O Little Town (8 page)

CHAPTER 14

Millie Franklin was watching the snow from her second-floor bedroom in the Methodist manse. She was enjoying the jazzed-up version of “White Christmas” by the Drifters that poured out of the radio, but that didn’t matter because her mind was filled with thoughts that kept her from catching the holiday spirit.

Shirley Ann Briggs was watching it snow from her bedroom as “White Christmas” by the Drifters played in the background. She didn’t like the way they jazzed it up, but that didn’t matter because her mind was preoccupied with the all the changes that soon would engulf her life.

Louis Wayne Sterrett was watching the snow fall through the French doors of his bedroom. He didn’t know if he liked or disliked the way the Drifters had jazzed up “White Christmas,” but that really didn’t matter with everything that was going on downstairs in his living room. His father was on his knees cleaning the carpet and his mother was passed out on the sofa. They had agreed to invite the Briggs family over to talk and to get to know them. He told his parents how much he wanted them to meet Shirley Ann, and he felt it might be best to meet Lt. Buddy Briggs in the relative safety of a crowd. He wasn’t looking forward to that at all. He wished his granddad could be home by then. Granddad could control his mother and intimidate his father and diffuse the most explosive of situations. He could put things in perspective like no other. Maybe he would see him this afternoon at the hospital.

It was already three thirty, and time was running out with all the things he had to do. He decided to call Shirley Ann and tell her the family conference was on for seven thirty. He’d have plenty of time later to talk to his granddad.

“Hello.”

“Dove?”

“Hi, Amanda. I’m glad you called.”

“Well, I was concerned about you. Sorry I couldn’t talk earlier. What’s wrong?”

Dove Franklin lowered her voice. “I would feel more comfortable talking about it in person. Could you meet me somewhere?”

“I guess. How bad are the roads?”

“The snow’s stopped so I think they’re okay.”

“Shirley Ann is in her room. She’ll be okay here for a little while. Do you want me to come there?”

“No. Let’s meet … at … how about Beecher’s?”

“Across from Macalbee’s?”

“That’s it. How about in fifteen minutes?”

As Dove was heading for the front door, her husband walked out of his study.

“Going out again?”

“I’m going to meet Amanda Briggs for coffee.”

“Who will be here with Millie? I have to go out in a few minutes myself.”

“She’ll be all right. She’s fifteen. She’s not a baby.”

“No, but we’re going to have to start watching her like she’s a baby.”

“Paul, I talked to her and I told her she was not to leave the house. She knows she’s being punished. She will stay in her room. You go do whatever you have to do and don’t worry about it. I’ll handle it.”

Rev. Franklin turned back into his office and said as he walked, “I’m sure you will, Dove. I’m sure you will.”

As the front door closed behind his wife, Paul picked up the telephone and dialed a number he had scratched on a note pad. It rang three times before anyone answered.

“Macalbee’s. Merry Christmas!”

“May I speak to the manager, Mr. Sandridge, please?”

“Who may I say is calling?”

“Paul Franklin.”

“One moment please.”

Lois Pence cupped her left hand over the bottom of the receiver and said, “Mr. Sandridge, it’s Rev. Franklin. He wants to speak to you.”

Milton’s back stiffened and he drew in a sudden breath. He hoped Lois didn’t notice as he swiveled slowly around toward the outstretched phone cord and reached out his hand.

“If you need me to be a witness to that girl’s stealing, I will. I’m not afraid of him.”

“I’m not afraid of him either, Lois. Just give me the phone.” His voice was tired and heavy.

Milton spoke in his best managerial tone, “Paul. How are you?”

“I’m fine, Milton. I’m calling to tell you how sorry I am for all the trouble my daughter has caused you. I’m embarrassed and discouraged over it and certainly ashamed of her actions.”

“Paul. Please. Say no more. We can handle this quietly. Don’t be embarrassed or ashamed. She’s just a kid who did a foolish thing. It happens every day.”

“It doesn’t happen to
me
every day. This was a planned and premeditated offense. Those are the hardest sins to forgive. They’re also the ones that hurt the most. And if she did it once, she is likely to do it again. People often repeat the same sin over and over until they get punished for it. Then more likely than not they’re sorry for being caught instead of sorry for what they did. Do you know what I’m saying, Milton?”

“Yes, sir.” Milton answered as if his father were talking to him.

“I’m coming down to see you.”

“No, that’s okay. You don’t have to do that.”

“I think I do. We need to talk. And we need to see eye to eye when we do. I can be there in the next half hour if that’s suitable to you.”

“Paul …”

“Yes?”

“Nothing. Sure. In a half hour will be fine with me.”

Beecher’s was a coffee shop and soda fountain from another era. The small white tiles on the floor and the dark oak paneling on the walls were holdovers from the turn-of-the-century occupants, Hansen’s Drugs and Notions—a store that had been there for nearly sixty years. But the soda fountain wasn’t the main attraction. Above the fountain was an enormous mounted moose head with antlers that reached at least four feet into the air. On the left antler hung a black tattered top hat, said to have been tossed there by a past mayor who had stopped in one night for a bicarbonate of soda after a night at the opera at the old Crown Theater. On the right antler hung a white, silk lined scarf, turned yellow now with time, its legend lost to the ages. Both icons remained for decades and had become such a part of the town history that when the drugstore changed hands and was turned into a coffee shop and fountain, they stayed on as part of the local color. Dove and Amanda sat near the front window at a small table for two.

“The reason I called this morning was because of Millie. She’s really done it this time. They caught her shoplifting over at Macalbee’s about ten o’clock this morning.”

“
They
caught her? Who are they?”

“Yeah, well, you’re right.
Him.
”

“What happened? I mean, I am so sorry for Millie. But what did they do and what did she take? I don’t know what to ask first here,” said Amanda.

“She apparently just walked in and started picking things up and putting them in her pockets.…”

“What kind of things?”

“Oh, I don’t know. A pack of bobby pins. A picture frame. Silly things.”

“Why?”

“That’s the part that bothers me most,” said Dove. “I could go with the easy answer and agree with Paul. He says she did it to embarrass him. To prove that she’s not a goody-goody preacher’s kid. And there might be something to that. She’s had a lot of responsibility forced on her. Everything she does gets magnified because of who Paul is. Lord knows, I feel plenty of that myself.”

“But what else? You said that was the easy answer. What else do you think it was?”

“Mandy, you’re the only person in the world I can say this to.” Rare tears were shining in Dove’s eyes and her voice was defying her strength. “I think Millie knows about Milton and me.”

“Oh, Dove, no. Certainly not. Why do you think that?”

“He and I went over to Cantersville to eat lunch together a couple of weeks ago and just get away and talk. You know all that. And while we were in this little restaurant, I thought I saw the mother of one of her girlfriends come in and leave real quick. I wasn’t sure but I couldn’t get it off my mind.”

“Who was it?”

“Judy Bowers. Do you know her?”

“No.”

“Anyway, she has a big mouth, and I should have gotten up and gone out and got her by the arm and introduced her to Milton and made everything okay right there on the spot, but I didn’t.”

“You would have introduced her to Milton?”

“I always have a story ready in case someone sees us. I’ll tell them we’ve been to a church conference down the valley somewhere and just stopped in here for a bite of lunch or that we had a committee meeting at one of the local churches and stopped here for coffee. I figure if you’re open and act like there’s nothing to hide, people will believe you.”

“Have you ever had to use one of those excuses?”

“Actually, no. So I really don’t know how good I’d be at it. But I sure wish I had used it with Judy Bowers. I kick myself every day for not following her out and talking to her. We must have looked awful guilty sitting there in that back booth at two o’clock in the afternoon twenty-five miles from home. I’m sure she told her daughter and her daughter told Millie. I could almost tell you the exact day she found out because she hasn’t treated me the same since.”

“And you think that’s why she chose to shoplift at Macalbee’s this morning? To get back at Milton?”

“Yes, I do. And I think it’s time we get out of this town before somebody else finds out more than there is to find out. When we get caught, we’re going to get blamed for a full-fledged affair. No one, my husband included, is going to believe what we haven’t been doing. We might as well be sleeping together because that’s what the rumor is going to be if we ever get caught.”

“Don’t say that, Dove. Don’t say that. Are you serious about leaving?”

“Paul finally agreed this morning to go. I think this thing with Millie was the final straw. And I’m ready. I’m so ready. You are the only person I will miss in this town. The only one. I love you for the friend you’ve been to me, but I have to get out of here and away from Milton before something happens that ruins all of our lives. Thanks for listening to me and letting me run on and on like this. How about you? How’s everything in your life?”

Amanda signaled for two more cups of coffee.

CHAPTER 15

Walter knew there was very little time before his daughters would be coming through that door. Colleen would try to be all smiles but that wouldn’t last. She’d be in tears inside of three minutes. That’s the kind of heart she had. Big and soft and easy to break. And then he would wind up consoling her. He didn’t mind. He never minded doing anything for his little Colleen.

And then next through the door, probably an hour or two later, would be Doris. She would be mad. Angry? No, mad! She would challenge the doctors and the nursing staff and demand a recount of blood corpuscles and take to task everyone from the orderly to the administrator. She would sweep in shouting orders and put the fear of God in everyone who crossed her path. Pretty little Doris. How he loved her and her take-no-prisoners attitude. But he could never convince her of that. She was always trying too hard; trying too hard to win his love instead of enjoying it. She desired approval over affection. Attention over contentment. Or … she may not come at all. Maybe she would be passed out on the sofa, full of tranquilizers and expensive gin.

Either way, he figured he only had a few moments to himself before the room filled up. A few moments to nap. A few moments to dream. A few moments to remember.

Neither the audience nor her husband saw Adrienne collapse behind the curtain. He was on the opposite side of the stage and never saw her being carried down the stone steps to their basement dressing room. He was busy berating the director for late cue prompting in the second act. When he pushed open the door to their shared dressing quarters, she had already shooed the stagehands out. Nicholas found his wife sitting at her dressing table applying cold cream to her face and neck. He stepped out of his costume, dressed in a pair of woolen slacks and cotton shirt, put on a full-length top coat with silver buttons and a plaid dress hat and left the room without a word.

Walter saw him leave through the stage door and cross the street to the Brennaman House Hotel and disappear through their revolving front door. Feeling assured he was gone for the night, Walter hurried back down the hall to Adrienne’s dressing room and knocked gently on the door. Seeing Walter, she walked back and sat down again in front of the mirror leaving the open door as an invitation for him to come in.

“Adrienne, ah, Mrs. Knoles, are you alright?”

“My head hurts. And my vision is blurred out of my left eye. Can you see the swelling?”

Walter stepped between her and the wall mirror to get a better look. The bruise was much worse than it had been a couple of hours ago.

“I think we should let my father look at it or maybe you should go to the hospital.”

“No. I just need to sit here a minute. Close the door, Walter, and don’t let anyone else in.”

Walter moved toward the door but before he could shut it, Simon Croft pushed his way in. He had a cigar in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other. He was dressed in his street clothes, and for the first time, Walter noticed an edge in his voice when he spoke to Adrienne.

“You’ve carried this thing far enough. Get dressed and go back to the hotel and sleep it off. Your head will be better in the morning.”

“I think she’s hurt pretty bad,” said Walter.

“What do you know? Stick to carrying coffee and sleeping in the prop room or whatever it is you do around here. You’re not a doctor. You can’t even find one when we need one. Why don’t you run along home and let us take care of things here, boy.”

“Simon.” The way Adrienne spoke his name sounded like a scolding. Walter looked at her and then at him. Something was going on that had him puzzled. He suddenly felt very nervous to be standing between these two lovers and his anxiety increased when the door quickly opened and Nicholas Knoles walked in.

“What are you doing in my dressing room?” This question was directed explicitly toward Walter. But before he could stammer an answer, Nicholas turned to Simon and said, “And what are
you
doing in my dressing room?” Then all of his attention went to his wife. “And what happened to your head?”

This was when it all came rushing to Walter’s young senses that he had read this scene the wrong way. Nicholas hadn’t caused Adrienne’s wound. And if he hadn’t caused it, it must have been Simon.

Nicholas knelt in front of Adrienne and pushed the hair away from her forehead and looked closely at the blue bruise that was gathering blood just under the surface of the skin.

“What happened? Who did this to you?”

Before she could answer, Simon started backing toward the door. “It was an accident, Nick. I swear it was. I didn’t mean to.”

What happened next happened so fast Walter had a hard time recalling it later. Adrienne jumped up from the chair and tried to deflect Nicholas’ hand as he reached under his overcoat and pulled a small pearl-handled revolver. It was as if she knew by instinct what was about to happen—as if this scene had been played out before in other towns, in other dressing rooms. With his free hand he tried to push her to the side but she stepped away and yelled for Simon to run and at Nicholas to stop. Neither happened.

The two sounds that followed would ring for years in Walter’s ears: Adrienne Knoles screaming “No!” and a single shot from a .38 caliber pistol.

When the reverberations settled, Simon was cowered against the wall with spittle on his chin and eyes closed tightly in terror, a broken whiskey bottle at his feet. Nicholas was standing in the middle of the room empty-handed, his gun lying on the floor. Slumped partially over a straight back chair was his wife, conscious but bleeding from the abdomen.

“Adrienne. Dear God, my Adrienne.”

Walter had seen it all. He had seen the surprise in Nicholas Knoles’ face upon discovering what Simon had done to his wife. He had seen Simon’s poorly disguised deception—an attempt to make Walter believe Nicholas had hurt his wife. And he had seen Adrienne, dear, lovely Adrienne, step between her husband and her lover to take the bullet that was meant for the man who had harmed her; the bullet that was meant to protect her honor; the bullet that just might take her life.

This trio of humanity was puzzling for a young boy. Had Adrienne, his innocent, beautiful Adrienne, the heroine of his dreams, traded one violent lover for another? Simon, who Walter had thought to be her friend, had bruised her face with his own hands. Adrienne must have misread his affections and character. And Nicholas, her acerbic and difficult husband, a man who suffered from an uncontrollable temper, still risked everything—even a murder charge—to protect his wife.

Walter Selman ran from the room to find his father and to find an automobile to take Adrienne to the hospital. It was only a week until Christmas. None of this could be happening.