This Present Darkness (6 page)

“You two know each other?”

“Well, not really. We have met on an occasional, professional basis, I suppose …”

“But don’t you go to that other church, that little one?”

“Yes, Ashton Community. But go on, let’s hear the rest of what happened.”

Marshall was impressed at how easy this guy was to fluster, but he tried not to press his challenge any further. Not yet, anyway. Instead, he picked up his tale where he left off and brought it to a neat finish, including Bernice’s outrage. He noticed that Brummel had found some important paperwork to look over, papers that covered up the desk calendar.

Marshall asked, “Say, just who was this turkey cop who wouldn’t let Bernice identify herself?”

“An outsider, not even on our force here. If Bernice can get us the name or badge number, I can see that he is confronted with his behavior. You see, we had to bring some auxiliaries down from Windsor to beef things up for the Festival. As for our own men, they all know full well who Bernice Krueger is.” Brummel said that last line with a slightly wolfish tone.

“So why isn’t she sitting here hearing all this apologizing instead of me?”

Brummel leaned forward and looked rather serious. “I thought it best to talk to you, Marshall, rather than cause her to parade through this office, already somewhat stigmatized. I suppose you know what that girl’s been through.”

Okay, thought Marshall, I’ll ask. “I’m new in town, Alf.”

“She hasn’t told you?”

“And you’d love to?”

It slipped out, and it stung. Brummel sank back in his chair just a little and studied Marshall’s face.

Marshall was just now thinking that he didn’t regret what he said. “I’m upset, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Brummel started a new paragraph. “Marshall … I wanted to see you personally today because I wanted to … heal this thing up.”

“So let’s hear what you have to say about Bernice.” Brummel, you’d
better choose your words carefully, Marshall thought.

“Well—” Brummel stammered, suddenly put on the spot. “I thought you might want to know about it in case you might find the information helpful in dealing with her. You see, it was several months before you took over the paper that she herself came to Ashton. Just a few weeks before that, her sister, who had been attending the college, committed suicide. Bernice came to Ashton with a fierce vindictiveness, trying to solve the mystery surrounding her sister’s death, but … we all knew it was just one of those things for which there will never be an answer.”

Marshall was silent for a significant amount of time. “I didn’t know that.”

Brummel’s voice was quiet and mournful as he said, “She was positive it had to be some kind of foul play. It was quite an aggressive investigation she had going.”

“Well, she does have a reporter’s nose.”

“Oh, that she does. But you see, Marshall … her arrest, it was a mistake, a humiliating one, quite frankly. I really didn’t think she would want to see the inside of this building for some time to come. Do you understand now?”

But Marshall wasn’t sure he did. He wasn’t even sure he’d heard all of it. He suddenly felt very weak, and he couldn’t figure out where his anger had gone so quickly. And what about his suspicions? He knew he didn’t buy everything this guy was saying—or did he? He knew Brummel had lied about not being at the carnival—or had he?

Or did I just hear him wrong? Or … where were we, anyway? C’mon, Hogan, didn’t you get enough sleep last night?

“Marshall?”

Marshall looked into Brummel’s gazing gray eyes, and he felt a little numb, like he was dreaming.

“Marshall,” Brummel said, “I hope you understand. You do understand now, don’t you?”

Marshall had to force himself to think, and he found it helped not to look Brummel in the eye for a moment.

“Uh …” It was a stupid beginning, but it was the best he could do. “Hey, yeah, Alf, I think I see your point. You did the right thing, I suppose.”

“But I do want to heal this whole thing up, particularly between you and me.”

“Aw, don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal.” Even as Marshall said it, he was asking himself if he really had.

Brummel’s big teeth reappeared. “I’m really glad to hear that, Marshall.”

“But, say, listen, you might give her a call at least. She was hurt in a pretty personal way, you know.”

“I’ll do that, Marshall.”

Then Brummel leaned forward with a strange smile on his face, his hands folded tightly on the desk and his gray eyes giving Marshall that same numbing, penetrating, strangely pacifying gaze.

“Marshall, let’s talk about you and the rest of this town. You know, we’re really glad to have you here to take over the
Clarion.
We knew your fresh approach to journalism would be good for the community. I can be straightforward in saying that the last editor was … rather injurious to the mood of this town, especially toward the end.”

Marshall felt himself going right along with this pitch, but he could sense something coming.

Brummel continued. “We need your kind of class, Marshall. You wield a great deal of power through the press, and we all know it, but it takes the right man to keep that power guided in the right direction, for the common good. All of us in the offices of public service are here to serve the best interests of the community, of the human race when you get right down to it. But so are you, Marshall. You’re here for the sake of the people, just like the rest of us.” Brummel combed his hair with his fingers a bit, a nervous gesture, then asked, “Well, do you get what I’m saying?”

“No.”

“Well …” Brummel groped for a new opener. “I guess it’s like you said, you’re new in town. Why don’t I simply try the direct approach?”

Marshall shrugged a “why not?” and let Brummel continue.

“It’s a small town, first of all, and that means that one little problem, even between a handful of people, is going to be felt and worried about by almost everyone else. And you can’t hide behind anonymity because there simply is no such thing. Now, the last editor didn’t realize that and really caused some problems that affected the whole
population. He was a pathological soap-boxer. He destroyed the good faith of the people in their local government, their public servants, each other, and ultimately himself. That hurt. It was a wound in our side, and it’s taken time for all of us to heal up from that. I’ll cap it off by telling you, for your own information, that that man finally had to leave this town in disgrace. He’d molested a twelve-year-old girl. I tried to get that case settled as quietly as I could. But in this town it was really awkward, difficult. I did what I felt would cause the least amount of trouble and pain for the girl’s family and the people at large. I didn’t press for any legal proceedings against this man, provided he leave Ashton and never show his face around here again. He was agreeable to that. But I’ll never forget the impact it made, and I doubt that the town has ever forgotten it.

“Which brings us to you, and we, the public servants, and also the citizens of this community. One of the greatest reasons I regret this mixup with Bernice is that I really desired a good relationship between this office and the
Clarion
, between myself and you personally. I’d hate to see anything ruin that. We need unity around here, comradeship, a good community spirit.” He paused for effect. “Marshall, we’d like to know that you’ll be standing with us in working toward that goal.”

Then came the pause and the long, expectant gaze. Marshall was on. He shifted around a little in his chair, sorting his thoughts, probing his feelings, almost avoiding those gazing gray eyes. Maybe this guy was on the up and up, or maybe this whole little speech was some sly diplomatic ploy to shy him away from whatever Bernice may have stumbled upon.

But Marshall couldn’t think straight, or even
feel
straight. His reporter had been arrested falsely and thrown into a sleazy jail for the night, and he didn’t seem to care anymore; this toothy-smiled police chief was making a liar out of her, and Marshall was buying it.
C’mon, Hogan, remember why you came down here?

But he just felt so tired. He kept recalling why he had moved to Ashton in the first place. It was supposed to be a change of lifestyle for him and his family, a time to quit fighting and scratching the big-city intrigues and just get down to the simpler stories, things like high school paper drives and cats up trees. Maybe it was just force of habit from all those years at the
Times
that made him think he had to take
on Brummel like some kind of inquisitor. For what? More hassles? For crying out loud, how about a little peace and quiet for a change?

Suddenly, and contrary to his better instincts, he knew there was nothing at all to worry about; Bernice’s film would be just fine, and the pictures would prove that Brummel was right and Bernice was wrong. And Marshall really wanted it to be that way.

But Brummel was still waiting for an answer, still giving him that numbing gaze.

“I …” Marshall began, and now he felt stupidly awkward in trying to get started. “Listen, I really am tired of fighting, Alf. Maybe I was raised that way, maybe that’s what made me good at my job with the
Times
, but I did decide to move here, and that’s got to say something. I’m tired, Alf, and not any younger. I need to heal up. I need to learn what being human and living in a town with other humans is really like.”

“Yes,” said Brummel, “that’s it. That’s exactly it.”

“So … don’t worry. I’m here after some peace and quiet just like everybody else. I don’t want any fights, I don’t want any trouble. You’ve got nothing to fear from me.”

Brummel was ecstatic, and shot out his hand to shake on it. As Marshall took the hand and they shook, he almost felt he had sold part of his soul. Did Marshall Hogan really say all that? I
must
be tired, he thought.

Before he knew it, he was standing outside Brummel’s door. Apparently their meeting was over.

AFTER MARSHALL WAS
gone and the door was safely closed, Alf Brummel sank into his chair with a relieved sigh and just sat there for a while, staring into space, recuperating, building up the nerve for his next difficult assignment. Marshall Hogan was just the warm-up as far as he was concerned. The real test was coming up. He reached for his telephone, pulled it a little closer, stared at it for a moment, and then dialed the number.

Hank was touching up his paint job on the front of the house when the phone rang and Mary called, “Hank, it’s Alf Brummel!”

Wow, Hank thought. And here I am with a loaded paintbrush in
my hand. I wish he was standing here.

He confessed his sin to the Lord on his way in to answer the phone.

“Hi there,” he said.

In his office, Brummel turned his back to the door to make it a private conversation even though he was alone, and spoke in a lowered voice. “Hi, Hank. This is Alf. I thought I should call you this morning and see how you are … since last night.”

“Oh …” said Hank, feeling like a mouse in a cat’s mouth. “I’m okay, I guess. Better, maybe.”

“So you’ve given it some thought?”

“Oh, sure. I’ve thought about it a lot. I’ve prayed about it, rechecked the Word regarding some questions—”

“Hmmm. Sounds like you haven’t changed your mind.”

“Well, if the Word of God would change then I’d change, but I guess the Lord won’t back down from what He says, and you know where that leaves me.”

“Hank, you know the congregational meeting is this Friday.”

“I know that.”

“Hank, I’d really like to help you. I don’t want to see you destroy yourself. You’ve been good for the church, I think, but—what can I say? The division, the bickering … it’s all about to tear that church apart.”

“Who’s bickering?”

“Oh, come on …”

“And for that matter, who called that congregational meeting in the first place? You. Sam. Gordon. I have no doubt that Lou is still at work out there, as well as whoever it was that painted on the front of my house.”

“We’re just concerned, that’s all. You’re, well, you’re fighting against what’s best for the church.”

“That’s funny. I thought I was fighting against
you.
But did you hear me? I said someone painted on the front of my house.”

“What? Painted what?”

Hank let him have it all.

Brummel let out a groan. “Aw, Hank, that’s sick!”

“And so is Mary, and so am I. Put yourself in our position.”

“Hank, if I were in your position, I’d reconsider. Can’t you see what’s happening? Word’s getting around now, and you’re setting the
whole town against you. That also means the whole town’s going to be set against our church before long, and we have to survive in this town, Hank! We’re here to help people, to reach out to them, not drive a wedge between ourselves and the community.”

“I preach the gospel of Jesus Christ, and there are plenty who appreciate it. Just where is this wedge you’re talking about?”