by J B Hawker
“Why would it?” Judy said, as she wrestled the dough into a greased bowl, flipping it over with a plop.
“I just wondered what would happen if they ever became serious about the same boy. They’ve always been so close. Do you think it would drive a wedge between them if a boy liked one sister more than the other?” Elizabeth said.
“But they are just the same…identical, in fact. How could anyone have a favorite? I certainly don’t. That doesn’t make sense.”
Judy covered her dough with a flour sack tea towel and began to scrub bits of dough and loose seeds off the countertop. She washed her hands and untied her apron, hanging it over an open cabinet door.
“Let’s go out onto the porch. It’s such a nice day. When I was out in the garden earlier, I thought I smelled spring in the air.”
“Just what does spring smell like to you?” Elizabeth asked, settling into a white wicker rocker.
“Oh, you know, early wildflowers, ocean breezes, freshly dug garden beds…you know!”
“I suppose I do. I know when spring is in the air, anyway. I just never thought about it before as a definite aroma. What are you bringing to the bonfire Saturday night?”
“Flax and chia seed rolls for the grilled tofu wieners. That’s what the dough rising inside is for,” Judy replied. “Are your people all planning to attend, too?”
“We’ll have our own Lenten services at church, of course, but when the beach bonfire was presented to our congregation as a fellowship picnic with the other churches in the community, they were on board. I think we will probably have a good turnout, especially if this warm weather holds through the weekend. It will be the first outdoor community event of the year.”
“Ken was sort of unenthusiastic about it, at first, he doesn’t much like the beach…he says it’s got too much sand…but he’s agreed to come. I’m sure he’ll have a good time. My girls and the others in our youth group are excited about it. Me too,” Judy said. “Would you like some more tea?”
“No, thanks. I’d better get moving,” Elizabeth said. “I’ve still got to work on my sermon notes. It’s my turn to preach this Sunday. I’ll be at the beach party, but I won’t be making a late night of it.”
*
“Can you reach that corner, Ryan?” Merrill asked, kneeling to dip a roller into the paint tray at her feet.
“Here? Sure,” Ryan said, easily filling in the section of the restroom wall beyond his aunt’s reach.
“Did you finish inside the cubicles?”
“Yep. Just did. Shall I check next door to be sure we didn’t miss anything?” Ryan asked.
“That’s a good idea. I’ve just got to slap another coat on this one area, and I think we will be all done.”
Ryan stepped into the other restroom while Merrill continued to paint.
“We’re good in the men’s room. I didn’t see any missed spots, anyway. When is the plumber coming to install the faucets?” Ryan asked when he returned.
“He couldn’t come until next week. I told the deacons to plan on worshiping in the sanctuary three weeks from this Sunday, just in case we have any more delays. I hate rescheduling over and over. Every time that happens the attendance drops.”
“Why?”
“People can be insecure about going to something new. Last minute changes just increase their uncertainty. No one wants to look foolish by turning up at the wrong time or in the wrong place,” Merrill explained.
“I guess that makes sense. It’s never fun to feel like the only one who doesn’t know what’s going on.”
Merrill finished the last stroke of the roller and gathered up the paint supplies.
“Here, will you take the paint trays out back and wash them off under the hose? I don’t think this water-based paint will do any harm to the ecology of that weedy gravel bed back there,” Merrill said, handing over a tray.
“Sure,” Ryan said and went out.
He was rinsing the rollers when the church custodian came up behind him.
“What’s going on?” Alden barked.
“What!” Ryan yelped and dropped the roller he was rinsing.
Trying to grab it, he stepped on the lip of the water-filled paint tray, flipping the tray into the air and dousing Alden.
“Hey!” Alden shouted.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Boreman. You startled me.”
Alden looked down at his wet shirt and trousers, gave a snort, turned on his heel and walked away, muttering.
“I said I’m sorry! It was an accident!” Ryan called after him, but Boreman ignored him.
“Ah, geez! I hope Aunt Merri doesn’t get into trouble on account of me,” Ryan moaned before gathering up the painting equipment and going inside.
*
On his way back to Bannoch, Peter stopped in at the Sheriff’s Office in Tillamook where he asked to see the officer in charge of the Bannoch area.
“I’m Detective Ransom. You wanted to see me, Mr. uh, Compton, did they say your name was?”
Ransom gestured to his visitor’s chair and Peter took a seat.
“That’s right, Peter Compton. I work for the Seattle Dispatch. I’m looking into those suspicious deaths at the Bannoch First Baptist Church.”
“What deaths would those be?” Ransom asked.
“The woman found hanging in the bell tower and her co-worker whose body was discovered in the church baptismal pool. Have there been any other recent deaths at that particular church?”
“No. But what makes you think those two incidents are suspicious?”
“Two co-workers, each turning up in the same small-town church miles away from their homes within a few weeks of each other, seems suspicious on the face of it. When you add a few other details I’ve discovered, it becomes even more sinister,” Peter said.
“What other details? Where did you get your information?”
Ransom pulled a notepad from under a stack of papers on his desk, grabbed a pen and leaned forward to hear Peter tell him what he learned in Portland.
An hour or so later, Detective Ransom shook Peter’s hand and escorted him out of the office.
“With this new information, we should be able to move forward and find out exactly what happened in that church of yours. Thanks.”
“You’ll keep me posted, right? I get first dibs on anything relevant to the story,” Peter reminded Ransom.
“You’ve helped us when we were at a dead-end,” the detective said. “You can trust me to keep you in the loop.”
*
Before sunset on Saturday, the sand of Ramparts Beach was dotted with clusters of happy picnickers from the various Bannoch churches.
The fire pit was ready for the bonfire and a group of men were importantly discussing the best ways to get a good flame going, while a dozen portable barbecue grills were sending up appetite-teasing aromas to mingle with the sea breeze.
Children were making sandcastles and running along the surf line, stopping now and then to beg for marshmallows to toast or snatching bites of food off the serving tables.
At the First Baptist group area nearest to the fire pit, the ladies were setting out food on the tables the deacons had brought over from the church.
Taking a headcount, Merrill was pleased at the large turnout.
This was her second community-wide activity and her congregation seemed to be taking to the idea of greater inter-church fellowship.
She looked around but didn’t see Peter on the beach and was more disappointed than she liked to admit.
Ryan and DeRay were playing volleyball with Judy’s girls and some other young people.
Many of the churches’ youth groups were too small on their own for team sports, so the teenagers were making the most of this larger gathering.
Soon the food was ready, and everyone began to cluster around the serving tables.
Although many of the young people chose to sit in a mixed group of those their own age, most of the adults gathered with their own congregations to e
at.
The older members of Merrill’s church sat at the picnic tables provided by the church, while the younger ones used folding chairs or blankets brought from home.
Merrill frowned when she noticed Bethany Sisco squeeze in at a table next to Manota.
Bethany was one of the younger members who should be leaving the picnic table seats to her elders.
Manota seemed to agree with Merrill’s opinion. The two frowning women shared a hissed conversation before Bethany took her plate off to a beach blanket.
As she saw Manota chase Bethany away, for once Merrill agreed with the grumpy older woman.
Merrill wove in and out among her flock, stopping for a few moments to chat with each one, before filling her plate and looking for a place to sit.
She’d just spied a flattish boulder near the path to the parking lot and was heading that way when someone tapped her on the shoulder.
“I brought a couple of folding chairs. Care to join me?” Peter asked when she turned around.
“You made it!” she squealed, before going on in a more normal tone of voice. “How was Portland? Did you get the information you were after?”
Peter carried the folding chairs under one arm and squeezed Merrill against him with the other before releasing her and taking her hand.
“I’ll tell you all about it, later. Right now, let’s find a place to sit before all the food is gone.”
*
The bonfire was dying down when Ryan and DeRay trotted up to where Merrill was sitting on a driftwood log near the fire pit.
“Aunt Merri, DeRay’s mom invited me to stay over at their house tonight. Is that okay?”
“What about church tomorrow?” Merrill asked.
“Ryan can come to church with us, Pastor Bishop,” DeRay said.
“Well, if you’re sure it’s okay with your folks, then it is okay with me. When will you get your overnight things, Ryan?”
“DeRay and I will go pick them up on the way to his place. We’re going to the movies in Tillamook tomorrow afternoon, so is it okay if I miss Sunday dinner?” Ryan asked.
“I guess so. I’ll have leftovers for you, if you come home hungry, but be in before bedtime. And take your cell phone,” Merrill reminded him.
Ryan gave her a quick hug and the two boys ran off toward the parking lot where DeRay’s parents and his little sister were waiting.
Merrill waved to DeRay’s mother.
“We’ll have him home tomorrow evening, Pastor!” DeRay’s mother called out before the family drove away.
Peter, who had been helping load tables into a pickup truck, joined Merrill on the smooth log.
“If I’d known about this driftwood, I could have left those folding chairs at the discount store. This is quite comfy,” he said, sliding an arm around Merrill.
“It was thoughtful of you to bring the chairs, though. Thank you.”
They sat quietly watching the surf and listening to the others packing up and driving away.
Just when Merrill thought they were the only people left on the beach, she saw Manota emerge from behind an outcropping of large rocks among the dunes, threading her way between clumps of silverweed before climbing the path to the parking area.
“I wonder what she was doing all alone.” Merrill commented.
“Who?” Peter asked.
“Manota. She’s a member of my congregation. I’m surprised to see her still here all by herself. I hope she didn’t get lost, or something. She is getting on in years and she’s been behaving very peculiarly, lately. Do you think I should run up after her to make sure she’s okay?”
“You stay here. I’ll go.”
Merrill remained seated, enjoying the sensation of being looked after.
Peter soon returned and reported there were no cars except their own in the parking area and Manota was nowhere to be found.
“I guess she got away okay, then,” Merrill replied.
“Now that we are finally alone, I want to tell you what I discovered in Portland. I can use some sound counsel,” Peter said.
Chapter 20
As the fog rolled over Ramparts Beach, Merrill and Peter sat alone beside the cooling embers of the bonfire.
Merrill shivered, rubbing her bare arms, and turned to Peter.
“So, is this private enough for you to finally tell me all about your Portland trip?”
“You’re cold, let’s go someplace warm,” he replied.
“Okay, where?”
“Is it too late to get a cup of coffee at your place?” Peter asked.
“It’s too late for me to drink coffee, but I can fix you some. Let’s go.”
“I want to run by my motel and pick up my notes. I’ll see you in a few minutes,” Peter said.
They walked up to the parking area and got into their cars, Peter driving off toward his motel and Merrill taking the winding hillside route leading to the church.
As she rounded a sharp curve overlooking the rocks and ocean below, a dark sedan with no headlights appeared out of the foggy darkness and swerved toward her car.
In a split second, Merrill considered her options: swerve right and risk going over the cliff or turn sharply toward the oncoming vehicle, hoping to squeeze by on its left.
Tires squealed and metal screeched as the two automobiles briefly occupied a single lane of the highway.
Swerving back to her side of the road, Merrill pulled over onto the narrow shoulder and slammed on the brakes.
She glanced in the rearview mirror just in time to catch a glimpse of red taillights swinging back into the roadway before disappearing around the bend.
She got out of her car on trembling legs and walked around to the passenger side to assess the damage.
It was hard to tell how bad it was in the darkness, but she could make out a long scratch near the rear fender. Running her hand over it, she could feel an indentation from the cars scraping by each other and shuddered to think how much worse it could have been.
Whispering, “Thank you, Jesus!” over and over, she got back into her car and drove off, wondering what could have possessed anyone to be out driving in the fog at night without headlights. That driver must have been either drunk or crazy.
Merrill was overwhelmed with gratitude for the Lord’s protection.
Including the unknown erratic driver in her prayers, she drove with extra caution until she arrived safely at home.
Peter was just getting out of his car in front of Merrill’s apartment when she pulled up.
“Did you take the long way home?” he asked with a grin, as she approached her front door.
“I almost didn’t make it home, at all,” she replied.
At Peter’s look of alarm, she added, “I’m okay, just a little shaken up. I’ll tell you about it inside.”
Merrill put the coffee on, turned on the kettle for a cup of chamomile tea for herself and sat down, with a sigh.
“Tell me what happened. In this light, you look a little green.”
“A crazy driver nearly ran me off the road and over a cliff! It was really scary,” Merrill explained with a quaver in her voice.
“Did you get the license plate number? We need to report this,” Peter said.
“No, it was too dark, and it all happened so fast. The other driver wasn’t even using headlights, so I didn’t see the car until it was almost on top of me. It was a miracle I didn’t crash into it or end up on the rocks.”
Peter pulled Merrill out of her chair and put his arms around her.
“We can thank God for that, I’m sure. Hey, you’re still trembling, but you’re safe now.”
Merrill thought her trembling was more from being in Peter’s arms than from her brief scrape on the highway.
The tea kettle whistled, and she reluctantly stepped out of his comforting embrace.
“Now the excitement is over, I’ll get our drinks and you can start telling me your news,” she said.
Seated at the kitchen table with his cof
fee, it didn’t take long for Peter to convey the unpleasant encounter he’d had with Peri’s mother.
Merrill was surprised by his news, as well as impressed with Peter’s investigative ability.
“So, what I’m wondering is, how much of this, if any, should I tell Peri? Or, should I talk with his grandmother first?”
Merrill considered for a few moments before responding.
“Peri enjoys his own romantic version of his life story. If he learns what really happened and the kind of women his mother is...well, I can’t see it making him happier. He may wonder about the truth now, but would he want to know the reality? I don’t think so,” she said.
“And the grandmother?” Peter prompted.
“That’s a tough one. I don’t believe what the grandparents did was right, even though their motives were good. Taking Peri away from that woman was the best thing for him, no doubt. Still, it was dishonest, and not exactly legal, either.”
“So, do I confront Mrs. Bostwich with what I know?” Peter asked.
“To what end?”
“What do you mean?” Peter asked.
“What do you hope to accomplish by speaking about this to Ariadne?”
“Do you really think I should just forget about what she and her husband did? They bought a baby and lied about it,” Peter said.
“But, who did they harm? And is it our place to see that Ariadne is punished for it? I can’t tell you what to do, but if it were up to me, I’d let God provide the judgment, when the time comes.”
“What about honesty? Aren’t we lying by covering up for her? As a pastor, how do you rationalize that dishonesty?” Peter asked.
Peter’s last question touched a nerve with Merrill.
As a believer, he should know every Christian has the same responsibility to follow the teachings of Christ, whether ordained or not.
Although Scripture does say preachers and teachers will eventually be held to a higher standard, people who expect their pastor to be better than they are themselves always annoyed Merrill.
Now it seemed that Peter was one of them.
“If we were talking about black market adoptions or a baby-selling ring, I would be on the phone with the authorities, right now, but I don’t consider staying out of this particular situation to be covering up for anyone. No one is hurt by our silence and there could be untold damage done by bringing in into the open. Sometimes a pastor’s duty, or any Christian’s for that matter, is the same as a physician’s: ‘first do no harm’.”