Forbidden Ground. Karen Harper
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sawdust that circled a massive tree stump. With nearby bushes crushed and saplings snapped off, she could instantly tell where the massive, missing tree trunk had been felled and dragged away. The trunk Grant kept circling was so close to the edge of the mound that it seemed to be guarding it. And around him lay broken pieces of something built of wood, a deck, a railing, even a broken roof.
She gasped. “The tree with your tree house?”
He stopped and looked up, as if surprised to see her. He only nodded and turned away, but not before she saw he was in tears.
“Don’t come closer,” he told her. “I ran a ways on the path where they dragged it away—long gone. This is a crime scene, and I swear, I’m gonna get whoever did this if it’s the last thing I do.”
* * *
Kate stood her ground as Grant called his brother, who insisted he needed to stay at the mill. After Deputy Jace Miller, still in civilian clothes, arrived and looked everything over, Grant allowed Kate to get closer to the scene. He was still furious, spewing out broken threats while Jace followed the trail where the huge, delimbed tree trunk had been dragged, evidently by horses, to avoid making more noise than the chain saw already had.
Jace returned quickly and reported that the huge tree had been hauled away in a truck on the road back of the woodlot. There were obvious tire tracks he was going to make casts from. He also saw prints from another vehicle, which may have held the horse team. He headed back into the forest toward the road, leaving them alone again.
Kate wanted desperately to comfort Grant, but she knew to stand clear while he had smoke coming out his ears. “This is personal. This is someone after me, all I stand for and care for,” he said, finally muttering something that made sense to her. “That tree was special, the oldest, and obviously important with that tree house. It’s someone who knew me or of me, targeted me, knew I would be away for the wedding rehearsal.”
“But you’re not usually here during the day on a Friday, are you?”
He looked over at her. “No. True. I’m not thinking straight. You can come closer. I’ve pretty much checked the ground here, and they didn’t leave anything like a glove or tool to help identify them. There may be tire tracks on the road but only horseshoe prints here. The law has got to change to make this kind of tree killing a real criminal case with prison time. Right now it’s only a fourth-degree misdemeanor with fines three times the cost of the tree, but that’s not enough. This tree was priceless to me.”
As she came closer, shuffling through sawdust or stepping over the larger pieces of limbs and leaves, she tried to stop glancing at the Adena mound. She noticed that a huge branch must have fallen near the mound, crushing some scraggly, spiny hawthorn bushes. She joined Grant as he stared down at the newly cut trunk of the tree. The thieves had left about ten vertical inches of the massive, four-foot span.
“I’m guessing from the rings it is—was—about eighty-five years old,” he whispered, looking down at it. “It’s seen so much of my family’s life. It’s been like a guard standing watch over the mound. It’s beautiful wood.
“Bird’s-eye maple, rare and special,” he went on, reaching out to take her hand. He held it so tightly it almost hurt, but she was glad to be of help. “No two trees of that are alike. See the oval-shaped eye pattern? It’s valued not just for furniture but for crafting guitars and other musical instruments. Bird’s-eye can occur in a variety of maples and you can ID it because of the kind of Coke-bottle shapes on the bark, see?” he said, pointing low where the base of the trunk still clung to the ground.
She bent down then stooped as he did. She felt her stocking run up the back of her leg, but she’d probably snagged it on something. And what did that matter next to the loss of this beautiful living being, one that Grant had loved?
“How valuable?” she asked, thinking what treasures might be buried in that mound a mere twenty feet away.
“Going price right now if I had it at the mill—which I never would have, not this one—about $70,000 per thousand-board feet.”
He sighed and sank onto the trunk as if it was the perfect seat out here. It seemed quite smooth-cut to Kate, but then, what did she know about it?
“Don’t snag your dress,” he said and pulled her to half lean, half sit against his knee. “Brad’s taking his time at the mill, but Jace should be back soon, unless he found a trail to follow. I—I just can’t leave here right now. This was our special tree.... The tree house and so many great memories right in this spot....”
Kate sensed he was going to say something more, maybe something about the mound. His eyes glazed with tears again, but he blinked them back. She figured he did not realize she’d already seen him cry. She wanted so much to hug him, to comfort him, but she put her arm around his shoulders as if to steady herself.
He might not believe it, but she really did feel his agony. She knew the impact on him must hurt the way it would if she could enter that mound and found it completely defaced and emptied. Thank God the brunt of the massive fallen tree had not crushed the top of the mound. She’d known other mounds to cave in, but the top of this one looked rounded and intact.
They stood as Jace came tramping back through the forest yet again.
“A pretty clean, fast job, Grant,” he called out as he approached them.
“A personal attack,” Grant said, “so I’m taking it that way.”
As the two men walked the site together again and darkness fell completely, Kate, despite her good dress, walked around the edge of the mound then sat down on the slant of ground. She tried to be careful but snagged the hem of her skirt on a spiny hawthorn branch of one of the several trees. It was hard to tell, but they looked diseased, dying, and that couldn’t have been caused by being crushed a few hours ago.
Grant had suggested she go back to the house and he’d soon drive her home, but, like him, she stayed in the darkness lit only by Deputy Miller’s moving flashlight beam. It threw strange shadows, seemed to leap and dance. She, too, was mourning, listening to the men’s footsteps shuffling past the wooden tombstone of the tree. But she was thinking of the footfalls of ancient, grieving men and women who perhaps had passed this way to bury their precious dead with sacrificial grave offerings in this dark mound.
It was a perfect day for a wedding, Kate thought. Surely nothing else could go wrong. Losing her temper at Bright Star Monson, her father’s appearance after all these years and then the theft of Grant’s tree had thrown a pall over her mood. Yet today the stunning setting with the waterfall and surrounding forest helped. But did each big, beautiful tree remind Grant of his loss?
The artist, Paul Kettering, and Brad Mason served as ushers, seating everyone before the wedding party walked out from the lodge. Brad, whom Kate had met last night when he finally returned home, resembled Grant but seemed much more edgy, even bitter. Todd McCollum, Gabe and Grant’s friend and the lumber-mill foreman, was also in the wedding party, partnering Char.
To a single violin playing “Wedding March,” Kate started down the grassy aisle behind the flower girl and Char and ahead of Tess and their father. Standing with the pastor, the men in the wedding party waited before the small altar with its cross and big bouquet of yellow calla lilies. Kate saw Gabe looked nervous; when she got close to the front of the four rows of portable chairs with white covers, Grant winked at her.
It was crazy to feel that wink and look from him down to her toes. He had stopped ranting about the loss of his tree and the insult or threat he felt was meant for him, but she knew he still harbored deep anger. Yet he was determined to help make the day special for Gabe and Tess.
Kate held her own single calla lily and Tess’s bouquet while she and Gabe recited the vows they had written and exchanged rings. The old words to honor and cherish were still there. Kate had just learned this morning from Tess that Grant