Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Praise for The Pastor’s Wife Wear’s Biker Boots

Acknowledgements

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Epilogue

Thanks

The Pastor’s Wife Wears Biker Boots

Karla Akins

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

The Pastor’s Wife Wears Biker Boots

COPYRIGHT 2013 by Karla Akins

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Pelican Ventures, LLC except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

eBook editions are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. eBooks may not be re-sold, copied or given away to other people. If you would like to share an eBook edition, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

Contact Information: titleadmin@pelicanbookgroup.com

Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated are taken from the King James translation, public domain.

Harley Davidson is a trademark of Harley Davidson, Inc. Ultra Classic® and Electra Glide® are trademarks of Harley Davidson Inc.

Cover Art by Nicola Martinez

Harbourlight Books, a division of Pelican Ventures, LLC

www.pelicanbookgroup.com PO Box 1738 *Aztec, NM * 87410

Harbourlight Books sail and mast logo is a trademark of Pelican Ventures, LLC

Publishing History

First Harbourlight Edition, 2013

Paperback Edition ISBN 978-1-61116-282-0

Electronic Edition ISBN 978-1-61116-281-3

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

For the pastor’s wife who dares to be herself as she serves others with her life. God has not forgotten you (Hebrews 6:10)!

Praise for The Pastor’s Wife Wear’s Biker Boots

Karla Akins is a master of humor! You’ll definitely find yourself laughing out loud at every twist and turn (especially when you see a bit of yourself in the characters)! ~Cheryl Martin, author of The Hawaiian Island Detective Club series

“Put on your helmet and strap on your boots, because Akins’ delightful novel The Pastor’s Wife Wears Biker Boots delivers a quirky look at what happens when a small community’s pastor’s wife decides to take life by the proverbial handles. Biker Boots is a story about life and love, laced with a humorous charm that will ride with a reader for years to come.” ~Jessica Nelson, author of Love On The Range

“I love a story that’s not only interest-grabbing, but loaded with both sage wisdom and sparkling wit. Karla Akins delivers a perfect three-way combo in Biker Boots. This is charming, laugh-out-loud Christian fiction at its very finest.” ~Camille Eide, author of Savanna’s Gift, A Romantic Christmas Novella, White Rose Publishing

“Strap on your helmet, you’re in for a DELIGHTFUL ride with Biker Boots. While you’re at it, grab a box of tissues—for crying and for laughing out loud until you cry.” ~Susan F. Craft, author of The Chamomile, an inspirational Revolutionary War romantic suspense and winner of the Southern Independent Booksellers Alliance Okra Pick

Acknowledgements

To my husband Eddie: thanks for teaching me to ride my own motorcycle, for supporting my writing dreams and giving me sons. To Isaiah and Isaac who are patient to do without Mom while she writes and to Jesse and Noah for cheering me on, I love you more each day.

Thanks to my agent, Linda Glaz for believing in this story with her whole heart and to my editor, Fay Lamb and Editor-in-Chief, Nicola Martinez, for giving this new author the best tools to shine. I am blessed that God led me to Harbourlight.

Thanks, hugs and happy snoopy dances to my “Friday Critters,” Camille Eide, Emily Hendrickson, Jessica Nelson, Linda Glaz and Cheryl Martin. I'm so glad God ordered my steps to your open arms.

To Christian Fellowship Church of North Manchester, Indiana. You are the most loving church I’ve ever known. Your support of me is priceless. Thanks to all my friends and my very special first reader, Michele Hughes. I love and admire you all so much.

And to all my readers: thanks for your enthusiasm and feedback. I pray God’s blessings on you and yours!

Most of all, I thank my savior, Jesus Christ, for His grace and mercy and inspiration that endures forever. He is more than wonderful

1

The women of Eel Falls First Independent Christian Community Church Ladies Fellowship are a strong-willed, opinionated bunch.

And I’m their fearless leader.

OK, fine.

I’m afraid of them.

“Ladies, ladies.” I clapped my hands and spoke in my sweetest let’s-get-moving voice. “We have events to discuss, and I need your attention.”

Another smile and a rap on the table.

Invisible me.

And then?

Holy. Terror.

Women screamed, my mouth flew open, and Dorothea clasped her heart. Goliath and Timmy came barreling through the church basement door covered head-to-toe in mud, rejoicing in foul-smelling, slimy delight. All I could see were Timmy’s white teeth and the rims of his eyes. Goliath barked and danced around Timmy like an organ grinder’s monkey.

A really big one with bad breath.

I whispered a prayer for God to deliver me from the dog that so easily entangled Maude’s new Vera Bradley handbag.

I slammed my eyes shut, but Goliath’s bark snapped me back to reality. I threw my hands over my eyes and peeked through my fingers as the giant mastiff braced himself to shake off the pond scum.

Dread gurgled from deep inside me until it erupted like Mt. Vesuvius. “Nooooo!”

Like a slow-motion horror film, Goliath shook every inch of his 213-pound extra-wrinkly-skinned self. When he finished, the ladies at the table’s end were smothered in muck and drool.

“Pond!” Timmy smiled with pride and pointed out the door and down the street to the pond in front of our house. “Pond!”

“Help,” I mouthed.

I looked at my good friends, Lily and Opal, and made a silent plea for rescue.

They both nodded and grabbed Timmy as I dashed toward Goliath who had Bernice pinned to the floor, licking her like a Popsicle. His head was twice the size of hers, and he ignored her screaming and the violent kicks of her size-ten feet. She swung at him with her handbag, and he responded as if it were a fabulous game of tag, woofing and slurping with fervent delight. If the cantankerous matriarch hadn’t used an entire can of hairspray, he would have inhaled every curl atop her freshly-styled head.

Bernice might not have been able to see through glasses covered in muck, but she could scream. “Norman! Help! I’m being attacked by a mad dog!” And she bellowed something about the immediate return of Christ and the rapture of the dead.

Everyone else yelled at Bernice to shut up.

Finally, Lily caught Goliath and took Timmy and the monster dog home. I helped Bernice crawl out from underneath the table and tried to clean the sludge from her floral-patterned blouse. She spun in a circle and slapped my hand away.

“I never…” Bernice’s eyes blazed with fury.

I fought hard to hold in my laughter. I’d never known her to be speechless.

Bernice wiped at her face with a small hankie, but it covered little territory. “I never, I never…” She attempted to pat her hair back into place. Her left eye peeked out from a circle of mud and a small piece of algae clung to her twitching eyebrow as she glared at me. “The pastor and board will hear about this. I never…”

I did my best to restore pastoral peace and harmony to the group by closing the meeting in prayer, but I don’t think their hearts were in it.

All the ladies left except for me and Mrs. Huntington. Together we mopped up the mud, but I had a feeling we’d be discovering new spots to clean for months. After she left, I went outside to empty the mop bucket.

The air was warm and stars peeked through a dark, cloudless sky. I spilled the dingy water on the ground and took a deep breath.

And then I slumped to the grass and sobbed.

“Is this all there is to being a pastor’s wife, God? One mess after another?” I stared down at the puddle I’d made as it swirled and reflected dancing stars at my feet.

Some people, when God speaks to them, hear harps, or bells, or angels singing.

The apostle Paul, Alexander the Great, and Joan of Arc saw a bright light.

But in the distant darkness of night? I heard a call.

The unmistakable rumble of the one thing on this earth—besides cheesecake—that makes my heart flutter and goose bumps crawl from the base of my neck to the tips of my purple nail-polished toes.

I raised my head slowly and saw a vision.

Cobalt blue, mixed with shimmering chrome, reflected the moon’s silver rays and sang in deep, rhythmic tones. I stood transfixed, completely mesmerized in the glimmer of metallic paint. The moon danced on chrome pipes that vibrated in sync with the steady cadence of the V-twin’s deep symphonic timbre. My enchanted heart beat in fifth gear, and I released an audible sigh.

Caught up in rapturous wonder, my eyes followed Reba O’Malley as she maneuvered her Harley Davidson Road King around the corner and past the church. I waved as she passed, but she didn’t see me. “Lord,” I whispered as my eyes followed the bike’s graceful rumba down the road, “are there Harleys in heaven?”

The only answer was the guttural rhythm of Reba’s dream machine calling me to adventures I’d never known.

2

As God usually does when I’m at the end of my rope, He ties a knot for me to hang onto. This time, the knot’s name was Reba.

I’d just finished adding oregano to my famous spaghetti sauce when the phone rang.

“You’re going to have to come help me,” Reba said in her matter-of-fact way. “Timmy’s having a meltdown, and I can’t get him past it.”

“Oh no. What is it this time?”

“We’re out of five-inch corner braces, and I can’t convince him that more will be here tomorrow.”

She popped her gum into the phone.

“I’ll be right there.”

I turned off the stove, jumped into the van with Timmy’s weighted blanket, and sped the one mile to O’Malley’s Hardware store.

When I pulled up to the curb and jumped out, Trace, Reba’s husband, opened the door and let me in. I could hear Timmy screaming from the stock room.

Customers avoided my gaze and pretended not to hear.

“I’m sorry, Trace,” I whispered, giving him what I hoped was a pained, apologetic look.

“It’s OK, Kirstie. It’s just going to take time.” Trace’s smooth, basso voice calmed my aching spirit. God bless him. Not a church-going man, but he had a heart of gold.

Before coming to Eel Falls, my husband’s resume looked like Swiss cheese because of Timmy, whose outbursts and aggression embarrassed other congregations. Unfamiliar with autism, they blamed us for his unusual and disruptive behaviors.

I hurried to the stock room and found Timmy rocking in a corner on the floor between two shelves. Reba stood by talking to him softly, making sure he wouldn’t hurt himself. She moved from the corner so I could sit beside him.

“Timmy, it’s Mommy.” I draped the weighted blanket over his shoulders. “Shhhh, it’s Mommy. It’s OK.”

“No bay-sez, no bay-sez. Bay-sez all gone. No bay-sez.”

“I know. I know.” Fingers taut, I rubbed his arms up and down and down and up. “Braces will be here tomorrow. It’s OK.”

He banged his head on the wall.

“No banging, Timmy. Remember the rules.”

He banged again. I sighed. My heart broke every time his did; and his broke a lot. Timmy needed sameness. Five-inch corner braces had their own spot in the store and now there were none.

I left his side and walked over to where Reba sat on a stool smoking a cigarette. Timmy calmed best when left alone once he passed the violent phase of what we called his “nuclear meltdowns.”

“I’ll leave the weighted blanket here from now on and get another one for home,” I said. “That is—if you’re still willing to work with him.”

“Ain’t been nothing ol’ Reba hasn’t conquered.” Curls of smoke wafted in front of her piercing blue eyes. “Timmy’s a pussycat. We’ll get along just fine. Why the heavy blanket?”

“It soothes him. The deep pressure is comforting.”

Reba blew a puff of smoke out of the side of her mouth, away from me. “Just let me know if I’m doing something wrong.”

“You’re not doing anything wrong, Reba. It’s not you.” I looked down at Timmy and shook my head. The monstrous, ugly disease of autism was in the room staring me down, daring me to battle.

She took another deep draw on her cigarette. I worried that she smoked, but I didn’t judge her for it. Reba smoked. I ate mashed potatoes, fried chicken, and fudge brownie sundaes every chance I got.

She exhaled with a big huff. “Autism bites.”

I nodded. I hated the word. I felt myself tearing. She stood up to hug me.

“Don’t.” I threw up my hands to push her away. “I’ll lose it if you comfort me. I don’t know why I’m not more used to seeing him struggle by now. It makes me so mad. And when I’m mad I cry.”

Reba grinned with a spark in her eyes. “When I’m mad, I cuss.” She blew out a puff of smoke and flicked her cigarette into an ashtray sitting next to her by the stock room phone.

I laughed and wiped my eyes. I loved Reba. She was tough as nails, rough around the edges, and because of past hurts, didn’t attend church. But she and Trace had always treated Timmy with respect. From the time we arrived in Eel Falls, Timmy had loved the hardware store. When he was younger, we visited every day. Sundays were difficult because the store was closed, and he didn’t understand why he couldn’t stop in. But Monday through Saturday he loved spinning the washers around the bolts and screws and watching them wind up and down. He relished the smell of the leather tool belts and the feel of the cool heads of the hammers. The hardware store was Timmy’s Disneyland, and when the O’Malleys offered to let Timmy work there in the afternoons, we were thrilled.

Reba, my best friend outside of the church, didn’t have any expectations of me. I could be myself, and she’d never tell a soul my secrets. I never heard her gossip about anyone.

She lit up another cigarette. “You need to get that motorcycle you’ve been talkin’ about and ride with Trace and me this summer.”

“I’d love that, Reba. I saw you ride by the church the other night. It looked like heaven to me.” I sighed and watched Timmy huddle deeper into his blanket.

Me ride? What would people think? What kind of rumors would Elder Norman and Bernice start? Could Aaron lose his job? If he lost his job, we’d be on the street because the church owned the parsonage. Besides, who would take care of everything and everybody when I was riding my bike? What would happen if I had an accident?

What would happen if I didn’t do something for myself and lost my mind?

“You’re only human,” Reba lectured me. “You need a break. When’s the last time you went anywhere by yourself without your kids or your husband?”

I shook my head. I couldn’t remember one time in the past ten years.

“I can teach ya to ride,” Reba said. “Ain’t nothin’ to it. And you need the break. A time out.” She arched her fingers like quotation marks. “It’d give you something to do besides all that churchy stuff.”

I nodded. I’d wanted a motorcycle ever since I was a little girl and my great-aunt put me on her Indian. I loved everything about them: the masculine smell of leather, the feel of the cold metal gas tank, and the rumble of the engine.

Was it time for me to pursue some dreams of my own?

My cell phone rang. Aaron. I listened to his frantic voice on the other end.

“OK,” I sighed into the phone. “OK, I hear you. I’ll bring something home. And Aaron—I’m sorry…”

I clicked my phone off and looked at Reba, trying to decide whether to laugh or cry. I could only imagine the face I made.

“What was that all about?” she asked.

“Oh nothing—just that…” I broke down in giggles. “Goliath ate tonight’s supper off the stove.”

“That dog’s a monster.”

“You have no idea.” I turned to Timmy who had calmed himself down to small, puffy sobs. “Ready to go to the Fried Eel and get hamburgers for Daddy, Timmy?”

He looked up and smiled at me through tears. The Fried Eel was his favorite. “Fried Eel fwies? Timmy fwies?” He wiped his nose on his shirt.

“Yes, Timmy. We’ll get you some fries.”

“I’m gonna look into getting you enrolled in some riding classes, Kirstie,” Reba said, putting out her cig.

I started to object.

Reba held up her hand and raised her left eyebrow parent style. “I don’t want to hear it. Won’t hurt a thing to find out about it. And in the meantime, let’s go shopping for a bike. An adventure like that’d be fun and do you good. Now, what color you want?”

“What color bike?”

“Yup. Let’s get specific.”

“Reba, you know me. What color do you think I want?” I gave her my most mischievous grin. I was a girly girl.

Reba wasn’t. She rolled her eyes. “Oh no.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if I can be seen going down the road with you.”

We walked out of the back room and past Trace, who had been listening to the tail end of our conversation.

“Why?” he asked. “What color does she want?”

Reba groaned and waved me off with her hand.

“Bubble gum pink!” I said. “What else?”

3

“What do you do for fun?” My doctor was completely serious when she asked me last week during my yearly checkup. At that moment, I couldn’t think of one thing that sounded fun. I felt like a piece of petrified wood.

Wash the dishes, dirty the dishes, wash them again.

Wash the clothes, dirty the clothes, wash them again.

Monotonous.

Except for the adventures I had with Timmy. He kept things more than interesting, but not in the kind of way that gave me butterflies. More like caterpillars crawling through my insides, making me nervous and scared until I wanted to escape out of my skin worrying what other people thought.

All I had was the day-to-day grueling routine of a rural pastor’s wife. Predictable, reliable, and so much a part of the woodwork, my husband nearly choked on his buttered corn when I announced my plan the next night at supper.

The thought of owning my own motorcycle sent butterflies flitting through my stomach I hadn’t felt since I was nine years old and jumped off the high dive for the first time at the city pool.

“I called motorcycle school today.”

Aaron coughed a second time and pointed to the cell phone attached to his ear. “We’ll discuss it later.” He continued talking on his cell and shoveling mashed potatoes into his mouth. I could tell from his end of the conversation that the treasurer had a budget problem, and he couldn’t wait until after dinner to solve it.

I watched my three sons, Patrick, Danny, and Timmy, inhale in three bites, the fried chicken, coleslaw, mashed potatoes, and gravy I’d spent a good portion of the afternoon making. They each slurped down two glasses of milk without taking a single breath.

Aaron shut off his phone.

I spoke before he could, “I’m signed up to take motorcycle safety classes.”

Freeze frame.

Forks hung in midair. Mouths hung open. All eyes riveted on me.

Aaron choked again and took a drink of his iced tea.

They all giggled, shook their heads, and continued to scarf food like Goliath at his food bowl.

“Motorcycle safety classes?” My husband wiped butter from his chin. “What’s that?”

“You know, classes you take to get your motorcycle license.”

“Don’t you have to have a motorcycle?”

“No. They provide the motorcycles.” I rapid fired the words before he could completely understand them. “But I saw one for sale today that I think I should get. A Harley Sportster. I sat on one. I could flat-foot it.” I took a breath.

“Flat-foot it?”

“Yeah. You know. The bike was low enough for my feet to sit flat on the ground. That way if she starts to tip over I won’t drop her.”

He took a bite of his green beans, chewing on them along with my words. Then he tilted his head back and laughed again. “Honey, you’re a day late. April 1st was yesterday.”

I didn’t smile.

Tears trickled from his eyes as he looked right at me.

The boys laughed because their dad laughed.

I glared.

“I think that’s great, Mom.” Danny looked over at his dad to get his approval.

My jaw tightened. “Thank you, Daniel.”

“How are you going to pay for a motorcycle?” My husband reached for the apple pie.

I measured my words carefully. “I still have my Aunt Mary’s inheritance.”

He frowned. “But I thought we were going to take a trip.”

“I’m still going to be traveling with the money, Aaron. I’ll just be traveling on the back of a Harley.”

I was smiling now. I had their attention. I was in the room. I would never confess how terrified I was at the thought of riding. I felt alive.

Timmy clapped and flapped his hands and rocked back and forth. He always picked up on my emotions.

“Hands, Timmy,” I said. He kept rocking but wrung his hands in his lap.

“What if you crash and die, Mom?” Patrick looked worried.

“I could crash and die in a car, Patrick. Life’s too short to worry about that.”

Patrick threw down his fork. “Life is too short. That’s exactly why I think it’s a stupid idea!”

“Look, guys,” I said. “It’s doctor’s orders.”

“Doctor’s orders?” My husband tilted his head like a puppy and looked at me with his deep brown eyes.

“We…will talk more about it later.” I gave Aaron the look.

Timmy jumped up from the table, clapped his hands loudly, and began to spin. “Cy-cle. Cy-cle. Ma-ma. Cy-cle. Cy-cle. Ma-ma.”

****

I brushed my teeth, slipped into my favorite pair of flannel PJs and brought up the subject again. “You know, honey, my motorcycle idea is sort of doctor’s orders.”

“Doctor’s orders?” Aaron unbuttoned his shirt and threw it on the floor next to the laundry hamper.

“Yeah. She thinks I’m depressed—or too stressed.”

“Why would you be depressed?”

“I don’t know, Aaron, it happens. She said something about a combination of too much stress, not enough down time and a chemical problem in my brain or something.”

“How long have you felt depressed?” We sat side by side on the foot of the bed and I pulled on my socks. I can’t sleep without socks.

“I’m not sure. I didn’t know I was depressed. I mean, I knew I didn’t feel well, and that I didn’t want to do anything for fun anymore. The doctor said it sounded like symptoms of clinical depression.”

“But she doesn’t know for certain?”

“She just suggested I find a hobby or something.”

My husband took my hand. “The joy of the Lord is your strength.” He used his soft and low pastor’s voice.

“I know that.” I pulled my hand away. “I’m not a backslider, Aaron.” I resented it when he went into pastor-mode with me.

“What do you have to be depressed about?” Panic squeaked in his voice.

I sighed. It wasn’t something I could explain. I read my Bible. I prayed. I had a close relationship with the Lord. Why was I depressed?

“Have you ever read the book of Lamentations, Aaron? Sometimes people just get down. When the doctor asked me what I did for fun, I couldn’t think of one thing. I feel sort of dead inside. Like the girl I used to be checked out and forgot to come back.”

Aaron crinkled his brow and pondered this. We were always in such a state of “just surviving” the next event at the church, the next crisis, or Timmy’s next melt-down. “Having fun” had definitely taken a backseat.

“Our ministry is fun,” he said. I could tell he was trying to convince himself. “We have everything we need.”

“Everything you need.”

“Well, I’m not sure that getting a motorcycle will be seen by the church as a need—I’m afraid the church board might think it frivolous—not to mention what it might do to our image.”

“My image, Aaron. Don’t worry. It’ll be me riding the motorcycle, not you, not the church membership. Me.”

“Sweetheart, I had no idea you were feeling this way. If you get a motorcycle—I’m not sure how I’ll handle that.”

I looked at Aaron. His concern caught me a little off guard. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, it’s dangerous. People die on those things. I love you. I’ll do anything you want to help you get through this…this hump or whatever it is. I’m just not sure a motorcycle is the answer.”

I sighed. “Aaron, all my life I’ve wanted one. I…”

Aaron looked worried. “I’ll pray about it.”

He kissed me on the forehead and crawled into bed. I flopped in beside him. There was no more talking to him tonight. I wanted his blessing and God’s if I intended to do this crazy thing. We turned out the lights on our bed stands and lay in dark silence. I felt creases in my brow deep enough to drive a whole motorcycle gang through. I massaged my forehead until the crevices vanished.

Tomorrow, I’d go shopping for motorcycle boots.

Big, black, bad ones.

4

“Aaron, I’m leaving! Keep an eye on Timmy. If you get hungry before I get home the crock pot has supper in it!”

He came out of his office reading a book and spoke without looking up. I often wondered how he didn’t fall over the railing.

“Where are you going?”

“Reba’s meeting me at the Harley dealership with Lily and Opal.”

“Are you serious?” He was looking at me now.

“Yes. I told you, remember?”

Apparently he didn’t. As usual he was reading a book or studying and hadn’t heard what I said. I kept walking toward the door.

“Watch the boys, please. There’s a marathon showing of Cops on TV this afternoon. Just turn that on, and Timmy will be OK until I get back. But could you please bring your stuff down here to study? I’d feel better.”

Aaron stared at me with wrinkly bulldog eyes as he started toward his office. I gathered my purse and waited until everyone was in the living room. As I opened the door, Patrick said, “Don’t worry, Dad, Mom won’t be able to pass the test, and then she can forget this motorcycle insanity.”

Aaron and Danny chuckled above the Cops theme song playing in the background.

I set my chin and closed the door firmly. I could still hear them laughing as I jumped down the porch steps, two at a time.

I picked up Lily at her farmhouse and drove to the Harley dealership. Her cheerful banter made me jittery.

“Oh, Kirsten, you’re going to love riding. I have such fond memories of riding with Milo when he was younger. If only that old-timer’s disease hadn’t gotten him. I miss those days.” Lily sighed and looked out the window.

Autism was my enemy. Alzheimer’s was Lily’s.

“I bet you made some wonderful memories.” I kept my eyes on the road and my voice steady. It was difficult seeing Milo fade into someone we no longer knew.

“There are some disadvantages of marrying someone so much older. But I don’t regret it. Milo was a wonderful husband. He still would be if he weren’t ill. One of my fondest memories is when we rode to Mackinac Island on the back of his Goldwing before the kids were born.”

“I’ve always wanted to go there. Isn’t it romantic? I’ve seen pictures. And of course, watched that romantic movie that featured the island.” I stopped the car at a red light on the edge of town.

“Oh, yes. We stayed at the Grand Hotel. We had to leave our motorcycles across the lake, though. They aren’t allowed on the island.” Lily stared out the window. “But that was long ago, and then life happened—raising kids, farming, and me working at the hospital as a nurse. Life got too busy. We never did get around to going again.”

We drove out of Eel Falls and thirty more miles to the nearest Harley dealership in Pike Creek. I felt my pulse beating in my eyelids. I didn’t want my life to get so busy I forgot to do the romantic, fun things.

“Did you go to the bank?” Reba nudged me with her elbow when we met her in the parking lot.

“Yup. But I feel guilty.”

“Don’t you dare.” Reba glared at me and planted her hands on her hips. “Your Aunt Mary gave you that money to do with what you will. Besides, didn’t you tell me she was a free spirit like me and rode a motorcycle back when only bad girls rode motorcycles?”

I nodded. My great-aunt Mary not only rode motorcycles, she raced them.

“She’d prefer I buy an Indian, though.” I glanced at Reba sideways and she snorted.

“Well, there aren’t any Indian dealerships closer than a hundred miles, so you’re stuck with a Harley.” She hooked her arm into mine, and we marched toward the front door of the dealership.

“Or a Honda.” Lily smiled. She loved her old purple Magnum.

Reba grunted. “Honda. Right.” According to Reba, a motorcycle wasn’t a motorcycle unless it was a Harley. She gave Trace a hard time about his Goldwing. “I’m just teasin’.” She pushed at Lily playfully. They were distant cousins and had grown up together like sisters.

“You’re sure quiet, Opal.” Lily plunked her arm around her old pal and gave her a squeeze.

“I’m having second thoughts,” she said. “I think I’m getting too old.”

“To be ridin’?”

“No, Lily, to get married. Of course to be ridin’.” Opal glared and Lily laughed.

“You never know what you’ll find on the back of a motorcycle, Opal.” Reba raised her eyebrows up and down and wiggled her glasses like Groucho Marx. “You’ve spent way too much time behind a desk. Time to live a little.”

“I didn’t retire from being a school secretary to get killed. I just came along to give Kirstie moral support. It’s my duty as the volunteer church secretary. I’m just doing my job.” Opal sniffed, put her nose in the air and clip-clopped to the door in her sensible shoes.

The four of us entered through the front door of the Harley shop and onto the showroom floor. The bell jangled as the door closed, and I flinched.

“Gracious, you’re jumpy. What gives?” Reba rolled her eyes and shook her head.

We proceeded to look at the gleaming bikes, but every time the bell on the door clanged, I’d jump and look to see who it was. I didn’t want to have to explain my dream to church folks. Not yet.

“Good grief, woman, you’re not in a liquor store or porn shop. You’re gonna make me nervous enough to need a smoke.” Reba smacked me on the back of the head playfully.

“Ouch! I know that. But some people might wonder how I got the money to buy a motorcycle.” I rubbed the back of my head.

“It’s none of their business.” Lily grabbed my arm. “You’ve got to stop worrying so much about what other people think.”

“That’s not a luxury I have, Lily, and you know it.” I removed my arm from her grip. “Everything I do affects my husband’s job and our family’s future. I have to be careful.”

“Well, I sure couldn’t do it.” Reba rocked back on her Harley boots with her hands in her pockets. “I wouldn’t do it. Living in a fishbowl would be too confining for me. I’d drown.”

“Who says it’s not too confining for me? Why do you think I’m here?”

“Thatta girl. Now, let’s get to lookin’…”

“May I help you ladies?” A middle-aged man with graying shoulder-length hair and neatly trimmed beard reached his hand out to Reba, who smiled and gave him a big bear hug. “Reba! Man, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you. Where you been?”

Opal and I looked at each other.

“Same place. I haven’t moved.”

Reba and the salesman caught up on old times and Lily, Opal, and I walked through row after row of lustrous motorcycles. Their radiant colors and chrome were delicious eye-candy for my hungry-for-adventure soul. I thought I could see my heart racing through my T-shirt in its reflection on the gas tanks.

“Find one you like?”

The voice made me jump.

“Sorry about that.” Reba’s friend approached. “Didn’t mean to scare ya. My name’s Rocky. Let me know if I can help ya any.”

“Thanks. I’m Kirsten, and a little nervous about buying my first motorcycle.” I shook his hand and tried to give him a confident smile, but I think “novice” blinked in glowing neon colors on my forehead.

“Been ridin’ long?”

“No, I haven’t actually ridden yet. I mean, by myself. I used to ride behind my great-aunt on her Indian. And I’m signed up to take motorcycle safety classes next week.”

Rocky nodded. “That’s good. Do you have a particular bike in mind?”

“Find her one she can flat-foot, Rocky.” Reba was good at giving orders.

“Flat-foot?” Opal asked.

“Yeah, plant your feet flat on the ground. Safer that way. If the bike’s too tall, she’ll be too heavy to hold up, and you’re more likely to drop her.”

I nodded. If I was going to plunk down this much cash, I sure didn’t want to be dropping my bike.

“See this white one over here?” Rocky walked over to a pearl-white Sportster, and we all followed like little ducks after their mama. “Lady-rider owned, garaged, seat’s been lowered. Give it a sit and see how she feels.”

Hope filled my heart on several levels. I hoped I could own a bike as pretty as this one. I also hoped he would turn around in case I couldn’t get my leg over the bike. The capris I had on were too snug. I wished I hadn’t had that second helping of pasta the night before.

I handed my oversized handbag to Opal and praised God that Reba kept Rocky occupied with stories of yesteryear. I counted to three, jacked my leg up as far as I could, and cleared the sissy bar. Barely.

I recognized the sound of seams ripping.

“So? Whadda ya think?” Reba looked at me and gave me a toothy grin.

“Nice.” I tried to sound like I knew what I was talking about, but to be honest, I had no idea how it was supposed to feel. I was too out of breath from getting on, and had just ripped my capris all the way up the back.

“Could use some forward controls, but looks like she fits you pretty well.” Rocky walked around the bike and checked out my height and the way my feet hit the floor and then rested on the pegs. I pulled my shirt down and shifted in my seat.

“I’d let you drive her, but you don’t have your license or permit yet…”

“What about that one over there?” I pointed to a fully dressed Road King, shimmering in burgundy metal flake. I needed him to look the other way while I devised a launch off the Sportster.

“Might be a bit too much bike for a beginner. But you’re not a petite girl, so you might be able to handle it.” My eyes instinctively widened, and I looked at Lily and tried not to laugh.

I attempted to slingshot myself off quickly, but my foot got stuck and I had to wrench it across the seat. Opal stood behind me stifling a laugh. I swallowed my pride the best I could while trying to catch my breath.

“How much is this one?” I asked. My voice croaked in a whisper. Reba looked at me and held her hands out and mouthed, “What’s wrong?” I gave her a crooked smile. I could hear Opal choking back laughter behind me.

“It’s got fifteen thousand miles on it. I’d say, oh, $12K.” Rocky nodded, stuck out his lower lip, and hid his hands behind his back.

“Hogwash,” Reba said. “You keep quiet, Kirsten, and let me handle the negotiating.”

Reba took Rocky by the arm and whispered something to him that made him throw back his head and laugh. They walked arm and arm into the sales office leaving Lily, Opal, and me with the tempting bikes in the showroom.

The bell on the front door rang again. I jumped and turned to see who had walked in.

Aaron and the boys stood grinning inside the door.

5

“What are you doing here?”

I walked toward Aaron and the boys, and Opal handed me her jacket. I wrapped it around my waist to hide the gaping hole in my capris.

“We talked and decided we needed to be here for you. It’s a big day.” Aaron opened his arms, and I slid into the cuddle-spot where I fit exactly right.

“Really?” I smiled up at him, admiring his kind and noble features.

Opal and Lily walked to the boot section of the store to give us some space.

I looked into Aaron’s eyes. When would I learn he wasn’t like the mother who abandoned my father and me? Aaron hadn’t let me down before. How could I think he wouldn’t be there for me now?

“Oh, Aaron, boys, this means so much to me.” I gathered them into my arms for a big group hug. But not for long.

Timmy struggled free and went skipping down the aisle, clapping and flapping and singing “Born to be Wild.”

“Where’d he learn that?” I looked up at Aaron with raised eyebrows.

Daniel chased after Timmy.

“We sang it in the car on the way over.” Aaron gave me a shy grin.

“Oh yeah?” I nudged him. “You think I’m wild, do you?”

“Just a little.” He held his hands wide apart like a fisherman showing me the size of a big trout he’d just caught.

I gave him a kiss on the cheek. “So, Patrick, you think Mom can ride after all, huh?” I tousled my moody son’s hair.

“I guess.” He shrugged. “As long as you take me with you, sometimes. And teach me to ride.”

“Deal.” I laughed.

“Which bike are you going to buy, Mom? I like this one.” Daniel pointed to a lustrous grape-colored trike. He pulled Timmy behind him by the sleeve of his jacket. Timmy, overwhelmed with the colors and the hum of the lights, flapped even harder.

“That one costs a lot more money than I have. I’m going to go with the white one over there. Well, that is, if Reba can get me a good deal on it.”

“Oh, really?” Aaron walked to the white Sportster and ran his hand over the fender. “It looks OK, I guess. Are you sure it’s what you want?”

“Well, it’s the only thing I can see in the shop in my price range,” I said. “And it fits me.”

“Where’s Reba now?” Aaron looked around the dealership.

“She’s in the office with Rocky, the sales guy. They’re working on a deal or something. I dunno. I sort of ripped my pants and didn’t pay much attention.”

Aaron threw his head back, laughed, and hugged me close. He knew how much I struggled with my weight. But he always assured me my size didn’t matter to him. I felt perfectly safe in his arms. Safe enough to tell him how embarrassed I was and know he would “get it.”

Aaron kissed the top of my forehead. “Let me go find Reba, and you and the boys go try on some boots.”

The boys and I walked over to the boot section.

Lily stood admiring herself in the mirror.

Opal struggled to lace a pair that looked adorable on her.

“I had a boyfriend once who rode a motorsickle.”

“You had a boyfriend, Opal? Back when there were dinosaurs?”

Opal looked up from lacing her size six boots and scowled at me. I never understood why such an attractive woman never married.

“Yes, Kirsten, back in the dinosaur days, my father made me promise not to ride on my boyfriend’s motorsickle and never speak with him. Boys who rode motorsickles were greasers, you know. He rode the sweetest looking Triumph.”

“Why, Opal.” Lily took a break from admiring her boots to holler. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re downright wistful about that motorcycle.”

“Greasers?” I asked.

My sons were admiring the boot display on the wall.

Timmy had already picked a pair he liked.

“Bad boys.” Opal finally stood up to test her laced-up boots. “I do declare, Kirsten, I like these. I might just get these and wear them to motorsickle class.”

“I think you should, Opal. It’s time you lived a little.” Lily patted her on the back.

Opal sighed. “I’ve just always been afraid of my shadow, you know? Still am. Oh, I shouldn’t have come.” She unlaced the boots.

Lily stopped her. “Oh, yes you should have. You’ve been hiding your entire life, and it’s time you stopped. We only get one shot, Opal. One shot. Do you get what I’m saying?” Lily knelt down and looked her life-long friend in the eye.

This was getting too intense. I gave them a group hug to disrupt the mood. “Oh, ladies, we’re going to have so much fun!” I turned to where the boys stood looking for boots. “The guys’ boots are over there on the right-hand side. Daniel, can you help Timmy?”

“Are we getting boots, too, Mom?” Patrick asked.

“Do you want boots?” Dumb question.

They shouted a deafening “Yeah!” including Timmy.

We made our choices and kept three clerks busy helping us try them on.

“Lily, look at all these rivets and buckles and—” I turned sideways in the mirror “Zippers!”

I had never owned a pair of boots. These were bad boots. The kind of boots you wear and sing that silly song about walkin’ with boots on. I slapped a hand over my mouth to stifle the un-ladylike giggles. Was I acting like a proper pastor’s wife? In the mirror, my eyes twinkled with excitement. I looked around to see if I recognized anyone in the dealership, then walked over to Lily and Opal and whispered so the boys couldn’t hear.

“Do you think I could wear these with a skirt to church? Can’t you just see Bernice’s face when I walk up to the piano in front of God and everybody wearing them?” My face warmed with the thought.

Opal and Lily laughed, but then the thought of Bernice seeing me and the thought of her predictable reaction made me feel bad. With her temperament, she’d get way too upset. I’d never be able to do something so bold. “I shouldn’t have said that. Sorry.”

“I know what you mean. It’s hard to be like Jesus and not be ornery, sometimes.” Lily admired the pair of boots she’d pulled on and moved her feet back and forth in front of a full-length mirror.

“Yes, well, if that’s the most we suffer for Jesus—refraining from gossiping about people who don’t like us—we suffer very little.” I pulled the zippers up and down on my boots. I loved that sound.

“His grace is amazing if it keeps this mouth shut.” Lily smiled at me in the mirror, and I smiled back.

I admired my feet and decided I’d found the perfect pair of boots: tough but stylish with extra zippers, laces, and steel toes. They looked and sounded strong and powerful when I walked. Like leather jackhammers with rattling chains.

“Can I help you ladies?” A sales clerk looked up from helping Timmy with his boots. “You look like you’re having a good time.”

“Oh, we are.” I pointed to my feet. “I want these.”

“And I want these,” Lily said, gesturing toward her feet like a game show hostess.

“How about you?” The sales clerk looked at Opal.

“I don’t know. I’m not sure I should be learning to ride a motorsickle at my age.” Opal yanked off the footgear.

“Oh, come on, Opal. When are you gonna lighten up and start living? You’re not getting any younger.” Lily tilted her head and raised her eyebrows.

Opal looked hurt.

“You’re the one who said you’re getting old.” Lily pulled off the enormous pair of leather clompers and admired them.

I laid my boots back in the box and headed for the counter. “C’mon, Opal, think of all the rumors we’ll start in town.”

The boys piled their boxes on top of the counter with mine, and I paid the cashier.

Timmy celebrated by spinning.

“Kirsten, I think you have a rebellious side.” Lily placed her box on the counter and went to help Opal pack up her black lace-ups.

“I think I might.” I grinned. The thought of embarking on an outrageous escapade gave me giant butterflies.

Lily picked up Opal’s boot box and handed it to her. “Tell you what, Opal. If it turns out you absolutely hate riding, I’ll refund your money for the mukluks. Deal?” Lily held out her hand, and Opal reluctantly agreed to the purchase with a limp-fish handshake.

“Deal. But if I’m maimed and live out my last days as a vegetable, you have to promise to nurse me until the day I die.”

“You got it, girlfriend.” Lily was a gifted nurse and famous for tending to her friends’ health needs.

“Kirsten? Can you come here for a minute?” Aaron and Reba emerged from the sales office and walked toward me frowning and shaking their heads.

“What’s wrong?” At the sight of their somber faces, the butterflies in my stomach took a nosedive.

Lily, Opal, and the boys gathered ’round.

“Honey, I’m sorry.” Aaron looked down at the ground.

“What?”

“We couldn’t get a deal on that white bike,” Reba said. She popped her gum and huffed.

“Oh.” I was stunned. “Oh well.” I shrugged. “We’ll just look in the paper for another one.”

“I don’t think so,” Aaron said. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Why not? I need a bike, Aaron. I just spent a fortune on boots for everyone.”

“Oh, that’s really logical, Kirsten.” Aaron rolled his eyes.

I wanted it to make sense. “Why can’t I keep looking? Surely there are other bikes.”

“There are. There are,” he agreed. “But I don’t see one here that’s suitable. Maybe we should go home and pray about it some more.”

Why was he doing this to me? Nausea overcame the spaces where the giant butterflies had rejoiced just moments earlier. I was so close to my dream. What had made him change his mind?

“But, Aaron, I thought you said you came today to support me, I—”

An engine growled. We all turned to see where the rumbling came from. The sales guy, Rocky, roared out of the service area on a Harley.

A pink Harley.

Bubble gum pink.

I looked up at Aaron, who grinned down at me with absolute satisfaction.

“Are you serious? Really? Is that mine? Is that my bike?”

Rocky revved the motor.

Timmy squealed and jumped up and down.

Tears came streaming down my face. I couldn’t move.

“You better get over there and sign the paperwork before they all change their minds,” Reba shouted over the roar of the engine and handed me the papers.

My hands shook as I took them. “Give me a minute to read this,” I said. I took a few steps away from them. I still felt guilty about the money. “Is this what I’m supposed to do, Lord?”

I reminded myself that Aunt Mary stated specifically in her will that under no circumstances was I to spend this money on Timmy or the boys. She set up trusts for them. This money was just for me to do with whatever I wanted. I already tithed and gave to missions. And Aunt Mary had left a substantial amount to missions, too.

The engine roared again, and everyone gathered around the pink and chrome.

I wanted that bike. But it pained me to do something unnecessary with the money. Aaron didn’t make a mega-church salary. Ours was a little rural church. Without Aunt Mary’s help through the lean years of ministry, we wouldn’t have put food on the table.

“Please, God,” I whispered. “If I’m not supposed to get this bike, if I’m going to die on it, or it’s going to ruin my marriage, or something…” I looked at Aaron. “Are you sure it’s OK?”

He nodded. His face glowed. Aaron handed me a pen. “Isn’t it what your Aunt Mary wanted?” He rested his hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

An image of my aunt formed clearly in my mind, riding free on the back of her husband’s fire-engine-red Indian Chief. The wind tangled her chestnut hair and her exquisite, tranquil face rested on my uncle’s broad shoulder. Her graceful arms draped about his waist like gossamer scarves.

Aunt Mary would celebrate this moment. She would cheer for me along with my friends and family. She would guide my hand as I signed the papers.

In that moment, I thought I could hear her speaking in her soft Irish brogue:

“Go for it, Kirsten. Ride free. Ride hard. Just ride.”

6

“Kirstie! Come quick.” Opal’s voice squealed into the phone. I jerked the receiver away from my ear but answered in haste.

“What? What is it?”

“I got one! I got a motorsickle!”

“I’ll be right there.”

I practically ran to Opal’s house, two blocks away. Which is saying something, because I don’t think I’ve run that far since tenth grade, when Mr. Jacob’s turkey chased me out of his yard.

I found Opal in her driveway sitting on the back of a brand new cherry-red Honda Rebel. She looked adorable. And terrified.

“What have I done?” She looked at me through the opening in her full-face helmet.

I giggled. “Looks to me like you got yourself a real motorcycle!”

“Can you believe it? Isn’t it cute, Kirstie?” Opal jumped off the little bike and stood proudly beside it. Her hands shook.

“Your bike is adorable! But not nearly as adorable as you in that getup.” I took in the motorcycle leathers, helmet, and boots she wore. They made her look like that tiny, outer space alien I’d seen in a cartoon on television.

Opal posed like a wrestler getting ready for a match and gave me her toughest look. “Don’t mess with me, girlie. I’m a biker chick now.” She pulled off her helmet.

I laughed and hugged her.

“What got into you? I thought you said you were too old to ride.” I walked around Opal’s bike admiring it.

“You know Reba, Kirsten. She has an extraordinary gift of persuasion. I’m more scared of her than riding, I guess.”

I snickered. “I know what you mean. Oh, Opal, I really believe this is going to be the best summer since I moved to Eel Falls.”

I couldn’t wait to get home and tell Aaron and the boys.

“Opal got a motorcycle!”

“You’re kidding.” Aaron looked at me with disbelief. “Opal? Little, scared, doesn’t-do-anything-unsafe Opal?”

“Yes! Isn’t that wonderful?” I squeezed Aaron’s neck and gave him a peck on the cheek.

“I’m not sure that’s the word I’d use to describe it.” He stiffened and crinkled his eyes with concern.

I rubbed at crevices between his eyes. “Don’t scowl, you’ll get wrinkles.”

That evening while I made chicken Alfredo for dinner, Aaron came behind me and gave me a hug. “It’s fun seeing you excited about something,” he whispered in my ear and nuzzled my neck. Usually, while I’m cooking, his advances annoyed me. But I found myself serene and happy in his arms while I stirred the noodles.

“Thanks, sweetie. I hope I do OK next week. I’m really nervous.”

“You’ll do fine,” he whispered in my ear and kissed my neck again. I plopped the spoon down, turned, and kissed him.

“Ewwwwww.” Patrick slapped his hands over his eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you guys—no PDA!”

“PDA?” Aaron pretended to not understand.

“Public Display of Affection, Dad. Gross.”

The next Thursday night, the girls and I, and twenty other novices, stood in an abandoned parking lot in Fort Wayne waiting for motorcycle class to start. We were the only women in the group.

Reba already had her license, but took the class with us for moral support, and it was a good thing she did, because while we waited for our little bikes with 250cc engines to be assigned, Opal made a beeline for Reba’s truck.

“Opal, get back here right now,” Reba ordered.

Apparently, Reba is more frightening than a motorcycle class.

Opal turned around and stood with her head down. She trembled from head to toe.

I felt bad for her.

“Don’t you dare,” Lily growled through gritted teeth in my ear.

“What?”

“Don’t you feel sorry for her. This is the best thing that’s happened to her in years. She’s been scared of her own shadow her entire life. It’s about time she started living.”

“I just don’t want her to have a heart attack.” I wiped the sweat off my top lip. Even at six o’clock in the evening, the ninety-five degree sun reflecting off the blacktop roasted me.

“She won’t have no heart attack,” Reba said. “She’s healthier than the three of us together. She’s gonna live to be two hundred.”

I hoped they were right. It was bad enough I’d recruited women in the church to ride motorcycles. There’d be a church board meeting for sure if one of them died in the process.

After we got our books and bikes assigned, we went into a tiny trailer and viewed a video that prepared us for the course. We learned all the parts of a motorcycle, but I became lost when they taught the “friction zone.”

“I’m clueless, Reba.” My hands trembled as I rubbed my forehead. What if I failed?

“Don’t worry,” she said. “It’ll all make sense once you’re on the bike.”

But getting on the bike didn’t happen immediately in motorcycle school.

Pushing the bike came first.

The teachers lined us up in groups of seven. I learned where all the controls were on the handlebars. Then the fun began.

We pushed our bikes all around the parking lot. Turn and push and turn and push—and gasp, and cough, and sweat—and turn and gasp and don’t forget to breathe and push and turn.

I looked ahead at Lily and Opal, older and fitter than I was by a long shot. Lily, a farmer’s wife, spent her days wrestling equipment and hogs and cattle. And spunky little Opal pushed the bike like a toddler’s tricycle. Reba’s smoking habit impaired her ability to breathe in the thick humidity, but she still did better than I could manage with my chubby legs squeezed into a tight pair of jeans. I refused to buy the next large size which I realized now was a mistake.

“Water.” I gasped like an Eskimo in the desert. “I need water.”

Reba pulled a water bottle out of her jacket. “Where’s your water?” she asked.

“I didn’t know I’d need water.” I gulped down half a bottle and wiped my mouth. “How can I drink water while I’m riding a motorcycle?”

The sun beat down on the black asphalt where my Harley boots made indentations every step I took. I was drenched in sweat, and my eyes stung from the salty perspiration on my skin. The adorable pink helmet I took so much pride in was a mini sauna.

“Now I know why I never became a marine,” I said. “I’m a weenie.”

Reba choked out a laugh, and Lily and Opal looked at me with pity.

Great. I’m only forty-seven and two older ladies can outdo me. But not for long. Once we got to actually ride our motorcycles, something inside of me clicked. Plus, it didn’t hurt that when I moved, the air moved, and the wind felt cool on my damp skin.

Opal quivered in her new boots as she tried in vain to follow the teacher’s instructions. The instructor explained things to the class more than once and then walked over to Opal and patiently repeated the instructions again.

Lily and Reba, who already knew how to ride, were the star students.

I was another story. Was the teacher leaning way over to the right? Were my handlebars turning? Were people standing over me looking down?

“You OK? Hey, Kirstie, snap out of it,” Reba hollered.

“Get back!” The instructor pulled everyone away from me. “Give her some air. Bring that water bottle over here.”

Splash.

Ahhhh. Wonderful, beautiful, cold, wet water.

I laughed, embarrassed.

“You fainted.” Reba reached out a hand to help me up.

“I can see that.” I grabbed onto Reba’s strong hand and pulled myself up but was too wobbly to stand without help.

“You gonna be OK?” The instructor poured more water on my head, and I enjoyed the icy stream flowing down my neck and back.

“Yes.” I took a deep breath. “I just need to cool off a little I think. Is the bike OK?”

“The bike’s fine.” Lily fanned me with her fanny pack. “There’s not a scratch on it.”

I knew I had chubby thighs for a reason.

Hands on all sides of me offered more water. Our entire class gathered around in concern. The teacher opened one of the bottles and handed it to me. “Drink some more and go sit under that tree and watch.”

The class cost a hundred fifty dollars. If she asked me to leave, it would be an expensive failure.

On Friday and Saturday, I brought a cooler full of water to class. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and I felt like a chicken wing in a broiler. I wasn’t the only one who fainted. One portly fellow with hypoglycemia ran his motorcycle into the fence as he passed out. His motorcycle didn’t fare as well as mine.

“They should tell people to bring granola bars or something. I never dreamed we’d be standing in the open for hours like this.” I shook my head and pitied the poor guy. The ambulance came and whisked him away. He’d have to take the class again.

The rest of us relaxed under one little tree in a median on the edge of the parking lot. We were like survivors on a wilderness game wondering which one of us would be eliminated next. I passed out water and a batch of cookies I’d fetched from my freezer. It eased the tension a little. We all knew any one of us could be removed by a set of bad circumstances.

On Friday night when I got home, I was too sore to cook supper and ordered pizza. I could barely move.

Timmy wanted me to play with him in the pool.

I looked at Aaron with pleading eyes. “I just can’t.”

I wanted to cry. No one prepared me for how difficult the course would be. I had a new admiration and respect now for riders. Who knew it took so much for them to soar down the road on two wheels?

“I’ll take him for a swim, Mom.” Daniel looked at me with pity.

“Do I look that bad?” I asked.

He simply nodded his head and took Timmy out to play.

Opal called while I soaked in the tub. “Are you ready for the test tomorrow?”

“I hope so.” I rubbed aloe across the new freckles on my sunburned nose. My reflection in the mirror across from the tub revealed exhausted, bloodshot eyes encircled with a white mask where sunglasses protected my skin from the sun’s angry glare.

“I’m worried about the swerve part,” I said. “I don’t think I did it right even once.”

“I’m worried about the stop.” I heard Opal bite into something crisp.

“Carrots?”

Opal loved healthy food. “Yup,” she said. “And celery.”

“Naturally.” I giggled at my own pun.

“Seriously, Kirsten, if I can’t stop suddenly, they won’t pass me.” She crunched in my ear, and I nodded as if she could see me.

“I know.”

She was right. That was the one requirement regardless of our scores on anything else on the test.

“But we’re gonna be prayed up and ready to do this, right?”

“Right.” She didn’t sound convinced.

The next morning the class took the written exam. Two people didn’t pass and weren’t permitted to take the riding test. We all pretended not to notice when they drove away as we mounted our bikes.

One by one, the instructors put us through the paces of our newly acquired skills. U-turns without putting a foot down, swerving quickly to the left and right in succession, weaving in and out of cones, figure eights, stopping suddenly, and more. Watching Lily and Reba navigate the course was like watching a ballet. They danced with their bikes. Opal and I couldn’t take our eyes off them.

Opal and I were three bikes apart in line to take the test. Opal went first. I prayed the entire time. She knocked down some cones, and I couldn’t tell if she maneuvered correctly in the swerves because I wasn’t sure how to do it myself. But when it came to the stop, she did it. I could see her white teeth smiling at me from across the parking lot.

Finally, it was my turn. I maneuvered the cones, figure eight, and even the swerves correctly. “Thank you, Jesus,” I whispered. But when it came to the U-turn, I tapped my foot down in reflex. “God, please help me,” I whispered frantically.

The last part of the course was the sudden stop.

I nailed it.

After the testing ended, we all lined up for our scores and papers to take to the license branch to get the coveted “M” on our licenses. We had to score at least a seventy-five to pass. Reba and Lily passed with flying colors. Opal let out a sigh of relief when she discovered she’d gotten a seventy-six, and we all cheered. But when my turn came to learn my score, the teacher scowled at me with a serious expression on his face. He looked me in the eye, and then…he smiled.

We were ready to rumble.

7

“OK, now that we have our motorcycle endorsements, we should get together and have a bike naming ceremony. You know, like the natives do.” Reba grinned and took a loud sip of her cherry cola.

“The natives name their bikes?” Opal asked.

“No, silly, they name their babies.” Reba cuffed Opal upside the head. “Don’t be difficult. Take me seriously.” Reba’s loud voice carried clear across the restaurant.

Someone eating a brownie fudge sundae turned to stare.

I hid behind my candy bar flavored ice cream treat.

“Why should we name our bikes?” Lily bit into her hamburger, and a pickle slid out and landed on her shirt. She scooped it up and ate it.

“Because that’s what you do. Bikers name their bikes. You named your horse, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but that’s because it’s a living thing,” Lily said. “A bike is a machine.”

“Haven’t you ever named your car or your tractor?”

Lily chewed another bite of hamburger and looked up in thought. “You know, now that I think of it, my grandpa used to call his pickup Barbie. Especially when he tried to start her. He said she ran kind of cold.”

“OK, then. So, when do y’all want to get together and reveal bike names?” Reba looked at us with her left eyebrow up.

“This is silly.” I giggled.

Reba glared at me.

“Well, it is.”

She glared again.

I took a bite of my ice cream.

Opal came up for air from eating her banana split. “How about we do it after our practice ride next Saturday?”

“Sounds good to me,” I said. “OK with you, Lily?”

Lily nodded, swallowed, and took a swig of her lemonade. “Sounds silly, but OK.”

All week long, I thought about my bike and what it should be called. First, I needed to decide its gender. I was pretty certain it was a girl, but I wanted to be sure.

“What should I name my bike?” I asked at the supper table.

“Name your bike?” Aaron looked at me and crinkled his forehead. Did he think I’d lost my mind?

“Yeah. Reba says it’s proper to give them a name.”

“Proper?” Aaron scowled.

“Name him Pinky and the Brain.” Timmy giggled and sucked on his three middle fingers. “He’s Pinky and the Brain.” He laughed, flapped, and rocked so hard he almost fell off his chair.

I wanted to throttle the caregiver who let him watch Pinky and the Brain. I never allowed my kids to watch certain cartoons, and now Timmy echoed all the ones I avoided. It was part of his language disorder. He could repeat anything on TV, but he couldn’t hold a conversation.

“How about Lightning?” Daniel popped another shredded potato bit in his mouth.

“That’s an idea.” I nodded but rejected it in my mind. “I’m thinking of something a little less dramatic.”

“I think it’s stupid. No real biker wears pink and rides a pink Harley,” Patrick said. “I’m going to be the laughingstock of town.”

Aaron dropped his fork on his plate and cleared his throat. “Don’t talk to your mother that way. Do it again and you’re going to your room.” Aaron rarely got angry, but when it came to defending me, he became an alpha wolf.

“Aaron, it’s okay.” I rested my hand on my husband’s arm to let him know I was fine. “Never mind, boys. I’ll think of a name.”

That night I got on the Internet and looked up baby names. I wanted something that sounded pretty. My bike glowed pearlescent and blushing pink, like a bride. It needed a moniker like Cinderella or Snow White. I knew Reba would hate it, but it was my bike, not hers. It was a girl motorcycle and needed a female handle.

Finally, I hit on the perfect label.

“That’s it,” I said aloud. “That’s her name.”

On Saturday, the girls and I rode slowly through the back roads to the nearby nature preserve. It was scary because Opal and I weren’t experienced enough to be on the road. I still hadn’t figured out how to get past third gear. Thankfully, the site was only a couple miles away.

We finally made it to the forest and parked our bikes in a wide circle on a campsite next to the lake. In the middle, we lit a small fire, roasted marshmallows, and ate way too much chocolate. We’d all brought our own thermoses of coffee or hot cocoa.

Opal brought her herbal tea. “To flush out all them sugar toxins.”

The glowing evening sun echoed the orange embers of our campfire and splashed the clouds with bright pinks and lavenders.

“See?” I thought to myself. “Even God likes to paint with pink.”

“OK, time to get serious,” Reba said after the last sticky marshmallow. “Ladies, get your helmets. I’ll get the awl.”

“Awl?” We all looked at one other.

We got our helmets and watched as Reba brought back a little vial of motor oil.

“Oh, oil.” Opal sighed.

We stifled a laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Reba asked.

“Nothing,” I said.

“This here awl, I’m gonna smudge it on yer foreheads the way the natives do during their ceremonies.”

“Hold on there, pilgrim,” I said. “I’m not doing any such thing. The only oil I’m going to smudge on my head is anointing oil.”

“Same here.” Opal rarely spoke up against Reba, but she clearly would have none of Reba’s kind of anointing.

Reba shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She smudged some on her forehead and then smudged some on Lily’s. “Now we’ll invite the spirit keepers to come for protection and guidance.”

I gulped. What had I gotten myself into? Silently I prayed and asked God to protect me from any kind of spirits that Reba might be trying to conjure up. The only guidance I wanted was Holy Spirit guidance.

“In the Name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,” I spoke softly, but aloud.

Reba just shrugged. “Sure, whatever God you pray to, I don’t care. Go ahead.”

“Now we will anoint our bikes with the four elements of earth, air, fire, and water.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “I think the fact that we will be blessing our bikes at church sort of cancels out that part.”

“Oh, yeah,” she said. “OK, we can skip that part. Now, where’s my pipe?”

Reba pulled a pipe out of her jacket and lit it. She passed it to Lily. “We smoke the pipe to seal the agreement with the Great Spirit.”

“I don’t smoke, but I’ll just pretend to.” Lily drew the pipe to her lips and posed with it for a few giggles and then passed the pipe to me.

“It smells lovely,” I said. “But I’ll pass and just agree with God that He will bless my journeys.”

“How about if I just light a candle instead?” Opal’s voice squeaked. She didn’t have a candle, but we all agreed it was a good idea.

“You guys sure aren’t doing much of the ceremony. What’s the sense of a ceremony if we just sit here and say the name of our bike?” Reba looked miffed. She took another puff of the pipe. “Now,” she said. “The natives sing songs and play rattles. The rattles are for soul retrieval. That’s why we give rattles to babies.”

“We do?” I’m sure my eyes bulged halfway out of their sockets. I sure didn’t give rattles to babies for that. I thought we gave rattles to babies because babies liked the noise.

“Well, used to. Nowadays we just give them rattles. Anyway, we don’t have rattles for our bikes, but,” she said, pulling out four little boxes. How much stuff did she keep in that jacket anyway? “I have a gift for each of you.”

“Uhm, Reba, our bikes don’t have souls,” I said.

“Oh, but they do. They do. You’ll see. After our first big ride, you’ll see.” She gave each of us a tiny little box. “Now,” she smiled, “open them.”

We opened our boxes and found tiny bells inside.

“Oh, how cute.” Lily pulled hers out of the box and held it up.

“Those are gremlin bells.” Reba grinned and popped a piece of bubble gum in her mouth.

“Gremlin bells?” Opal and I spoke in unison.

“Yep. They keep the gremlins away from you.”

“Gremlins?” Was I hearing her right?

“Yeah, you know, evil road spirits.”

“Evil road spirits?” Boy was I glad Aaron wasn’t here.

“Yes. Motorcycle gremlins love to ride, but they cause all sorts of problems when you’re on the road. Remember that man who cut you off in traffic, Opal?”

“Yeah…” Opal whispered.

“Motorcycle gremlin. And, Lily, remember when you couldn’t get your bike out of neutral into first gear at the light?”

Lily nodded.

“Motorcycle gremlin. And Kirstie, that time you couldn’t get your turn signal to turn off…”

“Hold it right there, Reba. You’re scaring these ladies to death. Get to the point.”

“You spoil all the fun, Kirstie.” Reba whined. But she was enjoying herself. “When someone gives you a bell, you hang it on your bike, and it wards off the attacks from the gremlins.”

“Oh, yeah, like that insurance commercial.” Lily laughed.

“Exactly,” Reba smiled. “If the gremlins are already riding with you, they get trapped inside the bell, and the ringing drives them so crazy they lose their grip and fall off. Now, if you buy your own bell, the power’s still there, but if you are given a bell, then the power’s doubled.”

“That’s so sweet of you, Reba.” Opal didn’t sound convinced. But at least she tried.

I looked at my bell and wondered what to do. Should I hang it on my bike and pretend I believed in gremlins? If I didn’t, would Reba be offended?

From the darkness of the trees, I heard a cough. “Did you hear that?” I looked at the other girls.

“Hear what?” Lily admired her little bell.

“That cough. I could have sworn I heard a cough from somewhere in those trees.”

“I didn’t hear anything. Oh, Reba, I love this tinkly little thing.” Opal flicked at her bell to make it ring.

I must have imagined the cough.

“All your bells are different,” Reba said. “Lily, your bell has a rose on it and says Lady Rider. I got that one for you because of your garden.”

“Aww, thanks, Reba.” Lily gave Reba a hug, and Reba embraced her so hard Lily gasped for air.

“Opal, I gave you one with an eagle on it because you’re just learning to fly, and once you do, you’re gonna soar.”

Opal looked closely at her bell and back up at Reba. “Thanks, Reba. I hope so.”

“There ain’t no hopin’. Two weeks ago you’d have never gotten out of your neighborhood. Now look at ya—you’ve done your first group ride, and you lived to tell the tale.”

“Do these things scare deer?” Opal asked.

“’Fraid not.”

“Rats.” Opal stuck out her bottom lip and pretended to pout.

“And you, Kirstie, well, I think you know why yours says what it does.”

I pulled out my reading glasses and looked closer at my bell. It had a cross on it and said “Jesus” inside the shape of a fish. Well, well. The old girl listens.

“Thanks, Reba.” I hugged her neck and kissed her cheek.

“Sure, honey,” she said. “I’m not a heathen, you know. I did go to church once.” She seemed almost wistful. “I know Who protects you when you ride. Me, I’m not so sure anymore.”

“Oh, but He does, Reba.”

“If you say so.” She shrugged and showed us where to hang the bells on our bikes.

“Most people hang them low on the frame somewhere just behind the front wheel.”

But we all decided to hang them where we could see them. I hung mine from my handlebars. I wouldn’t hear it ringing, but that was OK because I knew Who it was that protected me on the road. And so did Reba.

“Now, it’s time to announce your bike’s name,” Reba said. She turned to her own bike. “Of course, you’ve already met Linus.” She gestured toward her motorcycle like a model on a runway, gesturing to a crowd.

“Hi, Linus,” the entire class chorused.

I felt rather foolish and wondered if Lily and Opal did, too.

“OK, Lily, you go next.”

“Ladies.” She leaned up against her motorcycle seat. “I would like you to meet Plum Crazy.”

“Hiya, Plum.” We all waved and laughed. It fit her purple Magnum to a T.

“Opal?”

Opal ran up to her bike and stood behind it with a huge grin.

“It gives me great pleasure, dear friends, to introduce you to—Firefly.”

“Opal. That’s a perfect name for a little red motorcycle.” I clapped and cheered. It was odd, but somehow, those bikes did take on a personality of their own after we named them.

“And now, Kirstie, would you please introduce us to yours?” Reba pointed to my bike, and I walked over to it.

“Ladies.” I turned to face them and smiled at their expectant faces. I couldn’t believe I stood here among such sweet friends, being silly in the woods, participating in a motorcycle-naming ritual. A year ago, I’d never thought it possible. I turned and admired my beautiful bike, drinking in the idea that she was mine. Really mine.

“Well? Are you gonna tell us her name or not?” Reba wasn’t a patient woman.

“Hurry up.” Opal slapped at her arm. “I’m getting ate up out here.”

“Shhh. Let her speak.” Lily smiled at me and gestured for me to go on.

I got on the back of my bike and hugged the gas tank and felt the smooth cool metal on my cheek. I sat up and ran my fingers along the handlebars.

“So? Are you gonna tell us or not?” Reba popped her gum and parked her hand on her hip.

I smiled.

“It will come as no surprise what I’ve named her. It’s exactly what she is to me.”

“So she’s a girl?” Opal laughed.

“Yes.” I nodded. “She’s a girl.”

“And her name?” Lily asked.

“Her name?” I fluttered my eyelashes like a coy school girl. “Her name is Heaven.”

8

“Aaron, hurry up. We’re going to be late.” I wrestled with the cowlick on the top of Timmy’s head with hair gel gooped between my fingers.

“Late, Aaron.” Timmy giggled.

Patrick walked in, his face scrunched up with worry. “Mom, tell Dad to come on. I can’t be late for practice.”

“Go on out to the van. He’ll be down in a minute. Timmy, go get in your seatbelt.” I patted him on the back and guided him toward the stairs.

“Seatbelt. Seatbelt, Patrick!” Timmy hollered as we walked down the stairs.

“I know, Timmy. I know. Be quiet.” Patrick hated it when Timmy bossed him around.

“How do I look, Mom?” Danny met me in the living room.

I sucked in my breath.

My handsome little man. So independent, dependable, and talented. I was more than blessed with this boy.

“Honey, you look very handsome. Will you promise not to let any of the girls kiss you tonight?”

“Mom!” He turned as red as the hair on his head. He picked up his violin case, and we all headed out to the car as Aaron descended the stairs buttoning his sleeves.

“I completely forgot about this recital.” He tripped on the bottom step and turned around to look at it.

“I added Danny’s recital on your phone calendar,” I said. “But you have to actually look at the thing for it to remind you.”

I smiled at my absent-minded-professor husband. He lived in his head. I had forgiven him a long time ago for his forgetfulness, but it was a long time before I understood and appreciated that part of his personality.

Finally, we all piled in the car.

Timmy, excited as usual to be going somewhere, hummed and flicked his fingers in front of his eyes.

“Timmy, be quiet.” Patrick pushed at Timmy. “You’re annoying.”

“Patrick, cut it out.” I raised my voice just a little. “You’re beginning to annoy me.”

“What about him? Make him stop making those noises. He only does it to push my buttons.”

Why did I constantly need to remind Patrick of Timmy’s limitations?

“Then don’t let your buttons show.” I kept my voice soft and low.

Patrick just shook his head and looked out the window.

He was drifting away from me.

Timmy had drifted away at the age of 18 months when he suddenly lost all his speech and stopped making eye contact. But Patrick was drifting for other reasons. And I needed to find out why.

We pulled up to Patrick’s friend’s house, and he took his guitar out of the back of the van.

“Don’t bother picking me up,” he said. “Nadia is taking me home.”

“Who’s Nadia?” I asked.

“Yeah, who’s Nadia?” Aaron looked at Patrick, who stood by his window.

“James’s big sister,” Patrick said.

“How old is she?” I was worried. Patrick had never been in a car alone with a girl before.

“Eighteen, Mom. She’s too old for me.”

“Well, OK. But be home by ten o’clock. No later.”

“Mom, c’mon. It’s Friday night.”

“And you’re only fifteen years old,” Aaron said. “Ten o’clock. Period.”

“Fine.” He turned around and walked away with his shoulders hunched in frustration.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately.” I leaned my head against the hard window, a clear barrier against the outside world. If only I could build such a barrier between my children and the roiling emotions of growing up.

“It’s called cutting Mama’s apron strings.” Aaron hid my hand in his.

“You think so?” I cradled his hand in both of mine. “But I don’t baby him.”

Aaron sat silent.

I wondered what that meant.

At the recital, I turned Timmy’s iPod on to his favorite playlist and helped him with his earphones. He couldn’t handle the high tones of the instruments and would hold his ears and scream if he didn’t listen to something else. He turned up his favorite songs on his iPod while Danny and the other students played.

I was bursting with admiration at Daniel’s performance. He played every note with skill and perfection. He was, in a word, brilliant.

“Danny have much talent. He work hard.” His teacher, Miss Lyang, originally from Japan, smiled and bowed in front of me after the recital. We all loved and applauded her skill as a teacher and musician.

“Yes, he does work hard. But he has a good teacher, too. I want to thank you for all your hard work.”

“My pleasure.” Miss Lyang bowed again and turned to speak to other parents.

I gave Danny a big hug. At least my baby was still willing to let his mom show him affection in public. I was keenly aware of how soon my brood would leave the nest. Well, except for Timmy. But his hugs were few and far in between.

“Oh, Danny, your performance was splendid.” I kissed his freckled forehead.

“Thanks, Mom. Can I have a cookie now?”

“Sure.” I laughed.

He had no inklings of his gift. He just loved to play.

“Good job, son.” Aaron hugged Danny and messed his hair. “Your Grandma Donovan would be proud.”

“Did you video it so I can post it online for Grandma?” Danny loved talking to his grandma online.

“I got every note,” Aaron said.

Danny chattered all the way home, and Timmy mimicked him and clapped.

It was ten thirty by the time we arrived and found the house completely dark.

“Maybe Patrick’s in the basement watching a movie.” At least I hoped he might be.

Goliath met us at the door and begged to be let out. As I pushed him out the back door into the fenced yard, I hollered down the basement stairs.

“Patrick?”

No answer.

I prepared a snack for Timmy as Daniel fed Goliath and Aaron paced in the living room.

“He’s not going to get here any faster just because you keep looking out the window.” I gave Timmy his fruit cup and unloaded the dishwasher.

“Maybe we should call someone.” Aaron sat on the couch and flipped on the TV.

A car pulled up.

I finally let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“You’re late.” Aaron met Patrick at the door.

“Only an hour.” Patrick shrugged.

“Your mother and I said ten o’clock.”

“What’s the big deal? It’s only eleven.”

“Eleven ten. It matters because we want to be able to trust you, Patrick. If you want more privileges when you get older, you need to be home when we tell you to be home.”

“Whatever,” Patrick said, heading toward the stairs.

“Come back here.” Aaron pointed to the floor in front of him.

“Aaron.” I touched my hand to his arm. “Maybe…”

“No, Kirstie. Let me handle this.”

I left the room and took Daniel and Timmy upstairs.

Friction existed between Aaron and Patrick. They were worlds apart. I didn’t mean to interfere with Aaron’s parenting, but I didn’t always agree with his harsh tactics.

“Time for bed boys,” I said. “Tomorrow you’re gonna help Mom practice her motorcycle.”

“Cycle! Cycle!” Timmy spun in place and clapped.

Daniel giggled. “‘Night, Mom.” Daniel gave me a big hug and kissed me on the cheek.

“‘Night, night Daniel. Daddy and I are very proud of you.”

As I readied Timmy for bed, I could hear raised voices down in the living room. Only one person in the world could cause my mild-mannered husband to lose his cool, and that was Patrick.

I loved them both. And I saw each of their points of view, but living with the constant strain between the two of them created tension in the home. Patrick’s attitude scared me. I think it frightened Aaron, too. We’d never parented a teenager before. Were we doing things all wrong?

Finally, as I got ready for bed, I heard Patrick slam the door to his room.

Aaron walked into the bedroom and looked at me, shook his head, sat on the edge of the bed, and sighed. “I don’t know how to reach him.” He held his head in his hands. “He has an answer for everything. He can justify all his actions. And he really doesn’t think we know what we’re talking about.”

“Sounds like a teenager to me, honey.” I sat beside Aaron and draped my arm around him. “All we can do is keep loving him and praying and guiding him the best we know how.”

“I don’t know why I let him get to me. Every day I tell myself I’m not going to lose my cool, and then he says something or pushes a boundary and I…”

“Shhhh. You’re tired. Everything will look better in the morning.” I patted him on the shoulder and stood up. “C’mon. Time for bed. You have a big day tomorrow.”

“What’s tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow you get to help me practice riding my motorcycle.” I motioned with my fists as if I were revving up an engine.

“Oh, I do, do I?” Aaron stood and took me in his arms. “I didn’t realize I’d married a biker chick.”

“Well, you better get used to it, buddy.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Take your pick.”

Aaron laughed.

“A threat or promise?” Timmy stood in the doorway of our room without his pjs on.

“Whose turn is it?” I looked at Aaron’s exhausted face. “Never mind, I’ll do it. You go to bed and get some sleep.”

“Thanks, sweetie.” He didn’t argue.

“C’mon, Timmy. Let’s go find your pajamas. Where’d you hide them this time?”

“Find pajamas. Daddy go night, night. Night, night, Daddy.”

“Goodnight, Timmy.”

I took Timmy to his room, found his pajamas and dressed him again. I lay next to my big strong son with the little boy’s heart and fought the tears that threatened to trickle down my cheeks as questions raced and popped through my mind like a Harley V-twin.

Why did life have to be so hard? What happened to the dreams Aaron and I had of a loving family instead of the dysfunctional ones of our childhood? Why did God make it difficult for us to understand Him? For Patrick to sense His love?

Why did God have to make Timmy autistic?

And when would I ever feel truly happy again?

9

“Just follow me in case I drop the motorcycle,” I spoke to Aaron through the van window as sweat dripped off my forehead. I should have worn more deodorant. My protective gear was stifling, and the bouquet of my pits was none too lady-like.

Timmy, perched beside Aaron in the front seat of the van, clapped and waved at me.

Daniel reclined in the backseat reading the latest sci-fi novel he’d picked up at the library, and Patrick was in the house playing video games. He wouldn’t be caught following his mom on a motorcycle. That would be extremely un-cool.

Even though I passed the licensing tests, I needed to practice my new skills on real roads. I pulled on my gloves and started the bike. I was still afraid to get past third gear. I wanted to soar like my Aunt Mary had on her motorcycle. But fear kept me from going any faster than thirty-five miles per hour.

I pulled up beside Aaron and shouted over the motor. “I’m going to go out by Parker’s farm, and I’m going to keep going. Don’t ride on my tail in case I stop suddenly.”

Aaron glowered at me. “I think I know how to stop a car, Kirstie.”

“I know. I just feel better saying it. I don’t want to croak the first week after getting my license.”

We drove out to the country, and I spent thirty minutes learning how to stop at a stop sign and start again without killing the engine. I never did get past third gear.

It didn’t matter. Riding and enjoying the Indiana spring with its wildflowers in full bloom thrilled me. Red-winged blackbirds, cardinals, and eastern bluebirds danced in the meadows as I passed. All of nature celebrated my newfound freedom. I drank in the beauty of daisies, blue-eyed Mary, and Star of Bethlehem. The scents of freshly mown grass, forget-me-nots, and lily of the valley seared my nostrils, but my favorite scents by far were the lilacs. This aromatic revelation brought enormous joy to my scent-deprived life. I couldn’t smell all these grand miracles in the car!

At the next stop sign, I looked back to see Timmy and Daniel clapping for me and shouting, “Go, Mom!”

Even Aaron grinned ear to ear. He was proud of me.

But this stop sign was on a hill, and I hadn’t yet learned how to navigate one.

“OK, Kirstie, remember the friction zone,” I said.

I let the clutch out slowly and gave my bike plenty of throttle. But when I let off the clutch, I started going backward, and it scared me. It conked out. I started the bike and tried climbing the hill from a complete stop again.

“Go, Mom, go!”

“Bike broken! Bike broken!” I could hear Timmy shouting as he stuck his head out the window.

OK, girl, c’mon. You can do this.

My heart raced and my lips were salty from sweat. Panic caused me to perspire even more in this heat. I decided I hated hills. I was terrified.

I tried going forward again, but I let the clutch out too fast and killed the engine.

My hands shook with fatigue, and I sweated profusely under my full-face helmet.

“One more time, Kirstie.” I let off the clutch nice and slow and gave Heaven plenty of throttle.

This time the engine engaged in a smooth purr as I moved forward and over the hill. My boys cheered behind me as if I’d just won the Boston Marathon. There was no way I could quit in front of my fans. I wanted to show them that I could persevere no matter what the obstacle.

The next day, Lily, Opal, Reba, and I decided to get together and practice our turns in the high school parking lot. We all met up at my place. Well, the parsonage. I’d never had a house truly my own. Living in a parsonage means hundreds of landlords.

We sat parked at the end of my driveway in full motorcycle gear. I had a nagging concern about what the neighbors were thinking. I hated that I cared.

Reba took a swig of water from the bottle sitting between her bike’s windshield and handlebars. “After the parking lot, we’ll go to the cemetery and ride through there. It’s got lots of curves.”

“I’m not going there if there’s a funeral.” Opal’s refusal came from somewhere inside her helmet.

“Of course not.” I laughed.

I could tell by the way Opal chewed on her lip she was terrified.

Reba rolled her eyes.

“Good grief, Opal, we live in northern Indiana not the Ozark Mountains. All ya gotta do is aim and fly straight. These roads go on forever. Stop and go is all ya gotta learn. It’s not like there’s any traffic on the road other than an occasional raccoon family or deer.”

“Deer? Oh no, I forgot about the deer…” The fringe on Opal’s boots trembled like a wind chime.

I stifled a laugh.

“What if I hit a deer?” Opal whined and groaned.

“Well, you’ll probably die,” Reba quipped.

“Die?”

“The way I see it is we’re all pretty much flirting with death at our age anyway—so why not die havin’ fun?”

“Yeah.” I tried to sound brave. “At least this way we have a say in how we go.”

“And what a way to go.” Lily’s hair was matted to her head from her helmet, making her look ridiculous. But we wore our helmet hair as a badge of honor. Not every woman had motorcycle skills.

“OK, quit yer bellyachin’ and hit the parking lot.” Reba started up her bike, revved the engine, and shot me a wicked grin. She took off before the rest of us could find first gear. We watched as she roared to the end of the road, did a U-turn, and came back.

Lily followed her and did the same.

“They make it look so easy.” Opal shook her head in despair.

“I know. But just think, with a little practice, we’ll both be riding like that.”

Opal looked at me sideways.

“Look, I’m terrified, too, but I’ve spent every day since class practicing, and now I can do a U-turn, too.”

“Like that?” Opal yanked her head toward Reba.

“No, not exactly…but she’s been riding forever. C’mon. We gotta do this. You promised, and we spent way too much for all this gear to give up now.”

I spoke tight-fisted Opal’s language now. She’d laid down a couple thousand dollars of her pension just for gear. And besides, now that she had it all on, it would be too much work to take it off.

Finally, we started our engines.

Opal found first gear and ran herself right up into my neighbor’s yard. At least she stopped before she hit the living room window.

“Opal!” I shouted. “Are you OK?”

“I’m fine.” I had never heard Opal snarl before. I kind of liked it.

“What happened?” Lily yelled.

“I couldn’t find the off switch!” Opal hollered back.

I looked at Reba who sat with her jaw hanging open.

“You have got to be kidding me,” she said. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not joking. And if you don’t like it, you can just let me go home.”

“You aren’t going anywhere, Opal,” I said. “We’ve worked too hard to get here. We aren’t going to let this lick us.” I helped push her little Rebel back on the road. “That red switch there on your right is the off switch, should you find yourself crashing into another yard.”

“Thanks. This bike is different than the one in motorcycle school.” Opal looked over at Reba and Lily. “Well, what are you two staring at? We all learn at our own speed.”

We traveled the two blocks to the high school parking lot, and Reba designed an obstacle course with tennis balls cut in half for markers. We practiced weaving in and out of the balls, making U-turns, doing figure eights, and finding our friction zone. After about an hour, we rode a block to the park and sat in the shade of the trees to cool off.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Opal took off her helmet and ran shaky fingers through gray curls. “It’s the craziest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Me, too.” I applied another layer of sunblock to my nose.

“It’s not crazy.” Reba flipped the visor up on her helmet. “It’s probably the most sane thing the two of you scaredy-cats have ever done. You won’t be sorry. You wait and see. Biking is a lifestyle. You’re gonna love the freedom.”

After our rest, we went to the cemetery and made our way through the maze of little roads. Reba seemed satisfied with our practice that day.

“OK, girls,” she said. “Tomorrow, we hit the road. We’ll go to Wabash for ice cream.”

“But you have to travel on a highway to get to Wabash.” Opal whined.

Lily rolled her eyes and shook her head. “What are you going to do, Opal, ride around in the cemetery all your life?”

“Maybe. Better riding in it than sleeping in it like all these folks.” She pointed to the grave markers.

I cleared my throat. “I have a confession to make. I’ve never gone over thirty-five miles per hour.”

“Not a problem,” Reba said. “Once you get out on the highway, you’ll want to go faster. You’ll see.”

“But what if I don’t?

“Then we’ll all go thirty-five miles per hour. I won’t lose you.”

I had my doubts about that.

10

“Excuse me? Did I hear right, or are my ears deceiving me again?” Elder Watson Cobb’s jowls shook when he talked. “You want us to pray and bless a bunch of motorcycles?”

“It’s more like you pray for the biker than the bike, but you know, you bless the bike to ask the Lord to protect the bikers on the road, that kind of thing.” I passed out brownies and napkins, careful not to make eye contact.

“Has anyone ever seen one done before?” My husband looked around the conference table where we sat in the fellowship hall and everyone shook their heads.

“Look.” I set the brownies down and took a seat beside Aaron. “It’s simply another way to bless a group of people who don’t normally come to church. We pray over the bikers, serve a lunch, maybe a band plays Christian music, and then we ride.”

“That sounds reasonable.” Aaron took a bite of brownie and wiped his fingers on his napkin.

“It’s ridiculous,” Elder Norman said. “Bernice will never go for it.”

“But it’s not Bernice’s decision.” I took a quick bite of my brownie.

Aaron glared at me.

“When would we do this?” Elder Pete studied his coffee cup, deep in thought.

“As soon as possible. On a Sunday after church,” I spoke with my hand over my mouth full of brownie.

“Where would we do it?” Norman tapped his fingers on the table. He didn’t touch his brownie. Not a good sign.

“In the parking lot,” I said. “We could easily take our sound equipment out there and—”

“Whoa, now, wait a minute. The Millers donated that sound equipment in memory of their father. I’m not sure they’ll like the idea of using it out of doors.” Deacon Wilcox looked across the table at Norman for support, and he got it.

“But they donated it to be used.” I struggled to keep my voice steady. “Surely they won’t mind when they learn it’s being used for outreach.”

Aaron shot me a look again and raised his eyebrows. I recognized his “know-your-place” look. I almost glared back at him but avoided his gaze instead.

“What about our insurance?” Norman looked at Pete Hansen, our church treasurer.

“We’re covered for any activity that takes place on church grounds.” Pete shot me a smile. I could usually count on his support.

“I don’t know.” Norman cleared his throat and sat back in his chair. “Seems dangerous to me. And noisy. The neighbors won’t like it.”

“It’ll be during the day, on Sunday at lunch time, not at night when they’re trying to sleep.” I hoped I didn’t sound sarcastic.

“Well, I know Bernice isn’t going to like it, and if Bernice doesn’t like it, you know half the church won’t like it.” Norman looked at all the board and gave a slow nod.

I leaned over to whisper in Aaron’s ear. “But one person shouldn’t be allowed to be the majority.”

“What’s the purpose of this anyway?” Pete asked.

“It’s an outreach,” Aaron finally spoke up. “A way to pray for protection for people who ride motorcycles and to show them the love of Christ.”

Elder Pete nodded.

“What’s it going to cost us?” Deacon Wilcox looked at Aaron with deep furrows at the top of his nose.

“Not much, really. Everyone can bring a dish to share. Kirstie said there’s a really good band in Indy who would be glad to come on an honorarium basis, and she knows some Christian bikers willing to pitch in and help pay that.” Aaron doodled on his notepad. He only drew wheel rims when nervous or anxious. He drew three of them.

“What if those hellions tear up the parking lot?” Norman was, if nothing else, tenacious.

“What makes you think they’ll do that?” Aaron asked.

“They’re bikers. Haven’t you ever watched that movie Hell’s Angels? They’ll be burning rubber all over the place, tearing up our flower beds and lawn, breaking windows, scratching up vehicles, and who knows what all else.”

I rolled my eyes, sat back in my chair with my arms folded across my chest. Unbelievable. But predictable.

“I think Hell’s Angels are in California.” Aaron chuckled. “That’s a long way from Indiana.”

“Well, actually, Aaron.” I leaned my elbows on the table and whispered out of the side of my hand. “They’re international now.”

Norman slapped his hand on the table. “See? I told you. International. I think Indiana’s in there somewhere.” His lips quivered. It took little to upset him.

“Elder Norman, with all due respect, I don’t think the Hell’s Angels will bother coming to our church. For one thing, we won’t be serving alcohol. And besides, if the Hell’s Angels want to come, they’re welcome. They’re God’s children, too.” Aaron kept his voice steady and kind.

Elder Pete and Deacon West nodded.

“It’s an unreached people group,” I said. “Think of this as a missions project. And as Aaron said, I doubt many people will come. It’ll probably be just us bikers who are members of the church.”

“Who rides a motorcycle and attends our church?” Norman’s hand shook as he took a sip of his coffee.

“Myself, and Lily, and Opal.”

“Opal?” All the men said her name at once.

“Since when does Opal ride a motorcycle?” Deacon Wilcox chuckled. His slightly rounded belly jiggled the brass buttons on his jean jacket.

“Since a few weeks ago when she bought one. She took the motorcycle class with me.”

All the men laughed, and even Norman gave in to a timid snicker. “Bernice isn’t going to like it.” Norman’s snicker mellowed to a heavy sigh.

“Well, I gotta see this.” Elder Pete wiped his hands on his pants. “I think it’s worth having a bike blessing just to see Opal ride.”

Norman moaned and scratched the back of his head. “Bernice is going to say it’s unladylike and inappropriate for the pastor’s wife to be riding around on a motorcycle like a Hell’s Angel.”

“Well, I’m all for the blessing. This I gotta see.” Deacon Perry flashed a sidewise grin.

“I agree.” Deacon West reached for two more brownies. “They’ll be talking about this for years.”

“OK. Kirstie, pick a date.” Aaron handed me the church calendar. “Eel Falls is going to host its first ever bike blessing.”

True to Norman’s word, Bernice had a fit when she learned the results of the monthly church board meeting. Those flowerbeds were her pride and joy, and she wasn’t about to let a bunch of rowdy bikers ruin them. She came to the church early the next day and marched into the sanctuary where Aaron balanced precariously on a rickety ladder changing light bulbs. Bernice wasted no time in her dramatic assault. I could hear every word from where I worked in the church office because the door opened into the sanctuary.

“I won’t stand for it, Pastor. It’s unladylike and inappropriate for your wife to be riding around like a rebel teenager. If she’s having a midlife crisis, take her to a counselor. Rule your household, Reverend. Rule your household or you won’t be able to shepherd this church.”

In his usual calm, delayed manner, Aaron climbed slowly down the ladder.

“How are you Miss Bernice? It’s lovely to see you this morning. Is there something I can help you with?”

“You know good and well there’s something you can help me with.” I peeked out the door in time to see Bernice shake her finger in Aaron’s face. “I cannot allow this biker catastrophe to happen. I just won’t stand for it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Bernice. I wish you’d reconsider.”

“I will not.”

Aaron folded the ladder. “Well, that’s a shame. That’s a real shame, because I wanted to ask you to be in charge of—well—never mind.”

“What? In charge of what? Go on. What is it?”

“I looked forward to you being in charge of organizing the food and refreshments for the event.”

Bernice sighed deeply and glared. I’d heard Bernice tell people before that she was the only one in the church who knew how to get things done.

Aaron moved the ladder to the next chandelier, climbed to the top, and continued screwing in light bulbs.

“We have no idea how many will be here, and Kirstie and I aren’t sure what type of food we should serve that would make for good leftovers and…”

“Well, that’s true.” Bernice sniffed. “Kirstie’s gift isn’t in the kitchen. We both know that.”

I wanted to march in and give Bernice something else to talk about, but I held back.

Aaron didn’t say anything. With one quiet motion, he moved the ladder to the next chandelier and started changing lights again. “What do you suggest Bernice?”

“For what?”

“For food. What should we serve?”

I chuckled and watched as Aaron hooked and reeled in Bernice. She talked about how serving egg salad wouldn’t be appropriate because it would spoil, but on the other hand, a fruit salad could keep for quite a while, and a person could always re-heat hot dogs and eat them later, but serving sandwiches would mean the bread would dry out.

“I’m so glad we can depend on you, Bernice.” Aaron flashed her a smile. “Your help will be invaluable.”

“I live to serve, Pastor. You know that.” Bernice turned and hollered toward the office door. “Kirstie, tell Opal I’ll need a sign-up sheet for Sunday. I’ll call with the details in a few hours.”

“OK, Bernice. Opal should be here then. She stepped out to get supplies.” I choked back a giggle. When my husband shifted into pastor gear, he never failed to impress me. He had a patient way with people I hadn’t mastered.

“At least they’ll get a good meal.” Bernice sniffed and began to walk toward the door. “Never let it be said that this church doesn’t know how to take care of folks. You hear me, Pastor Donovan? If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it right.”

Aaron climbed down the ladder and winked at me.

I smiled back.

“Yup. We’re gonna do it right. I can’t have my name associated with something done willy-nilly. People will be talking about this for years.” Bernice’s voice trailed off as she walked through the foyer doors and out to the parking lot.

Aaron walked into the office and began to tickle me. “You better get busy, Mrs. Donovan. We have some hungry bikers to feed.”

“Aaron, stop tickling me!”

He grabbed me in a big bear hug. “OK.” He buried his nose in my hair. “Please, God, please don’t let anything go wrong at this event.”

“It’ll be fine.” I looked up at him. “Really. Don’t worry.”

“I sure hope we don’t live to regret this, Kirstie.”

I walked to the desk and sat down at the computer to email Opal about Bernice’s sign-up sheet. “It’ll be fine. If it doesn’t go well, we can always live in the van.”

11

Finally the day came, and the thunder of motorcycles filled the air. I trembled with anticipation as people riding everything from Harleys to scooters to sport bikes filled the parking lot. I must admit Bernice pulled off a beautiful spread of BBQ and salads and plenty of sweet tea with the help of all the church ladies.

When bikers get together, everyone immediately becomes a family. There are no strangers. We all stood around and talked about our bikes, trips, and simply enjoyed one another’s company. No pretense. It didn’t matter what someone wore, what they looked like, or what they believed.

“I think this must be what it’ll be like in heaven, Aaron.” I could hardly stand still from excitement. “Everyone getting along in peace and no bickering.”

“I never thought I’d see a picture of heaven in a bunch of bikers.” He chuckled.

When the parking lot filled and the last biker pulled in, Aaron stood on the makeshift platform under the new carport. His eyes gleamed with compassion and love. This was the largest congregation he’d preached to in ten years.

“Welcome, bikers!”

The bikers rolled their engines and honked their horns.

Bernice held her hands over her ears.

Reba and Lily beamed, and Opal, as usual, shook in her boots.

“I want to thank my wife, Kirstie, a lady biker, for requesting this event. She told me a lot of bikers lost their lives last year as a result of motorcycle accidents. May they rest in peace.”

Bikers nodded all around, dismounted, and removed their hats. Several crossed themselves.

“Today, we’re going to pray and seek God’s help for our riding season. God is interested in protecting you. He wants to bless you.”

The once noisy parking lot grew dead quiet. You could hear a doo-rag drop.

“But let me be clear.” Aaron paused, in full preaching mode now. “The biggest blessing God wants to bless you with isn’t a blessing on your bike, but on your eternal soul. The biggest blessing available to you is the blessing of salvation available through Jesus Christ.”

A few restless bikers shuffled their feet. Others put out their cigarettes. Most listened and nodded.

Aaron talked about God’s desire to protect His children and told funny stories about how I learned to ride and how God protected me. “It doesn’t matter who you are or what you ride. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done or where you’ve traveled. Salvation is free, and Jesus wants you to have it.”

Finally, we bowed our heads as he prayed a blessing over us and offered a sinner’s prayer for those wanting to receive Jesus.

“If you have any concerns or needs, let me and my wife know, and we’ll be happy to pray with you today. We’re not here to condemn you. We’re here to welcome you and love you.”

I prayed hard for Bernice and Norman and their peeps to hear that last part. Bernice and Mrs. Hammond had been whispering in each other’s ears and staring at the women in tank tops since the well-tanned girls started arriving.

On the other hand, I couldn’t have been more proud of our little congregation. Most were excited to see activity in the church. And I could tell Aaron felt touched by the experience. Instead of babysitting Christians, he was getting to evangelize. He beamed. I watched with joy as he prayed with a couple while tears streamed freely down their sun-leathered cheeks.

Aaron walked to each biker and handed them a blessing sticker that said, “This bike was blessed at Eel Falls First Independent Community Christian Church.” Some put them on their helmets, others on their windshields, but others simply pocketed them. Aaron was fully in his element—greeting people with a hearty handshake and praying for their needs.

Elder Pete followed behind him and handed out pocket-sized New Testaments.

While my husband and the elders and deacons greeted the bikers individually, the church ladies and I began to spread the food for our guests. After we finished, I decided to stand in line for some munchies before my sugar dropped.

Nola and Jennifer didn’t notice me approaching from behind.

“Well,” I heard Nola say to Jennifer, “pretty soon Kirstie will be dressing like that.”

“Goodness, I hope not.” Jennifer popped a chip in her mouth. “She doesn’t have the figure for it.” Both snickered, and I think I heard a snort.

“And you know what else?” Jennifer leaned into Nola’s ear. “Someone told me that she has a tattoo—in a private place.”

“If it’s private, how do you know, Jennifer?” I reached between them and across the table for a carrot, bit into it, smiled, and moved on. The jaw-dropping, eye-popping look of horror on their faces almost made enduring their gossip worth it.

Too soon, the time came to ride out to Lake Wawasee for ice cream. I kissed Aaron good-bye, plunked on my helmet, and rode my bike to the back of the line with Lily and Opal. We would make up the tail end. I’d asked Reba and Trace to lead.

“I hope Reba gave her heart back to Jesus today.” Lily buckled her helmet as we waited for everyone to get started.

“Me, too. I hope she’ll give the church folks another chance. The ones who judged her mother for being divorced and remarrying aren’t even attending church anymore.” Opal pulled on her leather gloves.

“What happened to them?” I flipped my helmet’s visor up. Reba had left the church long before Aaron and I had moved to town.

“The gossipers got divorced. Ironic, ain’t it?” Opal shook her head.

“Just goes to show, you should never go around pointing fingers.” Lily turned on her bike.

I revved my engine. “Very true. Although, I must say, sometimes I get confused between true mercy and false mercy.”

“False mercy?” Lily flipped up her kickstand.

“Yes. Winking at sin because you think you’re showing mercy. It’s complicated, isn’t it?” I shook my head.

Opel nodded and started her engine. “That’s why we have to pray about stuff before we open our mouths.”

“Or not open our mouths.” Lily had to shout above the engines.

We were all eager to roll, engines started, kickstands up.

Finally, the call came from the front.

“Let’s ride!”

12

“Calm down, Lily.” I looked at the clock. One o’clock in the morning. Through my tired haze, I heard her sobbing. I shook Aaron awake and sat up in bed. “I can’t understand you. Try to slow down and tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s Milo. He hit me.”

“What?”

“He doesn’t know what he’s doing, Kirstie. It’s the Alzheimer’s. It’s getting worse.”

“Where is he now?”

“He’s in the living room yelling at the imaginary children he says are crawling all over the furniture. Can you come over and sit with me until he falls asleep?”

“Of course,” I said. “I’ll be right there. Do you want Aaron to come with me?”

“Yes, please. He can help me put him to bed again.”

“OK. Listen to me. If you can, stay in the next room where you can see him but he can’t see you, OK?”

“OK.” It hurt to hear the pain and fear in Lily’s voice. She was normally strong and self-assured.

Aaron called Opal to come watch the kids. I dressed, and we were in the car in less than ten minutes. Lily only lived five miles outside of town.

“Poor Milo.” I rested my hand on Aaron’s shoulder as he turned down her long driveway. “I hate to see Lily going through this. Milo was always difficult but never violent.”

Aaron simply nodded. We let ourselves in the back door to the kitchen where Lily collapsed into tears as I held her.

Aaron rushed to calm Milo, who yelled and paced in the living room.

I lifted Lily’s head off my shoulder and looked at her. “Let’s get some ice on that bruise.” I brushed the hair out of her face and saw cuts and bruises on her jaw and forehead. Milo’s voice carried to the kitchen as I made an ice pack and helped Lily to a dining room chair.

“Get those rotten kids out of my house!”

“Milo, it’s Aaron.”

“Aaron who?” Milo glared straight at Aaron with a blank stare. Spittle rested on his beard and his red face shone with perspiration.

“Aaron Donovan, Pastor Aaron from church.” Aaron held out the small Bible he carried in his pocket.

“Oh. Hi, Pastor. Those rotten kids are crawling all over our furniture. I don’t know why Lily let them come in here.”

“You know how women are, Milo. They can’t resist children. Your Lily has a soft spot in her heart for them.”

“Yeah, I know it. But kids should mind their manners when they’re here.”

“Yes, they should. Would you like me to ask them to leave?” Aaron guided Milo to his favorite chair and sat on an ottoman in front of him and looked into his face.

Milo nodded. “Hurry up about it.” His frustration and anger hung on his words. Milo had always been an impatient soul, but never angry.

“Children.” Aaron stood and spoke with authority to an empty room. “You need to leave now. Go on. Your time is finished here. It’s getting late, and Milo needs his sleep. Go.” Aaron walked to the front door, opened it, and motioned for them to leave.

We all sat in silence. I held my breath. What would happen if Milo still saw children?

Lily held the ice pack to her face and wiped away tears.

“Thanks, Pastor, those kids were getting on my last nerve. A body can’t sleep with all that ruckus.” Milo broke the strained quietness.

“That’s understandable. I’m sure they wore you out. Ready for bed now?”

“I peed my pants.”

“Not a problem, Milo, we can fix that. C’mon, buddy. Let’s get in the shower.”

My husband tenderly guided Milo to the shower. I blinked back a tear. Just a few short years ago, Milo was a prominent spiritual leader in our church. If the parking lot needed plowed after a snow storm or a door needed hung in the church, Milo was there getting ’er done. And if members were in the hospital or in need of prayer, Milo never hesitated to visit and pray with them.

“It must be breaking your heart, Lily, to see him like this.” I rubbed her back slowly as we sat side by side in the dining room.

“Oh, Kirstie, you have no idea.”

“You do know you can’t keep taking care of him by yourself.”

“I won’t place him in a home.” She set the ice pack down with a thud and crossed her arms. “And I can’t afford twenty-four-hour care. The insurance will only pay for care during the day when I’m working. And then I pay out of my pocket if I want to ride with you and the girls.”

“Why didn’t you tell us? Lily, we wouldn’t want you to be sacrificing like this just to ride with us.”

“But I need to, Kirstie. It’s the only thing I look forward to now.”

Lily laid her head on my shoulder and wept as I rocked her and searched for the right words to say. In the distance, I could hear Aaron talking to Milo and helping him with his shower.

“Who are you? Where’s Lily?”

“I’m Pastor Aaron, remember, Milo?”

“What are you doing in my bathroom? Where’s Lily?”

“She’s busy in the kitchen. She asked me to help you.”

Between washing his hair, showering, and toweling off, I heard Milo repeat the interrogation several times, and Aaron answer with the same patience and compassion each time.

Lily blew her nose and stood. “I need to find his medicine. I was getting it for him when he hit me.”

I followed Lily into the kitchen.

“Sweetie, it’s not safe here alone anymore. We can get people to come sit with you in the evening. You know that. I’ll come.”

“Kirstie, you have your hands full with those boys.”

“I’m not too busy for you and Milo. There are other options, Lily, and you need to consider them. I know it’s hard, but…”

Lily turned and faced me. Her piercing green eyes stared intently into mine. “Tell me something, Kirstie. If Timmy hit you, would you leave him in a home?”

I looked down at the floor and shook my head. “No. I could never do that.”

“Then you should understand why I can’t let Milo go.”

She was right. I could never entertain the idea of Timmy in a home other than my own. Not yet. Not now.

Lily and I helped Aaron dress Milo and tuck him into bed, and the three of us somehow, by the grace of God, talked Milo into taking his medicine.

As Lily and I tiptoed out of the bedroom, Milo grabbed Aaron’s arm.

“Stay here with me, Pastor.” For a short moment, Milo became lucid. “I don’t want them kids to come back and wake me up.”

“Those children won’t come back, Milo. And I’ll be glad to sit here until you fall asleep.”

I wrapped Lily in a blanket and made her a cup of chamomile tea. She looked exhausted.

“I will stay with you tonight, Lily, if you want me to.” I tucked the blanket in around her legs and put clean socks on her feet.

“No, it’s not necessary, Kirstie. He’ll stay asleep until the nurse comes in the morning. I gave him a little extra Valerian root.”

Aaron walked quietly into the living room and patted Lily on the shoulder. “He’s finally asleep. Is there anything else you need, Lily?”

“Thank you, Pastor, but you’ve already done more than you’re required to do. I’ll be fine.”

“You and Milo are in my prayers.” Aaron hugged Lily gently and patted her hand.

Aaron and I rode home in silence until we reached the edge of town. I looked over at my strong, silent husband. If he felt anything like I did, he grieved over the slow escape of his friend from our world.

“Aaron?” When I spoke, my voice cracked a little. “I’m so glad I married you. You are the kindest man I know.”

A tear trickled down his cheek. I reached up to brush it away.

“I’m going to miss him.” Aaron squeezed my hand.

I stared down the dark country road and thought about Milo singing at the top of his lungs in the church choir, vibrantly teaching Sunday school, passionately leading the men’s group at church. I had many things I wanted to ask God about. I choked back a sob.

I rested my head on Aaron’s shoulder, and together we cried silently.

“I’m going to miss him, too.” I lifted my head and looked at Aaron. “Remember when he pushed the Jesus donkey gently up the hill with the bumper of his car one Easter during the pageant because the donkey was too stubborn to climb it?”

Aaron laughed and wiped his cheeks free of tears. “I couldn’t believe he did that.”

I giggled. “Neither could the donkey.”

13

“We need a name for our group.” I wiped down my windshield and gave the dead bug collection another squirt of cleaner. The girls and I were doing beginner maintenance on our bikes in Lily’s garage.

Reba stood up after removing the oil filter on her bike. “We’re not a group. We’re a club.” She removed the oil pan from under her Road King and bent down to fasten the hose.

Opal giggled. “Or a gang.”

“Yeah, like Hell’s Angels.” Lily grinned.

“That’s not even funny, Lily.” I threw my dirty rag at her. “I told you what Norman said at the meeting. Besides, it needs to be a name I can live with.” I dug a clean rag out of my saddlebag and polished the chrome on my tank.

“Who cares what they think?” Reba stood with one hand on her hip and a wrench in the other. “It’s your life.”

“It’s not my life, Reba. It’s His life, and I’m a reflection of Him, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she mumbled. “But it’s not those church folks’ life.” Ever since Reba’s mother got kicked out of the choir for getting a divorce, she refused to set foot into a church. “Truth be told, those churchy folks are all hypocrites anyway.” Reba’s deep, throaty voice made her sound tougher than she really was.

Lily didn’t look up from shining her mirrors. “You’re right, Reba. They’re hypocrites. That’s why they need to be in church.”

Reba scowled and went back to changing the oil.

Opal walked over to watch the process. “How about Harley’s Angels?” Opal handed Reba an old towel to wipe the oil off her fingers.

“Taken.” Reba wiped her hands, tossed the towel back to Opal, and reached for her new oil filter.

I leaned over as she tightened it.

“How about the Electric Eels since we live in Eel Falls.”

Opal shuddered. “Eels are kind of creepy.”

“Kind of like snakes.” Reba finished screwing the filter on. “I like it.”

“How about the pink ladies.” I pointed to my helmet.

“Forget that.” Reba waved me off. “I’m not joining any club with the word pink in it. I can barely tolerate looking at you wearing that sissy color.”

I smirked. “We could be the Old Saddle Bags.”

Opal punched my arm. “Hey, I don’t need that kind of help.”

“I like the eel idea.” Reba snapped shut the lid to her toolbox. My tools weren’t nearly as plentiful or fancy. I dropped them into the tool pouch hanging on the front of my handlebars.

“We could be Eels on Wheels.” I turned my palms up to Lily.

“I want a name that makes it clear we’re women—no guys allowed.” Lily stuffed rags into her saddlebag and buckled the clasp shut.

“Lady Eels, then?” I tugged on the saddlebag belt and made sure it was tight. “Although I don’t really relish being thought of as an eel.”

“I don’t mind.” Opal shrugged. “At least they’re skinny.”

“True.” I nodded.

“Yeah, it’s better than being hogs.” Lily helped Reba maneuver the Road King off the bike stand.

“Lady Eels on Wheels.” I repeated the phrase and looked up at the rafters trying to imagine how to draw one.

“Might be too much to go on a patch.” Reba grunted as she set the kickstand to her bike. “But I kinda like it.”

“A patch?” I turned toward Reba.

“If we’re a motorcycle club we need to pick colors and design a back patch.”

Opal pointed at me. “Kirstie’s the artist. She can design it.”

“Gee, thanks.” I wiped chrome polish off my hands onto my old jeans. “You’ve given me so much to work with here. I don’t relish being an eel. It’s not exactly feminine.”

“Who says we have to be feminine?” Reba cocked an eyebrow my direction.

“Well, no one. But I don’t see any reason to leave behind our womanly ways simply because we ride motorcycles. I like being a girl. I want to celebrate my femininity. And when people see us driving down the road, I want them to know we’re a girl club, not a guy club.”

“True,” Lily agreed. “Sounds good to me.”

“Kirstie, honey, with your curves, there’s no way someone is gonna mistake you for a guy.” Reba winked at me and lit a cigarette.

“You’re just jealous.” I grinned and struck a supermodel pose.

At five ten Reba was slender, flat-chested and statuesque. I was five three and as curvy as a Smoky Mountain switchback.

“Let’s talk about colors. What will our colors be?” Lily asked.

Everyone looked at Reba. We knew the colors would have to meet her standards since she wasn’t a girlie girl. She wouldn’t like anything we picked, anyway.

“Purple’s good.” Reba surprised us. “It’s kind of feminine but not prissy. And it goes with silver, as in chrome.”

“Ohhh, yeah, silver, that’s good.” I nodded and leaned on my bike. “What do y’all think?”

“I like it.” Opal nodded. “Matches my hair and silver goes great with my bike, too.”

“OK, then. We’re purple and silver biker ladies.” I looked at everyone for a consensus.

“You mean eels.” Lily groaned.

“Lady Eels on Wheels.” Opal sat with her hands on the throttle and clutch.

“Eels on Wheels,” Reba laughed. “The name’s horrible. But I kinda like the idea.”

“I’ll get busy on the patch.” I turned the key and started my bike.

“This I gotta see.” Reba shook her head. “There’s no way you can come up with anything I’ll approve of.”

I revved the engine and shouted over the pipes. “Never say never, my friend.”

****

Two days later we met at the KenapocoMocha coffeehouse after a two-hour practice in the church parking lot.

“You can’t just make a patch and stick it anywhere.” Reba sucked up the bottom of her raspberry tea, stood, and reached for a refill from the soda dispenser next to our table.

“Why not? It’s a free country.” I chewed on some ice.

“It’s a free country, but there are rules in the biker world.” Reba sat down across from me again. “If you want the other clubs to respect you, you have do it right.”

“I don’t know if I want to belong to a group with a bunch of rules.” Lily stirred her drink with a straw. “I have enough of those in real life. I’m doing this for fun, not so I have more stress.”

“Don’t worry, Lily,” I said. “It’ll be less painful than paying taxes.”

“Show us whatcha got.” Reba pointed to my sketchbook.

I opened the cover and pulled out different sketches of an eel sitting on a motorcycle wearing a little helmet. One of them was riding fast; others were striking poses like models in biker magazines. Another wore a leather jacket, and a couple sported tanks and chaps.

“It’s kind of hard to draw chaps on an Eel when he isn’t a biped.” I sighed.

“I like the one with the little tattoo on his fin.” Opal pointed to a sketch in front of her.

“Where?” Reba grabbed the sketch and held it to her face.

“She’s joking.” Lily laughed. “None of them have a tattoo.”

“Well, that’s the next thing we gotta do as a club, you know.” Reba looked at me.

“What?” I dreaded what Reba might have us do next.

“Tattoo. We all gotta go down and get a tattoo of an eel on our wrist. All at the same time. It’s how we bond as a club.” She made motions with her hands as if she was revving her bike.

“Uh, sorry.” I shook my head and held up my hand. “I’ll wear an eel on my jacket, I’ll go to motorcycle classes with you guys, and I’ll even participate in a bike naming ceremony—but I’m not going to tattoo one of those ugly slimy things on my body.”

Reba threw back her head and laughed so loud people at the ordering counter turned to look at her. She slapped her leg.

“What’s so funny?” I wasn’t amused.

“You. You were sure I was gonna drag you into the tattoo parlor and make you get a tattoo.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” I said.

“Now wouldn’t that chap the church ladies’ hides!” She laughed.

I didn’t. I rolled my eyes. “That’d go swell with preacher’s wife clothes.”

“Sure would,” Reba said. “God made eels.”

“God made belly buttons, too, but I don’t go around showing mine off in church.” I chewed on my straw.

“So which eel do you want on the patch?”

Reba picked up one of them and flicked it with her finger. “Put a jacket on that one, and she’ll be perfect.”

“Purple helmet?” I asked.

“Sure. And make the bike silver and the letters in black.”

“Everybody OK with that?” I looked around the table as everyone nodded.

“OK.” I took the picture from Reba and stacked it on top of the others. “Opal, are you still going to sew the patches on our jackets for us?”

“Yup. But you’re going to have to show me where they all go,” she said.

I nodded. “You got it. When you want to do this?”

Reba stood and picked up her helmet. “Order the patches, and we’ll get together after they come in. Until then, let’s ride.”

****

Two weeks later, we met at the parsonage with our jackets, vests, and patches.

Reba told us how to place them and what they meant.

“OK, on the front, you park the U.S. flag on the upper left hand part. And don’t ever attach any patch or pin above the flag.”

“Oh. Speaking of pins…” I pulled out a little stash of lapel pins with angels riding a motorcycle and gave each of the girls one.

“Awwww.” Lily held hers up to admire it. “That’s so sweet!”

Reba snorted a little, but she pinned it on her jacket. “Thanks,” she mumbled. She pulled out POW and MIA patches. “Here,” she said. “If you want you can sew these on the lower left side.”

We all agreed we’d wear them.

“I feel like I’m in Girl Scouts again,” I giggled. “I had all the badges.”

“These aren’t badges. They’re patches,” Reba growled.

“I know that.”

“Now, since we have our eel patches on the back…” Reba pointed at all of us. “Never wear them in the presence of another club or gang uninvited.”

“Why’s that?” Opal looked up from arranging her patches and wrinkled her brow at Reba. “It’s a free country.”

“It’s a free country, yeah, but if you’re on their turf it’s rude.”

I thought she was being ridiculous. “I highly doubt we’ll be on any other gang’s turf, Reba. Most of their turfs are bars and taverns.”

“You never know.” Reba looked me in the eye. “Funny things happen on the road. Whatever you do, never touch someone else’s patch, vest, jacket, or their bike. That’ll get you beat up, depending on the club.”

“Sounds a bit melodramatic to me.”

“It’s not. Especially if the patch has three pieces.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope. Those are outlaw clubs. Our patch is one piece. That means we’re just a nice little law-abiding riding club. There’s a difference between a hard-core motorcycle outlaw gang and a riding club.”

I let out a whistle. “I never knew there was such a culture to this.”

“Well, there is. And you need to heed the rules.”

We finished pinning our patches in place so Opal could sew them on.

Timmy’s chanting with the theme song of Cops drifted downstairs.

“I don’t know what I’d do without that TV program,” I said.

Reba grew restless because she already had her patches placed on her vest. She reached over to help with mine. “We need to plan our trip. I think it’s time to ride the Cherohala Skyway in the Smokies.”

The phone rang in the kitchen. I made my way around the maze of chairs in the dining room and finally answered on the third ring.

“Hello, this is Kirstie.” My hand flew to my mouth. “Oh no.” My stomach lurched. I bent over and held on to my middle. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” I could only whisper in reply to the horrific news. “Yes, I’m sure our ladies will want to help…of course…of course. Just let us know. Please give the family our condolences. Yes, Pastor Elliot. Good-bye.” I reached for a chair and sat down. I couldn’t see. My face felt hot, and the floor moved.

“What is it?” Opal rushed to my side, needle and thread forgotten.

“It’s the Schwartz family. Their son…Kevin…he was killed in Afghanistan early this morning.” I could barely choke out the words. I looked up at Lily. “He was in my Sunday school class when he was younger.”

14

What do you say to a mother who has lost her only son? I had no words. The young soldier had attended my Sunday school class before his mother married a man from Fort Wayne. Before her marriage, Julie Schwartz and I were good friends and spent countless Saturdays shopping together. She had a gentle and intuitive way with Timmy, and I missed her as a friend and a babysitter. We hadn’t stopped being friends, but she was forty-five minutes away, busy with her new family and church activities, and our paths didn’t cross much.

When I stepped into the funeral home for visitation, she fell into my arms. “You’ve got to help me, Kirstie.” She clung to me and her body shook with grief. I stroked her hair and let her cry.

“I will. I’ll help you.” How could I possibly do anything to ease this kind of pain? She held me tighter and cried harder.

“I can’t do this alone.”

“You’re not alone. You have Michael and…”

“He’s not a mom. He has no clue. I carried that baby for nine months, nursed him, taught him his first words, only to send him to the military and his death. Why did I let him go? Why? I’ll never forgive myself.”

She melted into me for a long time but finally pulled away. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “Those awful protesters are going to be here tomorrow.”

“What protesters?”

“You know—war protesters. They call themselves The Agents of God. They aren’t agents of anything but hate. I heard they’re going to show up at the funeral. How can they be so cruel? He’s my baby.” She hid her face in my shoulder again.

I prayed for God to give me the right words.

“We won’t let that happen.” I gently pushed her away from me with my hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “Too many people love you and your son to let that happen. We’ll pray they won’t come. I’ll be praying for you, Julie. I promise.” I held her again, but I felt impatient and empty of words. I was supposed to be an agent of God right now, not those hate mongers. I should be able to give her more hope, but my words seemed terribly insignificant. I needed to let Aaron and the Lady Eels know what was happening. I’d talk to Reba. She’d know what to do.

Arriving home after my visit with Julie, my head throbbed and my blood pressure boiled thinking about those protesters.

Patrick and Daniel were at a friend’s house for lunch.

After I made Timmy a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with the almond flour bread I’d made earlier that day, I called Reba.

“Reba, you’re not going to believe this.”

“What? Don’t tell me. You’ve gone and dyed your hair pink.”

“No. Not that. There are going to be protesters at Kevin’s funeral. Those horrible Agents of God people.”

There was silence on Reba’s end. I heard her light a cig. “We’ll just see about that. Don’t you worry, Kirstie. I’ll take care of everything.” Without saying good-bye, she hung up. About an hour later, she called. She was pumped. “Those protesters don’t stand a chance.”

“I knew I could count on you, Reba. How’d you do it?”

“Are you ready for this? The Patriot Guard are coming. I already talked to Julie, and she said she wanted them to come. Kevin loved motorcycles. Even if he didn’t, they’d come. They love our soldier boys.”

“The who? Not one of those gun-toting militia groups, I hope.”

“No, no. Nothing like that. They’re bikers who ride to funerals and shield families from being able to see the protestors. They do this all the time to honor fallen servicemen and women.”

“I’ve never heard of them.”

“Well, you have now. You and the girls are riding with them, too. We’re going to do this for Kevin.”

What would my husband think? I’d be protesting protestors. Worse—what would the congregation think? I could hear Bernice now. But what they thought didn’t matter this time. This was about Kevin. Not me.

“Oh, Reba, they would do that? They don’t even know him.”

“They’re Americans who appreciate their freedom, Kirstie. They’re happy to help in order to thank the family for their sacrifice. I gotta go. I have a lot of phone calls to make to let all the chapters know.”

I hung up. No turning back now. Was I ready to be on the evening news, smack dab in the middle of a melee between the local pastor’s wife and the leader of the Agents of God? I could see the headlines now: “Pastor’s Wife Crucifies Agent of God.”

I sighed. If Kevin could give his life for our country, I could stand up to a few ignorant hate mongers.

I tried to resume baking a Dutch apple pie for the funeral dinner but was more than a little distracted by the idea of becoming a political activist.

Timmy was yelling at the dog in the living room. “’Liath, no, bad boy, ’Liath. ’Liath, bad boy.”

I looked around the corner. “What’s wrong, Timmy?”

“’Liath eat sammich. Bad ’Liath.”

I laughed. Goliath looked at me with his head tilted to the side, as innocent as a newborn buffalo.

Timmy folded his arms, planted a scowl on his face, and rocked back and forth.

I knelt in front of him and looked into his piercing blue eyes. The eyes of an angel. “Timmy, come help me with the pie, and I’ll make you a new sandwich.”

He clapped and ran to the kitchen. “Pie! Pie! Timmy help. Timmy help Mommy?”

“Yes, Timmy, you can help. Wash your hands.”

He washed his hands and wiped them on his jeans.

I sighed. Well, he did it half right.

“Put the apples in the crust. Goliath, out!” I pointed to the door, and Goliath padded slowly to the edge of the kitchen door and plopped down.

“Out “’Liath,” Timmy echoed as he meticulously placed the apple slices into the bottom crust one at a time.

“More apples, Timmy.” I stirred the crumbly brown sugar mixture for the top.

“More apples, Timmy,” he mimicked and continued placing the slices one at a time.

“No, Timmy, like this.” I sprinkled a handful of apples into the crust and immediately realized my mistake.

Timmy yelped a high-pitched scream, flapped his hands, and spun in a circle.

Goliath stood and barked.

“Timmy, stop it. Stop!”

Timmy screamed louder and reached for the pie to knock it on the floor. I grabbed the pie, shoved it inside the microwave and pushed him away from me. “Stop it!” I shouted. “Time out, Timmy, time out.”

He banged his head against the kitchen cabinets. What was I thinking? Why didn’t I give up trying to interact with him? Lately, every activity ended like this. Sometimes, it wasn’t worth the chaos. I never should have asked him to help. He was fine watching Cops. I could have avoided this entire mess if I’d simply left him alone in front of the TV. But something inside of me was convinced that if I kept interacting with him, he would get better.

Timmy grabbed the brown sugar mixture I had mixed in my favorite bowl and threw it to the floor. Aunt Mary’s antique bowl splintered and the brown sugar topping went everywhere.

“Aaron!” I yelled. I thought he was upstairs in his study but remembered he’d gone to the church to prepare for the funeral. The Schwartz family had asked him to write the eulogy.

I took Timmy by the wrists, led him to the living room, and plopped him on the couch where he pounded his head with his fists and screamed. I turned up Cops and stomped to his room for the weighted blanket. My hands shook with frustration as I placed the heavy comforter around his shoulders and left him alone. I was far too tired and angry to sit with him through this one. Let him sit there and pummel himself to exhaustion this time. Frustration, guilt, anger—it was all there roiling around in my stomach and rising up to form a thick lump in my throat.

“How much am I supposed to endure, Lord? When are the lessons enough? Day after day, hour after eternal hour, and minute by minute, I can’t plan on anything. Everything’s a fight. Even making a pie. Nothing’s ever easy. If he isn’t screaming, he’s taking something apart or getting into things like paint or power tools, or he’s putting holes in the walls, or drinking mouthwash or aftershave…” I brushed angry tears off my cheeks and started cleaning the mess in the kitchen. I was livid. I always needed to be on high alert. I could never just “be.”

Timmy required vigilant awareness. Simply being awake with him in the room made every nerve in my body stand at attention.

“Isn’t life hard enough, Lord, without autism? Why me? Why Timmy? Why didn’t You help me today when I tried to help others with this pie? I don’t get it.”

I wondered what life would be like to have a regular day. What was it like to get a full night’s sleep or a cup of coffee in the morning without being disturbed? I couldn’t fathom it. And I needed it. So did my other boys.

“Lord, he takes up so much of my time and attention. What if I’m not connecting with the other two boys enough? His constant interruptions annoy Patrick, and I can’t blame him. They annoy me, too. But I love them all equally, Father, and I can’t toss one of them aside merely because he’s different. Who’s to say what’s normal anyway? No one loves my boys the way I love them. No one.”

I do. I love them more than you.

I slid down the wall and sat on the floor and cried.

“I’m sorry, Lord. I know You do. And here I am complaining about my son, who is here with me, making a mess when Julie would give anything to be making one with her son. Please forgive me. And please, Lord, comfort Julie right now.”

15

On the day of Kevin’s funeral, the Lady Eels met in the church parking lot.

Julie wanted the services to be held at our church in the town where Kevin grew up. We waited to join up with the Patriot Guard as they rolled up past where the protesters already stood outside the church waving neon-colored signs and shouting. They had no idea how futile their protest would be today.

Thunder rumbled in the distance and grew louder. Just over the horizon, cresting a hill, I saw American flags waving vigorously on the backs of bikes. The girls and I rode out to join the Patriot Guard to protect the route from the mortuary to the church where Julie would sit and say good-bye to her only son.

Dozens of bikes rolled past us and parked side by side in front of the protesters who lined the streets all along the hill. Bikers held tall American flags at their sides and stood silent with straight backs to the protesters. Tattoos, leathers, and American pride mingled with the grief of losing a precious soldier. Chrome and resolve mixed with tears. There was a surreal atmosphere of sorrow and protection for the family who had sacrificed so much. No matter how loud the protestors yelled, the bikers stood with silent dignity, ignoring the uproar. We sent a clear message to anyone passing by that anything the protestors said was irrelevant and inappropriate.

The guard came from all walks of life. There were lawyers and mechanics, doctors and garbage men. Some were veterans of war, and others children of veterans. Patches with the words, “Hero down, kickstands up” heralded from several of the leather vests, as well as the Patriot Guard patch. I decided to add those to my jacket.

The Lady Eels joined the tail end of the guard. After we dismounted, a guard member handed us tall American flags, and we placed one hand over our hearts and held onto the precious banner with the other as the hearse made its way up the hill into the church parking lot.

When the Agents of God held their posters high, we raised our flags higher.

When the misguided protestors hurled insults, we remained still.

Self-restraint was difficult, but we ignored them and neutralized their hate with our silence.

Bikers blocked the angry protesters, protecting the family from insults written on neon-colored picket signs. Venom spewed from faces dark with anger and hate. Empty eyes were a reflection of black souls with stone-cold hearts.

“God dragged you into the Afghan war to punish and destroy you!”

“God hates America!”

We all stood stoically and in silence, with our eyes forward and chins set.

After the family filed into the church, Reba couldn’t contain herself. “If these protestors are Christians, I don’t want no part of ’em.”

I couldn’t blame her. The lack of compassion those people exhibited with vile insults and disrespectful fury toward the family made me want to lash out at them. But to do so, would only validate their ignorance. I learned long ago there was no reasoning with unreasonable people. “Just because they call themselves Christians, Reba, doesn’t make it true. Remember that, my friend.”

The protesters chanted. “America is doomed! God hates America!”

The irony of our silent, dignified protest rose up in my heart and threatened to spill tears from my eyes. This is what Kevin died for. He died for the right of the protesters, but he also died for the freedom to protest those protesting.

The Agents of God pushed against us. One of them stood right behind me shouting in my ear. I reached deep inside to find every gram of self-control I could to keep from screaming back at her. But then, I couldn’t help wondering, what drove a soul to such hate? What I really wanted to do was take her aside and share the love of Jesus. But could the love of Jesus be understood by someone with a heart so hard? At that moment, I was ashamed to say, I really didn’t know.

I felt a variety of conflicting emotions: fear and courage, anger and compassion, sorrow and pride. Questions rolled around in my mind as the sun bore down and sweat dripped from my brow.

What would happen if a physical riot broke out? Would I be harmed? Jailed? What would happen if we could be given the chance to show the love of Christ to these hateful people? Could they change? What if I gave the one screaming in my ear my best left hook…jail would be certain. Compassion? Would these people recognize it, or would they push unconditional love away? What caused so much pain inside of them that they needed to hurt others?

My emotions were a jumble, and I wondered if the other Lady Eels felt the same.

An hour later, unmoved and silent, the Patriot Guard and Lady Eels remained stoic, still motionless beneath a glaring sun. Standing there in grief, anger, and sorrow in the searing heat was the longest hour I had ever spent, and yet, I felt strangely energized.

Reba and I went through three bottles of water each. I was glad she thought to bring the refreshing liquid along. I, as usual, hadn’t thought of it.

I could feel my nose baking in the glow of the sun. And this time, instead of worrying about freckles and peeling skin, I’d think of them as badges of honor. If Kevin could give his life for my freedom so I could stand here and speak what I believe, then I could wear a freckle or two.

Finally, the church emptied again, and the hearse inched its way down the hill to the cemetery several blocks from the church. The family could barely hear the protesters and certainly couldn’t see them through the Patriot Guard blockade that wound its way from down and around two blocks and all along the street that ran in front of the graveyard, creating a uniquely American picture: freedom’s benefits and freedom’s price.

I held myself together pretty well, but when I saw them bear Kevin’s casket to where he would be buried, I lost it. I sobbed for Kevin, for Julie, and for the love of these bikers who didn’t even know the family, but cared enough to take time out of their lives to show them respect. I wept for the lost souls of the Agents of God, and their deep-seated ignorance. I shed tears for all the parents of fallen soldiers everywhere. American, or not.

Reba placed her arm around me and let me cry. Another biker rubbed my back.

Snot dripped out of my nose and a few people stared, but I didn’t care. I cried because I was free to cry. I needed to weep for this young boy, his parents, and our community.

After the funeral, the Agents of God left, and once the Patriot Guard was convinced each of the repulsive protestors were gone, exhausted bikers mounted their bikes and left before anyone could thank them. I rode my bike home and though I was exhausted from standing in the sun for several hours, I felt a need to walk to Julie’s parents’ house and check on her.

The house was filled with mourners. Food sat everywhere—on the tables, the bureaus, the TV. Everyone knew everyone. It’s like that in a small town. When I walked in still wearing my leathers, a gentle stir of whispers and glances made my cheeks hot. People packed into the tiny house elbow to elbow, but when they saw me, they stepped back and made way for me. I wasn’t sure if it was because they were scared of me or respected what the bikers had done that day.

Nonetheless, the secret would be out soon enough: the pastor’s wife of the Christian church on the hill was a bona fide biker chick.

Julie spotted me and motioned for me to join her on the couch.

“Thanks, Kirstie.” Julie hugged me. “I never knew bikers could be so nice.”

I was relieved that she was pleased with the guard. “Me either. But I’m beginning to learn they are some of the nicest people you’ll ever meet. They really look out for one another.”

I spent several hours with Julie and helped some of the ladies clean up in the kitchen. I didn’t realize how exhausted I was until I got home. As I walked up the stairs to our room, I heard Aaron’s phone ring.

“Can’t this wait?” The fact that Aaron wanted to put the conversation off proved to me just how beat he was. “It’s been a long day. I see. Well, yes, I could. Tomorrow morning. Good night, Norman.”

I took off my Harley boots and wiggled my aching toes. “I bet I know what that’s about.”

“What?” Aaron pulled off his socks and threw them on the floor like always.

“Bernice and Norman saw me in the Patriot Guard today. I don’t think Bernice likes my activism very much.”

Aaron sighed and ran his hands through his hair. He started to say something but stopped. Which is better than I did.

“She needs a real life,” I said. “She needs a kid with autism. Then she wouldn’t sweat the small stuff.”

“Kirstie…”

“I know. I know. That’s not nice.” I pulled away from Aaron’s attempt to wrap me in his arms. I was still too angry. “But it’s true. Timmy has really shortened my list of things that bug me. If I can handle Timmy, I can handle just about anything.”

“Until it’s time to make a pie.” Aaron leaned up on his elbow and looked at me.

“He’s getting so strong, Aaron.” Fear caused my voice to tremble.

“I know.” Aaron laid his head on his pillow. “One day at a time, kiddo.”

I was too tired to worry about Bernice and her call for a meeting to discuss the wayward behavior of the rebel pastor’s wife. I let Aaron pull me toward him sideways, and I laid my head on the crook of his shoulder.

We spoke no more. Lost in our own thoughts, we stared at the ceiling for a long time and fell asleep in our funeral clothes.

16

The next morning Norman called the church board to a meeting, and Bernice came along.

I wanted to stay home and take care of Timmy and do a homeschool project with the other two boys, because, to be honest, I didn’t want to sit in a meeting where I was the main entree.

But Reba called and asked if Timmy could come into the store that morning, and Lily asked Patrick and Daniel to help her out on the farm, making my excuse for staying home null and void.

We all gathered around a table in the church fellowship hall. Elder Norman, his wife, Bernice, and Elders Pete and Watson sat on one side of the table across from Deacons Tim and Bartholomew. Deacons Jeff and Billy couldn’t come. My guess was they avoided coming. These two fine deacons wanted nothing to do with the kind of strife Bernice could create.

We had no coffee or brownies this time. I ached for caffeine but accidentally left my diet Mt. Dew sitting on the kitchen counter at home. Just as well. I was already shaking inside. Since moving to Eel Falls, board meetings meant only one thing to me: strife and difficulty. I didn’t enjoy them.

Once we were seated, Bernice didn’t waste any time getting down to business.

“It just isn’t appropriate or dignified.” She sniffed. Her lips twitched and her face and neck flushed. Under normal circumstances, I might have felt sorry for her. But I knew under that sweet little old lady façade lurked a strong-willed, bitter woman. She cleared her throat and slapped the table. “A pastor’s wife shouldn’t be running around with bikers. People are going to talk.”

Aaron folded his arms and sat back in his chair. “And what will these imaginary people say, Bernice?”

“You know exactly what they’re going to say. They’re going to say she’s cheating on you, or doing drugs, or drinking, or something.” Bernice narrowed her eyes and her hands flew as she spoke. She harrumphed and nodded her head for emphasis.

Aaron chuckled. “All because she rides a motorcycle?”

“Well, that Reba woman, you know, she’s a loose woman. She cusses up a blue streak. Everyone knows what kind of mouth she has. Smokin’ and drinkin’ and wearing those skimpy halter-tops that show off her belly button earring. You’d think Kirstie could find some Christian friends to hang around with.”

I held back a guffaw when Bernice called Reba’s belly button ring an earring and used this distraction to keep my mouth shut. I wasn’t going to defend myself. I knew I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Jesus handled things this way when He was tried by Pilate; I figured the same method would work for me, too.

Aaron sat straighter in his chair and leaned toward Bernice with his arms on the table. “Who Kirstie is friends with is really none of your business, Bernice.”

Whoa. I’d never heard Aaron speak with such authority before. I was proud of him. Was he fed up with Bernice? Finally? Was he at the end of his rope with her at last? I hated to admit it, but I was sort of hopeful.

“Well, I never.” Bernice blew her nose into the hanky she kept in her sleeve and looked away from Aaron and at the other elders sitting at the table. “She didn’t ride a motorcycle when we hired Pastor Aaron. I never dreamed she would exhibit such behavior. It’s just not Christian.”

“It’s not Christian to ride a motorcycle?” Elder Pete asked with laughter in his throat.

“Well, of course not. All those tattoos, and leather, and those piercings—it’s ungodly.”

Aaron looked at me and then over at Bernice. “Kirstie doesn’t have tattoos and piercings.”

“Uhm.” I pointed to my ears. “My ears.”

“Well, yes, your ears, but nowhere else. And I should know.” Aaron looked tired and drained, his face paled, but his eyes filled with fire. “Even if Kirstie did have all those things—piercings and tattoos—it’s none of your business.” Aaron looked around the table. “I’m feeling a little frustrated with myself for agreeing to this meeting. This isn’t something to be discussed with a church board. We’re wasting time here.”

I wondered if my eyes would pop out and roll across the table into Bernice’s lap.

Aaron had more backbone than I thought. At least, I’d never seen him be bold like this before.

Elder Pete slapped his hands on his dungaree-clad thighs. “Is this the only business we have here today, Norman?”

Norman looked at Bernice who scowled at him and back at Pete. “Well, uh, yeah, I mean, Bernice…”

Elder Pete stood and pointed a long finger. “Bernice, let me tell you something. The world doesn’t revolve around you and your cotton-pickin’ desire to have meetings where you can sit and criticize the pastor and his wife. Now, if you have a real concern, that’s one thing, but if the only sin Kirstie has committed—in your eyes, not mine—is riding a motorcycle, then this is a waste of my time.” He ran the hand he’d pointed with across his face and looked at Aaron. “Pastor, I’m going home to my family, and I suggest you do, too.” He popped the straps on his overalls and marched toward the exit.

Bernice drummed her hands on the table, unmoved by Elder Pete’s little speech. “What if I told you that Mrs. Donovan is a Satan worshipper? Would you think that was a good reason for a board meeting, Peter?”

Elder Pete turned around like a slow turtle and walked back to the table. “That’s a mighty serious accusation, there, Bernice.” He positioned his hands on the table and leaned in toward her. “You better have some good, hard evidence for it.”

“I do.” Bernice rummaged in her purse, pulled out a stack of photos and smacked them down in the middle of the table. “Take a gander at those and tell me what you see.”

The men passed the pictures around and squinted at them. I saw them last. I gasped, looking at pictures of me and the girls during our bike naming ceremony. In one of the pictures, Reba held her rattles and Lily pretended to smoke the peace pipe. I knew I’d heard a cough in those trees.

I threw the pictures on the table. “You spied on us?”

“I certainly did. Someone’s got to keep track of what’s going on around here. Your husband sure doesn’t.”

Now I shook on the outside as well as the inside. “You’re unbelievable.” I looked at Aaron and raised my eyebrows.

“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for these. Right, Kirstie?” Aaron looked at me and back down at the pictures.

“Of course there is. But it’s not right that I have to explain myself. Anyone who knows me would never believe I’d do something occultist.” The room went uncomfortably silent.

Aaron’s expression looked like a puppy in need of rescue.

I couldn’t resist those big brown, pleading eyes. “But of course, I’ll tell you. This was nothing but us getting together and naming our motorcycles. Reba’s the one who brought the pipe and the rattles. And if Bernice would tell the entire story, you’d know I neither smoked the pipe nor took part in any kind of Satanic anything. Our ceremony was a harmless meeting. Reba was simply trying to do something nice for us, and we were all being silly.”

Bernice nodded with satisfaction. “That Reba’s a bad influence. And you know, Sister Donovan…” I hate it when she calls me that. “We are to refrain from any appearance of evil. First Thessalonians 5:22.”

Elder Pete’s face went red, and I expected blood to shoot out of his eyes any minute. “Bernice, you are way out of line. Norman, you best be keeping track of your wife. An elder is supposed to be ‘one that ruleth well his own house’ First Timothy 3:4.” Elder Pete looked at Aaron. “Reverend, I’m going to be going my own way now. I’ve heard enough of this nonsense. And to think I missed breakfast with my own precious Tessa just to listen to this hogwash.” He stomped out the exit, and I could hear his farm boots stomp up the stairs.

Aaron sat frozen, looking down at the pictures in his hands.

Norman’s eyebrows twitched with anger, and Bernice’s lips quivered again as she slapped two fingers to her lips and cleared her throat. “Well, I never…”

“I never, either, Bernice.” Elder Watson, who rarely spoke except to vote yay or nay, startled me with his unexpected reply. “I never heard of such blatant silliness.” He stood and held out his hand to Aaron for him to shake. “Have a good day, Pastor.”

He left, too. But Deacons Tim and Bartholomew remained unmoved. The two deacons looked at one another, and Tim nodded and opened his mouth a few times to speak before sound actually passed his lips.

“I agree with Bernice and Norman. I think we have an image problem here. I think it’s a good idea for Kirstie to tone it down.”

Aaron shifted in his chair. “Tone it down?”

“Yes. If she wants to ride she can do it less publicly.”

“And how can she do that?”

“I don’t know. Wear a disguise or something so people don’t know who she is.”

I bit my tongue and tried to be like Jesus and sit silent, but I couldn’t anymore.

“Why does it matter if people know who I am?” I will admit my voice filled with vinegar and sauce.

Tim glared and spoke down to me like an authoritarian father. “It matters, young lady, because we’re not that kind of church. People might get the wrong idea about us.”

Well, at least he considered me young. That was a plus.

“Not what kind of church?” Aaron asked.

Norman sat forward and pounded his fist on the table. “That kind of church. We aren’t the kind of church that’s full of gang members and bikers and such. We’re a nice, traditional, clean-cut church, and we want to keep things that way—the way they’ve always been.”

“Jesus ate with sinners, Norman.”

“And that’s fine, I’m sure, but our church needs to uphold its image. This is definitely not the image we want to portray to the community. I’ve lived here all my life. My ancestors donated the land and materials for this building, and they’re rolling over in their graves right now at the thought of a bunch of greasy bikers taking over our pristine little country church.”

Bernice nodded so vigorously I thought her head would break loose and fling itself across the room. “Over my dead body.”

Tim nodded at Norman, and jutted his chin out in a gesture of encouragement.

This gave Norman the push he needed to keep going. “Pastors come and go. We’re here after you decide to move on. We know we’re nothing more than a stepping-stone to you. So, you come in here, change everything, and we’re stuck with the mess afterwards. Ain’t gonna happen. Not on my watch.”

Aaron stood. I followed his lead, not knowing what would happen. He clenched his fists and jaw, and I was almost afraid of what was coming, except that, I knew Aaron, and he wasn’t a fighter. He cleared his throat to speak.

“I’ve heard enough. I’m dismissing this meeting. I suggest you gentlemen pray about this issue, because I’m not going to ask Kirstie to change anything she’s doing. She has my blessing to ride her motorcycle whenever and wherever she likes. And I hope the entire town knows it’s her. This meeting’s adjourned.”

My darling husband, my knight and paladin, walked toward the exit, and I followed, my eyes straight ahead. I trembled, and I didn’t know if my noodle legs could climb the stairs, but somehow I reached the top. Once outside I gave Aaron the biggest hug since the Colts won the Super Bowl.

“Oh, Aaron, no one has ever defended me like that. Ever. Thank you.” I kissed him, and he pushed me gently away.

“I hope this motorcycle thing of yours is worth all this. I hope that didn’t just cost us my job.” He looked at the ground and kicked at a rock.

“You’re my white knight. I know you love me. But when you defended me in there I…”

My cell rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey, girl, what’s up?” Reba’s deep voice sounded cheerful.

“Just got out of a board meeting.”

“Oh. Sounds boring. Get it? Bored. Board?” She cackled at her own pun.

I rolled my eyes. “Ha, ha. You’re funny. Whatcha need?”

“I think I can get us some rooms up in the Smokies. You up for a trip?”

“When?”

“Two weeks from Friday. What do you think?”

“In two weeks? I don’t know. I’ll have to talk to Aaron and call back.”

“Sure. Just let me know as soon as you can. Those rooms up there go fast. We should have started planning sooner. Gotta jet. Timmy just found the new box of bolts that came in today. I better make sure he doesn’t build a space shuttle or something.” She hung up. Reba usually forgot to say good-bye.

Aaron started up the hill toward our house, and I followed him. “Who was that?”

“Reba. She wants the Lady Eels to take a trip to the Smokies in two weeks. I told her I needed to talk to you about it.”

“What’s to talk about?”

“You mean, I can go?”

“Have you already forgotten what just happened in there? I’ve never stopped you from doing anything you ever wanted to do.” He smiled at me and held my hand.

“No, Reverend Donovan, you never have. Now that I’m a biker chick, do you sometimes wish you’d married a quieter, prim, and proper woman more suited to being a pastor’s wife?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Who wants plain vanilla when he can have the whole banana split?”

17

“Timmy go! Timmy go!”

Timmy pulled his suitcase, packed with his favorite jeans, shirts, and stuffed lizard babies, in and out of my bedroom while I sorted through the piles of clothes on my bed.

“You can’t go this time, Timmy. The trip is just for girls.” I rolled up a pair of jeans and pushed them into my motorcycle sissy bar pack.

“Timmy go.” He clapped his hands, opened the suitcase, and ran to the bathroom to retrieve his toothbrush. “Timmy goooooo!”

Timmy was on the brink of a meltdown, and I didn’t have the time or patience right now to deal with it. “Aaron! Where are you? Are you busy?”

No answer.

Patrick hollered at me as he ran down the stairs. “Mom, I’m going over to Adam’s house.”

“Wait!” I ran into the hall and looked at him from the top of the stairs. “Why are you going to Adam’s? Is his mom home?”

“Mom, c’mon. I’m just going to Adam’s to play Wii.”

“Is his mother home?” I raised my eyebrows and plopped my hands on my hips.

“Yes, Mom. His mother’s home. I’m leaving now.” He huffed at me and rolled his eyes.

“Don’t talk to me that way, Patrick. I don’t deserve to be spoken to in that tone. And you should ask me, not tell me, you’re going somewhere. I’m still your mother.”

“Like I could forget it?”

“Patrick.”

“Mom, I’m going to go now, OK?”

I paused. Should I let him go? His attitude stank lately. Still, it was summer time, and he was restless. Maybe Aaron was right. Maybe the sassiness was Patrick’s effort to cut the apron strings. What did I know? I’d never raised a boy to be a man.

“OK.” I hesitated and looked down from the landing at the floor below, trying to arrange my thoughts. “But you have chores to do when you get home. And I want you to give me a big hug and kiss before I leave tomorrow. Just think: a whole week without M-O-M.”

“Fine.” He waved me off and ran out the door, slamming it behind him.

“Timmy goooooo.” Timmy sat on my bedroom floor rocking back and forth and slapping his forehead. I ran to him.

“Timmy, Timmy, stop it, honey. Don’t hurt yourself. “

My phone rang from somewhere under the clothes spread all over my bed. I rummaged around for it and answered.

“Hello?”

“So, you all packed, girl?” Reba’s voice was unmistakable.

“No, not yet. I’m trying.”

“Timmy go. Timmy go. Timmy go! Timmy go!” Timmy’s anxiety escalated, and he ran up and down the hall hitting the side of his head.

“What’s wrong with Timmy?”

“He wants to go with us.”

“So? Let him.”

“What?” Did I hear her right?

“Let’s take him with us. He’ll have a blast.”

How could I tell Reba that I had looked forward to this trip to get away from Timmy for a few days? How could I explain the nervous twitch in my eye when Timmy began to hurt himself? It made me nervous because he was nervous. Would it be too much to ask to have a break?

“But I don’t know how to ride two up yet.”

“Not a problem. I’ll take Trace’s Goldwing and Timmy can ride behind me. You can take him short distances until you’re comfortable.”

“But you love riding your Harley…”

“I like the Goldwing, too. Just don’t tell Trace ’cause I like giving him a hard time about it not being a Harley. It’s in the manual, ya know.”

“What is?”

“If you own a Harley, you have to give bikers who ride those foreign bikes a hard time.”

“Serious?”

“No, but I think it should be.” She cackled, and her laughter morphed into a hard cough. Those blasted cigs. “So, ya gonna let Timmy go or not?”

“I don’t know…”

“Look, I don’t think he’s gonna change his mind.”

She was right. If I didn’t take Timmy, Aaron was in for a huge meltdown that would last for hours, maybe days. Still, there were plenty of times Aaron left me alone with Timmy and the aftermath. But I was more concerned for Timmy than Aaron.

It wasn’t only today that made living with autism difficult. It was looking ahead and knowing that as long as I lived, Timmy would need me. Some days, the reality felt heavier on my shoulders than Timmy’s weighted blanket. But it didn’t change the fact I loved him more than life. He would have a great time on our trip.

“OK, he can go,” I barely spoke above a whisper.

“It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

“He’ll need to stop for bathroom breaks.” Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.

“Your gas tank isn’t that big, I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” Reba giggled and coughed again. My tank only held enough to go about one hundred miles without a fill-up.

I said good-bye to Reba, hung up the phone, looked at Timmy, and turned on my best smile. I ran over and hugged him. “Timmy go!”

The tears and rocking stopped. He tilted his head. “Timmy go?”

“Timmy go.” I nodded.

He clapped and ran through the house.

“Dad-ee! Dad-ee! Timmy go! Timmy go!”

Daniel walked into my room smelling of chlorine, his eyes bloodshot from swimming. “What’s with Timmy?”

“He’s going with me on my motorcycle trip.” I turned back to my packing.

“Whoa, Mom, you’re kidding.”

“Nope. Reba suggested we let him go. She’s going to let him ride on the back of Trace’s Goldwing.”

“Sweeeet!”

“What a nice attitude, Daniel. I’m proud of you for being happy for Timmy.”

Daniel grinned at me. “I’m not happy for Timmy. I’m happy for me. I get Dad to myself. Well, except for Patrick, but he’s never home, anyway. This totally rocks.” He ran down the hall and slammed his bedroom door.

Aaron and Timmy came into the bedroom giggling and poking at one another.

“Timmy’s going?”

“Yes. Reba said he could.”

“Are you sure? I mean, it won’t be much of a break.” Aaron took Timmy’s hands in his to keep him from poking. Timmy wiggled free and sat down with his suitcase. I looked at him and shook my head.

“No, I’m not sure, but I am sure he’ll love it.” I smiled halfheartedly, and Aaron sat on the edge of the bed.

“This will be the first time Timmy and I haven’t been home together.” Aaron sounded sad.

That hadn’t occurred to me. Every time Aaron was home, Timmy was home. I frowned.

“Hmmm. You’ll have to let me know how that feels.”

Aaron convinced Timmy to pack his things in my bag.

I packed three outfits for each of us.

Aaron took the boys out to the trampoline. The bouncing organized Timmy’s brain in some way that calmed him. Afterwards, while Daniel helped me with dinner, Aaron and Timmy swam in the pool.

By the time we cleaned up dinner, it was time for bed. We needed our sleep if we wanted to get an early start in the morning.

“You need to take a shower, Timmy.” I repeated the same thing I said every night at this time.

And he responded the exact same way. “Timmy not dirty. Timmy clean.”

Timmy loved to swim, but he hated showers and baths. He hated anything touching his skin such as soap or lotion. The little bursts of water from a shower were especially painful for him. Still, it was easier and faster for him to wash his hair in a shower, so showering is usually what we did.

I got Timmy showered and dried off and realized he was out of clean underwear. I grabbed the day’s laundry and headed downstairs to the laundry room.

Aaron was sitting on the couch.

Goliath lay sprawled out on top of his feet chewing on an old shoe.

“Have you seen Daniel?” I paused behind him.

Aaron flipped through a dozen channels faster than I could process what was on the screen. “He’s listening to a movie soundtrack in his room.”

“Is Patrick home yet?”

“I haven’t seen him.” Flip. Flip.

I sighed and went upstairs into the bathroom where I found Timmy squirting shaving cream all over the shower door. He’d managed to cover his naked self from head to toe with shaving cream and stood grinning at me ear to ear. I was too tired to laugh.

“Timmy, please don’t. Mommy just cleaned that.” Why did shower time have to happen when I was beyond exhausted?

I managed to get Timmy showered—again—his ears cleaned out, and into fresh pajamas. By the time he got into bed, I wanted to crawl in with him.

“Daniel. The shower’s free,” I called.

“OK, Mom.” What a dear, obedient boy.

I went downstairs with my clothes soaked, as usual, and threw myself on the couch with a long, heavy sigh. Aaron sat fixated on a History Channel.

“Did Patrick come home?” The clock said eleven ten. Past his weeknight curfew.

Aaron didn’t look away from the TV. “Uh, I haven’t seen him. Isn’t he upstairs?”

“No.”

I reached for the phone and dialed Adam’s phone number. His mother answered. I couldn’t remember her first name.

“Hello, Mrs. Schmidt?”

“Yes, this is she.” She sounded as if she was roused from a deep sleep.

“This is Kirstie Donovan, Patrick’s mom? I’m sorry for calling this late.”

“No problem. I had just dozed off reading a book.”

“Is Patrick still there? If he is would you please send him home? I’m sorry if he’s still hanging around.”

“Patrick? Patrick’s not here.” She sounded surprised.

I leaned forward and rubbed my brow. “Oh. He’s not? When did he leave?”

“Why, Kirstie, I haven’t seen Patrick all day.”

“Oh.” I was stunned. “I must have misunderstood him. I’m sorry I bothered you this late. I hope you get some rest.”

“No problem, Kirstie. I hope you find him.”

“Sure. Goodnight.”

Patrick was toast when I found him.

“Good-bye.”

I hung up, speechless.

“He wasn’t there?” Aaron clicked off the TV and tossed the remote on the end table.

“No. He never was. They haven’t seen him all day.”

18

“I’ll go look for him.” Aaron grabbed his keys off the credenza. “You call all his friends.”

“OK.” My heart hammered a terrifying song.

We hadn’t yet experienced the teen rebellion stage with our kids. Timmy wasn’t at an emotional age to exhibit any adolescent behavior.

I dialed everyone I knew and called people I trusted to pray. My prayer partner list was short. Whom could I possibly trust to ask for prayer? Only the Lady Eels. And Reba wasn’t even a praying woman.

“Has he ever done anything like this before?” Reba actually sounded a little frantic.

“He’s been pushing the envelope lately. He resents Timmy. I don’t know why. I try to spend equal time with all the kids. I don’t think it’s that.”

Reba yawned into the phone. “Hmm. I wonder if he’s embarrassed by him.”

I sighed in frustration. “Embarrassed? If he is, it’s just wrong.”

“Of course it is, but he’s a teenager. And teenagers aren’t logical. Those critters go by their feelings. And besides, the kid probably doesn’t know what he’s feeling. He only knows he’s miserable.”

I picked at the dark purple nail polish chipping off my fingers. “That’s true. Sometimes I’m not sure I recognize or can rationalize my own thoughts and feelings. Especially when Aaron and Patrick are at loggerheads. It seems like the two of them fight constantly. It’s enough to make me want to run away. I sure hope he didn’t.”

I sobbed angry, frustrated tears, recognizing the stress. The painful realities of my life were crystal clear, like looking through a magnifying glass and seeing all the ugly little cells of unrest and pain.

Reba tried to soothe me. “I know. I know. I’ve been there. We went through a lot more with our daughter, Becky, but this too shall pass. One of these days, you’ll give anything to have your babies in the house giving you trouble and heartache.”

“At the rate they’re aging me, I doubt it.” I tried to joke but only felt panic.

“It’ll be OK. Try to remain calm. Listen, let me get on my bike and go looking for him.”

I dried my eyes. “Thanks, Reba, I really appreciate it.”

The hours passed slowly with no sign of Aaron, Patrick, or Reba. What could possibly be wrong? Was no news good news? Or did the silence mean something worse?

I wandered over to the bookcase and pulled out Patrick’s baby book. The scrapbook wasn’t nearly as full as Timmy’s. Shortly after Patrick was born we learned Timmy’s diagnosis, and our days were full of confusion, second opinions, and grief.

At first, we wandered through our daily routines in a daze. What was autism anyway? I got on the Internet and bought every book I could find on the subject and spent hours poring over them. The prognosis was grim for some children but better for others. The frustrating thing about this ugly spectrum disorder was its lack of clear boundaries or consistent symptoms. Autism Spectrum Disorder, or ASD, was as different for everyone as the person with the disease.

In the beginning, I refused to believe my beautiful little boy, with eyes as blue as a cloudless Indiana sky, was slipping away from me into a world of his own. The doctors were wrong. And I would prove it. If I willed for a cure enough, the autism would go away. If I prayed harder. If I had more faith. If I fasted. It would be gone.

But autism stayed.

I hated the word autism and all the diagnosis implied. My son would not be another statistic. I would fight this monster and destroy it in the same way David conquered Goliath. If victory was to be, it was up to me. And while Aaron seemed to accept the diagnosis eventually, I just couldn’t. My rage fed my drive to find a cure.

I bargained with God. I would pray longer, have even more faith, and would fast even longer. I would give more time to the church. Whatever it took for my son to be cured, I would do it. God surely would heal him. He must.

But He didn’t, and nothing changed. Timmy continued to drift away.

Moms are supposed to be able to fix the boo-boos. And I couldn’t heal Timmy of his autism. What kind of mother did that make me?

Looking at Patrick’s baby book pictures now, I realized he practically lived in his car seat the first year of his life. When I accepted the cure wouldn’t come, when I finally knew Timmy had a permanent disability, our life became one appointment after another in a desperate flurry of second opinions, speech therapy, and occupational therapy. We drove an hour one way once a week so he could receive hippo therapy, where he learned to balance and communicate while riding a horse. We drove another hour away for water therapy and swimming with dolphins. I went to healing services where Christians laid hands on him for healing. I was desperate in those days. I couldn’t see the gift Timmy was by simply being himself.

No wonder Patrick resented his big brother.

But I tried hard to give equal time to all the boys. I stayed home with them every day. I encouraged them, nurtured them, taught them. What more should I have done? What would it take to reach this son? Now it wasn’t Timmy drifting away. It was Patrick. Had I spent so much time trying to reach Timmy that I had neglected to reach Patrick?

Four hours later Reba called.

Aaron was on his way home with Patrick and would explain when my guys got here. It was three in the morning, and I was beyond exhausted with worry.

When the two of them walked in the front door, I didn’t know whether to clobber Patrick or take him in my arms and kiss him out of thankfulness for him being alive.

“Aaron, Patrick, thank God you’re home.”

Patrick didn’t look at me. When I hugged him, he stood there with his arms to his sides, stiff as a board. What happened to the little boy who used to snuggle on my lap while I read to him from his favorite Thomas the Tank books?

“What is it?” I looked at Aaron. “What’s wrong?”

“Tell your mother where I found you.” The deep disappointment in Aaron’s voice pricked at my heart.

I took my son’s chin in my hand and made him look at me. “What? Patrick? What happened?”

He jerked his face away from me and took a step back.

Aaron walked toward the closet, looking as if he’d aged ten years since leaving home, and removed his jacket. “He was at the police station.” His voice trembled.

I gasped and my hands flew to my mouth. “Oh, no.”

The police station? Wasn’t jail where kids whose parents were neglectful went? Not my child. Not the pastor’s child. Not the child who was loved, and nurtured, and homeschooled.

“What happened? Tell me. Patrick, what happened?” My voice grew louder with panic.

Aaron stood beside me with his hands in his pockets looking at Patrick. “They caught him in the park drinking beer. Show your mother your arm.”

Patrick stood stiff as a fence post, looking at the floor. He held up his arm and pulled back his sleeve.

My world changed forever. My precious, pure, baby-skinned boy had a red, swollen tattoo on his forearm that read: “Ad astra” with a tiny star.

“Ad astra? To the stars?” I groaned and my knees felt weak.

Aaron caught me and led me to a chair.

“Do you know what you’re putting your mother through?”

Of course he didn’t. No child knows what his parents endure. It’s the irony of the entire relationship.

I sat in my chair and sobbed. I couldn’t help it. I wanted to act strong, but I just didn’t have it in me. I cried for a while, and the guys stood there silently not knowing what to do. Finally, I pulled myself together enough to sputter measured, livid words. “Go to bed, Patrick. I’m too angry to talk to you about this tonight. Go to bed, and we’ll talk tomorrow. Stay in your room until your father and I come get you.”

Patrick stumbled up the stairs. The aroma of beer mixed with the stink of a sweaty, teenage boy lingered behind, taunting us.

Aaron groaned and leaned back on the couch, staring at a blank TV screen. “What will the church people say when they find out?”

“Who cares? I don’t give a flip about what the congregation thinks, Aaron. Our son is hurting.”

“Hurting?” Aaron stood up. “Hurting? You’re always making excuses for him. There’s no excuse for this kind of behavior when he’s been taught better all his life. He knows right from wrong, Kirstie. It’s not as if he’s a street urchin who hasn’t had all the love and support two parents could possibly give him. He’s ungrateful and selfish.” Aaron paced in front of the television. “I felt humiliated going into the police station and enduring the…”

“You felt humiliated? What about Patrick?”

“He earned it. I didn’t.” Aaron stomped up the stairs. “I’m going to bed.”

I hid my face in my hands and cried harder than I had in years. I hate crying. But I was angry. I was angry with Aaron for not getting it. I was angry with Patrick for his tattoo and for drinking. And I was angry with Timmy’s autism.

I was angry with God.

19

I didn’t bother lifting my head off the pillow when the phone rang me out of a fitful sleep. I blindly lifted the receiver from the nightstand and parked it on my ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey, girl, it’s Reba. You awake?”

“Reba, I’m sorry. We might have to delay the trip a day. I need to make sure things on the home front are going to be OK before I go.”

“No problem. I’m not going anywhere without you.”

“Reba?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“That’s what friends are for, girl.” She hung up.

My eyes felt like marshmallows, and my head throbbed from crying. I hadn’t slept more than two hours.

As always, Timmy woke up at 6:00 AM. It didn’t matter what time he went to bed—he always woke up at the same time.

I stumbled downstairs and turned Cops on TV, made him two pieces of gluten-free toast with peanut butter, and went back to bed with Aaron still snoring. As I slipped in beside him, he woke up.

He yawned into his pillow and groaned. “Aren’t you going to get up and pack for your trip?”

“No.” I rolled over with my back to him and pulled the covers closer to my chin.

“Why not?” He propped himself up on his elbow and leaned over my face to look at me.

I closed my eyes and stuck out my lower lip. “I’m mad.”

Aaron flopped back on his pillow and stared at the ceiling. “I can’t believe we’re going through this.”

I didn’t open my eyes. “Me either. I thought if you did everything right your kids would be OK. What good does it do to raise them right if you get the same results? I’m depressed. I can’t make sense of anything anymore. Everything I’ve believed about raising children turns out to be wrong.” Tears seeped out again.

“Patrick must decide for himself who he’s going to serve.” Aaron rubbed my back gently. “Even God’s children in a perfect garden disobeyed their perfect Father.”

Why did Aaron have to be right? I didn’t feel like being reasonable right now. I felt like stomping my feet like a two-year-old and demanding justice.

“I can just hear Norman and Bernice, now.” I sniffed.

Aaron sighed. “We don’t need to worry about pleasing Norman and Bernice. We only need to be concerned with pleasing God.”

“You sure have a change of attitude this morning.” It annoyed me how quickly he’d reconciled the situation.

“Prayer changes things,” he said.

Then I remembered.

Aaron got out of bed about an hour after we both lay awake and went downstairs alone.

I was too tired to follow him.

BLAM! Our oldest son, the human torpedo, flew through the door and jumped on the bed. This was cute when he was three years old, but at age seventeen, he surely created a tsunami in our bed.

“Timmy go! Timmy go!”

I groaned. Obviously Timmy was finished watching Cops. I should have put a video in.

Aaron kissed my cheek and jumped out of bed. “Go ahead and rest. You have a big trip ahead of you, and I want you alert. I’ll take the boys to the Fried Eel for breakfast.”

“Eels! Eels!” Timmy jumped off the bed and plowed into Daniel’s room to jump on his bed until his little brother woke up.

I rolled to my back and threw my arm over my eyes. “I told Patrick to go to his room and not come out until we talked to him this morning. But I’m just too tired…”

Aaron clicked off the alarm. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”

I moved my arm from my face and eased up on my elbows to look at him. All I could see through my haze of exhaustion was a blur of a man standing at the end of my bed getting dressed. “What are the consequences for what he did?”

Aaron pulled on his jeans. “I’ll ground him for life.”

“Sounds good to me.” I flopped back, rolled over, and shut my eyes. “Be sure to stop by the hardware store to pick up padlocks and chains.” I yawned and nestled my head into my pillow. “Seriously, what are we going to do?”

“Well, for today and the rest of this week while you’re gone, I’m going to keep him busy helping Deacon Billy landscape the church grounds. And when he’s finished with that, he has plenty to do around the yard here. We both know how much he loves yard work.”

I snorted. “Oh, yeah. It’s right up there on top of his list with dental drills and algebra. Good thing Timmy won’t be here. He’d be jealous.”

Timmy loved yard work.

Aaron sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on his shoes. He chuckled. “I filled Billy in on the situation. He told me he was grateful to be trusted and that he’d do a lot of listening to Patrick. I know he’ll give good advice, too.”

I smiled into my pillow. “Thank him for me, OK?”

“I sure will. You rest.”

“Thank you.” I drifted into blissful, ignorant unconsciousness.

****

“Get up, girl. You’re sleepin’ your life away.” Lily pulled my covers off and opened the blinds. Blazes of sunshine seared my eye sockets.

I threw the covers over my head and yelled, “Hey, cut it out. I can’t ride if I’m blind.”

Lily poked me in the side with a pointy finger. “Get up. Time’s a wastin’.”

“Leave me alone.” I burrowed deeper under the blankets.

“Get up. Now.” She slapped me on the backside. “Whatcha doin’ layin’ in here like a lazy hog?”

“I was up all night.” I moaned, unmoved, and refused to open my eyes.

“Well, you’re not gonna sleep tonight if you don’t get up. Now, c’mon. Quit your lollygaggin’. We need to get rollin’.”

“I don’t want to. I want to stay right here where it’s safe and cozy and nothing can make me cry.” I meant it, too.

“You think you’re the only one who’s ever wrestled with a rebellious teenager? Good heavens, child, if I’d stayed in bed every time my kids exerted their little independent hairy selves, I’d have out slept Rip Van Winkle.” Lily grabbed my covers again and yanked them off onto the floor.

Timmy barreled into my room and bounced on the bed. “Timmy go! Dragon! Dragon! Timmy go! Dragon! Dragon!”

“Timmy, stop it!” I yelled.

He giggled.

“Timmy, tell your mom to get up so we can go,” Lily egged him on.

I wanted to strangle both of them.

“We go, Mama. Get up, Mama. We go!”

“Oh, Timmy, Mama doesn’t feel good and…”

Lily began pulling me out of bed. “We leave in two hours. Aaron helped me finish packing for you and Timmy. Everything’s ready, and we’re all waiting on you. Your husband sent me in here to get you up. Far be it from me to disobey my pastor. Hit the showers and don’t sit on a pity pot while you’re in there, either.” Lily managed to guide me to the bathroom and push me into a cold shower with my jammies on.

I was definitely awake now. Tomorrow’s headlines came close to featuring murder at the hands of a psychotic pastor’s wife in the parsonage bathroom. But as the shower warmed up and I let myself think about a ride with the girls, sanity and reason returned. Maybe even a little excitement grew in my heart. A good long ride on Heaven could be the perfect medicine for what ailed me.

****

Two hours later, Timmy sat behind Reba on her Goldwing, tall and straight, prince of the iron horses. His smile and enthusiasm were contagious, and I felt nervous and excited, too.

Reba pulled on her gloves. “We’ll ride two or three hours and stop. That way we won’t need to drive so many hours tomorrow. We’ll stop in Indy for supper and get a room there. How’s that sound?”

Lily revved her Honda. “Peachy.”

I forced myself into a better mood and worked up a little enthusiasm for the trip. “This is going to be so much fun. Woo-hoo.”

Opal scowled and fumbled with the chinstrap on her helmet. “I can’t believe I’m letting you lead me into Indianapolis.”

I reached over and gave her shaking hands a squeeze. “Don’t worry, Opal, I’ll be right behind you making sure you’re safe.”

Aaron prayed over us before we left.

Reba took the lead, and behind her to her right rode Lily. Behind her to the left tiny Opal rode tall on her little Rebel, and I sailed behind Opal on the right. We looked like experienced riders. Riding with my girlfriends in perfect formation was as thrilling as riding with the Patriot Guard. The Lady Eels performed a beautiful dance of chrome, power, and girlfriends on a mission.

Timmy held his arms straight out from his sides as if he were flying. It occurred to me that riding probably felt as free to Timmy as he could ever feel. He loved the rumble of the engine, and he memorized the routes. If I made the trip to the Smoky Mountains again, Timmy would be able to tell me how to get there.

We drove for about an hour until we got to Elwood where we filled up with gas.

Opal pulled off her helmet and gave me a high five. “What a ride. We looked great out there, don’t you think, Reba? Except, I hate semi-trucks. The monsters about blow me off the road.”

I poured a bottle of cold water over my head and down my shirt. My protective jacket was necessary, but stifling. “I know. The trucks blow my bike, too, so I know they’ve got to be blowing you everywhere. But you did great, Opal. Aren’t you proud of yourself?”

Opal grinned and pulled off her sunglasses to look at me. “You know, I am. I never thought I’d do something like this. Now I wish I’d learned to ride a long time ago. I feel like a whole other person. I’m not as afraid of people now. Who would think a motorcycle would make me brave?”

“I would have.” Lily replaced the cap on her tank. “It’s what brought me out of my shell.”

I replaced the gas nozzle. “I’m not sure I have a shell to come out of.” I thought for a minute. “I don’t think.”

Everyone laughed.

After drinking several bottles of water and wetting our neck wraps and T-shirts to keep us cool, we hit the road again. By early evening, we pulled into the hotel. Reba had booked one with a water park inside for Timmy.

“My treat.” She smiled after we pulled in and dismounted. “This room’s on me.”

The water park worried me. “It’s so thoughtful of you, Reba, but Timmy might be overwhelmed with the noise and the splashing.” He might be too afraid to get in the water.

“He’ll get in.” She grinned. “You watch.”

Reba was right.

Once Timmy saw the fascinating things to spin, and all the wheels to turn to change the flow of water in different places, he got right in the middle of rushing waves, squealing children, and surprise bursts of water. Timmy tried everything with the kind of enthusiasm only he could exude.

“I wouldn’t believe he’d do this if I didn’t see it with my own eyes.” I watched as he ran around clapping in the wading pool, trying out all the different spigots. He was gentle with the children around him and waited his turn. Timmy loved kids. But he looked huge next to younger school-age kids in the same area.

One of the mothers removed her children from the line Timmy waited in to play with one of the fountains. She glared at me and at Timmy. Her ignorance made my heart ache with the kind of pain that encompasses the lost future dreams a mother has for her child.

A dad spoke up, “Hey, kid, you’re too big to be in this part of the pool. Get lost.”

Reba growled, but I glued my hand to her arm to hold her back and then jogged over to Timmy. “C’mon, sweetie. Let’s go over to the other side and see what’s over there.” I led him to where other spigots and gears stood ready to turn and spin. I got several rude looks, but I didn’t care. My boy was playing in water and having fun. A rare thing in a strange place. This was progress.

“What’s your problem?” one of the parents yelled at me.

Reba waded over and talked to her. I don’t know what she said, but afterwards no one bothered us anymore. Then she came over and pulled on my arm. “C’mon. Leave him alone, and let’s see what he does.”

I resisted her. “But…”

“He’s capable of a lot more than you think, Kirstie. Don’t limit him so much. You’re too protective. You can’t always be there, you know. He’s got to learn to navigate things himself.”

Ouch. Did I limit my son? Was I overprotective? I bristled, but as I watched Timmy interact with other children and parents, I wondered if there was truth in Reba’s words.

After cooling off in the water park, Reba taught Timmy how to order pizza over the phone and count out the correct change for the delivery. Once the veggie supreme pizzas arrived—one with cheese for everyone else, and one without for Timmy—I removed the crust and garnished the rice cakes I had packed with his pizza toppings. We all feasted on pizza, chips, and apple juice. OK, I may or may not have had a soda on the sly. Afterward, our tummies full of junk food, we headed to bed.

Tomorrow would be a long day of riding. We would make our way to Tennessee and North Carolina—and The Dragon.

20

“I’m not doing it.” Opal removed her helmet and gloves, sat on a porch bench at the Tallassee storefront, and folded her arms.

Reba dismounted her bike and trotted up the steps. “You have to.”

“I don’t have to do anything.” Opal looked Reba right in the eye and stayed firm.

I felt growing concern. We’d made our way through Indiana, Kentucky, and Tennessee and were ready to ride down the portion of Highway 129 known as The Dragon at Deal’s Gap because of its 318 curves in eleven miles—and Opal was in a panic.

“You don’t have a choice.” Reba sat beside her and looked straight ahead.

“What do you mean, I don’t have a choice?”

“There’s only one way off this mountain, and that’s down the The Dragon. Now, you can either go down that way, or you can drive one hundred miles all the way around to our lodging, and we’ll enjoy the hot tub before you.”

Opal glared at Reba. “I hate you,” she whispered so Timmy couldn’t hear.

Lily and I gasped and laughed.

Those words coming out of Opal, the princess of all things prim and proper, was hysterical.

The Lady Eels sat on the porch and watched bikers come and go out of the store.

I marveled at the different motorcycles and wanted to talk to each rider and find out where they were from. Many wore their vests as we did, so we could tell which clubs or groups they belonged to.

Reba pulled out a cigarette, tilted her head to the sky, and blew out a puff of smoke. “Look, Opal.” She took another draw on her cig and slowly blew the smoke out again. “You can ride as slow as you want. Pull over to the side if you see someone fast coming up behind you so they can pass safely. There’ll be some young idiots riding too fast to prove their mettle. Unfortunately too many of them don’t make it.”

“Exactly.” Opal slapped her leg and looked at me.

I gave her my best puppy-dog-eyes look. “Opal, you don’t want to come all this way and not face The Dragon. Look how far you’ve come. And we’ve already tackled countless curves and switchbacks.”

“Not 318 of them in eleven miles!”

“’Leven miles!” Timmy clapped and rocked on the other side of Reba.

“That’s true, Opal. But I’ll stay right behind you. Haven’t I been there for you through the whole trip so far?”

“I have to give you that, Kirstie. You have. Even when these two went ahead and lost me, you stayed right there.” She jerked her head toward Lily and Opal.

I pursed my lips and gave her my Mama Bear look. “Hey, now, be fair. It’s easy to get separated in the mountains.”

“Tell ya what, Opal.” Reba walked off the porch to the gravel parking lot and snuffed out her cigarette. “You make the ride down The Dragon, when we get to the Dragon Store, lunch is on me. Deal?”

“As in Deal’s Gap?” I snorted.

Everyone rolled their eyes and groaned.

I wished Opal would hurry up and get some courage. At the end of this run was the Deal’s Gap store where we could gas up, get something to eat, and shop. My stomach growled louder than the pipes on my bike.

There was a long silence. Finally Opal nodded. “OK. But if I end up a crippled vegetable because of this…”

Lily held up her hand. “I know. I know. We’ll have to take care of you. Like we wouldn’t? C’mon. Let’s roll.”

Reba walked back to the porch. “Let’s get something to drink and gas up first.”

We herded inside for bottles of cold water. With the sweltering heat and the added warmth of our protective gear, we needed all the H-2-0 we could get.

We filled our tanks and butterflies hit my stomach as we edged our way out of the parking lot. Bikes roared by at tremendous speeds. Seeing young people take such risks scared me. We were taking risks, to be sure, but not at an excessive speed.

Reba started down the mountain and while I couldn’t hear Timmy’s squeals over my engine, his waving hands told me everything. I was sure we’d be picking bugs out of his teeth for weeks because his smile had to be big.

Lily followed Reba, Opal started down slowly behind Lily, and I became the tail of the Lady Eels as we snaked our way down The Dragon’s back. We discovered that between Reba’s coaching and our practices, we were more prepared for this precarious, world-famous course than most first-timers.

I talked my way through the curves. “Inside, outside. When you go to the left, go to the right side of the lane. When you curve right, go to the left side.” I danced with my motorcycle, and the feeling was better than melted chocolate on my tongue. Some curves required me to angle my bike with such a tilt I scraped my foot pegs. Seeing sparks fly up on my boots gave me goose bumps, and I hooted with glee.

The twists, turns, and switchbacks of the mountains we’d already traveled through prepared us well, too. The ride through the Great Smoky Mountains National Forest was a dream. Indiana didn’t have curves and mountains like these. The beauty was more than my eyes could take in. I wanted to stop and soak in the landscape. But we needed to return home within a week’s time because Lily was scheduled to work, so tarrying beside waterfalls wasn’t an option.

We rode on US 129 and headed for the North Carolina border.

Opal went at a fair pace—no lower than the speed limit.

We pulled over twice for race bikes.

I wanted to see Opal’s face to know if she was finally enjoying herself, but she stayed ahead of me at a good clip and even scraped her foot pegs once or twice.

The switchbacks I’d been terribly fearful of were more fun than a carnival ride. I wished we had them in Indiana. The closest thing to a switchback there? An illegal U-turn. But I gave Indiana credit for teaching me to ride on her straight, empty, country roads. They had served me well as a beginning rider.

We reached the end of the main part of the course and parked at the Deal’s Gap store along with dozens of bikers congratulating one another on their successful ride.

Opal’s grin was the brightest.

I gave her a big squeeze. “See? You did it!”

She held her hands out in front of me. “Look. I’m a nervous wreck. But you know what? Scaring the pants off yourself is fun!”

We all agreed.

Opal pointed to a tree dripping with assorted bike parts. “What on earth is that?”

Lily threw her arm around Opal’s shoulder and chuckled. “That, my dear, is the Tree of Shame. And guess what? Your little Rebel isn’t on it.”

Reba chuckled, helping Timmy off the back of her bike. “People who crash on The Dragon hang what’s left of their bikes on that tree.”

Lily leaned over and spoke into Opal’s ear, “That is, if they walk away.”

We all walked toward the memorial tree in silence.

Reba pointed to a signature on a gas tank. “If accident victims make it out alive, they sign the parts, too.”

I gasped. “That’s kind of morbid.”

Even Timmy scowled and looked serious. “Morbid,” he repeated my words and walked around the tree looking at all the parts. I wondered if he understood why the parts were there. He seemed to understand more than he could tell us.

Lily shrugged. “At least they have a sense of humor about it.”

Opal still hadn’t said anything.

“What’s the matter Opal?” Reba shoved her playfully. “You have nothing to worry about. You don’t go fast enough to make it onto the Tree of Shame.”

Opal stuck her tongue out.

I laughed. “Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starved. And thirsty. Let’s eat.”

Timmy nodded. “Eat, eat. Opal not fast.”

We all laughed, and Reba roared the loudest. “Lunch is on me, Opal. You did great.”

“She really did.” Lily hugged Opal.

We were all proud of her. And ourselves. The Lady Eels cheered and high-fived one another. Today there was victory in the camp.

“It wasn’t as bad as I thought.” Opal grinned ear to ear.

We headed into the diner and gift shop. Bikers from all over the world sat around swapping stories and celebrating their experiences on the famed Dragon. There were sports bikes, scooters, and cruisers like ours.

I took a bite of my cheese hot dog. “Something I’ve noticed,” I spoke through a mouthful of food, like my mother taught me not to. “Bikers are so nice to one another.”

Opal nodded. “I’ve noticed that, too. I used to be scared of them. But they’ve turned out to be great folks.”

Reba nodded. “There’s an unwritten biker code that says we’re all family. In the old days, we had to make it on our own against mainstream society. We needed to stick together to make it.”

I pondered this. “Kind of like Christians in Jesus’s time.”

Lily nodded. “Yeah. That’s how the church is supposed to be.”

“Are there other unspoken rules?” I was curious about this code thing.

Reba nodded. “Yup.”

Opal plunked down her drink. “Like what?”

“Let me see…” Reba munched on an onion ring. “Oh, just common sense stuff like be nice to kids and animals. Don’t cheat with another man’s old lady…”

“I hate that term.” I glared.

“It’s a term of endearment in the biker community.” Reba popped another onion ring in her mouth.

“Well, if Aaron ever calls me his old lady, I’ll have to pray through it.”

Opal giggled. “Can you imagine him using the term ‘old lady’ in a sermon?”

I held up my hands. “Oh, please, no. There’d definitely be a board meeting over that. Not because people would be concerned about me, but because the women in the church wouldn’t want their husbands calling them that— and I don’t blame them.”

I looked over at Timmy who had stuffed himself with hotdogs and onion rings. I had to order extra hotdogs for him since he couldn’t eat bread. The hotdogs weren’t all that good for him, either, and he shouldn’t have eaten the coating on the onion rings, but this was a special day for us. Maybe eating them today wouldn’t hurt.

We downed our fried chicken strips and onion rings and complained later about heartburn as we shopped for T-shirts, dragon stickers, and patches to prove we’d passed this rite of passage as bikers.

Patches still reminded me of being in Girl Scouts. I giggled to myself when I bought mine and Timmy’s. I bought Aaron and the boys Deal’s Gap T-shirts. The one I bought for myself said, “I Tamed The Dragon,” and pictured a tough type gal showing her muscles. My last purchase was a little reflective dragon for the back of my helmet.

Reba paid the cashier. “It’s getting close to dark. We don’t want to be on these mountain roads when the sun goes down. You can’t see a thing and all sorts of deer, bear, turkeys, wild boars…”

“Wild boars?” I know my eyes grew wide.

“Bear?” Lily’s eyes rounded to golf ball size.

“Deer?” Opal’s eyes grew to the size of soft balls. She groaned. “That’s it. I’m staying here tonight.”

Reba laughed and slapped her leg.

Timmy did, too. “I’m staying here tonight,” he said.

Which made us laugh all the more. We walked outdoors and began loading our saddle bags with our purchases.

Reba helped Timmy with his helmet. “We can stay at the Switchback Inn in Robbinsville. It’s only about 25 miles away.”

Opal didn’t bother putting on sunblock. “I’m outta here. I’m not sticking around to meet any of those critters o’ your’n.” She had picked up her Kentucky accent again full throttle on our way to The Dragon. Her reclaimed country drawl was adorable.

“Opal, I thought you were Norwegian,” I teased.

“Only half of me on my daddy’s side. My mama’s Scots-Irish from the Appalachian Mountains. Might even be a little Melungeon in there, too, someplace.”

“Melungeon?” I asked.

“Long story. I’ll tell ya later. Let’s roll!”

As we pulled out to head toward Robbinsville, I turned for one last glance at where I’d been. I, Kirstie Donovan, pastor’s wife of little old Eel Falls First Independent Christian Community Church, fearlessly tamed the famous Dragon—the nation’s number one motorcycling and sports car road.

If only Aunt Mary could see me now.

21

Usually, we all had to wait for Opal. We’d never seen her pull her helmet and gloves on so fast. Our kickstands flew up, and we rode down Highway 129 wrapped in the beauty of a cotton-candy pink sunset. It was cooling-off time in the mountains and instead of sweltering, we stayed comfortable in our jackets and helmets.

Curve after curve and switchback after switchback, we tried not to get separated.

The beauty of these mountains was almost distracting.

I couldn’t help but marvel how the glaciers had carved them and how lavishly God decorated their elegant curves. I hadn’t told Opal this, but I secretly wished to see a bear or boar. I’d never seen one in the wild before.

But I hoped to see one in the woods—not on the road. The thought of a wild animal running out in front of me on the road scared me more than passing a semi-truck. I’d seen too many accidents in Indiana due to hitting deer. Unpredictable critters scared me more than crazy drivers.

We rode about five miles when I noticed I could no longer see Lily and Reba. It was hard to stay together in the mountains. We took the switchbacks at differing speeds, and once someone got a little bit ahead, you couldn’t see around the mountain to know how far behind you were.

I’d let myself get lost in my thoughts about our trip, how much I’d grown as a rider, and Timmy’s joy riding on the back of Reba’s Goldwing.

I rounded a switchback and slammed on my brakes. It was a dumb thing to do, stopping in the middle of the road like that. If there had been traffic, someone could have plowed me down. But my instincts overtook my sensibilities. My limbs refused to move. Fear prickled down my neck and into my lower limbs. I shivered and was too afraid to pull off to the side of the road. And I couldn’t believe my eyes.

The biggest gorilla-man I’d ever seen stood in front of Opal. Its musty, indescribably awful smell wafted back to where I sat stone still.

“Sasquatch?” My voice emerged as a whisper.

I don’t know how long I sat there frozen to my bike, but it felt like hours before the creature let out a blood-curdling howl and ran into the woods.

Opal screamed.

It was only after I finished screaming that I noticed Opal had blown a tire.

I finally thawed my limbs and rode to where Opal sat transfixed. “Are you OK?” My lips moved, but no sound came out.

“Kirstie?” Opal screamed.

“I’m right here.” Startled at my own voice, I pulled up and touched her shoulder.

“Was that what I think it was?” Opal kept staring at the spot where the Sasquatch disappeared.

“I have no idea…” I took off my helmet and slapped myself. Was I dreaming?

Opal and I screamed again. If our bone-chilling screams didn’t scare the Bigfoot, or whatever it was, further away, nothing would. We looked at each other.

“Maybe it was someone dressed in a suit, jumping out to scare bikers.”

I could tell Opal didn’t believe that any more than I did.

Without a word, we walked our motorcycles to a wide pull off area on the shoulder and sat on the guardrail.

There weren’t any other bikes on the road. No one passed by. Not even a car or truck. We were stuck here on the mountain alone—with a Yeti.

Finally, I spoke, “My legs are shaking.”

Opal looked back at the forest’s edge. “My eyelashes are shaking.”

We sat a little longer in silence.

Opal squeaked out her next words. “Are you kidding me? No one will believe us.”

I wondered if my face looked as pale as hers. “Maybe we shouldn’t tell them. Maybe we should just leave this part out.”

“I think he wanted to help me. He came out from behind the trees when my tire blew, and I almost lost control of my bike. The only reason I managed to stop was because he stood in front of me and reached his arms out.”

“Are you serious?”

Opal nodded.

“What was that thing?”

“You know, I’ve always believed in them.” Opal turned to me. “I just never told anybody. I think it’s some sort of North American primate or something. I mean, they’re always discovering new species in other countries—who knows what hides out in these mountains.”

I held out my hands. “I can’t stop shaking. How are your eyelashes?”

Opal reached up to feel them. “They’ve calmed from shaking to quivering, I think. Maybe we should call somebody now.”

“That’s a good idea. Hopefully they’ll wait for us at the lodge.” I looked down at her shredded back tire. “You do have towing service, I hope.”

“Yes.” She pulled out her cell and dialed a number. “I have it on my insurance.”

It dawned me on that Opal wasn’t harmed. “Opal, you handled the blow-out beautifully. You could have totally lost it, but you must have kept your wheel straight just as the motorman taught us on the DVD.”

Opal’s lips trembled. “There’s no signal.” The little color left in her cheeks disappeared. “Oh no, Kirstie, what if that thing comes back?”

I parked my hands on her shoulders. “It won’t. How many times have you ever heard of a Bigfoot hurting someone? You can’t even catch them on camera, and you’ve got people everywhere looking for them.”

“True.” She glanced at the woods.

“Besides. We both tend to have overactive imaginations. Maybe it was just a big dog or some teenager playing tricks on tourists.” I wasn’t sure I believed myself.

I hoped Opal did.

I tried my phone and couldn’t get a signal, either. We decided to wait for passing traffic, but none came except for a few more bikers who were going the opposite way. They promised to let someone know we were stranded.

About thirty minutes later, Lily, Reba and Timmy came back.

Opal and I high-fived each other.

But it still didn’t help us with the dilemma of getting Opal’s bike to the next town.

Lily parked her Honda and came running. “Thank you, Lord.” She threw her hands to heaven. “I wanted to throw up thinking you’d driven off the side of the mountain.” She hugged us both with the fierceness of a mother finding her lost child.

Opal raised her eyebrows.

I spoke for her, “Lily, you’d have been proud of Opal. She kept her wheel straight, and she stopped, and never even wobbled when her tire blew.”

“Opal. You OK?” Reba walked up, concern on her face.

Timmy chimed in. “Opal OK?”

Opal swayed.

Reba grabbed her and led her to a large rock to sit on.

“I think I need some water,” Opal said.

I ran to my saddlebag and retrieved a bottle. “Here, I should have thought of it sooner.”

Opal took a deep swig and choked. “I never want to get back on that bike again. I don’t know how I’m going to make it home.” Tears rested on her quivering eyelashes.

Reba patted her on the back. “You’ll get back on, Opal. You’re just tired. Don’t think about riding home right now.” Reba looked up at me.

Opal bent over and dropped her head into her hands.

Lily kneeled down in front of her. “I’m so glad you’re OK. I really thought something bad happened. Thank God. Thank God.”

“Lily, would you stop it.” Reba glared. “You’re not making things any better.”

Lily stood and jabbed her fists onto her hips. “Well, heavens to Betsy, she could have been killed.”

“Lily!” I glued a firm arm around her. “You need to calm down, too. Do you need some water?”

Lily looked at me, and I couldn’t tell if she wanted to laugh or cry.

Apparently, Opal didn’t know if she wanted to, either, and dissolved into tears in the midst of insane laughter.

We sat at the edge of the road trying to figure out our options. We prayed for wisdom. The day grew darker by the minute. We finally decided to send Reba into town for help even though the bikers had promised to send some. As she mounted her bike, an enormous red tow truck approached, and we laughed and hugged one another.

We waved our arms and yelled for the truck to stop.

A burly, silver-haired man with a sunburned, tattooed arm out the window slammed on the brakes.

I would have believed he was a rockin’ Santa Claus. His appearing was as exciting as Christmas. But I didn’t believe in Santa. Then again, seeing Bigfoot in the flesh could mean I was having a strange dream, or that such things I didn’t believe in could very well be true.

The Santa creature looked at the lot of us and adjusted the hat on his head.

Speechless, we stared at his marvelous crimson sleigh bringing us the gift of escape.

I wanted to hug him.

“Hey there, ladies.” He grinned and chuckled with rosy cheeks exactly like a real Kris Kringle. “You gals need a tow?”

22

The St. Nick guy driving the enormous metal sleigh lived up to the moniker I’d given him. Big belly, chubby cheeks, beefy arms. He was huge. Bigfoot huge. “Some riders in town told me there’s a biker up here in trouble. That y’all?”

“Sure is,” Reba hollered. “Our friend Opal here blew a tire.”

He hoisted his massive frame out of the cab, and it looked like he might burst out of the black leather vest with silver chains on the front. He landed on the ground with a grunt and gnawed on a stubby cigar sticking out of the corner of his mouth. “Which one of you is Opal?” he spoke with a gruff and authoritarian voice, but stood smiling with hands on his hips.

Opal wilted and raised her hand.

“I hear you got yourself a heap o’ trouble.” He sauntered John Wayne style to the rock where she sat and offered his hand. “My name’s Atticus. Atticus Pike.”

Our damsel in distress extended her hand and lost it in his bear paw. She remained speechless.

“This the bike here?” He pointed to her little Honda.

She nodded. The fearless tigress who’d recently blossomed had vanished and the old, timid, wallflower Opal reappeared.

“I’ll get her up on the truck, and we’ll roll on in to Robbinsville and have you tucked in by midnight. How’s that sound?” He yanked up his jeans.

Opal simply nodded.

“She’s a little shook up.” Reba gave the wallflower a gentle side squeeze. “It’s her first road trip and…”

“She should be shook up.” Atticus took the cigar out of his mouth and motioned with it. “It’s dangerous riding out here in these mountains. But, you know, I do it, so I understand the beauty of it. Still, it’s a risk.”

He shoved the cigar in his mouth, walked over to his truck and pushed on big red levers to let down a platform. We all watched in wonder as this hulking man moved about securing Opal’s bike with the gracefulness of a ballet dancer. At times he lifted little Firefly with one hand.

“OK, Miz Opal.” He opened the cab door on the passenger side and patted the seat. “Jump on up in the cab, and we’ll drop your bike off to be repaired and then get you to where you’re going.”

“Switchback Inn,” Reba called out.

Atticus saluted. “See you there.”

Opal’s legs were too short to reach the rungs on the ladder leading up to the cab. Atticus lifted her into the air like a little doll, planted her on the seat, and helped her with the seatbelt.

Reba, Lily, and I looked at one another and snickered at how diminutive and uncomfortable Opal looked.

He shut the door, and all we could see from the ground was the top of her silver head.

“I hope he doesn’t eat her for supper.” Lily giggled.

****

We arrived at the Switchback Inn, happy to be in a place to rest our weary bones. A small garage was attached to each room for parking our motorcycles. Reba’s large bike filled the entire garage next to hers and Opal’s room. Lily parked her Magnum in with my Sportster in the little garage next to ours. Having the bikes inside out of the elements was an unexpected surprise. Most motels didn’t accommodate bikers this way.

“I love these little garages.” I pulled my motorcycle bag off the back, glad I hadn’t over packed. The burden felt heavy enough with Timmy’s stuff crammed inside.

“I know. I’ve never seen anything like this.” Lily thought smart. Her bag sat on wheels. Next time, that’s exactly what I’d buy. She pulled it to the door of our room while I struggled to waddle down the sidewalk with mine. Timmy was preoccupied with the large garage doors.

The rooms weren’t fancy but definitely comfortable. At this point in the journey, I didn’t care about the décor. I only needed a place to rest my eyes and backside.

Timmy stood in the door flapping, not sure whether to go in. I left him there to get acclimated and plopped face down on the bed.

“I need an ice pack.” I moaned.

“What for?” Reba walked in with her small pack of necessities. She prided herself on traveling light.

I groaned again. “For my bum.”

Reba smacked me on the rear.

I didn’t move. “Ouch.”

“That’s all the reaction I get, huh? You must be plum tuckered out.”

I mumbled into the mattress. “What gave you the first clue?”

I could hear Lily putting her things in a corner. “Oh, probably the comatose state you’re in.”

I sat up. “Speaking of comatose, I’m grateful Opal didn’t get hurt out there today. God was definitely with us.”

Reba nodded. “I gotta give you that one, Kirstie. I didn’t want to say anything in front of Opal, but I was scared spitless. All I could think of was going home to Eel Falls with one less Lady Eel. I nearly pulled over and puked.”

Lily huffed. “And you gave me a hard time about it?”

Reba pulled out a cigarette. “I didn’t want you upsetting Opal.” She rummaged in her bag for a lighter. “I don’t know about you gals, but I’m hittin’ the shower. And then I’m gonna race ya to the ice cream.” Reba walked the few steps to the door and waved goodbye.

We all managed to take quick showers, and without bothering to dry our hair or put on makeup, we headed to The Scoop, a few yards away from the motel.

I felt my face. “You know, not wearing makeup is sort of freeing.”

Lily looked at me. “Yeah, well, don’t get too used to it.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Milo always says, ‘if a barn needs painting, ya better paint it.’”

“Meaning?” I sucked in my breath. “Are you saying I’m a barn that needs painting?”

Lily laughed. “I’m teasing you girl, lighten up.”

Timmy and Reba beat us to the ice cream parlor, and Reba ordered for Timmy before we got to the window.

“Ice cream! Cream! Cream! Ice Cream!” Timmy clapped and flapped his hands at the window of The Scoop where the server handed him a tall waffle cone of chocolate ice cream.

Reba beamed.

I glared.

“You feed him that ice cream, and you get to stay up with him tonight.” I crossed my arms. I meant business.

“Every kid deserves ice cream.” Reba waved me off.

“Yes, but some kids react badly to it.” I was too tired for this. “I don’t mind him having maybe a half a cup—but two scoops will keep him up. I’m warning you.”

“Nah, he won’t be up much longer.” Reba paid the cashier. “He’s been in the wind all day. He’ll sleep like a baby. Won’t ya, Timmy?”

“Cream!” Flap, flap, flap.

I know I should have ordered the sugar free lemonade for myself, but I needed chocolate and carbs for my nerves. I ate halfway through my brownie sundae when I realized something: I hadn’t thought about Bernice or church stuff in days.

“I love riding,” I sputtered with my mouth full of chocolate. “I’m so in the moment. I don’t think about anything except what’s happening right now.”

Reba smiled. “You’ve got it.” She took a big bite of her strawberry cheesecake ice cream. “You’ve been bitten.”

“I love the smells.” Lily licked her spoon like a tootsie pop, took a deep breath and let it out with a long sigh. “You always know where you are simply by the smell.”

“I wonder how Opal’s doing with Santa Claus.” I winked.

“Claus. Claus. Big truck.” Timmy wore chocolate ice cream all around his mouth and on his nose.

Reba laughed. “If Opal’s not back in an hour, we’ll go looking for her.”

“How far did they have to go?” Lily plopped her spoon into the empty soft serve cup.

“Just up the road a piece. There’s a Honda dealership there, thankfully. They’ll order her a new tire, and we’ll be on the road again by tomorrow.”

Timmy managed to get two scoops of chocolate ice cream more inside than outside of him. As I wiped him down, Atticus and Opal drove up in the tow truck and parked. He jogged over to the passenger side and helped Opal out of the cab. Her face flushed a mixture of cranberry and grape.

“Our hero!” Reba yelled. “What’ll it be tonight? A banana split? My treat.”

“Sounds good to me!” he hollered and waved. As he walked beside Opal, he placed one of his big bear paws on her back like a nurturing father. The gesture was not lost on any of the Lady Eels, and we raised our eyebrows at one another.

Opal and Atticus got their ice cream, and we teased Atticus about his gargantuan Santa Sleigh.

“It is what it is.” He chuckled and filled his spoon with a big helping of banana split. He took a bite, chewed, and went for another scoop. “So. I hear you met Bigfoot out there on the road…”

23

I looked at Opal with eyes as wide as my hips.

Lily choked.

Reba stopped lighting her cig and took the cancer stick out of her mouth. “Your who met what?” She threw her lighter on the table.

“Bigfoot,” Atticus said. “Lots of people say they’re there, but Opal here had a face to face.”

Reba looked at her and then at me.

I nodded. “I saw him, er, it.”

“What?” Reba leaned in toward me and turned her head from me to Opal and back toward me.

I shrugged to act like seeing a Bigfoot was just an everyday occurrence in the life of Kirstie Donovan, pastor’s wife of Eel Falls First Independent Community Christian Church. “I saw something. Opal’s telling the truth. Whatever it was took off just as I rounded the switchback.”

Atticus’s spoonful of ice cream hung in mid-air. “I saw one when I was a little shaver. I rode on the fender of my dad’s tractor when he worked in the fields. Right before the sun went down, we drove in from the field and a huge hairy thing smelling like dung and dirty dog stopped right in front of us. Looked right at us. Just stood there. Ask anyone around here, and they’ve got a story about old Skunk Ape.”

“Skunk Ape?” Opal sat immobile, staring at Atticus.

“He stinks.” Atticus set his spoon down. “You can smell him from a long ways off. You smell him before you see him if you’re out in the woods.”

I nodded. “What’d he look like?”

Atticus took a bite of his ice cream, rested his hands in his pockets, and leaned back in his chair. “His face kinda looked like a man, but it was a lot darker than the rest of him. His whole body was covered in brown and ginger hair. But some people see ’em with yellow hair. I think Skunk Apes have different colored hair exactly like we do.”

“How big was he?” I couldn’t believe my ears. But then, I couldn’t believe my eyes earlier, either.

“Taller than my dad and he was around seven foot tall, maybe taller. Ol’ Sasquatch was a lot bigger than my dad. Had long ol’ arms that hung way past his waist. Funny thing, though, he didn’t act afraid of us. He just turned, took a big step, and disappeared into the woods.”

“That’s exactly how this thing acted.” Opal drew her hands to her face. “He held his arms at me like he wanted to help me. He wasn’t scared at all. But I was.”

“Me, too,” I said.

“I’ve heard stories about old Indians getting hurt in these mountains and the creature carrying them home. Have no way to prove it. Maybe he was trying to help you, Opal.”

Reba’s gaze was glued to us. “What’d your Bigfoot look like?”

Opal sat stone still and stared off into space. “Big.”

I giggled. “Yeah, really big. Like, bigger than Atticus big. But that’s all I saw from a distance. He left really fast.”

A customer with high cheekbones, chiseled features, and almond eyes leaned over from the table next to us. Her long dark hair shone with such luster I wanted to reach over and touch it.

“So you saw ol’ Kecleh Kudleh?”

Atticus chuckled. “Well, howdy, Hala. I didn’t see you sitting over there.”

“Atticus, are you flirting with the tourists again?”

Opal blushed.

Reba turned toward Hala. “Who’s Kecleh Kudleh?”

Hala got up from where she sat and joined us at our table. “Kecleh Kudleh is what my people on the reservation call Bigfoot. He’s always lived here with us in these mountains.”

Opal and I looked at one another and grinned.

Lily tilted her head to the side and narrowed her eyes. “You’ve seen him, too?”

Hala nodded. “When I was a little girl, Kecleh Kudleh raided my grandmother’s vegetable garden. We knew it was him because of the footprints he left. At night, when I woke up from sleeping, sometimes I saw him looking in my window.”

I felt goose bumps tickle my arm. “Weren’t you afraid?”

Hala shook her head. “No. I was too young to be afraid. I hadn’t been taught to be afraid of the wilderness, but to love and respect it. But I do remember I didn’t like the way he smelled.”

“Oh, he smells just awful.” Opal held her nose.

I was fascinated. “So, Hala, tell me, when’s the last time you saw him? What is he?”

Hala looked up into the sky. “My great-grandfather taught me that Kecleh Kudleh is to be respected as one of the ancient people, Nun’ Yunu’ Wi—stone man—and we are to respect him as our great elder brother.”

We all sat staring at her.

Reba shook her head and finally lit her cigarette. “You’ve plumb lost your minds. You better not tell anyone about this. They’ll think you’re on drugs.”

Lily took a sip of her strawberry cheesecake shake and said nothing.

“What’s up, Lil?” I reached over to stop Timmy from tapping his spoon on the table. The Bigfoot conversation continued, but Lily remained unusually quiet. I shifted closer to her and lowered my voice. “Are you OK?”

Lily plunked her shake down. “Opal could have been killed. What were we thinking dragging her out here like this at her age?”

Timmy wrestled his hands from mine and began tapping again. I let him go. “We all could be killed, Lily, any day now.”

Opal overheard us and touched Lily’s arm. Orange cream sherbet decorated the front of her shirt. “Who you callin’ old? I’m not as frail as you make me out to be.”

Reba drew on her cigarette and blew the smoke away from us. “And she had enough sense to control her bike. What happened to all that ‘God will take care of us and protect us’ talk?”

Lily scowled and sipped on her drink.

Opal shook her head. “I’m serious, Kirstie. You better not tell anyone about this Bigfoot deal.”

“I don’t plan on it.” I looked over at Hala. “No offense.”

Hala smiled. “None taken. We understand. My people don’t speak of the Tsul`kälû’ except in whispers.”

I scrunched my forehead. “Tsul`kälû’?”

“Old Slant Eyes.” Hala smiled. “It’s another legend my people tell about the man you call Bigfoot.”

“I’d love to hear it sometime.”

Hala stood to go and pushed her thick dark hair away from her face. “It’s basically about a young girl who lived with her widowed mother, and how Tsul`kälû’ courted her, but when the mother saw what he looked like, she didn’t allow her daughter to wed him because he was ugly. Ever since, he has hidden in these mountains so no one can see how ugly he is.”

I frowned. “That’s so sad.”

Opal stood up. “OK, I think I’ve heard enough. Kirstie, you better not breathe a word of this to anyone in Eel Falls. It’s bad enough people think I’ve lost my mind learning to ride a motorcycle. If people think I’m hallucinating on top of it, my nieces and nephews are sure to slap me into a home and take every penny I’ve got.”

Atticus threw back his head and laughed. “I knew there had to be some spunk in there someplace. You’re a little firecracker aren’t you?”

Opal glared at him. He laughed all the more.

We finished our drinks, said our good-byes to Hala and her friends at her table, and headed next door to the Switchback Inn. It was a good thing Reba booked ahead because the place was packed with no vacancy. Atticus drove by on his truck and honked and waved. He headed back toward The Dragon.

“I bet he makes a good living on that Dragon,” Lily said.

Reba rubbed out her cigarette. “Especially at night. No one but a fool should be riding up there after dark.”

I loved the Switchback Inn with its little garages and roomy bathrooms. We all went back to the room that Timmy and I shared with Lily. Timmy liked sleeping on the floor, and spread his blankets out between the two double beds while I retrieved clean clothes for him to wear after his shower.

I should have seen it coming. Timmy wasn’t engaged, the sugar kicked in, and he got nervous. He found the TV remote, sat on his purple sleeping bag, and flipped the channels.

Rock, rock, rock.

Flip. Flip. Flip.

He sang the Cops song at the top of his lungs. Off-key and loud.

Flip flip flip.

Reba reached for the remote. “Here, Timmy, let me help.”

“Ahhhhhh.” Timmy hit himself on the side of the head with his fist. “Ahhhhh. Timmy do it. Timmy do it.”

I glared at Reba. “I told you,” I yelled above Timmy’s screaming.

Reba stood up with her hands out. “Told me what?”

“I told you not to give him all that ice cream.”

“Well, dad-bern it, what kind of world is it when a kid can’t eat ice cream?” Reba shouted at me.

“An autistic one,” I yelled back.

Timmy stood and flapped, clapped, and paced the floor. He ran into the bathroom and flung an entire roll of toilet paper into the toilet and flushed it. He threw himself against the wall, flung himself on the floor, and rolled back and forth screaming. He threw his body in the bathroom doorway and injured himself rolling side to side against the door jambs.

“Get the weighted blanket,” I yelled.

Reba went out to her motorcycle to the get the blanket out of her saddlebag, and left the door open.

Timmy shot out the door faster than I could grab him.

“Timmy!” I said. “Timmy! Wait!”

24

He ran into the darkness.

Mountains and woods swallowed him with cavernous greed. I was too slow to catch him, and I felt helplessly blind to see him in the shadows.

I heard my motorcycle rev and grow closer. Reba commandeered my nimble Sportster instead of her bulky Goldwing. I shouted and pointed down the road, back toward The Dragon.

“He went that way!”

Reba turned on a dime and accelerated toward the darkness.

“What’s going on?” Lily and Opal ran out of their rooms. Other bikers stood in the parking lot staring at me.

“Timmy,” I said. “He took off.”

A group of college-aged kids loitered on the porch with their sports bikes, drinking alcohol and laughing it up. “Oh, let him go. If you love something, set it free. If it comes back to you it’s yours.” They cackled with laughter.

“Jerks,” Lily grumbled.

“They’re drunk. They don’t know what they’re doing.” Why did I always take up for people? Why did I make excuses for their bad behavior? And why did I care? Timmy was gone.

“Let’s pray.” Opal grabbed our hands. “It’s all we can do right now.”

I was in no mood to pray. “You pray.” Was that my voice so full of venom? “I’m calling 9-1-1.”

Lily and Opal prayed, and I paced in front of the Switchback Inn until the police arrived. After fifteen minutes, there was still no sign of Timmy or Reba. I stood in front of our room door and stared into the blackness. Tears streamed down my face. The fear suffocated me, making breathing impossible. I’d never felt anything like this fear before. Maybe praying would help. Just a little. “These mountains are huge, Lord. He’s like a little gnat out there in the dark. Please, please, God, please, bring him back. I promise I’ll be a better pastor’s wife. I’ll be a better mom. Just please bring my baby back.” I slid down the wall of the porch and collapsed.

Opal sat beside me. “He’s not alone, Kirstie.” She patted my shoulder. “God is with him.”

“I hope so.” Why was my faith so small? Please God, please be with him.

“Should we call Pastor?” Lily asked. I shook my head. I couldn’t bear to tell Aaron I’d lost our son. Timmy’s disappearance was my fault. If I hadn’t been so stubborn and wanted a motorcycle. Bernice was right. This was foolish.

Fifteen minutes turned to thirty, and thirty turned to an hour, an hour turned to two hours. The police set up a base of operations at the motel, and volunteer searchers filled the parking lot, including Hala and her family and friends. Even a Native American on crutches, a disabled veteran, volunteered to drive up and down the mountain looking for Timmy.

I remained on the porch. Gluttonous mosquitoes chomped on my sunburned skin and I became pocked with bites. The bites didn’t matter. I needed to be right here, outside this room, when Timmy came back. He had to know where to find me.

“I’m going to lose my mind. I can’t just sit here and do nothing.” I rested my head in my hands and grabbed at my hair.

“It’s going to be OK,” Lily said. “Don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry? How can you say that? Timmy’s out there with the bears and the wild boars and turkeys and whatever other wild things are up in those mountains. That big hairy monkey thing is up there, Lily! How can I not worry? And don’t give me some pat, panned Christian answer, either, because I’m sick of hearing it. I’m only human. I have feelings, too. And if God doesn’t like me having them, He shouldn’t have given them to me!” I bawled like one of my grandpa’s baby calves.

The searchers looked at me and then carried on with their assignments.

I covered my face and sobbed.

Lily and Opal stood there, looking out into the darkness. They didn’t speak anymore, stunned, I’m sure, at my lack of faith.

I wasn’t being the spiritual pastor’s wife. They’d never seen this side of me. Well, the truth was clear now, wasn’t it? I wasn’t some super-spiritual giant. I was just me. Kirstie. I possessed no extra super powers.

As I calmed down to a soft sob, I heard the distinct rumble of Harley pipes. I’d heard bikes going by for hours, but I recognized the sound of my own. Following close behind their rumbles I heard the honks and sounds of a large truck. Atticus’s tow truck. Why did he keep honking like that?

They pulled into the parking lot under the lights, and the answer was clear.

Timmy sat in the cab of Atticus’s truck and pulled on the horn with unrestrained joy.

The parking lot search team broke into applause.

It struck me they were almost as happy as I was, sharing high-fives, shaking hands and slapping one another on the back.

Officers got on their radios and called in the searchers.

“Timmy!” I jumped up and ran toward the truck. My legs couldn’t carry me fast enough.

“Oh, thank You, God! Thank You, Jesus!” I ran to the truck and climbed the ladder to the cab door in one leap. The window was down, and Timmy leaned out of it.

“Truck, Mom! Truck! Honk truck, Mom! Look, Mom!” Honk, honk.

Atticus jumped out of the driver’s side of the truck, walked around to me, and wrapped a giant arm around my shoulder.

“I saw this feller on the road and asked him if he needed a ride. He told me no, but I gave him one anyway.” Atticus laughed a big deep belly laugh.

Timmy sat in the driver’s seat, played with the steering wheel, and punched all the buttons.

“I can’t thank you enough, Atticus.” I leaned into his strong shoulder. It felt safe there.

“Yes, thank you.” Opal walked in front of us, and Atticus let go of me to shake the hand Opal held out. “We were just so worried. So worried.” Opal let go of Atticus’s hand, wiped tears from her face, jumped up, and threw her arms around the giant hero’s neck. Hanging there she kissed him on the cheek.

Reba leaned in to Lily’s ear. “Opal? Hugged someone? A man? She kissed a man?”

Atticus gave a laugh that reached clear to my bones, making them smile. He lifted Opal into the air and swung her around. “Well, boy howdy, if you want, I’ll set him loose and go pick him up again if rescuing him gets this kind of response.” He chuckled again, exactly like Santa Claus.

Lily grabbed Atticus next and gave him a big bear hug. “Where was he?”

“It was strange. I thought I saw a flashlight off to the side of the road. Something told me to stop and take a look. I tried going on, but that voice told me again to stop. I looked around in my cab to see who said it. And then, my truck started backfiring. It’s never had one mechanical problem like that before. So, I pulled over, and went toward that flashlight. I found him walking along the edge of the creek, singing like a little bird, not a care in the world. Strange, though. He didn’t have a flashlight.”

Goose bumps crawled up the back of my head. I knew, without a doubt, God had answered our prayers. He somehow led Atticus right to Timmy. He’d kept Timmy safe. Even when I lacked faith, God was faithful.

I felt weak, and my view of the truck tilted a little. My legs buckled, and I fell against Atticus’s big belly.

“Whoa there, Nelly. Let’s get you inside.” He grabbed me around the waist and led me toward the room. In my weakness, my warped mind took note of the fact that he didn’t pick me up and carry me like he did Opal.

Lily and Reba bribed Timmy with an episode of Cops to get him out of the truck. By the time we got to the porch in front of our room, my legs were back. I stood on my own.

“Atticus, I don’t know how to thank you. I really don’t. I…”

“So, did the retard finally come home?” one of the young bikers, drunker than before, hollered at us, and the girls and young men standing around drinking with them found his rudeness hysterical.

“What did you say?” Atticus bellowed. Other bikers standing around began a slow descent upon the mouthy young man.

“I said…” The cheeky young buck rocked his head side to side and sauntered toward Atticus like a peacock. “Did you find the retard?”

My blood turned to ice. I’d never heard anyone call my son such a despicable name.

Atticus and other bikers closer to our age slowly crowded around the group of youngsters slinging back cold ones and laughing.

“I’m not sure I heard you right.” Atticus wasn’t backing down.

“Get lost, old man.” The boy laughed.

“I thought I heard you call my friend a disparaging name.” Atticus reached into his boot, pulled out an expandable, and began hitting his mighty hand with it.

“No, Atticus.” I pulled on his elbow but the limb was as immovable as a concrete post. “Don’t do something stupid. The police are still around. It’s not worth it,” I pleaded.

Opal and Lily steered Timmy toward our room, while Reba and I, on each side of Atticus, tried to reason with him.

“Atticus, don’t be stupid, man.” Reba stood in front of him.

His eyes glistened with fire.

“These young squatters come in here every week and throw their weight around thinking they’re something special because they ride those sports rockets. No one calls my friends names.” He walked faster toward the boy, and his friends leapt to his defense.

Before we knew it, Reba and I were caught in the middle of a biker melee. Fists and hands flew, and Reba and I were crushed in the middle, ducking and weaving for our lives. I got two punches to my right eye before I squatted on the ground and covered my head with my hands.

It seemed like an eternity passed before blue lights, and the piercing sound of sirens cut through the air. A cop pulled the guys off of the pile and me out of the middle of the riot. He pushed me back on the ground and placed me in handcuffs.

If only someone was filming it.

Timmy would love to see it on Cops.

25

“You are going to call Aaron now, aren’t you?” Reba paced in front of me. “I need a cig. I’ve gotta get outta here.”

I rubbed my wrists, sore from the handcuffs. We shared a holding cell with other bikers and three young women who sold their talents on the street.

“Aaron will flip out.” I turned around and grabbed the cell bars to look out through them—at nothing. “And Bernice—I can’t begin to think about what she’s going to do. I’m toast.”

“Hey!” One of the “gifted” ladies walked up beside me and yelled at the officers in the hall. “I want my lawyer!”

“Shut up!” One of her friends walked over and smacked her on a bare shoulder. “You don’t even got a lawyer.”

I rested my forehead against the bars and groaned. ”My head is killing me. How long do you think we’ll be in here?”

Reba turned her back to the bars and leaned on them. “I don’t know, but maybe you can tell the D.A. who you are and it’ll help.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong, Reba.” I whined like Eyeore on an extremely bad day.

“I know. Me, either.” She elbowed me. “But hey, how many pastors’ wives can say they got canned on a motorcycle trip, huh?”

I didn’t answer.

Reba situated her face in front of mine and stuck out her tongue. “C’mon, when you think about it, it’s pretty funny.”

“Stop.” I sounded like a four-year-old. “I don’t want to feel happy right now.”

One of the street girls overheard Reba. “Preacher’s wife? You a preacher’s wife?” She strutted to where I’d parked myself against the bars.

I raised my head and looked sideways into her mascara streaked face. Her hand rested on a tiny hip, and the gum she popped in her mouth matched the burgundy lace teddy she wore. Her olive skin looked ravaged, pocked with needle marks and mosquito bites, and she was missing several side teeth.

“Yes, I am.” I kept my head steady, fearing what would come next.

“Hmph.” She tilted her head back and scratched it. “So, preacher lady, I s’pose you think you’re better than us.” She motioned to her two friends who marched toward us, clicking stilettos on the cement floor. Their hips swung wider than the pendulum on my Aunt Mary’s old cuckoo clock.

I turned to face them. “Of course I don’t think I’m better than you. Why would I?”

They laughed.

“Well, listen to the preacher lady. She doesn’t know why she thinks she’s better than us.” The tallest of the three girls cackled and pulled on her gum.

“I don’t.” My voice croaked.

Reba draped her arm around me and led me to the other side of the cell. We sat down on a bench against the wall. Other female bikers sat grouped in threes and fours around the large room, talking, but watching the confrontation out of the corner of their eyes.

“Leave her alone.” Reba plopped her arm across me. “She hasn’t done anything to you.”

“Oh, yeah?” One of the girls in a short denim skirt, lace leggings, and spiked hair crossed her arms and stared at me. I pulled in my breath. She was beautiful and looked twelve years old.

I gathered up all my gumption and spoke, “What’s your name?”

“What do you care?” She smirked and unfolded her arms.

“Well, if we’re going to talk, I’d like to know your name, that’s all. We’re going to be in here together for a while, and we might as well be friends.” I offered my hand. “My name’s Kirstie.”

She hesitated and then shook my hand. “Blossom.” She pulled her hand away and pointed to her friends. “And this is Meli and Bel.”

“Hi.” I reached my hand out. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah.” The three girls answered together and rolled their eyes.

Blossom blew a bubble and popped it. “So, if you’re so good, how’d you end up in here?”

I shrugged. “I was trying to stop a fight and the police thought I was at fault, I guess.”

“That stinks.” Bel frowned. “You got a lawyer?”

“No.” I shook my head. ”I wouldn’t know where to find one.”

“Me, either. Don’t worry. They’ll give you one.”

Reba held out her fist. “Hi, there, I’m Reba, Kirstie’s friend.”

“Hey, Reba.” The girls bumped fists with her.

“So, Reba, you get in a fight, too?” Blossom sat on the floor in front of us.

Reba leaned back against the wall and pushed her hands into her pockets. “Someone called her kid a bad name, and our friends there”—Reba motioned toward the other biker gals—“tried to take up for him. We got caught in the middle.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured. You preacher ladies are too perfect to be getting in trouble.” Blossom sneered and the other two girls sat down on each side of her.

“Why do you think that?” I leaned down with my elbows on my knees and my hands under my chin. “I make mistakes all the time.”

“Yeah, right.” Bel giggled. “I’ve heard that one before.” The girls laughed.

“Bel’s dad’s a preacher.” Meli smirked. “So we know all about y’all making mistakes.”

The girls looked up at me with empty gazes. They’re too young to be so old.

I sat up. “Tell me about your dad. What church does he pastor?”

“He’s got a little church close to the Qualla Boundary. All the churches high up in the mountains are tiny.”

“That’s OK,” I said. “I’m from rural Indiana, and our church is small, too.”

Bel’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? How small?”

“About seventy people, or so.”

The girls snorted.

Bel laughed. “My dad’s church? It’s about twelve people, or so. It’s dumb.”

“Why do you say that?”

Bel rolled her eyes. “Because, if he was a real preacher, he’d have more than twelve people coming to his church, wouldn’t he?”

Reba clucked her tongue. “Seems to me I remember something about Jesus only having twelve people in his church.”

I nodded.

“Yeah, well, my dad ain’t no Jesus Christ.” Bel stood up, and the girls followed her to the other side of the cell.

Some of the bikers gathered around me. I couldn’t tell if the lumbering group wanted to beat me up or talk to me.

“Hey.” One of them with tattoos on her neck tilted her chin up at me. “Sorry we got you into this.” She held out a large hand stuffed into black fingerless gloves. Her fingernails glistened with orange and black nail polish. “My name’s Trixie. But my biker name’s Flygirl.”

“Hi,” I said. “My name’s Kirstie. I guess my biker name is?” I looked at Reba.

Reba cleared her throat. “Queen Bee. This here’s Queen Bee, and I’m Reba, but you can call me Mama Diamond.”

I sputtered. “Yeah, uh, Mama Diamond helps me out with my son, Timmy.”

“This here’s Donna, also known as Ex-Cargo, and Wendy, otherwise known as Gypsy,” Flygirl said.

“Hi.” The gang shook our hands.

“We’ve been watching you with your boy,” Ex-Cargo said. “You’re a good mom. And well, we just couldn’t let those jerks get by with saying what they said. You got a real nice boy there.”

“Thanks.” I didn’t know what to say, really.

“Don’t worry about getting out of here.” Gypsy settled a light hand on my shoulder. “We’ve all talked and agreed to take care of any legal expenses you might have. I’ve got a great lawyer—my brother. He’ll take good care of us. Don’t you worry.”

“Thank you,” I said. “That’s really nice of you, but…”

She threw her hand up, and the other women gathered around closer. “Hey, we won’t take no for an answer, will we, girls?”

“That’s right.” Gypsy, wearing a doo-rag with pink skulls, nodded. “Besides, we’re from Indiana, too, and we Hoosiers gotta stick together.”

“I don’t know how to thank you.” The conversation felt surreal. I was sitting in a jail cell, talking to bikers about lawyers.

Flygirl sat down beside me. “For starters, you can tell us where you live so we can ride together sometime.”

“I’m in Eel Falls.”

Gypsy gasped. “Really? I live in Wabash, and these two are from Huntington. We’re really close to where you are.”

Before we could exchange addresses, I heard familiar voices. I looked up to see Opal, Lily, and Atticus walking down the hall behind the sheriff.

“OK, biker chicks.” The sheriff pulled out his keys and unlocked the door. “Your friend, Atticus, here, talked to the D.A., and she dropped the charges. You got lucky this time. No more fighting in my county, ya hear?”

The cell door swung open and the bikers cheered and barreled through it. Each one hugged a blushing Atticus as they passed him on their way out. I didn’t move.

“What are you waiting for?” Reba hollered and motioned with her arm. “C’mon!”

I shook my head. “I’m gonna stay here until these girls get their bail posted.” I jerked my head toward the three young women sitting in the corner of the cell.

The sheriff looked up at Atticus, and the biker chicks all shrugged and walked away.

Atticus looked at me and sighed. “I’ll cover their bail.”

“OK.” the sheriff shook his head. “It’s your money.”

The three girls snorted as we left the cell.

“Ingrates,” Reba mumbled.

On our way out of jail, I felt anxious. “Where’s Timmy?”

“He’s fine,” Atticus said. “My mom’s watching him in your room back at the inn. He’s fast asleep. Finally.” Atticus laughed. “He was plumb wore out pushing all those buttons on the truck and fell right to sleep.”

“Are you sure he’s OK?” I felt exhausted but shook inside from worry.

“He’s fine.” Atticus patted my arm.

“Let’s hurry,” I said. “I want to kiss his beautiful face.”

26

Early the next morning Atticus called and roused me out of a blissful sleep.

“Do you have any earthly idea what time it is?” I squinted to see the alarm clock.

“It’s time to rise and shine, girlie! C’mon, time’s a wastin’. And I’m hungry. Breakfast’s on me. Meet me at the Dragon Café in twenty minutes.”

I groaned. 5:30 AM. Timmy wasn’t even awake yet. “OK, OK. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

As soon as I hung up, the phone rang again.

Reba threw a pillow at the annoying beast. “Don’t answer it.” She rolled over and threw a pillow over her head. Timmy sat up and rubbed his eyes.

“Phone waked me up.” He frowned and lay down.

I answered it. “Hello?”

“Did Atticus get you up?” Opal hollered into the phone.

“Yes.” I yawned.

“I guess we’re having breakfast in twenty minutes?” She sounded annoyingly alert and cheerful for so early in the morning.

“I guess so.” I groaned.

“OK! Meet you outside in twenty!” She hung up.

I finally pried Timmy and Reba out of bed. We’d all slept in our clothes after staying up late and talking. Opal and Atticus had still been visiting on the porch when Reba and I headed to our room. Timmy awoke when we came in but fell back to sleep while I talked to Aaron and the boys. I didn’t tell him about Timmy getting lost or my jail time. I thought it might be better to tell him when I got home, face to face. No need for him to worry.

At the Dragon Café, I was too bleary eyed to notice the white bushy-tailed squirrels in pictures on the wall. Opal noticed them right away. Was it just me, or was she glowing? How does one glow without coffee?

“What’s with the white squirrels?” She took a sip of tea.

“There’s white squirrels over in Brevard.” Atticus shoveled a big fork of biscuits and gravy in his mouth. I’d never seen so much food on one plate. Apparently, the man could hold a lot of grub.

“Really?” I blew on a spoonful of oatmeal. “Albino squirrels, eh?”

“Nope.” He picked up a sausage link with his fingers and plopped the entire thing in his mouth. “They’re white. A whole species unto themselves.”

“No way.” I looked closer at one of the pictures hanging on the wall.

“Yup, they’re white all right. I’ll take y’all to see ’em if you want.” He scooped more biscuits and gravy into his mouth along with a few lumps of scrambled eggs. “But they’re way over in Brevard.”

“Pisgah Forest is out that way, isn’t it?” Reba spread butter on her blueberry pancakes.

“Gorgeous ride.” Atticus nodded. “It’s about a hundred miles to Brevard where most of the white squirrels are, but it’s a ride you’ll never forget. Lots of beautiful waterfalls, plenty of shade from tall trees.”

I nibbled on a piece of bacon and handed Timmy more sausage links. “I haven’t had a chance to take many pictures yet. I wouldn’t mind a nice scenic ride for a change.”

“Well, that settles it. I want to see those cute little critters.” Opal poured more maple syrup on her pecan pancakes. Life sure wasn’t fair. There she sat, petite, cute, and glowing, eating pecan pancakes, while I suffered through a bowl of oatmeal.

“White skrilz. White skrilz.” Timmy rocked back and forth and flicked maple syrup covered fingers in front of his face. All the wheat and sugar on the table would make him climb the walls. Fortunately, he liked the taste of sausage links dipped in maple syrup, a sweetener he was able to eat.

“Timmy, you gonna ride with Mommy?” I tried to pull his hands down out of his face, but he resisted.

“Timmy ride with Mommy.” He squealed.

People stared.

“Are you sure?” Reba looked at me, her fork in midair.

I nodded. “I need him close to me today. And it’s just to Brevard. I gotta learn to ride two up sometime.”

The table got quiet while we shoveled in a hearty breakfast. After we finished we headed out to our bikes.

Atticus’s fully dressed Ultra Classic Electra Glide Harley was parked in front of the cafe. Its dark root beer color radiated in the sun. I heard Reba suck in her breath when she saw it.

“Ohhhh, Atticus…” She walked slowly around the bike admiring every detail.

“Like it?” He stood next to the front tire smiling down at his stunning sculpture of metal and chrome.

Reba scoffed. “That ugly thing?” She smiled.

While Reba and the others gushed over Atticus’s bike, I got Timmy ready for the ride.

“You sit still and hug Mommy, OK?” I zipped his protective jacket. He didn’t answer me and flicked his fingers in front of his face.

“Timmy go!”

“OK, OK!” Atticus chuckled.

We all mounted our bikes.

Opal parked beside Atticus, and next to his powerful body and bike, looked like a tiny porcelain doll.

“You ready to go, Apple?” Atticus teased.

“The name’s Opal.” Opal grinned. “Are you ready?” She revved her little Rebel’s engine.

Atticus laughed. I was beginning to love that laugh.

Riding through the Smokies felt like a beautiful dream. The roads wound through the mountains, beside streams and past waterfalls. Trees and tunnels cradled us in peaceful comfort. It was hard to believe I’d been in a jail cell hours before.

We stopped several times, taking pictures of waterfalls, ravines, and the mountains. I kept a nervous eye on Timmy as he played at the water’s edge and caught frogs and lizards. I was thankful for the disinfectant wipes in my saddlebags.

After the last stop, Timmy threw his arms tightly around me as we flew down the road. His embrace took my breath away. My darling Timmy hugged me. My precious son, who screamed and kicked at bath time, whom I could never rock to sleep or comfort—this boy hugged me now. For the first time since he was born, I felt like he truly connected to me as his mom.

My mind flashed back to the first week of his life, when I tried to nurse him. As a first-time mom, I was sure I was doing something wrong. And so were the nurses.

“You’re too nervous, Mrs. Donovan. Learn to relax. The baby will pick up on your anxiousness.”

What kind of mother isn’t able to nurse her own baby? He was only hours old, and already I was failing at the most important job I would ever have.

“Mrs. Donovan, if you would spend more one on one time with your son, he wouldn’t exhibit such negative, defiant behavior.” This from a pediatrician before Timmy was tested by a pediatric developmental psychiatrist. And then, the call after the test results: “Mrs. Donovan, you need to consider your options. Think of your other children.”

How does a mother choose one child over another?

A mother doesn’t.

I didn’t.

Now, held by the boy whom I was told to forget, I cried. Tears of immeasurable joy spilled from my eyes like waterfalls in the Pisgah Forest. Things the so-called experts told me would never happen, did happen. Timmy was a happy, well-adjusted, loving young man. Thank God I followed my instincts and ignored so-called “experts.”

It’s dangerous to cry and steer your motorcycle. I sniffed deep and blinked hard. The curves came quickly, and to hit even one at the wrong angle could be disastrous.

After spending a day in Brevard photographing white squirrels on the Brevard College campus, we decided to spend the night there. After dinner, we shopped at The White Squirrel and shipped a few things home so we wouldn’t break them. I picked out a beautiful clear glass Christmas ornament with a white sparkly squirrel perched on top and two unique games for Aaron and the boys. I got a knot in my stomach thinking about Patrick. With all the excitement of the past several days, his issues took a backseat. Now his troubles slapped me in the face.

Atticus noticed the change in mood. “What’s wrong?” He walked up beside me as I looked over a chess set.

“Oh, nothing,” I said. “Just life stuff. You know, teenagers.”

“Ah.” He pulled a game off the shelf and looked at it. “I had a couple of those. Best thing to do with those critters is lock ’em in a room for ten years.”

“I think I’m inclined to agree with you.” There was an awkward silence, and I pretended to be interested in the chess game.

Atticus acted, well, squirrely. He cleared his throat, looked up at the shelf of games, started to speak several times and then stopped.

“Good grief, Atticus. What is it?” I shelved the chess game and looked him square in the eye.

“Well, uh, well. Uhm, I was wondering if, you know, if uhm, well, if Opal was taken, er, back home in Eel Falls?”

I frowned. “Taken?”

“Well, you know, is she spoken for? I know it’s none of my business or anything, but…”

I smiled and patted his arm. “She’s completely available as far as I know.”

Atticus smiled a little too quickly. “Oh. That’s good. I mean, well, you know, I don’t mean it’s good she’s alone, but, uhm…well…what’s her story anyway?”

“Her story?”

“Yeah, how long has she been, uhm, you know, unspoken for?”

“I thought you guys stayed up talking last night.” I swallowed my amusement.

“We did. We did. But we never got around to certain issues.” Atticus pulled on his white beard. “So, how long she been a single gal?”

“Well.” I paused and looked away to keep from giggling. “I believe about sixty some years or so…”

“Is that right?” Atticus looked down at the ground with his hands in his pockets. “Well, whadda ya know…?” He turned and walked away.

A woman with a large shopping bag touched me on the shoulder. “Is he your son?” She pointed at Timmy playing in the Lego area.

I cringed. What now? If she dared tell me Timmy was too big to play there, I would—I took a deep breath. “Yes, he’s mine.” I smiled.

“He’s sweet. I noticed how gentle he is with the other kids. You’ve done a good job with him. What’s his diagnosis?”

I choked. “Autism and developmental delay. Thanks for your kind words.”

“You’re welcome.” She smiled. “I’m a special ed. teacher. I can always tell when the parents work with the children. Too many don’t even try.”

“Thanks.” I turned and watched Timmy sharing in the kiddie area with the Legos. Far from typical autistic behavior.

“So I can’t handle a profoundly autistic child, huh, doctor?” I whispered. “If you could see us now.”

“Kirstie! We’re leaving with or without you!” Reba walked out the front door of the store.

“C’mon, Timmy, time to go.” I held out my hand.

He looked up at me with three red Legos in his hand. “Timmy go home?”

“We’re going to the room. We’ll be home in three sleeps.” I wiggled my fingers, motioning for him to come.

“Three sleeps? See Daddy three sleeps?” He set the Legos down.

“Yes, sweetie. Three sleeps and we’ll be home in Eel Falls.”

27

Once home in Eel Falls life picked up right where we left off as if there’d never been a road trip. I stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around my head, threw on a robe, and met Timmy clomping out of his bedroom.

“You’ve got your shoes on the wrong feet, kiddo. Take them off.” I bent over and helped Timmy remove his shoes and put them on the correct appendages. “Aaron? Where are you? Come help me with Timmy so I can get ready.” The towel wrapped around my head fell off and onto the floor.

Exasperated and annoyed: emotions I felt when trying to get my family ready to go somewhere. I never had enough hands, and my dreamy husband didn’t remember I needed help.

Aaron sauntered up the stairs reading a book.

I groaned and rolled my eyes. “What are you reading now?” Just once, I wish he’d join me on my planet.

“The handbook.” He tripped up the last step and turned the page.

I decided to forgive him since today was the big day, and he coached Timmy’s Special Olympics team.

“Well, could you take a sec and help Timmy with his shoes so I can dry my hair and get dressed? We’re going to be late. Are the other boys ready?”

Aaron shrugged.

I let out a huffy sigh. I seemed to do that a lot since coming home.

Somehow, we all managed to get to the Wabash High School track in time even though Patrick moaned and groaned the entire way.

“I’m not sitting with you guys.” He jumped out of the van and tried to disappear as soon as we pulled into our parking spot.

“Where are you going to sit then?” I grabbed the sleeve of his hoodie before he had a chance to escape.

He jerked his arm away. “Somewhere no one can see me.”

“Patrick.” I sent him my best don’t-mess-with-Mom glare. “How would you like it if we acted ashamed to be seen with you?”

“Fine with me.” He stomped off to the bleachers. Where Patrick was concerned, my mom-glares weren’t as effective as they used to be.

We carried the snacks and drinks over to Timmy’s team on the left side of the field.

I loved the Special Olympics. Excitement came bursting into our lives once a year bringing with it eager athletes, proud family members, and caregivers who understood the challenges of disabilities. The electric atmosphere was charged with positive love and acceptance. Everyone, no matter his or her ability or label, got to participate.

Timmy’s events weren’t until after the morning break, but that didn’t matter because I, along with the rest of the spectators, enjoyed watching every athlete compete. Their courage and enthusiasm inspired everyone in the stands.

After setting the cooler down for Timmy’s team, I heard thunder rumble across the stadium. Oh no. Not rain. Not today. The low, throaty rumble in the distance grew gradually louder.

Timmy heard it, too, and his eyes lit up. “Harley!” He squealed, clapped, and flapped. “Harley! Puh-tato, puh-tato, puh-tato.” He mimicked the firing of the pistons.

I turned toward the guttural sound of off-center drumbeats echoing against the stands to see the parade that resounded such a joyful song.

In front of a long line of bikers rode Atticus and Opal followed by Reba and Trace and Lily. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Dozens of bikers pulled into the arena parking lot and backed into parking spaces side by side. The riders revved their motors for the crowd, much to the delight of all the athletes. Cheers went up and the announcer could barely be heard as he directed the teams to line up for the opening parade.

Timmy took off running toward Atticus with me right behind him.

“Watch for cars, Timmy!” I yelled, trying to be heard over the thunder of the engines.

“Timmy!” Atticus grabbed him up in his arms and swung him around. He stood as tall as Atticus, but Atticus definitely had a lot more meat on him and spun Timmy like a doll.

“Oh my stars!” My hands flew up to my cheeks, and I squeezed my eyes open and shut. “This is unbelievable! I had no idea you’d be here!” No one had ever come to see Timmy compete before. But today dozens of bikers came to cheer him on.

“Thank you for coming.” I shook everyone’s hand and hugged them. It didn’t matter that we’d never met. We were all bikers, part of a unique family. We stuck together. It was the code.

Today, we stood united for one cause: Timmy.

“We wouldn’t miss it.” Atticus grabbed me in a huge bear hug and smothered me in his massive arms. “Besides, I have ulterior motives. I needed to see my girl here.” He smiled down at Opal who blushed and punched him in the arm.

“Your girl?” I looked at Reba, whose eyes were twinkling. She grinned.

“Stop it.” Opal looked down at the ground and tried to hide her enormous smile. “Don’t even go there.”

“No problem.” I held up my hand. “I won’t. Oh, but it’s awesome that you’re here. Wait until you see Timmy run. Boy can he run.”

We all walked to the stands together.

Aaron greeted the bikers and redirected Timmy into the parade. This was one of my favorite parts of the Special Olympics. Certainly, the athletes inspired me, but their caregivers inspired me, too.

My chest filled with unspent tears as I watched the torch being carried joyfully from one runner to the next. One little boy with cerebral palsy ran with all his might, the battery-operated torch held high above his head as he tripped around the track with clumsy, determined steps. A nonverbal lady with a neurological disorder that affected her muscles and her mind held the torch tremulously high and smiled with all her might as she rode in a wheelchair pushed by a young junior high school boy.

“How can this not affect you when you see that kind of spirit?” I heard Atticus whisper to Opal. He wrapped his burly arm around her, and she stayed hidden in its warmth and protection.

I peeled my gaze off Opal and Atticus. My heart went out to the athletes as they passed by, hands waving, faces smiling. The bikers lined up along the fence on the outside of the track and waved, hollered, and hooted.

The VFW Legion guys carried our nation’s Stars and Stripes. A police woman sang the national anthem. Every biker stood with their hand on their heart, poised and proud of their country. Tears ran down the face of the vet with the big POW-MIA patch on his back.

We spent the rest of the morning cheering on the other athletes. I acted like an absolute lunatic at the Special Olympics. “Go! Go, don’t stop, GO! You can do it! WOO HOO!” I waved my arms and jumped and hollered and practically wore myself out before Timmy’s events. The athletes had overcome countless things to be there. I couldn’t help but be inspired by their enthusiasm.

And then came eight-year-old April.

“Isn’t she a little doll?” Reba whispered in my ear.

“She is.” I beamed.

“What is that called that she’s got? I forget.” Atticus leaned over and whispered.

“Down Syndrome,” I whispered back. “She’s such a cutie.”

April’s glossy, thick blonde hair bobbed up and down as she ran. Her grin filled her entire little face and she ran like a champ until she saw the girl in the lead loping so far ahead of her she could never catch up.

April stopped. She turned around. She started to walk off the track.

“Go, April!” Bikers stood at the fence, shouting and waving doo-rags. “You can do it! You can do it! Keep going!”

An elderly volunteer on the sidelines ran along beside her clapping, “Come on! You can do it! Keep going! Go, go, go!”

“Go, April!” I shouted as loud as my tired throat could bellow. “Go!”

April tossed her hair back and started to run again. With people cheering her on and the crowd clapping, she made it to the finish line and into waiting arms for a big warm hug.

“Just like the crowd of witnesses.” Awe filled Opal’s voice.

I stood mesmerized at the thought. I looked down the row of bikers leaning on the fence, watching athletes they didn’t know personally, and the picture of the cloud of witnesses cheering me on as I ran this race with Timmy and Aaron, Patrick, and Daniel caused a lump to form in my throat.

“Sometimes,” I whispered to Lily, “I see other people’s lives and they seem so much more spiritual and put together than I can ever be. I want to give up like April wanted to.”

Lily planted her arm around me. “But you can’t, Kirstie. And you won’t because you have friends who will get you back on the track and headed toward that finish line—and running right into the open arms of God.”

“The same way April ran into the arms of her coach.” Opal reached outside of Atticus’s embrace and squeezed my hand.

“God is weird.” I sniffed and rubbed my eyes so tears wouldn’t form.

“What do you mean?” Opal handed me a tissue out of her jacket pocket.

“Well, you’d think He’d send me a bunch of church folks and pastors’ wives to keep me on track. Instead, He sends me a bunch of greasy old bikers.”

“Who you callin’ greasy?” Reba, standing on the other side of Lily, reached over and poked me in the arm. Apparently she’d heard the whole thing.

“Who you callin’ old?” Lily grinned.

I watched as April and her competitors received their medals and ribbons. I hoped to always remember April’s race, how she didn’t give up, and when she felt like quitting, how friends encouraged her. I wanted to remember how she drew strength from those friends, and how she tossed her head back and ran with joy to the finish line.

Dear God, help me remember April. And, Lord, when I get to heaven, the first thing I want? A big, warm hug.

28

“Go, Timmy! Go, go, go, go, go, go, go!” My throat ached, and I was hoarse from screaming. I couldn’t stop cheering for the son doctors said would never walk. His long legs pumped underneath him with exuberant, gangly steps. With a long clumsy gait, he strode to the finish line on limbs that had spent hours in physical therapy as an infant and preschooler. He didn’t learn to walk until he was nearly three years old, and once he began, there was no stopping him.

The bikers, lined up behind the fence at the finish line in front of the bleachers, waved their doo-rags, shouted, clapped, and stomped. The crowd caught the bikers’ enthusiasm as they joined in cheering for the athletes. I couldn’t recall such a roar at a local Special Olympics event. I caught Aaron more than once glancing at the bikers and grinning at their antics as they cheered our oldest son. It meant a lot to have someone in Timmy’s corner.

For half a lap, Timmy and another athlete loped side by side, neck and neck. But when they cleared the bend and ran toward the finish line, Timmy pulled ahead and cheered himself on.

“Go, Timmy! Go, go! You can do it!” He thrust his fists in the air and shouted loudly to himself. I laughed so hard I didn’t think I could breathe.

By the end of the day, Timmy won a gold medal in the softball throw and the 400-meter run. When his relay team won a silver in the 4 X 100 relay, they stood on the winner’s platform with thumbs up and enthusiastic grins. After Timmy won the bronze in the standing long jump, he ran to me and draped the medal around my neck with clumsy enthusiasm. He gave his fourth place ribbon in the running long jump to his dad to wear draped over a button on his coat. You might as well have given us a Nobel Prize for the pride we felt for our genuinely kind and loving son.

By noon, all the events were completed, and the athletes headed for home.

The bikers helped Aaron and me clean and close the stadium. When we finished, before we even thanked them, these willing volunteers mounted their bikes and started their engines.

“Hey, Atticus, where y’all headed to?” I hollered across the parking lot as I took blankets and water bottles back to the van.

“Eel Falls,” Atticus hollered at me above the roar of the engines. He dismounted his bike and walked toward Aaron and me. “Care if we pitch our tents in the churchyard?”

I felt my eyes pop. Tongues in Eel Falls would be tired from wagging all day on Sunday. I looked up at Aaron who didn’t skip a beat in agreeing to the plan.

“That sounds like a fine idea.” Aaron took the blankets and bottles from my arms and stuffed them into the wagon he was pulling.

I looked up at Atticus and held my hand over my eyes to block the sun. “Don’t be surprised if Timmy tries to join you. I’ll try, but I don’t think I’ll be able to keep him out of your tent.”

Atticus grinned. “No problem. It’s big enough for more than one.”

“Timmy go! Timmy go!” Timmy clapped and flapped his hands and walked circles around Atticus’s bike.

“Hold on, fella,” Atticus said. “Let me get you a helmet to wear.”

“You don’t need to, Atticus.” I worried that Timmy pestered people too much.

“Not a problem, Kirstie, not a problem. Let the boy ride home with us. He’s earned it.”

“We usually go out for ice cream after the Special Olympics. Would everyone like to come with us?”

Atticus turned and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hey, everybody, we’re following Kirstie and Pastor to get ice cream.”

A cheer rose up from the bikers, and I shrugged and got in the car with Aaron, Daniel, and Patrick.

“Wow, there are so many of them.” Aaron started the van engine, and the bikers all lined up behind us in the parking lot.

“Did you ever think my motorcycle riding would bring an evangelistic result?” I teased.

“No.” He shook his head and looked in the rearview mirror at the procession behind him. “I must admit, Kirstie, this is a big surprise to me. It hadn’t occurred to me to think of motorcyclists as an unreached people group.”

“Me either. We sure need to pray about tomorrow’s service. But isn’t it exciting?”

“Uhm, you do remember we live in Eel Falls, right? And you do remember how two people in particular are likely to react to an impromptu invasion of leather and chrome?”

I shrugged. “Look, if God ordains it, what can Bernice and Norman possibly do to make something ugly out of this?”

“You really want me to answer that?” Aaron stopped at the light, and we heard the bikes rev their engines behind us.

Daniel and Patrick were draped over the back seat looking out the rear window.

“Gosh, Mom, I’ve never seen this many bikes before.” Daniel was impressed.

“See the orange one that looks like a long lizard? It’s totally sick!” Patrick was mesmerized.

“Sick” I had learned recently, really meant “cool.”

Patrick was in awe, and that was saying something for Mr. He-who-will-not-be-impressed.

“Totally sick.” Daniel couldn’t take his eyes off the display of two wheeled chariots. “The one with the webs on it was sweet.”

“Yeah, but I liked that black bobber the best, didn’t you, Dad?” Patrick touched Aaron’s shoulder and then turned back around to watch the bikes.

I held my breath.

It was unusual lately for Patrick to elicit a conversation with his dad.

Aaron didn’t answer right away. He didn’t know a bobber from a chopper or a metric from a Harley. “They looked awesome, all of them.”

I giggled and Aaron glared at me.

We drove the rest of the way to the Crème de la Crème, my heart full of joy listening to Patrick and Daniel talking. I couldn’t remember the last time the two of them interacted and enjoyed one another’s company. Motorcycles brought them together.

If I could have taken a picture of the looks on the faces of the red hat ladies when a horde of bikers dressed in leathers descended upon their little ice cream parlor, it would have won me a Pulitzer.

“There must be a red hat event in town. Even the serving ladies are wearing red bonnets today,” I whispered to Opal.

“They look terrified.” Reba nudged me and chuckled.

“The poor dears.” Opal clucked her tongue. “I would be terrified, too, if I didn’t know better.”

“You sure would be.” I gave Opal a playful shoulder push. “Girl, you’ve blossomed.”

“Who knew a bike could change one little old lady?” Lily teased.

We placed our orders, and Lily, Aaron, and I made our way out of doors to sit on benches since the tables were all taken. Opal, Atticus, and Timmy sat at the picnic table under an umbrella by the street corner.

“Lily, how is Milo?” I took a sip of fresh limeade.

Lily set her cherry cola on the table and played with the straw. “He’s the same. But his sleeping meds are working a little better. He doesn’t hallucinate as much now.”

“That’s great news.”

A piece of ice cream sandwich fell onto Aaron’s shirt. He picked at the puddle on his shirt with a napkin and made a bigger mess. “I’ll be out to see him Monday. How does that sound?”

“We’ll look forward to your visit, Pastor, but isn’t Monday your day off?” Lily often mentioned Aaron worked too hard. It was true he rarely took his Monday off.

“It’s supposed to be, but I consider it a privilege to visit with Milo. He’s a good friend.” Aaron slipped the last bit of ice cream sandwich in his mouth.

“Pink, pink, cream, pink cream, p-i-n-k pink, At-cus.” I heard Timmy beg Atticus to order another cone for him. He loved pink.

I rushed over to them to avoid a sugar catastrophe. “We buy Timmy ice cream, remember, Timmy?” I wiped remnants of his ice cream from his chin. At least I’d remembered to drop off the gluten-free and dairy-free ice cream for Timmy a few days before.

“Timmy cream. Timmy. T-i-m-m-y, Timmy.” He beamed at Atticus. I whispered a prayer of thanks that Timmy liked his ice cream. It made life a lot easier.

The bikers gathered around Timmy and admired his medals. I thought his arm would fall off from all the high fives he gave. He actually looked like a regular kid sitting and talking with the bikers. It was a poignant picture of what might have been. For a moment, I saw him as Timmy. Not Timmy Who Has Autism. Just Timmy.

Patrick and Daniel mingled with the other bikers and asked them countless questions. Since the bikers loved talking about their bikes, everyone was having a great time.

Timmy wandered back to sit with us, and I noticed Opal and Atticus walk hand in hand down the street looking in store windows.

I nudged Lily and Reba, and we squealed and laughed like junior high school girls.

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.”

“What is your heart telling you to do?” Reba placed a hand on my shoulder.

Unwelcome tears spilled out of my eyes and landed on my blouse.

Atticus wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “We’ll take you. C’mon. I have a friend who’s a lawyer in Indianapolis. I’ll tell him your situation, and he’ll help you out. He owes me a favor.”

I looked up into his clear blue eyes. “Lately, you’re always bailing me out, Atticus. I don’t know how to thank you.” I sobbed, and Atticus wrapped his burly tattooed arms around me again and rested his chin on my head.

One of Bernice’s friends, Mrs. Cole, saw me in the biker’s arms and shot up the stairs like a Bernice-seeking missile.

I stopped crying and tried to get my thoughts together. I inched out of Atticus’s bear hug. Tears weren’t going to help things right now. “Reba, can you tell Aaron an emergency has come up, but don’t tell him what it is until after the service?”

Reba winked at me. “You got it, Sugar.”

“And can you keep an eye on Daniel and Timmy for me, too?”

Trace patted my shoulder. “No problem. You just go on and do what you gotta do. We’ll be fine.”

I gave Trace a quick hug. “Aw, Trace, I hate missing your first Sunday. I’m truly sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m glad to be here. I’ll be back.” He gave me a nod.

Atticus took me under one arm and Opal under the other and ushered us out the door so quickly not a soul noticed us leaving.

I don’t think there’s anything quite as humbling as walking into a police station to claim your child. I felt like a neon sign hung over my head blinking: BAD MOTHER. Where did I go wrong? How did my precious baby end up here?

I pictured the little boy who collected worms in his pockets and said his bedtime prayers every night from the time he could talk. Where was the little boy who rejoiced over new additions to his rock collection and chased me with spiders? Oh! How I missed him!

What would I say to him? What would he say to me? How should I act? Should I be angry? Should I not speak to him? Scold him? Wait until we get home and put on a united front with his father?

“Mrs. Donovan?” A female officer spoke to me from behind a glass window.

“Yes?” I felt like someone in a stranger’s movie. This was not me standing here in a police station, scared and helpless.

“Your son will be coming through those doors right over there in just a few minutes. I need you to sign this, and here are his personal effects.”

She handed me an envelope with Patrick’s watch and class ring. I signed the paper and turned toward the doors to see a pale, disheveled young man resembling my son walking toward me.

“Oh, Mom.” He fell into my arms, sobbing. “I’m sorry. Thanky-you for coming to get m-me. I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry.”

“Shhhhh.” I stroked his hair. “Shhhhh.”

I held my son in my arms.

All was right with the world.

30

Slam! I jumped as the door swung shut behind Aaron.

“Where is he?” He threw his suit coat on the back of the couch and rolled up his shirt sleeves as if he were getting ready to do a dirty job.

“He’s sleeping. He’s exhausted.” I fussed in the kitchen, rearranging drawers to burn off nervous energy.

“Too bad. Get him up. We’re going to talk. Now.” Aaron parked his hands on his hips.

“Not right now, Aaron,” I whispered, holding back my frustration.

“What do you mean, not right now? After all he put you through this morning?” Aaron pulled his hand through his hair and paced behind the couch in front of the stairs.

“Where’s Timmy and Daniel?” I plunked down my tea towel and walked into the living room.

“They’re with Reba and Trace. They said they’d keep the kids until tonight.”

I nodded. Thank God for friends like Reba and Trace.

Aaron sat on the edge of the couch, his elbows on his knees. “I can’t believe he did this to me. Today. Of all days.”

“What do you mean he did this to you?”

“He knew we had a full church today and that I’d need you there. That kid doesn’t think of anyone but himself. I don’t know where he gets his selfishness. We do things for others all the time. He didn’t learn it from us.” Aaron plopped back on the couch.

“I don’t think fifteen-year-old boys think too much about what their parents are dealing with, Aaron.” I sat on the ottoman in front of him.

“But he’s been raised to focus on others first.” Aaron looked up at the ceiling.

“Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe he can’t live up to our expectations, so he figures he’ll not try at all.” I looked down at my hands, remembering how quiet the car ride home from the police station had been. Patrick hadn’t said a word all the way home.

“Oh, please. What expectations? It’s not like he’s mucking stalls at 4:00 AM everyday like I did growing up. All the kid has to do is keep up with the few chores around here, his homework, and going to church. How hard is that? This is your fault, you know.”

“What?” I was sure I heard him wrong. “What did you say?”

“I said this is your fault. He spends more time with you than anybody. This homeschooling thing was a bad idea.”

“Did you just hear what you said, Aaron? Did you hear that?” I turned away and fought back angry tears. I walked into the kitchen and filled the dog’s water bowl. One clank of the bowl against the sink and Goliath came sliding into the kitchen expectantly. I searched for my next words. I walked back into the living room. “Did you hear yourself say that I spend more time with the boys than you do?”

“Well, you do.”

He still didn’t get it. “Whose fault is that? You have as much access to them as I have.”

Aaron stood up from the couch and walked behind it again. “I have a full-time job outside this house, Kirstie. You know I can’t spend as much time with them as you do.”

“First of all, public schooled kids go to prison, too, so homeschooling has nothing to do with it. And secondly, how do you propose that I teach them to be men, Aaron? I don’t have the slightest idea. I’ve never been a man before.”

Aaron stared at me, speechless. Finally, he spoke slowly and deliberately, “I’m extremely busy, and you know it. It’s been hard work getting this little church up and running and putting out all the little fires everywhere.”

“Maybe the fires wouldn’t keep restarting if you didn’t tend to them so much.” I couldn’t believe what shot out of my mouth, but I was fighting for the well-being of my son—my family. “In the meantime, we need you here, Aaron. We are your first priority.”

“Don’t tell me what my priorities are. I know them quite well.” He dropped his head into his hands.

I sat next to him on the couch with my arm around his shoulder. “Please cancel church tonight. Spend time alone with Patrick. Find out what’s going on with him. Please. We’re going to lose him if you don’t step up.”

Aaron groaned. “Norman will be furious. We never cancel church…”

“Can you find someone to do the service?” I was begging.

“I think so. Yes, I know someone I can call.”

Aaron never shared his pulpit. At least not freely. I was afraid if I said more he’d change his mind.

“I’m sorry.” He gathered my hands and kissed them. “I’m overwhelmed. I know God gives you wisdom sometimes when I don’t have it. Thank you for loving me enough to point out when I need to grow, dear little helpmate.”

“I love you, Aaron.” I held him close. “I know your special touch in Patrick’s life is what he needs right now. He’s struggling to figure out who he is and needs you more now than when he was a little boy. And I need so much for you to lead our home and teach our boys to be men.”

Aaron kissed me on the cheek and looked into my eyes. “I’ll take him fishing tonight.”

“You hate to fish.” I smiled.

“I know, but Patrick loves it.” Aaron sighed. “It will feel strange playing hooky, but maybe an evening fishing together is the kind of adventure we’ll need.”

“I think it’s a perfect idea. Patrick will get the message that he’s more important than the church.”

We sat in silence and listened to the ticking of the big clock above the fireplace. I got an idea. “You know what? I think I’ll go for a ride by myself in the country while you’re out fishing. I haven’t gotten to take any pictures this summer.”

Aaron grinned. “You and that motorcycle.” He shook his head.

“What?”

“Do you realize what happened in church this morning?”

“No. I wasn’t there, remember?”

“We had twelve commitments to Christ. Twelve. Kirstie, that church hasn’t seen that many conversions in one service in, well, probably ever.” Aaron’s face glowed.

“Tell me what happened.”

“In the middle of my preaching, one of the guys stood up. ‘Preacher,’ he says, ‘I’ve heard enough and seen enough. I’m ready to find out how to be like y’all.’”

“Oh, Aaron, I would have loved to have been there to see that.”

“It was amazing. I don’t think he’d been to church before. He didn’t know there’d be a call to salvation at the end of the service. He just stood right up where he was when he’d made up his mind.”

“What did you preach about?”

“Mary’s alabaster box.”

I nodded. One of my favorite stories. “What happened then?”

“Well, I had him come up to the front so I could pray with him and when I looked up from my prayer, there were ten other people standing there wanting the same thing.”

“But you said there were twelve conversions.”

Aaron grinned. “At the end of the service, when I offered an invitation to accept Christ, there was one more.”

“Who?”

“Trace.”

My eyes stung. More tears. I’d cried this morning out of despair. I cried now for joy. Reba’s Trace had accepted Christ. No wonder the devil was working so hard.

We sat in silence again just staring ahead and holding hands. Finally I spoke, “Oh, Aaron. Isn’t God funny?”

He knew exactly what I meant. “He sure is. I mean, look at you. One little lady in the middle of nowhere gets a notion to ride a motorcycle, and here we are.”

I looked up at Aaron. “It’s never about us, is it?”

“No, honey. It never is.”

31

I was glad to ride. To let my bike take me far, far away from the issues at home, at church, and in my head and heart. I felt as if my cares sat in prickly baskets on my shoulders. Breathing took effort, and not because the humid August air was stifling. Stress sat on my chest like a weighty chartreuse elephant. I needed the wind and miles to blow the burdens away and transport me to a place of tranquil, crystal-clear thinking.

I rolled Heaven’s throttle for a while before I took off out of the driveway. “Rock and roll, girl. We’re going for a long ride, just you and me. I hope you’re up for it.”

I didn’t know where I was headed. It didn’t matter. I needed to go away, leave Eel Falls and see something new. It could be anywhere as long as it wasn’t here.

Before long, I was completely immersed in the sheer joy of my bike feasting on mile after glorious mile of wide open road. The deep, guttural roar of the engine and assault of wind on my face gradually wore away the issues weighing me down. I relaxed under the soothing force of the bike’s speed and its thick, throaty song. It calmed me to hear the syncopated pops and rest in its bold, rich song. It was the ultimate escape. Like climbing into an overstuffed, comfortable chair. I allowed the organic sensation of the motor’s revelry to lull me into whole-hog heavenly rest. It was an ironic peace—a cacophony of machine, road, and human spirit—harmonious and suspended in time. It shouldn’t have felt peaceful with all the noise, but it was utterly tranquil.

The day cooled off, and I enjoyed the wind on my skin. My eyes watered a little, but I wasn’t sure if it was from tears or wisps of air slipping underneath my sunglasses. I could feel a small unintended smile on my face. If only I could always feel this serene. If only people could know how really good this felt. They’d want to ride, too, and never stop. No wonder Goliath liked sticking his head out the window when he rode in the van.

After fifty miles or so, I came to a little town called Pinkerton. I slowed my bike to twenty miles per hour and rode slowly past a rickety old church building on a main street. Its stained glass window glowed in the dusk, and its front doors were opened wide. Light from the sanctuary spilled out onto the tree-lined street. From my bike, I could see inside where ceiling fans rotated in rhythmic circles, cooling congregants in the sticky late summer’s heat. As I passed by, teenagers turned in their pews to look at me.

I felt a small pang of guilt realizing I’d skipped church tonight. How many years had it been since I hadn’t been in a house of worship on a Sunday night? I couldn’t remember. Going to church was as much a part of me as the freckles on my face.

But I needed to be as far away from church folks as I could get right now. I required a clear head. I needed to sort out what was me, and what part of me was only someone constantly trying to live up to everyone else’s expectations. And yet, something about that little church drew me. I almost wanted to stop and slip inside, but I didn’t. I knew I needed to get away just as Jesus did from the multitude to get a fresh perspective and refresh my mind.

A block away across the street was a hot dog vendor. I was surprised to feel hungry. I hadn’t been able to eat since picking up Patrick from jail. The street was virtually empty. A young couple completely lost in one another snuggled on a park bench in front of the post office next to the church. I parked my bike a few yards past them and walked across the street to the vendor to get a chili dog.

I sat on the curb and took a bite. I couldn’t taste it. I was too numb. Too many questions rolled around in my mind like a three-wheeled Harley on a bumpy country road. Was I really a Christian or just faking it? Would I go to church if my husband wasn’t the pastor? What if I was just a hypocrite and didn’t really like church people? What if people didn’t like me?

I hated myself for caring what anyone thought of me as a parent. I didn’t want to care that people pointed at me and judged me for having a son who experimented with alcohol and landed himself in jail. I didn’t want to see the criticism in people’s eyes when they saw Patrick’s tattoo and then looked at me.

But how could I not care when it meant not only our family’s reputation but our very livelihood? There would be a board meeting after this incident. I hated the thought of all those accusing eyes measured at my husband. His heart was completely dedicated to each of the people who sat at that meeting table. His phone was always at his side, ready to pick up whenever any of them needed him. And yet, they could be so harsh.

“Why is it OK for them to pick on us, Lord, when we can’t say a word about them? It’s not fair.”

My death for your sins was not fair.

I wiped away some tears and nodded at the sky. He was right. He was always right.

I threw the remains of my hot dog in the garbage bin. Music streamed out of the church into the night air. It gave me a warm comfort the way all church music does. I knew that I was as much at home in a church as I was in my own skin. I had been dedicated to Jesus as an infant, grown up in Sunday school, been a youth group leader, a member of the choir, and had met my husband at a church. Our destinies were as clear as an Alaskan stream. We would serve the Lord with our lives as pastor and wife. It was all I’d ever dreamed of doing. Nothing else had even seemed possible.

People poured out of the little church. I watched as they shook hands with their pastor and hugged one another. There weren’t many of them, maybe fifteen or twenty, but they were going about the same Sunday evening ritual they had performed for generations.

Some of the church folks avoided me. I was a new curiosity in this little town and probably looked a little menacing in my biker gear. But most of the kids came over and talked to me about Heaven. The girls were especially excited to see a pink Harley.

“That a Harley?” A young man tried to sound cool.

“Yup.” I smiled. “Her name is Heaven.”

“Cool.” The girl with him eyed my freedom with envy.

We talked for a while about the paint and some of the chrome and even about going to heaven, but it was getting dark, and I didn’t like riding in the dark.

“Time for me to go. Lots of squishables like to come out and play in the road this time of night. Was nice meeting you. Stay in church.” I pointed to the young people and pulled on my helmet. I hoped I looked cool doing it. They laughed and waved as I took off, and I knew I had a crowd watching me as I drove away. I might not have looked cool, but I felt awesome.

If I was so perplexed about my own faith—why had I told that young man to stay in church? I smiled, realizing I told him because I knew where my hope came from. Not from church, but from Whom I worshipped when I was there.

On my way home, I decided to swing by Lily’s and Milo’s place. They lived about twenty miles back in the country on my way toward Eel Falls. I loved their house set way off a country road. There was a pond in front of the three-story brick Italianate house and a yard full of chickens, ducks, and geese. In the side pen were some goats and sheep, and I could smell the cow pies from the back lot.

“When did you get a llama?” I asked Lily as she greeted me at the door.

“It’s not a llama, it’s an alpaca. I got him a couple of weeks ago. Gonna give it a try. I got two more comin’ tomorrow.” Lily motioned me inside the front door and onto her screened-in porch.

“What are they for?” I took off my gloves and jacket and set them on the porch swing.

“Wool. They make great sweaters.”

We stepped inside the living room where Milo sat staring at the blank TV screen.

“Who’s that?” he snapped at Lily when he saw me.

“Milo, you remember Kirstie, Pastor Aaron’s wife.”

“Is that Jennifer?” Jennifer was Lily and Milo’s daughter. She’d been killed in a school bus accident riding home from a basketball game during the winter.

“Jennifer? Did you shut the door to the barn and make sure the light is still on for the chicks?”

“Yes, Daddy,” I said, looking at Lily and shrugging. “Everything’s fine. How are you feeling?”

“How do you think I’m feeling?” He dropped his head into his hand and rubbed his forehead. “It’s past your bedtime. What you doing up? Get to bed.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Lily and I tiptoed past him through the dining room and into the kitchen.

“I’m sorry about that, Kirstie.” Lily set about making tea.

“Don’t be silly, Lily. There’s nothing to be sorry about. He can’t help it.”

“Some days he’s fine and others…well, others are like this.” She sighed with such sad eyes I wanted to run away. “Would you like some tea?”

“Tea sounds wonderful,” I said.

We sat at Lily’s table and shared our troubles. Mine seemed small compared to hers, and hers seemed small compared to mine. It was good to have a friend to pray with. Especially since my mother was no longer around. I needed the wisdom of an older woman like Lily to keep me sane.

“Try not to let the little stuff get to you, Kirstie. Remember, it’s the little foxes that ruin the vine.” Lily went to the counter and opened her cookie jar.

I smiled. “Song of Solomon, chapter two.”

“Keep the main thing the main thing, and you’ll do fine.” Lily arranged a variety of cookies on a pretty antique plate.

“I just wish Bernice would stop being such a busybody. I’m having a hard time loving her. Sometimes the things she says and does seem unforgiveable.” I took a sip of tea and stared out the kitchen window.

“Just remember something. When people go around telling other people’s secrets, it means they have some secrets of their own.” Lily set the cookies on the table and sat down across from me again at the kitchen table.

“What do you mean?”

“Bernice and Norman have family secrets from way back. I think that’s why Bernice works so hard to spread malicious gossip. If everyone is gossiping about everyone else, then they’re too busy to gossip about her.”

“How do you know this?” I reached for a cookie.

“I grew up here, too, remember? Our families go back several generations. Her ancestors settled here about the same time as mine. I know things. I’m not going to share them, but I know things from tales I remember hearing as a child from my great-grandmother.” Lily took a bite out of a snicker doodle she had dipped into her tea.

I nodded. That made sense. “My grandmother always said hurting people hurt people.” I took my last bite of cookie and downed my tea.

After a few more minutes of girl talk, Lily walked me to the door, and we said our good-byes. I hated riding in the dark, but spending this time with Lily was worth the risk.

As I pulled out of her driveway, a little fox peeked at me from behind the goldenrod by the side of the road.

“Little foxes,” I whispered to myself. “Those crazy little foxes.”

32

“Look at all the fish we caught, Mom.” Patrick beamed and shoved a bucket of little bluegill under my nose. “Dad says we’re gonna fry ’em up and eat ’em. Man, am I hungry.”

“Oh, really?” I wrinkled my nose and pushed the bucket away. “Well you and Dad are cleaning them—I’m not.” I looked at Aaron and raised my eyebrows. We were going to eat those little bitty bluegill? There probably wasn’t enough meat on them to feed one person. But I hadn’t seen Patrick this excited since he was a little boy and caught his first toad.

Aaron walked in through the double doors leading to the patio and took off his hiking boots. He pointed to the bucket. “Them’s good eatin’.”

I giggled at his Indiana colloquialism and got out the fillet knife as he washed his hands at the sink.

Aaron wiped his hands on a towel and took the knife from me. “Patrick caught most of ’em himself.”

“Yup, I did.” Patrick looked into the bucket and grinned up at me.

I waved them out of the kitchen. “Well, clean them outside on the deck, not in here. I’ll get some oil heated and mix up some batter.”

Never underestimate how delicious a little bluegill can be when shared with a prodigal son and reconciled parents. For the three of us, our meager meal of fish created a wonderful feast.

After we finished cleaning up and Patrick was in the shower, Aaron wrapped his arms around me in the kitchen. “Thank you.”

“For what?” I looked up into his smiling brown eyes.

“For insisting I take the night off and spend time with Patrick. Kids grow up fast. I hadn’t noticed he was becoming a man. And if you hadn’t been mean to me and yelled at me earlier today, I might not have figured that out.”

“You’re welcome.” I smiled.

“How was your ride?” He kissed me on the nose. Even though he smelled of fish, I loved his playfulness.

“It was good. Kind of hot and muggy, but good. I stopped out at Lily’s, and we had a good talk.”

“And Milo?” he asked.

“The same. They have alpacas.”

Goliath wiggled between the two of us, wanting to play. “Woof!”

“Someone wants to go for a walk.” I glanced up at Aaron. He looked exhausted. Dealing with our prodigal son’s emotions, even while doing something as relaxing as fishing, had to make him weary. “It’s OK. I’ll go. C’mon, Goliath, let’s go burn off some calories.”

Fortunately for my shoulder joints, I’d taught Goliath to heel when he was a wee puppy. He learned fast, but still had a mind of his own when we came upon a squirrel or cat. It wasn’t that he wanted to eat them. He wanted to play with them.

The night was beautiful. The dark ebony sky was crystal clear and dotted with brilliant stars twinkling like diamonds under the lights at Zuckermann’s jewelry store. Bullfrogs bellowed louder than the crickets sang. The full moon allowed me to see the entire neighborhood easily. Mrs. Schmidt’s morning glories had gone to sleep, their petals closed until the sun kissed their faces again. Mr. Bech’s cat skulked through the grass beside the pond, stalking a ground squirrel. Across the field behind the church, I could see rabbits hopping in and out of cabbages in Mrs. Beedle’s vegetable garden. I chuckled. If Mrs. Beedle, who won the blue ribbon every year in the Wabash County Fair for her sauerkraut, knew what went on after dark in her garden, she wouldn’t get a wink of sleep.

Goliath and I walked around the block and headed up the hill toward the church. As we drew nearer, Goliath hunched up his shoulders and grumbled.

“What’s wrong, boy?” I got a shiver. I looked around me and saw nothing. “Goliath, you better not be growling at something stupid. You’re scaring me.”

We continue walking, but as we neared the church, Goliath stopped walking and snarled again.

“What is it, Goliath?”

His growling unnerved me. He wasn’t a mean dog, but he was protective of me. Was someone lurking somewhere? Or had he seen a jogger and wasn’t sure what to make of it in the moonlight?

We took a few more steps toward the church, but he stopped a third time and barked. The hair on his spine stood on end. I looked in the direction he was lunging and noticed a light coming from the back of the church from the walkout basement door.

“C’mon, Goliath, it’s probably someone working on their Sunday school lesson. Stop it, you’re freaking me out.” I tugged on his leash and headed toward the back door of the church. Goliath moaned and reluctantly tiptoed behind me. To be safe, I decided to look in the back door window to see what was going on before going in.

“Shhh, Goliath. Sit. Stay.” I left him at the end of the concrete walk where he sat and whined and groused. “No bark,” I spoke sternly and made my way between the embankments on each side of the sidewalk leading to the basement door. Goliath’s attitude had me sneaking up to my own church as if I were a burglar. “This is ridiculous.”

I stood to the side of the window and peered into the church basement with one eye. The lights were on in the fellowship hall and kitchen, and the door to the storage closet was open. I could hear yelling, and I could barely see two figures standing in the closet with a flashlight or lamp.

“What could those two want in the storage closet?” I wondered. “And why are they using a flashlight instead of turning on the closet light?”

The closet was as big as my own bedroom. I wondered if they were changing the light bulb. Then, one of the figures stepped out of the darkness of the closet into the light of the fellowship hall. It was Bernice carrying her beloved pug, Mason.

Bernice? What is she up to now?

Right behind Bernice emerged Elder Watson Cobb carrying a shovel.

What was going on? Why were they in the storage closet alone? And why was Elder Cobb holding her in his arms just now? My brain tried to catch up with what I saw, but it couldn’t. I couldn’t think of one conceivable reason why Bernice and Elder Cobb should be in the church storage closet together, in the dark, with a shovel, and now in one another’s arms, unless it was something I didn’t even want to think about.

For one thing, I never took Bernice for the kind of woman who would be warm enough to accept the affections of someone else. And for another thing, well, she was Bernice. And people like Bernice didn’t have affairs—did they?

In a burst of anger, Bernice pushed Elder Cobb away from her and began gesturing wildly. She went to the closet and began yelling at it. I couldn’t make out what she was saying through the glass, but Goliath must have been able to because he paced at the end of the walk with his hackles up and moaned.

I felt guilty for spying on them, but I couldn’t figure out how to introduce myself. They obviously weren’t expecting someone to find them there. As I turned to leave, I saw Norman emerge from the closet, grimy, dusty and dirty, carrying a rifle. I gasped audibly and slapped my hand over my mouth. What was going on?

Bernice berated Norman in her usual way. Maybe they were trying to fix something. But I still couldn’t figure out the strange embrace I’d seen between Bernice and Elder Cobb. It didn’t fit with my image of the two of them. Was Norman aware of their close relationship?

“Woof!” Goliath couldn’t hold back anymore. Bernice looked toward the door, and I hunched low and to the side. I scratched my arm on the wooden embankment ties when I hid in the shadows in the corner. Goliath ran to the door and barked. Bernice’s little pug barked, too.

Bernice came to the door and looked out the window. “They’ve got that monster dog out running loose again. I swear those people are the most ill-mannered pastor’s family I’ve ever seen. Who needs a dog that big anyway? He’s probably going to eat a baby before it’s all over with, and the church will get sued. Norman, go out there and shoot that nuisance dog. We’ll be doing the whole town a favor.”

Norman cocked his rifle.

I froze, afraid to move but too afraid to stay in the shadows. Goliath didn’t budge. He wouldn’t go anywhere without me, and I knew it. As soon as I heard Bernice’s voice fade further away from the door, I bolted down the hill toward home, Goliath on my heels.

I didn’t know what they were up to.

But I sure wasn’t sticking around to find out.

33

My stomach bunched up in knots, and I couldn’t untie it. I always felt like this on board meeting day. I knew it wasn’t healthy for me to get worked up about it, but I couldn’t help myself. The clock ticked mercilessly slow. I watched its dawdling hands inch toward 7:00 PM with a twitch in my eye.

After I’d run home two nights ago and banged into the house like a mammoth running from extinction, Aaron checked the storage closet the next morning but found nothing suspicious.

“Maybe they snooped around in the old church records.” He shook his head and sat at his desk in his home office.

“With a shovel and a rifle?” I knew those props had something to do with why they were in there.

“Who knows? I must not be picking up the local customs.”

I laughed. “You’d think we would after five years.”

Aaron turned and looked at me. “I don’t want you bringing this up in the meeting tonight. It would be awkward explaining that you spied on them, and I have other pressing things to address. I don’t want to muddy the waters.”

“But…”

Aaron raised his eyebrows at me. “Kirstie, please. Just tonight. I promise to address it later if I need to. But for now, let’s just leave it alone, OK?”

“OK, I guess.” I didn’t agree with him, but when it came to church matters, I trusted his judgment.

Even though Aaron and I arrived early, Bernice, Norman, and Elder Pete were already in the fellowship hall where we held our meetings. We could hear them talking as we came down the stairs.

“It’s out of the question,” Norman muttered. “Out of the question. I refuse to allow it. An expansion isn’t needed.”

We rounded the corner in time to see Elder Pete lean toward Norman’s side of the table. “But we don’t have enough rooms for Sunday school, not to mention enough space in the fellowship hall now.”

Bernice huffed and reached across Norman to point a finger at Elder Pete. “We’ve got plenty of room. Those biker folks the pastor’s been dragging in here—how much money do you think they contribute to the pot each week? Besides, they’re fly-by-nighters anyway. Another month and they won’t be coming here anymore.”

Board meetings were open—anyone in the church could come to them. But I sure wished Bernice wouldn’t. I only came to update the board on upcoming details for special events and planned to make a hasty exit. But from the sounds of it, Aaron needed my support tonight.

“They’re not the ones bringing their kids to church, Norman,” Elder Pete said.

Aaron cleared his throat to let them know he was entering the room. “Good evening, gentlemen. Bernice.”

“Evening, Pastor.” Elder Pete waved hello. Bernice and Norman glared down at the table.

Shortly after we arrived, Deacon Jeff and Elder Cobb came in together. Other board members weren’t able to make it, but Aaron would brief them on the meeting by phone.

Everyone, except me, helped themselves to one of Bernice’s muffins. My stomach was in no condition to digest. Elder Pete had made coffee and set out sugar and spoons while folks filled up their own mugs with names written on them with magic marker. We hung them on the kitchen wall, and every time we got together for a service or a meeting, we used them. Aaron and I had matching Superman mugs. They helped us remember not to take difficult matters too seriously. And I don’t know about Aaron, but for me, laughing at circumstances helped.

We took our places around the table. We sat in the same place every single time as if our names were engraved on the chairs.

Aaron began with prayer and a short devotion before going over the regular business of the church finances for the month, the success of the men’s breakfast last month, and other incidental items.

I explained our plans for a small biker rally in two weeks.

Bernice was, as predicted, unhappy.

“I don’t like this motorcycle business, and you know it.” She sniffed. “I’m not paying for any needed repairs. I won’t do it.”

I smiled and nodded. “I understand. If anything like that happens, I’m sure the bikers will be sure to take care of any expenses of that sort.”

“Well, there better not be any damage to this property whatsoever. My great-grandfather built this church. Don’t you forget it.”

How could I possibly? I wanted to say it. But I breathed deeply and nodded.

“Speaking of building,” Aaron sounded cheerful. “I’ve spoken to each of you individually about our need to expand. As you know, I suggested we begin the process in small steps and on a cash basis only—build as we have the funds.”

“And how do you propose to do such a thing? I’m not going to contribute to it.” Bernice picked at her fingernails.

I had at least a dozen pithy comebacks for Bernice. But I bit my tongue and held in my anger.

“There are other people who might be willing.” Elder Pete seemed excited about the idea. “I’m all for it. It’s obvious we need more classrooms. We’re bursting at the seams. Bernice, you complain every Sunday about the noise level. The children need real classrooms—not these flimsy dividers.”

Pete pointed to the partitions currently dividing the fellowship hall. It was true: we needed classrooms in the worst way.

“Too bad. This land has been surveyed, and there’s nowhere to build an addition. I’m voting no.” Bernice slapped the table with her hand. I noticed she’d chipped the nail polish off all the fingers on her left hand.

“I haven’t put it up for a vote yet,” Aaron said. “We’re only discussing it at this point. And as for the survey, that was done over fifty years ago. Building technology has changed a lot since then. There are many more options now.”

“And we’ve got the lot across the alley there.” Deacon Jeff pointed toward the same back door I’d run from two nights ago. “We could easily build an education wing over there.”

Aaron nodded. “My vision includes a gym, too. There’s no place for people to gather in this town, or for kids to hang out.”

“That’s just what we need.” Bernice whined and rolled her eyes. “A bunch of country folks tracking their muddy pig boots into our nice clean church.”

“Bernice,” Aaron said. “I hear what you’re saying. You’re concerned about the property.”

How could Aaron be so diplomatic? It was a good thing I wasn’t the pastor.

“But,” Aaron continued. “We need to remember that people come before property. Souls are all we take to heaven. We don’t take buildings or lands.”

There was an uncomfortable pause. I wanted to say something. Oh, how I wanted to say something. I wanted to remind Bernice and Norman that they weren’t the ones squeezing thirty-four preschoolers into one little cubicle and trying to keep them from escaping. They weren’t the ones packing neighborhood kids into Super Church and trying to do crafts with them elbowing one another and giving each other black eyes.

“I think it’s a terrible idea.” Norman inserted his thumbs into the clasp on his overall suspenders. “We used to be this nice little country church, and then you people come in here with all your new-fangled, highfalutin big city ideas and ruin it. You don’t have the proper vision for this church at all. Not in the least.”

“What do you mean, Norman?” Aaron’s voice held calm and steady. “What’s the proper vision?”

Norman cleared his throat and folded his hands on the table. “You came to a country church, Pastor. It ain’t going to be anything but a country church. I don’t care how much money you spend on those little tyrants. Their parents aren’t going to come to church. Running that church bus is draining the budget dry. Look at this— we’ve had to scrimp to keep the light bill on. We don’t want no mega-church.” He pointed to the financial report.

“But we had more than enough, Norman.” Aaron smiled. “God always comes through.”

“Kids these days don’t appreciate nothin’.” Bernice grabbed the financial sheet out of Norman’s hands and looked at the figures as if she saw them for the first time. I knew she’d asked for a financial statement a week prior. “Kids these days are nothin’ but a spoiled mass of humanity. It’s why I made the wise and proper decision not to have children. You should be thinkin’ about the older folks—the ones that contribute money to pay your salary. That’s who you should be tryin’ to please. Those kids don’t sign your checks, Pastor.”

Everyone sat in silence for a time.

Pete’s eyes twinkled. Only Pete could find pleasure in confrontation.

I hated it. I sat beside Aaron, looking down at my notes. How could people grow up in church their entire life and miss the point entirely? Didn’t Jesus say let the little children come?

Aaron sat up in his chair, closed his notebook, and folded his hands on top of his Bible. “Norman and Bernice, you should know that regardless of who signs my check, I will pastor this church as God has called me to pastor it. Man might sign my check, but God takes care of me. And I refuse to reject a child or adult who wants to walk through these doors. As long as I’m the pastor here, we’ll welcome people of all walks of life, no matter their background, age, or size of their pocketbook. And further, if God wants this building program to go forward, I will do everything in my power to see that it’s done.”

“And I assure you, Pastor,” Bernice snapped, “that I will do all in my power to see that it doesn’t. Everyone at this table knows who pays the biggest tithe at this church. And should things not go the way I’ve planned, Norman and I will pull our support and send our dollars elsewhere.”

I almost laughed because everyone turned their heads in unison towards Aaron like spectators at Wimbledon, waiting for his return volley.

“That’s fine, Bernice.” Aaron didn’t look at all ruffled. “You do what you think you need to do. I don’t care if I have to get another job. Until God tells me to leave First Christian Church, I’m not going anywhere. My marching orders are from God—not man. Be careful, Bernice, who you get your marching orders from.”

“Is that a threat, Pastor?”

“No, Bernice. I think you’re treading on dangerous territory, and it’s my job as your pastor to warn you.”

“Sounds like a threat to me.” Norman stood up, his hands shaking.

I didn’t get it. Why was this a big deal to them? Why wouldn’t they want the church to grow? There was another unseen reason that Norman stood next to Bernice ready to slug my husband.

“C’mon, Norman. We’re going home.” Bernice grabbed Norman by his suspenders and pulled him toward the stairs. “I’ve heard all I care to hear.”

Was it my imagination, or did I hear someone mumble “good riddance”? I stared down at my notes until I heard Bernice and Norman’s truck start and peel out of the parking lot.

Deacon Jeff broke the awkward silence. “I think we should all take a few weeks and pray about the expansion, Pastor, and let people talk about the idea and get used to it. Change comes hard in these little towns.”

Aaron nodded. “I agree. We can come together later and decide the best route. In the meantime, we’ll get some figures together of what it would take for such a project.”

“I can do that,” Pete said. “My sister-in-law’s a contractor. I’ll give her a call.”

“Good.” Aaron clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Gentlemen, I appreciate your help. And while we’re praying about the project, I think we should add Norman and Bernice to our daily prayers. Would you do that for me?”

The men agreed they would pray.

But I didn’t say a word.

34

Even though I didn’t promise to pray for Bernice and Norman, I found myself praying a lot for them.

“Please, God, don’t let them catch me cleaning up this spilled pot of chili in the fellowship hall.”

“Please, God, don’t let Bernice see Patrick feed hot dogs to Goliath from his teeth at the motorcycle rally.”

“Please, God, let Bernice come before the bikers get here and leave before they get here, and don’t let Norman see any of the Harley Honeys in halter tops.”

By the time the day arrived for the church motorcycle rally, I was exhausted from planning and organizing the events, food, lodging, and bands. Thankfully, the church ladies came through with heaps of salads, desserts, and plenty of frosty cold drinks for the hot and thirsty bikers.

We’d pounded the last stake in the ground for the food tent when Atticus and his gang rolled up. I was so happy to see him and his buddies that I jumped up and down like a little girl.

Fortunately, none of the more dignified ladies in the church saw me. They were too busy watching Opal run toward Atticus and throw her tiny arms around his cedar tree neck.

“What on earth does she see in him?” I heard them whisper. Deep down I knew love was one of those things for which there was no explanation. Those two were smitten the moment they saw each other.

“He says the nicest things, and he always treats me with such respect,” Opal told me a few days before the rally. “I never knew bikers were nice.”

“To be honest, Opal, neither did I. I’m guilty of preconceived notions myself when it comes to bikers.”

“He always asks before he gives me a kiss.” Opal blushed. “Like an old-fashioned beau. I love that.”

“Me, too.” I couldn’t be happier for little Opal. If anyone deserved a nice man, she did.

More bikers arrived, and the ladies served food and drinks. Then, without warning, the skies opened and rain poured in gentle streams on everything we’d set up. It was a warm rain, so no one was too upset, but the deluge made the lot where we were going to play our games all muddy.

“Hey, Kirstie! Pastor!” Atticus yelled at us from across the alley. “Come over here. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

I helped Aaron adjust his rain poncho, and we splashed over to where Atticus stood beside a tiny little fellow with a Tweety Bird tattoo on his arm. “This here’s Clarence Rifkin. He’d like to represent Patrick pro bono at his court hearing.”

The man certainly didn’t look like a lawyer. From the looks of the whiskers on his face, he hadn’t shaved in days, and he wore a leather vest over the hairiest set of shoulders I’d ever seen.

“P-pleased to meet you,” I said. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’m all dirty from hauling stuff out to the tents. Not to mention the mud from all this rain.”

Clarence laughed. “No problem. I don’t normally look like this myself. Now listen. I’ve got Patrick’s court date covered. I think things will go well.”

“You can practice law in Indiana?” I looked at his tattoo and decided anyone who tattooed Tweety Bird on their arm had to be on the good side of things.

“I live in Indiana. I’m a friend of old Atticus, here. When he rang me up and told me your quandary, I was more than happy to help. Don’t worry.” Clarence shook his finger at me playfully.

“I’ll try not to, but you know how mothers are.” I shook his hand. “I can’t thank you enough, I…”

Aaron shook his hand, too. “Yes, as my wife said, we’re terribly grateful.”

Clarence smiled and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Just pay it forward. From the looks of things around here, you do that every day anyway.”

The rain picked up and poured from the sky in sheets. The shower felt wonderful after a hot sticky day of hard work, but it was definitely going to make our plans for the day difficult.

“So much for a burnout pit,” Atticus joked.

“What’s that?” Aaron asked. Here I was a biker chick married to a man who knew nothing about bikes and bikers.

“Basically, Pastor, it’s when stupid biker dudes burn off the rubber on their back tire and ruin it. But boy is it a blast.” Atticus laughed his great bellowing belly laugh, slapped Aaron on the shoulder with great enthusiasm, and nearly knocked him over.

Aaron tried to laugh with gusto, too, but I could tell he had no idea what the joke was.

“Maybe the sun will come out,” I said. “So I can see you burn that rubber.”

I didn’t know what I was more concerned about—the smell of burning tires filling the street of Eel Falls or the mud that would get tracked inside the church. Tomorrow was Sunday, and there wasn’t going to be a whole lot of time to clean up. But I would stay up all night if I needed to in order to avoid Bernice and her minions.

Dear God, why do I care so much about what she thinks? Why should it matter?

Aaron and I headed to the front of the church to get something to eat in the food tent. I could hear Opal, Lily, and Reba’s laughter from where they stood getting wet and muddy over by the water balloon toss. I recognized Ex-Cargo, Gypsy, and Flygirl, our cell mates in North Carolina.

“I’m going to go join the fun, Aaron. C’mon.”

Aaron shook his head. “You go ahead, I want to grab a sandwich and get back inside to work on tomorrow’s service.”

“OK, sweetie.” I kissed him on the cheek. “See you later.”

The Lady Eels were having a great time supervising the water balloon toss. The biker’s passenger had to toss a water balloon over a crossbar and catch it on the other side without breaking it. Even with all the rain, riders and spectators seemed to be enjoying it.

Ex-Cargo nailed it but Flygirl’s balloon burst every time.

Gypsy coughed from laughing so hard.

“Asthma.” Ex-cargo coughed, and Gypsy tossed an inhaler from out of her saddlebag.

“If you’d stop smokin’ like a chimney you wouldn’t have that problem, girl,” Flygirl chastised her and slapped her on the back.

“I try! I try!” Timmy clapped his hands with glee. Mud flew everywhere, and Goliath barked and ran beside the bikes. He looked like a giant mud pie on steroids.

“No, Timmy, it’s too dangerous. You have to wait until you grow up.” I tried to wipe the mud from his face, but it was pointless.

“Aw, let him try,” Flygirl yelled, and bikers joined in and clapped. Timmy had fans.

“Hop on up here, fella.” A biker named SlowRide patted the back seat of Ex-Cargo’s bike.

“Helmet, Timmy.” I handed him a nearby helmet I saw sitting on the table with the water balloons. SlowRide helped him strap it on, and Timmy climbed on the back. Timmy grinned and looked silly with that muddy face, but everyone smiled at his enthusiasm.

Ex-Cargo started the bike. The rain slowed and fell like soft feathers on Timmy’s joyful face. He squinted to look up at the crossbar. He didn’t come close to throwing it across the bar, but he thoroughly enjoyed the mud bath and the ride.

“Bernice is going to throw a fit about this lot being torn up.” I pointed toward our feet.

The Lady Eels stood in a soup of mud and blades of floating grass.

“You worry too much,” Reba said. “Stop it.”

“I can’t. You have no idea the trouble one person can make. I’m reminded on a daily basis that this land was donated by her ancestors.”

“There’s the operative word,” Lily chimed in.

“Ancestors?” I asked.

“No,” Opal growled. “Donated.”

By the time all the relays were over, everyone was covered in dark muddy goo. We sat under the big white tents scraping the glop off our legs and arms with plastic knives. It was delicious to feel alive and living in the immediate present. I smiled thinking of how soft our skin would feel tomorrow.

When I went into the church to use the restroom, my heart fell. Participants had tracked mud all through the foyer, down the stairs, all through the fellowship hall, and out the door that led to the back lot. The carpet was fairly new—donated by a family in memory of their loved one, and I knew I had a lot of work ahead of me that night before I went to bed.

“God,” I prayed. “Please give me the strength to do it.”

I also noticed a nick in the woodwork by the door. Apparently, someone had tried to carry something too big through it. Normally, I never cared about marks on the walls. Living with Timmy meant living with plenty of marks on walls. But my eyes were trained to see such things at church where people took pride in the building.

Norman wouldn’t be happy because Bernice would make him come over and fix it. Why a little nick mattered in the whole scheme of life, I didn’t know. But for some reason, in their world, nicks and mud and imperfections of any kind mattered a whole lot.

I studied the notch and thought about Reba’s advice. I decided to ignore my anxious feelings about Bernice and enjoy myself. I went back outside to hang out with the bikers under the tents. We played cards, told stories, and swapped testimonies for hours. Finally, when it was time for the band concert, the rain stopped, allowing an open-air concert like we’d planned. I just hoped they’d stick to their promise of quitting at midnight. If they didn’t, I’d get a call from the mayor in the morning.

While people got ready for the concert, I started to straighten up in the food tent. Atticus gave me a shove toward the open flaps. “Go home and take a shower and clean up purdy for that preacher of your’n.”

“Are you saying I’m not presentable?” I knew I looked a mess. My face was smudged, my hair was matted, and my clothes were stained with some of the darkest, richest soil on God’s green earth—Indiana corn-growing mud.

“I ain’t touchin’ that one with a set of ape handle bars. I learned a long time ago those kinds of questions have no right answers.” Atticus’s loud booming voice carried far, and the entire tent laughed. “But I know you’re tired. Go on home. We’re big kids. We can take care of ourselves. Besides”—he pointed to Timmy—“I think someone’s tired.”

I looked over to where Timmy sat on Atticus’s bike. He’d fallen asleep draped over the gas tank.

“Can you keep an eye on Daniel and Patrick for me?” I asked. “You know, keep Patrick out of jail and all that?”

“Count on it,” he said. “Go on.”

“I’ve got pizza coming in about thirty minutes.” I handed him a check made out to Pedro’s Pizza. “Here’s the check. Opal!” I yelled across the tent. “Atticus has the check for pizza. Make sure he doesn’t go out and buy himself another bike with it.”

“Got it,” Opal said.

“What do we need pizza for?” One of the bikers, Kickstand, approached me from across the tent. “We got tons of food here.”

“Yes, I know, but I also know you guys party all night, and I don’t want you waking me up raiding my refrigerator.” I heard laughter as I made my way to Timmy to rouse him and take him home. No wonder bikers liked to hang with bikers. People who rode motorcycles were simply some of the most pleasant folks one could ever meet.

In or out of the church walls.

35

After my shower, I rushed back to the rally. My wet hair dripped on my T-shirt and my feet ached with fatigue. I didn’t bother with makeup. I had a church to clean.

By the time I got there, not only was there no mud on the carpets, but the tents were bussed clean and a group of bikers were hanging out in the kitchen, doing dishes and visiting while the band played outside.

Outside, another group of them raked the lot and planted new grass seed by the light of tractors and combines farmers had brought to the rally to provide light for the concert. Some of the bikers pointed their bike lights in other areas where they helped with clean up.

“Wow.” I walked to where Lily sat a table sorting plastic cutlery in the fellowship hall. “How did they know to have seed ready to plant?”

“Wow indeed.” She smiled. “They’ve done rallies before. They know what’s needed at the end of a large crowd of people messing things up.”

“What was I worried about? They’ve done everything.”

“You listen too much to Bernice.” Lily pushed a lid onto a box of knives.

I scanned the fellowship hall. “I realize that now. Have you seen Patrick and Daniel?”

“Atticus has them outside with him, cleaning up the grill. Where’s Timothy?” She situated the box of knives in the cabinet and returned to sorting forks and spoons.

“Sleeping. Aaron’s at home with him. I gave Timmy his shower, and he went straight to bed—willingly. You and I both know that doesn’t happen often.”

Lily nodded.

I walked into the kitchen to offer my help. “What do I do now?”

“Go home. Go to bed.” Everyone in the kitchen, including Trace and Reba, waved me out. I was too tired to protest. My legs and feet throbbed with exhaustion.

It was like a dream to see church folks mixing with bikers, helping one another, and enjoying one another’s company. Of course, some of the church members were too shy or uncomfortable to come out and spend time doing biker things. But most of them would be at church in the morning, and I was happy so many turned out to help today.

I went home and left the clean up to Atticus and his bunch outside and Lily and her gang inside. Atticus promised to bring the boys home. I fell asleep on the couch and never heard the boys come in.

The next morning, I awoke excited and nervous for the day ahead. I noticed someone had covered me up with my favorite blanket. I loved waking up like that.

Today we’d host the biggest crowd ever on a Sunday morning. There were twice as many bikers as we had at the bike blessing weeks before. I didn’t know for sure what to expect, but I prayed Norman and Bernice would behave themselves.

“Please, Lord, keep them quiet today.” I prayed again for them, just as Aaron asked me to.

The sanctuary filled up, and the deacons were thrilled to be digging chairs up from the basement to seat people in the back behind the last row of chairs in the sanctuary. Bikers spilled out into the foyer, and the most enthusiastic members of our church stood along the walls for the entire service. Somehow, I never bumped into Bernice.

We sang beautiful praise and worship music together, and it was a sight to see strong, burly, rough-around-the-edges bikers with their hands in the air, submitting to their God. I got goose bumps and sang and played the piano with a thankful heart. The music was all the more beautiful, not because we sounded good, but because of Who we sang to.

After a few announcements, Aaron began his sermon.

“Some of you folks are nothing but a bunch of posers.” He pulled on a leather jacket he’d borrowed from Trace and a doo-rag and sunglasses. I wanted to roll on the floor laughing. The congregation roared. My nerdy husband was no more a biker than I was a prissy-type of pastor’s wife.

“You bikers all know what a poser is. A poser is someone who says they’re a biker but don’t really live the biker lifestyle.” The bikers hooted at my husband and clapped. Even though they knew Aaron didn’t ride, they treated him with the utmost respect.

“Well, I’m going to tell you something you may not know. Many Christians are posers, too. They’re a bunch of fakes. Some Christians no more shine for Christ than dirty chrome can glint in the sun.”

Aaron had everyone’s attention. No one moved, and no one made a sound. Even the children who remained in the service today to see all the bikers sat quietly.

“I know many of us are posers in the kingdom of God because if we weren’t, we’d experience rejection. We’d be rejected the same way a number of bikers here are when they wear their leathers in public.

“Isaiah 53:3 tells us that Jesus was despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief…when He walked on earth as a man, fully human, we esteemed him not.

“Jesus was no poser. He wasn’t some random guy Who came to earth and pretended to be the Messiah. He is the Messiah. He was fully God. And yet, He was despised and rejected, misunderstood and judged unfairly. Jesus promised that if we follow Him, we too, will experience rejection and even hate.

“In the book of John, Jesus said: ‘You didn’t choose me, I chose you, and ordained you…if the world hates you, know that it hated Me before it hated you. You see, if you were of the world, the world would love you: but because you’re not of the world, and because I’ve chosen you out of the world, that’s why the world hates you.’”

Usually, Aaron’s sermons lasted a lot longer, but today, because people stood during the service, he invited people to the front to pray after he preached for fifteen minutes.

At first, no one moved, and then, with tentative, careful steps, three people from our own congregation approached Aaron for prayer. One of them was Patrick.

No bikers responded.

We thought we were going to reach out to the bikers. Instead, God did a work in us and in our very own son. Atticus stood behind Patrick with his hand on his shoulder, and a few other friends of his stood there, too. I had no idea if they’d ever prayed in public before, but there they were, covered in tattoos and tears.

“Why am I crying like a baby?” One of the bikers asked Lily for a tissue.

Lily gave her a tissue and a gentle hug. “That’s the Holy Spirit, honey, just go with it. Tears are healing.”

I don’t know how anyone could sit in that service and not feel touched by God. You’d need a heart of reinforced steel not to sense His Presence that day. But apparently, some people didn’t feel a thing because they left before the service was over.

And called a board meeting for that afternoon.

When I met Aaron in the parking lot, I heard him talking on his cell phone.

“I understand you have concerns, but I’m going to spend the afternoon with my boys as I promised.” Aaron looked at me and rolled his eyes. “I can appreciate your eagerness to speak with me, but meeting with you right now simply isn’t possible. How about tomorrow morning around 8:00 AM? I can meet earlier if you wish.”

No, the Committee-of-Setting-the-Pastor-Straight didn’t wish to awaken that early to ream the pastor for insulting them today.

“Now what?” I hung on to Timmy’s hand to keep him from flying out to the middle of the parking lot as the bikes were leaving.

Aaron rubbed his forehead, looked up at the sky, and sighed with a groan. “Apparently a group of them left early and went to one of their houses and made a list of grievances for me in regard to our biker weekend.”

“Aaron, remember your sermon. If they rejected Jesus, they’re going to reject us. So, you must be reflecting Jesus to get the same treatment, right?”

“Right,” he spoke with sorrow in his voice. “It’s not that it bothers me personally to be rejected. But that their ears are closed to what God really said today. Their pride grieves me, Kirstie.”

“Honey,” I said. “It grieves God, too. Just remember it’s just a handful of people out of the entire congregation who is, on the whole, very loving and open-armed.”

We made our way to the far end of the parking lot where Daniel and Patrick watched Atticus and his friends get ready for their long trip home. I would miss this collection of misfits, but we’d gained a few local bikers this weekend and looked forward to getting to know them, too.

“I’ll be back up here for Patrick’s court date.” Atticus kissed me on the cheek.

I returned the kiss on his ruddy Santa Claus face. “You don’t have to. I know you’re busy.”

He waved me off. “I can arrange my schedule to haul a load up this way with my truck. It’ll be business, anyway. I feel partly responsible for getting the young man in trouble.”

“We’ve been through this before, Atticus.” Aaron rested a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know that, Preacher. But I’m coming anyway.” Atticus sucked Aaron into a big bear hug. “Don’t forget what we talked about now.”

“I won’t.” Aaron practically disappeared in Atticus’s arms. He held my husband so tight I thought I’d have to go in after him. I wasn’t sure he was breathing.

Atticus finally let go, and his group roared down the road. I wondered what Atticus and Aaron had talked about.

Timmy was heartbroken to see them go and wailed with his mouth wide open.

“Oh, Timmy, don’t cry.” Daniel comforted him. “Wanna take a swim with me and Goliath?”

Timmy wiped his face. “’Liath. Swim. Dan-nel.”

“OK. Let’s go. Patrick, you wanna come?”

Patrick looked at Aaron and me. “In a sec. I need to talk to Mom and Dad.”

I didn’t like the idea of the boys swimming without an adult. “Go get Timmy ready, Daniel, but don’t get in the pool until we get home.”

“Right, Mom. Let’s go Timmy.” I watched the brothers walk hand in hand home.

“I’m proud of you for your recommitment, son.” Aaron settled his gentle hands on Patrick’s shoulders.

“Thanks, Dad. But I’m worried.” Patrick looked tired.

I put my arm around him. “Patrick, sweetie, what’s the matter?”

“What if I mess up again?” A tear balanced on Patrick’s eyelashes.

“Oh, you will.” Aaron’s voice was tender. “We all will. If we didn’t, Jesus wouldn’t have needed to die.”

Patrick kicked at the ground. “I don’t want to mess up. I want to do good, but I don’t.”

“Patrick.” I clasped his shoulders and looked him in the eyes. “Whenever you’re tempted, talk to God. He’s right there to help you. He promises not to tempt us beyond what we can bear. He will make a way out. He always provides an escape.”

“Really?” He wiped his face and eased out from underneath my arm. He wasn’t Mama’s boy anymore.

“Really.” Aaron nodded. “If you want, you could memorize 1 Corinthians 10:13 where that scripture comes from. And whenever you’re tempted, repeat those words to yourself until the temptation passes.”

“I have a scripture I quote when I’m tempted.” I fiddled with Patrick’s hair.

“Really? You’re tempted?” Patrick looked astonished.

“All the time. You know that. When I yell at you and your brothers, and promise myself I won’t and do it again. Or when I think things I shouldn’t think, or say things I shouldn’t say. We all have shortcomings. Some of us just don’t get caught in public like you did.” How could my son think I was never tempted?

Aaron began walking home, and we followed. “No one’s perfect. I’m tempted, too. All the time. Especially in dealing with my children. I read and study instead of interacting with them. We all have our vices, our addictions.”

“Do you have vices, Mom?” Patrick asked.

“Yes, I do.”

“What are they?”

I looked at Patrick and then at Aaron. “Well, for one thing, I’m completely addicted to your father. I can’t get enough of him.”

“Mom. That’s gross.” Patrick ran to the house.

Aaron laughed. “So I’m a vice, eh?”

“It depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether or not you can catch me before I get to the house.”

I ran.

But not too fast.

36

I’d never been to court before. After Atticus bailed us out of jail in North Carolina, officers dismissed any charges against me because eyewitnesses filed reports that confirmed my story.

On the day of Patrick’s court hearing, I buttoned the jacket of my best gray suit with shaking hands. I hoped it made me look serious and conservative. After I slipped into a pair of low-heeled pumps I helped Aaron dress in a navy blue suit identical to Patrick’s, who stood waiting in the living room as pale as his white shirt.

After we arrived at the county courthouse, I tried to sit on an oak bench on the second floor, but my nerves kept me pacing back and forth in front of the courtroom doors. I couldn’t have been more shocked when I saw Clarence walk up the stairs. He didn’t look like the same man I’d seen at the rally. He’d slicked back his thick black hair, and designer, horn-rimmed eyeglasses rested on his shiny, scrubbed nose. The whiskers were gone, and his smile radiated like a model’s from a fashion magazine. He wore a silk taupe suit and tie, obviously expensive, tailor made, and much nicer than the ill-fitting polyester department store suit Aaron wore.

The gleaming black Italian-made shoes on his feet looked brand new, and the supple crocodile leather so highly polished, the toes reflected the courthouse lights when he walked.

I could spot over-priced, designer shoes a mile away. I’d sold shoes in college and in those days measured the worthiness of a man by the quality of his shoes. Thankfully, I’d proved that theory wrong by the time I woke up and noticed Aaron in his flip flops.

Clarence looked impeccable. I smiled to myself thinking about how shocked the judge would be to see the hairy shoulders and tattoos hidden underneath those exclusive, fashionable clothes.

I heard a group of footsteps ascending the stairs and turned away in case someone from town walked among them. When I peeked over my shoulder, I saw a large assemblage of men and women dressed in stylish suits. At first, I assumed they were all lawyers. But I quickly glanced back again when I realized everyone looked vaguely familiar.

“Atticus? Is that you?” I swiveled around on one of my inexpensive heels and scooted across the marble floor to where everyone stood. It was all I could do to keep from gaping like a baboon making faces at spectators in a zoo.

Oh. My. Atticus looked painfully handsome, dressed in a black suit, white shirt and purple tie. With his white beard and hair trimmed to perfection, he looked like he’d just stepped out of a fashion makeover. He was, in short, drop dead gorgeous.

Now I knew what Opal saw in him.

“Pick your jaw up off the floor, Kirstie,” Aaron whispered in my ear.

Atticus laughed at me staring at him. “What? You think I go around wearing my leathers all the time? I know how to clean up good.” Atticus laughed at me again. His booming, contagious laugh echoed through the hallowed halls of justice and reached a family standing on the other side of the building waiting for their verdict.

Opal came up the stairs just as I finished giving Atticus a hug. “Put your eyeballs back in your head, Opal,” I teased.

She became shy. “Hi, Atticus.”

“Opal.” Atticus turned red. Those of us looking on pretended not to notice and smiled at one another. The chemistry between the two of them was palpable.

“It’s time to go in,” Clarence said. “Now, you all know you can’t say anything during the hearing. Stay quiet, and let me take care of things. Atticus, behave yourself. Keep the talking down to a minimum. Better yet, don’t talk. I need y’all to sit right behind our table. If the judge sees this show of support behind Patrick, she’ll be more likely to go easier on him. They’re getting tougher on kids with underage drinking charges. It’s very serious.”

I was already nervous before. Now it was all I could do not to eat my freshly manicured nails to the quick.

Atticus smiled. “My lips are sealed. Don’t you worry about me.”

“Is there time for a prayer before we go in?” Flygirl stepped forward and grabbed hands with other bikers.

“Absolutely.” Clarence set down his briefcase, and we all joined hands to pray.

Flygirl prayed softly. “Father, bless Clarence, and help him to find favor in there. Help Patrick and his folks. Let everything be good, and let the judge be fair. In Jesus’s name. Amen.” Flygirl looked up and smiled at me. Her grin gave me courage.

We filed quietly into the courtroom, and I gave Patrick a kiss before he sat at the table beside his lawyer. It was all I could do to keep from crying. Here we were, a Christian family, sitting on the front row of a courtroom behind our little boy. When I held him in my arms the first time, I never pictured this.

“Where’s Timmy?” Atticus whispered in my ear behind me, forgetting his promise to stay quiet.

I wrote a note on a receipt I found in my purse. “He’s with Reba and Trace. He doesn’t sit still well in quiet rooms.”

“Understood.” Atticus wrote back. “Tell him I said hi.”

I smiled and whispered back, “Will do, Atticus. And, Atticus?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for being here. And thank the biker gals and guys, too.”

“No problem.”

I kept looking behind me thinking that someone from church would walk through the swinging courtroom doors. I didn’t know whether they’d come out of mere curiosity or to support us. I thought at least Norman and Bernice and their group would make an appearance, but they never showed.

It would have been nice to receive the support of church friends. I was thankful Opal came. Lily had to work, and Reba and Trace were watching Daniel and Timmy. But I knew a lot of people whose schedule would have allowed them to come. Maybe they respected our privacy. I don’t know. But I couldn’t help wondering, who pastors the pastor when the pastor’s hurting?

While we waited for the judge to appear, the courtroom continued to fill with men and women neatly dressed. I thought I recognized several faces from the weekend bike rally. It was hard to tell without their biker gear if I knew them or not.

I leaned over and whispered in Aaron’s ear, “Remember, we can’t be late to Daniel’s recital tonight.”

Aaron nodded. “I haven’t forgotten. Who are all these people?” He looked around at a nearly full courtroom.

“I’m not positive, but I think they’re bikers who ride with Atticus. I know a lot of them are.”

“They are,” I heard Atticus whisper behind me.

Unbelievable. Bikers from all over Indiana and beyond filled the chairs in the courtroom.

“All rise,” The bailiff spoke, and we rose and listened as he introduced the judge. A serious looking gray-haired woman entered the courtroom dressed in a flowing black robe and a dainty Irish lace collar. She looked stern, grim, and important.

“Be seated,” the bailiff instructed.

The prosecutor did his lawyer thing and explained the charges, and Patrick’s lawyer called witnesses to explain how Patrick got access to the alcohol. He explained our home life and assured the judge we were attentive, caring parents. I didn’t understand all of the proceedings because my heart pounded loudly in my ears. I couldn’t hear what everyone said and couldn’t remember being this scared at any other time in my life.

“Are all these people here in support of this young man?” The judge looked over her glasses and waved her hand over the courtroom.

“Yes, Your Honor,” Clarence said. “They’re here to support Patrick today and come from as far away as North Carolina.”

“Patrick Donovan, please stand.” She removed her reading glasses and folded her hands.

Patrick stood. The hem of his jacket shook. He looked visibly nervous. I hoped the judge had children and could read how frightened he was. My mother’s heart wanted to shield him from this pain, but another part of me hoped he was learning his lesson before he learned to drive.

“Young man, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen this many people come in support of a youngster when charged with underage drinking as I’ve seen in this courtroom today. You’re a blessed young fellow. Do you realize that?”

“Y-yes, Your Honor.” Patrick’s voice shook.

“You obviously have a loving family here today as well, parents who care about you a great deal. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” His voice broke, and he choked back tears of shame. His sincerity wasn’t lost on the judge.

“I have the authority to fine you, order you to do community service, and place you in the Hancock Boys Home.”

She paused, I think, for effect. She fixed her glasses, looked down at her papers, and shuffled them around. Her pen flew as she scribbled something on a few pages and handed them to the bailiff. He nodded and handed the paper back. The courtroom was quiet and thick with anticipation. I held my breath.

“Patrick Donovan, because of the support I see in this courtroom, and because this is your first offense, I’m going to suspend your ability to obtain a driver’s license until you are eighteen years old. I will waive state custody, community service, and a fine and place you on probation in custody of your parents. I suggest you embrace the support you have behind you and make yourself worthy of the love in your life. Many young men your age have no one and get in less trouble.

“Make no mistake. This is serious business and that’s why I’m convicting you with consequences. If you drink again before you’re twenty-one, I won’t hesitate to place you in state custody and yank your license. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?” She shot him a steely glare over the top of her glasses.

“Yes, Your Honor.” Patrick’s voice sounded young and meek.

The judge removed her glasses and looked right at me. I couldn’t breathe. “Reverend and Mrs. Donovan, I’m releasing him to your custody. He needs to report to the court every month for a drug test until probation is over on his eighteenth birthday. I’m also ordering him into recovery classes for teen alcoholics. If he meets all the conditions of his probation while in your custody, this Class C misdemeanor will be expunged. You should know this is for your benefit because your car insurance will go up an exorbitant amount should he have a record when he begins to drive. If he fails to meet the conditions of his probation, however, I will fine him fifteen hundred dollars and place him in state custody. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Your Honor. Thank you,” Aaron spoke. I tried to speak but nothing came out. Thirty months of drug tests and classes. But he would be home. I could live with that.

“That is all.” The judge banged her gavel. “Court is adjourned.”

The bikers held their emotions in check until we filed through the doors and made it to the hall. Once Patrick’s support team was sure the courtroom stood empty, the guys ripped off their neckties, let out whoops and hollers, and threw them in the air. Top buttons were unbuttoned and jackets removed. I realized then what a sacrifice it was for them to appear all dressed up. This wasn’t their first choice in fashion apparel. They’d rather be in jeans and leathers.

Patrick stood beside Clarence, moping, looking down at the floor.

“You OK, honey?” I gave him a little shoulder hug.

He shrugged. “I feel stupid.”

“Don’t feel stupid, son.” Aaron patted him on the back. “Feel grateful and thankful God loves you enough to let you get caught.”

“Yeah, I guess so. It’s a total drag I don’t get to learn to drive now.”

“But it’s better than jail,” I said. “And it could be a lot worse. You could have hurt someone, mainly yourself. But even in our sin, God protects us.”

“I know,” Patrick said. “We fall down, and He still picks us back up. I know that now.”

“Me, too.” I hugged him. “Me, too.”

“Oh no, what time is it?” Aaron looked at his watch. “It’s four ’o seven.”

I gasped. “Danny’s recital! We’ll be late.”

37

“What time does the recital start?” Aaron and I ran down the courthouse stairs.

“It starts at seven, but he’s supposed to be there by six. C’mon, we’ve got to hurry.” I pulled the sleeve of Aaron’s jacket to get him to rush. We couldn’t mess this up for Daniel. He was playing a solo concerto tonight, and his teacher said she had a surprise announcement for him.

“That’s two whole hours from now. Kirstie, calm down.” Aaron slowed to a walk and pulled my arm. I removed my arm from his hand and kept jogging.

“By the time we get back to the house, listen to Danny practice, and get the boys ready and fed, it’ll be late. We need to get going.”

Aaron stopped. “I’d planned to visit Sister Burgess in the hospital while we’re here in Wabash.” He looked at his watch. He had no sense of time.

“There isn’t time, Aaron. Please.” I turned and saw everyone had followed us out to the parking lot.

“I’ll take you home,” Atticus said. “I caged it today.” When you didn’t ride a motorcycle, you rode a cage—a vehicle on four wheels.

“Are you sure?” I looked at Opal and back at him.

“Doesn’t Opal live in Eel Falls? Yes, I’m sure.” He laughed again.

Opal nodded. “Lily dropped me off on her way to work. Atticus is taking me home. Can we come to the recital? We’d love to hear Danny play.” Opal loved music.

With all the stress of Patrick’s court hearing, I hadn’t even thought of inviting anyone. “Of course,” I said. “You’re always welcome.”

“Where’s this shindig?” Atticus waved Aaron to the van and steered me to his car.

“The Peabody Center. In the first meeting room on the left.” I waved good-bye to Aaron and let Atticus push me into the backseat of his pickup truck.

“We’ll be there.” He buckled my seatbelt as if I were a little child, stood, and cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Hey, everybody, if you wanna go hear Daniel play the fiddle follow me.”

Atticus and Opal dropped Patrick and me off at the house where I fixed a quick supper, got the boys dressed, and managed to push them out the door and into the backseat of Atticus’s truck by 5:45 PM. We were only fifteen minutes from the Peabody Center.

“Atticus, thank you. I tried to call Aaron on his cell, but there’s no answer.” I crawled into the front of the cab beside him. Opal wasn’t in the truck. “Where’s Opal?”

Atticus shrugged. “She had something she had to do real quick. She’s gonna get there as soon as she can.”

Patrick went willingly to Daniel’s recital this time. I couldn’t tell if he was tired or a little bit humbled after today’s events. I listened to the boys talking in the backseat.

“Break a leg, Daniel,” Patrick encouraged his brother.

“Leg, Daniel,” Timmy echoed.

“Thanks. Do you have to go to jail, Patrick?”

I hadn’t even had time to talk to Daniel about what happened today. I didn’t know what Daniel knew about the court hearing. I assumed Patrick had told him something about it.

“Nah,” Patrick said. “They went easy on me. I still have to do some stuff, but they don’t have to worry about me getting in trouble again. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Well, if you did have to go to jail, I would visit you.”

Patrick rested his arm on Daniel’s shoulders. “Thanks, bro.”

“Thanks, bro.” Timmy flicked his fingers in front of his eyes.

After we arrived, I got Timmy and Patrick situated in a seat toward the back of the room in case Aaron was late. Since we had such a long wait before the recital started, I’d brought the portable DVD player loaded with hours of Cops episodes for Timmy. He rocked and giggled and watched his favorite show. I’d give him his iPod for the recital since violin music sent him into a meltdown. I didn’t want him breaking into the Cops theme song in the middle of the concert.

I settled into my chair to read the program as the room filled with parents and family members. A number of the bikers who’d been in court earlier in the day arrived and took seats near Atticus and me. I was too tired to mingle and talk but did whisper prayers of thanks for my new friends.

I turned off my cell phone ringer and called Lily to invite her to come, but she didn’t answer. Opal hadn’t arrived yet, either. No one from church was in the audience when the concert began. Not even Aaron.

The recital’s first performers, three-to-five-year olds in the beginning strings class, walked to the front and performed with the sweetness of a cotton candy stand. Briefly, I wondered what it might be like to dress a little girl in fluffy, cloud-like dresses and silky ribbons and bows. But I wasn’t sorry I had boys. I’d always wanted boys and was glad God had blessed me with them.

An hour into the recital, Daniel stepped up to play as Mrs. Lyang’s star student. He scanned the audience looking for Aaron.

Atticus gave him a thumbs up, and Daniel smiled.

I turned on my cell phone video camera to record for Aaron and sat mesmerized as my son played Mozart: Violin Concerto No. 4 in D Major.

His bow lovingly caressed the strings with precise and measured strokes. His vibrato, mature for a youngster, sang like a gentle brook in a quiet forest. I couldn’t take my eyes off the long nimble fingers that danced along the strings in perfect time.

He played with his eyes closed, cradling the violin under his chin, his face mirroring the phrasing of the music. At times his eyes opened and he smiled, completely in his element both as a musician and a performer. I hardly recognized the little boy who loved collecting bugs and catching bullfrogs in the pond. He stood on stage completely autonomous—an entity wholly apart from myself—utterly frail yet unquestionably strong. He immersed himself fully in the music, used his violin to speak to each one of us in the audience individually.

Tears came to my eyes. I ached in its beauty. Even his teacher was moved as she accompanied him on the piano. It seemed Daniel sensed exactly what Mozart felt when he wrote the concerto.

He played flawlessly. At the end of his performance, his teacher awarded him as Student of the Year. Out of all her students, she chose him to play in the youth symphony in Indianapolis. He would audition for his chair position in two weeks and had a lot of practice ahead of him.

“Do you really enjoy playing the violin, Daniel, or do you play because you think it pleases me?” I’d asked him a few weeks ago when he was frustrated with a section of his concerto.

“You know how you feel when you ride your motorcycle?” He rosined his bow and didn’t look up.

“Oh yeah, free and wild and happy.”

“That’s how I feel when I play my violin.” Without a beat, he returned to his practice.

I never asked him again what his motives were. God made Daniel to play music. The violin was as much a part of him as the left arm that held the instrument close to his heart.

After the recital, Mrs. Lyang drew me aside. “Danny is truly gifted.” Her Japanese lilt softened her voice. “I am honored to be his teacher. He has perfect pitch and most excellent technique. I see this talent two times in my teaching career. It pleases me how hard he practices. He will be professional violinist.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Lyang. You are an excellent teacher.”

She bowed.

We left with Atticus and walked to the parking lot. Opal hadn’t shown up for the recital, and I didn’t know what to say.

We all piled into Atticus’s truck.

I was exhausted, but I tried to sound cheerful for Daniel’s sake. “I’m sure Daddy and Opal had good reasons why they were unable to come. But did you see how many people were there for you? Isn’t that wonderful?”

No answer came from the backseat. There was a sense in all of us that something was wrong.

I kept chattering. “Danny, did I ever tell you that your great-great-grandpa was a fiddle player? He traveled all over the place playing for barn dances back in the 20s.”

“I know, Mom. You tell me that at least once a day.”

Atticus started to sing “Turkey in the Straw,” and I joined in. My nerves were pretty much frazzled, but I gave it a good try.

When we pulled onto our street in Eel Falls, we saw the church parking lot full of cars.

What was going on?

My stomach tied in those familiar knots again. I knew now why Opal and Aaron weren’t at the recital.

“Why are all those cars at church, Mom?” Patrick asked.

“I’m not sure.”

One thing I was definitely sure of: it couldn’t be good.

38

After Atticus dropped us off, I popped popcorn and let the boys play before I called Aaron on his cell.

“What’s going on?” I tried not to sound panicked.

Aaron blew air into the phone. “On my way to the recital, I stopped at the church to check my messages and caught a secret meeting.”

“Don’t tell me. Norman and Bernice.” I plopped onto the couch and rolled my eyes.

“Yes, but I foiled their plot to lock me out of the church. It’s a mess up here.” He sounded annoyed.

“Do you want me to come up?” I didn’t know what I could do other than hold his hand. Or say things I shouldn’t.

“No, don’t. I don’t think you need to be up here at all. Stay put and attend to the kids.”

“OK, if you’re sure. I need to put Timmy to bed anyway. I’m letting Daniel stay up late and watch television with Patrick. Daniel was amazing tonight, Aaron. You would have been proud of him.”

“I am proud of him. And I’m angry I missed his recital because of this.” Aaron sighed into the phone. “Try not to worry about stuff up here. Timmy and the boys come first. I’ll tell you all about it when I get home.”

I rested my arm over my eyes. My whole body ached. “Are Opal and Lily there?”

“They were at first, but I asked them to go home and pray. You can call them if you want.”

I called them immediately, and by the time I had Timmy in bed, they arrived at my front door. I took the boys upstairs with popcorn and a rare treat of soda to watch the movie.

“Is Dad OK?” Patrick looked scared. His nervousness was probably my fault. In my exhaustion, I wasn’t hiding my concern very well.

“He’s fine. Don’t worry. God’s in control.” I kissed the boys and went back downstairs. I knew they wouldn’t sleep until their dad got home. We’d been through difficult late meetings before, and the boys knew they ended with consequences.

The knot in my stomach wasn’t getting any looser. I knew precisely why I was tethered tighter than a ship’s anchor.

If my husband lost his job, we lost our lifestyle. We would have to relocate, and I really liked life in Eel Falls. Patrick had friends, Daniel had his violin teacher, and Timmy had Reba and the hardware store. To relocate would be traumatic for the boys.

Had we misread God’s will when we came here believing that this was where God would plant us for many years? Had we misunderstood His promise to us that this church would be our home church where we would raise our children and grow old together?

“I’m so glad you’re here,” I whispered to Lily and Opal at my kitchen breakfast bar. I made each of us a glass of iced tea. “I can only imagine what must be going on up there.”

“I know a little bit of it.” Lily stared into her glass.

“How?” My heart felt like it would beat right out of my chest.

“I got invited to the meeting. They were going through Aaron’s resume and calling the churches he’d worked at before trying to dig up some dirt on him.”

“What?” I was stunned. “Why would people want to do that? Aaron has done nothing wrong.”

“They would do that, Kirstie, because certain folks can’t control Aaron, and this is one way of controlling him,” Opal said. “I’ve been down this road before. It happens with every preacher we get. We grow attached to him, we grow to love him, and the Bernice and Norman team do everything they can to run him out of town.”

“But what’s he doing that’s so horrible that he needs controlling?” I didn’t get it.

“The expansion plan for one thing,” Lily said. “Bernice and Norman are dead-set against it.”

“But why? I don’t understand why.” I set my tea down and looked out the window above my sink. It was dark outside, and all I could see was my concerned expression in the reflection of the black glass. I looked old.

“They don’t need a reason, Kirstie. With Norman and Bernice, it’s always about control. They’re scared they’re losing control of the congregation because Aaron won the hearts of a lot of parishioners.” Lily sighed. “It’s always been this way.”

“But it doesn’t have to remain the same.” Opal took a swig of her tea and slammed the glass on the counter. “If Aaron can hang in there and stand up to these people, he’ll be fine. It’s what they need. The stranglehold Norman and Bernice have on this little church needs to be broken. And I believe Aaron is the man for the job, Kirstie. And instead of talking and complaining about it, we need to pray about it.”

I nodded. I didn’t want to pray. I didn’t feel like praying. I didn’t even feel like being nice. I was beyond tired. But I knew nothing would stop the darkness the way prayer would. We knelt in front of the couch and called on God.

“Lord, please provide Aaron with the right words. Grant him wisdom. Don’t let the devil win this round,” I whispered as Lily and Opal prayed for their pastor, too. We prayed for him to be strong, for people to hear from God.

“And let us not have to move.” Patrick’s voice choked with tears.

I opened my eyes and saw Daniel and Patrick kneeling at their father’s chair, their arms around one another, praying. The sight of my boys standing in the gap for their dad in prayer was more than my body could take. I collapsed on the floor in tears.

“It’s OK, Mom.” Daniel pulled my face toward his so I would look at him. “I know God will make a way. It’ll be OK.”

“Yeah, Mom.” Patrick sobbed. “If God could have mercy on me today in court, He can help Dad right now, too.”

I hugged them both. “Thank you, boys, for reminding me where my help comes from.”

We prayed a little longer, and afterwards we got out the ice cream for the boys. There was no way they would go to sleep until their father was safely home with a good report. It was already 1:00 AM. How much longer could a group of people tar and feather a pastor?

We played dominos and watched the television until finally, at 3:14 AM, Aaron walked into the door.

Smiling.

“Dad!” The boys ran into his arms.

Aaron’s face lit up, and he smiled as he took them in his arms. He fluffed their hair.

“What are you fellas doing up? Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“Do we have to move, Dad?” Daniel asked.

“Why would we have to move?” Aaron looked at me.

“They didn’t kick you out?” Patrick wouldn’t let go.

“No, son, they didn’t kick me out. We aren’t going anywhere. We’re staying put. Our feet are firmly planted, and we will not be moved.”

The boys cheered, and we all clapped. I felt like a wrung out pair of panty hose hanging on a clothesline in the rain.

“What happened, Pastor?” Opal made a pot of coffee.

Lily started making a sandwich.

Aaron removed his shoes. “I found out they called all our former churches trying to find out if there were any rumors or negative secrets about us.”

“Did they find any?” Daniel got out the corn chips and arranged them on a plate next to the sandwich.

“Apparently not. Most of the pastors wouldn’t talk to them, except for one.”

“Who?” I got out the pickles.

“Pastor Lever. He told them they were out of order and that if they had any questions to talk to us. But then, they got hold of Louisa at the church in Arkansas.”

“And?”

“She told them about our overdraft problem.”

I spilled the pickles. “But that wasn’t our fault. Our account was hacked.”

“I know, but according to Bernice we’re guilty of check fraud.”

“That woman.” I clenched my fist.

Opal cleaned up the pickles.

Aaron sat down at the table, and we gathered around to hear what he would say. “I sat and listened to the nonsense for a while. I wanted to figure out what frightened them. But around one o’clock or so, God gave me wisdom and the words to say.”

“What did you say, Pastor?” Lily looked at her watch. We’d finished praying at 1:00 AM.

“People were at each other’s throats, and I could see permanent harm was being done to relationships. Out of nowhere, God gave me the words. I walked to the head of the table, and I said, ‘You think I have skeletons in my closet, because you have skeletons in yours. You think I have buried secrets, because you yourselves have buried shameful secrets. You point the blame at me in order to keep the attention off yourselves.’”

“What happened?” Opal sat riveted, munching on pickles.

“Norman, Bernice, and Elder Cobb, they turned white as sheets. They didn’t say anything. Then God gave me more words. I said, ‘In the same way you’ve tried to expose unfounded secrets about me, God will expose your secrets.’”

“Then what happened?” I ate a chip off of Aaron’s plate.

“This is why I know it was supernatural. When I finished talking, the room got quiet and people got up and left.” Aaron took a bite of his sandwich.

“Everybody?” Opal poured herself another glass of iced tea.

Aaron swallowed. “Almost everybody. They wouldn’t look at me. They just sort of trickled out of the room and went home.”

“Who stayed?” I went to the fridge and pulled out left over potato salad and plopped a big pile on Aaron’s plate.

Lily got him a fork.

“Norman, Bernice and Elder Cobb. Since I was alone with them, I thought it was a good time to bring up the closet incident. There’s something in that storage closet they’re afraid of.” Aaron took another bite of sandwich and washed it down with tea.

“How do you know?” Opal went to the fridge, pulled out leftover fish sticks, and ate them cold.

“Because I told them that I knew they’d been doing something in the storage closet. I told them that even though they thought no one knew about it, they were wrong. They looked extremely uncomfortable. I told them God knew what they were up to, that I knew about the rifle and shovel, and nothing hid in secret would remain in the darkness. It would be brought out into the light. They had no way of knowing you were the one, Kirstie, who revealed it to me. I’m sure they think God did, which in a way, is true.”

“Then what happened?” I ate potato salad straight from the bowl with a spoon.

“I left. I drove up into the cemetery and turned off my headlights so I could see how long they would stay. Within a few minutes after I left, they left, too.”

“What on earth do you think is in that closet?” Lily opened a tub of ranch veggie dip and looked for the carrots in the fridge.

“I don’t know,” Aaron said. “But the Lord told me we’re about to find out.”

39

That Friday, I rode with the Lady Eels to Indianapolis to shake off the drama of the past week. We needed shopping therapy. After a day at the mall, we decided to stop at a Harley Davidson dealership on our way home before they closed.

As we headed out of the mall parking lot Reba hollered, “I have a hankerin’ for a new shirt and maybe even a jacket.”

The showroom overflowed with beautiful motorcycles and gear. It was difficult to know where to look first. I finally decided to start with a shirt rack.

“Oh no.” Lily ducked behind me. “Don’t move.”

“Why?” I stood in front of her and didn’t budge.

“It’s my sister-in-law. I haven’t seen her in twenty years. She hates me. I can’t let her see me. Stand still.”

“But, Lily…” I scanned the clothing racks and saw a rough looking woman wearing a motorcycle gang jacket I didn’t recognize. “Don’t you think twenty years is an awfully long time to be estranged from your husband’s brother?”

“We’re not estranged from him, just her. I’m serious, Kirstie. If she sees me, she’ll probably hurt me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I resumed looking through the racks with Lily hiding right behind me.

Reba stood nearby and heard our conversation. “She’s probably right. Look at the colors she’s wearing. She’s riding with the Malevolents. That’s a pretty tough gang. Steer clear.”

“What are we supposed to do?” I froze when the woman looked my way. I didn’t know whether to smile or look tough.

“Just avoid eye contact,” Reba said.

“Too late for that,” I spoke without moving my lips.

Reba stood beside me and pretended to look at pink halter-tops with Harley Davidson written in sequins across the chest. “Just act normal. We have every right to be here, too. Don’t act scared or strange around them.”

“Tell her that.” I jerked my head toward Lily, who still ducked behind me. Opal went to the other side of the store to look at the jackets hung along the back wall.

“Let’s go look at jackets with Opal while they’re over there in the bike parts.” Reba grabbed my arm, and I followed with Lily hanging onto me like a parasite.

I’m not known for my stealth, but it’s doubly hard to slink across a room with someone hanging on to your belt loop, holding a sack over her head. I took a few steps toward the jackets keeping my eyes on the women who were with Lily’s sister-in-law and bumped into a Harley Davidson Instant Coffee kiosk. I knocked the display onto the floor. Dozens of packets of instant coffee slid across the floor.

The entire store turned to look.

Lily scampered off and slid underneath a circular rack of rain jackets.

At least I provided some distraction for her getaway. I righted the kiosk as employees scurried to help me. We got the kiosk all back together when—I did it again.

I decided at this point I would just walk away backward and let the employees handle it.

But I couldn’t find the Lady Eels. The Malevolents were staring at me. I smiled, waved, and backed toward the jacket section where I couldn’t be seen. I stood staring at a pink jacket hanging against the wall amidst other gorgeous ones wishing I could fit into a size six when I heard someone speak to me.

“Pretty, ain’t it?” I heard a low raspy voice whisper.

“Uh, yeah, it is. I love it.” I tried to sound cheerful. I didn’t dare turn around and make eye contact. “Too small for me though, I think I’m in the wrong section.”

“No, you’re in the right section.” Another voice. An arm reached out from behind the pink jacket and pulled me inside the display.

“What on earth…?”

“Shhh, don’t move and don’t say anything.”

Reba.

“Good gravy, Reba, you scared me.”

“Better me than a Malevolent,” Reba whispered.

I looked down the side of the wall to find Lily and Opal sitting on their haunches waving at me.

“Smooth move over there by the coffee,” Reba said. “I think my name for you from now on is gonna be Dancer. You’re incredibly graceful. The whole store was staring at you.”

“I know that. Thanks for sticking around and helping me.”

“Shhh,” Lily said. “Here she comes.”

“This is ridiculous,” I whispered. “Nothing’s going to happen to us. This is a public store, for goodness sakes.”

“Shhhhhhh. Be quiet.” Reba clasped her hand over my mouth.

I wiggled free. “You sound like a stabbed tire.” I wanted the last word.

I was about to say something more, but a group of boots walked toward us, so I thought better of it. The burrito I’d eaten at El Mesquite was taking its toll on my innards. I needed relief in the worst way.

“Pink, huh.” The boots walking toward us had voices. “Next thing you know, they’ll be selling pink boots, too.”

I gave a thumbs up to Reba on that point. Everyone scowled at me. Personally, I wasn’t scared and was feeling pretty silly hiding. The dealership was huge, but we’d managed to be cornered. It was so like us.

We’re not lady eels, we’re lady heels.

My stomach gurgled.

Oh no.

Burrito.

“I need to fluff,” I whispered to Reba. “I’m dying here.”

“Don’t you dare,” Reba spoke through clenched teeth.

Lily and Opal looked at me with lasers.

“What? You know what I ate for lunch. Don’t tell me you never have gas.”

“Shhh.” Reba glared at me.

“What did you say?” A Malevolent’s boots turned toward another set of clompers. “Did you shush me?”

“No,” the clompers said. “It wasn’t me.”

“Wasn’t me either,” another set said. “Hey, look at this jacket here. Pink sequins? Lame, man.”

How long could they stand there criticizing jackets? Didn’t they have somewhere to go—something to pillage?

Oh. That. Burrito. I was going to explode. I groaned. “I’ve got to get to a bathroom. And I don’t care who sees me. I’m gonna die whether I stay in here or whether the Malevolents see me,” I whispered in Reba’s ear.

“Just wait until they go around the corner, and we’ll all go together. The bathroom is right down that hall there past the gloves.”

I waited as long as I could possibly wait and right before the last Malevolent rounded the corner to the next section of clothing, I scooted out of the jackets, down the hall, and into the bathroom faster than a biker running from the law.

What. A. Relief.

“Ewwww.” Lily held her nose and waved a hand in front of her face. “Man, Kirstie, that’s not ladylike at all.”

“Like I don’t know that? Try being the one in the throes of it.”

We kept our voices low and didn’t turn on the lights. A small window of glass bricks let in a little bit of daylight. The door opened, and I assumed someone peeked into the bathroom and left. We couldn’t see who it was because we hid in the stalls. I stood alone, Reba was in the stall next to mine, and Lily and Opal shared the third one down.

We stayed hidden for a long time before we thought it might be safe to come out.

“You know we’re cooked if a Malevolent has to go to the bathroom.” I thought hiding was silly and left my stall.

“Hopefully they didn’t eat Mexican before they came.” Lily giggled.

I adjusted my doo-rag in the mirror. “I have to tell you, ladies, I’m feeling a little guilty running from them instead of trying to get to know them and minister to them or something.”

“They’re probably gone by now.” Lily walked out of the stall. Reba and Opal emerged, and we all leaned against the wall.

“I’m sorry, Kirstie, but I’m just not in the frame of mind to deal with that woman. Especially with Milo being sick.”

“No problem, Lily. What are friends for if not to hide behind jackets and endure Kirstie’s fluffing. Friends stick together no matter what.” Opal patted her on the back.

Everyone giggled.

We peeked out the door and made our way down the hall.

“That’s strange,” I said. “The lighting in here is different now.”

“Oh, no.” Reba gasped.

“What?”

“They’re closed.”

We ran to the front of the store and tried the doors. They didn’t budge. The store was closed, and we were locked in. Our bikes sat in the parking lot alone and vulnerable.

“What do we do?” I couldn’t believe this.

“We call someone. The police.” Opal ran for the phone on the front counter.

“No, not the police!” I cried. “If you call the police, they might arrest us, and I don’t need that. We’re already having enough trouble at the church.”

“Why didn’t they realize someone was still here when our bikes were sitting out there?”

“Maybe they thought we caged it with somebody somewhere,” Reba said.

“I’m going to have to call Aaron. He isn’t going to like this. What about Atticus? Opal, he knows everybody. Does he know the owners?”

“I don’t think so,” Opal said. “And look.” She handed me a flyer. So this was why the store closed early. A bike rally in Bloomington.

“Looks like we’re spending the night.” Reba moaned.

“Oh, no,” Lily and Opal whimpered in concert.

“Look on the bright side,” I said.

“What bright side?” Reba growled.

“At least we know where the coffee is.”

40

The next morning we hid in the dealership’s bathroom again as the employees arrived. When the store was up and running and customers filled the showroom floor, we ventured out and mixed in with the crowd. The night before we left money on the counter to pay for the coffee, snacks, and packs of cards we’d “borrowed.” If there was a surveillance camera, we didn’t see one. But, since we’d left the money, we were hopeful they would have a good laugh and not come looking for us.

I never want to sleep on a concrete floor again as long as I live.

We looked like twice-baked death when we rolled into home the next day.

Aaron laughed, which I didn’t mind. It was better than being angry.

“I’m beginning to get used to your antics. You’ve given me a lot of sermon material since you began riding that bike of yours.”

“Ha ha, very funny.” I gave him a playful punch and laid my head on his chest as he wrapped me in his arms. I sighed. “I’m taking a long, hot bath. I don’t care if the house is coming down around my ears, and Timmy’s painting the dog purple.”

“Timmy’s playing happily in the sprinkler with the dog until I can get out there to swim with them.” Aaron kissed my forehead.

“Where are Daniel and Patrick?”

“Daniel’s with his violin teacher for the afternoon, and Patrick”—Aaron grinned ear to ear—“is at work at his new job.”

“He got a job?” I was pleased and shocked.

“Yep. He’s working at the Delmuth farm in the chicken houses.”

“Our Patrick? In a chicken house? Are you sure that’s our Patrick?”

“I’m sure. He wants a car.”

“Oh, Aaron, that’s wonderful news. But if you see him before he comes in the house, tell him to take his clothes off at the backdoor—I don’t want that smell in my house.”

Aaron laughed. “I’ll tell him. Hurry and take your bath, and I’ll order Chinese and rent a good movie. How does that sound?”

“Delicious. Get a movie Timmy will like.”

“I think there’s a new crime drama. I’ll check it out.” Aaron walked toward the backyard, and I headed to my bathroom upstairs.

Settling into a big tub of steaming bubbles was another one of my ideas of heaven on earth. Bubble baths are most delicious after a long day’s work, a ride on a motorcycle, or any kind of stress. I’m terribly serious about my bubble bath.

I always light at least one candle. But today I got out all the candles I could find, lit them around the bathroom and turned off all the lights except the one over the mirror. I needed that one for reading. I opened a favorite playlist on my phone, chose some soothing piano music, and plugged it into the portable speakers.

With classical music wafting into the room, I started the bath and poured in my favorite foaming bubbles from the cherry blossoms bottle. While the water ran, I washed my face, used a scrub, and ended with a delicious fruit-scented green tea mask. The cool ointment smelled like fruity cereal, but I loved the way it made my skin feel.

I crawled into the tub and allowed myself to sink in slowly. I sat with my eyes closed and let the music, the sound of the water, and the steam lull me to a pure state of relaxation. I reached for my novel on the edge of the tub and let myself get lost in its pages. Between the music and the water, I couldn’t hear anything going on outside the bathroom door. I was in a state of delicious bliss.

Not long into my journey to paradise my phone rang. Rats. Why did I bring it into the bathroom with me? Banishment of the phone should be the first cardinal rule when taking a bubble bath.

Reluctantly I crawled out of my soothing cocoon of bubbles and reached for my phone. I looked at the caller I.D. Lily.

“Hello?”

“Kirstie, it’s Milo. He fell outside. No one knew it, and who knows how long he laid there.”

Lily didn’t sound right.

“Lily? Are you OK? Is someone with you?” I grabbed a towel and pulled the plug on my bath.

“No, I mean, yes, I’m OK, no, no one is with me.” Her voice cracked.

“Where are you? Where’s Milo?” I used a demanding tone.

“I’m…I’m…I’m at the house waiting for an ambulance. I don’t, I don’t know where they will take him. I don’t know if…he’s so cold.”

“Lily, I’m on my way.”

I hung up and called Aaron. He brought Timmy in from the pool and immediately made arrangements for Trace to take care of the boys—Timmy for now and the others when they got home.

We both got dressed as fast as we could.

Trace came by until Reba could get there.

Aaron and Trace’s voices carried upstairs.

“Thanks for coming by, Trace. I hope you didn’t have to close the store. You and Reba seem to be the only ones we can call for Timmy on a moment’s notice.”

“No problem. My buddy Cooper’s got it covered at the store.”

I’d just finished blow drying my hair and was on my way downstairs when Timmy, still in his wet bathing suit, ran to Trace, and gave him an enthusiastic embrace. Unusual for him.

Aaron pulled Timmy away. “I’m sorry I didn’t have time to change him yet.”

“No problem, we can handle that. You guys get going. Hey, Timmy, how about tacos for supper tonight?”

“Taco? No Taco. Burrito.” Timmy spun around the room.

“Did she say if he was breathing?” Aaron asked as he came back up the stairs.

“She said he was cold. She didn’t say anything about him breathing.” I couldn’t find my shoes. Timmy must have been playing in my closet again. Flip-flops would have to do.

We left Trace with instructions and jumped in the van.

Aaron peeled backward out of the driveway.

“Poor Lily.” I looked out my window and watched farmland fly by.

Neither of us talked. Both of us whispered prayers.

By the time we got there, paramedics already had Milo in the ambulance.

Lily looked alone and tiny standing in front of the big farmhouse. Her dogs sat beside her, panting softly. In fact, the entire farm seemed eerily still.

“Oh, Lil, I’m so sorry,” I whispered as I gathered her in my arms.

“Kirstie, he’s gone. My sweetheart is gone. And I wasn’t there to say good-bye. If I’d been there, I wouldn’t have let him fall. I should have been there.” She sobbed into my shoulder, releasing painful wails of pent-up agony saved from the first diagnosis of Milo’s disease.

I held her and kept her from falling to the ground. “Lily, you know that’s not true. You can’t be everywhere at once. Go ahead and cry. There’s healing in tears. That’s it...”

Aaron stood uncomfortably to the side, tears streaming down his face. He was going to miss his old friend. And now, he needed to pull himself together to do the funeral for him. My heart ached for my sensitive husband. He dearly loved Milo.

Once I got Lily in the house, she was able to tell me what happened.

“I got home, and I thought he was asleep in his bed as he usually is at this time. I swear, I thought I checked on him. I guess I didn’t before I went out to feed the animals and work in the garden.” She removed her glasses and wiped her eyes with the tissue I handed her. “Time got away from me. I have no idea how long he’d been laying out there in the front yard. He was ice cold, Kirstie, ice cold.”

“Wasn’t someone here while you were gone?”

Had someone left Milo all alone?

“They were supposed to be. I never dreamed he’d be left alone, or I wouldn’t have gone on that trip with the Lady Eels to Indy.”

“Lily, this isn’t your fault. Please don’t blame yourself.” Aaron hugged her and let her cry some more.

We made a phone call to hospice and Milo’s private nurse but discovered that no one had missed a shift. Lily was even more devastated.

“That means he fell on my watch, Kirstie. He walked outside and fell on my watch.”

I prayed for the right words to say. And God gave me words. “When Milo fell, Lily, Who was with him?”

“No one. No one was there.”

“Yes. Someone was there. Someone Who always had Milo in His wonderful hands.” I lifted Lily’s chin to make her look at me. “God stayed with Milo. He never left him because he had Alzheimer’s. If anything, He hovered ever nearer.”

“Thanks, Kirstie. I know this in my head. But my heart will take a while to catch up.”

“Oh, honey.” I hugged her near again. “I know. I know.”

I made Lily some tea and helped her stay busy straightening up an already clean house until relatives arrived. Once we knew she was surrounded with love and comfort, Aaron and I said our good-byes and headed home to the boys.

“Sometimes this is so hard,” Aaron said. “But at least I know that Milo is now in his right mind and enjoying life again.”

I nodded. Aaron’s words broke down the walls I’d kept up for Lily’s sake. God always gave me grace for the moment and allowed me to fall apart later. I knew being strong for others in a crisis had to be His grace because the real me wouldn’t be able to keep it together.

By the time we got back it was getting dark outside. We picked up our favorite Chinese food and a movie. It would be hard to enjoy ourselves or sleep tonight. As we turned the corner to our street, we noticed a beautiful glow in the trees a few blocks away.

“I wonder what that is?” Aaron mumbled.

“Is something going on at the church tonight?” I squinted through the car window but couldn’t see any better.

“Not that I know of.” Aaron sighed and flipped on his turn signal. “Better go by and see what’s going on.”

We drove past our house and up the hill to the church. As we neared, both of us gasped at the scene before us.

The church was an inferno.

“Call 9-1-1,” Aaron said.

41

Aaron and I jumped out of the car. I heard Goliath barking and turned to see him and Patrick running up the hill away from the house.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was walking Goliath, and he kept pulling me up here. What happened?” Patrick tried to stop the monster dog, but he kept lunging up the hill.

“I don’t know. Go back to the house. You shouldn’t be here. It’s too dangerous.”

We could hear the sirens from the fire trucks and volunteer firefighters’ personal vehicles wailing as they neared the church.

“Take him home, Patrick, now,” I yelled, but Goliath kept pulling him toward us.

“He won’t come, Mom!”

I ran down the hill to meet them and tried to pull Goliath toward home. He barked and charged toward the church building. Before I knew it, he yanked the leash out of my hand and bounded away.

“Goliath! No!” I yelled.

Beautiful Goliath, with his muscular shoulders, bolted fearlessly toward the church and disappeared into the smoke and flames.

Patrick cried.

“Aaron! Goliath went inside!” I yelled as loud as my lungs would allow.

But Aaron couldn’t hear me. Fire trucks and police cars arrived with sirens and horns blaring. A small crowd formed, people shouted, and police officers tried to push the crowd back. Two of the lawmen questioned Aaron.

I tried to comfort Patrick and send him home, but he wouldn’t leave without Goliath. I made him stay with me beside the van, but he wanted to go in after his beloved friend.

“Mom, I gotta find him. What if he’s hurt, and he can’t get out?”

Patrick tore from my grasp and ran into the smoke.

Aaron and a rescuer ran after him. The rescuer pushed Aaron back.

“Stay here.” It was Deacon Jeff, one of the volunteer firefighters.

“But my son just went in there!” Aaron yelled and fought against Jeff’s stronghold. Another rescuer ran into the smoke, and another came to help Jeff hold my husband back.

I stood in the street frozen, watching the entire scene, not knowing for sure what to do.

“Patrick!” Aaron yelled. “Patrick! I gotta go get him!”

“Listen to me, Pastor Aaron,” Jeff spoke in a stern voice I’d never heard before. “I let you do your job. Now let me do mine. If you go in there after your son, you might get hurt, and instead of rescuing one person, I’ll have to rescue two. I’m trained to do this. Let me do it.”

Aaron jerked away and walked back toward the street.

I reached for him, but he walked away to pace a little further down the road.

I realized how this must be affecting him. First Milo, then his church—now his son.

What seemed like hours later, but was probably only minutes, Deacon Jeff and a sobbing Patrick came out of the darkness. Aaron threw his arms around him.

I still stood frozen in the street. They walked toward me, and the paramedics insisted we go to the ambulance to give Patrick some oxygen.

“Mom, I’m scared. I don’t want Goliath to die. It’s so dark in there. You can’t see anything. There’s so much smoke. I crawled on the floor, but I couldn’t find him.” Patrick cried and tears fell onto his mask.

Why would that fool dog run into a fire? Wasn’t that the opposite of an animal’s instinct?

“Let’s pray for him right now, Patrick, OK?” I didn’t know what else to do or say.

Aaron seemed to be lost, too.

Patrick nodded, and I prayed. “God, protect Goliath. Please don’t let him get hurt. Let him come back to us safe. Amen.”

“Amen.” Patrick sniffed. “Do you think God will really take care of him?”

“Does God hear and answer our prayers?”

“Yeah. He made dogs, too, so he likes dogs, right?”

“Absolutely, Patrick. Absolutely.” I never realized until now how attached Patrick was to Goliath. He complained so much about walking and feeding him. I needed to remember that Patrick was a teenager and not easy to read anymore. The way he sat sniffling behind the oxygen mask reminded me of when he was a little boy.

I heard a bark.

Goliath emerged, walked a few paces, yelped, and went back into the smoke.

Patrick and I yelled his name at the same time.

The paramedic had to hold Patrick back.

Goliath wouldn’t come. And then he came trotting out, woofing gently, as if…as if he was guiding someone with his voice.

Two figures covered in black soot crawled on their hands and knees out of the smoke behind the dog. Goliath got behind them, nudging them forward with his giant head.

Rescue workers carrying portable oxygen tanks rushed to them.

“Is that who I think it is?” I asked Aaron, who hovered near us, watching our church burn.

“I think it’s who we think it is—what have those two done now?”

The two figures sat on the bumpers of two different rescue vehicles. If circumstances weren’t so tragic, and it hadn’t been such a horrible day already, I might have giggled at what I saw before me.

Bernice Maguire, usually coifed to perfection, sat covered head to toe in a film of black, her hair askew and nothing but the whites of her eyes showing. She looked at me sideways and pretended not to see me while she scrapped with the paramedic about something. Opposite her on the bumper of another ambulance sat her husband, Norman.

Aaron and I walked over to the two victims.

“Do you know these people?” an officer asked.

“Yes.” Aaron nodded. “I do.”

“Are they members of your church?”

“Yes, they are.”

Bernice began to scream.

Goliath had gotten away from Patrick and was licking the soot off her hands and legs.

“Get that dog away from me!”

“He’s not trying to hurt you. He’s trying to help you.” Aaron tried to calm her down, but she glared at him.

Norman lifted his oxygen mask and shouted, “Bernice, if it weren’t for that dog, we might be dead. He’s the one that dragged us out of the closet to the door.” He snapped the oxygen mask back on his face.

“Where’s Mason?” Bernice took her mask off and pushed the paramedic away.

Goliath ran back into the fire.

“Goliath! Come back!” Patrick lunged, but Aaron stopped him.

“My baby’s in there! My baby! My precious baby!” Bernice screamed in anguish.

“Your baby?” One of the rescuers came running. “How old is your baby, and where is it?” He got on his radio to inform the rescue team that a baby was in the building.

“It’s a dog,” I said to the fire chief who’d come running. “She’s talking about a little pug dog.”

Goliath barked. A few seconds later, we heard him again, baying his heart out.

A rescue worker ran into the darkness that was once our church and after a moment of anxious waiting, three creatures emerged from the smoke: the rescue worker and Goliath, carrying a limp pug dog by the collar.

Goliath ran to Bernice and dropped a confused, wheezing Mason on her lap.

The rescue team placed an oxygen mask on his little pug nose and took him from Bernice to treat him. They tried to treat Goliath, but he just slobbered all over them.

“Nothing wrong with this guy,” the rescuer said. “I tried to get him to give up that pug but he refused. I didn’t want to argue with him. If you ask me, he’s a hero.”

Mason looked pitiful lying on the ground with an oxygen mask over his face, but the rescuers assured us he was breathing easier.

Bernice wailed and was unable to answer any of the police officer’s questions. She was, however, able to yell at Norman.

“It’s all your fault. If you hadn’t stuck the blowtorch so close to the toilet paper, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Blowtorch?” Aaron and I spoke at the same time and looked at one another.

“Toilet paper?” Deacon Jeff tried not to laugh, I could tell. It wasn’t exactly the time or place, but his eyes twinkled with mirth.

The sheriff wasn’t amused. “Mr. and Mrs. Maguire, we’re going to need to ask you more questions, so don’t plan on going home any time soon,” he spoke with authority, which calmed Bernice down enough to glare at Norman.

I was dying to know what the investigators would find out, but turned my attention toward Aaron and the church.

“That building stood here for over a hundred years.” My husband shook his head and lowered it. His despair wasn’t lost on the fire chief.

“I’m sorry about this, Pastor. We’ll find out what happened in there, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

“Thanks,” Aaron said. “I sure do appreciate everything you and your squad are doing to put out the fire, rescuing my son, and for taking care of Norman and Bernice. I know most of you guys are volunteers.”

“That’s what we’re here for,” he said. “You have that big buffalo of a dog to thank, too. He deserves a steak tonight.”

“Well, tonight he’s getting Chinese,” I said. “Maybe I can spring for a steak tomorrow.”

By the time the fire was completely out and Aaron and I got to bed, it was 4:00 AM. After we showered off the smoke, we could still smell it in our hair. We couldn’t sleep, so we lay like spoons on the bed talking, wondering, venting, and debating.

What on earth had gone on inside that church building that warranted a blow torch? And wasn’t it amazing that God would use a dog who was hated by the very lives of those he saved?

“God’s ways are not our ways.” Aaron yawned.

I yawned, too. “You can say that again.”

“God’s ways are not our ways.”

42

The next morning, Sheriff Langston and Fire Chief Kensington rang the doorbell.

Timmy flapped, clapped, and squealed, ecstatic to see an officer in his house. He immediately started singing the theme to Cops. Daniel giggled and took Goliath outdoors.

Patrick ran up to his room embarrassed.

“I believe I can tell you with confidence how the church caught on fire,” Chief Kensington said.

Aaron motioned for them to sit at the kitchen table as I handed the officers steaming cups of coffee and offered them one of the banana nut muffins Lily dropped off early this morning. I took Timmy into the living room to watch Cops on the portable DVD player with headphones and returned to the kitchen.

“That was fast work, Chief,” Aaron said.

Kensington laughed. “It wasn’t too difficult with those two characters.”

“You mean Bernice and Norman?” I sat beside Aaron across from the officers.

Sheriff Langston nodded. “We took them into custody and basically got the whole story before we got to the station. That woman has quite a mouth on her.”

I stifled a laugh and watched Aaron clench his jaw in an effort not to chuckle.

“We ruled out arson.” The fire chief took a sip of coffee and buttered his muffin. “It appears to be an unfortunate accident. They didn’t mean to start the fire.”

“What happened exactly?”

The sheriff parked his elbows on the table and crossed his arms. “Apparently the blowtorch Norman used to dismantle those old metal shelves in the supply closet got a little too close to your stash of toilet paper. It caught on fire and caused the hot water heater to explode. If it weren’t for that dog they’d have been trapped and killed.” The sheriff pointed to Goliath.

“The dog deserves a steak now, I’m telling you.” Chief Kensington pointed at me with his butter knife.

The sheriff peeled the cupcake paper off his muffin. “Unfortunately, Pastor Donovan, there’s nothing I can charge them with. But we are going to be searching the church property for a murder victim.”

“Murder victim?” I choked on my muffin.

“Norman insists there’s a murder victim underneath the concrete in that storage closet. Naturally, we need to investigate.”

“Of course.” Aaron set his jaw in stoic resolve. “Did they say what made them think a body was there?”

“I’m not at liberty to say until we investigate.”

The officers left.

“I doubt Norman or Bernice would kill anyone,” Aaron said, his tone thoughtful.

“Maybe it’s one of those secrets they wanted to hide,” I said. “Family secrets.”

Making eye contact with my husband was a mistake. We both dissolved into fits of laughter, unable to get more than a few words out, as we wheezed out the vision of Bernice covered in soot, Norman chastising her, and poor little raggedy Mason…all three conspirators looking more like a comedy farce, than someone burying family secrets. It was gallows humor, but we simply couldn’t get it under control.

The boys ran downstairs to see what had sent us into such mirth, but we were too choked up to talk. They shook their heads and went back upstairs.

“Murder victim? Do you think they murdered someone?” I reached for another muffin, finally calm enough to speak.

“I don’t know. But this has got to be one for the record books. I’m going to Google the stats on how many people accidentally burn down their church with a blowtorch because they’re digging up a murder victim. My guess is we’re the first.”

Our humor was short-lived. There were the details of Milo’s funeral to attend to, and the need to find a place for the funeral dinner. I made a few calls and found the Methodist church more than willing to loan us their facility.

The small fellowship hall was crowded, but the funeral dinner comforted Milo’s friends and family as they shared memories of the man who touched so many lives. I was grateful to the ladies who pitched in to help with the food and clean up. Where would we be without the women of the church?

Afterward, I sat with The Lady Eels—Lily, Reba and Opal—and Atticus at the KenapocoMocha coffeehouse for a debriefing of the week’s events. I hadn’t had time to tell them all the details following the fire.

We gathered around a table in the corner of the shop, and Reba let out a long sigh. “It was a beautiful funeral, Lily. And Aaron did a wonderful job, Kirstie,” she spoke with more tenderness than usual. I could tell God was doing a work in her heart. Her rough edges were smoothing out.

“My husband always manages to pull through in a crisis. No matter how tired he is or what he’s dealing with.” I stared into my strawberry cappuccino thinking about how exhausted he must be, but he said he wanted to spend time alone with the boys and pushed me out the door to fellowship with the Lady Eels.

“It was nice of the Methodists to let us use their facilities for the dinner today. Everyone’s been so kind.” Lily wiped a tear from her eye.

“You reap what you sow, Lily.” I rubbed her back. “You’re one special gal. There probably isn’t one person in this town you haven’t helped nurse back to health at one time or another.”

“I think people were there because of Milo, not me. He always helped people, and he never knew a stranger.” She smiled and we all nodded.

It was true. Before he got Alzheimer’s, Milo always managed to find someone who needed help fixing something.

Reba broke the silence. “So, what did you find out about the church fire? I’ve been as patient as I can possibly be out of respect for Milo. But now I’ve just got to know.”

I looked at Opal with pleading eyes, too tired to explain the story to anyone.

“They were digging up a body,” Opal said.

“What?” Lily’s and Reba’s mouths fell open.

“A body? As in a person’s body?” Lily stared at us.

“Yup.” Opal bit into a gingersnap.

I noticed Atticus looking down at his coffee. Something wasn’t right about him. Maybe he was upset about Milo.

“What body? Was it a former pastor?” Reba joked.

We all laughed.

Opal leaned in and looked around. “Apparently, it was their great-grandfather’s mistress.”

“Mistress?” Lily choked on her tea.

Opal sat back and nodded. “According to the sheriff, Norman’s father was told that their great-grandmother had shot and killed their great-grandfather’s mistress.”

“I don’t know what’s more shocking,” Lily said, “the fact that they burned down the church or that their great-grandfather had a mistress and killed her.”

“Actually.” I took a bite of a peanut butter cookie. “As it turns out—he didn’t.”

Reba furrowed her brow. “I don’t understand. But who was buried under the basement?”

“They thought someone was under the basement. But there wasn’t anyone there. All the sheriff found was a metal box with some papers and a whiskey bottle.”

“No way.” Reba slapped her forehead.

Lily raised her eyebrows. “A whiskey bottle in the Maguire family? Oh. My. Stars. That’s juicier than a mistress by a long shot. Especially the way Bernice goes on and on about drinking. What else did the sheriff find?” Lily leaned forward.

“Kirstie, is this gossip?” Opal looked at me with a serious expression.

“It’s going to be in the paper, Opal. As far as I know, it’s all public information.”

“Oh, poor, Bernice.” Lily shook her head.

“Poor Bernice? After the way she’s treated you and everyone here? No, she’s getting what’s coming to her.” Reba waved off Lily’s pity.

“Well, personally,” I said, “I don’t want what’s coming to me, and I hate to see anyone get their comeuppances so publicly and shamefully. She’s got to be mortified.”

“Mortified about what?” Lily tilted her head.

“About the box,” Opal said.

I looked at Atticus and winked to cheer him up. He didn’t respond.

“I think I’ll go see how pastor’s holding up with Timmy and the boys and let you girls catch up by yourselves.” He walked away. What troubled him?

We all waved. “Bye, Atticus.”

Reba grew impatient. “C’mon, much as I’d love to sit and chat with Lily, I don’t have all day. Get to the bottom of the story.”

“Well, as it turns out, inside the box were papers. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Kirstie, you tell it, you know more of the details than I do.” Opal took another sip of her tea and gave me her doe-eyed look.

“Inside the box were papers signed by Norman and Bernice’s great-grandparents, Harriet and Oliver Maguire.”

“Wait a minute. Norman and Bernice have the same great-grandparents?” Reba looked at me sideways.

I nodded. “Yes, I’ll get to that in a minute. Anyway, the ‘mistress’ was the whiskey bottle that Oliver promised in writing he’d never drink from again. Apparently, he had a bad alcohol problem. The liquor was the mistress. But Harriet had a twin sister name Hazel who died in a runaway horse and carriage accident. Through the years, rumors got started in the family that Hazel had an affair with Oliver and that Harriet killed her and buried her in the basement of the church.”

“How do you know her death was an accident?” Reba looked enthralled.

“The sheriff looked up the obituary in the newspaper archives because he wondered the same thing. There were eyewitness accounts in the paper.” I took a swig of my cappuccino.

“So that’s why Norman and Bernice fought the new expansion project.” Lily grinned.

“Yes.” Opal lifted her cup to sip her tea. “If we’d built the addition, that part of the floor would have been torn up and they were afraid that if someone found a body, questions would be asked, and old secrets would be revealed.”

I nodded. “Right. And with an investigation, another secret would surface.”

Lily and Reba leaned in, and Opal covered her mouth to stifle a giggle.

“Another secret?” Reba’s eyebrows practically touched her hairline.

I nodded. “Get ready, this one’s a doozy.”

Lily groaned. “C’mon. Out with it already.”

I smiled, leaned in toward them and whispered, “Norman and Bernice are kissing cousins.”

43

Unfortunately, Lily had just taken a sip of her drink when I revealed that last bit of information. She spewed out her tea and showered everyone at the table. We froze for a second, looked at one another, and giggled like teenagers at a sock hop. I passed napkins around, and we cleaned ourselves up while the entire coffee shop stared.

“You’re kidding? Are you serious?” Reba’s hand went to her heart.

“Absolutely,” I said. “Not first cousins like their great-grandparents, but third cousins.”

“Let me get this straight. Their great-grandparents were first cousins?”

“Yes.” I wadded up my napkin and stuffed it inside my empty coffee cup. “They were first cousins, and they share great-grandparents in common. Marrying your cousin wasn’t all that unusual in those days, but you know how people talk about that sort of thing now.”

Lily nodded and wiped tea off the table. “So that’s why she never wanted children. It’s not that she doesn’t like children, it’s that she was afraid to have them.”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s possible. And guess who else is related?”

“Who?” they spoke in unison.

“Elder Cobb. He has the same set of grandparents.”

Opal nodded. “That explains why he always backed Norman and Bernice. I could never figure that out.”

And why I saw him in the closet with a shovel.

Reba slapped her leg and howled. “Well, whadda ya know. We joke about this town and its inbreeding, but I always thought it was just talk!”

“Yes, well, every family has its secrets,” I said. “Trust me.”

I looked into Lily’s eyes. “Don’t you know Milo’s in heaven right now laughing his fool head off at the shenanigans down here?”

Lily smiled. “Yes. He’s having a pretty good laugh. He hasn’t had one in a long time. It’s good to know he’s happy now.”

“Speaking of happy, what’s going on with Atticus?” I looked at Opal.

“Why?” Opal took a gulp of tea and shoved a cracker in her mouth.

“He doesn’t seem to be himself. Is he feeling OK?” I could tell she was hiding something.

“I don’t know.” Opal shrugged and stared out the window. A tear appeared on her cheek.

“What’s wrong, Opie?” Reba reached over and touched her arm. “Did you two get in a fight?”

Opal nodded. “Sort of.”

“Why? What is it?” I moved to her side of the table and sat beside her.

“It’s silly,” she said.

“If something makes you cry, hon, it’s not silly.” Lily patted her hands. “Did he do something bad to you?”

Opal shook her head. “No, it’s nothing like that. It’s quite the opposite.”

“The opposite?” Reba talked with her mouth full.

“He asked me to marry him.” Opal’s voice squeaked.

“Did you just say he asked you to marry him?” Reba nearly shouted and choked on her cookie.

Opal nodded, wiping more tears from her face.

I handed her a napkin.

“So? What did you say?” Lily’s eyes sparkled. It was the first time I’d seen them light up since Milo died.

“I said no.”

“Why?” we asked in unison.

“Because…I’m too old to get married. I’ve lived by myself for sixty-five years. I wouldn’t know the first thing about being married. What if I wake up one day, and I don’t like the way he smells or the way he looks?” She put her face in her hands and cried.

“Well, I can guarantee you something.” Reba patted her on the back. “You will wake up one day and not like the way he smells or looks. But, I’ve got a feeling you love him enough for that not to matter.”

Opal looked at us with realization in her eyes. “I do.”

“Then go after him, honey,” Reba said. “What are you waiting for?”

We scurried out to the parking lot as Atticus flew by on his Harley, ignoring our waves.

“Well?” Reba looked at Opal. Lily had caged it to the coffeehouse, but Opal and I had ridden our motorcycles.

“She’ll never catch up with him on her Rebel.” I pointed to Opal’s little bike.

“You’re right. But you can catch up to him on yours. Ride two up and go get ’im. We’ll follow you.”

We hurried Opal into her helmet as she climbed on my Sportster and sat behind me.

“Hold on!” I shouted and revved Heaven’s motor. “C’mon, girl. Let’s go catch us a man.”

“Yee-haw!” Reba shouted and joined Lily in her 4X4 truck. We flew down the road to capture the guy who had stolen Opal’s heart.

I drove faster than I’d ever ridden before. I don’t know if it’s kosher to pray for God to keep patrol cars away so you can drive over the speed limit, but I confess I did. Heaven easily shifted into fifth and gobbled up the miles. I figured Atticus was upset and probably driving faster than he should, too. I didn’t dare look down at my speedometer. I just rode hard.

A few miles down the road a combine inched along the highway and filled both lanes. When traffic was oncoming its operator pulled over to the shoulder. The monstrous farm implement was too tall and wide for me to see around it.

Oh no. God, please, please let it turn off. Please.

I hated passing vehicles on my motorcycle. The mere idea made my heart go into my throat. But we’d never catch up to Atticus at this pace. Lily honked and leaned out the window.

“Go around!” I could see her waving me around with her arm.

I shook my head.

I heard Reba yell, “Kirstie, go around on the shoulder! If he’s in the middle of the road no one’s coming.”

I couldn’t. There was gravel on the shoulder and riding on the stuff terrified me. No. I wouldn’t do it.

Lily gunned the truck and went around me and the combine. The combine saw her and pulled over enough for me to remain on the road, following like a blindfolded clown shooting out of a cannon.

Please, God, don’t let Opal die before she marries Atticus.

We passed the combine with room to spare.

Opal waved at the farmer, who turned out to be Deacon Jeff. Word would soon get out I was breaking the law on county roads. At the very least, Aaron would get a call.

It took us a good seven miles driving over the speed limit before we saw Atticus in the distance. And when we did, we laid on our horns, hoping he’d hear or see us and slow down. But he couldn’t hear us over the roar of his pipes. Oncoming traffic looked a little confused, and I laughed at the looks on their faces while leaning on my horn.

Finally, on a long, clear expanse of road I pulled up beside Atticus, who swerved slightly onto the shoulder because we startled him.

He gained quick control and pulled over.

I pulled my bike on the shoulder onto the grass beside a bean field.

Lily and Reba parked behind us.

Opal climbed off my bike, removed her helmet, and turned to look at me.

“Go on,” I said, motioning to her.

“Is something wrong?” Atticus’s eyes looked red from crying. It was all I could do not to run and comfort him.

I walked to the truck to stand by Lily and Reba. We gawked with no shame. This was better than a movie.

Opal looked into his eyes. “I…I don’t know what to say or how to say this.”

“What is it?” Atticus took a step closer to Opal and took her hands in his. “You gals must have been tearing it up to catch me. I wasn’t exactly moseying down the road.”

Opal looked over at us, and we gestured for her to keep talking.

Atticus looked at Opal, who looked like a delicate, frightened bird. “What is it, Opal, darlin’?”

“Nothing. I mean. Not nothing. Something. But, not really. I mean. I was wondering if. Well, if you would want to, I mean. When I said no, I didn’t really mean no. What I really meant to say was—yes.” Opal’s eyes shimmered.

I jumped up and down trying not to squeal.

Lily and Reba stood on each side of me not much more composed. Lily’s cheeks were wet with tears.

“Yes?” Atticus took a step closer to Opal and leaned down to listen.

“Yes. I’m an old woman, Atticus. But if you’ll have me, yes. Yes, I’ll…”

Atticus didn’t wait for an answer. He cupped her tiny chin with one big bear hand, wrapped his arm around her petite frame and kissed her as tenderly as a soft summer rain.

Of course, the Eels whooped it up like crazy, undignified Hoosier women.

Cars honked as they drove by.

Opal’s arms hung down like limp eels, and Atticus kissed her until she could barely stand on her own.

“Hey, Lady Eels!” Atticus hollered when he finally came up for air. “Hope you don’t mind, but I let her get away once. Ain’t gonna happen again. She’s ridin’ with me!”

Epilogue

I think people will talk about the fire that destroyed and rebuilt Eel Falls First Independent Community Christian Church for generations.

Goliath, already a legend, got his picture in the paper, and the mayor issued him a hero’s commendation with a plaque, which we hung over the fireplace.

But that was the least of the excitement for the next two weeks.

Right after Milo’s funeral, the bikers held motorcycle fundraisers to help raise money for expenses associated with rebuilding the new church. Because of Elder Cobb’s insistence last year that the church buy a cheaper policy from his brother’s agency, we were woefully underinsured.

Norman and Bernice were uncharacteristically remorseful, and the guilt drove them to sell some land. They gave the money to the church.

The ladies’ group sold cupcakes and other baked goods in front of the grocery store every weekend.

The Old Order German Baptists bought our cupcakes and resold them at the farmer’s markets for a profit along with their own baked goods. Their generosity raised enough money to carpet the entire fellowship hall with a little left over to decorate the nursery.

When at last we broke ground, every denomination in the county was represented. Brethren and Amish craftsmen worked side by side with tattooed, rough-around-the-edges bikers to erect the frame in one day. Within a month, the entire church building was framed and the outside walls covered because of the generosity of time given by the loving souls of Eel Falls.

All the construction was done by volunteers. Workers labored after they got off work and were supplied with a constant stream of food. Tables overflowed with casseroles, sandwiches, and desserts. Mennonite women helped our ladies with the food table all day, but kept their hands busy with needlework when they weren’t washing dishes or cleaning in my kitchen. I felt out of place among them, but they welcomed me warmly, and I learned we had much in common. I tried to talk them into riding with me on my motorcycle, but they declined with shy smiles.

Bernice and Norman shocked all of us by plunging into the building project with ardent fervor, and every day came by to give Goliath a cheeseburger. One day I caught Bernice slipping him a sandwich from the meal table.

“Don’t feed him from the table, Bernice,” I scolded. “You’re teaching him bad manners.”

“Oh, fiddle faddle.” She waved me off and gave him another sandwich. “He needs to keep up his strength. Don’t you, Goliath buddy?” She kissed his slobbery face, and I thought I’d fall off my chair.

One evening after a long day of work, Atticus and Opal stopped by the house to talk to Aaron.

“We’d like to be married as soon as the building is open, if you don’t mind.” Atticus blushed.

“Mind? We’d be honored!” Aaron hugged them both.

I clapped my hands. “What a wonderful way to break in the building.”

Between the building project, getting Opal ready for her wedding, and rearranging her house to accommodate Atticus, the Lady Eels didn’t do much riding that fall.

And while we loved every minute of the process, we all knew, without saying a word, we missed our rides, the freedom of the road, and bonding with one another.

But the wedding plans kept us distracted. At least we were still together helping Opal with her big day. We shopped for hours in Indianapolis for the perfect dress, and she finally chose a simple silk, tea length gown.

“No veil,” she said. “I’m not a girl anymore.”

“We can put flowers in your hair from my garden if you like.” Lily removed the veil and hugged the bride.

“That would be perfect, Lily. Thank you.”

It wasn’t like any of us to be too sentimental, but it was hard not to be looking at Opal in her gown.

Once the sanctuary portion of the building was complete, Aaron and the board decided to hold a dedication service. There was standing room only and bikers stood with community members, chatting, shaking hands, and singing. Any stranger coming in off the street would have felt welcome and accepted among the eclectic group that made up our church.

“Good thing we made the sanctuary bigger.” I overheard Norman mumble on his way to get chairs. The change in him, and especially Bernice, was startling.

But whenever one kingpin steps down, someone else is right there to take his or her place.

On dedication day Earlene was unhappy with just about everything we’d done to the church. The carpet was wrong, the paint wasn’t the right color, and the ladies’ bathroom doors weren’t to her liking.

As she walked past me, mumbling under her breath, I sighed and looked heavenward.

Are You testing me again, Lord? I thought I passed my class in patience before.

Reba caught my expression and laughed at me.

“I must remember to look into their faces and try to see Jesus,” I said to Reba as I walked to the stage to take my place at the piano.

“I was just thinking.” She pointed to my pickle face and snorted. “I sure hope Jesus doesn’t look like that.”

I made it to the piano bench just as Aaron began the dedication service.

“Welcome, friends! Isn’t it amazing what a few weeks can do?”

He waited a minute to let the thought sink in.

“God reminds us in Ecclesiastes chapter four that two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their labor.”

Aaron paused again and choked back tears.

My eyes leaked—something they never do in public. There was more love in that room than my body could take. I can only compare it to the love I felt the first time I held my babies in my arms—only sweeter. It felt like Jesus Himself was sitting beside me on the piano bench with His arm around my shoulder.

Aaron continued. “The evidence of this truth is all around you, everywhere you look. In every nail, every screw, every piece of decoration, we see represented a grand friendship. Unlikely neighbor came together with unlikely neighbor, and with forgiveness, and love, acceptance, and God’s grace, built something more beautiful than this building itself.

“The work of Michelangelo can’t compare to the beautiful portrait of friendship you’ve created in this community. And now, this church home stands as a testimony of how God took something broken and made it whole again.

“Whether you drive a cage or a bike, when you ride by this building with your children and your grandchildren, tell them the story of love that these walls represent. Tell them that when one brother fell, another brother came to lift him up; when a sister was hungry, another came to feed her; and when the battles raged and the storms buffeted, they joined hands and hearts and withstood the blows. Let us pray.

“Dearest Heavenly Father, I pray that this house of God will forever be much more than four walls. I pray that it will always be a shelter from the storm, a hospital where we can nurse the hurting back to health, a school where people can learn the Truth, and a gathering place for people to love one another because the love of God flows through every pore of their being.

“May people who enter these doors leave changed; may people who leave through these doors carry the gospel outside these walls to reach a lost and dying world.

“For as it is written in Your Word in Psalm 84:10: ‘a day in thy courts is better than a thousand. I had rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God, than to dwell in the tents of wickedness.’

“And now, Lord, You gave this structure to us. We give it back to You. Take it. It is Yours. Amen.”

There were loud cheers, which scared a few of the folks from more reserved churches, but I saw a couple of them smiling.

Then, Aaron’s beeper went off. Aaron never wore his beeper to a church service. He spoke to the worship leader who nodded and began singing “Great God.” Then Aaron left the stage.

I couldn’t follow him because I was playing the piano, but my head bobbed up like a jack in the box. Reba and Lily looked at me with questions in their faces—questions I couldn’t answer. I mouthed, “I don’t know,” and shrugged my shoulders.

Aaron was supposed to have announced that Opal and Atticus would get married at the conclusion of the service. Earlier, the Lady Eels had decorated the unfinished fellowship hall with airy pink and white paper lanterns.

Lily made a beautiful chocolate three-tiered wedding cake with white frosting and trimmed it in pink ribbon. The sweet-looking confection sat in the middle of the room, and perched on top of it sat an adorable miniature of a couple wearing leathers riding a motorcycle.

We were into a second song when I heard a rumble above the music. The low, thundering tones grew stronger, and I recognized the distinctive melody of a Harley engine. I looked up from my piano keys to see my husband, the refined pastor geek, riding a brand new, fully dressed Harley Road King—wearing black leathers, a doo-rag and sunglasses. I laughed so hard I could barely finish playing.

He cycled up the aisle, past faces that had gone blank, up the ramp to the platform, and hit the kickstand behind the pulpit. After he parked the bike, Atticus and Opal revved up the middle aisle behind him on Atticus’s bike.

Now the pale faces changed to smiles so bright there was no need for sunshine, lights, or candles.

So that’s why Opal hadn’t wanted to wear a veil.

She wasn’t wearing the dress we picked, either. She wore pink leathers and looked absolutely adorable.

Once the initial shock wore off, the church went wild. Aaron asked them three times to calm down so the wedding ceremony could begin.

I don’t remember all the words, only the sentiment that Aaron left in all of our hearts. Sentiment that gave new meaning to the joining of two individuals.

Finally, after Opal and Atticus said their vows, they mounted Atticus’s motorcycle, and took off, down the aisle, through the church lobby, and down the road. We didn’t get to throw rice or blow bubbles. But that was OK.

The way the Lady Eels were weeping, we couldn’t have seen clearly enough to shower them anyway. Besides, they’d be back. We had cake in the fellowship hall, and I’d never known Atticus to pass up a piece of cake.

My eyes filled for the second time that day as I left the piano bench to join my husband. “So, Pastor,” I said, sidling up to Aaron, “when did you learn to ride like that?”

“I’ve been sneaking in lessons on the sly.” he grinned.

The bikers gathered around the Harley, admiring it.

SlowRide stepped forward and grabbed the microphone. People were leaving, but he got their attention.

“Don’t leave yet. We’ve got one more thing to do,” he said.

Aaron froze. In times past, he’d never let someone at the microphone without permission. He looked at me and shrugged. Norman and Bernice weren’t the only ones who’d grown and changed.

The congregation turned their attention to SlowRide.

“We bikers here, as you know, did a couple of fundraisers. Well, one of them was to get our pastor this here bike. It isn’t a loan, Pastor. It’s for you. We can’t go to a church where the pastor don’t have his own ride.” He snagged the keys from the Harley and faced Aaron. “So, Pastor, here you go. Hope you like it.” He flipped the keys through the air, and they landed comfortably in Aaron’s hand.

My husband stood speechless with his mouth open, looking at the motorcycle. “A brand new Harley? Not sure what to say, fellas…”

Timmy broke free of Reba and Trace and climbed on the bike clapping and flapping. Aaron picked me up and swung me around. I worried I might hurt his back, but the building project had given him a few new muscles, I guess.

Finally, he set me down, and I stood facing him. I gazed at his handsome face, freshly bronzed from doing construction in the sun. “Aaron, I’m so proud of you.”

He grinned. “Honey, I’m proud of you. I never dreamed something like this for our church. Thank you for being you.”

Aaron looked at me, not past me, not thinking about what came next on his schedule, but really at me. He leaned down and kissed my lips the same way he kissed them the first time I knew he was in love with me.

And my arms hung down to my sides.

Like a couple of limp eels.

Everyone cheered, and Aaron and I blushed. For a minute there, we’d forgotten anyone was there. But now we turned toward the Harley.

“Get off the bike, Timmy, honey,” Aaron said. “Go ask SlowRide to take you for a spin. The first ride goes to Mommy.”

SlowRide talked Timmy off the bike, and Aaron and I got on and took off, down the aisle, through the lobby and straight past the cake in the fellowship hall. Everyone was a shouting blur of smiles and clapping.

Aaron pulled out of the parking lot, and we flew down the street.

You never know where a road will take you. And I didn’t know where we might go next. But as long as I was with my family, and God was my navigator, the journey would be fabulous and the destination perfect.

As long as I stayed in my lane.

And in the center of God’s will.

Thank you for purchasing this Harbourlight title. For other inspirational stories, please visit our on-line bookstore at www.pelicanbookgroup.com.

For questions or more information, contact us at customer@pelicanbookgroup.com.

Harbourlight Books

The Beacon in Christian Fiction™

an imprint of Pelican Ventures Book Group

www.pelicanbookgroup.com

May God’s glory shine through

this inspirational work of fiction.

AMDG

Table of Contents

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Praise for The Pastor’s Wife Wear’s Biker Boots

Acknowledgements

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

40

41

42

43

Epilogue

Thanks