by E. Joan Sims
“My dear, Paisley I promise you have done nothing wrong. As a matter of fact you couldn’t have done a better job of clearing yourself of any wrongdoing if you’d hired a seven hundred dollar an hour Foggy Bottom lawyer. Am I right, gentlemen?”
“I’m afraid you’re right, sir. She couldn’t be that ingenuous and be guilty of anything. Please accept our apologies Mrs. DeLeon,” said Stern as he made a quaint little half bow from the waist. “But you must realize we are very much in the dark here. We thought we were investigating a simple case of fraud. We had a tip from someone in the Quartermaster’s office at Fort Morgan that an enlisted man and an officer were involved in a scheme to misappropriate funds. We’re here because you went to see that officer a week before she vanished. Now you’ve put a new light, er, several new lights, on the picture. Stolen missiles, deadly poison, the militia, and domestic terrorism; that’s quite a lot to swallow all at once.”
“Especially from a little lady who makes her living writing mysteries,” added Roberts with a sly wink. “Are you sure this whole thing isn’t some kind of publicity gimmick?”
“That’s quite enough, gentlemen,” announced my elegant little mother. “My daughter has been through a dreadful ordeal. She doesn’t need to sit here and listen to innuendo and outright insults. She needs peace and quiet to recover from the terrible things she experienced, whether you believe her or not.”
She stood up and opened the door. “Now if you will please excuse us.”
Stern and Roberts looked at each other and shrugged their respective shoulders. My mother had given them no other option. They had to leave or serve me with a warrant. Apparently they weren’t in any position to do the latter so they left, knapsack in tow, without further ceremony.
Stern paused in the doorway and turned to give me a final warning.
“Be careful, Mrs. DeLeon. You just might want to keep this story to yourself. I’d be very cautious about speaking to anyone else if I were you. Someone just might believe you.”
“Good bye, gentlemen,” said Mother firmly as she closed the door in their faces.
“Horatio,” Cassie asked, “what’s a Foggy Bottom lawyer?”
We stayed in the lodge one more day, then packed up and headed for home. We stopped along the way and rescued Aggie from the hotel kennel. Mother explained that when I didn’t return, Aggie had made a nuisance of herself by barking and howling all night. I was quite touched by this tale of canine affection, but when we picked her up she ignored me completely and sat on Cassie’s lap all the way home.
Even on that cold, rainy, winter day, Meadowdale Farm had never looked more beautiful to me. Mother’s friend and sometime housekeeper, Mabel, had opened up the house, shopped for groceries, and fixed a wonderful luncheon for us in front of a roaring fire in the library.
“Oh, my,” I sighed as I relished the warmth and comfort of the room I loved. “This is what kept me alive, the thought of being here in front of this fire just one more time.”
“Oh, darling, what a terrible time you must have had! I get quite upset when I allow myself to imagine what you must have gone through.”
Mother dabbed her dainty lace handkerchief at the corner of each eye and filled my plate high with baked ham, baby peas, and mashed potatoes.
“Here, dear,” she said handing the loaded dish back to me. “You’re thin as a rail.”
“I am?” I asked with surprise. “Am I really? Well, in that case, please pass the butter.”
Later that night when we were relaxed and content and all alone, I broached the subject of Bert’s death with Cassie.
“Danny knows,” she said. “It’s strange. I thought he would be devastated, but he got over it very quickly.”
She sat down beside me on the sofa and put her arm around my shoulders.
“I think I was more upset than he was.”
“How did he find out?” I asked her.
“I don’t know,” Cassie answered shaking her head as she lay back so that Aggie could hop up in her lap.
“Who told him?” I wondered aloud. “Captain Burke told me himself that he killed Bert. How could anyone else have known?”
That question kept me awake half the night. I carefully reviewed every word that Stern and Roberts had said back at the lodge. Finally I became convinced they knew no more about Bert than they did about anything else.
Around three in the morning I came to a conclusion. The only person who could have told Danny that his stepfather had been shot was Bert himself. I knew it was crazy, and I couldn’t tell a soul, but I had a feeling that Bert Atkins wasn’t dead after all!
Epilogue
For the next few days, Mother and Cassie took on the role of palace guards as they politely but firmly turned away all curious visitors. The one exception to the rule was Horatio, who showed up every evening with a fresh tidbit of gossip. The rumor mills were working overtime with speculation about what happened during my adventure in the woods.
But all good things must come to an end, to coin a phrase, and on the sixth day, the Country Club gossip was all about Jim Bealour’s ten-pound “premature” baby who bore an uncanny resemblance to his new bride’s former fiancé. I was old news. It was safe to venture out once again.
Cassie had already gone back to school to prepare for her last round of classes. The next time I saw her she would be wearing a cap and gown. It was hard to believe my baby was graduating in June.
The weather was changing rapidly from winter to spring. Some days it seemed Mother Nature couldn’t decide which was which. Perhaps that was why I was so restless and irritable. I found myself quite unable to sit still long enough to write, and I was peevish with Mother and the dog. On these occasions she would patiently tell me I needed some exercise to walk off my demons, then call Horatio to come and rescue her.
One half-blustery, half-sunny afternoon after they left for Wieuca City, I finally decided to take Mother’s advice. I spent ten fruitless minutes trying to put Aggie’s sweater on her, but after she nipped me twice, I closed the French doors in her face and shut my ears to her incessant barking.
“You had your chance, dog,” I muttered as I stomped angrily down to the orchard. I didn’t get far. Andy Joiner drove up and circled on around the driveway to meet me. He saw the scowl on my face and held up his hands when he got out of the car.
“Peace!” he laughed. “Maybe I’d better come another day.”
“Sorry, Andy,” I said trying to force a smile. “I’ve just been out of sorts lately.”
“Yeah,” he answered shifting uncomfortably from one big foot to the other. “I, eh, heard about what you went through.”
He looked me straight in the eye. “You’re a pretty tough cookie, Paisley Sterling. I’m not sure I could’a handled what happened half as well as you.”
“Thanks, Andy,” smiling for real this time, “that means a whole lot to me.”
We both pretended to examine the clouds for a moment. Then something about what he said clicked in my mind.
“Hey, how come you know anything about what happened to me? I haven’t told anybody but the FBI, and they thought I was making the whole thing up.”
In my excitement I grabbed him by the front of his jacket and tried to shake him. I shook myself more than I moved him, but he got the message.
“Whoa there, girl. Calm down,” he laughed.
“Bert is alive, isn’t he? Danny knows it, and so do you!”
I smacked him on his big beefy shoulder with my open palm.
“Tell me!” I begged as bright tears flooded my eyes. “Please, tell me,” I whispered softly.
Andy held my face in his big hands and smiled.
“Paisley, honey, let’s just say it’s a great day for a walk, maybe back down the lane and over to your Grandad’s old fishing hole, the one by the big willow.”
“Oh, thanks, Andy!” I laughed wiping away the tears. “Thank you so much! You’ll never know…”
“And you won’t ei
ther if you don’t get a move on,” he said with a grin.
I took off running before he even got back in his car.
The ground was still wet in some of the shadier parts of the lane. My sneakers were soon heavy and caked with mud, but that didn’t slow me down a bit. I flew past the hollow oak and the little pond, then cut across the field to the big pond and the spillway on the other side where my grandfather had once made a name for himself by catching a trophy-sized bass. I shaded my eyes against the capricious sun and scanned the valley below before climbing down the rocky hillside. I could see the willow tree from the top, but there was no one in sight. I tried to keep from screaming with disappointment as I made my way with reckless abandon down the hill. I lost my footing and slid the last five feet on my butt before coming to a halt on the soft mossy bank beneath the willow. I lay there panting and out of breath. That’s when I heard his voice.
“That was some entrance, Paisley Sterling. Bet you can’t do that again.”
“Bert?” I whispered. “Where are you?”
I sat up and looked around. The new growth of the willow tree hung down around its trunk like a Southern belle’s lacy petticoat. I pushed some of the delicate branches aside, but I still couldn’t see him anywhere.
“I swear if this is some kind of joke, or if you’re just a ghost, I’ll kill you Bert Atkins!”
“That’s my girl,” he laughed as he jumped down out of the tree and landed by my side.
“That’s my girl,” he whispered hoarsely as he took me in his arms and held me tightly.
“Oh, Bert,” I cried. “I thought…”
“I know,” he answered, his breath warm against the soft skin of my throat. “I know.”
I finally pulled away from his arms so I could see his face.
“You look terrific for a dead man!” I laughed. “What’s with the tan?”
“Vacation in sunny Florida,” he answered as he wiped the mud and moss off my cheek and place his lips on mine.
“Hey,” I finally protested, after a very long and satisfying moment. “Time for that later. You’ve got some questions to answer, mister!”
He held my face the way Andy had, and looked into my eyes. That’s when I noticed the pain and sorrow deep in his.
“Wha…what’s going on, Bert? We do have time for that later, don’t we?”
“That’s entirely up to you, Paisley,” he said. “But first, ask some of your questions.”
“You’re not dead?” I laughed. “For sure?”
“Honestly,” he answered, kissing me lightly once more.
“How come?”
Bert sat back against the tree and pulled me into his arms. “After I left you in the dugout I headed back to the lake. I knew I was taking a chance, but it was the quickest way to find help. I had no idea I was being followed until I heard the guy shout. I was standing on the cliff trying to decide which way to get down when he shot me. That solved my problem,” he laughed. “I went head first.”
He kissed my ear and continued with his story.
“I was lucky. There were two kids fishing from a boat near the bank. The guy who shot me obviously didn’t see them or he would have killed them, too. The kids saw me go in the drink and paddled over to fish me out. Somehow they got me to the ranger station. From then on it was a given I was going to make it. They flew me to St. Thomas Hospital in Nashville and dug the bullet out. That’s when the men from Alabama came for a visit.”
“You mean from Washington—the FBI, don’t you?” I asked.
“No,” he answered shaking his head. “This is a different bunch altogether, lawyers mostly, and some civil rights activists. They’ve had their eye on the Klan and other extremist groups for quite some time now. They thought it would be safer for me to disappear for awhile.”
“And here you are,” I said happily as I hugged him.
“Here I am,” he smiled. “Now tell me what’s up with you. How are Cassie and your mother? And that vicious little mutt?”
“Fine, fine, and vicious,” I answered showing him the most recent dog bite.
“And guess what? Pam says I can be Leonard now, for real. No more pretending he’s you, or anybody else.”
“I guess that makes two of us who have a new job,” he said quietly.
“What job?” I asked with immediate concern. There was something about him that told me my worries weren’t over.
“Let’s walk around some,” he said instead of answering me. “You’re shivering. It’s cold under here.”
We walked hand in hand beside the meandering little stream that fed the pond and the fishing hole, then lost its way in the meadow beyond. Here and there wild iris, lily of the valley, and even an occasional daffodil poked dainty heads up in search of the afternoon sun.
Bert stopped and pulled me into his arms.
“These men, let’s call them watchdogs, want me to go back undercover and infiltrate some other militia groups out West,” he said finally.
“Oh, Bert, no, please don’t go,” I murmured, knowing somehow he would in spite of me.
“It’s important work, Paisley. And I’m an old warhorse. It feels good to be back in the traces.”
“Let someone else do it!” I said angrily. “Let somebody else get shot and left for dead.”
“Okay then, will you marry me? That’s the only thing that could keep me from going.”
I whirled around and stomped my foot.
“That’s not fair!” I cried.
“Look, I’m not one of the characters in your books, Paisley. I can’t run like the wind or ride like the devil. When I get shot I bleed, and it hurts when I cut myself shaving. I get constipayted. Sometimes I even have bad breath, and I wake up in the morning looking like hell. But I love you. I promise I’ll love you for what’s left of the rest of my life. You are all the warmth and smiles and laughter I’ve ever missed out on. I crave the sight of you. A glimpse of that rag mop you call hair is enough to get me through the worst of days. I cannot imagine the joy of having you by my side for twenty-four hours, much less a lifetime. But that’s what I’m asking. I want you to marry me.”
I slumped down in the soft grass and covered my face with my hands.
“That’s the most beautiful proposal I’ve ever had,” I said when I regained control of my voice. “It’s the most beautiful one I’ve ever heard of, but…”
“Oh, God, but what?”
“I’m not free, Bert. Something in my past is still holding me prisoner.”
“Cassie’s father?”
“Yes. Until I know, until I’m sure…until then, I can’t promise you anything. I can’t promise myself anything.”
He knelt down beside me and stroked my cheek with his rough, calloused fingers—a touch as gentle as the softest feather in an angel’s wing.
“I knew,” he sighed.
“I know,” I whispered
His lips were warm and sweet and wet with my tears. We pulled apart reluctantly, then he smiled and walked away.
I didn’t call him back.
Leonard would have been proud.