Diane Davidson - Sticks & Scones

As Arch and I passed through the quiet canyon, a light snow began to fall. To our right, Hyde Chapel appeared, its two spires silhouetted by a street lamp. The chapel had its own bridge across the creek, which looked romantically inviting in the darkness. Maybe that was where the earl’s ghostly nephew was now hanging out.

A few moments later, I turned at the paved castle driveway and drove over another old bridge spanning Cottonwood Creek. More grim coats of arms had been wired to the high iron fence that circled the castle property. With my new concern for security, I would have to ask the Hydes about how they kept undesirables out of their castle. Hearing the details of my shot-out-window story, perhaps Eliot and Sukie would reconsider their kind invitation.

The driveway wound past spotlit boulders, tall, creaking lodgepole pines, stands of white-skinned aspens, thickets of chokecherry bushes, and blue spruces in perfect Christmas-tree shapes. When the van suddenly thudded over a large rock, I reminded myself to drive more carefully, or risk becoming part of a not-so-scenic overlook.

We followed the twisting drive upward until my headlights illuminated snow-crusted boulders marking the first parking area. At the edge of the lot, a one-lane wooden causeway beckoned. Beyond the bridge rose the castle itself.

I gulped. My previous visit had taken place during the day. In the predawn darkness, the stone fortress, built in medieval military style and rooted into a

forested hillside, looked far less inviting. Spotlights carved out the facade’s four crenellated towers, the high, arched gatehouse, and the widely spaced, narrow windows from which, centuries ago, archers had rained arrows down on their enemies. Snow spiraled onto the steaming moat. Above the water, creamy patches of fog drifted across the tower tops and into the trees.

Arch said, “Suppose they’d let me have my birthday party here?”

I grunted a negative as our tires thumped across the planks of the causeway. To keep the moat water from freezing, Sukie had ordered the installation of aerating pumps. That way, fish and wildfowl would make it through the winter. I smiled. Wealthy folks were always telling me how much they cared about the environment.

My cell phone bleated. Rather than risk driving off the causeway, I braked and put the van in parking gear. Arch peered down at the ducks huddled around one of the aerators.

“Good God, Goldy, where the hell are you?” Marla Korman’s voice sounded even more husky than usual. “I called your house and got some cop.”

“I’m at the Hydes’ castle. Or just about there,” I corrected. “It’s a long story.” Long or no, Marla would want to hear it. “A couple of hours ago, somebody shot out the picture window in our living room. There’s glass everywhere, and the cops wanted us out.”

Marla, usually a late sleeper, was silent. No matter the time of day, though, once she started talking, my friend rarely stopped. Below us, the causeway swayed slightly. Steam from the moat clouded our windows.

“Where’s Tom?” she demanded, her voice urgent. “About to leave New Jersey. I’m going to try to reach him as soon as I

get settled. We’re here because Arch and I needed a place to park until we get sorted out. I didn’t want to bother you this early.”

She groaned. “We should be together.” So all of us could be in danger? “Look, Marla,” I said, “thanks. But you don’t need to worry. Tom will be back late this morning. Everything is going to be fine.”

“Listen.” She lowered her voice to a murmur. “Is Arch with you?”

Suddenly I felt my son’s eyes on me. “Of course.” Marla said, “The parole board met Friday, Goldy. The Jerk’s out.”

-4-

I stared at the twin clouds of mist coiling upward from the moat’s aerators. It can’t be true.

“You there, Goldy?”

“I was supposed to get a letter…

.”

“You’re on the victim notification list?” She took a swig of something, probably orange juice. Marla never faced crises without food and drink. “I’m not on the list, but I told my lawyer to stay on top of John Richard’s petition for early release. Your notification is probably in the mail.”

“Lot of good that does me now.”

Marla said, “If you can’t come down here, I’ll drive up to the castle after I get dressed. I can be there in ninety minutes. Wait at the gate for me.”

There was a whirring in my ears that didn’t come from the cell phone. “No, Marla, please. Thanks, but don’t come this early - ” I faltered. I thought again of the noise that had awakened me. I’d heard a footstep on ice, but had it been a familiar one? Crack, gunshot, splintering glass. “Marla, did you tell the cops at our house? About him?” I glanced at Arch, who was pretending not to listen. He had fixed his eyes on one of the spotlit corner towers, tall granite drums where lookouts had once been posted. “Marla, did you tell them?” I tried not to hear the anxiety in my voice.

“Of course not. I didn’t know why the cops were there, and they sure weren’t about to tell me. All they’d say was that you were alive. So I had to talk to you.”

“I’d better call them back,” I said.

Marla started to say something, but the line cracked and blurred. Doggone it. The Department of Corrections had notified us when John Richard had first petitioned for early release. I’d appeared before the parole board in January, giving all the reasons why an early release was a very bad idea. Dr. John Richard Korman should serve at least the minimum - eight months - of his two-year sentence for assault. The Jerk believed he should serve no more than four months, and had cited his behavior as a model prisoner, which included using the Heimlich maneuver on another inmate who’d been choking on a hot dog.

Just in case the board did give him early parole, I’d obtained a temporary restraining order, to go into effect the moment his release took place. Then, if John Richard wanted to keep me in the dark about his plans, we could go before a judge and decide on parameters for visitations with Arch. But for the Jerk to be presented with a temporary order to keep away from me - just as he was about to taste freedom - probably wouldn’t sit very well. Had it sat so badly he’d felt it necessary to aim a gun at our house?

“Goldy - ” Marla’s voice crackled, then vanished. I stared at the moat. Bizarrely striped ducks - off-spring of discarded Easter ducklings breeding with the wild variety - huddled by the aerator. They looked as miserable as I felt.

“Mom!” Arch protested. “I’m cold!”

“Can you hear me?” Marla demanded so loudly that I winced. “Where exactly are you two?”

“I told you, we’re sitting outside Hyde Castle. I have a job here today.”

“Get inside. I‘11 call the cops about the Jerk. Then I’ll phone my lawyer and anyone else I can find. After that, I’ll come up. Isn’t the church having a luncheon at Hyde Chapel today? I think I got an invitation.”

“Yes. It’s a thank-you lunch for the people who paid for the labyrinth stones installed in Hyde Chapel. I’m doing the cooking.”

“I gave that fund five thousand bucks. Save me some cake.”

She signed off. I stared glumly at the three coats of arms hanging over the gatehouse entranceway. Each represented a baron and his soldiers, Sukie had told me, medieval protectors of one section of the fortress. That’s what I need, I thought, as I pressed gently on the gas. A militia for each part of my life. The van resumed its slow rumble across the wooden bridge.

“Mom? Is Dad out?”

“Yeah.” I kept my tone light. “Did you know he was being released?”

“I wasn’t sure. He hasn’t called me yet.” Arch spoke guardedly. “Viv said he might be out soon.”