“He’s been fighting a war, all right,” Red said.
“How?” she asked. “What happened to him?”
“I wish I knew for sure.”
“What do you mean? Was he sick? What happened?”
“There looks to be a…an injury to the side of his head.”
She frowned. “And he was in the cattle lot? Could be the bull got him, but ol’ Fester’s never been a mean—”
“Not Fester. Not an animal…not a four-legged one, anyway. It looks like…like something small hit him in the side of the head, Bertie.”
Bertie nearly dropped the phone. “Something like what?”
“I’m not sure yet. The sheriff’s out there now, along with the mayor.”
She heard something in his voice, some thread of doubt, as if he was hiding something from her, unwilling to say what was on his mind.
“You’re saying somebody killed my father?” she heard her own voice, loud with shock, saw the surprised faces of the people standing around her, and felt as if the floor was buckling beneath her.
“I’m not saying anything yet.”
“Oh, yes you are. That’s what you’re thinking, I can tell.”
“Now, don’t go putting words in my mouth. I’m gonna find out what happened,” Red promised. “You hang on out there, you hear?”
Bertie took a few deep breaths and managed to keep her hands from trembling. “What are you thinking, Red? Talk to me!”
Edith slid a handkerchief into Bertie’s hands and placed an arm around her shoulders, but Bertie wouldn’t let tears fall.
“Don’t you worry, Bertie,” Red said. “We’ll see to it your father has a good, Christian funeral.”
She took a few more breaths. “Red Meyer, what aren’t you telling me?”
“I don’t know, yet, okay? I don’t know what happened. Give us time to figure things out on this end, and I’ll call you. You stay put, though. You don’t need to be traipsing back here. We’ll take good care of your pa’s body.”
“Don’t make any plans until you know how soon Lloyd and I will be able to get there. I’ll have to call him right away.” Her brother would be working on his in-laws’ family farm in Kansas this time of day, but someone should be able to get to him.
There was a short silence, then Red cleared his throat. “Bertie?”
Again, the tone of his voice alerted her. “What?”
“I don’t think you oughta come to Hideaway right now. Lloyd neither.”
“Of course I’m coming. You can’t call and tell me my father is dead, then think I’m not coming home as soon as I can get there.”
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t grieve, Bertie, I just think you need to do it out there in California. It’s safer there.”
Her grip tightened on the telephone receiver. “What do you mean, safer?”
“I already told you, I can’t say for sure what happened to your father, but it might not be safe here right now for you or Lloyd, not until we know for sure what happened.”
She waited for him to continue.
“Could just be my own reaction to the war,” he said, “expectin’ trouble when there isn’t any, but I can’t help thinking the war’s brought out some enemies we didn’t know anything about, even here in Hideaway.”
She felt a chill down her spine. She wasn’t sure she wanted him to explain more, wasn’t sure she could take much more information today. Oh, Lord, someone might’ve killed my father?
“You hear what I’m saying?” Red asked. “You stay put and stay out of trouble right where you are.”
“I can stay out of trouble, but I’ll be in Hideaway while I’m doing it,” she said. “That’s where I’m going to be as soon as I can get there, and don’t you try telling me different. I’m not some helpless little thing who can’t take care of herself.”
There was a quick grunt of irritation over the line, then, “Bertie Moennig, you might cause more trouble than I can handle if you come traipsing into town right now. I never said you was helpless, but don’t be daft, either. Stay put!”
The sharpness of his words pierced her anger. But even though part of her could see the wisdom of his words from his point of view, she wasn’t him. She couldn’t do what he wanted her to.
“Don’t you worry about a thing, Red Meyer. I won’t be a burden to you.”
“Now, Bert, you know that isn’t what I meant, I was only trying to—”
“You’d better give me some space when I get there, because I’m comin’. Don’t you dare treat me like I don’t belong.” She returned the phone receiver to its base, and pressed her forehead to the cool desktop for a few seconds.
A hand touched her shoulder. “Are you okay, sweetie?”
Edith’s voice was soothing, but it also cautioned her. Sorrow and self pity too often formed a partnership, but it wasn’t going to happen this time. Not with Bertie Moennig. She couldn’t afford that weakness.
The door opened, and she looked up to see Franklin walk in, his beefy shoulders grazing the sides of the door frame. For once, his presence didn’t threaten her.
“I won’t be back to work today,” she told him, bracing herself for an argument.
“I know. I’ve already got someone on your job.” He glanced around at the office workers who hovered near. Though he wasn’t their supervisor, they scattered back to their desks.
He crossed the room and leaned over Bertie. “I’m sorry about your father. Are you going to be okay, hillbilly?”
The sudden, unfamiliar note of gentleness in his voice surprised her. “Thank you. I’ll be fine, but I have to catch a train to Missouri.”
He nodded. “Any idea how long you’ll be gone?”
She hesitated. She may not be back. Yes, she was needed here, but she would be needed on the farm at Hideaway with Dad gone. Cows would have to be fed and milked, the crops gathered, and she couldn’t expect Lloyd to leave his in-laws in the lurch so he could tend to everything.
“Hillbilly?” Franklin said sharply. “When do you think you’ll be back?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve got a farm to run now, and the troops need food as badly as they need airplanes.”
“Not sure I can keep your job open for you.”
“I’m not askin’ you to.”
He ran a thick palm across his forehead. “I’ll tell you what, you give me a call when you decide.”
She gave him a wry look. “I thought I was about to get fired today.”
A hint of a smile touched his mouth, and his eyes wandered downward. “That’s what I wanted you to think. You work better that way.” He gave her a wink, then turned and left, his thick shoulders grazing the sides of the door frame once more.
Edith stepped up beside Bertie. “Well, what do you know? That slave driver might have a heart, after all.”
Bertie allowed herself to be distracted. “Don’t count on it. He just knows good help when he mistreats it.”
“Are