Thursday Club Mysteries: All 7 stories

by Sheila Hudson

  “That’s right,” Clara added. “And on one of our day trips we went to the Monastery of Good Faith. I was writing a piece for the Athena Herald, so I needed some research material. Derek is such a help to me these days.”

  “Yeah. I’ll bet he is,” Hattie chuckled.

  “Anyone heard from the Langford sisters?” I said in an effort to change the subject.

  “Amy called me this morning. She wanted to know what type of clothes to pack,” Clara offered.

  “Oh no. Not her too! We are going to the monastery NOT the Vatican. Over and over I’ve said just pack what you would normally wear. It’s very informal. There’s no concert or special mass scheduled, so comfort is the word of the day.”

  “Do you think Amy and Suzy can tear themselves away from their boyfriends?” Hattie asked.

  “Well if I can spend time away from Derek, I think Amy and William can take a break. Besides he’s back on duty at the Royal Norwegian. She told me that this voyage was his last commitment as ship investigator. He has plans to retire.

  And as for Suzy, it looks like she and Tony may get remarried when they finish their counselling. Their kids are pulling for a Christmas wedding, but I am not sure they’ll wait that long,” Clara said.

  I was happy that each of my friends had found a sympathetic companion. Amy had faced the possibility of losing hers on our cruise to the Caribbean. Suzy and her ex had rekindled their romance. Even Hattie had made a few men friends in the ship’s casino. With her $20,000 jackpot money from the Royal Norwegian, she purchased an I-Pad and took basic courses to learn G-mail, Facebook, and Skype. She was one hip senior citizen who also had ties to the FBI. We never did figure out how she acquired so much spy equipment.

  Clara’s professor had seemed attentive enough, but we still didn’t know much about him. The Thursday Club had a get-acquainted mixer after the cruise, but Dr. Derek was unable to come. Of course, he was probably legit. We just hadn’t decided if he was more interested in Clara or her family’s prestige.

  As for Tom and me, we were beginning our second year at First Church. Tom was ecstatic about the growth both in the church and in the community. My husband’s first book, a memoir, had done well. At present, he was taking a few days for a sabbatical to outline a manuscript for the sequel.

  “Okay that’s enough gossip for today,” I said interrupting my own internal conversation.

  “How close are we to finishing packing? Tomorrow I want to collect the luggage and get an early start. Please look over the classes and the monastery schedule before then. Okay?”

  How on earth would we silence Hattie at meals? Would Clara be lolly-gagging over Derek all week? Would Suzy constantly be checking her I-phone for texts from Tony? I kept saying to myself ‘not my circus, not my monkeys.’ But unfortunately, they were mine.

  I could easily envision a picture of two blondes, a silver hair, a brunette, and a redhead plastered on the front gates of the Monastery of Good Faith. Underneath were the words: Do Not Under Any Circumstance Allow On Premises.

  ~2~

  The waiting room was crowded as always. I had endured a boob flattening mammogram a few days back. This was my appointment to get the results. Stapled to the bulletin board was a cartoon showing a woman lying in the carport with tires rolling over her bosom. Yep! That’s about right, but still better than the alternative.

  “Mrs. Roxy Thibideaux, the doctor will see you now,” the nurse called. I followed her down the hall to Dr. Peterson’s office. He was behind the desk, bespeckled, and reviewing a file – presumably mine.

  “Roxy, how are you?” Dr. Peterson stood and offered his hand.

  “Frankly doctor, I’m a little nervous. Usually you just send me a postcard with the mammogram results. When your office called, I didn’t know what to think.”

  “Yes I know. With this kind of thing, I like to discuss the results in person,” the doc said.

  What kind of thing? What are we discussing? My heart felt like a runaway train in my chest, I folded my hands to keep them from trembling. If the news was bad, did I call Tom? Did I let the girls know? Keep calm Roxy. Listen to the doctor -- he is saying something else.

  “The initial mammogram shows a dark spot in your left breast, which wasn’t present on your last mammogram. We are concerned that it may be a nodule or a cyst. In any case I want to do some further tests to make sure. And whatever it turns out to be, we will keep a watchful eye to make sure that it is taken care of.”

  There it was. He never said the “C” word but I was no fool. I had no history of breast cancer in my family, but of course that meant nothing. I’ve always been careful to get checkups and take precautions. Oh God! Why did this have to happen now of all times? Don’t panic! God’s timing is perfect. I believe that it is but I am too upset to see it right now. How can I keep this secret until I know something for sure?

  The doctor was still explaining.

  “I want to send you to a surgeon for an examination today which will include an ultrasound. When the results come back, we will know how to proceed from there. How does that sound?”

  “Oh, sorry. What did you say? A surgeon?”

  Then I began to tremble.

  Dr. Peterson was dialing a number on his phone. I heard him say my name and nod a few times. He hung up.

  “Just down the hall on the right. Dr. Waters’ office will take care of everything.”

  My eyesight was blurred by tears I didn’t even realize were there. I stopped in the restroom to blot my face and get a grip. It was surreal. This morning everything was usual. Now my world was topsy-turvy. That’s probably everyone’s reaction when they receive bad news. I had to buck up. It wasn’t definite. It was just a test. Tests could be wrong, couldn’t they? Until I knew something definite I vowed not to upset anyone with iffy news.

  The ultrasound was painless and the technician was very kind. She saw this every day I suppose – frantic women with dark clouds over their heads. I wouldn’t want her job. Of course, she must have good news of the sex of a baby or a no malignancy found variety. She told me the ultrasound results would take a few days.

  The physician’s assistant took a gallon of blood along with a needle aspiration of a cyst in my breast. I clinched my eyes to stop the tears.

  “We will let you know,” a cheery voice called as I exited. “Have a nice day.”

  Afterward I sat in the car with my cell phone in hand. Do I call Tom or not? Would he remember that I had an appointment for a check-up? Maybe I should leave well enough alone unless of course someone asked. I was a terrible liar, although I had honed a few skills in that direction on the cruise ship escapade. As a minister’s wife I didn’t want to perfect my lying skills too much.

  Sunday’s sermon topic rambled through my brain. The guest speaker took his text from Proverbs 3. Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight. I had been a Christian since my teen years. I said that I trusted God and submitted to His Will. But did I really?

  The drive back to the parsonage was uneventful, so uneventful I don’t even remember leaving the parking lot. I had experienced illness before. My faith had certainly been tested in many years of ministry. But this was different. This was personal.

  I was still balancing the pros and cons of what to do if the dark cells turned out to be malignant when my cell rang. Up popped a picture of my youngest daughter. Jenny is a nurse in a nearby regional medical center. If I answered it now, she could tell that I’d been crying. One thing would lead to another until it was a full-blown family conference. I didn’t want to stir things up if it turned out to be nothing, so I took the coward’s way out and didn’t answer. She left a message on voice mail wishing me a great retreat with my gal pals.

  So sweet. What to do? I did what any caring mother would do. I listened to her message, called her back, put on my best game face, and lied.

  ~3~

  My neig
hbors were startled out of slumber with the rat-a-tat-tat from Scarlett. That only meant that Suzy was in rare form. Earlier this morning, I had picked up Hattie and Clara at Golden Palms and swung by Krispy Kreme©. They had finished their doughnuts and coffee just as we loaded up the van. We were headed for another Thursday Club adventure, but this one might prove our undoing.

  Never in my two years at First Church had I known silence with this group. We were always talking, joking, laughing, and giggling over something or someone. It would be an emotional strain for us to maintain silence for any length of time, especially at meals. I wondered if anyone had ever been extracted from a monastery for being too loud. Since none of us were Catholic, they couldn’t excommunicate us. At least, we’ve got that going for us.

  Once again Scarlett carried our one bag apiece maximum plus assorted totes, a cooler, and a bag containing snacks and other retreat necessities. Suzy and Amy expressed concern over the rule for silent mealtimes, no alcohol, no curse words, and absolute ladylike decorum at all times. I assured them that we would be able to obey all the rules that were expected of us. I had made the arrangements with the Abbot that included a few surprises for my girls. Of course the standard midday prayers, mediation, serenity walks, and Stations of the Cross were available, but there would also be a little something extra for us.

  Our extended families made us promise not to pick up any strange men on our retreat. Since we picked up William and Derek on the sea cruise, the request is not as strange as it might sound.

  Hattie was in high spirits and chose her powder blue jogging suit with a matching beret. Clara was not quite as daring. She wore a conservative navy pant suit with a scarf of many colors. The Langfords were nattily attired in Dior fashions, which made my Walmart jeans and sweater look too casual. Poor things didn’t own anything without a designer label.

  We made a quick stop at Pauline’s for lunch. It was pleasant to be surrounded by friends. I wonder why it is that we only value a thing when we feel we may lose it.

  The homemade tomato basil soup was even better than I remembered, especially when served with Pauline’s fresh baked onion loaf. I don’t even want to think about how many calories it contained.

  Amy read my mind when she said, “Thursday Club rule #2: When on vacation, calories don’t count.”

  We all agreed. Then Hattie said, “What’s Thursday Club rule #1?”

  “Don’t you remember?” Suzy said. “We enacted it on the ship. No pictures taken before hair and makeup.”

  “That’s right I forgot,” Hattie responded. “Excellent maxims to live by.”

  “So where is this merry band off today?” Pauline inquired.

  “We are off to the monastery near Conyers for a girls’ retreat?” Clara answered for the group. “My boyfriend, Derek who is a professor a Georgia College, says it is an excellent place to learn about church history in a serene environment.”

  Pauline looked at me. I nodded.

  “Well you can’t argue with that. It sounds just like a bit of heaven right here in Georgia,” she agreed. With that she retreated to the kitchen and returned with the dessert tray.

  “Dessert is on the house, ladies.”

  We left Pauline’s with full tummies and good moods. Ninety minutes later we were pulling into the Monastery of Good Faith. Suzy parked in the nearest handicapped spot.

  The Abbot met us in the lobby of the Retreat House. He had a coterie of brothers who assisted us with Hattie’s scooter and luggage. He distributed pamphlets containing the retreat schedule.We were also told the arrangements for our evening repast.

  I was surprised to see a woman in the registry office. The Abbot introduced her as Marcella Gerard, the Bookkeeper. He explained that not all of the monastery’s needs were matched with the brothers’ skills so they hired employees from the community. I could certainly understand that. Our church had employees versed in tax laws, accounting, and filing procedures for nonprofit organizations.

  The Abbot then turned us over to Brother Ignatius, the vocational director. He furnished us with wrist bands containing bar codes for entry into meals, the Abbey Church, and classrooms.

  Clara whispered, “I didn’t know Trappists were so high-tech.”

  I nodded in agreement.

  Brother Ignatius overheard our comment, “Oh yes. The brothers at the monastery use computers for research in writing monographs on many subjects. We have full Wi-Fi capabilities and even have an up-to-date library with links to all kinds of resources.”

  At that point Brother Ignatius touched his forehead. “Sorry. I’m having horrendous headaches lately.”

  He then repeated the Wi-Fi capabilities part of the speech word for word. “Feel free to link to the internet. Marcella can give you individual guest passwords.”

  Walking back to our quarters, I ventured, “Is it just me or did Brother Ignatius lose his train of thought in orientation?”

  “No I noticed it too. Weird?” Clara agreed.

  Hattie, Amy, and Suzy were ahead of us on the walkway. We reached our quarters and had a couple of hours before dinner to ‘case the joint’ as Hattie put it.

  Our accommodations were a pleasant surprise. We had adjoining bedrooms with twin beds and a pull-out sofa in the main room. The sisters took the blue room with frilly curtains and chenille bedspreads. Hattie and Clara said they would take the pine paneled room which was a little more rustic. I took the sofa bed since I tend to stay up late reading.

  We stashed our clothes and personal items in the closets and chests of drawers. We even had a little kitchenette with a coffee maker and microwave. Suzy read most of the monastery pamphlet out loud while we waited for dinner and orientation. So we felt prepared for the retreat. Ah! But what they didn’t know was what I was planning.

  I pushed yesterday’s doctor appointment to the back of my mind. This weekend was about fun. If I needed back up or got into a funk, what better place to be than a monastery? I could get advice, counsel, and all the prayers I wanted in a confidential setting.

  At 5 p.m. precisely, Friar Thomas knocked on our door. He instructed us to wait in the Visitor’s Center until the chimes called us to prayers. We watched the video of the monastery’s history and the day-to-day routine of a monk’s life while we waited for the chimes to sound. When they sounded, the brothers went to evening prayers and we were called to the common dining hall.

  We dutifully followed the burlap-clad lad that ushered us into the magnificent dining all. It was walnut paneled with inlays fit for royalty. The tables were large with candles down the middle for “mood” lighting. Tableware was already placed. We followed others ahead of us that filed in and took their places on the benches. No one sat until the Abbot motioned for us to do so.

  Everything about the dining hall was both simple yet elegant by candle’s glow. Reverent silence continued until all were settled and a faint undertone of music was barely audible. When the silent prayers ended, the servers soundlessly dipped the soup, served the bread, and poured the water. I read in the brochure that all meals were modest, mostly vegetarian from harvests grown on the thousand acres that surrounded the monastery. I observed my posse as they sipped and chewed. Being silent tonight wasn’t a problem at all. We were in awe of our surroundings. It was like entering into another world. My worries were for nothing. We were over the first hurdle but there were more to follow.

  ~4~

  Thank God for Keurig. The monks had placed one in our sitting area and I was the first one up. The brew was just what I needed to reflect upon this beautiful God-given day in this consecrated place. How silly I was to worry about the tests! I knew God had this. Whatever happened I was not going to be the whiny butt that no one wanted to be around.

  I soaked in the morning sunshine and was soon joined by Suzy and Clara. The other two sleepy heads would follow.

  “It’s a good thing you aren’t on the monks’ schedule,” I teased. “They get up at 3:45 and have morning vigils at 4:00 a.m.

&
nbsp; Hattie steered her scooter in my direction while Amy followed with two cups of coffee. “I don’t think I’ve ever been up THAT early in my life,” she muttered. They must go to bed with the chickens.”

  We laughed and I drank in the warmth of that room – the sunshine, the laughter, the coffee, and the love.

  After a bit, I got everyone’s attention.

  “Everyone get dressed for the retreat of a lifetime. I have special arrangements for the weekend. We are calling this the M&M Retreat – Massage, Meditation, Metallurgy, & More. To get us in the right frame of mind, we will begin with massage and an experience you won’t soon forget. ”

  Within the hour we dressed in our comfy sweats and headed to the dining hall. The resident brothers had previously breakfasted and left for their tasks at the monastery. Gardening, making leaded stain glass windows, landscaping, baking, jelly making, and teaching were only a few of the jobs that the monks occupied. There was also the medical clinic, the library, manning the gift shop, and running the small café at the Visitor Center. Since we were the only ones enjoying porridge and bread at the moment, our small whispers to each other were allowed. I had forgotten how wonderful simplicity could be. The atmosphere was serene. Much like my experience at Pearl Harbor, it seemed almost sacrilege to break the silence with conversation. But alas all good things come to an end even serenity.

  We boarded Scarlett but before Suzy cranked the engine I handed out the day’s itinerary. Today was the first “M” massage, which is in our case meant visiting New Chai Day Spa. I explained that this was a new establishment in the area. It was a Korean owned spa and had gotten rave reviews especially for their mugwort tea. Everyone was quite anxious to try this new blend of refreshment. As it turned out, this spa experience was unlike anything we could imagine.

  At the New Chai Day Spa, we were ushered to the changing room and greeted by a middle aged Korean woman wearing only a black bra and panties. She told us in broken English to disrobe. When I asked for a towel, she distributed something akin to a potato sack. It covered nothing including my embarrassment.