***
Braun took a deep breath as he exited the car and told himself to remain calm, despite the frustration and anger that were welling up inside. Not trusting himself to knock on the door, he went to the side of the house and peered in one of the windows. No lights were on but Braun could discern white sheets carefully draped over the furniture. Braun reluctantly concluded that Wattle had no intention of seeing or talking to him and could very well be far from Parlor City by now.
***
“We’re on the move again, Meach. Just left Wattle’s house and Braun was casing the joint as if he was planning a break-in. Stay with me and I’ll update you if he heads back to the B&B. You can meet me there.”
Wait, hold on, Meach. He’s not leaving town. Looks like we are headed toward – just a sec – yes, we’re coming up on Bingham, it’s the next right turn. We’ll be in front of Gwen Braun’s house in a matter of minutes” said Fogarty excitedly.
“I’m on the way, Fogie. Whatever you do, keep him away from her” said Meacham, his voice rising.
***
Braun slouched down in the back of the Chrysler Imperial with the window open, a few doors down from Gwen’s house. He felt his right eye twitching and rubbed it in a futile effort to make it stop.
In a few minutes, he heard the sound of a car and saw it pull into her driveway. Before he could see her face, he recognized the white nurse’s uniform with matching shoes and knew it had to be her.
Fogarty had parked at the corner and looked in his rearview mirror to see Meacham pull up behind him. They both watched Gwen standing by her car, waiving to someone upstairs in the house.
Meacham then looked down the street to see Braun emerge from his car and walk briskly toward her. Meacham took off in a sprint and reached the front lawn just as Gwen, unaware of either man, was opening the front door. Braun arrived first, grabbed her shoulder and spun her around.
Gwen recoiled as Braun said, practically shouting, “I need to talk to you now.” Gwen shrunk back and, looking up to see Meacham racing toward them, shrieked his name.
Braun turned and bull rushed Meacham, catching him off guard and landing on top of him with the full force of his weight. Meacham laid on the ground, stunned and with the breath knocked out of him. He looked up into Braun’s red face and bulging eyes and felt two massive hands encircle his neck.
When Meacham went down, Fogarty leapt from his vehicle and ran toward the lawn. He was coming full speed at Braun with the intent of putting a body block on him, thereby dislodging him from atop Meacham. Braun was in full fury as he looked up to see Fogarty only a few feet away. Taking one hand off Meacham’s neck, temporarily relieving the unrelenting pressure, he caught Fogarty under the chin with a vicious uppercut that sent him sprawling senseless to the ground. Meacham tried to wriggle free as Braun was pre-occupied but soon both hands were once again around his neck and he was immobilized.
In the next instant, Braun was being pummeled and clawed by Gwen as she pleaded with him to stopping choking Meacham. Braun easily pushed her off with the flat of his hand and again focused all his pent up anger and frustration on a rapidly fading Billy Meacham.
As he struggled to remain conscious, Meacham felt his eyes starting to glaze over, as if a veil had been lowered in front of them. He thought he was dreaming that Woody was standing over both of them, swinging a baseball bat. Then, everything faded slowly from gray to black.
***
When Meacham came to, he felt a cold cloth on his forehead and saw Gwen kneeling beside him. Standing behind her was Woody, leaning on the Louisville slugger baseball bat. Meacham looked over to see Fogarty rubbing his jaw as the sound of an ambulance pierced the air.
Against Gwen’s gentle protest, Meacham sat up and saw people standing around, talking and pointing. Then, he spotted Braun lying on his back, stretched out like a corpse on a gurney. “He’ll live, Billy. Probably just a concussion. Your shortstop saved the day or we might have lost you” said Gwen, her eyes glistening as she turned and put one arm around Woody’s waist while resting the other one on Meacham’s arm.
Braun was wheeled away and Meacham was relieved to see that his eyes were open. He saw the Chief approaching with a concerned look on his face and waived his hand to signify that he was okay.
Looking behind him to follow the gurney to the ambulance, the Chief said with a mischievous grin, “When we talked about bringing Braun in for questioning, Billy, this was not what I had in mind.” Walking over to Woody and patting him on the head, he asked, “So, this is our young hero, the lad that saved the day?”
“That’s my shortstop, Chief. For the money, that’s the most important swing of the bat that he’ll ever take”, said Meacham, his eyes welling up as he looked first at Woody and then at Gwen.
“You’ll get no argument from me, Billy”, said the Chief. “I need to check on Fogarty. He looks a bit groggy. I understand that he took a vicious shot racing to your defense. You guys can brief me on the chain of events later.”
“Just a minute, Chief” interrupted Gwen. “As the only nurse on the scene, I am officially taking charge of this patient. In my professional opinion, he needs a cold drink and rest – on my couch. Any objections?” Gwen’s eyes were twinkling and she had such a benign look on her face that Meacham could hardly contain his elation. Winking at Woody, he said “There you are, Chief. Never argue with a nurse. Oh, can you tell Fogie to come in the house when he feels up to it? And now, Woody, can you help an old guy up?”
The Chief looked at Gwen and said “Yes, Ma’am”, before turning toward where Fogarty was still sitting on the grass. He watched Meacham walking slowly toward the house with one arm on Woody’s shoulder and other one on Gwen’s. The mother and son each had an arm across Meacham’s lower back with their fingers interlocked.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
OCTOBER, 1955
It was an unseasonably cool autumn day in Parlor City, a week before Halloween, with the sun occasionally pushing through the fast-moving, puffy clouds that dominated the sky. The leaves gave just a hint of changing colors to the discerning eye.
It was after school when Woody and Jerry walked in lock step, arm in arm, into the library, determined to attract the attention of Miss Smith even though they pretended not to see her. She dropped a book in shock at the sight of the tandem, as if she had seen an apparition.
The boys turned and Woody, in mock horror, frowned and whispered “Sshh” while pointing to the book on the floor. As the boys walked toward the stacks, both grinning sheepishly, she stood slack-jawed and muttered something unintelligible as she sat down.
An hour later, the boys stopped at Miss Smith’s desk on the way out and stood silently until she deigned to notice them. “Yes, what is it young men?” she asked, deploying her stern voice but with a gleam in her eye.
“Well, first I want to apologize for my flippant warning when we walked in but mainly I want to make a confession, Miss Smith. Much to my surprise, I have turned into an inveterate reader.” Woody smiled and raised his eyebrows while holding out his hands, palms up, as if he hoped Miss Smith might be able to explain this strange phenomenon.
“Inveterate, you say?” asked Miss Smith, adding with mock seriousness, “Hmm, I don’t believe there is any known cure for such a malady. What say you, Gerard?” As if on cue, Jerry leaned in and said “indubitably” and then stepped back.
“Then we can only hope, Woodrow, that your passion for reading – and vocabulary as well, it seems - are inviolate. Please let me know when you two gentlemen decide to move on from the letter “i”. And with that, she waived her pencil dismissively toward the door and watched with pleasure as the boys exited the library.
Perhaps, Parlor City had been so pre-occupied with the seismic events that had transfixed most of the citizenry over the Summer that the impropriety of T-shirt Smith’s conduct was overlooked. There had been no repetition of that off-hand, disparaging remark made to Woody by Zeke Magil outside the movie the
ater.
At any other time, there probably would have been an inquiry into her indiscretion. Certainly, inviting a young boy to her house unaccompanied would normally have been a scandal of some import. Without speaking further about it, Jerry and she had come to an implicit understanding about the proper limits of their relationship.
For better or worse, Lyla Smith had circumscribed her world once again as that brick edifice on the corner, built due to the beneficence of Andrew Carnegie – or at least she chose to think that was his motive.
Others could judge whether or not she had retreated too far but no one, with the possible exception of Jerry Kosinsky, had an inkling of her life before arriving in Parlor City. Now she was back, comfortably ensconced in her sanctuary and that was where she intended to stay.
***
Up at the Institute, Braddock was meeting with the Acting Administrator. In the few short months since taking over as security chief, he had purged Santimaw’s team of malcontents and, employing Billy Meacham’s moniker, a few “pantloads” as well – including the somnambulant Leonard Trible at the front door. New security procedures had been put in place throughout the facility along with a policy of firm but respectful treatment of all patients.
“How is DeLong doing?” asked the Administrator. “So far, so good. Mike will tell you that he feels more confident each day but is constantly on guard against what he calls the ‘dark angel’ sitting on one of his shoulders.”
There was a knock at the door and the Administrator looked at the clock. “Ah, yes”, he said, standing up. “Time for my meeting with the Head Nurse.” Braddock nodded and stepped to the side as he opened the door to let Gwen Meacham walk in.
***
Sgt. Fogarty knocked and entered Meacham’s office when he heard “yep” from inside. After Whipple’s surprise resignation, he applied for and won the promotion that others on the police force who knew him felt was well-earned.
What was also surprising and even controversial was the sudden resignation of Chief Braddock and, to many, the stunning appointment of Billy Meacham as Chief of Police.
Some suspected – and they were right - that Braddock had lobbied hard for Billy’s appointment, despite his youth and inexperience. The Chief had felt for some time that his own tenure had been tainted from the beginning and that he was a symbol of the old boy network in Parlor City that needed to be thrown over. Only Braddock’s wife dared to ask him, although others wanted to, if part of his motivation was to atone for the injustice done years earlier when Billy’s father had been passed over. Braddock just smiled and gave his wife a hug.
Whatever the reason, the acting Mayor and City Council – including members Percy and Sullivan – went along and William Meacham, Jr., after considerable coaxing and cajoling from his bride and Braddock, accepted the appointment.
***
Gwen and Billy had a short courtship after that near fatal encounter on her front lawn in July with Woody’s grandfather. But that crisis had been an ineffable, crystalizing moment in their lives where few words were spoken but those that were quickly led to confessions of mutual affection. Even Gwen’s friend Angie remarked, some would say sardonically, that Billy had a unique way of inveigling his way into a girl’s heart.
***
After dinner that night, Woody was lying on his bed with a shoebox full of baseball cards beside him. He was sorting through duplicates, deciding which ones he might trade and which ones he could flip. On his nightstand was the copy of Roget’s Thesaurus that Jerry had given him after his father’s funeral. After leaving the library, they decided that it was time to move on to a new letter and Woody chose “d”. Before school, he would have a word ready to test Jerry’s acumen.
Woody glanced over at his Louisville slugger standing in the corner, as if on guard, and thought back to that July day when his life had utterly changed. He could hear the muffled voices of his Mother and Coach emanating from the living room, occasionally mixed with laughter. He didn’t even care what they were discussing for he felt that everything in Parlor City was at long last in perfect harmony. Right now, Coach felt right but he felt that at some point he would be comfortable calling him “Dad.”
After she had identified the body of her husband that day at the morgue, Meacham had given her the note left at the creek. They agreed that at some point in the future, they would show it to Woody.
EPILOGUE
NOVEMBER, 1955
The first snow of the season had fallen overnight in Parlor City and Woody heard the muted thump of newspapers hitting the ground below his window, followed by the crunch of tires as the delivery truck gingerly drove away as if reluctant to disturb the sea of white.
Woody peered through the blinds to see a slender white coating of snow on the tree branches and the roof tops. Only the tire tracks marred an otherwise pristine scene below.
He knew there would be days ahead when he would be trudging through deep snow, shivering as he turned his back on the biting wind with his scarf wrapped tightly, covering his face up to his eyes.
But today was invigorating and as he strolled along with his canvas bag slung over his shoulder, he enjoyed the rhythmic folding of newspapers into tight rolls, a mechanical process that had been part of his life for as long as he could remember. He looked back and smiled at the trail of footprints, as if he had left behind a path for others to follow.
An hour later, Lattimore was asleep on his cot and bolted up with a ghastly visage when Woody opened the back door of the bakery. It had been that way with the portly baker since the robbery last Summer but Lattimore insisted that he could hardly remember the incident. What had Jerry nicknamed him? Oh yeah, the “corpulent cake-maker”, Woody said to himself, suppressing a smile as Lattimore stared at him.
As he strolled home kicking up snow, images of those fateful days at the park and then Lattimore’s, along with all the ensuing events, flooded Woody’s mind. He looked up past the park to the hill beyond and thought of the pure, simple joy of hopping on his flexible flyer and racing down beside Jerry, without a care in the world.
***
On the drive to the station, Billy Meacham also reflected on the Summer that transformed his life. So much had happened in sleepy Parlor City in a compressed period of time that he almost wished it had been spread out over a lengthy period. But in the end, he would take the serenity that now prevailed like the soft coating of snow that had covered the town, almost protectively, the night before.
It still amazed him to think that he had been appointed Chief during the turbulence that had rocked the town. The grumblings had lasted for a while and he knew that some lingering resentment still existed within the senior ranks of the force. Thanks to the continued good counsel of former Chief Braddock, he was learning not only how to be an administrator but also how to selectively use tact and diplomacy. And then, of course, he benefited from the calming influence and wisdom of his beautiful wife.
There was one decision that Billy Meacham made without consulting anyone but which brought tears of joy to the eyes of his wife and Mother. When the little league season was over, and after conferring with and getting the acting Mayor’s approval, he announced that the Meacham family was underwriting a new ball field for the next season with the proviso that it would be named the “Capt. William Meacham, Sr. Memorial Field”. Gwen knew immediately that the field would be funded by the proceeds from the sale of Billy’s sports car. She never said a word, knowing that he would want it that way.
Not everything had been resolved in a just way but overall, when Meacham ran through the list of miscreants that had befouled the town, he came to the conclusion that things could have turned out much worse.
Rudy Gantz and the Clintocks – “did those twin bullies have first names?” he wondered aloud – were sent upstate to the reformatory for an indefinite period. The redhead had made amends with his so-called enforcers by promising them his car when they were released, knowing that he would need their allegianc
e if not protection in the months ahead. Rudy was also calculating that he could find a way to renege on his promise by the time of their release.
Grimsley received hard time at the state penitentiary and would be an old man even if he eventually got paroled. It was not going well for the ex-Marine. Apparently, a few of his new housemates had relatives at the Institute when Grimsley was conducting his so-called therapy sessions and decided to administer some “rough justice” of the prison variety.
Portnoy has basically bought probation for his help in confirming the circle of corruption involving the Mayor, a few council members and Woodrow Braun. His wife never returned and Portnoy was a forlorn figure about town, working odd jobs and, after cultivating a newly-discovered interest in the camera, tailing cheating husbands for his brother’s law office.
Wattle was never indicted and skated free, to the indignant surprise of the average citizen. Except for the cash payments by Hawkins, for which he avoided prosecution in return for resigning from office, there was no paper trail linking him directly to any other misdeeds. It was said by the D.A. that so many people in Parlor City owed Wattle favors – or money – that it would have been nearly impossible to empanel an impartial jury and then get them to convict him. Wattle was rarely spotted in town and his son-in-law ran the funeral parlor operation which attracted a dwindling clientele. It wasn’t a formal boycott but rather it seemed that people no longer felt compelled to have a loved one embalmed at any funeral parlor associated with the ex-Mayor.
The biggest tree to fall, in the opinion of many, was Woodrow Thompson Braun, Sr. While in the hospital recovering from the thumping administered by his grandson with one whack of the Louisville Slugger, he had a nervous breakdown and threatened suicide. His dutiful wife rushed back to Parlor City but the sight of her only caused him to fly into a violent rage which required sedation and restraints. Before the grand jury could return any indictments against him, doctors adjudged him medically unfit to stand trial, after which he was transferred up to the Institute for intense observation.
The Parlor City Boys Page 28