Light of Logan

by Regina Smeltzer

  Nate slumped backward onto the grass.

  Ruth assumed rescue breathing as a group of church members swarmed around Nate.

  Paul Kritchner replaced Chet. Ruth watched the victim’s chest rise with each rescue breath and fall when Paul compressed the man’s sternum. The victim’s skin was pale, but not blue. They must be getting some oxygen to his tissues.

  The emergency squad pulled into the driveway. Two paramedics jumped out, the same two who had attended Mr. Charlie. They ran to where Ruth and Paul were doing CPR. The female paramedic knelt in front of Ruth and covered the man’s face with a clear plastic mask, while the second paramedic checked vital signs and inserted a needle into the man’s arm. While continuing CPR, they loaded the unresponsive man onto the gurney and the vehicle sped away.

  Three police cruisers arrived. Another emergency squad raced into the drive.

  Mr. Carter stomped toward the first officer. “What took you so long? We had young punks shooting at us. We called you an hour ago!”

  Vera Kritchner touched his arm. “It was only six minutes ago, Alan. I called myself.”

  Alan Carter rubbed a bloody hand across the top of his head. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry.” He wandered away, his face downcast.

  Relieved of her duties, Ruth turned toward Nate. He sat shirtless as Sarah Gardener wound gauze around his upper arm.

  Ruth crouched beside them.

  “He’s fine,” Sarah said. “He needs to go to the emergency room and have this gash checked out.”

  Ruth cringed at Sarah’s domineering attitude. Ownership belonged to the one who said so, apparently.

  “It’s just a superficial knife wound.” Nate grimaced as Sarah secured the end of the gauze. “A stitch or two and some antibiotics and I’ll be fine.”

  Chet walked from the police officers and headed to Nate. “Ready to roll, buddy?” Chet, with Betsy’s help, walked Nate to the car.

  Paul Kritchner’s voice rumbled through the crowd. “How did those guys know where we were having church? We kept it a secret. I sure as the dickens didn’t tell anyone.”

  Ruth’s stomach tightened. She had, but then, the information went to the police. Doubt pushed her forward. She stopped in front of the police officers. “I thought you were patrolling the streets while we were having church.”

  The patrolman glanced up from making notes. “We were until last week when you guys decided to go underground. Now we have no idea where you all are meeting.”

  ~*~

  The last of the day’s heat remained trapped inside Ruth’s house. The tiny bit of breeze that blew in through the screens also brought humidity, making her even hotter. For a while, she sat on the stoop, but the mosquitoes drove her back inside.

  She spread peanut butter on toasted bread and poured a glass of iced tea. Thoughts of the morning intruded. The beautiful setting and then blaring music. Gunshots. Screams and confusion. Ruth let the memories come.

  Nate, bloody and still trying to save another life until he passed out.

  And Sarah Gardener leaning over Nate, bandaging his wound as though she were Florence Nightingale. The woman had her claws all over him. Ruth might not be able to have him, but Nate deserved someone better than the likes of Sarah Gardener.

  Joe didn’t send the church’s location to law enforcement. He’d lied to her. Her mind twisted with thoughts of what he might be doing with her information, and those thoughts frightened her.

  A knock sounded at the door and Ruth rushed to answer it. “Hey, Betsy. How’s Nate?”

  “Ten stitches and a ton of antibiotics. Grouchy, but fine.” Inside, Betsy sank onto the stuffed chair. “How did you get home?”

  Ruth chuckled as she called over her shoulder, “I rode in the truck between Mr. and Mrs. Kritchner. They argued the whole way about what time she called the police.”

  “That must have been fun.”

  Ruth brought two glasses of iced tea back to the living room.

  “Mm. This is good.” Betsy leaned her head against the back of the chair.

  “How’s the other man?” Ruth asked.

  “Thomas Freeman. He was in surgery when I left. He isn’t doing too well. His wife is there and their pastor.”

  They sat in silence for a moment and then Betsy pulled herself upright in the chair. “You haven’t had a chance to tell me about Mr. Charlie’s house. I would have gone with you.”

  Ruth shrugged. “I know, but it worked out. Joe drove me, and it wasn’t that bad.” She described the trip. “I brought home the shirts that were on the line. I can make pillows or a small blanket from them.” She remembered the envelope Nate had given her that morning. With the emergency, she had forgotten it. Betsy was a friend, but even so, Ruth wanted to be alone when she read Mr. Charlie’s words.

  As soon as Betsy left, Ruth pulled the envelope from her purse, closed her eyes, and sighed. She ached all over again for Mr. Charlie.

  Settling into the chair, Betsy had just vacated, Ruth ran her fingers under the seal and carefully pulled out three sheets of lined paper, yellowed with age, and a key. Ruth turned each page over several times, hoping to find writing. Disappointed, she turned to the key, which was smaller than a house key and had number, 112, stamped on the top. A safety deposit box, perhaps? The metal felt warm to her touch. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and pressed the key to her heart. Mr. Charlie had held this key. Reluctantly, she replaced the blank paper and the key in the envelope. She would show it to Mr. Dunlap in the morning.

  33

  Monday, July 22

  Monday morning, Ruth sat behind her desk as usual but accomplished little work. Joe had lied to her, and each time she thought of his deceit, her fingers stuttered on the keyboard. Why did he need to know where the church was meeting if he never intended to report the information to the police?

  Sunday night, Chet had stopped by with a fan, saying Betsy had ordered him to deliver it. He told her that the police had found the van. The driver and two passengers were in jail pending a bond hearing. Thomas Freeman was out of surgery after the surgeon removed two bullets from his chest, but he was in critical condition.

  Ruth worked at the keyboard until 11:00 AM when she heard Mr. Dunlap’s footsteps in the hall. Mr. Charlie’s envelope felt cool in her hand as she grabbed it from her desk drawer and walked to the office next door. “May I bother you for a minute?” She held up the key and told him how she had come to have it.

  Mr. Dunlap rolled it over in his hand. “It goes to a bank security box. Let me make a call for you.” He settled behind his desk and pulled out the phone book. There were four banks in Logan, and on the third try, he smiled. “Yes, I’ll send her over.”

  “Mr. Charlie has a safety deposit box at the City Bank on Pine Street.”

  “Did you know about it?”

  “He never mentioned it, but whatever’s in it, if anything, belongs to you.” Mr. Dunlap pulled out a set of keys. “I’ll drive you over.”

  “I can walk to the bank during my lunch.”

  “You may have trouble gaining access since you’re not technically next of kin. I’ll ride shotgun for you, unless you would rather go alone?”

  It took less than five minutes to reach Pine Street.

  Inside the bank, Ruth showed the key to the buxom clerk named Ruby.

  “Mr. Charlie passed away last week,” Attorney Dunlap said, holding out the death certificate and Mr. Charlie’s will. “This is Ruth Cleveland, his legal heir.”

  The woman’s eyes widened. “Mr. Charlie died? He came in here regular, the first of every month, cashed his check and asked to see his safety deposit box. Every month, mind you.” Ruby shook her head. “Mr. Charlie’s gone? I’ll sure miss him.”

  After getting approval from the supervisor, Ruby led Ruth and Mr. Dunlap into the viewing area. After securing the box, Mr. Dunlap said, “I’ll wait outside for you. Let me know if you need me.”

  Ruth barely heard him leave. She ran a hand ov
er the oblong metal box; whatever lay inside was her last gift from Mr. Charlie. She lifted the lid off the narrow container and gasped. Inside the box lay hundred-dollar bills all folded in half.

  “Mr. Dunlap!”

  Mr. Dunlap came back in and lifted the stacks of money out of the box. Resting on the bottom were seven deeds, all for Howard Circle.

  Attorney Dunlap furrowed his brow. “Mr. Charlie must have been buying the property on Howard Circle each time a site became available. Most likely he got them cheap.” The attorney looked at the dates. “Some of these go back twenty years.”

  “What about the money? Mr. Charlie didn’t have any money.” None of this fit with the image she had of her friend. He dressed in worn clothes; his house was falling down around him. Why save all this money, and where did it come from?

  “Let’s see what we can find out from the clerk. Slip these titles into your purse. Best you leave the money here for now.”

  Ruby was helping another customer. When she finished, Attorney Dunlap waved her over. “You said Mr. Charlie cashed a check here every month?”

  “A pension from the mill; one of the last people in town to still have one.” She pinched her lips together for a second. “I guess I can tell you, you being a lawyer and all, but he got $480 a month. Had me give it to him as four one-hundred dollar bills and four twenties. Same every month. He had me pay his water and electric bill for him, asked me to fold the remaining hundreds in half before he put the money in his pocket. It always made me nervous, a blind old man wandering around with all that cash on him.”

  ~*~

  If it weren’t for the anger toward Joe that sucked up all her emotional energy, Ruth would have mourned all over again for the loss of Mr. Charlie. As quitting time approached, she gathered her purse and headed toward the door, determined to do what should have been done sooner. Joe never answered her question about his role in Mr. Charlie’s death, and now she feared he could be involved in the violence on Sundays. She had to confront him. Entering the reception area, Ruth ignored Helen and marched through Joe’s open door.

  He glanced up from his desk.

  “You lied to me,” she said through bared teeth.

  Helen’s voice came from behind Ruth. “Mr. Ackerman, I tried to stop her.”

  Joe waved Helen away. “It’s all right. Close the door behind you, please.”

  “Forget the niceties, Joe. I want to know what’s going on. A man from my church is in intensive care from a gunshot wound.” She narrowed her eyes and took a few breaths. Mr. Charlie said to be strong, and she would be. “The police didn’t know where we were meeting yesterday; you lied about reporting to them.” Her chest filled with self-actualization. This was the woman she was meant to be: assured and in control. Joe would not use her again. “Why do you want to know where we meet?”

  Wariness darkened his eyes. He walked from behind his desk.

  Ruth was in a game of cat and mouse, only this time she stood ready. She had become the cat.

  “Sit down, Ruth. You aren’t making any sense.”

  “I will not sit, and I am making sense. Listen to me for once!” She glared at him. “Profane music blasted from a van outside the house where we were having church. Someone in the van shot one of the church members. He may die, Joe. And Nate was stabbed with a knife and had to go to the hospital.”

  “How is my cousin?” Joe rubbed his chin.

  “Ask him yourself. Then you can explain to him how the men in the van knew where we were.”

  “I told you—”

  “You lied to me—don’t even think about doing it again.” Every muscle trembled. Her breaths came in pants as her heart thundered against her ribs. She felt so alive—so ready to beat the truth out of someone. Just give her an excuse. She balled her hands into fists.

  “Ruth, I report to the police. If the message isn’t passed on—”

  “That’s it.” She held her chin high. “Forget about me telling you anything. Get your information from someone else.” She turned to leave.

  Joe bolted to the door and blocked her exit. His eyes grew black. “Don’t be foolish, Ruth.”

  “Get away from the door.”

  “Sure. You can leave any time you want, but you need to look at something first.” Joe grabbed her wrist.

  “Let go of me or I’ll…”

  His laugh made her shiver. “You’ll what? Helen won’t help you.” He pulled her to the desk and grabbed a legal sized envelope from the top drawer before shoving her into the chair.

  Ruth knew what he held: the adoption papers for their baby. She turned away from him.

  “There are pictures, Ruth. Pictures of our child.”

  She stared at the envelope. Pictures. How often had she wondered…?

  “Not baby pictures, Ruth, pictures taken just last week. Don’t you want to see what we created together?” He tore open the envelope and shoved the photo in front of her. Before she could avoid it, she had seen what he wanted her to see. At first, she sat stunned. Then the caldron boiled in her stomach. She wanted to leave, but her legs wouldn’t move. “This is another one of your lies! I delivered a girl.”

  “Did you Ruth? Do you know that for sure?”

  She tried to remember. No one told her the gender, that was agreed upon. She had seen the legs, a nurse’s hands wrapped around her baby’s wet body, around the chest, around the baby’s bottom…

  “Look at the adoption papers, Ruth.” He held out the signed document. She searched hungrily for signatures, dates, hoping to find a mistake, but there was none. Her signature written in her small, sketchy text. She remembered signing the papers, the line with gender covered. Then the lawyer’s signature. Last, the adoptive parents, Chester and Betsy Ross. Baby boy Cleveland became baby boy Ross.

  “Now, unless you report to me as you agreed to, I will pursue parental rights.”

  She gathered her strength and returned his smirk with a ploy of her own, but she could barely push out the words. “I have already talked to Attorney Dunlap. You have no legal rights.”

  “Maybe not but wouldn’t it be fun to try? You know the boy, don’t you, Ruth? Ironic that our son should be raised by kids I grew up with.”

  Suddenly the stakes grew larger. No longer was she protecting an image of her child. Now her decisions would determine the fate of a child she knew, a child much loved and wanted. Ruth squeezed her eyes tight. God, what am I supposed to do? “How long do I have to keep reporting to you?”

  “One more week.”

  “And then what? What guarantee do I have that you won’t seek custody, even if I do what you ask?”

  “You have to trust me.”

  Trust! He must be joking. He didn’t deserve her loyalty and never had. When she’d needed him the most, he’d walked out on her. A snake didn’t lose his venom just because he outgrew his skin. Two things she knew for sure, her son, Chip Ross, would never be taken from his adoptive parents and forced to live with Joseph Ackerman. Second, Joseph Ackerman never kept his word.

  The answer came to her, and it seemed right, even though she had no idea why. She looked him directly in the face. “This Sunday, church is at my house, and then it’s over, Joe. All of this is over.”

  34

  Sunday, July 28

  Ruth avoided Betsy all week. Without a phone it wasn’t hard, but normally, she would have stopped by after an evening walk or taken the family a few green peppers that refused to stop growing in spite of the heat. Instead, she spent hours at the library, hidden away until after Chip’s bedtime when she knew Betsy and Chet would both stay home.

  No wonder Betsy thought she had seen her before. She had, in her own son’s face. All anyone had to do was look at Chip, the similarities were there: the same thin brown hair, the same slight build.

  Usually, Ruth looked forward to Sunday morning, but not today. Having church at her house was stressful enough. There wasn’t space inside for everyone, so the group chose to meet in her backyard in spite
of the danger. The whole scenario made her antsy. Too many things could go wrong.

  But the biggest hurdle for her was the fact that she would see Chip for the first time since finding out he was her son. How would she react, with this new knowledge? She dare not let her love for the boy show. The noose around her neck pulled tighter. Joe had promised: this last week, and she could stop being his snitch. But Joe lied. Why should this be any different? All week, she had wondered why she had told Joe that church was at her house. The words felt different than those she often spoke impulsively. She had felt strong saying them, as though she were the spokesman, and not the creator of the sentences. She grimaced, wondering if she had taken the last leap into a world of delusion.

  Awake at 6:00 AM, showered and dressed, she sat on the couch and watched the sun push hints of orange and then pink through the mounding clouds. Wisps of hair fell into her eyes, and she flipped the stubborn strands back, only to have them slide across her face again. She got up and pulled her hair into a tight ponytail. While standing in front of the mirror, the chain around her neck caught the light. She pulled out the ring and clutched its warmth in her hand, gaining strength from knowing she had been strong once and could be again.

  Dragging the kitchen table to the side yard opposite the trashcans and away from the nosy male neighbor, she then covered the grassy areas around it with blankets and finally arranged paper bags, crayons and paste on top of the table. All was ready for her children’s lesson on Jacob’s coat.

  The Rosses arrived first. Ruth tried not to stare.

  Chip held tight to his mother’s hand and clutched his monkey under the other arm.

  Ruth held back the whimpers that pushed from her heart. Her son!

  “Ruth, you look pale,” Betsy said. “Are you sick, too?” She put a motherly hand on Ruth’s forehead. “I almost didn’t bring Chip, but at the last minute we decided to come.

  ”Forcing a smile, Ruth shook her head. “I’m not sick, just hot.”

  “Hope the fan helped.”

  “Yes, thank you.” Ruth gave a deep sigh. She wasn’t sure how long she would be able to keep the truth of Chip’s birth to herself, but the story would come out in her time and in her way, not Joe’s. Now, if Logan’s crazies stayed away until after church, she might live through the day.