WWIV - Basin of Secrets (21 page)

She looked up at his old, tired eyes.
 

“You mean
we,
as in you and your husband, right?” Something in his expression caused her concern. She nodded slowly. “But not tonight. We can’t allow you to leave camp after dark. The last person who did never came back. Only the scouts go out at night. Understand?”
 

Sitting, she nodded again. “I’m just anxious to see my father, that’s all.” She stared at the fire in the corner.

“Well,” Frank replied, less stern, “he’s there and not going no place anytime soon. So get some rest tonight. I’ll fetch my daughter and she can put you up at her place. Her husband is gone tonight. He’s a scout.”
 

After making sure their guests were fed, comfortable, and in for the evening, Frank and Jed met in the center of the camp. “I told my daughter to keep an eye on that pair and not let them wander off,” Frank stated in a low hushed tone. Staring back at Jed, he pondered his next question. “Why didn’t you tell her everything? Not sure it’s her?”

Jed looked away, then back into Frank’s eyes directly. “If she is, she’ll know tomorrow. If she’s not, that gal over at Camp Nine will figure it out. Did you notice her reaction when she heard the name?” Frank nodded. “Well, we’ll let Camp Nine’s finest take care of it all tomorrow then.”
 

“Okay, you’re the boss,” Frank replied disappearing into the shadows of the night.

Jed watched him vanish. “Yeah, let’s try to remember that,” he said into the darkness.

Frank’s son-in-law led Betsi and Jeremy through the wilderness, chatting the entire way. Mostly he spoke with Jeremy, who was happy to have someone to talk to without getting his head bit off. Betsi watched the pair chat, pleased that the scout had taken the hint when she refused to even to respond to his “Good morning.”

“Sir, how much further?” Betsi called ahead.

“It’s Stuart, ma’am. And another mile or so,” he easily replied. “Stay on this trail and then left at the bottom of the lake.”

“Well, Stuart, don’t you think we can probably find it on our own from here?” she asked.
 

The scout stopped and surveyed the chilly morning woods. “If you prefer, that’s not a problem. But I don’t mind taking you right to the gate.”

Moving forward and taking her husband’s arm, Betsi gave their guide a small smile. “We’ll be fine. Thanks for your guidance. Your whole camp has been a great help. Please give my compliments to Mr. Fordham.”

The group split. Stuart turned and retraced his steps north, while Betsi and Jeremy continued on to the south. After a few moments of silence, Jeremy started in again.

“Why didn’t you like the fella, Bets? He seemed nice enough to me.”

Betsi kept moving, feeling the culmination of her trip at hand…
their
trip actually, she corrected herself. “We’re capable hikers, Jeremy. We don’t need a babysitter.” Stopping, she took a sip of water from her canteen. “It’s weird. I kept getting the feeling that those people back in Camp Eight didn’t believe us or something. It just had a strange feel to it.”

Jeremy shrugged off his wife’s worries. “They all seemed decent enough to me, once they were sure we were safe and not a threat. Frank’s daughter was nice. Waiting on us hand and foot like that. Even making sure we took her bed so we were comfortable.”

Betsi stopped and tugged at his arm. “See, that’s what I mean. It’s like the whole place was spying on us. Like everyone was in on something. Something they didn’t want us to know.”

Jeremy started walking again leaving her behind. “I liked her, she was nice.”

Betsi’s face soured as she watched him move along. “Of course you liked her,” she replied, mostly to herself, “mousy and short and kind of plump. Just the way you like your women. She didn’t have an opinion on anything. So of course you liked her.” Finally, she slowly followed him, hoping her unkind words fell on his usual deaf ears.

The harvest, like tide and time, moved forward. A small group of people – cutters they were called – removed the vegetables from their stalks and left them on the ground. The pickers came next, close behind the first group. These were the people who actually harvested the bounty and placed it into basket and crates. From there, the runners took over. These were mostly younger men with strong backs. After hoisting the harvest onto their shoulders, the food was carried to the nearest gate and given to the rackers. This group accounted for half the camp’s population. They took the bounty from the baskets and carefully laid it in the racks that ran along the inside of the walls. The last job of harvest was left mostly to the older folks – turners. These people were responsible to ensure that the vegetables be turned constantly so as to dry at an even rate.

Together, the group worked well. Most harvests took two days to pick, and weather permitting, about a week to properly dry before it was stored for the winter and distribution throughout the year. This year however, problems arose at every corner.

“Eight of the straps are broken throughout the racks,” Grace Dillion explained to her husband Dave, the garden foreman. “You need to slow down the cutters until Charles and Greta can find replacement for the straps.”

Dave shook her head and spit at his feet. “This should all be fixed by now. What’s the delay?” he asked.

Grace’s head swiveled right and then left, checking to see who was within earshot. “The assembly’s been busy the last few days. Something’s got them in a tizzy. Started about the time that family showed up.”

Dave moved ahead of his wife, turning to listen and nod occasionally. Grace watched as he inspected the legs on several of the racks. “We got more trouble too, now,” he snorted. She watched as the frustration rose on his face like tall thunderheads. “I gotta find Steven. Half these legs need to be replaced,” he said, appearing on the edge of an explosion.

“See if you can find Cara too, dear,” she called. “I could use her help in a couple spots here.” She watched as he curtly waved at her without looking. “Oh, and remember to stop the cutters; we’re not ready.”

Inspecting the ropes that served as the straps to the front of the drying racks, Cara wondered what else could go wrong. But she knew she couldn’t think like that, lest more trouble find its way to her.

“And Dave said half the legs need replacing on the racks, too,” Grace stated. “We should have been looking at this during the summer I suppose. But we were too fat and happy in my way of thinking.”

Turning slowly to face her sometimes friend, Cara composed herself. “That would have been a good project for you and Dave I believe. I mean, the garden foreman should be in charge of the drying racks as well, at least I always thought that was the way it worked.”

Grace scoffed at the idea. “I always believed it was Carol Johnson’s job to do this,” she huffed. “Being the harvest chairwoman and all.”

“Regardless,” Cara replied, trying to redirect the discussion, “we see the issue now and we’ll just have to get it fixed. Hopefully today or first thing tomorrow. We don’t want to get behind and miss this nice stretch of sunny weather, right?”

Playing with a broken strap, Grace tossed it aside. “Perhaps your man and his foreman could skip a day in the woods and take care of this all quick like?”

Cara cringed at the reference to Steven. She still needed to talk to him about mending the fence and making more arrows. “Steven has a couple of other chores that need his attention right now.” Twisting her lips, she tried to come up with a solution. “Perhaps two of his other men can help.”

Grace looked slack-jawed at the camp leader. “Who’s gonna haul wood then? Dave told me they were already short and looking for more help. Perhaps if they wouldn’t have cut so far away from the camp, this wouldn’t be an issue.”

Boiling inside like a steam kettle, Cara tried to keep her frustration locked away. “Grace,” she began. “We need to work together. We all need to work together. We need solutions, not people pointing out all of our problems right now.” Nodding thoughtfully, she smiled at the other woman. “Please go find two young men and take charge. Tell them exactly what you want done and how it is to be accomplished. Stay on them and don’t let them dawdle. Can you do that, please?”

The corners of Grace’s eyes narrowed. “So, I would be the foreman for this fix?”

“Absolutely,” Cara replied.

“And I can choose any two younger lads?”

Cara grinned. “You’re the boss.”

Happy, Grace turned to leave. “I’ll go grab your boy Joshua and his lazy friend Calvin in that case. That pair could stand some good hard work.”

Cara squeezed her fists into little balls, fighting back the need to scream.
Of course that rotten woman would do this
, she seethed to herself. She was probably planning this all along. “That’s fine,” she called out as happy as she could to Grace. “I’m sure the boys will be good helpers.”

Grace turned and waved back at Cara. “Oh I doubt it, but I’ll get something out of those two.”

Shaking, Cara turned and counted to five…and then 10. Her eyes squeezed tightly shut, her tiny body convulsed with anger and frustration. She opened her eyes to let out a small scream and was greeted with the staring face of her husband mere inches away. Cara jumped and screamed, but cut it short by slapping her hand over her mouth.

He continued to stare at her intensely, almost smirking. “Something wrong?” he asked.
 

“Nothing that a good and thorough thrashing of you won’t help,” she sputtered, pushing him playfully away. After he leaned back, she reached out for his touch again, a hug perhaps.

“Well,” he started slowly. “I see Grace Dillion walking off one direction all smug, and I see you here about ready to burst,” a final squeeze and he released her. “Well, two and two are always four.”

“Were you aware that some of the straps are bad on the rack?” He shrugged looking at the racks closest to them. “And some of the legs need replacing.”

Kneeling to inspect several legs, he peeked up at her. “I can take care of this crap. I’ll go grab George and we’ll have all this fixed before supper tonight.” Seeing the doubt in his wife’s eyes, he rose to confront her. “Don’t think we can?”

Cara hopped past him to go deal with other issues. “Oh, I don’t doubt you can. It’s just that Grace went off to find Calvin and Joshua to help. So, I’ll let you deal with her when she comes back with them.” Cara chuckled and trotted off to find Dave Dillion. There would be cutting in the gardens again by midday.

Chet’s long boney finger waggled between Steven and George as he tried to hold their waning attention. “Which part don’t you get?” he asked. “The fence or the arrows?” He watched as the pair looked at one another and then at the fence. Steven moved closer to the enclosure and kicked the bottom of several upright posts.

“We got about a dozen logs to replace as far as I can tell,” Steven stated. “Making the front gate tighter won’t be hard. But the arrow part puzzles me.” George nodded at Steven.

“Why’s that?” Chet asked.

George removed his old grubby ball cap and rubbed his hair with his sleeve. “The last guy who made us arrows is dead, if you will recall. That Fartly or Wheatly or whatever his name was,” George answered.

“Cole Dartman,” Steven added. “But the point is, yes, he died two winters ago. I’m not sure we have anyone with the right touch here anymore, Chet.”

“Can’t we fake it?” Chet asked, his frustration rising.

Steven’s hand moved from his mouth as he flipped his fingers at George. “Trouble is,” he replied, pondering the idea, “those things explode if they’re not strong enough. The wood has to be cut and treated just right, otherwise it could hurt the shooter.”
 

George added his agreement. “You see Chet, it takes a special hardwood to make those arrows. I know there’s some out there. I just don’t know exactly which it is.” He paused, studying Chet’s concerned face. “And from the sounds of things, we need them pretty quick here.”

Chet leaned into the pair like he was about to tell an important secret. “Well, we might not be shooting them at all, fellows. Might just want them for show.” Going between the pair, Chet saw the questioning in their eyes. Finally, he gave Steven’s shoulder a hardy pat. “Go talk to Cara about it. Maybe she has an idea.”

Chet watched as Steven looked away and then back at the fence. “We ain’t gonna fight them. Tarlisch will send enough armed men to make that clear,” Steven said. “Regardless of what Cara thinks, we need to get our stories straight on where Talbot Bond went off to. That’s our best defense against Tarlisch.” Staring at George and finally at Chet, Steven lowered his voice. “Probably our only defense.”

Steven watched as Cara paced around their small cabin. Every so often, she stopped and faced him, as if she were about to say something. Then, just as quickly, she shook her head and resumed pacing. When the door burst open, Cara jumped. Seeing Rose wander in carrying flowers, she smiled and knelt to greet the child.

“Did you pick these for me?” Cara asked the beaming child.

“I did,” she proudly replied.

Cara gave her a quick kiss and took the fall foliage. “I’ll put them in some water later, so they’ll make our home pretty all fall. Isn’t that a good idea, Daddy?” Cara asked Steven.

“Oh, wonderful,” he replied. He wanted to continue this discussion with Cara, not compliment his daughter on what a sweet child she was. “Why don’t you run along sweetie, and go pick some flowers for Grandma Swanson? She hasn’t been feeling real good lately. And some flowers from a pretty little girl would make her feel much better I think.”

Standing on her tiptoes, Rose first gave her mother a kiss and then her father. Cara turned her for the door and shooed her away with a kind smile. Turning back to her husband, he watched the smile disappear.

“Why no on the arrows?” she demanded. “We need something so they think we can defend ourselves.”

Steven kept his face neutral. Given her current mood, a smile on his part just might be answered with a slap. If he showed too much displeasure in his response and came across as condescending, the result could be the same. Watching her resume pacing, he eased into his approach. “Let’s be honest for a minute. Tarlisch has every gun in Salt Lake now. He’s pretty sure no one else has much for weaponry. After 12 years of no new ammo being made, he’s right, I would imagine.”