Trees Inspire (eBook)

Chapter 5

Sleep didn’t come easily that night. When Rebecca closed her eyes, the image of Howard, his grotesquely contorted face staring straight ahead, appeared and lingered, despite her efforts to picture trees or flowers—or anything else. She thought about this poor man, alone and frightened. Even if he did set the fire, he didn’t deserve to die.

But why would he do such a thing? He lived in the barn. He had no place else to go.

Morning came, and with it her sense of guilt and shame.

Her grandmother, Mary, rescued her from her torment. “Rebecca, would you take me to get coffee? Folks may want to come inside after Howard’s burial.” Mary stood waiting at the front door dressed in her usual ankle-length black cotton skirt and long-sleeved blouse with an apron made from cotton feedbag cloth. Above her low-heeled shoes, her heavy black stockings clung to her legs. Her long braided hair was pulled back in a silver bun.

Eager to get away from the smell of the fire, Rebecca hitched up the wagon and helped her grandmother climb onto the seat. When they arrived at Zarker’s store, it was empty except for a group of men sitting in the back corner talking loudly. She was curious to hear if they were talking about the fire. Pretending to be interested in buying something, she said, “Grandma, I’ll be in the back to see if there’s any new bolts of cotton while you buy the coffee. Please wait for me.”

As she got nearer, the words ‘fire’ and ‘squaw’ slammed against Rebecca’s ears. Not already. Can’t believe how quickly news travels in this town.

Rebecca hid behind the bolts of cloths and heard a raspy voice say, “So, what happened at the Wagner farm? First the barn burned down and then the hired man hung himself. What’s going on over there? It’s bad enough they have that squaw hanging around all the time.”

Another deep voice responded. “Yep, maybe she set the fire. Can’t trust those Indians. They sneak around not making a sound—just show up when you least expect it.”

Rebecca knew the old geezer. He minded everyone’s business but his own. His body odor wafted toward her, making her holds her nose. Probably hadn’t taken a bath in a month. A small, skinny man with a wad of tobacco in his cheek chimed in, his Pennsylvania Dutch accent thickening his words. “Isn’t dat old Mary Vagner over there? Mary and Choseph Vagner? Have you ever hert of a stoopider thing?”

The other two men mumbled something Rebecca couldn’t hear, then laughed until one of them coughed up phlegm and hawked it into a spittoon. Rebecca swallowed and stifled a gag. The skinny man continued. “Dit she marry dat fat red-haired bastard years ago chust to say ‘Mary and Choseph’ like dey was holy?”

Rebecca felt the blood rush to her head but stayed hidden. They were nothing but mean-mouthed old men. So what if she married a man named Joseph? The only time that old geezer could have seen her grandfather in town was years ago when he sold their tobacco crop. And they didn’t know Back So Straight or what a brilliant healer she was.

A few moments later, Mr. Zarker came out from behind the wooden counter. “All right fellas, that’s enough. The Wagners are decent, hardworking people. Time for you to gossip somewhere else.”

The old men mumbled as they walked between the narrow aisles of cloth and kitchenware until they reached the front of the store. Glaring at Mary without saying a word, one of them bumped her elbow before he slammed the door behind him.

When Rebecca came out from behind the bolts, she took her grandmother’s arm. “Thank you, Mr. Zarker. Here’s the money for the coffee.”

Shoving the money in a drawer under the counter, Zarker said to the women, “Don’t pay those old-timers no mind. They love to gossip.”

Just as Rebecca and Mary reached the front of the store, a man dressed in a tweed suit with a matching vest and white shirt opened the door. “Good morning, ladies.” He took off his hat and placed it against his chest. “May I ask if this is a good place to get some information?”

“It may be.” Rebecca pointed to Mr. Zarker. “This is the owner. I’m sure he knows just about everything in this town.”

But before the storekeeper responded, the man said, “My name’s Hugh Eastman. I’m trying to find out where the fire was two nights ago. My family and I are spending summers here in McAlisterville—our new house is just west of town and we smelled the smoke.”

“I can answer that question. I’m Rebecca Wagner. Our barn burned down and everything in it, including one of our horses—and my brother was burned trying to rescue them,” blurted Rebecca, trying to control her emotions. “Thank God it didn’t spread to our cabin or out in the fields where our other animals are kept for the summer.”

The man took a monogrammed handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his forehead. “That’s too bad. Would it be all right if I stopped by to see for myself and ask if there’s anything your family needs?” He held Rebecca and her grandmother in a steady gaze.

“Of course… but it would be best if you wait until tomorrow.”

Rebecca turned the wagon toward the farm in the distance—the flat shell of a barn barely visible. The two women rode past a mound of earth beside the newly dug grave nestled in the family graveyard. Old tombstones, some black with age, some tiny and barely visible, contrasted the surrounding white picket fence with purple-blue morning glories climbing up each wooden post. In the distance Elwood and Gary appeared beside the woodshed where they nailed the last few boards together for Howard’s coffin, while Grandpa and Grandma Wagner watched from the porch.

The women pulled up beside the woodshed. Mary took the coffee into the cabin while Rebecca walked toward the meadow. No use standing around to hear father and Gary argue like they always did.

As she expected, the arguing began. Her father pointed to the small wooden barrel of nails while Gary stood with his hands on his hips. Elwood said, “Quit dragging your feet. Get hammering. Let’s get this the hell over with as soon as possible.”

Gary spit on the ground, took his hammer and pounded the first nail, only to drop the tool from his bandaged hands. “Damn, hurts too much. Can’t do it.”

“Never mind.” Elwood shaded his eyes and scanned the meadow before yelling, “Rebecca. Come here and help me.”

Though she wanted to run in the opposite direction, Rebecca rushed to the woodshed, heart throbbing in her chest. She needed to help her father, but pitied her brother who stood watching, his face flushed and eyes narrowed in pain. She pounded the nails as though her life depended on it. Howard dead. Poor Gary—doing his best but his arms still hurting. Barn gone. Just let anyone dare to tell her she couldn’t pound nails as good as a man.

Howard’s body lay on the floor in the parlor where he and Gary moved it yesterday after Dr. Headings, the local doctor, pronounced the man dead. Jane and Mary had bathed him and changed his soiled clothes. Even though they worked as quickly as possible, their noses couldn’t escape the odors of urine and feces.

Still tormented by the way he confronted the farmhand, Elwood snapped at his wife. “Quit fussing with that cloth and get the coffin ready. Ain’t got much time till things start to stink worse than the manure pile.”

The two women hurriedly lined the simple pine box with feedbag cloth. They stood aside while Gary and Elwood struggled to lift Howard’s stiff body into the coffin. His neck had ligature marks and his tongue protruded from the side of his mouth. Jane held her hand over her eyes. “I can’t stand to see his purple face again. Poor Howard.” Once she composed herself, she said to Rebecca, “the flowers.”

Rebecca placed a handful of wildflowers on top of Howard’s chest and quickly drew her hand away. Memories haunted her. Memories of the corncrib… hearing the eerie cawing of the crows… the ladder leaning against the boards… Howard’s dark shadow on the wall… his body hanging. Why did he kill himself? Why did she have to find him? Why her?

After Elwood placed the lid on the coffin, he nailed it shut. The crisp bang of his hammer echoed against the mountains. Squeezing her eyes closed and holding her hands over her ears, Rebecca tried to block everything out. When she felt someone gently press against her shoulder, she opened her eyes. Gary stood next to her, his face stoic. Rebecca smelled the witch hazel bandages on his arms. More memories flooded her mind. The burning barn… her brother trapped inside… the horse jumping back into the inferno… the sound of it screaming.

Gary’s muffled voice brought her back to the present moment. “Hey, people are staring at you.”

Finally, she realized she had been daydreaming. Neighbors from the nearby farms stood close by. Only a dozen or so bothered to pay their respects—somber-faced farmers and their wives who barely knew the deceased man, but came anyway. They listened as the young preacher from the Evangelical church where the Wagners worshiped every Sunday read from Genesis Chapter three, verse 19. “In the...