The Fallen Body

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The buzzing of a chainsaw penetrated the otherwise stillness on the outskirts of Marlinsville. It was a familiar sound in the Texas hill country; farmers clearing out the underbrush that ringed their farmlands in preparation for the few months of winter weather, before it all grew back in the spring. Houses dotted the flat terrain, and those dwellings sheltered hearty folks who worked from dawn to dusk, mostly without complaint. The second and third generations, often times more, tended to their land because that was what their daddy did, and his daddy before him.

Marlinsville was the kind of town that, if you blinked once or twice, you might miss it. There was a large grain mill next to the railroad, the local high school football stadium seated enough to fit the entire population of the county, and everyone had a two-ton pickup as their family car.

Small farm towns like this were scattered from Texas all the way north to Canada, from the edge of the Rocky Mountains in Colorado to the mighty Mississippi River and beyond. The people in these towns represented the heart and soul of America. The economic ups and downs of the country affected these areas the hardest. Yet, one was hard to find anyone willing to give up the peace and serenity that came with living here, at a pace just a little bit slower than the rest of the world.

The chainsaw sputtered to a stop, and Taylour Dixxon set it down to wipe her brow with the back of her hand. She had a habit of wearing a bandana across her forehead to keep the sweat from rolling down into her eyes, but that was already soaked from the day's efforts. In addition to owning nearly ten acres of pristine real estate just outside of town, Taylour was one of a few sole practitioners in the area that practiced small town law. But today, she was putting some "sweat equity" into Dixxon Manor.

The fact that Marlinsville was the county seat of Fallen County meant that the government was the main employer, with farming and ranching right behind. There were long, straight stretches of county roads that both divided the land and connected the residents, many who could trace their roots back to the original settlers of the mid 1800's. Small clapboard churches with small cemetery plots dotted the landscape, with the dusty, gravel parking lot filled on Sunday mornings for Sabbath services and Wednesday evenings for Bible study.

After Taylour bundled up the thinner branches with twine and stacked the thicker trunks against the side of the barn for her fireplace, she collapsed on the front porch steps. Even though she was nearly spent from her exertions, Taylour felt the thrill of a job well done. She took a long, satisfying drink from her thermos and admired her surroundings. There was a small stretch of Bermuda grass that ringed the two-story farmhouse on all sides, between 75-100 feet until the tree line. In the front the ground was hard packed gravel in the rough shape of a horseshoe, which extended from the front porch towards the barn. The barn itself, which acted as a giant tool shed, was in need of a new paint job, but otherwise was in pretty good shape considering the harsh weather it had been through these past 50 years or so. The road from the house passed two Biloxi Crape Myrtles growing on either side, and then meandered around several large oak trees and through tall prairie grass for nearly 150 yards before it met up with the main road going into town.

Taylour loved the view that she had from her porch. She enjoyed lounging in a rocking chair that had been made by hand by her father's father as a gift to her grandmother many years ago. Her grandfather and his new bride were the original occupiers of Dixxon Manor, as it was affectionately called. With his father's help, they built the dwelling themselves, from the foundation up to the rooftop. Over the years Taylour's father renovated the inside structure, room by room, putting in bathrooms with showers, expanded closets and bedrooms, as well as modern appliances in the kitchen and in a new laundry room.

Outside, the dominant hues of golden grain and green leafy crops contrasted sharply with the wide open, brilliant blue skies that were frequently punctuated with white, billowy clouds that more often than not brought much needed rain, but could just as easily bring tornadoes and flash floods. The people of Marlinsville adjusted their lives according to the weather, where being able to predict the patterns was a skill passed on from generation to generation.

Except for when she went to off to college and law school, Taylour had lived her entire life in Marlinsville. Her parents were high school sweethearts who got married young, but they waited to have children while her father, Robert Dixxon went to school, graduating law school from the University of Texas, aka UT Law. He quickly developed a reputation for being both tenacious in defending his clients, as well as caring about what was best for them. He was not afraid to chew out his clients for being abusive or negligent, and then turn right around and offer his services pro bono because he knew that they couldn’t afford his fees. It was a difficult balancing act that he was especially good at, and everything he learned he taught to Taylour when she came to work for him when she was only a teenager. Taylour was destined to be an attorney as it was in her blood.

The shadows grew longer with the setting of the sun, so with aching muscles that were in desperate need of a nice, deep massage, Taylour lifted herself off the steps and into the house. She would have to settle for a bubble bath.

As she turned on the water and poured in the bubbles, she stared at herself in the mirror. She had a habit of inspecting for white hairs, which tended to multiply by three for every one that she pulled out. Sigh.

After slipping into the warmth of the bath, she took a wet wash cloth and put it over her face. With her eyes closed, she leaned back on her bath pillow and enjoyed the calm. Her thoughts drifted back to her father, Robert Dixxon.

* * *

Robert knew that Taylour was ready for the difficulties of being a small town lawyer from an incident that occurred right after Taylour joined his practice after passing the bar exam. One day a particularly difficult client of his burst into their office and demanded to speak with “his no-good lawyer” right then and there. Luckily, Robert was away at court, or he might have taken the client by the ear and forcefully escorted him out. Well within his rights to do so, but potentially losing the buffoon as a client. Instead, Taylour took the client by the arm, guided him into their small conference room, and listened to what he had to say. She allowed him to go on and on without interruption, occasionally interjecting an “I see…” or an “I understand…” The client, who had expected resistance to his wild accusations of professional misconduct, instead found that everything he said sailed right passed her. Eventually, like a prize fighter who comes out wildly swinging but lands no punches, he fell back into his chair, completely exhausted.

It was at that precise instance that Taylour respectfully delivered a point-by-point rebuttal of his argument, explaining to the client where he was mistaken. Her response had such an effect on the client that he sat up in his chair, hung his head as she talked, and in the end, asked for forgiveness for how he had acted.

Later that night at a public fundraiser for the local library, hosted by the Marlinsville Literary Foundation of which Robert was a board member, he relayed the entire story to Robert and how he had eventually begged Taylour not to drop him as a client. He apologized again for his behavior and handed Robert a $10,000 check made payable to that night’s charity.

* * *

Ring! Ring! The sound of the phone on her bedroom nightstand startled Taylour awake. She groaned as she pulled herself out of the tub and wrapped a towel around her. As she lifted the old-fashioned receiver, she looked back at the wet footprints she made on the linoleum and carpet.

"Hello?"

"Is this Taylour Dixxon?"

"Yes, this is she."

"Ms. Dixxon, this is Jim with (inaudible) Services. Are you happy with your current Internet Service Provider?"

"Uh, who is this?"

"This is Jim Edwards from Greentown Telephone Services."

Taylour rolled her eyes. "Jim Edwards from Greentown Telephone Services. Good, I'm writing that down."

"Er, OK. I wanted to--"

"What color eyes do you have? It's Jim, right?"

"Uh, I have blue eyes, but I--"

"Jim, I need to know if you are aware of the National Do Not Call Registry."

"What's that?"

"Oh, good, I'm about to make some money off of you. The National Do Not Call Registry is where individuals, like me, can register their phone numbers so that telemarketers, like you, do not solicit business from us."

"Ms. Dixxon, you're just making this up, aren't you?"

"Could I get your business address?"

"Why do you want my business address?"

"Because your company is about to be served with papers where you, Jim Edwards with blue eyes, and Greentown Telephone Services, will be named as defendants in a lawsuit. See, I'm a lawyer, and all I have to do is--"

Click.

Taylour smiled and put the receiver down.