Meadowlarks by Thomas Holladay (novels to improve english TXT) 📗

on a new house. She couldn’t bear living in a place with so many memories of their son, Gustov.

Olen felt just the opposite. He'd enjoyed feeling Gustov’s presence in the rooms above the store.

After Kidro built it, the committee had moved their meetings to the bank where Bill Whatling could more easily access bank files. He’d always been the unofficial chair of the committee anyway.

The monthly ritual had given real purpose to these meetings, using the now fat emergency fund to reimburse ranchers for their bull calves. After that vote, Kidro had stopped coming to the meetings. He'd had no need for reimbursements.

Now Olen and only a handful of others attended these meetings and Helfred wanted Olen to quit. He couldn’t do that. Their store was still the social center of this community, their store and the Rock Church.

He crossed into the entry of Helfred's house and pulled on his heavy coat. Buttoning up, he walked down the long hallway and stepped into the kitchen doorway.

She stood at the center island, squeezing sugar cookie dough onto a baking sheet. She looked at Olen and stopped squeezing. “I got a bad feeling tonight, like I won’t see you again.”

“Helfred, you say the same thing every month.” Maybe worse tonight, the look in her eyes. “You always got a bad feeling.”

She set down her dough gun and wiped her hands on her apron, coming closer, her face etched with genuine fear, hands shaking. “Why can’t you stay here for once?”

“Why don’t you come with me, bring your knitting?”

She glanced over her shoulder at the breadboard and sighed. “I guess not.” She turned up her cheek.

Olen kissed it.

He turned away, walked down the hallway to the entry and opened the door. He didn’t need to turn on the outside light tonight. A full moon and a clear sky cast ample light into their south facing glass vestibule, glass on three sides. He could see the whole valley from here, all but the Potter house beyond the tall trees at the bend in the river.

Headlights moved slowly downhill from Potter’s upper meadow, someone driving through deep snow.

Why would anybody be up there tonight?

Phil, maybe.

Why?

Something thumped the glass wall of the vestibule, like a pinecone blown by the wind.

Hmm, no wind tonight.

Something thumped the exterior glass again and Olen looked up at the moon.

Birds circled overhead, some close to the house. He’d never seen birds fly at night before but this was a very bright night, the moon and all this snow compared to a  cloudy day. Maybe they always flew at night and he'd never noticed.

He opened the exterior door and walked outside, too cold for birds to be flying around. He’d cleaned the steps earlier that day, still slippery here and there. Water runoff from a sunny day had frozen solid.

Day or night, he couldn’t help admiring his store from up here. Whenever Willis built something, it was not only strong and secure, it was fun to look at and fun to live in.

Olen followed their stone steps downhill to the covered sidewalk along the side of the bank, used the rear door, passed through a small vestibule and entered the outer office of the bank.

“Here’s Olen now.” Bill Whatling smiled hello, seated at his wife’s desk.

Gilpin stood in front of the desk, giving Olen the evil eye. Who knows why?"

Stan Ralston sat under the high, south facing windows, no need for bars up there.

“Where’s Nason,” Gilpin asked.

“Saw his headlights coming down from Potter’s upper meadow.”

“You’re both late,” said Gilpin, maybe why he was angry. “I was getting ready to go up to your house and find you so I can get paid.”

“We need you to sign the release.” Whatling slid a sheet of paper across his desk toward Olen.

Olen stepped over and signed it. He didn’t need to read it. He’d signed them many times. He’d also seen Gilpin’s sneer before.

Dope-head.

If not for Gilpin, Kidro might still be alive. Thinking about that night brought a smile to Olen's face.

Can't help it.

He liked these new Potters better than he’d ever liked Kidro.

Gilpin pushed his hat to the back of his head and turned toward the front door. “Fine. Just put it into my account. I'm not waiting around for Nason. He's always late anyway.”

Ralston chuckled and shook his head. “Damn, Bruce, why didn’t you just stay home?”

“And trust you bunch of crooks? Not me.” Gilpin didn’t smile on his way out.

JASON CLIMBED ONTO the stump at the front of the barn, just high enough for him to return the key. Everybody knew the niche was there, of course, so he never worried about somebody seeing him put it back. Keeping it up there meant it wouldn't get lost. All that mattered was keeping the horses and the calf safe inside, nice and warm.

Why Stoner and Dandy hadn’t taken apples tonight seemed weird. They were fresh pippins, the kind they liked best but something was bothering them and they'd shied away.

His pant legs had frozen stiff. They got wet walking to the upper meadow and back. His teeth started chattering before he jumped off the stump. They kept chattering all the way up the driveway toward the house.

What the . . . 

Something stood in the woods near the crest of the driveway where it turned down toward River Road, something big and dark looking at Jason. Its eyes glowed red in the dark, maybe reflecting from the moon and snow, so bright.

Must be . . .

No.

This had to be a different one. It walked on all four legs onto the crest of the cleared driveway, so plain to see. Jason hurried up the steps onto the porch.

Maybe if he didn’t look at it, maybe if it didn’t see his eyes, maybe it wouldn’t know who he was. Maybe it wouldn’t see him at all. John Crow had said something like that.

Hope so.

He pushed on the front door but it didn’t budge.

Oh, no. 

He turned to look.

That thing walked down the