Chapter 15, Wild Wild Bumpersville - rewrite

Summer time in the valley was always a cornucopia of colors and contrasts. The green of the early spring gave way to browns of the wheat and corn fields as the stalks grew then ripened only to wither and die after thier fruit was harvested; changing the rippling seas of green and yellow toped tufts of wheat husks to the full brown and yellows of the whole stalks. Bumpersville applied and was accepted for a school, an elementary school, and the building contractor from the state began construction with the promise of completion by August for the beginnings of the school year. The family population along the roadside residential areas had burgeoned from twenty houses to more than fifty and the area could now boast of three side streets with street lamps and regular trash pickup; just another perk of the encorporation: state monies for hiring a trash collector.


A traffic light went up at the intersection of State15 and 50 much to the releif of the local buisnessmen who had seen none to few accidents from the inevitable breakdown of the gentlemen's agreement style of road negotiation and right of way. Alderman Tate Sr. presided over the activation of the unit one blustery afternoon with as much fan fare as had ever been witnessed by the residents, both hill toppers and valley farmers alike. In the valley the seasonal change from planting and tending to waiting the harvest was borne with the same reception as anything that regulated the farmers task. Aside from the changes on the hill, nothing had changed in the valley. The chemical plant still prospered and was finally able to hit full staffing and production and enough homes had been built to house the workmen. New space was in the process of being leased from the village for another housing area to accomodate the population. Picket fences and white fronted houses became the dreams realized by the new crop of employees, some who had never owned thier own home before.

Another deputy was added to the sheriff's department as well as a clerk to handle the daily record keeping and other transactions, but these remained the only full time employees, the other offices being by stipend only. George had been correct in his assessment of his own situation; not too long after that evening's vote a note arrived in his mail box informing him he'd been relieved of his duties by order of the Alderman for some made up deriliction. Nothing need have been trumped up as he hadn't done anything positive or negative; he had done nothing period. George continued to brood over the loss and attacked his plant responsibilities two fold, leaving him worn out and tired.

Theresa became with child and Benton couldn't have been happier. It was as if the last portion of his life was finally falling into place, that last chapter read or that last hill conquered. Theresa welcomed the news with a bit of reservation and disquiet, but Benton chalked it up to new motherhood jitters. Theresa continued to manage the hotel during the day, but the grave yard shift remained un-staffed due to the trouble in keeping anyone there at night; news of something happening that night spread fast, though the particulars where always kept hush, the impropriety and shocking nature of the problem being too delicate for polite conversation. Due to the problem, however, Sally Hubener also became with child and for the Hubeners it was not easily dispensed with. Sally instead became a hermit and it wasn't until the child was born that she would again be allowed to be seen by others, the excuse given that she had spent a half year with realatives out of state.

It would be some months hence before Theresa and Sally were to give birth, but in this interim time, the people of Bumpersville settled into thier new lives as villagers. In the late evenings those concerned with the happenings on the hill met in the upper rooms of the Hubener's home, above the hardware store. This evening it would be Benton, George, Steven, Michael Strood from the plant and Lawrence Applewood owner of the snow plow. For several months the group had met to discuss security and the problem of the valley predators, the Tate's being the primary focus. Power had its privledges, but power only reached where one allowed it to.

"When we going to shut that little piss ant down? Every time I look at Sally, I just want to throttle that man," Steven said.

"Do that an' the whole lot of them will be down on you and us, they only look out for their own." Lawrence added.

"No, we have to be smooth about what is done, but something will be done to them both, something has to be done or they will keep running this place into the ground just to spite us," George said.

"I like how there isn't a single hill topper in the village offices or holding a village paid position, they're all stacked with valley men. Pretty smooth of them, I have to admit. They couldn't stop it, so they took it over instead." Michael said and shook his head.

"We concert our movements and plans, we should be able to make our presence felt, we just need to be united and I think we are getting that way," George stated and tapped his finger on the table where the men where all seated. "First thing we need to do is keep an eye on Tate Jr. and the other deputies, they're the problem now and the double threat since they have authority. We need to know where they are all times at night so we can keep them honest. Then we start manouvering Tate into a corner he can't get out of."

"That's not going to be easy, every one of us works during the day, and this place is dead after eight pm, they going to know they being watched early on," Lawrence said.

"Good, I want them to know they are being watched, will keep them from doing any more damage," George said and looked at each man in turn.

"I guess one of us is going to have to take a watch of them each night and rotate," Benton added and rubbed his eyes. The day had already been a long one and these meetings tended to make them even longer. The wives already felt a modicum safer as they went about thier buisness during the day, but the nighttime still remained something of a time of fear for everyone on the hill hence the topic of conversation this night. Benton personally felt it was overkill, but he also felt that something tangible needed to be done just to relieve the tension and sense of helplessness. Each man had recently armed themselves and thier homes to the point that Benton felt like he was being turned into some sort of vigilante. He hadn't liked the thought of it and had declined to carry anything on his person, but had readily purchased a pistol for the Hotel office and a shotgun for the house. Arming themselves was one thing, using it was something else and he couldn't quite envision himself actually needing to use them but wasn't going to chance it either.

"That's going to be quite the schedule," Micheal stated.

"We might not need to keep it up all the time, I'm hoping once they know we are watching them, they will just naturally ease off, never knowing if they are being watched or not is a better deterrent than always being watched," George added.

"Let's hope so, I can't stay up all night long even once a week," Lawrence said.

"Let's play it by ear, but when you do, make sure you are seen and make your intentions known to them, but make sure you are armed to the teeth as well, that Tate Jr. is capable of anything," George said.

"Not sure I want to carry one around though," Benton complained.

"At your own risk then," George replied coldly, something he had taken to doing to everyone lately, gone was the man who was at least was polite while he used you. Benton only took note of it and nodded absently in acknowledgment.

Benton found he had little trouble imagining himself shooting someone harming Theresa than he did in his own self defense if it came to it. It was just his character he told himself in his own defense. Perhaps, he told himself, it was just his destiny to abhor his own defense for that of another more important than he. Many of the men of the hill top had taken to carrying holsters upon thier belts even during the daylight and as the village had made no provision of the practice of carrying a weapon, it had taken hold of that segment of Bumpersville who deemed it prudent to do so. Although he knew of Tate Jr.'s brutal forcing of Sally Hubener upon his own property it was still something of the surreal to him, even as he himself participated in this protection committee and heard the others talk he still could not bring himself to a point where he wished even Tate Jr. harm.

"If you're going to visibly challenge these folks, you had better be ready for them to retaliate," Steven added. "That scoundrel has already broken in downstairs numerous times before, he's capable of more as George can attest to, you would be smart to arm yourself Benton."

The group fell silent for one of those odd pauses in the conversation that normally animated men when they gathered together. Even Micheal Strood, Benton's workmate and engineer had taken to carrying, the thought of his Sister-in-Law meeting up with the rapacious Tate was enough to send him to Charleston to purchase his first hand gun. Hattie had been forebade to leave the house after dark and without Michael in escort. The armed husbands, sons, and brothers had gotten so numerous that the Diner owners requested the menfolk leave thier pieces in thier cars as it was disturbing the visitors who stopped for a quick bite along the roadway. But Steven's hardware store had over night turned into an arsenal and his place quickly became the committee's headquarters.

Benton could not escape the thougts that this practice would soon lead to something unfortunate happening, some rising temper, some quickly arrived decision, some rash action would leave behind a still form covered in blood. He wouldn't be the one to do that to anyone. Yet, there was something to Theresa's impending birth of thier first child that quickened something in him, the anti-desire to counter the reluctance to carry a gun. Would he do it to protect thier unborn?

He hoped he would not ever have to face that reality, and the placing of the shotgun at home and the pistol behind the counter in the hotel office was as far as he could bring himself to meet the need. Theresa had been able to report that not a few of the valley folk had begun to shy away from the hill top stores and buisnesses at the sight of so many armed men. She told him it actually was making the wives feel a little safer, that the ugly and disdainfull looks were being returned now with equal enthusiasim. The conflict disturbed him the most and for a long time he had ignored it, told himself it was just the new kids getting to know the old kids in the classroom that was Happy Valley and now Bumpersville. Some ice had been broken with a few of the valley folk, but it was very few and far between and now it was down right hostile with the hill resembling an armed camp surrounded by indian country.

"We ought to start tonight then," George broke the silence that had frozen each man in its cloak of heavy thought. "I'll start, as I want that little deviant Tate to know we are on to him."

"Be careful George," Steven cautioned. "Don't go overboard with this, just let him see you watching him and that should be enough to send the message."

"Yes, I'll keep my distance. Ok all, let's get back to our homes and thanks for attending," George said as he stood and straightened his belt, moving the side holster to his hip.

The men descended the narrow stairway one by one and entered into the store proper. The evening sun had already set and the darkness outside hid everything in its mysterious covering. Jim Hilcock was wandering the asiles when the men came down the stairs.

"Jim," George said and shook Jim's hand vigorously.

"George," Jim returned and smilled affebly.

Steven spelled his wife from behind the counter and leaned his massive arms upon it and watched Jim intently.

"Steve, how is buisness?" Jim asked as he paused between the asile of tools and the one with all of the screws, nails, nuts, and bolts.

"Doin' fine, how is your crop looking?" Steven asked.

Benton was on his way out the door when Jim and Steven started talking and he loitered at the front.

"We should have another good crop this year, me an' Pops," Jim said and smiled. "You boys preppin' fer a gun fight?" Jim asked and laughed.

"No, just keeping things on the level," Steven repliled.

"Thing's lookin' a little wild west up here lately, somethin' happen?" Jim wondered.

"You might could say that, stuff's been a happin' now fer months up here, a few of us have taken to carrying to dissuade certain elements from any more of said activities," Steven replied.

"Humm, sounds purty serious like. Anythin' I should keep an eye out fer?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, them Tate's." Steven replied.

"Oh, hello Benton, didn't see you there." Jim said as he turned to Benton.

"Hello Jim, how is that patch of land doing?" Benton asked.

"Oh, barren and ugly lookin'. Nuthin' but a big hole in the ground now an' looks a little strange from the road, but the corn around it is doin' fine," Jim replied.

"We never could figure out what happed with that, none of our delivery drivers reported an accident and the head office couldn't find anything about it," Benton added. "I suppose we accounted for it all in your father's field."

"P'rahps, though who can say since no one of us was there when it occured," Jim said and smiled. "You people preparin' for a war?"

"What?"

"The way everone is carrying lately, you'd think we was deep in injun country," Jim said and smiled once again.

"Oh, well folks seem to feel a little on edge lately, not all of the valley folks seem to be as acomodating to change as you and your father," Benton replied.

"Well, on edge would be one or two folks walkin' around lookin' nervous, seems as ever' man I seen today was carrying a pistol on his belt. You expecting some sort of trouble from us valley folk?" Jim asked, a serious expression creased his features. Though still relatively young, Jim's face was creased with crows feet about his eyes that gave them an old, worn appearance that was only offset by the life that they displayed. Hours out in the sun had burnished his cheeks and nose a dark brown and the wrinkles about them lined his expressions with deep and cavernous outlines. His forehead rippled with creases above his eye brows that now formed ridges as he frowned.

"Well, some of us are a little distrustful of a few of the valley residents and Ed Tate Jr. for one, he's been doing a few things that have most of us watching him closely." Benton wasn't sure how much to clue Jim in, especially about thier collective mistrust of Ed and his father. Jim seemed a little different, but he and his father had voted strangely at the council meeting and Benton was not entirely sure on where he stood.

"Well, trustin' a Tate would not be what most of us smart people would count as wise," Jim said and chucked.

Benton lauged uneasily. "Well, I suppose a lot of the folks up on the hill have always felt a little uneasy around the valley folk and I would suppose vice versa. I think some have thought there was a latent hostility behind some of the glares or looks they've gotten from some of them."

"I suppose with ole Ed Jr. runnin' around with a gun on his hip isn't something that should be taken lightly, but I suppose he is the law around here now, I'd be surprised that he'd be doin' anythin' other than what we pay him fer," Jim said evenly.

"I haven't personally seen him doing anything out of the ordinary, but a few others have and are farily distrustful of him."

"Oh, I wouldn't deny that he's got the devil in 'im when he was younger, would be surprised if he was still actin' like he was still in school," Jim said.

"Well, like I said, I haven't seen him doing anything myself," Benton repeated.

Steven, who had been standing behind the counter the whole time was visibly becoming perturbed at the topic. Benton looked over at him and noted that his cheeks where flushing and his mouth was becoming smaller, his lips pursing into a hard set expression. Benton looked over at him and Steven glared back.

"Well, I s'ppose folks need to feel secure for sure, I jus' hope there aint someone gettin' hurt, valley or hill topper," Jim sighed. "Well Steve, I suppose I got what I was comin' for." Jim put the pile of screws and nails on the counter and Steven rang them up and put them into a paper bag. Jim paid and nodded to both Benton and Steven and then dissapeared into the night through the front door.

"Hillcock's the only ones worth a damn of the whole lot," Steven said as the front door clanged shut. "Never trust a Tate, that ought to be George's campaign slogan when the elections come 'round."

"If Tate allows for them, somethin' about that man tells me he'd find some way of extending his tenure as Alderman, vote or not." Benton replied.

"We can't let that happen, or there won't be a one of us safe," Steven groused.

"You think we ought to let Jim and his father in on what's really been happening?" Benton pondered.

"No, he's still a valley man, them farmers still only look out for their own. We have to deal with this on our own from up here." Steven rested his hands upon the counter and leaned upon them.

"I'll let you close up, Steven," Benton said and turned towards the back room.

"Take care," Steven responded and walked to the front door to lock it.

"Ok," Benton returned as he slipped out the back door and to his car. The night was thick and dark, thick with humidity and that sense of foreboding one gets when confronted with a darkness that cannot be penetrated. It would be a short trip to the house and Theresa wasn't waiting for him, so he pulled into the hotel. The parking lot was dotted with cars parked in front of the individual rooms. Lights in the parking lot cast thier cone shaped swaths of illumination that expanded and weakened at the same time, making the parking lot bright with zones of safety amidst the presence of fearfulness. Bugs buzzed in and out of the swaths in crazy figure eights and patterns that only a pilot could understand. Each poll was the target of several species of flying insect that fluttered about, becoming lilluminated for mere seconds before passing out once again. The office was dark and the door locked, a sign out front apologized for the inconvienance. The buisness had normally been during the daylight hours and from the plant. All was peacefull despite the dark.

****

George settled into the front seat of his car and waited. He had pulled into the Happy Valley Grocery an hour before and wondered how he was going to be able to track Tate down. It was a small community yet, only a few roads to drive down that lead anywhere and they all lead to Happy Valley Road. Just as all roads lead to Rome, all roads would inevitably take one past the grocery and post office. Tate had the night shift, although George wondered at the need for three deputies in such a place as Bumpersville, even if it did grow as he had one time hoped it would. But what does one do when the wolf and the hens have been reversed, when the guard dog is the wolf and the hens are the prey?

Willie Shank pulled off the road and into the grocery parking lot. The grocery was closed and it suddenly occured to George that he couldn't escape scrutiny. Willie peered in his direction and George awkwardly waved. Willie studied him through the windsheild of his truck and seemed to be sizing George up. Distracted by what he wondered Willie was doing, George didn't see the other pair of headlamps turn into the parking lot and pull right up next to Willie. It was Ed Jr. in his squad car. Ed too turned and looked directly at George and it then dawned on him that he was out numbered and not in a good place overall. The two men stayed in thier respective vehicles and watched him. George returned the favor.

After a few moments, Tate got out of his car and walked over to the drivers side of Willie's truck and they held a quick conversation before Willie started the engine and slowly backed out of the parking lot. Tate got back into his car and sat for a moment as if in indecision. He cast another look towards George, and George tiped his finger to the brim of his hat, deliberatly this time and though he knew Tate couldn't see, he smiled. Tate turned over his own engine and quickly backed out of the parking lot and dissappeared down Happy Valley Road.

George stayed where he was, confronted with his own boldness he felt the voice of reason lambasting him for his false bravado. He decided not to follow, the prospect of two of his enemies in one place did not excite his sense of adventure. Counting his said duty done for the night, George finally took himself home to the safety of his own four walls.

Walking in to his darkened living room George paused at the corner where he still had his realty papers and village plans tacked to the wall cork board. A few new blocks had been penciled in, but the sight sickened him; it was all for the heartache of seeing the power and prestige slip away regardless of the benefit it would have to others. In the dark, with only the glow of the moonlight peering in from the front windws, the map took on a spectral glow, the hill top and the valley below it, just the pencil marks to demarc the boundry lines of property in a two dimensional array of nothingness outlined by graphite. It would have seemed to simple a thing to accomplish, the broad strokes of planning and vision and the greasing of a palm or two to make it come about. It would build and grow and become something of its own one day, like a child birthed through pain and struggle. It only needed to be guided by a steady hand, a visionary hand who could mold and shape it along its course to maturation. Yet something had hijacked that dream, that plan, that young child and corrupted it.

Perhaps he was the corruption that was being weaned out of the picture like a friend who slowly becomes a stranger. The road, the Realty, even the plant was becoming a stranger, a thing that once loved now brings the opposite reaction from the senses and revulsion as the end result of seeing. The gray and blue moonlight flickered the shadows of tree limbs through the windows and on the wall. It was the roadway signalling its own discontent with the way things where playing out, it was the valley showing its disdain for his paltry feelings and aspirations. The shadows danced a jig of change and renewal upon his wall and mocked his pencil lines.

The valley didn't belong to him and neither did the hill although he, as the realty, owned major portions of it. He didn't own the people on the hill though he could be said to have all of those souls in his pocket. But what good was a soul without the prestige to command it?

Standing there, alone, in his living room he cut a figure of pathetic proportions as his shadow bled along the floor and on to the ottoman. It curved and crumpled with the contours of the furniture and became grotesque in it's projection. It's head, his head, was warped by the pillow that sat in the middle of the chair and it's form, his form, was but the fuzzy mirror of the original. Tiring of the view, of the shadow of the shadow of the man he wanted to be, George retreated from the spectral aparitions and humbly climbed into the security of his bed and blankets.