Margaret's Ark (28 page)

Margaret was seated onstage with Edgecomb and the other two selectmen. She didn't know their names, never having to worry herself with town politics before. One of the men she recognized from Vince's funeral; the other was elected only last November. He was older, sparse white hair barely covering a spotted scalp. All three looked nervous, understanding the potential mob scene as clearly as did the police.

Not surprisingly, Adrian Edgecomb took control of the meeting.

“Ladies and gentleman, can we please quiet down now? We're about to begin. Normally, even for special town meetings such as this, we would proceed with a normal round of motions and what-not. Considering the heat, and the fact that most of you are here for one reason only, we'll dispense with most of the formalities tonight.”

Murmurs of appreciation. Margaret scanned the crowd. Nearly everyone seated was looking at her. In the back, standing next to one of the policemen, Father Nick caught her eye and gave a slight wave. He looked tired, the dark rings under his eyes apparent even across the sea of bodies filling the auditorium. She felt the warmth of one who realizes she has at least
one
ally.

Edgecomb quieted the group with two raised hands before continuing. “Many of you already know my opinion of recent events. For those who don't, let me be frank. I think Mrs. Carboneau's little
project
on our town square is not only a disgrace, but a public safety hazard. I've said this from the beginning, and I think last night's arson attack is one more way of showing that I am right. Thankfully, no one was injured. If I had my way, this whole affair would be put to rest now. Building a structure of any kind on public property without an approved permit is against zoning bylaws two-nineteen, two-twenty, two-twenty-one, and about a dozen others. We can probably go through the book, line by line, and find more that would fit this case.”

Margaret was sure Edgecomb had done exactly that. She remained quiet, listening, making notes now and then on the yellow legal pad she'd brought with her. She wrote the mentioned bylaws on the first page, with “Estelle to check?” beside them in the margin.

“Now, I'm not saying - believe me I'm not - that something odd isn’t going on around the world. I'm not saying that Mrs. Carboneau is the only person to be doing this.” He turned and glared at Margaret. “I am saying that what other people, in other towns, are doing does not concern this governing body, or this town. What happens in Lavish is our business. We need to uphold the laws set down by past administrations and to ensure the safety, both physical and mental, of our residents.”

Applause from half the crowd. Margaret admired how the man had memorized his opening remarks. He'd likely been rehearsing them since calling the meeting. Still, she said nothing. She would have her chance. She had no idea what she'd say. When the time came, however, she'd say it. Whatever
it
was. As Edgecomb continued his arguments, sounding more and more like a trial lawyer, Margaret scanned the crowd until she caught sight of some of her people scattered like apostles among the crowd. Al, Tony and a few others had remained at the common to guard the ship since most of the police were tied up here.

Edgecomb finally relinquished his “chair” to Mr. Major, the other selectman whom Margaret had recognized earlier. To her surprise, the man said simply, “I reserve my time and offer it to Margaret Carboneau. I'd like to hear what she has to say.”

Edgecomb objected, “She'll have her time to talk.”

“That's right,” Major said. “And that’s right now. Mrs. Carboneau?”

Margaret did not smile but looked at the man a little longer than she needed to. A silent offer of thanks. She stood, and walked slowly toward the microphone mounted on a single long pole center stage. She wished there was a podium, something to hang on to.

“Hello. As you all know, my name is Margaret Carboneau.” She closed her eyes a moment, then opened them and said, “A month ago I received a vision. Like many of you, I thought this was nothing more than a frightening dream. In this dream, an angel of God told me that in sixty days a flood will come upon the earth, and that I must build a boat to hold thirty people. No more, no less. I was also shown where to build it. On the very spot where we -- I and my crew -- have set up camp.”

Some cat calls, people talking over her.

“Quiet,” said Edgecomb, obviously hoping she would sink herself.

“Like I said, I ruled it out as a dream. Then I had another one. Still, I couldn't accept what it was telling me. Later I heard news reports, about other people, regular, normal people having the same dreams. Some had even begun building by then. The more I heard the stories on the radio or TV, the more I had to face the fact that their stories and mine were the same. Everything, down to the smallest detail, with one exception - everyone seems to have been visited by a different angel.”

More laughter. Margaret's face reddened.

“Listen,” she said, louder this time. “Even now, I sometimes question my sanity. How can I not? Sometimes I lie in bed and assume I've just gone completely bananas and only
think
I'm hearing these reports. But there
are
others... everyone on the whole planet is telling me the same damned thing: If I'm crazy, then tens of thousands of others are, too.” The crowd was now silent. She was saying what they already knew, and suddenly she understood that was her only weapon. Don't preach; just spout facts.

“Drive around other towns. Even
before
the sign last weekend of the rain, there were arks being built. Some like mine, some a lot fancier, sprouting up like... like weeds. Everywhere! I'm living a nightmare right now, having to abandon everything I've known, isolate myself and my girls to do this. And on what basis? Faith in a dream, in the words of some individual
in
my dream who tells me that God wants to save us from what’s going to happen to the planet on June eighth. I can only imagine what
you
people must think, not having been through what I have.”

She paused, swallowed, and tried to make contact with every face before her. “I can't really imagine, to be honest. A woman from town telling me that the world’s going to end in sixty days, then going off and building a boat. Doing the same thing Noah did five thousand years ago. Then having that rain come down like it did. Most of you -- and I would have, too, in your shoes -- became so amazed or frightened by these events that you are reacting in one of two ways. Believe, or fight against what you’ve seen. Struggle to hold on to some semblance of the
old
reality because, frankly, you don't know what else to do.”

“Mrs. Carboneau, your allotted time - actually Mr. Major's allocated time, is up.”

She ignored him. “But believe me when I say, I don't know what else to do.”

Edgecomb was standing now.

“Please,” Margaret continued to the crowd, “if you really think I'm just a nut, and I might
be
a nut, then I honestly can’t hurt anyone by doing this, except maybe myself and those who believe what I tell them. All I ask - “

Someone had her arm. It was Edgecomb. He pulled her aside and spoke in to the microphone, looking into the crowd though his words were directed to her. “Mrs. Carboneau, we're having this meeting for your benefit, but we have to - “

“Take your damned hands off me!”

The selectman's grip loosened, and a few in the audience snickered. When he saw the unbridled fury on the woman's face, he let go completely.

“Let her talk,” someone shouted from the crowd. “This is why we're here!”

“It's not her meeting,” someone else said. “She has to follow - “

“I don't care about protocol, if that's why - “

Voices rose and vied for attention. Selectman Major stood and worked his way between Margaret and Edgecomb. He spoke calmly, and his amplified voice won over the others.

“That is exactly right. We're here for the sole purpose of determining whether or not this town should continue to allow Mrs. Carboneau to finish her ark.” As he spoke, he rested a hand on Edgecomb's shoulder in a gesture of unity, while very subtly pushing him aside. Edgecomb understood he was being given the chance to step aside gracefully, and relented. He did not sit, but did take a couple of steps under his own power and allowed Major the floor. 

“There is the issue,” Major was saying, “of the current zoning laws, even with the passionate division among religious and societal issues. If we are to allow, or deny, any variance in these statutes, we need to hear all reasons for such.”

He turned to Margaret. “Mrs. Carboneau, we will allow a five minute extension of your chair, after which we will ask that you be seated until such time as you may again address the assembly.”

She nodded, and Major stepped aside. He remained standing beside Edgecomb whose anger smeared across his red face.

Margaret took her five minutes to express her one wish to the town. Label her as a prophet, or a lunatic, but give her until the eighth of June to finish her work. If that day came and nothing happened, they could lock her up and throw away the key. Have a special ark razing ceremony. Do whatever they’d like. Have the biggest “I told you so” in the history of the town at her expense. All she asked was that they wait. Wait and see. At this point, all police duty was being paid from her and her crew’s personal savings. All she asked from the town was patience and a small plot of land, and even then only temporarily.

For those angry with her, who hated her for what she and her people signified, she asked only indifference. Ignore her, and in thirty-two days, she would go away.

She promised.

With her speech completed, the meeting continued for another two and a half hours. Twice, Margaret asked for the floor when she realized truths were being twisted by Edgecomb or various townspeople waiting their turns to speak. One of these people was Sarah Jorgenson. When taking her respective turn to speak, Carl’s mother glared at Margaret with unhidden malice. Her take was an effective one -- that she was frightening the children of the town, going so far as to “steal away” her son into her cult. This launched a series of comments from other parents, describing nightmare-ridden nights with their children, behavior problems with teenagers who justified their actions by stating their decision to “do whatever I want because the world's gonna end in a month anyway.”

Thankfully, Carl managed to work his way to one of the microphones set up in the middle aisle for public commentary. His arm had been raised for an hour, and not until Margaret caught Major's eye and pointed him out was he recognized to speak.

Carl had to walk past his parents to get to the microphone. Sitting with them was a much older man, and from the resemblance he held to Carl’s father, and the teenager’s short-lived look of happiness when he saw the man, Margaret wondered if this was his grandfather. Carl’s smile paled under the old man’s angry stare. Dan Jorgenson, for his part, kept his hands folded in front of him as if in prayer, fists clenched so hard his fingers had gone pale. Margaret found herself staring at these hands, even as Carl began to speak. The side of Carl’s face still sported the fading, yellowed bruise. Most people likely didn’t notice it, but Margaret was certain his father did. A new wave of sadness for the couple washed over her. Carl was brief but effective in his assertion that he had made his own choice, and to Margaret's surprise told the town how his father had struck him and locked him in his room to keep him from returning to “Mrs. Carboneau's ark.” By the time he was finished, Sarah was crying loudly, the wail of a mother grieving a lost son. His father’s face was dry, a statue in the crowd. Carl kept his head, and averted his eyes when he passed them. She wondered if the boy was also avoiding his grandfather’s disapproving stare.

The only person who did not address the crowd, which surprised her, was the white-haired third selectman. Now and then he looked her way, or took notes on his own legal pad. Never once did he stand to address any issue or question.

Father Nick Mayhew had his turn to speak, which he took briefly, as did Kaufman the high school principal and a half-dozen other teachers and former co-workers. To her delight, all but Kaufman had glowing appraisals of Margaret’s work prior to her leaving the school. Some students managed to find the microphone, and though Margaret was expecting some more positive feedback from them, all but one thought she was a crackpot. Back and forth until eleven o'clock when the selectman called for a vote by tally. At Major's insistence the tally would be counted before the meeting was adjourned.

The question posed to the townspeople was, “Should Margaret Carboneau be allowed a variance on zoning laws one-fifty-one, two-thirty-seven and two-thirty-eight, specifically, in order to allow her to complete construction and man her ship, until eleven-fifty nine PM, on the night of June eighth, after which time the zoning laws will again be put into effect?”

As soon as the question was asked, three separate lines formed in the three aisles leading to the auditorium stage. Edgecomb seemed content with this approach, and Margaret assumed he'd stacked the attendance enough to win. Still, he could not control the arguments presented, especially not with Major insisting on acknowledging those Edgecomb ignored.

Margaret had nothing to do while the lines slowly moved towards the tabulation boxes, except nurse her third Diet Coke and wait. At one point, she was startled by the realization that all arguments tonight revolved around her own ark. No mention, save a quick reference to “arks” as a plural by one person, was given to Benson's ship. The man himself was nowhere to be seen.

Father Nick joined her on stage after he'd cast his own vote. She mentioned her concern for Benson as the priest pulled up a chair from the back of the stage. He patted her on the shoulder and said simply, “You've been at this a month already, Margaret, which probably feels like a lifetime. It took a lot to stand in front of an entire town and say what you said - which you said quite well, by the way. The gentleman who started the second ark has been at it for less than a week. I'm sure just starting one in the first place, especially without having any of the dreams, was hard enough. This,” he gestured to the crowd, “must have been too much.” He smiled. “I suppose he's relying on your gift of public speaking to pull him through.”