Hunter's Moon

by Jay Heavner

  Charlie looked up and made eye contact with Wilma. He looked at Padre and Tom and nodded. “Sure can.”

  “Okay, what’ll it be?” she asked.

  Padre spoke first. “I’m really starving. How about the number five? Two eggs over easy, bacon, a bagel, OJ, and grits.”

  “Sounds good. You do know the OJ costs extra?”

  “That’s fine.”

  “And for you?” she asked Tom.

  “I’ll take a number five too only make my eggs scrambled, no OJ, and home fries instead of grits.”

  “Sounds good,” she said and took the two menus. “This shouldn’t be too long. The lunch crowd has come and gone, but Charlie’ll have to get the breakfast items out again for you guys. We’ll put a rush on it.” She turned and left the men with their coffee.

  “What a day it’s been,” said Padre.

  Tom jumped. His phone in his pocket vibrated from an incoming call. He clumsily reached for it and put it to his ear. “Hello?” He listened to the call. It was from Joann. “Yes, I’m okay. Padre and me are havin’ breakfast in Fort Ashby.”

  “It’s Joann,” Tom said to Padre.

  “Yes, the fire was as bad as we feared. The Dowlens died in the fire.” Tom listened to her speak.

  He said, “Yeah, it’s terrible. They were good people who knew the Lord. How are things there?” Padre could hear the muted conversation, but not make it out. “Okay, things are good there and Doug’s managing without me.” Tom paused and listened some more. “Okay, great. I’ll see you sometime before supper time. Bye. Love ya.”

  “Sounds like everything is hunky-dory on the home front,” said Padre.

  “They’re getting along without me somehow,” Tom chuckled. ‘I’m glad we were here to help. Just sorry how this all played out. Three dead, businesses, and places people called home gone. Not a pretty picture. Life ain’t always a bed of roses.”

  “I know where you’re coming from. Consider the rose. Is it a rose bush with thorns or a thorn bush with roses?” said Padre.

  “Let’s skip that issue for now. Mr. Godfrey, the owner of the Cumberland newspaper, was here today, and he’s willing to use his paper for a fundraiser to cover funeral expenses for the Dowlens. Their kin back home disowned them when they became Christians. They have no one here, and they barely were getting by as it was.”

  Padre replied,” Yeah, I saw him and the cub reporter at the fire. He seems to have a hard exterior, but I guess you would need a thick skin for the business he’s in. I think there’s more to him than meets the eye.”

  “I believe you’re right about that. I don’t know exactly how the funeral arrangements will work out. Don’t know who to contact on that. It’ll work out somehow. It always does.”

  “You’re right about that.”

  Tom said, “It’s been a couple of weeks since we talked. How are things in your personal and professional life going?” Tom knew this would be a tough question for the Padre, but he needed to know.

  “It’s complicated.” Tom waited for more. Padre began, “After I saw you that Monday at the restaurant in Cumberland, I drove the two-hour drive over to Pittsburgh. Everything was fine. Stacy was happy to see me, and we went for a walk in a local park. We talked about what to do. Were we making the right decision or not? Should we get married or not? While we were walking, Stacy had a sharp pain in her lower belly area. I could tell it hurt from the look on her face and the way she held her hand to her body. She wanted to go home, so we walked to the car. We drove for about two minutes, and she screamed in pain. She looked at me and pleaded, ‘Take me to a hospital. I think I’m having a miscarriage.’”

  Tom listened patiently, and the Padre continued, “I knew where the hospital was as we passed one on the way to the park. We got there quickly. Glad there wasn’t any cops who saw my fancy driving.” He gave a weak smile. “I drove up to the emergency entrance, and they took her right in. She was right. It was a miscarriage, and we lost the baby.”

  A tear ran down the big man’s black cheek. “Brother,” Tom asked. “Are you okay?”

  “Give me a minute. I’ll be alright.” Padre wiped the tear from his eye. “She spent two days in the hospital. I think the doctor just wrote up some kind of female problem for the bill. That will keep her out of trouble with her employer. We both took the week off from work to recover. After I took her home from the hospital, we talked about what happened and what we should do now. I think we were both still in shock, but we decided to continue seeing each other and work it out. Right now, I’m not sure what’ll happen. I want her as my wife, but things, like I said, have gotten complicated.”

  “I see what you mean. Can we pray on this?” Padre nodded his head. He held his two big hands across the table. Tom clasped them, and they both nodded their heads to pray. Tom began, “Almighty God, who knows all things; we come to you with heavy hearts today. My friend is going through some tough times, and he’s not sure what to do, or how this will all turn out. Guide him as a good shepherd would his sheep. Strengthen him for what lies ahead, whatever it is.”

  Padre squeezed Tom’s hands hard, and he began to speak, “Lord, you know all he said is true, and You know the whole story about what’s going on in my life. I trust in You whatever the outcome and Lord, bless my brother Tom. I’m not the only one with problems. Lord, help all the hurting people in our community. That fire has affected a lot of lives and will for some time. And Lord, last but not least, we thank you for this food we are about to partake in. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Tom echoed.

  They released each other’s hands and sat back in the booth. Wilma’s voice called out from the other side of the empty restaurant. “You boys ready for that breakfast yet? It’s ready, but I hated to interrupt your prayer meeting.”

  “Bring it on,” Padre roared. “I could eat a whole pig, including the oink.”

  Wilma brought the food over to the table and said, “Well, you’ll have to settle for this cooked bacon from Mr. Pig. Those oinks cook down to nothing’ and ain’t very nutritious. They don’t stick to a man’s ribs very well.”

  “We’ll keep that in mind,” said Tom. “Thank you. It looks good.”

  “It is good,” she said, “and if you need anything else, holler. I’ll be over yonder in the kitchen getting ready for the evening meal.”

  “Yeah, thanks from me, too. Do you have any ketchup for the eggs?” asked Father Frank.

  Wilma smiled, “it’s right there by the napkins.”

  “If it was a snake, it would have bite me,” said the Padre.

  “You keep them snakes to yourself. Don’t need none in here,” she said. “If there’s anything else, just holler for me.”

  ‘We will,” answered Tom, and the two hungry men dug into the warm meal.

  They talked very little as they wolfed the meal down. When they finished, the Padre looked at Tom and asked, “And how’s your life going? Have you heard anything more from than mysterious Voice character?”

  Tom responded, “Overall, my life is going as well as can be expected. Business is good. Life with Joann and Miriah is good too, and as for The Voice guy, he hasn’t contacted him lately, but I have this feeling he’s close by, watching and waiting, bidding his time. I’ll hear from him when he has something he needs to say. Oh, I did have another visit from the atheist who’s been coming to my church.”

  Padre looked at him, “Isn’t that like seeing a prostitute at a nunnery?”

  “I see your point, but what better place for them? They can hear the Good News.”

  “So true. How’d it go? There’s never enough evidence for scoffers. So many atheists I’ve met have been full of ridicule, intolerance, arrogance, and mockery, just the thing they say we do. Rather hypocritical.”

  “I’ve run across those, too. Mockery is never an argument. That’s admitting defeat. No, I had none of that from Mr. Miller. Two things are playing in this for him. The first is the change for the better he has seen in his wife s
ince she has become a Christian, and the second is he’s getting old and wants to make sure he’s got it right before he dies.”

  Padre nodded in agreement. “Yeah, some people deny the final curtain call is coming and get swept off the stage anyway, and others prepare for what comes next.”

  “He’s seeking; I’ll say that. He asked a lot of good questions. I don’t mind dealing with someone who is honestly seeking.”

  “So what kind of questions and all did he ask?”

  “A lot of questions about creation, design, and God’s nature. He’s having a hard time still believing the evolutionary line on how the universe has no design, purpose, no good or evil, only blind, pitiless indifference. It’s left him feeling empty inside, especially when his eyes can see design everywhere. There’s order in this world and universe. Even the simple cell is too complex just to happen. I think he’s come to realize atheism is a faith itself in human intelligence. It believes everything is a product of a mindless, unguided process. If it’s true though, how can you trust the thoughts from random firings of electrical impulses in the mind of evolved monkey brains? You know what C. S Lewis said on this?”

  “C. S. Lewis? Didn’t he write the Chronicles of Narnia?”

  “That’s the guy. He said, ‘If our minds are wholly dependent on brains, our brains on biochemistry and biochemistry on the meaningless flux of atoms, I can’t understand how the thoughts of those minds should have any more significance than the sound of the blowing winds.”

  Padre smiled, “He said it much better than you did.”

  Tom grimaced. “You really know how to make a guy feel wanted.”

  “You know me well enough to know when I’m pulling your leg, my friend. Those were some good questions that atheist was asking,” said Father Frank. “Sounds to me like he’s coming over from the dark side.”

  “I believe it’s just a matter of time before he convinces himself of what he already knows. He’s noticed how many of the scientists in the past were Christians and how scientifically accurate the Bible is. It’s never been wrong from an archaeological perspective. How could it not be true with all the fulfilled prophecy?”

  “Yeah, I believe you’re right. He’s convincing himself.”

  “Believe it or not, he did most of the talking and convincing. He even quoted Werner von Braun, a man I have met twice, but that’s another story. He said, ‘One cannot be exposed to the law and order in the universe without concluding there must be design and purpose behind it all. The better we understand the universe and all it harbors, the more reason we have found to marvel at the inherent design upon which it is based.’ I sat there, nodded my head, and just gave a point here and there. He said as a man of science; he also had a hard time when he saw no evidence of evolution in the fossil records and how all physical laws support special creation.”

  The Padre added, “Sounds to me like he’s realized wishing God does not exist does not make it so. Just because you don’t want to believe in God does not make there not be one.”

  Tom said, “I think it’s only a matter of time before he admits what he already knows. There is a God, and he needs to be right with Him. I believe he’ll make the right decision soon. It may be a Sunday when he’s at church with his wife, or it could be just as easy as sitting on his couch in his living room. A man can get right with God wherever he is. It can be a pauper’s shack or a mansion, on a beach, or in a prison. God’s there waiting. Jesus said, ‘I stand at the door and knock. Open the door, and I will enter.’ He’s ready whenever they are.”

  “Preach on brother. I’m starting to get glory bumps all over me.”

  Tom laughed at that. “Amen to that. Hey, I think we better get moving. I have things that I let slide for this, and I know you did, too.”

  “You’re right on that. We better go,” said the Padre.

  They left a generous tip for Wilma and paid their bill at the counter. Wilma took their money and said, “Everything was good, right?”

  Tom and Padre looked at each other and nodded. “Yeah, it was good and tasty.”

  Wilma said, “That’s good, but you guys ate it so fast I wasn’t sure you tasted it or not. Come again.”

  “I believe we will,” replied the Padre.

  Tom took the change. It had been his turn to pay the bill. They left the building and walked the short distance to where their cars were parked behind the danger tape. The Deputy recognized them and waved them through.

  As they were getting ready to separate, the Padre said, “Keep me in your prayers. I’m gonna need it.”

  “Yeah,” Tom said. “Me, too. It ain’t over till the fat lady sings, and I’m not sure she’s even warming up. Keep in touch. See ya.”

  “Will do. You do the same.”

  The two men got into their separate cars and drove away. Father Frank headed north on WV Highway 28, but Tom turned down Dans Run Road. There was something he needed to do. He drove the short distance past the Methodist Church and the Community Building across the street where his small congregation met on Sunday. In his mind’s eye, he could see the Dowlen family, all three of them, walking up the steps again. He and many others were going to miss them. Tom drove over the small bridge and a short distance further until he was at the Old Fort. He chuckled to himself as he thought of a humorous story a lady had told him about the Fort. She cut the grass out front when she was a teenager, and she was afraid to cut around the back because of the stories about the ghost back there. Her friend said she wasn’t afraid of no ghost, took the mower, and began to cut around the back. The first girl was rather mischievous, and with the mower’s loud roar masking her approach, she snuck up behind her friend and put her hand on the second girl’s shoulder. She let out a scream that would wake the dead. He had some friends like that, too.

  He took a right, passed the elementary school on his left, and ascended the hill the Fort Ashby Cemetery was on. It was said to be an Indian burial ground before the white settlers starting using it to bury their dead also. He didn’t know if it was true, but he did know for over 200 years the town had placed its dearly departed here, including his son.

  He pulled up to the parking area and saw the caretaker, Jenny, riding her mower in the upper section. He waved, and she waved back. They’d known each other for a long time. Another noise behind him got his attention. Jenny’s daughter, Leah, was busy with a weed eater around the older, above-ground monuments. Tom grabbed his hat from the truck and found a plastic chair someone left at the little pavilion. He took it and walked up to his son’s grave. He walked past so many graves with familiar names: Dohrman, Weaver, Miller, Adams, Long, and others. Seems like no matter how much money or how much fame we have on this Earth, we all end up in a plot like this, he thought.

  He placed the chair next to the grave marker that read “Brian Kenney” and sat down. Tom thought for a moment and began to speak, “You know, Brian, I miss you. You’re gone from this earth, but we here remember you. I wish things could have been different. Life’s not fair, and sometimes people leave too soon.” A tear rolled down his cheek as his eyes watered. “I just came from the square uptown. The old block building burned to the ground, and three people died. Would you tell them I miss them, too? Oh, Brian, life can be so short. Someday, in the not so distant future, my ole body will be here, too, but I’ll be with you and my Lord and the ones I love.” He wanted to say more, but tears filled his eyes. He choked up and began to cry. Tears fell like rain on Brian’s grave as Tom’s pain left his body. He wiped the tears from his eyes and blew his watery nose into a handkerchief. Tom looked down at the grave. “I really miss you, son, and know we’ll be together soon in a better place. Till then, remember, I love you.”

  Tom stood up and began walking away, carrying the borrowed chair. He placed it where he found it and got in the truck. You never know when it’s your time to go. He put the truck in gear and started down the hill out of the cemetery. Life is full of surprises. You never know what is around the corne
r, but he did know he would be called on to perform a funeral for three people who died and he had better start preparing. Oh Lord, give me the strength to carry on. You always do no matter what comes my way. You are my strength, my shield, and my strong tower. You are my fortress when I am weak. I couldn’t make it a day without you. Amen.

  Chapter 20

  The outpouring of support for the Dowlen family from the tri-state area and beyond overwhelmed Tom and the members of his small church. Not only had Mr. Godfrey placed the story on the front page of the Cumberland Times-News, but it had also been picked up by the wire services and gone nationwide. Tom suspected Mr. Godfrey pulled some strings to see this happened. Much more than enough money for proper caskets, funeral arrangements, burial sites, and other necessities came in. The Fort Ashby Lions Club offered to donate land for three side by side graves in the new section, but with plenty of funds available, the sites were purchased from the organization.

  After the coroner released the bodies, Upchurch Funeral Home prepared and kept them for the wake on Friday afternoon and evening. There would be no viewing for obvious reasons. Tom and the Padre were present on Friday to comfort the mourners. Father Frank dressed in his usual Sunday robes, and Tom wore a dark suit, white shirt, and red tie, something he rarely did as Sunday services at his church were informal. He discovered his shirt was tight around the neck, and he made a mental note to either get a bigger shirt or lose some weight. Joann’s good cooking showed on him.

  The crowd was so large the police were called to direct traffic. Some of the local men were temporally deputized to help. The parking lot of the funeral home was full, and the excess cars parked wherever space could be found. Most went to the parking lot by the Custard Stand at the town square in front of the burned out building’s ruins. It remained a grim reminder of the tragedy that had happened.

  Tom and the Padre were blown away by the people who came, young and old. Many shared stories about the Dowlen family Tom had never heard. He only wished he’d known these accolades when they were alive. Funerals are challenging times for pastors. Death always brings stress. Sometimes it was difficult to find the right words when a vile person died, or when a tragedy occurred. It was not easy to find kind words for a person of bad reputation, or when lives were taken unexpectedly and too soon.