Good Sex, Great Prayers

by Brandon Tietz

  It would be easy to say that he is doing nothing more than helping a girl out. To the casual onlooker, that’s exactly what it appears to be, and it’s not as if the pastor has never been on ‘dessert duty’ before with any of the other ladies of Pratt. Madeline, however, is a bit of a different case, and the relationship isn’t exactly as formal as people are led to believe. In the wake of her Aunt Josephine’s passing, Madeline and Father Johnstone bonded considerably. It’s happened before; grief sometimes compels a person to want to connect with another, in a sense, replacing them. A death in the family feels like a phantom limb to some folks, and Father Johnstone tends to be viewed as an ideal candidate to compensate for these losses, as was the case with Travis Durphy.

  Unlike most grieving families who are desperately reaching out for him, Madeline was the only person to which Father Johnstone reached back. And although he often asks the Lord questions of a ‘why her?’ and ‘why now?’ nature, the answers have yet to be revealed, and perhaps never will be. What he knows, what he’s certain of, is that Madeline Paige is a fixture in his life. A positive force. In fact, the only time the pastor has smiled in a genuine sense in the past week was when he was conversing with Madeline or sampling one of her desserts. Otherwise, he is either exhausted, short-tempered, or in anguish.

  And as Father Johnstone enters his home to the tune of Mary’s welcoming barks, the pastor can’t resist the allure of an early bedtime in light of tomorrow’s Sunday service. His behavior over the past week may have shaken the confidence of some of the flock, so he wants to be well-rested for the upcoming sermon. The turnout should be substantial since the service will be followed by the annual bake-off, a contest which Father Johnstone also judges, hence, why all the women and wives of Pratt gravitate towards pleasing his palate. They’re doing their homework for the big test, essentially.

  Father Johnstone removes the foil pack from his shirt pocket, popping a slate blue pill into his hand. It reads ‘HALCION .025’ in an arc. He puts the pill in his mouth, chasing it down with some tap water from the sink, swallowing. It’s not even six in the afternoon yet, but he wants to make sure that sufficient time is devoted to rest and catching up on sleep. A return to his former self is the most important thing right now, so for the sake of the flock, he prays the good Lord to allow him to do that.

  “Allow me one night of peace so that I may do Your will tomorrow,” he says, eyes shut and barely above a whisper.

  Father Johnstone prays for sleep, prays that the Halcion will work better than the over-the-counter stuff he’s tried so far. He begs the Lord to suspend the migraines and night sweats, to allow him to feel like himself again.

  “Let me be not angry nor passive nor spiteful,” he whispers. “Return my even temperament and allow me patience.”

  He then arrives at the final point of dialogue with God, the issue of his nightmares: those troubling thoughts that seem only too real in dreams. Even with the workings of doctor/patient confidentiality at play, Father Johnstone still couldn’t admit the exactitudes of these so-called ‘night terrors,’ as Dr. Keller refers to them. They’re too shameful, too intimate to be revealed to anyone. No matter what, no one can ever know that the topic of these nightly episodes is none other than Madeline Paige.

  For this, the female () must have either a pre-existing emotional bond or a token vow of devotion () by way of a ceremony. This doesn’t have to be a wedding (), however, that is the most common example. A love letter, tea ritual, or mutual promise (either physical, verbal, or symbolic) would suffice. Whatever the individual circumstances may be, what’s important is that the male () was, at some point, devout to the female in question regarding the three levels of fidelity (): emotional, spiritual, and physical. No facet may have been deficient, as that would result in a negative impact or complete recoil. Both parties would experience much suffering, possibly death (), but only in rare cases of extreme miscalculation. Materials to be used are temperamental. Ideally, if the two were married, the female would want a sample of the robe from the wedding ritual, although flowers, metals, or human samples would work too. Semen, if preserved correctly (reference: preservation methods), would be quite potent if taken from the first post-ceremonial intercourse (). Regardless, the materials in question should be selected based on personal meaning and the significance of bond. Break these down (reference: reduction methods) and combine them with a wax candle. Do not simply crust the outside of the candle; the wax must be melted down, infused with the material(s), and then reformed. Burn this candle during the quartermoon, taking care that it does not blow out. The process must be restarted from the beginning should the candle lose its flame prema-turely. After a full moon cycle, the effects should manifest. The male will come to the female at her home (), reverted to a state of complete devotion and love, although fabricated in its nature (). It will be the first instinct of the male to fornicate with the female. Should the female resist, the male will not be able to show restraint and take her against her will. He will not entertain reason or logic, as he has become a being of pure lust. If the male successfully rapes the female, it’s entirely possible that he will murder her after orgasm () as penance for attempting to reject him. It would be in the female’s best interests to comply with whatever he wants should she value her own life.

  The Feeding

  As The Pratt Tribune reported on page C2 of the Local section, today marks the 11 th annual bake-off for the church, which is more or less a fundraiser fueled by the allure of sweets and friendly competition. It’s the only time of year the women and wives get to compete at something in which they have an estab- lished skill set. Bowling and darts are fun, of course, but cooking will always be an aptitude that’s practiced on a daily basis. You’d be hard-pressed to find a woman in Pratt that’s not serving up home-cooked meals at least six days a week. It’s part of the reason why the Presto Diner never did much business up until recently.

  “I’ll be damned if my husband is going to bust his hump all day for greasy diner food,” Mrs. Baines said once. “Least a good wife can do is make sure he gets one decent meal in his gut before he goes to bed.”

  Unless you were in a pinch, there was hardly a reason to go to the Presto—that is, not until Madeline Paige’s employ began. The vast improvement in the quality of food didn’t hurt either. Some people thought the diner hired a new cook, but all anyone had to do was peek their heads in to see that Buck Taylor was still working the line, just as he had been for the last twenty years. That got the rumor mill churning, and the peculiar shift from greasy spoon to renowned local favorite came down to two main theories:

  The first is that ol’ Buck was so smitten by the new waitress that he started putting a little effort into his cooking, believing this would be the best way to get Madeline to notice him. A sort of culinary compatibility, some people said. However, this theory only works under the pretense that Buck truly believes he has a shot with someone over twenty years his junior. And it’s not like Madeline doesn’t have her pick of the litter when it comes to men, so it’s rather far-fetched.

  The other theory—the more logical of the two—is that Madeline has been giving Buck private lessons in cooking, which would explain why the waffles now have a touch of vanilla to them and the sudden appearance of crepes on the menu. Even the syrup is less watery, but the case can also be made that management is simply ordering better syrup. Regardless of this, the fact remains that the food and service at the Presto Diner didn’t get good until Madeline came aboard, and it’s made some people in town view her as a legitimate culinary threat.

  “I suspect our little world traveler might be giving Buck some tips,” one of the wives said. “But you can tell her that pancakes don’t win the ribbon.”

  The Pratt bake-off breaks down as such: there are three categories, one for cookies, one for pies, and one for cobblers. There can only be one entry per person for each category, and there’s a $15 admissions fee for each submission. Desserts are then labeled with
a number that corresponds to the person who submitted it, which is then presented to a panel of three judges for a blind taste test. Father Johnstone learned the hard way the first year that no mortal man can possibly judge three categories, which is why each dessert has its own trio of judges now. Even so, eating an average of fifty bites of dessert can be a task in itself, which is why the pastor leans towards farmers and laborers when he’s soliciting for judges. Women have never fared well on the panel. A few years ago Mrs. Rawlings tried her hand at it, but took sick after only twenty or so samples. It was a notable disaster and spawned much controversy over who would have claimed the ribbon had she seen it through. The bake-off has always been a breeding ground for the dramatic.

  “That Maddy Paige is this year’s dark horse,” Father Johnstone overhears one of the ladies say as he takes his place at the center judging table. Mrs. Tripp is talking to Gloria Vanders at the check-in line, each with their hands full of treats obscured by tin foil and cellophane wrap.

  “I don’t put it past her to try one of those fancy New York recipes out,” Gloria replies. “Girl is crafty. Probably thinks she can waltz on in here and blow us all out of the water.”

  As much as Father Johnstone tries to be a non-partisan judge, he can’t help but suspect there’s a fair amount of truth to Gloria’s claims. Madeline has made the pastor a variety of desserts: from cakes to cookies and even non-traditional things like fried ice cream. As she noted in the diner, nearly every woman in Pratt has had their way with Father Johnstone’s stomach, so it’s not really an issue of the pastor showing favoritism. If someone wants him to try out a dessert or new recipe he usually will, oftentimes giving a brief critique of what he thought. The divergence with Madeline’s dishes specifically is that they’re consistently good. Too good. Even the oatmeal cookies she feared had too much nutmeg in them were nothing short of perfect. The pastor has found himself skipping meals lately to save space for whatever treat Madeline may present him with next, a dietary transgression Dr. Keller would probably lecture him about if he were aware.

  The joke around Pratt is that the annual bake-off is the only time you’ll see the town overtaken by gluttony—all in the name of a good cause, of course. This year specifically, the church roof is in dire need of repair. Mother Nature hasn’t been kind to the shingles, and after a particularly heavy thunderstorm in March, that’s when Father Johnstone started to notice the puddles. One at the front of the main aisle and a few others scattered around the building. Three weeks ago the pastor had to deliver his sermon to the tune of droplets pounding into a metal bucket, and although the Lord is in the rain, Father Johnstone could have done without the additional noise.

  The fundraiser should more than take care of the issue. According to Mrs. Tiller, one of the church’s most active volunteers, the admissions fees have already exceeded the estimate the roofing guys gave Father Johnstone last week. The pastor isn’t worried about the money aspect of it; his current problem is physically being able to consume the fifty or sixty samples of dessert he’s supposed to eat today. His appetite has waned. He’s tossing away more food than usual. Mary’s share of the leftovers are so large she’s been declining bites of steak and deli-cut turkey, opting to lie down on the couch to digest instead.

  The myriad of desserts provided by Miss Madeline Paige are the only sustenance that the pastor seems to be able to completely finish nowadays, which is both a blessing and a curse. He relishes these dishes, but at the same time, knows the nutritional value of a carrot cake probably doesn’t rank very high.

  The pastor feels this may be the Lord testing him. Whereas there are many biblical instances in which men are challenged with starvation, Father Johnstone will have to face a gauntlet of endless sweets and sugars. Pie after pie after pie—and even though the last thing the pastor ingested was a Halcion tab close to nineteen hours ago, the idea of eating anything, let alone the finest desserts Pratt has to offer, churns his guts.

  “Ready to do this, preacher?” Mr. Conrad says, slouching his 250-pound frame into a metal folding chair on Father Johnstone’s left. Thankfully, he’s taken the liberty of washing his overalls. The odor of manure and sweat the hog farmer is known for has been replaced by soap and fabric softener, courtesy of his wife who’s checking in her own submission at the moment.

  Father Johnstone gives Mr. Conrad an encouraging smile, one that reminds the hog farmer he’s done this many times before. It’s old hat, just as his sermon today on ‘The Feeding of the Multitude,’ or ‘The Feeding of 5,000,’ as it’s sometimes referred to. Due to the gluttonous implications of the annual bake-off, Father Johnstone always makes a point to cover that particular miracle of Christ: the instance in which thy Lord and savior fed an entire town with nothing more than five loaves of bread and two fish. It not only demonstrates the power and compassion of Christ, but serves as a reminder to Father Johnstone’s congregation that food is a blessing not to be viewed trivially. The people of Pratt have a tendency to forget this in the presence of such abundance.

  “Soooooooooo,” Mr. Conrad says, drumming his fingers on the plaid tablecloth, “that was, um…quite the sermon today, Pastor.” He clears his throat, shifting in his chair a little. “Quite the sermon,” he repeats.

  Father Johnstone doesn’t have enough of a rapport with Mr. Conrad to know if he’s just making idle chit-chat to pass the time, or if there was something truly interesting about his delivery today that diverged from the norm. ‘The Feeding of the Multitude’ reading is one he’s given many times—perhaps too many, as it often draws a few groans or irritated sighs from the longtime members when he states the title, and today was no exception. Rather than probe Mr. Conrad for more information, the pastor gives a grateful nod, assuming he meant his comment in a praising sense. Before Mr. Conrad can elaborate or correct him on what he actually meant though, Jeremiah Wills approaches the table. He offers his hand to both Mr. Conrad and Father Johnstone, shaking them in turn.

  “Good day to pig out, eh gentleman?” Jeremiah says with a smile, taking a seat to the pastor’s right. He’s wearing a lime green polo shirt and loose-fitting jeans, which is far cry from the meat-stained butcher’s coat that Father Johnstone is accustomed to seeing him in. It’s also one of the few times he’s been without an edged object, making the handshake an uncommon occurrence. Jeremiah is what the pastor considers a non-practicing member of the herd. That is to say, he is a believer in the Lord, but admittedly, Jeremiah barely prays, he seldom asks forgiveness for his sins, and he never attends the Sunday service.

  “Business is just too damn hectic that day,” he explained to Father Johnstone once. “Everyone’s doing cook-outs and tailgating around their radios for the game. Couldn’t make it if I wanted to. No offense, preacher.”

  Being that he’s a judge this year for the annual bake-off, Jeremiah attended today’s sermon under the pretense that it was the least he could do for being bestowed “one of Pratt’s highest honors,” as he put it. A sense of obligation may have been at play, but regardless of the motives, the butcher showed up in his Sunday best having left his oldest son in charge of the shop. Father Johnstone could tell he was a bit nervous about the whole arrangement, joking with the pastor before the sermon, “I guess I should pray he doesn’t burn the place down while I’m gone, right?”

  Father Johnstone notices that the check-in line has wound down to a final handful of ladies: Heather Durphy (formerly Heather Graybel), Mrs. Tenley, Miss Ashcroft, Mrs. Conley of Conley’s Hunting Supplies, and Miss Madeline Paige, who appears to be submitting desserts for all three categories. She spots Father Johnstone from her place in line and gives him a smile, but there’s nerves behind it. It’s not the usual campfire warmth he’s seen before. There’s fear in her eyes. Maybe even guilt.

  “So tell me something, preacher,” Jeremiah says. “Today’s sermon…was that how it usually goes? Or are you trying a new angle on this whole thing?”

  “Yes, Father,” Mr. Conrad chimes in. “I was actu
ally a little surprised that you took the reading in the direction you did. I mean, no offense,” he backtracks. “It was just, well…not what I’m used to seeing from you.”

  Father Johnstone isn’t sure what they mean. He performed the reading as he traditionally does, reciting:

  13 When Jesus heard what had happened, He withdrew by boat privately to a solitary place. Hearing of this, the crowds followed him on foot from the towns. 14 When Jesus landed and saw a large crowd, he had compassion on them and healed their sick.

  15 As evening approached, the disciples came to him and said, “This is a remote place, and it’s already getting late. Send the crowds away, so they can go to the villages and buy themselves some food.” 16 Jesus replied, “They do not need to go away. You give them something to eat.” 17 “We have here only five loaves of bread and two fish,” they answered.

  18 “Bring them here to me,” he said. 19 And he directed the people to sit down on the grass. Taking the five loaves and the two fish and looking up to heaven, he gave thanks and broke the loaves. Then he gave them to the people. 20 They all ate and were satisfied, and the disciples picked up twelve basketfuls of broken pieces that were left over.

  21 The number of those who ate was about five thousand men, besides women and children.

  (Matthew 14:13-21)

  After this excerpt, Father Johnstone then praised Jesus and described to his congregation why this was a miracle. He conveyed the importance of food through the eyes of the hungry, making sure to remind the flock not to lose sight of this in the face of key lime pies and Mrs. Jasper’s famous sugar cookies, which drew a few congenial laughs. He then capped everything off with a short prayer.

  So this ‘new angle’ that Mr. Conrad and Jeremiah are alluding to is news to the pastor. He can’t recall this supposed divergence they speak of, and attempting to remember it is making his skull pulse with the familiar throbs of a migraine. Harder, until he can barely keep his eyes open. He squints, pinching the bridge of his nose, breathing. Breathing too fast. The pastor feels his clothes distend and stick to his body as he sweats, droplets carving down his forehead and neck. Heavy and wet. It’s never happened during the day before. Never, he thinks.