The Secret Claws

by Patricia Fry

  Thad fought encroaching emotions when saying, “Yes sir. Thank you, sir.”

  When Christopher approached with his hand out, Thad took it, then hugged him, thanking him profusely.

  “You can do it, man,” Christopher said. “Let me know any time you need culinary advice.”

  “Thank you,” Thad said again.

  As Thad made his way back to his seat, Savannah and Holly wiped at their eyes. Michael shook hands with Thad when he joined them in the pew. Keith patted him on the back as he sat down. Savannah hugged him, as did Holly, and the others gestured their congratulations.

  Thad reached out and scratched Rags on the head.

  Once the audience had settled down again, Pastor Sterling said, “Moving right along.” He shouted out into the audience, “How’s the cat doing?”

  Everyone snickered and chuckled softly.

  “Okay,” Savannah responded.

  The pastor smiled. “Jennie Staples, will you join me up here?”

  “Oh my,” she said, looking around.

  Savannah caught Jennie’s eye and gave her a thumbs-up. Jennie smiled at her and at several others as she made her way down the aisle.

  “Hello, Jennie,” the pastor greeted. “I understand you received one of the coveted keys.”

  “Yes,” she said, “but…”

  “But you no longer have it, right? You gave it away in order to help someone else, didn’t you?”

  Jennie made eye contact with Shelby, who sat close to the front of the church with her family.

  “You gave it up, yet you came out today to cheer on others who still have their key…and your key.” When Jennie seemed at a loss for words, Pastor Sterling said. “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter. Your name’s on the list and Lois made arrangements on your behalf.” To Jennie’s surprise, he pulled some papers from an envelope and read the accompanying note aloud: “‘Jennie, this is the deed to a building in Colorado near where your children reside, and a stipend to use when you get there, toward housing for yourself and for a professional curator to help you. Oh yes, and there’s a credit in your name at the moving company down in the valley. Jennie, they will help you pack up and move your entire home museum to Colorado—your new home.’”

  When the pastor saw Jennie’s tears begin to flow, he put an arm around her and said, “Congratulations, Jennie. I know Colorado will welcome what you have to offer.”

  He turned Jennie toward the congregation and explained, “I’ve known for a long time that Jennie wanted to leave the village. She dreams of being closer to her daughters and grandchildren and she has another dream—to share the memories and amazing artifacts she and her husband collected for many years. She has designed an exhibit and has many aspects of her vision in alignment, except for the building. This ought to make it possible for Jennie to live her dream of sharing and teaching.”

  “Thank you,” was all Jennie could manage. “Thank you so much.” When Christopher approached her, she hugged him and thanked him as well. She pulled back and said, “Christopher, your mother was a good friend and a lovely woman. I will live up to her expectations.”

  “I know you will,” Christopher said, hugging her again.

  Again, applause and cheers rang out. Before leaving the podium, Jennie thought about thanking Paul Lancaster out of courtesy, but changed her mind when she saw him staring down at his phone, obviously paying no attention to what was going on around him.

  Many people stopped Jennie with congratulatory words and gestures as she made her way back to her seat, including Savannah. Jennie winked and told the family, “I can’t wait to tell my daughters.” She said to Holly. “And I’ll be calling on you for your help.”

  “Super!” Holly said, dabbing at a happy tear. “Can’t wait to be part of your dream.”

  “Marilyn Rankle,” the pastor called next. “Marilyn, are you here?”

  “Yes,” came a soft voice from the back of the church.

  “Please join me, will you?”

  Marilyn put her hands up to her mouth and stood up slowly. “Oh my gosh,” she said.

  “Come on,” Pastor Sterling urged.

  Marilyn edged out of the pew and walked slowly toward the pastor, still holding her hands over her mouth.

  When she approached, he chuckled a little and said, “It’s all right, Marilyn. It’s all good, I promise. You can relax. Come on,” he urged, “can you relax?”

  “I’ll try,” she said, her voice shaking.

  “What’s your dream, Marilyn?”

  Marilyn started to speak quietly to the pastor, when he put his arm around her. “Come here. Why don’t you speak into the microphone so everyone can hear you? See all those people out there? They’re all on your side. They’re cheering for you. Can you tell them about your dream?”

  Marilyn took a deep breath. “Well, my only sibling, a sister, died young of a horrible illness. She was in and out of the hospital, where I also spent a lot of time with my parents visiting her. Even at the tender age of fifteen, I could see how difficult it was for the children to be separated from their families and the normalcy of life, including their beloved pets and it occurred to me that maybe I could help. It took me years to act on my idea, but I’ve finally begun designing plush and cuddly animal friends for these children. So far, I’m making them by hand one at a time and I understand they’re making a difference. My dream is to make more of a difference for more children and for that I need to engage a manufacturer and distributor and I guess I need help with that.”

  The pastor put his arm around Marilyn. “Well evidently Lois Lancaster believed in you and the wonderful work you’re doing, and she wanted to see you succeed so that more children would be comforted.” He picked up an envelope. “She has provided here for housing wherever you want to live and she’s also giving you the funds to hire a business manager with experience in this industry who will help you achieve your dream. Are you okay with that? Is that something you want to do?”

  “Absolutely,” Marilyn said breathlessly.

  “How are you feeling now?” the pastor asked.

  “Overwhelmed. Over-the-top happy and overwhelmed.”

  He handed her the packet and said, “Well, off you go to live your dream. God bless you, Marilyn.”

  “Thank you so much,” she said. When Christopher approached, Marilyn shook his hand and thanked him, as well.

  He said, “Mom told me about your work. She had faith that you would someday make a positive difference for many more children.”

  “Thank you,” was all Marilyn could manage.

  The pastor watched Marilyn return to her seat, then he addressed Christopher, “Isn’t this fun? I haven’t had this much fun since I baptized the Simpson triplets.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Bruce Agar,” the pastor called out. “Are you here, Bruce?”

  “Yes, sir,” he said, making his way up the aisle. He shook the pastor’s hand as he joined him on the podium.

  “I hear you had a little trouble when you were fishing a couple of days ago.”

  Bruce rubbed his head and said, “Yeah, kinda.”

  “Do you know what that was all about?”

  “I guess it was some guy wanting the key I found.”

  Both Pastor Sterling and Christopher glanced at Paul, who stared down at his hands in his lap. “But you’re okay, are you?” the pastor asked.

  Bruce nodded.

  “So Bruce, what’s your dream, young man?”

  “I have a lot of dreams,” he said. “I dream a lot.”

  “About?” the pastor urged.

  “Music, mostly,” he said, visibly relaxing. When he realized the pastor was waiting, he elaborated, “I play several instruments and I like to sing. I guess my greatest dream right now is a chance to show the world what I can do.”

  “Ahhh,” the pastor said, patting Bruce on the shoulder. “Well, how about this: how would you like the opportunity to rent a sound studio
for a day and cut some records?”

  “Sounds great,” Bruce said, wide-eyed.

  “And what would you say to having your best effort delivered to the producer of your choice?”

  “Awesome,” the kid said. “That would be amazing.”

  The pastor handed Bruce a packet. “Here you are, Bruce. Now go and make us all proud, will you?”

  “Yes sir,” Bruce said, hopping off the stage and practically dancing down the aisle back to his seat, where he did exuberant high fives and fist bumps with a few of his buddies.

  The pastor chuckled. “Isn’t this fun?”

  Many from the congregation said, “Yes!”

  Christopher said, “Sure is, padre.”

  Pastor Sterling made brief eye contact with Paul. “How about you, there, young man, are you having fun?”

  Paul squirmed in his seat and avoided responding. He stood up and acted as if he were going to leave, but the pastor said something quietly to him and he reluctantly sat back down.

  The pastor looked out over the congregation again and then at a packet he held in his hand. “Skip,” he said, “our loyal and capable boat keeper. Would you come forward, please?” Once Skip had joined him on the stage, the pastor said, “For those who don’t know, this is Skip Haskall. Welcome Skip; it’s good to see you away from the dock. You and Phyll certainly keep things moving smoothly over the waters—between here and there and, of course, providing fishermen and women with boats. You love the water and water-worthy craft, don’t you?”

  “Yes sir,” Skip said.

  “But it appears that you have another passion. Can you tell us what that is?”

  “Sure,” Skip said. “It’s local wildlife. They’re in danger, ya know—well, wildlife everywhere are strugglin’, and we’re losin’ some that we might be able to help.”

  “What can be done? What is it you’d like to do, Skip? I know that you venture out into the wilderness with saltlicks and food for the animals. You watch for poachers and injured animals. What more would you do if you had the wherewithal?”

  Skip spoke to the congregation. “I think most folks is familiar with the little wildlife zoo here. We’ve saved a few animals and we provide a home for those that can’t return to the wild, but there’s much more we can do, and that’s my passion—doin’ more to help the animals.”

  “Well, Skip,” the pastor said, “Mrs. Lancaster wanted to make a difference too, and she has given you quite a stipend to be used to perhaps bring wildlife veterinarians to the zoo facility, to house more animals, and to create appropriate enclosures for those you’ve rescued. Skip, she’s providing enough for you to live on if you want to become a full-time volunteer at the zoo.”

  “This is awesome,” Skip said, choking up, “Just awesome.” He turned to Christopher and shook his hand. “Thank you.”

  Over the course of the afternoon, several more villagers received life-changing gifts, including Shelby’s family, who were given funds to help lift some of their financial burden and Lana, the nurse, who was surprised by tuition for physical-therapy training at a school of her choice.

  After handing out all of the packets, the pastor turned to Paul Lancaster, who continued to fidget impatiently. He stared at Paul for a moment, then said, “Now as for you, young man.”

  “Huh?” Paul said, looking up at him suspiciously.

  “Please stand here with me.” When Paul reluctantly complied, the pastor asked, “What is your passion?”

  “Um,” the young man muttered.

  “What do you like to do? What moves you—what excites you?’

  Paul continued to fidget. “Hanging out. Playing video games...”

  And that’s just what your mother has left provisions for—for you to hang out on the streets, she has left a lifetime of money at the arcade down in the valley for you to play until your heart’s content.”

  Paul briefly faced his brother. “What? Chris gets a whole restaurant and I get a gift card at the arcade?”

  “What would you do with a restaurant, son?” the pastor asked calmly.

  “I’d sell it and maybe buy myself a better bicycle or a Ferrari.”

  “As I understand it, you’ve had expensive cars and you trashed them. You’ve had fancy apartments and allowances, the same as Christopher has, but you didn’t take care of them. You showed no appreciation or pride, and, along the way, Paul, you didn’t develop a passion for anything outside of your self-serving interests. Since those are the things that seem to mean the most to you, your mother wanted to allow you to maintain that lifestyle.”

  “Oh, well, I can change, you know. I can learn how to take care of things. I’ve had my bike for almost a year already.”

  “And how many tickets have you gotten in that year for riding recklessly, riding at night with no lights, and…?”

  Paul interrupted, “Well, those weren’t my fault.”

  “I’m sorry, Paul. The truth is that we must lie in the bed we make for ourselves. You carved out your life; now I suggest you make the very most of it that you possibly can.” The pastor faced the congregation. “Thank you all for being here—for coming out and supporting our beneficiaries.” He put his palms together and bowed slightly. “May you all make the most of what you have and strive to be more forgiving and more giving to yourself and others.”

  As everyone stood and began making their way out of the church, a woman walked up to Savannah. “He was a good boy. My cat would have been hanging from the ceiling or wrapping herself around the pastor’s neck by now.”

  Savannah laughed. “Without the leash that kind woman and her dog loaned us, I’m afraid that would have been this guy.” When Rags tried to leap from her arms, she held him more tightly. “He can be naughty.”

  “He’s in some books,” Cassie said. “He’s really naughty in those stories.”

  The woman stepped back and peered at the cat, asking, “Is that Rags?”

  Savannah nodded. “Yes, are you familiar with the children’s books?”

  “Yes,” she said, enthusiastically. “I’m Ashley Winston. I own the bookstore here in the village…” She chuckled as they were jostled by people pushing their way down the aisle toward the exit and suggested, “Hey, let’s get out of the way, shall we? Come on, I want to talk to you.”

  Once they were outside, Savannah said, “I know of your bookstore; I’ve heard good things about it and wanted to get over there.”

  The woman’s eyes lit up. “Really? Cool.”

  Savannah prompted the woman, “So do you carry Rags’s books?

  “Well, a customer came in a month or so ago and ordered the whole series. When I saw them, I ordered more.” Her smile widened. “So this is the cat in the stories? Amazing.” She looked at Savannah. “Are you the author?”

  Savannah shook her head. “No. I did recently write his memoirs, though.”

  “His meowmoirs,” Adam said.

  “Oh that’s wild. By the way, here’s my card.”

  Savannah read, “By the Book; cute.”

  “Where can I order the…um…meowmoirs?” Ashley asked.

  “From the same publisher as the children’s books, actually. My name’s Savannah Ivey. That’s the name on the front of that book.”

  Ashley nodded. “Awfully nice to meet you.” She petted Rags again and looked him in the eyes. “Oh yes, I think my kitties get into a lot of things, but I’ve never met or read of a cat that’s as wily as you are.” She asked Savannah. “Does he really do all of that stuff?”

  “That and more, I’m afraid.” She chuckled. “Well, you saw what happened earlier—he evidently escaped from our cabin and managed to hitch a ride across the lake.”

  “That’s crazy,” she said.

  “And he hid in our trailer when we came up here and we didn’t even know it,” Cassie said.

  “Yeah, he was a stowaway,” Adam explained.

  “Funny,” Ashley said.

  “Not to me,” Michael grumped good-naturedly.


  Meanwhile another woman spoke up. “I want to see that crazy cat. Did you say his name’s Rags?”

  Savannah nodded.

  “Hi,” the woman said, “I’m Kat. I’m president of an organization for anyone who works with or writes about or in any way supports and honors cats. Our annual conference is later this month. I’d love to talk to you about maybe being a speaker.”

  “Oh?” Savannah said, stunned. “Sounds interesting.” When Kat reached up to pet Rags, Savannah asked, “What’s your affiliation with cats?”

  “I rescue,” Kat said, “and I write about them. Oh, and I’m a photographer. Cats are my favorite subject. I’m always shooting cats.” She looked into Rags’s eyes and petted his head. “Digitally,” she assured him. “Oh you’re handsome. You’d make a great subject.” She glanced briefly at Savannah. “I could see him dressed up.” When Savannah looked bewildered, Kat asked, “Are you familiar with the photographer who shoots Weimaraners in human clothes?”

  “Yes,” Savannah said.

  “I’ve dreamed of doing something similar with cats, and your cat here, Rags, he’d be perfect for that.”

  “Oh,” Savannah said. She spoke to Rags. “How would you like to be a fashion model, guy?”

  Everyone chuckled.

  “I could see him doing it,” Holly said. She leaned closer and said to Kat and Ashley, “Did you know he does autographs with his paw?”

  “Paw-tographs, Mom,” Cassie corrected.

  “He does?” Ashley asked.

  Holly nodded. “Savannah travels all over the place with him and they do book signings.”

  Her face lit up. “Hey, I’m on my way to open the shop now. How about coming by and letting him put his mark on the books? I’m sure they’ll sell like hotcakes with his paw print in them.”

  “Well, I don’t have his nontoxic inkpad with me,” Savannah said. “But in that case, I usually just sign for him.”

  Ashley looked confused and Holly explained, “She does this cute kitty face using his name.”

  “How charming,” Kat said. “Where’s your shop, Ashley? I’d love to buy some of those books.”

  “For your grandchildren?”