The Pastor's Wife Wears Biker Boots (21 page)

Aaron rolled his eyes and took Timmy back inside for another treat.

“I wonder if there are wedding bells in the air.” Reba laughed.

“It would be awesome to have a Harley wedding.”
I sipped on my limeade and entertained visions of Opal’s wedding shower: Pink Harleys and cupcakes.

“I can hear Norman and Bernice now.” Lily laughed.

I felt my skin crawl. For a few blissful moments, I had forgotten all about the church and Norman and Bernice. I caught Reba staring at my face.

“Gee, Kirstie, you look like you just bled out. Are you OK?”

“I’m fine.” I waved her off with my hand. “I just realized that for a while there, I wasn’t thinking about church stuff.”

Reba gave me a shoulder hug. “Well, how about another surprise? I’ve talked it over with Trace, and we’re coming to church in the morning.”

“Seriously?”

“Serious as a heart attack.”

Lily and I squealed. I think our rejoicing made the red hat ladies a wee bit jealous that they weren’t in on the surprise.

****

As soon as Aaron and I arrived home, we gave a few of the church leaders a heads up about what would be rolling into town. It’s a good thing we did. Within thirty minutes, our yard and the churchyard looked like a mini Woodstock campground.

“Mom! Did you see the yard? There are tents everywhere!” Patrick acted more excited than I’d seen him in weeks.

“Can we camp outside, too, Mom?” Daniel
stood in front of me with his sleeping bag.

“Sure. Why not?”

The boys cheered and Timmy joined in.

“Camp! C-a-m-p, Camp!”

“No, Timmy, not you.” Patrick ran down the stairs with a sleeping bag and flashlight.

“Timmy camp, c-a-m-p, camp.” Timmy flicked his fingers in front of his face.

“Mom! Tell Timmy he can’t camp with us. He’ll ruin everything.” Patrick
threw down his sleeping bag and rerolled it.

I was growing weary of Patrick’s rejection of Timmy. “How will he ruin it? The family tent is big enough for all of you.”

“We don’t want to set that one up, we want the pup tents.” Patrick crossed his arms.

“It’s OK, Patrick. Timmy can stay with Mom and Dad and me in the big tent.”
Daniel, ever the peacekeeper, went to Timmy and patted him on the back.

Aaron and I looked at one another. Daniel often accommodated his brothers’ issues, and Aaron and I both realized we depended on his diplomacy far too often. It made survival with autism easier, but it wasn’t fair.

“No. You boys sleep in your pup tents. Mom and I will sleep in the big tent with Timmy.”
Aaron tussled Daniel’s hair.

“But don’t you gotta preach in the morning, Dad?” Daniel asked. We usually worked our Saturday evenings around Aaron’s need to be well rested on Sunday morning.

“It’s OK, son.” Aaron took the family tent from Daniel’s hands and patted him on the shoulder. “It’ll be fun. How often do you get to camp out with a bunch of bikers in your yard?”

While a few bikers settled in for the evening, others walked and rode all over downtown Eel Falls. They bought out all the Amish fruit and vegetable stands at the farmer’s market, all the Amish bread, and most of the crafts. Several of them eagerly ordered furniture from the Old Order German Baptist craftsmen.

After we helped some of the bikers settle in, Lily, Reba and I decided to take a leisurely walk to the park.

“What a paradox,” I mumbled under my breath. We strolled down Main Street watching the plain clothes mingle with the biker leathers. “Did you ever think you’d see something like this in Eel Falls?”

“Not me.” Reba shook her head. “And I sure didn’t think I’d see that.” She pointed ahead at Opal and Atticus strolling arm in arm toward the park. Opal looked like those tiny dolls I saw at the Shipshewana flea markets. Atticus lumbered beside her like a big fluffy teddy bear. A perfect fit.

“Another paradox,” I whispered.

Lily sighed. “Opal’s finding love, and I’m losing mine.” Her melancholy voice slipped
into the thick tall trees standing dark against a pale lavender sky in the city park.

We sat on a bench swing in silence and watched Opal and Atticus walk hand in hand toward the bubbling waterfall sheltered beneath shade trees at the far end of a memorial garden. From where we sat we could see Atticus lean down and steal a tentative kiss from little spinster, Opal Camille Abernathy. Transfixed, we watched as he caressed the outline of her face and kissed her softly on the lips again, as if it was the most natural thing for a burly biker from the mountains of North Carolina to do. Opal stood on her tiptoes beside an unbending oak, draped her arms around his giant neck, and kissed him as if she’d been doing that very thing her entire life.

“When I get home, I’m gonna plant one on Trace just like that. The old boy won’t know what hit him.” Reba sighed.

“Just don’t keep him up too late, Reba kitten.” I poked her in the shoulder.

“Ouch. Why not?”

“I don’t want you to be late for church.”

29

Nothing scares me as much as a spider. I don’t necessarily enjoy the company of a snake, but spindly, creepy, lanky spiders turn me into a screaming lunatic. I dislike them and don’t want them near. And if they are, there’s no reasoning with me.

I woke up around two o’clock in the morning to use the bathroom, flipped on my flashlight, and found at least a thousand of them hanging from the ceiling above my head in the tent. I flung myself out of my sleeping bag, into the yard and ran for the house, determined to stay there the rest of the night. Timmy slept hard, and Aaron snored so loudly I hoped they couldn’t hear me shooting through the night like Haley’s comet.

Goliath, snoozing on the porch, just lifted his bear-sized head at me and gave me a look like, “there she goes again,” dropped his head down, and went back to sleep. It was nice to know I could depend on my troops to protect me.

Around seven in the morning I stepped out of the shower and heard the growl of a few engines come and go. When I looked outside, I saw Truman Bailey, the local donut man, standing at the back of his delivery truck handing Atticus enormous boxes of donuts. I’d been so tired the night before I’d forgotten to ask anyone what they wanted for breakfast.

Lord, what kind of pastor’s wife am I? My hospitality is sorely lacking.

By this time, Timmy was wide awake and ready to dig into the donuts like a steam shovel on nitrous.

“Timmy!” I yelled from the bathroom window. “Rice cakes!”

Thankfully, rice cakes were a part of Timmy’s routine from the beginning of our journey
with autism. And since he was a stickler for routine, he easily turned down the donuts and came running. Dried fruit and rice cakes would have to do this morning for Timmy and me.

After I settled Timmy into his breakfast, Aaron came into the house looking like the donut man had run him over with his truck.

“Where are the other boys?” I poured Aaron a cup of coffee and handed it to him.

Aaron greedily sipped from his steaming cup. “Filling up on donuts I imagine. I know Daniel is, I saw sprinkles all over his shirt.” He yawned and scratched his head.

I giggled. Daniel loved sprinkles. “The shower’s all yours. I’m sure you know you’ll have to make it fast—none of the boys are ready yet.”

Aaron stumbled upstairs to his shower, and I wandered out to the front yard to find Daniel and Patrick. Daniel looked like he’d been dunked in a vat of pink frosting.

“Where’s Patrick?” I scanned the yard and didn’t see him anywhere. He loved Bailey’s donuts. It wasn’t like him to miss them.

“Still asleepth,” Daniel spoke through a mouth full of pastry. Little sprinkles shot out of his mouth.

“He can’t be asleep with all of this noise.” I headed toward his tent. “Patrick!” I hollered above his little pup tent and shook it. “C’mon, you need to get up and shower before church.”

I walked back to the house, parked Timmy in the shower, and met Aaron in the bedroom.

“Thought you went to get the boys.” Aaron looked for a shirt in his closet.

“I did. Can you believe Patrick’s still asleep?” I went to the hall closet and found clean underwear and socks for Timmy. We had to keep them locked up, or he’d try all of them on over and over again all day long.

Aaron left to unlock the church and do some last minute preparations for the service.

I helped Timmy with his shower. “Remember, Timmy, armpits. Ten times.”

“Ten times, Mama. 1-2-3-4…” He scrubbed dutifully.

I ran downstairs and found Daniel looking for clean clothes to wear. “There are some shirts hanging in the laundry room.” I looked out the window for Patrick. There was no sign of him. Maybe he was already at the church in the clothes he’d slept in. I threw up my hands. I wouldn’t put it past him.

The boys and I finished getting ready and headed out to the car. “Patrick!” I shouted as lady-like and pastor’s wife-like as I could.

Timmy joined me.
“Patrick!”

Most of the bikers had already gone up to the church parking lot and were hanging around there. I couldn’t help imagining the looks on people’s faces when they drove into the parking lot today and saw bikers standing around in their parking spots. I cringed at the thought of dealing with Bernice.

As I pulled into the parking lot, my cell phone rang.

“Hello?” I tried not to sound annoyed. I hated phones. Especially when I ran late on Sunday morning.

“Hello, is this Mrs. Donovan?” The woman’s voice sounded terribly official.

“Yes, yes it is.”

“Mrs. Donovan, this is Officer Olson. Do you know a Patrick Donovan?”

My heart stopped. Did I know a Patrick Donovan? Why would someone want to know that?

“He’s my son. Where is he? Is everything all right?” I tried to swallow, but my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.

“He’s fine, Mrs. Donovan. But he was arrested last night for underage drinking.”

“What?” I planted my hand over my other ear. Surely I heard wrong.

“Yes, and we need a parent here in order to release him.”

“Well, I—I—I can’t right now. I have church. I mean, his father will want to…”

My husband was about to preach. People stood in the doorway waiting for me to come in to greet them, and bikers waited for me in the parking lot to walk in with me.

I couldn’t think straight. No thoughts could come. All I could picture was Patrick sitting alone in a jail cell.

“I don’t have anyone to come get him right now. His father and I are working. Can I send someone in my place?” Was this the right thing to say? To do?

“As long as they are able to sign the papers.” The officer said good-bye.

“Go, Mom. We gotta goooo.” Timmy flipped the car door handle repeatedly.

“What’s wrong, Mom?” Daniel helped Timmy out of his seatbelt.

“Nothing for you to worry about, sweetie. Can you help me get Timmy into the church and to his class?” Did my voice sound normal? It felt like my lips moved outside of my head someplace.

“What about Patrick?” Daniel was far too intuitive for a young boy.

I cleared my throat and took a deep breath to steady my voice. “Patrick isn’t here. I’m going to have to pick him up. Go on now. We’re late already.”

To keep from crying on my way into the church, I whispered prayers and tried to breathe. I wanted to tell Daniel to stop staring at me, but I didn’t. Bless him, he knew something was wrong and looked worried.

We maneuvered carefully past all the motorcycles parked in various parking spots. I knew that Norman, Bernice, and some of the others would be upset. “Their” parking places had been taken. Mine hadn’t, of course, because it had a “Pastor” sign on it. Which embarrassed me now. Are people whose kids are in jail allowed to park in the pastor’s parking space?

What was I going to do? I couldn’t leave Patrick sitting in jail—could I? But it was Trace’s first Sunday at church, and how would Aaron handle all the bikers? Where was my duty now?

“C’mon, pastor’s wife. Slap on that old time religion smile and get to it,” I muttered to myself.

“Good morning.” I waved to the bikers standing about the parking lot watching us.

“Mornin’!” They shouted and waved.

Bikers were everywhere: in the foyer, on the steps, in the sanctuary, the nursery, and when I went downstairs, there were more bikers in the fellowship hall sipping coffee and munching on donuts. Most of the church regulars mingled with the bikers, talking excitedly and welcoming them. But there were other members who were clearly annoyed and avoiding the entire scene.

Thankfully, the first people I saw when I went downstairs were Trace and Reba visiting with Lily, Opal, and Atticus.

“Good morning.” Atticus smothered me in a powerful Sasquatch hug.

“Good morning,” I murmured and looked down at the ground.

“We know all about it,” Reba whispered in my ear.

“About Patrick? But how?”

“The whole church knows, hon.” Lily took a sip of her coffee.

“How do you know?”

Opal squeezed my hand. “Because Bernice knows. And if Bernice knows, well, then.”

I took my hand out of Opal’s and held it up. If Bernice knew, the entire town knew, because she had the gift of spreading news faster than the Emergency Broadcast System.

“But how can she know? Aaron doesn’t even know yet.” I struggled to swallow more tears.

“Her great-nephew is on the force, remember?” Opal rolled her eyes and shook her head.

Of course. Bernice was related to nearly everyone in town.

“I don’t understand how it could have happened. Where’d he get the beer?” I looked up at the ceiling tiles and noticed a penny stuck in one of them. What a strange thing to take note of at a time like this.

Atticus leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Apparently he stole it out of one of the biker’s coolers. I’m really sorry. It won’t happen again on my watch. I told everyone this was a no-alcohol event, but we have a few rebels in the bunch.”

A few rebels in a bunch of bikers? I wanted to giggle at the irony but wasn’t in the mood. “It’s not your fault, Patrick knows better than to steal. Or drink. I don’t know what I should do. Aaron is going to be overwhelmed with all the visitors today, but the police called and asked me to come get Patrick, and I can’t just send someone else up there to get him.”