Free Full dark,no stars by Stephen King Page B

There was a note fluttering beneath one edge. It said: Wilf-We are so sorry for your trouble and will help any way we can. Harlan says dont worry about paying for the harvister this summer. Please if you hear from your wife let us know. Love, Sallie Cotterie. PS: If Henry comes calling on Shan, I will send back a blueberry cake.
    I stuck the note in the front pocket of my overalls with a smile. Our life after Arlette had begun.
    If God rewards us on earth for good deeds-the Old Testament suggests its so, and the Puritans certainly believed it-then maybe Satan rewards us for evil ones. I cant say for sure, but I can say that was a good summer, with plenty of heat and sun for the corn and just enough rain to keep our acre of vegetable garden refreshed. There was thunder and lightning some afternoons, but never one of those crop-crippling winds Midwestern farmers fear. Harlan Cotterie came with his Harris Giant and it never broke down a single time. I had worried that the Farrington Company might meddle in my business, but it didnt. I got my loan from the bank with no trouble, and paid back the note in full by October, because that year corn prices were sky-high and the Great Westerns freight fees were at rock bottom. If you know your history, you know that those two things-the price of produce and the price of shippage-had changed places by 23, and have stayed changed ever since. For farmers out in the middle, the Great Depression started when the Chicago Agricultural Exchange crashed the following summer. But the summer of 1922 was as perfect as any farmer could hope for. Only one incident marred it, having to do with another of our bovine goddesses, and that I will tell you about soon.
    Mr. Lester came out twice. He tried to badger us, but he had nothing to badger with, and he must have known it, because he was looking pretty harried that July. I imagine his bosses were badgering him, and he was only passing it along. Or trying to. The first time, he asked a lot of questions that really werent questions at all, but insinuations. Did I think my wife had had an accident? She must have, didnt I think, or she would either have contacted him in order to make a cash settlement on those 100 acres or just crept back to the farm with her (metaphorical) tail between her legs. Or did I think she had fallen afoul of some bad actor while on the road? Such things did happen, didnt they, from time to time? And it would certainly be convenient for me, wouldnt it?
    The second time he showed up, he looked desperate as well as harried, and came right out with it: had my wife had an accident right there on the farm? Was that what had happened? Was it why she hadnt turned up either alive or dead?
    Mr. Lester, if youre asking me if I murdered my wife, the answer is no.
    Well of course youd say so, wouldnt you?
    Thats your last question to me, sir. Get in yonder truck, drive away, and dont come back here. If you do, Ill take an axe-handle to you.
    Youd go to jail for assault! He was wearing a celluloid collar that day, and it had come all askew. It was almost possible to feel sorry for him as he stood there with that collar poking into the underside of his chin and sweat cutting lines through the dust on his chubby face, his lips twitching and his eyes bulging.
    No such thing. I have warned you off my property, as is my right, and I intend to send a registered letter to your firm stating that very thing. Come back again and thats trespassing and I will beat you. Take warning, sir. Lars Olsen, who had brought Lester out again in his Red Baby, had all but cupped his hands around his ears to hear better.
    When Lester reached the doorless passenger side of the truck, he whirled with an arm outstretched and a finger pointing, like a courtroom lawyer with a bent for the theatrical. I think you killed her! And sooner or later, murder will out!
    Henry-or Hank, as he now preferred to be called-came out of the barn. He had been pitching hay and he held the