Lewis & Ondarko - Best Friends 03 - Now and Zen (11 page)

What had happened to her moral standards anyway?

Come on old girl, get a move on.
Throwing on her new orange sweat suit, she hurriedly brushed her teeth and ran out the door, not caring much if it banged behind her.

Those other women will need to get up anyway. As for me, why did I promise to help with the big breakfast at the church?

Yawning, she looked around outside for the golf cart that Julie had rounded up the night before. Not seeing it in the driveway, she starting jogging down the street. Guilt is a great motivator, especially for Lutherans, and she’d had a lifetime to perfect it. She picked up her pace even more.

I hope I’m in time at least to help a little, she thought, her breath coming at an even cadence. Thanks to yoga and being on that damn treadmill I can do this. Shoot, I did it again… although I don’t know if it really counts if it’s only in my mind.

Running down the street, she waved to small groups of women, also making their way in the same direction. Pat stopped abruptly, almost running into the woman pastor in the dim light, who was carrying a large pile of plates.

“Oops, sorry,” Pat panted out. “Can I help?”

“Sure, take these in, will you? And I’ll get more from the car. Do you think we can have people eating outside?”

Pat looked around at the cool dim morning.

“Outside? Isn’t it a bit cold?” she asked.
More like freezing,
she thought to herself.

“Maybe,” the pastor replied over her shoulder, already on her way for another load of plates, “but frankly, this is going to be the best fundraiser this church has had in years. We don’t want to turn away paying customers.” She waved Pat toward the church door and bent over the back seat of the old Volvo to pick up another load.

Still panting a little from her run, Pat carried the box down the stairs into the church basement. She took a deep breath, taking in the smells of coffee brewing in the big aluminum pot, steamy buttery aromas coming from the oven, and bacon. Her mouth started to water.

There is something about the scents in church basements and kitchens that is like no others. Noticing the casseroles with covers all waiting in a row on a long table covered with a pink plastic table cloth, she laughed out loud. Even for breakfast the eggs couldn’t just be fried up. They had to be served as hot dishes! It was a scene straight out of Garrison Keillor’s imaginary
Lake Woebegone.

The busy women in the kitchen ranged in age from about twelve to eighty five. They turned their eyes towards Pat curiously as they heard her laugh. Then, seeing it was just ‘the crazy Lutheran pastor’, they turned as one back to the serious work of feeding the multitudes. Hesitating, Pat shifted the heavy box to her other hip.

“Are you just going to stand there to admire our work, or are you here to help?” The gruff words were dispelled by the big grin on the islander’s weathered face.

“Want them here?” Pat asked as she carefully placed the load on the end of the table.

“Yes, that’s just fine.”

“I’m here to help. Can I make more coffee?”

“No, no. We heard all about you. The word we got was that if we let you make the coffee you’ll use so many grounds that our profit will be drunk up.”

Laughter broke out all over the room.

“I guess my coffee tastes have preceded me. So be it,” Pat said, pretending to be offended. “So what do you need?”

The women looked at each other as they continued their work.

Pastors aren’t known for their kitchen skills,
the islander thought, sizing Pat up.
But at least she’s a woman and has that going for her.

The woman would never say this to Pat directly, because, like the others, they were Midwesterners first and foremost and always polite.

“Tell you what,” a woman about Pat’s age said with a twinkle in her eye as she wiped her floured covered hands on her apron. “Why don’t you be a money changer at the door for a while? You know, just take in the money. We know pastors are good at that!” There was even louder laughter this time. Pat joined in.

There is nothing like a church kitchen, that’s for sure.

Walking over to the door she was surprised at the line forming outside. Women were dressed in everything from casual clothes to suits. All were smiling and chatting, trying to keep the cold wind out of their bones.

“Can I let them in?” she called out.

“Might as well. When we run out I guess we run out. First though, do you think we should pray? Lord knows we need the help.”

“Pray to yourselves, then,” the woman frying yet another pan of crispy bacon answered. “God will understand. He won’t want us to serve a cold meal.”

Opening the door, Pat gulped and then said a little prayer of her own, because the line of chattering women went all around the block.

Lord, I hope they remember that they all are watching their weight or we’ll run out before half of them get through the door. Amen.
Crossing herself, she motioned to the first group to come in.

“What are we charging?” Pat called.

“Mary, Mother of God, I don’t know,” came the reply from the elderly woman, not caring that the attendees could hear her every word. “Make it a free will offering, but hells bells, we better make enough to fix the organ. That thing wheezes like my old aunt Franny!”

Someone else has a little trouble with swearing,
Pat thought, as she took the money from the first woman.

“Will ten dollars be okay?”
Yes,
Pat thought as she nodded her head,
I think the organ is going to get a new sound.

After an hour or so of a steady stream, Pat went back to the kitchen.

“Can you get someone else to take money? It’s slowed way down. I have to check on a few things.”

“Oh, just put what you’ve collected in that drawer, and make a sign saying it’s a free will offering. We’ve already made a great profit.” The chief cook smiled. “Thanks for the help.”

Pat did what any wise pastor does and followed the directions of the women in the church kitchen. She put the sign out and walked out the door.

Darn, I left my cell phone in my jacket,
she thought, just as she bumped into someone.

“Sorry. Oh, Linda, it’s you. Are you coming for breakfast?”

“No, you know me. I was up with the sun. I ate hours ago. But this is the place Deb asked me to try to get statements.” She held out her notebook and pen. “I’m supposed to ask questions, and then report back.”

“It’s not really statements, Linda. We’re not really detectives. Are you sure you don’t mind? I want you to have some fun.”

“Heck no. I don’t have a class until…” she looked at her pad. “Ten thirty. I’m going to Noreen’s watercolor class. This is fun. You didn’t already ask people here yet, did you? This was supposed to be one of my spots.”

“No,” Pat assured her. “I was too busy collecting money. Happy hunting.”

Linda fondly watched her go.

Good thing we’re here to help.

Squaring her shoulders and using the loud occupational therapist’s voice she saved for children, she called,

“Excuse me. If I could have your attention, please. As you probably know, the police think someone may be missing from the ferry.”

A cacophony of voices responded with questions.

“That’s all I know, too, really,” Linda replied. “But I’m going to come to each of your tables to take down any information. Anything at all that you heard or saw.”

“Like what?” came a voice from the rear.

“Like a woman you know that was coming and you haven’t seen. Something that seemed odd or out of place to you.” “Are you with the police?”

“Oh no, just with the retreat. So I’ll start over here, shall I? Thanks in advance for your help. Also, if you have information and don’t have the time to wait or for some reason you don’t want to tell me personally, leave it on the message board.”

“Sure, we’ll help,” a woman replied…,“as long as it doesn’t interfere with my ten o’clock massage.”

Everyone laughed as Linda got to work, starting at the closest table.

“Hi, Pat! Coffee’s comin’ right up. Depth charge in it, right? Extra hot?”

Pat stood in the doorway at Lotta’s, eager to put her feet up after serving breakfast to the multitudes at the church.

“Better make that with extra espresso. With all this craziness I might just need it,” Pat replied, looking around at the crowded room and the line of women behind her.

“Suit yourself. Have a seat. I’ve been keeping that one for regulars.” Lotta nodded her head toward a small table by the side of the counter.

“Thanks!” Pat replied, pulling out one of the sturdy wooden chairs and sitting down next to Bev.

Isn’t it great that she thinks of me as a regular?
Pat thought.

After she finished making the hot drink, Lotta handed the steaming cup to Pat.

“I’m taking a break. Come out and take over for me please,” she yelled toward the kitchen. A young woman came out smiling at the line of women waiting to be served.

“What can I get you? Are you here for the women’s coven event?” she asked one customer, taking her order.

“Hey!” Lotta gave the woman a stern look, before turning back to the table. She picked up a colorful quilt top about the perfect size for a newborn that had been setting on a bench.

“Beautiful,” Pat said, “and it’s not just in all pink or blue,” she added approvingly. She savored her coffee as she watched Bev shuffle cards she held in her hands.

“How was the breakfast?” Bev asked.

“Crazy. How could this happen?” Pat whined

“If you build it, they will come. Or, in your case, if you invite them, they will come. Why are you so surprised?” Lotta asked. “Personally, I’m grateful. This time of year it’s great to have the shop filled with folks. Do you know I had two women waiting for me to open this morning?” She stitched away at the colorful quilt.

“You won’t find me complaining, either,” Bev said. “I’ve got people signed up for readings almost the entire day. I even had to blank out time for lunch and a massage. By the way, thanks for bringing a masseuse out here. She’s setting up after lunch and she’s so busy, I could barely get in.”

“What’s wrong with me?” Pat replied. “It was my hair brained idea to have everyone come for solstice. Seriously, what a typically crazy thing to do. But, it’s really a hoot, isn’t it?” she added with a shrug of her shoulders.

“I know I’m coming for the bonfire, and I can’t wait to get to your workshop on writing. Buck up. It’s only a few days,” Lotta encouraged. “What could go wrong?”

“So, do you want me to do a reading for you?” Bev asked after she finished shuffling the cards. She looked up at Pat with a smile. “It’s on the house since you’ve brought me a lot of business.” She held out the deck invitingly.

“Better watch out,” Lotta teased her friend. “She has been reading the cards with such accuracy lately, people have been saying she’s a witch.”

“I’m not denying or confirming that rumor,” Bev said with a grin. “Although there have been times when they’ve called me that with a slightly different spelling.

“So, want me to give it a try for you?” she asked, turning towards Pat. “I don’t have a customer for half an hour.”

Pat looked closely at Bev.
I’ve seen that true believer look projected many times on lots of religious fanatics,
she thought.
I’m just not sure I believe cards can tell my fortune. I have to be careful of Bev’s newfound hobby, if that’s what you call it.

“What would your church women think about this?” Lotta asked.

“I’m not constrained by worrying about that,” Pat said. My theology is pretty broad as long as it’s for good purposes.”

Bev’s wheelchair was not noticeable until she pulled away from the table. Fiercely independent, her M.S. hadn’t stopped her from traveling around both the inner and outer worlds. Her latest spiritual foray had been to learn the cards.

What the hell? Read my cards, you say? I’m the captain of my own ship, thank you very much,
Pat thought.
But, if I wait much longer, Bev might be offended.

With a consenting nod from Pat, Bev picked up her Rider’s deck, an oversized pack of cards and placed them on the table. She handed the deck to Pat.

“What do I do?” Pat asked.

“Shuffle them,” she said, “and cut the deck three times. We need your essence to go into the cards.”

Right,
Pat thought as she awkwardly shuffled the oversized deck.

Bev took the cards back after Pat finished.

“Tarot suits are different from your spades, hearts diamonds, and clubs. Do you know anything about them?”

“I’ve had readings before. Let’s see. There were majors and minors and great pictures. I know there were Wands and Swords. And the Fool and Death.”

“And Cups and Pentacles,” Bev said encouragingly, as she held the deck in her hands.”

“So, now what?”

“Now comes the mysterious part. We decide what to ask the cards.”

Pat didn’t even hesitate.

“What happened to the missing woman and who is she?”

Bev pulled a card from the deck.

“So, not one question, but two. Interesting, and, of course, how do you fit into this puzzle?”

After showing it to the other women, she laid it on the table.

“Pat, that’s you,” she pointed, “in the here and now.”

Lotta returned to her quilting.

“Darn, I pricked myself. Hand me that napkin, will you, Pat?”

Pat reached out with a napkin, and saw that Lotta’s finger was bleeding. As Lotta took the napkin a single drop fell onto the card.

“Sorry,” Pat apologized, looking at Bev contritely. “At least it didn’t get on the new quilt.”

“You need to take this seriously,” Bev admonished her. “Pat, these cards now have blood on them.” She shivered. “Do you want me to continue?”

Pat looked at her with a chagrined expression.

“Of course. I mean, I’m sure it will be just fine. What is that card anyway?”

“Yes, funny isn’t it? This is the card that kept coming up when I was learning and doing your reading. It’s the Jester.”