by Cameron Judd
“It was the start of it. You know as well as I do that, most of the time, human change doesn’t happen at one moment. It happens over time. You start down a road to something new and better, and slowly and steadily you get there. It was that way for me, and that way for Brother Larry before me, hidden in that back of that church.”
“You getting all this, Eli?” Feely asked.
Eli was writing faster than he realized he could, trying to make sure he caught all of Brother Donald’s words, because he liked the flow and patterns of his speech. “I’m getting it,” he said.
“Brother Larry sneaked out of that church when the service was over. Nobody ever saw him. He came back the next day and found the preacher who’d been doing the talking in the service, and that man introduced Brother Larry to the Lord. He put the drinking aside, just toughed it out with the help of that good preacher, and went from being Larry the drunk to Brother Larry, servant of God. He found a job detailing cars here in Tylerville, and when he started noticing other men in town who were drunkards and addicts like he’d been, that’s when God said, ‘Larry, you need to start me a rescue mission.’ And here we are, all those years later, because Brother Larry heeded that instruction from the Lord. This place has given help to more than six thousand men since that time, and a hundred fifty women and as many families. Brother Larry hasn’t done it alone … there’s a whole bunch of folks who have stepped up to lend a hand. We have doctors who will take care of our flockers for free, especially their children, and dentists who do the same. We’ve even got a local vet who helps out when we get families in who have driven into town and have no place to go. Sometimes they’ll have a cat or a dog packed in the car with them.”
“What about the day-to-day operation?” Eli asked. “Do you have a cooking and cleaning staff?”
“All volunteers. We’ve got about a dozen volunteers, some able to devote more time than others. I believe Lower Lights Mission has the most faithful volunteers to be found. They’re with us through everything, not taking a penny in payment for what they do. They counsel, comfort, provide transport service, help our flockers write up resumes and apply for jobs, give them spiritual counsel, all that kind of thing. We’ve got a couple of ordained ministers among the group, and we’ve conducted several marriage ceremonies within these walls. Some of our female volunteers go out to the local thrift shops and pick up second-hand wedding gowns just for such occasions. That closet at the end of the hall has five or six of them in it right now. I’m as proud as I can be of our volunteers.”
Eli was still writing fast, his hand about to cramp. “This is wonderful,” he said. “Thank you, Rev Feely, for bringing me here. This should have been on our assignment list from the start.”
“I’ve found it’s seldom too late to correct an oversight,” Feely said.
“Yes, and thank God for that, the times it’s true,” said Donald New. “And God forgive us for the times we move so slowly that it’s not.”
A TOUR OF THE FACILITY followed, though there was little to show off. The room where at one time Brother Larry Cavness’s wife had cooked meals on a cheap stove had been upgraded into a small but sufficiently equipped commercial-type kitchen, complete with a massive stove and an oversized dishwasher. “There’s a laundry set up in the basement,” Brother Donald said. “We have a volunteer who comes in three times a week to wash and dry clothes for our flockers, plus all the mission’s bed linens, towels and tablecloths and such, and to make sure the dishes are being kept washed. We ask our flockers to take care of the dishwashing meal-by-meal, which is pretty easy with this nice machine we had donated to us. It’s something they can do to feel like they’re giving back some for the food and shelter we provide.”
A door opened and a white-haired man of about seventy entered, wearing discount store jeans and a plain blue cotton button-down shirt. “Hello, Brother Don!” he said cheerfully. “And there’s Rev Feely! How you folks doing?”
Brother Donald provide an introduction for Eli. “Eli, meet Rudy Hawes, one of our most faithful volunteers. Rudy, meet Eli Scudder from the newspaper.”
Handshakes were exchanged. “You’re the book writer, I think?” the older man said.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m planning to read it. I’ve heard nothing but good things about it.”
“Thank you. You know, sir, your name is familiar to me. Have we maybe met somewhere before?”
“I don’t think so, but you might have run across my name at the newspaper. I was county sheriff here several years.”
Eli remembered then. David Brecht had said that Hawes was the sheriff who had conducted the closest thing to an official investigation arising from the rumors surrounding Harvestman Lodge.
“Yes, sir, that’s it. I’ve heard your name mentioned as a past sheriff. Retired now, I think?”
“For many a year. Now I spend a lot of my time here, helping out my good brothers Larry and Donald. They may be the finest and most holy gentlemen I’ve ever had the privilege to know.”
Brother Donald said, “Any holiness I possess is borrowed from one far greater than I am.”
“True for us all,” said Feely.
“Amen,” said the ex-sheriff.
Getting things back on track, Brother Donald quickly finished the tour, showing Eli the sleeping rooms, a couple of them designated for the use of families, the others segregated into men’s and women’s quarters. The latter looked something like an old-fashioned hospital ward, with beds lined up side by side and separated by curtain panels hung on shower curtain rings. Nothing fancy or very private, but far better than sleeping in a car or under a loading dock on a stormy night. Eli was grateful that Feely had buttonholed him to come to this place. There would probably not be a more inspiring story in the bicentennial magazine than the one concerning the Lower Lights Mission, if he could write it well enough.
Eli took a few pictures and talked details with Brother Donald, but had already decided to ask Jake Lundy to come by and shoot a few roles of film. Lundy was the best photographer Eli had ever known, and this was a story that merited the best. Eli calculated he could come back with Jake some day when Brother Larry was at the mission, and all the pieces would be in place for a worthy piece of journalism.
One photograph Eli would certainly want Lundy to take was a closeup image of Brother Larry, posed where, over his shoulder, a sign hanging on the wall of the pew-filled chapel room could be seen. On the sign were words that Donald New told Eli had been spoken so often by Brother Larry in his sermons that they had become the official slogan of Lower Lights Rescue Mission: NEVER UNDERESTIMATE THE CAPACITY OF A MAN TO CHANGE, OR TO BE CHANGED. Beside the words was a photo image of a man’s craggy hand pointing heavenward.
“That’s Brother Larry’s hand in that picture,” Donald New said. “His whole life is like that hand … always pointing up.”
“I look forward to meeting him,” Eli said.
Chapter Thirty-Four
THE SMILE ON JIMBO’S face as Melinda and Eli came into his room was heartening to see. “There’s my children, come to see me,” he said.
“Your children?” Melinda asked.
“You are to me,” Jimbo said. “I never had children of my own, and always felt like I’d missed something good. Since you two showed up it’s been better. Seeing you two getting on so well, taking care of you at lunchtime with them tablecloths, laughing and joking and cutting up with you … you’ve done a lot for this old man, children. And old Jimbo ain’t going to forget it. Never forget fine young Eli and sweet Miss Lindy.”
“Oh, Jimbo. I think we’re unforgettable people all around. You too.” Melinda leaned over and hugged the man, taking care not to shake or dislodge any of the several wires and tubes connected to him.
They talked the typical hospital visit talk but tried to avoid too much medical discussion so as not to rouse or perpetuate worries on Jimbo’s part. They talked about his visitors, commented on flowers and cards he’d been sen
t, and kept the focus positive, discussing his return to normal activity on down the road.
Then the door opened, a wiry black woman with gray hair strode in, stared down at Jimbo, and said, “Brother, if you up and die on me, I swear I’ll kill you!”
“’Lindy, Eli, meet my baby sister, Flora Hamilton,” Jimbo said. “She’s got the same bad heart I do. Hers just ain’t trying to kill her yet.”
Flora shook her head and rolled her eyes. “See what I gotta put up with, children?”
They smiled and mumbled through greetings. Flora gave them a stare of close evaluation. “Jimbo, are these the two you can’t quit talking about?”
“Yeah, that’s the ones.”
For the second time in minutes, Melinda found herself the recipient of a hug. This one surprised her.
“Thank you, child,” Flora Hamilton said. “You’ve turned on a light for my brother, you and your young man here. Being around both of you has made him happier than he has been for a long time. And that makes me happy, too.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hamilton.”
“Flora, please.”
“Then call me Melind … no. Call me Lindy, like Jimbo does. I like it.”
“I’m glad you’re as nice as I expected you’d be,” Flora said. “We’ll be seeing more of each other until Jimbo is back on his feet. I’m going to be doing the housekeeping at your office building, subbing for Jimbo while he mends.”
“Just don’t spoil them, Flora,” Jimbo said. “That part is reserved for me.”
Eli and Melinda visited with Jimbo and his sister until the old man became obviously tired. At Flora’s request, Melinda led a brief prayer for Jimbo’s recovery before they departed. By the time the door snicked softly shut behind them, Jimbo was sound asleep.
THE EVENING MENU AT the Cup and Saucer was the same as the lunch menu, only with slightly larger portions and prices. A different chef in the kitchen, though. The lunchtime chef was the retired head of food services for Bowington College, while the evening king of the kitchen, Peter Maxwell, had actual experience as chef in a highly regarded country club restaurant. This fact was frequently bragged upon in the newspaper and radio advertising done by the Cup and Saucer. What was left unmentioned was that Chef Maxwell had been fired from his country club job when a seafood dish he prepared put five diners in the hospital, including the club’s golf pro.
Melinda was aware of the business involving the spoiled seafood, but took the high-road approach and said nothing of it to Eli beyond advising him, without explanation, to avoid ordering fish. So he opted for chicken, while she stuck with the vegetable plate.
Over a dessert of pie and coffee, they talked of the day, of their happiness that Flora Hamilton would be filling in for Jimbo, and their fears that Jimbo might have crossed a line he couldn’t cross again back to full recovery.
“I’m going to keep on praying for him,” Melinda said. “I believe in it. Do you believe in prayer, Eli?”
After an afternoon spent in the holy environs of the Lower Lights Rescue Mission, Eli found it surprisingly easy to say yes. “I think there just might be something to all this prayer and churchy stuff,” he said. “More to it than I thought growing up, anyway.”
He gave her his third-hand recounting of the story of Brother Larry Cavness and the founding of his mission. Like a good journalist he told her what statistics of service he could remember, focusing much on the mission’s nonjudgmental service to unwed mothers, regardless of how they had come to be in that situation. Melinda had heard some of this before, from her father, though Ben Buckingham’s take on the mission was that it was “too soft on drinking,” by which he meant that the Lower Lights Mission sometimes gave those of its “flockers” who were alcoholics a second or even third chance if they fell off the wagon a time or two while trying to get off the sauce. “Ought to throw them into the street and see how they like their choice then!” he’d declared to his daughter.
She’d been tempted to reply that many of those people already knew what life on the streets was like, and were drinking not because they wanted to, but because their illness made them. She’d known, though, that nothing would come of arguing with him, and kept her mouth closed.
“I’ve lived in Tylerville all my life, and still have never met Rev. Cavness,” she said to Eli over the rim of her coffee cup. “But I’ve heard nothing but good about him – if you exclude my dad’s babbling.” She paused and looked Eli in the eye, almost pleadingly. “When you go back to the rescue mission, may I go with you? I might want to feature it as one of our pre-bicentennial pieces. Unless you feel like that would dilute the impact of your magazine story.”
“You go right ahead with it, Melinda. If it promotes what those folks are doing, I’m for it. The magazine story will be strong enough to stand on its own either way.”
“Then I’ll go.”
“Hey, what are you doing tomorrow afternoon? Any assignments you know of?”
“Not at this point. Why?”
“There’s somebody I met today, at the mission. He’s coming to see me tomorrow, at my office. He’s a former sheriff of Kincheloe County, and now a volunteer at Lower Lights. And he knows a lot and is willing to talk.”
“Knows a lot … about local law enforcement? What?”
“About Harvestman Lodge. He investigated it back during the time that whatever was going on there was going on. I talked to him a little today and told him about my interest in using a similar scenario for a novel. I was afraid that would run him right off, but he surprised me. He likes the idea … but he said I’m not the first one to come up with it. He wouldn’t explain what he meant by that, but said he’d do that tomorrow when he comes by to talk with me. I thought you might want to sit in, too. You may think of questions that I don’t.”
“You think he’d let me sit in?”
“As long as he knows you’re not looking for something to put on the news, yeah, I think he’d be fine with it.” Eli chuckled. “Besides, Melinda, you’re a beautiful young woman. Men are pretty much glad to have pretty young women around anytime.”
“Is that right?”
“You know it’s right. You’ve lived it. Don’t pretend otherwise.”
She merely smiled, shrugged, and had her final bite of apple pie.
JAKE LUNDY WAS WAITING OUTSIDE Hodgepodge when Eli arrived the next morning. His excitement was visible in his posture and constant movement as Eli parked.
“Son, you ain’t going to believe it,” he said as Eli climbed out of the Rambler. “You ain’t at all going to believe it. But it’s true! I swear to you it’s true!”
“All right, I believe you, then. Now tell me what I just believed.”
“Curtis Stokes, that’s what!”
“I’ve believed in Curtis Stokes for a good while now. I ate with him down at Harley’s one time. You were there too, remember?”
“Shut up your smart-ass mouth, son, and listen to me! Curtis Stokes ain’t Curtis-crazy no more.”
“Huh? How do you mean?”
“Remember where we were the first time you saw Curtis? Coming back into town after our trip out to Reunion Church. And we had gone past your grandparents’ old place? We came across the city limits and Curtis was walking there.”
“I remember.”
“Curtis was there again today, walking again. Just as many pole shadows as that other time. And he was marching right through them without so much as a wiggle. Just like you or me or anybody else would. I nigh drove into a telephone pole when I saw it. I had to stop and ask him about it. Lord have mercy, you wouldn’t believe it!”
“What did he say to you?”
“He says he’s cured himself of it. Pretty much all at once. He just talked himself out of it, apparently. But he gives most of the credit to his girlfriend. Yep, Curtis Stokes has a girlfriend.”
“Who is she?”
“I’ve heard her on the radio some, reading children’s stories like she does at one of the libraries hereabo
uts. She’s the Listening Ears Story Lady. Name of Kendra somethin-or-other, I believe. I don’t know her.”
“How did Curtis, of all people, hook up with her?”
“We didn’t get that far. But he says she’s an angel, and that he hopes he’ll marry her someday. He says they’ve even talked about it.”
Eli laughed, not mockingly. He was authentically happy to hear Curtis was moving beyond his prior limitations, particularly in regard to his mental illness. Amazing!
“And here’s the thing,” Lundy went on. “That ain’t the only surprises Curtis had to share. He’s getting a job.”
“Like a real one? Not just selling pencils?”
“A real job. He says that Amber Goode over at Spears-Hinkle has worked it out to get him work there. Work on the line. He starts next week. Apparently now that he’s not afraid of pole shadows anymore, he thinks of himself as a normal fellow. One who can work a real job and have a girlfriend and all that.”
“Well, good for Amber Goode, whoever she is.”
“I’ll tell you who she is.” Lundy spoke a little more softly. “She’s a downright tramp slut is who she is, especially when she was young. She was for a time the night clerk at the Winona – yep, right here – and folks said she’d get with anything that walked in wearing pants they were willing to lose for half an hour. She ran with a gaggle of girls who were as loose as she was. Most of them grew out of it, bringing along a few illegitimate kids as souvenirs, but from what I hear of her, Amber’s still just as trashy as ever. She married into the Tate family, which is not much different than taking a bath in a septic tank, but that marriage I don’t think lasted. Last story I heard was that she got free of her husband, went back to her maiden name, and is still working at Spears-Hinkle. But I don’t know anything about her first-hand … she’s nobody I’ve ever had any dealings with. If I saw her on the other side of the street I’d know who she is, and she’d likely recognize me, but we’d probably not so much as wave or nod, ’cause we don’t really know each other.”
