9. Clearance

Jamie spent Thursday getting ready to go back to Ohio. He got his hair cut, an oil change for the car, and started loading the trunk with some of his mother's personal effects that he wanted to keep, small things like his share of her photo albums, a few books, a box of Haitian carvings she'd bought during her medical missions with the diocese, and especially her financial records. As the administrator of her trust he was responsible to his brothers, carefully accounting for his disbursements every month. It was important that he get all that right. He was very lucky that she had left detailed instructions in the event of her death, which made his job relatively easy—though he still had to manage 34 investment accounts of various sizes, each with its own rules about cashing out.

Even better, his brothers were explicitly supportive of the actions he took; they never fought over money or possessions after Thelma died, not one critical comment. His brothers praised him for his management, he was swift in his disbursements, and he intended to keep it that way. He was very proud of his mother and brothers; so many families stage greedfests when someone dies, but not his—not hers. She would have been furious at such a selfish spectacle, and if there was one thing the Foster Boys knew, it was Don't Piss Off Mom.

At the end of three months he'd disbursed about $300,000 and zeroed out half the accounts; if anything she was too diversified. But she loved playing with her money, making her own investment decisions, building her little nest egg. With certain other accounts it made sense to delay any action; the trust had a legal life of its own, and by waiting another month until year's end to sell the local municipal bonds, they would gain the annual interest.

Then there was the matter of the InFashion stock he'd given her, a sizable chunk that would trigger Federal Reserve reporting requirements, and the bro's agreed to let him study the best timing to minimize disruption to the company.

As he packed away these valuables, it occured to him that he ought to start bringing Kent into his financial considerations. They were a private matter up to now, but something very important changed a few nights ago on Kent's birthday. He'd been so cute these last few months, worrying about how Jamie was paying his bills, offering to help, longing almost to share his mythic Baseball Money; he seemed to think Jamie was broke or soon would be, with all the medical bills and no paycheck coming in. It was probably because of Thelma's house in the crummy little subdivision. It was nice enough for what it was, but she liked living inexpensively, saving her money, plotting her investments; she was good at it, though Jamie and his bro's were always trying to get her to spend a little more on herself. Now, of course, it was too late.

You never know what's going to happen. If you spend all your time planning for the future, you forget to live now.

He packed one of his two suitcases with the summer clothes he'd originally brought back in September, before the Incident. It was all just little stuff, the movers would handle the big items, but he got a lot accomplished and felt good about his day. Then all hell broke out.

Kent got home a few minutes before five o'clock and found Jamie in the kitchen and good smells from the oven. "Hey baby, whatcha makin'?"

"Little pizza squares. You might get sausage, you might get broccoli, you might get chiles or mushrooms."

"Ooh! Gettin' me some good stuff tonight."

"You got good stuff last night," Jamie objected.

"Didn't get me no chiles, though. I loves me some spicy."

"Wash your hands. Don't be bringing your cop grime into my kitchen."

Kent chuckled and washed, "Aw, you loves you some cop grime. Cop grime's the best. Gayboys loves 'em some cop grime."

"Not in the kitchen, they don't."

Kent kissed him. "Then I'll get you outta here, and make you cuddle some cop grime."

"Let me guess," Jamie grinned. "Not till after your little pizza squares."

"First things first," Kent shrugged. "Cops get hongry."

"Jeez," Jamie laughed, "cops get stoopid."

"That too," Kent allowed.

Jamie poured him some iced tea, then donned oven mitts to remove a tray from the broiler. The cheese was bubbling and golden brown. He used a spatula to arrange his pizzadoodles on a platter, which also held raw broccoli heads, celery and red sauce.

Kent sat at the table and started pounding his fists, "When do we eat? When do we eat?"

Jamie set his platter down and threw a piece of broccoli at him. Kent shagged it and popped it into his mouth. Then he surveyed the little platter, "Ooh baby, which ones got chiles?"

"Those," Jamie pointed. "Careful, they're hot."

"No prob," Kent said, "so'm I."

"You have entirely too high an opinion of cop grime."

Kent bit into a chile square. "Gayboys like it. Dang, this is hot!" He grabbed his napkin and wiped his mouth. "I don't remember buyin' chiles when we bought groceries, though."

"We didn't. I picked these up today so they'd be fresh."

Kent stopped and stared. "You did? Where?"

"PayLess."

"How'dja get to PayLess?"

"I drove."

"All by yourself?"

"How else would I get there? All the way there and all the way back."

"Since when are you drivin' by yourself?"

"What do you mean? You weren't here to go with me, yet I'm supposed to have snacks promptly at five."

"You drove there by yourself, though?"

"Hell yes."

"When did the doctor say you could drive?"

"When did he say I couldn't?"

Kent stared some more; picked up another pizza square, bit into it, chewed, his eyes never leaving him. "Where's your medical clearance?"

"My what?"

"You gotta have medical clearance, man. A letter from the doctor sayin' you're okay to drive."

"When did this come about? I'm a licensed driver, perfectly legal."

"Don't mean you can drive after what you been through. You gotta have medical clearance."

"I'm leaving Sunday afternoon. I'm going to drive my car. You've known this all along, but you've never once said anything about needing a letter."

"So you just took it on yourself to drive to PayLess and buy a bunch of chiles?"

"Like I'll take it on myself to drive to Columbus, Ohio."

"Not without that letter, you ain't."

"I have a valid license."

"That don't mean squat. You better hand that license over."

Jamie's jaw dropped, his eyes narrowed. "Are you trying to keep me here? Is that what this is all about?"

"No, I'm tryin' to keep you fuckin' safe. Where's your medical clearance?"

Jamie got up, walked away and started banging dishes around, cleaning up the mess from his little meal. "All week long you've argued with me about going back to Ohio. How did you think I was going to get there, Kent? By Greyhound? Maybe carrier pigeon?"

"I didn't know you were drivin' already. Come to find out, he's out buyin' chiles. Where else you been goin'?"

Jamie faced him. "The LubeFast on the Bypass. I went to church on Sunday. I bought an Advent wreath. I got my hair cut. I bought moving boxes. I've gone anywhere I wanted. The post office, the bank, the CPA, the lawyer. Downtown, the broker's office, the galleries on Main Street, the office supply store, the confectioners' shop so you can get your candy fix. And now, three days before I'm going to leave, you're saying I can't even drive?"

"Jamie, you ain't bein' realistic."

"Whose reality is this, Kent?"

"Would you please come back here so we can talk?"

"We can talk perfectly well where I am," Jamie said, clattering the sausage skillet into the dishwasher.

"Not when you're mad we can't." Kent got up and went to him, held his shoulder. "Will you come back to the table, please?"

Jamie was reluctant, but the question was too reasonable; so he let himself be guided to the table. He yanked out his own chair before Kent could get it for him.

But he sat down, which was what Kent wanted, so he resumed his own seat. They both ate a pizza square.

"These are good," Kent said softly. "Thanks for makin' 'em."

Jamie didn't reply, but said, "How else am I going to get home?"

"This is home," Kent said forcefully. "I don't want you goin' off to Ohio. Guys there, a big Gay community, they'll be chasin' you everywhere you go. I'll tell you right now, it ain't happenin'."

"You've made that quite clear. But I have to get back to my job. Think of someone besides yourself for a change; Casey needs the help."

"No, he don't."

"He's been doing my job and his for months now. What he needs is a vacation."

"Jamie, you don't even got a job there no more."

Jamie sat back as if shoved. "What? What are you saying? I talked to him Sunday afternoon, he said he couldn't wait for me to get back."

"He didn't tell ya he hired somebody else? That was months ago, man."

Jamie was stunned, speechless.

Finally he stood up and strode to the family room, by the sliding glass doors to the patio; he glared at the night briefly, then yanked the vertical blinds shut. They swayed back and forth like a tennis match. He turned, eyed Kent and said, "Please hand me that phone."

Kent lifted it off the microwave and gave it to him. Jamie came and punched in ten numbers. Kent was alarmed and watchful.

Casey answered and Jamie demanded, "Do I have a job or not?"

In Ohio Casey blinked, "Well, um…"

"A simple yes or no; do I have a job or not?"

"Well, it's something I've been wanting to talk to you about."

"When, exactly, are you wanting this discussion? Do I have a job or not?"

"Jamie, of course I want you involved with us."

"Involved? Yes or no!"

"Well, we've got to talk about it."

"Whom did you hire, then? Is there someone else in my office, working on my Macintosh? Going through my e-mail? Looking at my porn?" Jamie had bought that computer, it wasn't owned by The Ohio Gay Times.

"Clarice. She was already here and I needed the help. I don't think she cares for your porn."

"An intern? I've been replaced by a sophomore? Oh, tell me that's not what you meant."

"She already knows our way of doing things."

"So: I get stabbed for The Ohio Gay Times; then I get fired by The Ohio Gay Times. Is that how it works with you?"

"You didn't get fired; Louie put you on longterm disability."

"He doesn't even have a disability policy; there's nothing to put me on. I told him when Rick got sick he needed a policy! Now he invents one? And you went along with it?"

"I can't do the paper by myself, Jamie; I didn't know when you were coming back."

"So I get fired; and you get to fill up your newsprint with tales of victimhood, as told by Disabled Lesbians of Fiji."

"I'm training her; she's getting better."

"Fuck you, Casey Jordan! We spoke four days ago; I told you I was coming back and you sounded all happy. You forgot to mention there's nothing to come back to."

"When was I supposed to tell you? Right after you woke up from the coma? Boy, that'd sure help your recovery."

"I woke up in September," Jamie hissed. "It's now December. Every time I've called you, it's been how I can't wait to get back. When were you going to spring this on me? After I came back and found Clarice in my office, using my Macintosh for her December softball report?"

"I didn't want to upset you."

"Well, you certainly succeeded. I'm not the least upset. FUCK YOU, CASEY JORDAN!"

He slammed down the phone. Kent gently placed it back on the microwave.

It rang again ten seconds later. Jamie picked it up, "And fuck your mother too!" Slam.

He unplugged the bitch, but ten seconds later phones started ringing all over the house. Thelma had phones everywhere, the computer room, the sewing room, the bedroom, ring ring ring.

Kent got up and started unplugging them all. Jamie watched him go, and started feeling a bit grateful for his practical support.

He turned and gazed at the half-dead platter of pizza squares. Way to ruin a snack, huh?

He couldn't think. He got stabbed, then he got fired.

Fuckyoucaseyjordan.

Kent came back, took his chair again. "Drink your tea, baby."

Jamie sat morosely and munched a cold olive square. "How long did you know? And why didn't you tell me?"

"I figured it was his job to work it out."

"Clarice," Jamie groaned. "She's halfway good at building a sentence; it's what the sentence is about that's the problem. No news judgment; no awareness of what people will read. Just the travails of woebegotten women."

Kent chuckled. "I'm sorry, baby. No doubt he wants you back."

"To be 'involved.' But Louie won't cough up a third news paycheck. That son of a bitch, he's probably congratulating himself, Clarice is half as much money. All he ever wanted was a bar rag, and now he's got it."

Kent came and knelt next to him, gave him a hug. "No one can replace you; least of all some girl named Clarice."

Jamie shrugged. "I'm out of a job, though."

"No, babe. You just got a new one."

"What?"

"Takin' care of me, I hope."

Jamie frowned but nodded. "Hello, happy homemaker. Who doesn't even have a home in four weeks."

"We can still go to Ohio this weekend; I just wanna come with you, that's all. You need that medical clearance, Jamie, you really do. I hate to say it, but in the law's eyes you're still a coma patient. I can't let you on the highway unless a doctor says okay."

"I haven't had any trouble," Jamie told him.

"But that's just around town. What happens when you get on the highway? Do you ever get anxious drivin' over bridges?"

"I never have before."

"Well, that's good. Jamie, I gotta think about that fainting spell you had awhile ago. If somethin' was to happen on the highway and you got hurt, everybody at the post'd be askin' me, 'Were you nuts, what'd you let him drive for? He's a coma patient, he needs medical clearance. You shoulda confiscated his license.' If somethin' ever happened to ya, baby, I couldn't stand it. It'd be my fault, I didn't stop you. Anybody else, if I found out they'd been in a coma, I'd say where's your medical clearance? No letter, no drivin', I'm sorry. It's my job to protect you, and the public. We can't have coma patients, or epileptic people, or guys with brain damage runnin' around; we just can't. It's a public safety issue."

"But I have a license. And the doctor never said anything."

"I doubt he even knew you were drivin'. Did you tell him about that blackout? Does he even know about it?"

"It wasn't a blackout. I'm not epileptic."

"The doctor don't even know, does he."

"I'm not sure I've seen him since then. Has it been a month? I see him every month."

"I tell ya what. Call his office tomorrow, maybe he'll give you a letter. Maybe it's nothin' to worry about."

"For heaven's sake he's Jewish. He doesn't work on Friday afternoons, the only time to reach him is early, before his first patient. Kent, you're not just saying this because you don't want me to go?"

"No, baby. I don't want ya to go, that's for real; but even more, I don't want you crashin' your car, or hurtin' somebody. If anything happened to you… man, find me a tall bridge."

"I have to be able to drive, Kent; there isn't even any traffic when I go."

"You shoulda told me, though."

"What? Sunday morning after you left, I went to church; it's the first Sunday of Advent, the anniversary of my first Communion. There wasn't any traffic; the streets are empty on Sunday mornings."

"Well, then the grocery and the oil change and downtown."

"I went the back way to PayLess; it's prettier, and slower, I get to look around. There weren't that many cars on the Bypass in the middle of the afternoon when I went to LubeFast; I didn't think a thing about it."

"I'm glad you made it; you're a good driver, Jamie, you're always thinkin', always anticipatin'. A good defensive driver. But we ain't never been on the highway together since all this happened. I don't feel confident about you till I can see for myself, and the doctor clears you. I just don't want you gettin' hurt, baby."

"Well…"

"Give me your license, Jamie. Till you get that letter. I promise it ain't 'cause I don't want you to leave me. It's 'cause I want you in one piece. I know you gotta get back to Ohio; let's go this weekend, together. If you get tired from the long drive, I can take over."

"You're taking my license?"

"Yes. As your Commander and your husband. Give me your license."

"I can't believe this."

"Just do it, baby. 'Cause I said so, as an officer of the law. This is me pullin' you over."

Jamie sighed glumly and went to the bedroom, found his wallet, dug his license out. Pulled his car key off the keyring, came back and handed that over too. "Here, then."

"Nice," Kent said, taking them, putting them in his pocket. "'Cause I was gonna say, don't drive without your license. But you give me the key too, which I appreciate and respect."

Jamie looked down and said, "The pizza things are cold."

Kent scooped one up, "Don't matter," and ate it. "You're a good cook, baby. You treat me real good."

Jamie was sick about all this; unemployed, useless, a freaking housewife. "I want to cuddle."

"Yeah," Kent said, pulling off Jamie's sweater and guiding him to the bedroom.

They held each other in silence, and Jamie slept a little in those strong, warm arms. Kent stayed awake, blaming Casey for half of it, and wondering about epilepsy or whatever it was. The doctor didn't even know.++

© Copyright 2009 Josh Thomas, All Rights Reserved.

8. Hickory Grove

Kent took Jamie's coat and hung it up somewhere while Martha said, "We have twenty minutes before the vegetables are done. Would you care to see the house?"

"Yes, ma'am," Jamie said, "it seems quite lovely."

"Well, I'll show you around if you promise to call me Martha," she smiled. "We're a farm family, we don't stand on ceremony here. Our dirt's as filthy as the next guy's."

"Thank you, Martha. We really did love the pie. Kent said the cherries came from your orchard."

"They freeze easily," she nodded. "Now try to imagine what life may have been like here when this place was first built. What would they have called this area where they greeted their guests?"

Kent rejoined them. "The pillar room," he joked. There were three each on either side, left and right, as well as easy chairs, lamps and a low bureau. A grand, Y-shaped staircase emerged from above. The old wood gleamed.

"In New York this might be a lobby or vestibule," Jamie said. "I'd call it a foyer."

"That's what we call it," Martha said. "From there they seem to have brought people in here." This room on the west front had three windows, a large fireplace on the end and a door to the veranda, along with a low desk and a few chairs. The room was half again as long as it was wide, perhaps 27 feet by 18. Full-size portraits depicted various family members, children and dogs; not great works of art necessarily, but valuable for what they represented.

"This seems to be a room for standing and talking business around the fire," Jamie said. "And perfect for guests at a large party. I might call it the gallery."

"That would be a good name," Martha said. "We think of it as the reception room."

"I love your decorating for Christmas," Jamie said. "It must be quite a job in this big house."

"Everything's a job in this house," she chuckled. "Far too much room for one person. But I can't get out from under it, it's too historic." Another three pillars on the south side led to the dining room, with soft lights, an enormous long table and dark paneling. She took them back across the foyer to another, lighter room with wainscoting, yellow wallpaper, a large, forest green rug and several conversation groupings. It too had a huge fireplace, a large antique chandelier and in the corner, a grand piano. A large, live Christmas tree glittered in front of a window.

"This," Jamie said, "is the parlor."

"Yes," Kent grinned, "the front one as opposed to the back one."

"The back one has a different formal name," his mother reminded him. "There's been a definite loss of grandeur since the Judge's time."

"I don't miss it," her son said.

"I don't either," she replied. "Who's got time for that stuff anymore?"

Jamie asked, "Are these furnishings original? I'm no expert, but they remind me of post-colonial furniture-making."

"Most are original, and some even pre-date the house," Martha said. "The sofa's from Pennsylvania, and several of the chairs are from Vermont. The family patriarch brought them all here on wagons long ago. People must have thought he was crazy, crossing the mountains with these things. But we're glad to have them."

Kent said, "He was from Philadelphia. A second son, so he got sent off to the wilderness."

Jamie said, "Getting to Pittsburgh would have been the difficult part. He didn't ship them down the river?"

"We don't think so," Martha said. "He came overland to Richmond, Indiana and stayed there several months."

"Quakertown."

"Exactly," Kent agreed. "You remembered."

"Richmond was once the second largest Quaker city in the world, next in importance to Philly."

"I didn't know that."

"Home of Earlham College. My mother heard Dr. Trueblood speak once. He impressed her. It's a lovely room."

"We never use it," Martha said.

"Except at Christmas," Kent reminded. "This is where the kids eat."

On the south wall French doors were open to another large room, obviously the library. Again a huge fireplace with a large desk in front of it, a bulky computer the only modern intrusion. A large old globe stood in a wooden stand, books were shelved twelve feet high, an unabridged dictionary was perched chest-high with its own lamp and magnifying glass, and a long simple table allowed a student to spread out. But there were many chairs too, leather-covered, old ashtrays and spittoons in the corner. A magazine rack held titles on farming and livestock, conservative journals, hunting and fishing. "The men's gathering place, the smoking room," Jamie said. "Masculine, designed to be a bit intimidating." He smiled at Kent, "Let's hide in here if we don't want to deal with the womenfolk." Another set of French doors was closed on the south wall, while the west wall had a heavy ornate door to shut females, children and the noisy world out.

They went through it, in front of the staircase and on into the dining room, where the table could easily accomodate twenty. Along the south wall were matching bureaus for fine dishes, and above each one smaller portraits of fathers and mothers, generation by generation. Kent put a hand on Jamie's shoulder and guided him to the pictures of his parents.

"Oh my," Jamie murmured. "Martha, you are so beautiful. And your husband, what a fine looking man."

"Wasn't he," Kent said. "That's my Dad."

"You've got his eyes. You look a lot like your mother, but those are his eyes."

"I got my body from Daddy, people always say. But I always kinda been Mama's boy too."

"My, a house full of gallantry tonight," his mother smiled. "Jamie, come often, I don't hear such things nearly often enough."

Jamie realized that he hadn't just married one man, but an entire family with a long history in a single place. He wondered what the rest of them were like, and how many there were. His own family was small and scattered, two brothers, a father and whatever wife he was on now, two nieces he'd never seen (so he couldn't give them AIDS by touching them), another niece and nephew who probably didn't remember him. But here was a family that didn't let memories die.

Over the fireplace were large portraits of the founding generation. "This is Josiah Kessler, who came to Indiana at the age of 20 to occupy the land his father had bought on Christmas Day in 1822," Martha told him.

Josiah was a stolid looking man with a gray beard, reserved and dignified. "One dollar an acre, paid for in gold. When the auction was done, the county sheriff had to organize a posse to carry all the money back to the U.S. Treasury in Washington. Josiah's father William Penn Kessler went back with them before returning home to Philadelphia."

"Are you related to William Penn?"

"Well, it's always been said we might be, but there are gaps in the earliest genealogy, so we can't be sure until Josiah arrived in this county. From there on we know."

Kent said, "Josiah's first job when he got here was to evict the squatters who'd taken up farming while he was gone. Most moved on peacefully, but there are records in the library of a few lawsuits, I guess he kept the circuit judge pretty busy. But over time he won his rights and made friends with the people living here. Some of the time he just let the squatters stay and start paying rent for what they were already using. He made peace, and people liked that. He began to get a following, and people came to his meeting. That's how the chapel got started."

"Kessler Township," Jamie said.

"Yeah."

"Tell me about his wife." While Josiah looked like a fairly generic 19th Century yeoman, his wife was a stunner: much younger, dark in hair and complexion, with a commanding presence yet a friendly face, wearing a gown off her shoulders with a hint of her bosoms. American Gothic she was not.

If anyone, James Earl and Kent looked like her, not Josiah. She was a beauty.

"Ah," Martha said, "Miss Evangeline."

"Quite the lady," Kent said. "As important in her way as Josiah was in his."

"We have so many stories about her, Jamie," Martha said. "He built this house for her. And oh, what their son did later."

"The Judge," Kent grinned. "To cover up from bein' a crook."

His mother said, "When James Earl and I got married, this spot over the fireplace was occupied by an enormous portrait of the Judge. He seemed to want to tower over everyone even in death, like he was the big man and don't you forget it. He's the one who fancied up this house and filled it with servants, putting on these lavish parties so he could hold court. A personality the opposite of his father's."

Kent said, "Once Mom moved in he lasted about a month. Then she demoted him. He now gets to supervise people takin' off their boots." He pulled Jamie to the hallway leading to the secondary entrance off the porte-cochere, six feet wide, lined with hooks, an umbrella stand, two built-in coat closets.

His portrait made Jamie laugh. "He looks like a cross between Napoleon and William Howard Taft."

"The old man liked to eat," Kent grinned. "He kept his maids hoppin', no doubt."

Martha said, "He seems to have lived on the edge of scandal all his life. But no one could ever pin anything on him."

"A politician," Kent snorted. "County commissioner, state senator, the governor's cabinet a couple of times, then a seat on the state Supreme Court."

"Then there's his townhouse," Martha said. "Wait till you see that, Jamie. It's actually quite lovely, a stop on the Crawfordsville house and garden tour every year."

"Aunt Miriam and her husband live there now," Kent said. "It's a cool house. His office back in the day, when he didn't feel like comin' out here. We're nine miles from the courthouse, it was a long commute back then."

They continued on to the back of the house. The kitchen on the west side was large and very old-fashioned, with 1940's cabinetry and an old breakfast table along one wall. A set of service stairs was opposite an enormous old hearth, with the cabinets, appliances and counters arrayed around the fireplace. Jamie wondered what it would be like to cook in such a room as Martha checked her vegetables. Then she said, "Now then, the last room down here's the one we really live in."

"The back parlor," Kent said. "The family room."

Its furnishings were modern and comfortable, with a wide screen television, a sound system, lots of seating, game tables with a jigsaw puzzle half-finished, a storage area with toys, thick padded carpeting, a room people could knock around in. Jamie took one look at it and said, "The drawing room? The women gathered here after the Judge's dinners. Miss Evangeline would have presided here."

"That's right," Martha said. "This is the drawing room."

"I never could figure out why they called it that," Kent said.

Martha didn't seem to know, so Jamie said, "In the days before electronic amusements, women would gather in a room like this to read aloud, and draw, and sew and write letters, play music and sing, and generally put on their own private entertainments. It's a drawing room because here is where they drew, a skill every young woman was expected to have. After the men had their smokes and fellowship, they would join the ladies to compliment their talents and accomplishments."

Martha said, "That would explain why the piano used to be in here. I felt it took up too much space, and none of us play, so I moved it to the front parlor."

"Makes sense," Jamie nodded. "I would guess that in the old days, all the young women took piano lessons here as part of their education."

"This was kind of the female arts room?" Kent asked.

"Yes," Jamie said, "so it's right that you still use it for entertainment. Family room's just an updated term, that's all, because no one can draw anymore, we have specialists for that now. But once, every young lady was taught to play and sing and draw. Rooms like these were where they caught their husbands."

Martha looked at him. "You've spent time in great houses before."

"In New York primarily, and some other cities, when I was younger. Mrs. Astor used to love to entertain. And she always liked young men around her." He smiled. "She was quite the flirt."

"Mrs. Astor," Martha told her son. "Well, shall we get our little meal started?"

Jamie asked what he could do to help.


The dinner went just fine in his view. Mrs. Kessler politely grilled him to tell his entire life story, which he modestly recounted.

Kent however was not so pleased. When teasing his mother didn't work and domestic violence got mentioned, he summarily changed the subject back to William Penn and Quakers, which Jamie was happy to pursue. Afterwards Kent reproached his mother. "That sure was fun, finding out he was abused and neglected as a kid in your very first meeting."

She was sorry, but said, "Don't you think you needed to know?"

"Not tonight, no, I didn't. You think I don't have time to find out all about him, I gotta know everything now?"

She apologized again, "I had no way to know that would come out. Now help me get dessert on, so we can have a pleasant time."

From the front of the house piano music started up, a song Kent instantly recognized—the only one Jamie could play by heart after the Incident. Kent left his mother in the kitchen and went to the foyer, leaning into the parlor between two pillars.

Then he sang,

"My heart will be blessed
with the sound of music,
and I'll sing once more."

Jamie's playing was sensitive and tasteful, not sentimental or dramatic. He tacked on a quiet ending, then folded his hands, looked down and smiled deeply. Kent had such a nice voice.

Martha wheeled a cart with coffee, tea and cake and saw them kissing at the piano, Kent bending down, Jamie stretching up, two handsome men in love in the front parlor of the old family homestead at Hickory Grove.

Would there be portraits of them here someday? She began to think so.++

© Copyright 2009 Josh Thomas, All Rights Reserved.

7. Old Home Place

They began to develop patterns and habits as they learned to live together. Jamie didn't mind playing happy homemaker for awhile, till he could get his job back, and every night when Kent got off work he looked forward to his 5 p.m. snack. For someone so keen on training and conditioning his lover to be the perfect fucktoy, he failed to notice how completely he was being stimulated and rewarded, over and over, to become a good husband. Jamie would lay out his nachos or broiled shrimp kabobs or spinach dip and Kent would happily dig in, unaware that two-thirds of his meal wasn't animal but vegetable.

And true to his word, Jamie was good at reprogramming him to cook 90 minutes later. "It's a guy job all the way," Jamie claimed Monday evening. "You get to play with knives and do your ninja thing. Veggies don't get chopped, they get dismembered. You get to throw stuff around, tossing this, shoveling that. You don't just combine ingredients, you pop them into the cement mixer. You get to build stuff; it's better than TinkerToys or Legos. You get to make a mess and nobody yells at you; messes are part of the game, that's how you score."

"Hey, if it's messes you want, I could get real good at scoring."

"And best of all, every time you win there's a banquet. You don't have to dress up or give a speech, we just eat, a dinner party every night. And once we're done we don't go back to work, we sit and relax." Jamie never did dishes as soon as the meal was done; they'd clear off the table but that was it, everything got piled in the kitchen and he turned the light off. For the rest of the evening whenever they went for a drink of water or some iced tea, they cleaned up three items and that was all; they went through the kitchen often enough that it all got handled without being a burden, without being compulsive about it, without being like Grandma thinking she had to do things right away before she could sit down and live.

He had a system and conditioned Kent to it. Plus it was Advent, with candle-lighting and psalms.

Kent also started some habits. He always woke up before Jamie did, and every morning he'd hide a little note somewhere around the house; it might be in the cereal box or the medicine cabinet or taped to the kitchen window: "Kent ❤ Jamie," "Blondboys have more fun," "Work out naked and DON'T think of me." Jamie, being a sentimental wuss, saved them all.

His favorite innovation was something Kent started right away, after the snack but before it was time to get dinner. Wherever Jamie was, Kent would come and stand over him and say gruffly, "Come here, boy." Jamie had to stop what he was doing, and Kent didn't care what he was interrupting. He'd pull off Jamie's shirt, put his hand on his neck and guide him to the bedroom for Cuddle Time.

They'd lie down and hold each other; sometimes they talked about their day, or made a little plan for the future, or worked out some minor conflict and made a new rule; sometimes they took a little nap, or just lay together—and sometimes of course they had sex, Kent with his hand on the back of that neck, no talking, just being quiet and physical together, making love.

Jamie was hooked, instantly and permanently. Which was the point of Kent's system, entirely designed for monogamy.

In his three months of waiting, Kent had thought long and hard about how to make his system work. Obedience was essential, it got him hard and got him off, but he had to pair it with sensitivity and utmost consideration for Jamie's needs and desires too. Kent's father was the ultimate role model and coach; he wore the pants in the family but never fought his wife's wearing them too. He was always looking for ways to do something for her, to please her, to put her first; to anticipate her feelings, and listen when he was wrong. All the Kessler men were macho, conservative types, but only James Earl actually thought it all through. He was in love with Martha, so always thinking of her; she knew it and loved him for it. And sometimes they'd fight like cats and dogs, only to make up later once she refused to deal with a stubborn old mule and he came crawling back for forgiveness. They argued constantly about feminism; he claimed to be against it but he was totally under her rule—except in one room, the bedroom, the love room.

There's no substitute for a happy marriage. And when he put Kent through a year's worth of Manhood Training at age 13, that was always the lesson, how to have a happy marriage. The main lesson: "Do everything your wife tells you to, and she'll do everything you tell her."

Being with Jamie started to heal Kent of the great rip of his life; not losing baseball, but his Dad.

Wednesday evening he took Jamie to meet his mother. Kent got home and found Jamie dressed in a navy blazer with shiny buttons, a fancy handkerchief, dark red shirt and gold tie. Kent had been out in the field that day helping cover a barn fire in boots and jeans and his STATE POLICE leather jacket. "Oh, man, we're just goin' to the farm. Whatcha all dressed up for?"

"Your mother," Jamie said sharply. "I suggest you do the same."

"Oh man, I gotta wear a tie? I'm filthy and tired and cold, I just wanna relax."

"This isn't a cornshuck, mister, it's a once in a lifetime event. If we get there and she's doing casual, then it's off with the coat and tie. But you're not tracking mud through her kitchen, you're introducing me to Lady #1. That makes it an occasion. So into the shower with you straightaway. You'll warm up and be refreshed and then we'll go. Your clothes are all laid out, all you have to do is step into them."

"Hope I get a shirt with a big neck," Kent grumbled.

"Do you accuse me of failing to think of everything?"

Kent chuckled and kissed him, "No, baby, I ain't that dumb."

"See that you're not," Jamie laughed.


* * *


Forty minutes later they entered Montgomery County from Tippecanoe. Kent said, "Our land starts here."

They drove past a sign announcing Shawnee Mound Farm, with a house a short way up from the road, but they didn't turn in. Jamie asked, "Do you own the mound?"

"Yes. The house is leased to my Uncle John. The ground is too for that matter. The mound's a great lookout post, you can see the creek and the river both. Plus we figure they might have VIPs buried there, war chiefs and religious leaders. I ain't sure the Shawnees did that, but other Eastern Woodland bands did, so we always treat it like sacred ground. I'll take you there someday, we'll have a picnic and see what the lookouts saw."

They kept going for several miles. Kent said, "On the west, that's not ours now, on the east it still is. Over the years we've traded some, sold some, bought some; Daddy's the one that got us back to the original purchase size. The second generation spent a lot of money, then I guess the Depression hit us pretty hard, but he and Grandpa made it all back. Which took a tremendous amount of doing. Man, what a good farmer Daddy was. Innovative, smart, thrifty, well-liked; a good steward. He did a lot of restoration too, to prevent chemical runoff. He used to study the whole off-season, goin' to shows and conferences and talkin' to other guys. He wasn't idle this time of year, he was workin'. Then over the holidays him and Mom'd take off for Christmas break, whatever time she had; she teaches school, Jamie, first or second grade. We always had Christmas at home, but before or afterwards we'd travel, wherever she wanted to go, Orlando, the Painted Desert, San Antonio, Mexico one time. I still got my sombrero from that trip. Saw the pyramids the Aztecs built, they were really somethin'."

They held hands and smiled, Kent driving easily, a southpaw on these old familiar roads. Then he signaled and turned east, "Josiah Kessler Road."

"My," Jamie mused.

"Kessler Township, dude."

It was dark so there wasn't much to see, but they kept driving; Jamie wondered how much of this was family land. All of it? Kent didn't say.

Soon they saw lights from a little settlement. "Get this," Kent said. "We're kinda goin' out of our way, but this is how we got to come." They entered a wooded area and the road turned twisty. "Baby's gotta see this."

He slowed way down, the sound under the tires changed and the road turned drummy, bum bum bum bum bum. Jamie looked up at a street light and saw a wooden roof, wooden walls. "Where are we?"

"Kessler Bridge over Sugar Creek, just outside the Town of Friends."

"A covered bridge?"

"You bet, baby. Built in 1846 by Josiah's own hands. 'Course he probably had help from employees and neighbors, but he's the one who paid for it, so people could get to church and the county seat. This bridge burned once, but they saved most of it, and it's been renovated several times. Last time was eight years ago, Dad and me got to help out."

"This is your home place."

"Sure is."

They went through and past the town in two minutes, the road straightened out and Kent turned again. He didn't announce it, but this was Kessler Chapel Road. One mile later he pulled into the parking lot with the headlights aimed at the church.

"This is it," Jamie said.

"Yeah, baby."

"What a lovely setting."

"This is what the old man came here for, besides makin' a living in the wilderness. He came to build this meetin' house. It's the oldest surviving structure in the county, from 1842."

"Has it been added onto?"

"Oh yeah. Next time we come I'll show you around."

"And the churchyard?"

"Where we're all buried. Me too, someday, I hope." Kent turned shy and said, "If you'll be with me."

"Hallowed ground."

"Dang right." Kent put the pickup in gear and got back on the paved road, doubling back the way they came, then turning once more onto a smooth highway. "Two minutes," he said. "You'll know when we get there."

A tall fence rose up on the right, brick and concrete posts with heavy wood rails. Ahead were bright lights well away from the road. In another mile or two they came to a heavy iron gate, which Kent opened by remote. They entered a tree-lined avenue, Christmas decorations throughout the yard, Santas on sleighs, JOY and PEACE, reindeer grazing, an electronic North Pole. Jamie was a bit disoriented at seeing the Christmas things; as an Advent-keeper he was used to waiting, and as someone who avoided TV, he was spared all the Jingle Bells and "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer."

They came to a clearing with a circle drive in front of a big Georgian house of red brick. Another drive branched away to a porte-cochere on the left and probably a garage in the back. It dawned on Jamie that he'd married into the local gentry.

The house was impressive in its width and height and balance, yet it wasn't elaborately decorated or showy; there were a few Italiante touches visible, but the semi-circle of four pillars in front was only one story tall, with double doors and a balcony above and a third floor above that. The house looked solid and lived in, without bragging, without apologizing.

Jamie said, "A modest man's great house."

"Perfect description." Kent parked by the front portico, then pulled him close. "Welcome home, Jamie. This here's where I'm from."

Jamie undid his seat belt and put on his overcoat as Kent got out to open his door for him. "I know you can open your own door," Kent said, "it's just a gesture of respect for the place and the occasion."

Jamie stepped out, Kent shut the door and gave him his arm. Jamie looked at him, then grasped his biceps and they climbed the four steps. Kent rang the bell on the Winchester chimes.

A woman answered the door, brunette with a few streaks of gray, 5'8" in low heels, black full-length dress with pink and white flowers, diamond earrings; she was very, very pretty, and Jamie saw the family resemblance immediately. She gazed smiling at him and said, "Come in, dear. Welcome to Hickory Grove."

Martha wasn't wearing jeans; this was an occasion. They got inside and beamed at each other. Kent kissed her cheek, grasped her hand and said, "Mother, may I present the man I married, my beloved James Rees Foster."

She shook his hand like a professional, five fingers and palm, "How do you do, son?"

"Very well, ma'am. Thank you for having us."

Kent said, "Jamie, the lady in my life, my mother Martha Tanquery Kessler."

Jamie held her shoulder lightly and brushed her cheek. "You are lovely. Now I know where he gets his looks."

"Thank you, Jamie, and do flatter me all you like. You're here, guys!" she cried. "Welcome home!"

Kent was glad Jamie made him wear a tie.++

© Copyright 2009 Josh Thomas, All Rights Reserved.