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Here is a chapter of my first novel, Valed Secrets. If you'd like a copy of the novel, send me an email. It's $15 plus $2.50 for postage.

Chapter One -- The Stones Gather Moss

What events set fire to our imaginations that let
Us burn with recognition of each act
We are responsible for setting events into motion
Once we have set the ball rolling down the hill

Or be side tracked and be stopped by the side of the road?
Who holds the answers to each of our questions?

The regatta set off for the starting line
They raced across almost in full sail
Heading off for the race
Always searching for enough wind to keep the sails in full billow
Having to tack back and forth
Or becalmed by the dearth of wind

The town was so small that on most days you could swing a dead cat around by its tail and hit either a Vale, a Lolly, or a Stick. However, this morning was different. The fog had settled thick and there were not many people walking the streets. Valeton was not that much different than any other western Pennsylvanian town that was founded by a strong-willed man and controlled generation after generation by his family. But, that's not why it was foggy.

It was still early and activity wouldn't really start for another hour or so. Everyone would just be waking to start another day in one of Valeton's Vale owned or influenced businesses. The town was founded by Noah Vale moving people in to make munitions that would help the world stay free from European domination, or to make a great deal of money for the Vale family lineage. Noah I, a World War 1 veteran, realized the potential for violence in the human race and realized that he should at least remain on the winning side. Noah II was just carrying out that dream.

Activity is always in the mind of body of the beholder. This was the morning that Rita Stick was giving birth to a baby girl. It was all rather hushed because Rita was yet unmarried and had been a munitions factory employee on the rise until she became pregnant and now, even though she seemed to be living well, had no visible means of support. Her father, the failed race car driver, Robert "Dip" Stick, who owned one of the two town's garages, had written his daughter off, along with quite a number of people, some time ago.

She was alone in the birthing room with only the cold instruments and a pediatric resident who was being guided by the nurse on duty. The little girl was born into a cold and sterile world. The baby cried and took its first breath as her mother took her last. Complications set in while the doctor and nurse were checking the baby and Rita died as quietly as she had lived. She was in her early twenties and just attempting to get started in life.

The resident doctor signed both the birth and death certificates using the same pen and on the same clipboard. There was, however, someone walking the halls of the hospital that morning who seemingly had no reason to be there. Noah Vale was the most powerful man in Valeton and was never asked for or about his whereabouts. He was, after all, the reason the hospital, the Deloris T. Vale Memorial Hospital, named after his mother, was built and for that matter the reason that the town continued to exist. What he didn't own, he had allowed to exist by his assent.

The fire that started in the bank next door to the hospital looked like it was raging out of control by the time the fire company rushed to the scene. This was much more newsworthy than any minor activity of Noah's, who was liable to be anywhere in the town at any time, just checking things out. No one ever dared asked Mr. Vale about s intentions or actions.

While everyone's attention was directed to the fire in the bank, the baby girl was named by the nurse who was a niece of Reginald "Pops" Lolly. Ginny Lolly, the nurse, named the child Joy, in a perverse fashion in which she was born -- an orphan -- and it would be a long time before she would morn the loss of her mother.

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Joy was born on a foggy fall morning. She was healthy except for her drop, club foot. Being just born, she didn't yet realize all of the strikes against her. But then she was probably never going to play baseball anyway.

In a town 36 miles away, two towns away, a precursor to a blues band was just wrapping up a long night of music. Pulling the plugs and wrapping cords around their arms. The band's leader, Tree, was counting out the cash the band was paid for their al night gig. And just as he was hugging the money form the long night, he was remembering another long night three years ago when his son was born. At that same moment, his one and only women was hugging their son in an apartment on the other side of town. The boy had just awaken from a bad dream. He didn't realize that he was awake in his mother's arms on his birthday yet. Tree, thought to himself how lucky he was to have two people in his life like Bobbi and Fore. Later that day they would have a real party for Fore and Tree's extended traveling family would all be there. Not long ago these indigent traveling Gypsies would have been run out of town just for existing, but this was the 1970's and all was disrupted by the sixties, a president's disgrace, and big business just about ready to really set course for a major money grab. Something that would only make the defense contracts of the fifties look like pinching pennies.

That's why to Noah the bank fire, no matter what burnt, was inconsequential. That's why one more indigent baby born out of wedlock was not the town's concern. However, the baby's well being would be Noah's concern. Orphans and hippies (or whatever they were, at the moment) would eventually become their own concern and not anyone else's in the town. Noah only made very special people and things his concern. We were all on the verge of turning America around and our centennial was less than a year away.

As the bank burned and Noah strided into the street to a command post next to the fire chief, the new born baby girl, shivered under the warming lights. Three years ago the difference was that the new born baby boy felt his mother's warmth and tasted her milk for the first time.

"What do you have, chief?" asked Noah.

"Don't quite know yet, Mr. Vale. We think that it started in one of the back offices, but we're not sure just yet," the chief respectfully reported.

A stray cat had wondered into the street and rubbed its back against Noah's right leg. The cat like so many other things that rubbed up against Noah would go unnoticed.

"Well, take good care of the bank, a lot of my money's in there," joked Noah. "I would guess that most of yours is in there too."

"Yes sir, Mr. Vale," the chief replied. "Hey, let's get this thing under control, there's a lot of our town in there," he barked out to the firemen.

Noah walked off across the street to the building that his father had built forty years ago with his World War 1 earnings. The Vale building was the largest and tallest building in town. It was taller than the factory, but the factory occupied 10,000 acres on the edge of town. Vale Industries was the largest industrial complex in the state and Valeton was damn lucky it was here.

"Good morning, Mr. Vale."

"Good morning, George."

George George had been the front door guard of the Vale building soon after that night of the Edsel, Noah's brother, and the bank robbers. He was and would always be very loyal to the Vales.

"That's some fire that they got going on over there at the bank. I hope my money's OK," George looked worried and this was our of character for George.

"I'm sure the chief had it well in hand. It didn't appear devastating to me."

Relief washed over George's face. If Mr. Vale said something was going to be all right, then that was good enough for George.

"Thanks for the report Mr. Vale. I feel better now."

"Just keep an eye on the door George. I'll watch our money."

They both laughed.

Noah went up his elevator and entered his sanctuary. The large, wood-paneled office was his true home, not the large house that overlooked the town, the country club, and the factory. This was the center of his universe. His father had first occupied this office. Some of his pictures were still on the wall -- shaking hands with President Roosevelt; his first tank rolling off the line; his box of guns ready for shipment to the European front. Noah I had been a powerful man making a huge profit from WW2 while Noah II had been fighting on the beaches in the Pacific.

He looked over at his own Medal of Honor and the picture of him receiving it on a beachhead on a south sea island in what seemed like another life. He won that medal when he was a seventeen year old, fearless, and fighting a know enemy. Now, the fight had turned economic and the Japanese were seemingly winning.

Noah stood looking at his own reflection looking at his town, built with a strong reflection to the Vale family outlook.

Noah is a tall, strong Ayn Rand heroic figure, who so far in life has only made one slip. He is a decorated war hero and a powerful business and political figure. He is a developer of high tech weapons that his company has sold to the US government and its allies for most of four decades. Even if Noah was poor or simply a factory worker, his carriage and visage would command respect. He would still stride rather than walk and command attention when he speaks. His family is wide ranging and he is still having trouble with his son Noah III. This seems to be the only part of his life that he can not control. He often does not even know where his son's itinerant lifestyle is taking him. He has three daughters that continue to confuse him and one that no longer is able to, his oldest son continues to annoy him, but it's his youngest son that has him most baffled. However, he has no fear that he will soon come around. Vales were made in order to consummate the business deal, as his father often told him.

From his window he can still see the glow of the fire, but it appears to be under control. The ants running about seem to be doing so with more purpose and there seems to be order where just minutes ago there was chaos. He liked to bring order out of chaos and appreciated the ability of the chief to control the fire scene.

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"Now, little Joy, we're going to have to print you and record your statistics for all of history to know who you are and where you came from," Ginny said to herself. "We'll also have to call your granddad and see if there is any hope of a home for you, no matter how bad it might be."

Ginny knew that she would have to bring in social services at some point to care for the little girl. Ginny, like everyone else in the town, knew Joy's mother. Most would feel that her passing was inevitable. It seemed like to some that the entire Stick lineage was destined for loss and trouble.

Ginny marked on the chart the drop foot and knew that no Miss America ever had one. Rita had been pretty enough in her own right and according to who the father was, and no mention of who that was yet, would determine Joy's final appearance. Ginny was about to go off duty, so she placed the little girl in the nursery and went to change and go home to her own family.

Some one else would have to call the family about both the death and the birth. It was no longer on her to do list. She left a note for the social services and left.

The sun was trying to burn through the fog, but having very little luck this early fall morning. Tree was heading home and thinking back to the first night at the hospital and then the first day at home with the new baby. He knew that he didn't want to be a father, but he felt that he could do a whole lot better than his old man had done. He remembered how Bobbi looked tired and happy holding the baby.

"This is the highlight of life so far. How can anything be better than this? Isn't he the cutest thing that you ever saw? He looks just like you," she was rattling on, but that's what made Bobbi, Bobbi. Tree loved her and would marry her in a second. Bobbi thought that was sweet, but she didn't need some government, church sanctioned paper to make it all make sense to her.

The baby looked like a baby -- all wrinkles and scrunched up. "What should we name him?" he asked.

"Why Fore, what else?" Bobbi replied with a straight face and always meaning what she said.

"Sure, why not? That should eventually tickle the old man."

They both laughed.

He remembered the phone call. He waited until the old man would be well on his way to another night of work and planning, before he placed the call. If Bobbi hadn't pushed him, he still isn't sure that he would have ever made the call or even thought of making the call. Maybe he would have thought about telling his mother, eventually, but never the old man.

"Hello," Noah said into the receiver.

Oh hell, he answered the phone. "Hey dad, don't hang up, it's me. I don't want anything, I just called to tell you and mom that you' re grandparents," he stilled rattled on and tripped over his own tongue, every time that he talked to the old man. After a moment of silence, Tree continued, "I just thought that you would like to know. I know that this isn't anything that you're really interested in, but I thought that you should know. Actually, it was Bobbi's idea. We called her parents and they were delighted."

Then there was the pronouncement, "Of course they're delighted. They think that the kid will get some of our money. Well, I suppose your mother would like to know. Let me see if your mother is sober enough to talk to you. This is the type of information that she likes to hear. But, I'm not sure that she'll be delighted to hear from you either. We're both still smarting from the last escapade that you pulled."

"Hey dad, I won't bother to hold. Just let her know that she has a grandson. He's healthy, Bobbi's fine, and we don't want a damn thing from you or mom."

Tree hung up and shook his head. He had a brief thought about some type of relationship that he and Fore should have. He certainly wasn't going to use his life, to date, as a model.

Noah wondered where he had gone so wrong with the boy, maybe it was those damn guitar lessons. The boy should have been ready to take over all that he'd built, instead the boy was still playing around and was, as far as Noah knew, still very much groundless and penniless in the world. Noah made a note to tell his wife in the morning about the new kid. What did the boy say, was it a boy or a girl? It didn't matter to him either way, he wasn't really interested.

But, this was old news to Tree and Noah 2. Tree was worried about taking his band to the next level and Noah was wondering how this new baby's story was going to play out. He would make sure that she had the essentials, discretely of course. A few calls to the appropriate hospital administrators should take care of everything. Noah could always take care of everything with a few calls, well almost everything, he thought.

Noah also remembered a different birth three years ago and the phone call, and how he felt the next morning. The phone call didn't really bother him all of the next morning. He knew that he should be on better terms with his youngest son, but they never seemed to be able to communicate. He would never listen long enough to fully understand the importance of what was being discussed. He never had this problem with his father. He had always done what was expected and what made him a man. He served his country with pride in the Pacific and he was even awarded that medal of honor for bravery under fire that now was mounted up on the office wall. He was just as frightened as everyone else, even more so, and that's why he acted as others stayed still with their heads down.

That moment in time was frozen in his memory like a bug frozen in amber. Forever captured as it had taken place. Or at least that's what Noah wanted to remember how it happened. But, like a bug in amber, it changed its direction any number of times to try and escape. Noah's memory has been affected by time and other embellishments. He had forgotten how close he came to death that day; he had forgotten seeing Death's face. Others who had also been present, saw the events of the day and added to the story over the years. And unlike the amber analogy, memories change as time passes. Noah wasn't one to sit around the VFW and tell old war stories, so the internal changes sometimes didn't match the external tales. When it played and he tried not to play it often, it ran like a single news reel for world events before a feature film.

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There were wounded and dying men all around him. The beach was littered with dead and dying men, pieces of metal that were once armaments, and other pieces of things that once were whole or something else. He was in the first wave of two dozen boats and his was one of the landing craft that was part of the first wave. Three or four boats had already disgorged their crowded young fodder. As the front metal flap smashed down into the serf, everyone ran off yelling and trying to wade through the water as quickly as possible. The first thing to hit him was not a shell or flying shrapnel, but the carnage that lay infront of him.

He ran on shore and grabbed up as many men as he could drag out of the water. He pulled them over to the palm tree/sand dune that could be used for cover form the machine gun fire. This sand dune/palm tree stand was some 50 feet long and there seemed to be about 100 men laying down behind it. Ten to fifteen men were near the crest of the sand shooting back at something in the jungle. He kept running back and forth into and out of the surf grabbing as many men as he could free from the hold of the ocean. The pull of the tide was strong and he had to fight for each soul that he pulled free. He never had any idea how many trips he made. He remembered sand exploding around him, both big and little bursts. He remembered being very frightened and not stopping until he fell over. At the time he wasn't sure if he was hit or his legs just gave out in the sand.

Noah remembered laying there in the sand face down, breathing very hard and waiting for a chance to raise his head, check himself and run like hell again. Lifetimes were spent in milliseconds and next he knew he was up running, shooting, and grabbing down for one more man to drag to the palm tree/sand dune. This last man happened to be the captain of the platoon. He had been shot in the leg. Noah was all right, but the captain was bleeding badly. Noah took a gun strap and cinched it tight above his thigh. Noah yelled for a medic and in the moments it took for the medic to get there, he was attending to another man.

Noah worked his way behind the dune. He saw where the machine gun nest was and saw a way to get to it. If he went down to the far end of the beach, he could crawl along the edge of the jungle and grenade the nest. He took a deep breath and made a run for the stand of trees about 100 yards from the safety of the dune. He thought that it took him forever to make it to the trees. But, no one shot at him. He continued to see sand flying on the beachhead. The noise was overpowering. However, he ran with an innerpeace that he would only know once more in his life. He didn't know that at the time, but many years later he would remember this running peace and the mirrored time.

Noah made the stand of trees and slowly made his way close enough to where the machine guns were. He pulled the grenade pin, counted, and tossed the bomb. He covered his head and after the initial explosion there was silence on the beach. Silence for the first time since the landing began at sunrise. There was more, much more that went on at the beach that day, but he remembered little. Up to the silence, it was all very vivid, surreal, and most seemed like it moved in slow motion.

A second wave platoon caught up with Noah as he was still holding the ground from where he threw the grenade. He hadn't moved and wasn't sure that he could again. He was both exhausted and stunned.

"Jesus kid, did you have any idea what you were doing? That's the best on the fly assessment of a military maneuver that I've ever seen."

"Thank you sir. I just wanted to get the men on the beach safely and I saw that this was their blind spot and I just moved."

"Son, you're in for a medal for this one. You've single handily saved countless lives. And, I don't often congratulate foot solders."

Next he knew, he was standing at attention in line with other men and a six foot six colonel was pinning a medal on his dirty fatigues. The next six months was a jungle warfare that he later saw on many movies. He mainly remembered being damp, dirty, and hungry for six months. But luckily, nothing else stood out as major events. There was more shooting and more wounded men, he shot and was shot at, but nothing like the beach.

The only other event of note for Noah about WW2 was when he was on leave and a horse bit Noah. It landed Noah in the hospital and the horse in some butcher's shop. It was not so much that the horse had bit him, because it was his fault. It was where and how.

They were on a two day R&R before the next island assault. He hadn't been sure where he was for some time and only remembered being on some "friendly" Pacific island with mainly bars, whores, and drugs. He was seventeen and a hero, he was at the time, one of the immortals. Noah and few other soldiers had been drinking for what seemed to be days. Somehow, and he was never sure how, they had upset a vegetable cart. The old native cart owner was yelling at them in some high sing song language, and they were just trying to pay him off. He wouldn't accept that from the colonialists, the vendor wanted some kind of revenge. Noah just decided to push some money in the fellows pocket and moon the old man and get on with their holiday. As he dropped his draws and bent over, the vegetable seller's horse looked around and bit him on the ass, taking a small chunk our of his left cheek. The end result of all of this bravado was that Noah would always appear to sit lopsided.

Noah hated horses his entire adult life. He had no use for them and only kept them around in the stable because that was fitting to someone in his station. Besides, for some reason, he thought that the kids seemed to like the beasts.

The fire a the bank was out. The damage had been contained to only the back office area. All of the records and any important papers were safe and sound in their file cabinets. It would take a few days to clean up the mess and determine what had started the blaze, but all in all not much real news here. The bank would be closed for a few days. About all it really meant was some unpaid time off for the lower echelons of the bank employees and that a bank examination would have to be postponed for the time being.

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Sunny Vale, the bank vp in charge of personnel, would have to notify all of the clerks and secretaries of the unscheduled days off. Sunny was Noah II's niece, his brother Hidden's daughter. She was always sure that she could have gotten the job on her own anyway, but her uncle's stamp seemed to always be on everything.

Noah called the hospital. He called Dr. Miller, the head of the hospital. Noah had worked to bring Miller here and Miller had always answered his calls to action -- nothing Noah liked better.

"Good morning Miller, Noah here."

"Yes, good morning, Mr. Vale, what can I do for you this morning?"

"There was a little girl born this morning to Rita Stick. I would like two things. With the unfortunate passing of the little girl's mother, I would like to see that the little girl is placed in a good home. She seems to have been born with a club foot and I think that it would be most appropriate for her foot to first be repaired. As usual, no one need know of this call and I'll take care of any costs that the hospital may incur. I also think that the usual social services people need not be bothered with this one."

"As always, Mr. Vale, you are very generous to people who are in need. I will see to all of those arrangements myself. But, I will need to inform the Stick family of the death of their daughter."

Of course, I'm not asking you to go around the law. I will also take care of any monetary needs for those arrangements. However, I feel that the Sticks need not get involved with anything pertaining the baby. I'm not sure that they demonstrate the appropriate means or resolve for caring for children. And this may unnecessarily complicate finding the best family for the baby. Let's concentrate on doing the best for the living and showing proper respect for someone's passing."

"Yes, Mr. Vale, I understand. I will see to all of the appropriate paper work and take care of everything on this end. As a matter of fact, why don't I send you over a candidate list, marked confidential, of course, and perhaps you would like to help in the selection process."

"Thank you, I like the way that you see into the core of the situation. And send me that information on the new cancer testing equipment that you said at the last board meeting would be a good purchase in the future. I believe I can help out."

"Again, Mr. Vale, you are very generous."

They hung up. Both men knowing that the would get what they wanted. That's how Noah had chosen Miller. He was someone who knows what to do and how to answer to Noah. That's the way everyone in Noah's inner circle reacted to information, except for his family. Life's not perfect yet he thought. He would watch over this child like some guardian angel. She would want for nothing and he would decide on the applicants for her adoption. Some couple from the plant would be a good choice. That way he could enhance their career and make sure that everything at home was going well for the child. He would do all of this from deep on the sidelines. No one would feel his hand. Noah liked being able to make him, if it were necessary. He was sure that he would never have a union or a negotiation problem.

Dr. Miller while arranging for the appropriate paper work, thought to himself, "This must be another one of those employee cases that Vale, for some reason, took a special interest in. Well, if he wishes to muddle in people's affairs to help them out and can follow enough details of some employee's life, well the more power to him." Dr. Miller would not know the truth for many years, even with his strong suspicions.

Miller liked Vale. He was a very good businessman who dealt with cause and effect. He knew how to get things done. Miller was sure that Vale could be as ruthless as he was generous. He hoped never to see that other side of the sun.

Miller called the coroner, the undertaker, and his secretary to handle different details. His secretary would make sure that this whole matter stayed out of social services, they were all overworked anyway and he was sure that in the long run they wouldn't mind him handling a routine case. Because he was a trained pediatric doctor, he would handle the little girl's surgery. He would need a good attending, maybe Dodd would do. He was a very good clinician and an excellent detail man. He put booking OR on his secretary's list and felt that he had moved along exactly according to Mr. Vale's instructions. He would also move the little girl from the newborns into a private room. This would cut down on any nurse's questions. He would put two of his trusted nurses on the girl's room. He knew that these two could keep secrets. They all knew enough about one another to make sure that they kept secrets secret.

By the time of Fore's evening birthday party, all of the newborn's details had been worked out. Just as all of Tree's friends were singing "Happy Birthday", Dr. Miller was tying off the tendon that held the foot in place. Within a few days the little girl's foot would only show a scar. It would no longer drop and very few people would ever know of her birth defect. The papers had already disappeared from the social services files and as far as most were concerned, the new born had never had to have any contact with any service organization. In a small town sometimes things could be handled quickly and quietly. By the time Fore was smashing cake into his shirt, Dr. Miller was smoking a cigar and congratulating himself on another day well done. He knew that Vale would be pleased. There was only one more task for the day and that was the list of potential parents for the little girl. He looked over the list that his secretary had provided him. With a red pencil, he crossed off a few names and folded the list over. He placed it into an envelope and marked it confidential for Noah Vale II and put it in with the outgoing mail. He knew that it would be handled discretely. Anyone who didn't would not be around long.

Noah checked his messages from the service and was pleased that Miller had called in to let him know that everything had been handled from the hospital's end. It had been an eventful beginning to the week. And this was only Tuesday. The week had a great deal more to it than just two days worth. Thursday evening, Hillen Vale, Noah's oldest son, was to make a debut of a new piece of music with the Pittsburgh Philharmonic Symphony. He had already played with the world's greatest orchestras. He was a renowned pianist and liked everyone to know it. Most would return to their hometowns or home area out of pride, but Hillen was returning to the Pittsburgh area to show how much better he was than any of the surrounding yokels. He hated everything in Western Pennsylvania and wanted everyone to know how far he'd moved away.

His mother, Mona, a Whitfield, convinced him that an area opening of his new musical landscape would show the world that the Vales were not all backwoods destroyers. The Whitfield name at one time had been synonymous with culture in the Pittsburgh area. They were mentioned in the same breath as the Carnagies and the Mellons, and even the Rockefellers. Mona herself at one time had been a Pittsburgh debutante that everyone considered quite a catch. That was all before kids and being sealed off in Valeton. One of the few things that seemed to bring her joy or comfort was Hillen's success and an occasional small magnum of wine or her daily vodka.

Since Hillen was out mostly on his own and because of his rare return home, she had taken to drinking a small glass of vodka a few times a day to help her cope with the loneliness. None of the other children seemed to ever need her and Noah had lost interest in her years ago. He was only interested in the munitions business and growing the plant bigger than his father. He controlled everything in the town and the town seemed to let him. It was really his two sons that he did not control. Hillen was sullen and had been easy to turn against his father, but young Noah had done it all on his own. Mona suspected that he was a great deal like his father and would never be controlled by anything except his own nature. The girls always seemed like more of an after thought than a central part of the family.

Nancy was pretty and quiet. She married a very ambitious plant accountant who didn't realize for years that his marriage would never do him any good. Barbara had disappeared to the west coast. It would be interesting to see what fates attached themselves to her. Susan was the most like Mona. She expected the world to find her and fall at her feet. There was a great deal of disappointment left in Susan's life. Dale was very close to young Noah. She was the only one who could ever communicate with him and that put her at odds with her father.

Mona would never had thought that the matriarch of a very powerful family should be so left out. And some evenings she would wonder how or when Noah had time for her to have six children. He never seemed like he was around that much. She felt so much at odds with all of these children. She didn't know any of them, except one.

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"Now girls, I expect all of you to be on your very best behavior tonight. This is a major event not just for Hillen, but of the entire Vale family. This shows everyone that we are not some backwoods clan that doesn't understand style and grace."

"Of course mother. We all understand the importance of this evening. We will all benefit socially from Hillen's triumph. We all know how important Hillen is to you and to helping the rest of us travel in better class circles."

"That's right girls. Hillen may well be your tickets to moving up socially in our world. And of course we know that Hillen had met most of the upper society in Europe as well as in the States. He is the one we can count on to raise our status. Your father would never understand that a bullet maker will never be anything but a glorified machinist, whereas Hillen and his musical abilities is the height of human existence."

She would always have Hillen. He would always love his mother and respect her. She had been dressing every evening for Thursday recital since Sunday. Keeping the days straight had never been her strong suit, but since those innocent glasses of vodka began adding up, she even became more confused about the days and nights. Noah had assigned two staff members to help Mona try and keep from wondering off and finding herself in strange surroundings as had happened twice last month. In the rich this was considered eccentric, if they had been poor she would have been put away to dry out. This type of notoriety would be bad for business. Vale Munitions had some very secret weapon contracts and some very secret customers and none of this needed to be jeopardized by some family member's small drinking problem.

And then there would be Saturday. That would be Hidden Vale's, Noah's brother, second parole hearing. Noah would have to travel east to Graterford Prison to once again speak on his brother's behalf. A brother he was not sure that he really wanted our of jail. A brother who seemed to have a better relationship with his youngest son than he had. Young Noah seemed to take more of an interest in his uncle than he did his father. This confused Noah from time to time, when he thought of it.

How his only brother had turned our to be a town bully and landed in jail still puzzled Noah. And jail not just once, Noah really could not come to terms with that lack of control. He was sure that Hidden's joy ride and first offense that put him in jail had caused a great deal of trouble for the family business in the mid-sixties when everything was in turmoil. And Hidden's second arrest had made even Noah to lose control. At that time it was hard for Noah to understand what motivated his younger brother and to maintain any interest in his well-being.

Noah's younger brother, Hidden, was always unfocussed. He had the Vale height and bearing. He carried himself well and was good looking until drink and hard living caught up with him in his thirties. There were many things that went south on Hidden during the late sixties. Noah II tried to keep him employed and involved with the family business, but that didn't work. Noah found things for his brother to do, but that didn't work out very well either.

Hidden had his own life to ruin and he was determined to do it his way. Hidden had enjoyed college and college life in the fifties. So much so that he had attended over a half dozen and would have gladly gone for more, but Noah had to cut him off. Noah stopped paying for Hidden's way and that was the end of higher learning. Noah had learned early when to cut your losses and move on to the next thing. Hidden could never seem to grasp these concepts in his early life. It wasn't until much later, after Tree's accident that Hidden began to understand the importance of one's actions.

Hidden's downward spiral took him straight to the state penitentiary. The night had started like most nights for Hidden. He was looking for something to do and not finding anything constructive.

"I'm going out."

"Where are you going this time? You're always going out and getting into trouble. I'm tired of Sheriff George bringing you home and then having to retrieve the car in whatever condition it might be in and I'm sure that your brother is tired of paying the repair bills."

"Shut up, you shrew. I have half a mind to beat the shit out of you now instead of later."

"Yeah, that's all you know is whack it. And that's all you know how to do is whack it. Hey look, have fun, I'll be gone by the time you get back. I've had enough."

"I'll give you enough. Your ass better be in the bed when I return or I'll hunt you down like the dog that you are. I'm out of here."

Hidden left her turning towards the bedroom. He knew she wouldn't leave. No matter how bad he was, there was no where better for her. This was his third marriage and she knew there was nothing left in his trust fund, but she also knew that Noah took care of the bills and neither of them had to want for anything. It may not be the best arrangement, but it did sort of work. He took the old Ford and drove our to the Come On Inn. They still served cold beer without trying to get any new crowds by playing any of the new shit that people were calling music. They only kept good songs on the juke box, like stuff by Eddie Arnold, Hank Williams, and Patsy Cline.

They may not live in the south, but he sure liked that southern music. And he was pretty fond of Southern Comfort, as well. It was a cold, clear night. He drove with the window down. He liked the way the cold air bit at his face. This helped clear his thoughts. He wanted some beer and some Southern Comfort. He wanted to become numb, go home, and sleep for a few days without any yammering. He shook his head up and down. This was a good plan.

The parking lot looked kind of full tonight. Was this a weekend, or was it pitcher night? He wasn't sure and this made him laugh. Maybe, his brother had all the money and all of the power and could control the town, but he bet that he knew what night it was. Hidden didn't care.

His tires crunched across the stone parking lot and Hidden stopped the car in what he determined as a parking spot. He didn't even notice that it blocked three other cars from backing out of their spots. He walked into the bar, already in a foul mood from the fight with the old lady. He never understood why they just couldn't do what he said. Why did everyone have to give him so much lip? Shit, he was a Vale. As he walked in the door and towards his stool, he noticed someone was sitting there. This wasn't going to be that other guy's night.

"Hey, you're in my seat," he lowly growled as he walked across the room. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

The guy sitting at the bar looked up and around. And then realized that this jerk was talking to him. "Oh, I didn't know that we had assigned seats here. I thought that that was only in kindergarten." He took a drink of his beer.

"Hey pal, that's where I always sit. Therefore, that's my seat. See." Hidden stood ready with his hands at his sides.

"Well, as far as I can tell," he said looking at the surrounding empty seats, "there looks to be plenty of places to plant that big ass of yours."

The bar tender spoke, "Hey, buddy, we don't want any trouble. Why don't you give Mr. Vale his usual seat and I'll get you a beer on the house. OK?"

"Sure." No one saw the man at the bar move fast enough to get up, grab the stool, knock Hidden down, and scoop up his beer within the a blink.

"There's your seat, I'll take my beer."

Hidden was on the floor so fast, even later he didn't realize what had hit him. He only knew that he was standing one second and the next he was on the floor with the stool on top of him. All he could do was look up and watch the stranger take a drink from his glass. Even Hidden wasn't thick enough to mess with someone who could move that fast, without an equalizer. Maybe, Hidden could get him drunk and then beat the snot out of him.

"Hey pal," Hidden said from the floor underneath the stool, "how the hell did you move so fast?"

"Do you want to see me do it again?"

"No, well at least not to me."

The stranger laughed and reached down, Hidden flinched, but all the stranger did was to pick up the stool off of Hidden and offer him his hand to help him up off the floor. "Hey, let me buy your a beer and you can tell me how the hell you move like that. You sit on the stool, I'll go get another one."

Josh Lolly, the bar tender, had been at this same bar for over twenty years and never once had he seen a man move so fast. He'd also known Hidden Vale for about the same amount of time and he'd definitely never seen him not push for a parking lot fight. Josh guessed even Hidden wasn't as stupid as he seemed sometimes. He was after all still a Vale and that should have provided him some natural intelligence. But, that was only a theory. He wondered what Hidden was up to. It wouldn't be beyond him to try and get the guy drunk and then sucker punch him. Josh would just have to wait this one out and see how it came down.

"So really buddy, what's the deal with the speed? Are you some sort Flash like in the comic books, or did you study juju in Jap land or something? I've seen some of those chop, chop movies. Hey Josh, a couple of beers and I'll line up some shots of Southern Comfort."

Josh went about his duties, pouring beer, setting up the shots, and watching what was building.

"So tell me, what's the deal?"

"Why are you so interested in what makes me protect myself?"

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"Hey, I see the future in stuff. And this is one of those things that interests me. I've seen some of this stuff on the TV, but never had anybody do any of this stuff to me. I want to know how to do it and where I can learn to do it. I like taking care of myself."

"Well, if you really like taking care of yourself, you should lose the gut, get in shape, and stop caring whether someone is sitting in your usual bar seat. This is not just how to roll a bully."

"Whoa, I guess I walked into that one. Here have a beer and shot. Let me at least show you how I can take care of you."

"I'll join you in a beer, but I don't touch the hard stuff."

Hidden kept buying the guy beers and talking to him for over an hour straight. Hidden listened with interest and kept up the questions about "open hand" combat. He wanted to know if the guy taught classes or if he was still taking lessons from a master. Hidden asked all kinds of questions. The more Southern Comfort that Hidden had in him, the more he knew just what to do.

Hidden started drumming with his pen on the counter. Josh knew what was coming and hoped that it didn't tear up the place like the last time. "Hey Hidden," Josh yelled down the bar, "no trouble this time. Don't pull this shit tonight."

"Back off Josh, I'm not going to do anything." Hidden's pen flipped underneath the stranger's stool. "Would you mind?"

"No, I'll get for you."

As he bent over to retrieve the pen, Hidden raised both hands to cold cock him on the back of the neck, double fisted. But, as he was moving his hands down, the stranger kicked a leg up and hit Hidden in the throat and knocked him back and out, at the same time.

"When he comes to, tell him if he ever sees me again, walk on the other side of the street."

Josh threw a glass of water on Hidden, after the stranger had been out the door for a few minutes. No one wanted to start even more trouble. Hidden slowly came to and as expected, was in a worse mood than he's been in before and ready to take it out on any one in his immediate vicinity. "You all let him do that to me. I'll make each of you pay for fucking with me."

Hidden went out into the night and was looking for anything that looked like trouble and it wasn't because he wanted to solve the problem. He was in a creation mood. He saw the guy that had hit him twice, driving our of the parking lot and away done the road in a '59 Edsel. It was in pristine condition. It looked like one of the last production models. He shouldn't be hard to follow around here. No one had anything that looked like it in Valeton.

He went back into the liquor store part of the bar and "Give me a fifth of whiskey. Put it on my tab. Noah'll take care of it later." He grumbled in a low growl to the clerk.

He got into his car, tore off the cap to the bottle, and drove out the parking lot looking for the Edsel. After driving and drinking awhile, he saw it parked on a side street in South Lomont. South Lomont was just the next dot on the map up the road from Valeton. But, Hidden hated everyone from Lomont because most of them worked for his brother and that was enough of a reason for him.

He parked across the street from the house where the Edsel was and drank and waited. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do, but he knew he wanted to get back at the juju guy. By the time that the lights in the house went out, he was nearly done the bottle. He walked over to the Edsel and opened the door. He looked down and saw that the keys were on the floor and a cat was asleep in the seat. This was a trusting guy.

Hidden scooped up the keys from the floor, threw out the cat, shut the door, and started the car. He drove off just as the lights came back on in the house. As usual, he had no idea what he was going to do or where he was going to go. He only knew that he was getting back at that son of a bitch for besting him at the bar. That guy would think long and hard before he screwed with Hidden Overland Vale again.

The bandits had just broken the lock on the back door of the bank. They both knew that all of the Vale Industries' payroll was handled through the one and only bank in Valeton. One of the men was a Vale accountant and knew just how much and when to strike the bank. This should be an easy, no contest hit. There was never anything going on in Valeton after midnight on a Wednesday before payroll. There would have been an armored truck delivery today for Friday's payroll. Rex Collins, Nancy Vale's husband, would know all of these things. His accomplist was an old thug from high school days, Chuck Dawes. Rex didn't know that Chuck came prepared for a real fight, he had a Colt 44 shoved down his pants, which is power than he usually had in his pants, and was ready for anything that might attack him.

Hidden was tooling down the highway, headed maybe west or he could be heading east. He really didn't care at all. He was actually driving headlong into the center of Valeton. He had never been in an Edsel before. The shift on the floor was different and it did have some power that his car didn't seem to have. He tromped on the gas, "Let's see how fast this baby will move."

Chuck and Rex opened the vault and filled their sacks with money. They were ready to dash out the back and run the two alleys over to the getaway car. When they heard the crash and looked up and saw the front of the bank coming at them.

Hidden probably passed the cop at eighty and he more than likely hit the bank at eighty-five. And he the bank, not a grassy knoll, but the town's bank where the money had just been lifted from the vault. He went clean through the front glass doors, slowed down as he careened off the customer stations with the chained pens and deposit slips, and landed upside down on the second and third tellers' stations. And then with a crack, the car flipped over and was on all four wheels with the tires still intact. Hidden didn't know any of this. He had been out since before the car passed through the glass.

Hidden was out when the police and rescue squad pulled up. Rex and Chuck yanked him out of the car and threw him to the side. Chuck yelled, "Back it out."

The police entered with their guns drawn, and the rescue squad was unloading everything that they had in the truck. They hoped to get some use out of their new metal cutting saw. Hidden was out like a light sitting to the side of the tellers' station; except for a few cuts and bruises he was physically sound.

Rex threw the car into reverse and tore back out the hole that Hidden had made on his way in. No one was expecting to see the car coming out the hole that they were all going in. There were people diving in all directions. Sheriff George rolled to one side. It happened to be the rider's side of the car and drew a bead on the car. Chuck saw the Sheriff's gun and drew his. He fired four times as they backed out; Rex threw the car into drive and drove off down the empty street and turned the corner to the alley where the other car was.

Rex was yelling, "You have a gun? Why do you have a gun? We didn't need any guns. Did you hit anyone?"

"Shut up and drive. We'll be long gone before they come looking for us."

The Sheriff was hit and wounded badly. He had been shot in the arm, the chest, and in the head. While Hidden was being shaken awake, Sheriff George needed a great deal of attention.

The police and rescue squad were just expecting a car crash and not a robbery in progress. Because of the confusion, the bank bandits got away. Sheriff George ended up in the worst shape of all and Hidden woke up in jail for causing all of the confusion and for some part in the bank robbery. The Edsel when it was found on the outskirts of town only had one damaged tail fin.

Rex, Chuck, and the money were never seen again. No one would have ever even missed the two men, if Nancy Vale hadn't been married to Rex. Most people just felt it was a simple case of abandonment, no one in town put the two incidents together. The FBI, eventually, put some of the information together, but it didn't seem to solve anything. Chuck was never missed. He was one of those people who could disappear in plain sight.

The trial only took two days. One to seat the jury and hear opening arguments; and the other to hear testimony and for the jury to convict Hidden of first degree car theft, reckless endangerment, and wanton destruction of public property. They threw our the bank robbery charge. His drunken defense worked for the big one (that would have been a federal charge with a much harsher sentence). He was still sentenced to four years in a state penitentiary. Noah refused to bail him our of this one and he had to use a public defender who really wasn't much of a trial lawyer. But, he did save him from the bank charge.

His first week at Graterford was his toughest. He had to prove and protect himself every second that he wasn't locked down. His wife filed for divorce and was going after everything that he had owned. And worse of all he had to explain to the warder who put the word out, just how stupid he'd been and what he'd been arrested for and locked up.

The other cons called him "Edsel" and it wasn't a compliment. Through all of this, the only person who seemed to stay with him and talk to him like he wasn't some total idiot, was his nephew, Tree. Tree was truly interested in him and would send him letters that made the long days seem more bearable. He didn't try to understand his uncle, he just seemed interested in what made him an outlaw.

Tree was always fascinated with his uncle Hidden. Tree's father was always so controlled and uncle Hidden had no control, over himself, his actions, or events that surrounded him. Tree liked to call uncle Hidden the anti-Noah. The first summer Tree had a bike, he must have been five or six, he would ride all over town, but almost always ended up over at uncle Hidden's. And uncle Hidden was always there. He always had time for him. Hidden seemed like he was always working on some car or some engine or something. These machines seemed so exotic to young Tree. There was nothing like this around his house.

Tree would pedal up and give his wobbly wave. Uncle Hidden would yell out, "hey, here comes the kid. He looks like a natural driver to me."

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Sometimes, Robert "Dip" Stick was there working on the same machine and drinking one of the beers from the case sitting on the porch and he would agree. "Yep, ole Parnelli, could take a note or two from that kid."

"What ya doing? Can I help? I can hand you tools and stuff."

"Sure kid, get us both a beer."

And Tree would run over and fetch two beers. Squeeze them both at the same time between his thighs, punch two holes in each can with the opener and then run them over to the mechanics, one in each small hand, and hand them over to the men. A pretty neat trick for a five or six year old. Tree never saw the growling, drunk, mean-spirited Hidden. Tree was told to leave from time to time, because uncle Hidden was not feeling well. And, there were always lots of kids for him to play with when uncle Hidden could only lay on the couch. He didn't think they were cousins; he thought that they were Sticks, but he wasn't ready to comment. They didn't seem to care who he was, so he thought it only fair to not worry about their genealogy. He always remembered these as his best summers. Whether or not they actually were, didn't matter. It was his perception and that's all he was concerned with.

And, when he was away from the house he wasn't in line for any of Hillen's abuses. It was bad enough when Hillen was practicing and able to play. But, luckily Tree was long gone when it actually got much worse after Hillen lost his fingers in the terrible accident. An accident that no matter how hard he tried, Tree all his life, until his own accident, always, had to take a deep breath after thinking about it, otherwise, he was sure that he would laugh. And, he always knew that that somehow was mean spirited.

Hidden's time in jail was spent working in the laundry, working out a little in the gym, going to accounting lessons because they were easy, and trying to stay out of everyone else's way. He didn't make friends easily and was beaten silently three times the first week he was in jail -- once by the guards and twice by other inmates. Hidden wasn't a mental giant, but he certainly wasn't stupid and realized that if he continued to act like no one was going to touch him, it would seem like a quick end. He figured that he had two ways to play this thing out. One was to kill someone right away and show how dangerous and crazy he was. That probably meant another fifteen years inside the walls. That didn't appeal to him at all. The other was to befriend someone important and provide him with things that he couldn't normally get. No one ever figured our how he snuck women into the farmhouse, but he became legendary and provided women for the right inmate leaders. No one bothered with "Edsel" after he got crazy Jim ad Big Dick Bob laid.

Hidden would always owe Tree on that one. And Tree always knew that he had a major marker to call in if he ever needed it. During Hidden's first jail term, Tree came into his own and would make sure that whatever his father was for, he was against. And that if his father didn't want anyone helping uncle Hidden, Tree was sure to do whatever he could. Until Hidden's jail sentence, Tree had maybe not been the model son, but he was a quiet child who stayed mainly to himself.

Tree was pretty quiet and tried to stay to the back of most things at home. He didn't like calling any attention to himself. So he always did what was expected of him and never argued with his father about anything. It was a given that he would go through school and end up taking over the business. Tree never contested this. However, when Tree was in seventh grade he went with a friend to a Vanilla Fudge concert, held in the Valeton high school gym.

"Come on man, it will be fun," John said. John was Tree's best friend. As a matter of fact John was the one who nicknamed Noah the third, Tree. He was trying to pronounce tres' in French class and it came out tree. That's when he transferred it to the third -- "You shall from this day on be known as Tree. Grow tall and strong, and carry the name well," John joked at the time.

The name spread through school quickly and that was the way it is for the rest of his story anyway.

"Geez, how the heck am I going to get out of the house to go to a concert by someone named 'Vanilla Fudge'?" Tree asked.

"Tell them you're staying at my house and we're going to the movies. Your folks don't reign you in that closely. Besides there are going to be chicks there. Maybe even one of them will talk to us. Wear those bell bottoms that you got so that we're cool. Your folks didn't find them yet, did they?"

"No, they're still in the bottom of my closet, and even the maid doesn't go into my closet. Yeah, OK, I'll go, but you have to get the tickets and I really will have to stay over at your house. So get it Oked with your mom. Is your mom working Friday night?"

"Yeah, probably, she usually does."

"Good, we'll get changed at your house and then go over to the school."

"See, now you're thinking. I can see you putting it into gear."

"Shut up."

Friday came and the plan worked just fine. But something happen to Tree that night. He wasn't interested in the girls that were around him or anyone else for that matter. Watching Apice and Bogart work the crowd and the music, he knew he wanted to play music. Even if it meant working a corner with his guitar case open for change.

Saturday, Tree went down to the Wright Brothers store. The main store in town carried everything from farm supplies to clothes. The Brothers moved to town shortly after Noah 1 set up shop. They had expanded down into the area from Pittsburgh. One of the Brothers was even still alive when Tree walked into the store to purchase his guitar. He wouldn't have been there on a Saturday and certainly would have never waited on Tree, but his imprint and style were evident everywhere in the store. This was a small town service merchandise store. The focus was on servicing the customer. Tree liked shopping here. He always felt like he was important.

He went immediately to the music department. There they had phonographs, records, and musical instruments. They also had a catalog of instruments to order from if it were not available in the store. Tree only saw two guitars and wanted one today so he picked out the Les Paul, being the more expensive of the two, and told the clerk to charge it to his Dad.

"Well, young man, you'll also need an amplifier to go along with this fine instrument. May I suggest that you start with this small Marshall amp. I am sure that you'll find that this combination will afford you all of the sound that you will wish to make."

There were some perks being the kid of the town's wealthiest man. He took the guitar and the amp home and strummed chores for two days. His fingers were bloody and scarred when he went back to school on Monday, but he was making headway. He could already play "House of the Rising Sun". Monday afternoon he started hanging around the record store. He wanted to know if there was anyone in town he could or should take lessons from, and not the music teacher at school. He wouldn't understand the sound he was after.

Late one night Mona was mentioning to Noah how she thought that maybe young Noah had musical talent like Hillen. Mona was well into her nightcap by that time of the evening so Noah didn't pursue the discussion. However, he felt that he should find out more about it. Early the next evening he asked Mona about young Noah's progress.

"So how is young Noah doing with his lessons."

Mona growled, "You know damn well, he's a good student and that he's doing just fine."

"No, I'm talking about the music lessons that he told me about the other day."

"You know about the guitar? I'm surprised, I didn't think that you would have approved."

"I checked my charges last night and saw the purchase."

"Oh, let the boy play. He practices all the time and it hasn't seemed to detract from his other studies. He's a good boy and maybe this is what he wants."

"We already have one who's doing what he wants. I need someone to take over the business and we all know that it's going to be young Noah."

"But..."

"We'll discuss this later. I'm late for an important phone call."

Later that evening they picked up the thread of the morning's conversation.

"I think that it's wonderful that little Noah has finally found himself and found something as marvelous as music." She put her scotch on the edge of the night stand.

"Jesus, didn't we already go through all of this with Hillen. And I went along with it because he was never going to become much of anything else anyway. But this is too much. Why doesn't the kid take up a sport or something. What's wrong with playing basketball or baseball?" Noah took off his tie and carefully hung it up with the hundreds of others in his closet.

"I don't care about the cost the guitar, even though he should have asked, for Christ's sake. But, is this taking away from his studies? Is he going to stay focused on what's important and know that that's business?"

"He's just a boy and I'm sure that this is some passing fad or other."

This was probably her most lucid thought in years, thought Noah. "Well, you're probably right, but I think I need to talk to the boy. Have him come into the office tomorrow after school. Never mind, I'll tell Doris to let him know at breakfast that I wish to see him after school. I'll take care of this now." He picked up the phone and dialed Doris and told her what he wanted. He knew that she would at least remember and carry out the instructions in the morning. Noah told Doris to let young Noah know that he should come to his office after school. That should be all of the information either of these two should need for now.

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He could now take off his suit and ready his clothes for tomorrow. He put on his lounging jacket and went into his study for a pipe and a brandy. He would read for a bit and catch up on the daily events. He was always interested in the world's hot spots. It might be good for business. He could focus his sales force to meet the world's needs. It was all just business and there was nothing personal for or against any of these warring tribes. And these are the types of lessons that young Noah should be learning. Maybe he needed to spend some more time with the boy. He would have the boy come to his office every day after school and learn how important business was to the world. What small boy wouldn't want to spend time with his father learning his father's business so that one day he would be ready to take over. There it was then, a solution that was simple and advantageous for all. He folded the paper and read until he dozed off.

Early the next morning Doris told Tree at breakfast and he worried all through his school day; Tree couldn't imagine what he'd done that was bad enough that he needed to be summoned to his father's office.

Tree told John at lunch, "Yeah, I've got to go to my dad's office after school. And I have no idea what's the deal. Have you said anything to your mom about anything that I should know about?"

"No, why you blaming me. I'm innocent I tell ya, I'm clean and no copper's going to get a thing out of me."

"You got to stop watching those Cagney flix on late night. Why don't you tune into the Tonight show, that Johnny Carson is pretty funny. He doesn't act like a real grownup and sometimes he's got great bands on."

Eighth period, Tree kept looking up at the clock. He knew his day of reckoning was upon him, he just didn't know why. He felt as though he wasn't even being allowed to prepare a good defense for whatever. Besides, he should be practicing. They were trying to get a new band together and he needed to get a few more riffs perfected before their first rehearsal.

He walked slowly to the Vale building. Whatever it was, he was in no hurry to be with his father. His father wasn't a bad guy. They just didn't have anything that they both could like. Tree saw the same thing with his older bothers and sisters. Each of the kids were on their own, with help from people that his parents hired, but there was very little direct interaction with the folks. And that seemed pretty much OK with everyone in the house. He could talk with Dale once in a while, but she was fighting her own battles and demons.

He remembered one vacation that they all took together when he was a lot smaller. There are references to that from time to time and all he really remembers is a lot of yelling and door slamming. His mom had three moods: hyper and happy, hyper and sad, and sick or asleep. He was sure that his mom would never be involved with another family outing, unless she was totally sedated for the entire time. It wouldn't be until sometime in the late 70s that the rest of the world would even understand the phase, "comfortably numb."

"Good afternoon, Mr. George. I'm here at my father's request."

"Hello there, little Noah. Go on up. I'm sure that he's expecting you."

"Thank you." Tree knew that it was always a good idea to be polite to Echo. Any disrespect at all would reach his father and he would be in trouble. And he wanted to keep this time to a minimum, so that he could back to the house and practice. He went around to the private elevator. No matter how many times he rode up in this elevator, he would never feel comfortable in it. He always knew that when that door opened, he would be face-to-face with his father. His father wasn't a terrible person, he never beat him or abused him. It was just that he used intimidation and he had an overpowering presence. Tree had great respect for his father, but he liked him better from a distance.

The elevator doors opened and his father was sitting at his desk on the telephone. Noah looked up and motioned his son to enter. Tree walked over and waited for the sign to sit. His father nodded and like a well trained dog, Tree sat on the edge of one of the leather chairs on the opposite side of the desk from his father.

"I don't give a damn what you promised them senator. I'm holding your feet to the fire on what you had told me. That's what we did business on; that's what we had agreed to. Now you can either fulfill your side of it or there will be others who would jump at the chance. Let me know by 5:00." Noah hung up the receiver.

He looked over at his nervous son and couldn't figure why young Noah always seemed so edgy in his presence. "Son, the reason I asked you here is that I need your help." Tree's eyes widened. His father had never needed anyone's help. He was sure that this was unknown and uncharted waters.

"You need my help? What can I do to help you? You know everything." Tree blurted out.

Noah smiled at his son. He loved him, he just didn't understand him. "Well, I need you here every afternoon to learn the business so that you'll be able to run the store, so to speak, when your time comes. You'll start off helping the office staff and running instructions between here and the plant. I'll get you a new bike in order to speed your delivery time. These deliveries will be very important drawings and military information that must be handled carefully and discretely. Do you think you're the man for the job?"

"Sure Dad." Even at a very young age, Tree knew better than to disagree with his father. He would have to move his practicing from after school until after dinner. Tree knew that even studying school work would not buy him time. The only thing that might save him would be that maybe there wasn't enough work for him to do or that it really was someone else's job and he wouldn't be allowed to get in the way. Maybe he could work his guitar lessons into Saturday afternoon or even some time on Sunday. As long as he could still practice, he would do exactly what his father wished.

"Well, good that's all settled and no more of this guitar nonsense."

The line had been drawn; the gauntlet thrown down. The real reason for the summons became clear. Tree had never countered his father. He had never spoken back or disagreed with him, out loud. But, this was hitting too hard. "Please, don't take away my guitar time, it's not fair. But Dad, if I do all this for you, shouldn't I be allowed to do something for me that doesn't take away from my other duties or chores?"

Noah saw the line solidifying between them. He had no idea that this line would eventually grow into the chasm that would keep them apart for years. Noah was not about to negotiate with his son. Noah felt that he spoke and the son listened and did. There was nothing to negotiate, ever.

"Life is not fair. I expect you carry out my directives as any employee would. I expect you to make sure that you are following the path that I've set for you. It's the best way. And in time, you'll realize this. Now go and see Mrs. Loaden and have her explain your duties to you."

The interview was over. Noah picked up the receiver and motioned with his hand toward the outer door to Mrs. Loaden's office. Tree was dismissed.

Tree's resolve grew with each step towards the door and his new job. He would be paid for his work. He would buy an acoustic twelve string and practice quietly in his room every night. He'd show his father that he had his own plans. This was not a war of wills, this was war. And Tree had no intentions of letting his father win out. They were after all from the same stock. And without either ever stating it, they were more alike then any other two people in the family and maybe even on the planet.

By the time Tree was finishing high school, he was driving weekends to Pittsburgh to perform or back local stars. Some of the bands he was in lasted for weeks, sometimes for months. But, Tree stuck to it. He was determined to make it. He had been traveling and playing in Pittsburgh for his entire senior year. His father thought that he was going up to check out the local colleges. Tree offered no more information than he needed to and by this time, Noah asked for no further clarification.

One weekend in early June, just before graduation, the Kingfishers were in Pittsburgh. Tree wasn't aware that they were in his audience the night before they performed. The Kingfishers were looking for a second lead guitar, someone to round out their sound and who could pull their own against Big Bill Hilton, the current lead. The two leads would need to play off of one another. Tree played an acoustic set with his twelve string and then he played a stand-up, kick the tables over electric set. He absolutely smoked the set and two of the songs he played were Kingfisher covers, "When Love Reigns Down" and "Lock the Door, Katie". After the show, when Tree was packing up, a guy comes up to the stage and tells him the Kingfishers want to meet him.

"Yeah, and I have a date with Julie Nixon."

"No listen, man, I'm shooting straight with you. I'm their manager, Bob Jones. Here's my card. They caught your set and would like you meet them at the Downtown Highland Courts. Give your name at the desk and we'll send someone down to meet you."

"Sure, give me about 30 minutes to clean up here and I'll be over."

Tree didn't know what to think. He'd never been set up before. There was a first time for everything. He yelled over to Burt, the Hassle Cellar's manager, "Hey Burt, did you know that the guys from Kingfisher were here tonight?"

"Yeah, they were here. They asked me who you were and if you were signed. They wanted to know if you were any good. I told them that I had you playing here because you drew a crowd. Everyone seemed to like your pirotechniques and that I thought that you were a hell of a player."

"Wow, this manager guy was legit. Hey thanks for the endorsement Burt."

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"No problem kid. I hate to lose you, but good luck. I hope it works out for you."

"Burt, is it OK if I store my stuff here for the night? I'll get it in the morning."

"Sure kid. Take one of your axes with you though. I'll bet they're going to want to hear you play."

"Sure, I was going to. Thanks again Burt. See you in the morning."

Tree left and drove over to the Hotel. He walked into the Hotel with his guitar case. The people behind the desk first looked at one another and then started to steer Tree back out of the door. He gave his name and tell them to call up.

"No, I won't leave. Some guy by the name of Bob Jones, the Kingfishers' manager told me to come over and meet the band. I'm sure that if you call up, you can clear up this whole misunderstanding."

"Young man, there are no such things as Kingfishers staying here. And what kind of name is Bob Jones, that's not even very original."

"Well, I can always go set up out front and wait for one of the Kingfishers to get pissed that I stood them up. And then you can explain to them why you wouldn't let me up."

Some calls were made at the desk and Tree was shown up to the room. Introductions, handshakes, drinks, there was a lot happening all at one time. Big Bill sat in a chair to the side of the room. He was drinking straight out of a bottle of Jack Daniels that he was holding in one hand and petting a cat with the other hand.

"How are you kid?" He sounded like a bear waking up, if anyone had ever gotten close enough to hear a bear waking up. The cat stood up and arched its back stretching and jumped down on the floor to find another spot. It seemed to know that something was about to happen.

"I'm fine. How are you? Can I put my ax down over here?"

"Sure kid. By the way, how old are you?"

"I'm seventeen. But, I play much older." It was his standard line. It had served him well so far and landed him gigs in bars that probably should never have hired him. Burt knew that as long as Tree didn't drink, and he didn't, there would be no problem.

Big Bill, a man of few words, said, "Well, let's get to it." He lifted a Strat up off the floor and plugged it into an amp that was sitting besides him. He ripped off about ten minutes of teeth rattling guitar solo that would have shut the devil down if he'd had come for Big Bill's soul. Tree normally would have stood drop jawed and applauded at the end. Instead he followed his hand movements and memorized the sound as it reached him. "OK, kid let's see what you got." And he tossed his guitar over to Tree.

Tree ripped right into the same solo, nearly note for note. He did change one passage because he thought it fit better. When Tree finished, there was no sound in the room. There was no sound outside. It was the most silent Tree had ever heard the world. Big Bill sat quiet for a moment and then broke out into a big grin. "Have a drink. I think we found our boy. Bob sign this boy up. Get him what he needs. See you tomorrow kid, I got a hot one in the next room and I don't want her to cool off any more than I need to let her."

Kingfisher was definitely Big Bill's band and everyone else went along with him. He was the showman and lead writer. He'd been through three drummers and two singers. The current formation of the band included in the original bass player, Jes Farr, and the original rhythm guitar and lyricist, Tom Henry. The current singer was blues shouter, Jeff Markes, and the current drummer was a wild man, Tom McMannus. They were all journeyman rockers who had been in dozens of bands between them.

"So kid, do you still think I'm blowing smoke up your ass?"

"No, but this creates another whole set of shit for me deal with."

"No problem kid, play with the band tomorrow night and we'll figure a way around all of the minor legal stuff if it works out. You got a place to stay tonight?"

"No"

"I'll get you set up here. You seem to handle the Strat OK, do you want another one for the show or will one of Bill's do you?"

"One of Bill's is fine. This is a lot to take in all at one shot. Hey, can I get some passes for a couple of buddy's from home?"

Eight o'clock the next morning, Tree was practicing with Kingfisher for that evening's performance. He was trading guitar licks with Big Bill and holding his own. Tree had always felt the music and didn't need to be technically accurate. He was always right with the music.

Bill stated, "This kid brings back the fun of rock. It's good for the band to bring in young guys to energize us again. Look how you guys are playing. We're more charged than we've been in years." This was quite a statement from a twenty-seven year old. And at that time in rock's history, a 27 year old was a grizzled veteran.

The concert that evening went great. Tree was introduced as the next Jimi Hendrix and played as well as anyone had ever seen or heard. This kid blew away the crowd, the critics, and the rest of the band, including Big Bill. During "The King Is Lost in the Fog," Big Bill leaned into Tree and yelled into his ear, "Hey kid, you're smoking this crowd. Kick ass." Tree just smiled and drove off into another ear shattering lick.

When Tree played music it was more than just feeling the notes. He made those within listening feel his playing. He could mesmerize an entire audience. It was not unlike the effect that the pied piper of Hamlin had on those that heard him play. Tree, like Hillen, could lead an audience down any emotional path that he chose. He could take a crowd and send them into a frenzy of activity. People leaping into the air and throwing themselves onto the ground. He could sedate them into a trance-like state were they hung on every note, swaying softly and feeling internal peace as the world turned. When Tree took off on a solo, he held the minds and spirits of the crowd in his fingers by turning them into the notes that he played on his guitar. That first night, people left the arena not knowing what had happened to them. They left with an experience that when many recalled it years later would still focus far away and sway back and forth. It was like when Tree played, his guitar was plugged into the base of each of the members of the audience's skull. His strings were directly wired to an individual's synapses and Tree had complete control over their emotions, actions, and cognitive activities.

He was a success because he touched an audience like no performer had ever done before. He flowed his feelings and emotions through each person's own amplification system. This wasn't crowd control. It was miles beyond that. It was giving people a glimpse into the inner workings of life. It was allowing someone the short-term freedom to recognize what it meant to be themselves. This very rarely stayed with anyone. But, Tree did give this gift away, free, with the purchase of every concert ticket.

But, there were storm clouds gathering in Valeton.

"What do you mean you're leaving school and joining some rock band? Are you out of your head? There's no way in hell I'll allow any of this. How did you think you'd get this one past me?"

After fifteen minutes of his father's harangue, Tree finally had a chance to speak. "Mom signed the papers last night. I only needed one signature. She wished me luck. As for school, I can test out of all of the classes and graduate on time. I've already set the times. I take the tests at the end of the week. We're on a break from touring and this fits in with the timing. I'm making $15,000 a week. What were you making a week when you were eighteen?"

He felt that this was one way to get back at father. His last day in taking his father's personal elevator had always stuck with him and he knew that one day he would make his father pay for it. Today was payday.

"That has nothing to do with any of this. You know the plans that I had for you." There was a pause and Tree could see that his father was turning bright red. He figured that he just got the part about his mother signing for him. Noah almost roared like lion, "But she was drunk. I'll have the lawyers on it tomorrow. They'll get it negated. You're a lot slicker than I've ever given you credit for." Although Noah hated the outcome, he could appreciate young Noah's maneuverings.

"Dad, save your money. By the time your lawyers get what you want, I'll be out of school and turning eighteen. You were on your own at eighteen, shooting people in the Pacific. I'm at least not dangerous. And I've never wanted anything to do with the munitions business. I hate what it does and all that has anything to do with it."

"It's provided you with many luxuries. It's given you many privileges that others only dream of. By the way, how did you find time to keep playing the guitar, I thought that I stopped that years ago."

"Just like you, I know what I want and focus on it. Nothing gets in my way."

They knew how to play one another. Tree respected Noah's power and knew that in order to beat him he would have to be better prepared and have covered all of his bases. Noah was beginning to respect the drive that was in his son, he just wished that it was not misdirected.

"Well then, that's it. Get your stuff and get out. Contact me when all of this falls apart. I'll see if I want you back by then. I find it very hard to believe that you're throwing away your future on some traveling circus. But, you'll be back when you're hungry and then we'll see."

"Yeah, you're right, we'll see."

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Tree packed his new Van and left. He said good-bye to Hillen and his sisters. Hillen barely acknowledged his existence and nodded good-bye. Tree wasn't close to his sisters either, except for Dale and they would stay in touch. However, there was not a moist eye in the house. He drove to Northeast Philadelphia, where Kingfisher was based and moved in with Jeff. Jeff had bought a big warehouse and was always remodeling it. He had plenty of room and would let Tree live there until Tree was old enough to lease his own place. The world was not over inviting to a seventeen year old rock star, even if he had enough money to do what he pleased.

Kingfisher lasted another two albums or just one month shy of a year. The albums were big sellers in stores and big draws for the band at the concert stadiums. The fire between Bill and Tree only got better as they learned how to play off one another. And each had their own section of the show where they were the big gun for a solo. Life on the road was a circus and a party all at the same time. Everything was disportionate to life's needs: women, food, liquor, drugs, love, time, comforts, everything. Big Bill's life style or death dreams finally caught him one night in a heroin and vodka fog. He choked on what he could no longer stomach. Bill being the driving force left a hole too big to fill. The band drifted apart and its members landed in other bands or even other parts of the business. Tree continued to play. His lightening style fell out of favor with the disco crowd and at eighteen he was looking to mount some kind of come back. That's when he met Bobbi.

Tree wasn't into the drinking and drug scene. Not that he had any more sense than anyone else in the band, he simply couldn't handle the hangovers. He couldn't play high and he hated to play sick. So it kept him sober and clean when the rest of the band was buying into the high life. Bill's death hit Tree hard. He moved back towards Valeton and started playing small bar gigs again. Not for the money, but to get back in touch with music and why people came to listen to it. He needed a reason to continue and for now this would work. He was even weak enough to think, once in a while, that maybe, just maybe, his father was right and he would need to find a real life. Rock still wasn't the big business it was to become in the later years of the decade.

None the less, Tree's early success was a lot to deal with. He was glad to move back to Mockton and play the little towns in the area around Pittsburgh. He even showed up at Burt's from time to time and sat in with whoever was playing. Burt was happy to offer this to his usuals and even hype it a bit that Tree may show up on any given night.

Bobbi showed up one of those given nights and hung around until closing to meet Tree. She had been a fan of Kingfisher and a fan of this eighteen year old's obvious talent. She was in her twenties and marked Tree as someone that she wanted. Tree was tall with long dark hair. He carried himself with self assurance and confidence. He had the build of a teenager turning into a man, but not quite there yet. He would eventually be all angles and edges, but none of those were yet defined. Bobbi was short and blond. She was a women and every curve proved that she knew how to hug the road for mileage. Tree never stood a chance. But, that was OK, for Bobbi's heart was good and she took Tree in and would help him handle the world that much better with a solid lover.

That was Tree's first song to Bobbi, "Solid Lover." It became a number one hit and opened the door to his come back. That and the birth of his son happened on the door steps of one another. These two events defined the rest of his life. He didn't know at the time, but he sure helped to put a lot into motion.

Hillen's Recital - I've got Friday on my mind

This was the social event of the year for anyone who lived in Pennsylvania, as far as Hillen was concerned. He would have been hard pressed to understand why the hall hadn't been sold out for months. Noah had purchased all of the orchestra seats and hired limo services to ferry the Valeton elite because this was Mona's picture of how things should be done. For the most part, Noah had never understood anything that Hillen had played. He was more of a Dean Martin, Nelson Riddle music listener. He liked songs with lyrics that you could sing to, even if you couldn't sing.

Mona seemed pretty good getting dressed late Thursday afternoon. She seemed like she was in pretty good control. The red dress she had selected draped from her shoulders and she, at the time, seemed satisfied with its look. Noah hoped that the satisfaction would last through the evening. Noah's tux still fit him as well as always. He would turn heads as he walked into symphony hall and he wouldn't even notice.

He had hired four cars. Two for his family, one for the Lollys, and one for him, John Lolly, and Sunny Vale to travel up in while discussing business. John Lolly had become a trusted advisor, at least when it came to government insurance regulations. Noah was fairly sure it was one of the twins that was actually following the regulations and not John, but John knew not to waste Noah's time and always got whatever it was that Noah needed. Noah never needed to know more than that.

The cars came mid-afternoon. They were all going to meet for a pre-concert dinner at Alfredo's. It was on one of the rivers, Noah could never remember their names, it wasn't important to him. And after the concert, Noah was hosting a party, at Mona's insistence, at the Four Seasons. This was going to be an expensive evening out. At least that was the kind of love that Hillen understood. Most of Valeton that could afford the trip to Pittsburgh on a Thursday evening would be in the auditorium. It would be a big homecoming night for Hillen. But, as Noah knew, nothing was ever quite big enough for Hillen. The word in the music industry was that he was very talented, but difficult to work with. Noah could have told them that a long time ago.

Hillen had started lessons when he was six. Noah bought Hillen a piano so that he could practice. Noah had purchased a new upright something or other. At the time it seemed like a good purchase and the piano dealer told Noah that he could trade it in for something better later if the child showed some interest in continuing. This all seemed more than reasonable to Noah - not to Hillen. He wanted from the beginning a nine foot Bosendorf. Even at six, Hillen was precocious and snobbish. He knew that this was the finest piano made in Europe and nothing but that would be good enough for him. After three or four fiery confrontations, Noah told Hillen that if he showed him some talent and tenacity, he would get him the instrument that he wanted. The discussion happened at one of those few and far between family dinners that Noah usually tried to miss. Most of the time, Noah was happy for all of the work that he had and for his long hours.

"I'll show you. I'll get what I want."

"Good, I'll give you what you want. I just want to see some results first."

"Oh Noah, give the boy what he wants."

"Mona, you know that I will, as soon as I see some sound reason for the investment."

"I'll show you. I'm going to be great just to prove you wrong for once."

"Excel for yourself, boy. I've always wanted you to succeed. I'll provide the means, you provide the work."

Noah remembered being more than tolerant and reasonable with both Hillen and Mona. It was their relentlessness that finally wore him down. And it would seem that it had worked for all of them anyway. Hillen was a pianist who's had some success and Noah was able to placate Mona that he was responsive to the boy's needs.

All of the Vales were in the limo ready to go. There were only two missing Vales. Most of the girls were there with their dates, significant others, or their spouses and would be hosted by their mother on the way up. Young Noah and Barbara were not there and were not expected. No one knew that Tree had tickets, up in the balcony, to watch his big brother play. Tree had always felt that Hillen had talent and he always appreciated it. Tree didn't like Hillen as a person and felt that Hillen was very self-centered. But, maybe that's what it takes to be very good, if not great.

The ride to Pittsburgh was uneventful. Dinner was even more forgettable. The only business of note for John and Sunny to deal with on the way up was creating a trust fund. This was virgin ground for Sunny. She was about to be promoted and put in charge of trusts, a very good career move. Almost as satisfying as working late in the bank on Monday night. For John, this was just another employee child trust fund. He had handled dozens for Noah and his special projects. As a matter of fact, Sunny was the recipient of one of Noah's generous trusts. The munitions business was very good and always improving. It would always keep both Noah and John in business and would always allow Noah to be generous. After all, didn't Alfred Nobel make all his money producing and selling dynamite.

Hillen's concert was a triumph. He played as though possessed by all of the greats from all times. When he put his fingers to the ivory, all of the musical power, emotions, and compositions blended to make the most moving music Tree had ever heard. Tree felt as though someone had hit him right between the eyes with varied musical landscapes. The passages were so powerfully imaginative that Tree was able to see the vision, note by note. He had had no idea that Hillen was this talented. He didn't realize how much Hillen could do musically that was so different than Hillen the person. He must be a real life Jeckle and Hyde. Tree hoped that once in his life, he would be able to write something so powerfully moving. Tree would later write a long letter to Hillen, that Hillen would see and never respond to because Hillen wouldn't know what Tree was talking about. It's not the first time that the vehicle had no idea about the driver or the road.

Hillen, once he started playing, closed his eyes and was moved beyond himself. He never understood what was happening, but he was intelligent enough to let it happen. It was like procession. He was the vehicle through which the music flowed. He would of course always claim that it was his own powerful imagination and compositional powers that would produce the music that was able to move people to tears or heights of joy. In reality, Hillen barely understood it himself. He simply played and let the music take him over, even as if someone else were using his fingers.

Noah was still trying to figure out a melody and had no idea what he was listening to. Most of Valeton was simply moved that someone from their town was playing a big piano in very big hall in a big city. And it wasn't as though they were small time yokels who didn't visit the big city. The experience was overwhelming for most of them. Even Dorothy Lolly was impressed by the young man's abilities. She was probably the closest person to someone who would truly understand the musical movements. She had been exposed to more musical landscapes than anyone else living in Valeton. John Lolly thought the whole thing was just a smashing success.

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"That's the best music I've heard in a long time. You and Mona should be very proud. Your boy playing with the whole orchestra, my goodness how far has he come. You both must be very proud of Hillen."

"Yes, we are very proud of the boy. Frankly, I didn't quite understand the music, but it looked as though Hillen played very well."

"Oh Noah, you're always running Hillen down. He did extremely well. He played beautifully. He's a star and will someday he'll be internationally acclaimed."

"Yes, I'm sure he will be. Shall we all go on to the reception?"

The reception at the Four Seasons was a magnificent affair. It lasted late into the night and everyone, except for maybe Hillen, had a wonderful time. There was a small combo providing background music. At some point, and it may have been John Lolly who asked, Hillen was asked to play something for the revelers.

"Haven't I poured enough of myself out for you people tonight? I put my soul into those pieces and I have nothing left to give. I've given you the best that I have and I'm insulted that you would even request more."

That silenced everyone until Hillen left the room with a flourish. He was going up to lie down, he was exhausted by people and this was the most exhausting group that he'd been exposed to for some time.

Mona defended Hillen as well as she could. She was well into a bottle of vodka and felt that her son was correct in his artistic disposition. "Well, he did play very well and it is hard work and all, remembering all those notes."

After he left, the party continued, but it began to wind down. It was a long drive home for most and there was work tomorrow.

Tree was a long time home before Hillen's temper tantrum. He was still soaring to the sounds that he had heard for the first time that evening. He was making a sound comeback playing the small clubs. He had a few demos out to the labels and his agent had just delivered some good news about non-disco opportunities. Tree was on the verge of becoming a leader in the industry in his own rights. Big Bill had taught him a lot about the business and the most important thing that Bill was to leave him with, was the lesson about the high life. It may lead to some quick finesse and some fast insight, but it only leaves a shell and Tree wasn't willing to burn up that fast in bright white heat. He may play Reed's "White Heat White Light", but he certainly wasn't about to live it. But, tonight, he heard sounds that he wanted to capture. He heard music that was not in the hall, only in his head. He needed to find these sounds and incorporate them into his style. This was a great gift from Hillen. And Hillen wasn't one of the great gift givers. Tree felt like he was stealing fire from the gods. That's how he would work it in: stealing fire from the gods.

When his major label release hit and caused both critical and commercial acclaim, Tree felt like he was just playing the music he knew how. Everyone proclaimed him the killer of disco and the new king of rock. He had combined sounds that no rocker ever had. Straight-forward driving rhythms, clanging guitars, and soaring lead lines, these were a few of the personal elements that Tree added back into the music mix of the seventies. However, sitting in his apartment late after Hillen's major US concert debut, these were only things to come. What he needed to concentrate on right now, even more than music for a change, was the parole hearing.

Riding home, with most of his fellow travelers asleep, Noah went over the day's arrangements. Sunny would do just fine as his in at the bank. She was competent and loyal. He was happy that he'd seen to her education. He would watch her advancement with interest. He wasn't sure about the president, Derrick Sloan. He mentally signed off on the trust set up for the child and began checking the list that Miller had sent over. He circled a few names. He would need more information on these couples. However, one couple stood out as the leading candidate. He would need to talk these names over with Miller and Loaden. They would both provide him different levels of information about the two. That mentally accomplished, he began to focus on the next event, Hidden's parole hearing. He wondered how this one would go.

After his night of success, Hillen wasn't ready yet to sleep. He wanted to really celebrate his success. He had invited over the young cello player, fifth chair, Howard Monterey. Howard was just what the doctor would have ordered for Hillen after having to deal with the Valeton "elite".

"Hillen, I don't know from where your music emanates, but I do know that it is without a doubt the most moving music that I have ever played or listened to. I love the way you make me feel your music. It's like you let me take a peak inside of you and you are all lightness and goodness."

"Thank you Howard. Yes, I write as an inspiration to others. I can only hope that my talent will show others of the opportunities that can open up to them, if only they study with a master. Would you like to study under me? Would you like to become one with my great talent?"

And for the rest of the evening they worked out the arrangements.

Only a Parrot In a Gilded Cage

Hidden looked older, thinner, and Noah hoped wiser. Noah found it hard to believe that he was at the hearing. For one of the very few times in his life, he was trying to sit in the back of the small room, unnoticed. The room was one of those institutional rooms, whitewashed, cleaned, and pealing with chipped gray-green metal furniture. There was a table across the front of the room, and there was a smaller table in front of the dozen or so chairs. Four men and two women sat at the larger table. Hidden sat by himself at the smaller table. Young Noah sat up front in one of the gun-metal green chairs near Hidden and Noah sat leaning to the side of the chair in the back. Unfortunately, for Noah, he sat as though he was always about to get up, but it was that old war injury that he would never talk about that caused him to sit lopsided. There were two armed guards on the door to the far side of the room. It was almost exactly like the last time.

The preliminaries were all but over, the case numbers, the review of his time in jail, the offenses, all of the past information. The only thing left was to have Hidden speak for himself and to have those who are planning on helping with his outside rehabilitation speak. That would probably mean both Noahs.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"Yes, sir, thank you. I feel as though I've grown and learned how make myself useful to society. I know what I did was wrong and I know that I'm an alcoholic and can never drink again. But, I take one day at a time and I feel ready for success. I know that if I maintain my self worth and if I continue to learn and respect others, I can be a decent person and help. I have joined the church here and believe in Jesus as my personal savior. I have worked on my metal shop skills and have passed my welding certificate program and received my certification. I feel remorse for my pass actions and know that if I stay clean, I can fit into society as a member rather than be a drain on society as a criminal. And I do not feel as though I'm a life-time criminal. I feel that I made some bad choices and some stupid actions."

Noah knew that Hidden was always in the wrong place at the wrong time. The first time with that Edsel at the bank would have been almost comical if it were not for Echo's injuries. However, it was good that Noah could help out. This last time the vehicular manslaughter was reduced to drunken endangerment, but the women that was with him is still dead, so was the family returning home in their station wagon, and that truck driver. Noah knew that even keeping Hidden away from the booze was no guarantee of keeping Hidden out of trouble.

Noah remembered the late night call from the state troopers.

"Noah Vale?" a voice on the other end of the receiver asked.

"Yes, who's calling?"

"This is Corporal Dan Smith from the Pennsylvania State Police. A Hidden Vale was involved in an accident. He has listed you as a next of kin. Could you come down to the Mochton courthouse? He is being charged with vehicular manslaughter."

"Yes, of course I'll come there. What is it he's done?"

"Sir, I'd prefer not to get into that over the phone. You may wish to bring a lawyer with you."

"Does anyone in this room have anything to add to these proceedings before we make our decision?"

"Yes sir, I do," Tree spoke up. "My uncle has abused alcohol and paid for it. He has done some very dumb things under the influence of alcohol. But, I have a stack of letters here from him that show his development these past five years. He has changed from being a victim of basically his own life to being someone who wants to control his life and knows that he can control his own existence. When I was young, my uncle took an interest in me. I didn't see the same man that others saw. I did not see the man who abused his wife or his life. I saw a man who could take time to spend with a young boy and who would stop doing something in the middle of a task and talk to a kid. These letters show that this is the core of this man and that he has again found that core. I'm more than willing to help him establish himself in a new life and provide him with someone who will be there for him, as he