Emory’s Gift (35 page)

Nichole was staring at Alecci, who faltered. “What?” Alecci demanded.

“Their reaction? Charlie’s
reaction
?” she repeated.

It took him a lot longer to get it than it took me.
So Charlie, they just condemned your bear to death; what is your reaction?
My dad looked disgusted. Probably if there were a button that ended the world, all Alecci would care about was getting a shot of the person pushing it.

“Okay, so,” Alecci said uncomfortably, “we need to start with Thorpe getting to the bottom of how the bear drew on the wall.”

It was, I knew, time to quit withholding information. “I already know how,” I said.

Well, that sure got everyone’s attention. I explained what I had concluded about the tomato cage.

“When did you figure this out, Charlie?” my dad wanted to know. I didn’t like that question.

“Tuesday,” I admitted reluctantly.

“Tuesday,” my father repeated. I expected a chewing out then, but when I timidly raised my eyes to his he looked contemplative, as if instead of immediately reacting to what I’d done he was trying to figure out why I’d done it; why this son of his, Charlie Hall, kept holding things back, hoarding information, covertly guarding the truth from people and doling it out only when it suited him. I hadn’t ever seen that expression on his face before. It was as if I no longer was merely this boy he needed to carve into a man the way he carved wood at his shop. I was also someone he needed to get to know, to discover.

“That’s why he hasn’t gone up into the mountains yet. He said he has a message, and I don’t think he can leave until he delivers it,” I concluded.

Everyone processed this in their own way. My dad looked thoughtful, Nichole admiring, McHenry awestruck. Alecci looked as self-important as he always did. Wally didn’t seem to care; he was just there to drive and do everything else.

As far as I was concerned, the next order of business was to go out to the pole barn and give Emory a tomato cage paintbrush, but two things got in the way: first there was the fight, sort of a brawl, out in the yard. I couldn’t tell if rival groups were going at it or it was just some rowdies who couldn’t pass up the opportunity to skin their knuckles on each other, but there were at least ten people kicking and punching, a real riot. Some women screamed and a lot of folks looked expectantly at the security guards, but their job was to keep people away from the pole barn and they didn’t budge.

Fighting makes for good television, so Wally and Alecci ran out to tape the thing. Eventually the combatants quit out of exhaustion, panting and giving manly stares at the camera. A few minutes later we could hear sirens making a very slow climb up Hidden Creek Road, so then Wally and Alecci went to the top of the driveway to film what turned out to be three sheriff’s cars and two tow trucks. One of the sheriff’s deputies got out of his car and began nailing “No Parking” signs to trees on both sides of the road.

Sheriff Nunnick unslung his bullhorn and aimed it at the crowd. “By order of the sheriff’s department, there is no parking on Hidden Creek Road until midnight Tuesday. Same goes for two miles of Highway 206 on either side of the turnoff for Hidden Creek Road. Move your vehicle or it will be towed.”

People grudgingly began heading up to their cars. A couple of them had pulled too far off the road and were stuck in the drainage ditch, so it was a good thing the tow trucks were there.

Alecci motioned for Nichole to come out and talk to the camera. She sighed, glancing at my father, and then joined the news team. Mr. Thorpe followed her out, as it seemed he suddenly realized that if he didn’t he’d be surrounded by unfriendly faces.

Sheriff Nunnick came down the driveway, nodding and smiling at his constituents and the out-of-towners as if he had just done them a big favor. He gave McHenry’s man a cool glance and walked right past him with an
I outrank you
air and knocked on our door, opening it and sticking his head in. “Mind if I come in?”

My dad offered the sheriff some coffee. They went over and sat at the kitchen table. McHenry excused himself and went out to talk to his men.

“Quite a spectacle out there,” the sheriff observed, blowing on his coffee.

“They don’t leave,” my dad replied. We all glanced outside, where some people still stood around in our yard. Most of the crowd, though, had gone to move their cars.

“I imagine when they park a couple of miles down 206 and make the hike up here, it’ll dampen their enthusiasm a little. That’s quite a climb up Hidden Creek Road,” the sheriff said. “Soon as we get the cars out of here I’m going to send the deputies into the woods and start ticketing people for camping without a permit, and I’ve set up a roadblock down there so that only your neighbors can come up.”

My dad nodded.

“I imagine you’re wondering why the change of heart.”

“You did pretty much imply I was on my own,” my dad replied.

The sheriff leaned back in his chair. “The folks here are only about half the story. We got people coming into town from all over. The hotels are full. Some families are even renting out their guest rooms for top dollar, and you got to wait two hours to get a seat in a restaurant. It’s a bit of a strain on my department to keep everyone in line, but nobody’s complaining. You get my drift, here? This show has put some money in people’s pockets.”

Even then, I understood that when money was in people’s pockets it was good for whoever was an incumbent, come election time.

“So you decided to come out and thin the crowd before it turned into a riot,” my father speculated.

“Well, that and…” The sheriff glanced at me. There was a long pause.

“And you don’t want a lot of witnesses when you execute the judge’s order tomorrow,” my father finished for him.

The sheriff rubbed his face and then nodded.

“But if the bear were to leave, head off into the mountains, say, this afternoon…,” my father said speculatively.

The sheriff shook his head. “Oh, we’re not going to try to follow it, if that’s what you’re asking.”

My dad met my eyes and nodded, and I understood. We needed to give Emory the means to deliver his message right now, while the mob was nearly gone.

The sheriff shook hands with Pastor Klausen and Pastor Jamie on the way out. In a decision that was probably the exact opposite of separation of church and state, Sheriff Nunnick allowed the two of them to keep their car parked on Hidden Creek Road. Jamie was earnestly addressing a small knot of nodding people, folks who probably had caught a ride to our place with someone else and didn’t need to move cars.

My dad went out and explained the plan to McHenry, and the news team came over and heard enough to figure out what was going on. I noticed Nichole touched my dad’s arm when she came up to stand next to him.

“So wait, you’re going to put a special cage on his arm with a paintbrush and see if the bear writes some more words?” Alecci asked. It was close enough, so my dad nodded.

“Right now?”

“Seems like the best time to do it,” my dad replied, looking out at the near-empty lawn.

“No,” Alecci objected, “that’s not what we want. This is not the best time. Tomorrow would be better. Monday morning, that’s our biggest audience.”

McHenry looked him over. “I’m sorry you got the impression we care what you think.”

“Well…” Alecci glanced around for allies and found none, though Mr. Thorpe didn’t seem hostile, so it gave him an inspiration. “Okay, so, we shoot the bear doing his writing and we have Phillip provide his expert opinion on the whole shebang.”

Wally snorted. “I’m not going in there; there’s a
bear
in there, Tony.”

“Well, I know there’s a bear in there, Wally; that’s why we’re here, isn’t it?” Alecci snapped.

“He sees my camera, he’s going to think it’s a gun, man,” Wally said.

“If you’re going to shoot any video, we should leave the tarp over the window,” McHenry observed. “Less threatening to the bear if we’re not all out there peering in at him through the glass.”

“I’m not going to go in there, either,” Nichole said. “Are
you,
Tony?”

There was a long pause. “Well, no, I’m the producer,” he said.

“I think it should be just Charlie and Emory,” my dad said.

“George,” Nichole said cautiously. I picked up on what she didn’t ask:
You sure you want your son in there alone with a bear?
Like everyone, she wasn’t sure what she believed.

“It will be okay, Nichole,” my dad said. Seemed like he understood her pretty well, too.

“So just the boy and the bear,” Wally said.

“Well, and Thorpe,” Alecci said.

“What?” Mr. Thorpe squeaked.

Alecci glared. “You knew that was the deal, Phillip. You’re here to examine the bear.”

“But…”

McHenry snorted, shaking his head, his ponytail flapping as he did so.

It took some working out, but eventually it was decided that I would go into the barn and get things ready and then Mr. Thorpe would stand inside by the side door, which would be cracked open enough to allow Wally to have a view.

I didn’t know what good it was to have a bear expert who was afraid of bears, but no one asked me my opinion.

I opened the back door and stuck my head in. “Emory?” I said tentatively. “You okay?”

The bear just stared at me, implacable as always.

“You need to give your message,” I told him. “We’re out of time.”

I went to the paint cans and selected a deep blue. I popped open the lid and stirred it up real well. I considered turning on the lights, but as my eyes adjusted to the gloom I decided to stick with the ambient illumination. I unlocked the back cabinet and pulled out a tomato cage.

“Are you ready, Emory?” I asked quietly.

chapter

THIRTY-SIX

EMORY was ready. He rose up on his rear legs. I stuck out the tomato cage, and he slipped his paw into it.

There it was: proof that he had written the words on the wall.

I went to the back door and opened it a little. A wedge of bright light leaped across the floor. “You ready, Mr. Thorpe?”

He gave a trembling nod. Behind him my dad smiled at me. He was standing close to Nichole and I could somehow tell that he wanted to hold her hand but lacked the nerve. Thorpe edged into the pole barn, standing as close as he could to the exit.

I picked up the paint can and set it down close to the blank expanse of white wall directly across from the door. Then I guided the wrapped, taped flag into the paint, and when I pulled it out it dribbled a little like a marshmallow on a stick when you pour chocolate syrup on it.

Emory had trouble with the thing—no wonder there’d been so much paint spatter the first time; it really was unwieldy. I helped him get the tip of the tomato cage up and pointed at the wall, then held my breath. Emory touched the wet end of his tomato cage paintbrush against the white surface and began to write his message.

I was pretty astonished at the words that flowed out from under his brush. It must have shown on my face, because Thorpe hissed at me, “I can’t see; he’s blocking my view!”

Emory turned and looked at our bear expert and I thought the man was going to faint dead away. He’d already been hanging half out the door and as he reflexively retreated the rest of the way he jerked sharply on the tarp over the window and it fell away, blasting the room with light.

Wally had his camera on his shoulder and he rushed forward even as Mr. Thorpe fell back, so that the two collided. I’ve seen the footage and it’s pretty funny, with Mr. Thorpe’s out-of-focus head swimming past, big as a blimp, and then the sky and the ground and the door all flashing into frame.

Finally Wally got focus. Emory had dropped to all fours and beaten a retreat to the corner when he saw Wally—maybe he did think it was a gun, or a weapon of some kind. The tomato cage was at my feet and I picked it up.

Wally’s camera caught me standing there with my mouth open, the tomato cage in my hands, dripping blue, and the words on the wall next to me:

God Loves

“It’s okay, Emory,” I told him. For some reason, my heart was pounding. I went back over to the window and rehung the tarp. To help calm him down, I shut the door behind me when I walked outside. Everyone was standing in a tight knot in the backyard, still processing what they had seen.

“You get it, Wally?” Alecci asked.

“What I got was Thorpe here blocking the whole thing with his fat ass, then a few seconds of graffiti,” Wally replied laconically. “No action, unless you count our bear expert falling over his own feet.”

“I guess we should have expected something like this,” Nichole was saying.

“So you believe…,” my father started to respond.

“Yes!” McHenry said.

“So you got nothing?” Alecci demanded incredulously.

“What did you want me to do: say something, get my voice on tape? You’re the damn producer,” Wally spat. “You were hiding behind me like a scared rabbit instead of doing your job.”

“What, what do you believe?” Nichole asked McHenry.

“It’s a message from God!” McHenry said exultantly. He raised his fists up into the air like he’d just scored a touchdown. I thought it was an odd statement from someone who said he didn’t believe in God.

“Or maybe just a message from a reincarnated soldier who believes in God,” my father speculated. “Or a bear who…” He trailed off, unsure.

“It’s a direct message, clear as anything,” McHenry insisted. It seemed pretty important to him that we agree.

“So we didn’t get the bear writing anything. All we got is some words that are already on the wall,” Alecci said angrily.

“‘God Loves,’” Nichole mused.

None of this really mattered to me—not at that moment, anyway. I was just feeling deflated. It was over. Emory had done the thing he’d come to do, and now he would be leaving.

“Great, just great,” Alecci muttered, rubbing his hand through his hair.

“What’s the problem?” Nichole asked him. “It’s the message that’s important.”

“The message? This isn’t the story people want,” Alecci said scornfully.