Preacher in Her Garden

"And now," managed Lynn, suddenly vanquishing his thoughts. "If you two young ladies are up for that pie and chocolate milk, then-"

"I always take a scoop of ice cream with my pie."

"I take two scoops."

"I, on the other hand, don't eat ice cream, but I have been known to demolish an apple pie or two in my time," chimed in Steve, allowing the gaze of his gorgeous green eyes to soften, signaling a waving of the white flag.

Lynn reciprocated his peace making efforts by managing an equally softened gaze in his direction, before leading the Harkins family trio to a large set of stain glass siding doors that led to her newly renovated kitchen.

Chapter Two

Lynn squinted awkwardly under a scorching Texas sun that beat down ominously on the dented roof of the rickety church van, turning the rusty vehicle into a furnace.

"I guess the church could not afford to buy a new van or put air conditioning in this one," sighed Steve, wiping the perspiration from his neck and brow as the ten seat Sunday School van bounced treacherously through the many potholes leading up to the old Ralph Chisom farm.

Lynn cupped her left hand and held it above her glare tortured eyes. "I think it might have been wiser just to drive your own car."

"In hindsight, you are probably right, but I want to establish a church presence in the county. And, the church name, still boldly painted on both sides of the bus, is a stark reminder to all we are still in the saving business and that they can still come to us each Sunday, whenever the Lord speaks to their hearts."

"Which isn't very often," added Lynn, beads of sweat launching their attack onto her pretty black forehead. Their chat over apple pie and chocolate milk, only the day before, had given Steve the idea to immediately start visiting all those who once called his new church home.

"I have to be honest Steve, there's over a hundred folk whom over the years stopped coming to our church. About half of them have found new churches, but the other half just doggedly stay home. It really is an uphill battle you're fighting."

Steve opened his mouth to answer, but then quickly closed it again without uttering a sound. The thought that Lynn would make a perfect pastor's wife suddenly fired a shot across the bow of his once stubborn mind. She was caring, dedicated, charming, witty and clearly one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. She was also revered by his two mom starved twin daughters whom had chatted incessantly about her virtues to him all the way home, only the day before. He also had to admit that she baked the meanest apple pie in the entire state of Texas.

"Nice perfume." His words were calculated to make her feel noticed, without him drooling or being obvious about his growing fondness for her. He also felt that by slipping in a personal compliment every now and again, she too might start surmising over a possible romantic union, as well as many of the things they did have in common, despite their growing rift over her obsession with the national prayer club idea. Still, he had never been involved with a black woman before, although he had to admit to himself that it was uncanny the way her skin color seemed to make no difference to his love starved mind and body. She was a very nice woman and that was all there was to it.

"Thanks," she retaliated, somewhat blushing, and measuring her smile, uncertain if he meant 'that's a really nice perfume and it excites me,' or 'nice perfume but it is sprinkled on way too heavily.'

The van bounced much harder now, the potholes getting deeper and more tenacious as the van's stubborn tires now traversed the road leading directly to the Chisom farm front door. She tossed her gorgeous hair each time the bouncing caused it to drift across her stunning face. He pretended not to be awe struck by how fabulously the long, silky, chestnut brown curls shone in the uncompromising sun. It was a head of hair that would no doubt fill most men's fantasies and Steve briefly imagined strolling with her under the stars, watching that same silky brown hair shimmer in the moonlight as it flowed over her slender, chocolate shoulders.

"You'll have to be careful of the wasps," cautioned Lynn, her unexpected words bringing him back to earth.

"Wasps?"

"Yes, wasps. The Chisom farm is full of them, at least that's what all the folks in the county say about this place. Mind you, I've never seen them myself, but legend has it that wasps flock here because Ralph Chisom's personality is identical to theirs, hostile and cantankerous."

"That's the silliest thing I ever heard."

"Perhaps, but to be forewarned is to be forearmed," cautioned Lynn ominously.

They rolled to a halt just feet away from a dilapidated front porch and Steve issued a sigh of relief, mopping up his brow once again and gratefully stepping quickly out of the furnace like van.

The three wooden steps leading up to the front porch squeaked unmercifully as Steve ascended them. Directly in front of him was an old paint chipped, weather worn chair with a bald, fat aging man, whose red face and bulbous nose spoke of his many overindulgent, losing bouts with the bottle.

"Mr. Chisom I presume...Mr. Ralph Chisom?

"One and the same."

"Hi, I'm Steve Harkins. Lynn here, I believe you know Lynn? Well she was kind enough to tell me you used to come to church. I'm your new church pastor."

"Not my church," corrected Ralph, barely able to speak with the huge wad of chewing tobacco lodged up high in his cheek. He eyed Steve cautiously then quickly spat out a generous gob of brown liquid just inches away from Steve's brown suede shoes.

"Well, we'd like to change that, and make it your church from now on. As a matter of fact-"

"Used ta venture out ta dere now 'n 'gin, but then they started askin' fer money. Kept on passin' the plate, 'n would not move the ting outta ma face until I finally reached into ma pocket."

"Well, that was just the offering and-"

"Dat was jist 'xtortion," again corrected Ralph as he again launched a second gob of brown tobacco spit, only this time mere centimeters away from Steve's expensive footwear.

"It's not your money we're after Mr. Chisom, rather it's your soul."

"Can't 'ave dat either. Can't say as how I'm anxious ta listen ta no preacher what's always lookin' ta have 'is 'ands in me pockets and his eyes on me soul."

"Only trying to do my pastoral duties."

"Dar ain't notin' watcha preachin' types tries ta do dat's okay wid me, slitherin' uninvited 'round peoples homes wid bad intentions, like some kinda poisonous snakes, none offence intented ta you though Lynn."

"None taken," beamed Lynn, her face covered with a triumphant 'I told you so' grin that signaled to Steve he was clearly out of his league.

"As your new pastor, I can assure you it's nothing like that."

"Dat's what the last snake said 'at was out 'ere, snoopin 'round. Next ting ya know, they was tryna raise ma property taxes. Only dat fibber was from the county clerks office, claimin' I'd made improvements ta ma property. But when I brought in pictures ta appeals court ta complain, provin' aint notin' 'round 'ere bin fixed in over fifty years, well, dat fellers face a came redder 'n an over ripe radish in a patch o' bright shiny green lettuce. 'E hadda tear up his assessment might quick."

"Nice dog," piped up Lynn, noting the magnificent golden retriever laying lazily next to Ralph's feet.

"Hmmph...wat's so nice 'bout 'im. Dogs ain't suppose ta look pretty. Dog's is supposed ta keep out strangers. If 'n only I 'ad a dog 'at would bite preachers instead o' jist eyeballin' 'em, yer pastor 'ere would be puttin' bandaids on his backside right now."

"Ouch, what was that," spat out Steve in a panic, slapping his neck with his right hand, killing a winged intruder.

Ralph chuckled. "Ma wasps don't like ya neither. They're warnin' ya ta scoot."

A quick glance to the rickety, rusted out eaves trough above, revealed thousands of wasps scurrying up and down the paint chipped walls.

"I wouldn't go starin' at 'em fer too long, preacher. Der liable ta git the wrong idea 'n tink ya was snoopin' on 'em or som'im. Dem critters kin be pretty mean, why folks say dere almost as cantankerous as me."

"Obviously you're in need of prayer, Mr. Chisom. I'd like to come back another time, when your wasps aren't so hostile, maybe with some prayer warriors, and pray with you."

"Dere aint a so called prayer warrior brave enough in yer church, nor the county, no, make dat the entire state, dat is dumb enough ta come out 'ere 'n pray against deese 'ere critters."

"I think we should go now," whispered Lynn, cautiously noting the sudden rise in buzzing from wasps clearly agitated in response to Steve slapping one of their own.

A second sting on Steve's already welted neck convinced him he needn't be told twice, and within moments, the church van tires kicked up clouds of dust and tiny stones as it sped away.

"Where to next," panted Steve, as he rubbed his neck with a fresh linen hankie.

"The Indian Reservation, but just look at your neck, it's swollen." Lynn frowned and touched his head, moving it sideways to get a better view of his welts. "You should let me put some cream on those lumps, back at my place once we're done."

Steve's first inclination was to tell her not to bother, and that he'd be fine, but the thought of her carefully rubbing cream on his neck with her long red painted nails, while staring thoughtfully with concerned, gorgeous big brown eyes and breathtaking, long flowing brown curls was just more than he could resist. "If you think that's necessary?"

"Anyways Steve, the Kichappoo Reserve is just up ahead. Take a right at the next bend in the road."

The van was back to jostling up and down now, once again falling victim to unruly potholes and uneven, rocky terrain. On either side rose the mighty wind sculpted sandstone cliffs that cast jagged cooling shadows and housed hungry vultures, anxious for something more than just leftover bones. Lynn felt the disgusting eyes pouring over her fresh flesh from above and inched instinctively closer to Steve's symbolically protective shoulder. Then the sound of a lone coyote, howling to mark it's territory, also served to unnerve her.

The sound was like fingernails on a chalkboard for Steve as well. "What in heaven's name is that?"

"A coyote."

"You mean like in the road runner cartoons?"

"That would be the one," sighed Lynn, next wincing at the sight of a giant diamondback rattlesnake, slithering up a tree trunk, stalking unsuspecting desert rats.

"This place gives me the jitters."

"And you're a man. So just imagine how I must feel."

"In that case, maybe we should just turn back."

"No, it's alright. We're almost there. And if I remember correctly...let's see, the last time the church visited it took us...only about one mile from that totem pole we just past ...yes...I remember now...that's it. We're here!"

The road suddenly became paved, and a hand painted banner, heralding "The Kichappoo Indian Reservation," was now clearly in view.

Young black haired children, jumping skillfully to the rhythm of a skipping rope, eyed the van carefully then ran off, anxious to tell adults of the approaching van.

"Hmmm...it almost conjures up images in my mind of them offering me ten horses for you, Lynn."

Lynn, sighed, her face starting to harden not only from his ignorant remark, but also from an unforgiving Texas sun and a lack of suntan lotion.

She stepped out of the now stopped van and leaned wearily against its paint chipped side. "You're not going to embarrass me I hope," barked Lynn, somewhat agitated. "These people are just like anyone else in Texas, and even have their own schools, stores, complex laws and functioning government-"

"Okay, I get the picture," offered Steve. "It was only some humor, I won't-"

"Lynn, is that you?"

Lynn turned and started beaming. "Uncle Watty? Ohhhh...it's soooooo good to see you again."

The two hugged briefly and then the towering handsome face with sparkling black eyes turned it's attention to the new pastor. "And this would be?"

"This is Steve Harkins, our new church pastor. I promised him I would take him out to see you all about attending Sunday Services once more. There was a time when-"

"There was a time when this van would pick up our people from the reservation here then carry them to church and give them lunch before church and dinner after."

"But you know the roads leading up here are rough. It was taking its toll on the church funds, what with repairs and gas each Sunday to and from."

"Point taken Lynn, but you church folk never take into account the flip side of the coin. It's a one hour rocky ride, yes, to and from the church from the reservation here. But if they have to take the bus, they have to change three different buses and wait at bus stops in both pouring rain and the hot sun. By those three buses the ride becomes three hours each way and bus fares are expensive now. Not only that, but by the time my people reach your church they are hot, thirsty and hungry and you used to give out lunch snacks before service and a dinner afterwards to hold them till they got back to the reservation. But the last few times they visited you gave them nothing. It is just not feasible for young children and elderly women to go so long without something to eat or drink."

"Yes, well again, the expense of it all, what with attendance and offering being down so much, it makes it hard to-"

"I'm sorry Lynn. You can dress it up any way you like. Unless and until you start looking after the folk that might want to attend your Sunday services, I can't in all good conscience send them."

Steve slumped his shoulders in resignation then spoke. "Well, what if we reinstated the rides, there and back, and lunch and the dinner, would you consider sending ten worshippers to the church each Sunday again?"

"Well, I am sure that can be arranged. Why don't we step inside my office and discuss it some more. I do have some ice cold lemonade to cool you down if you are interested."

"That would be lovely," interjected Lynn, her stunning brown curls blowing aimlessly and sensually in the gentle breeze.

"I'd forgotten just how beautiful you actually are. I'm sure you could be a model, Lynn, if you wanted to. I've known lots of Caribbean ladies, but none as absolutely beautiful as you. And please, don't call me Uncle Watty. Jeff will do nicely."

"Whatever you say Uncle Watty, but thanks for the compliment anyways. I'm not into the dating scene if that's what you're angling for. I will say however that you are making me blush. We church secretaries don't get out much."

Jeff smiled wryly. It was the same old Lynn, business first then business second, but never time for any fun. It suddenly then dawned on him that perhaps her sights were set elsewhere. He noted Steve wasn't wearing a wedding ring. He then wondered if Steve had been jealous of the attention being paid to Lynn. He soon had his answer.

"How many are living on this reservation?"

Jeff surmised Steve's question had been carefully crafted to not only change the subject, but to also focus the attention away from Lynn's stunning looks.

"We are at almost seven hundred now. The young adults tend to leave while the elderly and middle aged tend to stay."

"I must confess to not having heard of the Kichappoo tribe before this."

"Originally our people resided as far away as Michigan and Ohio. But we fled south over a hundred and fifty years ago, first to escape the British and then the Americans. The Apache were also our deadly enemies, relentlessly pursuing us to try and wipe us out. Texas seemed like a safe distance from all three threats. Indians gave Texas its name, as a matter of fact. The Indian word Caddoan has a rough Spanish translation, Tasha, meaning friend. When we fled we thought of Texas as being a friend we could count on."

The office was gloriously air conditioned and the cushy armchairs were also gratefully welcomed.

"Thank you," offered Steve, handing Lynn a tall chilled glass before receiving his own. "And the name Kichappoo? I'm fascinated to know where that might have come from."

"The Shawnee tagged us with that name as we fled our three enemies. It means wanderers."

"That's very interesting."

"Yes, I suppose it is. What's more interesting though, is the fact you haven't yet asked me about our religion."

"Pardon?"

"Our religion," chuckled Jeff. "You asked me about our tribal name but not one thing about our religion. Just like you preachers, assuming you have the right God and the right way of worship and everyone else is condemned to the fires of hell."

"I never said I was perfect," fired back Steve.

Lynn's eyes remained fixed on Jeff. "That's a good point you make about religion," whispered Lynn, her mind racing at the revelation. "All this time I assumed you had no religion of your own and that you were in desperate need of a God to worship. Wow, Uncle Watty, how insulted you must feel sometimes."

"You make me feel so old. Pleeeeeese use Jeff. And as for being pushed into other religions, we are used to being slighted at every turn and at every opportunity. We tend to have just gotten used to it."

"So what is your religion? A red faced Steve asked."

"Very similar to yours, actually, you'll be surprised...or shall I say embarrassed to know. We also worship a 'great spirit' as do you. That supreme deity's name is Kisiihiat. He is the great creator. He is assisted in his rule over the earth by natural objects embedded in the earth which serve as spirit messengers."

"We have angels in our faith that serve in that capacity."

"This lemonade really hit the spot, thank you Uncle."

"Again with the uncle. Wow, you really know how to make a guy feel old."

Lynn was now brandishing a wide grin. Steve noted the sparkle in her eye directed at Jeff, and guessed it merely betrayed her tendency to be innocently over friendly. On the other hand, he also surmised it just might be a genuine attraction for the tall strapping Native American, whose ruggedly handsome looks and impressive muscular physic might leave any hot blooded woman, gasping for air. Either way, a now slightly jealous Steve was unwilling to leave things further to chance.

He stood, and hastily shook Jeff's hand goodbye. "Time is going, but thanks for seeing us Jeff. Well, Lynn we have to leave now if we're going to make it to dinner."

Lynn rose to her feet, then raised her eyebrows and narrowed her pretty brown eyes to two inquisitive slots. Dinner? Oh... THAT dinner. The one he had promised me for trampling on my prized tulips. Why hadn't he mentioned it earlier in the day?

"I thought we had decided to do that sometime later in the week?"

"No time like the present. Besides, I am sure the twins would love to see you fed to make up for the fabulous apple pie you blessed them with." Steve was loathe to use the twins as an impetus to ensure more time was spent with the woman that was undeniably growing on him, but Jeff was a formidable hunk and not to be dismissed as a possible rival. He winced as Lynn hugged Jeff goodbye.

Finally, Lynn followed Steve out the door. "Oh, so you're thinking of taking your daughters along then? I think that's a wonderful idea. They really are so very adorable. I thoroughly enjoyed meeting them."

"They were quite taken with you as well, Lynn."

"Really, what did they say?"

"Well, Madeline says you are the prettiest woman in the whole state of Texas, and Melanie says she wishes she could have your apple pie every day. She wants to know if all black women make such great apple pie. They both also said something about hoping you would be their new Sunday School teacher."