Lost seeds, p.16
Lost Seeds, page 16
“Well, well, well. I wonder who left that note, Jaffee my friend?” Willie smirked. “You know what? I’m going to save us some time.”
Willie walked to the door, pulled out a big key ring from his belt, stuck a gold key in the lock, and yanked the lock off the door. He stepped aside, bowed, and held out his arm motioning the policemen to enter.
Jaffee proceeded, followed by Beau. Willie trailed Beau inside and pulled a string to turn on the single light bulb. They scanned the room. The police walked throughout. The floor was covered with a layer of sand with sawdust and hay on top. Willie stood on top of the door to the tornado shelter, watching Beau occasionally brush the floor with his foot to find any hidden trapdoors. Farm tools hung on the walls. Jaffee opened several cupboards, quickly peeked inside, then closed them. Beau climbed a ladder leading to a loft, observing that it had a table and desk.
Descending the ladder, he leaned into Jaffee’s ear and whispered, “Willie cleaned this place recently. It’s too neat for a barn. Too bad we need a warrant.”
Jaffee nodded. “So, Willie, why was this door locked?”
“Because, Officer, I don’t want any of the workers to take my more expensive tools.”
Beau walked out and headed to the road to give Waylon and Travis an update.
Jaffee lagged. “Willie, you’re up to something. Be glad I came out here. Whatever you got going on, take care of it.”
“Already done.”
Waylon jumped out of his car when his brother came to the gate.
“Well?”
“Nothing, Waylon. But Willie clearly staged the place. I’m sure someone tipped him off that we had some information, and he prepared for the visit. I had to distance myself from Willie before I said or did something that would cause a problem.”
“We were hoping you’d walk out with Rosie in your arms,” Travis said from inside the car.
“I’m going back to push for a search warrant. It looked like he cleaned the place up. A magistrate may view that green-crayon note different from the chief.”
Waylon nodded. “I guess we should return to the house and update Loretta.”
“Wait. Here’s a small piece of good news,” Travis said. “We found Claire at Dub’s house. She walked clear over there, probably for food! Can you believe that?”
Then Waylon described the fire at Dub’s, and Tim’s possible death.
At home, Waylon updated Loretta and Bernie on the activities from the past hour.
“Where are the kids?” Waylon said.
“Fran is in her room reading a book. She hasn’t asked once about Rosie and hasn’t expressed any feelings to anyone. She’s acting like Rosie doesn’t even exist.”
“Where’s Jason, by the way? I haven’t seen him since late morning.” Waylon looked around.
“Oh my God! I’ve been so sick and stressed over Rosie, I lost track of my son. I hope he’s outside. This is all too much!” Loretta ran from room to room in their small house. “Fran, have you seen Jason?”
“Uh-uh.” Fran did not glance up from her book.
Waylon said, “I’ll go to the backyard. Bernie, can you run home and see if he’s down at your house?”
Waylon went outside and started calling Jason’s name. A football lay on the grass, abandoned. He trekked up and down the alley and walked to the front of the house. The street was empty of cars and people.
Waylon went back into the house through the front door and grabbed a flashlight from a kitchen drawer and exited the back door. He crouched down on hands and knees, opened the wooden hinged door for access, and stalled upon seeing how the darkness created its own barricade. Waylon nervously turned on the flashlight and stopped with his arm extended, holding a low beam light that did not sufficiently illuminate the darkness.
“Jason, are you here?”
Waylon panned the flashlight left to right and crawled inside a few more feet. Something rustled farther ahead to his left and he pulled back while shining the light in the direction of the sound. Against the far wall a small figure crouched in a dark corner. Waylon slowly extended his arm with the flashlight and crawled cautiously forward.
Various items surrounded the boy.
“What is this?”
Jason sat on bent knees like a statue, holding the cigar box tight to his chest, hands embraced by Dr. Tucker’s gloves. Behind him a small shovel stood against the aluminum wall. Stunned, Waylon struggled to say anything. A small brown body lay prone on the ground bound by rope, encircled by the toy soldiers. As Waylon reached out to move the blanket partially covering the body, Jason scrambled out and ran into the house, away from the shocking scene.
Chapter 38
Sowing Seeds
July 13, 1965
Dub pulled Claire farther away from the spot where she hovered, while the Abingdon firemen looked for hot embers and any remains of Tim.
After the firemen left, Dub released Claire. She returned to the hole behind the crumbled shack and lay where she had stationed herself earlier. When Dub called her, she walked to him slowly for a head rub, then returned and resumed waiting in the same spot, lying prone with her chin resting in the dirt. Claire’s eyes followed Dub as he walked around the rubble, picking up anything cooled off and placing it in a pile of damaged items. Claire whimpered as she sniffed the ground.
Mae stared in shock at the smoke rising from burnt wood, with silent tears pouring down her face.
“Just add this to the list of tragedies. Tuttle. Junie. Rosie. Now Tim.”
“I’m finding Rosie,” Dub said. “I know I will. They won’t win.”
She walked back to the house, shaking her head. “No missing little girl could be safe after more than twenty-four hours.”
Claire’s exhausted eyes closed from the long day of work. Suddenly, her ears perked. She stood and started pawing and barking at the plastic ring like she was digging up a bone, faster and faster, withstanding the cuts to her paws.
“Let me see what’s exciting this dog. I wouldn’t be surprised if she found old meat buried down there.”
Dub retrieved a spade from his truck and began to dig into the ground. Claire jumped around and barked, trying to paw again whenever Dub paused. Once he removed enough earth, the small circle surrounding the opening appeared. Claire barked more excitedly when she saw the cavity exposed. Dub stopped excavating and bent down to look at it.
“Is that tweeting? Did you chase a bird or something into a pipe? Wait, where did this tube come from? When did Tim put this down here? Can’t think about that now. Let’s save the poor bird.”
Pushing the spade forcefully into the ground, Dub hit more piping. He removed the spade and, with caution, reinserted it, pulling up just enough soil to expose another line of plumbing about four inches in diameter extending straight down into the earth. He used precision to dig more dirt from around the pipe.
Claire panted heavily with her tongue hanging out and barked when Dub took a breath. He quickened the pace until three inches beneath the surface, he hit a plastic elbow connecting another extension running parallel to the ground toward the shack.
“What is this? You know what, Claire, I don’t think I’m hearing a bird. Sounds more like a kitten.”
The more earth he removed in the direction of the shack, the louder the sound became. Dub’s movements quickened like he was racing against a clock. Mae looked out the kitchen window and observed Dub frenetically pulling up earth.
Curious, she walked out to the back porch and said, “Dub, what are you doing?”
He did not answer. She walked off the porch and toward the ruins of Tim’s shack.
As she put her hand on Dub’s shoulder, an odd moaning emerged from below. “What is that sound?”
“I don’t know, but I must find out.”
Chapter 39
The Cigar Box
July 13, 1965
Waylon reeled backward from the sight of Jason’s secret retreat. The flashlight revealed a doll resembling Rosie submerged in a shallow hole in the ground. The baby blanket lay on top of the toy, exposing only its arms and face. Jason had clothed the figure in one of Rosie’s dresses, bound its forearms with rope, stuffed pink rose petals in the palms of its hands, and tied a pink handkerchief around its mouth. The beam from the flashlight uncovered penciled pictures of Dr. Tucker hanging on the aluminum walls.
Waylon crouched on his hands and knees under his house and turned in a full circle with the flashlight to capture Jason’s entire world. He lost his balance and fell over, landing on his shoulder. He recovered quickly, spinning around disoriented, frantically seeking the door again, and scrambled out.
Above Waylon’s head, Jason ran through the house and into the bathroom, slamming the door. Waylon scurried out of the crawl space, scraping his head on a wooden beam, finally emerging to bolt into the house after him.
“What’s going on? Jason just ran in here and now you!” Loretta said following Waylon jogging through the house.
Waylon paused, breathing heavily. “Where is he?”
“In the bathroom.” The parents marched to the lavatory.
“Jason! Come out here.” Waylon banged on the door.
He came out, still hugging the object close to his chest.
“Let me see what you have.”
The boy reluctantly extended the cigar box into the air in front of his body. Loretta clung to her husband’s arm, bracing herself. He took and opened the container cautiously, revealing numerous pieces of notebook paper folded neatly into squares.
Opening each page, Waylon and Loretta recognized Jason’s handwriting describing, in a child’s words, his desire to live with Dr. Tucker, hold his hand, be held in his arms, and sleep in his sweater and gloves. One expressed anger that Rosie stole his mother’s love. And the next described how to bring harm to Rosie, and Jason’s hate for her.
The parents stood paralyzed. “Jason. What have you done to your sister? Where is your sister? Why do you have a voodoo doll of your sister like you’re burying her?” Waylon grabbed Jason by the shoulders with tears in his eyes.
Loretta gawked at Jason with one hand over her mouth and the other holding Waylon’s arm.
Loretta shook her head. “This is a nightmare.”
Waylon laid Jason’s writings on the table next to where he stood. Jason froze in his spot, pinned in a doorway by two adults. His face was smudged with the dirt from the cold ground beneath his home. His legs were soiled, and dirt was embedded under the nails of one hand; the other was clothed in a glove dirty from digging and arranging his soldiers. His pupils narrowed, adjusting to the light in the room after spending most of the day in pitch darkness under the house.
Waylon resumed pulling paper from the container. “What are these? This paper is yellowed and aged and has different handwriting,” he said.
He proceeded to open each one with Loretta looking over his shoulder.
“I can’t believe these skillfully drawn portraits,” Waylon said. “Jason, you didn’t draw these, did you?”
Loretta said, “These are the most beautiful pencil pictures of Rosie as a baby. See! Her name is right there, ‘Sweet Rosie.’ Her cheeks have a tinge of rouge on them.”
Loretta and Waylon opened the next four notes, each with a picture and each one depicting the girl a year older.
“This one is stunningly similar to Rosie today!” Loretta said.
“Look at this one, Loretta.”
Another more recent sheet of paper documented an intricate plan to find and bring “Sweet Rosie” home. The writing outlined meticulous instructions to make an underground bunker, buy items for her to play with, and care for her.
“Tim made plans to kidnap our daughter. But this is old paper with plans from how long ago? Did he have her in that shack when it burned? That drunk bastard. Come on, Loretta, we need to call Beau and Dub and send someone over there,” Waylon said, running toward the phone.
Loretta turned to Jason. “Son, you must talk. Tell us what you know about Tim and your sister so we can tell the police.” She knelt before the boy. “We know these older letters and pictures aren’t yours. Help us, please.”
Jason stared straight ahead, past Loretta. “Uncle Tim. He said in there.” He pointed to the box with the dirty gloved hand.
Chapter 40
Cries of a Foundling
July 13, 1965
The sounds from beneath the earth resonated more.
“Oh, sweet Jesus, what is that? A cry? That’s a baby’s cry. I know that sound,” Mae said.
She ran into the garage and grabbed a shovel, joining Dub. Neither one said anything to the other. Claire ran in circles. After exposing six feet of white piping leading toward the shack, hot ash and embers from the collapsed structure stalled the work.
“Move back. I don’t want you to get burned. Hold Claire back,” Dub said.
He cautiously scooped the burnt wood and shoveled it to the side to expose the scorched earth. He dug into the ground and saw that the pipe continued further, but after another eight inches he encountered a plastic elbow redirecting it deeper into the dirt.
“Dub, be careful. You’re about to burn your shoes on that hot wood.”
He cleared the ash away, creating more space to stand and dig down. After three strong stabs, lifting and tossing the dirt, he dug down seven more inches and hit a flat piece of steel. The pipe disappeared into the metal. A scream rang out. The grandparents stopped and gawped at each other. Dub removed more dirt, revealing a flat surface of steel ten inches beneath the ground and extending parallel to the floor where the shack once stood.
He used all his strength to shimmy the plastic elbow from the pipe joint. Another screech at the sound of plastic breaking apart.
“Rosie?” Mae said.
“Free me from the Snow Queen’s dungeon. Save me!”
“I’m coming, baby.” Tears ran down Mae’s face. She held Claire back as the dog struggled to reach the gaping hole.
“You keep talking to Rosie. I’m running inside to call the police and fire department.”
Mae walked carefully along the path her husband had made along the pipe and stood above the hole that descended into the steel. “I’m here, baby,” she said.
“I’ve been here in this dungeon a long time. The Snow Queen captured me. Are you helping me now?”
“Yes, I am. How are you feeling?”
“I’m scared. Another one of the Snow Queen’s prisoners screamed and I smelled smoke. Did they burn him at the stake? Will I be burned too?”
“No, my beautiful one, we’re here to save you. We’re looking for the key to unlock the dungeon door.”
She kept chatting with her granddaughter and asked her to describe the room, if she had slept well, and to tell her and Claire the story of the Snow Queen. Claire squatted next to Mae, and while Mae rubbed her head, they listened to the little girl’s voice recite the fairy tale.
The grandmother chuckled with relief as Rosie’s voice rose through the round tube. Claire’s tail wagged, slapping the ground.
Bells and sirens grew louder approaching the Brisco home. Dub met the trucks and cars, beckoning the men to follow him to the backyard once again while he described the effort of finding Rosie underground. The lead fireman expressed shock that they had found a person buried alive under the debris. He asked the police to call for more men and shovels.
“Dub, I’ll call Loretta and Waylon and ask if Beau can drive them here,” Mae said.
The Abingdon police overheard her and told her they would call the Saline police to contact and pick up the parents given the unusually extreme circumstances.
Chapter 41
Lost and Found
July 13, 1965
Loretta took the final note out of the box, and read the words Tim, our love has produced a child. A loud knock on the door interrupted and broke the tension and confusion.
“Loretta, can you answer that?” Waylon held the receiver, waiting for someone to pick up the sergeant’s line.
Loretta folded the papers and drawings and stuck them in her pocket. She grabbed her stomach, expelling every ounce of air from her lungs, then turned to enter the living room. The knock got louder and faster until Loretta answered the front door.
Fran observed the entire episode in silence, then stepped forward, pointing a finger in Jason’s face, and said, “You can never follow the rules. I need to monitor you more closely.”
“You should because I may make you disappear too,” Jason said casually.
As soon as Loretta opened the door, Beau stepped through the threshold. “They found Rosie! They think she’s alive in Abingdon.”
Loretta sprung into Beau’s arms. “Thank God she’s alive! Take me to my baby,” she said excitedly with tears pouring from exhausted eyes.
Waylon slammed down the phone. “I hope we’re not too late. Let’s go.”
Fran raised her eyebrows with a quizzical look. “Was she sitting at my granny’s house all this time?”
Standing next to Fran, Jason scowled and looked toward the cigar box.
Beau said, “The police will drive you there. I’ll take Fran and Jason in my car. Waylon, you and Loretta go with the sergeant.”
Loretta rounded up the children. All four Thompsons ran out of the house.
The officer turned on the sirens and lights. As they rode in the back of the patrol car, Loretta showed Waylon the letter from Kate to Tim.
In fifteen minutes, the cars crossed into Abingdon. Emergency vehicles lined the street where Loretta had grown up. Policemen and firemen moved back and forth, working methodically like a crew at a construction site.
