Father Briar and The Angel (13 page)

After one last shake, the
cherry sprung free from Dale’s throat and, after two bounces, came
to rest in some fresh snow, just shaken from the shoulders of
somebody’s coat. Trig couldn’t help but note it looked like a
sundae.

Throughout it all, the cook
continued to perspire, give orders to the help, and give
encouragement to the weary dishwasher, who was often her husband.
While Bjorn was the face and the mouth, his wife was the backbone
of this operation, getting up early and going to bed
late.

About the only time the
cook relaxed was on Sunday morning, when she sits down in her
church pew, dozing off during the sermon. She preferred to stay
back in the recesses of the kitchen and is rarely seen by the
public, which was probably good because of the rib sauce on her
apron and the sweat under her armpits.

She is reputed to be the
best cook around and she credits that to her two favorite
ingredients: lots of salt and brown sugar. According to her, not
the FDA in Washington, you can’t get too much salt in your food.
And brown sugar is the secret ingredient in her ribs, orange
chicken and other mainstays of her recipe box. Whoops! she didn’t
believe in writing recipes down; instead, they stayed in her brain.
Therefore, they would not be copied by future generations of
cooks.

Such are the minor
tragedies of small town life.

Finally, the closed sign
was put up, the line disappeared, the crowd left belching, saying
that was a “darn good” supper, and make plans to return again soon.
The owner counts his money, helps his co-owner, again, his beloved
wife and cook, clean up. Then they headed home together to hit the
hay.

Such are the small joys of
small town life.

Chapter Thirteen: The Sod
Busters Come to Town in a Cloud of Snow and Sin.

The winter had been so long
and arduous that Father Briar had taken the decision to host an
unseasonal but wholly necessary social dance in Farmer
McGuillicuty’s barn in order to raise community spirit.

Cabin fever, although a bit
of idiom, of slang, is very real. It is the claustrophobic feeling
that one experiences in an isolated or solitary location and when
stuck indoors in confined quarters for an extended period if time.
Extreme irritability and restlessness are common, and dark feelings
and depressions can violently manifest themselves over petty
irritants and small problems.

One therapy for cabin fever
may be as simple as getting out and interacting with your friends
and neighbors. Cedric and the rest of Brannaska knew this well and
so he was organizing this big get-together to keep everybody happy
and healthy. It was also nice to see his parishioners having fun
and interacting outside of a strictly church setting.

And he hadn’t organized any
old ordinary barn dance. The Hoosier Sod Busters were going to be
playing!

The Hoosier Sod Busters
were famous across the land due to being one of the regular bands
on the popular radio show, “The National Barn Dance Hour.” A
long-running staple of small town Saturday nights since 1933, it
ran from 6:30 p.m. to midnight. The show featured famous bands
and turned obscure ones into stars. Regularly featured acts
included
Gene
Autry
,
The
Three Little Maids
,
The Williams
Brothers
(featuring future “Moon
River” crooner
Andy Williams
),the awesomely
named
Arkansas Woodchopper
, and of
course, the Hoosier Sod Busters. The announcer was Jack Holden and
it was once sponsored by
Alka-Seltzer
.

The barn had been a hive of
activity in the hours before the dance got underway. Cedric, along
with the help of Julianna and a few parishioners, applied the
finishing touches.

“
This place looks
wonderful, I know its February, Cedric, but this almost has the
feel of summer about it,” beamed Julianna as the volunteers made
the finishing touches to the barn’s interior. She leant toward
Cedric, but he moved away.

“
Jewels,” he said, worry
in his voice, “we can’t have the locals seeing this. They might
suspect something,” he whispered, so as not to draw attention to
himself and Julianna. She sighed.

“
Yes, you’re right,” she
looked around the barn, dejected and hoping to see something or
someone to cheer her up.

“
I’m tired of living a
lie,” she wanted to shout, “I’m tired of skulking around in the
shadows, my goodness, it’s almost as if we should be ashamed for
loving and enjoying sex. These are urges, I might point out, He
must have given us. What kind of God would do that? and what kind
of people are we to take such guilt with seriousness?”

This felt scandalous and
she put such thoughts aside for the moment while she wandered
around the barn, looking for somebody to chat with. “Julianna, this
is a barn dance. Have some fun! This is hardly the time or place
for deep discussions of theology.”

“
That’s it boys. This
place looks fantastic. The Hoosier Sod Busters have never played in
such a nice looking barn, that is for sure.” Cedric raised his
hands in the middle of the barn at the glory of it all. Bunting
crisscrossed the wooden beams, a fine buffet had been laid out and
several braziers were placed around the periphery of the building
so as to keep the cold at bay.

“
Yes, you gentleman all
did a fine, fine job,” a voice from the makeshift stage echoed
throughout the cavernous room. It was the lead singer of the
Hoosier Sod Busters.

“
Alas, they are turning
up!” said Julianna as she peeped through the barn door.

The locals and were
amassing in droves for this was a special event. Barn dances were
rarely, if ever, held during the winter and no sane person from
Brannaska was going to miss the dance or the great band that’s for
sure.

They pulled up in their
Fords and their Chevys, nearly every vehicle a truck with big
chains on the tires to give them better purchase on the snowy
roads, trying their best no to skid and slide in the slush.
Brannaska, for its harsh winter climate, still had a certain
appeal. The oaks were stripped of their leaves but still retained
some skeletal beauty as their bare branches were coated with a
translucent coating of ice.

The conifers stood like
upturned pure white ice cream cones. It was a calm night; the moon
was full and reflected the snow, illuminating everything as though
there was tiny magic and little miracles in the air. The stars
shone brightly and the Big Dipper was prominent. The sky had a
glowing sheen to it; it was not the usual obsidian-hued
blackness.

“
Good evening, Father
Briar. I must say I like what you have done with the place, the
spread, the warmth, oh and I shall be looking forward to the live
music. God has blessed this night. Three cheers for Pastor Briar!”
said Ty Olsen.

Trygve Olsen was at his
side, showered and shaved and looking chaste, at least to Father
Briar’s approving eyes. He was hoping the teen would behave himself
tonight. Behave himself, but have a good time. Cedric loved to
dance, and he was good at it. He was looking forward to sneaking a
dance with Julianna, and who was he to deny Trigger that same
joy?

“
Oh yes, three cheers to
the magnificent Pastor Briar,” Gosha clapped, sarcastic and snide,
muttering to a nearby farmer who looked then scurried
away.

Cedric wandered over to
talk to one of his favorite parishioners. The old man was sitting
in the corner of the barn and with an intense scowl on his face and
a corncob pipe between his pursed lips. He was Paul Livingstone, an
elderly pig farmer and deeply religious man.

Julianna made her way to
the opposite side of the barn. She wanted to get as far away from
his as possible, and she wanted him to see her doing so.

“
How are we doing tonight
Brannaska? Thank y’all so much for coming out in this cold, we sure
do appreciate it. We are ready to Bust some Sod, are
you?”

The band was firing up and
so were the dancers. Everyone turned to look at them.

“
Divine intervention does
exist,” Cedric thought to himself as he wiped the sweat from his
brow with his pocket square.

“
By the grace of God, who
is ready to party tonight?” asked the lead singer, Lester
Weeselstrom as he strummed his guitar. The crowd cheered and began
to dance.

The Sod Busters opened up
with their first song.

They were everything
advertised and more. The tinny AM radio of the day didn’t do their
sound justice; live they filled a room with a huge and happy sound;
fiddles and banjoes and guitars and drums and a variety of folk
instruments all came together in unison to create a dance groove
that moved everybody with a pulse, and even a few of the old
Norwegian farmers who thought they’d been dead for years got a jolt
of adrenaline and their hearts started racing.

The barn walls were
silhouetted by moving bodies that cast their shadows amidst the
warm orange glow of the brazier light. Bellies were being filled
people were dancing, and much revelry was being had as the Busters
kept sawing away. Everyone seemed happy; everyone, except Julianna
and Cedric.

“
I must say, the baked ham
is rather delicious. Father Briar, you really have done well with
this spread,” said Misses Olsen, ruddy cheeked and with delight as
she stood by the table surrounded by her family and warmed her
hands by the nearby brazier. Trigger had behaved himself and Cedric
was proud of the lad, but Julianna was once more glaring at him, as
he’d paid no attention to her all night.

“
Yes, he does well to
satisfy everybody doesn’t he? Everyone that is except me, Mrs.
Olsen.”

“
Ha, well this is a fallen
world, don’t forget Julianna.” Cedric laughed, nervous and angry,
trying his best to paper over the cracks.

“
Is everything alright
Julianna?” Mrs. Olsen asked. Trig looked around the barn, hoping to
spot Ramona, but had no luck. Julianna didn’t acknowledge Mrs.
Olsen’s question. She tried not to cry.

“
Oh, whatever is the
matter, Julianna?” asked Mrs. Olsen.

Cedric was somewhat in luck
for a few farmers had snuck in some hooch in their hip flasks and
had passed it around to several of their friends. He snuck off to
admonish one noticeably inebriated dancer.

“
Yeah, we are on our grand
tour, we’re Busting Sod and breaking hearts all across America!”
shouted the lead singer of the band. The crowd was raucous; it was
a real barnburner of a night, metaphorically speaking.

The townsfolk who remained
inside (some had gone out to their cars to cool down, to neck, or
to check the weather updates on WCCO) were worked up into a lather.
They had never partied like this before. Out of necessity, the
women had all dressed themselves in thick nylon and woolen
stockings. Sweat poured down their bodies. The men couldn’t resist
themselves at the sight of all these dripping women, oh, the
raunchiness of it all!

The men at the dance, much
to the dismay of the single women who had turned up didn’t look
quite so striking. For the most part they dressed in flannels and
white cotton tees. As the night progressed though, the heat got too
much even for the resilient farm hands of Brannaska. They stripped
off their tees and revealed their bulging farmers pectorals much to
the blushing and fainting of the on looking ladies.

“
Oh, isn’t he gorgeous,”
Ramona said to her friends as she blushed at a prominent example of
Minnesota masculinity, the luscious Trig Olsen.

Her parents, based on
Cedric’s advice, had denied them access to one another throughout
the last couple of weeks and their lust was boiling over. Ramona
looked around for the pesky priest or the Polish crone who’d been
so disruptive to their budding sexuality. They were nowhere to be
seen.

“
Hmm,” Ramona thought to
herself with maximum teenage sarcasm and scorn, “maybe they are off
fucking each other.” Not seeing them, she discretely grabbed her
boyfriend and they went off to find one of their many love
nests.

Teenagers have always been,
and always will be, a step ahead.

Chapter Fourteen: Bjorn’s
Needs a New Cook.

While Bjorn was in the
front of the café acting as the host, greeting and teasing the
customers, serving coffee, and taking their money, several people
worked back in the kitchen to keep things running. Of course,
Bjorn’s wife, the cook, was the head honcho (even humble
Brannaskans needed one of those), but she did have help during the
rush hours.

If there was ever salt of
the earth (and there was, Brannaska was one of the saltiest places
on earth, per capita…), these women were it.

Some were of sturdy stock,
born and raised in what they proudly called “the North Country,”
girls who’d stayed in town after high school and married young to
the farmers who tilled the land. They were used to working side by
side with their men, but often didn’t see much in the way of
earnings; fickle was the economy of family farming, so fickle, in
fact, the profession doesn’t really exist now.