Thing With Feathers (9781616634704) (36 page)

Something happened there. It had taken months of gentle prodding and nudging, but Wendell had the feeling Victor was finally taking to him. He’d prayed for it. He loved that boy. Every time he looked at him he saw Cindy. And even though the two were separated when the boy was just four years old, he had her mannerisms, her way of speaking, and her eyes.

Wendell broke into a huge grin, lifted his paper and slapped his thigh with it. “Yes, sir! It will be swell, Victor! I will make it the best Christmas you ever remember.”

Chapter 80

December, 1941

Cloverdale, Oregon

I
t had taken Sean’s attorney, Charles Reynolds, a few months to settle Blair’s financial and child welfare matters with the courts in Oregon and Illinois, and to clear Victor of any wrongdoing in the killing of Julius Bowman.

Sean knew Victor was living with Wendell in Chicago. Wendell sent along regular updates about the boy. Victor didn’t know he was not wanted by the law for murder.

Shortly after Victor arrived in Chicago, Wendell had sent word so that Sean would not worry for the boy. More recently, the two men had a long distance conversation, and it was decided not to tell Victor about the Alter Ego Rule of defense, or at least not yet. The men reasoned that Victor was thriving in Chicago. He had a future there. There was no future for Victor in Cloverdale. The boy was not raised on the farm, and he had no knowledge of, or desire to, run Sean’s farm for the rest of his life. Sean knew his weakened heart could give at any moment, and there were no other family around for Victor. The Marshall’s were all gone. Victor, who had legally changed his last name to Marshall, would be the only one left. Until he turned eighteen, it would be best for Victor if he stayed in Chicago, they’d decided.

The day Sean signed over guardianship papers in Charles’ office, he’d cried. Sean was officially a very lonely man.

“This was Will’s enterprise and he died. I don’t have any family left.”

Bierlitz nodded somberly that he understood. It was all the same to him as long as he was getting the gristmill. The tiny mill had made a fortune for the Marshall’s over the past decade. It seemed like everything they touched turned to gold, like Midas. But there was a cost, and a steep one at that. Given a choice between fortune and family, well, Kyle Bierlitz was no good without his family. ‘Course Sean Marshall was never given any such choice, Bierlitz was certain. Kyle’s tiny wife and children were his life. But he was hoping he would be blessed with both family and fortune, with the gristmill operation.

“All I ask, Kyle, is that you toss a loaf or two our way each week with your payment. That’ll help Lorette out some with her workload. I have left instructions with my attorney that if I fail to outlive those payments, the mill is yours, free and clear.”

Kyle Bierlitz almost choked. “Are you…really Sean?”

“I chose you because I know you’re a Christian man and you have eight children to feed. This mill should do real good for your family.”

Bierlitz hoped the mill would bring him some wealth. Eight children is a lot of mouths to feed, which was why Marshall was willing to let it go to him so cheap. Marshall could have easily asked three times the amount Kyle was paying. And now he was being told by the man that financial obligations would cease when he did. The good people of Tillamook County had long agreed that the Marshall’s were kind-hearted folks. Sean Marshall sure made a believer of Kyle Bierlitz on that day. He shook Sean’s hand with firm appreciation.

Sean checked the mailbox on the way up to the house. He could smell Lorette’s roasting turkey, and his stomach growled. Sean had not bothered to stop to eat all day and it was late afternoon already. He flipped through the few envelopes, noting one from the Baptist church in Tillamook, probably another request for donations. He flipped to the next one, and his heart skipped a beat. A pale pink envelope with lettering by a feminine hand. Rational thought told him it could not be from Blair. He’d buried his beloved wife months earlier. Still, he tore it open urgently. Seconds later, his heart hurt so powerfully that he had to drop the remaining mail and clutch his chest.

Well, what did I expect? Rebecca is a lovely woman, still young and vital. And her bed is cold.
Sean sat on the porch step and stared out over the green pastures, watching the Holsteins graze and lounge lazily. They had not a care in the world. “God, please make me one of those cows next time,” he said to the clouds above him. He picked the invitation up and looked it over.

She was to wed Elrod’s younger brother, Evan, on Valentine’s Day. Sean supposed he should be happy for Rebecca. He would be if it was truly what she wanted. Her happiness was more important to Sean than his own.

Chapter 81

F
ebruary 14, 1942 rolled in on 80-degree sunshine. In a haste of last-minute preparation, the Tjadens decided to move the small ceremony to where the bath houses once stood, on Tjaden Hill, overlooking the bay. It was a supreme day. The bride was beautiful, and Evan Tjaden appeared to be the happiest man on earth. Sean attended with Lorette on his arm. Lorette still felt responsible for Will’s death, and she was feeling rather lonely herself, so she fawned over Sean twenty-six hours a day. And Sean stopped minding the constant attention so much, since he had become such a lonely man himself. Besides, the woman could cook, and cook she did. Lorette had gained twenty pounds since Will’s death.

Rebecca had invited Charles Reynolds to the wedding, too. They’d had several meetings over Sean’s estate and the next thing, he was representing the whole Tjaden clan. But Rebecca intimated to Sean, secretly, the real reason she asked Charles to come: he was a successful bachelor who she believed had eyes for Lorette. It seemed Lorette had eyes for Charles as well. By the time the reception had wound down, Lorette and Charles were slow dancing all alone to the musicians’ guitars.

The bride and groom had left for their honeymoon, which they would spend in Seattle. Sean asked Charles if he would mind seeing Lorette home—it was the least he could do for Lorette. Besides, he felt like taking a walk.

Visiting a graveyard in order to gain piece of mind might seem odd to some folks. Sean had gained solace from the place ever since Blair took him for a tour there. That was a lifetime ago. He walked slowly by the headstones, taking time to read each one. Some made him feel sadness for the loved ones who so plainly suffered with their losses. Others made him smile, like the little stone next to a giant one for a woman who died at an enviable age. The little one was for her dog. According to the inscription, Cece died only days before her master. Maybe after ninety years, the old woman decided it pointless to go on without her best friend. Those were the kinds of things Sean thought about when he visited the Pioneer Cemetery.

He stopped in front of an average-sized headstone with beautiful carvings in marble about the edges, and he dropped to his knees. The more masculine headstone on the far side could not escape Sean’s attention either. That was Will’s final resting place. It was still hard for him to believe that his brother was gone. On the opposite side, behind Sean, was Blair’s resting place. Her headstone was a travertine marble slab, with “HOPE” inscribed at its top. The remainder of the stone was inscribed with the first stanza of Blair’s favorite poem, followed by her name and the dates of her life. Blair had been born on September 1, in the year 1911, and she’d died 30 years later on her birthday. A small cry escaped him. He gazed at his father’s marker with eyes blurred by tears and spoke softly.

“Father, I’m losing everything, everyone. I think maybe it’s me who’s lost.”

Seconds ticked by. Maybe he’d hoped his father’s voice would reach out to him. The breeze blew the boughs of the great spruce trees, and the only sound that came back to Sean was the rustling of needles overhead. Sean looked up at the sky.

“Why are you doing this to me!” he shouted at the heavens. His shoulders sagged, and then they shook lightly.

“Father, you said there would be little victories. I have lost my parents, my wife, my child, my brother…I had to watch Rebecca marry Evan today. I couldn’t saddle her with an invalid husband, Pa. She’d already lost one husband. I think that was the right thing, the best thing for Beck. But, Pa, I have nothing left.

“I know I’ve lived as a righteous man. I deserved a victory, just one little victory. You said it might not come soon enough to suit me. Well, I waited. And while I waited, I lost my wife and Rebecca’s married another. My son had to grow up under the evil tutelage of the preacher. It is a sad thing to admit, Pa.

“I have grown sickly and weak. I’m angry, Father. My heart is sick and I’m very angry. I don’t want to feel like this any longer. Please help me overcome.”

He’d been kneeling for a long time, and his legs were tiring of the position. He put a hand down to push himself up, and it touched something cool and damp. Sean whipped his head around, and there sitting in front of Blair’s headstone, was a dog trying to get his head under Sean’s hand by pushing at it with his nose. Sean didn’t know much about dogs. The family had never owned one. But he knew he need not be threatened by this pup. It was wagging its tail and begging for a petting.

“Hey, where did you come from, fella? Oh. Excuse me. Ma’am? Are you lost?”

His fingers tousled her ears. She was a pretty dog, medium-sized with long, wavy black hair and not a speck of color anywhere. She was a bit skinny for her size, and her coat, stuck here and there with burrs and twigs, looked like she’d seen better times.

“I’ll bet you’re hungry, aren’t you?”

The dog barked once and wagged her tail again. She’d been somebody’s pet once, but not for any time recently by the looks of her. Perhaps her master had been made a guest of the cemetery and the poor girl did not know where else to go. Sean knew just how she felt.

Sean looked back at his father’s headstone. “A dog, Father? This is how you help me?” He looked back down at the attention-starved animal by his side. “Well, it’s something, I guess. Thank you.” To the dog, Sean looked thoughtful before saying, “I guess you’re gonna need a name, huh? How about Cinders, because you’re all black? Do you like that?” Sean thought Blair would have approved of the name.

The dog barked and wagged again.

“Well, come on, Cinders,” Sean called to her as he walked back toward his home, his gait a little lighter.