Plan B: Revised (Siege of New Hampshire Book 1)

by Mic Roland

  Susan’s brow knit as she stared out the window for a long moment. “Okay, how’s this? To. D. Price, Lakeview, Ohio. Pixie found a place.”

  Martin turned and smiled.”Pixie?”

  Susan squirmed. “It’s a long story. Never mind. Will that work okay, Walter?”

  Walter nodded and turned back to his microphone. “K1NTZ with one more BBS for you Joyce. For Area 8, ARL 4 W, K1NTZ: To D. Price, Lakeview, Ohio. Pixie found a place. Over.”

  “Got it, Walter,” said Joyce. “Will pass along to the next contact with Area. I see our time’s up. Seventy threes, gentlemen. N1WGF clear.”

  Ray keyed back in. “I won’t be on at 6:00, Walter. I’m gonna see if I can work some skips tonight. Let ya know tomorrow if I get any useful news. KA1YRK.”

  “G’nite Ray. K1NTZ Clear.” Walter leaned forward and powered down his equipment. He slumped back in his chair for a long sigh then pushed himself up from his chair. “It’ll probably take a couple days before your message gets posted around Lakeview, young lady, but it’ll get there.” Walter toddled unsteadily outside. The drone of the generator rumbled down to silence. He shuffled back into the kitchen looking more stooped and tired than before.

  “Well, folks, this old man is feelin’ beat. I’m gonna go finish my lie-down. Nice meeting you two. Thanks for the news update. Holly, thanks for the meds. Headache’s gone! Sally, you make sure I’m up by quarter to 6:00 this time, okay? Don’t want to miss the contacts. Might work me some skips tonight too.”

  “You go rest on the couch, dear,” said Sally.

  Walter disappeared into the flickering firelight of the living room.

  “I’ve half a mind to ‘forget’ and let him sleep,” Sally whispered. “He’s been taking this news-man thing too seriously.”

  Holly leaned back to look at the wall clock. “Uh oh. Five after. I told Jen I would be out by the road at 3:00. You two better gather up your things. Thanks for the tea, Sally. I’ll come back by in a couple days to see if you need anything else.”

  “You’re such a dear.” Sally patted Holly’s shoulder. “You two take care now, and get home safe.” Martin and Susan waved as they stepped out the door.

  In the grassy shoulder of the road stood a dark brown horse, fidgeting nervously. It was rigged up to a two-wheel cart made of thin metal tubing, all painted black. It was a minimalist buggy with a pair of wire-spoked wheels and thin tires like a moped might have. A plain woman in a brown barn coat and beret pulled down over short curly gray hair sat on the thin bench seat, holding the reigns.

  “Hi Jen,” Holly called out. “Thanks for waiting. Walter was on his radio again. Think Jasmine could handle a couple more passengers?”

  Jen looked skeptical. “I don’t know. She’s not all that used to the trap yet. I guess we can try.”

  Jen pointed behind the thin bench. “There’s a package shelf back here. I think you two could sit on it if you hold onto the bench back. You’ll have to dangle your legs. Best I can do. Trap’s only made for two.”

  “That’s okay,” Martin said. “This will be great.” He and Susan took a seat. The package shelf felt precarious at best. Holding on was not an option. Martin curled one arm around the top tube of the bench. He held the roller bag handle with his other hand so it could trail along behind them.

  “No new messages from Walter to post in town?” Jen asked. Holly shook her head.

  Jen flicked the reigns, “K, girl.” The horse jerked forward and seemed to want to veer right and left. Jen spoke softly and worked the reigns.

  “I have only had Jasmine on the trap a couple times before all this. She’s doing pretty good for only her third time, but she’s still not comfortable with it. The road is mostly down hill from Sally’s place, so we’ll be okay that far. I’m not sure how she’ll handle the extra load when we start up Wilson hill. Just have to play it by ear, I guess.” Jen chuckled. “We’re both learning this rig.”

  “When I first saw you on this thing,” Holly said. “I thought it was adorable. You looked like something from an old postcard. Now, it looks pretty darn handy.”

  “Yeah, since Robert’s not back from Concord with the truck, I thought it was a perfect opportunity to take her out for real: get some distance practice. The Cauloff’s are doing pretty good, considering. They really appreciated my visit.”

  The two of them continued to share news of the people they had visited. They were all people Martin did not know, so his attention wandered. He watched the roller bag trundling and hopping behind them. He hoped the improvised bigger wheels could handle the speed.

  He glanced at Susan who was watching the trees go by. Their trek was nearly done. Soon, he would have to introduce Susan to Margaret, and explain how he offered up their home without consulting her first. But then, how could he have? He wanted to imagine a happy meeting and generous hospitality, but that felt like a fool’s optimism.

  Years ago, Margaret was none too happy with him when he brought home that little homeless kitten. She did not want a cat, and he had decided to adopt it without consulting her. That was what rankled her more than adding a cat to the family. It took a long time for the ice to melt.

  Susan would be Cat 2.0 and a much bigger deal. One does not simply graft a pretty young woman into the family. Hi Honey. Look what I found! Martin shuddered. The “fine” factor would reach toxic levels. He was doomed. Martin wondered what Siberia was like.

  On the other hand, Margaret did eventually warm up to the kitten. Those big cute eyes finally melted the ice. Pudge even became Margaret’s faithful lap buddy. Perhaps Susan’s natural charm would win Margaret over too. Martin’s gloom was fading. Maybe the two women would become friends — not best friends, perhaps, but at least cordial. Margaret might take Susan under her wing and teach her cooking and canning.

  Martin tried to figure out words of introduction that would not sound like he had brought home another cute orphan: which was pretty much what he had done. He recalled that Margaret’s feelings about the cat turned a corner when the kitten got a cute name, and not just ‘that cat.’ It was harder to resent a newcomer named Pudge.

  Susan is too silky of a name, he thought. Almost sultry. Guests should not have sultry names.

  What if Susan had a cute nickname, like Susie or Missy? Maybe Button? How can anyone be angry with someone nicknamed Button? What was that Pixie thing all about, he wondered.

  “So,” he asked without taking his eyes off the trundling roller bag. “Was it a school play?”

  “What?” Susan was lost in her own thoughts.

  “Pixie. Character in a class play or something?”

  Susan rolled her eyes. “Didn’t I say ‘never mind’?”

  “Yeah,” Martin said slowly. Now he had a frog in his pocket. The trees still had most of their colorful leaves, so he could only get brief glimpses of the swamp or meadows beyond the woods. Pixie is too childish. Maybe shorten it to Pix. He imagined Margaret calling out from the kitchen, ‘Pix, could you help me kneed this dough?’ That could work. Pix isn’t sultry.

  “A Halloween costume, maybe?”

  Susan leveled a glare at him. “You aren’t going to leave it alone, are you.”

  Martin could not completely suppress a smile. “I could keep guessing.”

  Susan sighed. “I suppose you would too.”

  Martin smiled.

  She shook her head in resignation. “Alright. But you can’t tell anyone. It goes back to when I was six. I was playing with my pixie dolls out in the woods behind our house. I was their pixie mother, see and…agh, this sounds so stupid when I say it out loud.”

  “That’s okay. Kids play games,” Martin comforted. “What did you do in the woods?”

  “Well, I was making a little house out of sticks for my pixie dolls. I wanted to make special beds for them using this soft moss I found. I needed more moss, since I had three pixie dolls. So I took my pixies in my arm and we all went looking for more bedding moss.”

  “And y
ou wandered out of familiar territory?”

  Susan nodded. “From where I was building my pixie home, I could clearly see my house. Once I was over the hill, though, I lost track of where I was. Too focused on finding moss, I guess. Well, this big storm came up fast. I didn’t notice until it got really dark and windy. It started to rain. When the lightening started, I ran as fast as I could down the hill. I thought I was running toward home, but my house wasn’t there. I knew I was lost.”

  “You must have been pretty scared, huh?”

  “Actually, no. I was being the brave mother — too busy telling my pixies not to be scared.”

  Martin could see that her pioneer spirit had been there since childhood. How could Margaret not be charmed by Susan?

  “I came across this little house, like a dog house, only a bit bigger. It had a little door, so I went in. It was dark inside, but a little light came through some cracks between the boards. It had a big motor thing in the middle. I jumped when it started up the first time, but it wasn’t bad once I got used to it.”

  “The rain got really heavy. I kept telling my pixies that they would be okay. I found a nice dry place for them where they’d be safe. The motor thing got warm so it was actually pretty comfortable in there. It got dark outside and I got sleepy, so I curled up with my pixies on a squashed cardboard box and fell asleep.”

  “You do have a knack for falling asleep during a crisis,” Martin quipped.

  “Oh stop it.” She tried to slap him on the shoulder but her free arm could not reach him.

  “Go on with your story. You fell asleep in…in what I gather was a pump house? Did you sleep there all night?”

  “I did. My parents were out in the storm looking for me, calling my name. But with the noise of the motor, I didn’t hear anything. In the morning, the door opened and my dad looked inside. He got on his knees and cried. I felt really bad. I tried to tell him not to cry, that we were all okay. I told him I was a good pixie mother and found my pixies a safe place.”

  “So that’s what your message meant. You found a place to be safe from the storm.”

  Susan nodded. “I’m sure he’s worried about me. That’s what he does best, I think. He’d know that message was from me. I only hope it reassures him. He never let me forget that night, you know. It took years before mom and dad let me out of their sight — always hovering over me. I felt so bad that I made my dad cry. I tried to make it up to him by never doing anything that would scare him. Always be safe, you know…for him.”

  Martin looked at her, expecting more.

  “That’s all,” she said. “And you still can’t tell anyone about it. My dad used that Pixie name on me whenever he was worried about me, which was most of the time. I don’t want you or anyone else latching onto it, thinking it’s a cute nickname or anything, cuz it isn’t. Promise you won’t tell anyone? You have to promise.”

  Martin smiled. “Promise.” But it might leak out somehow. It’s cute, like Pudge.

  “And,” she added with emphasis. “You have to tell me some embarrassing story from your childhood too, so I have some leverage to keep you honest.”

  Martin smiled, but cringed inside. He had done so many stupid things as a child. Where to begin? Saving rabbit ‘eggs’ in his sock drawer, incubating them with his desk lamp. The stink never came out of his socks. Or that time in first grade, when he and his cousin Pam took off all their clothes under the rhododendron so they could play Tarzan and Jane? They never lived that down. Or his bike with cardboard wings and the shed roof? It really did seem like a good idea at the time. Blackmailing him into silence would not be difficult.

  The trap jerked and faltered. Jasmine whinnied and reared. Jen had her hands full trying to calm the horse.

  “I’m afraid we’re too heavy for her,” Jen said. “Sorry to say, but you two will have to walk up the hill on your own.” She pulled up Jasmine to an unsteady halt.

  Martin and Susan stood up off the shelf. His arm hurt from the sustained grip. Holly stepped down too and faced Martin and Susan. “I was thinking of taking my little backroad shortcut anyhow. It’s just a little ways up ahead there. See that split rail fence? I usually take it to avoid walking up either Stockman or Wilson hills. You can come with me, or go up and meet Jen at the top of the hill?”

  Martin glanced at Jen, who was trying to calm down her skittering horse. “Shortcut sounds good to me. Jasmine doesn’t look happy. How about you?” he asked Susan. “Feel up to a bit more walking?”

  “I suppose.”

  Holly raised her voice to be heard over the hoof clatter. “Tell you what, Jen. We’re going to take the back road from here. You go on without us.”

  “You sure? We could wait for you up top. I’m sure she’ll settle down and behave the rest of the way.”

  “That’s okay. Thanks so much for the ride.”

  “Alrighty then,” Jen said. “See you Friday at the meeting?”

  “Yes. Friday.” Holly waved as Jen got Jasmine started at an erratic trot.

  Holly turned to Martin and Susan. “That was fun, eh?” They both nodded. “Jen’s place is other side of Stockman Hill. If we rode to her house, we’d have to walk up and over. I’m not feeling like doing that today.”

  “Me either.” Martin could sympathize. He had walked that road a few times, coming back from the little general store. It could be a wearying hill even when feeling fresh. Walnut Hill and the monoxide had consumed any freshness he might have had left.

  The shortcut was little more than an ATV trail through the woods. “Your short cut isn’t much of a road,” said Martin. He and Susan were acting stretcher-bearers for the roller bag again.

  “No, not anymore, but back in the day, this was the road. Horses hauling freight wagons from the east would take this way so they could skirt around Stockman hill on their way to town. Once cars and trucks came along, the road just went up and over the hill. Nowadays, only a few dirt bikes and hikers use this old road. But, like I said, it saves me walking up and down two of those hills, so I like it.”

  “How have you and Micky been handling the power outage?” Martin asked.

  “Oh, taking it in stride, I guess,” Holly said. “We could always use a few more supplies. That reminds me. I have a friend who is a checker at the Market Basket over in Londeville. When the power went out, the manager closed the store right away. So, it didn’t get cleaned out like Walmart, Hanaford and Shaw’s did. Well, he’s going to re-open tomorrow morning. I’m going early to get in line. I’m sure Market Basket will get picked clean too, probably by the end of the day.”

  “What time will the store open?” Martin asked. His truck was parked near that store. He did not know what supplies his house might need, but he was sure there was something.

  “She told me 9:00.”

  “Thanks. I just might be there.”

  “You won’t have heard about the special town meeting then either,” Holly said. “There’s a sign up in the center of town. The selectmen are holding a special meeting at town hall on Friday: an informational thing, I guess.”

  Martin had an automatic aversion to town politics. The petty egos and sandbox power plays of the previous town he had lived in seemed to better fit the Biblical expression, ‘brood of vipers,’ than ‘democracy in action.’

  Holly must have seen the disdain on his face. “Oh come on now. Our little town’s got a bit of a crisis on its hands. Cheshire residents need to step up and help each other.”

  Martin knew she was right, but could not imagine what good could possibly come from his participation. He rather liked his civic-wallflower status. Fewer vipers.

  “Besides,” Holly continued. “With phones and TV out, it’ll be the best place to find out what’s going on around here.”

  “I suppose,” Martin said reluctantly. Again, she was right, but visions of new vipers dampened any enthusiasm he might have felt.

  “Ah, see?” Holly pointed ahead of them. “Stockman Road. That wasn’t so bad, eh?�
�

  Once on pavement again, Martin could pull the roller bag alone and give Susan a break. She was starting to limp again.

  “There’s my house,” Holly said. “Do you want to come in for some water or a snack?”

  “No, but thanks,” Martin said. In truth, his stomach rumbled at the suggestion of a snack. “I appreciate the offer, but I’d rather get home as quickly as I can.”

  “I understand. If you just go past my barn and over the meadow, it’ll save you a quarter mile of walking.”

  “Thanks!” Martin and Susan waved as Holly pressed on down the road to her house. The two of them turned onto the dirt driveway that led to the barn. The tall meadow grass was tan and gold. Colorful maples and oaks lined the meadow. The leaves of the autumn-berry trees were still a lush green. Martin found a few bushes that were still loaded with berries. He was not fond of crunching on the seeds, but he was too hungry to care. He raked off a big handful of berries.

  Susan gasped. “Aren’t those poisonous?”

  “No.” Martin stuffed in his handful. “They’re a little bland, but okay.” He knew it was tacky to talk with his mouth full.

  Susan skeptically bit into one then looked in the distance, as if expecting to feel something.

  Martin’s driveway was directly across Old Stockman Road from the Baldwin’s meadow. He offered Susan half of his second handful of berries.

  “They’re okay, really,” Martin said. “Margaret makes jam and stuff out of them.”

  He stretched out his arms towards his house. “Man, I can’t tell you how great it feels to be back home.” He climbed the stone steps of the front walk.

  “I just want to sit in my comfy chair, by my cozy fire and sleep for a week,” he said.

  Susan lingered at the bottom of the steps, securing the duffle bag that had worked loose.

  Margaret threw open the storm door. “Martin! It WAS you! You made it.” She ran up to him, but stopped short, aborting a hug. “Eww. You’re all dirty and bristly. And what did you do to your jacket?”