“What happened to the van?” Ethan asked.
“Some kids came up during the night and took it for a joy ride. I didn’t have no insurance on it and had no way to pay for the damage they’d done, so one of the boy’s fathers said if I wouldn’t charge his boys with theft, then he’d cover the telephone pole damage they did with my van.”
Ethan blinked several times. “But he didn’t buy you a new van?”
She shook her head. “The sheriff said I was lucky he was willing to cover the damage those boys did.”
Ethan’s hands clenched in aggravation. The first story he was writing was on the deceitful people of Briarville. “You know what? You’re better off going to Fayetteville to shop. A bigger town will have more chances to win something.”
“That’s true. Maybe I’ll win me a big old bus, ‘cause to be honest, all my boys wouldn’t fit in that Chevy now.”
***
Chores continued until dusk. Ethan couldn’t believe how cooperative and diligent all the boys were. On occasion, two of them would get in a tussle, and some made mistakes, but not one tried to shirk his work or complain.
Ethan had never met finer kids in his life.
At dinner, after the prayer and the ensuing riot of food dispersion, Ethan spoke during a momentary lull. “Starting tonight after dinner, I’d like to interview one of you.”
Little Tom looked up with excited hope in his eyes. “Which one?”
“Well, each one of you before I’m done. It will help me get to know each of you as an individual.”
Joshua snorted. “Instead of one mass mob of sixty-four arms and legs?”
Oscar gave that comment some consideration and then frowned. “You going to interview the babies?”
Ethan laughed at the idea. “No. Interviews will be held only with those who can talk.”
Three-year-old Sean banged his spoon on his highchair. “Me! I can tawk!”
Sara kissed the boy’s blond head. “Yes, you most certainly can.” She then walked to the refrigerator.
For the next two minutes, Sean banged happily on the high chair table, saying, “I tawk, I tawk, I tawk.”
When Sara returned with a big bowl of red gelatin, she laughed at Sean, who was still saying the same two words.
She gently pressed her fingers to his lips. “When Mr. Long interviews you, try and say something about yourself.”
Sean considered this and then grinned at Ethan. “I’m three!”
A slightly older boy, Sam, laughed. “That’s good. Now who’s your letter partner?”
Sean pointed to Sam.
Sam nodded. “And what’s my name?”
Sean’s eyes rounded. “You don’t know your name.” He then laughed and banged the table. “Sam don’t know his name.”
Everyone laughed, including Sam. When the laughter died off, Sam turned to Ethan. “Just for the record, I do know my name. I was just checking that Sean knew my name.”
Ethan touched his temple. “I got it.”
***
That night, Ethan lay in his bed and studied the pictures of the boys, with their names listed below.
The problem wasn’t learning sixteen names. The problem was the boys looked so similar. Other than age, only Mike had something to distinguish him. Which meant Ethan could look at the two eldest together and properly declare the oldest Joshua and the second Colby. However, if he saw one of the eldest alone, he wouldn’t have a clue which he was. Same with all the boys. Given their general size, he could reduce the probable names to three, but unless he could line them up by size, he had no shot. The boys simply looked too similar.
“Sara, may I alter the boys so I can tell them apart? Nothing permanent. Different haircuts might do the trick.”
Sara’s brow furrowed as she gave the matter more consideration. “Is there that many haircuts for a boy?”
Ethan laughed. “Probably, but I’d be at a loss at how to cut them all differently. I was thinking we’d start with Joshua and go down on a long, medium, short rotation. I don’t need them all different. I just need the boys in close age proximity different.”
She laughed. “That’s pretty clever. Well, let’s go tell the boys. I bet they’ll get a kick out of being different.”
The boys listened to Ethan’s proposal with decided reservation. At the end, they silently looked at Joshua for their response. Joshua looked less than pleased.
“Can we reverse the order to short, medium, long? I’m almost a man now, and I don’t want long hair.”
Ethan nodded. “You’re right. The cuts should be short, medium, long.”
Sam, the third eldest, frowned. “How long is long?”
Ethan chuckled. “The length you have now.”
Peter’s eyes widened. “How short is short?”
Ethan looked at Peter, then Joshua, Oliver, Oscar, and four-year-old Conrad. “I was thinking a buzz cut like you get in the army.”
All the boys grinned. “Cool!” they said in unison.
“What about us?” Colby, the second eldest, asked.
“Buzzed at the neck, but left longer on top.”
The younger boys looked to Colby to see if that was okay. He nodded in satisfaction and they nodded, as well.
Tom raised his hand. His face wore a heavy frown.
Ethan knelt down before the five-year old. “What’s wrong, Tom?”
“I don’t want to be the same as I was. I want you to change me, too.”
The other longhaired boys nodded in agreement.
He brushed Tom’s hair with his fingers. “How about you guys part your hair on the side instead of the center?”
They perked up at his suggestion.
Sara retrieved her comb and scissors. Ethan acquired the electric trimmer he carried when on assignment to places without access to a barber. Slowly, he and Sara changed the hairstyles of three lines of boys.
When they were done, Ethan sighed from exhaustion. He watched as the younger boys carefully swept away the hair with a hand broom and dustbin.
“Do you normally take the boys in for haircuts?”
“No. It’d take too long and cost too much. When their hair hits their shoulders, I spend four nights cutting it shorter.” She laughed. “Had I known how easy it was to cut it real short, I’d have asked my guardian angel for an electric trimmer long ago. This didn’t take no time at all.”
Ethan opened and closed his hand, still aching from the constant vibrations of the trimmer.
Seeing his discomfort, Sara took his hand and gently massaged the muscles with her strong, callused fingers. “I appreciate you taking the time to make each of my boys separate and special to you.”
A pang of guilt surged within him and he wanted to pull away his hand. He didn’t deserve her ministrations. He was nothing more than a vulture here to pluck stories from her life. He didn’t deserve her gentle kindness.
Yet, he didn’t resist it. He couldn’t. Her touch mesmerized him. He closed his eyes and accepted her loving care for the miracle it was.
Chapter 8
Friday morning, the social worker arrived.
Ethan could tell Sara and the children were terrified of the disapproving woman. The boys gathered around their mother, their heads down, while Sara chewed fretfully on her lower lip.
He handed the middle-aged, heavyset woman the test summaries. “As you can see, each boy is at or ahead of requirements. Some are several years ahead of their age.”
Mrs. Delfin sniffed and set the paper aside. “Are you sure you tested them all, because one of the boys is retarded and I don’t see his report.”
Ethan could sense Mike’s humiliation without even turning around to see him. This woman was supposed to work for the welfare of the children? How could she be so callous to those she was paid to nurture? He checked his anger before he answered.
“None of these children are remotely mentally challenged. One had a vision problem that was ignored during his years of public schooling, but since
receiving glasses, he has shown remarkable improvement.” Ethan passed her Mike’s detailed work.
She thumbed through it and frowned. “Are you sure he took this test?”
“Absolutely. All the boys took their tests at the same time.”
Mrs. Delfin refused to back down. “Could he have cheated?”
“No. I never left the room. If you like, he can retake the test in your presence.”
Ethan could hear the boys thumping Mike and whispering to him that he could do it.
The woman frowned. “How would I know the correct boy took the test? They all look alike!”
Ethan squeezed the bridge of his nose to forestall strangling the woman. “I agree the boys are very similar in their looks, which is why they now have different hairstyles. It helps me tell them apart. However, I’ve never had a problem distinguishing Mike, since he is the only one wearing glasses.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know he didn’t pass his glasses over to another brother?”
Ethan turned to Mike. “May I borrow your glasses for a minute?
With a pained look, Mike passed them over.
Ethan held the glasses out to Mrs. Delfin. “Mike is severely near-sighted. For any other boy, wearing these glasses would be intolerable. If you doubt me, you can try them on and see.”
Her face puckered with repulsion. She probably feared she’d get lice. “He could have taken a younger boy’s test.”
“He did not. I looked over his shoulder several times during the test, as I did all the boys. Each had their proper test. The truth is, Mrs. Delfin, the school misclassified Mike. He is not now, nor ever has been retarded. He simply needed glasses, which the school should have discovered in the first grade.”
Mrs. Delfin clearly did not appreciate his lecture. Her mouth tightened and her eyes narrowed. “I’d like to see your certifications.”
Ethan cursed himself for pushing so hard. He should have simply asked Mike to retake the test. “Of course.” Ethan went to his room and pulled the documents. He hoped to God they would fool a professional because if he caused Sara to lose her boys, he would never forgive himself.
He returned to the living room and handed her the forged documents.
She studied each one in detail. When she finished, she looked up at him. “This is all very good, but do you have proof you are Ethan Long?”
Ethan sighed and pulled out his wallet and handed her his driver’s license.
“This is a New York license…”
“It’s still legal identification. However, I do have my passport in the room…” The second the words were out of his mouth, he wanted them back. His passport would show extensive traveling through the time he should have been training for his certification.
She handed him back his license and glared at Sara, huddled among her boys. “Did you check this man out and make sure he isn’t a registered sex offender?”
Sara’s eyes rounded. “He’s very good with the boys.”
Mrs. Delfin rolled her eyes. “All pedophiles are good around children. Did you check the register?”
Sara shook her head.
“Why not? You’re their mother!”
Sara bit her bottom lip. “I don’t know how, but if you’ll tell me what to do, I’ll check the registrar.” She paused. “Does it cost much?”
Mrs. Delfin shook her head in disgust. “You’re worried about money rather than your children’s welfare? I tell you one thing, if it were up to me, you would have been spayed after your first child. What you’re doing here is disgusting and immoral. If you can’t get the father to marry you, you need to keep your legs closed and stop birthing children you can’t afford to raise.”
Ethan wished he had his recorder on him. He wanted to get every word precisely so he could directly quote this bitch.
The woman closed her satchel. “Nothing I can do about it today, but the time will come…rest assured, your luck can’t hold out forever.”
Mrs. Delfin stormed out to her car.
Sara’s laugh of joy took Ethan by surprise. He turned and stared in confusion as she kissed each boy on the forehead. When she had finished, she turned to Ethan. “Thank you, Mr. Long. That was the easiest visit we’ve ever had with Mrs. Delfin.” She paused and her brow wrinkled. “Can you tell me how to prove you are not on that registrar she carried on about?”
Ethan ran his hand through his hair. All the woman’s threats about spaying had caused him to forget that issue.
“Of course. However, it will require a computer with Internet access. I’ll write down instructions and you can go into Fayetteville tomorrow.” He then turned to the boys. “Personally, I was very displeased with Mrs. Delfin, but extremely proud of all of you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to make a few notes while they are fresh in my mind.”
***
Ethan closed and locked the door to his room. Pulling out his cell, he called his editor.
“Allan Jacobs,” a gruff voice barked.
“I need a thorough background check on a Bridget Delfin, social worker for Grant County.
“And I need some articles. We didn’t send you out there for a vacation.”
“I’m writing articles every night. But they follow the one that’ll bust this story to national prominence.”
“That’s my boy. What ya got?”
“I want to reveal the father who comes every Valentine’s Day and impregnates this poor woman.” He couldn’t hide the anger he felt toward this unknown bastard.
“Great! Has she told you who he is? Is he someone famous?”
“I don’t know yet. Honestly, I’m not certain Sara knows.”
“How can she not know?”
Ethan sighed. “This isn’t something I can ask her in my first week.”
“Well, ask the kids. They’re more likely to let the truth slip.”
“I’m doing that. Each night I spend time with a different boy probing into his life.”
Jacobs laughed. “Don’t have to tell you how to do your job.”
Ethan gritted his teeth. “No. I’m getting a ton of material for that Pulitzer, but the breakout story may take some time.”
A long, dead pause crackled in his ear.
“How much time?”
“Could be up to Valentine’s Day.”
“That’s three and a half months from now!”
“I know. I’m not crazy about the length of time myself. If I can uncover this guy before that, trust me, I will.”
“What exactly am I supposed to get in return?”
“Beyond the big story, you’ll get exposés on the social service, how the city of Briarville manipulates the laws to Sara’s detriment at every turn, an amazing story on Sara’s good luck, and the failure of the school system to recognize the brilliance of these boys, or even provide a simple eye test for that matter. And profiles from each boy on what’s it like to live with so many siblings. And trust me Jacobs, they aren’t the same. Each boy has his own life’s story. I can probably write you enough articles to last a year if the public stays interested.”
Jacobs’s heavy sigh blew in his ear. “I like everything but the length of time. When I said take all the time you need, I didn’t mean four months! I should have sent Carlton. He would have charmed the truth out of the woman.”
Ethan’s jaw clenched with fury. “If you had sent Carlton, Sara would have sent him home in five seconds. My saving grace was that I showed no interest in her and focused on her boys.”
Jacobs snorted. “The woman is unmarried with sixteen kids. She clearly likes a tickle beneath the blankets.”
“You’re wrong, Jacobs. You’re making assumptions that don’t prove true. I never assume. I go in and report the truth.”
“But you don’t know the truth!” Jacobs bellowed.
“I don’t know who the father is, but I know many things and one of them is that Sara Smith, despite her sixteen boys, seems incredibly innocent.”
“The sixteen b
oys say otherwise.”
“That’s why I want to discover the ultimate truth. The father, and rest assured, there is only one, has never been seen by any of the boys, nor mentioned by their mother. They believe what their mother has told them.”
“Which is?”
“They were born just like baby Jesus.”
“Immaculate conception?”
“That’s their belief.”
Jacobs sighed. “If you can’t find the father, then we’ll go with that story as the break open.”
“That’s bullshit and we both know it. There’s a father, and if I’m here come Valentine’s, we’ll have that story with visuals.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’ve got your four months.” Jacobs hung up before Ethan could thank him.
Chapter 9
Early the next morning, Sara left the boys in Ethan’s care and drove twenty-eight miles to Fayetteville. With Ethan’s instructions in hand, she went to the Fayetteville library and proved he was not registered in any state as a child molester. Not that she ever thought he was. She considered herself a good read on people and Ethan Long was one of the good ones. She could tell by the way he spoke to and spoke up for her boys.
As she left the library, she noticed giant balloons dancing in the parking lot across the street. Curious, she crossed the highway to check it out.
Hodgkin’s Services was having a silent auction of their old buses. Noticing the free food and drinks offered to bidders, Sara decided to bid on the least wanted bus with the five dollars and thirty-two cents she had planned to spend for lunch.
When she asked for a bid document, the woman at the table eyed Sara’s bulging stomach, then stood, showing Sara she was pregnant as well.
“I’m due in two months. What’s your date?” the cheery woman asked.
Sara paused and counted down the days. “Mine will be coming in twelve days.”
The woman chuckled. “Is this your first, because I gotta warn ya, they don’t come on a time schedule.”
Sara refrained from arguing with the nice woman. Instead, she simply nodded in agreement. Truth was, her babies did come on schedule. Same day, same hour, same minute…every year. Just like clockwork. But when she told people that, they ceased to be friendly, so around the third boy, she stopped sharing her boys’ timely arrival.
Luck Be an Angel Page 4
