The Blameless Bystander

By Autumn Writer

© Copyright 2006, 2007, 2009

Chapter 14—The Fourth Estate

It had been less than a week since James visited Miss Martin in the County Office Building.  It was a good thing that he knew the way, because it was snowing hard again that morning and it was difficult to see the road signs.  He was, nevertheless, determined to make the trip.  Although out of a job, he needed a place to be in the morning.  After the encounter with his neighbor, Norma, he sought to regain his self respect.    

The County Office Building was uncharacteristically large for a small city in a rural area.  It was new, too, built with some grant or another, secured by a local legislator who just knew that the citizens would naturally want a monument to big government overshadowing the streets of small businesses and quiet residences.  It housed many governmental functions.  The Social Services Department was one; it was on the fourth floor where he met with Miss Martin several days before.  On a lower floor was the office where claimants for Unemployment Insurance benefits shuffled in and out, filing their weekly paperwork.  It was James’ destination on this day.

James was in a special line for new applicants.  While he waited, he filled out a form with information needed for his claim.

“Next!” he heard a clerk shout to be heard over the background noise.  James approached and sat in the chair alongside the man’s desk.  He was a small man, in his fifties, with a pencil-thin moustache and receding hairline.  He had a thin frame, but a small paunch that didn’t quite fit his physique.  There were stamps suspended from a little wheel on the corner of his desk that reminded James of signet rings.  An ID card hung from a chain around his neck like a talisman.  He appeared to be in a bad mood.  He seized the paperwork from James’ hand and pored over it. 

“Unpaid Administrative Leave,” he demanded in a loud, nasal voice, “what’s that?”

“They said I’m not fired but I can’t work there, either,” James explained.

“I don’t get it,” he answered in the same bullhorn voice.  “Either you’re fired or you’re not.”

“They said they would call me back when the time is right.”

“That’s called a Temporary Layoff,” the clerk corrected with a huff of frustration, loud enough to educate any applicants in line who might be in danger of making the same mistake.  He crossed out what James had entered on the form and penciled in the correct term.  After exercising his authority on the form, the clerk continued his review.  His brow furled on the second page.

“You only accounted for four and a half months,” he said.  “You need six months.”

“I only worked there since September,” James said. 

What did you do before that?”

“I was a priest until the end of June.  I wasn’t anything in July and August.”

The clerk shook his head.  “A priest?  This never came up before.”  He leaned forward toward James.  “Tell me, what did they fire you for?  I’ve never seen a teacher get fired.”

“I didn’t get fired,” James repeated.  “It’s an unpaid Administrative Leave.” 

“Right, right,” mumbled the clerk.  “It doesn’t look like you qualify.  You need six months of work out of the last twelve.  I don’t know whether the priest thing qualifies or not.”  James let out a sigh.  The news was a surprise, and not a good one.  His financial outlook had just turned sharply down.

“There’s a couple of things you can do,” the clerk went on.  “Pick up some kind of job for a couple of months.  Come back when it’s over and you’ve got your six months.”  He snapped his fingers to show James ho easy that would be.

What else?” James asked. 

“I’ll stamp this ‘Rejected’.  Then, you can appeal it and see if they’ll count your time as a priest.”

“I think I’ll go for that one,” James replied.

The clerk didn’t answer.  He took a stamp from a little wheel on his desk and pressed into a red inkpad.  He carefully impressed the red letters in the proper space and initialed it under the ink.  He pulled another form from a basket on his desk and filled out.  “Sign here,” he ordered and held his finger on the line.  James took the pen from the desk and wrote his signature. 

“That’s it,” the clerk advised.  “They’ll send you something in the mail.”  He thrust a pamphlet into James’ hands.  “Read this.  It’ll explain everything.”

James took the material and left the office.  When he reached the first floor he looked out the window and saw that the snow was driving down even harder than before.  He spied a bench in the corner of the lobby and decided to wait for the storm to abate.  He started perusing the pamphlet from the Unemployment Insurance Office. 

It was approaching the lunch hour.  Office workers began to parade past him and disappeared down a stairway.  James guessed that there must be a cafeteria on the ground floor.  He was thinking about getting something to eat.  He decided to wait for the crowd to thin a bit.  He started reading again when he heard a familiar voice.

“I didn’t expect to see you today,” the voice said.  James looked up to see Miss Martin standing over him.  “Do we have an appointment?”

“No…uh…I had to visit a different department,” James answered. 

Miss Martin caught sight of the pamphlet in James’ hand and nodded that she understood, but kept her silence about it.

“There’s a cafeteria in the basement,” she suggested.  “It isn’t the greatest, but you can get a good soup and sandwich.”

“I thought it would be crowded,” James answered.  “Anyway, I don’t enjoy eating by myself.”

“I don’t have anyone to eat with, either,” she declared.  “We’ll eat together.”  She about- faced and strode off with James hopping to it to catch up.

“She must do this all the time,” James said to himself, recalling the chase through the gray maze of partitions several days before.  James caught up at the start of the cafeteria line.  He looked out at the sea of full tables.  The snow had driven everyone inside.  He was correct; it was crowded.

“We’ll take it up to my office.  Don’t buy any coffee.  We have some upstairs.”

James bought a ham and cheese sandwich and skipped the soup.  He hadn’t really planned on spending anything.  With the bad news of his morning meeting, he decided that it was more than he thought he could afford.  When they finally arrived in Miss Martin’s office, she closed the door.

“Normally, it would be unethical for me to socialize with you,” she informed him.  “I can, because we decided to place the case in ‘Inactive Status’.  With the mother uninterested in pursuing anything, there’s little more for us to do.  I sent the file to Archives yesterday.  Officially, it’s not my case anymore.”

“I suppose I should be glad,” James said.  “I told you how I feel about that.”

“I know,” Miss Martin said.  “I’m afraid that our hands are tied.”

“It’s better for Becky this way,” James replied.  “I hope she gets a fresh start somewhere.  She was always so unsure of herself.  She never thought she would pass Trig; never thought anyone liked her.  She was mistaken on both counts.”

“Not many men in your situation would say that,” Miss Martin observed.  “Don’t you have any hard feelings that she didn’t come out and clear you?”

“What would be the point?” James replied.  “I wish she had cleared me, but I can’t help it now.  She’s still a confused kid with big troubles.  Hard feelings won’t solve her problem, or mine.  I have to believe in the good in her, and hope she has the chance to bring it out.  If I can’t do that, I couldn’t believe in the good in myself.” 

“Is that what you learned when you were a priest?” she challenged.  “Do you believe that you have good in you?”

“I don’t know.  Maybe…”  James answered.  “There are times that I have to look hard for it.  Sometimes the good gets mixed up with the bad.  Everyone has some good and bad in them.  If I had learned that while I was a priest, I might have never left.”

“But, you’re not going back?” she asked.  James shook his head.  “Still, if Becky had just told everyone that it was not you, everything would be a lot simpler.”

“She must have her reasons.  Her boyfriend was the Mayor’s son.  I noticed they broke up at about the time she found out she was pregnant.  They sat together in one of my Trig sections.” 

“Jarrod Morris’ son?” she asked.

“Do you know him?”

“Yes, too well,” she answered, and then fell silent and took a bite from her sandwich.  James did the same.  For a few minutes they ate in silence, until she paused to take a sip of coffee.

“It’s not a bad sandwich, don’t you think?” she asked.  Before James could answer, she dropped her big question.  “And, how did you come to lose your job?”  James had his mouth full and looked confused.  “I saw your pamphlet,” she added as he swallowed his food.

“I couldn’t believe it when it happened.  It has to do with Chandler.  One moment, Nathan and Bob Jackson were behind me.  The next, Nathan said I was on Administrative Leave to get me out of the way so they could put the whole thing to rest.  I don’t know what happened.”

“So, you’re out of teaching?” she asked.

“I still have my last tutoring client.  I have a session with him tomorrow afternoon.”

“Why did he stay with you when the others left?” she prodded.  James told Raymond’s story and recounted his Thanksgiving dinner with his family.  Miss Martin listened with interest as he told it.  “So, you’re going to keep teaching him, even though you’re out of a job and they can’t pay?”

“If he told me he was going to quit, I would beg him not to,” James stated.  “He won’t, though.  His family is poor, but they’re better than many I’ve met in Bates.  They stuck by me when all the trouble with Chandler started.  They know what it’s like to have a bad break or two.”

“I think that the School District lost more than they realize,” Miss Martin answered.  “I do a lot of work with the schools in the area.  Sometimes I hear about job openings.  If I do, I’ll let you know.”

The receptionist knocked and told Miss Martin that she had an appointment waiting.  “Thanks for listening,” James stood and clasped her hand. 

“Stay in touch,” she answered as James left her office.

During the lunch hour, the snowstorm lessened.  James felt a little better, despite the rejection of his benefits claim.  Miss Martin was easy to talk to.  She spoke few words, but those that she did were worth listening to.  So far, she had been honest in everything she said, with the dripping sympathy left out.  She was a plain, sexless woman, not good material to be a potential bed partner.  She was, however, worth cultivating as a friend, if he could find a way to contact her again. 

“Things have a way of working out,” he said out loud.  He was alone in the car, but somehow, hearing the words made him feel good.  Just then, he remembered the eleven hundred dollars that Bubba owed him for the Florida trips.  With all that had been happening over the last few days, he had forgotten it.  He would see him at bowling in a few days.  If he planned carefully, he could make that money stretch for at least another month, maybe two.  Things were looking up.

********** 

James found himself wandering through the Bates Feed Mill the next day, looking for someone in charge.  There were two men talking on the loading dock.  He stood back near the door to the office waiting for them to finish. 

One man was heavy-set, in his fifties.  He wore overalls, a canvas barn coat and black, rubber boots.  He had two days’ growth on his face.  Every now and again he would turn his head away and send a stream of brown tobacco juice from between his lips, and then resume his conversation.  James didn’t know much about country life, but he would have bet the man was a farmer in town to pick up supplies.

The second man was about the same age, less roughly hewn.  He was more carefully groomed, and wore grey work clothes.  There were logo patches sewn on the chest pockets of his jacket.  James was sure that he managed the mill.  Before long, the farmer spotted James and pointed him out to the other man.

“Hey, what can I do for you?” he called to James. 

James approached.  “I could use a job,” James answered.  The Mill Manager approached James, peering at him. 

“Sorry, we’re all filled up,” he answered abruptly, then turned away.

“Shoot, Bert,” the farmer contradicted.  “You know damn well you need someone.  With Cy out with his hurt back, you gotta’ have someone right away.”

“But Augie,” Bert protested, “you didn’t recognize him.  He’s that, you know…”

“I sure did see him,” Augie retorted.  “I got eyes.  You don’t believe any of the Chandler hogwash, do you?”  He turned his head and spit some brown juice onto the ground.

“I don’t know, Augie…”

“Hey, mister,” Augie interrupted, “you lookin’ for any children to molest around here?  Maybe they’re hidin’ among them sacks o’ feed.”  He burst out laughing, then turned and spat again and wiped his chin.  “Give him the job, for crissake.  I got to get back up the hill to the farm.”  He climbed down off the loading dock and piled himself into his pickup truck and drove away.

Bert let out a big sigh.  “It would only be until my regular guy gets back on his feet.  I don’t suppose you know how to drive a truck.”  James shook his head.  It’ll be seven-and-a-half bucks an hour, then.  I can only give you twenty hours a week.”

“I’m glad to have it,” James answered.

“Bert Hodges is my name,” he said, extending his hand.  “I already know what your name is.  This is no easy place to work.  You can start right now.  I need that pallet of feedbags over there restacked.  Pull out any torn ones and put them over there.”

The Feed Mill was really a general store for farmers.  Most of the space was devoted to animal feed, either in bags or in bulk.  It carried a variety of other supplies, from baling wire to lubricants and even disinfecting chemicals for the dairy barns.  James didn’t know a thing about them, but as long as Bert kept issuing orders, he kept working.  When Bert wasn’t there to direct him, he picked up a broom and swept the place out.  He worked hard and the time went by fast.

At the end of the day, Bert called him over.  “For a teacher, you got some muscles,” he said.  “I put you on the schedule.  It’s in the back room.  Find yourself a couple pair of coveralls that fit.  You’ll be outside, so make sure you’ve got warm clothes, and especially boots.  Fill out those tax forms before you go, and I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” 

************** 

Peggy Hardaway stood in the doorway of Roger Blair’s office.  “Are we still interested in that school scandal in Bates?” she asked.

“Seems to have died down recently,” he answered.  “Why do you ask?”

“Connie Martin from Social Services just called me and said that James O’Toole was fired a week or so ago.”

“I thought they were backing him up,” Roger said.

“They were, and then they dropped him like a hot potato.  She said that Chandler accused O’Toole of getting his daughter pregnant, but Connie said there was nothing to it.”

“Anything with sex attached to it gets people’s attention—true or false,” Roger said. 

“Connie gave a new angle,” Peggy continued.  “He’s been tutoring a kid from an indigent family.  She said that they might give me a view from the other side.  I’d like to see if it leads anywhere.”

“Get on it!” Roger agreed.  “Interview the other players again, too.  See if there’s anything new.  Whatever you do, don’t let them know that you’re talking to the student’s family.”  Peggy nodded.  “And keep me in the loop,” he yelled after her as she put on her overcoat.

********* 

Shirley knew who the car belonged to as it parked in front of her trailer.  Peggy Hardaway had called in advance.  Shirley was reluctant, at first.  The cares and worries of her life didn’t include press interviews.

“I was told that Mr. O’Toole is your friend,” Peggy urged her on the phone. 

Shirley thought for a second.  “If I don’t talk to her,” she thought, “everyone will think it’s because I’m hiding something.  I’ve got no choice.”

“Come over before the school bus brings the kids home,” Shirley told the reporter.

Shirley took Peggy’s coat and showed her to the dinette table.  “Leave your boots on.  It’s just snow.  The kids will track more in a few hours, anyway.”

Peggy took a chair at the table and set up her recorder.  Shirley set a coffee mug before her.  “I made us some coffee,” she said before her visitor had a chance to refuse.  She set a plate of cookies in the center of the table.

“Thank you,” Peggy said politely.  “You didn’t have to go to all…”

“They’re from the batch that I just made to take to James tonight when he tutors my son, Raymond.  It’s the only payment he’ll take.”

“Is your son behind?” Peggy asked. 

“Hardly!” Shirley exclaimed, a proud grin imposing itself across her face.  “He’s the best in the class.  James tutors him so that he’ll be able to take all the hard math courses when he goes to Engineering School next fall.  His Guidance Counselor said that without the extra help he’d be behind the students from other schools next year.”

“That’s interesting,” Peggy replied.  “So, you don’t think James O’Toole should have been fired?”

“No, of course not,” Shirley proclaimed.  “He’s the best teacher they’ve got.  That wouldn’t mean much to them, though.”

“And it doesn’t bother you—you know, about all the rumors about him?”

“All those rumors are phony,” was Shirley’s blunt reply.   

“How do you know?” the reporter asked.

“How does anyone know anything about anyone?” Shirley asked back.  “How do you know I’m not a liar?  You don’t—you just believe that I’m not.  I believe in James.  If I didn’t, I wouldn’t let my son go with him every week, or let my little girl play with him in that chair over there on Thanksgiving.  I’ve seen enough good and bad in my life to know; you can believe me or not.”

Peggy was scribbling notes as Shirley spoke.  Shirley waited for her, and then continued.

“My stepdaughter knows him, too.  She’s a teacher in the same school as James.  You should talk to her.”

“I’ll do that,” the reporter promised.  “Why do you think they fired him?  No one from the school will talk to me.”

“It’s because James isn’t enough like them,” Shirley confided.  “They all got their power and their place, and that’s what they care about.  He just wanted to do his job as best he could.  Anyone who upsets the applecart has got to go.”

**********

“I shouldn’t be talking to you.  Remember, you promised that this would be anonymous.”

“Sure,” Peggy answered Tracey.  “It’s just for background.”

“So you know James O’Toole?” Peggy began.  Tracey nodded that she did.  “And you think that he’s alright?” she continued.

“Better than alright,” Tracey answered.

“What kind of teacher is he?”

“Everyone knows that he was one of the best in the High School,” Tracey attested.  “He was undoubtedly the best in the Math Department.  There’s a big crisis going on there now.  I heard that a third of the seniors taking Trigonometry failed the midterm—except for James’ students.  They all passed.  They need it for graduation.  Nathan Smithling told us that the test average was about the same, but he’s covering up. It was James’ sections that brought up the average.”    

“Then, why did they fire him?” Peggy asked.

“I don’t really know,” Tracey answered.  “I heard it had something to do with Becky Chandler getting pregnant and moving away.  I can tell you this.  I’ve lived in this town all my life.  I’ve learned that those who do the best aren’t always the ones rewarded.  What matters is keeping things the same.”

“I’m new here,” Peggy admitted.  “I’d like to think better of people.”

“They start out fine,” Tracey said.  “Along the way, something happens that lets them take the easy way out.  At first, it feels bad.  After a few more times a person gets used to it, until they’re doing it all the time.  They just settle for less than what could have been, and then they’re trapped in it.”

“I think that you’re talking about someone that you know well,” Peggy said.

“Just people, in general,” Tracey looked away.  Her eyes were watering and she bit her lower lip.

“Can I ask you a few more questions—or would you like me to leave?” Peggy asked sympathetically.

“I’m alright; go ahead,” Tracey said as she turned back to face her.

“Why does Ethan Chandler hate James so much?”

“Reverend Chandler?” Tracey stiffened.  “I barely know him.”

“What about Jarrod Morris?  He seems to be very close to Chandler.  Do you think that he has any part in this?”

“I don’t know Morris, either,” Tracey answered tersely.

“It’s funny,” Peggy went on.  “He’s on the board of Ethan Chandler’s Church and he always seems to be on the fringe of things, but never quite in the middle of them.  He’s been very evasive any time I’ve spoken with him.”

“I told you,” Tracey repeated.  “I don’t know him.”

“That’s too bad,” Peggy said.  “Morris won’t give me an interview.  I wish I could find someone who knows him.”

“I can’t help you with that,” Tracey repeated, her tone turning harder.

“If we’re off the record,” Peggy confided, “I think that it was really Morris who got O’Toole fired to cover up for his son.  They say that the boy is really the father of Becky’s child.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Tracey spat out angrily.  “I told you, I don’t know Morris.”

************** 

“It looks like O’Toole made friends with the wrong people,” Peggy said to Roger Blair upon returning from her day in Bates.  “I spoke to the parent of the student I told you about.  Even though O’Toole’s out of work, he still tutors him for free.  The mother swears by him.  I thought that it was a problem student, but actually, he’s gifted.  They’re sorting through scholarship offers.  They credit O’Toole for a big part of it.”

“Interesting,” Roger mumbled.

“There’s more,” Peggy interrupted.  She told her boss about her interview with Tracey and the crisis in the Math Department.

“What did Jackson and Smithling say about it?” Roger asked.

“They refused to be interviewed.”  Peggy grimaced, thinking that she had failed to close the loop. 

“Don’t feel bad,” Roger assuaged her.  “By not talking, they’re telling us something.  What about O’Toole.”

“I spoke to him, but he didn’t have much to add.  He just said his firing was a shock, and wished that he was back with his students.  He’s working at Bates Feed Mill now.  I think he knows less than we do.”

“I think we’re getting closer,” Roger said. 

“There’s one more thing,” Peggy added.  “I asked Tracey Jacobs—the teacher I interviewed—about Jarrod Morris.  She was very defensive.  Maybe it’s a woman-to-woman thing.  I think there’s more there.”

Roger cocked an eyebrow at the sound of Jarrod’s name.  “Now, I know we’re closing in,” Roger said.  “Keep this story under wraps for a while.  We’ve got some more digging to do.

************* 

It was Friday afternoon; the sky threatened more snow.  Ethan was in his study finishing his sermon, as he usually did at that time on that day.  He heard the front door open, but no one had rung the bell.  “Who would do that?” he asked himself out loud.  He swung around in his swivel chair, looking toward the foyer.  “Who’s there?” he called out.  No one answered, but he heard rustling noises, and then a soft padding of quiet steps.

“Reverend Chandler, I need to see you,” Tracey cooed, as she finally made her entrance into the study.  She sauntered toward him. 

“Miss Jacobs!” Ethan exclaimed.  “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Tracey ignored what Ethan said and kept her slow advance. 

“Why are you here?” Ethan demanded.

“Because I’m lonely,” she whispered as she arrived at where he was seated and sidled up next to him.

“Yes, I can imagine,” Ethan answered confidently, puffing out his chest.  “I’m busy right now.  You should have called first.”

“Please don’t refuse me,” she whispered in his ear as she bent down to him.  “You know you cannot refuse me.”  She smoothed her hand over his thigh and placed her hand over his penis.  She felt it starting to stiffen under his trousers.  She passed her hand over it several times and then stood up.

She turned and walked slowly in the direction of the stairs.  When she reached them, she turned and looked at him, still sitting in his swivel chair.  “Finish whatever you need to finish.  I know my way; I’ll be waiting for you.”

Tracey made her way to Ethan’s bedroom where she undressed.  When she was nude she looked around the room.  She passed by a picture of Becky, who she recognized.  She shook her head sadly.  Nothing else was there that interested her.  When she started feeling chilly, she slipped under the covers and waited for him.

She must have dozed off.  She didn’t know for how long.  She looked up and saw him standing over her.  He was already undressed standing still, displaying his naked erection to her.  “I knew that you’d come back; it was meant to be,” he proclaimed.

She didn’t care for his expression; she thought he looked haughty.  Tracey peeled back the covers just the same and Ethan got in beside her.  He pressed his body up against her and waited for her to kiss him. 

“Suck on my breast,” she commanded.  Ethan looked at her in momentary surprise, and then obeyed the order.  Tracey gathered the flesh in her hands, framing the nipple.  Ethan suckled as would a babe.  He serviced her left one, and then she switched him to her right.  She stretched and then kneaded her flesh, to maximize the sensation.  It felt good, equal to Jarrod’s attentions.  When it was enough she had to lift his head up, as he seemed to enjoy the exercise.

“Go lower,” she directed.  She rolled on her back and Ethan climbed atop her.  He kissed and sucked his way down her lean torso, ending in her navel.  She allowed him to lave her there for a minute.  “That was nice, but I meant lower than that,” she informed him in a husky voice.

Ethan looked up at her with a pleading expression.  “But that means…”

“That’s right, it does,” she confirmed.

“I don’t know how,” Ethan begged.

“You will soon,” she informed him.  “Put your face in my hair first.”  She grasped his ears and forced his nose to her Mound of Venus.  She rubbed his face in her wiry, black pubic hair.    She pressed him down and bucked up against him.  She felt the distant promise of pleasure.  Her long legs opened wider.  She rubbed herself on him harder and harder, using his face.  Pleasure was getting closer.

“Put your tongue in me!” she screamed.  She forced him lower, pulling and twisting his head until his outstretched tongue landed on the bud of her clitoris.  She used all her strength to pull him in close and hard.   A female scent permeated the room.  Ethan started learning the task, cooperating as she searched for satiation.  Tracey spread herself wider yet, and then wrapped her limbs around Ethan’s head.   

She climaxed hard, with a sudden, high-pitched gasp.  She pinned Ethan where he was and held her breath until it was over.  As she descended, she loosened her grip.  Ethan looked up, as if asking permission to ascend to his rightful place alongside her. 

“You can put it in me now,” she told him.  Her legs were still split wide.  Ethan had no trouble finding her entrance.  She was better lubricated this time.  He slid in with ease.  He thrust forward.  She responded.  Soon he grunted and released into her.  He fell off to the side, gasping.  He clutched a breast and lay alongside her, winding down.  He closed his eyes as he waited to catch his breath.

“Before the Last Supper, I washed the feet of the disciples and anointed them with oil,” he panted in a dreamy voice.

“I enjoyed it, Reverend,” she said dispassionately as she arose from the bed.  “Maybe next week you can anoint me again,” she quipped, as she reached for her clothes.  “At least, we’re even now.”

“I thought you would stay until morning,” Ethan answered, surprised and disappointed.

“Not this time,” she replied, as he looked longingly up at her.  “You’ve got your flock to tend and I need to get home and shower.”

************ 

“I’m glad that you invited me to lunch, Ethan.”

“How’s your soup, Jarrod?” Ethan asked as he slurped in a spoonful.

“It’s fine, but I have to admit that it’s not as good as Judith’s.  Have you had any word from her?”  Ethan shook his head.

“It’s just soup from a can,” Ethan admitted.  “I hope you don’t mind.”

“I wasn’t that hungry, Ethan.  I want to discuss a few things with you.”  Ethan looked up from his eating. 

“This firing of James O’Toole is just what we wanted,” Jarrod began.

“It’s justice,” Ethan agreed. 

“That may be, Ethan, but now that O’Toole is out of the way the congregation won’t be very interested in him anymore.  There’s no point in bringing him up in your sermons.”

“I heard he’s working in the Bates Feed Mill.  We can turn our attention to that,” Ethan suggested. 

“No, no; that won’t work at all,” Jarrod scolded.  “How excited do you think the people will be to save sacks of cow feed from the pedophile?  Use your head, Ethan!”

“Sorry, Jarrod,” Ethan apologized and hung his head.  “That’s why I need you.”

“We need something new to keep pulling them in,” Jarrod continued.  “Without it, they’ll lose interest again and you know what that means to the collections.”

“Sin is always a good topic,” Ethan suggested.

“No, they’re tired of that—and considering Becky’s condition, you don’t want them to think that you’re condemning your own daughter.  They don’t mind damning someone theoretical, but they soften up on familiar faces.”

The two men were quiet for a minute.  They rubbed their chins as they wracked their brains.

“That’s it!” Jarrod exclaimed.  “We’ll go soft; God’s love and forgiveness, and all that.  I know it sounds corny, but they’ll eat it up after five months of O’Toole.”

“I don’t know about that, Jarrod.  It’s been a long time since I tried that angle.”

“Don’t worry, Ethan.  Get the organist some new music—it’s all in the music.  Tell the choir to swing a little.  Maybe we’ll move them out of the choir loft and behind the altar facing the congregation.  Work it in gradually.”

“I’d like to do a ‘Laying on of Hands’ in the Spring,” Ethan announced.

“Huh,” Jarrod asked, “what’s that?”

“It’s a special service for healing.  The sick and lame come up the center aisle.  I lay my hands on them.”

“I don’t know about that, Ethan.  You’ve been acting very strange lately.  I can see this getting out of hand.”

“Jarrod, it’s my duty.  You can’t stop me if I decide to do it.”

Jarrod thought for a second and agreed.  “Alright, Ethan,” he conceded.  “Just don’t let it go out of control.  See if you can tie in the healing with their tithe.”

The two resumed eating their soup.  Jarrod finished first and poured himself a cup of coffee.  “Why don’t you think about taking a few weeks off, Ethan?  Go up to Indiana and see Judith and Becky.  It’ll do you some good.”

Ethan stopped eating.  “How can I do that?  Who would take over Sunday services, the sermon?”

“Howard Jones is a deacon.  Let him do it.” Jarrod said.  “You could write it and he could deliver it.”

“No, Howard is a good man, but I don’t think he’s up to giving a full sermon.”

“I had another idea, Ethan,” Jarrod countered.  “Why don’t we contact the seminary and ask them to send a student down to fill in for a few weeks.  You know, it would be a senior-level student who needs some first-hand experience.  I’ll call them if you want me to.  It’ll only cost us room and board.”

Ethan shook his head.  “In all my years in Bates I have never had anyone fill in,” he puffed in defense.

“Relax, Ethan,” Jarrod consoled.  “It’ll be good for your image.  After the congregation gets their fill of some young, wet-behind-the-ears guy, they’ll realize how good they have it with you.”       

“No,” Ethan answered defiantly.  “Besides, it’s better that Judith and I don’t have any contact.  “I’ve found another.”

“Another what?” asked Jarrod, incredulously.

“An angel, my Mary Magdalene, who will soon be my wife,” Ethan replied with solemnity.  “It’s that Miss Jacobs that you sent to see me about the girls’ camp.”  He eyed Jarrod, hoping for a reaction that he didn’t receive.  “We’ve been together—in the flesh—two times.” 

Jarrod stifled a smirk.  “Did you talk with her about this?” he asked.  “Are you sure?”

“As I poured forth into her, I was inspired.  It is whence I draw my strength,” he declared.

“And what does she get out of it?” Jarrod asked.

“She begged me not to deny her,” Ethan replied.  “I had revelations.  It is my duty not to deny her.”

“I wouldn’t tell anyone else about these revelations, Ethan,” Jarrod warned. 

“Of course not!  They wouldn’t understand.  For them, the joining would be a sin—not for me.  I am not bound by the usual Commandments.  I must operate on a higher plane.”

“Is it a sin for Miss Jacobs?” Jarrod asked. 

“No,” proclaimed Ethan.  “She comes to me as an angel.  She, too, is above sin.”

“When do you and Miss Jacobs plan to start using first names?” Jarrod queried.

****************** 

“And so you see, Bob, these are serious charges and I didn’t want to print them until you had a chance to respond,” Roger told Bob Jackson.  “You and I always had good rapport, so I thought that if I called you, personally, you would agree to an interview.”

“Of course, Roger,” Jackson responded.  “I’m sorry that I refused you, Miss Hardaway.  I didn’t understand your request.  I thought it was about James O’Toole.”

Peggy Hardaway was sitting next to Roger Blair.  “It’s Mrs. Hardaway, and James O’Toole is involved, since it concerns your Math Department.”

“We, of course, deny that there’s a crisis,” Jackson replied.  “What I’d like to know, Roger, is who would say such a thing?”

“C’mon, Bob, even the Valley Sentinel has confidential sources,” Roger countered.  “What is the situation in the Math Department, anyway?”

“I’d rather wait for Nathan to get here,” Jackson answered.  “He has all the technical details.”

“While we’re waiting,” Roger asked, “why don’t you fill in the details of the O’Toole firing.”

“That’s very sad,” Jackson answered.  “Of course, we didn’t fire him.  It’s an Administrative Leave.  I’m not supposed to talk about personnel matters.  If we’re off the record, I can tell you that he came to us and said that he couldn’t stand the pressure that Ethan Chandler was putting on him.  He asked for the time off.”

Peggy began to contradict Jackson, but Roger put his hand on her arm, and she kept silent.

“How was he as a teacher?” Roger continued.

“Well, I guess he was pretty good,” Jackson sighed.  “That’s really Nathan’s area to talk about.  Look, maybe we’ll have him back in September.”  He looked at his watch.  “I wonder what’s keeping Nathan,” he said.  “How about some coffee while we’re waiting?”

Jacks popped up and ran out of the office before they could answer, leaving Roger and Peggy to themselves in his office.   

At the High School, Nathan waited for Jackson’s call.  He handed a note to Abby.  “Here’s another request for a reference letter for James O’Toole.  Can you use the standard letter I composed?  Sign my name to it and send it in the mail tonight.” 

“No problem, Nathan,” Abby said.  “Don’t forget that you have a meeting with Bob Jackson this afternoon.”

“I’m waiting for him to call before I go over,” he answered.  “He wanted to size the reporters up first to see what they want.  Then he’ll fill me in before I show up.”

As soon as Nathan said the words, the phone rang.  “Mr. Jackson is on your line,” Abby said.

“Nathan,” Jackson whispered over the line, “somehow they found out about the disaster in Trigonometry.  I’m not sure how much they know.  You better be ready for it when you arrive.”

“All the teachers know it,” Nathan said.  “You can’t keep something like that secret for long.”

“I know, I know.  I can’t talk long.  You better come over right now.”  Jackson hung up and Nathan started putting on his coat.

In Bob Jackson’s office Roger and Peggy sat sipping their coffee.  “Where do you suppose Bob went?” Peggy asked.

“He probably called Nathan to get their stories straight,” Roger guessed.

At that moment, Jackson strode back into the office.  I just got a call from Nathan’s secretary,” he told them.  “He was delayed, but he’s on his way over now.”

“While we’re waiting, let me fill you in the bond issue coming up,” Jackson said.  “We’d really like your help on this one.”

As Jackson wound up his lecture on the bond proposal, Nathan knocked at the door.  “Come in, Nathan,” Bob called out cheerfully.  Nathan stepped in.  “You know everyone here, right?”  Nathan shook hands all around.

“I was wondering if you wanted me to tell you about James O’Toole,” Nathan began.  “I heard he’s working at the Feed Mill.  It’s sad, really.  He was our best teacher in the Math Department.  Hopefully, he’ll be back in the Fall.  We tried to talk him out of it.” 

“What we’d like to know about is the status of the Trigonometry midterm,” Roger said.  “We have a source that says that a third of the seniors failed.  Won’t that mean no diplomas for them in June?”

“It’s a very difficult test…” Nathan started to say.

“I remember!” Roger laughed.  “I nearly failed it myself.”  Bob and Nathan laughed with him.  “So, it’s true then.  A third of the seniors might not graduate in June,” Roger pointed out, turning stern.

“It’s these new State Requirements…” Nathan began saying before Roger interrupted him again.

“So, you do confirm it?”

“Only half of the seniors are taking the course.  They’re mostly the slower students.  The rest took it a last year.  It’s true, about a third of them didn’t pass.”

“So, it’s a sixth of the senior class in danger of not graduating,” Peggy said.

“They’ll have the final Exam to average it out,” Nathan explained.  “If not, there’s Summer School.”

“Your best math teacher is gone,” Peggy pointed out.  “My source says that none of the failing students were from O’Toole’s class.”

“I’d have to check it,” Nathan answered. 

“Would you call over to your office and check it now?” Roger asked.     

 “Now that you mention it, I believe that’s true,” Nathan admitted.  “We’ll just have to do with what we’ve got.”

Roger turned to Jackson.  “Bob, I wish that we could tell the readers that you’re taking some action to help these kids.”

“But we are, Roger,” Jackson blurted out.  “We’re…we’re…offering remedial review courses at night.”  Nathan stole an unbelieving glance, then looked at the reporters and smiled as he nodded affirmatively.

“That about covers it,” Roger announced as he rose to leave.  “Thanks, Bob.  Good luck with it, Nathan.” 

“Have a chair, Nathan,” Bob said blandly after the two reporters left.  Jackson closed the door, and then resumed his seat behind his desk.

“You better set this up pronto, Nathan.  We’ve got real trouble here.”

“I don’t know where we’re going to get the manpower or the money,” Nathan advised.  “These kids need a real high-powered teacher.  Some of those grades weren’t even close.”

“As for the money, take it out of whatever budget you have to.  As for the manpower, get O’Toole to do it.  Pay him whatever he wants.  Let him do it as an independent contractor so they can’t say we reinstated him.”

“It won’t be easy convincing him,” Nathan said.

“Dammit, Nathan!” Jackson yelled.  “It was your idea to can the guy—now you get him back.”

“I thought it was a joint decision, Bob,” Nathan protested.

“You thought wrong!” Jackson countered.  “I’m not getting my ass in a sling.  When the Board finds out there’s going to be hell to pay.”  He sat back in his chair and allowed Nathan to absorb his dictum.  “Anyway, I can protect you if you get in hot water, but you can’t do anything for me.”

Back in Nathan’s office, Abby was getting ready to leave for the day.  As her last task, she assembled the outgoing mail.  Nathan’s reference letter for James was on top.  Abby reached into her desk and pulled out a new envelope, from her private supply that had no letterhead on it.  She set it her typewriter and typed the same address as Nathan’s reference letter.  Under the supply of plain envelopes she had a supply of photocopied press clippings.  They were of James and Reverend Chandler.  They told how a man of the cloth accused a teacher of pedophilia.  She carefully inserted a set of clippings in the freshly typed envelope and sealed it.

She gathered up the stack of mail, which she would drop at the post office on her way home.  “Another day—another dollar,” she sighed wistfully as she turned out the light.       

************** 

“They were lying about everything!” Peggy exclaimed to Roger as they walked out of the school building. 

“Don’t get upset,” Roger eased her.  “I know they were.  Now they’re locked in.  We’ll publish what they said and attribute it to them.  We just have to find out the rest of it.”

“Like what?” Peggy asked.

“Why they really fired O’Toole and what part Jarrod Morris has in all this,” Roger answered.  He handed Peggy the car keys.  “I would guess that your source, Miss Jacobs is home right now.  I’m going over to the diner for a coffee and a piece of pie.  Pick me up after you’ve talked to her again.”

Peggy knocked at Tracey’s door.  “I told you everything I know,” Tracey said as she opened the door. 

“There’s something important to tell you,” Peggy said.  “I’ll explain if you let me in.”  Tracey opened the door wider and stepped aside.  “I thought that you’d like to know that we confirmed everything you said about the senior math test with Nathan Smithling and Bob Jackson,” Peggy announced after she was inside.

“You didn’t tell them that I told you?” Tracey cried out. 

“No, they asked, but we refused to give it and they didn’t press the point.”

“Well, okay—that’s good.  I’ve told you all that I know.”

“We still want to find out why O’Toole was fired, and how Jarrod Morris had a part in it.

“Jarrod had something to do with it?” Tracey asked.

“I thought that you said you didn’t know him.”

“I don’t!  Everyone knows of him.  He’s the Mayor.”

“Maybe so, but I think you do,” Peggy said.  “There’s a guy working in the Feed Mill who should be teaching and kids who are flunking out.  Jarrod Morris had a hand in it.”

“James is working in the Feed Mill?” Tracey asked meekly.

“Yes, I spoke to him yesterday.  He was stacking sacks of feed at the time.”

“I would help you if I could,” Tracey said.  “I just don’t know anything more.”

*************** 

It was bowling night and James was just barely on time.  He saw Bubba’s pickup in the parking lot as he pulled in.  His hopes rose for seeing the eleven hundred dollars that was due him from the Florida trip.

As James walked into the bowling alley he saw Bubba at the bar.  He waved and James sauntered over to him.  “I bet cha’ been waitin’ for this.” He said as he handed a check to James.  “Wanna’ go a game of shuffleboard—double or nothing?” he laughed.

“Normally I would,” James replied, keeping the joke going, “I’ve got tendonitis in my shuffleboard shoulder.”

Bubba slapped him on the back.  “I heard about what happened to you at school.  I was sorry to hear that.  I figured you’d be lookin’ for that check.”

“Keep me in mind if you need a helper on another trip,” James answered.  “My job at the Feed Mill is just temporary.”

“Maybe you’ll be hired back at the school,” Abby said, peeking around the corner of her husband’s burley chest.  James hadn’t seen her standing behind Bubba.  “Hello, James.  It’s nice to see you.”

“Why don’t you talk to James while I go in the locker room and change my shoes, Baby- Doll,” Bubba said.  “We’re set to start in a few minutes.

As Bubba walked away, Abby gave James that smile that had set him on fire so many times.

“How’s your job hunting going?” she asked.

“Plenty of rejections,” James answered.  “I think my reputation has gotten around.”

“Too bad!” she cooed at him.  “You’ll never find a job.”

“I know—but I don’t know what to do about it,” James said.

“I could make it stop,” Abby said.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I’ll make it stop if you say the right thing.  You just have to say that you’ll come back to my bed,” Abby explained.

Abby’s revelation surprised James for only a moment.  He knew what sex meant to her.  Loss of it would have meant even more.  After a few seconds’ thought it all made sense.  What he couldn’t understand was why he wasn’t angrier with her than he was. 

“I won’t say that I haven’t thought about you more than just a little.” James answered.  As he looked at her, he noticed that nothing had changed since their days of pleasure.  Her petite little body looked just as inviting as before; she still smiled at him like she always did; and, as always, she was eager for a bed partner with whom to ply and share her skills.  A voice in James told him to say ‘yes’.

“Sorry Abby—can’t do it,” he answered.  “Same reason I told you before.  Look, can’t we just be friends?”

“I’ll let you wonder over the answer to that,” she replied.  “By the way, I told Nathan that I would be seeing you tonight.  He gave me a message for you.  He wants you to call him tomorrow as soon as you can.”

“I’ll call him,” James answered.  “Maybe I’ll tell what you’ve been doing.”

“And prove what?” Abby retorted.  “Even if Nathan found out, he’d just give me a slap on the wrist—like he always does when I’m bad.  It’s an arrangement that Nathan and I have.”

************ 

“Thanks for taking care of my friend, Ethan,” Jarrod said to Tracey’s reflection in the mirror as he straightened his tie.  “I’m calling it off, though.  It didn’t have the effect I was hoping for.”

“And what effect was that?” Tracey asked. 

“I thought it would bring him back down to earth.  It doesn’t matter, now.  By the way, you should have checked with me before going in for round two.”

“Maybe I liked it,” Tracey answered in her sultriest tone.  “I just felt like it.”  She rose from the bed and pressed her nude body against Jarrod’s.  “I think he’s kind of cute,” she teased as she twirled her fingers in Jarrod’s hair.

“Hey, Tracey!  Be careful not to get lipstick on my collar,” Jarrod ordered.  “I don’t think Ethan’s your type.”

“Maybe I’m looking for a new type,” she pouted.

“Oh, yeah?  Just what type is that?”

“I don’t know,” Tracey replied.  “Maybe I’ll make him into my type.”

“He thinks that you and he are headed for the altar,” Jarrod informed her.

“The altar?” Tracey hooted.  “As what—human sacrifices?”

“No,” Jarrod replied.  “As bride and groom.”

“Sounds romantic,” Tracey teased again.  “It’s the best offer I’ve had all day.”

Jarrod spun around and pushed her onto the bed.  “I told you—I’m calling it off!”

“Who are you to tell me to call it off,” Tracey protested.  “What do you expect me to do, just wait until the next time you decide to take a long lunch?”

“Just stay away from him—for you own good,” Jarrod warned.  “Don’t play games, Tracey.”

Tracey ceased teasing about Ethan, sensing it had struck a nerve with Jarrod.  She would use it later.   His arrogance made her angry.

“What did you have to do with James O’Toole getting fired?” she demanded.

“O’Toole?  How did that come up?” he shot back.

“I just want to know.”

“It was just a little business transaction,” Jarrod replied.

“Oh, I don’t believe it!” Tracey exclaimed, rolling her eyes at the ceiling.  “Why would you do a thing like that?”

“I told you—it was business,” he answered.  “Why would you care about him?”  He stood over her.  She was still sitting naked on the edge of the bed.  He paused several seconds, lost in thought.  “You screwed him, didn’t you?  I’ll be damned.  You went behind my back, you slut.”

“What if I did?” Tracey retorted in defiance.  “I wanted to.  I like him.  He was the best I ever had!”          

“You bitch!” Jarrod screamed.  He whipped her across the face with the back of his hand.  He looked down at her stunned expression as he hovered over her.  “I’ll show you!” he roared, and then closed in to attack her.  When he was finished Tracey’s cheekbone was purple and her lip was split.  There were bruises on her arms and breasts.  “That’ll teach you to get out of line,” he said calmly, and then walked out of the bedroom.  Tracey lay on the floor.  In a few seconds Tracey heard the front door slam.’

She didn’t get up right away.  She lay naked on her bedroom floor crying.  Her body screamed in pain all over, but she hurt in other places more.  Finally, she lifted herself from the floor and staggered to the bathroom.  She winced as she looked into the mirror. 

Her teeth were still firmly in place, which surprised her.  She blotted the blood from her lip with a wet washcloth as the pain made her grimace.  At last, she put on her robe.  She would have to call in sick for a few days.  She couldn’t appear in public as she was. 

As she made her way to the living room to make the call to the school, she spotted Jarrod’s briefcase.

“I’ll be damned if he thinks I’m going to take it to him!”

It wasn’t his regular case.  It was an extra one, a leather portfolio that he carried along sometimes.  Tracey assumed that he left it behind in his hurry to leave the house.  She wondered what was in it, and why Jarrod needed an extra briefcase when he had such a nice one.  Normally she would have set it aside, but on this day she decided that he had waived his right to privacy.  She unzipped it and found two folders inside.  One was labeled “Church Finances”.  The other said “Insurance Fund”.  Tracey glanced through the material.  There were check registers, receipts, some accounting type papers.  They meant little to her.

She got dressed, covered her wounds with makeup as best she could and made a call.  She zipped the folders back in the portfolio and went out.

************* 

Peggy Hardaway greeted Tracey as she arrived at the Valley Sentinel offices.  “Tracey, what happened to you?” she cried in alarm.

“Never mind that,” Tracey answered.  “I came to talk about Jarrod Morris.”

“I need to introduce you to our publisher, Roger Blair,” Peggy said and led her to his office.  After introductions Roger motioned the women to sit down.

“I asked her what happened to her,” Peggy said.  “She wouldn’t tell me.”

“I think I know already.  It was Jarrod, wasn’t it?”

Tracey didn’t answer.

“Well, what do you want to say?” Roger asked.

“Maybe this will do the talking,” Tracey replied, as she opened the portfolio and placed it on Roger’s desk. 

Roger opened the folders and thumbed through them.  Every other page or so, his eyebrows rose.  “How did you come by this?” he asked.

“He left it in my house.”

“Did he ever tell you to safeguard it, or not to open it?” Roger asked.

“No, I think he just forgot to take it with him.”

“Peggy,” Roger said, “take Miss Jacobs to my doctor and have her checked while I take a closer look.  I’ll call ahead and tell him you’re on your way.”

When Peggy and Tracey returned from the doctor’s office two hours later they found Roger Blair poring over the contents of Jarrod’s briefcase with two other men. 

“She took six stitches in her upper lip,” Peggy told Roger.  “The doctor said she probably suffered a mild concussion.  She has a lot of contusions, but no broken bones.”

“I’m alright,” Tracey assured them.  “What did you find?”

Roger introduced Tracey to the two men in his office.  “This is Mike Walsh, Tracey.  He’s our Controller.  I asked him to help me with his accounting knowledge in sorting out these ledgers.”  He nodded to the other man.  “This is Detective Wright of the State Police.  I had to call him after Mike told me what he found.”

Wright was a big man, in his early thirties, square-shouldered and trim.  He was dark-complected, with jet black hair and a moustache to match.

“You look like you’ve been worked over pretty good,” he said when he looked up at her.  “You can file charges if you want to.”  Tracey shook her head.

“I’ll let Mike explain what all this means,” Roger explained.

“The first thing that’s obvious is that he’s siphoning money from the Church through this Insurance Fund.  Look—here are the checks and there are the invoices.  He’s inflated the premiums by about thirty percent.  Once, he had the church loan his company two thousand dollars that he hasn’t repaid yet.”

“That’s embezzlement!” Wright said.

“That’s not the most serious part,” Walsh continued.  “These charges by the Church’s Insurance Fund to his business—they’re never paid.  They’re for every expense under the sun: consulting, cleaning services, and the like.  He’s creating phony expenses.  My guess is that it’s a tax dodge.  The expenses get deducted by the business.  The income is never taxed because the Church is exempt.  He’s got it going both ways.”

“How much do you think is involved?” Roger asked.

“The overage on the insurance premiums is about three thousand; the loan is two; the phony expenses amount to twenty-five thousand.  All we have is a single year’s records to look at.”

“This is really something for the Feds,” Hal explained.  “I can see one thing; it won’t be a tax fraud until he actually files a return with those expenses on them.  We can’t do anything right now.”

“I’ll sit on the story for the time being,” Roger offered.  “When it comes to a head, we’ll have an exclusive.”

“We’ve copied all these documents,” Hal said to Tracey.  “We’ve got to get the originals back to him so that he doesn’t suspect.  Can you help us?”

“I’ll just tell him that I found the portfolio after he left and for him to come by and pick it up,” Tracey said.

“I don’t want him to hurt you again,” Hal told her.

“I can handle him, don’t worry,” Tracey assured him.

“Try to handle him better than you did earlier,” Hal said with a smile.

Tracey started to laugh with him, but then winced as she felt the stitches in her lip.  “I’ll do anything you say,” she said.  “Just don’t make me laugh again until I get these stitches out.”

“I’ll give you a ride home.  You shouldn’t be driving with a concussion.” Hal said.  “Roger can follow in your car and then I’ll drive him back.” 

************* 

Jarrod knocked on Tracy’s door that evening.  “Did I leave a little briefcase here today?”

“I was going to call you at your office tomorrow morning,” she said as he pushed past her into the house.  “I doubt if you want me to call you at home.”

He unzipped the portfolio and examined the contents.  “Did you open it?” he asked.

No,” she answered.  “You know that I have no interest in business things.”

“How would you know that there are business papers in here?” he asked suspiciously.

“What else would be in a case like that?” Tracey replied.

“Maybe airline tickets for two to the Virgin Islands,” he teased.  “Look, I’m sorry about what happened this afternoon, but it was really your fault, Tracey.”

“I know, Jarrod.  I’m sorry; sometimes I get a little out of line.”

“What do you say—after you’re healed up we’ll get back together again.  I’ll book that Virgin Islands seminar and we’ll go together.”

“That’s sounds wonderful, Jarrod.”

He stepped to the door.  “I’ve got to get going.  My wife is expecting me and I’m late already.  Just don’t get out of line anymore, Tracey,” Jarrod warned.  “I don’t like hurting you.” 

“Oh, yes you do,” Tracey said as she closed the door after he left..

******************* 

TO BE CONTINUED