undercast

July 23, ’32

It rained again today. Fifth day straight and there seems to be no end in sight. The creek next to the house has  risen half way up the river bed and the volume of flow has increased three-fold. I fear that if this keeps up, I’ll soon have water in the cabin. I just don’t know if I should bring up the goods from the fruit cellar or not.

The dog, I can tell, is a bit nervous about all this as well. She used to take comfort laying by the shade tree just there next to the creek, but now... now she hesitates to leave the house to relieve herself.

The valley seems to have a constant rumble to it from the thunder in the distance. On occasion, a flash and a loud crack of lightening will startle us out of our wits. I’m just very thankful that there’s been no damage to the cabin or the barn.


July 24, ’32

Got word from my son back east on the weather. He’s been schooled in the weather, meteor-something or-other. He’s says things don’t look so good for these parts here in the mountains. In fact, he writes, we will probably have more of the same, if not snow should the temperatures begin to drop... with his apologies. I thew the letter into the wood stove and it gave off a such a heat wave as it flashed into flame.


July 25 ’32

Neighbor Sally McRea came for a visit today. She insisted on taking off her wet and muddy boots on the porch. I told her she really didn’t have to. “They can’t get any wetter,” she replied. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that cleaning the mud from the kitchen floor would be a welcome chore; anything to keep my mind from this damned, dismal rain.

Her daughter in Arizona writes they haven’t had a lick of rain in nary 6 months and several of the neighbors’ wells have gone dry. We were silent for a while.

I got up and offered her some coffee and she gladly accepted, warming her hands on the sides of the steaming mug. I wondered if their firewood wasn’t under covers.


July 26, ’32

Damn if that boy of mine wasn’t dead-on in his words. I threw another chunk of iron wood into the wood stove this morning then rubbed my eyes again thinking I saw a flake or two mixed in the misty rain. I spent the rest of the morning baking bread and adding yesterday’s leftover beef to the booyah trying to convince myself I didn’t see what I thought I saw.

After lunch, the rain let up for a while and it looked as if the sun was trying to break through the clouds as I glanced up on my way to the barn. Jasper was in good spirits, as he usually seemed to be. His whinnying and banter always have a way to make me smile. I took inventory of his feed as I gathered some dry hay and oats for his stall.

A couple months worth at best, maybe more if he’d venture out to pasture a bit more often. I can’t blame him for sticking close to home. But I so hate to have to pay a young man to come from town to delivery hay.


Aug l, ’32

I’ve stayed away from this journal for almost a week thinking it was bringing all this blasted rain and bad luck. I might have stopped breathing, just the same.

Another visit from Sally informed me that her husband, Walter, has taken ill. She said Doc Bart gave him some pills to ease the fever and pain, but that he left the house shaking his head. I don’t think Sally’s spent much time in a barn. Matter of fact, I think she was raised a city gal, as she may have mentioned her daddy was a clerk. I’m afraid without any knowledge, the horse, cows and other animals my suffer and end up with the same fate her husband is headed for.

August 3, ’32

More rain means more creek and it’s half again as much as it was a week ago. I really should empty out the cold cellar, before it’s to late.


August 6, ’32

Oh Lord, what have I done? How foolish of me! I convinced myself that I needed to get to town for some supplies; flour, coffee and such, so I hitched Jasper up to the buggy and we made our way over the ridge and down the western slope to town. Things were fine until the trip home. Crossing the swollen creek, Jasper slipped on a rock and injured his front right hoof. He’s been limping on it ever since.


August 7, ’32

Sally visited today. She said Walter’s condition is not improving, but he’s putting up one helluva fight. She also says there’s word about town of a pair of wild men pillaging and destroying nearby homesteads. She’s worried about me being here all alone.

~ ~ ~ * ~ ~ ~

October 8, ’32

(As told to, and transcribed by, Mr. Hatchet, Editor, The Featherville Crier)

They spared my life; but not without consequence. I was to make their meals, draw their baths and submit to any and all requests they posed upon me. Let it be known, though, that my body was never violated, aside from my lips, where an occasional drunken, slobbery kiss from the red-haired fella for patching his trousers or serving a decent hot meal on the frigid nights that followed the last entry in my journal.

As it happened, Sally’s words fell upon me like a curse. That evening, as I had finished my dinner of canned turkey with gravy on mashed potatoes and pickled beets, I was getting set to clean the dishes. The tea kettles was soon to boil on the wood stove when I thought I heard a clatter from outside, just yonder there by the chicken coop. Eva stirred and began a low growl which made the goosebumps awaken upon my skin. I spied out the window, but the daylight had faded fast and I couldn’t make out a thing. Just then, a loud whistle pealed from the tea kettle nearly frightening me to death. But not as much as the door when it burst open, banging against the wall, revealing two uninvited strangers.

Eva growled and lunged at one of the men as I yelled out “NO!”, but was shot dead before she could land her attack. I fell to my knees fearing the end of my world as well and waited for the angels to lift me from the floor, and God granting, lead me to my Auggie with Eva at my side.

(Events after their intrusion - burying Eva, their foolish plans, and Aggie’s failed escape.)

I must mention that there had been a few times when the weather had taken a turn and snow covered the ground by no more than an inch at best. However, in mid September, old man winter decided to call on us early and the fellow called Zeke cursed like there was no tomorrow. He carried on how they (rather I think himself) would be stuck in this “God-forsaken mountain side shack” for the duration of the winter to come. Much to my delight, he made the red-haired one go out tend to the animals, to fetch water and bring in firewood.

Angus, the red-haired fella as I had come to know him, would often tell me stories about his ‘adventures’ when Zeke felt it necessary “go shoot somethin’!” He said his father was a farrier in Minnesota and he, failing in school, took up the trade but soon became weary of “all the horseshit,” as he put it. Not finding other work in his hometown, he met up with a young straggler who promised riches that could be made out west. I could only nod.

There were several occasions when the two would take swings at each other in a dispute of one kind or another. Usually it was Angus going after Zeke in protest to one of his demands. Being as who they were, I tried not to show that I took any notice.

(Sally’s attempt to visit Aggie.... I’m quite sure it was at this time that Sally braved the morning cold for a visit and saw the two bandits in fisticuffs. The fight had gotten quite heated and eventually Zeke was forced to back away from Angus’ assault, leaving him reeling in almost disbelief at the strength and power unleashed upon him. As she told me later, there was no doubt in her mind who these two men were...

**How and when she was able to notify the sherrif timeliness to the following events.)

One sunny afternoon, Angus declared that he had a hankering to make dinner for all of us. “Why, with all the venison Zeke’s brought back, I’m much obliged to repay the favor.” He put on my apron and I was surprised how easily he tied it to himself, as if he’d done it many a time before.Not long after, the cabin was filled with the smell of good food ***detail on the flavors*** simmering on the wood stove. Curious and yet surprised by his cooking skills, I felt the urge to sample his work. He slapped away my hand as I reached for the spoon to take a taste of his famous venison chili. He riveted his blazing eyes upon me, his head tilting ever so slightly toward Zeke. “Now, now! No sneaking from the kettle before it’s ready. Ain’t that right Zeke?”

“Whatever you say, Angus.”

Just as Zeke lifted his spoon and began to shovel in the chili, Angus hopped up from his chair. “I forgot to grab the bread. And why don’t you grab some of those crackers, Misses Aggie. I’m sure I saw some in the cupboard.” We both got up from the table when Zeke suddenly let out a disgusting, guttural groan. His eyes seemed to bulge from their sockets and his cheeks puffed up as he choked on his last spoonful of chili. Reaching for his neck, his mouth sprayed Angus’ poisoned chili in a violent eruption and then he dropped down silent next to his chair.

I became filled with the ugliness of shame knowing that I had helped, if even in a small way, in killing a man. I was torn between relief and weeping as Angus dragged Zeke’s body out through the snow and behind the barn. When he returned, Angus carefully cleaned up the mess left from the incident and then we both sat near the fire in silence. I reached for the bible on the mantel; Angus lit a candle.

With trembling hands I prepared myself for bed. This would be one of those nights I had wished Eva were here to comfort me as she always did when she sensed trouble coursing through my blood. A tear sprung forth. I missed that dog. I lay my head on the down filled pillow, my eyes heavy, sleep just seconds away.

“Annnngusssss!!!!”

A chill ripped through my body and the hairs on my neck stood up. “My God,” I whispered.

Fear alone had given me the strength to get out of bed. At first I only wanted to hide, but I had to see for myself what had become the lifeless body of Zeke. He brandished a pistol and attempted to take aim at Angus.

In the glow of the candlelight, I could see Angus’ cheeks burning bright red, as red as his hair and fearless of being gunned down, he went after Zeke. His right fist connecting with Zeke’s jaw, breaking it, and his left breaking a few ribs. Zeke fell back crashing the door open and falling onto the porch. Angus followed and then Zeke drew his pistol and fired off a round at the sheriff and then cold-cocked Angus in the temple rendering him unconscious.

“Drop your weapon,” I heard Sheriff Donnigan shout from just beyond the fence line.

Zeke replied with another shot. Deputy R howled and fell clutching his left leg.

I recall one shot that rang out, most likely from Deputy R, screaching as it ricocheted off Auggie’s lucky horseshoe on the porch post, and piercing my left shoulder. At first I couldn’t make out the pain, but when I did, I fell to the floor and prayed like I had never done before. Two more shots rang out followed by a thud and then all was quiet.



(As told by Angus McTavish)

During my years served in the penitentiary, I had plenty of time to think about my past life; the innocence of my youth, my transgressions and sinful ways in adolescence, and what I truly wanted to get from my time left on this earth. My partner, Zeke, had succumbed to consumption while in the last year of our incarceration. Upon my release, I went to visit the old woman whom we raided, and who resided on Echo ridge, and begged for her forgiveness. She handed me a splitting mall and a bible and said her offer still stood.

That following spring, I managed to fabricate a small log cabin across the creek from her homestead and the autumn of ’42 I was married to Dorothy McRea, who returned home from Arizona in late summer of ’32 to stay with her grieving mother, Sally.

Aggie passed away that winter and we scattered her ashes in the creek, She had mentioned she’d always wanted to see the ocean one day. Dorothy and I have since brought into this world a son we named Virgil and a daughter, Eve, now 7 and 4 respectively. Most evenings, after we’ve cleaned up after our meal, we gather by the hearth and I  take the bible from the mantle, Dorothy lights a candle and we pray that the Lord have mercy on us and keep us safe from the undercast.