The Widows of Eden

by George Shaffner

  The rest of the service was upbeat but otherwise uneventful, which was a blessing in itself. After the benediction, Mr. Moore hustled Clara and me out a side door, probably to avoid any more spontaneous touching. As we pulled out of the parking lot, I could see the farmers beginning to mill around by the front entrance, backslapping, high-fiving, and congratulating each other all over again because of the imminent arrival of rain.

  My sweet, compassionate side couldn’t have been happier for them and their families, but my dour, cynical side was reminded of the high school football games I attended as a Pep Squad parent. After each game was over, a bunch of shirtless males from the winning school would inevitably jump out of the stands and run around the field yelling, “We won! We won!” — while generally behaving as if they had just stopped the Huns at the city gate with their personal derring-do. Myself, I never understood a whit of it, especially the “we” part. It was not like they were on the field when the game was being played, and it was not like we, the humble citizens of Hayes County, were calling in the rain.

  That was up to God, or Mr. Moore acting on His behalf, and the game wasn’t even over yet. The odds of winning were still only fifty-fifty.

  Chapter 25

  IT’S THE THOUGHT THAT COUNTS

  LATER THAT MORNING, Hail Mary Wade and Dot Hrnicek welcomed Mr. Moore into the county attorney’s office at the courthouse. Once he and Dot had taken hard-backed chairs and Mary had made herself comfortable, she puckered up and said, “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Vernon. I was afraid that you were avoiding me, and after all we’ve been through together.”

  “Forgive me. I would have been by sooner, but it’s been an extraordinarily busy week.”

  “So I’ve heard. We saw you at church this morning with Clara Tucker, but you spirited her away before we could catch up and say hello.”

  “It was her first contact with the public in years. I didn’t want to risk overexposure.”

  “Just her, or maybe yourself, too.”

  Mr. Moore smiled. “A little of both, perhaps.”

  “Well, that was probably wise on both counts. Clara didn’t seem upset by the attention, though. Did she say anything about the service afterwards?”

  “No.”

  Dot remarked, “So her vocabulary is still limited to ‘yes’ and ‘no.’”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s a pity. We’re all hoping that poor woman will release herself from solitary confinement some day.”

  “I hope so, too, Sheriff, but she’s kept to herself for a very long time. We should expect that her return to public life will be gradual at best.”

  “You’re right, of course,” Hail Mary added. “She’s a county treasure; we all need to be patient with her. Have you had the occasion this week to meet Pearline O’Connor, Clem’s practical nurse?”

  “Several times, at the River House.”

  “What did you think of her little stunt at church this morning? Did it make you uncomfortable in any way?”

  “Not a bit. Why?”

  “Because everyone in the congregation knew precisely who she was talking about.”

  “Perhaps, but I thought the reverend handled it remarkably well. Didn’t you?”

  Mary half-smiled. “If I was a suspicious person, I might suspect that he had been prepared for the eventuality. Am I mistaken, or wasn’t one of your widow friends sitting next to Pearline?”

  “Eloise Richardson. She’s also been to the River House.”

  “I thought so. It seems to me that you and your associates have been wearing a path to Lord Clem’s door. I suppose you’ve heard the rumor.”

  “The rumor?”

  “That Clem has offered you a king’s ransom for his life.”

  Mr. Moore sighed. “Ah, that rumor. Why do you ask?”

  “Because we, meaning Dottie and I, don’t want you to tarnish your legendary reputation by running afoul of the law. In this state, a single count of fraud, extortion, or deceptive trade practices can be punishable by up to twenty years in jail, plus fines.”

  “Deceptive trade practices? That’s a new one. What’s a deceptive trade practice?”

  “A false representation. For instance, extorting seventy-five million dollars from a terminally ill man in return for an empty promise to save his life.”

  “Wow! That’s a serious charge. Do either of you honestly believe that I could do such a thing?”

  “No,” Dottie replied. “For a fact, we don’t, but we’ve been wrong before. Be advised, Vernon: we will have to put you in jail if you deceive Clem Tucker into paying you that kind of money. The law doesn’t give us a choice.”

  Mr. Moore thought her words over for a minute, then he said, “I appreciate the advice, Sheriff. Whatever I do or don’t do while I’m in Ebb, I promise that I won’t extort seventy-five million dollars from Clem Tucker.”

  “So the rumor is wrong. You deny everything.”

  “I’m unaware of the full extent of the rumor, Mary. How can I know whether I denied ‘everything’?”

  “Okay. The same rumor says you’re going to ask for Clem’s life instead of rain, not both. Do you deny that, too?”

  “Forgive me, but didn’t you discuss the same issue with Marion yesterday?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what did she say?”

  “She evaded the question, just like you are. She said we all should have faith — in you.”

  “I take it that was the wrong answer.”

  “I’m the county attorney, Vernon, and the Queen Bee of the Quilting Circle. I can’t just sit on my hands if there’s a chance, any chance at all, that you’re about to sell us down the river for Clem Tucker’s money.”

  “You can’t? Why not? What’s your alternative?”

  Hail Mary was never at her best when the tables were turned against her. She replied, “Excuse me?”

  “I repeat: what else can you do? Should you warn Clem of my intentions? If you do, I believe you’ll find that he’s already very well informed, but he may not be enthused to learn that rumors of his private business dealings have reached your office.”

  “So the rumors are true. You and Clem do have a deal.”

  “We have a contingent business agreement. Like all such agreements, the terms and conditions are confidential.”

  “Privacy won’t get you a pass, Vernon. I don’t need a complaint to get a conviction. If you extort money from Clem Tucker for a prayer, I will throw you in jail.”

  Mr. Moore smiled calmly and replied, “The last time I checked, Counselor, the rain was on its way. Are we done?”

  Hail Mary cleared her throat. “I have one other item on my agenda, if you don’t mind. What can you tell us about Lohengrin’s Children, or is that confidential, too?”

  “It’s a travel club, as you know. I’m a member in good standing.”

  “I gather it’s not-for-profit.”

  “It’s a club, Mary.”

  “So I understand, but we were unable to find any incorporation or tax records for this ‘club’ as you call it, either in this state or any other.”

  “You investigated the tax status of a travel club? How thorough! Do you check up on reading groups and bridge clubs, too? Is it a matter of routine?”

  “You’re dodging the question, Vernon. We were unable to locate any sort of filing for Lohengrin’s Children anywhere, not even a mailing address. Why is that?”

  “It’s conjecture, but my suspicion is that you forgot to check England.”

  “England?”

  “Our headquarters are in Winchester, southwest of London. I believe you’ll find whatever you need over there.”

  “I’ll be damned!” Dottie remarked. “Thanks for the tip. We’ll get on it.”

  Mr. Moore gathered himself and stood up. “I’d love to stay and chat but extortion has a schedule, or is it deceptive trade practice? I’m due at the River House shortly.”

  My friend the county attorney looked up from her
big mahogany desk and said, “Why do I get the impression that you’re not taking this predicament seriously, Vernon?”

  “I have no idea, Counselor. Like you, I take all of my predicaments very seriously. Have a lovely day. You too, Sheriff.”

  After he had gone, Hail Mary asked, “Do you think he got the message, Dot?”

  “Oh, there’s no doubt about that. Did you get his message?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Were you reading his body language when you threatened him with jail? He didn’t flinch; he didn’t look away; he didn’t twitch or tap his foot or start to perspire. A normal man gets more panicky than that when he is asked to dance.”

  “A normal man can’t ask for directions, Dottie.”

  “That’s what I mean, Mary. Vernon Moore is not your normal man. Hell, he may not even be a man, and he is not the least bit worried about being thrown in my jail.”

  “Then he underestimates me …”

  “Or you underestimate him.” Dottie looked up at the ceiling and asked, “I wonder: which is more likely?”

  PEARLINE MET MR. MOORE at the door that morning, then the two of them disappeared into the bowels of the household. She reappeared in the kitchen by herself afterwards, crying a torrent of tears.

  Marie grabbed a paper towel off the rack and handed it to her. “Are you okay, Pearl? Is there something I can do?”

  Clem’s practical nurse sat down at the table and wiped her eyes. “I’m perfectly fine. I had a talk with Mr. Moore, that’s all.”

  “I noticed. What did the man say?”

  She blew her nose. “He got me a job, and after all the trouble I was.”

  “He what?”

  “Mr. Tucker won’t be needin’ me after Saturday, so Mr. Moore got me a job; a good-payin’ job, too, and it’s in Edgerton, just down the road from home.”

  “Did you tell him you needed a job, Pearl? You didn’t tell me.”

  “I told Mr. Tucker; he must’ve mentioned it to Mr. Moore. Now, if you don’t mind, I have to do my laundry. I need to get ready to go.”

  “Where is Mr. Moore now?”

  “With Mr. Tucker, in his office.”

  “They’re in the office? Oh no! You can’t do your laundry now! You have to listen in.”

  “No, I don’t, Marie. I’m not spying on anybody anymore. Anyway, Mr. Moore said it would be okay if you listened in this time.”

  At first, Marie reacted like any professional chef would. “But I have to cook a formal dinner for ten tonight!” Then she stopped dead in her tracks and said, “Mr. Moore knows?”

  “He knows everything, and I mean everything.”

  I got a call about two seconds later. Two seconds after that, you-know-who was on the hook for dessert, then Marie said, “Thanks for helping me out on such short notice, Wilma. You’re the exception that proves the rule.”

  “What rule?” I asked innocently.

  “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but I’m not used to the boss helping out. That’s all.”

  “But I’m not your boss, Marie. I’m your friend, and a fellow Circle girl. We always help each other out. That’s the rule.”

  “Maybe so, but I appreciate it anyway.”

  I probably should have been thinking about dessert, but “the exception that proves the rule” kept gnawing at my innards long after I had hung up the phone. It’s another one of those old saws that makes no sense. To my simple mind, an exception is a clear indication that the rule doesn’t work. For instance, there are three teaspoons in a tablespoon. Nobody ever says that the exception is two teaspoons, which proves that it’s really three!

  As long as I’m at it, I have a bone to pick with the first yokel who said, “It’s the thought that counts.” My theory is that it was thought up by some empty-headed husband who forgot his anniversary, and then a thousand others bought into it. The next thing you knew, forgetful men everywhere were saying, “It’s the thought that counts.”

  In the country, a nice thought and four dollars will get you a latte at Starbucks. Effort is appreciated, too, but when a person is in trouble, they need results. I can’t imagine one farmer calling up another and saying, “Hey, Bert. I heard you needed to borrow my tractor to get your corn in before the hailstorm, but I was playing pinochle over at the Corn Palace and plain forgot. It’s the thought that counts, though.”

  See what I mean?

  Chapter 26

  DIVINE INTERVENTION

  MY FIANCé’S OFFICE was an impeccably decorated shrine to the ancient and masculine art of killing things. A gun rack hung on each side wall: one for high zoot shotguns and the other for various and sundry hunting rifles, most with straps and scopes. Clem also kept a gun safe in the far corner that looked like a small refrigerator. I never saw what he kept in there, but I doubt that it was cabbage and cheese. The Japanese sword set sat in its own rack on a long, waist-high table in front of the window behind his desk, and his collection of Pawnee and Lakota Sioux artifacts was in a glass case on the bookshelf. A Remington bronze of a cowboy on horseback had been placed on the table next to a leather reading chair, and a red, white, and black Navajo rug covered most of the floor in front of his desk.

  It was a man’s room if I ever saw one; a well-heeled, well-armed man’s room.

  When Marie peered through the crack between the door and the frame, all she could see was a narrow slice of Clem sitting comfortably behind his desk. An invisible Mr. Moore was saying, “The widows and I are all looking forward to it, but I was wondering if you could ask Marie to set one more place at the table.”

  “Who for? Not that imp Hail Mary Wade. She’s been angling for an invitation to the River House for years.”

  “Actually, I was thinking of your sister, Clara.”

  “Clara? You’re shitting me! She’d never come out here. I must’ve invited her a hundred times.”

  “I thought you might have heard, Clem. I escorted her to the sunrise service at church this morning. She handled it well …”

  “You’ve been seeing my sister?”

  “You knew I had, Clem. We’ve been friends since my first visit to Ebb.”

  “You told me you had seen her once. Since you two are pals, is it possible that you might have dropped a hint or two about our deal?”

  “No. I thought I’d leave that to you.”

  “To me? Why?”

  “You go under the knife in two days, Clem. Don’t you have some contingencies to cover with the people close to you? For instance, who will assume control of the Tucker Trust in the unlikely event that you die?”

  “Calvin will continue as custodian of the trust. It’s all arranged.”

  “But who will become chairman, or should I say chairwoman?”

  Clem mulled that over then said, “You know what, Vernon? You’re absolutely right. I had a fixed impression of what this dinner was supposed to be, but I should’ve been broader in my thinking. Clara should be here. Tell her I’m rolling out the red carpet.”

  “It’ll be my pleasure.”

  “Excellent! Now, do we have business to conduct, or do you need to knock a few more nuts off the family tree first?”

  “Let’s move on.”

  Marie made a mental note to appear surprised when Mr. Moore mentioned that Clara was coming to dinner. In the meantime, my fiancé reclined in his chair and said, “As I recall, you had convinced me yesterday that God couldn’t intervene in the affairs of men, but then you mentioned some sort of loophole. Is that right?”

  “It is.”

  “Then I take it that we’re about to explore the loophole.”

  “We are.”

  “That’s what I wanted to hear. Do you want something to drink?”

  “I would, if you don’t mind. A cup of tea would be lovely.”

  Without getting up from his chair, Clem yelled, “Pearline! Marie! Would one of you come in here and see me, please?”

  Marie counted to five and entered Clem’s office. After a brief d
iscussion, which included the “surprise” addition of Clara to the evening’s guest list, she agreed to bring Clem a double espresso and Mr. Moore a cup of tea. No one was on station while Marie was in the kitchen, but it appears that little of the conversation was lost.

  After she had delivered the men their caffeine, Clem said, “Yeah. I played baseball when I was a kid. Little League. Why?”

  “Was your coach an ex – baseball player?”

  “I’d hate to have a coach who wasn’t. He played college ball at Concordia, up in Seward.”

  “Was he a good coach?”

  “He knew the game and he didn’t molest anybody. Against modern standards, I’d say he was stellar.”

  “So it would seem. Did your team ever get behind?”

  “In a game? Sure. Once or twice anyway.”

  “Did the coach put himself in to pitch?”

  “I just love the way you think, Vernon. He was thirty-something years old. Why would an idea like that even enter a man’s mind?”

  “Why, indeed? The reason it wouldn’t, of course, is that the result would be predetermined. That’s why it’s against the rules. Correct?”

  “Yeah, but isn’t the same true of God? Isn’t that why he can’t intervene, because the result would be preordained?”

  “Not exactly.”

  Clem took a sip of his espresso. “This is crap! There’s not enough sugar! Everybody in my household is a goddamned nutritionist anymore. Now, explain to me why God can destroy uncertainty when that’s supposed to be the one thing He wants more than anything else.”

  “Let’s try an example. Suppose God decided to intervene in one of your Little League games. What would have happened?”

  “Depending on the side He picked, my team would’ve won or lost by a zillion to zero.”

  “Meaning God would have destroyed the uncertainty of the game.”

  “That’s what I already said.”

  “But you were only partially right. As it turns out, your uncertainty would have been destroyed, but God’s wouldn’t have been materially affected.”

  “How the hell can you say that, Vernon? He fixed the goddamned ballgame. Are you saying that He doesn’t care?”