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Apotheosis
A Spontoon Island story
© 2005-2023 by W. D. Reimer and M. Mitchell Marmel
All characters © their respective creators
Thumbnail art by
RockBaker
Two.
"Mother . . ."
The twins were in their early twenties now, and still bore marks of decidedly mixed ancestry; rosettes of dark spots decorated their brown fur, their ears were slightly pointed, and they still hadn’t grown into their tails. The sight of them flagging was fairly impressive. Frank and Toni also had a disturbing tendency towards knowing what the other was thinking, and often finished each others’ sentences.
They'd arrived before the Constabulary and the ambulance had, and as Toni sniffled back her tears, Frank continued, "Did . . . did you and Father . . . make arrangements? And where’s his will?"
Rosie blew her nose and glared at her son. Of course, Frank was taking courses at the University of the North Pacific’s Spontoon campus, with the intention of becoming a lawyer (Toni was also attending, to become an architect), but did that mean he had to assume that his parents were senile? “Of course we did. You know how careful your father was,” and she waved a paw at an adjoining room. “It’s all in there, including your father’s will. His desk, upper left drawer.”
The young buck stepped into the room. There was the sound of the drawer opening, and he came back out after a few moments. His muzzle, slightly shorter than was usual for whitetail deer, crested as he said, “He set up a scholarship fund. Wow.”
Rosie smiled through her tears as she thought of the lasting monument her husband had left behind. He had always set aside part of his earnings, and had made several very carefully thought-out investments that had grown. The will stipulated that the bulk of this money would be bequeathed to the University of the North Pacific to fund scholarships in law and police science for aspiring young furs. It was a fitting use of the money, and would guarantee that Franklin’s legacy of probity and professionalism would live on.
There had also been the Rainy Day fund, her and Franneleh’s term for the wedding gift they’d received from Reggie and Willow. At the time, Reggie had been the Vice-Chairman of F.R. Buckhorn and Sons, and held a fair amount of the company’s preferred stock. Not wanting for money, he had assigned the dividends from the shares to Franklin and Rosie.
The money had been very useful, mainly to put their son and daughter through college, but to also endow the university with a law scholarship.
Of course, not all of Franklin’s papers were in his office. Shortly after the War, a pair of furs showed up at the house, had a private conversation with him, and took away several boxes. Franklin never spoke about what they were, although Rosie had a few good guesses based on what he’d done for Spontoon during those years.
Frank folded up the blue-backed will and said, “I’ll make a few – “
“Phone calls? Yes,” Toni said. “I’ll help you, Frank. Mother, will you be okay?”
Rosie patted her daughter’s paw. “Of course I will, darling. Nu, go help your brother.” As the twins went to collect the phone and the address list, Rosie sat back and looked across the room at the fireplace.
Over the mantle was a portrait done just after their marriage, and she still smiled at how the artist had taken a few liberties by not picturing Rosie as pregnant. She thought back to the day when Franklin had learned that she was pregnant, and had gallantly proposed to her. She could still hear his voice as he protested that he wasn’t a rich man, but he would provide for her to the best of his ability. She had had to throttle back her desire for him in order to be practical, and explain that she had some money invested so that the two of them could live comfortably.
And so they had, despite the war, and the slump in trade immediately after it. She had recorded a few record albums as a way of making extra money, and she recalled how Franklin had listened to one of them, set the others aside, and never spoke about them again. She had tried not to be too embarrassed at his finding out about it, but the money had been put away wisely, and she had been a very careful manager.
It was a point of pride that they had never had to touch the Rainy Day fund. The balance was now very substantial.
Taking advantage of the postwar boom had helped the Spontoonies recover from the war, and tourists had come back to the islands to spend their money and be gulled by the natives. Rosie had expanded Luchow’s, but still gave free coffee or a stake at a meal to any constable who wanted it.
It was Rosie who had picked the site for their home, and as she looked at the wedding portrait, her mind went back once again to that day in 1938.
The sun on her husband’s fur . . . the light in his eyes . . .
Tears dampened her cheekfur again.
***
13JULY19601105 MSGSTART FROM ROSALIE STAGG MAIN ISLAND SPONTOON ISLAND INDEPENDENCIES TO REGGIE AND WILLOW BUCKHORN MONONGAHELA HOUSE BUCKS UK LE VIEUX GALLANT EST TOMBE STOP REPEAT LE VIEUX GALLANT EST TOMBE STOP COME SOONEST STOP ROSIE STOP MSGENDS
The telegram dropped from suddenly nerveless paws, and the whitetail doe put a paw to her muzzle.
Within her, Grace Stagg screamed in pain.
Willow Buckhorn shouted, “Oh my GOD! REGGIE!”
***
Telephone calls and more telegrams were sent out that same day to a variety of locations. Within a day, responses had come back, along with at least one entreaty to wait until certain people could arrive. One response came from Tahiti, which had been something of a surprise.
***
At a small house in a suburb of Seathl, Rain Island’s capital, a young rabbit with oddly-textured fur came home from the lumber company he managed to find his mother sobbing in her favorite chair, a telegram clutched in one shaking paw.
***
The Spontoon Mirror:
INSPECTOR STAGG PASSES
Spontoon Mourns
***
Radio LONO:
". . . we repeat, Chief Inspector Franklin Stagg has passed away at his home on Main Island. The Inspector was seventy-five, and had been in declining-"
***
LYRC-TV:
". . . special bulletin: The Althing has declared a period of official mourning following the death this morning of former Chief Inspector . . . "
***
Three days later, a MacArran MA-3 business jet bearing the letters FRB on its tail superimposed over a stylized leaf landed at Eastern Island Airport. The jet was directed to a special holding area containing a number of private aircraft which had arrived for the funeral, including a wartime B-25 bomber (now converted to a turboprop executive transport in gleaming polished aluminum and bearing the duCleds Chemicals logo on its twin tails).
A family of whitetail deer came down the stairs of the MA-3, and, along with the usual tourists, went immediately to the Customs shed. Ahead of all the other tourists, and despite the loud complaints from same, a slightly harried looking buck, a distraught doe and their twenty-something fawns were passed through without a search or a question and headed for the water taxis to Main Island.
***
"Rosie!"
For the umpteenth time in twenty plus years, two best friends hugged each other, drawing strength to combat their common grief.
Rosie patted Willow’s back consolingly and led her to the sofa in the living room as Reggie stepped into the room, shepherding their fawns.
Willow choked back a sob and hiccupped. “I . . . expected it – we all did, but it . . . it’s still a shock.”
“For you and me both, maideleh,” Rosie sniffled, reaching out with a free paw to grasp Reggie’s.
The buck looked sad, but smiled gamely. “We started out here from Bucks the instant we got the wire, Rosie. I doubt we could have got here faster.”
“I know, Reggie, and it’s sweet of you to get here so fast,” Rosie nodded. “But Franklin’s at the funeral home, if you want to go visit . . . ”
Willow sniffled and blinked up at her. Rosie raised an eyebrow, “What? You think I'm gonna have the funeral without you, already?”
“I guess not,” Reggie ventured, turning to console Mary Rose, his daughter, as Willow started weeping again. Their son Tommy patted his mother’s back while offering his pawkerchief.
After a few minutes, Willow wiped tears from her eyes and blew her nose. “Have . . . have the Brushes been by yet?”
Rosie laughed softly. “Oh, yeah, Old Durian-Face and his family have already been by. Orrin looked like he was going to explode, curl up in a corner and cry, or both. But that wife of his - she’s a rock, I tell you. Offered to have the women of her village cook dinner for me.”
Willow smiled. “Kiki's good people,” she said. “I think ‘formidable’ fits her best.”
Rosie grinned. "Damn tootin'. They're good people, both of them." She sniggered a bit. "Orrin said to tell you he wants you on your best behavior while you're here."
Willow managed a smile, drawling, "Whah, what EVAH could he mean by that? Ah'm a very proper English lady, Ah'll have y'all know."
A snort from the cheetah. "He remembers the headlines from New Haven in '54."
Despite herself, Willow broke out in a guffaw. "I didn't do it, no one saw me do it, there's no way he can prove anything!" Both ladies laughed uproariously, with Reggie looking adorably uncomfortable. Willow had bankrolled an attempted coup in New Haven that year, and it had failed when the people refused to join the small armed force. The force had withdrawn across the New Haven–US border and it cost a lot to hush it up.
That didn’t affect New Haven at all, but very few paid any attention to the Red Fist’s propaganda anyway.
Willow’s father had had words with his daughter over that. Reggie and Rosie never found out what was said, but Willow and Grace had been properly contrite. "Heh-heh-heh . . . Ah, me." Willow took a deep breath, rubbing her paws along her skirt to smooth it out before asking, “Would you like to - ?”
"Sure, but we should go to the funeral home first." An exasperated look from the doe. "Sorry, force of habit . . . Of course we should go,” Rosie said, getting to her feet and reaching for her purse. “I’ve been going there every day.”
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
A Spontoon Island story
© 2005-2023 by W. D. Reimer and M. Mitchell Marmel
All characters © their respective creators
Thumbnail art by
RockBakerTwo.
"Mother . . ."
The twins were in their early twenties now, and still bore marks of decidedly mixed ancestry; rosettes of dark spots decorated their brown fur, their ears were slightly pointed, and they still hadn’t grown into their tails. The sight of them flagging was fairly impressive. Frank and Toni also had a disturbing tendency towards knowing what the other was thinking, and often finished each others’ sentences.
They'd arrived before the Constabulary and the ambulance had, and as Toni sniffled back her tears, Frank continued, "Did . . . did you and Father . . . make arrangements? And where’s his will?"
Rosie blew her nose and glared at her son. Of course, Frank was taking courses at the University of the North Pacific’s Spontoon campus, with the intention of becoming a lawyer (Toni was also attending, to become an architect), but did that mean he had to assume that his parents were senile? “Of course we did. You know how careful your father was,” and she waved a paw at an adjoining room. “It’s all in there, including your father’s will. His desk, upper left drawer.”
The young buck stepped into the room. There was the sound of the drawer opening, and he came back out after a few moments. His muzzle, slightly shorter than was usual for whitetail deer, crested as he said, “He set up a scholarship fund. Wow.”
Rosie smiled through her tears as she thought of the lasting monument her husband had left behind. He had always set aside part of his earnings, and had made several very carefully thought-out investments that had grown. The will stipulated that the bulk of this money would be bequeathed to the University of the North Pacific to fund scholarships in law and police science for aspiring young furs. It was a fitting use of the money, and would guarantee that Franklin’s legacy of probity and professionalism would live on.
There had also been the Rainy Day fund, her and Franneleh’s term for the wedding gift they’d received from Reggie and Willow. At the time, Reggie had been the Vice-Chairman of F.R. Buckhorn and Sons, and held a fair amount of the company’s preferred stock. Not wanting for money, he had assigned the dividends from the shares to Franklin and Rosie.
The money had been very useful, mainly to put their son and daughter through college, but to also endow the university with a law scholarship.
Of course, not all of Franklin’s papers were in his office. Shortly after the War, a pair of furs showed up at the house, had a private conversation with him, and took away several boxes. Franklin never spoke about what they were, although Rosie had a few good guesses based on what he’d done for Spontoon during those years.
Frank folded up the blue-backed will and said, “I’ll make a few – “
“Phone calls? Yes,” Toni said. “I’ll help you, Frank. Mother, will you be okay?”
Rosie patted her daughter’s paw. “Of course I will, darling. Nu, go help your brother.” As the twins went to collect the phone and the address list, Rosie sat back and looked across the room at the fireplace.
Over the mantle was a portrait done just after their marriage, and she still smiled at how the artist had taken a few liberties by not picturing Rosie as pregnant. She thought back to the day when Franklin had learned that she was pregnant, and had gallantly proposed to her. She could still hear his voice as he protested that he wasn’t a rich man, but he would provide for her to the best of his ability. She had had to throttle back her desire for him in order to be practical, and explain that she had some money invested so that the two of them could live comfortably.
And so they had, despite the war, and the slump in trade immediately after it. She had recorded a few record albums as a way of making extra money, and she recalled how Franklin had listened to one of them, set the others aside, and never spoke about them again. She had tried not to be too embarrassed at his finding out about it, but the money had been put away wisely, and she had been a very careful manager.
It was a point of pride that they had never had to touch the Rainy Day fund. The balance was now very substantial.
Taking advantage of the postwar boom had helped the Spontoonies recover from the war, and tourists had come back to the islands to spend their money and be gulled by the natives. Rosie had expanded Luchow’s, but still gave free coffee or a stake at a meal to any constable who wanted it.
It was Rosie who had picked the site for their home, and as she looked at the wedding portrait, her mind went back once again to that day in 1938.
The sun on her husband’s fur . . . the light in his eyes . . .
Tears dampened her cheekfur again.
***
13JULY19601105 MSGSTART FROM ROSALIE STAGG MAIN ISLAND SPONTOON ISLAND INDEPENDENCIES TO REGGIE AND WILLOW BUCKHORN MONONGAHELA HOUSE BUCKS UK LE VIEUX GALLANT EST TOMBE STOP REPEAT LE VIEUX GALLANT EST TOMBE STOP COME SOONEST STOP ROSIE STOP MSGENDS
The telegram dropped from suddenly nerveless paws, and the whitetail doe put a paw to her muzzle.
Within her, Grace Stagg screamed in pain.
Willow Buckhorn shouted, “Oh my GOD! REGGIE!”
***
Telephone calls and more telegrams were sent out that same day to a variety of locations. Within a day, responses had come back, along with at least one entreaty to wait until certain people could arrive. One response came from Tahiti, which had been something of a surprise.
***
At a small house in a suburb of Seathl, Rain Island’s capital, a young rabbit with oddly-textured fur came home from the lumber company he managed to find his mother sobbing in her favorite chair, a telegram clutched in one shaking paw.
***
The Spontoon Mirror:
INSPECTOR STAGG PASSES
Spontoon Mourns
***
Radio LONO:
". . . we repeat, Chief Inspector Franklin Stagg has passed away at his home on Main Island. The Inspector was seventy-five, and had been in declining-"
***
LYRC-TV:
". . . special bulletin: The Althing has declared a period of official mourning following the death this morning of former Chief Inspector . . . "
***
Three days later, a MacArran MA-3 business jet bearing the letters FRB on its tail superimposed over a stylized leaf landed at Eastern Island Airport. The jet was directed to a special holding area containing a number of private aircraft which had arrived for the funeral, including a wartime B-25 bomber (now converted to a turboprop executive transport in gleaming polished aluminum and bearing the duCleds Chemicals logo on its twin tails).
A family of whitetail deer came down the stairs of the MA-3, and, along with the usual tourists, went immediately to the Customs shed. Ahead of all the other tourists, and despite the loud complaints from same, a slightly harried looking buck, a distraught doe and their twenty-something fawns were passed through without a search or a question and headed for the water taxis to Main Island.
***
"Rosie!"
For the umpteenth time in twenty plus years, two best friends hugged each other, drawing strength to combat their common grief.
Rosie patted Willow’s back consolingly and led her to the sofa in the living room as Reggie stepped into the room, shepherding their fawns.
Willow choked back a sob and hiccupped. “I . . . expected it – we all did, but it . . . it’s still a shock.”
“For you and me both, maideleh,” Rosie sniffled, reaching out with a free paw to grasp Reggie’s.
The buck looked sad, but smiled gamely. “We started out here from Bucks the instant we got the wire, Rosie. I doubt we could have got here faster.”
“I know, Reggie, and it’s sweet of you to get here so fast,” Rosie nodded. “But Franklin’s at the funeral home, if you want to go visit . . . ”
Willow sniffled and blinked up at her. Rosie raised an eyebrow, “What? You think I'm gonna have the funeral without you, already?”
“I guess not,” Reggie ventured, turning to console Mary Rose, his daughter, as Willow started weeping again. Their son Tommy patted his mother’s back while offering his pawkerchief.
After a few minutes, Willow wiped tears from her eyes and blew her nose. “Have . . . have the Brushes been by yet?”
Rosie laughed softly. “Oh, yeah, Old Durian-Face and his family have already been by. Orrin looked like he was going to explode, curl up in a corner and cry, or both. But that wife of his - she’s a rock, I tell you. Offered to have the women of her village cook dinner for me.”
Willow smiled. “Kiki's good people,” she said. “I think ‘formidable’ fits her best.”
Rosie grinned. "Damn tootin'. They're good people, both of them." She sniggered a bit. "Orrin said to tell you he wants you on your best behavior while you're here."
Willow managed a smile, drawling, "Whah, what EVAH could he mean by that? Ah'm a very proper English lady, Ah'll have y'all know."
A snort from the cheetah. "He remembers the headlines from New Haven in '54."
Despite herself, Willow broke out in a guffaw. "I didn't do it, no one saw me do it, there's no way he can prove anything!" Both ladies laughed uproariously, with Reggie looking adorably uncomfortable. Willow had bankrolled an attempted coup in New Haven that year, and it had failed when the people refused to join the small armed force. The force had withdrawn across the New Haven–US border and it cost a lot to hush it up.
That didn’t affect New Haven at all, but very few paid any attention to the Red Fist’s propaganda anyway.
Willow’s father had had words with his daughter over that. Reggie and Rosie never found out what was said, but Willow and Grace had been properly contrite. "Heh-heh-heh . . . Ah, me." Willow took a deep breath, rubbing her paws along her skirt to smooth it out before asking, “Would you like to - ?”
"Sure, but we should go to the funeral home first." An exasperated look from the doe. "Sorry, force of habit . . . Of course we should go,” Rosie said, getting to her feet and reaching for her purse. “I’ve been going there every day.”
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Cheetah
Size 120 x 87px
File Size 66.4 kB
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