The Pursuit: Introducing the Haven Acres Story

Contents

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 44

EPILOGUE

APPENDIX A

APPENDIX B

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The writing of a novel, I have discovered, is not simply a matter of telling a story. That was the fun part for me. The tough part fell on others who would read the manuscript with a critical eye. I am grateful to Bob McDonald who read the chapters as I typed them offering his wordsmithing skills to sharpen description and probing questions to clarify the consistency of time and place. Virginia Almquist tackled spelling and punctuation with her strict attention to detail. Then Wendy Charles wielded her fine tooth comb to pick up the straggly hairs missed by the rest of us. For consultation on the educational environment I turned to my sister-in-law, Margie Barkey, retired teacher, to correct my naiveté in describing the school scene. My wife, Marge, deserves more gratitude than I can possibly deliver for her longsuffering during the hours that I spent on the computer cranking out another paragraph instead of enjoying her companionship.

Finally, I wish to acknowledge my eternal indebtedness to my God whose unconditional love is the foundation this Pursuit

Now of that long pursuit Comes on at hand the bruit; That Voice is round me like a bursting sea: And is thy earth so marred, Shattered in shard on shard? Lo, all things fly thee, for thou fliest Me! Strange, piteous, futile thing, Wherefore should any set thee love apart? Seeing none but I makes much of naught, He said, And human love needs human meriting, How hast thou merited— Of all man’s clotted clay the dingiest clot? Alack, thou knowest not How little worthy of any love thou art! Whom wilt thou find to love ignoble thee Save Me, save only Me? All which I took from thee I did but take, Not for thy harms. But just that thou might’st seek it in my arms. All which thy child’s mistake Fancies as lost, I have stored for thee at home; Rise, clasp My hand, and come!

Francis Thompson

Hound of Heaven

By education most have been misled, So they believe, because they were so bred: The priest continues what the nurse began And thus the child imposes on the man.

-John Dryden The Hind and the Panther

CHAPTER 1

BRUNSVILLE, IOWA TUESDAY, AUGUST 20, 1974

The air felt like steam as Brad Crosley opened the door of his air-conditioned Thunderbird. A hot August wind was rubbing the rough elm leaves together in a subdued accompaniment for the human drama below. Going around to the passenger side, he opened the door and loosened the strap that was holding Gerald in his car seat. The little fellow had fallen asleep during the four-hour trip from Davenport. Gently, though a bit inexpertly, he lifted the limp baby and held him against his shoulder, catching the handle of the diaper bag with his free hand. With his heel he nudged the car door closed and, for an instant, his eyes photographed the scene as through a fish-eye lens.

Before him lay a quiet, tree-lined street—a photo copy of hundreds like it in the rural Midwest. Behind the green honor guard stood two and three-story homes with wide, screened-in porches. Well-manicured lawns and evenly-clipped hedges provided a definite identity for each property. A dune buggy roared past, dragging the silence away.

Prodded by the stinging rays of the midday sun, Brad walked up a sidewalk that led to a house of much-duplicated design. Its one claim to distinction was a screen door hanging precariously from a hinge. A movement by a window let Brad know that his arrival had been noticed, though he would have to go through the formality of knocking and being welcomed with a voice of surprise. Crossing the porch quietly, his elbow served as a lever to open the dangling screen door. He was about to knock when he noticed a rusted handle in the middle of the door. With a twist, the bell officially announced the arrival of Brad Crosley and son, Gerald, to Brunsville, a tranquil village in Iowa’s Corn Belt. The door opened almost instantly.

Mr. Crosley! How good to see you! Mabel Henry sang. And look at the little cherub, would you? Poor little fella. Slept all the way, did he?

Nice to see you, too, Mrs. Henry. He’s a good little traveler. No problem at all. Fortunately, Brad thought. He was aware of his masculine limitations in his attempt to assume the roles of both mother and father.

Here, lay him down on my bed while you’re getting your things. Your room is all ready for you. I’ll have some iced tea ready in a minute. It’s a blistering one today.

Brad was sure that he and Gerald would be happy staying in the Henry home. He would have to be careful that Mabel’s doting motherliness would not trump his relationship with Gerald. He would make certain that they would not become mere fellow boarders.

When Brad first spoke with Mabel about providing room and board, she had informed him that she and her husband, Sid, had homesteaded several miles outside of Brunsville. The Good Lord was good to us, Mabel had told Brad. Had some bad years, but the good years more than took care of them. My man worked hard. Had a herd of pure-bred Guernseys. Did real well but put in a lot of work, too. We all did.

The Henry’s had been blessed with six boys.Lost my second boy when he was about the size of yours there. Had whooping cough. Poor little guy. Was ten feet of snow on the road. The doctor lived thirty miles away. Couldn’t do a thing.

While Brad sipped his glass of tea and munched on freshly-baked brownies, Mabel recited her past, to which he paid more than polite attention. The Henrys had moved to town some 15 years before because Sid had developed arthritis. Besides, the boys were eager to take over the farm. As added incentive, the boys bought the house for the parents to live in. Five years later, Sid passed away. Since then, Mabel had rented rooms, mostly to school teachers.

The story ended. Mabel put down her glass and looked at Brad expectantly—a look that affirmed to Brad what he had been suspecting all along. The pump was being primed. Mabel’s eagerness for inside dope on Brunsville’s new elementary school principal was only thinly camouflaged. Brad knew only too well that the small town grapevine would have the party line open. In a matter of hours, the brand of his underwear would be common knowledge. He would inevitably have to reciprocate. After all Mabel had revealed exciting tidbits of her past. Certainly a young man would have something eventful in his past—especially a young man who was caring for an infant alone.

Of course, Mabel knew about Gerald. Brad had carefully screened several possible housing situations in Brunsville when the school board offered him his contract. He had been impressed with Mabel as a prospective foster mother for Gerald. She had been elated at the possibility of raisin’ another youngun. Brad had avoided explaining the fate that had thrown him into this double role of mother/father. He had only stated that he was alone now and would have to fulfill both roles for Gerald. Mabel’s response was sympathetic, though obviously alert for more grist for the gossip mill. Mabel now gazed at him over her spectacles as she replaced a wisp of grey hair that had fallen in her line of vision.

So what, thought Brad. I have nothing to hide. It’s not my fault I’m stuck with a five-month old baby boy. Brad swirled the melting ice around in his glass and crossed his legs.

I really don’t know much about you, Mr. Crosley, Mabel finally blurted.

Well, there really isn’t a whole lot to tell, Mrs. Henry, Brad modestly began. The facts slowly tumbled out as Mabel recorded them on her mental tape. Twenty-five years old… Presbyterian…Played a little basketball in high school… Masters degree from Walden University…Taught English literature at Central High in Davenport…Father successful lawyer…Older sister married to a young executive at 3M…Younger brother studying engineering at the University of Iowa…Mother partially paralyzed as a result of a stroke.

Mabel refilled their glasses. The oscillating fan in the corner complained a little as it threw the sultry air back where it came from. Brad knew that he had not related all that Mabel wanted to know. Gerald’s existence was yet unexplained. Brad took a long swallow of the cool brew, then grasped the glass with both hands as he rested his elbows on the arms of the old Captain’s chair. His eyes looked past Mabel’s when he finally spoke.

Stella and I were married almost a year ago. In fact, our anniversary is a week from Sunday. We were happy together. We had our little scraps but we got along better than some of our friends did. When Gerald was born, something changed drastically in Stella. She acted as though she hated him. She refused to care for him.

Now Brad’s eyes met Mabel’s. For an instant he saw a woman of deep comprehension seasoned by years of identity with people who had faced life head on. They had learned to accept circumstances, if not as the will of the Almighty, at least as obstacles that could be overcome and lived with. Mabel, the town gossip, the scandal-seeker, was really Mabel, the empathizer, the confidant. Without looking away, Brad continued.

About two months ago I came home to hear Gerald screaming his head off. I thought it strange that I didn’t hear Stella’s shouting above the din. I made my way to the crib to find the baby alone. My nose indicated that he had not been changed for possibly several hours. I bent over to pick him up. Then I found this note pinned to the filthy diaper.

Brad opened his billfold and slid a piece of paper from behind a picture of what Mabel noticed to be a pleasingly attractive young woman. He unfolded the note and held it toward the ageing lady on the other side of the table. He had never shown the note to anyone until now. Mabel took the note, adjusted her spectacles, then glanced at Brad as if discerning that what she was about to read was not meant for public consumption. Brad’s return glance reassured her.

Dearest Brad, I don’t expect you to understand the meaning of this. I am neither wife nor mother. Why should I keep trying to kid myself? I can’t take it any longer. Don’t blame yourself.You were too kind. Goodbye forever, Stella

The calloused hands carefully folded the note at its creases, held it between thumb and index finger for a moment as if to see if there was even one calorie of human warmth in its content. As Mabel pushed the note back toward Brad, a little whimper came from Gerald’s direction as he was putting the finishing touches on his afternoon nap.

Well, the little fella’s going to have his first look at his new home. Don’t worry about a thing, Mr. Crosley. Me and the little guy’ll get along just fine. Ma Henry didn’t raise six boys without learning something about bringing them up. You’ll be proud of little Gerald. Just leave him to me.

Brad did not reply as he stepped toward the old crib that Mrs. Henry had drug out of the attic, special for the baby. He lifted the crying boy to his shoulder and said to himself, No, I’m not leaving this little guy to anyone. Mabel will be a big help, but this boy is my responsibility. Brad had already thought through what he was going to do and how he would work with Mabel to form the character of the little life that had been thrust into his hands. He would not trouble Mabel just now with his plans.

Now, little fellow, to get those pants changed and your tummy filled up.

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.

William Shakespeare A Midsummer Night’s Dream

CHAPTER 2

The scent of freshly mown grass mixed itself with the perfume of lilacs. The dew coated the clover and flowers with a solution that changed to silvery glitter in the rays of the morning sun. Brad stepped out to the porch and down the steps, leaving the screen door dangling on one hinge. He would offer to repair it for Mrs. Henry, knowing well that there would likely follow a list of handyman jobs. What of it? She was really going to give herself to care for Gerald. What he paid for board and room would be small reward for that.

His mind flashed back to the several questions that had haunted him since he had found Stella’s note. Why did she leave without a hint of anything wrong? How would he be able to care for Gerald alone? What did I say or do that made her think that she was a failure as a mother or wife? Will I be able to suppress my anger toward her enough to do my job? All of these emotions had been shoved under the carpet while he gave priority to the interviews that led to his signing of the contract with the Brunsville Consolidated School District.

He was now walking toward the newly constructed school building to look over the plant and his new surroundings. His misgivings continued to surface. Could he really handle the administration? Sure, he had his degree. He had observed administrators, both bad and good. He knew that knowledge could be several steps behind experience. He also wondered about how the community would view his current domestic situation. Would this conservative community embrace a separated man? The board, of course, had talked about this issue, but did they really express how they felt? Were they hard up for a principal? They were still looking long after most candidates would have already signed contracts. Brad reminded himself that he would not have been available if Stella’s abrupt departure had not forced him to seek a situation in which he and Gerald could build a new life.

Where is Stella now? Does she love him at all? Is it really her inability to cope with the responsibilities of being wife and mother? Or is it something else? He wanted to reach out to her, to pull her close so he could hear her tell him exactly how she felt.

A janitor saw him approaching and opened the glass door. After introducing themselves, Brad made his way to the office. A few workmen could be heard making some last minute repairs at the end of one of the wings. No one was around as the new principal let himself into the inner office. The school board had spared no expense in providing furnishings and equipment. He pulled the cord that opened the curtains. A stage of green carpet lay before him, dotted with flowering shrubs. Flowers had been planted in an intricate arrangement that boldly announced the school emblem—a coat of arms with the letters B C S highlighted in bright yellow mums.

The black leather and chrome swivel chair drew him seductively. As he sank into its embrace, his mind returned to Stella. He thought how uncannily Providence had brought them together. His mind turned back the pages of the calendar to August of the previous year.

It was a hot sultry night in Davenport. The air felt like it had been used so much that the elements had been replaced by hot asphalt, exhaust fumes, and sweat. He had been walking aimlessly along the busy streets as faceless people popped in and out of air conditioned stores and restaurants. Noisy motorcycles, sirens, screeching brakes combined to bombard his ears. There must be some place to go to get away from all of this, he told himself. He remembered quickening his pace a bit as he rounded a corner. A bright neon sign caught his attention. BOWL’EM OVER. And just as importantly, underneath were the words Air Conditioned.

The cool air was a welcome relief along with the more pleasing sounds of crashing pins and good natured laughter. He recalled inhaling deeply as if trying to draw the lively atmosphere into his soul. He was a loner. He had his friends but always kept them at a distance. Women had received their share of his attention but never had he found one with whom he could let down his guard.

He tried to bowl without letting his observation of people around him become too obvious. The lane on his right was occupied by two couples who seemed to be enjoying each other more than the game. On the other side was a group of college guys who taunted each other with uninhibited ribbing, spilling beer all over each other as they slapped backs as rewards for gutter balls and missed splits.

Brad picked up his score sheet, returned his ball, changed his shoes, paid the attendant, and then decided to have a drink before heading home. The snack bar was packed with heat and humidity dodgers. Every table was occupied. The bar stools were also taken. He looked around to catch some sign of someone preparing to leave.

Looking for a place to sit? a female voice from behind him asked.

Half twisting to see who had come to his rescue, Brad’s eyes met hers. He read the message in the look. It was not a come on that might be expected in such circumstances, but rather eyes that communicated genuine friendliness. The slightly turned up nose above a contagious smile revealed only the evenly matched tips of her teeth. She glanced up as her lips closed around two straws that led to an iced Coke, her eyes silently repeating the question.

Brad, a bit ill at ease, replied, Yes, uh, the place is busy tonight. Would you mind if I sit here? He reached for the chair opposite the congenial hostess who responded with a thought you’d never ask look.

Sit down. Be my guest. Looks like everyone is trying to escape the heat. Hope the air conditioning doesn’t cause a power failure.

What Brad lacked in fluency the girl more than compensated for. He felt at ease. Stella Norton was not overwhelming in beauty, but she had something that attracted him. What was the word for that? Poise? Yes, but that wasn’t quite it.

In what seemed to Brad only minutes, they had exchanged a considerable amount of information. Stella had just received her diploma in social work from the University of Iowa. She was having difficulty finding a position in her field since her transcript left much to be desired. Studying just wasn’t her thing. The Nortons were in the Des Moines social register. Dad paid the bills as long as she stayed out of sight. Mom was a fixture in the cocktail circuit with a few extra tonics on the sly. Fortunately, or unfortunately, she had no brothers or sisters to share the blight of her family’s social life.

Brad offered to see her to her apartment which she shared with two working girls. The hot, humid air hit them like a jet blast as they left the bowling alley. Brad felt that he was becoming Stella’s protector from the heat, her past and against the estrangement of her parents—against everything as she lightly held his hand. At the same time he sensed that she might hold the key that would release his pent-up self. As they neared the apartment building, they determined that they would see each other again. Tomorrow?

Have you seen The Sting? Brad asked.

No, not yet, but I’ve been wanting to since it won all of those Academy Awards.

Let’s go tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up at 6.

Great! Stella responded, giving his hand an extra squeeze.

Leaving Stella at the door, Brad had a sensation that was much more profound than that which he had experienced the first time he had kissed a girl. It was something that he could not really define. He hesitated to call it love. It was, well, something like a rosebud. Inside the green coat are the makings of a rose—the potential of beauty. It seemed to him that he and Stella had just that kind of potential.

Brad spent the next day working on lesson plans for the classes he would be teaching in the coming school year. His thoughts were often distracted by his anticipation of a night at the movies with Stella. Six o’clock could not come soon enough.

He had just purchased his new car with a bit of help from his father. Stella would be the first passenger in his Ford Thunderbird. It had been a dealer demo so it had all of the bells and whistles and less than a thousand miles on the odometer. He proudly pulled up to the curb in front of the apartment building where Stella and her roommates lived.

Brad bounded up the stairs to the entrance and pushed the buzzer for her apartment.

I’ll be right down, spoke the voice through the intercom.

Less than a minute later, the door opened and Stella, flashing a bright smile, took Brad’s arm as he ushered her to the waiting sports car. Like a uniformed chauffeur, he opened the door and held her hand as she gracefully settled into the passenger seat.

Wow! This is nice. It smells new.

It was in the showroom until just a few days ago.

The door was closed gently and Brad hurried around to the driver’s side and maneuvered his way into the seat behind the steering wheel. The air conditioner had cooled the interior of the car despite the 95 degree heat outside.

Brad’s heart skipped a beat as he glanced at his attractive companion. She wore a yellow print sundress that highlighted her fair skin. Her blond hair was swept back with a yellow bow that reminded him of a canary getting ready to sing. At a loss for words, he finally broke the silence.

How was your day? Any luck finding a job?

No. I filled out several applications. Hopefully something will turn up. How about you?

Just getting ready for the new school year, working on lesson plans, catching up on some reading, but mostly looking forward to tonight.

Brad carefully piloted the car into a parking space where he hoped his car would escape the dings from neighboring car doors. They walked hand in hand toward the theater just a block away.

After buying their tickets, they stopped at the refreshment counter to pick up a bucket of popcorn and drinks big enough to wash down the puffy snack and last the duration of the movie. They made their way into the darkened theater that was already filling up with patrons. Settled in their seats, they prepared themselves for a two-hour spectacle. The bucket was balanced between their knees and the cups were carefully placed on the floor permitting their fingers to be laced together. As the drama developed, the couple communicated their excitement by flexing and relaxing their grip. Through the suspense and the laughter they followed the twists and turns of the would-be crooks in their efforts to dodge the Mafia and escape the police. By the time the movie ended, their emotions had survived the roller coaster, leaving them giddy as they walked out of the theater with their arms around each other’s waist.

How’d you like the movie? Brad inquired.

Laughing, Stella replied, It was great! It was especially good enjoying it with you. She punctuated her remark with an extra hug.

You know? I have never enjoyed a movie so much in my life. What do you say we go get a burger somewhere?

Sounds good to me. Lead on, Prince Valiant.

They found a 50’s style diner complete with pictures of Marilyn Monroe, Frank Sinatra, Corvettes, Harley Davidson motorcycles, and hubcaps off of Hudsons, Nashes, and Studebakers

Brad and Stella found a booth in a corner where they could talk above the rock and roll music that blared through the sound system. A waitress wearing saddle oxfords, bobby socks, a poodle skirt and white blouse approached their table. They ordered hamburgers and malts and launched into a conversation that lasted until closing time. The proprietor locked the door behind them as they walked toward the parking lot. The trip back to Stella’s apartment didn’t last long enough for them to finish their attempts to get to know each other better.

Brad was determined to continue his desire to know more about her.

"Have you ever taken a cruise down the Mississippi on a paddle-wheeler?’

No, I haven’t. It sounds like fun.

How about tomorrow night?

I’ll be ready, Stella replied as she gave Brad a kiss on the cheek.

Marriage is like a flaming candle-light

Placed in the window on a summer’s night,

Inviting all the insects of the air

To come and singe their pretty winglets there;

Those that are out butt heads against the pane,

Those that are in butt to get out again.

Anonymous

CHAPTER 3

Footsteps in the outer office jolted Brad back to the present. He prepared himself for his imminent visitor.

A well-dressed man, perhaps three or four years older than he, stood in the doorway. Raising himself from the comfort of his swivel chair, Brad extended his hand which was received with a firm clasp.

Good morning, Mr. Crosley. I wanted to be one of the first to, at least informally, welcome you to Brunsville. I am Pastor Clark Chambers, pastor of the Community Chapel.

I am pleased to meet you, Pastor Chambers. And thank you for the warm welcome. Won’t you sit down?

Brad motioned toward a black leather settee, part of the smartly matching office furniture.

Well, just for a minute. I’m sure you have plenty to do so I’ll not occupy much of your time. I also have some other appointments this morning.

The clergyman sat down and Brad found a nearby matching chair. He hadn’t expected the church to take such immediate interest in him, unless rumors were making him out to be morally bankrupt.

Mabel Henry told me that I would find you here. She was showing off your little boy to the neighbors when I arrived. He’s quite a little guy!

Brad felt the pastor’s glance looking for clues of his reaction. He hoped that his signals were communicating a positive message.

Thank you. I am quite proud of my little Gerald.

You certainly have taken on a great challenge to be both mother and father to him. I admire your courage. I wish the best for you. I just want you to know that I am available to you if I can be of any assistance whatsoever.

Brad muttered something about his gratitude while inwardly thinking, I won’t be needing your help or anybody else’s, Pastor Chambers. I got myself into this mess and I’m going to get Gerald and myself through it.

Pastor Chambers abruptly stood up.

Well, I should be on my way. Mr. Crosley, I hope we might chat together sometime. You and I really have a lot in common, that is, in respect to our professions. We are both out-of-towners seeking to serve a community that is not certain that it wants to accept what we have to offer. We are working in a cultural setting very distinct from that in which we were raised and trained. Some of my classmates from seminary are serving in foreign countries, but I doubt that their adjustments culture-wise are much different than what we face in Brunsville.

You’re probably right, Brad replied, though feeling that the case was a bit overstated. We will have to compare notes once in awhile. I thank you for your visit. Shaking the pastor’s hand, he added, Do come again.

I’ll do that. Best wishes to you in your new role. May God grant you wisdom and courage.

Thanks. I’ll need plenty of both.

Brad stood gazing out over the sun-lit lawn until the last footsteps of his visitor had died away. How alien would he find this community to be? He had sought it out for its assumed tranquility. Could it be that behind the white-washed picket fences and neatly clipped hedges lived persons with archaic prejudices that would try to socially do him in? What legitimate judgments could they make without knowing the whole truth?

Brad’s thoughts went back to the thrilling days of getting to know Stella. The river cruise was a delightful experience. The moon laid its silvery carpet across the rippling water as if to accept a royal couple. The Dixieland Band accompaniment set the tone for a lighthearted evening. Brad and Stella joked like childhood friends. Stella’s self-confidence put Brad at ease. She patiently led him as they danced on the moonlit deck. She even graciously hid the pain as he clumsily stepped on her toes or kicked her ankle. They would laugh about it many times later. Brad enjoyed her laughter, her poise, her—whatever it was she was doing to him. The bud was beginning to open.

The old paddle-wheeler was eased into its mooring. The passengers disembarked laughing gaily, carrying with them the lighthearted aire of the cruise. Brad guided Stella toward his car. His life-long reticence to intimacy was thawing. The door was opening. He wanted to be released more than ever before. But release meant exposure and that meant fear. Stella had found the key to unlock the door. Fear of exposure began to dissipate. He felt assured that she would not laugh at the nakedness of his character. She would say…. Just what would she say? He would have to find out.

They would need to go somewhere secluded to be able to talk without distractions. Would Stella misunderstand his intentions? Her self-confidence made him feel that she had been around and likely would be anticipating what at least, she might think that he wanted. He would have to make sure that she would understand.

They were moving south along West River Road following the Mississippi River. Brad wanted a place where they could sit and talk. A place where they could shut out the world for awhile to sort out the scrambled thoughts and feelings of two persons, to see if they would find any affinity toward each other. He pulled into a grove of giant oaks satisfied that it was an unfrequented place. Brad was satisfied that his motive in being there was pure and felt that Stella, too, was convinced.

Brad planted his elbows on the uncluttered desk and rubbed his eyes as he recalled his bumbling efforts toward self-disclosure.

Stella, he began, I have a lot of things I would like to say to you.

Oh, yeah? she drawled as she laid her head back on the headrest.

Oh no, thought Brad, she’s probably heard that line a hundred times.

No, no. It’s not what you think. It’s … well…it’s just that since we met day before yesterday, I… I’ve felt… well, different. I mean… I’ve never really been close to anyone… you know…to really talk things over. I’ve never wanted to be close to anyone before. But now I feel like letting you meet Brad Crosley, that is…if you want to meet him. I think that perhaps in revealing him to you, I’ll get to know him too and discover that he’s not such a bad guy after all. Maybe even worth knowing.

Stella sat in silence but interlaced her fingers with Brad’s. She turned her face toward Brad. In an instant a beam of light moved across her face. Something glistened in her eyes. When she finally spoke, her voice choked slightly.

Yes. I want to meet the real Brad Crosley. I’m sure that he is worth knowing. And while we’re at it, may I present the real Stella Norton? Not the poised, self-confident Stella. That’s my camouflage. The Stella who is almost persuaded that life is just an aimless hodgepodge of stimuli. Someone who is trying to find something real to grasp onto. Is there anything really nailed down, Brad?

Stella settled under Brad’s arm. Her hair brushed his cheek—an invitation to rest his head on hers. Brad talked, sharing his feelings about himself, his aspirations, his failures, his view of life and his feelings toward her. Stella had listened patiently, punctuating his remarks with questions to draw him out more. The door was wide open. The emaciated, atrophied self was stretching itself to full height. The freedom he felt was exhilarating. He was elated that he, Brad Crosley, was really a person of value. Somehow Stella made him feel that way. His arm tightened around her shoulder in appreciation for his new found liberty.

‘Now, let’s meet Stella Norton," ended Brad

All right, she responded. Moving away from Brad, she braced herself against the passenger door, holding his hand in both of hers.

Brad, I’m glad that you have revealed yourself to me. I like what I have seen and heard. No one has ever been as honest with me as you have been. I have been cheated many times. Until tonight, I did not believe that there was one honest man left on earth. You don’t know how much it means to me to know such a man. Now, I’ve got to be honest with you. But what scares me is that you won’t like what you are going to hear. I probably shouldn’t feel that way since that attitude is the very thing you used to lock yourself in. Well, I’ll have to run the risk. I’ve lived a miserable existence, Brad. I have done almost everything imaginable.

"When I was 13, my parents introduced me to their parade of aristocratic friends. They thought it was cute for me to be paired off with a son of a high class family. Every party threw us together. There were weekend trips with his family to some