Of Needles and Haystacks by Ann Fryer (interesting novels to read .TXT) 📗

I tiptoed down the hall and peeked into their room. Empty. Heart thumping loudly in my ears, I laid the gowns across their bed with a name card on each and slipped out of their room before I could change my mind. The evidence of my greed surprises me. The loss pinches. I wish I were more like a missionary without worry over changing trends.

I spied the small trunk filled with mother’s gowns peeking beneath my bed. More matronly than my own—they’d do if I had need for more. I touched the edge, but didn’t pull it out. Not yet.

I opened my door and checked their room again. Gowns still awaited surprise. Before I closeted myself once more, I heard and smelled popcorn.  I smiled. Sweet and sour day though it be, popcorn seems to bring us to the end of it with more hope than not.  When I went downstairs, Aunt’s strong arms were deep in the large wooden mixing bowl, tossing the bright yellow pieces with Kirsten’s fresh butter.

Mr. Bleu sat by the woodstove lightly strumming a guitar. Little Ruby stood close, watching his fingers move up and down, creating a melody I’d never heard. Her sweet little eyes were red from tears like Aunt’s. Toliver was a brother of her heart.

The young boys were making a log tower on the table. “As high as Babel,” Uncle said. Ernest sharpened a knife by the back door. Helen and Kirsten finally turned and welcomed me to their family scene. I was struck by their red eyes too. Their quietness must have been about Toliver. Not me. Their sadness far reaching. I have been selfish...and wasted two gowns making up for an imaginary offense! No, no. Not true. Kindness is never wasted, Father said.

Uncle handed me a bowl of popcorn as we trooped to the parlor.

Mr. Bleu sang low tunes with words too soft to understand. Little Ruby remained at his knee, sucking her fingers clean of the tasty butter and salt. Been a good spell since I’ve heard music, except for the march-style hymns sung in church. His songs were low and lingering, soft and soothing. A balm to the day’s wounds.

Toliver...I wondered if he’d calmed in the brown woman’s arms. If he hid beneath her apron like he did Aunt’s, or if they’d caught his eye with sugar plums and kittens. Ruby rested in her arms now as Aunt stroked her long brown hair, no doubt thinking about our lost boy too.

Oh, the happenings of life! All the circumstances we’ve no power to help—save one. I prayed for someone besides myself. I prayed for Toliver, for God to have mercy on him—for love. I prayed for Uncle. For Mr. Bleu. For all of them. These utterances to Him were secretly prayed with my eyes wide open. For this family and for the parts of them that I didn’t know or understand.

My words ended on an unanswered-wondering. To know the history that existed between Uncle and Father. And Mr. Bleu. I hurriedly offered this to God too, but my heart wasn’t prepared to give up the quest. I should talk to Ernest. Couldn’t hurt.

I trailed off to bed first so that my poor family might have time alone without me. A hand touched my shoulder as I washed my hands at the kitchen pump. I turned. “Mr. Bleu.”

He reached into his vest and pulled out a packet of letters. “I’ve changed my mind. My business with your father may also be your business. You deserve to know what kind of man he was.”

Father’s handwriting slanted sharp, northwest—in a style that made one think of threaded needles. Mr. James Bleu, Paris Kentucky recorded on each of five envelopes. Just seeing his ornate script triggered respect in my posture. I felt my back straighten and my head lift.

“I ask you to keep the contents a secret.”

“Does Uncle know?”

“He knows what he knows, and that only.”

“I knew there was something!”

He shook his head in disbelief. “Read them and give them back to me. Quickly.”

“Thank you. I will not tell a soul.”

He cocked his head in disbelief. Did he still think me a child?

“I promise.”

“They are incriminating.” His steel eyes grabbed mine again. I looked away.

“Incriminating?”

“I know that you do not wish to tarnish your father’s good name.”

“Tarnish...” That dark gray and black that plagues brass and silver... The word criminal is hidden within incriminating. An invisible knife threatened to stab me. I had to read these as soon as I could.

I slipped an extra candle from the box and headed upstairs. My hands shook as I lit the candle and opened the first letter.

Bills and receipts. All that he had handed me was a dull record of business transactions. Nothing more. Funds lent, debts paid. The packet of four envelopes showed two loans altogether, mere weeks apart. Why had Mr. Bleu been so mysterious? So silly. Toying with me again. Incriminating? I should douse him with cold water, salt his tea, and put a snake in his bed. Only I won’t touch snakes and thankfully have yet to see any.

I shuffled back down stairs to find him coming up. I shoved them back into his hands.

He stared at me agape.

“Why?” His cruelty was unmatched.

Uncle watched us. I didn’t care. Mr. Bleu should not treat me like this. Must not.

JAMES REELED. THIS was not supposed to happen. She promised him secrecy! Instead she’d gone all looney on him, right in front of Hammond. What was she thinking?

He shoved the letters deep into his vest and met Hammond’s glare head on. “What’s all that about?”

Innocently asked. How to divert him? “You asked me to take care of any paperwork.”

“Ya told me there wasn’t any.”

James shrugged.

“What are you keeping from me? You didn’t go and pay one of her bills behind my back now, did you?”

“No, no... I...”

“Let me see that stack.”

James panicked, sweat broke out. “It’s a private matter. I’m sorry.”

“Private, my foot. Anything having to do with that girl