The Recluse Storyteller (18 page)

“‘Your mother said she didn’t know where your father was,’ said Mrs. Thompson.

“Georgia leaned forward, ready to burst out about the hilltop encounter, but Gwen quickly put a hand on her chest to squelch any thoughts of revealing what would have become nothing but an egregious lie in the eyes of most people.”

* * *

Margaret stopped for a moment but kept her head back against the wall with her eyes closed. Sam and Pam remained enraptured in the story. Sam nibbled on her second piece of white bread, and Pam kept rhythmically rolling a can of beans back and forth on the comforter. They both looked up at Margaret, anticipating more. The vacuum could now be heard out in the main living room area, a short distance down the hall from the girls’ room.

“Ms. Pritcher,” asked Sam. “Is their father dead, too?”

“Sam, I don’t think the story is over yet. We’re not supposed to know at this point.”

“But it’s driving me crazy. If I had the book right now, I’d flip to the last page and discover its ending.”

Margaret, too, wanted to know the ending.

“You’ve always been so impatient about everything.”

“And you’re so boring. Don’t you ever wonder about anything?”

“I wonder about you.”

“Besides me,” said Sam.

“I suppose not,” Pam said turning away bitterly.

“Can we hear more of the story?” asked Sam.

Margaret had a slight smirk on her face. She enjoyed the girls’ bantering. It made her feel like she had two friends, and if not that, it made her feel like she was privy to the internal bickering of a relationship built on love. It had a familiar ring to it, and it made her long for the past.

* * *

“Two days passed. The twins and Benjamin had spent two nights crammed in the Thompson’s back room with the two Thompson girls. Mrs. Thompson took Benjamin half the time in order to relieve Gwen of such a heavy burden for a young girl. Georgia, after all, was not too much of a help. She ached emotionally every minute of the day, while Gwen had no time for such human attributes in the midst of a crisis.

“At five o’clock in the afternoon on the second day after the fire, the Thompsons packed all of their children and orphaned guests into the wagon and made the ominous trip back to the burnt homestead. Several local men had fashioned a rough wooden coffin, dug a burial plot behind the house, and lowered the pine box into its final resting place. About twenty people, including the reverend from River’s End who was asked to give the eulogy, were in attendance.

“They stood in a semi-circle, Gwen and Georgia in the middle, directly facing the charred remnants of their childhood. Benjamin squirmed mercilessly in Gwen’s arms until Mrs. Thompson came and took him from her. Gwen cried for only the second time since the fire. Georgia stared on in disbelief, refusing to believe that their mother was gone. And what of their father? He had come to comfort them. Or did he? Was she just imagining things? What of the light? Was it merely a light that illuminated just enough to create evil shadows?

“The air smelled like charred wood. Its pungency reminded Georgia of the days with mother and father sitting by the fireplace, laughing, and eating biscuits with their Father, who made their mother upset by purposely teasing the dog with a leftover piece of bacon.

“Why did father leave?
she thought. Surely, he knew of his wife’s despondency. She could barely take care of Benjamin and depended so much on Gwen. Georgia knew that Gwen was a very good young mother. She had to be for Benjamin’s sake.
Oh, where would we be without Gwen?
thought Georgia, who at that moment thought of herself as an evil, selfish person. The reverend’s words kept fading in and out. The words ‘hope’, ‘everlasting life’, and ‘love’ had little comfort for Georgia. She had been in a trance for about two minutes before she realized that the eulogy was over and the neighbors had started to shovel the dirt onto the coffin.

“After the service, the girls sat silently for about an hour on the other side of the barn. Buster tried to get the girls to play a familiar game of roll and tumble, but they were contended to remain silent and scratch his back instead. After the grave was filled and marked with a white wooden cross, the Thompsons came to talk with the girls.

“‘Where’s Benjamin?’ asked Gwen.

“‘He’s with Celia. We wanted to talk with you, girls,’ said Mrs. Thompson, who was very kind but clearly worn out with four children of her own.

“‘Girls,’ started Mr. Thompson. ‘We have to decide what will happen to you.’

“‘What do you mean?’ asked Georgia, knowing full well what he meant.

“‘This has been a terrible tragedy. A terrible accident that I feel so horrible about. You poor children,’ said Mrs. Thompson, with tears of sympathy streaming down her face. ‘But I’m afraid you cannot stay with us. We just do not have room.’

“‘And it’s been a very rough year. Dry. The crops are doing poorly. We already have four children and are just not equipped to take care of more. I wish we could. I really do,’ added Mr. Thompson, who was a decent man.

“‘But we’re not alone. We still have father,’ Georgia piped up quickly.

“Mr. and Mrs. Thompson glanced at each other in that sorrowful way that tells one to expect the worst.

“‘My dear children. Your mother received a letter from a Mr. Perry from St. Louis just three days ago. It informed her that your father had drowned in a boating accident when a steamer hit a fishing vessel. I’m so sorry, my children.’

“Georgia looked at Gwen, shaking her head sternly.

“‘No! It’s a lie!’

“‘That can’t be true,’ concurred Gwen.

“‘It’s true. Your mother was so upset that …’

“Georgia stood up and walked over to Mr. Thompson.

“‘I saw father. On Harper’s Hill. He said the light was not for him or for Benjamin. And when we saw Mother’s death, we knew he was right.’

“‘What on earth are you talking about, child?’ inquired Mrs. Thompson.

“‘He came to us. He put his hands on our shoulders. He told us to be brave.’

“‘Gwen, what is your sister saying?’ asked Mrs. Thompson, looking at her husband in bewilderment.

“‘It’s true. I didn’t see Father, not like Georgia. But I did hear his voice when Benjamin was hurt. And I felt his presence. I know that he came for us. So it can’t be true, it just can’t.’

“‘Girls,’ Mr. Thompson spoke up firmly. ‘We cannot afford to talk about such fantastical tales. Not at this time. Not now. Your mother is dead, and your father is not coming back.’

“Mrs. Thompson reached over to touch her husband’s sleeve, wanting him to stop.

“‘Girls, we love you and want what is best for you. That is why we’re going to be taking you over to River’s End tomorrow. We’ve been in contact with a Mrs. Chesterway who runs the River’s Orphanage. She is a delightful woman; caring, loving, but firm—as I suppose she needs to be. She will be taking you in for the time being until the magistrate can determine property rights and possessions and all of those things. Perhaps you will be lucky enough to find a family who will take you all in. I’m sorry, but that’s the best we could do for you.’

“A hushed calm came across the faces of the twins. An unbearable burning ripped through Georgia’s chest, which ached and turned and twisted beyond recognition. She stood up and screamed with all her might.

“‘Father!’”

* * *

Margaret yelled out the word as if trying to get the attention of someone a football field away. The girls jolted back in their beds, and in rushed Mrs. Johnson, vacuum utensil hand, drawn upwards as if a weapon, ready to strike.

As she entered the room abruptly, it startled the girls, who screamed and shook the normally pensive Margaret into yelping loudly. When the cacophony of high-pitched shrieks came to a halt, the exasperated Mrs. Johnson looked accusingly at Margaret.

“Margaret! What’s going on here? Why are you here? Girls, are you all right?”

“Yes, Mom. We’re fine.”

“Of course we’re all right,” added Pam. “Why are you so surprised? You knew Ms. Pritcher was here.”

“I did
not
know Ms. Pritcher was here. Margaret, I don’t know what has gotten into you, but you
cannot
be with my children alone. Is that clear? Never!”

“Mom!” pleaded Sam. “She was just trying to tell us the end of the story.”

“I don’t care what she was trying to do,” yelled Mrs. Johnson, whose raised voice was very much out of character for her. “Margaret, leave at once. You’re not welcome here.”

“Mom!”

“Mom! Why are you treating her this way?”

“Sam, go to your room!”

“I’m in my room!”

“Well, stay here! Margaret! Out!”

Margaret got off the bed and walked quickly down the hallway.

“Thanks for the bread.”

“And beans.”

Mrs. Johnson looked strangely at the two until she saw the cans of beans and the partially eaten loaf of bread on the bed. Janice would be getting another call.

Chapter 14

Cheevers Pays a Visit

“Thank you for seeing me,” said Reverend Davies as he entered Janice’s modest house on the other side of the city.

“Well, you certainly have me curious.”

“I’m sure I do.”

“Please, have a seat.”

“Thanks.”

Janice noticed that his face looked weathered and perplexed, like he had been trying to solve a problem that continually defeated him.

“What is it, Reverend Davies? I can see something written on your face.”

“The other day, when Margaret was telling that story, I …” he paused for a moment and turned his head away as if afraid to admit something. “I don’t know. It just grabbed me like I had heard it before. It was so familiar, yet so unknown. I don’t know how to describe it. All I know is that I went home quite shaken, and I couldn’t get it out of my mind.”

“It had me engaged as well,” said Janice.

“No, it wasn’t just engagement for me. It was personal. She was telling me something personal.”

“I don’t think I’m following you.”

“How well did you know your brother-in-law?”

“Taylor? Well, we saw each other on holidays, I guess. That’s about it. What does this have to do with Margaret’s father?”

“You know he was a veteran in ‘Nam?”

“Sure.”

“Did your sister ever tell you any stories about his time there?”

“Reverend Davies, what exactly are you getting at?” she asked, trying to put an end to the cryptic back and forth statements.

“Vietnam messed up your brother-in-law. It messed up a lot of people.”

“That much I know. He killed himself over it. He couldn’t shake it, whatever ‘it’ was.”

“You’re right. He couldn’t shake it. Taylor and I go way back. We enlisted together in the fall of 1969. We served together, and I even became his platoon commander for the last six months we served there.”

“That I didn’t know.”

“There was one incident. A terrible incident I don’t want to get into. But it scarred him for life. When I was listening to Margaret the other day, I just felt like she was telling the other side of the story. The side I never heard. The aftereffects of what we experienced there.”

“Okay,” she mouthed slowly with an air of bewilderment about her.

“So after Margaret’s story, I went home and paced back and forth for about three hours, mulling everything over in my head. Then I started making phone calls. Lots of them to anyone who might know something about the incident. And then I found it.”

“Found what?”

“It’s true. Everything Margaret said is true.”

* * *

Margaret had been thinking a lot about light recently. She would open the refrigerator over and over to see the darkness quickly disappear. She felt sorry for Janice who stared at the blinding force. Nothing could protect her. Nothing could prevent her from her destiny. Ideally, light illuminates just enough of life to get a fairly accurate perception of reality. But when it becomes blinding, as it had for Margaret, it becomes nothing but a burden to bear. For the first time ever, she was determined not to bear it alone. It made her bolder, actually, as if her forays into the neighbors’ apartments didn’t make this evident already. Her stories moved her forward. Red Hat, Reverend Davies, and the twins were all bound by the light. They were bound to tell the truth. They could do nothing else.

And so Margaret sat in her room ignoring emails, not answering the phone, and rarely going out onto the balcony. She waited for Cheevers to come in a receptive mood to hear the rest. She knew he would . A daughter can do that to a man, can she not? And sure enough, he did come, gently knocking at the door. She reached over for her red cap, placed it on her head, and slowly walked over to unlatch the door. Cheevers stood grinning sheepishly, wondering to himself why he was even there. He was looking for something that he wasn’t sure even existed—a second chance—a solemn prayer—a hopeful heart. He didn’t know if or why Margaret could give it to him. But there he stood nonetheless, red cap on, ready to listen.