by W.H. Harrod
Terrance exited the building as soon as the service ended and ran for his vehicle. Flush with the added story information gained from the service, he now wanted to get back to the office and see if the private investigation agency produced any useful information. Surely something of interest happened to the guy back in Missouri prior to his coming to Kansas, twenty-odd years ago. Given his exemplary record, he must have gotten his start by doing something similar back in Missouri. This story, with a little luck, most likely necessitated but a few more hours of his time.
He looked behind him to judge the distance between him and the other attendees and experienced a sense of relief as he verified his substantial lead. Just ahead, his trusty Cherokee waited to take him back to the office. But a surprise awaited him as he approached his vehicle and found none other than Mrs. Bidwell, the landlady, standing by his car. His curiosity swept over him. What had prompted this unexpected meeting? She spotted him at the same instant and locked her gaze upon his approach.
“Well, hello there, Mrs. Bidwell. Are you waiting to see me? How did you get out here so quickly? I thought I was the first one out of the building.”
“I move a lot quicker than most people expect, I reckon,” responded Mrs. Bidwell tersely. “Wanted to see what you thought of the service before you got away and started to write your story. So, what did you think?”
“Well,” said Terrance still surprised at finding her waiting for him, “I thought it was a real nice service. You were right about how highly regarded he was in the community. Every individual of importance in the area made an appearance today—very impressive.”
“Uh-huh,” she responded nonchalantly. “Anything else impress you?”
“Well,” he began again, “I was most impressed with the comments of the last speaker. In fact, that gentleman’s story touched not only me, but I believe, everyone at the service. I intend to include much of it in my story.”
“Good,” said Mrs. Bidwell curtly, “but if I know anything about reporters, which I believe I should having been married to a newspaper man for forty years, I expect you’re still looking high and low for more. All this good stuff you’ve heard here and everywhere else isn’t going to be enough, is it?”
“As a matter-of-fact, I’m awaiting additional information from his place of—”
Without warning she cut him off. “You know, I remember what it was like to be young and suffering from the full of’s: full of energy, full of questions, full of self, full of ambition, full of book learning, full of just about everything except one important thing. You know what that is? It’s patience. One thing very few young people are ever full of is patience. Just the slightest provocation and they’re out the door going full speed to who knows what end and often with but the slightest hint of direction or purpose. Then, when they run into a wall or some dead end, they just turn right around and head back in another direction at an even faster pace, only to end up at another dead end. Young people absolutely amaze me. The sheer amount of energy they waste is staggering.”
By this time Terrance looked befuddled. He didn’t know what to think, so he simply stood and stared at his lecturer awaiting her next salvo of octogenarian erudition. Not seeing any sign that she intended to continue, he ventured a response. “What? Have I missed some-”
But again, she cut him off. “Possibly you remember what Cato the Elder said, ‘Patience is the greatest of all virtues.’”
“And surely you’ve read Shakespeare and recall his lamenting, ‘How poor are they who have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees.’”
“Please keep this in mind as you go forward with the story you’re going to write about Joseph Right. I’m sure all this makes no sense to you at the moment, but in due course you very well may have a moment to pause as you’re confronted with certain information. At that time it might serve you well to recall what I’ve just now told you. If you have any doubts about what you’re proposing to do, don’t hesitate to contact me.”
Completely confused by now, he couldn’t formulate a sensible response. So again, he stood and stared, much like a deer when surprised to find itself in the middle of the highway looking into the headlights of an oncoming automobile.
Mrs. Bidwell started to leave, but hesitated to complete one last task. “Oh, by the way, here is an old photo of Joseph when he was a young man. Sorry, I don’t have a more recent one to give you, but you don’t expect things like this to happen.”
Then she turned and walked away leaving Terrance to collect his wits. Afraid she might return with another lecture, he hurriedly departed.
CHAPTER TEN
