Leaving Hedges

by Theresa Konwinski

Table of Contents parts: 1, 2, 3, 4

part 4.1

The rain stopped, but the sky stayed steel-gray and cloudy.

After the constable came to the house and did everything he needed to do to get the truck removed and the dead truck driver to the county coroner, he started asking questions. Lots of questions.

He asked me at what time the truck stopped. What the driver told me about his troubles with the truck. How the driver seemed, like, did he act funny? I didn’t know what the constable was after so I just answered as best I could.

The constable asked Mom how long the driver stayed at the house. What did he have to drink? Did he try to call anybody?

Neither of us knew the answers to half the other stuff he asked.

Then the constable talked with Big Phil under the tree out back. Phil sat on the bench Dad built him. I watched out the back door, but I couldn’t hear anything they said. I could tell Big Phil was still upset. When he wasn’t sitting, he jumped up and paced, waving his arms, demonstrating how he tried to lift the truck. After a few minutes of pacing and waving, he would sink back to his bench, holding his head in his hands. The constable talked to him for a long time.

While the two men talked, Mom called Dad, and he got home in no time flat. Not even stopping to say hello, he threw his jacket on the living room sofa and went straight out the back door to where Phil and the constable continued their conversation. Tense faces. Low voices. Slow motion.

Unable to hear anything said in the back yard, I eventually wandered to the front porch so I could sit on the swing and think about what I’d seen. People were standing at the end of our sidewalk. They were whispering to each other, looking towards our house, pointing their fingers. I thought I’d talk to them, but what I really wanted to do was tell them to beat it.

I got to the end of the sidewalk and stepped through the opening in the hedges. There, half the town stared at me. Simon Pettigrew waded from the back of the crowd to the front. He stood directly in front of me, wide stance, hands on his hips, menacing. “I hope Roy Simmons is happy now.”

I backed away and kept backing up till I was through the hedges and onto our property again. Then I ran for the house as hard as I could. I flew through the screen door. “Mom, you better get Dad and come out front. There’s a whole big group of people out there, and Mayor Pettigrew is with them.”

Mom wiped her hands on a dish towel. “God of mercy help us all!” She went out the back door and called to my dad. The look on her face must have given notice that more trouble was on the horizon. Dad was back at the house in a flash, the constable in tow.

Out front, the crowd size and number of scowling faces had grown. Voices were low, angry, and frightening, but I couldn’t pull myself away.

“What do we have here?” Constable Wagner said.

Still at the front of the group, Simon Pettigrew puffed out his chest. “Where’s the monster who did this? Hiding in your back yard, I suppose, Simmons.” The mayor pointed his finger at my dad.

“No one is hiding, Simon but, clearly, this group isn’t the Welcome Wagon, so it may be better for Phil to stay put while Constable Wagner completes his investigation.” Dad never let Simon Pettigrew push him around.

Now the mayor turned his attention to the constable. “Claude, how much investigation is this going to take? It’s a reckless homicide at the very minimum.”

“Now, Simon, hold your horses. There are extenuating circumstances that—”

“Hogwash. Charge that giant and put him in jail. Take him to court at the county seat.”

Gruff murmurs of “That’s right” and “You tell ’em, Simon” began to ripple through the mob. I could see men — young and old — clenching and unclenching their fists. These were people I knew, had grown up around, but I barely knew them now. And they were making me mad.

I stepped between Dad and the mayor. “You’re all wrong about this. It was an accident. Ask my mom. We all saw it happen. We were right there on the porch and saw the whole thing. Big Phil was trying to help that man!”

“Helen,” my dad said, trying to pull me closer to him, but I wouldn’t let him pull me away.

“Mayor Pettigrew, you’ve tried to make things hard for Phil ever since he came here, and why? Why? Because he’s different from you? From us? He just wanted some friends. That’s why he comes into town. Otherwise, he’d just stay out in that old cabin by himself. He hasn’t done a thing to hurt anyone!”

“Until he dropped a truck on an innocent, defenseless man!” A supportive chorus, edging ever closer, echoed the mayor.

“Young lady, you’re a mere child and know nothing of the law or how to protect the values of this community. Roy, your child should learn to mind her manners and leave adult discussions to the adults.”

Dad put a hand on my shoulder and with his other hand, tipped my chin up to face him. “Helen, you go in the house. I’ll come in and talk to you when we’re all done.”

Sudden tears sprang up out of nowhere. I hadn’t even cried when the truck driver got crushed, but now it was uncontrollable. I wanted Simon Pettigrew to have no satisfaction in my tears, so I returned to the house, hearing loud voices as I walked up the sidewalk to the front porch. Mom was waiting for me there, and she gave me a hug, wiping my face with the edge of her apron.

“Go on upstairs, honey,” Mom said. “We’ll be up in just a little while. You compose yourself and say some prayers for your friend.”

I drug myself up the steps, my legs feeling like they each weighed a ton. Once in my room, I flung myself across my bed and cried in earnest. Long past the time my tears should have been used up, I still sniffled. I got up and went to the window to see how Phil was doing.

There he sat, still on the bench my dad had made for him. His face was downcast, his broad shoulders slumped. I wanted to run out to him, to give him my biggest hug. I slid to the floor, pulled my knees up to my chest and hugged them instead.

I was still in that position when I heard voices in the back yard again. I pulled myself up to the window, peeked out and saw Dad talking to Big Phil. They spoke to each other in low enough tones that I couldn’t make out the words, but I saw panic in Phil’s face.

Fear always brings about facial expressions that are unmistakable.

Dad and Big Phil shook hands, and Phil left. He didn’t hear me whisper that I would always love him, though I felt like I was screaming.

It wasn’t long before my parents came to my room. They sat on the edge of the bed to break the news that Big Phil was leaving.

“I know. I was watching out the window. I saw him go.”

They glanced at each other, and in that moment, I knew they weren’t talking about Phil going back to the woods. He was leaving.

I couldn’t say anything, my mouth full of the sand of disbelief. My throat was tight with anger. I stood and stared at them, unable to move.

“I’m going to work on supper,” Mom said.

“I’ll be down in a minute,” Dad replied as Mom walked out the door.

“Sit here, Helen,” Dad said, patting the bed where Mom had just been. I forced my feet to move to where Dad sat.

“Helen, Simon Pettigrew has tried to make life miserable for Phil, and he’ll never let up. You’ve surely seen that.”

I nodded.

“Phil’s a bit of a wanderer, anyway. He was getting ready to move on, and this just sealed the deal for him. He’s going to go.”

My rage boiled over. “He wouldn’t leave us if it weren’t for the stupid people in this town! They don’t like anybody who’s even a little bit different. They go to church every Sunday, but it’s all a big farce! No one cares about anyone unless they are just exactly like everyone. I hate this town! Dad, can’t we go live somewhere else? I’m sick of all these people hiding behind their hedges!” I was crying again. Crying so hard I’m sure my dad could barely understand my words.

He put an arm around my shoulder. I tried to shake it off, so he hugged me even tighter. “You go ahead and cry it out. Your heart is too big to understand how other people’s hearts can be so small. But someday, you’ll understand that the main reason people hide behind their hedges, as you say, is because they’re afraid of the world and, when people are afraid, they can get mean. Like an injured animal. When an animal gets hurt and is in pain, they might try to bite the very hand that’s trying to help them. They don’t know any better.”

I loved my dad, but his excuse for the people in our town seemed weak to me. I stood up and faced him. “An animal doesn’t know any better, but humans do. Or at least, they should.”

Dad stood up, too, and walked towards my bedroom door. “They should, but they often fall back on the same instincts as animals. You coming down to dinner?”

“I don’t think so. I’m not hungry.”

“Okay. If you change your mind...” He closed the door behind him.

I paced back and forth, back and forth, full of feelings I couldn’t discern. Anger. Tension. Determination. Fear.

Fear? No, it couldn’t be.

But it was. I was afraid. Afraid Dad was right. Afraid Phil would leave for good. Afraid that if I stayed in Hedges, I’d turn into the kind of person who would drive someone like him away.

* * *

Proceed to part 2...

Copyright © 2023 by Theresa Konwinski