TO THE READER

Dear reader,

If you accidentally stumbled across this blog, or if you intentionally stumbled across it, I'd like to tell you a little about it.  Each of the stories in the blog was written at (mostly) one sitting.  Each received minimal editing and revising.  I hope that some of them will pull you in.  You might scratch your head at some and wonder if I don't have anything better to do with my time.  Many will probably strike you as banal. All I can say is that I probably have worse things I could do with my time.

Happy (I hope!) reading,  Please remember, however humble they may be, these stories came from me.

Jim Fogle

P.S.  Let me hear from you if you have something positive to say or point out by way of criticism.

THE WOMAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH

THE WOMAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH

     Every neighborhood has its gossip. The neighborhood gossip is often a middle aged woman with no children and too much time on her hands. She takes what little information she has and, by filling in the blanks, develops her stories. Such was the case with Sylvia Renner.

     In her small neighborhood, she was convinced that the young man who had moved into a house down the street was dealing drugs from his home, as she saw people going in and out of the house at least four to five times a week, in her estimation. In fact, the young man was an Internet auction entrepreneur who managed accounts for a large number of clients.  Normally, he conducted his business via the Internet and e-mail. However, when he was talking to a new client or discussing certain issues with clients, he found it better to meet with them in person. And so, four to five times a month (not a week) clients could come over to his house. 

     Then, there was the case of the youngish divorcée, who would come home each day after work, and then leave shortly thereafter wearing “provocative” attire along with an abundance of makeup. She would often not return home until the wee hours of the morning. Sylvia Renner was convinced she was a woman of ill repute. In fact, the woman, who was indeed divorced, worked two jobs. The first was as a bank employee, a job that required conservative business attire. Three nights a week, she served as the hostess and reservations clerk for an upscale restaurant. This position required more of a “resort look.” She worked two jobs because she had a son who was mentally and physically impaired and needed to live in a special home. Her husband had left them because he couldn’t handle the challenges of a son who was not normal.

     Most folks in the neighborhood knew that Sylvia Renner’s gossip was ill founded and paid it no mind.  But her gossipy way would weave itself into an event of extraordinary importance.

     Let’s start with Mr. Hector Lopez, Sylvia Renner’s next door neighbor. He was an older man who kept pretty much to himself. Sylvia Renner was convinced he was Jewish and applied all the stereotypes of Jews to Mr. Lopez. One day, Mr. Lopez passed away and the contents of his house were taken away.  ylvia Renner kept her eyes peeled for “Jewish looking” objects and eventually did notice someone carrying out what to her was a Jewish candlestick (menorah) and some carpets that looked Jewish. She told her neighbors that, while she had nothing personally against the Jews, and while she was sorry about Mr. Lopez’s passing, she was hoping someone more normal would move into the house.

     About a week after the house was cleared, Sylvia Renner got her wish, or so she thought.  It seemed to her that an older woman was moving into the small house, a cottage really. What appeared to be her son and daughter-in-law (or vice versa) and two children were helping her move in. Sylvia Renner decided to get a closer look by doing something neighborly.

She took a pitcher of lemonade and tray of cookies over to the house. When she knocked on the door, she was greeted by the older woman.  “I know this is not a time for a visit, but I thought you all might like some refreshments. I’m Sylvia Renner, your next-door neighbor.” 

     “Thank you so much, Mrs. Renner.”

     “It’s Miss.” 

     “Miss Renner. I’m Norma Arnold. those are my son and daughter-in-law and their children helping me move in.  This neighborhood looks lovely.” 

     It was obvious that Sylvia Renner was peering in to catch whatever glimpses of things she could. “I’ll come over later and pick up the tray and pitcher.”

     “Thanks so much, Miss Renner.” 

     “My pleasure, Mrs. Arnold.”

     So, in Sylvia Renner’s mind, Norma Arnold was obviously a kindly older widow woman with a close-knit family. She immediately liked Mrs. Arnold.

     A few hours later, a car left the Mrs. Arnold’s house. Sylvia Renner bided her time, but then she proceeded over to Mrs. Arnold’s, ostensibly to retrieve her tray and pitcher. “Mrs. Arnold, I know you’re probably exhausted from your move, so I don’t want to impose on you. I just thought I’d get my tray and pitcher back and see if there might be anything you need.” 

     “Please come in, Miss Renner. The place is still a mess, but the kitchen is pretty well set up. We can go in there.” 

     “I really don’t want to impose.”

     “Nonsense, please come in.”

     Entering into the living room, Sylvia Renner could see what appeared to be boxes of books.  Mrs. Arnold was obviously an intellectual. When they entered the kitchen, there were all the appearances of someone who knew her way around a stove and oven. “My, isn’t this nice,” Sylvia Renner cooed.

     “I can’t wait to get cooking. I do lots of baking for the senior center where I volunteer.”

     “Isn’t that nice.  What brought you to this neighborhood, Mrs. Arnold, if you don’t mind my asking?” 

     “Well, my husband recently passed away, and my children thought it would be nice for me to be closer to them. They live about five miles from here. I like my own space while I can manage it, so here I am.”   

     Sylvia Renner lost no time sharing some of her knowledge of the neighbors with Mrs. Arnold. “This is a nice neighborhood. Of course, as in any neighborhood, there are some causes for concern. I don’t mean to alarm you, but the young man who lives two doors down shows every sign of being a drug dealer. I don’t think he does anything like hard drugs, although you never know. And then, there is a woman on this side of you who has a kind of reputation, if you know what I mean. Look at me, I sound like the most awful gossip. I just thought you should know. Now, the family that lives to your left, they’re just lovely. The youngest son is a bit of a scamp, but what healthy eight-year-old boy isn’t?  They seem to be just lovely. And then, there is the couple right by me. They keep to themselves, but they seem like very nice people.”

     In reality, “Mrs. Arnold” (not her real name) had heard all this before from Mr. Lopez (again not his real name).  “Mr.Lopez”  had not passed away at all, but had been moved.  “Mrs. Arnold” was his replacement. They were both national security agents. “Mrs. Arnold” knew that the young man was no drug dealer. She knew that the woman was no prostitute.  She also knew that the “lovely family” Miss Renner referred to was actually a group of terrorist operatives. The “very nice” couple who lived by Miss Renner were actually foreign espionage agents. Both the “lovely family” and the “very nice” couple had been placed in this nondescript little community because they wouldn’t draw attention to themselves. They were, for all intents and purposes, just average people. Being in the same neighborhood was certainly a coincidence, as the two sets of people didn’t have anything to do with each other.

     The reason “Mr. Lopez” needed to be moved was that he suspected that his cover might have been compromised. He noticed the couple looking at him suspiciously from time to time. The security agency for which both “Mr. Lopez” and “Mrs. Arnold” worked was convinced that something major was coming down from the terrorist group. They might as well try to bring down the espionage ring. “Mrs. Arnold” was called in because she was a veteran infiltrator. Her key to the neighborhood would be Sylvia Renner.

     Mrs. Arnold needed to develop Sylvia Renner’s trust. Surveillance had indicated that the “very nice couple” who lived next door to Sylvia Renner had managed to have some routers placed in or below Miss Renner’s house.  That way, wireless signals would not all be coming from their house, but would be shared with Miss Renner, who did not own a computer or even a cell phone. She did have cable television. The “lovely family” who lived on the other side of Mrs. Arnold did not require much high tech communication for their work.  Mrs. Arnold did introduce herself to the family and even engaged the older daughter to cut her grass.

     One day, Mrs. Arnold went over to Sylvia Renner’s house for a visit. While she was there, she managed to place a very small device that would pick up wireless signals that were routed to and from Miss Renner’s house by the couple next door. Of course, she had obtained all legal clearances to do so. Through this device, it became clear that the “very nice” couple was sending and receiving highly encoded messages via Miss Renner’s house. A strong case was being developed against them.

     Mrs. Arnold decided it would be best to get through to the “lovely family” by means of Sylvia Renner. She baked a huge sheet cake and invited Sylvia Renner over for coffee.  During their time together, Mrs. Arnold excused herself for a few minutes, knowing quite well that Sylvia Renner would use the time to snoop. Mrs. Arnold strategically had them sit in her library.  Her library consisted of such things as the complete works of Shakespeare, many books on art and history, and also books on geography.  However, she also placed a number of books on covert operations, terrorism, militant groups, and such like. These books would stand out like sore thumbs against the backdrop of the other books in the library. If Mrs. Arnold knew Sylvia Renner like she thought she did, the wheels in Miss Renner’s head would start turning. She would begin to wonder about Mrs. Arnold, or at least about her family.

     When Mrs. Arnold returned to the library, it was obvious that Sylvia Renner had been snooping. “What an interesting collection you have hear, Mrs. Arnold. It’s, um, very eclectic.” 

     “Please, call me Dorothy. I should have invited you to use my first name long ago. I taught at a private school for many years. Most of these books were put to use for my classes. One of my sons was in the army and collected lots of books as well.  I’m afraid I haven’t yet organized things very well.” 

     “Did your son serve overseas?”  Sylvia Renner was trying to figure out if the books on subjects the like of covert operations might have been his. 

     “He did, and he also worked at the Pentagon.”  

     “That’s so interesting. We do live in a dangerous world, don’t we?”

     “But I think we’re all fortunate to live in the United States. Don’t you agree Miss Renner?”


     “By all means!  And , please call me Sylvia.”

     As they wrapped up their visit, Mrs. Arnold insisted that Sylvia Renner take home some of the cake she had made. She intentionally gave her a huge portion, large enough even for a “lovely family.”  Mrs. Arnold was hoping Miss Renner would share the cake with them, as it would be far too much for her. She would doubtless tell them that the cake had been baked by Mrs. Dorothy Arnold and that there was simply too much for her to eat by herself.

     What Sylvia Renner didn’t know was that that holder for the cake was imbedded with surveillance equipment to “bug” the house of the “lovely family.”  Dorothy Arnold told Sylvia Renner that the holder was disposable and need not be returned. (If  Miss Renner only knew how much that cake holder really cost!)  If all went as planned, one of two things would happen. If Miss Renner did share the cake with the family, she would probably keep it in the original holder. The “lovely family” might not suspect a thing from Miss Renner, in which case, the surveillance of the home could continue as long as the cake holder remained in the house. But, if the family suspected something, they would dispose of the holder and would be on notice that they were being observed. They were so far into their terrorist plot that they couldn’t turn back. They would probably speed things up.

     Dorothy Arnold discretely watched to see if Sylvia Renner would take the bait. Sure enough, about twenty minutes after returning home, Sylvia Renner went over to the “lovely family’s” house with the cake. Mrs. Arnold knew that Miss Renner couldn’t wait to share her discovery of her new neighbor’s library with the family. 

     With the cake holder in the house next door to Dorothy Arnold, conversations could be monitored. The “lovely family” had also obviously heard Sylvia Renner’s account of certain books she noticed in the Arnold library and her suspicions as to whether Dorothy Arnold’s son was working for the CIA.  (In fact, “Dorothy Arnold had two daughters, but no son. The “son” who helped her move in was another agent.)

     That afternoon, the daughter in the “lovely family” came over and told Dorothy Arnold that she wouldn’t be able to cut the grass anymore because she had lots of things to do.  This act was a signal to Dorothy Arnold that the “lovely family” was on to her. The “cake holder” was able to track enough information for the agency Dorothy Arnold worked for to know what was being planned. There was enough evidence to stop the “lovely family” in their tracks.

     The following Saturday morning, Dorothy Arnold had invited Sylvia Renner out for brunch  Miss Renner so rarely received invitations, she jumped at the chance. While they were out, intelligence agents and police raided the homes of the “very nice” couple and also the “lovely family.” They caught the couple red handed and confiscated not only the espionage equipment in their house, but also the equipment they had surreptitiously placed in Sylvia Renner’s house (along, of course, with the device Dorothy Arnold had placed there). The raid of the home of the “lovely family” was equally successful. All the parties were escorted from their homes. 

     Dorothy Arnold knew that the lady (the "prostitute") who lived on the other side of the “lovely family” always went to visit her son on Saturday mornings.  Miss Renner would be with her.The young man down the street always went to visit his girlfriend on weekends.  The block was essentially cordoned off.

     While “Dorothy Arnold” and Sylvia Renner were enjoying their brunch some miles away from their neighborhood, Mrs. Arnold surprised Miss Renner with the announcement that she would be moving. “My son found out just last week that he was being transferred.  As I moved here to be near them, I’m going to have to go.” 

     “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that, Dorothy,”  Sylvia Renner commented.  “I felt we were just getting to know each other. It was so nice having a nice lady closer to my own age in the neighborhood.  (In fact, Miss Renner and the “woman of ill repute” were only six years apart in age, while “Dorothy Arnold” was ten years older. ) 

     “I also found out that the “lovely family” nest door to me was leaving for a vacation before the start of school. They told me they were also anticipating a move.”

     ”Oh my,” Sylvia Renner moaned. “That leaves the drug dealer and the prostitute on the block. Well, at least that “very nice” couple to me are staying, for all the good that does.  I never see them. Tthey’re kind of standoffish. I think they might be foreign.” 

     “Well, Sylvia, I’m sure that some wonderful people will move in and that you will have great neighbors to discover.” 

     “I just hope they’re as nice and as genuine as you and that 'lovely family' next to you.  You don’t see the likes of all of you very often." 

     “On that, Sylvia, I totally agree.”

PORTRAIT OF DIANE GRAY?

PORTRAIT OF DIANE GRAY?

“Miss Gray,  I don’t understand why you want cosmetic surgery so that you can look like the photo you've shown me.  You’re a beautiful woman with no obvious blemishes.  In fact, I would say you are more attractive than the woman in this photo.”

“That depends, Dr. Wilson, on how you define beauty.  My mother died while giving me birth and I want to have aspects of her appearance.  Right now, I look nothing like her.”

“I could understand your wanting to have one or two of her features, Miss Gray, but what you are asking for is too much.  I won’t do it.”

“Money is no object, Dr. Wilson.”

“It’s not a matter of money.  It’s a matter of professional ethics.  And even if I were to perform the surgeries needed to transform you, there is no guarantee that you would end up looking exactly like this portrait.  Cosmetic surgery has its limits.”

“Dr. Wilson, I have done research on you.  I know what you have been able to do with others.  I even know someone who was in an automobile accident and was severely disfigured.  You were able to make her look exactly as she did before the accident.  And there are other examples as well.  I know the risks, and I know the possibilities.  I also know your skill and experience.”

“But Miss Gray, there are aspects of anatomy – bone structure – face shape. There are lots of things to consider.  You do bear some resemblance to the person in the photo in a general way but there would still need to be some reconstruction.”

“That’s fine.  Whatever it takes.  I really need to have this done.  I’m pleading with you.  Please do this.”

“I need an endorsement as to your mental health.”

“Here it is.  I knew you’d want to look over it.  I’m of sound mind.”

“There’s another thing.  This entire process needs to be done over time.  It will take at least a year.”

“I anticipated that.  I’m fine.  I do need to have the process begin as soon as possible.”

“I'll need to consult with my colleagues.  And there are many waivers you need to look over carefully, and I do mean carefully, and sign.”

“I’m happy to do so.”

And so, the date was set for Diana Gray to begin her transformation.  She contacted her father and told him she was taking a year-long assignment from work that would take her abroad.  She had contacted a close friend to stay with for a year while she had the surgery.

“Diana, I’m happy for you to stay with me, but are you sure you want to go through with this?  It doesn’t seem right.”

“It’s very right, Sarah.  I’ve been planning this for a long time.  I’ve saved my money and made lots of sacrifices to do this.”

“But why, Diana?  Can’t you tell me why?”

“I’ll tell you exactly why.  I’ve told you that my mother died while giving birth to me.  My dad never got over it.  He was completely beside himself.  He still is.  He blamed me for the death of this wife.  He’s always had a temper and let it out on me.  He remarried two times, and both marriages failed.  He also blamed those failures on me.”

“So, what does all of that have to do with your surgery?”

“My dad got rid of every picture he had of my mother.  Her parents were killed in an automobile accident and she had no siblings or close relatives.  I never saw a single picture of her.  Then, one day, I was in the attic looking for something and I stumbled across a portrait.  It was a portrait of my mother in her wedding dress.  I took a photo of it.  That was when I began thinking of what I might do.”

“So, are you doing this to get back at your father or are you trying to reclaim his affection?  I don’t understand.”

“It’s not about my father at all.  I want my mother, that’s all.  If I look like her, I’ll have her with me all the time.”

“That’s very strange.”

“It might seem that way to you, but it’s what I want to do.”

“And your doctor goes along with this?”

“He resisted, of course.  He gave me every reason he could, not to go along with this.”

“But he gave in.”

“I was persistent.”

Diana Gray spent a year undergoing five procedures.  She was very healthy and the procedures went  well. Even she was amazed at the transformation.  Her mother was thirty when she married her father.  Her name was Diane.  Diana began the procedures when she was twenty-eight.  She wanted to give herself a year and a half to recover completely.

Her friend Sarah was surprised by the changes.  She still couldn’t understand why Diana was putting herself through this, especially since she looked less and less attractive with each procedure.

Diana returned to work and surprised everyone with her new look.  Gone was the very attractive and personable Diana they knew.  Many of her colleagues kept their distance. There was something unsettling about Diana. Then, there was a call from on high that a number of employees would have to be let go.  Diana was one of them.  She had completely depleted her resources on her surgeries and on taking her unpaid leave for eighteen months. 

She left the company certain that she would land another job quickly.  It didn’t happen.  Her friend Sarah and others took her in for a while, but she knew those situations were only temporary.  Broke and desperate, she decided to go to her father.  Maybe her new look would kindle something in him.

One morning, she knocked on the door of her father’s house.  When he opened the door, he turned ashen as he saw his daughter standing before him.  He gasped in horror and slammed the door in her face.  She stood there for a while, tears running down her face.  As she turned away, the door opened once again.  Her father stared at her and invited her to come in.

“I’m sorry I reacted the way I did.  Who are you?”

“Dad, I’m your daughter, Diana.”

“That can’t be.  I haven’t seen my daughter in a while, but you look nothing like her.  You look like someone else. Someone from my past.”

“I look like my mother, don’t I.”

“No, you don’t.  What have you done to yourself?”

“I found a portrait in the attic of a woman in a wedding dress.  I had never seen any pictures of my mother and just assumed it was mother.  Why would it be in the attic?”

“That portrait was not of your mother.  It was of my sister.  Your mother looked exactly like you, or at least how you used to look.  My sister was never very pretty. She was also very troubled and found a way of attracting the wrong type of people. Her marriage was more or less a sham, and she and her husband died from taking drugs shortly after their wedding.  They were both drug users and drug dealers.  They were destined to wind up in prison.  Everyone in the family tried to put them out their minds and hearts, like some bad dream.  For some reason, I kept her wedding portrait. She was still my sister, after all.  I never looked at it.”

Diana started crying.  “What a total fool I’ve been.  I’ll never bother you again.  I’m so sorry.”

“Listen, Diana, what you did was not very smart.  It was quite stupid, in fact.  But, on the other hand, you really made something of yourself all on your own.  I’ve been very proud of you.  I shut you out of my life and was not a good father to you.  I’ll be the first to admit that.  I’ve been paying for it for years.  Now, I’m just a lonely old man.”

“Dad, I’m so sorry for what I’ve done.  I think I’d better go.”

“Not on your life.  This is your home, ...  if you want it to be.”

Diana and her father spent the day talking and really becoming acquainted for the first time. Her father eventually admitted that her new look was actually a good thing.  It was as if his sister was getting a new chance at life.  He had actually kept lots of pictures of his first wife, Diana’s mother, locked away. After a few weeks, he felt good enough about their relationship to bring them out.  He also told her many things about her mother he’d never expressed. 

Diana was able to find a job and restart her life.  She enjoyed looking at the pictures of her mother, which were now on display throughout the house. They were not posed pictures, but rather candid, everyday snapshots that captured many dimensions of her personality.  Diana discovered from them the many ways she resembled her mother, on the inside if not on the outside. 

THE SPECTRE OF ROSE

THE SPECTRE OF ROSE

Jack Howland was madly in love.  This fact might not in itself matter much except that the object of his affection, Rose Brighton, was so many things his own family wasn’t.  Rose was spontaneous, cheerful, slightly daffy, and full of energy.  Jack’s parents and sisters, on the other hand, were planners, on the dour side, extremely rational, and settled.

After dating for several months, Jack introduced Rose to his family.  Rose was always polite, pleasant, conversational, and very personable when she was with the Howlands. Though spontaneous and somewhat unpredictable, she always maintained a reliable filter on her words and never stuck her foot in her mouth. And yet, the Howlands maintained a coolness toward her.  Some of this was just their own reserve with others.  Some of it was because Jack was the Howland’s only son. They looked at Rose as a potential daughter-in-law and didn’t feel she quite fit in.  She didn’t.   

As for Rose’s family, the Brightons, they greeted Jack with open, welcoming arms, the way they greeted everyone.  No one was a stranger in their house.  Going to the Brightons' house as like getting a nice warm hug. (At the Howlands, one might be invited to play a rousing game of scrabble or monopoly for after dinner entertainment.)  Their only problem with Jack as that they felt he needed to loosen up a bit. He did.

Rose and Jack’s relationship reached the six-month mark.  One evening, he proposed. Not surprisingly, the Brighton's were ecstatic and the Howland's were diffident.  Jack’s mother did call on Rose’s mother to see if she might assist with wedding plans.  She would explain to Mrs. Brighton, “With the weddings of two daughters under my belt, I’m a veteran. But I don’t want to stick my nose in where it doesn’t belong.  It’s Rose and Jack’s wedding.”  Jack saw the minefield ahead, and so he and Rose eloped.

After a year of marriage, Jack and Rose were still as giddy as newlyweds. Both sets of parents began to wonder when there might be an addition to the family.  Jack and Rose wanted children, but to no avail. Rose was always cheerful and positive. She kept them from dwelling on what they apparently weren’t supposed to have. At times, however, a shade came over Rose.  This was something Jack had noticed right from the beginning of their relationship, but it was slight and happened only once in a while. As they proceeded with married life, the shade-- subtle changes in Rose’s personality-- became more frequent and stronger.  Rose would become quieter, more reflective, and a little distant. 

As they approached their five-year wedding anniversary, Jack’s mother asked him to come over.  “Jack, I don’t mean to sound cruel or meddling, but I know how much you love children and think it’s so sad that you and Rose don’t seem, how shall I say it, compatible in that area.”

“What are you saying mother?  Rose and I both want children, and it’s been hard on both of us not being able to have any.  The bottom line is, however, that I love Rose.  She’s all I really need.”

“I know you love her son.  She’s a nice girl. (Mrs. Howland always referred to Rose as a girl, as though she were an eternal adolescent.)  But, and this will sound harsh I know, there’s more to marriage than love. You’re our only son and the only one to carry on the Howland name.  Your two sisters took their husband’s names, and so their children are not Howlands.  I know this seems very shallow and not relevant to this day and time, but your father and I really wanted to see the Howland line continue.”

“Mother, you talk about this as if we were horses or something. You’re not thinking that I should divorce Rose and find another mate, are you?”

“Think about it, son.  And again, we like Rose and don’t want to see her hurt.  At the same time, she’s the type that bounces back.”

“I appreciate your advice, mother, but Rose and I are together for the long haul.”  Jack’s irritation with his mother was hard for him to hide.

The Brightons threw a fantastic party to celebrate the five-year anniversary of Rose and Jack. The Howlands' sent their regrets.  The day after the party, Jack and Rose laughed endlessly as they looked back on the party. Then, Rose got a bit serious.  Jack wondered if the shade was coming down. This was happening more often. It even happened at the party, but it didn’t stop them from having a good time.  “Jack, are you sorry we don’t have children?  You are, aren’t you.”

“I love children, Rose.  You know that. Children would have been nice, but I’m much happier knowing I have you.”

“I was just thinking, Jack. I love you, and I love our life together. And yet, if you really have your heart set on children, I don’t want to stand in your way.  You’re handsome, successful, and quite a catch.  You’d have no problem finding a woman to have a family with.”

“My mother’s been talking to you, hasn’t she. The words are coming out of your mouth, but they’re her words.”  Jack could feel his face flush and his pulse quicken.

“She wrote me about a month ago.  It was a beautifully phrased letter.”

“It would be.”

“I just don’t want you to stay in this relationship if there might be regrets later on, about not having children.”

“I can’t believe that my mother would do such a thing.”

“Jack, she means well.  Don’t judge her too harshly.”

“I know one thing, Rose. I love you so much. My love and affection for you grows every day. There's is no way I would ever dream of being without you.  When I go to work, I can’t wait to get home.  And I love my work.”

That night, as Rose and Jack lay in bed, Jack looked over at Rose and saw her beautiful face highlighted by the light of the moon that streamed through the window. She looked so peaceful, content, and blissful.  She also looked distant.  He had noticed that the shade, or spectre as he called it, had covered her all day and still seemed to keep her from him. It was almost as if this spectre was envious of Jack, and wanted Rose to itself.  It had been willing to share, but seemed less and less willing to do so.  Perhaps, Jack thought to himself, it was this spectre that somehow kept them childless.

Jack wanted the spectre to go.  He also knew he couldn’t think his way through this. The idea of a spectre overtaking his wife would have completely astonished his family. No reasonable person could possibly think that way.  He needed to be guided by intuition, and not by reason. 

The next morning, Jack said to Rose, “Babe, it’s such a beautiful day.  Why don’t we go to the beach the way we used to?  We can walk on the beach, jump in the surf, and just have a great time.”

Rose, who had seemed to be back to her cheerful self, suddenly became a little sullen.  “Jack, it is warm outside, but it’s only mid-March.  The water is going to be frigid, I’m sure.”

“Don’t you remember, babe, when we were first dating?  We’d go to the beach in March and didn’t care how cold the water was. We’d keep each other warm.”  Jack laughed and hugged Rose.

“I’d rather wait until May. The water will be much warmer then.”

“And the beach will be filled with people.  Now, we will likely have the entire beach to ourselves.”

“I just don’t feel like it, Jack.”  The shade was dropping.

“Are your refusing to go along with me on this?  You always go along with everything.”

“I guess this is one time I can’t.”

“This is important to me, Rose.  It’s not as much about going to the beach as it is doing something a little crazy, like we used to do.  We’ve become set in our ways.”

“Are you demanding that I go?  Can’t we do something else?”

“I’m not demanding.  Well, I guess I am.  I really want to go to the beach.”

“You’ve never made any demands on me, Jack. What’s going on?”

“I really don’t mean to sound like the despotic husband. Gosh, this is hard to say.  If you don’t go with me, our marriage is over.”

“What was that!?”

 “We’re at a crucial point here, Rose.  I can’t explain it.  I don’t understand it.  Please, go to the beach with me.  I’ll never ask you to do anything against your wishes again.  I promise.”

Rose was visibly shaking by this point. “Okay, we can go to the beach.”

They donned their swimsuits and robes, grabbed some towels, and drove to the beach.  Rose kept her arms folded tightly in front of her and pulled her shoulders forward.  The day was warm and beautiful.  Jack and Rose had the beach to themselves.  After they placed their robes and towels on the sand, Jack began to walk toward the ocean.  He hoped Rose would follow. He didn’t look back, feeling almost like Orpheus leading his beloved Eurydice up from Hades. Just as Orpheus was instructed not to look back on Eurydice, Jack’s intuition instructed him not to look back on Rose. He was simply to trust that she would follow him.  He entered the surf and got to about knee level when he heard the sound of someone falling. He closed his eyes, turned around, and ran back toward Rose. He stumbled over her. She had evidently fainted.  Jack took her into his arms and carried her into the surf.  The waves crashed around them and they were soon submerged.

The water revived Rose.  “You scamp!  You wicked, wicked scamp!” Rose laughed and playfully pushed Jack’s head under water.  They tussled and picked at each other before returning to their robes and towels to dry off.

That November, at Thanksgiving, Rose and Jack greeted the arrival of their first child, a girl they named Hope Brighton-Howland.  A little more than a year and a half later, they greeted a son, Julian.                                

COMMANDMENT FIVE

COMMANDMENT FIVE

     Marjory and Dennis Wilson, sister and brother, stood in front of the Karon city morgue.  They’d traveled over two hundred miles from their home in Watkinsville hoping the person they had been contacted to identify was their father, Charles. They climbed the steps to the morgue slowly and sadly. They’d made the same type of trip three times before over the past several years after being contacted by authorities. Each time, the person they viewed was not their father.

     They were greeted by the city coroner and taken to a viewing room where the body of a 60-something-year-old male lay for their identification. This time, they both immediately recognized their father. He'd been out of their lives for twelve years, but his  features hadn’t changed. Dennis comforted his sister and they went to the coroner’s office to discuss the release of the body of Charles Wilson. 

     “Ms. Wilson.  Mr. Wilson,” the coroner began his comments, “This is what we know about your father. He came to Karon about six years ago as far as we can tell. He worked as a stocker and custodian at Jannings’ Department Store. Mr. Jannings, the owner, found Mr. Wilson’s body in a room Mr. Jannings let him use as a kind of perk to supplement his small income. There is something you need to know.  Mr. Jannings knows Mr. Wilson as Charles, or Charlie, Whitmire.  I suspected that that name was not Mr. Wilson’s original name as I’d seen photos of your father at various times. We regularly receive a list of missing persons to assist the identification of persons who have no known family in the area. There is often a photo included. I recognized your father and contacted the city missing person’s bureau.  They did some research and contacted you. I’m so sorry for your loss and want you to know that at least I’m happy to know that he has a family to claim him.  There are so many who don’t. You’d be surprised.”

     Thank you for the information,” Dennis Wilson responded. “Although we’re obviously distraught at finding that our father is dead, we're glad we've finally found him. Our mother refused to have him listed as missing and it was only after her death that we made any sort of report. We’ve received calls at least eight times,and on three other occasions actually visited morgues such as this. I’m sure there is paperwork to fill out.”

     “Oh yes,” the coroner replied. “It’s going to take a little while, perhaps two hours or so, to get everything in order for your review.  If you like, you might want to go over to Jannings’ Department Store. Mr. Jannings is a  nice gentleman and I can’t tell you how overwrought he has been over this. He’d be greatly relieved to meet you. I've not told him your father’s real name. He knows your father as Charlie Whitmire. It’s totally up to you if you want to reveal his original name.”

     We’ll have to think about that.  I, for one, want to know a bit more about what happened to my father,” Marjory Wilson commented. “Dennis, let’s head over there now.”

     The Wilson siblings entered Jannings’ Department Store. It was like something from another era. The lighting, displays, flooring, really everything harked back to the mid-twentieth century.  “Can we speak to Mr. Jannings?” Dennis Wilson asked a clerk.

     The clerk led the Marjory and Dennis to an office where they met Hal Jannings. They identified themselves as Marjory and Dennis, daughter and son of Charles Whitmire.”

     “It’s so nice to meet you both. Please accept my deepest sympathy. Your father Charlie was quite a guy.  He was so smart and hard working; I couldn’t ever figure out why he seemed happy doing the basic labor he did around here. But, I never asked any questions.  He was honest, friendly, and a great worker. That was all that mattered.”

     Marjory and Dennis didn’t want to say much about their father. They actually wanted to know more themselves. “Mr. Jannings,” Marjory said, “We understand our father had a room here in the store where he lived.”

     “He sure did. It’s just a small room with a bathroom. He always ate out. He lived very simply. He loved reading. Shall I take you to the room?  I’ve tried not to disturb anything.  He was so neat and organized, it won’t take you long to look over things and take what you care to.  Please allow me to assist you in any way I can. I just loved Charlie. Just six days ago, I got concerned about him when he wasn’t on the floor when I arrived in the morning. He was always up and at’em early. I went to his room. At first, I thought he might be sleeping, but then I checked and found that he had died during the night.  He looked so peaceful. Of course, I called 911 and they took care of things from there.”

     Hal Jannings led Marjory and Dennis to their father’s room. It was, indeed, neat and organized, as Mr. Jannings had said. But although it was sparsely furnished, it didn’t look cold or austere. There were some plants on a window sill.  Marjory and Dennis both  remembered that their father was a plant lover. He was always working outside in the yard of their small home in Watkinsville. He truly had a green thumb.

    As they looked over things they discovered a box that seemed to contain various records. They also discovered an envelope. On it they found the salutation:  “For Marjory and Dennis.”  Of course, they lost no time opening it. They sat on the bed and read the letter together:

My dearest children, Marjory and Dennis –

     If you are reading this letter, I have probably passed on and you are trying to make sense of what happened to me. I can’t tell you everything. I know that your mother, my beautiful wonderful wife, passed away three years ago. I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive what I did to you all. Perhaps when you have read this, you’ll be able to.That would take far too long and much is of little importance. Here are what I think are the essentials:

     Words can't express how much I have missed you all. It’s been torture for me, a torture relieved only slightly by the knowledge that when I left, it was for the best reasons. Let me explain.

     When I was a teenager, I fell in with a rough older bunch. My mom was divorced and I had no contact with my father. Mom did her best to raise me to know right from wrong.  Unfortunately, when I fell in with this bunch, doing wrong was more common than doing right. We broke into places to get stuff and money, or just for the heck of it. The leader of the bunch was a really smart guy, or so I thought at the time. He treated me like his little brother. 

     One afternoon, we broke into a house we thought was unoccupied at the time. It wasn’t.  The family that lived there was all upstairs. The father of the house came down when we made a noise.  He was carrying something. Nick, our leader, thought it was a gun. He got nervous and shot the man. We ran for our lives, but we were quickly caught. I opted to plead guilty to the crime of felony manslaughter and waived trial. I didn’t want to put my mom through a trial, and I didn’t want to put the family I had helped destroy through one, either.  When I was sentenced to forty years in prison, I was shocked, but I could only think of my mom and the family who had lost their husband and father.

     In prison I kept my nose clean and remember what my mom had said about do right even if it isn't easy, especially when if isn't easy. I was a model prisoner. After about five years and a spotless record, I was made a trustee.  That meant that I could go outside the prison grounds on work details. One day, we were working in a warehouse. The guards were very lax and spent most of their time playing cards. There was an exit door that was out of the sight of the guards. One of the workers motioned for me to join him in an escape.  It seemed easy.  Forgetting my mom's words, I chose easy over right and I joined him. 

     We got away. I couldn’t believe it. We parted ways and I kept myself low to the ground for what seemed to be over a week. I just ran and ran.  I lived an underground life for over five years. I grew a beard, which I always kept neat and trimmed.  I changed my hair style and found some glasses. Somehow I blended in and stayed off the radar, although I knew the police had to be searching for me. I remember reading where the guy I escaped with had been found and sent back to prison.

     After five years of running, I was tired and I was miserable. My easy choice turned out to be neither easy or good. I was ready to turn myself in. Then, I saw a help wanted sign at the entrance to this farm. I figured that the worst that could happen would be for the farmer to contact authorities and have me turned in. I truly wouldn’t have minded that one bit.

     Oh, let me back up. All during this time, including my prison time, I never forgot my mom and I especially never forgot the Phillips family. I made a little spending money and sent every penny to either my mom or the family. Of course, my mail was always checked, but I found out a way to get the money out. My mom helped me. When I was on the run, I’d do lots of day-labor work and would send what money I could spare to mom and the family was well. I never forgot my debt to them.

     Okay, so I saw this “Help Wanted” sign and went to the farmhouse. The gentleman who answered the door was very kindly looking. He invited me in and his wife fixed me some coffee and cake. It seemed to me that I was more of a friend to them than a down-on-his-luck vagrant looking for work. I referred to myself as Charles Wilson.  

     We talked about the job and I couldn’t wait to start working.  You know how much I always enjoyed gardening and working outside. This job had my name on it.  Anyway, the farmer offered me the job and even a place to stay. He and his wife even insisted  I eat with them. They were on the farm by themselves and said they needed a little help, now that they were getting older.  tell you, Marjory and Dennis – oh how I love your names!—they were both in their eighties and worked like they were in their twenties. They were an inspiration. I did start to tell the farmer a little about myself and he shushed me up immediately. He said, “Your past is your past, son. Keep it there. Jesus said, ‘In as much as ye have done it to the least of these, ye have done it unto me.’ God has been really good to me. He’s not going to fail me now.”

     I worked on that farm for five years.They were wonderful years.Of course, I still felt tortured by my past, but that farmer and his wife did a lot to help me heal. Then, as I guess so often happens to couples who’ve had a long and happy life together, they both passed away within days of each other. Their relatives were anxious to sell the farm. They were good people, too, but not as good as the farmer and his wife. That couple actually left me a good bit of money, under the table so to speak. I gave most of it to the Phillips family.  My mom had passed during this time and I was so grieved that I couldn’t go to her funeral. That would have meant turning myself in. What was the easy thing to do had become a very hard thing to do. I rationalized that I was doing more for the family whose lives I had ruined outside prison than rotting away in prison.

     Following the deaths of the farmer and his wife, Mr. and Mrs. Gandy by the way – Josiah and Beulah – I found myself on the road again. So much time had elapsed, over ten years since my break from prison, I somehow felt less anxious. I looked pretty good for a man who’d been through what I’ had.  

     I found a job and decided to get back on the legal side of life as Charles Wilson. While working, I still kept a low profile. I got my GED  and even took some courses at a community college. Eventually, I found myself with a degree in agronomy and went to work for a large nursery.  It was there that I spotted your mother. She was the sweetest, most likable person I’d ever met.  We’d  have lunch together every day. Finally, she asked me if I’d like to go to a play with her.  I’d never been to a play in my life, so I said yes.  It was, of all things, a play about a fugitive from justice!  The thought occurred to me that she might somehow know more about me than I thought she did.  Women, smart women like you mother, don’t just take a guy at face value. We began dating. 

     One night, we were talking on her front porch. I was tired of keeping my past from her.  When I began to speak about my past, she put her finger up to my lips.  “Charles Wilson, I’ve known you for two years now. I noticed you the first day you began working at Cleland’s. I knew you were the man for me. That was all I needed to know then, and I need to know now.” 

     We got married. For a while, we lived in the house her folks had bought for her. Neither she nor her family didn’t seem to mind, but I wanted to get my bride a house. I also stayed off the radar as much as possible, so I didn’t have a bank account, a credit card, or anything like that. I paid my taxes and that was it. I still wanted to buy this house all on my own. I found a little house. It was not nearly as nice as the house we were living in, but I could afford it.  I had kept some of the money and farmer and his wife had left me, and now I knew why. Keep in mind that I still kept sending money to the Phillips family. 

     We enjoyed that little house, and when you two came into our lives, I added onto it myself. We had over ten years of wonderful living in that house. I hope you two felt that way.

     One day a letter as handed over to me at work. I opened it. All it said was, “I know who you are. I know where you work. I know where you live.” I knew what that note meant.  Someone knew about my past. I immediately called your mother. She now worked for another firm. I simply asked her how she was, and she said that she was fine. I didn’t let on about the letter. That night, everything seemed fine at home. The next day, I got another letter at work. It said about the same thing the first one had said. I knew it was only a matter of time before more would happen. I might be blackmailed; my past might be revealed. The police might even show up one day. I couldn’t deal with it. Everything we owned was in your mother’s name. Although I didn’t have a personal bank account, I did manage to save some money over the years from doing odd jobs for people. And I was still sending money to the Phillips family. 

      Not wanting your mother or either of you to be dragged into any of this and to have to suffer because of my past, I decided to leave. It was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do. I wrote your mother a note and asked her not to report anything. I had submitted my resignation from work. From all appearances, I had walked out on my family.  I wished I’d never made that prison escape. I might have even been released by now had I stayed.  But, I did what I did.

     I returned to my underground life. Believe me, it was harder at fifty-something than at twenty-something. Eventually, I found myself in Karon. I went into Jannings’ Department Store. Out of the blue, Mr. Jannings came up to me and asked me if I needed a job. How could he have possibly known?  I tried to keep myself presentable. I guess I just looked lost. I was lost. He knew me as Charles Whitmire. Oh, what a tangled web!

     He gave me a room to live in and I worked harder than I ever had in my life. 

     They had just about finished reading the letter when Mr. Jannings came in.  “I don’t mean to intrude, but I just wanted to know if I could help you in any way.”

     “Thanks, Mr. Jannings,” Marjory replied. “I think we’ll get some boxes and pack things up. There’s really not much here.”

     “I’ve got some boxes you can use.”

     “Oh, Mr. Jannings,” Marjory added.

     “Yes?”

     “There’s something we need to tell you.”  Dennis was both curious and concerned about what his sister felt she needed to say about their father.

     “Mr. Jannings. Our last name is ‘Wilson,’ not ‘Whitmire.’  I thought you might be curious about that.”

     “I know,” Mr. Jannings replied.

     “You know?” Dennis reacted in disbelief.

     “Then,” Dennis said, “You know that our father’s real name was Charles Wilson, and not Whitmire.”

     “In reality, his name was Marcus Davenport. Yes, I’ve always known. Let me explain.  Many years ago, my father-in-law was killed in a break-in at my wife’s childhood home. The felons were caught. All went to trial, except one. It seemed that he just wanted to own up to his crime and do his time. My wife and her family also heard that he didn’t want to put either his mother or my wife’s family through the anguish of a trial. My wife told me all about this when we were dating. She also commented that someone almost immediately began sending money to her mother. Sometimes, it was just a dollar or two, sometimes more, but the money came on a regular basis.

     As you might imagine, her mother was completely grief-stricken over the death of her husband and was also quite angry for a long time at those who had broken in. However, over time, when she realized how sincere at least one of the young men was, she softened. Nevertheless, she never spent any of the money. She gave it to charity. She did keep an account, though She told my wife and her brother that she was pretty sure she knew who was sending the money, the young man who had waived trial. 

     Then, her family learned that this man had escaped from prison. My wife’s mother’s anger returned with a vengeance. Her brother, who was only about five at the time of the break in, was even angrier. He vowed to track Marcus Davenport down. And yet, the money kept coming. The amount even grew over the years. My wife’s brother noticed the postmarks and tried to track Mr. Davenport down using them, but was unsuccessful. 

     Once again, my wife’s mother, by this time by mother-in-law, mellowed once again. She even began feeling affection for Mr.  Davenport. My brother-in-law couldn’t understand this, and felt that his mother was sullying the memory of her husband. His desire for vengeance grew even more fierce. Both my mother-in-law and my wife tried to calm him down and even demanded that he get over it. He refused.

     When my mother-in-law passed, my brother-in-law was convinced that Mr. Davenport had sent her to an early grave. This was despite the fact that my mother-in-law was in her eighties when she passed away and that she had written an absolutely beautiful note to Mr. Davenport. In the note, she thanked your father for his steadfastness and his sacrifices.  She also commented that she knew Mr. Davenport's mother had every reason to be proud of the son she had raised, even though he made  some huge mistakes early in life. I’m telling you, this note was almost biblical in its phrasing. 

     One day, my wife and I were eating dinner when her brother stormed in. He had finally determined that Marcus Davenport had changed his name to Charles Wilson and also discovered where Charles Wilson lived. He had even seen him to verify that it was the person who had killed his father. He also knew that your father had married and had children. Of course, we all knew that Marcus Davenport had not pulled the trigger that killed Mr. Phillips and that he was a seventeen-year-old boy. 

     My brother-in-law disgusted us when he told us of his plan to make your father squirm for a while. At the very least, he figured, your father would turn himself into the authorities and be returned to prison where he belonged. His wife and children would suffer the same pain that his family, at least in his mind, had suffered. My wife was beside herself. She told her brother that if he did not stop the harassment, she would have nothing further to do with him. We were both outraged and demanded that he seek counseling. He was destroying himself and the whole family with his vitriol.

     He grudgingly met with our rabbi.  After only one session, my brother-in-law’s attitude changed completely. He let go of a life of resentment and anger that had eaten him up. We asked the rabbi what he had said that could possibly have turned this man around so quickly.He simply asked him if he believed in the Ten Commandments and tried to follow them.  My brother-in-law, though a secular Jew, said he basically did. He considered them to be good practices to follow.  The rabbi then told him to ‘honor his father and his mother.’  Apparently, my brother-in-law then realized that Mr. Davenport, or Wilson, a convicted felon and accomplice to a murder, had not only tried throughout his life, to honor his own mother, he also wanted to honor the wife and mother of the family whose lives were damaged by his thoughtlessness. He became ashamed at how his anger and desire for revenge had so dishonored the very people whose lives were the most affected by Mr. Davenport. He looked at the account book his mother had kept and discovered that Mr.  Davenport had sent money to his mother over two hundred times and that the amount he had sent over the years amounted to over ten thousand dollars. It was not the dollar amount that impressed him; it was Mr. Davenport's steadfastness.  

     When your father walked in my store, I recognized him immediately. My brother-in-law had taken pictures of your father when he lived in Watkinsville. I was a bit stunned to see him, but also in an odd way, relieved. I don’t think he ever knew  I was the son-in-law of the man he had helped kill. Surprisingly, my brother-in-law would come into the store from time to time. I introduced him to Charlie, but only used the first name. My brother-in-law never said anymore and merely treated your father, now going by the name of Charles Whitmire,with the greatest respect and affection. It was as if he were atoning for things he had felt toward the man in the past. But it was true atonement in that my brother-in-law saw this not as an obligation, but as a wonderful opportunity to finally honor his father and mother.”

     Mr. Jannings then retrieved some boxes and helped Marjory and Dennis pack up their father’s belongings. As they were packing, a card slipped from one of the books as the placed it in a box. Mr. Jannings retrieved the card and gave it to Marjory. She looked at it, and then asked Mr. Jannings if he would read the inscription on the inside. The card was given to Charles Wilson from Josiah and Beulah Gandy, the elderly farm couple who had taken him in. Hal Jannings smiled as he read the note: 

     Oh Charles, what a blessing you have been to us!  If we had been blessed with a son, we could only hope that he would be like you. 

     “You know, I feel sure that’s what upset my brother-in-law the most. His mother grew to love and respect Charlie more and more over the years while her sadness at her own son's choices fueled his anger. Happily, my brother-in-law finally got it.”

     “Thank you for all that you’ve done for us, Mr. Jannings,”  Dennis commented.

     ”Hal, please,” Mr. Jannings replied.

     “Dennis,” Marjory Wilson then said, “Let’s take our father home.”