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
