by J B Hawker
“Do you mind if I go next?” she asked the woman already in line, as she insinuated herself into the space in front.
“I’ve only got one item and I’m in a dreadful hurry. So many responsibilities to take care of all by myself.”
The woman frowned, but took a step back, allowing Maureen to take possession of her place in line.
Maureen fidgeted and tapped her foot while the clerk rang up the purchases of her current customer.
Dropping her bag of seed onto the counter before the clerk had even handed the previous customer’s receipt over, Maureen elbowed her way into position and swiped her debit card.
“It’s not taking my card,” she complained.
“Please wait until I complete this transaction, ma’am,” the clerk said.
“I’m in a terrible hurry. I have important things to do,” Maureen said and swiped the card several more times, before the machine was ready to begin the new sale.
“These things are supposed to save us time, but they are more trouble than they are worth, if you ask me.”
The clerk quickly scanned the birdseed and put it into a bag.
“Please press the green button, ma’am.”
Maureen pressed the red button in her haste, voiding the sale.
The clerk sighed, saying, “Please swipe your card, again. You just cancelled the transaction.”
“I did not! Your machine is defective. Oh, never mind. I’ll pay cash. I don’t have time for all this incompetence.”
Maureen fumbled in her purse, scattering pennies, tissues, old receipts and chewing gum wrappers on the counter in the process of pulling her wallet out.
The clerk re-scanned the birdseed and announced the charge, “That will be $5.98, please.”
“Oh, for goodness sakes! I never paid that much for bird seed in all my life. It is only $4.75 in Portland.”
“I’m sorry, but that is our price. Do you want the seed, or not?”
Maureen swept all the detritus back into her large handbag and snorted, “I do not! For that price you can keep it. I can always drive to Tillamook where I won’t get robbed.”
She stomped out of the store, still fuming under her breath, leaving the clerk and the next customer exchanging looks and shaking their heads.
Chapter Ten
“You know, Tyrone, I think Elizabeth is right,” Eskaletha Evans commented to her husband as they were eating lunch in their spacious, modern kitchen.
“What about? I can’t always read your mind, you know.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you could, to tell the truth. I never seem to be able to surprise you. Elizabeth is right about what she said the other night. We do need to do something about giving our young people in this community a few more healthy outlets for their energy.”
“Who’s ‘we’ in your statement?”
“We are the First Ladies Club, for one, but now I think about it, ‘we’ should be all the churches in town. I’m putting the topic on my agenda for tomorrow’s meeting. You should bring it up at the next Ministerial Association meeting, too. If we each attack the problem from our own angle, we might make a real difference.”
Tyrone carried his empty plate to the sink, rinsed it and placed it on a rack in the dishwasher before replying.
“That is a good idea, my dear. I’m going back to my study at the church, now, and the first thing I’ll do when I get there is try to come up with some suggestions for the Ministerial to consider. I’ve found that having something to tear apart helps the group to come up with ideas of their own.”
Eskaletha was rapidly clicking the keys on her laptop as her husband kissed her on top of the head and left.
“I’ll put Liz in charge of the sub-committee on this… perfect,” she murmured to herself as she wrote.
*
Elizabeth Gilbert rode up to the garden in back of the Presbyterian Church parsonage and hopped off her bike. She pushed open the recycled crib headboard now serving as a gate and walked in, looking between the rows of lush greenery to find her friend, Judy.
She was startled by a well-padded bottom emerging from a patch of pole beans nearby.
Judy backed onto the path, pulling a basket filled with fresh-picked produce behind her, and stood up, wiping her hands on an already soiled multi-layered gypsy skirt.
“Hi Liz! Where did you come from? I didn’t hear your car.”
“I rode over on my bike. I came to get some of those veggies you offered me. I thought I would make a pasta primavera for dinner. Some cherry tomatoes, asparagus, beans and peas would be more than welcome.”
“Oh, sure. The asparagus is almost finished, but I think I saw a few late tender stalks this morning. I’ve got tons of all the rest. Happy to share the wealth.”
“I appreciate it. I just don’t have the time or energy for a vegetable garden. That doesn’t stop me from wanting to eat homegrown produce, though.”
The two women wandered in the garden, with Judy picking a generous selection of vegetables for Elizabeth as they walked, collecting them in a layer of her skirt pulled up into a sling.
When they gathered all Elizabeth could use, the two friends walked over to a garden table made from a large wooden cable spool Judy had rescued from the dump.
Elizabeth sat on one of the converted-barrel chairs and watched Judy transfer the vegetables into a hand-crocheted string bag.
“Do you ever have anything new, Judy? Everything I can see around here is made from something else. I admire your ingenuity and industriousness.”
“I enjoy making other people’s discards into something useful. When you think about it, everything in creation is recycled, in a way. God created all the raw materials and we just keep converting them into different shapes and sizes for our own use. Mankind can only manipulate the things God has created.”
“That’s very profound. I think I might work that into my next sermon. Gil is preaching this month, so I’ve got time to work on it. Thanks for the raw material for me to recycle into a Sunday message.”
“I’ve got to hand it to you, Liz. Being both a pastor and a pastor’s wife has to be hard sometimes.”
“Oh, sure. Sometimes I don’t quite fit into someone’s concept of either one, and that can cause difficulties. Most of the time I revel in the freedom it gives me. “
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if someone wants me to do one of those jobs always thrust onto a pastor’s wife and I don’t feel qualified, or interested,” she grinned, then went on, “well, I can always say I’m too busy with pastoral duties.”
“Sneaky!”
“And, on the other hand, when I’m frustrated, or even inspired, I can talk about it in my sermon, rather than try to convince my husband to address the issue.”
“Ooh, I’d love to be able to do that! Ken never uses any of my suggestions in his messages.”
“Well, I’d better get going. I’ve got to cook the pastor’s dinner, as a good pastor’s wife should. Then, I must work on my co-pastor’s article for the church newsletter. Thanks again for the garden goodies.”
Elizabeth placed her bag of vegetables into the bicycle basket and rode off sedately as Judy called, “See you at the Ladies Club tomorrow!”
*
Carver Schramm was making himself at home in Maureen’s house. After eating a hearty meal, and leaving his dirty dishes and scraps scattered around the kitchen, he grabbed a can of diet soda from the refrigerator and sprawled on the sofa. Stretching to his full length, he heaved his muddy shoes onto the well-polished coffee table. Grabbing the remote, he settled down to watch TV and await the return of the home’s legitimate occupants.
*
Maureen left the supermarket in a worse temper than usual. As she drove, she composed a letter in her head, complaining to the store manager about her mistreatment.
There was no reason for that snippy young clerk to be so rude! And they should fix their faulty card scanner. And the prices! Something should be done
about those. Maybe she could organize a boycott? When would she ever find the time?
Everything was so much more complicated since Vince passed on. He’d always been so annoying, Maureen never expected to miss him, but, somehow, life just wasn’t as much fun with him gone.
Thinking of her late husband reminded Maureen of her promise to check in on his cousin in the local nursing home.
She checked her watch and, seeing it was already afternoon, decided to grab a hamburger at the fast food drive thru, eat in the car, and then make her duty visit before returning home.
Once that was done, she could just relax for the rest of the day and tackle the unpacking again tomorrow.
Everything seemed to take so much more time than it used to and she wore out so much more quickly, too. Sometimes she wished she’d been the one to pass over, instead of her husband.
*
At the combination real estate office and craft boutique, Naidenne had just returned from showing a property when Shirley Griffith popped in.
“Hi, Shirley. How did this morning go while I was out?”
“It was terrific. That’s why I wasn’t here when you got back. I sold three of Maizey’s largest sculptures. I wanted to get the money into the bank right away. This office is empty so much of the time; I don’t feel safe leaving cash here.”
“Wonderful. Maizey will be so pleased.”
“While I was at the bank I was chatting with my friend, Kathy, who works there. She told me her boss, Len Spurgeon, took a vacation all of the sudden and she and the other staff are all wondering why. Did Rosamund say anything about it?”
“Why, no. I haven’t spoken with Rosamund about Len recently,” Naidenne replied with an inward grimace.
“Oh well, I sure hope there’s nothing wrong. Len is a nice man. He’s got a good bass voice, too. We’ll miss him in the choir if he’s gone very long.”
Shirley busied herself with rearranging the home crafts to fill the gaps left by the sculptures, and then went home.
Naidenne sat at her desk, thinking.
Could Len have been so upset about Rosamund he had to leave the area? Or had he gone off to look for her?
Why hadn’t they heard anything from Rosamund?
She picked up the phone to call Scott, and then decided to wait to talk about it with him that evening.
*
Gwennie Barthlett was arranging flowers in the foyer of the Trinity Nazarene Church when one of her parishioners stopped by to drop off a bundle for the community clothes closet run by the congregation.
“Say, Gwennie, you will not believe what I saw today.”
“What was it, Julia?”
“You remember that horrible little woman from Bannoch Community Fellowship? You know…the one who always tried to run things whenever we had joint women’s activities. The awful Oldham woman.”
“Oh, yes. She moved away a while back, didn’t she? I thought I heard she’d gone to Portland, or Seattle.”
“I don’t know where she went when she moved away, but she’s back!”
“What, for a visit, you mean?”
“Oh, I can’t be sure, but she didn’t sound like she was here on a vacation.”
“What did she say?”
“It’s not so much what she said, as what she did. I was in the grocery store, waiting in line like a civilized person, when she squeezed right in front of me. Acted like she was entitled.”
“That sounds like her, alright.”
“But that’s not all. After being rude to me and the clerk and everyone, she couldn’t figure out how to slide her payment card and ended up throwing things at the cashier and storming off without her purchases. It was like she was crazy.”
“Oh, dear. Perhaps she’s had a stroke or is getting dementia. We need to pray for her, Julia, not gossip about her. Remember, ‘there but for the grace of God,’ it could be one of us one day.”
“I expect you’re right, Gwennie. But it was sure a sight.”
“If Maureen Oldham’s back in town, she’s probably back at her church. I’ll ask their pastor’s wife if she knows what’s up, when I see her tomorrow.”
“And I’ll pray for her, Gwennie. Say, should I call the prayer chain?”
“Everyone needs prayer, but please be careful about how you ask. It’s a prayer chain, not a gossip grapevine.”
“Of course!”
*
When Scott got home later that afternoon, he found Naidenne on the utility porch putting a load of laundry into the dryer.
“Hi Honey, how was your day?” he asked before giving her a kiss.
“It was good. We sold three more metal sculptures for Maizey and I showed a few houses to a couple who seem like serious buyers. How about you?”
“Pretty routine, I suppose. I’m happy to be home, though. What’s for dinner?”
“Oh, gosh! I haven’t even thought about dinner. I have been so spoiled by Rosamund; I’ve gotten out of the habit.”
“Not a problem, we can go out or order a pizza. What do you feel like?”
“A pizza sounds perfect and I can at least call in the order, so I’m not a total failure,” Naidenne laughed.
“Speaking of Rosie, she didn’t happen to call, did she?” Scott asked.
“I’m afraid not. And I heard something disturbing today. Did you know Len has gone away suddenly, too?”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“One of the tellers at the bank, a friend of Shirley’s, told her he went off on a sudden vacation, with no warning and no explanation.”
“That’s not like our local bank manager, at all.”
“You don’t suppose he’s gone to look for Rosamund, do you?”
“How could he? He wouldn’t know where to look any more than we would.”
“I hope he wasn’t so upset by your sister’s disappearance that he felt compelled to get away, too.”
“Len doesn’t strike me as the emotional type, Deenie. I would wager he had some sort of family emergency and just didn’t have time to tell his employees all the details…or maybe didn’t want to. He is sort of private…like Rose that way.”
“You’re probably right. I’ll go call in the pizza order while you get changed out of your preacher clothes. Thin crust Canadian bacon, with extra mushrooms and bell peppers, right?”
Chapter Eleven
Maureen sat behind the wheel of her car in the nursing home parking lot following a depressing visit with Vince’s elderly cousin, Gladys. That poor woman was in her mid-nineties, suffering from dementia and very frail.
Maureen wasn’t certain Gladys enjoyed the visit, either. It had been obvious she was only dimly aware of her surroundings, but it was equally obvious she didn’t want to be where she was.
Gladys spent most of the time moaning softly but had a brief moment of lucidity as Maureen prepared to depart.
She grabbed Maureen’s wrist in a surprisingly strong grip and said, quite clearly, “Why won’t they let me die?” then her hand dropped, and she resumed making unintelligible sounds.
The episode shook Maureen and she was trembling as she walked from the room.
Sitting in the car, she imagined she could still feel the pressure of that claw-like hand.
Maureen never thought of herself as old, but when she calculated Gladys was only a half dozen years her senior it forced her to reconsider and contemplate a similar future.
“Most merciful God, creator of life and death, please take Cousin Gladys very soon,” she vehemently and uncharacteristically prayed, concluding with, “and please, please, please, spare me from ending up like that. Amen.”
With all her errands now completed, Maureen drove directly home and soon pulled into her garage, anticipating a light supper in front of the television and an early night.
Inside, Schramm heard the car return and jumped up from the sofa where he’d been dozing.
Which way would the people enter?
When he noticed the security chai
n was still fastened on the front door, he dashed into the kitchen, arriving just as Maureen came in through the back entrance, looking down at the broken glass crunching underfoot.
When she looked up, she was shocked to see a strange man in her house, but she stubbornly held her ground.
“Who are you? You don’t belong here! Get out!” she screeched.
Carver rushed toward her, pulling his knife out, ready to plunge it deeply into her neck.
Before he reached her, Maureen felt a brief searing pain in her upper chest and back, and then nothing more, as she crumpled onto the linoleum floor at Schramm’s feet.
“What the… I never even touched her,” he complained.
Maureen’s open eyes, staring right at him so fixedly, made Schramm uneasy and he looked away as he knelt beside her body feeling for a pulse.
What about that? The old bat just dropped dead.
Schramm began laughing but stopped when he felt the knife in his hand, unneeded, yet again.
He gave Maureen’s body a frustrated kick and decided to drag her out to the garage before she could stink up the place.
This house would suit him fine, now, at least until he got his strength back. He wasn’t ready to move on, not yet. He wanted to be at full strength when he hooked up with his dream girl. And when he was through acting out his favorite fantasies with her, his knife would finally get a workout, too.
*
“So now, the latest big controversy in our congregation is about changing the name of our mid-week Bible Study. One of the members read some crazy thing somewhere saying if we call it Bible Study it turns people off! Can you believe it?” Judy Falls complained to the other ladies.
They were sitting around enjoying snacks following another meeting of the First Ladies Club.
Olivette Vernon was hosting the group in the damp and musty Reformed Church parsonage, her home for more than three decades.
“What do they want to call it, then?” Peggy Burt asked, reaching for another of Judy’s chewy granola cookies.
