THE STOLEN DEER

Orchard Cove 1944

Orville took a last look at the deer, properly bled, hanging in the shed next to the smokehouse. It was a beauty, meat for some time and a marvelous head for the wall. Tomorrow he would do the processing.

Twice during the night the barking of his three dogs woke him. Both times he went out with his lantern to investigate. Twice he was met by the little gray fox who, it seemed, considered this home. Twice Orville went back to bed with visions of deer steaks in his head. The third dog chorus Orville ignored, silently swearing at the persistent nocturnal antics of his resident fox.

The chill of morning on any other day would have kept Orville in bed until the last possible moment. But this morning he had a deer to deal with. Before the morning feeding and milking he went to the shed to check on his deer.

The shed door was open; the deer was gone.

Orville was not a ‘shoot from the hip’ kind of man. He was thoughtful, calm, and calculating. He analyzed and re-analyzed all situations. Who would have taken his deer? Who knew he had it? He had told Harry, the mailman and Tom who came to borrow a level. No one else. Neither of them would take his deer.

Orville said nothing; he forbade his family to say anything. Orville waited. He would wait as long as needed; he would watch; he would learn who took his deer.  “And when I find out,” he told the family, “there will be hell to pay.”

Orville’s patience paid off and from an odd source – or as the saying goes ‘out of the mouths of babes’- came the answer. It was his six year old daughter  who identified the culprit. At dinner two weeks after the theft she nibbled on her chicken drumstick.  “Daddy,” she said, “when can we have deer?”

“When I shoot one.  But I wonder since when did you decide you like deer?  Last year you said it was yucky.”

“Since Carrie told me how good it is.”

Orville’s mind did somersaults. He knew. Carrie’s family was going through a rough patch. Dave had not worked for months now, not since the accident. The church had offered on several occasions to help, but Dave harbored a male pride keeping him from accepting.

The next afternoon Orville dropped by Dave’s place.  Dave down to one cane now met him at the door.  “Dave, how’s it going?”

“Not bad.”

“I was at the mill this morning. Clint asked me to stop by here on my way home.   Seems like you left some corn over there just before your accident.  Asked if I’d drop off the ground corn. Got three big bags of meal. Where do you want me to put it?”

“I’m grateful, Orville.”

"I'll take it to the smokehouse."

"No just leave it here on the porch."

"If you're  sure", Orville stacked the three bags of corn meal on the porch floor. "Then I'll get on home. Let me know if you need anything."

I'm grateful."

Orville took the long way to his truck, past the smokehouse ,   A quick glance inside showed the signs of butchering activity.