by J. B. Hawker
Slipping into her usual pew on Sunday at God’s Truth Baptist Church, Bunny noticed some newcomers: a tall, severe-looking man of about thirty, in a dark suit, accompanied by four spic-and-span children and a thin, pale woman with a nervous smile.
So, the new pastor and his family had finally arrived.
Bunny had been out of the parsonage for more than a month while the elders were sprucing it up.
She tried not to feel resentful about the church folks considering the run-down parsonage to be good enough as it was for Eustace and her, but not fit for this new family.
Now it became obvious why, with four small children in the family, alterations and repairs had been necessary.
It lifted a weight off her heart she had not realized she was carrying and she began to look forward to hearing this young man’s message.
The people filed out of the sanctuary after the service.
Some stood chatting with friends and others were bustling around setting up for the fellowship meal.
Emily Ann Wilcox, her good friend, pulled Bunny aside and whispered, “Where do you suppose the committee found this one? Isn’t he a pip?”
“Why, Emmy, whatever does that mean? I thought the Rev. Richards did a fine job with the service,” Bunny responded, rather primly.
“Oh, as far as that goes, I’m sure he’ll do. No, I was referring to the way he treats his ‘little helpmeet,’ as he kept calling her. There must be a story there!”
Emily winked then went on, “Say, when do you think you’ll feel up to coming back to sing in the choir? I miss you.”
Emily gave Bunny a quick squeeze and began setting out hot dishes on the serving table.
She would have to forgive Emily’s uncharitable remarks.
Bunny had reacted similarly to Pastor Jim’s comments, which was probably why she was a little waspish when Emily spoke aloud what Bunny had only thought to herself.
Imagine calling him, “Pastor Jim,” as he had requested, when the man was young enough to be her son.
It was all right for more mature ministers to do that “just one of the guys” routine. They had a certain gravitas just from their position and age, but these youngsters needed all the dignity they could manage, especially when they were just getting acquainted.
Eustace was never “Pastor Euie,” that was for sure.
Just thinking of her late husband’s probable reaction, if anyone had dared to address him so casually, made her smile.
“Oh well, maybe the less formal approach was better,” she thought.
“Let the pastor earn respect for how he lives, rather than for any special title he may have.”
After the meal, Bunny helped to clear up.
She was taking a bag of garbage to the dumpster behind the building, when she came upon Walter, the church custodian, apparently looking for something in the trash bin.
“What did you lose, Walter?” she asked as she stepped up behind him.
He whirled around quickly, thrusting something behind his back.
“I wasn’t looking for nothing! I was just taking out the trash from the dinner.”
“Well, then, I guess we made a whole lot of trash this afternoon, since I’ve got another bag right here.” Bunny replied, cheerfully.
“I meant I was taking out the trash from the Sunday School classrooms. I’m not doing anything wrong. Just leave me alone!”
With that, he dashed away around the side of the building, shielding his “treasure” from Bunny’s sight all the while.
“What a character!” Bunny muttered.
She was all for caring for the “least of these” among us, but sometimes she wished that did not require her to have to spend quite so much time with some of them.
Quickly on the heels of that uncharitable thought, came a contrite, “Lord, forgive me.”
Bunny wished, once again, she were a naturally generous and unselfish Christian like those she saw around her.
All her life she had struggled, mostly unsuccessfully, with her own self-centered nature. She continued to rely heavily on God’s forgiveness.
Oh well, it had been a long day. Bunny was going to be glad to get back home and relax.
Later, sitting snuggly before the fire in her faithful red velour robe, she felt herself growing more peaceful.
Betty, her calico cutie, and Veronica, the Siamese, were kneading her lap to get more comfortable and purring loudly.
“If there is a more soothing sound in the world than a happy cat, it must be two happy cats,” Bunny mused.
She thought back over the events of the day and found them satisfactory, overall.
Even Walter’s weird behavior was almost normal, for him.
It would be interesting to see how the new pastor’s family settled in.
Bunny decided she liked being on the sidelines at church.
She’d wondered if she would be uncomfortable when a new pastor’s wife assumed her place. It was a happy surprise to find she had no such feelings.
That part of her life was over and she could look toward the future.
The future…what was she going to do about her future?
If she was very frugal, her nest egg might be able to last another few months. However, it would leave her with no emergency funds, at all.
The prudent thing to do was to find a job as soon as possible. As much as she dreaded it, tomorrow she was going to have to begin to look for work.
Bunny prayed God would take away her nervousness and lead her to the job He wanted her to have.
Brushing the cats from her lap, she made her way to bed. A good night’s sleep was vital in order to tackle the challenges ahead.
Chapter Four
We cried on the way to plant our seeds, but we celebrate and shout as we bring in our crops.– Psalm 126:6
Max Banks felt awful.
He had overindulged during the weekend and was looking forward to another cup of coffee before getting down to Monday morning business.
Unlocking the newspaper office, he braced himself for whatever bizarre get-up his “staff,” Tyffinee, would wrap herself in that day.
Banks didn’t think of himself as old, but he had to admit some of the current fashions were beyond his understanding.
At least, the weird-looking girl made good, strong coffee.
Why had she relocked the door this morning?
There was no coffee waiting for him inside, just the stained Pyrex carafe and a telephone message from Tyffinee on the answering machine.
Her recorded voice said, “Hey Banks. I quit. Me and my boyfriend are moving in with some guys in Eureka.”
Just like that. She was quitting. Had quit, in fact.
Her voice went on to give an address where he could forward her final pay.
She had actually moved away over the weekend! Without one word of warning. He could strangle the irresponsible creature.
How was he supposed to run a newspaper with no staff?
An eclectic selection of expletives, used in a variety of creative combinations, helped Max express his frustration.
His many years in the cutthroat corporate world, plus his time at sea, had gained him a salty vocabulary which served him well that morning.
It was several minutes before he began to calm down and think about what he needed to do.
There were not many qualified applicants when he had hired Tyffinee six months before, which was why he had overlooked her unusual fashion sense.
He could only hope the pool of job-hunters had improved recently. He would have to find someone quickly.
He could get this week’s paper out on his own, he supposed, but it would mean putting in more hours than he liked. He was supposed to be semi-retired, after all.
Max sat at his desk and looked up the number of the temporary employment service, as he composed a classified ad in his head.
“Wanted – Newspaper Reporter/Office Assistant. Experience preferred. Will train the right candidate. Pay $
8 - $10 per hour, depending upon experience.”
He would place the ad in the regional daily, as well as his own weekly paper, and hope for a quick response.
Banks was going to look for someone with no piercings or tattoos and without rainbow-colored hair.
In the meantime, he would have to make do with a temporary clerk-typist, just as he had done when he first took over the Clarion Review.
After making his calls and arranging for the temporary help to come in as soon as possible, Banks grabbed his camera and headed out to photograph some of the early entrants in the Halloween decorating contest.
Judging would be held the Friday before Halloween, but already a dozen entries had come into the Chamber of Commerce.
Fred Whitten, the current president of the Chamber, was keeping him posted. Max appreciated that.
Quite a few of the townspeople made a point of calling to tell Banks about local happenings. He supposed they were frustrated journalists, but he didn’t mind. It made his job easier.
On this story, Max wanted to feature as many photos of the entries as he could, in order to build interest in the competition.
Lots of pictures would fill the blanks left by his erstwhile reporter, as well.
His first stop was the Trainors. He looked forward to seeing if they had managed to improve on last year’s efforts.
Bunny locked her front door and was starting down the steps when she saw her sister pull up at the curb.
Jean hopped out of her little red Mustang convertible and called, “Where are you going all dressed up like that? Don’t tell me you’ve got a hot date for lunch.”
“Jean, please remember I am a recent widow. I know you never liked Eustace, but try to remember he was my husband. I’m certainly not dating, so soon,” Bunny tried to sound indignant.
Then, she shrugged, “Oh heck! Who am I kidding? You know I’m not grieving for Eustace. I’ll probably never be dating again, though. I’m too old to attract anyone and too worn out to care.”
“Hey, I was only joking. I didn’t mean to upset you. Where are you going, anyway?”
“On a wild goose chase, most likely. I have an appointment at the employment office. I’m signing up to look for work.”
“Oh. Well, you look really nice. I’m sure they will find you a job right away.”
Jean didn’t look as confident as she was trying to sound.
“As long as you are here, how about giving me a ride? I’d just as soon not arrive in a lather and I’m cutting it a little close, now,” Bunny said.
“Sure. Hop in.”
The sisters climbed in and the Mustang took off at a gallop.
“Jean was never one to ease into things,” Bunny thought as she stifled a gasp and held on.
Bunny had been getting along fairly well without a car since her husband had parked his so abruptly on the boulders at the foot of that cliff, but sometimes, like today, it was inconvenient.
She hated having to ask her sister or friends to drive her around, so she tried to walk whenever possible.
Bunny had an ancient bicycle, reminiscent of the one ridden through Kansas by the pre-tornado “witch” in the Wizard of Oz, but it was pretty rusty, as were her cycling skills.
Eustace’s car had been almost new. He’d always insisted on maintaining a powerful, luxurious car, in order to provide transportation for his parishioners, he said, although there were very few of them who ever were inside it.
He had carried only liability insurance on the car, though, just what was legally required. Eustace felt sure God would never let any harm come to him or his possessions.
Bunny could imagine the confrontation between Eustace and the Lord after God allowed that shiny car to crash and burn. Eustace must have been outraged.
No one could ever be sure what had caused her husband to lose control and drive off the mountainside.
Some speculated he had a stroke or heart attack while at the wheel, but his body was too badly charred to determine if that were true.
Bunny was certain of one thing; it had not been suicide.
Eustace was not the type. He sometimes acted as though he expected to be taken up in a whirlwind, but nothing as mundane as a car crash would have appealed to Eustace.
The spot where the car went off the road was one of Eustace’s favorite meditation spots. He had told Bunny he liked to get away and commune with God there, overlooking the trees and sky.
It was possible he stopped there and accidentally put the car into the wrong gear. Alternatively, maybe the brakes had failed. There were myriad scenarios about which to speculate.
It was not mere speculation that the car was a total loss, though.
With no insurance to buy another, Bunny was grateful for her sister and others who occasionally gave her a ride.
Arriving at her appointment a little early, Bunny walked up and down the sidewalk a few times to try to calm her nerves, then screwed up her courage and pushed through the door into the reception area.
“Here goes nothing,” she murmured.
Walking home later, Bunny was no more sanguine about her chances of finding work than she had been earlier.
The teenybopper at the reception desk had asked her to complete some forms before showing her into the inner office, where Bunny found an even younger-looking girl who was the interviewer.
“When did the hiring age drop into the preteens, anyway?” Bunny wondered, “Are there no child-labor laws these days?”
The young job counselor was not terribly encouraging. Bunny’s job skills were not up to modern standards.
After marrying Eustace, Bunny only worked in a string of poorly equipped church offices.
Although she had a home computer, she had not used many of the ubiquitous business utilities, such as Access and Excel.
She was a pretty good typist, though, and good with numbers, so her one hope was that someone would hire her as an entry level clerk.
It was a shame none of her best skills and talents could provide her a living, not without having an advanced degree, anyway.
She was a terrific, creative Sunday school teacher, could organize and lead women’s conferences and retreats, even write and deliver a passable sermon in a pinch…none of which was likely to help her pay the bills.
Striding along in the cool, crisp air was beginning to improve Bunny’s mood, and she began to look around her with more interest.
There were many elaborately decorated homes, she noticed. She wondered if all of them had entered the contest. It would be hard work for the judges if they had.
Some of the decorating schemes were really quite clever.
Bunny especially liked the ones keeping to an autumn or harvest theme, with pumpkins and scarecrows. She positively shuddered at some of the ones which emphasized the dark side of Halloween, though, like the hanged man in the oak tree, for instance. It looked creepily realistic.
She wondered where people found such things and why anyone would spend good money on a replica of a human being dying so horribly.
These folks had not been satisfied with making a life-like hanged man; they had included nasty wounds and gore, as well.
Bunny hurried past the macabre tableau and turned her attention back to nature’s more lovely display.
The leaves on her block were radiant in their fall colors. There was a lush variety of shades of yellow, gold, and orange, with just a sprinkling of lime-green and maroon, all contrasting against the dark evergreens.
She was soon able to put the less pleasant scenes out of her mind.
Banks pulled up in front of the Trainors’ lovely Victorian home and sat in his car, amazed at the transformation.
Without the house numbers painted on the curb, Max might have wondered if he was at the wrong address.
One of the most attractive and welcoming houses on the block had metamorphosed into a model of neglect and decay, bringing to mind Satis House, Dickens’s magn
ificent Gothic pile in the novel Great Expectations. He almost expected Miss Havisham to appear at a cobwebby window.
The apparently crumbling, dilapidated stones of the Trainors’ newly disguised house, as well as the darkness and dust that seemed to pervade it, were a perfect recreation of that decomposing decadence.
How had they managed this? Banks couldn’t wait to interview the couple and find out all about it.
Back at the office later, Max sat entering his notes on his laptop.
He admired the Trainors’ ingenuity. Several of the people he had seen that day were very clever with their decorating efforts, but he was confident the home of his new friends would be the winning contest entry.
He saw several places with mock graveyards, yards of pseudo spider webs, and what seemed like gallons of fake blood, plus several rubbery dismembered limbs in unexpected locations, but none of those schemes had the impact of the Trainors’ home.
Papier-mâché coverings gave all the brick and concrete surfaces the look of ancient stones. It was surprisingly realistic.
He hoped the dry weather held for them through Halloween.
These folks were certainly going all out. Banks thought he would have a hard time adjusting to life in the gloomy dark created by the plastic sheeting on the windows. It made the panes seem to be dusty and even cracked, here and there.
The Trainors must feel the indoor gloom was all part of the fun. Their efforts certainly were making the contest enjoyable to write about.
Another house interested Max.
A few blocks away from the Trainors’ place, there was a home where the owners seemed to have gone to almost as much trouble on their entry.
Max was not able to get in touch with the residents to find out where they got their props, but the hanged man in a tree in their side yard was amazingly realistic.
Max was surprised the people had not placed it in one of the trees nearer to the street where passersby could see it more clearly. It was obviously the centerpiece of their whole design scheme.
Banks finished writing up his article, worked on the classified ad page and began to close up for the day.
It had been a good day, even without his assistant, but he was still annoyed with Tyffinee. He hoped he could find a replacement soon.