by Jim Kraus
“Yes, Mother, I understand.”
“So we’re coming tomorrow.”
Jake shut his eyes. Hard. And pressed his thumb and forefinger on the bridge of his nose. He had hoped her first visit would not take place for a few months. This was early on Jake’s radar. Very early.
“Okay,” he replied. “Tomorrow is good. My sermon is almost done. I’ll have plenty of time to spend with you.”
“Well, won’t that be nice,” she said, though Jake did not believe she meant a word of it. “We can only stay for an hour or two. Your aunt doesn’t like to drive after dark. So we’ll leave at first light, get to Coudersport at noon. Is there a restaurant in Coudersport?”
“Of course there is, Mother.”
“Then we can have lunch. We’ll pay for our own meals, Jakey. You don’t have to worry about that.”
No sense in arguing about this now. Plenty of time for that . . . tomorrow.
“Sure, Mother. That sounds great. I’ll expect you at the church at noon?”
“Okay, Jakey. Your aunt has one of those cellphones. So we will call when we’re halfway there. Okay? So you can wait for us. Okay?”
“That would be great, Mother. Just great.”
And Jake hoped that all traces of sarcasm were gone from his voice.
Jake sat still for a long time. Petey looked up from his perch on the windowsill. He jumped off the sill, hurried to the desk, and jumped up into Jake’s lap. He started to knead his paws against Jake’s thigh, purring loudly.
“Thanks, Petey. Thanks for understanding.”
Petey meowed in reply.
Jake looked around the room with a critical eye. What do I have to do before she gets here? The parsonage is clean. I’ll do all the dishes, of course. Make the bed. With tight corners. Sweep. Dust?
Jake did not dust often.
I have coffee and half-and-half. I could buy donuts. Except she won’t eat them. Too fattening, she will say. That is, unless she buys them for herself.
He sighed as he petted Petey’s head.
What about Tassy?
A pained look came across his face. He narrowed his eyes.
Nothing I can do about that, short of driving the RV down to Big Dave’s for the day.
Petey chirped loudly.
But I will have to warn her about my mother’s visit. At least it gives me something else to think about. Worry about, that is.
The clock ticked slowly, the last few minutes before noon seeming to take an hour to pass. His mother had called as they passed through Warren. There was no direct route from Meadville to Coudersport—no freeway, no single route. There were many ways to make the trip, all of them involving at least three route changes.
Maybe they’ll get lost, turn around, and just go home.
The thought streaked through Jake’s mind and he tried not to smile when it did.
At noon, he took his cellphone and walked outside. The church was not easy to miss; it was easy to find, but he would put nothing past his aunt or his mother. At ten minutes past noon, he caught a glimpse of his aunt’s maroon Buick Electra slowly coming down the road, doing all of thirty-five miles per hour.
Maybe the trip did take a full five hours, Jake thought.
The car began slowing a quarter mile away, and Jake moved closer to the road so they would know they were in the right place. It kept slowing until it reached the driveway, traveling at perhaps three miles per hour, made a wide turn into the lot, and nearly circled it until it turned completely around, facing the road again. Jake was pretty sure his aunt did not like to go in reverse, so this circuitous parking procedure negated any requirement of backing up.
The car stopped and neither woman exited for at least thirty seconds.
I would ask why they are waiting . . . but Jake thought better of it and stood between the car and the church, a wide smile affixed to his face.
His mother exited the automobile first, dragging and pulling herself upright. “I thought we would never get here. This place might as well be on the moon, Jakey, it’s so far away.”
Jake’s mother was a much shorter, older, feminine version of Jake—more wide than tall, with perfectly coiffed mousy brown hair and sensible shoes. She wore glasses, much larger than what was currently in style, in pale brown, that rode low on her nose.
“Hello, Mother, Aunt Harriet. Did you have a nice trip?”
Aunt Harriet held on to the car as she made her way forward.
“Are we still in Pennsylvania?”
“You are. Almost in the middle of the state,” Jake replied, hoping he could keep his vow of maintaining a level, calm discourse today. Even though he promised himself he could do it, he knew that he really couldn’t. Not for a full two hours.
“This is in the middle of nowhere, Jakey,” his mother said. “When you said senior pastor, I had no idea you meant it was so far away.”
Jake didn’t follow her logic. But then, I seldom do.
“Come on in. Let me show you around.”
“And you live here, too? There’s no separate parsonage?”
“I told you the living quarters are attached, Mother. It’s a small church.”
She harrumphed quietly and followed Jake to the front door of his house.
They both remained quiet as he gave them a quick tour of the kitchen, living room, office, sanctuary, and finished up by going back through the office and into the bedroom.
Petey was sitting in the middle of the bed. Apparently he had revised his nap schedule, given the coming of the special visitors. As they came in, he yawned broadly and meowed a greeting.
“Jakey! There’s a wild animal on your bed!” Jake’s mother said, retreating three steps back into the hallway.
“It’s not a wild animal. That’s Petey. He’s a cat. He sort of adopted me on my first day here.”
“Jakey! There’s a cat on your bed. You have to get rid of it. You’ll get a disease from it. He’s on your bed. Where you sleep.”
Petey lowered his head and offered a lower, rumbly growl-meow-growl. That was a new sound to Jake. Petey made dozens of different sounds, but his growl-meow-growl had been kept hidden until now.
“Mother, the cat is very nice. Very tame. And he was checked out by a veterinarian in town. He has a clean bill of health.”
Petey made the same growl-meow again, as if perturbed at having his pedigree and health status discussed by strangers.
“And you plan on keeping it? A cat? Remember what I said about having wild animals?”
Jake sighed. “You did say Jesus never had a dog or a cat.” Jake was sorely tempted to add, “As far as we know,” but refrained.
“That too. But animals are cesspools of vermin and disease,” his mother replied. His aunt covered her mouth, as if warding off some manner of infectious disease.
“Well, Petey’s going to stay, Mother. He and I get along very well.”
Petey meowed. Proudly and loudly, Jake imagined.
Jake’s mother appeared stunned. “What?”
“The cat is going to stay.”
My goodness. That felt so good to say. The cat stays. Wow.
“Jakey, I’m very sorry, but no. You have to get rid of the cat. You have to listen to your mother. The Bible says children have to obey.”
Jake’s aunt nodded vigorously, all the while eyeing Petey with suspicion.
Jake had read ahead in Ephesians. He’d compared at least six commentaries. “Mother, it says children have to obey. That means when a child is in their parent’s house. Then it says to honor them. That’s different than obey. Much different.”
His mother narrowed her eyes. Her shoulders appeared to tighten and tense.
“Okay, Mr. Seminary Degree. That I paid for, may I remind you. Obey. Honor. To me, they are the same thing. Right, Harriet?”
“That’s right. The same thing,” Harriet added, taking one more step in retreat.
“Sorry, Mother. But they are not the same.”
Goodness, t
hat does feel good. Have I ever done that before?
His mother appeared on the verge of extending the argument. But Petey meowed loudly again, this time a friendlier meow, and jumped off the bed. Both Aunt Harriet and Jake’s mother retreated farther and headed to the front door.
“I’m not agreeing with you at all, Jakey. But your aunt and I are hungry. I think we want to eat now, don’t we, Harriet?”
“We do.”
Petey must have had the good sense to stay in the bedroom, catching the morning sun on the floor. He did not follow them to the door as Jake thought he might.
Jake shouldered the door; it still grew balky on certain days. It squealed open. The three of them exited, blinking, in the bright noon sun.
At that moment, the door to the RV hissed open and Tassy made her way outside. She had been taking long walks each day. She said the exercise felt wonderful and she could not imagine why she had not done this before.
“Well, it was because of Randolph. He hated to do anything physical. Like walking,” she had told Jake.
Tassy waved to Jake, smiling broadly. “Hey, Pastor Jake. Good morning.”
Jake’s mother stopped. Harriet almost ran into her.
“And who is that? And what is that monstrosity there?”
Might as well see everything at once, Jake thought.
“That’s Tassy. She didn’t have any place to stay, and a nice couple from church are letting her use their RV until she gets on her feet. She’s looking for a job.”
Jake’s mother turned to face her son.
“And she lives there?”
“She does.”
“And you live there?” she asked, pointing at the church.
“I do.” Jake wanted to add, “with a cat,” but he didn’t.
“Jakey, that’s not right. She has to leave. This doesn’t look right. Not at all. You have to get rid of her. People will talk. They’ll talk, won’t they, Harriet?”
“They would talk in Meadville. That’s for certain.”
“Well, Mother, we are not in Meadville. This is my church and the elders are fine with her there.”
Jake’s mother drew in a sharp breath and held it for a long moment.
“Jakey, you have changed. I don’t like it one bit. Do I, Harriet?”
“I don’t think you do.”
“God can’t use you in this church, Jakey. It’s too small. And you have a cat and a young woman living next door. God can’t look past those things. And I would really tell you how I feel, Jakey, but Harriet is hungry. We need to eat lunch. Then we’ll talk. When we all can think clearer. Right, Harriet?”
“That’s right. We’re hungry now, Jakey.”
Jakey—or Jake—survived lunch with his mother and aunt. Almost. Barely.
No one changed their minds or opinions about Tassy, the cat, or God, for that matter, but everyone ate their fill. Jake took them to Kaytee’s Family Restaurant in the small downtown area of Coudersport. Kaytee’s was not the most expensive place in town, nor was it the least expensive. They featured comfort food and real waitresses, and the owner went to Jake’s church. Kaytee, the owner, extended a warm greeting to Jake and his party as they entered, made a fuss after finding out that he was with his mother and his aunt, and took them to their “best” table, which, in reality, was no different than any other table in the room. Perhaps it was being closer to the window that made it better.
Jake ordered the meatloaf platter special. His mother and Aunt Harriet debated for at least fifteen minutes the merits of the meatloaf platter versus the meatloaf open-faced sandwich versus a chicken salad sandwich, including a “free” cup of soup, versus the All-American KT Burger with fries and coleslaw. Jake had given up being interested in the discussion and afterward was not able to recall what it was that either of his two guests actually consumed.
Kaytee had brought them each a piece of apple pie for dessert—“on the house.”
Jake’s mother had not been impressed with the church, but she was impressed with a free dessert.
Jake drove them back to the church in their car and Aunt Harriet insisted that they leave immediately because darkness falls quickly in the late spring in central Pennsylvania. Jake knew there was no scientific basis for such a claim but was not sad to see them hurry off so soon after lunch.
He stood at the edge of the road and waved until Aunt Harriet’s car slowly disappeared into the horizon. He took a deep breath, felt the tension in his shoulder slowly unwind, and turned back to his new home.
Today was the first time I stood up to her—in any way. I know it wasn’t that important—owning a cat. Or living with a cat, I guess. I don’t think Petey would say I “own” him. And Tassy and the small church and everything else. And you know what? It wasn’t all that bad. She didn’t collapse into tears. She was shocked. She would love to see Tassy and the cat disappear. But when she left it seemed like she might have actually been a bit resigned to them both.
He heard Petey howling on the other side of the door. The cat darted out when Jake shouldered it open, his eyes searching for the strangers, crying softly when he did not see anything other than Jake’s old white pickup truck on the gravel of the church lot. Petey looked up at Jake and meowed loudly.
“They’re gone, Petey. They went home.”
Petey meowed again.
“No. They didn’t like you. Or Tassy.”
Petey offered his odd growl-meow in reply.
“But I told them . . . I told my mother that both of you are staying. She didn’t like it. But I told her.”
Petey meowed again, this time with his head tilted to the side.
“Yes, Petey. It did feel good. Really good. Healthy, almost.”
Petey stretched up and put his front paws on Jake’s knee. Jake picked him up and held him, sort of like a fullback holds a football. Petey meowed.
“I know. I feel good. I feel really good.”
The two of them went back into the parsonage.
“And now I could really use a stiff cup of coffee.”
9
The old Buick rattled and knocked as it came to a stop in the parking lot. Jake was outside, pulling weeds around the front steps of the church. One of the church members came in once a week with a large lawn tractor and cut all the grass but did not do weeding and primping. And Jake did not feel it proper of him to point out the weeds that he’d missed. Plus, he liked basic, manual labor. Weeding offered the opportunity to start a job, finish a job, and see the results of the job in short order.
Jake stood and waved to the driver, dropped the weeds he had just pulled into the large pile, and came over to offer his greetings.
“Vern, what brings you here today? On a Friday.” Jake asked.
Vern clambered out of the car, fighting with the seat belt, muttering “Infernal contraption” under his breath. Once freed, he nearly tumbled out, and Jake made a move to stabilize him.
“I’m fine. I’m fine,” Vern replied, all but brushing Jake away. “I have always hated this rattletrap of a car. I thought Buicks were good cars, but I’ll never buy another one. General Motors, my foot.”
Jake nodded.
The car is probably twenty-five years old. I think he’s gotten his money’s worth out of it.
Vern glared at Jake. Jake realized that this look was a permanent feature of Vern’s and not to be taken seriously.
“I got food in the back for the girl. Eleanor had to get her hair done today. Why on Friday, I have no idea. Should be Saturday so it’s all set for Sunday, but no, she says. Friday is her regular day and I got nothing to do all morning. So I went to Doug’s and bought some food.”
“You went grocery shopping?” Jake replied. There were four bags of groceries on the backseat.
“With the prices they charge, the owner should be wearing a mask and carrying a gun. Almost three dollars for a gallon of milk. That’s just robbery. A young girl like Tassy can’t afford that.”
Jake thought he saw something
in Vern’s face, or his eyes, soften, but just for a moment. A very fleeting moment.
“So, Sonny, make yourself useful and carry some of this inside. She in there now?”
“I’m sure she is. Said that her stomach has been bothering her.”
“Yeah, I heard. Bought some of that Eye-talian tea that’s good for that. Made out of flowers—cammo something or other. Probably an old wives’ tale. But it couldn’t hurt, I guess.”
Jake shouldered three bags, and Vern barely managed to lift the last one.
“She should be getting a job; that’s what she should be doing. Can’t live in the RV forever, you know. Eleanor wouldn’t mind her staying, but come winter—well, she needs her own place.”
“She’s looking, Vern,” Jake said. “I know that. Looking through the newspaper. Not much there.”
“Maybe I’ll ask around. People in this town owe me some favors.”
“Well, Vern, that would be very kind of you.”
Vern snorted.
“Just don’t tell her, okay? I don’t want any special thanks or nothing. Okay?”
Jake tapped at the RV door.
“Sure thing, Vern. Sure thing.”
Jake discovered a hidden talent in his new feline companion: Petey loved playing fetch. Jake had been in the office, and after a particularly troubling attempt at summing up the sermon, he’d snatched the last page of the sermon, wadded it up into a ball, and tossed it at the small trash can in the corner. Of course, he’d missed, and the ball had bounced back onto the floor. Petey watched this intently from his perch on the windowsill, then took off like a rabbit as the crumpled paper ball rolled toward the bookcases. He grabbed it in his mouth, shook it once, then trotted back to Jake and proudly dropped it at his feet, staring up at him with a great sense of accomplishment. Jake threw it again, and Petey chased it again and returned it to him just as promptly. They kept the game up for several minutes, until the phone rang.