9: Cuddeback

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0><tr> <td valign="top" colspan=2 height=90 BGCOLOR="#CC9900" TEXT="#080000" bgproperties="fixed" background="047005a0dwnjzk.gif"> <div> <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Cassies Writing"><U><B>home</B></U></A><B>     | </B><B> </B><B> </B><B>  </B><FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#FFCC66" FACE="Arial" ><B>Cassie's Writing</B></FONT></div> <div> <A HREF="id53.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="1: New Orleans"><U><B>1:  New Orleans</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id54.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="2: Mary Margaret"><U><B>2:  Mary Margaret</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id55.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="3: Rumrunners Row"><U><B>3:  Rumrunners' Row</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id56.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="4: Speakeasy"><U><B>4:  Speakeasy</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id57.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="5: Sys Deal"><U><B>5:  Sy's Deal</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id58.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="6: Reunion"><U><B>6:  Reunion</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id59.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="7: Disaster"><U><B>7:  Disaster</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id60.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="8: Petofi"><U><B>8:  Petofi</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><B>9:  Cuddeback</B><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id64.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="10: Angelique"><U><B>10:  Angelique</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id65.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="11: Making Plans"><U><B>11:  Making Plans</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id66.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="12: Chicago"><U><B>12:  Chicago</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id67.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="13: Nora"><U><B>13:  Nora</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id68.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="14: The Gypsy"><U><B>14:  The Gypsy</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id69.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="15: The Trap"><U><B>15:  The Trap</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id70.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="16: The Gift"><U><B>16:  The Gift</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id71.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="17: Beth"><U><B>17:  Beth</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id74.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="18: Together Again"><U><B>18:  Together Again</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id75.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="19: Petofi Strikes"><U><B>19:  Petofi Strikes</B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id51.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Taking Wooden Nickels"><U><B>Taking Wooden Nickels</B></U></A></div> <div> </div> </td> </tr><tr> <td valign="top" width=210 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div> <B>9:  Cuddeback</B></div> <bR> </td> <td valign="top" height=390 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div>      Quentin wasn't sure he'd remember where the turn off was to the house.  As they drove through town in another rented Ford, his memory was jogged.  It had been years since he'd been here, the last time right before he met and married Jenny.  Things had changed but there were enough familiar landmarks that he got his bearings and made a left into the correct drive.  The drive was an unpaved, dirt road.  It hadn't rained, so except for the ruts, the ride went smoothly.</div> <div>      Dave looked around, awed.  "Man, I haven't seen so many trees in my life since we drove out here!  Is this your farm?"</div> <div>      Quentin laughed.  "It's not a farm, Dave.  It's just a summer place."</div> <div>      "'Just a summer place'!" Dave repeated, mockingly.  "Are there any bears out here?"</div> <div>      "Bears!  I don't know-I've never seen one."  They pulled into the main family compound.  There was a long, ranch style house.  Around the periphery of the yard stood four cabins.  They got out of the car, and Quentin went to the door and unlocked it.  He opened the door onto a comfortable, large living area.  It wasn't exactly luxurious, but it was very cozy and homey.  The living area had a fireplace, although they might not need it now.  It did smell a little closed in, so Quentin began opening the windows.  </div> <div>      Dave came in, carrying two bags of groceries.  He looked around, very impressed.  "Nice, Franky.  This is where you all came for vacation?"</div> <div>      "In the summers.  Especially when I was little," Quentin answered.  "The kitchen's in there.  Edward said we've got a refrigerator."</div> <div>      "Nice!"</div> <div>      Quentin went into the bedrooms and opened the windows there, too.  From the master bedroom, he looked out.  It was so quiet here-he'd forgotten.  He heard the sound of a mourning dove and looked to see if he could find it.  Yes-there it was, on one of the low branches of a tree.  Its mate must be around somewhere.  He heard Dave carrying in the rest of the groceries they'd purchased.  He walked out of the bedroom, through the living/dining room and into the kitchen.</div> <div>      "I like it," Dave said.  "It's so quiet, though.  It's always so quiet?"</div> <div>      "No neighbors," Quentin answered.  "We left the nearest people back in town.  It's strange at first, but you get used to it.  I'll give you a hand with the cases."  He knew Edward had told him to put Dave up in one of the cabins, but he didn't feel right about it.  It was silly.  "You can pick which bedroom you want.  There's four."</div> <div>      "Okay, thanks, Franky," Dave said.  He nodded his head in approval.  "I think I could get used to it, all right.  This is really nice.  Has all the modern conveniences."</div> <div> He indicated the refrigerator.  Quentin helped him unload the groceries and put them away, looking around.  Nora had left everything spotlessly clean, and obviously the kitchen had been modernized since he'd been here last. </div> <div>       Quentin went into one of the storage closets, rooting around for something.  He came out with a pleased expression on his face and two bottles of fine scotch.  Dave looked impressed.  "It's like they knew we were coming," Quentin said.  "I hope they don't mind if we help ourselves for now.  There's more back there, behind a false wall."</div> <div>      "I'm glad this Nora ain't no temperance lady," Dave said, smiling.</div> <div>      "Well, I don't know if she is or she isn't," Quentin answered.  "I haven't seen her in years-she doesn't know I'm back.  Not yet, anyway.  I expect Edward will tell her.  But if she didn't stash this away, then her husband did."  Quentin saw the questioning look return to Dave's face, and he said hastily, "Want to see the rest of the place?  We can go down to the river."</div> <div>      Quentin took Dave out the back door.  There was a patio in the back and a picnic table.  There was a stone hearth for outdoor barbecues.  Except for the clearing with the cabins, there was woods everywhere.  Quentin led Dave down a path to the Delaware River.  The family had built a dock; this was where they launched their canoes when they'd vacationed here.  There was a boathouse with several canoes inside, Quentin knew.  Right now, though, he and Dave stood on the dock, quietly watching the river.</div> <div>      "I didn't know anything could look so pretty," Dave whispered, reverently.  The river just seemed to appear around a corner, flowing smoothly by the dock before winding around another corner and disappearing.  The trees were lush and green, and the bottom of the river looked a little green, too-it was full of river plants.  </div> <div>      "I haven't been here in so many years, I'd about forgotten about it," Quentin commented.</div> <div>      "How many years, Franky?"</div> <div>      Quentin looked at Dave before answering.  Dave had a totally innocent expression on his face, but Quentin wasn't fooled.  "Last time I was here, I was just about ready to graduate college," he answered.</div> <div>      "Oh, that's not so long ago, is it?" Dave scoffed.  "You ain't that long out of college, are you?"</div> <div>      Quentin chose not to answer.  Instead, he grabbed Dave's arm and pointed off to his right.  "Look there, Dave!  Don't move!  Do you see them?" Dave didn't move a muscle, but he did slowly let out his breath.  A deer family approached the river for a drink.  The buck was magnificent to look at; at least four points.  The doe put her nose up in the air cautiously, but the buck was thirsty and just concentrated on drinking the water.  The two babies frisked and jumped around each other.  The doe apparently decided it was safe and put her head down to drink.  Eventually, the young deer settled down as well.  Quentin and Dave stood very still, just watching until the deer had drunk their fill and left.  Quentin sighed.</div> <div>      "Is all of this place like this?"  Dave asked.</div> <div>      "Around here, pretty much so.  We're not that far from Milford, about ten miles.  It's the county seat of Pennsylvania.  It's a little town, though.  I guess the largest cities would be Scranton to the west and Allentown, down south.  East of here would be, I guess, Newark.  But I wouldn't even call them cities-they're not like New York or New Orleans."</div> <div>      "Not like Harlem neither."</div> <div>      "Nope," Quentin agreed.</div> <bR> <div>      After dinner, as dusk approached, Quentin became more restless. He'd called Edward to let him know they'd arrived safely and asked about Jamison.  Edward told him that he'd called his friend at Buck's Head Inn and Dave could fill in on the weekends with the band. The band had a regular piano player, but Quentin would be allowed to play sometimes, if he wanted. In the meantime, they should just stay put at Cuddeback until it was safe to come back to Collinwood.  Edward had also opened an account in Port Jervis under the name Frank Healey, and Quentin could get whatever funds he needed.  </div> <div>      Edward thinks of everything, Quentin thought rather morosely after he hung up the phone.  He'd made fun of his brother's practical organizational methods before, but it certainly seemed to be more help than hindrance.  He himself certainly wasn't disciplined or organized enough to think everything through-not like Edward.  He was grateful and his attitude toward his brother had changed dramatically.  When he was a little boy, he'd looked up to Edward and admired him.  Edward was his protector.  He was beginning to feel that way again.  Too bad he hadn't realized that earlier and appreciated his brother a little more.</div> <div>       He opened one of the bottles of scotch and began drinking. He poured the scotch into a glass over ice.  Watching with some concern, Dave asked for a little water in his own drink.  They sat out on the back patio and watched the sun go down.  Quentin sensed that Dave wanted to talk to him but was uncomfortable about how to begin.  It was irritating, this new block that had developed between them.  Quentin did nothing to try and take it down, though.  He kept his thoughts to himself and sipped at his drink.</div> <div>      Finally, Dave asked, "You got a radio here?"</div> <div>      "Yeah, of course we've got a radio," Quentin replied.</div> <div>      "Well, let's listen to a program.  I like quiet, but not THIS much quiet."   </div> <div>      Quentin moved the radio to the kitchen so that they could hear it outside.  In a way, he was relieved.  It took care of conversation for a while.</div> <div>      If Dave was concerned about silence, he didn't have to worry long.  In the night, Quentin had another vivid nightmare and screamed.  Dave bolted upright in his bed, terrified.  When he realized what it was, he ran out into the hall and banged on the door of the master bedroom.  "Frank!"  he called.  "Frank, you all right?"  After a pause, he heard Quentin answer: "I'm all right.  Just had a bad dream.  Sorry to wake you."  Dave shook his head.  </div> <div>      The same pattern repeated itself night after night the week they spent there.  Sometimes Dave woke to the sound of Quentin crying out, "No, don't! Stop!" once or twice, it was to the sound of crying.  Those times, Dave stayed in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, very uncomfortable.  He didn't want to embarrass his friend. </div> <div>      During the day, Quentin showed Dave around.  The scenery awed Dave, so Quentin thought he would enjoy seeing Bushkill Falls and, in Milford, Raymondskill Falls.    Milford wasn't a far drive, and the scenery was beautiful.  Quentin parked, and they hiked through the woods.  Quentin could hear the sound of the falls and used the noise to help guide him through the woods.  He also tried to follow the more heavily traveled path, knowing that would lead him to the falls.  "What's that noise?"  Dave asked, panting.  He was used to city walking, not hiking.</div> <div>      "What noise?"  Quentin asked.</div> <div>      "You don't hear it?  That whooshing noise."</div> <div>      Quentin laughed.  He'd just taken it for granted, not thinking about the fact that Dave was city born and bred.  "It's the river, Dave.  We're near the falls."  At Dave's look, Quentin apologized.  "I'm sorry, I wasn't laughing at you, Dave.  I just wasn't thinking-"</div> <div>      "That's right," Dave cut in, only a little mollified.  "The East River don't sound like this in the city, you know.  Neither does the Mississippi."</div> <div>      "You're right.  I'm sorry.  Come on.  I'll show you something else you won't see on the East River or the Mississippi.  You ever been to Niagara Falls?"</div> <div>      "Nope."</div> <div>      "Well, come on, then.  I think you'll like this."</div> <div>      The path sloped upward.  The rushing sound became steadily louder, until it was almost like a roar.  They came out of the woods and came to a ledge of rock leading up.  They could see the falls through the sparse trees still left in front of them.  "My land," Dave whispered.  The sight was awesome.  The river flowed around a bend toward them, moving swiftly to the falls.  Then the water dropped, but it wasn't really a cascading falls.  The falls jumped and poured in and out and around huge boulders.  The water also seemed to magically appear from different places as it descended downward.  "Where's all that water come from?"</div> <div>      "Well, I don't know the source," Quentin said, regretting that fact for the first time.  He'd never given it a thought before and had never been around anyone who cared before.  "I do know it's the same river that goes by the house, and it goes down to the Delaware Water Gap.  That's a pretty big place.  Lots of people vacation there, too."  They stood quietly for a few minutes more, watching the water rush by.  Dave shut his eyes and moved his mouth a little--it looked like he was praying.  Quentin, noticing, began to look at the river with more appreciative eyes.</div> <div>      Dave looked down the falls, following the path of the rushing river.  "Can we get down there?  At the bottom?  What's it look like down there?"</div> <div>      "Well, we can go see."  Quentin led them back down, and then turned right again to walk through another small stretch of woods to reach the path that led to the foot of the falls.  Not only could they hear the water, they could feel the water spray on their faces.  The going was rockier and more slippery; the rocks were wet from the river spray.  Again, they reached another clearing.</div> <div>      Now they had an entire view of the falls, from top to bottom.  At the bottom, the rushing water slowed and pooled around and then eventually went to another tiny fall.  The river then wound down and out of sight.  "Look at that.  And we were at the top of it, and that water just keeps right on coming.  It never stops," Dave said in awe.</div> <div> It was funny, Quentin thought, how you sometimes didn't see something until someone else pointed it out to you.  Sure, he thought the falls was pretty, but it was just water-until now.  Now he felt in awe of the power and beauty of nature, too.  It even smelled beautiful, if that was possible.</div> <div>      Another day, Quentin went into the boathouse and dragged out one of the canoes.  Dave was hesitant.  "Never done that neither," he said.</div> <div>      "It's all right," Quentin said.  "It's easy to learn."</div> <div>      "Well, but I can't swim," Dave said.</div> <div>      "We aren't swimming.  We're canoeing," Quentin pointed out.  He held the canoe steady for Dave so that his friend could climb in and then he got into the canoe himself.  He gave one of the paddles to Dave and used his to push the canoe away from the dock.  "Look, like this," he said, showing Dave the correct way to paddle.  "Edward taught my brother Carl and me when we were younger.  You're doing pretty well.  Carl never did get it right.  He'd send us around in circles."</div> <div>      Dave laughed.  "Well, I hope I can at least keep us going straight."  Then he became serious. "What if the water gets rough?"  Dave worried.</div> <div>      "Nah, it won't around here.  We're too far away.  It's pretty quiet around here most of the time-unless there's a storm, and it hasn't done that for a while."  Quentin pointed out some of the animals he could see as they paddled down the river.  This was very relaxing for him.  He just wished he could relax at night, too.</div> <div>      Dave took to the paddling technique easily.  "Boy, I sure do wish I had a place like this to come to," he said with some envy.  "Does your brother Carl come here, too?"</div> <div>      "Carl's dead," Quentin answered flatly, his tone indicating he didn't want to talk about it at all.  When they felt hungry, Quentin explained to Dave how to help him turn the canoe, and they returned back to the dock.  Quentin was reaching out to grab hold when Dave suddenly stood up.  The canoe rocked and rolled over, throwing both men into the water.</div> <div>      The water was still pretty chilly for this time of the year.  Quentin pushed his way up to the surface of the water, sputtering and laughing. Here in the middle of the river, it wasn't that deep-maybe just over six feet.  It was much more shallow nearer the dock. He looked around for Dave but didn't see him.  Could he be under the canoe?  Quentin reached it and half lifted it to look.  Just on the other side, Dave came to the surface, gasping and swallowing water.  He was thrashing around in a panic.  "Dave!  Take it easy!  You're right near the dock!"  Quentin called to him, but it was as if Dave didn't hear him.  He was still gasping and swallowing water as he went under again.  Alarmed, Quentin pushed the canoe out of the way, grabbed one of the floating paddles and made his way to where he'd seen Dave go down.  He went under the water, looking for Dave, and saw a dark shadow.  He came back to the surface, reached down with his hand, and grabbed part of Dave's shirt.  He pulled.</div> <div>      Dave came up again, mouth open, swallowing and choking.  "Dave, grab this!" Quentin yelled, pushing the paddle at Dave, who was still thrashing and choking.  Dave did hear him and grabbed the paddle with his hands.  Quentin pulled it and swam toward the dock.  He grabbed onto the side and pulled Dave alongside him.  "Put your hands here," he told Dave, and Dave grabbed the dock, still choking and coughing.  </div> <div>      "Can't swim," Dave gasped out. "Never learned how!"</div> <div>      "I know.  It's all right, buddy.  The water's not deep here at all.  Put your feet down.  You can stand up."  Dave looked at Quentin with fearful eyes, still coughing.  Quentin let go of the dock.  The water was just over his thighs.  "Look, Dave, I'm standing.  Go ahead, put your feet down."     Dave looked enormously relieved.  He had put his feet on the river bottom and was standing, too.  "We can just walk out of the water.  Go ahead.  I'll get the canoe," Quentin said.</div> <div>      "Thanks, Franky.  Boy, I sure feel stupid.  What happened?"</div> <div>      "It's my fault.  I didn't tell you not to stand up until I got us tied to the dock," Quentin explained.</div> <div>      "Well, it ain't ALL your fault.  All my life growin up next to the river and never did learn how to swim."</div> <div>      "Well, here's a good place to learn."</div> <div>      Dave looked at Quentin a little grimly.  Then he laughed.  "Not today, okay, Franky?"  Quentin laughed, too.  Then he became serious again.  "Frank, don't laugh at me…I'm scared of the water."  They had walked back up onto the very narrow band of beach near the dock.  </div> <div>      Quentin was surprised, but he didn't laugh.  "I wondered how come you never learned to swim, being near the rivers."</div> <div>      "Well, see, Uncle Willy thought he would show me how to swim.  Thought he was gonna teach me the best way he knew how.  So he picked me up and throwed me in.  I was so startled; I just started swallowing water-just like now.  I was so scared-I was sure I was gonna die.  Then Uncle Willy, he pulled me out.  He was laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world."</div> <div>      "Well, that's nuts," Quentin said critically.  "I'll just show you.  Besides, I can't throw you anyway.  You're too solid."  They both laughed again.</div> <div>      On Friday of that week, they packed the car to drive to Buck's Head Inn.  They'd decided to spend the weekend there; the resort had its own rooms for the "help".  The band was considered "the help".  Sunday afternoon, they would drive back to Cuddeback.         </div> <div>      Quentin was hoping that the excitement of playing at the resort would help resolve his nightmares.  If anything, they became worse.  He began to drink heavily even earlier in the day than he normally did. He didn't seem to enjoy playing the piano after hours anymore.  Sometimes he could barely manage to hold his head up during the sets, and more than once Dave had to practically carry him to his room, only to be awakened later by the dreams. If he happened to strike up an acquaintance with a woman and disappeared with her over night, he would usually return in a foul and thunderous mood.</div> <div>      Dave brought two guitars with him back to Cuddeback.  Quentin didn't ask about them and seemed to show no interest at all, until after they'd eaten and Dave pulled out a guitar.  "Bet you didn't know I could play this here, too.  You look like you could listen to some blues tonight."  He began to play a progression of chords.</div> <div>      The way he was playing finally got Quentin's attention.  "How can you do that?" he asked with fascination, watching Dave use his forefinger to hold down all the strings of the guitar.  He used his other fingers to play other chords and his forefinger slid like a bar up and down the neck of the instrument with surprising ease.</div> <div>      "Practice.  Go get the other guitar," Dave said.  "I'll show you."  Quentin brought the other guitar out and tried to copy the chord Dave was playing.  "You got those nice long piano fingers.  This'll be easy for you."  Quentin struggled to hold all the fingers down with his finger, copy the chord, and strum the strings.  They made a flat bonk sound.  He looked at Dave.  "Be patient, man.  You got to practice it.  Look, we'll start off easy.  Lemme show you something."  Now he used the first three frets of the guitar to show Quentin a progression of three chords.  "You just do that for right now.  You mix `em up any way you want, don't matter what.  That's what blues sounds like."  </div> <div>      Quentin had better luck with the three simpler chords.  "But I want to learn what you did," he said.</div> <div>      "You will, Franky.  You just got to loosen up them muscles and tendons in your hands a little.  Look.  Do this." Dave put his first and middle fingers and ring and pinkie fingers together and then spread them so there was a gap between the middle and third finger.  "See that?  That's rabbit."  Quentin was able to copy the movement without any trouble.  "Now do this."  Now Dave kept his middle and ring fingers together and spread his forefinger and pinkie fingers far apart.  "That there is donkey."</div> <div> Quentin tried it and found his pinkie didn't want to move.  Dave laughed, and Quentin glared at him.  "Hey, calm down, kid.  You laughed at me about the river, didn't you?  So you teach me how to canoe and swim, and I'll teach you this here, all right?  So you play those chords I showed you and you do rabbit-donkey rabbit-donkey with your hands and then I can show you how to do the rest."</div> <div>      Quentin nodded and practiced a little while longer.  Dave played along with him to teach him the hang of it and was relieved to see that Quentin was relaxing.  However, later in the night, Dave woke again-but at least this time, it was to the sound of the guitar.  He stumbled out into the living room, and found Quentin practicing.  His face was white and strained.  "You're really having a rough time, ain't you, Franky?"</div> <div>      "I'm just having trouble staying asleep," Quentin replied grimly.  "I keep worrying about my family.  I keep trying to think of a way to get Bartelli before he gets me-or them."</div> <div>      Dave wasn't sure this was the entire story.  "Well, why don't you call your brother again tomorrow?  See how things are.  Maybe you'll feel better knowing your family's okay."</div> <div>      Quentin nodded, but didn't say anything.  Dave sighed.  The following weekend at Buck's Head Inn was a virtual repeat of the first except that now Quentin was getting into fights with other patrons.  From what Dave could see, Quentin was usually the instigator, making a move on a lady obviously accompanied by a gentleman.  The problem appeared to occur because the lady seemed very willing to dance with Quentin or go off into another room with him, and the gentleman would take offense.  Fortunately, Quentin and his opponent had enough sense to take their disagreement outside. </div> <div>      Dave happened to be on break when he saw Quentin and another gentleman leave the room.  Aggravated, he went outside to look for them.  This really was a nice place, and they really could stay here safely for a long time-as long as nothing happened to call attention to their presence.  Behind the lodge, Quentin was getting the best of the fight-it was almost like Cholly all over again.  Dave pulled him away.  "Stop it!  Stop that!" he shouted into Quentin's face.  </div> <div>      Quentin shoved him, hard.  He was intoxicated and swaying, and Dave wasn't sure he knew who he was.  Dave had had enough.  He threw a hard right to Quentin's jaw and down he went, like a stone thrown to the ground.  He was out, cold.  Dave approached the other patron, who was using a handkerchief to tidy up his nose.  "You okay, mister?"</div> <div>      "I'm fine.  I could've taken care of myself," the young man replied resentfully.  "This is absolutely disgraceful.  I should report you both to the manager."</div> <div>      "Look, don't do that.  I came out here to stop things before they got too far out of hand.  It ain't his fault.  He don't know what he's doing," Dave said placatingly.</div> <div>      "Is that so?  He knew enough to have his hand up my wife's skirt!"</div> <div>      "Lemme apologize for him for that, sir.  He is grief stricken, having just lost his own wife," Dave continued in his placating manner, lying right through his teeth.  "He's been drinking like a fish since, and he don't know how to behave himself when he gets like that.  I'm really sorry, mister."</div> <div>      "Well," the young man sniffed, mollified, "I guess I can understand.  But he really should control himself better than that.  He has no right to treat my wife like that."</div> <div>      "Yes, sir, you're right, and he won't do it again.  You prob'ly won't even see him again today, and you'll be gone by afternoon, won't you?"</div> <div>      "That's correct, we're going back to the city today."</div> <div>      "Well, he won't bother you again today, sir."</div> <div>      "All right, if you give me your word that you'll keep him away from my wife," the young man said warningly.</div> <div>      "Yes, sir, I'll do that, don't worry."</div> <div>      "How can you do that?" the young man asked suspiciously.  "You're not a servant to him, are you?  I've seen you both playing in the band."</div> <div>      "Well, no, not exactly, but I've known him a long, long time, and I do kind of look out for him."</div> <div>      "All right, then, but I expect you to keep your word."  The young man gave Quentin a look of disgust and stalked off.</div> <div>      Dave knelt down beside his friend and began slapping his cheeks to bring him around.  He didn't feel like being too gentle, either.  He was furious.  Quentin began to rouse himself, still fighting.  He threw his hands up to block Dave, blinking and cursing.  "Wha-wha the hell you think you're doin?"</div> <div>      "Listen, you fool, you gonna get us thrown outta here," Dave hissed angrily.  "You ain't gonna do that, you hear me?  We need to hide out here and you got to behave yourself with these married ladies.  I don't know what the hell has gotten into you since you left that Devil-man, but you been acting crazy and you gonna have to control yourself.  Now, you gonna behave yourself now or do I beat the shit out of you?"</div> <div>      Quentin glowered resentfully.  "And what makes you think you can do that?"</div> <div>      Dave looked at his friend with a mixture of exasperation and sorrow.  "Look, boy, I ain't your family that you can fool with.  Don't play games with me, Franky.  You'll regret it, I promise you will.  I ain't no easy target like these soft white men you been pickin on.  And I ain't scared to hit you just cause you're a white man. You mess with me, and I will beat the shit out of you.  I don't want to do it, cuz you're my friend.  But I'll do it to make you stop, you hear me?"</div> <div>      Quentin sat up and rubbed his face, feeling ashamed of himself. Dave was right.  At the rate he was going, he was going to get them thrown out of here.  "All right," he said softly.  "I don't want to fight you."  His head was spinning, and he felt dizzy and sick to his stomach.  He must've had an awful lot to drink.</div> <div>      Dave sat back on his heels, relieved.  "Lemme take you back to your room and put you to bed.  You need to sleep, Frank.  You haven't slept well at all in weeks, have you?"</div> <div>      "No," Quentin agreed.  He groaned.  "I don't want to sleep, Dave.  I want some coffee."</div> <div>      "All right," Dave agreed.  "We'll go back to the kitchen and get you some coffee.  Then I got to get back for the next set.  You'll be okay, won't you?  And stay away from that lady you was messing with.  She's married, and her husband don't like it.  Truth be told, you can't blame him.  You stay away from them, you hear me?  I promised him you would."     Quentin nodded wearily.  Dave stood up, and then held his hand out and helped Quentin get to his feet.  Quentin was still wobbly.  "Look, you best have yourself a couple cups of that coffee, okay?  Here, I'll go back with you to the kitchen."  He walked slowly back to the kitchen with Quentin, ready to catch him if he tipped over.  </div> <div>      They'd reached the kitchen, and Dave asked one of the helpers to get some black coffee.  Quentin collapsed into a chair at the table.  The cook, a rotund apple cheeked German named Jurgen, watched with knowing eyes.  This happened more frequently than the establishment wanted to be aware of.  "You gonna be okay now?"  Dave asked.  "I got to get back."</div> <div>      "Sure, sure," Quentin answered, waving him off. He was battling with himself inwardly.  He would've liked to have confided in Dave, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.  He imagined Dave would look at him with pity and contempt, and he couldn't stand it.  If he had been more of a man and fought harder, he would have been able to get away from Bartelli. Anyway, he'd brought the whole thing on himself by agreeing to having a group sex experience with Cholly and Helga.  He really had no one to blame but himself for all this, but he really wished he could talk to someone who could help him.  He'd never be able to tell Dave or Edward, but Barnabas-but Barnabas was still chained in his coffin.  Even if Quentin were to go back to Collinwood and unlock the chains around that coffin, Barnabas wouldn't even recognize him.  He'd just have to be more careful.</div> <div>      He really tried not to drink so much when they returned to Cuddeback for the week.  During the first few days, the two friends spent most of their free time swimming.  Quentin showed Dave how to keep himself afloat first.  They relaxed, floating on their backs, looking up at the sky.  When Quentin felt Dave was comfortable enough with the water, he showed him how to blow into the water and turn his head to the side to breathe in.  By the time Quentin got around to showing Dave how to do the forward crawl, his friend was thoroughly enjoying himself and would even jump off the end of the dock.  </div> <div>      "Frank, you'd'a made one terrific dad-you got so much patience!"  Dave said happily.  He was shocked at the look of pain that crossed Quentin's face.  "I'm sorry, man, did I say something wrong?"</div> <div>      "I had a son," Quentin explained.  "He died when he was a baby."</div> <div>      "Lord have mercy!  I'm sorry, I didn't know!"</div> <div>      "I know you didn't.  I never told you," Quentin said.</div> <div>      "So you were married?  Where your wife at?"</div> <div>      "She's dead too."  Quentin noticed Dave's distressed expression.  "Fuhged aboud it," he said, grinning, doing his best gangster impression.  He splashed Dave.  "You see?  You had nothing to be afraid of!  Now you'll swim like a fish!"</div> <div>      Dave splashed back.  "My old Uncle Willy didn't know what the hell he was doing!  So who taught you?"</div> <div>      "Edward," Quentin replied.  In very much the same way, Edward had taught Quentin and Carl to swim when they were little boys.  He remembered holding onto Edward's shoulders as his brother swam through the water like a porpoise.  It was almost like a pony ride.  He smiled at the memory.   Then he saw Dave looking at him again, with that questioning expression.  "Come on, I'll race you," he said to distract Dave from whatever he must've been wondering.</div> <div>      The following Sunday, the band didn't need Quentin to play the piano, so he went into Tannersville for a look around.  It was a small town, but he managed to find a small country store, which had the town's pool hall in the back-and, as usual, hard liquor to drink.  He shot pool with some of the locals during the day.  They were a little suspicious of him, but he was a good pool player so they allowed him to join them.  It didn't get ugly until later, when they'd all had too much to drink.  There was a dispute, and Quentin swung at one of the men.  He happened to be the town favorite, so everyone immediately got into the fray.  Quentin decided four against one was unfair odds, so he picked up his pool cue to help him defend himself.  The next thing he knew, the storeowner was in the room, hollering at all of them.</div> <div>      "You get out of here right now, before I call the police," the storeowner said to Quentin, angrily surveying the damage in the room.  The other four men were all bruised and bleeding and had lost all interest in fighting the crazy stranger.</div> <div>      "Sure, I'll bet, and do they know what you're serving here?"  Quentin sneered.</div> <div> "Fine.  The liquor and the company are bottom of the barrel anyway."</div> <div>      "Mister, I don't care at this point what the police find out," the storeowner snapped back.  "I've never had any trouble here before in my life.  You just get yourself out of here, now, do you understand?"</div> <div>      Quentin looked around the room; glaring, dissatisfied, but was at least sensible and still sober enough to take the storeowner's advice.  Out on the street, he realized hours had passed-it was well past dinnertime.  He'd probably missed the first set at Buck's Head Inn and then remembered the band probably wouldn't need him that evening either.  He felt too dizzy and drunk to drive back.  He went into a drug store, found a phone booth, and called the kitchen at Buck's Head Inn.  He asked for Dave.</div> <div>      "Ja, I get him," Jurgen said.   "Where you been, cowboy?  You miss supper here, ja?"</div> <div>      "What time is it, Jerry?" Quentin asked.</div> <div>      "Drunk, eh?  Time is almost nine," Jurgen replied.  "Band is on break.  You wait-I get Dave."</div> <div>      After an interminable amount of waiting, Dave spoke into the phone.  "Frank?  Where the hell are you?"</div> <div>      "In town.  Tannersville.  Listen, Dave, I think I'm too drunk to drive," Quentin explained.</div> <div>      Dave sighed.  "All right.  I'll borrow a car from somebody.  Where you at?" Quentin gave him the name of the drug store.  "All right, you wait there for me.  See if you can't get you a cup of coffee, huh?"</div> <div>      "Okay," Quentin said, hanging up.  The man behind the soda fountain gave him a wary, distrustful look.  When Quentin asked if he had any coffee, he shook his head no.  "Well, how about a coke, then?"</div> <div>      "Listen, mister, I'm just closing up now," the man said with a whiny sound to his voice.  He wrinkled his nose in disgust.  "You'll have to wait outside."</div> <div>      "Yeah, yeah, thanks for nothing," Quentin snapped disagreeably and went back outside.  He looked down at himself and realized that his shirt was torn and covered with blood.  He felt his face and felt nothing.  It wasn't his.  It made him sick, though, remembering-nauseated, he went around the corner of the store and threw up in the vacant lot next door.  When he'd recovered, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and thought he should look for another open store to get something to drink and take the sour taste out of his mouth.  Walking along, all the store windows were dark.  What a hick town, he thought contemptuously.  Everyone goes to bed before the night even gets started.</div> <div>      He wasn't sure how long he'd been walking when he heard a horn honking.  Looking behind him, he saw a car pulling off the side of the road.  He realized he had no idea where he was and how far from the drug store he'd gotten.  He'd forgotten he'd called Dave, who was now climbing out of the car with a thunderous expression on his face.  "Frank!  Get in the car-now!" Dave yelled.</div> <div>      Quentin stumbled toward the passenger side of the car and got in.  "Whassamatta?" he mumbled, becoming irritated.  What was Dave so mad about?</div> <div>      Dave got back in on his side and glared at him, his features working in fury.  "What's the matter?  Where you been, boy?  You told me to pick you up at that drug store, and you wasn't there!  What you doing HERE?  I been looking all over for you!"</div> <div>      "Well, he was closing up and told me to go," Quentin answered with some resentment.  "What was I supposed to do?"</div> <div>      "You coulda waited outside for me to come," Dave snapped.  "Then I wouldn't have been driving all around looking for you!"  Quentin rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders.  Dave seemed about to say something else but changed his mind.  "You're drunk," he observed, "and you been fighting again.  Look at you.  Clothes all tore up!"</div> <div>      "Yeah?  You could tell, huh?" Quentin said sarcastically.</div> <div>      "You hurt?  You got blood all over you!"</div> <div>      "It's not mine.  It's those other guys'," Quentin answered.  His words were slurred, and he leaned back and shut his eyes.</div> <div>      Dave shook his head. "Ain't no use trying to talk to you now.  We'll go back and get you to your room," Dave decided and drove off.  He managed to convince Quentin to go to his room only by refilling his flask.  As the door shut in his face, Dave set his mouth firmly.  This had to stop.</div> <bR> <div>      The next morning, they were driving back to Cuddeback.  Quentin had one of his unusual headaches, so Dave volunteered to drive.  It made it easier to talk to his friend because he had to keep his eyes on the road.  "We need to talk about this here stuff you're doing, kid," Dave began.  "I'm worried about you, okay?  You gonna get hurt either drinking too much or getting into a fight with someone meaner than you."</div> <div>      "I wouldn't worry about it," Quentin responded.  He really didn't want to talk about it.</div> <div>      "Listen, kid, you know how much older I am than Mary Margaret?  She the baby in the family.  I was fifteen when she was born-I was the oldest.  Had me some more brothers and sisters, all younger than me.  You ain't met them cuz most of them married and moved.  But one you ain't met is my brother, Little Joe.  You ain't met him cuz he's in jail."  Dave glanced at Quentin, who didn't reply but was at least listening.  "That boy was so cute when he was little.  Could charm money and candy off anybody.  Mama never could bring herself to bring him in line.  He could always get over on her, you know?  And he always needed me to get him out of one scrape or another.  Skipped school, so I hadda go talk to the principal to keep him from getting throwed out.  Hung out with a bad bunch of boys.  I tried and tried to get that boy to listen to me, but he thought he knew it all.  So he and this bunch of boys broke into a store and wasn't no way I could save his ass that time.  How old are you, anyway, Frank?"</div> <div>      "Are you comparing me to Little Joe?"  Quentin asked irritably.</div> <div>      "In a way.  Look, we're friends, right?  Only now, I don't feel so much like a friend anymore.  I feel like I'm always bailing out Little Joe right now.  You understand me?"  Quentin flushed darkly and glowered.  "You taking this the wrong way, man.  If I didn't care about you, I wouldn't bother with you.  But we're supposed to be friends.  I ain't your daddy, and I ain't your big brother.  I don't want to be.  I understand what it feels like to be your brother Edward, after everything you done told me.  So all this here stuff has got to stop.  Not just for me, but for you too.  You gonna get yourself into more trouble."  When Quentin continued his dark silence, Dave hesitated and then said, "I guess I ought to call Edward then."</div> <div>      "You'd better not!"  Quentin exploded.</div> <div>      Dave pulled off the road.  "We better talk on this," he said quietly.  "You beginning to get the drift that I really am worried?  You ain't sleeping right.  You been drinking way too much and acting like a crazy man.  You don't talk to me so I don't know what's the matter.  All I can do is sit back and wait to get you out of another jam.  And, Franky, that's not what I'm here for.  No more Little Joes for me, you dig?   You behavin so bad, I think your brother needs to know so he can help you."</div> <div>      "No!" Quentin shouted, furious.  "Don't you call Edward!  He has enough on his mind as it is, with Jamison being crippled and it being MY fault!  And Bartelli after us and it's MY fault!  You think you're going to call him and bother him with this?  Think again!"  Quentin opened the door of the car and jumped out.  He started walking away as fast as he could. He heard the car start up.  Dave pulled alongside him and then passed him, driving down the road another ten feet before pulling over again.  Then Dave got out of the car and waited for him.</div> <div>      "Look at you.  You need to calm yourself down so we can talk about this here," Dave said reasonably.  "You don't want me to call Edward?   All right, I won't, but you got to let me help you.  We're friends.       You been having these dreams just about every damn night, and it's making you act crazy."</div> <div>      Quentin looked at him very wearily, considering.  "Actually, you're right, and yes, I could use your help."</div> <div>      "Well, what?"  Dave asked eagerly.  "Just tell me, and I'll help you."</div> <div>      "You better listen to it first and then decide if that's what you want to do," Quentin replied.</div> <div>      "Okay, fair enough," Dave agreed. "You wanna get back in the car now?  Then you can tell me about it." </div> <div>      Quentin had actually been thinking his idea over for a week.  He didn't think he'd be able to handle it alone and wasn't sure how Dave would react.  But there was no harm in trying to explain, especially since Dave had asked.  He got back into the car, and Dave pulled back onto the road.  "I've been thinking that I'm going to need help dealing with Bartelli," he began.</div> <div>      Dave snorted.  "You don't need just `help', Frank!  You need someone who's got a lot more reach than that man!"</div> <div>      "Well, maybe I can get someone like that."</div> <div>      "Yeah?  Who?  Who do you know?"</div> <div>      Quentin considered how to proceed.  Then he asked, "Dave, do you remember that I sometimes went to visit some of the folks practicing voodoo in New Orleans?"</div> <div>      Dave snorted again.  "Yeah.  So?  You got a doll with some pins?"</div> <div>      "No, I don't," Quentin said irritably.  "I don't have the power to make that work.  But maybe I can get someone who can.  Are you going to listen or not?"</div> <div>      "Okay, go ahead.  I'm sorry."</div> <div>      "Well, I've been to different places, talking to people who practice voodoo and black magic.  A long time ago, a friend and I used to dabble in it a little.  He knew a lot more than I did.  Once, when we needed help, we conjured up a-" Quentin broke off.  Dave swerved off the road, stopped the car and turned the engine off.  He was looking at Quentin intently, nervously.  It reminded Quentin of the time he'd pulled over in Louisiana, when they'd first discussed rumrunning.</div> <div>      "You conjured up a what?  A demon?"</div> <div>      "No, actually, she was a witch."</div> <div>      "A witch!  Franky, listen to me, if you're gonna do any conjuring or beseeching, I advise you to get down on your knees and pray for an angel of mercy."</div> <div>      "Well, I've never been sent an angel, much as I've need one!"  Quentin snapped angrily.  "You said you wanted to help.  Are you saying you don't want to?"</div> <div>      "I want to listen some more.  Black magic?  You mean the Devil, don't you?  Don't you have to give him your soul or something?"</div> <div>      "I don't know.  It depends.  You don't have to do anything like that.  I just need your help with the ceremony, that's all."</div> <div>      "You'd sell your soul?  Just to get that Devil-man?  Shoo, he's probably the one that would show up!"</div> <div>      "No, he wouldn't.  He's not the Devil, much as you might think so."</div> <div>      "You'd sell your soul?"  Dave repeated.</div> <div>      "If I had to-to protect my family."</div> <div>      "Ain't nothin worth that, kid.  Don't be tempted by that stuff.  You really better off looking to the Lord-"</div> <div>      "Yes, yes, I got that speech from the Reverend Trask," Quentin interrupted bitterly.  "He was a fine specimen of a man of God!  Killed his first wife to marry my sister for her money and then drove her to an insane asylum.  He was on his knees praying all the time.  No, thank you!"</div> <div>      "That's not what it's about, Franky," Dave said softly.  "Sure some preachers are bad people.  But there's good people in the church, too, and you know it."  He saw Quentin's jaw set.  "Okay, look, I said I wanted to help, and I said I'd listen.  Just what is it you want to do, anyway?"</div> <div>      Quentin explained what he could remember of the ceremony he'd conducted with his old so-called friend, Evan Hanley.  Evan and his grandmother had been heavily involved in the black arts and had gladly welcomed him in.  As it happened, Evan was not much of a friend in the true sense of the word at all.  He was only interested in his own benefit and had left Quentin in the lurch many times.  Dave listened with increasing alarm.  "This sounds dangerous, Franky.  What if the Devil himself comes?"</div> <div>      Quentin shrugged.  "I guess I'll have to deal with him.  But I don't think he'll come.  He'll send one of his followers."</div> <div>      Dave sighed.  "Lord, lord, why are you doing this to me?  What did I do?"</div> <div>      "Hey, you asked if you could help," Quentin said angrily, defensively.  "Just forget it, all right?"</div> <div>      "No, no, Frank.  I'm sorry I said that.  Look, are you sure?  Are you really sure?  I will help you if this is what you really want to do.  But think long and hard about what you're doing.  If you're absolutely sure, I'll help you."</div> <div>      Quentin sighed with relief.  "Thanks, buddy.  Yes, it's really what I want to do."</div> <div>      "Well, think about what all we're gonna need, then.  We might as well stop in town and get it all before we go to the house," Dave said with heavy resignation.</div> <bR> <div>      As promised, Quentin called and spoke to Edward for a few minutes.  Jamison was still in the Collinsport Hospital while his hip mended.  "What's the doctor say about it?"  Quentin asked, feeling depressed.</div> <div>      "Well," Edward began.  He'd heard Quentin's tone and understood what his brother was feeling.  "The doctor isn't sure how much movement he'll recover.  He'll limp, we know that.  He is getting better, though.  We should be able to bring him home in another few weeks.  What about you?  Things have been very quiet.  There were no problems at Ruth's funeral, as I told you earlier.  When will you come home?"</div> <div>      "I think it's quiet because he knows I'm not there," Quentin replied.  "I have to deal with him first, Edward, then I'll come home."</div> <div>      "And how do you plan to do that?"</div> <div>      "I have an idea in mind, but I can't explain it to you right now.  You'll have to trust me."  Quentin laughed shortly.  "I don't know why you'd want to, though."</div> <div>      "Don't be so hard on yourself, brother," Edward said. "Yes, you've made mistakes in judgement and yes, you've been impulsive."  There was a pause, and then he said, "I will trust you to do the best you can.  I want you to promise me, though, that if you feel things are out of control, you will call me right away?  I want to help you."</div> <div>      "I will," Quentin said and then rang off.  He felt grateful to his brother for not castigating him for the troubles he'd brought on the family through his thoughtless impulsive behavior.  He hoped he could pull this off and rid the family of Bartelli/Petofi once and for all.  Maybe he'd be able to respect himself then and maybe then he could work on rebuilding his relationship with his brother.  He realized the old feelings of long forgotten affection and admiration for his brother were stirring in him again, and it felt reassuring.  Most important, he had to settle Bartelli-now!</div> <bR> <div>      He and Dave opened one of the dusty cabins.  It was equipped with a fireplace-they all were.  All of the cabins were furnished and were like efficiencies.  "Hey, this is nice," Dave said, looking around.  "Big bed, too, huh?"</div> <div>      "Yes, well, these were for other family members and guests," Quentin explained.  "All of us stayed in the main house.  Sometimes we'd have other relatives or friends, or both, out for a week or so, and they'd stay here."</div> <div>      He and Dave opened the windows and swept the place out.  Quentin began to set up a small altar in front of the fireplace.  Watching out of the corner of his eyes nervously, Dave continued to straighten up and clean the place up.  The last thing Quentin did was set the altar with some candles.  "You ready?" he asked Dave.</div> <div>      Dave swallowed.  "Ready as I can be, I guess."</div> <div>      Quentin pulled a chair over to the altar.  "Why don't you sit here?"  Dave sat down.  Quentin struck a match and lit the candles. He'd found one of his old books on black magic and had opened it to a page with incantations on it.  He set it on the altar so that he could see it if he forgot the words. Dave sucked in a deep breath.  "Relax, buddy," Quentin said softly.  "Concentrate on the flame, Dave.  Look at it."  He was quiet for a few moments while Dave started into the candle's flame.  His eyes glazed a little, hypnotically.  Quentin took a bowl of liquid and passed it over Dave's head, trying to remember everything.  "I address myself and those here with me to the powers of darkness," he intoned.  "I call upon the flame to summon you.  I call upon the raven, and the viper, and all the dark creatures in nature to draw you here.  Like a rising mist from the darkness of the earth, I call on you to rise and help us to destroy the enemy in our midst."</div> <div>      Suddenly, the fireplace burst into flame-even though there was nothing to burn.  Dave jumped up, upsetting the bowl in Quentin's hands.  The bowl flew through the air and hit the floor, shattering.  A dark form appeared in the corner of the dim, candle-lit room.  "Oh, SHIT!" Dave cried out, as the dark form began to move forward.</div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <A HREF="id60.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="8: Petofi"><U>8:  Petofi</U></A>    <A HREF="id64.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="10: Angelique"><U>10:  Angelique</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id51.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Taking Wooden Nickels"><U>Taking Wooden Nickels</U></A>    <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Cassies Writing"><U>Cassie's Writing</U></A></div> <bR> </td> </tr></table></body>