Fellow hopped on one foot beside Minerva while she pulled two cloth sacks from the back of the pickup. A young man rushed outside to help. "Thank you," Minerva said. Her red-sparkled lips glistened when she turned her head. "Fellow, help Grandma with this bag." She handed him a small knitted bag and he scurried inside.
She surveyed her booth and spread her work on the shelves. They had given her less space this year. Minerva stacked a variety of knitted items: three aprons, six pairs of adult-sized booties, five sweaters, a set of doll clothes, and several blankets in neat piles - all of her work from the past year. She loved splurging on new outfits and cosmetics after she collected her money. This year she had signed up to donate one quarter of her earnings to her favorite charity for children. Minerva unfolded a chair to sit in, covered the cold seat with her coat, and plopped down. She had added Henry's suit to the mix of items on display, along with some other clothing she could no longer wear. Mrs. Bale would probably come along and buy Minerva's old outfits. She always did.
Fellow skipped and ran the aisle, only stopping long enough to gaze at a hand painted Rudolph, a toy truck hanging from a tree, and the funnel cakes being fried. A chunky man sat with a cake on his lap, eating a bite after sprinkling more powdered sugar on it while grease soaked through the paper plate. He licked his syrupy lips and offered the smiling boy in front of him a piece of the bread. Minerva hastened to Fellow and pulled him away from the man, glaring back at him while they walked off. "Stay away from that man," she said to Fellow. "I don't like the way he looks." An elf dressed in pink tights, green jacket, and a fedora handed the boy a balloon. "Thank you," Minerva said and looked expectantly at Fellow. He said thank you to the elf and waved goodbye to her.
At noon, Minerva scooted Fellow up to the concrete table. "If you eat all your lunch, we can go to the carnival, but only if you eat everything." She ordered him a plain hot dog. He sniffed it, asked for mustard, and ran his tongue along his lower lip. Minerva eyed the boy while she ate her own chili dog and fries.
Fellow had squirted a large dollop of mustard across the top and some of it smeared on his chin. She handed him a napkin. Halfway through the hot dog, Fellow scrunched his nose and said, "There's too much mustard on it," and set the other half on his plate. "Can we go now?"
"Nope, got to eat your lunch. Santa won't visit you if you're a bad boy," Minerva said. He turned the dog from side to side and gobbled one bite, then another. Minerva's lips straightened in an expectant line.
Fellow swallowed the last bite and raised his arms. "I did it." His mustard grin beamed across his face. "Now can we go?"
Minerva handed him a napkin and grinned. "Here, wipe your face, looks like we're going to the carnival." She grabbed his plate, tossed it in the nearby trash, and slung her purse over her shoulder. Seeing a man in a wheelchair struggle to dump his trash in the same bin, she swung the lid open for him. The man nodded a thanks and Minerva extended her hand toward Fellow. "Let's go."
"Yay!" Fellow said, and latched his hand in hers. Looking back at the man, he said, "Grandma, why's his chair have wheels?"
"That's a wheelchair, Fellow. Don't know, probably got hurt somehow. Now come on. We can't stay long — got to finish my selling."
Minerva and Fellow stood in line at the carousel and Minerva shifted from one foot to the other. When their turn arrived, she hoisted Fellow on a brown horse, its red cape frozen under the saddle, ears molded back in swift movement. Minerva's horse was black, its cape and bridle gold, a blue sword stuck to its side.
An elderly gentleman in a black suit waved at Fellow when they circled by and Fellow waved back, then waved again at the old man each time he passed. Minerva watched him. She thought his suit looked a little too small on him.
She dug an aspirin from her purse and let it dissolve on her tongue. She didn't mind the bitter taste. She clung to the bar and busied herself by counting each time the merry-go-round made a complete circle. Maybe her head would feel better by the time they got back to the booth. There were items to sell and she didn't want her time wasted. She hoped the Be Back Soon sign she taped to the table leg hadn't fallen. After the last round, the carousel glided to a stop and Minerva unlatched Fellow, letting him hop to the floor. The old man in the suit waved one last time and mouthed something inaudible, but the child didn't see. Fellow was too absorbed in the sights ahead of him.
At the next game, Fellow chose a yellow boat to race and placed it in the water. "Okay guys, on the count of three," the woman said. "One, two, three!" All five children gave their boats a push. Fellow cheered alongside his boat and giggled when his crossed the finish line and won. The woman handed him a small bag of candy and said congratulations. Minerva rolled her eyes and took his arm, saying a game requiring hands in the water during the winter was just plain dumb.
Sweat drenched Minerva's neck underneath her scarf and she could feel it trickle down her cleavage. Minerva untangled her knit scarf and stashed it in her purse. Her temples pounded and when she tried to focus on the faces, the prizes, her eyesight blurred. She blinked and motioned for Fellow to hurry, come on. The few people standing near may have noticed the furrowed brow and crimson cheeks. Minerva hoped another hell mode wasn't coming on.
While the crowd played the games, "Oh Christmas Tree" blared from the speakers, then "Away in a Manger," and "We Three Kings." Fellow delighted in the elves, the Santas, the angels. Colored costumes glittered, paper horns blew, and children ate cotton candy. "No cotton candy," Minerva said to Fellow when he asked. "You have plenty of candy. Let's go see Santa before we head back to the booth."
Fellow sat on Santa's lap, fingers tapping his chin. Santa had asked him what he wanted for Christmas. "I guess I want everyone to get what they want," he finally said. Santa smiled and remarked Fellow was the cutest little boy he'd ever seen. "Look at those blue eyes and that dimple...favors my own kid when he was little." Minerva smiled but it was cut short when the man turned his saddened face to her. "My son passed away when he was twelve, had leukemia," he said, keeping his voice low, his head turned from Fellow. Santa placed an extra tootsie roll in Fellow's hand before helping him off his lap. "Be good this year, angel, and all your dreams will come true." Minerva's eyes welled when he said this. She turned away from Santa and noticed she had to squint to see clearly. Her forehead was drenched now and she reached in her purse for tissues. Wiping her forehead and neck, she unzipped her jacket and fanned herself with her free hand. She stuffed the damp tissues in the side pocket of her purse.
She grabbed Fellow's arm where the crowd got thicker and searched for a bathroom. She needed a paper towel for her neck and forehead. There was one at the end of the hall. Minerva weaved through the crowd, still fanning herself and squinting to see. "Walk faster!" she said to Fellow, pulling him along behind her. She dragged the bathroom door open and winced at the effort it took to move her limbs.
Too many people to leave him outside by himself, she thought, and ushered him in with her. "Wait for me by the sink," she told him, trying to raise her voice above the clatter of the other women. Her head throbbed more when she spoke. She stopped and briefly shut her eyes to ward off the commotion in her brain.
Once in the stall she took off a shoe and rubbed an aching corn on the inside of her heel. She slipped the shoe back on and tried steadying herself against the stall door. Hell mode. She was certain of it. She hated the thought of having to leave the stall with the chattering women pressing in on her, and beyond, the hoard of people clamoring around, making noise.
***
Minerva teetered around the carnival, alone. The giant shapes of painted elves and Christmas trees zoomed in and out in swirls in her mind, and her stomach churned. She bumped into a small girl and the child began crying. Minerva leaned against a wall, gulping air. The child's mother glared at her while she clutched at the strap on her purse. Before long, Minerva closed her eyes again to balance herself, still gasping for air.
Two sheriff's deputies looked in their dire
ction when the little girl started crying. They now crouched in front of Minerva, looking concerned. "Are you okay, ma'am?"
Minerva stared at the ground, face pale and damp. She thought she might pass out, or throw up. She clawed at the zipper on her jacket. Her hair was mussed and she'd broken her fingernail in all the frenzied movement.
"Ma'am?" one of the deputies asked.
Minerva looked at them, her eyes wide and pleading for help. "He's gone," she said.
Chapter Eight
Piper clutched the straggly bear under the dream-cloud sheets on Fellow's bed. The room remained the same since his disappearance two days ago: the unmade bed, toys underfoot, pajamas from several days ago still on the floor. She buried her face in the blue pillowcase and drew a deep breath.
"No news," George said, sitting with her. "There's food heated up. Come eat with me."
"I don't want anything."
"You've got to. It's been too long since you've eaten." He stroked her arm. "All that food will spoil."
"I didn't ask those people to bring food." She yanked the sheet up to her chin.
"They're only being nice, Piper. We can appreciate—"
Piper shot upright, the bear fell from her arms to the floor. "Appreciate?" She bent and swept it up. "Why aren't they doing their job?" She sobbed into her hands, the bear wedged between her forearms.
"They're looking. The posters are up, the alert's been out, the news...."
"I don't want the news, god damn it. I want my boy."
George opened his mouth to speak but a guttural moan escaped his lips and her husband's arms encircled her. They clutched each other and wept.
An hour later, Piper managed small bites of chicken and potato salad, brought by the next door neighbor. George ate like he was trying to swallow a hard truth. The soft tick of the clock was the only sound in the room. George gathered the plates and set them in the sink. "I'll be back around six," he said. Distraught, Piper hardly felt his lips kiss her forehead.
Piper clung to his arm. "Do you have to go now?"
George dropped his coat and returned to her side. He bent to his knees and cupped Piper's chin in his hand. "Honey, take a nice hot bath," he said, smoothing a tuft of stringy hair behind her ear. "Put on some comfy clothes, sip some coffee. Try to relax." He kissed her forehead again. "You've got to keep your strength up...you'll need it to help find Fellow...we'll both need it."
Piper looked horrified after hearing her husband's last words.
"Any news at all?" Her face bowed to the floor after seeing the answer on George's face. Piper couldn't imagine Fellow being found now, or how he would be found. The thought sickened her. Her thin frame had shed weight she couldn't afford to lose the last two days, leaving her gaunt-faced and pale.
George pulled himself to a seat beside her. "Well," he said, considering his words. "The sheriff did call me today."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
She watched George twist a napkin in his fingers. "I'm telling you now."
Piper squeezed his arm. "George, what is it?"
"No, they didn't find anything. He said they've interviewed people who were at the carnival." George shook his head and his eyes moved from the napkin to hers. "Except for the people who had booths near Minerva's, they found no one there who remembered Fellow."
A moan escaped Piper's lips. "What do you mean, no one? He was there for hours."
"No one else saw him."
Piper's eyes fixed on her husband as if her mind was searching for what this meant.
"They did ask one question." George folded the napkin and placed it on the table.
Piper said nothing but looked at her husband.
"They asked if we thought Minerva could be involved."
***
"Mrs. Johnson, we have an unusual case here," Sheriff Davis said, perched on the end of his desk. Piper and George sat in his office on a small couch against the opposite wall. The inquiry about Minerva had fueled Piper and she insisted they immediately go visit the sheriff. George had called his foreman and was given the morning off.
"But what has this got to do with my mother? Are you implying...?"
"At this time we're not implying anything," Davis said, his voice stern yet gentle, putting Piper at ease. "Your mother told my deputies what all they did at the carnival. Apparently, she got to feeling bad and went to the bathroom, she left Fellow by the sink, and when she came out of the stall, he was nowhere to be seen."
A sheriff for eight years, the man had a reputation for fairness, but he was known as one person no one would want to mess with. His deputies knew this without a doubt. A man of medium height and on the slim side, Davis had three distinguishing features: powerful shoulders that appeared out of proportion to his size, small feet only those who knew him well could make fun of, and large ears. But beyond playful banter, the men didn't bother him.
"Do you believe my mother?" Piper asked. "Or do you think she had something to do with...?" Her voice shook.
"We don't know anything at this time, ma'am. We know we have a lost boy, distraught parents, and a grandmother who appears to be in shock."
"So there's no evidence?" George said.
"Not yet. We're doing the best we can."
Piper looked at George, then the sheriff. "Then why ask about my mother?"
"Because ma'am, we have reason to believe Minerva wasn't in, shall I say, a correct state of mind at the time." His foot thudded against the side of his desk. "This morning I called George to ask about her."
"What do you want to know?" Piper's eyes widened. "She didn't do this."
George squeezed her hand. "Piper, don't get upset, he only—"
"Upset?" Piper's voice rose. She pulled her hand from his. "Instead of getting out there"—she pointed toward the window—"and searching for my son, you're implicating my mother."
"I'm not saying that. I just had a question or two, and I'd appreciate your cooperation." Davis smiled and a row of even teeth almost showed through his lips.
"All right, we're cooperating." Piper sat back and slipped her hand in George's. "Tell us what you want."
Sheriff Davis stepped behind his desk and sat down, his shoulders filling the width of the chair. "Okay. Now maybe we'll get somewhere."
***
Piper lay asleep in Fellow's bed that night, the bear near her cheek. Her gentle snoring caused George to smile halfheartedly when he went in to check on her. She had refused to sleep in their bed and he had conceded — anything to help his wife. He tiptoed out and closed the door.
George, stretched on the couch, flipped the remote to the local news. The screen glared in sharp contrast to the dimmed lights. "Freezing temperatures, light snow the next two days, icy roads," the weatherman said.
"Now, coming up after the break," a voice-over said. "The Mayor's decision to end his campaign after a high profile scandal, the ribbon-cutting on the new Post Office brings in a huge crowd, and later, more heartfelt news, the continued disappearance of a local five year old boy from a recent carnival." The camera scanned a portion of the carnival's crowded parking lot, and then the picture faded.
George flipped off the TV and crossed an arm over his forehead. He paused for a while, uncrossed his arms, and flipped the TV back on. Fellow's image popped up, causing him to jump upright. "...red cotton jacket, white turtleneck shirt, denim pants, black tennis shoes, missing now for three days," the announcer said. "If anyone knows of his whereabouts, or has any information on the disappearance of Fellow Lee Johnson, please dial the number on your screen."
Fellow's picture - one of several George found to give the police. Channel Five News chose this one. Fellow's Kindergarten picture, taken four months ago, almost three years after Fellow had come to live with them as a foster child. Fellow was two years old when the social worker knocked on their door and they saw him for the first time.
George thought back to his surgery. He had been on his final day at the hospital when Minerva called. It was h
er last day to watch Fellow and they had gone to the carnival. Piper slept on the other bed in the room. Minerva's anguished voice alarmed him, and when he told her to calm down so he could understand, her voice only grew in pitch. Her babbling caused him to hang up, check the number on his cell phone, and dial back. When the dispatcher answered, George realized Minerva had called from the police department. He was told to get down there quick if possible; something had happened to his son at the carnival. George had slipped from the bed, awakened Piper, and the two left surprised nurses staring down the hall after they were gone.
The TV now off, the light from the kitchen illuminated George's view. A framed picture of Fellow was in his hand. A calloused finger traced the round cheek, the soft shoulder. Fellow's face beamed at him like so many times before. George broke then. Anger and sadness fueled his tears. He cradled the picture of Fellow to his chest, the boy they vowed to protect and raise. George's face melted in agony.
Chapter Nine
"I'm so glad you're here," Piper said. She could hear the tiredness in her voice and her lips barely moved while she spoke. "Come in and have a seat." In a daze, she stepped aside. A row of knitted strings on a shawl around her shoulders grazed the floor while she moved. She pulled the heavy garment closer around the back of her neck.
Her brother John put his arm around her. "I'm glad, too. I want to help in any way you need."
Piper didn't smile. "Thank you. Right now, we're just waiting." She was grateful her brother was here, but her thoughts were on Fellow, and she fought hard to rid herself of the grisly images threatening her mind.
Piper sat on the couch with her brother, their feet propped on a footstool near the coffee table. She removed the shawl and covered her legs with it. Even at their age, they were used to the close proximity afforded to twins and how they easily wound up near each other.
Minerva Day Page 9