 
The Baby Isn't Dead

Published by Sheila S. Jecks at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Sheila S. Jecks

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Prologue:

With no emotion, Heinrich Rosenberg looked down at the tender new life in his hands. As always these days, his blue farm overalls were filthy, the front of his undershirt was a menu of past meals, sweat stains radiated from under his skinny arms and his dirty calloused feet were pushed into a pair of soiled house slippers. Intense blue eyes looked at the baby from under the bushy eyebrows that were drawn up into a frown. Red spider web veins ran helter-skelter over a bulbous nose that dripped snot onto the tiny male infant.

This little problem was left with him to deal with.

Finally he decided, he would do what he did before...

CHAPTER 1

Apparently I spent way too much time away on the job, and not enough in the office where all the action was.

The people who work for me were tiptoeing around trying not to set me off again. I was vacillating between calling the police, the armed forces or the local motorcycle gang to find and dispose of the weasel that broke my heart and single-handed catapulted my restoration company into the trash heap. Almost!

And today I found he was also dipping into the petty cash. I don't know how I could have been so blind and stupid to believe the stories he told me about all the troubles we were having installing the brick work at the Seaside Aquarium in Vancouver.

Vancouver, BC owes its' beauty to the Pacific Ocean on one side and the Coast Mountain Range on the other. Couple this with the delta of the mighty Fraser River and you have sand, sea and mountains all within an hour or two drive. The people who live in Beautiful BC consider themselves the luckiest people in Canada. Mild winters, summers not too hot, and stunning picturesque scenery. And they also have a fantastic Aquarium that needed an upgrade to the front façade. Just the kind of work my company specialized in.

I know, I'm getting a little carried away with the Vancouver stuff, especially since my business is in Langley, a small town that may some day get gobbled up in Vancouver's urban sprawl. But for now, I'm thankful for work anywhere. My business was finally getting well known for staying in-budget and on time, and now this.

Today, I also found the bills for payment he pushed through Gladys, our girl-in-the-office, without any paper work to justify them.

When I asked Gladys, she said she told me about them and I said, "Whatever!" so she just paid them and kept her mouth shut.

So much for paying attention to business!

My small Restoration company, "Creative Outdoor Design," is my whole life, I started it five years ago, and although it was tough in the beginning I am finally getting bigger and better jobs. The renovated front entrance to the Vancouver Seaside Aquarium is our biggest job yet, and I spent a lot of time designing and overseeing the work. We still had some clean-up to do, but now, I'm not sure if they still want my poor company on the job.

Today, I'm sitting on the patio of my condo in the Riverside Crescent Towers that's on the fourth floor of the poshest tower on the Fraser River. It stands on the north bank and has a beautiful view of the narrow sheltered waterway between Wolf Island and the small town of Ft. Langley, BC.

But today the view did nothing to calm my angst.

The day started out sunny but had no joy even though it got up to the high sixty's, but early May on the West Coast sometimes looks warmer than it feels.

What I need is warm air and sunshine for a new start on an old life.

What a bummer!

When I got up this morning I was in no mood to dress for the finer things in life, and grabbed yesterday's jeans and an old sweat shirt that said, "You Have to Kiss a Lot of Frogs before You Meet Your Prince." I'm in the midst of getting rid of a two-timing frog, and I'm not too sure about meeting a prince either.

My formal name is Samantha Elizabeth Lillian Baker, but people mostly call me Sam. Now I know there are times when having a man's name can get confusing, but I've learned to deal with that. What I haven't learned to deal with is the realization that some men don't live up to the advertising. All this hooey in the movies and TV about the perfect man, the perfect couple, the perfect life, it all just gives me a migraine.

There are no perfect men!

Just gullible women.

The sun was high overhead and I was still sitting on my patio feeling cold and sorry for myself. My eyes were looking at the email on my computer but I really wasn't seeing it. I kept drifting, was this my last chance at romance, and if so, did I handle it right?

Actually, looking back at last week, I thought I handled it rather well.

I smiled bitterly and thought of the fiasco I discovered when I walked in on the man in my life cheating on me with the university student I felt sorry for and hired for the summer.

The job I was working on at the front of the Seaside Aquarium in Vancouver had to close down early because of a glitch in the electrical system. I sent the two guys I had working with me home and came back to the office unexpectedly. I found him pants off, bare bum up, on top of the ungrateful girl, and worse yet, spread out on my own desk in my own office! The silly girl didn't even have the decency to be embarrassed. She just wiggled and giggled off the desk, grabbed her clothes and headed for the back room.

Harry Harper took his time pulling up his jeans and putting on his T shirt. "What are you doing here," he said accusingly, "you told us you wouldn't be back for the rest of the day?" Without even a sliver of an apology, he picked up his truck keys and said, "See you at home, sweetheart."

I grabbed my keys and slammed out of the office. I had to beat him back to the condo.

What a big mistake fourteen months ago when I allowed this miserable maggot to move in with me. What was I thinking?

I had to get home first!

I raced out to the black Dodge work truck I was driving and threw it into gear and headed out of downtown Langley. I floored it as I drove east on the Fraser Highway, careened into the turn on Clover Road and roared through what passed for downtown Ft. Langley. Thank goodness our one Community Cop was having coffee in the local café and was not in his patrol car when I sped by.

I jiggled over the railway tracks that ran through the town and turned into the parking lot of our condo. Brakes squealed as I slid into my parking space. I jumped out of the truck and ran to the main entrance almost tripping as I skidded into the upscale foyer. Old Mrs. Bailey was coming down the staircase and I just missed running over her in front of the water feature in the lobby as I raced to the open elevator and punched the fourth floor button.

My heart was in my mouth as I fumbled for the key, what if he got here first, what'll I do? He's 5 feet 9 inches of last year's muscle; I say that because he hasn't been doing much exercise standing up lately. It seems most of his work outs have been horizontal. But he still has 100 lbs. and 8 inches in height on me.

When I finally got the door open and looked around, I realized I got here first. Thank God!

Charging into the bedroom I dragged all the clothes from his side of the large walk-in closet and threw them off our little front room patio, right into the rose bushes with the big thorns by the main entrance.

Tsk tsk tsk.

I knew he'd never think to look for them down there; he always used the side door.

The pricey Harley-Davidson Iroquois Skull boots I bought him for his birthday, the sexy designer jeans he bought on my credit card. Shirts, shorts and socks, and everything else I could find went! I only thought a moment, and out went his computer, his I-Pod, his old CD's, and all his pirated copies of NasCar Racing.

I stormed into the bathroom, grabbed his shaving gear, the Dragon Back Kimono I gave him last Christmas and everything else that reminded me of him. I shoved them all into old Safeway shopping bags, and threw them off the balcony too.

When I stopped and looked around I realized there really wasn't much of Horrible Harry Harper to throw out. Everything else in the apartment was mine. He'd contributed very little to our shared life.

The overwhelming righteous anger at the faithless action of the man I allowed into my heart and home was starting to morph into bitter humiliation. This love and romance stuff was harder than I thought as a few unwelcome tears trickled down the side of my nose.

I was definitely going to abstain from now on.

No more MEN in my life!

The computer beeping brought me back to the present. I reread the email on the screen and thought, how should I answer this message from my grandma, Elizabeth Friesen? I was kind of named after her, and she never lets me forget I'm her favorite granddaughter. The fact that I'm her _only_ granddaughter doesn't have anything to do with anything. She usually gets her own way and is not above a little gentle manipulation.

As I sat thinking, I realized life in the small town of Ft. Langley, British Columbia wasn't going to be the greatest right now. Not since I threw Harry Harper out on his conniving, two-timing, double-crossing ass.

Actually, it was going to be horrible. I was going to be in for a lot of "I told you so's".

My Dad would be happy, he couldn't stand Harry; and he told me so, often. The guys who work for me will be glad he's no longer on the payroll; he gave them so much grief. Too bad I didn't listen a long time ago.

All in all, maybe it would be good to get out of town for a week or two.

The computer beeped again and reminded me to quit procrastinating and get back to the present, I had to stop dwelling on H. H. The email it was nagging about was the favor Grandma Friesen wanted from me. She asked me to go to Saskatchewan to fix up and sell the old family homestead in Prairie View. The email said it wouldn't take long, maybe two or three weeks at the most. And it would be fun because I'd never been there before. It seemed to be just what I needed. Better to be doing something constructive than sitting here wallowing in self- pity.

As I was typing up my answer to grandma, I realized there was someone at the door. I could hear the key trying to turn in the lock. Good thing I had the lock changed yesterday, I knew exactly who that someone was.

"I know you're in there," Horrible Harry shouted through the door, "open up or I'll kick the door in!"

No sign of a sentimental tear now, my face turned red. I jumped up and ran to the door shouting, "get away from here, or I'll call the cops. How would you like to spend a few days in the pokey? No cute university students in there, you know!"

I stood poised on my side of the door, cell phone in hand, hoping I could justify a call to the local RCMP. How sweet it would be to see the two-timing louse being led away in handcuffs.

Harry Harper was nobody's fool, and having lived with Samantha Elizabeth Lillian Baker for a year and some, he believed her.

I could hear feet shuffling, and some indignant huffing and puffing, then he tried a new approach.

"I just want my clothes and stuff, pussycat," he wheedled through the door. "I'm sorry about Amanda, I just got carried away, you know you're the only girl for me?"

Nosey old Mr. McKinney from down the hall opened his door, stuck his head out, and spied Harry. He shook his fist at him and shouted "keep the noise down or I'll call the cops, what are you yelling about anyway."

Turning to the door again, Harry tried his best sniffling voice, "aw, Sam, honey, don't hold a grudge, she didn't mean anything to me. Let me in, I'll make it up to you. You'll see."

"Get lost, you two-timing rat," I shrieked, "I'd call you a lot worse, but I still have to live here after you've gone. I threw your stuff out the window. There's nothing of yours left here anymore. Get lost!"

As I heard him stomp down the hall, I ran to the front room and looked over the edge of the patio. Nothing down there now except flowers and shrubs and oh yes, I see a shiny CD the speedy thief overlooked. tsk, tsk, tsk

With this happy little diversion out of the way, I finished the email to grandma and sent it off.

In the kitchen I opened the fridge door knowing there was very little to eat on the shelves. Finally I gave up and did what I always do when I'm depressed, I ordered "in". The pizza palace in Ft. Langley probably declared a banner month I'd called them so many times. When I dialed the number and the girl answered, all I had to do was say my name and she rattled off my order and told me it would be there in twenty minutes.

Something told me they were standing around waiting for my order.

I finished my pizza and made myself a cup of hot cocoa, now I know that doesn't sound good, but don't criticize until you've tried it.

I took my cocoa and stood at the bedroom door and looked at the bed. When I threw the bum out, I wanted to throw the mattress too, but prudence finally won out, and I opted for new sheets, pillows and duvet. It wasn't the best, but it would have to do.

Finally I took a long hot shower and went to bed, knowing I had done the right thing accepting grandma's suggestion. At least it would get me out of town.

CHAPTER 2

It was a sunny morning the last week in April, and I was standing on the train station platform in Prairie View, Saskatchewan and looked down the main street.

It hadn't changed much in the sixty and some years since grandma left town when she was seventeen. It was almost Spring and things were still dry and brown but there was the occasional little green weed poking its head up beside the sidewalk. Grandma assured me the hot weather would come in with a bang the first week in June. I was confident I'd be long gone by then.

The little park she used to talk about stood next door to the train station. I'd have known it anywhere. Grandma loved the little park. She told a lot of stories about the kids that played in it. She always laughed about the rivalry between the town kids and the farm kids. Whoever got to the swing first on Saturday morning was 'king of the castle' and everyone else had to make do being 'the dirty rascal'.

The swing and teeter-totter were old, obviously homemade. I could almost hear the squeals of laughter as the little kids played on the wonderful new toys.

Grandma said when she got older, she and her girl friend from school watched as the courting couples came and walked along the paths in the park and tried to get to the one park bench first. Why there was always so much laughter and mild pushing and shoving she didn't know, but she said she always wanted to find out what was so funny.

The park was quiet now, still waiting for the young people that didn't come.

Half way down the other side of the street the local market stood where I knew it would be. Grandma had a lot of funny stories about the Italian family that used to run the A & G General Store. The 'A' part of the business was Antonio the husband. I could see where the sign was recently painted over with a new name, Marvin's Family Market.

I used to laugh and begged to hear her old story's again and again. The one I liked best was when Antonio's very fat wife caught him cheating on her with a very skinny old maid that lived on the west side of town. Grandma said she was so mad at him, she ran down the middle of the street with her apron flying over her shoulder throwing ripe tomatoes and turnips and everything else she could lay her hands on at her cringing husband. The word pictures she painted stuck in my memory. I almost saw the harried shop owner scuttling down the street as he tried to dodge the flying vegetables that were tossed by his outraged wife.

I saw where someone tried to update the market. They added an outdoor organic vegetable stand on the north side. It didn't look like it helped customer flow much.

The local Beauty Parlor was still there too. Although I saw it couldn't commit to joining the 21st century as it still had old pictures of pretty girls with bouffant hair styles on the glass window in front. Inside were two ladies sitting and chatting while they waited for the hairdresser to do miracles with their hair.

The local café on the other side of the street was just as I pictured it too. Right down to the big electric "EAT" sign out front.

The last store on that side used to be the dry-goods store, I could tell by the old faded sign. But it had been sold as well. Now it boasted a big PIZZA sign. Everything changed with the times.

I was still standing, looking down the main street when I realized the train was getting ready to leave. "Excuse me," I said to the harried conductor that was dashing across the station platform, "can you direct me to the local hotel?"

"Ask her," he said with an overworked sigh and pointed to the ticket vender inside the train station.

I left my big suitcase on the platform and went through the ornate wooden door into the building. This was an old building, I could tell by the gingerbread around the windows, doors and ticket window.

The small room had a colorful poster of a Circus Show on July 1, 1964 with fierce tigers and beautiful girls in red and blue tights still hanging on the wall by the ticket window. Old train schedules showing train routs that didn't run anymore stood at attention alongside the tigers and beautiful girls. On the far wall there was a faded poster heralding the local Fair & Rodeo, on June 24, 2009 at the IPE fairgrounds. On the bottom in small print it said the fairground was just outside the north side of town. On the wall by the ticket window vying for attention with the tigers and pretty girls, were new weekly train schedules. They were hung with precision in well-ordered rows, you could tell neatness counted.

The dusty room spoke to me of years of impatient waiting; you could almost hear the muffled tears as soldiers said good-by to sweethearts. The cries of joy as friends and relatives came to greet the victorious boys coming back from both World Wars.

What am I doing standing here in the doorway looking at the train schedules? Enough of this weepy stuff, I said to myself, get yourself together and get on with it,.

Turning to the ticket window I smiled at the old lady.

The elderly clerk that watched me come into the reception area was wearing a pink and blue plaid suit that was stylish when the Beatles were famous. The big soft floppy blue bow at the neck of her suit showed she hadn't paid much attention to style these last 35 years.

Mind you, who was I to criticize.

At the counter, the old woman smiled and put down the sweater she was knitting, "what can I do for you, dear? There are no more trains running today."

I glanced around to make sure she was talking to me.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror above the ticket window. Two days on the train from the Vancouver depot made my long blond hair look like used straw, and the little lipstick I usually wore was chewed off long ago. How gross!

My grandma Elizabeth Friesen thought my business, 'Creative Outdoor Design' _,_ meant picking out paint chips and rearranging furniture. She thought that made me the perfect choice to go and renovate the old farm house in Prairie View. I keep telling her I'm not good at rearranging furniture and I don't do paint chips. But it doesn't help.

I've told her over and over again. My company's business was designing _Enclosed P_ _atios_ _, E_ _xterior Entrances_ _and S_ _elf Contained Roof Gardens._

Never mind, I got out of Langley for a while and away from my embarrassing situation. Right now I didn't want to deal with their well-meaning advice about my latest romantic fiasco. Another benefit being, I wouldn't accidentally run into 'Hot Lips Harry'. Recently I was told he slept with every girl on the whole lower mainland of British Columbia and the ones in Ft. Langley twice. All this while he was living with me and promising undying fidelity!

And now here I was, on my own, in a town I hardly heard of, going to do things I was not very good at, in a house I'd never seen.

Original Planning, Constructive Design, Attention to Detail, that's what my company is all about. And I'm darn good at it too. But this is different. I had no idea what this house would need and who I would get to help me.

I stopped stressing and put my overnight case on the floor by my feet and looked again at the old lady behind the ancient grill. Straightening my tan flak jacket, I clutched my travel pack and stood tall; you do that when you're the shortest girl in the family.

Not only was I the shortest one in the family, but every year in my old school pictures, there I was in the front row. The humiliation of it all! I always told my mom the reason I was so short was because my brothers always got the good stuff and all I got were the leftovers. It was true too, both of them are over six feet and I'm just over five. The teasing and my temper kept getting me in trouble all through grade school. High school wasn't much better, but I had learned to compensate by then.

Turning to the ticket lady, I said, "I need a place to stay for a few days, is there a hotel in town?"

"Not much to do around here in the summer, dear," she said. She put the half-finished sweater back into her knitting bag and closed the wooden ticket window. "What's a young thing like you going to do in an old washed-up town like this? Are you here to visit relatives?" she asked. She always liked to have a little gossip to pass around on Tuesday evening at the Women's Home Mission meeting at the local church.

"I've come to renovate one of the old farm houses, see if I can fix it up enough to sell. Maybe you know it; the old Henderson place? I understand the house has been empty for a while. I'm supposed to see if it's worth the repair money. But I need a place to stay till I decide what I'm going to do."

"My goodness, I used to know the Henderson family when I was a girl," said the old woman as she paused in the closing-up routine to look closely at Samantha. "But they've all moved away now. As I remember, there were a lot of girls in that family."

"We don't have a hotel in town, dear," she said changing the subject but not missing a beat. There's only the Easy Rest Motel a block or so off the Trans-Canada Highway. It's just passed the end of this long block turn left and down a ways, you can't miss it. It's right beside Joe Buchman's garage. You'll need to rent a car dear, because there's no bus service here. Joe is always good about renting out his cars it gives him a little extra cash. We're just a small town so the only bus around here is the Grey Hound to Regina."

"Thank you; I'll see what he's got. I'm Samantha Baker, Elizabeth Henderson's granddaughter," I said thrusting my hand forward to shake hands with the ticket lady.

"Well, well, I never thought I'd see any Henderson's around here again. I remember your grandmother very well," said the old lady completely ignoring my outstretched hand as she continued to straighten up the ticket window area. Finally, she put the bar across the shutter that closed off the office and turned to face me.

"It was too bad then and it's still too bad. You just never know dear. But I'll give you a lift to the garage. You get your big suitcase and wait right here by the door. Everything will work out fine, you'll see."

As I stooped to pick up my overnight case I tried to ask what she meant by _it was too bad then and it's still too bad._ But she had bustled off with a quick "I'll be right back with the car dear, and I'll drop you off," thrown over her shoulder.

CHAPTER 3

I spent a restless night in unit 37 of the Easy Rest Motel.

This was your basic circa 1975 motel, old but not quite sleazy - yet! The wallpaper still hung on the wall. But it was faded to a medium pinky grey to match the worn out bed spread. A small dark table with a brand new lamp stood by the side of the bed. It didn't match the rest of the furniture and it didn't take too much imagination to know why the lamp was new. The desk that held the black and white TV also looked like it had seen a better day.

I was almost finished my morning shower when I realized the shower curtain didn't stay in the tub and water splashed all over the floor. I wasn't going to be popular with the cleaning lady, what a mess. I threw both bath towels on the floor to mop up some of the water. But I suppose, it probably meant the bathroom floor would get a good wash.

No queen size bed in this room, a double would have to do as there wasn't room to walk from bed to bathroom and still open the closet door.

I stood looking in the mirror that was nailed to the wall in the bathroom and fussing with myself for winding up in this "has been" of a motel. Surely there were better places to stay in Saskatchewan. I hadn't seen any mice, and the room looked more or less clean, I'm not spending much time here, I told myself, I'll move into the house today as soon as I've looked it over to see what needs to be done, it can't be in that bad a condition. We're in a farming community I kept telling myself, this is as good as it's going to get, besides, I'll never be back here again, get over it.

Later that morning after my little talk with myself, and my shower and change of clothes I felt better. Although the sun was shining it didn't seem to be much warmer than when I came. I was glad I took the time last night to hang up my clothes; I didn't feel quite so crumpled. My navy windbreaker seemed to be just the thing for a brisk walk before breakfast as I headed down the front street to the Family Café with the neon sign that said, EAT...EAT...EAT, alright, alright, I said to the sign, I'm going to 'eat' right now!

The café was mature; I was being kind.

The walls were hung with time-worn pictures of former hockey stars, or owners or important people, it didn't say which.

The well-used booths were upholstered in fire engine red imitation leather to match the red stools that sat in front of the long grey counter. The red was supposed to give the room some warmth and life, but no one mentioned that to whoever chose the pea green paint on the walls. It sucked the life out of all the other colors.

The small bell that rang when I walked in woke up the 'part-time' waitress that was leaning over the counter doodling on a piece of scrap paper. As I looked around I realized I was the only customer in the place.

I took the closest booth and she came over with an almost clean menu, "what'll-ya-have," she asked covering her yawn with the back of her hand.

"I haven't even seen the menu yet," I said, trying not to be sharp, but you can only do so much nice before your morning coffee. "Just bring me coffee and I'll see what looks good."

This was not going well.

She came right back with a sparkling clean cup and a pot of hot coffee, and I knew my fears were unfounded; we were going to get along just fine.

"I see you're new in town, what'r ya doin' here?"

"Came to do some renovation work," I said, two could talk this short farm talk, and I'm a fast learner. "I'll take No. 6, bacon, eggs, toast and coffee, eggs over easy, bacon crisp, hold the hash browns."

Time had definitely stood still in Prairie View, Saskatchewan.

Surprisingly, the food was good, the eggs weren't greasy, the bacon was crisp and the coffee scalded the roof of my mouth, it was also fast, so I had no complaints. Darn!

"You staying long?" asked the waitress whose name tag read, 'Hi my name is Noreen'. "You can pay up at the counter, if ya don't mind," she said as she walked back to the cash register.

"O.K.," I said while I stood in front of the cash register and gave her my credit card, "I'm staying as long as it takes to sell the old Henderson place, you want to buy it?"

"Everybody knows the old Henderson place," she said and gave me a funny look as she took my card and gave me a receipt. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"No," I said, I don't know why, but I thought it better not to get involved in a discussion of my relatives on my first day here. It hadn't gone over well at the train station yesterday.

"I've got a map and a rental car, which way should I go to find 12 County Road?"

"Just go down the main street here, that's the one right outside," she said, "turn north at the empty lot, that'll be Grange Road you can't miss it. 12 County is just down the ways a piece off that road."

I went back to my booth, put on my jacket and got my bag from behind the table. I opened my purse and put the receipt inside my wallet, I didn't have an expense account for this job, but old habits are hard to break.

I got my suitcase and over-night bag together and took them with me as I went in to pay the bill at the motel. The old man behind the desk was sitting in a swivel chair and reading a newspaper, he glanced up and said, "need change?"

It took a minute until I realized he was asking if I needed change for the bill. I took out my credit card and put it on the desk.

"Sorry," I said, "but I don't have any cash money; I have to put it on my card."

He put the newspaper down, got up and came over to the desk, "well little lady," he said, "I guess we'll have to take your money the hard way."

I stood in front of the desk and didn't know how to feel, it's been a long time since I'd been addressed as 'little lady', and I didn't know quite how to deal with it. Then I realized, he probably said it to every female that came into the office so I swallowed down my smart remark and asked for a receipt.

Once outside I put the suitcases in the trunk and got into the car, threw purse and jacket in the back and looked at the map, now, which way is north?

I consider myself a pretty good map reader. So with only a couple of false turns I sat in the ancient Volvo I rented from Joe Buchman's garage and looked at the address on the front of the decrepit old house.

I don't know what I thought it would look like, but this sure wasn't it.

I got out of the car and looked around the abandoned yard at the old building. I felt creepy fingers crawling up my back. As I turned slowly around I expected to see someone standing there watching me.

Nope, no one there!

"Get a grip, girl," I told myself in my best no-nonsense voice, "don't be such a wuss!" I went back to the car and picked up my overnight case and pushed the broken down gate open.

A good thing I thought to stop at what passed for the real estate office in town and pick up the key. The local Farmer's Co-Op was handling the house for the Winston Real Estate Company whose main office was in Regina. Otherwise I'd be making another trip back to the big town of Prairie View, NOT!

I'm not all that well travelled, but I know a small town when I see it. Prairie View is definitely small town. It doesn't even have a Pub. Where do people go to have a good time Saturday night?

Not Prairie View I'll bet.

I climbed the wobbly front stairs and put my overnight case on the front porch and went back for the big suitcase. As I went up the second time I thought I saw someone peeking through the ratty curtains in the upper floor front bedroom window.

It can't be. No one is supposed to be living in the house.

The front door looked like it hadn't been opened forever; dust and dirt filled the crevice between the door and the door jam. Leaves and branches littered the small porch and one of the floor boards had two large nails sticking up.

"Looks like I've got my work cut out for me," I said in a loud voice from the front porch to whoever was watching from upstairs. I put the key noisily into the scuffed lock. Maybe the racket would encourage whoever was up there to get out before I pushed open the front door.

With my overnight bag in my hand I gingerly walked into the grimy front hall that led into the large kitchen at the back of the house. The door on the right side off the hall was supposed to be the parlor. The door on the other side was the downstairs bedroom, this according to the plans the Real Estate Agent gave me. I opened the door on the right expecting to see an empty room. But it turned out to be the catch all of broken furniture, wooden boxes, dirt and mouse droppings.

Closing the door I walked carefully into the kitchen and put my case on the floor. I looked around and felt that sad room look back at me. Three of the walls were painted peach but a lot of the paint had peeled off and the room was badly in need of renovation.

There must have been wallpaper on the other wall as there were still some shreds of paper clinging to the place where there should have been a stove.

I looked around at all the spider webs in the corners, mouse droppings and muck on the floor. Dirt and leaves filtered into the room through the broken window over the sink and were piled against the far wall. What a mess to clean up.

I was finding it hard to believe this house was only vacant for three years. This kind of neglect usually took a long, long time to get to this point of disrepair.

The cupboards looked as though they'd been remodeled during the '70's. But it wasn't a very good job as the doors on two of them were hanging by one hinge and the others were shut crookedly. The sink was filthy and held the body of a small dead rodent with a short tail that fell into it and couldn't climb out. The grimy lime green counter top was pock marked with big burn spots on the side by the absent stove. No big question on how they got there. The drawers were removed from the cupboards and piled in the corner by the warped back door.

Mice had been 'Master in the House' for a long time. They'd left their calling cards everywhere.

The back door was on the wall that faced the back yard, and the area beside the empty stove space looked damp and rotten. It was as though colored moisture had been seeping down the wall from the upstairs for years.

Sure a lot of work to do around here, I thought.

"I wonder where the water's coming from that's making that part of the wall wet," I said to no one in particular. "I swear it looks like red paint not water, it's discolored the whole area. I better check that when I go upstairs."

I went back to the front door to get the big suitcase, but thought better of it and left it on the porch. Where was I going to sleep tonight? Down here in the ground floor bedroom with all the mice or upstairs in the clean bedroom? I paused in the doorway with my sleeping bag not knowing if there was a clean bedroom upstairs. Looking at the filthy room down here, my overactive imagination had me fighting a losing battle with a gang of rowdy farmer mice, I panicked and got tangled up with my sleeping bag as I edged toward the outside door. It wouldn't let me fight my way out.

Give me a break!

I was having second thoughts about staying here tonight. Even though I knew, in a fair fight, I could take my sleeping bag, but I wasn't too sure about the mice... my stomach turned at the thought of putting it down anywhere in this mouse mess.

I forgot when I was at the real estate office to make sure the electricity was turned on. I flicked the light switch in the hall and nothing happened.

This didn't look good.

Back at the front door, my big bag was still outside on the porch. I looked at the stairwell that began on the left side of the small foyer, the steps didn't look too steady. _But since I'm here now,_ I thought _, I'd better look upstairs too._

I went up cautiously, one step at a time, hugging the wall as though it would keep me from falling. I managed to reach the hall landing without incident. I thought I heard someone or something moving around behind the door on the right. Holding my courage firmly in hand, I stood my ground and called.

"Anybody there?"

No one answered.

The small landing I was on only had two doors. They opened on opposite sides of the hall. I called again to whoever was in the bedroom that they'd better come out.

Right now! Or Else!

Mind you, I didn't have anything to "Or Else" them, but they didn't know that.

No one came out. Nothing happened.

With my heart in my mouth, I used both hands to open the sticky door on my left and looked in. I was putting off looking in the bedroom on my right where I had heard the noise as I hoped I was giving who or whatever was in that room time to get out.

Spider webs hung from the corners of the room and mouse droppings covered the floor just like the kitchen and everywhere else. There was a small broken down bed in this room and some more boxes; it looked like it had been a child's room. I heaved a sigh of relief and closed the door.

The door on the right side of the hall opened easily. This room was clean. No spider webs, no mouse droppings, no dirt or dust. It was just very empty. As I stood in the doorway, a shiver of cold ran down my back and I quickly looked around the room to see if there was a hole in the upstairs window too.

"Don't be silly," I said to no-one-there, "there's nothing here, thank goodness one room is clean, I'll use this room as my bedroom but I think I will spend a couple of days at the motel until I chase the mice out of the rest of the house."

As I turned to leave the room I remembered to look for the leak that was oozing water down the wall into the kitchen.

There didn't seem to be any water standing in this room, _maybe it's coming from the roof and running down the inside wall,_ I thought. I went out into the hall and opened the first door again; I checked the floor and walls as I gingerly stepped around the mouse poop. No water in here either! And besides, how could it get to the other side of the house to run down that wall. No, the leak was on the kitchen side of the house. I made my way carefully down the stairs after remembering to close both doors.

As I got to the bottom step I heard a bedroom door slam shut. "That's odd," I said out loud, "I'm sure I closed both doors. What is it with these old houses?"

I'm definitely going back to the motel for a night or two, I thought, just until I can get some help to clean this mess up.

There was a knock on the front door as I was getting my overnight case out of the kitchen to take to the car. Now what, I wondered, no one knew I was here.

I opened the door and there stood an old lady with white hair and a big smile. She had a pink paisley dress on with an old fashioned white apron with ruffles over the shoulders. It looked like she just stepped out of an old copy of the Fanny Farmer's cookbook.

"Welcome to the neighborhood dear," she said "my name is Elsa Knutson. Come on over to the house when you're finished. I'll make you a nice cup of tea to warm you up." She pointed to the small white house way down the street, "I've been watching for you all morning."

What the heck?

I smiled as I stood on the front porch and watched the old woman get back into her colorful golf cart. Leave it to a native of Saskatchewan to figure out how to get around in the big Wild West without a horse. Just goes to show, a little technology goes a long way.

"Well," I said to my overnight bag, "I could do with a cup of tea. Maybe she can tell me what's been going on here, like, who was supposed to be looking after the house, and why haven't they? Or, when did people live here last? And, who can help me get rid of the mice?"

Lots of questions.

She looked like the type who had lots of answers... my kind of neighbor.

I wrestled my big suitcase down the front steps again and stowed it in the back seat of the Volvo, went back and got my overnight case out of the house and put it down on the porch. I turned back to grab the front door handle to lock the door.

"What's this?" I shouted as the door slammed shut in my face. I tried to push it open again but it seemed to be stuck.

What's wrong with this old house?

I grabbed my overnight case and hurried down the steps and into the car. I backed up to get to get out of the driveway and a short drive took me to the white house and Elsa Knutson.

I stopped in front and looked at the well-kept yard. It made the house down the street look like the dump it was.

Seems I was going to have to do a lot of work on the old place to get it to the point of resale.

But right now, I could do with a cup of tea, and some local gossip.

I put the old Volvo into park and got out of the car and locked it. A little voice in the back of my head said, who would want an old Volvo, and besides, there was nobody around to steal it anyway. Old habits are hard to break, we city folk locked everything, whether we owned it or not.

I went up the newly painted front steps and looked carefully at the railings. It was a good job. Maybe I could hire whoever they had do this.

I was just about to knock when the door opened and there stood the old lady herself.

"Come in, dear," said Mrs. Knutson, "come through to the kitchen. I just took some peanut butter cookies out of the oven, you must be hungry. I know they don't feed you very well in town. Can I make you a sandwich or maybe some cold fried chicken and potato salad?"

_O my gosh,_ I thought as I walked down the hall after Mrs. Knutson, _the old lady gossip hotline even works in Saskatchewan. I'll bet she knew who I was and what I was going to do here before the train stopped._

I paused at the doorway to the kitchen and looked around. I didn't want to be a bother, but my tongue was hanging out in anticipation of those homemade peanut butter cookies. Where I came from cookies grew in boxes and lived on supermarket shelves.

"No thank you, Mrs. Knutson, cookies and tea will be just fine," I said in my most grown up voice.

The kitchen smelled wonderfully of fresh baking, and while all the appliances were not up-to-the-minute, they gleamed brighter than when they were new. Cheery yellow walls and school crafts made by little fingers filled every square inch. Here was a grandma who was loved by all her grandchildren. And she didn't mind showing it.

Mrs. Knutson took the kettle off the stove and put an ounce or two of boiling water into her yellow teapot (it even matched the walls). She swished it around, poured it out, put in some loose tea and filled the pot to the top. It looked like we were going to have a long 'tea break'.

"I have to get back to town and get my motel room back for a few days until I can clean up the house next door," I said, eyeing the plate of cookies on the table.

"My grandmother, Elizabeth Friesen, her maiden name was Henderson," I said, gratefully helping myself to a cookie, "sent me here to fix up and sell the old house, and I need to live in it while I get it ready for the Real Estate people. Do you know of anyone I can get to come out and help me clean it up?"

"I'll give you the name of the fellow we get to do the odd jobs around here that Mr. Knutson can't do anymore. My husband and I have lived in this house for fifty-nine years ever since my mother died and we moved in to look after my father."

"If you need anything else, just give us a call," said Mrs. Knutson, "I'll give you our phone number before you go too. Do you like your tea strong?"

She was talking so fast I could hardly keep up. "Yes," I stammered, "my grandma always said strong tea is best, it puts hair on your chest."

I saw Mrs. Knutson looking at me over her glasses with a puzzled look on her face, and I realized what I said. "Oh, sorry about that, my grandma was always kidding around, and that was something she always teased me with. I can't believe it just popped out of my mouth."

Mrs. Knutson smiled as though she understood the special relationship between grandmothers and granddaughters.

Just then Mr. Knutson came into the kitchen. You could tell he was a farmer, and a well fed one at that. He sat down at the table and began to help himself to several cookies.

"Lan sakes, Mr. Knutson you best be puttin' on your Sunday manners, can't you see we got company?"

I looked at the two old folks and just knew I had stepped into a time warp. This kind of family didn't exist anymore.

But I did understand the heavenly aroma of freshly baked peanut butter cookies and the warmth of the cup of tea.

I believed in cookies.

"Don't eat so much," she said to her husband; "you'll spoil your dinner. We're going to have your favorite, chicken pot pie and the last of the lemon pie I made yesterday." Turning to me, she said, "You have to stay for dinner dear, all you'll get in town is fried food or hamburgers. Make yourself at home now and tell me what all you're going to do at the old Henderson place?"

Had I died and gone to heaven?

Later that evening I left the Knutson house knowing I made a friend, make that two friends. It made me feel warm and fuzzy.

Good thing I called the Easy Rest Motel while Mrs. Knutson was making dinner and reserved my old room, they were all booked up for the night. I'd have had to go all the way to the outskirts of Regina to find another motel room.

My warm fuzzy feeling lasted till next day. After a breakfast of coffee, scrambled eggs, bacon and toast in the local diner again, I phoned to have the telephone service hooked up in the old house. I was informed that there was an outstanding bill and there would be no service to that residence until the short fall was looked after. By the time I hung up, I was stressed out. I deal with service companies all the time, never had I heard such stilted, verbose language. It sounded like the girl was reading from an 'answer' list. I didn't know Saskatchewan was lagging so far behind the telecommunications world, but in the end I had to go to Strifiel's Drugstore and get a money order and send it to Regina. I was promised I would have service three days after they received payment.

I could only hope!

I had better luck having the electricity turned on as there was no outstanding money owing. I just had to put up a deposit and was assured the lights would go on by seven o'clock the next day. Some business is better done face to face, and I was glad to find I could deal with the electric company at the drugstore. They told me I could pay the phone bill there too, once the payment for the outstanding balance made its way through bookkeeping and I was in good standing again.

Things were looking up.

Four days later, after the cleaning crew from George Reilinger's 'HANDY MAN **'** company from Prairie View cleaned up the old house, I moved my things into the bedroom on the ground floor. I changed my mind about the room upstairs, it felt creepy.

I put my sleeping bag on the floor and realized I needed a trip to town. Even though I'd been walking around the house for four days, I somehow forgot about sleeping and eating there. There were no beds in the house, except for the brass headboard we found against the wall in the upstairs bedroom, and I was not going to sleep up there.

I put on my last clean Tee shirt, grabbed my purse and headed out the door. The Volvo was right where I left it at the side of the house and thank goodness I remembered to put gas in the tank before I drove all the way out here this morning.

I drove back to town with lists of food, and furnishings running through my head. I didn't want to pay a lot of money for a bed and lamp so I started looking for a second hand or Salvation Army thrift store.

There it was, down a side street right behind a big colorful picture of a lady holding a big pink rose. Second Hand Rose, New to You, the sign said, just what I was looking for. I parked the Volvo and went in. I wasn't sure what I was looking for other than it had to be cheap. It was surprisingly clean and well laid out, furniture on one side, clothes on the other. I knew there would be everything I needed here.

Walking down the aisle between the bedroom furniture and the dining room tables I stopped in front of a small dusty picture of what looked like an old castle or maybe a manor house. It looked like it had been in the store for a long time.

I couldn't seem to take my eyes of it. The big house in the picture looked quite old and the picture was old too, it had to have been painted a long time ago. The more I stared at it, the more detail I saw. There seemed to be a small child by the front door. It looked like he wanted to get in but the door was closed. I began to feel nervous for the little boy. Why couldn't he get in? Why did the painter paint him on the outside?

I turned and found a small man with a checkered suit and a thread bear white shirt looking at me with a hopeful look on his face.

"Good morning Miss," he said, "is there something I can help you with? You seem very interested in that picture. We've had it for some time now, and I will give you a very good price for it," he said taking it down off the wall. "Let me show you the interesting thing about this picture. I know it looks like a painting, but it isn't. I'm not sure what exactly it is, for a long time I thought it was a post card put in that frame and hung up on the wall. But a while ago a lady came in and we tried to take the picture out of the frame and I couldn't do it without damaging both the frame and the picture itself. Somehow, I couldn't make myself do it, so I didn't make the sale. If you want it, you have to take it 'as is'. I'm not going through that again."

I looked at the little man and I had the sudden urge to take the picture from him. I needed to have that picture, and I didn't know why. For what I was doing, I didn't need pictures on the wall. I needed a bed to sleep in and lamp to read by.

"How much for the picture?" I heard myself ask, knowing I would pay whatever price he said.

"Well," he said, "I've had that picture as long as I've owned the store, so I'll make a deal with you, if you see anything else you want, I'll throw the picture in for free."

I couldn't believe my ears! I started down the aisle again looking for something else cheap to buy. As I passed a small wooden night stand there was a lamp on top. I looked at the shade and realized the pink shade used to have a row of ruffles around the bottom. The base was a young European looking woman sitting on a stone fence looking back, there was such a wistful look on her face that I wanted to see what she was looking at. Again, I had to have the lamp.

"Is there anything else I can show you?" said the clerk as he took both items to the cash desk.

"Actually yes," I said, looking around. I was sure he must have some kitchen stuff and I still needed some dishes and cutlery. Also a pot, frying pan and a coffee pot. I would just need them for a few weeks and I didn't want to pay a big price for stuff I was just going to throw out when the job was done.

"Let me show you what we have in kitchen utensils," said the clerk as he led me to the other end of the store. Luckily I'm not fussy and I found everything I needed in short order. Everything, that is, except the bed.

"I'm going to need a bed, and I don't have room (I lied, I didn't want anything I couldn't move myself) for one of your big beds, do you know where I can buy one of those blow up mattresses? Some people use them down at the beach to float on?"

"I know just what you're looking for, and I have one in the back. Let me get it and you can look it over."

_This is my lucky day, everything I needed at one store, and it's cheap_ , I thought as I waited for my bed to be brought out from the back. I could hear boxes being moved and something fell, I walked to the rear of the building and looked inside the big doors, there was the old gentleman sitting on the floor with a large box on the floor beside him.

"Can I help you up?" I asked as I walked over and moved the box. It was big and felt heavy as I pushed it over to one side. The old man got up and rubbed the side of his head. I could see a red welt beginning by his ear. It must have come from the box falling on him as he tried to get it down from the overhead shelf.

"Here's the mattress I was telling you about," he said, lifting up the lid and turning down a corner so I could see the color. It had been cobalt blue with white dolphins cavorting in the water, and now it was faded to a soft baby blue. I read the box and it said, ' _double bed size, good for unexpected guests and/or camping'_. What could I do, the poor man had almost killed himself for this sale.

How could I say no, so I said, "how much?"

He hurried over to the old cash register and began to enter each item; it came to a total of $40.00. $20.00 for all the other items combined and $20.00 for the bed. I gave him my Master Card and hoped it could handle the deal.

Now all I had to do was go back to the house and sort all this stuff out and put it away. I did manage to remember to check and see if a pump for the bed was included in the box and it was. It also came with a guarantee but I don't think the company was in business any more.

Much to my delight and surprise the bed pumped up and held, the lamp worked, the picture looked good in the kitchen. I hung it there because when I tried it in the bedroom it made me uneasy and I couldn't take my eyes of it. The picture had to go or I would never get anything done.

Maybe, I should hang it in one of the bedrooms upstairs, I thought as I put the kitchen ware away. I don't think I'll sleep upstairs anyway, I think I'll use those rooms as guest rooms, just in case I can talk Kirsti into coming for a visit.

Besides, I needed to be down stairs so I could keep an eye on things. And I really do mean 'keep an eye on things.' It seems I was misplacing things. Things that I specifically put in certain places wouldn't be there when I looked for them. Also, I couldn't figure the furnace out, it wasn't new but not that old. The furnace would start blowing hot air. With the outside temperature around 24C it was hotter inside than out, I knew I needed someone to fix it when turning it off at the temperature control wouldn't shut the darn thing off. One night, about midnight, the furnace turned itself on and blew cold air. I almost froze by morning; thank goodness the furnace guy was coming out on Friday.

This stuff was bad enough but I still didn't have a phone. Every time I needed a phone I had to get in the car and go over to the Knutson's and use theirs. How inconvenient! I finally got through to the phone company and complained, I told them they promised me service four days ago, and the girl agreed with me and told me her paper work showed the work had been done on time. I couldn't believe my ears. I told her in no uncertain terms the work had not been done I was standing in the house next door and the phone certainly did not work, and no one had been there to install it.

There she said, that's the problem, I should go to the house that needed service and get a phone and plug it in. Who knew I needed to buy my own phone out here in the boonies? In Langley I wouldn't have even thought the phone company would supply the phone, but here in Saskatchewan who knew they were so up-to-date.

I made a note to go to the phone store and buy one; as if they had a phone store in Prairie View. I decided to ask Mrs. Knutson where I could get one.

She'd know.

These things were inconvenient but worse was the doors kept getting stuck. Especially the front door, first it wouldn't open, then it wouldn't close. I kept watching George Reilinger's renovation guys to see if they were doing something to the doors. The upstairs bedroom on the right seemed to be stuck all the time. I kept telling them to fix the doors; and they kept telling me they did.

As I checked the invoice George Reilinger sent for the first clean-up, I was surprised to see he'd charged me for both the upstairs bedrooms. I was sure that the first day I looked through the old house the upstairs big bedroom was already clean. Oh well, his crew did a good job and they were fast and neat. They probably just vacuumed the whole house and didn't give it much thought. I made a mental note to talk to him about it though.

The stove the guys found in the barn worked but the fridge didn't. I ordered another from the Sears catalogue but it still hasn't arrived.

That evening after a late supper of macaroni and cheese I washed it down with a warm beer. It's not good to be in this hot weather without a fridge. Macaroni and cheese is my comfort food, it isn't very nutritious but it filled the stomach. It wasn't the macaroni and cheese that was the problem; it was the warm beer that bothered me.

Thank goodness when I asked Mrs. Knutson about the phone store Mr. Knutson said he had a spare phone in the barn that he wasn't using and insisted I borrow it.

It was yellow. It didn't match anything in this house.

I was glad the phone was finally working whatever color it was, even if it wasn't too reliable. It made it easier to stay by myself. Things I didn't understand kept happening, it was good to know I could call on the Knutson's if I needed them.

I now had a land line hook-up for my computer, it wasn't a fast internet connection but it would do. I was lost without Face-Book and email.

Now I could email Kristi Parsons.

She was my very best friend.

CHAPTER 4

Kristi Parsons sat on the other side of the small round table in the Olive Pit Pub. She was thinking of the night she and Sam Baker met Joel Dawdiak. She pushed the glass of white wine around and made the wet mark on the table bigger and bigger. She laughed to herself as she remembered Sam looking at her with daggers in both eyes as Joel walked over to their table. She wondered if anything came of that night.

Although Sam and Kristi didn't have a long history they were good friends and Kristi hated to see her friend moping around. She wanted to make sure Sam didn't have a relapse and take that good-for-nothing-rat, Harry Harper back. So she asked the handsome army Sargent that came into the office the other day to come for drinks. If he took a shine to Sam, well, what was the harm in that?

Joel Dawdiak, in his immaculate Canadian Forces Uniform that fit his six foot two inch frame as though it was tailor made just for him, short boyish blond hair and dark eye lashes to die for was unaware of the stir he was causing among the female customers of the pub as he stood in the doorway of the Olive Pit that evening looking around. Finally over by the window near the back he spotted Kristi Parsons and the most beautiful girl in the world. Joel just stood and stared, he was not good at this 'pick-up' stuff.

Usually he flubbed it and went home alone. But his pulse was racing! His ears were burning! He knew he had to go over and try to find some charm to turn on.

Even after all his years in the service, Joel was still the boy next door. He was a native of Lunenburg, Nova Scotia and still not good with pretty girls.

"Hi Kristi," said Joel as he took a chair from the neighbouring table and sat down at their table.

"This is Joel," said Kristi introducing an embarrassed Sam to an anxious Joel, "Sam, Joel, Joel, Sam. That's all the introduction you'll get from me, don't make a big deal of it."

Kristi, done up in the latest fad was the fashion editor for a local popular magazine and she was dressed to be noticed. Heads turned when she came into a room. Joel could do a lot worse than Kristi, but he knew his heart wouldn't be in it, he could only see the girl with the long blond hair and the china blue eyes, she was perfect.

Samantha sat and looked at Joel out of the corner of her eye. Joel was so self-conscious; he knew he was coming across as some kind of dumb bozo. He couldn't think of a thing to say. The two girls didn't seem to notice, they were talking and laughing and looked as if they sure didn't need him for the party.

Joel, with nothing else to think of, ordered another round of drinks.

Serious small talk finally happened when it turned to computers. Since Joel was a computer geek and Sam had lots of questions, finally there was something he could talk about and not sound like an idiot.

The evening ended on an interesting note, when Sam said, "Guess what, I'm going to Saskatchewan next week."

"I can't believe anyone goes to Saskatchewan unless they have to," said Kristi as she made circles on the table with her glass.

"I guess I kind of have to, I promised my grandmother I'd sell her old house in Prairie View. I've never been there, but I looked it up on a map and it's in the middle of nowhere."

"Prairie View, hum, that sounds familiar," said Kristi, "anyway, have a good time. Call me when you get back."

"Can I get in on that too?" said Joel trying not to show how much he wanted to see Sam again.

"Well, I'm not sure how long I'll be gone, but I'll think about it. I probably won't be there very long, it's just one house and I'll contract the work out. I should be back in about three weeks," said Sam.

Sure hope he takes the hint, I think I'd really like to see him again, thought Sam.

When they got up to leave Joel gave Sam his email address at the Army Base in Chilliwack, BC and said if she ever needed help in the computer department, he was her man.

"Humm," said Sam smiling up at him as she tucked the card into her wallet, "I'll keep that in mind!"

CHAPTER 5

'Hi Kristi, sorry for the late email. But I didn't have time to let you know when I was leaving for Saskatchewan before I left. But grandma said go, so I went. I 'seized the moment', just like they tell you in the romance magazines, but let me tell you, this isn't what I thought I was 'seizing'.

When I got here a last week I couldn't believe my eyes. This house is so run down and dirty, I thought chickens were living in the front room. As it turns out, no chickens but a couple of families of barn swallows set up housekeeping and I had a heck of a time evicting them on short notice.

Of course when they put in the new window pane in the kitchen, it fixed the problem (sort of). I can't believe people ever lived in this house! Now I'm told by George Reilinger's renovation company that the front porch is ready to fall off; and there are no steps to speak of out the back door the boards are so rotten. I can't even think of when it was last painted, must have been at the turn of the last century. I'm kidding of course, but boy is it ever dilapidated and dirty. You won't believe what I've let myself in for.

Now that I've moved in here full time I hear all the creaks and groans. The electricity is off and on again. I lose the phone connection all the time because it only works on the eighth day of the week around here. (still kidding, but my internet connection sure is cranky).

The electricity in this house even has fuses. (How old is this house, anyway???) And I swear the water must be coming through a straw from the well out back and is it ever COLD.

When I promised grandma I'd come here and fix up the old house to sell, (what else do I have to do now, she thinks I'm a 'fallen woman') how was I to know this was the end of the world and civilization as we know it. It's just another thing to blame on 'Hot Lips Harry' the Don Juan of Ft. Langley. Honestly if I'd ever thought he would've turned out to be such a jerk, I'd never let him move in with me.

Enough of this pity party, NOTHING happens here. I thought I wanted peace and quiet, but it is boring! BORING! All I ever do is work, work, work.

When are you coming out to see me? I need some company. My brain will turn to mush if I don't get something else to think about other than what to fix next.'

Sitting in the cleaned but not painted kitchen at the old breakfast table Sam borrowed from Mrs. Knutson next door, she read the email message again. What a lot of whining she was doing.

Never mind, maybe Kristi would feel sorry for her and decide to come out and share her 'peace & quiet' for a while.

CHAPTER 6

Kristi Amalie Parsons nightmares were always the same.

Sweat soaked, tossing and turning, she strained against the hands that were holding her down. She twisted from side to side trying to get away from the excruciating pain.

The agonizing screams that were coming from somewhere close by were only heard by Kristi. Painfully sluggish, she realized they were her own screams. They surged up from the very depth of her being, and dragged her onto the sword point of pain again and again.

"Help me, please, please!" sobbed Kristi, crying out to the person standing at the foot of the bed. "Make the pain stop..."

"It's alright...it's alright..." said the hollow voice behind her head.

The nightmare was always the same.

No matter how hard she tried to see who was at the foot of the bed, all she could see was a shapeless stooped figure. She could never see who was talking to her.

Each time the nightmare played out she would watch in horror, as the shape at the foot of the bed turned from a comforting mother figure to a dirty, disgusting old man who laughed and howled.

"It serves you right." he would cackle with glee "you're wicked, evil, just like me!"

"No, no," Kristi Parsons screamed, "I'm not bad, you're lying. I'm not wicked. I'm not evil."

She twisted and turned on the bed, tears streaming down her cheeks unable to get away from the horrible face. Pinioned by the pain that racked her exhausted body, panic would overcome her and she struggled to get out of bed in spite of the agony.

Suddenly, without any warning her broken body would explode in a wild wet gush. Blood oozed up out of the bed. It spread until it engulfed her pain racked body, threatening to drown her in the warm sticky ooze.

The dream was always the same.

Just as she was about to slip under the sea of blood, she woke up screaming. But no one ever heard her. The pitiful noise gurgled and died in her raw throat.

**C** old panic clutched Kristi after one of these nightmares and she sat up with a jerk. Usually the king size four poster bed in her luxury condo on top of the Bedford Towers in Vancouver, British Columbia's English Bay District gave her comfort.

It also came with a sense of sanctuary with its twenty-four hour Doorman and individual security systems. Kristi liked to think of the Towers as her personal twenty story fortress; this was security, wasn't it? Kristi's white satin pajamas were sweat soaked and stuck to her breasts like a second skin as she struggled to sit up. The twisted bed sheets wrapped her legs together and her white satin Down comforter lay discarded on the floor.

Always, after the nightmare she had trouble remembering where she was. Her heart would pound and her breath came in gasps. It took several moments for her breathing to calm down and reality to set in.

This terrible dream, this grisly nightmare that haunted her since she was a young girl hadn't reared its ugly head in over two years.

But she knew she couldn't relax, couldn't let her guard down even for a moment or it would all come back again. The hell she fought so hard and long to overcome was always just a dream away.

"Never!" she whispered to the pillow she was clutching for dear life.

"Never again!"

Kristi rolled over on her back, as the elegant room came into focus. She looked at the white vaulted ceiling as though answers were there if she just stared hard enough.

Usually this room was her haven. Somewhere she could come to calm down and regain her focus. Its plush white rug and walk-in closets with their racks of fashionable clothes and accessories made her feel powerful and competent.

But now the old dream was back and she didn't know why. Things were changing; she could feel the old dread creeping in.

"Never again!" Kristi said as she rushed to turn on the lamps in her bedroom even though it was morning. There was no need for more light. The room was brightly lit by the rising sun coming in through the sky light in the ceiling. It didn't matter.

Light was god!

"Never again," she muttered over and over again as she sat on the foot of the bed and pounded the pillow again and again.

No harm could come to her in the bright light, or so she believed. She had more lights, lamps, and recessed lighting in her condo than even the most dedicated light fixture salesman could recommend.

She needed light to keep the nightmare at bay.

Dr. Wardil, the psychiatrist her mother insisted she see when they moved to Kelowna, British Columbia, kept urging her to remember the terrible things that were hidden deep in her innermost soul. She kept encouraging Kristi to try and unravel the nightmare that plagued her.

But nothing was ever remembered, no hint what this terrible secret could be.

When she was going through one of these terrible times, the words out of her mouth when she woke up were always the same.

_Never, never again_!

The problem was, Kristi didn't know what _never, never again_ was supposed to mean. The nightmare never finished. She always woke up just before the awful dream played itself out.

Kristi Parsons rolled out bed in her ultra modern condo and stumbled into the on-suite. She threw the sweat soaked pajamas on the floor and looked at herself in the full length mirror. She studied the beautiful well-proportioned body for any flaws or signs of ageing.

The drive for perfection extended from her work to her personal self as well. Nothing was allowed to be second-rate. Hard work, exercise and surgery. Kristi firmly believed if one answer couldn't fix the problem, the other would.

She looked critically at her voluptuous upturned breasts. She turned this way and that making sure all was as it should be. Her perfectly rounded hips and heart shaped mound of passion were still perfect.

Kristi Parsons never saw her perfection; she only felt dissatisfaction. She didn't know why, but after one of these nightmares she always felt so dirty. Leaving the mirror, she entered the shower and stood under the oversized 'rain' shower for so long the hot water turned her pale complexion a ruddy pink. It didn't matter, the hot water felt so good, the hotter the better. It was the only thing that made her feel clean.

After the long hot shower she stood with one foot on the toilet lid while she toweled off her long shapely legs. She tried to think why the nightmare was back.

I'm not going back to Dr. Wardil. I've finished with that, I'm stronger now, I'll never let that horrible nightmare take over ever again, she thought. She threw the wet towels into the massive soaker tub for Agnes, the day-lady that came during the mornings to put her world in order.

In her comfy old purple housecoat with a big white towel wrapped around her dark curly hair Kristi stood on her patio and looked out at the early June morning bustle of the Granville Island Market. The shower, the familiar room and her morning routine helped calm her down and bring her back to reality.

It always helped put the day into pleasant perspective when you dwelled on positive things according to Dr. Wardil.

It was the one thing they agreed on.

The mortgage payment on the executive condo in the Bedford Towers was exorbitant \- but no matter, she could afford it. The pay at the Vancouver Harbour Side Magazine* was more than enough to cover it.

She spent a good deal of her wages that first year on the decor. She was proud of the impressive Great Room. A two-story-high glass wall looked over the beautiful waters of English Bay that showed what looked like tiny toy sailboats bobbing on the water for her exclusive amusement.

Down below, she could see where wealthy business men moored their yachts and pleasure boats at the marina, just a stone's throw from the bustling Granville Market. Kristi liked to say she lived in the hub of Vancouver.

Where the action was.

Her friend Brian Fellows, who was a partner in the prestigious home decorating firm of 'Lain & Fellows Interior Design' in Vancouver's west end, helped her choose colors and fabric. Black leather sofas and individual decorator chairs sat on the white marble floor; small colorful rugs from Columbia were artfully placed; showing off the changing qualities of light and texture as you moved around the room.

Two large original paintings by local well-known artists adorned what was left of two walls. An original sculpture purchased from a recognized Haida artist complimented the dynamics of the minimalistic room. It was a room that drew many compliments when her guests realized she decorated most of it herself.

But this morning she just wanted to be outside in the sunshine.

Thank goodness it was one of those rare June mornings that thought it was July. As she sat drinking her breakfast cup of _Good Earth_ herbal tea at the black wrought-iron table on her patio, she tried to think of what started the old nightmare again.

Nothing came to mind.

The morning sun spilled brightly across the waters of English Bay. It was showing off the colors of the flowers that were planted on the balconies and walk ways of her neighbouring condos. The fresh morning air helped relegate the awful dream back to its' rightful place in her firmly controlled subconscious mind.

It wasn't good too think too deeply about the nightmare. Sometimes it brought on anxiety attacks. It was best to let her mind wander to other things.

Things like Evan Coster.

Getting up from the table and putting her cup into the kitchen sink she went into the bedroom. She decided to put on her violet satin morning coat. She smiled to herself, remembering the passionate weekend when she received the gown from Evan. It was their first trip away together and they went to the Whistler/Blackcomb Ski Resort, the winter ski capital of British Columbia. Her smile broadened as she thought about the waiter that brought up their meals. He kept giving them the latest weather reports and the ski conditions, it didn't do any good though, they never did make it out to the ski hills.

I knew he was too good to be true, she said to herself.

She stood in her beautiful morning coat and watched a large red and white yacht flying an American flag leave the harbor area. What would it be like she wondered, to just get on a boat and sail away? No more nightmares, no more deadlines, no more people lying, just freedom.

Freedom from it all!

She and Evan were an item for the past three years. He spent more time in her bed than his own. They had the same interests, enjoyed the same music, rooted for the same hockey team. People started to ask if there were wedding bells in the future. Although she always said she would never marry, this relationship made her rethink her promise to herself.

Kristi sat down at the outdoor table on the patio and began drawing pictures on the shiny black surface with her finger dipped into the spilled tea from her second cup of the morning.

She drew a stick man and put lots of wavy hair on him. She smiled and drew a baseball bat over his head. Getting right into it, she drew a large oval for a mouth with her long well-manicured finger nail and made a speech balloon with the word OUCH in it.

The picture began to have a life of its own. With her finger dipped into her now cold tea, she drew a stick dog biting him on his stick bum. She was smiling broadly now and beginning to feel much better.

Evan was a better than average stock broker and made good money. As an innovative lover; he was the best.

He always thought he could have been a movie star with his tall Nordic good looks and he always took advantage of a mistake in that direction.

That was his problem; he always took advantage.

The pursuit was a major part of the seduction for him, he really enjoyed the chase. But when he caught the prey, the fire went out.

Kristi Parsons prided herself on being a modern woman and didn't demand total fidelity from her man, just as long as it didn't infringe on their relationship.

She knew he'd be back.

He was always very attentive after one of his little flings. As she rearranged her stick man on the patio table she remembered that it was only a day or two after the girl from the Piccolo Night Club asked him jokingly if he was the perfect lover. If so, she'd like to try some. The 'perfect lover' started to crumble around the edges a few weeks later. She found a pair of pink panties under the back seat of her Lexus, and she knew they weren't hers. They were way too tacky.

This was too much, way over the top! What was he doing using her car for one of his trysts. When she called him on it, he didn't even bother to deny his culpability. He just packed up his shirts, shorts and shaving things and left.

Samantha isn't the only one who can't pick a man, mused Kristi Parsons.

_Enough of these thoughts,_ she said to herself as she got up from the table on the patio and walked absently into the great room. She stopped to pick up the proofs she threw on the coffee table the night before. Sitting in one of the white chairs she began to read.

The Apple computer that sat in the corner of her high-tech kitchen beeped to let her know she had incoming mail. _Darn_ , she thought, _its work. If they've emailed to say the layout for the December Issue isn't done yet, I'll have somebody's head!_

As she walked over to the desk she made a mental note to remind Agnes to buy new light bulbs and change them all.

To have one go out at night was unthinkable.

She sat down at the small desk in the alcove off the kitchen and prepared to do battle with the art department over the layout. But it wasn't work, it was Samantha Baker.

Kristi read the email for the second time.

Should she go and see what Sam was up to, or should she beg off?

Maybe it would be fun to get away for a while.

_She's right_ , thought Kristi, _what I need is a little time away._

The latest crisis at the Sun Tower offices of the Vancouver Harbor Side Magazine* just emphasized how much she did need some time off. Even the little things were getting to her now. It's not like it took much to set her off - but she usually was more professional than that last blow-up yesterday.

After she cooled off, she felt she needed to apologize to the poor Copy girl. It really wasn't her fault the proofs were wrong. She was just unlucky enough to be the one that delivered them to her.

"Yes, I definitely need to get away!" she said to the computer.

Kristi sat back and thought about going somewhere new. It sounded better and better, what an adventure this would be. Now she just needed to finish up a few loose ends and away she'd go.

"Note _:"_ she said into her voice activated Blackberry, "Cindy, please send flowers to the copy girl, Katie (find out her last name), just a small bouquet suitable for the office. Don't forget a card; say 'keep up the good work' sign it for me. That should smooth things over for a while."

Now, let's have another look at that email, thought Kristi, hmmm, where did she say she was staying? Oh, yes, now why does Prairie View sound so familiar? Maybe we did a fashion piece there last year. No, that was Pine View, and it was Alberta not Saskatchewan, that can't be it. Darn, that name certainly sounds familiar.

Kristi Parsons sat and stared at the screen and wondered why it suddenly got so cold in the room.

CHAPTER 7

Joel Dawdiak stood looking out the window in the base Commander's office in CFB Chilliwack, BC.

_I know I shouldn't be in here, but this window is the only one that looks over the Chilliwack River. There sure are lots of fishermen on the short piece of river that I can see, and they all seem to be catching fish. Who knew September was such a good fishing month in Chilliwack?_ said Joel to himself.

_Maybe I should get a rod and reel and see if the fish will bite for me,_ thought Joel.

"I should find out if Sam likes to fish, maybe we could rent a boat and fish in Chilliwack Lake," said Joel to the fisher folk who couldn't hear him but were having such a good time on the river. "If they're all catching fish in the river, there must be some in the lake too. I bet there are little coves and out of the way places a person could put in, and have a private little picnic".

Just the two of them... hmmmm, since when did battle hardened warriors dream about picnics.

When they involved Sam, that's when!

_This daydreaming has to stop; it's going to get me into a lot of trouble. But lately I don't seem to care that I have trouble keeping my mind on army business_ , thought Joel.

Joel Dawdiak knew when he joined the Canadian Forces at eighteen this would be his life's work. The army gave him confidence. He liked to know what was going to happen tomorrow, he liked routine, he also liked to know that what he did for a living made a difference.

Now at thirty-one he'd put in his time and reached his goals, he was ready for change.

He was ready for Sam.

But true to army routine, he was waiting.

Waiting for new orders.

Waiting to get on with his life.

Waiting to not be stuck in the back-water of CFB Chilliwack. But now it seemed to be a good thing, because the only goal he had in mind right now was seeing Sam Baker.

Again.

Two tours in Afghanistan had sharpened his senses, and saved him on many occasions from certain death.

When he completed his second tour of duty, he knew himself as never before and now he knew he wanted Sam. He just didn't know how to accomplish his 'prime goal' in the civilian world.

So he was waiting for her to make the first move.

_Surely she must be back from that town in Saskatchewan_ , he thought.

But it didn't matter where she wasn't back from, she wasn't here and Joel was restless with anticipation.

Sam still hadn't called, but he decided to wait another day before he cooked up an excuse to visit Kristi Parsons. He wanted to know where she was exactly! And why wasn't she back yet.

But he didn't want to appear needy.

Girls hated needy.

CHAPTER 8

The day after I sent my begging email to Kristi Parsons I told Mrs. Knutson my latest decision at our morning tea break.

"Tell me again dear, what is it exactly that you need?" asked Mrs. Knutson as she adjusted the straps of the white apron she wore over her house dress and made herself more comfortable.

Today she was dressed in a soft blue paisley house dress that was much like the one she wore when I first met her. She told me she made it from an old pattern that was popular during the Second World War. It was one Mr. Knutson liked so she made it over and over again.

We were seated at the kitchen table having our morning cup of tea.

This little ritual came about in a very innocent way with me coming over to borrow this and that and Mrs. Knutson asking me to stay for tea.

Today I told her the work needed more muscle. I'm short though not altogether feeble. But the jobs required tall and brawny. Ergo, I need a man, or maybe men!

I thought about that for a moment and started to day dream...maybe I could order one up for myself too. Yes, a good looking blond stud, nice body, good pecs, soulful eyes and lips to die for, hmmm... tight buns wouldn't be bad either. Mmm... who do I know that looks like that?

My mind drifted to the Sears Catalogue, maybe there was a catalogue for men here, maybe they did things differently in Saskatchewan.

I was brought back from my day dream by an insistent voice asking if I wanted lemon in my tea this morning. Mrs. Knutson was standing at the kitchen table with a piece of lemon on a plate and a question in her eyes.

Of course I said yes.

Her ample figure gave her a contented look and the tight sausage curls in her white hair reminded me of my grandma. She kept me in stitches with the gossip about all the folks around town. She knew all the stories, where all the skeletons were buried and she didn't mind talking about them.

But she never mentioned the house next door or the strange sounds and odd things that happened there.

"I need a renovation business to do the big repairs and some outside painting, things I didn't get to do when the first company was out here," I said, getting my mind back on the refurbishing track and off good looking men with tight buns. I said, "I'm going to go to Prairie View tomorrow and hire a new renovation company or even the guys that were out here from the first cleanup."

"I'm sorry dear," said Mrs. Knutson as she put her cup of tea on the kitchen table, "I don't know of anyone that will be able to come out here to work."

"What do you mean, 'able to'?" I said with my mouth full as I buttered my third cheese scone that morning.

"This is no big deal. I'd settle for the cleaning company that tidied up the house when I first got here, what was it called, oh yes, 'George Reilinger's HANDYMAN SERVICE,', something like that. I thought I'd go and see them again and if they can't make it, I'll try someone else."

"You don't want to do that dear, no one will come. Folks in town gave them such a bad time last time, they won't be back."

"I don't understand what's going on around here," I said as I put my cup on the table. "I had the weirdest thing happen to me when I was at the market in town the other day.

"I was talking to the guy that's in charge of the vegetables and mentioned that my grandmother Elizabeth Friesen sent me here to fix up and sell the old Henderson place. This old lady with frizzy grey hair was standing behind me in the checkout line and she pushed me into a corner by the bakery section and told me in no uncertain terms that I wasn't welcome in Prairie View, I was nothing but a trouble maker.

"I was so embarrassed when I got to the front of the checkout line, I dropped my change and had to scramble around the floor looking for it all".

"What does this have to do with my grandmother, Mrs. Knutson? She doesn't even live here anymore? And besides, what trouble have I been making? Heck, I've hardly been to town, what kind of problems can I start out here? Some people at the market actually turned their backs on me. What's going on Mrs. Knutson; what have I done wrong?"

"You never mind those people dear. Some people never forget and never forgive."

CHAPTER 9

June 30,

Hi Kristi, sorry I didn't get back to your email sooner, but I went to Regina last Thursday that was the 23rd, and hired a renovation company. They just started this past Monday and I'm lucky they aren't charging an arm and a leg for travelling time. For some reason, I can't get anyone from Prairie View to work here.

This is a very strange place. There have been some odd things happening here at the house, too. I don't know what to think. Just when these renovation guys are making headway with all the work and painting that needs to be done, something breaks, or falls apart. I keep watching them to see if they are being sloppy, and they watch me as though I'm sabotaging the job.

Renovation is so different than building from scratch. I'm sure glad I don't do this for a living. I'd go nuts.

That reminds me, I've been emailing and calling Gladys at the office and I can't seem to get through. Could you go over and make sure the phones are still working. I know she paid the bill before I left, so it should be O.K. until the end of the month.

Tell her to email me; I want to know what's going on.

Anyway on another subject, how's your love life doing? There's certainly nothing going on in mine. I know what ever is happening at your place is more fun than what's going on here.

By the way, have you heard from that yummy army type you introduced me to just before I left to come here? Just asking.

Get yourself together girl, and come out here and give me a hand. I don't want to spend the winter fixing this crummy cracker box, I need to hurry, my business needs me.

Also I need a second opinion. Am I losing it or is something creepy going on here?

I closed the email with a little happy face and had it say, 'please come, I need you!'

Thank goodness for email. I got an answer back after supper, Kristi said she'd take some holiday time, and would arrive the third weekend in July.

CHAPTER 10

I was watching for Kristi all day so I knew it was her when the taxi stopped. I opened the weathered front door and rushed out to welcome her to 'my world'.

How good she looked.

How nasty the cab driver's attitude was.

I saw the sloppy old man in town the day I had my run-in at the market, but I didn't know he also drove the local taxi. He and his wife ignored me at the market last week although I knew he knew who I was. I sure don't know what I did to offend all these people.

He stopped the cab without a word to me, went around the back of the car and took the two suitcases out of the trunk and just dropped them by the side of the road. He didn't even attempt to help Kristi out of the cab, he just stood and watched as she struggled with her over-night bag and some parcels.

As he watched he kept his hands in his pants pockets and shifted from foot to foot, I could tell he was embarrassed, and uncomfortable.

He wasn't going anywhere though, not without his money. He kept his head down and stuck out his hand for payment before Kristi was hardly standing on the road. A good thing she had the money ready as he was back in his cab and gone in a blast of exhaust. He didn't even ask for a tip; he just took off like the devil was after him.

Did he know something I didn't?

"My god, Samantha, you're a long way out of town," said Kristi Parsons turning around and looking back down the road.

She was dressed in the height of fashion in designer jeans, a Max Renolds San Diego top with a gauzy lilac scarf that came down to her boot tops thrown over one shoulder.

It took me by surprise when she decided to come out on the train instead of the plane. She said it gave her a chance to unwind and besides, she had never seen the southern part of BC from a train. I offered to come and get her from the station, but she said she would take a cab.

Standing on the side of the road, Kristi shivered in spite of the warm day. She looked around to see who was looking at her but seeing no one shrugged it off and turned her attention to the rocky ground in front of her.

_Wrong boots_ , she thought to herself, but plowed forward gamely, barely able to maneuver to the unfinished front steps in her black knee high ostrich leather boots with the three inch heels.

I followed her up to the front porch and she turned to say, "When I told that crazy taxi driver at the train station where I wanted to go, he rolled up his window and said he was busy, a good thing that nice cop was at the station. I'm sure you've seen him, he's a big one with curly black hair and hunky shoulders? He gave that taxi driver shit so he had to bring me out, he sure wasn't happy about that."

"Too bad about him not being happy, there's no way I'd be walking way out here," she said over her shoulder as she went into the front hall leaving her suitcases at the side of the road, but carrying her big overnight bag in one hand and the shopping bags in the other. "I always thought country folk were supposed to be friendly."

I left her in the hall and went back down the steps in my sneakers, good thing I didn't have high heels on too. I managed to drag the other two suitcases up the steps and put them both inside the front door before I dropped into my only kitchen chair from exhaustion. What was wrong with that crabby taxi driver? He was supposed to help bring her suitcases up the steps. Good thing she didn't give him a tip.

All those suitcases.

Kristi came prepared...

Wherever she went...

For whatever happened...

She took extra big suitcases, because she always went in style. She said she was the magazine's best advertising. If she didn't take her own advice on what was in vogue, what was that saying about her as the fashion editor of the Harbor Side Magazine? Although she's my best friend, fashion isn't what we have in common.

I have long blond hair and blue eyes. My sense of style is centered on bricks and mortar and ceiling tile. I work in jeans and a hard hat and my idea of fashion is putting on a clean Tee shirt.

I work with men every day at home, just not the young good looking ones. It is usually the ones that have their jeans hanging below a beer belly with the crack in their ass showing below their stretched out dirty Tee shirt.

The 'style' I'm familiar with is the size of the motor in your pick-up truck, and fashion is, is it this year's Ford or last?

How could that miserable cab driver not be friendly with this tall beautiful girl that just stepped out of a fashion magazine? Her soft chocolate brown eyes, curly chestnut hair and creamy skin made men fall at her feet, and women snipe behind her back.

"People are friendly," I said, "if you don't tell them you've anything to do with the old Henderson place. Not many people will talk to me. That's why I wanted you to come and help me figure out what's going on."

"We'll sort out all your problems when I've taken off my boots," said Kristi, where should I put my things?" She picked up her overnight bag and headed for the steps to the second floor. "Which bedroom should I take? Just leave the bags I'll come and get them later."

"Go straight up the stairs," I said, "I gave you the big room on the right off the landing, it's the only one with any furniture in it."

When Mrs. Knutson heard I was going to have a house guest she insisted I borrow the bed in their spare downstairs bedroom. It was a single bed and easier to take apart then one in one of the bedrooms upstairs.

Thank goodness Mr. Knutson was able to give me a hand carrying everything over to the house. We had to put the mattress on the roof of the Volvo and drive really slowly with me walking beside making sure it didn't fall off. We got it upstairs and into the bedroom and I realized we could use the brass headboard that I found in the room when I got here. It made the room look kind of cozy. Good thing the second-hand store had a sleeping bag. I bought it the day Kristi said she was coming.

I was glad I left the mirror that was in the house on the wall too. I thought I'd just take all this stuff back to the second-hand store when I was finished. I'm definitely a reuse, renew sort of person.

I knew she couldn't make the stairs with or without her high heels carrying those big suitcases, so I took them up one at a time. Working in Restoration made me stronger than I looked. I put them inside the bedroom door and went back down to the kitchen and put the kettle on for some tea.

Kristi set her luggage on the bed and began unpacking. She looked around the bedroom - an uneasy feeling skittered up her back and across her shoulders.

She'd seen this room before... been in this room before...

But that was silly.

I called to her from the bottom of the stairs, "Hurry up and come down, I'll make some tea that I got from that new Teaquent Stop tea shop in Fort Langley. I brought a new chocolate orange blend with me and I've been saving it for a special occasion."

"Never mind the tea," said Kristi coming to the top of the stairs, "I've got a surprise for you."

She went back into the bedroom and took off the long leather boots that were the show piece in last month's fashion spread and threw them by the foot of the bed. Out came the fuzzy pink slippers from her overnight bag. Kristi was always stylish in public. No one had to know she wore fuzzy pink slippers at home.

She took the package she brought from Vancouver. Sat down on the bed and smiled anticipating the look of pleasure that would light up Sam's face when she saw the gift.

Standing up she checked her makeup in the ornate mirror hanging on the wall. The feeling was back. Kristi turned slowly and looked around. There was no one there. No one was watching her. Standing taller, she gave herself a stern talking to; nothing was going to spoil this holiday. There was nothing here, get over it.

When she came back down the stairs into the kitchen she had a smile on her face, I couldn't see the tension she felt. Making a good show of it she took the parcel from behind her back and presented it to me with a flourish.

"This is the most beautiful present I've ever gotten," I said as I carefully opened the pretty bag and took out the glossy square case. The cover was black snake skin and on the top the initials S.B. were written in gold leaf.

"Oh Kristi, it's beautiful, thank you so much, what's it for?"

Kristi opened the case and took out the one liter bottle of Smirnoff Vodka, a small bottle of Black Cherry juice and two small lemons. "You'll see," said Kristi. "I need a couple of the nicest glasses you have, you know, something like Martini glasses," she said as she arranged everything in a neat row.

"Sorry, I only have these wine glasses and they're cheap plastic."

"No Matter, they'll do. Now, I'm going to make you the latest drink they were serving the last time I was at the Salish Point Night Club. You know the new one by the water at the end of Robson Street. Everyone who was anyone was there, and they were drinking them like water."

I smiled at Kristi as I watched her take the small silver knife and serving dish that was attached to the lid of the box and put them on the table. She cut the lemon into pieces and put them on the serving dish. Everything had to be just so.

Next she took the silver shaker that was tucked into the bottom of the case and poured 2 oz. of the black cherry juice into it then added 1 oz. of Smirnoff Vodka. "It would be better if we had ice cubes to shake this up with," said Kristi, as she deftly shook and poured the mixture into the glasses. "But never mind, this'll do. All we need now is a little squeeze of lemon in each glass and there you are. Behold! A Cherritini!"

We picked up our glasses and toasted each other.

"Yumm!" said Kristi.

"Yumm!" I said and we started to giggle.

"You'll have to show me again how to make this, this is super wonderful."

As I was sipping my drink she saw me looking at the kitchen wall.

"Just look at that," I said as we sat at the kitchen table. I was pointing to the space beside the stove. We sat and sipped on the last of the Cherritini from the shaker and looked at the wall.

"That's the second batch of wall paper I've put up there. It keeps peeling off. The guy from the paint store in town came out and said it would never stick because the wall was damp. Now I ask you, how can you have a damp wall in the heat of July on the prairies? He gave me my money back and told me to go to Regina."

Kristi Parsons looked closely at the wall and the rest of the room and I saw the color drain from her face. I hadn't thought my problems with the house would affect Kristi this way.

"Never mind the wall right now, come on out back," I said as I pushed the Cherritini glass closer to Kristi, "drink up and I'll show you some really weird stuff."

The soft evening dusk was settling over the house and yard. It was the best time of the day, not too hot, not too cold. Just right for sitting and watching the stars come out one at a time in the endless black sky.

Kristi put on the elegant yard boots she brought with her while she drained her glass. The color was starting to come back to her cheeks and she looked more like her old self.

I got the big flashlight out, dusk was settling in and led the way to the back yard through the front door and around the side since the back stairs weren't too steady. They were next on the list to be fixed, but we hadn't gotten to them yet and now, heaven only knew when that would happen.

"Better to go the long way around than fall down broken steps", I said on the way out the front door.

On the far side of the rickety old barn by the small pasture, there was a hole in the dirt about two meters in diameter and almost a half meter deep. I stood back as the sides were soft and I didn't have my boots on. I didn't want to get my sneakers dirty in the muck.

"What do you think?" I said as Kristi paused and looked down.

"What do you mean, what do I think." Kristi said with false bravado, "I think it's a hole. What's to think? If I didn't know better, I'd say something was buried down there."

"I had the workmen dig the hole deeper but there isn't anything in it. And - when they fill it back up to the top, the next day I come out, it's empty again. Where does the dirt go? I want to know who's playing this very unfunny trick on me."

I was stomping up and down the side of the 'hole', working myself into a fine frenzy when I turned and realized Kristi wasn't looking at me...

Kristi was looking at the house.

The blood had drained from her face and she walked in a trance straight towards the old unpainted section.

"Kristi," I called, "come back, the ground's all soft and soggy there from the break in the water line. You'll get your new boots all muddy."

She didn't pause. There was a vague look on her face and she walked right into the wall of the house as though it wasn't there.

"What're you doing, Kristi," I shouted as I ran over and grabbed her by the shoulders and began to shake her. She turned on me and snarled in a deep guttural man's voice, "get off me, ya crazy bitch."

I jumped back and stared at her. Who was this? The Kristi I knew could never speak like this.

She fell to the ground and was scrambling in the dirt on her hands and knees; you could tell she was looking for a way to get in. But there was no door...

Anymore!

Last week the renovation crew found the remains of an old door frame in the wall on that side of the farm house. You could see where there were some wooden pieces cut close to the wall just where steps would have been. And the old door hole was all boarded over. There hadn't been steps there for a long time.

Finally, Kristi gave a great sighing shudder and dropped to the muddy ground.

I ran to her and when I turned her over, there where big purple bruises on her neck and she smelled. The odor was disgusting.

"What happened," moaned Kristi clawing for consciousness as she reached out for me.

"I'm going to be sick," she said and carefully threw up beside me.

Crying softy she hiccupped, "It's my fault, all my fault."

I hugged her cautiously, trying to sound supportive, "everything will be fine. We'll go in the house now and get you cleaned up. Maybe some warm tea will make you feel better. It was probably that Cherritini that made you sick."

Kristi stared at me as though she'd never seen me before. She got up and headed straight for the road, "never!" she muttered, "never again!"

I made a bee line for the barn.

I had to get the car and head Kristi off before she made it into town, those folks would never understand.

When I finally caught up to her, Kristi wouldn't get in the car, she didn't want to come back to the house with me either. But I told her 'what will the magazine say if they heard she was running around at night with only her fuzzy pink slippers on and had no place to stay?'

She seemed to calm down then, got into the car and just sat in the corner of the front seat. She made me get her a room at the Easy Rest Motel for the night.

She wouldn't have it any other way so I went back to the house, packed her bags and took them to her at the motel.

I stayed with her till after 11:00 p.m., but she still wouldn't talk to me, so I finally went back to the farm. It felt funny going there alone. I kept looking over my shoulder when I went into the house, I had the definite feeling I was being watched.

But although I knew that couldn't be, I couldn't seem to relax, I finally turned all the lights in the house on and then fell asleep. When I woke up next morning I felt silly as I went around and turning the lights off.

Kristi's strange behaviour was starting to affect me too.

I didn't like that.

As I got the cereal out of the kitchen cupboard over the stove, I was still looking over my shoulder. The sound of the bowl as I put it down on the counter by the sink sounded funny, and I quickly looked behind me.

_This has got to stop_ , I said to myself, as I rummaged around in the knife and fork drawer looking for my only spoon.

Get a grip!

I took my bowl over to the fridge and poured the last of the milk into the cereal. This wasn't my favorite breakfast, but I had to get back to town to see how Kristi was doing.

I finally finished and drank the last of the orange juice, now I also had to do some grocery shopping. This was not going to be a great day.

I hated grocery shopping.

I did it only when necessity drove me to it. Because the pizza place in town wouldn't deliver out here. They said it was too far and wasn't financially viable.

Yah right!

'Financially Viable', coming from a pizzeria?

Who did they think they were kidding?

A, they didn't know what financially viable meant, and B, they just didn't want to deliver to me.

At this house!

The people I met in the market either looked at me funny too or wouldn't look at all. I didn't know which was worse.

I went back into my bedroom to get my purse and the door slammed shut in my face. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't get the door open. I sat down on the bed and tried to think, but I wasn't having any luck in that area either.

Now I was getting nervous, too.

I couldn't bring myself to accept that there was something not right with the house. It's only made of wood and plaster that's all.

Isn't it?

I stood at the window hoping someone would come by and I could call them to come and help me, but no one came. Not even Mr. Knutson. So I just stood and waited.

Finally I couldn't help it; I went over and yanked at the door again. I almost lost my arm as the door flew open and slammed against the wall.

Now what?

Cautiously I peeked out the door into the hall. No one there. No one standing there laughing at me trying to get out, making a big deal out of a stuck door. Now I began to feel silly, I grabbed my purse and headed to the front door. I wasn't going to stay around and see who was playing this prank on me.

I had to get to town and deal with Kristi.

I got into the old Volvo threw my purse on the other seat and started the car. Normally it turned over and I didn't give it any thought but today it didn't seem to want to start.

Now what.

Again?

I was still sitting in the car when Mr. Knutson saw me and came over and leaned into the driver's side window, "What seems to be the problem, Sam," he said.

"I have no idea, but it doesn't seem to want to start," I said, turning the key to show him that it wouldn't start.

Verumm, the motor turned over and it was idling just fine.

Now I was pissed!

If Mr. Knutson didn't think I was a 'space nut' before, he couldn't help but know it now.

"Thank you, Mr. Knutson, what would I do without you," I said trying to keep my voice steady as I put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway onto the main road.

I looked into the rear view mirror and saw him standing in the middle of the road scratching his head. I knew the town would hear about this little incident, probably at the café later today. I didn't know how they would know, but I knew they would.

Just stop stressing the small stuff I kept telling myself. It's more important that I help Kristi. I had to see what I could do for her and not dwell on the stupid things that seemed to happen to me here all the time.

When I got to the motel and tried to talk her into coming back to the farm house with me, she wouldn't even look at me let alone come back.

CHAPTER 11

_Well, this is a fine kettle of fish_ , I thought as I stood on the front road and looked at the half-painted house with the brand new unpainted front porch.

It was July 31st and I'd been here a month and a half. Three weeks longer than I thought I'd be. The weather turned warm, and now it was going to be hot. It was 23 C and it was only 9:00 a.m. When I got up this morning I knew it was going to be a scorcher, but I also knew I better not wear something too skimpy when I went to town to see Kristi. So I put on my last pair of knee length blue jean shorts and a slightly dirty Tee shirt that said, "Eat, Laugh, Love, not Necessarily in that Order!" in shocking pink with a small green frog with big eyes looking hopefully at everyone. I thought it might get at least a small smile from Kristi, she always thought it was the worst Tee shirt she ever saw.

But I wasn't holding my breath.

What to do now?

I looked without seeing the wild rose bushes that threatened to eat the worn out boards of the old front porch. They were lying on the ground now with the broken shingles and cement that came from rebuilding the front porch. The knurled old crab apple tree that stood in the front yard was too diseased to try and save and was slated for removal. What dry grass there had been was now crushed and ground into the hard scrabble dirt, it didn't count. There was nothing that would pass for a front garden now.

Without going into the back yard I knew the old back porch and steps were unsteady, and still waiting for removal or rebuilding. With a sinking heart I looked around and saw how much more work needed to be done to the old house before I could go home.

Kristi in the motel, me in the house, and to top it off the renovation guys from Regina quit yesterday.

Now what'll I do?

I have to find out why this is happening and it has to be fast because Kristi is in such a bad state. She just sits in the motel room looking out the window. She won't talk to me or even look at me. Her weeks' vacation is over on Friday, but how can she go back to work like this?

I tried everything I could think of to bring her out of her funk. I wheedled, I coaxed, I even tried bullying her but nothing worked.

So instead of going into town, I stopped at the intersection that led to town and drove back to the house and went next door.

When Mrs. Knutson opened the door to my knock, I almost hugged her, "You are the kindest and best neighbor a girl can have Mrs. Knutson, but now I have to know - what's going on around here?"

Mrs. Knutson looked at me and sighed. Without a word she waved me to come in. I took my scruffy flip flops off and left them by the front door and followed Mrs. Knutson into the kitchen in my bare feet.

"Sit down, dear, I'll put the kettle on," she said, "now, tell me what's going on? What do I need to do for you?"

"Please don't tell me you don't know what happened," I said, "because I know you do. You saw what went on at the back of the house yesterday. What's affecting Kristi and why isn't it affecting me? I'm the relative, not her."

"I understand why your grandmother didn't tell you about the house," said Mrs. Knutson, "but maybe you do need to know now. Call Mr. Knutson to come in from the barn and we'll tell you all we can remember."

Mrs. Knutson walked into the pantry and took some glasses from the shelf, the pitcher of lemon aid out of the cooler and put a plate of Mr. Knutson's favorite peanut butter cookies on the table.

She stood looking out the window over the sink and thoughts of the strange family that used to live next door filled her heart. Pictures of misery and meanness, cruelty and pettiness swirled in her head.

Mrs. Knutson sat down at the kitchen table and thought about the weird people that used to live next door.

She was just a little girl when the house was built but even she could see it was different than her own home. Her home had love and kindness.

The house next door didn't have any.

What she did remember from her childhood was that Christmas never came to the house next door, and she couldn't remember a party or a family dinner either.

What she did remember was the strained faces of the girls that lived there when anyone from school asked to come over to play at their house. They always had some excuse for not letting anyone into their yard.

Come to think of it, not many girls asked.

The other kids made fun of them because they were poor and you could tell they wore hand-me-downs from the second hand Missionary store. Mrs. Knutson remembered how hard the girls had to work. There was never a hired hand to help with the heavy work, just the girls.

She wondered if she should tell Sam about the young men that came to the house when she was about fifteen, and especially about the time Sam's grandma left home.

I guess we'll just tell her everything we know, thought Mrs. Knutson. She'll have to figure out how it all comes together herself.

CHAPTER 12

I came back into the house after calling Mr. Knutson and sat at the table in one of Mrs. Knutson's favorite cane-backed chairs. Trying not to squirm I waited impatiently for both of them to settle themselves around the table. I was beside myself with dread.

"So, Samantha, all this started a long, long time ago," said Mrs. Knutson. "I've lived in this house as a little girl and I heard my parents talking about the strange goings on in the house on the next farm."

"I'm almost the same age as your grandmother and I was old enough to know your great grandfather. Henry Henderson was not a very nice person. He was a mean and petty man. Wasn't he dear?" she turned to her husband for confirmation as though he would question her memory.

Everyone's grandfather should look like Mr. Knutson in his well-worn blue denim coveralls with his red railway hanky in his back pocket. He had warm brown eyes that sparkled with curiosity and good humor and crinkled at the corners when he smiled. A generous salt and pepper moustache sat on his upper lip; he was always ready with a story about when he was young and worked for the Grand Trunk Pacific Railway or when he ran away from home to join the navy, even if there wasn't a war going on.

He only became a farmer after he married Elsa. Her father got sick and was unable to tend the farm and the animals and turned the farm over to his daughter with the provision that they could live out their lives in the house he built for them. Well of course it was all right with Elsa, Mr. Knutson made them the cute little apartment in the basement. When little Knutson's started to come along, the old folks moved down stairs and the kids and babies moved up stairs where there was more room for the young family.

Mrs. Knutson smiled as she looked at him and remembered. She kept him tidy and mended. She was still very fussy where he was concerned.

"My father said Mr. Henderson was cheap, he pinched the pennies so hard they squealed when it concerned his wife or the girls," said Mr. Knutson agreeing with his wife.

"And it didn't help that he drank so much either," she said, "everybody made a little homebrew in those days, even my father. He said it was for medicinal purposes.

"But old Henderson made more, an' he sold it. You weren't supposed to sell it. If the Mounties caught you there were big fines.

"My father said Henry Henderson knew more dishonest ways to make money than a chicken had feathers. People said it was because he was too lazy to work. But my father said it was because he thought he was too good to work with his hands like everybody else."

Mr. Knutson broke in, rambling a bit. "We all had big families then. My mother had nine children. You needed the help for the farm."

I didn't want to hear a family history that wasn't my own so I asked when the trouble at the house started. That brought Mrs. Knutson back to my story.

"I was told it began," said Mrs. Knutson turning to Mr. Knutson for encouragement again, "when I was about 14 years old. Once or twice a year, a young man would come through town asking for the Henderson place. Folks would point them in the right direction and carry on with their own business. When the townsfolk asked old Henderson where the boys were and what they wanted, he would hem and haw and usually say they were just delivering a letter or parcel and that they went home.

"No one thought it unusual until the year I turned 16. I know it was that year because that's the year we got engaged," she said blushing as she looked at Mr. Knutson with a private little smile.

"A man showed up in town in fall that year and started asking about a young fellow that came through a few months earlier."

Mrs. Knutson sat and counted on her fingers and said, "That would have made your grandmother a little over sixteen. People talked, and thought it strange that we didn't see her at church or in town anymore. But your great grandpa said she went to Regina to work for a rich Jewish family.

"A lot of young girls worked as house maids in those days."

Mrs. Knutson paused in her story and filled the glasses with lemon aid again. "Have another peanut butter cookie dear, Mr. Knutson always eats too many."

Mr. Knutson just sat in his chair, grinned at me and took another cookie.

"Well anyway, this man Mr. Friesen, kept talking to people and insisting his son didn't come home and wouldn't have gone off to any place without telling him. And no, he didn't send his son to old man Henderson with a parcel. He said he sent his son with cash money to invest in a farm."

"Where, he wanted to know, was the farm, and where was the farmer. Folks didn't know what he was talking about and he got quite excited. But after he calmed down a bit Mr. Friesen went back to Ma Guttmun's boarding house and got out some letters and a newspaper ad.

"There was the name of the investment in the paper, 'Henderson's Farm', and the man's name was Henderson. And the town was Prairie View, Saskatchewan. There was no mistake. Now, I'm not sure of all the details but it seems old Henderson was advertising in the city papers for a partner in a big well-run farm. He was a well-educated man and would answer the letters all the right way. Then he told them they should bring money to invest. It finally came out in the end that he would take the boys in, get the money and then kill them.

"They found them all at the end except one, when they started digging up the yard. And it was the missing one that Mr. Friesen was looking for.

"The town's people led by George Bachman, he's the father of the Bachman that rented you your car, dear, were so mad at the old man for bringing all that trouble to the town. They took him and threw him into the old house and boarded up the doors and windows and just left him there to die.

"His poor wife, your great grandmother Christina, and five of the girls moved into the old grain shed out back. It wasn't fit to live in especially as the winter was coming. There was no place for them to go; no one wanted anything to do with the family, not even the church.

"In those days we shared our Constable with two neighbouring towns. Fenn and Big Valley an' he didn't want to get involved either. He was young. He didn't know what to do so he just looked the other way. I remember my father saying it was a shame he didn't do something."

Mrs. Knutson got up and refilled the pitcher from the cooler. "Samantha, are you sure you want me to go on with this?"

"No, but I have to know."

A cold chill was settling down my back.

"The poor folks whose sons were killed came and made so much trouble in town.

"The parents thought their sons were working the farm. With the slow mail service an' all, didn't think it strange when they didn't hear from them for a long spell. They couldn't believe the town's people didn't know what was going on.

"Everybody blamed everybody else for not knowing. The newspapers from Regina said terrible things about the whole town. When it came out that old Henderson was boarded up in the house and no one was feeding him, well, what a fuss. Half the people said 'leave him there,' and the other half wanted him to go to jail and get hanged.

"The Mounties from Regina finally came and took your great grandfather to jail. It wasn't supposed to be much of a trial, there was so much evidence. He was never expected to get out. But, he fooled them all. He had all that money and he got himself a high priced lawyer from Toronto and was out in ten years for good behaviour.

"Martha Henderson, your grandma's youngest sister, stayed on in the old house with her daughter Amalie.

"We never did know who Amalie's father was, and Martha wouldn't say. We all thought her father was one of the Miller boys. All of us young girls thought they were so good looking. Poor as church mice they were, but it didn't matter. Of the seven boys, five of them had to get married because the girls were pregnant. Folks thought one more didn't much matter. Martha just kept her head down and never spoke of it to anyone.

"Anyway, Amalie left as soon as she was old enough to work. It was while the old man was still in jail and a good thing she did too. He never would have let her leave if he'd been here. No one heard any more from her for a long time.

"We never thought the old man would get out of jail, we thought he'd die in there. But he fooled us all again; he came back here after the ten years and took up where he left off.

"What a fuss when he found out Amalie was gone. He yelled and threw the furniture around. We could hear him beating Martha as well. She never said anything against your great grandfather but we knew what was going on. We could hear him over here just as plain as day.

"Just the two of them, him and Martha, lived in that house all those years. He would curse, and swear, and scream that it was everyone else's fault. Especially poor Christina's and then we could hear him hitting someone. Well, you know there wasn't anyone else over there for him to hit so we knew he was hitting Martha again and we could hear him cackle and laugh while he was doing it.

"No one else ever went inside that house, that is, until Amalie and her little girl came back. Amalie remember, was Martha's daughter the one we all thought got away. She would be about your mama's age.

"Well anyway, Martha told my mother that Amalie's husband died in the oil fields in Alberta, she had a young daughter and nowhere else to go - so she came back to the farm. She didn't know the old man was here too. Amalie and Martha moved away when Amalie's daughter was about eleven or twelve. She'd be a bit older than you are.

"Didn't your mama or grandma tell you about all this family?"

I was amazed at the memory of this old woman. I've never heard of these people and Mrs. Knutson just rattled them off like they were her own kin. I didn't know I had all these relatives.

Why didn't I know I had all these relatives?

Why hadn't I heard all these stories?

"We got married about the time your great grandfather went to jail," said Mrs. Knutson and looked at Mr. Knutson for agreement, "I was almost eighteen. We lived on the other side of town then, but my folks still lived here. My father said no one was going to drive him off his land, and they didn't.

"Well anyway, one day at the beginning of winter, just like now. I think it was a few years after Martha, Amalie and her daughter left, yes, it must have been about four years," said Mrs. Knutson looking down and playing with the spoon she stirred the lemon aid.

Mr. Knutson took her hand and looking into her moist eyes, spoke in the way that old married folk do, "you're doing fine old girl, just finish the story. Martha would want you to finally tell someone."

"That mean old man was found dead," said Mrs. Knutson resuming the story after dabbing the tears that were coming unbidden from under her eye lids. "He was half in and half out of the back door just lying on his back. His eyes all swollen and terrible, lookin' like he saw the very devil himself!

"It was Alfi Miller the furnace oil delivery man that found him. Poor Alfi was in such a state. He ran over here and grabbed my father and made him go back with him. He didn't think anyone would believe he found the old man like that. Alfi drank a bit in those days and had a reputation for seeing things that weren't always there.

"Old Henderson looked like a wild man my father said, his clothes were ragged and filthy, his hair and beard matted with tobacco juice and old food and the look on his face, enough to give a body nightmares. Talking about it makes my blood run cold.

"Still!

"The look of horror in those dead eyes gave poor Alfi Miller such a fright. For months after he found the old man he went around town and told everyone over and over he couldn't sleep for seeing those awful eyes. Dead as a door knob the old man was, he said, and then he'd cross himself. We all thought that was a big much, he hadn't been inside a church for so many years, and besides, he wasn't even Catholic.

"Alfi told everyone that would listen that he'd never touch another drop, ever. He was going to be dry as the Sahara desert. Him being the delivery man for the Billingsly Furnace Oil Company, we all thought that would be the day."

"When did Alfi Miller die?" said Mr. Knutson reaching for another cookie.

"He's not dead. He's in that Mennonite Old Folks Home down the road from the farm market. I think the name is Restful Haven, yes, that's it," said Mrs. Knutson. She turned to me and said, "If you want to talk to him, I can ask my sister Helen to find out what time would be good. She goes there every Thursday to play bingo with the old folks."

Mrs. Knutson was starting to ramble again, so I asked for another glass of lemon aid, and that brought the story back again.

"Oh yes, where was I?" said Mrs. Knutson as she sat back down at the table. "For a long time when we went to Regina, people who knew where we came from would cross the street. They didn't want to talk to us. We couldn't get trades people to come out here and even our relatives stopped visiting for a while.

"It was terrible."

I sat back in shock. I hadn't known what to expect, but it certainly wasn't this. How could my precious grandmas' father been such a mad cruel man?

"What happened to my great grandmother and all her children?" I asked as I fidgeted uncomfortably in the chair.

"When the town's people finally understood what had happened on the farm, a sort of 'lynching' party got together and went out to look for the old man. When they found him some other folks from town came out and said if they hung him without a trial, they weren't no better than he was. That sort of simmered things down, so they decided to put him in the house and nail it shut and see what'd happen. I think I mentioned about this earlier, oh well, I'll just finish telling you this part again because it has to do with your great grandma and the girls.

"Christina and the girls hardly had time to get their clothes and some food out of the house before the men started to nail the windows and doors shut.

"They took turns coming out from town and watching the house. Some said they took bets to see how long it would take him to die.

"My father said they were crazy, and this would just make everything worse. And it did.

"Our local Constable came out and looked at the house and pretended he didn't hear all the yelling and screaming, I know I said this before, but some of us still feel bad for what happened to him. He was very young, and he didn't know what to do. He just looked at the men standing around with their shotguns and told them hunting season didn't start for another month, and to be careful where they pointed the shotguns.

"My goodness but the fuss the RCMP made when they finally got around to looking into the disappearance of all those boys that Henderson had killed for the money.

"Then they realized the young Constable didn't do anything to prevent the men from throwing Henderson into the house, they moved him and his family away. We never did find out if he lost his job over this.

"I was visiting my parents the day they came out to arrest the old man and couldn't help but see what was going on next door. He was quite thin by this time, and he looked terrible. But his mouth still worked real good.

"When they got some boards off the front door and let him out, my father heard one of the Mounties say quietly to another one that it was too bad they hadn't waited a few more days. We all heard about it the next day but nobody said nothin', we didn't want the Mountie to get in trouble for telling the truth."

My head was getting thick and I was having trouble keeping everything straight, but I didn't want her to stop, I had to finally know. "Can I have a glass of water please," I asked Mrs. Knutson. I wanted to run out of the house and never, never, ever come back. But I couldn't do that.

I had to know.

"While the old man was stuck in the house," said Mrs. Knutson getting up to get Sam a drink of cold water, "Christina and the five girls stayed in the grain shed at the back of the property. When they finally took him to jail for his trial, Christina tried to move back into the house. It was really filthy in there, but, where else could they go? Some of the neighbours tried to help, but others made such a fuss that soon no one was doing much of anything.

"They owed a lot of money to Orvil Tressel, he was the owner of the general store back then. He finally said he wasn't going to give them any more credit because he couldn't see how they would ever pay what they owed.

"Some people thought Christina must have known what was going on, and probably knew where the money was too. But my mother said she didn't think anybody knew where it was except the old man.

"Old Henderson told everyone at the trial that he buried all his money but he wouldn't tell anyone where it was. So Christina and the girls were starving," said Mrs. Knutson as she nervously rearranged the dishes on the table. She finally looked up and said, "can I get you some more cookies?"

"No thank you," I didn't want any more cookies, I wanted the rest of the story.

"Everybody from town came out to look for the money," said Mrs. Knutson. It didn't make any difference that Christina and the girls dug up every spot they could think of and didn't find it. The towns' people said they were doing it for Christina and the girls, but my parents didn't think that was why they were so helpful.

"Folks thought it was a lot of money, thousands and thousands of dollars. It would be finders' keepers, especially if no one else knew you found it. You know, a thousand dollars was a lot of money in those days, but my father said it couldn't have been that much, as there were only six bodies buried in the yard. So how much money could it be? Anyway, they never found a dollar.

"Most of the folks in town wanted to pretend it was all a bad dream, and if they didn't pay it any mind it would go away.

"In the end the Pastor from that little church," said Mrs. Knutson as she shifted herself on the kitchen chair, "you know the old white one on the corner of 12 County Road and Whyburn Street. It was new then, but that doesn't make any never you mind.

"He got some folks together to help them out. I remember my folks didn't want to give any money either but it was send them back to Germany or let them die in that rotten house. Anyway, they finally got enough money together and Christina and four of the girls went back to the old country.

"Martha stayed here in the house and we thought your grandma was still in Regina.

"I think the place Christina and the girls went to was called Rothenberg. Christina told the Pastors wife that she had a sister there that would take them in. It was the last we ever heard of them. Mind you, we never did hear anything more about your grandma either, her being in Regina an' all."

I just sat and looked at the old lady - the words had started to run together and I couldn't seem to understand what was being said any more.

"Please," I whispered, "I can't stand anymore."

"Now about the old house," said Mrs. Knutson still carrying on as though none of this was affecting me. "We were never sure who owned the house in the end. But a rental company from Regina, 'The Acme Rental Agency', yes, that was the name, came and cleaned it up and painted it inside and out a few years later.

"No renter ever stayed long though.

"They complained that the doors and windows kept getting stuck. Either they couldn't get in, or the next time they couldn't get out. So the company finally quit trying to rent it and just let it go.

"I'll tell you Samantha, a lot of folks still tried to find the money the old man buried after the Mrs. and girls left, but no one ever found it. Dug up everywhere too," she said repeating herself.

"Especially that hole out behind the barn. We all thought there was only one hole, but when folks started digging up the yard, they found three more. That was besides the graves of those poor boys that brought the money. No one ever did figure out what the old man was doing with those holes. But everyone agreed he was probably up to no good.

"The house was fixed up a bit again in the 1970's when this new rental company took over, but people still didn't stay long, too many strange things went on," said Mrs. Knutson.

"I've got the last rental company's name written down somewhere. I'll get it for you. What all this has to do with your friend Kristi, I don't know."

"Or me," I said, "but now I can't go back to that house either." I didn't tell her about all the bizarre things that had been going on in the house. Or why the renovation guys wouldn't come back to work.

So Kristi and I went back to the coast the next day. She went home to her mother in Kelowna. I don't know what arrangements she made with the magazine; I don't think she went back to work.

My company was almost in the dumpster by this time, so I went back to Ft Langley to do some 'emergency regrouping' for a few days.

The next week I went home to my folks in West Kelowna. A few days one way or the other wouldn't matter much. I needed to regroup.

CHAPTER 13

"Mrs. Baker?" said the senior of the two RCMP Officers at the front door of Bill and Lillian Baker's home in West Bank, a suburb of Kelowna, "Is your daughter Samantha here or in Vancouver?"

"She's here. She's the one playing the piano downstairs. May I ask what you want her for?" said Lillian Baker.

"I'm sorry, but I have to speak with Samantha Baker directly," said the officer.

"Come in then, you can wait in the living room while I get her."

The two officers stood by the front door. This arrest was embarrassing, it didn't need two officers to arrest one small female, but procedure was procedure and it had to be done by the book.

Sam's mother called down the stairs to the music room in the basement, "Samantha, there are some nice policemen up here to see you."

"Samantha, did you hear me?"

Lillian Baker, an older version of Samantha with a few more pounds and a grey hair or two went back into the living room and sat on the edge of the couch. "Please have a seat; you can't just stand by the door."

"No thank you, mam, we're fine here."

Lillian started to fidget, policemen made her nervous. Then she started to stress about what she was wearing, she remembered she put on her new pair of cream linen Culottes and the new purple Nevada top she just bought yesterday, she hoped she was dressed right for entertaining mounted policemen.

"When she starts playing the piano, she doesn't hear anything. She's quite good you know, she could have taught, but she wanted to do other things. I like the old songs that Kris Kristopherson, and Neil Diamond sang - you can understand the words to those songs," said Lillian.

She felt it getting warm in the living room and she was starting to babble. What was keeping that girl!

Lillian excused herself and went to the top of the steps.

"Samantha," she called, "these nice policemen upstairs here are waiting. Hurry up!"

"Oh all right, mom, don't get excited," I said putting the music books back into the piano bench, "I'm coming right now."

I went up the stairs to the living room where the two officers waited.

"Are you Samantha Baker?" said the younger of the two RCMP officers clearing his throat and referring to the small black book he held in his hand. He shifted his weight nervously from side to side. He kept checking his book as though the words might change if he didn't keep an eye on them.

Standing by the couch I looked from officer to officer. "Yes, I'm Samantha Baker, what's the problem?"

"If you don't mind ma'am, we'd like to talk to you down at headquarters," said the more senior officer stepping forward.

"I do mind. What's this all about? If this is about that parking ticket I got in June - I just forgot about it. I'll go down and pay it right now. O.K.?"

"It's not about the parking ticket. But I'd advise you to pay it as soon as you can as you won't be able to get your automobile insurance renewed until that ticket is looked after. Get your coat please, and come with us, there are some questions we need to ask."

"I'm not going anywhere until I know what this is all about!" I said, getting my back up.

The senior officer looked at me and said, "You don't want things to get any worse than they already are. I'd advise you to come along quietly."

"O.K., O.K., I'm coming."

Don't get your shirt in a knot, I muttered under my breath, who did these Mounties think they were?

I turned to my mother and said, "Mom, call Dad and tell him what's going on. I don't know if I need a lawyer, but I want Dad with me."

"Where are we going?" I asked the young officer.

"To Regina."
CHAPTER 14

The October snow was coming down in Prairie View, Saskatchewan in sheets of silvery ice. It didn't seem to know if it should sleet or snow, so it was doing both. This was turning into the coldest, wettest, snowiest October in years.

People in Prairie View were muttering bad words as they went about their business. They didn't normally get sleet. Their usual snow was dry and light, easy to handle. Not this heavy sodden mass of slurry that was turning the street into one large watery sink hole.

This latest October storm had just assured the owner of the Easy Rest Motel that was just outside of Prairie View a very profitable month for this time of year. There were few motel rooms on Hwy #46 between here and Regina. The wet snow was piling up faster than the snow ploughs could take it away. Travelers were glad to book a reasonable room here to stay warm and wait out the storm.

I was thankful that I was able to get a room again, with all the snow I thought they would all be gone. And, I was doubly thankful that I was able to get the old Volvo from Joe Buchman's garage back.

Because I was such a 'good' customer, he gave me 10% off on my next week's bill. Not much but I was glad for any help I could get. I was running out of money fast. My poor little business was just getting started again when the RCMP whisked me away to Regina.

Now I'm back in Prairie View giving orders to the office over the phone. I have to hurry and sort this out; my career and business are hovering over the dumpster again.

I sat in the yellow easy chair by the window and thought about the events of the past few days _._ When I asked for a room here they said room number eight was vacant and I could have that one as it was a bit bigger than this one.

No Way!

That was the room Kristi Parsons had. I was happy to have this room, besides it was the one they gave me the first time I stayed here way back in June.

Was it was just four months since I left home for Prairie View in high hopes of renovating and selling my grandmother's old house? She thought it would take a couple of weeks - it seemed like such a good idea at the time.

Who would have thought it would turn out like this? If the old house wasn't haunted before, it should be now, what with great grandpa found dead on the back porch so long ago, and now Kristi Parsons lifeless body discovered in the same place.

_And, I can't believe it_ , I thought, _they think I did it!_

I kept telling them Kristi couldn't seem to get over the shock the old house had on her. And no, I didn't know why it was affecting her that way. She wouldn't talk about it, she wouldn't talk about anything.

After the fiasco in the back yard, she wouldn't come back to the house either, so I had to book a room for her at the motel. The first day I drove back and forth between the house and the motel, but after I spoke to Mrs. Knutson, I couldn't stay in the house either. Besides, I wanted to be closer to Kristi. I thought maybe if I was in the next room she would open up to me and tell me what was going on.

Didn't happen.

For the days she was here she didn't shower, she hardly got out of bed. I tried and tried but she wouldn't talk to me. She wouldn't go out to eat. She lay in bed or sat in the chair by the window and drank tea and cried. Nothing I said or did made any difference. She just wasn't there.

So I phoned her mother, and told her what happened. I don't know what I expected, but the blank sound on the other end of the phone line wasn't it. It seemed to be quite a shock to her mom when I told her where we were. But she said bring her home. So I took her back to Vancouver where her mother met us at the train station and they both went back to her mother's place in Kelowna.

She never called me after she got to Kelowna, she'd start to cry when I called her. Things became so strained between us that I felt I was talking to a stranger - finally I quit calling her.

Kristi couldn't confide in me and I didn't know why!

"And now this!"

"Almost arrested for murder." I said to the snow outside the window.

The events of the past spring and summer were on a continuous loop in my mind. I kept looking for things I should have done differently; berating myself for things left undone.

Last week when the interrogating officers at RCMP Headquarters in Regina asked me what happened to Kristi Parsons, I told them as far as I knew Kristi was still in Kelowna at her mother's place. I told them I knew eventually she had to go back to Vancouver as the magazine was expecting her to return to work. But I didn't know when she went.

They kept asking me the same questions over and over again. I kept telling them the same answers.

I kept telling them, "the last time I saw her, things between us weren't good," I was starting to hyperventilate, and when I looked down, my hands were clutching and releasing the zipper end of my jacket and I knew they needed to stop this harassment, or I would pass out on the floor.

"I kept asking her what happened at the house," I told them, "but she never would say. She'd just start to cry and run into the bathroom. I don't know what's wrong with her, but in that last week I saw her she'd lost so much weight she looked terrible."

I couldn't understand why they kept questioning me.

"What's going on," I asked, "why are you asking me all this over and over?"

I looked from detective to detective, and I was starting to feel very defensive "if you want to know about Kristi," I spat, "ask her yourself."

I can't believe how much explaining I had to do after that little outburst. It took forever to convince the officers I didn't know what was going on or where Kristi was.

Finally Brent Strong the Inspector in charge accepted that I really didn't know where Kristi was.

When they finally told me what happened; I couldn't believe they made me go through all that. Why didn't they just tell me in the first place?

The reason I didn't know what they were talking about was the death of Kristi Parsons didn't make the Kelowna newspapers front page and my mother didn't see the write up, which means it wasn't very big, so she didn't call and tell me. I seldom watch the news on TV so I had no idea what happened. I was working day and night trying to get my business back on its feet.

I'd just taken a two day weekend to see my folks when the RCMP found me in West Kelowna. I didn't know what happened in Prairie View.

When I realized they really thought I had something to do with her death I felt myself go limp. And when I was told a furnace oil delivery man found Kristi lying on what was left of the back porch of the old Henderson place, half in and half out of the house, the blood drained from my head and I almost fainted.

_I can't believe this is happening again!_ I said to myself as I cringed hardly able to hang on to the chair arm and my sanity. _This is the same thing that happened to my great grandfather, I can't be hearing this all over again._

It seemed Kristi Parsons didn't tell anyone she was going back to the old house.

Not her own mother and especially not me.

Ralph Milner, the lawyer that my father hired in Regina was a complete novice who never handled a case like this before. Whenever I would ask him a question, he would leave.

I finally found out why all the trips outside. It was because his cheap cell phone wasn't powerful enough to call from the jail inside the RCMP facility.

What a wimp! He had to keep calling and ask his senior partner what to advise next. When they finally let me leave RCMP Headquarters, Ralph Milner was more relieved than I. He didn't give me his card and he hardly even said good-by as he hurried away. I knew he'd never answer if I ever called again.

_No one would have found Kristi till spring when the snow melted,_ I said to myself as I stood looking out the window at the snow piling up on the street outside my window. The Day Manager of the Easy Rest Motel kept assuring me that this was not normal weather. Sure they'd have a bit of snow, but not this heavy rainy stuff that was making it so hard to drive on the wet road.

Was it fate, or something else that the furnace oil delivery man was at the house, again... especially since I cut off oil delivery when I took Kristi home in August?

Once they decided I didn't do it, the RCMP gave me some details; they said it looked like she was trying to get away. But no one knew what she was trying to 'get away' from.

Even though they finally believed I hadn't killed Kristi, they kept asking me over and over again to explain about my great grandfather. The officers couldn't believe that kind of thing could happen twice in Prairie View and still be an accident.

Well, I couldn't believe it either, but there it was.

Constable French (the rat) played an active part in my questioning. I remembered him from last June at the train station the first day I arrived in Prairie View. He was the macho blond hunk that caught Kristie's eye the day she got off the train in Prairie View.

It seems he turned into a gung ho young RCMP officer and it was he who looked over the situation and decided it had to be me who was guilty. It was on his advice as the town's local law enforcement that they brought me back from Kelowna for questioning. In his eyes I was the only one who could have killed Kristi - because I was the only one who knew her.

Or was I?

_How could they think I killed her_ , I thought, my eyes starting to leak again, _Kristi was the best. We could talk about anything. She was my good and true friend._

To stop my thoughts from going in circles, I deliberately thought about the airplane ride from Kelowna. I squirmed in the chair as I looked out at the falling snow, remembering how humiliated I felt on the plane.

They didn't have me in handcuffs but the size and uniform alone of the two officers made sure everyone knew something was going on. Both of them were well over six feet, and here was little me. I looked like a willful school girl that played hooky and was being returned to her private school by the big bad policemen.

How embarrassing!

The change in thoughts seemed to allow me to change the direction of my feelings and contemplate other ideas.

I guess I'm lucky I got this room. Back in June I remembered thinking it was such a tacky motel and I was glad I didn't have to stay in it too long. Now it looked like the Royal Suite in the Hotel Vancouver.

When I got off the train in June with such high hopes about selling the old house \- I had no idea things would turn out this badly.

I kept going over the circumstances around Kristi's visit to the farm house. I still had no idea why she reacted so strangely. When I spoke to her mother yesterday to see if she had ever been to the old house before, she changed the subject and talked about other things.

There were all these questions, such as: what did Kristi Parsons know about the wall in the kitchen that wept, and better yet, why did she know? Why did she make such a big fuss when she saw the empty hole behind the barn? How did she know there had been a door in that side of the house? How did Kristi know the people who lived in that house?

These aren't Kristi's relatives, their mine," I said to myself, "how did she get involved in all this? What did she know that made her take her own life? I can't believe she made her heart stop beating, the coroner must be wrong! I'm going to talk to Inspector Strong about that again. Even though he showed me the Coroner's Report, people just can't do that.

I sat in the shabby motel chair and watched the snow continue to fall, I have to find out why all these things happened, and then I'll know who, and why Kristi was killed. I'll never be free of all this until I know the truth.

The snow was coming down now in flakes so thick I couldn't see across the street, it seemed to be in tune with the muddle going on in my head.

_Get a grip, girl!_ I said to myself as I got up and unpacked my suitcase properly. "How can I find out what happened when no one will talk to me?" I muttered as I put the few clothes I had with me into the dresser drawers. "This isn't going to be easy. How can I sort this out?"

I sat down on the bed and taking a pad and pen from my purse began to make a list of all the things I knew. It calmed me, and finally my brain started to function in a rational manner and I wrote down all the things I needed to find out.

CHAPTER 15

First on my list was who really owns this old house. Maybe it will tell me what the connection is between the house and Kristi.

Second I need to find out who Kristi really was and where she came from. She said her folks came from the prairies, but she never did say where.

Third, I should go and have a talk with that oil delivery guy at the old folks home that found great grandpa. He must be old as dirt, but maybe his mind is still O.K. Mrs. Knutson told me the name of the home he's in but I've forgotten. I made a note to talk to her tomorrow. Also, I should call the Oil Company and find out who found Kristi, and when I could talk to him.

Fourth, I should talk to the constable that had to leave Prairie View, maybe he knew something he didn't tell. Maybe he was holding back some information he was too embarrassed to share at that time. I knew he would be quite old by now too, and I would have to find out if he was still alive, and where he lived.

I had to find out.

I was writing furiously.

Finally I was doing something constructive.

CHAPTER 16

The next day the small white church in Prairie View rang its bells for the funeral of Kristi Amalie Parsons. Curiosity seemed to bring out every one who lived in the area. All the towns people were there, including Mr. and Mrs. Knutson.

The few strangers who attended seemed to know each other and clung together in a tight knot at the back of the church. When I looked around, I didn't know who those strangers were, but they seemed to know who I was.

Kristi Parsons' mother sat with the strangers.

Where was her dad? At one time Kristi mentioned that her mum and dad weren't together, but she never wanted to talk about it. So I left it at that, it didn't matter then but it mattered now. And although I kept looking, I didn't see any man that looked like he could be Kristi's father anywhere in the church.

My mom and Grandma wanted to come out for the funeral, but with the snow and such short notice, my dad decided it wasn't such a good idea. So instead, they sent a nice wreath. I was relieved that they didn't come. I didn't want them subjected to the stares and whispers I had to endure.

The service was short. An older man from Regina with a deep baritone voice sang 'Goin' Home **'** ; and there wasn't a dry eye in the church. The Associate Pastor, a young man from Quebec, had a French accent so thick I was sure no one understood him. But he was genuinely sad that his first official duty with this parish was to bury such a young woman.

The old Minister seemed to know everyone including the strangers at the back and he spoke to each one. He had a kind word for all, especially me.

People kept rubber necking to see who attended and who was missing. It was awful. I had to exert tight control or I would have jumped up and told all those 'looky loos' to go home and leave the grieving family alone.

A good thing I didn't do that!

I wasn't part of the grieving family.

Finally, the funeral was over but there were more questions now than ever.

Such as why did her mother decide to bury Kristi here, and not in Kelowna?

And who were those people who kept looking at me and whispering to each other?

And why didn't they give a short history of Kristi's life. She was a well-travelled business woman and a credit to her home town.

But no one said anything about her childhood.

And why didn't Kristi's dad turn up? Even if Kristi's folks were divorced, surely he could have come to the funeral.

And why did Kristi's mother cry louder every time she looked at me?

All this tumbled through my mind as I sat depressed, in my motel room in Prairie View. Thoughts of the funeral brought back all the tears and sadness.

And all the questions.

"How will I ever find out the answer to all these problems," I said sniffling into a handful of Kleenex.

Maybe I need a detective.

I'll get one just like on TV, they always seem to be able to find out who the bad guy is. With this decision made, I went to bed. I was so exhausted; I was finally able to sleep.

CHAPTER 17

The snow finally started to slow down about 2:00 o'clock the following day.

When they let me out of RCMP Headquarters in Regina almost a week ago I wasn't prepared for all this snow.

Where my business was in Langley Township, we didn't get snow like this! I didn't bring clothes for this kind of weather, I was so cold I had to go to the local clothing store and buy warmer clothes.

I bought an eight pack of Hanes underwear and two pair of heavier jeans as well as two pair of ladies style long johns, two wool sweaters, three heavy sweat shirts and a pair of fur lined Arctic boots. It also didn't take long to pick out a heavy weight gray Canuck parka. If it hadn't been such a sad time I would have thought it fun to shop.

Who lived in a place where it snowed all the time? It was over whelming. Snow had fallen continuously since I got to the motel. But people were still going about their business, walking up and down the streets and driving as though there was nothing but dry pavement.

"If they don't think it's that bad out there, then neither do I," I said as I packed my bags and checked out of the motel.

I got into my old Volvo, thank goodness for the car rental from Joe Buchman's garage and started it up. It was going to be a long slow drive to Regina. It was so cold I had the heat cranked up to high.

I can't believe I'm going to town to hire a detective, I thought as I drove down the slushy road to the highway. Better question, where am I going to find a detective? You can't just look in the phone book, eh?

The question danced around in my head, and I came to the realization that I couldn't just hire someone else to poke and pry into Kristi Parsons' life.

I owe her that much, after all I'm the one who asked her to come out here.

I'm the one who invited her into that awful house.

I'm the one who should have been watching her to make sure nothing bad happened.

Now I'm the one who's going to have to find out why!

I turned off the highway at the next exit and headed back to Prairie View.

"I can't pawn this off on a stranger; I have to find out for myself," I told the windshield wipers as they kept time with the funeral dirge going on in my head.

With this final decision made, I went back to the motel and was happy to find I could re-rent my old room. I dumped my suitcase and coat on the floor and took out my Toshiba laptop.

First I'll enter all the questions I wrote down yesterday into a spreadsheet so I can put them on a time line. I need to know the sequence of events and where and when each incident took place. It will give me a better overall view.

"Starting with question Number #1," I said to the computer. "Who owns the old Henderson farm?" I began typing furiously, determined to get it all entered before supper.

_It can't be my grandmother,_ I thought as I finished up the spread sheet, or she would have sold it long ago; they needed the money. Grandma only found out recently that as the oldest, she could inherit the property if there was no will. But if she didn't inherit it in the first place, who did? Other side of same question, if grandma knew she didn't inherit it, why did she send me out here and let me think she did? And who's been paying the Rental Company all these years.

Questions tumbled through my mind as I prepared to call up Google on my laptop. I was tired of just sitting and letting misery and circumstance fall all over me.

"It's time to be more pro-active!" I said, "time to dig up the dirt!"

I plumped up the pillows on the bed so I could sit up and type - there was some serious work to be done here tonight.

Google can find out anything, I thought as I watched the program come up on the screen of my laptop. O.K. here we are, now what do I want to look at? Let's try Saskatchewan Land Office. Maybe I can find out who owns the house just by looking in there.

I'm good, but no computer nerd. I tried Farm Land Security Board, that didn't let me get anywhere, then I tried New Land Title System, that didn't work either.

By supper time, I accepted the fact that I couldn't access Saskatchewan Land Office files without knowing what I was doing.

Joel Dawdiak, who was Kristi and my friend came to mind. He bragged there wasn't a program he couldn't hack into. And besides, he always said if I ever needed him...

CHAPTER 18

Better than help over the phone, the next day he finagled a ride on a Canadian Forces jet out of Vancouver and just landed as I stood watching from behind the fence at the airport in Regina. Joel Dawdiak wearing a Government Issue Canadian Paratrooper's flight suit walked across the tarmac towards me.

Standing by the gate in the chain link fence in my new boots and dwarfed by my Canuck parka I knew enough not to ask why they let him on the plane. He came through the gate even though I knew he should be heading towards the main terminal and signing in with whatever authority had O.K.ed this trip. However he managed it, he must be important enough as no one was making a move to stop him from leaving the fenced-in area.

I was some impressed.

"So, what's going on, Sam?" said Joel looking very 'take charge' in his flight suit, "first I hear Kristi Parson is dead and then I got your email asking for help. I haven't heard from you since you came to Saskatchewan. What's this all about?"

"Oh Joel," I said with a catch in my voice, "I can't tell you how happy I am to see you."

He took her in his arms to comfort a special friend and was shaken by the unexpected impact of their yielding bodies. Career soldiers like Joel Dawdiak were trained not to show emotion. But the military instruction he'd received didn't cover ' _girls: their care and feeding'_ , and Joel was strictly a 'by the book' kind of guy.

So he shifted from foot to foot and had enough heat rising to make his ears burn. He awkwardly patted her on the back while his thoughts tried not to linger on the willing figure he could feel pressed against his wanting body.

Standing in his strong arms Samantha felt so comforted, this is just what she needed.

Two years in Afghanistan and before that as a Peace Keeper in the Far East prepared Joel for every necessity. Or so he thought.

There wasn't much time for girls during his teen years or later in the army. Young girls didn't care for the things that fascinated him. So except for a brief fling in the ninth grade with Margaret Keebler, he was pretty well a novice in the romance department.

But then he met Sam. He had no more control over the feelings that erupted in the pit of his stomach, than Mount St. Helen had when it blew its volcanic top.

It was almost six months since he met her and Kristi Parsons at the Pub in Vancouver. It seemed like six years until he stood holding her like this. Now it seemed like six hours.

Sam was so full of energy and the joy of life; Joel didn't know anyone like her.

She scared the hell out of him.

But when she called, he came.

The same day he received her email; he requested and received three weeks compassionate leave from his Commanding Officer.

And now here he was, holding her in his arms and he was petrified.

CHAPTER 19

I turned away from Joel so he couldn't see the tears that were starting to slip down my cheek and drip onto my new parka. I didn't want to admit even to myself how good it felt to be in his strong arms and feel so safe.

"Come on," I said letting him go and getting a grip on my emotions, "I've got my car outside. Do you have to report to anyone here?"

Not pausing to hear his answer, I grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the car park. "I'll tell you all about my problems after you get settled at the motel where I'm staying. You've got the room next to mine, that way we can talk anytime."

"Sounds good to me," said Joel, with a twinkle in his eye, and already having some thoughts of what to do now that they could – 'talk anytime'.

Finally getting serious, Joel said, "No, I don't have to report to anyone, but I should get my duffel bag from the Station Off-Loading hanger. It's on the other side of the Main Terminal in that big grey building" he said. "That's where the military unload their materials and that's where my bag will be."

I waited impatiently in the car until he finally came out of the hanger with his duffle bag over his shoulder. I'm not sure but I thought he was rather pink around the ears, and I asked what went on in the hanger.

All I got was a throat-clearing harrumph as he threw his bag in the back seat. And as he got into the front seat his ears got even redder. It didn't take much to realize the guys in the hanger saw us when Joel left the plane. They gave him a hard time about the little girl in the

This was the first time I'd ever been to the airport in Regina, and I had to refer to my GPS often to get me here on time. The snow in town wasn't bad as they ploughed their main streets constantly. I thought we would make good time getting out of town.

I checked the GPS again as we drove out of the airport and had to quickly choose the Lewan Drive West exit, then the girl on the GPS repeated over and over, "keep to the left, keep to the left, exit left in 500 meters." I told her in no uncertain terms that I was keeping to the left and exited onto Highway 11. Was I good or what? Two exits and I was still on track, something of a record for me.

"In 500 meters turn right," said the girl on the GPS. "I can't," I yelled at her, "I'm in the wrong lane".

Thank goodness I caught a break in the traffic and made the change in time to exit onto Albert Street. Just one more exit and we should be on Canada Hwy #46 heading south.

Freeways are great for getting lots of people to lots of places fast, but pity the poor 'out-of-towner' who doesn't really believe the new GPS.

With a great sigh of relief I settled down on Hwy #46 for the long snowy drive back to Prairie View.

When they let me out of RCMP headquarters earlier, I took the bus. So this was the first time I had to drive out of Regina and back to Prairie View on my own.

Well, not really all on my own.

Now I had Joel.

The highway was plowed too. Surprise, surprise so we made good time. I was anxious to get to the motel before dark. As we began to leave the city behind, I realized I hadn't eaten all day. Maybe Joel was hungry too.

I saw a Family Restaurant sign on the side of the highway so when the right exit came up we left the Highway and pulled into the parking lot. As we got out of the car I checked out the restaurant and saw that although it wasn't new or part of a popular chain, it looked like there were people in it and they looked happy.

We went in and sat down in an overstuffed booth that wasn't overstuffed any more. That was all right, it looked clean and well cared for. The menu wasn't fancy, but that was all right too. We just wanted good food and lots of it. When the waitress came we both ordered the same thing; a mushroom burger, fries and coffee, a good but greasy supper.

Back on the highway it was dark, and snow was piled up on both sides of the road making it hard to see the turnoff for Prairie View. But I knew that exit from my abandoned trip to Regina and I got us to the motel safely.

Joel Dawdiak's lighthearted mood didn't last. Kristi Parson's shocking death popped up and ran uninvited through his orderly mind. He didn't like these thoughts, they spelled trouble. Thoughts like, what will he have to do to help Samantha, and how was he going to keep her from getting into trouble over her head? He was starting to feel like he was on a mission in an airplane in rough weather, unsure of where the next roller coaster ride was going to come from or where it was going to end.

His one certainty was, knowing he had to do everything in his power to protect the wonderful woman that was sitting beside him in the car.

Even though his growing mood was becoming acutely apprehensive, he was doing his best to be upbeat. But he had to find out what really happened to Kristi, and how it affected Samantha.

His Samantha.

CHAPTER 20

"Alright Joel, here's your beer, there's your chair, sit down and I'll tell you all I know."

We were in my motel room with my empty coffee cups and the local fast food wrappers from my morning breakfast and lunch intermixed with all the papers and folders on my unmade bed.

What a mess!

I should never have told the front desk not to make up my room. I should have put the papers away so Joel wouldn't think I was such a slob.

Little white lies are O.K. at the beginning of a relationship, there's lots of time for the awful truth after he's hooked. What kind of impression was this mess making on a 'neat freak' from the army?

Never mind, I decided disorder didn't matter right now. Facts did. I talked for over an hour. Joel didn't move a muscle or make a sound. At the end he just sat there, staring at the floor.

"Well, you've certainly got a lot of information Sam, but it doesn't make much sense. Let me take this back to my room and mull it over, then we'll talk about it," said Joel as he gathered up the sheets of paper and put them back in the big folder from the bed.

Joel left and I guiltily cleaned up the mess on my bed and straightened the bedspread. The extra papers went into an accordion file I bought yesterday. I knew it would help if I kept things in order.

I sat in the chair and looked at Joel's corner window. It didn't do any good, the light stayed on and the later it got the colder and stiffer I got. Finally I got undressed and put on my fuzzy nightgown with the tiger on the back. To heck with it, I was tired; I was going to go to sleep.

Not!

The night crept by on exhausted feet.

I got out of bed every half hour to sneak a look to see if his window was dark yet. Good grief, there was still a light on and it was going on 2:00 am. What could he be doing so long? It was driving me crazy.

I lay on my back in bed looking at the ceiling, tracking the crack that was barely noticeable during the day. I couldn't sleep, I was too hot. So I got up and took off the fuzzy nighty, naked I crawled back into bed. This was better, the sheets felt cool to my skin. Now I'm going to be able to sleep.

Not!

This was worse than being too hot, now I was freezing. This has got to stop, I can't keep jumping up and down and putting clothes on and taking them off. It's after 2:00 a.m. for heaven's sake.

This is the last time!

I rummaged around in my suitcase looking for a cleanish dirty T shirt, found my panties on the floor and put them on too.

This is it!

I'm going to sleep now.

Finally about 3:00 o'clock in the morning I dozed off. Somehow I wound up on top of the bed covers.

I woke up with a start.

Someone was banging on my door and calling my name. It was light out but I was disoriented. My head was spinning until I remembered where I was and why I was freezing cold. A T shirt and underwear don't keep you very warm.

I threw on my house coat and flew to the door but it wasn't Joel, it was Brent Strong from the Royal Canadian Mounted Police in Regina. He was the Inspector that came out to the farm to look at Kristi's body and head the investigation. He also played a major role in my unfortunate questioning at the Regina headquarters.

When I looked at him I realized he wasn't in uniform. He was dressed in black. Black jeans, black motorcycle leather jacket and a black Hienmen turtle neck sweater that showed off his hard lean body.

His cool dusky eyes matched his jacket and coal black curls were rumpled from his Fur Jockey hat. They tumbled down his forehead and gave him a cool interesting look. It implied inexperience and naivety. But one of the other inspectors told me when they were questioning me, that he was a senior inspector and had many commendations and awards.

I guess he thought he'd impress me.

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" I said as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and tried to focus. "What are you doing here so early in the morning?"

Better question was, where had Joel gone? From the doorway I could see his room was dark and my rented car was missing.

I turned to Inspector Strong while I still struggling to wake up and asked, "What do you want with me now?"

I wanted to shut the door to keep the warm in and the cold out but he was still standing in the doorway talking, his foot firmly shoved up against the door jam.

"We just got the transcript of your great grandfather's trial and there are some things I want to go over with you."

"I'm not the person you want to talk to. I wasn't even born when he went to prison. I've never seen that transcript, although I think I should have a copy. I've nothing to say."

"If I don't talk to you here, we'll have to go back to Regina and you can explain what you've been up to. It might be easier to talk here."

I sputtered some not very nice options of what he could do with his suggestion under my breath. Finally I calmed down a bit - the door was still open, the cold air was still flooding the room, he was still standing in the doorway.

I hovered just inside the open door and hugged myself trying to keep warm while my feet threatened to fall off they were so cold.

"What exactly do you want to hear? You know everything I know, I've told you a thousand times," I said shivering as I threw some of the bed covers off the bed over my shoulders and feet. It was getting colder and colder in here.

Brent Strong was usually all business, but standing at the door of the motel I could see he was allowing himself more than a small measure of fun at my expense.

He had questions. Like, what killed the old man? Why didn't anyone want to rent the house anymore? Actually, there was only one question as far as he was concerned. Where's the money? He was sure if he could find the cash that old man Henderson left, he'd find out who killed him. And that would lead to who killed Kristi Parsons because he didn't buy that 'heart just stopped' opinion that the coroner gave at the inquest.

"Who's this new fellow?" said Inspector Strong, nodding at the room next door. "The locals tell me you two were seen running back and forth between the rooms all night."

"We weren't running back and forth, I didn't even go outside, and besides, we're consenting adults. You don't seem to be getting very far in finding out who killed Kristi, so I did something about it. I brought in reinforcements."

"Just hold on there, don't get carried away. It's not like you know what you're doing. You could be stirring up more trouble than you know."

"Don't worry; my reinforcements can handle trouble. You better go now, I want to get dressed. How is it going to look if the big bad detective from Regina is caught in a motel room with a half-naked girl?"

Brent Strong looked appreciatively at Samantha still in her pink housecoat and thought that wouldn't be such a bad idea after all.

"All right, all right, I'm going," he said changing his mind and turning to leave, "just remember what I told you. Let the RCMP handle this, you're out of your depth here."

Taking a large envelope from his inside pocket he took a step into the room and threw it on the bed. "I'm going to leave this transcript of your grandfather's trial with you; it's in the Public Domain now so anyone can get it. Look at it and call me if you know anything that wasn't mentioned. I still want to go over this with you."

Brent Strong turned away from the door just as I slammed it shut. He got into his unmarked police cruiser and instead of pulling away from the front of the motel he sat there, fingers drumming on the steering wheel trying to decide who got the best of that little fiasco. Better not let the guys in Regina know he backed down from a half-naked girl in a pink kimono - he'd never hear the end of it.

No sooner was the detective gone than Joel returned. He'd changed out of his army uniform and into beige cargo pants and a blue striped wool sweater over a fine knit white turtle neck, his heavy duty grey Outdoorsman hunting jacket was just the thing for the cold weather outside.

I looked at him as he came into the motel room and decided he looked good, real good!

What I didn't see was that he still had on his army issue long johns. Joel Dawdiak was no fool, he wanted to look good for Sam, but there was no need to freeze.

He had a breakfast muffin for each of them and two big cups of steaming hot coffee from the fast food cafe up the street.

"Finally got up I see. You sure can sleep. I was awake half the night looking through your papers. But first things first, have some coffee and tell me, who was the guy in the black leathers that just left here?"

"He's nobody." I said, "just an RCMP Inspector from Regina, they don't know who killed my great grandfather, they don't know who killed Kristi, they don't know where the old man's money is and they don't know who owns the old house. He doesn't know any more than we do."

"Well, we're not much better than he is then. Sit down, let's talk."

Joel and I talked and planned the whole morning.

_How good it is to have someone on my side,_ I thought as I gazed with more fondness than I realized at Joel.

Now that the door was closed the room heated up again. Sam was still in her pink housecoat and Joel found it increasingly hard to concentrate on the paper work in front of him. It seemed everywhere he looked there was her firm young body in the pink kimono. And to make matters worse, she decided to sit on the bed and the housecoat insisted on gaping in the front exposing the curve of a soft luscious upturned breast. Joel's eyes kept wandering. He was having a hard time sticking to the topic they were discussing.

"I don't get it," he said to himself, "how can this beautiful, compassionate creature belong to that schmuk, Harry Harper."

A couple of hours later, Joel was still struggling to retain the last remnants of his will power when they looked at each other and said in unison, "I'm hungry!"

Joel of course, was hungry for either one, Samantha or lunch, but it looked like he would have to settle for lunch.

It was so good to have Joel here. Big, reliable, steady Joel, what a contrast to 'Horrible Harry Harper'. As I looked at him I realized he didn't know about Horrible Harry and his university hotty. He also didn't know I tossed the bum out on his two timing ass.

I need to let him know I'm a free woman.

On the market.

Available!

I was thinking about how I was going pass this bit of information along as I hopped off the bed. My kimono belt fell away as I stooped to pick up the papers on the floor and almost allowed the front to open all the way. I grinned as I realized the effect it was having on Joel. _I think I'm getting through to him_.

Teasing him with my eyes I grabbed some clothes out of my suitcase and went into the bathroom to change.

" _Dam_!" said Joel under his breath.

I put on yesterday's jeans and the heavy blue sweat shirt; it was getting colder by the hour. We put on our snow boots and parkas and stood outside the motel room door looking up and down the street to see if there was a nice restaurant within walking distance. Something other than the fast food up the block.

The snow was ploughed from the sidewalks in front of the stores and piled between the buildings; the road was also ploughed down to the far intersection. You could see where the snow plough made a big circle and turned around. Here and there some hungry husband that lived on one of the side streets ventured out of the house and slogged through the wet snow to the market. It was hard walking in water soaked snow up to the knee carrying a couple of bags of groceries.

The open Old Country Café was down in the next block. Its' neon sign shaped like a hamburger blinked on and off in the early afternoon sunshine. On the side by the door the brown paint was starting to peel but the window was spotless. The people inside were talking and laughing and the place looked clean. The window on the other side of the door had a poster advertising last summer's Agriculture Fair.

Outside the front door we stamped our feet to get rid of the wet snow clinging to our boots. Laughing we opened the door to the tinkle of a small bell placed at the top of the door to alert the owner of any prospective customers. Thank goodness there was an open booth half way down. We thankfully sank into the well-worn seat and scooted closer to the window so we could keep an eye on what was going on outside.

You could tell the owner had some pride in his place, even if he didn't have the money for the latest furnishings. It was starting to show a little wear and tear, but the black & white ceramic tile counter top was spotless as were the booths where Joel and I sat. The white walls - what you could see of them had posters of past Agriculture Fairs, Rodeos, and advertising for kid's hockey games.

People took their farms and hockey seriously here, not necessarily in that order.

The waitress materialized by my elbow and handed us each a menu. It had a wider selection of food than we thought possible, but we both opted for their daily special.

While we were waiting for our order, Joel decided it was now or never. He didn't think he'd survive another scene like the last one with the pink kimono.

"So," he said, in his best matter-of-fact voice, "how is Harry? Are you still the hot twosome you were at Christmas?"

I almost choked on my coffee, "are you out of your mind!" I sputtered. "That two-timing rat is so out of my life. I can't believe I got suckered into that relationship. What a philandering good-for-nothing he turned out to be."

That little tirade wasn't exactly what I had in mind to let Joel know I wasn't spoken for, but now it would have to do.

I would have gone on but the waitress arrived with our Greek salad and smiled at me like she wanted to hear the next installment.

(Not too much juicy gossip in this town lately; seems they needed an outside source.)

Joel looked at me with this silly grin all over his face; this was good news.

When our rare T Bone steak with mushrooms and onions, mashed garlic potatoes, sautéed green beans and coffee arrived, all conversation stopped. Joel was famished and so was I. The steak was done just right and I was pleasantly surprised by how crisp the green beans were. All in all it was a very good meal.

Joel, wiping his mouth with his napkin said, "that filled the spot; now let's get down to business. What else can we do today; it's only 2:00 o'clock. I've been thinking I've never seen the house. We should go out there to see if the RCMP missed anything. I know, I know, they said they went over it carefully, but you never can tell. We should go over it with a fine tooth comb ourselves."

"I don't know about 'a fine tooth comb'," I said gathering up my parka and purse, "but yes, I know the house. I promised myself I'd never go back there, but if you think it would help, I'll do it. But we're in town now, let's see if we can find the Old Folks Home the guy that found great grandpa is in, Mrs. Knutson told me where it was, it shouldn't be too hard to find."

"I can't believe that old man is still alive. He must be in his late ninety's. Do you think he'll be able to tell us anything we don't already know?" said Joel as he got up from the booth in the café, "he may not have all his faculties anymore."

As I put on my parka I saw my reflection in the big window and I was glad I decided on my new sweatshirt, I hoped Joel noticed it as it went rather well with my new skinny jeans. I blushed guiltily. What's the matter with me, since when do I care if my jeans match my sweatshirt, or who's looking at them.

I care now!

Suddenly I felt warmth rising from that private spot below the belt. It had nothing at all to do with Joel being there looking at me with such a twinkle in his big brown eyes, it was the sweatshirt causing the heat...I lied to myself.

"Here's my half of the bill," I said to Joel, "you go and pay, I'll see if the waitress can give me some directions to the Care Home."

Joel stood looking down at the money in his hand and then at the girl that was making her way to the counter to talk to the waitress.

This was not going well as a first date.

"The waitress said it's the big white building just down Marshall Street," I told Joel as we left the café. We walked carefully on the slippery sidewalk and headed up the street to the rented car that was still parked at the motel. The old Volvo from Joe Buchman's garage had new snow tires and most of the well-traveled roads were more or less ploughed.

So since we were already on the right road, we found the old folks home with very little trouble.

Joel parked the car in the side parking lot that had been ploughed and we made our way to the front door through the water and snow that had melted and was standing on the roadway and sidewalk.

We stamped our feet outside and again when we entered the building to get rid of the slush that clung to our boots. A coat rack was just inside the door and we hung up our heavy coats in the small vestibule.

A shy young receptionist in a starched pink nurse's uniform was sitting at the information desk and an older nurse in a different color uniform was talking sternly to her. The young nurse looked down at her computer instead of at us as we approached and asked in a small voice who we wanted to see?

"We'd like to see Alfi Miller," said Joel in a 'take charge' manner. "No, we're not kin but we'd like to talk to him about something that happened a long time ago."

"I'm not sure he will be able to help you. He's not as sharp as he used to be," said the prim middle aged nurse butting in. "You certainly can go and talk to him though, he doesn't get a lot of visitors. Go to the end of the hallway and turn left. It's the third door on the right. Just go on in."

Joel and I walked down the institution green hallway. The beige rug was clean but worn down the middle from the many feet that walked up and down waiting for company that never came.

We peered nervously into the doorways as we passed. We were looking for Alfi Miller's name tag on the door jam.

The resident's rooms were painted in bright cheerful colors. Some rooms had old wedding pictures with elaborate frames mounted on the wall over the bed. Some pictures had smiling young children with parents you just knew were the children and grandchildren of the residents.

Some of the old people were doing puzzles on card tables set up in their rooms. Some watched TV in the big lounge we passed. A few had visitors.

When we got to the room with the name tag that said Alfred (Alfi) Miller by the door, we paused.

Joel said, "What are you going to say? You just can't come out and ask him what he saw. You heard the nurse; he's forgetful. He doesn't remember very well anymore."

"I'm not sure what I'm going to say. Let's just go in and see what happens."

Joel went into the room first, and Alfi just sat and looked at him, but when he saw me come in he became agitated. He stood up and tried to push his way out the door crying, "Get out, get away from me! I told you I didn't do it. Leave me alone, I don't know anything else."

I was aghast. What brought this on? I didn't even know the man. How could he say he told me? How could he know what I wanted to ask?

The crabby head nurse who had been talking to the receptionist came running into the room. "Sit down, Alfi. You know you're not supposed to get excited."

To Joel and me she said, "Alfi gets upset quite easily, we encourage visitors to try not to distress the residents."

"You calm down now Alfi," the nurse said turning to the old man in front of her that was still visibly shaking.

"I'm so sorry; we didn't mean to upset him. I don't even know him. How can he know me? I just wanted to ask him about the day he found my great grandfather, Henry Henderson dead on the back porch of his farm house."

Hearing that, Alfi Miller stood up and trembling all over said, "I told you, and I told you. I didn't have anything to do with those boys. I only helped him with the money." Then he sat down on the bed and began to cry, the nurse turned on me and said, "I'm sorry, he's very upset. He'll be hard to deal with for a week. I think it would be best if you leave now."

Joel and I backed out of the room.

Back in the parking lot I said, "What did you think of that? What just happened in there?"

"I've no idea, but I do know we're getting out of here. That old man can't give us any more information than we already have and maybe we better find out why you affected him that way."

We were both quiet on the way back to the motel. I was lost in thought and didn't understand what Alfi Miller's involvement was but I was sure the RCMP must know about it.

After all, didn't they interview everyone involved in the case all those years ago? It was another odd little piece of the story to file away for future reference.

It was also something to look up in the case file of my great grandfather's trial that Brent Strong left with me. Surely the RCMP had this information and understood what it meant.

Joel was also very quiet on our ride back to the motel, his thoughts bounced between several ideas. One was, why Sam affected the old man that way, and two, what did he mean when he said; I only helped with the money. And last, but more important, what did Sam think about how he handled the situation? And did it affect the way she felt about him?

"Samantha," said Joel, "let's leave this for now and concentrate on another question we _can_ find an answer to right now."

As we pulled into my parking slot at the Easy Rest Motel he said, "Like, who owns the farm or what did that RCMP constable they moved away in disgrace have to say about everything? Let's take it in order, first the farm and then the law."

CHAPTER 21

"This is _your_ silly idea." I whispered as Joel and I sat in the waiting room of the Winston Real Estate & Rental Agency in the Cornwall Centre in downtown Regina. "It will never work."

"Just remember what we talked about. You keep the rental guy busy and I'll find out who's been paying all these years on the leasing contract for the old house. That'll tell us who owns the farm. "

George F. W. Winston came out of his office dressed in what he thought was the latest style. Black suit, black shirt and white tie, when he looked in the mirror he felt it took 20 years off his age and made him look groovy. (who said groovy anymore?) When in reality, he looked more like an over-the-hill gangster or mortician than a hip entrepreneur.

As he shook hands with Joel and me, he greeted us with his smoothest pitch.

"Harold & Miss Angelica Smith, what can I do for you two lovely people?" he said as he jockeyed for a better look down the front of my low cut cherry red sweater. As he watched, I took off my faux mink coat and draped it casually on the back of my chair.

The clerk at the rental place gave us a funny look when we told her we only wanted the coat for a few hours, never mind, we had to pay for the whole day anyway.

The coat was the perfect prop.

"Why sir, my brother Harold does all the business in the family, but how kind of you to ask," I cooed as I batted the false eye lashes we bought at the local drug store, "I just love your office, it's so 'now', did you decorate it yourself? Regina is so fortunate to have ' _ultra Boss'_ people such as _yourself_ doing business here," I said, as I stroked the faux mink suggestively and looked at him from under my eyelashes.

I stood up, squared my shoulders pushing my pushup bra up to overflowing and almost out of the low form fitting sweater I was wearing. I pulled down my too-short black leather skirt with the slit in the back and wiggled my way towards the water cooler.

It had taken me almost an hour to perfect the wiggle in my walk. It proved to be hilarious to my audience of one. I tottered and teetered up and down beside the bed in my motel room, risking turned ankles, and cramps in my calf to perfect this stroll.

I only gave in and threw myself giggling on the bed when the absurdity of the situation finally made itself felt over and above the chance of maimed and broken ankles.

Joel sat in the shabby yellow chair watching critically but grinning from ear to ear. The proximity of the very short skirt and the very high heels had an unexpected effect on Joel. He bolted out the door and into his motel room.

This was not going well.

I could hear the water running next door and wondered at the unusual time Joel decided to have a shower.

He was the cleanest man I knew.

This jiggle in my jog was not something that came naturally to me. But with a lot of hard work I finally got it right. I needed to impress George F. W. and keep his mind on me.

According to our action plan, I stumbled and fell into the arms of a surprised George F. W.

"Oh, I'm _so_ sorry. I think I've turned my ankle," I said and squeezed out a phony tear as I checked to make sure I hadn't lost one of my large fake gold earrings.

Slowly untangling myself, I sat daintily on the chair close by George F.W. and held up the offending ankle.

"Whatever is little ol' me going to do?" I said as I turned it this way and that looking at George for approval. "My brother has a meeting he has to go to, whatever can I do?" I said feigning a breathless little sob. I was still watching George F.W. to make sure we were getting the right reaction.

I looked piteously at my feet, checking anxiously to make sure I had the 'right' damaged ankle on display

"George, can I call you George?" I said with another little hiccup as I bent forward to give him a slightly better view. "Could you help poor little me to the hospital?"

CHAPTER 22

George F.W., eyeing the view down the front of the sweater gulped and thought, I haven't had an opportunity like this in a long time. Who am I kidding; I've never had an opportunity like this!

She really wants me!

"Certainly little lady," said George F.W. barely able to contain himself, "I'll be glad to help in any way. Just give me a moment to close the office."

Too bad it has to be the hospital though, he thought.

I posed artfully, giving him ample fodder for his imagination.

"Your brother can go to his meeting and not worry about you," he said in his most deferential manner. "Our motto here at Winston's is, _It's our Pleasure to Serve the Customer!_ _"_

_And I do mean serve_ , thought George F.W. with what he considered a macho leer at me.

I sniffled and hiccupped into the hanky I was holding to my eyes, trying to fake tears and hold my laughter in check.

Who did this old letch think he was anyway?

George F. W. zipped into his office, put the phone on auto, grabbed his coat and was helping this poor injured girl into her fur coat and out to his car in a matter of moments.

He never was a man to let an opportunity slip by.

Joel Dawdiak left at the same time we did.

George F.W. walked, and I hobbled piteously to his car that was in Reserved Parking Lot #1 of the general parking area behind his office.

CHAPTER 23

Joel waited around the corner of 11th Street until we were gone. Heading down the lane and counting the store backs until he came to the correct one he peeked through the small window in the back of the building to make sure it was the right one.

Since it was dark inside he couldn't see very well. But it was the only window on that side of the lane, so it had to be the right one.

Selecting a sturdy looking grey garbage can that was only half full, he carried it over to the window and clambered up so he could force open the lock on the window.

He knew his training in the Canadian Forces would come in handy someday. He just didn't know it would be for 'Breaking & Entering.'

He oozed in through the top of the window and landed on his shoulder smack in the middle of what he assumed was the 'Lady's Restroom'. Since he had never been in a female lavatory, he wasn't sure but he suspected it was really small. Thank goodness he managed to land on his shoulder, if he landed on his backside on the toilet or the basin, he would have been in deep trouble. As it was, he had a sore shoulder, but he thought there were things Sam could do to ease the pain.

Joel was inexperienced at breaking into shops or stores. But you would wonder at two years of fighting in Afghanistan and he had to come to Saskatchewan to fall into a female restroom to injure himself. No time to worry about sore shoulders, no telling when good old George would be back - he had to hurry.

Holding his offending arm close to his side he peered around the office door to see if anyone had come in while he was doing the 'Free Fall' from the bathroom window. The place looked empty. He saw the sign on the door at the front that said 'OPEN', so Joel knew it said 'CLOSED' on the side facing the mall. He really couldn't see the office well, but there was enough light coming in the big front windows that he knew he was alone. He could see three offices along the left side of the room with a long customer counter down the right and a small reception area with four chairs and a coffee table with magazines scattered around in front of the big window.

Cautiously he made his way inside, the right file cabinet was easy to find. It was behind the long counter. Checking C _ustomer Contracts_ he found the one he wanted right away.

Joel wrote the name of the person who'd been paying for the upkeep on the old farm house on the back of a used envelope he found in the waste basket. He stuffed it into his jacket pocket and quickly returned everything to its proper place.

He was about to leave the way he came, when a high pitched nasal voice laced with sarcasm stopped him.

"Well honey, now that I'm back from my coffee break, how about you tell me what you're looking for, and I'll help you find it?"

Joel turned to find a 'value added' blond, filling up the doorway. She wore a tight pink sweater that showed the top of an underwire bra that was desperately overloaded. Her faded designer jeans were spray painted on an ample derriere and the boots she was wearing must have cost her three weeks salary.

She was a _come hither_ cowgirl that came hither a few times too many. But it was the look in her cool blue eyes that told Joel he was in big trouble.

"Now," said Eleanor McVeigh, drawing herself up to an impressive six-foot one-inch, "no more foolin' 'round. Why don't you get those papers you just put back and put them on the desk? Then you can explain everything to my friend Brent Strong. Him being the local law 'n all, he'll be interested."

Joel looked at the door, looked at the girl and calculated his chances. There was no way he was going to wait around for the RCMP to show up. Especially since Brent Strong knew Sam!

Joel grabbed some folders from the drawer and threw them at Eleanor McVeigh. He pushed his way past her, and was out the door before she realized what happened. Joel ran like the fiend from hell was chasing him down to the end of the main thoroughfare in Cornwall Centre and headed for the exit.

He would have made it too, if he hadn't crashed straight into a car that just happened to be passing at the foot of Lorne Street.

"Hold on there, sir," said Brent Strong of Eleanor McVeigh fame as he slammed on the breaks of his unmarked cruiser and jumped out of the car. "Where's the fire?"

Joel picked himself up, changed direction and ran like crazy back up Lorne Street.

Luckily, Inspector Strong decided to chase him in the car and not on foot. It was facing the wrong direction and took a few minutes to turn around. By that time Joel made it to the corner, turned down the lane behind the stores and found Samantha's car.

He managed to get it started and fired down the lane just in time to meet Inspector Brent Strong coming straight at him from the other end. Tires screeched, men swore, but the two cars managed to miss each other.

Joel careened out of the lane and down Lorne Street. He looked into the rear view mirror and saw one police car and one unmarked cruiser turning the corner and flying after him.

Not knowing Regina, Joel turned at the next corner onto McIntyre Street and realized he was on a one way street.

It didn't seem to be going his way. At the next corner he turned again and came to a screeching halt.

He'd turned into what he thought was a road not realizing it was a loading bay for a store that was closed.

It was a dead end!

CHAPTER 24

I was finally able to peel a fawning George F.W. off my shoulder at the entrance to the lobby of the Regina General Hospital and convince him I would be O.K. People looked at me and I realized I didn't look like the usual clientele the hospital got during the day. I didn't want anyone to come over and ask if I needed help so I hobbled over to the bank of telephones in the corner and pretended to make a call. Then I turned, and with my nose in the air I exited the lobby the way I came in.

Out on the sidewalk and around the corner I took the pair of tennis shoes from the large handbag I carried and changed shoes while leaning against the side of the hospital. I didn't care that people looked at me and smiled. I was so glad to be rid of those high heels they were making my calves burn like fire.

I put the now useless shoes in my bag and hurried down the side street. A good thing Joel thought of getting the coat from the rental store by the hospital, it sure made it easier to return it.

I hot-footed it down to the corner and flagged down a cab that was cruising around the hospital looking for fares and gave the cabbie the address of the WHY BUY, RENT store and sat back and went over my performance. I thought I did the 'Hot Babe' thing as well as I was able. You can't expect professional slut overnight.

When the cab got to the store and pulled over to the curb, I leaned forward to pay and inadvertently gave the cabbie an eye full. Oh well, now he had a racy story to tell the guys when he got back to the station, and I didn't care, I'd never see him again. And besides, if he saw me without all this makeup and tight sweater, he'd never recognize me.

The store clerk looked me up and down and I saw she didn't quite know what to do. Should she only charge me for half a day, or for a whole day? I guess she didn't know the clerk that gave us the coat made sure I knew we had to pay for the whole day. I didn't care; it was an excellent prop. I'm glad I got my deposit back though, I was out enough money without that added expense.

I couldn't wait to get back to the Easy Rest Motel in Prairie View and wash out my big teased hairdo. How in the world did people wear their hair like this? Thank goodness hair was wearer friendly now.

I got to the rendezvous where Joel and I arranged to meet, but he was late. I sat by myself with the outlandish hairdo and the overdone makeup in the last booth of the Day and Night Café just off Broadway Avenue.

I felt so conspicuous... because I was!

All the men were giving me the eye and all the women were giving me dirty looks.

Where was Joel?

I thought he was more dependable.

Now what?

Should I wait, or should I grab a cab and go back to the motel? I was mulling it over in my mind when I remembered – this city had taxi cabs, but you had to phone to make a reservation if you wanted them to take you anywhere out of the city core.

It was by 'appointment only' if I wanted to go to Prairie View.

Since Joel had the rented car and I didn't want to lose my deposit; I decided to wait. Besides, taking a taxi to Prairie View would be very expensive. I kept telling myself I had to watch my money. My poor company was leaking money like a broken drainpipe in a monsoon.

But I'm not a good listener.

As I sat looking out the big picture window in the café trying to decide, a very tired, sweaty and disheveled Joel waved from the other side of the street. With his head bent low he scurried across the road, entered the café and slumped onto the opposite bench of my booth.

"What are you doing?

"Where's the car?" I asked, my voice rising, "What's the matter with you?"

"Sit up."

"People will think you're on drugs!"

"Don't talk to me; pretend I'm not here," said Joel, feeling silly but trying to crouch lower.

"What's going on?" I asked as I looked at my big strong hero hunkered down like a lover caught in the wrong bed. "Did you get the name?"

"For Pete's sake, don't look at me, I'll tell you what happened when we're away from here."

Just then a police cruiser and an unmarked car came down the street stretching the speed limit.

Joel, still bowed down on the seat of the booth muttered, "Don't look! Don't look at me. Wave at the cops. Smile."

I did as I was told.

CHAPTER 25

After we managed to rescue the old Volvo from the one-way street, Joel told me what happened in the office of George F.W. Winston Real Estate.

The two and a half hour drive from Regina never went so fast. The more we talked about what happened, the funnier it became.

Joel said he had visions of being pulled over because of too much laughter in the front seat.

I was still laughing when we got back to the motel. I couldn't stop smiling as I took off the makeup that I had so carefully applied that morning and shimmied out of the short black skirt. I sat on the closed toilet lid and rolled down the black stockings and dropped them into the waste basket. I couldn't wait to get out of the too tight sweater and as I pulled it over my head the cheap gold earrings I wore clattered to the floor. I looked at them and started to laugh again. I just couldn't seem to stop seeing Joel running over Eleanor McVeigh.

The shower looked so welcome, but I had to wait until I combed out my rats nest hair. Women must have been out of their minds to do this to their hair on a regular basis.

After my shower I put on my pink bathrobe and sat on top of my bed in the motel. I just couldn't seem to get over the vision of Joel running down the street to get away from Brent Strong, the RCMP Sargent. I wiped my eyes on the bed spread and continued to laugh.

Mr. Knutson told me Eleanor McVeigh was head Cheer Leader in 1998 for the Saskatchewan Roughriders football team and she never let anyone forget it. Mrs. Knutson also had some really funny stories to tell about her when she was young.

I'm glad she wasn't in the office when we were schmoozing good old George F.W. I didn't know she worked for the Winston Real Estate & Rental Agency or we would have been more careful with the amount of time we spent in the office.

CHAPTER 26

Poor Joel, bedraggled from his close brush with the law was in no mood to be laughed at as he stood by the door after waiting for me to rid myself of my slut persona and a quick shower. He kept trying to tell me the name of the person who was paying to have the house looked after but I couldn't listen, I was laughing too hard.

"Look, since you don't want to know who's been paying for the house and farm, I'll just go back to my room and take a shower," said Joel in a bit of a snit.

"No, I'm sorry. It's been so long since I had a good laugh, I just got carried away. Besides, surely you don't need another shower, you just had one."

"Please sit down here," I begged patting the bed beside me, "and tell me - who owns the house?"

Joel sat down on the bed, taking care not to sit too close. He took the envelope from his pocket and unfolded it. Looked at it he said, "I don't know if it's the owner or not. But the name on the contract is K. Evans."

"You must be mistaken; K. Evans is Kristi Parsons. She changed her name to Evans when she decided to go into modeling. She told me about it when we were at that open-air bar on English Bay in spring last year.

"She told me it didn't work out and she took her old name back. Why would she be paying on a house that was in _my_ family? And besides, I just met Kristi a couple of years ago. She also didn't say anything about the house when I emailed her and told her I was here in Prairie View to fix up grandma's house."

"That can't be right!"

"I've been racking my brain," said Joel, "trying to think about the things I know about Kristi, but I realize now how little I really know. Just because she was paying on the house doesn't mean she had anything to do with what happened there.

She's not much older than you. She wasn't even born when most of this stuff was going on."

Joel got up and moved down to the head of the bed and looked at my sober face, "I think it's time we went over to the house. I need to see for myself. I know all this happened a long time ago and the house was rented out several times, but I need to go and see for myself... now.

Maybe I'll see things you didn't because you're too close to the problem," he said.

"O.K., whatever you say," I said as I got off the bed and began to straighten the spread while he still stood looking at me.

My fingers brushed his hand and I felt a jolt go through me to him.

He clutched his hand, it burned, his arm burned, he looked at me with fire in his eyes.

I turned around and found myself locked in his strong arms. He kissed me then with such passion I quivered down to my very toes. Tenderness followed the storm. I went weak in the knees and gasped for air. Finally we just stood and held on, both realizing there was more, but unsure of how much more we both wanted... right now.

Finely he let me go.

_Darn,_ I thought as I stood back, _there's being 'too reliable', 'too responsible', don't stop now._

But Joel was already turning to the door. I looked at his face and saw determination.

He was doing his best for me.

He was putting my name above his needs.

How great was this.

"Joel," I said softly, "don't forget to come back."

"Sam," he said, "I'll never forget to come back."

CHAPTER 27

The next morning we got up, me in my cold and lonely bed and him in his.

What a bummer!

The clouds were heavy, pregnant with snow. I could see they were not the light fairy tale kind, but the winter blizzard kind. The kind that makes a body want to hunker down with a good book, a glass of red wine, and a nice roaring fire.

Or, of course, a hot boyfriend will also do nicely.

As I was getting dressed, I realized parts of my life were going down the toilet fast, no good book, no wine, and no roaring fire. And I wasn't too sure about the hot boyfriend either, and worse, no income from my business in Langley. I had to quit calling the office, Gladys my good all-round clerk, secretary and receptionist said there was no good news.

Since I was not in a position to do anything about it, she said she'd call me if anything came up.

And... I was still in Prairie View with nothing to show for my time or effort, not to mention the red ink that was accumulating on my bank statement.

Of course you couldn't put Joel in that bleak box. He was definitely 'Good News', something I was going to cozy up with eventually. I just needed more time to help him see it my way.

I had my shower; thank goodness the snow wasn't affecting the plumbing. These Saskatchewan people know how to live in the cold. No frozen pipes for them, they knew better. The water was hot, and there was plenty of it. I took the time to blow dry my hair. If I went out with wet hair in this weather, I know my hair would freeze.

How sexy would that be?

I slipped a Fruit-of-the-Loom white undershirt on. Next the pair of wool/acrylic blend long johns that the lady in the store assured me I would need. I never dreamed I'd be wearing long johns.

Ever!

Next came the heavy jeans I bought the day before Joel got here. I don't know why, but I was still saving the Passionate Pomegranate silk thong with the strategically placed heart I bought at the same time. As I dressed I had visions of getting old and grey, still saving them. But my true self admitted that it was just too cold to get too suggestive.

Joel kept assuring me this was not really all that cold. He said I was a BC girl and that's why I was feeling the cold so much.

What did he know.

I pulled on the cream colored cable knit sweater to go with the jeans. I knew it would be heavy enough under my parka. My boots were hiding under the bed but I found them anyway. Now I was ready for anything.

Comfort now, sex later.

I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to seduce Joel today.

Too cold!

Too many clothes.

I met him in the parking lot as I was going out to warm up the car but he, bless his caring heart, had beat me to it. We jumped in and drove the block and a half to the café we had breakfast in yesterday.

As I stood in front of the café, I looked up at the threatening sky. The radio said the bad weather looked like it would start to close in later in the day.

We had a fast breakfast of hot cakes and bacon, with lots of butter and syrup.

I know, I know, I'm going to have to jog to Alaska and back when this is all over to get rid of the belly fat. But the coffee was hot and when the caffeine fix took hold, I felt great.

"The trip out of town to the old house is going to take longer than it did in summer," I told Joel, "we should start now."

Prairie Line, the main road out of town was freshly ploughed this morning. It would be drivable if you took it slow. Although I hadn't spent a winter here, I was still aware that the heavy snow that was coming was going to make the drive home more dangerous. We had to hurry up and get this trip out to the house done fast.

Two miles out of town we turned onto 12 County Road, a mile or so down I was able to point out Mr. & Mrs. Knutson's small white house.

I told Joel how kind Mrs. Knutson had been to me. How the old lady finally told me the house's history, along with that of the relatives, especially my great grandfather, Henry Henderson.

Then we came to the old Henderson house.

We knew the snow storm was supposed to start after lunch, so we had to hurry and get this done.

Joel pulled the rented car to a stop in front, he didn't go in the driveway because no one shoveled the old snow out.

We both got out. I let Joel go ahead and make a path. I justified this by telling myself, he was bigger, his feet were bigger and they made a bigger path.

"I want to see the back first," said Joel, "where Kristi was found and where the old stairs used to be. Let's see if we can find the furnace oil in-take pipe, that's where the delivery guy would be standing when he saw Kristi's body.

"How come he noticed her, his mind should have been on his work.

"Also, I want to check out the rest of the back yard before we go inside. Show me where these holes that don't want to be filled are, especially the one that set Kristi off so badly the first day she visited you."

I pointed out the side of the house where the walkway was supposed to be to the back of the house. There was no cement sidewalk, just an indent in the snow that was the trail through the old boards and debris we'd thrown out of the house. It didn't look too bad now that it was covered with snow.

I was glad Joel wanted to see the back first because we couldn't go through the house to the back yard anyway as the renovation company from Regina didn't get the door replaced in that part of the house before they quit. It was still boarded up, the way it was when I first saw it.

There was very little snow on the side of the house; it seemed to have all been blown into the back yard. It looked just as I left it the day Mrs. Knutson told me about my great grandfather, except now it scared the hell out of me.

Joel walked around the house, plowing through the drifts; he was checking the house's foundation. Finally he found the furnace oil in-take pipe. It was over against the far wall, just under the eve.

He stood looking at the spot where the renovation guys said the stairs used to be. He was checking to see if Kristi's body would have been hidden or if it was out in the open.

"I can see where the stairs used to be from here, and I guess that's where they found Kristi on the ground. I don't understand why she would have been there, the porch is gone, the door is boarded over, what brought her back to this spot?"

Then he walked over to the barn and looked at the hole that wouldn't stay filled. Of course now it was filled with snow, but you could see the indent.

I watched him make his way through the snow in the back yard, how masterful he looked, how self-assured. He was showing more confidence every day.

He seemed finished so I turned and headed for the front door by the path he made when we got here.

He was behind me coming around the side of the house when he noticed the top of a small dirty window. It had to be a cellar window. _I don't remember seeing anything about a basement in the information Sam gave me about the house. I better check that out later_ , he said to himself.

We stood outside while he looked around the side yard, and the front of the house. Finally he was ready to go inside.

A good thing too, my new Blizzard Boots hadn't kept my feet from freezing while I was standing in the snow waiting for him.

When I mentioned my cold feet to Mrs. Knutson a few days ago, she asked how many pairs of socks I wore in my boots. I didn't understand what she was getting at, of course I had three pair of socks on.

I wanted my feet to be warm.

That's the trouble Mrs. Knutson said, too many socks, no circulation. Those boots only need two pair or one heavy pair to do their job.

But you know, city girl that I am, I couldn't resist that third pair of socks, and she was right. My feet were freezing again.

CHAPTER 28

"How are we going to get in?" said Joel, he had completely forgotten to mention a key to me when we were still at the motel.

"No problem," I said, "I've still got the key the real estate guy from Prairie View gave me. I forgot to send it back to the office when I took Kristi home. After that, it just slipped my mind until we were driving out here."

I took the set of keys from my jacket pocket, picked the right one and slid it into the lock. Try as I might, I couldn't turn the key.

"Let me give it a go," said Joel, confident he could turn a key in the lock even if this wimpy girl couldn't. Getting a good grip on the key, he turned hard.

Something snapped!

Not the key but the lock, and the door swung open.

Welcoming us?

I looked at Joel with a question in my eyes. Him being the big protector he went in first. It was colder inside than out. Staying close together we inched down the newly painted hall to the kitchen. There was snow piled up against the far wall, again!

It was the one that used to have a door in it. Joel turned to me and said, "Is this the wall you told me about? And where the heck is all this snow in here coming from?"

"I don't know where it's coming from. We fixed the window. Never mind the snow, look at the wall."

"I don't know if you can see, but I put three coats of paint and one of wallpaper on that wall. Look at it now," I said looking squarely at it, "there's nothing there but bare wood. I know the wall sucked in the paint, but where did the wallpaper go?"

Then I looked at the baseboard along the offending wall there was the paper, squished and battered, rammed down into the crack between wall and floor by someone in a frenzied rage.

I turned to Joel, all the courage drained out of me, but trying to sound normal, I told him that I talked to the renovation foreman and he said if it was a problem, they would just put up a false wall then no one would see whether it had paint on it or not. We didn't get that far before they quit and I moved out.

Joel approached the wall and peered at it closely; he put his hand up to touch it, but was pushed back by a gust of wind that almost bowled him over.

"Sam, I thought you said you fixed the window," he said turning towards me. "That was a pretty strong gust, it almost knocked me down."

But I was gone!

There wasn't a broken window, and there wasn't an open door. No way was I going to stay there and let the house blow me down too.

Joel backtracked to the front door and found me sitting in the old Volvo with my arms crossed in front of me.

"Sam," Joel called from the porch, "come on back here, it was just a gust of wind, probably from the front door we left open."

"No way am I going back into that house. It doesn't like me anymore, and now it doesn't like you.

"There was no open door!

"Come on, get in the car, we're going back to town. I've had enough of this house and it's starting to snow hard."

Joel took a fast look around, where was the door to the cellar? There didn't seem to be one. But he saw a window outside, why put in a window if there was no cellar? He made another mental note; check out the lack of a door to the cellar with Sam.

He was still in the entrance hall by the front door where the upstairs stairwell started, so he took a quick look at them to see if they were solid.

_I might as well check the bedrooms since we're here;_ he said to himself, _it's not snowing that hard yet._

Taking the steps two at a time, he stood on the landing and looked at the two doors. Opening the left one he saw there was a room that had been cleaned out, no birds' nests, no mice droppings, but it still felt forlorn and empty. The window looked out the front of the house and still had part of a washed out pink curtain hanging in the casement. He shut the door and opened the door on the right.

He couldn't believe what he was seeing!

The room was almost dark. The only light came from a naked bulb hanging from the middle of the room. The bed was pushed away from the wall and there was a young girl in a white nightgown lying on the bed. Two women and an old man were hovering over her; she was screaming and thrashing around. There was blood all over the girl, the bed, and the floor. The old man holding the knife, turned to the door and looked directly at him.

Joel could feel the cold knife slice through his heart. When he looked down there was no blood on his clothes, and when he looked up, he was alone.

Terror griped him as the hair on the back of his neck stood up and he ran down the steps and made for the outside door. Before he could turn the handle the front door opened, something pushed him through onto the porch and slammed shut.

He turned and looked back, but couldn't see anyone standing in the hall through the dirty window in the front door.

Joel sprinted for the car started it up and slammed it into reverse shooting up the road, "well," he said, trying to sound normal, "it looks just like I thought it would."

There was no way he was going to tell Sam what he saw upstairs. He needed time to think about it, time to understand.

Trying for normal, he started to talk about the other rooms in the house. "I don't understand that wall in the kitchen. It was the only one that had snow piled up against it and I checked, there was no way the snow could get in and pile up there, besides, I couldn't seem to get close to it to touch it and see if it actually was wet, that was really weird."

I just looked at Joel. Didn't he see... the house didn't want him to touch the wall? It was protecting itself from him.

As we drove back to town we talked about the work I had done on the house. Joel finally brought up the cellar door, or lack thereof.

I looked at him astonished that he was so focused on that. There was no cellar door because there was no cellar. There was a low dirt crawl space under the house and there was a trap door in the corner by the 'wall', but there was no cellar window and no cellar door. I hadn't thought it important to send one of the renovation crew under there as it looked pretty dirty, and besides, what could be under there?

Joel kept his eyes on the road but his mind was racing. He clamped his jaw shut and turned around at the next cross road. Storm or no snow storm he had to go back and make sure of what he saw.

The Volvo skidded and slid into its' old parking place. Joel got out and taking my hand said, "get out; we're going in there again. You need to see what's in the upstairs bedroom."

I hung my head and held back.

I didn't want to see anything in the old house, especially I didn't what to see what was in the upstairs bedroom. That was the room Kristi had been staying in and I was sure it was haunted by now.

But Joel wouldn't take no for an answer, so I gritted my teeth and hanging on to his hand for dear life crept up the front steps behind him.

On the porch Joel was prepared to battle the front door again, but it swung open at the first touch. We found ourselves in the front hall and I pushed Joel in front of me as we made our way up the stairs to the bedrooms.

"Now," said Joel, "is this the room Kristi stayed in? Or was it the other one?"

"Yes, this is the room, I don't want to look in there this house doesn't like me anymore. I want to go back to the car," I whined.

"You're getting bizarre you know, how can a house not like you. Just look in the room and tell me what you see."

Joel opened the door wide.

We both stood and looked into the room.

It was empty and forlorn.

Joel took me by the elbow and turned me around and we both ran down the stairs and headed for the front door. We just made it out when the door slammed shut behind us.

We didn't have much to say on the way home; neither one of us were prepared to admit to what happened back there.

"Even though we know who's been paying the real estate company's contract to rent the house, we're still no further ahead in knowing who actually owns it," I finally said to Joel trying to change the subject. He didn't say anything, he just drove through the blowing snow back to our motel.

I could see his mind was somewhere else.

CHAPTER 29

We were finally settled in my warm motel room.

"Now more than ever, we have to find out what happened at the house when your grandfather lived and what happened to the fellow whose body they didn't find," said Joel, "I think that's the key to the whole problem of Kristi's death and the missing money."

"We have to talk to whoever is still alive after all these years, I think it's time to look at item three," said Joel. "Tomorrow let's see if we can find out where the RCMP constable went that Mrs. Knutson told you about. You know, the one that ignored your great grandfather when the towns' people pushed him into the house and nailed the doors and windows shut. You told me Mrs. Knutson said he was assigned somewhere else.

"Did she ever say where?"

"I don't think so, I think I would have remembered that. I've got the transcript of my great grandfather's trial in my attaché case. Brent Strong the RCMP inspector from Regina gave it to me a few days ago," I said.

"Remember?"

The fiasco with the Mountie seemed like such a long time ago, but Joel scowled at me and I knew he 'remembered'.

I got the bottle of Oak Leaf Merlot Red Wine that I was saving for a special occasion from my suitcase and gave it to Joel to open.

He took the opener and managed to get the cork out in one piece. He didn't seem very experienced in the wine bottle opening process. I went into the bathroom and got the paper wrapped glasses from the sink, unwrapped and filled them half full. I handed the bigger glass to Joel and sat down beside him on the bed.

"Cheers," he said, "here's to 'finally knowing'." I sat down and looked at Joel, what a long way we had come in our relationship in such a few short days.

"Here's to tomorrow," I said, batting my eye lashes at him, hoping he would accept the invitation.

No joy.

So I gently eased back until I was propped up by the bed pillows. Wine in hand, I tried a 'come hither glance'.

That didn't work either.

Sure doesn't do much for a girl's ego when the fellow she's trying to seduce doesn't know it.

I was just about to sit up and ask what exactly was wrong with me, and why wasn't this seduction thing working when Joel suddenly got up.

"Going to take a shower," he mumbled as he headed out the door.

"Rats," I said as the door closed, "we're never going to get it together if he doesn't quit taking so many showers. I swear, he's the cleanest man I know."

When Joel finally came back, I gave him half of the trial transcript and I took the other half and said "start reading."

It took us over an hour to decide there wasn't anything in the report about the constable. Was it just an error or was it a cover-up by the RCMP for one of their own?

Joel looked at the time and said, "Let's go and get something to eat, maybe we can think of how to go about finding out where he went, and where he is now."

I finally found both my boots and put on my big parka.

Now I really was hungry.

Getting turned down for sex always makes a person ravenous.

Mind you, not that this had ever happened to me before.

We walked out to the front of the motel and over to the café down the street again. The new snow had finally stopped and the glistening stars hung so low in the sky I felt I could reach up and give each one a little added sparkle.

Joel took my hand and I looked up into those big brown eyes and my knees turned to spaghetti. Why did he refuse my offer back at the motel? What was I doing wrong?

We finally got to The Old Country Café and the little bell tinkled as we opened the door. It was late and there weren't many customers. We walked to the back and took the last booth. I'd begun to think of it as 'our place,' we'd eaten here so often.

The waitress handed us a menu, but without looking we ordered from the board behind the cash register. The 'Specials' for the day were listed there and we found they were usually tasty and cheaper than what was on the menu. Today's special was homemade lasagna, green salad with pine nuts and key lime pie and coffee. Not fancy, but experience said it would be good and there would be lots of it.

As we waited for our meal we talked about the missing constable. Where could we get some information on how to go about finding him?

The waitress came over and said," I'm sorry, I didn't mean to eves drop but are you looking for Constable Baycroft?"

"I'm not sure of his name, but he was the constable here about 50 years ago. You're too young to have known him, why do you ask?" I said.

"Well," she said, "my mother said you were looking into all the bad stuff that went on at the old Henderson place. I know it all took place before I was born but I just wanted to help.

"My grandmother used to talk about the Henderson family that had all those girls and all the awful things that happened over there. I just wanted to let you know my aunt, that's my mother's sister married Constable Baycroft's brother.

"He lives over by Killaly, he's an old man now. Must be in his 90's but he's sharp as a tack. We see him every summer on July 1st when we have a big family picnic over here at the fairgrounds."

"Thank you very much," I said, "but I'm a little confused, is it Constable Baycroft or his brother that's over by Killaly?"

"Oh sorry, I know I ramble sometimes, my mother is always telling me to get on with it," she said as she turned and picked up the cutlery and began to set the forks and knives on our table.

"It's Constable Baycroft, he lives with his daughter. She's a widow and she doesn't mind looking after the old man. If you want, I'll call my mom and get a phone number for you?"

"I don't know how to thank you, that would sure save us a lot of trouble and we don't have much time left," I said. "Thank you so much."

"There's your dinner coming out folks, I'll just go get it, then I'll call and get that phone number for you."

Joel and I couldn't believe our luck. We sat and ate our supper while Bella, which was the name on her 'name tag', called her mother and got Constable Baycroft's daughters name and phone number.

Bella wrote the information on the back of a sales receipt and gave it to us when she brought the check to our booth.

Joel spoke to the owner while he paid the bill.

"Just wanted to let you know how much we appreciate the help we got from one of your waitresses, Bella, yes that's the name. She sure saved us a lot of time. We're trying to find Constable Baycroft and she got us a telephone number."

He just stood and beamed.

Bella was his daughter.

We stood outside the café and looked at the number and the name on the piece of paper. "This is too easy," said Joel, "I can't believe we're going to find the Constable this way. There's got to be a catch here somewhere."

This was no time to question where it came from. We could do that in the morning.

Joel took my hand and even through the wool of the mittens, I could feel his warmth.

"Let's go home," I said.

The next sunrise was bright and clear. It finally stopped snowing the night before and the new snow sparkled in the sunshine.

What a great day! Joel stood outside of the motel and looked around.

_This was why folks lived in Saskatchewan_ , he thought. People were out walking in the bright crisp air. The kids were on their sleighs and the teenagers were having a snowball fight over in the park before school.

What else, boys against the girls.

It was seven o'clock and Joel was up banging on my door, "go away, it's still the middle of the night," I yelled as I crunched lower in the nice warm bed, "come back at a decent hour."

The banging didn't stop. Finally I crawled out of bed and stumbled to the door, "go away," I said as I opened it a crack, "can't you see I'm still asleep?"

Joel gave the door a small push and I tumbled backwards onto the bed. He came through the door a wicked smile on his face. "Get up, I've got a surprise for you."

I looked at him and thought how easy it would be to kill him right now, no one would blame me. I would tell them he woke me up before the birds were even up. The fact that it was too cold for birds had nothing what-so-ever to do with anything.

"I don't care what surprise you have, I want to go back to sleep," I said as I staggered back to the bed and pulled the rumpled blankets over my head. "Go away!"

"Samantha Baker," said Joel, "I know you will want to see this, it's your name and picture and they're in the newspaper."

"What?"

"You heard me, your name and picture are in the local newspaper, you're famous."

"You're kidding, show me," I said, throwing the blankets off, "what does it say?" I grabbed the paper from Joel's hand and sitting up in the bed began to read the article.

"It says here that I'm looking into the death of the tourist that rented the old Henderson place. Where did they get the idea she was a tourist? I'm going down there and make them print a retraction."

"Well, that's fine, Sam, but which truth are you going to make them print?"

"Don't cloud the issue with facts, just get out of here while I get dressed and help me find out who I can complain to."

I hopped into the shower and gave my hair a quick wash. I hurried because I knew I had to take the time to blow it dry or it would freeze when I went outside. I wore the last pair of clean jeans I had and my new green sweater.

I was just coming out of my motel unit when Joel arrived with steaming hot coffee and two cream bagels.

_My man knows my every need,_ I thought.

I felt warm and fuzzy.

"O.K." he said, as he handed me the coffee cup, "let's get to it, you can go to the newspaper office when we get back. Right now we have to do like the Mounties do and 'get our man'."

Joel opened the road map he bought from the general store on our way home from dinner last night. We finally found Killaly. It must be a very small town as the printing was so tiny I had to use the little magnifying glass from my purse to see it. It looked like it was going to be easy to find though, sixty-two miles south on Hwy 47.

We got into the old Volvo and headed for retired RCMP Constable Baycroft.

As Joel drove we finished the coffee and bagel.

He brought up the article in the paper, and I remembered I was going to complain to someone at the newspaper office. I had a few choice words for them about printing miss-information.

But after talking it over we just didn't have that much time anymore. I was going to have to let it go.

Dam!

An hour and a half later we arrived at Killaly, it was slow going even though the roads were ploughed. But, 'better safe than sorry,' my mother always said. I can't believe my mothers words are coming out of my mouth!

I thought Prairie View was small, but it was a big city compared to where we were now.

There was one street and it only had the basics. A garage at the end of the road that still advertised 'Snow Tires 15% off, 2004 pre-Christmas Sale', and a small café that had its neon sign lit even though it was only noon. There must be a law here in Saskatchewan that all small cafés had to have a sign that read, 'EAT...EAT...EAT'.

On the other side of the street stood the Dollar Store, the sign painted on the wall said it had once been a Dry Goods Store, but progress marches on, and now everything was a dollar.

The only other store on the street that was open was the Corner Market; we walked down the poorly ploughed road and went in. One side of the room was a small grocery area, the other had three stools, two booths and sold fast food from three vending machines.

I was fairly confident who ever ran the store knew everything there was to know about Killaly.

"Hi," I said to the man behind the counter in the grocery area, "my friend and I are looking for an elderly gentleman that lives in town. I don't have a street address but I have a phone number. I've called a few times this morning but there was no answer."

"Have the people who lived at this phone number moved away?" I asked putting the piece of paper that had the name and phone number on it on the counter.

"I guess I know everyone in town. As you can plainly see, it's not much of a town. Not since the trains don't stop here anymore. Who're you looking for?"

I picked up the piece of paper from the counter and showed him the name. "Retired Constable Baycroft, I believe he lives with his daughter, I'm told she's a widow."

"Sure I know them. Philip, that's his name came to live with his daughter Marjorie Bloomfeilt, when her husband died. Let me see now, that must have been in 1999, no, I'm pretty sure it was in 2002."

The owner paused to inhale and I leapt in, "we don't want to know when he moved here, we want to know where he is right now."

"Well, why didn't you say so?"

"Just go on down the street till you pass Hinkly's Garage and turn left, three houses on your right. Go on up the porch, don't mind the dog he's old, hasn't bit anyone for years.

"Phil is a little hard of hearing. Just keep ringing the bell, he'll get to you as fast as he can."

"Thanks very much," I said, wondering what we were getting ourselves into.

Joel opened the door and turned to me, "Come on Sam, if we're going to see the constable, we better hurry, it's a slow drive back to town."

Our talk with Constable Baycroft, Retired, brought answers, but they weren't the ones we were looking for. He said the town's people in Prairie View turned on him because he was young and couldn't control old Henderson, so the RCMP moved him to Spy Hill, Saskatchewan.

"Do you know that town?" he asked, "it's just on the Manitoba boarder. I stayed there fifteen years, and a few other places as well, but never had another problem like the one in Prairie View."

He started to ramble a bit, and got off the subject of the old house, but he was such a nice old man we listened for a while. He said coming back to the story we wanted to hear, he still felt bad for the young girls in the family. He'd thought about it a lot and wondered if it happened today, would there have been anything he could've done differently.

"No, I don't know who killed old Henderson," he said, "but I can believe the house is haunted what with all the misery that happened there. I haven't been back to that town in over fifty-three years.

"I'm sorry I don't know anything about the young woman that was killed either. I saw the article in the Regina Herald newspaper, and wondered why she rented that house in the first place."

I just sighed at the wrong information he got from the newspaper, they probably got it from the paper in Prairie View. And I have no idea where they got their information. I tried to tell him she didn't rent the place, I was the one who was living there trying to fix it up enough to sell. But he didn't seem to be able to put it all together, so I just let it drop.

Finally, we stood on the doorstep, the dog securely behind the screen door, and said our goodbyes.

"We're sorry we disturbed your day, but you've helped us clear up a few things," I said as I made my way down the steps. I know I fibbed a bit here, but I didn't want him to think he wasted our day. He seemed so pleased to be able to help.

"Thanks again," we said as I waved again. Joel and I walked back to where we parked the Volvo and started the long drive back to Prairie View.

As we drove, we bounced ideas off each other.

Finally, Joel thought he had it all sorted out.

CHAPTER 30

That night after dinner in our favorite café, we settled down in my motel room again to see if we could fit any more clues into the events calendar that I was keeping.

"Let's see if I have all this straight," said Joel, "we still don't think we have the right person who owns the house, we just know who's been paying all these years.

"We don't have any more information from the old furnace oil guy other than the fit he had when he saw you. So, we're no further ahead there.

"The Constable was a nice person, but he didn't help very much.

"The new furnace oil guy that found Kristi is out of town and won't be back for three weeks. He took an extended holiday; the girl in the office said something about his 'not wanting to get involved.'

"And come to think of it, how did your grandmother get from Regina to Vancouver?"

"I don't know if I like the way this is turning out," said Joel, "I came to help find out who killed Kristi Parsons, and now we know even less. Who else can you talk to about this?"

"Joel, I think it's time to go home."

CHAPTER 31

Samantha and Joel stood outside unit 137 of the Magnolia Gardens Retirement Home.

"There," I said to Joel, "listen to that! That dog must be a thousand years old, and she's never stopped barking. When I was a teenager she would follow me around and nip at my heels, and if I sat close to grandma she would bite me anywhere she could get her teeth into. I hate that dog and she hates me."

"Come on, Sam," said Joel, "it sounds like a very small dog, why are you being such a wimp. All that was so yesterday, the dog has probably gotten over you by now."

"That dog never forgives and never forgets. Look at my thumb; you can still see the doggy tooth marks where she bit me when I came over just before I left for Prairie View in June."

Joel just rolled his eyes and grinned at Samantha, this was too funny for words, here was a girl who didn't take any flak from the tradesmen she worked with but was terrified of a small poodle.

"Grandma likes to say Pizzo the Poodle is Queen of all she surveys and Unit 137 in particular. She always says the dog's main problem is she won't accept she's just a poodle, and I believe her."

Elizabeth Friesen opened her door and the small white poodle was out like a canon shot, barking and nipping at me.

"Pizzo, come back here. I don't know what gets into this dog when you're around Samantha, she doesn't do this to anybody else."

Grandma Friesen scurried after the little dog, finally catching her when she made a disastrous attempt to nip at my ankle. I'd managed to side step and the dog landed in the Boxwood boarder shrub that encircled the entrance way to the unit.

A good thing grandma couldn't see the smile on my face.

Elizabeth finally managed to get a grip on the dog's front feet. "Here," she said, "I'll hold her. You two come in."

Pizzo the Predator struggled to get free and have another go at my ankle, but she was distracted by the doggy cookie offered by Joel.

Elizabeth Friesen backed into the apartment still holding the squirming dog, who now wanted to get to her new best friend...the keeper of the doggy treats.

"Alright, grandma, we just got back to Langley yesterday, and now we need to know," I said as I introduced Joel Dawdiak to my grandmother who shook his hand and then gave him the dog to hold.

"Sit down now grandma, I'm sorry we don't have time for all the niceties, but Joel is in the Canadian Forces and has to go back to the base in few days and we need to know now.

"Please tell us what went on in Prairie View when great grandpa was alive. My good friend Kristi Parsons is dead and the RCMP think I did it, now I don't even know if she _was_ my good friend.

"Who was the fellow who got away from great grandpa Henderson's money scam?

"Do you know how many people he killed?

"How come you never told me any of this?

"Did you really go to Regina when you were 16?

"How did you get to Vancouver?

"It's time to tell all," I said as I walked back and forth in the tiny living room. Joel stood in the archway between the door and the kitchen holding the dog and tried to make himself invisible.

"All right dear, I never thought anything bad would come of this."

"Please have a seat Joel" said Elizabeth, "sit down Sam, this is a long story. Before I start can I get you some tea, maybe a cookie or two?"

Elizabeth took the dog from Joel and put her on her chair. She went into the kitchen to boil the kettle and put out a plate of the cookies she bought yesterday from the bakery down the street.

"I thought it was time you learned a little of your history and I knew if I told you, you wouldn't believe me," she said as she brought out a tray with three china mugs and a plate of peanut butter cookies.

"I never thought things would get so far out of hand. I thought I'd just let you find out what you could and then I'd fill in the rest. I'm very sorry about Kristi. Who would ever have thought the evil in that old house was still so potent."

Elizabeth Friesen was wearing a new deep mauve velour track suit and just had her snow white hair done the day before. "Just because I'm 83, doesn't mean I have to look like an old frump," she told the family. Today she was glad she put on the new suit, she wanted to look nice for Samantha's new friend.

Elizabeth looked at Joel and me and thought of younger, sweeter days. Days when Philip, her husband of 60 years and she would walk hand in hand in Stanley Park when it was young. She only had to close her eyes a moment and she could still see the deer and squirrels that lived under the shelter of the massive fir trees at the edge of the park. In those days birds filled the air with their songs and the eagles fished the waters that became the park at Lumberman's Arch.

People hadn't thought of a sea wall around Stanley Park yet, it was still wild and vigorous. Bear, cougar and deer could be spotted on the far side, and the Indian women that lived under the new Lions Gate Bridge regularly paddled their canoes over to the park to gather berries and dig for roots, just as they had always done for as long as anyone could remember.

She always remembered the year the Lions Gate Bridge from Stanley Park to the North Shore was started. 1937 was such a good time, her baby girl Lillian, Samantha's mother was born that year.

I sat close to Joel on the short moss green settee that stood against the wall in the room that served as sitting room, living room and dining room. The small white poodle stationed herself proprietarily at the foot of Elizabeth's chair. A low growl rumbled in her throat as she lay with her head on her front paws and watched us closely. Small dogs and old women sometimes changed places and the dog became the Alpha master.

Pizzo liked that!

Elizabeth Friesen told people she didn't need much space since her Philip died five years ago, just somewhere to lay her head at night and a place to sit and read, and of course a place for her perfect Pizzo.

The room was full of pictures of Philip, Frank and me and my mum and dad. It also had mementoes of the trips and Christmas holidays that the whole family spent together. But the place of honor was held by the 8 X 10 glossy picture of Pizzo when she won 'Best of Breed' at the English Bay Dog and Cat Show in Vancouver four years ago.

"If you're going to understand, I have to tell you a bit about my father," said Elizabeth reluctantly coming back to the present. "He was disillusioned by fate and turned into a hard and bitter old man.

"My father's family name was Rosenberg. His forefathers were members of the German aristocracy. They held a Duchy outside the old city of Rothenberg, ob der Tauber in the District of Ansbach of Mittelfranken, Germany called Rosenberg.

"I remember this from a Post Card," said Elizabeth, taking it from the drawer in the small table in the living room and handing it to Sam to see for herself, "it came from Germany and I found it one day when we were at a garage sale many years ago. I always kept it, not because I know who it was written to, but because it shows the town we came from.

"I always thought someday Philip and I would go to Germany and I would see my mother and sisters again. But she passed away not long after she left here, and we got busy and never went.

"My mother had a terribly hard life... one she was not prepared for.

"I'm getting ahead of myself now; I should tell you my father's family even had a castle, land and vineyards. It was a very old castle – made of stone and was very impressive. I saw a picture of it in my parents' bedroom one day. My mother was getting something out of the bottom of the wooden box she kept for blankets and special things and it fell on the floor.

"I asked her whose castle was it, and she told me it was their home before the Great War. I couldn't believe it."

Sam was sitting looking at the wall with a funny expression on her face. She picked up the old post card and looking closely at it, said, "Grandma, I had one just like this."

"What are you talking about? Where would you get a postcard like this?"

"I can't believe this is happening, but when I was in Prairie View I had to buy a bed and kitchen stuff to use in the old house. So, I went to the second-hand store because I didn't want to spend a bunch of money. I found this old picture, or maybe it found me, but I had to have that picture.

"And it looks just like this. It even has the little boy standing at the door like he wants to get in.

"I kept staring at it when I got it back to the house. I couldn't have it in the bedroom I didn't get anything done, I would just stare at it and lose all track of time. It kind of mesmerized me so I hung it in the kitchen. It's still in the old house."

"How do you feel now, Sam, looking at this picture?"

"It's funny, I don't feel anything. Maybe only the one in Saskatchewan affects me.

"Finish telling us about great grandpa, grandma. I need to hear it all, now more than ever."

CHAPTER 32

"It all began with the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand. The _War to End All Wars_ began on August 4, 1914, between England and Germany and some other countries that I don't remember anymore.

"I paid attention when we learned about it in school though because it was about Germany and I knew that's where we came from. I thought of the picture I saw and I memorized everything I heard... I needed to know.

"The war was finally over on November 1918 when Germany lost _._ You remember your history, don't you Samantha?" said Elizabeth.

Joel and I looked at each other and guiltily shook our heads, "not so much."

"When Germany lost, because my father supported the Kaiser, Wilhelm II, everything came crashing down around his ears. He was stripped of the land, his title and everything that was of any value. He still had the castle even though the land was gone. But it took more money than he had to maintain it. Originally he planned to move to the USA but the US was not accepting any more immigrants at that time. So he decided on Canada as his second choice.

"He went to a _Rechtsanwalt_ that means a lawyer to see about selling his birthright, but there was no market for old castles, especially in Germany at the end of the war. All he had were some family heirlooms, and of course his car. It wasn't much but it was enough for the two of them to get to the New World. In those days, there was very little difference in the eyes of Europe between Canada and the US, they were both over the ocean and far, far away."

"Do either of you want a cup of coffee?" asked Elizabeth, "I seem to have run out of tea." She busied herself setting up the Espresso machine without waiting for a reply.

"I forgot to ask, cinnamon or sugar?"

I could tell this was going to take a long, long time. It had turned into an 'Espresso story', she served it when she knew the story was going to take a long time to tell, and wanted you to be wide awake.

The espresso maker began to send aromatic waves of coffee into the living room, and I got up and prepared the cups of Seattle Special Espresso just the way she taught me.

"Where was I?" said Elizabeth, settling herself on her straight backed chair with a steaming cup of coffee in her hand, "Oh yes, my father was born a rich man, and my mother a genteel lady which meant she was trained to oversee a large home with many servants. But nothing in her background prepared her for life in Canada with my father.

"The new world needed farmers - so someone in the immigration department put them down as farm help. With no skills what choice did they have?

"When I was a young girl on the farm in Prairie View my father would get drunk and rant and rave about the miserable life fate had dealt him. He would scream that it was all my mothers' fault and he cursed the day he laid eyes on her. He'd hit my mother and throw things and we children would hide under our bed, terrified.

"On and on he would go about how unfair life had been to him. How no one could live like this, in this s _chweinestall_ , this pitiful pigs-sty. Then he would turn sly and say he would get even, yes, he would get his own back...just wait and see!

"You didn't know Samantha that I had two older brothers and five younger sisters did you?"

"No, grandma," I said, "I only knew about three of your sisters, I didn't know you had two brothers too."

"Yes, my oldest brother was four years older and born on the estate in the old country. But he's dead now; he never left Germany he stayed with my mother's sister. I didn't know about him or my other brother until the year I turned sixteen.

"Are you sure you want to hear all this, Sam? My father was mean and petty and sick in the head towards the end of his life," said Elizabeth.

"Yes, grandma, I need to know. I need to know about Kristi Parsons. I have this dreadful feeling that if we don't bring this all out in the open it will fester and another generation will fail, just like great grandpa."

"All right child, don't say I didn't warn you. Get another cup of coffee both of you, and get comfortable. This is a long story and my mother told it to me in bits and pieces.

"It took a long time after I left home before I could think about it rationally and fit the story together right."

CHAPTER 33

On July 22, 1923, Heinrich Rosenberg entered his wife's bedroom five days after their arrival at her sister and brother-in-law's spacious town home in the outskirts of Hamburg, Germany and announced they were leaving.

They'd arrived unannounced with all the worldly goods Heinrich could pack into his black _Hispano-Suiza_ Roadster. Heinrich used it as a touring automobile, the fact that it had no top shrieked money.

Heinrich loved that car. He had it washed and polished every week whether he went anywhere in it or not. He was so fussy he made his young son Gerhardt ride on a blanket in the back seat.

The day they arrived in Hamburg it was raining so hard everything they brought got soaking wet, including Heinrich, Christina and little Gerhardt. Even so, Christina's sister, Hilda graciously welcomed them into her home although her husband Franz was not pleased. He remembered the superior attitude Heinrich displayed during the war, and privately thought he was getting what he deserved.

Heinrich went into Hamburg every day, and every day more heirlooms, such as paintings or pieces of jewelry would be gone. The money he got from the sale of his family's history was all he had to start his new life.

Finally, by the fifth day even the automobile was gone, everything was sold. They had the clothes they were wearing and what was packed in their cases for travel. It had to be enough to give them a fresh start in the new world.

"Where are we going, Heinrich?" said Christina as she turned to the dressing table mirror where she was putting the finishing touches to her morning _toilette_ before she went down to the breakfast room.

"Hilda and I are going to town this morning to shop. Can we go another day, Heinrich? Gerhardt is having such fun playing with his little cousins; can't we stay a few more days? Besides, you didn't say where we are going? Will we be there long?"

Heinrich stood in the doorway and looked at his wife. This woman was becoming more and more of a burden and he longed to be free of her and all the events that happened these past five years.

Where did the Kaiser go wrong! thought Heinrich, how could he, Heinrich Rosenberg have chosen the wrong side of this horrific war? How could he have known the men would run away and not fight?

They were all cowards!

It was all her fault, she distracted him. And now she was an albatross around his neck.

"If you were to know, I would have told you," he said in a voice as cold as death. "Be ready at noon. Just you, not the boy!"

"I'll be ready if you must go, but why leave our son here, we'll just have to return for him later?"

Heinrich was across the room in two strides, the stinging backhand across her face threw her to the floor. "It's not your place to question me, be ready."

Christina lay on the floor a few moments, tears coursing down her face. This was a side of her husband she was just beginning to know. Up until the end of the war he had been a kind and considerate man, a little strict, but always fair. He was the master of the house, and it was her duty to obey. She was raised keep a large home and to know her place and put her husband first in all things.

Christina got up from the floor, brushed her skirts, and straightened her jacket. She splashed cold water from the ornate pitcher and basin on the small table under the mirror onto her face to reduce the swelling. She didn't want her sister to know Heinrich hit her. It was too humiliating to admit the marriage was false and she was becoming more and more afraid of her husband.

Christina stood at the mirror and watched as the area around her eye and the side of her cheek turn red and began to swell in spite of the cold water. What was she to do?

The Up Stairs maid knocked on the door and quietly said "the mistress is waiting in the front hall when you are ready."

Christina couldn't seem to bring herself to move, she just stood and watched the bruise on her cheek turn redder, and redder.

"Are you ready to go, Christina, the car is here?" Hilda called impatiently up the stairs from the first landing. It was a long drive into town, they needed to leave early.

When she got no answer, she went up to the guest room at the end of the hall that Christina and Heinrich occupied.

Hilda knocked at the door, and when it opened she knew why Christina hadn't come down. The side of her sister's face was red and swelling up and her eye looked as though it would soon turn black and blue.

"What happened?" cried Hilda, "what has he done now? Surely you can't go with him after this, stay here with us. I know Franz won't mind. He has always loved you like a sister and he has a special place in his heart for little Gerhardt. You know that's true! He loves our girls, but you know a man always wants a son, and I can't give him one. Gerhardt would always be his special son."

Christina went back into the room and sat down on the bed. "I don't know what I did to deserve this, Hilda. I just asked him where we were going, and then this. I fear for my son, I have no voice anymore, Oh Hilda, I can't stay, but how can I go?"

Hilda took her sister in her arms and tried to comfort her, but the tears wouldn't stop for Christina. Finally, there were none left; they'd all been drained out of her.

She said, "Hilda, if you love me, keep my son safe. I know I have to go with him, but he doesn't want to take the boy. I don't know what I'll do if you don't keep him."

"Certainly I'll keep the child, Christina; we'll do everything we can to make him happy. When you come back, I know he'll be so glad to see you, you'll see."

"Thank you Hilda, please thank Franz also, I know this is a burden, but I don't know what else to do."

So, arrangements were made for Gerhardt to stay with Hilda and her husband Franz until Heinrich sent for the child or they came back to get him.

She said a tearful goodbye to her little son who didn't understand why he had to stay when his mother and father were leaving.

At noon the next day Christina stood by the front door in her travelling suit and waited.

Noon came and went.

The servants went by on kitten feet, afraid of making any noise or disturbing the miserable young woman.

Time went on, and Christina still waited.

Finally around 3:00 pm in the afternoon, Heinrich rode up to the front of the townhouse on one of Franz's pure bred white Albanian stallions. The horse was lathered into a state of near frenzy. It bucked and reared and Heinrich enjoyed whipping the horse even more.

Everyone in the house heard the terrified whinnies of the horse, Franz rushed out the front door and tried to grab the reins but Heinrich struck him with the whip across his back a **n** d shoulders again and again.

Franz fell to the ground, the horse sensing something was wrong through his own terror, reared and plunged even more. The horrified women watched as the horse came down again and again on the still frame of the prostrate man.

Heinrich finally took control of the horse and rode away towards the barns leaving Franz bleeding on the ground. He didn't even acknowledge the poor mangled wretch lying there in front of the women.

What Christina and Hilda didn't see was the small satisfied smile that played on Heinrich's lips and he thought to himself, "That'll serve him right! He should have stood with me, not with those verdammt englishers. It should be him that has to leave, not me."

The next day Heinrich and Christina went from Hamburg to Dusseldorf on the _Deutsche Reichseisenbahnen_.

Before she went on with the story, Elizabeth settled herself more comfortably in her chair in the Magnolia Gardens Retirement Home, and took another sip of coffee.

"My mother told me they rode the new German Railway that was started in the 1920's. It was made by putting all the small railway lines in Germany together. It still had problems with some of the stops along the way. Some days the menu in the dining car was very short, but it was better than before, during the war.

The train stopped at Dusseldorf where they made the connection to Rotterdam in Holland. It was a sad day she said when they boarded the ferry that took them from Rotterdam to Liverpool in England. It was the last leg of their trip across Europe to their departure point for Canada.

"Mother said she cried, and had to hide it from father or he would hit her again. He kept telling her she wasn't worth the trouble and money he was spending on her. He should have left her at home, he said. When she told me this, I was in tears too. But secretly I thought she would have been better off if she'd stayed with her sister and brother-in-law.

"My father was inexperienced when it came to making travel arrangements. He'd never had to do this kind of menial thing before. But he wouldn't let mother help him.

"He was outraged to find the bargain priced tickets he bought in Hamburg were not on the prestigious ship he thought, but on a common freighter, the S.S. Matagama that left the U.K. on August 9, 1923.

"More humiliation was heaped on when he realized he paid for basic passage which meant they not only didn't have a state room, but were relegated to the hold with all the other unfortunate people who were fleeing Germany.

"They stood in line, my mother said at the dock with the rest of the immigrants that were sailing on the freighter and she cringed inside. While everyone else was in poor, cheap, travelling clothes Heinrich insisted they wear their very best. Her rich russet brown brocade travelling suit with the mink collar looked richer by far than anything else worn by the women huddled on the wharf in front of the ship. With the matching fur muff by her side she said she felt so conspicuous, so over dressed, so humiliated. But Heinrich said people would know they were quality by their clothes.

"My mother was brought up to be an accepting German house _frau_ and agree with her husband. She was taught from birth never to argue or show any hostility to her husband's wishes. But she said her eyes hurt from trying not to cry as she looked around and realized this was the last time she would see her beloved Germany. And worse, all hope of having her only son Gerhardt returned to her was gone.

"Heinrich, I'm so afraid," wailed my nineteen year old mother turning to my father for comfort, "I don't want to go to the new world. I want my old world back. I want my son. I can't go without my little Gerhardt."

"Hold your tongue woman, can't you see there is nothing I can do!" she remembered Heinrich screaming as he slapped her across the face and pushed her towards the gangplank of the freighter.

"There is no money, no house, no land.

"I have failed.

"They say I'm a coward for leaving but I'm forced to find a new life, the old one is dead!" he shouted at her.

"Get on the boat, Christina."

"It's over!"

They found themselves being pushed along the gangplank by the surging crowd. It moved across the deck and down the steep stairs into a large windowless room.

It was empty. No beds, no tables or chairs, nowhere to sit or lay down. There were only a few rusty bunks with no mattresses attached to the wall. Already there were fights over who would sleep in them. Some people hurried to the corners of the room and laid claim to the floor space. It seemed good to have two walls to lean on rather than just one. Or, as some found to their dismay no wall at all, just a small space crowded on all sides with barely enough room to lie down at night.

My mother knew the trip to St. John, Nova Scotia was going to be a long, hard voyage.

The _room_ was the aft hold of the freighter and the captain agreed to a human cargo. He needed the money, these were after all the _dreck_ of the Great War. No one cared about them. Their hope was that in going to the new world they would be able to forget all the past misery and build a new life.

My father, unable to accept the loss of authority and social status, tried to commandeer one of the bunks and received a bloodied nose for his effort. The indignity of it all enraged him. He lashed out at the only person who would accept it - my mother. She told me he raged and swore until there was a small empty circle around them.

People felt sorry for her, but no one wanted anything to do with him.

When he arranged for passage on this freighter he was told the trip would take ten days. But now it seemed it would not arrive at the appointed time, they were already one day late. When he finally told mother it would take longer, she sat on the floor and began to sob. She didn't know if she would be able to survive all those days in that miserable hold.

She told me father had chosen not to listen when he was told there would be no amenities on the ship, they didn't bring blankets or extra clothes. They had no dishes or cutlery for the meager rations the ship supplied.

Others were more prepared and brought dishes, bread, cheese and sausage to augment the sparse food.

But my mother and father had none, and he was livid.

It was all 'HER' fault!

There was no food other than the brown bread and weak soup for supper and strong tea and gruel for breakfast that was provided by the ship; each family had to supply their own eating utensils. Since father didn't bring any from home and no one would lend them any, he had to buy two bowls and spoons from the ships kitchen. They were expensive but he knew that without bowls, the ship's crew wouldn't give them anything to eat.

Again, it was all her fault, she knew he blamed her again.

Those who had extra money could go to the kitchen after the paying passengers had eaten, if there was any food left over after the crew ate they could buy what was left.

But most of the people in the hold didn't have any extra money. They were saving what they had for the new land. Every bit of money would be needed since they had no idea what to expect. Mother said she sat on the floor and rocked back and forth, she didn't know what they were going to do. She worried about what was going to happen to them. She said she was terrified.

That first night she sat on the floor and looked around. She saw everybody covering up with the blankets they brought from home.

This is another thing he's going to blame me for, she thought to herself, and cringed trying to make herself smaller. Heinrich came back to the hold after his evening smoke and seeing everyone covered with blankets except her, swore loud enough to disturb the children sleeping near them.

Again, he said, this was all her fault, he'd never be rid of this mill stone around his neck. He lay down beside mother and turned his back to her.

Heinrich defied the freighters rule that none of the steerage people could be on deck during daylight hours. He found a spot at the rear of the ship where the crew played a form of dominos for money. He watched, and thinking it didn't seem too complicated, asked to join.

For the first few days he won and when he went down into the hold each night, he crowed like a bantam rooster. He assured mother they would have lots of money when they docked in St. John.

Mother said she begged him to stop playing but he wouldn't listen, he knew he could win even more money.

On the last day of the trip he began to lose. By evening he lost his winnings, all his money and his fur hat and gloves as well.

When he came back down to the hold later that evening, mother kept her head bowed and didn't say a word. She knew he would beat her unmercifully if given the slightest provocation.

He always enjoyed delivering a good thrashing, especially if the person didn't fight back.

Elizabeth wiped a tear from her eye as she remembered her mother's words.

Christina said she finally adjusted to 'no privacy'. The other women would use the pail in the corner of the hold, two or three at a time. Two would hold their skirts out to give a bit of privacy while the third would relieve herself. But no one would include her for fear of upsetting her husband and causing a nasty scene. Poor mother had to wait until evening after dark, and get up in the morning before daylight so no one would see her. The fact that the toilet was a pail in the corner that only got emptied two or three times a day and was usually overflowing, seemed almost minor compared to the stench in the hold and the constant itch of the fleas and bed bugs.

Mother showed me the scars of the bug bites that had covered her neck and ears.

I remember, said Elizabeth, that mother cried again with the thought of all she went through. The bugs even got under her clothes and underclothing and the sores rubbed the skin on her buttocks raw.

She said she told Heinrich she could not abide it, she had flea bites, and the lice in her hair was more than she could bear. Since they were not able to wash for days, what would happen when they get off the ship? Would they be told they couldn't stay they are too dirty?

When she told Heinrich of her fears he just told her to shut up and quit complaining and to get out of his sight. He couldn't stand the smell of her either.

She bowed her head and shrank back into herself as far as she could.

He told her he was going to the upper deck. When she mentioned the boat rules about the passengers in the hold not going on deck during daylight hours he just ignored her.

She said she told him if he went up now, he would get them all into trouble.

But he paid her no mind, he went where he pleased.

CHAPTER 34

"Finally, the ship arrived - not at St. John, Nova Scotia, British North America, where they'd been told it would dock, but at Halifax, New Brunswick with a stop at Grosse Ile in the St. Lawrence River just off the province of Quebec. It was one of the Quarantine Stations for Canada," said Elizabeth picking up the thread of the story as she offered more coffee.

"You remember from school, don't you Samantha, British North America became Canada in 1867 but the old name was still used by some European countries.

"Those who bought tickets in Germany for the trains that left from St. John, Nova Scotia, had to make their way through long lines in a cold, overcrowded annex to get a refund. Then they went to other long lines to buy tickets for trains that left from Halifax.

"Immigration was no help to the people who were escaping from the intrigue of Europe and Germany.

"All they could do was stand in the lineups and wait.

"Wait until someone found their entry permits," said Elizabeth.

"Wait for another someone to tell them where to go.

"Wait again in another line for another someone to finally stamp their papers.

"It was the same for everyone. But my father didn't wait patiently," said Elizabeth as she quietly filled the coffee cups again.

"Their papers said he was a farmer. Canada needed farmers and it was a big country. A woman on the ship said a person could get lost in such a big place. My mother fervently prayed it would be so.

"Four days later after having their baggage searched, their papers were finally in order so they were able to get on the Canadian Pacific Railway train. Their work authority permit and ticket said Sault St. Marie, Ontario.

"A farmer requested a couple who were experienced farm workers to help in his apple orchard, the man to work in the fields and his wife to help with the children in the house," said Elizabeth as she put her cup on the small table.

"Although my father didn't know what an orchard was, because he didn't speak any English, he was sure he would be in charge by fall. After all, what did these foreign people know?

"He was a 'Deutschlander! His was the right way to farm.

"Problems started on the train, they couldn't speak English and didn't understand when the conductor called the Ontario stations. Several days later, my father realized they'd been on the train too long. Finally he found someone who could speak German and they were told they were several days past their designated station.

"To make matters worse, the conductor now realized they were still on the overcrowded train and had not paid for the additional stations. He told them they had to get off at the next stop," said Elizabeth as she passed the plate of peanut butter cookies she took from the package that was on the small counter in the kitchen.

"They had no idea where they were when the train pulled into Prairie View, Saskatchewan. The conductor didn't care where it was but he made sure they got off."

"Did the towns' people know where they were from, grandma?" I asked as I squirmed trying to find a more comfortable place to sit.

"My mother said they tried to hide the fact that they were from Germany, but their clothes gave them away. Heinrich told her to speak only French. People liked the French but it didn't work. My mother spoke German, French, Russian, and a little Spanish but no English. Her private tutor had no idea she would ever need to speak that foreign language. My father spoke several languages too, but he never used any of them that I know of.

"Prairie View was a very small town then and only the poorest jobs were available. He finally found work on a farm not far from town. His job was as farm labor, and my mother as a house maid.

"The wife of the owner had one small son and another baby on the way. My mother envied her, her son.

"My father hated being a farmer, he hated the hard work, but most of all he hated being the hired hand," said Elizabeth as she offered more coffee.

Joel and I were so full of coffee by this time we felt we could slosh and said thanks, but no thanks.

"After a few years he saved enough money to apply for a homestead so he would be a land owner again," said Elizabeth. "Although the homestead was free, you still needed money for the first year's crop and you had to be able to build a house within five years.

"Your great grandfather was a cheap, mean-spirited man. He begrudged every penny he spent on my mother, sisters and me, whether for clothes, school supplies or even food.

"He drank his own home made beer and he resented it as he felt in his heart he was entitled to good French wine. Not yeasty beer or white lightening made from his own potatoes.

"He would beat my mother and any of my sisters that got in his way even when he was sober. Somehow, in his mind, we were all responsible for his wretched life."

"I always thought I was the oldest, Samantha," said Elizabeth standing up and getting the precious bottle of Antica Sambuca from the shelf in the laundry room. It was the last bottle Philip gave her for her birthday before he passed on. She drank it sparingly. She went into the kitchen and took three small heavily leaded crystal demitasse glasses from the cupboard over the fridge and poured them each a thimble full.

Putting the glasses on a small round tray she returned to the living room and offered Sam and Joel a taste of the precious liquid. Then she sat down and resumed her story.

"Just after my sixteenth birthday my mother let slip that I was not her first child.

"There was Gerhardt who was left behind in the old country with her sister, Hilda. And there was the little boy that died soon after childbirth, about a year before I was born. When I asked my mother why the baby died, she would start to cry and get up and wash the kitchen wall.

"She never told me how he died, but I knew!" said Elizabeth stirring her cup of cold coffee until it almost spilled out of the cup. "I finally understood why that wall bled and why my mother washed it every day.

"We children were not supposed to go into our parents' bedroom, but one day when I was there making up the bed I found a letter written by my Aunt Hilda in Germany. In it she spoke of the cruel, vicious thing my father did to her husband before they left for British North America, and how he never got over the injuries. In it she also asked about Gerhardt, would they be coming to get him as he was twenty now and finished university. I remember thinking, how fortunate my brother was to have stayed in Germany with a loving family rather than endure the harsh reality of life on the farm with our father.

"I'm sorry, I still tear up when I think of my baby brother waiting and waiting for his mother, and she never came," said Elizabeth as she wiped her eyes with the hanky that was tucked into her sleeve.

"I'll try to stick to the story, dear. You go ahead and help yourselves to some more cookies."

"My mother told me the first year they were on the homestead they lived in a soddy, that was a hovel dug out of the side of a small hill, the name soddy came from the clumps of weeds or grass that grew beside the road or along fences. They were dug up in squares and were piled up to form walls, like bricks. They were lucky and found some boards that were thrown away by the farmer where they worked, so they were able to make a short roof and a door. There were no windows as glass was too expensive. For heat they slept on top of the stove at night."

"Grandma," I said, "come on now, I know it makes a good story, but how could they sleep on top of the stove?"

"You're thinking of the kind of stove we have now. No, this was just a shallow pit dug into the dirt floor with a flat piece of metal over it. They made a smoke hole in the roof and a draft hole in the side of the wall near the floor to the outside. All you needed was a small fire to make the metal warm enough to cook on, and in the evening it would cool down enough to put blankets on it to sleep. Poor people lived in that kind of house in the old country, it wasn't anything unusual. The sheet of metal for the top of the stove was expensive, but the cow chips they burned were free, so it made up for the cost. They never would have survived the winter in the soddy without the stove. Didn't you see a small old roof set into ground by the barn when you were at the farm? That was built like a soddy. We girls played in it for a few years even though it was supposed to be a root cellar."

"I hate to ask," I said, "but what are cow chips?"

"You are a city girl, aren't you," laughed Elizabeth, "a cow chip is cow dung that has dried out. It burns easily and you can bank it almost like coal. There are very few trees in Saskatchewan so they couldn't waste the wood burning it. They had to find something else, and cow chips were everywhere and they were free. Even people who lived in houses burned cow chips. Wood and coal were very expensive in winter, and remember there was no electricity at that time.

"The year after my father saved enough money to buy seed for the crop, he applied for a homestead. He started to build the big house in the east corner, but he never really finished. That's the one we've been trying to sell," said Elizabeth to Samantha, making sure she understood which house she meant.

"Just before Christmas the first year they were in the new house my mother had the baby boy I told you about. She was so happy; she told me she thought it would make my father happy too. But it just made him angrier because he had to pay the midwife to come out to the house in the middle of winter. Besides, the baby cried a lot and my mother thought he had croup, but there wasn't much you could do about it in those days, babies just had to cry until they grew out of it. My poor little brother didn't even have a chance.

"Don't ask me how, but I know my father threw him against the wall that winter when he wouldn't stop crying. He made my mother tell the towns people that the baby died of consumption. But it was a lie! He told my mother the baby wasn't old enough to be buried in the churchyard, and besides he said it would cost too much money, so he took him away. She never did know what he did with the body. It almost killed her, not knowing.

"Mother washed that wall in remembrance every day. And my father took great pleasure in throwing disgusting things against it. Food and drink and worst of all, he'd bring his boots in from the barn that were caked with manure and throw them too. But my mother never complained and never said a word, she just kept washing that wall, day after day.

"While we were growing up my sisters and I learned early to keep out of our father's way. We hurried as fast as we could to do our chores as he would be there tormenting us with words or the back of his hand.

"One day when I was a little more than fifteen a young man came to our house. Our father welcomed him inside and gave him his seat at the table. He told my mother to serve the best food we had in the house, and gave him a drink of his private store bought _schnapps_. We children just stood with our mouths open. We had never seen our father treat anyone like this before," said Elizabeth getting up and going into the little kitchen to get the bottle of Antica Sambuca to replenish everyone's drink.

"The next day the young man was gone. We were afraid to ask where he went, but my sister Martha said she found a newly dug-up place behind the barn.

"My mother took each of us aside and made us promise never to speak of what went on in our house. And we, being too terrified to do anything else, promised."

"Grandma, how could you live like that?" I asked, tears trickling out of the corners of my eyes.

"There, there sweetheart, don't fret. It was a long, long time ago," said Elizabeth. "You do what you have to do. Now I know you're wondering about the name. I've been calling my father Heinrich Rosenberg but you know him as Henry Henderson. After he was in Prairie View for a few years he thought it would be better if he had a Canadian name, so he picked Henderson because he thought it sounded more like a gentleman.

"But I'm getting off the subject, you're sure you want to hear all this? Would you like another cup of coffee, I'll get some crackers," said Elizabeth as she stood up to get a box of Triskets and the Girl Guide cookies that were in the cupboard.

"Never mind the crackers or the cookies grandma; we need to hear the rest of the story. What happened then?"

"The next year when I was about sixteen and a half, we were having supper and father was ranting and raving as usual about how the townspeople were cheating him, when another young fellow appeared at our door, this was the fifth young man. The change came over my father again. He became friendly, courteous, even humble. Just like when the other young men came. This fellow said his name was Otto Klassen and his father had sent him to finalize the land deal. Father took him into the parlor and shut the door. That was the last we saw of him.

"When I asked the next day, what 'land deal', and where did he go, I got a back hand across my face and a black eye for my trouble. Father wouldn't let me go to school where people could see how he mistreated me. I had to stay home and work in the fields until my eye was better."

CHAPTER 35

I put my coffee cup down on the little table and covered my ears. I could hardly stand to hear this.

"How did you get away from that horrible house?" I asked, "How did you get to Regina? How did you get to Vancouver? Who was Kristi? How do you know all this?" I fired questions as though they were bullets from a gun.

"Hold on now, one question at a time," said grandma. "You're asking more questions than I have answers. Remember I told you there were other young men who came to the house? Well, the last one came the year I turned seventeen. He was smart and didn't stay in the barn where father told him to sleep. Later that night as I stood looking out the bedroom window I saw him sneaking across the yard. So I crept down stairs and went out to ask him where he was going. He told me he didn't trust my father and that he was going back to Regina to tell his father what was going on.

"I was beside myself. I wanted to go to the big city of Regina so badly but I didn't know how to get there. Here was my chance. I asked if I could go along and he said yes.

"So I ran and got my things. I didn't have any money, and I didn't know where I was going, but I didn't care," said Elizabeth Friesen, "I was finally going to get away from that hurtful place.

"When he told me he hadn't given my father the money yet, I knew that's why he was still able to go back to Regina. He was a very nice young man, and as we walked and talked, I came to think he was the most wonderful person in the world. He told me he always wanted to go to the west coast to see the mountains. And if he ever got to Vancouver, he wanted to stay and make his fortune on his own; he didn't want to be a farmer like his father.

"But he knew when he went back home to Regina he would never be able to leave again.

"So, while we walked and talked, Philip told me he changed his mind about going home.

"He said he was going to take his chance and the money and go west. When he found a job he'd send the money back to his father - he just wanted to borrow it for a while.

"I was so glad when he said that, I knew then he was an honest man. I convinced him that he needed me along too. Well, you know we did finally get to Vancouver where Philip and I got married and we had a wonderful life, in spite of everything," said Elizabeth looking down at the thin gold wedding band that was still on her left hand.

"We bought a house in South Vancouver and were very happy there, but when your mum and your Uncle Michael left home we moved out here to Langley.

"Why didn't you tell me all this before," I said, "it would have made dealing with what happened at the house so much easier."

"I'm sorry, dear, but that's not quite the end of the story. Several years after we settled on the South Hill in Vancouver, my father found us and came to take me back to the farm. This was just before he was arrested for those murders and stealing the investors' money.

"He was a man who couldn't stand to have something or someone he owned get away from him. He told me he looked for me everywhere. He told me I belonged to him, I would never get away even when he was dead I would still belong to him. My father said he would come for me no matter where I was, he ranted and raved just like in the old days. But I wasn't afraid of him anymore. My Philip took him by the seat of his pants and threw him out of the house.

"He lay on the front road and screamed, "You're mine, you're mine, you'll always be mine!"

"When he finally left, I was in such a state. My father said he would get even and I knew he really meant it."

"How could he do anything to you grandma, when he was in Saskatchewan and you were out here?" I asked.

By this time I was so agitated I was pacing back and forth shaking my fists. "What was wrong with him?"

"I don't know what was wrong with him, Samantha, but he certainly found a way he thought would get even with me.

"The girl you befriended – Kristi Parsons, wasn't just any girl, she was your second cousin.

"Kristi was the granddaughter of my sister Martha, who took the old house over from our father when he died. But Kristi didn't know _all_ the history of the house any more than you did, even though she lived there for a time. I think she didn't know which house it was and didn't care, she was paying because it was for her grandma.

"When I found out she went back to keep you company, I didn't think anything bad would happen, all these problems were so long ago.

"It had taken years of therapy for Kristi to get over all that happened to her in that house in Prairie View. She didn't know who you were, any more than you knew who she really was."

"What's so wrong with her being my second cousin, that doesn't make any sense?" I said. "She didn't have anything to do with all the awful things that were going on in that house?"

"That's just it, I think she was the reason all those things came to a head. You see, I knew my father was abusing my younger sister Martha from the time she was just a small child, but I didn't tell my mother. She never would've believed me. There was no one in town who would've believed me either. You just didn't speak of things like that in those days, so I had to keep it to myself.

"Martha was just a young girl, I remember she was 12 when she had the baby. She called her Amalie Henderson. No one knew who the father was. She would never tell.

"But I knew!

"When my mother and the other girls went back to Germany after my father went to prison, Martha and Amalie stayed in Prairie View and lived in the old house. When Amalie grew up she was able to move away because my father was still in jail. She made a life for herself and finally married a man that worked in the oil fields of Alberta. She had a baby girl and thought all the horrible time she spent at the farm was finally just a memory.

"She didn't know the evil wasn't gone, it was just biding its time, waiting to get out of prison. I never did know the man Amalie married - I just knew his name, David Parsons.

"Here's the only picture we have of him," said Elizabeth as she rummaged around in the box of papers and photos that lay on the floor by her chair.

Joel and I took the picture and looked at the happy face of a young man grinning at the pretty girl beside him. He was a big man; you could tell he worked with his hands outdoors. In the picture he was holding the girls hand as she held a small posy of flowers. It looked like a wedding picture - they both looked so happy.

"They lived in Leduc, Alberta in a rented house close to the oil fields. It was very sad," said Elizabeth, "he was killed in an accident soon after Kristi was born.

"When David Parsons died, Amalie had no money and no way to make enough money to support herself and the child, so she went back to her mother on that terrible farm. She stayed on at the farm even after my father came back, until Kristi was about twelve years old. When Amalie discovered Kristi was pregnant," said Elizabeth, wiping her eyes on her hanky, "there was only one man that could have been the father, and he was in his late eighty's by this time.

"My sister Martha couldn't believe it was happening all over again. She and Amalie decided they would put Kristi's baby up for adoption right after it was born.

"I don't know what they were thinking, they didn't tell any of the family what was going on. They just took Kristi out of school and told everyone she was sick and couldn't go anywhere for a while. Poor Kristi had to stay in the house until it was time to have the baby.

"They couldn't take her to the hospital, there would have been too many questions, she had to have it at home without even a mid-wife to help.

"Amalie told me the three of them left the day after the baby was born. They went to Kelowna, you know, in the interior of British Columbia because it was the farthest away they could get on the money they had. It turned out to be the best place they could have gone. The weather was mild and the most important thing was, no one knew them. They could start all over again."

"Does anyone want more coffee?" asked Elizabeth Friesen. Joel and I looked into our coffee cups and decided we'd still had enough.

"So then what happened, Granma?" I said still trying to keep all the information straight.

"Well, Amalie thought that would be the end of it," said Elizabeth clearing her throat, and offering the last cookie on the plate, "but she foolishly left the fate of the baby up to my father. He didn't give the baby to the adoption agency as he promised - we think he killed the little boy and buried him somewhere on the farm as well.

"When Kristi Parsons went to visit you in Prairie View she had no idea what she was walking into. She didn't tell her mother where she was going, or she would have stopped her.

"Amalie told me how hard Kristi worked to forget everything that happened to her during her child hood in that horrible house.

"Kristi's therapist in Kelowna kept trying to get her to remember, she thought it would help Kristi get rid of her terrible nightmares. But Kristi kept resisting, she didn't want to face her monsters, and I didn't blame her.

"But the sight of the kitchen wall that bled, and the hole in the ground by the barn brought back all the evil memories. We'll never know the abuse she endured or the terrible devils that were inside her.

"You remember the Coroner's Report Inspector Strong let you read, Samantha? You said there was no 'Cause of Death'. I think her heart just broke when she realized all those terrible nightmares were true, and that my father was really going to come for her," said Elizabeth as she shuddered and pulled her jacket closer around her shoulders.

"My father made Martha his heir by default. He thought he was getting back at me because I wouldn't inherit the land or the house, and he thought that was the worst possible thing he could do to me. But, he didn't understand, I didn't care what happened to the farm and I didn't want any money.

"You know the rest of the story," said Elizabeth as she got up and started to take the cups and saucers into the kitchen, "about how my Philip's father went to the farm and tried to find out what happened to his son and the money. You know what happened to the son," she said smiling at Samantha and Joel, "he went to Vancouver and married me."

"As for the money, we worked and scrimped and saved and were able to send all of it back to Philip's father by the end of the second year. After Philip's father got over feeling hard done by, he turned into an understanding father-in-law to me and a wonderful grandfather to your mother and your uncle Michael.

"After my father died, I thought all this would be over, but I hadn't counted on the bitter feelings and abject misery that lived on in that house. I didn't think anything was wrong with you going and fixing it up and selling it. You weren't involved with the house. You see, I didn't know I didn't own the house at that time.

"Amalie inherited it from her mother, Martha. She and I hadn't talked about such things for such a long time. But when Amalie's daughter Kristi died, she came to see me after the funeral and we talked it all out. I had no idea Kristi was paying the Rental Company to look after it.

"It wasn't until I started to look through some papers that had been given to me years ago that I realized what he did. But folded in those old papers I also found this," said Elizabeth as she took an old sepia photograph out of the drawer in the little table by the window.

"I never saw a picture of my mother. I didn't know this existed. My father would never have spent money on my mother for such a frivolous thing as a photograph. But this one was from when she was a young girl before she was married.

"See on the back, her name and the date the picture was taken, July 23, 1913. She's so richly dressed you can tell she came from a wealthy family. When I look at her, I see you Samantha," said Elizabeth, her eyes damp again with love.

"Different clothes and hair style but look at the eyes, and the nose, you're her spitting image. I didn't see it until I found this photograph.

"She had such a look of excitement and expectation on her face. I never knew my mother so full of life," said Elizabeth as she sadly put the picture back into the table drawer.

Joel and I turned to look at each other and understanding dawned on both of us. Poor Alfi Miller thought he was seeing Christina, my great grandmother. That was why he was so upset when we went to see him. He thought I was a ghost come back to haunt him.

"When you emailed and told me about the wall in the kitchen that paint wouldn't stay on, and that wall paper kept peeling off too, I knew something was still very wrong but I didn't know what to do about it then."

I looked at my grandmother and sighed, "I don't know if I can take in much more of this, grandma. What are you trying to tell me?"

"I'm telling you, you have to find out what's going on out there, you have to find out why that old man is still making trouble. We all need to know."

"Oh, grandma, I don't want to go back. It gives me the creeps, and the people in town don't like me, and the cops look at me funny and besides, its winter and its cold!"

"Samantha, I can't force you to go back there, I just know that all of us will never be truly free of this until we find out what really happened."

Joel and I stood up and said our good-bye's to my grandmother. It was 6:00 o'clock when we finally got back to my truck.

"Come on Sam," said Joel, "we've only got three days before I have to go back to the base. Let's go have dinner and decide what we're going to do."

CHAPTER 36

Later that evening, sitting in Sam's snug living room in the River Side apartments, Joel knew it was now or never. He picked up his glass of Merlot and went over and sat beside her.

"Sam," he said as he placed his glass on the coffee table, "I don't know how to say this; I'm not very good at this mushy stuff."

I looked at him and I knew what he was going to say. The problem was, did I want him to say it? I was finally back on my feet after Horrible Harry Harper, was I ready for another relationship? Even with this very special man?

I think I can handle this.

"Tell me again Joel," I said as I took his hand, and walked towards my bedroom, "about this mushy stuff... I'm such a slow learner!"

CHAPTER 37

The next day the bitter snow was coming down in Prairie View in flakes so thick I could hardly see the road. We were on our way to the Knutson farm house and I crossed my fingers that we would make it, and not get stuck in a snow drift.

The air fare on the Red Eye from Vancouver to Regina made the trip cheap enough, but the bus tickets on the Grey Hound from Regina to Prairie View made it cost almost the same as a regular flight.

My business, never booming but adequate, was now in the dumpster, AGAIN.

The job I thought was a sure thing at the Convention Centre in New Westminster fell through, so no job, no money and I'm too old to go home to my folks when I run out of cash.

_I've got to get this mess sorted out as quickly as I can,_ kept rolling around in my head, _I need to bring in some money fast. But worse yet, Joel has to go back to the army day after tomorrow, how will I manage without him?_

Thoughts of life without Joel crashed through my addled brain. It was my own fault, I knew I shouldn't have fallen for him, he was a soldier and gone for long periods of time. It didn't help. _What will I do without him,_ kept playing in the back of my mind.

" _Just get on with it_ ," I told myself.

I was sitting next to Joel in the rented car from Joe Buchman's Garage again. Right back where we started, well not really, there was that fantastic night in Vancouver that kept reliving itself in my heart.

I can't let him go, I can't let him go. How can I let him go?

We were on our way to stay at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Knutson, the neighbours that were so kind to me during the fiasco in fall. I didn't want to stay at the old Henderson farm house anymore - it made my skin crawl now that I knew its history.

Joel was glad that Joe Buchman recognized Samantha from earlier in the year and managed to find this car for them. The car they used last time was out; seems there was always a run on rentals in this weather.

The old Ford ploughed valiantly through the snowdrifts. The tires stayed in the ruts and seemed to find their way as though led by an unseen hand.

Even though the heater in the car was on full blast, I was so cold my teeth chattered like dice on a linoleum floor. We finally saw the lights from the Knutson's house straight ahead. When I called to say I was coming back to the farm, Mrs. Knutson insisted I stay with them till I found a more suitable place... thank goodness.

Joel and Samantha pulled into the side yard and parked by the big poplar tree that threatened to fall on the Knutson's white frame house. Every year Mr. Knutson said he was going to cut it down and every year Mrs. Knutson stood firm and wouldn't let him.

_I don't know what Mrs. Knutson is going to say when she sees Joel,_ I thought.

I knew I'd be welcome, but I wasn't sure the old lady would understand that Joel held a very special place in my heart now.

These past two weeks, having him beside me made me realize how much I appreciated his good judgment, his strength and his willingness to help in this terrible situation. He was becoming the rock I wanted to lean on.

"Don't stand out there and let all the cold air in," said Mrs. Knutson, as Joel and I stamped our feet to get rid of the snow that clung to our boots from walking around to the back door.

Mrs. Knutson stood back in the hallway expecting to welcome only Sam, and here was someone with her. She recognized him as the same young man that had been to the house with Sam in the fall.

_Well, well, what do we have here? This young man seems to be the man of the hour,_ thought Mr. Knutson as he stood behind Mrs. Knutson and grinned at Sam and Joel. Samantha did the introductions. When the two men shook hands they looked into each other's eyes and came to an unspoken agreement. _No problem here_ , thought Mr. Knutson, _he can take care of her whatever happens tomorrow. I'm glad she has someone to look after her._

"Land sakes," said Mrs. Knutson, "a body don't know how many is coming these days. Just put your things down over there young man and we'll see where we can find you a bed to sleep in."

She was happy to see Samantha and her young man, but there would be none of that hanky panky going on in her house. What they did elsewhere was none of her business, but she had a respectable house here and none of the neighbours were going to have anything to talk about if she could help it.

"O.K. now, I know you're hungry," said Mrs. Knutson fussing around. "Come into the kitchen and sit down, I've got some fresh buns and homemade chicken soup. It will only take a few minutes to warm up. Now tell me everything that's happened."

While we sat around the kitchen table, Joel and I ate and told them about going to see my grandmother. We talked about the story she told, especially the parts that had to do with the house. Mrs. Knutson brought us both up to date on what was going on over at the other house and what people were saying. It seems there were noises, and a lot of bangs that seemed to be coming from the upstairs, but no, they didn't go over and investigate.

Mrs. Knutson and her husband were very glad to see Sam and now Joel; they wanted the problems next door to go away.

Mr. Knutson sat and listened and ate cookies.

"I don't want you getting a 'middle aged' paunch at eighty-two," said Mrs. Knutson with a frown on her face. "No more cookies."

"I'm too old to be worried about getting fat," said Mr. Knutson, "I'll eat what I want to eat when I want to eat it. I don't want to hear any more about it."

Mrs. Knutson harrumphed but didn't take the plate of cookies away.

Joel and I were exhausted by the plane trip from Vancouver and the drive out, so after we ate - it was time to settle down for the night. Soon everyone was bedded down to Mrs. Knutson's satisfaction, me in the spare room, and Joel on the couch in the living room. The lights went out and the house quieted down.

The trouble was it really wasn't that quiet because the wind came up and started to howl around the house. It seemed determined to get in, the shutters slapped against the house, the shingles rattled; you knew some of them had to have come off. The wild Rose bushes around the back door began beating on the door frame. There wasn't going to be much sleeping done in this house tonight.

Joel and I lay awake, listening.

I heard it first.

It sounded like someone was knocking at the back door. When Joel heard it, he got up and looked out the window but couldn't see anyone. Mr. Knutson came grumbling down from the upstairs bedroom, pushed Joel aside and turned on the big spotlight in the yard.

There was no one there, but cutting across the yard from the Henderson place was a set of footprints. They looked like they'd just been made; they were crisp and clearly defined.

But there was no one around!

Mrs. Knutson came down and looked outside as well, I thought it was strange that neither one seemed surprised by the tracks.

"Oh, them footprints," said Mrs. Knutson, "we see them every so often, not as good as tonight though. They're real clear now. You two kids just sit yourselves down at the table and I'll make us a nice cup of cocoa. That'll put us in mind for sleeping. In the morning we'll go over to the other house and see what we're going to see."

"Mrs. Knutson, do you mean you've seen these footprints before?" I asked. I couldn't believe everyone else was taking this so calmly. "Whose foot prints are they and if they don't come into the house, where do they go?"

"That's enough of the questions till morning," said Mr. Knutson with a finality that belied his friendly face.

"Drink up and go to bed."

Joel and I meekly did as we were told.

The next day dawned clear and so bright the white snow made your eyes squint.

And there were the foot prints!

Even though there was more snow during the night they were still as crisp and clear as though they were just made.

"I think I'll call Constable French before we go over to the house," I said to Mrs. Knutson, "it would be better if he were there too. I think I know what to tell George Reilinger to look for. He said he would come this morning when I called him from Vancouver yesterday, but I'd feel more comfortable if the law was there too."

CHAPTER 38

"I can't believe I've missed seeing this all these years," Constable French said as he stood looking at the crying wall. "I've been in this house a number of times and I can't remember anything like this."

The kitchen wall was dripping red liquid onto the floor. It appeared to be blood and it was fresh! But there was no way it could be! Where was it coming from? What was going on here?

"I'll call Forensics from Regina to look at this. I don't know what to make of it."

"I think I do," I said as I walked back and forth in front of the wall.

"What do you know about all this, you just got here last summer and already you're an expert on everything?" said Constable French irritably, still smarting from the dressing down he received because I wasn't the killer he said I was.

"I think we have to pull up the floorboards in this room," I said as I moved away from the wall. "Look at the floor."

Joel and Constable French looked down and saw the blood from the wall running through the cracks and holes in the linolium, it was as though something underneath was sucking it down.

A few minutes later the HANDYMAN guys showed up. I told them what I wanted done and showed them where I wanted them to pull up the floor boards.

"I can't see anything down here under the kitchen floor that looks like it shouldn't be here, George," said Skip Nelson, gopher and part time apprentice to George Reilinger, "no snow, just a bunch of old boards and some canning jars. Hand me down the big flashlight I'm going to look over on the north side of the kitchen by the back wall."

"What kind of canning jars did you find? Maybe what's in them is still good," said George, always ready for a little nosh even if it was just before lunch."

I hired George's 'Fix it' company while I was still in Vancouver to come out when I got here and give us a hand. I know the towns' people gave him a bad time the first time he came out in summer but that was all over now. Everyone just wanted all this to go away and if it took George's men to do a little work out here, well, so be it.

I needed someone to search under the kitchen floor of the farm house and bring up everything they found underneath.

"Hand me up the jars you found, Skip," said George, "I'll see if they're full of sausage or something. I'll bet they're still good."

George Reilinger caught the jars Skip Nelson threw and placed them on the floor beside the trap door in the kitchen floor. I came over to watch as he opened the first jar. He hoped it was full of something to eat, but it was only full of old moldy paper.

I picked up a piece and tried to straighten it out but it fell apart in my hands. When I looked at the piece left on my fingertips, I realized what they found and let out a big whoop.

Constable French came hurrying over and looked at the rows of canning jars that were accumulating on the kitchen floor. "I can't believe you finally found it!" he said with awe as he looked at the fragile pieces of paper in the moldy containers.

The jars weren't enough!

I was down on my hands and knees peering under the floor boards. The beam of the flashlight caught on a little mound in the north-west corner. "Look some more, Skip," I said, "there's something under there! Check what's in that back corner, maybe we've finally found everything we've been looking for."

CHAPTER 39

"Grandma, how did you know?" I asked still tired from the long ride home from Prairie View and the emotions of seeing Joel back to his unit.

I was sitting on the same settee in grandma's cozy living room as the day I heard the awful truth about the farm.

"I didn't really know," said Elizabeth Friesen, "but they had to be there. It wasn't until I moved away from that awful house that I realized that not everyone had a wall that cried blood! There really couldn't be anywhere else for all that wickedness to go. My father buried my baby brother in the crawl space after he threw him against the wall so hard he bled to death, and the ultimate evil was when he put his other son, Kristi Parsons' baby, there too."

"And the worst of all was," I said, "the autopsy said Kristi's baby was alive when he put him under the house."

"Where are my manners, you look exhausted. I made some chocolate chip cookies and I was just going to make a pot of tea. Don't get up, just sit and rest, I won't be a moment with the tea," she said as she unplugged the boiling kettle and poured the hot water into the tea pot.

She brought mugs for the two of us and a plate of cookies and put them on the small table beside me.

"Now where were we," said Elizabeth, "oh yes, when Kristi realized where she was, she put it all together with the bleeding wall and then she remembered everything. The abuse she suffered at the hands of that evil man, the horror of the birth in the upstairs bedroom and abandoning the baby to that devil."

"She realized then that her lost baby was there somewhere too," I said.

"I don't think we'll ever really know what happened in that house. Those poor young men from the other graves and now these two babies - but it's finally over. They'll all be able to sleep now."

"I don't think I'll ever be able to sleep after all this," I said, taking the cup of green tea grandma handed me.

"I still don't understand why Kristi was killed, or who killed her."

"We may never know that either," said grandma. "But I think her poor heart just broke. She thought she got away from my father, but he never gave up. Even after death the wickedness was still in the house. She just couldn't take any more. But she's free now too, poor thing."

"You know what the stupidest thing about all this is?" I said as I put my cup of tea on the small table. "People looked and looked for the money that miserable man buried, but for some reason no one looked under the kitchen floor. Those canning jars full of money were there all this time."

"But as luck would have it, there's still no money," I said as I took another cookie from the plate on the table. "Inspector Strong said the Canadian Mint would replace any bills that were at least three quarters whole. But they were all so mildewed and moldy, not one bill could be exchanged.

"All that misery was for nothing.

"The neighbours around the old farm were happy though, grandma. Some of them even came over to Mrs. Knutson's where Joel and I were staying and said how much they appreciated all I went through, and that things were out in the open now that the farm house was being demolished, old hurts would finally heal."

Grandma and I were much happier now that the house was leveled and all the gristly contents dealt with.

It was time now to heal.

Time for everyone.

* * * *

**About the Author** : Hi Folks, my name is Sheila Jecks and I'm just your average Canadian Saskatchewanite that had the foresight to listen when the old folks gathered in the evening and recalled some of the back-of-the-hand stories from the old days. While this story is not altogether true, some parts are factual but some are just made up. Thanks for choosing my book. Keep on reading...

