Letters from Josh
(A weekly update from Josh Urban’s adventures on the farm and in the city. #110)
Howdy, folks! Welcome back to our tale. Electro and Rutherford follow Walter to the hobo camp, meeting Preacher and the “Jolly Ranchers”. The altruistic drifters are eager to help the cause. Far to the east, Lady Wilkes ponders adventure past - and the theft of her gem.
The Return of Dr. Electro - #7: Jimmy’s Trucking
The smoke from the hobo fire swirled up to meet the late stars. Electro listened while Walter and Rutherford talked low with Preacher. The Jolly Ranchers held their peace, weathered faces flickering in the dying firelight.
“The Santa Fe main will be watched, I reckon” Walter drawled. “Then again, so will most places. We gotta get to Chicago somehow. What about calling Jimmy? He still got that truck? Maybe he can give us a sneaky lift.”
Preacher nodded. “Oh yeah. Not sure if he’s still undertakin’ - haven’t done a funeral with him lately, but I saw him delivering furniture down on Commerce last Wednesday. Guess it’s all the same to him. He’d help. I’ll send Junior to get him.”
Electro, half-asleep, nodded back to life. “At this hour?” The Jolly Ranchers just chuckled. Junior nodded, rose, and slipped out of the firelight. Nary a footstep was heard. Electro’s head drooped, then snapped alert. The growl of a big diesel grew in the distance, a panther prowling in the darkest hours of the night. Dim marker lights turned the corner. Jimmy had arrived.
“Alright, boys! Saddle up!” Preacher doused the fire, grabbed his pack, and was standing with the dozen hobos. Nobody seemed sleepy. Electro rubbed his eyes. He had to keep up.
* * *
Meanwhile, in the East, the mantle clock chimed a quarter past two. Lady Wilkes still wasn’t sleepy. Her short gray hair caught the moonlight as she paced through cavernous rooms, treading softly over ornate rugs and worn floorboards. An occasional beam pierced the darkness, illuminating a portrait on the wall, or the thought of a ghost. Ah, the dances we used to have in these rooms.
A human footstep broke her reverie, followed by a musical voice. “Auntie Wilkes, you’re up, too?” Claire looked resplendent in the moonlight (or any light), but under the auburn hair, her face was furrowed in care. “I couldn’t sleep, either. Something’s been...different since that gem of yours went missing. Oh Auntie Wilkes, what was it? I thought it was only a common stone, a keepsake! Citrine isn’t valuable, is it?”
“My dear - value isn’t always measured in dollars” sighed the good Lady. Have you noticed the flowers fading since the heist, too?”
... To Be Continued Next Week