The Prophet's Muse Read online

  Copyright © 2018 by William J. Bard

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2018

  ISBN 978-1-54394-722-9 (print)

  ISBN 978-1-54394-723-6 (ebook)

  Book Baby Publishing

  7905 N. Crescent Blvd.

  Pennsauken, NJ 08110

  www.bookbaby.com

  Contents

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  3

  4

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  6

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  8

  9

  10

  11

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  13

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  15

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  58

  For my children, who taught me the deepest Love imaginable

  Prologue

  Tiar Renee Alfred gripped the wheel of her eleven-year-old car as it shuttered in protest against her flight westward. The reluctance of her car’s patchwork of internal parts to reach the free-way speed limit of sixty five reflected Renee’s trepidation to return to the small city of Hectortown, NY, a city that served as her address for the years between her ninth and eighteenth birthdays. In some ways, the highway was identical to that she had taken to school in June of 1996. Similar cows gnawed forlornly on similar yellowing grass springing from the edges of the same abandoned washing machines on the side of the road. The same worn truck tires deepened the same ruts in gravel roads that divided large expanses of agricultural waste land. Yet, every half hour or so for several miles at a time she would venture onto areas where the road had been widened, flattened, and straightened in preparation for route seventeen becoming part of an interstate highway. Previously, she would have gazed on the edifices of grand Victorian farmhouses, their stately roofs caved in, their painted wood siding peeling and uneven. Often, sitting next to these houses were trailers that had been brought in to replace them, two decades ago shiny and new but now just as dilapidated. Now she cruised above these sorry scenes of neglect on a wide, antiseptic berm. During these minutes of modernization, cheerful road signs proclaiming “Future Interstate 86” reminded Renee that she was returning to a different city then the one she had left behind four years earlier to pursue her education at Brighton University. Just as well, she reflected with poignant nostalgia. Maybe I can sneak in and out without being recognized.

  As route two nineteen joined route seventeen along the edge of the Allegany State Park, a sheer wall of rock rose to her left and a growing doubt sank in her stomach. Every sign for the Seneca Nation Indian Reservation reminded her that she would soon be turning off the main highway where the road would wind between ski slopes and vineyards. Once it gave way once again to grazing cows and ankle high corn, she would be nearly back to the place she once called home. Renee stopped at a diner five miles south of town that she had never seen before. She did not know if this was because it was new or because, looking from the outside like a small ranch house, she had never paid it any attention. The inside looked like the mock Victorian living room complete with flowered wall paper, deer hoof hat rack, and dried flower valances above each window. Renee found a seat by the window as a young waitress at the counter lifted her head. She walked over to give Renee a menu, an imitation Tiffany silver chocker glinting in the sun light above her black baby doll T-shirt and tight fitting black jeans. Her layered hair doo and glittering faint blue eye shadow were insufficient to hide the current of Seneca blood in her parentage. As she told Renee the specials, Renee recalled how, unlike the Franklins or the Alfred’s, transplants from further east, the locals here spoke with a twang more suggestive of Wisconsin then New York. Whether this, like the prevalence of Lutheran churches, was from the influence of the Swedish settlers coming North from Jamestown or if it was due to some trace contaminant from the Great Lakes altering the elasticity of their vocal cords, Renee did not know. She was surprised how foreign this once familiar acoustic flavor now seemed.

  I deserve to feel like a stranger, Renee reflected. She had left without a good bye to anyone, sneaking out in the night like a thief. A host of truths was following her like shadows and she needed to leave town before anyone discovered them trailing behind her—the secret relationship she never should have pursued, the friendship she never should have violated, an accidental overdose and a week in a psychiatric ward, a faked illness... She was sure it was all unearthed by now. It was too embarrassing to face. And yet, she had to face it. She had to attend to business here. Her uncle, her only known relative on this continent, had been murdered and she had to tend to his estate. She hoped to sign any necessary papers and get back on this ironic highway headed east before anyone recognized her. She was in the diner less then five minutes when she saw her first familiar face—a fellow high school basketball star and one time homecoming dance date. He spotted her too.

  “Well, if it isn’t Tiar Alfred,” Prentice Jackson said, approaching her table. “Mind if I sit down?”

  “Sure,” Renee said, trying to hide her trepidation. Prentice Jackson was one of a pantheon of star athletes to grace the popular crowd’s cafeteria table at St. Jude’s Catholic High School. From the day Renee moved to Hectortown as a frightened fourth grader, Prentice, then in fifth grade, took every opportunity to remind her she was an outsider and she was tolerated by the popular kids as a form of charity. When a mutual friend set them up for Homecoming Renee’s junior year, ostensibly because Renee needed a ride to the dance, Prentice tried to leverage that charity into un-welcomed affection. Renee’s friends, Jen and Dana, could not decide later if what he was trying to get to was second or third base. What they did agree on was that Renee was overreacting when she broke his nose with her right hook. They also thought she was a bit impetuous when she slammed the car door on his hand and broke his fingers. He was benched for the rest of the basketball season which cost St. Jude’s the state championship that year. Prentice’s final revenge came three years later when he dragged several other high school classmates to see Renee working at a strip club. She hadn’t seen him since. Renee braced herself for a slew of gloating and degradation. Instead, Prentice slouched sympathetically over the blue gingham table cloth.

  “I’m sorry to hear about your uncle,” he said politely.

  “Thank you,” Renee replied with a sigh. “But, I think it’s what he would have wanted.”

  “To be shot dead in his underwear?” Prentice said, startled.

  “No,” Renee replied, laughing. “To never grow old. I think that was his biggest fear. Just look at how he lived his life.”

  “Yeah, I never thought of it that way,” Prentice mused. There was an obvious, though not uncomfortable silence as they each tried to reach through their adolescent past to think of something an adult might say.

  “You in town to plan a funeral?” Prentice asked.

  “I don’t think there will be a funeral,” Renee answered. “My uncle didn’t believe in God. He has no family except me and my aunt. She’s already told me she doesn’t plan to make the trip over from England. I don’t think he even has any friends. Plus, who knows how many other angry husbands there are out there waiting to make a scene. No, I’m just in town to take care of the paperwork.”

  “So, you’re leaving soon?” Prentice asked.

  “In a few days, probably,” Renee answered.

  “Well, if I don’t see you again before you leave,” he said hesitantly. “I would just like to leave things at peace between the two of us.” Renee fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat when Prentice began talking again. “I’m really sorry, Ti, for trying to take advantage of you like that,” he said. Renee was caught off guard by this unexpected apology.

  “What are you talking about, Prentice?” she asked.

  “Homecoming? I acted like a complete monster, trying to take advantage of you like that. I mean, an orphan even.” Renee did not like being referred to as “an orphan”, but she was touched and surprised. Where did that come from? She wondered. Is he in AA or something? “I hope we can be okay now.”

  “Of course, Prentice,” she said. “If you’r
e not still steamed about me breaking your fingers.”

  “No,” he said. “I was at first… I mean, for a long time. Then I started to think about why you did it. I realized how wrong I was. Eventually I really respected you for it. Standing up for your morals, I mean.”

  Renee looked out the window at the gray spring sky. It was a shade of grey she liked to call granite, not quite as stormy as asylum walls. “Morals,” she said with at sigh. “A lot of good that did me.” Prentice stared at her for a minute, sensing her embarrassment.

  “That exotic dancing thing?” She looked at him. “It doesn’t mean anything. You needed money for school, and no one was going to give it to you for intellectual conversation. That’s the way the world is set up,” he tried to reassure her. Then, with shame in his voice he continued. “I’m just sorry that I contributed to it being set up that way. But not anymore. You changed me more than you know.”

  “Thanks,” Renee said, her voice small. “That means a lot. I just hope the rest of the town is as forgiving.”

  “No one knows,” Prentice told her. “We all agreed never to tell anyone.”

  “Really?” Renee said dubiously. She knew one of them had not lived up to that bargain.

  “Oh, wait, “ Prentice said, snapping his fingers. “That’s right. Matt told Max before the rest of us could stop him,” he revealed. “But, don’t worry. We took care of him.” Prentice did not explain that this involved great volumes of beer and photographing Matt in some compromising positions of his own. He correctly guessed Renee would prefer to remain ignorant of the blackmail played out on her behalf. Renee was still absorbing this new thought—that only a handful of people in town knew her secret, and only one of them was someone whose opinion meant anything to her. Her friends from school, the Franklin family, her pastor—maybe none of them knew anything. Renee was too relieved to care why Matt and Max, two young men who would have nothing in common since each graduated from high school several years earlier, had even been speaking to one another. This was the best news she had gotten in a long time.

  “Look,” Prentice said, looking at his watch. “I have to get back to work, but, don’t make yourself a stranger, okay?”

  “Yeah,” Renee said genuinely. “It was good seeing you, Prentice.”

  “Good seeing you Tiar.” Half way to the door, Prentice stopped and turned around. “I’m sorry for calling you ‘turd’ too. And for the whole Qadhafi nonsense.” Renee looked surprised.

  “You weren’t there...”

  “I was too much of a chicken to get involved, but it was my idea. Sorry.” Renee smiled and shook her head.

  “It’s okay, Prentice,” Renee said reassuringly. “You’ve more than made up for it.” Renee watched him retreat across the parking lot through the lightly tinted windows. Wow, things have really changed around here.

  Twenty minutes after Prentice’s departure, Renee left the diner. She wasn’t on the road for more than two miles when she saw flashing lights behind her. She pulled over, nervous and annoyed. Her old car was barely capable of violating the speed limit. She couldn’t imagine what she had done wrong. Sitting on the shoulder waiting for the policeman to get to her window, she silently rehearsed what she would say. What’s the problem, officer? She unrolled her window, cool spring air rushing in. What can I do for you officer? In the trees, birds chirped away senselessly, unfazed by the commotion. Nice day out, officer.

  “Well, well. Tiar, it is you!” a familiar voice declared. Renee leaned out her window and looked up. It was Officer Jack Franklin, neatly clad in his gray uniform and black leather boots. “We were taking bets around the station whether you would turn up or not.”

  “I hope I didn’t cost you anything,” Renee answered, smiling at him. He shrugged.

  “Eh. Not too much.” He looked back over his shoulder. “Wait here a second.” He walked back to his police car and leaned in the window, talking to the man in the passenger seat. The second officer handed him something and he carried it to Renee’s car.

  “Mrs. Franklin made these just in case I bumped into you.” Renee opened the package he handed her. Inside were a dozen oatmeal raisin cookies.

  “My goodness,” Renee said, feeling suddenly warm despite the open window. “She even remembered my favorite kind. Thank you.”

  “No problem,” he said, smiling at her. “Look, I know you’re going to have your hands full, but if you get a chance, stop by the house. I’m sure Eleanor would love to see that you’re alright.”

  “I will, officer,” she assured him. He tipped his hat.

  “Well, then. Drive safely and have a nice day.”

  Renee rolled up her window and watched Officer Franklin in her rear view mirror as he walked back to his car. Seeing the coast was clear, she pulled back onto the road. Behind her, Jack settled into the driver’s seat of his patrol car. Since Renee’s absence, he had taken on more duties as a senior trainer in the sheriff’s department. Today, he was working with a rookie named Marcus who he described to his wife Eleanor as “a pleasant enough kid from near Niagara Falls.”

  “So, who’s the girl?” Marcus asked finally, the silence in the car finally getting the best of him.

  “The cookie one?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Family friend,” Jack answered trying to keep the conversation short and professional. The real story was far too complicated and embarrassing to share with such a junior officer. The real story was that as soon as Eleanor awoke Monday morning and heard the news of Dr. Alfred’s death, she started baking. You’ll have to trace down her plates, Eleanor insisted. How do you know she got a new car? Jack had asked. How do you know she didn’t? Now, four days later, Jack shook his head. Good thing I checked.

  Jack put on his blinker to pull into traffic. He wasn’t in the mood to write tickets right now and it was time for a lunch break. He lowered his visor and pulled out a photograph he had stashed there. He handed the picture to his trainee. In it was a younger version of himself, a thin red haired woman, and two children, about eleven and thirteen years old. They were dressed warmly and standing outside in front of a Christmas tree.

  “You know Dr. Alfred?” he asked.

  “The one who was just murdered?”

  “You haven’t been in town long enough to remember his niece, but that’s her,” Jack said. “She basically fell out of the sky with no past, no explanation, and he was given custody of her. Only, he wasn’t exactly the nurturing type.”

  “So, you took her in?” Marcus asked.

  “Basically,” Jack reported succinctly. “I mean, she still lived in his house and he paid her tuition to St. Jude’s. But, we tried to give her a family experience.”

  “That was very decent of you,” the younger man said.

  “Yeah well...” Jack trailed off. Marcus looked at the picture more carefully.

  “I can’t believe that’s the same girl. She looks like a boy in this picture.” Jack laughed to himself.

  “Yeah,” he reminisced. “About eleven years ago… I think it was May… I was just getting off duty, and I went to the barbershop on my way home. Who should I see but Dr. Alfred and Tiar. I thought she was just waiting for him to get done, but then she got into a barber chair too. About a year earlier, my wife had pointed out to him that her hair was getting out of control. Split ends or some such nonsense. The next time we saw her, she looked like that,” he said, indicating the photo. “We all thought she had asked for that haircut. She was sort of a quirky kid anyway. But it turns out Dr. Alfred didn’t want to be bothered making separate stops, so he would just take her along to the barber with him.”

  “What did you do?” Marcus asked, alarmed.

  “What could I do?” Jack asked indignantly. “I grabbed her by the hand and took her to Barbara’s Beauty Palace. What a commotion it made when I showed up in uniform mind you, dragging in this poor little girl. And that was it. After that, every six weeks on the dot I took her to Barbara’s. It was our little secret.” He seemed so soft and paternal, not at all the officer Marcus had feared since being assigned to as a trainee. “I gotta give that lady credit. She had Tiar looking like a girl again within six months.”

  “You didn’t tell your wife?”

  “Nah, then she would have taken her herself,” Jack explained. “Anyway, at that point, Eleanor was still trying desperately to find something about Dr. Alfred not to hate. I didn’t want to discourage her. As for me, I’d already given up that battle years earlier.” Jack looked out the window at the valley that held Hectortown, his home for the past 22 years. He was glad his little girl was back.