| |
My second night with the Secret Feast was no less wondrous than my first, but I will not describe it here. I lived through the story of Very North a second time, but as a performing volunteer. The thrill of it is keenly retained in my mind. For now, I must conclude my tale, and relate the other events of that week.
My father picked me up at Very North shortly after the coronation scene had played itself out. We drove back to Clarketon. I stayed up late and helped arrange things for the Christmas morning services. I finally lay down in my own bed at two-thirty in the morning, giving me four hours to sleep before I would have to rise for the busy church day.
I served as acolyte for both morning services, then joined my parents and Father Humboldt as we visited several local households, bearing gifts and receiving some in return. These obligations were done and met by two in the afternoon. True to family custom, our own exchange of gifts followed a late lunch. This year, the gifts were modest and practical, including new shoes for all three of us. We didn’t say anything about Audra’s extravagant gift. I knew in my heart how unusual it was, how churlish I would have to be ever to expect its like again.
There were Saturday chores to be done. I changed into my dungarees and got to work, first weeding the flower patch, then back to trimming the hedgerows by the white wooden fence at the road.
The work gave me time to reflect. Saturday exactly one week ago, I had been performing the same chore, eagerly anticipating the ride to Christchurch, and the prospect of seeing Olivia at the pageant. Since then, so much had happened, a lifetime’s worth.
The road past our church was never very busy, even on Christmas Day, so when any vehicle rode by I always lifted my head to see who it might be. A friendly wave was customary. Today, I had hollered Happy Christmas to a handful of holiday drivers. And then the truck appeared.
It was a freight lorry, with gray sides, and a faded logo painted on its cab.
Marbury Meats
It seemed impossible. Why would that truck drive past here? Making a delivery? This far from Christchurch? That seemed unlikely. Was Michael coming to visit? I craned to see who was driving the lorry. Only one man at the wheel, and he was certainly not Michael. I waved anyway. The driver didn’t see me.
The truck moved slowly as it passed the fenced yard of the church. I kept a constant stare until it reached the bend at the west side of the property and disappeared.
Suddenly, I had to know where it was going. Without a second thought, I jumped into action. I dropped the hedge shears and sprinted to the horse stable. As quickly as I could, I grabbed the saddle and bridle and got Joey Pete ready to ride.
I ought to tell someone where I’m going, I thought. But then I reasoned, if it can be called reason, that since I had no idea where the truck was headed, I couldn’t actually say where I was going either, so it was best not to say at all.
I rode Joey into the yard, and coaxed him into a fast trot to the north end of the church property. From there, I could see the bend in the road, and in the distance, the Marbury Meats truck. It was making a left turn, for the road leading to Trinity Corners, then Oxford. I knew of a trail that cut across the loop of highway. If I rode fast enough, I might be able to beat the truck to the intersection.
I pressed poor Joey Pete faster than he had likely gone in years. From the top of a modest rise a half mile from the church, I could see the road again, and the truck, not too far away. I was certain I could beat it to the spot where the horse trail met the highway. I moderated my speed for a while, to show our good horse some mercy. But after a mile or so, I egged him on to a championship run.
Joey Pete and I reached the road. I stopped and dismounted. I gave him a pat and a few gentle words, and then I looked to the oncoming lane. First came a sporty Duesenberg, which raced past and frightened the horse. Then a rather old open-top runabout puttered along and pulled over. Its occupants were two parishioners from the church. Mr. Bindley wore a top hat, and his wife, Brigitte Brindley, held one hand on her head to keep her brightly colored scarf and bonnet in place.
“Mannie Candler, what are you doing out here on Christmas Day?”
I saw no point inventing a lie. “Trying to catch a truck,” I said.
“Oh?” said Mr. Brindley. “What for?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
Mr. Brindley looked at Brigitte. “He doesn’t know,” he told her.
“Are you lost?” she asked me, with a hopeful smile, as if I might have forgotten that I was.
“No, just trying to catch up with this truck.”
“But you don’t know why,” she said.
“That’s right,” I answered. “I think it might be from Christchurch, and it might be from a friend of mine.”
“It isn’t that meat truck, is it?” said Mr. Brindle.
“Marbury Meats, yes!”
“It passed us by a few minutes ago,” he said, and Brigitte Brindle nodded. “Going very fast,” she added.
“Did they make off with your Christmas goose or something?” Mr. Brindle grinned in a smug way.
“No. I don’t know why they’re here. But if you catch up with them...” I started, then realized I had no plan at all.
“I’ll tell them you’re looking for them,” he said and then he pulled back onto the road. “Happy Christmas,” Mrs. Brindle said as they sped away. Her bonnet came off entirely, but she caught it before it took flight.
Now I knew I had missed the truck, probably by a narrow moment. I set Joey Pete at a moderate trot and continued toward Trinity Corners. Maybe I would happen upon the lorry, if it had stopped there.
It took me twenty minutes to get to the main street, where, naturally, all the shops and businesses were closed. I had almost decided to turn around and head for home, when I saw the Brindle’s runabout again. It chugged its way toward me. Only Mr. Brindle was in it this time.
“Hey there! I know where your mystery lorry has got to.”
“You do?”
“Sure. I just dropped Mrs. Brindle off at her brother’s house. Do you know who her brother is?”
“No, I can’t say that I do.”
“Her brother is Simon Maxington.” Mr. Brindle looked very pleased to have revealed this information, but any relevance was lost on me.
“Oh, Simon Maxington, then,” I said.
“He drives lorries, you see,” said Mr. Brindle. “Anyway, he said his friend Robert had to drive a job today, for which he’s getting double wages, as its Christmas Day. Said it was a route from Christchurch, so I thought Robert might be your driver.”
“Oh! So where is he going?”
“One more village over. It’s going to the offices of Elliot an’ Elliot. Solicitors.”
Surely, this had to be the solicitors who were taking possession of the warehouse. So, I wondered, what was in the truck? Some part of Very North? If so, I felt I must see it. It was only right, I reasoned, if one can call such a sense of entitlement reason.
“Could you take me?” I said, none too graciously.
“My dear boy, I don’t even know what your motives are. In fact, neither do you.”
“The place that truck came from, I was just there. And, well, it was a wonderful place, and...”
“And it will surely wait until the holiday has ended. Give their office a call on Monday if you must.”
“It’s just that I think something might be wrong.”
“Oh?” Mr. Brindle looked intrigued by this. “Do you think they’ve stolen something? Is there a crime in progress? That would be interesting.”
I shook my head. “No, I don’t guess there is. Thank you for telling me, though. I’d better go back home. I forgot to mention to anyone that I was leaving.”
“Took off on an impulse, heh? Fine. Listen, stay here a minute or two. My son Carl, he’s got a horse trailer. He can take you and Joey Pete back home in comfort. It would make me feel better to know you were safe. All right?”
I thanked him, and I meant it. I had begun to worry that I was overtaxing Joey Pete. Mr. Brindle took off, and I stood with the horse by a chain link fence next to a brickyard.
We waited for about fifteen minutes, and all the while, I watched the horizon in both directions, trying to will that lorry into appearing again. I’m going to be in a lot of trouble for this, I told myself. I’ll feel better about it if I can at least satisfy my curiosity.
Carl Brindle arrived, in a large sedan hitched to a weathered and dented horse trailer. Carl was tall, and he had silvery blue eyes that always seemed focused on a spot twenty yards past whomever he was talking to.
“You’re the subject of much chat today, Mannie,” he said as he approached Joey Pete and took the reins. “Mother’s already called at least three people to tell them about your chasing down a lorry.”
“Was one of those calls to my mother?”
“Don’t know, but I’d be surprised if that wasn’t the first one.”
“Was she cross?”
“Again, I don’t know.” He opened the back of the trailer, inside of which lay a heap of fresh straw. Joey Pete didn’t need an invitation. He stepped in and began helping himself.
Carl secured the metal door with a latch and told me to go ahead and sit down in the car. I slowly ambled up to the passenger door, still gazing at the road. And when I had nearly lowered myself onto the seat, I saw it. A great silver lorry, Marbury Meats in faded paint on its cab.
I jumped into the middle of the road and began waving my hands, as if in a panic.
“Wait! Stop!” I shouted as I jumped and leapt about.
“Get out of the road, Mannie!” shouted Carl, and it was good advice. I moved to the other side, and continued my display of desperation. I was relieved when the great vehicle began to slow down.
The Marbury Meats lorry came to a stop just a few yards past Carl’s sedan, and I ran quickly to the opening door of its cab. A grey-haired fellow with a bushy moustache climbed down.
“Is there some trouble here?” he said calmly.
“No, sir,” I answered. “Are you Robert?”
“Yes. Did Mr. Prassler send you out here?”
I was startled to hear that name. “Mr. Prassler? No.”
“Cause I’ve just made the delivery for him. Is that not why you waved me down?”
“Oh, is it Mr. Prassler’s office?” I said, beginning to make the connection. Mr. Prassler had visited my father alongside Michael. And Prassler worked for Elliot and Elliot. He must have been involved in the purchase of Michael’s holdings.
“Did you come up from Very North today?”
“What?” said Robert. “No, I drove up from Christchurch.”
“I mean, Marbury Meats, were you there this morning?”
Carl stepped into the conversation. “I’m awfully sorry, Robert. The lad’s got a bee in his britches about something.”
“What have you to do with Marbury Meats, lad?” said Robert.
“I was just there. Yesterday, you know, for the Secret Feast.”
“I don’t know at all,” said Robert. “I just drive the lorry. I took some furniture to an office in Trinity Corners, and now I’m dropping off a couple of crates to Mr. Prassler.”
“You mean you’re going to Mr. Prassler’s right now?” I said. I was caught up in my own irrational ambition to know why anything from Very North had passed by my churchyard without asking my leave.
Robert looked at Carl. “You know this boy?”
“Friend of the family. He’s the vicar’s boy. Stephan Candler?”
“I wouldn’t know. If he’ll pardon me, he seems to be poking his nose where it wasn’t invited.”
“Yes, that’s certain,” said Carl, and they both shot feigned looks of dismay in my direction.
It was undeniably true. Whatever business Robert was on, whatever properties he was transporting, the matter was entirely out of my jurisdiction. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I was just surprised to see your lorry go by, after...” I stopped, remembering that neither of these gentlemen knew about Very North. “Well, there’s a man named Michael, who used to own the place. And, he put on a sort of show for us.”
“Michael Brams?” said Robert.
“You know him?”
“Sure. He signed off on this lorry load.”
“Yes. I think Mr. Prassler must have bought Marbury Meats, and.. Listen, could I ride along with you, to Mr. Prassler’s place? I want to talk to him.”
“He isn’t expecting you, then?”
“No. But, I really need to see him.”
Robert gave Carl a look of doubt. “I don’t know, Carl. Can you assure me this boy isn’t some kind of reprobate?”
“He’s always been a good lad,” said Carl.
“You could take Joey Pete back to the church, right?” I said to Carl. “And you could drop me off on your way home,” I said to Robert, knowing as I spoke that I was going several leaps beyond presumptious.
“Your father is going to scorch the earth you walk on, Mannie,” said Carl. “But fair enough, if it’s all right with Robert.”
“Fine by me, but if Mr. Prassler objects, let it be on your head, not mine,” Robert warned. I agreed to take full responsibility for whatever response came of my unbidden visit.
And so it was that I rode, for the first time, in the front of a lorry, to the home of Mr. Scotford Prassler. He lived in a splendid two-story house with an iron gate around it. He stood by the post box as we arrived.
“I heard you were bringing a guest,” he said to Robert, and then he nodded my direction, his expression grave. “You, young man, are in some serious trouble.”
“I know,” I said.
“The telephones of Trinity Corners have been ringing with news of your exploits. In fact, your mother is on the line in my kitchen right now.” He indicated the direction with his hand, and added “Best go on, then.”
“Ah,” I said. “Thank you, sir.” I walked to the house and through the open front door. The kitchen was off to the right, and Mrs. Prassler was talking to my mother.
“Yes, he’s here now. No, he looks just fine. A little scruffy. Here he is,” and she gave me the handset.
“Hello, Mother,” I said, and then sat silently for several minutes as she exploded into a rant, fully justified of course.
“What can possibly explain this extraordinary behaviour? And after all we’ve done for you this past few days! It’s inexcusable!” she said, and much more.
“I’m sorry,” I answered when there was half a second to try.
“Stay there! Your father is coming for you. Don’t you dare think of running off somewhere else!” And she hung up her end before I could say any more.
Mrs. Prassler had been standing just feet away during the entire harangue. She couldn’t disguise the fact that she had enjoyed every second of watching me squirm.
“My father is coming for me,” I said. “I’m sorry for this intrusion, Mrs. Prassler. I wasn’t invited, and I’m not quite thinking straight today.”
“Gladly accepted,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting company, so I haven’t got anything to offer you.” She said this while standing in front of a kitchen table replete with fruits, cakes and other treats. It didn’t matter. I had no appetite anyway.
When I went back outside, Robert had unloaded and rolled two wooden crates to Mr. Prassler’s garage. I informed them that my father would soon be here, and I thanked them for their patience.
Once Robert and his lorry were gone, Mr. Prassler turned to me and folded his hands together. “Mr. Candler. There must be an excellent reason for you to have gone to all this trouble.”
“No sir,” I said. “That’s the problem. I don’t have a really good reason.”
“None at all?”
I tried to explain the chain of rash decisions I had made that afternoon. I leapfrogged from topic to topic, never completing one thought before babbling about another.
“I think this has something to do with your recent journey, yes?” Mr. Prassler said.
“Yes! You know about the Secret Feast?”
“Certainly. I’ve toured the grounds. I regret to say I never had the chance to see the show on its feet.”
“You were in my father’s office with Michael, earlier this week.”
“At his request. Michael is a dear friend, and he needed my help. I work for the firm of Elliot and Elliot. I should tell you, my bosses were keen on shutting down the operation weeks ago. Michael called me in desperation about it, and I convinced the upper management to wait until those last few productions were done.”
“Oh,” I said. “So, I’d never have gone to Very North if you hadn’t helped him out.”
“That’s right, Mannie. And I visited your father, because we had to change many arrangements after Audra’s passing. By the way, Mannie, please accept my sympathies. I never met Audra, but Michael had much to say about her.”
“Thank you,” I said, softly. I had not guessed how closely Mr. Prassler was involved with my adventure.
“Your father and mother had grave doubts about Audra’s bequest. They thought it best to wait until next year for you to experience the Secret Feast. Michael knew, of course, that next year would be too late. It meant a lot to him that Audra’s nephew should attend, especially in this final season. That is why we went to your father, to persuade him to allow your participation, even at this time of mourning.”
That week there had been many revelations. Now, here was one more. In Mr. Prassler’s explanation, it came clear. An extraordinary chain of people had conspired on my behalf, working secretly to bring something splendid into my life. My mother and father, Audra, Michael, Mr. Prassler, Sissy, the Murney family, many more. I saw them all at once, unlikely heroes, connecting to bring me this gift I had done nothing to deserve.
My face betrayed my emotions. “Now, son,” said Mr. Prassler, “Was it something I said?”
“I owe you a great deal,” I answered. “I owe everyone so much.” He put a hand on my shoulder and gave a wordless murmur, a humble shrug.
“Michael has devoted his life to creating these little miracles. I envy him, you know.”
I gave an assenting nod, and then stepped away.
“I’ll go wait for my father by the gate,” I said.
“Don’t you want to know what’s in the crates?”
A minute later, Mr. Prassler pried one side of each wooden container with a crow bar. With a claw hammer, he removed one panel from each crate. The first contained the extravagant dollhouse I had seen in the Chamber of Good Cheer. It was carefully packed and wrapped, but I recognized the mansard roof on sight.
“I know that!” I said. “It’s from Very North.”
“Michael suggested I give it to my granddaughter. It will have to wait for next year. She’s too young to appreciate it right now.”
“There were a million toys there,” I said.
“I know. Most of them are to be sold at auction. But, this one is ours. Quite valuable, I think.”
“What’s in the other?” I said, and I looked. There were dozens of wrapped parcels stacked within the second crate.
“There were a number of toys that would have no special value at auction, but he thought I might find some charitable use for them.” He looked into the crate himself. “My, there are a lot of them.”
I was struck with an idea, so forcefully I gasped.
“Mr. Prassler, I have to say something. It might trouble you, and I’m sorry if it does.”
With apprehension, he urged me to say it.
“You know Tamati Rongo?” I said.
“Yes. Of course,” said Mr. Prassler, stiffening. I could tell what a sensitive topic I had just boldly launched.
“His son Anaru works for our church. He ...he’s talked about you.”
Mr. Prassler remained silent, but his defenses were engaged. I knew nothing of the legal situation that had set Mr. Prassler and Mr. Rongo at odds. It did not matter to me. But I saw I had best talk fast.
“I took some gifts over to West Lodge for his family, for everyone who lives there. I didn’t really have any toys. I mean, there were some ratty old dolls, but it’s mostly boys living at the house. And they haven’t got much.”
Mr. Prassler saw immediately what I was getting at, and he smiled. “I’m reading your thoughts, lad,” he said. “It’s quite a heart you’ve got.”
***
The ride home with my father was uncomfortable. I began by apologizing the instant I got into the car, but he said nothing. As he drove, he stared ahead with a hard gaze. We rode in tense silence to the house. When we arrived, and before I went inside, he said, tersely, “Wash up and then come talk to us.”
My day’s exploits had left me caked with dirt, and I took my time washing it off. I did not relish the discussion with my parents, not least because I deserved every bit of their anger. As I dried my hair, I heard the front door open, and by the time I changed clothes and arrived in the den, my parents were no longer in the house. I saw my mother’s shadow in the window of the parish hall, talking on the telephone. My father was in the yard, and when he saw that I had emerged, he motioned me to come out.
“Your mother is on the phone with Mr. Prassler,” said my father.
“I hope he isn’t upset,” I said.
“Seems very much to the contrary. You’ll have to ask your mother.”
She hung up and stepped out to the yard a moment later. She smiled at me.
“Don’t think you aren’t in unbelievable trouble,” she said.
“I know.”
“But, Mr. Prassler is thrilled that you talked to him. I have been instructed to tell you to call this number.” She handed me a torn strip of newspaper with a number scratched in dull pencil along the margin. “Go on, right now. Then come back to the house. You’ve got a lot to answer for.” She kissed the top of my head, then she and father walked back to our home.
I got on the phone and read off the number to the operator. After the usual clicks and buzzes, a voice on the other end answered.
“Hello?”
“Uh, hallo, this is Mannie.”
“My dear boy!” came the delighted voice on the other end. “I’ve just spoken to my lawyer. He tells me you’ve just given him the most spectacular idea!”
It was Michael Brams.