Date: Fri, 17 Jan 2014 00:32:28 +0000 (UTC)
From: vwl re-c <vwl1999@lycos.com>
Subject: Palouse, Chapter 1

Palouse

	Disclaimer: The towns in the Palouse area of Washington State are
real, as are the cities of Walla Walla, Colfax and College Place, but there
is absolutely no relationship between anyone living or who has ever lived
in those towns and the characters in this story. The town of Endicott was a
dot on the map that I chose for this story, as was the location of the
Kingman farm. I have no knowledge of anyone who lives or has lived there.

          This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents
are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual events
or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The story contains
sexual situations, though sparsely.

            All trademarks mentioned are the property of their respective
owners, and no infringement is intended or should be inferred.

	This story is for the exclusive use of the Nifty Archives,
awesomedude.com and GayAuthors.org. Donations to those web sites are always
needed. No part of this story may be reproduced in any form without the
written permission of the author.

	Palouse is pronounced pah-LOOSE.

	Many thanks to authors and editors at awesomedude.com and
GayAuthors.org for their invaluable work.















Palouse

By rec



Copyright 2013



Chapter 1



An Arrival and a Departure - April 1984



In the spring, the Palouse becomes a giant quilt of green, beige and
earth-brown squares. The land is not flat but billows up from below, as if
pushed upward by air currents. From the air the fields form square
patterns, but from the ground the fields slowly climb and descend, leaving
the undulations of the property lines as the seams that stitch the
landscape together. And the plows' furrows try to fit undulations onto
squares of land. Often, irregular shapes of shade from clouds intrude upon
the mile-by-mile geometric perfection resulting from the surveyors'
transits and measuring rods, expressing nature's reluctance to accept the
unnatural orderliness of civilization.



The boy in the passenger seat of the large, tan-colored van didn't notice
any of this beauty. He had different things on his mind. Out of the corner
of his eye, he glanced from time to time at the driver - a middle-aged
woman with honey-colored blond hair cut in a page-boy style. The woman's
face was square, her chin strong as she concentrated on the road in front
of her, gripping tightly onto the steering wheel; when she turned her face
to the boy, he saw outdoor eyes of a strong blue hue. Betty Kingman at 43
was the mother of three children of her own, the last one dying at
childbirth, when she lost her ability to have more children. She became the
adoptive mother of four more, and she fully expected Micah - nine-years old
and half Navajo - to be the eighth to love and nurture.



Micah's seatbelt was securely tightened. Betty had insisted.



Micah knew very little about Betty Kingman and her family. The only thing
he did know is that this would be the fourth house that he would have lived
in after his mother abandoned him - for cheap whiskey and flophouses - an
abandonment he didn't know about until years later. His most-recent foster
home was with the McDougalls, an elderly couple that took children in, but
Mr. McDougall had had a stroke, and Micah was now being moved from Phoenix
to yet another home.



The McDougalls had been nice; they had encouraged him at school, and they
had made him feel like part of a family. The McDougalls home was far better
than the previous home he had been in - a place where there was no
nurturing and where he often had to work in the fields from morning until
evening - and where he was slapped around almost daily. The social-work
lady had said that the Forsters had been violating child-labor laws,
whatever those were, and were being dropped as foster parents. The
social-work lady didn't know that the Forsters also beat the children they
were in charge of. Micah had been too young to remember anything about the
foster homes he was in before the Forsters.



Micah felt that maybe the reason he had to leave the McDougalls was partly
his fault because of what he had done that April afternoon. Mr. McDougall
had been away, and Mrs. McDougall was at work outside in the garden. So
Micah sneaked into the attic, closing the stairway door quietly behind
him. He wanted to see what was up there. He peeked into boxes, looked at
the stuff that was out in the open and snooped around everywhere. Mostly,
there were boxes of papers; there were also boxes of dishes and some boxes
of pictures of the McDougalls when they were much younger. Some of the
pictures had children in them, playing or sitting on the McDougalls'
laps. There were pictures of a younger Mr. McDougall playing violin in an
orchestra.



Micah lost all track of time as he pored through the attic's contents.



As he turned to reach yet another box, he bumped into an old lamp and
knocked it over. Fortunately, there was no glass on it, so it only made a
loud thump. Micah stood stock still, waiting to see if he had attracted the
attention of anyone. He didn't hear anything; the only thing that he had
disturbed seemed to be the dust motes backlit by the windows at the ends of
the attic. So he went back to peeking into things.



Suddenly, the door at the base of the attic stairs burst open, and
Mr. McDougall came stomping up the stairway, his face red and his white
hair flying out at the sides.



"What are you doing up here, Micah?  We've been worried sick about you."



"I didn't mean to hurt anything, Poppa M."



"You get downstairs right now and wait for me in the kitchen."



Micah scurried past the old man, ran down the stairs to the kitchen and sat
at the table, sobbing. In a few minutes, a stern-looking Mr. McDougall
appeared at the doorway before taking a chair across from Micah, its legs
scraping across the linoleum.



"I'm very disappointed in you, Micah. You worried me sick. We've been
looking for you for two hours. Mother is out driving around the
neighborhood searching for you. She's worried sick, too. You are not to do
that again. Do you understand?"



Micah nodded, his eyes filled afresh with tears.



"Now go to your room."



Micah ran up to his bedroom and closed the door, climbed on the bed and
pulled the pillows and blankets around him, forming a cocoon that he hoped
would shield him from the shame he was feeling. He cried. When
Mrs. McDougall looked in on him a while later, he pretended to be sleeping,
but after she closed the door, he cried harder.



When he tiptoed down the stairs the next morning to get breakfast, he knew
something was wrong. In the kitchen were two paramedics, and they were
carrying Mr. McDougall on a stretcher into an ambulance whose rear doors
were wide open - gates, in Micah's imagination, to some terrible
unknown. He had seen paramedics on television, so he knew what they were,
and he knew things were not good.



Micah ran to Mrs. McDougall, fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around
her legs as he looked up. "Mother M, I didn't mean to do it. I didn't mean
to hurt him. I was just exploring."  He sobbed, not out of shame as he did
the night before, but out of guilt. "It's all my fault. I'm sorry. I'm
sorry. I'm so sorry."



Mother M was torn between this little boy beneath her and the ambulance
that was near departure. "Oh, Micah, you didn't cause Dad to go to the
hospital. His ticker was giving him problems. It had nothing to do with
you."



She leaned down to kiss Micah on the head and reached to loosen the grip he
had around her legs. "Micah, I have to go with Dad now. Mrs. Parker will
take care of you until I come back. I need you to let go."



Micah felt the fear and urgency in her voice and let his arms fall to his
side. He knew this was his fault, that it never would have happened if he
hadn't been exploring the attic. He wanted to run after Mother M and climb
in the ambulance with her, but Mrs. Parker was holding him to make sure he
didn't do anything rash.



"Come on, Micah," she said. "Let's get you some breakfast and get you off
to school. As soon as we hear some news, I'll make sure you know - even at
school. Okay?"



Micah nodded, his black, bright eyes shiny with tears.



	It was two days before Mother M returned from the hospital. Except
for when he was at school, Micah had been at the Parkers' window almost
constantly, keeping watch on the street. The minute Mother M's taxi pulled
up, Micah was out of the house and running next door to help them out of
the car. But there was no 'them'; there was only Mother M. Micah kept
looking into the cab for Poppa M, but he never emerged. Micah's heart
sank. He knew it was his fault. If only he hadn't decided to explore the
attic.



	Mother M pulled Micah to her, wrapping her arms around his
shoulders. "Micah, it will be a while before Dad can come home. He's had
what they call a stroke, and they want to work with him for a few weeks to
see if he will get better."



	Micah started to cry. "Now, Micah, you stop those tears. It wasn't
your fault, and he's not going to get better unless we all give him as much
love as we can - and pray for him - and the doctors work their miracles. Do
you understand?"



	Micah nodded silently.



* * * * *



	The next four weeks were chaotic. For Mary McDougall it was a
whirlwind: time at the hospital, time back at home with Micah, arranging
for someone to take care of Micah, arranging for what looked like long-term
care for her husband, and making sure that meals were made, bills paid,
chores done and the myriad other details of running a household
performed. It was also a time to think about her ability to keep on caring
for Micah. She ended up calling the child-protective worker in charge of
him.



	For Micah, things were confusing. He was shunted to the Parkers and
back to the McDougall house. After school, he was told to stop at the
Parkers before he went home in case he needed to stay there. He watched
Mother M frequently go off to the hospital, but he could not understand why
she didn't take him along even though he begged her. He knew he could be of
help, and he wanted to talk to Poppa M as they had done in the den every
night while they listened to Poppa M's favorite music on the stereo. He
wanted to tell Poppa M that he was sorry for climbing into the attic
without permission.



* * * * *



	It was an afternoon over a month after Mr. McDougall went to the
hospital that things changed for him. Micah arrived home from school to
find Mother M and the child-protective worker, who had visited him from
time to time. They were sitting in the den - the child-protective worker
was in Poppa M's chair, and Mother M was sitting where she usually
sat. There was something somber about the situation, and Micah wondered if
something had happened to Poppa M; tears started to rise in his eyes at the
thought as he looked back and forth between the two women. He noticed that
Mother M had been crying, and a handkerchief was tightly gripped in her
fingers, only the embroidered corners showing. He ran to her and flung his
arms around her neck. That only caused the tears of both of them to flow
more profusely.



 	The child-protective worker cleared her throat and started to
speak. Mrs. McDougall held her palm up to stop her. "I want to handle
this," she said.



	"Micah, this is very hard for me because I care very much for
you. You know how things have been this last few weeks. With all that is
going on, I'm afraid I'm too old to take care of you and Dad and this house
at the same time. Dad isn't coming home for a very long time, and I have to
be with him as much as I can.



	"This means, Micah, that I have to make one of the hardest
decisions that I have ever made. For the past two weeks, I have been
talking to your child-protective worker, Mrs. Colbert, and we have found
you a new place to stay."



	Micah began to sob.  "But I don't want to go to a new place."



	"Micah, you can't stay here, much as I would like you to. With Dad
incapacitated - I mean, at the doctor's - I can't really take care of
you. You were going to be our last foster child, anyway. We knew we were
getting too old before you came, and we took you because so many people who
loved you wanted us to."



	"But I can help out. I know how to make cereal for breakfast. I
know how to pour milk and to put the carton back in the refrigerator. I
know how to make a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich and to rinse the knife
before I put it in the dishwasher. I'll make my bed. I'll vacuum my
room. I'll sweep the front walk like Poppa M did every week. I'll pray for
him every night. I can take care of myself and help take care of you,
too. I won't be any trouble."



	Mrs. Colbert tried to suppress a sad-sweet smile. "Micah, that is
sweet," she said, taking over. "Mother M and I have found a wonderful
family for you - on a farm up in Washington State, where you can grow up
with brothers and sisters and have a new and different kind of life. Their
name is Kingman. Stan and Betty are the parents, and they have six other
children of their own or that they have adopted. They want to adopt you."



	"I don't want to go." Micah grabbed Mother M's leg. "I don't want
to go," he repeated with a heart-rending wail.



	Mother M hugged Micah closely. "The Kingmans want to adopt you and
take you back to their farm in Washington State. That means you will have a
family. And you'll have brothers and sisters to play with - and animals
around. The Kingmans can give you much more of a life than an old lady like
I can."



	"But I have a family. I have you and Poppa M."  Micah clung tighter
to Mother M. "I'm afraid."



	"Micah, there are some things in life that we don't choose. They
choose us. We have to live with what God has given us and make ourselves
happy with that.  Now go get ready for dinner, and I'll come and eat with
you after I finish talking to Mrs. Colbert." The two women watched as Micah
climbed the stairs to the second floor to wash up.



	"I'm sorry this has happened so quickly," Mrs. McDougall said. "I
suspect I've fouled up all your procedures."



	Jane Colbert laughed. "These quick changes happen all the
time. Usually, it's under darker circumstances - a foster parent is
sexually abusing a child and we have to get the child out immediately. In
this case, we have a wonderful home situation here, but we have to find
something else for Micah because of something beyond everybody's
control. However, we also have a family up in Washington that is looking
for a child to adopt, and all our research on this family comes up with
accolade after accolade. Mrs. McDougall, Micah will be in the finest of
hands."



	"But this family hasn't even met Micah. How could they possibly
decide to adopt him sight unseen?"



	"He comes highly recommended," Ms. Colbert said. Mrs. McDougall
stared at the child-protective worker, seeking more
information. Ms. Colbert smiled. "My college roommate works for an adoption
agency up in Spokane, and she called me a few months ago and asked if I had
any special children for a really special family. I told her I did, but I
didn't want to break up a good relationship. I knew the time might come,
however. Now, with what has happened, I called her, and she said the
Kingmans are still very interested. The upshot is that Micah will be well
taken care of and will have opportunities he wouldn't have here."



	"I certainly hope so. Micah is an intense and special boy. He's
smart, he's polite, he's compassionate and he's eager to learn - but he's a
special boy who's waiting for me to fix dinner."



	"Go ahead. I'll see myself out."



* * * * *



	Over the next week the telephone lines between Washington State and
Arizona buzzed with the details of Micah's move. The Kingmans spoke with
the child-protective workers and with Mrs. McDougall, and they had
conversations to introduce themselves to Micah. Micah was less than
animated, with single-word unenthusiastic responses to their questions. A
not unexpected reaction, Betty Kingman thought.



	"Now we have to get you ready for Mrs. Kingman," Mother M
announced. "She'll be arriving in two days to take you to your new home."



	The next two days were spent cleaning and packing Micah's things in
between Mother M's visits to the hospital. They went out to Burger King for
dinner one night, and the night before Betty Kingman's arrival, Mother M
fixed Micah his favorite macaroni-and-cheese dish and chocolate-frosted
cupcakes.



	The next morning, Mother M and Mica were sitting in the den for the
last hour before Betty Kingman was scheduled to arrive.



	"Before you go, I want to give you this."  Mother M held up a jewel
case containing a CD that Micah recognized instantly. "You and Dad used to
sit and listen to it at least once a week. I know he would have wanted you
to have it."



	"But it's his. He won't have it to listen to."



	"Micah, honey, it's going to be a while before he will be home."
Tears rose in Mrs. McDougall's eyes as she composed herself. "In the
meantime, I'm sure this is what he would want. He knew you loved
Mendelssohn. You were the only one of our children who would sit and listen
to it with him."



	"Mrs. McDougall, I'll just borrow it, okay?  If he wants it, I will
send it back to him. I'll send it airmail."



	She looked over at this black-haired and dark-eyed 9-year-old boy,
smiled and nodded her head. "That would be just fine."  She held Micah to
her bosom and rocked gently back and forth. Micah couldn't see the
glistening in her eyes.



	It wasn't long before they heard a car drive up. Mother M peeked
through the curtains at the taxi. She saw Betty Kingman open the rear door
and get out. The cab door was left ajar as Betty Kingman walked up the
sidewalk to the house and rang the bell. It didn't look as if she would
stay even for a cup of tea.



	"Hello, Mrs. Kingman. Welcome," Mother M said, extending her hand
in greeting.



	"Hello, Mrs. McDougall. It's nice to finally meet you in person."



	"Call me Mary. I see that you're holding the cab. Do you have time
for a cup of tea?  I'd be happy to take you to the airport."



	"I'd like that, and I'm Betty," Betty said, smiling. "I wasn't sure
how you'd react to my arrival, so I asked the driver to wait. I'll pay for
the taxi and send it on its way."  She walked out to the curb, closed the
car door that she had left open, walked around the cab and paid the driver
through his open window.



	Inside the house again, Betty and Mother M sat at the kitchen table
with cups of tea and a pot covered with a knitted, pale-blue cozy on a
trivet between them. Mother M had set out a plate of homemade
snickerdoodles. Micah stood in the doorway, observing the two women while
he ate a cookie that Mother M had offered him, careful not to spill crumbs
on the floor. The women chatted amiably, but the conversation turned more
serious as Mother M related the events of the last few weeks.



	"I'm sorry to hear about your husband," Betty said. "I certainly
hope he recovers quickly."



	Mother M glanced over at Micah then said carefully, "I'm sure he
will."  But her face didn't display the confidence that was in her words,
and Betty noticed. She also had noticed the glance at Micah before Mother M
had spoken.



	"Were Micah and your husband close?"



	Mother M. nodded, and her eyes gleamed from the emotion of her
answer. "As you will soon find out, Micah is a special person, and he and
Dad were wonderful with each other."



	They continued talking, with Mother M describing Micah's school
activities and educational achievements. "He's a very bright boy."



	After a while, Betty began to look at her watch, so Mother M knew
it was time to load Micah's few possessions into her car and get on the
road. Traffic to the airport was light, so they made the trip with time to
spare. Betty insisted that Mother M not park but just leave them at the
departure level. They all got out after Mother M popped the trunk
open. They unloaded Micah's suitcase and two cardboard boxes onto the
curb. The moment was awkward for all.



	She turned to Betty. "I can see that Micah will be in good hands,
Betty. Please let me know how he does."  She turned to Micah and gave him a
warm hug. "Good-bye, honey. You are a wonderful boy. You lit up both Dad's
and my lives. We will miss you."  She turned around with tears in her eyes,
walked to the driver's side of the car and got in. With a wave, she left
Micah's life, and with her husband in the state he was in, she felt
terribly alone for the first time in 41 years - since the day before she
and Dad had stood at the altar and exchanged their vow