Far Far Away

by Tom McNeal

“When the sheriff was grilling me, he asked if I’d seen you or any other boys.” She grinned. “The sheriff seems to think girls wouldn’t be able to climb fences and run as fast as, to use his term, the perpetrators did.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Jeremy said. “I’ll tell her.”

  Jenny let her eyes settle on him. “When would that be, Jeremy? The next time she spends the night in your attic?”

  So! Somebody had seen her!

  Jeremy’s pale skin burned red.

  Jenny Applegarth slipped a napkin under a plate and said quietly, “Morley McRaven saw her shinnying down the drainpipe from your attic.”

  So, I thought. Once again, our Deputy McRaven.

  “It’s not what you think, Mrs. Applegarth,” Jeremy said. “I was reading her a story and she just fell asleep and I didn’t have the heart to wake her up and then I messed up setting the alarm clock. It was all my fault.” His expression was miserable. “I set the alarm for twelve p.m. instead of twelve a.m.” He raised his eyes to Mrs. Applegarth. “But all we did was sleep. Nothing happened.”

  “I believe you, Jeremy, I truly do. Problem is, in a town like this, the appearance of doing something wrong can be as bad as actually doing it.”

  Jeremy’s jaw tightened. “What else can they do to me?” he blurted. “They’ve already crowned me the scummiest kid in town! What else can they possibly do?”

  Jenny Applegarth shook her head and picked up the platter. “More,” she said quietly. “They can always do more.”

  She was correct, of course.

  Normally, Jeremy did nine jobs every Saturday. Five had canceled by telephone, but, not counting Jenny Applegarth’s job, that still left three.

  When he arrived at the first house, a sign hung from the gatepost that said JEREMY—DO NOT COME INTO OUR YARD YOUR SERVICES NO LONGER NEEDED.

  At the second house, the note was shorter: JEREMY, NO MORE WORK FOR YOU!

  When he got to the third house, he did not need to look for a note. Another boy was already at work in the yard, running his mowing machine back and forth.

  On past Saturdays, Jeremy had a little ritual. After finishing his last yard work of the day, he would ride to Crinklaw’s Superette, purchase groceries, select a bottle of root beer from the refrigerated case, and then sit on the wooden bench in front of the market to drink it. It was always a pleasantly reassuring scene—a tired boy drinking a cold refreshment in front of his bicycle and gardening equipment—and passersby would nod and smile and tip their hats.

  But this was before the public shunning and the loss of nearly all of his jobs.

  Today he purchased the barest necessities at the market and was about to pedal away when Dolores Broom pulled up in her postal truck and stepped out, holding a letter.

  “Been looking for you, Jeremy,” she said, waving an envelope and a pen. “Certified mail. You’ve got to sign for it.”

  Dolores Broom seemed to hope Jeremy would open the letter then and there, but he merely stared at it.

  “Looks official, doesn’t it?” she said.

  It was true. It did. The return address was High Plains National Bank.

  “Guess it’s important,” Jeremy said, and the mail carrier replied, “ ’Course it’s important. You don’t pay for certified unless it’s important.”

  She waited, but Jeremy merely folded the envelope in half and stuffed it into his rear pocket.

  “Okay, then,” Dolores Broom said, plainly disappointed. She glanced up at the darkening sky. “I better get to it before things turn damp.”

  She climbed back into her truck and drove away.

  Jeremy pedaled to a remote corner of the municipal park and seated himself on a picnic table. A grumble of thunder issued from the north.

  Jeremy touched his finger to his temple. “You here?” he whispered.

  I am.

  “Kind of a bad day,” he said.

  Yes. But things will turn for the better. Often in the tales it is when circumstances seem most hopeless that good fortune intercedes.

  “I thought you didn’t really believe in the tales.”

  That does not mean I would not like to.

  He took a deep breath. “Okay, let’s just see.” He pulled the envelope from his pocket and tore it open.

  Notice of Foreclosure Auction was the first line, followed by particulars: Barring payment of all monies due, Jeremy’s property would be auctioned on the steps of the county courthouse in sixty days.

  “Sixty days,” he whispered. “We’ll never get the money by then.”

  His eyes fell again on the letter.

  But listen!—a soft footfall, and there was Ginger Boultinghouse slowly stealing up on Jeremy from behind.

  Do not look now, I said, but the girl is sneaking up behind you. She is going to try to scare you. I will tell you the moment before she is going to pounce.

  This was in fact what I did, at which point Jeremy leapt up, spun around, and let loose a hair-raising scream!

  Ginger shrieked, recoiled, and tripped backward onto the grassy lawn.

  Jeremy found this extremely entertaining. I was myself somewhat amused.

  “Very funny,” she said, dusting herself off. She was wearing a white shirt and white shorts. She looked around. “How’d you know I was there, anyway? That was my stellarest stealth mode. Plus you seemed so … lost in thought.”

  “Guess stellarest wasn’t stellar enough,” Jeremy said, sitting again on the table.

  Ginger sat nearby and let her long, freckled legs stretch to full length.

  “What’s that?” she said, nodding at the letter beside him.

  He handed her the auction notice, and she read it through.

  “Okay,” she said. “We’ve really got to think of something here.”

  “Yeah, well, if you happen to have twenty-two thousand one hundred and six dollars in your piggy bank, we would have something to think about.”

  “I could probably scrape together the six-dollar part,” she joked, “provided you give me a little time.” A low roll of thunder carried from the distance, but she ignored it. “There’s got to be some way to come up with the money.”

  He folded the letter and put it back into his pocket. Ginger was rubbing her index finger over a softening scab on her freckled knee when Jeremy said, “So did you know Morley McRaven saw you this morning?”

  She turned with a stricken look. “Saw me where?”

  “Coming out of the attic. Jenny Applegarth told me people at the café were saying you’d stayed the night.”

  “Oh, God.” She paused. “I wondered why some of the fossils were looking at me funny.” Another pause. “Well, let them think what they think.” Then: “But it means I’ll get it from my granddad.” Her voice dropped. “Get it and then some.”

  Another rumble of thunder, deeper, angrier, and it seemed to stir the air.

  “Where are Maddy and Marjory?” Jeremy asked, because, it was true, they were usually like shadows to her.

  Ginger shrugged. “Their parents threatened them with total lockdown if they get caught, as they put it, ‘associating with that housebreaker kid,’ so when we were at the bakery and I said I was going to go find you, they stayed put.”

  “It’s okay,” Jeremy said. “I don’t blame them.”

  “Yeah, well, I kind of do. I prefer my friends to come with a backbone.”

  She held up a maple leaf and watched it bend in the wind. “So last night, when I fell asleep, did you kiss me good night?—you know, like on the forehead or ear or lips or something?”

  Jeremy shook his head. “Why? Should I have?”

  She shrugged, then tossed the maple key into the wind and watched it whirl sideways. A few moments passed and she said, “So what happened to the selfish sisters at the end of that Bearskin story? Something bad, I’m hoping.”

  “Pretty bad. When Bearskin returns as a fine gentleman and marries the nice sister, one mean sister drowns and the other mean one hangs herself. Then the devi
l shows up to say he got two souls instead of one.”

  “Zounds. That’s kind of severe.”

  “Yeah, well, those Grimm Brothers.” He grinned. “They love a bloody ending.”

  Ja, ja. He was having his sport with me! But, truly, those were the cautionary elements and the rules were observed. Evil would not be punished with mere finger wagging!

  Another boom of thunder, sharper, almost crackling.

  Ginger looked up at the sky. “Maybe my granddad will get hit by lightning.”

  “Seems unlikely.”

  She shrugged and grinned. “A girl can hope.”

  The gray sky deepened toward black. Ginger slid several strands of hair through her lips and regarded Jeremy for a second or two.

  “Just for the record,” she said. “I’m sorry about everything.”

  “It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

  “That’s just it. It is. If I hadn’t—”

  Jeremy cut her off. “And if I hadn’t agreed to go into the baker’s house and if I hadn’t dropped my key and if McRaven hadn’t gotten the town all riled up and if and if and if.”

  “Yeah, but my if is the if that started it all.”

  A moment passed and then Jeremy said quietly, “Yeah, but if that if hadn’t happened, we wouldn’t be sitting here right now. Which I kind of like.”

  They fell silent, and with a casual ease she set her hand to his bare arm. This time, unlike others when she had touched him, he did not flinch. She ran a finger experimentally along his bare inner arm and he, to my surprise and perhaps his, turned and leaned subtly toward her.

  And, at this exact expectant point of time, a sharp crack of thunder shook the trees and the first fat drops of rain spattered on their picnic table.

  Ginger and Jeremy sat as if paralyzed for a moment before he quickly stuffed the auction notice into his pocket. Lightning and thunder crackled together, and the scattered fat raindrops soon turned into a watery throb.

  It must have been a warm rain. Ginger grinned at Jeremy, spread her arms, and turned an open mouth to the sky.

  Jeremy, however, stood abruptly up.

  “Hey, now,” Ginger said. “Where’re you going?” She looked about. “We could go over there to the bandstand and ride it out.”

  Jeremy glanced at the covered band shell, but shook his head. “Naw. I’d better get back. My father will be waiting on his lunch by now.”

  Ginger studied him, her face glistening with rain. “Okay,” she said.

  “Okay,” he said, but he did not move.

  They stood letting the rain run over them, looking at each other.

  A small smile formed on her lips. “Know what?”

  “What?”

  “When a girl falls asleep on your bed, you really should kiss her good night.” She pulled her wet hair back and grinned. “For future reference.”

  And she was off, loping across the wet green grass as frisky as a deer in the meadow.

  Jeremy found his father napping when he returned home and slipped through the room without waking him. He changed into dry clothes, took a bowl of cereal to the front of the bookstore, and saw that the light on the answering machine was blinking. He pushed the button and listened to a new message from Ginger.

  “Okay, Jeremy, weird but good. I was walking by the bakery soaking wet and Maddy and Marjory were gone, but Sten Blix waved me in, gave me a coffee, and asked if you and I would like to work for him at his house tomorrow! See? Weird but good, like I said! I know it’s Sunday, but I told him we could.” A pause. “Which I hope is okay. He said nine a.m.” Another pause. “I’ll come by beforehand and we can go together.”

  The smallest smile appeared on Jeremy’s face.

  Jeremy spent the rainy afternoon reading, but that evening, when the rain had ceased, he put on his shoes. “Going for a walk,” he called out to his father.

  “Uncommon Knowledge is on tonight!” his father shouted back.

  “Okay,” Jeremy called, which, his father knew, was not the same as saying he would return in time for it.

  “So you’ll be back?”

  “I’ll try,” Jeremy yelled, and set the door closed behind him.

  It was the pleasantest sort of evening, with streets gleaming from the rain and billowing clouds floating past a nearly full moon.

  Where are we going? I asked.

  “Nowhere. Anywhere. Out of the house.”

  Yes, of course, and yet I observed that our circuitous route took us by the Corner Pocket, where Ginger and the girlfriends could sometimes be found, and then past Maddy’s house, and then Marjory’s.

  Jeremy saw no one in any of these places, but on the way back to the bookstore, he passed in front of the Intrepid Bar & Grill and, glancing in, suddenly froze. There, in a booth near the front window, Ginger Boultinghouse, Conk Crinklaw, and the two girlfriends all sat watching a television screen mounted on the wall. Conk sat closest to Ginger, at the end of the row of girls.

  They were watching Uncommon Knowledge, and when Conk said something—evidently about the contestant’s answer—the girls all laughed and Ginger bumped him softly with her shoulder. Jeremy stared at this tableau as if mesmerized and was prompted again into motion only when the beams of headlights swept past. It was a patrol car, and it slowed to a stop next to Jeremy.

  Deputy McRaven leaned from the window. “She gets around, don’t she?”

  “Who?”

  The deputy snickered. “Your little girlfriend. Or is she Conk’s little girlfriend?”

  Jeremy said nothing and resumed walking.

  The patrol car moved forward, too. “Where you headed?” the deputy asked.

  “Nowhere. I’m just out walking.”

  “I see that. But out walking where? And doing what, exactly?”

  “I’m not doing anything,” Jeremy said, his voice rising.

  Jeremy’s irritation seemed to please the deputy. “Casing things, maybe?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Oh, I think you know what casing means, Mr. Johnson. It means looking over a place to see how it shapes up for robbing it.”

  A malicious grin spanned Deputy McRaven’s broad face, but before Jeremy could say something in anger, I gave him something more obscure to say.

  “Nur wenn die Sonne niedrig steht, kann ein Zwerg einen langen Schatten werfen.”

  For a moment, the deputy was nonplussed, but for only a moment. “And right back at you,” he said calmly, and let the patrol car ease away.

  “What did I just say?” Jeremy whispered.

  Only when the sun sets low can a dwarf throw a long shadow.

  Jeremy issued a small laugh.

  It was perhaps unkind, I said. Our deputy is not a true dwarf.

  Jeremy said, “Close enough that he gives dwarfs a bad name.”

  He continued past the darkened businesses, then veered toward the municipal park and the table where he and Ginger had visited earlier in the day.

  The park was dark and quiet now, the light of the moon shone in small puddles of water, and the trees threw slow-moving shadows. The flutish call of an owl carried on a gentle breeze. Jeremy had been sitting at the table for perhaps a minute when his hand brushed across something on the table, something odd and startling. He leaned away so the moon could illuminate whatever it was.

  Wedged between the planks was a tightly folded piece of paper.

  Jeremy stared at the paper for several seconds before pulling it free and unfolding it in the moonlight.

  Within it lay a single strand of long reddish hair.

  Written on the paper was this:

  I was here thinking of somebody, possibly you.

  A smile eased across Jeremy’s face. But then, abruptly, his face clouded and he stared off toward town. He folded the strand of hair into the paper and wedged it back between the planks of the picnic table so that it would seem unfound.

  From the west, a coal train approached with a loudening throb. Through the trees, i
t could be seen slowly passing in the moonlight, black car after black car, loaded with coal, the wheels clicking rhythmically over the rails. When finally it had passed, Jeremy said, “Jacob?”

  Yes?

  “Did this ever happen to you?”

  I’m not sure what you mean.

  “Where when you think of someone, it’s like your whole body is lighter than air and you feel like you’re floating off to another world or something.”

  I said nothing.

  “Jacob? Did that ever happen to you?”

  No.

  It was quiet, a mild breeze stirred the leaves, and I could see her face.

  Well, I said. Perhaps once.

  He looked toward my voice. “Really? When?”

  I could see her face, and I would tell him. But I would start at the beginning.

  While immersed in my studies, I resisted the temptation of the Mädchen—the girls—but I always supposed that some faraway day I would become a husband and a father. But it was not until I joined the household of Wilhelm and Dortchen that I saw what actual sustenance such company might provide.

  The breeze bore the last faint whistle of the freight train.

  I found myself looking forward to Dortchen’s casual questions and friendly banter. I became comfortable with her company. Yes—perhaps you have guessed it—I fell slightly in love with her.

  There they were: words I had never spoken. I will tell you, it was a relief to pass them to another.

  “What happened?”

  Nothing. If she heard my thoughts, she pretended not to. I loved my brother, as she did, so I would not speak and she would not hear.

  Such a long time ago. Such a long, long time ago. But there was more.

  One day while Wilhelm and I were at our desks, Dortchen came in with a tray of boiled eggs and black bread and butter, a pleasant surprise for both of us. After she departed, Wilhelm looked up and quizzed me about my bachelorhood. Would I never have a wife of my own? I constructed a careful answer. Had I met someone like Dortchen, I said, I might easily have found my way to wedlock. He nodded and did not speak, but later, while I was out of the room, he wrote something on a small piece of fine paper and slipped it into the book I was reading.

  I fell quiet and Jeremy said, “Do you remember what it said?”