32,400 ~ 34,400

“What?” Sam’s fork hit the plate loudly and she nearly fell off of her barstool. “She can’t be!”

“Yes, Darlin’, she can be. Whole town went to the funeral. I was there. You, Alice?”

“Yep. Nice service, too. Buried her out in the old family plot by the farm. They been burying Miller’s out there for generations,” Alice chimed in.

“How’d she die? Had she been sick?”

“Oh, I don’t reckon I remember. Think she’d just slowed down some and then she just stopped. Happens like that with old folk sometimes.”

Sam’s body language had changed and she was no longer enjoying her breakfast. So, Graysonville, Kentucky was the end of the line. It was completely unexpected. In the beginning, Sam entertained the thought that Ruth Ann could very well be dead. But then the leads started coming in one after the other and Sam began to assume that she was alive. This completely took the wind out of her sails.

“Where is that cemetery? Do you think I could go out there and pay my respects?” What Sam really wanted to do was get proof. Her mother would ask for it. Jean would never accept a “Ruth’s dead” from Sam and leave it at that. She would assume that Sam was lying to cut the search short. She’d want a death certificate or photo of the body, something. A picture of the headstone would have to do.

“It’s out there at the ol’e Miller place. I suppose you could go out there. Yes, what would be the harm?” Alice and Glenda looked at each other and smiled a knowing smile.

“Now, Darlin’,” Glenda said pointing at Sam’s iPhone laying on the counter, “your fancy-schmancy phone with it’s snazzy what do they call it? Geepus? Won’t help you out yonder. Alice, you’re better with directions than I am.”

Alice grabbed a napkin and snagged a pen out of Glenda’s apron pocket. On one side she drew a map with a few snaky lines and a couple X’s. On the other side, she wrote out driving instructions typical of a place with no street signs or stop lights. She tried to explain them as Sam read through them.

“If you get to Bobby Ray’s road side stand you’ve gone too far. You can get some really nice okra and turnips from him, though.”

Sam dug a small wad of cash out of her pocket and paid for her breakfast. She held the directions in her hand and said a cursory ‘Thank you’ to the ladies at the Dixie Diner.

Sam exited and the bells clanged behind her.

“You didn’t tell her about Sally Grace?”

“Nope,” Alice said as the two older woman exchanged a fist bump.

 

~

 

Sam sat in her car a moment before starting the engine. It was unbelievable. Ruth Ann Goldman Miller was dead. On the bright side, after a quick trip to the cemetery she’d be on the way back to Minnesota and everything that went with that. On the not so bright side, her adventure was almost over and she never got to meet the woman she’d been searching for. In truth, Sam was more disappointed than excited. The past few days had truly changed her opinion of her ‘wild goose chase’.

Sam eased down Main Street and turned left at the Baptist church. Four miles outside of town, she turned right at an old feed store, then a half mile later she went right at a fork in the road. Five miles later she turned left by a giant oak tree. The road Sam needed was just a bit farther down on the right and unpaved. As she turned down the road she saw a small black and white sign that said “Private Property”. According to Glenda and Alice, this was the place.

A white fence ran parallel to the road. Sam passed rolling farm lands and could see a large barn in the distance. Horses grazed and a jack ass stood guard. In the distance, Sam saw the house and knew that the turn for the cemetery would be just before the driveway.

Gravel crunched under the Xterra’s tires as Sam brought the SUV to a stop. She peered out the front window at the cemetery. A wrought iron fence surrounded the gravesite and it looked in surprisingly good repair. Sam wasn’t sure what she had expected. A broken gate, toppled headstones, and weeds? This was nothing like that. The grass had been mowed fairly recently and the gate barely squeeked when she eased it open.

Sam surveyed the cemetery. There were probably thirty headstones there, some looked quite old. If Ruth died just a decade ago, her stone would be one of the newer ones. Sam spied a likely candidate fifty yards or so away and took a step in that direction.

Sam heard the distinctive “Chic-chic” behind her, but it was too late. A shot gun blast rang out and echoed through the small valley. Sam stopped, nearly paralyzed. Kate scurried between Sam’s legs and cowered.

“This here’s private property!” a high-pitched yet gravelly voice called out.

Sam still didn’t move.

“City folk… Shi-it! I didn’t hit ya, did I? You can still move. I ain’t gonna shoot ya.”

Sam slowly turned. A woman stood near the Xterra. The shot gun lay in her suntanned arms. Her faded jeans were ripped at the knees and an old-looking peach colored tank top hung loosely from her shoulders. Her long brown hair blew in the breeze. She wasn’t pretty, but she might have once been. “Rode hard and put up wet” was the expression that came to Sam’s fear-addled mind.

“I… I…” Sam stammered.

“You what?!?” the woman said as she took a step closer.

“I, um… I’m looking for Ruth Miller.”

“She dead.”

Sam’s heart had slowed a bit and she was starting to think more clearly.

“Yes, ma’am. I know. That’s why I’m standing in a cemetery. The gals down at the Dixie Diner sent me.”

“Those old busy bodies. Can’t leave well enough alone, can they? Always gotta be talkin’ about somethin’ Why you lookin’ for ol’e Ruth?”

“She was a friend of my mom’s,”

“Friend of your mama’s, you don’t say? Ol’e girl could be a bitch. I guess she had friends, though.”

“Yeah, well my mom can be a bitch”, Sam laughed.

“Well, you come this far. You wanna see where she’s buried?”

The woman strode purposely toward Sam as she pointed.

“It’s over yonder there. I’ll show ya.”

The woman stopped in front of dark gray slate headstone. It was considerably bigger than most of the others. Ruth Miller must have meant something to this family. Sam read the inscription etched into the marble. It said, ‘Ruth M. Miller. December 24, 1907 - May 17, 2002. Wife and Mother’.

“Wait a minute!” Sam exclaimed. “This can’t be right.”

“What? That’s ol’e Ruth’s grave. Pretty sure it’s right.”

“No. The Ruth I’m looking for would have been born in 1942, not 1907.”

“Aww, hell. You ain’t looking for ol’e Ruth then. You’re looking for that dyke tramp that run off on my uncle.”

“Huh?”

“Yep. Was a time, there were two Ruth Miller’s livin’ out at the Farm. Ol’e Ruth, now that old lady was a bitch. My mee-maw, may she rest in peace. Then there was Ruth Ann. You city-folk don’t do too well out here in the sticks. I think she thought it was gonna be different, marrying an older man who had lots of money. Turns out, joke was on her.”

“I heard Ruth married one of her professors.”

“She sure did. Pretty young thing wasn’t but twenty-one, barely graduated. Uncle Jack, boy, he liked ‘em young. He was an English professor in Lexington, but they lived out here on the Farm. Well, she lived out here. He stayed most of the time in the city. Then one day, I hear tell it, she just ran off. Took their daughter and ne’er came back.”

“Ok, so let me catch up. The Ruth Miller I’m looking for is alive and she has a daughter. The daughter would be your… cousin?”

“Yep. J.J.’s what we called her. My family, my mama and daddy, we worked the horses and ran the Farm. Still do, well, I still do. I babysat for J.J. a’fore they left. Oh, they don’t call her J.J. anymore. Prolly too Southern for ‘em.”

The woman took a breath and continued.

“But as for Ruth bein’ alive, I wouldn’t know about that. I ain’t never saw her again. J.J., I mean ‘Jordana’, she came back for her daddy’s funeral a few years back. She a big time city girl now. College professor like her daddy, I reckon. Girl, could still ride, though.”

“I don’t supposed you’d have a number for J.J., Jordana?”

“Why I sure might. She gave me a business card back when she was down here, said if I ever needed anything to call her. She and me, we the only grandkids so this is our place.” The woman turned and waved her hands over the expanse of the property, the place she called the Farm.

“Come on back to the house. I know I got that number there some’ers”.

Sam fell into step next to the woman.

“You always shoot first and ask questions later,” Sam asked with a smile.

“Yep. Pretty much. I got some expensive horses and folks like to fuck with folks nowadays. A shot gun blast tell ‘em you mean business.”

“Well, shoot,” the woman said. “I ain’t even introduced myself proper. Sally Grace Miller, owner and proprietor of the Miller Horse Farm.”

She extended a tanned, calloused hand. Sam turned to shake it.

“Sam Stephens.”

They hiked up the hill to the house and Sally Grace threw open the front door.

“Come on in. Follow me.”

Sam trailed behind marveling at the interior of the house. There were antiques everywhere, but the house had clearly been updated and was well-cared for. Sally Grace led Sam to an office. A top of the line up-to-date computer and printer sat on an old rolltop desk and sideboard. To Sam, it seemed like everything in the office had a place and everything was in it’s place. It wasn’t at all what she expected given her host’s rough appearance.

“Let’s see. I moved most of Daddy’s old rolodex to computer files, but… Yes, here we go,” Sally Grace said as she rooted around in an old wooden filing cabinet. She pulled out an old burgundy day-planner and set it on the desk.

“This here thing used to be my life. Now,” Sally Grace said holding her smart phone, “this is. I switched to the Dark Side last year. Better late than ne’er, what I say.” She flipped through a few pages and found what she was looking for. She un-paper clipped a business card from the calendar and handed it to Sam.

“It’s been a couple years, but I’ma guessin’ she’s still there.”

Sam looked at the crisp white business card in her hand. Sure enough, Jordana J. Miller, PhD was a an Assistant Professor in the psychology department. The embossed blue and gold logo on the card said St. Oliver’s University.

Sam stopped and stared. St. Oliver’s was in Northfield, Minnesota, an hour from the Twin Cities, two hours from her mother’s house in Linstrom and two hours and five minutes from Malin.

“I guess I’m going back to Minnesota today after all,” Sam said with a laugh.