The Four Disciples

By Gary Welsh

Seventy-year-old Matthew Kern is introduced to his new home for the aged. The next stage of his life begins when he learns from resident Tom and his four disciples about mysterious deaths at the home.

Tom is found dead, and Matthew becomes the disciples leader. They uncover mistreatment of residents; seduction attempts from the manager, Sylvia; and mysterious meetings in the basement.

Matthews interest becomes personal when he falls in love with the beautiful Donna, another resident. With help from other residents and Donnas two delightful grandchildren, Matthew and the disciples begin to fight back, with disastrous consequences.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 12, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543412055

Gary Welsh

Gary Welsh is a retired business owner residing in Peoria, AZ. Writing was not taken seriously until his wife encouraged him to put into print The Reynolds Lot. Since then he has written and published four more books. Book number six is still in manuscript form and book number seven is in note form. He and his wife, Barbara, who does his editing, have been married 51 years and have four children and six grandchildren.

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Copyright © 2017 by Gary Welsh.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2017904815

ISBN:                   Hardcover                       978-1-5434-1204-8

                            Softcover                         978-1-5434-1203-1

                            eBook                               978-1-5434-1205-5

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 05/09/2017

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

CHAPTER XVII

CHAPTER XVIII

CHAPTER XIX

CHAPTER XX

CHAPTER XXI

CHAPTER XXII

CHAPTER XXIII

CHAPTER XXIV

CHAPTER XXV

CHAPTER XXVI

CHAPTER XXVII

CHAPTER XXVIII

CHAPTER XXIX

CHAPTER XXX

CHAPTER XXXI

To my siblings, Richard, Judy and Roger. I love you so very much.

CHAPTER I

Robb, my granddaughter’s husband, was driving the ‘39 Chrysler much too fast for the gravel road. I could feel the rear end of the car slide this way and that as we topped each hill, rocks hitting the fender wells sounding like snare drums out of rhythm. I didn’t feel relief from the roller coaster until the rest home, spread out like a giant Thunderbird, came into view. Seeing the Home first, Robb slowed the car.

My new home lay just in front of us: a large red-brick building with the main two-storied entrance protruding from the center of the complex, leaving one-storied wings with barred windows on each side that spread out fifty feet in both directions before retreating straight back for another sixty feet.

A large white sign reading SHADY TREE REST HOME, supported by two wooden statues of black boys dressed in white shirts, red pants, black boots, and white gloves, greeted us as the car swung into the drive covered with brown pebble-sized gravel. Both sides of the road were lined with cottonwood trees separating an acre of freshly mown lawn with tall evergreens, maple and oak trees, painted white from the ground up to four feet high, across from a field of clover. In the middle of the lawn, horizontal to the private road, was a wide sidewalk running from the building’s entrance west to the mailbox standing straight and snow white aside the main road going north and south.

What a cute sign, Sarah broke the silence. Don’t you think that’s a cute sign, Grandpa?

I didn’t answer. I didn’t think my granddaughter, sitting in the front seat, was cute, nor the driver, nor the goddamn sign. However, I did think the way these two convinced me to consent to live here was pretty cute.

Sarah was the oldest of the three grandchildren my only child, Martha, had dropped into this world. I say dropped because she had those three one right after the other. There may have been nine months between each of them, but it seemed like less. My late wife, Hazel, said if she heard me comment on the birth of those girls one more time, she’d drop me. Unfortunately, she died three years ago, and I was left to the mercy of the oldest one dropped.

Martha’s husband left her after the youngest was born, and took up with a woman in Washington DC. Four years later, Martha died of cancer.

With Martha gone and her husband lost to the world, Hazel and I took to caring for the three girls. We did a pretty good job for twenty-one years. Wendy, the middle granddaughter, went to Los Angeles to become a model; and Sissy, the youngest, went to nursing school at the University of Texas. Sarah went to work for a communications company and married this yokel who owns his own plumbing business and this ‘39 Chrysler.

Then my wife died suddenly of a heart attack. I admit that I had problems accepting Hazel’s death, but I was managing—that is, until I fell off the roof six months ago. I was repairing a clogged-up chimney screen on my house when a wooden shingle loosened from under my right foot and I was on my way to God’s green earth before I could think. I spent six weeks in the hospital mending a broken hip, rehabilitation and all, and then returned home to find things had changed.

While I was being repaired, Sarah had decided that I needed her attention; so, she and Robb moved in to the house. My living room furniture was replaced with ridiculous stuff called contemporary. The kitchen had been repainted olive green, and the dining room had new wallpaper with grape vines enclosing the room. When I questioned the changes, Robb said that I needed the therapy—a new look.

Hazel’s clothes had been removed from her closet and replaced with Sarah’s. I was afraid to look in my closet. Sure enough, most of my clothes were gone. Sarah said I didn’t need all those clothes; I was just feeding the moths. At least my room didn’t get painted. The guest bedroom was Sarah and Robb’s. They had changed it as soon as they moved in, which was the day after I entered the hospital.

Two weeks ago, Sarah told me that she and Robb had made arrangements for me to move in to the Shady Tree Rest Home. My social security check and pension from the Northern Pacific Railroad would more than cover the costs. I would be happier there with people my own age, she said. More importantly, because neither she nor Robb could be with me during the day and I couldn’t be trusted to stop climbing up on the roof, the home would have someone to watch after me, to see that I didn’t do anything stupid. I didn’t tell her that the only stupid thing I ever did was allow them to live with me. I consented to their exhortations for a couple of reasons: I was ready for companionship, and I was tired of listening to my granddaughter.

An umbrella of tree branches, sporting buds and blossoms, screened the sky as we drove to the entrance of the rest home. Suddenly, down a side road that led to the back of the building and into the sunlight, came a rider on a large black horse. They crossed in front of us as Robb frantically braked the car and swore.

Jesus! What the hell . . . ?

The horse and rider shot across the lawn, kicking up sods of grass, darting between two evergreens as they raced toward the main road, then headed up the sidewalk where a short, roly-poly woman was waddling down the walk toward the mailbox. We stared in disbelief as the horse and rider click-clacked up the walk straight for her. The woman raised her short, fat arms above her head, turned, and scurried back toward the house. The horse and rider passed the woman without leaving the sidewalk, then came to a stop in front of the woman’s passage. Rearing on its hind legs, the horse whinnied and pawed at the air. The little fat woman fell to the ground, covering her head with her hands. Laughing, the rider kicked the stallion in the sides and disappeared around the other side of the building.

Did you see that? Sarah screamed. Did you see that?

Robb restarted the engine and pulled into the parking lot at the side of the building. We parked in the visitors’ space and simply sat there for a moment or two. I was so curious as to the well-being of the little fat woman that I got out of the car and walked around the corner of the building to see if she was still lying on the sidewalk. She was there, attempting to stand up. I walked as fast as I could toward her.

Grandpa! Robb yelled. What the hell do you think you’re doing?

Grandpa! Come back here, Sarah shouted.

I reached the woman just as she managed to stand up. She was so fat. I remembered seeing a woman like her in a circus freak show.

Are you all right? I asked.

She was rocking on her feet. I thought she might topple over and roll down the sidewalk. I reached out for her left arm to steady her. She screeched like a hawk—not once, but several times. I instantly withdrew my hand. The woman’s eyes were darting left and right, looking for more horses, I suspected. The sound of a door slamming behind me caused me to turn. Standing on the top step of the porch was a large bald man wearing white pants, a white shirt, and white shoes. His muscular arms were folded across his chest as he slowly, but deliberately, walked toward us.

Bernice! he called out. Vat are you doing out zere? He kept walking toward us with a somewhat menacing look. Vat vere you trying to do, mister?

I backed away from Bernice and the sidewalk to allow the man with such authority to help her. Instead, he grabbed her by the hand and jerked her toward him.

I was trying to help her, I managed to say.

You know better zan to go outside vitout someone vit you, he said in a high-pitched voice with a German accent. Let’s go. He pulled hard enough to cause her to fall. She began to cry as she clambered to her stubby little feet.

She was almost killed, I said.

He paid no attention to me and continued to pull her toward the house. I stood and watched the white giant pulling the little fat ball of many colors into the house as Robb and Sarah came running up to me.

What happened? Sarah asked.

You know as much as I do, I answered.

Who was the white knight? Robb asked

I don’t know, I said as we all stared at the front porch.

They were going to kill that woman, Sarah stated.

Naw, Robb said. It looked like a prank to me.

I think you’re right, I said. The rider looked like a young girl.

We need to report this to the owners, Sarah said.

The big guy was aware of what happened, I said. Let him report it.

I turned and looked at the large lawn with all the trees and its long wide sidewalk leading to the main road. The place was beautiful.

CHAPTER II

Carrying the suitcases, Robb and Sarah led me into the lobby. Bernice and her big bald buddy were nowhere to be seen. The dark hardwood floor was covered with a huge Indian rug. Two large brown leather chairs sat in front of a floor-to-ceiling mirror on the left wall. Just above a dark wooden bench covered with red and green cushions, sitting against the right wall, hung several pictures of old men with MD attached to their names. Beyond the pictures was a large entryway to a living room. A long black leather sofa stood against the back wall, a fireplace surrounded with books decorated the adjacent wall, and a rocking chair sat beside a red leather chair in front of the wall to the right. In the middle of the room was the largest round rug I had ever seen, in warm shades of brown.

Across the lobby was a very small kitchen with an icebox and a sink with a small red pump mounted on its ledge. Three windows laced with yellow tieback curtains provided light for the sink, and two tall white china cabinets crowded the rest of the room. The floor was tiled with a black-and-white square-patterned linoleum. The entire kitchen sparkled.

Straight ahead at the end of the lobby were two sliding doors that met in the center of the wall. They opened slowly, revealing a beautiful black-haired woman in her middle thirties, tall, thin, dressed in a white dress, white stockings and white shoes. She closed the doors behind her and walked toward us with a definite air of authority. Thrusting her hand out to Sarah, she smiled and said, Welcome to Shady Tree. You must be Sarah.

Thank you, yes, Sarah responded, taking her hand. And this is my husband, Robb.

Robb, a little too eagerly, offered his hand to the woman. Hello! he said. You must be the lady of the house.

Ignoring his hand, the lady said to Sarah, My name is Sylvia Blandish. I am in charge of the Home.

She looked at me, standing behind Robb and Sarah, and said with a less professional and more melodic tone of voice, You must be Matthew Kern.

I stepped forward, bowed, and gently lifted her hand to my lips.

My goodness, she said with a smile. Quite the gentleman.

I smiled and looked directly into her eyes. She dropped her eyes first and turned back toward the sliding double doors as she said, Please follow me. We need to complete some papers before we assign you to a room, Mr. Kern.

I followed Sarah and Robb, who followed Sylvia, through the doors into a long hallway that ran both left and right. We turned left and entered a very plush office with a walnut stained desk, four matching chairs, and a long green leather sofa gracing the left side of the room. The entire room was carpeted, not something you saw every day. Hanging on two walls were four portraits. Four very old people had posed for those oil paintings. One painting—of a white-haired, short-whiskered man with spectacles resting on his nose—caught my attention. I seemed to know that face from long ago, or maybe not so long ago.

Have a seat, people, Sylvia invited. Mr. Kern, you sit here, please.

She pulled a chair closer to her desk.

Most of my questions are for you, and I don’t want to miss your answers. She smiled. You two make yourselves comfortable, she said, gesturing to the green sofa.

The four of us seated ourselves as Sylvia restacked the papers already lying neatly on her desk. The picture window behind her revealed a perfect view of the front lawn. I could see the trees that graced the lawn and the sidewalk that guided my eyes to the mailbox on the main road, and I could see the top half of a whitewashed barn.

Now, then, Mr. Kern, Sylvia began. How old are you?

Sarah leaned forward and quickly answered, Seventy. He’s seventy.

Seventy? You don’t look that old. What is your birth date?

May 14, 1880, Sarah answered.

Do you have your birth certificate with you?

I have it here, Sarah interjected as she stood and handed Sylvia the document.

Your wife, Hazel, she is deceased, Sylvia continued. Is that correct, Mr. Kern?

Yes, Sarah answered for me.

Please, Sylvia said. I must have the answers from Mr. Kern. Unless, of course, he is unable to speak.

Sarah nodded and pushed herself deeper into the sofa.

When you die, Mr. Kern, Sylvia continued, do you wish to be buried with her?

With who? I asked, thinking she might mean Sarah.

With your wife, Mr. Kern.

Why would I want to do that?

She wants to know if you want to be buried in the same cemetery, Grandpa.

I guess so, I answered. I have to be buried somewhere.

What is your religious affiliation, Mr. Kern? Sylvia continued.

God, I answered.

Grandpa, don’t be difficult, Sarah interrupted. What church do you belong to?

Methodist, I answered.

What is the name of your physician? Sylvia asked.

I don’t remember his name, I replied. But I remember I don’t like him.

Mr. Kern, I must have the name of your attending physician in case of an emergency.

Sarah was beginning to lose her patience; I could see it in her face. She was grimacing and rolling her eyes for Robb’s benefit. I swallowed a chuckle.

Everybody was silent for a moment before Sarah said, Is your doctor the same one Grandma used?

Yes, I replied.

And who was he? Sylvia asked Sarah.

Dr. Harold Schubert, Sarah answered.

When did you last have a physical, Mr. Kern? Sylvia’s voice was much nicer than Sarah’s.

I was in the hospital six months ago. They fixed my hip and said I was free to go.

You will have to consent to a physical given here at the Home, Mr. Kern, Sylvia continued. I’m sure you won’t mind. Dr. Keystone is a fine physician.

A knock at the doorway caused Sylvia to look up from her desk. We all turned to look at the intruder.

Yes? What is it? Sylvia seemed to be annoyed.

What do you wish us to do with Mr. Wright, Miss Sylvia? asked a large black man dressed in white.

Ask Mr. Jacob, Sylvia fired back.

Yes, ma’am, the black man answered and disappeared.

I’m sorry for the intrusion, Mr. Kern. Sylvia smiled. Sometimes I’m expected to answer to everybody. We have lots of supervision here at Shady Tree, but the help still thinks I have all the answers.

I returned Sylvia’s smile. It was hard not to. She sure had a way about her … this way and that way.

I think we have all we need, Mr. Kern. I’ll ask Manny to take your luggage to your room.

Sylvia stood and walked around the desk as she continued talking.

If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you the rest of your new home, Mr. Kern. You may come too, she said to Sarah and Robb.

Sarah quickly stepped in front of Robb and behind Sylvia as Sylvia led us out of her office and down the hall to the right.

The hardwood floors led to a sharp turn and then reached into the dimly lit distance to a red exit sign above a door.

Sylvia stopped, turned to face us, and gestured to the open double doorway on our left.

This is our dining and social room.

She led us into a room big enough to hold a square dance. There were eleven round tables, each surrounded by six wooden folding chairs. There was another door, adjacent to the doorway we stood in, that opened into the hallway leading to the left wing. Along the back of the dining room was a long counter window that was open, exposing a very white kitchen with pots and pans hanging from the ceiling. Two women dressed in white were busy stirring something in a pot and chopping vegetables. They never looked up. A door on the left opened to the kitchen. On both sides of the dining room were rows of tall windows providing an enormous amount of light from outside. I counted six ceiling fans.

This room is used for just about everything, Sylvia said with her arms folded beneath her ample breasts. Daily exercise, weekly religious services, games every Wednesday, dances several times a year, bingo every Saturday, and entertainment twice a month.

Wonderful, Sarah exclaimed. Don’t you think so, Grandpa?

I did, actually, but I was more interested in Sylvia’s breasts. So was Robb.

Yes, wonderful, I answered.

We will be serving supper in about an hour, Sylvia continued. "Manny will stop