Waiting for Ted: Told by those who know him well and some folk on the sidelines

By Ardyce Kinsley

Jasper's Landing, a hamlet on the fictitious Rappatomac River in Virginia, will never be the same after Rusty Boggs arrives to escape the wrath of his stepfather Ted. When Rusty learns that there is no internet service in Jasper's, he vows to cut his visit short. But one thing leads to another and before he knows it he's become a local hero who couldn't possibly leave behind all those nice people, especially Laura deVries. And Ted is still missing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662472480

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Waiting for Ted

Told by those who know him well and some folk on the sidelines

Ardyce Kinsley

Copyright © 2022 Ardyce Kinsley

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2022

ISBN 978-1-6624-7247-3 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-7248-0 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Editor's Introduction

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

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

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Editor's Epilogue

About the Author

Told by those who know him well

and some folk on the sidelines

Edited and Compiled by R. D. Gayle

Editor's Introduction

While compiling the first-hand experiences of the kind folk whose stories appear on the following pages, my intent had always been to relate the events surrounding the disappearance of Ted Boggs (and his family's reactions to it) as honestly and as completely as possible. Where I found omissions or assumptions in their versions of the story that are not in keeping with my personal knowledge and intent, I felt compelled to insert my omniscient thoughts, as the editor, in the name of clarity and good journalism. In reconstructing Ted's experiences, I based his thoughts and his unique expression of them on our in-depth, two-year acquaintance.

R. D. Gayle

Chapter 1

Rusty and Ted Begin the Story

I'd been on the road to Jasper's Landing for almost two hours and hadn't seen a single landmark that might prove I wasn't friggin' lost until I saw a sign that said, Darwin—two miles, so I knew I was on the right track. I hoped, when the sun came up, that my memory would get sharper and something would look familiar. I drove past a school playground on the corner that I kind of remembered. I turned right and kept my fingers crossed.

It had been five or six years since I'd been to Jasper's. Back then, I was one unhappy kid being forced to go somewhere I didn't want to go. Like any self-centered teen, I sulked in the back of our car dreading the day ahead. My mother's half-sister's husband, Pete, had died; and we were going to his dumb funeral in a dumb village on a dumb river. I think Ted felt the same way, but he didn't say much except, Ain't we thar yet, woman? I know Mom was praying that he'd keep his stupid mouth shut through most of the visit so he wouldn't embarrass her.

I wished I'd paid more attention to the route we'd taken to Pete's funeral on that Saturday in April, but I knew of no other place where I could chill safely if Ted got it into his head to find me.

That lazy bitch didn't get out of her bed to make my breakfast. I swear she's a world champeen sleeper. I don't care that it was so early the sun weren't even starting to come up; the least she coulda done was fix my breakfast. It's not like I ask her to do it every day or even onct a month, but that morning, the brat and I had a physical encounter, and I wanted her to know that I'm thinking of throwing the lazy slug out. I've had it up to here.

Rusty's biggern me now. Even though I landed a few good ones on his noggin', he's gonna have a shiner perty soon—he proved that he has plenty of muscle and some quick moves that I couldn't dodge, and he had me on the ground seeing stars for a tiny bit. He run off feeling pretty cocky, I'm sure. I have no idee where he went so early, but that don't matter. He's gone. I wish it was fer good. But he'll be back, like always, soes he can perteck his momma from me.

I don't think he broke any of my bones, but I know I'm gonna have some aches and pains for a few days. Damn that kid.

Oh god, I never needed a drink so bad.

Ted had it coming, even at that early hour. What the hell was he doing up anyway? Checking on me, I suppose. Well, I'd been at Jack's house watching reruns of a hockey game, and I fell asleep on the couch until his dad woke me up and told me to go home. It was around 3:00 a.m., so when I got home, I parked further from the house than I normally do so I wouldn't disturb Mom or Ted. I closed the car door real quiet like, and then, out of nowhere, Ted came at me shouting something about my mother being worried sick. I almost laughed. Mom didn't worry about me; she worried about Ted. She was probably sound asleep and had no idea I'd been out so late.

Of course, I defended myself after Ted punched me in the face, and well, he should have known better. I always come out ahead when he picks a fight, which is pretty frequent. I knew that he'd recover enough to get to the shack in the woods where he hangs out sometimes. It was an easy walk from our place if there's no snow on the ground or if a person wasn't licking his wounds. I got back in my car and drove away, certain that Ted would be all right. I just hoped he wouldn't take out any leftover aggression on Mom.

I'm gonna make me what snooty Rebecca calls Eggs Theodore. Even she can make it 'cuz it's so easy, but since she's still asleep, I have won the job. All it takes is some chopped onion and mushrooms sautéed in butter; then I pour whomped eggs over that and cook it until it's just right. Might make a few PB and J samiches too for lunch. Soons I have some spare change I'm gonna git me a little barby grill soes I can cook a steak. Rebecca says steak is too spensive so we have hamburger instead, and I'm sick of it.

Next, I'm gonna git in my truck with a thermos of coffee and drive out to my very own secret place. I'd walk, but I'm feelin' a little wobbly after what Rusty did to my head. I keep my buddy Jim Beam out there, and I can always rely on him to make the rough edges smooth.

Me an' Rebecca have lived here since just after we met. Miz Cooper calls me the general manager of her farm. Handyman is more like it, but it buys the groceries either way. Our house is a prefab that suits me just fine. It came with the job. Rebecca thinks it's too small. I told her that as soon as her baby clears out, it'll be perfeck.

Gordon and me hunted together onct or twice, but other than that, we don't hang out. He's kinda soft and snooty, being the son-in-law of a rich banker and the husband of that guy's only daughter with the fancy first name, Lillian. La-de-dah. He could help me around the farm some, but he don't. He jest reads books when he's not at the bank and plays in the dirt out behind their big ol' house looking for what he calls Native American artyfax, whatever that is.

Mom and my aunt—I call her half-Aunt Maddie—talked on the phone just about every week, and Mom always promised to take what she called a little vacation and go to Jasper's for a weekend, but she never got around to it. Don't ask me why. I told her again and again that she needed to get away from Ted and his constant verbal and physical abuse. Maybe she was afraid of the consequences if she left, so she didn't. I was just a kid. I didn't understand all that adult stuff.

I vaguely remembered a shabby gas station on the right, and I slowed down just in time. The sign that said Jasper's Landing stood at the next corner. Mom said that she'd heard plenty of people claim they'd driven through Jasper's Landing never knowing that you can't drive through Jasper's Landing—you can only drive to it and from it on Parson's Creek Road. Isn't that crazy?

Editor's note: Let me explain! Signage to Jasper's Landing is deliberately confusing. At the intersection of State Rt. 4 and Parson's Creek Road, a green sign says simply Jasper's Landing; the arrow that should indicate a right turn has been obliterated with matching green paint, thereby causing the tourist to believe Jasper's Landing is a wide spot in the road consisting solely of Baxter's gas station. The folk who live in Jasper's Landing don't encourage visitors.

I found me a place years ago when I was chasin' after a deer. Some people prolly would call it a man cave onct I fixed it up. I call it a man house. It's a real old house, complete with a privy, out in the woods north of our place. I knocked down some shrubs that grew in the path leading to the house soes I can drive right up to it, and I done some repairs to the front porch, for instance. And there ain't no electric, so if I want light, I use the oil lamps what I found in an antique store. Rusty helped me take a old recliner out there soes I could take a nap and also a blanket that Rebecca never used. I made him swear he'd never tell his mother or anybody else about the place and that he weren't never to show up or I'd blast his friggin' head off. Yeah, I got my gun out there too—almost used it to kill a copperhead snake what I saw slither under the porch but he got away. I kinda like havin' him around 'cuz he keeps the rodent population under control.

So there I was, driving to that same secluded part of Virginia to surprise, big-time, my half-aunt Madeline Gorman in her dumb old house overlooking that dumb river. I'm not exaggerating when I say I didn't expect to enjoy myself, but I'd try to make the best of the situation.

I wanted my journey to Jasper's Landing to be unnoticed, so I turned Carter's lights to low beam after I made the critical turn onto Parson's Creek Road. Carter is what I call my trusty wheels, an Oldsmobile minivan. Gordon gave him to me when he bought a new Caddie Escalade a couple of years ago. I applied the brakes until we were moving under twenty-five miles an hour, a stealth duo not likely to be tracked down by Ted and any cops he might ask to help find me.

I suspect this here mansion of mine ain't on Cooper's property, but I can't prove that and I never asked Gordon. Whoever owns it don't seem to know or care that I use it now and then on weekends for my private getaway where I smoke a bit of pot and sip a little whiskey without influencing the kid and making you-know-who mad. I believe that Mr. Theodore Russell Boggs deserves some peace and quiet this here weekend before all hell breaks loose on the farm with spring plowin' and plantin' and all them ferrin' workers that come here illegal like and don't hardly speak English.

Editor's note: The Cooper farm is part of an ancient Land Grant that was divided unequally an unknown number of years ago. The county clerk who should have recorded the transaction must have been new on the job, and the division was never legally filed. Or perhaps there had been a courthouse fire, not unusual in those days, that destroyed all the records. Whatever the case, various owners have come and gone over the years, none of them much interested in property lines or title searches. The legacy holds true to this day as urban sprawl invades the land west of the Rappatomac River and developers build homes and shopping centers as rapidly as possible, in the process further obscuring the original Land Grant lines. In short, Ted's hideaway exists in a no-man's land.

The sun was getting brighter, and I could see that the clouds were breaking up. Heavy spring rains had doused Virginia for days, and the prospect of blue skies for a change cheered me up. A pink light made the newly plowed fields kind of glow on either side of the road and reminded me that Cooper's land hadn't been plowed yet. Ted should be lining up migrant help pretty soon.

The scattered farmhouses I passed didn't show any signs of life, another good thing on my wary trip. At one point where the road took a sharp curve, I almost landed in a ditch. There was an old sign there that used to say, Welcome to Jasper's Landing, but the Welcome to had been painted over. How dumb is that? Like why not just get rid of the sign altogether?

I told trusty Carter, My friend, we are about to arrive at our destination, Dumb Central.

The road forked. Decision time. I stopped Carter and looked ahead where I could see the river, a pale purple in the early light, and to the left a fence. I remembered then that all of the houses are on the riverside of the road that, a sign told me, is Water Street. Of course, I sneered, What else could it possibly be called in Dumb Central? I turned left onto it.

It was just light enough to see the defunct businesses on my left: one labeled Groceries with benches under a porch roof, not exactly a supermarket, and another that might have been a post office ages ago—a general store. I remembered the church that looked like every church ever shown on a Christmas card and a brick building identified in gold lettering on its single window: Rappatomac State Bank. It