by Don Reid
“You don’t think I did it, do you?” Gary said with a tear in his voice.
“Oh, you did it, all right. I just don’t know yet if you pulled the trigger.”
“Lieutenant,” Sergeant Jim Tolley said in a whisper, “it wasn’t him. They’ve already got the shooter.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
The first Monday night of January 1959, the administrative board of the Mason Street Methodist Church met at the usual time, 7:30 p.m., and in the usual place, the Prophets Sunday school room in the church basement. This was the largest of all the classrooms, it was closest to the minister’s study, and it was the only room that had padded seats on all the chairs. The Reverend Paul Franklin presided and, after having the minutes from the previous meeting read, asked for any old and new business. When each item had been presented, discussed, and closed, he stood nervously among the group of twelve men and in a quiet and dry voice asked for their attention.
“Gentlemen, before we adjourn this evening’s monthly meeting, I have something I need to say to you. Due to personal and professional circumstances, it is my very unpleasant duty to announce to you tonight that my family and I are officially in search of a new charge. Just this morning I have put in with the bishop for a new church and location. It’s one of the hardest things I have ever had to do because, as I hope you all know, I have come to love this congregation and this town. Everyone here has become my friend, and every family here has become a part of my very self. It brings me great anguish to stand here before you and say these words tonight, but I feel I must. So this is my official notice. My wife, Dove, my daughter, Millie, and I all feel a great sadness in leaving, but we want you to know that we hold each of you and every member of this church in the highest esteem. You will be forever in our hearts wherever we may go.”
There were many questions asked and many statements made that reassured the Reverend Franklin he would be missed. Paul Franklin graciously left the meeting before they adjourned so the board would have a moment to discuss the future of the church without his presence.
“What’s our next move?” one of the younger members asked.
“We notify the bishop that we are looking, and then we’re sent names and résumés to view, and the whole process begins,” said one of the older fellows.
“How long will it take?” someone else asked.
“Hard to say. Months, for sure.”
“Where do we find an interim minister?” another asked.
“They’ll provide one, or we can get others locally to fill in till we get the right man.”
Buddy Briggs listened to the discussion with great interest, but he was already thinking of a possible solution. When the right time came, he spoke. “Gentlemen, I have an idea. Do most of you remember a man who was born and raised here in Mt. Jefferson, Cal Vaxter?”
Most said they did. A couple of the newer fellows were not familiar with him but had heard the name.
“Well, he’s a native, he’s a Methodist minister, and he was raised in this church. Right now he’s in Ashland, Kentucky. But I’ve often thought how nice it would be if he were back here in an official capacity. If all of you think it’s a good idea, I’d like to contact him and see if we could forego a lot of the procedure. If he’s interested, we could take his name to the bishop and maybe get this thing done with a minimum of red tape and waiting.”
The discussion was sparse and the vote was unanimous, and Buddy was handed the duty of handling the entire situation on behalf of the council.
“Hello.”
“Cal, this is Buddy.”
“Buddy! Hearing your voice is exactly what I needed today.”
“Why? You having a rough one?”
“Oh, yeah. But you didn’t call to hear my problems. To what do I owe the honor?”
“Paul Franklin announced to us last night that he’s leaving.”
“I’m sorry. Paul’s one of the good guys. Where’s he going?”
“Don’t know that yet. He doesn’t even know yet. He’s had a lot of family problems lately. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t all that surprised. I think he wants a fresh start for his wife and his daughter. But all that aside, the reason I’m calling is this: Would you be interested?”
The pause was longer than Buddy had expected. Long enough that he changed his mind at least three times on whether he was going to hear an exuberant yes or a flat no. When it came, it was neither.
“Do you think that’s a good idea, Buddy? I mean, am I the right man for this?”
“Who better?”
“You know what I mean. So many of those folks knew me as a kid. As a teen. And they might not feel as comfortable with me in that position as they would a total stranger. Sometimes there’s a benefit in hiring a stranger. The congregation doesn’t know his faults, and he doesn’t know theirs. They both kind of start off with a clean slate.”
“I think you’re overanalyzing it. But the first question is, would you feel uncomfortable?”
“I’d have to think about it. But my first question is, what would they feel?”
“Okay, I’ll make you a deal. First, let me assure you the board is all for it. But here’s how it’ll go. You think about it, and let me handle the congregation. I’ll take it to them, get an honest reading, and let you know.”
“Even if it’s negative?”
“Even if it’s negative. But it won’t be. And I’ll call you next Monday after I’ve polled the congregation.”
“Sounds like you’re moving pretty fast on this thing. But, yeah, that’s fair. I’ll definitely think about it and pray about it. Let’s talk Monday. How are Amanda and Shirley Ann?”
“Just great. And Ellie and Elizabeth and Matt?”
“Kids are fine. I won’t know how to answer about Ellie till after I break this latest news to her.”
They both laughed but not joyously. Buddy could tell there was more truth than humor in what he said.
“Do you see Harlan?” Cal asked.
“All the time.”
“Tell him I’ll call him sometime next week. Elizabeth has a birthday next month. She finally becomes a teenager. And I want to get her something appropriate. You’ve got a teenage daughter. What’s a good gift?”
“Anything shiny. That goes for a female any age.”
They laughed some more and talked briefly of other family and friends and hung up with the promise of resuming their conversation the next Monday.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Buddy arrived at Drakos Brothers Realty less than six minutes after leaving Mulligans. Two police cars, a paddy wagon, and an ambulance were blocking the street at the front door. Flashing lights attracted attention from everyone who crept by. He parked with two wheels on the sidewalk and jumped out of the car, leaving it unlocked and vulnerable to traffic. The first person he saw was Officer Tranium.
“Two shootings in three days, Lieutenant; we’re starting to look like a big city,” the officer said.
“Tell me about it. What happened?”
“Two to the chest—close range.”
“Is he dead?”
“No. They’re bringing him out right now. He’s going to live. He’s too mean to die.”
“What kind of gun?”
“Twenty-two caliber. We have it.”
“I understand you have the shooter, too. Where is he?”
“Secured in one of the offices inside. You want to see him?”
“Sure. Let’s go.”
They walked inside and past the other policemen already on the scene. A secretary was sitting at her desk, blotting her eyes with a tissue. She looked as if she was about to be sick.
“Somebody better take care of her,” Buddy said to Tranium. “Just point me to the right door, and you see after
the lady at the desk.”
Tranium pointed to the closed door that said Private, and Buddy walked ahead and turned the knob. He entered what appeared to be a small conference room with an eight-foot table and six soft chairs around it. Standing by one of the curtained windows was a uniformed cop, and sitting in one of the chairs was the man he had come to see.
“What’s going on here?” Buddy demanded.
Fritz looked up with a blank expression on his face and then back down at the floor.
“Fritz. What’s going on?” Buddy repeated.
“He hasn’t said a word since we got here,” the uniform offered.
“Fritz. You’ve got to talk to me. What did you do?”
Fritz reached in his vest pocket and took out a pack of cigarettes. He dug in the top of them until he pulled one out and put it to his lips. He patted his pockets, vest, and pants and then looked up at the officer. Buddy nodded, and the policeman lit his cigarette. Fritz blew a stream of blue smoke before fixing his gaze on Buddy.
“Taking care of business,” Fritz said, and then looked away.
“What kind of business were you taking care of?”
“Stone business.”
“That’s why you shot this man? Tell me in your own words. I’m not going to help you say it. This is much too important for me to prompt you and pull every sentence out of you one word at a time. So you’ve got to talk.”
“The Stone boy. He was shot. This man, this Drakos. He shot the boy. I shot him.”
“How do you know he shot Harlan?”
“The paper. This morning.”
“It never said he was guilty, Fritz. It said he was being questioned. Do you fully understand what you have done? This is attempted murder. Do you comprehend that?”
“Comprehend?”
“Understand. Do you understand what you have done?”
“Why do you think I can’t understand? Because I do not speak good your language? This does not make me your dummy.”
Buddy considered what Fritz had said and realized everyone in town talked down to this man for just this very reason. He studied Fritz’s features in general and his eyes in particular and weighed his own words and his tone a little more carefully before he asked the next question.
“Fritz,” Buddy said as he pulled up a chair across from him, “why did you walk in here this morning and shoot Nicoli Drakos?”
“For the Stones.”
“For Harlan?”
“And H. V.”
“H. V.’s been dead for twenty years.”
“Dead does not matter. For H. V. And for the boy.”
“You know I’m going to have to handcuff you and take you to jail. You’re going to need a lawyer, and chances are you’ll go to prison because of this.”
“I’m ready.”
Buddy waited for anything else the old man might want to add. But he could tell after a long interval that Fritz was through talking. He would have to undergo more questioning later, but for now there was very little need to badger the frail soul sitting in front of him. He motioned for the officer to handcuff Fritz and walk him out. As the policeman was guiding Fritz to the door, Buddy had one last question. “You got any family to be notified, Fritz?”
“A sister.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
Then the two men walked out the door. Buddy sat for a moment trying to understand it all.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Ellie was sitting on the sofa with her legs curled beneath her. She was leafing through the current Ladies’ Home Journal while waiting for her favorite ten o’clock TV show. Matthew was in bed and Elizabeth was in her room, if not asleep. The house was quiet, and the den was in shadows from the one lamp that spilled light across her shoulder. Cal sat down on the ottoman and rubbed the head of their little cocker spaniel, Chester, who was sleeping on the floor.
“I got a call last week I haven’t told you about,” Cal said softly.
“I’m not surprised,” Ellie said without looking up from her magazine.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Go ahead.”
“Buddy called me.”
“Buddy Briggs?”
“It’s the only Buddy I know,” Cal said a little too quickly.
“Well, excuse me. I’ll try not to interrupt.”
“You’ve got to know it’s about time for another move. We’re beginning our fifth year here, and I’m sure I’ll hear from the bishop before long. So anyway, Buddy called, and it looks like there’s an opening back home.”
“Mt. Jefferson?” Ellie asked as she met his eyes for the first time.
“Actually, the church I grew up in. They want me to come.”
“And what have you decided to do?” Ellie asked, still leafing through the pages of the Journal.
“Well, I haven’t decided anything. That’s what I’m talking to you about.”
“I think you should do whatever you want.”
“You’re comfortable with me making that decision alone?”
“Yes, Cal, as long as you’re comfortable with me making my decision alone.”
“I don’t follow what you’re saying.”
“You don’t want to follow what I’m saying. This is your chosen life, Cal. This is what you wanted from, I don’t know when. Sometime in college. Well, you’ve got it, and I sincerely wish you well with it. I never knew exactly what attracted you to it, but then I guess that’s none of my business.”
“Of course it’s your business.”
“No, it’s not. You and your big secret about what led you into this field. I’ve heard your friends back home ask you why. I’ve even heard Vic Princeton ask you, and you always squirm around and never tell anyone.”
“That can’t be what this is all about, Ellie.”
“In a sense it is. You and your big secret in life.”
“All I’ve ever said is that it was personal. It was a very personal experience, and when you make something that sincere and private … when you make it public, you lose the sanctity of it. But if that’s been eating at you all this time, I’ll share it with you right now.”
“No. Don’t waste it on me, because I don’t care. That’s what I’m trying to tell you here. You make your decisions, and I’ll make mine. And my plans, for me and the kids, do not include Mt. Jefferson.”
“You mean if I move, you’re not going with me?”
“Cal, I mean even if we stay, I’m not staying with you.”
“How long have you felt this way?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t just wake up one day feeling like this. It comes on slow, with time.”
“So, do you hate me or hate my life?” Cal asked with little love in his voice.
“I don’t hate you. And I think very little about your life anymore, so I couldn’t say I hate it. I’m just not interested. I have my own profession. I’d like to open my own accounting office someday. Maybe back in Louisville. And then the kids could have a home of their own and for once settle down and live a normal life.”
“And if I took a job teaching somewhere, some college, what then?” Cal asked as a possible compromise.
“You’re not going to do that, so don’t try to fool me or yourself. You do what you’ve got to do. Just don’t expect me to be a part of it.”
Cal’s heart filled with emotions he didn’t know he could feel. His mind filled with pain he had never before felt. He felt paralyzed. Only his fingers were still functioning as he continued to stroke Chester’s head. His thoughts went immediately to his children and what life would be without them each morning and each evening at suppertime. He could feel the pains in his chest at just the thought of being separated from
them and not being there for all the little moments of their growing up.
And the church. The Mason Street Methodist Church. If he came home with no family, would they still want him? Did it show a lack of responsibility for a minister to be estranged from his family? Would this be such a bruise on his character that he would be more the center of gossip than the center of spiritual support? Could he even still be effective in the ministry as a divorced man of the cloth?
And then there was Chester. How he loved that little dog.
That was when it all started to come into perspective for James Calvin Vaxter. He was first concerned for his children; then the church; and then his dog. Ellie wasn’t even in the top three. And maybe hadn’t been for a long time.
Her career had always been more important to her than being a minister’s wife. And why shouldn’t it be? He understood her thinking; he just couldn’t make himself agree with it. No congregation had ever warmed to her the way he wanted them to. Her heart and her time were just not in it. The members he hugged and greeted by first names each time he saw them were called Mr. and Mrs. by Ellie, and she only spoke to them when they spoke first. She attended none of the Bible studies he led, never consented to teach a Sunday school class, and constantly refused to help with the choir even though she was a terrific pianist and alto. She was more comfortable in the male-oriented world of public accounting and more content in a second-floor, windowless office than standing on the church steps beside him, shaking hands with old women and children. Maybe she was right. Maybe they both should make their own decisions.
He prayed about this twenty times a day. He talked to God and to his children with all the honesty his heart could afford. And then he decided it was time to talk to Buddy. He could start as early as April 1st. He had to laugh at the date. Maybe this was God’s sense of humor, or maybe it was foreshadowing. Either way, he was ready for the next chapter of his life. Maybe there was a reason he was going home to Mt. Jefferson.
Chapter Sixty
Nicoli was in surgery for two hours. It would be late afternoon before Buddy could talk to him. He used his time to send the twenty-two pistol off to Richmond for verification. He felt sure it wasn’t the same gun that shot Harlan. He just couldn’t imagine how that would make sense. He sat at his desk and sorted out his time frame for the day. He could go in and talk to Fritz again, but he knew in his heart it was a futile exercise. Fritz’s reasons were—
