The crooked hand tree, p.3
The Crooked Hand Tree, page 3
“Hey, Tom!” his mum said easily. “How’d ya sleep?”
“Good, Mum,” he replied with his tone rising. “I finished the book last night.”
With her tone loving and gentle, she beamed, “You diiiiid…? That’s the third book this week!” Now he was grinning more authentically and gave a nodding head reply. He pulled a chair from beneath the kitchen table, and as he did, his mother laid out the morning’s menu.
“Okay, so I’ve made you some eggs, there’s bread here in the basket and…some honey, some strawberries, milk, and on the stove pot there’s some cereal—and in the basket, there’s some apples for later in case if you get hungry.” She ended with, “I’m going to head out to the barn to see where Bo is. I’ll see you out there?”
“Yes, Mum, I’ll be quick,” Tom answered straight away.
His stomach still in knots, he wondered if he could eat. But appreciating the effort his mum made, he decided to try.
In roughly ten minutes, Tom finished eating, pushing one last bit of oat bread into his mouth, then grabbing his hat, he pushed the kitchen’s rusty screen door open. It shrieked close behind him with a nasty creak and a hard thwack! In a half-skipped stride, he hit the backyard leading him straight to the red-stained barn. It soon stood gaping wide open just to the left of Flora’s magnificent flower garden. Two more strides and he caught sight of Bo coming up the path from the field. Tom began to wave and smile. He shouted out, “Hey, Bo! Hey!”
The big man shot a wide grin, and in his easy drawl, returned, “Mo-nin’, massah Tom!”
Tom asked, “Ready for the day?”
Without answering, the giant man approached, his huge strides cutting the distance between them in seconds. When less than a foot apart, he gently tucked each of his giant hands in each of Tom’s armpits and hoisted him straight off of his feet. As their eyes met, Tom belted in delight. Then like Goliath lowering a feather, Tom’s feet touched down in the dusty earth, barely feeling the impact when his shoes hit the ground. When they did, he looked up.
“You know what we need to do today, right, Bo?”
Trying to think, his friend lowered his head a bit, touched his thick finger to his chin, and in his deep voice lightly bellowed, “Hmmm, clehn dah bahn, fehd dah cows, milk dah cows, ahn bruhsh Penny.”
“Right!’ Tom returned. Then “Ready?”
Big Bo smiled. “Redah massah Tom, redah.”
The two worked throughout the morning into the noon-day sun, which radiated warm, life-giving energy on their skin. They would soon go to the well for some pumped water and make a much-needed trip to the outhouse.
In their duties, the two certainly knew the high importance of the water system on the farm. In fact, in essence, the entire land’s processes revolved around it. This place, nourished by water was a place brimming with life. The vibrant farm was a stark antithesis to the dark, dead place lying directly across the pathway. The one in the cemetery holding the unliving. The unvisited place where many leaning, toppled stones etched with the engraved names of souls past were left. And the place where hundreds of other desecrated and displaced graves lie beneath. Above it all, stood the great unliving tree rising like a dark tower from its dusty earth.
Ms. Miller exited the back door with two steel buckets in hand.
Keeping watch for her hand Mr. Billings, she headed out to the flowered row, which stretched from side to side for at least a hundred feet before her. All around her lay beauty and wonder beheld by delicately perfumed air.
The garden was drenched with the smell of wildflowers rising unhindered everywhere. In it, the varieties were diverse: boxwood, pawpaw, daisies, amur honeysuckle—milkweeds, poppies, bitter berry—broomweed, purple violets and tall, brilliant yellow, heavy-headed sunflowers to name many. Always in plentiful abundance located right in front of the flower bursting row grew the sweet plump berries, like deep purple raspberries, blueberries, blackberries, and strawberries.
Each day, Flora collected newly ripened batches, carefully cutting each scraggly stem with a sharp pair of shears while filling small baskets, and later separating them. Formerly growing, as in no longer, were the poisonous varieties, (that is except to birds) which were white, yellow and red holly berries which she intentionally weeded out. Weeded out, because years before, in a distracted moment, one she would try to forget, two-year-old Tom had wandered off, picked some, and nearly ate them. In a race against seconds, she caught hold of his hand full of them…and before the berries entered his mouth, shouted just in time, “No, Tom, no! You can’t eat those, hunny! They’re poisonous!” Startled, he’d fortunately dropped them to the ground.
On the farm, flowers and berries were not exclusive to the harvest. Other things like basil, chives, and rosemary grew as well, and after filling several containers and separating them equally, these items would be dried, pulverized, and put into mason jars (and smaller jars). These containers were kept on a dedicated shelf in the kitchen cabinet until the time they were used in various ways.
Then there was the first-tier field Bo tended, where they grew things like carrots, potatoes, and squashes of different types, as well as leafy vegetables like cabbage, spinach, kale and the like.
In the main field, the farm produced small amounts of corn, wheat, and oats (partly for feed for the farm’s animals) and more primarily for the family’s sustenance.
For many years, the most essential item, the most profitable item grown on the plot were the fine pumpkins Miller’s Farm annually produced. In perfecting the art of growing the orange gourds, the Millers had, in fact, become the exclusive provider to Kiliwik proper.
Every season, starting in early June, Bo took on the job of preparing the giant patch on the right side of the barn. The soil here being very fertile was the perfect spot and also received the most excellent sunlight and the proper abundance of rain. In his duties, he knew well; too much water and the pumpkins could rot and even drown. Too little, and the obvious—they would not mature. So after the soil temperature is right, about seventy degrees, Bo created “pumpkin hills” in warm soil, helping the seeds germinate better and faster. Another key element was the treatment of the plants with manure, which on the farm was plentiful. Planting four or five seeds to the proper depth, the first sign of plants would be visible in about ten days or so.
Soon, the pumpkins, large and small, began to grow with fervor, with the vines spreading out wildly. Varieties of a few inches around, to small, medium, and to the very large ones up to several hundred pounds. The best sellers though, the medium variety, went about twenty pounds or so. When the time was right upon being harvested, Tom and Bo carefully hauled each up onto a straw bed wagon. The wagon, hooked up to an apparatus fitted onto “Penny the mule,” would then be brought to town.
On Miller’s Farm, a few other things were made for sale, specifically, Flora’s dried herbs she bottled in small jars fashioned with simple lids; her decorative dried flower arrangements, for which she loved to artistically design, and to a lesser extent, her sheep’s wool. More than anything, though, their land enjoyed a benefit most farmers did not have. Their abundant droves of honeybees. Ones which not only provided essential pollination, but wax for candles. And the most wonderful wild amber honey in all the land.
Besides pumpkin growing, this was Flora’s other true passion. And her extraordinary skill. Her premium wild honey and her handmade beeswax candles were her specialties, and she was in fact, the town’s sole maker of both.
Of simple construction, her bee apiary lay about thirty feet from her garden. In it, nothing fancy was required to have her bees swarm to it.
Starting in spring and into the hot days of summer, honey bees in the thousands darted in frenzied, buzzing flight paths, landing in the sweet, sugar-bearing flowers in the garden and the wildflower fields laid out sprawling past the main harvest field. While traveling in circular round trips, they pollinated everything in sight. In her dedicated tending to the apiary hive, she held her beekeeping duty as her primary summertime objective. And because of the sheer variety of flowers grown all around, she was able to produce the finest and richest floral honey imaginable—her sweet, thick drizzles of pure amber joy.
The farm provided everything required for profit, sustenance, and happiness. All lay readily available, interlocked in the farm’s ever viable ecosystem. Each of its inhabitants, Tom, Flora, and Bo worked as a well-oiled team. And each knew their places and duties to make the farm a well-nurtured entity.
Today, with the two dressed in well-worn farm attire and straw woven hats to keep them cool, Tom and Bo’s day usually revolved around harvesting corn, collecting milk in large buckets, transferring the contents to smaller glass bottles.
They would spend hours hacking dry, tangled weeds with sharp scythes, filling large wooden barrels with feed and providing rain barrel water to the barn area to feed the animals. They also tended to several animals: a black and white patterned cow named Elma—(formerly “Elmer” Flora explained to Tom cows were “girls”) several chickens, six ducks, and their numerous baby ducks, two goats, two sheep, and Penny.
At the end of most days, usually, sometime around six o’clock, Flora would call out to her two hands to finish and come to dinner. In most instances on day’s end, Bo would arrive at the back kitchen door to say good night and catch up, relaying what had been done that day. This done, she would, on a regular basis, gladly give him a big lot of food, usually in a large tin container wrapped in cloth. Her devoted worker would always then retire back down his beaten path leading to his small abode for the night.
Bo was considered family. But from the inception of coming to work for Karl, there had made an established rule to have space between them. This rule included not living or eating in the house. In his usual agreeable disposition, Bo liked it this way. In fact, most of the time, he felt at home in his shack and enjoyed his space there. Since the day he arrived and to this very day, this was the way of doing things, and it worked well.
So with another day done, the two arrived at the back screen door from the field, and leaving his giant cohort posted at the back door, Tom pulled it open and entered the kitchen. Looking up to his mom with a dirt smear across his face he said, “Hey, Mum!”
Alerted, she immediately turned from a steaming kettle just beginning to boil. “Hello, handsome young man, you guys get a lot of work done today?”
A tired Tom sighed, replying, “Yes, we had a good day and finished up everything except the hay bales.”
With a thick cloth, she grabbed up the hot container by the handle and bubbled some water over a small strainer filled with herbal tea.
“It’s okay, honey. You can tackle it on Monday. Tomorrow is Sunday church. Lord knows we all need a day off.” Turning to a wrapped meal on the counter, she added, “Oh, and please go give this to Bo for his hard work.” The handed-over container, covered with a clean white cloth, held some bread, honey in a jar, a bunch of blueberries, some leafy greens, squash, carrots, and potatoes cut into sections, and a small container of oats in a large metal dish. She added, “And please tell him to thank you.”
Young Mr. Miller minded his mum and went outside, handing the bundle to his friend with a smile. “This is for you.”
When he did, the giant man smiled back ear to ear. His large brown eyes now squinting with pleasure, and with his white teeth radiating, he said, half chuckling, “Thank ya, massah sah, thank yah.” He then turned, holding the full container in one of his massive hands and thudded away, soon making his way to the left, and passing the long row of flowers, disappearing into the night.
Up to the year 1820, the history of Miller’s Farm was a relatively brief one. It was built in the year 1792 by Flora’s late father, Karl Miller (formerly Muller, German) after Karl and wife, Beatrice, both aged thirty years, departed Williamsburg, Virginia, early in the spring of 1792. At this time, the two, newly married, decided to set out west to a destination unknown. Not to escape a miserable or impoverished existence. Quite the contrary. It was to set out on an adventure that would find them in a serene, spacious land—one stretching out in every direction for hundreds of miles without the noisy bustle of the overpopulated Williamsburg. As Karl was well educated and had good business sense, the two had amassed a good load of money. In his capacity as a lawyer, Karl had steadfastly risen to the upper-class echelon of Williamsburg society. And in a secondary capacity as an accountant. Basically, he got rich, protecting the wealth of several businessmen against their tax losses and was greatly rewarded for doing so. In fact, in his efforts spanning over more than a few years, he’d filled his bank account with what one might call a small fortune.
And so it was, the two newly married, purchased a very well-built carriage and two strong, healthy horses to pull it. On departure day, they filled its interior with several trunks and stores of food and water and prepared for the journey west. But not before two critical details were covered. One was the procurement of security detail. It was, as they knew, extremely dangerous to travel unprotected on roads they knew nothing about, not without the guidance and assistance of some paid security and by men having some experience on roads leading west and how to navigate them.
These said roads, even well-traveled ones, were fraught with danger and hazards, not only in the landscape itself but by thieves—ones who could easily rob a person of all their possessions or, at worst, kill a hapless traveler and then leave that said traveler for dead on the roadside.
The other major threat, the native tribes roaming the land protecting their homeland against those would dare travel it. So for Karl and Bea’s success, the need to employ armed security before departure was paramount.
Karl decided this would probably require at least two men. Two men Karl could completely trust. Not only as highly skilled protection, but two men who would not betray them on the way and rob them or kill them for their money and possessions.
Within a few days of search, he had found his detail. Two beastly strapping men referred to him by a very trusted acquaintance in town. Coincidentally, two men whom three years prior Karl had directly defended after they had been falsely accused of murder. In their service, he’d saved the two from possible imprisonment and possible execution. Feeling confident he could trust the two, Karl still took the precaution to stash a large sum of money in a steel strongbox then burying it in a grassy field of unknown whereabouts. One which in a thousand years could not be found without a map. In the box were two equal shares of five thousand dollars. A fortune to the two security men indeed. Per verbal agreement, Karl gave his word as a gentleman that upon arrival at the final destination, he would reveal its exact location and the two men would be paid.
The other critical detail; Karl had to find a way to hide the money. This would require some clever modifying of the carriage itself. To this end, a primarily hidden chamber cache was built into its underbelly. One, if searched for, would also be virtually impossible to detect. One so discreet, if one were to look to find, would appear to be a wood-planked underneath, invisible to the naked, unknowing eye.
Soon came the day Karl and Bea prepared for. They carefully loaded their worldly possessions into three heavy key-locked wood and steel strapped trunks. They then packed enough food for a month with the ability to stop in at a town or two to restock. Helped by the two men, they filled the back of their newly purchased carriage and headed west out of Williamsburg, Virginia, hitting the first dusty road an hour later.
The Millers and the two men would encounter inclement weather on the outset, leaving Karl and Bea to wonder if the trip was a good idea after all. The bad weather, marked by many severe thunderstorms, did finally break, giving way to many warm, dry days where the couple slept well in warm breezes and under many a soft white full moon. Driving on with the men’s protection took some burden off the element of fear, and the travelers encountered no attacks of any kind.
Day after day, into many a night, they felt the push to move forward. Whether it be by a flowered country roadside or through harsh terrain laid with dangerous rocks and perilous holes. Ones so decrepit they were enough to potentially injure one of the horses. With the entrusted men as their guides, many perils of the trip would be avoided. Karl’s hired men were strong and impervious to the outside, setting camps and eating and drinking the minimum. Acting as faithful servants, the men more than did their job carrying out their duty to Karl for what he had done on their behalf. Mile after mile, they made good on their promise to deliver the Millers to their destination, which was yet unknown upon setting out so many days before.
On a particularly beautiful afternoon, the horseback-riding men leading the Millers’ horse-drawn carriage rolled over one last beautiful golden hill. From atop this last immaculate vista, they knew they had arrived, not knowing at the moment, the town in the far distance was Kiliwik. Signaling the men to a full stop, Karl relayed to the drivers the distant town ahead, which now lay within a half hour’s time would be their final stop. Karl, no longer requiring any further protective services, bid the men a thankful farewell, giving a final partial payment that would see them safely and securely back to where they had come. And as promised, the secret map revealing the precise location where their final and full payment was stashed in a strongbox three feet down in a green pasture outside Williamsburg.
The trip now completed, the travelers soon rolled down to Kiliwik’s Mainstreet on the way to their dream. Upon arrival, darkness fell, finding the road-weary Millers staying the night and many nights to come in room 24 at the Kiliwik Inn.
On the first of many mornings, the two woke late, got dressed, and made plans to venture out into the bustle of the small town they’d landed in. From their upstairs vantage point, the two made a note of a ranging near-distant hilltop fading into a gradual slope about a half-mile away and the great tree presiding over it. As they looked onto it set amid the midmorning sunlight, Karl and Bea looked to one another. He then pointed the sight out as the first location to which he would inquire. And so it would be on this day, he would unhitch one of his horses from its carriage harness and set out about town, soon learning of the high land’s owner.
