It's spring, 1868, and a businessman in Sumner County, Kansas, has been brutally murdered. Not only does Ellen Hargrove find the body, but within days, she believes James Montgomery committed the crime. But how to convince anyone? Her knowledge isn't based on evidence, but rather on her own clairvoyant visions.
page 99: “They were hoping to get sixteen acres in corn this year.”
“I think they’ve done it.”
When they reached the yard, Ellen was shocked by the condition of the house. “Look at the north roof!”
“That corner has nearly collapsed,” Reed said. A huge limb lay to the side.
Ellen quickly kicked out of the stirrups and slid from Phineas’s high back. Reed dismounted and rushed to help Will Pierce and his two boys pull ropes attached to a brick of sod that threatened to fall into the house. Ellen secured Phineas and Reed’s horse to a stout hitching rail and hurried inside. “It’s Ellen Hargrove, Mrs. Pierce,” she announced.
“Good of you to come,” was the strained reply.
The one-room structure was dank, the floor turned to mud. Ellen made out stout Lillian Pierce putting good muscle to a forked branch and pushing up on the birch strut that framed the roof where something had crashed down and set the roof askew. Ellen saw no way in which she could help that effort and looked around for the injured man.
“Did you have a tornado up here?” she asked, amazed by the damage.
“We might have; the wind was fierce,” Lillian said in a husky, strong voice. She stood taller than most men, and her light brown hair straggled from a massive coiled braid pinned on the back of her head. When loose, the braid reached well below her waist. Her calico work dress was muddy and wet nearly to her knees. “That limb out there must have traveled miles; we’ve got no trees in the area that big. Mighty fierce.”
Baby Eugene, seven months old, began crying from a cot. Ellen slopped across the mud floor and took up the boy, calming him. On the other cot, a man lay so quietly Ellen almost didn’t notice him. A canopy had been erected to protect him from the leaky roof.
“That fellow’s bad hurt. Shot in the back, I tell you,” came Lillian’s strident voice. “Is Lutecia Mercy here?”
“Not yet, but I’m sure she’s not far behind us.” Ellen patted the baby who still whimpered, fingers at his mouth.
Print Copyright © 2002 K Follis Cheatham
Electronic Copyright © 2010
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page 99:
“They were hoping to get sixteen acres in corn this year.”
“I think they’ve done it.”
When they reached the yard, Ellen was shocked by the condition of the house. “Look at the north roof!”
“That corner has nearly collapsed,” Reed said. A huge limb lay to the side.
Ellen quickly kicked out of the stirrups and slid from Phineas’s high back. Reed dismounted and rushed to help Will Pierce and his two boys pull ropes attached to a brick of sod that threatened to fall into the house. Ellen secured Phineas and Reed’s horse to a stout hitching rail and hurried inside. “It’s Ellen Hargrove, Mrs. Pierce,” she announced.
“Good of you to come,” was the strained reply.
The one-room structure was dank, the floor turned to mud. Ellen made out stout Lillian Pierce putting good muscle to a forked branch and pushing up on the birch strut that framed the roof where something had crashed down and set the roof askew. Ellen saw no way in which she could help that effort and looked around for the injured man.
“Did you have a tornado up here?” she asked, amazed by the damage.
“We might have; the wind was fierce,” Lillian said in a husky, strong voice. She stood taller than most men, and her light brown hair straggled from a massive coiled braid pinned on the back of her head. When loose, the braid reached well below her waist. Her calico work dress was muddy and wet nearly to her knees. “That limb out there must have traveled miles; we’ve got no trees in the area that big. Mighty fierce.”
Baby Eugene, seven months old, began crying from a cot. Ellen slopped across the mud floor and took up the boy, calming him. On the other cot, a man lay so quietly Ellen almost didn’t notice him. A canopy had been erected to protect him from the leaky roof.
“That fellow’s bad hurt. Shot in the back, I tell you,” came Lillian’s strident voice. “Is Lutecia Mercy here?”
“Not yet, but I’m sure she’s not far behind us.” Ellen patted the baby who still whimpered, fingers at his mouth.