Fortunately, the parents and student athletes who provided Alice with a free pork sandwich lifted her spirits by giving her another opportunity to have her picture taken by the high school intern who worked for the local newspaper. Alice took a nibble of barbeque, but she kindly declined a drink from either the lemonade or the tea brewed from the cafeteria's tap of water.
* * * * *
Chapter 6 - Blasphemy
"It's perverse! It's insane! It's an absolute desecration!"
"You've been gone from Owensville for a very long time. It's going to take a while for you to understand."
"How can I ever understand? It's deplorable!"
"Hear me out."
"How do the people in town not know?"
"They know, Lauren. In their hearts, all of them know."
"Grandpa Roscoe deserves better."
"What would he care? Roscoe never believed in anything like a soul. I think he'd be very happy to know that he's still providing for his family."
Lauren was in shock. Why didn't she turn and run from that home and from that town of her ancestors the moment Maximillian told her the truth concerning Grandpa Roscoe? Why didn't she bolt back to her car and speed to the nearest police station to send squad cars racing to that estate to punish Maximillian for what he'd done? Why didn't she scream until the rest of the world realized the blasphemy perpetrated on that tainted acre of land? Why did she sit at that oak kitchen table, with its table spread splotched with water stain, with ants scurrying up its legs to reach the cream and sugar cubes Max had set on that table to compliment the coffee he offered Lauren? How could Max casually enjoy his afternoon caffeine while Roscoe's body lay exposed to the sun two floors overhead? Why didn't she turn away with disgust each time Max's eyes met her own?
Max seemed to sense Lauren's thoughts. "Look, if you weren't interested in hearing what I have to say, you would've run away from here the moment you looked at all the rubble piled at the back of this house. You would've screamed the instant you stole a peek at the back of Roscoe's head. You didn't run because you knew what this place once was, because you knew what this place might be again one day."
Had Max purposely chosen to serve Lauren coffee in that unicorn mug from which she sipped so many hot chocolates during those cold winter nights over thirty-five years ago? Had he purposely chosen those plastic saucers to remind Lauren of all the times the two of them had served imaginary tea in Roscoe's home? Why was he forcing her to remember those innocent days? Lauren admired how the paint of that unicorn remained bright upon her old porcelain mug. The rainbows hadn't dulled at all, and none of the stars above the unicorn's head had vanished over so much time.
She must've been trapped in some kind of a spell. If she slightly closed her eyes, the damage and dust filling that home disappeared. If she only allowed herself a touch of a dream, then all the bricks of that fallen wall levitated back into their proper places. The memories prevented Lauren from abandoning that home. The memories prevented her from fleeing the horror of Max's blasphemy. Her heart just needed too badly to sojourn backwards through time. Her heart told her it would be too unfair to flee from that old world her soul craved on account of what Max's wicked actions. Her heart forced Lauren to stay, and to remember the smell of pancakes and syrup long ago served at that very table, no matter how her mind kept screaming about the rot that surrounded her chair.
Max nodded when Lauren didn't leave. He knew she would resist that urge to run in order to hear his defense, and he hoped that defense might convince her to stay.
"I can no longer recall if the wall fell before or after Roscoe took his last breath," Roscoe began. "I often wonder if the collapse and the dying might've happened at the same time. Roscoe's back built this house, and the house rested on his shoulders. I suppose it's not so strange to think a man and his home might collapse at the same moment.
"I actually tried burying Roscoe the day he died. But I hesitated. I was afraid to looked upon what death did to a man during those hours after his death. I found I couldn't bury Roscoe on my own, so I travelled into town for help. Only I couldn't find anyone who seemed capable of hearing what I was saying, no matter how I shouted Roscoe Turner was gone. Everyone only smiled before offering me a cup of coffee, as if a warm mug would be enough medicine to pull me out of the madness that made me scream in the street. I pleaded for help, but folks just kept telling me how appreciative they were of their time working in Roscoe's glass factory. They couldn't hear when I spoke the word 'death.' But I still needed help. I still couldn't open Roscoe's door on my own. So I just told them how part of his home had collapsed. I told them Roscoe just needed a little help lifting so some of the fallen bricks.
"The best volunteer responders Owensville could summon for emergency followed me back home. No matter how I pointed at Roscoe's body collapsed and exposed on his bed, none of the responders would enter the house. They just looked over all the fallen bricks and admired all the keepsakes Roscoe ever set on his tables and collected in his closets. They kept telling me that Roscoe was only sleeping. They said Roscoe was just old, and that the elderly needed plenty of sleep. They said Roscoe was just getting a solid nap before he would stand from that bed and reopen his glass factory before giving everyone in Owensville another job. I screamed at them when they turned their backs and returned to their trucks. I begged them to help me so that I wouldn't have to enter Roscoe's chamber alone. I pleaded for them to help me carry Roscoe's body. But they didn't hear me, or they ignored me. You see, Lauren, they couldn't accept the truth of the thing that lay in Roscoe Turner's bed."
Lauren watched Max's hands shake, and she noticed how he pressed them against the water-stained tablecloth to force them to steady. The effort failed Max, who stood and shambled to the cabinet where Lauren remembered Roscoe stored his cherished Scotch, that medicine from which she recalled that old man sipping before forcing his aching joints to climb the stairs leading to his chamber. The sight of Max sipping straight from the brandy bottle angered her. What had Max ever done to deserve the comforts kept in her grandfather's liquor cabinet? Max seemed a thief, a kind of rat that scurried about her grandfather's home to nibble at the cheese and crackers. She remembered how Roscoe was always setting traps for the mice who scurried into his home searching for the food the barren countryside couldn't provide.
Max's hands calmed after he took another pull at the Scotch bottle. "I went into that room all alone. Imagine it. Imagine if you had been left alone to tend to your father's remains, Lauren. Imagine if there hadn't been any nurses to wheel your father away after he expired in his hospital room. Roscoe didn't die in any hospital bed or nursing home. He died in this home, surrounded by his lifetime of possessions, died just as that wall collapsed. It took all the courage I ever knew to open the door to Roscoe's chamber, but I did. I looked upon what death had wrought upon a man who wasn't ever supposed to die.
"I tended to Grandpa Roscoe. I dressed his remains in one of his last, favorite suits. I combed what was left of Roscoe's hair, even parted it over his balding crown like he used to do each morning when he looked in the mirror. I polished the shoes I put on his feet, and I made sure to tie a crisp knot on that tie I wrapped around Roscoe's neck.
"Owensville wasn't going to accept that Roscoe was gone from them, and so I knew Mr. Aldrich wasn't going to hold any service for Roscoe at his funeral parlor. I was on my own to do what I could to lower Grandpa into the ground. I wrapped his body in bedding, and I built a coffin as best as I could from timber I salvaged from the piles of that fallen wall. I'm not a strong man, but I dug until my hands bled. I dragged that coffin to the grave, and I nearly broke as I dropped those remains into that hole. Somehow, I managed. Somehow, I managed to cover that grave with dirt. I did a lifetime of labor on that day I buried Grandpa Roscoe."
Lauren's eyes widened. "You dug him back out of the ground? My God, Max. It's even worse if you exhumed him from that grave."
"You would understand if you had seen h
ow Owensville responded after I tossed the last shovel of dirt onto Roscoe's grave. The town turned insane. You think I'm mad for keeping Grandpa where everyone can view his skin and bones. But Owensville shows the real madness. You didn't hear how that village wailed. You didn't see how that village thrashed."
"What kind of behavior could possibly excuse what you did?"
Max sighed. "You were not here."
Lauren held her breath. She shouldn't have returned to Owensville and her family's home. Memories were haunts, and chasing them imperiled the future. Roscoe was dead. His house crumbled.
Max continued. "I've learned to share this home with Roscoe's body. There's a lot of good that comes from keeping Roscoe in the light. The community still provides for this house. The community brings food and gifts. They even bring cash. They believe the old days will return if they only give enough to Roscoe's corpse, and that those old days will be better than ever once they're realized.
I manage what Roscoe's body earns. Why shouldn't I? Didn't Roscoe earn such devotion? Doesn't the sacrifice he gave to his glass factory deserve the honor Owensville continues to show him? This home's rear wall might've fallen to ruin, but the front remains wonderful, thanks to what Roscoe's people still give. Don't you see how I do the decent thing by keeping that body in the upstairs chamber?"
"There's nothing decent about it at all."
Max shrugged. "But it's the last industry Roscoe has to give this country."
"His body taints this country."
"You're wrong. Roscoe's body maintains it."
"You have to bury him, Max."
Max held his shaking hands to his face. For a moment, Lauren thought he was about to sob before he took a long breath and looked into her eyes.
"Alright. It'll be easier with your help. I'll return Roscoe to the ground, where you think his skin and bones should be. Only, promise me that you'll remain in this home for a few days after we lower Grandpa's body. Stay long enough to see how Owensville responds. Then, you'll understand why I did what I did."
"We bury him right away?"
"We can start right now, Lauren."
Lauren swallowed. A closed casket would not shield her eyes from what death did to her Grandpa's body.
"Max, do you think Roscoe would mind if I tasted a little of his Scotch?"
Max poured into Lauren's unicorn mug. "I think Roscoe would be happy knowing that his Scotch didn't go to waste."
* * * * *
Chapter 7 - Madness
"Wake up. They're here."
Lauren bolted upright upon the mattress resting on the floor, and her heart stuttered for a moment as she struggled to recognize her surroundings in the dim light. It was cool, and the air felt damp to her breath. She was in the basement of Roscoe Turner's home, where she used to frighten Max when they had been children, where she had long ago locked him after a fight over the last orange soda kept in their grandfather's kitchen refrigerator. Her fingers felt raw, and for a second she forgot where the soil captured beneath her nails had come from. Then she remembered.
The images of the previous night rushed back to her - the sight of the wig so clownishly taped to Roscoe's skull, the skin dried and thinned to a kind of leather parchment, the deep and empty eye sockets that kept staring upon Lauren no matter where she stood in relation to her grandfather's body. She shook as she remembered carrying Roscoe down the stairs, and how her grandfather's head had knocked against the wall as Max turned too quickly down another bend in the hall. She remembered the sickness that welled in her stomach, and she remembered the shame that filled her heart, as if burying the body of her grandfather was a worse kind of a crime than letting his bones fester in the sunlight. Her muscles ached from the effort spent digging the grave, and her soul felt exhausted from toll given in handling the dead.
She remembered the anxiety Max displayed during the night. Max had left the strenuous work to Lauren, so that he could flinch at every noise and echo before gazing in all directions to see if someone crept upon the scene of their work. When Lauren asked why burying his grandfather made him feel so uneasy, Max explained that they buried one of Owensville's few riches, that they put beneath the ground the most powerful symbol of what Owensville had long ago been. He warned her that no one in Owensville would forgive them if those residents learned how Roscoe Turner's grandchildren buried that man's body. He told Lauren he feared facing the anger grandfather's burial would inspire.
Thus, Lauren and Max the next morning peeked out between the old curtains shrouding the basement windows of Roscoe Turner's home. Max's fingers dug into Lauren's forearm, and he pulled his cousin a step back from the window the instant he sensed movement in the backyard.
"What do you see? There's hardly any light yet?"
Max nodded just as the low rumble of a car approached down the lane. "Those folks start their days very early, Lauren. I suspect coming to Roscoe's house is one of the few things they enjoy anymore."
"That's a very sad thought."
Max shrugged. "They likely won't see you once everyone gathers. We just have to be careful no one sees us when the first residents arrive. That's when they peek at these basement windows. They'll talk business when more people get here, and then they won't look this way. But never make a sound above a whisper. They always strain their ears hoping to hear Roscoe speak."
Lauren thought the entire town of Owensville must've emptied out of the old, rotting cars that slowly rolled into the backyard. Men and women hobbled at of backseats, balancing casserole dishes and baking tins as they stretched for canes and walkers. The eyes of those visitors squinted in the morning light, and Lauren noticed their faces contort and grimace as they looked to Roscoe's upper-story chamber and found his bed empty. Lauren strained her ears, but she couldn't decipher the words that floated from the crowd's concerned murmur.
"What are they talking about, Max?"
"I'm sure they're talking about where Roscoe might've gone. They're probably trying to convince themselves that Roscoe's taken a trip somewhere. They're hoping that Roscoe felt some new rush of energy after resting in his bed for so long, and they're hoping Roscoe's got an idea that's going to reopen the glass factory. But I'm sure most of their hearts are worried that something's wrong. They're feeling just as afraid that Roscoe's broken his hip somewhere in the home, and that grandfather's stranded in some hallway."
"Will they come into the house? Will they come into the basement?"
Max shook his head. "I don't think so, no matter how much they fear something might've happened to grandfather. They only come as close as that picnic table. They still respect Roscoe too much to enter his home uninvited. They never trespassed into any of these rooms the first time I buried grandfather. Even when they raged, they never climbed over the pile of bricks to pull themselves into the grandfather's den. Right now, they're busy trading guesses to as where grandfather's gone on their behalf. But they're all still nervous inside, no matter what they might be saying to the contrary."
Lauren sensed the crowd grow tenser the longer she watched them shuffle along the backyard as they mumbled to one another. A hard stress bit upon many of the crowd's grunts. She thought she heard some visitors growl. Lauren squinted through the curtains and watched faces frown and eyes roll. Someone shouted. Another woman hissed. The crowd was restless, and it was turning angry.
"What's going on now, Max?"
"I forgot to give them an answer. I got so wrapped up in digging last night that I forgot to give them the advice they asked for several days ago. That's going to make them even more restless."
"An answer to what?"
"Residents always come out here asking for voting advice. The other day they asked if they should vote for or against a referendum to build a new county school. That's a big one, and I forgot to put a written answer in an envelope for them to find waiting on the picnic table."
"What were you going to tell them?"
"I was going to tell them 'no.'" Max snorted. "Gra
ndpa Roscoe never believed in a tax of any kind. He was always complaining about how much local, state and federal taxes were stealing from his work. Of course I was going to tell them 'no.' Roscoe's dead body would've risen from that bed and choked me had I told the residents anything else."
"So, you were going to tell an entire community to vote against a school based on what a dead man would've thought?"
"I'm protecting Roscoe's earnings. I'm protecting those people who worked for Grandpa."
Bones in Daylight Page 4