Love's Labors Tossed

by Robert Farrell Smith

  She was committed.

  25

  Worked into a Lather

  He slipped up to the back of the large home and over behind the trash can with the large rock on its lid. He picked up the rock as if it were a pebble and set it down quietly on the ground. Once the lid was removed, he rummaged through the trash, looking for anything of value. There was no food or valuables, but there was a small crumpled picture of the redheaded girl he so admired. He smoothed it out under the moonlight and gazed affectionately at it. He would have considered it bounty enough if it had not been for the low growling coming from his stomach. He looked towards the chicken coop. They would be noisy gain, but well worth it.

  He stepped over the odd cement path and squatted down by the latched door. The rusty hook whined as he lifted it up. The chickens began to murmur. He reached his hand into the shed and grabbed at anything that might be there. His big hands felt feathers and he squeezed.

  A dog barked.

  Momentarily startled, he dropped the chicken and looked towards the dark home. No lights came on. He pushed open the coop door and stomped in, feeling around for the chicken he had already silenced. The fowl went wild, screaming and clawing like toddlers on a tilt-a-whirl. He reached out and grabbed the first chicken he could catch. He shoved the bird into his bag and pushed out the door and into the open. A light blinked on in the large house, the window looking like a single eye searching for him.

  He ran.

  By the time two more windows were lit up and Ricky Heck was on the porch, he was long gone.

  26

  Trial and Error

  Saturday morning Leonard made an announcement on the steps of the boardinghouse. The gist of it was that he was tired of interviewing people, so it was time for a trial. He was also really disappointed in the poor sales he had experienced.

  “I offered you folks a chance to get in on the ground floor,” he chastised. “But that’s neither here nor over there. Trial’s set for this afternoon at three.”

  Justice moved swiftly in Thelma’s Way.

  I went up to the Heck home and helped President Heck with his path. We had to break up and redo a large section where he had gotten overanxious to try out his chair and had not waited until it was fully dry. The path really was taking shape. He had completed a ring around his house and the beginnings of two offshoots, one heading towards his garden and another towards the chickens.

  “You know,” he said as if deep in thought, “I bet I’ve got enough concrete to make a path all the way into town.”

  “You want to scoot yourself all that way?” I smiled.

  “My knees might get a little sore, but my back would be great.”

  “So what happened to your head?” I asked, noticing a large bruise on the right side of his neck.

  “Someone killed a few of my chickens last night,” he explained. “By the time I got up and out here to see who it was, he was gone. Since I was up I helped myself to some leftover pie. I guess I didn’t realize how tired I was,” he said. “I fell asleep while eating my third piece and knocked my neck against one of Patty’s good bar stools.”

  “Who was it?”

  “I couldn’t tell you,” he admitted.

  “Do you think it was you-know-who?”

  “Could have been.”

  “Have you told Sister Watson?” I asked.

  “No. She’d only get all fired up about it. She thinks that road would cure everything. She’s got more drive for that project than I’ve ever seen her have. She seems a little sad, though,” he said, as if he had given the idea a lot of thought.

  “About what?” I asked.

  “I guess I’d have to spend a night in her head to figure that out.” He went back to mixing the cement.

  The time seemed perfect to bring up my father.

  “You know, there’s something I’ve wanted to ask you,” I said seriously.

  “I’ve put on about thirty pounds,” he answered. “But I’ve decided to go on that meat diet Jerry’s been talking about.”

  “Actually, that wasn’t what I wanted to know,” I smiled.

  “I have a problem with speaking before I really think about it,” he smiled back. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Do you remember Roger Williams?” I asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Well, he’s my father,” I said, expecting him to gasp.

  “I know,” he said, not missing a beat as he mixed.

  “You knew?”

  “I figured it out after he had his accident,” he explained. “He was unconscious for a while, and I would sit by his bed and just stare at him. Well, it finally dawned on me that he looked too much like you not to be related. When he came to I was dying to ask him about it, but I figured he would tell me when he wanted to. I tested my idea by saying a bunch of real nice things about you and seeing how he’d react. He’s mighty proud of you, Trust.”

  “Does anyone else know?” I asked, not wanting to become emotionally sidetracked.

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me—or Grace?”

  “I figured if you didn’t know, it was something he needed to tell you.”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  President Heck took a couple big handfuls of cement and threw them down in the wood frame he had constructed. “Your dad was hurt pretty bad,” he commented.

  “I heard the accident was pretty hairy.”

  “Sure it was, but he was hurt long before that motorcycle dragged him down river. He was confused, had a lot of dazedness in his eyes. Sort of like Mavis Watson,” he said as if the comparison had just come to him. “Sort of like Mavis.”

  “I worry about his intentions for coming here,” I confessed.

  “Let it be, Trust,” President Heck said. “He did a lot of good here. You saw what kind of attendance we get at church. That’s because of him.”

  “I know, but . . .”

  “No ‘I knows.’ Sometimes we gotta just drop what we know and go with what we don’t.”

  We left it at that.

  At two-thirty we cleaned up and headed out to the trial.

  The boardinghouse was brimming with spectators and participants. A few folks were inside sitting on the windowsills, their posteriors hanging out.

  I recognized Toby.

  President Heck and I pushed our way inside. I found an empty foot of floor space up by the counter and next to Leonard. Leonard was wearing his black rain poncho and one of Sister Watson’s light-colored wigs. Jerry Scotch was standing in front of the counter with his work uniform on. He had his arms crossed in front of him, keeping the peace. Due to their missionary tags, the Knapworths had been enlisted as additional security. I watched Jerry nod at them as if they all shared some sort of secret security brotherhood. Both Paul and Sister Watson were sitting on a long bench pushed up against the far wall. Next to them were six empty chairs.

  The room was incredibly hot. Not only was it summer but the nonair-conditioned building was packed tight enough to make any fire inspector panic. I was envious of Toby and the fact that his backside was open to the outdoors as he sat perched in the window. At three o’clock on the dot Leonard stood up and began the proceedings.

  “Residents of Thelma’s Way,” he addressed the crowd. “It is the very fabric of life that has woven us to this moment. I want you to know that I do not take my position lightly. I have been with you but a few days, and already I feel a part of you and this mess.”

  Narlette raised her hand.

  “Yes?” Leonard asked.

  “You’ve got something on your lip,” she pointed out.

  Leonard wiped at his mouth and continued. “A little background, if I may. I’ve sold Pre-law for a number of months and have seen every episode of Perry Mason ever made. I visited a real courthouse not long ago while fighting for my freedom to have a movable home. There I learned the hard lesson that real justice is a farce and we have no one to count on but ourselves
. I promise you, however, that I won’t let that experience taint my performance here. This problem is dear to my heart,” he went on. “If you approve the road, I’ll be able to bring my home into your town and live on free land. Again, don’t think for a moment that this personal angle will affect my decisions here today. Any questions?”

  “You’ve seen every Perry Mason?” Ed Washington asked in awe.

  “Every one.” Leonard looked around. “If there are no other questions, we will continue. Sister Watson and Paul have already promised that they will abide nicely by whatever our decision here today is. So when we walk out of that door in a little while, I want this issue to be resolved.”

  “That means finished,” Ed whispered to Frank.

  “I know what issue means,” Frank whispered back defensively.

  “I have decided that this situation could best be served if we use a jury,” Leonard went on. “Toby?”

  Toby jumped down from the window and picked up a can sitting on the floor.

  “I’ve put each of your names in that can,” Leonard said. “At least those that I could remember.” He pointed at Janet Bickerstaff. “Jolene?”

  “Janet,” she corrected.

  “If Toby pulls out Jolene, that’s you.”

  Wanna-be actress Janet reveled at the possibility of being someone else for a while.

  “Toby, draw,” Leonard commanded.

  Toby stuck his hand in the jar and mixed it around. Then with a very dramatic flare he pulled a slip of paper out.

  “Wad,” he announced.

  Wad stood, curtsied, and then held his arm up and waved.

  “In the seat,” Leonard pointed.

  Wad dropped Miss Flitrey’s hand and shuffled over to the jury box.

  Toby drew again. “Pete.”

  Pete couldn’t believe it. “Me?”

  “You,” Leonard confirmed.

  “You work, and you struggle,” Pete went on, “and suddenly everything falls together for you.”

  He took the seat directly behind Wad.

  “Roswell,” Toby hollered.

  Paul smiled, knowing where Roswell stood on this issue at hand. Roswell took his place.

  “Jolene,” Toby screamed.

  Janet Bickerstaff jumped up and moved to her mark.

  Toby drew out another slip of paper. “Trust,” he announced.

  To be honest, I hadn’t even considered the possibility of my making the jury.

  “I’ll pass,” I waved.

  “You can’t just shirk off your civic duty,” Leonard said with disappointment. “Unless you’ve got some pressing matter to attend to, you need to be up here.”

  “I’m biased.”

  “Don’t be gross,” Sister Watson snipped. “A courtroom is no place for levity.”

  “I’m for the road,” I clarified. “I can’t think of anything dumber than this weather shelter Paul wants to build.”

  “He’ll do fine,” Sister Watson told Leonard, happy with my bias.

  “He’s honest enough,” Paul quipped. “I’ll give him that.”

  “Besides,” I added, “why can’t you do both?”

  “This is a court of law,” Leonard said officially. “Let’s not make a mockery of it. The two ideas are incompatible, and we’re here to prove that.”

  I thought about arguing some more, but instead I walked up and took a seat next to Pete in the makeshift jury box.

  “That’s everyone,” Toby announced.

  A few people moaned about not being picked.

  “But we need six jurors,” Leonard reminded him.

  “I held my name out so that I could be one,” Toby informed him. He then walked over and sat directly in front of me.

  Leonard put his hands behind his back and paced in front of us. He tisked, pulled at his eyebrows, and then turned to face the audience. “These six people are putting themselves on the line for you,” he said. “If you’re happy with the outcome, thank them. If you’re sickened, well, you know where they live.”

  Leonard stepped behind the counter and picked up the small ironbased snow globe that Roswell had gotten from his cousin’s pawn shop in Virgil’s Find. The plastic scene within the snow globe was of a mule bucking over a carton of apples. When you shook it, snow flurried and the mule’s back legs swung wildly. Leonard had chosen the curio as his mallet. He banged it on the counter, watched the snow flutter for a moment, and then called the court into session. I looked around at where I was and what I had gotten myself into. I was in for another unforgettable afternoon in Thelma’s Way.

  “Sister Watson, you may present your case,” Leonard told her.

  She stood up and smoothed down her wig. “Your honor,” she said.

  Leonard smiled, happy about the sound of that.

  “We need a road,” she began. “For years this town has struggled with moving to and from Virgil’s Find. I can’t begin to tell you how many times I’ve twisted an ankle or scraped a knee on that worn-out and unimproved trail.”

  “How many?” Toby asked, wanting to be an informed juror.

  “I can’t remember,” Sister Watson snapped.

  Toby leaned over and whispered to Wad, “That doesn’t look good.”

  “May I continue, your honor?” Sister Watson asked.

  “The jury will strike what Toby just said,” Leonard informed us.

  Pete reached out and smacked Toby in the back of the head. Oddly enough, Toby acted as if he deserved it. He then took out his Ace bandage and wrapped it around his head in case Pete was asked to strike him again.

  “A road would improve our quality of life,” Sister Watson went on. “We could get things faster and easier. Not only that but it would provide us with some much-needed conveniences. Now, I’m not that young,” she pointed out, “so a big part of what I’m fighting for is for the future generations. I did one of those exit polls at the entrance of the boardinghouse a few days back, and it seems to me that everyone’s a tad uncomfortable with being so isolated anymore. Jerry’s done a fine job of serving as the law, but—no offense to Jerry—we need some real authority here. And we’re not going to get any until we establish ourselves with a road. We need to face the fact that Thelma’s Way might not always be just how it is.”

  Roswell raised his hand.

  “Yes,” Leonard said.

  “Can I say something?”

  “Sure.”

  Roswell stood. “I think she’s wrong.” Roswell sat.

  “Thank you,” Leonard said. “Continue,” he nodded towards Sister Watson.

  “As I was saying, I have surveyed a great number of people, and most of them want this road,” she reiterated.

  Paul raised his hand. “Your honor, can we approach the bench?”

  Leonard waved them over. Roswell, Toby, Pete, Janet, and Wad all wandered over as well so that they could hear what they were whispering about. It was unnecessary, really, seeing how I could hear their talking from where I sat.

  “Mavis throwing out facts like that is unconstitutional and damaging,” Paul whispered fierily. “If the jury knows that more people want a road, then the jury’s going to go with that.”

  “He makes a good point,” Leonard considered.

  “You’re the judge,” Sister Watson said, obviously and oddly still somewhat taken with Leonard.

  “The jury will discount everything Mavis Watson has said,” Leonard ruled.

  The jury made it back to their seats, and Sister Watson spoke.

  “I rest my case.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Leonard observed. “I get tired of standing. Paul, you’re up.”

  Paul stood and said calmly, “My case is this. I want to build a giant covering for the meadow. It will keep out rain, it will keep out snow, and it will have a small gold plaque that reads, ‘Built for the community by Paul Leeper.’ I don’t want to die without leaving a little something to remember me by.”

  “You gotta admire his conviction,” Roswell whispered to us.
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  “We don’t want no cover,” Frank Porter hollered out.

  Everyone began to talk. Leonard slammed his snow globe. “One more outburst like that and I’ll make Jerry stand by you,” he scolded Frank. “Continue, Paul.”

  “The weather is a funny thing.” Paul scratched his nose. “Who knows what heaven’s going to toss at us in this unsteady time. You seen the Girth going all weird on us. Well, I think it makes sense to have some sort of protection. I personally am more frightened of what Mother Nature’s going to toss down than some made-up spook that’s been pestering us. Besides,” Paul went on, “I’ve already begun to gather up some of the materials needed to build my shelter.”

  It was a powerful argument. No one in Thelma’s Way liked to do unnecessary work. It seemed almost sinful to disregard the small effort that Paul had already exerted.

  “But I wanna drive a car before I die,” Teddy yelled.

  Again Leonard whacked the globe. Pete leaned over and whispered to me, “I got an extra gun if things get ugly.”

  “Order!” Leonard demanded. “Do you have anything more to say?” he asked Paul.

  “Not at the moment.”

  “The jury will remove themselves to Roswell’s room for deliberation,” Leonard instructed. “You are to talk to no one but yourselves about this. Is that clear?”

  We all nodded and then got up. Once we were in Roswell’s room, Jerry Scotch closed the door and stood guard outside.

  “What do we do?” Roswell asked.

  “Decide who made the best case,” I said, sitting down on Feeble’s old bed.

  “They were both a little weak, if you ask me,” Toby said, the Ace bandage on his head making him look like a wise swami.

  “Let’s take a vote,” Janet suggested. “Who wants the road?”

  Janet, Pete, Wad, and I raised our hands.

  “Who wants the shelter?”

  Roswell raised his. We all looked at Toby.