The Key
by Eloise Hawking
Chapter 33
We were packed in the car and off to church within the next
half hour. No one looked their Sunday
best today as it was hard getting ready with no lights and no water. I combed my hair out as best as I could and
put it in a high bun on top of my head.
If we didn’t have power, I bet no one else around here did either, so
the people at church would be looking a little raw this morning.
“That looks nice,” Mom said, commenting on my
hairstyle. Within a minute she fixed
matching hairdos for herself and for Hope.
When we walked past the mirror on the way to the car I couldn’t help but
notice how the three of us resembled each other.
“Don’t forget to stop at the farm,” I reminded my dad who
was driving.
We slowed up as we drove by
the farm house. Farmer Richter’s old
truck was in the driveway so my dad pulled in. Farmer Richter spotted us out of his window and came out to
greet us. My dad got out of the
driver’s side door and the two met midway through the driveway and shook
hands. They spoke for a minute and then
dad turned and waved me to come forward.
“Go on, Ellen,” said Mom.
“It must be good news. Farmer
Richter is grinning.”
Farmer Richter did have a broad smile across his suntanned
face. Up close his eyes were gentle and
soft brown like the earth he tilled.
“Well, well, well. There’s our
neighborhood heroine!” he exclaimed.
“Bandit pulled through ok, but he probably would not have made it unless
you had been there to save him.”
Farmer Richter put his broad hand across my back, giving me
a hearty slap. “Would you like to see
him?” he asked.
I looked to Dad and he nodded an affirmative, so I smiled
and followed Farmer Richter inside.
“Now
Bandit’s a barn dog, you know, belongs with the cows,” he said in his loud
voice which had grown accustomed to shouting over tractors. “This here old boy thinks he’s in the lap of
luxury here in the house and all. Living
like a king for the next month he is.”
I looked to the corner of the living room and there on a
heap of soft blankets and old comforters
lay Fangs on his side, with a leg in a cast.
He pricked his ears up and lifted his head upon our entry but did not
growl.
“Now stay calm, Old Boy,” boomed Farmer Richter. “Ellen is here to see you.”
Farmer Richter stepped aside so I could get a better look at
Fangs. It looked as though he had been
cleaned up. His fur was fluffier than
the matted down mud coat that he had on last evening. Some of his hair had been shaved away and it
looked as though he had stitches above the cast on his left leg. Fangs looked at me and tapped his tail twice
on the floor and put his head back down.
“……Doc said that he took a good hit alright. Probably that Justice kid again, that darn
punk. I am going to call him down here
so he can face what he did. Doc says
he’s got a gash from the car tire, a broken hind leg and a cracked bone down
along is tail. Vertebrae number twenty-six
it was on the X ray, I think, but it will heal,” Farmer Richter went on.
I hunkered down to get a closer look at Fangs. He picked up his head real fast, almost as if
to snap and say, “Stay away from me,” but our eyes met and he softened. I held my hand out, hovering it above him,
waiting to see if he’d take a chomp or let me pet him. Fangs tapped his tail three times this time
and I rested my hand gently on his head and stroked the soft fur between his
ears. Fangs and I had made peace. I was no longer afraid.
As we walked from the house, mother yelled to Farmer Richter
that we had a pie for him waiting to be baked and we’d bring it down an hour
after the power was restored. He smiled
and thanked us again, shook Dad’s hand and we once again hurried off down
the road to church.
“How did Fangs look, Onion?
Was he all bloody and stuff?” Sam inquired.
“No, he was all cleaned up and had a big cast on his back
leg and some stitches. Farmer Richter
says he cracked his 26th vertebrae.
That must be down by his tail, but he wagged it just fine. He even let me pet him,” I said.
“Yes I believe that fracture would be down by the tail
end. Humans have 33 vertebrae that make
up their spinal columns. Dogs have
less,” informed my Dad.
“You know, I just don’t think I can call him Fangs
anymore. He’s just a normal dog to me
now,” I mused.
“I thought of a perfect new nickname for Bandit,” mother
interjected. We all waited, knowing
that this would be a good one. “I think
we should call him Lucky.”
“I thought you said there is no such thing as Luck,” I
challenged.
“You’re right,” Mom retorted, “but Fangs isn’t evil after
all, Rocky sure was no prize fighter, and you certainly don’t smell like an
onion, Onion."
A smile spread across my face thinking of this dog named
Bandit, once called Fangs, now thought of as Lucky. It was a mismatched nickname, but it fit just
fine and I liked it. I felt warm and good and mixed up inside as I thought
about the dogs in my life.
My most
feared and dreaded enemy lived and was much gentler than I ever imagined he’d
be. My sweet, harmless, loyal friend
Rocky died on the very same night. I
didn’t understand why things happened the way that they did and life just
didn’t seem fair.
An unfair life. That
reminded me of Job. Oh no! I forgot about the Bible lesson I had for
homework this week.
“Mom!” I exclaimed,
“I forgot about Job. I can’t remember it
all and I have to report to Aunt Elna what it was about.”
My stomach started jumping again and I
thought a silent prayer that Sunday school would be cancelled. Aunt Elna had to be at least 100 years
old. She was my mother’s Sunday school
teacher. You didn’t mess around with
Aunt Elna.
“Well, Ellen, let me give you my best 33 second
synopsis. Do you want the kid version or
the adult one?” said Mom.
“Kid version,” I said leaning forward to concentrate on her
every last word.
She paused a moment, turned in her seat to face me, and
then started right in with her teenaged sounding inflections. “OK—Well, um, there was this guy Job , and he
was like, really nice,” started Mother Eloise, pretending to chew fake gum. “He had a wife, kids, some sheep and a nice
house."
She continued, "One day the Lord and the Devil
got into this argument. The devil told
God that people only believed in him and followed him when things were going
well, but if bad things happened, they would stop believing. The Lord said, “nuh-uh,” and the devil said,
“Ya-huh,” so they made a bet. The stakes
were high on this bet---like the whole
universe and stuff, so it was a really big deal." Mom smacked her lips together for extra effect.
"First some big storm came and blew Job’s
house down killing all of his kids that were inside. Then a big lightning bolt came down from the
sky and fried all of his sheep. To add
to his agony, he got this big red, painful zit things all over his body and no
one would let him live with them so he had to go off and live by himself. Then his wife, who was a big….jerk……told him
that it was all his fault and just to curse God and die. Nice."
My Dad snorted, but I kept my eyes on Mom. She went on, "But Job, good old Job, just kept on
going. He wouldn’t curse God, but he
sure did keep questioning him. In fact,
he DEMANDED to see God to get some answers, and you know what? God came to Job
and answered his questions without really answering them at all."
Mother Eloise slapped my forearm playfully. She finished finished up her summary. "Job believed in God more than ever, and God
restored all things to Job and gave him more than he even had before.”
Mom exhaled and pretended to spit her
fake gum out of the van window.
“Hey, I want a piece of gum,” whined Sam.
I think I got it. I
had to keep forcing myself to listen after mother said “blew his house down”
because all I could think of was my tree house.
Maybe if I kept praying and believing, would I be
like Job and get my tree house back, a bigger and better one than before. Would God bring back Rocky if I asked
him? Maybe God couldn’t hear me out in
the yard this morning and I could try again from church. That was a good place to pray. I think God hears people better when they
pray at church. I think the music and the
singing gets his attention.
We pulled into the church driveway and the car climbed the
high hill that the church sat atop of.
Attached to the church was a beautiful tower that we called The
Lighthouse. It was a prayer tower of
sorts and stood as tall as the highest steeple.
It was designed to look like a real lighthouse, complete with a set of
spiral steps that led to the all glass top.
The catwalk actually had seats where parishioners could sit down and
look out of the windows in any direction, across the vineyards and orchards and
onto the lake. It was the pride and joy
of our church. The people saved their
money for years and years to build it and it brought celebrations among the
parishioners when it was complete.
“It looks like The Lighthouse suffered some damage last
night,” Dad said as we pulled into a parking space. We looked over to see people standing at the
base of it, in the yard littered with fallen limbs, garbage can lids, and roof
shingles. It looked as though one of the
upper windows was broken. Several men
stood looking upwards scratching their heads.
“That gust of wind blew right in a line last night,” said
Dad. “It looks like it must have taken
down Ellen’s tree house and then blew straight this way and ripped those shingles
off.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t a tornado, Dad?” I asked.
“It was NOT a tornado, Onion!” yelled Sam who was sitting
beside me on the van bench. “It was the
Big Bad Wolf. I heard him last night
when he comed to get me, but I fighted him off with my sword.”
Sam jumped from the van, energized from all of the storm
excitement and went running into the church lobby ahead of us. We could see him tugging on the legs of
friends and neighbors, pointing in the direction of our house. As we got closer we could hear him doing his
best impression of the howling wolf that he fought off with bravery.
“wwwwhooooooooosssssshhhhhhh!” Sam said with swaying hands.
“Well aren’t you just a sweet little cupcake baked by the
devil,” we heard Aunt Elna say.
You
could tell the woman was counting the days until she got Sam in official Sunday
school. He was still too young yet and
hung out in the nursery with the little kids.
If that didn't force her into retirement, nothing would.
As my parents approached, Aunt Elna looked up and informed
them that there would be no Sunday school today because the church was without
power and the basement where they held Sunday school classes was too dark for
instruction. Children were allowed to
stay for the entire service with their parents.
My eyes widened at the thought of my prayer being
answered. Maybe God did hear me after
all.
“It’s a good day for us to be together,” said Mom and she
put her hand on me again.
She ushered
her family one by one into the pew, my father first, then us kids, then
herself. My two parents always sat like
bookends, holding their offspring together.
The music was already playing. Today it was the piano, an acoustic guitar
and the drums. The music sounded far
away because the microphones and amps weren’t working. The song was familiar and I seemed to have
heard the words somewhere before. The parishioners sang along, without the
words displayed on the computerized screen as they usually were.
“This was an old one.
It was very popular in the 1970’s.
Many people know this one without a lyrics prompter,” Mom told me.
It was a pretty song and it went like this:
To everything, turn,
turn, turn
There is a season turn,
turn, turn
And a time for every
purpose under heaven
A time to be
born, a time to die
A time to
plant, a time to reap
A time
to kill, a time to heal
A
time to laugh , a time to weep
I looked up and saw my mother singing. She turned and looked at me while swaying to
the music. She stopped and pulled me
close, whispering in my ear, “Listen to the words. This song will make you feel better. Put this one in your heart today.”
I did listen to the rest of the song. It was about dancing and mourning, war and
peace, and loving and hating. I think it
meant we would experience it all. Bad comes eventually, but only lasts for a little
while and good would come again. Then I
realized it was the exact same thing that Grandpa told me this morning, just in
a different way.
As I glanced around the church, I saw Skippy, sitting on the
edge of the pew near the aisle. He was
singing the words, too.
I watched him
for awhile and noticed that he had the same pair of weird blue shoes on, the
same gray stretchy pants, a short sleeved dress shirt, and a tie. No matter where you saw Skippy, he was always
dressed the same. It looked like he was
going to work all of the time, even on Sunday.
After the song, the congregation sat, and I noticed that when Skippy sat
down, the leg of his pants rose up a little to reveal that metal pole of his
fake leg.
Question after question flew through my mind: Why hadn’t I ever noticed this before? Did the other kids know this, too?
Then I began to answer my own questions: I didn’t notice because I always avoided looking
at Skippy when I was at church. The
other kids couldn’t possibly know this secret or they would make complete
mincemeat out of the man. Skippy
walked the way he did because he had a fake leg.
While I was thinking about Skippy, I was looking at him. He must have picked up my vibe because he
turned slowly as if he got the sense that someone’s eyes were boring through
him. He caught me red handed and I
could feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment.
But Skippy just smiled and held up his hand and nodded his head as if to
say, “Good job, Ellen.”
“Oh, there’s Mr. Nebauer,” said Mom. “We have to catch him after church to let him
know about Fangs…whoops, I mean Lucky .
God sent him at just the right time yesterday, didn’t he Ellen?”
I nodded my head yes and then was distracted by my brother’s
squirming. “Gimme that pen, Onion! I want to write you a letter! Gimme that paper!” Sam said a bit too loudly
for church.
“Shhhhh!” I said holding my finger to my lips. “You have to be quiet in church, Sam!”
Mom looked and me and flapped her hand in a downward motion
to show me not to be bothered by him. I
glanced around the church and realized it was extra full with all the kids
filling the pews because of no Sunday school.
There was more motion and noise than usual I imagine.
Mom handed Sam an offering envelope and a pen
and he began to draw big thick swirly scribbles with the scratchy black church
pen.
“I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll BLOW your house
down!” he said way too loud.
I shushed him again and took the pen in my own hand and
began to draw him animals. First I drew
a cat, “Cat!” Sam whispered and clapped, gleeful at some attention. Next I drew a bunny, then a snake. Sam would whisper in my ear what he thought I
was trying to draw, then squeal with delight when what he guessed came to life
one piece of the picture at a time.
Church was long today, and I had a hard time paying
attention. Pastor seized the opportunity
of the recent bad weather and talked about storms and seasons, and reaping and
sowing and stuff like that. I would
catch phrases now and again.
When I
heard Job’s name mentioned I looked up and saw Aunt Elna smile at me. But truthfully, my brain was on ten year old
overload. So much had happened in such a
short time, I was content to half listen, fake nod once in awhile, and chime in
on a laugh when the pastor said something witty.
Mom seemed thankful that I was keeping Sam’s bad behavior at
bay. She reached over, smiled, and
patted my leg. She passed me an empty
church envelope with something written on it in her pretty handwriting: What is the cost of the last word of my
favorite book?
I looked at mom quizzically.
She smiled her crooked smile and turned forward again to focus in on
Pastor.
Favorite book? Mom
liked Steinbeck, but which was her favorite?
The cost? What did that
mean?
Her puzzle did take my mind off
things for awhile and I admit I was thankful for something new to think
about. Suddenly, after a few minutes of thought, before my eyes appeared a book. THE book.
It was resting on the book holder on the back of the pew in front of me,
a black leather book with gold letters that read Holy Bible. Yes!
This was mom’s favorite book!
I reached out, subduing a smile and gently eased the book
out of the slot. I placed it on my lap
and thumbed through to the back end. At
the very end was a map of Israel and a timeline of the Rulers. I paged back a bit to the Book of Revelation
, the 22nd chapter, the 27th verse. It read:
The grace of the Lord Jesus be with God’s people. Amen.
Amen. That was it, the last word of her favorite
book. Now what was the cost?
My mind raced at top speed. My brain felt like a super computer trying to
put pieces of things together to see the complete picture, just like I was
doing moments ago with Sam. It was just
like solving a giant jigsaw puzzle. It
was slow in the beginning, but the more pieces you put in, the less that were
left to choose from and they found their places quickly.
The cost of the word Amen. I had heard that somewhere before . Where?
I almost had it….
“Onion! Draw!”
Sam demanded.
I quickly doodled an elephant with its long curled
trunk. I told Sam to make some peanuts
to feed his elephant and passed the page back to him.
Gray like the skin of an elephant--siltstone. It was then when it
clicked. The rocks test. School.
Mom’s assignment. The cost of
rocks and which was the most expensive.
All I had to do was add up the letters in Amen. Oh boy is she going to be proud of me!
I only had to make the code halfway through the alphabet
because I only had to go as far as N. I
knew A was 1 and that E was 5, so let’s see…….if M equals 13, than N is
14.
My mind races with figures. "Now I have to add that up. 1 plus 5 is 6, plus 13 is 19, so I’ll just think of that as 20 and subtract
later…….add 14 more…..that’s 34, now minus that 1 from when I made the 19 a 20
for easy adding…..that makes 33.
Wait. Is that right? I tried it again by adding the numbers in
order: 1 plus 13 plus 5 plus 14---yep,
33. I tried it the school way, stacking
the addends four high and I carried my 1 to the tens column just like I did on
worksheets when I had to “show my work.”
33 again.
My hand was shaking when I grabbed the envelope mom had
written on and took the pen from my brother who loudly protested. “Wait just a minute!” I hissed.
I wrote: The cost of Amen is 33 and passed the
sheet back to my mother.
She smiled and tears welled up in her eyes. She reached out and hugged me so tight, right
there in front of everybody in the middle of church. “You know it, Baby,” she whispered into my
ear, “And don’t you ever forget it.”
Church ended after 75 long minutes. The congregation was relieved to stand. I could tell by the way people stretched their arms and shook their legs loose as they
filtered out of the pews and down the center aisle.
We made our way down the center of the church
to greet the Pastor and wish him a good week.
My family found ourselves meeting up with Skippy.
“Greetings, McGraw Family!” Skippy said. It almost seemed like he should have said,
“Greetings, Earthlings” because there was such an oddity to his language and
his gait that Skippy seemed to be from another world.
“Did you get the good news about Bandit?” Mom inquired,
remembering to use the dog’s given name.
“Yessiree I did! And
what good news that was! I stayed with
Mr. Richter last night and we were able to bring the dog home as the veterinary
clinic lost power anyway. I went to bed
with a clear conscious and a happy heart knowing that there are such good kids
in this world—ones willing to stand in the face of a storm to save a hurt
animal. Your bravery yesterday was
remarkable, Young Lady."
I blushed again and looked down so that my teacher would not
see the redness creeping up neck and
onto my face. Dad talked to Skippy as
the line bumped and jolted forward.
Mom
broke her attention away from the men and fished in her pocket for
something. She brought her fist out of her pocket and opened her palm
in front of me. There in her hand were
some coins.
“Ellen,” she said, “I found
these in the pocket of your shorts last night along with that apple. I think you may want to add this to the
missions bucket on the way out,” pressing the coins into my hand.
Our church had a Missions Bucket for spare pocket
change. Parishoners were encouraged to
toss spare change in it weekly, and when it filled the top, groups of
volunteers came to the church and wrapped it in coin wrappers, totaled the
amount, and sent it to a place in need.
On the outside of the bucket the words read, “….for God loves a cheerful giver.”
Everyone constantly preached to us that a little goes a long
way, but wasn't a few coins too little? I
opened my palm to examine the amount and tossed the coins up and down in my
hand to separate them a bit.
I
remembered picking up this spare change sticky with Coke on the floor of the
press box when I was on my quest with Emily and Jack. It all happened less than a day ago, but to
me, it felt like ages.
There was
only one quarter, one nickel, and three
pennies. Barely a pittance, but if Mom
wanted me t………………wait a minute……………….it was 33 cents! I found 33 cents and had it in my pocket all
afternoon yesterday!
“Mom,” I said wide eyed, “33 cents!”
Mom closed her eyes, nodded slowly and smiled. “See, He was with you all along.”
“Right there in my pocket,” I finished.
“In both of them actually,” Mom said reflectively. “You had an apple in the other one.”
My feet led me to the five gallon bucket that was filled
about halfway with coins. I paused in
front of it and felt full up to the top with love, even in of the
losses I faced this morning. My body
tingled and felt warm.
I closed my eyes,
bowed my head, and whispered “Thank you God.”
I kissed the coins in my hand, unafraid of the germs they supposedly
held, and opened my palm letting the coins clink into the bucket like raindrops
on pond in the park. And in my head I
thought, “Amen.”
Epilogue on the next posting.
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