Justice and Mercy: Once upon a time...: Justice and Mercy, #1

For

Bud and Sally Miley

cousins extraordinaire!

Prologue

NEVER HAD THE NEWSPAPER's front page stared back at her, drawing her in so intensely, feeling strange and unfamiliar in her hands.  Its leading and vaguely expressed article spoke ominously in semi-silence rather than clearly with supportive details, as if imparting a secret while trying to reach an audience who would understand the meaning and then prompt courageous authorities to take some important action.  It was an evasive, restrained and dark message.  Several phrases stood out in relief on that warm August day in 1997.

...homeless mothers disappearing from the area ... sent from jail to the county's drug treatment facility for the indigent ... their preschool children ... rumors of adoption mills secretly selling the children ...local business men and women involved ...

There was no follow-up article in the days to come and no one seemed to be speaking about the one that surfaced, except for Rebecca.  She asked her friends if they'd read it.  Not many had.  Of those who did, most didn't want to deal with the possibilities and changed the subject.  Only a couple of acquaintances were willing to look deeper into whether this could be happening in their otherwise typical bedroom community called Markston that was often brushed off in conversation as a suburb of a nearby larger town, Devonport, that also took itself too seriously.

The only big cities were in adjacent counties where corruption of many kinds was entrenched and too easily ignored because resultant profits could be enormous.  Activities of this otherworld were kept quiet and generally unknowable by households of families who were already stretched to the limit in maintaining their normal lives.  They kept busy raising their children, going to work each day, taking care of their homes, interacting in their neighborhoods, recreating whenever time allowed—all the various things people tend to do until their worlds are turned upside down.

Chapter 1

YOU'RE HOME EARLY.  Rebecca wasn't really surprised by this.  Michael often showed up for a pit stop bite to eat before heading back to work at the city government building for an evening meeting or two, especially in the weeks when Devonport's next budget was being drafted.

Michael parked his briefcase inside the foyer closet and gave his wife a hug.  Yeah, but I've gotta get back by seven.  It shouldn't be a late night but who knows?

I don't have dinner started yet but I can make you a good sandwich.  What would you like?  I shopped a little today so we're pretty well stocked.

How about we just walk over to Los Amigos?  We haven't been there in awhile and they're fast.  It would give us a chance to talk for a bit without either of us rushing around to get something fixed.

Rebecca ran through her mind the list of her evening plans and replied, Sounds good to me.  Give me a second while I call Macie and let her know I've got the board minutes ready for tomorrow's meeting, OK?

Sure, Michael replied.  That'll give me time to wash up and get rid of this tie.  One of his all-time favorite date nights was dinner out, sitting across a table over good food while talking with Rebecca.  There were more occasions for that now that their three children were grown and off living their own lives.  But lately he and his wife hadn't had much time anyway, with Michael's budget meetings and Rebecca's preparations for the second season start-up of her children's chorus.

It was a warm late afternoon, one of the last vestiges of summer in the Pacific Northwest, perfect for a short stroll down the sidewalk to the old downtown storefront shops that were still struggling to stay viable and competitive with the newer strip malls nearby.  Markston city planners of late hadn't been kind to these long-time and loyal merchants.  Instead they had salivated over unrealistic expectations of larger tax revenues to spend, and so betrayed the merchants' trust by reneging on prior promises about where new shops could be located.  They courted and then allowed a big box stationery store to move in across the main street on the south end of town, the anchor for that particular mall with its huge and mostly empty parking lot.

Next door Devonport had stable industrial employers with its deep-water bay that serviced ships from all over the Pacific, including what was still breathing of yesteryear's once huge and dominating lumber industry.  Even Boeing had a substantial presence there.  Certain high-tech companies came in strong and later went away to other regions.  How it turned out for each of them depended on the outcome of newly adopted cutthroat politics in those corporations, the basic and erstwhile honored practices of which were rapidly and not subtly changing; yet the brands were held up to the public as still being the same and their employees were supposed to still believe in them.

The initial excitement that homeowners felt about new employment possibilities to replace failing ones gradually dulled.  Michael and Rebecca had lived in Markston over two decades and had raised their children during family-friendly times.  It was now bursting at the seams, a hodgepodge of any perceived next-best things.  Not much was concrete and dependable as it used to be.  This left mostly middle class families of the previously employed struggling to decide whether to take whatever comparable jobs they might find if they moved elsewhere to begin again, or to make due with lowered expectations.  The devil they knew versus the devil they didn't.

Markston kept growing but with no heart anymore nor with any other reason to come except that it was still cheaper to live there than in the larger cities where employment still existed.  Those who chose to stay were chained to long daily, increasingly dangerous, overcrowded freeway commutes.  With many more shopping experiences in the larger and nearby Devonport, the mall shops of a comparatively small place like Markston took a long time to gain a foothold with the established population.  There was no industrial base in Markston.  It was rightly known as a bedroom community that had already lost its fame as having some of the best strawberry fields in the country.  Only one persistent family farm was left by 1997 and taxes were constantly rising to squeeze them out too, if the invading housing developments along its fence lines weren't enough to do the job.  Businesses in comparatively old buildings that had been servicing people for generations were undermined.  Their owners were pressured in various ways to leave.  The empty buildings were then torn down in favor of replicating Devonport's offerings.  Even the fairly new family-run two cinema movie theater near the downtown section—that excited everyone when it first opened—was thoroughly upstaged a few years later by a huge complex on the north end built over a quiet horse field.  There was no way the smaller theater could compete with trendy suppositions of  bigger and better and its clientele dwindled off.

Rebecca hated the rapid, unregulated growth that was clearly mutating the entire area.  Town leaders talked a lot but didn't communicate any kind of cohesive plan.  They appeared to her and to most of her friends as not having any overall vision other than attracting ever greater numbers of businesses, hopefully to inflate the city leaders' standing among their peers elsewhere.

Rebecca occasionally attended city meetings that were open to the public, always coming away irritated.  A comprehensive growth pattern and conservative input from citizenry was frowned upon and considered obstructionist.  They were merely to show up, smile for the cameras, and approve of the agenda.  To be team players.  People like Rebecca, uninitiated to the wheels of local power, were in the way of progress.  Regardless, townspeople were always invited to come to meetings to give input, as if the invitations were sincere.  They were scolded in the local paper if they didn't attend in sufficient numbers for not showing respectful interest, yet it never seemed to make a positive difference when they did come.  Their comments were either marginalized or merely ignored.  The smell of money was the deal, Rebecca thought, and she wondered what had happened to her longtime happy home.

Even many of the small shops of that south side strip mall across main street were changing hands at a rapid rate.  The character of a shop's merchandise couldn't settle in over the time it would take to become popular before being jettisoned in favor of another next-best thing to build up clientele in a too-small local market.  Eventually even the big box stationery store was considering a move to a town further north, but it kept itself afloat by offering tempting sidewalk sales.

Rebecca wondered, beyond that, what kind of deal had been offered to them to stay.  There were always plenty of available parking spaces in front of the other stores, clear to the end of the lot where a new, upscale grocery moved in.  It effectively drove an old one out that was several blocks north before the owners had wanted to retire.  It seemed that every season or so another little specialty shop window between both mall corners posted a going-out-of-business sign.

Only one other couple was in Los Amigos when Michael held the door open to Rebecca.  They were quickly seated near a street front window and the blinds were arranged for them to prevent the glare of direct sunlight.  Hot, freshly fried tortilla chips and the house salsa were immediately delivered to their heavy wood table inlaid with colorful tiles.  One of the owners' daughters took their order.  Sitting across from each other, Michael asked about Rebecca's day.

It's been busy with auditions.  I'm glad Macie and I are together on moving out of the school as soon as possible.  What a mess that's been!

Are you still getting angry phone calls from Lanette?

Rebecca nodded.  She was never available this year or last to help with the summer auditions, no matter what she'd promised to do.  Spring's brochure release was delayed over and over until we had to do it ourselves.  She didn't like that either, that we have a brochure separate from her input.  Lanette wants to be in charge of everything, of all decisions.  She promises the world but doesn't deliver on any of it.  I honestly don't think she knows what she's doing.  She's just in love with the idea of being the head of a so-called performing arts school.  I can't imagine why her board of directors gave her the job.

Rebecca glanced out the window as a car raced by, honking long at a bicyclist trying to cross the street.  Gees, doesn't anybody pay attention to the speed limit anymore?!

It's because of the straight stretch coming across the flats where it's fast.  Drivers don't like to slow down that much as soon as they cross the bridge into town, Michael explained.

I know, but it's getting worse all the time!  Making this narrow couple of blocks a four-lane road was ridiculous.

Sidewalk parking doesn't help, Michael said.

But remember when they took that out?  It nearly deep-sixed all the merchants in this section of town!

Yeah, and so they put it back.  The power of angry voters, and he shook his head.

Not without a huge protest.  Rebecca absently examined another warm corn chip.  "But there isn't enough room for all the lanes plus the parking spaces since they didn't widen the other side of the road in front of the businesses there.  They wouldn't take anything away from the mall side, so they had to squeeze parking in on this one.  Before the mall, spaces had always been there and the road was fine.  It accommodated everybody.  Most of the stores on this side of the street don't have any other parking.  She sighed, deciding to drop the subject.  We'll talk to Lanette tomorrow after the meeting.  She's already told me she doesn't want me to go to Europe next month.  She was real clear on that."

Why not?  Michael looked up to see the waitress bringing their meal and moved the chips and salsa out of the way.

No, wait. Rebecca grabbed the two little salsa bowls.  Smiling at the waitress she added,  This is so good and I want to use it with the refries.  Could you please bring a little more?

The waitress nodded approvingly and walked off.

OK, Michael went on, "What's Lanette's problem?  From her standpoint, you are leaving in what's going to be the middle of your busiest semester, you know."

Yes, but I'll be able to take advantage of the current great sale for the airline tickets.  Both Macie and I want to tour to Europe with the chorus next season if I can work it out, and one of us needs to make some personal contacts there.  Obviously Macie can't go, not with her five kids.  We'll be settled into the teaching schedule before I leave and I'll only be gone a couple of weeks.  After a bite she went on,  "Macie's terrific to work with.  I'm so grateful we bumped into each other two years ago.  The subject of starting a chorus together just happened to come up in a normal conversation during break at the music teachers' meeting.  We have complementary skills and training, balancing each other out.  Even our personalities, as different as they are, work well together.  At least, I haven't had any complaints from her, and I can't think of any I could come up with about Macie."

You don't think the parents will mind, you're being gone off on a trip like that?

I hope not, I don't see why.  It's only a couple of sessions per chorus.  As if one of us was sick for a time and the other takes over in her absence.  We have to do something like this to keep future tour costs down.  The touring companies are too costly for what we have in mind.  We're either going to Germany or Ireland.  I'm hoping that the Ireland tour will come off.  Contacts are already fairly well established, as far as I can manage that from here, and we'll have the local children's chorus' support with housing and all that.  Everybody goes to Germany and I've heard audiences might not be as supportive of yet another American choral group showing up 'to sing to the crown heads of Europe,' as the joke goes.  Ireland's not as saturated.

They stopped talking for a couple of minutes to eat and then Michael asked, How are your headaches lately?

No fun, for sure.  She thought of her doctor and said, Lynn says I have all four major types.  Rebecca laughed ruefully.

Michael grimaced.  The medicine you're taking isn't helping?

I don't really know.  I thought it was, at first.  The migraines are pretty frequent.  Not so bad at the moment.  I'm getting used to the ones that don't blow my head off.

You've had them for years now.

Well, with good reason, dealing with Mom lately and my family!  It just never ends.

It wasn't usually a great idea but Michael brought it up again anyway.  You know, you might not have so many headaches if you dropped a few things from your schedule.

Like what?  Mom?  My sister's nasty phone calls?  Being the oldest was supposed to ensure that I'd be Mom's caretaker when she'd need one.  I gave it my best shot.  It didn't come close to turning out as I always thought it would.

Michael stared at his plate.  I know, you did your best.

Taking on that guardianship was such a waste of energy, so useless.  I wish I hadn't gone for it.  I couldn't solve her problems the way she wanted me to, and I sure couldn't keep her from wanting to kill herself or at least spend all that money Dad left her.  You gotta wonder sometimes why a guardianship was said to be such a good solution.  I had no control, only the worries.  Too late for me, of course, to hear that this is normal.

Michael agreed.  Your mom misses your dad.  It's as simple as that, plus she hates being paraplegic.  The accident changed her life and she blames the world for it.

Rebecca sighed again.  That's the truth.  She blames me, too, for not being able to make it better for her.  So what do I do?

"What can you do?  I really don't think there's much you can change."

She thought of her younger sisters and sighed heavily.  Well, Serena and Celia hate my guts, you know.  They're having to step in now in my place.  I wonder how long they'll be able to survive?  Mom's grief eats her alive, but it also eats everybody around her.

So I've noticed.  He went on,  I really wasn't thinking about your family though.

Then what?  Rebecca rubbed her temple while waiting for his answer, the one she knew was coming whether she wanted to hear it again or not.

"You don't have to be so involved in the music teachers' association.  They make you crazy too."

Sometimes.  I'm not a local officer anymore so it's not the same amount of complications, all that one-upmanship and emotionally-charged criticism.

Yeah, but you moved from the local politics to the state chapter's stuff.  Why don't you drop out of that?  It would give you a little more breathing space.

This was another of those recurring conversations that had no suitable mutual resolution.  I need to be involved to allow Macie and I to expand our business.  It's not only a couple of private piano studios for us plus her voice studio anymore.  I went back to school to collect a couple of degrees so I could be doing what I do now, competently.

Yes, he replied patiently, but the accumulation of hard things over the past few years is taking a physical toll that you can't seem to manage without ruining your health.

I'm working on it.  Lynn's helping.

You think so?  All the medicine doesn't make a dent.  You have headaches everyday.

Just about, Rebecca cautiously agreed.

Don't you think it would be worth it to scale back some?  You could spend more time with your grandchildren.

I see Sandra and Tim at least a couple of times every week.  You know how important they are to me, especially while they're so little.

"Yes, I know, and they love