Caching For Danger

By J. R. Caldwell

Danielle shows up at Baventine Preparatory Academy in northern Virginia in September of her senior year.
Randy is love-struck at first sight. He invites her to join their small geocaching club for fun. But soon the group of high school coeds become entangled in a mystery, and the two teenagers discover that both of them have life secrets far more complex than their puppy love.

How far would you go to help someone you fell in love with, without knowing her real name?

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. R. Caldwell
• Release date: Aug 14, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463824436

J. R. Caldwell

In 2003, Jim joined a local writer's group for the enjoyment of sharing and critiquing his writing with others. Through various short stories, exercises and challenges, the experience led to the fulfillment of long held dream: to write a novel. He has since written four, three of which are published through Smashwords.com.Jim writes with his heart, putting on paper emotions that people experience, live and sometimes celebrate every day. He lives in Western Pennsylvania with his wife, two birds and a cat.

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This book is fictional in nature. The names, characters and situations are for the story and are not based on any real life names, characters or situations. Any resemblance to real life names, characters or situations is not intended and entirely coincidental.

Acknowledgment

For Paul, a long time friend, who constantly affirms my writing with the optimism and hope he forever has in his own life challenges.

Prologue

The early morning sun played footsies with the last remaining drops of dew on the grass, mostly dried for nine-thirty, but still present. As it pushed the shadows across the vast open lawn in front of the admissions building, its rays fell over the rows and columns of folding wooden chairs set up last evening for this day’s commencement.

Tiell Hall with its large brass clock above the dark stained doors was the same structure where, four short years ago, these graduates sat at a counselor’s desk deciding dorm rooms, class schedules and began learning the rich history of the place that would become their new home. Each wild-eyed freshman showed excitement and adventure upon entering a boarding school. Their parents or guardians, however, were nervous about the future; how to cut the apron strings in a dignified manner and pay for the steep tuition to such a renowned establishment.

The brilliant rays now bathed the legendary timepiece and its six inch numbers.

Addison Guinn sat touching the open window of his second floor office in Shelby with his elbow on the sill. This original structure and most stately looking housed the administration. His mood was solemn and reflective. And at times it seemed he was traveling in his thoughts far beyond the puffy white clouds dotting the horizon over the school.

No regrets about even one minute, he thought to himself, not one second. But it’s true, even the best things in life have to come to an end.

The shrill, rolling kwirrof a harmonious daily visitor, a red-bellied Woodpecker, at the feeder below his window broke his daydreaming. Checking the hands on the historical marker, he simply shook his head in wonderment of the nature around him.

He recalled how those first timers would read about Franklyn Tiell, one of the founders, on the first page of their orientation folder. In 1827, when he and a few colleagues traveled from Gloucester, England to establish a Presbyterian school for boys in the hills of Virginia, he commissioned a company from Waterbury, Connecticut to craft the clock reminiscent of the one adorning the country church where he grew up. The thriving company (the name escaped Addison at the moment) was driven at the time for the need of brass buttons for military uniforms. It developed a large industry producing clocks, buttons and lamps.

At its beginning, Baventine was a single granite stone building of classrooms and a dormitory beside a tiny log chapel, both of which were centered on a vast piece of land in the countryside. Today there were seven edifices strategically erected throughout the campus area allowing for quads and walkways between them. The wooden house of worship, which burned to the ground in 1938, was never replaced. Virtually existing now, it would sit atop the banks of chairs set up for graduation.

He stroked his grey, scraggly goatee with his thumb and forefinger in a calm philosophical manner. It was this eccentricity that those graduates, moving on with their lives today, imitated every day, as did countless high school students that preceded them. As usual, the never-ending habit of rubbing the triangle-shaped beard was accompanied by nodding up and down. It caused his rimless glasses to slide down his nose. Adjusting them, he pushed the bottom window completely up, breathing in deeply the verdant air of the Shenandoah Valley.

It would be a grand celebration, just like the last thirty nine in his career.

However, these young departing men and women would be the last class to have that honor of mimicking his idiosyncrasies.

The ornate office in Shelby, cattycorner to Tiell across the way, had been his for eleven years since 2005 when he was appointed dean of students at Baventine. This edifice bore the boarding school’s motto in Latin over its front doors: Honestus ET Virtus.

His tattered academic gown and mortarboard with its tassel of blue and white, the school colors, lay across the full-sized oak desk in the middle of the room. The Academy was secondary not higher education. Therefore there was no need for distinguishing colors for one’s discipline of study as in college commencements. Or else the ornament would have been jonquille, a shade of yellow announcing his master degree in History and Literature from Columbia University in Paris. Always aspiring to teach, Addison did his graduate studies there after receiving a bachelors from the University of Gloucester.

A first love sparked at Columbia brought him to New York City as he followed Rae in pursuit of her musical career on Broadway. It lasted less than three months as they both realized that their life dreams were galaxies apart. Truthful with each other, they remain friends to this day with cards and notes. And she has, over the years, sent free tickets to her performances. Addison and the woman he would marry often spent long weekends in the big Apple as guests in her condo.

His thoughts were distracted again as he watched two coeds checking out their seats for the ceremony, jumping, bouncing and giving high fives, and kissing. It was further interrupted with the short rap on the open door of his office.

Addie.

Oh, Claire. Good morning.

He stood in his stocking feet, picked a small piece of string from the arm of his tweed jacket and approached her with a fond hug. You ready to say good-by to this latest bunch and send them off into the big, fast changing world?

She embraced him back with feeling. Her short cropped salt and pepper hair topping her head rested a few inches below his celebrated chin. The picture was a mutt-‘n-Jeff; Addison being a good six feet tall while Claire barely stood five foot three.

You look great, this morning. Too bad the black gown will hide your summery, multi-flowered dress. As long as I have known you, you have forever dressed classy.

Thank-you. You’re always the complimentary English gentleman. She spotted his gown. Wow! Why didn’t you tell me that needed pressed. She dashed over to survey the garment almost falling to the floor and glanced at her watch in exasperation. I don’t have time to take it back to my house and I’m sure you don’t have a portable iron here. She raised her eyes up to the ceiling, palms lifted as she exclaimed with a fun-loving tone. Oh, Benita, Benita, what are we going to do with this husband of yours. Look at this gown! You would have never let him be seen in public with these wrinkles. As though it would work, she smoothed the robe with her hands in an ironing motion.

Addison posed a slight grin at her joviality. His eyes went to the silver framed picture prominent on the credenza behind the desk. So many changes, Claire. So many changes this year.

He lost his spouse of forty years to breast cancer the previous October just a few weeks into the first semester of a new school year. Benita had fought it for six years and at one time was declared cancer-free until it reared its ugly head last summer and metastasized to her liver. Although a unique and melodious name meaning one who is blessed in French, Addison always reminded her that he was the one blessed to have her as his wife. They met in New York after his breakup with Rae. She studied art at NYU and was sketching some nature stills in Central Park when Addie’s bike almost hit her sidetracked by her beauty. He offered to buy her a new easel for the one he destroyed. She accepted. They shared coffee after the purchase; talked for two hours when he asked her out on the spot. An only child, she was baptized with the French name because her parents were successful after three miscarriages. God had finally blessed us, her mom recounted to him at their first meeting.

They married after a ten months courtship. And when Addison landed his first full time teaching position at Baventine, Benita likewise applied and received a part time job in art and sculpture at the Academy. Both twenty-eight, they moved into a small cape cod on Murray street, three blocks from the campus and began their tenures along with their marriage.

Rounding out that life-changing year, Addison became a United States citizen.

Unlike their parents, they were never successful in conceiving. Accepting God’s will as their shared Presbyterian heritage taught them, they consoled each other that their students were their children. No one will ever have as many kids as you and I, he would whisper to her in bed every time their lack of conception disappointed them each month.

They resigned themselves.

You are coming to the faculty luncheon, aren’t you? Claire asked. Especially this one.

I guess. Maybe. I’ll see how I feel after Headmaster Cohen’s canned farewell speech. They chuckled with a toss of their heads, scrunched their faces like his pose and spoke with deep voices. They were imitating their leader with affectionate jest the same way so many students did to them behind their backs.

You know it was moved from the faculty lounge to the cafeteria in Braille Hall.

Why?

Not sure. Something about getting a jump on the summer remodeling and painting scheduled for that room this year. Too bad you will not see. the new digs for us remaining teachers. Oh well. Our gain; your loss.

She was teasing.

Claire Taylor taught biology at Baventine the past thirty-six years, four shy of Addison’s career. This institution was known for having a stable faculty as they searched litigiously for not just good talented teachers but extraordinary, passionate ones. The long standing careers attested to the prestige of this east coast college preparatory institution.

Addison hailed from across the ocean; Claire was local. Grew up about seven miles down route 11 that ran in front of the school. Her inborn like for plants and animals inspired her to major in biology at the University of Virginia. Her fervent desire came true when she was accepted to teach at the school she traveled past hundreds of times.

She and Addison bonded from day one. Each saw in the other the ardent zeal to not just teach a subject but to be involved in their student’s lives, their hopes, their adolescent disappointments. She became the sister Benita never had. After Addison, the only person more devastated by her death was Claire. They supported each other through the loss.

She never married and never regretted it.

Dedicated to the love of sciences she received tremendous accolades from past students. Many of who went on to eminent Universities for medical or research careers. She coached the girls' basketball team at Baventine after it became coed in 1999. She and Addison discussed at length that event and the grueling, knock-down, drag-out quarrels and disputes among the staff for and against such a major change. They argued becoming pro-coed proffering that the times were changing; it was no longer a church affiliated institution, and the presence of the opposite sex would temper and round out the development of the boys. The opponents argued in favor of a long tradition and the dangers of teenagers of the opposite sex living in close proximity although separate dormitories. And although there were strict guidelines, curfews and constant monitoring in effect from the entrance of the first females into the buildings, yet there have been multiple infractions over the years. Nine years ago Addison and she agonized for weeks over the case of one of the seniors impregnating a local fifteen year old girl not affiliated with the school. The Academy was sued along with its Board of Trustees despite the fact that the boy was expelled. New restrictions were imposed as to how many hours each Saturday and Sunday afternoons the students were permitted to leave the premises. Night time was definitely prohibited. And it was the one time when the Winchester media reported high negatives about Baventine because the girl's parents were prominent in the community.

As recently as this past March, Addie saw the little girl with her unmarried mom in a local convenience store/gas station.

New courses on human sexuality and the dangers of pre-marital sex, when neither party understands the emotional and physical consequences sans birth control, were instituted. Addison and Claire were tapped to give the sex education to their respective genders. The upshot was a long standing trust the two built with students, allowing them to be there with a compassionate ear as puppy loves developed then faded. Living away from home, these two faculty members became their parents, their counselors, their confidants and sturdy shoulders-to-cry-on in strict confidentiality. They often joked with each other in secret to always have a full box of Kleenex in your office for those often timid raps on your door.

In the end, neither side’s intellectual reasons brought about the change. It was economics. Boarding schools lost popularity in the country. Less young men applied. The addition of girls as well as a steep tuition hike and endowments saved Baventine from going broke.

Claire repeated the question. You are coming. Right?

Addison did not answer. Instead he walked back to his chair and sat. Guests gathered below. He recognized a few parents he had conferred with over the past four years for grades or financial aid.

Many arriving placed some sort of marker to save a seat as close as possible behind the reserved chairs for the graduates. They employed light sweaters, small cosmetics purses, baseball caps and even the program for the ceremony with a pen and a reserved note attached. The way the items were scattered among the rows caused Addison to reflect on all the years teaching courses on poetry composition to mostly bored but many in-to-it students. His mind drifted and he saw something in the patterns of dropped items that no one else would have ever seen because of his profound love of the English literature. Rows looked like the Shakespearean format with its quatrains and rhyming couplets. So engrossed in past memories, he even thought he saw a Pindaric pattern with its strophe-antistrophe-epode makeup.

Probably not in the reality of the chairs, but close enough to recall those students who did cherish his course, a distinguished few, motivated by Addison to write, write and write some more, had their poetic creations published in literary magazines celebrating national poetry month each April.

Hey, Claire interjected, wherever you went, I lost you for a moment. Tough leaving this place, huh?

Sorry.

He stretched arching his back. A characteristic move she often witnessed when he prepared his lectures or engrossed in his own creative writing for publications.

You ever hear from Doctor Amelian? he said as he slipped into his scuffed shoes and tied them.

Claire reacted at the sight. Oh, Addie, Addie! I’ll bet they haven’t been polished since. She raised her eyes a second time as she turned away. Benita, can’t you asked the Lord to remind him of all the grooming you taught him? My dad always said that a good salesman always wears polished shoes in public!

But I am ... err, was a teacher.

Not disputing it. But a teacher who spent obsessive hours trying to sell his students on the beauty of the English classics and the wisdom of history!

She won the day on that exchange as she retrieved the hanger lying beside the gown and hung it on the open door. Had a note last Christmas from Julie. She is still employed at the Cleveland clinic and tickled pink that her oldest son has chosen to follow in her footsteps as a cardiologist.

Doesn’t it warm your heart to know how you may have motivated so many to go on to highly professional careers in medicine and research?

And you too. The many who have become authors, journalists or stage and screen writers. Turning, like Joel Stanton.

Addie shifted in his chair, keeping an eye on the famous clock, its minute hand jerking towards start time. The name initiated his grabbing the goatee again. There was a time I thought he couldn’t write his own name without misspelling it. Great imagination for stories. No talent for the mechanics of putting them on paper. I’m sure God invented spellchecker just for him to help launch his brilliant career. Now three smash hit Broadway plays under his belt. Benita and I saw him two years ago at the opening of Never Again. Rae sent us tickets, not knowing that I had taught the playwright here at Baventine.

Claire knew the entire story of his days in New York, his first love and meeting Benita. She continued messing with the cap and gown. She brushed as much fuzz as she could from