The Fourth Trumpet

by Theresa Jenner Garrido

  “And knocked you head over kiester,” Berry grinned.

  Aunt Claire pursed her lips. “Hush, Berry. As I was saying, you were upset, left the house all in a tizzy and plain didn’t watch where you were going. Then that nasty, odious creature attacked and nearly trampled you to death.” She grimaced and fanned her face with one hand. “Anyway, you must have had a dream while you were asleep. You just dreamed about someone named Keith, dear.” She clucked her tongue. “But everything is all right now, sweetheart. We’ll just put all that fuss about college behind us, pretend it didn’t happen. Everything is all right. No monsters. Nobody named Keith. Nobody—who did you say died?”

  “Father Joe.”

  “Father Joe? A priest? A Catholic priest? Here?”

  “Yes.”

  Aunt Claire sniffed. “My goodness, you do have an imagination. No priest died here. Everything is just fine, just fine. Your eyes look good—pupils equal and reactive—and the knot on your head isn’t too bad. You’ll probably have a headache, but I’ll give you some aspirin.”

  “We used up all the aspirin on Father Joe,” Andrea murmured.

  “You what, dear?”

  Uncle Mike chimed in. “You know you gave me another gray hair, don’t you? When Berry brought you in, draped over his shoulder like a damn sack of horse feed, we didn’t know whether you were dead or alive. Next time, think before you go storming out like a spitfire. Try using a little restraint.”

  His wife glared at him. “Michael, I said that subject was closed. We are starting over—fresh start. Understand?”

  Uncle Mike’s cheeks reddened. “Oh, sure, sure. Didn’t mean to snap.”

  Andrea grimaced. “Yes, well, I am sorry I lost my temper and ran out of the house like that.”

  “All water under the bridge,” Aunt Claire said, giving her husband another withering look.

  “Fine, fine,” Uncle Mike muttered. He bent over Andrea and peered into her eyes. “So, how do you really feel?”

  “Horribly and utterly confused. What happened? How did I get hurt? And how long did you say I was unconscious?”

  “Only about six or seven minutes, honey, but you scared us, all the same,” Aunt Claire said, still fanning her face with a hand.

  “Heck, Mom, I’ve been knocked out for longer than that when I played football in high school,” Berry scoffed. “Remember?”

  “Yes, I remember, and I worried then, too. Besides, your head is a lot thicker than Andrea’s.”

  Berry laughed at his mother then turned to Andrea and made a face. “Oh, I think her head’s pretty solid.”

  Ignoring her cousin, Andrea’s eyes foraged about the cheerful living room hungrily. “It looks so-so normal in here.” Then she noticed the tree outside the window. “Oh, there’re apples on the apple tree! How wonderful! I thought it was the dead of winter.”

  Berry wrinkled his nose. “Mom, you sure she’s okay? Sounds positively demented to me.” He hooted. “Then again, she always sounds positively demented so how’s one to know?”

  His mother wrinkled her nose. “Oh, she’s all right. Just a little shaken, is all. Anyway, I’ll take her in to see Dr. Adams if there’s even a hint of irregularity.”

  “Then you better just go and get it over with because she’s always been a tad irregular,” the young man grinned.

  “Enough, Bernard Michael Gardner.” Aunt Claire’s eyes were shooting sparks.

  Andrea tried to smile but her mouth felt stiff. “Will somebody please explain to me what happened? Did you knock me out, Berry?”

  His hands up in mock incredulity, Berry gasped. “Moi? How can you even suggest such a thing? I’m hurt. I’m wounded.” He chuckled. “You, my dear addle-brained cousin, ran head-long, smack-dab into Kellermann’s bull, Charlie.”

  “I what? Who?”

  “Charlie. You know. Kellermann’s bull? He broke through the fence—the third time, I might add—and charged after you in the woods behind the house.”

  A flash of understanding hit Andrea and her eyes widened. “Yes, yes, I do remember.”

  “Yeah, well, I nearly peed my pants when I saw what was happening.”

  “Oh, Berry,” his mother chided. “For goodness sakes.”

  “After you stormed out of the house, I followed, hoping to throw a muzzle on you.” He tweaked Andrea’s foot. “Man, you sure can get riled up, kiddo.”

  Andrea glanced up at her aunt. “I’m sorry.”

  “Well, like I said, it’s water under the bridge. We won’t discuss it any further. But you will be starting college this fall. Yes, you will. Indeed, you will. And there’s to be no further argument. We won’t be silly about it anymore. Okey-dokey?”

  Andrea lowered her eyes. She hadn’t the energy to argue. In fact, she felt deflated and lifeless, like a popped balloon, like a withered blossom, like all the blood had been drained from her. “I remember hearing a noise behind me.” She rolled her eyes. “I thought it was you, Berry. Following me. And then-and then I saw it. That horrid, stupid bull.”

  Aunt Claire’s face clouded. “Mike, I want you to call Hank Kellermann right this blessed minute and demand that he take better precautions against something like this ever happening again or we’ll-we’ll sue. We can joke about it now because it turned out all right, but it just as easily could have been a tragedy. I am sick and tired of that bull getting out of his pasture.”

  “Will do, darlin’. I’ll call him.”

  “Do it now.”

  “Yes’m. I’ll do it right now.” Uncle Mike turned on his heel and disappeared into the den.

  Satisfied her niece was fine, Aunt Claire declared she had cooking to do. Berry leaped up, saying he had to wash his truck. When all three had disappeared, Andrea remained on the couch, still a little dazed and bewildered. She stared out the window at the apple tree, branches heavy with ripening fruit. Her thoughts groped and stumbled through a maze of vague impressions and memories.

  There was a priest here. And a Baptist minister. She closed her eyes. And a pregnant girl. And a thug who nearly killed us. Suddenly overwhelmed, Andrea pushed up from the couch and stood on shaky legs. I remember everything. I do. I delivered a baby right here, in this living room. The girl, Carrie, went into premature labor. The stress and fear and loss were too much for her. And the minister—his name was Eleazar—helped me and— Andrea gave her head a shake then winced at the slight headache and ringing in her ears. This was too much to take in, too far-fetched and impossible.

  With a shrug, she climbed the stairs, one step at a time. She’d take a bath and get into clean clothes. Then she’d go downstairs and help Aunt Claire with dinner. However good her intentions were, as soon as she crossed the threshold into her room, she paused, reeling a little from shock. Everything was exactly how she’d left it this morning. It was almost too normal—too familiar. “Dear God, help me,” she muttered.

  Unbuttoning the first two buttons of her rumpled blouse, her fingers fumbled. “What am I doing? I can’t pretend nothing happened. I can’t.”

  Flopping down on the bed, she exhaled. Had it really been just a dream? A manifestation from bumping her head? Was that possible? “So, was I Dorothy, whirling around Kansas in a farmhouse? Did I land in the very antithesis of Oz?” She covered her face with her hands and moaned.

  “No, I can’t believe it was all a dream. All I went through all those days in the dark. Waiting for the end of the world. Wondering where my family’d gone. All that was a product of my own subconscious? Impossible! I can’t accept that. Eleazar and Father Joe? Carrie and Richard. And Thor, my dear doggie friend who saved me more than once? No way.”

  Andrea rolled off the bed and stumbled over to her dresser. Leaning against the heavy piece of furniture for support, she peered into the mirror. Her wide-eyed reflection looked dumfounded. She shook her head at her mirror twin. “All that couldn’t have been a figment of my overwrought imagination. Keith was more than a bump on the head. He was everything to me. He gave life purpo
se, gave it meaning. Keith, just a dream? No! No, no, no! I refuse to believe that.”

  A tremor ran through her. She left the mirror and returned to the bed. Grabbing her pillow, she hugged it fiercely. “Keith, you were real. I loved you. You loved me. You were real. You were real. You have to be real. Oh, God!” She lay back and clung to the pillow, while great welling sobs welled up and the dam of her reserve broke into a million pieces of despair.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  That night and again the next morning, Aunt Claire gave Andrea a thorough going-over. She checked her pupils for any signs of concussion, took her temperature, and poked and prodded like the most experienced doctor. Finally convinced that Andrea was none the worse for wear, she declared her fit to go about her business.

  Andrea was sipping the last of her morning coffee when the seed of an idea sprouted. She looked over at her cousin, busily munching his third piece of toast. “Berry?”

  His eyebrows lifted. “Hmm?”

  “Would you loan me your truck? I need to run—”

  “No, I don’t want you behind a wheel for twenty-four hours,” Aunt Claire turned away from the sink and frowned. “Just to be on the safe side.”

  “But Aunt Claire, you said yourself I was none the worse for wear.”

  “You are perfectly fine, but I don’t want to take any chances. Berry can drive you anywhere you need to go. But what, in heaven’s name, is so important? Can’t it wait?”

  Andrea’s eyes shifted from her aunt’s penetrating gaze to the napkin in her lap. “No, it can’t wait.” She really didn’t want to get into another brouhaha with her aunt. “So, Berry…”

  Berry shrugged. “Sure, I’ll play chauffeur. Where to?”

  “Oh, just around town. I-I need to check on a few things.” She turned to her aunt. “Really, Aunt Claire, I feel fine. I only want to go into town, just a few stops in-between. Berry doesn’t need to babysit.” There. She’d said it. If it brought on World War III, so be it.

  Her aunt’s lips formed a tight, straight line. Her blue eyes bored into Andrea. After an eon of screaming silence, she sniffed and tossed her gray head. “Well, I’m not going to debate the issue with you, but for the record, I think you should take it easy for a day or two, but you know best.” This last was said with another sniff and a lifting of one plump shoulder.

  Andrea breathed a sigh of relief and turned to her cousin. “So, may I borrow your truck? Just for a few hours?”

  Berry’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, you can, but…”

  “But?”

  “I’m at loose ends today and got nothing better to do. And with me at school most of the year and you, too—well, I’d like to pal around with you today. Okay?”

  Andrea lowered her eyes. “It’d bore you to tears.”

  “Try me.”

  Too tired to argue, Andrea rolled her eyes. “Fine. Come along. But don’t start whining and nagging me to go home. I really have some things to do.”

  “Fine. I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they were in Berry’s dilapidated, 1977 Chevrolet truck, cruising down the highway toward town. After a few minutes of companionable silence, her cousin glanced at her. “So, Andy. You want to tell me where we’re going and why?”

  “I promise I’ll tell you everything. After a while. I need to sort things out first.”

  “Okay. So, what’s our first stop?”

  “You know that brand-new subdivision going up on Split Oak Road?”

  “Castle Construction’s new site? Yeah, Dan Smith’s family just moved there. Nice place.”

  “Yes, well, I want to go there, first.”

  Berry shrugged but didn’t press her for further explanations. Andrea relaxed. She knew her cousin well. He’d humor her today, thinking he had to because she’d had a rough time of it yesterday. She almost grinned as he drove the few miles, chatting to her about nonsensical things. When they turned in at the entrance to The Meadows, Andrea sat up straighter and scanned the area for something or someone familiar.

  “Do you know which house you want?”

  “No, just drive up and down the streets. And go slow. Thankfully, there aren’t that many houses up yet.”

  They drove up one street and were making their way down another when Andrea saw the front door of a spacious ranch-style house open and an attractive woman with a mass of blonde curls step out, hefting a baby carrier in one hand. Andrea sucked in a deep breath. “Oh, my God. It’s Carrie.”

  “Who?”

  “Stop the car.”

  “What?”

  “Stop!”

  Berry pulled in behind a dark blue van but left the engine idling. “Why? What are—”

  Andrea ignored him. She was tore at her seat belt, push open the door, and jumped from the car. Berry’s surprised eyes followed her as she sprinted up to the young woman.

  “Excuse me. Carrie? Is it really you? Carrie Vanderpelt?”

  “Yes?”

  “You are Carrie Vanderpelt?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry. Do I know you?” The woman looked at Andrea with the same wide-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights look she’d had throughout their ordeal. Andrea would recognize those eyes anywhere.

  “Yes. Yes, we’ve met. At least, I’ve seen you before. You and—”

  Just then, a young man appeared from around the house, strode purposely up to the young woman and relieved her of the baby carrier. “Who’s this?” he asked, looking Andrea up and down.

  Andrea’s attention was drawn to the tiny pink bundle, asleep in the carrier. “Your baby. Your sweet little girl. She made it.”

  “Yes, Maddie is four months old today,” the woman replied, fingering the pink blanket covering the baby.

  “What do you mean, made it?” the man frowned.

  “Are you Rob? Carrie was so worried about you. I’m so glad you’re safe.”

  “Who are you, again?” The man’s face now resembled a thundercloud. Carrie’s, on the other hand, reflected both complete stupefaction and bursting pride.

  Andrea felt light-headed. “Oh. I’m sorry. My name’s Andrea. Andrea Gardner.”

  “Have we met?” Carrie seemed determined to be polite. “Was it at church? Or were you at the book talk at the library last Saturday?”

  “No, I—” Suddenly the whole thing seemed ludicrous and Andrea winced with embarrassment. Carrie obviously didn’t remember her, didn’t recall ever having met her. Of course not. The whole stupid, incredible thing had only been a dream. A flood of hot humiliation washed over Andrea. She took a step backwards. “I’m sorry. I must be mistaken. Sorry I disturbed you.” Then she happened to glance at the house next door. “Oh! Uh, just one more question, please. Who lives next door to you? Is it, by any chance, a young man by the name of Keith Reynolds?”

  Carrie nodded. “Yes. Keith lives there.”

  Andrea’s heart flew into her throat. “Is he—” She had to swallow. “Is he home?”

  “No, Keith should be at work.” Her face brightened. “Maybe that’s where we met. Were you at his open house party last week?”

  Feeling even more foolish, Andrea shook her head. “No. No, I, uh, just heard about him from some friends of mine. Thanks. Sorry I troubled you. You have a beautiful baby. Bye.”

  Berry, who had left the car to rescue his cousin before the dumbfounded couple could call the police, stopped halfway up the walk. As soon as Andrea turned, he linked his arm through hers and tugged. “C’mon, kiddo.” His voice was unnaturally loud. “I think we’ve made a mistake. This isn’t the couple I was talking about,” he said with emphasis.

  Andrea looked at him in bewilderment, then realization flooded over her. He was rescuing her from her lunacy. Even though the woman definitely was Carrie, she hadn’t a clue who Andrea was. She’d never seen Andrea before in her life. And her husband looked positively suspicious, ready to phone the authorities any minute. Andrea’s cheeks reddened. “I-I’m awfully sorry,” she said again over her shoulder. “I-I
mistook you for-for someone else I…”

  “Come on,” Berry hissed.

  “That’s all right,” the young woman called back. Her husband frowned and just stared as they made their retreat.

  Berry didn’t give Andrea a chance to say another word. He quickly ushered her back to the truck, shoved her in, and hopped in. With a roar of engine and a squeal of tires, he drove out of the subdivision.

  Once out on the main road, he let out an exasperated sigh. “What in heaven’s name were you doing back there? I have half a mind to take you to emergency right this second. Your head needs examining. Man! That was more than embarrassing. That was over-the-top humiliating.”

  “Oh, put a lid on it,” Andrea snapped.

  “No! I mean it, Andy. That whole scene enacted back there was off-the-charts weird.”

  “I’m sorry. I thought-I thought they were some people I knew, and—oh, never mind.”

  “Please tell me what this is all about!”

  “I will, I will. I promise. Only not yet.” Andrea cast pleading eyes in her cousin’s direction. “Will you take me to St. Michael the Archangel Catholic Church, please? It’s across the street from—”

  “I know where it is. Why do you want to go there? You’re not Catholic.”

  “I’m not joining the church, Berry. I just want to check up on something. Sheesh! Cut me some slack, will you?”

  “It better not be like the last thing you ‘checked up’ on.”

  “I told you not to come, not to whine. I wanted to do this, myself.”

  “I’m not whining. Heck. I just want to know what this is all about.”

  “Stop nagging, Berry. I have some things I need to work out. I’ll explain later.”

  “Fine. You better come totally clean.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  Berry drove to the outskirts of their little town, past the fire station and the post office, to First Street, where St. Michael the Archangel Catholic Church stood across the street from Sunrise United Methodist Church. As they approached the Catholic Church, Berry slowed to a crawl. Andrea immediately sat forward and waved her hand toward a young man in front, pushing a hand mower. It had taken her only a second to recognize Richard.