Bridges to Burn

The trouble really began for Ben Foster when his wife died six months earlier shortly after the New Year began. Since

then Ben had been lonely and despondent. Nothing he tried gave him any pleasure. Ben was 52 when he retired three years

ago, after 30 years as an electronics technician with the navy. Because of his navy training and experience, particularly with

radio and other communication equipment, Ben could dismantle and repair any radio or television made. After his retirement

he set up a part time TV repair business. He worked at this when he felt like it, primarily fixing neighbors’ TV sets, and went

fishing or played golf when he felt like it. In this way he kept up with his electronic training and supplemented his navy

pension. He had enjoyed the freedom that came with retirement.

Then Marge died and Ben’s whole world crumbled. It wasn’t a sudden, unexpected death; cancer had been diagnosed

six months earlier and from then on it was a losing battle. The last three months of her life were extremely painful for both of

them. For Marge it had been physical pain and for Ben almost unbearable mental anguish.

In late June, almost six months after Marge’s death, Ben was determined to overcome his despondency. He packed his

eleven foot truck mounted camper and, with his dog Ruff at his side, left his home in San Rafael, California to do some trout

fishing in Idaho and Montana. Ben had come to know these states well in the last few years. Many of the streams had

produced hours of excellent fly fishing, a sport that along with golf Ben enjoyed. If anything could take his mind off the

constant grieving, fishing could.

Ruff was the perfect companion for Ben. A good-natured, playful, three year old Golden Retriever weighing about 90

pounds, he loved being with Ben, especially in the water. He had been trained as a puppy to follow behind when Ben was

fishing a stream and almost came to a point when Ben had a fish on. While traveling Ruff sat on the seat next to Ben and

surveyed the passing scenery with a regal eye.

In mid-July Ben fished Elk Creek in western Montana, south of Missoula. This creek was typical of most of the streams

flowing out of the Bitterroot Range and flowing into the Bitterroot River. The lower four or five miles were de-watered every

summer for irrigation purposes so that only a small percentage of the water actually reached the river. Above the five mile

mark the creek ran year round, varying in flow from torrential during the spring run-off to a steady moderate flow all summer.

A forest road ran parallel to the creek for the lower 20 miles and for most of its length the creek provided good fishing for

cutthroat trout up to nine inches long. A small campground at the 7 mile mark was one that Ben stayed at each time he was

in the area.

About one-half mile upstream from this campground Ben had discovered a stretch of the creek that swung away from the

road and passed through a narrow canyon. This canyon was negotiable only to those willing to wade, waist deep at times,

from where it left the road to where it returned about 3 miles further upstream. This stretch, not wadeable in the spring, was

not fished often. Ben had never seen another fisherman in the three years he had been fishing it. Here he had discovered

superb fishing, trout rising to almost every cast. He caught many in the 10 to 12 inch range and an occasional lunker 14 to 15

inches long. To do the necessary wading he donned an old pair of cut-off jeans and an old pair of sneakers. After he

concluded his fishing he usually walked back down the road to the campground, at times getting a ride from another

fisherman.

The trip had been good for Ben; he was more relaxed than he had been for months. Physically also he was in better

shape. All the exercise from wading fast moving streams and taking long woodland hikes had put tone in his muscles that

had not been there for years. In addition, he had grown a moustache which, to his amusement, was gray. Also, because he

had been able to relax, his demeanor had returned to the wise-cracking, easy-going person he had normally been.

Leaving Elk Creek behind, he headed to Davis, the nearest town, for a much needed cleaning run. The laundry in Davis

had coin-operated showers as well as the washers and dryers to do all the laundry which had amassed in the past few

weeks. The shower was refreshing and relaxing. Following it, Ben had trouble keeping his eyes open as he listened to the

hypnotic drone of the washers and dryers.

As he sat there trying to stay awake an attractive, dark-haired woman in her late thirties entered with a laundry basket full

of clothes. She placed her basket in front of one of the washers, walked over to a change dispensing machine with her purse

and began feeding dollar bills into the machine. To her dismay the machine rejected each bill she tried to feed into it.

“I have some extra quarters if you need them,” said Ben. “Those machines never seem to work right. They think they are

Las Vegas slot machines, all take and no give.”

“Thank you. Are you sure you don’t need them?” replied the woman.

“No, I always have extra change with me. Who knows, I might find a poker game somewhere.”

Ben counted out four dollars in Quarters and handed them to he in exchange for four dollar bills she took from her purse.

She then turned to the washers and proceeded to load her washing. When her laundry was started she picked up a

magazine and sat down in a chair near Ben.

“Are you from Davis?” asked Ben.

“No, I’m from Oregon. I’m just traveling through and needed to do my laundry,” she replied.

“I’m just passing through too,” Ben continued. “I’m from California. I’ve seen better laundries in my travels; I guess I’ve

seen worse ones too. But any laundry is a big improvement over the navy, we had to do all our washing by hand.”

“Oh, you were in the navy?”

“Thirty years, I retired three years ago as an electronics technician. Now, when I feel like it, I repair TVs and VCRs.

When I’m home that is. I would rather be fishing or playing golf. How about you? Do you fish or play golf?”

“Not especially, I like to be outdoors though. I used to go fishing with my husband and enjoy nature while he fished.”

“You’re married, then?”

“No, I’m divorced, six months ago.”

“I guess we’re in the same boat; my wife died six months ago. I took this trip to stop feeling sorry for myself. It seems to

be working so far.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your wife; it must have been very difficult for you.”

“Yes, I’ve been quite lonely, and I’m not a loner by nature. Fortunately, I have my dog for company. Which reminds me, by

now he must be crossing his legs. I’d better go walk him. Would you mind keeping an eye on my laundry while I do that? I’ll

put them in a dryer first, I see they’re ready for that. By the way, my name is Ben, Ben Foster.”

“I’m Cindy Anson. Go walk your dog, I’ll keep an eye on your laundry.”

“Thanks.”

Ruff was overjoyed to see Ben. He had been cooped up several hours and needed to stretch his legs as well as answer

nature’s call. When Ruff was finished Ben took him into the laundry to show him to Cindy.

“He’s beautiful. What’s his name? “Cindy asked as she stroked Ruff behind his ears.

“Ruff.”

“Ruff?”

“Yeah, that’s the first sound he made after I brought him home. You know, ‘R-ruff’ as in bark.”

To Ben’s surprise, Cindy laughed at his wisecrack.

While they were talking Ben’s dryer stopped. Cindy sat stroking Ruff while Ben removed his clothes from the dryer and

folded them in neat stacks.

“Is that your navy training too?” Cindy asked, indicating his neat pile of clothes.

“I guess so. Say, are you staying in town somewhere tonight? I was wondering if we could have dinner together.”

Cindy stared at Ben closely before answering. “I’m at the Crestview Motel, Room 12. Can you pick me up at 7 o’clock?”

“Sure, if you don’t mind riding in a pickup.”

“No problem,” Cindy replied.

“Okay, I’ll see you at 7.” Ben packed his clean clothes in a duffel bag, picked up his laundry supplies and, with a wave to

Cindy, left with Ruff to return to his camper. He remembered seeing a small RV park on the outskirts of town. As he needed

to empty his holding tanks and refill his fresh water tank he headed for the park to check in for the night. To his surprise the

manager, Hank Summers, was an ex-navy man who had served on one of the same ships as Ben had served on, although

not at the same time.

Hank showed an immediate liking for Ruff. “If you want to sell your dog I’ll give you a good price for him,” he stated. Ben

thanked him but declined the offer.

That evening, at 7, Ben knocked at the door to Cindy’s room. When Cindy opened the door Ben was overwhelmed by

how attractive she was. She had changed from the t-shirt and jeans she had been wearing at the laundry to a blouse and

slacks that emphasized her slim shape. Also, she had arranged her hair in a style that outlined the classic shape of her face.

Ben stood and stared before stammering, “I hope I don’t sound too forward when I tell you I think you are one of the most

attractive women I’ve ever met.”

“Thank you, sir,” Cindy replied, with a curtsy.

Ben offered Cindy his arm and escorted her to his pickup. When he opened the door for her he quipped, “Sorry I don’t

have a cloak to spread for you, but then I’m not Sir Walter Raleigh, either.”

“Where’s Ruff?”

“I left him with the manager of the RV park; he took a liking to Ruff and offered to watch him while I was gone.”

At the restaurant each of them questioned the other about their lives and their likes and dislikes. Ben discovered that

Cindy played the piano and had for several years played at a piano bar near her home in Corvallis, Oregon to supplement the

family income. She played a variety of music, anything from ragtime to classical but preferred light jazz. It was this job that

led to her divorce. Her husband had played around while she was working and had accused her of doing the same.

“Anyway, that’s water over the dam,” she stated.

Also, Cindy loved the outdoors and hiked and backpacked whenever the opportunity arose. As with Ben, she had no

children. Ben described his navy career and his marriage to Marge and mentioned that he also liked to hike and backpack.

When they returned to her motel Ben walked Cindy to her door. Before saying goodnight he suggested that they meet

again the next day and take a hike, or something else she might like to do.

“I would like to get to know you better,” he commented. “I hope you feel the same way.”

“I do,” she replied. “But it can’t be tomorrow; I have important business to take care of in Missoula and won’t be back

until late. How about the day after tomorrow, Thursday? Why don’t you come by here at 9 o’clock Thursday morning and we’ll

spend the day together.”

“Sounds great to me, I’ll see you then. Goodnight, thanks for a nice evening.” Ben returned to his pickup and drove back

to the RV park for the night, his head somewhat in a whirl. He collected Ruff as he drove by the manager’s house.

***

The next day Ben returned to Elk Creek for another day of fishing this fabulous stream. He waded and fished the canyon

stretch; again the trout seemed to rise for every cast he made. Uncertain whether he would be able to cook any fish during

the next few days he released al that he caught. He wasn’t sure but he thought he had counted 18. During the day his

thoughts frequently were about Cindy. She was quite an attractive woman and seemed to be an interesting person.

On Thursday morning Ben returned to Davis and to the motel where he and Cindy had agreed to meet. When he arrived

he noticed a police car parked outside the office and two police officers standing outside talking to a third man who was

dressed in civilian clothes.

Ben began walking in the direction of Cindy’s room. As he approached her door one of the officers called out to him.

“Can we help you with something, Mister?”

“I’m here to see Mrs. Anson,” Ben answered.

The same officer that had called out to him, a tall, burly man with a few days growth of beard, walked over to him. On his

chest he wore a badge indicating he was chief of the Davis police force.

“Who are you and why do you want to see her?” the chief asked in a very surly voice.

“I don’t think it’s any of your business but my name is Ben Foster and I have an appointment with Mrs. Anson. I was to

meet her here at 9 o’clock,” replied Ben in as light a tone as he could muster.

“Let’s see some identification,” said the chief.

Ben took out his wallet and removed his driver’s license, which he handed to the chief. By this time the other officer had

walked over to them and stood next to the chief, his hand on the butt of his revolver.

“Is there something going on here that I should know about?” Ben asked. He was still trying to remain cool and calm but

these two policemen were acting in a very unfriendly manner.

“Where were you during the past 8 hours?” was the chief’s reply to Ben’s question.

Ben decided from the chief’s tone that he had better sound more cooperative. “I was here in town Tuesday doing my

laundry.” At this the policemen’s eyes opened wider and they moved closer to Ben. “I met Mrs. Anson Tuesday at the laundry

and we went to dinner together. We agreed to meet here this morning. She had some important business to take care of in

Missoula yesterday. I went back to Elk Creek, where I had been fishing before I came to town, and fished there all day

yesterday. Now, can someone tell me what’s going on?”

The chief was even more brusque in his reply than he had been. “Mrs. Anson was found yesterday afternoon about ten

miles from here, badly beaten. She’s in intensive care in the hospital. The doctor doesn’t know if she’s going to make it, and

I think you did it. Get into the police car, I’m going to take you downtown and lock you up.”

“This is preposterous,” stammered Ben. “Why should I beat up a woman I just met?”

“Get in the car. Read him his rights, Lonnie.” The other policeman proceeded to recite Ben his rights while the chief

handcuffed him and forcibly pushed him into the back of the police car.

“What about my truck and camper?” exclaimed Ben. “And I have a dog inside; what are you going to do with him?”

“They’ll be taken to the police lot. If the dog gets unruly we’ll shoot him,” was the reply.

“You do that and, so help me, when I get out of this frame, I’ll shoot you.”

“Threatening a police officer. We’ll have to add that to the charges.”

Ben decided he’d better keep his mouth shut until he had a chance to talk to a lawyer.

When they arrived at the police station Ben was practically thrown into a cell. Next to him was a drunk tank in which there

were several disheveled, bleary-eyed men, all in various stages of awakening from a drunken stupor. The cell was filthy.

Cigarette butts and other trash littered the floor, a toilet in the corner looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned for weeks and stank

so badly Ben moved as far from it as he could in the confined space. The bunk was also filthy; probably bug infested too,

Ben thought.

“I would like to make a phone call,” Ben exclaimed, but discovered no one was listening to him.

At noon a bowl of watery looking soup was thrust in through the door, then in the evening a plate of unidentifiable hash.

Other than that, no one came near his cell. Each time he tried to tell the man delivering the meal that he needed to make a

phone call but the man merely shrugged and walked away. Ben made an attempt at eating the evening meal; after a few

bites he pushed it aside in disgust.

The night was an almost sleepless one. Each time Ben turned or rolled his hip pushed through the thin pad on the bunk

and pressed against the hard surface beneath it.

He could feel creepy things all over his body and realized part of it was his imagination. During the night two drunks were put

in the next cell and proceeded to sing hymns in loud, off-key voices until they dropped off into a raucous, snoring sleep.

In the morning the chief came to Ben’s cell and informed him he was being charged with grievous bodily assault and

attempted murder and could make a phone call.

“I need to get my address book from my camper, to look up the number I need to call,” Ben answered.

“I’ll get it for you,” replied the chief. “Just tell me where it is.”

Ben, realizing he would get nowhere arguing with this uncouth brute, described the location of the book. “You’ve probably

stripped it anyway,” he commented.

“We searched it for guns,” was the reply. Ben knew this was illegal unless a search warrant had been issued but made

no further comment on the subject.

“What did you do with my dog?” he asked.

“You were lucky there. The man who manages the trailer park where you stayed came in to get him and is keeping him

at his place. I don’t know how he knew you were here; I guess it’s because in a small town news travel fast.”

Ben took the opportunity to ask the chief if he could speak with the RV park manager before he made his phone call.

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