Kirkegaard Prophecy Part 1

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

All seemed to be perfect. Entirely peaceful.

Elise giggled to herself and nimbly leaped over the rustic wooden fence. This is great, she thought. Totally unreal. She stared at the untouched meadow just for a moment, taking it all in, before walking briskly through the tall grass toward the high rise. The closer she got to the top, the more excited she became. Really, she was trying her best to keep from screaming. Too much, this is too much. It’s one thing to talk about it, but another thing to see it, actually look at it. This is better than I expected. Let’s see, where are they? She scoured through the high weeds and finally found the orange-spray-painted wooden markers round the edges of the property. After circling the entire length of the grounds, Elise walked in measured paces to the exact center of the five wild-flowery acres.

My acres. All mine. Five whole acres.

Elise stood still and took a deep breath, feeling the wind on her face. She cleared her mind and let the peacefulness of the moment take her over. Turning her face up toward the sun, she closed her eyes and let the warmth gently melt into her.

Just like that, Grandpa gives me five acres on the edge of his property, she thought as she stretched out her arms. Probably the most unique birthday present any girl has ever received. She giggled to herself. And this little meadow is mine. Grandpa said so. I can do anything I want with it. A little kingdom, really. A five-acre kingdom.

Elise smiled as she pulled out the title deed and read it once more, just to make sure it was real. She held it up over her head and laughed, spinning in a slow circle. Her back foot slipped into a depression in the ground and she stumbled backwards, laughing as she fell.

"Loo loo loo. Hi, funny girl."

Elise whirled around, looking about. Blushing furiously, she glanced across the field to see who would have watched her act so childish.

She squinted her eyes and saw him peering at her across the top of the barbed-wire fence. He was a small boy with short uneven hair, large eyes, and stick-thin arms. He stood on the other side of the fence, wearing a shirt that was too big and a smile that was too small. Elise raised her hand slowly and waved. He waved and shrugged his shoulders, but Elise wasn't sure why.

"Hi to you, too," she called back.. "I guess you saw me acting stupid, didn't you?"

"No," he said seriously. "I saw you having fun."
She walked slowly toward the fence. He made no move to run away but he didn't come any closer either. Elise rested her hand on the fence post. He shrugged his shoulders again and tilted his head.

"How old are you? Is this place yours?" he asked.

"Almost seventeen years old, and yes, I own this land. How about you - how old are you?"

He ignored the question and looked around. "I like coming out here. Nice and quiet.” He nodded toward the house across the meadow behind him. "That's my grandparent’s place, and they let me live here and spend time with my plans. They say it’s the best thing." He sang to himself. “Loo loo loo.”
"Your plans?"

He lowered his eyebrows. "Yeah, I get to think a lot. What's your name?"

"Elise. What's yours?"

"Tim."

"Well, Tim,” said Elise, brushing her hair back. “What kind of plans are you making?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, some of them are arranging my coins and others are about the Song."

"What song?"

"The one about my future. My dad talked about it before he left. I do a lot of sitting and thinking. I need time to do that, and it's good to be on the farm and think out my plans. The coins help me." He nodded with his head. "You fell down. How?"

Elise blinked at the odd question, and turned around, pointing. “Well, there was a hole of some sort.”
“Oh, that’s where the man was digging the other day. He didn’t see me because I was going over the Song while I was sitting under this bush here, and I was pretty quiet.” Tim nodded toward the middle of Elise’s property. “Right there, where you fell, he was digging. I saw him and he never saw me.” He wiped his nose with a part of his shirt. “He was a tall thin man, bald and very nervous. Even though he looked around, he never saw me. It was fun not being seen. Loo loo loo.”

"Well, Timmy, my grandpa has a head of gray hair and he’s built like a Mack truck. I don’t know this man you saw.” She turned and pointed toward the road. “Did he come from down there? There are two entrances to this property, so maybe -"

She looked across the fence. He was gone. Nowhere to be seen.
How could he have moved that quickly? Elise scratched her head and walked a few feet along the fence. Is he hiding? Did he lay down in the tall grass? She was searching so intently she didn’t hear Karen walk up.

“Whoa, cowgirl, look at this property.”

Elise jumped. “Augh! You startled me, Karen!”

Her red-haired friend laughed. “Uptight? Guilt, maybe? Are you doing something illegal?”

Elise frowned hard. “No, I’m trying to find a little friend who just disappeared. He left me with a puzzle and didn’t stay around to explain it.”

“I’m sure he’ll be back soon. Well, well, check out this spread. So this is your land, sodbusterl,” said Karen as she leaned her back against the fence and viewed the five acres. “Think you’ll bring in four or five thousand head of cattle, or would you rather have sheep?”

“Ho ho ho,” answered Elise, looking across the rolling hills. She paused for a moment and said, “I’m going to take my time and plan my life around this. This is my destiny. I’ll begin on this plot, even at my age. No person can really know his place or purpose in life, you see. But they must make choices anyway. Well, I’ll start here.”

Karen turned to face Elise. “No person does what? Where did you get that kind of thinking?”

Elise smiled slowly. “I’ve been reading the philosopher Soren Kierkegaard as I’m preparing for college. I like some of the things I’ve picked up from him – he’s real deep, you know? He’s what you call an existentialist.”

“Yeah, I know that term from our History class last semester,” said Karen. “They believe that people find life as meaningless in itself, but people try to make their own purpose - .”

“Well, Kierkegaard was more direct, as I see it. He felt that man could find his purpose in his approach to God, but there was one part of his writing that I liked the best.” She gazed at some clouds moving across the sky. “He challenges the reader to make personal decisions. ‘Choose your own path’. It was like he was telling me, ‘Elise, you decide, because that’s all that matters.”

“You sure that’s how he meant it? Sounds like you’re picking and choosing just what you want to read, “ said Karen.

“Isn’t that his point?” countered Elise. “Choose what you think is important, and my immediate decisions are what I think is important.”

Karen tilted her head. “But Kierkegaard said that God –“

“Here’s where I plant my life and make it important,“ interrupted Elise. “Literally. I’m going to plant stuff and make something of this land.” She bent down and fingered the loose earth. “You need to study more philosophy, Karen. It’d do you good.”

Karen raised her eyebrows and squinted, crinkling the freckles that covered her nose. “Not like you to get so high-brow with me. It sounds like you’re trying to become a philosopher yourself.”

Elise grinned. “Who knows? When one gets things settled early in life as I have been doing, one gets to expand on their views.”

Karen didn’t smile. “Um, it’s not as if I’m a monk or theology professor or anything, but doesn’t your own personal philosophy do an about-face to the verse we learned at the retreat? It was in the thirty-second Psalm. Something that told us that God will instruct us and guide us, even teaching us the way to go. So where does that leave your dependence on Jesus?”



Elise narrowed her eyes and set her jaw. “Yeah, that’s a comfortable answer within the confines of a church, but my growing philosophy deals with life in the real world: God helps those who help themselves. When I need Jesus I’ll call on Him, but I can’t see Him worried about small things in life. I don’t have a problem with that. God works on the problems in the war in Iraq or the worldwide oil shortage or starvation in Africa. To think that He’d fuss or whether I set up my own homestead and take charge of my life, well, you’re getting a little too ecclesiastical with me.” The clouds gathered in front of the sun, darkening the sky.

“Aw, come on, I get tired of hearing that old phrase ‘in the real world.’ What are we in right now, Disneyland? And besides, even I know the verse that says God knows the number of hairs on your head,” said Karen. “Kierkegaard’s not telling you to push God into the role of a meaningless icon. Look, lately you’ve been spouting off writers like Nietzsche, Sartre and Kafka. Whatever you’re digging for -“

“Digging!” shouted Elise, leaping forward. “That’s what that little boy Timmy talked about. Somebody buried something over there, in the middle of the property. Think I can’t control my destiny, freckle-face? Let’s find out!” Grabbing a thick wooden property marker, Elise ran toward the center of the acreage. Karen picked up a stick and followed. The sky gave a low and menacing rumble.

It was clear that the depression in the ground was from a recent digging. Elise yelled and dropped down to her knees, using the marker as a shovel. Karen clawed at the ground as well, jabbing with the stick.

“So Kierkegaard’s unrealistic, huh?” panted Elise, looking up and wiping some drops of rain her forehead. “Well, look at how things are falling in line for me. It’s just like Kierkegaard knew every step I’m to take. I’m given land, and now I get some cash treasure to help finance - ah, here we are. Oh man, oh man, look at that box.” Elise sat back and gazed at the foot-long blue-steel box at the bottom of the hole. “Here, my friend, is the next step in the process of taking life by the horns.”

“Well, before you go steer-wrestling,” said Karen coolly, “why don’t you take out the stupid box and see what’s inside?”

Casting Karen a withering glare, Elise reached in and pulled out the box with a grunt. Placing it carefully on the ground, she inspected it. “No lock or seal - good. Let’s take a look at my treasure.” She released a small metal latch and the box popped open. Raindrops spattered around them.

Elise pulled the lid back. Both girls gazed down and looked at a handful of mercury dimes and two baseball cards.

“Whoa, big treasure. Some dusty coins of hardly any worth and some moldy trading cards,” said Karen, shivering as the cold rain increased. “Why not buy me a plasma TV on the way home, okay? Let’s get out of here.”


Elise looked at her defiantly. “How do you know these coins aren’t worth thousands of dollars?”

Karen plucked up a handful of them. “My brother is into coin and card collecting. See that olive branch? That bundle of sticks? Mercury dime. See this year? 1945. The most expensive of these would be worth about five bucks, tops - some as little as one measly dollar. So you have - let’s see, about fifty dollars worth of coins here. Woo hoo. Want to party? Let’s invite Kierkegaard!”

“Oh, shut up,” snapped Elise. “Well, maybe these baseball cards are in mint condition..oh, forget it. One of them has writing all over it, in white ink.”

“That about kills the worth of the card, cowgirl,” said Karen, standing up and shivering. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going down to my Honda Civic.“ She turned and pulled up her collar against the falling rain.

“Wait! Karen, wait!” Elise screamed. “Look at what’s written on this card. Look!”

Karen turned around and stared blankly.

“It’s not the card itself,” Elise shouted. It’s the message on the card. It can’t be!” She ran her fingers through her hair as she read it again. “It can’t be!”

The ear-splitting roar of a gunshot ripped through the air.

Kirkegaard Prophecy Part 2

The roar of the gunshot split the air.

Karen fell to the ground.

"Karen!" screamed Elise, squinting through the driving rain. "Are you hit? Did you get shot?"

"No," hissed Karen, "but I’m certainly not going to stand there and make a nice target for Elmer Fudd, wherever he is. Pipe down. Let’s get out of here, like we should have done before."

The two girls crawled on their hands and knees through the high grass and the rainstorm, fighting to keep from slipping as they headed toward the road.

"You two!" bellowed a deep voice. "Stand up! Stand up, I said. What are you doing trespassing on private property?"

Elise rose from the ground and saw an older man in a bright yellow rain poncho and John Deere baseball cap, standing at the fence with a shotgun pointed up in the sky. He was on a separate piece of property, hidden away from Timmy’s grandparents’ farm by a large stand of trees. Enraged, she pulled out her deed and waved it over her head.

"This is my property! I have the deed right here! How dare you shoot at us! How dare you!"

The man was unmoved. "I know the owner of this property and his name is Cable Myers."

"Well, my good man," said Elise, stomping toward him with her arm extended, holding the deed held out in front of her, " I happen to be Elise Myers, Cable’s granddaughter."

"Hey, have him put away the shotgun before you go prancing over there," called Karen. But Elise’s anger was too great for her to stop. Thrusting the title deed under his nose, she narrowed her eyes. "I hope you’re not too old to be able to see this print, " she panted, "but if you can, you will see that this deed entitles me to five acres on the edge of my grandad’s property, where I am now standing at this very moment. "

The man glared at her and took the deed. He read the front page, shielding it from the pouring rain. Glancing back at her, his eyes softened. "Guess it’s so, isn’t it? Well, my name is Lonnie Gund, and I’ve lived here for over twenty years. Listen, I’m sorry about the gunshot and all. I just shot it in the air as a warning. We’ve had some strangers tromping these fields, you see, and - "

"Well, since it seems that we will now be neighbors, Mr. Gund," Elise huffed, "I would highly recommend that you might keep your shotgun inside if you come with reach of my property."

"It’ll be done, true enough, Miss Elise, and my deepest apologies," said the man, tipping his cap. "You’ll have no more such traumatic memories to relate to your grandchildren one day."

Karen laughed aloud, but Elise held her stare. "Good," she said, taking the deed back and tucking it in her pocket. "Have a nice day." Turning quickly, she headed down the hill toward her car. The rain slowed to a light drizzle, but both girls were soaked.

"What gives, cowgirl? The man apologized. It’s not like he tried to drill us, "said Karen, trying not to slip in the mud. "Lighten up."

"Just like Kierkegaard said," sneered Elise, sniffing deeply and looking at the horizon. "The universe is confusing and yet we’ve all been put here, trying to make sense of it. Things can be totally irrational sometimes. Life can be overwhelming."

"You sound weird when you talk like that," said Karen, squinting.

Elise turned toward her, nostrils flaring. "Well, here’s my philosophy. The strong survive. Okay?" She pointed a thumb in the direction of Mr. Gund, who still stood by the fence line. "The sooner I let people like him know that I mean business, the better. Where’s my treasure stuff?"

"Guess I’m confused," said Karen, handing her the blue-steel box. "If you want him to know you mean business, just what is your business - pushing people around? Becoming the queen of your own kingdom?" Karen stepped over to her car at the edge of the road. "Philosophy is more than a shopping spree. You shouldn’t pick and choose the sections that appeal to you most. Sit down and read all the way through. And…let me know when you decide what you want to be. Until then, have a good time with your friend Kierkegaard. Just don’t forget one thing," she said as she opened the door of her Civic and got in. "You ought to leave a little room for Jesus." She closed the door and drove off, leaving Elise standing in the drizzle.

------------------------.

The next day’s afternoon weather was sunny, and Elise had made sure that the weather forecast promised it would stay that way. She carried a lawn chair and a cardboard box up the hill to the center of the property. Though it was late in the day and the air was warm, the ground was still wet. Time to sit and make some plans away from the distractions of her everyday world. After all, things were different now, weren’t they? She was a landowner, and had a good start on life. This is what existing was about - getting your footing and taking charge. Nearing the center of the property, Elise unfolded the chair and sat down. She placed the cardboard box on the ground and removed the blue treasure box. Let’s take a look at those baseball cards, she thought, and try to sort out this mystery. Then I’ll draw out some plans for the property.

The first card was of an old Yankee baseball player named Gehrig. There was a bend in the corner of the card. Nuts! Karen said damage would hurt the worth of the card. Elise turned the card over in her hands. The company was Fleer, and the date of the card said 1961. Nothing special, and it wasn’t in a casing of any sort.
Oh, well...

She picked up the second card and looked at the front. The same player, but from 1940...or was it 1941? It was hard to read anything on it. The card was full of bends and wrinkles. Looks like someone had crumpled the card into a wad before smoothing it out once again. Worth money? Probably not worth a cent from all the damage and the handwriting scrawled across the back. But it was the writing that made this so interesting... if I could just figure out what the meaning could be...

Elise glanced around and then held the card close, re-reading the stunning words printed in block letters across the back side of the card in an unusual white ink:

This is too much to bear.
One death and now another on the way.
When will I stop?
Can I overcome the guilt?
Please God, help my soul.

Elise shivered. A nervous bald man sneaks up here and buries a box on my property... a tortured soul, stumbling through life, just like Kierkegaard said. A soul in confusion who is dealing with guilt about something...

...is this a confession about a murder? Another on the way...

She bolted upright.

Elise pressed her hands against her forehead. Could it be that I’m reading the confession of a serial killer? The designs and the sketches of the property would have to wait.

"Hey, there’s the funny lady again. Loo, loo, loo."

Startled, Elise looked around. Breathing a sigh of relief, she saw him peering over the barbed wire. There was the little boy Timmy, standing in the same place as yesterday, wearing that serious expression again.

"Well, hey," called Elise as she walked toward the fence. "You’re almost like a little ghost, coming in and out of here."

"I almost think I am, sometimes," called the boy. "Anyway, I like being invisible whenever I do my thinking. I brought some coins out here to inspect in the sunlight. Then I’ll think about the Song." He looked up at the sky. "It’s kind of late for you to be here. You shouldn’t be here when it’s dark."

"Oh," Elise grinned as she felt the roughness of the fence post. "I can handle myself."

"Yeah, I saw the way you talked to that other girl. You act like you’re in charge of everything, don’t you? Pretty dumb idea." He shook his head in a reproving way. "I think you’re a little old for that kind of thinking." He shrugged his shoulders.

The comment stung her. Small kid or not, where did he come across with a snide remark like that?

"Well, "she replied, measuring her words carefully. " I think the way things are falling into my lap, I have the right to take control of my life this way." She swung her arms widely. "After all, I’ve been given a pretty good start on life, don’t you think? Five acres. All mine." There. That ought to impress him.

He shrugged again. "The land’ll last longer than you will. Boy, for someone who should think this stuff out, you’re pretty naive." Before she could give an angry response, he titled his head and asked a startling question. "Don’t you ever think of death?"

Elise stepped back. If you only knew from the baseball card in my hand, boy...

He shook his head. "Didn’t think you did. What a pity."

"Oh?" she asked curtly. "And you do, at your age?"

He nodded seriously. "Sure do. In fact, that’s what most of my Song is about."

She laughed without humor. "You couldn’t be more than eight years old. Why would you worry about death?" Immediately she knew she had asked a stupid question.

He looked up. "Listen, it’s getting dark, and I’ve finished my thinking for today. I’ve got to get in and see my grandparents. They want me in before dark." He turned to go. "Loo loo loo."

"Timmy."

"Yes?"

"Your parents... are they both ... dead?"

Tim turned around without expression. "My mom died two years ago, yes, from a bad disease, but I know she’s in Heaven. I miss her, but she made her plans in order for me to get to see her one day. My dad, well, he’s gone, but he’s still alive. I never really saw him. I only heard him once, in another room at my grandparent’s house. I was real sick at the time and I couldn’t go out and see him, but I did hear him talking. I’m not sure he wanted to see me, but I got the Song from him." Tim glanced away before looking back at her. "I don’t know what he looks like, I’m afraid. I think he’s dealing with some things in his life."

Elise’s eyes were moist. "Tim, I am so sorry for you."

Tim looked at her with a kind expression. "It’s okay, really it is. I think you’re a really nice girl, Elise, but I think you have problems without knowing you have problems, and that’s kind of like driving a car that has no oil. The engine’s gonna break down on you while you’re driving on the highway. I think you’d better get away from planning your own corner of the world and get back to the real world."

‘The real world.’ That’s the phrase I used with Karen. Elise smiled. "And just what is the ‘real world’?"

Tim returned her smile. "The one where you open your eyes and look all the way down the highway, not just at your own property." He squinted. "Getting dark. You better get in, especially with that mysterious stuff getting buried in your property. Who knows, the skinny man might come back? Loo loo loo."

He was gone in the late afternoon dusk.

Elise went back and sat on her chair, pondering over a sick little boy and five acres of new land and a baseball card with a murder written on it. Confusion, confusion, just like Kierkegaard said...but don’t walk away from it. Get serious about solving the riddles.
She huffed out loud. Instead of trying to re-write the rules of life on my terms, maybe I need to get back to the basics.
Getting up slowly, she folded the chair and groped around in the darkness for the box. I gotta get back to square one. Why did I leave anyway? How stupid. She bit her lip. Why, when I step into a new stage in life, do my friends and I think that it means to adopt a totally new way of thinking? Why would ‘different’ necessarily mean ‘better’? I got the answers at the same retreat Karen did. Why did I walk away from God?

She reached inside her box and felt around for her Bible. Not there. She remembered that she had left it in the back seat of her car. Gathering her belongings, she headed slowly down the slope to the road. I’ll just do a little long range thinking, like Tim said...

She was startled by the sound. In the darkness she heard the door of her car click open and close.
Couldn’t be Karen, she thought. No.

Someone’s trying to hide in my car. The murderer. Now what do I do?
Another noise. Footsteps crunching on the roadside gravel. Slow, measured steps coming toward her. Too dark to see...

"Elise. Elise Meyers."

Elise stood still, too scared to speak.

"You have something of mine and I want it. I know you do," said the voice out of the darkness. "And I’m coming to get it."

Kirkegaard Prophecy Part 3

Elise stooped low in the tall grass, frantically looking around for a better place to hide. Maybe the darkness was enough to allow her to make a run for it...

She heard a dry chuckle escape from near the car. "I can see you clearly enough, the moon’s caught your outline easily," said the voice out of the darkness. "Don’t try any heroics. Smart move, honey, real smart - you left your cell phone in the car, so I’m pretty sure you won’t be making any emergency calls."

"Get away from me," hissed Elise. "This isn’t some game. I’m not going to just let you bully me around, whoever you are. Just leave me alone."

"No."

Elise dropped down on her hands and knees, clutching the box.

"You’re quite a follower of that Kierkegaard philosopher. I heard you bragging about how you followed his writings so much," said the voice. "And I’ve read about him quite a bit myself. So, really what happens is, the Christian faith is based upon your own energy. It all comes down to personal enthusiasm, doesn’t it?"

"What do you mean?" asked Elise.

"Simply this, " answered the voice. "How we believe matters much more than what we believe, since Kierkegaard says that it really boils down to inward exhilaration."

"He didn’t mean it that way," argued Elise.

"Oh, come on now. Did you get all of your information from the back of a cereal box? Read him some more and you’ll see what he says. Hmmm...how did one writer say it? ‘According to Kierkegaard, emotional attachment to an obvious falsehood, is better than detached conviction of the visible truth.’ Yeah, that’s right."

"I don’t get it," said Elise, moving quietly through the grass.

"What he said," answered the voice patiently, "is that he felt it was better to get excited about something, even if it was a lie, rather than to be bored and believe something even if it was an obvious truth."

Elise stopped, blinked and thought about this for a long time. Finally she said, "I had no idea he meant it that way."

There was a long sigh in the darkness. "Honey, he’s saying that your belief in Truth is not as important as your emotional response to it. Emotions play a big part of Kierkegaard’s philosophy. Problem is, your emotions can get in the way, can’t they?"

Something about that statement hit Elise so hard she stopped trying to escape. Though the voice was sound self-assured, there was pain in it. Elise held her breath for a moment, then spoke slowly through the darkness.
"Life hurts, doesn’t it? Life can be cruel."

There was no answer for a full minute. Then the voice answered softly. "Yeah. Things don’t go the way you planned and so you gotta take charge. You gotta face life as it comes. Man is the master of his fate."

"Well, I used to feel that way," said Elise, getting control of her fear. " I tried to run from the very basic truths I was taught at home."
"Yeah, that’s the first smart thing you’ve said all week," called the voice. "You can’t live in the past. Forget what’s behind, all of it. Old things gotta die away. That’s why I want that box. Old things are never good. The things from your past need to be trashed."

"Not always, " Elise answered. "Seems to me I got three square meals a day when I was a little girl. "

The reply was harsh. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"Well, eating’s an old habit, but I still think it’s a good idea. Same goes with breathing. It’s repetitive but necessary, know what I mean? Old stuff still is good sometimes. "

The man’s voice chuckled again. "You got me there. Guess it’s so, isn’t it? "

"Okay, since we agree on something," Elise hesitated. "How about I just get up and walk to my car and leave here, okay?"

"No, that’s not gonna happen, not without that box," said the voice, and Elise heard the firmness in the words. "I aim to have that box before you take another step."

Elise shook her head in the darkness. "No, whether it’s a box or a car or my purse - I can’t go through life being bullied by someone," she said defiantly, slowly and carefully getting to her feet. "I’m going to get up and walk right out of here because I know full well you won’t shoot me." Using every bit of strength she could muster, Elise stood up and took a step.

The roar from the shotgun was deafening. A nearby branch fell to the ground with a distinctive thump. Elise fell to the ground and covered her head, sobbing.

"That’s to let you know that I can and will shoot if I have to, and that I hit what I am for, "said the voice.

"Crying, aren’t you? Big time Christian girl who doesn’t even know where she stands in life. Look, now’s she’s crying, "he stopped his mocking voice and coughed. "Look, I’m going to give you one minute to walk that box over here and put it up on that fence post so I can check and see that you didn’t take anything out."

"Okay, okay, okay," panted Elise, her voice cracking. "Just don’t hurt me." She wiped away a tear and prayed and she nervously wiped her face. "I’m heading toward the fence, okay?"

To her right she heard a swishing of grass and the sharp crackling of twigs. Someone was near her, trying to run away. Thoughts raced through her mind like bolts of lightning. Suddenly it was clear...

"No! I’m right here!" She screamed. " That noise is not..."

The shotgun blast ripped through the air. Whoever was running fell to the ground with a thump.

------------------------.
Elise tripped over the lawn chair and dropped the box as she crawled toward the still body. No, Lord, no, Lord, she prayed, it can’t be. Please don’t let him die.

"It wasn’t me!" she cried over her shoulder as she pawed feverishly through the tall grass.

"No! No, I couldn’t have!" roared the man’s voice, and Elise heard him crashing through the fence. She ought to be scared, but it didn’t matter now...

She was sure she knew who it was, anyway.

Clumsily, the figure ran across the meadow. She could hear his heavy footsteps and muffled sobs. "It’s little Tim, isn’t it?" He moaned.

"Yes," said Elise. "It’s Timmy. He must have been hiding, hearing everything."

The man knelt down and placed his hands on Timmy’s chest. "Oh, I never meant..."


The little boy groaned quietly.

Elise felt his pulse while running a hand over the boy’s arm. "I can’t see too well, but there’s no evidence of blood. I don’t think you shot him."

"No," the man said, a bit relieved. "No, it seems that I didn’t."

Elise lifted Tim’s head. "I think he was so scared in hearing the gunshot that her either stumbled or maybe even passed out. What do you think," she looked up, "Mr. Gund?"

He turned the flashlight on, and there he was, just like Tim had described the man with the box. He was tall, and since he wasn’t wearing the poncho, she could easily see how thin he was. She looked at Tim, who blinked and glanced up sheepishly. "Sorry," he said as he wiped his eyes. "I guess I got too scared and ran for it. I didn’t mean to be nosey, but it sounded like you were in trouble." He looked at the man. "Are you going to shoot us just because of some old baseball cards and coins?"

Mr. Gund was taken aback. "H-how did you know?"

"Oh, I see things, and I saw this girl here - her name’s Elise, did you know that? - I saw her holding them and looking them over. I may have other problems but I have real good eyesight." He propped himself up on one elbow and pulled out his flashlight. "Could you open the box?" he asked Elise.

"No," said Mr. Gund.

"Yes," and she pulled the latch on the box. The lid popped open and Tim’s light illuminated the little treasures inside.

"Ah," snarled Gund, his face contorted. "The boy doesn’t need to see this."

Tim ignored him, reaching over and holding up the newer card. This old Yankee baseball player named Gehrig," he said, "was a great man off the baseball field as well as on it. He was a real powerful home run hitter but people loved him because he faced a lot of troubles."

Elise raised her eyebrows in puzzlement but glanced at Mr. Gund. He looked miserable.

"Mr. Gund was not keeping these cards because they are worth money. I bet that folded -up Gehrig card could be sold for over ten thousand dollars. It’s a collector’s item. He was keeping them for something else. Look at that older card, please. You’ll see some value there."

Elise picked up the second card and looked at the front. The same baseball players’ face could be seen through the card’s mass of folds. "It’s all crumpled up, Timmy," she said, "and the strange white ink would wipe out any other value."

"No," Tim said, looking at the night sky and squinting deep in thought. Let me see if I can remember: "This is too much to bear. One death and now another on the way. When will I stop?
Can I overcome the guilt? Please God, help my soul." '

Elise shivered as she looked at the card. "That is exactly what the card says, word-for-word. How could you have possibly known that?"

Tim smiled. "I’m kinda smart that way. I hear things and remember them exactly. Don’t know how I do it, but that’s what I do."

Elise turned and looked at Gund, who had turned his face away. "You know about this, don’t you? This card was written by you about a murder, wasn’t it? Another on the way... what does that mean, Mr. Gund?"

He didn’t answer.

Tim shined the light in her eyes. "Hey, funny lady, it has nothing to do with a murder. Loo, loo, loo."

Puzzled, Elise looked directly into the light. "Wait a minute. You talked to me yesterday about how much you think of death. That’s connected with this, isn’t it?"

Tim nodded his head. "Yeah. I kinda figured it out when I was hiding here in the weeds, listening to you all. I thought about the words on the card and the yelling coming from Mr. Gund and I think I know what it’s about. Want me to tell?" He wasn’t looking at Elise anymore. He was looking at Mr. Gund.

"Yes," he answered hoarsely, laying the shotgun in the grass and turning his back to them. He didn’t leave them. "Yes, go ahead."

He nodded again. "Okay. It’s what most of my Song is about."

Elise stared at him without speaking. She had no idea what he meant.
He looked up. "That card is about me. Well, my family, really. Not my grandparents. My mom and dad." He turned and pointed at the house, singing briefly. "Loo loo loo."

"Timmy," said Elise, "How can this card possibly concern you -"

Tim turned back toward her without expression. "My mom died two years ago, from a called Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis. I looked it up in a book after I heard about it. Amyotrophic means ‘without muscle nourishment,’ and it means her muscles slowly paralyzed and she died.

Like I told you about my dad, well, I heard him once, in another room at my grandparent’s house. I was real sick at the time and I couldn’t go out and see him, but I did hear him talking and he said the disease’s name - not this one, but another name. It got stuck in my mind, and that’s how I got the Song. I got it from him." Tim glanced over to Mr. Gund. "I never thought I’d meet him, but I think I have now." He looked at Gund. "Right, daddy?"

Mr. Gund turned and faced the glare of the flashlight. His eyes were wet. "Yes. Yes, son, you’re right."
Elise sat back in shock.

Tim looked at her with a kind expression. "I heard him say loo, Elise, I really did. Loo, loo. I was like loo.
"Lou Gehrig," said Elise. "Lou Gehrig had had Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis - after he died, it became known as Lou Gehrig’s Disease."

Mr. Gund bowed his head. "Timmy’s mom - my wife - died of Lou Gehrig’s Disease and it destroyed my world. I couldn’t get up in the morning. I let the farm go. I couldn’t even think of work when I lost one of the most precious things in my life. I left Tim with my folks and spent three years hanging onto a bottle. Drinking and drowning in my sorrows. My parents, they loved Tim like he was their own, and became his parents until I could get my life back in order. About the time I got myself back together and headed back to take up with Tim... " He wiped his nose. "You know, the ALS disease is genetic and can pass down through the family. Tim got bad sick about the time I was ready to step back into his life. That’s when I fell apart completely. Timmy was diagnosed with Lou Gehrig’s Disease and I just couldn’t hold it together. I gave custody to my parents and moved out. But I couldn’t leave altogether, so I took up renting this place nearby. Only this little piece of property connects my folks’ property with mine. I kept a look on Tim, but wasn’t strong enough to do anything else."

Elise nodded slowly.

"You see, girl," Gund said as he sniffed. "This world is a pitiful place. You get yourself energized and excited for success only to have it ripped away from you. Your Kierkegaard said faith is impossible to discuss. He said that people will have to decide for themselves what they want to believe. What a great prophecy." He laughed without humor. "Then I guess future generations won’t talk about their walk with God. People will just simply decide how much faith they want and what is true for them. Well, all I know is that nothing seems true for me anymore."

Elise stopped. All of her youth group attendance and church activities didn’t help her in this situation. She realized that her life with God was built around how much she enjoyed comfort and security - just like the five acres here. How can she tell anyone how to deal with loss and suffering? She sat speechless.

"There is truth, Daddy," said Tim.

"Huh? What’s truth, Tim?" said Mr. Gund, looking over at him. "Tell me."

"I forgive you, and that’s the truth," said the tired-looking boy. "And it’s true that I want you to come be with me no matter how little time I have left to live. Even if it’s one more week, Daddy, I want you to be with me."
Mr. Gund rose and walked over to the boy. The rifle lay against the fence post, forgotten by the man. He leaned down and gently picked Tim up. The boy closed his eyes and smiled.

"Daddy, I’m sleepy," he said. "Would you take me home?"

"Yes, son. "said the man, his voice cracking. "Yes."

Tim leaned his head on Mr. Gund’s chest. The quiet man turned and headed toward the farmhouse. Elise imagined she heard him singing softly.

For the next hour and a half, anyone driving by the rustic wooden fence next to the five grassy acres would have seen a girl sitting on the hood of a car with a flashlight in her hand, peering intently into a book. If they would have slowed down, they would have noticed that the book was a Bible.

If they would have stopped and talked with the girl, they would have found an eager young lady who would freely have told them that she was going "back to square one."

And even if they didn’t understand what Elise Myers meant, she did.

Nowhere, Arizona Part 1

He was totally alone, on the inside as well as the outside.

The air was so still that he could hear the tread of his gym shoes as he walked on the edge of the weed-lined highway. No cars had passed since the taxi dropped him off at the bottom of the hill over a half an hour ago. He felt both a gnawing emptiness and a fierce determination, and the two fought a fierce battle within him. His many thoughts shot through his mind and bounced around his skull in a random confusion.

So it’s over, and they won’t get back together. Just keep the flashlight beam on the road ahead of you. Never mind that your blister has broken and there is blood in your sock. Your stuff in Santa Maria’s gonna get sold, you know. How long have you been walking uphill? Two miles? No, more like three miles. Is this a mesa? It keeps going uphill. You should have known that you were a throwaway. Wish the taxi would have taken you a little bit further, to the top of the hill at least. You’ve been discarded, man.

Jack Derry stepped off the highway and stared into the deep Arizona midnight terrain. He leaned over, dropped his duffel bag and rubbed his knobby knees. He pulled the crumpled note out of his pocket and fingered it, not wanting to read it again. From this elevation, all he could see was a sprinkling of house lights miles below him. Jack smoothed the wrinkled note and folded it carefully. He always felt like his life was a book, a few paragraphs and maybe a page being written each day. The narrative had been pretty good up until a few weeks ago. Okay then. Things will need to be different. Come on, the driver said the house should be at the top of the hill, on the right. Just get to the top of the hill and you’ll be okay.

You gotta pick up the pieces, man. You need to write a new chapter, change the plot, you know?
Jack sighed and stepped back onto the still-warm highway asphalt, his feet crunching the few bits of gravel on the road. The flashlight beam spread out over the roadway and Jack noticed the cracks and potholes as he walked.

This road is rotted out. Seems like it isn’t used very much. Guess there’s no reason for anyone to head to this part of Arizona. A town called Mofarse, Arizona. That’s going to be your new home.

Here was how he was going to spend the rest of his sophomore school year. He had been shipped from California to Arizona in order to stay out of his parents’ way while they settled the final details of the divorce.

Trashed you. Like it was your fault they busted up. They treated you like you were the reason behind all the trouble. Well, okay then.

He visibly winced when he recalled the rainy October evening as his folks sat in the kitchen, phoning every possible relative, trying to find someone to take him for the remainder of the school year. Someone, anyone. It took them over two hours and thirteen phone calls before they found distant relatives Uncle Bert and Aunt Lea willing to take him in. Before he knew it, his parents had packed him off in the nearest Greyhound and he was heading out of California. It finally hit him as he left the Greyhound and got into the taxi: he wasn’t going back to Santa Maria.

Mofarse. Man, you’re in nowhere. Nowhere, Arizona. This really is permanent, then.

You’ll make it. You don’t need them. You don’t need anybody.

A dry and gentle autumn breeze blew in his face. They said the house was at the top of the hill. You’re almost there. Just find the house and see what happens next. Jack’s flashlight flickered and went out. Great. He shook it while he walked, trying to get even a weak beam, but in the darkness he slammed against a ledge of some kind.

The collision made him stumble forward onto the gravel, fighting for balance. He slid, dropping his flashlight and tearing the zipper of his duffle bag as he fell hard.. A few items slid out in the darkness. The impact of hitting the ground turned the flashlight on again. Jack grabbed the light and inspected himself, checking the scrape marks on his palms and the books lying in front of him. One of the books was his family Bible. He laughed without humor, stuffing it back into the bag. Nice send-off present.

Jack shifted his duffel bag to his shoulder and swung the flashlight beam around the area, searching for anything else he may have dropped. He aimed the light toward the tall rock ...and realized that it wasn’t a rock at all. It was a sign ... a low-slung thick concrete marker type of a sign, about ten feet long and almost three feet high, with some upper wooden parts rotted and splintered. What kind of a sign would be way out here...? . Some of the letters along the concrete were missing, but Jack could make out a few words: M...S...then ...A..U...S...E...M..E...N.. then ...P...A...R...K... Jack stared at the letters unbelievingly. Couldn’t be. This is an old ... amusement park? He raised his flashlight beam and caught a red-and-white striped phone-booth-like construction with a front opening. An old ticket booth.

Jack shook his head as he took a few steps forward. Oh, brother. Your new home is in a defunct amusement park in Nowhere, Arizona...

He walked up the steep grade a few more steps, through a rusted gateway and by an empty concrete fountain, seeing the only illuminated building in sight. That must be Uncle Bert’s. He walked past a cracked sign that said “Midway” and headed toward the lighted building. In front was a standing mailbox attached to a large sign that spelled “BUMPER CARS” in ornate letters. Jack smiled in spite of himself. You’re going to live with some crazies who have renovated a bumper car building for their home. Well, it could have been worse. They could have moved into the House of Mirrors. He walked to the front door, knocked and waited, breathing in the cool night air.

No answer.

He knocked again, loudly, and the front door swung open slowly, letting Jack see the entire front living room. Every light was on, and the inside was amazing. A blue and white carousel horse stood in one corner next to a juke box. Overhead were neon signs pointing directions to popcorn, soft drinks and rest rooms. Bubble gum machines of all sizes lined the side wall. It was all a bit exciting ... but nobody was around to greet him. He cleared his throat nervously.

“Uh...Uncle Bert?”
Jack stepped inside cautiously. He gazed carefully down the hallway, past a full-size clown statue.

“Aunt Lea? It’s Jack. Are - are you home?”

No answer. He lay down his gear and scratched his chin, thinking.

Wait a minute. It’s past midnight. They knew you would be arriving at the house around 11:45 to midnight...

...is this some kind of a trick?

“Uncle Bert? Hey...what’s going on?”

He dropped his duffel bag and walked slowly down the large hallway, finding well-lit side rooms filled with bumper cars, pin-ball machines and fifty-gallon aquariums. He came to the end of the hall and glanced into a what seemed to be the only normal-looking room in the entire building. There was a well-worn sofa and a comfortable Lazy Boy recliner with a large book opened and parts of a page highlighted in yellow crayon. Jack walked over and read the highlighted passage:

“His feet were like burnished bronze, when it has been made to glow in a furnace...”

Jack lifted up the book checked the front cover. Oh, yeah. A Bible. A real help right now. Jack lay the Bible down at the open passage, and his eye caught the notation written in ink right next to the highlighted passage: “Jack should know.”

What’s that supposed to mean? Maybe that’s Uncle Bert’s handwriting, maybe it isn’t. ‘Jack should know’ this passage? Doesn’t make any sense. Did they want Jack to teach them about feet? Does Uncle Bert want to know about bronze?

Too many puzzles. Too many questions. Nobody in sight. Jack could feel his stomach tighten. Weird, this was way too weird. If this is some kind of a joke, it’s not funny anymore. It needs to stop. He stepped across the hall into what seemed to be the kitchen area. He stopped short, gasping.

He saw an open jelly-jar of strawberry jam and a piece of bread sitting onthe table. That wasn’t what scared him. What shook him was seeing piles of ten and twenty-dollar bills, arranged in straight rows from one side of the room to the other, stacked neatly across the linoleum floor. There’s gotta be more than ten thousand dollars here. Are they real? He knelt down and felt the nearest bills to him. Yes, they seemed to have the crisp feel of a genuine bill. He looked underneath the table and saw a thick yellow safe, opened and empty. The time-clock readout said that the safe was opened at 1855 hours. That would be...6:55 p.m. But why would they lay their money out like this.... and then leave? Is this actually the place where Uncle Bert and Aunt Lea kept their life’s savings? Naw, it couldn’t be, it wouldn’t make sense...

...but has anything else made sense so far?

He stood up and accidentally kicked a TV remote across the floor as he ran back to the front hallway where had he deposited his duffel bag.

It was gone.

Cold sweat broke out on the back of Jack’s neck. Whoever got to Uncle Bert is still nearby...maybe still in the house. They’re toying with you, man. They know you’re in here. Jack backed down the hall toward the kitchen, trying to think of a weapon. He stepped onto the old linoleum, almost slipping on a stack of twenties. Grabbing the door frame, he steadied himself and looked about. Well, if they want to try to take you on, give them a fight. They’ll see you won’t give up. But what to use for protection? He heard a noise...


Wait, hold still. What was that? Rumbling noise.


Rumbling outside the house.

He crept toward the window and the noise became louder. Jack walked to the back door toward the sound. He looked out through the back window and flipped on a wall switch. The backyard flooded with light and Jack saw railroad tracks come right by the back steps. The rumbling was getting louder. Somebody is riding a rail car right up to the house. There are three shadows in the car, and they look too young to be Uncle Bert and Aunt Lea. They caused all this.

Grabbing a broom handle and stepping out on the back porch, he took a baseball batter’s stance. The pit of his stomach felt queasy, and sweat dripped from his hands.

Screech! The green and white car skidded to a stop on the tracks and the car door swung open. Three teen boys fought to get out at the same time, shushing and pushing each other. They darted around and spoke in exaggerated whisper, not noticing the fact that Jack stood at the back door with a broom handle in a threatening position.

“I don't like confrontations, Mike” hissed one boy with thick Coke-bottle glasses.. “Hey, maybe Andy'll do it for me. He's so dumb, he thinks the English Channel is a British T.V. station.”

“Unfunny,” whispered a short stocky boy. “Why don’t you try to be nice for a change?”

“I tried ‘nice’ once. I didn't care for it,” retorted the boy with glasses.
“Oh, is that you did to ‘smart’ as well?” said the short boy.

“Enough.” The tallest of the three boys was raised his gangly arms to silence them. His large eyes darted around the back yard, and he pointed to windows around the Bumper Car building. “Attend to the task, then. Stay low, and keep an eye out for any clues.”

“Who are you?” demanded Jack, still holding the broomstick.
The tall boy jumped, looked toward the door at Jack and grinned. “Say, here’s our man now. Sorry to intrude, my friend, but we have a tendency to poke our noses in diverse places.”

The boy with glasses grunted. “With a nose like yours, it’s inevitable.”

The blonde haired boy gave him a withering look. “Droll, very droll.” He turned and stuck his hand out to Jack. “Name’s Hansen. The short fellow here’s Andy - he wants to be an archeologist - and the spectacled annoying one is Murray - he’s already achieved his twin goals of being ugly and unnecessary.”

“Har har,” said Murray, turning to Jack. “They always tease me. Everyone thinks I'm a hypochondriac. It makes me sick.”

Hansen continued. “Welcome to incredibly remote metropolis of Mofarse, Arizona, and to the once-celebrated but now long-forgotten Mesa Amusement Park. Closed down for good in 1977, but a pleasing retirement place for your aunt and uncle We hang around here whenever we get bored, which is approximately ninety-five percent of our waking hours. And your name is Jack, is it not? Your relatives told us you’d be coming.”

“Yes, Jack. Jack Derry.” Jack shook Hansen’s hand.

“Derry. Familiar ring to it,” asked Andy, nodding his head. “The famed Dr. Douglas Derry did the renowned autopsy on the King Tut mummy in 1925, I believe. He discovered a blow on the left cheek, and some other findings that arose speculation Tutankhamun could have died by violence.”

“Don’t let Andy fool you,” said Murray. “He’s not that smart. He once tried to use White-Out on his teeth instead of toothpaste. He's the kind of guy who would stick his tongue on a frozen flagpole twice.”

“My uncle and aunt are gone,” said Jack.

“Quite right, the primary reason we are here!” exclaimed Hansen. “Missing persons, mystery lights and the ilk... I can see it’s been wearing on you.” He looked deep into Jack’s eyes. “But you, my wandering friend, are evidently missing more than your aunt and uncle, I note.” Jack blushed; he wondered if his uncle had told them about the divorce.


“What is easy to see,” said Murray, stepping forward and inspecting the footprints near the window, “is your ability to continue to talk without taking a breath.”

Hansen swept the blonde hair from his eyes and continued grinning. “The ineffectual rancor reflected in that remark I don't intend to dignify with comment, but I would like to address the fact that we’ve come upon trouble.” He waved his cell phone in the air as Jack led them into the kitchen.

“We’ve been trying to call your uncle and aunt for the last hour and a half. No answer. No matter where they are, they always answer our phone calls.”

“We got up here as soon as possible from town,” said Murray, closing the door behind him and looking at the floor covered with money. “Hmmm. Business transaction?”

“Car broke down,” said Andy, dropping to his knees and inspecting the stashes of money, “so we hiked to the eastern edge of the Park and rode the Trolley over here - we know how to activate it, it’s one of our pet projects here at the Park. Now, let’s get to the task at hand. Trouble here, real trouble. Jack, you entered this house about five minutes after midnight, didn’t you?”

“Well, y-yes, that sounds about right...” answered Jack. “But how did you know?”

“We could see the front door open from where we were,” replied Hansen. “We thought your uncle and aunt had come home. It was one of the few lights we saw as we approached the area.”

“All these lights were on when I came in. There were others?” asked Jack. “You saw signs of someone else in here?”

“Yes,” answered Burt. “And we intend to find out where he or she went.”

“We should be able to draw a conclusion fairly easily. All we need is some quiet in order to think,” said Hansen, pulling a pencil and pad from his pocket.

And that’s when the kitchen window exploded.

Nowhere, Arizona Part 2

“Somebody is trying to kill us!” yelled Jack, scrambling across the floor toward the hall.

“No, hold on! No need to panic!” exclaimed Hansen.

“No need to panic? Man, are you from Pluto? Someone just shot out a window right next to us!” screamed Jack, gesturing toward the broken window frame and hanging shards of glass.

Hansen showed no sign of panic. He looked around and frowned hard. “Your Uncle Bert will not be amused at this situation. He doesn’t like messes, he really doesn’t. He and your Aunt Lea are the most immaculate people I’ve ever met. You notice that this whole house is remarkably clean and in order? I’ve never seen anything out of place. Even the money was piled neatly. ” While Jack stared at him unbelievingly, Hansen glanced out the window. “I might just be able to take care of our little problem.” He crawled carefully to the doorway.

“Listen, having money lying in stacks on a floor is not in the common order ...hey! Hansen! Man, get back here!” Jack shouted, but Hansen had scooted out of the back door.

“Oh, another confrontation,” said Murray, peeking his head above the window sill. “This really upsets my evening. There he goes again. Hansen’s always doing something off-the-wall – the guy‘s nuttier than a squirrel's cheeks in October.”

“I’m sorry we’re not more accommodating,” said Andy quietly to Jack, “but the situation is a bit extreme. Your Uncle Bert is most punctual and meticulous in all of his work and duties. This is most unlike him. Say, be careful of that broken glass around you.”

“I can’t believe Hansen went out there. Let me at least try to turn off the lights so we’re not sitting here like a moving target,” hissed Jack, reaching for the nearest lamp. “Murray, try to click off the back porch light.”

“No need, really,” replied Murray, glancing through the window once again. “I think our situation has been resolved.” He pointed toward the driveway.

Jack glanced out the window and his jaw dropped open. Hansen was walking alongside the mysterious gunman. “Y-you mean he just walked out there and talked the shooter into giving up?” asked Jack incredulously.

Hansen called out to the other boys. “No need for fear or trepidation, my friends. This is one of the new neighbors to Mofarse, total misunderstanding, I’m sure you’ll realize.” He gestured in the direction of the bald-headed man, who had put down his rifle. “This is Apolinarius Gryzbowski. I met him last week, in town as I was getting groceries.”

“’Apolinarius Gryzbowski?’” whispered Murray. “Doesn’t sound like a name. That sounds like he got a bad hand dealt to him in a Scrabble Game!”
“Ssshhhhhhhh,” said Andy.
“Call me Poli, everyone does,” said the man, grinning widely. “I was just watching the house to keep it safe for your uncle and aunt, and I thought you guys were trespassers. Sorry.”

“Yes, but how do we know you weren’t a trespasser yourself?” asked Andy, opening the door for Hansen and Poli to enter. Poli entered with measured casualness.

“Well, I guess you could suspect me at that,” said Poli as he settled into a chair, pushed the strawberry jam jar absent-mindedly, and glanced over as Andy carefully stacked the money into one pile. “But the fact is I’m not the only one around here. Since they left at seven o’clock, two of us have been keeping an eye on things.” He nodded toward the far side of the room. “On the other side of the house, down the hill a ways is another man who’s been guarding the house since Bert and Lea left yesterday morning. Kip’s retired, a good guy, he’ll vouch for me. We each had shifts, promising to watch each side of the house while they were gone.” He glanced around, grinning widely again. “It’s a pretty big place with a lot of nice stuff, and they wanted us to stand guard over it for a few nights. Bert paid me and Kip each twenty bucks to watch things. I should say, he tried to pay me but I wouldn’t take the money, no sir. Friends are friends, and they’ve been good to me since I moved here. I think the amusement park could be up and running soon, too. I’ve been working here at nights, fixing the lighting in the popcorn stand and the ice cream shack. Seems I’ve seen you other boys in Mofarse when I went to the Deli right before my ‘night shift’ here, but I’m not sure you’ve been in the Park while I’ve been working here.”

“We worked here for a few hours after school throughout the last weeks, probably before you came up to the top of the mesa. You say they left at seven? Maybe I’ll just go see this Kip fellow and bring him up here,” said Hansen, sauntering toward the door and keeping an eye on Poli.

“Suit yourself,” said Poli, shrugging.

“Hey, let me go. I’d like to get some air, and talk a walk anyway, okay?” said Jack. Hansen nodded, and Jack stepped through the door out into the Arizona night air. He headed off in the direction of the man called Kip, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets and frowning as he talked to himself. The solitude of the night got him to thinking hard.

Where could your uncle and aunt be? Does Poli know where they are?

Why do you not trust this man? Why don’t you trust his story?

Maybe it’s the way he looked at that money on the floor...

...or rather the way he didn’t look at the money. Andy was stacking thousands of dollars in bills and Poli never makes a comment. That’s strange...too strange.

He stopped at the edge of the hill and leaned his foot on a boulder. No man was in sight. Still, that wasn’t what bothered him right now. What was eating away at his thinking was that he had left one problem and had walked into another.

Nice work, Jack. You can’t seem to keep yourself away from problems, can you? A deep welling of sadness expanded in his chest. Nothing but trouble. Boy, that’s your calling in life. He trembled a bit. And there’s nobody to help you. You are all alone, boy.
He looked out into the inky blackness and didn’t bother to turn on his flashlight. The night air felt good, and the solitude of the deep black surrounding him gave him a feeling of anonymity. You’re hidden out here. You’re by yourself, and you can hide from all the pain everyone seems to bring. Your parents leave you and now your uncle and aunt. Say, they can’t leave you if they don’t know where you are.

Yeah, that’s it. They can’t leave you if you leave them first. Just go. Go now.

He glanced back at the house. No use looking for the duffel bag, someone had already taken it. He patted his pocket; he had enough cash to make it back to California – better yet, he had enough money to head east. He’d always wanted to live in Texas. He could get back to the bus depot and be ready to board a bus by sunrise. Yeah, that’s it. He started walking toward the entrance to the Park., picking up a good pace. He walked past the popcorn stand.

But they need you.
He slowed a little.
For the first time, someone needs you. You know your aunt and uncle didn’t leave. Poli did something with them. Your aunt and uncle are missing, and you’ve got to help.
He stopped right next to the front sign. On the ground was the crumpled note. Must’ve dropped it when I stumbled. He picked it up and started to unfold it, but hesitated.
Yeah, you got trashed. The divorce left you high and dry. But that’s not the big point right now. You’ve never been needed. Now this time you can make a difference. Let’s go.
He turned toward the direction of where the other watchman, Kip, was supposed to be at guard. Purposefully, he headed down the hill. He came upon an elderly man pacing about near a lamp post.
“Kip?”
The man swung around and hollered in surprise. Jack held up his hands and smiled.
“No problem, sir. I’m Bert and Lea’s nephew. I’m coming over here to let you know that Poli’s back at the house with some other guys, and we need you.”
The man stepped forward hesitatingly. “Need me? What’s going on?”
Jack hesitated. “Um, well, I think something happened to my uncle and aunt. There’s money lying in the kitchen, the lights are all…well, we could use your help right now.” The man named Kip nodded and started up the hill.

The man breathed heavily as they walked. “I’ve been fighting a bad fever the last couple of weeks. Takes my breath away on occasions, like right now. I gotta sit a lot, but I wasn’t going to back out of helping your relatives, no sir. They’re good folks, and you should be proud they’re kin. They spoke about a nephew coming to stay with them. I take it that’s you, and it’s good, mighty good.” He turned to look at Jack’s profile as they walked toward the front door. “I might not be the brightest candle on the cake, son, but I can tell things. I can tell important things. And what I could tell was that your coming added a spark to your uncle and aunt’s life, something they really needed.” Jack folded the note and shoved it seep within his pocket.
When Jack and Kip arrived at the house, everyone was sitting in the living room area.

Jack introduced Kip to the group of teens. “Here’s Hansen, this is Murray, and he’s Andy.”
Andy gave Kip a wave. “Any similarity to actual intelligent persons would be really sad.”
Andy ran his hand through his hair. “The safe clock stops whenever the safe is opened, and will not re-set itself until the safe is closed, locked and given the proper combination. That clock says 6:55 p.m.”

The old man named Kip settled himself into the Lazy Boy recliner and grunted softly. “And that’s the problem, because of two things.”

“What do you mean?” asked Jack.

“First thing, I’ve known your uncle and aunt for over two years and your uncle is an obsessive-compulsive. You know what that is, son? He can’t handle things out of place. ‘Close the first door before you get to the next door,’ he’d always say. He’d never, and I mean, never start a second project before he finished the first one. Anything. That’s a fact.”

“What’s the second thing, my good man?” asked Hansen.

“You gotta think,” answered Kip. “What doesn’t fit the pattern? Everything in this place is in a pattern, an even-numbered pattern. Twos, fours, sixes... check and see if anything’s missing or moved.” Andy stood up immediately.

Murray looked up from his notepad. “Andy, where you going?”
Andy opened the door. “To clear my mind.”
Murray nodded. “Shouldn't take long. One good sneeze ought to do it.”
Andy smiled. ”Keep talking, someday you'll say something intelligent. Hansen, I want to test his theory with something I saw outside. Poli, would you come with us?”

Poli rose and grinned. “Sure enough.” The people left the room, leaving Jack and Kip sitting and staring at the aquarium.

Jack started to rise. “I’d like to take a look at that safe in the kitchen one more time.”

Kip waved him over. “Not now, son. Sit here. I found a bigger clue, something for you to think about.” He stabbed a bony finger at the passage highlighted in yellow in the Bible. “This is a bigger mystery, one for only you to solve.”
Jack sat down on a chair and squinted at the passage. It was in the section of the Bible in the back, titled “Revelation”. He read it once again:

“His feet were like burnished bronze, when it has been made to glow in a furnace...”

Kip pointed at Jack. “I was here when your Uncle Bert read that passage aloud. He said ‘Jack is in this verse.’ And he said you’d know what this means.”

Jack exploded. “How am I supposed to know some secret code? How am I gonna figure out some futuristic-type message when I can’t even figure out where my uncle and aunt are?” He grunted and looked at the wall. “I’m some great detective with all the answers? I can’t even keep a family together.”

Kip smiled slowly. “Hand me the note.”

Jack stared at him.

Kip leveled a steely glare at him. “You heard me. I said, give me the note.”

Nowhere, Arizona Part 3

Jack silently handed Kip the folded note. Kip opened it up and read it. “So this is the farewell note from your folks, huh?”

“You’re pretty smart,” Jack answered sarcastically.

Kip nodded and folded the note back up. He sighed and looked out the window. “Yep, I see what you’re getting handed. Lots of talk about caring and loving you, but it doesn’t seem to take hold of you, does it?”

“Nope.”

Kip looked down. “Same with me. I was ten years old when my dad stood in the kitchen in front of the six of us kids and my ma, said he was leaving for another woman. Guess what? He did, never came back. I’m sixty-seven, and it still hurts, son.”

Jack looked up. “How’d you deal with it?”

Kip tapped the Bible. “Got me a Father, one who’d never leave. Only thing that kept me sane, boy. I’m not spiritualizing or preaching. I needed help, like you. Got me Jesus.”

Jack looked away. “Yeah, well, religion might be okay for you -“
“Hold your tongue and listen to me, “ Kip said with such force that Jack started. “Stop coming up with quick answers. Listen and look. Read that sentence your Uncle Bert highlighted with the crayon.”

Jack read it aloud. “His feet were like burnished bronze, when it has been made to glow in a furnace...’ crazy stuff. What’s it supposed to mean?”

Kip sat back, his fingers touching together lightly in tent-fashion as he spoke. “I did me some studying on this whenever your uncle mentioned it. This passage talks about a vision of Jesus, and a writer named John had this vision. Symbolism, and good stuff, too. You know what bronze feet meant? Metal that needed ‘cleaning.’Bronze had to be melted down, heated and re-heated until all the impurities were burnt out. That’s what made it so pure and valuable. They were doing that way back at the time Christ walked the earth, smelting the metal to make it stronger, better.”

Jack frowned. “Why are Jesus feet made that way?”

Kip leaned forward. “Get the parallel? Get the symbolism? Christ’s walk on this earth was full of suffering and hurt, more than you and me. Rejection, beatings, crucixion...it means if His steps were marked by days of pain, He can relate to the pain you’re going through right now. Who better to talk to you than someone who has been where you’ve been?” Kip sat back. “Worked for me, Jack. Kept me sane, and even more, gave me hope. Greater hope than I ever thought. Something that goes beyond this life.”

Jack leaned back and blew a slow long breath of air. “I appreciate this, Kip. This is a start.”

Kip nodded. “Yep. It’s a start. There was a Danish writer, name of Isak Dinesen, said something I’ll never forget. He said ‘God made the world round so we would never be able to see too far down the road.’ We’ll get through this, you and me. Walk through the Bible. Okay? We’ll take it day-by-day, ask questions, get answers.” He slowly rose. “Put it in a pocket in your mind. You and me, we’re gonna talk some more.”

For the first time in a long time, Jack smiled. “Yeah, we’ll talk some more.”
The group entered the room, chattering once again. “Ah, friends, we found a break in the pattern. Some things that do not fit the scheme of the life of the meticulous Uncle Bert. Murray., if you will?”

Murray read dutifully from the pad of paper: “One roll-top desk, closed halfway, with three papers on the floor next to it. Three cars parked outside next to the Ferris wheel. Gate open next to the picnic area.”

“You did quite well for someone whose most intellectual reading are Game Boy manuals,” said Andy.

“Stick to the facts, friends,” said Hansen gesturing for everyone to be seated and closing the door to the room.

“All I know is that Kip and I got here and checked the house,” said Poli “ not wanting to bother Bert and Lea while they got ready for their trip. That’d be about six o-clock for me, later for Kip. Bert and Lea were in this room, watching TV while she cleaned up and he got his briefcase packed. I saw him come out and take the briefcase to the car.”

“That’s right,” agreed Kip. “Poli had phone me and told me to come up to Bert’s house, pick up a little extra cash for watching the home, but come inside down the hallway to the back kitchen for instructions, not to disturb Bert or Lea while they took a break to watch TV before they left. I was to go into the kitchen, have coffee and wait for Poli to come back from the Carousel and give me instruction as to watching the house.”

“Were you in the house whenever they were in this room?” asked Hansen.

“Yes,” said Kip, “I went by the closed door and I could tell that Bert was watching TV because he was switching channels. I’d known he had bad hearing and I could hear the volume out here in the hall. He was channel-surfing, no doubt. I could hear it.”

“Did you eat the jam and bread?” asked Andy.

Kip laughed. “Would have loved to, but you can ask my family doctor and anybody in town. Strawberries make me break out in hives, and that jam, I could tell, was homemade. No way I can even touch the stuff.”

“Ah! Then Bert is also allergic! That would be our break!” cried Murray.

“Nice try, wonder boy,” said Andy, “ but when I was working at the Carousel last week, I’d seen him eating a strawberry jam sandwich. Next thought, please.”

Jack stood up, went to the window and slid it open.

“Needing air, son?” asked Poli. “I’ll turn the air conditioning down some.”

“No, just needing to do this...” said Jack, leaning over out the window.

“Really, Jack, don’t take any drastic measures, life is too beautiful” said Hansen. “Besides, we’re on the ground floor, so the jump would be short.”

“Quit joking and call the police,” ordered Jack.

“Wonderful! I’ll do as you say,” said Hansen, punching the numbers to the cell phone. “But please make your explanation quick, for the police are not in the habit of following fables.”

Jack spun around. “Uncle Bert and Aunt Lea were abducted. Somebody must have been aware of the safe in the kitchen and the paper that would give the combination. That explains the desk being open. Uncle Bert and Aunt Lea have been missing much earlier than seven o’clock.”

Kip leaned back, interested. “But I came down the hall and heard them. I heard the channels changing, before Poli came and got me from the kitchen. Since the kitchen is across the hallway from the living room, I would have seen them leave early. I sat in that kitchen until Poli got me and sent me down the hill to post guard. That was at six-thirty, because I checked my watch.”

Jack pointed at the TV. “See the angle of the television to the window?”

Hansen nodded. “Yes, it faces the window, across the room. Why?”

Jack pointed to the window. “I bet a remote could change channels from that window. Someone could point the channel-changer from outside and give the impression that someone was in the room, changing channels.”

Andy scratched his head. “The door was closed, yes, and Kip was to sit right nearby, in the kitchen, well within hearing range. Good alibi. And they could give the impression that someone was here when actually they were gone.”
Poli waved his hands and stood up. “I see where this is going and I’m not going to get caught up in some fancy homeless kid’s imagination.”

“Please sit,” said Hansen, as he and Andy walked over to him. “Continue, Sherlock.”

“The first clue I got was the remote oon the kitchen floor, completely out of place. Then I got to thinking about the kitchen, besides the money. Uncle Bert likes jam, but wouldn’t leave a mess, being obsessive-compulsive. No way would he leave the jam opened and on the table. As for Aunt Lea, well, you can tell how neat a house she keeps, and the last room my mom checks before she leaves the house is the kitchen.”
“Very true,” said Hansen. “My mom double-checks every knob, drawer and corner in the kitchen before she leaves on a trip. Continue.”

Jack continued. “Kip is allergic to strawberries, so that leaves you, Poli. You ate the jam and bread, grabbing something to eat while you waited for Kip to arrive and help your alibi. When he came by the room, you had told him you were working on the carousel, but you were actually outside the house, leaning in the window and using the remote control to change channels as Kip went by. Kip thought they were watching television. My uncle and aunt weren’t in the room. You already had them abducted.”

“I’ll sue you for slander,” said Poli.

“Well, you could if I had no proof,” said Jack, turning to the others. “Notice that Poli offered to turn the air conditioning down when I went to the window? You will also notice something on the windowsill as I open it.”

Murray walked over and checked it carefully. “Small strawberry smudges! Wonderful! Fingerprints made to order!”

Poli started to bolt but Hansen and Andy performed an NFL-quality double-team tackle.

“The picnic gate’s open out there, I believe the boys had mentioned,” Kip said.

“Yes, and I have no doubt that there is a storage shed on the picnic grounds,” said Jack. “Poli took them over there in the car, dumped them in the shed, padlocked it and parked the car in the wrong place. Too obvious. Oh , and there’ll be fingerprints on the steering wheel, the shed doors...”

“There is a storage shed. Yahoo! I’m off to rescue the missing uncle and aunt,” yelled Murray. “I’ll cell-phone you when I get them freed.” He ran out the door.

Kip nodded. “Poli waited until Kip was down the hill, then used the stolen combination, and cleaned the safe of the money. You boys, however, arrived too early, causing him to retreat back to his post. When Jack arrived, he took a shot at a window, hoping to scare you boys away, but you stayed around. He had to bluff his way around and act like it was an accident.”

Poli’s head dropped. He was beaten. “More than fifteen thousand dollars,” he moaned.

Hansen shook his head. “Very meticulously planned but weak in the conclusion that you could outsmart the Wizards of Mofarse.”

Jack laughed again. “The Wizards of Nowhere, Arizona.”

Hansen’s phone rang, and he called out with Murray’s message: “Uncle Bert and Aunt Lea are shaken but safe. Murray sees the police cars coming up the hill.” He grinned at Jack. “Your mystery’s solved.”

Jack turned and picked up the Bible, looking at the passage in Revelation. “Not all my mysteries, not just yet.” He glanced over at Kip. “But this final one is one I think I’m going to enjoy solving.”

He took out the note and placed it in the Bible. Yes, you can get the answers to this bigger mystery. Find a Home beyond here...and have a home right here as well. No more wandering, getting shuffled around. You can come out of this with a home. A place.

And that place is a great place called Nowhere, Arizona.

Chocolate Lies Part 1

Rain fell steadily and softly, barely audible through the open windows of the quiet kitchen.

Marie glanced at the little playing-card pictures of wartime airplanes. Sighing, she flicked them across the oilcloth table cover, one by one, until they all fell over the far side and onto the linoleum floor. She didn’t care about identifying airplanes and didn’t believe that any enemy aircraft would try to attack Hershey, Pennsylvania. She tired of it all, really. ‘Weary’ was a good word for her to use. She was weary of hearing about coffee rationing, Hitler, gas coupons, and that brutal big-chinned dictator from Italy, whatever his name was. She was sick of dinners without meat and scary headlines announcing the latest names of schoolboy soldiers who would never return home.

Rising from the table, she sighed and walked over to the stove. However, things would be better. She and Mom had escaped the withering heat of Philadelphia and would be able spend the entire summer here in Hershey with Grandad. Since her father had left for the war, Marie and her mom spent every summer at Grandad’s vast orchard, and it was enjoyable if not a bit boring. The war was wearing people down, and the fatigue was even evident in people of this little town. Still, Mom would be home this afternoon and they’d make the best of the evening, a day at a time.

The bean soup heated silently, slowly sending a good smell wafting through the kitchen. Marie stirred the thick soup and added some flaky bits of yellow-white cheese. The soup heated enough to begin making little bubbles that rose to the surface and popped without a noise. The rainclouds made the kitchen dark, so she turned on a lamp near the refrigerator.

Hey, I need to cheer up. Maria reached over to the radio perched on the small table next to the heavy black phone. She switched the radio’s cracked plastic dial and waited for the set to warm up. Putting out a small thick loaf of bread, she decided to make the table extra nice for this meal, no matter how scanty it was. She put down two plates and two spoons while a song by Benny Goodman’s band was playing a fast swing time number. Maybe I can get a flower or two from the garden ...where would Grandad have an extra vase?

The little bubbles in the soup popped faster and Maria nodded her head in time to the music. She set two glasses and napkins next to the plates. Grandad was with his workers out at the very end of the orchard and wouldn’t be home before dark, so there were only two for dinner. I’ll make it extra special - Mom’s going to be pretty tired after all that walking...

The phone rang as Marie laid bowls on top of the plates. She went over and picked up the phone, tucking it against her shoulder and chin as she pulled on oven mitts so she could carry the bean soup to the table without burning her hands. The voice was soft but energetic.

"Marie? How are you doing?"Marie smiled.
"Mom? Is that you? Please come home now. I’m bored."
"Well, honey, have you been enjoying the rain?"
"Mom, really, what is there about rain to make it enjoyable? Look, I’ve made dinner, and we can eat early. Come home now, okay? It’s almost four o-clock. " She put down the bean soup and took off the mitts.

Her mother laughed. "Marie Warwick, you wear me down, you do. I bet you’d rather be back in Philadelphia, wouldn’t you? The newspaper said that it’s cleared one hundred degrees for the third day in a row, one hundred degrees! I guess you’d rather have hanging out the apartment window, panting like dogs and sticking our feet in cold water all day?"
Marie giggled. "Okay, Mom, but see, it’s only enjoyable at Grandad’s if you’re here. So when are you coming back to the orchard? Grandad said he wouldn’t be home until dark and you said the job-hunting would only take a couple of hours. And don’t forget, you promised that we could go take a look at the factory tomorrow and then go over to Hershey Park and ride the Wildcat roller coaster. "

Her mother coughed lightly. "Well, that’s why I called you, sweetheart. I found a job! A small place down here on Cocoa Avenue, near the department store. "

"Is it a Hershey factory store? Are you working for the Hershey corporation?"

"No, it’s a mom-and-pop operation but they do sell Hershey’s and Reese’s candy. I know you’d like it if you saw it. It has a pretty name - ‘Illusions’ - and the owners are wonderful. They’re a nice elderly couple who need some help keeping things going, ‘cause they sell other stuff besides candy, like egg salad sandwiches, tomato soup, stuff like that. They have a little lunch counter here, and a lot of people come by for lunchtime. That’s where I’ll help out. I make sandwiches, cook soup, help out at the grill, you know? Get this - I even make ice cream sundaes! The pay’s not great, but it’s what we need."

"Well, okay, but that means..."

Her mom sighed. "Yes, Marie, it’s going to cut into some of our vacation trips, but we’re in wartime, and without your father’s paycheck..."

"All right, all right," Marie replied sharply, "everyone seems to want to remind me that a war is going on, as if I didn’t know."

"Marie, that tone of voice is not acceptable, you know that."

Marie closed her eyes and nodded as she gripped the phone. "You’re right, Mom. You’re right. Sorry. I know you’re working hard, and I can handle it. So... when will you be home?"
"Uh, let’s see. Later than I thought, it seems. Maybe seven, possibly eight o’clock. The owners are going to teach me the routine, so I start right away, isn’t that great? I’ll pick up extra hours but I won’t be home before dark. Don’t worry, I have Grandad’s pickup and it’s parked right next door to the shop, so I’m not in any danger. I’ll get something to eat here, so you don’t need to make anything."

Marie looked at the prepared food on the table. "Oh. No problem, really, I can make it here on my own. Yeah, okay, that’s fine. But ... Mom?"

"Listen, I’ve gotta run now. What did you need, Marie?"

"I just wanted to say that I’m proud of you getting that job."

Her mom laughed lightly. "Well, that’s a sweet thing to say, but I’ll just let God take the credit for getting me this job. Say, you’ll really like it, it’s a cute store. I’ll show you around when I can get you over to see the place." A voice could be heard in the background. "Oops, customers coming in. Gotta run. Love you, honey!"

"Love you, too, Mom. Bye."
"Bye."

Marie frowned hard as she hung up the receiver. So God got the credit for giving Mom a job? I suppose God also gets credit for taking Mom away from me for the summer, she thought bitterly. She flung the oven mitt across the room and shoved a chair against the wall.

"Th-thank you."

Marie whirled around and looked at the screen door. There was a tall silhouette standing in the doorway. She couldn’t make out the features, but the voice told her that the person was a boy in his teens. He was slightly stooped in the shoulders but still could not hide the fact that he was well over six and a half feet tall.She blushed.
"What did you say?"
The shadow moved uneasily. "I said ‘thank you’ for making me meal."

Marie detected a European accent in the voice. The head turned to one side and she was taken aback at the handsome profile. His chin was sharp, his nose was Romanesque, and he had a thick crop of hair. She squinted. "A...a meal, you say?"
The shadow nodded vigorously. "Ja, meal. Mr. Warwick ... your opa ... er, grandfather told me that you would make me a meal for working in the orchards, and I see you have already set plates. Thank you. Smells gute."

Marie paused to think. Yes, Grandad would sometimes send a worker into the house for a meal if they seemed down on their luck. She remembered last summer - she and Mom must have given meals to ten different workers over the course of the three months.

She was still flustered, unsure if he had seen her little tantrum. "S-sure, okay. Come on in, don’t just stand on the porch. Th-the meal’s ready and it’s starting to cool, so come on in."
"Again, thank you."
He pushed the flimsy screen door and stepped in, still stooping his shoulders as if apologizing for being in the room. He was clinging to a small cigar box that was wrapped in a thick white tape. During the school Marie had entertained fleeting thoughts of a summer friendship with a boy from Hershey. At study hall she played with the fantasy of a mysterious stranger... She had never dated anyone from her school in Philly - in fact she had only had two dates in her teen years, and both were with Edward Bostick, the overweight boy who asked her to both church socials. Edward had a problem with letting corn get stuck between his front teeth whenever he ate it off the cob. However, this stranger...I mean, I’ve read stories of things like this happening. A girl meets a handsome shy young man and they spend the summer nights walking through country meadows...

Then as he stepped into the room next to the kitchen lamp, she felt her heart flutter. However, the light revealed the truth. The boy had a scar that ran from the top of his left eyebrow through a droopy eyelid and downward across his nose. Half of the left eyebrow was chewed away and discolored from black to white. The scar was purplish-pink and about a half-inch wide. The tip of his nose was beet-red and crumpled like a piece of tinfoil. A part of his earlobe was missing. It looked like someone had torn it off violently, and even in the quick glance, her stomach tightened.

Bravely, Marie steeled herself to show no emotion.

He seemed unaware of her emotions. "So nice here. So comfortable and safe..." She felt it curious that he would use the word "safe" to describe the room, but she attended to the task at hand.

"W-would you sit down here?" She pulled out a chair, but he shifted his cigar box, waved his hand slightly and shook his head.
"No, no, for you must sit first. Always with a lady, she seats first, ja. Then the man, he sits."
He pulled out a chair and involuntarily, she sat. She had never been called a lady before. He quietly slipped into chair and stared at the food. Unable to think of what to say, Marie fell silent and for a full minute the only sound in the room was the soft patter of rain. As he looked at the food hungrily, she stared at the hideous scar and the crushed nose. She was unsure of her feelings. Disgust? Pity? However, she knew that he wouldn’t stand for someone gawking at him.
"You may put your box here on the corner of the table," Marie reached out her hand.
He withdrew and clung to the box. "Nein, no, please. I will hold the box here, please."
Without waiting for an answer, he placed the box on his lap and bowed his head. He glanced up and met her gaze with that one frightful eye. "We can pray, is that okay? You are a Christian?"
Marie nodded slowly. "Yes, I am."
He nodded his head vigorously. "Gute, very good. I am also. The it’s best that beten...um, to pray. Uh, I am not sure... my English. Bleaching?"
Marie giggled. "You mean ‘blessing’ Yes, we can pray and ask a blessing over the food."
He nodded again. "And would you do a blessing, ma’am?"
Marie laughed again. "No, not ma’am. May name is Marie Warwick. And yours?"
He looked up and smiled and she could read it in his eyes. He could have shouted it out and she would not have heard it any clearer. She’s not repulsed by me. She’s treating me as a human. That smile creased his wide face and she caught a glimpse of a beautiful set of white teeth.
"I am Dietrich. Marie, it is good to know you. Might... um..." He was searching for the right words. "May you pray for us? I am not good in English, I am afraid."
Marie returned the smile. "No, Dietrich, I would ask you to pray. You see, my German is not good, I’m afraid."His grin grew even broader and he bowed his head deeply. After a moment’s pause, he flowed forth in a cascade of German words of praise and thanksgiving to the Lord with such power that Marie was certain that she knew exactly what he was saying even though she knew not a word of German. His head dipped and bowed with compassion as he spoke. Tears formed in his eyes as she watched him issue a prayer that was from the very depths of his soul. By the time he raised his head she too was quietly weeping.
"Ah, Marie Warwick, do not cry for the wrong reason. It is because of God my father who helped us escape. I cry for joy for my family. We are here, we are free. Germany is a bad memory, very bad. Your opa is very kind to let me work." He devoured the soup and ate anything that Marie could place in front of him, and his laugh was like bells ringing in the small kitchen. His attempts at trying new English words had Marie in fits of laughter. She sat exhausted as Dietrich consumed a piece of jelly-bread.
"You are putting food to the side, Dietrich. You don’t need to save any, I will make you the next meal as well." He smiled broadly and shook his head. "Thank you, ja, but Marie, this is for someone else. Is okay, is it?"
She nodded. "Well, of course it’s okay."
He grinned and tucked the food in a small brown wrapper he pulled from his pocket. "Dietrich, you are welcome any time. But tell me something?" she asked lightly. He stuffed the final bits of bread in his mouth and wiped the crumbs from his shirt. "Yes, Marie Warwick?"
"Dietrich, you never told me your last name. What is it?" His relaxed happy face changed immediately. His eyes took on a deep, deep sadness and his mouth settled into a mournful line. His scar seemed to deepen in color. "I must go, Marie. Time to go back in orchard."

Before she could say anything, he grabbed his box and was out the door."Dietrich, wait!" But by the time she was at the door, he was already at the orchard’s edge, striding hard between the apple trees, heading toward a tiny strange man she had never seen before. Maybe his grandfather...but that old man...something odd about him... his posture... Her mind was a whirl, not sure what to think.
What is in that box?

And why did he run away when I asked his name?

Chocolate Lies Part 2

The day was going to be grand, no doubt about it. The sun was shining and the cloudless sky was a luscious blue, inviting every citizen of Hershey to enjoy the grand weather. The always-present smell of chocolate from the factory was especially delicious today, and the pleasant warmth on Marie’s face made her forget the worries that pestered every civilian during wartime. The day stretched out luxuriously, starting with Marie’s visit to her mother’s workplace at the Illusion candy shop and continuing with a stroll through Hershey Park. Her grandfather had been especially kind and had given Marie a handful of nickels and dimes so that she could ride practically any park ride she wished, including the beautiful carousel overlooking the winding stream dotted with ducks and swans. Marie rode the carousel three times in row, joking and laughing with her mother and feeling as if the reality of war were a million miles away.

"I like it, Mom, " said Marie, popping a piece of popcorn in her mouth and holding the reins of the carousel horse jauntily.

"You mean the whole day at the park? Yes, I like the way Mr. Hershey built this park. Such a nice place for everyone in town," her mother said, patting the oversized marry-go-round rabbit she was riding.

"No, no." said Marie."I mean, I like the name of your candy shop. ‘Illusions’ is a nice name, because it’s what takes us away from all the ugliness. For just this day we can forget all this rationing and all of those horrible headlines about boys getting killed on ships and in Europe."
She finished the last piece of popcorn and crumpled the bag. "I’d like things to remain an illusion forever, you know?"

Her mother coughed lightly and listened to the organ music for a moment before answering. "Well, honey, that would be nice, but the fact is we live in the real world. This war is life in all of its ugliness. Your father is in a foxhole somewhere – only the Lord and the U.S. Army knows - and I could never forget that, no matter how nice things are right now for us."

Her mother looked away just as the carousel slowed down. "Yes, Marie, pretty illusions and childhood fantasies are nice for a while, but the fact is that until the Lord comes back and straightens things out, well, we deal with reality the best way we can."
She got off the wooden animal as the carousel stopped. "Listen, I’m going to go see if I can get some cotton candy. You want to ride some more?"

Marie nodded. "If that’s okay with you."
Her mother smiled. "I’ll join you on the next ride. You’ll be all right here by yourself?" She stepped down onto the pavement.

"I will do my best to watch over her," said a voice behind Marie. She recognized that German accent.
"Dietrich! So good to see you!" She turned around in her seat as the tall young man straddled a gigantic hen and clutched the pole. The scar running down his face was plain to see, but Marie noticed that her mother paid no attention to it. Her mom gave him a wide grin and waved to him. He looked puzzled at the animal, causing both Marie and her mother burst out laughing.

"I had no idea that America grew chickens so big," he joked as Marie’s mother turned and headed toward the concession stand. The music grew louder and the carousel started to move.
"Here, I bought you something, to apologize for my bad behavior yesterday." Dietrich clumsily held out a gold-and-white striped bag. Marie took it and opened it - a bag filled with Hershey bars.

"Dietrich, this is very kind of you. Please don’t feel bad about yesterday. Perhaps I was being too nosey, I tend to be that way sometimes, you know? I ask too much and I talk too much, my dad always says. Anyway, this is wonderful, really it is. I absolutely love chocolate and, well…"
She threw her head back and took a deep breath, "Well, today I’m going to do what I want, and that means eating every bar inside this bag! I’m going to pretend all day, and I’ll pretend the war has ended and everyone is happy, okay? So let’s start celebrating! Will you have some with me?"

Marie held the open bag for the young German. He broke into a grin and took a candy bar.As he took a huge bite and close his eyes in mock joy, Marie took a quick glance at his tortured features. What could have created such a hideous injury? That thick purplish scar snaking across his left eyebrow and through his eyelid. That mangled part of his nose, mocking his otherwise handsome face. She glanced away just as he opened his eyes. What would he have looked like had not this accident happened, she wondered. But even more so, what terrible thing happened to destroy his features? An accident? A beating? "Well, Miss Marie, I hope this karussell is not the only ride for you all day. You don’t need to keep riding it. There are much more rides across the park," Dietrich said, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief. "I really enjoy riding the merry-go-round a lot, but…" Marie stopped. "Say, how did you know I’ve been riding it so much?"Dietrich blushed. "Um, well…I have watched you for a bit of time." He looked away. "I came over to see you and saw you and your mother, but did not want to interfere. Your mother, she is nice, and she is also honorable, working to help out your family. Your opa told me about it."Marie smiled. "Yes, my Grandad is proud of her as well. I guess, you’re right – she is honorable. I guess I hadn’t thought of it that way." The ride slowed to a stop. "And there she is, coming this way." Marie’s mother came over, a concerned look on her face. "Uh, Marie, I’m going to have to head back to the candy shop. A messenger just came to me and told me that the owner’s wife is sick and they’re short-handed. I can make time-and-a half if I go in and work a few hours. This is a pretty good chance for us to make some extra money. Do you mind? I can walk from here."Marie’s face fell. "Aw, Mom, now what will I do? We still had the rest of the afternoon at the Park!"Her mother smiled. "I think you have a capable escort with you right now." She nodded toward Dietrich, who looked away in embarrassment. Her mother trotted off, leaving the two together. "Shall I show you more of the Park?" Dietrich asked, helping her off of the carousel. "Or, that might not work because I am new to the town … maybe since you have been here more times, would you show me?""Glad to," said Marie. "I’ve been here for the past three summers. I’ll be the guide." She ate another portion of a chocolate bar. The afternoon flew by quickly, as the teens traversed the entire Park, from the Penny Arcade to the canoe rides to the roller coasters. The weather was pleasant and the crowds friendly, making it a cozy little respite from the fatiguing war effort that carried on outside the gates. "If you don’t mind, I need to call Grandad and let him know about Mom going back to work, okay?" Marie had stepped away from Dietrich in order to find a telephone, heading toward the side entrance to the Information Booth. "Say, girlie-girl, you out here alone on a day like this?"Marie turned around and squinted. It was Bennett, a boy she recognized from last summer. He was one of the boys she chose to forget. Arrogant, pushy… a teen guy with a shock of blonde hair and a cocky demeanor that either made you like him immensely or avoid him at all costs. Marie chose to avoid him this year, remembering the trouble he caused her last summer. She turned toward the boat rides, leaning against the fence and avoiding his eyes. Once he got his mind on something, he wouldn’t let go until he got it. This guy was bad news…He didn’t wait for her to answer his question. "Girl, you look even better than last summer." He moved in close to her. "And for that matter, so do I. ""The only thing worse than your ego is your breath. Back off, Bennett," Marie replied, sidling along a fence in order to get around him. "Find another adventure.""Hey! Hey! I was only going to ask you to join us at youth group this Wednesday night," said Bennett, leaning against her and pinning her against the fence. "I mean, you’re a church girl, after all, so what could happen? And last summer, we had some pretty good times, didn’t we?""None that I’m proud of. And quit calling me ‘church girl.’ You know it’s more than that," said Marie, pushing away his hand. "That was last summer, and I’m not like that anymore."Bennett’s face drew near. "Yeah? Well, there are plenty of church activities for us to find out if we can get that spark back again. Look, we could go on a canoe ride…"

Marie pushed at him with both hands. "I told you. I’m not like that anymore. Get away!"
A few teens from the youth group came over to see what was happening.Bennett chuckled and started to move forward again but was restrained by a large hand on his shoulder. "Marie, is there schwierigkeiten? Trouble?"
Dietrich stood a full head above Bennett. Bennett turned and looked at Dietrich with a sneer. "Oh, so this is your knight in shining armor? Ugly one, at that. Man, whoever slashed your face didn’t finish the job."

Some other teens gathered at the scene, and Marie recognized some of them from church last summer.

Bennett gestured with his head. "Hey girls, get this. Marie needs a Nazi bodyguard to keep her safe."

"That’s enough, Ben," said a short girl with glasses. "Leave him alone," said a blonde girl.

Bennett turned to Dietrich. "Say, Mister Kommandant, you want to remove your hand from my shoulder before I break it in two? "

Dietrich ignored the insults. "Marie, I ask you: is this young man bothering you?"

Bennett shook his head. "Buddy, you don’t know what you’re getting into…"

"Quit showing off, Ben!" yelled the girl in glasses. By now a small crowd had gathered.

The next moments were frozen into slow motion in Marie’s mind, one that would be replayed over and over in her memory. Bennett cocked his fist and swung with all his might as the girls screamed. With a minimum of effort, Dietrich dodged the blow and moved in quickly.
Before Bennett knew what happened, Dietrich had grabbed him with one hand at the collar and the other grabbing the back of his pants at the belt. In one superhuman effort, he lifted Bennett fully off the ground and heaved him over the fence into the lake. Bennett landed with a resounding splash and spluttered to the surface to see the crowd clapping and laughing.

Marie stood open-mouthed in amazement. Dietrich touched her shoulder lightly. "Are you okay, Marie?" Dumbly, she nodded. "Then I suggest we go now," he said briskly.

-----

It had been a day to remember, and Marie glanced up happy but tired as the two stood on the front steps in the quiet orchard that night. Dietrich bowed his head slightly. "Gute Nacht , Marie. You have been most kind." As he walked quietly toward the worker’s hut at the far end of the orchard, she realized that even though they had spent the whole day together, she knew very little about his background. Why, I don’t even know his last name. She looked down at the many prizes he had won for her: a small stuffed cow, a paper fan, a metal airplane, a necklace …oops. He forgot to get his wallet, she realized. He gave it to me when he was paying for the baseball throw. Quickly Marie dropped the small pile of items on the porch and ran toward the worker’s huts. Which one was it? It’s too dark to tell. Feeling guilty, she stole a glance through the windows, trying to get a bearing on which hut would house Dietrich. She looked through a window and saw him, but he was not alone. There was that little man once again, bent over and smiling as Dietrich gave him a chocolate bar and a pennant. The man nodded and sat down on the edge of a bed. Dietrich glanced out the window and quickly shut the curtain.------"Marie, you’ve been with that worker of mine all week. That German boy. He’s a hard worker, and I don’t want you distracting him during work time, you hear?" Her grandfather looked over his newspaper as he sat on the old wooden chair near the stove, waiting for the coffee pot to boil.Marie shook her head as she set the table. "Never bothered him at his job, Grandad. I know the rules. In fact, I steer clear of the work site altogether, " she said, turning and checking the stove. "Dietrich’s been a wonderful gentlemen in everything he does, and he’s taken me to the town’s rose gardens, the museum, and even to a tour through the factory just before it closed yesterday. He’s a very dear friend, Grandad. But I do have one question … or maybe two. Grandad, I asked Dietrich his last name the other day, and he got quite upset. Do you know why he would act that way?"Her grandfather scowled at the ceiling as he thought. "Nope. Can’t say I know his last name, either. He’s a hard worker, does the work of two men. Always pay him in cash and apples, and other than seeing you, he spends time in his hut, with his family. I think his mom is with him. They’re immigrants, moved to America when the Nazis started getting nasty. They had to up and run for it. They lost everything and had to start again. They all squeezed into the hut at the end. He’s a good worker and I don’t ask any questions. But every once in awhile I hear him talk about how bad the Nazis were.""Is that what happened to his face – the Nazis beat him?""Can’t say that I know, Marie. It’s not the sort of thing you ask a man.""That’s true," Marie admitted, lifting the coffee pot. "But … the little old man with him, the one who hardly ever comes outside… seems like they try to hide him.""Marie," Grandad said sternly as he lowered the newspaper. "Now I’m going to tell you once again about a Christian’s behavior. You leave things alone, understand? All I know is that for a summer’s contract of work in the orchard, I let Dietrich have a house for his family – I don’t care if there are three or thirteen of them squeezed in there – and I let them be. He only told me that they had it bad in Germany with the Nazis sniffing at their every move, and they barely made it out alive. We will give them their space, you hear?""Yes, Grandad, but I wish I knew why he was so secretive about his last name and all," she said as she poured him a mug of coffee. "What a day!" her mother breezed into the room. "I’m tired but not too worn out. Is there dinner yet? You know, the candy store actually delivered a chocolate cake that was seven layers. I never saw such a thing! And get this – the owners are giving me a raise! I’ll be making 36 cents an hour, now. How about that?" She took off her hat and turned toward Marie. "Well, it certainly is a surprise to see you here for once this week," she teased. "It’s like you and Dietrich have been together every evening since the day at the amusement park. Oh, I forgot to tell you, some of the girls from church came by and wanted me to remind you about meeting them for ice cream at the dairy later on this evening. ""I was planning on going, Mom, if it’s okay with you.""Sure, it’s okay. But why aren’t you taking Dietrich with you?" "Well, the girls wanted to get together and plan a picnic for the church. No boys allowed, you know? We want it that way. The pastor gave us permission, and all the girls seemed pretty excited about it. Get this - we even get a budget. The pastor said that we could have $20 to spend on food and other things that people don’t donate." She poured the last cup of coffee. "He said this picnic is to welcome some of the wounded servicemen back, but also for the church just to get together and socialize, kind of bond a little closer together.""Well, that’s okay with me," said her mother, placing napkins on the tables and glancing out the window, " just let me know when I can pick you up, because I don’t want you walking home - why there’s Dietrich with the little old man, walking along the edge of the orchard, next to the barn!"

Marie turned to squint through the window in the sunset light, and sure enough, there was the little old man limping along with Dietrich, both of them looking about and holding something between them. Why is he hiding something?
Why do the two of them try to sneak about? Marie wondered. Grandad never looked up from the newspaper. "Well, get this! I never knew such a thing. Says that Hitler’s got relatives in other countries! Some are in Austria, sure, but listen - some are here in the United States. Long Island, New York is one place...a Brigid and a Willie Hitler...""Are you serious?" asked Marie. "A Hitler relative? Here? In America?""That’s not all," said Grandad. "There’s an Alois Hitler whom they’ve lost contact with...says he’s traveling with maybe one or two of his family...old geezer by now, and he probably has a son or two."

Marie dropped the coffee pot.
--------

Within the hour, Marie met the girls at the dairy’s ice cream shop. Looking through the glass window at the milk being churned, poured and bottled, the five girls chatted lightly about the war news and about the upcoming social event at the church.

"We’ve even got people to donate some of their meat ration coupons so we can have a little extra for the meal," said a blonde girl named Cathy. "Annie, you know the way you decorate, that you and Shirley could drape the ceiling like you did at Christmas.""And then Paulette could make that white cake, couldn’t you, Paulette?" added Annie. "And Marie, you can make some cakes, too.""Oh, I don’t think Marie will be able to," said Paulette cattily. "She’s got her mind on Germany, and I don’t mean overseas either.""What? A boy?" asked Shirley. "A German boy at church? We don’t have any Krauts in our church. What’s going on here?""Well, all I know, " said Paulette, seizing on the attention, "is that people have been saying that Marie has been seen at the Rose Garden and with a pretty stiff-walking Aryan gentleman who has been especially attentive to her every whim.""My dad said he’s shoot any German that wasn’t born and raised here, right here in Dauphin County," declared Annie. "Shoot ‘em all."The four girls stared at Marie in a mixture of fascination, disgust and evil delight, waiting for her response. She knew about anti-German sentiment in the many communities across the country, and how vicious people could be to sympathizers. She had to think fast. She was the outsider, after all, visiting from Philadelphia.Marie lifted her eyes to them and assumed a self-important look. "You might say I’ve been doing a bit of spying, trying to find proof about something. And," she leaned closer to the girls, who became wide-eyed, "I believe I’ve discovered something pretty shocking."