Beyond the ‘Kill

By Richard D. Kennett

Todd Newman has a seemingly life-limiting learning disability. A born and bred Vermonter, he speaks differently than his neighbors. His words don’t flow, and he can be difficult to understand. These differences make him feel trapped and troubled, which makes him lash out.

After being arrested for arson, Todd’s life begins to change. He returns home to his small New England town, where his actions tear at the community, even as neighbors struggle to understand. With help, Todd becomes the kind of person he always aspired to be.

Told from the perspective of the covered bridge that spans the Battenkill River, Beyond the ‘Kill is the story of one young man struggling to overcome his personal challenges and the people that both hinder and help him. The events and townsfolk intermingle to teach a valuable life lesson you should not miss.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 19, 2020
• ISBN: 9781716787454

Book preview

heart.

1

HOMECOMING

I heard him before I saw him. Todd was finally home. Or at least he was within hearing distance of home. And yet, as surprised and happy as I was by the prospect of seeing him, I couldn’t help wonder what was bringing him home after all this time, and on such a miserable winter’s day. After all, winter was Todd’s least favorite season. Was he coming home for Arnold? Had something else happened? Was he coming home for good or just visiting? The questions seemed endless but they were all void of answers. One thing I did know, however -- I would be the bridge between his present and his past.

Todd and I had not seen each other for five years, and there wasn’t a day during that time I didn’t think of him and hope that today would be the day he would return. December 6, was that today for me, and his return erased all of those days and nights spent wondering and worrying about him. Todd coming home was like spring replacing winter for me. Those five years vanished in an instant, and it was as if he’d only left yesterday.

As I said, I actually heard him before I saw him, though. I recognized the sound of his truck coming from off in the distance. It was the same truck he left with, a red 1993 Ford F150 with a white camper on the back. And in spite of the winter road salt which covered it, I knew it would still be as clean and shiny underneath that coat of winter grime as the day he bought it. Todd was meticulous when it came to that truck. It’s just too bad it still had those damned loud mufflers.

I’ll never forget the day he got them. It was on his twenty-first birthday. Exhaust Masters was what he called them. He also bought a set of polished aluminum wheels and four new tires with white lettering, and he bought a fancy stereo system with a CD changer. He said they were birthday presents to himself. He thought he was pretty hot stuff that afternoon. He pulled up and shouted through his open window, Listen … to these mufflers, will ya’, AG, and ... listen to this stereo, as he simultaneously revved the engine and turned up the stereo volume.

He was proud of his new man-toys, but he was anxious about them, too. I could tell. He came by to see me before going home that day for two reasons. He came by to show me his new toys, as well as, to practice his announcement before facing-off with Mrs. Newman. He and I both knew she would pitch a fit when he got home. Her reaction to anything and everything he did, especially when it came to spending money, was predictably disquieting to say the least. It was a fact of his life, and he hated it.

To the casual observer, Mrs. Newman might seem like just any other overprotective mother, however, that was not the case. To her, Todd’s disability was a constant reminder of who she was and what she had done. That is not to say she accepted responsibility for it, as if it was her bad seed which caused it -- she didn’t. She didn’t care how troublesome the disability was for Todd, she only cared that it reflected badly on her. In fact, it was not the disability which caused the most angst, it was Todd’s mere existence. He was an ever-present reminder of her moral transgression earlier in life, and his disability merely magnified that. Todd was her Scarlet Letter.

She was a prideful woman. I thought so from the first time I saw her. What Arnold Newman ever saw in her, and why he put up with her all those years, has always been a mystery to me. He was very different from her. He was quiet, well-mannered, and considerate of others. He was the strong silent type, I guess you’d say. He loved his children, and he was especially attentive to Todd. I guess that was mostly because of how Mrs. Newman treated their son. Consequently, she treated Arnold as she treated Todd. That is to say, poorly.

One day, while they were fishing, Todd asked his father why he put up with her and the way she treated them. Arnold’s answer was along the lines of, You marry for life - for better or worse – and she isn’t all bad. She has redeeming qualities. She does a lot of good for the family and the community.

Todd’s response to his father was both direct and prophetic, Not toward … me and you, she … doesn’t, Dad. She hates us.

Arnold denied Todd’s allegation, and despite his best efforts to assure him otherwise, Todd was more right than wrong. Nonetheless, Arnold’s primary role in life was to shield his son from as much of his mother’s emotional abuse as possible. Of course, he could have divorced Emma, but he would’ve never been granted custody of Todd and his sister, Karen. The Vermont laws and precedents were not in his favor on that issue, so the best he could do was stay married and protect the children as best he could. Whatever maliciousness fell upon him, as a result, he accepted as his personal cross to bear.

No more poignant demonstration of this played-out on the afternoon of Todd’s sixteenth birthday. Arnold and Todd came here to fish following a major argument between Arnold and Mrs. Newman. They were both quiet; neither one spoke to the other as they went about the tasks of getting ready to fish: putting on their waders, shouldering their creels, flexing their poles and tying the flies on their lines.

Once in the water, however, Todd asked his father, "Dad, how can you … put up with her? She said … marrying you was the biggest mistake … she ever made. She said she should have been a … doctor’s wife or a lawyer’s wife or the … school superintendent’s wife or a banker’s … wife, anything but a farmer’s wife with a son like me. Why do you put up with … that?"

I had never seen Arnold more forlorn than on that afternoon. He was normally a quiet, self-assured man, but on that day, he looked beat-down and anything but assured. He did not answer Todd directly. He cast his line several more times. He seemed to be deep in thought. I remember wondering if he was going to answer Todd’s question. When he finally spoke, he did so without equivocation, but with great sorrow in his voice. I don’t have a good answer to your question, Todd. It might make me seem weak, but I don’t have an answer. I might later on but not right now. I’m as hurt and confused by it as you are. I know a father is supposed to have all the answers, but I don’t. Certainly not about this and not right now.

Todd’s response to his father’s obvious sorrow was to walk over to him, open his arms and embrace him. My two best friends clung to each other as if each was a life preserver for the other. Todd pulled away first. He looked at his father and said, I’m … sorry Dad, for you and me. I don’t know …what you will do, but … I know what I’m … going to do. I am going … to move away from her someday, and I will … never call … her Mother again. If she doesn’t want me as a son, I don’t … want her as a mother.

His father did not respond. He simply turned away from Todd and returned to his fishing without acknowledgement or protest. Todd followed suit, as if nothing had been discussed, and from that day forward he either addressed her directly, or referred to her as Mrs. Newman, and I did the same.

It always made her mad when he did it, too. She said his calling her Mrs. Newman was disrespectful and it made her sound old. Once, after Sunday church service, she was chastising him in front of a group of people, and he calmly asked if she would rather be called Emma instead. That earned him a slap across the face in front of the group.

To Emma’s surprise and embarrassment, Todd responded to the slap with, Thank you, Mrs. Newman. That … is probably the kindest … thing you’ve ever done for me.

These are but a few of the many trespasses I witnessed or heard of within, and about Mrs. Newman. I make no apologies for how strongly I feel toward Todd, Arnold, and my other good friends. Likewise, I do not apologize for the disdain I have always felt toward Mrs. Newman. I am fiercely loyal to Todd and my friends, probably to a fault, and I am equally hostile towards those who hurt or neglect them. Unfortunately, both sides are part of Todd’s story.

2

OLD FRIENDS

Mrs. Newman had everything to do with Todd’s leaving, as well as his staying away. He left because he wanted more out of life. He wanted to try new things. He wanted to know if he could make it on his own, and, perhaps most importantly, he wanted to escape his past and her. She would have never given him that opportunity. I blame her. She was the one who pushed him away, and it was her existence that kept him away.

That is, until his return on December 6. He finally came home, but he did not come home willfully. He came home regrettably. He came home to bury his father.

Arnold Newman died in his barn while milking the cows on the afternoon of December 4. It was a bitter cold day, and the wind blew through the valley like a runaway freight train. It brought with it blowing snow and a wind chill of minus fifteen-degrees. There is no air to breathe in that kind of cold. It has no moisture and it scorches the lungs when inhaled. It is the kind of cold that makes it impossible to see through the frozen tears caused by the cold itself. The snow squeaks underfoot and gives your insides a bitter chill with each step. It is the kind of cold when things stop living, and on that cold afternoon, the man who loved Todd more than anyone, with the exception of me, died.

Arnold died amongst his cows, out in the sub-zero cold barn on a bed of manure-filled straw. It was Arnold’s passing which brought Todd home, and he had to deal with the loss of his father, as well as the unshielded, bitter persona of Mrs. Newman. Before he dealt with any of it, though, he stopped by to see me, just like always.

As he drove up to me, he rolled down his window, just like the day he got the loud mufflers and stereo. He leaned out his open window and studied me for a quiet moment. The wind was strong, and it buffeted his exposed face. A big storm was blowing down the valley. The snow crystals were small and pellet sized, the stingy kind that are more like sleet than snow. It had piled up quickly in spite of its miniature size. The wind driven snow pelted Todd’s outstretched face, but he didn’t seem to notice. His cheeks were chafed red instantly, but his teeth flashed white in contrast as he smiled.

Hey, AG, it’ me. I’ve … missed you. You look great.

I could not have answered him, even if I was able, but I beamed with pride and satisfaction. I pulled myself perfectly erect. I wanted him to be proud of me. I wanted him to see he still made a difference to me. He was home. He hadn’t forgotten me. What a wonderful day it was in spite of what had prompted his return!

I was not surprised by his open affection toward me, but I was, as I always had been, thrilled that he cared for me as much as he did. I never took his affection for granted, however. I learned a long time ago that people can be fickle and, while I always thought Todd was different, and better than most, I still did not assume I would be his best friend forever, even if he would always be mine. I could tell by the way he looked at me, though, that I was still his friend. It was both a joy and a relief to see him.

He had changed -- he looked older-- as he should, I suppose. He was more muscular through the neck and shoulders. His dark brown hair was longer, too. He had it pulled straight back, and I could see it ended in a ponytail, which took flight with the wind as he leaned through the window. The skin on his face and hands was weathered, almost like leather, and his face shone bright with life-loving excitement in spite of the circumstances that brought him home. His smile was as infectious as ever. He might have changed some in appearance, but I could tell he was the same old Todd on the inside.

There was another change I noticed right away. He was not alone. There was another person in the front seat of the truck with him -- a woman. A very pretty woman. She looked to be about his age, light skinned, with long, brown hair that fell loosely across her shoulders. She also had a beautiful smile. She was sharing his happiness as she rested her left hand on his right shoulder, quietly encouraging his friendliness toward me and sharing in it with her touch. They looked like one of those easy-together kinds of couples. He had found someone to love him besides me and his father. It was wonderful to see.

Todd slowly eased the truck forward. He stopped and got out. The wind buffeted him but he advanced toward me in spite of its harshness. He came to me, stretched his arms out wide and hugged me. I’ve missed you, he said. I have missed you so much. You have no idea.

I gave a quick, involuntary shake.

Still up to your… old tricks, I see. He laughed. Good for you. He stepped back from me and said, Here, I … want you to meet someone, and with that he turned back toward the truck. He waved at the young woman, beckoning for her to join him. She shook her head as she sat huddled in the warmth of the truck. Todd waved again, more adamantly this time. She shook her head in forced resignation and then slid across the seat to the driver’s side. She opened the door, and as she did, the wind slashed at it like a raw knife. The door flew open with a burst. She held on to the handle and arm rest. The force pulled her out of the truck, almost knocking her off her feet. As she clumsily regained her balance, she leaned into the door and forced it closed. Then she slowly made her way to where Todd stood next to me.

Dang, it’s windy out here, she shouted breathlessly, and its freaking cold too, she added, pulling her coat collar up tight around her exposed neck.

I know, he answered, but I want you to … meet AG. As she came toward me, I noticed her coat was open on the bottom. Todd raised his voice above the wind and said, AG, meet … Janice. Janice, meet AG.

Nice to finally meet you, AG, she said with a pleasant, toothy smile. Todd has talked about you from the moment we first met. You’re very beautiful. No wonder he loves you.

I was intimidated by her beauty and embarrassed by her compliment. Todd put his arm around her and tucked her in neatly against his body. AG, he said, we’ve been married three years now. We’re … going to have a baby. What do you think of that, another … Newman to have running around here?

What did I think of that? Running around me? Does that mean what I hope it means? That’s what I thought.

Well listen, AG, we’ve … got to get going. Mrs. Newman’s … expecting us and we’re already late. You know how she gets. I’ll … come by tomorrow and see you again. They took a few steps in the direction of the truck and then Todd turned back toward me. You really look … great, AG, he said, just great. He then pulled on Janice’s arm so she was facing me again, and he said, patting Janice’s protruding stomach, Oh, by the way, if it’s a boy, we’re going to name him … Arlington, and if it’s a girl, well, we’re going to name her Arlington, too. See ya’ later.

There are times in life when time truly does stand still. When everything stops revolving around the sun and suddenly begins to revolve around some other celestial or metaphysical object or event. The center of the universe shifts. Sometimes it’s when a sudden sadness befalls us. Other times it’s when you realize that life has just lived up to your wildest expectations. That was one of those moments for me, a moment frozen in time. Imagine, a little person named after me!

As Todd and Janice pulled away, I reflected on the last time I had seen him. It was after my rededication and Todd was setting off to find a new life. I was overcome with emotion then, too, just as I was at his homecoming, but for different reasons. I had very mixed emotions that day. On the one hand I was thrilled beyond expression that this wonderful young man was finally taking the opportunity to realize life’s potential. He was setting off to discover the world, a world he would find and experience on his own. He would be making decisions on his own, for himself, and about himself. On the other hand, I was saddened as my best friend passed out of sight, with no idea of when or if I would ever see him again.

I have given Todd, and that day, a great deal of thought since then, and every time I do the conflicted feelings return. Over the years, though, I have come to a conclusion about his need to go versus staying here. I believe if a person isn’t free to go somewhere, then they’re not free to stay where they are either. I think, unless you have real choices, you don’t have any choice at all.

When Todd left that day, a part of me went with him. You see, no one knew Todd better than me. I knew more about him than he knew about himself. I knew the things that made him leave would be the things that would make him stay away, and it would take something extraordinary to make him return. I had no idea what that something might be, of course, but now I did.

I watched as he and Janice drove off toward the Newman farm. Todd was driving right into the teeth of the thing that made him leave in the first place. He would be back to see me tomorrow, I was positive of that, but he wouldn’t be smiling like he was today. It would not take long for Mrs. Newman’s ugliness to destroy the joy and pride he had come to enjoy while being away. He knew that, and he knew he would need me to be here for him. That’s why he said he’d be back tomorrow.

I had been Todd’s best friend for seventeen years before he left, and he had been mine. He is the only true friend I have ever had, and while I wasn’t his only friend, I was his best friend. He and I had our own language and we conversed freely, though no one else could understand us. Ours was a communication of energy and spirit. It was of the ethos, not of words. He would tell me his problems, his joys and his frustrations. He knew I was listening, and I took it all in without prejudice, judgment, or protest. That was what he wanted and needed from me. I was the one upon whom he could always depend. I was the one who accepted him for who he was. I never judged him. I only listened. I had become his kindred soul-spirit.

Our relationship was one built on strength and mutual respect. I was the brother he never had. I was the best friend who was always there for him and never left him. I was the bridge between safety and fear for him, and, from my perspective, he was all of that and more. Our relationship was symbiotic, and it was symbolic of everything important to any friendship: honesty, love, giving, acceptance, happiness and forgiveness. That was our relationship when he left five years ago and that’s what it still was upon his return. My best friend had come home, and he was still my best friend.

More importantly, perhaps, I also realized that the determined, yet inexperienced, young man who left here five years ago, the young man who lacked confidence and self-esteem, was not the same man who had returned. Todd was now a man of confidence and inner strength. He had his own purpose and his own will. He was no one’s whipping boy. He was a man, like Arnold, who loved his family, and he was a man on a mission.

3

ARLINGTON GREEN (AG)

It occurs to me that I’m telling this story but you do not know me. I should introduce myself. My name is Arlington. Arlington Green, actually. Or as Todd liked to call me, AG. I have also been called The Bridge, The Bridge at The Green, as well as the West Arlington Bridge. I am an old, wooden covered bridge. I am one of those quintessential symbols of simpler times long past.

My purpose, aside from being a working bridge, is to tell Todd’s story as I saw it and heard it unfold. It is a story of how he came to terms with his disability as an adult and his personal journey to find his own identity and success. It’s about him coming of age. It’s about his trouble, his family and his making new friends. It’s about his leaving and his coming home again. In the final analysis, it’s about this wonderful person’s transition from a kind but desperate young man, who was disadvantaged by his disability and an emotionally abusive mother, into an accomplished and capable adult.

You may wonder how a bridge can tell a story. The answer is quite simple, actually, but little known. You see, I, like most inanimate objects, have a spirit–self, and it is for this reason humans attach themselves to us. Whether we are a favorite blanket, a stuffed toy, a person’s most comfortable chair, or what have you, almost all inanimate objects have a spirit-self that connect in some way, and in varying degrees, with people. This is because almost all inanimate objects contain things which, at some point in time, were living objects. Before I was a bridge, I was wood from living trees. As living things, we have a spirit-self and it stays with us forever. It is this spirit-self which enables the symbiotic relationship of inanimate objects and people. People need us and we need people to survive and thrive, and it is my spirit-self telling the story.

I am located about five miles west of Old Route 7, which runs north and south from Bennington up past Burlington, Vermont. I sit on the south side of Route 313, which runs east and west between Arlington, Vermont and Cambridge, New York. I straddle the Battenkill (River), which in Dutch means fertilizing stream. Also, the word kill in Dutch means stream or river, therefore adding river to its name is redundant. The name is simply the Battenkill, and the locals refer to it as the ‘Kill.

I was built in 1852 by Jacob Andrews and his crew of carpenters. Some people want to say I was built by Nicholas Powers, the most well-known covered bridge builder in Vermont, but that isn’t so.

There were two bridges here before me. One was built in 1820, but it was washed away by a flood. It wasn’t much more than some logs laid down bank to bank and covered with planking to hold it together. The next bridge was built in 1837. It was a multiple Kingpost type bridge and it did its job well, but it rotted out from the weather. That’s why they covered us bridges, you know. Nothing will rot wood like the constant cycle of getting wet and then drying out. To correct this problem, builders started boarding up the bridge frames, but that still didn’t keep bridges from rotting. Then they started putting up full sides and covering them with boards, but those would tip and bend with the wind like a hinged door. Then someone got the idea of putting roofs on bridges, like a barn. That added structural strength to the bridge and protected its frame, but it also added too much weight, which weakened the floor. Then some men got busy designing stronger trusses, the sides of the bridge, which in reality strengthens the floor of the bridge. Men like Theodore Burr, Ithiel Town, Stephen Long and William Howe, to name the most well-known, designed and patented truss systems that were used to build bridges. The Town truss, which I am, was used to build more bridges in Vermont than any other type.

One of the major benefits of the Town truss was its fairly simple construction. The Town truss used the same basic joints, mortises and techniques used to build barns of the time. Therefore, a carpenter, already familiar with building barns, could build a Town truss bridge quite easily.

I was built in the field to my south and moved across the river when completed. Then I was lowered onto the abutments. That’s when the real test of my construction was measured. It was measured by the camber of my floor. Camber is the convex rise in the middle of a bridge’s floor. The middle sits higher than the two ends, and as a load passes over the floor, the load compresses the floor downward, which in turn puts tension on the side trusses, and this places all of the force of the load on the ends of the bridge resting on the stone abutments.

Most of the people who have come to use me, or look at me, over the years are local folks. They are