by Nick Poff
P.S. Received a charming note from Professor Forrest today. He wrote he was flattered by my request, and would love to travel to Porterfield to share his interest in Dickens with my students. “It’s always a pleasure for me to have a new audience to bore,” he wrote. I hope my class enjoys his visit. I know I will.
Sunday, December 18, 1960
Evie is home. She has not set foot in this place since my high school graduation. Joe Fountain all but held her captive during their torturous marriage.
Well, this isn’t a time for dwelling on the painful past, but for making new memories. The Penfields, bless their big hearts, invited us both for dinner last night. “You shouldn’t have to worry about cooking on such a momentous occasion,” Hilda had told me at school on Friday. The Penfield housekeeper, Effie Maude, is a marvelous cook, very much in the custom of Mother. Evie and I enjoyed the evening very much. It was good to see Evie interact with her old sweet personality and dry wit.
As much as I want to think of Evie as “cured”, Dr. Langer warned me she might regress on occasion. “I’ve no doubt Evie will experience her fair share of depressive periods,” he warned me. “However, I feel she can now cope with them on her own. Don’t panic, but also don’t hesitate to get in touch if you feel she needs assistance.”
I will, of course. I just hope I do not have to. Evie has been through enough.
Wednesday, December 21, 1960
Christmas break at last! Evie and I celebrated by decorating the tree delivered by the brother of the Penfield’s housekeeper. Considering how late in the month it is, he brought us a beauty; it’s a lovely, symmetrical tree, and is providing the bright and festive flair I anticipated.
I put aside Mother’s album of holiday music in exchange for the Johnny Mathis Christmas album. I was sure Evie would enjoy it, and she did, admitting to a “teeny” crush on Mr. Mathis. That’s understandable. He’s a cutie!
“Did you have a thing for Johnny Mathis?” Rick asked. “I didn’t.”
“No,” Ed said, grinning. “I think we’re too young for Johnny Mathis. The first time I remember paying too much attention to a male singer was when I saw Lou Christie on American Bandstand.”
“Yeah,” Rick sighed. “He had something I wanted to know more about. I definitely wanted to be in the car with him when lightning struck. Oh, well. Back to Christmas 1960.”
They read through several mundane entries regarding Christmas activities and reports on Evie’s general mood. One line in particular caught their attention: Evie’s been something of a chatterbox since her return. I assume it’s a relief for her to express herself freely since Joe Fountain communicated more with his fists than words.
“Poor Evie,” Ed sighed. “Sounds like your typical battered wife. Mrs. McCracken was right about that.”
“Yeah,” Rick agreed. “Didn’t you also say Mrs. McCracken said she thought Evie was kind of high strung? That would have made the whole thing even more toxic.” His expression hardened. “And of course wives were basically told to suck it up back then. No wonder she had a breakdown.”
And she’s going to have another one, apparently permanent,” Ed grimly added. “We know she’s going to go crazy again. We know Daniel is going to die. Geez, this is worse than reading Anne Frank’s diary.”
“True. You know what, though? Now that we know Evie was home, and probably still there whenever Daniel died, I’m betting his death had something to do with her next breakdown.”
Rick adjusted his glasses and glanced at the next page in the book. “Well, here’s something interesting.”
Saturday, December 24, 1960
I received a very bittersweet Christmas gift today, a visit from Ernie. This is the first time he has been close enough to touch since September. He shuffled a bit and looked very sheepish. He said he could not let Christmas go by without seeing me, and giving me a present. He insisted I open the gift-wrapped package right away. Much to my surprise it was Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird, a book I’ve wanted to read for months. I had to concentrate very hard to hold back the tears. The gift was so thoughtful considering how things stand between us, and it shows me that Ernie knows me well. He could not have selected anything better.
He told me he is still dating that girl I saw him with at The Strand. Her name is Joyce Scott, and as I assumed, her parents are Birchers. He said he and Joyce had become close through their mutual contempt for their parents’ political activities. He didn’t volunteer any further information, and I did not dare ask just how “close” they are, or may be. I don’t really want to know, nor did I want to spoil his brief visit discussing it.
Evie and Ernie were pleased to see each other again. Evie had been impressed with Ernie the few times they had met when I was in high school, and Ernie always said he wished he had a sister like Evie as he was afraid his own sisters would turn out like their mother, only more so. Evie thoughtfully left us alone to talk; I wonder if she knows or suspects the depth of my feelings for Ernie.
I felt guilty that I had no gift for Ernie, but he told me not to worry about it as his visit was unexpected. However, he said, buying a book for me reminded him of my offer last summer to loan him my copy of Gore Vidal’s The City and the Pillar. Would I be willing to loan it to him now? Oh, how I love the idea of that book being in the same house as Gladys Jacks! I immediately pulled the paperback from the bookcase and handed it to him with a kiss. “I’m not loaning it,” I whispered. “I’m giving it. Merry Christmas.”
Ernie seemed a bit taken aback by my demonstration of affection, but he recovered quickly and gave me the best Christmas kiss any queer man could ask for. He left shortly thereafter, a melancholy smile on his face.
Joyce Scott may have his company, but I have his heart. That gives me some solace on this Christmas Eve.
“Wow,” Ed breathed. “I was sure we’d heard the last of Ernie.”
“Yeah, me, too,” Rick said with a smile. “You know what? I think Ernie is the mysterious benefactor. I always thought he could be, but now that I know he had some connection to Evie I’m almost sure of it.”
“Yeah,” Ed said thoughtfully. “Now that I know Ernie is still…I don’t know…kinda looking out for Daniel it makes sense that he would look after Evie. And God knows that mother of his would be enough to make him change his name to do it.”
“Well, let’s see if something happens to give us definitive proof.” Rick turned the page and skimmed through the entries for the remaining days of December, and then read aloud Daniel’s New Year’s Day thoughts.
Monday, January 1, 1961 (12:20 A.M.)
Happy New Year! Evie and I watched the ball fall in Times Square and toasted in 1961 with Porter Diamond soda. She had her favorite grape and I stuck with my beloved lemon.
“Bottle caps!” Ed exclaimed. He pulled open his bedside drawer and gathered the ones he’d found in the fireplace and laid them on the bed between them.
Rick glanced at them, puzzled. “Well, that explains the five lemons and the one grape,” he said. “What’s with the cherry ones? And why did he keep them?”
“We used to collect Diamond bottle caps when I was a kid,” Ed told him. “But Daniel seems a little old for that hobby.” He shrugged. “Maybe the cherry ones were Ernie’s.”
“Yeah, that’s probably it,” Rick said as he returned to the notebook.
I’m tired from the late night and want to go to sleep, but I just had to note how happy I am tonight. Considering the tragedies the Denison siblings have had – Mom and Dad dying in that awful car wreck, Evie’s breakdown, and my hopeless love for Ernie – I feel confident tonight that 1961 will be a better year. I have my teaching. Evie is better and considering looking for work. We have our lovely home here on Cooley Street, where the late night trains have been lulling us to sleep since we were children.
Blessings being officially counted, I resolve to put the past behind me and make the best of the New Year.
Rick turned the page and frowned. �
�That’s it?” He gasped.
Ed rolled over and looked. The next pages were blank, and it appeared someone had torn the rest of them out at some point, as there were a few yellowed tatters clinging to the notebook’s spiral binding.
“Aw, crud!” Ed said in disgust. He slammed his hand on the bed in frustration. “I thought that book seemed thinner than the rest.”
“What the hell happened?” Rick flipped through the notebook in frustration, searching for any possible clue. “Okay, I hate to say it, but did he have an accident and die right after January first? And why are the pages torn out? Did he destroy them? Did Evie? Augh!” He slammed the book on the bed.
Ed picked up the notebook and studied the words Daniel had written on the cover. DANIEL DENISON BOOK 4, 1960. “Hey, do you suppose he started a new book for 1961? And maybe the missing pages are missing just because he needed something to write on for some other project, maybe his lesson plans.”
“Could be,” Rick said thoughtfully. “But what happened to it? And for that matter, what happened to Book 1?”
Ed pulled the remaining items he had found in the fireplace out of the drawer and tossed them down with the bottle caps: two additional spiral notebooks and a ring of keys. The money, of course, he’d given to Doug.
“So close and yet so far,” he moaned. “Now what?”
Well,” Rick said without enthusiasm, “I guess we can go back to the microfiche in the library. We can scan through 1961 and see if we can find an obituary.”
Ed picked up Book 4 and riffled the pages. “Wait a minute!” He exclaimed. He jumped off the bed and disappeared out the door. He was back in less than a minute with a Zephyr under his arm.
Rick groaned. “Another yearbook? What are you up to?”
“He said Mrs. Penfield had just given up advising for the yearbook, right? That means 1960 would have been her last year. And sure enough, 1960 is the last book in the study.”
“So?”
“So,” Ed said excitedly, flipping the pages of the 1960 Zephyr, Daniel’s sophomores would have been freshmen the year before, and their pictures will be in this book! Maybe we’ll find one who had Daniel for sophomore English, and is someone we know, and we can ask them what happened to Daniel!”
“Brilliant, baby.” Rick eagerly watched as Ed found the freshman class portraits. He ran a finger along the names, row after row of solemn black and white mugshots in the usual alphabetical order. Ed was afraid his idea would be a bust when his finger brushed over PATRICIA WHITMAN. He grinned at Rick.
“I’ll be damned!” Rick laughed. “Right under our noses! She better not call in sick tomorrow morning.”
Patricia Whitman’s married name was Kercheval.
###
The next morning Ed was sitting at the kitchen table with Rex going over their work list for the Cooley Street house when the phone rang. Ed twisted in his seat and grabbed it. “Hello?”
“Hey, baby.” It was Rick, sounding rather grim. “Well, Patty showed up for work today, and I now know when and how Daniel died.”
“Okay. Lay it on me.”
“He died in early February.”
“And?”
“And he was hit by a train.”
###
“Well, if isn’t the other Hardy boy,” Patty Whitman Kercheval commented as Ed entered the Cummings Realty office.
Ed, despite being rather shaken by Rick’s phone call, managed a grin. “Does that make you Iola Morton?”
Patty shrugged. “Well, I always thought of myself as Nancy Drew, but I’ll take it.” She gestured to the hall. “You’ll find Frank in his office, Joe.”
Ed walked into Rick’s office. Rick was at his desk studying the copy he had just made at the library. Wordlessly, he handed it to Ed. It was the front page of the Courier from Friday, February 10, 1961.
HIGH SCHOOL TEACHER DIES IN TRAIN TRAGEDY
Porterfield High School lost one of its newest teachers last evening in a tragic accident on the Pennsylvania Railroad tracks in northwest Porterfield.
Daniel Denison, 22, of Porterfield, was apparently struck by a westbound freight train shortly before midnight. Porterfield Police Chief Lou Baxter and representatives for PRR believe Denison was attempting to move out of the way of the oncoming train when he lost his balance in the heavy snow lining the tracks. The accident occurred near the Cooley Street dead end by the PRR tracks. Denison resided in one of adjacent houses.
Stratton County coroner Henry Stillhagen, on the scene with the local police, ruled Denison’s death an accident.
Denison is survived by his sister, Mrs. Joe (Eve) Fountain of Porterfield. Funeral arrangements have yet to be made.
Next to the brief article was a large, grainy black and white photo of a stopped train surrounded by men in uniform. Ed felt tears come to his eyes. “Oh, that’s horrible,” he whispered.
“I know you were only eight when it happened,” Rick said quietly. “Do you remember anything about someone dying on the tracks?”
Ed shook his head. “Not specifically. I remember train accidents, but I don’t remember this one.”
“Poor Daniel,” Rick whispered. He reached across the desk for Ed’s hand. They stared at each other in mute sympathy.
Rick abruptly let go of Ed’s hand and slammed back into his desk chair. “What the fuck was Daniel doing on those tracks? Especially in deep snow? Something about this stinks. We have no reason to believe one of his habits was late night walks along the tracks.”
“So I take it Patty told you about this?”
“Yeah. You may not remember it, but she does. Apparently the whole school was in shock, and classes were cancelled the day of his funeral. Mrs. P. was right about his popularity. Patty wasn’t in his class, but her friends that were absolutely loved him. They even dedicated the ’61 yearbook to him.”
“I wonder if Mrs. Penfield knew he was gay,” Ed said, fiddling with a pen on Rick’s desk.
“Why?”
“Well, I think if she had known she would have told us about this. Can you imagine how devastated she must have been when he died?”
Rick nodded. “You’re right. She told us all about her uncle and his lover. If she had known about Daniel I’m sure she would have said something.” His gaze drifted to the window behind his desk. “Now what?”
Ed stared into space, thinking. Abruptly he stood up and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“We are going to walk over to Woolworths and see if Miss Reddin is around. Maybe we can get her to talk if Godzilla Corcoran isn’t nearby.”
###
Woolworths was in its mid-morning lull when Ed and Rick located Miss Reddin behind the candy counter checking the stock. She beamed when Ed and Rick approached. “Ed!” She exclaimed. “Do you need something sweet today?”
Ed looked at the mouth-watering chocolate confections on display. “Well, now that you mention it…”
“Ed,” Rick said in exasperation.
Ed sneered at him. “Killjoy.” He turned to Miss Reddin. “Actually, we were wondering if you would be willing to talk to us about something.”
“What do you need to know?” Miss Reddin looked interested.
Rick gingerly stepped closer to the counter. “Miss Reddin, we’re wondering if you would be willing to tell us what you know about Daniel and Evie Denison.”
Miss Reddin’s smile disappeared. She looked at them intently for several moments, her homely face creased with apprehension. “Well,” she finally said, “seeing as how you bought their house I guess you have a right to know.” She glanced toward the front of the store. “Meet me outside the back entrance in five minutes.”
Taking her at her word, Ed and Rick walked through the store, past the sewing notions, the goldfish tank, through the toy section, and out the double doors that led to the alley behind the store. The day was hot and sticky, and Ed could feel sweat coming on as he stood in the August sunlight. Rick kept checking his watch.
“Do you think she told us to meet her here just to get rid of us?”
Miss Reddin suddenly appeared at the back door. “I’m sorry, boys,” she said. “I had to get someone to cover for me. Not that we’re likely to have all that much business, but you know how bosses are.”
“I do, Miss Reddin,” Ed said. “That’s why I am my own boss.”
Miss Reddin screwed up her face in pleasure. “Oh, Ed,” she said. “We’ve known each other so long I think it’s past time you call me Blanche.” She nodded at Rick. “You, too. If I’m going to tell you this story we might as well be friends.”
“Thank you, Blanche,” Rick said, bowing courteously.
She looked from Ed to Rick as her smile disappeared. “Just what is it you want to know?”
Rick nodded to Ed to be their spokesman. “Do you know anything about Daniel’s accident on the tracks, and what happened to Evie?”
Blanche shook her head. “Oh, that was so awful,” she whispered. “No one could rightly figure out why Daniel was out on those tracks after dark on such a cold night. It had snowed that day, too, and we probably had at least five or six inches on the ground.
“You know, I’ve always lived in that house Louella and I share. She didn’t move in until ’65, so I was alone there when Daniel died. This was after both my parents were gone. I remember being woke up by the sirens. I finally got up and threw my winter coat on over my nightgown to see what was going on. Most of the neighbors were outside by then. Someone said there had been a train wreck, and then someone else said no, someone had died. Right about then I heard the most awful screams I’ve ever heard in my life.” She shuddered. “I heard those screams in my head for months after. It was Evie. She had gone to the tracks to see what all the commotion was and she saw Daniel. I guess…” Blanche gulped, “I guess he had fallen under the engine, and…”
