“Hell found me.”

“What did you say?” Stan’s fork froze in mid-air. Spaghetti slowly oozed onto his plate, unnoticed.

“Hell found me,” repeated Grandpa Ellis. He leaned back in his chair, crossed his hands behind his head, and looked at the ceiling as if seeing a ghost.

“I don’t understand.” Stan pushed his long, brown hair off his forehead.

“For years now I’ve been waitin’ for Hell to catch up with me. I’d gotten pretty lazy, thinkin’ I’d outfoxed him. Last night he paid a call. Now I have to pay him back.”

Stan’s face took on the startled-hare look. He lowered his fork to his plate, picked up his napkin, and attempted to wipe sauce and noodles off his once clean shirt. Unsuccessful, he got up and went into the kitchen, his large boots reverberating with each step. “Let’s get this straight. Hell came to see you last night.”

“Yep, that’s right.”

“You owed him for something and now you’ve got to repay the debt,” Stan said as he dabbed a wet napkin on the stain.

“Yep,” Grandpa Ellis said. Dropping his arms on to the tabletop, his body deflated like a punctured balloon. “An’ I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”

“What kind of a debt do you owe?” Stan turned to face his grandfather. Frightened by the posture of defeat, something he’d never seen on his proud guardian, Stan rushed to the chair and knelt nearby. “Grandpa, start over. Tell me the story, please? Maybe I can help.”

“There’s nothin’ you can do. Nothin’ you can do. I lost. Hell said he’d catch up with me sometime. Now he’s here an’ there’s nothin’ I can do.” Silent sobs shook his shoulders. He buried his face in his large, calloused hands. “I’ve got to do this by myself, but you’re the one who’ll pay the price.”

Stan gently placed his right arm around his grandfather’s back, an action his grandfather had used when Stan was a small boy. “We can work it out, whatever it is. There is nothing that can break us up, and that’s all that matters. You’ve told me that a million times. Family is what counts in the world.”

Grandpa Ellis raised his tear-streaked face and looked deeply into his grandson’s eyes. “Let’s go sit on the porch so I can smoke. I’ll tell you the story.”

Both men stood and turned to walk outside. From the back, there was little difference between them, except for the grandfather’s head of white hair. Broad shoulders, trim torsos and muscular legs defined them as workingmen: ranching men. They even dressed in a similar manner: dusty jeans, plaid shirts, cowboy boots with spurs, and bandanas tied about the neck.

Not a word was said as they crossed the living room. Grandpa Ellis stopped to pick up his pipe, tobacco pouch, and a book of matches. Stan retrieved his whittling stick from the sideboard.

Out the front door the silent procession continued. Grandpa turned to the right, as usual, and settled into his accustomed chair. Stan turned to the left and sat on the porch swing.

After lighting his pipe and taking the first draw, Grandpa blew a huge smoke ring into the air. “A long time ago, before you were born, I was a rough man. I gambled, drank, an’ participated in shootin’ matches. I was mean as a rattler, an’ ornery as that old donkey out back. I loved my women, an’ ran with a tough crowd. We all acted like we was warriors, an’ I guess we were.

“One day we rode into a dusty little town. Big Ben, one of my friends, got it in his head to rob the bank. It was the manly thing to do, I guess. Now I want you to know I was against it from the start. I might have pushed the law a bit, but I’d never done nothin’ that would of landed me in jail.”

Grandpa blew a series of rings into the air and watched them rise, higher and higher until they disappeared into the porch roof.

“Did Big Ben rob the bank?”

“I’m a gettin’ there.” He drew again on his pipe, held the smoke for what seemed like an eternity, and then pushed out the tainted air with a whoosh. “Big Ben was big, but not too bright. Once he thought it’d be fun to walk acrost that train bridge over the Missouri, where it crosses Crag’s Canyon. He got halfway acrost when the train comes. He had to jump into the river below. He never got hurt with his crazy schemes, but his reputation was that of an idiot who could shoot like the dickens.

“So he sees this little ol’ bank, an’ says that it would be easy to break in. He says that he knows the sheriff is a fat ol’ man who’d rather sleep than chase crooks. He says that the banker goes home at five an’ nobody comes back ‘til early morn.

“So we go into the saloon acrost the street an’ buy ourselves a beer. We tell jokes, play cards, smoke a few, all the time keepin’ our eyes on that bank. This town is so small that no more than five folks walked past the window, an’ there’s only two other customers in the bar an’ they’re both cold drunk.

“Right on time, that banker comes out, closes the door, pulls a key out of his pocket, an’ locks the door. He walks away without lookin’ back. Within minutes the streets are empty. Nothin’ but dust and flies.

“By now we’ve put down a few beers an’ are feelin’ pretty powerful. It’s funny how drink does that to a guy. Blows him up an’ makes him feel like he can do anything.

“The sun goes down, like it’s doin’ now. Pretty as can be. Sky all orange and red an’ purple. Things get mighty quiet. The bartender wakes up the drunks an’ walks them out a the saloon. He tells us to pay up an’ leave, so we do.

“We walk around a bit, up an’ down the streets, checkin’ out the bank from all sides. Randy, the real bandit in our gang, figures out a way to break in. There’s a little window in the back, about ten feet up. Since I was the lightest, Randy’s idea was for Big Ben to lift me up on his shoulders, an’ then I’d open that window an’ go in. Once in, I’d run to the front an’ unlock the door. The guys would come in an’ lock the door behind them. Then we’d break into the vault an’ get the money.”

As darkness fell, Stan watched an airplane traverse the ranch, heading toward the airport at Billings. The red lights blinked a warning signal, telling other planes to stay away. “So what happened? Did the plan work?”

“No. Shortly after Big Ben lifted me up, there was a thumping noise from inside the building. We froze, thinkin’ someone was in there. There was another thump, an’ then an even louder one. Pretty soon that window opened, seemingly by magic. Big Ben dropped me like I was a hot cob a corn an’ took two steps back. I scrambled out of the dirt on all fours. Randy squealed like a little girl an’ took off down the street.

“As I was runnin’ away, a voice called to me. It nearly sacred me to death, it did.”

“What did it say?”

“It said, ‘Hell is callin’ and you’d better answer,’ in a gravely voice that sent chills runnin’ down my spine. I had no idea what this meant or who was speakin’, but I was interested. Those beers had numbed my senses a bit, an’ so my brain wasn’t thinkin’ clearly. So I stumbled back to the building an’ look up. Out of that window stuck a head wearin’ a black hat. Black whickers covered the face.

“I should of run away right then, but my curiosity was stronger than my sense, so I looks up an’ sees that there is now a rope danglin’ from that window. ‘Come on up,’ the man calls. So I grab a hold of that rope an’ climb. I’d never known I could climb so easy. Within seconds I was through that window an’ in the bank.

“It was pretty dark inside, but I could make out the figure of a man standin’ to my right. He was huge: bigger than Big Ben. ‘Welcome to my bank,’ he said as he grabbed my right hand an’ shook it. That man was so strong, I thought my arm was a gonna fall off.

“He turns, still holdin’ my arm, an’ walks me into the heart of the bank. ‘My name’s Hell. What’s yours?’ Without thinking, I tell him. Then he drags me over to the vault. ‘Hold this for me,’ he says an’ hands me the smallest lamp I’ve ever seen. Later I found out it was a miner’s lamp, but at the time, I was stupefied by its size.

“Well, to make a long story short, Hell broke the code to the vault on the first try, like he had it memorized or something. He pulled a cotton bag out of his pocket an’ filled it up with bundles of dollars. ‘Here. Take this. Thanks for helping me,’ he says. ‘Someday I’ll need your help again. I’ll find you, Ellis, no matter where you are or what you’re doing. You’ll help me then, just as you are now.’ With that he disappeared into the darkness, leaving me there holding the money.

“Considering that this had been my gang’s plan all along, I didn’t think much of it. Yes, I robbed a bank, but I figured all I’d done was hold the lamp. I felt pretty smug as I swaggered to the door an’ stepped onto the wooden sidewalk. Randy an’ Big Ben met me there an’ asked what had happened. I explained it all to them as we walked down the empty street. We mounted our horses an’ rode away. Later we divided up the money.”

“How much was there?” Stan had known that his grandfather had lived a rough life, but discovering that he had been a bank robber was a huge surprise.

“Somewhere near ten thousand dollars. That was a lot of money back then. Feelin’ kind of guilty, I only kept two thousand. It was enough that I could stop my roaming days an’ settle down. I bought this spread, built me a house, an’ bought some horses. Not the best stock, but as good as I could get. I figured with careful breedin’ I’d make out fine.”

Far off in the distance, a horse whinnied, followed by a chorus of others in response. The porch swing creaked as Stan rocked back and forth. After closing up his pocketknife that had never touched his carving, Stan sighed. “What does this guy Hell want?”

“He wants the money back. And not just what he stole, but a whole lot more. He wants twenty thousand. Hell says that with time, my share has grown in value. He says that unless I give him the money, he’ll go to the police an’ turn me in.”

“That was a long time ago, Grandpa. They can’t try you for a crime committed that many years back.”

“You don’t get it, boy. Hell’s a big-time lawyer in Billings now. He’s got all the politicians eating off his plate. He’s thinking about running for office and his platform is cleaning up old crimes. He says it’s me against him, an’ no one’d believe that he’d ever done something like rob a bank.” He stood, arched his back and stretched his arms over his head. He turned toward the front door.

“So what are you going to do?”

“I’m a gonna give him the money.”

Stan gasped. That money was his college fund, most of it from his inheritance when his parents died. Some was from selling breeding stock. It was earmarked for his tuition and fees at the University of Montana.

“Hell’s robbin’ you of your education, boy. I can’t think of nothin’ else to do. If’n I don’t give him the money, I might end up in jail. If’n I do give him the money, then you can’t go to college. Hell’s got me backed into a corner so tight it hurts. What do you think I should do?”

Stan stared into the black fields of the ranch. Grandpa Ellis stood silent, waiting to hear what his grandson had to say.

“Don’t give him the money yet. Mary’s father is a lawyer. I’ll ask him what the law says about crimes that old. He’s a good man and has done right by many of the ranchers out here. When’s Hell coming back?”

“He gave me a week. That was on Saturday.”

“We’ve got two days left. I’ll go over to Mary’s tomorrow morning before her dad leaves for work. He’ll help us out.” Stan stood and walked over to his grandfather. He grabbed hold of his guardian’s right arm and squeezed. “Let me try, anyway. If Mary’s dad can’t help, then we’ll give Hell the money. I’ll stay here and go to the community college.”

Grandpa Ellis nodded silently and walked into the house. He put away his pipe and pouch, and then climbed the stairs to his bedroom. Stan went into the kitchen to wash the dinner dishes. Once that task was complete, he, too, went to bed.

In the morning, Stan drove to his girlfriend’s house. Her father listened to the story, not interrupting until Stan was through.

“How long ago was this?”

“At least sixty years ago. Grandpa said he was a young man. He married my grandmother in his twenties, and this was well before then.”

“You’re right, Stan. There is a Statute of Limitations that keeps a man from being tried for old crimes. Even if there wasn’t, if Mr. Ellis is telling the truth, he wasn’t totally responsible for the break-in. He was an accomplice, true, but the circumstances were unusual. A voice out of nowhere, a man called Hell, and a mysterious rope falling.”

“So what does he tell this guy?”

Reaching into his coat pocket, Mary’s father pulled out his business card. “Give your grandfather this. Tell him to hand this card to Hell when he shows up. That should take care of it.”

Stan looked at the card and was surprised at what he saw. A host of silver angels danced across the top of the card, and a beam of golden light encircled the imprinted words.

Mary’s father laughed as he stood. “I work for Jesus Mendoza. He thought it made for an interesting business logo.”

‘Chase away your demons with Jesus’ law service’ floated just below the heavenly angels. In the bottom right hand corner, a red devil with pitchfork in hand, cowered in fear. “Hell might have found Mr. Ellis, but Jesus will be standing between the two of them. Jesus always wins his cases, and Hell knows this. Tell your grandfather that there will be no further trouble.”

Speechless, Stan stood and shook the man’s hand. He pocketed the card and followed Mary’s father out the door. He got into his car, started it up, cranked up the radio, and sang all the way home as he dreamt of college.

It was a busy time for Elena, but she didn’t mind. She loved all the hustle and bustle around the holidays. People coming and going. Meals to plan and prepare. Beds to make. Windows to clean. While it was hard work, every single part of it was fun.

This year’s festivities began with a Thanksgiving potluck at work. Elena’s specialty was deviled eggs. She followed her family’s recipe, filling the eggs with chopped nuts with a sprinkle of nutmeg on top. The others brought store-bought cookies and cakes, packaged salads and bottled dressings and sliced luncheon meats from a deli. Elena didn’t care that she was the only one who took the time to create something because her eggs disappeared before anything else was touched.

She didn’t always have company for Thanksgiving. Some years she celebrated alone, which was sad, but not disheartening. Elena spent the afternoons volunteering at a local homeless shelter, preparing and serving food to hungry singles and families. The kids were the saddest part. Imagine having no home to call your own. No Christmas tree in your own front room. No gifts under the tree. So she smiled encouragingly at the kids. If she had time, she went from table to table and listened to their stories.

One child, Jessica, was only seven years old but had already attended five different schools. She would have been a pretty child if her face had been clean and her clothes not faded and torn. Her eyes were a deep green that sparkled when she smiled. Jessica spoke of nights sleeping in the back seat of the car, parked in the lots of Walmarts or Sears, so cold that her feet felt numb and so hungry that her stomach ached. The best places to sleep were at rest stops, as there were bathrooms and fresh water, but the highway patrol came by and shooed them away.

Jessica’s wants were simple. She loved school, but often missed days when there was no place to stay. She hated falling behind or starting over in new schools where she had no friends, and even though she understood too much about how poor her family was, she wished it were different. For once she would like to stay in a school for a whole year.

Moving so much made it hard for her to keep up in her classes. In one school she might be in the middle reading group, but in the next, in the lowest one. She would start a book in one school but never get to finish it because off they would go on another quest for shelter. In the next school they’d be working on writing an essay, and Jessica would struggle with the beginning while everyone else was almost finished.

Jessica told Elena that, for once, she would like to be able to wear different clean clothes every day, for a week. Clothes that came with tags from a store. Not hand-me-downs from the lost and found bins. She wished for shoes that fit. Hers were either too big or too small, worn by someone else before she got them, and often stained or torn.

Elena wanted to help Jessica’s family, and so she invited them to move into her house. There was plenty of room. She had two unused bedrooms and a family room that missed the sounds of childish laughter. Since there were two bathrooms, one could be just for the family, one for Elena.
When the family finished eating, the father approached Elena, head bowed. His feet scuffed the floor as he spoke.

“We appreciate your offer, ma’am,” he said. “But we can’t stay with you. It would be too much.”

“No, really,” Elena said. “I want you to come. It would be a joy to have you stay until you can save up for a place of your own.”

“We both work,” he said, “ but we don’t make enough to pay rent on an apartment.”

“That’s okay. I can help you get connected to agencies that work with the homeless. I’m sure there’s something they can do once you have a stable place to stay.”

The man nodded. “Okay. We’ll give it a try. Just for a few days. To see how things work out. By the way, we’re the Morrisons.”

“Nice to meet you,” Elena said as she shook his hand. She gave him her address and phone number. They agreed that the family would move in the next day.

Elena felt proud of herself as she finished up at the shelter. When she got home, she made sure the bedrooms and bathroom were ready for company. Clean towels. Fresh sheets. Warm blankets. Room in the closets and dresser drawers.

She had the next day off, so she went out early in the morning to buy groceries that she hoped the family would like.

When she heard an old rattle-trap car coming down the street, Elena went out on her front porch. The car had seen better days. It was a bluish minivan with a huge dent in the side. Smoke poured from the exhaust pipe and it had not been washed in many days, if not years. When it pulled to a stop in front of her house, it shuddered, screeched, and then finally came to a rest. Elena wondered if she could enroll them in one of those giveaways where needy families were given remade cars as a helping hand. She made a mental note to check it out.

Jessica spilled from the open door of the car and ran straight into Elena’s arms. “Thank you for helping us,” she said. “How long can we stay?”

“Until your mom and dad want to leave.”

“Really? That long?”

Elena simply nodded. She grabbed Jessica’s hand, waited for her parents to step on the porch, and led them inside the house. “This is the front room,” Elena said. “You can use the desk to do your homework.”

She took them all through the house, stopping along the way to point out where to find things, where to put things, how to work the television remote. “I leave pretty early in the morning, so you’ll be on your own for breakfast. There are eggs and bacon, sausage, tortillas, hot and cold cereal, coffee, tea and juice. Please help yourselves.”

“Thanks,” Mrs. Morrison said. She smiled shyly. Her eyes were green and her hair light brown. It was easy to see which parent Jessica most loosely resembled. “We’ll clean up, too, and put everything away.’

“I love to cook,” Elena said, “so I’ll fix dinner every night, if that’s okay with you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the mother said.

“I’m Elena, not ma’am.”

“I’m Mary and this is George. You’ve already met Jessica.”

“Would you like anything now? I went to the store so there are snacks and sodas.”

“No, thanks. We’d like to unpack the car, if that’s okay with you.”

Things went well the rest of the day. Jessica followed Elena everywhere and Mary helped with dinner while George watched television. After dinner they all watched a movie, and then it was time for bed.

It was funny, but Elena was not a bit nervous having strangers in her home. She slept soundly, waking only once to use the bathroom. In the morning she got up to the smells of cooking. Bacon and eggs. Toast. Coffee.

In the kitchen she found George hard at work. “Good morning,” he said. “I hope you are hungry.”

“Everything smells lovely. You didn’t have to do all this,” Elena said as she poured herself a cup of coffee.

“It’s no problem. I work in a café downtown. I love to cook.” He dished up a plate of food and placed it before Elena.

“Thanks. I didn’t expect this.” Her first bite of eggs put a smile on her face. “These are the best scrambled eggs I’ve ever had!

“It’s the cream cheese,” George said.

After she had eaten, Elena turned on her computer and researched all the possible agencies that might be able to help the Morrisons. She found one that clothed women in nearly-new business outfits, taught interview skills, gave tutorials in computer use, and even styled hair. She wrote down the contact information, thinking it might give Mary a boost of confidence.

There were others as well. Food stamps and welfare. Medicare. After-school programs that helped with schoolwork and provided safe places to stay until the parents could get there. Shops that gave shoes and clothing to people of all ages and sizes. Free haircuts and shampoos. A place to get free reading material for children. Grocery stores that gave away clearance items such as prepackaged salads, vegetables, fruits, lunchmeats and bread. She even found a small chef school that trained students for free, then found them jobs.

Since there was no school, Jessica kept busy doing schoolwork, watching television and searching through the books in Elena’s library until she settled on one she thought she might read.

When George and Mary returned from work, Elena sat them down in the front room and went over all she had found. The chef school paid its trainees more than George currently made, so he was excited and ready to enroll. Mary wasn’t as sure about looking for another job as she liked the office where she worked. She enjoyed filing the records of transactions and felt she was treated fairly at work. She did agree to at least go one time to look for more professional clothing and get her hair done up.

The next few days sped by. Elena got out her Christmas tree and set it up in the front room. Jessica helped with the lights, garland and ornaments. George cooked all the meals and Mary cleaned the house from top to bottom.

For Elena, there was a feeling of great satisfaction. It was as if she had her very own family living under her roof. She loved listening to their conversations. And Jessica was such a joy! Elena dreamt of the good times they would have. Things they would do, like go to the park, see movies, maybe even take trips together.

On Monday morning Elena left for work before anyone was up. She locked the door behind her and drove off, thinking of how lucky she was to have found such good people to share the holidays with.

When she got home, Elena was surprised to find the front door unlocked, but no one there. She hung her keys on the rack by the door. That’s when she noticed that her computer was missing. No monitor, no keyboard, no mouse. Her tablet was also gone. Numbly, she stepped outside and called the police. She didn’t want to be in the house in case the intruders were still there.

The police came within a matter of minutes. They went inside, guns drawn. Elena stood far away, out on the sidewalk, not wanting to witness any possible shooting or the arrest of a criminal. But the police came out with no one in tow.

“Did you get a chance to look around and see what else was missing?” the tall one said.

“No. I only stepped into the front room. That’s when I left and called you.”

“Come inside, ma’am,” the other cop said. “We’ll take a look together.”

The television was missing. And the DVD player. So were most of her movies. Lamps and clocks were gone. Towels, sheets, blankets. The comforters off all the beds. Toiletries from both bathrooms. Food from the pantry and refrigerator. Everything and anything that could be taken quickly was gone.

“Ma’am,” the tall cop said, “Do you have any idea who might have done this? There is no sign of forced entry. It’s as if they had a key.”

Elena put her head in her hands. “Oh, no, it couldn’t be.”

“What?”

“The Morrisons. I invited them into my home on Thanksgiving.”

“Who are the Morrisons?”

“A family I met at the shelter. They were such nice people. And their little girl was so sweet. I was going to help them get better jobs. A new car. Clothes. Everything. And I gave them a key to the house.”

The tall cop sat on the sofa and pulled a small white pad from his shirt pocket. “Can you describe the Morrisons?”

Elena told the cop everything she knew. Size. Age. Eye color. Hair. Car. Jobs. And even what she knew of little Jessica.

“Ma’am,” the other cop said, “I hate to tell you this, but you got off lucky. We’ve seen schemes like this go horribly wrong. They might have convinced you to take out a loan on your house, or given them money. They might have harmed you, even killed you, to get what they wanted. Fortunately this happened while you were at work.”

“I feel like such a fool!”

“Ma’am,” the tall cop said, “Do you know a locksmith?”

“No.”

“We do. We’ll call him for you. I’m sure he’ll come out right away. Have all your locks changed and even have him put locks on your windows. These people probably won’t return since they took everything that wasn’t pinned down. But you need to be more secure.”

“Okay.”

“Also you should file a police report. Do you have any receipts for the things that were stolen? Like the computer or television?”

“Maybe. I’m not sure.”

“We’re going to leave now. Can I gave you a piece of advice?”

Elena nodded.

“Never invite strangers into your home. Even ones with children. You just don’t know what they might do.”

Elena sat dumbfounded as they left. She chastised herself for being so trusting, for being so hopeful that she could help the Morrisons out. What a fool she had been.