Tess of Owl Creek

Tess McKinnon ran down the dusty country road. The carpet bag swung to and fro in one hand, and the other hand grasped a black quilted bag that held her computer. It was eight-thirty in the morning, and Tess was going home to the log cabin where she’d been born and raised. The log cabin, nestled in the rolling hills of Brier Hill County, was a peaceful place in the Amish country with a slower pace of life, a hard work ethic, and friendly people who waved when they passed by.

It was the only place where Tess had ever felt at home. It would be different now because she was all alone. They’d buried her mother yesterday, and her stepfather, Mac Reardon, had told her to be out of his house by two o’clock because he was getting married tomorrow. But she’d left right away. There wasn’t any reason to stay.

The feisty twenty-one-year-old had stood up to the 6’2” burly man, and called him a ‘snake in the grass.’ She had to leave her trunk behind. It was full of sentimental things—journals, a manuscript, winter clothes, boots, a teapot, and an old sweater that had been her mother’s. She would have to come back for it. There were also a few Jane Austen books that her mother had given her. She couldn’t live without her books. 

Her car was in the shop. She had coaxed it along for over a hundred miles from the college she was attending. The car’s engine had sputtered, then died when she pulled up in the drive at Mac’s old run-down farm. They towed it into town.

Tess was grateful that her mother had planned for her. She was headed to Owl Creek to an old log cabin where she’d grown up. Her mother had deeded it to her years ago. She’d stayed at the cabin when she’d come home from college because she wasn’t comfortable with Mac. She’d known from the beginning he was a scoundrel. It was out of duty she had gone to visit her mother at Mac’s old farm, but had not stayed overnight until her mother got sick. Armed with a teaching degree, she would begin teaching second grade at the elementary school in Brier Hill in the fall. 

When Tess started down the long lane, her mother’s dog, Buddy, followed her, and she didn’t have the heart to tell him to go back. She was sure Mac abused him because Buddy shied away from him.

Tess ran faster. The countryside was a blur as she passed by fields of horses and cows grazing. A truck sped by, sending a blanket of dust through the air. She coughed and slowed. “Damn!” She opened the carpetbag and pulled out a water bottle, took a long swig, then cupped her hand and filled it with water. Buddy lapped it up. Then she filled it twice more for him. He looked up at her.

“Are you happy to be gone, Buddy? Mac Reardon is a psychopath and a thief.” She took another swig of water. “They should lock him up. I hope I never see him again.” 

Buddy whined and sat on his haunches. “We’ve only gone five miles, Buddy.” She patted him on the head—fifteen more to go. “If we’re lucky, we’ll be there by dusk. We’re going home where we belong—where we’ve always belonged. We won’t have much, but we’ll have peace of mind. I’m going to put my sore feet in the creek first thing. And I’m going to put you in there with me. It will be fun.” 

A shiny black SUV rushed by, leaving a trail of dust, then it slowed, pulled over to the shoulder, and stopped. The stranger rolled down his window, and Tess wiped her forehead with her arm and trudged over. 

He stared at her with his dark eyes. “There’s not a house within miles. What are you doing out here alone?” 

“I’m headed to Owl Creek. It’s not far from Brier Hill. I have a cabin there.” 

“You shouldn’t be out here alone. I’d be happy to drive you wherever you need to go. I’m Sawyer Rhodes. I have a horse ranch near your cabin.” 

“Are you sure? Your car looks clean, and my dog is pretty dirty.” She looked the man over. He looked trustworthy. Her intuition told her it would be fine, and Buddy was wagging his tail. 

She nodded, and he climbed out of the vehicle. 

Buddy licked the stranger’s hand. 

“Ferocious dog,” he chided as he lifted the hatch. Buddy jumped in, and Sawyer took the carpet bag from Tess and set it beside Buddy. 

“I’ll keep the computer with me,” she said, holding the black quilted bag close. “My life is in it.” 

He smiled a slow, easy smile. “There’s plenty of room,” he replied, making sure Tess was settled in before he shut the car door. 

She’d noticed a litheness about him when he walked around to the driver’s side and climbed in with ease. He wore a black hat and was dressed in a black jacket and trousers. She guessed he was a Mennonite, though she’d never seen a Mennonite driving a car this nice. 

She settled back into the seat and murmured, “Air conditioning,” as she breathed in the newness of the vehicle and the smell of leather. “It feels really good.” 

“How long have you been walking?” he asked. His face held a look of unconcealed interest. 

“Five hours,” she said, glancing at his profile. His tan face and lean body told her that he liked the outdoors and was a working man. He’d said he had a horse farm. She’d noticed his lips right away; they were firm. His nose was straight. There was no doubt about it; he was incredibly good-looking. Suddenly, she was aware of her dust-ridden, sweaty body. She scooted toward the door to put distance between them. 

He glanced at her. “You must have wanted to leave pretty bad to set off walking in this heat.” 

“I did,” Tess replied.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

She put her hand to her forehead. “My mother died yesterday,” she said in a broken voice. “My stepfather is getting married tomorrow.” And then she was rambling. “I had to get out of there. The sight of him sickened me. I had to leave my trunk there. It has my books in it and some sentimental things.” Her hand went to her throat with a look of disbelief. “I forgot my mother’s locket. She wore it every day—my father gave it to her on their wedding day. She gave it to me when she was dying, and I left it on the dresser.” 

Sawyer reached over and touched her arm. “Don’t worry. We’ll go back and get your things. I have a truck at my farm.” 

Tess felt unraveled. “I don’t know what to say. Why would you do this? Why do you care?” 

“Somebody helped me,” he said. “He was a stranger. I was down and out on my luck, and he helped me get back on my feet.” 

He patted her shoulder. “It’s payback time.” 

The cabin was hidden from the road. There were ruts in the lane, but the SUV handled the terrain well. Tess was craning her neck, and when Sawyer swerved to avoid a fallen tree, she was jolted so hard she grabbed onto his sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

When she caught her first glimpse, she could hardly contain herself. “That’s my cabin,” she said, bubbling over with happiness.

“It’s not a small log cabin,” Sawyer exclaimed. “It’s much more than I expected.”

“It’s three bedrooms, and the rooms are large. My father built it twenty years ago. This log cabin was my haven before my car broke down. While I was in college, I would come here on weekends to study, journal, and paint. Mother deeded it to me after my father died. Somehow, we kept the taxes paid. Mac, my stepfather, never knew about this place.”

“Looks like you had an enormous garden.”

“Yes, it’s all grown out now, but it’s not too late to get one started,” Tess said with a positive lilt to her voice. “Working in the garden is great therapy—I enjoy it.” She pointed to the side of the house; her expression wistful. “There’s an orchard with the best apples in the world. My grandfather planted the trees.”

Buddy bounded out of the SUV and immediately sniffed around the trees, and Sawyer grabbed her carpetbag. They meandered towards the house with Tess making remarks about the way things used to be. “Mama’s roses are blooming in the rose garden,” she said excitedly, seemingly oblivious to the weeds smothering the roses.

“You’re going to need some help. It’s a beautiful property, but it’s rundown. It’ll take a while to get this place looking good.”

“There’s not enough money for hired help.” Tess retrieved the key from under a rock by the garage. “Daddy had insurance, but Mama was sick for a long time, and the money is almost gone. Not only that, I have a student loan. I’m a teacher. I’ll be teaching first grade at the elementary school in town.”

“Do you have a family?”

“No.” She sighed, fiddling with the key. “There’s just Buddy and me.” She turned the key in the lock.

Sawyer looked around and whistled as he scanned the living room filled with antiques, couches, and chairs upholstered in red plaid and moss green velour. It was striking against the warm hickory wood.

“This is beautiful,” he said. “How did you do all this?”

“My mother sold off some antiques when Granny died, and we went to sales and auctions. We kept a few of Granny’s antiques, mixed old with new, and it turned out nicely.” She pointed to a rocker. “That was Granny’s. It seems to fit. Besides, I couldn’t bear to sell it. She loved that chair.” She ran her hand over the spindles and brushed away a tear. “Sorry, I’m sentimental. Let me show you the dining room.”

She gestured to the bookcase that covered one wall. Tess pulled out a book. “Granny was a schoolteacher. She loved books. I grew up on Kipling, Poe, and James.”

When Sawyer didn’t reply, she realized he didn’t know about the poets she had mentioned. He was a Mennonite. They went to the eighth grade.

He smiled. “My grandmother was a schoolteacher, too.”

Tess was curious. “Do you read much?”

“I read the Amish newspaper that comes out every two weeks. I don’t have time to read. My hobby is carving miniature horses. I have a workshop.”

Tess was impressed. “Do you sell them locally?”

“No. I sell the miniature horses to a company in New York.”

“Well,” Tess exclaimed. “You are full of surprises.” She was more than curious but didn’t want to prod. She told herself she would find out where he sold them and buy one.

Their shoulders brushed when she returned the book to the shelf, and a warm, delightful shiver went through her.

She led him into the dining room. “We sold Granny’s antique set, and it brought in enough money to put in a new well, and a new dining room suite.” She ran her hand over the smooth surface of the long table. “This is solid cherry from an Amish furniture store in Walnut Creek called Fritz and Thomas.”

A look of surprise came over Sawyer’s face. “I recognize the quality—I work for Fritz and Thomas. I’m Thomas Shrock’s assistant.”

“I thought you owned a horse ranch.”

“I do. It was Thomas Shrock who gave me my start. I met him at a horse auction. I was short money to buy the horse I wanted, and he loaned me the money. He was a stranger. Then he asked if I could drive, and I became his driver. Later, I became his assistant. One thing led to another—I started breeding horses—and I own a hundred acres and seventy-five horses.”

“Interesting how life works out—sometimes you meet just the right people and your entire life changes,” Tess said, smiling, as she lifted off the glass globe of a brass kerosene lamp and peered inside to check if it had oil.

Sawyer looked pleased. “You use the lamp; it isn’t just for decoration. You’re a country girl—after all.”

Tess nodded. “Oh, yes, I use it. I was taught to be thrifty from an early age.”

There was a big copper pot in the corner of the dining room with long oar paddles. “My grandmother had one of these to make apple butter,” he said, squatting down and running his hand over the smooth copper bucket.

“Yes, every fall, we make apple butter outside on the patio. I love autumn here. It’s a palate of colors. Good for a person’s soul.” She felt a twinge of sadness. She was alone and would have to carry on the tradition by herself. 

A painting on the wall caught Sawyer’s eye. It was of a horse running free, kicking up dust. There was a big red barn in the background. In the bottom right corner, he saw her name, Tess.

“So, you are an artist. And a damned good one,” he said. “You’ve captured the spirit of the horse.” He followed Tess into the kitchen.

“I had to sell Thunder when I went away to college.” She winced; the day still fresh in her mind when she’d said goodbye to him four years ago. “Horses are expensive to keep with vet bills and all of that—but I have my painting, and my memories.”

“I’m sorry,” Sawyer said. “Had I known, I would have boarded him for you.”

Tess quickly changed the subject. “It doesn’t matter. I write and illustrate children’s books. I write about nature and animals,” she said, reaching in the pantry and pulling out a Mason jar and setting it in front of him. “This is for you.”

He picked it up. “Apple butter. Looks mighty good. Can’t wait to try it.” He gazed at her. “You must be hungry. Why don’t we run into town and get a bite to eat and get some groceries?”

“You’ve already done so much. I’m sure you have things you need to do.”

“It can wait. Besides, I’m hungry.”

“I’m starving.” She patted her stomach. “I can’t even remember when I’ve had a decent meal. But I can’t go like this—I’ll take a quick shower.”

“Mind if I look around while you get ready?” 

“Make yourself at home.” She turned to head up to her room. As an afterthought, she called out. “Will you bring up the oil for the lamps? It’s in the cupboard under the sink.” He’s so helpful—so easy to be with, Tess thought as she ran up the steps.