Amateur Hour

Lisa felt her heart break, a little, when she hugged her brother, a final time. Before she could get too sad, though, Janice intervened.

“You know, Tucker, I just can’t decide whether you’re a more handsome cowboy, or cop,” Janice observed, scanning him from hat to boots with appreciation, as she stepped back from their farewell hug.

“You’re just incorrigible!” Lisa laughed, hugging Janice, in her turn.

“I am,” Janice agreed.

“Promise me one of you will call, when you get home,” Lisa said.

“Promise,” Liam said, smiling. “Please look after her,” he said to Tuck, shaking his hand.

“Count on it,” Tuck replied.

After a few more words of farewell, they were gone.

Lisa looked like might cry, and Tuck eyed her, humorously. “I sure am going to miss that Janice…” he teased.

She laughed. “I’ll just bet you are. Can you stay, for a bit?”

“I don’t have a curfew,” he shrugged.

Lisa walked slowly, compensating for his speed. Tuck had ditched the crutches, but his limp was heavy.

“Should you be walking?” she asked, as they stepped inside.

“It’s fine, as long as I don’t overdo it. I took half a pill, before I left the house, so I’m good.” He removed his brown Stetson, and sat down.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself, tomorrow,” Lisa sighed sinking onto the sofa, next to him. I could look for that diary, I guess,” she added.

“I’d offer to help, but Toni wants to do some Christmas shopping. I told her I’d help her pick out some things for Will and a few of her other friends.”

“Starting kind of early, isn’t she? It’s not even Thanksgiving, yet,” Lisa observed.

“She has a lot of friends,” he smiled. “I shop for Will with her, then for her, with Will. It keeps the gift duplications down. You’re welcome to come with, if you want. You can learn where some of the more nifty shops are, around town, and Toni would be happy to have you.”

Lisa thought about it. A little retail therapy might be fun, but she didn’t want to intrude.

“I probably should look for the diary,” she said, giving him an out.

He leaned over to rumble in her ear, “I don’t extend invitations that I don’t want to extend, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Stop—that tickles!” This was a lie. Actually, it sent pleasant goosebumps down her neck and along her arms. “If you’re sure Toni wouldn’t mind…”

“Toni was wondering aloud, if you were a pumpkin pie person, or an apple pie person, for Thanksgiving dessert, just this morning. I had to remind her that you might be spending the holidays with your own family.” He cocked his head, with a questioning look.

“Probably not Thanksgiving. It seems like Liam and Janice should be center stage, this year. And, I’ll have so much to do, here, when the cleanup is done, and the roof is fixed.”

“Extra plate for Thanksgiving, then. Good. And an extra bowl of goodies, for Gil, of course. Now, pumpkin, or apple?”

“I like both. What can I bring?”

“Toni’s in charge of the menu. You’ll have to ask her.”

Toni did seem glad to see her, the next morning, and Lisa was pleased that she hadn’t overdressed. Toni’s wool skirt was very like hers, except in color. Lisa had opted for teal, and Toni for a medium blue.

“Dad said we could count on you, for Thanksgiving,” Toni said, by way of greeting, as she gave up the front seat to her.

“I can—“ Lisa began.

“Too late,” Toni chuckled, hopping into the back.

Lisa climbed into the front seat, resigned. “About that,” she said, “what can I bring?”

“Anything at all, as long as it’s not green bean casserole. I’ve never had a good one.”

“I haven’t, either,” Lisa agreed. “How do you feel about deviled eggs, maybe as an appetizer?”

“Perfect. Then, I won’t have to listen to Will and Dad grumble about how long the turkey is taking.”

She had expected to be about as necessary on this expedition as a third wheel, but Lisa found herself drawn aside often enough by one or the other of her companions, for secret, often hilarious consultations. It was also informative. Besides learning where the most interesting shops in town were, and being introduced to several of their owners, Lisa also got clues as to what each of the others liked, for her own Christmas list.

She accomplished some early shopping, as well. Mostly books, for Liam and Mom, DVD movies, for Dad, and a couple of pretty jewelry pieces, for Janice.

“Do you know everything they may have read?” Tuck asked her, eyeing the multitude of books.

“Doesn’t matter,” Lisa grinned. “Mom will read anything she likes, to tatters, so backups are always welcome. Liam’s the same way, with fiction, and he loves a good hardcover reference book, no matter what the subject. Dad likes the older TV shows, so I get him DVD’s. I’m flying by the seat of my pants, when it comes to Janice, though.”

“Well, most ladies like jewelry, I guess. Cologne, that kind of thing.”

“I’m sure it will get easier, when I know her better. Maybe I should look for a cute costume for Spike. She might like that,” Lisa mused.

“Have you thought about wedding gifts, yet?”

“Yes, and I’m stumped,” Lisa admitted. “What on earth do you give a couple who probably already have everything, and maybe two of some things?”

The late afternoon found Lisa alone in the sanctuary basement, searching for Beatrice’s diary. The bookshelf seemed like the obvious place to start, going by the theory that the best place to hide a needle would be among other needles. But an hour’s worth of painstaking searching yielded nothing.

The books were relatively few, with multiple copies of some, but she had to handle them with so much care; they were so delicate. The older books, the ones she had seen bound with leather flaps, tied with leather straps were especially fragile, on the outside, though some were written on parchment, which turned out to have stood up well to time, if not always to rats.

The diary was not among them. If the Judge could move things, why hadn’t he just put it where she could find it, she wondered, pushing loose hairs out of her face, with her wrist.

Lisa turned to scan the room. There were the boxes of papers. She hoped it wasn’t somewhere behind those, because she really didn’t want to move them. Kelly may have gotten rid of the rats, but she hadn’t been in to spray for bugs, yet.

She played her flashlight around, lighting the corners and walls that weren’t touched much by the overhead bulb. There were no more bookshelves, that was for sure.

She was about to turn reluctantly back to the mound of boxed papers when something caught her eye, that nearly made her drop the light. In a back corner, under the stairs, sat the tourmaline angel, on the floor. It had been relocated from where she had left it, in the narthex.

Again, she had to wonder why the Judge would move a statuette, but not a diary. She went to it and picked it up. No, the stone beneath it wasn’t loose. Then she noticed what had been behind the angel. A large, half used bag of rock salt. Probably used to deice the church steps and drive, or maybe as a water conditioner. Or, for all she knew, in a hand cranked ice cream churn.

The bag had been chewed by rats, roaches, or both, and salt had spilled from the bottom corners. Was it the salt that had balked the Judge, or was the bag simply too heavy to move? Lisa pulled it aside, and sure enough— there was a loose stone in the floor, underneath. She couldn’t quite get her fingers under it, but with the help of an old, rusty shovel, she was able to pry it up, at last.

The book was there, and, having been relatively protected, it was in pretty good condition. Lisa removed it gently, nevertheless. Beneath it was a bundle, wrapped in a scrap of old silk, and she removed that, too. After setting the items carefully aside, on one of the stair steps, she returned and wrestled the stone back into place.

Tuck was just getting ready to apply a second salting of borax to the copperhead’s hide, when his phone rang. He glanced at it, intending to ignore the call, but answered, when he saw Lisa’s name.

“What’s up, Pretty Lady?” he asked, by way of greeting.

“Hi, Tuck. I’m sorry to bother you, but I wanted to let you know that I found the diary.”

“You did? That was fast. Was it in plain sight, all along?” He heard her ironic laugh, on the other end.

“Hardly,” she replied. “But I had help. Do you want me to hang on to it, or…”

“I’m up to my elbows in snake tanning, right now. I don’t suppose you’d consider bringing it over?”

“I suppose I would—after I get a shower. I’m a mess.”

Tuck laughed. “I doubt that. I’ll leave the porch light on. Take your time.”

“See you in a bit, then.”

After Lisa rang off, Tuck returned his attention to the snake hide. It was coming along, nicely. It should easily make two hat bands, if he interspersed the hide with seed beads, backed by leather. Or, maybe conchos would be better…

When Lisa arrived about three quarters of an hour later, Tuck was relaxing in an armchair, with a book, the radio playing low, in the background. He called for her to come in, when she knocked, even as he rose, favoring his knee.

“Where is everyone?” Lisa asked, glancing around, before shrugging out of her heavy jacket.

“Auditions,” Tuck chuckled. “A very big deal, don’t you know. I’ll be listening to tunes from the play, until my ears bleed, more than likely.”

“You’re pretty sure they’ll get parts,” Lisa smiled.

“I’d put money on it. Toni can sing. Will can carry a tune—just, but he can dance. Anyway, we’re alone and unchaperoned.”

“I’ll take my chances. I can outrun you,” she said with a very wicked grin.

“Oh,” he winced, placing his hand over his heart. “That really hurts, Lisa.”

“I’m sure,” she scoffed. She held out a medium sized handled bag out to him. “Here are your artifacts.”

“Artifacts? Plural?” He took the bag and peeped into it, intrigued.

“There was the book, I’m guessing it’s the diary; I didn’t read it. And there’s a silk wrapped bundle with something else in it.”

“Which you didn’t examine.” He knew this was true, looking at her face.

“No. None of it is mine. By rights, it belongs to you and your family.”

“Well, let’s see what we have.”

Tuck limped toward the kitchen, with Lisa in tow.

“You’re efficient,” she said, taking it the table, which had been covered in a plain, white cloth. On it were a stack of paper, two penlights, and couple of magnifying glasses. “No gloves, though?”

“I Googled that, and it said that gloves could actually get in the way, and possibly snag on old pages,” he explained. “It said that just clean hands might be better. All I have are neoprene, anyway, and they’re not recommended.”

“And, the paper?”

“Acid free. My wife had a supply of it, for scrap-booking. I figured we could slip a sheet between each page. I don’t know if it would help, but it can’t hurt.”

After they had thoroughly washed and dried their hands, they sat down, and Tuck removed the contents of the shopping bag. The old silk was fragile, and shredded, under his efforts to untie it. Inside were two stacks of folded paper, bound in blue silk ribbon.

“Letters,” he announced. “Well, messages, anyway; I don’t see any postmarks.”

Fortunately, the ribbons were tied in bows, and would be easy to remove. Tuck set them aside, for the moment. He picked up the diary, looked at it, front and back, then handed the leather volume to Lisa. “I think you’d better do it; your hands are used to finer work than mine. You did say you used to assemble things,” he reminded her.

Lisa looked at the edges of the pages, without opening the book. “I wish I had my painting knife,” she said.

“What kind of assembly uses a painting knife? For that matter, what is a painting knife?”

“The kind of assembly that requires inks and epoxies to be stirred, and a painting knife is the tool we used. It’s not really a knife, with a sharp edge, it’s more like a very narrow, very thin spatula. If I had one it might help to separate any pages that may be stuck together, if they’re only lightly stuck. But… Here goes.” Slowly, carefully, she began to work her way through the book, page by page, reading nothing, but placing a piece of the scrap-booking paper between each.

“What kinds of epoxies did you use? Are they gluing rockets together, these days?” he joked.

“Precious metals, in an epoxy base. Silver, gold… The kind of assembly I did rarely called for larger hand tools.”

“Oh.”

“It was tedious work, but it payed the bills.”

“It sounds interesting.”

“Nope. Oh, the theory is interesting, but the practice isn’t.”

“They must have been very small assemblies.”

“Microscopic,” she grunted a humorless laugh. “So many things could go wrong, just putting them together. I was proud of my work, don’t get me wrong, but it wasn’t mentally stimulating. I hate being bored.”

“You did it, for a lot of years,” he observed.

“I consumed a lot of audiobooks, while I was doing it.” She glanced up at him to smile. “We adapt, or we die.”

“Don’t people talk, at all?” he asked, when she resumed her page separating.

“Constantly. Unceasingly. And, it’s the same conversation, every day. You’ve never spent nine or ten hours a day, every day in the same room with the same people, have you?”

“Well, no,” Tuck admitted. The fact was, he couldn’t really imagine such a scenario.

“It wasn’t all bad. We were like family, most of the time, just a little dysfunctional.” A hint of a smile played about her mouth. For several minutes, he held his peace, as she gently separated the pages. She was patient, and she was focused. “There,” she said, at last. “All done.”

Tuck took the book when she offered it. “Thank you—I saw you having to finesse some of them apart. But, all done?” There were about three quarters of the pages separated, that he could see.

“The rest are uncut. Never used,” she explained. “Do you mind if I make some coffee?”

“Help yourself,” he replied. He opened the diary, dated 1863, and turned some pages, bypassing anything that came before the month of April. “She wrote in a pretty hand,” he commented, when he found Beatrice’s first entry, for the month. “April 4, 1863,” he read aloud.

“I have written nothing, for a week, as my days have been hectic, since Gerry’s proposal. Yes! At long last, we are to be married! I can barely contain my joy, though Emma teases me about the joy of going to the altar clad in flour sacks. What a horrible sister my best friend will be. (I must have her as my matron of honor.)

“Truly, there will be no silk or satin—such things having been used up, long ago—but Mama still has one white linen dress, that was laid away in her cedar trunk, that will serve nicely. It is not fashionable, but it is trimmed in lace. She and I shook it out and hung it up, last night, and it is in fine condition.

“Papa is pleased that I am to marry a judge. He is ever mindful of the station and prestige of his children. I know only that I will be the wife of the man I have adored, since I was sixteen.”

“She does sound happy,” Lisa said. The glass carafe looked full enough for two cups, so she pulled it out of the machine, and poured them. “I wonder how old she was, at the time.”

“Probably still in her late teens. Thanks,” he said, when she placed his cup beside him. He held the book off to one side, took a healthy sip, then pushed the cup some distance away, before continuing to read.

“April 5, 1863: We have all agreed that an engagement party is not necessary. It is enough that the banns will be read, in church, for three weeks, in succession. Times are difficult for everyone; frugality is the order of the day.

“I confess to some disappointment, but I am no child. Gerry sought to comfort me, after dinner, but I felt it my duty to disabuse him of any notion that I was less than pleased by anything to do with the prospect of being his bride. I reminded him that wars are not eternal, and that we would have the rest of our lives to celebrate being together.

“He appeared pleased, but doubtful. I had to laugh. I have seen him, in his courtroom, where he is stoic and inscrutable, but from me, he can conceal nothing. He laughed, too—then he kissed me so deeply that I am still ablush, an hour later.”

“Are you sure we’re old enough to be reading this stuff?” Lisa grinned.

“I don’t doubt for a minute that the old boy was a ladies’ man, in his prime,” Tuck replied, likewise amused. It obviously runs in the family, after all.”

“Uh-huh. Read on, if you please, Deputy.”

“April 8, 1863: Kitty is ill. She has no fever, but is unable to keep much food down. Doc Willis has been, but seems to have no idea as to what is wrong. Papa is consternated, out of measure, as Kitty is his favorite. He denounced the Doctor to his face, for “an incompetent stripling, lacking in discernment and education”. Young men count for little, in Papa’s estimation.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Lisa remarked.

Tuck continued.

“April 9, 1863: Kitty is better, today, leading all of us to believe that her illness yesterday was merely a digestive upset. She has been able to take bland food and drink, though she remains pale.

I did not see Gerry today, alas, but he did send a sweet note, via one of the housemaids. I will add it to my growing collection. I do expect to see him tomorrow, for we are to dine with his family.

Papa does not fancy this prospect. Though he admires Gerry, and esteems his sisters to be of good stock, he does not care for Justine, and despises Jem as a traitor. He will mind his manners, however, as he uses courtesy as a weapon, often as not.

Mama takes a kinder view. She feels compassion for Justine, as an outsider. Indeed, she is an inoffensive creature—pleasant, devout, and uncritical.

I expect little tension, though. Jem will not, of course, be there, and with Gerry to occupy Papa, it should all come off easily enough.”

“Papa sounds like a pain in the ass,” Lisa observed.

“He does, doesn’t he? There’s nothing else, until the 12th.”

Tuck began to read, “April 12, 1863: The banns were not read in church, today, for there is no church! It has burned to the foundations, set to the torch by Yankee soldiers. Our dear little church, built by our own congregation is just…gone.

“It is inexpressibly sad, and added to our grief is the horrid rumor that Jeremiah Lovejoy was one of the arsonists! I cannot, will not believe it. It was Jem’s church, too.

“The men responsible are being held in a secret location, though the papers are saying otherwise. The official story is that the soldiers were killed in the fire. The contradiction is chilling, but I know the former to be true—Gerry told me so, in a hastily scrawled note. They are to be ‘tried’, this evening, and it is Noah, not Gerry, who is to preside. Perhaps it is happening, even as I write this. No more. I cannot go on.

“April 13, 1863: They were hanged, in Hilltop Clearing, this morning, at dawn. Jem Lovejoy, among them. Gerry made an impassioned plea for mercy, which fell on angry, deaf ears. It is rumored that he represented them all, in the kangaroo court that was held.

“We were forbidden to attend, but Kitty persuaded me to accompany her, when Papa had gone. I wish we had not gone, but she pleaded with me, so urgently. The event was so horrible that Kitty fainted, and our presence was made known, to our father. She is in bed still, attended by Mama. Father is in a silent, black rage. Mama will not allow me to see Kitty.

“The notion was my sister’s but somehow, I am to blame. Worse than that, Gerry was dragged off, by the Home Guard, and I haven’t seen or heard a word from him, since. I am terrified.

“April 14, 1863: Gerry was released by the Home Guard, today, Praise be. I had a note from him, saying that he is out of danger, and requesting that I copy the names and regiments of the hanged men, into my diary, lest something happen to his own records, so I give them here:”

“And finally,” Tuck sighed, “here is our list.” He set the diary aside, to pull a pen and pad from his top shirt pocket.

“Seriously, do you ever go anywhere without those?” Lisa asked.

“Never,” he smiled at her, before beginning to jot down the information. He was aware of her restlessness, as he wrote. She was hooked, now, on the story, and wanted to hear the rest of it. He handed her the book, when he was done, and got up to bring the pot to the table.

“April 16, 1863,” Lisa took up the reading, as Tuck refilled their cups, adding cream and sugar to Lisa’s. “My engagement has been dissolved. Father says he will not permit me to marry a traitor. My darling Gerry, forced to choose between his country and his conscience is now a traitor? Those men should, indeed have been punished, but a sentence of death, by a court moved by wrath, and thirsty for retribution, is unconscionable.

“I asked Father, if justice was served, why the trial was not held in public, by the light of day. He struck me. I then asked him why the bodies had been hidden in a mass grave, in unconsecrated ground. He struck me again. Mama stepped between us, and swept me off to another room. I hate him.

“It is two hours since I wrote the last, and Kitty has just left me. She has miscarried Jem Lovejoy’s child. This is why Mama wouldn’t allow me to see her, after her collapse. Apparently, Jem had been in the area for a longer time than anyone had guessed. Does the grief and horror never end? Kitty said that, if she could, she would call down a curse on the Lovejoy name. I reminded her that Gerry had done his best, but she said only that it hadn’t been good enough.”

Lisa put the book down, and pushed it away. “I’m done. I can’t read any more, right now. It’s too tragic.”

“It explains a lot, though. Let’s adjourn to the living room.”

He didn’t have to twist her arm. Lisa grabbed her coffee, and followed him out of the kitchen. They sat together, shoulder to shoulder, in silence for so long that it was starting to make Tuck very uncomfortable. This wasn’t like their usual companionable silences. Lisa was brooding.