The Godsend of River Grove

by Rob Summers

Chapter 6 The Church Picnic

  “Hi, Blondie.”

  In the church parking lot Todd Mankewisz was getting out of his car. Hila was crossing the pavement on foot, having walked from Cora’s house. Her parents had driven over earlier, and Eddie, who had walked over earlier yet, was somewhere on the church grounds with Crystal and other kids. As Todd approached her, a great cheer came from the side lawn where picnic games had already begun.

  “Hi, Todd. How are you and your brother and his family?” She put it this way because she was fishing for reactions to her mailings. Todd, she felt, would hardly care himself, but he might report on Ollie’s daughter Ann’s feelings.

  “Oh, fine, all fine. Except that we’re kind of concerned that some jerk sent some you might call hate mail to some church members.”

  “Yes, I got that too,” Hila said truthfully, for she had mailed one to herself. “Only I wouldn’t call it hate mail.”

  “Whatever, it was a low blow.”

  “My parents didn’t know what to think of it,” Hila offered.

  They had been, in fact, neither angry or disgusted, but merely puzzled and a little anxious. What it meant to other River Grovers had been their immediate concern, as if it could mean nothing to them until a climate of opinion had been established. So Anna Ellen had tried to call the pastor first and, finding that his line was busy (that no surprise), had called several church friends. The Saturday afternoon consensus had been that it was indeed—puzzling. By Saturday evening it was known that this was not an official church mailing, that certain board members were livid, and that an announcement would be made in church the next day.

  Accordingly, elder By Hoplinger had stood up in both Sunday services and roundly condemned whatever sneaking coward had sent unofficial mailings to the congregation. Board meeting minutes are private, he emphasized, and so are the contents of people’s diaries. If this was calculated to influence the vote on Ollie Fulborne, then it would have the opposite effect from that intended. He advised church members not to read the mailings but to destroy them. He had not discussed whether the minutes and diary excerpt were genuine but had unconsciously implied that they were. That was good enough for Hila.

  “Well, I’d like to know who done it,” Todd Mankewisz said to her heatedly. “I think a good old fashioned tar and feathering would be in order.”

  She seemed to hear Ollie being quoted. She also heard yet another echo of the more informed consensus that had been building over the weekend. Judging from Anna Ellen’s almost constant phone conversations, the congregation of late Sunday evening had not been nearly so puzzled as they had been on Saturday. It was all but decided that one of Ollie’s old enemies, possibly Jerry Oker (or take your pick of a dozen others, including Cora Pelham but not Hila), had delivered this knife in the back. Very little was being said about the contents of the mailings but a great deal about the vicious character of the mailer, generally referred to as Whoever Did This. Hila hoped that it would not be too many days before the contents of the mailings would have their turn for consideration.

  “Yes, that’s how a lot of people feel,” she said to Todd, “but I hope not too many suns will go down upon their anger.” When Todd received this with an uncomprehending smile, she remembered that he was no Bible scholar. “I mean I hope they don’t get bitter. Shall we go see what all the shouting is about?”

  “Sure, but Hila? I want you to know what the deal was the other night when you seen me going in Wojak’s.”

  “It’s none of my business, Todd. I certainly haven’t mentioned it to anybody.”

  “Yes, but—could you take off your sunglasses? I’d like to make some eye contact, lady.” She did not reply to this and made no motion to remove them. “Well, anyway, you remember Joanne who was with me earlier that evening and who ain’t a Christian? Well, when I got to my friend’s house where you dropped me off, he told me she’d walked down to the tavern.” Here Todd sighed with frustration. “So I hoofed it down there to get her out before she’d drink too much. Ya see, it looked bad but it wasn’t really. I caught her before she got blitzed. Not what it looked like.”

  Todd was trailing off due to receiving no reassuring cues. Hila was a cold statue.

  “Yes, I remember you said no one would be at home at your friend’s house,” she said evenly, “but that you had a key.”

  She turned away and walked through the parking lot. Todd trailed after her, but turned aside to talk with others when he reached the crowd.

  “Hila, come here, I need your help.”

  Jane Burson was calling from behind the folding tables that had been set up on the grass and that were filling with the potluck offerings of the congregation. Hila found her way over like a lazy cat crossing a room and stood with most of her weight on one foot.

  “We need help with the setup,” Jane said. “We’re probably going to need some more chairs over by the games area for people who don’t do well standing for long, I mean Mrs. Carlson. We’ll need to get them from inside.”

  Hila looked around. “Looks to me as if everything’s ready.”

  By Hoplinger’s wife Dory suddenly hovered near, a wide woman in a black and white check dress. “Jane, could you see about more chairs for watching the games? We only have four and some of the older folk might prefer to sit down over there.”

  “Yes, Hila and I’ll take care of it,” Jane said. “Come on, Hila.” As Dory went away toward the games, Jane started toward the church building but turned back when she noticed that Hila was still standing poised with her weight on one foot. Grudgingly she walked back to her. “What is it?”

  “No more chairs are needed,” Hila said from behind her sunglasses.

  “But Mrs. Carlson and some of the other older people.” Jane said this as a sentence, complete in meaning by itself.

  “If Mrs. Carlson multiplies herself by five, I will admit I’m wrong.” Hila moved a few steps toward the games. “Come along, Jane. Let’s watch.”

  Some of the children were being lined up for a wheelbarrow race, one child in front to walk on hands while the one behind held ankles and ‘wheeled.’

  “Hila!” Jane was smiling but obviously irritated. “Some more people might bring dishes to the tables.” She laughed nervously.

  “Come on.”

  “And I am going to get more chairs. Look, here’s Mrs. Gruenfeld coming with a dish, and what about whatever you brought?”

  “I didn’t bring anything.”

  Jane’s smile collapsed. “Not anything?”

  “Huh-uh.”

  “You didn’t have time.”

  “No, I just didn’t want to. I don’t like to cook.”

  Jane shushed her. Then she looked around to see if anyone had heard and, reassured that no one apparently had, stepped very close and spoke in a low voice. “I can help you with that. I have some great beginner’s books.”

  Hila laughed. “No thank you.”

  “Well, what did you used to do in Indianapolis by yourself?”

  “I cooked—a little. I also ate out a lot, and then there’s that wonderful invention, the microwave dinner.”

  Jane, who was known far beyond the River Grove Church for her cooking abilities, almost choked on this. “But if you had a guy over—”

  “Yes?”

  “You—do you think you don’t need it?”

  Jane was looking searchingly up into Hila’s face, so much so that Hila was glad for the sunglasses. This was not the sort of question that she felt comfortable answering. A straight, honest reply would have been, ‘Nope, I don’t need it. Nice Christian fellows in Indianapolis were ready to spend the evening fasting with me if I had asked them to.’ But such an answer would not do.

  “It’s a wonderful thing to be able to cook well,” she said instead, “and I envy you. But I never had the patience to learn.”

  “Do you plan to marry?” Jane asked.

  This wa
s one too many personal questions for Hila; and if she had not had a stock reply, she might have brushed Jane off rudely. “One can only plan not to marry, don’t you think? Planning to marry is like planning to win a poker hand.”

  That ended the conversation. Jane stepped back in confusion, trying to grapple not with the thought expressed, which was clear, but with the cheery, nonchalance with which it was spoken. This was simply blasphemy. Hila gave her a little wave of her hand at shoulder height and went on to the games.

  At the edge of the grassy racecourse, she joined her parents among the spectators and hooted and laughed with them through three wheelbarrow races, two three-legged races, an egg-on-the-spoon race, and several others. These were largely organized and directed by Evan Marklestan in his capacity as Youth Pastor. He knew every child not just by name but by temperament, and he knew how to get them laughing and excited. At calming them he was not so accomplished, but that was to be their parents’ problem after he would hand the kids back to them at noon.

  A pause occurred after the races and before the tug of war. The heavy, knotted rope lay in place across a four-by-eight mud pit that had been prepared for the occasion. Evan was not to be seen, and some of the children were reported to be changing into old clothing just in case their side lost. So for ten minutes or so the River Grovers chatted and fanned themselves. Hila had time to notice that all the chairs provided for the old folk were empty. Apparently, Mrs. Carlson had not come, or else she was standing despite her ninety years. Hila loved being right and triumphed in this for a bit until an uproar among the children called her attention back to the games area. Evan Marklestan had reappeared in a white tuxedo! He was taking up one end of the tugging rope and calling for his team to join him. All the previous hilarity was as nothing compared to this. Both children and adults loved it.

  In a few moments both teams were pulling, but Evan’s side prevailed, so that he still gleamed in the sunshine. But he would run to the other side, joining the muddy losing team, and there was another pull until his side won again! Then Evan called for the older adults to form a team and the church singles another. He joined the singles, taking the foremost position as if to tempt fate. Just before the tug began, Hila ran forward and grabbed the rope, taking a position behind Richard Ozark, and she pulled till she thought her arms would pop out of her shoulder sockets. It was a hard fought battle, youth and strength against greater weight, bodies leaned back at crazy angles to the ground, but Evan’s side prevailed again, and he retired in unstained glory. The three foremost oldsters took a mud bath. It was almost noon.

  Still panting and still laughing, Hila joined the crowd around Evan, who was taking off the white jacket while explaining that his father had donated it for the occasion. “It doesn’t fit him anymore,” said Evan.

  One of the teenage boys said, “You’ve got to do it again. The teens never had a chance to pull against you.”

  “No way, not again. Besides, it’s lunch time.”

  “Then after lunch!”

  “No way! I’m going to go change.” He turned to Hila. “Great pulling. You saved my hide.”

  “Thanks, but I doubt I made much difference. That was so clever. I don’t see how you’re ever going to top it.”

  “I don’t want to top it,” Evan said, rolling his eyes. He started to go toward the church building but turned back. “I can always use ideas though. Did your church in Indianapolis have fun activities for the youth?”

  “Yes, all the time. I think the best was the twenty foot long banana split. What a night!”

  “Tell me about it. I mean, after I change.”

  Hila was suddenly aware of Jane Burson watching them from behind Evan’s right shoulder. She was close enough to hear every word, and her face had a stricken look.

  “OK,” Hila said in a quieter voice. “Sometime.”

  Al Fontaine broke into the conversation. “Evan, are you done with the mud? Some of us want to cover it up before some kids get into it.”

  “All done, Al. Go ahead.”

  Several children and teens made whining, complaining sounds at this. Hila began to edge away, but found that Evan had caught her gently by the elbow.

  “No, I mean at lunch you’ll tell me about the twenty foot long submarine sandwich, right?”

  “Banana split.”

  “Oh, right.”

  Jane was still watching intently. Hila was in one of those moments when a great deal of complex calculation might have decided whether it was more advantageous to keep Jane as a friend, with access to all Jane’s insider knowledge about church members, or to drop her, earning her hatred, so as to date Evan Marklestan. For there was no doubt in Hila’s mind that agreeing to chat with him at lunch was the same as agreeing to go out with him at some later time. This was not logically so, yet it was so. She knew her own appeal, and she also knew that she wanted to get to know Evan better, especially after seeing him carry off the games with such style.

  “See you in a minute then?” he asked.

  He was smiling casually, had let go of her arm, and was almost turning away from her. Jane’s face was almost gray. If Hila Grant and Evan Marklestan were seen seated together at the Labor Day picnic, the River Grovers would at once link their names. Before the two had even risen from their fried chicken and potato salad, dozens of people would be saying, ‘I guess that Jane isn’t going to get him, not if Hila Grant is interested.’ But Hila knew that the Janes of this world are never going to get the Evans. The plain, dumpy, and uninspired never live out their dreams. Hila was sorry that this was so but she could do nothing about it. She had also observed that Evan was politely indifferent to Jane. She could not believe that any amount of delicious Hoosier cooking on Jane’s part would change that.

  Hila took a breath and shoved in the dagger. “Sure, see you in a minute. I’ll be with my parents.”

  Instead of answering, he winked as he walked off. From behind her sunglasses, Hila risked a look at Jane and was surprised to see her hasten to join Evan, walking beside him. Either she had not yet understood what was happening or she was going to try something desperate. Either way, this would not be pleasant.

  Hila did not immediately join the serving line. Instead, observing a group of elders standing in the shade of the church building, she approached them to hear what they were discussing. As she drew closer she saw that Oliver Fulborne was with them, and at the same time the old man saw Hila.

  “Here, come here!” he said, impatiently gesturing to her. “We need you to check the church records for some minutes of an elders’ meeting.”

  “I know what meeting you mean,” Hila said before he could continue. “I received one of those mailings. But hasn’t someone already looked for them over the weekend?”

  “Yes, the files have been searched,” Ollie said sharply, “but you’re the church secretary. Check them again.”

  “It’s no use,” said Hila. “I’ve only been secretary one week, and if you can’t find those minutes, then I certainly can’t. If you like, I’ll ask Mary Kirtle to look.”

  “That sounds like a winner,” said Joe Burden, the tall young policeman.

  Ollie huffed. “Get on with it then. You and Mary both look, and when you find them, let us know right away.”

  Hila nodded and sauntered off. She jumped the serving line by joining her parents and chatted with them for a few minutes until elder Al Fontaine approached her. “Hila,” he said quietly, “we need you to get on that right away. It can’t wait.” Hila seemed not to hear him. This was awkward for Al, who did not want to discuss in a crowd what ‘it’ was that could not wait. “I know it’s your day off, but you can make up the time. Somebody found Mary Kirtle and she’s already on her way in to look.”

  “It is my day off,” Hila said, “and Mary will find the missing minutes if anyone can.”

  Al winced and held a finger to his lips. “Discretion,�
� he said in a whisper. “Use discretion.”

  Len Grant nodded in agreement with his daughter. “Yeah, Mary was secretary when it happened. You get her to look.”

  “The minutes must be right there where they’re supposed to be,” said Anna Ellen with addled certainty.

  Al colored and put his finger to his lips again while glancing at the church members up and down the line, a few of whom were listening. “Never mind,” he said and turned on his heel and left them.

  “What’s his problem?” Len said to Hila.

  “Oh, he or somebody searched the church files over the weekend and couldn’t find the minutes of that meeting that got mailed out to everybody. I guess they think they were stolen.”

  As she said this she began to feel a little sweatier than even early September in Indiana could account for. Why, she thought, had she put the minutes back on Pastor Steve’s desk? If she had kept them, then any suspicions of theft would have had to include the whole congregation for the past two years. But now, when the minutes would be found, suspicion would more naturally turn to Mary Kirtle and herself, and perhaps Pastor Steve. Or did that make sense? It seemed to.

  “Well, of course they were stolen,” Len said. “Who wrote them to begin with? Maybe there’s a rough draft around.”

  “That’s not as good,” said Anna Ellen.

  “No, it’s not as good, but if they want to have a reliable record of what happened, then they can’t just use what was mailed out.”

  “Yes, that may have been tampered with,” Hila said.

  “Hateful rumor mongers,” said Anna Ellen. “I hope it wasn’t someone from this church. I can hardly believe that it was.”

  Len stiffened and hurried to change the subject, for Anna Ellen was not considering that Len’s niece Cora was a prime suspect and that she no longer attended River Grove.

  Before the Grants had been eating long, Evan joined them, seating himself by Hila and talking easily with all of them. Jane was nowhere to be seen. Hila took off her sunglasses and made eye contact with him. She felt that a phone call from him that evening was almost a sure thing. Sure enough, when the Grants rose to leave, Evan made some mention of calling Hila on a pretext she could not quite grasp. But it did not matter; any pretext or none was good enough.

  On the way to the family car, Hila spotted Mary Kirtle putting a covered dish into her Buick and strolled over to ask her about the minutes.

  “No, I didn’t find them,” Mary said. Her makeup was melting in the heat, and she looked grim around the mouth. “Never seen them to begin with. Al didn’t give them to me to type. I think they went straight to Pastor Steve.” She patted Hila’s arm. “Don’t let them make you look for them, dear. You were right not to. It’s none of your concern. Pastor Steve just lost them in his office or at home.”

  “And someone else found them?” Hila put in.

  Mary was silent for a moment. “Appears so. Someone got hold of them somehow. If anyone thinks it was me, they’d better come up with some proof or keep their mouths shut.”

  “Oh no, it wasn’t you,” Hila said.

  “Well, I’ve never done anything like that. I won’t lie and tell you that I like Ollie Fulborne, but the Lord tells us how to treat even our enemies.”

  Hila nodded. “I just thought I’d ask. See you Sunday.”

  She joined her parents in the car and Len started to maneuver out of the lot.

  “That Pastor Evan likes you,” Anna Ellen said.

  Here it comes again, thought Hila.

  After much anxious thought during the late afternoon and evening, Hila decided to leave the handwritten minutes in the folder on Steve’s desk. If by chance the church leaders had discovered the minutes there, it would not do to remove them now. It could be a trap, she thought, and scolded herself for paranoia even as she thought it. But she could not forget what before she had not remembered, that one of the elders was a policeman. She even lost sleep that night thinking about fingerprints.

  The next morning, while Pastor Steve was out of the office, she looked in from the doorway and saw that all his papers and books had been moved around. Some of the piles were still on his desk, most were rearranged on the floor. She could not tell which bulging manila folder held the minutes, if indeed one still did. At any rate this mess did not look like police work. She breathed a little easier as she returned to her desk.

  It would be one thing to be asked by some baffled person whether she had sent the mailings and to defiantly admit it, and quite another to have uncovered by detective methods the exact workings of her little scheme. At any rate, since she had not yet been accused, it seemed unlikely that she would be. The River Grovers would have to abandon the mystery as unsolvable.

  Hila was seated at her desk, thinking of these things, when Pastor Steve came in and tossed some papers into her in-box. She saw at a glance that they were the ‘missing’ minutes.

  “They’re found,” he said. “I turned my office upside down yesterday and found Ollie his precious minutes—why, I don’t know. Mary says she never typed them, so somebody must have used this rough draft to type what was sent out and then put the draft back in my office. You talk about a cool hand!”

  Hila picked up the sheets. “What do you want me to do with them?”

  “Just file them. Ollie wants to find out who copied them, but they’ve been knocking around my office for two years without my knowing it, and Lord knows how many people have had a chance to get at them. I never keep the door locked. Yeah, if he comes in here and demands to see them, he can have them for all I care. Give them to him.”

  Hila smiled. “Is he going to give you the devil for not keeping them locked up?”

  “He already has. I’ve been on the phone with him last night.” Steve turned and kicked a metal cabinet. “Cripes, he’s practically accusing me of doing it! Man, I wish that guy would just drop dead.” He stayed still for a few seconds. “Well, I just get sick of being good to people. Ollie’s just going to get on the board and then push me out.”

  He waited for some reaction from Hila. Probably, she thought, he wants me to tell him that will not happen. Her stomach tightened with sudden certainty. Yes, despite everything, Ollie would be elected elder, and then he would do all the things his wicked heart had planned, including giving Pastor Steve the old heave-ho.

  She put the papers back in the box. “I’ll miss you,” she said.

  “You don’t think I’m serious, do you? You don’t know what that man is like. He wants control, control, control.” Steve passed on into his office. “Oh man, look at this mess! Stay where you are, I’ll take care of it.” He closed the door behind him.

  “Mister, I would have saved you if I could,” Hila said softly to herself. “You just get well away from here, you and Helen and your kids. Things will look cheerier in no time when you get a position at some new church. But what am I going to do?”