Cheevers was the first one up. He was a decent man, who cracked jokes non-stop but had a tender side to him that made him very protective of everyone weaker than himself. This is why he had very little patience with Mrs. Trumble’s bullying.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Johnson. We’ll find them.”
Cheevers barreled out the door, chest high, arms in motion like a superhero on a life or death mission. Mrs. Johnson followed, and everyone else trailed behind.
“Pam! Sam!” yelled Mrs. Johnson.
“Pam!” echoed Cheevers.
The Pritcher door was one-third of the way open, and Cheevers glanced through the crack between the hinges and the door, catching a quick flash of someone. He poked his head around the open entrance.
Pam and Sam sat wide-eyed on the couch, tears welling in their eyes as Margaret stopped to catch her breath. She, too, felt emotionally spent.
“What are you doing?” Cheevers belted out at Margaret.
The girls screamed, caught half between Benjamin’s bloody head and Cheevers’ unexpected entrance. They jumped into each other’s arms and turned their faces on the man with the red hat.
Margaret calmly looked over at Cheevers.
“Red Hat. Red Hat. Red Hat came too soon.” She looked down at the floor in an uncomfortable manner.
The rest of the meeting-goers stood over Cheevers’ shoulder. Mrs. Johnson let out a scream and ran over to her girls, pulling them into her arms.
“What’s wrong, my darlings? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did she hurt you?”
“Mom, you scared us,” said Sam. “We didn’t mean to sneak out.”
“Yes, we did, Sam. It was premeditated sneaking,” replied Pam, who always straightened out Sam’s lies.
“Well, we didn’t mean to get you upset!”
“Margaret, what is going on here?”
Mrs. Trumble broke through the huddle and came right up to Margaret’s side. Janice followed her, ready to block if necessary.
“See, she can’t be trusted. She lured these girls into her apartment to do only God knows what? Look at these poor, poor girls. She’s frightened them out of their minds,” said Mrs. Trumble, who was sure that this would vindicate her argument.
“Now just calm down. We need to find out what’s going on,” interjected Janice.
Reverend Davies stood by the door and reserved judgment. Cheevers was starting to think that maybe Mrs. Trumble was right. Mr. Tomsey stood silently.
“Are you all right, children?”
“Mom, we’re fine.”
“Go home now. Margaret, these girls are never to be in your apartment again. Do you hear?”
“Mom, why are you—”
“I said go home.”
“Mom, we just had some ice cream.”
“That’s what they do. Lure them in with something sweet. The fly in the ointment,” said Mrs. Trumble gleefully.
“The ant in the honey,” added Cheevers.
“Now, just calm down, everyone. Margaret, what are the twins doing here?” asked Janice.
Margaret shook her head from side to side.
“Ice cream. Ice cream. Chocolate-cherry-swirl.”
“Mom,” cried Sam.
“Sam, go! Now!”
“But, Mom, nothing happened,” Pam tried to get through. “We just had some ice cream.”
“Margaret, did you make them cry?” asked Janice, her support of Margaret showing signs of weakening.
“Yes,” Margaret replied matter-of-factly.
“What did you do to them?” Janice insisted.
“Ms. Pritcher did nothing to us,” Sam boldly blurted out. She had yet to obey her mother and continued to stand next to the couch.
The gentlemen at the door looked on like decorations on the wall.
“Sam!” her mother yelled at her.
“It was Benjamin. He fell and started bleeding. And then Mr. Cheevers walked in and yelled, and he startled us,” said Sam.
“Benjamin? Who’s Benjamin?”
“Margaret, who is Benjamin?” Janice looked intensely down at Margaret, trying to get her to talk. Her worst fears began to well-up inside of her. Could Margaret really be a harmful person?
“This is getting out of hand,” said Mrs. Trumble.
Pam tried to clarify the story, but no one was listening. Everyone started talking over top of each other. Each layer of language built upon the presuppositions of the others, and Margaret sat accused of the most vicious of crimes with only Janice hanging precariously in her corner by a thread of common-sense-doubt, which at the moment seemed silly. Margaret sat quietly, intermittently glancing over at Cheevers, who clutched his red hat in his hand. She also kept looking at the empty cartons of ice cream on the coffee table.
“Well, we need to find out who this Benjamin is,” said Mr. Tomsey, who took this sort of thing seriously.
“But Benj—” started Sam only to be cut off by her mother.
“I want both of you out of here. Now!” demanded Mrs. Johnson.
Sam and Pam decided to go. They would make their pleas at a later time when the grown-ups were more open to listening to the truth. They walked toward the gentlemen and turned back to Margaret before exiting the door.
“Thank you, Ms. Pritcher,” said Sam.
“Yes, thank you,” said Pam as they both walked down the hall and into their own apartment.
Mrs. Johnson looked over at Margaret with burning eyes.
“Who is Benjamin?”
Everyone added a random form of the same question in unison, but Margaret remained silent in her chair. She noticed how Cheevers kept gripping his red hat tightly and then let it go, giving it a small flip into the air. She also noticed how Reverend Davies looked down at her, much like Reverend Taylor overlooked the Vietnamese village.
“I think we should call the police,” said Mrs. Trumble.
“For what possible purpose should we call the police?” said Janice. “There is no evidence whatsoever that anything illegal has happened here. Apparently, the girls snuck out of the apartment and had some ice cream. That is hardly a federal offense.”
“What about bloody Benjamin?” said Cheevers.
“Exactly!” concurred Mrs. Trumble.
“If there is a hurt little boy somewhere, we need to find out,” reflected Reverend Davies calmly.
“Margaret, who is Benjamin?” asked Janice. “Come on. We need you to talk. Who is Benjamin?”
“Benjamin. Laying by a tree. Hurt his head.”
“A tree? She never even goes out of the apartment.”
“That’s not true. She goes shopping once a week. I know. I’ve seen her,” said Reverend Davies.
“Well, there’s about three trees from here to Full Brands. If there is a bloody Benjamin laying by one of them, he shouldn’t be hard to find,” said Cheevers.
“We need to call the police. She can’t be trusted,” insisted Mrs. Trumble.
Janice was beginning to think the same thing. She nodded her head. Reverend Davies said he would go down to street level and look over the trees on the way to the market. Mr. Tomsey said he could call a policeman friend of his and see what should be done. The long night was about to get much longer. Mrs. Johnson thought about her husband and wished he was there. She worried for the girls and wanted to go back to the apartment to comfort them, but she wanted to see this through. If Margaret was guilty, she would pay for messing with her girls.
Chapter 8
Tears and Truth
The whole group, every last one, cowered in the middle of Mrs. Johnson’s living room as the policeman reprimanded them.
“Was it too much to think that at least one adult would have asked the girls what happened? Ice cream and storytelling. Sounds like a good babysitter to me. Chester, I’ll see you later.”
Mr. Tomsey nodded his head as his policeman friend exited the apartment. They all felt somewhat ashamed, except for Mrs. Trumble, who was convinced that the policeman had been too hasty and ce
rtainly overlooked something.
“I’m going home,” said Cheevers and walked out the door.
“Goodnight, Mrs. Johnson. Janice,” nodded Reverend Davies and walked out after Cheevers.
“What about Margaret? What about my hand?”
“Mrs. Trumble, I would suggest that you not put it in between a door and door frame anytime soon,” said Mr. Tomsey as he exited.
Cheevers walked right past his apartment and headed down the steps followed by Reverend Davies.
“You’re not going home?” inquired the reverend.
“I need a drink. Want to join me, Reverend?”
“Oh, no. I think not.”
“I certainly need one after this evening.”
“Well, I don’t blame you at all,” smiled the reverend wryly.
Janice walked by Margaret’s apartment, hesitated a little, and then continued on down the steps. She would talk with her about the whole incident another day, but for now, she just wanted to go home, shower the venomous talk off her body, and go to bed.
Margaret stood at her window and caught a glimpse of Red Hat and Reverend Davies as they parted. She remained completely unaffected by the evening’s events, but the red hat grabbed her. It mesmerized her. She felt afflicted by the muse all around her. She thought of the red cap of her childhood, and once more fell into her hypnotic trance, alone in her world, unaffected, unattached, and relentless. Where would she begin?
* * *
“Priscilla put on her best face and proudly clutched Red Hat’s arm like a Homecoming Queen. She hadn’t been this close to a man since she turned down Richard Hopkin’s wedding proposal in college. She calculated that she couldn’t bear to be with a statistician far from her dear sister Florence, who had also settled in firmly at Red Hat’s right.
“‘Calm and cool,’ said Red Hat. ‘You got it.’
“‘Oh, this is exciting,’ said Florence, who squeezed tightly on his arm. Twice he had to break away to restore circulation.
“They descended the steps and began to walk past Quinn’s door at the end of the first floor hallway when an officer stopped them.
“‘Excuse me, ladies, sir. Do you live here?’ asked the officer.
“Priscilla jumped in first. She had a knack for pretending.
“‘Why, yes, officer. I’m Priscilla, and this is my dear sister, Florence. And you just must met our nephew—’
“‘Bartholomew,’ piped in Florence. She had always been the creative one.
“‘Yes, Bartholomew is from Key West. He flew up to celebrate our birthday with us. We are twins if you can’t tell.’
“‘Well, almost twins,’ clarified Florence in a confusing way.
“‘I see. Bartholomew, how long are you here?’ asked the bemused cop.
“‘I’m actually leaving today.’
“‘You have something wrong with your head?’
“‘No, no. I’m fine.’
“‘I see it’s bleeding.’
“‘Bleeding? Oh, well …’
“He quickly pulled his red hat out of his pocket and put it on his head.
“‘I’m afraid that’s my fault, officer,’ said Florence. ‘You see, I was playing baseball with a marble on my balcony, and it hit him on the head.’
“‘That’s right. When the flower pot fell,’ said Priscilla.
“‘Flower pot?’ asked the policeman. He had a skeptical look on his face as he glanced over the threesome.
“‘Yes, the flower pot hit him in the head.’
“‘I thought you said a marble hit him?’
“‘Well, no, not a marble,’ said Priscilla.
“‘Priscilla, don’t you remember. It was a marble. I can’t play baseball with a flower pot,’ Florence scolded.
“‘Sorry, officer. They are a little out of their minds. Don’t listen to them,’ Red Hat said, trying to quickly back out of this conversation that headed towards a confrontation.
“‘How did you get that blow to your head?’ inquired the officer.
“‘Does it matter? I have to go.’
“‘It matters, Bartholomew,” the officer facetiously added. ‘We have a dead body here. Can I see some identification?’
“‘Officer Monroe. Our poor nephew didn’t want to say anything. It’s rather embarrassing,” Florence said as she poked her head in close to the officer’s chest. ‘He was on the toilet and quickly stood up and hit his head on the marble flower pot on the shelf in front of the throne, if you know what I mean.’
“‘That’s right. That’s all there is to it,’ added Priscilla. ‘That flower pot is extremely close to the toilet. We’re short, though. Very short. Doesn’t bother us.’
“‘How embarrassing it was to find Bartholomew face down on the floor,’ said Florence, leaning close to whisper into Officer Monroe’s ear. ‘And he still had his pants down.’ They both giggled.
“Red Hat had about had enough and so had the officer who quickly called for backup into his shoulder-com-unit.
“‘They’re fruity officer,’ said Red Hat, motioning the crazy circle with his left hand. ‘That’s why I come here and visit them. They’d go batty without sane companionship from time to time.’
“‘Okay, people. I don’t know what you are trying to prove, but I need to see some identification, and now.’
Red Hat glanced quickly to each of his ‘aunties’ who smiled widely, feeling so proud of themselves for such a clever excuse. Then he reached back with his right hand and landed a solid punch on the officer’s jaw. Monroe tripped backwards against the wall and flopped onto the floor. The ladies stood by, laughing giddily at themselves. From Quinn’s apartment, another officer saw the punch and quickly headed their way.
“‘Run, Bartholomew. Run,’ yelled Florence, who felt an amazing rush of adrenaline overtake her. She hadn’t felt anything like it since throwing a no-hitter in high school.
“Red Hat took her cue and headed down the hall and out the door. Priscilla put out her foot, and the officer from Quinn’s room tripped and fell face-first onto the wooden floor. He quickly grabbed his com-unit and yelled into it.
“‘Perpetrator on foot, leaving the building, wearing a red hat. I repeat. Wearing a red hat.’
“Red Hat immediately saw the troopers scurrying in front of him. He had an open corridor straight ahead of him across the street, but he no longer had transportation since he had planned on hailing a cab.
“He ran between two police cars as several officers converged behind him. Across the street, diagonally situated beside a convenience store, sat an idling Yo-Yo Yoghurt truck, as the driver unloaded some plastic cartons from the back.
“Red Hat leaped up through the open door and into the vacant driver’s seat. He clutched, shifted into first, and tore off. Cartons of Yo-Yo came crashing onto the pavement as the driver ripped off some profanities. One officer drew his weapon and tried to shoot out the back tire but only managed to puncture a few more cartons, which spewed their milky-goodness onto the street, leaving a clear yoghurt trail to follow. They scooted to their vehicles to begin the hot pursuit as Red Hat nearly tipped over the panel van heading onto 9th Avenue, avoiding three cars and beeping incessantly. He was three hours late, but he wouldn’t fail. No flower pot in the world would prevent him from unlocking that box with Quinn’s key.”
* * *
Margaret was leaning face first against the window overlooking the street. The street lamps created shadows against the corner of the small vacant café where Red Hat often ate his breakfast. Cheevers sat at McHeely’s down the street, tipping back a pint with his buddies. Reverend Davies was at home with his wife and kids, and Pam and Sam had been snuggling in their beds for hours by now. Margaret thought over the whole evening. She knew she wasn’t crazy in the clinical sense. She knew how she loved the twins. She would surely stock up on ice cream the next time she went to Full Brands—but even the thought of that made her feel nervous. She always went on Tuesday at midnight, but now Reverend
Davies knew her schedule. She wasn’t sure if she would have the strength to change it. She thought of how the Reverend Davies stared at her this evening in her apartment like she was guilty of something. He disapproved. He always disapproved. She thought of her mother who had long left her alone.
“My rifle butt leaned against the ground and the barrel pointed directly up at me. I stared into the small dark hole that could bring me relief with one quick flick of my finger.”
Margaret saw him sitting on the edge of the village. His mind held the image of forty years past. He looked right down the barrel, wanting to end it all. Off to the side, some two hundred feet away, she saw Nicki and Quan still sitting on the small plastic stools, sipping the strong green tea. She had to find out what this was all about.
* * *
“Nicki lifted her left hand and rubbed her forehead for a moment.
“‘Are you all right?’ asked Quan, genuinely concerned for her quickly changing mood.
“‘Yes, I’m just hot.’
“‘Do you want to go into my house? There’s a fan there.’
“‘No,’ she replied quickly. ‘How did you choose Mt. Goshen College?’
“Quan paused for a moment.
“‘Your father.’
“‘You know my father?’ asked Nicki incredulously.
“‘Yes. I’m sorry. I do. Without him, I never would have gone to college.’
“‘I don’t understand.’
“‘He helped me a lot, and I am very grateful for him. Without him, I would have never learned English, or gone to America, or have been able to provide for my family.’
“‘I still don’t understand.’
“From the side, Reverend Taylor jumped into the conversation. He had climbed down over the ridge and had silently approached them. It was time to set the record straight.
“‘I killed Quan’s grandfather. Right here. Right from that ridge.’
“‘No,’ Quan stood up immediately and tried to shield the reverend from having to divulge any more information.
“‘Dad, what do you mean? Quan told me there was a battle here one night. I know you were here, but … You don’t have to relive the past.’
The Recluse Storyteller Page 8