Disclaimer: There will be a little talk about religion, specifically Christianity, but only because of the plot of the story. It most definitely will NOT include hate and I will try to keep it to a minimum. If you think it might still offend you, please read something else because my intention isn't to anger anyone. It is truly more of a Halloween story.
Bible Study Crasher
by The Bard of New Mexico
feed the bard: silverdolphin12@hotmail.com
Bill pulled his old burnt-orange pickup truck to the curb and smiled slightly as he studied the one-story house. The steps leading up to the front porch were the same as he remembered and although the house's trim was still a traditional Southern “haint blue”, the paint job appeared freshly touched up. The porch itself was newer since the wood wasn't as weathered and worn as the porch swing's. He smiled again when he remembered sitting on that front porch swing with his teenage crush eating orange creamsicles on hot summer nights, and he could still hear the creaking of the chains that attached the seat to the A-frame support structure. His mother's rosebushes, happily still there and well cared for, scented those humid nights.
When he went to grab the cooler full of sodas he promised to bring, he caught sight of himself in the rearview mirror and frowned. Although his blue eyes still sparkled, there was significantly more gray in his red hair than there was just last year. Oh, well, he said to himself, guess that's another change.
His thoughts turned back to the inside of the house. He caught a glimpse of the living room since half of the velvety golden drapes in the front window were pushed aside. Seeing the dark wood wall paneling – that made the living room such a cozy place to watch football on TV on Sundays – invited other memories to his mind. There was a lamp, a recliner, and a bookshelf in one corner. He used to sit there and pretend that he was reading in an old British manor's library. He was glad nobody touched the charming old décor. Then, he wondered what else might've stayed the same....
He strolled up the front walk, still lost in his reminiscences. He climbed the four steps to the patio, opened the squeaky screen door, and knocked on the inside door that was painted the same haint blue as the house's trim. In a minute, a middle-aged lady in a flowery-print summer dress answered.
Hello, Mr. McIntosh. We've been expecting you. Please come in.
Thank you Mrs. Throckmorton. Just call me Bill.
Hattie,�the lady responded in kind. She led him past the living room and into the kitchen at the back where he could put the cooler of drinks. She ushered him back to the front of the house where a step led down into the living room. He remembered the yellow-gold carpeting that matched the drapes. It was more worn than it used to be due to the added years of foot traffic.
Bill found himself seated at the end of a new chocolate-colored leather sofa next to an elderly couple. Hattie introduced everybody.
“Ron and Betty Wheeler. This is Bill McIntosh. You remember, the new congregant at church?”
They both smiled pleasantly and welcomed him. For his part, Bill, to his embarrassment, saw that everyone else was dressed in their Sunday best while he was in a pair of khaki chinos, sneakers, and a red polo shirt. They displayed their good Southern manners and didn't comment.
“We're just waiting for a few more people before we start,” Hattie announced.
Bill anticipated that since it was Wednesday around noon, most of the Bible study/luncheon attendees would be retired people. He found he was right when a car with two more elderly couples pulled up. Again, everyone dressed in their Sunday best. Both men wore dark suits with white shirts and bolo ties, just like Mr. Wheeler. One of the two ladies wore a flowery summer dress like Mrs. Throckmorton while the other had a sun dress of a solid lavender color. Hattie introduced the first couple as Robert and Mary Becker. The roly-poly shaped woman in lavender was Maisie Ames while the tall gentleman with the long face, the hooked nose, and the shock of brown hair on his head was introduced as her husband, Abraham Ames. Everybody settled into chairs and the sofa arranged in a half circle facing Hattie's chair.
“Good!” Hattie exclaimed, speaking a bit louder for the elderly people who couldn't hear very well. “Now that we're all here, let's start, shall we?” The guests mumbled their assent. “Let me preface this by saying we can probably all agree that we're Christians and as such, believe that Jesus is the way from the darkness – evil – into the light – goodness.” Again, the group murmured in agreement. Hattie continued, “But in the world these days where it seems that hatred and darkness are spreading faster than it used to, we need to shed some of our own light into the darkness to keep it at bay.”
“Amen!” cried the guests.
Pssssssshhhhhhhhhttt!!!!
Mr. Wheeler looked around confusedly. He turned to Bill. “Did you say somethin', son?”
“No, sir.”
“Musta been my imagination.” He scratched his mostly-bald head.
Hattie continued, “So what values can we promote or what strategies can we use to shed our own light?”
“Show mercy,” Mr. Ames answered in his deep, solemn voice. Bill thought he could be typecast as an undertaker or preacher.
“Good. What else?” Hattie asked.
“Show compassion,” Mrs. Ames added.
“Be kind,” the Wheelers chimed in together.
“Give hope,” the Beckers also answered in unison.
Psssssshhhhhhhhhhttttttt!!! This time, Mr. Wheeler's nose wrinkled up and he sniffed the air.
“What's the matter, Ron?” Hattie asked.
“Pshew,” he complained. “It smells like a freshly-opened beer over here.” Good manners or not, the matter of alcohol at a Bible study demanded immediate investigation. Mr. Wheeler's sharp dark eyes scanned the room and found nothing. Again, he turned to Bill and asked gently, “It's okay, son.... Did you have one or two beers before coming over today?”
“I didn't and there are only sodas and bottles of water in the cooler I brought,” Bill replied just as gently although a complete stranger was accusing him of being drunk. The question didn't insult him because he was beginning to see what was going on.
When Hattie got up from her chintz-covered armchair and had a sniff at the air between Bill and Ron, her pert nose wrinkled and she replied, “I see what you mean, Ron.”
Ron gently asked her, “Do you have any beer in the house?”
Hattie huffed, “You know I don't tolerate any alcoholic spirits in my house!”
When Hattie said “alcoholic spirits”, Bill almost laughed.
“Well,” Hattie continued, “I don't know what to tell y'all. Maybe we should just get back at it for now.... Mercy, compassion, kindness, and hope are all good. Pearls – mercy, compassion, kindness, and hope – are valuable on their own, but what makes a really special treasure is something to string those pearls on to make a necklace. What would bind those pearls to make them into something priceless beyond compare?”
The burgundy-covered Gideon's Bible that Bill brought from his temporary hotel room flipped open on the coffee table. Pages flew by until they stopped somewhere near the last tenth of the book. As everyone gasped in astonishment, Bill leaned over and flashed his brightest smile when he saw 1 Corinthians 13 circled. He had his answer.
“Love.” He ran his thumb wonderingly over the Bible's cover when he picked it up to skim through chapter 13. “The first three verses talk about being able to speak in tongues, being able to prophesy, and even giving up all you have and sacrificing your body, but all might well be for nothing if you don't have love behind those acts. Then the next verses describe what love is and isn't, and ends with verse 13, which – get this – really hits the nail on the head: 'So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.'”
Hattie had a yellow legal pad full of notes and a black ink pen sitting on top of the coffee table. The pen stood up by itself and scribbled in the margin. Everyone except for Hattie and Bill gasped again and started rising from their seats.
Hattie read the note out loud, “Miss ... ya... Billy boy!”
“Same.” Bill aimed his response to the room in general, not being able to see where the mischief maker was.
Glug, glug, glug, gullllllllp!!!!! sounded close to Bill's ear. Then Pfffffffffffffffffftttttttttttttttt... Ffffffffff...Fffff...BRRRRRAAAAAAAAPPPP!!!!!!
“Gawddog, man!!!!!” Bill waved his hand furiously in front of his face as he yelled at the phantom gas passer. “I thought you would've been beyond 'physical concerns' by now!”
A soft chuckle erupted from a whispery voice. “Sorry,” it said without sounding truly apologetic.
Hattie abruptly stood up. When she did, a slant of early afternoon light streamed in through a window and appeared to set her red hair on fire, making her look like a lit match. Bill was afraid her temper would suddenly flare up like a lit match, too.
“What's going on here?!” Hattie demanded.
“I'm afraid you do have 'alcoholic spirits' in your house,” Bill replied calmly with just a hint of humor. Bill's leg jumped and he winced as he felt a hard kick in his right shin. “OKAY, okay! Maybe not quite 'alcoholic'.”
“Come again?”
Some of Bill's old Southern accent and phrasing slipped into his language, “Y'all know I moved back to town three weeks ago after having lived in the north for 30 years. College and whatnot. What you don't know is that I spent the first 25 years of my life in this house. And – I don't know if you've seen it, Mrs. Throckmorton – down the forest trail a piece is an old log cabin. There's where Mr. Bertram Johnson used to live. Old Man Johnson – “ Bill got another unseen kick in the shin “-- uh, Uncle Bert – was a bachelor without a family and so he spent a lot of his time with us. He really loved his beer. Come to think of it, I rarely saw him drunk.”
Hattie's face twisted in disgust at the topic of alcohol. “Well, what does that have to do with anything?”
“I appreciate, ma'am, that you might not like to have the topic of ghosts and spirits talked about in a Christian setting, but fact is, Uncle Bert died of a heart attack in this room when I was 16 and from then until I moved away, I've felt like he's still watching over me. You know. Popping in to say hi from time to time.”
“There are no such thing as ghosts!” Hattie huffed.
“I'm just saying what I believe might be going on here. I agree that you shouldn't mess with the spirit world because you don't know who or what you're dealing with, but you can't tell me you haven't had little things go missing or saw strange things once in a while that there's no logical explanation for.”
Hattie dropped her eyes when she knew she had to acknowledge he was right. Bill scanned the group and addressed them. “You witnessed what happened here. You can't deny your senses.”
When nobody said anything, Bill motioned for them all to sit back down. He grabbed his Bible off the coffee table.
“Today's Bible study topic is a happy coincidence. Uncle Bert wasn't much for going to church, but he did have a favorite Bible chapter. 1 Corinthians 13. He truly believed that you could have all the God-given talents in the world, but you and your efforts might as well be for nothing if you didn't have love behind your acts. He was always lending a hand or doing things for the people of this area. Once, when Dad was laid off, Uncle Bert bought pantry staples in bulk and brought them over. I think we would've starved without him. That's how tight things got. He didn't do it just because he chose us as his surrogate family. He did it because he was always giving hope to others and showing mercy, compassion, kindness, and especially love... essentially everything we talked about today. It's just as important to live by those principles as it is to read about them.”
Hattie expelled a breath. “Yes, well --”
Bill stood up. “I really must be going now. Thank you for the Bible study.” He looked around the room again. “And the good memories.”
Hattie shook his hand. “You sure you have to rush off?”
Bill smiled graciously as she led him to the front door. “Yes, ma'am. But it's been interesting.”
Hattie grinned good-naturedly. “That it has.”
Bill had one more friend to take leave of. “Bye for now, Uncle Bert. Behave yourself! Don't scare this lady or steal her stuff. Her shins are off limits, too! Leave the beer at 'home', and for Pete's sake... NO BURPING OR FLATULENCE!!!! You could kill a skunk at ten paces with your foul stench!”
One more whispery chuckle emanated from the room. “No promises.”