by Darren Swart
Sharkie, the bartender, eyed them warily as they came in. At almost seven feet tall on a muscular three hundred and ten pound frame no one challenged him on his turf—that included the likes of Earl Tilley.
Doss looked at Sharkie. “Are you ever going to get that thing fixed?”
Sharkie raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, when it stops running.”
He jabbed his thumb at small wooden door marked Office. You can change in there. “Clothes are on the desk.”
They breezed past him into the cramped office. None of the patrons seemed to notice or care. In less than three minutes, a very different looking couple exited the office. Cindy’s brunette hair was now blonde. Her floppy T-shirt was gone, replaced with a sleeveless denim top which showed more cleavage than Doss wanted her to show in public. The cargo shorts were gone, replaced with skin-tight black leather pants.
Doss’ strawberry blonde curls were in stark contrast to his now bald head, tanned from hours in the sun. The torn sleeve on the faded AC/DC T-shirt worked well with the leather chaps. They both looked right at home.
They eased up to the bar. Without a word, Sharkie slid them each a cold beer. Doss looked up at Sharkie, expectantly. “Are you coming to Mom’s on Sunday?”
Sharkie looked at him for a moment, thinking. With a long sigh, he rumbled quietly, “Is it her birthday?”
Doss nodded. “Yes. I’ve only told you three times.”
Sharkie dropped his head. “Dang. How do I keep forgetting that?”
Doss chuckled. “That’s why I remind you, Baby Brother.”
Sharkie gave him a lopsided grin and nodded. “Thanks.” The gravelly response was barely audible.
Cindy cut in. “Has Kathy gone in for her ultrasound yet?”
Sharkie beamed like an expectant father should and his head bobbed up and down. “Uh-huh. It looks like it’s going to be a girl.”
“Is she excited?”
“Yeah. Me too! I was afraid it was going to be an ugly boy like his father.” He revealed a row of pearly white teeth behind the scraggly black beard.
She ignored the comment. “I’m so happy for you guys.”
He dropped his head, shyly.
Cindy smiled, reached across the bar and patted him on the hand. “You’ll be a good dad. Trust me.”
Sharkie gave her a grateful look. Doss kept a watchful eye on the window. As expected, the Camry was in the parking lot and idling beside the Bronco. A tall muscular man with dark hair got out of the car.
Doss gave Cindy a nudge. “We’ve gotta go. See you Sunday, Bro. Bring those ultra-sound pics, if you can remember them.”
The hulk nodded and smiled gently at them. “You guys be careful, okay?”
Cindy raised herself onto the bar and gave Sharkie a warm kiss on the cheek. “We’ll be fine. My love to Kathy.”
“Uh-huh. You, too.”
She hopped off the bar and they moved toward the door. The tall thin man entered, just as Cindy reached the door. She bumped him and didn’t look back. Bernard’s eyes followed her for an apology. She kept walking. Doss came up behind her. As Bernard turned, he found Doss looking him in the eye.
Doss snarled, menacingly. “What?”
Bernard said nothing. He returned the glare, with a look of disdain and walked away. As he went by, Doss flipped him off. Just outside the door, Cindy was putting on her helmet, straddling an aging Sportster. She looked at Doss, sourly. “Did you have to flip him off?”
He gave her a sideways grin, as he slipped on his helmet. “I didn’t have to, but it sure felt good.”
She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “What a drama queen.”
He snickered and eased onto the cushion of his Fat Boy. Not a single patron looked up, as the pair of V-twins roared to life. Sharkie went back to polishing the wooden bar with a rag. Bernard peered around the dark interior for a moment while his eyes adjusted to the dim light. He strode to the bar and sat down.
Sharkie eased down to the stranger. “Help you, Mister?”
Without looking at him, Bernard replied. “A beer, please.”
The coldest beer in the county slid toward the Frenchman. Ice fell from the brown glass, as the Frenchmen slid a five across the bar. The cold beer was lost on the Frenchman’s palette. But it had been a long morning. Sharkie turned away from the Frenchman and smiled to himself. He thought to himself, Mister, you’ve gotta a long wait.
Gillian and Martin sat in the bathroom for what seemed like an eternity. Marty gripped the Bible like it was going to fly away. He mentally relived the morning’s events. He told himself he was under a lot of stress and must have imagined it, but something within him grew like a seed. He couldn’t put a finger on it, but he felt different. He tried to convince himself that it didn’t have to make sense. It was what happened.
Gillian sat quietly, going over the details of every possible scenario. She considered every possible negative situation. After twenty minutes of waiting, her cell phone lit up. Her tone was low and flat, “Gillian.”
“Hey, it’s Doss. We dumped him at the bar.”
“Any problems?”
“Nah, Cindy had to slow down a couple of times, so he could keep up.”
She frowned. “Do you think he suspected anything?”
“I doubt it. I’m not sure how long it will take him to figure out we’re not there. It probably won’t be very long, so you guys might want to bail now, while you can.”
“Thanks Doss. My best to Cindy.”
“You, too.” With that, the phone chirped off.
Marty looked across at her. “Gillian?”
“Yes, Marty?”
“I know you have a plan and all, but I have an idea.”
She paused for a moment, as all her carefully laid plans drifted out the window like dandelion petals on a warm summer day. “I’m listening.”
He smiled. “Come on.”
They exited the house through a hidden kitchen door into the back yard. This was something she hadn’t considered. The door put them on the opposite side of the house and away from prying eyes. Marty led her across a short distance through the overgrown yard and into the forest behind the house. It was here that she noticed a faint path before them. It had been a while since it had been used. The undergrowth came over their shoes, but not much further. They followed the path until the house was completely out of sight. They stomped their way through the undergrowth and suddenly broke through the brush onto an old gravel road.
Gillian looked at him, amazed. “How did you know this was here?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I grew up here. Remember?”
They walked in silence up the road. Birds tittered and chirped over them. A squirrel darted in front of Gillian. She paused for a moment, startled. Marty stopped and looked at her, quizzically, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m just not used to all this nature.”
He chuckled. “It grows on you after a while.”
The path was shady and cool, compared to the growing heat of the day. As they walked, she could hear the lapping of water in the ebbing pool just off the path. Gillian pointed to the water. “What’s that?”
Bemused, he replied, “It’s Green Lake.”
The road swayed in and out from the water like a dancer. Lush undergrowth peeped out at every turn. It surprised her at how relaxing the walk was after all they had been through. It peeled the layers of stress away. No one seemed to be following them and the walk was idyllic. The road turned and twisted,and at each turn there was something different to see. As they approached an open section of water, Marty’s arm went out, catching Gillian squarely on the bosom. He creased his lips with his finger to indicate silence.
She looked at his hand and then at him. He looked down. It occurred where his hand was. He recoiled like she was a snake. She stood still, listening intently for their attacker. She began to lower herself into a crouch, waiting for the attack. Her adrenalin began to pump. She began to take in everything around them at a h
eightened level of awareness. She strained to hear someone rustling in the undergrowth, but could detect nothing. So she waited quietly at his side for a moment until she could determine the threat level. Slowly, he pointed to the water. It was then that she saw it. Standing proudly in the water, the great blue egret waited patiently for an afternoon snack in a small pool of water. She moved slowly closer to where Marty stood to get a better look. The bird saw her and squawked angrily, as he lifted off. Its broad wings spread six feet across, as it flapped away. She stared at the departing bird.
Proudly, Marty stated, “That was a blue egret. They’re pretty common here, but that’s the first one I’ve seen in years.”
With the palm of her hand, she smacked the back of his head. “You stopped us for that?”
She walked ahead a few paces and stopped turning toward him. “If you touch me like that again, expect to end up in a cast. Are we clear?”
He nodded numbly, as she stalked away. A few paces down the path, she stopped again. Marty hadn’t moved. She glared at him. “Are you coming, or what?”
Sheepishly, he responded. “Yeah. Sorry.”
He watched as a Tiger Swallowtail fluttered past them lighting on the bloom of a Pinxter beside the trail. He decided to keep it to himself. The path sloped up dramatically, making the climb a bit more of a challenge than Marty remembered. As they walked ahead, he could see the trail lighten ahead of them. He could just make out the shape of a building through the trees.
He led them off the dirt path and into a courtyard of a tall brick building. The green grass of the courtyard was so unlike the path they’d just left. They walked around the corner of the building where they found immense stained glass windows punctuating the side of the building. A hint of a tall spire towered over them in the small courtyard.
She looked at him, amazed. “How did you know about this?”
“Barb and I used to walk this way every Sunday morning, if it wasn’t raining.”
They continued to work their way around to the front of the building. Marty looked about, lost. She watched him for a moment, before asking, “What’s the matter?”
Marty stared at the towering red brick structure. “The Church is gone.” He shook his head in dismay. He had been so sure it would be in the old church. They continued around to the front of the building where they saw an elderly man tending to the church sign on the front lawn. The older man turned, startled at the scuff of a shoe on pavement. As he straightened, it became apparent to Gillian that he was a tall man. He was taller, in fact, than Marty. His spare build and kind face was capped with a mop of neatly trimmed dark hair. Silver patches sprouted at his sideburns like snowcaps. His large horn-rimmed glasses framed the deep green eyes, which sparkled in the afternoon sun. Marty was surprised that his appearance seemed to have changed little in the last fifteen years.
To Gillian’s surprise, Marty’s hand popped out toward the gentleman. “Pastor Thomason, it’s certainly a pleasure to see you, sir.”
With a broadening smile, the elderly pastor squinted at Marty, as he shook his hand. He blinked in the bright sun at Marty for a moment before cocking his head to one side. “Why, Martin Wood, you’ve grown, Son. I almost didn’t recognize you.”
It was unlikely that anyone would. Marty was pleased and amazed at the Pastor’s recollection. It made things easier. Somehow, the Reverend always seemed to know people. It was uncanny. Gillian stood by quietly, unsure on what to do. Without skipping a beat, Marty took a half step backward and made a sweeping motion toward her. “Pastor, I would like for you to meet my girlfriend, Gillian.”
Taking her cue, she smiled radiantly and extended her hand. She could play nice when she needed to. Pastor Thomason took her hand and smiled warmly. “A pleasure, my dear.” As he shook her hand, he looked into her eyes, it was like he could see straight through to her soul. It unnerved her, but she didn’t let it show.
He returned his attention to Marty. “So, Mr. Wood, I guess you’re looking for something left here for you?”
Marty tried hard not to look surprised, but failed. Instead, he gave Thomason a sheepish grin and responded, “I wasn’t sure, but I thought it might be here.”
The old man’s eyes gleamed, mischievously. Gillian looked on, mystified. She felt like she had missed the punch-line on an inside joke. Pastor Thomason eased himself between the couple and placed a gentle hand on each shoulder. “Come on, kids. Let’s talk about this inside, out of the hot sun.”
He led them around the front of the church to the side where a small red brick chapel gleamed in the afternoon sun. Martin smiled. Pastor Thomason looked down at him and winked. “You didn’t think we would tear it down, did you?”
Marty looked a little embarrassed and said, “I wasn’t sure.”
Thomason patted him on the back. “We use it as a fellowship hall during the week and as a pulpit on Homecoming Sundays. It was designated as a historic landmark by the state some years back. I have a feeling it will be here for some years to come.” He changed the subject. “So, what do you think of the new sanctuary?”
Marty looked at it, earnestly. “It’s beautiful. It must’ve cost a lot to build?”
“It did. And for that, you should be very proud.”
Marty looked at him, quizzically. “I’m not sure I follow?”
The Pastor smiled. “Barb donated the money to ensure it was built.”
Marty’s jaw dropped. He stopped in his tracks. “Pardon me?”
The old Reverend gently patted him on the back, propelling him forward. “We have plenty of time for that later. You kids look thirsty. Let’s go inside and have some of Rose’s iced tea. Shall we?”
“Uh, yeah, that would be great. Thanks.” Marty hoped he would make sense of all this some day. He had a sickening feeling that he was going to put some therapist’s kids through college, though.
Inside, the corridor was dark and cool. It smelled of polish and pine cleaner. The tile floors beneath them shown like a mirror in the dim light. Their feet squeaked on the clean floors, as they walked to the Pastor’s office. Thomason poked his head in the church secretary’s office and asked, “Rose, would you be so kind as to round us up some of your wonderful iced tea for our guests?”
Rose Tilley looked up. Smiling brightly, she responded, “Why certainly.” She looked at the young couple, curiously. It seemed like she had seen them somewhere before, but she just couldn’t place it.
The Reverend ushered them into his office and motioned Marty and Gillian to two old comfortable wing-back chairs. The leather squeaked, as they settled back. He studied Marty for a moment before saying, “I guess you didn’t know that your grandmother contributed all the money to have the new sanctuary built, did you?”
Marty acknowledged by shaking his head. “You’re sure it was Barb? Bess seemed to have all the money.”
Thomason gave him a knowing smile and continued “Shortly before your grandmother passed on, she made a rather considerable contribution to the church. Your aunt and uncle stepped up and took over the day-to-day affairs of the farm, and have run it for quite a while, but the Will filed in the County Clerk’s office holds it in trust for you.”
“She left fifty acres to Faye. Your aunt and uncle have sold off most of the livestock and their portion of the land. The house is yours, but she did put a caveat in the will that let Faye and Mal stay there until they passed.” His eyes twinkled, as he said, “That kept them away from you. Barb was shrewd that way. Since they couldn’t sell the house or borrow money off of it, they just lived there. But then, I’m assuming you’re aware of all this?”
Marty cleared his throat, somewhat uncomfortably, “Well, actually, to be honest, I haven’t kept in touch with them the way I should have.”
The Pastor smiled innocently. “So, are you visiting with your aunt and uncle, while you’re here?”
Marty shifted in his chair. “Not exactly, Sir. We don’t really get along that well.”
The Reverend smil
ed and nodded, knowingly. “I understand. The Good Book teaches us to love one another, but it doesn’t say we have to like one another.”
Rose tapped on the door, as she entered with tall glasses of tea with lemon. Marty took a long drag of the amber liquid. It was the best thing he had put to his lips all day. It was strong, sweet and as cold as an artic ice flow. It doesn’t get much better than this.
The Pastor smiled at Rose “Thank you, Rose. Would you be so kind as to close the door on your way out?”
He had worked with Rose for many years. She was the most organized church secretary he had ever known, and probably the worst gossip in the county. What he had to share with Martin was for him, and him alone. The Reverend knew that the tidbit about the near scandalous activity by Faye and Mal would keep her on the phone for the next hour at least. That would be plenty of time to share what he needed to with Marty. Who knows, it might even give poor old McGillicutty a rest from the Blue Haired Gang for a while? As the heavy oak door clicked shut, the Reverend turned to face Marty. He wasted no time getting to the point. “Martin, your grandmother was dearly loved by everyone in this congregation. To this day, people still make memorials in her name.” The Reverend laced his fingers, forming a ‘church and steeple’. He pressed his index fingers to his lips and looked at Marty soberly for a moment for a moment before continuing. “However, there was a side of her that few people knew about; a secret, if you will. I was very fortunate that she entrusted me with her secret. We both knew that some day, fate would drive you to seek me out.” He swiveled the old desk chair around to face an enormous antique leaded glass bookcase behind him. He eased open the glass door and removed a small wooden box from the bottom shelf. He slid the small ornately carved wooden box across the desk to Marty. “This box has waited patiently in that bookcase for twenty years for you. It should have been passed on by your father. I’m sorry that could not be, but I am honored that I have been a part of this piece of history, though.”
Marty stared at the box, transfixed. It was beautifully carved. The top was adorned with a flared Tudor Cross, while the sides were carved with intricate flowers. Gillian sat quietly, wondering whether she was witnessing history. She wished she knew more about why they were there, or why this was so important. Instead, she considered how easily this artifact had been handed over. Somehow, it seemed so small. She always thought it would be something bigger. She shifted in her chair, nervously. She could feel herself getting edgy from the anticipation of what was in the box. She smiled to herself. All this time, Franz had thought it was locked in some vault or hidden a cave. It never occurred to any of them that it was in the custody of an elderly pastor in a rural Baptist church, without so much as a lock protecting it—whatever it was.
