Chapter 2 #3
“The Threshing Man comes during harvest season, which could be anywhere from late September through the first week of November in the worst years.” Hadley hated that she could recite the specifics of the old tale, as if she’d studied it in history class.
“Three weeks before the first frost, my grandmother used to say. He’s not interested in anyone after the killing freeze.
Once the corn comes down, he goes back to wherever he came from. Whatever that is.”
“The media basically chalked the Telforts up to using the legend for their crimes, proving that the Threshing Man doesn’t exist.”
“Their guilt doesn’t exonerate the Threshing Man, Julian. Just that the Telforts used it to their advantage. The stories have been around since the eighteen-hundreds.”
Hadley truly hadn’t expected the conversation to last this long. Julian was a city boy, born and raised. He didn’t understand small-town life.
“There’s a letter,” Hadley said, hoping the additional facts would explain the urban legend a little better.
“A Methodist minister in Cane County wrote a letter in eighteen-eighty-six to a colleague in Little Rock about a young woman in his congregation who had walked into a cornfield east of what’s now the Cox place and never came back.
He said it was the Threshing Man. He said it was the third missing girl he had known of in his ministry.
I read that letter in a county historical society photocopy when I was sixteen and trying to figure out what was real and what wasn’t. ”
“The eighteen-eighties,” Julian said rather slowly, especially for him.
“My grandmother used to tell me about a story her own grandmother told her,” Hadley shared, the memory vivid.
“Two girls, both eighteen, walked into a cornfield together one October night around 1910, outside a small farming community called Cane Springs that isn’t on the map anymore.
The girls walked in side by side, and only one of them came back out.
The one who came back was barefoot. Her shoes had been new the week before, and they were never found in the field, even though three dozen men searched the rows for days afterward.
She would not say what had happened to them.
She would not say what had happened to her friend, either.
She lived another sixty-one years, married a farmer’s son, raised five children, and went to her own grave without ever putting her feet into another pair of shoes.
Is there any truth to the tale? I don’t know, but my grandmother believed it.
My mother believed it. This entire town still believes it.
The eighteen-eighties Methodist letter wasn’t Emanuel Telfort, Julian.
The Threshing Man existed long before the Telforts ever settled in these parts. ”
Hadley forced herself to pick up the mug again.
“There you have it, Ramos.” Hadley reverted to his surname to lighten the mood.
“The bottom line is that these stories are older than dirt. Telfort was just the killer in our lifetime, and his son tried to carry on his horrific legacy. Whatever Rena is putting up over at the convenience store is something her grandmother taught her, and her grandmother’s grandmother taught her grandmother.
It’s a ritual. Habit. It’s how this part of the world handles the harvest.”
“Hadley, I’ve got to ask.” Julian rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uneasy after hearing such chilling tales. “You don’t believe in this urban legend, do you?”
“I believe what I solved last year,” Hadley reluctantly replied, giving him what he wanted with a small smile.
“You should know that the talismans are used for more than just the Threshing Man. Some of them are made to ward off tornadoes, and some are for trying to get their husbands to stop drinking.”
“Right.” Julian looked at her for a long second more, then let it go. He even forced a laugh, as if to chase away the tension in the air. “All right, then.”
She gave him another smile behind the rim of her mug.
“How’s the Langley case coming?” Julian asked, the segue smooth and pointed at once.
A part of Hadley wished that Julian had kept asking his question about the Threshing Man.
Anything was better than rehashing the investigation into former Police Chief Reed Langley.
The man Hadley had once been in love with, before she’d left town at eighteen and spent the next twelve years not speaking to him.
The man whose desk Julian was currently sitting at, who seemed completely oblivious to her irritation.
Or maybe he was perfectly aware of the discomfort it caused her, which was why he’d settled into the chair in the first place.
“Nowhere,” Hadley finally managed to reply.
“Nowhere?” Julian asked, frowning.
“There’s no physical evidence,” Hadley replied, tamping down her frustration.
“The truck burned hot enough to take everything that mattered. There were no usable prints in this office, because half the town had been in and out of here for weeks before he died. He went to meet someone that night, and that someone didn’t want him to walk away alive.
Well, they succeeded, and I’m at a loss as to why. ”
“Hadley,” Julian said quietly.
“What?”