Acre Under a Green Sky

Every Sunday morning, my father dropped Danny and me off at the Presbyterian Sunday School on his way to the office. Later, we would walk up to the office and wait for a ride home.

My father was never ready to drive us home as soon as we sauntered in, and this Sunday morning was no different. Danny went downstairs to play in the conference room while I sat on the floor in front of my father's desk with papers from his wastebasket and a dagger-sharp yellow pencil. I'm already in love with paper.

After some time, I looked up and was startled to see a man standing in the doorway. He was a big man with neatly parted white hair and round eyeglasses that reflected the florescent ceiling light. His eyes were masked by the white light giving him an eerie, alien look. He wore a dark suit and stood with his legs slightly apart and his hands folded behind his back like a soldier at ease. He was Mr. Brennan Furniture Store.

"The night of the murders," he said, "I saw Joe Scarceletti pick up Gwen Luka in front of the bus station and drive off. It was after 7:00 sometime."

My father recovered himself, then asked Mr. Brennan to come in and sit down; but Mr. Brennan refused, saying, "That's all I know. I told the D.A. in Lincoln, but he didn't seem much interested. I thought you should know. They drove north down Main Street."

And with that, he turned on his heels and left the building. The only thing missing was the salute.

My father sat there as if suspended by the lingering image of this emissary from another world. My grandfather had represented Joe Scarceletti in a custody battle against the Brennan Furniture Store, so there was ill will there. We never dreamed that Mr. Brennan would ever set foot near the building. And yet, there he had been standing in my father's doorway as big as life.

My father shook the image from his mind; then he grabbed the phone and dialed the police station. Apparently, Chief Mosko was out, but he could be reached if it was an emergency. It was Sunday. Mr. Brennan Furniture Store had come to my father's office on the Sabbath. It was unthinkable.