Momma Grizzly

by Kevin Hensley

  Chapter 13

  The aroma of pecan pie hit me fast and hard when Pastor Gordon opened the door.

  “Hello, Kelly. You look beautiful.”

  “Thanks, Gordon. It smells delicious in there.” I gave him a quick hug and stepped past him into the entryway. The dining table by the door was already laid out with roasted chicken, green beans, and pitchers of water and iced tea.

  “Oh, wow,” I couldn’t help saying.

  “It’s going to be great, but you better save room for that pie,” Gordon said with a wink.

  “Believe me, I know what’s in my best interest.” We both chuckled. Maggie’s most prized possession was the Texas pecan tree in the back yard.

  She came bustling out of the kitchen, wearing oven mitts and carrying a pot of mashed potatoes. “Hello, dear! Sit down, sit down!”

  I obeyed. Gordon sat across from me, at the head of the table. Maggie sat to his right. All of us glanced involuntarily at the fourth chair.

  Gordon reached out both his hands. We all joined hands in a circle and then he bowed his head and closed his eyes.

  “Heavenly Father, thank You for this meal and the chance to spend some time with our daughter-in-law. Thank You for seeing us through last night’s emergency and bringing her and Emma Lee home safely. If it is in Your designs, Lord, we ask that You heal our son and bring him home to stay. In the Lord’s name we pray. Amen.”

  “Amen.”

  The pastor wasted no time in reaching for the chicken. “How’s work, Kelly?”

  “It’s… fine. I’d been planning to speak with you about that, whenever we managed to get together.”

  “Yes, you mentioned that at church last week.”

  I paused while Maggie piled my plate with larger servings than I would have preferred. “Yes, my boss has been nagging me to write something about Bellwether for a while. The thing is, I know he’s expecting an article that’s all positive. And I don’t think Bellwether’s presence here is completely good. I’d like to address both the positives and the negatives.”

  The pastor chewed, swallowed, took a drink of tea. His demeanor turned businesslike. “Alright.”

  “Obviously, for Grunwald’s economy it’s been good and bad, depending on your definition. There has been more traffic, more money, and new business. But the old businesses that made Grunwald what it is have been falling by the wayside. For example, I’ve been noticing that attendance at Saint John’s has been declining over the past year. Neither of you have ever mentioned it, so I was wondering if there was something you’d like to say to the town.”

  I could see him sitting up straighter, taking his opinion out and retreating into his role as church official. That was fine with me. I’d expected it.

  “The world is changing, and Grunwald is going to follow along sooner or later,” he said. “We all end up serving the Lord’s great plan, either willingly or kicking and screaming. Whether it brings me personal benefit or hardship is of no consequence.”

  “That’s a great statement,” I said. “Thank you.”

  “It’s horrid,” Maggie interjected. “When big businesses and big money come in and replace everything our ancestors built, this town won’t be Grunwald anymore. It might still be called that, but it won’t be what it was.”

  “Off the record,” Gordon said with a smirk.

  “Of course.” I smiled, but their actions brought up an unexpected pain. These were the people who had raised my husband. Garrett had inherited his father’s wry facial expressions and his mother’s tendency to blurt out whatever she was thinking.

  We ate in silence for a while before Maggie did it again.

  “I heard that Pastor Cotton and his congregation weren’t very helpful last night. From what I gathered, you did all the heavy lifting.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, I nodded. “Yeah. I went and searched for Emma Lee by myself. They were taking too long praying. By the time I’d brought her back, they were still at it.”

  “Thank heavens you were there. Who knows what could have happened to her in the meantime?”

  I set my fork down. It was time. “You know, I think she would have been fine. She was pretty well protected by the time I got there.”

  Both of their faces changed. “What do you mean?” Maggie inquired.

  “I think you know. I’ve heard Garrett tell the tale hundreds of times. He’s so passionate about it… because he believes it. And I think that’s because you taught him to.”

  Gordon wiped his brow with his napkin. “Kelly. What are you saying?”

  “I saw the bear.”

  Maggie’s fork clattered onto her plate. Gordon didn’t react. I waited. They looked at each other but didn’t say anything.

  “Emma Lee was with her. I took the girl and ran. Somehow I ended up back in Cotton’s prayer circle.” I sighed. “I know it sounds ridiculous.”

  Maggie met my eyes. “Not at all, sweetie. We believe you. We just don’t want to imagine what that means.”

  “I know what it means. I met… someone who explained it to me. Since I know the bear is real, I have to consider the possibility that the Axe-Man is real too. That this was a deliberate kidnapping attempt. That more children in the town could be in danger. The person I talked to was concerned with that above anything else. Can you tell me more?”

  Gordon twisted his napkin in his hands. “The Axe-Man was real. At the time, the name for him was the ‘Grim Halberdier.’ He’s dead now. Or, he’s supposed to be.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know much about it. In the early 1900s, Grunwald had a serial killer. He abducted people and murdered them in the woods. A young widow claimed that the bear would protect the town. The residents called her bruja, witch, and locked her up. Of course, no bear came. After the fifth murder, Sheriff Branchett—David’s great-grandfather—tracked the man down and shot him. As far as I know, it wasn’t a clean kill. The wounded man escaped into the forest. Ever since then, there were reported sightings of a man with a long pole-axe. People said they’d heard him say the Axe-Man would sleep a hundred years and then burn Grunwald to the ground. The poor widow was blamed for the longest time. People said she brought back the Axe-Man’s ghost to punish the town for imprisoning her. Since then, the town’s been skeptical of its origin myth but still afraid of the forest.”

  “Normally I wouldn’t put a lot of stock in this kind of thing,” I said, “but something attacked Sammie and Emma Lee. So I’m taking this seriously. Is there any way I can get more information?”

  Gordon shrugged. “I’m not really sure. I only ever heard all this by word of mouth.”

  “The library has all the records from way back when,” Maggie added. “The archives in the back room may have details about the case. But everyone is reluctant to talk about such a dark piece of Grunwald’s history, so I’ve never been in there. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  “If the information is there, I’ll find it. I’m a journalist.”

  “You just say when, dear, and we’ll go digging up skeletons.” Maggie smiled and wrinkled her nose. “Getting into trouble. So exciting. Now, who’s ready for pecan pie?”

  ✽✽✽

  The Green Grapevine

  What Makes a Town?

  Kelly Enya Clegg, Staff Writer

  There’s a thought experiment called the “Ship of Theseus.” I’ll spare you the technicalities—I don’t understand them myself—but the gist of it is that you consider an ancient ship being kept on display in a museum. Over time, some of the ship’s wooden parts rot, or its metal parts rust, and they are replaced. After enough time goes by, every piece has been replaced. Once nothing original remains, of course you still have a ship on display. But is it still Theseus’s ship?

  I love Grunwald. I wish I could say that with the deep-rooted conviction of my neighbors, most of whom were born and raised here. Sadly, I don’t have that right. I am a transplant. But I went to high school here. I have lived in
this town for twelve years, and in that time I made the transition from child to adult. When people ask me “Where did you grow up?” I answer, “Grunwald, Texas.”

  The people of this town have never been anything but friendly and welcoming. It is in their nature. Grunwald’s people do not naturally feel threatened—not by anyone who they can see or speak to, anyway. Their fear, when they feel it at all, lies on the periphery, in the deepest parts of the forest with the shadows and the mythical creatures hiding there. Grunwald fears what might creep in from outside their line of sight.

  But something is encroaching, and it is no monster made out of darkness. It is a far bigger creature reaching out of the big cities with hundreds of arms made of highways and billboards. It takes the form of bright screens that enrapture us with all the information we could ever absorb. Devices that connect us to anyone, anywhere, anytime. Churches that are indistinguishable from media empires with their promises that the great doomsday can be averted if only the money and ratings keep pouring in. People who move from place to place, following the work given to them by corporations unbound from nations, meaning well but having no interest in the bedrock of history that defines the community where they have pitched their tent. A community they could partake in, could have a role in shaping its destiny, if only they had the desire to put down roots of their own and make their mark on that bedrock.

  These reaching, probing forces are the appendages of a beast called the modern world. It is not evil—it simply exists. And I care to examine its effect on my hometown.

  Two steeples now punctuate Grunwald’s skyline, double the number we had a little over a year ago. One, tall, proud, ornate, sculpted by cutting-edge technology and buttressed by modern architecture design. The other, humble, weather-beaten, functional but by no means aesthetic.

  Some will accuse me here of bias, and I will freely admit my attachment to St. John’s, the church I attended as a teenager. That church has stayed in one family for generations—the family I married into. The church that has experienced a steady decline in attendance since the arrival of Bellwether by the interstate.

  I asked Pastor Gordon Clegg for his opinion on the effect Bellwether’s presence has had on his church and his town. This what he had to say on the matter:

  “The world is changing, and Grunwald is going to follow along sooner or later. We all end up serving the Lord’s great plan, either willingly, or kicking and screaming. Whether it brings me personal benefit or hardship is of no consequence.”

  If the modernization of the world is in accordance with God’s plan for us, then so be it. But what if it is a test?

  Since Bellwether Church relocated to Grunwald, it has brought with it a faster change than I think any of us could have anticipated. The first effect was an influx of people from Atlanta, who brought their urban sensibilities along with them. Grunwald’s famous welcoming spirit came into play, as we all knew it would, and everyone has gotten along tremendously well.

  But then the other businesses came. Then the money, and now talk of further construction. My father and his colleagues are embroiled in annexation negotiations between San Antonio and the surrounding towns. He tells me someday the world will all be one big metropolitan sprawl.

  What if he’s right? What if one day it’s all transplants like me, and no one is left with roots in this town? Will the bedrock erode and wash away in the river valley? Once every piece of old has been blown away and replaced by something of modern make, will Grunwald still be Grunwald?

  ✽✽✽

  Chapter 14

  I had been completely sincere in professing my love for Grunwald, but the darkness became stifling sometimes. More so after Wednesday night’s events. The forty-five minute trip out to San Antonio was a welcome change of scenery.

  After putting my car in park, I checked my phone.

  One text from Ike: Got your article. Looks good. Thanks

  I was surprised to read that. Maybe he hadn’t read it all the way through yet. If he had any objections, I was sure I’d hear about them while he edited.

  I walked across the parking lot to my parents’ favorite Tex-Mex restaurant. They met me in the waiting area, and we had our seats a few minutes later. My dad placed a drink order. This place was known locally for its margaritas, it was Friday night, and I had done all the work I needed to do for the next day or two, so we splurged a little.

  I ate a fantastic dinner of puffy tacos and chips with guacamole. We talked of memories, my childhood days. The margaritas did their work, and soon we were all red-faced with laughter. It felt good. I loved spending time with my parents when they weren’t parenting, especially about my husband.

  The waiter came by and asked us if we wanted some dessert. I waved him off.

  “No, get whatever you want,” my mother said. “You deserve it. You’re the hero.”

  “Not really.”

  “Oh, come on. Sammie called and told me everything. If it wasn’t for you, that precious child could still be out there somewhere.”

  I shook my head. “The town could have found her. She hadn’t gone far at all. They just didn’t search.” I could hear that I was slurring a little.

  My mother folded her hands. “Well, my understanding is that the people were afraid of the ridiculous myths about the forest, and Pastor Cotton was trying to help them find their faith and get past it.”

  “It seemed to me like he thought Emma Lee would come back through prayer alone.”

  “I highly doubt that.”

  “Well, I’m not going to convince you. And the myths aren’t ridiculous. I saw everything. The black mist and the bear. It’s all real.”

  I felt a stab of horror mid-sentence as the words rolled out of my mouth, but I didn’t stop in time. Damn that margarita, I fumed.

  My parents took a long look at each other. I couldn’t believe I’d spilled about that to the two people who really didn’t need to hear it. I went over my options in a flash. I could either double down, or blame the alcohol. Neither seemed appealing at this moment.

  Well, here goes. “You don’t believe me.”

  My dad frowned. “Kelly…”

  “Maggie and Pastor Gordon believed me.”

  My mother rolled her eyes. “Oh, that’s all we need. That family—”

  “That family, what?” I snarled. “My family, what?”

  My father stepped into his mediator role again. “Honey, we know the attention from what you did the other night must have been nice. We know you’re lonely out there. Maybe if you came home for a while…”

  “Dad, this is important. I need you to believe what I’m saying.”

  “I told you staying in that town would be bad for you,” my mother said, “and now look. It’s been one thing after another. It’s too much pressure, if you want my opinion. You really should come home and unload for a while.”

  “I’m home right where I’m at,” I said, as measured as I could, “and I don’t want your opinion. Thanks for dinner.”

  I took a long pull from a glass of ice water and left them there. I was alright to drive, but the crying still made the trip home a little dicey.

  ✽✽✽

  My phone buzzing on my bedside table awakened me. It was a number I didn’t recognize. Who would call at six thirty on a Saturday morning?

  “Good morning. May I speak with Kelly Clegg?”

  It was a low, lilting voice I’d heard but couldn’t quite place. The caller was lucky I’d gone to bed early after being so upset. I was rested enough to be patient. “Uh, speaking.”

  “Mrs. Clegg, this is Pastor Chester Cotton. I hope you don’t mind me calling you so early. I don’t often get a minute to myself.”

  I sighed. “It’s fine. I, uh, don’t remember giving you my number.”

  “My apologies. When I got in to my office I had a very concerned voicemail from late last night. The woman said she was your mother. She gave me this number and requested that I call you.”

  Now I
wasn’t up for being polite. “Great. What does she want? What do you want?”

  “I realize this is unconventional, and I wouldn’t have bothered you if she hadn’t sounded so upset. I’m assuming you haven’t reconsidered about coming to tomorrow morning’s service.”

  I scoffed. “You… assumed correctly.”

  “Well, I’d like to offer you a one-on-one spiritual counseling session after the service here in my office. Special request from your mother. She is worried about you.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  I heard him sigh. “She didn’t give me any specifics, but it sounds like you are going through a lot. If you change your mind, my schedule will be blocked off for an hour after the service ends. I’ll have some lunch brought in. Maybe I can help you. If nothing else, just swing by for a minute. You get a free meal and we both get your mother off our backs. Everyone wins.”

  Despite everything, I laughed. “Thank you. I’ll consider it, just for that.”

  “Please do. Call anytime with your answer, Mrs. Clegg.”

  I had really meant to think about it, but I ended up drifting back to sleep for another hour. Staring at my clock, I figured I could reasonably expect Sammie to be up by now. Emma Lee was an early riser. I dialed.

  “What’s up, hon?”

  “Weird thing. Chester Cotton keeps asking me if I’ll go to his service tomorrow.”

  “You should. We are.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. He invited us too. Said he wanted to share the town’s story with his national viewers. Like it’s inspirational or something.”

  “I bet his version sure is. That’s not even the worst part. I kind of had an argument with my parents last night. I don’t want to run into them.”

  “So sit with us.”

  “OK, but that’s not all. My mom called Cotton and now he’s offering me this ‘spiritual counseling session.’”

  “It might be a good thing.”

  “You think so?”

  “Best case, he offers a new perspective. Or even just listens. You’re going through a lot. Worst case, he tries to sell you a book.”