A Hero's Reward

by Morrel, Amy

  As the piece was ending he opened his eyes again. When he glanced at Margaret he saw that tears were silently streaming down her face:

  “Are you alright?” he asked her.

  “Did you know that the original title of Ode to Joy was actually Ode to Freedom? The composer had to change the title for fear of the consequences if he published it with the original title. Letters he wrote to a friend late in his life show that he regretted doing so and felt that he had compromised the song by changing the title.”

  “No, I had no idea. I've just always appreciated the music.”

  “If you do want a relationship of any sort with me, you'll have to know more about me. This is probably as good a time as any. This way it won't hurt as much if you change your mind.”

  Greg got up and turned the music down to a very low background noise that wouldn't intrude on their conversation. He also noted that she hadn't specified who would be hurt if he changed his mind and took that as a good sign.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Well, Ode to Joy is kind of a theme song for me. Freedom is what I always wanted since I was young but fear of consequences kept me from having it. My parents were incredibly strict, rabid, bible-thumpers. I hope you aren't religious at all so I don't offend you but they took their version of Christianity to the degree of a cult. I wasn't even allowed to wear pants once I became a teenager, it had to be dresses, and ones that came down to at least mid-calf. Since they bought my clothes, when my jeans disappeared, the dresses and skirts were all I had left to wear. There were blouses and button down shirts to go with the skirts, too. They thought that t-shirts were the devil's temptation to sin since they tended to emphasize a woman's upper body more than a proper blouse. I rarely had money of my own; they wouldn't even let me babysit to earn money. They thought that if they controlled the purse strings then they'd be able to control me better.

  When I became a teenager I, of course, wanted to start dating. They wouldn't let me date until I was seventeen. After my dad caught me necking in the car with a date that was dropping me off one night, they restricted me to only dating people that they approved of. I ended up marrying one of them and what a mistake that was.

  I thought that getting married and getting out of the house would have to make things better. I thought they couldn't get any worse. I was wrong. Freddy got a job and we bought a house. That one, as a matter of fact.” she said gesturing to the ruins across the street.

  “He was tight with money. I had to account for all the household funds I spent. I had to give him the receipts and explain any discrepancies. He was... very domineering. He was of the same church as my parents and they believed that the passage from the bible that said that the wife must obey the husband was one of the most important parts of the book. There was little joy and lots of yearning for freedom in my marriage. When I got pregnant with Jack I thought that surely Freddy would lighten up. Instead he cracked down. In addition to holding my freedom in his hands, he was taking Jack's freedom when Jack was only two years old. There was a list of things that Jack was allowed and not allowed to do. I had to be with Jack every minute when he wasn't sleeping. I was suffocating and I was sure that Jack would be also if I stayed with Freddy.

  One day, I finally stood up to Freddy. I told him that things had to change, that I didn't mind obeying him but that he was far too strict with Jack, that he had to lighten up on both of us or we'd be miserable our whole lives. He seemed to go along with it but a couple of months later, after Jack and I had been enjoying life for a bit, Freddy came home drunk one day. He laid into me about having been an insubordinate wife the past couple of months and eventually he took a swing at me. He hit me in the face and left me with a black eye. I grabbed Jack and ran. I went straight to the police. I pressed charges and filed for divorce. The day my parents found out that I was divorcing Freddy, they disowned me.

  I got the house, lots of good that will do me now, custody of Jack, and a small alimony and child support payment. Fortunately the house was paid off, but until Jack started school I couldn't even work a regular job. I didn't know anyone because Freddy and I never went out anywhere and we didn't have any friends in the area. All of our friends, or I should say his friends really, were living back near my parents. I tried to go out and take Jack to the park, talk with other moms there, but I couldn't connect with them at all. They all wanted to talk about the latest electronic toy that they had bought, or brag about their children, or talk about their 'online social lives'.

  I wasn't interested in any of that. I didn't brag about Jack. I didn't even know what they were talking about when they went on about their online social lives. I didn't have an internet connection until two years ago. Anyhow, by that time I had given up and pretty much become a recluse. When Jack started school I got a part-time job at the library; the pay isn't much but we got by on less before I was working and we know how to live frugally.

  So, in a lot of ways, I'm kind of damaged goods. I've always been very shy and it became worse after Freddy and I divorced. I'm very touchy about my freedom being infringed upon and very, very wary about losing it again.”

  I just stared at her for a moment. Why she thought that anything in her story made her damaged goods was beyond me. She had had to go through more than anyone should and she seemed to still have things pretty well together.

  “Margaret, why do you think you're damaged goods? What you just told me says that you are a very strong-willed woman, not that you're damaged. It tells me that you were abused from a young age, that doesn't make you damaged either. It tells me that the abuse continued after you married. I'm amazed you stayed with him for as long as you did. It sounds like he didn't love you, he wanted to possess you. I wouldn't want to infringe on your freedoms. Unless you consider being in a relationship as infringing on your freedom but it didn't sound like it earlier. When looking for a significant other, I have always looked for a partner, and not for someone I can dominate.”

  “Do you mean that? You don't think I'm broken somehow, you don't think I'm a failure because I'm divorced and my parents disowned me?”

  “I think that you are the most sane adult you mentioned in your story. I really wouldn't want to have to deal with people that acted the way you described. I'd lose my temper with them pretty quickly myself. How you stood it for years, I don't know.”

  “I didn't know any better. I've given it lots of thought since I divorced.”

  “See, you aren't damaged goods, you just didn't know any better. Even without knowing any better you still got yourself and your son out of that situation.”

  Margaret's face saddened:

  “Freddy has Jack though, when I called him he told me I wasn't getting him back.”

  “You have legal custody, yes?”

  “Yes, I'm supposed to.”

  “Then we can get the local sheriff to come out with us and he'll have to hand him over.”

  “Except the sheriff goes to the same church. I somehow think he won't cooperate.”

  “Well, where does he live?”

  “Just over the state line, in a small town called Turnsville.”

  Greg smiled, “That's actually good. Since he refuses to turn Jack back over to you and lives across the state line from where Jack is supposed to live, we might be able to get the feds involved. If it's considered kidnapping by not returning him, then it's a federal offense. A visit from a couple of FBI agents might change Freddy's mind for him, don't you think?”

  “I couldn't do that to him.”

  “I can. What's his address? I'll have to make sure that it qualifies as a federal offense but I'm guessing that they can dig up something and if this church is as out there as you say, they're probably already keeping an eye on it. My boss knows a guy in the FBI office, I can probably get him to hook me up as a favor.”

  He could see her considering it for a moment, a very short moment:

  “1818 Wagon Wheel Rd.”

  “Let me make a couple of phone call
s, okay? My boss probably wasn't working today anyhow because of the weather.”

  Greg spent the next half hour on the phone. First he was talking to his boss and then, after explaining the situation to him, he got a number for the FBI agent.

  When Greg called the FBI, he was shuffled around a bit, but when he got to the right agents they were more than happy to hear about the situation. In the intervening years since Margaret had been there the church had become more extreme, and at this point the FBI was considering putting them under watch as a potential hate group. When Greg explained the situation, he was told it would be taken care of and asked if would he prefer the child to get a ride back with the FBI or would he prefer the mother to come down with them and take custody of the child there. A quick question to Margaret and they were scheduled to go down with a pair of FBI agents in two days to reclaim Jack. If Freddy resisted, the FBI agents were willing to get a warrant for him on a charge of kidnapping. It probably wouldn't hold up in court but the warrant alone would allow Margaret to take custody of Jack again.

  Margaret was very nearly smiling when Greg hung up the phone. She walked over to him, leaned down and gave him a chaste peck on the lips:

  “Thank you, again. I would have done anything to get Jack back and here you go and arrange it without asking for anything. I would have willingly given myself to you in 'that way' to get you to do what you just did. But you did it without asking for anything and without a second thought. I don't understand you at all. I thought I knew what people were like but you keep insisting on acting in ways that I didn't think people acted anymore.”

  Greg was stunned from her kiss. The scent of her filled his nostrils and the feel of her soft, but slightly chapped, lips lingered on his own.

  “Well first off, I wouldn't have considered that to be willing, I would've considered that as coercion. Not a good way to start a relationship, physical or otherwise. Secondly, I've an ulterior motive. I told you I want to see you smile, I think I'll have a better chance if you have your son with you.

  I have three spare bedrooms in this house. My mom and dad made sure they had three spare bedrooms because I have two siblings. They looked forward to any time all of us were home together so they made sure that they had room for us all. So, your son can have one of those while you are staying here. You can have another one and there will still be a spare.

  Speaking of which, let me show them to you and you can pick one for yourself. We'll need to make the bed and maybe do a little tidying, I don't go into the spare bedrooms much.”

  Greg led her up the stairs since all four bedrooms were on the second floor.

  “There's a bathroom at the end of the hall. You won't need to worry about me regarding that. I have one in my own bedroom, it's a master suite.”

  Greg showed her the linen closet in the middle of the hallway and then the three available rooms. She picked the two with south facing windows for her and Jack.

  “I like waking up with the sun on my face. It tends to start my day off better. Now, you go fetch the linens for these bedrooms, I'll make the beds and tidy the rooms. You need to rest your back and this is all stuff I can do on my own. I don't think carrying sheets and blankets will do your back any harm though. So you can make yourself useful that way.”

  Greg got the linens from the hall closet and set them on the bed.

  “Do you have a vacuum cleaner anywhere around here? The floors could use a quick once over.”

  “It's in the closet in my bedroom, I'll get it for you.”

  Greg returned with the vacuum cleaner and sat down in the room's chair. He watched Margaret as she efficiently bustled about the room, making the bed, tidying this and that, and finally starting the vacuum cleaner. He was mainly watching her face. She had intent furrows that showed as she was concentrating on her task. He found them fascinating. They totally changed the general appearance of her face. Instead of looking sorrowed, she looked determined when she concentrated like that. Margaret caught him looking once or twice and each time she blushed but didn't say anything.

  The room was habitable again all too quickly for Greg's taste. He had gotten up and moved to the hallway while Margaret vacuumed. As soon as she was done in this room she moved to the other and began to clean it as quickly and efficiently as the first. Once she was done, they both headed back downstairs.

  “I think the roads have cleared enough. I can take you out to dinner if you like, but you'd have to drive.” Greg offered.

  “Thank you but as I said, you're already doing far too much for me. How about I rummage around in your kitchen and see what I can come up with to make dinner for the two of us?” Margaret said, deftly deflecting his offer.

  “Honestly, I can take you out to dinner, I don't mind.” Greg repeated.

  “What's wrong? Does your kitchen look like the average bachelor's and only have things that you can make quickly and easily?” she riposted.

  It was Greg's turn to blush:

  “Umm, no, not entirely, but there's probably lots more of that kind of stuff in there than there are things to make a proper meal with. We can stop at a grocery store tomorrow after the DMV and pick up whatever you'd like to cook with though. I'm overdue for a grocery run.”

  “Well, it's good to know that you do have some faults. I'd been getting suspicious when you seemed like Mr. Perfect to me.”

  Greg's blush actually intensified. He wondered what was going on, he hadn't blushed like this since early in high school when he was working up his nerve to ask a girl for a date. He eagerly latched on to her reference that he seemed like Mr. Perfect to her though and thinking about that helped him recover his aplomb.

  Margaret managed to find a few things to work with in his kitchen. He could see that she had some rice, some honey, some almonds in their shell, and a couple of vaguely wilted carrots. She had rummaged through the microwaveable meals in his freezer and found a package of chicken breasts behind them.

  “Alright, show me where your nutcracker, your cooking utensils, and your pots and pans are. After you do that, pour yourself a cup of coffee and go out to the living room. Maybe put some more music on but if you do, please turn it up loud enough that I can hear it also.”

  Greg noticed that she once again had the intent furrows on her face as he showed her the location of the things she had requested. He had an 'aha!' moment as he realized that she was stubborn, determined, and defensive when it came to the areas that her ex-husband had considered 'hers' and that she was much less confident dealing with anything outside of those parameters.

  Greg did as she had told him to. He did indeed put some music on, he picked a few classical pieces that he thought she might enjoy and set them to run in a playlist. Then he settled in to nurse his coffee as wonderful aromas began to drift out of the kitchen.

  It was less than half an hour before Margaret came out with two plates in hand. She set them on the table and returned for silverware. Greg moved to the table and looked at dinner. It looked, and smelled, delicious but aside from knowing what the ingredients were he had no idea how she had prepared it, especially as quickly as she did.

  “It's a honey-almond rice with honey buttered carrots and honey glazed chicken.” came from behind him as Margaret came back with the rest of the tableware.

  “It looks and smells delicious. How did you do that so quickly?”

  “Everything in it cooks quickly, well except the carrots but yours were a bit soft so they didn't need to cook as long as they normally would. You cook the rice as normal, steam or boil the carrots, and start the chicken cooking. While everything is cooking you mix up some melted butter and honey for a glaze and crack your almonds. Part of rice's cooking process is taking it off the heat, fluffing it up, and letting it steam. You add the almonds to it while it steams. Glaze the chicken with honey while the rice steams also. When the rice is done steaming you serve it and drizzle honey over it, being sure to get some on the almonds. You pull the carrots, serve them and drizzle the honey
-butter sauce over them, then you pull the glazed chicken. You can pepper it to taste if you like, I normally use a tiny dash on the chicken and rice. Then serve. It's quick and easy. Plus, sometimes even bachelors have everything you need to make it.”

  Margaret's lips flashed up into a smirk, almost a smile, with her last sentence.

  “You smiled, I saw it!”

  “No I didn't, that was a smirk. There's a difference. Although you probably didn't deserve the smirk but since you were so amazed by the meal and I consider it a very easy and non-fancy one to make. I thought I might twit you a little over it.”

  “Well, if it involves smiles, or even almost smiles or smirks, feel free to twit me about anything you like.”

  Once dinner was over, they settled into the living room.

  “What do you normally do of an evening Greg?”

  “Well, the last few years I normally settle in with a movie or maybe a book. I don't read as much as I used to though so I've been watching more movies recently.”

  Margaret looked at the bookcase Greg had dedicated to holding his movies.

  “What kind of movies do you watch?”

  “Normally action adventure, probably seventy-five percent of what's on the shelves there is action adventure. The rest is a mixture of documentaries, comedies, and a few other things.”

  “Do you mind if I look through and see what you have?”

  “Sure, the bottom row is where everything that isn't action adventure lives, the top three rows are action adventure. Take a look and see if you can find something you'd like to watch.”

  Margaret went over and examined the shelf. While she was doing so Greg went into the kitchen, took his painkillers that he was due for, and started another pot of coffee. This time he went with an Ethiopian blend he was fond of. It was as far different from regular coffee as the earlier Jamaican was but entirely different from the earlier brew as well. He considered the fact that he might be trying to impress Margaret and decided that he probably was. Maybe fancy coffee wasn't the right way to do it but it was one of the few options he had in his arsenal that he could use right now.