We left at the crack of dawn to rescue all four members of the Kohn family.
According to Uncle Peter Leslie Kohn was an exceptionally bright twelve-year-old Girl Scout. "She's the type of kid you know could really make something of herself one day." testified Uncle Peter on the drive over.
We eased into a parking spot in front of Leslie's house. The lawn's spiky grass was littered with broken bottles, cigarette butts, and tumbleweed trash. Torn shades hung limp in dirty windows, and paint blistered from window trim. A disheveled and forlorn couch, missing its cushions, sat in the front yard. The white trash version of a porch swing.
Uncle Peter knocked, and the door swung open. "Where have you been the last four days!?" barked Leslie's father. Ted had hairy arms and a face dominated by a large nose, sloping forehead, overbite, and perpetual five-o'clock shadow. The uncharitable truth was he looked like an oversized rat. He was wearing a wife-beater t-shirt that had turned yellow with age. "We're out of water, and none of us have had a bath in three days!"
"You've been taking baths?"
"What of it?"
"There's a water shortage. People are dying of thirst."
"So?"
Uncle Peter's jaw tightened. "May we come in?"
Ted said nothing, but stepped out of the doorway to let us through. The living room was completely lacking in homey adornments. No family photos. No kid drawings. No houseplants. No books. No knickknacks. The main features were a couch, a large TV, and a coffee table with an overflowing ashtray in the center. The once white walls had turned sickly yellow from cigarette smoke.
Thelma and her eighteen-year-old son, Steve, sat on the couch with cigarettes hanging from their lips.
Evidently Leslie, who was sitting on the floor, brushing her long, black hair, was the only person in her house who didn't consider tobacco to be a major food group.
"Hello, everyone," smiled Uncle Peter. "I'll get right to the point. We have established a refugee camp at the Elwood's farm in Belleville. I'm inviting you four to come."
"Refugee camp?" asked Steve. He didn't speak the words, so much as let them plop from his big mouth. "What's a refugee?" Steve had a drill sergeant's haircut and a face that looked like he had run the hundred-yard dash in a ninety-yard gym.
Leslie spoke up: "A refugee is a person who's been displaced by a disaster or—"
"I wasn't asking you, Turd!" snapped her brother.
"No need for that," frowned Uncle Peter. "Leslie is quite right. We—"
"When we get the water?" asked Leslie's mother, her voice as screechy and unpleasant as fingernails on a chalkboard. You could tell Thelma was once an attractive woman. But substance abuse had prematurely aged her.
"We should have plenty of water at the farm as soon as—"
"No. When we get water working here?"
"Your plumbing? That's not likely to ever to be fixed. Nor will I be delivering water anymore."
"We can't leave. We've tried," sneered Ted, plopping down on the couch between his wife and son. The three of them looked like they should've been wearing orange jumpsuits and ankle monitors.
"I know. We will have to 'transplant' you. We'll need to carry each of you to the truck and drive you all to the farm. The trip won't be pleasant, but better than staying here."
"Do we HAVE to go?"
"No. But it's a good idea. You'll eventually die if you stay." A couple of beats passed. "Are there any other questions?"
"Can I bring my things with me?" asked Leslie.
"Yes. Bring two changes of clothes and some personal items. But try to pack light. Also, you should bring all your food with you as well."
"Fine," grumbled Ted. "Let's pack our shit 'n' go."
Leslie was done first, having packed her clothes and personal items inside her school backpack. The rest of her family took a half hour to pack their "shit". And they had to bicker with each other about it the whole time. To help move things along, Uncle Peter, Leslie, and I bagged up what food they had. Then Uncle Peter and I carried the bags out to the truck.
When we came back, Ted handed me a trash bag full of clothes and Uncle Peter two rifles in gun bags.
"Why are you bringing guns?!" Uncle Peter asked.
"You tolds us we could bring personal items. What's more personal than a man's guns?!"
"You won't need guns." miffed Uncle Peter setting them on the couch, "Just leave them here where they'll be safe."
"We need them for protection!"
Thelma walked in, carrying a large crate packed with cartons of cigarettes. "I told you not to bring those guns!!" she screeched, shoving the cigarettes into Uncle Peter's arms. "Why don't ya listen?!" Uncle Peter sighed and carried the crate of cigarettes to the truck. I follow with the bag of clothes.
When we came back, Steve was waiting for us with a huge, overflowing box. He plopped it at my feet without saying a word.
"Do you really need to bring so much shit?!" yelled Thelma as she shoved a slightly smaller box of her own into my arms. I said nothing, but just carried the box to the truck.
Once again Ted insisted we bring his guns. "Fine," sighed Uncle Peter. "We'll bring them. Do you have any other guns in the house?"
"No. Why?"
"Just checking." We carried the guns and the last box of stuff to the truck, then hurried back. "It's time to load you folks up," announced Uncle Peter. "Leslie, you're the smallest. Why don't we carry you out first?"
"Okay," she answered, obviously apprehensive. Uncle Peter was about to lift her. "Wait!" she insisted at the last second. "I forgot something VERY important." She ran to her room and came back with her long, black hair pulled back in a purple scrunchie. "NOW I'm ready."
Uncle Peter picked Leslie up and carried her out. When he stepped over the threshold, Leslie's body started to convulse with her arms and legs jerking spasmodically.
"What's the matter with her!?" screeched Thelma.
"Why's she actin' like a retard?!" jeered Steve.
Uncle Peter ignored these stupid questions and continued to carry Leslie across the lawn to the truck. I helped to place the poor girl in the passenger seat and buckle her in. Then Uncle Peter told me to get into the cab with Leslie.
"I'll come get you in a minute!" shouted Uncle Peter to Leslie's family as he walked to the truck's back. "First, I need to rearrange some things to make room!"
Ted, Thelma, and Steve watched as Uncle Peter stacked their things on the curb.
Then he slid behind the wheel, cranked the engine over, and drove off.
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After picking up Leslie, we stopped by the second nearest grocery store. We stocked up on soda, bottled water, and canned goods.
We pulled into Elwood's, carried Leslie in, and laid her on the living room couch.
In the dining room, there was a heated discussion in progress and a crowd watching it. Tension in the room was so high, our arrival went unnoticed.
"My girlfriend and I need our own room, separate from her kids!" shouted Anthony.
"I keep telling you: there are not enough bedrooms for every couple to have their own!" reiterated Nichole, her attractive face flushed with frustration. "Jimmy and I are in the process of coming up with equitable sleeping arrangements. So if—"
"I'm sure you and Jimmy will have your own room."
"Not true," insisted my great-uncle, Jimmy. "My father will be in our room."
"That's not good enough," interjected my mother. Next to her was Grandpa Kevin. He was an island of calm in an ocean of chaos. As a city alderman, he was no stranger to conflict. I suspected Grandpa Keven was quietly biding his time, waiting for everyone to tire themselves out before entering the fray as the voice of reason. "There are forty-seven people altogether and only ten bedrooms," continued Mom. "So we need to put between four and five people in each room. So Jimmy, Nichole, and Grandpa will have to share their bedroom with one or two more people if—"
"Now, let's not be hasty," said Jeannie primly from her seat just a couple feet from where I was standing. Jeannie was one of the four people Uncle Peter rescued from a car that was parked on the highway near his home. Jeannie was spindly, in her early 50s. She possessed dark piercing eyes set in a lean face. Around her slender neck hung a large, gaudy, crucifix necklace. (It was not a "bare cross", but a "corpus" crucifix with the dead body of Jesus nailed to it. Yeeesh!) Her hair was pulled back into a bun, tied at the nape of her narrow neck. Her perfume carried the thick aroma of roses and vanilla. The scent would have been lovely, if she had not marinated in it. "There are other rooms we can convert into bedrooms, such as the sunroom and living room. We'll just put all the men and boys on the first floor... The women and girls on the second floor... And all the MARRIED couples on the third floor. It might also—"
"That would be fine if we were puritans, and this was the 18th century," lampooned my mother. "But seeing as this is the 21st century, we—"
"My child," scolded Jeannie, "it's extremely rude to interrupt your elders. Now, as I was saying, it might also be a good idea if Randy and Lenny stayed in separate rooms."
"What!?" lisped Randy.
"I think all the parents here are in agreement that keeping Randy and Lenny in separate rooms would be best for the children."
"Like HELL we're all in agreement!" fumed Mom. "Jesus Fucking Christ! Don't you EVER presume to speak for me!"
"I'd thank you NOT to use the Lord's name in vain!" huffed Jeannie.
"You can shove your lord up your ass, you ignorant cow!... I hope Randy and Lenny have REALLY loud sex tonight! And I hope it keeps you up ALL night long!"
Suddenly, the air erupted with the babble of angry voices.
"That's enough! We'll not solve anything by yelling!" yelled Nichole. She clapped her hands like a teacher addressing an unruly classroom. "My husband, Jimmy, is in charge! He'll write down everyone's name and assign sleeping quarters!"
"Dad and I have already taken down everyone's name and information!" declared Mom. "It's here on this clipboard. We—"
Nichole snatched it from Mom's hand. "Thank you, Scarlett."
"Hey!"
"Jimmy is NOT in charge here!" dictated Frank, rolling forward in his wheelchair. "I am. I've had years of courtroom experience, dealing with problems such as this. I'm sure—"
"Nobody put you in charge!" barked Nick. "No one elected you!"
"If you're looking for an ELECTED official, I've one right here," reasoned Mom, pointing her open palms toward Grandpa Kevin. "My father IS a city alderman!"
Jimmy cleared his throat loudly. "My wife and I will take all your concerns into account before deciding the sleeping arrangements," he announced, attempting to bring a measure of authority to his voice. "Please be patient, so—"
"Why should we listen to you?!" blustered Anthony. "You're not our fucking boss!"
That's when the conversation broke down into a clamor of insults and a buzz of bickering with no one listening to each other.
I was reminded of something my father once told me: "There're people who demand things be done and people who actually do them, and they're seldom the same people."
Uncle Peter slipped into the kitchen and returned with a glass and spoon. He cleared his throat. Then repeatedly tapped the spoon to the glass at a steady pace. The sharp clinking cut through the unruly babble. Gradually, the chatter subsided until only the clinking remained. Uncle Peter placed the glass and spoon on the large, dining-room table ringed with angry people staring at him.
"Let me make this VERY clear." decreed uncle peter in a tone that brooked no argument. "The person in charge here," he paused for dramatic effect. "...is ME." he leaned forward, tapping the table for emphasis. "This is MY farm. MY house. I'M in charge. If anyone doesn't like it, I'll be happy to drive them home in the morning."
"That's hardly a threat to me," smirked Frank.
Uncle Peter whirled on him. "Frank, you're welcome to leave ANYTIME you like!"
Frank was taken aback. For a time they exchanged hard stares.
Uncle Peter turned from Frank and raised his voice to address the whole room. "For the foreseeable future, I'll be busy with BIG problems like keeping us supplied with food and water. The smaller, day-to-day problems I'll delegate to my father, Alderman Kevin Kardon." Grandpa nodded sagely. "He'll be assisted by my sister, Scarlett Valentoni." My mom snatched her clipboard back from Nichole. "For most issues, THEY are the people to go to."
"Now, onto new business... Samber and I have just brought another refugee to the farm." This produced some discontented groans. "Her name is Leslie. She's in the living room, recovering. When she has acclimated, I hope you'll all take the time to welcome her aboard. Leslie is the LAST person I'll bring to the farm. I know many of you have loved ones you want me to save. But we are MAXED out." In the audience I saw sad nods mixed with frustrated head shakes.
"The issue of sleeping assignments will largely be up to my father. I'm sure he'll have it resolved in the next hour or two. However, before then, I need to speak to the following people alone: Scarlett, Dad, Randy, Lenny, Colin, Gina, and Samber. When everyone else leaves the room, I want you seven to stay.
"I've a truck loaded with groceries outside. Frank, use your ramp and start hauling them to the front door. The rest of you, put them away... Meeting adjourned."
"At least we now know who's in charge," whispered Beth to Jeannie as the crowd filled out.
"I pray he becomes a God-fearing man..." responded Jeannie, speaking deliberately loud so Uncle Peter would be sure to hear. "...If not for his own sake, then for his children's."
Soon, the only people who remained were the seven people Uncle Peter asked to stay. We took seats around the table.
"Colin and Gina..." began Uncle Peter. "I've a favor to ask... Leslie, the twelve-year-old girl I just brought from New Athens, has no family. Her parents were so horrible, I had to leave them behind. Leslie, on the other hand, is a wonderful child. I'd like for you to 'adopt' her. By that, I mean I want Leslie to move into the same room as you. I want you to keep an eye on her and help her with her studies. Essentially, provide her the love and attention she never received from her wretched parents."
Colin and Gina exchanged apprehensive glances. "I'm not sure we're ready to be parents," confessed Colin.
Uncle Peter gave him a look of surprise. And pointed his open palm at Gina's five-month baby-bulge.
"I think Colin means we might not be ready for a TWELVE-year-old," explained Gina. "We were planning to start with a ZERO-year-old."
"The fact you're reluctant makes me all the more sure I picked the right couple." smiled Uncle Peter, "But, keep in mind, you won't be doing this alone. My father and mother will help, too. I want you two, my parents, and Leslie to share the large master bedroom on the main floor. The five of you will need the extra room, especially when the baby comes. Also, my mom can't handle stairs well, so she should be on the main floor anyway."
A couple of beats passed. "We'll do it," declared Gina. Colin shot her a panicked look. Gina turned to him. "We'll be parents in four months anyway," she shrugged. "What are we going to learn new by then?"
"Good point!" acknowledged Uncle Peter. "Congratulations! It's a girl." Colin's face turned ashen. "Leslie is on the couch in the living room. It's a good idea if you're the first people she sees when she recovers." Gina gave Colin a reassuring pat on the back as they left the room.
"The next idea concerns Lenny and Randy." continued Uncle Peter turning to face the charming, gay couple. "Samber and I talked about it on the ride here. We have favors to ask..."
"The answer is 'Yes'!" sang Randy.
"You don't even know what we were going to ask."
"Yes, I do," insisted Randy, pursing his lips coyly. "You want me and Lenny to adopt Candice and her little brother, Bobby. Right? Right? Right?"
(Actually, Uncle Peter and I were NOT going to ask that. We were going to ask Lenny to organize fire drills and Randy to help my dad with purifying water. We were going to ask Mom to 'adopt' Candice and Bobby.)
Randy swiveled to face me, his eyes brimming with tears of joy. I sighed internally.
"Right!" I answered with a big smile. "I think you two would make great parents."
Randy clapped his hands together while bouncing in his chair. He hugged Lenny, who looked slightly flustered. "Oh, sweetie!" twinkled Randy. "You'll be the BEST father ever."
Uncle Peter and I exchanged glances. His smile communicated approval.
"I guess I'm for it," replied Lenny. "But I doubt Jeannie would approve."
"The fact that the adoption will upset Jeannie only makes it more appealing." smirked Uncle Peter.
"Congratulations," interjected Mom. "But remember: Candice has been traumatized by the death of her parents. She's kind of withdrawn. So don't rush things."
"That's good advice," admitted Uncle Peter. "So, Scarlett, when you and Dad make the sleeping arrangements, make sure Lenny and Randy share a room with Candice and Bobby."
"No problem," assured Grandpa Kevin.
"Oh... and one more thing." Uncle Peter lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone. "I'd consider it a personal favor if you did NOT put my in-laws, Nick or Penny, in the same room as me."
Grandpa Kevin nodded. "Why don't you and Samber go help bring groceries to the front door while your sister and I finish assigning sleeping quarters?"
Uncle Peter slapped his thighs and raised from his chair, "Sounds like a plan."
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Below is the Main House as illustrated by Jack Durbbing. This was drawn before additions were built and before the secret room's discovery.
[Please remember to vote. Also I'd love to read your comments regarding Peters actions.]