our house before.
“That poor thing,” Mom added. “I’ll bake a cake.” Like all farm women, Mom’s reaction to bad news was to take food to the bereaved. It helped them, and it gave her a chore that made her feel useful. I wished I had something to do.
“She was an awful nice little girl. What happened to her, Hen?” Dad asked. Dad looked almost ready to cry—at least I thought he did. I’d never seen him cry. He glanced at me, and I knew what he was thinking, because I was thinking it, too: What if that had happened to me?
“I guess I’ll set down.” Sheriff Watrous unbuttoned his coat but didn’t take it off. He dropped into a chair while Dad got up and poured himself coffee, then put the pot on the table. The sheriff waited until Dad took his seat before he spoke. “It looks like the little girl woke up in the night and went outside to use the backhouse. She got the polio a few years back, you know, and was crippled up and couldn’t manage the stairs, so her folks had her to sleep in a room near the kitchen door. This morning, when Elmo Reddick got up, he found the door wide open and the snow blown in. The storm was over by then. At first, he thought his girl was outside, but then he saw the snow was piled up on the floor, and there wasn’t no footprints in it. So he figured she’d gone outside in the evening and hadn’t latched the door good when she came back in. You know how the wind was blowing last night, hard enough to take a door right off the hinges.” He shook his head for emphasis. “Course, it wasn’t like that storm two years ago, or was it three?”
Mom cleared her throat, prodding the sheriff to forget about the storm and get on with what had happened to Susan. She poured herself more coffee, although she just held the cup and didn’t drink. “Go on, Sheriff Watrous,” she said. I stared at him without blinking, hoping he’d get the hint to move along.
“When Elmo looked in the bedroom, the girl wasn’t there. So the two of them, Elmo and Opal, went outside looking for her. They were afraid she’d gone out and got lost in the storm. You know how these prairie blizzards can be awful bad.”
We all nodded. Plains storms were deadly. With the snow swirling around, you could lose your sense of direction and freeze ten feet from your back door. Men put up ropes between their houses and the barns in the winter so they wouldn’t get lost. “And they found her?” Mom asked, agitated that Sheriff Watrous was back on the weather.
“Opal found her back of the barn, covered with hay. She thought Susan’d crawled in there to keep warm. She was about to wake up the little girl, but then she saw the blood. Even then, Opal said, she didn’t believe her girl was dead, because she looked so peaceful.” The sheriff leaned back on two legs of his chair, thought better of it, and eased the chair back down. “Then Elmo went to pick her up, and they saw little Susan’s throat had been cut, like it’d been sliced with a sickle, and her legs was . . .” The sheriff looked at Mom and said, “Well, she was disarranged. And she didn’t have on her nightdress. She was froze to the hay with her blood. Naked she was.” He pronounced the word
necked.
I looked at the table, embarrassed for Susan. What if I’d been murdered and Mom and Dad had found me naked, and the sheriff had come and looked at me? My insides got all balled up as I thought of Susan outside in the storm without any clothes, her arms and legs and back icy with the cold, how she couldn’t have gotten away from the man because she couldn’t run with her crippled legs. My own hands grew cold as I wondered who had taken her out there and what he’d done to her. I started to cry. Buddy put his arm around me and squeezed my shoulder. Without looking at me, Dad reached over and put his hand on top of mine.
The sheriff watched me a minute, maybe hoping I’d get up from the table. When I didn’t, he continued. “Elmo stayed
“That poor thing,” Mom added. “I’ll bake a cake.” Like all farm women, Mom’s reaction to bad news was to take food to the bereaved. It helped them, and it gave her a chore that made her feel useful. I wished I had something to do.
“She was an awful nice little girl. What happened to her, Hen?” Dad asked. Dad looked almost ready to cry—at least I thought he did. I’d never seen him cry. He glanced at me, and I knew what he was thinking, because I was thinking it, too: What if that had happened to me?
“I guess I’ll set down.” Sheriff Watrous unbuttoned his coat but didn’t take it off. He dropped into a chair while Dad got up and poured himself coffee, then put the pot on the table. The sheriff waited until Dad took his seat before he spoke. “It looks like the little girl woke up in the night and went outside to use the backhouse. She got the polio a few years back, you know, and was crippled up and couldn’t manage the stairs, so her folks had her to sleep in a room near the kitchen door. This morning, when Elmo Reddick got up, he found the door wide open and the snow blown in. The storm was over by then. At first, he thought his girl was outside, but then he saw the snow was piled up on the floor, and there wasn’t no footprints in it. So he figured she’d gone outside in the evening and hadn’t latched the door good when she came back in. You know how the wind was blowing last night, hard enough to take a door right off the hinges.” He shook his head for emphasis. “Course, it wasn’t like that storm two years ago, or was it three?”
Mom cleared her throat, prodding the sheriff to forget about the storm and get on with what had happened to Susan. She poured herself more coffee, although she just held the cup and didn’t drink. “Go on, Sheriff Watrous,” she said. I stared at him without blinking, hoping he’d get the hint to move along.
“When Elmo looked in the bedroom, the girl wasn’t there. So the two of them, Elmo and Opal, went outside looking for her. They were afraid she’d gone out and got lost in the storm. You know how these prairie blizzards can be awful bad.”
We all nodded. Plains storms were deadly. With the snow swirling around, you could lose your sense of direction and freeze ten feet from your back door. Men put up ropes between their houses and the barns in the winter so they wouldn’t get lost. “And they found her?” Mom asked, agitated that Sheriff Watrous was back on the weather.
“Opal found her back of the barn, covered with hay. She thought Susan’d crawled in there to keep warm. She was about to wake up the little girl, but then she saw the blood. Even then, Opal said, she didn’t believe her girl was dead, because she looked so peaceful.” The sheriff leaned back on two legs of his chair, thought better of it, and eased the chair back down. “Then Elmo went to pick her up, and they saw little Susan’s throat had been cut, like it’d been sliced with a sickle, and her legs was . . .” The sheriff looked at Mom and said, “Well, she was disarranged. And she didn’t have on her nightdress. She was froze to the hay with her blood. Naked she was.” He pronounced the word
necked.
I looked at the table, embarrassed for Susan. What if I’d been murdered and Mom and Dad had found me naked, and the sheriff had come and looked at me? My insides got all balled up as I thought of Susan outside in the storm without any clothes, her arms and legs and back icy with the cold, how she couldn’t have gotten away from the man because she couldn’t run with her crippled legs. My own hands grew cold as I wondered who had taken her out there and what he’d done to her. I started to cry. Buddy put his arm around me and squeezed my shoulder. Without looking at me, Dad reached over and put his hand on top of mine.
The sheriff watched me a minute, maybe hoping I’d get up from the table. When I didn’t, he continued. “Elmo stayed
Similar Books
