took off toward the casino on the run. Fifteen minutes later she was back with a stack of bills in her hand.

Michael said, "One more thing.  I want the bill of sale Dickens signed.  An extra $500 for it." The driver leafed through his folder and took out a paper which he handed to Michael.

 "Won't be no trouble. Munez don't care about shit, pedigrees, tatoos. All the same to him as long as he gets his money."  The man's expression told that he didn't much care for his job or his boss. "I'll give him more than he asked."  Handing the paper to Michael he said, "Just remember. I lost this somewhere. Or it never existed." Then he counted the money. "Well that's it then.  I have a few more horses to load up here. You get this Kat horse yourself.  I aint paid to do that."

Tony Vasquez was already leading Kippy's Kat out of the barn.  She went docilely if lamely along.  Tony disappeared around the stable.  His voice soon crackled over Michael's cell.  "No problemo. None of the boys said anything when I led her out. Most of them dead drunk. Oh, and I called in a few chips.  Friend lending me a trailer. Where to, boss?"

"Up to my place. Water and feed her there.  Get her into one of the better stalls and wait. I'll be there soon as I can. I've a score to settle."

"Don't get yourself in trouble," Tony warned.

Michael walked back to the casino hotel. The end of his racing career was sealed. He was anxious having the decision more or less made for him.  But most of all he was surprised at how relieved he was.  Maddy fell in step.  "What now?" 

"Just a little unfinished business."

He entered the back door of the restaurant kitchen where the chefs were already beginning to prepare the breakfast brunch.  His good friend Jean Marc greeted him warmly.  "Ah!  The guy who doesn't eat my fabulous food!" 

Michael smiled back.  Had a short conversation with Jean-Marc suggesting what the chef might fix for Reg and Liza'a meal.  From the doorway Maddy could see the chef first scowl, then purse his lips, then nod in agreement. On his way out of the kitchen Michael handed a red envelope to the waiter.

Outside, he told Maddy the obvious, that he was retired from racing.  And that he would be living on the ranch, with his broodmare Kippy.  And did she want a job? At least she hadn't said no.  Michael hugged Maddy hard, gave her a kiss right on the mouth, which rather pleased her. He got into his old M3 and headed to Chico.

Brunch at the casino.  Owners and guests, journalists, mostly still hung over from the party the night before.  Dickens came in about 9:30 his arm around Dutworth's waist and both looking as though they had had a very good night.

The waiter brought them coffee. Reg and Liza tucked into the most delicious looking scrambled eggs with truffles and toasted each other with Mimosas.  As they were finishing their meal the waiter approached and held out a red envelope.  "I have a letter that has arrived for you Mr. Dickens." 

Heads bent together, Liza and Reginald read the message on the paper.  CONGRATULATIONS.  I HOPE YOU HAVE ENJOYED THE TRUFFLED EGGS PREPARED FOR YOU.  I TOOK THE LIBERTY ON MY OWN TO ADD THE HORSE BRAINS SPICED WITH BUTE FOR YOUR EXTRA ENJOYMENT. The note was signed, YOUR FAVORITE JOCKEY

____

Postscript

Reginald Dickens was down to his last horse.  Loose Cannon.  And he would soon have to find a buyer for him. He had briefly thought to reclaim Kippy's Kat.  But there was that goddamned paper with his signature on it, a copy of which had been sent to him priority mail from some town in Utah he never heard of. He thought of suing Michael Bloom and the Casino, but there was the question of the cursed paper he had signed to the kill buyer. Reginald Dickens was well on the way to drinking himself to death.

Liza Dutworth was only too glad to be shed of a loser like Dickens. She returned to Britain and continued her career writing about the glories of Thoroughbred horse racing. Her adoring fans none the wiser, she continued to enjoy horsemeat steaks.

Anthony Vasques stayed at the ranch. He cared for his Kippy's Kat through her surgeries to fix her cracked seisamoid, slept with her at night in her stall. He dreamed of her having her first foal and maybe getting married and having a couple of kids to play with Kitty's future babies.

Madeleine gave Dickens her resignation and joined Michael to live at his ranch before the end of the year.  She was fed up with owners who forced her to drug, bleed, overtrain their horses.  She was sick of the many breakdowns and lies told to cover up the real reason for them.  And she couldn't imagine not being with Michael Bloom for the rest of her life.