Last week, we shared Chapter Four of noted author Katherine Valentine’s newest inspirational novel.  Join us each Monday as we watch this incredible story unfold.

• Chapter One
• Chapter Two
• Chapter Three
• Chapter Four
  

Sweet Dreams – Chapter Five

Emma was slowly growing accustomed to her new surroundings. Things may not be as she would wish, but they were a far side better then they were. At least she no longer had to worry about where she and Benjamin were to live.

And when she grew discouraged, she reminded herself how far she had come in just these past few weeks.

She glanced around the kitchen where she had been baking since her son left for school this morning. She scrunched up her nose. All right, it wasn’t the Ritz.

A brown stain was forming in the ceiling which meant that Maria Rodriquez’s sink was leaking again. And Mr. Timberman next-door had kept her up past midnight with the television blaring. Medicare didn’t cover hearing aids, he had told her.

But it was safe and for that she was thankful.

She pulled out a mixing bowl and thought about her new set of friends at the soup kitchen. She volunteered there twice a week making pastries. It had quickly become her favorite time of the week. Everyone was always so encouraging and cheerful. It was a balm to her soul, especially on the days that she let the devil in to taunt her with fears about the bleakness of her future.

“Keep your mind on the present,” Ava once counseled. “St. Francis de Sales once put it…

“Have no anxiety about tomorrow, for God Who reigns today will rein
tomorrow. Either He will shield you from adversity, or if He allow it to come upon you, He will give you unfailing strength to endure it. Be at peace, then, and put aside all anxious thoughts and imaginings.

“Let the Lord worry about what’s down the pike.  He’s responsible for you, just as you’re responsible to your child. You wouldn’t let Benjamin go without the things he needs and neither will God abandon you in your needs.”

Emma held that thought tight to her heart. And as Ava had predicted, God did not abandon them.  He had provided her with a job! The Main Street Deli had given her a weekly standing order of a dozen fruit pies. It wouldn’t make her rich, but it would pay the utility bill with a little left over for an occasional movie matinee. She knew how much Benjamin enjoyed the movies.

Father Joe had just smiled, when she told him.

“A God-incidence,” he said and she agreed.

Surprisingly, the apartment’s closet size open kitchen was working out quite well. She had moved the long, maple kitchen table in front of the small row of cabinets to use as an island.

Emma sprinkled a soft coating of flour over the pine surface made smooth by decades of use. She loved this piece of furniture that had meant more to her than all the Thomasville pieces that Jerry had insisted fill their home.

It had belonged to Aunt Emma, her name sake who had shared her love of baking with her as a child. Whenever she rolled out pie dough or mix a cake on its scarred wooden surface, she would think of her standing in a flowered housedress and white apron, her eyes as soft as a dove as she shared a special recipe or a technique. Emma’s wooden recipe box was filled with her aunt’s cooking secrets.

The pie recipe that she was now using had been her Aunt’s.

Taking the heal of her hand, Emma gently flattened a ball of dough, as she mused how things had come full circle. The pies that Aunt Emma had taught her to make right at this table now provided her with a small income.

She had been baking for hours, lost in these sweet childhood memories when the phone rang. She dusted the flour off her hands but still managed to leave a white smudge on the receiver as she lifted it to her ear.

“Hello.”

“Is this Mrs. Smith?”

“Yes…”

“Mrs. Smith, this is Principal Tate at Madison Central High. I’ve just been informed by our attendance office that your son, Benjamin is missing from class.”

“Missing?” Slivers of fear stuck in her throat. Jerry had been missing.

Dear God. If Benjamin wasn’t in school, where was he?

“In fact, Benjamin hasn’t attended classes for the last three weeks.”

“Three weeks?!” she exploded. “And you’re only calling me now to let me know?”

“In fact, we tried to call you several times. But your answering machine isn’t working.”

The machine sat beside the phone. On a hunch, she slid open the case and exhaled in frustration. The tape was missing. Suddenly, it became clear.

“Mr. Tate, I have no idea where he is, but I can assure you that I will know by the end of the day.” Anger fueled by Benjamin’s deception burned hot. “I can also assure you that I will get an explanation about where he’s been all this time.”

The call ended with Principal Tate extending an open invitational to assist her if there was anything that he could do to help.

She thanked him and hung up, vacillating between concerns for Benjamin’s safety and blind fury. Deep down, however, she really wasn’t too surprised.

Benjamin had made it very clear that he hated Madison and the kids that went there. They had argued about nothing else since the move. Not that she could blame him. This was his senior year. He had worked hard to maintain a perfect 4.0 average and was up for a full scholarship to Penn State which he was in danger of loosing with the school change. The courses he needed to complete in compliance with Penn’s admission requirements were not available at Madison.

She sank down on a kitchen stool. This was partly her fault.

She had tried to find a way for Benjamin to remain at Canfield High. She had contacted Mr. Sands, the principal and pleaded with him to allow Benjamin to finish out his senior year. There was only five more months until graduation, she reminded him. His classes were set. It wasn’t as though he was taking up another student’s place. He was a good student. But her pleas had fallen on deaf ears.

“Mrs. Smith,” he said with the infuriating tone of one speaking to the mentally impaired. “You originally moved to this area because we have the top rated schools in the county, am I correct?”

She had never liked the short, myopic, man with the Napoleon complex who felt his position as principal of Canfield High reflected his superior academic skills when in fact, it simply reflected his grandfather’s influence as the District Superintendent.

Since the question was a rhetorical one, she didn’t bother answering.

“Everyone would like to see their child take advantage of our wonderful academic environment,” Sands droned on. “But rules are rules and must be maintained. If I made an exception for your son, I’d have to make the same exception for others. You, do see where I’m going with this, don’t you?”

Straight to hell?

But loosing her temper would not have helped Benjamin’s cause. Instead, she took a deep breath and in her most pleasant voice, reminded him of Benjamin’s fine academic record, and his chance at a full scholarship.

“Mr. Sands, my son’s entire future rests on his ability to finish out his senior year here and complete the course requirements for Penn State. Can’t you find it in your heart to let him stay?  No one other than us need to know.”

He tilted his head forward, zeroing in on her face over his reading glasses. His expression was that of having swallowed something foul.

“You are wrong, Mrs. Smith. Very wrong because I would know.”

With a dismissive wave of his hand, he went back his paperwork. “Now if you don’t mind, I have other things to attend to.”

There really wasn’t anything else she could have done.  Or was there?

A half dozen empty pies shells lined the counter waiting to be filled with the berries she had purchased fresh this morning at the farm stand just outside of town. She had fingered her rosary all the way out. The car was coughing and spitting more than usual lately and there was certainly no extra money to have it repaired.

She ran her hands through her hair and pulled.

Car repairs, utility bills and food stamps that never made it to the end of the month. Hadn’t she enough on her plate without Benjamin taking off for parts unknown?

Frustration, anger, disappointment merged. She needed to throw something. She looked around. Tears formed behind the lids, realizing that there was nothing in the entire apartment that could be spared to a fit of rage.

If she was a woman who swore, now would be the perfect time to let it rip.

Her eyes settled on the row of empty pie shells. More tears. If she left them at this stage, they’d all be ruined which meant that she would have to begin from scratch and loose any profit that she had been counting on.

Would this nightmare over money ever end?

But motherhood came before finances, she reasoned.

“Wait until I get my hands on you Benjamin Smith.”

She washed her hands and grabbed the car keys.  The question was…where should she start looking?

A familiar heart arrhythmias kicked in. She slipped into a sweat jacket, trying to ignore the uneven rhythm. One of these days, when she had some extra money, ha, ha, ha…she would get it checked out. But for now, she forced herself to stay calm. Anxiety only made it worse.

She stepped out into the hallway and paused to utter a quick prayer for help although she was pretty certain that God had better things to do with His time that find a truant teenager.

Then the strangest thing happened.  On the wings of the prayer, she felt a sudden urge to call Canfield High.  She closed the apartment door, ignoring the strange notion and kept heading down the corridor, but the thought persisted. Finally, she headed back to her apartment and dialed the school.

The school’s secretary remembered her right away.

“How nice to hear that you’re up and about Mrs. Smith. I hope you’re feeling better. Benjamin was just saying this morning that you’ve come down with a terrible case of the flu and that’s why you haven’t been in to fill out his paperwork.

So, that’s where he’s been.

“We’re so thrilled about your good news,” the secretary continued.

“Good news?” What good news?

“Imagine your late Aunt leaving you all that money so you could buy back your old home.  I bet you’re thrilled to be out of that terrible apartment house.”

At three o’clock, Emma was standing in front of the school, leaning against the rusted car that Benjamin hated along with everything else about their new lifestyle while working to keep her temper in check. She hadn’t bothered to change from the sweats covered in flour or the stained apron. She had been too busy baking so they wouldn’t be sitting in the dark.

The dismissal bell sounded. Students poured out of the main doors. She spied him as soon as he stepped out of the front entrance. She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “Benjamin! Over here!”

He looked up. The color drained from of his checks as he tucked his head down and headed over.

“You are soooo busted,” Emma said, opening the passenger side door to the rusting sedan. The hinges squealed. She remembered the can of   “Two and One” oil in the backseat. She had forgotten to oil them.

“Nice car, Mrs. Smith,” a group of boys snickered.

“Thanks for embarrassing me in front of my friends,” Benjamin hissed. “Are you happy, now?”

She slammed his door. “About as happy as I was when Madison’s principal called to say that you had been missing for three weeks. And we won’t even get into how the answering machine tape had been removed and the number of jobs that I might have missed because of it.”

“It’s not like anyone would have hired you,” he snapped.

“Watch it. You’re on very shaky ground,” she warned. Her temper had been stretched to the limit.

He slouched down encased in a stony silence.

Neither spoke a word on the ride home, but once they walked through the apartment door, Emma tore into him.

“Where do you get off lying your way back into Canfield? Did it ever occur to you that someone would eventually find out and then what?  If Mr. Sands had discovered your little scheme, he would have had you charged with criminal trespassing. Now that would look great on your college application, don’t you think? I’ve also discovered that it would be in his right to charge us a fee for the days that you’ve attended. Where did you expect that money to come from? And we won’t even get into how worried I was when Mr. Tate called and said that you had been missing for these past three weeks.”

Benjamin fired back.  “Some school you want me to attend. It takes them three weeks to figure out that I’m missing.”

“That’s not the point.”

“No, it’s not,” he said hotly, slamming his books across the kitchen table, sending a nest of empty pie tins rattling to the floor.

“Madison is filled with losers. I want to be somebody and that’s not going to happen if my diploma reads, Madison High.”

“I know you’re disappointed,” she said, softening.

Her heart ached for her son. None of this was his fault, really. Like her, he was a victim of circumstances. His father’s disappearance. Their plunge into poverty. The policy at Canfield. It was horrible. All of it.

But a part of her wondered if it wasn’t time that he learned that not everything in life was always fair, and that sometimes, we simply had to make the best of the hand that we’ve been dealt. Granted, it was a hard lesson for a boy so young, but she would be remiss as a parent if she didn’t teach him that we must face life challenges, unlike his father who had elected to run.

“I’m disappointed for you, too, but that doesn’t mean that because life has thrown you a curveball that you’re out of the game. There are other schools. Other ways to meet your dreams.”

“Like a state college?” he snarled. “It’s not just about courses. It’s about making contacts. Dad knew that. That’s why he always said to aim for a top school.”

“Your dad said a lot of things that have proven false,” she said and instantly regretted the comment. She had made herself a promise never to speak negatively against Jerry. He still was the boy’s father.

“So, you want me to accept this, is that what you’re saying?” he challenged.

“I’m saying that your focus should be on what’s in here” She thumped her chest. “Not a particular college. There are lots of entrepreneurs who had made it big and who never went to college.

“Instead of seeing this as a negative experience, why not view it as an opportunity to turn it over to God and see where He takes it?  With His help there’s no limit to what you can do, with or without a prestigious college education.”

“You sound like one of those street corner evangelists,” he said in dismissal. “I don’t know what’s happened to you. You never used to be religious. Pretty soon you’ll be dragging me to that stupid church of yours, or want me to help out at that soup kitchen you spend so much time at, surrounded by other losers.”

“Is that who you think? That I’m a loser?”

“I think that you’ve accepted all of this. But I never will.  I will go to Penn State no matter what it takes because, unlike you, I will never just lie down and die.  One day I will be rich.  Filthy rich because in the end that’s all that matters.”

“Benjamin! You can’t really believe that?”

“Oh, can’t I?  Money rules the world, mom. More importantly, it allows you to chart your own destiny, and I can assure you that when I’ve made it, I will never have to count on anybody every again. Not you. Not dad. No one.”

At that moment, it was like staring at Jerry. He had that same look whenever she had suggested that money was not the standard that should be use to measure one’s life. Regrettably, she saw now that she should have been more forceful in defending her belief.

For years, she had passively stood by and ignored how her husband had tried to define their family by a stream of luxury cars, enormous home, exclusive country club memberships. Look what it had gotten him? He had abandoned his family.  He was wanted by the law as a felon. She would not let her son travel down the same path to destruction.

“There is more to life than money,” she said, emphatically.

“Said by the woman who now bakes pies for a living,” he sneered. “How many do you need to meet this month’s electric bill?”

“That’s not fair.”

“Fair. You want to talk about fair?  Life in this dump is not fair.” He kicked the wall. “It’s pathetic and I won’t accept it. So, if I have to lie to get what I want, I will do it.”

With a sense of defeat, she sank into a chair. Had he learned nothing from his father’s past sins?

“Please, don’t say that Benjamin.”

“It’s the truth, so get over it.”

“Benjamin!” He had crossed a line. She would not allow him to speak to her this way.

“Don’t you take that tone with me! I’m not the villain here. It was your father that left us in this fix, not me, and in case you haven’t noticed, I’m trying my best to get us through this.” She regretted the words as soon as they left her lips.

“Well, apparently your best isn’t good enough,” he yelled back.

She had had enough. Having compassion for the way he was hurting was one thing. Allowing him to be rude? That she would no longer tolerate. She jumped out of the chair and pointed a finger in the direction of their only bedroom. Emma slept on the couch.

“Go to your room and stay there until you can be civil again.”

“I don’t have to listen to you,” he snarled.  “I’m eighteen. I’m not a minor anymore. ”

“As long as you live under this roof, you most certainly do,” she said, fueled by a sudden burst of red, hot anger. How dare he speak to her that way? Hurt or not, she was still his mother and he would respect her.

“And you will finish out your senior year at Madison. I’m sorry, Benjamin. I know it’s not fair, but I don’t make the rules.”

“The hell with you! And the hell with this place!”  He scooped up his backpack and tore out of the apartment.

She raced after him. “Benjamin, come back here!”

He bolted down the hall and shoulder slammed the front door then disappeared.

Great, you really handled that well, she thought, rubbing her forehead.

Where had she gone wrong? Why couldn’t she get through to him, make him see that his father’s lifestyle was not something to be emulated, but pitied? It was shallow and hollow and without substance, certainly not the kind of life she wanted for Benjamin.

She headed back to her apartment, closed and double locked the door, then leaned her head against its cool metal frame, wishing that she could afford a bottle of wine. Right now a tall, glass would be most welcomed. Instead, she settled for a cup of tea. She filled the teapot, set it on the stove and waited for it to boil while her anger slowly ebbed like an outgoing tide.

Why had she allowed her temper to get the best of her instead of focusing on how much Benjamin had been made to endure these last four months?  His dad’s disappearance. The move. A new school during his senior year.  Even at eighteen, it was a lot to handle.

She also worried about college. His heart was set on attending Penn State which was only a reality if he received a full scholarship and that would only happen if he was reinstated back at Canfield.

But even then, there would be traveling expenses and money for books and non-essentials. It would mean more sacrifices, but she would find a way to cover it.

If  Benjamin received just a partial scholarship, however,  there was no way she could make up the difference. Financial aid was not an option. Government officials were watching her closely to see if she had access to the bank’s missing money. She had already been informed that if she needed to apply for financial aid for college tuition, it would be a nightmare. She would be required to produce a ream of paperwork that verified their former lifestyle was no longer applicable and that there was no off shore bank accounts.

She wished.

She waited for the water to boil and went back to baking. There were still four more pies that needed to be baked.

As she measured out flour and lard, she consoled herself with the thought that the best thing for Benjamin right now was to be given time to cool off. He’d be back when he had calmed down. Then they’d talk. Makeup.

The kettle sang. She poured her tea, carrying it back to the table and took several sips before setting it a safe distance from the work area. Using a pastry blender, she began to work lard and butter into the flour, watching for little beads to form.

While she worked, she rehashed their conversation again and again. First berating herself for allowing her temper to flare. Benjamin was just mouthing off to show his deep hurt. Then quickly vacillating onto the deep hurt she felt at his indifference for how hard she had worked to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table.

Granted it wasn’t the kind of lifestyle that he had grown up with; the one he felt entitled to, but she had kept them together. They were a family, even if a fractured one.

She slipped the last pies into the oven making certain that the edges didn’t touch; set the timer then grabbed a sponge and began to scrub down the work area.

Benjamin had been right on one count. She should have been able to care for him better. If only she had refused to give in to Jerry’s ‘there’s no need for you to work. I make more than enough’, she would have had a career, been able to keep their home, then Benjamin wouldn’t have been made to leave Canfield.

It was a useless train of thought, she realized since there was no undoing the past, but it persisted until she felt herself sliding into a dark, funk.

She went about restoring order to the tiny kitchen while keeping a steady eye on the stove’s clock. She’d give Benjamin his space; let him blow off some steam as long as he was safely inside the apartment before it got dark. The surrounding streets were dangerous and Benjamin was hardly street wise.

As the late afternoon ebbed into dusk, she felt the first stirrings of concern and began to make calls to his friends. None had seen him. Did they know where he might have gone? No, but they promised to call if he showed up.

When the clock registered seven, concerned turned into full blown worry. She rummaged through her purse, found the car keys and headed out. Hoodlums and miscreants appeared like cockroaches along the business district after dark. If that’s where Benjamin had gone, he was certain to be tagged as an easy target.

Fortunately, the Buick was parked just outside. The area around the apartment house wasn’t much safer. She climbed in and locked the doors. Main Street was just four blocks over but there was no way she was hoofing it by foot.

She cruised her way along Main Street at a crawl, but it was nearly impossible to make out anything in the darkened spaces. Behind her, impatience drivers blared their horns. Finally, she found a parking space under one of the few lighted streetlamps and as much as she hated it, decided to set out on foot.

Most of the buildings were boarded up. The few that remained were closed and gated after dark. Except for the raised voices of those gathered on corners, an eerie silence had settled along the avenue punctuated by the muffled sound of her footsteps.

She scoured the diner and the video arcade. She’d even peeked into the hamburger place where she had applied and found herself wondering what had she been thinking, working here at night.

Except for the girl who had beaten her out of the job and was flirting with the young manager, the place was empty.

Pockets of light became further spaced apart as she drew to the end of the main thoroughfare. Most of the streetlamps had either burnt out or had been shot out. Either way, the town was in no hurry to replace them.

She had bravely checked out both sides of the street, showing Benjamin’s photo to those who didn’t look too frightening while intermittently, shining a flashlight into cavernous holes while praying that she wouldn’t uncover a drug deal going down or something worse.

There was no sign of her son.

Her car was parked about a half mile further up the road. She decided to head back, formulate a new plan.

“Hey, what’s up mama?”

Two youths stepped out of the darkness. One wore a skullcap and had a gold tooth. The other was dressed in baggy jeans and a black tee shirt that was tied with a red “rag”.  He looked vaguely familiar.

The taller of the two with the gold tooth circled round with a swagger, eying her up and down. “You ain’t from ‘round here, now are ya little lady?”

“Maybe she’s lost and needs an escort home,” his friend offered, folding his arms across his chest to study her more closely.

Fear tightened like a noose. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe.

This section of the street was completely deserted. They were standing near a darkened alleyway.  She eyed it nervously.

“Please, let me pass.”

They came together and blocked her path.

“The lady wants to pass,” they laughed, pushing their faces close against her check.     They smelled of liquor and something sweet and sickly that she couldn’t place.

“I’ve been looking for my son,” she explained, forcing her voice to sound normal.

She must let them see her fear.  She reached inside her pocket and withdrew Benjamin’s photo.  If she could divert their attention, she might be able to make a break for it.

“He’s about this high,” she leveled a shaky hand a few inches over her head. “Blonde hair. Stocky build. His name is Benjamin. He was wearing a dark blue pullover and khaki pants.”

“Juan, you seen any dudes wearing ‘khaki’ pants?”

Juan? That’s how she knew him. He was Maria Rodriquez’s son.

The revelation brought a new flush of fear. She knew he was prone to violence. Maria was terrified of him, and Ava had bared him from the apartment building.

“What are khaki pants?”

“White folk’s sense of style,”    Juan laughed.

“But this little lady has lots of style.” His friend grabbed a fistful of her hair and forced her head back. “I think we should get to know each other a little better.”

“Let me go!” she reached back, trying to free his hand.

Please God, help me.

“Let me go, or I’ll start screaming!”
They both laughed.

“Ain’t no one going to come to rescue you here.” He tightened his hold, bringing tears to her eyes. “Ain’t that right, Juan?”

“My man’s speaks the truth. There ain’t no one along this entire street that cares what we do to you.”

“Yes there is,” a deep bass voice sounded.

Her capture pushed her away and reached inside his back pocket for a knife.

“Donny?” she cried in surprise, breaking free and racing to his side.

Donny sometimes helped out at the soup kitchen when he wasn’t propped against a doorway, liquored up. But as much as she appreciated his intervention, he was hardly a match against these two. Donny was reed thin and constantly wheezed with the slightest exertion due to his two-pack-a-day cigarette habit.

“You serious man?”  Juan laughed. “Put away the knife,” he told his partner. “I could take him with one hand tied behind my back.”

Donny wedged himself between Emma and the men. “Get out of here, Miss Em.”

She paused, reasoning the unlikelihood of him coming out alive in a brawl with these twos.

He saw her hesitate and shouted, “Go!”

Adrenaline overrode reasoning. She took off on the run, squelching the temptation to turn around when she heard Donny yell out in pain. Halfway down the street, she spied a phone booth. She yanked the folding door open, dumped her purse full of coins on the metal shelve and placed a call to 911.

“Hurry, please. They’re going to kill him,” she told the dispatcher.

“Ma’am, I want you to stay put until the officer arrives. There’s a squad car in your area with an ETA of five minutes.”

She hung up and sprinted towards her car. Five minutes would be too late for Donny.

She slid into her car, gunned the engine and headed back, not really sure of her plan, but knowing that she couldn’t just stand idle by, waiting for a cop to show up while they pummeled Donny senseless.

For the first time, she was grateful for the old clunker which felt more like an armored car. The hoods didn’t notice the car until she was on them. She ran it over the curb, the headlights catching the threesome wrestling on the ground.

She leaned down hard on the horn, hoping to scare them away.

Donny looked up. Surprisingly, he was holding his own.

Join us next Monday for the next chapter of Sweet Dreams by Katherine Valentine.

• Chapter One
• Chapter Two
• Chapter Three
• Chapter Four

Copyright 2009 Katherine Valentine