Shadow Dancer (The Shadow Series Book 1)

by Kline, Addison

  Bridgette had turned a dangerous shade of red, an automatic indicator that she was mortified beyond belief.

  “So anyway. She’s a nurse in the emergency room over at Grier Mountain Medical Center. She’s a really bad cook, but she’s really good at other stuff. Like football, even though my dad was a star quarterback here, my mom is the one who taught me how to throw a ball. And ride a horse. But the biggest things my mother ever taught me were, don’t take life too seriously and to stick up for what is right.”

  As Shane concluded, Mrs. Mitchell thanked him and introduced the next presenter. “Thank you, Shane. Nice job and very entertaining. Thank you, Mrs. Kilpatrick. You can both take a seat. Next up, we will have Thomas Morrow. Come on up, Tommy.”

  Tommy strode up to the stage still laughing at his cousin’s presentation. He put his white foam board on the tripod, smoothed his shirt collar, and said loudly, “Okay, old man. You have to come up here.” Rolling his eyes in the back of the auditorium, Jack got up and started to limp slowly to the stage. Bridgette, who was now standing on the side of the stage steps, helped Jack get to the top before taking her seat next to Frank in the back.

  “Man, took you long enough,” Tommy said jokingly to his father.

  “Keep it up, tough guy,” retorted Jack, though smiling.

  “Just joking, just joking. Good morning, everyone. I’m Tommy Morrow, and this is my dad, Jack Morrow. When I was told I had to do this assignment on my old man, I gotta say, I wasn’t so excited. I mean I could think of at least 10 other people in our family I would rather research, but now I’m glad I did.”

  Jack watched his son nervously. He didn’t know what to expect, and the presentation could go either way. It would either turn out well, or it would turn into a public roast.

  “My dad was born Jacob Angus Morrow on December 2, 1955. He was born in Fox Hollow, at the farm. He is the oldest of four kids. He is an especially stubborn fellow. He has to have things his way. But, he gets stuff done, and he hates letting people down. He didn’t get straight A’s like my aunt, but he did get on the honor roll just about every semester at Steeplechase. He was on the football team like me. After high school he went to trade school for carpentry, married my mother, and had five kids, the coolest of all being me.”

  At this point Jack was staring at him with in disbelief, arms crossed over his chest, while Tommy bragged about just how awesome he is.

  “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. In all seriousness though, something about my dad that I always found interesting. He had the opportunity like my uncles to go to college and take on a different trade. My uncles decided to be lawyers, but Dad chose to stay local, stay at the farm. Family is important to him. Fiercely important. He always says, ‘You can’t pick your family, Tommy, but even so, I think we made out pretty damn good.’ He’s protective of us. The biggest thing my father ever taught me is family comes first. Before friends, before money, before anything else. Loyalty might not mean a lot to the world out there, but to us, it means everything. We might joke a lot, complain a lot, but when it comes down to it we are loyal to each other, and that’s all that counts. So I can make fun of my family… but don’t you dare!”

  Tommy grabbed his foam board and walked off the stage with a laugh, leaving Jack gawking at him. Under his breath he mumbled in shock.

  He actually has been listening to me. I can’t believe it.

  Mrs. Mitchell checked her clipboard, and called Blake’s name. Blake got up from his seat, a single VHS tape in his hand. He handed it off to Mrs. Mitchell before climbing up the steps.

  “I’m going to do something a little different. My subject is my Uncle Frank.”

  Suddenly the overhead projector showed a grisly picture of Frank that could have been a mug shot. In the photograph, he is wearing his work uniform, his forehead is wrinkled, eyes and lips curled into an irritated look. As soon as the picture graced the screen, the audience begun to laugh. Frank, who was walking up the center aisle at the time, stopped in his tracks.

  “Oh, hell.”

  Blake, laughing behind his hand, waved his uncle on with the other. Frank decided to be a good sport, smiled and waved at everyone as he announced, “Don’t I look dashing up there!”

  “The man on the screen is my uncle, Frank Kilpatrick. He might look cranky, but he’s a pretty cool guy.” Frank, now standing directly to the left of the projector screen, stood with his arms crossed and gave the audience a dubious look.

  “Uncle Frank was born Francis Eamon Kilpatrick, and he was born in Innerweck, Scotland -“

  “Innerwick!” Frank corrected.

  “Oh, right. Innerwick, Scotland and he lived there until he was seven. Then he came here. His dad and my grandfather were work partners at the farm for a long time, so it was only natural that he and my dad hit it off. To this day, they are inseparable.”

  Blake switched to a photograph of a pair of scrappy looking kids together, giving each other a high five on a baseball field.

  “Look at these two misfits. The kid on the right with the freckles, blue t-shirt and scabby knees would be Uncle Frank and the boy on the right with the missing teeth and dirty face is my father. They are still best friends. Uncle Frank didn’t get straight A’s, but he is smart as a tack.”

  With a matter-of-fact tone, Frank proclaimed loudly enough for everyone to hear: “I didn’t test well,” gaining some mild laughter from the crowd.

  “After high school, he briefly enrolled in the Navy. He saw some action, but fortunately enrolled only six months before the end of the war. He was discharged at the end of the Vietnam War. When he came home, he married my Aunt Bridgette, and they had a kid. Some crazy kid named Shane. Now he splits his time between his job at the Department of Transportation and our farm.”

  “Are we done yet?” Frank asked impatiently, as Blake seemed to be wrapping up.

  “Not quite. Unpause the video.”

  Mrs. Mitchell pushed play and the video continued to stream on the project screen.

  “For years I could never understand what my uncle had ever did to earn the nickname Bulldog. Though a lot of people think my uncle is threatening-looking, he’s actually a very nice guy. Much like myself. Let’s watch.”

  The video showed the kitchen of the Morrow house where Frank was sitting at the kitchen table reading a newspaper with a disgruntled look on his face.

  “Uncle Frank?” asked Blake, trying to get his attention. Frank grunted, engrossed in his newspaper.

  “Uncle Frank?” asked Blake again.

  “Yeah, kid?” responded Frank, attention still on his newspaper.

  “I have this project I have to do, where I have to interview one of the family members.”

  “Oh, you should ask Aunt Bridgette. I’m sure she’d have a lot to say,” answered Frank, face still in the paper.

  “Yeah, the teacher said I had to write a report on you.” Finally, putting his paper down revealing his arm sling and bruised face.

  “Me?! Why the hell would they do that to you?!” Blake shrugged behind the camera.

  “And it’s gotta be on film?” Frank asked, eyeing the camera suspiciously, conscious of his injuries.

  “I think it would be fun.”

  “Oh, um, okay. What do you want to know?”

  “What is the most important lesson you have ever learned?” Frank took in the question, and smiled slightly.

  “Don’t be afraid to be yourself. The people who love you, will love you regardless. And the people who don’t? Well, they can kiss my you-know-what.” Blake started to laugh behind the camera.

  “In all seriousness? The biggest lesson I have ever learned is that this life is too short not to cherish every minute. You stand up for what you believe in, you protect those who cannot stand up for themselves, and you love life. You only get one, kid, and I don’t know ‘bout you, but I’ve had a pretty good one so far.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Anything else?

  “No. I think that w
ill about do it.”

  As the screen went black, Blake said nothing more, confident that his presentation did all the talking for him. Frank followed behind him, face still red from laughing.

  “All right. Only one left to go. Nice job, everyone. We’ll pick up in a minute.”

  Mrs. Mitchell picked up her grade book and marked down the grades of her students thus far. Cole had received an A for his heartfelt tribute to his departed mother. Tommy and Shane both received an A- for their entertaining presentations, and she just marked Blake down for an A+ for innovation and creativity.

  “Tristan, if you’re ready…”

  Tristan calmly rose from her seat, quietly making her way down the center aisle with a stack of index cards and a single VHS tape.

  “Good morning, everyone. My name is Tristan Morrow, and I will be discussing the life and achievements of my mother, Catherine Morrow.” The auditorium went completely quiet. Everybody knew the names. The adults recognized Catherine’s name from a highly publicized criminal case, and everyone recognized Tristan’s name thanks to Joe Piedmonte’s brilliant sign placement.

  She had no props, no flashy poster boards, and she definitely didn’t have any jokes to tell. She stood at the project screen, dressed in a muted heather gray sweater, and black slacks. Her long curls pinned away in a sleek chignon. She looked like Catherine on the stage. Even Jack did a double take.

  “Two weeks ago, I knew nothing at all about my mother, other than the fact that she wasn’t around. Due to a series of events that I would rather not discuss, I learned the truth about my mother. I learned that the rumors that flew around town about her were utterly false. Forget what you know. This is the Catherine you should be remembering.”

  Mrs. Mitchell pushed play on the VCR as home videos began flashing across the screen. Birthdays, celebrations, Christmases, smiling faces; Catherine surrounded by children, Catherine dancing with Jack on the porch in the summertime. A happy life.

  “She was born Catherine Elizabeth Westfeld and she was born in Philadelphia to an art curator and his wife. She came to the Elkhart area when she was thirteen, living with my grandmother. Here she attended Steeplechase, embraced her artistic ability and made a lot of friends. A lot of people have said that my mother was a recluse. Nothing could be further from the truth. She was popular when she went here. Even afterwards. But living so far away, and having all the people she loved most at home, she didn’t have much reason to leave the house. She had many friends. But when someone makes you fear for your life, you’ll do anything you have to protect your family and the ones you love. She enjoyed travelling, enjoyed learning, but most of all she loved spending time with family. Watch the clips. She was a kind woman whose life was cut short. The more I learn about her, the prouder I am to be her daughter. Don’t remember her for her shocking death. Embrace her for the wonderful person she was when she was here. Just out in the hallway, there are four art awards that she earned for the school prior to graduating. On the third floor, outside of Mr. Corlander’s classroom, there is a painting that she created when she was a senior here at Steeplechase. I’ve been told by many people that I look just like my mother. My only hope is that my soul is as good as hers, too. In all that has happened, I’ve learned several major lessons from her. First, be careful who you trust. Second, when you love, love with all your heart. And thirdly, when you believe in something, fight with all your might until there is no fighting left to be done. Live life with courage, and with faith.”

  As Tristan walked away from the stage, and up the center aisle, she ignored the applause, she ignored the high fives from the people who wanted to be her friend after recent events. She walked up the aisle not looking anyone in the eye, treating them as if they didn’t exist at all. She leaned in to give her father a kiss on his tear-stained face, before departing the auditorium.

  * * *

  As the 3:00 school bell rang, children flooded the schoolyard at Steeplechase. Liam, waiting patiently for everyone to exit the school, glanced at his watch in irritation. Noticing a speck of white paint on his hand, he tried scratching it off.

  “Damn, I thought I got it all!”

  Finally, the car began to fill up. Blake first, followed by Tommy and Shane, they were just waiting on Tristan. Liam tapping nervously on the dashboard decided to give her a minute or two. Slowly, she walked out of the school with Cole. Watching them closely, Cole must have told a joke because she broke into laughter. Seeing Liam in the car, she kissed Cole goodbye and ran towards the sedan.

  “Let’s get home. There is a surprise waiting for you all” Liam said.

  “A surprise?” asked Tristan suspiciously.

  “Is it ice cream?” asked Shane. “I really hope its ice cream.”

  “It’s not ice cream” confirmed Liam.

  “Well what is it then?” asked Blake.

  “You’ll see.”

  When they got home, no one was in the den, or the kitchen, or in the backyard.

  “Go upstairs.”

  Tristan, confused, followed her brothers upstairs to the second floor.

  “Okay. We’re here. Where’s this surprise?”

  “No. All the way upstairs. To the third floor.”

  “But we’re not allowed up there!”

  “Just go.”

  Tristan was the first to climb the stairs to the third floor, and she couldn’t believe her eyes. The space that had been barred to them for so long was welcoming them in. The small rooms had been removed, and the space had been opened up for them. Newly painted and renovated, the third floor was now one huge suite for all the kids. Since the boys didn’t want Tristan to sleep alone, and Tristan wanted to have a bigger space, Jack decided it was time to give them what they wanted.

  The third floor had long haunted Jack. That was her space. Her area where she retreated when she was most frightened. With great struggle he took down her things and packed them away. He was determined to do so for the benefit of their children. Bridgette reminded him that just because the space was being used for something else, didn’t mean that he was forgetting about Catherine. She would always be a part of this family and would always be a major presence in his life. They donated Catherine’s old clothes to a secondhand shop down on Mountain Road. The only item they kept was her wedding gown and her veil, which were safely stored in the attic of the guest house and her artwork, which lined the walls of the large room.

  Tristan looked around, amazed at it all, and she simply didn’t know what to say. Five handsome canopied beds were situated throughout the big room, a small desk next to each. In the back of the bright room she could see an ornate door. She walked to it, slowly, with high anticipation building in her stomach. She pushed the door opened and was amazed at what she saw before her. A larger, circular bedroom complete with a beautiful canopy bed, desk and bookshelves built into the walls. Pictures of the whole family lining the walls, with a note on the plush gray comforter that read, “Welcome home!”

  At long last, she finally felt that she was.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  At Long Last

  October 24, 1997

  Fox Hollow, PA

  A sense of calm overcame Jack as he sat on his porch next to Frank. An overwhelming sense of serenity that was foreign to his body. His mind was no longer ridiculed with grief, worrying about his beloved Catherine, nor panic-stricken and guilt-ridden over Tristan. The women he fought so hard to protect could never be harmed again by the sick man whom Jack had spent his whole adult life worrying about. Though Catherine lost the fight against Kendricks, she upheld the family’s honor and Jack’s trust. Even in her weak condition, she had fought brutally against a man who frightened her to the very inner matter of her soul. Like Tristan, she refused to go anywhere with him, and ran, not out of cowardice, but because the mere thought of going anywhere with Bernard Kendricks made her feel sick to her core. And Tristan, sweet, brave Tristan. Who would have known that she had her Aunt Bridgette’s wild streak in her?
Jack certainly didn’t. Her no-holds-barred, take-no-prisoners, no-nonsense attitude is what kept her alive and it is what saved this family in the end. It wasn’t Tristan who needed saving after all. At first he thought that if he hadn’t shown up, that Tristan and the rest of the family would be dead. But after hearing all that Tristan had gone through, all that Kendricks had put her through, he retracted his opinion. She had fought bravely, and she would continue to do so.

  Sergeant DiNolfo had stopped by earlier that day to discuss her progress. She now had enough information to close Catherine’s case, Tristan’s case, and about five other related cases on her desk. She had finally gotten out to Pennington prison to pay Benson a visit. Everything his daughter said was true. Benson was framed from Amos and Earl’s transgressions, and when Benson threatened to talk, he found himself in a six-by-eight cell. Now living at his daughter’s apartment, he is beginning to adjust to his life on the outside. As for Earl and Amos, the last DiNolfo heard was that they were being transferred to a high-security prison in upstate New York after their existing one closed down for a variety of rumored reasons. With many of their cases still deliberating, it would be a while before they found out just when they would be getting out. With Catherine’s case being resolved, she came to let Jack know that the insurance money would also be coming out of escrow. Jack nearly kissed her he was so happy. Jack planned to build a high perimeter fence around the property, purchase the kids a new computer, and put the rest away for their tuition.