by Reid, Don
“Milton, we need to settle this. I hope and pray we can put it behind us and never have to face anything like this again.”
“Okay.” Even though he solemnly agreed with what Paul had said, Milton was unsure what to expect next. When Paul stood and reached in his overcoat pocket, for a flash in time, one he would never forget, Milton wondered in a panic if he was reaching for a pistol. What he removed, though, was a pack of bobby pins.
“Buddy Briggs left these things at my house this morning and said I could pay for them or bring them back. I’ll let that be your decision, Milton. However you want to handle it.” He set the bobby pins on Milton’s desk, then reached back into his overcoat pocket to retrieve the rest of the stolen items: gloves, two combs, an identification bracelet, and a silver picture frame with a color photo of Rhonda Fleming or Jeanne Crain. Milton wasn’t sure which. He always got them mixed up.
“What do I owe you, Milton?” Paul asked.
“You don’t owe me anything.” Milton knew he needed to say something more, but he was out of breath and could think of nothing appropriate.
“I really am sorry about everything, Milton. I wish I could do something to make it up to you. I feel my entire family owes you an apology. We have interfered in the peace of your Christmas season and caused you undue worry and stress at a most unfortunate time. What can I do for you, Milton? Just name it.”
Amanda and Dove were sipping cold coffee when Paul came out the front door and pulled his collar up against the city wind. Dove spotted him first and a sudden twisting in her stomach stopped her mouth from working. She jumped up and grabbed her coat, leaned over and kissed Amanda on the cheek and said as she was leaving, “Thanks, honey, for listening to me. I’m here for you and Shirley Ann and Buddy. I’ll pray for you. Sit up with you. Cry with you. Whatever you need—you know that. Just call me. Good luck tonight with that Sterrett family meeting. I’d rather go in the lion’s den than Doris Sterrett’s den. But right now I need to catch my husband and walk home with him. See ya.”
And Amanda was alone. Maybe that’s what she would do too—go and see her husband. Maybe they could go home together and pick up Shirley Ann and go out to eat and then, together, head over to the lion’s den.
CHAPTER 17
There is nothing lonelier than a hospital room at dusk with one bedside lamp burning. The clatter and noise in the hall contrasted with the dull silence in the open-door room put Walter Selman, a man caught between two worlds, in a reflective mood. There were many things he wasn’t sure of but the one thing he felt certain about was he would eat no more hospital food. Even before he had been visited by that dunderpate of a doctor, Yandy or Yandall or whatever his name was, he had decided to go to the cafeteria for dinner. Milton would be here soon to join him. And while he was waiting, Walter decided to put on a shirt and some trousers. Dr. Yahoo probably wouldn’t approve, but who was going to ask him?
Milton was a good man. Walter wasn’t sure if Colleen shared those same sentiments with the same enthusiasm, but he was never sure if the two of them were in love. Colleen seemed taken enough with him when they’d first met, of course. But after a year or so he could sense the intensity was gone. It wasn’t the kind of thing anyone thinks their father or father-in-law would notice, but he did. Colleen started doing more things by herself. His little girl dropped by the house alone more and more. He watched as his sweet Colleen gave up on having children, and he and Ella knew that had been her greatest dream, her greatest desire. Doris was the one they never figured for kids. She was so career-minded and socially driven. That she took time out of her busy life to give birth twice was always a mystery to her mother and him.
Even when he saw Milton pulling away, working longer hours at the store and going back on Sunday evenings to do bookwork and spending holidays redecorating the front windows, even with all this, Walter never allowed himself to think there was anything seriously wrong with the marriage. He figured they were just settling into comfortable routines. Maybe the passion had cooled, but doesn’t it always? Ella wondered something different—something Walter didn’t want to believe, but sometimes did. She wondered if there was another woman. “Maybe those trips back to Richmond to the home office weren’t business at all,” she would say aloud. “Or maybe it was someone right there in the store.” He and Ella discussed all the possibilities but never confronted Milton. Once Ella considered talking to the preacher’s wife about it, being as how she had known him back in Richmond. But Walter wouldn’t let her. He told her there was no reason to involve the preacher and his wife in family business. That’s how rumors got started and dirty laundry got scattered all over town.
Even with these suspicions Walter couldn’t help liking Milton. Now on the other hand, Dr. Campbell Sterrett had done everything in his power to make Walter love and adore him and frankly the more he tried, the more annoying he found him. Try as he may, Walter just couldn’t feel anything for the man. Certainly there was plenty of reason to respect him. He had given him two wonderful grandsons and—well, that was all he could think of. It was enough. That was all Walter wanted from him.
But those things shouldn’t have been on his mind tonight. Both his girls were well provided for. He should just be thankful and content himself with the comfort of knowing that even if Dr. Sterrett wasn’t as flawed as he often thought he was and Milton wasn’t as perfect as he often thought he was, both his girls could have done a whole lot worse.
As he sat on the edge of the bed in the dim, eerie light that the small lampshade muted from most of the room, he nearly jumped at the sudden rattling of the window. The wind was picking up again, blowing freezing snow against the big panes. Blowing cold against the warmth of the room. Blowing memories back again. He didn’t have time for those memories now but he didn’t have the strength to resist them.
Running from the dressing room in horror, Walter crashed into his father who was rushing toward the screams.
“Dad! It’s Adrienne. She’s been shot. You have to do something.”
E. G. Selman, a big man, grabbed his son and pushed him back into the room. He stood in the doorway and held the boy close while he surveyed the scene. He wasn’t prone to excitement, and he observed and calculated before he spoke. His gaze went from Adrienne’s body leaning over a chair on to the startled Nicholas who stood frozen in the center of the room with expressionless eyes to Simon who was sobbing hysterically with his head thrown back against the wall. E. G. Selman knelt immediately and took Adrienne’s hand and saw that she was conscious and aware. He spoke gently and quickly to her.
“Where’s the pain?”
“It’s in my stomach. Am I bleeding? I’m afraid to look.”
“You’re going to be all right. I’m going to get help.”
E. G. Selman turned to his son and said, “Come here.” He took Walter’s right hand and pressed it against Adrienne’s stomach near the wound. “Put as much pressure as she can stand right here and don’t let up until I get back. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You stay here and don’t let go of her for any reason.” Then he left in a near run and Walter was again alone with the principal cast of The Nativity. He pushed his hand against Adrienne’s stomach and felt it moisten with her lifeblood more and more with each passing second. She looked up at Walter and smiled as if to comfort him.
“Walter, hold my hand.”
Her cold fingers gripped his free hand with more vigor than Walter was applying to her wound. Her voice was only a whisper, but every word she spoke was clear and demanding.
“Walter, tell Nicholas to get out of here. Simon, too. They don’t need to be here when the doctor and the police come. Tell them to leave the theater and the town. Now. Please, Walter.”
Walter looked up at Nicholas who was still staring at his wife and the pain he had caused. “Nicholas, she says for you to leave. Now. Get out of town quick. Before the police come. You, too, Simon.”
Sixteen-year-old Walter Selman felt oddly
in charge. He was giving orders, second-hand orders though they may be, to adults who were unable to think for themselves. He sensed he was doing something wrong, but it was what Adrienne wanted so it couldn’t be too wrong. He didn’t want to fail her at a time when everyone else in her life had failed her.
Nicholas kneeled and put his hand behind her head and said, “Adrienne, dear.”
She cut him off quickly. “Go, Nick. Get away while you can. We’ll take care of this. You must go and go now and take Simon with you.”
“I’ll rot in hell before I take him anywhere. Adrienne, I love you and I won’t be far.”
With this he left the room, partly in obedience to his wife and partly in relief. He protested little to her demand. Simon was still in the room. She spoke softly again to Walter, “Get him out of here.”
“I can’t. I can’t leave you. I can’t let go of you.”
“Am I bleeding that badly?”
Walter could tell her the truth and risk throwing her into a panic or he could soften the answer. He opted for the latter.
“It’s just that my dad said to keep my hand here. I can’t let go.”
“Simon,” she rasped as loudly as she could. “Run. Do you understand?”
Simon Croft, angel extraordinaire, never heard her. He was glued to the wall. Time was of no consequence. He was dazed with fright and guilt and hadn’t moved since the shot was fired.
“Simon!” Walter yelled, surprising himself at his assertiveness. “Did you hear her? Run. Get out of here.”
As if the sternness in the boy’s voice or the volume of it had jarred him back to reality, Simon turned and slinked out the doorway. Walter turned his attention back to Adrienne.
“Just stay calm. You’ll be all right.”
“Walter, listen closely to me. This was an accident. No one was at fault. I was someplace I shouldn’t have been. No one meant …” A pain slashed through her body and haltered her speech and contorted her face. Then she continued. “No one meant to do this. It was an accident. You’ve got to be with me on this, Walter. An accident.”
Walter didn’t want to commit to anything he might not be able to live up to later. But he certainly would try. He nodded his head. It was an accident. Nicholas never meant to harm his wife. He was trying to kill Simon. So, yes, it was an accident. That wasn’t a lie.
“An accident, Walter.”
“Yes, ma’am. It was an accident. Don’t try to talk anymore. The ambulance should be here any minute now.”
“Walter.”
“Milton. Come in. Come in. I was just standing here by the window watching the cars slipping and sliding in the snow. I wouldn’t want to be down there, but it sure is fun from up here watching them sloshing through that mess.”
“What are you doing dressed?”
“Didn’t Colleen tell you? We’re going out, you and me.”
“Can you do that?”
“Sure I can. We’re going to the cafeteria downstairs. You haven’t eaten have you?”
“No.”
“You’re on your dinner break?”
“Yes, but aren’t you on some sort of special diet?”
“Yeah. I’m on a roast beef, mashed potatoes, and butterscotch pie diet.”
“Are you sure, Walter?”
“What’s wrong, Miltie? You think the roast beef might kill me? Come on, Milton, lighten up. It’s suppertime.”
The two men, father-in-law and son-in-law, with a bond that neither one of them could explain, lightened up and walked out of room 213 with their arms around one another.
CHAPTER 18
With the wind spitting snow in their faces and people waving hello on every corner, it was a pleasant walk home for Paul and Dove. The last block up the hill to the manse, they held hands just like in their college days. They laughed and talked about packages they had yet to wrap, and when they reached the front porch and wiped the wetness from their shoes, Paul cupped her face in his hands and kissed her cold nose. Dove felt like she had just opened a dozen presents on Christmas morning. She couldn’t explain the feeling but she also couldn’t ignore it. Paul even helped her with her coat when they stepped into the entrance hall.
Dove fixed supper and they ate in the living room by the television and watched the Huntley-Brinkley Report. It was a quiet, winter suppertime with a mood that had been missing for a long time. Millie joined them with her TV tray but nobody said anything about the problem at hand, and Dove was in no mood to bring it up and spoil whatever was in the air. Paul helped her wash dishes and they talked easily about everything and it felt like old times again. Until …
“I need to go to the hospital in the morning. I need to check on two church members.”
“Walter Selman and who else?”
“Ethel Cummings. There’s a good chance both of them may come home tomorrow, so I’ll call before I go.”
“Have you heard from either of them today?” Dove was fishing even though she already knew the answer. Or thought she did.
“Haven’t heard a word.”
“You haven’t? You haven’t heard anything about Walter Selman?”
“No. Why? What should I have heard?”
“Oh, nothing. I just thought there may have been some news.”
Dove was sure Milton had told her that Colleen would call Paul. That was close. She couldn’t know about this from Milton. She had to wait until someone told Paul. Where did that feeling go? That Christmas comfort. That suppertime peace with her family. What had happened?
Amanda. Dove had to call Amanda and warn her not to say anything tonight. Why hadn’t Colleen called? She made an excuse and ran up the stairs to call from the bedroom phone.
As she topped the steps, Millie came out of her room and said, “You got a call this afternoon but they didn’t leave a message.”
“Oh. Well, I guess they’ll call back.”
“Yeah, I guess.” And then she went back in her room.
Dove went to her bedroom and closed the door. She dialed the Briggs’ number and let it ring seven times. They must have already left for the Sterretts. She put the receiver back in its cradle and sat on the edge of the bed.
Buddy Briggs sat behind the steering wheel of his car in the Sterrett driveway. He wasn’t ready for this meeting … this get-together … this confrontation … whatever it might turn into. He looked to his wife for consolation. She smiled a sweet smile that said, “Everything is going to be all right.” Then he looked in the rearview mirror at his daughter. She was staring back at him.
“Are you ready for this, Shirley Ann? Are you sure this is the way you want to do it?”
“Yes, Daddy, I am. I wish you were a little more in favor of it though.”
“I’m doing my best here, honey.”
“I know. You’re saying all the right things but you still have an edge in your voice every time you talk to me. It was that way all through dinner.”
Buddy wasn’t sure how to respond to his daughter. Thankfully Amanda stepped in.
“Shirley Ann, I love you. We are tying hard to accept what you have done. And young lady, if an edge in your Daddy’s voice is all you have to worry about, then you should consider yourself lucky. Now we are going to meet these folks and do the best we can. So don’t demand more than we’re able to give because we are doing just about all we can right now.”
Buddy glanced at his wife, pleased and surprised. He loved her very much and wanted to tell her so. Instead he simply reached over and squeezed her knee. Then he turned off the engine and opened the car door to a gust of icy wind that showed no signs of abatement.
“Buddy! Amanda! Shirley Ann! Come in.” The good doctor himself greeted them.
Mother and daughter entered, and Buddy fell behind and shook hands with the head of the household. Dr. Sterrett led them to the living room, took their coats, and offered them seats. Buddy and Amanda sat on the sofa and Shirley Ann sat next to them on an armless chair. Small talk about the weather filled in the
spaces, but movement by the door caught Buddy’s eye and when he looked up, he saw his future son-in-law standing there. Louis Wayne Sterrett stood straighter than most kids his age, and as he entered the room, he moved with the confidence of someone much older. His expression was equal parts solemnity and pleasantness. He maintained eye contact as he approached Buddy and shook his hand with a firmness that belied his youth. Despite all this, Buddy hated the very sight of him.
Doris Sterrett followed Louis Wayne into the room, all smiles and eyelids. It was obvious to Buddy she was, at best, medicated. He sort of wished he were too.
“I’m so glad all of you could come,” Doris said, then fell into an overstuffed chair that matched the sofa. She sat with a dreamy smile and waited for her husband to take the lead.
“I won’t try to pretend this isn’t rather awkward for all of us,” Dr. Sterrett said. “We have all had little time to adjust to this situation. But we’re all here because the children requested this meeting. So there you are. And let me add that, as a medical professional, I am not inclined to accept this matter totally until a proper examination by an obstetrician is performed.”
“By all means,” added Doris.
“If that consultation proves what we all expect, then we will gladly welcome Shirley Ann and her child, our child, into our family. This is not how we would have planned it, of course, but life sometimes makes plans without asking our permission.”
Buddy listened closely for something that might offend him so he could snap back at the self-centered “medical professional.” But what was he going to do? Mix it up with him in his own living room two nights before Christmas? It wasn’t the doctor’s fault. And as much as it hurt to admit, it wasn’t only the boy’s fault either.
“Mr. Briggs, Mrs. Briggs, I have something I’d like to say,” Louis Wayne began. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am that this has happened. I’ll take full responsibility. I know that doesn’t change anything, but I don’t want Shirley Ann to take the brunt of this. I know people will talk, but she and I don’t care about that. We want to finish high school. Graduate in June if they’ll let her finish. If not, she can go back next year. We’ve worked it all out. I can go to college close by and she can too, if she still wants to. We’ll take turns taking care of the baby.”