A House Divided

by Sydell Voeller

  “Yes. Despite all the controversy, it’s working out quite well, thank you.”

  “Good. We always like to hear from satisfied clients.” He lounged casually against the desk. “But as far as the controversy’s concerned, the important thing is that we do what’s politically correct for this town.”

  “What do you mean by that, Mr. McIntosh?” Rebecca asked.

  “Just call me Norm.”

  “All right then. Norm it is.” She refused to let him dissuade her. “Since when have folks in small towns such as this one been that concerned about political correctness?”

  He edged closer with a knowing grin, as if presuming she was about to come around to his way of thinking any moment now. “Not only are many folks objecting to the halfway house for strictly obvious reasons—disruption of our rights, the dangerous decline of tourism, just to name a couple—but I’ve also raised new issue that no one, up till now at least, has even considered.”

  “Oh?” Madge’s voice squeaked. “What are you getting at, Norm?”

  “I’m talking about the railroad.”

  “The railroad?” Rebecca asked, blinking rapidly.

  “Uh-huh.” He puffed out his chest. “Just think about all the noise disturbance it will cause for the residents at Simon’s facility.” He removed his wire-framed glasses, extracted a polishing cloth from the pocket of his sports coat, and began polishing them. His voice turned mocking. “After all, aren’t they supposed to be put there for rest and rehabilitation?”

  “Yes, but the railroad’s a good mile or so from the property,” Rebecca pointed out, allowing herself a small measure of debate. “If the noise isn’t a distraction for the kids at the grade school just down the street from the Glasgow place, then how can you say it will be a problem for the folks there?”

  McIntosh jutted out his chin. “Everyone knows those trains come barreling through town even during the dead of night, blasting their horns, and the noise carries. The only ones who aren’t jolted from a good night’s sleep are the folks buried up in the Memorial Gardens. And as far as these crazies go who Simons wants to live on his property, who knows what kind of disturbance would be enough to set them off?”

  Rebecca pursed her lips, reining in her mounting anger. While it was true the sound sometimes did carry, especially on still nights, she couldn’t believe an occasional blast of sound would be enough to upset the residents. What about the fog horns by the bay? Or the sounds of the police, fire, and ambulances? Still, she’d already said enough. Yes, her lips had to remain sealed, especially this first day on the job.

  “Well, in my opinion—” Madge said, but McIntosh cut her off.

  People here in Freemont must realize Simons is a man who can’t be trusted,” he said. His voice rose in pitch. “Even though he’s promising a fully supervised facility, he’s also earned himself a reputation for going back on his word.”

  Like breaking his engagement with your daughter? Rebecca silently questioned with skyrocketing frustration. “There’s something I don’t understand, Norm.” Rebecca couldn’t take it any longer. “Why are you so against the project when you don’t even live here in Freemont? Isn’t it true you commute here from Coves Junction?”

  His face grew redder. “That’s beside the point. The important thing is I happen to work in this wonderful old town. Simons’ proposal could have a significant impact on both my jobs, not only my volunteer work here at the Chamber, but my profession as a real estate agent. Before you know it, all the neighbors will be putting their homes up for sale! And no one’s going to buy these properties if and when they learn what’s in store. The local economy is suffering enough, without this, too!”

  “Norm, Norm,” Madge attempted to soothe him in her typical motherly way. “I’m sure it will all work out in due time. Things have a way of doing that, you know. I understand the normal procedure for a property owner who’s applying for a special use approval permit is to wait out a four-to five-month review period. A lot can happen during that time. And if what you say about the railroad is indeed a consideration, the planning officials just may indeed turn him down.”

  “The railroad is just a ruse,” Rebecca exclaimed. She felt the heat burning her face. “It’s an attempt to violate the patients and their civil rights. Dr. Simons is a good man, with good intentions, and he’s only doing what he believes is right.”

  She felt numb, taken back by the conviction she’d just heard in her words. So much for new jobs and civic obligations. So much for taking a stand against the halfway house, or even portraying a neutral position.

  What had driven her to speak up that way, knowing full well her job could be at stake? Why had she allowed herself to speak her mind, especially when it had been she herself who had planted the seed for the petition?

  McIntosh’s irate voice pulled her back with a jerk. “If Simons thinks he’s so blasted important, then he can just—” Mark strode through the open front door, eclipsing the sunlight flooding through. For a moment he just stood there, looking from Madge to Rebecca, saying nothing.

  Rebecca blinked rapidly. She felt her face flush, embarrassed for Norm. He’d been like a kid caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar. But the bottom line was, how much had Mark overheard? How would he react? And had he, perhaps, heard her rallying to his defense?

  She breathed in a steadying breath and realized they were about to find out.

  Chapter Eight

  If Mark had overheard what they’d been talking about, he gave no indication. His reason for stopping by, he said, was to ask about a list of local bed and breakfasts for the visiting missionaries coming to his church. Even though the initial family he’d planned on was already staying in his condo, there were more due to arrive the following week. He’d promised Pastor Alan he’d help out with the arrangements.

  Meanwhile, Norm McIntosh had skulked back to the employees’ lounge like a startled, retreating snake.

  “How nice of you to make your help so available to these good folks who are speaking at your church, Dr. Simons,” Madge said in a saccharine voice. “We all realize what a busy person you are, what with your successful practice and your work at the hospital, and I just hope your minister realizes that too.”

  Mark answered, “I’m more than glad to lend a hand. After all, he’s pledged to help me in the halfway house project, and it works both ways, you know.” He paused, eyeing her squarely. “Now . . . uh . . . the brochures? Did you say there are some available?”

  “Oh, my, yes! What’s the matter with me? I didn’t mean to get so sidetracked.” She riffled hurriedly through a stack on the counter and handed him one. “Here’s our updated list, Dr. Simons. Notice the new prices. I think you’ll agree they’re very reasonable.”

  “Hmmm.” He scanned the brochure, then looked up and grinned. His white teeth flashed against his tanned face, causing Rebecca’s pulse to race. “Yes, very reasonable. It also looks as if there’s a couple of new bed and breakfasts, which surprises me, given the economy and all.”

  “But perhaps that’s a positive sign,” Madge said. “It must mean we’re managing to keep the tourists at our back door. And hopefully we can keep it that way.” She shot him a pointed look, but Mark kept smiling.

  Rebecca struggled to keep her frustration at bay. What a pretense! To hear Madge talk now, you’d think Mark was the most honored citizen on the entire Oregon Coast—except for that little dig just a moment ago, of course.

  “Uh . . . is Norm here today?” Mark asked. “I was sure I heard him talking when I first walked in.”

  “He’s out on an errand.” She offered Mark a tight smile. “May I give him a message?”

  “Uh . . . no . . . just tell him I said hello.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Mark’s eyes locked with Rebecca’s. “Hello, Rebecca.”

  “Hi, Mark.” A warm flush crept up into her face.

  “I certainly didn’t mean to ignore you, but you’ve been sitting t
here so quietly. First day on the job, I see?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Good.” He fidgeted with the brochure, turning it over in his hands. “And everything’s going well, I hope?”

  “Oh, absolutely!” She struggled to keep her voice airy.

  “Well, good luck. With the new job, I mean.”

  “Thanks.”

  Nodding politely at Madge, he made a hasty exit.

  Good luck? Rebecca bit her lip. Oh, Mark, you’re the one who needs a stroke of good luck right now. If only you knew what folks are saying.

  All day long, in between phone calls, greeting visitors, and a pile of paperwork, Rebecca’s thoughts had hovered on Mark. She pictured him as he’d talked with Wendy. He’d been so patient and gentle, drawing out only the best in her daughter. She envisioned him, also, standing behind the pulpit during the community meeting at the church. He’d appeared so vibrant, so handsome. Despite the fact many folks there had voiced their objections loudly and heatedly, he’d stayed afterwards, bidding each person good-bye with calm reassurance and an inner strength that amazed her. At the time, of course, she hadn’t been aware of the threatening note he’d received only minutes earlier, but now that she had, his equanimity amazed her all-the-more.

  Her push-pull feelings warred inside of her. While one part of her ached for Mark, the other part was filled with confusion. I’m trying to stand up for you, Mark, and what you’re attempting to do. But why does a little part of me keep holding back?

  * * *

  Mark’s footsteps echoed in the hospital corridor as he mentally prepped himself for the meeting at ten—in just a half hour. Earlier, he’d asked the twelve patients he’d chosen as possible residents at the halfway house to participate in the upcoming neighborhood coffee hour. Thankfully, they’d all agreed. Now to tie up the loose ends. Outline some goals and objectives. And especially find out what Ted and Allan and Jeffrey were planning to say when it came their turn to talk.

  As he passed by the nurses’ station and rounded the next corner, his thoughts bounced back to his visit at the Chamber yesterday. His brief contact with the employees there—and Rebecca—had left him restless, uncertain, and he had to admit, a little apprehensive.

  He’d overhead their conversation just before he’d walked in. The front door had been wedged open, Norm’s voice raised, and there was no reason he wouldn’t have heard. Norm had been ranting about the halfway house, and Rebecca had appeared to rally to its defense.

  For personal, selfish reasons, he felt good about that. Yet at the same time, he cringed at the thought of her distancing herself from her fellow employees, especially this early in the game. She needed her job. And it was plenty humbling to realize, she’d taken that risk and willingly put her job on the line.

  “Good morning, Mark.” Dr. Samuel Brandonoff, his colleague at the hospital, strode up to him and clasped his shoulder. “How’s the proposal coming along?”

  “We’re making progress, Sam. Shaky progress, maybe, but progress nonetheless.”

  “Ah. Not to go back is somewhat to advance, as our old friend Alexander Pope once wrote,” Sam said sagely in a theatrical voice.

  Sam had minored in English Literature as an undergrad back when Mark and he had attended the University of Oregon together, during what now seemed eons ago. His special interest was English poets.

  Mark chuckled, giving a mock salute. “Thanks, Alexander Pope. I needed that.”

  “All kidding aside,” Sam met Mark’s gaze squarely, “tell me what’s happening.”

  “I got a letter from the county, stating the planning commission has rejected my application for the first permit. Supposedly, the railroad traffic through town will create too much noise pollution for our residents.” He gave a rueful laugh. “Can you believe that, Sam? Noise pollution, they’re calling it.”

  “What a joke.”

  “Right. According to the county commissioner who wrote the letter, the train noise would not only totally threaten the clients’ need for rest and relaxation, but might set one or more of them off into a pathological rage.”

  Sam shook his head. “Ignorance certainly can breed fear, doesn’t it? It’s sad to think there’s still so much prejudice against mental illness. Even many of the government big wigs can’t make an effort to think outside the box.”

  “And all the more need for public education, such as the neighborhood coffee hour I’m in the process of organizing.”

  “So what are you going to do,” Sam asked, pushing his glasses back up on his nose, “about the application, that is?”

  “The only thing there’s left to do. File a complaint with the appeals court. Hopefully, a reasonable juror will see through it and realize the real intent of the denial.”

  “And what kind of backing, if any, are you getting from the mayor?”

  “He’s not very gung-ho either, I’m afraid.” Mark sighed. “In fact, he was on record saying that I and any others who are trying to spearhead nonprofit endeavors must realize ‘the city is not the provider of human services programs’. In other words, I should take my proposal someplace else.”

  “Well, I wish you the very best. Let me know if there’s any way I can help.”

  “I will, Sam. Thanks.”

  “And oh by the way, have you heard that Mildred Poujade expired last night?”

  “No! What happened?”

  “Cardiac arrest, they think. We’ll have to wait on the autopsy report, of course. Anyway, it was fast and painless.”

  Mark swallowed with much effort. Poor woman. Thank God, she’d gone peacefully, so unlike the way his mother had died.

  Sam checked his watch. “Sorry for rushing off like this, but I’m already late making rounds. Keep me posted on your project, okay?”

  “Sure.” Mark glanced down at his own watch. “I’ve got to get a move on, too.”

  Halfway down the next hallway, as he passed by Mildred’s now-empty room, he forced himself to steal a glance inside. The door stood wide open and her neatly blanketed cot served as a stark reminder of her absence. The pain tore at his insides.

  Unbidden, memories of his mother rushed in. Hadn’t he, though only a small tike, been the one who had caused her suffering? Hadn’t he’d been the reason she’d fallen ill? Though to the best of his knowledge, she’d never called him a bad boy, he’d often felt bad. And the day she’d told him he’d have to go live with his Uncle Ned and Aunt Rose while she stayed at the hospital, he’d cried and yelled and stomped his feet. He even threw his worn gray teddy bear at her, calling her a name, then tried unsuccessfully to run away. Yep—his gut knotted with renewed guilt—his running away had probably been her final undoing.

  * * *

  Mid-July gave way to the first of August, and an unseasonable heat wave set in. Even the occasional marine breezes failed to cool the sun-baked town, and tempers at the Chamber had been on edge, Rebecca had noticed, especially Norm’s. Still, there was nothing like watching a child and a dog play to help while away a hot Friday afternoon she decided now as she lounged in a lawn chair in the backyard of the Glasgow house, sipping iced tea.

  “Look, Bandit! Go get it! Bring back the Frisbee!” Wendy spun the yellow plastic disc through the air straight into the arborvitae hedge.

  Bandit leapt into the flat-leafed foliage and retrieved the Frisbee, then dashed back across the yard, ears flying. Wendy giggled as the dog dropped it at her feet and panting, gazed up at her with adoring brown eyes.

  “Oh, Bandit, it’s too hot to make you work so hard,” she crooned, stooping to pat the top of his head. “You need to rest. Here, let me get you a dish of cold water.” She turned to Rebecca. “Where does Mr. Simons keep Bandit’s water dish?”

  “On his back patio, I think. At least that’s where it was the last time I noticed.”

  As Rebecca continued to watch them dash off together, contentment filled her. Thankfully, now that Mark had moved into the adjoining quarters and brought his cocker spaniel with
him, Wendy had apparently forgotten her pleas for her own dog. At least, she hadn’t mentioned it again to Rebecca. Indeed, Mark had been more than generous, allowing Wendy ample time with Bandit, and even inviting her to accompany them on their walks most evenings.

  Rebecca shifted her weight, then settled back again in the lawn chair. Yes, she thought with a sigh, perhaps it wasn’t so unsettling having Mark living in the guest quarters after all.

  In no time, Wendy and Bandit had returned. “Be careful not to wear him out,” she said to Wendy. “Dogs get hot in summertime, just like people do. Mark would want you to take good care of Bandit.”

  “Did I hear somebody say my name?” Mark said with a grin, appearing seemingly out of nowhere.

  “Mark!” Rebecca’s spirits soared. “Are my eyes playing tricks on me?” she teased. “Do you actually have an afternoon off?”

  “Yep.” His eyes sparkled down at her. “And I have to admit, it feels pretty good. In fact, I’ve decided to shorten my hours at the office every Friday and take off no later than mid-afternoon.”

  “Dr. Simons! Hi!” Wendy’s face lit up.

  “Hi, Wendy! But please let’s forget the Dr. Simons stuff. Just call me, Mark, okay?”

  Wendy turned to her mother. “Is that okay, Mama? I mean, you always tell me to call grown-ups by their last names.”

  “If Mark doesn’t mind, then I guess I don’t either.” She lifted one shoulder in a dismissive gesture.

  “It’s great to see you’re taking such good care of Bandit while I’m at work,” Mark told Wendy.

  She nodded solemnly, eyes wide. “Thanks. I just got Bandit some fresh water out of the hose and filled up his dish.”

  “Good girl!”

  “And now that Bandit’s had a nice long drink, I think we’re gonna play some more with the Frisbee again.”

  “That sounds like a great idea,” Mark said. “I’m sure Bandit’s more than ready for another go-around!”

  A minute later, Mark sank down on the empty chair next to Rebecca and said, “I’m afraid I’ve kept the pup cooped up far too long. In some ways, condo living isn’t always the best thing for dogs.”