Chapter 15: Home to the Outhouse

We stayed off the freeways as much as possible for one main reason, cops. There were more cops where the traffic was heavier. If you cruised along right at the speed limit and obeyed the traffic laws you were usually left alone by the law. Of course there was always the one eager beaver who will invent reasons to pull someone over. We were pretty certain our Identifications would hold up if we run into an eager puppy just graduated from the police academy and all set to make his first big bust.

Sure enough, the irritating "wheep-wheep" of a siren sounded. Heart in throat I pulled over to the side of the road. A hollow feeling formed in my gut. I was afraid we were the ones the siren was meant for. The police cruiser didn't slow down as it raced on past. I didn't realize I had been holding my breath until I let it out with a long "whoosh"

We followed behind the police car as we approached the city limits and kept back. Just as the sidewalks began we spied a young girl lying on her side in a pool of blood. The twisted wreck of a bicycle had been tossed up on the sidewalk. I stopped the motor home and started to get out. "What are you doing, Forrest?" Rachel asked.

"The kid is badly hurt, see all the blood? I have to help her." I grabbed the tractor hat and pulled it down tight on my head. "Drive around the corner and park. I'll be with you as soon as I can."

"Oh, please be careful, Forrest," Rachel told me. She had good reason to be worried if someone recognized me. "Please be careful." I nodded and left the motor home without answering. I was reluctant to come to the rescue of the girl, with good reason. However there are some things we have do because it was the right thing. I was afraid I'd be unmasked, so I cautiously approached the crumpled girl and squatted down. "Get back from her," an authoritative voice said and I felt a hand grab my shoulder.

I stood and said, "I'm a doctor. Let go of me."

"Oh, sorry sir," the voice said. I didn't see who the speaker was. I kept my eyes on the girl. I could feel her life force fading. I touched her and the familiar electric current flowed from me, through my hand and into her body. My fingers felt welded to her neck.

"Good Grief What is that green light?" I heard someone exclaim. Then I became aware of the familiar green halo around the two of us. Suddenly the light disappeared and my hand fell away from her. It was covered in blood.

"What? What" I turned and saw a young policeman about my age staring at me. He stammered, "You ... you ... you're For..."

I interrupted him. "No I'm not. Now I'd like to go into the house and wash up. Please excuse me." While he tried to collect his thoughts I stood and walked away from him and the girl. I headed toward the nearest house. As soon as I reached the house I detoured around the side, cut through the back yard and out the back gate into the alley. Then I ran toward the street. Nobody called out for me to stop. At the end of the alley, Rachel waited with the passenger door open. As soon as I entered she took off. In the bathroom at the back of the coach I quickly washed the blood off my hands.

I opened the back window, shoved the screen aside and dropped the green tractor hat out onto the street. It fell to the pavement and was run over by our bike trailer. I removed my tee shirt and put on a fresh long sleeved shirt. I had purchased a well-worn cowboy hat in a thrift store for just such an emergency as the present one where I needed to change my appearance in a hurry. I slammed it on my head and joined Rachel up front. We barely got another block when we heard another siren. This time it was for us so we stopped.

We pulled over and the cop from the accident scene came up on the driver's side Rachel roiled down the window. "Whut's wrong there officer, we didn't do nothin' wrong, did we?"

"Let me see your driver's license," he demanded.

"Why, yessir. But what's I done wrong?" I thought she overdid the corn pone accent but the cop seemed to buy it as real.

"You Mary Jane Hackling?" he asked.

"Why yes sir, I shore am." She smiled sweetly at him.

"I want to see your identification, please," he said to me. "Just hand it to your ... er ... wife and she will hand it to me." This was definitely an old-fashioned type person.

Stomach churning, I slowly reached in my hip pocket. I passed the driver's license to Rachel and she handed it out the window. "You Rube Gainer?" he asked.

"Yup, sure am." I didn't try to do a southern accent. Instead I kept my answers short.

He looked at me and at the picture. He handed it back to Rachel and she handed it to me. "You can go," he said shortly and returned to his police car.

We drove away while the cop sat in his cruiser and watched us. "Too close, way too close. Let's get out of here." I wanted to put many miles between us and where we were right then.

"Sweetheart, you have to be more careful. You shouldn't take chances like that." Rachel said, as her worry came back.

"I know, Hon, but I couldn't let the girl die either, could I?"

"No, Sweetheart, you couldn't." She drove along silently for a while and said plaintively, "I just want us to be able to be able to go home again. It's not fair." I agreed with her and then some. I wanted to go home too.

We drove north and didn't attract any more attention from the police or anyone else. Healing the young girl had been risky if I wanted to remain anonymous, but what else could I do? She would have died if we hadn't stopped. Finally, we turned west to head into North Dakota. Rachel and I took turns driving. We stopped only to eat and take on more fuel or let Duke run a while.

When we got to Bemidji, right in the center of Minnesota, we stopped and sent an e-mail to Posy saying we were okay. She must have been camping in my office at the house. "Where ever you are go elsewhere right now. We are watched. The feds are watching. The other bunch is watching too. Bill got in a fight and won. Abe sued again and won. Sarah and the rest of the kids all have big trust funds and we're their guardians." She seemed to be almost manic in her email to us.

"What did you do in Minnesota? You are all over the news. We thought you were in hiding. Go Now!" I have seen Posy angry and frustrated, but never as hysterical as her email seemed.

Just then a couple of outlaw type biker types rode by slowly, looking at the bikes on our trailer. They stopped and came over. The bigger of the two hairy bears came up to the passenger side and rapped twice on the door. When I opened it he said, "Hey, Bro, the man is lookin' for wheels like yours towing two scoots like yours and they seem real nervous about it."

"Thanks for the warning," I told him. Suddenly I knew exactly what to do. I smiled my friendliest and asked, "How would you like this motor home free and clear? It's all yours if you want it, complete with a signed off title."

"What's the deal?" He squinted his eyes and looked at me suspiciously. In his world good things don't just happen unless there was a catch somewhere.

"We need to stay disappeared for a while. We'll take our two motorcycles and clothes and our dog. You take this motor home and drive up to International Falls. Where you go afterward I don't care. It would be nice if you could lead anyone looking for us in another direction."

"What do I say when I'm stopped?" he asked. He had already begun to see the RV as his own personal property.

"Tell the almost truth. Just say you heard me mention Canada, which I just did, when I sold you this RV for a thousand dollars. Is it okay with you?" He nodded his head yes.

"Deal," he said. "Looks like my little good deed give me a reward." In his mind the motor home was now all his and he wanted us off his property.

I motioned him to come in and removed the manila envelope from the drawer in the dinette table. Inside was the title to the motor home we had never re-registered after we bought it. I handed it to him. I took the titles and registration for the two motorcycles and placed them in my backpack.

Rachel and I grabbed a couple of changes of clothing. Rachel went into the bathroom and slipped into the bright blue leathers and came back out. I slipped on the black leather jacket I had acquired, took both helmets and followed Rachel out of the old Ithaca. I snagged the cell phone and the laptop as well. The IBM would wipe itself the next time someone tried to boot it up if they didn't hot key it at the right moment.

Duke came out from under the dinette table. "Whoa," both of our guests exclaimed together.

"This is our dog." I said unnecessarily and grinned as they both backed up. I hurried around to the back of the motor home and backed the two motorcycles down off the trailer. The new owners placed their choppers where our bikes had been. Duke dove into the sidecar and waited for us to go. I tied my backpack onto the sissy bar of my bike and tied Rachel's on hers the same way. We shook hands all around, and in seconds we were on our way down the road.

We back tracked to Minneapolis and stopped for the night at a no star motel barely a step up from a flophouse. "What now, Forrest?" Rachel asked me once we were checked in. She looked very unhappy. I didn't answer her. I put my arms around her and hugged her tight against me. I had run out of answers.

We walked to a small café two blocks from the motel and went inside. I grabbed up a local paper off the stack by the door. We took a booth and I immediately began to read. "A New Healer?" the headline ran in bold type. The reporter who put the story together couldn't make up her mind if "the real Forrest Eden" healed the young girl or if someone else now had the same powers. The descriptions the cop gave of us were a little off and also he insisted we could not be the Edens. "I saw their IDs and they were good when I checked them out," he said.

A bystander took pictures of the accident right after the young girl had been hit. They showed the broken figure of the girl lying in a puddle of her own blood.

The two pictures of me were of my back while I knelt next to the girl. They could have been of anybody.

There were pictures of the young girl who looked, except for the blood smears, as if she had never been hurt a day in her life. In a box just below the fold of the newspaper was a "late breaking news bulletin."

It seemed Forrest Eden had been sighted in Mexico and was under arrest by the Mexican authorities. I felt sorry for whomever it was the Mexicans had picked up. Mexican police are infamous for their brutality.

We left Duke to guard the two motorcycles when we got back to the motel. He lay on the concrete between them and looked as if he hoped someone would come by and try to steal them, but nobody did. We got a needed restful night's sleep and rose early the next morning eager to be on our way. We returned to the café for a light breakfast and ordered two steaks for Duke. He inhaled them and waited patiently for us to get back on the road. Suddenly I knew what we had to do.

"Let's go home," I told her as I paid for our meal.

"What? What did you just say? You mean back to Salt Lake?" I really surprised her. "Honey, we don't dare," she protested. "That horrible person is still looking for us."

"Here's the deal, you're pregnant. I don't want our baby born on the road somewhere. I am tired of hiding. We're headed home and we will go public about everything."

All at once she got a helpless look on her face. "How, how do you know I'm going to have a baby?" She looked at me as if she was afraid she wouldn't like the answer. She grabbed at her throat and waited to hear what I said next.

"When I held you in my arms last night I felt something inside you. Just now I could tell what it was." My eyes became moist, a lump grew in my throat and I said, "We're going to have a baby. I love you, Missus Eden."

"What do we do? Are you sure? Oh let's get out of here." I had a goofy grin on my face. I could feel the grin and it felt goofy. But it was okay, the rest of me felt goofy too. The wonder of it all almost overwhelmed me. We left the dingy little café and walked back to our motorcycles, arms around each other.

Three young street punks were equally spaced in front of our motorcycles. Two had chains and one had a machete. Duke slowly looked from one to the other, growling deep in his throat. There was a cut over one eye. I walked up behind the middle one and shoved hard. He yelled as he fell almost on top of our dog.

Duke let out a roar and clamped down on the wrist of the hand with the chain. The punk screamed his pain.

The one with the machete yelled and turned toward me, blade raised to strike. Duke leaped through the air and chomped down on another wrist. The blade fell to the sidewalk. The third punk ran. Duke turned back to the first one I had shoved at him. "No, Duke," I told him. "Back off. Let's go." He growled one last threat and jumped into the sidecar.

"What now?" Rachel asked.

"We go. It's time to ride off into the sunset. Let's gas up and get going." She shook her head doubtfully, but said nothing. We pulled into a gas station and filled our tanks. I bought a five-gallon gas can and filled it. I like to have extra fuel just in case.

Once we were ready, we headed west toward home. I was filled with elation we were going home and ready to do battle.

We made good time the first six hundred miles. We stopped twice for fuel before halted for the night. We checked into the first motel we came to in Kearney, Nebraska Rachel stiffly got off her bike and stretched painfully. As she took her helmet off she said, "Oh, Forrest, I hurt all over."

I hugged her and told Duke, "Stay here, Boy." He plopped himself down between the bikes and waited. I took Rachel's hand and led her into the office. We checked in and I paid for three days. I had an idea Rachel would not care to continue the next day. She looked pretty beat. I was right. We got a room on the ground floor near the back. I escorted Rachel to the room and shoved the two bikes into the space in front of our unit. Duke stayed outside to guard.

As soon as I locked the door I helped Rachel out of her leathers and undressed myself. I led her into the shower and washed her all over. She sighed as my soapy hands caressed her aching body. "So good," she whispered. As soon as I was rinsed off, I led my pregnant wife out into the bedroom and dried her off.

"Lie down on the bed," I told her. I dried off and dropped the towels on the floor. "Get face down." She rolled over and I began to knead every muscle I could, as gentle as I could be.

"Oh, Forrest, I'll give you three weeks to stop that," she moaned as the aches were rubbed away. She fell asleep while I massaged her. I turned off the lights, lay down beside her and slept. The next morning Duke scratched at the door and woke me. I let him in and quickly got dressed. He wanted to go for his morning walk.

We slipped out without waking Rachel and went for a walk. We covered a half-mile in a great circle. When I opened the door to the room Rachel sat up in bed. She yawned. "Kiss me," she ordered. I kissed her. We sat quietly on the side of the bed. It felt good to have a plan and follow it without any last minute changes.

"I'm hungry, Babe, get dressed and let's go eat. Duke is hungry, too." He woofed his agreement and waited for her to get back into her leathers.

A block from the motel was a small café that looked clean. I ordered three raw steaks and a bowel of water. The waitress looked at me kind of funny but brought me the meat and water. I thanked her and carried them out to Duke. The meat disappeared and he inhaled the water. The waitress watched me from the front window. Her eyes grew big as she saw Duke when he stood on his hind legs to give me a slurp on the face.

"Mister, I bet nobody picks on you when that beast is around. What kind of breed is he?" She was completely awed by our monster dog.

"He's a Fila," I told her. "He hasn't stopped growing yet. He will put on at least another ten pounds or so before he fully matures."

"He looks just like that dog in the papers."

Uh oh, I thought to myself as I asked, "What papers?"

In a strained voice, Rachel said, "Here it is in the local paper." She held the newspaper up for me to see.

"Well, give me pancakes and ham and eggs," I told her as nonchalantly as I could. "What would you like, Honey?"

"Milk and a sweet roll," Rachel answered. The waitress left with our order.

"Forrest," she hissed at me, "How can you think of eating at a time like this?"

"Sweetheart, the best way to call attention to ourselves is to act nervous. Right now I want to get out of here and run away anywhere, just as fast as I can. If we did that, we wouldn't make it to the state line. Let's just take it easy and hope, if someone gets too nosy, we can bluff our way out. Now let's see what the article in the paper is all about."

I breathed a sigh of relief as I saw the picture. Someone, probably a reporter, back in Salt Lake City, had taken it. I recognized our house, the chain link fence and of course, the outhouse. I read the article carefully and came to the conclusion it was a spec piece written by a freelance writer. I patted Rachel's hand and told her, "Read the article."

Just then the waitress came back with our food. "You folks enjoy," she said and left.

Rachel gulped down her food, eyed mine and said, "I

want one of your eggs and your ham." While I was still trying to make up which egg I would give her, she slipped one onto her plate along with my ham. "Eat your other egg and your pancakes. Stop frowning."

I sighed dramatically and told her, "I liked you so much better when you were less assertive. Really, Rachel, be nice to me. After all, I am your husband."

"Lucky you," she told me. "Finish your hotcakes and let's get on the road. Rock Springs is calling." I wolfed down the rest of my food and paid the bill while she waited impatiently outside with Duke. I paid and hurried to join her."

Duke led us back to the motel and dove into the sidecar. I told Rachel, "I better nor give you any more massages. Last night after our long ride, you were close to death and today you are anxious for another grueling ride down the highway."

"Sweetie pie," she smiled at me, "When you touched me in the shower your touch removed all my aches and pains. I just humored you and let you massage my beautiful body."

"Well, in that case, no more rub downs for you."

"You better give me a massage whenever I want one. You don't dare rub me the wrong way." She grinned at her pun and straddled her Suzuki. We put on our helmets and headed down the road. We stopped for food and fuel as needed. Ten hours later we were in Rock Springs, Wyoming.

Just like before, when she got off the bike she started to stretch her sore muscles. I signed us in, using the credit card and accepted the key to our room. As soon as we were inside and the door closed, Rachel said, "Kiss me." When I did, I felt the tingle in my lips. She grinned, "Your kisses are good for sore muscles."

"Honey, there are times when you act like a nut, a coo-coo nut."

"You mean a coconut, dear dimwitted husband."

"No, you are definitely more coo-coo than you are coco," I told her. To be so close to home revived our spirits. It was fun to act a little silly and not be on our guard all the time for fear of making a

mistake. "Let's go for a walk." We wandered around the down town area and stopped at a magazine stand. While we were browsing I saw a paperback with a lurid cover.

The title, "Eden Unmasked," caught my eye. I paid for it and showed it to Rachel.

"Let's go back to the motel. I want to read that thing." She grabbed my hand and urged me to hurry. "Come on, Forrest," she urged.

Back in our room she glared at the book. "How dare she?" Rachel raged. "That disgusting, sick minded..." My wife was so mad she ran out of words.

"What sick minded person are you talking about, Honey?" I thought she was almost ready to go shoot someone just to relieve her inner pressure.

She thrust the book so close to my face my eyes could not focus. I pushed it to one side, "That, that Janet Worley wrote that book. How dare she?"

I took the paperback from Rachel and looked at the name of the author. Sure enough it was our friend Janet Worley. I looked inside the back cover for a picture of the author. It was a very glamorized and touched up photo of the woman. Rachel grabbed the book back and began to read. The more she read, the angrier she got. She mumbled and muttered as she read the first few pages. "None of this had better be true," Rachel said. Her cheeks puffed up.

I reached over and pressed on her cheeks with my middle fingers. Her lips sputtered, she looked ready to throw something. I started to laugh. She tried to stay angry and couldn't. She grinned and started to laugh. "Now, wife of mine, what are you so worked up about."

"That thing claimed the reason Abe Goldman sued her and hounded her out of television was because of your secret affair with her. According to this, you two were lovers for over ten years."