Still Life in Shadows

by Alice J. Wisler

  There was no reply, so Gideon entered the living room where earlier Moriah had been stretched out on the sofa, his shoes off, his bare toes wiggling. The room was still—there was no sign of his brother. He checked the bathroom, both off his bedroom and the half bath in the hallway. “Moriah?”

  Back in the kitchen, Gideon opened the oven to make sure the chicken was browning. He removed the pan, stirred the pieces and then added pepper to them.

  Peering out his kitchen window, he hoped to see his brother, perhaps on the grassy common area beside his apartment building. Maybe he’d gone out for a cigarette. But although he craned his neck to scan as much of the view as he could, Moriah was not on the lawn.

  Half an hour later, just as Gideon was about to take the chicken and potatoes from the oven, Moriah sprung open the front door to the apartment. A six-pack of Coors dangled from his hand. “Hey,” he grinned. “I thought we could use something good to drink.”

  Moriah placed the cans on the kitchen table and opened one. Handing it to Gideon, he said, “Here you go.”

  “No, thanks.”

  Moriah took the beer and lifted it to his lips. “You’re missing out.”

  Gideon merely stated, “Beer makes you fat.” He was not about to tell Moriah his own obsession with drinking when he was first loose from the reins of his parents. Upon his arrival in Twin Branches at the age of fifteen, he had drunk so much he fell asleep in an alleyway. The next morning he was discovered by a child on her way to school. The child called her mother to come look at the homeless bum. Never, he vowed, would he humiliate himself that way again.

  Moriah ate like a famished mutt Gideon had once seen by the Dumpster outside the repair shop. “You’re a great cook,” he said as he chewed his last bite of chicken. “Where’d you learn?” Retrieving his paper napkin off the floor, he used the edge of it to wipe his mouth.

  “TV shows. Emeril Lagasse and Gordon Ramsay.” He doubted his brother had a clue as to who these culinary masters were, but Moriah surprised him.

  “That Gordon Ramsay sure knows how to help restaurants that are in trouble. I saw a few shows on how he helped failing restaurant owners get back on their feet.”

  “I’ve seen some of those episodes, too.”

  “TV is awesome, isn’t it?” Moriah leaned back in his chair. He lifted his can of beer above his head. “Here’s to TV and music, movies, fast cars, and fast women. All the things a good Amish town will never have.” Lowering the can, he drank. When the beer was gone, he crushed the can and placed it on the table with a ceremonial flair. Lifting his shirt, he said, “Let me show you this beauty. This is my pride and joy.” And there, on his exposed belly, was a tattoo of an ornate ship with sails, a skull and crossbones on one of them. “This is what I got done in Orlando. What do you think?”

  Gideon studied the colorful tattoo on his brother’s torso, just inches above his belt. He had no words to say how he felt about this body art. As a child, Moriah had loved anything to do with pirates. He would draw pictures of their ships, their treasure chests, and even their faces, complete with dreadlocks, eye patches, and beards. Once, Father saw one of the pictures, and as the veins popped in his neck, he ripped it up with two large hands. He demanded that Moriah never draw anything that vulgar again and then, certain that his boy was getting these horrible pirate infatuations from those wretched English boys, told Moriah he could never associate with anyone but the Amish. Now, free from his father’s rule, Moriah had chosen to have a drawing of a forbidden ship on his very skin. This was permanent, unable to be torn apart by an outraged man. “He would kill you,” Gideon said.

  “He would. Too bad he can’t. He’ll never see me again.”

  Gideon felt the air cool; the mention of their father brought a chill over the room.

  “I’m so glad to be out of there. Free at last!” Looking around the dining area, Moriah said, “Do you ever think of buying your own house instead of renting?”

  In fact, Gideon had. A two-story home with a wraparound porch just half a mile from the auto shop had interested him nine years ago. He’d contacted the Realtor, taken the tour, and liked what he saw. But when he got to thinking about the high mortgage rates, property taxes, and whether or not he wanted to invest in a house, he’d backed out. The Realtor called a couple of times, insisting she could get him a lower interest rate, but he declined, telling her that his apartment was fine—just the right size and location. The niggling voice inside his head knew that those sentiments were only the partial truth. He planned to get married someday. Wouldn’t it be better to wait till the right woman came along and then together they could purchase a home to their liking? But tonight he chose not to reveal any of that and simply said, “Owning a home is a lot of work.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Better to be free from the hassle.”

  Thirty minutes later, the last beer consumed, Moriah let out a burp and said, “I’m tired.”

  “You can sleep on the sofa. It makes into a bed.”

  As Gideon helped his brother put a fitted beige cotton sheet on the mattress, he asked, “What are your plans?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When do you have to get back to Orlando?” Gideon fitted a pillowcase on a fluffy pillow he found in his linen closet. He sniffed the pillow as he worked, grateful that the stale smell of being forgotten in a closet over time did not permeate.

  Moriah stretched out on the sofa bed, the pillow under his head. “Ahh,” he moaned as he closed his eyes. “This is nice. I’ll probably be asleep in a minute.”

  Gideon rephrased the question. “How long will you be here?”

  “Here?”

  “Yeah, how long?”

  Moriah rolled over and tugged at the sheet until it covered his lean torso. “I have no plans to return to Florida.”

  “You aren’t going back?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “But what about a job? What about your friends in Florida?” What about that girl in the bikini he met on the beach?

  Moriah’s lips curved into a smile. He opened his eyes just long enough to say, “I want to be here with you, bro.”

  Gideon wanted to feel good about his sentiments, but something made him leery. What was wrong with him? He should be elated that his brother had found him and wanted to spend time with him. This was an opportunity to grow closer, to give each other kudos for risking it all and leaving the Amish life. They could go see movies together, go out for pizza, have discussions about religion.

  He was about to ask what kind of pizza Moriah liked when suddenly his brother groaned. “I need to get up. Forgot to brush my teeth.”

  As his brother rummaged through his duffel bag for his toothbrush and a tube of Aquafresh, Gideon’s suspicions grew. Moriah had said on the phone that he was coming for a visit and that he liked living in sunny Orlando. Why did he want to stay in Twin Branches now?

  As Moriah brushed his teeth in the bathroom off the hall, Gideon said, “You’ll need a job.”

  Moriah spit into the sink and laughed. “That’s right, the Miller boys aren’t lazy. We work from sunup to sundown and then some.”

  Ten minutes later, lying in his own bed, Gideon thought of where he could get a job for Moriah. What was the kid good at? Would he be like Luke, good with cars, or more like Amos, unable to handle grease and tools?

  His thoughts grew hazy as sleep took over. He dreamed of the farm. In his dream it was a clear day with billowy clouds, the kind that looked like marshmallows bouncing along like hot-air balloons. The sun shone on the orchard and fields, a lone wagon hitched to a horse sat by the road that led to the farmhouse. Suddenly, a flock of people, his parents among them, were running toward him, shouting that something was wrong. A storm was coming. Gideon told them they were crazy to be worried, the sky was bright. Even so, everyone rushed inside, securing the doors and locking all the windows.

  A voice cried out, “Where’s Moriah?” The scene shifted, and there was a large gathering in the
barn.

  “Where is Moriah?” asked his mother, pulling at the arm of one of the bishops.

  The man closed his eyes, as though in deep prayer. “Confess your sins,” he said. “Confess.”

  Rain seeped through the roof. The crowd huddled, trying to avoid getting wet. Black cloaks covered small children, protecting them from the downpour. The wind rattled the barn walls.

  Gideon saw the faces of all his siblings. Except for one. “Where did he go?” he begged each person. Someone offered him a piece of rock candy, the kind he’d bought for Moriah from a shop just a mile from their home. It was gritty in the palm of his hand. He didn’t care for candy now, couldn’t they see that? He wanted to find his brother.

  But no one could find Moriah.

  The dream, so vivid, woke Gideon. Jumping out of bed, he made his way into the living room. Moriah was asleep, snoring softly. Gideon felt his heart slow with relief. He got a drink of water before returning to his bedroom. It was amazing how dreams could make you thirsty.

  13

  The story had intrigued her ever since she first read the illustrated book—a present from Mama. And now, she had someone who was interested in reading it with her. Kiki leaned her bike against the main door to the shop and removed her worn copy of The Lost Pirate Ship from her bicycle’s basket. Then she grabbed Yoneko from the same basket and cradled both book and puppet in her arms. The cover of the book showed a majestic ship sailing on a dark sea. Two seagulls soared in the velvet blue sky and one sat perched on the boat’s stern. It was an awesome cover, and Kiki recalled how she first felt when she saw it, her ears itching to hear Mama read the tale of the pirate ship to her.

  She expected to see Ormond. You could ask Ormond anything. He knew the whereabouts of all his employees. He was a fixture in the shop, never in either of the bays with tools, but always at his desk. Kiki thought how nice it would be to own a shop and have everyone else do all the work. When she ran that thought by Mari the other night, Mari told her that Ormond probably used to do a lot of work, but now that he was in his seventies, he was able to spend more time doing what he wanted to do. Most likely, he only came to Russell Brothers to be a daily presence there, keeping tabs on the others. Mari said that was one advantage to being an owner of a place. But today, the old man wasn’t at his usual spot reading the paper. Kiki hoped he wasn’t sick.

  Gideon does all the work, she thought as he greeted her with a quick hello before heading to the cash register to ring up a bill for a customer who’d had his Ford inspected. Gideon keeps everyone on his toes. She wanted to ask if any bicycles needing repair had come in while she was at school today, but she’d wait to ask. Mari was constantly telling her not to interrupt. Be careful. Don’t be pushy.

  Kiki slumped against the storage room door with both puppet and book. Where was Moriah? She wished he’d get to the shop. He was a new employee, yet Kiki had yet to see him do much work. Perhaps he wasn’t going to be a mechanic very long. Amos quit after Mari hired him at Another Cup. Mari said not everyone was cut out to work on cars, that not everyone had the needed skills.

  Kiki jumped up when Luke returned from a late lunch. “Where’s Moriah?”

  “What am I? Chopped liver?” Luke smiled as he popped open the hood of a Subaru that was parked in his bay.

  Kiki had no clue why Luke was bringing up the subject of liver. Just the word made her queasy.

  “There he is.” Luke gestured out the bay door to the parking lot, and sure enough, Kiki saw Moriah, his ponytail resting along his back. He was talking to a man in sunglasses outside at the edge of the parking lot. The man was in a sleeveless T-shirt, his bare arms adorned with colorful tattoos.

  As Moriah entered the shop through Luke’s bay, he gave Kiki a wide smile. “Hello there, Bike Girl.”

  She showed him the book. “It’s got cool pictures. Wanna see?”

  “Sure,” he said. Within minutes, the two were seated side by side at Ormond’s desk, reading the story of a pirate ship that set out to find treasure. The ship, decked out with large billowing sails, got lost in a storm because the captain ventured far beyond his usual sailing perimeters into uncharted seas. The storm caused bow damage, but the other ships came to the rescue and repaired the broken parts with the warm waters from the Caribbean Sea.

  Kiki had the story memorized, so reading it aloud to Moriah was easy. She turned the pages, making sure that he had plenty of time to view each illustration.

  With the story completed, she sighed. “I love that book. And it’s not a baby book, either.”

  “What?” He gave her a quizzical look.

  “I took it to school one day, and Angie said it was for babies.” The way Angie had teased her still stung.

  “Well, Angie needs to know that pirates are sophisticated adults.”

  Kiki gave a wide smile. Moriah understood! “I have a poster on my wall of a pirate ship that belonged to Blackbeard.”

  “Blackbeard, huh? I saw a movie about him.”

  “Have you seen the Pirates of the Caribbean movies?”

  “Every single one. And I bet you have, too.”

  “Yes,” she said, the memory of watching the first one with Ricky on her mind. Since that movie, she’d pretended to be Keira Knightly, the lead actress in it, riding with Johnny Depp on the frothy seas. “I’d like to have my own real ship.”

  “Where would you store that?”

  “My backyard.”

  Moriah laughed then said, “Gideon was going to make me a ship. I wonder what happened to the wood I gave him?”

  “Gideon can make a ship?”

  “He’s a good furniture maker. He made me a keepsake box. It was beautiful.”

  “He gave me one he made but not as a real present, just to use for my tools here.”

  “Ask him to make you a ship.”

  “Must have been a huge chunk of wood you gave him.” Kiki tried to imagine how large a piece of wood would be needed to craft a seafaring vessel.

  “No. It was tiny.” He grabbed a memo pad off Ormond’s desk. “About this size.”

  “How would he have carved out a ship from wood only the size of a memo pad?”

  “It had to be small. I knew that my father didn’t like pirates, so the ship was going to have to be small enough to hide it from him in my room.”

  “Who couldn’t like pirates? They are part of North Carolina’s history.” Kiki had even managed to get her sister to see the power and awe in a ship like Blackbeard’s famous Queen Anne’s Revenge. “I like to pretend I’m looking for treasure. Do you ever do that?”

  Moriah leaned back in the swivel chair where Ormond usually sat. “I used to. I called myself the famous Moriah of the High Seas.”

  “Then I’ll be Kiki of the Even Higher Seas.”

  He let out a laugh. “You have to be better than me, I get it.”

  “I even have a cutlass. That’s a curved sword. I carried it with me when I went trick-or-treating at Halloween. It’s only plastic, but it looks real. It looks really real.”

  “Did you know that Edward Teach is Blackbeard’s real name?”

  “Of course, everybody knows his mama didn’t name him Blackbeard. Sheesh!”

  Moriah smiled and Kiki felt as happy as she did when she heard the choir sing “Amazing Grace” or when she rode her bicycle fast over the sloping mountain roads. She was glad that Moriah was here. He made Twin Branches a happier place.

  When Gideon stepped out of his office with a stack of papers, Kiki said, “Gideon, you need to make a pirate ship for us.”

  Gideon was preoccupied. Kiki could tell because Mari got that way sometimes, too. It seemed that most of the adults in her life let their faces cloud with worry lines. Principal Peppers once was so unaware of the circumstances that he slipped in the hallway even though the janitor had placed a big orange Caution cone on the floor.

  As Gideon walked away from her, she said to Moriah, “I don’t know if he heard me.” She was about to call out to him a
nd state again that she wanted him to make a pirate ship, but Moriah patted her arm.

  “He’ll do it one of these days,” he said. “Sometimes with Gideon you just have to keep pestering him, and then he’ll listen to you.”

  14

  As the wind shot pellets of rain against Another Cup’s windows, Gideon folded his newspaper and took a look outside. There was something about a downpour that he enjoyed, something cleansing, rejuvenating. Of course, it was always nice to be dry inside when the thunder reared back and roared like a hungry mountain lion, before the heavens ripped open and let her torrents flow.

  As he sipped his mug of tea, Gideon wanted to feel as clean as the rain. Here he was in this cozy tearoom drinking a beverage he found tasty and healthy, having a nice break from the auto shop’s routine.