Hunter's Moon Read online

  Tom hung up the phone. Wonder what he needs to talk about? It must be important if he gave in to buying breakfast so quickly. Guess I’ll find out soon.

  The paperwork for the bill went quickly, and Tom was on the road to Cumberland in no time. He noted some tire skid marks at an S turn and saw some broken glass, pieces of plastic, and a dark stain in the road. Looks like we had another wreck on Bloody Route 28. When is the state ever going to do something to fix this highway?

  A short while later, he crossed the bridge over the Potomac River into Cumberland, Maryland. The old towpath of the C & O Canal paralleled the river from its end in Cumberland to its beginning near Washington, D.C. Old George had sure played a big part in the development of the area, including the canal. I wonder what life was like back in Washington’s day and later when the canal was operating?

  He turned onto River Street and three blocks later, pulled to a stop at the intersection with Virginia Avenue. At that odd, five-way intersection, he made a quick left and shortly afterward pulled into the parking lot at the Rock of Ages Restaurant. After finding a spot where he was confident the big truck would not get blocked in, he walked across Bowen Street and up to the door. The large sign on the glass read, “Rock of Ages Restaurant and Christian Night Club.” A painting of Christ on the cross covered the remainder of the door. He went in and asked for a booth in a corner. The waitress named Sandy showed him one out of the way and gave him a menu. Tom said he was expecting a friend and needed a few minutes, which she gave him. The menu contained the usual breakfasts he expected. Sandy returned and asked what drinks and meals they wanted. Tom ordered two house breakfast specials: two scrambled eggs, two bacon strips, grits, a biscuit, and coffee. The coffee arrived quickly, steaming hot. About five minutes later, Padre arrived dressed in regular street clothes and sat down. “Never been here. Looks like your standard good eatin’ place. How’s Tom doin’ today?” he inquired.

  Tom said he was doing alright, and he had taken the liberty of ordering for both of them. Padre said that was fine. He was in a hurry, too. The food came quickly, and after a short blessing by the Padre, it proved not only to look tasty but was very tasty. The men ate like hungry bears. Tom took a big drink of coffee to wash down the last of the scrambled eggs. “Now, what was it you needed to talk with me about?” he asked.

  Father Frank looked up and paused. He said nothing for what seemed a full minute but was only a few seconds. He looked around to see if anyone was near. The other patrons were on the far side of the restaurant and busy in their own conversations. He sipped the coffee and swallowed hard. “I ah, I ah, don’t really know where to begin. I have a confession to make.”

  “Whoa! Stop right there. You know I don’t do confessions. That’s something you guys do. If you need to confess something, you need to see a priest, comprende?”

  Father Frank grimaced. “Tom, please hear me out, and you’ll understand.”

  “Okay, but you are kinda weirding me out on this confession thing.”

  The Padre ignored the last remark and continued. “I hardly know where to start. I feel like such a hypocrite.”

  “Okay.” The Padre had Tom’s full attention. “Let’s start at the beginning.”

  “Yesterday, after church, my secretary, Janice Rae, asked to see me in private. It seemed really awkward the way she asked. She was not her usual friendly, cordial self. Something was wrong. There was tension in her voice and manner. Some people stayed late and asked a lot of good questions about my sermon and the Christian faith. After about ten minutes, they left, and I was able to talk with her. I asked her what was wrong, and she laid into me with accusations of being seen with a woman last week holding her hand and kissing her passionately on the lips. ‘What I fraud I was,’ she said, ‘I wasn’t a committed Christian fit for the Priesthood. It’s nothing but a facade. I wasn’t who I said I was.’ As you can imagine, I was taken back and shocked. She went to say she saw me and the woman at the Frederick Square Mall in Frederick, Maryland.”

  Tom’s eyes were wide open. “And what happened then?”

  “Tom, I hadn’t been to Frederick in months. When I got over the initial shock of what she said, I realized she saw my twin brother and his wife, who live in Frederick.”

  “So, what did you do?”

  “Well, as delicately as I could, I explained the situation to her. When she grasped the veracity of my statement, she was visibly shaken, embarrassed, and devastated, yet relieved all at the same time. She was a mess. I consoled her and explained I could understand her mistake as we are identical. She was still shaken, so I reassured her that as a Christian and a priest, I was glad she held me accountable. Only a true friend who cared would risk ending their friendship and professional relationship. It still took a moment or so for her to gain her composure, but she was satisfied with the answer. Being a twin has got me in a lot of trouble at times.”

  “How so?”

  “My brother Fred and I went from a junior high school of 300 students to a high school with 3000. We were big for our ages, but still, things happened. The first week we were there, these four big guys came up to us and said, ‘We beat the crap outta twins,’ only they didn’t say crap. My brother’s always been a fast thinker, and he told them we were triplets, not twins. Anyone who messed with one, messes with all three of us. They wanted to know where the third was, so he said he’d get him. He went to his locker, changed his shirt and jacket, messed up his hair, and came back. Said he was Fallon and anyone who messes with one of us messes with all three of us. They backed off and never gave us any more trouble, although a lot of twins suffered from those four in high school. At graduation, they came over to us and asked where Fallon was. We told them he was flunking Mr. Miller’s math class. He dropped out and would be taking a summer class so he could graduate. That satisfied them, and they were never the wiser.”

  “I have to say that’s a remarkable story, but why do I have the feeling there’s more to this story. Level with me, Padre. What’s up?”

  He dropped his eyes to the table and then looked Tom square in the eye. The Padre began, “I met a gal named Stacy, a woman about my age when I was at one of the district meetings in Pittsburgh. She was a counselor at a Catholic school in Aliquippa. We enjoyed each other’s company, and I made it a point not to miss monthly district meetings as did she. She gave me her phone number. One thing led to another. I’ve been seeing her every Monday on our days off for some time. Tom, we fell in love. Can you believe it? Me? A priest? I know it’s crazy, but it happened. Now, do you see? I feel like such a fool.”

  There was a long pause before Tom said, “I really don’t know what to say. I never saw this coming.”

  “Neither did I. Neither did I,” he repeated. “And there’s more. She told me a month ago she was pregnant, and I know it’s my child. I’m so torn up inside. And I love her. Can you believe this? Me, a priest at that?”

  “So, what are you gonna do?” Tom asked.

  “The right thing. Today, after I leave here, I’m driving to Pittsburgh, and we’re having a clerk of the county court marry us. Next Sunday, I’ll be resigning from my position at my church. After that, I’ll be moving in with her. I have a few ideas for work. We’ll see what happens. Tom, I was born a thousand years too late. Priests back then could get married and have families, but some old Pope had a revelation, so he said, and we can’t do it today. Now, do you see why I wanted to talk, but was afraid of what you would say?”

  Tom looked at the big black man across the booth from him. His eyes begged for acceptance and looked like they were tearing up. Tom said, “Padre, you’ve always been my friend, and I will support you in any way I can. Do what you think and know is right. And above all know this, not one word you’ve told me here today will I spill. This was in strict confidence as a pastor and friend. I love you, my Christian brother, and want nothing but the best for you and Stacy. Can we pray?” Padre nodded yes. He reached his two large hands out across the table to To
m. Tom clutched the powerful hands, lowered his head as did the Padre. He began, “Almighty God, You know all. You know us inside and out. You know what is in a man’s heart. I’m here with my brother in Christ today. He’s hurting, and he’s one of Yours. Direct his path as only You can do in the way that is right. Comfort his heart and bless him in this. We ask in Jesus' name. Amen.”

  “And a second amen to that,” Father Frank said as tears ran down his cheeks. “A big, second amen.”

  The two men rose from their seats and embraced in a bear hug.

  “I’ll never forget this, Tom. Thank you. You’re a true brother.”

  “You’re my brother, too.” He paused and said, “Hey, we have things to do. You gonna pay for this so we can go?”

  “Yeah, guess it’s on me.” Father Frank caught the eye of Sandy the waitress. He asked, “Will a $20 cover this?”

  “Yes, it will,” she said.

  “Keep everything left for your tip.”

  “Thanks,” she replied. “You guys be sure and come again.”

  “We’ll be back. Take care, and God bless,” Tom added.

  Sandy joyfully said, “He really does. His mercies are new every morning. Great is His faithfulness.”

  “Amen to that,” the deep voice of the Padre said.

  The two men walked to the back and left the building. They stopped next to the Padre’s car. Tom looked at his big friend and spoke, “I don’t know what more to say, brother. Just want you to know when you need me, I’ll be there.”

  “I know, brother, I know.” The big man spread his arms, and the two men hugged again like true agape friends. Tears poured down the big man’s face. “I know. I know you’ll be there.”

  The two men parted, and the Padre got in his car. Tom stood nearby as Father Frank wiped the tears from his eyes, sniffled and said, “Well, just like Smokey and the Bandit, I have a long way to go and a short time to get there. I’ll see you later and hope and pray this all works out. Later.”

  “Yeah, see you later.” The car backed out into the street, went the short distance to Virginia Avenue, and disappeared in the railroad viaduct.

  Never saw that coming, thought Tom. Wonder what other surprises are waiting for me today?

  Chapter 17

  Tom drove the truck through the twisting, narrow streets of Cumberland. He stopped at a supermarket and numerous convenience stores before backing into the loading dock at the Cumberland Times-News in downtown Cumberland, Maryland. Here he had been kidnapped place and threatened with death if he did not tell his captors where the lost gold payroll of General Braddock was buried. A dreadful feeling went through Tom as he thought of this and he tried to push those thoughts to the deep recesses of his mind but had little success. The order today was mainly five-gallon bottles for the coolers, plus a few cases of the small six-ounce mini bottles. Tom fixed the long, multi-use hand truck in the heavy-duty position with all four wheels on the floor. One large and heavy load should do it. How often Tom wished he was in the chip and snack-food business. Not the physically demanding bottled-water business, but he wasn’t. He buzzed the secured door to gain entrance. The door clicked; he opened the service door and pushed the loaded cart up the hallway to the elevator. Here, he’d been knocked unconscious and kidnapped earlier in the year. He hit the elevator button and waited. The lift doors parted, and he pushed the cart into the lift. He touched the number two button and felt the box rise. A bell alerted him as the box stopped, the doors opened, he made his way through the building and dropped the cargo off in the utility closet. Tom heard a muffled voice behind him, jumped around, and came face to face with the owner of the newspaper, Mr. Godfrey. “Oh, so sorry to startle you, Mr. Kenney. I should have known better after what happened to you here. I am so sorry.”

  Tom felt his heart in his throat, and it beat heavily against his chest. “You liked to scare the crap outta me!”

  “I am so sorry. Please, finish up what you are doing and bring the bill to my office. I want to pay up my account with your company.”

  Tom took the last of the five-gallon bottles from the cart and placed them on a heavy-duty metal rack bolted to a block wall. He folded the wheels up, which made the utility cart into a more standard and moveable two-wheeled hand truck. Mr. Godfrey was waiting, and Tom followed him to his office. The walls were filled with plaques and framed pictures about the paper and its owner.

  “Please, have a seat,” said Mr. Godfrey. He pulled out a legal-size checkbook, looked at another book, saw what he wanted, and began to write a check. “Oh, I almost forgot. I need today’s bill to bring this totally up to date.”

  Tom handed him the bill of sale and looked around the room at the memorabilia. He could see Mr. Godfrey must own at least ten newspapers, maybe more and noted many pictures of him with various dignitaries from the local and state level all the way to the national level. Tom recognized several past and present members of Congress and one past President. He knew Mr. Godfrey had money and connections, but this surprised Tom. Here was a man of quiet power.

  Mr. Godfrey finished writing the check and handed it to Tom. He’d seen Tom looking at the items on the walls. “What do you think, Mr. Kenney? What do you think of all this?”

  “I’m somewhat surprised. You seem like such a down to earth kind of guy. I would have never known.”

  “With great power comes great responsibility. I have seen it go to the head of many people, male and female. I have tried never to forget where I came from and let it go to my head. For many people, vast power created deep, deep troubles that swallowed them. A fire can warm or consume you.”

  Tom noted an article from the local paper framed on the wall about General Braddock and his lost payroll and asked Mr. Godfrey what he knew on the subject.

  “Oh, just what I read in the newspaper,” he chuckled. “I keep it there to remind me to not become overconfident like the British General. He should have listened to George Washington and not made the Indian scouts and warriors mad enough to leave. But he was somewhat of a pompous man, and it cost him dearly. One should listen to those around him for their advice.”

  Tom agreed. The two men made some small talk about the economic state of western Maryland. Both agreed it was not right, and the people on the coast and Annapolis cared little about what happened west of Frederick. The local joke was the state of Maryland wanted to sell its three western counties to West Virginia or Pennsylvania as a means of balancing the budget their spendthrift Governor and Legislature recently passed.

  “Oh, I must be keeping you from your work, Mr. Kenney. Let me walk with you to the loading dock and see to your safety.” Tom grimaced. They walked through the building, took the elevator down, and went through the hallway where Tom had been attacked. Mr. Godfrey opened the service door. They exited the building onto the outdoor loading dock. A loud truck horn’s blasting caught their attention. Someone had pulled in front of a newly painted Yuengling’s beer truck advertising “Braddock’s Gold, Our New Premium Lager. We guarantee you’ll love it.”

  Both men looked at the commotion in the nearby street. The driver in the car yelled an obscenity at the truck driver even though he was at fault and could have been killed if not for the quick action of the truck driver.

  Tom looked at Mr. Godfrey. “Just makes you wonder about some people.”

  “Yes, it does. He nearly found Braddock’s gold today.” And he chuckled.

  Tom chuckled, too. “You don’t know much about Braddock’s gold?”

  Mr. Godfrey chuckled again. “Only what I read in my newspaper.” He paused, “and on the side of beer trucks.” He smiled.

  Tom smiled, too. “Guess I’d better be going. Thank you for the check and your personal insight. I’ll remember it. Got to get crackin’. Places to go and water to deliver. Thanks again.”

  “My pleasure. I hope I said something insightful and useful. I hope to talk to you soon. Have a great day.”

  “A mega ditto on that,” said Tom as he climb
ed into his truck. He pulled onto the street and passed the beer truck parked in front of a local watering hole. Braddock’s Gold. Mr. Godfrey had given him something to think about.

  Chapter 18

  It was early morning when the telephone woke Tom. The sun peeked in his bedroom window, facing the east. He looked at his caller ID and saw the number from the Catholic Church in Fort Ashby. “Hello,” he said, wiping the sleepers from his eyes. “This Padre?”

  “Yes, it’s me. Hate to wake you, but I need your help.” Tom thought that might be the case. A week had passed since Father Frank went to Pittsburgh, and he needed an update. “Two things, I want to talk with you over breakfast, brunch, or lunch, whatever we can work out. And then I have some horrible news. The building at the square in Fort Ashby, where Cindy’s Restaurant is located, burned down last night, and they can’t find three people. One of the volunteer firemen called me early. They don’t think they got out. I think we need to be there to provide any comfort we can for family and the first responders.”

  Tom was now wide awake and sitting up in bed. “Wow, I think you are right. It’s not going to be a pleasant scene. I’ll get over there as soon as I can. Anything else?”

  “Not for now. I’ll save the rest of the news, most of it bad, till we eat. See you soon. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  Tom sat on the bed in disbelief. It seemed the big, old building had stood there forever—now it was gone. Suddenly, it hit him—three members of his little church, the Dowlen family, lived in one of the apartments on the second floor. He hated to hear of untimely deaths of anyone, and he so hoped it wasn’t those people he came to know and love. They left the Middle East because of religious persecution and somehow found their way to Fort Ashby, West Virginia. Eli, the father aged thirty, still carried a large scar on his forehead from a knife attack by a mob of fanatics who tried to kill him. He and his wife, Hannah, both spoke broken English, which was sometimes hard to understand, but their daughter, Ruhama, spoke English as good as Arabic. Joann rolled over and looked at him with half-awake eyes. “Mmmm,” she said, “who was it?”