Storymania - Beyond The Fence by Mason Cole

Beyond The Fence (2)
Mason Cole

* * * * *

As Milbourn drove home several weeks later, he stopped by the Freund residence. The elderly couple who lived down the street from him were among the town’s favorite citizens. Nicholas Freund ran the town bank, and his wife Betty was the mother figure for the community. Nick had just gone in for a costly operation, and Milbourn was going to the man’s house ostensibly to check up on him. But his mind was also brooding on another problem. Five more had entered the Carpenter house, and the community was beginning to fear this man who was taking away everyone they cared about.

Betty answered the door and invited him in. As she made tea, Milbourn looked around the inside of the comfortable old home. He was admiring the oak paneling and trying to ignore his hostess when something she said pushed to the forefront of his thoughts and made his neck hair stand on end.

“—Carpenter was so nice. I mean, he was a godsend!” She chuckled in a motherly way as she brought out two cups of hot tea and set one in front of Milbourn. “I don’t know why so many people are afraid of that man.”

Milbourn managed a weak grin. “Yeah, imagine that.”

“I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay him for his kindness.”

The lawyer swallowed. This wasn’t looking good. “What kindness?”

Betty looked at him, shocked. “Didn’t you hear a word I said? That was always the trouble with you, Walter…even when you were a boy—”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Freund. Could you please repeat what you said earlier?”

“That was always the trouble—”

“No, about Mr. Carpenter.”

“Oh.” Betty sat back in her rose-red armchair, stirred her tea absent-mindedly, and explained.

“Well, Nick was going to have this expensive surgery. You see, we didn’t want to let anybody know, but Nick had a problem with his nose. It was getting so clogged that he couldn’t breathe. So we went to see a doctor, and he said that one of the bones in Nick’s nose was almost completely blocking his left passage. Well, Nick usually gets stuffed up anyway this time of year, and he didn’t want to go on having to breathe through his mouth. So the doctor said yes, he could do some surgery, but it was more than we could afford. We tried to ignore the problem, but Nick’s breathing just got worse.”

She stopped and laughed sadly. “Isn’t it funny, though? Here Nick was, running a bank and telling other people to save money, and he hadn’t saved for himself.” Sniffing slightly, she continued.

“Anyway, I was wondering how we would ever manage to afford the operation when I got a knock at my door. I answered it, and there was Mr. Carpenter.”

“Perfect timing,” Walter said dryly.

“Absolutely,” she replied, missing the irony with which his words were laced. “He said he had just stopped by to ask if I needed any help. I didn’t really trust him, but somehow I just ended up telling him everything. He sat there listening through all of it, and the look on his face made me want to cry, it was so beautiful. When I was done, he pulled out his wallet and gave me all the money inside. I pushed it back at him, saying that Nick never allowed us to take charity.

“I’ll never forget what he said next. He pushed that money back into my hand, and said, ‘Then think of it in banking terms, Mrs. Freund. This is a loan, from me to you and your husband. There is no interest charged, and you don’t have to pay it back if you don’t want to.’ When I heard that, I just broke down and cried. He was exactly what we needed.”

She shifted her eyes slightly. They had a faraway look to them that frightened Milbourn. “Yes, he was exactly what we needed.”

Milbourn made his excuses and left as quickly as possible. He knew that they were already as good as lost. Because of his chat with Betty, he was the only one in town who wasn’t shaken to the core when the bank was turned over to Nick’s assistant and the Carpenter house accepted two more residents.

* * * * *

A fortnight later, Milbourn was getting scared. There was nothing he could do about the men and women who were joining Carpenter at an ever-growing rate. The number had increased from sixteen to twenty-seven in just two weeks. Lew Nailand was giving thundering sermons against Carpenter in the pulpit, but nothing had changed except the number of people who were giving up their lives every day.

Perhaps the biggest blow had come just the day before. An entire family—a father, a mother, and two sons—had abandoned their house and left for the edge of town. The mother had been Nailand’s secretary. The father was a City Councilman.

The biggest mystery among the people of Eden was what went on at Carpenter’s residence. What could 27 people of various ages and interests possibly have in common? What would they do all day? Milbourn didn’t know either, but there was one thing that separated him from the rest of the town. It was forever locked in its stubborn path of indifferences to things it could not comprehend. It had no will to penetrate Carpenter’s veil of secrecy. It made no plans to know, and therein lay the difference.

He planned to find out.

* * * * *

It was late one afternoon in Eden, just about the time the rest of the town was taking their dinner, that Milbourn quietly approached the Carpenter house. His Volkswagen, so as not to alert anyone to his presence, had been left three blocks back. It was almost 100 degrees, so the lawyer was sweating profusely by the time he reached the old house with its big backyard. There was only one thing he wanted to know: What went on in William Carpenter’s house?

He was about to knock on the front door when he heard noise coming from the backyard. Moving cautiously, Milbourn crept around the side of the house to the old stone fence around the sweet-smelling lawn. Ever so carefully, he stood up and looked beyond the fence.

What he saw was not what he had expected.

The teacher sat on the back porch, tutoring the councilman’s two sons. Carpenter was sitting nearby, interrupting her with a comment now and again. Everyone else was playing games, lying on the grass, or sitting in hand-made chairs reading books.

At a whistle from inside the house, the two boys leapt up and screamed with delight. Carpenter and the teacher looked at each other, grinned, and went inside the house. Everyone else had heard the whistle and was bustling about excitedly. To Milbourn, it looked as though they were getting ready for dinner, but there was no food or table in sight.

Everyone in the backyard looked at the door and cheered, and Milbourn turned to follow their gaze. He saw Pete proudly bearing a tray full of fried fish out onto the grass. Carpenter and the teacher were following closely, he with the plates and she with the glasses and silverware. As one of the men scrambled up to get in line, Milbourn saw that he had been sitting on a large water cooler.

As the lawyer watched, tantalized, ice cream and bottles of water were pulled from the cooler and passed around to accompany the fish. The pastors blessed the food, and everyone ate ravenously. While the food was being consumed, the old soldier regaled the youths with tales of the bravery he saw in Korea. Upon hearing one of the stories, Carpenter burst into joyous laughter, his flame-red hair shining in the afternoon sun.

Finally, Milbourn was spotted. Carpenter just happened to turn his head and caught sight of the lawyer peeking over the fence. He said nary a word, but reached out his hand and beckoned for Walter to come in; there was enough for everyone. In his eyes was a look of invitation, of peace.

Milbourn let go of the fence, turned, and ran as fast as his legs would go back to his car.

* * * * *

For the better part of the next day, Milbourn brooded over his experiences at the old house. He finally decided that such reminiscences were useless. He had imagined the look on Carpenter’s face, that was all. No more letting imagination run away with him, and no more spying expeditions. If he would just keep his mind on his own business, he would be a lot happier.

The problem was, he couldn’t stop thinking about how peaceful and happy the people looked. He knew both of the boys in particular…they had always been disinterested and sullen playing sports and had never really gotten involved in community activities. Yet in that yard, they had been tuned in to the teacher and looked full of the zest for life that they had previously lacked. It was a dilemma: to interfere, or to live and let live? He would have to resolve this crisis before he could act.

Milbourn let such thoughts drift from his head as he pulled up to the baseball field to pick up his daughter. Practice was apparently already over, since Carpenter wasn’t anywhere to be seen on the field. One of the outfielders informed Milbourn that his daughter said to tell him she was going home. He thought it was a little odd, since he had only been a few minutes late. However, he didn’t say that out loud. It would have given voice to his insecurities that she was falling in with Carpenter.

As he drove home, he thought about his daughter. Ever since her mother died when she was three, he had endeavored to raise her himself. He didn’t think he had done such a bad job. She had graduated high school in May, and was only ten days from turning 18. She had already been accepted to a small community college nearby. The fact that she was going home, he reflected with satisfaction, showed who she loved more.

At least for tonight.

Milbourn carefully parked his Volkswagen over the old grease spot in his driveway and bounded in the door, ready to greet his daughter. He found nobody.

After looking, he finally found a small note in her perfectly scripted cursive sitting on top of the mantelpiece. He picked it up, read it through twice, and let it slip from his fingers. Before it had even fluttered to the ground he was out the door and in his car, his dilemma solved. The note hit the floor face up, exposing to the world its heartrending contents:

Daddy,

I’m sorry if I hurt you by doing this, but try to understand. I’m going home. Goodbye.

Lauren

* * * * *

Striding up to the house, suffering incredible personal agony inside his soul, Milbourn banged on William Carpenter’s door with the force of a man desperate to save the one thing he cares for. The last of his reserve shattered when his daughter opened the door and stared at him as though she had never seen him before. Her look was polite, courteous, friendly perhaps—but completely devoid of any deep feeling.

“Get Carpenter,” he growled. “Now.”

Scared at his inexplicable behavior, Lauren slowly and timidly backed away from the door and ran into the house. A moment later, William Carpenter stood framed by the portal with a tired expression etched on his face.

“Walter,” he began, “you have no right to intimidate someone who lives in my house.”

“SHUT UP! You have no right to steal my daughter!”

“I didn’t steal your daughter. She came here of her own free will. Or are you too scared and senseless to realize that?”

“She isn’t an adult! She doesn’t have the legal right to make her own decisions. I make the decisions for…” Walter trailed off and Carpenter seized the advantage.

“For your little girl? That’s what you were going to say, isn’t it? You forget, I have heard this before. Your daughter may not be a legal adult, but she is a very intelligent young lady. She can make her own decisions and you know it. You just don’t want to let go.”

“That’s not it at all!”

“You hate what I have been doing to this town. You hate the way I have stolen the hearts of your residents and helped them become what they most want to be—valued. Most importantly, you hate that you can never bring your closed mind to let your own inhibitions go and that you consequently are dragging everyone else down to your level. You despise me for being what you can never be.”

“SHUT UP, DAMN YOU!”

Carpenter shrank before the man he saw. No longer was Walter Milbourn a simple-mannered lawyer. Fury at having his sole prized possession snatched from his grasp had transformed him into a raging lunatic. There was no longer a rational way to discuss the situation. His wrath would not permit it.

“I’ll sue you. I’ll have you hauled in front of a court on charges of kidnapping.” Milbourn was babbling random words, but they fit together to form the pieces of his only remaining weapon. “You’ll be convicted, I guarantee you. I will lock you up for years.”

Carpenter rejoined, “First of all, you know I didn’t kidnap Lauren. Second, in ten days she will be able to decide for herself. Don’t you think that makes kidnapping a moot charge?” His air of serene dignity made him appear noble, almost regal. Milbourn, by contrast, was rapidly degenerating into one of his violent caveman ancestors.

“It doesn’t matter. I will still keep you in court as long as I can. I don’t have to pay legal fees, and I don’t think you’ll be able to avoid that. And if the kidnapping charge doesn’t stick, I’ll sue you on coercion. And if I can’t make that stick, I will sue because of health code violations—so many people living in this rat trap! I can make up charges if I have to, and in the end one of two things will happen. Either one of them will stick and you’ll go to prison, or my imagination will finally run dry and leave you with a major outstanding legal bill and no way to pay it.” Milbourn was leering, certain of victory.

William Carpenter still stood on the porch. His head was held high, even in defeat. He replied with a passionate calm, “Another time I would have fought you. Another time, I might have had the strength to fight. But if this is the seed you sow, then I shall see to it that someone as determined as you shall reap the full reward you deserve. I will leave.”

Milbourn laughed. He felt vindicated.

“But are you sure you’ll like what happens afterward?” Carpenter continued. “Do you have any idea how happy these people are? Do you really want to risk removing that happiness by removing me? It might stay, or it might not. Can you afford to have an unhappy daughter?”

Walter Milbourn quickly shook his head from side to side, trying to clear away the picture. His daughter WOULD come back. She had to. It would all be as it was before this redheaded heretic came to Eden and tried to play the role of the serpent. Lauren would be his, the town would have its own back, and Carpenter would be gone. He was surprised to discover that it was the last outcome that most pleased him.

“Get out of Eden.”

Carpenter bowed his head. A tear escaped his eye. “By tomorrow, Walter, I will be gone. Give me one more night in my own private paradise.”

Milbourn saw the tear and stood speechless, finally realizing the end of his actions. As the full weight of what he had done began to sink on his shoulders, William Carpenter walked inside the house and closed the door.

* * * * *

Carpenter left the next day, continuing his journey down the same road on which he had entered. The personal demons he felt, he kept to himself. He left behind a town that proclaimed itself free from the shackles of bondage. It was soon to learn otherwise.

The members of the community who had been within Carpenter’s garden exited the house forever. At first, the town tried to welcome them back. But the dark pain of loss in their eyes, carried with them everywhere they went, made them depressing to all of the town’s residents. Everyone felt for them, and helped them in the only ways they knew. Lew Nailand even held a dinner in their honor—which, when most people took the time to think about it, was a ridiculous thing to do. But nothing helped Carpenter’s disciples. They continued to live from day to day, longing for what they had lost. The whole of Eden suffered with them.

Lauren Milbourn returned to her house out of duty, but the atmosphere was strained. Father and daughter had no common ground on which to relate. On her 18th birthday, she left for places unknown. Milbourn thought about going after her, but rejected it. He had no interest in anything anymore.

Carpenter’s friends began to leave the town one by one, taking off for somewhere far removed from the Missouri River shore, somewhere where they could find meaning and promise again. The town reacted as though its heart had been cut out. The men and women of the small Nebraska community drifted away with the hot dry summer wind, feeling that their innocence had been lost and not having the faintest idea of how to go about recovering it. Even Walter Milbourn left at last, his heart heavy with grief and sorrow. They left behind them a dwindling town that had lost all of its purpose.

The one place that the few remaining denizens of Eden would never go near was the old house on the edge of town, now decaying for lack of tenants. If anyone in the community had dared to approach the house which was silently baking in the hot September sun, they would have found no trace of the happiness that had existed a bare month before. There was no echo of joyous laughter pealing off the walls inside. The backyard was no longer a place of contentment. The garden had been violated; Eden was no more.

[I would like to dedicate this story to my good friend John Burger. This story could not have crystallized around a central character without the inspiration provided by John’s continued selflessness and courteous behavior. Unfortunately, as I hope I have demonstrated, people like John are rare and precious gems in today’s close-minded world. Once again, my editorial team gets huzzahs and kudos. Without their valuable comments and suggestions, I would have no idea what is fit to print. These fine people are: Allyson Fry for structure, Jeffrey Keeling for writing mechanics, Valerie Olson for content, and Dan Stark and Anna Patrick for overall editing.]

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