Thursday, September 21, 1950

Charlie Winston loved this time of year, Indian summer.  Cool mornings, warm afternoons.   Walking along the road, birch staff in hand, his thoughts turned to his wife, Jenny, bringing a sad smile to his face.  She would love a day like this one, he thought, gazing up at the clear sky.  I should visit the cemetery this afternoon.

 Charlie heard the baby crying moments after he rounded the curve and saw the blue and white trailer.  Cole Everett sounded frightened and desperate, his voice a high-pitched scream.  Charlie increased his speed the best he could, using his staff to provide extra momentum.  The little boy’s cries never wavered. 

Frantically, the old man wondered where his mother could be.  Making his way up the dirt driveway, Charlie called out loudly, “Benny!  Benny!” 

Heading for the trailer’s screened-in porch, he could see little Cole standing in his playpen wearing only a diaper, face as red as a beet.  Seeing Charlie, the baby’s cries increased several crescendos.  As quickly as he could manage, Charlie hurried up the steps and onto the porch.  Picking up the baby, he quickly checked him for any signs of what might be causing Cole’s obvious distress, and could find nothing.  “Benny!” called Charlie again. 

A radio played softly from the trailer’s kitchen, accompanied by the hum of the washing machine from within the laundry room, another addition Donny Everett had built and attached to the compact trailer home.  There was no sign of his wife, Benny.

Holding the baby, Charlie returned to the porch and scanned the backyard.  A slight breeze abruptly seized the sheets and towels drying on the clothesline, causing them to wave wildly back and forth.  And there she was.  “Oh, my Lord.”   

Returning Cole to the playpen, Charlie hardly noticed the little boy’s ascending screams.  He nearly fell going back down the steps, but managed to catch himself.  He then hurried across the yard to the where Benny Everett was contained, strapped to the metal T-shaped clothesline pole.  “Oh, my Lord!  Benny!” 

Grabbing her around her waist with one feeble arm, Charlie tried desperately to lift the young woman while he fumbled in his pocket for his pocket knife.  “Oh, damn it, girl.”  Finding the knife, he opened it and cut the piece of clothesline from its strangling hold around her neck.  Bernice Everett’s body sagged against the old man, who gently placed her on the ground.  Charlie Winston begin to cry.  He knew by Benny’s glazed stare he was much too late. 

He didn’t notice the bicycle rider leave his position in the nearby woods and casually head for town.