Early that evening, Keith sat at the kitchen table, trying to draft a final letter to Annie, but he was having trouble with it. Should he suggest a last meeting before he left? Should he be brief, with no long explanations, or did he owe her a full baring of his mind and soul? No, that would just open the possibility of more misery. No long good-byes, no last meeting. Be noble, be strong, be brave, and be brief.
He wrote, "Dear Annie, We can't undo the past, we can't go back to our Spencerville, or to Bowling Green. We've lived and made separate lives, and, as I wrote to you once, I'm just passing through and intend to do no damage while I'm here. Take care and please understand. Love, Keith."
There. That was it. He put the letter in an envelope and addressed it care of her sister.
He stood and looked around the kitchen. He'd packed a few things, but his heart wasn't in it.
He knew he should mail the letter after he'd left, and he knew he should leave very soon, before something else happened to affect his decision. Every day he stayed here opened the possibility of a confrontation with Baxter, or the possibility of seeing Annie.
You arrived in life, he reflected, at a time not of your own choosing, then you stayed for a time, also not of your own choosing, and finally, you left, and the only choice you had then was to leave early, but not one moment later than the time you were allotted. Between your arrival and your departure, however, you had some real choices, but choices came in four varieties — good and bad, hard and easy. The good ones were usually the hard ones.
"Choice. Pack up or have dinner?" He chose dinner and opened the refrigerator. "What should I have for dinner?" Not much choice. "Coors or Budweiser?" He chose a Bud.
The phone rang, and he chose not to answer it, but it kept ringing, so he changed his mind and picked it up. "Landry."
"Hello, Landry. This is Porter. Can you tell which one?"
Keith smiled and said, "Gail."
"No, Jeffrey. My shorts are tight."
"What's up?"
"Reminding you of the meeting at St. James tonight. Eight P.M."
"Can't make it, buddy."
"Sure you can."
"Sure I can, but I don't want to."
"Sure you do."
"No, I don't."
"Do you want the revolution to start without you?"
"That would be fine. Send me the minutes. I'm about to have dinner."
"Don't fuck with me, Keith. I have fifty calls to make."
"Look, Jeffrey, I'm... I've decided..."
"Hold on..." He covered the phone, but Keith could hear his muffled voice, then Jeffrey came back on and said, "Gail says she'll do whatever you want if you come, and anyway, you owe her for the great weed."
"Look... oh, all right..."
"Good. Do you want to say a few words?"
"Yes. Good-bye."
"At the meeting. Do you want to talk about your impressions of Spencerville after a twenty-year absence? Your hopes for the future?"
"Perhaps some other time. See you later." He hung up and said, "I'm still working on the past."
That night, Thursday evening, Keith drove out to St. James Church. The grass parking areas were filled with about fifty cars and pickup trucks, far more than he'd ever seen at St. James, except for Christmas and Easter.
He parked near the cemetery and walked toward the church. At the door, a few young men and women were handing out pamphlets. In the narthex, a group of people were welcoming the arrivals. Keith saw Gail and Jeffrey and tried to slip past them, but they spotted him and hurried over. Gail said, "So, what do I owe you?"
"A kiss will do."
She kissed him and said, "You're easy to please. I was willing to give more."
Jeffrey said, "Please, Gail, we're in church. I'm surprised the ceiling hasn't fallen in on us already."
"Surely," Keith remarked, "you don't believe in divine retribution."
"You just never know," Jeffrey answered.
Gail said, "There are over a hundred people here already. The pews are full, and so is the choir loft. I told you, people are fed up. They want a change."
Keith informed her, "No, Gail, they're here became things have changed. They want to turn back the clock, and that can't be done. You should make them understand that."
She nodded. "You're right. The three of us have rural roots, but we've forgotten how people here think. We have to change that thinking and change old attitudes."
Keith rolled his eyes. No wonder revolutionaries scared the hell out of everybody. He said, "No, they don't want their thinking or attitudes changed. They want their values and beliefs endorsed, and they want government and society to reflect their values and beliefs, not yours."
"Then they want to turn back the clock, and that can't be done."
"No, not literally, but you should paint a picture of the future that looks like the past, with brighter colors. Sort of like a Currier & Ives lithograph that's been cleaned up."
Gail smiled. "You're as manipulative as we are. Did you do this for a living?"
"Sort of... yeah, I worked in propaganda once... but I didn't like it."
"It sounds fascinating. You could use that stuff in your personal life and really make out."
"I wish." Keith changed the subject. "By the way, who's the pastor here who was crazy enough to let you use this place for seditious activities?"
Jeffrey replied, "Pastor Wilkes."
"Really? I thought he'd be retired or dead by now."
"Well," said Jeffrey, "he could be both. He's really old. But he was amenable to this. In fact, I had the impression he didn't particularly care for Chief Baxter."
"Is that so? I wouldn't think he'd know Cliff Baxter personally. The Baxters always went to St. John's in town where the important people go. This is just a farmers' church."
"Well, apparently he knows Baxter by reputation, and apparently he talks to the other clergy in town. I wish we had that kind of intelligence network. Anyway, what you're going to hear tonight is that Chief Baxter is a sinner and an adulterer."
"Doesn't make him a bad guy."
Gail laughed. "You're impossible. Go stand in the corner."
"Yes, ma'am." Keith went into the small church and found standing room behind the last pew. He saw that the church was indeed filled to capacity and also that screens had been set up to block the altar, so that the simple interior, which had no stained-glass windows, now more resembled a Quaker or Amish meeting hall than a Lutheran church.
The people around him and in the pews seemed to represent a cross section of Spencer County. There were men and women who, no matter how they dressed, Keith could identify as farm folk. In fact, he saw Martin and Sue Jenkins. There were also people from town, working people and professional people, and there were all age groups, from high school kids to the very elderly.
Keith remembered a time, before television and other electronic diversions had taken a firm hold, when meetings of one sort or another were deeply ingrained into rural life. His parents were always going to a club meeting, a church meeting, a civic meeting, or something of the sort. And there were sewing bees and quilting groups for the women, and political meetings and grange meetings for the men. Keith even had some early memories of gathering in people's parlors for piano playing, punch, and parlor games. But this way of life had passed, and, in truth, a good movie or football game and a six-pack was preferable to bad piano playing, parlor games, and punch. Yet there had been a time when rural people depended on themselves for entertainment. But more important, many of the great social movements in the nation, such as abolition and populism, had begun in small country churches. As he'd already noted, however, this was no longer an agrarian nation, and there were neither the numbers nor the will to affect national policy. So the hinterland turned in on itself, and feeling perhaps abandoned by and isolated from the urban centers of power, they were beginning to act and think for themselves — maybe with a little help from urban and academic refugees such as himself and the Porters.
He looked at the people still filing in and spotted Jenny, whom he hadn't seen or spoken to since Labor Day. She saw him, smiled, and gave him a big wave, but she was with a man, and they squeezed into a pew together.
Keith watched the crowd settling in. Undoubtedly, there were at least two spies — people who would report to Chief Baxter after the meeting. This was a given, and he was certain that Jeffrey and Gail, old revolutionaries, knew this even if the simple citizens of Spencerville had no inkling of it. Keith hoped that the Porters understood what they were involving these people in. The professional revolutionary, Keith reflected, came in two basic varieties — the romantic and the pragmatic. The romantic got themselves and people around them arrested and killed. The pragmatic, like the early Nazis and Bolsheviks, were total whores who did and said anything to stay alive and win. The Porters, despite their obvious longevity, had a romantic bent and had survived over the years only because American culture was still hospitable to revolutionaries, and because the government knew better than to create martyrs out of people who posed no threat of stirring a nation that was perpetually ready for bed.
Yet, on the local level, people could be awakened and could be called to action. Obviously, the entrenched establishment of the town and county had violated paragraph one of the social contract, which was and would always be, "Keep the citizens happy, or confused, or both."
The meeting began with the pledge of allegiance to the flag, which Keith thought must have given the Porters heartburn. The pledge was followed by a prayer for guidance, given by a young pastor whom Keith didn't know. Keith glanced at the Porters, who were standing at the dais, and saw they were bowing their heads. Maybe, he thought, they'd learned a little pragmatism over the years.
Everyone except the standees sat, and Gail Porter went to the center of the dais and tested the microphone by saying, "Keith Landry — can you hear me back there?"
Nearly everyone turned in his direction, and Keith had the urge to strangle Gail. Instead, he nodded, and Gail smiled, then began. "Welcome to what I hope will be the first of many meetings like this. The purpose and objective of this meeting is simple — to explore ways that will lead to a city and county government that is clean, responsive, and competent." She glanced at Keith, then added, "Just like it was years ago. A government that reflects our values and beliefs."
Keith and Gail made brief eye contact, and she went on, without being specific about values and beliefs.
As Gail spoke, it occurred to Keith that, whether or not Cliff Baxter was in or out of power, Cliff Baxter was still Cliff Baxter. And knowing how small towns worked, Keith was sure that the county sheriff, kin to Cliff Baxter, would just deputize the stupid bastard for a dollar a year, and he'd still have his gun and badge.
Gail continued, "As a member of the city council, and, I think, the only elected official here, I want you to know that I extended invitations to all the other elected officials in the town and county, but their response was to call a joint meeting of the city council and the county commissioners at the courthouse. So I don't think any of them are here." She looked around and said, "If any of you are here, please stand and come up to the dais. We have room."
No one stood, and Keith was impressed with Gail's showmanship.
Gail said, "I've asked the Spencerville Gazette to send a reporter tonight. Is he or she here?" Gail looked around the church. "No? Could that be because the newspaper is owned by the mayor's family, or because Baxter Motors is the biggest advertiser?"
Several people laughed and there was some applause.
Keith saw that Gail was enjoying tweaking some prominent noses, and he was sure she understood she was going to make more enemies than she had friends in her adopted community. Gail might spark the revolution, but neither she nor Jeffrey would lead it or have a place in any new regime. In fact, they'd remain outcasts, poor and friendless, cut off from their original hometown roots, alienated from the larger world they helped bring about, and now strangers in a strange land. They sort of reminded Keith of himself.
Gail went on for a minute, speaking in generalities, then got down to cases, beginning with Chief of Police Cliff Baxter.
She said, "In my dealings with Chief Baxter, I've found him to be, in my opinion, incompetent, ineffective, and dictatorial. But don't take my word for it. We have several people here tonight who have volunteered to come forward with their own stories about Chief Baxter. Some of these stories will shock you, and it takes a lot of courage for these people, your neighbors, to tell you their stories. Most of what you're going to hear brings no credit on the people who will speak, but they have decided to do something positive for themselves and their community. They will tell you about corruption, bribery, bid fixing, voting irregularities, and yes, as you already know, sexual misconduct."
Gail knew when to pause and listen to the murmurs and startled sounds coming from the good citizens of Spencerville. Despite the fact that everything Gail said and was going to say was probably true, and likewise for the people who were about to speak, Keith had the sense that he was attending a seventeenth-century witch trial where witness after witness got up and told stories about one of their neighbors. The only thing missing was the defendant.
Gail made a few more remarks, then related her own story about Cliff Baxter regarding his illegal file on her and ended with, "I'm bringing a civil suit against him and will subpoena that file and make it a public record. I have nothing to hide or be ashamed of. My past is known to many of you, and I'll let you be the judge. I cannot and will not be blackmailed. Furthermore, I'm considering pressing criminal charges against Mr. Baxter, and I've spoken to the county prosecutor about it. If I can't get justice in Spencer County, I'll go to Columbus and speak to the state attorney general. I do this, not for myself, but for everyone in the county who has been the subject of illegal investigations and file-gathering by the police chief."
She looked out over the audience and said, "Some of Baxter's victims are here tonight, some wish not to be identified, and I'll respect that decision. Some have volunteered to come forward. So without having to listen to me any longer, I'll introduce our first volunteer, and she can speak for herself." Gail looked into the first row and nodded.
Hesitantly, looking as though she wanted to be anywhere else on earth, an attractive young woman stood and made her way to the dais. Gail greeted her with a warm embrace and said something to her as she steered the woman to the microphones.
The woman stood silently a few seconds, and Keith thought she looked pale and frightened. She cleared her throat several times, then said, "My name is Sherry Kolarik, and I'm a waitress at the Park 'n' Eat in town."
Sherry Kolarik took a sip of water, then glanced at Gail, who was sitting beside her, then continued, "I first met Chief Baxter when he came to my house six months ago to collect on some overdue parking tickets. I knew I owed the money, but I didn't have it, and I told him that. I thought it was kind of strange that the police chief himself would come out to my house... I mean, I never met him before, but I knew what he looked like because he came to the Park 'n' Eat for breakfast a lot. I never waited on him because he always sat at the table that another girl had — I won't mention her name, but he sat there because he was dating her."
This brought some murmurs from the crowd who knew that Chief Baxter was a married man. But Keith knew this was going to get even better — or worse.
Sherry continued, "One time, though, this girl was out, and he sat at my table. He didn't say much, except he pointed to my name tag... you know, on my left breast, and said, 'Sherry. That's a nice name for it. What's the other one called?' "
There were a few involuntary laughs from the crowd, and Sherry smiled in embarrassment, then everyone settled down, and she continued. "Anyway, about a few weeks later, he came to my door looking for the parking fines. I let him in and we talked. I tried to tell him I didn't have the money, but I'd have it on payday. But he said he wanted it then or he'd take me in. He said if he arrested me, it would be the next day before I could see the judge, and I'd have to spend the night in jail. He said every prisoner had to be searched, had to take a shower, and had to put on prison clothes. I found out later this wasn't true with something like parking tickets, but I was real scared."
Keith had seen the misuse of power all over the world, and he particularly didn't like men who used their authority, or their guns, to intimidate defenseless women for the purpose of sex, which was where this story was heading.
Sherry continued her story, and within a minute had gotten to the point of it. She said, "So I... I offered... I offered to have sex with him..."
The crowd was absolutely silent now.
"I mean... I'm not claiming he brought it up... but I sort of had the feeling that he was... well, kind of leading me there, and like I said, I was scared, and I was broke. I mean, I don't claim to be pure or anything, I've had a few boyfriends, but they were people I liked, and I never did it for money or with anyone I didn't like... but I didn't see any other way out of this. So... I offered, and he accepted." She added, "He said he'd give me the money, but it was a loan, and told me to take off my clothes so he could see what kind of collateral I had."
This remark caused a collective gasp from the audience, and Sherry hung her head, then looked up, took a deep breath, and made brave eye contact with the crowd. Keith sensed that none of this was an act — the woman was truly humiliated, frightened, and courageous. He could only guess at her motives for exposing herself like this in public, but he guessed it had less to do with civic duty than with revenge. But what difference did it make?
Keith had heard enough, and he made his way through the crowd as Sherry began a somewhat graphic description of what followed.
He passed through the narthex where the crowd was straining to hear, and out the doors and down the steps into the cool air.
He noticed that there were men moving among the vehicles, shining flashlights, and, as he got closer, he saw they were policemen. They were taking down the license plate numbers of the parked vehicles. This didn't surprise him on one level, yet he found it hard to believe it was happening. He approached one of the policemen, who happened to be a deputy sheriff rather than a Spencerville city cop. Keith said to him, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
The man seemed embarrassed, which was a hopeful sign. He replied, "Just following orders."
"Whose orders?"
"Can't say."
"Who's in charge here?"
The man looked around. "Nobody, really. No bosses here."
Keith spotted a policeman wearing the uniform of a Spencerville cop and went over to him and saw it was the cop who'd been at the high school. Keith said to him, "Officer Schenley, do you realize you're breaking the law?"
Schenley looked around and called out to two other cops. "Hey, Kevin. Pete. Over here."
The two cops approached, and Keith saw they were the same ones who had been harassing Billy Marlon in the park. There were only about fifteen cops on the Spencerville force, and Keith had the feeling he'd know them all if he stayed around. The name tags on these two read Ward and Krug. Ward, the one who'd been hitting Billy on the soles of his shoes, said, "Well, well, look who's here. You're like cow shit, aren't you? Always getting underfoot. Take a hike while you can."
Keith addressed them by name and said, "Officer Ward, Officer Krug, and Officer Schenley, this is a lawful assembly, protected by the First Amendment to the United States Constitution, in case you didn't know. If you don't leave now, I'm calling the state police, and I'll have you all arrested."
The three cops looked at one another, then back at Keith. Ward asked him, "You crazy or what?"
"I'm pissed off. You get the hell out of here now."
"Whoa! Whoa! You take it easy, fella."
"You've got sixty seconds to clear out, or I'm going back inside that church, and I'll get everybody out here."
There was a long moment of silence, during which all the other cops, seven of them, joined the other three. Ward said to them, "This guy says he's going to call the cops on us."
There were a few tentative laughs, but none of them seemed happy.
Keith added, "And I'll assemble that meeting out here."
Clearly, none of the police wanted to confront their friends and neighbors under these circumstances, but neither did they want to be run off by a single irate citizen. It was sort of a standoff, and Keith wondered if he should give them a graceful way out, then decided they didn't deserve it. He said, "You have about ten seconds to get out of here."
Officer Ward retorted, "You got less than that before I cuff you."
"Five seconds." No one moved.
Keith turned to go into the church but realized he was surrounded, and, to get through the cordon, he'd have to push or jostle one of the cops, which is what they wanted. He said, "Get out of my way." They didn't.
Keith approached the policemen blocking his way to the church. They drew their nightsticks and extended their arms and legs.
Keith considered bucking through the line, fullback style, but the defensive line in this case had clubs and guns. Obviously, he was in as difficult a situation as they were, and no one wanted to make the first move.
Ward, behind him, said, "You're an asshole. You're also stupid."
Keith turned and stepped up to Ward. "Where's Baxter tonight? Getting another honor at the Elks Lodge?"
Ward said, "None of your business."
"I'll bet he's at the city council meeting covering his ass while you're out here putting your jobs on the line. And where are your sergeants? What a bunch of ball-less wonders you've got commanding you. Tell Baxter I said that."
Clearly, Keith had hit a nerve, because no one said anything, but then Ward felt obligated to reply and said, "You can tell him yourself, smart guy, when we bring you in."
"Then bring me in. Arrest me, or get out of my way." But they seemed inclined to do neither. Keith wondered how long that meeting was going to last.
After a few minutes of standoff, Keith decided to go for it. He turned toward the church and was about to buck the blue line when a voice called out, "What's going on here?"
From the direction of the small parsonage, a man approached, walking with a cane. As he got closer, Keith saw he was very old and finally recognized him as Pastor Wilkes.
The pastor, dressed in slacks, sport shirt, and tweed jacket, said again, "What's going on?"
Officer Ward replied, "It's under control, sir."
"That's not what I asked. What's going on?"
Ward didn't have a specific answer and didn't reply.
Pastor Wilkes walked through the cordon and stopped in front of Keith. "Who are you?"
"Keith Landry."
"Name sounds familiar. You with the group inside?"
"Yes, sir."
"Why are these policemen here?"
"You should ask them."
Pastor Wilkes turned to Officer Ward. "Did anyone call you here?"
"No, sir."
"Then why are you here?"
"To... provide protection and security."
"Sounds like hogwash to me, son. Please get off my property."
Ward looked at the other men and cocked his head toward the police cars. They walked off, but Ward stepped up to Keith and he said, "If I were you, I'd get my butt back to Washington. Fast."
"Don't forget to tell Baxter what I said."
"You can count on that, smart guy." Ward turned and left.
So, Keith thought, they knew he'd come from Washington, which was no surprise. He wondered what else they knew about him. But it didn't really matter, if he was leaving, though Cliff Baxter was inadvertently going out of his way to keep Keith Landry from doing that.
Pastor Wilkes said, "Do you have a minute?"
Keith considered, then said, "Yes."
Wilkes motioned Keith to follow him, and they walked toward the parsonage. Keith recalled that the last time he'd been in the parsonage, when he was eighteen, he'd gotten a lecture from Pastor Wilkes on the temptations of the world outside Spencer County, specifically the temptations of alcohol and sex at college. A lot of good it did him.