Truth Windows

By Maurine Haltiner

Truth Windows centers around the construction of a straw bale house by students of Lakemont Academy, a private school in the fictional town of Lakemont, Utah. Senior Cynthia Morgan, editor of the Academy newspaper, is the main character. Juniors Matt Willits and Logan Stillwell are friends who share her affection. Matt, nicknamed Spike for his creative hairstyle, is a student at Millcreek High in nearby Granite City. Logan Stillwell, Lakemont's all-state basketball player from Chicago, is also foreman of the straw bale construction crew. Plot events include conflict among these three characters as well as problems at home for Cynthia.

Action stretches from March to June. Basketball season is almost over when Matt is arrested for setting fire to the straw bale house. With Logan's help, Cynthia sets out to prove Matt's innocence. In order to do this, she must confront antagonist Stacey Pepperwood and take upon herself the burden of uncertain truth. Caught in an emotional triangle, Cynthia must make decisions that have life-altering consequences.

Included in the novel are school scenes; basketball games; descriptions of Utah, including the Great Salt Lake and red rock country; and information on straw bale construction. Mormonism is not a major plot mover, but it rumbles on the sidelines. A special feature of straw bale houses, truth windows provide a multi-layered title for the story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Feb 14, 2007
• ISBN: 9781425198015

Maurine Haltiner

Maurine Haltiner has lived in Salt Lake City, Utah, all of her life. A graduate of the University of Utah, Maurine has a BA and an MA in English literature, with minors in music and linguistics. Maurine taught English in the Salt Lake City School District for 33 years. While teaching, Maurine wrote poems for workshops and assignments she gave her students. When she retired, she promised herself to write a YA novel as well as more poetry. In 2004, Maurine became Utah State Poetry Society Poet of the Year. The society published her winning manuscript, A Season and a Time. She kept her second promise to herself by completing Truth Windows two years later. Maurine has also created award-winning photography and artwork. For more information on A Season and a Time email: [e-mail]

Book preview

TRUTH WINDOWS

Maurine Haltiner

©

Copyright 2006 Maurine Haltiner.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

Note for Librarians: A cataloguing record for this book is available from Library and Archives Canada at www.collectionscanada.ca/amicus/index-e.html

ISBN 1-4120-9316-3

ISBN 978-1-4251-9801-5 (ebook)

Offices in Canada, USA, Ireland and UK

Book sales for North America and international:

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Book sales in Europe:

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Order online at:

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10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Author’s Note:

Some locations are real; they can be found on a Utah map. Other locations, though fictional, are loosely based upon real towns in rural Utah. The information on straw bale construction is accurately abbreviated. All events and characters are imaginary creations of the author.

Cover Photographs: Maurine Haltiner

Special thanks to Kaye for continued support; to Floyd for helpful editing; to Janet for a look at an authentic straw bale house; to Raymond for red rock inspiration; to Wasatch Academy for a real straw bale project; and to high school friends, colleagues, and students through the years for the footprints they didn’t know they would be leaving in Truth Windows.

"don’t let the heart be a bitter fruit

the lies too new and the truth too old

don’t let the heart be a bitter fruit

cultivate hearts of gold."

from The Space Inbetween

Words and Music: Barb Jungr and James Tomalin

Copyright-9 Horses Music/SGO Music Publishing Ltd.

Used by permission.

TRUTH WINDOWS

Chapter One

Tuesday, March 4

Barb hesitated, faked left, spun right, leaped, and dropped the ball over the rim of the basket. It was a bubble of quicksilver slipping through the net. Screams from the hometown Cub crowd bounced from wall to wall of the gym. The blinking red lights of the scoreboard announced a 58-58 tie between the Cubs and the Darts. Time-out stopped play. A minute remained.

Cynthia finished reading aloud and looked up at the four members of her writing group. The students sat in a small circle of head-to-head desks. The fluorescent light just above them made a buzzing sound and occasionally flickered. Like white noise, quiet talking from other groups was hardly noticeable.

That’s all I have, she said.

Exactly how our man Logan makes points for Lakemont, Derek said, giving Logan’s arm a playful shove.

Great description, Logan added. He exchanged high five’s with Derek.

His words pleased Cynthia. Logan was the star center of the Lakemont Lions. They were good friends. She valued his comments.

I agree, Amy continued. "Quicksilver basketball’s neat." She was holding her glasses, pointing them at the word. Amy always noticed the metaphors.

What’s quicksilver? Derek asked.

Mercury, that slick, silver stuff in chemistry, Junior explained. But would a girl be tall enough to drop it over the rim?

If you imagine her tall enough, Cynthia answered. A little exaggeration never hurt a good story.

Why did you start at the end of the game? Amy asked.

That’s what it’s about. Fouls, time-outs, and substitutions stretch the final minute to five or ten instead. It’s called the ‘red zone.’ My story’s going to take that long to read. Like a real game.

I’ll be waiting for a winner. Logan beat a rhythm on the seat of his chair and chanted, Cubs, darts, cub, darts, cubs, darts.

The others joined in, slapping the table. They stopped when they saw Ms. Alyce coming their way.

Logan’s turn, Junior said.

While Logan passed out copies of his writing, Ms. Alyce joined the group. The students liked Ms. Alyce. They had given her a nickname, Frosty Locks. She was middle-aged. She didn’t have old hair; just dyed it white. And there was lots of it, curled and puffed around her head like the top of a spent dandelion about to spin off in an afternoon breeze. Ms. Alyce also sponsored the school newspaper, the Lakemont Ledger.

A senior, Cynthia Morgan was editor-in-chief of the Ledger and basketball sports writer. Once Ms. Alyce had said Cynthia’s hair reminded her of a summer sunset over Great Salt Lake, warm and full of energy. Cynthia relished those words. She remembered them every time she dried her hair and felt long, curling strands of auburn bobbing up and down. And whenever she visited the Great Salt Lake, ninety miles to the north, she had to stay long enough to watch the sun disappear. Sometimes it fell into the lake without a fuss, like a quarter slipped into a piggy bank. But she had also seen Ms. Alyce’s smoldering sunsets—clouds on fire, water streaked with red.

Do you have your next straw bale installment? Ms. Alyce asked Cynthia quietly as Logan prepared to read.

Not yet, Cynthia replied.

When we’re ready. Logan gave Cynthia’s foot a soft nudge. I call this ‘Twilight Quartet.’ The others followed their copies as he read:

Ash falling from the sun showers the space

between ivory stars and a white moon.

Dusk stays until drops of darkness

camouflage green hills.

Below the beat of cricket wings

distant stars balance on shivering water.

Night breezes through trees,

playing unheard melodies on black clarinets.

Amy responded quickly, I like it. Great metaphors—’ash showering space,’ ‘drops of darkness,’ ‘shivering water,’ ‘breezing night.’

Me, too, Junior said, and I’m not great on poetry.

"Isn’t distant unnecessary?" Cynthia questioned.

"Falling doesn’t work for me. Maybe put in something about heat to go with ashes," Derek suggested.

Ms. Alyce left while the group worked on Logan’s piece.

Logan circled distant and falling, then asked for help with the title.

’Twilight Time’ might work, Derek offered. For alliteration.

Right, Logan said. Other suggestions?

How do stars balance on water? Derek asked.

It’s their reflections on the ripples, Amy explained.

Yeah, I’ve seen them in Little Cottonwood River when I’ve been camping, Junior agreed. What I want to know is how you can hoop so well and write poems, too.

It’s the rhythm, Logan explained. Bounce the ball, get the beat, see.

He tapped his desktop in dribble rhythm. Cynthia and Amy joined with snapping fingers while Junior knocked his heels on the floor. Ms. Alyce looked toward the commotion just as the bell rang. Students grabbed backpacks and notebooks. Cynthia and Logan gathered up their papers.

I really like your poem. The darkness invites me in. I can feel it, Cynthia said.

Thanks. I like dark things. Black is beautiful, you know.

And she did. Logan was beautiful. He was beautiful throwing his long black arms into the air to block layups. He was beautiful swinging inside for a six-foot jump shot. His slender six-foot-three frame was beautiful ricocheting above the other players to snare a rebound and lob it effortlessly down court for the fast break and two easy points. It was the beginning of March. Basketball season would end soon. Logan was only a junior at Lakemont Academy, but Cynthia knew he’d make AllState. She hoped next year he’d be Logan Stillwell All-American. Maybe even Academic All-American with his 3.9 grade point average.

She loved basketball. For two years she’d been writing about him for the Ledger. After a game he was eager to make comments for her article. That move was pure poetry, like getting the rhyme just right, he’d once told her. He had a way with words. Their friendship had grown out of those interviews.

He was also the first outsider who hadn’t pressed her to explain what Mormons were really like. Most Lakemont residents were Mormons, except for students at the academy, many of whom, like Logan, came from out of state. Like everybody else, she always said. Further explanation seemed unnecessary. Once, in order to avoid the issue with school friends, she had denied being a Mormon, a comment she still regretted. She just didn’t think religion needed to stand out like a sore thumb. She considered it to be a personal issue, guiding the way she lived and the choices she made. But she didn’t need to preach to her friends or convert strangers.

She had finally shared some details of Mormonism with Logan, like modern-day revelation; a living prophet; and the Book of Mormon, scriptures translated from golden plates by a young man named Joseph Smith. We go to church on Sunday like lots of other people. And we’re not supposed to smoke or drink alcohol. Family activities are important. When he mentioned polygamy, she told him the Mormon Church had banned plural marriage a long time ago; she had learned in American history that it was outlawed so Utah could become a state. Logan had seemed satisfied with her brief explanation; they had not talked about it since.

Why did you write about basketball? Logan asked as they left the classroom. Your straw bale stuff s been good. It’s different.

Not ready; I took the easy way out.

Easy ‘cause you like straw; it invites you in?

Making fun?

Course. Have time for a shake at Perky’s this afternoon?

Better not.

Your main man Spike’ll be wanting company.

I need something for Frosty Locks tomorrow.

Cynthia hadn’t spent a lot of time with Spike lately. They’d both been busy. He lived in Granite City, worked part time at the Perky Penguin, and attended Millcreek High.

Later, then, Logan said. I’ll tell Spike ‘hi’ from you.

Thanks. My parents thought we’d broken up. We had words again. They can’t get over his hair, and I don’t think he’s ever going to change.

Not even for you? He’s a fool, Logan joked. Seriously, Spike’s okay no matter how he looks.

It would have been fun to ride to Granite City, Cynthia thought. She watched Logan slip down the hall, fake left and right, leap into the air and brush his fingers as high as he could against the wall, practice for slipping the ball through the rim.

She had a free hour to spend in the library before chemistry. She felt bad about relying on the basketball minute for her writing assignment, but too much had piled up, including midterm exams. She needed good scores to keep her 3.7 GPA. Frosty Locks had been patient. She had to get the article written.

The substantial, student-friendly library was painted a soft green. Stacks filled with books took up much of the wall space and made a mini-maze of aisles in the middle of the room. Decorated bulletin boards informed students of scholarships and new books ready for checkout. Lakemont subscribed to Straw Today Keeps the