The World's Finest Mystery Part 64

And Will remembered that Luther wouldn't know their mother had died six months ago. Will had managed to return briefly to Oak River for her funeral. "Gone...," he said, and took a long pull of water from the canteen.

Luther didn't say anything, just stared up at the night sky beyond the peach tree branches. "How 'bout Sharleen?" he asked at last.

"Good. Seen her last six months ago. Me an' her been workin' the farm. She's keepin' it goin' till I come back for good."

"Why'd you ever leave her, Will. You didn't have to fight in this war."

"Neither did you," Will said.

Luther looked surprised. "Me? Why, I had financial considerations."

Will nodded, understanding. "I plumb forgot you were a businessman." He capped the canteen and tossed it back to his brother. "Thing is, Luther, what are we gonna do now."

"Now?"

"I mean, about this here situation."

"I still don't understand why you ever left Sharleen," Luther said.

Will was trying to think of a good answer when Luther shot him between the eyes.

Luther survived the rest of the war, sustaining only a slight gunshot wound in the Battle of Kennesaw Mountain the following year.

He returned to Oak River a hero. The Mason-Dixon Line ran close to the town, and veterans of both armies were welcomed home. People were eager for healing.

The second day home, Luther rode the aging horse he'd been allowed to keep the three miles out of town to the farm. It was where he'd grown up none too happily. He'd always been jealous of Will, who was the favorite and had gotten everything, from their parents' attention to... Sharleen.

Sharleen must have seen him from a window. She came out onto the porch as he approached the log house. The house itself didn't look bad, though it could use a little upkeep, some c.h.i.n.king between the logs and some paint on the shutters. And the porch roof sagged some.

Sharleen had aged better than the house. Though she looked older, she was still trim and beautiful, with her calm blue eyes, and her wonderful blonde hair pulled back now and tied in a swirl atop her head. She was wearing a faded flower-print skirt and a white blouse molded to her by the prairie breeze.

Luther reined in the horse a few feet in front of the porch and gave her back her smile. Then he stopped smiling. "I sure am sorry about Will."

Her smile left her face as if caught by the breeze. "So'm I, Luther. More'n you can know."

He dismounted and walked to stand at the base of the three wooden steps to the plank porch. "Place looks good, except for the fields for this time of summer."

"Frank Ames helps out some. Did some mending and painting last month."

Luther looked at her, fingering the brim of his hat held in front of him. "Ames survived the war?"

"He come back to Oak River six months ago. Lost him a leg at Gettysburg."

"Then he's lucky to be alive."

"He 'peers to think so," Sharleen said. She seemed to shake off her sadness and managed a bright smile that brought back memories to Luther. The smile had been there the night Sharleen had taken the walk with him among the cottonwoods in the moonlight, the times at the local dances when she whirled gaily to the music. The smile that was so uniquely hers was there when she'd won the turkey shoot one cold Thanksgiving, and when she filled in teaching at the schoolhouse, and when she and Will surprised everyone by saying they were getting married. The smile had been there on her wedding day. And no doubt on her wedding night...

"...my manners."

Luther realized she was speaking.

"Do come on into the house," she was saying. "Luther?"

"Sorry," he told her. "My mind was wandering."

"It's no wonder," she said solemnly, "after what all you been through." Over her shoulder, as she led him into the house, she said, "Least it was over and final for Will after Gettysburg. Some small comfort in that."

The inside of the house was neat and clean if spa.r.s.ely furnished. Will sat in a wooden chair at a square oak table in the kitchen. Sharleen had been cooking. The scent of baked bread was in the air, along with that of brewed coffee.

He watched the sway of her hips beneath her skirt as she moved to the wood stove and poured coffee into a tin cup. She set the cup in front of him, then sat down across from him at the table.

"Gotta be a rough life here for a woman alone," Luther remarked.

"Oh, I'm not alone." Her glance slid to an open doorway.

Luther didn't understand at first. Then he stood up, walked over, and peered into the room. A small child was sleeping in a wooden crib.

"That's Samuel," Sharleen said, when Luther had sat down again at the table.

"Will's son," he said with a forced smile.

"The precious thing he left me," Sharleen said. "I got Samuel. And I got Frank Ames."

Luther took a deep breath. "Sharleen, is Ames...? I mean, are you and him...?"

She appeared surprised, touching the side of her neck lightly in a way he remembered she'd done long ago when she was embarra.s.sed. "Oh, no! It's nothing like that, Luther."

"Maybe not to you, but what about to him?"

She seemed to think on the question. "I don't believe so, and a woman oughta know. I think it's just he's a kind man and he runs the bank and's in a position to help out now and again. I know I'm not the only one he's helped."

Luther raised his eyebrows. "Runs the bank, does he?"

"Surely does. You remember he worked there before leaving to fight. Well, old man Scopes retired and sold his interest to Frank. There's partners and a board, but Frank's president and makes the decisions."

"I'll talk to him," Luther said, and took a sip of coffee.

" 'bout what?"

"Getting a loan to run some irrigation to the fields, turn the soil, and put in some good seed for spring planting. That horse I got out there ain't worth much, but he surely can pull a plow."

He couldn't read the expression on Sharleen's face.

"Luther..."

"Remember," he said, "I was raised here on this land. It ain't that I see it as mine, but you and Samuel are family, and nothing can change that." He gave her a rea.s.suring smile. "With what happened to Will and all... I mean, I feel duty bound to help."

She studied his face, then nodded, stood up, and poured him some more hot coffee. "It ain't as if we don't need it," she said.

"You done all right," Luther said.

"The Lord knows I tried." She lowered her head, almost as if she were going to pray, but she began to cry quietly.

Luther got up, strode around the table, and hugged her to him until her back stopped heaving and she wiped her nose and was calm.

He caressed her cheek with the backs of his knuckles and she turned her face away. He walked back to his chair and sat down.

"Coffee was something we could never get enough of during the war," he told her. "Towards the end, we'd make it outta most anything we could grind between two stones." He shook his head glumly. "There was lots of things we couldn't get enough of."

"I just bet there was," Sharleen said.

Luther went to see Frank Ames the next morning at the Oak River Bank. Ames was a small man with a jutting chin and bushy dark mustache. He looked startled to see Luther, then stood up behind his desk and shook hands with him. That he'd stood up surprised Luther, as Sharleen had said Ames lost a leg to the Yanks.

"I'm real glad to see you made it back here safe and sound," Luther said.

Ames smiled. Though his angular face hadn't changed much, his gray eyes were a lot older than when he and Luther had competed in the county games five years ago. "Safe, maybe. But I'm not exactly sound, Luther. Lost a leg."

"Wouldn't guess it."

"Got a wood one, foot and all," Ames said, and limped out from behind the desk. "Don't have to work my boot off and on it, anyway. Silver lining." He motioned for Luther to sit in a nearby chair, then went back to sit behind the desk. He ducked his head and looked strangely at Luther. "I heard you were dead, killed at Chickamauga."

Luther raised his eyebrows in surprise, then smiled. "Don't look that way, does it?"

"Nope. Don't have to touch you to know you're real and still among the living."

"War was h.e.l.l," Luther said.

Ames nodded. "d.a.m.ned Sherman." He made a pink steeple with the fingers of both hands. "This visit about business, Luther?"

"It is. I understand you been helping my sister-in-law Sharleen. We appreciate that, but now that I'm back, I want to do my duty to her. After all, she's my brother's widow. Family's all that's left after this war, and for lots of folks not even that."

"It was a shame about Will. He was a good boy."

"He was that."

"His widow deserves better than what she's got," Ames said. "What do you have in mind, Luther?"

"A loan for a decent plow my horse can pull, for some irrigation work, a new barn and chicken coop, a well that ain't run dry, and good seed come the spring."

"That's a lot," Ames said.

"Sharleen needs a lot."

"Gettysburg was h.e.l.l worse than Sherman," Ames said. "Made a lot of Southern widows."

"Northern ones, too."

Ames nodded. "Carpetbaggers are gonna come in here from the North, change this country. Oak River is gonna grow. Guess Sharleen's farm can grow with it."

"You'll help, then?"

"I'll loan you the money, Luther. The work's up to you."

"And I'm up to it," Luther said.

"Just figure out what you need."

Luther drew a sheet of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. "I got it right here."

Oak River grew just as Frank Ames had predicted. And Sharleen's farm prospered. Luther worked hard and became a subst.i.tute father for young Samuel, and stayed in the old barn while he built a new one. By late fall the farm had new or repaired outbuildings, but the harvest was meager.

Winter was cold and with more than the usual snow, but Luther kept at his work. Before spring planting, he located water with a divining rod fashioned from a forked branch from a peach tree, a talent that had always been his, and with help from town dug a new well. The spring planting produced a rich harvest that late summer and fall, and Luther and Sharleen began to repay Frank Ames's bank.

At the beginning of their second winter together Luther and Sharleen were married. By that time, n.o.body was much surprised, and the wedding was a joyful event. The farm became known to the townspeople as the Faver Place.

Both Luther and Sharleen continued to work hard, and when Samuel got old enough he took to farm work. Besides farming, Luther gained a reputation with his dowsing, and the carpetbaggers moving into Oak River paid him handsomely to locate water with his divining rod so they'd not waste time and money digging dry wells.

Frank Ames was soon paid off, and with profits no longer going toward the loan, Luther and Sharleen began to grow rich by Oak River's standards. They replaced the log farmhouse with a fine two-story frame home with a green marble fireplace and a wide front porch.

At the turn of the century Luther had lived longer than he imagined was possible, almost to sixty. But he was healthy and saw more good years ahead for him and for Sharleen.

Samuel had become a tall, handsome man who looked more like Luther than Will, and moved with his young bride to Joplin where they managed a dry goods emporium. One day he appeared at the farm with a fancy carriage pulled by two fine horses, and in his wife's arms was Luther's grandson.

Will's grandson.

"We named him Will!" Samuel said proudly. Then he asked how they liked the carriage and said, "I seen 'em with motors in Kansas City. Nothin' else pullin' 'em!"

"Horseless carriages?" Sharleen asked in amazement. Though graying and thicker through the middle, she was still a beautiful woman, and her eyes widened with the enthusiasm of a youthfulness that would always be hers. The past lived with her and in her.

"So they're called," Samuel told his mother. "I'm gonna talk to a man about a dealership. The carriages might be horseless, but they ain't without profit." He grinned at Luther. "And Dad taught me the value of plannin' ahead."

That evening, sitting before the warm blaze in his marble fireplace, Luther Faver considered that he was one of the luckiest men alive.

The next morning his illness introduced itself, and it never left him. His stomach was never right, and he lost weight until his elbows and knees made sharp angles. Then his hair began to fall out.

Doc Newsner in town didn't know what to make of it. He tried different medications on Luther and bled him with leeches. Nothing seemed to help.

Only Sharleen could comfort him. She stayed awake through the night with him at times, holding his hand while the pain wracked him and caused him to moan and draw up his knees. The nights were the worst time. She would place a folded damp cloth on his forehead and croon softly to him. But the pain persisted.

When Sharleen suddenly came down ill, Doc Newsner figured maybe it was something in the well water.

It wasn't, though. Two days later she died from a burst appendix.

Luther was too ill to attend the funeral. He lay bedridden and alone in the big farmhouse on the Faver Place. Samuel was coming in from Joplin to take him back there to die. n.o.body had any illusions about that. They would travel by train to Joplin so Luther could pa.s.s while among family.