by Lee Magner
“Clare Browne, don’t you dare! Have you no respect for your own mother!” Lavinia Browne tried to look severe and censuring, but she couldn’t help remembering that incident about the pigsty and burst into laughter instead.
Clare crossed the short distance between them and put her arms around her still-laughing mother.
“You always did have a hard time keeping a straight face when you were scolding me, Mother,” Clare said, amidst her own giggles.
Her mother pushed her away and brushed some flour off Clare’s clothing. “Well, it was just because you were always such a little scamp, Clare!”
“Oh, it was all my fault, was it?” exclaimed Clare with all the mock moral outrage she could muster.
Her mother wagged a finger at her. “Yes. Now.. .the dinner will be out of the oven in fifteen minutes. If you have any chores to do before we sit down…”
“Yes, dear,” Clare said, placing a light kiss on her mother’s cheek and breezing past her into the house. “Still… who do you think is visiting Luther Fitch?”
Clare ran up the stairs from the living room to the bedroom level and momentarily forgot her question. She had laundry to get done tonight. It was Friday, and amazingly enough she had a date on Saturday. Not that Franklin Bonney was a romantic interest, of course. No. She’d known Franklin too long for that, she thought wryly. Still. He was single. And so was she. And there weren’t many other people in the county to consider as, well, a date.
“Clare, what time is Franklin coming by tomorrow night?” her mother called out from the bottom of the stairs.
“Oh, um, after he and His Father the Mayor get finished plotting out the bare bones of Franklin’s reelection campaign for congress next year.” Clare always intoned “his father the mayor” with great melodrama. The Bonneys took the mayorship very seriously, much to the amusement of the rest of the town.
“Clare! I need an hour, not a historical footnote!”
Clare giggled.
“Sorry, Mother. Um, I think about eight o’clock.”
“Well, make sure you bring that nice dress down to be ironed…”
“Mother! We’re just going for a picnic over by the lake. A lot of our old friends will be there. It’s casual—you know, shorts and slacks and shirts.”
“Oh… well…” Her mother sounded faintly disappointed.
Clare brought her basket of laundry downstairs and carried it out to the wash room behind the kitchen. When she came back into the kitchen, her mother was already serving food.
“My turn to cook next week,” Clare said cheerfully as she reached for a hot roll and some butter. “Um, it smells delicious.”
“Well, it’s just baked chicken and fresh vegetables and homemade rolls.” But Lavinia Browne was always pleased to be complimented on her cooking and she smiled contentedly as she sat down and joined Clare in eating supper.
They had almost finished when the phone rang.
“Now who could that be?” Lavinia murmured, just a little crossly. People didn’t generally bother their neighbors at dinnertime here in Crawfordsville. “I hope it isn’t one of those telemarket people. Whatever it is, tell them we don’t need it, thank you!”
Clare got up and went into the living room to pick up the telephone.
It was her old high school friend, Paula Lightman.
“Clare? This is Paula… Uh, sorry to bother you at dinner… but, well, I was just driving back from visiting Rudy— you know, my fiance?”
“Yes?” Everybody had heard of Rudy, Clare thought, rolling her eyes heavenward. Paula hadn’t uttered a sentence since meeting him without including him in it somehow.
“Well, we met over in Cincinnati today to look at rings and work on wedding plans, you know…”
Clare thought Paula sounded awfully breathless and agitated, even for Paula. Besides, it was odd for Paula to call Clare to tell her these little details of her life as an engaged woman. Talk about it over nail polish at the beauty parlor, yes. Call for a minute-by-minute update on the phone? No.
“Paula, is something wrong?” Clare ventured carefully.
“Yes. You’ll never guess who I passed when I drove into town.”
“Okay. I’ll never guess,” Clare conceded with a grin. “So… who was it?”
“Luther… and he had, he had…” Paula swallowed and gulped anxiously.
“And he had… ?” Clare coaxed.
“He had Seamus Malloy with him.”
Clare sat down in the living room chair next to the little telephone table. If the house had fallen down around her, she couldn’t have been more astounded.
“What did you say?”
“Seamus Malloy was with him. Luther drove him back here. That old murderer is out of jail! And he’s back in town! Can you believe that? I mean, can you believe that, Clare?”
Clare stared out her front window.
“So he was the passenger,” Clare murmured, stunned. Fifteen years melted away for a split second and Clare remembered how awful it had been. And how she had ached for the pain that Seamus’s son, Case, had gone through.
If Seamus was back, would Case return, too? she wondered.
“Um, Clare? Uh, my father’s just coming back and, uh, I’ve got to tell him and my mother and brother… I mean, I wouldn’t want them to hear it from anybody else, and, well, of course it’s going to be a shock for everyone, after all that scandal, and-”
“I understand, Paula.” Clare was also certain that the entire town would know about the return of Seamus Malloy before sundown. Paula and her friends would undoubtedly see to that, Clare thought bitterly. “Just…”
“Just what, Clare?”
“Just, um, try to keep calm, okay, Paula? Maybe it was someone else—”
“Oh, no. He’s fifteen years older, but I’d recognize that mean old man no matter how old he got. It was him, all right. And we’ve all got to be on our guard. I mean, I don’t understand how they can let someone like that back in a community like ours. Maybe it’s a mistake or something? Well, the sheriff will look into it, if my father has anything to say about it!”
“I’m sure he will,” Glare said. She was beginning to feel rather depressed. “Thanks for calling, Paula.”
“Oh, you’re welcome. I mean, you were the first person I thought of, you know… because you were so loyal to Case back when Lexie was killed and everybody thought maybe Case might have done it, and you stood up for him and everything, and then, when they found the knife with that evil old man, passed out…well, I just thought you’d probably want to know.”
“Yes. Thanks, Paula,” Clare said dryly.
“Do you think that Case will come back, too?” Paula blurted out, as if the thought had just occurred to her.
There was an edge of excitement in her voice that was different from the anxiety of earlier. For some reason, that irritated Clare.
“How would I know, Paula? For all we know it wasn’t even Seamus Malloy that you saw.”
“Oh, it was him, all right. Well, I’ve gotta go. Call me if you hear anything, okay?”
“Sure, Paula. Thanks.”
“Well?” her mother called from the kitchen. “I could hear half the conversation, but it just is driving me crazy with curiosity. What’s all this about Seamus Malloy?”
Clare walked back into the kitchen and sat down at the table.
“Paula says she saw him in Luther Fitch’s car as she drove home this evening.”
“Oh, my Lord,” Lavinia exclaimed, shaking her head slowly and pursing her lips in anxiety.
Clare poured them each some tea and wondered whether Luther actually would bring Seamus back to Crawfordsville after all these years. He surely knew how the town would react. He’d seen it before, fifteen years ago. Why on earth would he do that? And why would Seamus want to return?
“I wonder whatever happened to his son,” Lavinia murmured. “Didn’t Luther say Case was up in Chicago somewhere … after he got out of the service?’’
/> “Mmm-hmm.”
“Well, Clare Browne, don’t you just look like the cat that’s got the canary in its mouth?” exclaimed her mother in surprise.
Clare blushed in spite of herself.
“So there’s still a little something there, is there?” Lavinia asked wisely. She leaned across and patted her startled daughter’s hand. “Didn’t you think I knew what a terrible crush you had on that boy years ago?”
Clare’s eyes were as wide as saucers and she shook her head very, very slowly.
Lavinia sighed.
“I’m your mother, Clare. You may have half fooled a few people who didn’t much like Case, anyway, but you didn’t fool me, my dear.”
Clare thought this was an excellent time to dive into the dishes, so she busily cleared the table and ducked her mother’s scrutiny.
Luther Fitch had settled comfortably into his favorite easy chair when the phone rang.
“Goldang it,” he groused as he reluctantly got out of the chair and hobbled over to the wall phone in his kitchen. He lifted the receiver and barked, “Who is this?”
“Case.”
“Oh.” Luther cleared his throat and let his irritation tamp down a bit. “Well. I guess I don’t mind getting up out of my easy chair for you.”
“Why, thank you, Luther.”
“I guess you heard the news.”
“The warden sent me a routine notification as next of kin. I’m surprised my old man didn’t force them to take that off the books.”
“Well, maybe he tried and they wasn’t havin’ any of that kind o’ nonsense,” Luther opined.
“Maybe. How is he?”
“Not too bad. He’s in the spare room on the first floor. He’s already gone to sleep. This was sort of a long haul for him today.”
“Is there a doctor there who’ll see him if he needs medical help?”
“Same doctor we all go to—the clinic over in Jefferson.”
“Has he said whether he wants any help from me?”
Luther laughed short and unamused.
“Now, Case, the man hasn’t changed. He’s just as stubborn as ever and he wants to be able to take care of himself.”
“But he can’t, damn it!” Case said irritably.
“Well, maybe not in the long run of it, but he’s still in the old ball game for now.”
“Has he sent in his applications for social security disability payments and medical insurance?”
“Yep.”
“Luther?”
“Yep?”
“I’m coming down there.”
“I thought you might. He’s not gonna like it.”
“Tough.”
Luther laughed.
“Would you rather I stayed at a motel?” Case asked.
“Well, that depends on how much he gets his back up, I s’pose. He’ll be able to move into that halfway house in about a month or two. But till then, he’s got no place, and he doesn’t have enough money to pay rent at a motel. So if he stomps out of my house ‘cause he’s too full of stiff-necked Irish pride to sleep under the same roof as his son, well, he’ll be in a bad way.”
“I’ll get a room somewhere.”
“That might be a good idea, least till we see how he takes to you visitin’.”
“Is tomorrow too soon to drop in and pay my respects?” Case asked casually.
“You’re in a hurry, huh?” Luther chuckled. “Well, you never were an idle fellow, even back when you worked for me here in the fields. Takin’ some vacation, are you?”
“Yes. It seems that Logan thinks he can get along without my help for a couple weeks.”
“Well, Logan’s no fool, from what I’ve heard about him.”
“Yeah, well, all you’ve heard about Logan came from me,” Case reminded him. He laughed. “I was brought up to speak no ill of my own family in front of outsiders.”
“Are you callin’ me an outsider!” Luther exclaimed, sounding really lathered at the insult.
“I’m pulling your chain, Luther,” Case said, grinning.
“Hmph,” Luther grunted, accepting the olive branch. “Well, come on down, then. And say your beads for luck, boy.”
“I don’t have any beads, Luther. Besides, from what my old man said the past couple of times that I talked to him, I imagine he’ll say enough prayers for all of us.”
“It never hurts to speak for yourself,” Luther advised.
“Say, Luther, how are the fine and upstanding citizens of Crawfordsville taking Seamus’s return to the bosom of their little hamlet?” Case asked, changing the subject.
“Well, no one’s torched the barn or the house yet,” Luther observed dryly. “And there aren’t pickets walking up and down the state road in front of my driveway. So I guess you could say that so far it’s been pretty quiet around here.”
“Do they know he’s out of prison?”
“Oh, I imagine it’s gotten around by now. Leastwise, some folks prob’ly know and are busy spreadin’ the word. I figure a few people most likely saw us drive around town. You know how folks like to be the first to spread the gossip around here.”
“Yeah,” Case said grimly. “I remember.” Then, “Luther? Does Clare know?”
“I haven’t talked to her. But she may have heard by now. Or she might have seen me drive by. Seamus said there was a woman waving from her porch when we drove by, but he couldn’t make out exactly who it was.”
Case frowned. He didn’t want her hearing about it from someone else.
Luther was thinking the same thing, and said as much. “I imagine I could call her up tomorrow morning and let her know what’s goin’on.”
“That might be a good idea.”
“Yep. Might at that. This all came up so fast that, well, I didn’t give it a lot of thought. She should hear it from me, though,” Luther said thoughtfully. “She’s a good woman, Clare is.”
Case didn’t let himself get drawn into that. Luther had been the one person who had sensed exactly how Case had felt about Clare fifteen years ago. So he changed the subject again, before Luther could start harping on that.
“Say, Luther?”
“What?”
“Why are you doing this, anyway? You don’t have to. You don’t owe Seamus a thing. As a matter of fact, we still owe you for helping us fifteen years ago when all this trouble started.”
“You paid me back for getting that lawyer. And you paid me for everything else I staked you to when you left, Case.”
“I’m not talking about the money, Luther.”
“Like I said, we’re even,” Luther said gruffly. He never had handled emotions with much delicacy. It was easier just to stomp straight over them, which was what he did this time. “If you want to know why I told Seamus to stay here till he got straightened away, well, it’s like this. I figure I’ll be passing on to my reward one of these years, and I like to have money in the bank where I dwell. Lookin’ after Seamus in his hour of need might be worth a tidy sum when I get to the pearly gates. So don’t think it’s charity, ‘cause it isn’t. It’s just me lookin’ after myself. Piling up riches in heaven.”
“Is that what you told Seamus?”
“You bet it was.”
“Do you think he believed it?” Case asked in amazement.
“Of course he believed it!” Luther shouted indignantly into the telephone. “Are you callin’ me a liar?”
“Not me, Luther. You’re as honest as they come.”
“And don’t you forget it!”
“I won’t.”
“And stop grinnin’
“How can you tell I’m grinning? We’re on the telephone.”
“It just sounds like you’re grinnin’! Now wipe that smile off your face and don’t let me see it no more.”
“Consider it wiped.”
“Hmph.”
“Luther?”
“Thanks. For everything.”
“Don’t mention it,” Luther growled. “Not ever again.”
“See you tomorrow night.”
“All right. We’ll be here. The good Lord willing.”
“It may be late.”
“Well, don’t wake me up, then,” Luther said testily. “Late? So what. You think I’m six years old?”
“Goodbye, Luther,” Case said, beginning to laugh again.
“Yeah, yeah. Bye.”
Luther hung up the phone and realized he’d forgotten to warn Case about the dog. He’d have to tie it up before he went to sleep tomorrow night. Otherwise, it would raise an unholy racket when Case showed up. Might even take a nip out of him if he tried to come into the house.
Luther turned off the lights and slowly climbed the stairs.
Outside, the dog barked.
Luther pulled back the curtain on his bedroom window and looked out to see what was causing the ruckus. At first, he didn’t see anything. Then his farsighted vision and his intimate knowledge of his own property came to his aid. There. Way down the driveway. A dark bulky shape. It was a car of some sort.
Someone had driven partway up the driveway and stopped. The engine was idling. He could hear that, just barely, though. The window was open, but his hearing wasn’t as good as it used to be. The headlights had been turned off. Luther didn’t like that at all. Someone was up to no good and didn’t want to be seen.
The dog barked again. Insistently. Louder, this time.
The car backed down the driveway, picking up speed fast. The tires angrily spit gravel as the vehicle backed onto the county road, squealed to a stop and shot into forward motion.
Luther couldn’t see that, though. It was beyond the hills that shielded his property from the country road.
“Now who the dickens was that, I wonder?” Luther muttered.
He let the curtain fall back. A little moonlight filtered through. There were a few clouds, but they hadn’t covered the three-quarter moon shining high overhead. He sat on his bed and finished changing from his day clothes into his bedclothes. Then he turned down the worn, familiar covers and slid between their comforting folds. He reached for his New Testament and rubbed the fine old Moroccan leather with his thumb and forefinger. It was the last thing that Luther did before going to sleep every night. He did it for luck, in case he didn’t awake the next morning. It was a habit he’d had since childhood, when he was too tired to say his prayers, but had to shout downstairs to his mother that he’d said them.
