Vestavia Hills

THERE AND BACK FOR JOHNATHAN ABBLEPOT

2.

Vestavia Hills, 1858

Mrs. Evelyn Archer had just opened the door of her antique shop. She never arrived early in the morning: the hustle and bustle of people in Vestavia Hills only started around 9.30.

An elegant maple door carved no less than by her Bob, the husband who had left her a few years earlier, had been double locked. Ms. Archer put the key in and played with the lock a bit, as she only knew how to do it. The humidity probably swelled the wood so much that the lock no longer slid as easy as it did before.

And then she is in.

Just under the entrance porch, she put Rose on the ground, the cat that had kept her company for several years. Rose patiently waited for her owner to tinker with the door and then preceded her inside. It only meowed a little bit, but once inside the shop, it always made a noise, as if greeting the various knick-knacks present, its companions in the endless sleepy afternoons shut in there.

The interior of that shop seemed to be made especially for cats, and Rose might have thought: countless corners to explore, many shelves or objects to sleep on, such a mass of stuff that you could lose yourself in it without the fear of being disturbed.

Evelyn Archer had accumulated all those things in almost forty years of activity. In the beginning, it was Bob who had traveled to nearby or larger towns in Alabama to retrieve old or recent items, to be repaired or still working, which they then resold in their shop.

After some time, she, too, had acquired the skill that was needed to find what was possible to sell by separating it from what no one would ever buy.

Over the years, as the objects in the shop had grown, so had and the arguments between them.

Sometimes Evelyn just couldn't stand Bob, and she was happy when some errands kept him away for a while. She couldn't stand the person Bob had become over the years. And that's certainly a big deal in a wedding. Then one day, just like that, he was dead.

A heart attack had taken him away.

As for Evelyn, she cried, of course. But her newfound freedom didn't take long to calm her sadness.

"Mrs. Archer! Good morning!"

An older man just entered the shop. He stood in the doorway for a moment, as if waiting for the owner's greeting as permission to enter.

Evelyn Archer had already figured out who he was and thought, "Stingy Bastard! Yet again today, you will come in and buy nothing. You have been walking by here for months without spending a penny. You could just stay outside then!"

Then, with a smile that seemed sincere, he said, "Mr. Gardner. Cheerful as always! "

The man replied: "Eh, at our age, it is better to be happy, right? You never know when the time to cry will come!" To end his sentence, Mr. Gardner let out a laugh that turned into in a phlegmy cough fit. "Yeah, you are right," Evelyn said, expecting to see the man do what he always did.

As she predicted, Mr. Gardner looked around, as if he did not know, after all his weekly visits, where all the objects in the shop were.

Lifted the first vase he found next to him and contemplated it as if he was interested; then, he put it down, did a small turn on himself, a few random steps and, then turned to Evelyn for the farewell.

Everything as expected.

Instead, this time Mr. Gardner added: "How is your nephew?" with a very innocent look: "I have seen him lately. near Church Yard, I believe."

Mrs. Archer senses some malice, which probably wasn't there, in the old man's statement, and immediately changed her facial expression. However, in order not to show it too much, she pretended to have something to do on the counter and turned sideways: "I haven't seen him for a while; I mean that he is usually in a rush when he comes in the shop and has no time to chat. You know, sometimes young people spend a lot more time with strangers than with relatives. "

"He is a dear boy, so nice," added the man, "always greets everyone in town."

But Evelyn wanted to cut the conversation short: "He's a hard worker," she said. Then she began to overly organize the excessive mess of the shop as if to make the customer understand that she had a lot to do.

"Yeah, and it's a very much appreciated quality."

"You must excuse me, Mr. Gardner, but as you can see, I have not been tidying up for a long time, and now I am swamped with chaos!"

The man said kindly: "Of course, of course. I apologize. I don't want to waste your time. Have a nice day. Goodbye, Mrs. Archer. Maybe I'll drop by here next week, huh? "

"You are always welcome."

The man greeted politely and slowly closed the door. Evelyn let go of the stuff she had in her hands and stared at the entrance as if she could send through it some of her anger to that nuisance, who was also nosy.

What did he want to know about his nephew? People should mind their own business more often.

Shortly after the old Mr. Gardner was gone, the door of the shop creaked again. This time Evelyn didn't even need to look towards the door to figure out who had entered. The way the door opened was enough for her to figure it out.

He was his nephew. As always in a hurry.

The old woman began: "You know that Mr. Gardner came in a little while ago and said he saw you ..."

But she could not complete the sentence, because the young man interrupted her: "We need to talk. I just had a thought. And she agrees too. I thought of Dothan, and then from there, we could go to Georgia ... "

"Dothan?" this time, it was Ms. Archer's turn to butt in "you don't think it's possible just to pick up and move there! Without starting any rumors, without people starting to search! We have already talked about it."

"I have contacts, and maybe you have some too. When the uncle was still alive, he used to go there. "

The young man was agitated, but Evelyn was becoming it even more: "I'm not talking about what's going to happen there. I'm talking about the situation that you will cause here! Martyn, how can you think of getting her and just taking her away with you? As if you were two spouses going on a trip. People will talk. Immediately. And they will react. "

"I want to live with her. I have decided."

"Martyn, it was just supposed to be just for fun. Something that was going to end soon after it started. I only agreed on these conditions. "

Evelyn Archer didn't look like a general store's old owner anymore, but a politician who was deciding the fate of the country: "I let this relationship carry on, even after what we had agreed. But only under the same conditions as before.

Now you talk to me about running away with her somewhere else, and you haven't even decided where. You must have gone mad. "

"Yes, I am mad about her. And I'm here to tell you. "

"Ah, spare me this nonsense. Your pride speaks. Elizabeth is a woman you shouldn't have, and you want to prove to yourself that you can overcome this difficulty. Do you want to live your whole life without sleeping peacefully? Do you want the people of Vestavia Hills to talk behind my back and point their fingers at me every time I go out on the street? "

"It's something that only concerns me."

"No, you're wrong. It concerns us, I included. You will disappear if it will ever happen, but I don't want to leave my town, my shop, just for a crush. I won't let you. "

The nephew was silent. He tried to hold his aunt's look, but he had to look away first.

He had never realized how argumentative and fierce she was. There was something proud and ruthless about her look, a severity he never expected, which made his earlier certainties vacillate.

Rose, the cat, peeked out from behind a solid wood table cluttered with objects. Its attitude was nervous. It was taking a nap, and lazily opened its eyes when the tone between the aunt and nephew had risen.

The shouting did not at all annoy her, but it was clear that it was nervous.

As soon as it saw Martyn, it looked at him intently, frozen. At first, the tail swayed slowly, and then it stopped too.

Evelyn, busy discussing with the boy, hadn't seen it; but as soon as the cat hissed, she couldn't help but notice it.

Rose clenched her mouth and hissed again, as the fur ruffled on her back. Then it arched its back and let out an aggressive meow.

"Be good, Rose. What's wrong?" said Evelyn.

Martyn was a little puzzled but did not give much importance to the animal.

As if its owner's calling had been an encouragement to attack instead of the opposite, the cat took a few steps forward: with an aggressive attitude, it hissed and meowed again.

"I don't understand. It has never done that before," said Evelyn.

"Forget it. That cat has never liked me. Just as clearly as its owner," Martyn replied.

"Ah, don't be pathetic now."

There was no way to continue the conversation, as there weren't other topics to discuss: the young man left the shop angrily, closing the door behind him without a word or a nod to the old aunt.

Mrs. Archer put her hands on her hips, standing in front of Rose, trying to have what she wanted to be a disapproving look. But in reality, the woman was somewhat concerned instead of annoyed by the animal's behaviour.

"What's wrong with you?" she said in a low voice.

Evelyn watched the cat for a few more moments and then turned to the door her nephew had just walked out from, feeling a squeeze in her stomach as when we eat something not so fresh.

"I won't let you make me Vestavia Hills outcast, Martyn.

To satisfy your desires, I have already compromised myself, and now you will not take away my good reputation with other whims."

Just then, the door of the store was about to open for the third time that morning.

A tall and distinguished man was coming forward from the paved road that crossed the main street along which Evelyn Archer's shop overlooked.

Evelyn stopped to observe him through the glass of the entrance door as he entered the porch: he was dressed in black, neatly as always; he made every movement without haste and had beautiful pleasantness painted on his face.

Then the bells on the door announced the newcomer.

"Good morning, Reverend Abblepot."

"Good morning to you, Evelyn."

Johnathan Abblepot's voice filled the room with its roundness, like the scent of a good blackberry pie.

"How was your trip?"

"Oh, it was tiring at times. I am not talking about the journey in the carriage; you know I like to drive it. However, all those days of attending meetings and talking, I must confess they stressed me out a bit. "

"I understand. Having to make decisions sometimes is more complicated than accepting them. "

"Look how philosophical our Evelyn Archer has become! Let me tell you then that it always depends on the type of decisions: there are the ones that benefit many, but not all, so they weigh on the shoulders of those who make them; and ones that bring discredit to most, so these weigh on those who have to accept them. Eh, what do you think? Did eight days of conferences turn me into a more educated priest? "

"You, Reverend, were intelligent even before. That's why people love you in Vestavia Hills. "

"That's why, Evelyn, I couldn't wait to come back."

The exchange of pleasantries carried on for a while. The priest was delighted to be able to meet his whole community, to hear their voices again, and see their looks again; Mrs. Archer found the reverend's affability seducing and pleasant, like a rich detail of the otherwise tasteless decor. However, this bothered her slightly.

Abblepot had just returned from a trip he was invited to exchange opinions about faith, and management of the congregation with other reverends of the county. He had spent five days with other churchmen and a couple of days travelling there and back.

He was tired but satisfied. He knew that many in town relied heavily on him, and he was happy to be a guide and comfort again for those who needed it.

Evelyn Archer was also happy with his return, although for different reasons than those of most of the congregation of Vestavia Hills.

Happy, but also apprehensive: when there is something that you have to hide from someone, you are never sure if that someone will find out in one way or another.

Especially if this doesn't just depend on you, but on a young man who is as enthusiastic as he is foolish.

Abblepot spoke again: "Listen, Evelyn, I would like to buy you something."

"You see, Reverend, you are certainly spoiled for choice here," said Mrs. Archer, in a tired tone without letting the reverend noticing.

"Yes, thank you, Evelyn. I know yours is a well-stocked shop. But I already have in mind what I want to buy. You know, before I left, Elizabeth and I were talking about a rocking chair; we already have one at home, but the one I told her I saw here has something special. I don't know why, but it looks more comfortable than many others. "

"I know the one you are referring to," said Mrs. Archer.

"Well done. Precisely. I'd like to pay for it right away. Could you have someone bringing it home to me? "

"Don't worry, Reverend Abblepot. You don't have to pay me now. You will have your chair tomorrow. I'll have my nephew bring it to you."

"He is a good boy and a hard worker. Elizabeth also likes him very much."

Ms. Archer registered the information, and it was as if she had a small electric shock: "Say that again, please?"

"I said he's a hard worker. I made him fix the fence once, don't you remember? Then I invited him a few more times to get something chilled. "

"Ah, does your wife know him then too?" Evelyn said with excessive and ill-concealed interest.

"Of course, Evelyn. Where do you think Elizabeth was on those occasions? And she finds him very nice. Strange that he hasn't told you. Well. Look, now I have to go. I just came by for the rocking chair. I can't wait to freshen up and to hug Elizabeth and my house. See you later."

"See you later."

After the farewell, Mrs. Archer had a circle in her head: thoughts swarmed in her mind like people in the crowd of Christmas Mass. She stared, without looking at anything, at the back of Reverend Abblepot, who had gone out on the porch.

As soon as he was in the street, the priest waved hello to his right. Then he turned left and disappeared from the view of an increasingly concerned and irritated Evelyn Archer.

While heading towards the church and the vicarage, a few hundred meters away, the reverend distinguished the figure of a young man who came in his direction with quick and decisive steps.

Abblepot recognized in him, when he was closer, the grandson of Mrs. Archer. As soon as the boy was within range, he nodded at him, smiling and touching the brim of his hat.

However, the young man, after looking at him, lowered his hat and his look, to avoid meeting that of the priest and pretending not to have seen him.

3.

The following day was a sleepy Sunday morning in Vestavia Hills, a lazy Alabama town, few souls, a lot of lands, and simple life. Hardly any noteworthy event had ever come to disrupt that place which seemed so from the mists of time; the events of surprise were given by the quarrels of unsuspected families or by some higher earnings from someone due to some useful trade or an excellent agricultural year. The area where Vestavia was, also had something of Edenic, primordial, peaceful.

It was how the elders in town had always remembered it, and everyone, or almost everyone, liked it to be.

People walked lazily towards the church.

The service would begin soon after that and nobody wanted to be late. You would have been stared at severely by everyone, and you would have felt as if you had failed.

So the men in their elegant blue or black suits led their wives arm in arm, dressed in the best that the wardrobe offered, but without overdoing it, so as not to attract attention. A little further on, or further back, the couple were their children: either older or younger, dignified, the last ones with a sort of dress identical to that of the father or mother but in a miniature version.

The church was at the end of the main street, just a couple of minutes' walk from the last house in town with an all year round shiny lawn. Like a Lord's gift for that lost town's small temple, and the only ones who seemed to care about it were his inhabitants.

In the meadow, some well-kept trees, most claimed that it was there to represent the Lord's garden where the history of humanity had begun; others, however, said that it was planted for the pleasure of embellishing the lawn by the first shepherd of the community.

All around, there was a birch fence, white and with two series of sleepers, which gave the place an enchanting appearance.

Sometimes it was the shepherds themselves who took care to keep the church, the lawn, and the fence neat and beautiful. However, the devout citizens often gave a hand to look after the place most visited by everyone, at least once a week. Once they did, they felt as if they had helped a poor, properly educated their son, prayed intensely, or loaned money to a friend who would not fail to repay them.

The church entirely overlooked the community that approached it on the main road. Grumpily, with a watchful eye, the rose window above the entrance door looked at the brats who did not listen to their parents' requests, not to run or jump. It smiled benevolently at the couples of lovers who, each with their own family, who were careful not to look too much at their beloved one, imagining when they would enter the church to become husband and wife. It stood indifferent in front of all those who many, too many times, had come after years.

The building was simple. Skillfully built by those who knew little else to do in life other than that, it consisted of a 30 meters long rectangle by just under ten wide, with white wooden planks. The slate-colored roof had a slightly accentuated slope.

The bell tower was at the rear, leaning against the building, with the same colors and materials, which lapped the slope of the roof. Three not very big dark wooden steps led to the entrance, above which stood a circular window with five rays also made of white wood and a central pin in the shape of a small donut.

The reverend's house was by the church, plainly built like all who previously lived in it.

The Vestavia Hills community was a right mix of Christians: some more irritable than others and some insipient; some were pious and devoted, perhaps beyond the due limit, some had recently converted; some were good fathers and family men, others who should have learnt that role.

In short, nothing exceptional, a standard sample of various humanity with sins and holiness.

Johnathan Abblepot was the reverend of this community. He was a man as simple as the congregation he led.

A beautiful and pretty wife was waiting for him at home, giving him a lot of serenity. The two had no children yet.

The reverend used to wait for the arrival of his congregation on the lawn. He always had a welcome smile for everyone, sincere handshakes, and a few kind words for the children.

Elizabeth, his wife, did not always participate in the welcoming ceremony of the congregation, but when she did, she stood out for her courtesy, even more than her husband did. It was impossible not to like her and love her as pleasant and graceful as she was.

"Reverend Abblepot! What a pleasure to see you again among us! "

"Thanks, Jim. I, too, am happy to be back. Especially when there is someone like you who greets me so affectionately, the pleasure doubles."

"Did you see that I arrived on time, Reverend?"

"Well done, Stuart, I am pleased. Now you have to try to pay attention to the service too! "

While exchanging these pleasantries, the reverend saw, behind the last boy with whom he spoke, Evelyn Archer arrive, followed closely by her nephew. The two had an agitated pace and pouted air. They looked like they had just argued.

The reverend had always thought that Mrs. Archer was one of the kindest people in Vestavia, but there were times when a dark shadow covered her face. Abblepot would never have dared to say that she had an evil look, but when it darkened, Evelyn Archer's face gave a feeling of unease.

No one should enter the church angry with others, Abblepot thought. And a reverend had to do everything to bring his congregation on the right path. Therefore, he immediately went to meet the two.

Martyn had stopped at the edge of the fence, while the old aunt carried on walking towards the church entrance.

Abblepot greeted her: "Good morning, Evelyn," he said as kindly as he could "is everything all right?"

"Good morning, Reverend," replied the old woman seeming lost in thought. Then, with a sudden change of mood, she said, smiling: "It's a beautiful Sunday morning, isn't it?"

Abblepot was almost more troubled by that quick transition to friendliness than from the aggressive mask of just before. He was almost about to continue, trying to investigate the possible causes of Evelyn Archer's anger when a sparkle in the woman's eyes dissuaded him. He was not at all convinced that her excellent humor was sincere, even if it did not seem at all disguised, but this very fact left him speechless.

He felt as he was standing in front of a used-up actress, or even worse, in front of two different personalities trapped in the same person that manifested one after the other. This feeling disturbed him, not just a little, and the mysterious light at the bottom of Mrs. Archer's eyes almost knocked him back.

He moved away and let the old woman pass, who soon after disappeared into the church.

There was still the young Martyn, who continued to stand on the edge of the lawn.

Abblepot remembered the scene from the previous afternoon when, right near the church, he had met him while the boy had pretended not to see him. Could the two events be linked?

Martyn Trischer was stealthily looking towards the vicarage.

Abblepot raised his arm in greeting. This time the young man replied, waving at him and did what he tried to be a smile. Then he lowered his eyes again, pushing his hat a little more down on his head.

That there were disagreements in the community was not new. How many times had the reverend been a peacemaker? Now there seemed to have been an argument, or at least some trouble between the young man and Evelyn: probably everything would be okay soon without the need for anyone's intervention. But Johnathan Abblepot was like that: he could not be entirely at peace if he could not do something to solve a problem.

Now, however, in that situation, he felt as if invisible tentacles forbade him to take a step forward. The reason for his concern was precisely that feeling of discomfort he felt with those two people, something that had never happened to him before.