M. Forsythe - While Rome Was Sleeping

“There will be some tough times ahead for her in that corner. Well, Charlene our time alone is up, here come Father Ben and Andrew to join us for dessert. I just might have some frosting to put on Father Ben’s cake,” he smiled.

Charlene looked puzzled as Andrew and Ben made their way to the table.

“I hope we are interrupting, Neil, you stole my girl for dinner, now I get her for dessert and the rest of the evening if she says its okay,” Andrew leaned over and brushed a kiss on her cheek.

Charlene smiled and whispered, “Yes, definitely.”

Father Ben ordered hot tea and Andrew, Neil and Charlene ordered coffee with their desserts.

Neil studied Father Ben a moment before saying, “Father Ben do you recall when we were all here at dinner together, you inquired if I could tell you about a man whose name was Lu Chan from your village in China, do you remember?”

Ben nodded his head, “Yes Neil, I do remember, you said you were unable to do so.”

“I also told you Father Ben, that as things unfolded perhaps you would receive news of him. I believe Lu Chan will be seeing you in person, very soon perhaps in the next few days.”

Ben’s face broke into a broad smile, turning to Andrew, he said excitedly, “Did you hear, Andrew, do you remember? Lu Chan was the reason that I came to know you. And now he will come and we can talk… I am so eager to see him, Neil. Is he a merchant seaman still?”

“He’ll tell you some surprising things, Father.”

Neil cleared his throat, “Now I would like to propose a toast, I’ll start with you Charlene, a most unusual and courageous lady, it has been a pleasure to know you; and to you Andrew, as a friend and member of the press, I toast your ingenuity and your honesty, it has also been an education,” he laughed, “And to you Father Ben, a most humble servant; all who know you profit by your quiet strength and goodness.” Neil raised his glass, “You have all renewed and broadened a dimension of my life that began when I first encountered my friend, George Kelshaw. Thank you for restoring it to me.” They drank the toast; then Andrew raised his glass, “To George Kelshaw.”

“To George Kelshaw!” echoed the voices.

Thursday, October 9, 1980

It was a perfect autumn day—the sky was cobalt blue and the air was crisp in the October sunshine. The deciduous trees still clung to leaves that had turned gold and some were tinged with red.

A group of people were huddled around a voluminous object covered by a tarp in the Seattle Times parking lot; it was guarded by two uniformed Seattle Policemen.

Some of the members of the group seemed to be engaged in guessing and attempting to peek under the covering only to be chased off by the police guards.

Among those gathered was Harry Browne, the Times business editor standing beside Charlene Thayer who was holding a camera; standing next to International Press correspondent, Jack Hubbard, was Father Ben Lee from the Seattle Seamen’s Center and a man who identified himself only as Neil Klein. A number of the Times reporters and editors Jim Griswold and Bill Cunningham were also present all equally inquisitive about the tarped lump in the center of the lot.

Wendy the Times receptionist had just joined the group telling Harry that Andrew and Detective Savalza would be arriving there any minute.

A Seattle police car with flashing lights pulled into the lot and Jim Savalza stepped out of the car followed by a bewildered looking Andrew Kincaid.

Click! Charlene captured the look on Andrew’s face as he surveyed the faces and the covered mass behind them.

Jim talked with Charlene briefly and turned around to face the group, raising his hands for everyone to attain silence, saying, “We are gathered here in honor of a man who never does anything half-way,” Jim said in a semi-serious tone. Looking at Andrew he continued, “For me, Andy, knowing you has been pure pleasure and pure pain. I think I speak for all who are gathered here who know you and love you, with the possible exception of Charlene Thayer who may or may not love you… be that as it may; we want you to know that we care! And this is a token of that caring.” To the officers, he said, “You may step aside now… Andrew step forward and unveil this thing.”

Andrew Kincaid was totally unprepared for what was under the tarp. As he pulled it away he caught sight of a large red ribbon attached to the windscreen of his 1972 Toyota Land Cruiser, fully restored. A large cardboard poster stuck to the door emblazoned in large letters, ‘Andrew Kincaid for (political office Andy, you fill in the blank), and the card attached read, ‘for service above and beyond, in appreciation and with love, from all your friends.

Flabbergasted, Andrew was looking at his friends trying to overcome the large lump in his throat. Jim Savalza put his hand on Andrew’s shoulder. Click! A camera recorded the moment for posterity.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

While Rome Was Sleeping

Copyright © 2008 M.S. Forsythe (Viall, Witzel)

ISBN 0-9816682-0-8