Chapter 1

Heather heard stabbing and creaking outside her house at three o’clock on a fall morning. In her weary awakening, it sounded like rushing water pushed out of a bucket and splashed on the ground, or maybe a door rushed open with a creak — no, it was outside. It was with a fury. Maybe an animal was in the garden just behind the house, with much passion about something. A creak screamed. It tensed Heather’s ears. She lay in bed in the dark, hearing the repetitive stab and creak, stab and creak. In a subconscious sleep, she waited. Then, stab, creak! . . . stab, creak! Her eyes opened, and she stared at the darkness. What was that? Who was that? She got up; her bare feet stiffened with each step across the cold wooden floor. She avoided the spots of the floor that groaned when stepped on; her sister Mae was still asleep.

Stab, creak! . . . Stab, creak! She hesitated before getting closer to the back window.

Another step.

Her nose touched the cold pane. The crops were still sleeping, all upright. The dried mounds and trenches were the same. The air was still and dark. Peaceful looking, she thought, until the corner of her left eye saw black shadows move, and light swayed next door in the Whitneys’ backyard. The shadows moved softly in one place.

What is that? Heather wondered. She didn’t hide; she didn’t wake up her father Hugh. She didn’t make any distance from her ignorance on darkness. She stepped outside the back door to see more. The cold air rubbed and intruded against her warm cheeks. She felt it revive her senses, and she realized her curiosity would again be frowned upon. But she saw clearly.

Standing behind the Whitney’s house, beside their veranda, Old Man Whitney and Renato dug with shovels around a small area, the size of a grave. They stood over a mound of dirt. The stab of their shovels split and dipped in the unbroken earth, and they pushed down their creaking handles. Stab, creak! Mrs. Whitney stood with a lantern as she shuffled leaves and yard debris with her feet over the fresh earth.

Heather was seeing something she wasn’t supposed to. She froze in place, afraid to move, afraid they’d see her. They didn’t see her for a time. When they did, she offered an innocent good morning. They paused and stared at her. Mrs. Whitney returned the greeting. As Old Man Whitney continued his digging, Renato stood still with his shovel for a moment before ambling towards Heather through the grass, using his shovel like a cane.

As he came nearer, Heather saw more clearly his disarrayed hair, and how it crowned his troubled, dirty face. Dirt spots smudged on his arms, his rolled-up sleeves, and his clothes. His eyes stared at Heather sadly, wearily. His face was shiny with sweat and glistened in the night sky. His breath was deep. Something bothered him, Heather could tell. But she admired his passion in the distress.

“Ren, you okay? You wanna come in? What are you doing?”

“Come in, Ren,” Hugh’s voice boomed from behind and startled Heather. “Let’s have some coffee.”

Heather placed a kettle on the stove while Renato washed his hands and face. Renato and Hugh sat at the kitchen table leaning on their forearms. Heather lit a lantern for soft light. They had electrical power; everyone in Sterling, Illinois, did — thanks to the Whitneys, but the lantern still had a place in everyone’s lives in 1930.

The three of them kept subdued, partly because Mae still slept.

“I didn’t kill anybody, Hugh, in case you’re wondering,” Renato said as he leaned back in his chair, “and I didn’t see — whoever the man is in the ground — I wasn’t around. I was still awake when Old Man Whitney pulled in his driveway. I walked over, and . . . he’s old. He needed my help. That’s all.” Renato shook his head. “They’re old, Hugh. They’re not bad people. You don’t think so, do you? I don’t think Mr. Whitney killed nobody neither,” Renato slowly leaned forward in his chair. “He said he was helping out someone. Probably trying to do good. Don’t you think?” He said all he could say. Heather strained the coffee grounds in a pot as the steam from the kettle lifted to the ceiling. From the pot, she dipped Hugh and Renato some coffee.

“No, you’re right. They’re good people,” Hugh said, sitting calmly with an arm resting on the table. “You’re devoted and loyal, Renato, and more than me. Much more. ’Cause I heard him, too, coming home, and I rolled back over to sleep. You know why? ’Cause I don’t want no part of ending a man’s life,” Hugh spoke with an admirable soft confidence. “That’s where I gotta draw the line, see.” They sat still and quiet as Hugh stared at Renato. Finally Hugh asked, “Did you help bury him?”

“Yeah,” Renato’s voice cracked, cupping his coffee mug, staring at it. Small pause.

“There’s honor in that,” Hugh said, nodding his head. More silence for a few more minutes, they stared solemnly in space and sipped their coffee. Heather poured the leftover coffee in a cup for herself and joined them at the table. The men welcomed her with cordial smiles that broke the tension.

Renato soon stood to leave to his home across the street, to wash up and get ready for work.

“Thanks for the coffee, Heather,” Renato said, and he left.

And everyone went on about their morning. No need to regain composure; none was yet lost.

I hope you enjoyed Chapter 1!