The Recluse Storyteller Page 3

  “Margaret. All of these are from Reverend Davies, and they are unopened. What is all this?”

  Margaret quickly lunged towards the desk.

  “Some of these are dating back years.”

  Margaret scooped them all into a neat stack in her hand and put them away inside the drawer, closing it with a bang.

  “Margaret, why don’t you open those letters?”

  She didn’t respond and turned back towards the kitchen counter.

  “Reverend Davies is a good man. He helped your mother through many hardships. You don’t need to shut him out.”

  Janice moved over to the kitchen bar.

  “You don’t need to shut me out either. Why won’t you talk to me? You can be whomever you want to be, but you can still have friends. It’s just you and I. There is no other family. Why do you have to be so stubborn?”

  No response. Margaret just wanted her to leave. Part of Margaret didn’t really understand why she wouldn’t talk to her aunt. A pinch of stubbornness, mixed with fear and years of isolation, left her an unchartered island, and that’s the way she wanted to keep it. She tolerated Janice’s occasional intrusions, but she welcomed no one else into her home.

  “Are you still working for Hartford Corporation?”

  Margaret nodded, a virtual novel of expression.

  “Mr. Tomsey still your contact?”

  Another nod, adding in an epilogue.

  “All right then. You know my number if you need anything. Have a good day, Margaret.”

  Margaret stood stone-faced next to the door and opened it wide for Janice to leave. Janice stopped in front of Margaret and slowly reached out to touch her cheek.

  “The human touch isn’t all that bad, you know? Goodbye.”

  As soon as she walked out the door, Margaret slammed it shut and latched all four bolts. She leaned back against the door, feeling its overwhelming presence touching her from all sides. She continued. Aunt Janice stopped as usual on the top step and quietly walked back to Margaret’s flat, listening to the storyteller on the other side.

  * * *

  “Janice was picked for a reason. She never had a father. Her mother had long since passed, and she never established a family of her own. She had double majored in bio-engineering and astrophysics and was summarily tapped by the government to do clandestine research at some desert facility. Her work was her life, and she would give her life for her work. Literally. But she had no idea, nor did the country, what that would really mean until the lights began flashing in the sky. Nothing would ever be the same.”

  * * *

  Margaret stopped. Aunt Janice could hear nothing more.

  “Poor Margaret,” she said in a whisper and left.

  Chapter 3

  Lies and Signs

  “Red Hat,” Margaret scampered back to the door to listen to the footsteps of Michael Cheevers as he left his apartment and descended the stairs. It was exactly seven a.m. She rushed over to the second-story window overlooking the street, and watched as Cheevers exited wearing his red baseball cap that had become a regular fixture at his consulting job. He crossed the street to a small newsstand which claimed another foot of sidewalk every year, bought a cup of coffee, and walked down towards Birch Street to catch the subway to work.

  * * *

  “Red Hat overlooked the street with the smug stare of a man who was ready to cash in his poker chips. He jaywalked across to Antonio’s and sat in his usual spot in the sun.

  “‘Hey, Antonio. The usual. It’s a beautiful day today.’

  “‘Yes, sir, it is. How’s the wife and child?’

  “‘Never better,’ Red Hat lied. ‘I patted the little darling on the head this morning, and you know what she said? She said, “Daddy, why does time fly? Why doesn’t time bug or spider?” Aren’t they the precious things?’

  “‘Out of the mouths of babes,’ said Antonio, who had been serving breakfast to Red Hat going on four years.

  “Red Hat hadn’t even seen Meagan this morning. His wife had suspected that something was going on for quite some time. He spent more and more time away at the office, and his face had this permanent, cocky ‘I know something you don’t’ smile on it that really annoyed her. In fact, she didn’t love him anymore and wanted him to leave for good, but Meagan still wanted to spend time with her father.

  “Red Hat was halfway through his omelet when Montleone showed up. He had a strong, straight jaw with a slight Italian accent, but he didn’t have the Mediterranean look to him.

  “‘So?’ started Red Hat.

  “‘Yeah. It’s in place.’

  “‘I wasn’t sure Collins was going to go along with it.’

  “‘It has nothing to do with Collins. We’re taking his action out,’ said Montleone, as he pointed to the waiter. ‘Cup of coffee.’

  “‘So how is all of this going to go down?’

  “‘Just like we planned.’

  “‘And we still have a fall-back?’ Red Hat asked.

  “‘We are all going to walk away from this. Don’t you worry about that. And we might even be congratulated.’

  “‘All right. Heroes in the making. I like the sound of that.’

  “‘And your wife?’

  “‘She knows nothing. I actually think she’ll be happy that I’m gone.’

  “‘Your child?’

  “‘I have nothing here,’ Red Hat said, sipping on his coffee. ‘It is a beautiful day, though.’

  “Montleone glanced at his watch.

  “‘Is that Italian?’ Red Hat smiled at him.

  “‘Swiss movement, Italian leather. Play the part well, I always say.’

  “‘Quinn at ten. I’ll meet you at Lansing Station at eleven.’

  “Montelone nodded and stood up to leave.

  “‘You should get yourself a new hat. Why do you wear that ragged Reds hat?’

  “‘It reminds me of my childhood.’

  “‘Now that is funny, my friend. See you at eleven unless you can’t handle Quinn.’

  “‘Get out of here, you joker,’ Red Hat smiled at Montleone, who threw two bucks on the table and took off.

  “Directly across the street, a curtain in a third-floor window opened slightly, and little Meagan peeked out, looking directly at her father. She tapped lightly on the window and yelled out for her Daddy who was too preoccupied with his coffee to notice her. He eventually looked up and saw her waving furiously down at him. He stood up and blew her three kisses. Meagan blew back, and Red Hat pretended to catch them in his hand and plant them on his cheek. One kiss caught a wind current, and Red Hat chased it over to the next table, where he stretched out as far as he could and caught it with his pinky. Then he placed it delicately on his cheek to the delight of Meagan who kept blowing her love into the glass pane. Red Hat bowed theatrically, smiled at his little girl, and walked up the street heading to Quinn’s place. Everything was now in motion.”

  * * *

  Margaret heard the twins leaving their apartment. It was seven-thirty a.m. She ran to the door and listened intently to Mrs. Johnson calling back Pam, who had forgotten her scarf. Margaret opened the door, peering at Sam standing only a couple feet away. Mrs. Johnson noticed Margaret from her apartment door.

  “Good morning, Margaret.”

  Pam came running out of the apartment with her scarf on and stood beside Sam. They were dressed in identical red and yellow plaid jackets with dark-blue pants underneath.

  “Say ‘hello’ girls.”

  “Good morning, Mrs. Pritcher.”

  “No girls, it’s Ms. Pritcher,” Mrs. Johnson corrected them.

  “Ms. Pritcher,” they repeated in unison.

  “Good morning,” said Margaret.

  Mrs. Johnson looked over at Margaret almost in disbelief because of this rare moment of verbal interaction.

  “Well, the girls are off to school this morning. It does look like a lovely day, doesn’t it? Do you have anything planned, Margaret?”

&nbs
p; No response. Margaret kept looking at the twins and their beautifully identical mannerisms. She thought deeply about how she would like to talk with them, but knew she couldn’t and so continued with the eye contact—the girls remaining oblivious to Margaret’s prying eyes.

  “Have a good day, Margaret. Let’s go girls. You did remember everything, right?”

  They chattered back and forth as they descended the staircase. Margaret said nothing more but closed the door and stood against it in her regular position. She felt cold, and a shiver crept up her spine making her shrug her shoulders in perplexed anxiety. She felt the presence. It was heavier than before, and it always came from behind her, but she knew it couldn’t be real because her back was against the door. She thought for a moment and then started.

  * * *

  “Daybreak remained far away. Georgia couldn’t contain her excitement and rose from the crude wooden bed covered with flax sacks, which barely served as cushions at all. She swung open one end of the wooden shutter and gazed out into the dark night, where the swirling wind seemed to make the stars dance more than usual. She stared expectedly, as if waiting for a revelation.

  “‘So beautiful. I want to be a glittering jewel in the dark night air,’ Georgia whispered into the dark in a soft, dramatic voice.

  “Then she saw it. A bright trailing light, with a tail as long as a slithering snake, painted bright white, reflecting light in all directions across the night sky.

  “‘Oh my! Gwen,’ she whispered. ‘Gwen.’

  “Gwen didn’t move at all, a perfect sleeping statuette in repose.

  “‘It’s a sign. A sign from the heavens. Light coming home. It must mean Papa is coming home today. Gwen!’

  “Gwen remained firmly entrenched, snug and warm under the heavy down blanket.

  “‘Wake up or I’ll put a snake down your gown.’

  “Gwen mumbled something and rolled over.

  “‘Today’s the day. I just saw this light in the sky. It’s a sign. We have to get our chores done. Today is the day.’

  “‘Just ten more minutes.’

  “‘Get up now,’ Georgia said as she jumped on Gwen’s stomach, ripped off her night cap and tickled her.

  “Gwen shrieked loudly and laughed.

  “‘Georgia, stop!’

  “‘Shhh. You’ll wake up Ma and the baby. Come on, sleepy head. You should have seen what I saw. We have a big day. Pa’s coming. Come on.’

  “‘How do you know Pa is coming?’

  “‘I just do. I saw the sign in the sky. It was a note from God written on the stars, lighting the way for Pa to come home. Today’s the day.’

  “They changed from their sleeping gowns by the light of one small candle.

  “‘This is what the streak in the sky looked like.’

  “She swung her hand over the flame and watched it flicker back and forth.

  “‘Except it was the whole way across the sky.’

  “‘Georgia, stop telling stories.’

  “‘I’m not. I saw a sign.’

  “‘Shhh.’

  “Gwen motioned that she was ready, and they quietly tip-toed across the house to be greeted by faithful Buster, rubbing his nose into Georgia’s leg and wagging his tail. Their ma heard the entire escape and smiled to herself, not wanting to move too much lest she wake the baby. Once they were outside, Georgia couldn’t contain her words any longer. She was the talkative one of the pair.

  “‘I couldn’t sleep all night. Pa said that when two full moons had passed that he’d be back. Remember? Did you see the moon last night? It’s nearly full. And then I saw this bright light that trailed the whole way across the sky. It was like a slithering snake with glass on it, reflecting light in all directions. This has to be the day. It just has to.’

  “Gwen listened in contentment to Georgia’s talk. She enjoyed listening to her most of the time.

  “‘I think we should have some sort of performance or song or something to surprise Pa with. He deserves something special, so for the last two hours I’ve been thinking up this rhyme. You want to hear it?’

  “They had already entered the barn door and lit two lanterns. Gwen would milk Betsy; Georgia, Bessy. Gwen felt the coldness on her fingers unlike Georgia, whose excited talking pumped her blood to the point of developing an immunity to the brisk air.

  “‘All right. Ready? It goes like this: “Silent we waited out in the cold, Eager to see our Pa come home.”’

  “‘Home doesn’t rhyme with cold,’ said Gwen.

  “‘Yes, it does. “Co-”, “ho-”, see, the beginning is the same.’

  “‘But it’s the endings of the words that have to rhyme. Not the beginnings.’

  “‘Well, I think it sounds just fine. All right, what about this one? “The house is alive with joyous delight, cause Pa will come home tonight.”’

  “‘The rhyming is better, but each line has to have the same number of syllables or it doesn’t sound right.’

  ‘“Old Betsy misses the hands of father, she won’t give milk to any other.’

  “There was no stopping Georgia.

  “‘For once I was blind but now I see the light in the sky, now I can see that Pa’s coming home for you and me.’

  “The songs, some good and some not, kept rolling off of Georgia’s lips all morning. They amused Gwen for the most part. Georgia always had a vibrancy about her which made Gwen, in comparison, rather docile and dull. Practical and simple might be the better description. But Georgia brought life to the family. Her ardor certainly got her into trouble from time to time, which is why their mother usually relied on Gwen to look after the baby.

  “They finished their barn chores by the time the sun started pouring over Harper’s Hill. Their mother had breakfast ready as they walked in, and Buster lay beside the baby, who was sprawled out on a blanket at his feet.

  “‘Ole Buster misses Papa something sore, he can’t sleep right without Papa’s snore.’

  “‘Georgia, stop your caterwauling. Gwen, Mrs. Thompson is picking me up in her buggy any moment to take me into town. You’ll need to watch over Benjamin for me until the afternoon. There’s plenty of soup and biscuits so you won’t go hungry.’

  “‘Yes, Ma,’ said Gwen.

  “‘But Ma, we were going to up Harper’s Hill today to look for Papa. It’s nearly a full moon.’

  “‘Georgia, you’ll do no such thing. You’ll be here with Gwen to help watch Benjamin. And bring that chopped wood from around back. We’ll need more in a couple of days. I need to pick up a few supplies in town.’

  “‘Wasn’t Papa supposed to be back by now? I’m sure today is the day. I saw a sign written in the sky.’

  “‘Stop with your fantastic stories, Georgia. He will return when he can. In the meantime, we can’t have you wandering off all over the countryside.’”

  * * *

  Margaret felt exhausted. She put her embroidered heart pillow behind her head and fell asleep on the couch.

  Chapter 4

  Casualty of War

  Two days later, Margaret received a small, plain parcel in the mail with no return address. She held it in her hands and turned it over on all sides, trying to unlock any clues as to the sender. When shaken, it made a slight ‘thud’ against the ends. She decided to open it, so she slit the packing tape along the crease with a pair of scissors. Then she turned the box over and a metal can fell through her fingers, landing right on the big toe of her left foot. She screamed in pain and started hopping around, reaching down to rub her wound, reminding her of the badly injured Quinn.

  “The pain ripped through Janice like she had never felt before. Quinn lay on the floor half-unconscious, head throbbing, unable to relieve the pain that raced through his mind.”

  The can had since rolled the opposite way right under the couch and out of sight. Margaret picked up the box and looked inside but it was completely empty.

  “Quinn started coming around, his head bobbing up and down as he
tried to shake the cobwebs out of his mind and concentrate on what Red Hat had done.”

  She went over to the tall kitchen cupboard and grabbed a broom. She got down on all fours, reaching, broomstick-first, under the woven couch flap until she felt the resistance from the can. She whacked it once towards her, and it rolled right out into her hands. A can of beans. On the blank metal top, someone had written these words in permanent marker: You dropped your beans. God Bless. Reverend Davies. She sat down on the couch, still feeling her toe with her right hand. Her mind slowly drifted to Reverend Taylor and the little village in the highlands of Vietnam.

  * * *

  “‘Hello,’ said a voice in English behind Reverend Taylor’s daughter. She turned to see a tall, young Vietnamese man with a pleasant and rather full looking face.

  “‘Hi.’

  “‘I’m Quan. Is that your father?’

  “He pointed over to Reverend Taylor, who continued to hold the phantom rifle, looking down over the ridge. Tears streamed down his face, and he shook, even though he seemed paralyzed.

  “‘I’m sorry. I’m Nicki,’ she said, wiping a tear away from her eye as well. ‘My father was in the war a long time ago. It is very emotional for him to come back here. Something happened, but he never says anything about it.’

  “‘War is difficult to re-live,’ said Quan in excellent English. ‘I know what happened here. My father told me.’

  “She looked at him in disbelief.

  “‘Come, we can sit over here. I think we should leave your father alone for a while.’

  “‘What happened here?’ she asked as Quan unstacked two miniature plastic stools and set them down on a patch of dirt. A dozen chickens clucked in all directions at the base of a small house-on-stilts which stood twenty feet away. Nicki kept her eye on her father, who had sat down on the ridge just a couple hundred feet away. Quan yelled back into the nearest house attempting to get someone to service their thirst.