The House in the Apple Orchard

     The rain and wind had risen to a squall, beating against every part of the house. The roof, porch, and siding made drumming sounds. The slamming upstairs arose again. The bang! bang! bang! roared through the house as if all eleven doors slammed in turn. I stood and walked toward the light switch by the entrance.
     Just then, headlights streamed into the living room. Two beams crept onto the couch and up the wall. I peered through the window. A man in a hooded raincoat emerged from a Volvo parked in the front yard. He trotted onto the porch, and I turned on the porch and living room lights. The banging upstairs immediately stopped, and knocking on the front door started. When I opened the door, Cooper stood waiting in his raincoat, dripping wet.
He pushed inside, ignoring me and my open mouth. I stepped back. The dripping coat made a small puddle on the floor, but he just shook off more rainwater and threw back the hood. The crease between his brows looked deeper and longer than ever.
     “I had to fly my plane and drive in this weather,” he barked.
     “I didn’t know you were coming.” I felt stupid and didn’t know what else to say.
     “Was it you who burned the grass?” Cooper said.
     “Grass? That apple-stealing family’s pot, you mean? Yes, I thought it would cause problems if . . .” I stopped when rage flared in his otherwise indifferent eyes.
     “How . . . how could you!”
     I stepped back even further. Somebody probably saw the smoke and informed Cooper, but who?
     “It was my pot!” he shouted.
     “So did the family tell you?” I asked, not knowing where this question would take me.
     “Right,” he answered.
     “Then . . . why did you want me to get rid of them?”
     “They’ve been stealing my pot lately. They became lazy and useless. My customers are furious with them.”
     Now the picture took shape. Cooper wanted to remove the useless family of marijuana growers, and he wanted me to tend his house at least until the next harvest. That way if the police found out about the plants, it would appear to be my doing.
     A chill traveled down my spine. The reason the family hadn’t shot me with their AK-47s might have been because they’d sensed Cooper behind me. The only miscalculation Cooper made was in thinking I wasn’t dumb enough to destroy his valuable crop. He glared at me with fury in his eyes.
     “Hey, Cooper,” I said. “I can get better seeds for you.”
     Cooper’s eyes narrowed. “As I said, my customers are furious because of the reduced supply. I have to calm them down somehow. He pulled his right hand from his chest pocket. Something silver flashed—a gun!
     “You’ve got to be kidding!” I cried.
     His gray eyes widened, and he stared at something beyond my shoulders.      “A . . . d . . . dog. A dog just appeared . . . through the wall!”
     A growl arose behind me, and when I turned, the golden retriever lowered his head, his hackles up and fangs showing. His eyes had no color, no irises. They shone like two pale glass orbs.
     Bang! The slamming sound upstairs started again, followed by many more bangs. Cooper’s right hand trembled. “No . . . no . . . I’m not your enemy. Leave me alone.” His voice wobbled, and his eyes darted between the dog and the stairway. He inched his way back to the door and dashed out, trying to slam the door behind him. But the dog howled, ran past me, and threw himself toward the closing door, passing through like mist. In the stormy downpour, the charging animal jumped high, aiming at Cooper’s head. Cooper shrieked, ducked, and covered his face with both hands. His gun dropped onto the drenched lawn, and just when the dogs’ paws seemed about to claw his face, the retriever vanished.
     Cooper staggered to his Volvo and managed to scramble into the driver’s seat. With a squealing sound, the car made a U-turn and flew down the narrow dirt road, splashing water high on both sides. Astonished, I stood in the open doorway for a long time, the house now quiet.
                                                  ~
     The next morning, I sat on a stool at Tony’s having a biscuit and coffee. All my belongings, including Lucy in her kennel, were in my car. Poor Lucy was so scared, she had not come out from under the couch until the morning sun’s rays streaked into the house.
     “If you know what happened with that house, would you mind telling me the story?” I asked Tony, who was stirring a gravy pan behind the counter.
     “Didn’t you know anything before you moved in?”
     “No. I was just asked to fix up the house.”
     He glanced at me and nodded. “I usually don’t care about guys with long hair, but you seem to be a decent sort. I’ll tell you what happened. Tony poured himself a cup of coffee and began.
     “The house and land used to belong to the Muller family. They were good, hardworking Christians who grew tobacco, but like many other farmers in the mountains, they were land rich and money poor, especially since they had ten mouths to feed. The youngest was a five-year-old girl named Daisy. Their dog, Molly, was practically a nurse to Daisy.”
     “Was it a golden retriever?” I interrupted.
     “Yes.” Tony sighed and continued. “One year, we had a terrible drought, and the tobacco didn’t do good at all. Muller sold his property to somebody in Florida. The new owner planted an apple orchard and let the Mullers stay.”
     That new owner would have been Cooper, I realized.
     “Muller switched from tobacco to apples, and their life seemed to take an upturn. He said he had a good deal with the owner and could save a little money in the bank. Even when other apple farmers were struggling, they seemed to be better off. And people wondered what the magic was.”
     I snorted. I knew what the magic was.
     “One day near Christmas, they had a party at their home, and neighbors were invited. I was there too. It was off-season, and everyone was relaxing with abundant food and, God forbid, moonshine. The party went on late and loud with people drinking, dancing, and banjo playing. None of us noticed the smell of something burning, not even when Molly dashed down the stairs, barking wildly and pulling on Muller’s sleeve. Muller, tipsy as he was, staggered up the stairs to find Daisy covered in flames beside the potbelly stove. Muller screamed for help, and others brought buckets of water, but it was too late. The little girl was no more than a black, unrecognizable mass. Mrs. Muller had bought Daisy a fluffy polyester gown like a princess’s, and her girl stood a little too close to the stove. Later on people said Molly’s whiskers had all been burned off—she must have tried to drag Daisy away from danger but was driven back by the flames.”
     Tony took a sip of coffee and frowned. “After the fire,” he continued, “the Mullers moved somewhere far away. Molly disappeared too. Some people said the dog went with the family, but some said they saw the dog, still protecting the house. After the Mullers, riff-raff came and went.” Tony glanced at my ponytail. “No one stays more than six months. The apple crop is untended. Some folks say those stinkers are anti-Christian and doing immoral things.” His gaze snagged on my pierced ear for a moment. “But in the mountains, we try not to be nosy.”
     “When did the fire happen?”
     “About fifteen years ago.”
     I finished my own coffee in silence, thanked Tony, and bought a shiny toy necklace and a small doll in a pink dress displayed in a case by the counter.
Maybe Daisy and Molly decided to help me because I cleaned the house they were so attached to. Or because I felt for Daisy’s lonely soul. Or maybe because she resented Cooper, who had possibly changed the fate of her family. I’d probably never know.
     I drove back down the dirt road, still muddy with puddles. In the yard, the handgun lay soaked near the porch. I grabbed a rag from my glove compartment and took the cartridges out carefully, leaving no fingerprints. I hurled the gun and bullets in opposite directions, hoping no more bad things would happen to the little girl and her dear dog. On the front porch, I hung the necklace from the doorknob and placed the doll on the weathered planks beside the door frame. I wondered if Daisy’s family would come back someday.
     I was ready to go, but I had no destination. The safe thing would be to avoid Orlando, at least until Cooper calmed down. If he ever did.
“Shall we go?” I said to Lucy. She meowed happily. I started the engine and drove down the narrow dirt road, not knowing which way to turn when I reached the bottom.

End