Still Life in Shadows

by Alice J. Wisler

  Gideon’s ears perked, intent to exactly what his brother had shouted. “What did he say? Do you have what he said?”

  Reading from a page, Henry said, “‘I’ll never be good enough for him. I’ll never be worth anything.’” Pausing, Henry looked for Gideon’s reaction. “I know you told me that your father is a hard man. Shame.”

  Gideon felt the description of hard man was an understatement.

  “He should be okay once he sobers up. The bartender is not pressing charges, but has asked that Moriah stay clear of the Rusty Saddle Bar and Grille from now on.”

  Henry summoned Tomlin into the office and instructed him to bring Moriah around. Tomlin left the room.

  Gideon sat slouched over, his elbows rested against his knees, hands folded. The clock on the wall hummed like a fluorescent light bulb with a short in it. After a few minutes, he wished he could unplug the annoying thing. Calm down, he told himself. There’s no point in me acting disorderly, too. One Miller brother in trouble was enough for one night. Pretty soon he heard the door open and both Tomlin and Moriah appeared. Moriah’s wrists were secured by handcuffs.

  “What’s going on?” Gideon felt anguish at seeing his brother in handcuffs. A memory from the past leapt into his mind, one he often fought to remove. The officer then had been short and agitated. His father had been equally annoyed.

  Henry was calm and reassuring. “Had to cuff him to keep him safe.”

  “No big deal,” Moriah said. His hair was free, the ponytail gone, and strands of greasy blond hair hung in his face.

  “It is a big deal.” Gideon’s voice echoed throughout the office. “I had to come get you.” He wanted to avoid his brother’s bloodshot eyes, his sallow skin and the alcoholic stench that permeated his breath and clothing.

  They stood face-to-face for a moment until Henry broke the silence. “Well,” said the sheriff, his eyes on Gideon. “We can let him go into your custody. If that is okay with you.”

  Gideon knew that meant Henry expected him to keep Moriah out of trouble. At least for the rest of the night and into the day. He guessed no bail money was needed and counted that the one small blessing in the midst of the chaos. His mother had always told him to search for the blessings in everything. Nothing was ever all bad.

  “Moriah,” said Henry, as he hoisted his pants at the waist. “I want no more wild conduct out of you.”

  It was then that Gideon thought, what if he said he wanted Moriah to stay the rest of the night here? What if he left him here to sober up? It wouldn’t cost anything like a hotel room would, and it’d give him a break from having to deal with his brother’s behavior.

  Gideon nodded at Henry, and with an, “Okay, then,” Tomlin unlocked the cuffs. Rubbing his wrists, Moriah laughed.

  “Like father, like son, huh?” His words came from the back of his throat. “Next thing you know I’ll be shouting like him, ‘Someone will pay!’”

  Gideon’s skin turned sticky. Now was not the time to bring up the incident that occurred in Carlisle years ago with their father who was jailed for failing to comply with the town rules of owning an outhouse.

  “I guess it’s in my blood to be a rebel.” Moriah snickered, took a step, tripped over his shoelaces, steadied himself, and belched.

  Before he could say another word, Gideon ushered him out of the office, not sure whether it was appropriate to thank Henry for letting him go or not.

  In the car, Moriah muttered that it wasn’t his fault. With his arms folded against his chest, he slumped into the passenger seat. His hair fell over his face, strands of it across his lips.

  Gideon started the car. “Put on your seat belt.”

  Moriah closed his eyes.

  “I said put your seat belt on. Now.” Gideon waited; the car was in reverse, but his foot sat firmly on the brake.

  Moriah groaned.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Under the streetlight, Moriah looked the color of mozzarella cheese. His stench was a mixture of sweat and fried onions.

  Moriah shrugged, yawned.

  “Seat belt.” Gideon wished he’d listen. They needed to get home; his brother needed a shower badly.

  With a grunt, Moriah roused himself, flung open the door, and scurried from the car.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” Gideon shifted to park.

  Moriah stumbled and then started to jog down the narrow sidewalk, lined with dispersed autumn leaves, pine needles, and a few stray pinecones.

  Was he crazy? “What are you doing? Get back in here!” He saw his brother trailing away, gaining speed as he went, running from something Gideon couldn’t see. Even as he drove, looking to his left and right, there was no sign of Moriah. Not even a shadow. It was as though the darkness of the November night had swallowed him.

  Gideon drove Ormond’s car to work the next morning, scanning both sides of the street as he cruised slowly by. He half expected to find Moriah on the side of the street, wrapped in some dark blanket—like a scene depicted in a horror movie. His back ached, as did his head. He’d only gotten about two hours of sleep after searching most of the night, and he was no good without proper rest. When he had fallen asleep, his dreams haunted him, one with that scene where Moriah was missing. He’d never given much thought to dreams and their meanings, but perhaps, with these recent frustrating dreams, he should start paying attention.

  Suddenly, he saw a figure in a striped wool cap walking down a road to his left. Without hesitating, he spun into the turn lane, nearly hit a pickup, and was the recipient of a number of car horns. Steady, he told himself. You can’t afford an accident, especially not in Ormond’s car. He crept up to the figure, ready this time to jump out of the car and tackle Moriah to the ground if he had to. He rolled down the window and was about to shout his brother’s name when the person turned, met his gaze, and glared at him. Gideon looked into the face of a weathered man, a complete stranger. Embarrassed, Gideon sped up and turned off the street.

  He started to make a list in his head of what he did know about his brother. Moriah was after a good time. He had no intention of returning to Carlisle. He liked women. He was a flirt. He liked to have his way. He drank too much, and his temper was atrocious. Even as he acknowledged these things about Moriah, Gideon realized that his problem hadn’t been solved. Moriah was still at large.

  At the shop, Ormond had opened the front door, but the garage doors were still shut. He was brewing coffee. The daily paper laid out on his desktop shouted headlines about the current national economic crisis.

  Gideon handed him the keys to the Buick. “Thanks.”

  “How is she?”

  “She?” Who was Ormond talking about?

  “Kiki. Is she all right?”

  Kiki, but of course. Kiki had been the one in need of help yesterday. Gideon rubbed a hand over his head. In his tired state, he’d forgotten to put on his John Deere cap. It seemed weeks ago that Kiki had collapsed on the floor of the shop, ages since he’d sat talking with Mari in her house, eons since he’d felt the joy of preparing dinner for them. “Kiki is fine.”

  “You aren’t, are you?”

  “He can’t live with me.” Gideon let out a sigh of relief upon finally admitting it.

  “You mean Moriah?”

  Gideon reached for the cabinet over the sink and was grateful for the bottle of Advil. Shaking the container, he dispensed four tablets into the palm of his hand and downed them dry.

  “What’s he done?”

  Gideon took out a bottle of Aquafina. On a normal day he would have asked why the fridge was lined with this bottled brand instead of Ormond’s usual Deer Park. After two swallows, he could no longer feel the pills in his throat. Turning to Ormond, he confessed, “I don’t know where he is.”

  “You don’t know where Moriah is?”

  “He’s a lunatic.” As much as he hated to hear the word describing his brother, he knew it was appropriate. Moriah was not the chubby baby boy of yesterday. He was a machine out of cont
rol.

  “Maybe he got a good job somewhere. One where he actually works,” Ormond said, his attempt to lighten the mood.

  Gideon fought to push aside last night’s scene at the sheriff’s office. Gently rocking his head back, to the left and right, he tried to rid himself of a stiff neck. Staring at the coffee brewing, he considered drinking some. It just might be what he needed to help him not feel so queasy and exhausted. When was the last time he’d had a mug of coffee? The coffee was nearly ready, the hot beverage steaming and sputtering into the glass pot. He breathed in the aroma.

  Ormond filled his chipped mug and set the pot back on the burner. After a slight slurp, he looked Gideon over. “Did the two of you fight or something?”

  “Or something.” Gideon made his way to his office. At his desk, he massaged his temples and then finished the water. He checked his cell, thinking he might have missed a call from Henry. But no one had tried to reach him.

  When Luke entered the shop, Gideon asked if he knew where Moriah might be. Although he looked sympathetic, Luke claimed he had no idea.

  Ashlyn came by at lunchtime, bringing her culinary specialty of homemade brown bread. Like usual, Ormond acted like he’d never seen a tube of bread before.

  “Coffee can? Do you really make this in a can?” Ormond stroked his mustache. “Now how is that possible?”

  Happy to explain, and in a true writer’s descriptive fashion, Ashlyn launched into the tale of how she got the recipe from her grandmother who came over to this country in 1892 from Scotland.

  “All my grandmother Lora Marie had with her was a tattered suitcase and the recipe for bread in a can. The recipe wasn’t written on paper, for she couldn’t read or write. She had it memorized.” Ashlyn looked around the room at the group, making sure they were paying attention. “That was a good thing, because her first job in these mountains was as a cook. She wowed them with her bread recipe.”

  “So what’s in this recipe of old?” asked Ormond.

  Ashlyn paused to wrap her dark wavy hair into an elastic band. “It’s so easy to make. You pour two kinds of flour—rye and whole wheat—into a bowl and add cornmeal, molasses, salt, baking soda, and buttermilk. Then you mix it well, add a cup of raisins, and pour it all into a greased coffee can. Make sure the lid is tight and steam it covered in a pot of water for two hours.”

  Luke laughed and draped an arm around his fiancée. “You know, you are the best cook in Twin Branches.”

  “I’m the most unusual,” she clarified. “I like making recipes that are not common. Gideon’s the gourmet chef.”

  Gideon thanked her for her vote of confidence and graciously accepted a slice of the bread. Ormond said he’d like a piece, too. When she brought Ormond’s serving to him on a paper plate, he said, “This is actually something I think I’m going to like. I like anything that has to do with coffee and cans of coffee.”

  She laughed as he studied the slice which was the color of caramel and dotted with raisins. He took a bite. “This is delicious.”

  Ashlyn carried another plate into Gideon’s office.

  “If you hear anything about my brother, let me know,” Gideon said after thanking her. He figured since she was a reporter at the Twin Star, she might receive a heads-up on Moriah long before he did.

  Ashlyn looked worried. “What’s wrong?”

  “He’s getting into trouble. Did your dad tell you?” Gideon figured that the sheriff shared all the antics that took place at his station with his wife and daughter.

  But Ashlyn shot that theory down. “He doesn’t usually carry work home with him, so I haven’t heard about Moriah.”

  Gideon’s voice sounded as lifeless as he felt. “I don’t know where he is now.”

  Ashlyn sighed. “Is he missing? Have you filed a missing person—?”

  He cut her off. “He’s not missing.” There was no need to file a missing person statement. Moriah wasn’t kidnapped. He was just being difficult, unruly, and stubborn.

  “He’s a good guy, Gideon.” Ashlyn’s blue eyes were sincere. “He just likes attention and sometimes …”

  Gideon knew what she meant even without her finishing her sentence. Moriah sometimes said too much and got boisterous.

  “He’s like all the Amish kids that have come here under your care. He doesn’t want to be known as that goody two-shoes. So he plays it wild.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Oh, you know that, Gideon. I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know. My best friend was a preacher’s kid. She felt she had to prove every day that she wasn’t this pious good girl.”

  “I bet she didn’t end up in jail.”

  “Well, no. But she did steal some bubblegum from the Walmart in Asheville once. It was that Carefree Sugarless kind.”

  22

  Gideon didn’t want Ashlyn to feel that she needed to hang around his office and console him. He knew she’d come to see Luke. So he eyed the bread on the plate before him and decided eating a second piece would do him some good. “Thanks again,” he told her. “This stuff is amazing.”

  “You are welcome. It’s healthy, so good for you. Luke calls it love in a can.”

  For a brief moment he envied Luke and Ashlyn’s relationship. How nice to have someone to love, to want to build a life and future with. How beautiful. But the feeling lasted only for a short while; it was hard to think romantically when he was worried about his wayward brother.

  After Ashlyn left to find Luke, Gideon picked up the second slice of bread. It was truly delicious. He ate another bite.

  The phone rang, and he wiped his mouth with a napkin he found in his desk drawer. His heart jumped, preparing for a call from or about his brother. But the first call of the day was a lady making an appointment to have her Camry serviced and then a mother called to ask if the shop really did repair bicycles. The phone rang a few more times before Gideon said he was walking to Benson’s Laundromat next door.

  “Going to finally wash clothes today?” Ormond asked, his face beaming with a smile. Ormond was always good at relieving tension with a joke or a comment. He was the type of person who received all those forwarded email messages with jokes about typos in church bulletins and the funny things kids say. Often he printed them out and chuckled over them when he wasn’t reading the sports page.

  But today Gideon saw no humor in the shop owner’s words. Stiffly he said, “No, going to get some chips from their vending machine. Want anything?” Gideon knew that chips were not as healthy as his typical breakfast of multigrain toast with apple butter, but since he’d eaten Ashlyn’s bread, the raisins and whole wheat in that should balance out whatever else nonnutritious he consumed. Now that his headache was lifting, his stomach rumbled with hunger.

  “Chips, huh?” Ormond looked surprised. “You are in a bad way, aren’t you? I’ll take a Baby Ruth bar.” Ormond reached into his desk drawer where he kept change and handed Gideon three quarters. “Is that enough?”

  “It is.”

  “I remember when a Baby Ruth was a dime.”

  Gideon left before Ormond could continue down memory lane.

  When Kiki arrived, parking her bike with its kickstand, Gideon told her about the mother who’d called.

  “When will she bring the bike in?” asked the girl. “Today?” She pulled her puppet from the basket, gave it a kiss and returned it to its compartment. “We are in business, Yoneko,” she said.

  Gideon realized he’d been too preoccupied with thoughts of Moriah when the mother had called. He admitted he wasn’t sure.

  “Did you tell her to come at three o’clock? I get here at three o’clock.”

  “I’m sure she knows.”

  From behind them a male voice rang, “Knows what?”

  Gideon turned around and there stood Moriah. At first, relieved, Gideon felt the knot he’d been carrying around inside his stomach all day release. Moriah was here, no longer at large. But his relief was short-lived as he noted his brother’s red e
yes and dilated pupils. As Moriah sneezed, Gideon also smelled a sour stench. He wondered if his brother knew how badly he needed to bathe.

  Moriah smiled down at Kiki and tenderly patted her head. “Got some bikes to fix today?”

  She smiled back and energetically replied, “I will have lots of business. It’s gonna happen really soon because I made more fliers.”

  Moriah winked at her, making Gideon wonder how Moriah could be so chummy with the girl and practically ignore Gideon. Didn’t he feel an apology or explanation regarding last night was in order?

  Not wanting to start an argument in the shop, Gideon said, “Why don’t you go help Luke?” He motioned to where Luke was at his bay, prodding under the hood of a Volvo.