One She Saw a Blind Man

by Betty Johnson

  “Dammit, I was providing the kid with everything she really needed! By the time she got out of high school, I could have replaced all that money,” Jaimeson exploded. “I even paid her mother for working at the saw mill so she’d have some money of her own. You know I didn’t have to do that.”

  “That gesture, Michael,” Underwood replied, rising, “was about the only decent move you ever made, and even that will probably be counted against you now. Don’t count on getting out of here anytime soon. Those insurance people, and even the feds, are going to be going over your business with a fine-toothed comb. The best lawyer in the world can only do so much under these circumstances.”

  ***

  Meanwhile, young Emily Jenkins, unable to sleep, was crying softly into a pillow at one of Nashville’s hospitals. Emily had managed to infect one of the open sores on her legs while she was trying to help her mother. She alone had been considered to need a regular hospital bed, complete with an IV drip. Both her parents had narrow cots in the normally double occupancy room, and Fido had been allowed to stay as long as Ellen Gleaves was willing to take him outside and perform clean-ups as necessary.

  Emily was a confused young woman, almost overwhelmed by the information that had poured over her the previous evening. She was amazed to find a large, weathered hand covering her own. She looked up in the dim light provided by the hospital nightlight. “Father?” She saw a man sitting in a leather chair by her bedside, a dog at his feet.

  “I told the nurse I wanted to sit up tonight,” Liam Jenkins answered. “Sometimes I do my best thinking at night, when it’s quiet and cool. All the people we’ve had in here today have given me a lot to think about, and I thought you might be restless as well. It’s about time I pulled my own weight and let your poor mother get some sleep.”

  Emily could just barely see the reflected light on Liam’s face. The duty nurse had lined the chair with a blanket and provided him paper house shoes. She stared at the austere, blind countenance and let her free hand cover the hand that held hers.

  “Father,” she began, “how did you spend the last fourteen years? What in the world did you do with your time?”

  “Darn few young ones get to thinking about what a blind man does,” Liam responded quietly. “Nobody wants to think about not being able to see. I tell you, daughter, it’s a dark, scary world. I reckon Miss Araminta was right; for a while there, I just tried to shut myself down. I had no job, no future, and I had to leave my dearest behind for their own safety. When I got Fido, we just started walking and asked for help along the way until we reached Nashville.”

  Liam was obviously thinking, trying to answer Emily’s question. “When I was out in the county home after I left the hospital, I figured out that the one thing a blind man needed to know was how to recognize each kind of coin by its feel. Not bills; there’s no way a blind man can cope with those. Beggars mostly get loose change, though, and that I figured I could handle. The folks at the home gave me some coins and some other small objects to work with, and I spent hours learning the feel of everything. Right now, I can count and add up change just as well as you can.”

  “But that’s not enough to keep you from getting bored,” Emily objected. “You can’t just turn your mind off – at least, I can’t.”

  “I don’t suppose I did, either.” Liam seemed to be looking over the girl’s head, straight out the window. “I sort of deadened myself to the insults and all the filthy smells I found around me. It’s a damned job to keep yourself clean when you’re homeless, but there were always a few kind souls who gave us soap and washcloths. A few places had showers we could use, and all of us learned which places those were. We learned by word of mouth, since beggars have nothing to do but talk all day, and gradually I learned how to filter out the good tips from the bad.”

  “You said you’d been out where Miss Araminta found you for twelve years,” Emily reminded him. “How did that happen?”

  Liam smiled, making his face almost beautiful. “That was Sergeant Pierce’s doing. You know, the foot and bicycle patrols in Nashville keep in pretty close touch with the city’s homeless population. You never quite stop being scared of cops – often they’re coming around to make you move on – but, still, we talk to them, and word about who needs what gets around pretty quickly. Pierce knows his people in Melrose pretty well, and he knew Mr. Hamlin at the grocery would be willing to let me sleep in his storage shed.”

  “You slept in the storage shed, and you begged in front of the store during the day,” Emily said, fingering his hand as though she would memorize it. “You must have done something else with your time.”

  “When the grocery closed, I begged in front of the diner until that closed,” Liam replied. “They play some nice music on their juke box sometimes. Then I’d go around and sit in front of the bars. Sometimes they had their television on so loud I could hear it, and I knew enough about football to enjoy listening to the games. Sometimes in a political year, a bar would host a debate watch party, and then I’d get to hear that as well. The tips in my hat were pretty good, too. Once in a while, a drunk would come out of a bar and talk to a poor blind man, especially after everybody started cracking down on smoking.”

  “You don’t smoke, do you?” Emily stared at her newly-found father with big eyes.

  “No, but I’ve often enough bought a pack or kept the odd cigarette on my person,” Liam replied. “To a homeless person, cigarettes are just the same as money. You trade them for food and information all the time.”

  “What do you think you’re going to do now?” Emily asked. Her legs were burning now, and she was tempted to ask Liam to push his call button for a nurse. That would mean another shot that would put her right to sleep, though, and she wanted to listen.

  Liam laughed a sort of muffled bark that wouldn’t disturb any sleeper. “Those folks who have been in and out of here all day have been talking enough to make a man’s head spin, haven’t they? Whatever happens, I do know now that I’ve still got some talents that I can maybe make a living with. That braille they were showing me – I think I’m going to get up my courage and use the telephone to call Miss Araminta tomorrow.”

  ***

  Somewhat earlier that evening, Sergeant Tom Staples had been briefing Big Jake in his informal home office. “What a bloody day!” Staples exclaimed. It had been his responsibility to determine what evidence existed in the case of Mike Jaimeson’s assaults on his wife and stepdaughter.

  “You found evidence he did all the things the ladies mentioned?” Big Jake blew a smoke ring.

  “Well, first, I went to the jail and confiscated the belt and pants Jaimeson had been wearing when we pulled him in. Lord, what a slob! That belt had leaked fresh blood all over the waistband of his pants, and God only knows what the Nashville lab will find on the belt itself.” Staples blew out his breath in a big whoosh. “While I was there in Nashville, I got word the Jenkins girl had managed to get one of those damn welts on her legs infected. The news media is just going to love that.”

  “What did you find when you came back and searched Jaimeson’s house?” Big Jake asked. He was personally ready to wallow in some sensationalism at the expense of the man he had mistrusted all these years.

  “Worse than I expected,” Tom replied, settling back in his deep chair. “I’ve documented it, but you’ll probably want the Nashville media to come out and film the place. Apparently our man threw a temper tantrum when he discovered his victims had walked out on him. I swear he must have taken the dress-making shears to all the female clothing in the house, Ellen’s AND Emily’s. He’d also literally destroyed Ellen’s sewing machine with god only knows what; I didn’t find an appropriate tool that would do it in the basement.”

  “Probably a tire iron,” Big Jake responded almost disinterestedly. “Meanwhile, we’re having good results with the audit at the mill, and the county auditor has managed to get Jaimeson’s bank manager involved. Did you learn anything about the assault out a
t the mill?”

  “The foreman had taken an impromptu vacation,” Staples responded sardonically. “Mike’s office doesn’t show any signs of a struggle, but several employees I talked to saw Mrs. Jaimeson with her clothes all torn off. I confiscated her office sewing kit so we can at least get a match on the blue thread. I hope we can get that dress into evidence from Nashville.”

  “Oh, Prosser will manage that. Meanwhile, I’ll call the Nashville media and let you take them on a tour of Jaimeson’s house tomorrow,” Big Jake told him. “One way or another, we’re going to close the bag on Michael Jaimeson.”

  ***

  The next morning, Miss Araminta’s telephone rang just as she was putting her groceries away. She had been very busy around the neighborhood this morning; everyone she met wanted to know all the exciting developments in her little investigation. Now she closed the refrigerator door and scrabbled in her purse for the cell phone. “Araminta Ferguson,” she answered.

  A victorious chortle at the other end startled her. “Hey, I could get used to this!” Liam exclaimed. “My first telephone call in fourteen years. How are you this fine morning?”

  “Oh, Liam,” Araminta responded, immediately recognizing the voice. “Have they already found time to introduce you to a little braille? I didn’t think social services could move that fast.”

  “Oh, the social services are still conferring,” Liam told her. “This was just some ladies at the hospital. Anyway, I was hoping you could come over and see us. Mr. Prosser just called and said our story would be on the five o’clock news. Frankly,” he lowered his voice, “I kind of want some support for Ellen and Emily. They’re getting hit kind of hard by all this mess.”

  Araminta looked at her kitchen clock. “I’ll be over there around four o’clock, then,” she estimated. “I really want to hear what the doctors say about you and your family.”

  ***

  Later that afternoon, Araminta rode up on the hospital elevator with Ellen and Fido. “They’re doing lots of tests on Liam,” Ellen confided. “Though poor Emily is the one we worry about. Somehow one of her legs has gotten infected, and Mr. Prosser has been here to take some pictures of the infection site and get affidavits from the doctors.”

  The elevator door opened, and Fido almost bounded out, dragging Ellen in his anxiety to get back to his proper person. Someone had helped Liam dress fully after all his tests, and now he sat in the big leather chair, running his fingers along what was obviously an elementary braille pamphlet.

  Liam looked up when Fido touched his leg with a wet nose. “Ellen? That was fast.”

  “Miss Araminta’s here,” Ellen told him as she unfastened Fido’s leash. “Did you get the results on all those tests they were doing?”

  Liam leaned back in his chair and smiled where he imagined Araminta might be. “Well,” he responded, “I’m a lucky man. The doctor told me if one of those splinters had gone an inch or two farther in, it would have punctured my brain. So, I guess I’m lucky even if I’m still blind. Otherwise, I’m supposed to take a lot of vitamins and keep warm. So far, sleeping outside hasn’t hurt me, but apparently now I’m getting old enough for the medics to worry about things like pneumonia.”

  “Yes, that happens to all of us,” Araminta told him dryly. “Getting older is a right curse.” She looked over at Ellen. “I bet they’ve been on to Ellen about making sure her well woman exams and immunizations are up to date.”

  Ellen laughed shamefacedly. “How did you know? I haven’t been to the doctor in two or three years; that sort of thing sort of slips right by you when you’re running a household AND working.”

  “Stop tiptoeing around telling everybody just how impossible Mike has been all these years,” Emily spoke up from her bed near the window. “He wouldn’t turn on a television or go to the refrigerator to get a beer if Mom was in the house. He even ordered me to bring him stuff he could have gotten for himself.”

  “Those days are over,” Liam said firmly. “I may be blind, but I can find my way around in the streets, and I’ll certainly learn how to navigate in a house. Just you make sure you don’t change the furniture around on me, and I’ll run my own household errands.”

  Araminta sighed as she located a straight chair she could sit on. “Myra Shuvalov’s pulling all kinds of strings trying to find someplace we can park you people while all of you do some therapy and training. Since it doesn’t seem likely Mike Jaimeson is going to be free to chase after you, it doesn’t look like the safe house would be appropriate. She’s looking for apartments that are centrally located for services you’ll need.”

  “Yes, we will have to stay here in Nashville at least until Liam learns some new skills.” Ellen sat down on her own cot. “We’ll also need to get Emily back into some kind of school as soon as she’s able. And, while we’re here, I’d better freshen up my bookkeeping skills. I never went further than high school, you know, and I did the books at the mill just the way Irene had done it. I didn’t dare ask questions about anything I didn’t understand.”

  “I’d been worried about that,” Liam admitted. “Miss Araminta, we need to let the lawyers know that Ellen doesn’t have the training to realize how Irene was gaming the books. Before my accident, I heard enough tidbits to know the company wasn’t quite on the up and up, but I didn’t feel like that was any of my business at the time.”

  “I’ll call Mr. Prosser tomorrow and warn him,” Araminta promised. “I need to go over some other things with him anyway. – Meanwhile, isn’t it about time for the news?” Since she was familiar with big city remote devices, Araminta grasped the control and pointed it at the television.

  Both Ellen and Emily wept as the ghoulish television crew went from room to room in the Jaimeson house, chronicling the destruction Mike had wrought on their personal property. Liam’s jaw simply grew harder while he listened, and he smiled when he heard that the announcer was displaying Jaimeson’s unflattering mug shot.

  “The boys he was depending on finally turned on him,” Liam said gleefully. “The powers that be in rural Rutherford County have covered up for him too many times.”

  “But…that was all our clothes!” Ellen sobbed. She had somehow migrated into Liam’s lap.

  “We’ll get you girls outfitted from our Thrift Closet,” Miss Araminta promised. “You won’t have the room or the time to use a sewing machine for a little while, Ellen.” She went over to soothe Emily, who was sobbing in her corner bed.

  “That’s why I never asked for a kitten or a puppy, Mom,” Emily said tearily. “I knew better than to leave any living thing I cared about where Mike Jaimeson could get it.”

  “I know, honey,” Ellen replied. “I just sort of ignored Mike’s nasty tendencies and played the hand I was dealt. We’ll be able to have a pet you can love on when all this is over.”

  Araminta lovingly smoothed the hair from the teenager’s forehead. Fido, who had somehow decided this child was related to his person, jumped up on the bed to lick her face.

  ***

  Once the lawyer Elite Cities Insurance Company had retained in Nashville had traced the former Irene Jaimeson to Bermuda, she promptly requested immunity from any offences she had committed in Rutherford County as the price for her testimony. This request took some time to go through all the necessary procedures, so the audits for the saw mill and the financial statements from Jaimeson’s bank were also on lawyer Robert Pendragon’s desk by the time Irene flew to Nashville to make her affidavit.

  Vincent Prosser was present as well since Irene’s testimony might also have a bearing on the domestic violence/divorce case he himself was developing. There was also a court reporter with her specialized machine, as required by law.

  “Your name is now Irene Morrow,” Pendragon began, “of Sandoval and Morrow, purveyors of ladies’ sunshades in Bermuda. You are here after being granted special immunity from all acts committed in Rutherford County, Tennessee. Why did you request this immunity?”

  “My busines
s in Bermuda is completely legal,” replied Irene, a well-coiffed blonde who was stylishly dressed, “but in Rutherford County, when I was younger, I engaged in a few dubious accounting practices for my ex-husband. I believe he may have continued these, and forced his new wife to continue them, after our divorce.”

  “Why were you willing to ‘cook the books’ for Mike Jaimeson?” Prosser asked.

  “I was young and dumb and in love,” Irene replied acerbically. “Have you ever seen pictures of Mike Jaimeson before he turned himself into a blotter for liquor? I met him while I was going to Middle Tennessee State University, where he cut quite a dashing figure. I didn’t realize until some years later how basically stupid the man is.”

  “Please elaborate on that last comment,” Pendragon commanded, leaning back in his chair. This one is a tartar, he thought.

  Irene Morrow blew her cheeks out. “The Jaimeson family was county aristocracy,” she explained. “All they knew was the saw mill operation and rural economy. I grew up in military housing at Sewart Air Force Base in Smyrna, so I learned about military safety regulations. It turns out there aren’t many safety regulations in rural Rutherford County, and there is even less regard for the federal and state governments.

  “At first,” Irene admitted, “I thought it was cool that you could fix anything at the city level and not have much trouble clearing it with the county. So much government stuff seems like Mickey Mouse, especially to young kids. Mike Jaimeson was a go-getter, and I thought that with his personality and my brains we could really make some money together in a no-rules economy.”

  “You helped Mr. Jaimeson skirt various state and federal regulations you considered irrelevant?” Prosser wanted to be very sure about this.

  “I just worked with the accounting end of the business, but I used every loophole I could find in the books. Folks in Brandywine just didn’t seem to know or care about the law, as long as you didn’t skin them personally. I don’t think my snooty father-in-law ever forgave me for getting a degree when his precious son and heir couldn’t be bothered to. The old goat didn’t even thank me when I put my own money into his family business.”