Chapter 7: Strategies

"You're kidding, of course!" Bob Jackson sneered while Nathan winced as they sat together in the closed-door office.

"It all seemed so innocent at the time—it still does in a way," Nathan answered. "I never saw this coming, Bob."

"I know, I know!" a tired Jackson sat back in his chair and sighed deeply. "So you were trying to back-door the tutoring program fees and got Ed Cassidy to run interference for you on the behalf of the union?"

"That's about the size of it, Bob," Nathan admitted.

"Right motive—wrong method, Nathan," Jackson scolded. "If you had come to me I could have gone to the Chamber of Commerce or the Rotary Club. Someone would have come up with the fees."

"Sorry, Bob. It seemed so easy at the time and O'Toole was happy to do it. The student's placement was important, too. It's my fault; I should have thought it through better!"

"Alright, alright!" Bob replied. "Breast beating session is over. Now we have to figure out how to manage this. I can't go out to my sources now. This thing with Chandler is too controversial. Everyone would avoid it like the plague. Besides, if I tried that it would only be a matter of time before O'Toole's name would come out, and the student's name along with it. We can't have that."

"O'Toole offered to take a polygraph," Nathan added.

Jackson thought for a moment, scratching his chin. "Interesting! It's premature, of course. We'll let Chandler get himself out on a limb and then put O'Toole on the machine, and the polygraph will be the saw that cuts the limb off behind him."

"Good thinking, Bob!"

"You're sure that O'Toole is okay—we checked him out and everything?"

"I told the agency to be extra careful on any sign of this kind of problem, just on account of his quitting the priesthood," Nathan assured Jackson. "I can have Henry Thompson monitor the student. Henry's smart and I trust him to be confidential." Jackson nodded again.

"If there are any doubts about O'Toole I want him dropped like a hot potato," Jackson warned. " ... and I mean yesterday!"

"Bob, this new guy, O'Toole, is really good. He's the answer to the Math Department that we need. His Trig classes are two chapters ahead of all the other sections. His tests are more difficult, but his students' scores are much better—and he doesn't curve. I've checked this out personally."

"Impressive! That's why we've got to protect him on this Chandler thing—if we can." Bob replied.

"Sure enough, Bob!" Nathan agreed.

"Nathan, keep Cassidy on your side on this issue. You may need him at some point. Do any thing you can to keep it all under wraps," Jackson ordered.

Nathan stood to leave. "I understand, Bob," he said

"And one more thing, Nathan," Jackson ordered as Nathan was about to open the door to leave. "Get that kid out of O'Toole's apartment!"

Nathan returned to his office right after his meeting with Bob Jackson. Abby was at her desk.

"I need to have a meeting with James O'Toole and Henry Thompson as soon as you can put it together," Nathan said as he walked past her on his way to the inner sanctum. "See if you can get Henry in about fifteen minutes ahead of O'Toole."

"I'll get on it right away," she answered calmly. "While I do that, I suggest that you take a look at the Sentinel. It was just delivered. Look at the editorial page."

Nathan's eyebrows arched in sudden interest. He picked up the newspaper and carried it into his office with him. He turned to the editorial page. He didn't have to look hard to find what Abby was talking about.

"Oh, Brother!" Nathan thought to himself as he read it.

MINISTER AND SCHOOL MUST COME CLEAN

From his pulpit, Reverend Ethan Chandler, pastor of the First Baptist Church of Bates, has made scurrilous, yet vague, accusations about the personnel teaching in Bates Schools. If his claims prove true, it presents a clear danger to our children. Yet, the Reverend has been curiously silent on details. If he knows something specific, this paper urges him to bring his information fully into the public eye.

Bates School officials, on the other hand, have done nothing to answer Chandler's charges. If there is nothing to hide, then they should say so publicly. Yet, Bob Jackson, School Superintendent declined to comment when this paper gave him the opportunity. If they are hiding a sexual predator, then shame on them. If the charge is false, they should be happy to let the truth come out.

The controversy is ripping at the seams of our close-knit community. In the opinion of the editors, both Rev. Chandler and the School Board owe the people some answers.

This paper stands ready to afford either party the opportunity to allow the public to know the truth.

Nathan finished reading the short piece and let out an exasperated gasp. "Freedom of the Press!" he muttered to himself. He called out to Abby, who was making calls at her desk. "You better get Ed Cassidy in here, too," he sighed.

Just then Nathan's phone rang. "I'll get it, Abby," he called out to her. "I'd bet a month's pay that it's Bob Jackson." Nathan's hunch was correct.

Harvey English's Barber Shop was full of patrons. It was always good for business when there were big doings in town. Harvey's shop was the center of Bates' political, religious and philosophical debate.

"Ethan has been around a long time," Harvey argued to Brice Barlow, a local lawyer, as the listener sat in the chair and Harvey clipped away. "He's part of us."

Charley Hancock, Village Police Officer chipped in. "All I know is that I haven't received any sex offender notifications from the State."

"But you have to be convicted to get on that list," Barlow objected. "A lot of these guys are never caught."

"See?" Harvey seconded the point.

"Still, we've only got Ethan's word for it," Barlow jumped to the other side of the fence.

Bert Hodges operated the Feed Mill. "Like the paper says, they should all just lay their cards on the table. The truth would come out one way or another."

"Ethan should go first—he brought it up." Charley asserted.

"Ethan's pretty stubborn about what he will or won't do. He figures that he's got ... you know ... the Man Upstairs on his side," Harvey reminded them.

"The School Board is an elected body," Barlow chimed in. "If the public demands it, they have to answer."

Augie Reiss owned a farm on one of the hillsides overlooking the town. "Did anyone ever think that Ethan's just making this all up?" He rose from his chair and spat out tobacco juice from his chaw into Harvey's sink. "He was at the farm a few weeks ago trying to get us to give more money to the church. He said that the church is 'financially strained'—which I took to mean 'broke'. He might be stirring up a lot of hysteria to get the collection plate filled up better."

"Oh, no!" Harvey sternly answered. "Ethan wouldn't do that! He's been a man of the cloth in this town for years. Everyone respects him." The rest of the men murmured in agreement against the farmer, clad in overalls.

"Oh, yeah? I'm not so sure." Augie spat another dollop of brown elixir into the sink.

"If I go against Ethan, I go against the Church!" Harvey pleaded. "I won't do that!"

"My wife goes to the Presbyterian Church," Augie stated, dismissing Harvey's oath. "I've been thinking of switching, too. In fact, I just decided to."

"You've gotta do what you've gotta do," Harvey shot back.

"Harv," Augie answered, "I've got to get back to the farm. I'm giving up my place in line."

"Whatever!" Harvey looked away, getting in the last word as Augie closed the door behind him.

"Someone ought to straighten that guy out!" said a voice; no one was sure who said it.

Henry Thompson sat across from Nathan. Nathan had just disclosed that James was the subject of the Reverend Chandler's tirade.

"He is a former priest," Nathan explained. "He left on his own accord. His record is clean as a whistle—in every respect."

"Those bastards!" Henry cursed. "They have to ruin every good thing that comes along, no matter how big or small."

"They haven't ruined it yet, Henry; just calm down," Nathan tried to soothe the hot-headed young man. "We can save this, but you've got to help me."

"Anything!" Henry vowed.

"I'm not worried about O'Toole, but I can't take any chances," Nathan began. "I need you to monitor Raymond. Take him under your wing. He can't know it. Just get close to him and let me know if you think that O'Toole is trying to teach Raymond anything except math formulas—you know what I mean."

"I'll do it," the younger man agreed.

"You've got to do it without anyone knowing it," Nathan continued. "Not Raymond, not James. No one!"

"I'll do it," Henry repeated.

"I'm sure that it will come to nothing, anyway. Like I said, I can't take any chances."

At that moment James knocked on the door. "Come in!" Nathan called out and James entered and took a chair.

"James," Nathan began, "I just filled Henry in on the situation with Chandler. He'll keep it confidential."

"Raymond's doing real well..." James started. Nathan interrupted him.

"Bob Jackson said that your apartment is off limits for the boy."

James hung his head and shook it sadly. "They're going to win and I've done nothing to be blamed for."

"You've got to see Bob's point of view," Nathan admonished.

"Put me on the machine!" James insisted.

"I mentioned that to Bob today. He said maybe at some future time, but not right now."

"So, I'm just a bystander while this all plays out?" It wasn't really a question that James was asking, except, possibly to himself. "The more things change, the more they stay the same," he lamented.

"What are you talking about, James?" Nathan scolded. "We just have to find another location, that's all. I was thinking about the den in my house.

"That'll buy you plenty of trouble with the union!" It was Ed Cassidy, who was just walking into the office. "I assumed that it was about this tutoring thing. I read today's editorial."

"Jackson said that we have to change the venue," Nathan said to Ed.

"Can't blame him!" Ed replied.

"Is there a room in the Union Offices that you can loan us?" Nathan asked.

Ed shook his head. "I'm catching it already from the teachers. That would drive them over the edge."

"I know a place," Henry Thompson said in a subdued tone. "I thought of it after our last meeting, but it seemed that James' apartment was working out so well that I didn't want to upset the apple cart. I should check it out first. The person doesn't know that I'm suggesting it."

"Give! Give!" Nathan insisted. "We don't have time for formalities, Henry."

Henry hesitated for a second, and then glanced at the other men around the room. He took a breath and let it out. "We should ask Raymond's sister if we can use her house."

"I don't understand," Nathan queried, "I thought that Raymond was the oldest."

"He's the oldest of the children by the current marriage. He has a half-sister. Raymond's father had a daughter before his marriage to Shirley."

"Sound's promising!" Ed exclaimed. "Does she live in town?"

"She works in this school—it's Tracey Jacobs," Henry revealed.

"No kidding!" Nathan exclaimed. "I never put it together."

"Tracey knows that James is tutoring Raymond. I mentioned it to her. She was happy to hear it, but wanted to stay in the background. Tracey and Raymond's mother don't get along very well," Henry explained.

"What's her job in the school?" James asked.

"She's the Girl's Phys-Ed teacher," Nathan answered.

"Everyone knows who Tracey is," Ed remarked before breaking into laughter. Henry and Nathan joined in.

"She lives in my neighborhood," James added. He started to mention the man he saw coming out her front door early one morning, but he thought better of it. Tracey's liaisons weren't his business, and he was taking no chances on spoiling the solution.

Nathan turned to Henry. "This is perfect! It's a family connection, a watchdog, an education professional. Henry, you've got to work this out. I'm leaving this up to you."

"I'm sure that Tracey will do it. It's his mother that worries me. There's bad blood there. I don't know the reason. I'll see that it gets done one way or the other," Henry promised.

Deer Season was coming soon to the hills of the Southern Tier. It was never said out loud, but whispered in certain circles, that bagging a trophy buck was even more important than winning the Sectional Football Championship—but not by much and it depended on to whom one spoke.

If they could afford it, many townspeople bought small plots of land in the hills, deep in the woods, and built small cabins on them that they used during hunting season. Few had electricity or indoor plumbing, but they had wells and propane stoves. Some used wood. They were normally vacant for most of the year, except in Deer Season.

Jarrod Morris summoned his son. "Brad, I want you to go up to the hunting camp on Sunday and get it cleaned up so that it's ready for Deer Season."

"Dad, that's a lot of work!" the young man protested. "It will take up my whole Sunday."

"I can't help it, Brad. I'm planning on taking some clients up there on Deer Day. I can't have it looking like a pig sty," the elder Morris insisted. "Look! There's twenty bucks in it for you if you promise to do a good job."

Brad realized that any effort to argue his way out of the assignment would be futile, and could put his twenty in jeopardy, as well. "Dad," he proposed. "Can I ask Donny Harmon to go with me to help? We could get it done faster."

"I guess so," Jarrod answered. "No drinking! Those roads are narrow and it gets dark early. You can take the SUV."

"Not a problem, Dad," the son answered, "but I would have to share my twenty with Donny, and twenty isn't that much..."

"Alright—twenty each!" conceded Jarrod, reading the tea leaves.

"If it's alright with you, I'd like to go up after the game on Saturday and stay overnight—so we can get an early start cleaning up!"

"Only if Donny's parents are okay with it, and remember—no drinking!" Jarrod firmly laid down the law. "You'll have to take some food with you. There should be some propane left in the tank for the heater and the stove."

Becky Chandler had just helped her mother with the dishes after the evening meal. She was on her way up to her room to do her homework, but stopped first at her father's study. He was working on his Sunday sermon and she approached on tenterhooks. After a few moments of silence Ethan looked up.

"What is it, child?"

"Mother said that I had to ask you," she began.

"Yes?"

"I wanted to ask you if I could go to Karen's sleepover party after the game on Saturday afternoon," she blurted out. "Everyone's going to be there."

"Everyone?" Ethan asked sarcastically. "I'm someone and I don't plan to be there—unless this is an invitation. Am I invited? If not, it won't be everyone."

"No!" she laughed nervously. "I meant all of the cheerleaders."

"And what about boys?" he demanded.

"Oh, no!" she vowed. "It's just for the cheerleaders. Karen's parents will be there!" she hastened to add.

"Just the cheerleaders—no boys?"

"Right!" Becky assured him.

"If one boy, one cigarette, or one bottle of alcohol appears, you're to come straight home. Is that clear?" her father commanded imperiously. "No exceptions!"

"Yes, father, don't worry!" she promised. Becky bounded up to her room. "We're going over to the school to take apart the Homecoming Floats on Sunday, so I won't be home until late in the afternoon," she called out as she ran up the stairs. Ethan had already gone back to working on his sermon. He heard what she said, but wasn't listening.

The pang that Becky felt at having lied to her father didn't last long. She knew that she could never tell her parents about Brad. They would make her cut the relationship off. They would tell her that she was too young for such things. She wasn't, of course, at least in the way she saw it. He had, after all, 'made a woman' of her.

Deep down, she loved her parents and wanted them to know how she had won the attention of the most prized 'catch' of the Senior Class. It wasn't just that he was the quarterback. Soon that distinction would be ancient history at the end of the season. He was the boy that all the girls wanted—and he was all hers. That made her the girl that all the other girls envied and the one the boys wanted, but couldn't have—Brad had claimed her. She wanted her parents to know of her triumph, and she couldn't tell them.

So, she lied to them. It was, as she saw it, fitting.

Jarrod Morris sat in Ethan Chandler's study in a chair near his desk on a brisk autumn afternoon. Ethan was at his desk, looking pale and nervous. Morris was relaxed. The Valley Sentinel lay on the desk, folded open to the Editorial Page.

"It looks like I'll have to come out with O'Toole's name on Sunday," he announced soberly.

"Why so glum about it, Ethan?" his friend asked. "It wasn't long ago that you were chomping at the bit and I had to hold you back."

Ethan nodded to acknowledge Jarrod's point. "It's different now," he admitted. "The School Board will be forced to reply. They'll protect O'Toole. It will be according to the Sentinel's dictates. We're not ready yet—we could lose. I wanted it to be according to my timetable."

"If you recall, that was my advice when you started this," Jarrod reminded him. "And, by the way, you should change that 'we could lose' to 'you could lose'."

"But you said..." the Reverend started to say, but Jarrod interrupted.

"Do you want my help or not?"

"I can't afford to lose," Ethan blurted out. "This church is my life. I can't start over now."

"You won't have to," Jarrod assured him. "We'll make this a 'separation of Church and State' issue. We'll make it look like the Sentinel is siding with the School District and forcing you to be subservient to them. You'll refuse to disclose anything further because you won't allow the Church to be bullied by their 'conspiracy'."

"Yes, yes!" Ethan agreed. "I see it!"

"The congregation will rally around you even more closely," Jarrod explained further. "We'll just keep it up until the School District spills out the name."

"I'll do it!" Ethan vowed.

"You'll be carrying the Bible in one hand and the Flag in the other!" Jarrod cheerfully assured him. "How can you beat that?"

Just then, Ethan's wife, Judith, walked into the study with a tray set with coffee cups and pastries. The men ceased their conversation as she set down the service.

"Judith, you're too good to us!" Jarrod complimented the dour woman.

"It's nothing at all, Jarrod. Glad to do it," she answered, in a voice devoid of expression.

Judith was a woman who always looked sad. She could have been attractive, but she wouldn't allow herself to be. She was tall, like Ethan, with ashen-blonde hair dusted with gray. She wore it in a tight bun at the back of her head. She was slender, but her figure was always hidden by her shapeless clothes. Mostly, she was known by her taciturn demeanor that kept people at a distance.