The Rope

This was my entry in a Writing Competition at the Goodreads group, RUBICAL. It really is a lot of fun. You are given a prompt and the parameters and then off you go. It's a great place to hone your writing skills and have some fun at the same time. I've been writing for almost 45 years and I've gotten much better from my time there. I've had to stretch my creative abilities and let my imagination roam. And it ended up soaring instead. 

Yes. I am unabashedly trying to talk you into going there. From people my age (53 48) to 11 years old, it's for everyone. It's mostly Christians, but not exclusively. It just means that we keep it clean. But besides that ... 

We always want new members and our moderator is so wonderful. A safe, encouraging place to write. LLR

Here are the Rules and Prompt for the story that I entered. And won! (Please read the prompt, otherwise the following story will make no sense.)

What Did They Say Competition #1! This was something new on the top of my head that I thought we could try! I hope it all makes sense. Enjoy! Perhaps next time it won't be as dark. :P

Don't turn this into a story; please only a few sentences in response or unfortunately it won't count.

You must reply to the prompt in a realistic way--nothing totally random that has nothing to do with the prompt. It needs to be a dialogue response!

© There will be no stealing of anyone's stories/work. We should all be mature enough to respect that if we are entering a contest. ©

Here is your prompt:

The man stepped towards me, old aging face decorated with sad lines. His clothes drooped just like his back as he stared sadly towards us.

"The problem is, child," he began, even though I was in my twenties and not at all a child anymore. "people take things for granted. Especially the earth we live on. But...then come along evil creatures, creatures who say they are human, and perhaps they are, but no longer act like the man walking down the street or the woman reading at the library." He shifted uncomfortably. "When these people come, they'll take you away. You won't be able to stop them. The earth won't be like you thought. In fact, it's not at all like anyone thinks."

I didn't understand his words. Nothing was making sense. I had just run about three miles to escape from the drones, and out of nowhere this man had stopped me, begging me to listen to his story and about how dangerous the earth was. The wars breaking out all over earth were surely trapping us against our wills.

"I've told you enough now, child," the old man sighed. "But most importantly, watch for the mist. The mist will choke you."

I frowned, opening my mouth to ask him a question. I said...

What did the character say to the old man? Feel free to think about whatever may be happening in this scene and supply a question!

The Rope

I frowned, opening my mouth to ask him a question. I said …

“Did you miss medication time at the Funny Farm, Pops?”

“Ah, arrogance. It’s something that I might tolerate, but will certainly not be met with understanding and patience by anyone else. But it is a good way for a young, arrogant fool to get killed.”

“Sorry. Guess I’m just trying to ignore what you said. I’ve known for quite a while now that things are way worse than we believe.
So any advice for a ‘young arrogant fool’?”

“Yes. Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop being a young arrogant fool. It can be accomplished. Especially if you have help.”

“But where on ‘Planet Hate and Chaos’ will I find help, Pops?”

“ A rope made of three strands can’t be easily broken.”

“Hey, I like that, Pops. You certainly have some smarts, even though you’re a physical wreck.”

“I’m not that smart either. I didn’t invent that saying about the rope, but I know it’s true. Are you game, Kiddo? You and me sticking together?”

“I’m with you, Pops. But where do we find the third strand for our rope?

"He's already here, Kiddo. He's already here."

by Laura-Lee Rahn


NOTE: I mentioned that I won this competition but in all honesty, I was the ONLY person who entered. So there definitely is room for you at RUBICAL. (I wonder if there is a HTML code to make this printing even smaller?)


RUBICAL at Goodreads



So many people ask me how I know when God is telling me to do something. On Friday I asked the Lord which story I should post on this blog this weekend. This is the Bible verse in my Our Daily Bread Devotional for that day.

Ecclesiastes 4:9-11
"Two are better than one,
    because they have a good return for their labor:
10 If either of them falls down,
    one can help the other up.
But pity anyone who falls
    and has no one to help them up.
11 Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm.

    But how can one keep warm alone?"


Now check out verse 12.

"Though one may be overpowered,
    two can defend themselves.

A cord of three strands is not quickly broken" [Emphasis mine. I love writing that, it makes me feel like a big Bible commentator.]

It's not that hard to hear God. It depends on whether or not you want to hear what He wants to tell you.

"If necessary, God will move heaven and earth to show us His will." Charles Stanley

The Right Questions

This was another story I wrote to enter into a competition. Alas, I did not win. But the prompt for the story was the picture below. And from it I created the following story. LLR

“Psst. Psst. Testing 1, 2, 3.

Okay. Good. It’s old but it’s working.

My name is Teva, but I don’t think that will actually matter in the long run. I’ve got some things I’ve got to say and I’m not sure how long I’ve got. I found this old dictatape recorder and I’m going to try and say what I know before they find me.

WAIT. Don’t shut me off. I know I sound insane and maybe I am, but it won’t hurt you to listen. In fact, it might actually save your life.

This all started a few days ago when I went on that blind date with the photographer.

No. Wait. It started before that with the Holographic Moon Prank.

Or, … did it happen even before I was born? Just give me a moment. I haven’t slept for a couple days and I just need to gather my thoughts.

Okay. Yup. [sigh]

If you’re like me, you have no memory at all of when man first walked on the moon. Neil Armstrong was his name. The first guy. I remember because I got that answer right on my Grade 9 history test.

But in my family, we also have a history attached to the Moon landing. In fact, it’s always been more of a family joke. Hmph. It suddenly doesn’t seem so funny right now.

Apparently, in the 1960s before I was even a hope in my mother’s heart, three men took a spaceship to the moon. Our moon. The one we see at night. It took years to accomplish, but when it finally happened it was broadcast on TVs all around the world.

My mother, her mother and her mother’s mother were all sitting around the TV, along with several other family members and neighbours who didn’t have TVs of their own. Now you’ve got to remember at this time, nobody knew anything about space or the moon. Every eye was glued to the TV screen. Mom said they weren’t even sure if there were a bunch of Aliens living on the moon. Who knew what these three men would find Out There?

They watched Armstrong take his first step onto the surface and say his famous line, “One small step for man. One giant leap for mankind". And when that day was over, the world, the earth that we had lived on, it was a very different place. We had decided to go to the moon. And so we went. No miracles. No supernatural. We just wanted it and we did it.

And just as the broadcast finished and Walter Cronkite wished all “good-night” and told us, “That’s the way it is"., my great-grandmother said her own lines, which became famous in  my family.

 “I don’t believe it".

Oh. How we laughed about that through the years. For the remainder of her life she was the butt of our jokes because she didn’t believe we had actually gone there. She had figured it was just some Hollywood people making a movie. She would sit quietly and be made the laughing stock of her family and then just gently say, “How do you know I’m not right?”

And now, I sit here with this little tape recorder and I think, my sweet Memere, you were sweeter and smarter than all of us put together. Please forgive me my arrogance.

All of you will remember the Holographic Moon Hoax from just a couple weeks ago. We looked into the sky at night and saw the word “Error” where the moon should be. Of course, it didn’t take long for it to be discovered  like any other hoax. With all the cameras in the world, it was easily proven by NASA that it was just a hacker who had gotten into the Net. If you think back, you will remember that nobody saw the “Error” message with their naked eyes.

 …[sigh]  But that’s not true. I did. And I’ve been running for my life ever since.

At the time, I was so busy and preoccupied that I didn’t even realize I had seen it myself. I assumed I had seen it like everyone else, on the Internet or on TV or a news broadcast somewhere. We get so busy that we don’t even notice the obvious that is right in front of us.

A few days after the Moon Hoax, I went on a date with a new guy that my roommate had fixed me up with. He was a photographer and after dinner we went to his place and I thought he would make some moves on me. However, the only thing he did was to bore me into a coma by showing me years worth of his photographs. Thankfully, I didn’t have to fake the migraine headache he had inflicted on me with his endless, “Look at this one. Look at this one.”

Now, I don’t believe in God because I believe in science and using my brain. And the idea of some big, old dad in the sky who loves us but would kill his own kid is so stupid. I’m not even going to talk about it. But, I have to admit there have been too many coincidences these past days for them to be mere coincidences. No bookie would ever make book against the existence of God if they had just lived through the days that I have.

It just so happened that one of Mr. Boring’s photographs stuck to the bottom of my shoe and I found it when I got home. I recognized it. It was a lovely picture of Mist Island, which is about 70 miles away from the shore near where I grew up. It’s called Mist Island because you can rarely see it from the mainland. So for him to have such a clear photograph of it was quite amazing. But that wasn’t the only amazing thing about the photo. According to science, the earth is a sphere. And you can easily tell that anytime you see a ship depart. Because as it sails farther away, it appears to drop beneath the horizon. I stared at that photo off and on for a day before I realized what was bothering me about it. From that distance, I should not have been able to see the entire bottom of Mist Island. But I could see the entire thing. He had used a zoom lens and that allowed the camera to see what the naked eye cannot. 

Since then, I’ve done that test myself at different locations and according to the mathematical equation governing distance vs curvature. I shouldn’t be able to see what I can see if the earth is in fact, a sphere. I can barely believe I’m saying these things. I feel like I’m in a nightmare that I can’t wake up from. 

Anyway. Where was I? Oh yeah. Then I went to the NASA government website and found photo after photo that has been altered. And obviously so. Not just things that they use as an excuse like, “Oh. It’s a composite”, but I also discovered that we shouldn’t be able to see the Great Wall of China from space either. So how many pictures are there that apparently NASA took from a high orbit of The Wall? They are not even following their own scientific equations and theories. And now I’m sure they’re trying to kill me. Whoever “they” are.

WAIT! WAIT! Please. Don’t shut this off just yet. If there really are people trying to kill me, these may be the last words I ever speak. So I’m asking you to give me one more minute before you click the OFF button. I am telling you, the earth is not a sphere and NASA has been lying to us. We never went to the moon at all. And we don’t have a bunch of cameras in space taking pictures of the earth, because …

  ...    the earth is flat. D*** *** S***!

 I never thought I would ever say that. Not in a million years. I’m a rational woman. I have a brain. I know science. I’m not sucked in by old religious superstitions. 

[sigh] I’m so tired. I haven’t slept for so long. I don’t dare shut my eyes.

You think you can walk away from this? It will beat at your brain too. And your soul until you MUST find the truth. MUST. MUST. must.

I told all this to a Christian friend of mine and thought she would be thrilled to discover that NASA and all the Scientists had been lying all these years. And that the original Christians were better off because they still believed the old ways of a Flat Earth.

She looked at me and said gently and calmly, almost motherly, “It doesn’t matter".

“OUR EARTH IS NOT ROUND AND EVERYONE IN THE GOVERNMENT AND AUTHORITY IS LYING TO US! HOW CAN THAT NOT MATTER?!!!” I screamed at her.

She answered me with such a look of compassion. 

“The governments have lied to the people since they were first set up. Science changes what it calls the “truth” almost every day. The poor are always with us and each human being will die and have to face God someday. The reason this doesn’t matter is because I know Jesus personally. Jesus. The incarnate God in human flesh sent to us. He made the world and He definitely knows what shape it is. Nothing is a surprise to Him. And my God will meet all my needs and your needs too, through Christ Jesus. Jesus, who is the same yesterday and today and forever.

Whatever the shape the earth is, or whoever lies to me, we will all face Jesus. And when He comes again it won’t be to die, it will be to rule and reign. And EVERYTHING will be made right and perfect. All sin forgiven. Death conquered. Eternal life offered. These things will remain unchanged even if the world looks like a Tootsie Roll. The only Truth you need to know is Jesus and whether or not He is who He says He is. God. And if you don’t know that, no answer will satisfy you or make you happy. Because it’s only in God’s presence there is fullness of joy".

Gee. I can’t believe I remembered all that she said. I usually tune her out while she’s still talking.

But that’s what she told me. Ya know? It made me feel better, although I don’t know why. I suppose that all great answers begin with a great question. Maybe by telling you my story into this little recording machine I’m passing on the Search. I don’t know what will happen to me. I know I’m being followed. Three times someone has tried to run me over. I don’t know the answer to “Who is Jesus?” but for the first time I think I want to know.  But I suppose where you end up is just ...++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

by Laura-Lee Rahn

Alberta, Canada

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You will be welcomed and encouraged by a wonderful group of people. LL

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CHURCH LADY P.I. Part # 6 Meeting Bert

CHURCH LADY P.I. Part # 6

Meeting Bert

REMEMBER: This is a mystery and it must be read in order, including the  Introduction, then Part 1, Part 2, etc. Also read the Companion Blog Post from my Personal Blog, "Laura-Lee Was Here" called, "FINALLY FINISHED: Church Lady P.I." There are clues everywhere. (LR)

Fortunately Marc's school buddy Bert lived very near to the little meadow we were walking through. In less than 10 minutes we were approaching the front door of his rather run down looking house. It had the same flower garden that every other home in this small town possessed and very meticulously kept, but the house itself seemed to be somewhat neglected.
We walked up a couple steps that begged for repairs as much as the rest of this small house. Marc knocked on the door with an odd little rhythm. I looked at him quizzically and asked,
 "What's that, Morse Code?"

He responded with a grin, "You don't recognize it?" 
I shook my head.

"It's the beginning of the song, 'Saturday Night'."

"By the Bay City Rollers?!" I exclaimed with surprise.

"Exactly." Marc responded as an excited smile brightened his face. I could tell Marc had taken a dive into his memories and was excited by the prospect of seeing his school friend again.
I was about to make a comment but forgot what it was as the door was flung open by a man who seemed to be the living human example of his home; some parts meticulously kept, while other parts (like his dirty, baggy pants) definitely needed some attending to. But apparently the "S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y NIGHT" knock had alerted Bert to who was at his door before he even opened it and he was equally excited to see Marc. Yet neither of them reached out to hug or shake hands. The two of them just stood and stared at each other with massive grins, without either saying anything. I wondered if I was watching a re-enactment of their very first meeting all those years ago when they had been just two unabashed little boys.

Marc broke the silence by introducing me when Bert finally pulled his eyes away from Marc's face and onto mine. Bert held out a tentative hand, which I shook and then he looked me up and down as well, but not in any way that made me feel uncomfortable. I thought Bert might ask me to turn around so he could get a good look at all of me, but instead he did an almost courtly bow and  displayed the way into his living room with his hand, much in the same way 'Vanna' would display the letters on "Wheel of Fortune".

Bert's first words, which may have been meant for me or just a general announcement to the Universe at large were,
 "Well. A lady in my home. This means the tea pot."

I responded with, "That sounds lovely. Thank you Bert".

Marc guided me into the living room as Bert padded down the hallway in stocking feet towards what I supposed was the kitchen. 

The rest of this town might have been giving off a "weird" vibe, but the visit to Bert's house was a trip into the truly fascinating. The first thing I noticed in the living room were the old newspapers. I would have estimated perhaps 20 years worth of the weekly town paper as well as several shelves jam packed with books. Not to give  the idea that there was anything untidy about it all. The books, which were ordered on the shelves according to the Dewey decimal system, had all of their spines facing in the same direction. As for the newspapers, they were not scattered about the room, but tied into neat piles that resembled pillars. Some reaching almost to my 5' 5'' height.

It wasn't more than a couple minutes before Bert returned with a tray upon which was a lovely silver tea set without even a minute amount of tarnish and three delicate china cups with matching saucers. Marc and I were seated next to each other on a small sofa and even though there were two other chairs nearby, Bert settled in by squeezing himself between the two of us. No sooner had he placed the tray of tea things on the coffee table directly in front of us when Bert picked up a tiny pair of silver tongs that sat atop a pile of sugar lumps arranged in a geometric pattern, when he asked me how many lumps of sugar I wanted.

I answered, "Two are enough. Thank you", only to once again be  surprised when they were added to the orange juice that poured forth from the tea pot instead of the tea I was expecting.

We stayed with Bert for more than an hour as I listened to Marc skillfully, lovingly and almost artistically weave his way through a conversation with Bert. Memories were revisited that revealed the fantastic and fascinating inner workings of Bert's mind. Bert for his part reminded me of a motion sensitive porch light that is suppose to deter burglars. He remained silent and "off" until something caught his attention and he quickly came "on" and began to shoot out ideas and theories about life in this town that he had lived in his entire life.

Marc, understanding that I was seeking specific information, got Bert to talk about his many conspiracy theories. From the "baby selling" taking place out of the 'Cathedral's' nursery, the "prostitution ring" run by the high school coach, right to the "lobotomy tea" being sold by Harker at his Dry Goods store. Until at last we delved into the topic of the Fireworks Factory explosion and the subsequent fire that spread to the church I had attended just the previous Sunday. I also discovered that Bert's own father was one of the five people who survived the explosion by being in the washroom, only to die a few short months later of cancer. That last topic left us all silent and pensive until Marc announced that we should be getting back home to his Aunt and Uncle's house so that nobody would be worried about us. 

That quiet mood stayed with us during most of the walk back until I blurted out, 
"Did I just witness an example of autism?"

Marc's answered was a short, "Yes. A mild case."

"I don't know much about autism Marc, except it has something to do with how people perceive the world. It's in a way that's different to other people, right?"

"I'm not really certain myself." He replied. "But the 'experts' don't know much more than that either and probably won't until they find a way to see out of other peoples' eyes."

He continued, "Maybe I should have warned you, but it's just part of the way Bert is so I don't think much about it, at least not in any conscious way." He paused but a moment for reflection before resuming.

"It's actually part of the reason Bert and I became friends. We met in Elementary School, but when we were in Junior High School together I was receiving very high grades and one of our mutual teachers asked me if I would help Bert with his homework, which he seemed to be having a lot of problems completing. It soon became apparent that if facts came from me Bert only needed to hear something once for it to sink into his brain forever. But anything he read directly from a book he simply could not retain or even barely comprehend."

"And all those newspapers?" I asked rather timidly, not wishing to pry too deeply.

"Well."  Marc began slowly. "If I quoted a headline, Bert could probably go directly to the newspaper and page that held it, but if I wanted him to tell me what the article was actually about, he wouldn't have the least idea."

We fell back into our mutual silence, but just before we entered Marc's Aunt and Uncle's house he inquired while examining my expression with deep concern, 
"Are you okay? Did meeting Bert overwhelm you? You've encountered some strange events and people this week. It hasn't been too much for you, has it?"

"No. I don't think so." I responded slowly. "It has been an odd week, but I was just thinking that knowing someone who perceives things differently than everyone else may be just what I'm looking for to help me figure out what is happening with Sarah and her disappearing bunnies."

LINK to Next Part # 7 "Back Burner"

LINK Bay City Rollers "Saturday Night" YouTube

Church Lady P.I, INTRODUCTION
Laura-Lee Was Here Blog "FINALLY FINISHED: Church Lady P.I."  

Copyright 2015 "The characters and events in this story are not meant to represent any persons living or dead and are entirely a product of the imagination of the writer." LR

CHURCH LADY P.I. Part # 5 Under the Willow

CHURCH LADY P.I. Part # 5

Under the Willow

REMEMBER: This is a mystery and it must be read in order, including the  Introduction, then Part 1, Part 2, etc. due to the fact clues are everywhere. (L-L)

  When Ginnette finally got off the phone Sarah was still sitting on my lap but she was no longer crying or emotional. I wanted to question her more, but I felt the Lord prompting me to leave. So I said my “good-byes”, but before I left, Ginnette took me into the bedroom and offered me $20 “for my troubles”. Of course I declined and the desire to spit out the words, “Save it for buying more bunnies when you can’t be bothered to find out what’s troubling your daughter.” came over me. But I kept my mouth shut.

A couple hours later I was at the town bus depot where I had arrived only 4 long days ago. This time to welcome the “reason” I was in town. My “gentleman caller” (which is the word that we older ladies use for “boyfriend”) got off the bus and I swept him into a big hug. He doesn’t believe in public displays of affection, but he must of missed me because when I tried to disengage myself from his arms he held me tight for an extra couple of heart beats. 

This is the town where my Marc had grown up and I was here to meet the only remaining family he still had left, an Aunt and Uncle, their 3 children and their families. I hadn’t contacted them since I got into town (basically because I was too afraid to face them alone), but with Marc here my courage reappeared as suddenly as one of Sarah’s bunnies. Marc and I had been “keeping company” for several years and I know that the “meeting of the family” signals a shift towards marriage, but the idea of marrying Marc made me very nervous. Yet he convinced me that he merely wanted all the people he loved to get to know each other and he was not going to pressure me into something I wasn’t ready for (although at my age you think I’d be more than ready for it). Added to his persuasive argument to come here were  his big, brown, pleading, puppy dog eyes, so it was inevitable that I would eventually give in and come to this small town that I had never even heard of before I met him.

I gussied myself up the best I could and met his family, all 11 of whom had come to town just to see me. As a group they possess the same qualities that Marc possesses singularly, so after a couple tense moments meeting everyone in the front hallway, I slipped into my place in that family as effortlessly as I slipped into my chair at the dining room table. Perhaps it was so easy because Marc was behind me holding out my chair, both literally and metaphorically.

After supper Marc and I took a stroll and I related to him the events of the past few days. He remained silent and thoughtful as I talked, nodding his head occasionally. When I was finished, he asked a couple questions to clarify my story and then settled back into his usual quietness. We walked side by side and hand in hand for several minutes (apparently the “public‘s” opinion of our hand holding wasn‘t foremost on his mind at that moment).

Marc eventually broke the silence by asking me what “little church” I was referring to. I told him the one I meant and he responded with, 
“Oh. That’s why I couldn’t figure out which one you were talking about. We call it ‘the Cathedral’ ”.

“Why ‘the Cathedral’? It’s not very cathedral like.”

“Well it was at one time.” he responded. And I could sense he was about to tell one of his “Oh-so-rare” stories. I was right and he continued.

“The Cathedral has been in this town almost since the beginning. This place originally started as a boom town. It sprung up fast and grew rapidly. And everyone was making money. It was back at the end of the 1930’s and the beginning of the 1940’s.”

“During World War II?” I interjected.

“Exactly. Back at that time, almost everyone attended church and the town’s founding members wanted to show that they were prosperous not only financially, but spiritually as well. With a great edifice, they could display to the world that Jesus had blessed them in every way and on every level.”

“Really humble” I remarked sarcastically

I waited for Marc to say more, but he didn’t. I finally could stand it no longer and burst out with, 
“Well! Don’t leave me hanging. What happened next?”

A smile split his face as he looked down at me and said tenderly, “Immediate Mai.” which is his nickname for me because patience is not one of my biggest virtues.

“Did you notice that big empty field not too far from the church you attended?” 
I nodded in affirmation.

“Well, that was once a big ammunition factory. During the war it made all sorts of guns and ammunition, but when the war was over it was converted into a Fireworks factory. Some people thought it should be a canning factory because they were morally uncomfortable that their blessed, spiritual town could be responsible for the death of a lot of people, even if they were 'just a bunch of  Nazi’s and Japs'. But money talked the loudest and in the end we could make more money with fireworks than canning. They modified the factory to make fireworks and only 4 days into full production the entire thing blew up. It killed everyone that worked there except for 5 people who were in the washrooms at the time. Although the Cathedral was some distance from the factory, the wind was blowing in that direction and the Cathedral caught fire as well. There are no traces of the factory left, just that empty field. It was obliterated. As for the Cathedral, only a portion was saved. The part left standing was where the Sunday School took place. The remains stood vacant for years but in the mid-80’s it was renovated into the building it is now. But those of us who grew up here still refer to it as ’the Cathedral’. Many people think the factory explosion and subsequent burning of the Cathedral was God’s judgement on the town because we made ’instruments of death’ during the war. People still debate it to this day.”

We walked in silence for a while longer, passing small houses, each one with a flower garden, until we ended up near the edge of town in a small meadow forested on two sides and peppered with various species of trees. I stopped walking to take in the view and then asked Marc,
“So exactly what Christian denomination occupies that church right now?”

“To tell you the truth.” he responded, “I don’t really know. Not many of us ‘lifers’ have anything to do with it.”

“Why not? Does everyone think it’s still under God’s judgement?”

“No. I don’t think it’s that. I haven’t attended it myself, but several of my friends that live here have gone for awhile and then just stopped. My friend Bert, you’ll meet him soon, he thinks they’re a front for selling babies because their nursery is always so full.”

“Do you think that’s possible?“ I asked attentively, while scanning Marc’s face.

“Not really. Bert thought our high school was the head quarters for a teen-age prostitution ring. So I don’t take all of what he says completely serious. But he’s got a big heart. I’m sure you’ll like him.”

“Can’t wait to meet him.” I said rather absent mindedly.

Suddenly Marc chuckled and I raised my eyebrows as if to say, “What?”

Marc said, “I was just remembering another conspiracy theory that Bert had. When a new store opened in the 70's that sold special herbal teas, Bert thought they were putting something in the teas that chemically lobotomized the drinker and as a side effect made men impotent.”

“He sounds like a real character”

“Oh that he is. That he is.”

We continued walking and Marc took my hand again. He took a big breath, which he usually does when he’s about to draw a conclusion.

“I don’t think the people who attend the Cathedral are into anything criminal. The consensus in town seems to be that they are just a little weird. But who isn’t?”

At the word “weird” I stopped walking for a moment. Marc turned and looked at me. All sorts of things were running through my head, but I didn’t want to get into them at that moment, so I just started walking again. We approached an ancient old willow tree and both of us instinctively ducked under it’s cascading branches and leaves that fell to the ground. We both relaxed our backs against the trunk and Sarah came to my mind. I was wondering how she was doing. I was wondering how I would proceed with the investigation into these stuffed bunnies. I knew caution and cunning were called for, but I usually don’t investigate things secretly. When I am looking for someone or something, I walk up to people and ask questions. But this was different. There might be subterfuge and deception going on and if I went blundering into it like a bull in a china shop, I could put Sarah or maybe even Ginnette at risk.

I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer, “Oh Lord. Don’t let me make things worse. I don’t know what I’ve stumbled upon, but I know you do. Just don’t let me make things worse or get someone hurt.”

I sighed my “Amen” and opened my eyes when I realized Marc was near. I saw that he was leaning on the tree with his left arm resting on the trunk just above my head. He was watching my face very intently. He must have been doing it while I was praying.

“Having a talk with the Lord, are you?”

I nodded my yes.

“Good.” he said matter-of-factly. “Because you’re keeping some things from me and Somebody should know what you’re up to. Or maybe you could just tell me more.”

“No. Not yet. I’ve got to sort out more of my thoughts.”

“Is it about the little girl with the stuffed bunny?”

I nodded again, then reassured him, 
“But it’ll keep for awhile. There’s nothing to be done right now, and I’m too old to not appreciate a peaceful, perfect moment like this”

I was studying Marc’s face too: his bright brown eyes and that smile that is never very big, but almost always present, his animated eyebrows that rise in surprise, lower in concern and wiggle to make me laugh and his eternally tussled hair whipping around in the wind.

Suddenly rain began to fall and I was grateful for the tree that sheltered us, the love of someone who would stand by me, for the Lord who knows me better than I know myself (and loves me still) and a Bible verse came to my mind, so I spoke it out loud.

“I will be a shelter and shade from the heat of day and a refuge and hiding place from the rain.” 

We lingered under that old willow for another 10 minutes or so until the rain abated and since it was growing dark, we decided to walk a quicker pace to get back to Marc’s Uncle and Aunt’s home. Marc was fussing over me, trying to get me to button my sweater because of the “night chill”, so I agreed. He was also telling me that there would probably be hot chocolate and cookies waiting for us when we got back to the family, so I made a joke about maybe running instead of just walking faster.

He grabbed my hand again and we started across the meadow, walking with a purpose. Thinking about Marc’s family and friends and the hot chocolate I suddenly asked him, “What store did your Aunt get the cocoa from?”

He turned to me, “What?”

I smirked, “It wasn’t the same one as the lobotomy tea is from, is it?”

Marc actually laughed out loud.

“I don’t think so.”, he said as we were marching through the tall grass. “She’s been shopping from ‘Kendall’s Grocery’ for 30 years, so I don’t think we have to worry. If Mr. Kendall wanted to poison us, he would have done it a long time ago.”

We turned to each other and smiled.

“But if Bert’s right," Marc added,  "I’d stay away from ‘Harker’s Dry Goods’.”

I froze in my tracks.

Marc also stopped and looked at me.

I looked up into his face, “I am anxious to meet your friend Bert. Very anxious. Do you think we could stop in on him tonight?”

LINK to Next Part # 6 "Seeing Bert"





Copyright 2015 "The characters and events in this story are not meant to represent any persons living or dead and are entirely a product of the imagination of the writer." LR

CHURCH LADY P.I. Part # 4 Some Bunny's Home

CHURCH LADY P.I. Part # 4

Some Bunny's Home

REMEMBER: This is a mystery and it must be read in order, including the  Introduction, then Part 1, Part 2, etc. due to the fact clues are everywhere. (L-L)



 I looked around quickly but I was completely alone. Who had put that bunny next to me and why they did I had no idea. But I did know that there would be a little girl very happy to see her smiley-faced friend again.

I took Velveteen back to the hotel where I was staying and she kept me company for the next couple of days. I needed to get the address or phone number of Ginnette and Sarah but his town was so small it had no phone book and most churches completely shut down on Mondays because Sundays are the busiest day of the week for a Christian, especially those who work for the church. Early Tuesday morning I phoned the church office to discover how to get hold of Ginnette. At first I almost got hung up on, until I mentioned that I had found Sarah’s bunny. Then I got put on hold. Then a man, who’s name I didn’t catch, came on the line and told me to just drop the bunny off at the church. When I hesitated he offered to come and get it from me himself. I explained to him that I had made a promise to Sarah personally to find her bunny and return it to her. After explaining this, yet another man came on the phone to talk to me. This one was very insistent that I bring the bunny to the church and adamant that he would "give out no information about any church member". When he realized I would not change my mind about delivering the toy to Sarah directly, he blurted out her phone number and hung up without so much as a “good-bye“.

I immediately called Ginnette and Sarah’s home, but got a busy signal. I phoned a couple minutes later and got their answering machine. I phoned several more times, but kept getting the answering machine, yet each time I did not leave a message. I wanted to bring Velveteen to Sarah directly and as quickly as possible, but I still didn’t know where she actually lived. However, I am a professional investigator, so I did "my thing" and by 11:00 am I was standing in front of Ginnette and Sarah’s house, ringing their doorbell.
It only took a few seconds for the door to be answered, but in that brief time I looked the house over and realized this house was the “exception that makes the rule”. It was a typical middle class abode, right down the line.

Ginnette answered the door and I could tell she was not pleased to see my face again, but when I presented Velveteen she perked up and put an “I-told-you-so” expression on her face. As Sarah appeared from behind her mother Ginnette said, 

“Look. Velveteen showed up again, just like she always does.”

With her know-it-all attitude, I realized I was forming a strong dislike for Sarah’s mother. On the surface she seemed to be saying pleasant things, but beneath her words she made you feel like you were being scolded and about to be sent to bed without any supper. Just as I was beginning to think these un-Christian like things about Ginnette, they vanished as quick as a hummingbird in a hurry when I looked into Sarah’s face. I had handed Velveteen directly to her, but her initial look of joy and relief had completely vanished and replaced by an expression of … I don’t know what.

I had planned to leave quickly, but when Ginnette asked me to stay for a cup of tea I blurted out a “yes” with my mouth, even though my feet wanted to make a hasty retreat. I felt things had taken a step beyond “weird” and we were heading into the territory of “wrong.”

While Ginnette and I made polite conversation over our tea cups at the kitchen table, Sarah sat in a chair without saying a word, while a glass of milk and 3 cookies remained untouched on a plate in front of her. I was trying to catch her eye, but she just stared at the floor and wouldn‘t look up. By the time almost an hour had passed I was getting ready to leave but still hadn‘t been able to engage Sarah in conversation and her cookies remained untouched on her plate.

I was getting up to leave when the phone rang. I told Ginnette that I would be on my way, but she asked me to stay for a moment because she wanted a “private word” with me when she got off the phone. What she probably expected to be a short phone call took on a new tone and, as near as I could tell, Ginnette seemed to be debating with someone about which hymns she would play at the next service. I waved at Ginnette and started toward the door but she motioned me back and mouthed the words, “please wait”, so I settled down on their comfortable “shabby chic” sofa. Sarah came and sat next to me still carrying Velveteen and her downcast expression. Curiosity and concern got the better of me and I decided to use a direct approach to find out what was bothering her.

“I thought getting Velveteen back would make you happy, Sarah. Aren’t you happy?”

She just shrugged her shoulders. So I continued trying to be both sympathetic yet firm.

“Tell me, Sarah, why aren’t you happy?”

She was holding the bunny in her lap and clapping it’s little paws together and answered with a short, “I dunno.”

I’ve questioned many adults, some of them with criminal records and have been quite successful in getting at the truth, even if I have to trick them into telling it, but tricks and deception rarely work on children. They’re just too smart for that. But I had to get Sarah to open up and tell me what was bothering her and the only way to do that was to demonstrate  that she could trust me. and the best way to get someone to open their heart to you is to open your heart first. That and prayer. So I did both.
 I took Sarah (and Velveteen) onto my lap and began to talk to her until I felt her little body begin to relax a bit. At one point her mother took the telephone away from her face and whispered, “Sorry” and rolled her eyes. Sarah saw that too and, I suppose sensing time was short, she took a deep breath and finally blurted out the problem.

“You found the wrong bunny.”

“I don’t understand, Sarah. Is this your bunny, Velveteen?” I probed directly.

“Yes. But the wrong one.”

Then I heard the voice of her mother echo in my mind:
 “ Sarah loses that silly rabbit all the time. She loses it, complains and sulks for a couple days, then it either turns up again or I go buy her another one. They are only $5.00 at Harker’s Dry Goods down town. So you really needn’t bother.”

Then specific words repeated themselves: “She loses it … it turns up again … I buy her another.”

I felt there was an answer to this little girl's unhappiness just beyond my mental grasp, so I persevered.

“Sarah? How many times has your mother bought you a new bunny?”

She jerked her face up and looked directly at me.

“Five!”

She glared at me. Almost “willing” me to understand.

“When your mother said, ’it turns up again’ does she mean you find it, or does it show up like it did with me, just appearing out of nowhere?”

“Yes. Yes. That’s it!” She said loudly and then looked at her mom before continuing in a quieter voice.

“This is Velveteen Violet, not Velveteen Bow. Velveteen Bow is the one that left this time.”

Things were finally starting to break through my thick adult brain.

“You said, ’left’ not ’lost’. How do they ’leave’?”

Sarah’s bottom lip started to quiver as she continued, “I don’t know. They’re there and then they’re not. Sometimes they come back, but sometimes they never come back, so Mommy buys me another one. But now … but now …”

She stopped mid-sentence and the tears started to fall down her face, but I urged her to go on. Confusion creased her brow as she continued,

“ I don’t know. I don’t know. Now old Velveteens are coming back and I don’t know where they’ve been or why some come back, but others haven’t and they’re gone. I don’t know if they’ll come back or how they’ll get back to me and then I wonder”, she paused, “ I wonder, … I don‘t know. I just don‘t know.”

After another moment she regained her composure and I spoke gently to her,

“So you’ve named them? To keep track of them?”

She gave a huge sigh and she leaned her head on my chest and hugged my neck. I must admit at that time I didn’t comprehend all she was saying or what it all meant. In honesty, I was probably more confused than Sarah was. But I was starting to comprehend the nightmare this little girl was living in. A bunny would suddenly disappear and then after some time would just as suddenly reappear. When she tried to explain it to her mother, Ginnette thinking Sarah was just an absent minded child would buy her another one. Each time a Velveteen would disappear or reappear Sarah would become more frightened and confused, enhanced by her inability to communicate to her busy mother what was happening.
As I sat there with Sarah, gently stroking her hair, I knew that when I came upon her on Sunday, sitting on that step and crying it was no coincidence. I was sent here to help this little girl with her problems and try to solve the puzzle of her bunnies. A feeling of foreboding came over me and, I'm ashamed to admit, I tried to think of a theory that would easily explain away the situation so I could get out of it. But I couldn‘t.

I felt Sarah shudder as I continued to hold her and my sympathy for her drove away my own selfishness. If I wanted out of these circumstances, what must it be like for this 8 year old girl to be trapped in them?! 

As smart as I can be at times what I keep forgetting is that God knows exactly what’s going on and He has a plan to make things right. All I need to do is be attentive and available. So that’s exactly what I decided to do.
The Bible says "God chose the foolish things of this world to shame the wise." {1 Cor. 1:27}, but at that moment I didn't know which category I fit into.

LINK to Next Part # 5 "Under the Willow"





Copyright 2015 "The characters and events in this story are not meant to represent any persons living or dead and are entirely a product of the imagination of the writer." LR