CHAPTER FIFTEEN

By Tuesday, a rainy spell had settled over Hilltop and, by the look of the weather report, much of the upper Midwest. The sky was overcast—a dreary gray that reminded Alex of the color of a tired old bathrobe his father had worn for years. Rain came in a soft, fine mist that the farmers referred to as a soaker. Some of them were even beginning to tire of the persistent mist, which they would have preferred in early June rather than now in late July. Alex felt soggy around the edges, and his shoes never seemed quite dry even though they sat on the rug overnight.

He opened a folder on his desk and found a note from the treasurer for both churches, Walter Englund, with information concerning the two new windows All Saints had purchased. Someone had left him a prayer request, and there was a jar of Lydia’s strawberry-rhubarb jam.

Tripod had followed Alex to the church and lay by the front door on a rag rug Gandy had brought from home. A dog with manners, he knew enough to stay there until he’d dried off before making his way to Alex’s desk, where he remained the rest of the day, encouraged by the occasional doggie treats his master slipped to him when Gandy wasn’t looking.

A slamming door and boots stomping across the wooden floor announced Gandy’s arrival. She breezed in with a jolt of chill, damp air, pulled off a rain hat and shook it wildly, much the way Tripod shook himself after a dip in a slough.

“M’rning,” she mumbled. She didn’t look in Alex’s direction. Instead, she turned her back to him, hung up her raincoat, and scuttled backward to her desk, where she sat down, grabbed a folder, and held it up to her face.

This was odd behavior, even for Gandy who’d been very forthright about her quirks, which included chewing and snapping gum when she was nervous and an addiction to Milk Duds. He’d already come to rely on her to bring a ray of sunshine into the room. Especially on gloomy days, he welcomed her ever-ready smile.

“Gandy, are you okay?”

“Yup, yup. Fine. Never better.” She pulled the folder closer to her nose. Her voice sounded nasal, like an old country western singer.

“Did you catch a cold?”

“Healthy as a horse.” The folder never moved. “But thanks for asking.”

“Is the material in that folder urgent?” Alex rose from his desk.

“Just some stuff I should have finished up weeks ago. I need to order new candles, the ones with the little fishes on them, and some pew Bibles because we’re a few short. Oh yes, and Annie requested some new musical arrangements so she’d have some on hand when someone volunteers to sing a solo— Eeeek!”

She squawked at Alex, who had stolen up beside her and lifted the folder from her hands. Her face was red and blotchy, puffy too, and her eyes looked boiled and bloodshot, like a pair of fake glasses Alex had once worn to a costume party.

“You’ve been crying.”

“Now why’d you do that? I would have been just fine if you’d given me a few minutes to pull myself together.” Her hands flapped inefficiently at her hair, which had turned into corkscrews in the rain. “I didn’t want you to see me a mess but I didn’t want to be late either. She reached for a tissue from the box on her desk and blew her nose. It was a honk to rival that of the geese in Mike and Lauren’s yard.

“Would you like to talk about it?” he asked gently. “I’m a good listener.”

“Not particularly, but it’s going to be all over anyway so you might as well hear it from me.”

“And what is that?” He pulled up a chair and sat down across the desk from Gandy. “Would you like a cup of coffee first?”

“Please.”

He allowed her a few more moments to gather herself together and then handed her the coffee in the mug she’d told him was her favorite. It stated in bold black letters MOSES WAS A BASKET CASE.

She inhaled the fragrant steam and sighed.

“What is going to be all over soon?” he prodded gently.

“My brother Jonas has gone insane. It’s all his worries. They’ve finally driven him out of his mind.”

“Surely not.”

“Really. His wife woke up from a deep sleep to find him screaming and pulling drawers out of the chests and pictures off the walls. He was crying and wailing and carrying on something frightful. He even pulled down the curtains! He was sleepwalking and having a fit. She finally got him to wake up by throwing a glass of water in his face. When he realized what he’d done, he sat down on the bed and cried like a baby. If that’s not crazy, nothing is!”

Alex didn’t think Jonas was crazy at all. The man was, however, in deep trouble.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do about him. Maybe we should have an intervention, or something.” Gandy was pale and there was a small tic jumping beneath her right eye.

“Into what would you be intervening?”

“That’s just it. There is nothing. My brother doesn’t drink, smoke or gamble. He’s faithful to his wife, God-fearing and family-loving.” Gandy’s eyes began to water and her lip to tremble. She looked at Alex with a pitiable expression. “And he’s still crazy! Isn’t it awful?”

“I think it’s admirable that your brother is that fine a man, Gandy. He’s distressed about the possibility of losing his farm. Anyone would be. Last night his anxieties and frustrations manifested themselves in his dreams. He’s far from crazy. If he weren’t upset, then I’d say you should worry.”

“My sister-in-law told me she found a bunch of nasty letters he’d hidden from her—credit card collection agencies and the like. It’s worse than even she knew. I know he’s at his wit’s end, and I have no idea what to do for him. We don’t have any money to loan him, that’s for sure. I’m afraid if he does sell the land to those people he will never forgive himself.”

Alex recalled the meeting in the café with distaste.

“Selling the land to someone he knows would be hard enough, but these strangers…You saw them, you know they’re hovering overhead like vultures waiting for Jonas to get so desperate that he calls them. He has good, productive land; and there’s money to be made except, apparently, by Jonas.” Gandy’s face crumpled and she looked as if she would cry again. “I think he’s close to doing it. And if he does, I don’t know what will happen to him.”

“When he asked the neighbors if they were interested in buying his land, did they all say no?”

Gandy looked askance. “He didn’t even let on he was having problems. He was too ashamed to admit the trouble he’d gotten into. People suspected things were going badly, but no one knew how badly until recently. Things are tight for everyone right now, and no one has extra money lying around. Jonas wouldn’t approach the neighbors because he’d never put anyone in the awkward position of having to turn him down.” Her entire body drooped like a wilting flower. “His troubles would still be a secret if he could help it. Jonas thinks asking for help is the same as asking for handouts.”

“Buying land outright is hardly a handout.”

“You don’t know my brother very well yet, Reverend Alex. He’s a proud man. He certainly wouldn’t grovel.”

Alex had seen that for himself.

“‘I hate pride and arrogance,’” Alex quoted softly, more to himself than to Gandy. “‘Counsel and sound judgment are mine.’ Proverbs 8.”

“Jonas? He isn’t arrogant.”

“Not in the sense you mean. In this verse, arrogance is synonymous with pride. When we find ourselves wanting to do things our own way, to figure out our own answers, we’re struggling with our pride, resisting God’s leadership and refusing His help. God doesn’t want us to do anything without Him. He wants to help. He’s waiting to help—and we persistently thumb our noses at Him.”

Gandy was silent as she pondered this.

“It would be insulting, wouldn’t it? To have so much to give, yet to have those you want to help refuse it time and time again.” She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. “So by thinking his way is the only way, Jonas is refusing to let God into the picture?”

“It’s something to consider.”

“If Jonas were to let God handle it without any input from him, what do you think would happen?”

“I have no way of predicting God, Gandy. All I do know is that if Jonas were resting fully on God’s wisdom he’d probably sleep better at night.”

She looked Alex up and down with an appraising stare. “I’ll talk to Jonas.” She brightened, and her persistent optimism returned. “Maybe God’s getting everything set up to help Jonas out of this mess and just waiting for the go-ahead from Jonas himself.”

“Setting up? What do you mean?”

“We’ve been without a preacher for a long time. Now we’ve got one. Maybe God sent you to help Jonas through this.” She smiled for the first time. “I’ll bet you’re it, the answer to my prayers and Jonas’ too!”

“Gandy, I can’t fix your brother’s financial issues, all I’m saying is—”

“Pray about it, will you? See what God has to say about my brother.”

“I’m really in for it now, Tripod,” Alex groaned after he and the dog had taken a particularly long run that evening. “I can’t fix problems with a snap of my fingers.”

Tripod whined in commiseration and put his head dolefully on the floor.

“Or maybe I’m being as falsely humble as Jonas has been prideful,” Alex murmured thoughtfully. He’d almost immediately taken to talking to the dog, who was, as Dixon had promised, an excellent listener. Of course he couldn’t fix this. But God could. He would ask God to show him exactly what part he was to play in this unfolding drama.

Alex mounted the steps to his room two at a time and shed his running clothes in a pile on his bedroom floor. Before he stepped into the shower, he decided to do the deed he’d been dreading. He ventured onto the bathroom scale and watched the needle jump and flutter until it settled on a number.

It had to be broken. He backed off, made sure it was set properly and stepped on again. The number was the same. Surely it couldn’t be—he was up eight pounds. In such a brief time? And he’d thought he’d shrunk his trousers in the wash! Horrified, he turned on the shower and stepped in even before the water had time to get warm. The cold, pelting droplets brought him to his senses. If he wasn’t careful, he would turn into a round-faced, chubby caricature of himself. A six-foot-tall Tweedledum was what he’d be—pants hiked past his ample stomach to his armpits and held aloft by suspenders. He shuddered at the thought. Things would have to change around here. And quickly!

He approached the refrigerator warily when it was time to prepare his meal. There was a rasher of bacon and a quart of real cream in a Mason jar from Ole, who milked a few cows in addition to raising the pigs. Half of a to-die-for chocolate cake sat on the second shelf with a casserole of fresh garden vegetables swimming in butter and a half gallon of whole milk. In the cupboard were deep fried chips, chocolate chip cookies and a dozen boxes of items containing dreaded trans fats. He made himself a bowl of instant oatmeal and watered down the milk until it had the pale blue look of skim. He tried to feed his leftovers to Tripod but even the dog wouldn’t eat them. It had to have been nasty for him to reject them.

Then he picked up the phone and dialed the Carlsens.

“You’re sounding a little down,” Lauren observed when she heard his voice. She could pick up nuances in a person’s voice more quickly than anyone else Alex had ever met. “Something wrong?”

“Where’s a place to buy vegetables? Fresh ones, I mean.”

The long silence at her end of the line surprised him. He didn’t think he’d asked a difficult question.

“What about your garden? If everything isn’t ready yet it will be soon. Unless, of course, you want beets, cabbage, or melons. I didn’t plant any of those this year. The grocery store has things, but mostly we don’t buy vegetables. We grow them.”

“What about people who don’t have gardens? Where do they get fresh produce? Or do they settle for canned and frozen?” He heard the judgment in his question—suggesting that these options were second best. It was ironic, since the majority of the food his mother had ever served him was either frozen or canned. But at the moment he was on a mission. The waistband cutting into his midsection was reminder of that.

“I’ll have Mike run over with a bag of tomatoes. And there’s still some nice lettuce even though I’ve had a few cuttings. And green beans—I have them coming out my ears.”

“You don’t have to give me anything, Lauren. I’ll have plenty soon, but it makes me wonder about the people who want to buy fresh things.”

“It’s a good question, Alex. It’s just that around Hilltop we haven’t needed an answer.”

“What about Grassy Valley?”

“There are gardens there too, I suppose.”

“How about a farmers’ market?”

“There’s one in Wheatville, but no one will drive forty or fifty miles to buy radishes or even corn when it’s all right here. I doubt anyone around here has ever considered that there are people who actually need to buy that stuff.”

“I see. Then how about organic foods?” He was going to improve his health even if it killed him, he decided.

“There are farmers around who don’t use pesticides, if that’s what you mean. Jonas Owens is one of them. And there is an organic food section in the grocery store. Unfortunately it’s limited to soy milk, soy yogurt, and frozen gluten-free bread. There are a couple of kids in town with allergies. What is this all about, anyway?”

He told her about the number on the scale and his dreadful oatmeal, and she burst out laughing.

“Everyone who comes to Hilltop has the same problem at first. Don’t worry, people will feed you less and less, and the busier you get the more quickly you’ll see the pounds fade.” She lowered her voice. “And if you don’t tell anyone, I’ll bring you vegetable lasagna that’s out of this world but is absolutely healthy and low-cal. Don’t worry; you’ll be back in shape in no time flat.”

He could only hope.

Gandy’s face was long when Alex walked into the church office the next morning. She didn’t even greet him with her usual cheer.

He pulled up a wooden chair in front of her desk and straddled it, his arms folded over the back of the chair. “What’s wrong?”

“Jonas’ telephone has been shut off.”

“I’m sorry, Gandy.”

“The lights were about to be shut off too, but I scraped up enough for the light bill.”

Alex reached into his back pocket for his billfold. “Let me help.” He pulled out a twenty dollar bill, all he had, and put it on Gandy’s desk. “I can get more.”

Gandy put her hand over his. “You’ve helped my brother so much already. It’s Barbara who worries me. She’s not handling this well. She told Jonas that if he couldn’t figure this out, she’d take the kids and go to her mother’s until he did.”

“Is there anything we can do?”

“She’s as bad as my brother about accepting help. Right now I think we have to wait this out.”

So they settled into their work, for the day. Gandy busied herself at her desk while Alex puttered around the office.

“Somebody’s bellowing like they’re being hog tied and skinned out there,” Gandy said, looking up from her desk where she was compiling the new church directory. She nodded toward the door.

Alex, who was on a ladder changing an overhead light bulb, carefully descended. Because he was agile and strong, climbing usually didn’t frighten him, but a ladder with legs of mismatched lengths and a broken rung put the fear of falling into him. No use cracking his head open or breaking a leg if he could prevent it.

“I’ll see what’s wrong. By the way, see if you can find a space in next year’s church budget for a new ladder, or at least put out a cry for help in Sunday’s bulletin. Maybe someone has one they aren’t using and would be willing to donate.”

The front door flew open, and the source of the shrieking and bawling entered. It was Will Packard, being half-pulled and half-carried by a furious Clarence Olson. Will’s hands and feet were churning like little windmills. Fortunately Clarence had been blessed with long arms and could dodge most of Will’s flailing.

“I found this young hooligan in my pig sty with a pail full of garter snakes, a bird with a broken wing and that wretched skunk the Packards call a pet.” Clarence’s face turned the color of boiled beets. “And he said you gave him permission to be there!”

Garter snakes, Alex had observed in his back yard, had long colored stripes—mostly yellow in this region—and dark blotchy stripes between the yellow. They were harmless but snakes, nevertheless.

“Me? I…” Alex looked intently at Will, who’d quit thrashing and was now staring up at the pastor with a fearful expression. “Will, I did not tell you to take your…your…humane society to the Olsons’.”

“Well, you said I had to take it out of the church shed. What was I supposed to do?” He scowled fiercely. “I thought you were going to help me find a new place!”

“The Carlsens took the cat and the chickens, and you gave the kittens away. I thought your shelter was closed down.”

“Are you kidding?” Will looked at him, aghast. “There will always be animals to rescue, don’t you know? ‘If it’s not one thing, it’s another,’ my mom always says. Right now the other thing is a bunch of garter snakes that Bucky was going after with a hoe and that bird I found. I think I can patch him up good as new. I’ve done it before.”

“I didn’t think you’d start collecting again after our little talk about using the shed.”

“How could I stop?” Will’s small face was intent and every freckle stood out. “Hurtin’ animals are just like the poor, don’t you know?”

Alex blinked. “What do you mean?”

“And you call yourself a preacher!” Will looked disgusted. “It’s another verse my ma taught us. ‘You always have the poor with you.’ Well, we’ll always have hurtin’ critters too.”

Out-quoted by a nine-year-old. Alex liked this child immensely. Despite the trouble he seemed determined to cause, he was clever and quick-witted. If that naughty energy could be channeled into something productive, he’d be a real dynamo.

“So did you or did you not tell him to use my pig sty?” Clarence finally let go of the boy. Will tumbled to the floor.

“I did not. Will thought that up by himself. The problem is, no matter how many times we kick him out of buildings, I believe he will find a new place and start collecting animals all over again.”

“Not at my place.” Clarence rumbled.

“No, definitely not there,” Alex agreed, “but we’re open to suggestions.”

Pacified, Clarence’s color was beginning to return to normal. “Why can’t he use his own farm?”

“Are you serious?” Will chirruped. “My pa would kill me! Don’t think he hasn’t been tempted already.”

Even Clarence’s expression softened at that. Will’s father was a real piece of work, Alex thought. Poor kid.

“Well, I’ll leave him with you, Reverend. Just make sure he has that bucket of snakes and company out of my shed in the next hour.” Clarence stormed out.

Gandy, who’d listened to the entire exchange with rapt interest, pretended to look at the directory, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

Will straightened himself indignantly. “I don’t know why he’s so persnickety. He wasn’t using that old sty anyway. And he didn’t have to be so crabby either. The snakes are already out of the bucket.”

A warning bell sounded in Alex’s head. “Then where are they?”

Will grinned at him. His front teeth were too big for the rest of him. “I kicked the bucket over when he wasn’t looking. Now they’re all over his yard.”

“Will…”

The boy glanced over his shoulder and saw the organist Annie Henderson mounting the steps of the church with a sheaf of music in her hands. “Gotta go, Pastor Alex. Looks like you’ve got company.” He darted out of Alex’s grasp and headed for the door.

“We’re going to discuss this, Will Packard. And you aren’t going to get out of it!” he called after the boy.

Will never turned around, but he waved his hand over his shoulder and disappeared from sight.

“What are you going to do?” Gandy asked. She’d cheered up considerably now that her mind was on things other than her brother.

“I’m not sure. I’m afraid that Will’s father will punish him more severely than the infraction calls for, but I really can’t ignore it.”

“Will’s mama is a good woman. Maybe you could talk to her.” Gandy picked up the phone. “I’ll see if she answers the phone.”

Almost before Alex could gather his wits, she handed him the phone.

“Hello, Mrs. Packard, my name is—”

“Gandy told me. How nice of you to call.” Her voice was sweet and mild, and Alex immediately understood why it was difficult for her to stand up to her husband.

“I’m afraid this is a bit of a business call. It’s about Will.”

Her sigh came across the line loud and clear. “Now what’s that child done?”

Alex told her about Will’s animal rescue and the bucket of snakes.

She was silent for a long time. When she spoke, there was amusement in her voice. “You know, it might even be funny if I didn’t know Will’s daddy would punish him terribly if he knew.”

“About that—”

“My husband loses his way sometimes, mostly when he’s been drinking. I keep praying that God will pick him up and shake some sense into him and scare him sober, but I don’t know when that will be.”

“So I should leave the conversation with Will to you?”

“I’ll take care of it, Reverend, although I can’t promise how much it will help. My Will has a big heart for hurting things, and I really don’t want to punish that out of him.”

“I know you’ll do your best.”

“I’ll try. And by the way, I’d appreciate it if you’d pray for my husband. I can’t think of anyone who needs it more.”

Humbled by the woman’s faith and endurance, Alex hung up the phone.

At the end of the day Alex was relieved to hear Mark Nash’s calm, refined voice on the other end of the phone line. “Have you got plans for supper?”

“Not really.” He had a freezer full of rich desserts and casseroles, but nothing that was going to help him shed a few pounds.

“Tonight is meatloaf night at the Cozy Corner Cafe.”

“Does that place serve salads?” He looked longingly at the candy dish on his desk. Gandy had filled it with miniature chocolate bars.

“Definitely.”

“Then I’ll come.”

“Good. I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”

The café was busy; meatloaf was apparently a popular item. Despite the plates of mashed potatoes and glistening brown gravy going by, Alex ordered a chef’s salad with oil and vinegar on the side. Then he told Mark about getting on the scale and the too-tight trousers.

Instead of getting sympathy or the least little bit of commiseration, Mark, like Lauren, burst out laughing. “I could have told you that would happen. Just be glad you caught it before it turned into twenty or thirty pounds. That happened to a pastor many years back. He looked like a walking heart attack before the ladies started feeding him roasted turkey breast and fruit salads instead of fried chicken and ambrosia.”

Alex said nothing for a long while. His mind had wandered to something far more important than his waistband. “Have you heard how Jonas is doing?”

“Like I said before, I knew Jonas was in trouble,” Mark said softly. “I’d have to be blind not to, but even I had no idea how deep it was.” He looked troubled. “Maybe on some level I didn’t want to know. There have been Owenses on that land since the 1800s.”

“Isn’t there any other way? Could he grow something that would bring in more cash?”

“Only thing I can think of is wind.”

“Grow wind? I know you can do wonderful things out here, but isn’t that a little over the top?”

“I mean wind farms. There are several in the state, big windmills that turn wind into energy, but those things cost a pretty penny. No, this has to be something quick, something that would help Jonas immediately.”

“If you can think of any way I can help him other than moral support and prayer, let me know, will you?”

Mark looked at him with sympathy in his eyes. “You got thrown into the deep end of the pool here, didn’t you, Alex?”