Never Ending Spring Page 11

  The cold steel on Randy Farley's neck made him jump. He scolded himself for being so careless and not keeping a closer watch around him. He always arrived at the bank a half-hour earlier than the first employee since it gave him time to schedule the day's activities and to pray for the ones behind in their mortgage payments. Now it was going to cost him his life.

  The man had not said a word but kept shoving notes under Randy's nose. The first one read;

  This is a holdup, just act natural.

  If you try anything, I will kill you.

  His nerves jangling, the bank president fumbled with the lock and dropped the keys. Snatching them off the sidewalk, he tried again, succeeding this time. As they entered the bank, the robber pulled a paper bag and another note from his pocket. Randy's eyes focused on the writing.

  Fill the bag with 20's, 50's, and 100's.

  Don't tell me the safe won't open or that the town marshal will be making his rounds.

  I know both are lies. Now make it fast.

  After stuffing the bills into the paper bag and tying Randy up, the robber made his getaway through the back door.

  Fortunately, either in a hurry or very carelessly, he had tied the knot loose enough that it proved insufficient to hold a desperate man. Not bothering to untie his feet, Randy hopped to a phone. He had just turned the crank when a sound made him whirl around. Standing just inside the back door, the sun silhouetting him like a medieval knight, was Billy Bob, gun drawn, paper bag in his left hand.

  "Billy Bob! Thank God! How did you know?"

  "I was remembering something my father said. Always complete a job and you are paying me to the end of the month."

  "It's all here," Randy said excitedly, pounding Billy Bob on the back. "You're a hero son, just like your father."

  "Not quite sir. I couldn't catch the robber. But he did drop the bag and this paper."

  Billy Bob held out a crumbled piece of paper.

  "It's one of the notes," Randy said.

  "Yes sir. I believe if we compare this with the one sent to Mr. Johnson, we'll discover Eric robbed the bank to have money to make his getaway."

  "That we will. But the state police say the note in Jack's mailbox was a forgery."

  Billy Bob's mouth dropped open and his face went white.

  At 9:15, the Indiana State Police stopped a car on Hwy 54, two miles west of Sullivan, bearing the description Billy Bob had given them. The driver, a salesman for a food supplier, offered no resistance but claimed no knowledge of the crime.

  "Sure I was in Elm Grove. I call on the restaurant there this same time every week," he said, his voice trembling. A thorough search revealed a handgun and several paper bags of the same type used in the robbery.

  The next morning, Billy Bob spread the Sullivan County Democrat out on his kitchen table. Above a picture of Billy Bob and Randy Farley, the headline read, 'HERO COP REHIRED BY TOWN'. A grin spread over Billy Bob's face.

  The reporter quoted Randy. "We made a mistake letting him go and we feel very fortunate to have William Robert Strickland still living in our town."

  Underneath was another article: Sheriff To Make Town Marshal Special Investigator. 'Today Bob Curry named Town Marshall, William Robert Strickland, as a Special Deputy. One of Mr. Strickland's duties will be the investigation of the Elm Grove murders.

  Chapter 19

  Three days after the fire, Jack stood in the freezing morning mist. The charred remains of the barn looked even worse than he remembered. Life had taken a deadly turn in the last six months and he felt himself going down for the count.

  Walking to where the tack room used to be, he stooped down to pick up a buckle. It was all that was left of the harness from Blackie, the horse he had purchased when he first started farming.

  The horse hadn't only been a means of preparing and planting the soil, he was also a friend. Some days when Jack ate his noon meal in the field, Blackie would stand by waiting for a piece of his sandwich like a dog. When Jack bought his first tractor, Blackie's heart was broken. As he passed the pasture on his way to the field, Blackie whinnied so piteously that Jack had opened the gate to let him follow. Reaching the field, Jack had lowered the plows into the ground, giving the tractor full throttle. Blackie tried to follow but he couldn't keep up. In the end, Jack slowed the tractor down to Blackie's pace. The horse continued to follow the tractor the rest of his life. One morning, Jack went to the barn and found Blackie still lying where he had gone to sleep, never to wake again. He had cried like a baby at the loss of his friend.

  Rubbing the buckle on his pants leg, Jack stuffed it deep in his pocket of his overalls. Turning back to the house, he brushed a tear from his eye. The dozer would be here at nine. He still had a couple of hours.

  With two minutes to spare, Nick Bailey pulled his dump truck into the barnyard. Loaded on the lowboy trailer was the small bulldozer.

  "Sure sorry to hear about your trouble," Nick said, loosening the chains holding the Cat on. "Hear tell you didn't have any insurance."

  "No," Jack said, becoming defensive. "With everything else going on, I forgot to send in the payment."

  "Well, don't you worry about me," he said, adding, "You just pay me when you get it."

  Jack wouldn't have let him do the work if he had known Nick wasn't going to charge him. They worked the rest of the day, carefully avoiding the concrete footers. Nick pushed the burned boards into a pile where Jack poured gas on them and set them on fire.

  Ruth was always nervous when Jack was using gasoline. Several years before, he had caught his clothing on fire when the gas splashed on him. He had put the fire out in seconds but he couldn't hide the charred pants leg from her.

  From behind a small rise in the south pasture, a man watched, fingering the cigarette lighter in his pocket.

  ****

  Randy Farley was in the middle of a phone call to a farmer behind in his bills when Jack knocked on the open door. Nodding him to a chair, he tried to conclude the conversation.

  "Yes, yes. I know it's been a rough year for you," he said, looking at the papers on the desk before him. "Tell you what I'll do, Frank. I can extend your loan another six months interest free. Maybe by then you'll be back on your feet."

  He paused. "You're welcome. Glad I could be of service." Randy hung up.

  "Jack, it's a pleasure to see you," smiling, he stood up and shook Jack's hand warmly. "What can I do for you?"

  Jack felt like a small boy in the principal's office. He hated asking for money but he had no choice.

  "Well," he began, "You know my barn burned here a couple of weeks ago."

  "Tragic, simply tragic," Randy said, shaking his head.

  "Well, I need to borrow to replace it," Jack said, face reddening.

  "How much do you need, Jack?" Randy asked, reaching into a drawer and laying out a contract on the desk.

  Taking a deep breath, Jack said, "Eight thousand dollars."

  Randy never blinked an eye. Leaning forward, he wrote the figure on the form sliding it across to Jack.

  "Just sign it here and I'll write you a check."

  "Don't you want me to list some collateral?"

  "Jack, we've known each other for over forty years and every time you've borrowed from this bank, you've paid it off long before the note was due. I wouldn't even have you sign the contract if the Board of Directors didn't make me."

  Emerging from the bank, Jack felt better than he had in a long time. Randy watched him go, then reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his checkbook and wrote a personal check for the interest on Frank Moore's loan.

  Walking into Clem's Hardware, Jack noticed a sign taped to the front window in bold letters.

  Old fashioned barn raising at the Johnson farm, Feb. 2.

  Everyone welcome. Bring your saws, hammer, and a covered dish.

  Please leave your children at home.

  ****

  On the appointed day, Jack rose at four. After double-checking the piles of lumber p
rotected by canvas covers, he entered the kitchen to find Ruth fully dressed, frying bacon.

  "You didn't need to get up so early. They won't be here for another two and a half hours," Jack said, plopping down in a chair.

  "I'm not going to sleep while you do your work and mine too," she said, handing him a cup of steaming coffee. "Be careful, it's hot."

  At 6:30, the first pickup rolled in. Three men piled out and started unloading tools from the bed of the truck.

  "Gonna be a good day to work," one of them said to no one in particular, glancing at the stars.

  Jack couldn't believe how fast the barn rose from a pile of disjointed lumber. By ten, the frame lay on the ground. Attaching ropes to the beams, a dozen men pulled it upright while others propped boards against it to hold the frame in place.

  In the kitchen, Ruth coordinated the baking, cooking of desserts, and constant making and distribution of coffee to the crews.

  Emily was not allowed in the kitchen or outside so she wandered the house, spending most of her day watching the men from her bedroom window or holding tea parties for her dolls. At twelve, Ruth rang the dinner bell to call the men in. Soon they were seated in the kitchen, dining room, and the living room at tables borrowed from the church. The chatter was almost deafening, but they became silent when Jacob Turner called out in a commanding voice from the kitchen.

  "Men, I know our fathers and grandfathers would be proud of the work we've done this morning. But we still got a ways to go. So I'm gonna ask Randy Green if he'll say grace and then we can dig into this delicious food."

  Jacob wedged in between two beefy men as Randy rose.

  Every head in all three rooms bowed.

  "Heavenly Father, we thank thee for the opportunity of helping our neighbor and friend, Jack Johnson," Randy's voice creaked. "Thank you for this food, Amen." He sat down abruptly, his face red.

  No one seemed to notice Randy's embarrassment as the talking resumed. Ruth and the other women were kept busy refilling plates and glasses. Anxious to finish, the men wolfed down pieces of apple, cherry, and blackberry pie and were back at work by 12:30.

  As they covered the skeletal structure with 1 x 10's, the barn began to take shape. Jacob and Randy nailed boards onto the floor of the loft as quickly as Bill Skinner and Ernie Wilson could cut them. Tom Hadly had been an electrician in Cincinnati before coming to Elm Grove and opening his own store. Stringing electrical wire, he installed lights and receptacles.

  Jack, not used to accepting help from anyone, worked diligently all afternoon without a break.

  Billy Bob, inept at any carpentry skills, acted as a gopher. When the last pickup was gone, Jack and Ruth stood together, silently looking at the new barn.

  Chapter 20

  Crossing the creek, the man carefully placed his feet on the stones embedded in the muddy bank. The covers over his moccasins made his feet look as though they were encased in a strange type of boot. Carrying the rifle he had used to kill Lonnie, he carefully approached the church, skirting the clearing. Dark, heavy snow clouds covered the sun making it seem later than the four o'clock hour.

  For a long time, the man stared at the spot where Kristie and Jim had fallen. Turning, he continued to the woods and came out at the Johnson farm. Seating himself on a stump, he waited.

  He didn't have long to wait as ten minutes later, Jack's old pickup came rambling up the road. As the vehicle came to a stop, the man raised the rifle and laid the crosshairs of the powerful scope on Jack's huge chest.

  Suddenly a thought came to him. He rejected it at first, then grinning, he lowered the rifle and melted back into the shadows. The man shook his head. The voices had started up again. "You're stupid! Stupid. Stupid. You should have killed him! You can't do anything right."

  "No, no I'm not. I've got a better idea."

  "You never had a good idea in your life. You can't do anything right. The old man knows it was you."

  "The police didn't. The... they...couldn't find anything and he won't either."

  "They don't have a dead daughter, do they? He'll find it. The one clue you left behind. He'll keep digging and digging and digging until he does. Then they'll parade you through the streets for everyone to see. They'll all know about you. They'll know about the kind of person you really are. They'll strap you in the electric chair. They may even let the old man throw the switch. Everybody will laugh at you while you burn and burn and burn."

  Falling to his knees, the man buried his head in his hands and covered his ears.

  "No! No! No!"

  The voice continued, "You'd better stop him before he finds it."

  "I'll stop him; you wait and see," he said, driving his fist into a nearby tree and skinning his knuckles.

  The next day, the man returned, his dark clothing making him a part of the landscape, merging with the trees and bushes.

  The thick, falling snow covered his tracks. Carrying the thick padded sack away from his body, he ran across the meadow, bending over and hoping to look more like an animal and less like a man.

  Barely making it in time, he hid behind a log as Ruth emerged from the house. Wiping her hands on her apron, she called in the direction of the barn.

  "Jack! Oh, Jack, supper."

  "Coming, Ruth," Jack said as he emerged from the barn.

  As they disappeared into the house, the man continued to lay behind the log. His body became cold and stiff as he waited till darkness fell. Venturing out of hiding, he crept around the edge of the frozen pond, then flattened himself against the back wall of the tool shed as the hens began squawking, only moving on to the house when they quieted.

  Always aware of the weight in the bag, he noticed there hadn't been any movement in the last half-hour. Cautiously he shook it, and an ominous sound came from inside, causing the man to jump.

  "All right, big fella, it won't be much longer," he whispered nervously.

  Jack needed a warning and he was going to get it.

  "Maybe it'll be the last one he ever gets," the man chuckled.

  Screened by the bushes, he raised his head and peeked into the living room window. Jack sat in an overstuffed chair reading the daily newspaper. Emily was on the floor at Jack's feet playing with her dolls. As the man watched, Ruth entered the room.

  "Come on Emily. Time for your bath."

  "But Gramps is going to read me a story," Emily protested.

  "Go get your bath, then I'll read to you," Jack said, smiling.

  "Okay," Emily said, skipping to the stairs. She was halfway up with Ruth behind her when she paused. "You won't ferget, will you, Gramps?"

  "No, honey, I won't forget."

  "Isn't that nice?" the man snarled.

  "Get him now, dummy, while he's alone. You'd better not mess this up."

  "Leave me alone."

  "If I leave you alone, you'll never do it."

  "Yes I will. I'm doing it right now."

  Stepping onto the porch, the man tested the boards. There was no answering creak. Jack had built the floor well. Pulling open the wooden screen door, the man put his hand on the knob.

  Jack still had his back to the door, the rustle of his newspaper covering the small groan of the hinges. Untying the top of the sack, the man dumped the rattlesnake on the throw rug of the entrance hall. Silently he closed the door and returned to his observation post at the window.

  Unnoticed, the huge rattler lay for several minutes absorbing the heat of the room. The man was about to lose hope when it began to move toward the living room. Jack's attention was still diverted as he read the want ads.

  "I got my book, Gramps."

  Jack turned, smiling, to see Emily coming down the stairs. She had a Bible storybook held high in one hand while she held onto the rail with the other. Then he froze. At the bottom of the stairs, coiled and ready to strike lay a huge rattlesnake! Head swaying and mouth open, venom dripped from its needle-like fangs. Its shaking tail reminded Jack of a small baby rattle, its small deadly eyes following
Emily's descent down the stairs.

  Jack opened his mouth but even as he did, he saw it was too late.

  "Emily!"

  The word came out as a scream. In a blur, the rattler struck, its fangs cutting through the thin cotton gown and tearing the flesh of Emily's upper thigh.

  "Ow! Ow! Ow!" Emily screamed. "Gramps, it's hurting me!" Ruth was wiping out the tub when she heard the screams.

  Running to the landing, she was met with a scene of horror. Jack held a piece of firewood in his hand and was pounding the rug while Emily inches away lay sobbing on the floor, her nightgown spotted with blood.