by Robert Price
Chapter Nine
Ted and Neil found themselves at the tail end of a long line of vehicles that weaved across town from the cemetery to the Hubbard farmhouse. When they finally arrived, they found two large pickup trucks and an SUV practically blocking the intersection of Hay Street and Quinns Way. Parked with their rear ends in the middle of the road, they made it impossible for Ted Dorsey to take the turn safely. Unable to see past the vehicles, he tightly gripped the steering wheel of his small green sedan and crept around the corner, hoping he wouldn’t hit anyone who might be walking down the road.
“This area has sure changed, huh?” Neil had already made this comment several times since they had turned off High Road and cut through the parking lot of Hutchin Farm & Market to get to Hay Street.
“So the Hubbards sold most of it, except this piece?” Neil said, referring to a rare open field they were passing. “Wow.”
He then pointed to the new development built directly opposite it. A whole neighborhood had been constructed where the old haying fields used to be. “Those new places back right up to the road? Those are their backyards on the other side of the fence?”
A new post and rail fence ran the length of Quinns Way and disappeared behind the rise on which the Hubbard farmhouse stood. Except for the old Sugar Maples lining the street, the new fence was the only thing that hinted at the historically rural character of the area. It was supposed to conjure up images of open farmland. But instead, the new neighborhood, with its younger ornamental trees, children’s wooden play sets, above-ground swimming pools and the dauntingly large, newly-built colonial houses complete with two-car garages made the bucolic illusion just that, an illusion.
“You enter those neighborhoods off Green Street, by the end of the old haying fields,” Ted said. “There was a big to-do in the newspaper about leaving Quinns Way intact. So they put up that fence. I think the town’s historic commission required it.” Ted was more concerned with parking than he was with telling Neil about the sale and development of the Hubbard’s farmland, so he left it at that.
“Holy shit, Tom’s house looks rundown,” Neil said, squirming, his fat and bulky body uncomfortable in the small passenger’s seat.
Ted slowed his green car as he passed a large man, a smaller woman and a sleepy looking child. “Well, you know, Mrs. Hubbard’s been pretty much alone. The old man died, and Tom never visited, and his sister moved away right after high school. So there’s only Tony and Melanie, Tom’s cousins, and his other cousins, the Quinns. Other than that, it’s just her.” Ted pulled into the first open spot on the side of the road.
A brown, beat-up sedan with a bumper sticker that read, “God is at the helm,” pulled in front of them.
“How did I even fit into this thing?” Neil mumbled, spilling out of the small car onto the street. He discreetly pulled up on his belt and the back of his slacks.
Ted stretched his thin neck; ties bothered him. Collecting his thoughts, he got out of the car, locked the door and waved to the driver of the car that had parked in front of them. “Father Hilliard! I thought that was you.”
Father Hilliard, an elder, balding man with colorless hair on the sides, turned around with a lost expression. He couldn’t make out who had called. Although he couldn’t see clearly beyond a couple of feet, the Father made it a habit to drive without glasses. Slowly he pulled out a pair of bifocals from a breast pocket and pushed them over the bridge of his nose. Then adjusting a white tab-collar and black clergy shirt and looking toward Ted and Neil, he finally fiddled with his hearing aid. It took him a full minute to gather up all the available information. “Well, hello, Mr. Dorsey,” Father Hilliard said at length.
“Hello, Father.” Ted tried to speak in a hushed tone, appropriate for the occasion. Instead his excitement revealed the honor felt at having stumbled upon the opportunity to escort the holy man to the gathering. After all, the old Priest had baptized not only him and Shelly, but their children also. He approached Father Hilliard with a hand extended. “Thank you, Father, for the lovely service at the cemetery.”
Father Hilliard raised his bushy salt and pepper eyebrows in a practiced, kindly manner.
Neil nodded a quick hello to the priest and to his friend said, “I’ll catch you inside.” He started toward the house and then turned: “Hey, don’t forget my flight outta here tonight.”
“I know, I know. Logan Airport, American Airlines, 10:38 p.m.”
“Thanks.” Neil crossed the street and walked up the driveway to the farmhouse alone.
“How are you?” Father Hilliard searched his parishioner’s eyes, intending to let the younger man know he is willing to listen, that is, if a desire to share sorrow comes forth.
Ted spoke slowly and directly, compensating for Father Hilliard’s poor hearing: “I’m doing well, Father, I’m doing well,”
“You two had been great friends since you were boys.” Reaching up, Father Hilliard placed his hand on Ted’s shoulder, letting it rest there. “If only we could live twice. But it was wise of the Lord to limit us to one life on earth, or else in our next lives we’d end up making the same mistakes over again.”
“Yeah, we already do that in this one, don’t we?”
“My boy, it would seem that way.” Father Hilliard lowered his hand and the two turned toward the house and proceeded to cross the street, unhurried.
“So, how is Shelly holding up? She seemed upset on Sunday.”
“She’s doing better. She’s home with the kids. Her father,” Ted shook his head angrily, “he bailed on us again.”
“We all do what we can, Ted. I’m sure he tried.”
Several children had gathered under the portico and around the front of the house. The somber mood of the adults around them kept them from playing in the yard. However they did call out to Father Hilliard and Ted Dorsey in excited “Hellos.”
“Shhh,” Ted gently quieted the children. And to Father Hilliard he added, “I think I’m going to give Shelly a call and tell her to come on over with the kids.”
“Good,” Father Hilliard agreed. “I think we, as God’s creatures, are naturally inclined to protect our children. But at times I think maybe we protect them too much. It would be nice to have the whole family here.”
Ted Dorsey and Father Hilliard passed through the open front door and into the Hubbard farmhouse, shaking hands in the entrance hallway before going their separate ways. Ted headed to the dining room for a soda, Father Hilliard set off in search of Mrs. Hubbard.