Silver Bells

by Raney,Deborah

  “What do you mean?”

  That got her hackles up. “Because, Rob, not everybody can just up and move whenever they feel like it. They may be tied here by law because of that sorry excuse for a father. And they may not have the money to make a move. Not everybody is made out of hundred-dollar bills.”

  He clutched his heart. “Ouch.”

  “I—That wasn’t very nice. I’m sorry. You can’t help it if you’re filthy rich.”

  She could tell he was trying to be civil, but her attempt at a joke failed miserably.

  He held up his hands in surrender. “It’s your story. If you don’t want me to run the pic, I won’t. We can run the one with all the emergency vehicles instead.” His dejected tone left no doubt how he felt about that option.

  “I don’t see why we have to run the story at all. It’s a private matter. But if we have to, I’d feel a lot better about the other photo. Thanks for understanding.” When she considered her words, it seemed absurd. She’d been employed here barely two days and she was trying to call the shots? But he was right. It was her story, and her byline on it should give her some rights as to how that story was illustrated. “Speaking of my story, I’d probably better go write it.”

  “Good point.” He raised his eyebrows, conspiring. “And I’ve got an important front-page football story to write.” His smile and his joke—at least she hoped it was a joke—seemed to suggest a truce.

  Rob went back to his cubicle, and she heard his typewriter clicking away. But she sat in front of her Selectric keyboard for twenty minutes before an anemic opening paragraph for her story formed. What had ever made her think she could be a reporter?

  Chapter 6

  “You look so thin, Michelle. You’re not anorexic, are you?” Beth Penn smoothed the gingham tablecloth in the kitchen of the farmhouse where Michelle had grown up. “I just read an article about that in Redbook,” her mother said. “It’s becoming almost an epidemic.”

  “You can’t be serious, Mom. I’ve gained at least four pounds since I moved into town.”

  “Don’t be silly. You can’t gain four pounds in a week.”

  “I’ve been there two weeks. Can you believe it?”

  “No, I can’t. But you be careful. This anorexia nervosa stuff isn’t anything to mess around with.”

  Michelle rolled her eyes and laughed. “Mom, I assure you, I am in no danger whatsoever. In fact, what’s for supper? Can I stay?”

  “What kind of question is that? Of course you can stay. I was hoping you’d spend the night and go to church with us in the morning.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve got too much work to catch up on. I’ll stay for supper, though. When will Dad and Allen be in?”

  Her mother blew a damp wisp of hair off her forehead and looked at the clock. “Dad’s cultivating on the east eighty, but he promised he’d be in before dark. Allen didn’t come home this weekend. Help me set the table, would you?”

  “Sure.”

  It felt weird being back home. It had been one thing to come home for a weekend every now and then while she was in college, but now that she had her own place in town, she felt like a guest in her parents’ home. She’d stay long enough to see her dad, but she was anxious to get back to her apartment. And she did have a long to-do list to accomplish before she went to work Monday morning.

  Getting down the plates and glasses from the hutch, she noticed the weekly edition of the Beacon lying on the window ledge in the breakfast nook where Dad read the Wichita Eagle every morning and the Bristol Beacon every Thursday evening. Her mother hadn’t mentioned her byline yet, but Mom would tell her that her story was terrific even if it stank. Dad was the one who’d tell her what he really thought. It was his opinion she valued most.

  “So why didn’t Allen come home? I thought he was going to work for Dad on the weekends.”

  “Have you talked to your brother since he started classes?” Mom’s attempt to sound casual failed.

  “No. Why? Is school going okay?”

  “I think so. I just wondered if he’d said anything to you about a certain girl.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Allen has a girlfriend?”

  Her mom looked worried. “A pretty serious one, it seems.”

  “Are you kidding?” Her brother had been on exactly one date during his four years of high school. Just like she’d had exactly one date during her two years of college…and that had been a disaster. Now that she was finally ready to consider dating again, she was stuck back in her hometown, where the possibilities were zilch. The irony was not lost on her. She opened the silverware drawer and counted out three of each utensil. “So my baby brother has a girlfriend. Anybody we know?”

  “No. And it’s nobody I want to know.”

  “What do you mean?” This was getting interesting.

  “Her name is Piper Something-or-other and she’s older than you. Already graduated.”

  “He’s dating a twenty-something woman?” She almost laughed. “How did he meet her?”

  “At the college. She’s taking some nursing classes there.”

  “Have you met her?”

  “No. And Allen hasn’t said one word to us about it, so don’t tell him I told you.”

  “Then how do you know about it?”

  “Sylvia Branson has a sister who works in admissions at the college.”

  “Mom, don’t blow things out of proportion. If Sylvia’s sister is anything like Sylvia, she probably saw them wave at each other and jumped to conclusions.”

  “No. She saw them—” Was her mother blushing? “Let’s just say she saw them do a lot more than wave. I tried to tell—”

  “Hey! Look who’s here.” Her father’s booming voice made them both start, and Mom’s expression said the subject was closed.

  “Don’t tell me the prodigal daughter has returned,” Dad said.

  “Just for a while. I’m headed back right after supper.” She went to the door with arms outstretched.

  But he took a step backward and took off his cap, revealing a line of dirt streaking his forehead. “Save that hug for me. I’m too dirty from the field right now.”

  He disappeared into the basement where the farmhands’ shower was, and by the time she and Mom had dinner on the table he was back upstairs, smelling of Lifebuoy soap and Aqua Velva.

  Dad claimed his hug and they sat down to eat. After blessing the food, he stabbed a forkful of scalloped potatoes and turned to Michelle. “So how’s city life, Mish?”

  She couldn’t hold back any longer. “Did you read my story?”

  He chewed thoughtfully. Finally he put his fork down. “I did.”

  “Well?” She tilted her head, waiting. “What did you think of it?”

  “The question is, what did you think of it?”

  Uh-oh. She swallowed hard. “You didn’t like it.”

  “The writing was good, Mish.”

  “But…?”

  “But I’m not sure that was a story that needed to be told.”

  “What do you mean?”

  As if on cue, her mother slipped from her chair and went to the sink.

  “I just don’t think people pay twelve dollars a year to read about some guy beating up on— About situations like that,” he finished lamely.

  She swallowed back sudden tears, embarrassed—and surprised—that his words cut so deeply. “Are you saying I shouldn’t have written the story at all?”

  “Not necessarily,” he said. “I don’t think it needed to be a front-page story, though. And the photo was completely unnecessary.”

  They’d ended up going with a photo of the emergency vehicles gathered in front of the Preston home. She hated to think what Dad would have said if they’d used the picture Rob wanted to use.

  “I know you probably don’t have any control over those decisions, but—”

  “No, I don’t. And I didn’t take the picture. Rob Merrick did. It’s not like we used names or anything.”

  “Bristol is a s
mall town, Mish. Anybody with a brain could figure out who that was.”

  Just what she’d told Rob. “Do you and Mom know them?” She’d seen the police report, but she didn’t know the family.

  “That’s not the point.” Dad reached for the paper and unfolded it, spreading the front page between them. “How long do you think it would take somebody to put two and two together after seeing this?” He thumped a finger on the photo.

  For the first time, she realized the house number was clearly visible in the photo, along with a distinctive half-barrel planter on the porch next door. She knew Bristol well enough to know there were people who’d make entertainment out of driving around town until they found the house and the definitive planter in the photo, just so they could brag that they knew who the story was about.

  “Like I said, Daddy, I didn’t take the picture.” She hated the defensiveness in her voice. She turned to her mother, who still stood at the sink with her back to them. “Mom, do you agree?”

  “Agree about what, honey?” Mom came back to the table with a dish towel balled up in one fist, but she didn’t sit down.

  Michelle sighed, frustration rising within her. “Do you think I shouldn’t have written the news story?”

  Dad gave her a stern look. “Now, don’t put words in my mouth, Mish.”

  “That’s what you said, Daddy. You said it was a story that didn’t need to be told.”

  “I said I’m not sure it was a story that needed to be told. There’s a difference.”

  “Mom?” But even as Michelle tried to rally her mother’s support, she knew Mom would side with Dad. Like she always did.

  Her mother sighed and pulled out her chair. “It’s just that there’s already so much bad news in this world—the war, the drug problem… It seems like the local paper would want to focus on what’s right with the world.”

  “But ignoring the problem won’t make it go away. Maybe my story will get people to thinking about how they could help. Or maybe it will help people understand that woman’s plight..” She realized she was parroting the arguments Rob had given her. Arguments she’d shot down one by one. And hearing herself repeat them, they still sounded feeble.

  “The only thing that story will do is get people gossiping.” Dad put down his fork and looked across the table at her. “We’re not saying the problem should be ignored, Mish. We’re just saying it doesn’t need to be aired on the front page of the Bristol Beacon. People subscribe to the paper so they can find out about church events and keep up with school activities.”

  “And the football games,” Michelle said, not even trying to hide her sarcasm. “Don’t forget the football games.”

  “Michelle…” He put down his fork and shot her a warning glance that made her feel as if she were fifteen again. “We just don’t think this is what people are expecting when they subscribe to the Beacon.”

  From the way he said “we,” she knew he and Mom had talked about this before she arrived.

  “Well, it wasn’t my decision to report this story. I just wrote what they assigned to me. It’s not like I’ve been there long enough to decide what gets published and what doesn’t.”

  “Now, you don’t need to get defensive, Mish.”

  “I’m not.” But that wasn’t true. She felt like they’d ganged up on her. And it hurt.

  Her mother folded the dish towel into careful fourths, not looking at her. “So you’re saying Mr. Merrick told you to write all those details? Told you to describe the battered woman and that poor little girl in such detail? I just wonder if you couldn’t have taken a different angle with the story.”

  Michelle scowled. “If you’re going to patronize me, Mom, I’d just rather not talk about it.”

  Dad drained his iced tea glass, set it on the table, and looked at her—hard. “Your mother is not patronizing you. It’s a fair question. I just hope you’re praying about this job and making sure that it doesn’t cause you to compromise what you believe. I wonder…” He stopped, as if he’d thought better of what he was going to say. But then his eyes softened and he went on. “Just pray about it, Mish. But if you were under orders to write those details, maybe the Beacon isn’t the right place for you.”

  She wracked her brain to recall what details she’d put in the story that her parents found so offensive. And remembering, she felt as if her own words had struck her in the face. For, with words, she’d drawn a picture that was every bit as graphic as Rob Merrick’s photograph. The one she’d convinced him not to publish.

  Chapter 7

  Myrtle Dressler scowled at Michelle over her cat-eye glasses. “This is at least the second time I’ve reminded you, Miss Penn.”

  “I’m sorry. I keep forgetting.”

  “Well, I can’t complete the paperwork without the official, original Social Security card. If you want a paycheck, you’ll have to get that to me.”

  “I’ll see if my mom can track it down.”

  Myrtle looked down her pointy nose. “You mean to tell me your mother still takes care of those details for you? How old did you say you were, Miss Penn?” It was said with a smile, but Michelle knew a lecture-disguised-as-a-joke when she saw one.

  “I’ll try to find it. But…it might be Monday before I can get it to you.” She felt exactly as small as she was sure Myrtle intended her to.

  “Well,” the woman huffed, “I guess if I have to issue a separate check, I can, but just keep in mind, you won’t be getting a paycheck tomorrow when they’re handed out to the other employees.”

  Great. She was already two days late on her September rent. Michelle slinked back to her cubicle to get her purse. She’d officially been employed at the Beacon for two full weeks now, but some days it still felt like her first day on the job. And Myrtle seemed determined to keep it that way.

  She started out the back door then remembered she wanted to pick up a few things at the corner drugstore before she went home. She traipsed back through the building, ignoring Myrtle as she passed the reception desk. She pushed through the inside doors and stepped into the air-lock entry just as Rob hustled through the outside doors.

  “You leaving?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Have a good weekend.”

  “Um…last I checked, your car was in the back lot.”

  “Thanks for keeping track of it for me. It’s nice to know I won’t lose it.”

  “Sure. Anytime.”

  That crooked grin of his was going to get her in big trouble. He held the door for her and she swept past him and headed for the drugstore. But before the door closed completely, she heard Rob holler her name.

  She stopped on the sidewalk and turned to see him jogging toward her. In spite of the calendar’s declaration of September, the sultry air still felt like August, and by the time he caught up with her, sweat beaded his brow.

  “You want to go get a Coke or something?”

  Or something? “Um…is this business or pleasure?”

  “Totally pleasure. Cross my heart.” He drew an X over his broad chest.

  “I’m not sure that would be a good idea.”

  “How could it possibly not be a good idea? Come on…. It’s Friday night.” He narrowed his baby blues at her. “Unless you already have a date.”

  “So now it’s a date?”

  He studied her, as if trying to decipher what she wanted him to say. “Sure.”

  He apparently didn’t know about the warning his father had given her…or maybe he was attempting to spite his old man at her expense? His expression gave away nothing.

  “I’ll tell you what. I need to pick up a few things at the drugstore. I’ll have a quick Coke with you—dutch treat—because there are a few things I’d like to talk to you about. Strictly business.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Business meeting it is.” He wore that enigmatic half smile again—the one that said he was just playing along with her but knew he had an ace in the hole. And an ace on the table, for that matter.

  He led th
e way down the street to Bristol Drugs, then up the main aisle of the drugstore. Michelle hadn’t been inside the store since the week before she left for college, but when she looked up and saw the soda fountain, she felt as if she’d instantly been transported back to high school. She could almost hear the mellow strains of Tommy James and the Shondells and Neil Diamond playing on the jukebox. She felt certain if she simply spoke Kevin’s name, he would whirl around on one of the patched vinyl barstools and give her that trademark Ferris grin. She closed her eyes, surprised at the power—and the pain—of the memories.

  “You okay?”

  Her eyes fluttered open to see Rob Merrick’s face inches from hers, his brow knit in a worried expression.

  “I–I’m fine. I just…haven’t been here for a while. It hasn’t changed one bit in two years.”

  Two adolescent girls bent over the jukebox in the corner, giggling and feeding coins into the machine. When they sat down, the smooth vibrato of “Crystal Blue Persuasion” filled the air. Michelle wanted to cover her ears. If “Crimson and Clover” came on next, she was out of here.

  Rob pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “What do you want to drink?”

  “Cherry Coke. But we’re going dutch, remember?” She fished in her purse for change. She knew good and well there were no bills in her purse, but surely she could scrounge up fifty cents. But her frantic search produced only a nickel and two pennies.

  “Don’t worry,” Rob said. “I’ve got it. This is a business meeting, remember? I can take it out of petty cash.”

  “Thanks.” She couldn’t meet his eyes, even though she suspected they held nothing but kindness.

  While the high-school kid behind the counter poured cherry Cokes in shapely glasses, Rob took two straws from the dispenser and handed her one. “Booth or counter?”