Pursuit Of The Cygnus Thief

Chapter 26 - Paper Dolls And Pure Bunkum

“Paper Dolls And Pure Bunkum”

Chapter 26  by Roseyone

     Rarely, my father would choose to approach home from behind via the Serpentine Path. The decision frequently correlated with how much he’d had to drink. The Serpentine served a coarse ride and although that hardship was nothing compared to the peril of Big Road, the winding trail demanded that the sane driver slow and the soused sober up. In return for its bracing influence, The Serpentine, built for this very purpose offered its wayfarers a surreptitious avenue. Like others in Assumption, my father would choose this route when he wanted cover from prying eyes.

     He told me to hold on as the Serpentine; a casualty of time, neglect and the encroachment of desert twisted, rose, fell, and sloped beneath us. I obeyed by planting a hand on the metal dashboard elbow bent. I relaxed as my father’s truck lurched forward then dipped sharply on the driver’s side. I slid against him for a moment then coasted sharply away toward the passenger side door as we cleared a deep rut. When we’d found a few yards of level ground, I turned and looked through the cab’s back window toward the flatbed for John but he was lost in the moonless night.

     Earlier, I’d tried to discuss Mary Blodget with my father but he had clammed up. Mary Blodget’s unknown whereabouts made her yet another in a long line of taboo subjects that cleaved my father from me. As the road steeped, I was pressed backward against the passenger seat. I heard the gear change, felt the surge as my father pressed the gas pedal, and gained ascent.

     Behind us, John whooped and made a remark about a cyclone at Coney Island. My father called out of the open window for John to pipe down just before we suddenly descended. I heard John slam against the back of the cab. My father rode the brakes with care, we were on enough loose sand and angle to make a less seasoned driver wipe out. John kept his mouth shut. When gravity had pushed me forward, I’d bent my elbow until my left hand was sandwiched between the side of my head and the dashboard.

     We had Freddy’s ancestor Apache Dick McKee to thank for the Serpentine. Long ago, Apache Dick had commissioned the route to transport ore from his mines directly to the railroad in mule drawn wagons. Ostensibly, he’d done this to spare the good townsfolk the noise and grime kicked up by his commerce. In actuality, Apache Dick had sent one wagon through town for every nineteen wagons conveyed along his Serpentine. By circumventing Main Street most of the time, Apache Dick had also dodged a greater share of in-town lading taxes imposed on cargo destined for the railroad. The value of the Serpentine remained undiminished for there was little doubt that my father had chosen it that night to conceal John.

“You’ll show me that history paper of yours in the morning Amelia,” my father said as he down shifted. The Serpentine leveled for a good way beyond our descent point. My father only had to negotiate curves and smaller ruts until the old path would lead us home.

“You earned an “A” yet I haven’t seen it,” he said. Cold slithered and bit my stomach as the memory of Mr. Abel’s cooked whitefish hands clutching my paper billowed toward the front of my mind. He’d been offended by the “C” I’d earned. Mr. Abel had spoken as if he should have known what my grades were then displeased, he’d done something about it. Poor Mr. Sommers. I yearned for the car to dip sharply to the left again. I needed to lean against my father once more.

“Yes Dad.” I said. The nod I gave him was lost in the darkness. I wondered whether my father had ever known about Mr. Abel’s art portfolio and decided that he probably had known at one time but had also forgotten. How could my mother have posed for that creature? Mr. Abel had said they’d been friends. The idea made me nauseous. I’d never before imagined that my mother could have been a foolish woman.