© 2008 by
Chris Edson
With Neither Purse Nor
Scrip
Peter decided to
have lunch
one day in the little café, “Wilma’s,” on the opposite side of
the square.
There was only a small dining room, with old booths lining each wall,
and a
single row of tables in the middle. A glass counter, with a pie case
below,
stretched across the rear of the room. Only a couple of the tables were
occupied, so Peter chose a booth and picked up the menu that stood on
the
table, next to the sugar.
“What can I get
for you?” A
middle-aged woman came to his table. She seemed to be sizing him up.
“I’ll have a
glass of water
to start with,” he smiled.
She nodded,
“Special today’s
an opened-faced roast beef sandwich, mashed potatoes, green beans, and
salad.
I’ll be back with your water in a minute.”
“Thank you,” he
nodded.
She came back
shortly with a
glass of water, “You’re new in town, aren’t you?”
“I am,” he
closed the menu.
“And I think I’ll take that special you mentioned.”
“What kind of
dressing?”
“Ranch.”
“You’re the one
working at
Lily’s, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” he
smiled. “Peter
Carson.”
“I’m Judy,” she
hadn’t
written any of his order down. “I’ll tell Wilma you’re here. She’ll be
wanting to
talk to you.”
Moments later,
Judy returned
with a small salad and crackers, “The rest’ll be ready in a few
minutes.”
“Thank you,”
Peter nodded,
then bowed his head to offer a prayer over his meal. He could feel
several eyes
on him, but he had grown accustomed to that and didn’t let it bother
him. At
least in small towns people seemed to respect the action, whereas when
he’d
been in New York City it had caused quite a stir.
The conversation
at the
nearest table was obviously between regulars, whom Peter judged to be
local
farmers. They were talking about the coming summer and their hopes for
what it
would bring. The other table was occupied with an elderly couple who
weren’t
speaking to each other at all.
As Peter was
finishing his
salad, a white haired lady, whom Peter guessed to be in her early
sixties,
approached the table carrying his food, “You ordered the special?”
“I did,” he
smiled.
She sat it in
front of him,
“I’m Wilma.”
“Peter Carson,”
he nodded.
“Glad to meet you.”
“You’re working
for Lily
Barnes?”
“I am.”
“You’re a
painter?”
“I am.”
She pointed
toward the
age-worn letters on the front window, “Can you do anything about that?”
He smiled, “I
believe I
could.”
“When you finish
lunch, come
back to the kitchen and we’ll talk about it.”
“It would be my
pleasure.”
~*~
After he
finished making
arrangements to paint a new sign in the café window, Peter
started back around
the square toward the bookshop.
He heard a
vaguely familiar
voice from behind. “Mr. Carson?”
Peter turned to
see Pastor
Mitchell standing on the opposite corner, not far from his little
church, “Oh,
good afternoon, Pastor.”
“If you’re not
in too much
of a hurry,” the Pastor requested, “I’d like to have a word with you.”
“Of course,”
Peter looked
before crossing the intersection. He said a silent prayer, ‘Lord, take
care of
this and go before me.’
“I didn’t get to
speak much
with you last Sunday,” the Pastor began leading the way toward the
church. “I
hope you enjoyed the service.”
“I did.” Peter
followed him
inside the building and then into a small office that was situated just
off the
foyer.
“Please,” he
motioned to a
chair, as he walked around and sat behind his desk, “have a seat.”
“What can I do
for you,
Pastor?” Peter asked, trying to shake off the flashbacks he was having
to all
those times he’d been called into the principal’s office.
“Peter…May I
call you
Peter?”
Peter nodded.
“Peter,” he let
out a little
sigh, leaning back in his chair, “I find myself in a rather unusual
position.
Lily is a very dear friend, and as I’m sure you know, she is a very
wonderful
and trusting soul.”
“She is.”
“She is very
dear to a lot
of people, Peter. And some of those people are expressing concern.”
Peter remained
silent,
looking him in the eye.
The Pastor
cleared his
throat and looked down a bit, “I received a phone call this morning
from Lily’s
oldest daughter, Allison. She is quite worried that her mother has let
you
become so…close, shall we say.”
Peter still
didn’t speak.
“I know that
Lily thinks you
are an answer to her prayers,” the Pastor adjusted in his chair,
“because she
has been very lonely since her husband passed away.”
“And what do you
think, Pastor?” Peter finally broke his silence.
The question
seemed to catch
him off guard. There was a flash in his eyes that showed he was
uncomfortable.
He fidgeted again slightly in his seat before answering, “I think that,
if you
are indeed an answer to her prayers, then I should be thankful. But if
you are
not…well, I find that perhaps I should simply ask your intentions.”
“My intentions
are to do
that which the Lord asks of me.”
The Pastor
raised a brow,
“What brought you here?”
“Why don’t you
ask me what
you really want to know?”
Again he seemed
caught off
guard, but let out a slow breath, “Very well. Why are you really in our
little
town, Peter? And why are you really working for Lily?”
“I’m a painter
by trade,”
Peter replied. “I paint signs, buildings, houses, murals, whatever I’m
asked to
paint. If I were to so choose, I could settle down anywhere and have a
profitable business. However, earthly profits don’t interest me,
Pastor.
Instead, I have chosen to follow Christ, something I think you should
be able
to appreciate.”
It was the
Pastor’s turn to
remain silent.
Peter continued,
“I go where
the Lord leads me. I’ve been many places and known many people. Most
generally
I stay somewhere until I feel my work there is done, then I get in my
car and
start driving. My rule of thumb is that when I get close to a quarter
of a
tank, I look for somewhere to stop. Thus far, it has worked well for
me. That
is how I chose this little town. It was time for gas, so I left it in
the
Lord’s hands.”
“So,” the Pastor
scowled,
“you just travel around from place to place…painting?”
“Painting is how
I earn my
living,” Peter clarified. “It is not my purpose on earth.”
He shook his
head slightly,
but went on, “So, you needed gas and came to Willowbrook, then…what?
You
apparently never got the gas.”
“I saw the
bookstore needed
a new sign,” Peter smiled, “and there was a help wanted sign in the
window. So
I went in and met Lily.”
The Pastor gave
him a
skeptical look, “Just like that?”
Peter nodded,
then began to
quote from Matthew, “And as ye go, preach, saying, The kingdom of
heaven is
at hand. Heal the sick; cleanse the lepers; raise the dead; cast out
devils;
freely ye have received, freely give. Provide neither gold, nor silver,
nor
brass in your purses. Nor scrip for your journey, neither two coats,
neither
shoes, nor yet staves; for the workman is worthy of his meat. And into
whatsoever town or city ye shall enter, inquire who in it is worthy,
and there
abide till ye go thence. And when ye come into a house, salute it; and
if the
house be worthy, let your peace come upon it; but if it be not worthy,
let your
peace return to you. And whosoever shall not receive you, nor hear your
words,
when ye depart out of that house, or city, shake off the dust of your
feet for
a testimony against them.”
“Surely you’re
not comparing
yourself to the apostles?”
“What Jesus said
to one, he
said to all, Pastor,” Peter replied. “The apostles were examples to us
all. Is
that not what all Christians are to be, examples to all those around
them.”
Peter stood up, “I would think that you would understand that this is
not a
life one chooses out of convenience, but rather out of true conversion.
Now, if
there is anything you need painted, please let me know. Otherwise, I
believe we
are done here.”
~*~
That Friday
afternoon, Peter
was busy painting the new sign for Wilma, when a young blonde girl came
in. She
flashed him a bright smile, then disappeared into the back room. He
looked at
his watch and saw that it was just after 3:30. He should be done before
the
dinner crowd arrived. As he worked, he heard someone approach him from
behind.
He continued to concentrate on the lettering.
“Wow,” she
finally spoke.
“You’re really good at that. Letters are hard and you’re doing them
freehand
and backwards.”
“I try,” he
chuckled.
“So you’re the
new guy,
huh?”
“I suppose I
am,” he nodded.
“Peter Carson.”
“Hi,” she
giggled, “I’m
Patty. I work here after school and weekends.”
“Glad to meet
you, Patty.”
“I guess you
know by now,
you’re big news around here.”
“Why is that?”
“Because no one
comes here
and stays. They leave here. As the saying goes, Willowbrook is a good
place to
be from.”
“Seems like a
fine little
town to me.”
“No jobs,
though. At least
not good ones.”
He glanced over
his shoulder
at her. She had pulled up a chair and was sitting there watching him
work. “You
have a job.”
“Well, yeah,”
she shrugged,
“but I’m not trying to make a living. It’s not like this is what I want
to do
with my life.”
“And what do you
wish to do
with your life?”
“Well if I was
as good at
that as you are, I’d be a painter. I love art. But it’s not a good way
to make
a living. At least not here.”
“That all
depends.”
“On what?”
“On what you
consider a good
living and on how you apply yourself.”
“You mean you
make a good
living at it?”
“I’ve not
starved yet.”
“You do other
stuff too,
though, right?”
“I do what I
can,” he
answered truthfully.
“Patty!” Wilma
called from
the back. “Leave that poor man alone and get things ready for dinner.
It’s
Friday night! We’ll be busy. Time’s a wasting, Girl!”
Patty sighed,
“Coming.”
After he
completed his task,
Wilma came out to inspect his work. She gave him a big smile and patted
his
shoulder, “I do declare! That looks the best it’s ever looked! Let me
write you
a check and I expect you to come back here for dinner tonight, on me.
It’s
catfish night and, if I do say so myself, I make the best catfish
around.”
“I shall be
delighted.”
~*~
Patty walked up
to his table
as he was polishing off the last bit of his dinner, “So? What do you
think?”
“I think Wilma
has every
reason to brag on herself.”
“She sent me to
find out
what kind of pie you want,” Patty smiled. “There’s coconut cream, lemon
meringue, apple, rhubarb, and pecan.”
Peter put his
hand on his
stomach, “Oh my. Pie? Really, I don’t know that I have room…”
“I can put it in
a box for
you,” she offered. “You can’t turn a piece of Wilma’s pie down. They’re
to die
for, trust me.”
He chuckled,
“All right
then. Make it to go, and surprise me. All of those sound good.”
When she brought
him the
little Styrofoam container, she sat down opposite him in the booth,
“You’ll
come back, won’t you?”
“With food like
this, how
could I stay away?” He teased.
“So, do you
paint other
stuff? I mean, are you an artist?”
“I do,” he
nodded, “and I
suppose whether I’m an artist is rather a matter of perspective.”
“I love to
paint,” she
sighed. “And draw. Do you draw?”
“Yes.”
“Do you ever
sell your
stuff?”
“Yes.”
“Really? Could
I, like, see
some of your work?”
He was touched
by her
enthusiasm, “I’ll come by some evening with some samples.”
“That’d be cool.
I’ve never,
like, met a real artist before.”
“Maybe you’d
better reserve
that opinion until after you’ve seen my work,” he chuckled, standing up
to
leave. He handed her two five-dollar bills, “Here, keep one for
yourself and
give the other to Wilma, will you? Tell her she outdid herself.”
Her eyes got
big, “Oh, wow!
Yeah. Thanks!” As he was walking out she called behind him, “See you
again
soon, Mr. Carson!”
~*~
“Mrs. Barnes!
Mr. Carson!”
Joey came running into the bookshop Saturday morning like he was on his
way to
a fire.
“Joey!” They
spoke in
unison, as they looked up from their respective tasks.
“Look! Look!” He
had a flier
in his hands that he was pointing to.
They both
started reading
it, but he began to explain it before they had time, “It says here that
this
book club will reward kids that read books over their summer vacation.
See? If
I read 60 books between now and September first, I can earn a free
membership!
That means I can have free books! Of my very own!”
“That’s quite a
few books to
read in one summer, Joey,” Lily cautioned.
“Oh, but I can
do it! I know
I can,” he was teeming with excitement. “All I have to do is make
reports on
samples of the books and I have to get two adults to sponsor me and
listen to
me make oral reports on the others.”
Peter chuckled,
“Now where
are you going to find two adults to sponsor you?”
Joey’s eyes got
big as he
looked up, obviously not realizing that Peter was teasing him. He
gulped,
“Well…I was hoping that…I mean…Mr. Carson, would you and Mrs. Barnes
sponsor
me, please?”
Peter ruffled
his hair, “I
thought you’d never ask. Of course, I will.”
Lily gave him a
hug, “I’d be
honored, Joey. And all my books are at your disposal to read.”
“Thanks!” He
beamed, “This
is gonna be the best summer ever!”
Peter gave him a
wink,
“Indeed, I believe it shall.”