Category: Story

Find all the parts of this story here.

Legacy

Cecilia showed up at Gary’s farmhouse at 4:30 Friday evening, panicking about the short timeline. It wasn’t that she couldn’t make anything in an hour and a half, but rather that she had wanted to make something more special than she now could.

She brought with her a small army of tools and supplies that hadn’t previously resided in Gary’s kitchen: a small saucepan (did he only cook in bulk?), a knife sharpener (his knives likely hadn’t greeted one since before Cecilia was born), olive oil (he had the frighteningly unknown and unhealthy ‘vegetable oil’ bottle ubiquitous in 90’s kitchens), and baggies of spices and herbs (salt and pepper were the extent of his, and the tin of pre-ground black pepper looked nearly vintage). With these and the fresh ingredients she had picked up today, she felt she could make a decent meal.

Today she knew to set her own place at the table, so it wasn’t awkward when 6:00 rolled around and Gary and Ephraim tromped inside. There was a lack of greeting from Gary, and a repeat of yesterday’s ‘heya’ from Ephraim. Was this her new normal? Gary said a prayer when they had all sat down, the same one as yesterday as well. Definitely the norm here.

“If’n ya saw mah sign at church, ya musta bin there Sunday. I don’ recall seein’ ya,” Gary spoke after his first few bites of chicken in cream sauce.

“I- I was there,” she replied, confused and feeling oddly defensive. “It was my first time.”

“Ah,” Gary nodded sagely, as if she had explained some secret to the universe. She decided to focus on bites of asparagus salad.

“Did you just move to the area?” Ephraim took up the mantle of conversation, his voice surprisingly deep and rich for a young man with a slender body.

“Two weeks ago,” she replied, then quickly took another bite to discourage personal questions.

“Where are you from?” Ephraim did not get the hint. Sadly, Gary looked just as interested in the answer as Ephraim.

“Uh, Madison.” Maybe if she didn’t make eye contact they would stop?

“That’s a big change, Madison to a small town,” Ephraim commented.

“Hmmf,” Gary grunted. “‘s better here.”

Ephraim laughed out loud. “You’re biased, Gary,” he argued. “You’ve never lived anywhere else.”

“Nuthin’ better’n home ‘n the farm,” Gary said with a definitive nod.

Thank you, Gary, for taking over the conversation!

“You know I agree, Gary. I just like yanking your chain on occasion,” Ephraim smiled indulgently.

“Hmmf.”

“What made you choose New Albany?” Ephraim returned the conversation to Cecilia.

No! Why couldn’t he keep teasing Gary?

“Um…”

She wrinkled her forehead. Why had she come here? Certainly she hadn’t expected to make dinner for Gary and Ephraim. Nor was it the church, or the company she expected to keep.

Oh, yeah. Work.

“I got a job,” she spoke into the pained silence.

Ephraim raised an eyebrow, looking like he was about to call her bluff. She decided to go on the offense.

“The hours were better here than most places in Madison, with a lower cost of living. It’s more economical. Have you always lived here?”

There. Get them talking.

“Yup,” Ephraim replied, then grinned like he knew what she was up to. She just looked down at her plate and said no more.

“Boy…” Gary drawled in a warning tone.

Ephraim, the sass, laughed out loud. “Okay, okay,” he capitulated to another growl from Gary, palms up in defeat. “Sorry,” he muttered, then took a drink of water before continuing.

“Yes, I was born and raised here. My parents live in town. I’ve been working for Gary for – what, almost a decade now? Yeah, about that long. I think I started picking strawberries when I was 12,” Ephraim mused.

“Eatin’ more’n ya picked,” Gary said with a snort.

Ephraim laughed in agreement. “Yeah, but you didn’t mind.”

“Hmmf,” was all Gary would say. Still, Cecilia noticed he didn’t seem upset. There was definitely a special place in crusty Gary Brunn’s heart for his apprentice.

“How long have you had the farm, Mr. Brunn?” Cecilia prompted, hoping to keep them talking.

“Yer kin call me Gary, ya know.” He gave her the side eye, so she nodded in acknowledgement. “This were mah dad’s farm, and muh grand-dad’s afore him. ‘snuf to live on and summat to help ’round town ‘casionally. None ‘o my kids wanted it, an’ they moved so fer ‘way my grandkids don’t know th’ place.”

“What will happen when you, uh, can’t work anymore?” Cecilia asked.

“Ephraim kin have it, if’n he wants,” Gary shrugged as if it didn’t matter.

“But… ” her brow furrowed. “Why didn’t your kids want the farm? It’s their legacy.”

Gary snorted. “Legacy don’t matter to these mod’rn kids.”

Brow furrowed, Cecilia only voiced her disagreement to herself. Maybe not to some kids, but to others, having a legacy as beautiful as this farm might have made all the difference in the world.

Find all the parts of this story here.

Dinner

She plated the pork chops just as the old man entered the kitchen, Ephraim on his heels. What kind of name was Ephraim, anyways?

“I’m Gary Brunn,” the old man stuck out a hand, fingers bent with arthritis, age, work, or all three.

“Pleasure to meet you, sir. I’m Cecilia Chatsworth,” she replied, not knowing if that’s what he wanted.

“Glad ya made yerself at home. What’s fer dinner?” Gary continued, turning towards the table.

She decided simple was better. “Pork chops, mashed potatoes, green beans, fresh rolls, and a salad.” She pointed to each dish as she spoke. She noticed Gary and Ephraim stood behind their places at the table as though waiting for something.

“Where’s yer plate?” Gary barked. Ah, that’s what they waited for.

“Uh, I didn’t think…” She hesitated. Gary just stared at her with piercing blue eyes, no less sharp for the many years they had seen. She swallowed. “I’m cooking for you, sir,” she finally stumbled.

“And ya don’t need yer own supper?” Gary raised an eyebrow, shaking his head. “If’n yer got ‘nuff, bring yer plate.” With a sharp nod, he and Ephraim sat down, but didn’t reach for any of the food. Not knowing what else to do, Cecilia tried to move quickly in fetching herself a plate, silverware, and a glass of water. Unfortunately she and speedy weren’t friends, and the silverware hit the floor instead of the table.

Ephraim jumped to his feet and picked it up before she could finish setting her glass down.

“Thanks,” she mumbled as she accepted the fork and knife.

“You’re welcome,” he said with yet another smile. Goodness, what did the man have to be so happy about? Or was he just laughing at her?

When she had seated herself, Gary folded his hands and placed them against the edge of the table in front of his plate. Ephraim followed suit, so she figured she should probably do the same.

“Bless us and these thy gifts which we r’ceive from thuh bount’ful goodness, thru Jesus Christ er Lord. A-men,” Gary intoned, Ephraim joining him on the emphatically two-syllabled ‘amen’.

Not knowing what else to do, Cecilia quietly chimed in with her own Amen when they were done. She tried to replay what Gary had said, but the words got lost in her brain. Clearly this was normal here, though, as Ephraim moved right onto dishing up food.

She accepted the various dishes as they were passed around, from Ephraim to her to Gary. She felt bad taking food before it had reached Gary. It was for him, after all. But he didn’t seem to mind, and in fact several times encouraged Ephraim to pick up a dish first. Funny how two men followed such proper table manners, passing dishes clockwise and always using the serving utensils. She had the odd feeling that if she had put out cloth napkins, they would have spread them in their laps.

“Didja find what ya needed?” Gary asked when his plate was full of everything but the green beans.

“Yes, thank you,” Cecilia replied politely. Gary eyed her, but said no more, diving into his mashed potatoes.

“Cecilia, this is heavenly,” Ephraim gushed after barely chewing a bite of his pork.

“Gary, I vote she stays, if I get a vote.” Then he winked at her. She felt herself blushing and forced her attention down to her plate, carefully cutting a green bean.

“Hmmf,” Gary grunted, continuing to eat. Okay, apparently he wasn’t ready to make a decision. Cecilia could live with that.

Ephraim started talking to Gary about some piece of equipment that wasn’t working right, and Cecilia quickly tuned out their discussion of parts and welding and heaven only knows what else. The pork had turned out quite well, plenty moist and not too chewy. The herbed butter gave it a good flavor. The mashed potatoes were fluffy and not too salty. The beans were good, but apparently off the menu for Gary Brunn. And the rolls hadn’t risen quite as much as she wanted them to, but still enough to be passable. She could do better next time.

“Cecilia?” Gary’s gravelly voice interrupted her wandering thoughts.

“Sorry, sir. Yes?” she replied.

“I’d like ter hire ya. Three nights a week okay fer ya?”

Yes! Yes! Yes! “Yes, sir. Do you have a preference for which nights? I currently work late on Wednesdays, but could adjust that if needed.”

“Where d’ya work?”

“Sunrise Salon and Spa on the south end of town. I’m an esthetician,” Cecilia replied by rote.

“Esthe-what? Ya put people out?”

“Oh, no, that’s an anesthesiologist,” she corrected. “I help people with skincare.”

“Hmmf,” Gary replied. “I dun’t mind which nights, long as ya spread ‘em out ‘nuf.”

“All right. Would you like one to be a weekend?”

“Ev’rybody needs a break. Yer should have ‘un, too.”

Did that mean yes or no? She opted for the ‘spread them out’ focus. “Um, okay. How about Monday, Thursday, and Saturday?”

Gary shook his head. “How ’bout Friday ‘stead of Sat’rday?”

“All right.”

“Good,” Gary replied with a nod. “I’ll pay by check ev’ry Friday. Okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

With a final nod from Gary, that seemed to be the end of the discussion. Cecilia peeked at Ephraim, who continued to eat while watching the exchange. He had taken seconds of almost everything, which pleased Cecilia. Gary had taken seconds of potatoes, too, and surprisingly, salad.

With little said, they finished their meals. Cecilia started in on the dishes, shocked when Gary told Ephraim to go help her.

“You don’t have to,” she objected. “Haven’t you worked all day?”

“Sure, but I’m guessing you have, too,” he replied with a shrug. “Drying dishes never hurt anybody.”

So Cecilia washed, Ephraim dried, and Gary wiped the table and swept the floor. Never had Cecilia experienced such a thing, and she didn’t know what to make of it.

Find all the parts of this story here.

Cooking

Thursday was better. Cecilia had four clients, and one of them bought a whole bag of products, giving Cecilia a nice little boost in her commission. She changed her clothes promptly at 3, then left the spa and headed straight for the grocery store.

There were three grocery stores in New Albany: the outrageous organic one she would likely never visit, the big store from a small midwestern chain with slightly higher prices, and the small store from a big chain with slightly lower prices. She always went to the small store. They had everything she needed, and she’d never been a fancy cook. Even in Madison where she had access to all kinds of specialty stores, she had stuck with what she knew and could easily afford.

She started at the meat counter, quickly selecting a pork loin that she had the butcher cut down to a reasonable size. It would easily feed four men, and she assumed the farmer wanted leftovers.

Next, she visited the produce section. Green beans and bell peppers called her name. She could sauté or roast them to great appeal. She also found fresh herbs for the herbed butter, and fresh garlic for the potatoes. She chose Russets for the mashed potatoes, since they were the fluffiest (in her opinion). Then she grabbed a selection of salad fixings, hoping the farmer would have ingredients for a dressing. He had to have some kind of oil, right?

She rounded out her visit with the dairy aisle for butter, sour cream, and cheddar cheese to make the mashed potatoes truly delectable. As a bonus, she could use sour cream as a creamy salad dressing base if he didn’t have oil.

Her eyes bugged out a little at the total. She spent that much on 3-4 days worth of groceries for herself! But she had to remind herself that she was feeding hardworking farmers. They would appreciate a hearty meal.

Driving out to the address Mr. Brunn had given was so pleasant, she almost missed the turn. A long gravel driveway brought her up to a 2-story farmhouse that could have used a little love. Sure, the structure was in fine condition, the white paint pristine and bright. But it needed flowers in the garden beds, the yard needed mowing and weeding, and the scraggly corner bushes needed to be pruned. The front porch begged for some seating, maybe even a swing.

Cecilia reminded herself it wasn’t her house to make a home, then climbed the porch steps to knock on the front door. She knocked again when there was no answer after a minute or two. Still more time passed with nary a sound or response. A glance at her phone told her she was down to exactly 1 hour and 57 minutes before she needed to have dinner on the table.

Should she walk in the house? Try to find Mr. Brunn? She presumed he was still out working. Ugh, she should have figured this out on the phone with him.

She took a stroll around the house, leaving the bags of groceries on the porch. She rather hoped she’d find someone, but the only living things between her and the barn were a scruffy old dog and a handful of bugs and birds. The dog didn’t even move when she rounded the corner of the house. She had to stare at him to make sure he was still breathing.

“Here goes nothing,” she muttered to herself, before cupping her hands around the sides of her mouth.

“Mr. Brunn!” She shouted. “It’s Cecilia to make your dinner!”

“Let yerself in, girlie!” Came a yelled version of the gruff, old voice she had heard on the phone. Then a young man’s laughter followed. She couldn’t see them, so presumably they were behind the barn.

Ah, well. She’d do as he said.

Just inside the front door, a big rug to the side told her she should probably remove her shoes. She left her tennies on the plain rug, then meandered down the hall. The house was built in a shotgun style, with rooms branching left and right off a central hallway leading from the front door straight through to the back. She found the kitchen behind the last door on the left.

Oh, what a kitchen! Afternoon sunshine pummeled gently worn oak cabinetry until it fairly glowed. A simple white laminate countertop was scrubbed clean. Not a single ornament cluttered the counter. The stove – an older coil-burner model – had a canister of utensils where she might have placed a spoon rest.

Set inside the short end of the L-shaped cabinets was the most beautiful old farm table Cecilia had ever seen. The simple rectangle had a slit down the middle, probably for an extension. Four chairs filled in on two sides. The wood was scratched, dented, scarred from hot pots and pans, and stained in a few places, and Cecilia imagined the wood was whispering its stories of life, love, and loss.

How many family dinners had been eaten around this table? Had Mr. Brunn once had a family? Did he teach his children how to read here? Or was he a bachelor? Had he ever brought a lady here on a date? She longed to know the secrets the table held.

First things first, she had a job audition to get to. She dug through the cabinets and found pots and pans near the stove, cutting boards and knives near the sink, and dishes at the far end. Mixing bowls lived above the pots and pans. She had brought her own cast iron, knowing how it worked. She wasn’t prepared for the coil stove, though, and had to spend a little time on her phone’s very slow internet to ensure she could safely use the pan.

Then she set to work preparing the pork chops, boiling the potatoes, and baking the rolls. When she had a lull in her workflow, she washed up the dishes she had used so far – no dishwasher, unfortunately – and set the table for two. By 5:55, the side dishes were on the table, and the pork chops rested under a tent of foil.

At the sound of footsteps in the hallway, she turned toward the door. Her first glimpse of Mr. Brunn was the back of a head of shaggy white hair, in need of both washing and trimming. Broad shoulders rounded forward underneath a short-sleeved plaid cotton shirt, untucked from baggy jeans. He disappeared down the hallway, probably into the bathroom Cecilia had noticed in her brief self-guided tour.

Behind the white-haired man came a young man, probably only a little older than herself. He had what she used to call dirty blond hair, before she started working with Emory and was corrected. He had neatly trimmed dark blond hair, very tan skin, and a big, white-toothed, friendly smile.

“Hiya,” he greeted, hands stuffed in his pockets. “I’d shake your hand, but…” Letting the comment trail off, he showed her dirt-caked hands and fingernails. Not knowing what to say, she just gave a tight smile and nodded.

“I’m Ephraim,” he said. “You’re Cecilia, right?”

“Yeah,” she replied. Genius, Cici.

“We’ll wash up and be right there,” the young man smiled again, then moved down the hall.

Well, then. Here we go.

Find all the parts of this story here.

Gary

Later that week, Cecilia stared at the picture of the flier. It had been slow at work. She made a low wage only when she had clients. The receptionist took pity on her and generally tried to schedule her clients close together, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped. Today, she’d had a 9:00 facial and a 2:30 consultation. That’s it. Her bank account was screaming for help.

She re-read the details of the ad.

Wanted: cook to make three dinners per week for old farmer and his hand. You choose the nights. Will pay for groceries plus $50/dinner. Contact Gary Brunn.

The ad ended with a phone number. She wondered if Gary was the old farmer. And had he really described himself as old? What a funny man.

Cecilia pondered if she could really do this. She absolutely loved cooking. Making dinner for Caleb had been one of the best parts of their short years. In the last 6 months, however, she had become an expert pot pie-microwaver. She hadn’t pulled out her pots and pans in so long, and yet, she had oh-so-carefully packed her favorite cast iron skillet and brought it with her. It was, after her ring, the best gift Caleb had given her.

Yes, she could cook for an old farmer and his hand. Farm hand, she assumed. Would he be old, too? Or just a kid, with a huge appetite? Either way, working on a farm was a lot of physical labor. She might love making appealing vegetables the most, but she would almost bet her skillet these farmers would be meat-and-potatoes men. Well, potatoes were basically a vegetable, so it would be fine.

After dithering for way too long, at 7:30 she dialed the number on the ad.

“‘Lo?” a gruff voice responded.

“I’m calling about the ad for a cook,” Cecilia spoke, definitely too quickly. When the man didn’t say anything right away, she tacked on, “At Bethel.”

“Who’s this?” the man asked.

“My name is Cecilia Chatsworth,” she introduced herself.

“Hmmf,” the man grunted. “Never heard o’ ya.”

“I just moved to New Albany two weeks ago,” she explained.

“And ya go to Bethel?”

How to thread that needle? She still wasn’t sure. “I did last week,” was the most honest thing she could say.

Honestly, though? She could really use an extra $150 a week.

“Hmmf,” was all he said. This time, she let him think. She had no clue what to make of him, and began idly wondering what he looked like. She pictured a short man wearing denim overalls and a faded plaid shirt, squinting over reading glasses while complaining about the font size of his book.

“And yer can cook?” he prompted after a minute.

“Yes, sir,” she replied simply. Then a thought occurred to her. “I could show you, if you like. A trial run.”

“Huh. An audition, ya think?”

“Yes, like an audition.”

“What night?” he barked.

“I’m free tomorrow evening.”

“Kin yer have dinner ready at 6?”

“I can.”

“Hmmf. Save yer receipt from anythin’ ya buy.”

“Yes, sir.”

The man gave his address and was about to hang up.

“Sir?”

“Hmmf?”

“Are you the Gary Brunn from the ad? The farmer?”

“Who else would I be, girlie?” the old voice rasped, then promptly hung up.

Cecilia chuckled as she set down her phone. Gary Brunn was a force to be reckoned with, and she looked forward to getting to know the man who went with that distinct voice. Had she seen him on Sunday? Perhaps, but then again, she barely remembered anyone besides Sam, Sophie, and Sam’s pushy mother.

Now she could turn her thoughts to the infinitely more pleasant topic of what to cook tomorrow night for dinner. She wanted him to be pleasantly surprised without setting the bar so high she wouldn’t be able to sustain it if he were to offer her the job. Even though he told her to bring a receipt, she also didn’t want to break his bank.

Come to think of it, $50 to cook dinner seemed like an awful lot. She could cook many dishes in under two hours, which would mean being paid $25/hour. That was a lot of money for something that seemed pretty simple to her. But maybe it was worth it to Gary Brunn.

She grabbed a scrap of paper and wrote out a short menu of pork with herbed butter (she’d get whatever cut looked best or was on sale, depending on what the store had), garlic mashed potatoes, some roasted vegetable (again, dependent on the store’s offerings – it just needed to be fresh), a salad, and dinner rolls. She could do all that in a few hours.

Did Gary have a sweet tooth? She wasn’t that much of a dessert baker. She’d tried a few things, but they never looked or tasted like she wanted them to. Should she pick up something store bought? No, Gary could buy his own desserts if he wanted store bought. She’d either bake or do nothing.

In sticking with her thought of not setting the bar too high, she figured the potentially fancy-ish dinner was enough. No dessert. She wouldn’t put herself through that much stress when this was just a trial run.

And with any luck, come next week she’d have a second job, filling out that sad-looking bank balance into something perfectly respectable and non-anxiety-inducing.

Find all the parts of this story here.

Friends

When the service concluded, Cecilia glanced around, expecting to see people get up and start talking. The talking part they did, but not the getting up. Instead, the man who had given her the bulletin walked to the front of the church and began gesturing to people, who got up one bench at a time. Since she was more than halfway towards the back, she had a while to wait.

While she waited, to her surprise and maybe a little horror, the young couple in front of her turned around to say good morning. The older couple sitting next to them also turned around, and Cecilia felt the weight of eight eyes boring into hers. A blush crept up her cheeks.

“Good morning. My name is Sam,” the young man introduced himself, twisting to extend his hand over the back of the bench.

“Um, hi. I’m Cecilia,” she replied, shaking his hand a little awkwardly. Then the young woman extended her hand, and Cecilia felt obligated to shake hers, too.

“I’m Sophie. Are you new here?” the woman asked.

Here as in this church? New Albany? Ugh, Cecilia hated even these basic social interactions. She never knew what to say.

“Uh, yeah,” she muttered. Brilliant, Cici, she chided herself.

“Well, welcome,” Sophie replied, seemingly unbothered by Cecilia’s lack of social grace. “I just moved to Williamson – that’s the next town over – a year ago. I still feel pretty new to the area. And I attended a different church at the beginning, too. I just transferred my membership to Bethel a few months ago. So I totally get being new! It’s a lot.”

What was she supposed to say back? The older woman sitting with Sam and Sophie spared Cecilia from having to figure it out.

“Hi, Cecilia. I’m Laurie Harrison, and this is my husband, Dan. We’re Sam’s parents. Welcome to New Albany! Do you live nearby?”

More awkward handshakes.

“I have an apartment a few miles away,” she finally answered Laurie. It was Laurie, right?

“Oh, one of those lovely new ones on the south end of town?” Laurie practically bounced in her seat.

“Time to go, Laurie,” Dan spoke quietly at his wife’s side, rising and following the directions of the man showing people down the aisle.

“Come to lunch?” Laurie asked as she scooted out of the seat, Sam and Sophie following.

“I can’t today, but thank you,” Cecilia replied automatically.

“Oh, dear. Well, I hope we see you next week!” Laurie called over her shoulder. Cecilia just nodded and watched the four of them walk away.

She could have gone to lunch, and a niggle in her brain made her wonder why she said no. It was habit at this point. She had so often said no when she was single. Really, Caleb was her courage. And since he was gone, she was back to her own devices. In the last 6 months, she had said no to everyone and everything. It was just easier.

As she followed Sophie and Sam out of the church, Sophie turned around to talk to her again.

“I hope you’ll come back next week so we can see you again,” the slender young woman said. She had blond hair and sweet, gentle eyes. Out of habit, Cecilia also noticed that her skin was a little dry, like she was recovering from a sunburn.

“I don’t know,” she answered as honestly as she could. She didn’t really want to come back; it was incredibly overwhelming.

Sophie’s brow furrowed, as if she saw more than Cecilia wanted to share.

“Is the traditional church setting unfamiliar to you?” she asked gracefully.

Grateful for the out, Cecilia nodded. “My previous church was very different.”

“I get that. I grew up in a church much like this one, and when I moved to Williamson, I attended a contemporary-styled church there. It was a foreign world to me. Instruments, pastor in jeans, music on a screen – I didn’t grow up with any of that. I’m guessing you’re the opposite?”

“Something like that…” Cecilia hedged. She didn’t know these people well enough to share details.

“If it would help you feel more comfortable, I’d be happy go over the service with you sometime. Or you could sit with us,” Sophie offered. “No pressure, though.”

“Oh. Uh, thanks. I’ll… I’ll let you know,” Cecilia stuttered.

“No problem,” Sophie reassured. “I just don’t want you to feel like you don’t have a place here just because it’s unfamiliar.”

Though she didn’t understand why, that made tears burn the corners of Cecilia’s eyes. She swallowed and pasted on a smile she didn’t feel.

“Thanks.”

“I hope we’ll see you around, Cecilia,” Sophie finished with another handshake. Sam shook her hand and smiled, too, and then they moved along.

She managed to get to the entryway without being bothered by anyone else. Once there, a bulletin board caught her attention, and she stepped over to read the various announcements. VBS was next week – and what was VBS? Someone was offering lawn-mowing services. And in the corner, a simple white paper with Times New Roman black text requested someone to cook dinner three nights a week for Gary Brunn and his farmhand.

Intrigued, Cecilia took a picture of the ad with her phone, then slipped out the doors before anyone else could accost her. The second she pulled her car out of the parking lot, she let loose the tears that had been begging for release for the past hour.

Bethel was so overwhelming. Did she really belong with such nice people in their sweet little church? She didn’t know how to be like them.

Find all the parts of this story here.

Church

The big white church on First Street was just as easy to find as Pauline Johnson had suggested. It looked so quaint and old-fashioned – so very unlike the funky brick building that housed the church she had attended in Madison. The steeple rose above the rooftops of pretty houses on two sides, with a small parking lot beside it, as well. Cecilia parked her car towards the back at 8:47 Sunday morning, then followed the small stream of people making their way toward the front doors. Wide steps welcomed her up, only to be met by a dim entryway where she couldn’t make out the details of people or space.

“Good morning!” a friendly male voice greeted. A piece of paper appeared in a set of hands right in front of her. Not knowing what else to do, she accepted the paper and returned the greeting.

“First time here?” the man asked. Now she could make out that he was about 40, dressed in slacks, a button-down, and a tie, and ornamented by a shy toddler clinging to one leg.

“Yes,” she replied, trying to step away from the flow of people who seemed to know where they were going.

“Well, welcome to Bethel. Sanctuary’s straight through. Restrooms are to the right-” he pointed first to her right, then to her left, “and Bible class is in the fellowship hall after church. Coffee’s decent, too.” His smile was warm, open, and friendly. Her mind was reeling from all the words he had used. Sanctuary? Was there a lack of safety somewhere that people needed a safe haven? And what was a fellowship hall? Was this some kind of cult?

“Um, thanks,” she stammered, looking for a good escape route. Was there another means of exiting this building besides the front doors? She couldn’t very well leave the way all these people were entering. But this was nothing like her old church.
She suddenly noticed that everyone around her was dressed like the man who greeted her. Women wore skirts, dresses, or dress slacks. Some of the men even wore suits. She glanced down at her jeans – the nicest she owned, but still, jeans – and plain white t-shirt. She had made sure she was clean and presentable. She didn’t even own dress pants, and her black scrubs would hardly qualify.

Were people staring at her? She looked around and noticed a few curious looks, but no one approached. Maybe that was just as well. What would she say? ‘Y’all are freaking me out’ wouldn’t go over well.

When in Rome? Probably a better solution. Okay. Since everyone was walking into the church, she would too. She followed a young couple through the doors on the left, then slid into a seat just behind them. The seats were long wooden benches, not the cushioned chairs she was used to in church. She set her handbag on the seat next to her, then looked at the paper the man in the entryway had given her.

The front had a picture of Jesus holding a lamb. It was such a sweet and wholesome picture that it tugged at her heartstrings. She had once owned a small stuffed lamb, one of few little toys that warmed her childhood years. She had uncreatively named the creature “Lamby” and lugged it everywhere her mother allowed.

Inside was a very basic outline, listing songs with numbers after them, Bible passages, and some other church things she recognized like prayers and a creed.
Looking around the church, Cecilia realized there were no big display screens. How would people know what to sing? She watched the young couple in front of her for clues. The man pulled a book from in front of him. Watching over his shoulder, Cecilia saw him turn pages until the big number in the top corner matched the number after the first song name on the paper.

The shelf built into the back of the bench held Bibles and another book that was red with a funny-looking symbol like the letter “P” on the front. The red one is what the man in front of her had found the song in, so Cecilia followed his lead. She had another problem, though: she couldn’t read music. Maybe just reading the words would be enough.

All around her, people greeted each other and spoke quietly. No one addressed Cecilia, and she was just fine with that. She watched a man in a long white robe walk up the aisle as the church bell rang. She was pretty sure it was a real bell, even.

“Good morning!” the man in the robe greeted everyone. He was a little rotund, with distinguished gray hair and little wrinkles by his eyes that said he smiled a lot. He was the kind of man you immediately liked and weren’t even sure why.

The people around her said good morning back, as though in kindergarten again. Maybe this was where Pauline Johnson got her stern voice and old-fashioned expectations. Speaking of…

There she sat, on the opposite side of the church and a few rows up. Cecilia rather expected the woman to talk to her, so she assumed Pauline hadn’t seen her yet. Hopefully she was happy with the results of her facial.

“Today we’re celebrating Good Shepherd Sunday, an opportunity to remember Jesus as our shepherd and our sacrificial lamb. We’ll begin our worship with that beloved hymn, ‘I am Jesus’ Little Lamb’,” the man continued, then moved to sit in a big throne-like chair at the front of church.

Cecilia listened to the music – was that an organ? – and the people start singing, but she was sure she had never heard this song before. It sounded quaint and sweet, much like the building and the people in it. She felt like she should be wearing a hat and lace gloves, not jeans and a t-shirt.

It was so hard to concentrate on the service when virtually everything was brand new. The language of the Bible readings sounded different, the sermon was given from behind a built-in podium, and the pastor was much more subdued, not moving around the front of church emphatically. He talked about Jesus being the shepherd of Christians, in a lot of words that were honestly kind of confusing.

Cecilia’s mind wandered a lot, wondering what people around her were thinking. How long had they been coming here? Had everything once seemed as strange and new to them as it did to her? Or had some of them been coming here since they were babies? How would she ever learn?

And what did they think of a stranger in jeans?

Find all the parts of this story here.

Work

“Happy Birthday, Ms. Johnson!” the bubbly receptionist greeted a client. Cecilia Chatsworth was impressed; not only was Lena eternally cheerful, she recognized returning clients after just one visit and somehow managed to know useful things like birthdays. Cecilia would be lucky to learn the woman’s name by the end of her visit, and that was only if Cecilia was the one helping the client today.

“Why, thank you, Lena,” Ms. Johnson replied, her disembodied voice reminding Cecilia of an old schoolmarm. Firm, clear, used to having people follow her directions, Cecilia pictured a tall, thin woman with skin stretched taut across her sharp cheekbones from a too-tight bun in her gray hair. She quickly finished resetting the trays of products and supplies on her side table and waited to see if this was her next client.

“Cecilia is ready to see you, Ms. Johnson. Follow me.” Lena glided down the hallway and extended a bronzed arm through the doorway to the room that had been assigned to Cecilia. Lena performed quick introductions, then disappeared with a quiet click of the door.

“Lovely to meet you, Pauline,” Cecilia put on her best manners. “There is a spot for bags and shoes in the corner.” She gestured to the decorative coat rack, where Pauline sat to remove her shoes.

Cecilia’s guess had been about half accurate. Pauline Johnson was older, but not gray haired. She was tall, although it was easy for anyone to be taller than 5’2″ Cecilia. She was not rail-thin, but had even proportions and a very healthy-looking figure. She was wearing a skirt suit like it was 1940, but lacked the tight bun. Pretty brown hair fell in waves just past her shoulders. Cecilia did note some broken ends, and wondered if Pauline was receiving multiple services today as a birthday treat. Emory was a pro with wavy hair. She’d try to find out if Pauline had a haircut planned and make the recommendation.

“What are you hoping we can focus on today?” Cecilia began the interview as Pauline sat on the massage table that served Cecilia’s uses perfectly.

“Well, my skin has felt quite dry this summer. Usually that only happens to me in the winter,” Pauline spoke in that strict voice. She brushed her fingertips over her cheeks as she spoke.

“Hmm,” Cecilia murmured, noting a red tone on her face that didn’t appear on her hands. “Have you spent time outside this summer?”

“My garden has not been doing well in the heat, so it requires extra tending. I wear sunscreen every day, though,” Pauline replied with a sniff. Cecilia had to fight the urge to bow her head. You know what you’re doing, she reminded herself.

“I’m very glad to hear that. Sun damage can be quite serious. What SPF do you choose?”

“Always 50. It’s what my mother told me.” Oh, that imperious tone was going to be the death of Cecilia before the end of this visit.

“That should be sufficient for this climate. I’m noting a redness in your cheeks and forehead. Dry skin can also be caused by the wind, which sunscreen wouldn’t combat. What moisturizer do you use?”

She walked through every step of Pauline’s skincare routine, which didn’t even include moisturizer. She expected the sunscreen to do the trick, but the brand she used wasn’t designed to provide moisture. Those sport sunscreens dried out some people’s skin terribly.

In short order, they had agreed upon a gentle but effective moisturizing mask, and Cecilia was massaging Pauline’s poor dry skin. Both women were quiet, enjoying soothing low-toned flute music with some occasional bird calls and wind chimes. Cecilia liked to imagine a garden somewhere, full of well-tended green plants and colorful flowers, and maybe a little babbling brook. She’d love to learn to garden – someday. Along with all of her other somedays.

When she had finished with the mask, she made several product recommendations. She felt squeamish suggesting things people didn’t need, so she only talked about her two favorite summer moisturizers that would work well with Pauline’s dry, aging skin. Pauline agreed to try one of them, then suddenly got a gleam in her eye that made Cecilia a little nervous.

“You’re new to the area, yes?”

“I am,” Cecilia replied warily.

“Where do you go to church? I haven’t seen you at Bethel yet.” Pauline’s stare was clear, direct, and quite matter-of-fact. Cecilia couldn’t help but feel like a little schoolgirl in trouble with the teacher.

“I, uh, haven’t committed to one yet,” she flubbed. “I just moved here a week ago.”

That part was honest, at least. Well, it wasn’t really a lie that she hadn’t committed. She hadn’t attended any churches the one Sunday she’d been in New Albany, so there was nothing to commit to.

“Bethel is the large white church on First Street, across the river thataway,” Pauline gestured northwest of the spa. That made sense, from the little Cecilia had seen. The spa was in the growing southern part of town. The spaces nearest the river were the oldest.

“I see,” she murmured, since Pauline appeared to be waiting for a response. Appeased, the older woman continued.

“Sunday service is at 9:00. I hope to see you there.” But Pauline’s firm expression communicated something more along the lines of expectation than hope.

“Me, too,” was all that would come out of Cecilia’s mouth. The whole exchange flabbergasted her.

“Now, if you’ll point me towards Emory, I’ll get these split ends you’ve been eyeing taken care of,” Pauline said with a lift of her chin and a little sniff.

Oh, good grief! The woman was impossible.

“Yes, ma’am, she’s right this way.”

Tomorrow we’ll start a new story titled “Come Home”. No mystery or intrigue this time; just normal humans doing normal human things. 🙂 We’re staying in beautiful New Albany, joining a crusty old farmer and learning his calm and steady way of life. Sam and Sophie will make a little appearance, too. I hope you enjoy meeting some new friends with me!