Cousins

By Dwayne Phillips

Short Story 2008-33, 16 August 2008

Go to Dwayne's Home Page
Email me at d.phillips@computer.org

Anthony Spitalli pulled his red, late-model Ford Mustang into the parking lot. The parking lot was nearly full (all six parking places) once Anthony was parked. The lot sat next to a fading building that used to be a train station. It was now the Police station for the town of Holcombville, Iowa (pop. 386). Tony, no one called him Anthony, raised his six-foot two-inch frame from his pride and joy Mustang. He brushed his short blond hair and removed his sunglasses to reveal blue eyes.

"Hey everybody, welcome to I-o-way," mumbled Tony. No one heard him and no one answered back.

Tony climbed the stairs to the porch of the train turned police station. A Sheriff's deputy rocked slowly in the shady part of the porch.

"Excuse me," started Tony. He stopped himself short of calling the deputy Barney or Festus or Robin or some other sidekick name. "I am looking for a Parson Campbell."

The deputy didn't answer, but instead pointed the bill of his police hat to the door of the station where a small, old man in black pants, black shoes, white long-sleeve shirt, and thin black tie emerged.

"I'm Parson Campbell, and you..." the old man paused and scratched the top of his head. "You are a Marshall boy."

Tony wrinkled his face in confusion and mild irritation. "I'm Tony Spitalli. I don't know any Marshall boys or whatever. I received  emails, text messages, voice messages, and everything else in the world asking me to come here to Hick-ville or whatever it is called. Something about a funeral and an inheritance."

"Yes, Spitalli. You are Benjamin's son," said the Parson.

"Benjamin? Look, uh Parson, I'm here because I was tired of getting these messages and maybe there are some dollars at the end of the day for me. So, stop with the riddles, okay? I don't know any Marshall boys and I don't know any Benjamin. Who are you and can we get on with this?"

"Settle down son," came a low, growling voice from the deputy in the rocking chair. "Sit in the shade, have a Coke, relax. You're the first here, so you have to wait for the others."

"The others? What others? Who? Can you explain to me what this is about?"

"I'd listen to the deputy, Tony," added the Parson as he took one of the remaining empty rocking chairs on the porch.

Tony didn't sit. The rocking chair looked comfortable and something tugged at him to be a good old boy and set and rock and all that stuff, but he was too irritated. These people knew something that he didn't. Tony never liked being left out of a secret. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and paced the porch. The bars were to weak to talk, so Tony thumbed through his text messages and paced.

An hour later a blue Chevy pickup truck pulled into the parking lot leaving one space empty. A six-foot two-inch, blond-haired young man with blue eyes stepped out of the truck. He walked up the steps to the porch.

"Hi, I'm George Melendez. I'm looking for a Parson Campbell."

The deputy and the Parson both stopped rocking and scooted up to the edge of their rockers. Neither said anything.

"Uh, hi, I'm George Melendez. I'm looking for a Parson Campbell," repeated the young man.

"Sure enough, that's me," answered Campbell. "And you are a Marsh... well, you are the spitting image of Spitalli over there."

"Huh? Look I'm here because..."

"We know why you're here," growled the deputy.

Tony Spitalli walked over. "Is something happening. Are we about to start. Look, I really need to start so I can get on the road again."

Tony and George looked at one another. They were both relieved to see someone of a similar age and ilk. They could tell that neither was a local. Their vehicles, clothing, and stance showed that they were from a civilized part of the world.

"You two boys don't see it?" asked Parson Campbell.

"See what? Parson Campbell? You're Parson Campbell, like in the messages." stated George.

"Yes, I'm the Parson. You two don't see yourself in the other?"

"What are you talking about now old guy?" asked Tony, now showing his irritation openly.

"Settle boy," chided the deputy. "Look in the window. Look at each other in the window."

Each of the young out-of-towners looked into the dirty window next to the deputy's rocking chair. They both had the same square jaw, thin nose, and high cheeks. Their hair, though cut differently, was the same color, and so were their eyes. They both remained silent.

"Anybody would mistake you two for the other in a lineup," said the deputy.

"Look! Cut this small town gag stuff!" shouted Tony.

"Hey, easy. They are just making conversation," said George. "This is a big time in this little town. Let them have their fun. So we're both incredible hunks. So what?"

"You boys look like twins. Just like your fathers," said the Parson.

Tony rolled his eyes, shook his head and paced to the far end of the station's porch. George grinned and then laughed out loud. He grabbed a Coke and rocking chair when offered and joined the deputy and Parson rocking away the time.

A half hour later the parking lot was filled by a brown Toyota Camry. Another young man, also six-foot two-inch with blond hair and blue eyes, stood. He walked to the porch. Before he could speak, the Parson made the introduction, "You must be John McLaughlin. Caleb's boy. I am Parson Campbell. Welcome to Holcombville."

The third young man stopped and wrinkled his brow. "I am John McLaughlin, and I am looking for a Parson, uh Campbell is it? Yeah Campbell, Parson Campbell."

"Dang, this is spooky," spoke the deputy. "The three of them are here. And they look just like... This is spooky."

George stood quickly, stepped to John, shook hands and said, "Hi John, I'm George Melendez. That other handsome out-of-towner is Tony."

Tony walked up rolling his eyes and blowing out his lips. "Great, the three musketeers are all here. So can we start this gig? The day's running long and I have things to do."

Silence fell on the five men on the porch. The three young men looked at one another, and something struck them. They resembled one another. Not just a "three tall young men" kind of resemblance, but a "you must be brothers barely a year apart" resemblance. They stood differently; they spoke differently; they dressed differently, but they looked just like one another.

.................

In ten minutes the three young men were seated in chairs inside the train-turned-police station. The deputy sat behind a desk fumbling with papers. The Parson stood behind the deputy.

"Alright," started the deputy. "Let's do the legal matters first." The deputy paused, coughed to clear his throat, then continued. "Mrs. Betty Marshall, age 72, died five days ago. She designated the Police office as executor of her will. She asked that the three of you come here for the funeral today and to receive what she had as savings." The deputy stopped again, lowered the papers, and pointed to the people he mentioned with his eyes. "Parson Campbell's grandson Thomas made every effort to find and contact the three of you."

George Melendez spoke first, "Excuse me deputy or uh Parson. Why us? Why did Thomas or whoever find us and ask us here. What do we have to do with the departed lady? Her name was..."

"Miss Betty, Miss Betty Marshall," finished the Parson.

The deputy answered George's question, "You three are her youngest and only known living relatives."

The Parson finished the answer, "You three are her grandsons."

"Are you sure you have the right guys?" asked John McLaughlin. "I have one grandmother and her name is McLaughlin. I don't know anything about a Marshall."

"Skip the details," said Tony Spitalli as he jumped in. "These yocals want to give me some cash. I'm going with it. Let's hit the cemetery, and sign the check so I can blow this place."

John spoke again, "Wait minute, but are you sure you have the right three people here. It seems that none of us know anything about this Marshall lady or this town or any of this."

"Boys," said the Parson, "look at yourselves. You look just like each other, just like brothers. That happens sometimes with cousins."

"Cousins?" asked John. He looked at the other two young men seated next to him. "I have cousins, but their names are McLaughlin. I don't have any Spitalli or, excuse me what was you name again?"

"Melendez, Jorge, um, George Melendez," answered George.

"Screw the family reunion chat," said Tony. "I've never seen any of you before and I won't see any of you again. Let's get to the money."

"We  will dispense the money Anthony," said the Parson sitting hard on the 'A' in Anthony so that Tony would know that the Parson knew his full name. Same with you Jorge," he said hitting the 'h' sound in Jorge so that no one would mistake it for the 'j' sound in George. "And the same with you John."

The Parson pulled a chair from the wall and up closer to the three young men. "First, however, I will tell you about Miss Betty Marshall and the three of you."

"And," added the deputy in his deepest and sternest voice yet, "you three will listen to the Parson. You can listen out here or you can sit in the cell over there and listen. You choose. Especially you Mr. Spitalli."

The Parson commenced telling the story, "Your grandmother, Betty Bush walked into the town about 50 years ago all alone as a young woman. Her destitute family was passing through and dropped her off down the road. Just left her. I guess they figured they couldn't feed her anymore and she was old enough to provide for herself one way or another. The next day, your grandfather Isaiah Marshall was kicked off a passing freight train. The two of them just sort of stuck to one another. Seems as they were both in the same straits."

The Parson drank the last sip from his Coke bottle, wiped a tear forming in his eye, and continued, "They married two weeks later. My dad, the old Parson Campbell, married them. He did it because he felt obligated to as he didn't want them to stay living together as they were, not married and all."

"Times were very hard here for everyone, so they did as most people their age did, they had babies. The first born was Abel. He was your father Jorge. Next was Benjamin, your father Anthony. The third son in three years was John's father Caleb."

"What is this?" popped Tony, "'Seven Brides for Seven Brothers' or something? Who was next, Dan..."

A glare from the deputy cut Tony short.

"No Anthony, there were no more children. Isaiah couldn't stomach being a father as much as he liked fathering children. He carried Abel home from the doctor's office the day after he was born. He carried Abel in one arm and the other two boys in his other arm so that Betty could walk the five miles without any burdens. He set the three boys down in the Marshall shack and told Betty that he would walk back to town to beg for some food. Betty and no one else in this town ever saw Isaiah again. We figured he left town just like he entered it by hopping a freight."

"Miss Betty raised Abel, Benjamin, and Caleb by herself. They grew up looking like identical triplets if there is such a thing. Each exactly like Isaiah. None looked anything like Betty. That didn't tarnish what Betty felt for her boys, though. People told her to give up the boys, but she didn't."

"She had no money and did what odd jobs people would give her. Food and clothing for those boys just sort of showed up on the porch of that shack. Miss Betty saw that the boys were at church every Sunday morning and at school Monday through Friday. They each graduated high school and walked out of town the day after graduation."

"Miss Betty was able to keep track of her three sons via the mail. They would send her a little money now and then. Twenty dollars, ten dollars, one time Benjamin sent her a hundred dollars."

"As if something pulled at the three Marshall boys in the early 1980s, they each found a girl friend that they stayed with for more than a month. Abel met Janice Melendez, Benjamin met Debra Spitalli, and Caleb met Kelly McLaughlin. You three boys know where they met. Far flung as could be those three Marshall boys."

"Well, you're fathers didn't marry your mothers. I guess there was no Parson about to see to that or times changed or something. Each of your fathers..."

As usual, Tony spoke first, "Stop there old man. You don't need to tell me about that son-of-a-bitch 'daddy' of mine." He bit off the word 'daddy' with venom.

George followed, "Yes, stop the talk of my old man as well. I never met him. I never saw a picture of him, nothing."

John completed the trio, "Same here. The less said the better."

The three young men had edged their chairs closer to one another. Their uncanny resemblance grew as each became somber.

"Well," continued the Parson, "Miss Betty lost track of her three sons. They never sent her any money or cards or anything again. She was able to stay in touch with your mothers as they didn't wander. It is fortunate that each had a strong family around them. Miss Betty sent a card to each of you on your birthday and a card with $10 every Christmas. She worked hard and saved every penny so that she would have those three ten dollar bills each December."

"Bull," spit Tony. "I never got a birthday card or Christmas card or ten bucks."

George and John looked at each other. They both held out their hands palms up and twisted their faces. "I guess," said George that you know the same applied to us two as well."

"Yeah old Parson," said Tony. "Little Miss Betty the angel BS'ed you on that one. She never sent us anything."

Parson Campbell sensed that the deputy would not abide with the disparaging remark about Miss Betty. He held his left hand out ever so slightly to stop the deputy. "Yes boys. She did send those cards and that money. On Sunday I am the Parson. On Monday through Saturday I deliver the mail. Miss Betty placed those cards in my hand so they wouldn't be lost. They never came back marked 'Return to Sender' or anything. Your mothers received them. I am sorry you didn't."

The family story completed, the deputy proceeded with the legal matters. "Well, gentlemen," he said chewing on the 'g' in gentlemen, "each of you is to receive an inheritance after the burial ceremony. You will need to accompany the Parson in his truck to the cemetery and then return here. If you do not go to the cemetery, I assure you that you will NOT receive your checks. Any questions?"

The three young men - especially Tony - sat silently.

"Jorge. Anthony. John. I guess that this day so far has been a bit of a shock," said the Parson. "Let us go. I have room in my truck."

For a moment no one moved. Then John stood slowly. "Cousins, let's go." Jorge and Anthony stood. The three cousins walked out the door following Parson Campbell.

........................

The three young men were crowded in the Parson's pickup truck. It had an extended cab, but only room for one person behind the main seat. Tony and George sat next to one another and the Parson while John angled himself into the area behind the seat.

The air conditioning in the truck had failed years earlier, and the Parson didn't have it repaired. It was a warm day, and they rode with the windows down. The cemetery was three miles outside of town, and the drive took 15 minutes. The Parson always drove slowly.

They choked on dust as the Parson turned off the main highway onto a dirt road leading to the cemetery. They guessed where the cemetery was because a small group of trees stood in the distance. As they approached John heard something.

"What is that?" he asked.

"What is what?" added Tony.

"What is that noise? Is it music? Is someone singing?"

"Yes, that is singing," answered the Parson. "People from town have gathered at the cemetery waiting for the burial of Miss Betty. I guess they decided to sing while waiting."

The Parson drove around a curve that entered the small cemetery. The three cousins were surprised at what they saw: 500 people crowded around a small group of grave markers. They were singing soft, soulful hymns. The crowd parted and allowed the Parson to pull his truck next to the grave.

The Parson stepped out of his truck. Someone opened the other door of the truck, but none of the three young men stepped out.

"Who are these people?" asked John.

"Hicks from Hicks-ville," answered Tony as a reflex.

"Watch your mouth, Anthony," replied George hitting the "A" in Anthony like the Parson had done earlier. "There are a lot more of them than there are of us. Besides, they came here for a reason. I want to know what that reason was."

"I'm not getting out," said Tony. "I don't like this. Looks like a lynching to me."

"I doubt these people are going to lynch anyone today," said John. "Besides, if you don't get out, there will be no burial and no money. You do want the money, don't you?"

"Okay, I'm in. Let's get on with this." replied Tony.

With that, the three cousins exited the dusty truck. They didn't know which way to go but walked in the direction of the parting crowd. The crowd led them to the grave site. Fresh dirt was piled next to a plain wooden casket. The Parson stood at one end of the casket. A piece of green carpet was next to him. The Parson pointed to the carpet, and the three cousins walked to it and stood on it.

"Parson," asked John. "Who are these people? What..."

Parson Campbell stopped John. "These people all knew Miss Betty. They knew of her missing husband, her sons who disappeared, and of her three grandsons who were out there somewhere. They knew the burial would begin when you arrived, but didn't know when you would arrive. Most have been standing here since dawn because they didn't want to miss this."

"Dawn, huh?" said Tony. Then Tony said something that the others didn't expect. "These people loved my grandmother a lot to do this." A small tear rolled down Tony's cheek. "Okay Parson, please do this in a way to make Miss Betty proud."

Parson Campbell did as Tony wished. They burial service lasted ten minutes. The Parson told the story of Miss Betty. He told of her arrival in Holcombville, her marriage, her sons, and he finished with her three grandsons who were standing in front of him. The Parson knew far more about the grandsons than they imagined.

His gravely voice took on strength, and he spoke in a tone that carried through the hushed crowd of people. Everyone heard every word he spoke. No one - not even the smallest child who had been standing in the sun all day - made a noise while he spoke.

When he said a final "Amen," several men walked forward and lowered the simple casket into the grave. Then the procession began. The 500 and more people walked single file past the casket. Each took a handful of dirt from the pile and dropped it onto the casket. There were so many people present that they placed almost all the dirt into the grave leaving little for the cemetery crew to finish.

After placing dirt in the grave, the people shook the hands of the three young men. They told them things like, "Bless you boys" and "I'm sorry for your loss," and "We loved Miss Betty so much, but not as much as she loved and cared for us."

No one left. They walked by the grave, tossed in dirt, shook the hands of the young men, and then stood back in their places. Tony, George, and John looked at one another and then at the Parson.

"Let us go boys," said the Parson and he led them back to his truck. They drove the dusty road back to the main highway, and then, but not before then, the crowd of people dispersed to their own cars and started leaving.

They drove quietly back towards town and the police station.

John broke the silence, "How did you know that Parson?"

"Know what John?"

"How did you know so much about me? About Tony and George?"

"Oh, that. My grandson found that information. He is the one who was able to contact you and bring you here today."

"But how did he..."

"Ask him yourself. I need to stop here," replied the Parson as he pulled into a small brick building on the edge of town. The Parson climbed out of his truck, motioned to the cousins, and led them into the building. A sign outside read "Holcombville Public Library."

The library looked smaller inside than it did outside. It was filled from floor to ceiling with books. Most of the books were in piles as there wasn't shelves to hold them.

"John, George, Tony," said the Parson, "this is my grandson Thomas. He is responsible for much of what has happened here today.

A short, thin young man who was about the same age as the cousins stood and walked around a desk and some piles of books. He hugged the Parson and shook the hands of the three cousins.

"Granddad, sorry I couldn't come to the cemetery. I had..."

"I know Thomas. I know."

"You look a little behind here," said John as he motioned to the piles of books.

"Yes, a little, but with some persistence we will have this place in good shape," answered Thomas.

"How did you know?" asked Tony. "How did you know where to find us? How did you learn about us?"

"Simple, you're on the net." stated Thomas.

His reply was met with puzzled looks from the cousins.

"You know, the Internet," said Thomas as he motioned to a large, dirt-smudged computer sitting on the desk behind him. "I found you and your history's there."

"I didn't know the Internet made it to Iowa," said Tony. He then shrank as he realized he had returned to saying stupid smart things.

"Yeah, it made it out here. Five years ago that is all we had in this library. One slow dial-up connection to the Internet. That's when I got the job of librarian."

The cousins' expressions triggered the Parson to explain. "Thomas didn't have the money to go to college. So he took the librarian job because it had an Internet connection at no cost. He sat here and studied."

"Why go to college when you have Wikipedia and MIT and all those other schools who put course material online?" added Thomas. "I dug through all the material - not much to do here in Holcombville you know - and I figure by now I have a BS and maybe two or three MS degrees. I applied all that to this library. 99 percent of the books you see here came free from publishers and other libraries. Send out a hundred million requests and you are guaranteed to get back ten thousand books. Fill out the right proposal forms and you can get high-speed access for the entire town at no cost. Things are picking up around here lately."

"Okay, but how did you..."

"Find you three? That was a little harder, but not too difficult. I started the night Miss Betty passed. I went at it a couple of days without sleep, but I found you. I flooded messages to you any way I could. It wasn't much work as I wrote scripts to keep the messages going to you. I figured that you would show just to stop your phones from buzzing with text messages. I am happy to say I was right."

The cousins stood without speaking. They had found yet another person in this little town who had more answers than they could imagine.

Thomas broke the silence by handing three envelopes to the Parson, "Here granddad, this is what you wanted."

The Parson walked out, and the cousins followed him.

The legal proceedings at the police station went quickly. The Sheriff's deputy apologized for not being able to go to the cemetery. He wanted to, but someone had to stay in town. It seems that almost everyone in town and in the surrounding farms went to the cemetery.

The deputy finished the proceedings by handing each of the three young men one of the envelopes that Thomas had given his grandfather the Parson. "You came to town, you attended the burial, and now here is your inheritance."

Each of the cousins slowly opened their envelopes and removed a cashiers check. Their eyes moved from the check to one another and back again.

John said what the three of them were thinking, "This is for $20,000." He glanced at the checks that his newly found cousins held. "They are all for $20,000. You told us that our grandmother was poor, that she was poor all her life. How did she have $60,000 to leave to us."

The deputy and the Parson glanced at one another. "She didn't," stated the deputy.

"But then..." said John.

The Parson spoke, "Thomas and the people in the town. Thomas has kept a wooden box at the library. People here donated a dollar or two now and then to help Thomas buy books for the library. People here felt that having books was a good thing for their children, a good thing for the town."

"Then," he continued, "Miss Betty died and people wanted you three to come to the funeral. They decided to take what was in the library box and add to it. People went to the library and put in their cash. People here aren't wealthy, and no one really knows how so much was given, but it was. The vast majority of those checks was given in the last five days."

"This is bribe money," said Tony. "This is money that people gave to bribe me to show up."

"I think of it as love money," said the Parson. "People here loved Miss Betty. If their spare change would grant Miss Betty's fondest wish, they happily gave to that wish. That is all it is. People showing how much they loved a lonely old woman."

"I can't keep this," said John, "tossing his check on the deputy's desk."

"Hold on young man," said the deputy in the loudest voice he had used today. "You can and you will keep it. Doing anything else would be disrespecting this town and your grandmother. I will not let you do that." The deputy picked up the check and wadded it into John's shirt pocket. "The same goes for the other two of you." With that they each folded their check and slid it into their pockets.

"I have a patrol to run," said the deputy as he stood and walked out the door. He turned before leaving and added, "You boys drive safely."

Likewise, the Parson started out the door. He turned, grinned, and shook his head, "You boys are the spitting image of your grandfather and you fathers. Don't look nothing like Miss Betty though. Strange how the Lord works."

The three young men found themselves alone in the police station. They walked slowly out the door onto the porch.

George spoke, "I am going straight to my mother. Then I am going to find my father."

"Good luck with that," said Tony. "There is no way I could find my old man."

"Same here," added John.

"Maybe that guy in the library could help us. He found us and found all this money. If anyone could find our fathers..."

"Yeah, but what is it worth? What's the use?" asked John. "I would like to see my dad, but what difference would it make to anyone?"

George turned to this cousins, "Our grandmother lived most of her life alone. Our grandfather ran out on her. Our fathers ran out on her. Our fathers ran out on us. Our mothers wouldn't take the name Marshall. Seems like our family is really good at running out on others and denying ourselves. Maybe that stops now."

George paused, looked down at the dusty porch, and looked back at Tony and John, "Maybe none of this will amount to anything. Maybe I am being stupid, but it seems that all the people in this town wanted it to amount to something. Maybe I just don't have enough to do to occupy my time, so I am going to try. You guys do what you want, but I am going to try."

George walked the length of the porch into the parking lot. He stepped into his blue Chevy pickup truck and drove away.

John looked at Tony, "He might have something. I'll give it a try as well. You?"

"Me?" answered Tony. "You don't expect me to join in with this sappy little crusade do you?"

"No," replied John, "but I wouldn't have expected an entire town to show up at some poor old lady's funeral and stand in the sun all day waiting for three long lost cousins to show."

John walked to the parking lot and drove away in his Toyota.

Tony pulled a Coke from the ice chest on the porch. He sat in a rocking chair alone for half an hour and sipped it. After a few more minutes of quiet, he walked to his car in the parking lot.

Anthony Spitalli pulled his red, late-model Ford Mustang out of the parking lot. He turned up the volume of his satellite radio to cover his voice so that no one else could hear him speak. "Okay, I'm in."

Go to Dwayne's Home Page
Email me at d.phillips@computer.org