PenWomanShip

Ka - whump . . . flump . . . flump!

Oh, boy.

Of course.

Flat tire.

Why not? This assignment had been the epitome of Murphy's Law from the start.

"I want you to go and interview Chester Newman, Casey. You're young, kind of Irish-looking and into animals."

Mr. Fillerton, my boss, always had such logical and intellectually sound reasons for his assignments! He might as well have said, "I'm sending you because it's the Fourth of July weekend and my other (or "best", or "favorite" - you fill in the blank) staff writers are going to want to be with their families. You, however, are single. Not to mention the fact that you have the least seniority of anyone at the magazine, so you'll go anywhere I say just to keep your job."

Oh, well.

Could have been worse - really.

The intense summer heat had brought on a brief afternoon thunderstorm that had passed just minutes ago. The effect of the cooling rain was to make steam rise from the hot pavement and waft into the dense vegetation on either side of the road.

I looked at the map again, turning it sideways so that it would correspond to the direction the car was actually sitting. Yep, I had definitely managed to wander off the main road and on to a road that wasn't on the map. I didn't remember making any turns, so I must have missed a fork or curve where the main road turned and this one kept going - apparently into nowhere!

Damn!

I was going to be late. I hoped Mr. Newman was one of the laid-back type of authors. He wrote high action, very intense Sci-Fi thrillers, so he probably wasn't.

Let's see, I wrote his number on the folder of my boarding pass . . . aha!

My cell phone had been turned off while on the plane. Now I pushed the power button and held it. The little chime sounded, indicating that "Sleeping Beauty" was awake. I called my cell phone Sleeping Beauty because that chime reminded me of that moment in the story when the prince has kissed Sleeping Beauty - with True Love's first kiss - and she awakens to a whole new world!

The tiny screen displayed a satellite dish turning around and around while it was "searching for service". After a minute or so, it concluded "service not found" and Sleeping Beauty went back to sleep.

Oh, well.

I mentally got out my resume and began making a list of places that I might send it. In the meantime, my physical self went searching for the owner's manual to this car.

Wasn't there a rule - law - whatever - that if a rented car broke down or got a flat tire and the person renting it got fired as a result, then he or she could sue the rental company? I certainly hoped so!

No owner's manual in the glove box. Maybe it was in the trunk. The trunk lid flipped up revealing my one suitcase and nothing more. I did see an assortment of metal rods and braces attached to one side. Presumably, those fitted together somehow to create a jack. The instructions were almost certainly in the manual - wherever that was.

For the first time, it crossed my mind to panic.

Nonsense!

Take two deep breaths and think.

I stepped back to the driver's side door and peered down the tiny road through the heat and steam.

My stomach lurched.

Coming toward me - materializing through the mist - was the tall figure of a man.

Salvation or doom? I wondered.

My hand twitched on the door handle. I might be wiser to lock myself in the car and wait until a policeman came around. Eventually, someone would report me missing and the police would come looking for me - right?

The figure drew closer. He was gigantic! Long, thin legs covered in gray overalls stretched down from a non-descript body. Matching long arms hung loosely at his sides. His stride was loose-limbed and relaxed, as if he had no where in particular to go. As he approached and his face became clearer, I saw brown and gray whiskers and bushy eyebrows. A longish face and a high forehead framed brown eyes. Those eyes stopped me from bolting back into the protection of the car. In the wrinkled, gray folds of his face, his eyes appeared large, round and clear. There was honesty in those eyes. No hidden purposes or expectations lurked in their depths; just intelligence, interest, and a fair amount of humor.

Okay, this could be salvation - or at least a little help.

As he approached, I gave him a welcoming smile and held out my hand.

"Hello, I'm having some trouble with my car - a flat tire, actually," I said as he stopped and shook my hand. His hands were large and soft - not hard and knobby like I might have expected. They certainly looked rough and work-worn, but still fleshy and kind of heavy as he plopped his hand in mine.

"I don't know anything about fixing cars, but together we should be able to work it out," he said in a gruff voice.

"Thank you, thank you," I exclaimed. "I can't find the owner's manual. This is a rented car, and I'm late for an appointment. I'd appreciate any help that you can give me."

He scratched the back of his head. "You'll be going up to Mr. Newman's house, I guess," he said.

"Yes, yes I am," I confirmed. "I'm supposed to be getting an interview from him for the magazine I work for. I got a little - um - lost, and now this." I gestured to the flat tire. "I hope he isn't too angry with me for being late."

"Oh, Chester doesn't get mad too often," he judged. "I'd say he'll be just a little worried about you."

Aha! and hallelujah, he knew Mr. Newman: I was lost no more!

I opened the passenger side door and again looked into the glove box. "If I could find the owner's manual, I'd have no trouble changing the tire," I stated hopefully. I didn't want him to think that I expected him to do everything for me.

I stepped back and he leaned over, searching the interior of the car with his eyes.

"I never got a driver's license," he informed me. "I'd rather walk wherever I go. Now I don't mind riding with someone, if they're going somewhere. Chester and I go lots of places together, but he drives."

This bit of information required some mental adjustment on my part. In my mind, Chester Newman was the well-dressed man pictured on his book-jackets, sitting in a wrought iron chair on the lawn at his estate, Stonehenge. In those pictures he was surrounded by elegance, right down to the well-groomed Irish wolfhounds lounging at his feet.

"Here's your owner's manual," he said handing me the book he had retrieved from under the front passenger seat.

"Thank you," I said sincerely. "I'm Casey Flarhety. May I ask what your name is?"

"I'm Jack," he told me simply.

"Well, Jack I am happy to meet you," I told him. "If you don't mind waiting for me to finish my business, I'd be glad to take you wherever you are going."

"As it happens, I was headed up to Stonehenge, myself," he said with a twinkle in his eye. "So I'd be glad to ride back up with you."

"Great," I declared, heading back to the trunk with the owner's manual. Jack lumbered after me.

With the manual in my possession, it was easy to see how to release the components of the jack and assemble it. Jack watched attentively but didn't offer to do it for me. Next, I hauled out my suitcase in order to lift the mat in the trunk and find the spare tire.

"Your spare tire is under here," Jack said, pointing underneath the car. "Some cars keep the spare tires under them," he added at my puzzled look. For a man who didn't know anything about fixing cars he sure was doing a good job of finding things. To be fair though, finding things and being able to use them are very different skills, I acknowledged.

With some effort, I got the jack placed correctly and began loosening the lug nuts. Jack gave each step his undivided attention. When I scraped my knuckle loosening a lug nut, he looked at me with sympathy and said quietly, "I'd do it for you if I could, but I can't"

I wondered why in the world he couldn't do it, but pride and a reluctance to seem rude kept me from asking. He certainly had come to my rescue by making it possible for me to change the tire, and his supportive presence was like a good cup of coffee on a bleak morning.

While I was working, I asked him about Mr. Newman.

"Was this place already named before Mr. Newman bought it, or did he call it Stonehenge?" I asked. I thought it was a very presumptuous name for a private home.

"Oh, he named it," replied Jack. "He says there's some kind of magic around here. He says things happen that give people opportunities to see life a whole new way. He loves it here. That's why he named it after someplace special. Stonehenge is another magical place, isn't it?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, it is," I answered. In our world of information-television, it surprised me that anyone could not be familiar with the real Stonehenge. "Many thousands of years ago people - um - created a monument or meeting place or something. Nobody really knows for sure who made it or what it was for. They do know that it took thousands of years and many generations to create, and the people who did it had to move huge boulders over long distances. Some of the smaller rocks that are used weigh about four tons, and the larger ones weigh as much as twenty or thirty tons. That's like moving a small house with each stone! And that was before there were any machines to help move them." I stopped and looked for a lug nut that had come loose with a jerk and flew a short distance into the grass. Jack spotted it immediately and brought it back to me.

"So people think it is magic because it was so hard to make?" he asked.

"No, not really," I clarified. "They think it must have been a special place to begin with, or whoever built it wouldn't have gone to the trouble to bring all the heavy rocks from different places and set them up right there. And the way they are set up is special, too. Some are in a circle, and some are in a horseshoe shape facing the rising sun." I scratched a quick diagram in the dirt. "Some of the stones are positioned so that the sun rises and sets over them at the changes of seasons. Some scientists think it may have been placed just that way so that people could keep up with the changing seasons and eclipses of the moon - things like that." I rolled the flat tire back to the trunk and heaved it up on the bumper. Jack hurried around and put his hands under it, flipping it easily into the trunk.

"So, Jack," I inquired. "Where did I go wrong? According to my map, the road that I was on should have brought me straight to the front entrance of this Stonehenge. I didn't even see this road on the map."

"It did," he replied simply. "You are already on Stonehenge ground. When you passed between the two big rocks, you were here. This is just the circle road. You probably didn't see the smaller driveway that goes up over a small hill and then back down the other side. The little hill goes all the way around Stonehenge. I hardly ever go outside the hill - only with Chester."

"Oh," I said. I looked at Jack again. Apparently he was more than just an acquaintance of Mr. Newman. He must actually live on the grounds and work for him. "Well, I see why this road was not on the map: It only shows public roads, not private ones."

I didn't say anything for a few minutes. I was reaching back into my memory. I seemed to remember that the original Stonehenge was surrounded by a ditch and "hill" running all the way around it. I thought harder. Yes, that's why "henge" is spelled with an "e" rather than "hinge". A "henge" is an arrangement of ditches and mounds, often circling what are thought to be ancient sacred places. A shiver ran down my spine. Mr. Newman obviously had an exaggerated sense of the dramatic, if he went to the effort to create a henge on his own property.

Some people have way too much time and money on their hands! I reminded myself.

"When did Mr. Newman put this road in?" I asked Jack, who was still watching me intently.

"Oh, he just had it paved a couple of years ago," he answered. "Before that it was always just a dirt path on this side of the hill. It is exactly three miles around. Chester wanted to ride his bike on it, so he had it paved."

This might be a new angle for the article - a natural henge must have inspired the name. Interesting.

I finished tightening the lug nuts on the spare tire, and tossed the hub cap in the trunk. Someone else could worry about putting it on. I'd done enough automotive repairs for one day. I let the jack down and pulled it from under the car. It went in to the trunk after the hub cap. Finally, I tossed my suitcase in the back seat from where I had set it on the ground earlier. Jack didn't seem the least bit uncomfortable with the silence that had come between us. He was looking around the shady road as if he had nothing better to do on this hot summer afternoon.

Well, maybe he doesn't have anything to do.

I wiped my hands on a leftover napkin from my earlier hamburger lunch.

"I guess that's it," I smiled. "Do you still want to ride with me up to the house?" I gestured to the open passenger side door, through which I'd just stashed my suitcase.

He climbed into the car, eagerly. "Yes, I'd like to ride with you," he confirmed.

"Good," I exclaimed. "Now I can't miss my road again." I was surprised at how cheerful and refreshed I felt. I felt powerful - like I could do anything! After all, I had just changed my own flat tire - with the instructions from the owner's manual. I was kind of glad Jack hadn't done it for me. Somehow, it gave me confidence in myself. If Mr. Newman chose to be difficult and I ended up getting fired - well, I would just go out and find another job! I suddenly knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt that I could take care of myself. I laughed out loud as we set out.

This time, when I came to the small road leading up and over the hill, I followed it and before long found myself driving up to a beautiful old stone house with rolling green lawns and shady trees around it.

A tall man in jeans and a green tee shirt was waiting for me by the garage. He raised his hand in greeting.

"Hello, you must be Casey Flarhety," he called. "I was getting worried about you!"

He came over and opened my car door as I stopped, and I got out and shook his hand.

"Yes, I'm Casey Flarhety," I confirmed. "Are you Mr. Newman?"

"Indeed I am," he replied. "And I see you've already met Jack. I sent him after you when you didn't show up as soon as I expected. I knew Jack would soon have things under control!" He chuckled.

I was shocked. He had sent Jack after me?

"He never told me you had sent him to find me! I thought he was just walking along the road and stopped to help me," I said, slightly irritated. Why hadn't Jack just said he'd been sent to find me?

Mr. Newman looked at me quizzically. "I've never really known him to talk much to anybody," he said, "except maybe me."

He moved around the car, reaching for the door handle.

"Well, let's let him out and see what he has to say for himself," he added.

Suddenly, the world seemed to slide into slow motion. Mr. Newman's hand stretched out and opened the passenger door that I had shut behind Jack just a few minutes before. A strange tingling came over me as I watched the large grayish-brown dog climb out of the rented car I'd just been driving. He was huge - an Irish wolfhound like I remembered from the book jackets. His coat was slightly shaggy and he had a loose-limbed gait as he padded toward me, looking up at me with a goofy doggy grin, and brown eyes.

There was honesty in those eyes. No hidden purposes or expectations lurked in their depths; just intelligence, interest and a fair amount of humor.