In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. Last Sunday was a big day at the church. The women’s group was having a bake sale to raise money for their mission project – providing funds to dig a well in a small village in Africa.
Jill Boyer had spent the evening before baking brownies for the bake sale. Jill’s husband Kevin and her daughters – Mary, age four, and Susie, age two – loved her brownies. But Jill was more anxious to see what the other ladies in the women’s group thought of them. For though the stated purpose of the bake sale was charitable, it was also an unspoken competition among the women. Jill knew she wasn’t adept enough in the kitchen to win this secret competition, she just hoped to put in a respectable showing.
When Jill and Kevin entered the sanctuary Sunday morning, they found a man sitting in the pew they usually occupied. He looked to be in his late forties, though his deeply tanned and weathered skin may have made him appear older than he actually was. And though he himself didn’t look particularly unclean, his clothes were old, ragged and stained; and his hair was unkempt and stringy.
There was still plenty of room on the pew – the man was alone after all – but Kevin suggested he and Jill sit across the aisle this morning and she readily agreed. The area of the sanctuary around the man proved quite unpopular. Nobody else sat in his pew – or the one behind or in front of him, either.
Seventy year-old Henrietta Miggins was the chair of the women’s group. She sat with her friend Betsy Davis in their accustomed place several rows behind the stranger. Henrietta had made three of her legendary apple tarts for the bake sale and Betsy had baked five pies. The two women studied the stranger as they waited for service to start. “I wonder how someone like that ended up in a nice neighborhood church like this,” Henrietta whispered.
“It’s sad, really,” Betsy sighed. “Bless his heart.”
Up in the chancel Pastor Henry O’Donnell had also noticed the man. Henry had not brought anything for the bake sale, of course, as it was a women’s group activity and he was of the wrong gender to participate in that way. But he was anxious to purchase one of Henrietta’s tarts. He looked forward to the bake sale every year because of those juicy, tangy-sweet tarts.
“I bet that guy’s going to want to talk to me after the service,” Henry thought as he watched the man. “He’ll probably ask for a handout or something, too. Well, he’ll just have to wait until after I buy my tart.”
Church Secretary Tammy Billing’s specialty was banana bread. She had made six loaves to sell. She was also in charge of the cash register at the bake sale. But Tammy noticed how nobody greeted the newcomer. Tammy believed that everybody – no matter how they might appear – deserved to be greeted when they came to the church for the first time. So she made it a point to intercept the man after service and introduce herself.
“My name’s Bobby,” he told her.
“Welcome, Bobby,” she said. “Would you like to join us in the Social Hall for coffee?”
Bobby said he would so Tammy showed him the way and pointed out the table for coffee and refreshments. Then she excused herself so she could prepare the cash register. She took a quick detour to the bathroom to wash her hands before joining the other women at the far end of the social hall where the bake sale was being set up.
Kevin had retrieved his daughters from Sunday school and they got in the refreshment line behind Bobby. Kevin watched as Bobby carefully plucked a single cookie from a serving platter and placed it on a paper plate.
Once Bobby had moved on to the coffee machine, four-year-old Mary reached for a cookie. Kevin stopped her. “There are two dozen of your Mom’s brownies at home that she didn’t think were perfect enough for the bake sale. You can wait for one of those.”
He got the girls some juice and carrot sticks and then went to find a pair of tongs to put on the cookie platter. As soon as he was out of sight the girls ditched the carrot sticks and helped themselves to a couple of the forbidden cookies. They were confident they would still find room for brownies when they got home.
While Jill was setting her brownies out on the folding tables she happened to look out the window and notice a tan dog lying under the bushes across the courtyard. She couldn’t make it out very well, but it appeared to be a cross between a Labrador and some kind of hound dog. She pointed it out to Tammy.
“Do you think it’s a stray?” Jill asked.
“I don’t know,” Tammy said. “I’ll tell the pastor.”
Pastor O’Donnell was standing in the line that was already forming in anticipation of the bake sale. He had rushed over as soon as he finished greeting his congregants as they exited the service. There were five people ahead of him and he wondered anxiously how many of them were in the market for an apple tart.
Tammy marched up and said, “There’s a dog out in the courtyard.”
“What kind of dog?”
“I don’t know,” Tammy replied. “But we ought to do something before any of the children go outside.”
“Okay,” O’Donnell said grumpily. “I’ll find Ralph and have him look into it as soon as I’ve bought my apple tart.”
Henrietta, who was supervising the bake sale set up, had overheard this conversation. She went to the window to see the animal for herself. It sure looked like a mangy stray to her. She spotted Bobby standing quietly in the corner sipping his coffee and tromped over to him.
“Is that your dog?” she demanded.
Bobby followed the line of her finger out the window. “No,” he replied.
“Because if it’s a stray someone’s going to call animal control.”
“That makes sense,” Bobby said. Henrietta nodded sharply and returned to her post.
Tammy announced the bake sale open for business and the tables were mobbed. In the next fourteen minutes they raised over three hundred dollars toward the African well. Jill sold three of her five plates of brownies. All of Henrietta’s tarts sold, of course.
O’Donnell cradled the box containing his tart gently in his arms and congratulated Henrietta on the fine charitable work the women’s group had accomplished. “You ladies are truly a credit to the church,” he noted.
As the crowd started to thin, Bobby shuffled over to Tammy. “Excuse me,” he said. “Would it be possible for me to get some water?”
Tammy was about to tell him that she was a little busy at the moment, but Bobby looked so meek and earnest she didn’t have the heart. She asked Jill to watch the cash register and retrieved a bottle of water from the kitchen. Bobby thanked her and shuffled off.
As Tammy was sitting back down at the cash register, Jill said, “look,” and pointed out the window. Outside Bobby was approaching the dog. He crouched down next to it and poured water from the bottle into a paper cup. The dog lapped from it thirstily.
Tammy went outside. “I thought that wasn’t your dog,” she said.
“It’s not,” Bobby replied. “According to the tag it belongs to someone named Mona. There’s a phone number here.”
Startled, Tammy came closer. Through the window she hadn’t even noticed the dog’s collar, which was almost the same color as its fur.
Tammy dialed the number on her cell phone. It turned out Mona was thirteen and lived two miles away. Her dog Winston had gone missing two days before and she was very excited to hear that he’d been found. She said she’d be right over.
Bobby handed Tammy the empty plastic water bottle. “You know, these aren’t very good for the environment,” he said. Then he went inside and bought the fourth plate of Jill’s brownies. Jill gave him the last plate as a gift. He protested, but she assured him she had plenty at home.
Mona was reunited with Winston twenty minutes later. Nobody at the little church ever saw Bobby again.
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