by Blair Smith
"I did chew that kid's ass out, didn't I?" The President smiled, the moistened eyes vanished. "I can see this incident as a turning point for this country, Luc. This tragic mishap could give the people something to rally behind."
As the President spoke, Bennett noticed Winifred's zipper had been left down. He pointed.
Winifred noticed his Chief of Staff's gesture. He looked around and discretely zipped up his pants. He whispered to Lucas, "Do you think anyone noticed?"
"Your suit jacket most likely covered it," consoled Lucas quietly. "And you were behind the podium the entire time."
"Oh." Winifred thought about the incident as he ran fingers through his hair, then smiled and waved at approaching senators.
Colebrook, New Hampshire (September 2)
Weeds had started taking over the trail that crossed Mohawk Creek and cut through the pines to Helen's house. Just off the trail, Barry's lean-to now housed other creatures: a pair of chipmunks stored hickory nuts in one of its many caches at the base; field mice roamed through the shelter unencumbered; a fat, gray spider waited at the edge of her web, poised to crawl up and lunch on anything entangled in its snare.
At the trail's end, Helen's house was surrounded by thick pines and carpeted by a layer of dead pine needles. It hadn't changed. But the sun cut through the needle canopy at a lower angle. The greens of nature that were so vibrant a month earlier had dimmed to olive. A Wild Cucumber pod exploded and sprayed its seeds twenty feet away. Late summer weeds lost their flowers, holding burs in their absence. And a golden retriever did nothing but lay on the bed in Barry's room, dry and clean and away from it all.
Helen sat in a chair at the kitchen table and drank coffee--listened to the gossip of CB channel six. She hadn't gone to church since the funeral. Helen could not believe in a God who would allow such a horrible thing to happen to her boy. She got up from her chair when someone knocked at the door. The Rousell brothers. Helen opened the door and spoke glumly, "Hi boys. What can I do for you?"
"Well, ah." Helen's appearance astounded Butch. She looked like a zombie, sickly, with sunken eyes. "Thad and me just thought that Barry would have wanted someone to take Tater out every once in awhile."
"You two pretend to know what Barry would have wanted?"
"We was Barry's best friends."
Helen realized how she sounded. "Well, come in." She gestured at the kitchen table, inviting them to sit. "You two want cookies?" Both nodded. She searched through the bottom cupboard and found some old, stale ones still around from before Barry's death. In fact, the shelves and refrigerator were bare.
Helen had little use for food, living by herself. She drank coffee in the morning and alcohol of some sort at night. She waited out her time in the place; with no job she couldn't pay the mortgage. Electric bills kept piling up; she had been behind on them even before she had lost her job at the hospital. In the month since Barry's death she lost fifteen pounds. The anxiety and despair never went away. Seeing the radical changes in Barry's mom since Dixville, with the vacant eyes and drawn cheeks, made the Rousell boys uneasy--such a rapid transformation they had never witnessed.
"You okay, Ms. Conrad?" Butch asked softly.
In a resigned tone, "I'm all right." With a tired smile, "I'm all right," she repeated. "And thanks for asking." The two menacing little Rousells whom Helen always felt had had a negative influence on Barry now seemed angelic. Butch, usually loud and boastful, said please and thank you. Helen knew they had been through a lot, and wondered how the last boys of Pack 220 survived the horror of that day. Butch told the Dixville story to adults only a couple of times--and never spoke of it again. "How many cookies do you want, two or three? Barry usually had three for a snack."
"Three, please."
Helen placed the cookies on napkins and went back to the sink to draw two glasses of water. "I don't have milk, boys. I hope this will do." She sat down and sipped her coffee. A minute passed before anyone said anything. "So, how's school going?"
"Pretty good," answered Butch. "The teachers don't yell at me like they used to. Mrs. Harley knows about the Dixville Massacre. She tried to make me and my brother go see a shrink friend of hers but I told her, 'There's no way in hell me and Thad is going to see a damn shrink.' Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot we shouldn't swear."
"Go on."
"That's it. Well, that and there ain't no more Scoutin'. No one wants to start a new troop. Me and Thad ain't even official Scouts anymore. After the massacre, the Colebrook selectboard told the Daniel Webster Scout Council to take me and Thad off the roster--like we died up there or something." He rubbed his nose with the palm of his hand. "I might as well have, I'll probably have to start as a Wolf again," Butch whined. "I'll never be an Eagle at this rate." He looked up at Helen with questioning eyes. "Moms can be Akelas. Down at Lancaster there's one. And I saw one at the regional Pinewood Derby last year."
"Sorry, I can't help you. I've got problems of my own. Besides, I'm not a mom anymore." It hurt to say it--the fulfillment she had had as a mother, the beaming pride of having a good boy as a son. Helen recalled the time Uncle Max surprised Barry with a puppy. Only four years old at the time, Barry had groomed the pup, fed it; he put the animal in a box next to his bed that night. The two had become inseparable. Barry named it Tater; the puppy loved pushing potatoes across the floor with its nose. Though Helen had been perturbed at Max for springing the present on them, she soon realized the value of Barry having a companion. Tater walked Barry to the end of the lane each morning to catch the bus--and greeted her son as he got off the bus after school. Every day it was a race to see who would get to the house first. Tater always won.
"Ma'am," Butch whispered to Helen. "You okay, Ma'am? Ma'am?"
"Yes. Yes." After returning from her daze, Helen forgot what they had been talking about. "How you doing, Thad?" Thad looked out the window and didn't respond.
"He's doing fine but he don't talk," Butch spoke for him.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Do you mean, he doesn't, or can't, or what?"
"He just doesn't want to."
"Does he talk to you?"
"No, but I understand what he means. See, ever since the massacre he's got the ghost."
"He's got the ghost, huh." Helen had been around Butch enough to know he had a propensity to spin tall tales, turning the ordinary into something grander. But Thad, he had been a reserved boy before the tragedy. This is probably why teachers want to get Thad psychological help, she concluded.
Helen tried to get Thad's attention, "So Thad, will you talk to me?" He remained fixed on an object out the window. "Just say hi or something." He wouldn't respond. Helen put her hand on his; she realized she wasn't the only one suffering. After Barry's death, Thad needed a friend. The despondent dog upstairs needed a boy. "I'll get Tater."
Colebrook, New Hampshire (November 7)
Helen and her ex-husband Bradley sat and reminisced about the good times. The woodstove flickered through the screening. Helen couldn't recall him ever being so considerate. Tonight he listened; she had a lot pent up inside to talk about. Bradley shared the emptiness she felt from Barry's death. His appearance at her door confirmed his grief as a father.
Helen was grasping at any string of happiness. He had taken her out to dinner. Later, they sipped drinks at home. The passion escalated. She knew she might have regrets, but tonight she didn't care.
Tater pranced at the door, then scratched it. Helen pulled away from Bradley's embrace. "I've got to let her out before she scratches the door any worse. The problem with having this mute dog is that it has to scratch to tell you what they want." The dog was out most of the day with the Rousells and now wanted out again.
Bradley refilled her glass with Chardonnay.
"Tater stays out all night sometimes," she commented on her return. "I suspect she's with Butch and Thad during the day. I
have no idea what she does at night."
"You don't have to keep the dog anymore. I'm sure I could find her a good home. I meet a lot of farmers. Tater would love it on a farm. A lot of people would love a dog that doesn't bark."
"Naaa. I've gotten attached to her. Besides, Barry loved that animal. I couldn't give her away."
"So, tell me more about this Wizard in the Vermont Covenant?" Bradley asked.
"Hardly anyone in our covenant has seen him. Feds have been trying to stop his CB radio broadcasts for over six months. The Wizard designed a communication link to connect the Vermont and New Hampshire Covenants." Her voice raised in excitement, "They're setting it up right now."
Helen reflected on what had first attracted her to Bradley. He still looked handsome: six-foot two with thick black hair, athletically built--a large, solid jaw his most defining feature. He made her feel protected. Talking to someone filled the lonely void tragedy had left behind.
Romance captured her and held her firmly in familiar arms. Helen couldn't remember Bradley this affectionate, she followed the route passion took her.
She slept breathing heavily, again reliving the Dixville scene in a struggle to give Barry life in the back of Max's truck. She wiped sticky blood on her dress and reached back to find her son's face, to breathe life into him again. The smell of raw gut permeated the air as she groped about the bed, searching. At last she realized where she was. It took a second to recall the night's events, then she noticed Bradley wasn't in bed any more. Car lights glowed beyond the trees. She slipped on her robe to investigate.
Though Helen knew the trail that went by Barry's lean-to, it took awhile for her eyes to adjust. She crept toward the light slowly. Late November air chilled her to the core; her sweat-soaked gown stiffened from the cold. She watched Bradley talk to the men in the white car. The rear license plate was intact; locals clipped the upper right corner of the plate. "You bastard!" she mumbled. Bradley was one of the Feds--the people responsible for the murder of her son.
Something moved in the brush near her. Tater sat a few feet away and watched the same scene with interest. Like the Rousell brothers, the dog had become a survivor, reverting to her roots with the wild. "Let's go, girl," said Helen. "We've seen enough." Helen went back to the house, changed into a clean gown and went back to bed.
Bradley skulked in five minutes later and dropped his pants before slipping under the sheets. Helen lay awake in bed for an hour until she was certain he was asleep.
Then she slipped out, donned hiking clothes and boots, and grabbed a flashlight. She and Tater hiked toward Max's deer camp at Van Dyck summit. Max had been working all day setting up the communication link between the covenants. After making several wrong turns, Helen finally followed the dog to Max's camp.
"The Feds know about The Wizard," blurted Helen as she burst into the room.
Max could hardly see who it was at first. Luckily he recognized the voice; he lowered his shotgun. "How'd they find out? Do they know I'm here at the camp, or what?"
"They just know The Wizard is in the area," said Helen, nearly crying. "I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!"
"The Wizard left already." Max pulled a chair over, "Sit down. Now, collect your thoughts," he insisted. "Tell us exactly what happened."
Butch and Thad were also at the deer camp. They had come to meet The Wizard and help set up the communication system. Groggy, Butch crawled out of his sleeping bag on the opposite side of the shack. He rubbed his nose with the palm of his hand as he approached to listen.
Helen continued with her story, "Well, I spent the day with Bradley and mentioned The Wizard and that the Vermont and New Hampshire Covenants were setting up a communication link. This evening, I saw him talking to the Feds out on the main road."
For the Vermont Covenant, The Wizard had designed a closed communication system that used lasers. A modem fed a signal into a beam and used unidirectional nodules as receivers. The signal followed a cable from the receiver, and was spliced into a telephone line. E-mail went to an Internet service provider in Quebec and then returned to Island Pond, Vermont. If ever discovered, the Feds wouldn't be able to tell where the signal originated. They would have to search a six-mile radius, giving the Covenant time to leave.
"I never liked that bastard!" stated Max shaking his head. "Never did. Did you tell them anything about the communication link? What type or where we're mounting it?"
"No. I didn't know."
Max concluded, "They already know The Wizard is somewhere in Vermont." Consoling Helen he continued, "The Wizard left already; I don't think much harm has been done."
Max was still concerned, "But Bradley knows that I've done a lot of work with electronics; it's too much of a coincidence. The Feds will check me out. I'll try to send a message through the link to Vermont tomorrow, then go back to Colebrook and lay low for a while." Speaking to Butch, "You boys will have to take Helen back to her house. Send Thad back if you notice unusual traffic through the valley." Butch nodded.
"I'm so sorry!" Tears ran down Helen's face. "I'm so stupid."
Max held her by the shoulders. "Listen, little sister, you have to go back. You have to act like nothing happened--and if Bradley asks you anything, give him info that sounds good but is totally false. Then they won't know what to believe."
By now Thad had awakened and stumbled over to the group. He put his arms around Helen's neck; the hug from his small slender body surprised and comforted her.
"Don't worry, boss," Butch declared all-knowingly. "Me and Thad won't let nothing happen to your sister."
Helen had breakfast ready for Bradley when he walked into the kitchen. He put his arms around her waist as she flipped an egg over in the skillet. "I've got to give a talk to a co-op in St. Johnsbury this morning, but I'd like us to spend the rest of the day together." He nibbled her ear.
"I'd like that, too. I'll bake your favorite pie for dinner," said Helen as she glared coldly at the wall behind the stove. "Be sure to drink the fresh-squeezed orange juice on the table over there. It will cure what ails you." Helen had no intention of baking a pie that day; her orange juice would take care of that. It would make him violently sick in about an hour.
Chapter 5
Colebrook, New Hampshire (Evening of November 10)
Helen woke from her dream and sat up in bed. The pounding on the kitchen door at last awakened her; she rolled over and turned on her lamp to look at her watch. "Good Lord, it's one in the morning." She put on her slippers and robe, "This had better be good!"
Thad and Tater waited at the door, peering away from the house into darkness. He wiped his nose with his sleeve. A snap in the brush made him jerk back to that direction. Tater perked her ears and flared her teeth.
The porch light came on. "What are you doing here?"
Thad strained, trying to speak.
"Well, what is it?" She could see from the boy's panicked look, something was wrong. Tater continued staring out into blackness and took several steps toward the woods, ready to strike. "Is it Max?"
"Thad shook his head no."
"The Feds?"
He shook his head yes and opened the screen door. Grabbing her robe, he began tugging.
"Are they coming?"
He shook his head affirming it and drew her out the door.
"No. I have to get some things." Helen ran in and grabbed pants, shirt, and boots, then ran to Barry's room and snatched the picture of mother and son at Cascade Falls. She paused a moment--and found Thad tugging on her robe again. Seconds later, the two were out the back door with Tater in pursuit.
When they finally dared to stop and turn around, they could see flashlight beams darting about the house from their vantage point in the thick pines up the hill. Holding her bunched clothes under an arm, Helen watched the enemy ransack the only home she had ever known, in th
eir search for her. Tater cocked her head, her eyes danced, following the flashlight beams below. In early December, snows had melted, but the bitter, damp air quickly chilled the motionless trio. Thad grasped Helen's hand and led her fumbling through the darkness. Tater paused for a moment to watch their home defiled by strangers, unable to protest.
The Rousell hideout was a large wooden teepee made of cedar logs with mounded dirt; moss and ferns covered the structure. An opening at the top allowed smoke to escape from a stacked-stone firebox inside. The rocks radiated warmth from an earlier burn; red coals remained. Thad gestured to Helen to sit on one of the mattresses as he went about feeding the coals with kindling stacked around the walls of the structure.
Helen sat shivering and hapless, hugging the only things she had left in the world. She watched the boy purposefully go about his chores. There is no expression of fear in this child's face, she concluded. She couldn't help but wonder what they went through at the Dixville Massacre. After Thad's mute effort to warn her at the house, she knew the tragedy had had a traumatic impact on him. He noticed her watching him and looked back.
"Whee te whee teeeeah," Butch's secret whistle pierced the air.
Thad responded with the same shrill pitch. Moments later Butch flipped up the tarp and paraded in. Tater bound through the door behind him, tail wagging. She had gone back to check on Butch after escorting the two to safety. She lapped Helen's face.
Helen dropped her clothes and held the dog away. "Please Tater, give me some space." To Tater, this was all an adventure.
"We kicked their ass, Thad," Butch boasted. "I flattened every tire on their cars with my Scout knife while they were up at the house." He looked over to Helen. "I see you rescued Barry's mom. That's rugged, Thad. Real rugged." He said to Helen, "Me and Thad take care of our own, you know," Butch noticed she was shivering; he went over to a trunk, opened it, and pulled out a jacket to put around her. "We won't let the Feds get ya. You're safe here. Only Thad, Barry, Tater, and me know about this place--and now you, of course. Not even Max knows about it."