Dorothy, who had just barely been able to overhear the conversation, finally spoke up. “You sound like three old biddies,” she began. “Listen to this gossip! Angela is a sweet girl who didn’t deserve any of what she got. You should all be ashamed.”
If shame was to be had, Tina and Emily refused it. The two of them turned their eyes from Dorothy and returned to the tasks in front of them.
“I didn’t say it,” Susan declared, as if anyone cared to hear.
“Well, Dorothy,” Emily began, addressing her plate of folded meats, “time will tell where the shame lies.”
At that, Dorothy left in a huff, pretending not to have heard Emily’s final cold pronouncement. If their minds could not be changed, then they were not worth being around, was Dorothy’s reasoning. She knew how Angela’s reputation had gone to seed, and although she had offered her support where she could, she felt a slight failure in her powerlessness to change opinions. But enough of those thoughts; she had to figure out where to station the sliced cucumbers.
From across the field, Matthew had started his journey pushing his grandmother and her wheelchair through the dirt so she could join everyone for the picnic. Flora was capable of walking short distances, but across the treacherous terrain of the Davidson’s field, she entrusted her excursion to Matthew’s capable hands. It took all his strength to push the wheels through the mounds of loose soil. If he stopped where the dirt dipped between the rows, he would have to roll her back and forth just to gain enough momentum to get the wheels turning again.
By the time the two of them reached the table, Matthew’s labours were marked by sweat stains under his arms and around his chest. He leaned on Flora’s chair to collect his breath.
“You okay here, grandma?” Matthew asked between heaves.
“Yes. Thank you, Matthew,” she said and folded her arms politely.
“Hi there, Flora!” Dorothy shouted from the other table.
Flora responded with a smile and a modest nod.
“Do you want something to drink?” he asked his grandmother.
“Oh, no. You run along and get yourself something. You’re the one who did all the heavy lifting.” She patted his hand and looked up at him. “I’m fine here.”
Chris snuck up behind Matthew and playfully jabbed him in the side with his index fingers. The surprise poke sent Matthew’s tired muscles into spasms. He spun around and was met with Chris’ devilish grin.
“Hey!” Chris said, rather suggestively.
“What was that?”
“Me getting your attention. And look, it works!”
“Yeah, and so would a slap to the face.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Can I talk to you over here for a second?”
“Why?”
“I think I figured out a way to get Africans some water, but I want to run it by you first before I announce it.”
Matthew, despite his efforts to remain stern, broke out into a smile.
“I’ll be back, Grandma,” he said.
“Hi, Mrs. Thompson,” Chris added, as the two of them headed away from the picnic.
They walked toward the Burward forest, but didn’t start talking until they were certain no one could hear.
“I can’t believe they keep having the picnic out here,” Matthew complained. “Do you know how hard it is to push that thing through this stupid field?”
Chris didn’t hear him. He was busy calculating the space they had put between them and the rest of the congregation. Once they had reached a safe distance, Chris kissed Matthew’s neck quickly, like the peck of a bird. Matthew pulled away.
“Hey! Fuck off,” he grunted, after taking a step back from Chris.
“What’s the matter?”
“Just don’t.”
“Why not? We both liked it last time. It’s fun.”
“Not here.”
“Alright. If we’re quick, we could do it in the forest. No one would know.”
“Forget it, Chris. It’s not happening. Not at church.”
“Who cares where we are? What are you worried about? It was just a little kiss. They won’t notice. God won’t either.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“Or, maybe you’re just worried Susan Greenfield will notice.”
“Fuck you.”
“You think she’s pretty, right? You like her?” Chris asked as a joke, but the seriousness with which Matthew thought about it disturbed him. “Wait, you actually do, don’t you? Cause I thought you were, you know.”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s just, you seemed into it before, with me. So... What changed? Did you become un-gay or something? Is that a thing?”
“I don’t know. I’m just kind of all messed up right now, I guess.”
“Me too.”
“No, you’re not. You just fucking prance around with confidence.”
“Okay, well, fuck you for saying I prance. Also, over confidence is my defense for lack of confidence. It’s all fake. And do you really think I prance?”
“Forget about the prancing. I’m sorry I said it. I have no clue what I want, Chris. But that’s just another joke to you, so why don’t we just drop it.”
“I can’t drop it. To be honest, I seriously thought after that night, we were, like, together. You know? This morning I thought: oh fuck, another Sunday at church. Then I remembered you’d be there and all of a sudden I cared what I was wearing, I cared about what I was going to say. I cared.” Chris’s tone was one of vulnerability that he rarely revealed. Usually his feelings were safely hidden by a sarcastic snappiness, but he really wanted Matthew to understand.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“How about: yes Chris, that night meant something to me too.”
Matthew stared at him, paralyzed.
Chris, terrified by the silence, took a step toward him and reached for his hand. With unintentional force, Matthew pushed back and sent Chris tumbling into the dirt.
“I don’t know!” Matthew yelled. “I can’t keep saying it. Just leave me alone!”
Without helping Chris get to his feet, Matthew hurried back to the picnic.
Chris remained lying in the dirt for a solid three minutes. He gazed up at the clouds, which had gathered in strength, and thought back to the night he held so dearly - the way Matthew leaned into him to show him that moronic video, the way they both danced around how good it felt to be so close, the way they timidly explored each other, first through their clothes, then under. It was all so new. He cursed himself for his stupid crush. His feelings for Matthew could not be denied, but he had to figure out a way to better control them, or maybe even forget them if such a thing were possible.
He got to his feet and dusted off the back of his pants and shirt the best he could before returning to the bustle.
Chris was not the only one headed for the picnic. Clara marched across the field to find her mother. She ran into Susan first and asked her if she wouldn’t mind looking after the kids again. Susan, who was just thankful to be acknowledged in any way, readily agreed without question.
Next, Clara spotted the ‘general’.
“Mom,” Clara said, and tapped Dorothy on the shoulder.
“Oh, hi, Clara, honey. You’re early. We’re not ready for the kids just yet, but almost.” She brushed Clara off and started turning stacks of plates on the table so the patterns matched better. Clara did not just tap her mother’s shoulder the next time; she grabbed it and spun her around.
“Clara!” her mother protested.
“There’s something I have to talk to you about.” Clara stared directly into Dorothy’s eyes to lock her in place.
“What is it?”
“We can’t talk here.”
“Well, I can’t just go. Like I said, the food just isn’t ready yet.”
“Mother, please,” Clara pleaded.
“Have you seen Don anywhere?” Dorothy managed to escape her daughter’s stare and snuck around to the othe
r side of the table. She moved as though she were chasing a hyperactive fly.
Clara was not about to let her go that easily. She rejoined her mother and stood uncomfortably close.
“No, mom, I haven’t seen Don. Can you stop fussing and talk to me?”
“Have you been smoking again?” she asked, followed by a few invasive sniffs.
“Mom! Focus! Please.” Clara practically shook her.
“What? I’m right here; what do you want to say? You’re always like this. So dramatic, Clara.”
“Fine. If we have to talk here, then we talk here. It’s about Angela and Alex, they...” She was cut off by her mother’s frantic waving.
“There he is!” Dorothy interrupted while gesturing to Don who at long last was making an appearance at the picnic. “Finally! I have something I need to ask him.”
“Mother! Did you hear me?” Clara shouted. “I said I need to talk to you about Angela.” Her raised voice – not to mention the hot topic name – turned several heads in their direction including those of both Emily and Tina. It seemed the only thing that could earn Dorothy’s attention was the threat of embarrassment, and so finally, she fully engaged with her daughter.
“What about Angela?” she whispered and pulled Clara aside.
Knowing how delicate the situation was, Clara took time to allow her thoughts to properly mature before she spoke. The last thing she wanted was to spoil this rare opportunity she had fought so hard for. Unfortunately for her, the spoiling was inevitable.
“Dorothy!” Don yelled from a distance. His powerful voice sent shockwaves through the crowd.
“Yes?” she replied obediently, turning her back on Clara.
Don walked right up to her and placed both his hands on her shoulders. It was over and Clara knew it; there was no way she could compete with Don and his golden touch. She was not going to get any advice from her mother, but perhaps that was for the best.
“I need you to come with me.” Don’s voice was solemn.
“Sure thing, Don. Just give me a second to finish with the food.”
He leaned closer and spoke quietly, a futile precaution against the pervasive eavesdropping as the entire congregation had stopped to hear what Don had to say.
“Something’s wrong in the church.” After he delivered his foreboding message, he pulled away from her to see if she understood its severity. She did.
Don took hold of Dorothy’s elbow to lead her back to the church.
Clara watched, dumbfounded, as her mother abandoned her to follow Don. However, her annoyance was short-lived.
Like a bulldozer careening through a supermarket, the wind suddenly raged and ripped through the picnic. The playful breeze they had become accustomed to was dead and gone, eaten up by something altogether more cruel. The force of the gust stirred up the land and flipped tables over like they were made of paper. There was no warning: just fury, just destruction.
Gary ran across the width of the picnic to be at Tina’s side, but before he could reach her, the brutish wind shoved him to the ground. He remained pressed to the soil while the awakened torrent rushed above him.
As the force raged on, even gaining in strength, the congregation fled. The terrified herd of faithful followers galloped frantically toward the church, certain of the security it offered.
Matthew grabbed hold of Flora’s wheel chair, but the thrashing wind battered them both and made moving her impossible. Flora covered her face to protect herself from the dirt that whirled fiercely around her. Grit and small stones were forced between her fingers into her ears, nose and mouth. As person after person ran past Matthew and his grandmother, it was Chris who finally stopped to help. He grabbed hold of Flora’s left arm, Matthew grabbed the other and the two of them carried her against the storm. The wheel chair was left to the mercy of this most unnatural force of nature.
While the mob charged, Clara took a chance and looked behind her. Although she knew what she saw was real, her mind could not make sense of it. Dark billowing clouds, like smoke rising from a volcano, spilled up from the Burward forest and painted the sky with ash. The terrible wind roared out from the cloud’s dark heart. It pushed forward like an avalanche ripping its way toward the church.
One of the tablecloths blew high above their heads, carried through the air like a white phantom. It twirled joyously in the sky as a majestic pre-show to the oncoming destruction. Eventually, the tablecloth fell out of favour and dropped back to earth – a fallen angel into the dirt.
The blackened clouds overtook the congregation before they reached the church. Shadows swallowed the sunlight entirely and suddenly night was upon them.
Emily, displaying her great strengths as an athlete, was first to reach the church door. She gripped the handle and used it as an anchor, afraid the wind would carry her away. After a few other members joined her, their combined strength was enough to pry the door open. People pushed and shoved their way inside with little to no regard for one another; all they cared about was a relief from the terror that chased them.
The last members to escape the foul storm were Chris, Matthew and Flora. The three entered together and the door slammed tightly behind them.
CHAPTER 17
Angela and Alex were in the parking lot when the sky turned. She even had the keys in her hand ready to go, but the fierce gusts swept them inside the church like everyone else. Although Angela wanted desperately to drive off and never look back, she could not fight the primal instinct to take shelter; her body told her to hide, so she did. She followed the flock right back into the building she vowed never to enter again, and as soon as the door closed, she knew it was a mistake. All was not right in the house of God.
Once everyone was securely inside, the sunlight that once nested in the windows became sickly. A shroud draped over the entire church. The room dimmed, and it became harder to tell who exactly was standing next to you. The sound, like a roaring stampede, crashed against the walls of the church and shook the old piano sending faint, dissonant notes into the growing dusk of the room.
The floorboards rumbled and felt as though they might fall away. Hysteria took hold. Frightened hands reached from all directions to pull and push at one another. Screams and desperate cries cluttered the air in an unbearable cacophony of human terror. Feet kicked and stomped despite the possibility that the thing in the dark might have been someone’s leg, torso, or even head.
To spare her son from the madness, Angela gripped Alex tightly to her and backed herself up against the wall. Alex covered his ears and tucked his head into the crevice of her arm. As the mob raged on, a few voices could be picked out.
“We should head to the basement!” someone yelled.
“What’s happening? I can’t see!” came another.
“Someone, get the lights!” This one had some sense.
“Please, God, spare your children.” Emily’s voice was easy to pick out, not just because of its quality, but also the subject matter.
The wind went still. A few tremors lingered while the church shifted back into place, but the roaring had ceased. Shortly after this abrupt silence, the congregation began to settle. In the wake of the onslaught, there were tears, shaking, and a stunned speechlessness.
Light returned to the windows and it seemed whatever had come, had passed. Tina gripped her mouth tightly when she saw she had purged all down Gary’s arm. He did not seem to mind, but she was beyond dismayed.
Angela held Alex at a distance so she could get a better look at him.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes,” he said, with just a second of hesitation. Unlike most of the adults, his nerves seemed unruffled.
Angela stood and looked through the crowd to find Clara. The two of them locked eyes and, as if led by a tractor beam, Clara squeezed through the horde to meet Angela.
“What happened?” Angela asked, as soon as Clara was free.
“I don’t know.”
“What was that?”
“All I can say is, one minute I was talking to my mom, and the next, the wind picked up something fierce. I’ve never felt anything like it, Angela. It was like we were being chased. It was like the wind itself was chasing us.”
“Chasing you?”
“And something else. There were clouds above the forest.”
“Storms usually come from the west.”
“Yes. This wasn’t a storm.”
“Listen,” Don bellowed above the crowd, “is everyone alright? Is anyone hurt?” He waited for a response. None came. “The important thing is to make sure everyone’s accounted for.”
Shifting eyes started counting the room, but the way everyone was scattered made it impossible.
Chris and Matthew found a chair for Flora to rest on and sat her down. She breathed out heavily as her airways opened up like tired bagpipes. Matthew’s eyes shot up to Chris.
“Thank you.”
For fear he might spoil the moment, Chris chose simply to nod in return.
“Chris!” Tina screamed from across the room. She and Gary lunged for him, ensnaring him in a crushing hug. Chris was stunned by the affection. Tina poked and prodded every part of him as if she were testing a tire. Once she was sure he was not leaking air or anything else, she pulled Chris back into the mob, away from where he’d rather be. Chris watched as Matthew gradually disappeared behind rows of frightened churchgoers.
Michael forced his way back to the front door. He pressed himself against its sturdy wood frame, took a breath, and swung it open.
He was rewarded with a bath of sunlight. The storm had not just passed them by, it had vanished. The cotton candy clouds that remained in the sky were light and non-threatening. He closed the door. Although the birds had returned to their chirping, Michael recalled how quickly the winds had changed mere moments prior. The abrupt shift back to normalcy meant nothing, and in fact only proved they could not trust the weather. If those demon gusts trickled up from nowhere before, who’s to say they would not do it again?
“Don, what was that?” a voice called out from the crowd.
“I don’t know what that was. We may have just experienced some kind of freak tornado, or maybe a rogue gust from down south. It will probably be a while before we know for sure.” Don’s head swiveled around the room. “Clara Muller, are you here?”
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