Chapter Nine

 

 

That night only a dim light burned in the rear room of the Mansfield shack. Both Joe and Bart were out on the town.

Connie Clemow the widow, attractive for her age, was a young 43.  She lived alone in an old farmhouse on a large wooded lot.  Her dog, a Beagle named “Butch”, was barking at the rear door.

“Quiet!” she yelled from the TV room, but the dog growled and continued to bark, intending to warn his master of the intruder. Connie reluctantly pulled herself up from the recliner and walked to the rear of the kitchen where the dog was carrying on. She pulled back the curtain of the nearby window and peeked outside. Butch got excited and jumped at the door.

There was a full moon glowing brightly in a cloudless sky. “I don’t see anything,” Connie complained, but just as she turned toward the dog a shadow shifted. She held the curtains apart even wider as she gazed intently into the night scene. Perhaps it was a tree limb swaying in the breeze. “No one is there,” she instructed Butch and with her foot pushed at his rear paws. “Down!” she ordered. “Quiet now.”

Old Joe carefully tilted his head to see around the tree with one eye as he hid there in Connie’s backyard. He hoped she would soon be retiring and if he was lucky this night she would be taking a bath.

She thought about calling the police station but quickly decided against the idea, remembering how they shamed her the last time she was frightened. There was no local police department and the State Police located some thirty miles away would likely not even respond to her call about a stalker until the next day. They told her that they had to prioritize calls and responded to emergencies first. “Yes, of course,” she agreed while feeling humiliated. She should get an alarm system, they said.

Connie walked into the parlor and turned off the television set. She picked up a magazine and looked at the cover. It was enticing enough to fold and tuck under her upper arm. It would give her some reading while she soaked. She started up the stairs.

The bathroom window was suddenly brightened by the ceiling light in the small room. The window shade was still up.

Joe smiled broadly, his rotten teeth exposed, his smell and appearance enough to repel any nearby critters that were already fleeing into the woods.

 

Hank had fallen asleep in his easy chair while listening to the radio in the living room. Julianne lay in her bed reading a novel. Her bedroom window was raised. The movement of cooler air was refreshing after working in the fields that day under the hot sun. Her blouse was still sticky from the sweat.

Suddenly she was startled by the sound of rushing air as a large black bird, a crow, landed on her window sill. It grunted as it looked directly at her. “Swoosh away,” she yelled instinctively but when it remained there she tossed her paperback book in its direction. Raven turned and jumped into the night sky.

Julianne rose and rushed to the window, hoping to see its retreat, but there was no sign of it in the bright night sky.

Barton was crouched behind an old chicken coup and felt the pleating of his heart quicken at the sight of her. He did not move a muscle or make the slightest sound as he focused on the young woman he fantasized about almost constantly. His pulse pounded in his ear like the beat of a base drum in a marching band, commanding advancement.

She reached for the bottom of her shirt and pulled it up, over her head.

Bart squirmed, so excited he could hardly contain himself.

That was Tuesday.

 

The next morning Vincent was waiting for the old flatbed truck to arrive at the field and was already daydreaming with a smile plastered across his face as he admired Julie from a distance. Bart saw his grinning and increased his pace as he walked directly at his adversary. He stiffened himself for the blow and rammed Vince so hard he nearly toppled, jarring him back to reality.

“Hey, watch where you’re going,” Vincent shouted. But Bart did not make a reply, turned and headed for his girl. Just then the truck arrived and Julianne darted toward Frank.

She held back as her boss assigned the pickers to certain rows. His eyes met hers and he saw her anxiety. She was sent to the adjoining field, as far away from the boys as Frank could manage at the time.

It was another scorcher, 90 degrees by mid day with humidity that stayed above 80 percent. The afternoon dragged on and the strawberry pickers appeared to be suffering under the sweltering mid-day sun.

Frank quickly conferred with Emma and they decided to quit an hour early. She began to inform the pickers that the empty carrier they reached for would be their final one for the day. Everyone welcomed the news.

“Emma,” Julie pleaded, “I’m feeling a little bit dizzy.”

“Okay, take a break. You’ve done enough for today,” Em said. “Get a drink and rest in the shade.”

“Thanks,” Julie sighed. “Sorry I can’t keep going,” she noted, but she was thinking about how to avoid Bart. She felt panic as she worried about waiting for Frank to wrap up the operation and pay the pickers. “Emma,” she continued. “Do you think I could get my pay tomorrow?”

The boss’s wife frowned but nodded. “Sure honey. You can run along,” she offered. “Hope you find a place to cool off,” her words faded as she observed the girl’s quick retreat. “I’ll keep your tally,” she said louder.

But Julianne did not respond.  She walked briskly toward the path that led away from the field to the parking area. Her mind was racing. She wanted to talk to Vincent. She needed to meet him without Bart knowing about it.

 

Vincent picked eighty quarts that day and with sixteen dollars clenched in his fist he turned to walk home when he saw Julianne standing in the opening that was the entrance to the path that led to her house. She looked panicked and motioned with her hand for him to come to her. Vince looked back. Bart was still standing in line, waiting to be paid, looking down and kicking at the dry ground. Returning to Julie, he saw her mouth the words, “come on, hurry,” with a hand gesture to emphasize her request.

He quickened his pace but didn’t run, hoping not to be noticed by the others.  As he approached Julie she reached for his hand and tugged on his arm. The two ran together and quickly disappeared from their view. They raced through an “S” turn and then she slowed down.

“Hey what’s up?” Vincent asked with a happy face. “Are you okay?” he asked.

She sighed after stumbling on a rock that jutted above the surface. “I think so,” she panted. She released his hand and saw a puzzled look come across his face.

“Do you think Bart is a robber?” she blurted.

“No!” Vince nearly shouted and paused, “At least I don’t think so,” he said as he quieted himself in thought. “Why would you say so?”

“I don’t know,” she hesitated and wondered if she should continue to explain her accusation. She looked at Vince and opened her eyes wide. “My dad has lost something valuable,” she explained, “and last night I heard someone outside my bedroom window. I was keeping a watch on the yard and thought I saw him running away from my house.”

“You mean Bart?” Vince asked with astonishment.

“Yeah,” she answered thoughtfully. “I think it was Bart.”

They were both looking straight ahead, deep in thought.

“I don’t like the way he looks at me,” she admitted. “I’m uncomfortable being around him.”

Vince nodded. “He has threatened me,” he shared reluctantly.

“Maybe I should talk to Frank about it,” she suggested and paused. “Yeah, we need to talk to your grandfather about him.”

Vincent swallowed hard and continued, “He knows that I don’t like Bart,” he informed. “But there isn’t much more to it than that.”

After an awkward moment of silence Julie noted, “I don’t want Frank to think I’m paranoid or something,” and she looked to Vince. “I have to be tough,” she suggested, “you know.”

Vince nodded in agreement.

After a few more paces she reached for his hand and pulled him to a stop. “Look in there,” she instructed. “See that big spruce tree beyond the hedge row? There’s a private spot under it. The branches hang low and the ground’s covered with moss,” she paused, “soft as a bed.”

Vince was squinting as he looked to where she pointed. He truly wanted to know about her secret place.

“It’s there,” she affirmed. “Just beyond the little drainage ditches.”

“Okay,” he drew out the word expectantly, hoping for further instruction.

“I will meet you there Saturday night, midnight,” her eyes danced with excitement. “Can you come?”

“Well,” he paused, his mind looking for clarity as he became excited. “Sure,” he said with the confidence of a commanding officer. “I can come.”

“I will give you a signal,” she instructed. “Check my bedroom window. If the curtains are hanging outside, then all is clear.”

She stepped away quickly and looking back saw a young man stunned but smiling. She took several steps and stopped abruptly. “And will you talk to your grandfather about Bart for me?” She was expecting him to comply quickly in consideration of the offer she just made.

Vincent nodded affirmatively as he saw his girl skip and run away.

 

It was Thursday that Vince sought out his grandfather, anxious to air his concern. Julianne had avoided him all day but many times their eyes met and she flashed a big smile back at him.

“Hey Pops,” Vincent began, feeling the pit of his stomach. He believed that his grandfather would defend Bart, but was driven to do this for his girlfriend.

Frank had picked up the cash box and was headed for the truck. He paused and leaned against the rear of the cab. “What can I do for you, young feller,” he teased. Then his voice became stern, “What do you need Vincent?”

“Can we talk? I mean, do you have a minute.”

“Sure. For you I always have the time.”

Frank took off his wide brimmed straw hat, wiped the sweat off his brow and scratched at the back of his head.

“It’s Bart. He has really been bugging me,” Vince began.

“How’s that?” Frank asked.

“Pushing me around. Threatening me. Telling me to stay away from Julianne.”

“You’re too young to be involved with her,” Frank instructed sternly. “Keep it cool for a couple more years,” he paused as he looked deep into his grandson’s eyes.

“Can’t you manage yourself around Barton?” Frank asked. “You got to stand up for yourself.”

“Yeah, I know,” Vince whined. “I’m not afraid of him.”

“Well then,” Frank asserted. “What’s the problem?”

Vince paused and looked at his feet. He knew that he was losing his cause and decided to deal the punch line. “Do you think he is a robber?”

Stunned at the accusation, Frank reeled and raised his voice. “Why would you say that?”

“It’s not me,” he shot back; “Julianne told me that Hank is missing things. She saw Bart running away from their house when it was dark outside.”

“Well Hank hasn’t said anything about it to me,” Frank’s voice softened. “I think he would have said something, and that’s a serious charge.”

“Julianne feels threatened by Bart,” Vince blurted his final attack.

Frank put his hat back on and stroked his chin. “I can talk to her about it,” he offered. “If he has the hots for her, well then, she has to let him know that she isn’t interested. That should calm him down.”

Vincent frowned, his eyes still pleading for help.

“As I told you before,” Frank asserted, “we have to give him a chance.  A bad reputation is hard, if not impossible to beat. Gossip has the power to mold the life of the victim, especially in a small town like ours.  It makes a person bitter, and resentful.”

He paused. “I won’t do that to Bart,” Frank continued. “He has been meeting his quota. He’s a hard worker.” Frank looked away, deep in thought. “So maybe he’s not my favorite, but before I can act I have to have something more: firm evidence of wrongdoing.”

“Yes sir,” Vince knew that the final verdict had been delivered. He sighed and dropped his shoulders, a sign of defeat.

Frank reached for the truck’s door handle, opened it and placed the cash box on the driver’s seat. He paused, turned back toward his grandson, and felt the need to reconnect with the boy he loved.

 “I do care about you,” he offered in reconciliation, “and Julianne,” he paused, “and Bart too.” He took a moment for reflection.

“Keep me informed if anything happens,” he instructed and opened his arms. The two embraced quickly. There they were, a young man reaching for maturity, and his elder, an older man seasoned by life and hoping to establish compassion with justice, linked in that moment of  humble submission to each other. Vince thought he saw a tear begin to form in his grandfather’s left eye but Pops squinted and it was instantly gone.

Vince was then troubled at his failure to have Bart fired and felt a bit ashamed at the same time. He wondered what he would report back to Julianne.

 

“He won’t do it, he won’t fire Bart,” Vincent told Julianne on Friday. The weekend was upon them and normally he would not see her again until Monday morning, but he was thinking about her invitation to meet on Saturday, and he was hoping with excitement and great anticipation that it would still happen.

“You did it?” she asked, “you really asked Frank to fire him?”

“Yea, I did.”

“You did that for me?” she persisted.

“I tried, Julie, but he said he needs proof.”

She smiled, blushed slightly, and looked away. Upon refocusing she noted, “My father believes someone entered our house and took a couple of coins from his collection, those he had on his desk for examination. Another neighbor lost small valuables, believed to have been taken by a house burglar.  The thief disturbs little and takes only small, single items.”

Vincent appeared troubled as he reflected on the information. “Will your dad tell this to my grandfather?” he asked.

“I don’t see why not,” she answered quickly.

“Okay then, I’ll tell Pops, I mean Frank,” he corrected himself.

“Actually, I think my dad already told him about it,” she corrected with the memory of a visit between Frank and Hank.  “It was some time ago that he lost the first coin.”

“That’s odd,” Vincent lamented, wondering if his grandfather had withheld information. Questions that accused his trusted mentor crashed into his mind. He remembered Pop’s pledge not to ever mislead him. His grandfather promised that he wouldn’t lie for a secret. Vincent clearly remembered his words from a talk they had many months ago.

 

“Well, what did your dad say about it?” he resumed his questioning of Julianne.

“Nothing… really.”

“Doesn’t he care?” Vince persisted.

She shrugged and said, “I guess so, well… I really don’t know.”

 

And in that moment Vincent wondered if Julianne was telling the whole truth. The suspicion brought doubt in the relationship he was forming with her, and it was something he had not previously felt toward her. 

The question would persist even after the secret died, its relevance gone, but the breach it caused between two hearts remained unhealed.

 

“So do you have anything planned for the weekend?” he decided to change the subject.

“No, not really,” she offered no details.

They took a few steps together without speaking to each other. The end of the trail was coming within view and Vincent began to feel panic.

“So… we still on for tomorrow night?” he asked sheepishly.

“You’ll have to wait and see,” she teased with another shrug trying to appear nonchalant to the suggestion. “Look for the sign,” she instructed as they parted.

 

Monday dawned with bright sunshine streaming through Vincent’s bedroom window. It would be another day of hard work, back-breaking labor, but seeing Julianne would bring joy to his heart once again.

Because of an interruption during their meeting two nights before, he felt some lingering anxiety. He ate a bowl of cereal and watched the clock. He left for the fields ten minutes early.

It was starting time and she had not yet arrived. Pops and Emma came later than usual and seemed to be moving slower than their normal pace. He looked around, seeking their faces in the group that assembled there. But Bart was missing. He scanned beyond, to the trails and down the farm lane. No one was approaching. She was missing too!

“Where’s Julianne?” he quickly demanded of Emma in a whisper as he picked up his first carrier for the day.

“Can’t talk now,” she directed, “We got to get started.”

He entered his row reluctantly, with a watchful eye. She still was not to be found anywhere. Pops was going about his routine.

During his lunch break he went to talk to his grandfather, but he was gone. It was unusual, but not entirely improbable. Emma also avoided her anxious grandson.

The day dragged on slowly. At one point in the middle of the afternoon anxiety overwhelmed him. He had to know what was going on. He began to devise a plan. Pops would not be interrupted during the time he paid his workers, so Vincent planned to be the last one in line. He would corner his grandfather then.

“She’s sick today. That’s all I know,” Frank reported.

“And where is Bart, why isn’t he here?” Vincent persisted.

“I don’t know,” Frank answered firmly. “I don’t know what happened to Bart.”

And the conversation was over before it began. Frank and Emma were packing up and leaving quickly. Vincent suspected they knew more than they were saying. He would press them later that evening for more information, or tomorrow if they weren’t available. He felt determined, even commissioned, to find out what happened. He felt jittery inside and a spot in his gut hurt.

After dinner he demanded answers, yelled at them, and even resorted to shallow threats.  But his grandparents could not give him an adequate explanation.

Despite his efforts to learn more about her disappearance, no one would tell him anything. The rumors he heard didn’t make any sense. Bart and Julie ran off together? Details were sketchy.

 The hot summer days were passing by quickly. The final picking of the season was on July 2, two days before Independence Day. After taking Wednesday off to observe the holiday, Frank busied himself in the vegetable plot, encouraging and protecting his chance for a bountiful harvest, and there was the small field adorned in orange, a crop of gourds and pumpkins, his second chance for a cash crop, although it provided a much smaller payday. Autumn would soon be upon them.

 

Days dragged on and the tension between Vincent and his grandparents continued; it was felt on both sides. Frank began other chores, performing the duties necessary for preparing the farm for fall and winter. Vincent felt that he was purposely overlooked for the job.

Weeks turned into months. Pops hired a new farmhand, a middle-aged man who was down on his luck and needed to provide for his wife and kids.

So eventually, Vincent stopped asking about Julie. 

His heart became hard and soon he felt like there was much falsehood in the moral lessons his grandfather preached to him. Where was the truth in it all? Their shunning reeked of insincerity.  What were they trying to protect him from, and if that was their motive, why couldn’t they trust him to decide for himself?

Perhaps Julie was regarded as damaged goods, no longer suitable to become a queen in the Vandenberg dynasty. The suspicion of judgment angered Vincent even more.

The boy and his grandparents grew further apart. Had their priorities changed or had circumstances altered the expression of their generosity?

 

 

 

INTERLUDE: Sometime Before All That Has Been Known

 

 

Majesty!  For unto him is due all power and wealth, wisdom and might, honor, glory, and praise. But this day the Majestic One is solemn. His heart aches. Outside his palace the breath of life is suddenly withheld, its restraint causes the lush gardens of love to quickly wither.

He is always there, hovering nearby on a gentle breeze, invisible but known upon acknowledgement.  He is wisdom, comfort, and provision.  With reluctance He desires to speak, however, He only answers when spoken to.

“What insight do you have for me this day?” the King of Kings inquires with esteem.

“Lord of All Creation,” He addresses His Majesty with an expression of honor, “May I speak freely?”

“Yes, because after all, you already know,” the Creator responds, “but if I must admit to being so, I am feeling blue this day.”

“Why?” the Holy Spirit probes.

“Evil is increasing upon the earth,” the King proclaims as thunder rolls with his words and a bolt of lightning flashes with intense burning light, momentarily consuming all that was visible. “The fallen one, that fiend the Devil, is now striking innocence with disease. I welcome my children’s eventual coming, but compassion compels me to weep for their suffering as they remain in the world. I hear their pleading.”

“Yes, I know,” Omniscience replies.  “Perhaps now is the time to intercede?” he suggests, “As in the days of Noah.”

“The power of the Evil One increases, but the Seed remains untainted.  It continues to grow and produce fruit for the Kingdom,” the Sovereign One elaborates, judging justly. “In the course of human events, free will must not be manipulated.”

“But you are the power of nature and of all creation,” Wisdom affirms. “After the great flood you set a boundary in place established in promise,” He speaks in praise. “Remember the rainbow.”

And with this proclamation a spectacle of bursting light and color filled the palace as a glittering of glory, sparkling with the joy of life eternal.

“Omnipotence,” the Spirit declares.

“Surely,” the Creator confirms as His plan for redemption is conceived. Like the rising of the morning star, beams of light unfold as a fan consuming the throne room with a remarkable display and projecting outward, peering through the seams of the castle’s walls for the glory of heaven.

“We have brightened,” the Spirit observes.

And God responds by proclaiming a single word, “Blessings!”

He pauses, apparently deep in thought and then elaborates, “There shall be showers of blessings!”

 

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