Page 49 of Mail Order Bride

Her reply gives me an idea. “Oh,” I say. “Maybe you're looking for help?”

She looks me over from one end to the other. “What? You meanyou?”

“Yes, me. I have experience—”

“We're not hiring. And even if we were, you'd be the last person I'd consider.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

Journal Entry

Author Unknown

The librarian had to die. What a shame. I imagine it's hard to replace all that knowledge. It was so easy too. Wrapping my hands around her thin, wrinkled, bitter old neck, and squeezing, squeezing, squeezing until the light in her eyes went out.

This is not to say she didn't fight. I have to give credit where credit is due. She gave it her best shot. But it was pathetic, still. Imagine trying to swat an errant housefly, but the housefly has you beat every time. That’s what it was like. I was the housefly, just in case that part’s not clear.

At some point, she stopped struggling. She became limp. And her eyes glazed over. I don't know if she was dead or not, but I knew she was done fighting.

That’s when a book caught my attention. I know it sounds absurd, but there were a lot of books that got tossed around, many I haven't read. The book caught my eye, but it was the faint sound, like rustling pages, that really got my attention. It was then, in my peripheral vision, that I saw what was happening. The librarian's eyes snapped wide open. Her face contorted with rage.

“No... No…” I croaked.

A look of recognition crossed her face; she dropped her chin to her chest then sprang to her feet, lifting a heavy leather-bound book with a white loose-leaf binder in its pages. I backed away. But this thing, this woman, and her second wind, whatever it was, was after me.

I watched in astonishment as she slowly shuffled toward me. It was like living in a horror movie. And then, slowly, deliberately, she raised the book above her head. The long, leather-bound book was some weapon, let me tell you. It came down with a crash. It sounded like thunder.

A lot happened after that. But the most important thing you need to know is that the librarian went down like a sack of potatoes. Her head burst open. The inside looked like a bag of soggy jelly. Not really what one would expect knowledge to look like.

Unfortunately, I couldn't just leave her there like that. What would people say? With all the mess, no doubt they'd cry murder.

So, I had to make sure she disappeared. I considered grabbing a book on magic, but then I came to my senses. Who has the time to read anymore?

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Joel

The work never stops; it just keeps piling up faster than ever. The snow has stopped, and the sky was clear, a little pale blue. It's rare that we get snow here in Texas, even in February, but this has been a strange year. Hot and cold. Hot and cold. Everything feels impossible to predict. The good news is the snow won't last long. It'll be sunny again tomorrow.

Good thing, because people keep dying, and they have to be put somewhere, which means work never stops. It's important to mourn and get on with things. The circle of life.

I spend the morning digging, not thinking about anything except the dirt and wetness under my fingernails. That and the fact that Gina's dad is now underfoot. It's like I can't shake him. He thinks he knows better than I do how to run the farm, how to work on my truck, just about anything. He knows it all. Suffice it to say, he and Mona, they've become pretty involved in our lives, and I married Gina, not her family.

Fortunately, I came up with a solution, renting the old Hugo place. Now, Gina's dad can be close, but not in my yard close.

Other than that, for the most part, I’m able to keep clear of him because I work all the time. Like now. I’m lost in thought when I look up to see a familiar face. I stop working for a moment to watch Martin from the feed store as he comes walking toward me. His hands are shoved in his pockets, his eyes look tired. The icy wind whips his white hair around his face.

“Howdy,” he calls, cupping his hand over his eyes. “Hadn't expected to see anyone else out in this weather.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m just about to wrap it up for the day.”

He reaches into his coat and pulls out a small bouquet of half-wilted flowers. It’s rare to see him out and about. I only ever see him in his store. He works about as much as I do.

“It's Mama's birthday,” he says. “Gotta pay my respects. Weather be damned.”

He looks around the graveyard. “Oh, and by the way, I saw that pretty wife of yours the other day.”

“Oh, yeah?”

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