The Recluse Storyteller (10 page)

“Good sermon, Reverend. I always thought being a meter reader would be a terrible job,” said Cheevers.

Janice rolled her eyes.

“Thank you, Reverend. I think we all want what’s best for Margaret. I’m sure you do, too, right Mrs. Trumble?”

“Of course,” she said indignantly, shaking her head from side to side at such an insinuation.

“Okay. We have a couple people who think we need to be proactive and a couple who think that nothing should be done. What can we all agree on?”

They all started talking at once. It would be a long night.

* * *

“Well?” the twins peered at Margaret with expectant eyes.

“I have more ice cream,” Margaret said.

“I’m so full,” said Pam, echoed by Sam holding her stomach. “But we’d like you to continue the story.”

Margaret smiled. She loved looking at the twins on her couch. She obliged.

* * *

“Georgia ran full-tilt, headlong, torso forward, mouth open, cartoon-legs spinning, trying to keep up with her upper body momentum.

“‘Gwen!’ she yelled forcefully. Gwen had been resting with the baby in the tall grass halfway down the hill’s peak. She stood up abruptly and peered like a wild cat through the tall strands of alfalfa.

“‘Georgia! I’ve had to do all the work,’ admonished Gwen bitterly.

“‘Come quickly. Come! Father is here—at the top of the hill, waiting for us.’

“‘Papa?’

“Georgia panted loudly, trying to talk without any air. Her breath kept sucking the words back into her mouth.

“‘Papa? Georgia, what are you talking about?’

“‘Papa is here. He’s waiting for us. Oh Gwen, it’s what we’ve been waiting for. He’s come back. He’s come back. I told you. I saw the sign in the sky. The bright light. Come on!’

“Gwen’s heart melted. Her eyes sunk and her cheeks followed, as if the strong, brave-faced girl no longer needed to be so strong. Her defenses fell, and she started crying as she saw the genuine hope and love in Georgia’s face. She picked up the baby in one arm and reached out to Georgia with the other. The two cats who fought incessantly were at peace. All territories and boundaries finally torn down — united in their determination that their family would move forward—that mother would once again be happy. Gwen smiled widely at Georgia, a rare occurrence indeed.

“‘Take me to him.’

“Georgia tugged on her arm, and they sprinted up the hill. Each step burned Gwen’s elbow as the baby wriggled up and down, but she didn’t care. Georgia was nearly laughing. She refused to let go of Gwen’s hand and pulled her along like Starling pulling the carriage.

“‘We’re almost there. We’re almost there.’

“They reached the summit of Harper’s Hill, panting wildly. The tall wide-spread crab apple stood motionless, witnessing the unfolding drama. Georgia let go of Gwen’s hand and surged forward toward the tree. She brushed against it with her hand.

“‘Papa! Papa! Gwen’s here. Gwen’s here.’

“The patch of grass behind the tree winced at Georgia, ashamed to be so empty. The table was gone. The chairs were gone. Papa was gone. Georgia stood expressionless, her heart barely beating, her lungs barely breathing, her eyes barely seeing. She felt confused and destitute. She fell to her knees and wailed in silence, unable to make a sound as tears streamed down her face. Gwen jutted around the trunk of the tree, baby in hand, hope in her heart, and nearly ran over Georgia, who knelt like a pilgrim at an altar or a widow at a funeral.

“‘Papa? Where’s Papa?’ Gwen asked.

“Georgia remained silent — tears in her eyes.

“‘Georgia,’ Gwen voiced in a tone quickly becoming cynical. ‘Georgia, you evil girl. Papa isn’t here. How could you? How could you do this to me?’

“Georgia stood up immediately and whirled around into Gwen’s face.

“‘He was here,’ she yelled hoarsely. ‘He was here. There was a table, and two chairs, and he was here. Papa. Papa,’ she lapsed into a melancholy whisper.

“‘You liar! How dare you! I hate you! I hate you!’ Gwen saw only red.

“‘I’m not a liar. He was here,’ Georgia screamed right back.

“The baby started crying.

“‘I will never speak with you again,’ Gwen said with desperate tears on her cheeks, stabbing Georgia with heartbroken glances of betrayal. She knew of no one else on the entire earth who could be as cruel as Georgia.

“Georgia’s temper rose quickly, having little patience with Gwen’s accusations.

“‘I am not a liar. Papa was here. Right here.’

“‘Stop it, Georgia. Stop it!’

“‘I will not stop it.’

“Georgia grasped Gwen’s arm and shook it up and down.

“‘Stop it. You are just evil. You’re hurting Benjamin.’

“Georgia, in a mindless rage that consumed every inch of her body, could only think about Papa and the table. She couldn’t accept being a liar. Not this time. Not with the stakes this high.

“‘I’m not a liar. Papa was here!’

“Georgia pushed back against Gwen. Gwen caught her clog on a crab apple root. Her knee buckled, and she slipped backwards, caught in gravity’s rapturous pull. With her hands spread wide, she tumbled over, counting every second, reaching and reaching and reaching for the baby, who flew headlong out of her grasp. Her arms, flung over her head, could not catch him as he plummeted toward the tree. Gwen landed hard, squarely on her back. Benjamin shrieked loudly and then fell silent. Georgia looked on, helpless, as the baby came to rest at the base of the tree. He lay lifeless, blood flowing slowly down his soft, white cheek. Georgia stood in a dream, unable to move, unable to react, unable to speak. Gwen bent her neck backwards as far as possible to view baby Benjamin. Pain ripped through her back as her motherly instincts longed to hold her precious bundle.”

* * *

The meeting dragged on into the realm of the inconsequential. Mrs. Johnson decided to stand up and clear her head a little bit by picking up everyone’s coffee cups and taking them into the kitchen. She rinsed them lightly in the sink and yelled into the twins’ room to see what they were up to. No answer. She yelled again. Silence. She walked down the hall and into the room only to find it empty. She quickly back-traced her steps into the bathroom. Nothing. She went across the living room as Mr. Tomsey and his booming tenor tried to make a convincing counter-point. She peeked into the the master bedroom. They were gone. She quickly ran out of the room and anxiously announced her discovery.

“The twins. They’re not here.”

Everyone turned on cue and looked at Mrs. Johnson, whose face had gone completely white.

“They aren’t in their room?”

“They’re gone. They’re not in the apartment,” she said as her voice faltered and quivered and her eyes welled up with moisture.

Cheevers was the first one up. He was a decent man, who cracked jokes non-stop but had a tender side to him that made him very protective of everyone weaker than himself. This is why he had very little patience with Mrs. Trumble’s bullying.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Johnson. We’ll find them.”

Cheevers barreled out the door, chest high, arms in motion like a superhero on a life or death mission. Mrs. Johnson followed, and everyone else trailed behind.

“Pam! Sam!” yelled Mrs. Johnson.

“Pam!” echoed Cheevers.

The Pritcher door was one-third of the way open, and Cheevers glanced through the crack between the hinges and the door, catching a quick flash of someone. He poked his head around the open entrance.

Pam and Sam sat wide-eyed on the couch, tears welling in their eyes as Margaret stopped to catch her breath. She, too, felt emotionally spent.

“What are you doing?” Cheevers belted out at Margaret.

The girls screamed, caught half between Benjamin’s bloody head and Cheevers’ unexpected entrance. They jumped into each other’s arms and turned their faces on the man with the red hat.

Margaret calmly looked over at Cheevers.

“Red Hat. Red Hat. Red Hat came too soon.” She looked down at the floor in an uncomfortable manner.

The rest of the meeting-goers stood over Cheevers’ shoulder. Mrs. Johnson let out a scream and ran over to her girls, pulling them into her arms.

“What’s wrong, my darlings? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did she hurt you?”

“Mom, you scared us,” said Sam. “We didn’t mean to sneak out.”

“Yes, we did, Sam. It was premeditated sneaking,” replied Pam, who always straightened out Sam’s lies.

“Well, we didn’t mean to get you upset!”

“Margaret, what is going on here?”

Mrs. Trumble broke through the huddle and came right up to Margaret’s side. Janice followed her, ready to block if necessary.

“See, she can’t be trusted. She lured these girls into her apartment to do only God knows what? Look at these poor, poor girls. She’s frightened them out of their minds,” said Mrs. Trumble, who was sure that this would vindicate her argument.

“Now just calm down. We need to find out what’s going on,” interjected Janice.

Reverend Davies stood by the door and reserved judgment. Cheevers was starting to think that maybe Mrs. Trumble was right. Mr. Tomsey stood silently.

“Are you all right, children?”

“Mom, we’re fine.”

“Go home now. Margaret, these girls are never to be in your apartment again. Do you hear?”

“Mom, why are you—”

“I said go home.”

“Mom, we just had some ice cream.”

“That’s what they do. Lure them in with something sweet. The fly in the ointment,” said Mrs. Trumble gleefully.

“The ant in the honey,” added Cheevers.

“Now, just calm down, everyone. Margaret, what are the twins doing here?” asked Janice.

Margaret shook her head from side to side.

“Ice cream. Ice cream. Chocolate-cherry-swirl.”

“Mom,” cried Sam.

“Sam, go! Now!”

“But, Mom, nothing happened,” Pam tried to get through. “We just had some ice cream.”

“Margaret, did you make them cry?” asked Janice, her support of Margaret showing signs of weakening.

“Yes,” Margaret replied matter-of-factly.

“What did you do to them?” Janice insisted.

“Ms. Pritcher did nothing to us,” Sam boldly blurted out. She had yet to obey her mother and continued to stand next to the couch.

The gentlemen at the door looked on like decorations on the wall.

“Sam!” her mother yelled at her.

“It was Benjamin. He fell and started bleeding. And then Mr. Cheevers walked in and yelled, and he startled us,” said Sam.

“Benjamin? Who’s Benjamin?”

“Margaret, who is Benjamin?” Janice looked intensely down at Margaret, trying to get her to talk. Her worst fears began to well-up inside of her. Could Margaret really be a harmful person?

“This is getting out of hand,” said Mrs. Trumble.

Pam tried to clarify the story, but no one was listening. Everyone started talking over top of each other. Each layer of language built upon the presuppositions of the others, and Margaret sat accused of the most vicious of crimes with only Janice hanging precariously in her corner by a thread of common-sense-doubt, which at the moment seemed silly. Margaret sat quietly, intermittently glancing over at Cheevers, who clutched his red hat in his hand. She also kept looking at the empty cartons of ice cream on the coffee table.

“Well, we need to find out who this Benjamin is,” said Mr. Tomsey, who took this sort of thing seriously.

“But Benj—” started Sam only to be cut off by her mother.

“I want both of you out of here. Now!” demanded Mrs. Johnson.

Sam and Pam decided to go. They would make their pleas at a later time when the grown-ups were more open to listening to the truth. They walked toward the gentlemen and turned back to Margaret before exiting the door.

“Thank you, Ms. Pritcher,” said Sam.

“Yes, thank you,” said Pam as they both walked down the hall and into their own apartment.

Mrs. Johnson looked over at Margaret with burning eyes.

“Who is Benjamin?”

Everyone added a random form of the same question in unison, but Margaret remained silent in her chair. She noticed how Cheevers kept gripping his red hat tightly and then let it go, giving it a small flip into the air. She also noticed how Reverend Davies looked down at her, much like Reverend Taylor overlooked the Vietnamese village.

“I think we should call the police,” said Mrs. Trumble.

“For what possible purpose should we call the police?” said Janice. “There is no evidence whatsoever that anything illegal has happened here. Apparently, the girls snuck out of the apartment and had some ice cream. That is hardly a federal offense.”

“What about bloody Benjamin?” said Cheevers.

“Exactly!” concurred Mrs. Trumble.

“If there is a hurt little boy somewhere, we need to find out,” reflected Reverend Davies calmly.