The Harvest of
Christopher Cushing
A Love Story BY Judith Bronte
Rebecca Newton has endured the recent death of her beloved husband, only to be
involved in the corruption of her boss, Christopher Cushing. When Jose
Fernandez, a good-looking and fast thinking reporter, suddenly receives an
anonymous phone call, it leads him to Rebecca's door. As Rebecca relates her
story, Jose has suspicions that her late husband had not died by accident. Fearing
for her life, Rebecca and Jose take the first bus out of town, which happens to be
filled with honeymooners on their way to Niagara Falls. In this romantic
atmosphere, they join forces to uncover the truth behind Christopher Cushing and
make an unexpected discovery-- each other.
"The Harvest of Christopher Cushing" by Judith Bronte
1
Table of Contents
Scene One - Monday, December 21, 1998 / Buffalo, New York
/ Late Morning . . . page 3
Scene Two - Wednesday, September 29, 1998 (three months
earlier) / Santiago, Southern Baja, Mexico . . . page 8
Scene Three - Monday, December 21, 1998 (back to the
present) / Buffalo, New York / Late Afternoon . . . page 14
Scene Four - Monday, December 21, 1998 (later the same day)
/ Niagara Falls, New York / Evening . . . page 20
Scene Five - Tuesday, December 22, 1998 (the next day) /
Niagara Falls, New York / Morning . . . page 23
Scene Six - Tuesday, December 22, 1998 (the same day) /
Syracuse, New York / Late Morning . . . page 30
Scene Seven - Tuesday, December 22, 1998 (the same day) /
Niagara Falls, New York . . . page 34
Scene Eight - Wednesday, December 23, 1998 (the next day) /
Niagara Falls, New York . . . page 38
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Scene One
Monday, December 21, 1998 / Buffalo, New York / Late
Morning
"It is the glory of God to conceal a thing: but the honour of
kings is to search out a matter."
~ Proverbs 25:2 ~
"Wake up dear," Mrs. Newton coaxed, nudging her sleeping
daughter's shoulder. Rebecca, 26, and former secretary of
Christopher Cushing, pulled the covers over her head in silent
protest. "There's a reporter from 'America Weekly' downstairs
and he wants an interview. You aren't in any trouble, are you,
Love?" asked Mrs. Newton.
Rebecca pushed back her long, brown hair away from her face
and looked into her mother's troubled eyes. "Of course not!"
smiled Rebecca. "Go back and keep Dad company. I'll be down
in a minute," she reassured.
Mrs. Newton went back downstairs while Rebecca got dressed.
She took a deep breath and descended the staircase. A casually
dressed man stood up and approached Rebecca as she entered
the living room.
"Mrs. Rebecca Newton?" he asked, holding out his hand, in a
friendly manner. "I'm Jose Fernandez of 'America Weekly'."
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3
"Mr. Fernandez," replied Rebecca, shaking his hand.
"Call me Jose," he smiled, taking out a tape recorder. "May I
record this interview?" he asked, looking up for her permission.
"Why not?" replied Rebecca dryly.
"Do I sense reluctance, Mrs. Newton?" asked Jose, taking out
his note pad. "I thought all pretty secretaries loved publicity."
"Some more than others," replied Rebecca evenly, accepting the
cup of tea her mother handed her. Jose smiled grimly. He could
tell this wasn't going to be as easy of an interview as he had
hoped.
"Mrs. Newton," he began, "are you currently employed by the
office of Christopher Cushing?" Rebecca took a sip of tea, her
hand slightly trembling. When Jose first mentioned the fact she
was a secretary, she had an uneasy feeling of which direction
the interview was going to take.
"No, I am not," replied Rebecca, rashly. Mr. Newton looked up
from his newspaper. This was news to him! He had thought his
daughter had merely come home to spend Christmas with her
family and friends.
"When were you let go?" continued Jose.
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4
"Excuse, me?" asked Rebecca.
"When were you fired?" asked Jose, rephrasing the question.
"I understood the question, Mr. Fernandez. What I don't
understand is your misconception that I was fired."
"You were not fired from Christopher Cushing's office? Why,
then, is the reason you no longer work there?"
"Mr. Fernandez, what are you leading up to?" asked Rebecca.
"I was hoping you could tell me," smiled Jose.
"There's no big mystery, really," stammered Rebecca, "I quit for
personal reasons. I was hoping to save it as a surprise; my
parents don't know about it yet." Mr. Newton dropped the
newspaper to the floor.
"Mother!" he called, "Rebecca has news for us!" There was no
need for him to call her, for Mrs. Newton had been listening to
the interview from the kitchen and was already standing beside
her husband.
"Go on, Love. What news?" coaxed Mrs. Newton.
"Mom and Dad," Rebecca nervously began, "I'm going to have
a baby. I'm going to have Peter's baby." Mrs. Newton broke
into tears and hugged her daughter. Mr. Newton walked over to
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the fireplace and picked up the framed picture that had a loving
preeminence on the mantle. Jose disappointedly turned off the
tape recorder. This was a dead end. Rebecca saw the picture in
her father's hands and broke out into uncontrollable sobs. Mrs.
Newton hugged Rebecca tightly.
"I don't understand," asked Jose, turning to Mr. Newton, "isn't
she happy?" Mr. Newton wiped the tears from his eyes.
"It's a bittersweet moment. Peter died last month in a car
accident," Mr. Newton said, pointing to the picture in his other
hand.
"Peter? Who was Peter?" asked Jose, forgetting to extend
sympathy or condolence.
"Why, Peter was our son and Rebecca's husband," answered
Mr. Newton, indignantly. Jose patted the pockets of his jacket,
searching for a notepad. "Peter was such a happy person,"
continued Mr. Newton, "he could light up a room with his
smile." Jose scribbled something down on the note pad and tore
off the page.
"Mr. Newton," I would like to ask your daughter-in-law a few
more questions, when she feels up to it." Jose handed him the
note. "That's my telephone number. Please see that she gets it?"
Mr. Newton took the note and nodded. Jose showed himself to
the door and got into his car. Something in his gut told him
Rebecca was hiding something. But what? He opened the
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manilla envelope tucked under his seat. All the research he had
done for the past three months had been stuffed into it,
including a cassette tape. Jose listened to the tape again. The
cassette contained a recording of the anonymous phone call that
had kicked off his investigation, over three months before.
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Scene Two
Wednesday, September 29, 1998 (three months earlier) /
Santiago, Southern Baja, Mexico
"Therefore to him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to
him it is sin."
~ James 4:17 ~
Jose Fernandez, 35, and a reporter with 'America Weekly' for
over fifteen years, had just drifted to sleep on his beach towel,
enjoying the hot Mexican sun, when a bellboy tapped him on
the shoulder.
"Excuse me seņor, but you are wanted on the telephone," said
the young boy.
"I'm on vacation," protested Jose, intent that his office would
not cut short this vacation also.
"Seņor, it's your secretary. She's called five times. Por favor,
seņor," the boy pleaded.
"I'm coming," Jose replied, standing up. The hotel clerk handed
the phone receiver to Jose.
Jose: I'm here. Make it quick.
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8
Person on the other end of the telephone: Fine greeting! I've
called you a dozen times!
Jose: The bellboy said 'five', Diane.
Diane: How did you know it was me?
Jose: No one else would call me five times during my vacation
and expect an answer.
Diane: As your secretary, I reserve the right to pester you any
time I want. Especially, when someone is pestering me.
Jose: Who is it?
Diane: Mr. Collins wants to talk to you. His phone number is
555 326-9844.
Jose: Wait a second. Who's Mr. Collins?
Diane: He wouldn't say, only that it's extremely urgent.
Jose: Extremely urgent?
Diane: I believe the words 'life and death' were used. You better
call him, Jose.
Jose: O.K., I will.
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Diane: As soon as I hang up?
Jose: Sure. Bye!
Jose punched the number into the telephone. The phone only
rang once before someone answered.
Jose: Hello, is this Mr. Collins?
Collins: Yes, it is.
Jose: I'm Jose Fernandez. My secretary said you were trying to
reach me.
Collins: <no reply>
Jose: Hello?
Collins: Do you know of a company called 'ClearFieldz, Inc.'?
Jose: No.
Collins: ClearFieldz is a non-governmental, commercial
company that is occasionally hired by private parties to clear
away anti-personnel land mines and unexploded ordnance left
over from previous wars. <pause>
Jose: I'm listening. Do you mind if I tape record this call?
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Collins: Well, if it will help you, then I guess it's all right. The
UN contracts organizations such as ClearFieldz to demine
suspected land mine locations in other countries. However,
ClearFieldz also subcontracts other commercial organizations.
Jose: If the UN doesn't mind, why should you?
Collins: Subcontracting doesn't bother me; it's HOW they
subcontract that I don't like.
Jose: How are they subcontracting?
Collins: ClearFieldz is practicing something they call 'stretching
the profit margin'. Someone is forging documents within
ClearFieldz, accrediting subcontracted personnel with
experience they don't have.
Jose: Why?
Collins: Money. Someone in a key position is making money
and 'stretching' personnel so they can make more money by
taking in more work than they should-- at the risk and expense
of other people's lives.
Jose: How do you know it's just one person?
Collins: I don't- not personally, but it's the way the system
works. Just one rotten apple can make the good apples look
rotten also. Besides, I've seen the records. I know what I'm
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11
talking about!
Jose: What records are you referring to?
Collins: I can't say.
Jose: Do you know of other companies who's conduct is
questionable?
Collins: No. ClearFieldz is the only one I'm aware of.
Jose: How do you know all this?
Collins: I can't tell you without endangering myself.
Jose: Why did you choose me to tell this to?
Collins: I've followed your stories in the newspapers. You seem
to be honest. Mr. Fernandez, I can't face God, I can't- not when
there's something I can do about it. Like the Bible says, 'to him
that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin.' I
think that's in James chapter four somewhere.
Jose: Verse seventeen. Tell me, Mr. Collins, what do you think
I can do about this?
Collins: You're a reporter! Don't let him get away with murder!
<click!>
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Jose dialed the number again, but there was no answer. He
quickly called his office. Diane answered the phone.
Jose: Diane, trace this number and see where it is. Call me back
when you find out.
Jose only had to wait ten minutes before Diane called back.
Jose: What did you find out?
Diane: The number 555 326-9844 is a pay phone in New York.
Jose: Which part of New York?
Diane: What does it matter? Just look up his name in the phone
book!
Jose: No. If the phone number isn't real, then his name isn't
real. Which part of New York?
Diane: The western part-- Buffalo, New York.
"The Harvest of Christopher Cushing" by Judith Bronte
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Scene Three
Monday, December 21, 1998 (back to the present) / Buffalo,
New York / Late Afternoon
"There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to
man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted
above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a
way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it."
~ 1 Corinthians 10:13 ~
It was approximately four in the afternoon when Mrs. Rebecca
Newton appeared on the porch of her parent's home. Jose
looked up. He had remained in the car the entire afternoon
reviewing his manilla envelope.
"Mr. Fernandez?" asked Rebecca, knocking on the window of
his car. "May I talk to you?" Jose rolled down his window. "Is
there somewhere we could go? I don't want my parents to hear
this," said Rebecca, nervously. Jose leaned over and opened the
passenger door. Rebecca climbed in.
"Anywhere in mind?" asked Jose.
"The mall. There's a lot of people there," replied Rebecca. After
they were well inside the mall, Rebecca sat down on a bench
outside a toy store. The loudspeakers played 'Jingle Bells', and
the sound of children's excited voices filled the air. Jose sat
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14
down beside her on the bench. "It didn't occur to me until you
left my parent's home, but you're the reporter who tried to call
me three months ago," asked Rebecca, "aren't you?"
"I am," replied Jose. "I asked some of the people who operated
businesses beside ClearFieldz' office, and they said you left
there last Friday, looking troubled. They guessed that you had
been fired. I thought if you had been fired, you might be willing
to answer some questions." Jose stopped talking and waited for
Rebecca to speak her mind. If there was one thing Jose had
learned by being a reporter, it was how to listen. She was about
to talk and he knew it.
"I was told," began Rebecca,"that if I spoke to you, I would be
fired. I guess it doesn't matter now." Rebecca watched the small
children running in and out of the toy store. "What I told my
parents wasn't true. I'm not pregnant. I just didn't want to
frighten them."
"Won't they find out when you don't have a baby in nine
months?" asked Jose. Rebecca shook her head.
"I won't be alive in nine months, Mr. Fernandez. They will see
to that."
"They?" asked Jose.
"The company I worked for, ClearFieldz, is run by people,
mostly men, with a background in the military. There are
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15
people in ClearFieldz that would be more than willing to kill
me, if the order were given. It wouldn't make any difference to
them."
"Why?" asked Jose, incredulously.
"I was the secretary to Christopher Cushing, president of
ClearFieldz, Inc. I had access to sensitive files, that, if made
public, could be incriminating to the personnel of ClearFieldz
and it's president." Jose glanced around them. He was beginning
to feel uneasy.
"Do you have any of these files, Mrs. Newton?" he asked
carefully. Jose saw Rebecca's hands tremble. He put his hand
on top of hers. "Do you?" he repeated. Rebecca nodded. Her
face was pale white. "Does Cushing know you have these
files?" Rebecca's breathing grew rapid. "Mrs. Newton, you're
hyperventilating," Jose warned. "Hang your head down, and
breathe," he instructed. Rebecca did as she was told. When she
felt better, Jose repeated his question. "Does Christopher
Cushing know you have the files?"
"He does now," Rebecca replied, "at least, I think he does. I
took them from the locked file cabinet before I left work, last
Friday."
"Are you telling me you just left, not giving any explanation?"
asked Jose, looking at her in surprise. Rebecca nodded. "When
Cushing arrives at his office today, and finds both you and the
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16
files missing... Mrs. Newton! whatever were you thinking!"
exclaimed Jose half angrily. Rebecca covered her face with her
hands.
"With Peter gone, I didn't have much to lose. I thought I could
do something he would be proud of!" she sobbed.
"So you took the files and went home? Mrs. Newton, why did
you go home? They would be sure to search there first. Why?"
asked Jose, only half hearing her explanation.
"Mr. Cushing doesn't look at the files until everyone else has
gone home. He usually doesn't check them until five-thirty
p.m.," explained Rebecca. "I wanted to say good-bye to my
family first. I thought I would have time."
Jose checked his watch. It was ten minutes after five. "We don't
have much time, Mrs. Newton," remarked Jose, helping
Rebecca up from her seat.
"We don't have much time for what?" asked Rebecca, wiping
the tears from her face.
"Time to become scarce," replied Jose. He rushed Rebecca
through the mall, always choosing the way with the most
people. A tourist bus pulled up in front of the mall. It's
passengers lined up and climbed on board. "This way," said
Jose, tugging on Rebecca's arm.
"The Harvest of Christopher Cushing" by Judith Bronte
17
"But, your car," Rebecca protested.
"Forget the car," Jose replied, helping her onto the bus. Jose
chose two seats near the back. He noticed the bewildered look
on Rebecca's face.
"If, and I say IF," explained Jose, in an attempt to calm
Rebecca's nerves, "if Cushing hasn't missed the files before five
thirty, then the likelihood that you were being followed was not
high. However," Jose sighed, "after what you've told me, and
after all the noise I've made at ClearFieldz's office, I, most
likely, was being followed. Either way, I wouldn't want to stake
our lives on it." Jose patted his bus seat, comfortingly. "God
doesn't give His own more than they can handle, Mrs. Newton.
If one way is closed, you can be sure another way will open.
Today, the way opened in the form of this bus." Rebecca leaned
back against her headrest. She was so tired. Jose went to the
front of the bus and paid their fare. He also inquired about their
destination.
"Where are we going?" asked Rebecca when Jose had resumed
his seat.
"Niagara Falls, Mrs. Newton," replied Jose in his easy manner.
"Do you think we'll be safe there?" she asked.
"As safe there as anywhere," answered Jose with a smile.
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18
"Are you sure?" she asked, her voice filling with uncertainty.
"Mrs. Newton, God chose our destination. You must have a
little faith. I'm not going to spend the rest of the day worrying."
Jose closed his eyes and yawned, hoping that the power of
suggestion would cause Mrs. Newton to do likewise. Soon,
Rebecca was asleep.
"The Harvest of Christopher Cushing" by Judith Bronte
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Scene Four
Monday, December 21, 1998 (later the same day) / Niagara
Falls, New York / Evening
"Discretion shall preserve thee, understanding shall keep thee."
~ Proverbs 2:11 ~
It was six twenty-three p.m. when the tourist bus pulled up to
the Marriott Fallsview hotel. The sun had already retired for the
night, leaving the solitary moon to glow in the black sky like a
large, fluorescent nite light. Jose shook Rebecca's arm.
"Mrs. Newton, it's time to get out of the bus," Jose announced,
taking a good look around. Rebecca and Jose followed the
crowd into the hotel. "Mrs. Newton, I suggest you sign the
register as a Mr. and Mrs., using, of course, a different name,
and tell the clerk that your husband will be joining you later as
an explanation of why he is not with you. There's no sense in
making it easy for Cushing to find you," Jose said in half
whispers. "After you sign in, go to the dining room and order
dinner. I'll get a room under the name 'Anthony Ramirez' and
meet you there. You better tell me the name you intend to use,
just in case," added Jose.
"How about Mr. and Mrs. Collins?" suggested Rebecca. A look
of recognition briefly flashed across Jose's face.
"Why do you suggest the name 'Collins', Mrs. Newton? Is there
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20
any particular reason?" he asked.
"Why, Collins was my maiden name," Rebecca replied. "Why?
Don't you think it will do?" she asked.
"No, I don't think so," Jose replied abruptly. Rebecca quickly
decided on 'Brewster' and signed the register as Jose had
instructed her. Rebecca waited in the dining room for an hour
before Jose entered and sat down at the table. His face was
grave and somber. Dinner was served, and Rebecca remained
silent. Newlyweds dotted the dining room, each table defining
the dimensions of separate little worlds; their spouses being the
only other citizen. The contented faces reminded Rebecca all
too well of Peter.
"If you'll excuse me, Mr. Fernandez. I don't feel well. I think I'll
go to my room now and rest," Rebecca explained, leaving the
room as soon as she could form the words. This suited Jose
well. He was in a considerable amount of distress, himself.
Collins! The name had echoed through his brain incessantly for
the last three months. He remembered how Mr. Newton had
said Peter died in a car accident.
"Car accident, ha!" muttered Jose angrily. Why hadn't it never
occurred to him before, that the anonymous phone caller, 'Mr.
Collins', was in fact, Peter Newton, husband of Rebecca
Newton. "How was I supposed to know?" he argued. "If I had
only known that Mr. Collins was Mrs. Newton's husband, I
would never have stirred the hornet's nest by asking questions
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21
that would create suspicion and trouble!" A new thought came
to him. "If Cushing and his men arranged Peter Newton's death,
then they must have had reason to suspect Rebecca," he
thought. "Why didn't they stop her before she had the chance to
act?" Jose took another mouthful of dinner. "Maybe, two
deaths, especially husband and wife, dying from separate causes
within such a short span of time, would have drawn too much
attention," Jose reasoned. Jose's newfound understanding of
events did little to soften his guilt over Peter's death. His mind
told him there was nothing that he could have done differently,
even if given a second chance; his heart, however, was another
matter. Jose decided not to finish his dinner, but instead, go to
his room.
Jose's room was on the same floor as Rebecca's, a fact he
thanked God for, for it was easier to protect her than if they had
been on separate floors. Before going to bed, Jose softly
knocked on Rebecca's door.
"Mrs. Newton?" he whispered.
"Yes?" came Rebecca's reply. "What is it?"
"Be sure to keep your door locked, Mrs. Newton. Good night,"
whispered Jose.
"Good night, Mr. Fernandez," Rebecca responded. He could tell
by the sound of her voice, that she had been crying. With a
guilty sigh, Jose returned to his room.
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Scene Five
Tuesday, December 22, 1998 (the next day) / Niagara Falls,
New York / Morning
"If thou seest the oppression of the poor, and violent perverting
of judgment and justice in a province, marvel not at the matter:
for He [God] that is higher than the highest regardeth; and
there be higher than they."
~ Ecclesiastes 5:8 ~
"Mr. Fernandez, are you in?" asked Rebecca, knocking on
Jose's door.
"Come in," called Jose. Rebecca opened the door to find him on
the telephone. He motioned for her to take a seat, and continued
with his conversation.
Jose: Before I forget, you are calling me from a pay phone,
right? Don't trust the office phones, just in cased they're tapped.
Diane: I'm not a two year old, Jose!
Jose: Glad to hear it. So the car wasn't searched?
Diane: Nope. I found your manilla envelope under the seat, just
where you always leave it. Really, Jose, this is the twentieth
century! When are you going to start using your computer? I'm
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23
the only secretary in the building who has to collate files from
her boss' manilla envelope!
Jose: You'll endure the shame somehow, Diane. Hold on, for a
moment...
"Mrs. Newton, where did you hide Cushing's files?" Jose asked
Rebecca.
"I'd rather not say," she stammered, "but I'll go get them, if you
want."
"You have the files here?" exclaimed Jose. "I don't remember
you carrying anything yesterday." Rebecca looked embarrassed
and blushed. "Oh. I see," replied Jose.
"What do you see?" asked Diane, her voice carrying loudly over
the telephone receiver.
"I'll bring you Mr. Cushing's files," Rebecca said, quickly
excusing herself.
Jose: Never mind, Diane. Rebecca has the files on her. You
won't have to go get them, after all. I would like my envelope,
though.
Diane: How soon do you need it?
Jose: FedEx it as soon as possible. Send it in care of the
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24
Marriott Fallsview hotel, Niagara Falls, room 219, and address
it to Anthony Ramirez.
Diane: What are sisters for?
Jose: I'm not sure, but I'll let you know when I find out.
Diane: Ha, ha. <click!>
Ten minutes later, Rebecca knocked on Jose's door. Jose
opened the door and took the files she handed him.
"There's only four or five files," she pointed out as Jose quickly
scanned the pages, as if searching for something in particular.
"What are you looking for?" asked Rebecca.
"Direct phone calls to or from the UN," commented Jose. "I
heard that companies such as ClearFieldz are sometimes
contracted by the UN. It's at least a place to start."
"You won't find any direct calls from the UN," warned
Rebecca. Jose looked up.
"Why not?" he asked.
"Mr. Cushing never spoke with anyone from the UN, directly,"
said Rebecca, taking a seat on the couch.
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25
"Tell me, Mrs. Newton," began Jose, "if I understand this
correctly. ClearFieldz has, on occasion, been contracted by the
UN to demine portions of land-- is this correct?"
"Well, yes and no. You see, Mr. Cushing was responsible for
gathering groups of subcontractors or individuals with similar
field experience and lease them out, under ClearFieldz name, to
other contractors who were hired directly by the UN or private
parties to perform certain jobs requiring specialized
capabilities," explained Rebecca.
"Let me run this by you and see if I have it straight," said Jose.
"The UN contracts a person or corporation to do a specific job;
they, in turn, hire Christopher Cushing (for instance), and he
gathers the necessary personnel from smaller corporations. This
reminds me of the fish who swallowed a smaller fish, who
swallowed an even smaller fish, and so on," commented Jose
wearily.
"The process is necessary, I assure you, Mr. Fernandez," said
Rebecca. "No one corporation owns all the technology or
individualized skills required for complex operations. It takes
years of technological advances from multiple universities and
commercial developmental corporations to pioneer the needed
technology. Someone has to bring it all together into an
operational team. This layering, however, does have a
downside. There's a lot of money to be made in the demining of
land, especially when governments pay for it. It only takes one
person in the non-governmental side, such as Mr. Cushing, to
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26
forge documents when they assemble their teams. Maybe the
personnel might not have all the experience their credentials
claim, so Mr. Cushing falsifies them. This way, he can create
more teams and make more money." Rebecca stood up from her
seat on the couch and walked over to the window. The view of
the Niagara Falls was breathtaking. However, Rebecca did not
notice it, for her mind was elsewhere. "I'm not saying all the
demining companies do this, only ClearFieldz."
"How can the UN not know all this?" asked Jose. Rebecca
turned around.
"The UN is not omniscient. They are not God, no matter how
many safeguards they have. Only God has the right to claim
that He never makes mistakes, Mr. Fernandez," reminded
Rebecca stoutly.
"Very true," Jose replied, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Tell
me, Mrs. Newton are you aware of a phone call your husband
made to me, before he died in the car accident?" Rebecca's
mouth opened wide in astonishment.
"Peter called you? about this?" she asked, pointing to the files
Jose was holding. "Mr. Fernandez, that's impossible. Peter
never knew anything about these files. I didn't want to worry
him," said Rebecca. Jose nervously ran his fingers through his
thick, black hair.
"Then," Jose said thoughtfully, "Peter was not my anonymous
"The Harvest of Christopher Cushing" by Judith Bronte
27
caller."
"What made you think it was my husband?" asked Rebecca.
"Because he used the name 'Collins'," Jose explained, his voice
betraying more emotion than he had intended.
"I never told anyone what I told you this morning," affirmed
Rebecca. "But, who could have made the call?" she asked,
nervously.
"Whoever did make the call, I'm glad it wasn't your husband,
Mrs. Newton," said Jose.
"Why is that, Mr. Fernandez?" asked Rebecca, curiously.
"Well, I felt I might have been responsible, in some way, for
Peter's death. I'm relieved to find I was mistaken," sighed Jose.
"You could never intentionally hurt anyone, Mr. Fernandez,"
reassured Rebecca. "It's just not in you," she added, walking to
the door.
"Have you eaten breakfast, Mrs. Newton?" asked Jose, before
she had the chance to leave.
"No, I haven't," replied Rebecca.
"Would you care to have breakfast with me?" Jose asked.
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28
Rebecca hesitated, her fingers feeling the wedding band on her
left hand. "I don't recommend eating in the dining room,"
continued Jose, "even though we got away with it last night."
Jose walked over to the telephone and picked up the receiver.
"It's better to maintain a low profile and not be too easy to
find," he explained. Rebecca nodded in agreement.
"Who are you calling?" she asked.
"Room service," replied Jose with a smile. "If we can't go to the
breakfast, the breakfast will have to come to us!" Rebecca
smiled.
"The Harvest of Christopher Cushing" by Judith Bronte
29
Scene Six
Tuesday, December 22, 1998 (the same day) / Syracuse, New
York / Late Morning
"There be three things which are too wonderful for me, yea,
four which I know not: The way of an eagle in the air; the way
of a serpent upon a rock; the way of a ship in the midst of the
sea; and the way of a man with a maid."
~ Proverbs 30:18-19 ~
Diane, 22, the secretary and stepsister of Jose Fernandez, sealed
her boss's manilla envelope in a FedEx box, and sent the bulky
parcel on it's way to Niagara Falls. Just as the package left, a
handsome man dressed in a suit appeared in the office doorway.
He double-checked the name printed on the door and stepped
inside. Diane looked up from her computer.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
"Yes, my name is Detective Foster. I'm with homicide," he said,
flashing his badge. "I'd like to speak to Jose Fernandez."
"Why?" asked Diane.
"I want to ask him some questions," replied Detective Foster.
"Well, you can't," Diane stoutly declared.
"The Harvest of Christopher Cushing" by Judith Bronte
30
"Why not?" asked Detective Foster.
"Jose is not in," replied Diane, "he is on vacation."
"Where is he staying?" inquired Detective Foster, taking out his
notepad.
"Why do you want to know?" asked Diane, eyeing him
suspiciously.
"This just isn't my day," Detective Foster groaned under his
breath.
"What did you say?" asked Diane.
"I want to ask him some questions," repeated Detective Foster.
"You said that already," reminded Diane.
"Well, it's still true!" exclaimed Detective Foster. "Where is
Jose Fernandez, Mrs...," Detective Foster bent over to read the
name plaque sitting on her desk, "Mrs. Fernandez," he finished.
"That's 'Miss' Fernandez," corrected Diane, finishing with a
charming smile.
"Where is Jose Fernandez, 'Miss' Fernandez?" repeated
Detective Foster, patiently.
"The Harvest of Christopher Cushing" by Judith Bronte
31
"May I see your ID?" asked Diane.
"I showed you my badge when I came in here," said Detective
Foster, pointing to the door. "Why do you need to see it,
again?"
"If you want to know where my brother, I mean, my boss is,
then I will need to see your badge," insisted Diane. Detective
Foster sighed.
"Here," he replied, handing her his badge, "satisfied?" Diane
picked up her telephone receiver. "Who are you calling? You
haven't answered me yet!" he protested. Diane nodded in
acknowledgment. "I kept my end of the bargain," reminded
Detective Foster.
"Are you married, detective?" asked Diane, over the receiver.
"What does that have to do with anything?" he objected. Diane
smiled.
"No, I'm not married, and this is a glowing example of the
reason why," groaned Detective Foster, flopping down into the
chair in front of Diane's desk. He had realized after a few
sentences into the discussion, that if he wanted information
from her, he would also have to give information. He waited,
patiently, for Diane to finish her phone call.
"The Harvest of Christopher Cushing" by Judith Bronte
32
"Hello? Do you have a someone in your homicide department
masquerading as 'Detective Foster'?" asked Diane. "You do?
Thank you," she answered, "Have a nice day!" Diane hung up
the telephone. "Now, what was your question?" she asked
sweetly.
"The Harvest of Christopher Cushing" by Judith Bronte
33
Scene Seven
Tuesday, December 22, 1998 (the same day) / Niagara Falls,
New York
"Blessed be the name of God for ever and ever: for wisdom and
might are His: And He changeth the times and the seasons... He
giveth wisdom unto the wise, and knowledge to them that know
understanding".
~ Daniel 2:20-21 ~
Jose and Rebecca had breakfast near the window, in view of
Niagara Falls.
"Did you know," asked Jose, helping himself to more eggs,
"that the Marriott Fallsview is the closest hotel to the falls?"
Rebecca shook her head. Jose noted her plate was still
untouched. "The Horseshoe Falls has over 600,000 gallons of
water pass over it, every second," remarked Jose, in a cheerful
voice. Rebecca smiled weakly. "If you don't believe me, you
can ask room service," Jose grinned. Rebecca stared at her plate
blandly. "Aren't you hungry?" he asked.
"I was earlier, but I don't think I could keep it down," replied
Rebecca. "I just don't feel very good."
"Why don't you take a nap on the couch," suggested Jose,
getting up from the table, "while I take a closer look at these
"The Harvest of Christopher Cushing" by Judith Bronte
34
files." Rebecca stood up. She unsteadily walked over to the
couch. "You really don't look very well," observed Jose, in a
concerned voice.
"I feel dizzy," said Rebecca, reeling back and forth. Jose helped
Rebecca sit down.
"Hang your head down, and stay calm," directed Jose. "You
know, you did the same thing in the mall, yesterday," observed
Jose. "I thought it was just because of all the excitement, but
now, I'm not so sure." Jose crossed the room and called the
hotel's main desk. When Jose returned, Rebecca was curled up
on the couch, busily fighting back fear. "I just called the desk,"
he explained, sitting down beside her, "the hotel physician will
be here soon."
"I don't understand what's happening," Rebecca moaned.
"Have a little faith, Mrs. Newton," reassured Jose, patting her
hand, "remember what you told me, 'God never makes
mistakes'."
"What do we do now?" asked Rebecca, weakly.
"About what?" Jose asked.
"About Mr. Cushing. What do we do next?" repeated Rebecca,
not so ill that she hadn't forgotten her prior problem.
"The Harvest of Christopher Cushing" by Judith Bronte
35
"Well," replied Jose, "all we can do at the moment, is to wait.
My car, you know, the one we left at the mall, was not
searched. I'm guessing, of course, but I don't think we are being
pursued, at the moment. I can't understand why, but it's a
feeling I have."
"It must be your reporter's instinct," observed Rebecca,
seriously.
"Quite frankly, I have no instinct. I must rely completely on
God's Spirit," replied Jose. "Why, the leading of the Holy Spirit
has done more for my career, than all the anonymous phone
calls and tips combined!" Rebecca smiled. "Speaking of
anonymous phone calls," continued Jose, "I'm waiting for a
FedEx package to come sometime tomorrow. I had Diane send
it to this hotel. It's all my research," explained Jose. "Just one
more reason to sit tight and wait."
"Who's Diane?" asked Rebecca, curiously. Just then, someone
knocked on the door.
"That must be the doctor," said Jose, getting up and walking to
the door. The hotel physician was a short man with a round, red
face. It grew even redder when he smiled.
"Where is the patient?" smiled the doctor, stepping inside. Jose
showed him over to the couch.
"I'll just go get a magazine from the lobby, downstairs," said
"The Harvest of Christopher Cushing" by Judith Bronte
36
Jose, excusing himself. When Jose returned, Rebecca was
sitting up on the couch, reading a small pamphlet. "What's
that?" asked Jose, pointing to the pamphlet. Rebecca showed
him the cover. "So, you're going to have a baby, after all!" he
exclaimed.
"My husband and I had only been married for a year, when he
died. It was almost like he never existed. Now, a part of Peter
can go on living," said Rebecca, glowing from inner happiness.
"I'm very happy for you, Mrs. Newton," said Jose, warmly.
"Thank you, Mr. Fernandez. I know you are," replied Rebecca.
"Please, call me Jose," he said, smiling.
"Only if you call me Rebecca," Rebecca laughed. While Jose
spent the rest of the day reading and analyzing the files,
Rebecca returned to her room and rested.
"The Harvest of Christopher Cushing" by Judith Bronte
37
Scene Eight
Wednesday, December 23, 1998 (the next day) / Niagara
Falls, New York
"I have seen, they that plow iniquity, and sow
wickedness, reap the same."
~ Job 4:8 ~
"Here it is, room 219," said Diane, knocking on the door. When
Jose opened the door, he saw Diane standing beside a man he
had never seen before. "Surprised?" asked Diane.
"Who is this?" asked Jose, motioning to the stranger.
"Detective Foster, this is Jose. Jose this is Detective Foster,"
she said, introducing them. "Are you going to invite us in, or do
we have to stand in the hall?" asked Diane. Jose showed them
in and closed the door. "What a great view of the falls!"
exclaimed Diane, going to the window.
"Mr. Fernandez, my name is Detective Foster. I'm with
homicide," he stated, flashing his badge. Diane rolled her eyes.
Not regarding her, Detective Foster continued. "I would like to
ask you a few questions concerning the death of Christopher
Cushing."
"The death?" repeated Jose, raising his eyebrows. "Is
"The Harvest of Christopher Cushing" by Judith Bronte
38
Christopher Cushing dead?"
"I see you haven't heard yet," replied Detective Foster.
"How did he die?" Jose asked, pulling out a notepad.
"Before I answer your questions, Mr. Fernandez, you will
please do me the courtesy of answering mine," Detective Foster
said, glancing in Diane's direction.
"What do you want to know?" asked Jose, sitting down at the
table. Detective Foster sat down and pulled out his notepad.
"Were you in Buffalo late Monday night?" asked Detective
Foster, his pencil poised to take notes.
"No, I left Buffalo a little before five thirty in the evening, on a
bus," replied Jose.
"Do you have a witness?" asked Detective Foster. Diane was
about to protest to his line of questioning, when Jose held up
his hand to stop her.
"Yes, I have a witness," answered Jose, "the bus driver saw me
and can confirm the time." Detective Foster nodded.
"You understand, this is all a matter of formality. It's an open
and shut case of suicide, but I still must confirm the facts," said
Detective Foster, jotting down more notes.
"The Harvest of Christopher Cushing" by Judith Bronte
39
"Detective Foster, maybe now, you could answer some of my
questions. You just mentioned suicide. Did Christopher
Cushing commit suicide?" asked Jose, his pen ready to take
notes.
"That's right, Mr. Cushing was found face down in his office
with a .45 automatic in his right hand. He did it, all right.
Powder burns and everything," stated Detective Foster. "From
what his doctor says, Mr. Cushing had been diagnosed with
terminal cancer three months ago. However, there was a curious
fact that caught my attention: his personal filing cabinet was
open, and the contents strewn about the office, as if he were
looking for something in particular. The blood from the gunshot
was splattered over the top of the files, proving Mr. Cushing
had first opened the cabinet and then shot himself. Otherwise,
blood would have been found between the pages, and that was
not the case. His prints were all over the papers, that and his
secretary's, Mrs. Rebecca Newton," commented Detective
Foster. "We are searching for her right now. As a matter of fact,
I thought she was here with you. Her in-laws said she had an
interview Monday morning with Jose Fernandez, and then went
on a drive with him. I contacted your secretary, and she brought
me here," finished Detective Foster. Jose stood up and nodded
his head.
"Diane," Jose called, "go to room 215 and tell Mrs. Newton to
come here," he directed. Diane quickly did as she was told.
"The Harvest of Christopher Cushing" by Judith Bronte
40
"So, Mrs. Rebecca Newton was with you," said Detective
Foster.
"You don't think Rebecca had anything to do with Christopher
Cushing's death, do you, detective?" asked Jose, defensively.
"If the desk clerk can prove Mrs. Newton was in this hotel from
the time the bus arrived (which he tells me was six twenty-three
p.m.) till today, then she could not have killed Christopher
Cushing. I have witnesses establishing the fact that Christopher
Cushing was still alive at eight o'clock Monday night," stated
Detective Foster. "And if Mrs. Newton was with you, then your
innocence is also established."
"Good," replied Jose. Rebecca walked into the room with
Diane. "Mrs. Newton," said Jose, "this is Detective Foster.
Don't get excited, everything is all right," reassured Jose,
offering her a seat on the couch. "Diane, you sit down too. I
think I can piece together what happened Monday," stated Jose,
confidently.
"On September the twenty-ninth of this year, I received a phone
call from an anonymous caller. Since I received my research
this morning, thanks to Diane, I'll play the tape for you now,"
said Jose, holding up his tape recorder so everyone could hear.
"That's Mr. Cushing's voice!" said Rebecca, half shouting with
surprise.
"The Harvest of Christopher Cushing" by Judith Bronte
41
"I thought so," remarked Jose. "Detective Foster told me that
Christopher Cushing's doctor diagnosed him with terminal
cancer about three months ago-- about the same time I received
this phone call. Notice the caller said, 'I can't face God, I can't,'
and, 'Don't let him get away with murder!'. I think Christopher
Cushing was afraid of dying and was trying to clear his
conscience. Evidentially, however, his repentance was not
sincere nor was it permanent, unless he would have given his
real name instead of hiding behind his secretary's maiden name.
When no boom was lowered, and Cushing saw that no one
came to arrest him, he relaxed and thought the worst was over.
However, when he arrived to work on Monday, and opened the
filing cabinet around five thirty in the evening, and discovered
that some sensitive files had absconded with his secretary, he
must have gone into a panic. Detective Foster says he has
witnesses that can establish the fact that Christopher Cushing
was still alive at eight that night. After making sure the files
had not gotten lost somewhere else in the office, he committed
suicide rather than face the consequences of his own actions."
"Exactly, what actions are you speaking of, Mr. Fernandez?"
asked Detective Foster. Jose then went into the files Rebecca
had taken, and proved the extent of Mr. Cushing's guilt. He had
sowed wickedness and reaped death. Such was the harvest of
Christopher Cushing.
"Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man
soweth, that shall he also reap."
~ Galatians 6:7 ~
"The Harvest of Christopher Cushing" by Judith Bronte
42
"For godly sorrow worketh repentance to salvation not to be
repented of: but the sorrow of the world worketh death."
~ 2 Corinthians 7:10 ~
"Therefore to him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to
him it is sin. Go to now, ye rich men, weep and howl for your
miseries that shall come upon you. Your riches are corrupted,
and your garments are motheaten. Your gold and silver is
cankered; and the rust of them shall be a witness against you,
and shall eat your flesh as it were fire. Ye have heaped treasure
together for the last days."
~ James 4:17-5:1-3 ~
"Don't think you can get away, yet, Jose. You never answered
one question," reminded Rebecca, as she and Jose took a stroll
through Niagara Falls that evening.
"What's that, Rebecca?" he asked in a voice filled with
surprised.
"Who is 'Diane'?" she asked. Jose smiled.
"Diane is my secretary," replied Jose.
"Is that all?" pressed Rebecca.
"Why, Rebecca," teased Jose, "anyone would think you were
jealous of my stepsister!"
"The Harvest of Christopher Cushing" by Judith Bronte
43
"Your stepsister?" repeated Rebecca, swatting his arm, "Why
didn't you just come out and tell me, instead of letting me
guess!" Jose laughed.
"Where is my sister, anyway?" asked Jose looking around.
"I believe Detective Foster asked her to dinner," hinted
Rebecca.
"Oh really?" asked Jose. "I can think of better ways to spend
time," Jose remarked.
"Like what?" asked Rebecca.
"Like spending our honeymoon here this Christmas," suggested
Jose. "That is, if you say, 'yes'."
"Are you asking me to marry you, Jose?" asked Rebecca.
"I believe the evidence points to that, yes," observed Jose,
watching her out of the corner of his eye. Rebecca carefully
took off Peter's wedding band and slipped it into her pocket.
"Who am I to contradict evidence?" replied Rebecca, taking
Jose's arm.
"The LORD hath done great things for us; whereof we are glad.
They that sow in tears shall reap in joy."
~ Psalms 126:3, 5 ~
"The Harvest of Christopher Cushing" by Judith Bronte
THE END
