--1--
“Pastor Richmond wants me to meet with him and Amanda,” Brian said.
Mayor Bradford scrutinized his son-in-law. She was just a woman, colder than most, but still just a woman. “I don’t understand why you’ve been putting it off.”
Brian’s look was baleful. “You do not know her.”
“Your anger is noted, Brian. Just remember who you’re talking to and kindly wipe the look off of your face.”
The hiss in the mayor’s voice was venomous and poised to strike. Brian looked down and studied his hands. “I apologize, mayor. I am just uncomfortable around her.”
Adam smirked. “My dear boy. She’s easy if you take her by the elbow and lead the way. I’m surprised your idiot friend hasn’t figured this out yet. You should read The Taming of the Shrew.”
“And miss football,” Brian grinned.
The mayor laughed and then grew thoughtful. He adjusted the picture of Michelle on his desk and asked, “When are they meeting again?”
“Next Tuesday.”
“I want you to attend and I will go with you.”
Brian looked up in surprise. He tried to imagine the mayor charming an intimidating woman dressed in clothes that only magnified her steely demeanor. He could see the meeting turned into a courtroom session in which she held the gavel. If he could, he would sweep the entire soup kitchen project under the carpet. It made Brian uncomfortable to think about what was housed in Sanford, yet it seemed to be the only thing of importance to Daniel’s wife.
Mayor Bradford didn’t care anything about the soup kitchen or Sanford. He cared about his stance in the community as a good Samaritan. One who listened and was trying to solve disputes with just enough effort to ensure reelection. Brian could see him moving up in the legislative branch, and max out in the senate or congress.
People found him to be a charming leader with concern for his city, yet it couldn’t be remembered when he made a conscious effort to help the people. He preferred entertaining the elite and tossing around ideas of sound importance in such a way that others would find a solution. The idea of a soup kitchen in Bersek was brilliant as well as the source behind it. Like Brian, he hated the idea of dealing with Sanford. The topic was a conversation eyesore and Amanda was brutal. “What time is the meeting?”
Brian shrugged. “I forgot. I threw the note out the window.”
Bradford nodded towards a bottle of scotch he kept on a small dry bar. “Why don’t you pour us a glass?”
Brian nodded, walked over, and filled two glasses. Mayor Bradford waited until he was given his glass and Brian sat down. He opened his cigar box, selected two, clipped the ends, and passed one to his son-in-law. “I’ll call the good man. I may even pay a visit to Sanford.”
“The thought of the place makes me shudder,” Brian admitted. “I don’t understand why Dr. Thompson would have asked someone like Amanda to fill in his shoes.”
Adam shrugged. “Maybe he had a vision.”
“Of the place being shut down,” Brian asked. His smile was small and tight as he raised his scotch in salute.
The mayor met the intensity of the younger man’s gaze, nodded, and lighted the end of his cigar. “As much as I would like Sanford shut down, it’s an evil necessity. The patients may prove to be useful. Isn’t Richmond saying as much?”
Brian leaned back in his chair. “I try to avoid anything that has to do with the place when we talk. It reminds me too much of Amanda when we get together for dinner.”
“She did look good at the party,” Adam mused.
“Frankly, mayor, I didn’t think she had it in her. She was gorgeous.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am,” he admitted. “You don’t usually see her when we get together. Normally she wears gray slacks and a white button-down. It’s like she joins us right after work.”
“Maybe she does. Yet her attire is of no importance.”
Brian begged to differ. He wanted to tell the mayor how much her clothes emphasized her overall character and that he was crazy to think she was easily subdued with a compliment. “Come again?”
“Amanda talked quite a lot about Sanford and, even though it was hard to pay attention, I got to see how intelligent she is. I’ve never seen her that talkative on the rare occasion when I’ve joined you for dinner. Yet at the same time, she seemed terrified at, what to us, is a small gathering.”
“She doesn’t like crowds. At dinner, normally she sits quietly and sips whatever we’re having.”
“Do you think, Brian, that she knows nobody listens to her outside of Daniel and now maybe Pastor Richmond? Imagine not being a wanted presence, yet it would be offensive or insulting to those by not showing up.”
“I honestly don’t think she cares. She hangs up on Michelle quite a lot and upset her when she ran into her in the store. I feel like I’m always on the phone with Daniel about stuff like that.”
Mayor Bradford picked up his glass and took a drink. The more Brian talked about Amanda he couldn’t help but become intrigued. She reminded him of the women he used to seduce in his younger years. “What does she like to drink?”
“She seems to favor Hennessy but will drink whatever’s there.”
--2--
Pastor Richmond opened the attic door and turned on the light. It had been a long time since he had been up near the rafters. The floor creaked under his weight as he left a trail of footprints in the accumulated dust. In the corner was a couch, which Lois couldn’t bear to depart with and he despised that had been draped with an old sheet sporting a floral print. On close inspection, he saw a hole chewed through the material as well as droppings. From the size of them, he didn’t think they were rats, but there were enough there to cause concern, even if they weren’t fresh. He would have to remember to stop by Branson’s Hardware and pick up some traps.
He scooted the couch, half expecting a mouse to come running out from underneath. The veins in his hands began to pulse at the thought of a little critter running over one of his slipper-clad feet. It made him wish he had at least worn his sneakers. He didn’t like mice and kept liberal portions of poison in the corners, the bottom drawers of the stored dresser, and under the rest of the furniture. It made him leery enough to want to wait and make sure the attic was well-baited for a week before going back up for the journal under the floorboard.
The couch whispered over the coated floor leaving streaks. Fortunately, David didn’t see any indication of vermin, but it didn’t ease his concern. His hand shook as he reached for the floorboard and lifted it. He studied the hole where his book laid, protected in a cloth sack, and seemed to taunt him. After a deep breath, he reached in and pulled it out by the bag’s strings. The sound of scurrying almost made him drop it, but he managed to put it on the floor beside him. In one swift motion, he replaced the board, grabbed the thin volume, and hurried towards the stairs.
When the light was turned off and the door was shut behind him, David rested his head against the wall and tried not to envision the mice coming down the steps. His squeamishness had baffled Lois, yet she would spare him the chore of baiting the attic when she was alive. His racing heart began to slow along with his breath until he was able to look the journal over. He pulled it out of the bag, ran his palm over the glossy, black Moleskine cover, and examined the brittle edges for bite marks. “Maybe the ghosts of the Ytuwa have kept you safe,” he mused.
David went downstairs, stirred the fire, and placed a fresh log on the glowing embers. It soon caught and crackled merrily as the renewed flames danced around to devour it. He unscrewed the cap on the bottle of Amaretto, poured twice the amount he was accustomed to, and threw it back. The sweetness softened the mild burn as it made its way down his throat and warmed his stomach. He refilled his glass and set it on the coffee table beside the couch which was just close enough to be kissed by the heat stemming out of the fireplace. David moved a pillow and then sank into the cushion. He turned on the lamp, settled against the armrest, and opened the book he hadn’t touched in over twenty years.
20 January 1959
It is raining again. The interpreter told me we were entering the height of the rainy season and to expect a lot of flooding. I remember wondering why the huts were on stilts when I first arrived and was surprised to learn about the rains. True, the church receptionist told me it rained a lot here, I just didn’t grasp how much.
I feel filthy although I feel like I’m constantly bathing. The rains provide a decent shower, yet I still use some water from the water barrel for a final rinse. My hair is matted and I am afraid I’ve gotten lice, but haven’t seen or felt anything. It makes me itch when I think about it. Nor can I seem to get my feet clean enough. The mud does help with the mosquito bites though. I just hope I don’t wind up with malaria. I find it awkward because the younger, unmarried women will spy on me when I’m washing behind some bushes. Although I can’t see them, I can hear their giggles.
I’ve proven to be useless to the men in the tribe, yet they are kind enough to let me in their hamlet. I spend my time helping the women and playing with the children. They like to sing and I’ve taught them the songs they sing in the children’s class at St. Luke’s. They usually run around naked, which I admit came as a surprise, yet I remember Adam and Eve in the garden before they fell. It makes me wonder if their innocence was like what I see running before me.
The visitor was wrong. These people are not heathens. I was blinded by ignorance, expecting a group of savages when I first entered the village. They are dignified in their simple ways and kind. In some ways, I feel more like I’m on vacation because of how little there is to do once my sleeping bag is rolled up and tucked away for the day. Normally, I’ll sit on a log and watch nature after breakfast until the children are finished with their chores. When it’s not raining, I’ll sketch, although I’m terrible at it.
Pastor Richmond marked the page and closed the book. It would be a good passage to share with Katie once she came back and was over the shock, even though he was sure by this time, their lives have had to progress.
--3--
Amanda sat catty-cornered at Pastor Richmond’s desk. Brian sat furthest from her on the opposite side, looking uncomfortable as he tapped a pen on the side of his shoe which he had crossed over his knee. Mayor Bradford was relaxed and almost appeared to be bored. Pastor Richmond viewed the small group with a smile plastered on his lips. Mayor Bradford returned the gesture in a tone of voice equally as false. “Brian tells me the garden is making progress.”
Before he could answer, Amanda’s sharp voice cut through the awkward silence. “That is incorrect, Mayor Bradford as well as misleading. Nor do I believe Pastor Richmond would have given Mr. Greene that impression.”
Adam looked at his son-in-law as if for answers, yet it was the pastor who applied salve to her curt response. “So far we have prepped an area of land behind Amanda’s office at Sanford. She is doing most of the work involving crop research and how gardening is benefitting the patients at her facility.”
“I see,” Adam said, eyeing the medical director. “And what have you learned?”
Amanda’s eyes went blank and her features became inscrutable. It made her wonder why there was a sudden interest in her and the patients’ role. “Am I supposed to believe you care about what I am doing or what is going on at Sanford?”
Pastor Richmond templed his fingers in front of his mouth to hide his smirk. The silence grew heavy as Adam floundered to respond, but came up with nothing. “Well, I – “
David poured a cup of coffee from the percolator. “I’ve tried to get Brian to go over and talk to Amanda. Coffee?”
Mayor Bradford nodded and reached for the mug. Although he wasn’t sure, he thought he could detect a slight pulse in the prominent veins on the pastor’s hands. He shifted his attention and looked at Brian. “Do you have time to go over to Sanford today?”
“I guess,” he relented. “Although – “
Amanda saved her husband’s friend from giving a feeble response. “Why, Mayor Bradford? You still haven’t answered my first question.”
“Of course we care,” the mayor insisted. “You are involved in the project. Is there anything you need?”
“Beds,” she said. “They don’t need to be new, just decent, and to be able to be fitted with restraints as a precaution, in case a patient becomes combative.”
“I meant supplies for the project.”
“These are supplies for the project,” Dr. Blake answered. “We are currently five over capacity and I’m expecting anywhere from two to four people to be dropped off on the property between now and the New Year.”
“It sounds rather expensive,” Brian said.
Adam raised his hand to silence him. “What do you mean dropped off on the property?”
When Amanda turned to face him, he had to remind himself she was his daughter’s age and married. He was surprised at how startlingly green her eyes were as she went deep in thought. “Mayor Bradford, I know you find mentally ill people a waste of time, so I will be brief. People sometimes get dropped off during the night and are found roaming the grounds in the morning. We are lucky if they have any form of identification with them, but most of the time, we have to search to see if we can find out who the person is. Until we know, he or she is given a name and then we arrange it for them to be transferred to the state hospital.”
Pastor Richmond choked on his coffee. His face turned bright red as he coughed and hoped Amanda wouldn’t pick up on the agony of a stifled laugh. “Excuse me,” he said. “Gentlemen, Dr. Blake, maybe we can continue this conversation next week. I hope, Mayor Bradford, you will take into consideration Dr. Blake’s need for beds at Sanford and it can be discussed then.”
David walked the small party out of the church and then stood looking out at the sidewalk tinged by stained glass windows. He could see small plumes of breath coming from Amanda’s mouth as she talked in what seemed to be a heated fashion with the mayor. The pastor frowned as Adam reached out and placed his hand on Amanda’s arm in what could be seen as a benign gesture, but he doubted it.
He pulled himself away from the glass, checked the donation box for Amanda’s facility, and smiled. The children’s class had done a nice job decorating it and he had asked their teacher if she would focus the lesson on caring and how even though something may not be worth anything to them, it may mean a lot to someone else. When he looked inside, the broken crayons rounded from use and clothed in peeled paper touched him more than the pristine boxes of Crayolas.
