The Arrival of Alpaca Finn

Now the reverend’s death did not signal the end of painful decisions. He had to be buried, but where? Which graveyard? The church board had split evenly when Ned and Tarsal decided to build two new churches on the lot. They held an emergency special session at Mother Mary’s Pool Hall. Ned said he was sure Reverend Finn would want to be buried in the new graveyard because he didn’t have a problem with the Widow Collins being buried with Foo Foo’s ashes. Tarsal said it was only right that the reverend be buried in the old graveyard because Tarsal’s search committee had brought him here five years ago.

“So what, Tarsal?” Everyone here knows he believed animals could be buried with their humans,” said Ned, trying to stay calm without much luck.

“Prove it, Ned,” said Tarsal as he sat back with a smug look on his face. He was prepared to stay there all night if it took that long to settle this. He never really cared much for the reverend after they brought him here and it really didn’t matter all that much to him where he was buried. But he was not about to let Ned Cochran win any argument if he could help it.

“I can’t prove it. But I know who can settle this. I just got word before I came over here that the reverend’s sister, Alpaca Finn, is on her way here from Minnesota. She’ll arrive tomorrow on the noon train. As next of kin she can make the decision. I think it’s time to call this meeting adjourned,” said Ned over his shoulder as he walked out the door.

So Ned and Tarsal were at the station the next day waiting for the noon train to pull in. They weren’t putting their differences aside. Neither one trusted the other to be alone with Miss Finn and not attempt to sway her decision of where to bury her brother. They didn’t know what the reverend’s sister looked like, but if she resembled her rotund brother, she wouldn’t be hard to spot. The trained steamed into the station right on time. There weren’t a lot of passengers getting off the train, but Ned and Tarsal didn’t see anyone who looked much like Reverend Finn.

Someone tapped Ned on the shoulder and when he turned around and saw who it was, he let out a little “oh” before he could stop himself. There stood a tall woman who was as thin as the reverend was corpulent. She began pumping his hand with a death grip saying,  “Ned Cochran, I presume,” before they could even offer their condolences. “I’d recognize that sickly, pale freckled face anywhere. My dearly departed brother mentioned you so often.” Turning to Tarsal, she began pumping his hand. “And you must be Tarsal with that black oily hair and pug nose.”  Tarsal and Ned just looked at each other, flabbergasted. 

“Well, come along now. Don’t dawdle. We’ve got things to do. There are my trunks over there,” she said as she pointed to four large steamer trunks suitable in size for an ocean crossing and summer in Europe. 

The two men looked at each and Tarsal muttered, “Good Lord, it looks like she’s settling in ‘til the end of time.” Ned coughed, trying not to laugh. 

They could tell by looking that there was no way they could lift those trunks, but they gave it a valiant try. Ned felt something start to pop in his back and let go right quickly. He went into the depot and asked Charlie Towne, the station master, if they could borrow his four-wheel cart Charlie said sure and came out to help them load the trunks.“Now be careful how you set them down, gentlemen,” Alpaca instructed them. “I’ve got my good china in there.”

By this time all three men were huffing and puffing.

“Why on earth did you bring your own china?” Ned wheezed.

“I know the ladies of the church will expect me to hold formal teas and Dear Brother mentioned quite frequently how, um, frugal you parishioners are and I wasn’t sure if you would have a proper tea service suitable for my needs.”

Neither man could think of a civil reply so they took off their hats, wiped their foreheads with their handkerchiefs, put their hats back on and thanked Charlie for his help. Then they started pushing that cart up the slight grade to the parsonage with Alpaca fussing at them the whole way.

When they finally arrived at the parsonage, they were dismayed as they surveyed the steep front steps until they remembered that the reverend always entered from the back porch that had a ramp to make it easier for him to get his portly self into the house. After much grunting, groaning, and backsliding, they were able to get the trunks into the kitchen.

They reminded Miss Finn of the church board meeting that evening in Mother Mary’s Pool Hall at 7:00.

“Very well, gentlemen. I’ll take it from here. I’ll put everything away and you can come by to fetch me for the meeting and store the trunks in the garage for me,” Alpaca told them. They agreed to call for her at 6:30 to put the trunks away and that Ned should return the cart to Charlie since it was on his way home. And that was the last time Tarsal and Ned agreed on anything.

Alpaca spent the afternoon cleaning, putting her things away, and tisk tisking at the slovenliness of her late brother. Everything was covered with a not so thin layer of greasy dust from the fuel oil furnace in the basement. On the bathroom sink sat a dish with a bar of soupy soap floating in it. The sink was coated with hair and she had to hold her breath when she scrubbed the toilet. The bathtub wasn’t too dirty; she suspected that was due to the fact that her brother’s large frame wouldn’t easily fit into the deep, rather narrow tub.

When she finished that nasty job of cleaning, she took off her duster, pulled off her bright yellow rubber gloves, items she never traveled without, washed up in the now sparkling bathroom and went into the kitchen to see if the food situation was as hopeless as the rest of the house. Luckily, some caring person had left a roasted chicken, a plate of sliced tomatoes, and a carton of small curd cottage cheese in the mostly clean icebox. This suited Alpaca just fine. Light and healthy, that’s just how she liked to eat. She made herself a cup of tea using a fine Darjeeling loose tea and a favorite porcelain cup and saucer that she had brought with her. Alpaca always used two saucers, one smaller one on top of a slightly larger one. She believed in neatness and not taking a chance of dribbling tea on clean tablecloths.

After she had finished her meal, she washed up the dishes and took the broom outside to make the front porch habitable. Once that task was complete she sat down on the wicker chair that looked the sturdiest, one her brother probably never sat in with its narrow seat. She started thinking about the timing of her brother’s death and how that got her out of Saints of the Lakes before things got ugly. There were few eligible bachelors in her hometown and the ones who were single were substandard in her opinion. Alpaca was pushing forty and was tired of supporting herself and being the village’s old maid.

Chanceville was slightly larger than Saints of the Lakes and she hoped there was more marriage material here. She would have to be clever with how she went about getting a man this time. She knew from experience that it’s not good to get the women of your hometown all riled up against you. They have a tendency to get a little territorial when it comes to their menfolk. Alpaca also knew from experience that she had a certain allure to men.

No sooner than she had that thought, Mr. Perkins came strolling down the sidewalk. He saw Alpaca sitting on the porch, stopped, took off his straw fedora, and bowed low at the waist. “Hello, dear lady. You must be the late reverend’s handsome sister. I’m Johnny Perkins,” he said in a soft Irish brogue.

“Good day to you, Mr. Perkins,” she said.

“I’m so very sorry for your recent loss. A fine woman such as you should never, ever have a hint of sorrow to trouble her fine brow,” said Mr. Perkins as he arranged his face into its most sincere visage. In spite of herself, Alpaca blushed, thinking that Johnny Perkins must have kissed the Blarney Stone before he left Ireland.

Alpaca thanked him just as sincerely as he returned his hat to his head and told her he hoped to see her very soon under happier circumstances. Interesting man she thought to herself and, if she remembered correctly, her brother had told her Mr. Perkins was a widower. Yes, very interesting.

About the time Johnny Perkins was disappearing down the street, along came Harold Freeman whistling songbird calls. When he looked up and saw Miss Finn framed by the white high backed wicker chair on the reverend’s porch, he stopped mid-warble. “And who might you be?” Harold asked in his usual blunt manner.

“I might be Alpaca Finn. And who might you be?” she asked in her likewise blunt manner.

“I might be Harold Freeman. Oh, you’re the late reverend’s sister. I heard you were coming into town, didn’t know it was today. But I guess you didn’t have the luxury of time. Reverend Finn isn’t getting any fresher.” She blinked and tried to be upset with his crudeness, but Alpaca, being her ever-practical self, couldn’t argue with Harold’s logic.

“I’m so sorry. That was rude,” he told her.

“No apology necessary. You are quite right and when I have an unpleasant task to take care of, I like to get it done as quickly as possible. I have some difficult decisions to make in the days ahead,” she said.

“Well, ma’am, if I can be of service at all, please don’t hesitate to ask. I just live on the next block in the yellow house with the big front porch. You’ll see my cat Kissy lounging on the front porch railing,” he told her. 

“That’s kind of you Mr. Freeman. Everyone is being so thoughtful. It makes my burden lighter,” Alpaca responded.

Harold bid her good day and made his way down the sidewalk toward his house.

Alpaca leaned back in her chair and thought about the two gentlemen whose acquaintance she had just made. She was trying to remember if Brother, as she called him, had mentioned Harold Freeman in their conversations, but nothing came to mind. He certainly seemed like a nice man and, hopefully, he’s single. He didn’t mention a wife. Yes, this could all work out just fine, two possible candidates on her first day here. Maybe, for once in his life, Brother had done something useful.

Oh, of course, she would miss him. Yes, she definitely would but these new circumstances following his death might be the ticket to her future. Some people might consider her an old maid, but she had desires and needs like every other sentient being on this good earth. After this ridiculous business of her brother’s burial site was settled, she would see about a job at the local library. Yes, she was ready for a fresh start and this could be it. Thank you, Dear Brother.

The Feud

At thirty-three, Patella Henley was young to be so set in her ways, but set she was. She believed that life was a one-size-fits all proposition. What was good enough for her was good enough for everyone. She didn’t need all that fancy folderol. She believed in plain and simple living. That’s why planting only marigolds in honor of her mother appealed to her, a kind of no frill flower was just the ticket. Go to work, take care of your home, pay your bills, and go to church.

She was like her grandpa Ned Cochran in that way. They had gone to church as a family, Eustacia, Tibian, Patella, and Bob, the younger brother who Patella adored. He sprouted cuteness the moment he was born. He favored the Henley side with his curly, dark hair, plump lips, and bright blue eyes. Patella favored her mother’s side, the Cochrans. She had the drab stick-straight blond hair, pale skin sprinkled with freckles that popped out like mushrooms in the sun, and yellow-brown eyes like her mother. When Patella was a little girl her grandpa Ned called her Strawberry because her face was always sunburned and the chlorine in the city pool turned her hair green. He didn’t have a nickname for Bob who was a Henley through and through. He tried his best to steer away from anything to do with Tarsal Henley, Tibian’s dad. The Henleys and the Cochrans made the Hatfields and the McCoys look like amateurs in the feuding department. 

It all started when they began building the church that was to sit in the center of the block on the south side of the town square. World War II had ended and Ned had been recently discharged from the U.S. Navy. The church that Tarsal and Scapula Henley had been married in burned down four years after their wedding when a candle caught the dry Christmas tree in the church hall on fire.

The congregation had long been contributing to a building fund, and with the insurance money, they had more than enough money to build a fine new church.  Ned and the Tarsal sat together quite peacefully on the church board for many years, so once the board voted to release the funds for the new building, the two men headed to Steele’s Lumber store with their blueprints to set up the order for the materials that would become their new place of worship.

On the way they stopped at the Tipp Topp Diner for a hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs and Sid Topp’s famous venison sausage, washed down with strong black coffee. They were excited about the project and couldn’t to get started. Tarsal made his living as a builder and Ned made his an electrician. Ned’s cousin Ted was a church elder and a plumber so they had the big three covered and with the free labor of other church members they could afford to buy the finest materials and build a beautiful church.

Tarsal and Ned were sitting at the crowded counter at the Tipp Topp when Reverend Trout Finn came in. Old Judd was just finishing his coffee and gave up his seat to the reverend as he shuffled out the door forgetting as always to pay his check. The reverend squeezed in between Ned and Tarsal, the red vinyl topped counter stool groaned in protest under the weight of him. 

“Did you hear about the Widow Collins?” asked Reverend Finn.

“Nope,” said Tarsal with a mouth full of eggs.

“What about her? asked Ned.

“Well, she went over to… Yeah, the number one, eggs over easy, coffee and orange juice, a short stack of pancakes, two venison sausage patties, toast, and a side order of bacon, Sid,” said the reverend. “Anyway, she went over to Summerville to take care of her sister who’d been feeling poorly, stepped on the cat’s tail, causing the poor creature to screech so loud it scared the living daylights out of the Widow Collins. Literally. Her bad ticker just stopped.

Say, Sid, I’ll have a slab of that chocolate cake to hold me over until my breakfast is ready.” Tarsal and Ned slid looks at each other behind the reverend’s back, taking in the expanse of his substantial rear end.

“They read her will yesterday,” he said as he dug his fork into the huge slice of cake. “It’s the darnedest thing. She wants her poodle Foo Foo’s ashes buried with her in the family plot in the church graveyard.”

Tarsal was taking a big gulp of coffee and sputtered it all over himself and the countertop. 

“Why would she want to do a dang fool thing like that?” he said as he wiped the counter top with this napkin.

“That dog was her companion for eighteen years and she was saying he gave her more attention than Joe Collins ever did. She was looking forward to spending eternity in heaven with Foo Foo,” said the reverend. Ned tried not to look his way when the reverend was talking because his tiny little corn peg teeth were smeared with chocolate cake and icing.

“ I think that’s nice,” said Ned. “I wonder how she feels about spending eternity with Joe.”

“That’s nice? That dog’s not going to heaven. It’s a dog, d.o.g. It doesn’t have a soul, it’s an animal.”

Tarsal tried to keep his voice down, but he was getting worked up. He lived in a black and white world. Keep things simple was his motto. In his mind there were no gray areas. Ned was the opposite, he loved the idea that he would be reunited with the collies that he and his family had owned since he was a boy, especially Bess, who was fifteen-years-old and had failing kidneys. To Ned, that was one of the rewards of heaven, being surrounded by God’s creatures.

“You’re not going to let this sacrilege happen are you, Reverend Finn?” Tarsal eyed the reverend suspiciously.

“Sacrilege?” asked the reverend through the last mouthful of cake.

He scraped the plate with his fork, not wanting to miss one crumb. There was one lonely piece of cake left in the display case and he was seriously considering asking Sid to wrap it up to take home with him. It would hit the spot later when he was in his office writing the Sunday sermon.

“Reverend Trout Finn! Don’t you think it’s a sacrilege?” Tarsal wasn’t going to let it go.

“I guess I never really thought about it. I’m not sure it really matters all that much. The Widow Collins was a faithful member of our church her whole life and contributed quite handsomely to the building fund. I think it’s a matter of respect to honor her last wishes,” said the reverend as Sid refilled their coffee cups.

“I think it’s horse hockey. And I don’t want some unholy ashes in our graveyard,” said Tarsal with his jaw clenched.

“I don’t think it’s your decision alone. The church board will have to make that decision,” Ned said, thinking someone had better be the voice of reason.

Ned could see that Tarsal was building up a head of steam about this and he didn’t want him to blow up here in gossip central. Reverend Finn groaned when Tarsal mentioned bringing the board into it.

Tarsal and Ned had to move their plates and cups over to make room as Sid served up the reverend’s order. All the reverend wanted to do was eat his breakfast in peace. He wished he had never mentioned it and just put the ashes in the coffin with the Widow Collins. Only problem with that plan was Hal Hendricks, owner of Hendricks Funeral Parlor and Wax Museum was on the board also, so you couldn’t get anything past him.

And that’s how The Feud began. That next Monday night at the temporary church board meeting place in the back room of Mother Mary’s Pool Hall the first item on the agenda was the Widow Collins’ request. The ten members were evenly divided and no one would budge. Tarsal led the crusade to keep Foo Foo’s ashes out of the church graveyard.

“It’s against all I believe in. That graveyard is hallowed ground. Why we have soldiers in there who lost their lives for us. I don’t think they’d be honored to lie next to some soulless mutt.”

Ned just shook his head, “Now you’re just being dramatic, Tarsal Henley. You don’t know what those soldiers believed. Some of them might have had K-9 dogs in the service. Dogs who saved their lives, they might have wanted the same thing as Widow Collins.”

“And you’re just making up stories to try to prove your ridiculous point, Ned. Just because you were in the navy doesn’t make you an expert,” said Tarsal pointing his finger at Ned.

“Well, Tarsal, you saw exactly zero action from your dad’s farm when you got a deferment to stay home to run the farm and take care of your mother after your dad passed away, which I understand. Just don’t make assumptions,” Ned shot back.

The other board members shifted uncomfortably in their chairs, this was getting too personal. They’d better do something fast before these two called each other unpatriotic sons-a-guns and came to blows.

Reverend Finn suggested, not too optimistically, that they take another vote. And of course, the results were the same: five for and five against. The reverend was the eleventh member on the board and only voted in case of a tie. They all looked at him, waiting for him to clear this up once and for all.

“I’m going to abstain. Either way I vote will split the church in two. I can’t risk that. You need to work this out amongst yourselves,” he popped two antacids in his mouth trying to calm the fire of the ever-present and totally puzzling heartburn that had plagued him lately. Upon hearing this, every member  leaned back in their chairs, crossed their arms in unison, and sat in silence.

“You don’t have the luxury of waiting each other out. The Widow Collins’ funeral is the day after tomorrow,” said Reverend Finn.

“The bottom line is, I’m not changing my mind and I’m not building a church with the likes of you, Ned Cochran,” Tarsal got up and shoved his chair under the table.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ned asked as he stood up and faced Tarsal.

“You’ll find out, meet me on the church lot at 8:00 a.m. sharp tomorrow,” said Tarsal. He turned and marched out of the back door of Mother Mary’s.

“I don’t suppose we’ll be meeting at the Tip Topp for breakfast, “ Ned mumbled as he left the pool hall.

Next morning 8:00 sharp Ned arrived at the empty church lot where Tarsal was talking to Frank Stenner, the county engineer. Frank was setting up the transit. "What's going on, Tarsal?"

“Stand back, Ned. We’re dividing up this lot,” shouted Tarsal.

For a few heartbeats Ned just stood there with his mouth wide open, unable to process what he had just heard. As Tarsal’s word sunk in, Ned could feel his blood pressure rise.Tarsal turned his back on Ned who grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around."Tarsal, have you lost your mind?"

Whether or not Tarsal had lost his mind was irrelevant. Ned thought he was just plain nuts, and ignorant, and selfish, and judgmental. Well, it was a never-ending list would grow as the years went by. Ned Cochran was tired of the battle and just wanted a church again. And that’s how the there came to be two churches built back to back on the same lot off the town square of Chanceville. The lot split down the middle with the old graveyard staying on Tarsal’s side. The new graveyard would be on Ned’s side and would allow pet burials. first person to be buried on Ned’s side was the Widow Collins along with Foo Foo. The second person who needed burying was the Reverend Finn who choked on a Vienna sausage while sitting on a park bench watching the new constructions. God works in mysterious ways. Many of the people residents of Chanceville believed that He turned that sausage sideways in the reverend’s throat to save him the painful task of deciding which church to pastor.