by Lea Wait
Chapter 8
Anatomy—Osteology: Cranium, wood engraving, 1808, from a medical textbook. Six human skulls, seen from the left side, to illustrate anthropological differences in human anatomy. (Skulls are Georgian, Turk, Negro, Calmuck, and [2] Caribs.) Price: $75.
“Any food tastes better with good company.” Gussie moved her laptop computer to the back of the bureau to make space for the pizza box. “And I ordered some diet sodas. Sherry doesn’t really go with pizza.”
“Fine. I have no desire to face opening day with a headache if I can help it,” agreed Maggie, settling herself in a large chair near the table and reaching for one of the soda cans.
“Ben should be here any minute. He left a note on the van seat saying he was going to walk a few more laps to cool down. I’m glad he’s using up energy and doing something for himself while I’m busy. This is kind of a holiday for him, being away from home. And he has his exhibitor’s badge, so he can get on and off the fairgrounds without me.”
“He certainly does have energy.” Maggie took a slice and added some red pepper and garlic salt from packets that Pleasin’ Pizza had included. “My idea of a holiday wouldn’t be slogging around on a muddy track.”
“You’re not a twenty-year-old boy. Ben has been working out for years now. It started with physical therapy when he was younger, because of the muscle weakness that comes with Down’s syndrome. He really enjoyed it, and now he competes regularly. Competitions give him a chance to do a little traveling, and he loves meeting people and seeing new places.”
“I think it’s great for both of you. And, speaking of you, tell me more about this new love of yours before Ben comes back and we have to make sure our conversation is ‘G-rated.’”
“Maggie, Ben is twenty! And he has quite an eye for the girls. Witness his interest in Susan. I suspect he wouldn’t have been running around the track all this time if he’d realized she had a booth so close to ours!”
“So—tell me about Jim.”
“Very nice, very professional, and very well-meaning.”
“You make him sound like Mr. Rogers, not like a romantic hero.”
“Well, not quite Mr. Rogers. But Jim is predictable. And a little too serious.”
“Gussie White. With half the women in this country looking for a nice, intelligent, caring man who isn’t afraid of commitment, are you saying you’ve found one?”
“Maybe it’s me: maybe I’m not ready for a serious relationship. Or maybe just not quite yet. Sometimes late at night I have visions of myself crippled and dependent, and I just can’t understand why Jim would choose me instead of a woman who can walk more than a few steps, and who isn’t exhausted from taking a shower in the morning.”
“Spoken by someone who runs her own business, owns and keeps up her own home, and has always had a fairly full and—from what I’ve heard—a fairly spicy social life? You’re talking as though you’re a decrepit old woman!”
“I am forty-seven. And when I was younger I could do so much more! Oh, Maggie, I keep seeing myself as the skinny kid with heavy braces and crutches who sat on the sidelines and took attendance in gym class. After I had polio it took four years of therapy just so I could walk by myself. And that was walking with braces and crutches. Those years were hell. The pain. The humiliation. Not being like the other kids.” Gussie shook her head. “But even that was nothing compared to attending school for the first time after getting out of the rehab hospital. I was seven. My mother had brushed my hair and braided it and bought me a new dress. It was red, my favorite color, with short, puffed sleeves and smocking on the top, and long enough to cover most of my braces. I was so excited about meeting other children who didn’t have to think about how to walk.”
Maggie put her slice of pizza down.
“I remember standing at the door of the classroom and the teacher asking if I’d need a special desk. The other children were staring at me. Sarah May, who had long red pigtails and freckles, giggled. Some of the other kids pointed at my legs. At lunchtime I sat by myself with my favorite sandwich, cream cheese and jelly. My mother had made it so I wouldn’t have to balance a tray in the cafeteria line. I heard the other kids talking and saw them looking at me.” Gussie looked straight at Maggie, and there were tears in her eyes. “Maggie, I went to that school for three years. And for three years they called me ‘the polio girl.’ No one knew who Augusta White was. But everyone knew who the polio girl was. That’s why I worked so hard to be like other people. And I was. I never had as much strength as other people, but I did my physical therapy exercises, and I swam, and by the time I was in junior high, I could walk without braces. My parents even paid for me to go to private school, where no one knew what I’d been like when I’d had the braces and crutches. But you never really overcome polio. When I first met you, Maggie—that was about ten years ago, right?”
Maggie nodded.
“Remember I walked with braces and crutches then? Well, I had just put them back on. I’d had twenty-five years of freedom before my muscles started giving up. Now doctors know that forcing muscles weakened by polio won’t work for a lifetime. Children who have polio now are told they have to wear braces for life. If they don’t, they’ll end up like me, in a wheelchair in their forties. Now my superterrific motorized scooter is the only thing that keeps me going.” Gussie took a sip of soda.
Maggie hesitated. “Gussie, I’m sorry. I never knew what to say. You never talked about your disability, and you never asked for help. You never seemed to need any!”
“You’re right. But now I’m looking fifty in the face, and I’m in this scooter all the time, except for the couple of steps I can take with my crutches to get to it. Thank goodness I can still do that! Thank goodness my arms are strong.” Gussie flexed one in triumph and looked at it. “In thee do I trust! But I can’t set up my booth alone anymore. Ben’s help is keeping me on the circuit a little longer, but I’m already planning for the day when buying trips will be the only times I leave my shop for business. I’ve modified my house so I can be on the first floor most of the time, and I have a chairlift to the second, where I leave my old wheelchair. From a practical standpoint, I’m making the accommodations necessary. But, emotionally, when I think about having a serious long-term relationship with someone…I just want to be sure Jim understands what my limits are.” Gussie grimaced. “You see, Maggie, I’m really just beginning to understand them myself.”
“But Jim’s watched you making changes to your life, so he knows what it’s going to take.”
“You’re right. Of course Jim knows. And the facts don’t seem to have turned him off. He’s still around! And our…physical relationship…is pretty darn good. I guess I’d just like some chimes to ring. Something to let me know I’m making the right decision.”
“Listen, lady, it all sounds pretty darn good to a widder woman like myself.”
“Did you and Michael hear bells?”
“That’s a personal question!” Maggie was silent a moment. “A few, I guess; maybe some cowbells, at least at the beginning. Come to think of it, a few jingle bells at this point in life would be nice.”
“I have some great sleigh bells hanging in my shop. I could cut you a deal!”
They were both laughing and reaching for a second slice of pizza when the door opened.
“Aunt Gussie—”
“Ben! Great. You’re back, and we haven’t eaten all the pizza yet. Go and get washed up. We’ll save you at least four slices.”
“No—thanks—I mean—Aunt Gussie—I need help. I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t tell the policeman, and I just came here, and I don’t know what to do.” Ben stood just inside the door, dripping with sweat and mud. He looked more like a seven-year-old than a twenty-year-old. A seven-year-old who had just seen a ghost. “Please, Aunt Gussie. It’s bad. There’s blood. I think I just killed someone.”
Chapter 9
Wild Fowl Shooting, hand-colored steel engraving by Henry Alken (1765�
��1851), major English artist/engraver who, after a first career as a horse trainer, specialized in sporting prints; 1820. Two men with guns and dogs hiding on hillside and watching wild geese landing on a lake. Period frame. Price: $185.
“Ben, sit down, and calm yourself.”
Ben sat on the edge of the nearest chair, but he didn’t look calm. He looked panicked.
“Ben, what happened?” Maggie went over and put her hand on his shoulder. “One step at a time.”
“I was walking around the track. People were leaving the buildings where the booths are and going to their vans. The people staying all night park near the bathrooms, you know? That’s near the track. I could see the lights and hear the people. I just kept going, because I was beginning to get tired, but I wanted to go around the track a couple more times. Like I told you. I have a big meet in Hartford next week. And then I saw that lady—the pretty lady from Show Management. She was talking to a man.”
Maggie and Gussie exchanged glances. “How could you see them if you were on the track?”
“I was coming around near the entrance. I’d almost finished my workout. I was walking slow, you know, to cool down. They were over by the driveway, where all the flowers are.”
“The azaleas?”
“Right. All those red and pink flowers. They didn’t see me at first; I don’t think they thought anyone was out there.”
That area near the back entrance to the fairgrounds was behind the rest room buildings and the concession stands. It wasn’t far from the south field, where people were settling into their vans for the night, but there was no logical reason for anyone to be there unless, like Ben, they were interested in the track. Or interested in not being seen. The back entrance was open during setup, but was always locked before the show opened and would stay locked until it was time to pack out on Sunday night. Anyone leaving the show area tonight, customer or dealer, would have to use the front entrance. Security was tighter that way.
“So, you saw a woman and a man talking. That doesn’t sound so awful.”
“But it was! She was yelling at him, and he was yelling at her, and…it was bad.” Ben’s eyes filled, as though he were about to cry. “They were saying bad words. I don’t say words like that, Aunt Gussie. I never say words like that.”
“I know you don’t, Ben. You’re a good boy.”
Maggie looked at him steadily. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to stop them. And then the man pulled something out of his jacket. He was going to hit her. I know he was. And she started saying, ‘No, no, you can’t,’ and I yelled at the man to stop and ran up to them, and then I pushed him, and she ran away and he fell down, and then everything was quiet. He was just lying there, near the flowers. I reached down to help him up, but he didn’t move, and there was blood.”
Ben raised his right hand and showed them a narrow streak of blood on his palm.
“I ran after the lady, but I couldn’t find her. There were lots of people over by the vans, and I almost ran into some of them. I didn’t know where she’d gone, and I was scared. So I came here.” Ben took a deep breath. “And I guess you’re going to call the police to put me in jail, right?”
Maggie looked at Ben. “How hard did you hit him?”
“I ran toward him and then I pushed him. Not really hitting. But he fell down. I don’t remember. But he didn’t get up.”
“Did you recognize him?”
Ben shook his head. “No.”
“Well, whoever he is, we need to find out how he is.”
“Are you going to call the police?”
“We may have to. But not yet. Let’s go and take a look at the situation first.” Maggie had already picked up her canvas bag and moved toward Ben and the door. “Gussie, would you mind guarding the rest of our pizza while Ben and I take a little walk?”
“Maggie, are you sure? If that man’s lying out there, he may need medical attention.”
“Which is why we need to go and see, right now. Did the policeman see you leave, Ben?”
“I don’t know. He was talking to someone in a van. Do I have to go back, Aunt Gussie?”
“Ben, you’re scared, I know, but you have to keep being brave. You go with Maggie and see how the man is, and get some help for him.”
“I want you to go, too, Aunt Gussie.”
“Ben, I’d like to go. But my muscles aren’t doing too well now, after all we did today. You know how they get. And on that field my scooter would just slow you down, especially at night, when I can’t see all the bumps.” She turned to Maggie. “Are you sure you want to do this? Ben is my responsibility. Maybe you could just tell the policeman at the entrance and have him take care of it.”
“When Ben is the only witness? We can’t do that, Gussie; you know it. And I don’t mind. I’m sure it will just take a short time.”
“The man is dead. I really killed him.” Ben leaned against the wall and started to cry.
Chapter 10
The Turning of the Tide, wood engraving by Charles Dana Gibson (1867–1944), American illustrator known for his romantic drawings of the Ideal American Woman, who became known as the Gibson Girl. 1901. Elegantly dressed woman and man kiss on the beach, ignoring the incoming water covering their legs. Price: $65.
Only a few cars and trucks were driving down Oak Avenue, the two-lane street that separated the small buildings that were Kosy Kabins from the fairgrounds on the other side of the road. A red neon sign on the motel office roof flashed NO VACANCY, and its reflection gave the damp macadam driveway a surreal feeling. Maggie had a momentary vision of the pavement glistening with blood and shook her head. Too much imagination was working overtime.
The ground was wet, but not as muddy as it might have been. They headed down the motel driveway, past other cabins and corresponding cars and vans, and paused at the street.
“Nothing like crossing a dark street at night. Ben, let’s make sure we stay together.”
“Okay, Maggie.”
They carefully looked both ways. “And if we have to talk to anyone, you let me do the talking.” People were too quick to blame someone who was retarded. It would be easier for Ben if she could run interference.
Ben nodded.
“Then let’s go.”
The main gate to the fairgrounds was still open. Tomorrow there would be customers’ cars lined up at the entrance, waiting to find parking spaces in the fifteen-acre north field where attendants had already lined up stanchions on the grass to mark rows. The field was so large that Vince usually arranged for a series of minibuses to ferry people from the far parking areas to the main buildings. Better not to exhaust customers before they had even started to walk the aisles.
But tonight there were no cars in the field, and Maggie was relieved to see the gate still open. She glanced at her watch. Ten o’clock. The two policemen guarding the grounds looked as though they were about ready to close and lock the two large swinging, metal fence sections that were the entrance.
“Excuse me, folks, but the fairgrounds are closed.” Officer Taggart was still on duty. He looked at them curiously. They made a strange couple. Maggie looked tense and Ben was disheveled and pale. Both were walking too fast for a casual stroll.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but, remember me? I’m Maggie Summer—here’s my dealer’s identification?” Maggie showed him the badge that had been in her dealer packet earlier in the day, and which all dealers wore to identify themselves on the fairgrounds. “I’m from booth two twenty-three. And this is Ben Allen. He’s Gussie White’s assistant? Booth two twenty-four.” Ben pointed to the badge he had pinned to his white T-shirt.
“I remember you—the college professor who colors her hair.”
If looks could have killed, Office Taggart would have stopped breathing right then. Maggie instantly decided not to share the purpose of their errand with these two cops.
“The exhibit buildings are locked for the night and”—Taggart checke
d the clipboard in his hand—“according to my list, neither of you are sleeping on the grounds.” He looked at them both again. “I’m about to close up for the night.”
“We’re staying across the street,” Maggie said. “We just have to see someone. Someone who is staying here. We’ll be right back.”
“You’d better be quick; I remember you, but I’m going off-duty in about an hour, and the next guy in may not be enthused about having to open these gates again.”
“Understood.”
Maggie took Ben’s arm and steered him down the slightly inclined driveway that led either to the customer parking lot on the left or the dealer parking lot on the right. They turned right, around the side of the exhibit hall that was toward the south field, where the overnight dealers were parked.
“Maggie, you told the policeman we were going to see someone. We’re not going to see anyone.”
“Oh, Ben, I hope we are. We’re going to see that man you knocked down.”
“I don’t think the policeman understood that.”
“It’s all right, Ben. It was just a little lie. Sometimes you have to compromise a little.”
“I never lie.”
“Well, you’re right, Ben. That’s the way it should be. No one should lie.” They were almost to the end of the last building. “Okay, Ben, where do we go from here?”
“Over toward the bathrooms.” Two separate, large wooden sheds, one labeled LADIES and one GENTLEMEN, were ahead of them and to the right; the worn white paint and the chipped letters on the signs were clearly visible in the lights over their doorways. They were the only lights in this area, although there had been several high halogen safety lights near the entrance.
The mud was heavier here, in the area around the fair buildings where vans had been parking and unloading. The sneakers Maggie had worn all day had been damp when she’d changed to her heels earlier. Now the replacement loafers she’d slipped on were covered with heavy mud. Almost every other step hit a puddle and splashed her long skirt. There must be a small hole in the seam of her left shoe; she could feel a trickle of water making its way across her toes.