#41

Ev yawned a huge jaw cracking sound. He reasoned he was a better farmer than a law man. He thought the dirt was a better job all the way around. Cheryl had the homestead all whipped into shape, so what was an enterprising man to do, except go hunting.

Ev banged on Evie's door a little after 7 on a clear, crisp snowy morning. That itty bitty woman answered the door as Inky was drooling all over his hand. "Morning Inga," he spoke affably. "Are the boys up, it's a fine morning to go hunting."

There was whoop inside and the scrambling of feet. "Hey Mr. Ev, do ya really mean it," Brett was pulling on his coat, hopping across the floor towards his shoes next to the stove. Benny was a little slower, but not by much. Inga was gently pushed aside as the boys rushed the door, excited for their upcoming adventure.

Ev looked at the boys, trying hard to contain his dismay. Thin coats, shoes with no socks, high water jeans, no hat or gloves. He had forgotten how boys could grow and how difficult it was to keep them in clothes. Ev pursed his lips, there was no way the boys would last twenty minutes out on the hunt the way they were outfitted. He could see they were game for anything, but he couldn't in good conscience take them out the way they were dressed.

"Hop in," he instructed the young men as he headed for his pickup. "I'll have them back a little after dark," he yelled at Inga who stood at the door with her hands on her hips, scowling in disapproval.

"I don't think they should go...." was lost, as Inga watched the pickup turn around and head down the driveway. "Well!" she sputtered. "I certainly don't think young boys should go hunting."

Evie came up behind her, placing her hand on Inga's arm. "Honey," she said softly, "If they get a deer, we could really use the meat. They are boys, and Ev is showing them how to be men."

"But, still," Inga didn't want to let it go; "they are kids."

"Yes they are," Evie agreed. "Brett is 10, we think Benny is 10, but we don't know his birthday. These are different times, and they call for different attitudes and abilities."

"I understand that," Inga retorted with a snarky bite. "But they act like such ........" she flounced inside. "Never mind," she threw over her shoulder as she went to stir the oatmeal.

Evie smiled at Clora and Sandra. "Good morning young ladies, I forgot to ask if you wanted to go hunting?"

"No," they both said in unison. "Not interested."

Inky woofed a stranger warning. There was a box delivery truck at the end of the drive, the driver leaning out the window staring at the faded lettering on the mailbox. Making up his mind, the driver backed up enough to swing into the Hanson driveway and headed for the house.

The truck swung around and backed up toward the porch. Two big and burley men got out and unlatched the back doors. There in all it's former glory, was Inga's trunk. Beaten and battered, one brass lock hinge hanging limply, it's side held together with a double wrap of knotted rope.

"Oh, what is that?" Clora and Sandra asked together. "Whose's might that be."

"My trunk," Inga said simply. "It should have been here 6 months ago. I wonder where it has been?"

The men shoved the trunk on the porch. They stood around, shuffling their feet. It dawned on Inga they were looking for a tip. Well, she had no money, and really had no idea what to do next.

Evie took in the situation in a moment. "Gentlemen, I deeply apologize that we have no money to thank you with. Might we share our breakfast with you, I'm afraid it's the only spare thing we have."

Both men looked at each other and decided to cut their losses. "Thank you Ma'am," they declined, "We have to be going."

It took all four ladies to pull and tug the trunk into the kitchen. "What have you got in here, bricks?" Evie strained to move the immovable object.

"Trophies," Inga said proudly. "My beautiful trophies of my life on the Concours de Saut." Inga said something soft and dreamy in French as she stroked the trunk.

Evie and girls looked at Inga waiting for something they could understand. "Oh," Inga acted a little embarrassed, "sorry, sometimes I think in French."

As if that explained it all away, Evie thought tartly. "Shall we eat," she asked the group, "before it gets cold."
All during the meal, the girls eye's were drawn to the irresistible looking trunk.

"I think I will have to empty the trunk before I can drag it further in the house," Inga thought out loud. "Mom, can I store the trophy's in the basement?"

"Sure," Evie agreed. What was a little more junk in the basement, she philosophized.

Clora and Sandra were eager helpers, carrying the heavy gold and silver looking winner's cups to the basement. The trunk was jammed full of the metal trophies and ribbons. Humm, these ought to be good with ketchup, Evie sniped to herself. What a load of crap shipping all this baloney home. What a waste of money. Ever practical Evie thought Inga's life had been a lot of nonsense.

Inga had snatched up the envelope that had been placed on the top of the contents, when she opened the trunk. She needed not to have worried. It was in French, and Evie did not speak or read the language.

When they got all the trophies out, there wasn't much left in the trunk. Three scrapbooks full of jumping victories, a pair of shiny black English boots, handmade to Inga's small foot size; a pair of schooling jodhpurs, two show pairs along with the hunt coat, and three white long sleeved show shirts. A couple of skirts and blouses, and nothing that reminded her of Gunnar. All the pictures, and small miscellaneous items she had kept as part of their twosome, had vanished.

"When Ev brings the boy's back, I'll ask him to take this to the basement," Evie remarked.

Her emotions in her throat, Inga kept her hand on the letter. She so badly wanted to know what it said; and was so terrified of what it might contain.