Paper Alley, page 16
The choir broke into song with beautiful voices, robust and joyful. The hymn was “For the Beauty of the Earth” by John Rutter, and it wasn’t just heard, it was felt. She touched Klaare’s hand. It was a moment to be shared.
When the choir ended the hymn, the congregation bowed their heads in prayer. All but Klaare—who continued to look around for a minute before she closed her eyes and bowed her head. Only she knew if she prayed or even knew what was going on, but she went through the motions just the same.
Pastor Kirk, a tall, lean man of about sixty, took his place at the podium. His white short- cropped hair framed a handsome face. Square of jaw, with broad shoulders and straight posture speaking about his nature as a marine, he had the look of someone people would follow into battle. His words flowed loud and clear so even the elderly far back in the pews caught every word. Confidence and enthusiasm made his words musical. He read Psalm 145:1–6, a psalm of praise by David. Following the reading, he greeted the congregation and welcomed all new visitors, his gaze landing on every unfamiliar face, for he knew every one of his flock. Klaare smiled when he looked at her. He made all the visitors feel special.
The choir sang another hymn, “Revive Us Again,” followed by the Invocation. When Pastor Kirk asked if there were any praises, hands went up. One by one people offered praise to the Lord for answered prayers. Thanks were given for Uncle Charlie’s gout easing up, Ms. Alice’s healing broken hip, the easing of Brother Tom’s financial troubles, and on and on. When the congregation finished, the pastor turned to the choir and announced the next hymn, “The Comforter Has Come.” Klaare seemed swept away, and Julie couldn’t have been happier.
Pastor Kirk asked for prayer requests, and just like with the praises, raised hands were called on one by one. When he asked if anyone else had a prayer request, Klaare’s hand went up. Julie was shocked. What on earth would Klaare request a prayer for? The pastor smiled and pointed at Klaare.
“Yes, what is your request? You’re new to us, but you are welcome and we will pray for you.”
Without hesitation Klaare spoke. “I would like everyone to pray for Julie’s husband, Dan Winslow. He is a very sick man. He has a severe cough, and it does not come from a cold. He seems to be getting worse.”
Julie couldn’t believe Klaare had the courage to speak like this in a group of strangers. Her eyes teared up. Julie had given thought to making a request but held back. Oh Klaare, she thought, you are a beautiful person, inside and out. Julie squeezed Klaare’s hand as a tear rolled down her cheek. The pastor sensed the emotion of the moment, and as he petitioned the Lord on behalf of all the prayers requested, he fervently asked for healing for Dan Winslow. In a moment, Julie knew she had been right to choose this church and hoped Klaare had found God.
Julie’s decision was again confirmed as the pastor gave his sermon. His intent for the next several weeks was to review elements of the foreshadowing of Christ in the Old Testament starting in Genesis. He read passages of Scripture followed by insightful analysis leading up to the birth of Christ and current-day relevance. His words flowed quickly, concisely, and without personal judgment on the ways of man. He offered the Word of God and the Way of God in such a humble way, Julie could detect not an ounce of ego in his voice. The pastor’s looks were not meek or humble, but when he spoke, humility filled the church. He finished by stressing the true meaning of Christmas. He invited all to attend Christmas Eve candlelight service. This was a man of God. When the service was over, the pastor stood at the door of the church taking each person’s hand and thanking them for coming to hear the Word. Julie and Klaare knew they were not in a group of strangers.
Harry McDonath walked with Julie and Klaare across the little bridge to the parking lot. “I’m so sorry to hear Dan’s not well.”
“We would appreciate your payers.”
“Well, did you enjoy our little chapel in the woods?”
“Yes, it feels like home.”
“Klaare?”
“I did enjoy the service . . . I hope I didn’t speak out—”
“You did fine, Klaare. Don’t think any more about it.”
“You know, Julie . . .” Harry paused, seemingly gathering his thoughts. “This town has a history—a lot of what is going on now started a long time ago. We’re clannish and insular. People around here don’t forget or move on. It’s kind of hard for you to understand people’s interactions and doings.”
“Honestly, I am having a tough time adjusting. This area is so beautiful, it is hard to imagine why people act the way they do, how they can be so ugly.”
“It’s all in the Bible,” Klaare murmured.
“What is, Klaare?” Harry raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, I gave Klaare a Bible and told her to start reading it before we came to church.” Julie gave Klaare a motherly look.
Harry offered Klaare a pleased smile. “Well, Klaare, I agree, I think every type of interaction known to man is in the Bible. It is mankind’s service manual. It’s the message Pastor is trying to get across.”
“No—” Klaare words were cut off by Harry, but being a little hard of hearing, he hadn’t noticed Klaare’s attempt to interject.
“I’m quitting real estate.”
“I hope it doesn’t have anything to do with us.”
“No, this old man has just seen enough, and I’m tired. It’s not the same anymore with all these newfangled gadgets and computer search engines. I have no interest in learning them. People can bother you any time of the day or night. They want you to respond yesterday, or they dump you. It’s time. It was a good run, but times have changed.”
“You’ll love being retired. it’ll be good for you to just relax. Oh, I almost forgot. When we were going through all the trash the Goldmeadows left behind, I found four old letters. They were from Jim McKenzie to Louise. I intended to turn them over to you to give to John McKenzie, but now, well . . .”
“Oh, how nice, Julie. I am in touch with John’s children. I can see to it they get them.”
“Thank you. I can bring them next Sunday or drop them off at the real estate office.” They all stopped at Julie’s car. “Well, I hope you enjoy retirement.”
“I’ve worked twenty years longer than most folks. I’ll tell you a secret if you promise not to tell anyone.”
“Trust me. I have no one to tell. Klaare, you promise too.” Klaare gave a positive nod.
“I have a friend at the state capitol. The university is going to have a huge student housing expansion. They don’t want word getting out just yet because of an investigation into bribery and kickbacks. Julie, you take care of yourself. If I can be of any help, let me know. Maybe in a few days we can talk a little more. Let’s see how things unfold. I’m not one to push an issue. Let it come about naturally, I always say. A few skunks might expire without the benefit of releasing their revenge.”
“Sure, you take care. It’s our little secret. Come on, Klaare. We’ll see you next Sunday then.”
Julie and Klaare got into the car and soon pulled out of the church parking lot. Julie’s thoughts were on the secret Harry had just shared with her.
Klaare clasped her Bible with both hands.
“Mr. McDonath seems like a nice man. It is a shame he lost an arm. It must be very painful to be shot.”
“What . . . what did you say, Klaare? Did you say shot?”
“Yes.”
“Who told you he was shot? Dan and I wondered how he lost his arm. Are you sure?”
“It says so in the Bible.”
“What . . . in the Bible, it says Mr. McDonath was shot? Klaare . . .”
“I tried to tell both of you, it is all in the Bible.”
“The Bible I gave you?”
“Yes, there is a lot written in it. I will show you when we get home.”
NINETEEN
Dan arrived at the attorney’s office first thing Monday morning. He entered a copper-lined elevator, pushing the button for the third floor. The elevator moved swiftly; then the doors opened with a ding. The law building had a sterile feel, more sanitary than a hospital and quieter than a library. In the broad empty hallways, Dan could hear his own footsteps on the white marble floor. He struggled to contain a cough he knew would echo through these cavernous corridors, eventually disturbing the entire building. Dan entered a door marked “Mathew Proctor Attorney at Law” and found himself in an office reception area furnished with overstuffed leather chairs. High dollar—maybe I should cancel, Dan thought. He wanted to run, but before he could, a serious-looking receptionist greeted him.
The receptionist took Dan’s name, checked her appointment book, then asked him to have a seat. He sank in between two fat leather arms studded with shiny copper. He wondered if he would ever be able to stand back up. Being the first appointment of the day, he optimistically anticipated being attended to promptly, but as time passed, his naïve hopes faded. The world, at least this high-dollar world, did not run on his schedule. The leather made him sweat; he knew his pants would be sticking to him when he got up, so he shifted about. No one else entered the office during Dan’s forty-five-minute wait.
The door next to the receptionist flew open. Out stepped a giant of a man who looked like he could play hoops in the NBA. He extended his hand on an arm that seemed to reach halfway across the waiting room. Dan’s hand was by no means small, but it was engulfed by Proctor’s. He struggled to get out of the chair. Standing, he tried to discreetly use his free hand to pull at the seat of his pants. The entire setup proved intimidating.
“Mr. Winslow, so nice to meet you. I’m Mathew Proctor. Please, please come into my office.”
Dan followed him, still trying to get over feeling awestruck.
Plaques of honors, degrees, and certificates covered the walls, leaving no room for a family photo or personal item. The mahogany desk wouldn’t have fit in Dan’s living room, and the chair behind it looked like a throne.
“Have a seat, Mr. Winslow. I like to get right to the meat of the issue. By the way, I’m sorry I kept you waiting, but I have a court appearance this afternoon, and I’ve been reviewing briefs—I lost track of time. Now, what brings you in and why do you think you need an attorney? You won’t be charged for this visit if I determine your matters can be resolved without me. I’m a fair man and I’m expensive. Now, go ahead—state your case, sir.”
Dan sat down in the client chair. Once again he sank low, as if to suggest his position was subordinate. He summarized the situation in Stony Grove, his driveway dispute, the student rental zoning violations, the town council’s corrupt meeting. He went off on tangents and offered his understanding of the law. His emotion had the best of him, and his speech became a rant.
He was clearly displaying anger, something he had promised himself he would not do. He felt horribly ill and at the mercy of evil. He had dealt with so many shady characters and impossible situations since arriving in this town. Mr. Proctor took notes when Dan first began to talk but soon sat back in his chair and listened as Dan vented. Mr. Proctor, hearing enough, stopped him.
“Mr. Winslow, excuse me. There is no need to continue.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Proctor, I’m not myself. I promised myself I would not do what I just did.”
“It’s quite all right, but I have to tell you. I cannot represent you in these matters.”
Dan’s hands gripped the arms of his chair to try to regain some sense of control.
“Quite frankly, Mr. Winslow, to represent you would place me in a situation of conflict of interest. You see, I already represent some individuals in your community. I can offer you some free advice, however. I suggest you play dumb, don’t talk about these things even if you know what you are talking about.” He leaned forward, toward Dan. “I suggest you seek legal counsel from outside this county. I’m an honest man, Mr. Winslow, but I earn my living from my understanding of the law and representing clients in legal matters, sometimes running along a fuzzy line. It is the conundrum of my profession. I have been known to walk away from clients for those reasons. My nature tells me you are a client who deserves my services, but my wallet tells me you can’t afford me. I will offer you some free advice and insights without being specific or violating my fiduciary relationships with my clients.” Mr. Proctor studied Dan’s face, waiting for him to speak.
“I never expected this. What can you tell me?”
“The key to all your troubles is your driveway.”
“My driveway, what do you mean?” Dan thought about the Bible writings Julie had shared with him yesterday afternoon. Writings he would not share with Mr. Proctor. Especially now that Proctor had divulged his loyalties were elsewhere. Thank God he hadn’t spoken of them during his rant.
“It’s not—not a driveway. It’s what is known as a paper alley. It extends the entire length of your property and your neighbor’s. It was laid out during the initial survey and plot planning of Stony Grove. It is a valuable easement to those whose land is situated behind your property. You see without an easement, the property is landlocked and of no value.”
“I’m not sure I understand. I mean, I understand about the property owners being landlocked, but how does this paper alley thing work? Why isn’t it just an alley?”
“Because in the beginning when the town was slow to grow, other properties were developed first. If an alley is not used within twenty years of its recording, it becomes inactive. To open it up requires the permission of every property owner bordering it. If the property owners used the land designated for the alley by installing fencing, growing trees, bushes, or a building on it, then it further complicates matters. It’s about all I can divulge to you without violating fiduciary relationships. Please accept my apologies and understand, my other clients involve long-term relationships. I hope you understand, and the best of luck to you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Proctor, I respect where you are coming from. I guess I’m going to have to reassess my situation.”
“Mr. Winslow, you hold a valuable piece of real estate. You might want to consider parting with it, for just compensation. Why trouble yourself when you can just take the money and move on?”
“I’ll think on it.”
Dan took Mr. Proctor’s advice about playing it dumb and quiet. He had no intention of giving even the slightest consideration to selling to the likes of Val Wentreck or Fred Black. What better place to start following good advice than right here with the man who offered it, a man who had to be considered suspect, as an associate of the enemy. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Proctor, I’ll show myself out.”
Walking down the hallway of the law building, Dan finally let loose with his cough. It echoed widely, as did his footsteps, but the reverence he held upon entering no longer ruled. Contempt was in his heart.
He had enough fuel in the car to make it back to Stony Grove. There he slipped into the service station on the edge of town. At the pumps, he got out and began to fill his tank. Dan heard it before he saw it, a brand new one ton dually with stacks rattled up to the other side of the pumps. Dan never looked up from filling his tank. Behind him he heard the pickup’s door slam, someone fiddled with the fuel hose, and then the sound of fuel. A sudden cough surged in Dan which he couldn’t stop. He let go the handle of his nozzle, placed his hand on the side of his vehicle to catch his balance. The coughing continued, and Dan began seeing white spots before his eyes. Light-headed, he gathered all his strength to keep from passing out, then heard a voice from behind him.
“Sounds bad, really bad, like you’re gonna die.”
Dan knew the voice but couldn’t place it. As his cough subsided, he turned, and Fred Black smiled.
“I’m all right.”
“You don’t sound like it. You know, I got nothin’ against you. Just so you know, I’m gonna own that house of yours before it’s all over. What do you want for it?”
“It’s not for sale.”
“Everything is for sale. Even you have a price.”
“You can’t buy me or my house.”
“A price doesn’t have to be money. Sometimes a price is something in trade, like peace of mind. You got a might pretty little wife.”
Rage surged before the words were half spoken, but all Dan could do was choke and cough. He couldn’t catch his breath long enough to speak. He felt weak.
“Maybe I’ll just wait to work it all out with Widow Winslow. She might even take a special liking to me after you’re gone. She won’t be the first widow ole Fred has scooped.” Fred racked the fuel hose on the pump and hopped into the pickup. The ground at Dan’s feet rumbled as Fred revved the engine of the dually.
Dan couldn’t catch his breath due to anxiety and fatigue. He felt as if Fred Black had held a chunk of kryptonite and dangled it in front of his face. Helplessly, he watched his antagonist drive away.
Dan stopped fueling before his tank was full and slumped into the car. He sat until another fuel customer pulled up behind him. He looked toward the gas station building, where four boys stood outside the door. They lit cigarettes, blew smoke. They were the guys Zane had come to call his friends. Bad news.
It was all Dan could do to drive the rest of the way home. Fred will never get our house. The gauntlet had been tossed down. Dan would dig in with everything he had. He knew Julie would be with him. Also weighing on him was Zane; he had to rein him in. Mathew Proctor likely represented Fred and Val; what were the odds he would pick the attorney of the enemy.
###
Julie let herself into the side entrance of the church, near Pastor Kirk’s office. She stopped to say hello, even though she hated to bother him while he was working. “Julie, welcome. Make yourself at home. The library is in the basement, just down those stairs.”
“Thanks for letting me research here. I hope to find details about my ancestors. They’ve been here since the revolution.”
“Happy someone is making use of all the information and trivia written down over the past two hundred years.”
