Portlandtown: A Tale of the Oregon Wyldes Read Online Free Page A

anything interesting?”
    “There’s a very nice saddle, but I assume that’s going to stay.”
    “It is.”
    “Everything else is old, broken, or both,” Maddie said, flipping open a large chest. “It’s too bad these dresses weren’t stored better, because some of them are very pretty.” Maddie held up a long yellow dress. The color was still vibrant, but the edges were frayed and the fringe had been eaten away.
    “Those must have belonged to Martha,” Joseph said.
    “I thought so.”
    The twins had never met their grandmother. Joseph had known the marshal’s wife only briefly before she died, and at the time he was not the kind of man most mothers sought for their daughters. Still, she’d treated him fairly, some might say generously. Joseph hoped he’d paid her back in kind.
    “How about you,” Joseph said, turning to look directly at a stack of boxes. Kick popped up from his hiding spot, a mischievous grin on his face.
    “I found some more leaks. Oh, and this…” Kick picked up a small wooden box about eighteen inches wide and twelve inches deep. The top had decorative vines carved around the edges with a rose in the center.
    “What is it?” Joseph asked.
    “It’s a box.”
    “Yes, I mean what’s inside it?”
    “Oh,” Kick said. He flipped open the lid, revealing a cloth-covered interior but nothing else. “It’s empty.”
    “Bring it here.”
    Kick stepped over the clutter and passed the box to his father. It was heavy, probably too heavy for an empty box. Joseph ran his fingers across the lid, letting the carvings tell their story. He’d never encountered the box before, but knew right away that the marshal had made it. He recognized the cuts in the wood as coming from the same hand as had made the mirror frame hanging above Kate’s dresser. Joseph raised the lid. Most of the aromatic information stored within had been released the first time Kick opened the box, but Joseph could still pick out a single, earthy scent beneath the musty wood, and maybe one more—the ocean.
    “See? Empty,” said Kick. “If the marshal doesn’t want it, can I have it?”
    Joseph closed the lid and handed the box back to his son.
    “Ask him.”
    *   *   *
    The marshal stared at the box in his lap. He didn’t have to open it to know what was inside.
    “I’m sorry, Kick, but I can’t let you have this. Belonged to your grandmother, and I think your ma might want it.”
    “Oh.”
    “She used to keep seashells in it. I don’t know what happened to them.”
    Kick’s eyes lit up. “I do! There’s a pile of shells up in the attic.”
    “Well, why don’t you go collect ’em. If you see one you like, keep it. Maddie, too.”
    “Thanks, Gran’pa,” Kick said, and darted back up the stairs.
    The marshal turned his attention back to the box. He opened the lid and ran a hand along the cloth until he felt it give a little. There he pushed down, releasing the hidden latch that held the false bottom in place. The second lid lifted slightly, revealing a dark compartment. The marshal knew what lay inside. He hadn’t forgotten.
    The marshal pressed the bottom back into place and closed the lid. He then unspooled the belt from his waist and wrapped it around the box, securing it tightly. It would come with him to Portland and he would never open it again.
    *   *   *
    Charlie arrived just before one o’clock with a horse-drawn cart and a basket of biscuits from which everyone sampled, but no one returned for seconds. They loaded up a half-dozen boxes and the saddle the marshal had refused to leave behind despite Joseph’s protests. The Wyldes didn’t have a horse, but the marshal felt that was a poor argument against owning a quality saddle.
    A few neighbors stopped by to wish the marshal well, none of whom mentioned the business in the graveyard. Walter Peterson even returned the shovel and ax, which Joseph placed in the shed without comment.
    An hour later, the marshal stood at the rail