Raintree

By Pamela Kessler

Lieutenant Commander Jonathan Raintree, retired Navy SEAL, is 75% Native American and a card-carrying member of the Choctaw Nation. He returned to Oklahoma to build his home and settle down with the woman of his dreams, but his plans are interrupted when he's falsely imprisoned for murder. A woman buys his house, not knowing that he was the architect and builder. A potential kidnapper lurks in the shadows, and Raintree works to keep her alive upon his release. The better he gets to know her, the more complicated their lives become. He must get back to his roots on the reservation to battle these forces and answer an unavoidable question: could he learn to live again in two cultures, one foot in his Choctaw heritage and one foot in the white man's world?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667855769

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Raintree

©2022, Pamela Kessler

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-1-66785-575-2

ISBN eBook: 978-1-66785-576-9

Contents

Prologue

THE LETTERS

Letter # 1

Letter #2

Letter #3

Letter #4

Letter #5

Letter #6

Letter #7

Letter #8

Letter #9

Letter #10

Coming Home

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Dedicated to my fabulous network of friends, who got me through the worst of times, and have celebrated with me the best of times, and have always had my back. There is nothing better than a friend, unless it’s a friend with chocolate.

Prologue

To the future inhabitants,

My name is Jonathan Raintree. During my years of existing in faraway places, I designed this house. Every detail was etched into my mind. When my travels were over, I purchased this land, and began building my house in 2012, with my own hands. It was a labor of love. My intention was to create a solid, quality home, and when I was finished, bring my bride, the love of my life, here to live and grow old with me. We would experience the harmony and joy of the ages, and what is left of goodness in this world.

Years of dreams, along with blood and sweat, are imbedded in every inch of these hand-hewn logs. The stones in this fireplace cried out to me from where they were seated, and I brought them here, to their new home. The woodwork was hand-planed, with love for the woman I haven’t met yet. My final days here, I have been compelled to leave my imprint in the carving above the door.

This is good land. The water from the well is pure. Trees will grow tall, gardens will flourish. Birds will sing their songs. God makes it rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.

My one mistake was that of all men. The future is not promised to us. I have to leave here tomorrow, and it is doubtful I will ever return. I leave this place of peace and love in your care. Respect this small piece of earth I am leaving to you. Heaven is under our feet, as well as over our heads. Be still and the earth will speak to you.

May you find peace and happiness here. JR

Part I:

THE LETTERS

Letter # 1

July 15, 2017

Dear Mr. Raintree,

I discovered your letter today when I was cleaning the fireplace. I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Rose, and I bought your house four-and-a-half months ago. I’m originally from Minnesota. I lived there all of my life, but when my husband died, I sold everything I had, and moved down here to Oklahoma. Over the years, we vacationed near Tulsa many times because of the people we knew and loved who lived here. We made more friends in the area, as the years went by, including Tommy and his mother, Ruth. We often stayed at The Lodge.

When I first moved here, Tommy, being the friend that he was, graciously offered me a room to live in at The Lodge. I always loved that place (the architecture, the grounds, the view, the antique furnishings, the state-of-the-art kitchen, the history, the view of the river from the bluffs). It was a little surreal. Me, the city girl, living in a hunting lodge that was on the register of historical places, surrounded by the constant comings and goings of people passing through, as they celebrated the special occasions in their lives.

I assimilated easily enough, and started pulling my weight by helping with the B&B part of the business, doing housekeeping and cooking. Ruth, as director of The Lodge, and also the event planner for that part of the business, was over almost every day. We became very close, all of us. I had a family again, and they were an integral part of my healing process. Eventually, I needed more space of my own, not just a bedroom with a bath down the hall. That’s when I started looking for a house in the general vicinity, and Tommy found me this one, much to the consternation of my brother (he totally expected me to come home after a couple of months).

When I saw the house, it was love at first sight. There was a feeling here. A calm, restful, secure feeling. By nature, I am more of a pragmatist and don’t operate on feelings. Tangible facts are more my style. But this house spoke to me, embraced me. I knew I was home.

The first thing I did when I moved in was start cleaning. I was told the house had been empty for close to three years. The small critters I expected to find in a house surrounded by woods and fields never appeared. You built your house tight. Because I came to Oklahoma with only two suitcases full of my clothes and a few small personal mementos, I had to start from scratch with the furnishings. For the first two weeks, I slept in the living room in a sleeping bag. Deliveries were fast and furious, as I spent evenings shopping online. It wasn’t long and UPS and Amazon had the codes to the security gate.

So far, I have found a sofa, a dining table and chairs, and everything for the guest bedroom. My brother, who is overly concerned about the life changes that I have made, frequently flies down to check on me (he and Tommy have become good friends). Thus, the immediate need for a functional guestroom (The Lodge isn’t always available with no notice). After a couple months of making dozens of trips into Tulsa, I found a shop that sells nothing but western lodge-style home décor and the most amazing collection of Native American art. Just what I was looking for. The proprietor and I have become friends, and I get a call whenever a new piece comes in that looks to be something of my liking.

The reason it took me so long to find your hiding place for your letter is most of my time during the first two months of my living here I spent outdoors. I have been a gardener most of my life, and I knew what I wanted to do with the side yard coming into the place. Since fruit trees take several years to bear, their planting couldn’t wait. Or rather, I couldn’t wait. Patience isn’t my strongest virtue. Also, because you only put up that big pole barn out back (I imagine that is where you lived while you were building), I needed a garage, something closer to the house. I decided I should get that done, or at least have the major portion of the building constructed, before I planted my little orchard, so all of the activity of big equipment wouldn’t damage the young trees.

You would like the garage. It blends in with its surroundings and is quite the complement to the house. I found a local contractor (well, not too local, he had just moved here a month before me, just long enough to obtain his licensure and settle in with his family). What we ended up building is a three-stall (he calls them bays), two-story garage with an upstairs apartment. It’s not finished yet, not even close. But the orchard is planted (I had to hire someone with a gas auger to drill the holes—the challenge of planting a tree in Oklahoma came as a bit of a shock to me), and the work has started on the driveway and parking area.

I hope you would approve of what I have done so far. We are approaching the busiest season at The Lodge, and I am needed over there. It just occurred to me that it’s possible you knew Tommy and Ruth. I’ll have to ask them about you tomorrow. Wherever you are, Mr. Raintree, I hope you are well and happy. I can’t imagine the circumstances that would cause you to leave this wonderful place. Especially when you obviously put your heart and soul into it. I’ll keep you updated on the goings-on around here. And I’ll say a prayer for your well-being.

Blessings to you,

Rose

Letter #2

August 15, 2017

Dear Jonathan Raintree,

It’s me again. I just thought I would let you know what’s been happening around here. I am making progress with furnishing the house. I now have two sofas in the living room, a well-supplied office upstairs where the dormers are, and a bedroom suite. When my friend called to tell me about it, and that it had a matching bathroom vanity, I couldn’t resist. Here is where the quandary comes in. I just have this strong feeling (there’s that word feeling again) that I want to be a purest, and not bring anyone else on board to work in your house. So, when my brother, Harry, was here, I had him help me remove the not-so-old vanity and help position the new one. I have to tell you, I know a whole lot more about home improvement and repair projects than Harry does. He’s quite a successful businessman, can crunch numbers like nobody’s business, and can sniff out a windfall investment every time. But the man doesn’t know which way to tighten a bolt. He does work out every day and has a strong back, so I guess that’s something. And he does follow orders, without grousing . . . very much. So, now there is a change in the master bath.

That brings me to the other change. Part of Harry’s empire includes a rather exclusive high-tech security business, encompassing everything from door locks to video monitoring to bodyguards. There was nothing I could do or say to dissuade him from installing the full-meal deal around here. And then he started in about a safe room. At first, I didn’t see the point because there is a full basement (with new locks on the doors), something most people in Oklahoma don’t have but comes in handy during tornado season, as you already know. But then he very graphically described how safe rooms have saved women who are on their own from kidnapping, rape, and murder. I bought his sales pitch, and we spent one weekend designing a safe room in the basement. Its construction is beyond my abilities. It will involve building a cement (excuse me, concrete, I haven’t mastered the lingo yet) block wall and installing a steel vault door. I worked at a bank at one point in my life, and I am picturing a bank vault in your basement. It’s not something I really want, but if it will prevent Harry from posting a guard outside the house, so be it. He is coming back in two weeks with a crew that has been thoroughly vetted by the BCA and FBI (eye roll here).

I had forgotten how hot August can be in this part of the country. Before I started looking for a house in the area, my friends in Catoosa, who also have a cabin at the family compound in Arkansas, told me about a small cottage across the holler (ravine? gully? again, I haven’t learned the lingo) from them that was going to be auctioned off. I bid what I thought was low (I’m used to Minnesota prices) and I was suddenly a property owner in Arkansas. I spent a couple weeks scrubbing, painting, papering, and furnishing the cottage. One of the neighbors’ sons was home from college and I hired him to reroof and make a few other repairs. The cottage is charming in its shabby chic décor. It’s totally different than anything I have ever pictured for myself. You would probably hate it. Flowers, ruffles, pastels, antiques. Very froo-froo. Joe, my friend from Catoosa, won’t even go inside. I think he’s afraid of actually liking something girly. I did have a point to this, before I digressed. Oh yes, it’s not far from Bull Shoals Lake, and a wonderful escape from the heat. Plus, all the folks out there are big on barbecue. Not the Minnesota gas-grill-type, but cooking over a real wood fire. It’s wonderful. And another plus, the ranch has cows and chickens. I don’t know about cows, but I want chickens.

I’ve been envisioning a larger piece of property and making it into a sort of hobby ranch. So that’s another thing that was happening, but turned into a non-event. Because Tommy was my connection to the holding company that sold me your house, I asked for Tommy’s assistance in contacting the owner of the property next door. I have never seen anyone come around; the land isn’t used for anything and is overgrown. I guess the owner also holds the deed behind me and over to the next house. That’s a lot of land. I thought for sure he would let me purchase a couple acres of adjoining property. Well, Tommy came back with the bad news. The evil land baron is not willing to part with his precious, unused land.

Meanwhile, the wildlife is driving me crazy. Herds (like hundreds) of deer run through here every night. They are going to wipe out my orchard, and when I get my gardens in, my vegetables won’t have a chance. Tommy says the only thing I can do is put up an eight-foot fence. So now I am trying to visualize how to blend an ugly fence into the terrain, so it doesn’t look like a prison yard. More on that to come, I’m sure. But you certainly must be able to sympathize with me on this subject. How on earth were you going to deal with the deer problem, along with the armadillo and skunk problem? Tommy goes out, every night he’s around, and joins other neighbors in a hunting party.

By the way, I asked Tommy about knowing you. At first, he was evasive; then when I pressed him, his back went up and he said to drop it and walked away. So, I asked Ruth. She said she wasn’t up to talking about it, and left with a tear in her eye. That just made me more curious. I searched online and found nothing under your name. Then I asked Harry if he could do a search. He has access to just about everything a civilian can get their hands on, and then some. He’s always pulling in favors from his government friends. Let’s just say Harry wasn’t helpful. Who are you, Jonathan Raintree? And why aren’t you here, in this beautiful house you built? Sometimes I think I can feel your presence here. I’ve gone over every square inch and touched every piece of this house. The craftsmanship and love put into it is apparent. I ran my fingers along the carving above the door. Looking for what, I don’t know. All I found was a single drop of dried blood and the tiniest sliver where your chisel slipped. You were in a hurry to finish the job. And why an eagle, with its wings spread? What is the significance? I’ve never seen an eagle around here.

Tonight, I am going to a fundraiser gala with some friends I made through a nonprofit I support. Colonel Richard McMasters, retired, and his wife, Catherine, are wealthy donors to many causes in the area, and charming people. They live near Broken Arrow, on a horse ranch, where they breed prize Arabians. Even though they are quite elderly, they get out frequently with the assistance of a butler/chauffeur/handyman named Al. Al will pick me up in a maroon limo at 6:30 p.m., to head into Tulsa (la dee da). This is the first time I have had the occasion to wear formal attire since I moved down here. When I lived in Minnesota, sometimes I would accompany Harry to these things. I prefer the more informal fundraising events that the St. Joseph Indian School in Chamberlain, South Dakota, holds. The children are charming and the pow-wows are so colorful and joyous. And I get to wear jeans and cowboy boots. I started supporting them over twenty years ago and got to be friends with Father Steve. Since I came to Oklahoma, I’ve lost touch, as I adjusted my focus to local causes. I did hear that Father Steve passed away from cancer.

I’m sorry this is so long, and probably boring to you. Talking to you helps me to sort things out. I’m sure there’s a name for the condition where people write to someone they don’t know, and then stuff the letter behind a rock that covers a hole in the face of a fireplace. I guess I’ve got that condition. Please be safe and well, Jon Raintree.

Prayers and blessings to you,

Rose

Letter #3

September 15, 2017

Dear Jon,

Where to begin? It’s been a crazy thirty days since last I wrote. I am now an investor (part-owner) of The Lodge. Tommy got in too deep with the upgrades to the property and repairs (maintaining a historical sight to certain specifications is horrendously expensive) and then one of his loans on the property came due. I had no idea he is such a bad money manager. He’s always so generous with everyone. On top of The Lodge being a money pit, the situation was a mess. So now I have an equal share with Tommy, and Ruth still has her 20 percent. Ruth has veto power if Tommy and I disagree on anything big. I am comfortable with that.

I’ve been spending more time in Tulsa lately. My friend Teri, who owns T.J.s Western Home Furnishings and Native Art over by Utica Square found me some great pieces for the apartment above the garage. She’s becoming a good friend and we’ve done lunch a couple times this month. The apartment is almost complete, and Harry thinks I should find a handyman-type person to live up there and charge cheap rent in exchange for twenty hours of work a week. Of course, Harry wants to find the right person, and I am suspicious that he will plant one of his guys up there. He’s already got cameras all over the place. I don’t need someone reporting back to him in addition to all of the surveillance. Sorry, I shouldn’t be complaining about Harry. His heart is solid gold, but a tad overprotective.

The driveway is finished. Hooray! For about a week, I had to park down at the end, next to the road, while the concrete cured. It’s a long way when you are walking. And even longer when you are dragging half a mile of hose around to water it down so the concrete doesn’t dry out too fast (I learned a few new things about construction). I chose to have a Dutch paver pattern imbedded in the concrete. It looks really neat with the log house. The fence is also up. The worst part of that was clearing the brush along the fence line. Isabel’s (Izzie’s) husband is a landscape guy (maybe you don’t know who I’m talking about. They live about half a mile away, around the corner. She does part-time work at The Lodge.) Anyway, the husband, Frank, cleared the brush and is going to work for me one day a week, doing grounds maintenance. He has some fancy equipment that makes the job a lot easier. Their son, Mateo, was still home (his college classes don’t start for two more weeks) and he helped with the brush. I decided to plant Red Buds and Dogwoods along the fence. When the auger guy was making fence post holes, I had him do extra holes to accommodate the new trees.

Because Izzie is working at The Lodge now, that frees up more of my time, and I am taking over a new duty. Ruth is slowing down a bit, and she needs some down time (in other words, an afternoon nap). I will be showing The Lodge to prospective event clients. Once I get them booked, Ruth will continue to coordinate with other vendors to orchestrate the event. I still have a lot to learn from her.

I went on a daytrip yesterday, with Richard and Catherine, to St. Caroline’s Indian School near Durant. We are organizing a project to build a playground for the kids, and also put an addition on the senior center. We have found the Padre very enjoyable to work with and the children are beginning to know us a little. I’m so glad I found this place. Father Steven, from St. Joseph’s Indian School, recommended that I get in touch with Father Carlos when he heard I was going to be relocating. My understanding is that Father Carlos did an internship at St. Joseph’s some years ago. The McMaster Foundation and the Star of the North Foundation have a good working relationship, and think we can do a lot for St. Caroline’s.

And now I should probably tell you about Star of the North, how I am able to invest in The Lodge, and my relationship with Harry. It’s quite a story that few people know about, and I want to keep it that way. A year before my husband died, I was driving down a street, about three miles from my neighborhood, when I saw a man writhing on the sidewalk. I stopped to help, called 911, and administered CPR until the medics arrived. The man was Harry’s, and his brother Kevin’s, father, Robert, and he was having a heart attack. The three of them believe that I saved Robert’s life. They gifted me a huge sum of money (which I tried to refuse, without success) and we all became close friends. Harry gave us some good investment advice and we made a small fortune within a year. Also, my husband bought an expensive no-rider insurance policy (he was already developing cancer at the time), and when he died, I collected another tidy sum, which Harry also invested for me. In the meantime, Robert had another heart attack while sitting in his chair at home, and passed away alone, by himself. I was mentioned in his will, along with his two sons.

I went from middle-class to filthy rich in two years. But I also went from a happy fulfilling life with a wonderful husband to being alone and lost. Harry tried to fill the gap by keeping me involved in his life, but his on-again, off-again girlfriend wasn’t crazy about our strictly platonic relationship. Harry started traveling for business, almost constantly. And there wasn’t anything to keep me in Minnesota. All the friends in Oklahoma were very supportive of my idea to move, and it didn’t break my heart to get away from the Minnesota winters. When Harry learned of my plan to sell everything and relocate, he wasn’t happy. He went on and on about how we would gradually become strangers with nothing to bind us together. Then he came up with this wild idea, which I finally came around to. We could legally adopt each other and become brother and sister. We saw a family law attorney, had the papers drawn up, and appeared before a judge in family court. Harry and I aren’t joined by blood, but we are legally brother and sister. Kevin still isn’t keen on the idea, but he tolerates the situation, as does Harry’s girlfriend.

Right after my husband died, I established the Star of the North Charitable Foundation. By law, the foundation must have a minimum of three members on the board of directors, so Harry is one and an attorney is one, and then there is me. When I moved to Oklahoma, I transferred the charter and established an office in downtown Tulsa. It’s also the office of the attorney on the board. And just for good measure, because he always has to have his fingers in the pie, Harry also shares the office when he’s in town. We employ one office manager that the three of us share. The Foundation is funded by both Harry’s and my money. There are no other donors, so we have complete say in where the money goes and how we evaluate how it is used. We handpick our recipients. There are no requests for proposals. It takes time and research work to determine the needs that are out there and how best the funds can be used for maximum results. My home office is working out perfectly for that.

It’s actually always been my dream job, to be the executive director of a charitable foundation. And I’m loving it. I think it’s a satisfying endeavor for Harry also.

When you hear from me next, I can tell you how Tommy’s annual reunion with his buddies went. I still don’t understand all of the relationships. I’ve only met five of the ten that are invited. Last year, the group was smaller. This year he is expecting nine, plus seven wives. I’ve been asked to prepare some of the food. Tommy has favorites he wants to serve, and fortunately the favorites are from the dinners I have prepared for him on our regular Thursday night dinner at Rose’s. Last year the guys kept calling me Miss Caterer and they really liked the food I did. I even got marriage proposals from the two single guys. When I make my appearance, things get quiet and everything is hush-hush. I’m hoping to figure out what this is all about. The meeting of the Secret Order of Armadillos, or what? Take care, Jon. I hope you are safe and well. But I’m having one of those feelings again. I’m going to say a fervent prayer for you

God bless,

Rose

Letter #4

October 15, 2017

Dear Jon,

The safe room is done. What a mess that made, but at least the back door leading directly downstairs helped. Your house design is perfection (at least, for me). And then I added to the mess by asking the workers to do a couple more things while they were here. I had them put up walls to make a workout room (I know that seems self-indulgent, but so often it’s just too hot out for this northern Rose to make her daily run, or even the walk, up the road to The Lodge and back) and complete the bathroom that you had roughed in (it’s very basic, white fixtures and shower, but handy after a workout and easy to keep clean). Also, there is now a cedar closet under the stairs and a pantry/storage room with shelves, two closets, and more shelves (I grew up in a house with one closet, so I have a closet/storage fetish). I still need to do some painting, and I’m waiting for the mirrors to be delivered for my little gym. And of course, Harry wants to add his contribution—more security sensors. While he’s at it, I am going to have him mount a flat screen up in the corner of the workout room with stereo speakers.

The garage is the same story. I’m waiting for a delivery so a wall of storage units and a workbench can be installed. Then I will be ready to consider a tenant. Two weeks ago, I picked up the dining chairs, for the apartment, that I ordered from TJ. On the way home, there was a bad accident on 44 and the entire highway was shut down. I must have missed a turn for the diverted traffic because I got lost. It was one of those fortuitist things, since I came across a moving sale in a rural area. This lovely couple, who had fallen on hard times, was preparing to move. The husband was an artist, supplementing their small ranch income by driving an eighteen-wheeler cross-country. The wife kept the home fires burning and tended the livestock. But they just couldn’t make it, so they were selling whatever they considered extra baggage, and also their two quarter horses. I bought them (the horses) and hired a trailer to pick them up and take them to Richard and Catherine’s. They were happy to agree to the delivery. I didn’t tell them the horses weren’t the same as their beloved Arabians. More about that later.

As I was leaving, an oil painting caught my eye. Actually, I was mesmerized by it. At first, the artist said it wasn’t for sale, but when I offered him a fair sum, his wife encouraged him to take it, and I left with the portrait and less money in my checking account. (Afterwards, I wished I hadn’t left the pay to the order line blank on the check—I didn’t get their names). The painting is hanging in my office, although I may have to move it. My eyes are constantly drawn to it and I find myself staring for long periods of time, neglecting my work. I feel like I have seen this person before, but I can’t put my finger on it. The next day, I drove for hours, looking for the little ranch, intending on finding out who the model was for the portrait. When I finally found the place, the couple was gone and the property was deserted. The painting is signed, but I can’t make out what it says. I thought of asking Harry or Tommy what they think, but for some reason I can’t bear to share it with anyone. In fact, I’ve taken to locking the office door.

I’ve been to Broken Arrow twice to see the horses. Catherine loves them. Richard, not so much. He has never been a horse person, but has always provided his wife with a home that is fitting for her beloved Arabians. He fell in love with Catherine when he saw how graceful she was riding the regal animal. He will always see her that way. Not that she isn’t beautiful now. You would never know she is seventy-nine years old. But her riding days are over. She is fragile and knows a fall would be catastrophic. It was a whim to buy the horses, but I’m glad I did. They have an excellent home, and they are both gentle creatures. I haven’t ridden a horse in twenty years, but Richard’s stable hand is going to give me a couple of lessons. I’m afraid it will take more than a couple. Harry is an experienced rider and is anxious to see my new acquisitions.

Tommy’s reunion lasted three days. The Lodge was overflowing. I got introduced to everyone who was there, since I delivered food every day. On Wednesday, first came Rick, a single man on a motorcycle from Arkansas. He’s fifty years old and is a race car driver (and I think he has a serious drinking problem). I met him in January when he was here for the Chili Bowl midget car races in Tulsa. That’s a big thing for Tommy. He sponsors one of the cars. Then there was Kevin, also fifty and from Arkansas. He too arrived via motorcycle, is single, and coaches at a high school. Next to arrive, as part of the Arkansas caravan, were Bobby and Teri, ages fifty-two and fifty respectively, who drove an RV (bear with me on the ages, there’s a reason I am mentioning them). They are both teachers. Then, to my surprise, a big rig pulled in with Steve (fifty-one) and Marcia (forty-five) who still live in Oklahoma. She’s sharing the driving with him as he’s driving cross-country now. And he is my artist. I asked who the subject of the painting was and he refused to say. In fact, I got the distinct impression he regrets I have the portrait, and did his best not to let the others hear our conversation. I cornered his wife and asked her, and she was also tight-lipped on the subject. Then Zach (fifty-two) drove down from Missouri. He operates a resort on some lake, I can’t recall.

The next day, Matt (fifty-two) and Barb (forty) flew in from Wisconsin. He is a tech troubleshooter and she is a web designer. Jason (fifty-three) and Sandra (forty-eight) also flew in, but they were from Washington state, where they own a restaurant. Before any of this, there was an earlier arrival on Tuesday. They flew in from New York. Luther (fifty-two) and his daughter, Jenny (twenty-five). He is a travel/lifestyle writer and she is a physical therapist/trainer. Luther is blind, but navigates very well, and has a quick wit and droll sense of humor. Jenny is a wild handful, but loves her father and makes sure he has all the accommodations he needs to safely get along. You can tell she is spoiled rotten. They stayed as Ruth’s house guests, since it is easier to negotiate without stairs to deal with. And it appeared that she knows both of them very well. Plus, The Lodge was going to be quite full, even with Bobby and Teri staying in their RV. On Thursday, there was a conference call that came in with Johnny and Loren from Georgia, and Doug from California. It turned out to be a large gathering of, what I determined are, devoted friends. And again, I got no information out of anyone, that would give me a clue as to what it was all about. Not even from Jenny. What I did find notable was that all the guys were approximately the same age. When I saw the artist in the group, I thought maybe the portrait model could be one of the others in the group. But on comparing the picture in my mind, even for allowing some aging, I found no resemblance. So, it’s still an unsolved mystery and I’m being obsessive about it. The thing that gets me the most is that Tommy and I are such good friends (we’ve known each other for years and years), but he is keeping something from me. Something big (at least in my mind).

The next event on the agenda is Tommy and Ruth’s Halloween extravaganza. Last year was a blast. Close to 200 people. Next week, I’ll start decorating with Ruth. Tommy has hired a food truck to make corn dogs, mini donuts, cotton candy, and ice cream cones (no food for me to make—yay!). There’s going to be two bands and a bouncy house for the kids. Guests are encouraged to bring treats so the kids can do trunk or treat in the parking lot. I hadn’t heard of that before (not having kids and all), but I guess it’s a thing these days. Tomorrow, Frank will take me in his truck, towing his utility trailer behind, to pick up dozens of pumpkins and a load of hay bales. One of the local farmers is bringing over some corn stalks. I think Ruth has as many boxes of Halloween decorations as she has Christmas ornaments. I haven’t settled on my costume yet. I’m thinking maybe Wonder Woman. I’ve always wanted to be her, and if I don’t do it soon, I’ll miss the boat. Gravity is starting to take over. I’m going to be forty-five. Maybe I’ve already missed the boat. Anyway, the Lasso of Truth might come in handy. Maybe I can get Tommy to reveal the big secret.

Fall is my favorite time of year, and our porch is already decked out with mums, pumpkins, corn stalks, and a huge wreath of fall leaves and gourds. So is the front of the garage. I suppose it’s silly, because no one else can see it; the view of the house is completely shielded from the road. But I like seeing all the decorations. It puts me in the mood for hot mulled cider and homemade donuts. In Minnesota, it would hit the spot. In this eighty-degree weather, maybe iced tea would be more appropriate. I haven’t told you how much I am enjoying this house. It is truly home to me now. Even though it’s just me here, I am not lonely and I am never fearful, even on the darkest night. Thank you for taking such care in creating this. I feel like part of you is still here with me.

I hope you are doing well, Jon. It’s been a month, and I’ve still got that feeling something isn’t right. Please be careful and watch your back. I continue to pray for you. Take care.

May our merciful God watch over you,

Rose

Letter #5

November 15, 2017

Dear Jon,

I’ve been reflecting on how my life has changed. When I moved to Oklahoma, I thought my days would be uneventful and rather mundane. Weeks of sitting inside, hiding from the heat during the summer, and doing a little entertaining in the winter. Maybe working at an indoors job, doing some volunteering, and occasionally visiting friends. I didn’t have a lot of enthusiasm for life left in me (I don’t think anyone realized that, so don’t tell anyone). I thought all the good times were over for me. That changed the day I arrived at Joe and Barb’s, and saw all the things they were involved in. I’ve never looked back. When would I find the time? LOL.

The Halloween Party at The Lodge started out every bit as fun as it was last year.

And crowded. People parked halfway down the road, from The Lodge to my house (that’s an exaggeration, but there must have been forty to fifty vehicles). Plus, I had arranged for a busload of the children from St. Caroline’s to attend for a short while and participate in the trunk or treat. We also did a food drive for the senior center and collected over 800 pounds of canned goods and other staples. The kids had some very original costumes, to say the least. Their concepts of princesses and pirates had a Native flair. And, as usual, they were just charming. Carlos accompanied the children, and many of the other guests thought he was just dressed like a priest for Halloween. I’m afraid he received a few irreverent comments. And speaking of irreverent, it turns out Father Carlos isn’t an ordained priest. He is a lay brother. It seems there is a shortage of priests, especially ones willing to work on the reservations, so Carlos has assumed the duties at St. Caroline’s that Father Steven had at St. Joseph’s (except for administering the sacraments. A traveling priest stops in for that). The reason I know all this is because the last time I visited St. Caroline’s in my Star of the North capacity, Father Carlos asked me out (eyebrows raised here). He’s nice enough and interesting. But really? I declined.

I chickened out on dressing like Wonder Woman and went with the traditional witch. Izzie helped me do the makeup, green skin, fake nose, warts and all. When I arrived, Ruth didn’t even recognize me. The kids thought it was hilarious. The boys especially were impressed with the hairy wart on my protruding chin.

It was a warm, clear night, so after the bus left with St. Caroline’s students, and also most of the local kids went on their way, the music got wilder and louder, and so did the crowd. Usually, The Lodge events are controlled and at least borderline dignified. This time, it got a little out of hand. There were a lot of adult beverages brought in from outside, and more than a few people got in that were uninvited. And the party took a turn. I didn’t see how it started, but all of a sudden, the good time turned into a brawl. Ruth and several of the other women herded the few children that were still there, and most of the other women, into The Lodge. There was a man dressed like Iron Man that I thought came with the school bus when it first arrived. Evidently, I was incorrect or he decided not to return on the bus. He seemed to take charge, organized a, for lack of a better word, posse of men, and they surrounded the rabble-rousers, and basically forced them to move out to the end of the driveway and up the road, to be met by the local deputy sheriff’s vehicle. The good guys never threw a punch, and the bad guys were taken away in sheriff’s vehicles, I imagine to sober up or find a sober ride home. We had a little debriefing, conference call with Harry the next day. Harry insists that any more