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CHAPTER 1
It was late afternoon as the sun began to set behind the dam, turning the water in the lake a pale yellow. There was no wind, which created stillness in the surroundings. The day became cooler and a haze started to build across the lake. A boy’s head emerged from the water, creating concentric waves. The boy kept his head at the water level; his eyes stared at the wake of a water glider as it skated on its four legs across the placid surface. As he tracked the insect’s graceful movement, another head suddenly appeared from underneath the water. “I wish I could glide across the lake all day,” Nick said as his friend Tommy came out of the water beside him. “I want to be other things than a bug,” Tommy said in a dismissive tone as Nick started to swim across the lake, trying to imitate the glider. Nick spoke about animals and insects as if they were his friends, but Tommy thought he should be getting out of the habit. After all, Nick was turning seven and should be familiar with more adult things such as baseball or football. At eleven, Tommy was more mature and aware of the world around him. Tommy saw Nick swim more than fifty yards ahead and was amazed how a smaller kid could be more of an athlete than he. Tommy was five-five with a lanky body. He hoped in a few years, with his long arms and legs, he could be a state champion swimmer or basketball player. Nick had a more compact, muscular frame with a crawl stroke that enabled him to move the water efficiently around his body. Tommy swam after Nick and was exhausted when he finally reached him in the middle of the lake. “We should go. I don’t want any trouble with my folks,” Tommy said. “You’re such a wuss,” Nick said defiantly. “We’ve just got here and I haven’t even started exploring.” With that, he began swimming towards the base of the dam. Nick was a risk taker and adventurer, whereas Tommy was more of a thinker. These complementary qualities formed much of the basis of their friendship. Swimming in the lake had been prohibited ever since a high school senior drowned on a prom night while skinny-dipping with his date. Ever since, signs had been posted warning of fines for bathing and other activities taking place near the water. The signs had served less of a warning than an enticement. On occasion, some teenager would be seen in a police car being taken back to town after a swim. The fine had been a small punishment compared to the ridicule heaped on the offender for being caught in the first place. After a few crawl strokes Nick was able to reach the boulders that framed the base of the dam. He pulled himself out of the water, climbing the rock riprap lining the interior slope of the embankment. Nick loved to climb and he negotiated the sharp-edged rocks in bare feet to the top of the embankment without losing his balance. Looking down over the railing, he saw the grey shotcrete surface that formed the downstream face of the embankment, vertical at the top, and curving as it went down towards the river. Nick leaned over as far as he could and then spat, watching in satisfaction the white gob of spit travel down until it bounced off the curved concrete. Nick raced along the embankment to where water flowed out of the dam over a flat granite shelf twenty feet below the top. The surface of the water seemed smooth and dreamlike. Nick simply stood there entranced by the sound of the waterfall and was distracted when he heard Tommy’s heavy breathing as he struggled up the slope. “This is so cool. I can see the entire town,” Nick called out to Tommy, who was still on the embankment rocks. On the right was the steeple of the Pope’s Mills Baptist Church and to the left was the factory with its two smokestacks. In the center was the clock on the cupola of the High School and the “L” shaped Clark Memorial Hospital. Even though the town was two miles away, Nick stuck his arms out pretending to touch the buildings, moving them around in his head as if they were part of some large plastic model set one would see in the stores at Christmas. The afternoon was quickly becoming evening. Tommy rested on the open, rocky slope shivering and feeling vulnerable. Out in the distance he could hear the blaring, cough-like honking of Canadian Geese feeding in the cornfields. Soon they would descend on the lake to take refuge for the evening. Tommy looked overhead and saw only a single goose above him. He had been at the lake when the sky was dark with the geese; the sound they made was overwhelming. His father had been with him, the two of them standing in awe of this force of nature, while he covered his ears to muffle the noise. Tommy eventually reached Nick at the top of the slope and was immediately drawn to a concrete marker with a weathered bronze plaque bearing the inscription: DESIGNED AND CONSTRUCTED BY THE U.S. ARMY CORPS OF ENGINEERS 1955 CAPACITY 900,000,000 GALS, 2760 ACRE-FEET HEIGHT TO TOP OF SPILLWAY 55 FEET” Nick peered curiously over Tommy’s shoulders for a few seconds and, bored by the plaque, started to run across the crest of the dam Tommy called after him, “I was supposed to be home by six. If I’m not, my father will have a shit-fit and get the Sheriff to look for me. Then we’ll both be in trouble.” Nick stopped in his tracks and replied with a playful taunt, “Why don’t you come and get me?” It had been Nick’s idea to go to the lake and Tommy realized it would take more than a threat to get him to leave. It was Saturday night and after a day’s work at the plant, Nick’s father would be drunk and getting into a fight with his mother. Nick never talked about his parents, but his father’s bouts of drunkenness were well known throughout the community. Tommy felt sorry for Nick. Being at the lake was the only escape from his dismal home life. Tommy started to run after Nick to get him when he saw a red pickup truck coming up the road. The truck abruptly turned off onto the access road for the dam. Tommy pointed at the truck in the distance and said, “Let’s get back down to the lake.” Nick realized the danger of being discovered and they instinctively climbed back down the riprap and swam hurriedly toward the shoreline for cover. The truck continued up the road and parked adjacent to the top of the dam. Two men got out of the truck, took off the white tarp that covered the bed and began unloading crates. One man seemed to be directing the other and pointing to things on the dam. Tommy and Nick crouched under the shrubs that covered the shoreline. Tommy had gone duck hunting before and learned about using vegetative cover to blend into the surroundings. The shrubs formed the perfect natural camouflage for watching the activity at the dam. As part of being a hunter, Tommy had a talent for staying motionless for hours. He couldn’t vouch for Nick who was more restless. Nick stared at the men and said, “I wonder what the hell they’re doin?” Tommy put his hand over Nick’s mouth and whispered in his ear, “Shut up, stupid.” The boys crouched in the water and watched as the men finished moving the wooden crates from the pickup truck. Nick looked fascinated while Tommy stared ahead, wide-eyed, his heart pounding with fear. Sheriff Sam Johnson Jr. pensively sipped coffee from a cracked mug as he sat on the circular, red padded stool at the counter of the Collins Hotel, four seats from the end. It was all part of his daily afternoon ritual of working in his office until four thirty in the Municipal Building and then walking across the square to the Collins. It was the same routine his father, Sam Sr., had followed for the fifteen years he was Sheriff of Pope’s Mills. The Collins Hotel was the oldest building in town and was not really a hotel, rather it was a restaurant and community meeting place. It was the only place in town serving reasonable food other than Christine’s, a bar located next to the railroad tracks. Constructed in the 1850’s as a country store, the Collins was the best example of Greek Revival architecture in town with its brick exterior and large arching windows that seemed to dominate the first floor of the restaurant, providing an unobstructed view of the grassed square. Sam daydreamed for a moment as he looked out the windows and then felt a stabbing pain in his head. It was all the stress from spending three hours at the computer, reviewing rows of figures. He was a cop, not an accountant. He withdrew a small plastic bottle out of his gold uniform shirt and shook out two aspirins that looked like microscopic dots in his baseball mitt- like, coffee-colored hands. He winced as he swallowed the pills, alternating them with sips of coffee. Trying to take his mind off work, he spread out the Pope’s Mill Gazette in front of him as he uncomfortably hunched his two hundred and fifty pound muscular frame over the counter in a stool that was too high for a man of his stature. The pain in his head still would not subside. A few seats away, Thelma Parson stood behind the counter gossiping in a hushed tone to Sally Holiday, a retired high school counselor. Sally was there for her daily free cup of coffee provided in exchange for information about anyone in town. The acknowledged rumor queen of Pope’s Mills, Sally would know anything that occurred within the town so that many people did not depend on the newspaper; they simply contacted her for any news. Sally enjoyed the attention this provided, since she was a spinster in her sixties who had never been married and needed the contact with people. Most of the information she would obtain first hand, and on most days she could be seen sitting in her rocking chair on her front porch that overlooked the town with her six dogs looking at people passing by. Thelma, a short gray haired lady wearing a dirty white apron, stuck her head away from the conversation with Sally and finally ambled over to Sam. “The usual hot dog and coffee today, Sam?” she asked. “No, just a Coke, I don’t feel like I want nothing much.” He said with a twinge of anxiety in his voice. “You look down. Is there anything I can help you with?” Thelma asked sympathetically. “Maybe, if you could find a million dollars buried somewhere.” Sam hesitated, “Actually fifty thousand will do.” Sam thought about how he spent the afternoon in his office balancing the department’s budget. His father, Sam Sr., seemed to understand the procurement process much better and did it without the help of any computers or spreadsheets. Sam Sr. was the first black Sheriff of Pope’s Mills. Son of a sharecropper, he had only a rudimentary high school education, but was the Einstein of common sense and could solve complex problems through intuition. “You can look at this place and see what I’d be spending money on.” Thelma said. She was right, the restaurant had seen better days, Sam thought. Sam looked around and saw the broken, discolored plaster on the ceiling where a water pipe had burst the previous spring. There were only three people in the dining area. It was still early, but on a normal Saturday night the restaurant would be half to three-quarters full. Sam realized the lack of business was due to a conflict with the First Baptist Church picnic that night. It was a semi-annual event that drew three to five hundred people. Sam remembered going with his parents when only thirty people would show. Thelma quickly passed Sam a glass of Coke and said as she leaned over the counter, “A lot of people are going to the picnic. How about you?” “I’ve got my evening rounds,” Sam said. “Nothing ever happens here. Why don’t you go? It will be good for you to see some people.” “That’s all I do all day is see people,” he retorted. “You know what I mean,” Thelma said. “You need to socialize. It’s been one year since your divorce.” “I don’t have the time to meet women,” he said, trying to seem more interested in the paper. Sam understood Thelma’s maternal feelings towards him, and was one of the few people in town he tolerated discussing his social life. Thelma, who had known Sam for all his life, would tell stories of when his father, Sam Sr., used to carry him into the restaurant when he was a baby. “Ellie will be there. She always comes in here asking about you,” Thelma said. “Oh no,” Sam thought, “she’s trying to fix me up again.” Ellie Booth went to high school with Sam; he knew her to be overweight and always chewing gum. Sam found it distracting that she couldn’t utter a sentence without taking part of the gum out of her mouth and twirling it around. Sam remembered Ellie sitting in the stands at football practices. She married Rodney, a wide receiver. Rodney had died two years ago from a rare form of liver cancer and she was on the hunt to find a successor. “So Sam, are you going to start dating Ellie?” Sally asked from three stools away. She had an obnoxious talent for listening in on three conversations at one time. Sam was noncommittal. “She seems to be a nice person. I really do want to start a family of my own.” “You’re not going to do that sitting in your police car, now will you?” Thelma quipped. Sam realized he was not going to win the debate. “Thanks for the advice. You should start a romance column for the Gazette.” Quickly placing some coins on the Formica counter, Sam got up to leave. He ambled over to Sally. “I would appreciate if you would not start any talk around town. I would like to keep my social life…private,” he said with emphasis on the last word as he trotted out to start his rounds. As Sam exited the Collins, he crossed Poplar Street, the main thoroughfare that divided the town in half. Adjacent to Poplar Street was a grassed square that marked the center of town. In the middle of the square, surrounded by park benches, was the bronze statue of Thaddeus Pope, the original owner of the parcel of land in which the town was situated. Dressed as a Confederate infantryman, he held a rifle in one hand and had the other outstretched in the air pointing towards the horizon. In 1860, after the Civil War, Pope, a moderately successful businessman, constructed the original grain mill on the Kendall River for which the town was named. The half dozen stores on the square were closing for the day. Before the economic recession in the late 1990’s, all the storefronts had been occupied with businesses, but now the area was mostly vacant. Sam made a cursory inspection of the empty storefronts to check for any break- ins. At times, vagrants would occupy the empty stores and start fires in the winter to keep warm. One of the fronts served as a charity mission and had a large, ornate cross painted on the glass. The store had not been occupied in ten years, and the cross looked chipped and warped. Sam took out a white handkerchief, wiped away the accumulated grime, and saw the remnants of the benches and a piano. Sam got into his six-year-old blue and white Mercury police cruiser parked on the square. He hastily drove over the railroad track, down the nearly dark residential street lined with modest wooden A-frame structures topped with mordant-brown asphalt shingles built forty years ago from kits purchased from Sears. Sam knew the houses; each had two rooms on the first floor and another two on the second that passed as bedrooms. Lined up in one monotonous row after another, they were painted various colors: red, pink, blue, and even purple, but in Sam’s mind, nothing could disguise their sterile appearance. Still early in the evening, Sam made a left onto Spruce St, headed west toward the river and noted on the right a narrow, bituminous road shaded with Sycamore trees. He could briefly see in the direction of the river a mansion house that had four white columns supporting an overhanging porch. The stately “Clark” house served as a library and meeting hall for Pope’s Mills. For over twenty-five years, the mansion was home to Matthew Clark, the former owner of the Pope’s Mills Paper Company. Sam remembered the place from when he was young, going to elaborate Christmas parties there and meeting Clark, a tall man with a large head of slicked back white hair and a long grey beard. At the time of his death in 1994, Clark had accumulated a fortune estimated at twenty million dollars. Since he had died suddenly of a heart attack, and left no will, the mansion was turned over to one of Clark’s nephews. Two years later, the nephew decided he did not want to live in Pope’s Mills and had promptly sold the house to the town for half its value. The road made a sudden decline down to a one-lane, hundred-foot long concrete bridge spanning the Kendall River. Slowing the car to a near crawl as he crossed the bridge, he briefly looked upstream towards the dam and tried to decide if it was worthwhile to make a stop to enforce the ban on bathing. He made a left onto River Road, which paralleled the Kendall. Adjacent to the road were cabins that appeared to be randomly placed. They were austere, with rough-hewn oak logs and tar roofs, heated only from a wood stove and no running water. All of them were previously used as hunting lodges by businessmen. Discarded for more luxurious accommodations, they became dwellings for plant workers on a budget. Sam sped past a dozen houses, all dark and showing no signs of life except for the largest one, which had its lights on. Sam glanced at the house curiously and then cruised up the road for another two thousand feet. Seeing the vague outline of the dam through the trees, he unexpectedly veered the car onto the shoulder and turned off the ignition with a dismissive flick of his hand. Sam had always thought River Road to be the most scenic section of town, especially in the spring when the Yellowwood trees were ready to break into full blossom. He rolled down the window and the car filled with the sweet scent of the white fragrant flowers hanging from their branches in clusters resembling bells. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, smelling the scent of the flowers and hearing the sound of birds. It reminded him of when he was a boy, clipping the branches with his parents for Easter ornaments. It was a much less complicated time when he did not have to deal with the public, the Mayor, or the Town Council. Why waste the effort, he thought, the kids won’t be swimming here today; they will be at the picnic. Despite the warm weather, it was still early in the year for swimming. After a few moments, Sam started the engine, turned the police car around, and headed back towards town. The water in the Kendall River tumbled over the boulders creating circular eddies and currents. Charlie Stewart sat on his front porch drinking a beer. He stared at the water as an occasional trout came up to feed on a fly at the surface. He thought it would be a perfect time to go fishing. Charlie held back the impulse and stayed on the porch swing. His daughter, Tonya, had gotten sick during the day and his wife, Eve, would need him close by to help out with any housework. Charlie got up to get another beer and proudly eyed his home, a somewhat eclectic mix of building materials. The front of the building was made of logs cemented together, which contrasted with the smooth white planks of the rear addition. Over the years, he had added a kitchen, bathroom, and two bedrooms, doubling the living space. All the work he did himself on evenings and weekends. Charlie was a maintenance man. The project allowed him to make use of all the knowledge of carpentry, plumbing, and masonry he had learned while working at the paper plant. With his job, all he could afford was a company owned home, not more than fiberboard with a thin layer of plaster. They were drafty in the winter and hot in the summer. Now, he was in possession of a comfortable home that was previously owned by a wealthy white man from Louisville. There were drawbacks to life on the river. About five years ago, nearly a foot of rainfall fell in a six-hour period. The water in the lake had come within six inches of the top of the dam. Sam Sr. evacuated him before the maintenance people released the floodgates. It required some pushing and pulling to get Charlie and Eve to leave the house. Waiting out the storm, Charlie did not know if he would have a home to come back to. He prayed to the lord asking not to have put so much time and labor in vain. The entire first floor was flooded and the living room set ruined, but when he saw that the house had survived intact, he went to his knees and kissed the ground. As a commemoration, Charlie painted a black line on the white doorsill six feet off the ground, the highest level reached by the river. He also put a crucifix onto the door with St. Jude. A figure of a delicately shaped woman with long graceful legs and smooth brown skin wearing a tan cotton jumper appeared in the doorway. “I think the worst of it is over. Her fever was one hundred and two this afternoon, and now it’s down to one hundred. Maybe with a little bit of rest she will be back to normal tomorrow,” Eve said with a note of worry. “That’s a relief,” Charlie said. He did not want to think about spending the evening in the emergency room, or having to spend his small paycheck on the doctor’s bill. “Do you know what brought it on?” “I don’t know. I took her over to the playground earlier this afternoon and she was playing well with the other kids and then she came over to me complaining of chills. I checked her temperature and she seemed to be burning up. I spoke to Doc Rolland and he said it was probably a twenty-four hour virus and to give her a nice bath, cool drink, and some cold compresses to reduce the fever. If it persists, I will have to take her over tomorrow.” “Looks like we’re going to spend a quiet night a home rather than going to the picnic,” Charles said, looking disappointed. “I was looking forward to trying Martha Jones’ sweet potato pie.” “No problem, you can go to the picnic, and I can stay here with Tonya,” offered Eve. “I don’t think it would be the same without you. Everyone there would be asking about you and Tonya, and I would wind up talking about Tonya’s illness all night. Probably the Reverend Nixon would take me aside and tell me about my fatherly responsibilities. I don’t need a lecture from him today.” “Well then, it looks like you’re stuck here with me tonight,” Eve said with a sly smile. Charlie stroked his chin in the middle of a thought. “Maybe, I can start figuring out my next project. I think I’m going to build the addition to the back of the house. It would make a great play area for Tonya.” Eve got a sour look on her face. “Not another addition…you promised you would not spend any more money on the house and start saving for Tonya’s education. I want her to go to Gottlieb Heights Christian Academy next year.” Eve had previously discussed the possibility of sending Tonya to a private church school in the next town. “I think the public schools around here are good enough. I made it to the university.” “You got there on a Track and Field scholarship. I don’t want her to depend on sports to get into college. If anything, I want her to succeed because of her education. All I’m thinking about is her ability to leave Pope’s Mills when she turns eighteen, and not work for Pope Paper.” Complaints about the company were becoming a common theme in their discussions, and it was apparent Eve was having second thoughts about living in a company town. Charlie finally said, “Do you have any regrets about living here in Pope’s Mills? I’m powerless to change anything that has happened. You know the only thing I think about during the day is the both of you.” “I know you love me, but I am trying to think about Tonya’s future.” Eve said walking away. Charlie got up from his chair and grabbed his wife’s arm, turning her around, his muscular six-foot frame towering over his wife. He confronted her almost becoming defensive, “I asked you a question and you did not answer it. Do you regret coming here?” Eve made an angry face and pretended to ignore the question and said, “I’m going into the house to start dinner. I think there is some leftover ham I can make into a casserole.” Charlie went back to the porch swing and took another gulp of beer. Tonya slowly emerged from the front door carrying a worn brown teddy bear with a near grin on its face. The more Charlie looked at her, the more she resembled her mother with her delicately curved eyes, oval face, and light complexion. Teddy bear in her arms, Tonya climbed aboard the porch swing and put her head in his lap. “Can we can go fishin’ tomorrow?” she asked. Charlie smiled, and thought Tonya could not be as sick as Eve had described if she was asking about fishing. He reclined in the wooden swing and stroked her head as he looked out toward the river. “We’ll see, baby. We’ll see,” he said as he rocked her rhythmically back and forth. After a few moments, Tonya burrowed deep in his lap to sleep as Charlie took long sips of beer. He was about to fall asleep himself when he heard the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. Opening his eyes, he saw Sam stride out of the car and with a note of recognition he sat up, mildly surprised. “Good evening Sam. To what do I owe this visit?” Sam had a worried expression on his face as he walked over to the porch. “I saw your lights on. I thought you guys were going to the picnic.” “Tonya’s sick and we thought we should spend a quiet night at home,” Charlie said as he kissed Tonya on the forehead. “I hope it isn’t anything serious. Is there anything I can help you out with?” Sam offered. “I think she spent too much time out in the sun today. She’ll probably be back to normal tomorrow, but thank you for your concern.” “Maybe I could pick up something for her in town. I don’t mind.” “I don’t think that’s necessary. Take a break. I’ve got plenty of cold beer here,” Charlie said pointing at the red Styrofoam cooler under the swing. Sam heard a noise in the house and Eve appeared smiling in the doorway. “I thought I heard someone out here. How you doing Sheriff? It’s been a while since you visited. Why don’t you sit down and have some dinner with us?” “Eve, I’ve always enjoyed your cooking but tonight I think I’ll take a rain check. I see Tonya is holding my teddy bear. I hope she likes it.” “You know she does. It’s her constant companion,” Eve said. Sam reached out as Charlie handed him the sleepy Tonya. “How’s my little princess today?” he said as he coddled her and gently kissed her on the forehead. “Little Princess” was Sam’s nickname for Tonya since she was three years old, and liked to act out parts of the fairy tales Sam would read to her. She would put on a pink ballerina outfit with a wand in hand and pretend to change butterflies to frogs. For her fourth birthday, Sam bought her a small silver bracelet monogrammed with “My Little Princess.” Tonya smiled, faintly putting her arms around Sam’s waist as the chain clinked around her wrist. “How about next Sunday I take you over to Gottlieb Heights?” he said softly. “I hear they opened a new ice cream parlor there and we can have banana splits together if it’s okay with your mom and dad.” “No problem, Sam. It will give us a chance to catch up on our housework,” Eve said with the understanding that Sam loved to spoil Tonya. He was Tonya’s godfather, and Eve realized how protective Sam was of her, as if she were his own child. Sam looked down at Tonya and said, “How about it sweetie?” “I would like that fine, Uncle Sammy,” Tonya said in a tired voice. Sam set Tonya down and said, “I better get going. I will leave you folks alone to eat dinner.” Sam heartily shook hands with Charlie, hugged and kissed Eve, and said, “See you all next week then.” When Sam drove away he saw all three of them smiling and waving at him through his rear view mirror. He regretted leaving them to spend the next few hours making small talk and playing politics. “It’s the most damned strange thing I’ve ever seen.” Tommy whispered to Nick as they crouched together in the water. They had been watching the two men at the top of the dam for nearly three- quarters of an hour. The tall man had a harness around his shoulders and a pouch fastened to his chest. A thick rope was tied around the metal safety railing while the other end was attached to the harness. Tommy watched curiously as the tall man disappeared from sight down the face of the dam. Occasionally, the tall man would climb back up and the second man on top of the dam would hurriedly put dark circular objects in the pouch. The boys watched intently as the tall rappelling man and the shorter man swiftly moved along the dam face. “I don’t recognize either of them.” Tommy said in a concerned voice. The sun was low in the horizon and Tommy could not see their faces, just their builds. Tommy had met all the people who had done building and road maintenance for the town. Tommy’s father, Ted Armstrong, was the Director of Public Works. Being director was a significant job, and during the economic boom Armstrong supervised ten people. Now in a recession, Armstrong’s staff dwindled to four. None of them had any motivation to do their job in an expeditious manner. Tommy’s father would come home and would consume the dinner conversation with complaints about the speed his staff worked. Tommy was certain his father did not employ the two men he was seeing. “They’re probably fixin’ the dam,” Nick said innocently. “If they were, they’d have my father with them.” “Your father doesn’t know everything that goes on.” “He knows enough. He’s involved in all the construction projects here.” Tommy would sometimes go along with his father when they fixed a section of water pipe or repaired the curb section of a street. If there had been a project at the dam, his father would have been an active part of it. Tommy strained to see the pickup truck. The truck did not match any of the semi’s the town owned and did not have any government insignia, or any lettering indicating ownership. The more Tommy thought about it, the more he became concerned; nothing seemed to be right. He put his arms across his chest shivering from the cold. He needed to leave and get the Sheriff. “I’m making a break for it. I’ll tell you when,” Tommy whispered to Nick. He would have to leave the water to get on his bike hidden next to him under the shrub. He would be visible momentarily from the dam, and would need about five seconds to get beyond the rise adjacent to the lake to pedal down the slope to River Road. Nick looked back at Tommy and said, “I’ll stay back here and find out what they’re doing.” “I don’t have time to argue with you. There’s something wrong and we need to get the hell out of here.” “I’m staying. When I get to school on Monday, I’m going to tell everyone how scared you were. You won’t be able to live this down for a week.” Tommy did not pay any attention to Nick. He was finished playing games with his friend. Nick would just have to take care of himself. Tommy needed a diversion to get clear of the lake without being noticed, and did not have any immediate ideas. A flock of Canadian Geese were gathering on the water, feeding on insects. Tommy looked at the birds and finally thought of the course of action. “Last chance. I’m going now,” Tommy whispered. “See you later, you wuss.” Tommy searched for a stone and picked up an eight-inch round, smooth piece of granite along the shore. He stood up and moved slowly from behind the shrubs going down to a crouch as he got to his shirt, pants, and shoes. He quickly put them on and glanced up; the two men on the top of the embankment were looking over the face of the dam. As Tommy lifted his bike hidden in the shrub, the tall man with the pouch on his stomach turned around staring down toward the reservoir surface where Tommy and Nick were hiding. Dropping the bicycle, Tommy immediately went down to his stomach, diving under a shrub, covering himself with leaves. The tall man hesitated for a moment, muttered something to the other person as he started to climb down the stone riprap. He got to the mid-point approaching the location where Tommy was hiding. Nick was another ten feet further from the base of the embankment hidden securely under a thick mass of cattails. Tommy tensed and started to scout the area for a potential weapon. The tall man took another two steps and Tommy got a glimpse of his face. The man was wearing a hooded sweatshirt but he could see the cropped, sandy blonde hair underneath. The face was rather angular with a wide brimmed nose and almost hollow cheeks. Tommy decided it was an unpleasant face. Tommy felt his heart beat heavily in his chest as the man got within a few steps from him. He heard a muffled noise sounding like, “Come back up here, we don’t have time for this bullshit” and the tall man made a quick retreat up the slope. Tommy waited five minutes and the shorter man was back to looking down at the face of the dam. With all his strength, Tommy threw the granite into the lake. The birds scattered making a loud flapping sound as they moved into the air. Leaping onto his bike, Tommy pedaled as fast as could as he catapulted himself up the slope. The short man, initially startled as the birds began to fly around the dam, began to concentrate back on the business at hand, not noticing the bike. Tommy shot out onto River Road, standing upright on the bike, getting as much power as he could out of each turn of the pedal, not looking behind at the dam as he raced back towards town. Sam felt the emptiness in his stomach as he looked at the vast array of food on the foldout tables. There were three types of chicken: roasted, barbecued, and fried, along with ham, pigs feet, ten types of salads, corn on the cob, and a dessert table of decorated cakes, pies and cookies. Thelma was right. He needed to get out and see people having a good time rather than dealing with their problems eighteen hours a day. It was going towards six thirty and all the teens in attendance had finished dinner and were playing touch football in the meadow adjacent to the Baptist Church, a whitewashed structure with a slanted roof that reached a point with a steeple and bell tower on top. Sam saw a picnic table under a Juniper tree, grabbed a plate of food and started to watch the boys throwing the ball. A discarded, retractable plastic pen bearing a sketch of the Mayor sat on the table. Sam felt a twinge in his stomach thinking about the Mayor being at the picnic giving out cheap plastic pens. Over time, Sam grew to hate the Mayor. Actually “hate” was a polite term for their relationship. Despised, abhorred, and detested would be more accurate. To Sam, Larry Williams represented the wealthy population that constantly patronized the blacks in the community. Williams was completely incapable of telling the truth, always took credit for Sam’s work, and was the first to blame him for anything that went wrong. Williams had the only furniture store in town, and the visit was part publicity for the store, and part politicking for the next election. In some ways, it was humorous. Everyone would be dressed in blue jeans and a casual shirt, while the Mayor would show up in a black suit with white socks and shirt looking like a sweating penguin. Sam was about to take a bite of his fried chicken when a football hit him in the chest. Annoyed he couldn’t even finish his dinner without something happening, he gave an irritated glance at the boys playing football and they seemed to snap to attention in fear. Sam was about to throw the ball back into the crowd when he thought what it was like when he was their age. He stood up, unceremoniously taking off his uniform jacket saying, “Let me show you how the game is played.” A tall teenager whom Sam recognized as a deputy’s son, said disgustedly, “Oh no, we’re going to get a lecture.” Sam entered the huddle, signaling to the boy who appeared to be a receiver to run a “J” pattern. Even though he never played quarterback in high school, he knew enough to call the play. When the ball was snapped, he threw a crisp pass two-thirds down the field. The tall boy clapped and said, “Pretty good for an old man.” Sam started to return to the table and noticed the minister watching him. Reverend Nixon put his arms around his shoulder, “I knew you couldn’t resist playing football.” “I just like to see kids play the game,” Sam said tersely, sensing the Reverend was about to ask for a favor. “We’re starting a community league on Sundays and we need you to work with them. They seem to respect you, and it’s quite apparent you could teach them more things than football.” It was difficult to say “no” to the Reverend. “I’ll have to see how my schedule works out.” Sam said. “Looks like a project both you and Charlie could do together.” Sam thought back to his high school football days with Charlie, and decided not to try to relive them. “I can’t speak for Charlie; he’s back at home tonight…” “I hope I can count on you both to come through for the church,” Reverend Nixon said, not listening to Sam stumble over his words. “You know… I’ll do anything I can,” Sam said in a low voice. The picnic was beginning to wind down with people in small groups talking loudly, engaging in gossip about meaningless current events. Sam recognized the Mayor’s high-pitched voice from across the lawn, and felt secure he was listening to him from a safe distance. The Mayor would sometimes show up at these events with his wife and children, but this time he was solo. Sam continued making small talk with the Reverend and the Mayor’s voice become silent. Feeling a hand slap his shoulder, Sam turned around and found himself face to face with Williams. “Howdy there, Sam. I’m glad you could make it,” the Mayor said, making a concerted effort to convey a sickeningly sweet, folksy image. “What a surprise, I didn’t realize you were here,” Sam lied. “I just wanted to come over and tell the Reverend what an excellent job you’ve been doing for the town.” “Thank you, Mayor. It wouldn’t be possible without the support of yourself and the Council,” Sam said, trying to hide his sarcasm. “Did the Reverend mention the project to you?” The Mayor continued to grin as if he were selling a piece of second hand furniture from his store. Sam shook his head, and the Reverend said, turning to the Mayor, “I was about to bring it up, but maybe it would be more appropriate that you talk about it since it was your idea.” The Mayor put his hand on the lapels of his suit and gloated, “The Reverend and I were talking and it came up that the town government and the church should join forces with regard to policing the community, especially after the increase in juvenile crime we’ve seen here. I mentioned I would support any work you would do with the church. After all, the church men’s committee pitches in every year to beautify the area around the municipal building. Don’t you think it’s time we return the favor?” Sam hated when the Mayor used the pronoun “we,” since it meant he would do the work. “Yes, the idea was discussed at a couple of Council meetings,” Sam said. “But I thought the project was put on hold until next year’s budget passes.” Sam mistakenly thought he could, at least, be partially compensated for his time. “I don’t expect it to cost a whole lot of money. It’s just a few hours a week and I think both you and the kids will get a lot of it. We can discuss it further at the next meeting.” The Mayor looked at his watch. “Looks like I have to run, I’ve got a dinner date with State Senator Blake over in Gottlieb Heights regarding a grant. Anything you need please contact me.” The Mayor quickly shook the reverend’s hand and walked off to his car. Sam was amazed that an hour at the picnic potentially obligated him to another forty hours of community service. Sam smiled, trying not to look upset, “That is the best food I’ve had in a long time. I think I still have some paperwork to do back at the office. Thanks again for everything.” It was too late to undo the damage done and Sam decided it was probably a mistake to have come. As the sun was starting to set behind him, Sam walked back to his car, feeling tired and looking forward to the end of the day. Nick tracked the progress of the men as they moved two-thirds across the length of the dam. As the sun sank in the horizon, the water turned from a golden yellow to a shade of orange crimson matching the hues of the sunset. Nick stuck his head down towards the surface of the water moving out of the protection of the cattails to get an unobstructed view of the men. He got to a spot where he finally satisfied he could see and hear everything that was happening. The short man on the dam was giving abrupt instructions to the tall man on the rope. “You’re too close; move another five feet towards the west.” The man on the rope gave an inaudible response, and the man in charge said, “You’ve got two more to place. Move your butt; we’re running out of light” After couple of minutes, the man on the rope came up to the top of dam, winded. The short man looked down at the embankment, pausing to admire what was done. He said, “Okay, let’s move out of here, I want to be five miles from Pope’s Mills at seven.” Both men started to pile the rope and crates back into the pickup truck. After a minute of collecting the debris from the crates, the men hurriedly got into the truck and sped back down the access road. Nick swam again over to the embankment and climbed up to the top. The town had a surreal, peaceful look. Nick bent over the railing and saw about thirty silvery objects one to one and half feet in diameter in diagonals along the face of the downstream embankment. The embankment was fairly steep and high, but Nick was certain he could risk it and try to pull a silvery object off of the concrete as a trophy to show everybody how brave he was for not leaving. He strained to put his hand near the object. As he got closer to the grey disks he could see there was a clock on each of their faces. He could barely make out the numbers. They seemed to be counting down from 3:39, and by the time he was able to grab an object off the dam the clock had counted down to 2:30. Not speaking during dinner, Charles and Eve sat at the table and both shot glances at Tonya who had eaten a hot dog earlier and was asleep on the couch with the teddy bear in her hand. Moving towards the couch, Eve picked up Tonya and carried her upstairs. Charles went outside to have another beer. Feeling tired himself, he closed his eyes and watched the trees rock with the spring breeze. He heard footsteps from behind him, felt Eve’s arms move under his shoulders and her head on his back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be bitchy with you this afternoon. I was worried about Tonya,” she said. Charles turned around and kissed her on the mouth, “You don’t need to explain anything to me, baby. I understand.” Eve stared into Charles’ eyes, “Yes, I want to be here in Pope’s Mills with you. There is no other place I’d want to be.” “I’m flexible about Tonya. We’ll figure things out.” “I know we will. I think I’ll go upstairs to do some knitting,” Eve said. “Have a nice time. I’ll be down here drinking beer.” “I haven’t figured out what I’m knitting, and I can be ‘interrupted’ if you know what I mean,” Eve said with a grin on her face. “Okay, I’ll be up in a minute after I finish the beer.” “Don’t take all night,” Eve playfully admonished. Charles went out to the porch swing to finish his beer. Boom…Boom… .Boom…Boom. A series of loud explosions from the dam shook the house. Charles felt the wood plank floor vibrate as if a large semi-truck was barreling down the road. The entire house began to shake and Charles fell to the ground as if there were no more solid foundation. Plaster came down from the ceiling and shattered near the spot where he lay on the ground. Grabbing onto the sofa, he stood up and stumbled over to the entry. The scene was beyond his comprehension. A wall of water nearly as high as the trees traveled down the river, picking up velocity and debris as it careened through the riverbanks. Trees were upended. Roots became battering rams. He stood frozen at the entranceway, his mouth wide open. He heard Eve and Tonya scream from the upstairs. As he turned his head to look in their direction, the leading edge of the wave lifted him off his feet, throwing him into the wall of his home. Within a fraction of a second the house was lifted off its foundation and disintegrated. Sam parked his car in front of the municipal building and was looking forward to taking a shower and relaxing on the couch in his office when he heard the explosions. He craned his neck and tried to determine their origin. Sam guessed some of the kids at the picnic were setting off M-80’s. The blasts had a muffled tone and sounded more like munitions as if a physical object was being blown apart. There was a series of four more loud explosions and Sam realized they were not coming from the south where the picnic was, but from the north toward the dam. Sam got back in the patrol car and drove off towards the river. Sam came within fifty feet of the bridge crossing and saw an empty gap over a rumbling void. Sam grabbed an electric lantern out of the back seat, slowly got out of the cruiser, and stood on the pavement, motionless, trying to understand the scene in front of him. He smelled the fetid stench in the air. Everything was quiet. There was no sound of birds or animals, as if some terrible force had displaced them. A calm, warm spring evening had become a nightmare. Within the space of minutes, a five-ton concrete bridge deck had disintegrated leaving only the abutments. His first thought was that someone had blown up the bridge. He walked towards the abutments and looked upstream. He could not see the road. Everything within a hundred feet of the stream was flattened. Trees and telephone poles had been thrown over, flat on the ground. Sam figured out the object being blown apart was not the bridge, but the dam. People from the picnic began to gather behind him and some of the children started to walk towards the stream to look at the floating debris. Knowing the potential panic if he were to announce to the crowd that the dam had been blown up, Sam’s thoughts turned to protecting the public. Sam saw Deputy Butler Cox in the crowd and hurriedly said, “Get these people away from here. Call Colonel Gredling of the State Police, and tell him we have an emergency; the dam has probably collapsed. Tell him to get a helicopter with searchlights and call the fire department. We need all the volunteer deputies to cordon off the area and keep people away until we figure out what has happened.” Sam stood nearly helpless for twenty minutes waiting for the water to recede and looked upstream to try to make a quick assessment of the damage. By that time, the area was completely dark. State police troopers arrived from the barracks outside Gottlieb to set up massive floodlights to illuminate the zone of damage as helicopters circled overhead with search lights on the ground. As the water receded, he recognized blue siding from one of the houses along River Road. Sam realized the houses adjacent to the road must have been destroyed. Intermixed with the uplifted trees were cars, sofas, the remains of desks and bureaus, stoves, and washing machines; all the telltale remnants of people’s lives. Maybe the Stewarts had seen the dam failing and had time to get to higher ground. He reached for his cell phone and dialed their number; he heard a recorded message that the call could not be connected. Sam became very anxious and started to look through the debris, searching for any items from their house. The helicopter circled above him shining a spotlight where he walked. He saw the blue flowered couch from their living room off towards the edge of the debris field. A small object toward the left of the sofa attracted his attention. He turned on his lantern and started walking towards it. Sam felt a wave of nausea as he approached the object and finally saw what it was. The teddy bear. The nausea intensified as Sam tried to grab the bear. He fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. Sam forced himself to look down to see what was holding the bear in place and saw it was a tiny hand with a bracelet engraved with the words “My Little Princess.” |