EXCERPT:
CHARLIE MACCREADY
Charlie MacCready could not remember when he came to live with his grandparents, Walter and Ophelia Zenner, at 95 Tam O'Shanter Drive. For as long as he could remember they had always been together and he had always had his bedroom in the attic of their small one bedroom house.
It wasn’t all that bad living in the attic. His grandfather cleared out a space just under the small round window that overlooked the front yard and street. His soft bed, a cot with an old worn out feather mattress, sat under the gabled ceiling to the right. Across from it sat his dresser, whose legs were sawn off to make it fit under the sloping roof. Beside the head of his bed and beneath the window sat bedside table and lamp, picked up at a garage sale for fifty cents marked down from a dollar. His most prized possession, however, was a gold locket that contained a small photograph of his father and mother, which he hung on a nail over his bed. It was the last thing he saw before he fell asleep at night and the first thing that greeted him each morning.
Charlie couldn’t remember his parents. He was only two years old when they dropped him off at his grandparents’ house in the middle of the night with promises to return for him in a few days. His mother seemed very upset about something but she wouldn’t tell her parents what was troubling her. She cried when she kissed his forehead, his grandmother told him, and then they just disappeared into the night. That was ten years ago, ten years and not a single word.
After a week went by, his grandparents explained, they became worried and notified the police. Their search, however, failed to uncover any clues to his parents’ whereabouts. As the years passed without any news his grandparents gave up speaking about them and settled into the task of raising Charlie.
Still, Charlie couldn’t help but hope, while he sat for hours staring out of his tiny window, that someday his parents would come back. Someday he would see a car pull up and his mother and father step out. He would run to them and they would take him home to live with them again.
That hope was put to the test when suddenly one winter night his grandfather passed away. That night was permanently etched in Charlie’s memory. He had just fallen asleep when a noise below woke him. His attic flashed with red and blue light. He quickly climbed out of his bed and looked outside. An ambulance and a rescue truck were parked outside. Two men in white uniforms were wheeling a gurney down the walk toward the ambulance. In the eerie shadows of the night he couldn’t make out who was under the blanket. It wasn’t until his grandmother called to him from below that he knew the answer.
The weeks that followed were a blur as his mother’s sister Bernice and brother Chester came in and out of the house. Charlie could tell something was up. Every time his aunt and uncle came over they sent him to the attic and then they would speak in hushed voices to his grandmother. Charlie would ask her what they wanted but she would never say. He could tell whatever it was, it was upsetting her and for that he disliked them more.
One summer night, six months later, Charlie found out the feeling was mutual. He had gone to bed as he normally did but he couldn’t sleep. Instead he tossed and turned in his bed. Then he heard a knock at the front door and the familiar gruff sound of his Uncle Chester’s voice. He asked if Charlie was in bed to which his grandmother said, “Yes.” The three of them went into the kitchen and sat down at the table and began to talk in normal voices. Slowly Charlie climbed out of his bed and crept to the opening to the attic just above the kitchen.
“Mother,” his Uncle Chester began. “You can’t stay here alone any longer.”
“But I’m not alone,” Ophelia protested. “Charlie is here with me.”
“Charlie is just a boy.” Aunt Bernice chimed in with an indignant tone in her voice. “He can’t even take care of himself let alone be of any help to you.”
“But he does help me. We help each other.” Ophelia explained.
“That’s not the point, mother.” Again Charlie’s uncle spoke up. “The boy belongs in an orphanage and you belong in a place where people who are trained professionals can care for your needs.”
“But he’s my grandson, my own flesh and blood; I can’t just send him away.” Charlie could tell that his grandmother was crying. Her voice trembled as she spoke. “What if Faith and Patrick come back for him? What will I tell them?”
“Mom,” Aunt Bernice said in her usual patronizing way. “Faith and Patrick are dead or they would’ve come back by now.”
“How dare you say such a thing.” Charlie’s grandmother snapped. “You do not know that. None of us know that.”
“Mother, look at the facts. Faith and Patrick disappear in the middle of the night. The police go to their house and find it in a shambles. No one has seen either hide or hair of them since. We all warned Faith not to marry Patrick, remember?” Aunt Bernice said matter-of-factly.
“I can’t believe it. I just won’t,” his grandmother said and covered her ears.
“This discussion is over.” Uncle Chester snapped coldly. “I have been granted power of attorney over you by the courts. And it is our opinion, Bernice’s and mine, that it is in your best interests to move into Happy Meadow’s Retirement Home and that the boy be sent to Saint Michael’s Abbey and Home for Boys.”
“No.” his grandmother shrieked and sobbed. “You can’t do that to him.”
“I can and I have. In two days one of the Brothers will be here to pick him up. Have his things ready. It’s time to go, Bernice.”
They left without another word. Charlie lay awake and listened to the faint sobs of his grandmother until she fell asleep from her tears. He wondered what was to become of him and would his parents be able to find him at Saint Michael’s. He then began to wonder what sort of place was Saint Michael’s. He had never heard of it before but he knew deep inside, he would not like it there.
Two days passed almost as though overnight. He didn’t think it was possible for a person to cry so much, but his grandmother cried silently, seemingly non-stop, since she told him the news. He couldn’t believe he wouldn’t be with his grandmother anymore, but he couldn’t cry. He didn’t know why. He wanted to. He just couldn’t and he found he couldn’t speak either.
The mid-morning sun shone through the tiny window in the attic and made it easy for Charlie to see his reflection in an old, cracked mirror left behind when the other boxes were removed. Quietly he stared at his reflection and wondered what was so horrible about him that made his own relatives not want him. He wasn’t a strikingly handsome boy but he was far from ugly. His reddish-brown hair was thick and wavy and his eyes were a dark brown. Freckles dotted his average sized nose and cheeks. His ears did stick out from the sides of his head a bit much. He always thought it made him look cute; but now, he hated them. I am ugly, he thought to himself. He turned away from his reflection and placed his comb on top of his clothes and closed the old, tattered suitcase, a cast off of his cousin’s. As he turned to leave the only home he knew, a sparkle of light caught his eye. He stopped and looked at the locket that hung above his empty bed. Without a thought he took it, put it around his neck and headed for the ladder.
The kitchen looked bigger without the small table and chairs that once sat in the middle of the room. He spent many hours at that table being home schooled by his grandmother. However his fondest memories were the nice, quiet evenings he spent with her snapping beans and shelling peas while listening to her tales of the old days. He sighed quietly to himself and walked into the living room.
The living room was empty except for a few pieces of old newspaper that were left over from packing. The shadows from where the many pictures once hung still lingered on the walls. Charlie set his suitcase down and walked over to the fireplace. The mantle, once adorned with his grandmother’s treasured knick-knack collection, was empty. Only a light coat of dust marred the surface.
Charlie was lost in his thoughts and did not hear his grandmother enter the room behind him.
“Charlie, dear.” Ophelia called to him gently.
Charlie turned around and looked intently at the small, round shouldered, white haired woman in front of him. Her hair was pulled back in its usual tight bun on the back of her head. Her apron, trimmed in blue, matched her eyes behind her half-moon spectacles. She stepped closer to him. He took a deep breath and smelled the clean scent of ivory soap and rose petals that were distinctly her. She took his hands into hers as she stood before him. Her hands were soft and warm.
“Charlie,” she said with a slight smile as her eyes began to tear. “You do know how much I love you, don’t you?”
Charlie just looked at her, committing every detail of her gentle face to his memory. He did know that she was perhaps the last and only one that truly did love him and he loved her. Yet it seemed that everyone he loved was taken away from him; his parents, his grandfather and now her. He vowed to himself that he would never love anyone again.
“If there were just some way we could stay together you would never have to leave me; but there just isn’t, dear child. You do understand that, don’t you?” She paused and waited for his reply but knowing he wouldn’t. “You’re going to be just fine at Saint Michael’s, you’ll see. Saint Michael’s Abbey is really a wonderful place. It won’t be so bad.” She stroked the side of his face gently. “Here, I have something I want to give you,” she said in an almost whisper. “You cannot tell anyone I gave this to you no matter how much they ask and you must never give it to anyone or let it out of your sight. It’s very important,” she continued as she dug in the pocket of her apron. “Ah, here it is,” she said and pulled out a small brass key. “Keep this with you at all times. And remember what I said.” She pressed it into his hand and closed his fingers tightly around it.
“The car’s here.” Uncle Chester’s voice echoed in the empty room. Charlie and his grandmother looked up at the man in the doorway. He was tall and stocky. His hair was dark brown and his almost coal black eyes stared at them accusingly. “What are you two up to?” he asked and looked directly at Charlie.
“It’s none of your concern, Chester!” Ophelia spoke sharply at her son. She turned back to Charlie and her face softened again. “Remember what I said. I’ll be in touch and maybe even come see you if the warden lets me out.” She raised her voice on purpose as she said the last few words hoping Chester would feel the daggers in her tone. She kissed Charlie’s forehead and gave him a hug.
Charlie hugged her back. He didn’t want to let go. There was a pain in his chest and he felt as though he were about to cry but his eyes were dry.
Uncle Chester grew impatient as he stood in the doorway watching the two of them. With a disgusted sigh he stepped into the room and picked up the old suitcase with one hand and grabbed Charlie’s arm with the other, giving it a sharp jerk.
“Come on, boy,” he bellowed coldly. “You can’t keep Brother Simon waiting all day.”
Uncle Chester led Charlie down the narrow walk to the curb where a black Ford van was parked and waiting. With every step he gave Charlie’s arm a purposeful tug.
“You’re just as irresponsible as your mother.” Uncle Chester cursed. “She was always making everyone wait for her while she lolly-gagged around. Well, you’ll snap out of that soon enough,” he said with an almost evil laugh in his voice. “They aren’t going to cater to you at Saint Michael’s. No, sir. You’re going to have to shape up and fast if you want to stay out of trouble.” He gave another wicked laugh. “That’ll be the day.”
Charlie didn’t hear a single word his uncle spouted. His attention was focused on the tall; gaunt looking man dressed in the long black hooded robes of a monk. His hair, what little there was of it, was pure white, which made his dark brown eyes behind his wire rimmed spectacles look more sinister than holy. He stood very straight, his shoulders back and his chin raised. He looked down his long crooked nose at Charlie as Chester presented to him.
“He’s all yours, Brother Simon. You can do whatever you want with him. Mind you he’s a bit thick headed and stubborn so you may want to work him extra hard for a few days. Break him of that.”
“We’ll take that under advisement.” Brother Simon spoke in a deep raspy voice. “I assure you.”
“Maybe a few months of hard labor will teach him to respect his elders and be more appreciative of the kindnesses we’ve shown him.” Uncle Chester jeered.
Charlie looked at his uncle. What had he ever done to him? In the years he spent with his grandparents he couldn’t recall ever saying anything to his uncle and visa verse. Why was he being so mean and hateful?
“Could be.” Brother Simon nodded. “I’ll pass along your advice to the Abbot. Pick up your bag, young man.”
Brother Simon slid open the side door of the van. Charlie looked inside at the three empty bench seats. He stepped forward and glanced over his shoulder at his grandmother who stood on the front porch. She was crying. A tear came to his eyes for the first time. He clenched his teeth and fought to keep from showing any emotion in front of his uncle. He tightened his hold on the key in his hand. “Keep this with you at all times. It’s very important.” His grandmother’s voice echoed in his ears.
A sharp slap to the back of his head by his uncle caused him to look away. He climbed into the van in silence.
“I don’t envy you your job.” Uncle Chester said as the van’s door slid closed. “He’s a stubborn one. Hasn’t spoken a word in weeks.”
“At the Abbey, we have ways of dealing with problem children.” Brother Simon said dryly and bid them good-bye before climbing behind the steering wheel.
Charlie watched his grandmother weeping and waving as the van pulled away from the curb and headed down Tam O'Shanter Drive. They turned the corner and she was gone from sight.
******
Charlie MacCready could not remember when he came to live with his grandparents, Walter and Ophelia Zenner, at 95 Tam O'Shanter Drive. For as long as he could remember they had always been together and he had always had his bedroom in the attic of their small one bedroom house.
It wasn’t all that bad living in the attic. His grandfather cleared out a space just under the small round window that overlooked the front yard and street. His soft bed, a cot with an old worn out feather mattress, sat under the gabled ceiling to the right. Across from it sat his dresser, whose legs were sawn off to make it fit under the sloping roof. Beside the head of his bed and beneath the window sat bedside table and lamp, picked up at a garage sale for fifty cents marked down from a dollar. His most prized possession, however, was a gold locket that contained a small photograph of his father and mother, which he hung on a nail over his bed. It was the last thing he saw before he fell asleep at night and the first thing that greeted him each morning.
Charlie couldn’t remember his parents. He was only two years old when they dropped him off at his grandparents’ house in the middle of the night with promises to return for him in a few days. His mother seemed very upset about something but she wouldn’t tell her parents what was troubling her. She cried when she kissed his forehead, his grandmother told him, and then they just disappeared into the night. That was ten years ago, ten years and not a single word.
After a week went by, his grandparents explained, they became worried and notified the police. Their search, however, failed to uncover any clues to his parents’ whereabouts. As the years passed without any news his grandparents gave up speaking about them and settled into the task of raising Charlie.
Still, Charlie couldn’t help but hope, while he sat for hours staring out of his tiny window, that someday his parents would come back. Someday he would see a car pull up and his mother and father step out. He would run to them and they would take him home to live with them again.
That hope was put to the test when suddenly one winter night his grandfather passed away. That night was permanently etched in Charlie’s memory. He had just fallen asleep when a noise below woke him. His attic flashed with red and blue light. He quickly climbed out of his bed and looked outside. An ambulance and a rescue truck were parked outside. Two men in white uniforms were wheeling a gurney down the walk toward the ambulance. In the eerie shadows of the night he couldn’t make out who was under the blanket. It wasn’t until his grandmother called to him from below that he knew the answer.
The weeks that followed were a blur as his mother’s sister Bernice and brother Chester came in and out of the house. Charlie could tell something was up. Every time his aunt and uncle came over they sent him to the attic and then they would speak in hushed voices to his grandmother. Charlie would ask her what they wanted but she would never say. He could tell whatever it was, it was upsetting her and for that he disliked them more.
One summer night, six months later, Charlie found out the feeling was mutual. He had gone to bed as he normally did but he couldn’t sleep. Instead he tossed and turned in his bed. Then he heard a knock at the front door and the familiar gruff sound of his Uncle Chester’s voice. He asked if Charlie was in bed to which his grandmother said, “Yes.” The three of them went into the kitchen and sat down at the table and began to talk in normal voices. Slowly Charlie climbed out of his bed and crept to the opening to the attic just above the kitchen.
“Mother,” his Uncle Chester began. “You can’t stay here alone any longer.”
“But I’m not alone,” Ophelia protested. “Charlie is here with me.”
“Charlie is just a boy.” Aunt Bernice chimed in with an indignant tone in her voice. “He can’t even take care of himself let alone be of any help to you.”
“But he does help me. We help each other.” Ophelia explained.
“That’s not the point, mother.” Again Charlie’s uncle spoke up. “The boy belongs in an orphanage and you belong in a place where people who are trained professionals can care for your needs.”
“But he’s my grandson, my own flesh and blood; I can’t just send him away.” Charlie could tell that his grandmother was crying. Her voice trembled as she spoke. “What if Faith and Patrick come back for him? What will I tell them?”
“Mom,” Aunt Bernice said in her usual patronizing way. “Faith and Patrick are dead or they would’ve come back by now.”
“How dare you say such a thing.” Charlie’s grandmother snapped. “You do not know that. None of us know that.”
“Mother, look at the facts. Faith and Patrick disappear in the middle of the night. The police go to their house and find it in a shambles. No one has seen either hide or hair of them since. We all warned Faith not to marry Patrick, remember?” Aunt Bernice said matter-of-factly.
“I can’t believe it. I just won’t,” his grandmother said and covered her ears.
“This discussion is over.” Uncle Chester snapped coldly. “I have been granted power of attorney over you by the courts. And it is our opinion, Bernice’s and mine, that it is in your best interests to move into Happy Meadow’s Retirement Home and that the boy be sent to Saint Michael’s Abbey and Home for Boys.”
“No.” his grandmother shrieked and sobbed. “You can’t do that to him.”
“I can and I have. In two days one of the Brothers will be here to pick him up. Have his things ready. It’s time to go, Bernice.”
They left without another word. Charlie lay awake and listened to the faint sobs of his grandmother until she fell asleep from her tears. He wondered what was to become of him and would his parents be able to find him at Saint Michael’s. He then began to wonder what sort of place was Saint Michael’s. He had never heard of it before but he knew deep inside, he would not like it there.
Two days passed almost as though overnight. He didn’t think it was possible for a person to cry so much, but his grandmother cried silently, seemingly non-stop, since she told him the news. He couldn’t believe he wouldn’t be with his grandmother anymore, but he couldn’t cry. He didn’t know why. He wanted to. He just couldn’t and he found he couldn’t speak either.
The mid-morning sun shone through the tiny window in the attic and made it easy for Charlie to see his reflection in an old, cracked mirror left behind when the other boxes were removed. Quietly he stared at his reflection and wondered what was so horrible about him that made his own relatives not want him. He wasn’t a strikingly handsome boy but he was far from ugly. His reddish-brown hair was thick and wavy and his eyes were a dark brown. Freckles dotted his average sized nose and cheeks. His ears did stick out from the sides of his head a bit much. He always thought it made him look cute; but now, he hated them. I am ugly, he thought to himself. He turned away from his reflection and placed his comb on top of his clothes and closed the old, tattered suitcase, a cast off of his cousin’s. As he turned to leave the only home he knew, a sparkle of light caught his eye. He stopped and looked at the locket that hung above his empty bed. Without a thought he took it, put it around his neck and headed for the ladder.
The kitchen looked bigger without the small table and chairs that once sat in the middle of the room. He spent many hours at that table being home schooled by his grandmother. However his fondest memories were the nice, quiet evenings he spent with her snapping beans and shelling peas while listening to her tales of the old days. He sighed quietly to himself and walked into the living room.
The living room was empty except for a few pieces of old newspaper that were left over from packing. The shadows from where the many pictures once hung still lingered on the walls. Charlie set his suitcase down and walked over to the fireplace. The mantle, once adorned with his grandmother’s treasured knick-knack collection, was empty. Only a light coat of dust marred the surface.
Charlie was lost in his thoughts and did not hear his grandmother enter the room behind him.
“Charlie, dear.” Ophelia called to him gently.
Charlie turned around and looked intently at the small, round shouldered, white haired woman in front of him. Her hair was pulled back in its usual tight bun on the back of her head. Her apron, trimmed in blue, matched her eyes behind her half-moon spectacles. She stepped closer to him. He took a deep breath and smelled the clean scent of ivory soap and rose petals that were distinctly her. She took his hands into hers as she stood before him. Her hands were soft and warm.
“Charlie,” she said with a slight smile as her eyes began to tear. “You do know how much I love you, don’t you?”
Charlie just looked at her, committing every detail of her gentle face to his memory. He did know that she was perhaps the last and only one that truly did love him and he loved her. Yet it seemed that everyone he loved was taken away from him; his parents, his grandfather and now her. He vowed to himself that he would never love anyone again.
“If there were just some way we could stay together you would never have to leave me; but there just isn’t, dear child. You do understand that, don’t you?” She paused and waited for his reply but knowing he wouldn’t. “You’re going to be just fine at Saint Michael’s, you’ll see. Saint Michael’s Abbey is really a wonderful place. It won’t be so bad.” She stroked the side of his face gently. “Here, I have something I want to give you,” she said in an almost whisper. “You cannot tell anyone I gave this to you no matter how much they ask and you must never give it to anyone or let it out of your sight. It’s very important,” she continued as she dug in the pocket of her apron. “Ah, here it is,” she said and pulled out a small brass key. “Keep this with you at all times. And remember what I said.” She pressed it into his hand and closed his fingers tightly around it.
“The car’s here.” Uncle Chester’s voice echoed in the empty room. Charlie and his grandmother looked up at the man in the doorway. He was tall and stocky. His hair was dark brown and his almost coal black eyes stared at them accusingly. “What are you two up to?” he asked and looked directly at Charlie.
“It’s none of your concern, Chester!” Ophelia spoke sharply at her son. She turned back to Charlie and her face softened again. “Remember what I said. I’ll be in touch and maybe even come see you if the warden lets me out.” She raised her voice on purpose as she said the last few words hoping Chester would feel the daggers in her tone. She kissed Charlie’s forehead and gave him a hug.
Charlie hugged her back. He didn’t want to let go. There was a pain in his chest and he felt as though he were about to cry but his eyes were dry.
Uncle Chester grew impatient as he stood in the doorway watching the two of them. With a disgusted sigh he stepped into the room and picked up the old suitcase with one hand and grabbed Charlie’s arm with the other, giving it a sharp jerk.
“Come on, boy,” he bellowed coldly. “You can’t keep Brother Simon waiting all day.”
Uncle Chester led Charlie down the narrow walk to the curb where a black Ford van was parked and waiting. With every step he gave Charlie’s arm a purposeful tug.
“You’re just as irresponsible as your mother.” Uncle Chester cursed. “She was always making everyone wait for her while she lolly-gagged around. Well, you’ll snap out of that soon enough,” he said with an almost evil laugh in his voice. “They aren’t going to cater to you at Saint Michael’s. No, sir. You’re going to have to shape up and fast if you want to stay out of trouble.” He gave another wicked laugh. “That’ll be the day.”
Charlie didn’t hear a single word his uncle spouted. His attention was focused on the tall; gaunt looking man dressed in the long black hooded robes of a monk. His hair, what little there was of it, was pure white, which made his dark brown eyes behind his wire rimmed spectacles look more sinister than holy. He stood very straight, his shoulders back and his chin raised. He looked down his long crooked nose at Charlie as Chester presented to him.
“He’s all yours, Brother Simon. You can do whatever you want with him. Mind you he’s a bit thick headed and stubborn so you may want to work him extra hard for a few days. Break him of that.”
“We’ll take that under advisement.” Brother Simon spoke in a deep raspy voice. “I assure you.”
“Maybe a few months of hard labor will teach him to respect his elders and be more appreciative of the kindnesses we’ve shown him.” Uncle Chester jeered.
Charlie looked at his uncle. What had he ever done to him? In the years he spent with his grandparents he couldn’t recall ever saying anything to his uncle and visa verse. Why was he being so mean and hateful?
“Could be.” Brother Simon nodded. “I’ll pass along your advice to the Abbot. Pick up your bag, young man.”
Brother Simon slid open the side door of the van. Charlie looked inside at the three empty bench seats. He stepped forward and glanced over his shoulder at his grandmother who stood on the front porch. She was crying. A tear came to his eyes for the first time. He clenched his teeth and fought to keep from showing any emotion in front of his uncle. He tightened his hold on the key in his hand. “Keep this with you at all times. It’s very important.” His grandmother’s voice echoed in his ears.
A sharp slap to the back of his head by his uncle caused him to look away. He climbed into the van in silence.
“I don’t envy you your job.” Uncle Chester said as the van’s door slid closed. “He’s a stubborn one. Hasn’t spoken a word in weeks.”
“At the Abbey, we have ways of dealing with problem children.” Brother Simon said dryly and bid them good-bye before climbing behind the steering wheel.
Charlie watched his grandmother weeping and waving as the van pulled away from the curb and headed down Tam O'Shanter Drive. They turned the corner and she was gone from sight.
******
