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LIGHT OF THE ATMA – THE SPARK WITHIN
” . . . OR A MATTER OF MONEY
MAKING PUBLIC OPINION.”
oston was a city that closed up its doors in the early evening. Even still, in certain elite parts of town, such as the one wherein Sir Charles lived, cabs ran fairly steadily till midnight, and occasionally into the wee hours of the morn; because in the uptown sections of the city there was often some sort of political activity going ’round the clock.
It was only a short drive to Tom’s house from Sir Charles’ house. The carriage pulled up under a lamp post. As Sir Charles stepped out, he gave orders for the driver to wait.
The clops of the horse’s hooves on the street in the quiet of the night caught Tom’s and Sam’s attention. They both looked out their front windows at the same time and both opened their doors and walked outside to greet Sir Charles. As Tom shook Sir Charles’ hand he asked:
“Any news?”
“Perhaps we can go in and talk?”
Tom asked Sam, “Can we talk in your house?” Sam nodded. “Good,” Tom replied, “I’ll get Martha.”
Allison was standing in the parlor with an anxious expression coloring her visage a dark ethereal hue, when they entered. “This is my daughter, Allison,” Sam introduced. Sam’s wife came downstairs at that moment. “And this is my wife, Sandra.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Sir Charles responded.
“Here,” Sam offered, “let me take your hat and coat.”
Sir Charles unwrapped his scarf and handed it to Sam, then removed his hat and coat. As Sam was hanging them on the coat rack, Tom and Martha walked in.
Sir Charles greeted Martha with a polite, “Good evening Martha,” then walked over to the fireplace and rubbed his hands together for warmth. “Chilly night,” he commented as he turned to take regard of everyone. Allison sat down on a chair while everyone else stood.
Noticing that all eyes were on him, Sir Charles stated, “I’ll get right to the point. I received a telephone call this evening from a Judge Walker in Chicago. He called me in response to the telegram I sent to Chicago early this morning. Judge Walker told me that Elmer Crogg testified at a hearing early this morning, that Peter’s last known whereabouts was in the Chicago mansion with his governess, whom he later discovered had abducted him.”
This statement that Sir Charles had repeated, brought horrified looks to everyone’s faces. It also elicited a remark from Tom. “Can you believe those scathing lies?!”
Allison was trepidly, gripping the arms of the chair in which she was sitting. With her fingers wrapped tightly around the nubs she cried out with a tremulous voice,”He’s lying! That no good man is lying! He has him! I know he has him! Peter would have shown up here by now! Those two men who chased peter out of the station must have followed us on his orders! They must have taken him back to Chicago!” She threw her hands to her face and shivered in an hysterical tremble.
Sir Charles glanced at Allison not knowing if he should continue to speak in her presence. He took Tom and Sam aside and suggested, “Perhaps we should continue this conversation in private.”
Allison took her hands from her face and pleaded for permission to stay and listen. Sam, fixing his eyes upon the other two men, stated, “She has a right to hear what was said.”
Sir Charles stood before the group again, and prefaced his remarks by saying he understood this response from Chicago to be nothing but a pack of lies, and what he was about to repeat may be hard for them to take. Martha squeezed Tom’s arm, and, Sandy squeezed Sam’s hand, and Allison held her mother’s arm for support.
“I’m quoting the judge now,” Sir Charles clarified, and he took out from his pocket, a little notebook to read. “Mr. Crogg stated:
‘The Lad may have become overly distressed when he learned of Miss Hamilton’s plan to forcibly take him to Boston. To the extent of my knowledge, Peter did not want to live with his grandparents, and simply ran away from Miss Hamilton to save himself when he got the chance.'”
Peter’s grandmother could not bear the insult, and ran from the house in tears. Allison bolted from the chair, and ran upstairs sobbing. Allison’s mother was torn between running to the side of Martha, and rushing to the aid of her own daughter. Tom accommodated the need by hastening to take care of his wife, which allowed Sandra to see to her daughter, leaving Sam, and Sir Charles in the parlor by themselves.
Sir Charles set his attention on Sam. His sympathy and concern could be seen in his gaze. “I know how you all must feel right now. It’s times like this that cause us to wonder about life, isn’t it?” Slapping Sam on the arm, he encouraged, “You’ve got to hold up because your family and your friends are going to need you.”
As Sir Charles put on his coat and hat and threw his scarf around his neck, he commented, “Sometimes it seems as though the man has to bear the brunt of the burden. The unspoken duty for us men is physical brawn and inner strength.” Sir Charles opened the door. A cold breeze entered uninvited. He turned around in the open doorway. “I suggest you take your daughter out of state; that will keep her out of sight, and out of reach.”
The bewildered expression in Sam’s eyes preceded his question of, “Why?”
“Well, because there are certain individuals in the police department who take orders from unscrupulous people. You know the kind – the kind that make good apples turn bad. Well, to make a long story short, I’m getting wind that someone’s getting the notion to have your daughter arrested for kidnapping.”
Sam was horrified. “What?!”
“I know, I know! It’s unfair and unjust, but that’s the way our system works sometimes. There’s good and evil everywhere. When you mix the bad with the good, justice sometimes becomes a matter of chance, or a matter of money making public opinion. You see Sam, the liars want their day in court too. Only they don’t want it to defend themselves, they just want it to accuse!
Now, just because I tossed a few wrenches into the mechanism, doesn’t mean that your daughter will remain safe for long. Someone is bound to jump the rule sooner or later and come looking for her!!” He gave Sam a caring smile. “Your best bet is to bring her where they can’t find her. Keep in contact with me and I’ll let you know when the coast is clear.”
Sam shook Charles’ hand and told him he didn’t know what they would do without his help. He then walked him to his carriage and saw him off. Sam turned around and stared at the faint glow of the light behind the shade of the window in Allison’s room. He rubbed the chill out of his arms as he stood there.
He looked over to Tom’s house with the intention of going over when he saw the light in their upstairs window go out. He thought for a moment, then began walking back up the walkway to his front steps. Just then, he heard the door at Tom’s house open. Apparently, Tom had some similar desire to speak to Sam and was approaching his house. Sam met him halfway, and the two of them stood talking in the chilly night air.
“How’s Martha?” Sam asked.
“She’s taking it hard,” Tom acknowledged, “but she’s a strong woman. And how about Allison?”
“I’m not sure,” Sam answered. “She seems to have taken this incident extremely hard.”
“What else did Sir Charles have to say?” Tom wondered.
“He told me I’d better get Allison out of town for a while.”
“Why?”
“Well, it seems as though some men have the power to cause trouble for those who don’t deserve it.”
“What’s wrong?” Tom asked.
“Sir Charles just informed me that he got wind of an arrest order in the works for Allison.”
“An arrest order?!” Tom was aghast.
“On the charge of kidnapping.” Sam added.
“KIDNAPPING?!” Tom yelled in a very loud whisper.
“It’s absurd I know, Sam said, “and no one on this earth can make a charge like that stick,” he stated, “but think of what it would do to Allison to be put in jail – and think of what a trial would do to my reputation. The bad press might even be enough to have the Board of Directors dismiss me.”
“They would never stoop to that.” And Tom shook his head, no.
“Oh yes they would.” Sam said fearfully. “Everyone has an image to uphold. The board don’t want theirs tarnished anymore than I want mine tarnished!”
Tom, with a flurry of wonder in his mind, questioned, “Who is this Mr. Crogg that he can cause this kind of problem in our lives – – – a problem that we don’t deserve. What kind of man would seek to ruin a career that took a lifetime to build?”
Sam rubbed his arms vigorously to increase his warmth. “An evil man, he answered pensively – that’s what kind,”
Sam then gazed up at Allison’s window and saw that the light was out. “It looks like Allison fell asleep.” Then looking back at Tom he confided, “I have a little cottage on the Cape, you know the one, but the officials are sure to look for her there if when they come looking.”
Slightly shivering from the night air, Tom put his hands in his jacket pockets and thought a moment or two. “She can stay at my daughter’s house in Connecticut. No one knows about that place except us. It was her retreat – a place for her to go when she didn’t want anyone to know where she was.”
Tom struggled to hold back the tears over the loss of his daughter as his mind began to drift onto memories of her, but before the emotions could grip him, he pulled himself back to the concern he felt for the Allison, the daughter of his best friend. “That would be a perfect place of safety for her.”
“This is kind of you,” and the look in Sam’s eyes was that of great appreciation. As thoughts moved through Sam’s mind, he mentioned, “You know, it occurs to me that I’m going to have to go to Chicago, and talk to this Mr. Crogg myself.”
“Not without me, you won’t!” Tom objected. “Besides, if Peter is there, I want to be there.” After a moment of thought, Tom announced, “You realize of course, Martha will want to accompany Sandra, and Allison to Connecticut.”
“All in all,” Sam remarked, “that would probably be best. They seem to need each other anyway.”
Tom had a doubt. “But what if Peter shows up here while we’re gone?”
Sam looked at him with disbelieving eyes. “Do you really think Peter is out there on the streets somewhere, lost and unable to find his way here?”
“I guess it was one of those hopes that makes one think funny. I sometimes see it in my patients – where it is better to believe in a slim chance, than not to believe at all.”
Sam’s teeth started to chatter as he talked. “I think who ever was chasing Peter, caught him, and took him back to Chicago! And I believe that if we don’t go there and save him from whatever dreadful fate that awaits him, we’re going to lose him.”
Tom stared off at the street lamp and took a deep sigh. “Looks like a trip to Chicago is in order then.”
Sam nodded his head, and both men, without saying another word, knew what they had to do, and each returned to their homes without even so much as a ‘Good night’.
Midnight had come in like a welcome visitor for Crogg. He loved the night life so much, he spurned the light of day. But this night, as nice as it might have seemed, would have to be left for those who were free to enjoy the revelous times, more than he.
The mansion remained quiet, and each hour that he had to wait, and watch over Peter, felt like a month of Sundays dragging by.
He consoled himself throughout the night with the thought that Peter would be leaving around noon the next day. Thinking out his plans, he constructed them, then reconstructed them in his mind, playing out the dialogue he would have with each person involved for the next day.
s an orange velvet spray of light of the early dawn just started to pierce and beam down through the clouds, it dressed the dark morning sky with flowering, thick vibrant bouquet of pink that gave a certain look to the pond that dressed the estate.
Crogg’s wicked thoughts drifted toward Peter. Peter restlessly, stirred in his sleep. His dreams must have certainly been influenced by the evil of Crogg’s intent.
Crogg slowly, walked upstairs, with his mind bolted on what he wanted to do to Peter. As Crogg get closer to Peter’s room, Peter started to toss and turn with violent jerks.
When Crogg reached Peter’s room, he dismissed the sleeping servant on guard duty, then unlocked the door as quietly as possible with the key he had the locksmith make for him.
He opened it and peered in with one eye as he looked through the slightly opened door. Seeing Peter was still asleep, in basically the same position he was when Crogg was up there last, he walked over to Peter and stared down at him for a few short moments as he entertained a evil thought. He then took a deep breath and shook Peter awake.
“Huh,” Peter moaned as he struggled to wake up.
Crogg put on his best tones for this conversation. “Wake up sleepy head,” Crogg prompted, putting a melodic tune in his voice. As artificial as Crogg’s cheery tone was, somehow it made Peter feel better.
Crogg went over to the windows, and pulling the curtains aside, lifted the shades one by one. “Grand day for a new start, isn’t it?”
As the sky grew brighter, its hues changed from moment to moment. But Crogg’s vibrant tone was pure counterfeit. He didn’t really recognize the beauty of the morning, nor did he recognize the way the airy clouds majestically floated across the firmament, nor did he absorb the marvelous caryophyllaceous pink tint that colored the sky and slowly changed into a beautiful flamingo pink as the aurorean moments passed.
Peter grunted as he stretched, then with an extra grunt, fell limp again. All too soon, the recent events of his life started to replay in his mind as he regained consciousness. He sat up and looked around.
Crogg walked over to him, and with syrup-like politeness, mentioned, “I had intended to fill you in on your itinerary last night, but Charles informed me that you seemed exhausted. I gave him orders to let you sleep.
Then I passed the word to every servant not to disturb you.” Peter watched him with slight wonder. “I also took the liberty of having water warmed for your bath . . .and, after a wholesome breakfast to keep your health in balance, we’ll go for a short walk ,and talk things over.”
Then pushing some of the debris on the floor aside, he began to walk toward the door. He turned around for some added words. “I really would appreciate it if you would meet me for breakfast. He pulled out his pocket watch, looked at it and suggested, “Let’s say…about seven?” Peter gave him a sort of agreeing glance. “Good,” Crogg responded, and he left the room closing the door behind him.
Sam and Tom were just boarding their train to Chicago after putting Martha, Sandra and Allison on a train to Connecticut.
Just about the time Tom’s and Sam’s train was rolling across the Massachusetts landscape nearing New York, Peter walked into study.
“I though you were going to meet me for breakfast and then have a run?
Crogg looked at him and gave him a pleasant smile and said, “I wanted to more than anything, but something unavoidable came up – but I knew you would understand.”
The windows were closed which entrapped the cigar smoke in the large room. Peter walked over to all of the windows and opened them one by one, then leaned out and sniffed the air.
Peter turned around and stared at him. Crogg who was behind the desk was flipping through a stack of files. Glancing a cogent glint at Peter from moment to moment, he questioned condescendingly, “I hope you don’t think I’m taking over the helm where your father stood for so many years.” Peter remained silent.
Still busy with files and papers, Crogg continued to speak, “This room meant a lot to your father.” Putting the files aside he stood up tall and straight – he put his thumbs in his vest pocket. “I feel a real sense of purpose by being here.”
Peter became sarcastic. “Do you mean this room is something like a sacred shrine to you?”
“Close. I had a lot of reverence for your father. He was a man to be admired, if not worshipped.” Peter stared at him piercingly. “Well,” Crogg went on, “it certainly wouldn’t hurt anyone to emulate the character of such a noble man.”
Peter pushed himself away from the window sill and walked a little closer to the desk. “What did you want to see me for?”
Crogg turned his head, and indicated with his eyes, and a gesture of his arm for Peter to direct his attention to the file room adjacent to the study. “Your father had a lot of papers scattered all about. As organized as he was, things became misplaced and misfiled.”
“Rifled through is more like it,” Peter remarked with a mordant tone.
“Well, Grover was a nosy one. It was probably he who caused the disorder.” Peter didn’t believe that for a second. Crogg walked over to the file room door and opened it and walked in, Peter right behind him. “I’ve been going through your father’s files trying to make sense of it all” Crogg said.
The file room was a mess. Papers were hanging out of the file drawers as though they had been put back by a monkey. He went over to a particular file cabinet and opened it.
As Crogg walked his fingers over the tops of the pages with all the professionalism of an actor, he noted, “I just happened to find this last night,” and he pulled it from the file. He looked at it with all seriousness as they both walked back into the study.
He pulled an envelope out and took a letter out of it, snapping the paper in the air with a jerk of his hand to unfold it. “This letter is from a military academy.”
Peter interjected, “I know the one!”
Crogg’s eyes lifted to see Peter. “Then you know they accepted you!”
“I told my father I had no desire to go to England. He and I had a conversation about that letter, not once but several times, and he kept coming up with reasons why he thought I should attend, – and I kept reiterating why I didn’t want to.”
“And what was the finial decision?”
“My father was stern Mr. Crogg, but he wasn’t stupid.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, that he was a man who listened to reason, once he established in his mind, that what I was doing was reasoning along right lines. I told him I had plans of receiving a Liberal arts degree, and from there I was analyzing the benefits that a decent Harvard, Yale, or Princeton would do for me. If you had gone through ‘my’ files, you would have discovered the letters that were sent to me from these universities.”
“Hum . . .you said something last night of the agreement between your father and yourself about your high marks?”
“What about it?”
“Do you want to elaborate on that point?”
“My father wanted me to be a man of decisions Mr. Crogg. ‘You can take control, or have control taken from you,’ my father told me. In a simple breakdown of that conversation, he agreed, with a gentlemen’s handshake, that if my grades were no less than consistently perfect, he would give me the privilege of attending the college or university of my choice. And Mr. Crogg, I graduated far beyond those expectations.”
“You’re out of high school?”
“Yes!”
“Well, I’m impressed!”
“Are you?”
“Well, it’s not everyday one meets a genius!”
“Really Mr. Crogg?! Now, to the point, what’s your purpose of wanting of asking me down to speak to you?”
“Ah yes!”
Peter looked at him suspiciously as he sat at the desk and went through some papers that were stacked high.
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