The Cat That God Sent Page 18

  Someone will get up soon.

  In the corner, a tallish blonde woman, older than Tassy but not really old, motioned her over.

  “You can sit here. No sense in waiting. Your food will get cold.”

  Tassy smiled. “You sure? I don’t want to intrude.”

  “No. I’m by myself. It’s fine. I’m Emma,” she said, and gestured for Tassy to sit.

  “And I’m Tassy.”

  Emma offered the most puzzled look.

  “Tassy from Pastor Jake’s church?”

  Tassy removed the single cheeseburger and laid it on a napkin.

  “I am. Well, I live right next to it. In Vern’s big RV. Until I find a job. They’re letting me stay for a while. They’re nice people. Vern and Eleanor. And Pastor Jake, too.”

  Emma shook her head in what looked like amazement.

  “And I’m Emma Grainger. The veterinarian. I fixed Petey’s paw when Pastor Jake first showed up in town.”

  Tassy could not help from grinning. She leaned in closer and whispered. “He took you out on a date last night.”

  Emma whispered back. “I know. I was there.”

  Then they both giggled.

  “Small world, isn’t it?” Tassy said.

  “Well, Tassy, I don’t know how small the world is—but Coudersport is a very small town.”

  Tassy wondered if Emma would ask her if Pastor Jake said anything about their “date,” but she didn’t.

  Maybe old people don’t care as much.

  “Did Pastor Jake bring you?” Emma asked, looking out into the parking lot, scanning for Jake’s white pickup.

  Tassy chewed slowly, making sure her stomach was ready for the food.

  “No. He would have if I asked. But it’s not a bad walk. Good exercise.”

  “Walk four miles for a McDonald’s burger? You must be hungry,” Emma said.

  “You know, I’m not. But I want to look for a job. I thought I might put in applications around town. Maybe here, too.”

  Emma took a drink and appeared to be thinking something important. Tassy couldn’t tell for sure. Older people often puzzled her. Like Vern, who always looked angry but was actually very nice.

  “Tassy, what kind of job are you looking for?”

  “Anything, I guess. I don’t have much experience. I was in school before. The Community College of Philadelphia. I was just taking general studies. But now I’m looking for any sort of job. I don’t mind working hard.”

  “Do you like animals?” Emma asked.

  “I do,” she replied, brightening. “I love Petey. He comes to visit in the morning if I don’t feel good. He seems to want to take care of me.”

  “And you don’t mind cleaning? Sweeping and mopping and that sort of thing?”

  “No. I don’t. I’m sort of a neat person. I like things tidy.”

  Emma looked away for a long moment. Her face grew serious.

  “Would you consider working in my practice?”

  “In a vet’s office? That would be great. You mean it? What would I do?”

  “I could use someone to do the cleaning, because I don’t have the energy to do it at the end of a long day. Keep the supply cabinet up-to-date. Maybe answer the phone when I’m with a patient. Fill out patient charts. Send vaccination reminders. It’s all on the computer. I could offer four days a week. I can’t pay a lot, but it would be more than you would make at McDonald’s. And it would all be daylight hours.”

  “Could I do all that? Is your phone system complicated?”

  “Just two lines with one button each.”

  “I could do that. I could. I would love to do that. And be around animals all day. Wow. That would be super.”

  “Well, why don’t we finish our lunch, then I’ll take you over and we can talk about hours and pay and all of it. Does that sound good?”

  “Doctor Grainger, it sounds like a miracle. It truly does.”

  Jake tapped at Tassy’s door. She did not answer.

  “Must be out for a walk, Petey. Did you see where she went?”

  Petey chirped a reply and looked up at Jake with a quizzical look.

  “Well . . . you want to walk by the river?”

  Petey remained sitting, his tail wrapped around his rear paws. Usually whenever Jake said “walk,” Petey was up and circling his legs, ready and excited to be walking anywhere.

  “What about that way?” Jake asked, pointing to the west. The woods grew thick just past the church. Jake had yet to explore that part of the neighborhood. Petey just sat.

  “You want to go for a ride?”

  With that Petey jumped and ran toward Jake’s truck, turning every few feet, looking back at Jake, making sure he was following.

  “Okay, then. A ride. There’s no one on the church’s sick/must-visit list. I guess a ride would be okay. It gives me time to think, right, Petey? Being in charge of a church brings up a lot of things that I never had to deal with before.”

  Petey meowed loudly and scratched at the door on his side of the truck. Jake opened it and Petey hopped up, assuming his standard position. Jake drove toward town and then through town, waving at a few people he passed.

  A celebrity. That’s what she called me.

  After the fourth honk and wave, Jake smiled to himself.

  Maybe I am . . . a little.

  He drove east until the town receded and only road and woods and fields remained.

  Of course, they may be waving at Petey, and not me.

  He drove on, not fast, watching the scenery roll past. North central Pennsylvania offered wonderful, natural vistas. Once outside of town, the landscape became nearly uninhabited. He drove east on Route 6 until he reached Denton Hills State Park. He pulled into the large parking lot and looked up at the labyrinth of ski trails, now covered in green.

  Petey meowed.

  “We’re not stopping. Just turning around, that’s all. I could come here next winter. I could take up skiing.”

  Petey meowed loudly.

  “No? You don’t think I would be any good at it?”

  He meowed again, as if to say, “No, you wouldn’t be.”

  “Okay. We’ll head back.”

  Midway between the empty ski runs and Coudersport, Jake saw a canted sign, the sun catching it just so, almost illuminating it, the sign almost lost in the foliage, covered with a tangle of vines. In a week or so, the sign would be hidden beneath the full greening of summer vegetation.

  “Coudersport Ice Mine. Nature’s Amazing Curiosity.”

  He pulled to the side of the road and stared at it.

  “Petey, what’s an ice mine?”

  Petey chirped.

  “Don’t know, do you?”

  Jake knew that farmers cut ice from lakes and rivers and stored the ice blocks under straw for the summer. But there were no large bodies of water nearby, from what Jake could see. A small stream lay on the other side of the highway, but that could not produce enough ice to furnish an ice mine, or to call it an ice mine.

  He thought about taking a picture of it, but didn’t have his good camera with him and his phone’s camera would not do it justice. He looked around and tried to make himself remember the location, though much of the road looked like every other part of the road.

  “Who would I ask about an old ice mine?”

  Petey looked at him and chirped.

  “Well, Emma might know. I could try.”

  He looked back to the road. There wasn’t a car to be seen. He pulled out and headed back to Coudersport.

  Ice mine? Ice mine?

  He pulled into a service station.

  “I need gas, Petey, okay?”

  Petey sat, implacable, silent, and simply looked around at the other cars.

  Jake went inside to pay.

  “Have you ever heard of an ice mine around here?” he asked the clerk. “I saw an old sign along the road back a ways.”

  “The Coudersport Ice Mine? Sure. The road there is Ice Mine Road. Used to be fam
ous, I guess. And aren’t you that new pastor in town? The one with the cat? The cat that comes to church?”

  “Jake Wilkerson,” he said, and held out his hand. “The cat’s waiting for me in the truck. Petey.”

  “Bailey Stewart. Don’t go to your church, but I heard people talking about it. Mind if I come out and say hello to Petey? I’m more of a dog person, but cats are all right.”

  He followed Jake out to the truck. Jake opened the door on the passenger side.

  “That’s Petey.”

  “That’s a pretty cat,” Bailey said. “Can I pet him?”

  “Sure. I guess. He doesn’t get ruffled by much.”

  Bailey reached and stroked the top of Petey’s head. Petey meowed softly in response.

  “That’s a handsome cat. Beautiful coat. And he likes going for rides?”

  “Seems to,” Jake said. “But what about the Ice Mine?”

  Bailey stood there petting Petey. “Oh, yeah. It was the darndest thing. Been closed for, I don’t know, years now. People say way back when, Indians had found a silver mine in these parts. That’s the story. Some early settler or farmer thought he knew where it was and dug this mineshaft to get at the silver. Never found a trace of it. Wound up with a big hole in the ground. What happened was the mineshaft would be clear of ice all winter. But come spring and summer, giant icicles would form all along the roof. Like it didn’t know what season it was—or like a hole opened onto the other side of the world or something. For a long time, they used to charge a quarter to go inside. But everybody is playing video games now, and hardly anyone came anymore, so they closed it down. The mine is just down this road, maybe ten miles.”

  “Ice in the summer—and not in the winter?” Jake said. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Some professor from Penn State or somewhere came to look at it. Somehow the water in the rocks freezes during the winter, he said, and traps cold air in the rocks. When spring comes, the cold air gets loose and starts to freeze what water is dripping. He said it made sense. And he was a doctor of something or other.”

  Jake thanked him for the information.

  “Say, there, Pastor. What time is your church? Maybe I’ll take a Sunday and come see the cat. Would that be okay? Just to visit?”

  “Sure,” Jake said. “We would love to have you visit. Service is at 11:00. Petey would like to see you there as well.”

  “Okay, then. Maybe I’ll see you some Sunday, then. Bye, Petey.”

  Petey looked at him and meowed a farewell.

  “Don’t that beat all?” Bailey said.

  Jake headed back to town.

  Freezing in the summer, empty in the winter. The exact opposite of how things should be. And there’s always some logical explanation for those curious quirks of nature. Sounds like me—sort of. Full of faith when it didn’t matter and now that I should have faith . . . I don’t, really. Icicles in the summer. Paradoxical, isn’t it?

  The sun had turned velvet purple as Jake pulled into the church parking lot.

  Quite the paradox.

  Jake stopped in at Kaytee’s for a tuna fish salad sandwich. He liked tuna fish salad, but every time he tried to make it at home, it never tasted just right.

  Easier—and better—to get it at a restaurant. They must use special ingredients.

  Petey was at home this noon, so Jake had the luxury of a slow lunch, complete with coffee and pie afterward. He ate too many meals standing up in his kitchen.

  The sandwich was great, the coffee was hearty, and the blackberry pie was more than delicious. He ate with deliberateness, slowly.

  A man came and waved. His face was familiar—probably attended the church—but Jake could not put a name with the face.

  “Dan Rummel, Pastor. I’ve been at your church. Once, anyways, since you’ve been here. Not a regular church person, I admit. I hope that’s okay. I hope it’s okay that you can be seen talking to a non-churchgoer in a public place.”

  Jake waved him to sit down.

  “Of course we can talk. When a pastor can’t talk to a person who doesn’t go to church, well, that would be a sad day.”

  “Good. Thanks. Like I said, I’m Dan. Dan Rummel. I run Honest Dan’s Used Kar Emporium on Sixth. That’s car spelled with a K. People stop and tell me its spelled wrong.”

  “Do they really?”

  “Well . . . no. Not yet. But they might. I’ve seen you drive by a few times. You’ve got a white pickup, right? A ’87 F-150, right?”

  “ ’86.”

  “Honest mistake. Not much difference between those two model years. You think of upgrading to a newer vehicle? I’ve got a couple of great late model truck deals just waiting for you.”

  Jake shook his head. “Not right now, Dan. The old truck is running fine. Maybe before winter. We’ll see.”

  Dan pulled out a card from the breast pocket of his yellow sport coat.

  “See, it’s a magnet, too. You can put it on your refrigerator to hold shopping lists or pictures of the kids. Oh, wait, you’re not married, right? Someone said that.”

  “No. Still single.”

  “Footloose and fancy-free. That’s the way to be. Although for a pastor there may be a different definition of footloose and fancy-free, am I right?”

  “I think you are correct. For me, anyhow.”

  Dan suddenly grew serious. The grin left his face. He pulled his chair closer to the table. Jake was glad he had finished his pie. If not, he would have faced the dilemma of eating in front of someone or not eating and waiting until they left.

  “I’ve got a question, Pastor. You mind if I call you ‘Pastor’? You’re not exactly my pastor, but then again, you are a pastor, so the title should still be good, right?”

  “ ‘Pastor’ is fine. Whatever you’re comfortable with, really.”

  “Okay. I have a church sort of question. Been bugging me for years.”

  “Go ahead,” Jake said, as he tried to put a studious, serious look on his face.

  “So, when I was a kid, the family went to a loud church—lots of arm waving and shouting. Nothing wrong with it, I suppose. Baptized when I was ten. Like I really knew what I was doing at that age—sure. But here’s the problem. Since getting out of high school, I don’t go to church all that much. Couple of times a year. But I was baptized. So that should be enough, right? Do I still have to go to church? Should I feel guilty about not going? Because I really do, and I don’t like feeling guilty.”

  Jake waited to respond.

  “The Bible does say that we should not give up on gathering together.”

  “Does it give the number of times a year we have to do it?” Dan asked.

  Jake had encountered such questions before.

  “The Bible doesn’t give you a calendar or a checklist of things you must accomplish. It does say that we need to be in fellowship, Dan. That’s important.”

  Dan appeared to grow even more serious.

  “But what happens if I stop having faith? Does my baptism make up for that? Because I can’t say I believe much about religion anymore.”

  Jake drew in a breath.

  “Dan, you need to have faith. Without it, there is no hope, no salvation.”

  I am such a hypocrite. I’m telling him what someone should be telling me. No faith means no hope.

  “You sure about that, Pastor? Really sure?”

  I should tell him the truth. But I can’t.

  “I am.”

  “Do you let people in church who don’t believe? Isn’t there some sort of test these days?”

  “No tests, Dan.”

  “So it’s okay to have doubts? You sure about that, Pastor?”

  “Yes. I am sure, Dan. Tell you what. You think about it. And come see me in a week or so. Call me. We can meet here. Or I can come to the lot and look at the trucks you have.”

  “Really? You want to look at the inventory? Okay, then. I’ll think about it. And you have to promise me that you’ll think about a new truck. Okay?
”

  “Dan, we have a deal.”

  Petey growled and stared at the door. Jake came out from his office. “Did someone knock?”

  Petey meowed and stared at the kitchen door. This time, Jake did hear it. A soft rapping.

  “Tassy,” he said as he opened the door. “How are you today?”

  She had her arms folded across her chest. The skies had been cloudy and gray since morning and a wind came down from New York, almost cold and biting. Tassy wore a black, hooded sweatshirt. Her nose was a little red.

  “Come on in. Do you want some tea?”

  She bent down, petted Petey, then picked him up and he began to purr loudly.

  “No. Not today. I’ve had some. But I need to ask a favor.”

  “Sure. I’ll help if I can.”

  “I need to buy a bicycle.”

  “A bike?”

  “I need to be able to get to work.”

  “Tassy, I could take you. What about when it rains . . . wait, did you say you need to get to work? Did you find a job?”

  Her face nearly disappeared behind her grin.

  “I did. Or it found me, sort of. Emma—your Emma, the lady veterinarian—hired me to help clean and answer phones and stuff. It’s only four days a week, but I can save up and maybe find a place of my own and a car and stuff. But I need a bike right now. It takes too long to walk to town from here.”

  “Emma . . . Dr. Grainger hired you?”

  “I was waiting for a table at McDonald’s and she invited me to sit with her, and we introduced ourselves and talked and she knew who I was, and I said I was looking for a job and she said she needed help with cleaning stuff, so we talked and now I have a job starting Monday morning. That’s like a miracle, isn’t it, Pastor Jake? A little miracle. Not like being cured of cancer or anything. But still.”

  “I guess it is, Tassy.” And why does the word miracle sound so hollow and false to me? It is the truth, right? Or it could be, I guess. A little miracle. Just not my miracle.

  “So I thought I could buy a used bike. Do they have, like, a resale shop in Coudersport?”