My Viridian Rose

By Andre LaBouyer

The book is unique in that it has some very side-splitting, funny scenes, along with some very sad moments as well. It is packed with adventure, yet reeks of playful romance. The book introduces the reader to some very endearing characters and sends them on a wild and amazing ride through twisting plots, exotic places, and other time periods.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Jul 13, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466945524

Andre LaBouyer

Andre is a public school teacher and a performing arts specialist who has been writing for many years. His characters are endearing, and the plots are very creative and innovative. The emphasis here is on fun.

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Andre LaBouyer

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©

Copyright 2012 Andre LaBouyer.

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.

isbn: 978-1-4669-4553-1 (sc)

isbn: 978-1-4669-4552-4 (e)

Trafford rev. 07/09/2012

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Contents

Foreword

Part I

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Part II

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

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Foreword

I believe it is true that at some point, artwork takes on its own life, and this life mandates its character and detail. This was certainly true with this work. I can’t tell you how enjoyable it was to etch these thoughts into place, and I would be remiss if I didn’t mention some aspiring individuals who made this possible.

My neighbor and friend, Ken Maines is an intellectual, scholar and fine writer in his own right (An Honest Guide to Yellowstone, and many more works). Many hours I have sat and listened to vignettes of the thousands of books that he has read over his lifetime. There is no doubt in my mind that a work like this would not have transpired without his dedication and passion to generously contribute his observations.

Although this work is fictitious, I salute the many historical individuals who have actually lived these kinds of events; especially out on the battlefield. If the world were just . . . our respect would be far more immense and immeasurable.

I would also be remiss if I did not salute the fine and wonderful people of Wisconsin. My own father spent some very significant time there, and I have been quite fortunate to have had a couple of close friends in my life who hailed from The Badger State. I am convinced more than ever, there is something special there . . . thank you for your fine contributions to the human experience. May God bless.

The following is a work of fiction and the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, places and/or events is purely coincidental.

Introduction/Synopsis: The year is 1986.

Our main character is a gentleman by the name of Wendell Muggeridge, who is about to retire from his science teaching job after a 36 year career. He lives in a very old and very large manor in the fictitious town of Wautowma, Wisconsin.

As he ruminates about his life and career, many vivid memories consume him concerning events that have occurred along the way (particularly the time he spent with an extremely beautiful teacher and colleague by the name of Sheila Denton).

With just a few months to go, things do not go smoothly for Wendell at his school site, and he is forced to endure a number of very painful challenges.

The narrative is both comedic and painfully dramatic as well, and a number of surprises await, and should catch the reader quite off guard.

The story itself entails four different time periods, all of which are benchmarked throughout the book for the convenience of the reader via headings and dates.

Summary of Relevant Time Periods

I. The 1986 Wautoma, Wisconsin details are in real time, and refer to his troubles as he heads towards retirement.

II. The 1942 life-altering events that Wendell experienced as a young man of 14 on the Island of Corregidor during World War II.

III. The 1958-1959 events that deal with the period that the young and beautiful colleague, Sheila Denton was in his life.

IV. The 1812-1840 period deals with historical events in the life of Pierre Montcrief Pellier, who was an intellectual and visionary for his time (he was the architect and developer of the Hausen Manor and the Mulberry High Academy facility).

Over the years, Wendell has read extensively in Pellier’s many journals, which cover Pierre’s quite interesting life (and coincidentally Pellier’s own romantic experience with a beautiful young woman by the name of Christiane Marie Colette).

Interestingly enough, a number of the events in Pellier’s autobiographical notes end up becoming mysteriously relevant to our story.

Part I

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Chapter 1

[Mulberry Academy Science Classroom.]

[Saturday, March 15, 1986, 5:55 p.m.]

Wendell Muggeridge tinkered around with the new Van De Graph science experiment equipment.

It had never worked properly in the past; just didn’t put out enough voltage to get the desired results (frizzy hair, loud pop noises, etc.). His senior T.A.’s, would always accommodate to be its victim, but it was usually a big disappointment.

Mr. Muggeridge would then always fall back on the Bug Skeleton Super 8 Movie that he had done in his master’s program. With great fanfare, pomp and circumstance, the master would articulate the thoracic contrasts between the apterygota and the exopterygota. Of course, there would be only one individual (over all these years) that would greet the matter with vigorous treatment (Tyler Milhausen whose father was the local pharmacist); but it is clear that much of the student body’s insomnia was cured through Wendell’s quite effective research.

He also had a great story about the elusive side hill gouch from the old southwest, but it was clearly obvious that most everything he did was either over the heads of the Mulberry High School students, or was maybe it was under their heads.

In Wautowma, Wisconsin, the most dynamic science pedagogy probably occurred in midwinter when 90 percent of the population would head out to Wautowma Pond to hook the big one in the annual winter catfish derby.

Occasionally, the high school would field one or two boys that could actually make a reasonable jump shot in basketball. Unfortunately, the local powerhouse rival of Gold Lake would quash any serious ambitions quite early in the season (even with the legendary Duke Catterung who could dunk the ball while whistling with 12 soda crackers in his mouth).

Mr. Muggeridge moved over to a dusty book shelf, and commenced to straighten up a few items.

It was now Saturday, March 15, 1986, and thirty-six years had passed . . . where did all the time go? Oh, he had a few achievements to relate to the Mulberry High School Board this past week as he formally announced the agreement to accept his forced retirement.

The German stenographic machine that stood in the lobby alcove had been one of his favorite projects. It was certainly no small feat to dismantle and rebuild the chiming mechanism. The old piano in Mrs. Fortina’s hallway had been refinished, and given a new sound board. Some of the wiring in the old field shed had been frayed; that one didn’t take long.

He had even chemically cleaned the old mascot sign that read, WE WANT QUACKENBUSH!

The Mulberry Academy School Board had reluctantly expressed their gratitude, and now the most senior resident at the school would receive a set of six karat brass plated cuff links (with the school’s initials and an embossed marmoset).

Somehow . . . he had never been fully accepted or appreciated by the parents and leaders of the school community. Maybe it was the fact that he was quiet, and rather nerd-like; didn’t make friends easily, and wasn’t very flashy with the popular kids and parents.

Muggeridge had never married, even though he had certainly tried to find the right woman. It was a sore subject, but occasionally it was broached by a naïve association. A few snickers later . . . a shrug, maybe a throat clear, a downward glance, but always a, well, the right woman just didn’t come along.

Talk would continue after that, but it was always discreet and behind the instructor’s back.

The shelf was certainly dusty, and it was very clear that a few pack rat tendencies were now exposed. Introductory Science Primer, by F.R.S. Huxley; Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy by Isaac Newton; Micrographia by Robert Hooke (need I really say more?).

I suppose that many rightly minded people would have rendered substantial teacher honors onto Muggeridge, but alas . . . individuals with this disposition are bound for other status. The only administrator who had really appreciated him was old man Hornify.

Mr. Hornify had recruited him out of his own alma mater, Vitterbo University in LaCrosse. Hornify was one of the very first graduates of a four year teaching degree there, and let me tell you V-Hawks were notorious (no matter how ‘loathsome imaginable’ a fellow alum might be) for sticking together.

After hiring Wendell Muggeridge, Mr. Hornify began to have regular bouts of Jumping Frenchman Disorder. A few other rather strange maladies regularly visited him as well.

Upon giving Wendell Muggeridge his approving evaluation in the fifth year of Wendell’s service, Mr. Hornify became completely bed stricken. The poor man died on the stroke of midnight, March 15, 1955 (this was the very second that Muggeridge received full tenure at Mulberry High Academy).

Everyone was rather nonplused at Hornify’s wake, and certainly Wendell was very uncomfortable as he slinked in a corner of the basement for the local Native Daughters of the Saskatchewa Lodge. Occasionally, the Vice Principal (Mrs. Rhobert) would nod in his direction, but really there wasn’t much to say. Vivian Rhobert did come over at one point to remark about the Swedish meatball stew, but also to reference the one extracurricular duty that Templeton Hornify would unmercifully and neurotically not dispose of in his entire career . . . the Mulberry High Academy Yearbook. It was necessarily the duty of the newest staff person to step up and finish the upcoming deadline of work (no pun intended).

There was really no way that Muggeridge could say no.

Tenure in Wisconsin was rock solid, but so was loyalty (especially to the memory of a fellow V-Hawk). This noble request would become a matter of solemn honor and duty.

Wendell’s degree was in chemistry, so the development of pictures wouldn’t be any problem at all. He immediately started planning to go to LaCrosse on Saturday, and pick up a couple of books on photography from the main library.

Wendell eventually said his goodbyes that night . . . well sort of. He made a quick nod to Mr. Wilmer (the fellow history teacher), and Orville Schmudkin, the night custodian. Mr. Wilmer was an avid chess and pinochle man, which was something that Wendell was actually familiar with (Horace Percival Wilmer spearheaded the local chess team).

Orville was a quiet, nineteen year old local boy who had lost both parents in a plane crash over the Toksan Dam near Pyongyang in 1954. He was probably the hardest worker that Wendell had ever met, and was easily the most popular staff person in the school (although I doubt that he said more than ten words in a school day).

The top shelf of Wendell’s classroom was hopeless, but it would need to be cleaned and all of the items removed.

Mr. Phiser Jackalbent (the new principal, hired in 1985), wanted Wendell to come to terms early that the most senior teacher on the staff was out, and that He (Mr. Jackalbent) was in. He told Muggeridge, To start cleaning his room, and pack things up—OR ELSE!

Wendell mulled over Mr. Jackalbent’s words.

I will say that I’m not sure what went through the school board’s mind when they hired this guy. Mmmmm . . . Jackalbent and Hyde . . . . I just wonder if there might be a connection?

Wendell looked around the shelves of the classroom.

The bottom shelf of the bookcase was filled with 29 yearbooks, one for each year that he had been the yearbook advisor. There was not really any growth in quality for the yearbook, as Wendell’s talent had maxed early (if at all). The jacket covers were of different colors (red, blue and orange), but the basic design never changed.

There was a monogrammed marmoset in the middle of the front cover with the initials, M.H.A. (Mulberry High Academy). The back of the yearbook was always the same . . . plain (except for 1975 when a school board member’s child slipped in under cover of darkness, a large peace sign).

Wendell was out for a week after the 1975 Peace Sign Debacle.

In fact, this infamous affair gripped the attention of the entire school community, and was the top item of the school board agenda for the next thirty-seven months. Wendell developed several debilitating neuroses during this time; along with a compulsive behavior disorder (and liver hives just below his knee caps).

As Wendell looked over the many yearbooks, he fingered through the two sets of shelves.

His favorite . . . His very favorite yearbook?

No doubt, it was the 1959 edition. This happened to be the only year he had been given a co-administrator, who of course had been Sheila Marie Denton.

Sheila was a stunningly beautiful 23 year old blonde woman just out the teaching program, and she was from Madison.

The first day Wendell saw her, he was completely smitten. He was leaving the staff room, and Miss Denton just happened to be going by. She was apparently setting up her classroom, and happened to be pushing a cart with a bunch of textbooks on it.

When Sheila saw Wendell standing there, she stopped in her tracks. She looked over at him with her drop dead gorgeous smile and whispered, Hi . . . you must be Wendell; I’ve heard such wonderful things about you . . .

Wendell Muggeridge was so shaken from this dire episode, he was unable to move from that spot until 11:30 p.m. later that night.

Wendell might have been frozen there still, but Orville had locked the building and hit the lights. He fumbled around for about 20 minutes; eventually found a side door and walked home.

Miss Denton’s primary degree was in English, and she had a minor in horticulture. Sheila loved to take pictures of flowers and other flora. It seemed natural that she would ask administration to develop her pictures in the school’s darkroom facility.

One night . . . she unexpectedly walked in on Wendell.

He was so startled that he dropped a tub of stop bath, which went all over the table and floor; it even seeped under some of the cabinets. There was no way to turn the light on when all this happened, so Miss Denton helped Wendell clean the mess. As you might guess, the old auxiliary dark room was rather tight quarters, and this easily became one of the most embarrassing, yet memorable nights of Wendell’s life.

It took three hours to completely clean, remake the stop bath, and resolve all of the undeveloped pictures that were waiting there. Sheila surprisingly seemed to rather enjoy the opportunity to help with the situation. She and Wendell talked about many things in life that night, and even laughed until 11:45 p.m. It was the most unbelievable night of Wendell’s life. Sheila even squeezed his hand, and gave him a lingering and tender hug when she left.

There were a few more days and nights of small talk in the yearbook and photography dark room.

Wendell looked around.

In a melancholy reach, he placed the 1959 yearbook on the radiator heater, and started to turn to the opening page. It was belatedly dedicated to Templeton Jackson Hornify. Wendell opened the first page.

The yearbook opened up to a beautiful piece of antique photographic art that depicted a sunset over Lake Waseegy. A rowboat with a man and woman in some kind of period dress were centered in the middle of the lake, and Mr. Hornify’s picture was superimposed, along with a poem written by Shelia Denton . . .

"Lake Waseegy, pictured bright and blue . . . with shining hope and trust

The call to greatness has taken note . . . for those who aspire and thirst

Don’t steer too far in midstorm travail . . . when all lays on the cusp

For nightly calls the whippoorwill . . . to bear us to sunlight’s first"

Sheila Marie Denton

In spite of all conscious attempts, little by little a couple of tear drops sprinkled down onto the page. Quite reluctantly, the high school chronicle was slowly closed and returned to the view of its covers.

Wendell tilted his gaze up towards the converted ceiling; tightly folded both his arms, and clenched the yearbook to his breast.

Slowly he walked over to his modest desk in the far corner of the classroom.

Stacks of papers, both corrected and uncorrected were piled all over it. He laid his hat down on top of the papers.

He sat down and propped his feet up onto the desk, while some far away thoughts came over his mind as he settled himself in.

Only a couple more months . . . what then?

In fact, does it really matter?

Thirty-six years . . . the board already has a better replacement.

Wherever did the years go?

With that . . .

Wendell Maurice Muggeridge the Third . . . closed his eyes and rested his head against the filing cabinet.

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Chapter 2

[Wendell dreams about his time as a young soldier at the Battle of Corregidor.]

[Wednesday, May 6, 1942, 10:07 a.m.]

In front of me there was a sign that read, Corregidor Island, San Fernando 3 miles.

Men in combat uniforms were running all over the place. Some of them were tossing hand grenades into buildings and also into vehicles that were standing next to the road. An army soldier let go of my wrist and started yelling at someone (Andrew Comer was the name on the side of his helmet).

Tell Milner to get his gear and rear to the back of the platoon. Make sure they take out every vehicle, and get ’em into the road if you can. They’re packin’ in enemy soldiers all over the island, and we’ve got to get our carcass into that tunnel a.s.a.p.!

A medium tall man with red hair was shouting into a radio that he was carrying on his back. With his right hand he grabbed a Springfield rifle that had been leaning against a bumper; there was a lit cigarette dangling out of his mouth. His army uniform was full of greasy spots all over the place, and his boots were deeply sunk in the mud.

Right about then came some more shouting from all around me!

Meatball! Meatball! Everybody hit the deck!

The man grabbed my shoulder and threw me down next to an abandoned truck; we both rolled underneath. Just then I heard a loud buzz, and then something seemed to be shaking the very air around us. Next came the whizzing of what sounded like large caliber bullets hitting and ricocheting off of about everything on the dilapidated and torn war-scape.

The noise subsiding somewhat . . . the man rolled out and jumped to his feet; took a firing stance and blazed away at the passing plane. I rolled over the other side; far enough to see that it had Japanese symbols on the wings. He bent down and yelled at me.

Grab your widow, and let’s get the sam hill outta’ here!

Lying next to me was an incredibly dirty Lewis machine gun.

I dragged it out and hoisted it onto my back. Soldiers were running everywhere, and seemingly nowhere. A drizzle was falling in the midst of all of the smoke; everyone was yelling over the sound of small arms and mortars. I could see the man, Comer, who had been next to me was hurriedly running down the street. If he passed any soldiers lying in the road, he would kick them as he went.

None of them stirred.

Comer would occasionally look back, yell and point at something in the distance. Some of the guys around me had torch equipment, and were lighting vehicles and buildings on fire. A few had improvised with bottles they had found, and were pitching them onto buildings and other structures.

The weapon on my back kept moving around and cutting into one of my shoulder blades. I was tempted to dump it, but nobody else around here seemed concerned with the loads they had; oh well I . . .

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Chapter 3

[Wendell wakes up in his classroom

later that evening.]

[Saturday, March 15, 1986, 9:35 p.m.]

A few hours passed as Wendell dozed; it was a rather strange phenomenon as to how well he could sleep down at the school.

Often, Wendell would wake up at his manor room in the middle of the night (wide awake of course), and the only thing to do was grade papers or write out new lesson plans. This waking up phenomenon never seemed to happen when he took a nap while working late down at the school site.

Slowly . . . Wendell became aware of some scuffling noises. This began to arouse him out of his deep sleep; it was sounding like the creaking of some wheels or something.

Wendell had woken up to a pitch dark classroom, and as he glanced around, everything was dark and quiet in the room itself.

He looked over at his watch, 9:35 p.m . . . Oh man, I should have gone home a couple of hours ago. I’m sure that Orville has gone home at the regular time of eight.

Wendell yawned, and reached over to turn on his table lamp.

Right about then he heard the creaking wheels again, and some kind of banging noises like books scraping against something.

He quickly turned off the light.

Muggeridge grabbed a flashlight from inside the bottom drawer; put the yearbook down onto the desk, and slowly rose to his feet.

He maneuvered his body around the big chair, and starting creeping towards the door. The noise was annoyingly consistent now, and it was coming from somewhere down the hallway.

Wendell opened the door and took a peek; everything was still quite dark, but the noise was definitely there. He thought that he should probably turn on the flashlight, but then thought better of it.

Maybe I can sneak down and catch a glimpse of the problem.

Wendell starting walking down the hallway, but I can tell you that he were to see something, you would think there ought to be time enough.

As he was walking, his mind was certainly racing with many unpleasant thoughts.

What was the Vitterbo cheer and slogan?

It may sound funny, but things like that came in handy in times of serious challenge.

Wendell had gotten down to the end of the hallway, and now peeked around the corner.

Still there was nothing to see . . . but the noise was definitely louder, and it seemed to be coming from the teacher’s storeroom (which was located next to the Vice Principal’s Office). I realize that it may sound difficult for some to believe, but Wendell crept closer and closer to the door.

He took a quick glance over at the large stenographic machine standing in the alcove by the main office door. It reminded him how Mulberry High Academy was located in a very old building, built back in the early 1840’s. It had in fact been designed by the regionally famous scientist and engineer, Pierre Montcrieff Pellier. The structure was now on the U.S. and Canadian Historical registries, and had been built on the town site originally deeded during the French and Indian War.

Wendell had made quite an interesting discovery several years ago, related to the early Wautowma citizen.

One day, while cleaning some cabinets in his room at the manor (formerly Pellier’s office), Wendell discovered a number of his journals in a false bottom drawer. Apparently, Pellier had given the official account journals to his superior officers representing the French government, but these unofficial journals that Wendell found held many interesting stories and thoughts that likely no one else had ever seen. They were mostly writings of anecdotal journeys and maps, but these did basically tell of his amazing life. Wendell had studied these journals (written in French and Latin) over the years, and felt a very strong kinship with Pierre Pellier.

Mysteriously and interestingly enough . . . references were made in these of other secret documents describing inventions, geographical discoveries and secretive plans of great historical interest. Wendell had no idea what became of these other mysterious documents. Some of the local wise-heads theorized they were hidden on the manor or school grounds somewhere.

Wendell looked back towards the direction of the sound.

There wasn’t any light on in the main office, and as far as he could tell, there wasn’t any other activity in the entire school. Even the exterior windows didn’t betray any car lights passing by.

Well, what to do now?

Wendell was nervous, and had a great ambition to turn around and leave, but right about then he heard a cart begin to move.

Where to go now?!

He bolted for the exterior door, which was just a few feet away, when all of sudden whatever it was exited the supply closet and started coming down the hallway. He was about halfway out of the door, when