I took a sip of tea and nodded in that understanding way I have when speaking to someone who’s just done something colossally dumb. “That’s right. We do live in Virginia. What’s that got to do with anything?”
Mandy looked sheepish and flashed me that smile she uses to win me over. It usually works, but I was holding out for a true confession this time. “Nothing. Just thought I’d toss that in,” she said. “At first, Jonathan didn’t even want me to know about his family, and I was so dumb I didn’t even recognize him, although there’s no reason I should have. He stays out of the limelight as much as possible. We’re in Europe, anyway, so no one knows him over there—and I was clueless. Frankly, I don’t think he has all that great a relationship with his folks. Well, at least his stepdad. He speaks highly of his mother.”
She stood and walked over to the sink, turned back toward us, and leaned against it, her arms crossed. “I was a little teed off when he finally confessed, but we got past that eventually. At any rate, he asked me not to mention it to you guys, at least not for a while. Then when we decided to marry, we didn’t want to get the media involved and just avoided the whole thing. I know I should have said something long before this.” She looked at us pleadingly and threw her hands up. “I’m so sorry.”
Mel walked over to her and brushed a strand of Mandy’s blond hair behind her ear. “Sweetie, we know you’re sorry, and we understand why you didn’t say anything at first.” She looked over at me as if looking for direction.
I stood and joined them in a group hug at the sink. “We do?”
Mel jabbed me in the ribs. “Yes, we do.”
Well, pardon me. I stand corrected. “Ouch.” I rubbed my side. “You pack quite a punch. Remember, I’m already black and blue.” I turned to Mandy. “We understand, kiddo. But that doesn’t mean we don’t have a mess on our hands. Can you imagine what this town will do when everyone catches wind of this?”
“No, I can’t, but I bet it won’t be pretty. What can I do to help?”
Melanie grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the dining room. “Let’s go into the living room and talk about this.” I dutifully followed the womenfolk. Mel and Mandy sat on the couch, and I plopped into a wing chair beside the fireplace.
I decided to dive right in. “To quote one of our esteemed Road’s Enders, we’re up a stump without a paddle. I think we’re going to have to tell everyone all at once and do it before Ruby Mae has a chance to spread her own version all over the place. Not that her version could be any more preposterous than the truth. As it is, she’s already had a full day to wreak havoc.”
“How are you going to break it to them?”
“What other way is there besides just coming out and telling them? When Mack left—that’s Special Agent Ross MacElroy to you, by the way,” I said, pointing to Mandy. “We were best buddies by the time he left. Asked me to call him Mack. I guess a person gets special treatment once they’ve been trounced by the Secret Service. Anyway, he mentioned he’d be back tomorrow to start the interviews of townspeople, so we don’t have a lot of time. I’d guess a meeting later on tonight would be best, don’t you think? Here at the inn?”
Neither of them said anything.
I looked at Mandy; she was staring out one of the windows that flanked the fireplace. “Mandy?” Nothing. “Mandy, you still with us?”
A few seconds passed before she looked up at me with glazed eyes then blinked and held her hands up in front of her. “Hey, don’t look at me. You know these people a lot better than I do. I’m in favor of whatever you think is best. I’m just the bride, you know.”
Mel grunted. “Yeah, the big chicken bride.” She turned to me and said, “You’re right, Hugh. The sooner, the better. Should we start calling folks?”
We agreed that I’d ask Grace to initiate the calling tree of parishioners, and Mel would try those few people in town who didn’t attend the church. We’d arrange rides for those who were without transportation. Some were housebound; some were unbelievers. Regardless of their status with the Lord, however, Special Agent MacElroy was going to be suspicious of them.
As well he should be. As well he should be.
Chapter 9
You’d think I’d learn after a while that it doesn’t pay to gather several self-proclaimed geniuses in the same room and expect a consensus. But I didn’t have a lot of choice this time. The residents of Road’s End, clinically insane or not, had to be told of the impending visit by Stuart Thomas Rogers.
No matter how old or forgetful (or crazy) I get, I’ll never forget the day Mandy called to tell us she was getting married. It was the last week of April, and Virginia was showing off. Every tree and flower native to the area was either in full bloom, just winding down and sprinkling fragrant petals in a pale wash of pink and white and yellow, or getting ready to burst forth in all its springtime glory. Considering the unpleasant winter we had endured, the advent of warm temperatures, new foliage in varying shades of green, and the aroma of springtime blooms were a welcome relief.
Road’s End had triumphed over evil just before Christmas, and thanks to the hard work and determination of several slightly demented, albeit well-meaning, senior citizens, we not only put several thugs behind bars, but brought a soul to Jesus. All in all, despite the record-breaking blizzard, kidnappings, shootouts, attempted murder, and collateral damage to the inn, the church, and an unsuspecting Hummer, Road’s End had survived, and in an odd turn of circumstances, had grown closer as a community.
Then just when I thought things might get back to normal, we received word from our twenty-four-year-old daughter, Amanda, that she was engaged to be married. In the very next sentence, she asked me to officiate at the ceremony in the Christ Is Lord Church here in Road’s End. I was honored, tongue-tied, and busting at the seams with equal parts of pride and parental denial that our little girl was old enough to marry. Hadn’t she been born about ten years ago? Didn’t we just take down the decorations from her fifth birthday party?
The reception, she went on to say, would be held, upon our approval, in the garden at The Inn at Road’s End, the bed and breakfast my wife and I had purchased following my retirement from the Air Force after twenty-seven years as a military chaplain. Melanie was beside herself with anticipation. Our joy turned to panic, however, when she mentioned the wedding date—a short two months away.
So, there I stood in our living room, just days away from W-Day, about to address a group of outspoken parishioners and neighbors, all staring at me in that let’s hear what he has to say and then figure out a way to frustrate him to no end look on their collective face. This group of senior citizens agrees on very little, but befuddling me seems to be the one unifying factor in their modus operandi. Looming before me was a wedding, a largely uninhabitable church in need of immediate repair, and an imminent visit by the world’s most powerful man. Some months are just harder than others.
We’d brought folding chairs over from the church and lined them up along the walls in the living room. A few chairs spilled into the adjoining dining room. Some of the men, Dewey Wyandotte and George Washington among them, had positioned themselves as close to the buffet table as physically possible. Mel brought out two platters of crackers and cheese and placed them toward the back of the buffet next to the doughnuts, which were still warm from Sadie’s deep fryer, and generously sprinkled, powdered, glazed, and dipped in various forms of calories. Mel then plugged in the coffee urn and took her seat.
“What’s this all about, Pastor?” Sadie Simms spoke up first. “I’ve got cookie dough waiting.” The gauntlet was down; nobody in his right mind wanted to hamper Sadie’s cookie production.
“Ya got problems, Pastor?” That was Dewey Wyandotte.
“’Course he’s got problems, Dewey.” Right on cue, George Washington added his farthing’s worth. “Ya think he’s got time to dilly-dally ’round with social gatherin’s this close to the wedding? The man’s got things to do.”
“Just aski
n’,” Dewey said. “Criminy, what’s yer problem, George?”
“You,” George barked back. George and Dewey had an efficient relationship in that they served simultaneously as one another’s worst enemy and best friend. I admired their resourcefulness. No sense wasting time on cultivating an adversary if your best friend fits the bill.
I put my hands up for quiet before I had an insurrection on my hands. “Folks, folks. Thanks for stopping by tonight. I know it’s not a good time for any of you.” I looked toward Sadie. “I’ll let you get back to your cookies in just a few minutes.”
She ignored me, which was the equivalent of a bear hug in Sadie’s limited emotional range. She has two reactions to just about anything—anger and sarcasm. Anything milder is downright lovey-dovey.
“By now, you’ve probably heard about the gentleman who visited us yesterday—big guy, official looking,” I said.
Ruby Mae waved her hand over her head. “Yoo-hoo, Pastor. You talkin’ ’bout Mr. MacElroy, right?” Ruby’s hat was more subdued than usual, probably her version of weeknight headwear. She had a hat for every occasion. I assumed this one, a vision of neon yellow daffodils and blood-red tulips surrounded by some kind of undulating sea grass, was designated as her attending a meeting at the inn on a Tuesday evening to hear important news hat. She turned to Winnie Wyandotte, Dewey’s wife. “I met him yesterday, you know. Poor man has a crush on me. I told ’im I was off-limits, but you know how silly men can git when they get to beholdin’ me. Just can’t keep their eyes off me.”
Winnie rolled her eyes.
I jumped back into the fray before Ruby Mae could respond to the snickers sweeping the room. “Yep, he’s the one, Ruby Mae. His name is Ross MacElroy. He was here on official government business. Very official business. Top level, in fact.”
“Top level, eh?” It was Martha Washington’s turn. “IRS man? Or some sorta politician?” She turned to Hazel Parry. “I hate politicians. Greasy lot, all of ’em.” That seemed to me to be an odd statement considering she and her husband purposely shared, and some might say exploited, the names of our country’s first politician and his wife, but Martha was known to have a selective memory.
Hazel nodded, but I could see her cringe. Being the wife of the former pastor of the Christ Is Lord Church, Hazel is leery of derogatory remarks.
“Nasty bunch of hypocrites, those politicians.” Martha wasn’t finished. She turned back to me. “Is that what he was, Pastor? One of those low-life politicians?”
Off to a good start, I see. “Not exactly, Martha.” Deep breath. “But he does represent a politician. A very well-placed politician, I might add.” I looked at Mel.
She winked and gave me a thumbs-up. I’d decided to feed the news to them in small bites. “Mr. MacElroy works for the Department of Homeland Security.”
Blank looks and murmurs all around. Then it hit them. Elvis was back in the building.
“Homeland Security? As in terrorists? That kind of Homeland Security?”
“You ding-dong! What other kind is there?”
“Oh, my gosh, we have terrorists?”
“Where? Who?”
“Terrorists?”
“I’ll tell you who. I’ll bet it’s that woman I saw here the same day that security guy was here. Big woman. Tall. Mean looking. I’ll bet she was recon-nottering.”
“Recon-nottering? You don’t even know what that means.”
“I do so.”
“Don’t.”
“Do, too.”
“It’s reconnoitering, dummy. ’Noytering. You said ‘nottering.’”
“So what? I just say it different. What’s it to you, anyway? You with us or against us? You on the terrorists’ side, huh?”
“You take that back.”
“Not ’til you admit I know what I’m talking about.”
“Since when’ve you ever known what you were talking about?”
Time for the ladies to chime in. “You leave my husband alone.”
“Stay outta this, Winnie.”
“Don’t you use that tone of voice with me, Geraldine Washington.”
“The name is Martha.”
“Only because you had it legally changed. Like some scam artist.”
“Why you …”
I held up my hands and motioned for silence. “Ladies! Gentlemen! Let’s settle down now. No need for bickering.” No response. “Folks! Please settle down. Please. This isn’t helping any.”
Mel took pity on me, stood up, and made an announcement. “Anyone for refreshments?”
Instantly, the collective purpose changed from slandering one another to being the first to snag the biggest pieces of cheese and the doughnuts with the greatest concentration of powdered sugar. Ten minutes of relative silence followed as two platters of cheese and crackers and two dozen doughnuts disappeared along with thirty cups of decaffeinated coffee. Mel’s not stupid. No one wanted a town full of hopped-up senior citizens released to the streets after telling them what I had to say.
Surprisingly, nobody needed the Heimlich maneuver, but I attributed that to divine intervention; it certainly wasn’t due to restraint on the part of our guests.
Finally, fortified with food and their feuding forgotten, they drifted back to their chairs and settled in to hear the rest of what I had to say.
I waited a few seconds for the shuffling and rearranging and huffing and puffing to simmer down. “Okay now. Great refreshments, Melanie. And you too, Sadie. Doughnuts were perfect, as always.” The murmuring began again and I held my hands up. “Folks, let’s get down to the business at hand so we can all get home. I know we all have things to do yet this evening and tomorrow’s a work day.”
I looked at the earnest faces of my neighbors—most of them, attendees of the church I pastor—and wondered how my next few words would change their lives, not to mention that of Stuart Thomas Rogers. Despite their innate orneriness, they were good folks, devout in their faith, loyal to their community and one another, hardworking and well meaning. Yes, Special Agent Ross MacElroy was about to face the challenge of his professional career, and yes, the President of the United States was going to meet some of his most ardent critics as a result of many of his actions, or inactions, during the first three years of his presidency. But none of that could be helped. STR was on his way into Road’s End, and my friends and neighbors were going to undergo close scrutiny to ensure the president’s safety. No two ways about it.
It wasn’t the president’s physical safety I was concerned about. These people took on a gang of drug pushers last winter. Rogers wasn’t in any danger from them in the physical sense, but I did worry about his ego. I didn’t think even the most powerful man in the world could hold his own against the likes of Sadie Simms and her cohorts.
But thankfully, the president was oblivious to what lay ahead.
“Okay, folks, I’m just going to give this to you straight. Should have done this in the first place instead of beating around the bush. Yes, Ross MacElroy works for the Department of Homeland Security but not in the capacity you’re thinking. He’s actually a special agent in the United States Secret Service.” I pushed on before I could lose my nerve. “His job is to protect Stuart Thomas Rogers, the President of the United States.”
“So?” That was George.
“So … turns out the young man our daughter is marrying is the stepson of Senator Gilbert Austin. His wife, Jonathan’s mother, is none other than the sister of the president. That makes Jonathan the president’s nephew. Follow me?”
Emma River stood and addressed the crowd for the first time that evening. “He’s coming to Road’s End, isn’t he, Pastor? The president?”
I nodded. “Exactly, Emma. The president will be here for the wedding and it’s Ross MacElroy’s job to make sure he’s safe while he’s here. That means everyone will be questioned, roads blocked off, the whole works.”
By now, the room was in an uproar. Emma sat back down and nearly everyone else lurched up
ward, toppling their chairs this way and that. Questions erupted from every corner; pandemonium reigned. Looked like a press conference.
“When?”
“For how long?”
“That hypocrite’s coming to Road’s End?”
“After the way he’s betrayed us?”
I waved my arms. “Folks! Hey, let’s quiet down here. Please. Remember, this is our president we’re talking about. I don’t think we should be calling him names even if we don’t agree with his policies. This visit calls for cool heads and calm measures.”
I could see Pastor Parry in the back of the room trying to get a word in over the ruckus. Finally, a voice of reason. I gestured in his direction and sh-h-hed the crowd. “People, people. Let’s give Pastor Parry a chance to say something.”
As everyone turned to face him, Pastor Parry said, “Thanks, Hugh. Friends, Pastor Foster is right. No matter how upset we are with President Rogers, no matter ...”
Sadie interrupted him. “He’s mocking us! That’s what he’s doing.”
“... no matter what gripes we have with his administration, he is our government’s highest leader and as such, he deserves our respect. We’re Christians, after all. Let’s not forget to show mercy.”
“We’re Christians, all right, but not him, Pastor. Yeah, he told everyone he was when he was campaigning, but he’s no follower of Christ. No-sirree-bob.” That was Joe Rich, who, along with Rudy Wallenberg, operates our ambulance service when he’s not working as a farmhand out at Leo Walling’s eighty acres, inadvertently creating incidents requiring the use of the ambulance, or maligning high government officials.
“I know it looks that way, Joe,” Pastor Parry continued. “And I agree with you that the president’s strayed from his campaign promises—his pledge to follow the will of God, to bring America’s government back to the Lord. He hasn’t come through, I’ll give you that. But that’s still no excuse for us to belittle him or to display less than Christian attitudes ourselves.”
Faux Pas (A Road's End Mishap Book 2) Page 5
