The Alpine Obituary (23 page)

April 1917

FRANK DAWSON PUMPED up the lantern next to the kitchen
table. It was after eight o’clock, and darkness had descended over Alpine.

“I think we should quit,” Tom Murphy announced, one
hand holding a deck of pinochle cards. “We’ve got to finish
planning for the annual community play.”

Frank glanced at his brother-in-law. Mary Dawson
looked at her sister, Kate Murphy. “Well?” Mary said, eyeing each of the men in turn. “Should we let John Barrymore
and Enrico Caruso off the hook?”

“No,” Kate retorted. “It’s early yet. We need one big hand
to beat the pants off these two. What’s the score? Eleven-hundred to their six-fifty? If we get the bid, we can trounce
them like our doughboys will rout the kaiser.”

Frank looked at his pocket watch. “All right. We’ll play
another hand.” He resumed his seat opposite Tom, who was
shuffling the cards.

“Say,” Frank said as Kate cut the deck for her husband,
“where are the boys?”

“At our house,” Kate replied, “with the big girls. Our
Monica’s in charge of the boys, Babe and Kate are watching
Frances and Tommy.”

Mary put a hand to her round belly. “It won’t be long before there’s another one to watch.” She glanced outside
where the mill lights shone on the piles of snow along the
railroad tracks. “It’s officially spring. Won’t this snow ever
melt?”

“It hasn’t snowed since before Billy’s birthday,” Kate
pointed out. “Who wants to bet a nickel that what’s left on
the ground will be gone by May first?”

“I’ll take that bet,” Frank replied, sorting his cards.
“Everybody gets so excited when the first snow comes. Well,
I hope they’ve all had enough of it by now.”

“You’ll complain when it gets too hot this summer,” Mary
shot back. “You should have stayed in England.”

“Seattle’s like England. It’s more temperate, with plenty
of nice rain,” Frank pointed out. He nodded at each of his in-laws. “These two are smart. They’re talking about moving
back to Seattle.”

Mary uttered a little snort, then looked across the table at
her sister. “You haven’t left yet, have you?”

“Not yet,” Kate answered in a noncommittal tone.

Mary gave Kate a worried look, then assessed the cards
in her hand. “I’ll open for two-ninety.”

“Three-hundred,” Frank said in an aggressive voice.

Kate smiled sweetly at her brother-in-law. “Pass.”

“Pass,” Tom echoed. “I can help you, partner.”

“No talking across the table,” Kate said severely.

Tom scowled at his wife. “What about feet? You kicked
Mary when you passed.”

“I was stretching my legs,” Kate replied with an innocent
look.

“Three-ten,” Mary said as the door opened.

The four pinochle players looked up. Monica Murphy,
Tom and Kate’s elder child, rushed over to her mother. “I
can’t find the boys,” she said, tears glistening in her eyes.
“Billy and Louie took Tommy and Frances down to the creek
almost an hour ago, but they’re not there now! We don’t
know where they went.”

Tom and Frank both rose from the table. Kate’s skin paled
as she put her cards down. “How could you lose sight of
them? You big girls know better than to let them run around
this late.”

Frank was lighting another lantern. “We’ll go look. They
can’t be far. The little ones should be in bed.” Tommy was the
Dawsons’ youngest son, having turned two in January;
Frances would be five in June. “Why didn’t you bring them
back over here?”

Monica’s pretty face was agonized. “Tommy wanted to
throw rocks in the creek. Frances said that if he could go, she
could, too.”

“Good Lord!” Mary closed her eyes, both hands on her
belly.

Frank and Tom didn’t bother to put on jackets but hurried
out of the house, heading for Icicle Creek. The face of Tonga
Ridge was clear-cut all around the town. There were no trees
on the hillside, only stumps. The children liked to play on the
opposite side of the tracks, near the bunkhouses. If necessary, searchers could be found among the single men who
resided there.

“What about Vincent?” Tom asked as they checked the
railroad signals, which were on amber for the passenger
train that was soon due to pass through town.

“I don’t know,” Frank replied. “I haven’t seen him since
supper. He doesn’t spend much time in the house now that
the weather’s warmer.”

Tom, whose Irish baritone had great carrying power,
shouted his son’s name. “Billy! Billy! Billy!”

Frank’s voice was not as musical, but almost as loud.
“Louie! Louie! Tommy!”

They heard nothing but the echo of their own voices,
bouncing off the mountains.

“Goddammit,” Frank breathed. “Where are those kids?”

Tom’s high forehead was creased with concern. “Monica
and your two girls should have gone with them.”

“You’re right,” Frank replied as they followed the creek
down past the railroad tracks. “They usually have better
sense.”

The men paused, shouting their sons’ names again. This
time a voice called back.

“Murph?”

Frank and Tom spotted the spare figure of a man coming
from the creek. He wore only a towel around his waist.

“Roscoe?” Tom said.

“It’s me,” Roscoe Moyer answered. “You looking for your
boys?”

Roscoe, one of the unmarried yard men, pointed at the
nearest bunkhouse. “I seen ’em about half an hour ago,
when I started out to take a wash in the creek. I was gonna
shoo ’em away, but hell, they was havin’ fun, so I just went
down the hill a piece.”

Frank felt the muscles in his body slacken a bit. “Did you
see them after that?”

Roscoe shook his head. “I heard ’em hollerin’, but they
stopped a few minutes later. I figured they’d run off home. It
was getting dark.”

“Are you sure,” Tom asked, “it was Billy and Louie and
Frank’s two little ones?”

“Oh, yeah,” Roscoe replied. “I know them kids sure as I
know myself. Billy’s tall for his age, and Louie’s kinda big
the other way. I don’t recollect the little ones’names. Sorry.”
He gave Frank an apologetic look. “I reckon they went off
with Jonas and Vincent.”

Frank practically pounced on Roscoe. “They were there,
too?”

Roscoe took a backward step. It didn’t pay to rile either
Frank or Tom. Besides, Frank was the mill’s slip man, and
Tom was the deck man. They deserved respect.

Roscoe gulped. “Jonas and Vince were comin’ to the creek when I was headin’down. I didn’t see none of ’em after that.
I was takin’ my wash.”

“Thanks, Roscoe.” Tom forced a smile. “See you tomorrow.”

Roscoe was hurrying back to the bunkhouse when Frank
grabbed Tom’s arm. “Should we get some of the men to help
us search?”

Tom considered. “Let’s give it another few minutes. Hell,
they can’t be far.” But the Irishman’s face was grim.

Frank started back up the hill. “Roscoe didn’t hear or see
them go by. Let’s follow the tracks.” He glanced at the sky.
The stars were coming out, billions of them, so close that
they seemed almost within reach. Frank silently cursed Vincent. The boy had been nothing but trouble since he’d come
to Alpine.

When they reached the tracks, Frank and Tom decided to
split up. They’d started in opposite directions when they
heard Kate calling to them.

“Have you found the boys yet?” she shouted, holding her
skirts high as she hurried downhill.

“No,” Tom shouted back. “Stay put.”

“I can’t,” Kate said, her face pale. “We have to flag the
westbound train when it comes through at ten to nine.
Mary’s in labor. We have to get her to the doctor in Sultan.”

Frank, who had waited by the semaphore, swore under his
breath.

Kate tapped the small silver watch pinned to the bodice of
her dress. “It’s eight-forty now. I’m going to help Mary down
to the platform.” She stared into the night and wrung her
hands. “Dear God, where can those boys be?”

“We’ll find them,” Tom said with more confidence than he
felt. He gave his wife a pat on the behind. “Go help Mary.”

Kate hesitated, then resumed the uphill climb. She
stopped once to look back. Darkness had brought the cold
night air down from the mountains. Billy had been wearing
only a light jacket. Kate avoided a snowbank and trudged
toward the Dawson house.

Frank moved briskly down the line, intermittently calling
Louie’s name. He had turned the first bend in the rails when
he saw the little group coming toward him. Louie, with
Frances in his arms. Billy, carrying Tommy.

“Thank God,” Frank said aloud. “Are you all right?” he
called to the children even as he heard Frances screaming at
the top of her little lungs.

“Yeah,” Louie panted as he reached his father. “Just kind
of . . . scared.”

“Of what?” Frank asked, staring at his youngest daughter’s red, blotchy face.

Frances reached out to her father. She stopped screaming
when he took her in his arms.

“Scary stu f,” Louie replied with a quick glance at Billy.

Frank studied Tommy, who seemed none the worse for the
adventure, though there were twigs and leaves in his Dutch
boy bob.

“Get down,” Tommy said, kicking at Billy. “I wanna get
down.”

Billy set Tommy on the ground but avoided his uncle’s
gaze. Frank decided to wait to interrogate the boys until they
got back to the house. Or to the platform. Wherever Mary
was by now.

As the little group approached, Frank saw Mary. She was
lying in a snowbank about twenty feet from the tracks. Kate
and her daughter, Monica, were trying to help her get up but
the task was made difficult by Mary’s bulky body, long full
skirt, two petticoats, and heavy wool coat.

Mary saw her children and began to laugh, almost hysterically. “Blessed be God,” she gasped, then doubled over
with pain.

“Where were they?” Kate demanded, her eyes glistening
with tears.

Frank shouted for Tom, who was no longer in sight.
“Dammit,” he said, “now somebody will have to go get him.”

“We will,” chorused his older daughters. Young Kate and
Babe had appeared from behind the social hall. “We’ll stay
together,” Babe assured her father. The two long-legged girls
started running down the tracks.

Frank had given Frances to his sister-in-law. It was a
struggle but he finally got Mary to her feet, just as the locomotive’s headlight glowed in the distance.

“Flag it!” Frank shouted.

“I already did!” Tom called back, running toward them
with the Dawson girls. Mary leaned against Frank taking
brief, shallow breaths. “Such a time,” she gasped. “Are the
children really all right?”

“They seem fine,” Frank replied as the train slouted to a
stop.

Kate hugged Billy, then Monica. “I have to go with Aunt
Mary to Sultan,” she said, picking up the leather suitcase
that had been packed the previous week. “Are you sure
you’re fine, Billy?”

“Yes, Mama. Honest.” But Billy’s glance at his mother
was quick, almost furtive.

By the time the train stopped, at least a dozen other Alpiners had gathered by the tracks.

“What’s going on?” Ruby Siegel called.

“The baby’s on its way,” Frank responded. “Mary and
Kate are going to Sultan.”

“Good luck, Mary!” Ruby and some of the others
shouted.

The two sisters were helped onto the train while the conductor discreetly engaged in some ribald repartee with the
men. Then, as everyone waved, the passenger train whistled
again and slowly began to pull away from the platform.

Frank heaved a big sigh. “It won’t take long to get to Sultan, thank God. Mary should be fine.” He looked at his eldest daughter. “Babe, take everybody up to the house. I want
Louie and Billy to stay here.”

“Yes, Papa,” Babe said. She picked up Tommy, who suddenly seemed very tired and willing to be carried. Kate
reached for Frances, who backed away.

“I’m walking,” she declared, her tears stopped and defiance in her eyes. “I’m not a baby, you big berry-head.”

“Then walk between us,” Kate snapped, grabbing one of
Frances’s arms while motioning at her cousin, Monica, to
take the other.