The Hollow Tree at Dead Mule Swamp
Joan H. Young
Copyright 2012 Joan H. Young
and at Books Leaving Footprints
ISBN: 0-9765432-6-5
The Hollow Tree at Dead Mule Swamp
Black and white stripes filled the field of my binoculars and I momentarily thought a zebra had invaded Dead Mule Swamp. However, a quick adjustment to the rocker bar revealed the shape of a lovely black-and-white warbler, closer to me than was expected. I watched, fascinated, as it walked first up, and then headfirst down, the trunk of a large tree, searching the crevices of the bark for insects. Without ever spotting me, the bird fluttered off.
I was seated, somewhat uncomfortably, on a stump surrounded by poles stacked like a three-sided log cabin. It was a broken-down deer blind, abandoned by some hunter. I had come to Dead Mule Swamp about two months ago, but had only discovered the old blind two days ago. It amazed me that I, Anastasia Joy Raven, had changed in six months from a suburban housewife to a new divorcee who owned a fixer-upper house at the end of a dirt road in the Northwoods.
My former husband, Roger, had exchanged me for a partner named Brian, but I had left with a large settlement, paid in monthly sums, which should last the rest of my life, if I were careful. Our only son, Chad, was studying Wildlife Ecology at Michigan Tech. That freed me to try out the single lifestyle, and I was enjoying it. I was working hard on the house, presently finishing the living room, although that activity had been interrupted when an old newspaper found inside the wall had contained information which led to the murder of a neighbor. Frankly, I was glad that excitement was over.
I leaned down and lifted the bird book out of my daypack. Turning to page 243, and pulling my pencil from above my ear, I placed a check mark beside the warbler and noted the date, May 17. I returned the pencil to its resting place. My light brown hair falls around my face in a thick pageboy, and helps keep the pencil in place. Warblers are a bit of a mystery, but I was determined to learn a few new ones this year. The leaves were almost fully unfurled, and there wouldn't be many more days of easy birding.
It was early morning and the birds were moving about, so I raised the binoculars again and began searching the branches for unseen singers. As I scanned the trees, I caught sight of a piece of twine hanging from a large hole about ten feet up a tree. I thought the tree looked hollow, and wondered if a squirrel had pulled the twine up the tree for nesting material. However, when I followed the twine to the lower end I saw that it was looped around a small broken branch. It wasn't exactly knotted, but it didn't look like the kind of tangle that might have happened naturally. I went over to investigate.
I pulled on the string, and it rode easily enough over the scarred edge of the hole in the hollow tree. There was something with weight on the end, and I pulled until a blue cloth bag popped over the edge and dropped at my feet.
The bag was crudely made from the cut-off lower leg of a pair of jeans. Someone had sewed the bottom edge together with yarn, in uneven overcast stitches. The top had been gathered with the same yarn by using large stitches, making a drawstring, and the twine was tied to that. Obviously, whatever was in the bag belonged to some human. I was only a short distance off my own property, just beyond the west fence line. After my recent unpleasant experiences with a person chasing me into the swamp, I thought I'd find out who was using this tree for a safe or a post office.
I opened the bag, and there was a large white envelope and a small rock inside. On the envelope was a crudely drawn picture of three crossed twigs. I shook my head. Previously-it seemed a lifetime ago-I had taught literature at a community college. Although Nancy Drew was not exactly literature, my love for books extended to all genres, and I was sure I recalled a Nancy Drew story where envelopes bearing a drawing like this were placed in a hollow tree, and then someone else would retrieve the message. I racked my brain for threads of the story. Those envelopes held cash which gullible women placed there thinking they were supporting orphans at the Three Branch … something.
Well, I'd gone this far. I looked around and saw no one. The envelope was not sealed, so I probably didn't have to worry about being found out if I was careful to replace everything the way I found it. I slipped my thumb under the flap. Inside were two twenty-dollar bills, two fives, and seven ones. Behind them was a folded and wrinkled sheet of lined notebook paper. I replaced the cash, and opened the paper. On it, I saw the following: