Rita Brown - Whiskers in the Dark

Herb walked to the kitchen, followed by Harry, as they caught up on church business and people business.

The cats leapt off the back of the leather sofa, pulling down the warm wool throw as they did. It slid onto the cushions. The cats all moved toward the kitchen, where they knew treats would be dropped.

“Come on, Pirate. The Rev is generous,” Tucker instructed the puppy.

“Just ignore my beggars.” Harry glared at her pets really working their sweet number.

“Ah, now Harry, the miracle of the fishes and the loaves applies to animals as well.” He pulled open a cupboard door. The doors were like little windows, glass-paned. “What do you think?” He showed her a tin of enticing fake fish as well as a bag of Greenies.

“You spoil them.”

Herb tossed each animal a goodie. “What’s the point of loving somebody if you don’t spoil them a little?”

“I’m sure you’re correct.” Looking down, Harry advised her friends. “You are very lucky.”

“We’re worth it.” Pewter happily snagged another fish.

As the pets enjoyed the treats, the people waited for the water to boil.

“So what have you all been doing? We’ve stayed inside. Boring, but I’m not going out there,” Lucy Fur announced.

“I have been killing mice. Dozens of mice. I set a Virginia record.” Pewter dropped a few crumbs from her mouth.

“There are that many mice at Harry’s farm?” Elocution suspected Pewter’s usual exaggerations.

“Aldie.” Mrs. Murphy then informed them what Aldie was, the National Beagle Club, and the barn that truly was overrun with mice.

“We saw a ghost.” Pirate, a little shy, wanted to join in.

Cazenovia looked at Mrs. Murphy. “You said there had been a battle there. A ghost from the hospital or someone killed on the field?”

Tucker, content from her Greenie, said, “No, it was a beagle.”

“He said he was there with a friend.” Pewter wanted to return to her prodigious hunting skills. “The barn will be filled with ghost mice.”

Harry’s pets ignored this.

“So he was there with his cavalryman?” Elocution, having seen ghosts in the graveyard at off times, was not too surprised.

“He didn’t say,” Tucker responded.

“The world is full of spirits. Some are unquiet. Others want to watch over someone they loved.” Elocution considered the reasons why a spirit would hang around.

“The unquiet worry me.” Lucy Fur switched her tail.

“I wonder if we’ll see the beagle again.” Mrs. Murphy headed toward the living room, the sofa and chairs. “We’ll be back at Aldie again this coming weekend.”

Harry picked up the wool throw as she returned with her tea, placing it over the back of the sofa, then sat down. “What do you think of a St. Luke’s homecoming? We could do it on the day the cornerstone was laid or the day the church was finished, organ inside.”

“I never thought of that.” Herb settled down, happy not to be looking at accounting sheets.

“Just think. The children you baptized. Those of us you taught catechism. Those you married. Those whose family members you buried. By now, Rev, it has to be so many people.”

“Well”—he paused—“yes, I’m almost eighty.”

“You’re the youngest person I know.” She meant it. “While we’re at it, we can celebrate your eightieth birthday, which I think is close to the day the cornerstone was laid.”

He waved his hand. “I forget.”

“Bullpucky.”

He laughed. “You know, given people’s schedules, a late spring day or early summer might be better. You know, when colleges are out for the summer. If we announce this early, then people can plan for it.” He brightened. “Harry, what a good idea.”

“Sure. Susan, organizer extraordinaire, can send out RSVP forms or people can do it via email so we can plan for enough food. If we’re going to do this, we better do it right. The fishes and the loaves.”

They both laughed.

“Do you think we’re losing it?” she then continued. “Churches, I mean? We used to be the nerve centers of the countryside, towns, and even big cities.”

He folded his hands over his chest. “Well, we’re losing congregants. Not so much here, but we are in a unique position. Same with St. Paul’s Ivy.” He mentioned a county Episcopal church. “People come together but there are so many competing messages now, families rarely are close to one another, not like in my childhood. I worry about it. I believe in the church.”

“You make us believe in the church. You are a remarkable pastor.”

This touched him. “Thank you. I never know if I’ve fulfilled my responsibilities as well as I should.” He glanced outside. “This snow won’t stop.” He paused a moment. “It’s April ninth.”

“Well, we’re in Virginia. I doubt anyone has really forgotten.”

April 9, 1865, was when Lee surrendered at Appomattox.

“November eleventh is another one. Always sticks.” He tapped his head.

“As near as I can tell, Reverend Jones, ending a war solves one set of problems and creates an entirely new set.”

“April ninth is one of those days. Henry V was crowned king in 1413. Agincourt.” He grinned. “Now there’s a story. Here’s another. The child king, Edward V, should have ascended the throne in 1483. I think this would have been the exact day much postponed, and then he and his brother disappeared forever. The princes in the tower. History spills over with unsolved crimes, odd events, and truly odd people.” He shook his head. “Then again we have enough of that now.”

She agreed. “I guess where I struggle is accepting that good can come from evil and evil can come from good. For instance, terrible wars and yet medicine advances due to war. Our ability to mobilize and organize advances. Well, if you win, I guess, but think of it. It seems like such a contradiction. Kind of like the #MeToo movement. Pain, frustration, and sorrow but something good will come of it. Not overnight but a reflecting, rethinking of how we treat women, or I should say how men treat women.”

He nodded. “How those in power treat those who are weaker, or who are trying to hold on to a job. The one thing that strikes me about predators is how they identify their victims. It’s not at all like war. That is clear and in many ways simple. Or at least it seemed so to me when I was in Vietnam.”

“Do you think any good came from that?” Harry, at forty-two, was too young to have been involved in all that.

He sipped his tea, thought. “I’m not sure I’m the person to ask. It certainly caused us to question civilian leadership, whether the presidency or Congress. But then again, new military leadership began to develop. People, mostly men, of course, due to the times, who were more flexible, who realized we had to engage the local populations. The Vietcong were way ahead of us. General Giáp was an outstanding leader, even if on the wrong side. The other thing, and I turn this over in my mind a lot, I think the war helped break down racism.”

“I never thought of that.”

“Fighting next to a man who has your back, you forget about color even if it was once important to you. You forget about a lot of things. It’s a hell of a way to learn. Harry, you ask the damnedest questions.”

“Sorry.” She paused. “From my reading, I think Vietnam’s antiwar movement overlapped the civil rights movement, which nudged along feminism. You lived it. I just read about it.”

Pewter came up to pat Herb’s leg.

“I think you’re right. It was a volatile time. I reckon 1968 was the bombshell year and then the counterculture took off. You know, Harry, Americans are a pretty tough people.” Herb mused.