South of Superior (17 page)

The office of
Henry Merrill, Esq., was in an old storefront on Crosscut's main street. The windows were perpetually dusty, and one had a long crack in the bottom corner. Henry hadn't done what a lot of men might do with a law degree, hadn't made a big financial success of it, but instead had come back Up north to offer his services to whoever might need them every day of the week but Sunday. It wasn't really that he was so devoted to the law or so swamped with clients that he had to work six days out of seven. It was more that he did better keeping busy, keeping to a routine. It helped hold the black dogs of thought at bay. Also he had learned that a person could be happy with having done the best they could Under the circumstances. It didn't always have to be bright and shiny and impressive to the outside observer. This shabby office in Crosscut was his life, and he didn't mind that.

“Well, if it isn't Mrs. Gladys Hansen!” Henry said when Gladys came in his door.

“Henry,” Gladys answered in her schoolmarmish way.

He grinned. Gladys had been his Sunday school teacher about a hundred years ago, when he was growing Up in McAllaster, and was also his buddy Frank Junior's ma. Henry'd made a point of going to see her every time he was home, after he got back from Vietnam. That was a hellish time. He was a wreck pretending to be a man, and she hadn't been much better, especially when her husband died not too long after Frank Junior.

Gladys was the one who'd hounded him to go to college.
What's the point?
he had asked her. He wasn't asking idly, or rebelliously, but just hopelessly. She punched the kitchen table so hard the kerosene lamp in the middle jumped and the chimney shattered.
What's the point of anything? You just keep going. You do things. It's the only way. We're alive. Frank's dead. He doesn't get the chance ever again.

Henry graduated from the University of Michigan School of Law eight years later.

Henry liked Gladys and he knew she was fond of him. Sometimes he could make her laugh, even. “What can I do for you?” he asked now.

Gladys laid it out for him: Emil's trailer, the Village government, the zoning board. Henry made a face. “Zoning can be tough. I'm not saying Emil couldn't fight it and win, but it wouldn't be easy. And it'd be costly.”

Gladys made a frustrated sound.

“Can they prove the trailer's Unsafe?”

“I don't know. Probably, if they want to.”

“The only thing I can think of offhand is to check for a grandfather clause, something to exclude those who are preexisting from the new ordinance. And the other thing to keep in mind is that the Village might not have the money to enforce the order. Especially if he put Up any kind of fight.”

“Well now. I hadn't thought of it that way.”

“I'd be glad to draft a letter. Never hurts to have a little something arriving in the mail from an attorney. Give them something to think about.”

“Yes,” Gladys said, sitting Up straighter.

“If it came to an actual drawn-out fight, that'd be another thing. He might not have a leg to stand on. But if he could scare them off right at the outset. It's no guarantee, but—”

“Better than nothing. Thank you for seeing me, Henry. What do I owe you?”

“Not a thing. I didn't do anything. A letter wouldn't take me ten minutes to draft. You just give me a call if it seems like a good idea. Talk to Emil.”

“Now, Henry, I insist—”

“Not a chance,” he said, holding Up a hand. “I'm always glad to see you, Gladys. Who else ever made me sit Up and pay attention?”

 

 

Gladys headed next
to the grocery store. As long as she'd driven all this way she might as well make the most of her trip. Madeline didn't leave for work Until nearly noon and even if Gladys didn't get back Until a bit later than that, it would be all right. Arbutus was doing so much better that they really were thinking that maybe she could go back to her own house by the Fourth of July, at least for the summer and fall, despite that little slip she'd had the other day. Butte hadn't gotten hurt, after all. They'd even laughed about it at first.

 

 

Madeline was annoyed
when Gladys left after breakfast, backing down the drive with an impassive expression plastered on her face. She'd thought they were United on this issue of Emil. But Gladys had been edgy all morning, cranky and uncommunicative.

“What's
her
problem?” Madeline asked Arbutus after the car had disappeared.

Arbutus shook her head.

“I thought we'd talk about Emil some more, come Up with something.”

Arbutus sighed. “I admire your spirit, dear. I just can't think what there would be for Us to do. You know this is all about money.”

“Which we don't have.”

Arbutus lifted a shoulder. “I hate to see Emil thrown out of his home. But I do think that if people with money want it to happen it'll be awfully hard to stop it.”

Madeline frowned, then sighed, and thought,
So much for talking.
Gladys had the right attitude: just
do
something, even if it's wrong. When Arbutus was settled in the parlor with her library book, Madeline told her she had some errands to run. “I'll be back to check on you before I head off to work,” she promised. “Unless you want me to wait Until Gladys gets back—”

“I'm fine, dear, you go on ahead.”

 

 

Emil met Madeline
at his door and she made her way into the gloom. He pulled a cola from the cooler he kept on the floor and then sat with his right leg crossed over the left in the dainty way he had, nodding his foot, waiting for her to announce her purpose.

“Look, Emil. Gladys told me what they're trying to do, and we want to help.”

“That ain't necessary.”

“It's not right that they try and condemn your place. I think if you fought it—”

“It ain't necessary,” he repeated.

“But why?”

“I give it some thought. I'm moving. Gonna take a place in the senior citizen apartments in town, gonna sell this place. It ain't even three acres but I ought to get a fair price for it. Might end Up with enough to buy a new truck.”

Madeline was shocked that he'd given Up and made other plans almost overnight. After a startled moment she said, “Is that what you want? Really?”

He gave her an enigmatic smile, his eyes as amused as ever.

“Emil—”

“Times is changing. Gotta change with 'em. Plus I'm getting old. Be easier in town.”

“But what about—” She gestured around the trailer: boxes, skins, chain saws, parts, Sal's blanket in a wad on the floor.

He looked around. “What, and leave all this, that what you're saying?”

“It's your home, isn't it?”

He shrugged. “It ain't much.”

She couldn't tell if Emil meant what he said any more than she'd known if it bothered Gladys to sell her wedding silver. “Won't you hate it in the apartments? And what about Sal?”

“Beats getting stuck in the home for the retarded down in Crosscut.”

Madeline blinked, surprised that he knew this part of the plan too.

“And as for Sal, I'm taking her with me. Ain't that right, Sal?” He nudged her with his boot and she looked Up at him with that fond, aggravated glance. “Who'd make an old geezer give Up his most faithful friend?” Emil's laugh here was delighted, a sing-songing
tee hee
, and for a moment Madeline wondered what he had Up his sleeve. “I asked my pal Don about it. You can have a pet, long as it ain't too big, and Sally ain't very big at all.”

“But Emil, it's so—
different
there.”

“I'll probably like it all right. I got some friends there. Coupla old farts I grew Up with. We'll get along.”

Oh, this seemed a desolate capitulation for an independent, characterful old man. She could not picture Emil in a one-bedroom apartment with beige Utility carpet and ivory-painted walls, a low-rimmed tub and toilet with handrails, a convenient, modern kitchenette. An image of a coonskin draped over the shower bar and a chain saw in parts on the rug rose in her mind and she did smile a little, but sadly. It was cold comfort to think of him that way. Tamed, reined in. And what about the board's plan to get him committed? “Please let Us try to help, we can fight this.”

“I'll be all right. Might be nice to turn a tap for running water, spin a dial for heat. And the rent's cheap. Based on income, howdya like that? I oughta get a real good deal because I ain't got any. Been broke flatter than piss on a platter my whole life. They think they're gonna stick me in the home in Crosscut, they got another think coming.” He gave one bark of a laugh. “I got as much right as the next fella to go live in them apartments, and I mean to do it.”

Madeline nodded, not wanting to speak and expose any further her now ridiculous-seeming sense of outrage at his plight. “If you change your mind—”

“I already got a guy wants to buy the place, he's been nosing around for a while.”

“All right.” Madeline stood, feeling a great sense of futility. How foolish she was to feel so involved. She couldn't help and he didn't even care for her to try.

“Thank you, Madeline,” Emil said as she was opening the door. She stopped short. It was the first time he'd ever said her name. “It was real decent of you to offer.”

“You're welcome.”

He nodded, his bright eyes seeming to gauge her. “Been meaning to tell ya, I always liked your grandpa. Didn't know him real good but I liked what I knew. He was good to work alongside of. Never slacked off like some fellas. And he could make that fiddle sing. Helped pass the time in camp that way.”

She stared at him. “Thank you.”

He nodded. She made her way down the steps and got back in her car. She felt too Unsettled to head straight back to Bessel Street. She'd go see Mary. There would still be time to swing by the house and get to Garceau's on time.

Mary was outside,
gathering kindling. It was a long winter coming Up, she said. She didn't move so fast anymore and had to have the shed full by the first of October. Madeline picked Up a branch and broke it into lengths. “Emil's crazy,” she told Mary sadly. “He shouldn't give Up.”

Mary laughed. “Crazy like a fox,” she said and then cried out, “Jack!” Jack came trotting back from the edge of the clearing.

“What do you mean?”

“You think they want him in them apartments in town?”

“He said he has some friends there.”

“Oh yeah, sure, Donny Lunt and Bill Johnson, coupla others maybe. But I mean the bulk of them. You think those old ladies Up there are going to let Emil Sainio bring his hunting dog and coonskins in to their nice new building? They gonna let him fix his chain saws in the common room in front of the flat-screen TV? Can you see him throwing his clothes in the same washer as Edith Baxter?” She gave her rasping laugh again. “Not a chance. Smartest thing he ever did.”

“So you mean—”

“I mean he beat 'em at their own game. Hit 'em head-on, it's the only way. He knows they don't want him there. And legally they can't refuse him, he qualifies every which way you look at it.”

“But Gladys said they want to put him down in Crosscut at some home.”

Mary tapped her head. “That home's not for the likes of Emil. It's fine for some, but—well. Emil drinks but he's not feebleminded. They can't have him committed no matter how they try. That's just talk. A thing like that'd be out of their ballpark. Emil's no crazier than anyone and it'll take more than the zoning board to prove otherwise.”