1890’s-era farmhouse

Fall 1894: Melissa Davis is absent as Jimmy Scanlon helps Curt and his sons finish up with the last of the harvest on the Davis farm.

Excerpted from Chapter 26, Beyond the Divide–Available from Village Books, Fairhaven (Wash., U.S.A.); and from Amazon

The two boys now took over most of the milking duties, Jimmy having charge of the henhouse, and the more satisfying grooming and harnessing of the horses. Curt Davis continued his exclusive domain over the hog yard.

An evening after a bachelor style dinner, he invited Jimmy to see his rifles and shotguns. Cleaning and oiling an especially prized piece, Curt told Jimmy how he looked forward, once the corn was in and his wife returned, to bagging a deer, maybe an elk, how he would trudge several days through the nearby hills, rain and all, carefree knowing the haymow and corn cribs were full, as were the root cellar and granary, the woodsheds bulging, a supplemental load of coal in the cellar bin, how he normally loved to hunt alone, but that Jimmy could accompany him if he liked. “Or,” he added, the face behind the thick red-brown beard impassive as ever, “you might want to stay here and keep the Mrs. company. ‘Course, I can’t keep you on all winter–not enough cash for a hired man all year during theses times. But I can keep you busy and fed into November.”

Chopping off ears and tossing them into a waiting cart, later cutting down whole plants and bundling them into shocks, Jimmy kept his distance from Davis’ flailing though accurately applied corn knife. Trying to keep up, a story crept in from the back of his mind, though he’d long since forgotten where he’d heard it. It concerned a farmer who suspected his wife of unfaithfulness and one day chopped her up with a corn knife and fed her to his pigs, which in turn were butchered for human consumption. Suspicion by neighbors led authorities to dig up the hog yard, wherein they found human bones.

Watching the expertly wielded knife, knowing of Curt Davis’ sole overseeing of the hog shed and yard, the now two-week absence of Melissa Davis, Jimmy during the long hours of chopping and bundling chose to think lighter thoughts, to not entertain images of a story that likely had no basis in real life.

With the onset of hog butchering, Jimmy and the two boys were brought in to help. Beginning with a well-aimed gunshot to a fattened-up victim obliviously snuffling about, the carcass then shuddering on the ground before the nerves finally expired, Jimmy was familiar enough with the routine of scalding, scraping, cutting, cleaning, then the smoking or grinding into sausage. As with everything else on the farm, though, it was on a larger scale than what he’d done in his boyhood.

On a Saturday early-afternoon dinner, Curt Davis personally tended the kitchen range fire as a fresh butt roast sizzled in the oven, the first of the season’s pork to be sampled. White linen covered the table instead of the usual oil cloth that sufficed when Melissa absent. When done, he set the roast on a platter, then placed it on the table next to steaming bowls of potatoes, gravy, and the last of the fresh string beans, summer squash and sweet corn. Jimmy puzzled over Ely’s and Nathan’s absence for so fine a feast, but broached no question as Curt urged him to sit down and, handing him a well-sharpened carving knife, told him he’d have the honor of cutting and sampling the first slice.

“I couldn’t have done this without you, Jimmy boy,” the farmer said, who rarely called him, or anyone, by name. “I raised and butchered the most and the fattest porkers ever. I could trust you to handle lots of other things, so they got all my attention…and I had plenty to feed them.” Obediently slicing through the textured, flesh colored meat, panic mixed with a sudden nausea set in as Jimmy breathed in the steamy aroma, any earlier anticipation and hunger forgotten. He put down the knife and ran out the kitchen door and wretched off the back stoop. His stomach emptied, he collected his nerve for a sprint away from the house, thinking his flight might be cut short by the crack of a well-aimed rifle from the kitchen doorway. But a meaty hand placed on his shoulder stopped him and he turned around and saw behind Curt Davis’ beard no sneer of malice, no stony-eyed gleam of righteous vengeance, only a surprised expression turning to a look of concern almost tender.

“Here, here, boy, get aholt o’ yourself! I never seen an attack of the grippe come on so sudden. You’re still a shade of green. Here, I’ll walk you back to your cabin. Just lie down the rest of the day if you need to…. We’ll save you some of the dinner…when you’re feeling better. I never got around to telling you. Got a wire last night from Mrs. Davis, she’s coming in today–boys are picking her up now at the depot–should’ve been back by now, guess the train’s late. Fixed a special dinner for the occasion, thought I’d let you be first to sample it…seein’s how no one else was here yet.”

Laying on the iron bed, Jimmy looked out the 4-pane window as Curt Davis ambled back to the main house. Of course the taciturn farmer hadn’t told him of Melissa’s return. He wasn’t one to waste words on talk unless it was of direct concern to the recipient. Likewise it hadn’t occurred to Davis to mention that the fine dinner being prepared was to honor the early return of his wife.

As the afternoon turned golden, he felt he could neither move nor sleep, not knowing whether he was hungry or sick, if his life was in danger form a vengeful husband playing him like a cornered mouse or a hooked fish, or whether the big man was incapable of suspecting any wrongdoing on the part of his wife and their capable hired man. Jimmy stirred as he heard the return of the family buggy and the ebullient voice of Melissa Davis, a few words from the boys, fewer from the husband, the slamming of screen doors. He continued to lay near-motionless on the bed, watching the sunset. Speculating that the guileless Curt Davis was beyond harboring suspicion, but deciding not to wait to find out, he made up his bundle and quickly packed his grip. Thinking it best to not act too much the guilty party, he summoned his courage and walked back to the house, where Melissa gave him a short hug and asked if he was feeling better. He announced he would be leaving the following morning, saying he realized they were cash-poor and that the worst of the work was done and he didn’t wish to stay around as a recipient of their charitable kindness.

Davis lumbered from his rocker to a desk and opened a drawer, Jimmy thinking for a frozen instant he might be pulling out a small handgun. Instead it was a thin roll of dollar bills, to settle up on wages. When Melissa insisted on heating leftover pork, gravy and potatoes for him, he found his appetite had returned. She said he could ride with them into town to church in the morning. From there he could take his pick of trains running in all four directions.

As he parted from the family that morning, even the boys smiling and seeming sad to see him leave, in the back of Jimmy’s mind were boyhood sermons by Father Quinn highlighting the wages of sin. As Curt Davis pumped his hand and wished him well, it hit him that this most decent of men would find it unfathomable what’d been going on behind his back. Jimmy looked for a hint of a tear on Melissa’s face but was met by only a bright smile betraying nothing.