“Besides computers, he’s very, very ecologically minded. When Millicent found that out, she also probably figured he could do all their bulletins. You know Millicent.”
Faith did.
Pix continued to talk. As Faith had expected, she had quite a bit of information. “He was seeing Lora Deane, but she broke it off. His mother was very upset. For one thing, it had been an interest in something that did not have a keyboard. But, even more, she was outraged that anyone would reject her perfect son.
She had a few tight-lipped things to say about Lora.”
“Did she indicate how Brad was taking it?”
“Very hard—and angry. ‘I hate to see the boy like this,’ she told us. He was taking long walks in Beecher’s Bog; maybe that’s what got him started with POW! And Maureen Farmer told me he put his fist through his bedroom wall, or at least made a hole in it.”
“How on earth did she find that out?” Maureen lived on the opposite side of town.
“Same cleaners. They were there when it happened, and they arrived at Maureen’s house pretty shaken.” This act, coupled with the destruction of the cold frames, indicated the kind of temper that could goad him into making the calls. Faith was beginning to form a picture of an adored child who was also used to praise and success in his adult life. A volatile nature. Someone who became passionately committed to various causes. She remembered Lora’s remark about the field mice.
“He
Faith didn’t want to hear about Brad’s good looks or good works. She decided she’d try to sit next to him at Friday’s POW! meeting and gently plumb his depths. She’d mention Lora, as Ben’s teacher, and watch his reaction. If all went according to plan, Brad Hallowell could be in Tom’s study Saturday morning having the fear of God and Charley MacIsaac in-stilled, and then Lora’s troubles would be over.
“Now what’s going on with Danny?” Fair was fair.
As Faith crossed the Millers’ yard back to the parsonage, she wondered if she might be able to get a moment alone with Miss Lora. She doubted it. Pickup time at the nursery school was chaotic at best. If Ben wasn’t waving a dripping-wet finger painting, he’d have a fragile toothpick construction that would demand more care than a Faberge egg. Lora would be in the thick of things as every mother sought a word. The two questions Faith wanted to ask—“Have you received any more threatening calls?” and “Did your boyfriend ever hit you?”—would not go unnoticed among “How was Bryant at circle time?” and “Does Katie have her blankie?”
She was right. Miss Lora was surrounded by a swarm of children and mothers, yet she did manage to give Faith a knowing look and say, “I’m on my way to my sister’s. You know, the one with the new baby.” If the other mothers noticed that the last few words were enunciated rather precisely, as if they were the day’s password to get past the guard, they did not let on.
Faith nodded and replied in kind, “Let me know how the baby’s doing. Tom and I are eager to hear.” Feeling vaguely like the spy about to go out into the cold, Faith scooped up Ben and today’s project—a chalk drawing that had already left telling smudges all over his face, hands, and clothes and would soon, no doubt, on hers. They would just be on time to pick up Amy. Some of the mothers in the play group were more relaxed about hours than others. Today’s was not one of them. Early in the fall, Ben had started calling her “The Grouchy Ladybug,” after the character in the book, and Faith had given up correcting him. It had become shortened to Ladybug and she’d adopted it herself. “We’d better hurry, or the Ladybug will be annoyed,” she told him.
Both Faith and Tom were in attendance at POW!’s first meeting on Friday night. In fact, much of Aleford was there. Asterbrook Hall was packed. People were standing at the rear and along the sides of the basement in the town hall.
“How many people do you think are here to save the bog and how many to see what’s going on?” Faith asked Tom.
“About fifty-fifty. You have noticed that the Deanes are conspicuously absent.”
“Well, of course, but someone will report back, I’m sure.”
Tom nodded. “Look, Millicent is going up onstage.” The room quieted instantly. “Thank God she tends to use her power for good,” Faith whispered to her husband. He crossed his fingers in reply.
Millicent was wearing the red Pendleton suit she normally reserved for special occasions, so Faith knew how serious the moment was. The brass buttons had lost a bit of their luster and the seat had bagged out long ago, but as raiment went, it was perfect.
“You all know why we’re here.” Millicent didn’t need a microphone. Her voice reverberated out the door and up onto Main Street.
“If we don’t put a stop to these developers, Aleford might just as well be Boston. They’ll be putting up high- rises on the green next!”
There were rumblings of agreement.
“Unfortunately, Town Meeting has never passed an ordinance limiting the size of a house in relation to the square footage of the land it sits on or the number of houses in a subdivision. We’d have had a possible out if they had. Mr. Madsen has to build quite a large number of these houses in order to turn a profit.” Faith couldn’t help but remember that when this had come up the last time, Millicent had been on the side of individual freedom and opposed the restriction along with virtually everyone else. But then, who could predict the future?
“Madsen is entirely within his rights. His plans are up-to-code and there is no way to stop him on those grounds.”
The audience looked glum.
“Nor do I think we can appeal to the man’s better nature.”
Nobody needed subtitles on this one. The implication was made clear by her scornful tone of voice. For one swift moment, Faith actually felt sorry for Joey.
He wasn’t even here to defend himself.
“Fortunately, I was able to devise a strategy that may circumvent all this. But it will take hard work on all our parts. Are you willing?”
She had them eating out of the palm of her hand and there were several yesses shouted out, a most unusual display of spontaneity for Aleford.
“First of all, we have to reconvene Town Meeting.
The easiest way would be to get the board of selectmen to do it, but I don’t think we can count on that.” Penny Bartlett was the only member of the board in the audience, and from the look on her face, she was clearly sorry she hadn’t stayed home and deadheaded her African violets.
“Which means we have to collect signatures.
Sheets and clipboards with instructions are on the table at the back of the room for you to take as you leave. I don’t have to tell you speed is of the absolute essence here! The timing is particularly bad, since Patriots’ Day is less than two weeks away. I don’t want to point a finger . . .”
Clearly, however, she did, and there wasn’t a person in the room who didn’t believe that Joey Madsen was trying to slip his plan through at Aleford’s busiest time of year, thinking everyone would be sufficiently occupied elsewhere to organize any opposition. It hadn’t occurred to Faith, but if this was what he was doing, it was pretty smart. Only, he might not have sufficiently gauged the enemy, like the poor British retreating from Concord. Millicent could run any number of things at once.
“But what do you expect Town Meeting to do?” It was the Town Meeting moderator, Susan Waters, and certainly a reasonable query.
Millicent frowned. “I was about to get to that, Susan dear.”
Susan sat down, somewhat paler than she’d been upon rising. Maybe it was the way Millicent had uttered the word
“Going over town records in the library recently, I came across an account of the passage of two ordinances that will help us. One involves the Historic Commission. It can vote to delay, and I quote, ‘the significant alteration in character,’ unquote, of any property falling within the Historic District until Town Meeting is satisfied that said alterations will not, and I quote again, ‘significantly impact the district.’ Now”—she turned a beady eye on poor Susan, impaling her in her seat—“I know Beecher’s Bog is not in the Historic District, but the proposed access road between First Parish and the parsonage is.” This last word was uttered triumphantly. Faith found her spirits rising.
