Authors: Shirley Raye Redmond
Amanda's Beau (12 page)
Suddenly, a large portion of the far wall simply crumbled at their feet. Coughing and shielding their eyes, they ducked their heads to one side. When the dust had settled, Nate sputtered, "Gil, are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he choked. Hearing the boys hollering from up above, Gil called back to them, "We're okay! Part of a wall collapsed, but we're all right."
Nate gripped his forearm. "Gil, look!" The crumbled wall left a large hole, revealing another chamber next to the one they were in. "This is unbelievable!" Nate exclaimed, his tone awestruck. He peered into the adjoining chamber, his lamp held high.
"What is it?" Gil demanded, his heart pounding with excitement.
"Look." Nate stepped aside so Gil could peer into the newly exposed chamber. Three skeletons, placed on their sides with knees drawn up to their chests, lay in the center of the small room. They were covered with blankets made from dark feathers.
"I'm guessing turkey feathers," Nate said. "I'll know for sure when I make a closer examination."
"Over there, Nate." Gil pointed to the arrows, primitive axes, and digging sticks that had been buried with the dead. Nate nodded and squatted down to examine the skeletons more closely. Gingerly, he pulled back one of the blankets.
"Look at this," he said. The human remains were draped with ropes of shell beads that wrapped around the skeleton's neck and hung all the way down to the thighbones. Hundreds of quartzite arrowheads and a collection of small but fine earthenware pots were lined up around his body.
"He must have been a chief," Gil surmised.
"Or a priest, maybe," Nate suggested, with unconcealed pleasure. "He was somebody important, that's for sure. This is a real treasure trove." Cautiously, he stepped over the debris and into the chamber, illuminating it with his lamp. Gil followed.
"This is an incredible find. When word gets out, this place will soon be swarming with pot-hunters and souvenir pinchers. Think of the damage they'll do," Nate said. "I need a shed or barn â something. And I need it right away. I want to get these remains out of here as soon as possible, before the rest of the structure comes down, crushing them to dust. First thing tomorrow, you and I will come back here andâ¦"
Gil interrupted him. "I'm a school teacher, remember?"
Nate made a gesture of impatience and muttered something under his breath. "I'll pay you not to teach school for the next couple of weeks," he said crossly.
"It doesn't work that way, Nate," Gil replied with a humorless chuckle. Part of him was amused by his friend's casual disregard for anyone's interests but his own. Another part of him resented it. Teaching was important â more so than archeological pursuits, Gil had decided not long ago. While he was helping to mold the future generation of Americans, Nate was delving into the past. There was an important difference.
"I need to get back to town and hire some men right away. You get snow here, I suppose? I want to get as much done as possible before the weather turns," Nate said. "I need to take some measurements and do a basic survey. But the more artifacts like these I can obtain, the better it will be when it comes to funding the project."
"I'll take you to see Mr. Schwarzkopf at the mercantile," Gil offered. "He'll be able to suggest some men looking for work, I'm sure."
As soon as they climbed back up the ladder, Gil found Rex and Jerry sitting on the ground, Indian-style, waiting for their return. Both boys scrambled to their feet. "Was the skeleton still down there, Mr. Phillips? What'd you think of it?" Jerry asked.
Ignoring him, Nate took an envelope out of his pocket and a stub of a pencil. He appeared to be making notes or compiling a list.
"We found three more in the next chamber," Gil told them. He laughed as he watched their faces light up. "The wall collapsed and when we peered inside, there they were."
"More skeletons." Rex sighed with breathless wonder.
"That's almost as good as buried treasure," Jerry said, nodding.
"I'll take that," Gil offered, holding out a hand to relieve Jerry of Nate's coat. "You two better go home now. Mr. Phillips and I are going back to town. Why not get an early start on your homework? And the spelling bee is coming up. You'll want to prepare for that too."
"Sure thing, Mr. Gladney," Jerry said, sprinting away toward the automobile.
Rex lingered uncertainly. Seizing his opportunity, he took a step closer to Nate. "Mr. Phillips, I want a digging job when you start your official excavation," he blurted out.
Nate glanced down at him, amused. "Do you now?" he drawled.
Rex nodded. His bright, eager eyes and disheveled blond hair made him appear younger than he was, Gil thought. He was such a good kid. He appreciated the way the boy was willing to shoulder his many responsibilities.
"Yes, I want to work for you. I am the man in my family now. There are two women and a baby who depend upon me to take care of them."
Nate flashed an inquiring glance at Gil. "And who takes care of you, young man?" he asked. Gil could tell his friend was mildly intrigued.
"I take care of myself," Rex said, drawing himself up to his full height. Glancing sidelong at his teacher, he added, "Mr. Gladney will tell you I'm a hard worker. Will you hire me?"
"What's your name?"
"Rex Stewart." He put out his hand like a man. Nate shook it. Gil approved of his friend's manner in treating the fatherless boy. He admired Rex's determination to help his family too and tried not to make comparisons between him and the less motivated Ozzie Lancaster.
"I'm sure you are a hard worker, Rex Stewart," Nate replied. "But I won't be bringing an excavation team here yet. First, I need to do a preliminary survey of the settlement to determine how detailed an excavation will be required. This sort of digging is difficult and delicate work. It's not like digging a trench or a well," he added. "We must shovel through the debris carefully so as not to damage any artifacts or the walls of the dwellings."
"I will be extra careful," Rex promised.
"Er⦠yes, but excavating can be dangerous too," Nate protested. "I've been at many a site where the workers had to flee from crashing rocks and splintering beams. I cannot hire a boy to do this sort of dangerous work."
"Rex, go on home now," Gil said gently. He could see the disappointment on the boy's face and in his slumping posture. He knew how eager Rex must be to earn extra money. The Stewart family was surely overwhelmed with financial difficulties and mounting medical expenses. He thought of Amanda Dale and longed to relieve her burden somehow. "If there's anything you can do later on, I'm sure Mr. Phillips will let you know." Gil fixed Nate with a meaningful stare.
Nate was quick to respond to this suggestion. "Yes, indeed, if something comes up, you'll be the first one I seek out, Rex Stewart. That's a promise. In the meantime, I've got to get some men with wagons."
"Rex, I just thought of something," Gil spoke up. "What did your father keep in that old chicken house next to the barn?"
"Nothing â not since he moved all the hens into the new building," Rex said.
"Nate, you need a storage shed of some sort, right?" Gil asked.
"C'mon, Gil, I need something bigger than an old chicken coop," Nate said, rolling his eyes.
"This is not your average coop," Gil assured him. "It's big. And it's weather proof with plenty of space inside to store your artifacts and supplies. Right?" He looked to Rex for confirmation.
The boy gave a quick nod. "Sure, Mr. Phillips. You could keep lots of stuff in there."
"Would your mother be willing to rent it to me for a month or so, maybe even longer? I might end up leaving some stuff here through the winter as well," Nate said.
"You could talk to my Aunt Mandy about it, but I'm sure she'll say yes," Rex replied, his eyes bright with anticipation. "And I'd watch over everything. I'd be like a sentry guard."
Grinning, Nate ruffled the boy's fair hair and said, "All right, Rex. I'll come over to speak with your aunt as soon as your teacher and I visit the man at the mercantile."
****
With both hands, Amanda gripped the sheets hanging on the line.They were dry, finally. So were the diapers. She hated doing laundry once the weather grew colder. Her hands and forearms seemed to stay damp and chilled all day. If the wind kicked up, like it had done late this morning, a fine sheen of dust and grit peppered the wet linens. What she needed was an indoor clothesline, she mused, as she plucked off the clothes pegs and dropped the linens into the large wicker laundry basket. She needed to hurry. Minnie would be waking up soon from her afternoon nap and wailing for her bottle. From the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of movement and caught a glimpse of something white. Bonita emerged from around the corner of the house. The dog clenched a white hen in her mouth, its innards hanging out.
"Bonita!" Amanda cried out, alarmed.
The dog dropped the dead chicken and came forward hesitantly, her head tucked down. Her broken tail drooped. Amanda could see feathers and dark sticky blood at the corner of the animal's mouth.
"Oh, Bonita," she choked. "What have you done?" The clothes pegs fell from her hand to the ground.
A matter that had been troubling her for the past couple of nights suddenly became clear. Amanda had wondered why, if something had been preying on the chickens, the dog never barked in the night or gave chase in the dark. Now she understood. Bonita was the culprit. It made sense. Her father had told her once, when she was a girl, how dogs and even cats sometimes returned to their old ways â their wild ways. Once they developed a taste for blood and killing, they became difficult to control, no longer completely tame.
Now, staring down at the dog, Amanda's eyes filled with hot tears. "Oh, girl, how could you?" She choked back a sob as she picked up the hen's mangled carcass. Bonita wagged her tail in a feeble way and regarded Amanda in an eager, hopeful way.
Amanda hung her head down, covered her face with one red, chapped hand, and cried. Soon she couldn't stop. It was as though a dam had given way. Feelings of anger and helplessness overwhelmed her. She was angry with Ella for being sick and angry with Beulah Johnson for being such a nosey busybody. Her parents and Randall Stewart could be added to the list for dying. Thinking about the chickens made her mad too â those stinking, dirty, stupid chickens that had stirred up Bonita's wildest instincts. What was she going to tell Rex? There was no cure for blood lust. The dog now couldn't be trusted, not entirely. Would Rex notice if she locked Bonita in the barn each night?
Her tears spent at last, Amanda splashed her tear-stained face with water from the pump nearby. She cleaned up Bonita's muzzle, but didn't know what to do next. Later when the dog tried to follow her into the house, Amanda shooed her away. Bonita looked as hurt as a dog can look. Somehow, she knows I no longer trust her. Amanda's heart felt heavy with sadness. So did Bonita's, she guessed.
When Rex came home early from school, chattering with excitement about the arrival of Mr. Phillips, Amanda spooned up some split pea soup for him, listening in a distracted way.
"They are coming here later on to look at the old chicken house, Aunt Mandy. Mr. Gladney and Mr. Phillips â and Mr. Phillips is going to pay." Rex slurped his soup and fixed his glowing eyes upon her.
"What in the world does he want with the old chicken house?" she asked, holding Minnie cradled in the crook of her arm.
"He needs storage space for his supplies and for the artifacts that he digs up." In between slurps, Rex rambled on about Mr. Phillips, his amazing automobile, and the discovery of three more skeletons.
Amanda watched as he pinched off a piece of bread and fed it to Bonita under the table. The dog wagged her tail, eagerly accepting the tidbit. Amanda had been keeping a watchful eye on the animal ever since she'd followed Rex into the house. But she hadn't mentioned her fears about Bonita being the chicken killer yet. It would break Rex's young heart. There had to be a way to bring up the subject somehow.
"Hey, Rex, have you ever heard of a cat eating eggs or stalking hens?" she asked, keeping her tone casual.
"Sure, Aunt Mandy. Cats get blood lust too. My dad said cats stalk birds, roosters, and hens â anything small with feathers or fur. They even bring home baby rabbits."
Blood lust. Just thinking of it made her shiver with dread. "Can you stop them from doing that?" Amanda wanted to know. "Maybe someone's cat is coming over here at night and getting the hens." She watched his face closely, wondering if he suspected Bonita of preying upon the chickens.
Rex shrugged. "I don't know. Pa once told me if a dog becomes an egg eater, you're supposed to give it milk and raw egg mixed together with lots of black pepper. Lots. That's supposed to prevent any more egg-eating," he replied. "But he never said if it would work on cats too, and I don't know what you can do if a pet gets blood lust. Shoot it, I guess, especially if it starts biting people. They can't be trusted after that, you know."
Amanda's heart pounded, and her stomach roiled. The thought of ordering Rex to shoot his beloved pet made her feel cold all over. Would Bonita ever bite Rex? Or someone else? What if the dog bit Minnie, who was so small and helpless? She placed the sleeping baby back into her cradle near the stove and went to the kitchen door and shooed the dog outside. Rex cleaned up his soup bowl and put his empty dish in the sink.
"So why'd you want to know about cats chasing chickens?" he asked. "Do you think a cat has been getting after ours?"
"I was just wondering," Amanda said lamely. "I haven't seen any cats around or anything else that might be preying upon the chickens."
Rex accepted this with a shrug. "I'm going to go do my chores now. I'll keep an eye out for Mr. Gladney and Mr. Phillips too," he said pausing at the kitchen door.
"Go on then," Amanda replied. But who was going to keep an eye on the dog?