The Front Porch Prophet

“Absolutely not,” she replied. “There are other people in this besides you. Angel. Jackie. Diane. Even Johnny Mack. If the time has come for someone to be with him all the time, then I think you need to talk to his family about taking turns. If nothing else, you could hire some help. He has plenty of money, and he can’t take it with him.” As was often the case, Maggie’s grasp of the situation was superior to A.J.’s. He began considering the problems associated with full-time care for Eugene.

On Monday morning, he left the Folly with the full intention of bringing the remainder of the Purdues into the loop, but his plans were delayed when Truth Hannassey decided for some aberrant reason to kill Estelle Chastain’s dog, Plug, by dropping a Nationally Historic Porch on him. The offending entryway fell off the front of the Nationally Historic House that Truth was relocating by helicopter from property she intended to develop. She had retained a company out of Charlotte that rented helicopters piloted by wild-eyed worthies who had gained their credentials under fire in tropical latitudes.

When A.J. stepped into the yard, he could hear the whop-whop-whop of the blades beating the air as the helicopter strained across the sky. He could see the conveyance in the distance, the house dangling beneath. It was more of a small cabin, but even so, the helicopter appeared to be toiling mightily in an attempt to remain aloft. A.J. could see that the porch was sagging as the house slowly revolved on its cable. Then it drooped a bit more. Finally, it simply separated from the house and plunged Plugward. Gravity was running true to form, and the notable veranda crossed the distance between up and down in short order.

Plug had not been an attractive animal even before he broke the porch’s fall. He was a homely little hound, named after the proverbial fireplug because he was squat and leaky. He was also cranky, loud, and obnoxious, but Estelle loved him, and love is not always neat or explainable. When the Historic Porch landed on Plug, it flattened him right into the next universe, a bad but quick way to get there. A.J. saw the entire incident from thirty yards away, and he arrived at the tragedy in a bare moment. He was too late to save the dog or the porch, but he had a ringside seat for the aftermath.

Estelle had spent most of her life as a widow, and during her time alone she became eccentric and set in her ways. Her husband, Parm, had died for no apparent reason years previously after first surviving the Hun. He just went to bed one night and neglected to wake up the following morning. A.J. held the theory that he had simply lost the desire to continue and had willed his breathing to cease.

“The man survived everything the Axis could throw at him,” he once observed to Maggie. “Lived through bombs, tanks, and prison camp, but Estelle did him in.”

“Hush,” Maggie had replied.

So Estelle’s years alone had been abundant and prolonged. Somewhere along the way, she began to obsess on the idea of being robbed and raped by some itinerant or other, hopefully one resembling Tyrone Power. To protect herself from this eventual certainty, she armed herself with a variety of large shotguns. These were loaded, ready for mayhem, and propped at strategic locations throughout the Chastain household. Estelle believed she would be overcome when the moment ultimately arrived, but honor dictated that she put up a decent struggle before the sanctity of her private areas was disturbed.

She was standing that morning next to the largest of these shotguns when she gazed out her screen door and noticed a porch on her dog. Perhaps she believed that this was the prelude to rape-foreplay in the rough-and-ready style. Or maybe she concluded the evil Hun had once again arisen, threatening democracy and dogs everywhere. For whatever reason, she grabbed the shotgun, ran outdoors, aimed in a generally up direction, and let fly. Normally, Estelle couldn’t hit the water if she fell out of the boat. But the pattern flew tight and true and struck the helicopter.