City Limits
5
City Champion
Suspicion
“I DON’T KNOW what to think, Gee. Every time I leave town, you end up in jail. Is this going to be a habit?”
“It was all a misunderstanding,” Gee said nervously.
“I’m teasing, Gee,” Karen laughed. “I was just trying to discover if my leaving town related to you going to jail. I mean, I could stay closer if necessary. Much closer.”
“Um… How was your conference?” Gee asked. He had a vague discomfort when he thought of Karen being at the same conference in the city as Troy Cavanaugh. It was stupid, he knew. But that didn’t stop the anxious knot in his stomach. After all, he and Karen had only been on two actual dates and had made no declarations about being ‘with’ each other. His uncertainty about his relationship was harder to deal with than his lack of identity.
“It was great! I found some allies that might be able to help in my investigation. It turns out that I’m not the only journalist trying to dig into the underground trafficking of children. That’s what really makes this difficult.” Karen’s dedication and enthusiasm for this subject was infectious and Gee shoved his doubts aside. “There are laws against prostitution, child abuse, and slavery. But laws aren’t really a deterrent if you can’t catch a perpetrator in the act. As a result, the laws are used to punish the visible crimes while the much worse offenses remain hidden.”
“What do you mean?”
“Laws against prostitution should protect women and men who are forced into the life by need, greed, and power. But in reality, those are the women it punishes while their johns and pimps go untouched. A parent might get turned into child protective services by a neighbor who doesn’t believe in corporal punishment while another neighbor keeps an unknown child chained in their basement.”
“Aren’t the police investigating the hidden crimes?”
“You’d think, wouldn’t you?” Karen’s face fell. “We had an FBI agent come to our group to talk. Laws that protect innocent people from invasion of privacy also tie the hands of police. They need to show just cause in order to launch an investigation. There are so many leaks in the system that even following up a legitimate lead usually results in a dead end because the perp has been warned in advance and cleans house before they get there.”
“How are you supposed to get a story here if the police and FBI can’t crack the ring?” Gee asked. “It seems to me, the only way to expose them would be from the inside. Please don’t tell me you plan to infiltrate a child trafficking ring!”
“Not me.”
“Someone?”
“We’re working on getting someone inside, but without a specific target, we don’t know the entrances. Right now, it involves a lot of backtracking and seeing where loose threads lead. You might find it hard to believe based on television shows and popular literature, but there are actually very few journalists—or police, for that matter—who are willing to go under cover as a prostitute. Imagine how many fewer would be willing to infiltrate as a pedophile or trafficker. It involves breaking the very laws we’re investigating.”
“How can we uncover the problem then?”
“We’ll find a way.”
They sat in silence having finished their late dinner after Gee’s library time. He’d been sad when Sally Ann Metzger didn’t show up for the Bookhouse. On the other hand, she’s safe and wasn’t spirited away to join the traffic Karen is investigating. That thought gave him pause.
“Kidnapping.”
“You did a good thing this weekend, Gee. She might never have been seen again. You did better than I did.”
“What do you mean?”
“Got time for a long story? I’ll make it as short as possible.” Gee nodded to her to continue. “Fifteen years ago, I was a mother’s helper. Technically, I was too young to babysit, but mothers of small children need help. Someone to play with their child while she makes dinner or runs the vacuum. That was me. I was a helper for a young family in the Orchard Project. My charge was just two years old and I was pushing her on a swing in the front yard. That was all I had to do. Push the swing.”
“What happened?” Gee encouraged as he took Karen’s hand. She squeezed his softly.
“The puppy. We were laughing and giggling with the puppy romping around the swing. He tripped me and grabbed my flipflop. He took off running around the side of the house and I chased him. It was only a minute. I picked him up and went back to the swing where little Renee was. Only she wasn’t there. She was gone. I screamed, and Mrs. Lisle came running. We were frantic, looking up and down the street, in the bushes, anywhere Renee could have run off to. A neighbor heard us and called the police. It hadn’t even occurred to us that she might not have wandered off.” Karen started weeping and clutched Gee’s hand tightly. “We never saw her again. She was gone. The police investigation gathered information indicating a white van had been parked nearby, but no one got the license number. They decided the kidnappers had been waiting for their opportunity for days. And then they just disappeared.”
“Ransom? Any word from them?”
“No. That’s what makes it so impossible to track these things. Most resolved kidnappings are the result of the kidnapper making contact, either to demand a ransom or even just to gloat over the fact that he won. Or they are a relative, usually a parent. But cases like this, the kidnapper never makes contact. There are no leads. He and the child just disappear.”
“Karen, you’re still suffering. It wasn’t your fault.”
“Everyone’s told me that. I had counseling for years. The poor Lisle family didn’t survive. Mr. Lisle committed suicide. Mrs. Lisle drank herself out of her home and disappeared. Maybe to the city. Maybe she died. But I swore then and there that I’d find the people who did this if it took the rest of my life. That’s why I became a reporter and made child trafficking my special area of investigation.”
It took several minutes to break through the gloom brought about by Karen’s story. They awkwardly finished their meal in the little diner—made difficult by the fact that she didn’t release Gee’s hand. They left the diner and walked up Main Street toward the river. As they passed the radio studio, Gee noted that the broadcast desk was empty and asked Karen about it.
“There are only two regular broadcasters and a couple of high school students who cover the desk on weekends,” Karen explained. “The rest of the time is network programming. Technically, WRZF is not a public radio station. It’s a non-profit station but is privately owned. It buys programming from various public broadcast networks, international news outlets, and late Saturday night it even rebroadcasts the Grand Ole Opry from Tennessee. Don’t ask me why.”
“I heard the interview with Troy from the conference. Apparently, they are doing something right for him to win an award. I didn’t know he’d be there with you.”
“Yeah. He’s pretty full of himself over that award. It’s really just a certificate of recognition from his fellow broadcasters, but he treats it like an Oscar. He spent the whole conference trying to…” Karen stopped abruptly and turned to Gee, pulling him to a stop at the street corner. “Gee, Troy wasn’t at the conference with me. God! I had no idea how that might appear to you.”
“It wasn’t… I mean, I didn’t…”
“Of course you did. You’re a male. And I am stupid. Listen, you need to hear this.”
“Karen, you don’t need to explain anything. I don’t have a right to an explanation.”
“Yes, you do. Because…” Karen took a deep breath and let it out. “Troy and I used to date. It was soon after I got back to Rosebud Falls and lasted until about eight months ago. We broke up right after the holidays. It would be foolish of me to tell you we weren’t intimate. Of course we were. But, we broke up. I broke it up. Troy made it clear last weekend that he wants us to get together again. He’s been trying for months. But it is over. Completely and finally.”
“I didn’t mean to make it sound like I was accusing you of something, Karen. We haven’t made any vows to each other. We haven’t said we are exclusive or that we are even planning to be more than the good friends we are. I’m sorry that I jumped to conclusions.”
Karen laughed. “Actually, it’s nice to know that you have reactions and responses that are normal, even though you don’t have a memory context for them. But there is something else you should know about me before we let our relationship progress any further. I’m twenty-seven years old and, while I’m not promiscuous, I’m not inexperienced, either. One of the things I discovered about myself ten years ago is that I’m essentially monogamous. Serial monogamy, I’ll grant you, but one relationship at a time. I don’t step out on the man I’m with and I expect the same from him.”
“But we aren’t in that kind of a relationship… are we?”
“I don’t know, Gee. We’ve known each other for a couple of months. We haven’t been intimate and that’s good because I could get scared if we developed our relationship any faster than we are. But I’m not exploring any other relationships while we find out where this one is going. Capisce?”
“Karen, you are the only woman I’ve been interested in since I got to Rosebud Falls. I don’t know what came before that, but I don’t have a feeling of ‘relationship’ before I got here. I have two references to my past. Bill Williams, who was at the fair running that ride, but seems to have disappeared along with the Whirl-a-Gig. I don’t even know if they were real. And Rae, who gave me a book. Bill said he’d tell her I was doing well. I feel a strong connection to her, but not a romantic one. I can’t explain it better than that.”
“That will have to do,” Karen said. “As long as we’re clear about our status and intentions.”
“I try not to have intentions. I’m willing to find out where this… us… leads us. I’ll take it at whatever speed you suggest.”
Spit on His Grave
JO RANSOM walked through the War Memorial Park holding her grandmother’s hand. Her grandmother, Celia, made this walk nearly every day since her own mother’s death in 1959. Jo, finished with college, had just moved back to Rosebud Falls and agreed to accompany her grandmother.
They approached the memorial statue in the center of the park, determination in the old woman’s step. The sculptor somehow managed to contrive a pose of the seven young men assaulting Omaha Beach as if they were still the linemen of the Rosebud Falls football team. She looked at the faces on the statue as if seeking out one and spat toward it.
“Bastard,” she whispered.
“Grandma! What if someone sees you disrespecting the memorial? Don’t do that.”
“Jo, it’s time you learned the truth about your family and about that betraying man they make out to be a hero,” Celia declared. She led the young woman to a bench where they could still see the statue.
“Grandma, don’t get upset.”
“I’m seventy-five years old. I can be upset,” the old woman said indignantly. “Now listen. Those seven men left seven babies in the wombs of young women here in town. It was a scandal, yes, but an understandable one. No one wanted those boys to go to war feeling unloved. They’d already been shipped overseas before they found out their girlfriends were with child. They were not only soldiers, they were Family. One from each of the seven Families of Rosebud Falls. Noble. Honorable. They wrote letters to their Families detailing their relationships with the girls and acknowledging their sons and daughters. They asked the Families to accept their children and grant them their names.”
“That’s very sweet and romantic, Grandma. I’ve heard that before,” Jo said, soothing her irritated grandmother.
“All except that one,” Celia said pointing her finger. “My father, Joseph Roth, sent no letter of acknowledgement. His father, Aaron Roth, claimed my mother Maura was a loose woman attempting to capitalize on a Family name and that his son would never have mated with a common shiksa. He went so far as to ridicule the Families of the other six for having sons that could be led around by the nose and having their Family lines polluted. While the other six were recognized by the Families and were christened with the Family last name, my mother was an outcast, and I was simply a bastard child. I spit on his memory every day.”
“Grandma, you mean we are related to the Roth Family?” Jo asked.
“What there is left of them, curse them. That old man, Benjamin Roth, my father’s brother, sits in his fancy mansion by the river knowing that he is the last of his name this city will ever see. Oh, his daughter hyphenated her name and insisted that all her sons do the same. But Roth will disappear as one of the seven Families. It is the curse I give them.”
The two finally stood to leave the park. Jo drove her grandmother back to the Hilltop Retirement Village. Tears flowed down her grandmother’s cheeks.
“My mother, Maura, was destroyed. She died when I was fifteen. The only one who watched over her was Ohna Johansen. Ohna’s daughter, Dee Poltanys became my best friend and they took me in when Mother passed away. The other five were embarrassed about how mother was treated and did their best to include us, but we had no family. Even now, I am beholden to the Poltanys Family. They built this little retirement village on the hilltop.” Celia sighed and pointed out toward the West Branch River and, on the other side, the coal yard. Downtown was visible to the southeast.
“Take a last look at this cursed town and leave it forever, Jo. I tried to get my son to go, but he wouldn’t leave me. He’s spent a lifetime building houses for others that he could never afford to own. But you, my girl, have a college education. You can make your mark on the world. Go and don’t look back. That’s my advice.”
Jo hugged her grandmother and promised to look in on her again tomorrow. She drove back to the park and sat on the bench looking at the memorial statue for a long time. At last, she approached the statue, spit, and left.
Harvest Schedule
“WHEN DOES THIS schedule start?” Gee asked Nathan as he tacked the work schedule to the employee bulletin board.
“Oh, this is the Harvest schedule,” Nathan said. “Harvest week here is a strange concept to an outsider. We won’t know exactly when it is until the foresters start the sirens and the churches ring their bells. We know it will be in September or October. Everyone participates. It’s the only way we can hope to bring in all the nuts, deadwood, and timber.”
“So, we’re all required to serve in the Forest?”
“Gee… uh… no offense, but don’t talk like that about Harvest. It’s not a requirement. It is a privilege and civic duty to take part in Harvest Week. An outsider might be considered… well, an outsider if he didn’t participate in Harvest. Not everyone works in the Forest. People have to be fed, emergency services still need to function, and essential businesses, like groceries, have to be open. But we operate with shorter hours and a skeleton staff so everyone has at least half a day every day to work the Harvest.”
“I don’t see my name here.”
“Well, we don’t know what job you’ll have for Harvest. As soon as you know, I’ll schedule your work hours if you have any available.”
“I almost forgot about orientation.”
“Don’t. It’s my fault you didn’t get to an orientation earlier. You’d think one of us would have remembered to tell you. With school starting next week, orientations are going on all over. Schools will be on half days during Harvest and teachers are all being trained to keep their students focused on the jobs at hand. For all I know, you’ll be assigned the task of setting up the park for the nightly parties. You might not make it to the Forest at all.”
That thought caused a little pang for Gee. He liked the Forest. In fact, he wanted to work Harvest, no matter what job he was assigned. It was part of the mystique of the town. And most recently, it was where Karen Weisman held his hand for two hours as they walked and quietly talked.
“Say, don’t you have to be at the courthouse this afternoon?” Nathan asked, snapping Gee out of his reverie.
“Yes. I came back here to clock out. I better get a move on.”
“Good luck this afternoon.”
Rebirth
“GEORGE EVARS?”
“Here, Your Honor.” Gee felt like a schoolboy being called upon when the judge first said his name. They were in a conference room, not a courtroom, but there were several people jammed into the small space.
“Welcome to the community, George,” the judge smiled. “Just wanted to make sure I was addressing the right person. I’m told you prefer to be called Gee.”
“Yes, sir. I’m used to it.”
“And Jack LaCoe, you are representing Gee?”
“Yes, your honor. Gretchen is also on the team.”
“Okay,” the judge said. “For those of you who don’t know…” he looked at Gee, “… I’m Judge Brian Warren. In a community as small as ours, I serve as both City Judge and County Judge. Mostly I’m an arbitrator. Anything needed beyond that, we call for help. This is not a hearing, but a discussion about how the City can best help a stranger in our midst who has repeatedly shown himself a hero since the first day he walked into town. In addition to those already introduced, let me point out the others invited to this meeting. Frieda Grimm, Gee’s employer on my left. Beside her, Don and Leah Roth-Augello of the Savage Credit Union. This is Karl Nussbaum of First Rose Valley Bank. And, of course, Detective Mead Oliver. We have two items at issue here. The first is that with Gee’s loss of memory, possibly related to the rescue of a child in our raging river, Gee’s identity was also lost. No wallet. No papers. No trace. This makes Gee, in the truest sense, an undocumented visitor. The second issue is banking related, as Gee has no place to bank his earnings. Again, I emphasize that this is not a hearing, but a fact-finding discussion to see how we can help Gee become a citizen of our city. Jack, would you like to begin?”
“The first issue I think we need to deal with is Gee’s identity. There has been activity on several fronts to confirm he is who he says he is. In that regard, I’d like Detective Oliver to report his findings,” Jack said. Mead cleared his throat.
“The Police Department, in cooperation with the Sheriff’s office and State Police have undertaken to ascertain the true identity of the man claiming to be George Edward Evars,” Mead read from his prepared statement. “This investigation has included name searches through state and national missing persons reports, a search for tax and Social Security records, and submission of fingerprints to the AFIS database maintained by the FBI. We have further submitted Mr. Evars’ photograph, name, and presumed birthdate to the licensing departments of each of the 50 states to search for driver’s license or other state-issued identification. Finally, well-known investigative reporter, Ms. Karen Weisman, has cooperated in providing the department with the results of her searches of membership associations, including such service organizations as Masons, fraternal organizations like Elks and Moose, and commercial memberships like AAA, Costco, and Sam’s Club. Her results have returned no trace of the man calling himself George Edward Evars. However, she has also, with the approval of Mr. Evars, submitted DNA to several testing labs that are not part of the national database. This profile indicates that Mr. Evars is of mixed Northern European heritage and as much as twenty-five percent Native American heritage. It has not, however, revealed any relatives closer than five degrees of separation. We will, of course, follow up with contacting some of these distant cousins to see if anything surfaces as time and resources allow.”
“Military, Homeland Security, FBI, and CIA?” the judge asked.
“Yes, your honor. All have been queried and come back blank. Some searches, like CIA take longer and they only respond if they have an interest in the person. Military branches and FBI have no match. Homeland Security, in a surprise move to us, has simply informed our office that the person in question is not of interest in any former or ongoing investigation.”
“I’m surprised INS hasn’t been here to haul you away, Gee,” the judge laughed. “They seem to be the only ones missing.”
“Your honor,” Jack said, “contrary to popular opinion, there is no national law nor any law in this state that requires a person to have identity papers. He needs to have a license to drive a car, a work permit to hold a job, even a passport to get into or out of the country. But all those are situation specific.”
“There is a problem with a work permit,” Frieda interrupted. “We are retaining records of all money paid to Gee and have withheld income tax, Social Security, and Medicare payments, but we’ll have to figure out a way to file a report by the end of September.”
“That is where the INS comes in. Based on the combined evidence of the DNA tests and Homeland Security’s lack of interest, we agreed to file Form I-765 with the US Citizenship and Immigration Services. They have provisionally indicated that they will issue an Employment Authorization Document. In general, a person is not otherwise required to have an ID.”
“Then why are we here?” the judge asked.
“We—and that includes Gee, your honor—believe several recent misunderstandings could have been prevented if Gee could simply produce a government issued identification document. Even though it’s not a law that he has to carry identification, he is required to truthfully answer law enforcement officers when asked his name and other pertinent information. Typically, this is verified by the officer through official documents. When those are missing, it becomes a hardship on both the officer and the subject,” Gretchen responded. “In addition, Ms. Grimm must retain Form I-9. The EAD is only part of her solution. Gee must also produce an ID card issued by a federal, state, or local government agency or entity, providing a photograph, name, birthdate, and address. This is purely a case of helping a man more effectively fit into the community, who has already repeatedly shown his commitment to the welfare of our citizens.”
“How about getting him a state ID card? The kind they issue to people who don’t drive.”
“It requires a birth certificate or affidavits of two people who have valid ID and will attest to the correctness of his name, birth date, and place of birth.”
“We get bombarded non-stop about how many illegal aliens are in this country with drivers’ licenses, Social Security numbers, and health benefits. How the heck can this be so hard?” Judge Warren said.
“People lie.”
“And no one will lie for Gee,” he sighed.
“Your honor, I don’t want anyone to lie for me. I’d rather not exist,” Gee said softly.
“I was being facetious, Gee. I’m not suggesting someone should lie for you. You’re a good man,” the judge said. “Let’s put this aside for later consideration and talk about banking. I assume Gee needs ID to open a bank account.”
“At one time it was pretty loose as long as no transaction exceeded $10,000, but the Patriot Act of 2001 put requirements on financial institutions to record a Social Security number for any account opened,” Karl Nussbaum said.
“If I may, Karl,” Don Roth-Augello broke in, “when the Patriot Act expired in 2011, only three provisions were renewed. Technically, we don’t have to have a Social Security number attached to the account now.”
“Really?”
“In fact,” Jack added, “our research shows that Title 31 CFR 103.28 says,
Before concluding any transaction with respect to which a report is required under Sec. 103.22, a financial institution shall verify and record the name and address of the individual presenting a transaction, as well as record the identity, account number, and the social security or taxpayer identification number, if any, of any person or entity on whose behalf such transaction is to be effected. 103.34 indicates what record a bank must keep if no SSN is provided.”
“It’s still risky,” Karl said. “I just am not interested in inviting an unnecessary audit.”
“I’d have to agree,” Don said. “These laws tend to shift each time the wind switches from east to west.”
“I don’t really need a bank account for financial transactions,” Gee said. “I like having cash for the most part. My purchases are small and simple. I just need a safe place to put my money so I’m not carrying it around all the time.”
Karl and Don looked at each other and nodded.
“Safe deposit box,” Karl said. “No matter what you put in a safe deposit box, it is not considered a financial transaction.”
“There are risks there, too,” Don said, “but they are your risks and not the bank’s.”
“What risks?”
“Safe deposit boxes are not insured. Since no record is kept of the contents, no insurance would cover them if, for example, a robbery managed to get access to the vault and could open the boxes. Or if some natural catastrophe destroyed the vault,” Don answered.
“Which isn’t likely, but it is a risk,” Karl said. “But, even though I would love to rent you a safe deposit box, you still have to have ID. You would need to show ID and match the signature on the depositor card in order to get access to your box.”
“Back to ID,” Judge Warren said. “Mead, let me see your police ID, please,” Judge Warren said abruptly. Startled, Mead automatically reached for his wallet and pulled out the card. Judge Warren studied it carefully. “Did you intentionally spill gravy on your shirt just before your picture was taken?” he asked. Mead blushed. Warren handed the card on to Karl and Don. “Gentlemen, would you rent a safe deposit box to Mead with this identification?” The two looked at it carefully and finally nodded.
“It looks complete. Photo ID from a government entity. Name, DOB, address, signature. I wouldn’t have any problems with that,” Karl said. Don agreed.
“Jack, would this solve Ms. Grimm’s problem with the I-9?”
“I don’t see why not,” Jack said looking at Mead’s ID. “It does imply, however, that Mead is employed by the Rosebud City Police Department.”
“Mead, couldn’t the city use someone like Gee in various extreme circumstances. Say a child falls in the river and we need a fast-acting swimmer to dive in and save him. Or a woman needs to be transported to the hospital without delay. Or a child is in danger of being kidnapped. Wouldn’t it be nice to know that George Edward Evars was keeping an eye out?”
“Uh… yes, sir. But we don’t have a budget…”
“Pro bono work, Mead. Gee would never ask for compensation for his heroics, would you, Gee?”
“No. I just did what needed to be done at the moment.”
“I believe we should give Gee an official City ID. Photo. Signature. Date of birth. Let’s think of a title. He can’t actually be a policeman.” Judge Warren glanced around the table.
“Based on his work at the store, he could do about anything. We call him a stock boy,” Frieda said.
“Hmm. City of Rosebud Falls. Stock Boy. Certainly we can do better than that.”
“Ombudsman,” Gretchen said. “Or, by definition, Public Advocate. It’s vague regarding what his real ‘position’ would be. It’s like a champion for the people.”
“Champion,” Leah Roth-Augello repeated. “I like that. A champion for Rosebud Falls.”
“Unpaid, of course,” Gretchen grinned. “The perfect pro bono position.”
“And since it’s unpaid, there really doesn’t have to be any human resources paperwork filed,” Frieda added. Once the subject had changed to finding Gee a position to serve the City, the women had taken over the conversation. The men, however, were nodding as they shot ideas back and forth.
“Your honor, we here represent only a small portion of the interests of the great City of Rosebud Falls,” Gretchen started formally. “But it is our recommendation that the City take under consideration the appointment of George Edward Evars, known throughout the town as Gee, to the newly created and pro bono position of City Champion to support and uphold the ideals and people of Rosebud Falls. No compensation would be offered for this position, but the Champion would be issued an official City of Rosebud Falls identification card.”
“I will not act alone in this matter,” Judge Warren said. “However, by the time Detective Oliver takes our Champion to the police station and issues him an ID with the title of his position, I believe I can confirm the action. Is everyone here in agreement?”
“Aye,” they all answered.
“Congratulations, Gee. You’ve just been reborn as a citizen of Rosebud Falls.”
Bank on It
“JUST REMEMBER, GEE, this ID isn’t going to do you a bit of good outside Rosebud Falls. You can’t drive a car with it. You can’t board an airplane. Since it is clearly a City ID and not a police ID, you can’t carry a gun,” Mead said. “Do you have a gun?”
“No,” Gee answered. “I haven’t really bought anything since I arrived. Oh. Except I bought a new hat at Odegard’s.”
“I noticed. You should probably think about getting some additional clothes. The weather’s great right now, but by November we’ll be having frost and freezing temps—maybe snow.”
“Thanks for the advice, Mead.”
“I’m just glad to have you stop by without having you suspected of anything,” Mead laughed. With a fresh City ID in his hand, Gee walked south to the Savage Credit Union. Its location across Main Street from the market would be convenient for Gee.
“Gee, I suggest you keep out, say $600. I’m telling you this as a friend, not a financial adviser.”
“Are you my friend, Don?” The two men laughed and Don shrugged his shoulders.
“A little too soon? Maybe one day we’ll become friends. But good advice can come from acquaintances, as well.”
“Why should I keep so much out? I don’t have a lot of expenses and I’ll get paid again in two days.”
“You could wait if you want. I talked to Karl after our meeting this afternoon. We came up with another idea. You can buy a Visa gift card at the bank. We don’t handle them here at the credit union, but Karl can fix you up pretty quickly. You can buy a $500 card with no ID and no transaction record. The card would allow you to make debit-like purchases. Say you want to buy some new clothes or a winter jacket but you only have thirty dollars in your wallet. You activate your gift card and suddenly you have $500 at your fingertips. It’s safer than carrying cash because it can’t be used by anyone who doesn’t know your PIN,” Don explained.
“I think I’ll take that as good friendly advice, Don. Thank you for helping me get things set up today.”
“Don’t be a stranger, Gee.”
“I’m glad you came in to talk to me, Gee. Don is right. The gift card is essentially a cash or debit card. It can be used almost anywhere a credit card can, except for certain kinds of purchases like airline tickets and car rentals. You won’t need anything like that anyway. It’s just a safe way to carry cash.”
“When it runs out I can just add cash to it?”
“Yes and no. These things are weird. Adding funds to an existing card is usually done by electronic transfer. If you make it a bank transaction, then we need to go through all the rigmarole of ID and record keeping. I’d say it is easier to just buy another card when one runs out. You can even buy them up in advance and put them in your safe deposit box with your cash.”
“Karl, is all of this legal?” Gee asked. The banker nodded.
“It’s creative, but legal. Gee, if you came in here with $50,000 in cash and wanted to create transactions like this, I wouldn’t even talk to you. I’d be on the phone to FinCEN so fast there would be agents waiting before you walked out the door. But we’re not talking about laundering drug money here. We’re talking about managing your cash while you get on your feet and get an identity established.”
“Thank you. I just don’t want anyone to get in trouble for helping me.”
On the way out of the office, Gee spotted the red hair, blue eyes, and infectious smile of Gail Nussbaum at the reception desk.
“Miss Nussbaum, I caught your performance with the quartet at the fair,” Gee said as he approached her desk. “I was truly moved by the music your little group produces. I’ve mentioned it to Elaine over at Jitterz, but just wanted to take the opportunity to tell you directly.”
“Thank you, Mr. Gee,” she said brightly. “The County Fair is just a first step to taking over the world. If there is ever anything we here at First Rose Valley Bank can do for you, please let us know.”
Gee laughed and left the bank.
Gail wasn’t sure if there was anything important about the mystery man’s visit to the bank and her uncle’s friendly greeting, but she didn’t let these things go by. She picked up the phone to call her cousin. It was why she was in the bank, after all—to keep track of unusual business. Cameron would want to know.
Forest Orientation
GEE SAT BEFORE JONATHON in the library auditorium with one other man and twenty-some children. He recognized several of them from his Wednesday evening story time, including little Sally Ann Metzger who made a dash over to give him a hug before her teacher got his class settled. He was surprised to see her with the first-grade class. He was sure she was in at least second grade.
As soon as the children had settled down, Jonathon started in with a song about the hickory wind.
It makes me feel better Each time it begins, Callin’ me home, Hickory Wind.
Jonathon’s arrangement had the children clapping and all joining in on the chorus and calling out ‘Hickory Wind.’ Then Jonathon started telling the children about the Forest and how this year they were all old enough to help harvest nuts and would get their first chance to attend the big Harvest Festival. The way Jonathon talked about it, it didn’t sound like work at all. He talked about nuts falling from the tree sounding like a rainstorm and wove in stories about how important the trees were to everyone in town. It was almost religious.
When the presentation was over, Jonathon came down off the little stage where he’d been showing slides and a movie clip of harvest. The black and white movie looked like it had been shot on 8mm film sometime in the ’50s and later transferred to video. Jonathon had an array of leaves, nuts, and pieces of wood that he allowed the children to touch and sniff. He warned them again to never put any part of the hickory in their mouths.
“I’m Wayne Savage,” the teacher standing next to Gee said by way of introduction.
“Gee, George Evars, but just Gee is fine.”
“Nice to meet you. This is my first day with the kids. School starts Monday, but since I needed orientation, we arranged to have my class orientation at the same time,” Wayne said.
“You’re new in town?”
“Yes. Just took a job teaching first grade. The uh… culture here is pretty shocking for a newcomer,” Wayne admitted.
“Have you walked in the Forest yet?” Gee asked.
“I confess that I just arrived last week and between finding a place to live and getting my classroom ready, I haven’t had much chance to explore. I’ve heard about it, though.”
“When you get a chance to walk in the Forest, you’ll appreciate why the town loves it. I was a little confused by all the excitement, but it’s a magical… no, I should say mystical place. Just remember not to take anything out of the Forest with you. It’s against the law.”
“I heard him say that. You sound like you had first-hand experience.”
“That’s why I’m in orientation.”
The children broke up around Jonathon and Wayne moved to collect his charges and get them out to the bus. Jonathon came to talk to Gee.
“Well? Did you like it?”
“It’s amazing, Jonathon. I’m glad I got the kids’ orientation. I’ll be humming that little tune all week.”
“Gram Parsons and the Byrds from way back in 1968. You should hear the Nussbaum Quartet arrangement. We wrote mostly our own lyrics to be right for the kids and picked up the tempo.”
“I think an adult orientation might have been overwhelming.”
“We dumb it down for the adults,” Jonathon laughed. “They simply can’t take in as much information as children can. I think the foresters spend more time corralling and correcting adults during Harvest than helping. But we try to keep it fun. Which brings me to you. How would you like to have fun during Harvest?”
“Jonathon, you know I’ll do any job you give me. I’m almost as excited about my first Harvest as those children are.”
“I’m going to make you a shaker,” Jonathon said.
“I’m all ears.”
“You’ll need to come out to the Forest for a further orientation. Doing anything tomorrow?”
“I usually take a walk in the Forest on Sundays.”
“I’ll meet you at ten and do your job orientation then.”
Legitimacy
“HELLO, COUSIN,” Karen whispered to the young woman sitting in the park. She sat next to her and stared up at the statue of the Seven Heroes. It wasn’t like they were the only ones who enlisted in the Second World War. Or even the only ones who were killed. There was a plaque of names on the back of the memorial, and it had been added to with soldiers killed in Korea, Viet Nam, and the Middle East.
“Uh… Excuse me? Do I know you?”
“Mmm. Probably not. You might recognize my name, but we’ve never met. What do you get out of coming down here every day to spit on the memorial?”
“I don’t… How do you know?”
“Your grandmother has been coming here every day for sixty years. It’s the worst kept secret in Rosebud Falls. They even started organizing rides for her when she moved into the retirement home. Everyone turns their back when she spits on the memorial. And now you.”
“I didn’t know the story until she told me last week. What a foul thing for him to do.”
“Yes. If he’d done it.” Karen listened to the catch in Jo’s breathing as what she said sank in.
“What do you mean, ‘if?’ My grandmother is seventy-five years old. That bastard is the only one who didn’t recognize his child and her mother.”
“I love when the illegitimate child calls her father a bastard.”
“I think I’ve heard enough.”
“Not if you want a part of the Roth fortune. The part that rightfully belongs to you.”
Jo sat back on the bench and looked at Karen expectantly—cautiously—waiting for the story.
“My great-grandmother, Miriam Roth, was the sister of your great-grandfather, the well spat-upon Joseph Roth,” Karen began. “After whom, by the way, you were named even over your grandmother’s protests. That makes us third cousins if I counted correctly. The current patriarch of the Roth family, Benjamin, is 91 years old and hasn’t been seen outside his house in five years. My great-grandmother would have nothing to do with her younger brother. He has no sons. Isn’t that remarkable? Our common ancestor, Aaron Roth had two sons and a daughter and not one of them sired or bore a son. So, Leah Augello decided to hyphenate her name to Roth-Augello and, after getting her husband to convert from Catholicism to Judaism, further managed to get him to change his name so the Roth appellation would survive. Our family comprises fools, Jo Ransom. You are as much a Roth as our cousins, the incompetent sons of Leah Roth-Augello.”
“You are,” Jo snapped bitterly. “That bastard never acknowledged my grandmother as his child.”
“Ah, but he did,” Karen whispered. “That’s what this is all about. Not our great-grandparents, but their father.”
Date Night
GEE MET KAREN in the park after his orientation. “I won’t be able to get together tomorrow,” Gee explained. “I’ve been assigned a Harvest job and need to go to the Forest for training.”
“What job have you been assigned?”
“I’m supposed to become a shaker.”
“Oh, my.”
“Is that bad?”
“No. It’s wonderful. Very prestigious. It just means that every woman in Rosebud Falls will swoon for you. You’ll be getting lots of offers, Gee.”
“Um… You know what we talked about last Sunday… about dating and focusing on each other? That still holds for me, Karen.”
“Mmm. I like that and I’m just teasing. A little. It’s true that shakers get a lot of attention and I might get jealous a little. But I trust you. We have a long way to go in our relationship. I’m sure we’ll have little ups and downs, but more than anything else, I trust you.”
They took a long walk by the river and turned back on Main Street.
“I… don’t feel much like battling the crowd at the ice cream parlor,” Karen said. “Especially since I have ice cream at home. Would you… um… like to come to my place for a dish of ice cream?”
“Really? I’d love to… sit and talk with you… some more.”
“Just talk and ice cream. You know?”
“I get you.”
“This place is a mansion, Karen!”
“It’s kind of posh. I rattle around here by myself. Maybe I should open it up as a boarding house. I mostly just use the kitchen and sitting room. And my bedroom upstairs. Sorry about all the plastic covering things. I just haven’t had the motivation or time to make it more livable.” Karen dipped bowls of ice cream in the kitchen as Gee stared through the open passage to a living room larger than the Panzas’ entire house.
“Karen? How…?”
“My great-grandmother. She passed away this spring and it turned out that I’m her only heir. Believe me, in addition to the furniture, this house comes with a lot of baggage.”
“So, you are a Family heir?”
“Let’s not dwell on that, okay? But… um… speaking of Families…” She handed him his ice cream and led him to a comfortable sitting room with well-worn furniture. They sat at opposite ends of the overstuffed sofa and faced each other. “I think you should know more about some of the local politics.”
“Politics is a subject I tend to ignore. I just want to be a good person.”
“Good people are well-informed. There will be news on Tuesday after Labor Day that threatens to turn things topsy-turvy. You don’t need to take a side, but about everyone else in Rosebud Falls will. There will be a ballot measure announced to annex roughly another square mile on the south side of the City. That square mile includes Savage Sand and Gravel and Calvary Tabernacle. Neither of those two entities can vote, but between the work force at the quarry and the members of the church, there will be a lot of opposition.”
“Why annex it?”
“There is a segment of hickory woodland in the annex that has grown wild for over a hundred years. At the turn of the twentieth century, it was maintained and harvested the same as the rest of the Forest. But it was outside the city limits and was mysteriously withdrawn from management. It’s been fenced off ever since.”
“Why wasn’t it part of the original City?”
“That’s almost two hundred years ago. It’s part of the legend of the eighth Family. And the mystique of the Savage family, who all but disappeared fifty or sixty years ago.”
“Savages?” Gee mused, thinking of where he’d recently heard the name. Of course, he’d rented a safe deposit box at Savage Credit Union.
“The quarry. The Savages were stone-cutters. In addition to three hundred acres of unmanaged forest, the area holds a rich bed of rose limestone. Over the years, they’ve cut most of the usable stone out and the company is contemplating clear-cutting the rest of the Forest to open up more area for quarrying. They mostly just ship sand and gravel now.”
“That would be terrible! They can’t just cut all the trees down.”
“You see? You are already as passionate about it as the Families.”
“I can’t imagine one of the Families proposing a clear-cut.”
“I just hope it is not more sinister than that. The land isn’t owned by the Savages, but they have a mineral rights lease. If the area is annexed, however, the city can proscribe certain kinds of exploitation.” Karen sighed. “In the two months between the announcement and the election, I’ll be doing a lot of investigation into Savage Sand and Gravel and trying to figure out how that church got established there. Things just don’t add up.”
“Will you be safe? I worry that my partner puts herself in danger.”
“Am I your partner, Gee?”
“I didn’t mean to imply…”
Karen set her bowl aside and took Gee’s as she scooted over on the couch next to him. Gee caught his breath as she leaned in.
“We’re progressing, Gee. We’ve known each other two months. We’re not ready for life-long commitments today, but I think we’re ready for our first kiss.”
She brushed her lips softly across his.
Karen went quietly about her nighttime ritual, the taste of Gee’s lips still on her tongue. Their first kiss. They’d held each other’s eyes for several minutes before Gee stood and carried their empty ice cream bowls to the kitchen. She walked him to the door and he kissed her again before he left. She almost asked him to stay.
The doorbell rang and she thought perhaps he just couldn’t stay away. She bounced down the stairs, pulling a light robe around her.
She knew she should check the peephole before answering, but her hand turned the bolt of its own volition and she flung the door wide.
“Karen…”
People Like Us
“WERE YOU WAITING on the street until he left? Are you stalking me?” Karen demanded.
“It’s not like that, Karen. I didn’t want to interrupt anything.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I love you. You know that. We’re good together.”
“Troy, we were good together as long as we didn’t get out of bed. It’s over.”
“Don’t throw me over for that outsider, Karen.”
“It was over long before that outsider ever got to town, Troy. I told you then and I’m telling you now. It’s over.”
“You don’t know anything about him. He might not even be who he says he is.”
“Don’t. Don’t even try to tear him down. We’ve known each for two months. Even if it isn’t his real name, I know who he is. In here, Troy. In my heart.”
“I love you, Karen. Marry me.” Karen looked at Troy with her eyes wide. Surely, even Troy Cavanaugh can’t be this dense.
“They don’t make wedding vows for people like us. What are you going to promise, Troy? To forsake all others until I’m out of sight?”
“She was a mistake. A one-time thing.”
“You missed my warning label, Troy. ‘Does not play well with others. Dangerous to small pets.’ You had your chance. Now, please go away.”
“Karen…”
She closed the door, thankful that at least he hadn’t stepped inside. She threw the bolt just as he rattled the handle. Back in her room upstairs she splashed water on her face, washing away unwelcome tears of anger.
Anger that she could no longer taste Gee’s kiss.
Comments
Please feel free to send comments during the development cycle to nathan@nathaneverett.com. Thank you for your Feedback!
