The Wallis Jones Series Box Set - Volume Two: Books Four thru Six

by Martha Carr

  Ned squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and opened them again, looking directly at Father Michael. “Look, I know our chances of success. I worked that out too. They’re not good but they’re a hell of a lot higher than before I did all of this.”

  Father Michael held up his hand. “It’s alright, son. I wasn’t going to quibble with your methods or your timing or anything else. I was actually trying to say we are on the right path. Of course, you did a much better job of that,” he said, with a chuckle. “Now, let’s get inside. I can’t feel my toes or my fingers anymore and they barely pay attention to me as it is.” Father Michael stamped his feet and pulled on Ned’s arm as they stepped in front of the store.

  Ned made a point of checking the signs posted in the window. Stores that were still open had taken to social media to post what they had in stock and what they would take in barter, rarely cash, never cards of any kind, but things changed quickly and the old-fashioned methods of posting in the front window were turning out to be the most accurate.

  The over-sized white board in the window had a hastily drawn list in red with the date and time above it. The list was over an hour old and was the same as when Ned had checked it back in the apartment.

  ‘Winter apparel. Adult coat equals pound of meat, your choice. Larger the better. Children’s coat equals half a pound. Adult hat equals pound of vegetables. Children’s hat equals half a pound. Gloves equal dry goods or a quarter pound of coffee. Heating oil. Gallon equals pound of meat, half a pound of vegetables and quarter pound of coffee. Half a gallon gets you half as much. Same with gasoline. No cash, no cards accepted. No handouts. Owner is armed and short-tempered.’

  Just as they were about to walk into the store Ned saw a stray yellow dog sniffing around the curb trying to find something to eat the dogs ribs showed easily through the skin Ned thought of his own dog Joe, a bichon frise that was staying with his grandmother Harriet Jones. He knew he shouldn’t, but he knelt down whistling to the dog trying to get his attention. It wasn’t until he reached into his pocket and pulled out the role he kept from breakfast offering it to the dog, that the dog looked up and slowly, cautiously approached him.

  Ned broke off pieces of the role, offering them to the dog who nipped at his fingers out of hunger trying to get the role faster. Ned rubbed the dog behind his ears talking to him softly as Father Michael weeded by his side, saying nothing.

  “We can’t take them with us,” said Father Michael. “We’re not going to be able to solve everything,” he said gently.

  Ned didn’t look up, ignoring what Father Michael was saying as he searched his pocket for crumbs to offer to the dog. When it was clear that he didn’t have anything else the dog looked surprised and let out a low growl, backing up, his ears pressed back. Ned sighed and stood back up, adjusting the gas can as he offered his arm to Father Michael.

  He held the door open to the store and as Father Michael started to enter a large man bundled up against the cold who reeked of alcohol and sweat even in the freezing temperatures pushed his way past almost knocking Father Michael to the ground.

  “Fuck off,” said the man, waving his arm in front of his face. For a moment, his eyes rolled toward the back of his head and Ned wondered if he was about to pass out, stumbling forward like some kind of tall tree toward the sidewalk. Ned wondered if he should try and help him, prevent him from crashing against the hard ice and solid concrete.

  But just as Ned was about to reach out the man righted himself and blinked his eyes, squeezing them shut for a moment. He shoved his arm straight out in front of him as if he was opening doors only he could see. He was wearing gloves with the tips of the fingers cut off and his fingernails were chewed to the quick, and purple from the cold.

  The owner of the store came out from between the aisles wearing a white apron that hung around his neck and reached almost to his knees spreading out over his ample belly. Even though he was covered by several layers topped off by a hooded sweatshirt it was still obvious that he was a hairy man with curls that came up to the back of his neck except for the top of his head, which was bald and shiny.

  “It’s amazing how it’s so hard to find almost everything in this city but somehow cigarettes and liquor are still available to anyone desperate enough to find them,” the owner said in a raspy voice.

  The owner shook his head, disgusted before clapping his hands together and taking on a cheerier tone as if he remembered what it was like to actually wait on customers who had something to barter. He glanced down at the red, dented gas can Ned was holding tightly in his hand, and anyone could see that the owner was quickly making a calculation based on the way the canned was moving how much fuel might be available.

  That told Ned that fuel was the most precious barter of the day. He would be able to get a lot with it.

  “Four pounds of meat, nothing expired. Four pounds of vegetables, no mold, no bruises,” said Ned.

  The owner let out a loud tsk, shaking his head holding up his hands as if he was about to plead his case. But Ned cut him off lifting the heavy gas can so that everyone could hear the sound of the swooshing that told them the fuel line was near the top.

  “There are still other stores open,” said Ned. “We don’t have to shop here.”

  Ned’s hand started to cramp from holding the gas can so high. It was left over from a brawl he had gotten into a few weeks ago at a store. He suspected he had torn something in his hand maybe even broken a bone but he hadn’t told anyone, not even Juliette.

  The store owner looked at Father Michael who raised his bushy eyebrows but said nothing. He was getting used to letting the young man negotiate for whatever they needed. He had a clear way of speaking that told people he wasn’t actually negotiating at all. He knew his options and would take them, and had no problem with extra effort in order to get what he wanted. Most people eventually gave in and gave them what he wanted.

  There were a few other customers in the store who looked up to see what the store owner would do. Ned could tell they were waiting to see if there was room for them to try and barter for more too. Ned didn’t care, that was their problem.

  When the store owner didn’t move he held out his arm for the Father turn for the door and started to leave.

  “Wait, wait! Don’t be so hasty,” said the owner. Ned paused, trying to decide if he was willing to walk to the next nearest store, which was at least a mile. He wasn’t sure the priest would make it. Ned turned to face the store owner.

  “It’s the times,” said the owner. “Ever since the Great Relief, everything has been haywire. You don’t know who to trust, or what might happen next. That’s really what I miss most of all. A little routine in my day. You know, you get up make some coffee get dressed, head for work. You see some of the same customers, you make a little small talk, you head home to your family and a little dinner. That used to be my day. Then somebody, somewhere out there decides that’s not enough anymore, and they pull a switch and a kind of darkness comes over all of us. No one asked me about it beforehand, no one asked me about it now, but I still have a life, so I have to go on.” He shrugged his shoulders.

  “This is what I’m left with. I’m a good man. I’m a kind man. I take care of my customers. I take care of my family. But these days, there is a little thought in the back of my mind all the time. Is this the bottom?”

  Ned felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. He didn’t dare look at Father Michael’s face for fear he would give himself away. He knew it was ridiculous to think that this store owner would look at this young man, who had lost so much weight recently he looked even younger than his eighteen years, and would think it was possible that he was the architect of all his misery.

  He set his jaw, biting down, forcing himself not to feel anything. It was his coping mechanism. He had chewed the edges of his tongue raw over the past few months. He felt it was his obligation to hold things together, even if no one knew why he was doing it, or even that he was doing it.


  “We don’t want to cheat you,” said Ned. “We’re looking for a fair barter.” Ned held up the gas can again, feeling a twinge in his hand that made him wince just for a moment. He thought Father Michael saw him wince but he could deal with that later. Fortunately, the three layers of gloves he was wearing helped pad his hand from the hard edges of the gas can handle. “We’re here to do business with you. We’re not here to take more than we need or more than this fuel should get us. Do you have what we want, or don’t you?” Ned’s voice sounded flat and cold to his ears.

  He had learned that it was better to not let people see his humanity when he was out among strangers. Things seem to go smoother.

  Trying to be a nice guy in public was what got him in trouble a few weeks ago. It’s what got his hand injured. He had already paid for the food with some warm clothes and was getting ready to leave when some people who looked to be no older than he was stopped him at the door jostling him, asking them what was in the bag.

  He barely glanced up as he tried to push past them and keep going but they weren’t taking no for an answer.

  “What’s in the bag?” snarled the tallest girl in the front of the crowd. The others laughed and watched Ned to see if he was afraid. He was, but he was too smart to show it. He had never hit anyone in his life up until that day, especially a girl. He wondered if this would be one more thing, one more mark on his life that he would carry with him for the rest of his days.

  For better or worse, another boy took the first swing, giving Ned a black eye, and making his head snap back so that his neck hurt for the next few days. But it wasn’t until they struggled over the can of stew that had fallen to the sidewalk that Ned’s hand was injured.

  Ned had reached out to grab the bright yellow can with the blue lettering, when the boy mashed his basketball sneaker down hard on the top of Ned’s hand.

  Ned even thought he heard a small pop but he never let go of the can. Every week they barely had enough to food to make it through the week, and that can was enough for two meals between them.

  The store owner reached out to grab Ned by the shoulders to tell them something. But Ned grew instantly angry, pulling back, sloshing the gas in the can around, as he said in a loud voice, “What the hell are you doing? I’m not your friend. I’m a customer.”

  The store owner pulled back his hands as if he had touched something hot. Ned saw how all the tips of his fingers were cracked and dry. He regretted what he said but there was no way to take it back now. Besides, they were going to have to follow their usual pattern and not come back to the store for a while. He would find a way to let this go.

  “Do you have what we want? We don’t have much time. There’s more snow coming. We need to get going.”

  Father Michael pulled out the two cloth bags from under his coat. “You can fill these,” said Father Michael.

  The store owner took the bags from Father Michael shaking his head, mumbling something about “all the niceties in the world have disappeared,” and slowly walked back to the back of the store, looking dejected.

  Ned whispered to Father Michael, “you didn’t say anything?”

  “What was there to say? These are not normal times, this is not a normal situation. You chose the right path. We don’t have time for conversation, and you found the shortest path to get us what we needed. Stop blaming yourself for what we need to do, every day, for quite some time to come. That will make all of this easier.”

  Ned let out a deep sigh, as the lights above them blinked twice, putting them in deep shadows for just a moment until they came back on again and held. The lights cast a yellow glow over everything, including the grimy black and white tiles of the floor.

  Father Michael took a look around and said, “I’ve been in much worse situations, you know. It’s just this time, I’m sharing the experience with the entire world. You’d think that would make it easier, somehow better, but it doesn’t. Because before, I could dream of the places I could go if I wanted to, to escape it all. Now, I have to think of the past or what might become in the future. It’s a much harder job.” The Father shifted his weight from right to left and stamped his foot.

  “Are your feet going numb?” asked Ned. “Or do you have water in your shoe?”

  “It’s the cold. The water doesn’t get through to my feet ever since I started using the plastic bread bags like you suggested. It was a good idea! It makes these walks bearable.”

  Ned took a long look at the old priest, wondering how much of his cheering us was practiced and how much of it was real.

  The store owner quickly came back carrying a small, plastic grocery cart filled with two whole chickens and a large package wrapped in brown paper and taped down. Nestled next to them were sweet potatoes, a large butternut squash, and a spaghetti squash.

  “It’s hard to get anything green this time of year. No one wants to use their fuel just to drive food to another part of the country, especially when they’re not sure how to get paid.”

  “At some point,” said Father Michael in a loud voice, “we will all figure this out. We always do, it’s our nature. Really, does no one see this as the grand opportunity that it is? How often do we get handed a blank slate? A chance to do things differently.”

  Ned looked at Father Michael who was smiling, a genuine smile with creases around his eyes and he realized that the old priest meant what he was saying.

  He wanted to feel like that, hopeful. But sometimes all he thought about was how much he had unwound the world.

  “I’m sorry about what I said,” said Ned. “Thank you for your service,” he said, as he handed over the gas can. “Please, take your time emptying the can, we’ll wait for it here.”

  The store owner waddled away with the can, headed toward the back of the store again. Ned could hear his keys jangling as he unlocked something in the back. Fuel was precious, he would need to protect it.

  Ned turned to Father Michael, to say something about letting the store owner take his time. But Father Michael held up his hand and shook his head.

  A button suddenly fell off the front of Ned’s wool peacoat and clinked as it hit the tiles. Ned leaned over and picked up the button sliding it into his pocket, the weariness sinking into his bones.

  It wasn’t long before they were on their way again, headed for the old apartment where they were staying. Ned could always tell when Father Michael was getting tired because he shortened his steps and started to walk more on his toes, telling Ned that it hurt the old priest when he leaned on his heels.

  Ned had learned quickly that it was pointless to hurry the priest even if he had plans later.

  He settled into a rhythm next to him, and decided to distract both of them by asking the priest for a story.

  “Tell me about when you graduated from high school,” said Ned.

  “That’s right,” said the priest. “You never got to go to your graduation, did you?”

  “No, I pushed the button before graduation had a chance to occur.” Ned let out another deep sigh, his chest expanding for a moment as he thought about all he had missed. The prom, graduation, senior skip day, and every small moment that came with being a senior in high school.

  “Tell me about it,” said Ned, softly. “Tell me about what it felt like.”

  Father Michael held on to Ned’s arm tighter, as if trying to conjure up the memories from so many years ago took so much concentration that he could no longer pay attention to where his feet were going, and would need to lean on Ned.

  “You know, when I was graduating from high school my thoughts were about becoming a lawyer. That’s right! Much like your parents. I was very good at arguing, even then. That should come as no surprise.”

  “I know I should ask you right now what made you want to become a priest,” said Ned, “but I’ll save that for another cold walk. Tell me about graduation day. Tell me about what it felt like. That’s what I miss, being able to feel what it was like and remember it forever. I will never
have that.”

  “Fair enough. It was such a long time ago. I am probably getting some of this wrong, but it no longer matters. I’m fairly certain that anyone who could contradict me has died of old age quite some time ago,” laughed the priest, but there was a sadness around his eyes. “To my mind, the weather was perfect. Blue skies, just the right temperature, somewhere in the 70s, my favorite temperature.” He laughed again and looked around at the snow and ice that was everywhere, and seemed to cover everything.

  “Somehow, I keep ending up in cold places these days. Anyway, it was a beautiful day, I was surrounded by family. That’s another thing, no one thinks to ask priests about their family. It’s as if they think we grew somewhere, like in a petri dish. But I had a big family. That day, they were all there. It was a small high school in a big city. We weren’t a rich family but my father had managed to find a grant for male descendants of Civil War soldiers who lost their land in the war.” Father Michael let out a snort and shook his head.

  “So, you’re Southern?” asked Ned.

  “Not a question I’ll answer. It’s a vow I took when I joined the White Rose order, to let go of my past, my connections to anything or anyone.”

  “Did you even ask, why? Did you wonder what life would be like without all of them?”

  “That’s one thing I’ve learned from the priesthood, to stop asking magical questions. The only thing someone can do when someone asks, what will happen is to either lie and make something up, or refuse to answer. Besides, in my case the question became moot.”