Posted 4-06-20
Revised 8-12-22

THE BELLE OF EERIE, ARIZONA

By Christopher Leeson

.

CHAPTER 6

.
Saturday, December 23, 1871 Continued

“I watched the first dance,” George remarked casually, as if overlooking her stumble. “I didn't see you in it.”

Myra tossed her head. “That's because I wasn't there.”

“You really dislike dancing, don’t you? If that's it, you’re different from almost any other girl I know.”

“I’m sure I am. Like, how many girls do you know that like to read?”

“A lot of girls tell me they read.”

Myra gave a snort. “I’m not talking about Friskie the Pony or Little Prudy. I want to learn things. The world's a big place and I want to know all about it.”

“What do like to read?” asked young Severin.

“James Fenimore Cooper was interesting. He tells about how the country started. But he’s not the best writer I've read. His character Natty Bumpo talks too much. How can a man stalk a deer if he can’t keep his mouth shut for two minutes?”

“What else?”

“I finished First footsteps in East Africa not too long ago. Sir Richard Burton didn’t just sit around dreaming up wild adventures; he actually lived them.”

“Well, you’re a different different type, all right. Were your girl friends just like you?”

“Living way out in the country, I didn’t...” She paused. When lying, a person had to be careful.

“The only girls I knew were at school. The older they got, the more they wanted to talk about clothes and boys. Those subjects drove me up the wall and I let them know it. That's when they started keeping me at arm’s length. That was all right. My brain kept me better company than they ever could.”

“And what did you and your brain talk about?”

“Sailing off to strange lands, for one thing.” She paused, frowning. “By the way, Aunt Irene told me that I didn't have to talk to you unless I wanted to.”

“Do you always do what your aunt tells you?”

“Not when I can avoid it.” She looked back at the exit. “Excuse me, I'm too busy to be standing around yakking.”

“Busy doing what? Eating? If you don’t slow down, you’re going to fatten up like a spring calf.”

Myra scowled. "Anyone who doesn't like the way I look can leave me alone.”

“Right now you look real fine. I’d even put my name on your dance card, if you’d let me.”

“What dance card? No body gave me a dance card.”

“That was a figure of speech."

“Well, then, you ought use better figures of speech so you won't sound so silly,” observed Myra.

“I’d rather improve my dancing. From what I saw over at your house, you could use a little more practice yourself.”

“Why don’t you ask someone who actually wants to dance, if you’re so fired up about it?"

He glanced around the room. “As far as I can see, every other girl I'm acquainted with is already paired up with some fella or other. That makes things hard for a man.”

“Why ask me to dance? There has to be someone you like better than me.”

“Why do you think I don't like you?”

“If you liked me, you wouldn’t say so many things that make me want to slug you.”

“If you could get over being so snappish, I think I could like you a whole lot.”

Myra turned to leave, but paused a few steps away. In truth, she had no place to go and nothing to do. If she acted too standoffish, it would look bad and people might talk about her “odd behavior.” Instead, she wanted to leave the impression of being commonplace, so that people would stop paying attention to her.

“If you want to dance,” she said, “fine. I've got nothing going on until about eight -- when Aunt Irene wants to leave. But I’m telling you, I won’t be enjoying it and dancing is something I'm willing to do only to kill time. It won't mean that I like you and if you start jabbering too much, I’ll leave you cold. Agreed?”

He grinned. “Who do you think I am? Natty Bumpo? Sure. What a lady wants, a lady gets. But I have a condition, too.”

“What?”

Let’s not square dance. I’ve had all the square dancing I can choke down for one week.”

“At least we agree on one thing,” said Myra.

A little while later, outside, when the caller told the people to get into line for a square dance, George drew Myra away from the crowd. The youth took her to where Dale and Kayley were sitting together. The girls were in good spirits, both having found boys to dance with.

The four of them talked until the objectionable square dance was over. Then George and Myra tried out a mazurka.

After about twenty minutes, they felt in need of rest again. This time, Rosedale’s and Kayley’s partners were with them and all six made conversation. With a group so large, there was a lot of chatter, some of it annoying. Whenever a person expressed an opinion that Myra disagreed with, she'd answer back. In the course of things, Miss Olcott noticed that the boys didn't try too hard to win at arguing. It reminded Myra that Myron had had the same sensible attitude. Because boys didn’t like quarreling with girls, they would generally give them the last word. Anyway, the ridiculous stuff that usually got a girl's dander up was usually not worth bickering about.

When Myra next checked the time, it was a little after eight. Excusing herself, she sought out Irene to ask about going home. Unfortunately, that Swedish galoot was close by, hanging on her aunt's every word and smiling like a prospector clutching a handful of nuggets. Instead of going home, Irene made a plea for patience. She was having a pleasant time talking to Tor, she said, and didn’t wish to leave just yet. Rather than haggle with a damned fool woman, Myra trudged back to rejoin her young neighbors. Soon, she and George were back dancing again. Some of the party-goers started to leave. It was about nine that Irene Fanning finally showed up, also feeling ready to get back to the farm.

#

Sunday, December 24, 1871

On the morning of Christmas Eve, the two of them wasted no time having breakfast and getting the chores done. Irene was bound and determined not be be tardy for the Christmas service, where she would introduce Myra to the parishioners.

As it turned out, a good many of the congregation marched right up to greet her. When some of them lingered too long jabbering about unimportant things, the girl was more sorry than ever that she’d come. It was almost a relief when Reverend Yingling showed himself, causing everyone to sit down and be quiet. The introductions, good wishes, and empty complements resumed after the close of prayer, with everyone standing in the lunch line. The food, at least, was good, the church ladies having donated a good many treats, while some of it was leftovers from the party.

Mrs. Netia Severin, a handsome woman in her Sunday best, approached them, expressing regret that Thorn's body couldn't be found. The lady assured Aunt Irene that her husband and the other men had done everything possible to locate him. Irene thanked her profusely for her family’s unselfish efforts. At that point, Mrs. Severin extended a holiday invitation. “The two of you shouldn't be alone with your grief on Christmas day, of all times. And we don't want Myra to start thinking that Eerie is an unfriendly town. The whole family would be very pleased to have you both over for Christmas dinner.”

“I think that would be wonderful, Netia,” replied Irene. “Myra, what do you say?”

The girl gave a neutral shrug and a forced smile. She could hardly be enthusiastic about spending an entire afternoon in the same house as George.

It was then that the dancing Swede, Tor, showed up and engaged the whole of Mrs. Fanning’s attention. When the pair drifted away to one side, Myra sought out a quiet corner to chow down undisturbed.

Later, back home, they changed into their work clothes and got busy again. At day's end, Irene fixed a light supper and in the midst of their dining, Myra heard footsteps on the grit outside, followed by a knock. Her aunt checked and found Dan Talbot standing on the step. “Sheriff,” said Irene, “whatever brings you out at such an hour? Everyone else in town must be settling down to their meals.”

“I’ve had a busy day of it, Ma’am, but since I was passing by anyway, it seemed like a good opportunity to stop by and speak with the young lady,” replied the lawman.

Mrs. Fanning glanced curiously to her niece, and then back at Dan. “What is it, Sheriff?”

“Don’t fret. We’re having a deuce of a time catching those outlaws. I’m hoping that Miss Myra might have an opinion or two about where the three of them may like to hole up. I'd like to speak to her privately, if you don't mind.”

“Is the matter serious?”

“It’s routine. But I wouldn’t want to stir up any bad memories you may have regarding those skunks, ma’am.”

The hostess regarded him soberly. “Very well. When you two are finished, please come back in.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Fanning,” the tall man replied. “I’ll gladly take a bite when the business is done, but I won’t be able to stay long. On Christmas Eve, my Amy always works up a fancy supper.” He smiled. “She wants to make every minute of the holiday be as special as possible.”

“Your home life must be very pleasant,” Irene said.

“It satisfies me,” Dan replied. Then he looked to Myra. “Miss Olcott,” he addressed the potion girl and gestured toward the door.

Myra followed him outside into the dark. The air felt colder than before; there was a north wind blowing.

Talbot paused by the corral fence.

“Did you have time to check out what we were talking about?” the maid asked.

Sheriff Talbot nodded. “What kept me occupied was making holiday calls on Roscoe Unger, Dwight Albertson, and Judge Humphreys. Roscoe let me see some of Ozzie Pratt’s archive of old newspaper issues from the war years. As for the judge, he unfortunately only came to Arizona after the war, but has records that were passed on to him by the former justice of the peace. Dwight Albertson was actually quite helpful, too.”

“Yeah? How did it go?”

“The information I got from them is pretty sketchy.”

“Don’t rush things. I want to know the whole truth, no matter how long it takes,” replied Myra.

“I've got no reason to rush, but I thought you’d prefer me to keep you filled in.”

"I appreciate that, Sheriff.”

"The most important thing I wanted to know was whether folks had any motive to steal. Mr. Albertson wasn't so cagey as he usually is, since the people under investigation passed away a long time ago. He said that your folks had been late with several loan payments. He had also heard talk that the couple had exhausted their credit with most of the merchants around town -- up until things changed.”

“What changed?”

"In the early summer of 1864 they started making prompt bank repayments and they kept it up until the ledger was cleared. They stopped borrowing, too, even made decent deposits. Dwight had hearsay that they were paying off their store bills, too."

Myra looked away uneasily. "My aunt's said more than once that my parents left the farm debt-free."

"Do you have any idea if they could have improved their situation in any honest way?"

"No, I don't," Myra said solemnly. "They used to tell neighbors that they had gotten a bequest from a relative out East, but I don't remember they ever gave a name to whoever that was. What I remember better was that they were always worried about being late paying bills, until things got suddenly better."

“Hmmmm," Dan said noncommittally. "I was also asking folks about old robberies, especially those where the outlaws remained unknown. There was nothing I could bite on, not until Roscoe showed me a story from May of 1864. There'd been a robbery and it was an important one. Just don’t get too excited. It might not amount to anything. I wouldn’t want to start you worrying for no good reason.”

The girl stood quiet for a moment. “I can take a punch,” she finally said. “It’s worse to be standing around not knowing what to believe.”

“Are you sure? After you squeeze an orange, you can’t put the juice back.”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“All right, if that's how you want it."

Myra Olcott waited expectantly.

“A couple of prospectors struck it rich back in 1862 and then sold out to a small company, the first professional mining outfit that ever set up next to Eerie. It was called Rexler and Colby.”

“I think I've heard the name.”

“You may have. They pulled out of Eerie a little after the war, relocating so they could profit from the new strike at Red Dog. But they were still here in 1864 when something bad happened that spring. A trusted clerk, Thomas Mifflin, emptied their on-site safe and got away with some cash and a good number of rough-cast ingots.”

Myra blinked. That sounded like the same robbery story that George had briefly mentioned.

"There was a determined manhunt, of course,” said Dan. “A soft-handed clerk shouldn't have been able to outsmart experienced trackers, but they never caught him. All they ever found was his horse at Phoenix. Someone had brought it to the marshal there, saying that it’d been tied up to a tree for a long time and he'd started feeling sorry for it. The marshal suspected it to be part of the robbery and it turned out he was right. But the beast was carrying no useful evidence and the general opinion held that Mifflin must have acquired another mount at Phoenix and abandoned his old one because it could be recognized.”

“Another horse? Are you sure? Don’t you think that he could have left Phoenix by stage?” asked Myra.

“That possibility was considered. The trouble is, no stage man remembered anyone matching Mifflin’s description, nor anyone at all who was carrying pieces of heavy luggage. No stable man or local would admit to selling a horse to Mifflin, either. Likewise, there were no reports of any stolen horse in the vicinity. Possibly, a helper had purchased a fresh horse for the robber and took it to him near in to Phoenix.”

“Where there any ideas about who this confederate could have been?”

“No, there wasn’t. There's no actual no proof that Mifflin ever had a helper. All that’s certain is that from the day of the robbery, no one ever reported seeing the man again. His friends and relatives, even those back East, were contacted and questioned, but none of them had heard from him in months, if not years. No evidence ever came up to gainsay their testimony.”

“So, what does any of this have to do with my folks?”

Dan grimaced. “I don't like to speculate.”

“Maybe you’re supposing that they could have been working with the thief.”

“Possibly so, but I hope that I’d be wrong.”

“What are the other possibilities?”

“They'd all be be guesswork. Hell, the whole picture we have is just guesswork.”

Myra shook her head. “From all you’ve said, there’s no good reason to think that Mifflin knew my parents at all.”

“That's the likely truth of it. Its hard to do much with a case that’s so old. I don’t know of anyone who can give us better information, unless it’s your aunt. You should be talking to her.”

“I don’t dare bring it up with Irene. She might use magic to make me shut up about the whole affair. But the fact is, I know that she knows something. I’ve been hoping to find another letter that would tell more. I asked the neighbors if any mail had come in for my folks after they’d died, but they'd left it all with the postmaster, except for things that they supposed Irene should deal with. They say those pieces were put into the house to wait for her arrival.”

The lawman frowned. “If your aunt had written an incriminating letter to your ma, she might have destroyed it once it got back into her hands.”

“Maybe so. Are you going to keep investigating?”

“I'll do what I can. People like to talk about outlaws, if you give them half a chance. Maybe I’ll find somebody who has new pieces to add to the puzzle. I can dig through more old records and news stories. They might have information that can send us down a different trail. Don't expect anything from me too quickly. Maybe there won't be anything to find.”

“Can't you be the one to question my aunt?” Myra asked suddenly. “Like I said, I don't dare do it myself.”

“It’s a sad business, lad. If she knows something, it’s probably been eating on her all these years, just like it’s eating on you now. There are times when we should let the past bury the dead. Whatever she may know, she’s probably not guilty of anything except protecting her family’s reputation. I’ve always thought of Mrs. Fanning as a good woman. Am I wrong about that?"

“She’s decent enough, but if my folks turn out to be completely different people from what I thought they were, maybe she’s fooled me, too.”

Dan regarded her studiously and then said, “If you’re hoping to find out that your parents were perfect people, you never will. Everybody’s got something to hide. Hell, there are plenty of lawmen around today that used to be wanted outlaws. If you keep turning over rocks trying to find something ugly, you may regret it. Digging up old secrets can hurt people, and -- as like as not -- it can hurt you, too. If you loved your ma and pa, the wisest thing would be to hold on to those feelings. Don’t muddy them up with unproven suspicions.”

Myra had no more talk left in her, and so the two of them went back indoors. Dan Talbot accepted a savory bowl chow and when Irene asked whether Myra had given him any good information, the lawman answered laconically. “She mentioned a deserted cabin near Yuma that the gang used once in a while. I’ll wire the local sheriff and tell him about it.” After that, he met every other question evasively.

Pretty quickly, Dan excused himself and rode off home. Myra continued to sit at the table, laden with dark and heavy thoughts. Later, in bed, she decided that she had no choice but to question her aunt, no matter what the consequences. But she wanted to hold off on that until after Christmas.

#

Monday, December 25, 1871

“Myra!” Aunt Irene called up from the kitchen. “It snowed last night!”

The girl perked up with interest; she had hardly ever seen snow in Arizona. The girl hurriedly threw on a robe and then clambered down the ladder to take a look outside.

Miss Olcott, standing at the threshold, a cold wind blowing in her face, saw what the farm looked like buried under a white blanket. There was no break in the cottony accumulation except where there were tallish stands of dry weeds. The farm girl bent down, poked an index finger into the snow, and estimated its depth at about four inches. She supposed that the next newspaper was going to sell a good many copies, with everyone wanted to read about the big snow.

Though it was Christmas Day, Myra felt moody and breakfast tasted bland. There was no more fancy party food. Some of it had been eaten at the Sunday service already. And it was usual to distribute what was left over to the poor of the town, including the men living in the squatter shacks.

Abruptly, Irene left the table and entered the walk-in pantry. She emerged carrying a wrapped parcel. The sight of what she guessed to be her Christmas gift made Myra wince. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think about getting you anything.”

“Sweetheart,” Irene responded, “that's all right. I know you don't have any money.”

That was bitterly true. “Is that my fault?” Myra asked.

Mrs. Fanning shook her head. “Christmas is not the time for fault-finding. Don't worry about presents. This has been a season of miracles and I'd be ashamed to ask the Lord for more blessings than He's already seen fit to send us. Until last week, I thought I would have to pass another Christmas without you, but that didn’t happen.”

Myra pursed her lips. The “blessings" so far had seemed like raw deals.

Instead of venting her feelings, the girl opened the parcel and found a wrapped book within. She was guessing the tome to be Le Morte d’Arthur, but that wasn’t so. "Innocents Abroad? What's this about?” she asked.

Irene replied with a smile. “It's the story of Mark Twain's trip to Europe and the Holy Land a couple of years ago. I know how much you like to read about far away places. And Mr. Twain is a very good writer.”

“I've read his 'Celebrated Jumping Frog' story.” She hefted the volume. “This one is one big sucker of a book, anyway.”

“I hope it will give you some good reading. By the way, there'll be no unnecessary work to do today. Just help me keep the animals well tended, the eggs gathered, and the cows milked. Oh, and we're both going to have to take baths right away, since the Severins will be expecting us for dinner.”

Socializing wasn't something that the girl looked forward to, but she didn’t think she'd be able to weasel out of it.

Myra set her new book aside and dressed for outdoors. This would be a morning to remember, she thought, walking through ankle-deep snow, leaving a distinct track of footprints. Returning indoors after the chores were done, Myra found that her aunt had been heating water to fill the tub. As was the custom, the older person bathed first. It startled Myra to realize that Irene was no longer shy about undressing in front of her. That, more than anything else, informed the girl that her aunt was truly thinking of her as another female!

A while later, soaking in her own bath, Miss Myra couldn't help but wonder about the possibility of finding more letters hidden around the farmstead. But to make a new search she'd have to be alone, and that wasn’t going to happen until after Christmas.

After bathing and donning clothing suitable for socializing, the aunt and niece went out to hitch up the buckboard. Upon setting out, they could see that the snow wasn’t deep enough to impede their short trip.

The Severins met them by their front doorstep. Escorted indoors, they found the air fragrant with fresh baking. Myra knew from childhood that Mrs. Severin was a good cook. The pleasant ambiance was a strong reminder that this really was Christmas Day.

After the holiday meal was finished, Aunt Irene remained with Mr. and Mrs. Severin to chat in the kitchen, while Rosedale coaxed Myra into joining her brothers and sister in the “family room.” This was an add-on that had been attached to the house to make it more comfortable for a growing household. Besides George and Dale, the neighbors had two younger sons and another daughter. The smaller kids were as noisy as ferrets playing with their Christmas gifts. The new tin whistle that one of the boys kept blowing made Myra want to throw a piece of firewood in his direction.

Rosedale and George were full of questions, wanting to know about Myra’s impressions of Eerie so far. They also wished to learn about her New Jersey home. Spinning a yarn about an imaginary home taxed Myra's imagination, forcing her dig deep into usable memories that were years old, or to make up things based on her reading.

Rosedale, inspired by the local weather, wanted to know about the snowy winters back East. Myra didn't have many more memories of snow than the girl did, but claimed that she had liked them and then threw in a few made-up flourishes, such as playing fox-and-the-goose with friends and making snow angels. Pretty soon, Dale coaxed the young visitor away to the little room which Miss Severin shared with her smaller sister. She proceeded to show off her favorite girlish do-dads and Myra had a hard time pretending that she was even remotely interested. Nonetheless, she kept her demeanor friendly. The ginger took care not to ask too many questions of Dale, so as to not show off her ignorance about everyday girl things.

The visiting continued until mid-afternoon, when the elder Severins sent Dale and George outdoors to begin their late-day chores. Myra was left alone with the three younger children while the adults carried on with their conversation. After another hour, Nettie and Walter Severin had to get at their own accustomed chores, while the youngest brother was put to bed for a nap. At that point, Irene informed Myra that it was time for them to leave. Farm work was waiting for the pair of them, too. The light, after all, would not last much longer.

#

Away the way back, Myra could see how much the snow had already melted. Though snow wasn’t good for much of anything, it did give the drab landscape a fresh look. The early melt lowered Miss Olcott's mood. It came across like a metaphor that represented the shutting down of the holiday. Whatever good feeling the season had brought with it was going to be gone, too.

Once home, the women took off their good clothes and put on choring garments. The late-day drudgery was the final end of Christmas magic. With the sun down and the lanterns turned off for the night, Myra retired to her dark loft.

The mystery that hung about her family nagged at the girl, but she knew that she couldn't rush things. Sometime, soon, she would have the privacy needed to search the house thoroughly. In fact, during the upcoming week, Irene would again be away, taking their produce into town.

Myra heard the wind outside moaning loudly. With so much on Myra’s mind, sleep didn't come swiftly. Old memories nagged at her. Like, why had her parents gotten more friendly with Matt Grimsley over the last couple years of their lives? And why did they always talk to him in such a sneaky way, with all three of them looking around and making sure that they couldn't be overheard? Before that, they had had no more than a nodding acquaintance with the Grimsley family, while maintaining stronger ties with the Severins.

Personally, Myron had not much liked Matt Grimsley. There was always something sneaky about the man. Like, Myron had caught him more than once trespassing, mostly prowling about the margins of the Caldwell property. Whenever Myron had called him out on it, the big man gave no straight answers but would only ask peevish questions in return, such as "What's the big fuss was all about?"

Her every attempt to remember a bygone incident was like stepping into a dark room and lighting a lantern. With effort, Myra managed to recall bits and pieces, though oftentimes these made no sense. Like, there was that spring day when Myron had walked home from school and discovered a strange horse feeding in the corral. When he asked his pa about it, he was told that it belonged to a traveler. Apparently, the man had fallen sick while riding by and became unable to continue. Ma had led him to a mound of hay in the barn where he could rest warmly, covered by a spare horse blanket. Then the girl remembered something else -- that her dad wouldn’t let her get close to the stranger or speak to him. Both his ma and pa explained that the fellow might have something catching. “We don't want to be taking any risks, not until we're sure we know what's ailing him.”

“Won't Ma catch what he’s got when she goes to check on him?” young Myron had asked.

“She knows how to be careful,” was his pa’s only answer.

What happened then? Myra tried hard to remember.

Remaining sleepless, Myra dredged up another kernel of memory. Three days after the stranger had shown up, Myron discovered that his horse was gone. The boy asked his ma about it and was told that the man had ridden it away.

“Is he all right now?” Myron had asked.

“He just had a flu. Don't worry about it anymore,” she told him.

Slowly, bit by bit, other memories floated to the surface like curds, but they all added up to very little. Even so, among all the ragged memories, one thing stood out. It was about the time that that the man had gone away that Ma and Pa had gotten sad and stayed sad all the time.

With a sigh, Myra snuggled into the straw-stuffed tick beneath her, the blankets covering one ear, while the other was pressed warmly into her goose-down pillow. The snow, obviously, had brought in colder weather and the darker the night got, the louder the wind howled. Now that winter was settling in, there were going to be a good many more frosty nights, she knew.

#

Tuesday, December 26, 1871

The next morning was a busy one. Myra and her aunt rose early and worked faster than usual, so as to not be late to the morning memorial for Thorn Caldwell. Irene wasn't insisting that the two of them take another bath, since they’d had done that the day before. By the time they'd dressed for church, it was time to leave.

Despite it being Tuesday, school was not going to be resuming until after New Year’s Day, so the premises remained available for the parish's use. Myra noticed that all the Caldwell neighbors were represented. The Grimsleys had brought their kids along, but Tully Singer and his wife were sitting alone. The whole Severin troop was there, even the youngest. When George tried to catch Myra’s eye, she glanced away.

Not far from the Severins, there sat a cowboy that Myra recognized as Carl Osbourne. Sitting beside him was his sister, the schoolteacher Nancy Osbourne. Myron had always thought that Nancy was pleasant, pretty, and he'd liked her. It dawned on her that the young schoolmistress hadn’t been at the Christmas dance. Mrs. Cullings, who had taught at the school before leaving town, had gone to all the festivals and parties.

But things were looked at differently when a teacher was unmarried. Folks said that single schoolmarms shouldn’t be socializing, lest they set a poor example for the children. Away from the schoolhouse, Miss Osbourne was hardly to be seen at all, except when attending church.

On impulse, Myra checked the room for Lydon Kelsey, but didn’t see him. She didn’t care one way or the other about that, except that it rankled her that he was going around telling people what good friends he and Thorn used to be. Some friend!

It also riled the farm girl that none of the other persons in the room had ever let on that they cared so much as a dog's hair for Thorn Caldwell. Almost everyone of them had treated him like a bad kid. So why should these same people pile into his memorial service now? There wasn't even any food being served. It frustrated Myra to think how few of the folk that Myron knew would ever miss him. Didn’t they care that the entire Caldwell family had been erased from the earth with the supposed death of Thorn? Of course they didn't care!

After that realization, she felt like a ghost haunting a church.

The situation made her wonder. Why was she still alive anyway? Was there anything left for her to live for? What part of her life, in fact, had ever been worth living? Aunt Irene, on the other hand, always kept saying that every life had some God-given purpose. Well, Myra wished that someone would spell out to her what had been the purpose of Myron Caldwell's life.

Or, for that matter, what was the worth of Myra Olcott's present life?

When the service got underway, Reverend Thaddeus Yingling spoke from the pulpit and offered up a prayer for the soul of the departed. As Thorn, Myra had kept as far away from the Eerie preacher as he possibly could. What Yingling was saying now about Thorn Caldwell’s life sounded so sketchy that a man who was just off the Prescott stage could have said all the same things regarding any saddle tramp found in the dirt, dead of snakebite.

The whole experience was coming across as something awful. Myra wished it could be done with, so that she could go home, sit in some solitary place, and feel bad all by herself.

TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 7