#leon talbot

Local SADNESS REIGNS IN CITY CENTER By Leon Talbot MONTFORD, IL - When one thinks of a garden, weeping is typically not part of the association. However, the besotted botanists at The Montford Botanical Society have announced this week their push to bring sadness back to its roots by introducing the addition of a new themed garden to their already vast selection of seed and bulb-based species.

"The plants themselves are not sad," Albert Higgins, lead botanist at the organization clarified. "It's not a half-dead and dying collection of leaves turned brown or roots rotting in a boring arrangement of pots, but we've instead cultivated a selection of weeping trees of varying heights to put on display."

Weeping trees are a curious phenomenon in the plant world. Where their peers' branches happily extend out and upward, they seem to be caught a somewhat mortal depression - limp limbs hang lethargically downward, as if they are resigned rather than overjoyed to bear the burden of a shining sun each day. Some to the point of severity, like the weeping sequoia whose shape is a caricature-esque resemblance of a person moping about, blanket of foliage drooping over its entire form like a leafy mourning shroud.

"There can be a certain amount of humor in it," Higgins went on to say, "Especially when you look from a distance. Stand back and scan the treeline. All these tall and proud trunks and branches standing sturdy are interrupted by a pathetic group breaking up the strength with their wallowing."

The garden is set to be planted along the north east arc of the city-center park, forming the top right frame of the central lake. With benches dotting a wealth of paths paved by naturally jagged slices of slate, shipped via train from the mines of Virginia, visitors will be able to wander all through the trees as well as rest beside and even beneath them. As for the actual content of the space itself, there is promised to be more than the standard shade cast by common conifer and willow.

The spring-budding blossoms of the fruit and flowering trees apricot and cherry blossom are also planned to be in attendance, and Montford’s sprout of the latter is said to be an offshoot from one of the original trees that were given to the States as a gift of friendship from Japan in 1912. At a final planning conference, the audience of plant folk were rapt with anticipatory whispers when the sakura, named such in its native lands, was brought up. Its flowers, soft as blush tinting the cheeks of a youthful face, are expected to be one of the biggest draws.

Back in the Society's greenhouse as he knelt in fastidious study of a young, squat specimen of weeping cypress, prostrate in commitment to its wilted nature, Higgins imparted a tip that was equal parts moony and inclined: "We certainly don't want people to come here and feel sad. But, if they are feeling a little down and want to get it out the Garden of Sadness will offer some of the most empathetic company in Montford, outside of the good Doctor Fletcher of course."

Though they shared a wall, a hall, and a bathroom, Reva and Leon's personal spaces were miles apart aesthetically. Where the Brit's was modern, severe, dark, masculine, the dancer's apartment had a decidedly light, feminine air that bordered on the old-fashioned. Walls had been left their original cream, portraits of movie stars and fashion plates - obviously taken from magazines yet rather artistically arranged given their humble origins - breaking the monotony of neutral color. The main living space housed second-hand furniture: A fainting couch covered in a white satin, back and legs a pale pink, and a pair of armchairs upholstered in a minty green that looked better suited to a spinster aunt's drawing room. A radio stood in one corner, framed family pictures perched atop, and on a coffee table between the armchairs and couch could be found a gramophone and accompanying records, lifestyle and fashion magazines mixed amongst the vinyl.

All this was taken in as soon as the front door was opened, allowing both the apartment's occupant and her guest entrance. They were returning from an evening at the Peabody, Reva as entertainer and Leon as audience member. The dancer's spirits were high, infectious, her laughter ringing through the apartment's halls as they made their way up the stairs. Her show had been a success, earning her enthusiastic applause and a small arrangement of gifts - most noticably bouquets of flowers which were now cradeled in the crook of one arm - as she left the building, breaking hearts in her wake.

Leon's presence at the show, though she had only spotted him after, had been another boon to her spirits. Since their first real meeting, the girl had taken quite the unexpected shine to her neighbor and she was truly pleased that he had kept his word on seeing her perform.

"Make yourself at home," she called, voice trailing as she moved to the kitchen where the flowers were rather uncerimoniously dumped on the counter. "Feel free to put on some music or something if you'd like!"

A month ago...

"Your own sister, sister you have never met, she had to die before your own family could see you- how calloused!"

"Robert, please, stop, now is not the-"

"You and your siblings are always defending him, he isn't a child; he's a grown man who has responsibilities to his family. And for what? To pursue a pauper's career of becoming a writer in an obscure, forsaken town?"

It felt strange to be back in the country side. From what Mary, his sister had told him, the house in London had been unoccupied since their mother gave birth to Claudia. There were complications in child birth and both the baby and her mother became ill. Leon tried to remember in the handful of letters she sent if she had ever mentioned being ill.

She never did.

Boring a hole on the floor as he waited in the drawing room, the man's heart pounded in his chest as he anxiously waited for the maid to call him. It had been years since he last saw his mother and as much as he wanted to see her, his resentment towards his father had kept him at bay.

"The madame will see you now, sir." squeaked the maid.

Pushing open the heavy wooden door to Elizabeth's bedroom, Leon swallowed the lump in his throat as a frail-looking woman in his mother's night gown looked back at him. She did not look like her; she was thin, pale and sickly, he hair thin and white and only the black pools of her eyes remained familiar.

"Puppy." the old woman greeted, her arms outstretched as she beckoned for him to come closer.

His legs felt heavy as he took slow steps towards his mother; was it the guilt from abandoning her and never meeting his baby sister? Or was his heart simply not here anymore?

"Mother," Leon greeted back as he sat on bed beside her, awkwardly embracing her.

                        -------------------------------------------

"It was all a shock to us when we found out mother was pregnant," James  Jr, the eldest, explained to him as they stood at the foot of the child's grave, "The doctor advised that she should not continue with the pregnancy especially in her age and all but she wouldn't listen. If only you were here, maybe this could all be avoided Leon-she always listens to you."

Nodding absently, Leon merely stared blankly at the tiny tombstone and lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply as he let the nicotine enter his bloodstream. He didn't know the tiny creature buried six feet under and as much as he would want to feel something, there was none. He wondered if he had become indifferent after all the events that happened these past few months.

"How are you, brother? I'm glad you could be with us again- even for a short while."

He turned his head and stared straight into his brother's face, he had been gone too long and Robert was right; he had been selfish for leaving his family.

In the days that followed, Leon poured his time and energy into deciphering what the cryptic letters meant. They lied on his desk, arranged by the dates they were sent as the reporter studied them inside and out; he would go to work but would lock himself in his office as he started obsessing on the clues that just seemed too elusive for him. Going to the postal office was of no use; locating a ten year-old letter without a return address was impossible.

Unless…

He was staring absently into the corner of his office, his fingers feeling the thickness of the correspondence when he realized something. Lifting the paper up against the light, Leon noticed that the paper used for the letters were of high quality, watermarked with the manufacturer’s logo. If he was able to find out where the paper was made, he could be a step closer into locating the mystery writer.

But it was too faint. The way the logo was embedded was of a different technique and no amount of illumination provided answer. Frustrated, the  young man accidentally knocked over his cup of coffee, spilling the contents into the letter. The paper quickly absorbed the liquid, turning it into a shade of brown while Leon cursed under his breath for his clumsiness.

But his dark eyes grew wide in surprise. Just on the bottom corner left of each and every letter was a faded imprint of ‘H & W’. The paper, made from several compressed leaves filled the indention of the company's logo with the coffee, making the letters visible.

The excited reporter then made several phone calls, asking operators for all the paper companies within the Illinois area that started with the letters H&W. He found more than twenty but was able to narrow it down by the year of operation; some were already closed down while others were still in operation.

He looked back at the pile of letters on his work desk; he had something to go on with, something Dierdra missed, but as he looked back at a now framed photograph of the two of them sitting on his table, Leon couldn't help but feel a tinge of sadness.

Here he was discovering what could be a vital development into the O'Conners' parents and yet none of them was here. After his last conversation with Cosmo that didn't end too well, his skinny best mate had  once more disappeared into the face of the earth, leaving him  all the more confused and unsatisfied.

Perhaps admitting to him he was inlove with his sister didn't help.

Headache.

It was something Leon Talbot had been all too familiar with for the last three weeks in his absence from Montford, cradling and embracing the pain whose origin varied from smoke-induced drugs to copious amounts of liquor.

Rummaging through Dierdra’s room one drunken night, the reporter had stumbled upon a trunk under her bed filled not only with pictures and articles that he and Cosmo had written through the years, but also of her parent’s possessions; more noticeable were her father’s paraphernalia back when he still worked in the Gazette himself. One envelope, more worn out than the rest, was separated from the heap in the trunk, and upon opening it, Leon had discovered it to be the very article that  Frank Willow had published about a couple jumping off the bridge; a supposed suicide of Dierdra’s parents.

‘NOT SUICIDE.’

It was written in caps using a blank marker behind the supposed article; sorting through the papers, Leon found more than ten correspondences coming from the same handwriting that sent the news clipping to Dierdra, all envelopes without a return address.

The cryptic notes talked about a ledger detailing the power of the infamous family over the town, the names of all the people who owed them- names that also included missing people from as far back as fifteen to twenty years-the date of their abductions and what had become of them. And, based on the last correspondence, Dierdra was stumped. The last note read,

‘Dare you seek the truth?’

Was this what she had been keeping herself busy with behind his back? Leon furrowed his brows, his pain resurfacing as he looked back at a pair of smiling faces; a photo from over a year ago when everything was still alright with the world.

“I’ll find it for you; even if it’s the last thing I do.” 

I remember awakening one morning

and finding everything

smeared

I accidentally mixed some of the free prunes--the ones I got from Jasper, the clerk/detective from Doosie's the other day--with the Gazette coffee.

It was an accident.

I thought I'd be made to risk serving non-normal coffee to the Chief, but he was willing to wait for the regular kind.