Tag: Come Home

Find all the parts of this story here.

Church

The big white church on First Street was just as easy to find as Pauline Johnson had suggested. It looked so quaint and old-fashioned – so very unlike the funky brick building that housed the church she had attended in Madison. The steeple rose above the rooftops of pretty houses on two sides, with a small parking lot beside it, as well. Cecilia parked her car towards the back at 8:47 Sunday morning, then followed the small stream of people making their way toward the front doors. Wide steps welcomed her up, only to be met by a dim entryway where she couldn’t make out the details of people or space.

“Good morning!” a friendly male voice greeted. A piece of paper appeared in a set of hands right in front of her. Not knowing what else to do, she accepted the paper and returned the greeting.

“First time here?” the man asked. Now she could make out that he was about 40, dressed in slacks, a button-down, and a tie, and ornamented by a shy toddler clinging to one leg.

“Yes,” she replied, trying to step away from the flow of people who seemed to know where they were going.

“Well, welcome to Bethel. Sanctuary’s straight through. Restrooms are to the right-” he pointed first to her right, then to her left, “and Bible class is in the fellowship hall after church. Coffee’s decent, too.” His smile was warm, open, and friendly. Her mind was reeling from all the words he had used. Sanctuary? Was there a lack of safety somewhere that people needed a safe haven? And what was a fellowship hall? Was this some kind of cult?

“Um, thanks,” she stammered, looking for a good escape route. Was there another means of exiting this building besides the front doors? She couldn’t very well leave the way all these people were entering. But this was nothing like her old church.
She suddenly noticed that everyone around her was dressed like the man who greeted her. Women wore skirts, dresses, or dress slacks. Some of the men even wore suits. She glanced down at her jeans – the nicest she owned, but still, jeans – and plain white t-shirt. She had made sure she was clean and presentable. She didn’t even own dress pants, and her black scrubs would hardly qualify.

Were people staring at her? She looked around and noticed a few curious looks, but no one approached. Maybe that was just as well. What would she say? ‘Y’all are freaking me out’ wouldn’t go over well.

When in Rome? Probably a better solution. Okay. Since everyone was walking into the church, she would too. She followed a young couple through the doors on the left, then slid into a seat just behind them. The seats were long wooden benches, not the cushioned chairs she was used to in church. She set her handbag on the seat next to her, then looked at the paper the man in the entryway had given her.

The front had a picture of Jesus holding a lamb. It was such a sweet and wholesome picture that it tugged at her heartstrings. She had once owned a small stuffed lamb, one of few little toys that warmed her childhood years. She had uncreatively named the creature “Lamby” and lugged it everywhere her mother allowed.

Inside was a very basic outline, listing songs with numbers after them, Bible passages, and some other church things she recognized like prayers and a creed.
Looking around the church, Cecilia realized there were no big display screens. How would people know what to sing? She watched the young couple in front of her for clues. The man pulled a book from in front of him. Watching over his shoulder, Cecilia saw him turn pages until the big number in the top corner matched the number after the first song name on the paper.

The shelf built into the back of the bench held Bibles and another book that was red with a funny-looking symbol like the letter “P” on the front. The red one is what the man in front of her had found the song in, so Cecilia followed his lead. She had another problem, though: she couldn’t read music. Maybe just reading the words would be enough.

All around her, people greeted each other and spoke quietly. No one addressed Cecilia, and she was just fine with that. She watched a man in a long white robe walk up the aisle as the church bell rang. She was pretty sure it was a real bell, even.

“Good morning!” the man in the robe greeted everyone. He was a little rotund, with distinguished gray hair and little wrinkles by his eyes that said he smiled a lot. He was the kind of man you immediately liked and weren’t even sure why.

The people around her said good morning back, as though in kindergarten again. Maybe this was where Pauline Johnson got her stern voice and old-fashioned expectations. Speaking of…

There she sat, on the opposite side of the church and a few rows up. Cecilia rather expected the woman to talk to her, so she assumed Pauline hadn’t seen her yet. Hopefully she was happy with the results of her facial.

“Today we’re celebrating Good Shepherd Sunday, an opportunity to remember Jesus as our shepherd and our sacrificial lamb. We’ll begin our worship with that beloved hymn, ‘I am Jesus’ Little Lamb’,” the man continued, then moved to sit in a big throne-like chair at the front of church.

Cecilia listened to the music – was that an organ? – and the people start singing, but she was sure she had never heard this song before. It sounded quaint and sweet, much like the building and the people in it. She felt like she should be wearing a hat and lace gloves, not jeans and a t-shirt.

It was so hard to concentrate on the service when virtually everything was brand new. The language of the Bible readings sounded different, the sermon was given from behind a built-in podium, and the pastor was much more subdued, not moving around the front of church emphatically. He talked about Jesus being the shepherd of Christians, in a lot of words that were honestly kind of confusing.

Cecilia’s mind wandered a lot, wondering what people around her were thinking. How long had they been coming here? Had everything once seemed as strange and new to them as it did to her? Or had some of them been coming here since they were babies? How would she ever learn?

And what did they think of a stranger in jeans?

Find all the parts of this story here.

Work

“Happy Birthday, Ms. Johnson!” the bubbly receptionist greeted a client. Cecilia Chatsworth was impressed; not only was Lena eternally cheerful, she recognized returning clients after just one visit and somehow managed to know useful things like birthdays. Cecilia would be lucky to learn the woman’s name by the end of her visit, and that was only if Cecilia was the one helping the client today.

“Why, thank you, Lena,” Ms. Johnson replied, her disembodied voice reminding Cecilia of an old schoolmarm. Firm, clear, used to having people follow her directions, Cecilia pictured a tall, thin woman with skin stretched taut across her sharp cheekbones from a too-tight bun in her gray hair. She quickly finished resetting the trays of products and supplies on her side table and waited to see if this was her next client.

“Cecilia is ready to see you, Ms. Johnson. Follow me.” Lena glided down the hallway and extended a bronzed arm through the doorway to the room that had been assigned to Cecilia. Lena performed quick introductions, then disappeared with a quiet click of the door.

“Lovely to meet you, Pauline,” Cecilia put on her best manners. “There is a spot for bags and shoes in the corner.” She gestured to the decorative coat rack, where Pauline sat to remove her shoes.

Cecilia’s guess had been about half accurate. Pauline Johnson was older, but not gray haired. She was tall, although it was easy for anyone to be taller than 5’2″ Cecilia. She was not rail-thin, but had even proportions and a very healthy-looking figure. She was wearing a skirt suit like it was 1940, but lacked the tight bun. Pretty brown hair fell in waves just past her shoulders. Cecilia did note some broken ends, and wondered if Pauline was receiving multiple services today as a birthday treat. Emory was a pro with wavy hair. She’d try to find out if Pauline had a haircut planned and make the recommendation.

“What are you hoping we can focus on today?” Cecilia began the interview as Pauline sat on the massage table that served Cecilia’s uses perfectly.

“Well, my skin has felt quite dry this summer. Usually that only happens to me in the winter,” Pauline spoke in that strict voice. She brushed her fingertips over her cheeks as she spoke.

“Hmm,” Cecilia murmured, noting a red tone on her face that didn’t appear on her hands. “Have you spent time outside this summer?”

“My garden has not been doing well in the heat, so it requires extra tending. I wear sunscreen every day, though,” Pauline replied with a sniff. Cecilia had to fight the urge to bow her head. You know what you’re doing, she reminded herself.

“I’m very glad to hear that. Sun damage can be quite serious. What SPF do you choose?”

“Always 50. It’s what my mother told me.” Oh, that imperious tone was going to be the death of Cecilia before the end of this visit.

“That should be sufficient for this climate. I’m noting a redness in your cheeks and forehead. Dry skin can also be caused by the wind, which sunscreen wouldn’t combat. What moisturizer do you use?”

She walked through every step of Pauline’s skincare routine, which didn’t even include moisturizer. She expected the sunscreen to do the trick, but the brand she used wasn’t designed to provide moisture. Those sport sunscreens dried out some people’s skin terribly.

In short order, they had agreed upon a gentle but effective moisturizing mask, and Cecilia was massaging Pauline’s poor dry skin. Both women were quiet, enjoying soothing low-toned flute music with some occasional bird calls and wind chimes. Cecilia liked to imagine a garden somewhere, full of well-tended green plants and colorful flowers, and maybe a little babbling brook. She’d love to learn to garden – someday. Along with all of her other somedays.

When she had finished with the mask, she made several product recommendations. She felt squeamish suggesting things people didn’t need, so she only talked about her two favorite summer moisturizers that would work well with Pauline’s dry, aging skin. Pauline agreed to try one of them, then suddenly got a gleam in her eye that made Cecilia a little nervous.

“You’re new to the area, yes?”

“I am,” Cecilia replied warily.

“Where do you go to church? I haven’t seen you at Bethel yet.” Pauline’s stare was clear, direct, and quite matter-of-fact. Cecilia couldn’t help but feel like a little schoolgirl in trouble with the teacher.

“I, uh, haven’t committed to one yet,” she flubbed. “I just moved here a week ago.”

That part was honest, at least. Well, it wasn’t really a lie that she hadn’t committed. She hadn’t attended any churches the one Sunday she’d been in New Albany, so there was nothing to commit to.

“Bethel is the large white church on First Street, across the river thataway,” Pauline gestured northwest of the spa. That made sense, from the little Cecilia had seen. The spa was in the growing southern part of town. The spaces nearest the river were the oldest.

“I see,” she murmured, since Pauline appeared to be waiting for a response. Appeased, the older woman continued.

“Sunday service is at 9:00. I hope to see you there.” But Pauline’s firm expression communicated something more along the lines of expectation than hope.

“Me, too,” was all that would come out of Cecilia’s mouth. The whole exchange flabbergasted her.

“Now, if you’ll point me towards Emory, I’ll get these split ends you’ve been eyeing taken care of,” Pauline said with a lift of her chin and a little sniff.

Oh, good grief! The woman was impossible.

“Yes, ma’am, she’s right this way.”

Tomorrow we’ll start a new story titled “Come Home”. No mystery or intrigue this time; just normal humans doing normal human things. 🙂 We’re staying in beautiful New Albany, joining a crusty old farmer and learning his calm and steady way of life. Sam and Sophie will make a little appearance, too. I hope you enjoy meeting some new friends with me!