Lightning and Lace

chapter 2

Travis reached to pick up his bag and too late discovered a wasp flitting above the handle. The nuisance sank its stinger deep into his palm. Travis yelped and dropped the bag. A second wasp attacked the top of the same hand. What had he done to deserve this? Immediately his hand swelled and burned. If he believed in bad omens, he’d purchase a ticket for the next train out of here. Made him wonder if Satan himself had taken up residence in this seemingly quiet town.

Once free of the wasps, he examined his hand to pull out the stingers. Both were embedded, and unless he was ready to dig out flesh with his pocket knife, he’d have to wait until he met up with Reverend Rainer’s wife. He shook his hand vigorously to shake off the throb from his wrist to his fingertips. Snatching up his bag, Travis walked toward the parsonage. He’d seen the house and church while escorting the boys to school, but he hadn’t had the opportunity to study the buildings. Now he took in every board, every shrub, every neatly planted flower surrounding the church. He shielded his eyes from the afternoon sun and peered up at the steeple. My church to watch over for God as long as He sees fit. When the wasp stings caused him to drop his bag and rub the area around his palm and on top of his hand, Travis recalled the moments in his life that had seemed perfect just before a stab of evil spoiled the beauty. With cautious wisdom, he grabbed the wooden handle and ventured farther.

He walked around the well-maintained whitewashed building, the sparkling clean windows, and . . . there in the middle was a stained-glass window. A picture of Jesus portrayed as the Good Shepherd glistened in vivid colors of green, red, and blue, reminding Travis of the enormity of his calling and the need for the Good Shepherd to carry him. Travis smiled, one of the few times so far that day.

Rose bushes climbed the side of the church as if by next spring they would strive to cover all of the building in a mixture of blossoms and thorns. Ah, another reminder of life’s goodness and adversities. He made his way behind the church, where a tree-lined, narrow wagon path led to a fenced cemetery. Life and death, all a part of this earthly journey.

He moved on to the opposite side of the church, where another stained-glass window depicted Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane. Pausing for a moment, Travis smelled the faint sweetness of wildflowers then made his way back to the front of the building. Flowers bloomed at his feet. Someone cared about these neatly kept grounds. He paused and glanced at the double doors, then mounted the steps. His home-for-wayward-wasps bag landed with a plop on the wooden landing. With his heart thumping like a scared rabbit, he removed his tattered hat and opened the door.

A slight mustiness met his nostrils—a blend of old hymnals and wood. For a moment, he savored every delicious scent and envisioned every pew filled with worshippers. Light oak enriched the room, from the benches, to the window casings, to the pulpit, and on to a life-sized cross mounted in the back. The two stained-glass windows were more striking from the inside. Momentarily, he forgot about the mishaps since arriving in town. Thank You, Lord, for allowing me to serve You in this beautiful church. May I never disappoint You.

With purposeful steps, Travis focused his body and heart on the pulpit. His boots thundered against the wooden floor much like the echo of the words from a powerful sermon. Scaring folks to death with a threat of hell had never been his way of preaching. Nevertheless, after his encounter with the wasps, he could sense a good sermon coming on. A Bible lay open on the pulpit, and when he curiously glanced to see the passage, his gaze fixed on Isaiah 6:8: “I heard the voice of the Lord, saying, Whom shall I send, and who will go for us? Then said I, Here am I; send me.”

Travis chuckled. The irony of this broken preacher being used by God for a divine purpose brought more of a hearty laugh. And when he considered the problems he’d encountered since his feet hit the train station here in Kahlerville, his laughter rose to the rafters.

“Good afternoon.” A man’s voice echoed from the back of the church.

Travis glanced up from the pulpit to a tall, elderly man ‘’whom he /believed to be Reverend John Rainer, the man whose shoes he must attempt to fill. The reverend’s thick, snow-white hair reminded him of an old prophet, possibly Isaiah himself.

“Afternoon. You must be this church’s reverend.”

“I am. At least for a while longer.”

Travis wasted no time in moving toward him. “That’s why I’m here. I’m Travis Whitworth.”

A broad smile spread over the older gentleman’s face. “I think it’s a mighty fine day when a man of God comes to town.”

“Looks like Kahlerville now has two of us.” Travis’s hand throbbed from the wasp stings, but he still reached out to shake the older man’s hand. “The church is beautiful.”

“Thank you. We have good people here.”

And I hope to meet them soon.

“Come on over to the parsonage and meet my wife. We’ve been waiting for you. Got a room ready.”

“I hope I won’t be a bother to y’all.” Hope she doesn’t mind lending me a needle to dig out these stingers.

“Of course not. Repairs are being made on the house that will serve as the new parsonage, since my wife and I will remain in the old parsonage here. It will be about another week before they’re completed.”

“I’m a fair hand at carpentry work. I’d be glad to help.”

He chuckled. “We have more than God’s work in common. We’ll both lend a hand on the project.”

Although Travis understood he was being carefully scrutinized and would be for the weeks and months to come, he did see an air of respect in the older man’s eyes. Travis breathed an inward sigh. He’d hopefully found a friend.

A young boy about eight or nine years old exploded through the doorway with a little girl right behind him—screaming. The boy, with yellow-white hair that tickled his collar, stopped and whirled around, then picked up the little girl. He kissed her on the cheek. She had her own cascade of sun-colored curls. The scene touched Travis—the impulsive boy retracing his steps to soothe an unhappy child. He saw a sermon coming on and promised himself not to forget it.

“Sorry, Grandpa,” the boy said. “I raced up to see you and didn’t know Lydia Anne was right behind.”

“Perhaps you should speak to my guest.” Reverend Rainer took the distressed little girl from his arms. She snuggled up against his coat and he kissed her cheek.

The boy took note of Travis and stepped forward with an outstretched hand. “Excuse the interruption, sir. My name is Michael Paul Kahler.”

“Travis Whitworth. And I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. Is the town named after your father?”

“No, sir. It was named after my great-grandfather.” The boy pointed up at the little girl. “This is my sister. I reckon you heard her coming. She’s Lydia Anne.”

“Sorry, sir, for carryin’ on,” the little girl said.

Travis smiled. Pretty little thing. “Apology accepted, Miss Lydia Anne.”

Reverend Rainer righted the little girl to her feet. “My grandchildren, Mr. Whitworth.”

“Call me Travis. Congratulations on such fine grandchildren.”

“We are a little partial to them.”

Michael Paul turned to his grandfather. “Shall we wait outside until you’re finished with Mr. Whitworth?”

“Not because of me.” Travis focused on the older man. “Unless we have something to discuss that can’t wait.”

“I’d rather get you settled into the house. Michael Paul, this gentleman will be the new reverend.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “My grandpa needs a rest, and we’re going to do more fishing.”

The reverend’s gaze swept back to the open door. “Is your mother with you?”

“No, sir. She’s at the school talking to Zack’s teacher.” Michael Paul frowned. “He did it again, fighting at school, and Miss Scott was real mad.”

Travis sensed the blood drain from his face. Surely the same fatherless Zack who had been knee-deep in a fight less than an hour ago was not the reverend’s grandson. Or his mother the reverend’s daughter. Confusion and a little anxiety swept over him.

“Did your mother send you to fetch me?” the reverend said.

“No, sir. She just said she’d come by the parsonage once she finished.”

“And Zack is there, too?”

“Yes, sir. He was scrubbing blackboards when I left.”

When Michael Paul spoke this time, Travis saw the resemblance between him and the woman he’d met earlier. Did he dare confess his role at the schoolhouse?

“Why don’t you take your sister to see your grandma?” the reverend said. “We’ll be right along.”

In the next instant, the children disappeared, leaving Travis bewildered as to what to say.

“I wasn’t prepared for you to hear family business the moment we met.” The reverend shook his head.

“I understand. But I’m used to dealing with uncomfortable situations. I believe I’ve already met your grandson and daughter.” He hadn’t formed his words exactly right, and he, the new preacher, should be precise—and tactful.

The older man lifted a brow curiously. “How could that be since you just arrived?”

Travis cleared his throat. “On the road here. Uh, your grandson and another boy were fighting.”

“Then you’ve seen his difficult temperament.”

“Yes, sir. I have.”

“I’d like to hear what happened from you before I hear it from Zack.”

Travis braved forward, wondering if Zack was as good at convincing his grandfather as he was at convincing his mother. “. . . So after I got stung, I snatched up my bag and walked here.” He omitted how upset the reverend’s daughter had been with him.

“I’m really sorry. I’ve been meeting the train for the past several days looking for you, and the one day I miss becomes quite unfortunate. Did you get those stingers out?”

“Not yet. I thought I’d trouble your wife for a needle.”

“Then let’s get you taken care of right now.”

“No harm done at all. Perhaps I’ll have an opportunity to meet with your grandson. I’d like to think boys will be boys, and—”

Travis’s response died in midstream as the church’s door opened and the same woman he’d angered earlier stood before them.

If he’d not already tasted her anger, he’d have thought an ethereal being had floated in to make certain his first day in Kahlerville was filled with splendor. She wore a pale blue dress—something he hadn’t noticed before. And her blond hair gave him all the more reason why she could be mistaken for a messenger from God.

“Good afternoon, Reverend. Mama said you were here. Do you have a few minutes?” She moved closer, but in doing so, she must have seen Travis. “Excuse me. I didn’t know you had a visitor.” Her eyes widened, and recognition flickered bright, then hot.

“We met earlier.” Travis nodded. “Travis Whitworth.”

“Indeed we have. I’m Mrs. Kahler.”

He focused on the reverend. “I believe I’ll gather up my bag on the steps and introduce myself to your wife.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Mrs. Kahler said. “From what Zack has said about your threatening him, I fear you might harm my other children or my mother.”

Travis took a deep breath. Her absurd statement didn’t warrant his wasting breath to respond, so he didn’t. But he wanted to.

“Bonnie, this gentleman is the new reverend. He’s been called to take my place. I don’t believe he’s a threat to the children or Jocelyn.”

*****

All of Bonnie’s early morning resolve to conduct her life with wisdom and grace collapsed like a corncrib toppled by a windstorm. This . . . this beggar-looking fellow with unkempt hair and beard was the new reverend? A nasty taste rose in her mouth. Why, he didn’t have the decency to wear a properly fitted suit. But just as quickly, her motherly instincts squeezed her heart.

“Sir, my son does not lie,” she said calmly.

“Perhaps he mistook my eagerness to break up the fight with Clay as another matter. Both boys were upset.”

“Zack was nearly in tears. First the other boy insults him, and then he is threatened by a stranger.” Bonnie trembled with a nagging thought that her son may have lied.

“Ma’am, I stated this before, and I will so again. My role involved breaking up the fight and escorting the boys to school. I give you my word. I did not mean to disrupt your school or cause you grief over my interference.”

“I’m not the schoolteacher.” Did this unkempt man think she’d take his word over that of her son? Why were so many people against Zack unless—

“Bonnie,” the reverend began, “Mr. Whitworth is a guest.”

She startled and immediately regretted her behavior in the presence of her stepfather. “I apologize, Reverend. Mr. Whitworth and I will discuss this matter at another time.”

Mr. Whitworth cleared his throat. His face appeared to ripen to a tomato red. “I’m finished with the discussion, Mrs. Kahler.”

“How dare you?” she said. “Kindly admit your error and be done with it.”

Travis turned his attention to the reverend. “Sir, I think it best that I secure lodging at the boardinghouse. I appreciate your hospitality and your warm welcome, but I’m afraid my presence here might be a problem.”

The reverend raised his hand, moistened his lips, and gave Mrs. Kahler a smile. “Bonnie, you wanted to talk to me earlier. If you could wait here, I will escort Mr. Whitworth to the parsonage and return.”

Anger and a sensation that she might be wrong swept over her. “Yes, of course.” She blinked back the tears and seated herself on a pew. Surely, Zack had not lied to her. Surely not. Surely not.