A Merric's Tale

by Margs Murray

  Contents

  A Merric’s Tale

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  A Merric’s Tale

  Margs Murray

  Copyright © 2020 Margs Murray

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 979-8-61-152090-1

  For Toni the Baloney Bender and the real Helena.

  I love and miss you both.

  Chapter 1

  Hoofbeats and Zebras

  “Forget the exotic explanations, Waverly. What did Dr. Seabury tell you? When you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras! When you see something with an obvious answer, that is usually correct. Grandma’s medical diagnosis is the most obvious, even if it is hardest to accept. This is true for most things in life. Stop being so stubborn.” Dad’s eyes zeroed in on me over his steaming cup of coffee.

  I was not a stubborn person. Passionate, yes. Caring, yes. Stubborn? Never, but I couldn’t let this go. “No, that can’t be true. If the whole world were horses, then there would only be a handful of diseases. Dr. Seabury is wrong!” My voice raised, and a stray curl flopped into my field of vision. I tucked it behind my ear and continued. “I mean, someone must be the zebra. The whole premise must be wrong; otherwise, other diseases wouldn’t exist. For instance, there wouldn’t be Alien Hand Syndrome. There wouldn’t be Kuru.”

  Dad smiled and leaned forward in the booth. “You get Kuru by eating human brains. Really? Bolstering your argument by citing cannibalism?”

  An elderly couple at the next table glanced up from their breakfast.

  “Not the point,” I said, lifting my feet from the sticky linoleum floor, and I leaned back in my seat. “Nearly impossible things happen every day; otherwise, no one would die of shark attacks, and no one would win the lottery. The impossible seldom happens, but it happens.”

  “Alzheimer’s. Your grandmother has delusions of grandeur, extreme memory loss. She can’t remember her husband of forty years, and she suffers from hallucinations. Now I love Helena like she was my own mother, but you can’t deny the symptoms.”

  “Hallucinations of strange shadows,” I replied. “I know the symptoms of Alzheimer’s, Dad.” I heard my voice getting louder, faster, but I couldn’t stop. “But they don’t explain her other symptoms—like her scorching body temperatures or the fact she has retained most of her memories for the last seven years. I didn’t say she’s not sick, just not with Alzheimer’s.”

  Dad cleared his throat and looked around The Cracked Kettle Diner. Our argument carried over the hum of the morning crowd. Customers leaned in over their blueberry pancakes and bacon ends to get a better view of the history teacher and his daughter. Brazen folks twisted in their booths. In our little town, everyone knew everyone. My poor mother would soon get a play-by-play at Grandma’s hair appointment. I didn’t care. This was an argument worth having.

  I knew what Dad would say next, the linchpin to his argument, the nail in the coffin. His voice clear and sure of victory, he said, “Yes, but how can you argue with the MRIs? The brain scans all show the correct diagnosis.”

  “They’re wrong, okay,” I said, biting my nail. I fell back on my only explanation for the brain scans. It was a weak argument, and I knew it. Suddenly embarrassed, a blush crept over my cheeks, and any second the creeping would erupt across my face and turn me into a blotchy red tomato. I wished I had a poker face for times like this, but my blush always gave away my inner emotions. I also wished I was smart enough to find a better explanation. Finally, I wished I had a medical degree instead of a newly printed high school diploma. Didn’t matter; I wouldn’t stop. Grandma was worth fighting for.

  And I had fought for Grandma to anyone who would listen. My parents, sick of arguing, took me to meet Grandma’s specialist. But the second I walked into the office, I had known I didn’t have a prayer. His walls were plastered with awards and diplomas. On his desk, he had a leather cup filled with gold metal pens. Yup. No BICs for this guy. No, sir. He was a specialty guy through and through. Special awards, special degrees, special pens. He was special, all right. And no specialist that special was going to take the word of someone still driving on a junior license. Sold on his own diagnosis, he didn’t want to hear from me.

  Dad ruffed up his brown hair and gave me a sad half-smile. He knew he had bested me, and he knew I knew it. No need to make me feel worse. “Okay, Wavy. Let’s call a truce before Kat kicks us out.”

  Kat, our usual waitress, took her cue and grabbed the pot of coffee and two menus and came right over from behind the counter before the fight started up again. She poured Dad’s refill and handed us the menus. “So, what’ll it be this morning?”

  “The regulars,” we said, more or less together.

  Kat laughed and put her pad back into the large pocket of her sea green uniform, and she tucked her pencil behind her ear. “I don’t even know why I gave you these. Where’s the other two in your crew?” she asked and took the menus back.

  “Simone took Helena to the salon,” Dad said.

  “Like they even need it,” Kat said, and she put her hands on her waist.

  Together, Grandma and Mom were the image of beauty, tall and slender with silky blonde hair. Unfortunately, I didn’t inherit either. Most of my genetics were closer to my dad’s shorter stature and frizzy brown hair.

  “They should be here any moment,” I told her.

  “And how is Helena doing?” Kat’s voice lowered, and she placed her hand over her heart. People often did that when asking about Grandma. And it could get annoying, a whole town grabbing at their chest, but honestly, our family was very fortunate to have their support. We greatly appreciated it because Grandma could a handful.

  Grandma’s delusions weren’t like the standard Alzheimer’s delusions. Her delusions convinced her she was the Princess and Royal Heiress to the Kingdom of America. This created certain complications. Luckily, everyone in town was willing to help our family and go along with her wild demands.

  “Helena’s the same, thank God,” Dad replied.

  “The exact same for the past seven years,” I grumbled. “I mean, if it’s Alzheimer’s, shouldn’t she be getting worse?”

  They ignored me.

  Dad added, “Better put in an order for their meals too. They’ll be along soon.”

  “Sure thing, sugar,” Kat said, making her way back towards the kitchen.

  “Oh, the joys of having only one place to eat in town,” said Dad, and he picked up two napkins from the dispenser, handed me one, and laid his in his lap.

  I folded the napkin into a fan. “Dad, don’t you find it odd that someone with Alzheimer’s would recognize if you changed the order?”

  “Not if they find comfort in small things being the same.”

  “Yes, but how can she remember things down to a fine detail? She knows when I move a book on the shelf
. She remembers license plates of bad drivers. And she knows her appointment schedule better than anyone else. I can’t even remember stuff like that.”

  “That’s because you have more going on in your life right now. Starting college soon, graduation parties, midnight movies. Your brain is still developing; her brain is trying to hang on.”

  “Or maybe the diagnosis isn’t right.”

  Dad pursed his lips and then added, “Look, kiddo, you’re passionate. I’ll give you that.”

  “And you’re wrong,” I said with a nod.

  “Well, one of us is,” Dad retorted.

  There was no use going on with this argument, so I took my phone from my purse and checked my notifications. A clang from a nearby table brought my attention back to the diner.

  A new busboy, a young man I didn’t recognize, wiped down an empty table. He had a long pink scar from his temple down to his jawline. His eyes landed on me, and my eyes darted down to my phone. He must have seen me looking at his scar. I let my hair fall over my eyes and my now crimson face. I mean, the scar was very noticeable, but I still shouldn’t be looking. I understood what it was like to have a whole room stare in your direction.

  Dad saw him too and grumbled, “Not today, buddy.”

  “It’s the eyes, Dad.” Or he saw me staring and knows I am an awful human being. I hoped for once it was the eyes because people always noticed them. Everyone commented on them. ‘So interesting’, ‘Just like your mother and grandmother.’ Always. Gray’s an interesting color, but personally, I would have loved to have bright green eyes the exact color of grass after a spring rain. Nope. I got the color of a nickel, dull nickel.

  “No, it’s not,” Dad countered. “You’re a beautiful young woman. I’m getting you pepper spray before you leave for college. No, make that a taser.”

  “Dad!” My cheeks were lava. I cast another secretive look at the new man and whispered to Dad, “Strange we don’t know him. We know everyone in Barton.”

  “It’s a town. People come and go.”

  “But in Barton? People are usually introduced at barbeques and football games. I can’t remember the last time a stranger just showed up.” The guy went to the kitchen and returned with a bin for dishes.

  “People come and go all the time in normal places.” Dad sighed. “Maybe you need to get out of town for a while. As you have reminded us repeatedly, you are almost an adult.”

  “So, you’re saying Barton’s not normal?” I asked, and we both laughed.

  “Well, kiddo, no. In normal places, not everyone knows your name. There’s more to do than barbeques and football games and cow tipping.”

  “No one cow tips. It’s not a real thing.”

  “Sure, it is. Just cause you never!”

  “They sleep on the ground.”

  Dad took another long drink of his coffee. “Still, Wavy. I think college will do you some good.”

  I picked up my straw paper and twisted it between my fingers. “Can’t wait.”

  I smiled as the lie passed my lips. I’d never say it out loud because I was almost an adult and I didn’t want to sound like a kid or upset my parents, but I wasn’t excited for college. I mean, in theory college sounded great, but it didn’t come without its complications. When I left, who would advocate for Grandma’s correct diagnosis? No one. My parents believed the doctors. Without me, no one would question it. Syracuse was only two hours away, but I wouldn’t be able to come home every day or even every weekend, especially when winter started. And I would never mention this to my parents because it would give credence to Grandma having Alzheimer’s, but deep down, I was afraid my absence would somehow make me disappear from her mind just like Grandpa had. I mean, I kind of thought she’d remember me because I was her favorite person and her memories had been steady, but it felt wrong to risk it. Not wanting to get into any of that with my dad, I simply added, “College will be great.”

  “I remember my college days. Wait—” A huge smile took over Dad’s face, and he went to his feet as Mom and Grandma, both freshly made up from the salon, came through the door. The whole restaurant followed Dad’s lead and stood up, and they gave Grandma a deep bow. That is, everyone except for one person. The new busboy didn’t move. He stared in confusion.

  This impropriety caught Grandma Helena’s attention. “Bow down, you impertinent fool, or prepare to suffer the dire consequences.”

  The busboy froze.

  “I am her royal highness, Princess Helena Elizabeth, Princess of Connecticut, Countess of Massachusetts, Duchess of Pennsylvania, Duchess of Maine, Countess of Maryland, Lady of the Centrals, Stewardess of the North!”

  Dad laughed. Grandma was a presence: dignified, gracious, and a bit crazy. This poor new guy didn’t know how to respond. Grandma stepped forward. The movement caught the man by surprise; his bin of dishes slipped from his hands and crashed to the floor. The silverware cylinder rolled across the checkered tile. He stared at her, mouth agape. He needed help and fast before Grandma blew up at him. I ran over and took the guy’s arm and assisted him into a sloppy, low bow, whispering to him, “Sorry, she’s not well. She thinks she’s the second in line to be the Queen of America.”

  Kat rushed out and helped me pick up the silverware while the guy remained bowed.

  “Sorry, Kevin. I should have warned you. I assumed—well, everyone in town knows about Helena. Sorry.” Kat took the bin in one arm and wrapped the other around Kevin’s back and led him to the kitchen.

  I wiped my hands on my jean shorts and assisted Grandma to our booth.

  “Well, I never!” Grandma sat down next to me with a huff.

  My mom spoke up to Grandma. “He’s new, Mother. You could have been nicer,”

  “Simone, new people don’t just show up in Barton,” Grandma said. “There is a protocol. They must be vetted and introduced in a formal setting. Things are amiss. The royal guard must be notified. The princess was kind to help him, but I fear I should have already taken care of the man.”

  Dad laughed. “Oh Helena, I do love you.”

  “And I love you, Matthew, even if your feeble attempts at propriety are sometimes as brazen as that young man’s.” Grandma patted Dad’s hand from across the table. “Family is family. Let’s not fight,”

  And our family was small. My mother and father were both only children. Grandma and Grandpa Wilson lived five hours away in Gettysburg. Most of the time it was only the four of us versus the world. I didn’t know what they were all going to do when I left for college.

  Grandma turned to me. “Do you know that man? He looks too old to be from your school.”

  “He is,” I agreed because if I had to guess, the man was at least twenty-five. I was about to mention it when somewhere outside came a slight buzzing like two bees flittering around a flower. Light but there. I shook my head, sure I must have imagined it.

  “Let’s drop it, okay, Mother,” Mom told her. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Simone, you never worry about oddities, but you should. I will not always be here to protect you, and goodness knows my gifts, the family’s gifts, skipped you.”

  Dad mouthed thank God as Kat returned carrying our breakfast tray. “Okay, that’s one stack of blueberry pancakes for our little Wavy. Egg white omelet for the beautiful Mrs. Wilson. The special for the historian. And for your highness, Confetti Ready Waffle Madness Surprise.”

  Grandma’s eyes widened as she gazed at the waffles and whipped cream configured into piles like castles spires, topped with sprinkles. She smiled at Kat. “Well done. My compliments to the chef.”

  “Sure, your royal highness,” Kat replied.

  The sound came again, only stronger and different, like static on a radio tuned to an off station. I shook my head. It must have been my ears.

  But then Kat’s hand moved to her ear. “Do any of you hear that?” The static was no longer distant, and everyone peered around for the source. A strange sensation, like déjà vu, made my skin prick.


  “I hear it!” a man called from a different table.

  “Oh no.” And Dad gave a groan of recognition.

  “What?” I whispered.

  “What is it, Matt? Is it some sort of machinery or—” Kat stopped talking mid-sentence and turned towards the door. She wasn’t the only one.

  I looked around. Not one person talked. Voices fell silent, caught in an invisible spider’s web too thick and dense to penetrate. The clanking of glasses on linoleum tables and the scrape of forks on plates stopped. The only sound was the barest of breathing. The air thickened. Every face turned to the same spot: the open door.

  A slight man with white hair entered the diner. He wore a full suit, dark gray with a purple lapel, his nose was high in the air, and his shoulders back. He looked powerful, and yet so very thin; a child blowing a pinwheel might have knocked him over.

  Two bodyguards flanked the little man as the world held still.

  Great-uncle Bollard flicked his wrists, and after another eerily silent moment, my family woke from the strange stupor, if only slightly, as he crossed the room. The rest of the diners still seemed rooted in their positions; many appeared to need a glass of water.

  Dad sat, arms crossed, with a scowl of annoyance and repulsion on his face while my mom chewed her lip as if waging a mental battle over this surprise visitor.

  Grandma spoke first. “Hello, Bollie.”

  Great-uncle Bollard gave a slight bow to Grandma. “Helena, it has been far too long,” he said, enunciating every syllable in each word.

  Mom, coming back to herself, stood up and offered her one and only uncle a hug. Bollard endured the embrace, patting Mom’s arm, and she let go. “This is such a huge surprise.”

  No kidding. Great-uncle Bollard seldom visited, and when he did, he set up the occasion via messenger carrying a wax-sealed invitation to a private meal at the rented town hall. One lonely table in an empty location, painfully awkward at the best of times. She added, “It’s nice to see you.”

  Great-uncle Bollard turned his gray eyes from her and fixed them upon me. “Yes, so we shall see.”