Birding

Thanksgiving morning Toby woke up to noise and smells. He got out of bed and went downstairs in his PJs. The noise and smells were coming from the kitchen. His mother, aunt Susie and grandma Evans were talking and cooking. His seven-year-old sister Tilly was sitting on the counter singing one of her happy songs.

In the family room, Uncle Kevin and his father were sitting at a card table. Grandpa was sitting in the big chair reading a book. Toby went over to the card table.

“Hey Tob,” said Uncle Kevin.

“What are you doing?” Toby asked.

“We’re playing Risk,” replied his father.

“Can I play?” Toby asked.

“I think this game is a bit too hard for you,” his father replied. “We’ll play a different game later.”

Grandpa called Toby to come over and sit on his lap. Five-year old Toby did just that. He wanted to know what grandpa was looking at.

“It’s A Year-Round Guide to Indiana Bird Watching,” grandpa told him.

“Why you reading that grandpa?

 “I like birds, Tobias. Do you?”

“Uh-huh.” Toby rubbed his eyes and lifted the book to see the pictures. “What’s that?’ He pointed to the page.

“That’s a Dark-eyed Junco,” grandpa replied. “It says here that they like to eat seeds, insects and berries.”

“Huh. His name is Junco?”

“Yes. If you were a bird, I’d call you a Blue-eyed Tobias.” Grandpa smiled.

Toby turned the page. “Why do you like birds, grandpa?”

“Birds are special creatures. They seem to be wherever we are, as if God wanted to make sure we notice them. They are free and at the same time totally dependent on God and His created order.

“And there are so many kinds of birds, Tobias.” Grandpa flipped through the pages. “They bring color and sound to our lives. Seeing them and hearing them is proof that nature is healthy. I try to spot a bird by its coloring and by its songs and calls.”

“Birds have songs?”

“They sure do. Male birds sing to attract female birds. They also sing to scare off other birds from their territory and to bond with mates and young’uns. You want to hear a Mourning Dove Song?”

“Yeah.”  

Grandpa took a deep breath, formed his mouth and went “coo-AH-oo coo-coo”. He waited and then again “coo-AH-oo coo-coo.”

“The Mourning Dove keeps repeating this song until a female is attracted. That’s how I met your grandmother.” Toby’s eyes lit up when he saw grandma smile.

“Bird experts can tell the species of a bird by just listening to its song. Each species has its own song.”

“What’s speecheese?”

“A species is a way to name animals that are alike and have babies like them. Let’s see,” he found the page. “It says here that the Dark-eyed Junco is a species of Junco, a group of small, grayish sparrows.”

“It also says that Male Dark-eyed Juncos sing a sweet, high-pitched trill that sounds similar to the songs of the Chipping Sparrow and Pine Warbler. And during the winter, Juncos come to backyard feeders for millet and bird seed. I saw one at my bird feeder this morning.”

Toby looked over at the kitchen. “Let’s see if your mother has something for you to eat.” Grandpa moved Toby to his feet, got up, and the two of them went into the kitchen.

Toby was given a yogurt by his mother. Eating it, he watched Grandpa put his finger into the cranberry sauce, taste it and pucker his lips. Then grandpa put his finger into the mashed sweet potatoes, tasted it and said “Yum!” And then he put his finger into the pumpkin pie mix, tasted it and said “mm-mmm.”

When he reached for the stuffing, Grandma, hands on her hips, said, “Shoo you two. Come back when we’re ready to eat, in about two hours.”

“Let’s go for a walk Toby,” Grandpa said. “Get dressed in warm clothes. We’re going birding.”

A voice in the next room said, “Dad, the weather man said that central Indiana is 30 degrees and cloudy.”

Before Toby left the kitchen his mother said, “Go make your bed first and then put on your corduroy pants and blue sweater and then comb your hair.”

Toby shot upstairs and came back down two minutes later. His mother looked him over and then had grandpa put on his winter coat, his gloves, and the knitted hat that grandma made for him.

Outside, grandpa went over to his car and took out a pair of binoculars. He showed Toby and said “Maybe we will see a cardinal today.”

As they walked down two blocks past houses, they saw no birds. But then Grandpa spotted a Mourning Dove on a roof. He handed Toby the binoculars after adjusting the focus. “Let’s wait here and listen.”

When the dove began its song, Toby was transfixed until the dove flew out of sight.

They walked to the end of the street and came to a T-intersection. On the other side of the crossroad was open farmland. Wind whistled through the field of corn stalk stumps. Grandpa tied the ear flaps of Toby’s knitted hat below his chin.

To their left and down the road about forty yards was a small group of trees and undergrowth. “Let’s head there,” Grandpa told Toby.

As they walked along on the farm side of the road, Toby found a corn cob. Holding the smooth kernelled end, Toby showed grandpa the half-eaten end.

Grandpa looked it over and said, “Probably some squirrel started eating it. Or may be a goose.”

As they neared the trees, grandpa stopped and brought the binoculars to his eyes. He then handed them to Toby. “What do you see in that tree?” Grandpa pointed.

Toby looked and said, “The birds keep moving so I can’t see them.”

“They might be getting ready for winter,” Grandpa replied. They’re probably in a hurry to get out of the wind and get things settled for winter.”

Then Grandpa spotted a falcon perched on top of a utility pole that was about thirty yards down the road. He adjusted the focus of the binoculars and handed them to Toby. “Look up there. Can you see that falcon, Tobias?” He pointed to the electric pole.

Toby looked and said, “That is a falcon?”

Grandpa looked again. “Yes. A falcon known as the American Kestrel. I can tell by dark gray head, the rust-colored back and tail, the white cheeks and throat and blue-black bill. It’s the smallest of falcons. Some call it a “Sparrow Hawk”.”

“They like open areas without dense cover. He’s sitting up there to view the whole area for food. He’s scanning for prey on the ground. He’ll sit and wait. He’ll only attack when he’s sure that he will succeed. When he has prey in sight, he will either catch it on the ground or in flight. 

“In the summer months he’ll hunt and eat dragonflies, cicadas, beetles, grasshoppers, butterflies and moths, scorpions, and spiders. He’ll hover and capture insects in the air.

“In winter weather, like right now, he’ll hunt small mammals like mice, voles, shrews, and bats. And he’ll hunt small birds . . . like that little sparrow that just flew into the field. He pointed to it.

Grandpa let Toby use the binoculars to observe the falcon. “Let’s see what happens,” he said. “I wonder if that falcon noticed that small bird.”

A moment later, the falcon swooped down, grabbed the bird with his claws, and flew back to his high perch.

“Did you see that grandpa?” Toby asked.

“I sure did. He’s going back to his perch to eat it. Take another look.”

“Do birds eat other birds, grandpa?”

“They sure do. Birds of prey, like this falcon, have evolved to catch diverse things like insects, small mammals, and birds.

“I just remembered something. When I was a boy, Tobias, my father took me birding. One day he said “Frankie, there are so many birds but you never see dead birds. He told me that dead birds vanish because predators and scavengers come along and eat them. That’s why most bird bodies disappear. Creatures like foxes, badgers, ants, and birds of prey scavenge dead birds. The value of the bird’s life is returned to nature. Nature, he said, provides food for itself. Live birds and dead birds contribute to the lifecycle of our ecosystem.”

The sun never came out. The icy wind blowing across the open field made Toby’s nose and cheeks red. Grandpa said it was time for them to head back.

When they arrived home and opened the door, they were met with a rush of warm air, laughter, and savory smells. They saw the dining room table was set and the food ready to come out.

“Go wash your hands you two,” mom said. “We are ready to eat.”

When everyone had found their place at the table, mom asked grandpa to pray the blessing.

We give you thanks, most gracious God, for the beauty of
earth and sky and sea; for the richness of mountains, plains,
and rivers; for the songs of birds and the loveliness of flowers.
We praise you for these good gifts, and pray that we may
safeguard them for our posterity. Grant that we may continue
to grow in our grateful enjoyment of your abundant creation.
And now we ask Your blessing on this food we are about to eat. Amen.

A loud “AMEN!” followed.

Toby’s mother then handed Toby’s father a knife and said, “Carve the bird.” Toby gulped when he heard that. He looked over at grandpa.

“Tom turkey has been well fed. Now, he feeds us. Tobias, do you know which bird is at every meal?”

“No.”

“A swallow. Do you know which birds go to church a lot?

“No.”

“Birds of prey. What do you call a mean turkey?”

“I dunno.”

“A jerk-ey. What do you give a sick bird?”

“I dunno.”

“Tweetment! Did you hear about the owl with no friends?

“No.”

“He was owl by himself.”

The adults groaned. Toby wanted more.

After plates were filled and people were busy eating, Uncle Kevin asked Toby to tell everyone what he saw birding with grandpa.

“I saw a falcon. It came down and got a bird and ate it,” Toby exclaimed.

“Ewwwww!” Tilly didn’t like the thought.

Toby forked a piece a turkey, held it up, looked at his sister and said “Now I am a falcon!” and gobbled it down.

©Lena Johnson, Kingdom Venturers, 2024, All Rights Reserved

~~~~~

American Kestrel

American Kestral – Call of the Male

Dark-eyed Junco

Dark-Eyed Junco

Dark-eyed Junco Sounds, All About Birds, Cornell Lab of Ornithology

Bird Sounds and Songs of the Dark-eyed Junco | The Old Farmer’s Almanac

Dark-eyed Junco | Audubon Field Guide

Easter Morning Central Indiana Bird Song

Easter Morning Central Indiana Bird Song

~~~~~

American Kestrel – Photo by John Mariani

Vermilion Flycatcher at Cattail Marsh in Beaumont, TX – Photo by John Mariani

Eastern Phoebe at Anahuac National Wildlife Refuge, TX – Photo by John Mariani

American Tree Sparrow, Northwest Ohio – Photo by American_Phoenix

The quirky nature humor of  https://rosemarymosco.com/

Northern Shrike, new cartoon by Rosemary Mosco.

~~~~~

The presence of birds in our lives brings good health. Indeed research shows that the richer and more various the birds in a neighborhood, the higher people’s satisfaction with life. Birdsong is the natural sound linked most strongly to reducing stress and promoting restoration, particularly when it is more diverse and people are prompted to notice it. Birds bring joy.

Five curious health benefits of dark midwinter, according to science | The Independent

~~~~~

Imagination sees a parallel universe.

The Fowler’s Snare Chronicles

There is no way back but there is a way through.

The day that brothers Bryce and Blake returned to campus after a fencing tournament they were immediately escorted to the IU auditorium where the first session of the Ex Novo Institute in Basic Life Process had already started. It seemed to them that the whole student body was in attendance. They stood at the back of the balcony with the others who came in late.

Up front, a large screen projected a woman’s face. Her owlish eyes darted back and forth behind the circular frames of her glasses. The small, and yet imposing woman, had cropped black hair and was dressed in something like a military uniform. She was speaking from a podium off to the left of the screen.

“There will no longer be any recognition of the past. Clear your mind of all that came before. You are students of today. Your mindset is today. Your thoughts are today’s thoughts. When you complete the Basic Life Process course, you will become stewards of the New Way Forward and not of the dug-up past.”

Bryce and Blake gave each other a puzzled look.

“You will no longer be weighed down with the obligations of tradition and faith. Tradition and faith brought you guilt and prejudice and racism and greed and violence. You are to rid yourself of such baggage. Your motivations and direction will come from Central Screen. Central Screen will be your personal Event Horizon.”

A logo appeared on the large screen. Beneath the words “Central Screen” was what looked like graph paper curved into a cone pointing down. At the edge of the taper was “Event Horizon”. The cone’s tip was labeled “Singularity.”

“You will be given a new set of values from Central Screen. All that is good will come from Central Screen. There is no such thing as a morality that stands outside human society. Morality is subordinated to the General Will as shown on Central Screen.

“You will no longer have to worry about what is good and the right thing to. You won’t need religion. The Central Screen software will make particular ethical perceptions clearer by demonstrating how they exemplify more general rules based in scientific certainty. The software will provide a systematic accounting of reality that our intuitive moral perceptions and judgements can only hint at.”

When the first session had concluded, a student approached the speaker, Director Argans. She scanned the student’s face with her CenSoid App. “Yes, Alistair?”

“Director Argans, I am currently in the humanities doctoral program here at IU. My doctoral thesis is on Dante, Botticelli, and the Florentine Renaissance. I rushed back from Italy for this required course. Am I to understand, what you’re saying is, that the independent study of the humanities, the study of all languages and literatures, the arts, history, and philosophy is no more? Everything is to be found on Central Screen?

“Alistair, as you will learn on Day Three, anything that holds a bellicose inspiration from the past is a danger to the organization of peace. You will learn what unites us as world citizens. You want to live free from oppressive and pugnacious attachments to the past, don’t you Alistair? To see what can be, unburdened by what has been.

“It was pope Francis, Alistair, who said “a conservative is one who clings to something and does not want to see beyond that.” He also said that it was a “suicidal attitude because one thing is to take tradition into account, to consider situations from the past, but quite another is to be closed up inside a dogmatic box.

“And, wasn’t it Rousseau who said that people in their natural state are basically good. But this natural innocence, however, is corrupted by the evils of society? We are in the process of creating a new society using simple rational principles provided through Central Screen.”

“Well, Miss Argans, I never thought of art as bellicose or of being in a dogmatic box.”

“Alistair, you will after session three. Humanities stirs the emotions and emotions cloud reason. You will be given a new set of “realistic” or “rational” values to work with. In our workshops you will learn a new way forward with Central Screen AI. What will it profit you, Alistair, if you gained that doctorate and lose yourself with a suicidal attitude in the process?”

Another student broke in and Alistair wasn’t able to ask another question. He walked away stunned by what he had heard.

~~~~

“That was ten years ago this month.”

Comet got up from his chair and looked out the attic window of the Victorian house on Jefferson St. in Martinsville, Indiana. Seeing no threat, he sat back down and faced Scribe who was typing.

“That Ex Novo session was ten years ago this month. Make sure to note the dates in this chronicle. And listen, sis,” Comet emphasized, “no real names go into this eyewitness account. If these chronicles get into the wrong hands we’d be done for and so would mother and father and Grace downstairs. We are recording the diabolical acts of the Save Democracy party as Comet and Scribe. Let’s call this next chronicle Surface.”

“Surface?” asked Scribe.

“The Save Democracy party wants nothing to do with the past. Many in our world read and study history to know how to proceed. Practical wisdom is case based. But the Party studies the future, rewrites the past and proceeds with abstract theoretical reasoning or surface knowledge.

The party leadership operates like a ship’s captain heading out to sea and who ignores the traditional knowledge passed down through generations used by navigators to read the stars, winds, and currents.

“The Save Democracy party leadership ignores the guidance of the vast ocean underneath and the vast night sky above, the enduring connection to the space and time we all travel in. It ignores charts and says “I know my way around. I know where I want to go. I know the way forward just by looking at the surface” and “I know how to use a rudder.”

“The ship will move and be tossed about because the ocean surface is never still. Wind-driven waves and currents will steer the boat this way and that. It may take on water and go all Titanic. If not, it will end up lost at sea without a way back to port. Scribe, we have escaped. But most have been forced into steerage aboard the Surface ship of fools!”

“Got it, said Scribe. “I think.” She inserted another sheet of paper into the typewriter. “Did you finish what happened during that first Ex Novo Institute?”

“Ah, no. After the first session I came up and questioned Miss Argans about my law classes and finishing them up. She told me the same thing she said to the guy in front of me. When I left her, I noticed that I was being followed. I went to the second session – we all had to. It was the same lecture as the day before: tear it all down and start over. That time many of the students were clapping. Maybe out of fear or maybe because the words resonated with what they had been taught over the years.

“During the third session I saw the same people who had been following me. They were removing people from the auditorium. I snuck out. I went into hiding. We’ve been hiding ever since.”

Comet got up and took another look out the attic window. He remembered the day he saw the Rooms for Rent sign in the front yard. The widow Grace was happy to have them around to help keep things up and to keep her company. She also needed the money. The socialist economy had created hyperinflation. She let them rent two rooms.

Comet and Scribe arrived together. Their parents, who didn’t want either of them to grow up in the Save Democracy system, thought it best if they stayed out of sight together.

The house was a good location for Comet, a former astronomy student at IU. He spent many nights at IU’s Goethe Link Observatory just eleven miles north of Martinsville. He felt safe there in the middle of the night.

~~~~~

The street was quiet. What Comet thought unsettling was the Save Democracy party headquarters in the Morgan County Courthouse a few blocks away and the massive 5G tower standing next to it monitoring all digital communications and transactions.

“So, you were going to tell me what happened before all this Ex Novo business.” Scribe put another sheet of paper in the portable Smith-Corona typewriter.

Seeing no threat on the street Comet began pacing to give his account.  “Let’s call this next chronicle The Surface Comes to Power.”  Scribe began typing.

“Four years before the first Ex Novo days, a November election was held. But the man elected was not allowed into the White House. The Save Democracy party and a few others in the House of Representatives passed a resolution saying that the man was an “insurrectionist” and therefore disqualified under Section 3 of 14th Amendment “insurrection” clause. With Secret Service agents counting the electoral votes, together they refused to certify the election on January 6, 2025.  

“The Counting and Certification of Electoral Votes in Washington, DC, had been designated a National Special Security Event by the Secretary of Homeland Security. The military received an amended directive allowing for their direct involvement in civilian law enforcement operations under emergency conditions, including situations where there is an imminent threat. The military was used by the Save Democracy to facilitate a coup, a coup set in motion four years before on January sixth. An “insurrection” setup scenario had been initiated by the Save Democracy party in concert with the FBI, “deep state” actors, and later with a show trial.

“Right after the election, the twenty-fifth amendment was used to depose the current feeble-minded president. He was replaced by a puppet, the feeble-minded Vice president. The elected Vice President was given an office but no access to the White House or policy.  

“The Save Democracy party, over time, having taken control of both the house and senate with the votes of non-citizens, absentee votes counted after the election, and massive voter fraud, then removed the conservative members of the Supreme court with expulsions based on made-up ethics violations.

“The court was then reconstituted to hold fifteen members of the Save Democracy party. All challenges to the constitutionality of such sweeping changes failed because the plaintiffs were told they had no standing. No subsequent challenges were brought before the court after the Save Democracy party Speaker of the House tore up the U.S. Constitution during a State of the Union speech.

“It was then declared that the electoral college would be abolished and all future elections would have the oversight of the new Elections Council.

“Using the military “under emergency conditions” to keep the peace, Save Democracy members were quickly installed throughout state and local governments and the courts where there hadn’t been support for the Save Democracy party. The newly installed were given a mandate to defend One People, One Equality, One Equity, the motto of the Save Democracy party. The ensuing reign of terror went well beyond the atrocities of the French Revolution.”

Scribe stopped typing. “French Revolution? I don’t know what that is. Will the readers know?”

Comet sat down and faced her. “You were only six years old when the Save Democracy party took over the country. The party didn’t want anyone to learn history as it would expose them and their ways. You weren’t given a chance to learn history. I’ll explain the French Revolution later. You are an autodidact. You’ve learned a lot on your own already. I better go on. Have you got everything so far?”

“Yeah, go a little slower. I’m not used to typing on this thing” Scribe added another sheet of paper to the typewriter.

“OK. The Save Democracy party members immediately enacted permanent martial law. The Party media said that martial law had been imposed because of the civil unrest due to “perverse and macabre” political foes – those who didn’t accept what had happened to their country. Martial law allowed the Save Democracy party members to keep in check “extremist elements”, to control the drug trade for profit, and to exploit terrorism for its own ends.

“The operation of new penal codes was entrusted, not to legal authorities, but to local oversight committees. They hunted down those thought to be a threat to the community. Anyone could be accused of being disloyal to the Save Democracy party even based on hearsay. Anyone – father, mother, grandmother, grandfather, and child – could be imprisoned, tortured or executed for allegedly being critical of the Save Democracy party. Many were arrested on fabricated charges just to keep people living in fear of the local Save Democracy party.

“A favorite form of torture in many towns was the “Underneath pit.” An arrestee was thrown into a ten-foot-deep hole in the ground. The hole was exposed to the elements. The width of the pit was barely bigger than the person thrown in. He or she would not be able to bend or change their position. The hole was the prisoner’s latrine. After many days the person would become a sliver of flesh with only the feeling of anger keeping them alive. These tortures are still going on today.

“With the new power they had been given, local Save Democracy party members kept up the perpetual and brutal oppression of citizens. They loved to dehumanize. For them it was a game. They found new ways of doing so and posted them on Central Screen. Limitless coercion and terror were essential to the Save Democracy party’s New Way Forward.

“Random terror was meant to convey the constant and unyielding force of the Party’s control over humanity. It emphasized a future devoid of freedom and individuality. The end product was to create mindless and unfeeling oxen for the party.

“Out of fear of being sent home and losing benefits – a threat made on Party media – fifteen million illegal migrants voted for Party candidates every election.

“Once the Save Democracy party had full control, it was decided that vast numbers of the population had to be culled, as the welfare system, hospitals, schools, and prisons were overwhelmed. Some in the party just wanted to lower the population numbers out of climate concerns. So, a gain-of-function virus was released from a bioweapons lab in California. Millions of people suffered and died from the higher levels of spike protein in the One Health self-amplifying mRNA vaccine.

“The Committee of Public Singularity was established out of fear of a viral outbreak of past knowledge. The Committee created the Ex Novo-Institute in Basic Life Process to deal with the Underneath, a mindset that had been banned as extremist.

“The idea behind the institute was to make a clean sweep of human nature. At the compulsory meetings people were told that the Save Democracy party was building from scratch a new ideal society on the concepts of humanitarianism, social science, and collectivism using Central Screen programming. The analog past was to be replaced with a digital future controlled by Central Screen AI.

“What I learned during the Ex Novo sessions was that voiding the past and human attachments were required by the New Way Forward. Old thoughts, old habits, old culture, and old customs had to be destroyed. No one was to experience any connection with family, friends, children or about anything, past or present. They were to die to all that. All of life was to come from the Party’s Central Screen. All of life was to come from the Surface.”

~~~~

“You staying with me, Scribe?”

“Yeah. This stuff you’re telling me is nasty. I don’t like thinking about it.” Scribe shivered.

“Yeah, it is. That’s why we are making a record of it. People need to know what happened. Right now, the Save Democracy party is erasing anything connected to the past. Let’s keep going.”

Once again, Comet got up and looked out the window. The neighborhood was quiet.

During the first days at the house, Grace talked about Martinsville. The first settlers, she said, arrived in Morgan County in 1822. Large numbers of Quakers migrated here from the south because of their opposition to slavery. 

She also said Martinsville was nicknamed the City of Mineral Water. Oil workers discovered the foul-smelling mineral water while drilling. Mineral water was thought to have healing properties. It was used in the Martinsville Sanitarium which operated as a health resort until about 1957. But now, she said, the Sanitarium was being used by the Party for optogenetic experiments on citizens.

That’s what her last renters, neuroscience students, told her. The Party is controlling subjects with the presence of light to alter cell behavior with regard to reward, motivation, fear, and sensory processing.

Seeing nothing on the street that concerned him, Comet continued dictating while pacing.

“In tandem with the Ex Novo-Institute, there was an even more invasive program: ReCognify Conditioning. The Save Democracy party, along with the social programmers of the World Economic Forum, claimed that human nature is no different to that of a programmable machine.

“Transhumanist scientists began implanting vast numbers of the population with synthetic memories using brain chips to create a new ideal human. The ReCognify program had been initially tested on criminals. According to one unauthorized release of Party documents, customized AI-generated content converted visual information into codes delivered directly to the brain and stored in DNA and RNA, forever altering the subject.

“Prisoners were implanted with synthetic memories of their crimes – but from the perspective of their victim or victims. The embedded artificial memories prompted reactions like remorse, empathy, and understanding.

“The ReCognify program then began to be used on the general population to wipe away past memories and to make people docile and pliable to the Party’s party authority. The Ex Novo Institute was the means to bring in those subjects the Party thought would be troublemakers. But not everyone would submit to ReCognify and the “forced forgetting” process.”

“Hold it,” said Scribe. “The ink is beginning to wear thin. I need another ribbon. I wonder if . . .”

“We’ll ask Grace if she has more,” Comet said. “C’mon. We need a break.”

~~~~

“We know that the son of God has come and given us understanding so that we know the truth. And we are in the truth, in his son Jesus the Messiah. This is the true God; this is the life of the age to come.”

Father Denny stopped reciting 1 John from memory when the barn door creaked opened. Everyone drew quiet. Bryce and Blake and their wives appeared at the door. Father Denny waved them in. The couples greeted him and six others of the Underneath community.

The group met to support each other in a barn on a southern Indiana farm. They had been living on the farm, hiding from the Save Democracy for the past ten years. The refuge was Father Denny’s idea.

Anglican priest Father Mason Denny, a gaunt bewhiskered marathoner, left his Indy parish and moved to the sweeping 80-acre working farm to help his friend Tom and his wife Sally. The Binghams were in their seventies and working the farm had become too much for them. They had no idea what happened to their children. They hoped the Save Democracy party hadn’t taken them.

Seeing the possibilities and after much prayer, Father Denny knew that he had to create a refuge to help those of the Underneath escape the “fowler’s snare,” as he called the Save Democracy party’s operations. A portion of the farm land was already being used as a short-term RV campsite. Using all of his retirement funds, he converted the campsite into a mobile home park and began rescuing students.

When the Ex Novo Institute staff began pulling students out of the audience for the ReCognify program, Father Denny brought several students to the farm. The students knew Father Denny and trusted him. He had been a chaplain on campus, providing spiritual services in the Beck chapel on the IU campus. This was before the Save Democracy party banned all such meetings as subversive.

The rescued students lived in the mobile homes and worked the farm. From their organic garden they harvested green onions, Italian greens, tomatoes, asparagus, spinach, strawberries, green beans, heirloom tomatoes, summer squash, blackberries, melons, and herbs. From the field, they gathered sweet corn.

They grew an array of flowers – zinnias, gladiolus, dahlias, and sunflowers – and tended goats, rabbits, and chickens.

Every Saturday they held a farmer’s market to sell produce, goat cheese, pastured eggs, and pies and to barter with locals for butter, flour, meat, and diesel fuel.

Father Denny found a way to sustain the Underneath, a mindset that had been banned. But it had come at a personal cost.

~~~~

Comet and Scribe sat at the farmhouse kitchen table with Tom, Sally, Father Denny, and Skippy, Tom and Sally’s three-legged Airedale.

Comet and Scribe had recently found their way to the refuge. Grace, the woman they were staying with, gave them directions to the farm after local Party authorities came around one day looking for them. One of her neighbors, who had received a ReCognify implant, had given them away.

Comet asked Scribe to read the transcript of what Grace related about her husband.

“Bill was a mechanic in a manufacturing company. He told me that every day in the lunch room there were news reports on the TV saying that inflation was transitory and that the economy was doing great and that wages rose again for the fourteenth quarter in the row. Bill began posting his pay stubs on his tool box to show that it wasn’t true. His foreman came along and told him to take it down or face dismissal. Bill didn’t take it down and he was dismissed. The Party wouldn’t allow him to work again.”

Comet described how he and Scribe were recording what took place the last fifteen years. He explained his use of “Surface” to describe the operation of the Save Democracy party.” Father Denny agreed with his analogy.

Comet and Scribe were eager to hear Father Denny’s story. They said they would record the story and use false names and places.

“Scribe, you don’t have to keep lugging that portable typewriter around.” Tom offered. “We can hide it under a floorboard in the other room. No one will find it there.”

Scribe nodded and smiled in relief.

“Are we ready Scribe?” Father Denny asked. 

“Ready, sir,” Scribe replied. Father Denny began.

“During my twentieth year as rector of an Indy church, I lost my wife Ellen to the effects of the mandated vaccine. Despite my protestations and my own refusal to take the mRNA vaccine, she thought it a Christian thing to do to obey the authorities, especially as the Party had mandated “No vaccine. No church gathering.”

“After Ellen’s passing, I came to realize that the authorities had more in mind than a vaccine mandate. I was faced with a choice.

“You see. Churches not obeying Save Democracy party directives were closed. The churches with what I call “cultural Christians” – those that obeyed mandates and focused on . . .” he paused and looked over at Comet, “. . . Surface issues pushed by Central Screen Apps, issues such as social justice, equity, race, gender, sexuality, and creation care – remained open.

The Party knew that the fate of its project of atheistic secularization was tied to the religious feelings people had. The Party saw that it couldn’t convert the religious with ideology. But it could use religion to further its ideology and fill the void of absence of spirituality.

“I saw that the spiritual way of life was to be replaced with the Surface way of life. Religious symbols were to be replaced with secular symbols. The church and the gospel were being replaced with Assemblies of the General Will and the “well done” of social credit scores. The Party worked to fill the ideological and spiritual absence of religion.

“As a way to reorient churches, ministers were forced to sign a social contract acknowledging that Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains and that all people should unite with the General Will of the people to bring about the common good of the New Way Forward.

“The General Will, as dictated by the Central Screen app, meant the total subordination of citizens. All rights, all property and all religion would be subject to the General Will. Freedom would be associated with obedience. As such, the General Will directive provided Party members a defense for oppressing and destroying those who did not obey including those of the Underneath.

“The deeper-than-surface Christianity that I call the “Underneath” was an ideological, political and spiritual problem for the Save Democracy party. The “error correction” of “the science” didn’t work on the Underneath. Its underlying history, tradition, and transcendent gospel had to be rooted out and destroyed.

“The Save Democracy party understood that those like myself and those here on the farm and elsewhere – disciples of Jesus – are not directed by Central Screen. We are directed by the Lord of heaven and earth. We don’t compromise and hold back a reserve of ourselves to maintain the status quo and avoid trouble. We speak to the fiction and lies around us and that has brought suffering.

“The cultural Christians of Central Screen desire the good feelings of social justice activism but none of the adversity attached to proclaiming the gospel message. They portray themselves as being and doing right with social justice standards. Jesus quoted Isaiah to the Pharisees and legal experts when a dispute arose about a manmade imperative:

‘These people make a big show of saying the right thing,
    but their heart isn’t in it.
They act like they are worshiping me,
    but they don’t mean it.
They just use me as a cover
    for teaching whatever suits their fancy,
Ditching God’s command
    and taking up the latest fads.’

“Compromised, they live within the lie. They perpetuate and legitimize the ideological fiction of the Party. They become oppressed and the oppressor, persecuting critics of Central Screen activism.

“The party also knew that it couldn’t convert those of the Underneath with what they called the “Reformation” – the ideological work of scientific atheism through the Ex Novo Institute. They saw those of the Underneath as tenacious holdouts.

“Ex Novo programming was meant to show that The General Will is the purpose of life. Faith in The General Will was to become an inner conviction. Then, they assumed, all illusions about heaven and the afterlife and the kingdom of God fade away and disappear. The Surface was to be one’s spiritual refuge.

“When the vestry came to me one day and said “we need to show pronoun hospitality” I told them that I would retire. I could see that many in the congregation did not believe the lies of Central Screen, but they felt, as Vaclav Havel wrote in his essay The Power of the Powerless, that they must behave as though they did, or they must at least tolerate them in silence, or get along well with those who did.

“Havel went on to say that “They need not accept the lie. It is enough for them to have accepted their life with it and in it. For by this very fact, individuals confirm the system, fulfill the system, make the system, are the system.”

“Seeing this mindset in the congregation, I told the vestry I would leave and go on the road and see the country. I ended up here on Tom and Sally’s farm in southern Indiana. I expected my son to join me here at the farm when he returned from his doctoral research trip to Italy. But that didn’t happen.

“I lost contact with him son after he returned to the states. I was frantic and looked for him all over campus. Those I asked said that the last time they saw Alistair was at the end of the first session of the Ex Novo Institute. They said he was asking questions.”

“I was there. I was behind him in line,” Comet jumped in.

Father Denny felt a sinking sensation in his stomach.  “I know Alistair. I knew that he would question things and exercise his point of view. But I also knew that the Save Democracy party accepted no challengers. So, I imagine the worst and pray for his safe return.”

Father Denny sighed heavily. “That was ten years ago and I haven’t heard a word about my son since.”

~~~~

The rescue from the third Ex Novo Institute session that December day happened quickly. The students were not able to inform their families. Telling them their whereabouts would put their families at serious risk. When the students didn’t sign in for the next Ex Novo Institute session, their families would be contacted and would be forced to take Truth Test Serum to tell the Party’s enforcement squad where they were. Having no knowledge of where the students were, they would be released. Father Denny later found a way to tell them that “they were safe and not to worry.”

Refugees Erin and Joseph were fourth-year neuroscience students. Jeremy studied computer science. Quinn had been a biotechnology major and worked part time at the Ray Bradbury Center at the IU Indy campus. Steven and Melanie were pre-med students.

Bryce was working on a Masters in epidemiology when he met Bryn, who was studying Environmental Health. Blake was working on his master’s degree in Business Analytics when he met Alice who was studying Business Admin Medicine. Father Mason Denny married the two couples in a ceremony held on the farm.

Mobile homes housed the former students. Each couple had a mobile home. Erin, Quinn, and Melanie shared a mobile home, as did Joseph, Jeremy and Steven. Father Mason Denny had a room in the farmhouse. Comet and Scribe had rooms in the farmhouse.

The members of the Underneath brought with them as many books as they could when they escaped Ex Novo and ReCognify. Father Denny brought his library to the farm. No other books would be available.

The Save Democracy party had dictated that books and education created inequality and unhappiness and were therefore banned. Libraries no longer contained books. Libraries were converted into ReCognify centers. The outside world had been cut off from knowledge that wasn’t Central Screen provided.

There were no electronics – phones, computers, TVs, radios, GPS devices – and no Central Screen app on the farm grounds. This was done to secure the location. Father Denny told the group that “The farm isn’t off the grid. We are hiding in the open and keep a low profile.”

Isolated from their families, members of the Underneath farm refuge supported each other. Weekdays were filled with farm work. At night the group ate together and then gathered in the barn or at the fire pit behind a thicket. They read texts out loud and recited memorized scripture. Each had committed entire Scripture texts to memory.

Father Denny had told them that “memorization is a means to internalize information of sacred nature, a transmutation of the metaphysical into flesh and blood and marrow.” It was also, he said, a means to create a memory palace – a mental sanctuary of information tied to farm scenes so that they can recall what was memorized. This, he said, would sustain them if captured by the Party.

On Sundays, the farm’s Underneath community came together for a liturgical service. They sang, prayed, and recited scripture. Father Denny administered to the group and administered the Eucharist.

Comet and Scribe set all this down under the heading “Rescue, Refuge, and New Reality.”

~~~~

The nights of the Underneath community were filled with readings and recitations, music and drama.

One night, Alice read Wise Blood by Flannery O’Connor. Over several nights, Father Denny read Vaclav Havel’s essay The Power of the Powerless. Other nights he read Father Brown stories. Over several nights, Jeremy read Robinson Caruso and Comet read Treasure Island. Quinn recited the poem ‘Dover Beach’ by Matthew Arnold.

Alister talked about his trip to Italy, and about the Italian Renaissance, Dante, and Botticelli.

Sally played the piano, Melanie played the flute, Jeremy the guitar, and Father Denny played some of his Big Band LPs for dancing.

One night they acted out Hamlet. Bryce and Blake played Hamlet and Laertes and fenced during the last Act. The brothers had, at one time, been in the U.S. Olympic fencing team.

One fire-pit night Alice quipped that women make the best archeologists because they are good at digging up the past. And Bryn said the smarted person in the Bible was Abraham: “He knew a Lot.”

One night they came together to listen to Quinn read Fahrenheit 451.

When Quinn finished reading the first chapter, Jeremy said “Read the part again, the part where fire chief Captain Beatty explains to Montag about how books had lost their value.”

Quinn turned back a few pages and read.

“Surely you remember the boy in your own school class who was exceptionally ’bright’, did most of the reciting and answering while others sat like so many leaden idols, hating him. And wasn’t it this bright boy you selected for beatings and torture after hours? Of course it was. We must all be alike. Not everyone born free and equal, as the constitution says, but everyone made equal. Each man the image of every other; then all are happy, for there are no mountains to make them cower, to judge themselves against. So! A book is a loaded gun in the house next door. Burn it. Take the shot from the weapon. Breach man’s mind. Who knows who might be the target of the well-read man?’

“Wow!” Said Jeremy. “That’s what the Party was pushing during Ex Novo. Exactly that!”

Father Denny added, “Polish poet Czesław Miłosz once said that “In a room where people unanimously maintain a conspiracy of silence, one word of truth sounds like a pistol shot.””

Comet and Scribe took notes.

~~~~

Comet brought his refractor telescope with him to the farm. One late night the group headed outside to explore the night sky. The area around the farm had little light pollution, so the evening sky sparkled with illumination.

The moon was full that night and the entire earth-facing surface was clear to see. Comet pointed the telescope at the lunar surface. Everyone took a turn viewing.

Scribe, waiting her turn, caught sight of something coming from the road. The moonlight-etched figure walked and weaved toward them like one of the disoriented ReCognits. The figure stumbled down, got up and tried to wave but fell down again and stayed down.

The group moved closer. Bryce turned the man over and lifted the soiled hair from his face.

“It’s Alister! he shouted. “Help me get him up.”

~~~~

Alister opened one eye and saw his father sitting in a chair. He was asleep.

“Dad,” Alister whispered.

Father Denny jolted up from the chair. “I just had a dream that you came home.”

“I had the same dream,” Alister replied. “I guess we’re on the same wavelength.”

Father Denny felt Alister’s head. “You have a fever. Here, drink this water.” He propped up Alister and helped him drink. “How do you feel?”

“I feel weak. I have a headache and a stiff neck. I ache all over.”

“Can you talk about what happened?’

“Maybe later today.” With that Alister closed his eyes and fell asleep.

That evening Sally came downstairs and told father Denny that Alister was awake and his fever was down. Father Denny, Tom, Comet and Scribe went up to see Alister. He was sitting up in bed with Skippy on his lap. He smiled when they entered the room

Father Denny, seeing that Alister’s face was no longer pale, put the back of his hand on his forehead. “You’ve cooled down, thank God.”

“I’m ready to tell you what happened.” Alister took a long drink of water. The four took their place around the bed.

“After that first Ex Novo Institute session, I went up to Director Argans to ask about continuing my doctoral program. I won’t go into all she said right now, but I left with the understanding that the Party had put the kibosh on everything pertaining to cultural memory and intellectual diversity. Everything was to be the General Will of the people.

“When I left the auditorium, I went to my room and packed. I was going to come here. But then two Save Democracy party goons came in and took me to their headquarters on campus. There, over many days I was subjected to constant Central Screen videos. I was deprived of food and sleep. People I knew came in and tried to coax me into signing my allegiance to the Party. I wouldn’t.

“They must have seen that they needed to break me even more so I was placed in solitary confinement.  They put a sign above the cell. It read “The Divine Comedy.”

“I don’t know how long I was in there. What sustained me was my faith in God and what I had learned.

“Sometime, after a lifetime in that cell, I was brought outside. The fresh air in my lungs revived me. But then they dropped me into a deep hole in the ground. They said that if I wanted to be part of the Underneath that I would be put underneath.

“The hole was so tight that I could not move side to side or up and down. And it was so deep that I could not climb out. I was left there, day and night, in all kinds of weather and with bugs. I was in there maybe twenty days. Then one night I felt a rope on my face. I looked up and saw no one.

“I pulled on the rope and it was secure. I tried to climb it but I was too weak. But then a voice said “Hold on.” So, I did.

“I was pulled out to the surface and onto the ground. When I looked, there was no one around. No one.”

The group looked at each other.

“I found my way here.”

~~~~

When Alister had fully regained his strength, the Underneath community held a Eucharistic service in thanksgiving for his rescue and homecoming.

The first reading, Jeremiah 51:45-48, was read by Bryce:

“Get out of this place while you can,
    this place torched by God’s raging anger.
Don’t lose hope. Don’t ever give up
    when the rumors pour in hot and heavy.
One year it’s this, the next year it’s that—
    rumors of violence, rumors of war.
Trust me, the time is coming
    when I’ll put the no-gods of Babylon in their place.
I’ll show up the whole country as a sickening fraud,
    with dead bodies strewn all over the place.
Heaven and earth, angels and people,
    will throw a victory party over Babylon
When the avenging armies from the north
    descend on her.” God’s Decree!”

Alister read from Psalm 124: 6-8:

“Oh, blessed be God!
    He didn’t go off and leave us.
He didn’t abandon us defenseless,
    helpless as a rabbit in a pack of snarling dogs.

We’ve flown free from their fangs,
    free of their traps, free as a bird.
Their grip is broken;
    we’re free as a bird in flight.

God’s strong name is our help,
    the same God who made heaven and earth.”

Blake read the epistle, 2 Corinthians 6:16-18:

“Don’t become partners with those who reject God. How can you make a partnership out of right and wrong? That’s not partnership; that’s war. Is light best friends with dark? Does Christ go strolling with the Devil? Do trust and mistrust hold hands? Who would think of setting up pagan idols in God’s holy Temple? But that is exactly what we are, each of us a temple in whom God lives. God himself put it this way:

“I’ll live in them, move into them;
    I’ll be their God and they’ll be my people.
So leave the corruption and compromise;
    leave it for good,” says God.
“Don’t link up with those who will pollute you.
    I want you all for myself.
I’ll be a Father to you;
    you’ll be sons and daughters to me.”
The Word of the Master, God.

Father Denny read the gospel, Luke 21:11-19:

“Jesus went on, “Nation will fight nation and ruler fight ruler, over and over. Huge earthquakes will occur in various places. There will be famines. You’ll think at times that the very sky is falling.

“But before any of this happens, they’ll arrest you, hunt you down, and drag you to court and jail. It will go from bad to worse, dog-eat-dog, everyone at your throat because you carry my name. You’ll end up on the witness stand, called to testify. Make up your mind right now not to worry about it. I’ll give you the words and wisdom that will reduce all your accusers to stammers and stutters.

 “You’ll even be turned in by parents, brothers, relatives, and friends. Some of you will be killed. There’s no telling who will hate you because of me. Even so, every detail of your body and soul—even the hairs of your head!—is in my care; nothing of you will be lost. Staying with it—that’s what is required. Stay with it to the end. You won’t be sorry; you’ll be saved.””

Using the Jeremiah text, Father Denny spoke on “Come out of her, my people! The world, Babylon, would have you come out as its own creation but we have come out as sons and daughters of the Father.”

He then read Revelation 18:4-5:

“Get out, my people, as fast as you can,
    so you don’t get mixed up in her sins,
    so you don’t get caught in her doom.
Her sins stink to high Heaven;
    God has remembered every evil she’s done.
Give her back what she’s given,
    double what she’s doubled in her works,
    double the recipe in the cup she mixed;
Bring her flaunting and wild ways
    to torment and tears.
Because she gloated, “I’m queen over all,
    and no widow, never a tear on my face,”
In one day, disasters will crush her—
    death, heartbreak, and famine—
Then she’ll be burned by fire, because God,
    the Strong God who judges her,
    has had enough.

The Eucharistic Feast followed.

~~~~

On the following Saturday, at 9 AM, two tables were set up along the roadside. They were covered with fresh produce, flowers, eggs, goat cheese, and a cooler with rabbit and chicken meat. Local people began to come along and exchange goods.

Bryce thought that everything was going well that beautiful August morning. But then he noticed something and whispered to Blake, “Don’t look. I think that’s Director Argans getting out of that car on the right. She has white pointy hair now.”

Blake, conversing with customers, saw her approach the table. When the farm stand customers saw a uniform, they got in their cars and drove off.

“Where is your sign?” It was Director Argans.

“I’m sorry ma’am. What sign?” Blake looked puzzled.

“The “People of The General Will Unite” sign!” She crossed her arms and waited for an answer.

“Ma’am, here is our sign.” Blake grabbed the grease board from the table, erased “THANK YOU FOR COMING OUT,” and wrote something on it. He read it out loud: “We are compliant and obedient and there is no need to worry about us.”

Director Argans looked it over, huffed, and then her black eye brows shot up above the frames of her round glasses and her jaw dropped. She was looking between Bryce and Blake. Alister had come up to the table. Director Argens grabbed an apple from the basket on the table and headed back to her car.

Bryce breathed a sigh of relief. He looked over at Blake and said “Good one! She doesn’t know who we are compliant and obedient to.” And together, they said “There is no need to worry about us!”

~~~~

Comet and Scribe created a circular letter to send to other Underneath communities in hiding.

It began . . . “These chronicles have been written with eyewitness accounts so that you may know the history and extent of evil in the land. There are many other evil acts of the “Save Democracy” party which are not recorded here.

“These Fowler’s Snare chronicles have been written so that you may share in our faithful witness:

We have escaped like a bird

from the snare of the fowlers;

the snare is broken,

and we have escaped.

Our help is in the name of the Lord,

who made heaven and earth.”

©Lena Johnson, Kingdom Venturers, 2024, All Rights Reserved

Easter Morning

Easter morning me and father are down in the basement brushing shoes. We put polish on them last night with a rag father keeps with his shoe shine kit on a shelf over the washing machine. I used the rag but brown polish came through on my fingers. We polish our shoes every Sunday but I know this Sunday is Easter because we went to church on Friday and we died eggs and my mother set the dining room table and there’s a lily in the front room and ham in the refrigerator and yellow jello with something in it and plastic eggs in a basket on the kitchen table and the sun shines like this only on Easter. I woke up cold this morning. I put on clean pajamas and put the wet ones in the clothes basket. Then I went into the kitchen and ate cereal. Father woke up. He got the Sunday paper off the front porch and came into the kitchen to make coffee. He waits for me to finish eating and scratches his belly and yawns. He tells me to let mum sleep in. She works too he says. After I’m done with my cereal we go downstairs to polish our shoes. We go back upstairs and father sits at the kitchen table drinks coffee. He opens the Sunday paper and gives me the funnies. We wait for mum and my brother to wake up. They wake up. My mother has coffee and my brother eats cereal. My mother says something to father in his ear. He tells us kids to go into the front room so he and mum can talk. We go. I share the funnies with my brother. We sit there for an hour. We look out the picture window and see father walking around the bushes with a basket of plastic eggs. We know what he is doing. We run to the back door. I hold the door handle and my brother bites his nails. Father comes to the door and says there are fifteen eggs hiding in our yard. See what you can find he says. We run to the front yard and look through the bushes and behind trees and in the mail box. The grass is wet and sparkly we find eggs but there are more we run to the back yard and find more. We pull up the bottoms of our PJ tops and hold the eggs there. We count them I have eight and my brother has seven we go back inside and see what’s inside Jelly beans gum tootsie rolls mother says to have only a couple she doesn’t want us bouncing around in church she says. Father is in the kitchen peeling sweet potatoes. Mother is washing goblets. I don’t know why she calls them goblets. They are not scarry to me. Me and my brother get ready for church. The clothes feel stiff but I wear them to look nice mother says. Father combs my hair and my brother’s hair. We wait in the front room and read the funnies. Finally it is time to go. We get in the car and drive to our church. I’ve never seen so many people. Mother wants to get a seat before they are gone we sit next to my friend Jeremy’s parents I smell flowers. People are talking a lot. Mothers are telling kids to be quiet. My friend Jeremy is sitting on the other side of his parents. Hes kicking the pew in front of him. The lady in front of him with a flower hat turns around looks angry but she smiles when Jeremys mom puts a hand on Jeremys knee and makes him stop. My best friend Billy isn’t here his family doesn’t go to church. We have to stand up and sit down a lot and listen a lot the seat is hard and I can’t sit still and I can’t listen a big woman is singing a high song that hurts my ears. I want to draw. I take the pencil in front of me and a card I draw Easter eggs and the face of the big woman I show it to Jeremy and he laughs. The man up front walks back and forth and then he stops and says o death, where is thy sting o grave, where is thy victory and I think about bee stings and moms gravy. Finally he stops and we stand up again and my pencil and card fall under the seat. A man behind me picks them up and gives them to me and smiles. Everyone smiles today even the woman at the organ who made a big burp sound when the music fell. Father and mother talk and talk and talk and finally we get back into the car and go home. On the counter is a strawburry pie. Mother puts on her apron and puts the ham in the oven. Father mashes the sweet potatoes. I tell them don’t forget to put marshmallows on the sweet potatoes. Mother takes a bag off the shelf and gives me and my brother a marshmallow. She tells us to go watch TV while they make dinner. We go downstairs. I turn on the TV and only Charlie Chan is on. Finally mother calls us and we go upstairs to eat we have to wash our hands before we sit down. Mother lights two candles on our table before the food comes father prays he thanks God for the food and Jesus and empty tomb abundant life heaven and earth sea and dry land family and friends those present and not present wonders great and small and mother says amen. Finally mother brings out the ham and the sweet potatoes and something green. Everything is hot she says. When the rolls come out me and my brother grab one. My mother asks me if I washed my hands. I look at them and my fingers are brown. They smell like polish it’s shoe polish soap and water and some scrubbing will take it off father says I tell them I better eat first because scrubbing is a lot of work. The end of what we did special on Easter Mrs Meyers your student Micheal M Skokram.

~~~

©Lena Johnson, Kingdom Venturers, 2024, All Rights Reserved

Watercolors

A short story . . .

On a cold and damp March afternoon, Maeve met with funeral director Finn Joyce to discuss final arrangements. The appointment was set up after she responded to a mailer asking if it “would give you peace of mind to plan in advance so that your family would not have to make the arrangements themselves” and after reading an article about “Unexpected Deaths in The US Are Rising at an Alarming Rate.”

Director Finn, a tall thin man with dark auburn hair, pale skin, soft hands and a whisky voice, greeted Maeve and showed her to the Arrangement Room. There, he offered her coffee and water.

Finn began their conversation by pointing to a photograph on his desk: “My wife Fiona and I have lived in the area and have operated this funeral home for twenty-five years. Fiona works with families of the deceased to arrange details of the funeral and the obituary wording. She also does the makeup and . . .”

Maeve broke in. “I was here for Eileen Delaney’s funeral. She was a friend of mine.”

“By the number who attended the funeral, she was well-loved. How long had you known her?”

“We worked together at the Evercrest Nursing Home for some thirty-five years.”

“I know the place. I been called there many times. Do you still work there?”

“Yes. I’ve taken over Eileen’s responsibilities.”

“Ah, well then, maybe I’ll see you there. My wife helped Eileen’s husband with the funeral arrangements and wrote the obituary with the help of her husband and family. We have a list of services that we can offer you and we can talk about your last wishes.” He handed her a brochure.

“We prepare obituaries, arrange clergy services and pallbearers, coordinate with the cemetery or crematory . . .” Finn stopped when he saw that Maeve wasn’t paying attention. She was looking over his shoulder at something on the wall.

“That watercolor. I know it.” Maeve said.

Finn turned around. “My wife bought it at an art show here in town. I love how the light filters through the trees.”

“That’s Summer at Blossom Grove.”

“You know the artist?” Finn got up from his chair and looked at the corner of the painting. “You know M. Monahan? Wait. Is that you?” He looked at the application on his desk. “Well Maeve, you’re quite an artist.”

Maeve blushed. “I painted the same scene at four times of the year. I wanted to show the greening and flowering and the fading and falling of leaves and the limbs in winter.”

“You know, Maeve, people have brought watercolor portraits of the deceased to the wakes here. The portraits are a beautiful memorial. They have a graceful ethereal quality to them. I provide an easel next to the casket for the portrait.”

“I paint them. I paint portraits of the people in the home. When they pass, I give the portrait to the family. I got the idea when I attended my Irish grandfather’s funeral. Family and friends came to look at his dead body the night before he was buried. They drank and shared stories about his life. When a person dies at the home, the funeral home is called and the deceased is abruptly taken away. With my portraits, I give the family a corporeal reminder so they can share stories about the person’s life.”

“The portraits are well done. You’ve must have been doing this for a long time.”

“Thank you. Yes. I started as an oil painter years ago when I worked as an ER nurse. I wanted to depict the actual strangeness of the real world I encountered every day with surrealism, in a Frida Kahlo kind of way. But over time, the work and my life were becoming too dark. So, I decided to make a change and work in a nursing home where there is a less tragic and more of a long-suffering realism. And, that’s when I became a watercolor portraitist. I like the medium. Watercolors have a life and a flow of their own when you brush them on the paper. You let go and see what happens. They are kind of unruly to a certain degree as are the subjects I paint.”

“From the comments I overhear at the wake, you certainly capture the essence of the person,” Finn remarked.

He went on to explain his services and then invited Maeve to the display room where several different caskets were showcased. He then showed her the Reposing Room where the prepared body rests until the funeral takes place. He went on to show her a Reception Room where memorial services are held.

“There will be a wake in this room tomorrow. A tragic story,” Finn shared. “A 46-year-old man – a husband and father and founder of an investment firm – was killed in a car-jacking. The newspaper said the killer got away.”

“How terrible. The sudden loss of a husband and father must be devastating for that family.”

“Yes, it has been. I met with his wife this morning. She is having a hard time . . . How does one reckon with the out-of-the-blue senselessness of what happened?”

At that moment, Fiona walked up and introduced herself to Maeve. She recognized Maeve from the art show and praised her work. She then mentioned to Finn that a call had come in. She gave him the name and location.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” Finn said. “Feel free to call if there are any questions. Maeve offered her hand. Finn took her hand and put his hand on hers.

“Sorry to share that with you. I am deeply saddened by what happened. After all my years as a mortician, I have never become accustomed to such unforeseen tragedy. And, sadly, there will be no watercolor portrait to place by the casket tomorrow.”

Maeve nodded her understanding and then thanked Finn and went on her way.

~~~

The next morning, after working a night shift at Evercrest and then making a stop, Maeve drove home to Valley Mobile Home Park and found two cars parked out front of her mobile home. She parked next to her trailer, grabbed the mail from the mail box, and then ran to the door and walked in. Sitting at the kitchen table were her younger sisters Molly and Morren and her niece Maisie. Duffy, Molly’s Pomeranian, began barking wildly when she walked in. Maeve put her purse and the mail on the counter and looked at all three.

“Who died and why is Duffy carrying on like that?” Maeve asked, taking off her rain coat. The three women sitting before her reminded her of nesting dolls – Molly the largest of the three and Maisie the smallest.

“Duffy doesn’t like that black cross running down your face.” Molly replied.

“It’s raining.” Maeve grabbed a napkin form the table and began dabbing her face.

“And Duffy doesn’t like that guy next store.” Morren added.

“My neighbor?” Maeve asked. “Why? What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s a disgusting creature, Molly blurted. “Those tattoos, that yellow skin, his scarred-up face and watery eyes. He looks like a carny who runs the Tilt-A -Whirl. He was out in front of his trailer and gave us a nasty look when we got out of the car.”

“Well,” Maeve asked the group, “was Duffy barking at him and did you give him a nasty look when you saw him?”

Molly sighed loudly. The other two just looked at their hands.

“I don’t know him, “Maeve said. “He stays to himself. There’s something sad about the guy – like he’s had a hard time of it.”

“Maybe so. He is what he is,” remarked Morren.

“We’re here to check on you,” Molly declared.

“Check on me?” Maeve laughed. She poured coffee for herself and the others and sat down.

“Yeah, Moreen and I are wondering why you’ve been so quiet lately.”

“I’ve had things on my mind. Last things things. Do something about Duffy.” Maeve replied.

Molly had Duffy come up on her lap.

“Is that why you went to church this morning?” Morren asked.

Maeve looked at the three of them. “I thought I should become a familiar face around there. I want to be recognized by the gate keepers when I go the way of all the earth.”

“I see that you’ve been reading the obits,” Molly held up the open newspaper.

“My co-worker Eileen died suddenly. Cardiac arrest. I wanted to see what they wrote about her,” replied Maeve.

Molly looked through the obit page. “Let’s see what it says . . .

“Eileen Delaney passed away on . . . at her home aged 68. She will be greatly missed by her family who adored her, friends who loved her, and many people whose lives she impacted in such a beautiful way at Evercrest Nursing Home. Eileen was along-time member of such and such Church. Eileen was born . . . married William Patrick Delaney. . . celebrated a beautiful 42-year marriage. Bill passed away . . . Eileen greatly missed him. She and Bill had many adventures together . . . traveling to Europe and Caribbean and Alaskan cruises. Ballroom dancing and hiking were their favorite pastimes. They are survived by two children . . . three grandchildren. Sadly missed by brothers . . . brothers-in-law, sisters-in-law, aunts, uncles, cousins, nephews, nieces, relatives and a wide circle of friends. Eileen stayed active throughout her life . . . she was a member of the American Needlepoint Guild. Eileen Delaney’s’ family invites you to join them in celebrating her life. Please attend with your best Eileen stories. The funeral service and burial will be held . . .

“How long have you been working at that nursing home,” Morren asked Maeve.

 “About thirty-five years. Since the divorce.”

“Maeve, you could’ve gone on to get your doctorate in nursing like me,” Molly said. “Then you could write papers, have them peer reviewed, and published in journals. You would be recognized for your work, make better money, and move out of this trailer park.”

“Recognized?” Maeve replied. “I see myself doing what I’m doing. I don’t see myself doing anything else or living anywhere else.”

“Maybe not. But do you hate life? Morren badgered. “I mean, c’mon, you haven’t remarried and you haven’t gone anywhere and now you’re thinking about death. What about life?”

 Maisie spoke up. “Aunt Maeve, do you have a bucket list?”

“A bucket list?” Maeve got up and walked over to the kitchen window and looked out. She was surprised to see her neighbor looking back at her from his kitchen window. How strange, she thought.

“Yeah, you know, things you want to do before you die.” Molly said.

“I had an appointment with a funeral director yesterday to talk about funeral arrangements,” Maeve pointed at her sisters, “so you two won’t have to bother with them – and I have an appointment with Father Flannery tomorrow after work to talk about the art of dying.” Maeve took the Joyce Funeral Home brochure out of her purse and placed it on the table.

“What brought on all this morbidity Maeve?” Molly prodded. “Is it because you are with the dying five six days a week? What about living a little?”

“It’s not morbid to plan one’s death. And besides,” Maeve smiled, “I am thinking outside the box.”

“Not too would be a grave mistake,” Molly came back.

“The funeral director blamed the cost of living as driving up the cost of dying. He said I could pay now or pay later with a payable-on-death bank account accessed by my family.” Maeve sat down and waited for a reaction.

Morren looked at Molly and then at Maisie. She wasn’t sure if that was a joke.

Maisie laughed. “Now I know where I get my weird sense of humor. Aunt Maeve, I meant doing things like travel. You could. . . go see the world, see the pyramids.”

“You want me to go look at tombs? No, thanks. And no, I don’t have a list like that.”

“You could go to Barcelona or Rome and meet some dashing foreigner and be swept off your feet.” Molly urged.

“You know,” Maeve replied. “I listen to the stories of seniors in the home. Their stories are better than romance novels and what’s on TV. The things they’ve seen and done . . . you’d be surprised.”

“I just want to see you broaden your horizons,” Morren pleaded. “You have work. You have a hobby. But with all that that the world has to offer, why not live a little.”

Molly looked at her watch. “Well, Maevy, we came to check on you. My TV program starts in twenty minutes. We better get going. If you suddenly decide to take off to parts unknown let us know.”

Maeve picked up the coffee cups and put them in the sink. She saw her neighbor again standing in the window. But this time he had a gun in his mouth. Maeve yelled “Oh God!” and ran out the door. Molly, Morren and Maisie ran to the kitchen window.

“What’s that creature doing?” Molly scoffed. “If he offed himself there would be one less freak in the world.”

“What’s aunt Maeve doing?” asked Maisie.

Maeve was standing in the rain between the two mobile homes in her blue nurse scrubs. She was saying something to her neighbor but his window was closed. He kept shaking his head. Maeve pleaded with him, “Open your window! Open your window!” Finally, with one hand, he pulled up the kitchen window.

“Talk to me, “Maeve begged, “I’m listening.”

The man took a swig of something and then wiped his mouth with his arm.

“Lady, my best girl died in January been together for fifteen years she was on dialysis my dog Biscuit hell I think some of those mean kids around here ran off with her I lost my job at the steel mill I’m about to lose my trailer.” The man held up a piece of paper. “I find myself in the impossible position of being who I am right here and now.”

“I’m listening,” Maeve replied.

“What are you looking at?” The man jerked his head angrily toward Maeve’s kitchen window where Molly, Morren and Maisie were watching. He waved his gun at the window and the three women disappeared from it. Molly called the police.

“I’m here . . . for you,” Maeve pleaded with her neighbor. “I don’t know your name. What’s your name?

“Esau.”

“Esau, don’t die like this.”

“Is there a better way to go about it?

“You could die holding someone’s hand. Can I call Father Flannery?”

“What’s he gonna do throw holy water on me and make it all better hell I was baptized as a little tiny baby and look at me now I done some stupid things in my life but I paid all my debts I am good people labeled not good enough to attend my own daughter’s wedding can you picture that?

“Yes! I can paint you,” Maeve offered.

Esau laughed. “Paint me?”

“Yes. I paint portraits.”

“Lady don’t you see I’m already painted.” The man pulled off his tee shirt. “My cross hain’t bleeding like yours is I got this in Nam.” The man pointed the gun at the cross tattoo. “I got a lot of things in Nam that’ll change a man forever.” He put the gun back in his mouth.

Maeve dabbed her face with her sleeve. Overhead, the sky was growing darker. A sudden crack of thunder and its rumbling off had Duffy howling. Large drops of rain were falling.

“I’ll paint a portrait of you, right now Esau. So your children can remember you.” Maeve said this to buy more time.

“Lady, they want nothing to do with me.” Esau scowled.

“They never will if you shoot yourself,” Maeve replied.

He took another swig from the bottle. “You’ll stand in the rain and you’ll paint me?”

“Yes! Or inside if you’ll let me in.” Maeve replied. “Do you have family?”

“Yessss I havvvvve family,” the man howled. “My best girl has family but you know NO ONE wants to see you until you’re dead.” He put the gun back in his mouth.

“I can call them. Hold on. I can paint your portrait for them. Hold on Esau,” Maeve yelled. “I’ll get my phone and paints.”

As Maeve turned to run back inside, she heard a loud pop. Esau was gone from the window.

Moments later, heavy downpours arrived.

©Lena Johnson, Kingdom Venturers, 2024, All Rights Reserved

~~~

Nothing More Than Alright

A short story . . .

My father, on the nights when my mother goes to bridge club, makes creamed chipped beef with peas on toast for supper. He told me one time that in the military it’s called “shit on a shingle” or SOS for short. He makes me eat it even though I can’t stomach peas or the dried beef or the gravy and I’m not a soldier. Tonight again, my mother is at bridge club and I’m sitting here with SOS.

After looking at my plate for a long time, I move the peas out of the gravy, off the toast and onto the plate with my knife. I’m hoping I won’t have to eat them. The kitchen phone rings and I jump to answer it. My best friend Janey wants to know if I want to go with her and her boyfriend Nick to watch West Side Story at the Sky-Hi Drive-In. I say I sure do and hang up. My father doesn’t want me on the phone during supper.

The peas are cold and clammy now and I say I they’re cold and clammy and I can’t eat them. My father tilts his head down and tells me to eat them. I want to say no but I need his okay to go to the movie. So, I stab some peas with my fork and swirl them in the flour gravy and then I eat the green-grey mush with a bite of toast. I gag. I drink some milk and wash it down. My father lifts his head and says “alright”. I clear the dishes and wash them. I’ve done what he wanted, so now I can ask him about Friday night. But I wait until he’s sitting in front of the TV.

An hour later, my father is in the basement watching TV. I sit with him and ask about his movie. He says troops have been ordered to risk their lives and retake a hill that’s not important in the battle. I ask him why. He says it shows the enemy their resolve to continue to fight if an agreement is not reached in negotiations.

A Marlboro commercial comes on and I ask him about Friday night. He wants to know about the movie. I tell him it’s a musical about people fighting, dancing and falling in love and he says “Okay. Ask your mother when she come home from playing bridge.”

My mother finally gets home and I tell her about Friday night. She says she knows the movie. “Saw it with a friend when it came out in ’61,” she says. She knows Janey and Nick and she says it’s okay with her that I go.

Saturday night Nick’s car pulls into the driveway. He honks the horn and I yell “They’re here”. My father yells from the basement “Have a good time honey. Call if there is a problem.” Mom, on the phone with someone, yells for me to come straight home after the movie. I yell back “I will.”

I get in the back seat of Nick’s Chevy and we drive off – but not in the direction of the Sky-Hi. I ask where we’re going. Janey turns to me and says that Nick asked his friend Tom to come along. He had nothing to do, Nick says. I immediately panic. I wonder if I look alright.

I have a face full of pimples and a bony nose that’s too big for my face. I wonder if I used enough concealer. The green top I’m wearing is wrinkled. It was at the bottom of my closet. And the jeans I’m wearing are worn thin. I was expecting to sit in the dark and watch a movie with Nick and Janey.

We pull up to a ranch house on the other side of town. Nick honks the horn. A skinny blonde-haired guy walks out the front door and down the front walk. “Here’s Tom,” Janey says.

Tom gets in the back seat. Janey introduces Tom. I don’t know him from school. I give him a quick smile and then give Janey a stare. She just winks back at me. She knows I don’t have a boyfriend.

Tom is neatly dressed. He’s wearing a button-down shirt, khaki pants and loafers. His boxy glasses make him look like a bookworm. In junior high school he’d be called “a climber” and Nick “a greaser.”

The Twin Theater Sky-Hi Drive In is on the west end of our town. On the way we listen to the AM radio. A Chicago station plays Born to Be Wild and I Will Always Think About You. Tom and I sit quietly in the back. I suck in my lips and look out my window. The cloudy sky looks like flour gravy.

We arrive at Sky-Hi and pay for our tickets. Nick drives over to a center spot in the East Theater. Nick and Tom say they’re going to the concession stand. They ask what we want. Janey and I ask for Cokes and popcorn. I hand Nick some money and they head off. The guys return after twenty minutes just as the coming attractions start. I roll down my window and Tom hands me the Coke and popcorn. I say thank you. He gets into the back seat on the other side of the car.

Janey’s been sitting next to Nick the whole time he’s been driving. Now Nick puts his arm around Janey’s shoulder and they snuggle together. Janey asks “are you guys okay back there?” I say I have to move over to see the screen. I look at Tom and he gives me a nod that says it’s okay. I scooch over to the middle of the back seat and put my legs to the left side of the floor hump. “That’s better,” I say.

Finally, the movie begins. There’s an overture and then the Jets sing about being a Jet and beating up other gangs. The Jets and the Sharks want to fight each other for control of the streets. But first they go to a dance. It’s a musical, so I guess it doesn’t have to make sense.

At the dance, Tony of the Jets meets Maria, Bernardo’s sister. Bernardo is the head of the Puerto Rican Shark gang. Tony and Maria fall in love at first sight. Nobody is happy about that except Tony and Maria. Tony’s half in half out about the gang stuff but he’s all in on Maria. He wants to run away with her.

Tony and Maria start singing Tonight and I stop eating popcorn. I put my hand down on the car seat so I can lean forward and hear what’s coming from the speaker. My little finger touches Tom’s little finger. He takes my hand into his. We stay this way, looking at the movie and holding hands, until the movie ends and headlights turn on.

It’s past midnight when we leave Sky-HI. Nick says he’ll drive me home first. I go back and sit behind Nick. Tom looks out his window. Everyone is quiet. Nick turns on the radio. Ain’t Nothing Like the Real Thing comes on. I suck in my lips and look out my window. On the way home I see a car with one headlight and say “perdiddle.”  Janey and Nick kiss.

At home I get out of the car and say thanks to Janey and Nick and goodnight to Tom. Tom says good night looking at Nick and Janey.

I go inside and hear the TV on in the basement. I walk down the hallway to my bedroom. My mother is sitting in her bed reading her magazines. She sees me and asks “Susan, how was it?” I poke my head into the room and tell her it was alright.

“Just alright? Nothing more?” she asks.

“Nothing more than alright” I say.

“Okay,” she says. “Now go to bed. It’s late. Tomorrow’s another day.”

As I walk away she reminds me that she has bridge club again tomorrow night. I say okay.

In my room I take the ticket stub out of my jeans pocket. I find a pen and write on the back of the stub West Side Story Tom. I pull my keepsake box out from under the bed and put the ticket stub inside along with the Valentine cards from third grade and my second-place medals from clarinet solo contests and some poems I wrote. I close the box and put it back.

I go to bed thinking about the movie and Tom and peas on my plate.

©Jennifer Ann Johnson, Kingdom Venturers, 2024, All Rights Reserved

Creatures Great and Small

I walk into Katy’s Place just after seven AM and look for my sister. I don’t see her so I look for a table. Seven men and a woman, each in a police uniform, are sitting at a long table eating breakfast. Two tables have not been bused yet from the day before. The other tables, except for one, are taken by couples and one family. I sit down at the last open table.

It’s Sunday morning in this small Indiana town. The streets are quiet. Traffic lights blink red. Some folks, I figure, are at home getting ready for church and others are sleeping in except for a gaggle of seniors sipping coffee down at the MacDonalds. The rest are here in this small diner near the town square and the courthouse and halfway to my sister’s house. It’s my first time here.

There is only one waitress and she can’t keep up with the tables. Is it always this busy early on a Sunday morning? It’ll be some time before I can ask for coffee and some menus. But it doesn’t matter. I’m waiting for my sister to drop off my eight-year-old niece.

While I wait, I look around. There’s a half-wall between the long table where the police are sitting and the entrance. Across the room there is a partial wall separating the kitchen from the served. On the wall I’m facing is a picture of a black horse standing in profile in front of a white fence. The horse reminds me of Black Beauty, a horse-memoir book my grandmother gave me when I was a little girl.

The waitress comes over and asks me what I want to drink. I tell her coffee and chocolate milk. I let her know that there will be two of us. Waiting for the coffee, I have an idea. I give my friend Anne a call. I ask her if my niece and I could come over this morning after breakfast. Anne says “Sure!”

I’m spending the day with my niece. My sister is headed to a day spa for the works: a massage, manicure, pedicure, and facial. She told me when she called yesterday and asked about today that she has to get rid of a lot of built-up stress.

The waitress brings my coffee and the chocolate milk. She takes two menus from under her arm and plunks them on the table. And she’s off.

After a half-hour I see Mandy and my niece come through the door. They walk over to the table. My sister looks at me and says “Aimee wants to be called Adam. Be sure to say Adam.”  I don’t know what to do with this information. I have no place for it. I just tell Mandy that we have a big day planned and that I’ll bring “my niece” home later this afternoon. Mandy says “That’s fine” and then tells “Adam” to “behave with aunt Nora”. She begins to leave and I stop her.

“Listen,” I say to my niece, “this is our special day together. No phones.”

Mandy looks at me, her eye brows in a ‘V’, and says “Really?”. I say “Really”.

My sister takes the phone from my niece and says “Just for today. Just for aunt Nora.” She pockets the phone and leaves.

My frowning niece sits down where I put the chocolate milk. I ask about the chocolate milk. She takes a drink and says “It’s good”. She uses her tongue to wipe her upper lip. Her blue eyes follow her tongue like they’re connected. I can’t help notice that my niece’s beautiful blond curls have been cut off, the sides of her head are shorn. I didn’t say anything. What was I going to say?

“Did your mom take you to church last Sunday for advent?”

“She took me to the library. For story hour.”

My sister is the head librarian in her town. She has a Masters of Library and Information Science. I think that means that she should be really good at putting things in their proper place. But now I am having doubts about that.

The out-of-breath waitress comes over. I tell her we’re ready to order. I don’t want to keep Anne waiting. I order a stack of pancakes for my niece and some scrambled eggs with bacon and an English muffin for myself.

The room is loud with conversations, shuffling chairs, and some piped rock music. I want to have a conversation with my niece but I’m having a hard time hearing her, so I have her sit next to me at the table.

“Did you hear about Mary and Joseph and baby Jesus at story hour?

“No.”

“What did you hear about?

“Ah, something about, ah, boys liking boys, girls liking girls and a girl who wanted to be a boy. Stuff like that. It wasn’t Charlotte’s Web. Like last time.”

“Who read the stories to you?”

“Ah, some man wearing ah dress and a wig. He talked funny.”

“Did he say it was OK to pretend to be a boy all the time?”

She nodded yes.

“Does your teacher call you Adam?”

“Uh-Huh.”

“Do the kids in school call you Adam?”

“Uh-Huh. Miss Bigelow said they had to or they would be punished.”

I raised five kids and never had to deal with any of this. My kids chose what musical instrument they wanted to play and what sport to play in. At this point in the conversation, I hear myself wanting to come down on the whole gender switcheroo business, but I stop myself. I’ll just be Aunt Nora today and see what happens.

Our food arrives. I watch my niece take her time carefully lathering the pancakes with butter and then pouring syrup on the stack. Looking at her wide wonderful eyes, I feel that I can’t say nothing. I want to say things without saying things.

“You know,” I began again, “A woman runs this place. This is Katy’s Place. And that police officer over there (I point my head) is a woman. Both were girls once.” I hear myself forcing things with the obvious and tell myself that it’s time to shut up.

With a mouthful, my niece looks over at the long table. She turns back, swallows and says “What is advent?”

“Advent is the season of arrival – the arrival of Jesus our Savior into the world.”

“Oh.” She went back to eating.

“Hey kiddo. We’re gonna have a fun day. Right after this we’re going to a horse farm.” My niece tilted her head to one side and her eyes lit up. “My friend Anne has a new foal she wants you to see.”

We finished our breakfast and I paid the bill.

~~~

We drive over to next county where Anne has twenty flat acres of white-fenced property. The long driveway leading to her ranch house and the horse barns is lined with evergreen-shaped trees. The leaves are a deep green with a bluish tint. Birds dart back and forth between the dense branches.

I park the car near the front of the house and we get out. Anne leaves her porch chair and walks over. I introduce her to “my niece who wants to be called Adam” with a shake of my head “No”. Anne understands. She leads us over to the barn and the foaling stall. Inside is a baby horse – a foal.

“This filly was born last night,” Anne tells us. “I was sleeping by the stall and then got up for a bathroom break. Came back and found her waiting for me. It happens that quick.” Anne tells us that it takes around 11 months for a foal to fully develop inside of the mother- “the mare”.

“This one is already walking around, “I say.

“Foals can stand, walk, and trot shortly after birth,” Anne says. “They’re up and nursing within two hours of being born. It’s important that foals nurse. They get what they need in their mother’s milk. In about ten days they’ll be eating grass and hay.”

“What else can you tell us about fillies?” I ask, hoping she’ll say things without saying things.

“Like all foals, this one will grow rapidly and be playful. During their first year, they learn to walk, run, and develop strong bonds with their mothers. Fillies are delicate and refined in their build compared to colts. They are known for their grace and agility. They are calmer than colts.”

Anne turned to my niece. “What shall we call her?”

My niece’s jaw dropped and then, ten seconds later, out came “Addie. Let’s call her Addie.”

“Why Addie?” Anne asked.

“For Advent,” my niece came back.

“Addie it is,” Anne said. “Do you want to learn some tips on horsemanship?”

My niece said “Oh yeah.”

Anne started heading to the tackle room with my niece in hand but I stop them.

“Anne, hearing you say “tips” just reminded me that I forgot to leave a tip at the restaurant. Dear Lord! I get into my head and lose track of things like my keys and my glasses and tipping. I need to go and make this right before the waitress leaves. Can my niece stay with you while I do this?”

“Sure,” Anne replied. “There’s lots to see and do here.”

Back at the restaurant I walk past the tables and behind the kitchen wall. The waitress is surprised to see me. I hand her the tip money and apologize for forgetting. She looks relieved. Walking out, I see the horse picture again. On the way back to Anne’s I think about Black Beauty.

The story of a highbred horse’s life is told by Black Beauty. As a colt, Beauty enjoys carefree days on the farm. But things change when owners sell him. Some owners are kind, some are cruel, and some are bungling when it comes to horses.

Under one master, Beauty and his best horse friend Ginger are forced to wear the check rein – a piece of a carriage horse’s harness to keep the horse from lowering its head. This was done to make the horse look fashionably noble in Victorian times. But the check rein caused lasting pain and undercut a horse’s pulling strength. Beauty and Ginger had to learn to live with this.

Another owner, a man with a drinking problem, didn’t look after Beauty’s shoes. Beauty’s legs collapse at one point and the owner is thrown off and dies. After a corrective medical procedure, Beauty’s legs are permanently scarred. No longer considered presentable enough, Beauty is put to hard work as a job horse.

Beauty is rented out by drivers who do not know how to properly take care of horses. As a result, Beauty incurs long-term physical harm. The author Sewall wrote the story from the horse’s point of view “to induce kindness, sympathy, and an understanding treatment of horses”.

Back at Anne’s place I find my niece sitting on a chestnut horse called Sassy and wearing one of Anne’s wide-brimmed cowboy hats. From the look on my niece’s face, I didn’t have to ask Anne how it went.

Later, as my niece and I head to the car, Anne offers to have us come every weekend to see Addie grow and to teach us western riding. I ask about that.

She explains that it involves learning how to sit deep in the saddle, how to walk, jog, lope, and gallop a horse, how to hold the reins with the non-dominate hand, and teaching a horse to be responsive on very light rein contact to move in the direction you want instead of a pulling motion.

At the car, Anne tells my niece “Going forward, I’ll need your mom’s approval”.

“We’ll talk to her,” I say looking at my niece. “Let’s see what happens.”

©Jennifer Ann Johnson, Kingdom Venturers, 2024, All Rights Reserved

~~~~~

Black Beauty | Anna Sewell | Lit2Go ETC (usf.edu)

PDF>>> Microsoft Word – Black Beauty.doc (freeclassicebooks.com)

Truth Beyond the Binary

“The Gleaners” (1857), by Jean-François Millet, depicts women picking up loose grain in the field. Without words it relates the hardships and the dignity of everyday workers. The painting connects us to our own human story. We recognize something of ourselves in this glimpse of reality. We understand a day’s slog and strain. We empathize with the workers.

The painting’s aesthetic realism, its naturalism and unromanticized imagery draw us in. We like that it rejects idealization and artificiality. “The Gleaners” portrays ’us’ as we are. And the subject’s universality – women doing manual labor – is a catalyst for imaginative truth.

We empathize with the subjects as we project ourselves into their perspective. We imagine what it must be like working in a field under the hot sun. We imagine constantly bending over to pick up left-over scraps of the grain harvest so that poor women and children could live on them. We imagine ourselves in 1857.

We find ourselves stepping out of our world and connecting with history – mankind has been doing manual labor since the beginning of time. We find ourselves connecting not just with the women, but with all of humanity, a humanity that shares the work, burdens, and cares of life. And, our imagination wants to know more of the wordless ‘story’.

We cannot see the women’s faces. Are the women young or old? Are they talking to pass the time? Singing? Are they married? Have children? Do they work from sun up to sun down? How do their backs feel at the end of the day? Are their hands dried out and cracked from handling the grain?

~~~~~

Anton Chekhov’s stories are noted for their ‘naturalness’ – the ability to show ‘exactly what a little piece of life’ is like. Like with Millet’s realistic painting, his prose provides down-to-earth characters, details and a setting that, though with Russian aspects, is universal in its close-to-home familiarity.

Russian-American novelist Vladimir Nabokov, in his Lectures on Russian Literature, described Chekhov as writing “the way one person relates to another the most important things in his life, slowly and yet without a break, in a slightly subdued voice”.

Chekhov, a practicing doctor, observed everyday life and ordinary people as he made house calls and treated patients. He wrote with a concentration on the daily lives of individuals using natural detail. We connect with the subjects in terms of shared experiences, emotions, and challenges that are common to all human beings.

You won’t find sanctimony or moralizing or happy endings in his stories nor heroes in the conventional sense. Chekhov had nothing to prove, no ideology or politics to promote, and he created all his characters equal.

And though Chekhov’s stories seem to go nowhere, his ‘close to home’ imagery mirrors our own situations. Life often goes on unchanged or less than we had hoped for. Life often goes on without resolution. And that is the case in a touching story by Anton Chekhov – “On Easter Eve” (1886).

A brief introduction: “The narrator describes his moving experience of attending an early-morning celebration of Easter Eve in the countryside after crossing a river in flood in the middle of a very starry night, admiring the fireworks and listening to the boatman’s account of the sudden demise of the church deacon while composing Easter hymns.”

The ferryman, a novice monk, grieves the loss of a brother. Nikolai, a sensitive soul enraptured by words, was skilled at writing Akathists. (Akathist or “unseated hymn” is a type of hymn usually recited by Eastern Orthodox or Eastern Catholic Christians. It may be dedicated to a saint, holy event, or one of the persons of the Holy Trinity.)

The passenger (narrator) listens to the ferryman recount the death of his best friend Nikolai and about the gift Nikolai had for writing hymns of praise. “And Nikolai was writing akathists! Akathists! Not mere sermons or histories.” The passenger then asks “Are they so hard to write then? The ferryman responds “Ever so hard” and goes on to describe what’s involved, including the following:

Everything must be harmonious, brief and complete. There must be in every line softness, graciousness and tenderness; not one word should be harsh or rough or unsuitable. It must be written so that the worshipper may rejoice at heart and weep, while his mind is stirred and he is thrown into a tremor.

Just one more quote to invite you to be with the narrator and ferryman “On Easter Eve”.

Here the narrator describes Easter Eve at the Russian Orthodox Church, reminding me of the swollen river he had just crossed:

One was tempted to see the same unrest and sleeplessness in all nature, from the night darkness to the iron slabs, the crosses on the tombs and the trees under which the people were moving to and fro. But nowhere was the excitement and restlessness so marked as in the church. An unceasing struggle was going on in the entrance between the inflowing stream and the outflowing stream. Some were going in, others going out and soon coming back again to stand still for a little and begin moving again. People were scurrying from place to place, lounging about as though they were looking for something. The stream flowed from the entrance all round the church, disturbing even the front rows, where persons of weight and dignity were standing. There could be no thought of concentrated prayer. There were no prayers at all, but a sort of continuous, childishly irresponsible joy, seeking a pretext to break out and vent itself in some movement, even in senseless jostling and shoving.

Juxtaposed “On Easter Eve”: great sadness and great celebration, life and death, light and dark. Chekhov captures common shared experiences. There is nothing lofty, sarcastic, or judgmental in the story. There’s just a truthful and loving portrait – a ‘gleaning’ – of humanity at its most authentic moments.

Enjoy this heart-tug of a story.

~~~~~

“French painter Jean-François Millet, whose humble manner of living stands in stark contrast to the impact his work had on many artists who succeeded him, saw Godliness and virtue in physical labor. Best known for his paintings of peasants toiling in rural landscapes, and the religious sub-texts that often accompanied them, he turned his back on the academic style of his early artistic education and co-founded the Barbizon school near Fontainbleau in Normandy, France with fellow artist Théodore Rousseau.” Millet Paintings, Bio, Ideas | TheArtStory

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Margarita Mooney Suarez shares about beauty and the liberal arts. (We need more women like her.)

Beauty and the Liberal Arts, with Margarita Mooney Suarez

Beauty and the Liberal Arts, with Margarita Mooney Suarez – Teaching in Higher Ed

Moving On

It’s the first Tuesday of the month.

I watched him park his black Mercedes. I watched him cross the parking lot. He was angry talking on the phone. I watched him sneer at a man get out of a car next to his. I watched him looking at his watch. I watched him enter the home. My son Edward.

I watched over him in my belly. I watched him at my breast. I watched his first steps. I heard his first words.

I heard his loud voice from my chair by the window. I heard my name. I heard “Five minutes.” I heard the front desk “Over there.”

I watched him come over. I heard “Mom, I’m here.” I felt a kiss on my head. I smelled cigar and bourbon. I saw my face cringe in the mirror. I saw him look in the mirror. “Sit down,” I said.

“I don’t have much time,” he said.

“Where you off to?” I said.

“My new business Going Beyond Inc.,” he said.

“What’s that?” I said.

“Human enhancement technology,” he said.

“What’s that?” I said.

“Life extension. Changing and improving humanity with technology,” he said. “Well how you been?”

“I’ve been here where you put me,” I said.

“I asked how you are,” he said.

“I’m eighty-seven years old have trouble reading, hearing, walking, eating, pooping, Jim is gone, and my only child has business to attend to,” I said.

“I come as often as I can get away,” he said. “Besides,” he said, “I pay them good money to look after you when I’m not here.”

“You better get on with it” I said. “Things are not improving here.”

I saw him place a twenty-dollar bill on the lamp stand.

“Have them buy some of that candy you like,” he said.

“I’ll rent a son,” I said.

I watched him look in the mirror one last time. I felt a kiss on my head. I smelled cigar and bourbon. I heard “Bye mmmm.” I watched him walk away.

I heard his loud voice from my chair by the window. I heard “Next month” “Keep eye on her.” I heard the front desk “Oh, she’s not going anywhere.”

I watched him leave the home. I watched him cross the parking lot. He was angry talking on the phone. I watched him looking at his watch. I watched him look over his car on the passenger side. I watched him get in his Mercedes. I watched him drive off. My son Edward.

©Jennifer Ann Johnson, Kingdom Venturers, 2023, All Rights Reserved

~~~~~

“Navigating the Technological Divide” – Joe Vukov

Joe Vukov, Associate Professor of Philosophy and the Associate Director of the Hank Center for the Catholic Intellectual Heritage at Loyola University Chicago, helps to explain the pitfalls of both extremes—on one side, the transhumanists (who embrace technology as a way to become more human) and on the other, the neoLuddites (who shun certain kinds of technology)—and begins to clear a path somewhere in the middle. 

151. Joe Vukov | Navigating the Technological Divide | Language of God (biologos.org)

~~~~~

Transhumanist, Human Enhancement Resources:

Joseph Vukov, The Perils of Perfection: On the Limits and Possibilities of Human Enhancement – PhilPapers

~~~

Like a thief in the night, artificial intelligence has inserted itself into our lives. It makes important decisions for us every day. Often, we barely notice. As Joe Allen writes in this groundbreaking book, “Transhumanism is the great merger of humankind with the Machine. At this stage in history, it consists of billions using smartphones. Going forward, we’ll be hardwiring our brains to artificial intelligence systems.”

Dark Aeon | Book by Joe Allen, Stephen K. Bannon | Official Publisher Page | Simon & Schuster (simonandschuster.com)

SINGULARITY WEEKLY | Joe Allen | Substack

Joe Allen | www.JOEBOT.xyz (wordpress.com)

~~~~~

Thomas Hart Benton

Sources of Country Music – Thomas Hart Benton
Midwest – Thomas Hart Benton
Arts of the West – Thomas Hart Benton

The Big Smear

“The past leaves you behind.”

That’s what my 89-year-old mother told me on a Sunday afternoon phone call. I had asked her to recall a time in 1959 that she had never mentioned.

Much of the past had been lost to mom because of time and her meds. And when her husband of 67 years and my father passed away a few years before, memories began to be wiped away with tears and “Why did he leave me behind?”

***

Some memories lie under coats of paint. So, when I recently came across old photographs and saw original hardwood flooring, I began scraping to expose more of it during that Sunday afternoon call.

Some memories have been laid bare; the paint worn away with retraced steps.

When you are six-years old you take account of things like busy streets, alleys, empty lots, school buildings with playgrounds, creaky back porches, neighborhood kids, cereal, cartoons and the predatory smell of cigarettes. You know, kiddom.

In 1959 our small family – dad, mom, me and my younger brother – lived in a three flat on Franklin Boulevard in Chicago. Our two-bedroom apartment was the one above the garden apartment. An open grey back porch with creaky boards and stairs connected each flat to the small back yard. Whenever I ran out the back door a voice from somewhere would yell “Don’t run down the stairs!”

Nikki, a single woman, lived downstairs. From time to time, Nikki babysat us two boys while my parents went out. I can’t recall who lived upstairs. Maybe it was the voice.

The Wood Back Porch – Photo: trippchicago/Flickr

Our three flat was the second one in from a busy street corner. On the other side, two empty lots. The street in front was lined with trees. Behind us, an alley.

The empty lots were a dirt playground where neighborhood kids gathered. There, we played tag, cowboys and Indians, and baseball among the rocks, sticks, and clumps of overgrown grass. Those empty lots were grounds for all kinds of childhood amusements.

A tire-tracked path ran through the middle of the two lots. Sometimes a van drove onto it, parked, opened up its side and gave us tracts and Bible stories with puppets. Sometimes an ice cream truck drove on to it and handed out multicolored popsicles from its open side. And sometimes a shoe repair van came with repaired shoes and to claim shoes in need of repair.

I played with my younger brother at least one time.

The two of us decided to play catch, not on the empty lot, but on that small stretch of grassy space between our building and the corner building. There was a chain link fence separating the yards. What could go wrong?

Well, young arms don’t throw straight. I stood between the buildings and my brother, who had to chase my last throw, threw from the backyard. Crash! The baseball went through the neighbor’s bathroom window of his garden apartment. An angry face appeared within the jagged edges. “Can’t you boys find somewhere else to play!”

Dad was none too pleased. He apologized to the neighbor and paid for the repair. We were sent back to the turf of the empty lots with a whiffle ball and bat. Our nickel allowances were put on hold. The moment they returned, I made sure to hold on to it. I put the nickel in my mouth.

When you jump on the bed with a nickel in your mouth one tends to forget the nickel in all the wild up and down. The nickel went into my throat and I went into the living room going “ga gaaa ga gaaa ga gaaa! My father picked me up by the ankles and shook me until the nickel popped out. He later gave a piggy bank to hold my loot.

Jumping on the bed before being put to bed was a way to release all the pent-up energy in a glass of Ovaltine. It’s also the way for your head to encounter a radiator. My parents rushed me, in my cowboy pajamas, to the hospital. I received ten stiches in the back of my skull. That impact and three later concussions may account for a whole of things popping out of my noggin. But the blows didn’t knock 1959 from my memory.

***

Across the alley from our three flat and the empty lots stood a four-story brick apartment building with the same grey connected porches. Clothes drying on clotheslines, dogs barking, kids running up and down stairs, people yelling, radios blasting, furniture moving up or down, and aromas of all kinds of food– the Chicago back porch, meant as a second fire escape, was where melting pot life vented.

We knew it was supper time when a short plump woman wearing an apron came out onto the wooden porch of her second-floor apartment, leaned over the railing and bellowed in a thick Italian accent “Carmennnnn Carmennn”.  When her son, a baby-faced replica of his mother, toddled home we knew it was time to go in.

Of course, our group of neighborhood friends teased Carmen and each other mercilessly. It was a way of having fun at each other’s expense. We operated at the limits of friendship. If we went too far, we backed off and included the teased in whatever fun we devised to make it all better. Sometimes a ball went through a window and we needed to apologize and repair it.

A black and white class photo, found in a box of keepsakes, confirms that I attended “Ryerson Elementary First Grade Class”. In the photo I’m seated in the second row with classmates. I am grinning with a gap-toothed smile and freckled face. With a colorized version of the photo, you’d swear it was Alfred E. Neuman sitting there. I have red hair.

I recall school being a few blocks from home.

Memory has me sitting at my desk in my first-grade class. A tall figure approaches me. He leans over and says “Danny, you brother has left school. He’s walking home. Go after him.” I put on my coat and go after him.

The next thing I see in my head: I am walking my brother across a busy street corner. Cars are stopped at the light. I bring him home. End of reel.

My mother had never mentioned that time once over a lifetime. And that is why when I recalled it, I asked her about it that Sunday. Maybe for her it was just another thing, like a spill, and it was wiped away and forgotten. Life and neighborhoods were different then too, less charged.

Certain memories have charges, though. Besides being my brother’s keeper, I was the subject of humiliation.

Memory has it that I am standing in line in the school hallway with my first-grade classmates. We were waiting to go out on the stage, one at a time, and say our piece to a room full of parents. I don’t recall the what the presentation was for.

One of the room parents was going down the line putting lipstick on the kids. She grabbed and held my chin and began to apply red stuff to my lips. When she finished, I immediately used the back of my hand to rub off it off. A big red smear went across the right side of my face. The parent went “Ohhhhgggugg! Danny! You can’t go on!” That was fine for me.

I don’t know where the red lipstick ended up. Maybe on the sleeve of my white shirt. And I don’t know where my mom was in all this. She’s not in the memory. Was she in the audience waiting for me to come out? Did she see the red smear on my face and sleeve? The memory ends after the smear.

I think it was Kierkegaard who said Why bother remembering a past that cannot be made into a present? Maybe that’s why my mother said the past leaves you behind.

©Jennifer Ann Johnson, Kingdom Venturers, 2023, All Rights Reserved

That Was No Dream

Ezekiel Evans looked out the front room window. A snow-buried Camry sat dormant under the streetlight. “Still there” Ezekiel said to the glass reflection of Tonya decorating the Christmas tree.  He stood there another minute to reassure himself and then returned to his chair. “You never know what will happen next around this doggone place. The city’s gone to hell.”

“Don’t worry, Ez,” Tonya teased, “Chicago has an intersectional mayor. All you have to do is believe in her just like weez all spose to pretend to believe in Santa Claus.”

“I’ll believe in Santa Claus before I believe in her!” Ezekiel replied.

When they moved to the Chicago area several years before, Ezekiel and Tonya overlooked a lot of things. Coming from a Georgia farm, they saw the cosmopolitan city as an upgrade. It was a place to live independently and experience new things. They moved to the Roseland neighborhood on Chicago’s south side.

The five-bedroom brick bungalow on Wentworth Avenue was big enough for their growing family. It was something they could afford. What they couldn’t afford was a carjacking and what some hoodlums were doing in the neighborhood – robberies, burglaries, thefts, assaults, shootings and sex trafficking.

“We’ve got to get that garage door fixed so we can park the car inside. Then you can have some peace of mind Ez,” Tonya offered.

“Yeah, but my peace of mind needs to cover a lot of ground. The kids need food and clothes and shoes, doctor visits, and . . . a decent place to live.”

When they bought the place, it needed a lot of work. Ezekiel spent what extra money they had to fix the place. But the more things in the neighborhood became unsettling the more unsettled he became. His uncle’s Georgia farm, where he lived after his father died suddenly, was a touchstone that kept coming back to mind.

Uncle Abrams raised grass-fed and pasture-raised beef, lamb, goat, and pork. During his time with his uncle, Ezekiel learned animal husbandry and the ways of the Lord. His uncle was a godly man. But a time came when Ezekiel felt he had to find his own way and be his own man. He saw the farm as restraint holding him back.

After his marriage to Tonya, he headed north to the south side of Chicago. There he opened a butcher shop that sold meats from a local packer and from his uncle’s farm. The enterprise was fairly successful, but also a struggle. Maintaining a decent price for the quality being offered hindered sales. His cousin John drove the Georgia meat up to Chicago once a week. John had to be paid.

And there were substantial losses at one point. Around Christmas last winter the store was broken into. The meats on display were taken. A police report was filed but no suspects arrested. Insurance covered the loss and then raised rates six months later. Ezekiel didn’t like putting window grating on his store windows – the cost and the eyesore -but he did what he had to do to maintain business.

Andre was asleep in his crib. Alana was carried to bed by her father. After a retelling of the Christmas story – the one about shepherds and the stable and of Joseph and Mary and the baby – four-year old Alana asked, “Did baby Jesus cry like baby Andre?”

“The story doesn’t say, Alana,” her father replied. “Babies don’t have words yet to say what they want like you and me. Baby Andre fusses and cries when he is hungry and uncomfortable.”

Alana thought for a moment. “I think baby Jesus cried. But then his mama fed him like mama feeds baby Andre.”

“I think you are right.” Dad gave Alana a kiss on the head and tucked the covers around her.

“I’ll leave the hall light on for you. Mom and I will be right here in the next room.”

Ezekiel and Tonya sat in their kitchen listening to the radio. A local station played Christmas carols. Ezekiel looked through the bills and Tonya her grocery list.

“Do you think your uncle will send us another roast for Christmas?” Tonya asked.

“Maybe. I don’t know Tonya.” Ezekiel replied

“Ask him. He’s a good man, a man of faith.” Tonya pushed.

“Yeah, he is a good man. I’m not so sure I’m a good man for taking off and leaving the way I did.”

“I thought you two had worked that out.”

“I worked out that I wanted to go my own way. And when I told my uncle he offered me my choice of acreage on the farm . . . “to build your own future” he said. Uncle Abrams had no problem offering me the better pastures. I guess he figured that God would keep blessing him. He often talked about following God’s leading. I’ve been thinking ‘bout that for a while now.”

“I’m sure he’d like to hear from you other than about another order,” Tonya urged. “Call him tomorrow.”

Ezekiel got up from his chair and headed to the front room window to check on the car. He looked out and saw the car. And some trouble heading his way.

There was a sudden frantic pounding on the front door. “What the . . .!”

Looking out onto the lighted porch he saw two terrified young men. When they saw Ezekiel, they screamed louder. Ezekiel opened the door.

“Help us mister! They’re coming!”

“Who is coming?” Ezekiel shouted through the storm door.

“Those men!” One of the boys pointed. “Let us in mister please!”

Ezekiel hesitated, not sure if it was a ruse. Then he saw four men running down the sidewalk towards the house. Something didn’t seem right. The boys were only wearing sweatshirts, sweat pants and dirty socks.

“Come in. Let me find out what this is all about.” Ezekiel opened the storm door and the two teenagers bounded in behind Ezekiel. Tonya grabbed some blankets from the hallway closet and handed them to the boys.

“What’s this all about?” Ezekiel looked at the boys and then at the approaching men.

The shorter boy started, speaking as fast as he could. “Those men took us off the street. They said they had plans for us.” He stopped to catch his breath. “We escaped the van when it got stuck in the snow . . . we saw you looking through the window . . .”

“What plans?”

The taller boy spoke. “Something about service jobs for me and him,” he pointed to the other boy chattering his teeth, “we’ve been friends for a while . . . we want nothing to do with them.”

“Where do you live?”

“Mister, we have no home. The street’s our home. These guys came up to us and said we could be warm and have food if we came with them. We thought it would be OK. One of them looked like he was a priest.”

“Go on,” Ezekiel pressed. But now the men were on the front porch. One of them was rattling the storm door by its handle.

“Where are those boys? Bring them out to us so that we can talk to them.”

Ezekiel opened the storm door and the men backed up. He came out and folded his arms. “I’ll do their talking. What do you want with them?”

A large bald man stood in front. Behind and to the left of him stood a squirrelly-looking man with a pockmarked face. He kept looking around. Next to him, on the other side of the bald man, stood a thin goateed man making a solemn look The other man who was out of view down on the sidewalk. The bald man spoke.

“Mister we just want to talk to them. We saw them on the street they looked like they needed shelter and food. We don’t know why they ran . . .  these two young boys need our help. We do this all the time – help homeless kids”

“I see. You need their help in a service industry?”

“We wanted to give them jobs . . . you know, . . . helping . . .  serving people.”

“I see. Well, these boys want no part of it.”

“Listen mister . . . “, the bald man growled and grabbed Ezekiel by his shirt to pull him away from the door.

At that moment Ezekiel thought he made out the face of his lawyer friend. “Ken . . . Ken! . . . is that you?”

The man on the sidewalk turned and walked away.

The large bald man began to pull harder on Ezekiel. “Listen mister . . . it’s none of your affair.” The two other men tried to open the storm door behind Ezekiel.

The two boys saw this and pulled Ezekiel inside. Ezekiel locked the door. Through the glass he shouted “My wife has called the neighbors. You better not come back here lookin’ for what ain’t yours!”

The men turned and saw porch lights turning on. Neighbors came out to see what was happening.

“Get back in your van and get the hell outta here! NOW!” Ezekiel eyes blazed.

The four men took off down the sidewalk, hiding their faces in their collars as they ran.

Ezekiel watched the van drive off. He stood there for a long time to reassure himself that it was gone.

Tonya had the boys settled at the kitchen table. While talking with the neighbors on the phone Tonya made hot cocoa and oatmeal for the boys. They still shook from the cold under the blankets and their eyes remained wide open.

One of the boys asked “You didn’t call the police?” Tonya stopped what she was doing and replied.

“Even if those four predators were caught and arrested, they would be released without bail. That’s how things go around here. Criminals run free and good people are supposed to put up with it.”

Ezekiel walked into the kitchen for a moment and then turned and walked down the hallway. He returned ten minutes later.

“I’ve made up some bedding for you two in the back room. You don’t go anywhere tonight.”

The boys looked at each other. “Thank you, . . . mister?”

“Ezekiel, and this is my wife, Tonya. In the morning you’ll meet our two little ones.”

****

Baby Andre made the first sound in the morning. His cries woke Tonya. She got him up and nursed him. A while later Alana came into the kitchen rubbing her eyes.

“Alana, we have two guests in our house. They slept overnight in the back room.”

“Who are they mama?”

“Two young men who needed some food and a place to sleep.”

“Were they crying?”

“No Alana. We knew what they needed. I’ll make you oatmeal.”

Ezekiel walked in the front door. He’d been out clearing off the car. Tonya handed him a cup of coffee.

Ezekiel spoke in hushed tones. “Those two . . .,” he nodded to the back room, “let them sleep in. I’ll bring home some extra ground beef for dinner. Find out their names”

That evening Ezekiel, Tonya, Alana, baby Andre, Booker and Darius sat around the table eating a casserole and potato salad. After a blessing they talked about the day. Alana, who couldn’t hold back, started.

She told her father about building a snowman with the two boys. Tonya had given the boys some of Ez’s old coats and gloves and shoes and socks to wear. The boys each said that they had never built a snowman. And though still somewhat pensive about everything, they began to open up.

Each boy talked about living in the projects and taking care of their mother. They talked about people coming around. They talked about their mothers becoming drug addicts. They talked about their baby sisters being taken away. And of not knowing who their father was. And then Booker and Darius stopped talking. Alana began asking questions. Tonya assured Alana that she would tell her what she needed to know later.

Baby Andre’s day, per Tonya, consisted of wide-eyed wonder and giggling when the boys played peek-a-boo with her. The boys helped keep baby Andre occupied while she did what she had to do.

Tonya’s unreported day consisted of changing diapers, laundry, fixing lunch, and neighbor phone calls. After last night, neighbors wanted to know if the Evans family was OK. One neighbor brought over a meal to find out. “This cornbread chicken bake comes from the James family next door,” was Tonya’s update.

After the meal Ezekiel read Psalm 34. Then he repeated these words:

This poor soul cried and was heard by the Lord
    and was saved from every trouble.
The angel of the Lord encamps
    around those who fear him and delivers them.

The next morning, Christmas morning, it wasn’t the aroma of a grits and sausage casserole warming in the oven that brought the boys to the kitchen. They had something they wanted to get out. They walked back and forth nervously. Ezekiel had them sit down at the table across from him and Tonya.

With a terrified look Darius blurted out “We had a dream, mister Ezekiel, ma’am.”

“We both did,” Booker interjected.

Darius continued. “We both saw very bad things heading this way. We both heard “Leave this place!”

“What do you think it means Ez?” Tonya asked.

Ezekiel began rubbing his forehead. “It means . . .  it means . . .  it means we better leave.”

“What?! But my brother and his family live here . . . we can’t just pick up and leave!”

“We will warn them to leave.” Ezekiel came back.

“Ha, good luck with that!” Tonya snapped. She got up and put her hands on her hips.

“Ezekiel, a dream? We’re gonna pick up and leave based on a dream?! What about the store?”

“Tonya, if that isn’t a warning, Ezekiel replied, “nothing is. And look what happened to these boys. That was no dream.”

©Jennifer Ann Johnson, Kingdom Venturers, 2022, All Rights Reserved