by R D Hathaway
Matthias ran his fingers through his hair. He stood up and turned to face a brightly colored poster of leaping ballerinas. His heart struggled with sorrow as his mind grasped for understanding.
“God probably vexes people of faith and even scholars of faith as much as those who are indifferent to faith. Intellectually, I understand that the world is a broken place, a place of sadness. I know it’s faith and a relationship with God that can lift us out of that darkness.”
He looked at Priscilla. “I just wish He would not take so long in bringing the light. Speaking of long, I should be leaving soon. Do you know how I can get a cab from here? Another question, and a bit awkward, is there a, well a —”
“Oh, I’m sorry. The toilet is up the stairs, the first door on the left as you go toward the entry door.”
When he returned, Priscilla excused herself and went up the stairs.
He drifted over to the bed and sat down. He put his face in his hands, closed his eyes, and let his thoughts return to his life in Iowa. He realized how little he had thought of his home since he arrived in London.
Priscilla came down the stairs and sat next to him. “I went to see if Arthur was up. He could get a cab for you, but unfortunately, he’s had a little of the bottle and cannot awaken.”
“That’s okay. It’s a pleasant evening, and I can walk until I find one. I’m a big boy.”
They were quiet for a moment.
“I was just thinking about their grave sites, where Hope and Martha are. I just realized that when you stand to view their markers, in fact all the markers in the cemetery, you are looking to the West. You stand and face the direction where the sun goes down. It’s very sad.”
“It does sound sad.”
She put her hand on his. “I wonder if it could be looked at another way.”
“How’s that?”
“From the perspective of the markers, they would be looking to the East, to where the sun comes up. They see the coming light.”
“That’s a beautiful thought.”
A big smile grew across his face. “Yes, thank you. It might even be a perspective for those of us who live on; to look to the coming light in our lives, especially when it has been darkness.”
He turned his hand so their fingers embraced. They sat holding hands for what felt like was a long time. He listened to their breathing.
“Would you do me a favor, Matthias, before you must leave? It is a bit embarrassing, but with Arthur the way he is, I must call on you, as a friend.”
“Of course.”
“To be quite frank, I need your help with the buttons on the back of this dress. The styles are so tight, and the buttons are small and remote. There are many I simply cannot reach.”
“Certainly, I understand. It’s not as though I haven’t had to help before. I often helped Hope. Just turn a little.”
With careful precision, Matthias slowly applied his thick fingertips to the tiny buttons, pushing them through the little slits in the material.
As he did so, Priscilla reached up to remove the combs holding her hair in place. It fell in soft, brown waves upon his hands. She turned her head, meeting his eyes over her shoulder.
As the back of the dress spread open, Matthias’ hands stopped. He couldn’t move.
“Matthias,” she whispered, “will you also help with the strings?”
Enclosing her back, Matthias observed the tightly strung, white corset. The upper edge pressed into her flesh. Slowly, his fingers pulled the end of one cord. He watched it slide through the tied bow and suddenly release its pressure. With both hands he carefully drew the strings apart, allowing the corset to open and reveal her back.
Priscilla sighed.
He loosened more strings from their bonds, further releasing and separating the garment.
In one smooth motion, Priscilla reached up to her shoulders and slowly drew down the top of the dress so it fell into her lap.
***
A few hours later, Matthias was awakened by a distant thumping sound. It was a slow hammering that resonated through the walls. He turned to look at Priscilla and discovered that she was awake and also listening to the noise.
“What is that?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. I think someone is banging on the entry door.”
“I should go see what it is.”
He sat up.
“No, stay here with me. They will go away.”
“Who will go away?”
“I don’t know. At this hour, it’s no one in their sane mind. Lie down here.”
He took her tenderly in his arms.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy, Priscilla. I was destined to be with you, forever.”
She smoothed his hair with her fingers.
“I guess that will require mummification!” she laughed. “Can’t you just see us on exhibit at the museum?”
“As long as we’re together, my darling.”
He kissed her forehead. “Now, sleep my perfect love.”
***
Matthias heard Priscilla turn over. He stood beneath a small window, high on the wall, reaching as far as he could to move the curtain. Priscilla covered her eyes with one hand as morning light sneaked past the window shade.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want to wake you. It’s a beautiful day.”
She leaned up on one arm, still covering her eyes. “What are you doing? You’re dressed. Get back here.”
He returned to sit on the bed. He stroked her hair. “Please, don’t be upset. I must go back to my place. I’m sure Mrs. Whitley has the police looking for me. I’ve never been gone all night. Let’s talk for a moment about meeting this afternoon for lunch.”
Priscilla fell into her pillow. “No! I don’t want you to go.”
“I’m not leaving. Let’s just say I’m going to freshen up; and, there is much truth to that.”
He leaned over and kissed her. “When shall I pick you up? I was thinking, there are many places that I’ve wanted to visit, but doing so alone held me back. Can we tour some places outside of London?”
“Oh, I would love to!” she said and sat up. “Oh, Matthias, what shall I wear? Will we go far? Wherever it is, I simply want to be there with you.”
“And, I with you my love.” He realized what he said. They gazed into each other’s eyes. He gently kissed her.
Matthias rose up and went to the stairs, looking back at her several times in the short distance. Blowing a kiss, he looked up the stairway and marched up.
Entering the hall, he noticed Arthur was sitting in the chair by the door. As Matthias approached, Arthur stood up, appearing unsteady.
“Hello, Arthur. Are you okay? I heard you were a bit under the weather last night.”
Matthias grinned at the old man.
Arthur looked angry and confused. “You’re the gentleman that came to meet Miss Priscilla last evening! How did you get in here?”
He tilted toward Matthias.
“Priscilla let me in.”
“What? She let you in? When? I’ve not seen her yet this morning. Say, are you the professor? The one they were asking about?”
“Who was asking, Arthur?”
“Reggie did. Reggie MacDonald was at the door in the middle of the night! That boy is a troublemaker. He was banging on the door demanding to see Miss Priscilla. He said some professor was here. You’d better watch yourself. He doesn’t know right from wrong.”
Arthur steadied himself with his hand on the back of the chair. He staggered down the hall and turned around. “You be good to that girl. She deserves the best.”
He waved his hand in a dismissive way and disappeared through a doorway.
Matthias waited for a moment, watching for Arthur. Then, he jerked open the heavy, wood entry door. The morning light
flashed into his eyes. He stepped into it and felt the sun warm his face. Closing his eyes, he savored the moment.
Matthias remembered the men he had met in this same place last night. His heart raced, and he glanced around. Seeing no one, he turned in the direction of his home and hurried away. Occasionally, he looked across the street and behind him. Nearing the corner, he spotted a cab, waved his arm, and sprinted to where it stopped. Settling into the comfort of the seat, he thought of Reggie and what Arthur had said. He would have to deal with him. It would be ugly.
PART FIVE
Des Moines, Iowa
Des Moines Record
V - 1
Hi Rennie, this is Angie. I’m sorry to call so early in the morning.”
“It’s okay. What happened?”
“Nothing, I think I have a lead for you on the professor story. I found someone in London who may help you with background information.”
“What do you mean? Who is this person? I’m sorry Angie, I’ve only had one cup of coffee so far and my circuits are not firing yet.”
“It’s okay. I mentioned that someone in the library association I belong to might be able to help. You know, that whole six degrees thing. I sent out some inquiries by e-mail and someone in London responded. What’s cool is it’s from someone at the University of London. They work in the library at the Institute of Advanced Legal Studies, so they have connections with police records. Not only that,” Angie’s voice quickly rose in volume, “but it’s right next to the British Museum.”
“Angie, I’m a little annoyed. What ticks me off is I should have had that idea and been running with it. Who’s the so-called investigative reporter here?” she laughed.
“Thanks, it’s nothing. It’s so easy with e-mail. So, here’s the scoop. Is that what you reporters say? Anyway, my contact in London has two summer interns, and they were eager to dig up what they could for you. It beats helping grad students with research papers, I guess. They’ll need a little more info than what I had. I’ll forward the e-mail to you.”
“What do you know about them?”
“One of the interns is pre-law, so that one wants to go after the police information. The other is more library science oriented, so they will pursue British Museum info and anything personal you want to track down.”
“Wow,” Rennie whispered. “How quickly can we get at this? Can you send me that message now?”
“It’s on the way. Oh, and I e-mailed the London Times, but I’ve not received anything back. You had wanted to connect with a reporter there. I can give you phone numbers.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you at the library. I’m near the end of his last journal. Maybe I can wrap this up and move on. Since I’ve got you on the line, what’s new with you and your guy?”
“It’s okay. We talked, but just on the phone. He wants things to be the way they were before. He doesn’t understand why I feel hurt. I told him I need to think about things, and he seems to like that.”
“I hope it works out for you. You deserve a good guy.”
“Don’t we all?” Angie nearly shouted.
Rennie went into the kitchen and dumped her coffee into the sink. She hesitated as she poured another cup. She put down the pot and cup and hurried to her computer. She found the message Angie forwarded and sent a brief response to introduce herself. She saved the addresses of the sender and “cc’s” in her address book. Then, she composed a new message to those contacts.
“Hello. I appreciate your help in resolving this ‘cold case.’ I only need a few details – some are personal to the victim and some are ‘crime’ related. Crime related: the victim’s name was Matthias Justus; he apparently died on 8-11-23; cause unknown – are there police records and what do they say? Who was interviewed, what was done? There is some information that Professor Justus, who was working at the British Museum to assist with documenting Egyptian relics, may have been investigated himself – why? On the personal side – we need to know what happened to the following people who were associated with Professor Justus or the Museum – Kenneth Warrington was the Professor’s supervisor at the Museum, Priscilla Shefford worked with Justus, an Archbishop named Worthy (Robert?), a woman referred to as ‘Lady’ Jane Sotterfeld-Gris, and a fellow who worked at the Museum delivering freight by the name of Mort. I realize this was 90 years ago but solving it will mean a lot to people here and to the college he came from. Thanks, Rennie.”
She fell back in her chair and hit “Send.” When a message box appeared that read “Message Sent,” she folded her arms on her chest. Suddenly, her cat jumped onto the desk.
“Jeeze Balderdash, you scared the heck out of me. So, what do you think? Can we wrap this up today?”
The cat purred.
An hour later, Rennie was in her office cubicle looking through a thick file of paperwork when someone touched her shoulder and said “boo.”
“Bud, you’re going to have to stop that huffing and puffing as you walk if you want to sneak around.”
He fell into the guest chair.
“How you doing? We contacted the Des Moines Police to find you since you’ve been gone so long.”
“Really? How long were you on ‘hold’ before you spoke to someone. Wait, that’s only for 911 service.”
“Rennie, you have so much respect for public officials. Maybe you should try to do their job, or even your own.”
“Ha. Did you miss me? It’s been a whole, what three days? I’m nailing that story on the condemnation games the City plays, and I’m pushing ahead on other leads. And, your Simpson professor is about done. Or, is this a personal visit?”
“Hey, give me a break kid. I’ve got problems, too.”
Bud tried to stick his hands in his pants pockets but couldn’t. His eyes wandered around.
“I don’t know. I get fed up, too. Everything is done for the short term, now. Cut costs, boost revenues, and oh, by the way, do some good journalism without taking any risks.”
“Bud, why don’t you go visit your grandkids? When are you going to take a break? After Grace passed, you came right back to work. It’s been two years.”
Rennie leaned forward and put her hand on his arm.
“Listen, there’s more to life than this big filing cabinet we work in. You have a purpose Bud.”
Bud looked confused. “What? I have a purpose? What are you talking about?”
“Sorry, I don’t know where I was going with that. It just came out.”
He rubbed his face and got up.
“You’ve changed. You’re deeper or something. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, fine. I’ve been reading about that professor and some of the things he wrote. It was quite a situation. I’m close to the end.”
“Well, wrap it up. I had another call from our dear publisher last night. She has this story on her radar screen. I can’t figure it out.”
He looked out across the dozens of cubicles and sighed. Without another word, he trudged back to his office.
Rennie reopened the file she had been studying, but she couldn’t focus on the pages. She closed it and checked her e-mail. She sorted through the spam, the administrative notices from the Record, and other messages when she saw one from London. Holding her breath, she clicked on the message and read the reply:
“Miss Haran. Pleased to get the additional information. We are acting on it immediately. A good project. Should not be a problem with the BM nearby and our contacts with the police authorities. Thank you for this assignment. Brilliant opportunity. Tiffini Gibson and Josh Ramsey, Summer Interns.”
Rennie logged off, grabbed her notebook, and hurried out of her cubicle.
Indianola, Iowa
Simpson College
V - 2
Eager to get to the library and finish the story, Rennie thought ahead to her other assignments. She parked in a familiar spot
near the Simpson mall, grabbed her bag off the seat, and flipped open the door. Jumping out she slammed the door shut and leaped back against the car to avoid a truck that just missed hitting her.
“Hey” she yelled.
The truck slid to a quick stop. A man got out and leaned forward as he stomped toward her. He wore jeans, work boots, and a rumpled shirt. His name could be “road rage.”
Rennie fumbled to find her phone.
“Man, you almost hit me.”
Fear charged through her. He didn’t slow his pace and seemed to gain energy as he approached.
“Back off, man,” she demanded. “Let’s not cause trouble and move on.”
He continued his approach and glanced around. Finally, he stopped but too close for her comfort. She stepped back.
“You said you want trouble? Is that what I heard?” He snarled, “I can help with that.”
“What the hell? You almost hit me as I got out of my car. I’m okay, so let’s move on.”
“You’re okay now miss nosey reporter, but you might not be later if you don’t stop looking into private things. In your business they say that losers do the obituaries, but the real losers are the people they write about. You don’t want to be a real loser, right?”
“What? You’re threatening my life. What story? Damn it! Back off, right now. I’ll have you tracked down and you can sit in a cell while the cops build a story on you!”
“Lady, you’re way out of your league. You don’t know who you’re dealing with. Get back to writing about cheerleaders and recipes. That’s where you belong.”
He spun around and went back to his truck.
“Who are you? What do you mean? Which story?”
He jumped in without responding and screeched his tires in leaving.
Rennie tried to see the license plate number, but it was obscured with a slab of mud.
She dropped her keys twice trying to get back into her car. Inside, she couldn’t find her phone. She realized she was in panic mode and took a deep breath, then another.