The hours that followed were spent in a perpetual state of question and answers. I’d been so certain that they’d run me out of town, that I’d not properly prepared. And in the end, I improvised.

“So, the children sleepwalk. How long do they sleepwalk? Have you tried waking them up? Do they remember having sleepwalked when they wake? Is it only children who are affected? How old are the affected children? Are there other kids the same age who aren’t affected? Are both male and female affected? What do the children do when they sleepwalk? Where do they go? What do they do when they get there?”

The answers to these questions were straight word propyl lead to dead ends. Consequently, it was their account of events that engaged me the most.

Apparently, the children sleepwalked from wherever their homes were all the way to Jerry’s field on the East end of town. There, they’d dig all night.

It was about three months ago when a couple living near the apple orchards noticed their daughter wasn’t in her bed. Their daughter, Zara, was fifteen and was sweet on a boy of similar age a couple miles farther down the road. Fearing the worst, Zara’s father stormed to his neighbor’s hose and demanded that his daughter return home immediately. But she wasn’t there. Neither was the boy. Long story short, the parents went from house to house looking for the couple. But at each house, they discovered the children from those houses were gone too. Within an hour, the whole town had roused and was searching for the children. It wasn’t until dawn that Dan Cardwell, one of my former friends, found the kids. Not just one, but all of them. They were gathered in Jerry’s field on the east end of town—fast asleep, digging, and unable to be woken. Finally, at about an hour before sunrise, the children stopped digging and slowly made their way to their respective homes. No one knew how long this had been going one, though the general feeling is not very long.

In my mind, I imagined a field pocked with hundreds of holes, ranging from scratches in the dirt to something big enough to bury a dog in.

Ultimately, the matter fell to the Elders to sort. By way of response, the Elders, those on both the Large and Small Council, interviewed each of the children. And although the interviews were conducted in private, the responses were all the same. None of the children had any recollection of having sleepwalked the night before. What’s more, very few showed any sign of being tired from the previous night’s activities.

By the end of the day, the matter was deemed either unresolved or the Elders had reached their limit for the day—after all, they’d been up the whole night searching for the children with everybody else and were tired.

That night, every adult in town was exhausted. After searching and worrying the whole night, they still had to go about their daily duties—there were cows to be milked, animals to feed, farms to tend, and so on. But no amount of exhaustion would allow a parent to sleep until they knew for sure their child, or children, were safe.

“But then it happened again. The same thing all over again. And then, again and again, every night since.” Mr. Goff said.

“Do they ever go somewhere different?”

Leaning against the table of untouched and stone-cold food, the Reverend shook his head. “They go back to Jerry’s field every night.”

“What about the Tucker farm? They must live five miles in the other direction.”

Another awkward moment passed before Mr. Goff explained the situation.

“The Tucker family hasn’t lived there in some time. There’s a new family, the Sanders, living there. They have an eight-year-old. A boy, that…”

His words were coming hard and I guessed something had happened to the boy.

“He nearly drowned in the East Branch,” the Reverend said. “The boy sleepwalked straight into the river on his way to Jerry’s field. It was the second night and luckily he parents were chasing after him.”

“Was he alright?”

The Reverend huffed. “Depends on your definition of alright. His Pa fished him out of the river before he drowned. But by then the water had gotten into his lungs.” The revered shook his head in disgust. “The boy ain’t right in the head no more. And none of us realized anything was wrong until he woke the next morning.”

I knew better than anyone how suffering from childhood injuries and ailments led to suffering. Though I reckoned my polio was nothing compared to being brain damaged? Unsure how best to respond, I went with a simple “Sorry to hear that.”

My training taught me not to draw conclusions until I had all the facts. But from what I’d heard so far, it was all a bunch of horse shit. If they say the kid had fallen in the river and was left brain damaged, then I’d believe them. But I didn’t believe that the boy simply sleepwalked in the water without waking. It didn’t make a damn bit of difference how deep in dreamland a person was, one simply could not walk through the river and not wake. I knew the East Fork. I’d swam there as a kid. It wasn’t shallow.

The whole time I’d been listening, something had been niggling at the back of my mind. Given where the conversation landed, it wasn’t the right time to ask it. But then again, the Elders showed me no sympathy when they exiled me.

“Now, while that accident is indisputably a tragedy. Have y’all considered that this might be nothing more than an elaborate hoax, devised by a bunch of clever children?”

The question earned me some nasty looks. But it was Mr. Goff the responded. “Most of the children are in their early teens, so I wouldn’t put it past them. But others, like Benjamin. He’s terrified of the dark and until he started sleepwalking, he’d not walk to the privy at night without his mom and dad, and a lantern. So, no. It’s not possible.”

I noted his reasoning as subjective in my notebook.

“How old’s Benjamin?” I asked.

Mr. Goff sputtered, but Mary came to his rescue.

“Eleven in a few days,” she said. “I’ve planned a party for him in the mess hall.”

Curiosity lodged in my throat—a trivial, yet impassible barrier. She’d planned Benjamin’s party.

“Benjamin is your…”

Nephew? Second cousin? …Son?

She must have read my mind because he lips parted an expression of absolute amusement. “My student,” she said. “I’m his teacher at the school.”

“Mary has been teaching the kids for near on… what? Eight years?” one of the Elders comment.

The Reverend nodded.

“What happened to old Mrs. Whitehair?” instantly regretting opening my big mouth.

The conversation broke for half a heartbeat while the Elders each waited politely for someone else to answer.

“My sister passed away some time ago,” Mr. Goff said.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. I needed to keep on topic.

“May God reflect upon her deeds as just and kind.”

The words came reactively. They were customary and a sign of respect for the deceased. I’d not spoken them in fifteen years.

“So, what do you make of sleepwalking?” the Reverend asked, subtly refocusing the topic.

He stood leaning against the buffet table—where, consequently, all the food now sat stone cold—with his arms folded across his chest.

“I think the case is unique.”

The Reverend exhaled an audible puff of frustration and turned to the table behind him.

“Unique, he says.”

“What do you expect?—a magic cure? So far, all I have to go on is what y’all have told me. So, there ain’t no way I can transform that into something you ain’t already thought of,” I said and stared at each Elder in turn. “What you’ve given me is unsubstantiated and subjective. If y’all want me to do any good, I need to see this for myself. Evidence. It’s just how these things work.”

I hadn’t intended to bark at him like that. But between my aching legs, extra gravity, and the sheer annoyance of being back here was making me irritable. And to boot, I was about three quarters starved.

As if on cue, my stomach groaned an awkward pitch loud enough for everyone to hear.

The three members of the Small Council—Mr. Goff, Mary, and the Reverend—exchanged glances that were far from subtle. Even the two remaining members of the Large Council noticed it, though they pretended not to.

My stomach groaned again—this time, a solid eight seconds.

Mr. Goff stepped forward. “Look at us. So caught up in conversation that we’ve all but forgotten this lovely food. Reverend, if you have no objections, perhaps I will ask the blessing on the food and then we can sit and eat.”

I was confident the good Reverend had more than one objection. But he managed to keep his mouth shut, leaving me to believe he was either internalizing or hungry. Probably both.

As for me, I was curious. If I were to conduct this like a normal investigation, the next logical step would be for me to interview the children. But none of the Elders had so much as raised the possibility and I was reluctant to show enthusiasm. As compelling as this sleepwalking sounded, that fact is I didn’t care. Not even a little. So then left me to wonder, were they merely entertaining me to soften the blow of forcing me away again, or did they genuinely want my help? I didn’t know. And I was willing to bet they didn’t either.

Whatever they were going to do, they had to decide soon. Out the window, I could see the sun dropping towards the horizon. The day was waxing on and I was leaving in the morning.

*****

I loaded my plate with pickled onions, coleslaw with whipped mayonnaise, four spiced sausages and the biggest slice of pumpkin pie I could fit on my plate. I ate the pie first.

One of the little-known facts about gravity is the effects it has on your taste buds. When moving from gravity zone to a heavier zone, you can feel the additional force pressing all over your body, including your tongue. And as a matter of consequence, for about twenty-four hours, everything you eat is about a hundred times more flavorsome.

I’d polished off the pie and moved onto the sausages when I looked over and noticed Mary staring at me. I swallowed awkwardly, and inadvertent comedic display. She stifled a laugh.

How does she do that?

“Long time, no see,” I said, unsure where I was going with this.

Eyebrows raised, she nodded, “I see you haven’t changed. I’d not seen such a fire in Council meetings… well, ever.”

“It’s a talent, I said.

To my left, Mr. Goff said something to the remaining two members of the Large Council. They nodded and politely excised themselves.

“They’re preparing for tonight,” Mary said, noting the exchange with me. “They both have children.”

The logic was plain, but it still blindsided me.

“Their children will sleepwalk tonight?”

“Their children sleepwalk every night.”

Somehow, this made the whole situation more real. I’d never been a parent, but considered how’d I feel if I had a child I couldn’t wake and walks through the woods alone at night to—

Though sent shills across my shoulders and I shivered.

The Reverend and Mr. Goff loaded plates at least as high as mine and sat in two vacant wooden chairs. But, the mound on Mary’s plate was less prominent when she sat and motioned me over.

Within moments we’d slipped into a conversation as naturally as we had fifteen years ago. Some were reminiscing of shared memories. But most we of our lives since we’d parted.

For my part, I’d gone to Elkins after my exile. It was the closest town to Paradise, but still three days journey. The Elders were content for me to walk the distance, but I’d come down so sick that I couldn’t walk.  At the time, the Revered deemed this to be a punishment sent by God. I didn’t know about all that, but the sickness turned out to be on a grand scale. Years passed before I discovered it was a known disease called polio. The rest of the galaxy had eradicated in centuries ago. But lucky me—I grew up on a planet that shunned medicine. This, of course, included vaccinations.

Elkins was the only town on Bovis where starships were permitted to land and facilitated trade on behalf of the few dozen villages on the planet. By the time I got there, I was so sick, the doctors thought I’d die. Hell, I thought I was going to die. Anyway, they loaded me on the first skiff and up to the nearest starship to find a doctor that could help.

After that, it was a matter of recovery, finding a place to live, finding a job, and just getting by. I’d never married and not had kids. All said and done, my life was rather uneventful after my exile. As if the whole ordeal had left me… broken and bitter.

Mary’s story was more engaging by far. Two years after I left, she’d finished school and also had traveled to Elkins. There, the attended higher education training with the intent of returning to Paradise and becoming a teacher’s assistant. Mrs. Whitehair was growing old and Mary intended to help her out until she retired. All this, Mary did. And when old Mrs. Whitehair passed away, Mary took over as Paradise’s Headmaster.

The title was elaborate given there were only thirty school-aged children in the whole town. But I would belittle Mary. She’d had a goal and work hard. She’d turned her dream into a reality, which was more than I could say. I was just a cranky old cripple—well, not that old.

“What did you think when you first saw the electric lights?” I asked.

“In Elkins? They were like magic.”

We both smiled and chuckled.

“I felt the same way. I kept wondering how someone put fire in that little ball.”

Mary snorted a laugh and laughed so hard my last spiced sausage rolled off my plate and hit the floor.

I picked it up, wanting more than anything to tell her about the wonders I’d seen. I’d traveled through the darkness of space, visited more than a hundred different worlds, and met genetically variant humans. It nagged at me, that Mary wouldn’t have understood what any of that was. She was so smart and so full of life. But so limited by being here.

We must have talked for an hour before I looked up and realized Mr. Goff was standing over Mary and me. Instinctively, I felt guilty or like I’d just been busted doing something I shouldn’t. But that wasn’t the case.

“It’s beginning to get dark,” he said. “Mary, would you be so kind as to indulge an old man a walk home?”

I had to hand it to Mr. Goff. The man had tact and diplomacy to spare.

Mary, of course, agreed.

From the door of the town hall, I waved farewelling them both appropriately, though it was Mary I was looking at. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed her. Not in a sexual way—okay, yes in a sexual way—but also on a level that one misses the companionship of someone who understands them.

“Keep it in your pants, daydreamer,” the Reverend said. And without further preamble, he walked out the door past me. “Follow me.”

Did he just tell me to keep it in my pants?

Next Chapter: Horse and buggy