Chapter 2 -
For the next few weeks the two settled into the daily duties of running their churches. Summer was coming and with it the normal rash of weddings. For Father Danny, there seemed to be quite a few funerals.
They continued to enjoy their after dinner chats on the front porch and Mrs. Peele continued to wonder what kind of theology could be entertaining enough to keep two grown men in laughter. Their day to day tasks seemed to meld into business as usual until one evening on the porch.
Since it was warm, but the summer heat had yet to make it hot enough to be uncomfortable, after supper several people came out and rocked in the white oak chairs. One particular evening, Preacher Danny seemed to be a bit impatient for the others to leave and when the last resident turned-in for the night he said, “Thank God, I thought they would never leave.”
“Why? What’s up,” asked Father Danny.
“Remember how we used to find a problem in school and handle it?”
“Yes, we talked about picking up where we left off, or have you forgotten?”
“No, I haven’t forgotten and we may have something in the fire.”
“What do you mean?”
“A woman in my church came in today and said she had a problem.”
“Okay.”
“She said she visited her mother this weekend and noticed she was twitching. She knew her mother was taking medication for the twitching and asked her if she was taking her pills. Her mother didn’t answer her. Later, she slipped into the kitchen to get a drink of water and looked into the refrigerator. All that was in the refrigerator was some half-eaten cans of dog food.”
“Dog food?”
“Yes, and the woman’s mother doesn’t own a dog.”
“She went into the medicine cabinet and her mother hadn’t refilled her prescriptions for months, any of them.”
“Is her mother alright, I mean like Alzheimer’s or anything like that?” asked Father Danny.
“I asked the same thing. The woman said her mother’s mind was clear as a bell. She knows her mother gets enough Social Security every month to take care of her basic needs, but she’s not taking are of her basic needs. She asked her what was going on, but her mother refused to say anything. She wants me to talk to her”
“When do you want to go?”
“We can go any time. Right now would be okay. The lady lives in public housing and I would imagine she would still be up.”
“Let’s go,” said Danny.
They had no trouble finding the complex or the street. They drove slowly down the street looking for the apartment number.
“There’s the apartment,” said Danny, “but it looks like we’re too late. The lights are off. I’ll bet she's already gone to bed.”
“Yea, it might be better–“
”What is it?” asked Danny.
“There’s a flicker in the apartment. The woman is using candles.”
Then Danny looked around the complex. “What time is it?”
“Quarter to eight, why?”
“Look around here. There’s what, fifteen or twenty apartments and the lights are on in only a couple of them. I would think at least half of them. . . no, I would think most of them would be watching TV or reading a book or something. The whole complex wouldn't be in bed before eight, would they?”
“I wouldn’t think so.”
“Park and let’s walk back to her apartment. This doesn’t make sense.”
The two got out and began walking down the sidewalk in front of the building. They could see the flicker of candles through the blinds in several of the apartments and most of the apartments were dark. They found the lady’s apartment and knocked on the door. They heard a woman’s voice inside asking know who it was?”
“Pastor Dave Tate from Meredith Baptist Church, Mrs. Lane.”
A voice came through the door, “I already gave, go away.”
“No, Mrs. Lane, your daughter asked me to come by and see you.” There was no sound for a moment, then the door slowly opened and a frail looking woman peered out. “Emily asked you to come by.”
“Yes ma’am. She thought we could have a nice visit.”
“Who is that other man?” she asked.
“I’m just Pastor Tate’s assistant, Mrs. Lane, can we come in?”
“I guess it’ll be okay,” she said as she pulled open the door. “I’m not really prepared to see company.”
“No ma’am, I’m sure you’re not and we won’t stay but a minute. We just wanted to come by and say hello and see how you’re doing.”
“Come in, I’m sorry it’s so dark, I’m having trouble with my lights.”
“Yes ma’am, it appears several of your neighbors are too.”
“I guess so,” she said, “I wouldn't know.”
“Your daughter seems to think you might not be eating like you should and maybe not taking your medicine as often as maybe you need to.”
“My daughter should learn to mind her own business. I'm fine.”
“Okay, I’m sure you are, Mrs. Lane, but you can’t blame her for being concerned.”
“My daughter’s a busybody. She needs to mind her own business.”
“Sure, Mrs. Lane, I understand what you’re saying.”
“Good, is there anything else? If not, you’re welcome to leave.”
“Yes ma’am, we will be on our way and is there anything we can do for you while we’re here?”
Mrs. Lane shook her head and pulled open the door. The two stepped outside and before they could bid the lady good night, she pushed the door closed and they could hear the sound of a lock snapping closed behind them.
“Okay,” said Davy, “She’s hiding something.”
“Oh definitely, but what?”
As they walked back to the car they saw the flash of a match. An elderly black man sitting on his front stoop as lighting a cigarette. They stepped toward him. “Good evening, how are you doing?”
“Passable, passable.”
“I’m Pastor Tate from Meredith Baptist Church, and this is Fa. . . my assistant Preacher West. We’re just in the neighborhood.”
“Good to meet you,” said the man as he puffed on his cigarette.
“Yea, Mrs. Lane says you folks having problems with the lights.”
“Yea, if that’s what you want to call it.”
“What would you call it?”
“I ain’t to bright, Preacher, but I’d call it not paying the bill.”
“Oh, is that right? I figure most of you get Social Security and I know it’s not much, but I would think–“
”Yea, you would think, wouldn't you.” The man looked around. “Look, I’ve said enough, tell you what. Don’t you preachers visit at the hospital?”
“Yes we do, I’ll be there tomorrow.”
“Good, why don’t you visit a fella named Willie Watson. You might enjoy talking to him.”
“If you want me to, I’ll be glad to stop by and see Mr. Watson while I’m there. But, I was just wondering why so many of the lights–“
”Willie Watson, he’s in the hospital,” said the man curtly as he stood, flipped his cigarette into the yard, went inside and closed the door.”
“What time you want to go to the hospital” asked Danny.
“Eight o’clock works for me.”
“Eight o’clock it is.”
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