Beyond The Fence (1) Walter Milbourn sighed as he opened his car door. The sigh turned into a gasp at the sudden blast of heat that invaded the closed space. It just wasn’t supposed to be like this in springtime Nebraska, he reflected as he exited his car. He grimaced with pain as his hand closed the door; the body of his beat-up Volkswagen was burning to the touch. Glancing up at the bank marquee, he noticed that the new electronic temperature gauge was registering 92 degrees Fahrenheit. Eden, Nebraska was in the middle of an early April heat wave. Milbourn headed slowly up the sidewalk towards his office in the “downtown” section of Main Street. He was a lawyer by degree, but in Eden he had a couple of other jobs as well. To avoid the small income which all who set up their law offices in small towns suffer, he wrote short essays out of his office and also helped run Eden’s after-school youth program. That afternoon, he would put the final touches on an essay about law in the Middle Ages that he hoped would be accepted by a national publication. His mind was so full of the closing points of his final draft that he almost didn’t notice the man walking directly up the center of the road. He was a very skinny man, tall and gangly, with fiery red hair and an open, honest face. Moving with unusual grace, he leisurely walked across the paved surface towards his ultimate destination. Near the center of town, he stopped and lifted his head to look around. Slowly nodding his head and smiling at the scenery, he walked on. He paused once more to wave a friendly hello to the puzzled lawyer standing on the sidewalk before continuing on his way. Turning away from the passing stranger to the door of his office, Milbourn couldn’t help but think about how rare an event it was to see someone new in the town. Eden was a closed little rural community, almost completely sufficient unto itself. There would be talk about this for days from anyone who saw the man pass…speculation about who he was and where he was headed, conjecture about his family and line of work. Of course, since the stranger wouldn’t stay—strangers never do—any thoughts dwelling on him would be simple guesswork, and would finally die a solemn death as the town tired of its old obsession and waited for another. Shaking his head to clear this unproductive line of thought, Milbourn turned the knob on his office door and pushed it open. He didn’t care about town gossip—he never got around enough to hear most of it, anyway. Besides, he had an essay to finish. * * * * * A few days later, Milbourn began loathing his life. The essay was unfinished, and likely would remain so. There were no cases to try, nothing to do. He found himself checking out of his office early one morning at about 10:00 to go over to the local eatery. Paradise Valley was a lonely old restaurant/hotel on the outskirts of Eden. It sat all by itself on the banks of Eden’s only water source, the Missouri River. Despite the name, the establishment wasn’t any kind of paradise, but it was cheap food with a good view. Most people from Eden ate there at least once a week. It was the local gossip center as a result. The place was more lively than usual that afternoon. The church committee was having their weekly meeting in one of the corner booths, and the bachelor preacher was flirting with a very attractive florist sitting in the adjacent booth. A few high school seniors skipping classes for the day skulked around near the Asteroids arcade game, trying to avoid their parents hearing of their early departure from school. Milbourn sighed and took a seat near the window—it was one of those seat-yourself joints. He ordered quickly and gazed out the window facing the river. Then he saw Peter Stone coming up the sidewalk, right hand locked in an endless nervous twitch. Pete was the local fisherman. He normally got paid by his catch from the Missouri River, which was very poor most days. Every once in a while, the money from some generous person found its way into his pocket. From the size of Pete’s waist, that little bit of cash couldn’t be stretched far enough to suit him. Everybody muttered a greeting as Pete sullenly slid into an empty booth along the back wall. He ordered a cheeseburger and Diet Coke. The waitress sighed, but wrote down his order anyway. It was the policy of Chuck Adams, the store’s owner, to let Pete eat for free twice a week and put the money on a tab. Pete ate on the tab and only infrequently paid any of his check. He owed well over $900 now, and there didn’t seem to be an end in sight. The fisherman had just started devouring his cheeseburger when the tall red-haired stranger walked into the restaurant. All conversation immediately ceased as everyone openly gaped at the new face. The man smiled congenially at everyone, nodded at Milbourn, and sat down near the window directly opposite Pete and almost next to the puzzled lawyer. Walter couldn’t believe it. Strangers never stayed in Eden. The town was a tight social circle that was courteous enough to the outsider but only really bonded with its own. That the man should have stayed in this town was next to impossible. That he was making the presumption of friendship with almost everybody in the room was unthinkable. Casually, the red-haired man ordered a BLT and a glass of water. Then he leaned back and gazed out the window, losing himself in the serenity of the view. When his food came, he quickly ate it and paid the check in full with a generous tip. He was about to leave when the questioning began. “Wouldn’t you care to stay a spell, friend?” The overly loud question came from Lew Nailand, the preacher. He had somehow managed to detach himself from his heavy flirting and take interest in the new specimen of humanity that had entered his town. The stranger turned, looked Lew up and down, and then warmly smiled. “Why, yes, I’d very much like to.” He returned to his seat by the window. The preacher pulled up a chair and sat down next to him. “People have seen you around town lately, friend. You new here? How long you gonna stay?” The stranger smiled again. “I come from a long way away, and I thought I was just passing through here. But to be honest, your town was so lovely that I just had to stop and stay awhile.” Reverend Lew puffed out his chest with pride. “Yes, sir, we have a real nice set of folks here. We sure are glad you stopped by our town. So, how long will we be seeing you?” His question was met with a shrug. “With me, it’s hard to tell. I just kind of drift to where I think I’m needed most, and stay there until I feel like it’s time to go. I thought maybe somebody could use my help around here, so I rented an old house out near the end of town. The big one with the unusual gables.” “Oh, the old Baer place. Well, we sure will be glad to have you for as long as you’re here.” Something in the reverend’s voice made his comment sound not like a friendly invitation, but like a subtle warning. “May I ask your name, or is that a mystery too?” “William Carpenter.” “Well, Will, I sure am glad to meet you. Don’t want to keep you from your business.” “Thank you, Reverend.” As William got up to leave, Pete started edging closer to him. Milbourn watched in disgust. Pete was looking for a handout from a stranger. Walter speculated that times must be tough at the river. William turned to Pete and stood waiting. To everyone in the room but Pete, the figure with red hair was outside trash, not their kind of people. To Pete, he was a savior. “Mr. Carpenter?” Pete mumbled. “Yes?” The face was open and kind, filled with the desire to help. “I was wondering if you could help me. You see, I fish for a living, and—well, it’s difficult to make a living down at the river, and I can’t get any money. I was wondering if maybe you had some odd jobs you needed done moving in that you’d be willing to pay me for.” Pete was begging. Carpenter looked thoughtful. “As a matter of fact, I do have something for you. I actually was looking for somebody to help me around the house, and you might be just the type. I am always in need of a good fisherman. Why don’t you come on over to my house right now, and we’ll discuss it?” As the townsfolk watched in utter disbelief, their much-belittled compatriot followed his new employer out of the restaurant. To think that a citizen of Eden, even one like Peter Stone, would beg for employment from an outsider was a laughable idea. But before their very eyes, it had happened. Milbourn resolved to himself that this William Carpenter was someone to be watched. * * * * * It was three weeks before Peter Stone came back to Paradise Valley. Milbourn knew…he had come back every day in hopes of seeing Pete again. The rumors were flying all over town. Pete had quit. Pete and the stranger were planning to start a business that would bring disrepute on their town. Pete was only going to be there long enough to show the stranger that he really wasn’t welcome in Eden. Nobody knew which of these rumors was true…nobody knew if any of the rumors harbored truth. Each one was expounded on daily, growing into secret conspiracies. Milbourn, like others, had become convinced that only when Pete showed himself in public would any of the rumors be answered, and that he would return first to the restaurant that he had left so abruptly. Milbourn’s hypothesis was confirmed when Pete walked in and laid a thick envelope on the counter. “For Mr. Adams,” he said to the cashier, and then started to leave. He had almost made it to the door when the proprietor came out of the back office and saw Pete trying to make his exit. “Don’t you dare leave!” he snarled. The fisherman turned around, genuinely surprised. “What did I do?” “First of all, you can start paying your tab around here. I didn’t even know you’d come in to eat today, but now that you have a job you can start putting up your own cash for food! I am not going to continue to suffer a loss trying to feed you. Pay your check for today. Now.” The fisherman stood calm and unmoved. “I didn’t come here to eat, Mr. Adams, and I haven’t. I came here to start paying off the money I owe you. The first of it is in that envelope.” A look of bewilderment crossed Adams’ face. He slowly picked up the envelope, a man afraid his long-deserved reward might disappear. He opened the envelope, slowly counted the money. Looking up, he quietly stated, “Pete, there’s $200 in here.” “All in five-dollar bills. It’s yours, as an advance on my debt. I’ll be back in three weeks with another $200. I have to be getting back to Will now. If you’ll excuse me…” He turned and purposefully strode out the door. Adams, Milbourn, and the cashier stared after Peter Stone in amazement. They were floored by the display of his quiet strength. Milbourn had noticed something else uncharacteristic of Pete, but he couldn’t place it. Like most humans, he quickly put the mystery out of his head, waiting for his subconscious to solve it and triumphantly return with the answer. Only later that night, when Milbourn was getting ready to go to bed, did he finally remember noticing that the nervous twitch in Pete’s right hand had completely disappeared. * * * * * There was a definite change in Eden, Milbourn mused. Ever since William Carpenter had come a few months ago, things were not as they always had been before. A few people had gone to live with him in his house on the edge of town. The gigantic house could hold twenty more with no real problems, but that wasn’t the issue. Milbourn was upset because eight members of the community had just decided to go and throw their lot in with somebody who wasn’t like the rest of them. Occasionally, they were seen around town, usually on their way to or from the town’s only general store. When stopped, they would be polite, but there was always this air of hurriedness about them; they had to get back to the house, to him. They seemingly had nothing in common…a teacher, a nurse, a former IRS worker, a retired military man, both assistant pastors of Eden’s Baptist church, a novelty salesman, and Pete the fisherman. So why were they all bound to this man with cords stronger than the community’s spirit of brotherhood could sever? Walter Milbourn was pondering this as he headed over to Eden’s baseball field to pick up his daughter after practice. Eden’s school system, instead of intermural sports, sponsored an after-school town league in various sports so that the kids could go out and have fun. He usually spent much of his time coaching his daughter’s softball team, but lately he had been too busy with legal matters and had posted notes all over town asking for a replacement. He hadn’t been able to get anyone except on a tentative day-by-day basis. No one had been interested in taking over full time—the pay was barely enough to cover the equipment. Finally, the girls had told him that they didn’t need a coach, they could run their own practices. The last time Lauren had spoken on the subject, she had said that they still didn’t have a coach. So Milbourn was a little surprised when he drove up to the field just as practice was winding down and saw a tall, red-haired man standing behind home plate. As he came closer, he realized that William Carpenter wasn’t just on the field. He was actually coaching Lauren Milbourn’s softball team. While Walter watched in disbelief, Carpenter guided his daughter through the fundamentals of a good swing. The lawyer was stricken by a sudden feeling of panic and jealousy. This man was striking too close to home. Practice disbanded, and his daughter came running towards him, her long brown tresses flying behind her. Walter embraced his daughter and asked her to wait in the car for him—“I’ll only be a minute, Cupcake.” Warily, as though approaching a dangerous beast, he walked up to the stranger. Carpenter was occupied in packing up the batting helmets, but looked up at just the right moment and smiled. Without meaning to, Milbourn smiled back. He couldn’t help it. This man had a smile that just made your heart want to melt. “Hello, Mr. Milbourn,” Carpenter said. “Hiya, Will.” Not really having much to do with his hands, which had begun to shake, Milbourn stuffed them in his pockets and continued. “How does the team look?” “Oh, they look smashing. I think they may win the league championship this summer. In fact, I’m sure of it—we have a lot of good players. Your daughter is one of the best. Have you ever seen her play shortstop?” “Many times. It’s been her favorite position for years. In fact, I taught her. It was my position in high school.” Milbourn unconsciously stood straighter at the compliment. “Then you must have been good,” Carpenter grinned. “She has great skill, and she loves to play.” Milbourn, trying to feign a nonexistent nonchalance, casually leaned against the backstop. His attempt to look suave would have been seen as an obvious fake by anyone else, but he thought he pulled it off rather well. He smugly changed the subject. “So, why did you volunteer to take my place as coach?” “No one else was, so I decided I should do it. It needed to be done. Besides, I have always loved to work with children. Their minds are so free, so uncluttered with worldly ideals. Children, not adults, are the forces of change. They will be tomorrow’s leaders, and they will hopefully be better than their fathers. I just try to help that process along.” Milbourn grimaced as he felt the sting of a perceived insult. If he had been more honest with himself, he would have admitted the truth—he recognized a little of his personality in Carpenter’s bald statement. “Why are you so interested in helping the children? They’re ours...we can raise them. We’re helping them. Do you really need to get involved?” The tone of his voice held a silent plea, an unspoken prayer that said: Please don’t change us, don’t change me. I’m scared of what might happen if you do. His adversary stared quizzically at Walter. “I just told you why I wanted to help the children. Don’t you ever take things at face value?” “Never,” the lawyer stated flatly. “Then how can you live your life? Sometimes you have to have a little faith that things are for the best. If you lose it, your existence isn’t living—it’s clouded with suspicion and hate. Some people think that there is no way I can be taken at face value. Give me the opportunity to show you otherwise. I can demonstrate to you that you can trust me, but I can’t do it when your ears are made of tin and your eyes refuse to see the truth.” “I just don’t understand you at all,” Milbourn said softly. Carpenter, seemingly not hearing the menace couched in the words, sat down on the bleachers and put his hands behind his head. “What’s not to understand? I’m not a hypocrite; I’m not a liar. What you see is who I am. Most people aren’t like that.” “Most? Show me one man who is perfect. I’ve never met one, except for you…and I know that you have to have your faults.” The red-haired man looked into the clear blue sky and smiled. “Oh, I have my faults, I know. But I try and achieve perfection, knowing that I’ll never make it. Your friend Peter feels the same way.” “Pete isn’t my friend.” “Neither is anyone else that listened to me, but you’re concerned about them.” Carpenter inclined his head, his gaze boring into the lawyer’s forehead. “Why is that, hmm? Is it because you’re afraid that someone like me might disturb the order in these parts?” “Of course not.” Milbourn was sweating with terror. “Then you shouldn’t have to worry about my friends.” Gritting his teeth to avoid lashing out at his benevolent opponent, Milbourn continued. “You’ve been here a few months, and you have induced eight people to give up everything they have ever been a part of and follow your lead. Why are all these people moving in with you? What kind of power do you have? These people were perfectly satisfied with their lives, and then you came. Now they’re uprooted and happier than before. It doesn’t bother me if they want to change, but I want to know why.” Carpenter leaned forward. “But it does bother you, Walter. It haunts you. You can’t escape it at your office, at your home, at Paradise Valley. It is on your mind every time you drive past this field, every time you walk along the banks of the Missouri. You sing the word ‘Why?’ in place of the text of the hymn every Sunday morning. You see, you aren’t the first one I have met who was skeptical. “Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps these people weren’t satisfied with their lives? Perhaps they wanted something that you never knew about. I don’t ask so much, Walter. I just ask for a chance to give these people what they’re missing. In return for that chance, I deliver on my promise. “The people in my house are the perfect example of this. The teacher who feels she still has so much to learn. The pastors who can’t understand what they preach, try as they might to practice it. The nurse who knows that there is more to a patient’s care than medicine, but can’t figure out what. Does any of this sound familiar to you? Aren’t you sometimes in the same predicament? Don’t lie to yourself, Walter…you know that you are. “The tax man wants more than money out of life, he wants happiness. The salesman feels like he can’t sell the one thing that people most need—kindness. And it isn’t something he can throw in as a package deal, buy one and get it free. The old officer wants to contribute something, but people tell him that ever since Korea, he hasn’t been necessary. And your old object of pity, Peter, just wants to do something he enjoys without worrying about making a living from it. Did you know he was so worried about being able to survive that he developed a nervous reaction in his hand? People like him come to me, and I try to help them. “I’m not doing something that’s horrible, Walter. I’m not breaking the law, and you know it. I have no crimes to confess, and you don’t doubt it. So what makes me so evil in your eyes? All I am attempting is to help free this town from its unspoken needs, so that everyone can be happy. The one and only thing I desire is to lend a hand in making this community what it claims to be—Eden.” He pulled his weight off the creaking boards and stood less than ten feet away from Walter, calling to him across the vast chasm that separated them. “When you need me, I will be there for you too. Until then, you can try and make it on your own. Maybe you can, and I wish the best of luck to you in your quest. I have to go now.” William Carpenter picked up the equipment and walked away, leaving in his wake a man seething with rage at the knowledge that his enemy was right.
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Copyright © 2000 Mason Cole |