by Kris Knorr
“Lorena. Such language out of that designer mouth of yours.” Kay held a hand to her cheek. “And it’s just one lonely goose, the rest are ducks.”
“I don’t care. All of those fowl are instruments of Satan. They’re possessed! I was walking across our lawn with a bowl of fruit, and that big ol’ he-goose runs right at me, beating his wings and hissing like a snake.”
“He hissed?” Hettie asked.
“You can tell a bird’s gender?” Kay’s eyebrows rose.
“He hissed, spit, and his head spun on his neck.” Lorena twirled her finger. “He probably was vomiting algae too. I don’t know. I screamed, ran, then I tripped, or slipped, or something. Right down into a flowerbed of mud and duck crap. I’ll probably have typhoid and—”
“I wish I could’ve seen that,” Nan said. Receiving Lorena’s stare, she added, “But it’s terrible.”
“I think it’s just diarrhea and pink eye you’ll get; typhoid comes from rats.” Kay patted her shoulder.
Lorena held her glare. “It gets worse. I tried to look nice today because I wanted to meet the new guy, Robert Fullerton—again. But I’d spilled my Heavenly Peachy Salad, and as soon as I was down, those ducks were on me like I was a June bug. They noodled my legs and my new floral blouse; the goose was taking whacks at my head. The only reason I look this good is because half of the demon spawn was attacking Vera.”
“Poor Vera. That’s just what she needs.” Hettie looked around the room. “To discover even the birds have it in for her.”
“Hey! She did better than yours truly here. After she booted a few, they backed off. And then Walt ran to help her. Of course, I was being pecked alive at the time. Finally, he got around to rescuing me, trying to whack those da—those demonic birds off my back. Hit me in the head once. He was behind me, and when he yanked me to my feet, I used more than a few inelegant words on him. He’s the one who made feeding stands for that crew of moochers. I was serious-mad.
“That’s when I heard Walt laughing…and Vera, too. I turned and saw it was Robert Fullerton who’d tried to save me.”
“That’s awful.” Kay hid her grin under her hand.
“What’d you do then?” Micki asked, nudging Kay.
“I went home and took a quick shower. I wasn’t going to come back, but I’ve got the second shift on kitchen duty. Besides…I’m getting even with Walt for putting out duck food and enjoying those terrorist birds.”
“I think,” Micki bit her lower lip, “according to the Bible, you’re supposed to talk to Walt first, rather than attack.”
“I won’t hurt him.”
“She only attacks new members, like Robert Fullerton,” Kay said. “But you can’t blame Walt. Everyone in town comes here to feed the birds. They like seeing them nest in our bushes and waddle around the parking lot with their babies. It’s not Walt’s fault there’s a watershed pond next door.”
Lorena smiled, adding over her shoulder as she left, “Let me just say, the youth will have a successful fundraiser today.”
*
After a short prayer, plates were filled. Pastor Poe walked around, squirting whipped cream on top of pancakes and cups of hot chocolate. He requested a break in the music so there could be a round of applause for Vera and the volunteers, and he added how much he appreciated all that she did. Elke used the opportunity to fill a plate with griddlecakes, but shortly, the edges of the room were filled with children hopping to his accordion notes again.
The little ones dancing next to the coffee corner were offered bribes of extra whipped cream if they’d bring the teens food. The espresso business was so brisk the youth didn’t have a chance to eat. Micki’s daughter, recruiting latte orders table-by-table, was surprised that Walt had never had any “fancy-pants coffees.”
Lorena waved teen away. “I’ll take care of Walt.” She turned to the Property Manger. “I’ll get you a regular cup of ‘joe’. Do you put anything in it?”
In a few moments, she returned, placing his coffee in front of him. He took a sip, set it down, and stared at it. Dipping his fork into his cup, he lifted out wet feathers.
Lorena winked at him. “Since you like those birds so much, I thought you’d enjoy a drink with them.”
“I suppose I deserve this,” Walt nodded, “but Vera has a plan to save you. She’s—”
“I don’t need Vera to take over. I’ve already handled it myself. Have you ever tried to get duck doo out of a new blouse, Walt? It’s nasty-difficult.” She aimed a lethal stare at him and retreated to the kitchen.
*
Lorena slipped a bib apron over her head. “Hey, Allie. Fred. I’m here to relieve you. Sorry I’m late.”
“You okay after your attack?” Fred began untying his apron.
“Shitake mushrooms! Does everyone know?”
“Vera told us. Have a cup of tea.” Allie pointed to a mug. “I’d have done the same thing. They would’ve found my legs sticking out of the bushes.”
Fred slipped an arm around his wife, patting her stomach. “Good thing you’re stuck in the kitchen with me and missing the excitement.”
Lorena stared at them, watching Allie bow her head and put her hand on top of Fred’s. A smile started at the corner of Lorena’s mouth and spread to her eyes. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”
The ladies washing dishes turned off the running water. Those pouring and serving juice turned around. Hettie, who’d been digging in the closet, peered out the door at Allie. “What’d you say?”
Allie cast a glance at Fred, murmuring, “I’m due in October.”
Voices burst out in congratulations. Lorena stuck her head through the kitchen door. “Elke. Stop squeezing that thing for a moment,” she yelled into the Fellowship Hall. “Hey everybody, enjoy those pancakes because the chef won’t be cooking for us for a while. She’s pregnant.”
There was a long moment while the church members stared at the empty doorway, waiting for someone to appear. A blushing Allie and embarrassed Fred stepped out to applause and cheers. “Happy Birthday” wheezed from the squeeze box because Elke couldn’t think of anything else to play.
*
“I hope they wanted that announced.” Kay wiped plates as she took them out of the dishwasher.
“It’s a baby.” Hettie glanced up from pouring syrup into plastic containers. “Why wouldn’t you tell everybody?”
“You’re just mad because I beat you to it.” Lorena flipped her dish towel at Kay. “That announcement is something you would’ve done.”
Kay paused, staring at the wall. If she hadn’t known Allie regretted this pregnancy, she would’ve done the same thing. Perhaps with more style, shouting it like a newsboy. How often had she acted without considering what other people wanted? How many times had she done it to her friends so everyone could laugh?
“Are you all right?” Hettie asked.
Kay searched the schoolteacher’s face. “Have I…ever…done things to hurt you?” She ducked her head. She’d often run over Hettie. The teacher was an easy target for a joke.
“Why, Kay,” Hettie grabbed her arm, “it’s all right.” A tiny gasp came from Kay’s throat before she could catch it. Hettie pulled her into a hug.
“What’s the matter?” whispered Micki, shutting off the faucet where she rinsed plates.
“Well, at least you’re not hiding in the bathroom with your emotions.” Lorena circled the counter, rested her hand on Kay’s shoulder, and patted her back. Nan joined them.
“Don’t leave me out.” Micki didn’t bother to dry her hands, encircling as many people as she could.
“Okay. I’m feeling weird here.” Kay tried to shrug free. “I realized that I joke about whatever pops into my mind. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, Kay,” Hettie said, “that’s just you.”
“But I’m sorry for the pain. I don’t mean to hurt anyone.”
“You don’t hurt people on purpose.”
“Oh, back off! She needs absolution. She needs t
o hear it.” Nan grabbed Kay’s shoulders. “We forgive you, Kay. We love you and forgive you.” Then she pulled her into a hug. Micki was tearing up.
“Why are you crying?” Lorena asked Micki.
“I don’t know. It all feels so healing. Why’s Hettie crying?”
Vera appeared at the doorway, her head cocked, her eyebrows knitted as she assessed the teary-eyed group.
“Come on, Vera.” Micki waved. “We’re forgiving each other.”
Hesitating, she set her coffee cup on the counter, crossed the kitchen, and placed a hand on Micki’s arm.
Kay attempted to shrug free again. “Lutherans don’t do this. We’re not touchy-feely.”
“Then don’t tell anybody,” Hettie said. “Don’t be anyone but yourself, Kay. We love you just as you are.”
“That makes me want to be a better me.” A tear escaped from Kay’s eye. With a crooked smile, she wriggled her arm free, using a sleeve to wipe her cheek.
“It’s a group-hug-thing. Join us,” Micki announced to the youth director, who’d trailed into the kitchen. He took one look at the women, and left.
Vera made her exit too, but she paused at the doorway, looking back. Someone in the group had giggled. She watched the women break apart with laughter, wiping their faces with aprons and towels.
She took a deep breath, arranged her face to neutral, stepped into the dining room, and began picking up dirty plates. People didn’t realize how important it was to hug the single people in church—particularly the widows.
*
“Come on, Walt.” Kay and Lorena stood in the Fellowship Hall beside the two men sitting at the table. Kay jerked her head toward the espresso bar. “Let’s get a coffee.”
“Oh, I don’t drink that stuff. I promised Juan Valdez I’d buy only his pure Columbian beans.”
“Then help me carry them.” She pulled on his arm.
“Heavens, woman! Anyone with a grip like that doesn’t need help hefting a few cups of coffee.”
“Walt, come with me.” She smiled. “Please?” As they left, Lorena slid into his chair, next to Robert Fullerton.
The coffee line was short, and when they returned with drinks, Kay noted Lorena’s apology must have been short also because now they were chatting about his job. The group’s conversation continued in starts and stops. The only dialogue Walt contributed was holding up his latte every now and then and saying, “This isn’t half bad.”
Only a few people were left in the Hall when they pushed back their chairs to leave. “Wait, Walt.” Lorena’s eyes flittered between the floor and the Property Manager’s face. “I apologized to Robert for my bad behavior this afternoon, but I need to apologize to you. I’ll help you clean up the mess.”
“I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have laughed when the ducks tried to eat you. I think Micki already cleaned that cup of feathers you served me.”
Lorena didn’t look relieved. “I’ll see you in the parking lot.”
Walt squinted at her. “You need a ride? Robert’s with me, but there’s room.”
“Never mind.” Lorena walked away.
Walt blinked. “What’d I do now?”
“She’s had a rough day.” Kay gave them a good-bye wave and hurried to the kitchen where Lorena was filling a pail with water. “Okay. What gives?”
“Kay, what have you gotten out of this Faschnacht Feast?”
“Unmerited forgiveness is a wonderful thing. Why?”
Grabbing some rags and hefting the bucket from the sink, Lorena hurried up the stairs. “I learned revenge is a bad idea.”
“What’d you do?”
Lorena continued through the front of the church doors, and into the parking lot. When she got outside, she set the bucket down and pointed at the men getting into the vehicle. “It’s too late now. Just watch.”
The men closed the doors. Lorena frowned as the guys carried on their conversation like they were in a coffee shop. She picked up her bucket and hurried to the Dodge. “Walt.” Lorena rapped on the window. “You guys are probably sitting in crap. There’s a goose behind your seat.”
He rolled down the glass. “And you toted that out here to clean it up for me?”
“I paid the kids to put the Satan Goose in your truck.”
“You’re a terrible influence on our young people.” Walt squinted at her, shaking his head as he cranked the starter. “It so happens, Vera saved you. She told me to transport your deadly goose to the lake. I asked the kids to help me catch it. They told me you’d already requisitioned them. It’s in the back.”
A cardboard box sat in the truck’s bed. A goose’s black-and-white-striped head poked in and out of a hole in the top.
“They were supposed to put it in the cab.” Lorena frowned.
“Well, considering what you paid for his capture, you should be happy about contributing to a good cause, but if you’re still feeling guilty, I’ll bring you the box to clean when I’m done.” Walt winked.
As the extended cab Dodge Ram pulled away, the goose rocked the box, beating his wings and making noises.
Lorena’s malignant stare followed the truck. “I told you that bird could hiss.”
Ash Wednesday
THE NEXT EVENING, Lorena’s handiwork greeted worshippers. A rough wooden cross, entwined in black silk, hung from the church doors. Ends of the ebony scarf caught the breeze and circled as though beckoning penitent sinners inside.
The overcast February day matched the oppressive mood. Smells of damp earth and approaching rain hung in the air. Thunder rolled through the sky as a storm advanced from the north.
No musical prelude greeted the worshipers. Without speaking, each person entered and pinned a small square of burlap to their shirt, a rough brown reminder to be remorseful about their sins. They sat in silent meditation.
The great bell in the steeple rang once, a comfortless peal muted by low clouds. When the note faded, the choir stood and sang, “Alas, My God, My Sins are Great.” During another interlude of reflection, worshipers wrote their transgressions on small slips of paper to be burned.
Vera, wearing a somber face and carrying a dark wicker basket, walked up and down the aisles, collecting the written confessions. She had to wait for Micki to scribble two pages of sins before she could leave.
When Vera finally came through the door, Hettie, who waited in the Narthex, picking sickly-looking leaves off potted plants asked, “What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never burned sins.” Vera stared at the pile of scribbled trespasses. “I thought two of us would make the chore go faster, but there isn’t as much unbosoming here as I’d imagined.” She scowled. “The centuries-old tradition is to burn the fronds from the previous year’s Palm Sunday for ashes. Jim always did it in our fireplace. This is another ‘bright idea’ to spark-up worship. It’s not enough to come, confess, and receive absolution; we have to add activities.”
“You stored palm branches for a year then burnt them? That’s crazier than burning sins.”
Vera sighed. “It was symbolic. You know…the frond-waving cheer of ‘Hosanna. Here’s Our King!’ turning into an angry: ‘Crucify him.’”
“Well, I guess burning our wrongs is symbolic, too.”
“Yes. Yes. Let’s do something different.” Vera dumped the papers into a small metal trash can. “Let’s ignore the mystery of tradition. Let’s have immediate gratification. We need our sins to disappear in smoke and be rid of them.”
“If you feel that way, why’d you volunteer?”
“I didn’t volunteer; I was asked. Pastor Poe and I had a discussion yesterday. I believe this is his way of apologizing and assuring me he values my assistance. He said he needed someone he could trust to never read these confessions.” Vera moved the project outside the front doors and struck a match.
“And he thinks the rest of us would?” Hettie peered down into the container. “Look at that one. It’s a wad as big as a marble. I bet that’s a doozy.”
“Get some more paper, please. The fire doesn’t want to catch.” Vera frowned at the smoldering contents as a large drop of water splatted the top of her head. Hettie soon returned, carrying a stack of brown paper towels and several purple papers. “Ash Wednesday” was written across the top in wavy letters.
“I figured we could burn leftover bulletins—oh-oh.” A streak of lightning zigzagged to earth several miles away. Seconds later, thunder rolled over them. Sheets of water began pouring from the sky. Vera picked up the trash-can-of-sins, setting it inside the doorway.
“You can’t do that in here.” Hettie gaped as the white-haired woman snatched a bulletin from the container.
“They will need these ashes at Communion, and they’re already at the Nicene Creed.” She scanned the printed liturgy. “Most of the smoke should funnel out the open door.”
“I don’t think so.” Hettie shook her head, watching another of Vera’s matches snuff itself out.
They jumped from the flash a millisecond before the crack that ripped through the skies. The accompanying rain-noise sounded like punk-rock drummers on the roof.
“Whoo! That one was close.” The whites of Hettie eyes were big. “We need to shut that door.”
“We’ve got to get this burned.”
“Well, I only teach elementary-school science, but I can tell you—this isn’t going to work.” Hettie used her teacher-voice to broadcast over the sound of rain rebounding off the walkway.
“I’ll keep trying; you get your husband.” Vera threw another lit match into the can.
“He’s not here.” Hettie stared at the tiny flame as it shrank and winked out.
“Well, get Walt.” She shooed the teacher away with an anxious wave. As she left, Vera closed the door, set a paper towel on fire, and threw it into the sin-can. Pieces of paper caught and flamed. White smoke spiraled upward. She cracked the door open, then a bit more, to create a draft. Removing her right shoe, she jammed it into the gap. She fluttered both hands, encouraging the smoke toward the opening.
Inside the sanctuary, Pastor Poe had begun his sermon. Hettie chewed on a fingernail and scanned the rows. She didn’t see Walt, but then she didn’t know exactly what the back of Walt’s head looked like. She always sat behind the Hendrixes, so she could hear the bubble of the baptismal font and look through a tiny clear, diamond-shaped pane in the stained glass window. It was a strategic location for checking the weather and making afternoon plans.
