More Things In Heaven and Earth

by Jeff High

  All the voices and faces of Watervalley rolled through my head. What Connie had said still plagued me. Everyone built walls and I was no different. Life had proven to me that those you love can be taken away. So you move on, but you also protect yourself.

  I stood alone under the pale streetlights of the courthouse square, the center of Watervalley. I breathed in deeply of the December air, and I wondered what it would feel like to live for so long around such familiar people and places. To feel bound to them. My life had not been a broad, stable land of familiar hills and fields but rather a gathering of small islands of love and security, broken apart by the death of loved ones. I didn’t have a wellspring of strength to draw upon, the assurance of long years in cherished surroundings. It seemed that I had spent most of my life looking for safe harbor. I had kept myself a stranger. I had built walls. Connie was right.

  I thought of the people of Watervalley and could only laugh at myself. Their lives had permeated my hardened shell despite my efforts at detachment. The enormous tide of life, all that I had been and done over the last months, washed over me in graphic reality, and I knew in my bones that I cared for them. I was gripped by the profound awareness of my responsibilities and also by my admission of failure.

  I thought of Aunt Grace’s words, her voice, the promise she had asked of me all those years ago. My mind drifted back. I had been sitting patiently in her private hospital room. She was gaunt and pale. The cancer had taken her down to less than one hundred pounds. Yet still, she had warm eyes, a handsome face, and a subtle, elegant manner. She spoke barely above a whisper.

  I love you, Luke. I want you to know that. I want you to be happy and have a good life, a meaningful one. I want you to make a difference, but that usually never involves the easiest path.

  She squeezed my hand.

  I hope you’ll grow to understand my choices.

  She talked on. I remembered hearing her words but not taking them in. The future meant nothing in that moment. I had lost my parents and now I was losing her. All I could think about was the dreadful present and her sad eyes. She had loved life and had dearly loved me. I knew my time with her was passing. Four days later, she was gone.

  Even now, years and miles removed, her words haunted me. Something in me didn’t just love her, but also trusted her love for me. My head and heart clashed; they were in separate worlds. The night was overcast and I walked alone in the shadows, all the stars shrouded. I found no answers.

  Sometime after midnight, I walked two steps into a dark, brick-lined alley between some downtown buildings and sat on a small bench next to a historic marker. The steam from my breath drifted out of the black and lifted into the pale light cut from the storefront. Time and sound were frozen. Then, faintly against the frigid silence, I heard footfalls approaching from down the alley.

  Immediately I was alert, tense. Adrenaline shot through me. I instinctively pulled back against the bench and wall, positioning myself in the dark behind the short column of the historic marker beside me. I held my breath. Unaware of my presence, someone came to the end of the alley, then paused and looked both ways before stepping into the light of the street. He turned to the left and stepped hurriedly away. The silhouette was of a boy. The outline of the small shape and the reflection on the heels of the sneakers were unmistakable. It was Will Fox. I could not fathom what he was doing downtown at so late an hour. Was he the same person I had encountered in the dark some months back?

  I sat for a couple of lost minutes. Suddenly a strong gust, a cold biting wind poured between the buildings. Then I heard and felt large, icy raindrops begin to fall. They were haphazard at first, landing with dull splats on the brick pavement and crisp, tinny pops against the metal signs. Two breaths later, they came hard and thick in an immediate, inescapable downpour. I pulled my hat down over my head and drew my coat tight around me. I was tempted to run for home but decided it didn’t matter. Fleming Street was eight long blocks away and I was already soaked.

  The freezing rain dripped into my ears and down my face. I was miserable. Although I walked briskly, moving from streetlamp to streetlamp in an effort to escape the flood, my efforts were in vain. The heavens had opened, washing away the last vestige of my determination. I was beaten. The piercing deluge raged, pelting me, soaking my clothes, drowning me. I walked the last few blocks down the darkened sidewalks in the blinding rain, feeling at my lowest point: despairing and alone, embarrassed and ashamed, wild with conflict, and now saturated and defeated.

  And in this bleakest moment I heard distant cries for help.

  CHAPTER 29

  A Long Night

  I began to run toward the panicked voice just as the sound of pounding and someone calling my name also reached my ears. As I arrived at my house the scene before me was blurred by the driving rain. Standing on my front porch was Will Fox. He was soaked through and in tears, beating desperately on my front door and screaming for me at the top of his lungs. Rhett was inside, barking loudly in response.

  “Dr. Bradford, Dr. Bradford, please come to the door!” The words were broken by deep sobs and fits of crying. By now I was on the front steps behind him and called out his name. He turned with a face of pure terror. His words poured out. “Help her, help her—please, Dr. Bradford.” The boy was pointing. “She’s lying in the backyard and I can’t get her to move.”

  The words sank in. I grabbed his hand. “Come show me.”

  We ran to the Foxes’ backyard. In a flash of lightning, some fifty feet out from the house, I saw the outline of Louise Fox in a heap on the ground. She was in her night robe, lying drenched and seemingly lifeless in the mud.

  “She won’t move. I can’t make her move,” Will was pleading, his face wet with rain and tears. Another brilliant flash of lightning struck nearby, followed by a booming roll of thunder. I bent down beside the wilted body. She had a faint pulse and was breathing. I smelled the unmistakable odor of alcohol. In a single motion, I scooped her up in my arms.

  “Let’s get her inside.”

  Will ran ahead to the back entrance of his house. By the time I arrived with Louise, he had the porch light on and was holding the door open. As I brought her into the dimly lit kitchen, Will was still crying uncontrollably. The shabby room was rife with the stale odor of filth, a chaos of unwashed dishes and dirty utensils, of pots and pans still holding the remains of long-dried food, and stacks of newspapers and unopened mail. A paper grocery bag filled with empty liquor bottles occupied a corner of the counter, along with emptied cans of potted meat and soup.

  Cradling Louise’s limp, wet body in my arms, I pushed past the kitchen and into the living room. It was in equal disarray. “Will, turn a lamp on and then I need you to clear those cushions off the couch.”

  Still sobbing lightly, he complied, but all the while he never took his eyes off his mother’s limp body. I carefully placed her on the couch, tucking her muddy feet under her sopping nightgown. Again I felt her pulse and listened to her breathing, then sighed a breath of relief. Everything was normal; she was simply passed out drunk. I grabbed a nearby quilt, spread it over her, and turned to Will.

  “What was she doing out there?”

  Will looked at me with a face of horror. His tears had stopped but his panic had only slightly subsided. He responded quickly, looking to the side. “I—I don’t know. I just found her out there.”

  I bit my lip and nodded. I sat on the coffee table so I could talk to Will at eye level. “Let’s try this again. I know you were downtown earlier tonight. I saw you. Your mom’s going to be okay, but she’s had a little too much to drink tonight. I’m guessing that she somehow came upstairs to your bedroom looking for you. And when she couldn’t find you, she wandered outside and passed out.”

  Will erupted in hysterical tears. “You can’t tell anyone. No one can find out. You can’t tell anyone. Please, Dr. Bradford—please.” Will had grabbed my wrist. I wrapped my arms around the boy and held him in a firm hug.

 
Will sobbed uncontrollably. He spoke through broken gasps of breath. “I thought she was dead. She wouldn’t move. I didn’t know what to do.”

  I closed my eyes. It seemed that the depth of the small boy’s fears permeated into me, releasing a wellspring of old emotions. From long-forgotten years as an orphaned boy, I understood Will’s desperation. After a few moments I bent down on one knee and held him by the shoulders.

  “You’re going to have to trust me,” I said. “I think I understand what’s been going on. We’ll deal with that later. But right now your mom needs to get out of that wet nightgown, and I’m going to need help with that. So I’m going to call a friend of mine. Meantime, I want you to go upstairs and change into some dry clothes, then bring me some clean towels. Can you do that?”

  The boy nodded. He looked over at his mother, his face still steeped in anguish.

  I spoke again. “I’m going to stay right here with her and make sure she’s okay. So go on now—head on up.”

  As Will climbed the stairs, I felt through my coat pockets for my cell phone. Connie was livid at having been awakened in the middle of the night, but as soon as I explained the situation, she said, “I’ll be right there.”

  Incredibly, she arrived in fifteen minutes. She was completely dressed, with full makeup, a rain hat, a raincoat, and rubber boots. Under her arm she carried a change of shoes and some blankets.

  I moved Louise to her bedroom on the ground floor. It was cleaner and neater than the rest of the house, but had the thick air of stale alcohol. She whimpered slightly as I placed her on the bed. Connie immediately looked through the chest of drawers for clean sleepwear. I thanked her. She nodded and told me she could handle it from here.

  “I’m going to go next door to put on some dry clothes,” I said. “Then I’ll come back and look after Will.”

  “That’s fine, Dr. Bradford, but you needn’t worry. I’ve got someone coming to take care of him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Connie waved me away. “Never mind. Just do what you gotta do and come on back. I’ll explain then.”

  I dashed through the rain to my house. Despite the cold, I stripped off my drenched coat and shirt on the front porch. I was down to bare skin when I saw headlights pull up to the Foxes’ house. Leaving the wet clothes on the porch, I kicked off my shoes and stepped inside, still in my soaked pants. I finished undressing and threw the remainder of my things in the tub upstairs. Quickly toweling down, I put on dry clothes, grabbed an umbrella, and headed back.

  I entered the front door without knocking and proceeded into the living room. There I found Will sobbing quietly, his face buried in the shoulder of Christine Chambers. She was sitting on the edge of a large overstuffed chair. He was half standing, half collapsed into her. Christine and I exchanged silent nods. From across the room, Connie stepped from the bedroom and gently shut the door behind her. She approached me, speaking softly.

  “Do you need to give her anything, Doctor?”

  I shook my head. “No, she just needs to sleep it off.”

  Connie nodded. “I got her cleaned up and warm. She’s sleeping. But I think I’m going to stay here. She’ll be in a terrible fit when she wakes up.”

  I spoke with resignation. “That’s probably a good idea. I should stay too.” I looked at Christine. “You okay to stay with him for a while?”

  Christine nodded and voiced a silent yes. Then she closed her eyes and ran a gentle hand over Will’s damp hair. Connie and I stood in the dimly lit room, surveying the clutter and disarray. Each of us knew what the other was thinking. I spoke first. “Let’s start in the kitchen.”

  We spent the next hour bringing order and cleanliness to the chaos of pots, pans, and dishes. I hauled out several bags of garbage while Connie scoured everything in sight with soap and steaming hot water.

  Meanwhile, Christine placed dry blankets on the sofa and got Will to lie down. He was overwhelmed and frightened, begging her not to leave. She assured him that she’d stay until he fell asleep. Once he began dozing, she attempted to bring some order to the living room.

  At first, Connie and I moved about silently, speaking little, each aware of an underlying tension between us. Neither wanted a confrontation. I found a clean dish towel and began to dry the pots and dishes that Connie was washing. I stacked them neatly on the freshly cleaned kitchen table. We worked together efficiently. I caught up with Connie’s initial stack and stood patiently waiting on a large pot she was scrubbing. I spoke solemnly, almost under my breath.

  “Poor woman. I guess I should have picked up on all this sooner.”

  Connie spoke in a low, kind voice as she focused intently on her cleaning. “I wouldn’t blame myself. People have a right to their privacy. Sometimes it’s just hard to tell someone your problems.” She handed me the pot.

  “Yeah, I guess so. Still, it was pretty rough, seeing her lying in the mud like that. By the way, thanks for coming over and helping out, you know, getting her all cleaned up. I didn’t mind doing it, but with Will all upset— Well, you understand.”

  She looked at me and smiled softly. “Of course, Doctor,” she said, then turned and grabbed the next pot. Without looking up, she spoke to me in a tone that I had never heard from her. It was humble, affectionate, brimming with a full measure of tenderness and apology.

  “Washing someone’s muddy feet is scriptural for me, you know. We wash feet because it’s symbolic of where we come in contact with this broken world. Jesus cleansed Peter’s feet not just as a sign of humility, but to let him know that he could wash him clean of his failings. At times we are all foolish, Doctor. We fail to see or understand, and we inflict wounds on each other. I suppose I’ve been that way with you. What you did here tonight, what you’ve been doing for this town the last several months, it’s been a gift. But I guess it’s one that has come with a price. There’s a lot of good in you, Luke Bradford, and a lot of smarts. I know, in time, you’ll figure everything out.”

  In her powerful, rich, deep-throated voice, Connie began to hum a vaguely familiar hymn. The last pot was done. I folded the dish towel and laid it on the counter.

  In the living room I found Christine half dozing in the chair. Will was sound asleep on the couch. I touched her shoulder lightly.

  “Come with me,” I said. “I want you to help me with something.”

  She followed me upstairs into Will’s room. Unlike the rest of the house, it was all in order. The bed was made, clothes were folded in stacks, shoes were paired and lined up. A small desk was scattered with a few books, papers, and a computer.

  I shuffled through the papers and found some manila folders stuffed with bills from local merchants along with power and water company invoices. At the back of the folder was a handwritten sheet with the words “Log Ins” at the top. Below was a list of a dozen or more names of local merchants. Christine had been watching as I riffled through the documents on the desktop.

  “What is it, Luke?”

  “It’s a list of computer access passwords to a bunch of the local stores.”

  Christine surveyed the desk. “Bless his heart. Looks like he is the one responsible for paying the bills each month. That’s got to be tough on a twelve-year-old.”

  I studied the paper for a moment longer. “I think he’s doing a little more than paying the bills.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  I held the paper where Christine could see it. “Look at these. These are not account log-ins; they’re system log-ins. I don’t think these stores have online accounts for bill paying. If I’m not mistaken, most of these merchants still allow customers to run monthly tabs and send them a paper bill every thirty days. This list isn’t about paying bills. It’s about hacking into their systems.”

  Christine was dumbfounded. “But why? What would that accomplish?”

  I stared at her. “It’s brilliant.”

  “How?”

  “What he does is this. He goes into their accounts receivab
les program and logs his mother’s account as paid. The merchant’s cash doesn’t actually add up, but the computer printout shows the account settled. So there is no way to catch or rectify the error. Yeah, it’s brilliant.” The two of us stared at each other in astonishment. We looked back at the paper.

  “Why do these four have the word ‘key’ written beside them?” Christine asked.

  I thought for a moment. She could sense me connecting the dots. And yet I said nothing.

  “Luke?”

  I smiled broadly. “I’ll be darned.”

  “What?”

  “That’s why he works with Chick McKissick. So he could make keys to get into these four. I’m betting he hasn’t been able to remote into them for some reason. So he has to physically get into the store and log directly on to their computers.”

  “Are you sure about this?”

  “Pretty darn sure. Think about it. These four stores are the same ones that have been broken into over the last several months. Their security alarms would go off but nothing was ever stolen. The merchants could tell someone had been in the store. All Will needed was a couple of minutes to cook the books. I took a walk downtown tonight, late. After midnight, I saw Will coming out of the alley beside the drugstore. It’s not the first time I’ve seen him down there. That’s why his mother couldn’t find him and ended up wandering outside.”

  Christine shook her head, still amazed. “Poor Will. I guess with his father gone they were having trouble making ends meet. Louise probably thought the merchants were just being kind. Obviously, she hasn’t been able to cope.”

  I placed the paper back in the folder. I thought for a moment and then tucked it into my shirt pocket.