“I hope he’s considered the small fact that most of our horses aren’t accustomed to continuous gunfire and cannon fire.”
“He mentioned that.” Herb folded his arms across his chest so he wouldn’t reach out and grab another orange bun. He was on yet another diet and he’d cheated already.
“I have mixed emotions about Civil War reenactments. I think we’re glorifying violence,” Harry said. “I can’t help it, I think there’s a nasty reactionary undertow to all this.”
“Never thought about it.” Susan wrinkled her brow. “I figured it was what they said, living history. Besides, Ned gets dragged to so many things with me, I have to go along with this.”
“Well, if it’s living history, then why aren’t we reliving inventing the reaper or the cotton gin? Why are we instead reliving the most horrible thing that’s ever happened to this country? Sixty percent of the War Between the States was fought on Virginia soil. You’d think we, of all the people, would have the sense not to glorify it.”
“Maybe it’s not over.” Herb stared at the ceiling.
6
Later that afternoon the clouds grew darker still.
Deputy Cooper walked through the back door. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Harry answered.
“Where’s Miranda?”
“Ran home for a minute.” Harry pointed to a chair. “Sit down.”
“Have you seen Tommy Van Allen?”
“No.”
The two cats, dozing in the canvas mail cart, woke up, sticking their heads over the top.
“He’s been missing for two days—two days that we know of—and his plane is missing, too.”
Mrs. Murphy put her paws on the edge of the cart, with rapt attention.
“Cynthia, how could his plane be missing for two days and the airport not realize it?”
“They thought the plane was in Hangar C, the last hangar for repairs. Apparently Tommy had scheduled a maintenance check for Monday morning.”
“How could the plane take off and not return without anyone noticing?”
“I
wondered about that myself. The airport closes at midnight. He could have gone
off then, and he
“Quiet.” Harry shook her finger.
The
cat jumped out of the cart and bounded into Cynthia’s lap.
“She’s affectionate.” Cynthia scratched her ears.
Rain rattled on the windowpane.
Pewter
settled back down in the mail cart.
Mrs.
Murphy jumped off Cynthia’s lap back into the mail cart, where she rolled over
Pewter.
“Temper tantrum.” Harry rose and separated them.
“Has anyone picked up Tommy’s mail?” Cooper asked.
“His secretary.” Harry held Mrs. Murphy on her shoulder.
Miranda came through the back door. Cynthia asked her about Tommy.
“He’ll show up. It’s hard to hide a six-foot-five-inch man,” Miranda advised. “He’s done this before.”
“He stopped drinking,” Harry reminded her.
“Maybe he slipped off the wagon.” Miranda frowned.
“God, Murphy, you’ll split my eardrum.” Harry placed her on the floor.
7
The longer days helped Harry finish her chores when she returned home from work. She pulled Johnny Pop, her 1958 John Deere tractor—as good as the day it was built—into the shed.
When she cut the choke the exhaust always popped—one loud crack—which made her laugh. She cleaned stalls, throwing the muck into the manure spreader. Since it was raining she’d have to wait until the ground dried before spreading anything on it.
Harry always put her equipment back in the shed. Her dad had told her that was the only way to do it. Stuff would last for decades if well built and well cared for.
She missed her father and mother. They were lively, hard-working people. As she grew up she realized what good people they really were. They’d had a German shepherd, King, when she was in her teens. King lived to an advanced age and when her mother died, King followed. Harry told herself that one day she’d get another German shepherd but she hadn’t gotten around to it, maybe because a shepherd would remind her of her mother and make the loss even more apparent.
