Lisa's Way

  She needed to take only a few glances near the river to see what that problem was. Folks had put up a dike to hold back a flood, but at its tallest, it was no higher than her knees. Worse, the height and the width varied from field to field.

  Satisfied with her inspection, Lisa went to her room at the village inn. There would be a meeting with the farmers that night on their situation. She spent the rest of the daylight hours deciding what to say at the meeting. She had a pretty good idea of the mechanics of solving the physical problems. She consulted her notebook to be certain. Once sure of herself, she turned to the problem of persuading the farmers to work together to implement the solutions. She ran through a few approaches, reread her notebook, then ran through a few more. She wrote out what she thought was best, ate an uneasy dinner, then went to the meeting.

  “Thanks for coming and hearing what I have to say,” she began once the meeting was formally underway. “I want you all to remember that I’m making suggestions, not giving orders. I do have some experience with farming. My father traded seeds and crops, and we’ve got plenty of farms on Fairfield. Please don’t dismiss me because I don’t live here.”

  There were mutters of agreement. Lisa got to the heart of her address. “I see two basic problems with your fields. First, the fields aren’t well enough protected from floods. Second, your crops aren’t in the best shape. As it happens, the two are actually related in some ways.”

  “How so?” one of the farmers asked.

  “When a river floods, the water that goes over its banks picks up things.” She illustrated her point with gestures. “Soil, for instance. It picks up the soil and carries it downstream. If your soil is good and rich, it won’t all get carried away. If it’s poor, or dry, it can’t help but be carried off.

  “What’s happening to you is that some of your soil is getting carried away, and some of it is getting pushed into the dike. You need to build your dike higher, say, about waist-high on me, if that’s as high as the water usually gets.”

  “Each man’s responsible for his part,” another farmer said. “Is someone not carrying his share?”

  Lisa shook her head. “No, not at all. The problem is just that: each man is responsible. You can’t have a dike built piece by piece. That’s why the height is so uneven. Some places its stronger than others. Those weak spots can create gaps that can wash away the soil over all the fields.”

  “I knew it,” a third man said, “I knew Carl wasn’t doing his share.”

  Discontent bubbled up. Before it came close to boiling Lisa shouted to the assembly. “Hey! I don’t want to hear any talk like that!” She waited the mutterings to ebb. “These problems aren’t any one man’s fault. They’re problems that you all share the blame for. But they’re also problems that you can all solve. Can I continue?

  “Good. You all need to work together to build a single, solid dike at least half my height. Taller, if you have enough material. It won’t protect the fields from every flood. What it will do keep you from losing so much soil. Before I get too much into that subject, let me tell you what to do about getting better crops. You see, you’re losing soil because you aren’t applying crop rotation.”

  “Crop rotation? That mean we gotta turn our seeds around?” The room erupted in laughter.

  Lisa smiled at the joke, then shook her head. “Nothing so simple, I’m afraid. No, crop rotation is a technique for keeping soil from losing its nutrients. Y’know, the stuff in the soil that plants need for food. Think of it this way: there’s only so much ’plant food’ in the soil, and once the plants have eaten it, it’s gone. I could go into details, but you’d probably get bored.

  “When you rotate your crops, you plant a different crop in a field each growing season. Not all plants need the same nutrients, and some plants even replace nutrients. This is how we keep our fields fertile back home. Oh, if you’re growing different crops, people will eat better. It’s better for our bodies to eat more than the same meat and the same bread all the time. And some crops, while they might not make good food for people, do make good animal feed.”

  “I think I read that once, at the library in Great Junction,” the second man said.

  “So what’s she’s saying makes sense?” another man asked.

  “Pretty much.”

  “So who gets to grow what?”

  There’s the rub. “There has to be a plan that you all take part in, and you each help to enforce. I know that, from year to year, some of you won’t make as much as the others.”

  “What if some of us choose not to follow your plan?”

  Not all the farmers liked hearing that question, and made their unhappiness loud and clear. Lisa waved at the men and said, “Quiet, quiet.” She turned to look at the man who had spoken. “If you choose not to follow the plan, you’ll end up hurting yourself. Besides, don’t you think that if your field turns bad, that won’t affect the fields around yours?”

  The crowd mumbled in support. One man asked, “If you’ll help us figure out a plan, will you make us follow it?”

  “I’ll help you get started, but you have to rely on each other. You could ask the Council to pass a law, but it still depends on you.

  “Look, if you don’t work together, sooner or later those fields won’t even grow weeds. Then what will you do? Set up new fields, and keep making the same mistakes? Think about it. I’m just one young woman. I can’t beat you into submission. I can’t make you do what’s right. If you don’t make some changes things will get worse. You’ll grow less and less. You won’t be able to sell what little you do grow. You won’t be able to buy or barter for what you need.”

  Lisa sensed the mood in the audience changing. More and more of the farmers seemed to grasp the logic in her argument. She decided that the time was right to either force agreement or give up.

  “I’ll tell you what. If all of you will agree to try what I’m asking you to do, I’ll help you get started. I’ll help pay for the seeds myself, where ever we can find them. I’ll even help you start up a farmers’ association, so you can police yourselves.”

  “And if we don’t agree?”

  “That’s it. I’ll go back to Great Junction first thing tomorrow. Heck, I’ll even go back to Fairfield and marry the first single man I run into.” Several of the men snickered. Others shook their heads. Lisa then said, “Well, maybe not the first single man.”

  She took a breath to let the laughter die down. “I’m here because you let me come here and help you could solve your problems. I think my suggestions are the best. I also think that if I make your lives better, maybe you can make other peoples’ lives better. I mean, it’s like the Savage Rain. We don’t help each other, and next thing you know, we’re trying to hurt each other. So, either we do this together, or it doesn’t get done.” She shrugged, and waited.

  The men started to exchange glances. Some nodded. Others began to say “Yeah” and “Why not.” One man spoke up. “The girl’s probably read more books than all of us combined. I think she knows what she’s talking about.”

  “If she was lying,” another said, “she’d be asking us for a share of our fields, or to put her in charge. Advice for just room and board ain’t exactly a con job.”

  “Some of us have been saying we ought to work together for awhile now,” someone else said. “I think she’s right, that if we don’t work this out we’ll all go hungry.”

  More men agreed. Lisa asked for a show of hands. All went up, though some with less enthusiasm than others. With that support behind her, she went over the details of her solutions. Building up the dike wouldn’t take much more than hard work, but crop rotation was tougher. It took time to get the men to agree on a plan. Once that was done, Lisa discovered that not all the seeds were available in town, or in Great Junction. She knew that some were in storage in two villages on Fairfield. She asked three men to go with her to acquire the seeds.

  Six days later Lisa and the men returned to Pueblo. Once again the town wa
s talking. This time, though, it wasn’t about farming or a visitor from another world. The night before one of the important merchants in town had been murdered, a suspect was in custody, and punishment was expected.

  CHAPTER 5

  A waspish mob was buzzing in the cramped main hall of the Pueblo community building. “We want justice!” a sharp voice cried out. Low hums and growls of agreement followed. The Merchants’ Council, seated at the front of the room, shifted in their seats. The town manager banged his gavel to silence the crowd.

  Lisa stood alone between the Council and the mob. She ignored the mob, and addressed the Council. “We don’t know that he did it.” Her voice was firm and steady. “The only proof you have is that the young man got into a fight with the dead man the night of his murder. That’s hardly proof.”

  “The savage was near the dead man’s home,” another voice called out.

  Savage, Lisa thought. Just because his people don’t live in wood homes and own businesses doesn’t make them, or him, a savage. They could be your customers, if you’d treat them better. Maybe the Rain made you skittish about people you don’t know. But you can’t use that excuse on his people, not now.

  Lisa didn’t fire any shots at the crowd. Instead, she turned slightly towards them and said, “That claim was made by friends of the dead man. For all any of us knows, they could be the killers. It’s not like Holden was well-liked.”

  Some in the crowd murmured their agreement. One of the counselors cleared his throat to quiet them. He looked at Lisa and asked, “What do you suggest we do?”

  “If the young man didn’t kill Holden, then who did? We must find the killer and expose them. Only then will we be certain that justice is served. Otherwise, a killer will get away with his crime, and an innocent man will die.”

  “Why don’t you look for that murderer?”

  “Me? I’m not the law around here.”

  “Coulda fooled us,” a farmer shouted. Laughter erupted from the crowd.

  The manager again called for silence. “Lisa, you don’t know the savage. You never did know Holden. I think someone who doesn’t have it in for either ought to settle this matter.” He looked out over the crowd. “If the savage did kill Holden, then we’ll need proof to take to his people. If we don’t get proof, they might decide to get revenge on us.”

  That swayed the crowd to some degree. One of the counselors called for a private discussion amongst themselves. They talked in low whispers. Two became more animated the longer the discussion went on. Lisa folded her arms and kept her face immobile. Her mind was anything but.

  What am I getting myself into?

  She had read a mystery story or two growing up. That didn’t make her an expert on the law, or on how to find criminals. She reminded herself that she wasn’t wholly unqualified. She could think, and she had plenty of common sense. Most importantly, she realized that her action in this matter was the only hope the young man had. It would be the right thing to do.

  Finally, the discussion ended and the town manager stood. “Friends, we know this young woman has tried to help our community. We know she’s an honest person, and doesn’t play favorites. Let’s give her three or four days to prove that the savage is either innocent or guilty.” The crowd was lackluster in its agreement but it gave in, and with nothing else to say or do, it dispersed.

  Lisa knew the first thing she had to do was to talk to the young man. She had to know his side of the story. A sergeant in a rough uniform led her to the jail cells in the basement of the council hall. Only one cell was occupied. The sergeant unlocked and opened the door, let Lisa in, then closed the door.

  “I’ll have two men down the hall,” he told her. “Call out if the savage tries anything.”

  “Of course,” she replied flatly.

  She turned to face the youth, lying on a cot. He had long black hair, deeply tanned skin, and an almost boyish face. His britches were made of tanned animal hide, as were his shoes. He stared up at the ceiling, apparently oblivious to her.

  He can’t be much older than me. “My name is Lisa Herbert. What’s yours?”

  The young man didn’t move. “Little Wolf,” he said. His voice was low, but soft. “Why are you here?”

  “I’m here to help you. You know why they’ve locked you up?”

  He shrugged. “They say I killed a man.”

  “What do you say?”

  “I say I did not.”

  “I’m willing to believe you, Little Wolf. Tell me what happened.”

  The young man sat up. “I came into town yesterday evening. I tried to get a meal at one of the inns. Some of the men said bad things to me. I kept quiet, but they kept on speaking bad. The dead man and three friends tried to start a fight with me. I did not even sweat as I brushed them aside. I left, and slept in the barn of another inn.”

  “And you didn’t see dead man, or his friends, for the rest of the night?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. Let me tell you something. The dead man’s name was Brad Holden. He wasn’t very old, but he’s well known in Pueblo. He took over his father’s business when he was still young. He got very wealthy very quickly, and he used his wealth to take over a few stores. I never met him, but I have heard that he made enemies. I’d bet my horse that one of them killed Holden.”

  “Why do you care who killed him? Why help me?”

  “Little Wolf, my father taught me that no one should face punishment without proof of their guilt. He also told me that people shouldn’t judge others without getting to know them first. Some of these people would hang you just because of who you are. That’s wrong, too.”

  And I bet there’s some shady deal at the bottom of all this. Someone needs to show them that this is what happens if you don’t play nice with each other.

  Little Wolf glanced at the floor for a moment. Then, his black eyes met her blue eyes. “I will place my fate in your hands, Lisa Herbert. Free me from these lies, and I shall owe you my life.” He offered his right arm. Lisa grasped his upper arm. He clenched her upper arm, and they shook once.

  ***

  The next day was clear. The morning air was warming steadily. The town was quieting as the breakfast rush had ended, and the citizens were going about their jobs and tasks. Lisa had her own job to do. She decided to start by going to the murdered man’s house. Not only would she learn more about him, but she’d also see where he died.

  She walked from the inn where she was staying to the house. She didn’t have a chance to look around Pueblo before then, so she watched as she walked. Despite the plight of the farmers, the town seemed prosperous. There were several businesses, a few more inns, and a number of professional “offices” in the town center. Surrounding the center on two sides were two-story houses, most dating from before the Rain. Around them and the other sides of the town center were newer one-story homes. Most of the two-story homes, and quite a few of the others, had trees planted around them.

  She stopped at a particularly neat, tree-and-bush embraced, two-story house. She asked a tall man in a rough uniform in front of the house for the guard commander, whom she was to work with. She knew the commander was already there and waiting. She was still surprised when he approached before he could be called.

  The commander was man of average height and above-average muscles. His uniform was much crisper, more like the how she remembered Redfern looked. “I’m John Thurmond,” he said. “You must be Lisa Herbert.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Lisa said, offering her hand.

  “Yes. Let’s get to it. It’s not like I have nothing else to do.”

  “All right.” Lisa glanced around the outside of the house. A row of bushes immediately caught her attention. “Have your men checked those hedges?”

  Thurmond blinked. “No, why?”

  “There might be some clues. C’mon.”

  Lisa got down on her hands and knees, carefully examining the ground. Thurmond simply watched her, but like a hawk. I assume t
hat the murderer didn’t knock on the front door, she mused. He must have snuck in. Maybe there were will be some trace of how he got in.

  Her search went around one side, then moved along the rear of the house. As they neared a second window on the second story Lisa spotted her trace. “Come here.” She pointed to a spot on the ground. “Look there, look!”

  Thurmond bent down and looked. “A few leaves, some broken branches, so what?”

  “The footprints,” she urged. The mud from two nights ago had dried, revealing two large footprints.

  “Big feet,” Thurmond commented.

  “Yes,” Lisa agreed, “especially for a young man no taller than me.”

  “Doesn’t prove much,” Thurmond said.

  “Not by itself, perhaps, but it does seem to rule out Little Wolf.” Lisa stood, and looked up at the windows on that side, both on the first and the second floors. “Was this where the killer entered the house?”

  After a moment’s looking he nodded. He pointed to a second-floor window. “There, I believe.”

  “Was the body was found in that room?”

  “Yes.”

  Lisa paused to consider her next move. It seemed to her that if the man was trying to get in, there ought to be something to show how he got in. Since none of the first-floor windows had been touched, that suggested that he entered on the second floor.

  She examined the area carefully. “There doesn’t seem to be any evidence of gear.”

  “What gear?”

  “Uh, climbing gear. Y’know, what a burglar might use to get up the wall.”

  “Right, right. Maybe he used a ladder.”

  She bent back down and checked the ground close to the wall. Sure enough, there were two evenly-spaced holes. The angle of the holes to the wall even appeared correct. Thurmond didn’t find them quite as easily, but he did see them.

  “It’s not much proof,” he grumbled. “You need a lot more than this.”

  “Fair enough. Let’s go inside. There should be more clues in that room, or elsewhere in the house.”