The Blameless Bystander Ch. 14

"I told you," Tracey repeated. "I don't know him."

"That's too bad," Peggy said. "Morris won't give me an interview. I wish I could find someone who knows him."

"I can't help you with that," Tracey repeated, her tone turning harder.

"If we're off the record," Peggy confided, "I think that it was really Morris who got O'Toole fired to cover up for his son. They say that the boy is really the father of Becky's child."

"Why are you telling me this?" Tracey spat out angrily. "I told you, I don't know Morris."

**************

"It looks like O'Toole made friends with the wrong people," Peggy said to Roger Blair upon returning from her day in Bates. "I spoke to the parent of the student I told you about. Even though O'Toole's out of work, he still tutors him for free. The mother swears by him. I thought that it was a problem student, but actually, he's gifted. They're sorting through scholarship offers. They credit O'Toole for a big part of it."

"Interesting," Roger mumbled.

"There's more," Peggy interrupted. She told her boss about her interview with Tracey and the crisis in the Math Department.

"What did Jackson and Smithling say about it?" Roger asked.

"They refused to be interviewed." Peggy grimaced, thinking that she had failed to close the loop.

"Don't feel bad," Roger assuaged her. "By not talking, they're telling us something. What about O'Toole."

"I spoke to him, but he didn't have much to add. He just said his firing was a shock, and wished that he was back with his students. He's working at Bates Feed Mill now. I think he knows less than we do."

"I think we're getting closer," Roger said.

"There's one more thing," Peggy added. "I asked Tracey Jacobs—the teacher I interviewed—about Jarrod Morris. She was very defensive. Maybe it's a woman-to-woman thing. I think there's more there."

Roger cocked an eyebrow at the sound of Jarrod's name. "Now, I know we're closing in," Roger said. "Keep this story under wraps for a while. We've got some more digging to do.

*************

It was Friday afternoon; the sky threatened more snow. Ethan was in his study finishing his sermon, as he usually did at that time on that day. He heard the front door open, but no one had rung the bell. "Who would do that?" he asked himself out loud. He swung around in his swivel chair, looking toward the foyer. "Who's there?" he called out. No one answered, but he heard rustling noises, and then a soft padding of quiet steps.

"Reverend Chandler, I need to see you," Tracey cooed, as she finally made her entrance into the study. She slowly sauntered toward him.

"Miss Jacobs!" Ethan exclaimed. "I wasn't expecting you."

Tracey ignored his comment and kept coming slowly forward.

"Why are you here?" Ethan demanded.

"Because I'm lonely," she whispered as she arrived at where he was seated and sidled up next to him.

"Yes, I can imagine," Ethan answered confidently, puffing out his chest. "I'm busy right now. You should have called first."

"Please don't refuse me," she whispered in his ear as she bent down to him. "You know you cannot refuse me." She smoothed her hand over his thigh and placed her hand over his penis. She felt it starting to erect under his trousers. She passed her hand over it several times and then stood up.

She turned and walked slowly in the direction of the stairs. When she reached them, she turned and looked at him, still sitting in his swivel chair. "Finish whatever you need to finish. I know my way; I'll be waiting for you."

Tracey made her way to Ethan's bedroom where she undressed. When she was nude she looked around the room. She passed by a picture of Becky, whom she recognized. She shook her head sadly. Nothing else was there that interested her. When she started feeling chilly, she slipped under the covers and waited for him.

She must have dozed off. She didn't know for how long. She looked up and saw him standing over her. He was already undressed standing still, displaying his naked erection to her. "I knew that you'd come back; it was meant to be," he proclaimed.

She didn't care for his expression; she thought he looked haughty. Tracey peeled back the covers just the same and Ethan got in beside her. He pressed his body up against her and waited for her to kiss him.

"Suck on my breasts," she commanded. Ethan looked at her in momentary surprise, and then obeyed the order. Tracey gathered the flesh in her hands, framing the nipple. Ethan suckled as would a babe. He serviced her left one, and then she switched him to her right. She stretched and then kneaded her flesh, to maximize the sensation. It felt good, equal to Jarrod's attentions. When it was enough she had to lift his head up, as he seemed to enjoy the exercise.

"Go lower," she directed. She rolled on her back and Ethan climbed atop her. He kissed and sucked his way down her lean torso, ending in her navel. She allowed him to lave her there for a minute. "That was nice, but I meant lower than that," she informed him in a husky voice.

Ethan looked up at her with a pleading expression. "But that means..."

"That's right, it does," she confirmed.

"I don't know how," Ethan begged.

"You will soon," she informed him. "Put your face in my hair first." She grasped his ears and forced his nose to her Mound of Venus. She rubbed his face in her wiry, black pubic hair. She pressed him down and bucked up against him. She felt the distant promise of pleasure. Her long legs opened wider. She rubbed herself on him harder and harder, using his face. Pleasure was getting closer.

"Put your tongue in me!" she screamed. She forced him lower, pulling and twisting his head until his outstretched tongue landed on the bud of her clitoris. She used all her strength to pull him in close and hard. A female scent permeated the room. Ethan started learning the task, cooperating as she searched for satiation. Tracey spread herself wider yet, and then wrapped her limbs around Ethan's head.

She climaxed hard, with a sudden, high-pitched gasp. She pinned Ethan where he was and held her breath until it was over. As she descended, she loosened her grip. Ethan looked up, as if asking permission to ascend to his rightful place alongside her.

"You can put it in me now," she told him. Her legs were still split wide. Ethan had no trouble finding her entrance. She was better lubricated this time. He slid in with ease. He thrust forward. She responded. Soon he grunted and released into her. He fell off to the side, gasping. He clutched a breast and lay alongside her, winding down. He closed his eyes as he waited to catch his breath.

"Before the Last Supper, I washed the feet of the disciples and anointed them with oil," he panted in a dreamy voice.

"I enjoyed it, Reverend," she said dispassionately as she arose from the bed. "Maybe next week you can anoint me again," she quipped, as she reached for her clothes.

"I thought you would stay until morning," Ethan answered, surprised and disappointed.

"Not this time," she replied, as he looked longingly up at her. "You've got your flock to tend and I need to get home and shower."

************

"I'm glad that you invited me to lunch, Ethan."

"How's your soup, Jarrod?" Ethan asked as he slurped in a spoonful.

"It's fine, but I have to admit that it's not as good as Judith's. Have you had any word from her?" Ethan shook his head.

"It's just soup from a can," Ethan admitted. "I hope you don't mind."

"I wasn't that hungry, Ethan. I want to discuss a few things with you." Ethan looked up from his eating.

"This firing of James O'Toole is just what we wanted," Jarrod began.

"It's justice," Ethan agreed.

"That may be, Ethan, but now that O'Toole is out of the way the congregation won't be very interested in him anymore. There's no point in bringing him up anymore in your sermons."

"I heard he's working in the Bates Feed Mill. We can turn our attention to that," Ethan suggested.

"No, no; that won't work at all," Jarrod scolded. "How excited do you think the people will be to find out we have a rumored pedophile lugging around sacks of feed. Use your head, Ethan!"

"Sorry, Jarrod," Ethan apologized and hung his head. "That's why I need you."

"We need something new to keep pulling them in," Jarrod continued. "Without it, they'll lose interest again and you know what that means to the collections."

"Sin is always a good topic," Ethan suggested.

"No, they're tired of that—and considering Becky's condition, you don't want them to think that you're condemning your own daughter. They don't mind damning someone theoretical, but they soften up on familiar faces."

The two men were quiet for a minute. They rubbed their chins as they wracked their brains.

"That's it!" Jarrod exclaimed. "We'll go soft; God's love and forgiveness, and all that. I know it sounds corny, but they'll eat it up after five months of O'Toole."

"I don't know about that, Jarrod. It's been a long time since I tried that angle."

"Don't worry, Ethan. Get the organist some new music—it's all in the music. Tell the choir to swing a little. Maybe we'll move them out of the choir loft and behind the altar facing the congregation. Work it in gradually."

"I'd like to do a 'Laying on of Hands' in the Spring," Ethan announced.

"Huh," Jarrod answered, "what's that?"

"It's a special service for healing. The sick and lame come up the center aisle. I lay my hands on them."

"I don't know about that, Ethan. You've been acting very strange lately. I can just see this getting out of hand."

"Jarrod, it's my duty. You can't stop me if I decide to do it."

Jarrod thought for a second and agreed. "Alright, Ethan," he conceded. "Just don't let it go out of control. See if you can tie in the healing with their tithe."

The two resumed eating their soup. Jarrod finished first and poured himself a cup of coffee. "Why don't you think about taking a few weeks off, Ethan? Go up to Indiana and see Judith and Becky. It'll do you some good."

Ethan stopped eating. "How can I do that? Who would take over Sunday services?"

"Howard Jones is a deacon. Let him do it." Jarrod said. "You could write it and he could deliver it."

"No, Howard is a good man, but I don't think he's up to giving a full sermon."

"I had another idea, Ethan," Jarrod countered. "Why don't we contact the seminary and ask them to send a student down to fill in for a few weeks. You know, it would be a senior-level student who needs some first-hand experience. I'll call them if you want me to. It'll only cost us room and board."

Ethan shook his head. "In all my years in Bates I have never had anyone fill in," he puffed in defense.

"Relax, Ethan," Jarrod consoled. "It'll be good for your image. After the congregation gets their fill of some young, wet-behind-the-ears guy, they'll realize how good they have it with you." "No," Ethan answered defiantly. "Besides, it's better that Judith and I don't have any contact. "I've found another."

"Another what?" asked Jarrod, incredulously.

"An angel, who will one day be my wife," Ethan replied with solemnity. "It's that Miss Jacobs that you sent to see me about the girls' camp." He eyed Jarrod, hoping for a reaction that he didn't receive. "We've been together—in the flesh—two times."

Jarrod stifled a smirk. "Did you talk with her about this?" he asked. "Are you sure?"

"As I poured forth into her, I was inspired. It is whence I draw my strength," he said.

"And what does she get out of it?" Jarrod asked.

"She begged me not to deny her," Ethan replied. "I had revelations. It is my duty not to deny her."

"I wouldn't tell anyone else about these revelations, Ethan," Jarrod warned.

"Of course not! They wouldn't understand. For them, the joining would be a sin—not for me. I am not bound by the usual commandments. I must operate on a higher plane."

"Is it a sin for Miss Jacobs?" Jarrod asked.

"No," proclaimed Ethan. "She comes to me as an angel. She, too, is above sin."

"When do you and Miss Jacobs plan to start using first names?" Jarrod queried.

******************

"And so you see, Bob, these are serious charges and I didn't want to print them until you had a chance to respond," Roger told Bob Jackson. "You and I always had good rapport, so I thought that if I called you, personally, you would agree to an interview."

"Of course, Roger," Jackson responded. "I'm sorry that I refused you, Miss Hardaway. I didn't understand your request. I thought it was about James O'Toole."

Peggy Hardaway was sitting next to Roger Blair. "It's Mrs. Hardaway, and James O'Toole is involved, since it concerns your Math Department."

"We, of course, deny that there's a crisis," Jackson replied. "What I'd like to know, Roger, is who would say such a thing?"

"C'mon, Bob, even the Valley Sentinel has confidential sources," Roger countered. "What is the situation in the Math Department, anyway?"

"I'd rather wait for Nathan to get here," Jackson answered. "He has all the technical details."

"While we're waiting," Roger asked, "why don't you fill in the details of the O'Toole firing."

"That's very sad," Jackson answered. "Of course, we didn't fire him. It's an Administrative Leave. I'm not supposed to talk about personnel matters. If we're off the record, I can tell you that he came to us and said that he couldn't stand the pressure that Ethan Chandler was putting on him. He asked for the time off."

Peggy began to contradict Jackson, but Roger put his hand on her arm, and she kept silent.

"How was he as a teacher?" Roger continued.

"Well, I guess he was pretty good," Jackson sighed. "That's really Nathan's area to talk about. Look, maybe we'll have him back in September." He looked at his watch. "I wonder what's keeping Nathan," he said. "How about some coffee while we're waiting?"

Jacks popped up and exited the office before they could answer, leaving Roger and Peggy to themselves in his office.

At the High School, Nathan waited for Jackson's call. He handed a note to Abby. "Here's another request for a reference letter for James O'Toole. Can you use the standard letter I composed? Sign my name to it and send it in the mail tonight."

"No problem, Nathan," Abby said. "Don't forget that you have a meeting with Bob Jackson this afternoon."

"I'm waiting for him to call before I go over," he answered. "He wanted to size the reporters up first to see what they want. Then he'll fill me in before I show up."

As soon as Nathan said the words, the phone rang. "Mr. Jackson is on your line," Abby said.

"Nathan," Jackson whispered over the line, "somehow they found out about the disaster in Trigonometry. I'm not sure how much they know. You better be ready for it when you arrive."

"All the teachers know it," Nathan said. "You can't keep something like that secret for long."

"I know, I know. I can't talk long. You better come over right now." Jackson hung up and Nathan started putting on his coat.

In Bob Jackson's office Roger and Peggy sat sipping their coffee. "Where do you suppose Bob went?" Peggy asked.

"He probably called Nathan to get their stories straight," Roger guessed.

At that moment, Jackson strode back into the office. I just got a call from Nathan's secretary," he told them. "He was delayed, but he's on his way over now."

"While we're waiting, let me fill you in the bond issue coming up," Jackson said. "We'd really like your help on this one."

As Jackson wound up his lecture on the bond proposal, Nathan knocked at the door. "Come in, Nathan," Bob called out cheerfully. Nathan stepped in. "You know everyone here, right?" Nathan shook hands all around.

"I was wondering if you wanted me to tell you about James O'Toole," Nathan began. "I heard he's working at the Feed Mill. It's sad, really. He was our best teacher in the Math Department. Hopefully, he'll be back in the Fall. We tried to talk him out of it."

"What we'd like to know about is the status of the Trigonometry midterm," Roger said. "We have a source that says that a third of the seniors failed. Won't that mean no diplomas for them in June?"

"It's a very difficult test..." Nathan started to say.

"I remember!" Roger laughed. "I nearly failed it myself." Bob and Nathan laughed with him. "So, it's true then. A third of the seniors might not graduate in June," Roger pointed out, turning stern.

"It's these new State Requirements..." Nathan began saying before Roger interrupted him again.

"So, you do confirm it?"

"Only half of the seniors are taking the course. They're mostly the slower students. The rest took it a last year. It's true, about a third of them didn't pass."

"So, it's a sixth of the senior class in danger of not graduating," Peggy said.

"They'll have the final Exam to average it out," Nathan explained. "If not, there's Summer School."

"Your best math teacher is gone," Peggy pointed out. "My source says that none of the failing students were from O'Toole's class."

"I'd have to check it," Nathan answered.

"Would you call over to your office and check it now?" Roger asked.

"Now that you mention it, I believe that's true," Nathan admitted. "We'll just have to do with what we've got."

Roger turned to Jackson. "Bob, I wish that we could tell the readers that you're taking some action to help these kids."

"But we are, Roger," Jackson blurted out. "We're...we're...offering remedial review courses at night." Nathan stole an unbelieving glance, then looked at the reporters and smiled as he nodded affirmatively.

"That about covers it," Roger announced as he rose to leave. "Thanks, Bob. Good luck with it, Nathan."

"Have a chair, Nathan," Bob said blandly after the two reporters left. Jackson closed the door, and then resumed his seat behind his desk.

"You better set this up pronto, Nathan. We've got real trouble here."

"I don't know where we're going to get the manpower or the money," Nathan advised. "These kids need a real high-powered teacher. Some of those grades weren't even close."

"As for the money, take it out of whatever budget you have to. As for the manpower, get O'Toole to do it. Pay him whatever he wants. Let him do it as an independent contractor so they can't say we reinstated him."

"It won't be easy convincing him," Nathan said.

"Dammit, Nathan!" Jackson yelled. "It was your idea to can the guy—now you get him back."

"I thought it was a joint decision, Bob," Nathan protested.

"You thought wrong!" Jackson countered. "I'm not getting my ass in a sling. When the Board finds out there's going to be hell to pay." He sat back in his chair and allowed Nathan to absorb his dictum. "Anyway, I can protect you if you get in hot water, but you can't do anything for me."

Back in Nathan's office, Abby was getting ready to leave for the day. As her last task, she assembled the outgoing mail. Nathan's reference letter for James was on top. Abby reached into her desk and pulled out a new envelope, from her private supply that had no letterhead on it. She set it her typewriter and typed the same address as Nathan's reference letter. Under the supply of plain envelopes she had a supply of photocopied press clippings. They were of James and Reverend Chandler. They told how a man of the cloth accused a teacher of pedophilia. She carefully inserted a set of clippings in the freshly typed envelope and sealed it.

She gathered up the stack of mail, which she would drop at the post office on her way home. "Another day—another dollar," she sighed wistfully as she turned out the light.

**************

"They were lying about everything!" Peggy exclaimed as they walked out of the school building.

"Don't get upset," Roger eased her. "I know they were. Now they're locked in. We'll publish what they said and attribute it to them. We just have to find out the rest of it."