Indivisible (Overlooked by Liberty) (7 page)

      
"Your suit jacket most likely covered it," consoled Lucas quietly.  "
And
you were behind the podium the entire time."

      
"Oh."  Winifred thought about the incident as he ran fingers through his hair, then smiled and waved at approaching senators.

Colebrook, New Hampshire (September 2)

      
Weeds had started taking over the trail that crossed Mohawk Creek and cut through the pines to Helen's house.  Just off the trail, Barry's lean-to now housed other creatures: a pair of chipmunks stored hickory nuts in one of its many caches at the base; field mice roamed through the shelter unencumbered; a fat, gray spider waited at the edge of her web, poised to crawl up and lunch on anything entangled in its snare.

      
At the trail's end, Helen's house was surrounded by thick pines and carpeted by a layer of dead pine needles.  It hadn't changed.  But the sun cut through the needle canopy at a lower angle.  The greens of nature that were so vibrant a month earlier had dimmed to olive.  A Wild Cucumber pod exploded and sprayed its seeds twenty feet away.  Late summer weeds lost their flowers, holding burs in their absence.  And a golden retriever did nothing but lay on the bed in Barry's room, dry and clean and away from it all.

      
Helen sat in a chair at the kitchen table and drank coffee--listened to the gossip of CB channel six.  She hadn't gone to church since the funeral.  Helen could not believe in a God who would allow such a horrible thing to happen to her boy.  She got up from her chair when someone knocked at the door.  The Rousell brothers.  Helen opened the door and spoke glumly, "Hi boys.  What can I do for you?"

      
"Well, ah."  Helen's appearance astounded Butch.  She looked like a zombie, sickly, with sunken eyes.  "Thad and me just thought that Barry would have wanted someone to take Tater out every once in awhile."

      
"You two pretend to know what Barry would have wanted?"

      
"We was Barry's best friends."

      
Helen realized how she sounded.  "Well, come in."  She gestured at the kitchen table, inviting them to sit.  "You two want cookies?"  Both nodded.  She searched through the bottom cupboard and found some old, stale ones still around from before Barry's death.  In fact, the shelves and refrigerator were bare.

      
Helen had little use for food, living by herself.  She drank coffee in the morning and alcohol of some sort at night.  She waited out her time in the place; with no job she couldn't pay the mortgage.  Electric bills kept piling up; she had been behind on them even before she had lost her job at the hospital.  In the month since Barry's death she lost fifteen pounds.  The anxiety and despair never went away.  Seeing the radical changes in Barry's mom since Dixville, with the vacant eyes and drawn cheeks, made the Rousell boys uneasy--such a rapid transformation they had never witnessed.

      
"You okay, Ms. Conrad?" Butch asked softly.

      
In a resigned tone, "I'm all right."  With a tired smile, "I'm all right," she repeated.  "And thanks for asking."  The two menacing little Rousells whom Helen always felt had had a negative influence on Barry now seemed angelic.  Butch, usually loud and boastful, said please and thank you.  Helen knew they had been through a lot, and wondered how the last boys of Pack 220 survived the horror of that day.  Butch told the Dixville story to adults only a couple of times--and never spoke of it again.   "How many cookies do you want, two or three?  Barry usually had three for a snack."

      
"Three, please."

      
Helen placed the cookies on napkins and went back to the sink to draw two glasses of water.  "I don't have milk, boys.  I hope this will do."  She sat down and sipped her coffee.  A minute passed before anyone said anything.  "So, how's school going?"

      
"Pretty good," answered Butch.  "The teachers don't yell at me like they used to.  Mrs. Harley knows about the Dixville Massacre.  She tried to make me and my brother go see a shrink friend of hers but I told her, 'There's no way in hell me and Thad is going to see a damn shrink.'  Oh, I'm sorry.  I forgot we shouldn't swear."

      
"Go on."

      
"That's it.  Well, that and there ain't no more Scoutin'.  No one wants to start a new troop.  Me and Thad ain't even official Scouts anymore.  After the massacre, the Colebrook selectboard told the Daniel Webster Scout Council to take me and Thad off the roster--like we died up there or something."  He rubbed his nose with the palm of his hand.  "I might as well have, I'll probably have to start as a Wolf again," Butch whined.  "I'll never be an Eagle at this rate."  He looked up at Helen with questioning eyes.  "Moms can be Akelas.  Down at Lancaster there's one.  And I saw one at the regional Pinewood Derby last year."

      
"Sorry, I can't help you.  I've got problems of my own.  Besides, I'm not a mom anymore."  It hurt to say it--the fulfillment she had had as a mother, the beaming pride of having a good boy as a son.  Helen recalled the time Uncle Max surprised Barry with a puppy.  Only four years old at the time, Barry had groomed the pup, fed it; he put the animal in a box next to his bed that night.  The two had become inseparable.  Barry named it Tater; the puppy loved pushing potatoes across the floor with its nose.  Though Helen had been perturbed at Max for springing the present on them, she soon realized the value of Barry having a companion.  Tater walked Barry to the end of the lane each morning to catch the bus--and greeted her son as he got off the bus after school.  Every day it was a race to see who would get to the house first.  Tater always won.

      
"Ma'am," Butch whispered to Helen.  "You okay, Ma'am?  Ma'am?"

      
"Yes.  Yes."  After returning from her daze, Helen forgot what they had been talking about.  "How you doing, Thad?"  Thad looked out the window and didn't respond.

      
"He's doing fine but he don't talk," Butch spoke for him.

      
"Oh, I'm sorry.  Do you mean, he doesn't, or can't, or what?"

      
"He just doesn't want to."

      
"Does he talk to you?"

      
"No, but I understand what he means.  See, ever since the massacre he's got the ghost."

      
"He's got the ghost, huh."  Helen had been around Butch enough to know he had a propensity to spin tall tales, turning the ordinary into something grander.  But Thad, he had been a reserved boy before the tragedy. 
This is probably why teachers want to get Thad psychological help,
she concluded. 

      
Helen tried to get Thad's attention, "So Thad, will you talk to me?"  He remained fixed on an object out the window.  "Just say hi or something."  He wouldn't respond.  Helen put her hand on his; she realized she wasn't the only one suffering.  After Barry's death, Thad needed a friend.  The despondent dog upstairs needed a boy.  "I'll get Tater."

Colebrook, New Hampshire (November 7)

      
Helen and her ex-husband Bradley sat and reminisced about the good times.  The woodstove flickered through the screening.  Helen couldn't recall him ever being so considerate.  Tonight he listened; she had a lot pent up inside to talk about.  Bradley shared the emptiness she felt from Barry's death.  His appearance at her door confirmed his grief as a father.

      
Helen was grasping at any string of happiness.  He had taken her out to dinner.  Later, they sipped drinks at home.  The passion escalated.  She knew she might have regrets, but tonight she didn't care.

      
Tater pranced at the door, then scratched it.  Helen pulled away from Bradley's embrace.  "I've got to let her out before she scratches the door any worse.  The problem with having this mute dog is that it has to scratch to tell you what they want."  The dog was out most of the day with the Rousells and now wanted out again.

      
Bradley refilled her glass with Chardonnay.

      
"Tater stays out all night sometimes," she commented on her return.  "I suspect she's with Butch and Thad during the day.  I have no idea what she does at night."

      
"You don't have to keep the dog anymore.  I'm sure I could find her a good home.  I meet a lot of farmers.  Tater would love it on a farm.  A lot of people would love a dog that doesn't bark."

      
"Naaa.  I've gotten attached to her.  Besides, Barry loved that animal.  I couldn't give her away."

      
"So, tell me more about this Wizard in the Vermont Covenant?" Bradley asked.

      
"Hardly anyone in our covenant has seen him.  Feds have been trying to stop his CB radio broadcasts for over six months.  The Wizard designed a communication link to connect the Vermont and New Hampshire Covenants."  Her voice raised in excitement, "They're setting it up right now."

      
Helen reflected on what had first attracted her to Bradley.  He still looked handsome: six-foot two with thick black hair, athletically built--a large, solid jaw his most defining feature.  He made her feel protected.  Talking to someone filled the lonely void tragedy had left behind.

      
Romance captured her and held her firmly in familiar arms.  Helen couldn't remember Bradley this affectionate, she followed the route passion took her.

      
She slept breathing heavily, again reliving the Dixville scene in a struggle to give Barry life in the back of Max's truck.  She wiped sticky blood on her dress and reached back to find her son's face, to breathe life into him again.  The smell of raw gut permeated the air as she groped about the bed, searching.  At last she realized where she was.  It took a second to recall the night's events, then she noticed Bradley wasn't in bed any more.  Car lights glowed beyond the trees.  She slipped on her robe to investigate.

      
Though Helen knew the trail that went by Barry's lean-to, it took awhile for her eyes to adjust.  She crept toward the light slowly.  Late November air chilled her to the core; her sweat-soaked gown stiffened from the cold.  She watched Bradley talk to the men in the white car.  The rear license plate was intact; locals clipped the upper right corner of the plate.  "You bastard!" she mumbled.  Bradley was one of the Feds--the people responsible for the murder of her son.

      
Something moved in the brush near her.  Tater sat a few feet away and watched the same scene with interest.  Like the Rousell brothers, the dog had become a survivor, reverting to her roots with the wild.  "Let's go, girl," said Helen.  "We've seen enough."  Helen went back to the house, changed into a clean gown and went back to bed.

      
Bradley skulked in five minutes later and dropped his pants before slipping under the sheets.  Helen lay awake in bed for an hour until she was certain he was asleep.

      
Then she slipped out, donned hiking clothes and boots, and grabbed a flashlight.  She and Tater hiked toward Max's deer camp at Van Dyck summit.  Max had been working all day setting up the communication link between the covenants.  After making several wrong turns, Helen finally followed the dog to Max's camp.

      
"The Feds know about The Wizard," blurted Helen as she burst into the room.

      
Max could hardly see who it was at first.  Luckily he recognized the voice; he lowered his shotgun.  "How'd they find out?  Do they know I'm here at the camp, or what?"

      
"They just know The Wizard is in the area," said Helen, nearly crying.  "I'm so sorry!  I'm so sorry!"

      
"The Wizard left already."  Max pulled a chair over, "Sit down.  Now, collect your thoughts," he insisted.  "Tell us exactly what happened."

      
Butch and Thad were also at the deer camp.  They had come to meet The Wizard and help set up the communication system.  Groggy, Butch crawled out of his sleeping bag on the opposite side of the shack.  He rubbed his nose with the palm of his hand as he approached to listen.

      
Helen continued with her story, "Well, I spent the day with Bradley and mentioned The Wizard and that the Vermont and New Hampshire Covenants were setting up a communication link.  This evening, I saw him talking to the Feds out on the main road."

      
For the Vermont Covenant, The Wizard had designed a closed communication system that used lasers.  A modem fed a signal into a beam and used unidirectional nodules as receivers.  The signal followed a cable from the receiver, and was spliced into a telephone line.  E-mail went to an Internet service provider in Quebec and then returned to Island Pond, Vermont.  If ever discovered, the Feds wouldn't be able to tell where the signal originated.  They would have to search a six-mile radius, giving the Covenant time to leave. 

      
"I never liked that bastard!" stated Max shaking his head.  "Never did.  Did you tell them anything about the communication link?  What type or where we're mounting it?"