Segment Fourteen - Escape from the Belfry Copyright 2013 Doris Gaines Rapp

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Adam declined Mrs. G.’s offer to drive him home. Mr. Gunderman might already know that he lives in the church’s bell tower and not try to rescue him, but he knew Mrs. G. didn’t know. If she did, she might say, “A boy should not live alone.”

            Ordinarily, a long walk would have cleared away fuzzy thinking and self-pity. But, not today. Adam was too tired. He had walked all the way across town to visit Mr. G. in the hospital. Then, he moved furniture and chopped up a tree for Mrs. G. He started back to the church but the walk brought on a weariness he had never experienced before. He was tired to the bone. And, along with such a shroud of exhaustion, depression swooped in and took over the boy. 

            He hurried past the next corner. That was where he would turn if he were going to Fritzy’s house. He didn’t want to see her.

            A group of children were gathered on Tony Hammond’s concrete driveway turning two long ropes in double-dutch. With a child on each end, they rhythmically turned two ropes, as a row of waiting children jumped rope in double time.

            Cousins, Adam guessed and secretly envied the size of their family. Cousins are always

around, if you have some. In New York there were more cousins in the clan than I could count.

But, that was then. Nothing’s the same now.

            Two girls passed him on the sidewalk, giggled and moved on. They are laughing at me, he thought and anger rose up again. They know I am a Schumacher, the son of a deserter. He hung his head in shame.

            He started to cross the street when that same blue car, that had been on the farm road, pulled up beside him. Adam was afraid. Was the man following him? If so, why?

            “Shoemaker, right?” The man rolled down his window and leaned out.

            Adam kept on walking. He felt very uncomfortable around him. He didn’t know why but that was the problem. He didn’t know the man.

            “Some families changed the spelling and pronunciation of their name when they came to this country,” the man smiled.

            “I suppose.” Adam kept on walking and said no more.

            “Sometimes, the Immigration Officers at Ellis Island took in more information than they could handle. They gathered passenger arrival records, border crossings, emigration records, and passports, but they sometimes got the emigrant’s name spelled wrong, like Shoemaker for Schumacher.”

            “So.”

            “You said you don’t know any Schumachers in town, Son?”

            I’m not your son. I’m nobody’s son. Adam decided he’d better not pick a fight with the stranger.

            Suddenly, Adam could hear the man’s thoughts racing through his head. How is that possible? How can I hear him thinking?

            “Gotta get this kid to believe me. His whole life depends on it.”

            To Adam, the man’s thoughts were terrifying. But, his spoken words were calm and reassuring.

            “Look,” the man said, “I’m just trying to find the Schumacher family and since your name is an Americanization of that old-country name, I have to believe you may know them.”

            Again, the man’s unspoken message was heard. “How do I make him believe me? What I have to tell him could change his life.”

            Adam looked neither right nor left. He kept his head down and continued to walk. A biting sleet pounded harder and the ice stunk his face.

            “At least let me take you home,” the man offered as he slowly followed the boy.

            “No thank you.” Adam’s teeth chattered as he tried to sound strong and brave.

            “Ah, come on. I know you’re cold. Just look at you. You’re shaking.” The man in the blue car continued to coast along beside the boy. He shifted gears every once in a while.

            Maybe his car will stall out, Adam hoped.

            “Watch out,” the man warned as Adam nearly stepped into a sleety puddle. Again, the man’s inner thoughts escaped. “Gotta make this kid believe or the whole thing won’t work.”

            I can take care of myself. His heart felt like it would pound out of his chest until it broke free.

            “See, I told you,” the man mocked as Adam slopped through the slush. “You need to let me drive you home. Come on. The heater is warm and I’m a friendly guy.” He smiled broadly at

Adam as he coasted along behind him.

            Why am I getting such scary feelings from this man? The boy was afraid the car’s bumper would brush his legs if he slowed in his steps. He felt stalked. Fear rose up within him and he started to run.

            Adam slipped with every step. He stumbled and slid his way along the streets toward the church. The blue car kept up with him as he covered every block.

            “Let us push him off road,” the shadow people groaned. “We will obey your feelings.”

            Adam refused to acknowledge the evil ones, even though he desperately needed help. When he got to Jefferson Park, he turned abruptly and sprinted past the swings and into the woods.

            Let that guy try to follow me through the park. Then he feared, Maybe he’ll get out of his car and chase me on foot.

            Adam trembled as he stood behind the trunk of a large tree. He had to catch his breath in the thin air that filled his lungs with ice until his chest ached. He waited but had to stand guard too. He had to know if the man was behind him.

            Adam could see his breath hang in the air like a cloud of steam around him. He wished he could stop breathing. If the guy was behind him, he might be able to see the icy mist. What should he do? Is he there? Will he drive around and be there when I come out on the other side of the park?

            Cautiously, he peered around the hickory tree and searched the space behind him. The darkness was coming on faster than he thought it would but he was grateful for the cover of night. In the dim light, he could see no one. All was quiet. All was still.

            He tried to catch his breath by filling his lungs with slow, deliberate gulps of air. He felt

his lungs freeze with pain every time he inhaled and his chest ached with the cold. The air sacs in his lungs could not expand any further and yet he could still barely breathe. He waited in the darkness and rubbed his hands over his chest. He hoped to feel warmth return to his body. Adam cupped his hands and blew the warmth of Shaddi into them, then placed them palms down on his chest. Once his head was clear enough and his lungs began to fill again, he made a plan.

            Shaddi, place the cloak of invisibility over me. The simple request made him feel safe and strong. He was angry with himself for being afraid and he was determined not to let fear call out to the Shadow People.

            He would leave the woods on a path perpendicular to his entrance. If the man tried to continue to look for him, he might believe that Adam would have run straight through the park and come out on the opposite side, not at a right angle to his entrance.

            Adam continued to pant but he gulped in all the air he could until he reached the church. His heart pounded hard and fast. He took the key Mr. G. had given him, unlocked the door, slipped in, and closed it to the sleet that covered his clothes with wet, tiny bits of ice pellets. He leaned on the heavy door and didn’t turn on the light. The only sound was that of his rapidly beating heart. Beyond the door, he heard nothing on the street.

            Adam smiled a stiff little smile. His face was so cold, his expression felt frozen in place. As he stood just inside the door of the church, he was glad he was finally home. He didn’t, however, thank God.

            I got myself home, he boasted to himself. Home, he laughed sarcastically. Pastor talks about the church being our home. Little did he know. This may be God’s house on Sunday but it is mine tonight and I don’t want to share.                                                                                                   

  

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Adam spent the next morning at the church. He buffed the hardwoods until the floor shone in the winter sun as it streamed through the windows. He swept the carpet in the sanctuary and pick at each knit-picky that he saw on the floor. He had to stay busy.

            “Adam, I’m glad you’re still here,” Pastor Silverman said when he found the boy in the corner near the grande piano. “Are you about finished here?”

            “I’ve been done but had to stay busy.”

            “You’re going to wear out the carpet, sweeping it again and again.” Pastor smiled.

            “Sorry, Sir.”

            “I was teasing, Adam. Relax. I came over to ask if you could help Mr. and Mrs. Stafford this afternoon.”

            “Fritzy’s grandparents?” He swelled inside at the thought of being a help to Fritzy through the Staffords. “Sure. What kind of help?”

            “They seem to have a rat problem. If you’re not afraid of varmints,” Pastor Silverman smiled. “They’ll pay you for the job,” he added quickly.

            “Well, I hate rats but I really do like that green stuff.” 

            Adam got his jacket and started to walk over to the Stafford home. He walked through some yards in order to avoid the open spaces of the snow covered sidewalk. Blue-car man could appear anywhere at any time. Adam searched the roads as he walked along. He was no where.

            Adam rang Fritzy’s grandparents’ doorbell and shuffled from one cold foot to the other. He turned his back to the house as he waited. He didn’t want to feel vulnerable with his back to the street.

            “Oh Adam, I am so glad you could come,” Mrs. Stafford nearly pulled the boy into the house. “It’s in this way.”

            Adam followed Mrs. Stafford through the living room. He hadn’t even gotten to the dining room yet when he smelled the odor. He didn’t want to say anything in case Mrs. Stafford hadn’t noticed it.

            Mrs. S. stopped at the large captain’s chair at the head of the table. She spun around and laughed. “You mean to tell me, Adam Shoemaker, you can’t smell that awful stench?”

            “Sure I can. I just didn’t know if you could,” Adam admitted with a polite grin.

            “That is why you are here, my boy.” She smoothed over the obvious work to be done as she started into the kitchen.

            “Tell me more,” Adam said but didn’t move.

            “We have a partial basement under the kitchen and dining room and a crawlspace under the livingroom. Rats have gotten into the crawlspace and seem to have—died there.” Mrs. Stafford closed her eyes and held her breath.

            “Wow,” Adam whispered at the thought of how much he hated rats.

            “Mr. Stafford had to go to Lancaster today. He said he’d be home by supper and to pay

you twenty-dollars if you’d take the job. It’s nasty.”

            “Twenty-dollars?” Adam couldn’t believe his good fortune. That would be two full days salary for a man. “I’ll do it. It’s all legal, right? There’s no dead body down there except rats, is there?”

            “Right.” Alma Stafford went to the kitchen sink and took a pair of rubber loves from the storage space underneath. “Here, you won’t have to touch anything,”

            “Thanks. I’m not real anxious to play with the little critters.”

            Adam cautiously crept down the basement steps. He looked for rats but hoped he wouldn’t find any. He studied the area and spied a cellar door on the opposite wall that led out into the backyard. He approached that exit, walked up the cement steps and checked the deadbolt on the door. The latch was unlocked. He turned, then had a better thought. For precaution, he opened the slanted double wooden cellar doors wide.

            Back down the steps, he faced the other wall again.

            “Are you alright down there Adam?” Mrs. S. hollered down the stairs.

            “Yes Ma’am. I’m just setting the stage for a quick and easy exit.”

            “Good thinking,” she said.

            There was something on the floor near the wall. The little blob was about the size of a baby kitten but Adam didn’t want to cuddle it. He tiptoed over and leaned down to get a better look.

            The thing twitched!

            “Yuck! he shuddered.

            It twitched again.

            Adam put on the rubber gloves and held his breath. The odor was horrible. He grabbed the rat by the tail, ran up the cellar steps and flung the beastly stench into the back yard.

            “Hope that’s it,” he gagged.

            He avoided the opening into crawlspace while he edged his way over to the spot. Something shinny was easily seen inside the narrow space. “Eyes?” he shuddered again.

            He eased his hand hesitantly into the opening. Something hard. He jerked his hand back.

            “I can do this,” he insisted. “Shaddi, I can’t stand any part of this. I don’t have to like what I’m doing, I just have to do it.” A sense of determination filled him.

            He reached again for the shinny object. In his mind, he saw eyes, hundreds of beady eyes. “Don’t be silly, Shoemaker. If a rat’s dead, their eyes wouldn’t shine.” He cautiously reached out on the left. The mysterious piece was thin, cold and hard.

            “A pocket knife?”

            Scratch. The sound came from deeper inside the crawlspace.

            He withdrew the cold metal and studied the surface closely. “B. P.” he said as he touched the initials. “Buddy Phillips,” he nodded and jammed the knife into his jeans pocket.

            He heard another noise and knew what he had to do. He hoisted himself into the four foot tall crawlspace and slithered on his stomach. The putrid odor was stronger the farther he crawled. The space was dark but there was enough light to see the tail of another rat a few inches from his left hand. He grabbed the ugly thing by a hind foot, backed out of the space and dashed up the cellar steps and gagged as he went.

            Hold it! Hold it! he commanded himself. At the top of the steps, he flung the rat and his lunch at the same time. He doubled over and threw up again.

            “Shaddi,” Adam pleaded, “you have given me super smell. Please, I beg of you, turn it

off for a while.” Adam felt a numbness in his nose. “Thanks.”

            With steely determination, he threw himself back into the space under the floor, reached,

grabbed and pulled another dead rodent out. He ran up the steps, threw the rat into the yard and hacked up some more of his last meal.

            “Shaddi,” he gagged. “It’s hard to smell now, but it’s still easy to up-chuck. Not sure how that works.”

            Adam drug himself back into the basement and stared at the crawlspace opening again. He knew he had to go back under. Over on an old white wooden table on the left wall he spied a flashlight.

            “Please work, please work” he willed the battery beam. He pushed the button and closed his eyes. Light burst forth.

            He jumped up on the ledge that led to the space and crawled inside again. With the flashlight clutched firmly in his left hand, he flashed the beam right and left. Nothing but dirt. Ahead was not as clean. Two more dead rats lay on the ground. He grabbed them by anything that stuck out and started to ease himself back while violently retching.

            Adam took one last look around before leaving. He flashed the light into the deeper recesses of the space. He saw no other rats—except. In the middle of the area was a heavy, thick cross beam that ran the full length of the house. Just beyond the beam he could see another filthy carcass. But, there was no way to reach the ugly critter.

            He backed out for the last time, dashed up the steps, flung the two decaying disgusting disease carriers into the burn barrel in the back yard and commenced to throw up again. It felt like he emptied everything down to his toenails.

            I didn’t eat that much for lunch. Must be breakfast and last night’s dinner too.

            “Adam?” Mr. Stafford called down the basement steps.

            “Coming.” Adam raced back down the cellar steps and up the basement staircase. “Yes Sir,” he panted.

            “You okay, Son?” The older man patted Adam on the shoulder as soon as he came up.

            “Here Adam. Have a glass of ginger ail. You’ll feel a whole lot better. ” Mrs. Stafford  offered. “I could hear your sacrifice.”

            “I’m so sorry,” Mr. Stafford appeared to be embarrassed. “I had no idea there would be that many. Thank you so much.”

            “I’m afraid there’s more,” Adam said. “There is one trapped in the middle of the room above the crawlspace and I can’t get to it due to the cross beams.”

            “The middle of that room is the living room.” Mrs. Stafford threw her apron up over her face. “Oh dear, our New Year’s Eve party will have to be cancelled.”

            “The stench is pretty bad, Honey, but, maybe no one will notice,” Willard Stafford stifled a laughed, then couldn’t contain himself any longer. He dissolved into great gulps of laughter.

            Alma stared at him, then smacked his shoulder and grinned. “Well, do you have another solution?”

            “Adam, you pull the carpet back in the living room and I’ll go get the tools.” Mr. S. said as he started for the tool shed out back.

            “Willard Stafford, what are you going to do?” Alma folded herself onto a kitchen chair like a limp linen tea towel.

            “Only what has to be done, Dear.”

            “I don’t think I’m going to like any of this,” she complained.

            The large Persian carpet spanned the center of the living room to within a foot of the wall on all four sides. Adam moved all the furniture from the right side of the living room to the left. He grabbed hold of one corner of the carpet and pulled it diagonally across the room in the direction of the stacked sofa and chairs.

            “I have what I need,” Mr. Stafford said as he marched back into the living room like an Army General as he staged an attack.

            “What can I do to help?” Adam offered.

            “Thank you, Adam but Mrs. Stafford will be as mad as a starving she-lion when I’m done. I don’t want you to get in her path. I’ll have to do this myself but please stand by in case I need to be resuscitated.” Willard reached out his hand. “The gloves please.”

            Alma Stafford and Adam sat down in the remaining pieces of living room furniture and watched in stunned disbelief. Willard took his brace and bit in hand and drilled a small hole right in the middle of the living room floor. Then he placed the pointed end of a keyhole saw in the opening and gradually cut out a crude opening in the middle of the oak hardwood.

            Alma said nothing. She sat in stunned silence.

            Willard laid on the floor, reached into the opening and fished around for the last beastly body. “It’s in here.” He touched the rat and his face turned white. “Oh no,” he shuddered as he jumped to his feet, as fast as a grandfather can leap, and dashed outside. He gagged the whole way out the front door.

            “I’ll try to get it Ma’am,” Adam volunteered but didn’t want to. The last rat out was probably the first one in and the first to die.

            Adam had given Mr. Staffer the gloves so his hands were bare.  He closed his eyes and whispered one word, “Shaddi.”

            The slimy, decayed skin of the grotesque creature had dried in one spot of the underbelly. It was hard for Adam to pull it loose, all the while he stifled his gag response. He slid his fingernails under the slippery body and popped the tiny spot up.

            He couldn’t aim for the back yard, it was too far away. So, he pulled the maggot infested rat from under the living room floor of one of the most elegant homes in Middletown and ran out the front were he jammed the indescribable rodent into a snow drift where it could remain on ice. Adam threw up whatever was left in his stomach then rolled his bare hands in another snow pile as he tried to wash off the slithery slim.

            Mrs. Stafford followed them onto the porch and brought her apron up around her shoulders. “Thank you gentlemen. That is what I call bravery.”

Sequel, Escape from the Shadows, is available on amazon.com and b&n.com. If you remember snail-mail, for a better price, check out offer at www.dorisgainesrapp.com.

Segment Thirteen - Escape from the Belfry Copyright 2013 Doris Gaines Rapp

Chapter Twenty-Five

Better lock up the pastor’s study, Adam thought as he slowly walked around in the room of books and paintings and art before he left. He breathed in all the sweet smells of a man who knows who he is and why he is. Was Pops ever like this? Adam’s question hung in the air with no answer.

            Adam moved around the room slowly taking everything in. He ran his fingers across the back of the deep maroon leather chair that sat at the desk and drank in the perfume of the hide. He carefully picked up a brass figurine of a small child with his curly head laid in the lap of Christ. The piece was amazing and roused the artist within him. He longed for his home, his family, and he grieved for the loss of his own future, of who he could have become.

            I trust you, Adam, he heard Pastor Silverman say. What would we ever do without you?

            Adam looked around the room again. “I do belong in an office like this.” Alone and defeated or not, there was one thing he always believed in. It was something Pops had said.  “Tomorrow is always better if you live fully in today.”

            Pops also said, “Hard work never hurt anyone, Son. Laziness destroys the body, the mind, the spirit, and the future of anyone.”

            Pops? Why do I remember words of wisdom from him? I haven’t cared what Pops had said for a long time. Why am I thinking about him now all of a sudden? He left us and won’t ever come back.

            “I have loosed your memory, My Son,” Shaddi spoke in his ear. “Remember more.”

            Moms’ words as he left the sanatarium on Christmas rattled around in his head. “Be fair Adam. Your daddy did not leave us. He was drafted. Your father was . . . no . . . he is a quiet man. But, just because he didn’t talk very much, that does not define his character. He loved us both. He would never desert his country or his family.” 

            “Truth is the only present I have for you today,” she had said as she kissed him goodbye at the sanatarium. “But, if you will accept the gift, truth will be the most valuable present you will ever receive. Make your peace with the memory of your father, Adam. Only you will suffer if you don’t.”

            A gift is it? The “truth” she called it. Tears filled his eyes and that made him angry too.  He didn’t want to cry over anything. He was cried out. But, what if Moms is right?

            Adam locked the office door and ran his fingers over the panels in the dark, heavy wood.  Now I have to get busy. If I don’t, this day will drag on and turn into all the others, full of nothing. Fritzy doesn’t believe me anymore. Mr. G. is probably in the hospital because he thinks I’m a thief. But—maybe things can be different. I know some people believe in me.

            He grabbed the sweeper off the floor where he had dropped it and put in the new filter Alfred had nearly died over. Why didn’t I stop him? He cleaned the carpets vigorously, then the mop boards, the window sills, and the furniture. He put a clean cloth over the end of a dust mop and carefully ran the extended dust rag over the surface of all the stained glass windows. With the furniture polish he found in the utility closet, he rubbed the pulpit, lectern, and pews until they shone.

            As he worked, he could feel anger and tension flow from his muscles, mind and heart—out through his hands and arms as he polished and cleaned. He laughed out loud. Pops was right! As impossible as that would have been to admit a few days ago, he was living proof Pops’ wisdom was true. Hard work cleanses the mind, the soul, and the body.

            Then why do I still feel so confused all the time? Why am I always on the washboard road of life? Why are things so rough? Why does every face of joy have to wear a dark mask? Will life always be this way?

   

Chapter Twenty-Six

Another day dawned in the belfry on Cranberry Street. I cannot drag myself out of bed. I don’t want to face anything. Adam rolled over and stared at the empty room. The hummingbird was still gone and he was still alone. I have to see Mr. G., not because I must, because I want to want to.

            Adam was surprised. He was not stiff or sore as he thought he would be after the previous day’s hard work. He smiled to himself when he thought about all he had accomplished. Amazing how a good day’s work makes you feel great.

            The wind had blown hard and cold during the night. Icy air howled through the old rafters and made the room seem even more cold than the temperature would have revealed. He heard limbs crack from tall tree trunks and wondered when one would come through the roof.

            Adam certainly didn’t look forward to the hike across town, especially with such a heavy heart, in such a heavy snow fall. How could he look Mr. Gunderman in the eye when Mr. G. thought he was a thief? He had never even seen the carving of the Christ Child and he would never have taken the carving that was so precious to everyone. The strange fact that both he and the thieves needed twenty-five dollars was just a coincidence.

            “I don’t know why those guys need the money,” Adam mumbled to the cold, empty tower room. “My cause is noble, well sort of. I needed twenty-five dollars to buy some coal for the farm and to take Frederica to the New Years Eve Party, but now she thinks I’m a liar.” He stumbled around as he looked for his left clodhopper. “I did not lie. I just didn’t tell her about my life. Why would I? She wouldn’t have wanted to be around me if she knew.” The more he thought about the whole situation, the madder he got.

            “Wait ‘til she finds out Pops might be a deserter, even if he used to be a good man.” His feelings about his father were a thrill ride, at the top Pops was a great guy, at the bottom a reprobate. That made him even more angry. Why couldn’t he settle his feelings on the man? Why was Pops okay one day and totally unacceptable the next?

            He shoved his foot into the shoe that was half buried under his bedding. As he bent over to tie the laces, he spied the little saucer in the corner of the tower and thought of the hummer.

            “Just another deserter.” He felt his heart harden with the cement of bitterness. He had plunged once again into the icy, acidic waters of despair. “At least a stone-cold heart will be harder to break.”

            I can’t procrastinate any longer. If I’m going to visit Mr. G. I had better get started. He put on his coat, hat and gloves and started out on foot. His first stop was at Pastor Silverman’s home.

            “Good morning, Adam,” Mrs. Silverman greeted when she opened the door.

            “I need to return Pastor’s keys, Ma’am.”

            “Hi Adam,” Pastor Silverman chimed in.

            “Yes Sir, Good morning. I’m returning your keys.” Adam handed over the ring with the

fob in the shape of a cross.

            “Thank you, Adam,” Pastor said with enthusiasm. “We are so lucky to have someone like you covering for all of us when things happen. We can depend on you.”

            “Thank you, Sir.” There’s that flattery again. Does he mean what he says or is he just being happy, happy, happy like a lot of other church people?

            “Can we get you some coffee or hot chocolate, Adam?” Mrs. Silverman offered.

            “No thank you. I have to be on my way.” He didn’t tell them where he was going. They’d probably want to drive me over. I can’t be beholding to everyone in town, he thought as he started out. He had never minded walking. He was used to being on foot. That was simply how he got to places he wanted or needed to go.

            An hour later, covered with icy snow, both on the inside and the out, he stumbled into the main entrance of Middletown Community Hospital. “I would like to see Alfred Gunderman,” Adam whispered and gasped for air as he tried to regain warmth to the breath within him.

            “Are you all right?” The receptionist at the Information Desk asked when she saw the tall young boy stagger in. “You don’t have enough spek on your bones to keep you warm.”

            “Yes, Ma’am.” Adam blew on his hands but his lungs were so full of cold air, little warmth breathed forth. “I would like to see Alfred Gunderman, please,” he repeated. “What room is he in?”

            “Are you family?”

            “Sort of like family.” Shaddi what do I say? Then he remembered what Alfred had said. “I live with him.”

            While the receptionist looked up the room number, Adam turned his back to the desk. He

blew again on his frozen fingers, this time with the warm breath heated by the presence of Shaddi.

            “That’s fine, Young Man.” The reception said as she looked down at her notebook. “Let’s see, he is in room 204, at least for a while. He’ll go home this afternoon.”

            “Great!” Adam started down the hall toward the elevator.

            “Two-hundred . . .” he marked off the numbers from the end of the hall. “Two-hundred two, two-hundred four,” he ticked them off and stopped. Adam took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and walked in.

            “Adam,” Mrs. Gunderman hurried over and gave the boy a big grandma-hug. “Tell me you didn’t walk.”

            “I can’t, ‘cause I did.”

            “Well, I will run you back to town when you’re ready to go. I have to pick up some pills at the pharmacy for Al. Then, I’ll come back here this afternoon and take him home.”

            “How are your doing?” Adam approached the bedside cautiously. Mr. Gunderman looked weak to him and Adam was worried.

            “Adam, what a surprise. You didn’t have to walk all the way over here. I’m fine. Some

little pills the doc ordered are going to fix me up real good.” Mr. Gunderman reached out his hand and took Adam’s in his.

            “I thought your heart attack was my fault―”

            “Your fault? No, no, no. My ticker just complains a little sometimes. Doc said I was really lucky this time. He said something caused it to start up again after it stopped. That’s why I need you at the church to help me. To take a little of the load off.”

            Adam heard what Alfred had said and a sense of knowing came over him, but that wasn’t what he worried about right then. “Mr. Gunderman, I did not take that Christ Child carving.” Adam was emphatic.

            “My goodness, Boy, I know that.” He was not ready to let go of Adam’s hand. “I didn’t get to finish what I was saying yesterday. I have worried about that for the past few hours.”

            “Don’t worry because of me, Mr. G.”

            “And why not?”

            “I have lived a lie—for months now. I didn’t expect you to believe the truth.”

            “We shook hands on the truth, Adam.” He smiled with a caring smile. “Now you let me finish. I just meant that it was interesting that both you and the thief said you need the same amount of money, twenty-five dollars. I figured, he must be a young person, like you.” He looked at Adam thoughtfully. “Now, what is all this talk about lies?”

            “I just make up things that make me look better than I am. I like nice stories, make believe, rather than the real stuff that’s so hard. Like hummingbirds flying south on the wings of Northern geese. Nice tale, but not true, just made up to make things sound miraculous.” Adam hung his head, his voice was a whisper.

            “But the hummingbird story is a miracle, Adam. No, they don’t piggyback on larger birds. But, those tiny hummers, who have to eat nectar all of the time, manage to fly all the way across our southern states to Mexico or Central America with only God as their strength. Some fly through the eastern two thirds of Texas and others through Florida and Cuba. Some little birds fly right across the Gulf of Mexico. If you don’t think that’s a miracle, you don’t recognize the miracles that are all around you.”

            Adam smiled and thought about what Mr. Gunderman was saying, but said nothing.

            “You shouldn’t live a lie, Son. If a tiny bird can fly hundreds of miles Adam, you can endure what you are dealt. I know you have the strength.”

            “I’m afraid, Mr. G. If people knew me, they wouldn’t like me. I don’t like me.” He was silent a minute while fear boiled inside him.

            The corners of the hospital room grew dark. Maybe a cloud passed in front of the sun, but Adam didn’t think so. He felt the presence of the shadow people but he did not see them or smell their repulsive odor. He chose to disavow them. In his mind, they were not there.

            “Does anyone still think I stole the statue,” Adam asked cautiously. He wanted to know, but he didn’t want to hear the answer. “Like the Bremans—or maybe Fritzy?” Adam could not stand the thought that his name may have been ruined.

            “I don’t know, Son. I’ve been in here.”

            I do. She was mad.

            “I’m glad you’re still here Adam,” Mrs. Gunderman said as she breezed back into the room. “Could I get you to do me a favor?”

            “Now a boy can always use a good cheese sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup,” Gunderman suggested.

            “All right then, for a sandwich and a bowl of soup, would you please help me take down the Christmas tree at our house and move the living room furniture around so Alfred can see out the window this afternoon when he gets home? While he rests, he would enjoy watching the comings and goings up and down the street.”

            “Sure.”

            “Arletta, I can move that furniture.” Alfred insisted as he rose up on his elbow.

            “No!” Arletta and Adam responded in unison.

■  ■  ■

“Now you come right in here, Adam. We’ll tend to lunch first.” Once they were back at the house, Mrs. Gunderman led the way to the kitchen. “I haven’t had anything to eat since yesterday noon either. I stayed at the hospital with Al last evening.”

            “You must be hungry too, Mrs. G.”

            “I hadn’t thought about food but—oh my. Adam, look at this!” Arletta stood at the kitchen sink and looked out over the back yard.

            “I heard the wind blowing last night, but I never thought―”

            Outside the Gunderman’s kitchen window the view was a jumble of twisted, broken branches and icy tree limbs. The entire half of Gunderman’s large maple tree that faced the house lay on the ground and the small top branches draped over the back porch rail.

            “A few more inches and that tree would be laying in the kitchen, Mrs. G.”

            “Well, now,” Mrs. Gunderman rolled up her sleeves and got out a soup pan, “I believe I  have several jobs for you, if you want them.”

            “Okay,” he didn’t know yet what she had in mind but he didn’t want to go back to the cold, windy bell tower—not yet.

            “I’ll show you where I want you to put the chair and you can move the furniture while I fix lunch. Then, if you want to make some money after lunch, you can get the ax out of the shed,” she paused and looked at Adam carefully. “Have you ever used an ax?”

            “Sure.”

            “Now don’t tell me a story, Adam. Don’t stretch the truth. Holding an ax is not the same as using one. Do you know how to swing an ax and not chop your foot off? I can’t send you home to your ma with only half a foot.” 

            “Yes, Ma’am, I mean, no Ma’am.” He stammered a little but he was telling the truth. He had helped his grandfather chop wood many times, even as a ten-year-old. “You want me to clear that tree away from the house for you?”

            “Well, yes, I do. I want you to chop the whole thing up for firewood. If you can get all that done, I’ll give you the four dollars I have in my purse and you can keep all the wood you chop. How is that for a creative barter?”

            “That would be great!” Of course! he nearly shouted inside. He hadn’t thought that they could heat the farmhouse with wood in the fireplaces. “I think that is how the farmhouse had been heated when the home was first built. That would be great.”

            After lunch, the weather was still bitter cold but Adam jumped right into the job, thankful for the hard work, for being able to help Mr. G., for the money, and especially for the wood. Besides, the hard work kept him warm in spite of the unrelenting winter. With every swing of the ax, he thought of Moms.

            When Moms gets home, we’ll have a family again. His mind raced through the empty rooms of the farmhouse and turned on every light. But, with the new illumination came the bold truth that Pops wasn’t part of the picture, not now, maybe not ever.

            Shaddi, give me super strength. Adam swung the ax high, the full stretch of his arms, and brought the blade down swift and hard onto the downed trunk. The work went fast, strike upon strike, blow upon blow. He envisioned the rapid, jerky movements of an old time movie, with Charlie Chaplin toddling down the road in record time.

            When Adam finished all the chopping, he used a maul and wedges to wrestle the largest  logs into firewood size pieces. Mrs. G. had told him to pile up the split wood by the shed until he was able to have the logs transported out to the farm. He stood back and looked at the stack of firewood with pride.

            Mrs. G. opened the storm door and called to the boy. “It looks great Adam.”

            “It’s a fourth of a cord. I’m sure of it,” he puffed with pride. “I know that a cord of wood measures four feet wide by four feet high and eight feet long when the logs are lined up in tightly stacked rows of the same size pieces.” He stood back and eyed the work he had just done.  “Leaning against the shed, I know that stack is a fourth of a cord.”

            “Wonderful!” she called out as she started to close the door against the genuine winter day. “You’ve done a fine job.”

            As Adam stood admiring his hard, muscle-building work, he realized a truth. With all of the talk about honesty, he still preferred the lie. He knew that wood needs a whole year to cure until he can burn the logs in the fireplace, but he could not face that fact, that truth. All he could see in his homey, imagined scene, was his mother and him sitting in front of a nice warm fire in their own home.

            “Adam, come in here please,” Mrs. G. called from the house.

            He put away all of the tools he had used and went back into the warmth of the kitchen.

            “I have been thinking,” Arletta began and patted the kitchen chair beside her. “Would you like a cup of cocoa? I’ll make you a cup.”

            “Yes, Ma’am, that would be great. It is cold out there.” He rubbed his hands together to generate some heat and blew on them with Shaddi’s help.

            Mrs. G. passed him the cup and he warmed his hands some more as he wrapped them around the mug. He even thought of putting his fingers in the hot drink. Then he thought of a better idea and blew across the surface of the warm chocolate so the steam could rise and warm his face.

            “I have been thinking,” Mrs. G. began. “We still haven’t gotten to the guest area yet, but that’s okay for today. The tree interrupted us.”

            “Yes, Ma’am.”

            “That little guest space has a bedroom, a small sitting room and a bathroom. The apartment is very comfortable. There’s even a little kitchenette. I wonder—now please, don’t take this the wrong way. I know you have a home and family but—I understand from Alfred that your mother has been in the TB Sanitarium and is ready to be released as soon as your home is ready for her. Is that right?”

            “Yes,” Adam spoke slowly and wondered what she was getting at. Did everybody in town know that he was homeless, that Moms was sick, and that Pops was a deserter?

            “I wonder if you and your mother would be willing to move into the guest house for a few months while your house is readied for your mother’s return. When school starts again, after this Christmas break, I’ll have to go back to work. I’m a cook in the elementary school cafeteria. I know Alfred will not stop working at the church but Pastor will be around every day to remind him to slow down. And, you will be there after school to help him lighten his workload. I sure would feel more at peace if your mother was around here at my home, so she could check on him on Al’s days off. Not do anything, mind ya. I know she’s been sick. I wouldn’t expect her to do a lick of work, but if she sees him laying on the ground in the back yard, I would feel better if someone was here to call for help.”

            “Well―” Adam didn’t know what to say.

            “Al said the place where you are now living is too small for both you and your mother.”

            “Small, yes, too small—among other things.” He tried to make sense of all that had happened. Thoughts and doubts ricocheted around in his head. Why would anyone do anything that big for me? She doesn’t know I’ve been homeless?

            “How much would the rent be?” Adam asked. Nothing’s ever free. What else will happen? With every blessing comes a curse.

            “Oh, there would be no rent, Adam. You would be doing me a favor. I couldn’t pay you and your mother very much, maybe $5.00 a week?”

            “Pay us?”

            “Yes, Dear, of course—for keeping your eye out after Alfred and you could keep the sidewalk shoveled. School will be over in May and then I’ll be home all day through the summer. I can keep my eye on that scamp myself. What do you think?”

            “I haven’t seen the space, but if you think the apartment will work, then I guess the place  will be okay.” Adam’s head was in a spin. Having a place for Moms to come home was a good thing, he knew that. But, he still didn’t want to accept help from others.

            “Don’t be takin’ handouts from anyone,” Grandpa had always warned.

            Adam felt poorer than poor. He had no money, no warm home, no running water, no electricity, and no father to make things right. When would the hard luck end? Was this the beginning of the end? Was he now the man in the family? Had Shaddi provided the space or Mr. O’Shaughnessy? And, what would be the cost if the benefactor was the little one?

The sequel, Escape from the Shadows, is available on Amazon and B&N.com. For a discount, go to www.dorisgainesrapp.com. 

Segment Twelve - Escape from the Belfry Copyright 2013 Doris Gaines Rapp

Chapter Twenty-Three

That’s okay. I don’t need her. I don’t need anybody. Fritzy had turned her back and walked on.

            Once back inside the church, Adam yanked the sweeper across the church’s hall floor. The heavy vacuum cleaner banged into the wall and he winced. Great, that’s all I need. Scuff marks on the walls.

            As he pulled and pushed his way around the church, the smell of the carpet reminded him to be thankful for the hard work that morning. It felt good to scrub and dust and sweep Mr. G’s house. Maybe he could let go of his confused feelings about Fritzy. After spending the night in jail, maybe he was scouring some of the dirt of the clink off him. With every elbow bending rub of the cloth on pews and tables, Adam was getting out more anger and frustration.   

            “I’m going downstairs and get you another sweeper bag. Looks like you’ll need one.” Alfred’s speech was slow and labored.

            “I’ll go down,” Adam offered. “Just tell me where they are. You don’t look like you’re feeling too good Mr. G.”

            “”No, I’m fine. Just feeling tired today.”

            “Please, I’ll get the bag,” Adam dropped the sweeper and started after the old gentleman.

            “I need for you to fold up all those extra tables and chairs. Just stack them neatly in the storeroom. They’re too heavy for me today.”

            “But―”

            “Now, never you mind, Adam,” Alfred waved him off as he started down the stairs.

            Adam waited until he heard Mr. G. get to the bottom. There were fourteen steps and he listened, thirteen . . . fourteen.

            Why didn’t I stop him? He shouldn’t have walked down those stairs. What will happen when he tries to come back up? I didn’t stop Mr. G. any more than I stopped those boys. What’s wrong with me?

            Adam hurried into the Honeywell Lounge and grabbed the first table. There were only  four extra tables on that floor. They had been put up for those who couldn’t get down stairs after the Christmas Eve service. No one would want to miss Holiday cookies and punch. A dozen or so extra chairs dotted the room. Adam had them down and folded in no time and hurried back into the foyer.

            “You okay Mr. G?” Adam hollered down the stairs.

            “Of course. Did ya think I would explode from too many Christmas sweets?”

            “No Sir. Just thought I could help.” Adam started down the stairs.

            “Now Adam, quit your fussin'. I need you to put up that large candle stand, with the big green candle on top, to the right of the altar. Pastor says green represents new plant life and we have a whole new year ahead of us. Says the symbolism is his thing, but I like it.”

“Sure, Mr. G. Where are the stand and candle?”

            “In that tall narrow closet next to the crank for the roll-up door.”

            Adam hated to leave the stairwell. He was afraid Mr. Gunderman would need him and he might not hear him from the Lounge. But, Mr. G. was his boss and he would follow through as told. He quickly took the candle and stand from the closet and placed them exactly where he was told. He stepped back and looked at the arrangement.

            “Sure would look better placed a little farther forward than this,” Adam mumbled out loud. “But, I do as I am told.” He took another glance. “I still think―” He stopped when he heard the door open to the narthex.

            “Morning Adam. Where’s Alfred? He’ll want to hear this.” Pastor Silverman came in excited, waving a scrap of paper.

            “Hi Pastor.” Adam tried to be friendly but he didn’t feel very amiable.

            “That Smeltzer family makes a mess don’t they,” he noticed the paper and crumbs Adam was sweeping up.

            “I guess they’re a big family. If you have a hundred cousins and kinfolks, all unwrapping presents, you’re going to leave some paper around.”

            “Well, I’m not complaining. We’re always pleased when the church is in use. What better place to celebrate family at Christmas time, than in the church?” Silverman turned as footsteps approached on the hard wood floor. “There you are Alfred.”

            “Pastor,” Gunderman acknowledged. “Here’s the sweeper bag, Adam.” Alfred’s hand shook as he handed the bag to Adam.

            “Mr. G?” Adam was worried about the man. Gunderman was out of breath, his hands shook, and he looked pale.

            Pastor Silverman was too excited to notice. “We have good news and bad news about the carving of the Christ Child.”

            “What?” Alfred was excited before he even heard the reading of the note. He had caught Pastor’s enthusiasm and leaned one hand on Adam’s shoulder as if including him in the good news.

            Adam could feel a different message from the man. He could feel Mr. G’s hand shake through his flannel shirt.

            Pastor Silverman unfolded the piece of paper with excited hands. “This note was put between the door and the storm door over at the parsonage. The door bell rang and we heard the sound of boots as they ran off the porch. We were in the kitchen but heard the bell and the steps.” He smoothed the paper with his fingers.

“Dear Pastor Silverman, I know the church likes the statue of Jesus. I will return the  carving if $25.00 is placed in an envelope and left at the foot of the slide in Jefferson Park. No one had better be around when I pick up the ransom. If the money’s there and no one’s around, I’ll put the statue in a brown paper bag and leave the sack on the front steps of the church.”

            “A ransom note?” Adam was shocked. “Who would do such a thing?” Yet, he already knew. He just could not believe those boys would try to ransom the carving and plan to sell it too.

            “Wait a minute. Did you say twenty-five dollars?” Alfred turned to Adam. “That’s the amount you said you needed.” His face grew white and drained. Suddenly, Mr. Gunderman grabbed his chest and fell over onto Adam.

            “No, Mr. G. No! It wasn’t me—I didn’t—” But Gunderman couldn’t hear him. He had collapsed on the floor at Adam’s feet.

            Shaddi, save him. Touch his heart and make him well, Adam begged. But all he heard was the sound of labored breathing.

            Adam bent down and tried to gather the old man in his arms. How could he make him hear?

            “Touch him my Son. I will send him back.” Shaddi whispered in his ear.

            I can’t save him, Shaddi, Adam cried.

            “I didn’t say you would heal him, Son. I said, touch him and I will send him back.”

            Adam knew no one else heard his Shaddi’s words but he knew he had to obeyed. The boy frantically touched Alfred’s chest and immediately felt the static shock he had felt when he touched Buddy. What could touch possibly do?          

  

Chapter Twenty-Four

Pastor Silverman ran into his office, grabbed the phone and quickly dialed the hospital. “Yes, good,” Adam could hear Pastor’s side of the conversation. “You have an ambulance at Russell Franklin’s home? How would you have room? Oh, okay. The church on Cranberry Street.”

            “Sounds like they’re close,” Adam tried to reassure Mr. G. although the old man had not regained consciousness.

            “They’re close, yes Adam. Russell Franklin fell and his wife called the hospital. When the ambulance got there, just minutes ago, Russell refused to ride in the thing. He said, ‘I am not going anywhere laying down. An ambulance is too much like the last ride I’ll take in a hearse. If I decide to go to the hospital, and mind you, I have not decided that, my Louise can take me. She can drive ya know.’”

            Adam smiled faintly as he held Alfred’s head in his lap. Not the curse again—with every blessing comes a curse.

            “Snow’s coming down,” Pastor spoke mechanically as he watched out the front door windows for the ambulance to come. Then he walked over and knelt down beside the two, the stricken in body and the stricken in heart.

            Adam looked up and watched the snow float down in giant clumps. Like a shimmering white curtain, the icy snow shrouded the reality that he feared and became the backdrop for a nicer scene. In his mind he stepped out into the deepening snow but it felt warm. Everywhere he walked, the snow melted and green blades pushed up from the damp ground. Clover leaves opened all around him, but not just any three-leaf variety. Everyone of them had four-leaves on the stems and he smiled. He didn’t speak the name, but he knew—the magic was from Mr. O’Shaughnessy.

            “Alfred, I am going to assume you can hear me. I know God can.” Pastor prayed for Alfred’s health, his strength, and his peace. He prayed that God would work his wonders in Alfred’s life as he went to the hospital to heal.

            Adam’s hand rested on Mr. G’s chest. The boy could feel a warmth increase beneath his hand. Adam’s fingers floated just a hair’s width above the gruff spoken, dear old man.

             The ambulance slid to a stop out front. The driver and his attendant rushed in with a stretcher, lifted Alfred onto the canvas and carried him away. The whole scene was like a dream to Adam.

            “Adam, here are my keys.” Silverman tossed him a large key ring loaded with keys of various shapes and metals. “Please go back to my office and call Mrs. Gunderman. Tell her what happened. Then call my wife and let her know that I’m going to ride with Alfred in the ambulance. Ask her to please bring the car to the hospital to pick me up. Then, just lock up when you’re done.” Pastor Silverman barked orders as he ran after the stretcher that carried his friend.

            “Okay,” Adam answered mechanically. His mind was rattled and the impact hit him hard.  He looked down at the keys, then his eyes followed the rescuers all the way out the door.

            “I didn’t take that carving Pastor,” he called after them as they neared the door. Adam was deeply worried for Mr. Gunderman and afraid for himself. Then he felt guilt for his self pity.

            “Of course not,” Pastor Silverman turned back to Adam and smiled broadly. “You think I would give you the keys to my office if I thought you had stolen the carving?”

            Again Adam stared at the ring of keys in his hand. One looked like the key to the pastor’s car. One was probably the key to the front door of the parsonage. The brass key he recognized as the one that unlocked the church door. That left the skeleton key. That has to be the one to the study.

            Adam walked around the corner, unlocked the door, and stepped into a world of books and leather and spiritual touches that aroused a strange feeling within him. The room was warm and elegant at the same time. He felt strangely at home. Will I ever belong in an office like this?

            He took the receiver from the phone’s cradle and hesitated. Then he put the receiver to his ear and listened.

            “Well, I don’t know Maud,” he heard through the receiver. “You were there when I reminded Harold that I wanted a blue housecoat for Christmas. He deliberately bought me a new coffee pot so he could enjoy my gift too.” Party-line patron number one complained to someone named Maud about her husband’s choice of Christmas present.

            “Oh Shirley, you don’t think he―”

            “Ladies,” Adam butted in, “I hate to interrupt you but―”

            “Well then don’t, young man,” Shirley ordered. “Hang up and go away. Say, who are you? You aren’t on our party-line”

            What should he do? He couldn’t convince anyone of anything. Shaddi, give me the gift of persuasion. Let me be a convincer.

            “Please . . . Shirley . . . Ma’am, I have to use the phone for an emergency,” Adam stammered.

            “Mrs. Bartoni to you.” Then her tone lightened to interest. “What emergency?”

            “Yes, Mrs. Bartoni. I’m sorry. I have to place a phone call.”

            “Well of course, if you have to make an emergency call, it would be a phone call.”

            “Mrs. Bartoni, you sound like a very nice lady.” Adam lied again. She had actually been very snippy with him. Adam began to think he would die from choking on a lie some day. “I have to call Mrs. Gunderman to tell her that her husband was just taken to the hospital.”

            “Alfred?” The Shirley-line-mate questioned.

            “Yes, Ma’am.”

            “Get off the phone Maud so this boy can make an important call. I’ll talk to you later.”

            “Thank you ladies.” When he heard the two lines click and the dial tone hummed in his ear, he made the hardest call of his life.

            “Mrs. Gunderman, this is Adam.”

            “Well hello, Dear.”

            “Mrs. Gunderman, Mr. G. collapsed here at the church a few minutes ago and was taken to the hospital.”

            “What? The hospital? Is he alright?”

            “I don’t know how he is Ma’am. They just took him away and the sign on the side of the ambulance said Middletown Community Hospital. Pastor Silverman was here and rode along  

with him in the ambulance.” 

            “Oh thank the Lord. And, thank you, Adam. I will go right over. You’ll say a prayer for Al, won’t you?”

            “Of course,” was his answer but inside his thoughts were different. As he dialed the Silverman home, he thought, Prayer? I don’t know how to pray. God, just help Mr. G. please. Amen.

            “Young man, you said you were just calling Arletta Gunderman,” Shirley Bartoni scolded as Adam dialed again.

            “Mrs. Bartoni? Where you listening in?”

            “Indeed I was not? I just picked up the phone and heard you dial again.”

            “How did you know that wasn’t my first call?”

            “Never mind that,” she protested.

            “Hello?” Mrs. Silverman answered.

            “This is Adam Shoemaker . . . and Mrs. Bartoni is just hanging up,” Adam announced more boldly.

            “Well, I never!” Shirley Bartoni announced with disgust and embarrassment.  

            I doubt you never. Adam was wise enough to think it but not say it out loud. “Pastor Silverman asked me to call you. Mr. Gunderman collapsed and was taken to the hospital by ambulance. Pastor went along to stay with him until his wife gets there. Pastor would like for you to pick him up there at the Middletown Hospital.”

            “Yes, Adam, of course. Thank you so much. What would we do without you?”

            What would you do without me? I haven’t heard that kind of talk in a long time. “I still

have Pastor’s keys. Do you want me to bring them over before you leave?”

            “No, that’s all right. He can get them tomorrow. I know they are safe with you,” Mrs. Silverman answered, then hung up.

            I know I can trust you, Adam rehearsed as he tried to bury the thought in his heart where the shadows couldn’t add doubt again. What would we do without you, Adam? I can trust you.