Spider

By Douglas J. Eboch

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In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. A rather large but perfectly harmless spider has made his home in the rafters of the little church’s sanctuary where he keeps himself fat and happy catching flies and mosquitoes. Last Sunday however, the spider decided to take a trip down to the floor. Perhaps the hunting had been bad in the rafters of late or perhaps he was moved by the hymn the choir was singing. Who can really understand the mind of a spider, after all.

Kevin and Jill Boyer were seated behind Henrietta Miggins that morning. Kevin had dozed off, as he frequently did during church service. Since he wasn’t snoring, Jill let him sleep. Meanwhile, Henrietta, a dignified and dour sixty-nine year-old wearing a wide brimmed hat topped by three large fake flowers, frowned at the hymn selection. Choir director Shane Reed favored bouncy, jazzy hymns. Henrietta thought “bouncy” and “jazzy” were attributes more suited to cheap dance clubs than to church service.

As Henrietta frowned and Jill tapped her feet happily to the music, the spider descended on his thin strand of web. His trajectory took him a few inches in front of Jill’s face. Jill was not a fan of spiders. When it came into her field of view, she jumped, barely managing to stifle a small squeal.

The spider continued his decent unperturbed. Jill shimmied and gyrated like a gymnast having a seizure to avoid the little arachnid. Her flailing right hand bumped the brim of Henrietta’s hat, tilting it at a rakish angle. Henrietta turned with an icy stare. She was not rakish and did not appreciate such an adjustment to her headwear.

Jill leaned in to apologize, being careful to give the spider a wide berth. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “there’s a…”

“Shush!” Henrietta hissed, cutting Jill off. Henrietta believed one should sit and listen respectfully in church no matter how outlandish the musical selection was.

The spider had reached the floor. Jill pulled her knees up to her chest to keep her feet away from it. She elbowed Kevin in the arm.

Kevin awoke with a snort and looked over at her. “What?” he hissed.

Henrietta turned and gave the Boyers another “shush.” When she turned back, Kevin stuck his tongue out at her.

Jill pointed frantically down at the floor where the spider was meandering around exploring this new territory. Kevin rolled his eyes and stepped on the spider.

The spider managed to slip into the small space between Kevin’s sole and heel, thus avoiding being crushed. The near death experience got the little creature’s arachnid adrenaline pumping on all cylinders. As soon as Kevin lifted his foot, it scurried forward as fast as it could.

Jill gestured frantically for Kevin to finish the job. The spider had vanished under the pew in front of them. Kevin rolled up the bulletin and slipped down on his hands and knees to pursue. He could see the spider crawling along the edge of Henrietta’s shoe. He reached forward to smack it with the bulletin.

He missed.

However he did manage to swat Henrietta’s foot. She looked down and saw his hand, but did not see the spider. She did not know what kind of shenanigans he was up to, but she was certain they were quite rude and inappropriate. She placed her foot on his hand, not firmly enough to cause pain, but firmly enough to trap him. Then she turned back to Jill with an expression that said a great many things, none of them particularly nice.

Jill opened her mouth to explain. Henrietta shushed her.

Thinking the issue resolved for the time being, Henrietta released Kevin’s hand. When she placed her foot back onto the floor, however, the spider climbed on to her shoe.

The spider did not stop there. He climbed up onto her ankle. Henrietta felt the ticklish pull on her panty hose and looked down.

Henrietta was no more a fan of spiders than Jill. The sight of the eight-legged creature crawling up her shin caused her to jump to her feet with a yelp.

The choir had just completed the hymn, so Henrietta’s outburst happened as the sanctuary fell quiet. Everyone looked at her. Startled and embarrassed, Henrietta did the only thing she could think of. She raised her hands and said “Hallelujah.” Then she quickly sat back down.

Choir Director Shane Reed smiled. He knew Henrietta was not the type to express enthusiasm in church, or anywhere else for that matter. He figured she must have really loved the hymn to do something so uncharacteristic. He made a mental note to pick similar upbeat music in the future.

Meanwhile, the spider had jumped off Henrietta’s leg and was scurrying toward a pillar to return to the rafters. He’d had enough of exploring the lower parts of the sanctuary to last him quite a while.

Practice Makes Miracles

by Douglas J. Eboch

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In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. This year, choir director Shane Reed organized a church softball team called The Miracles to play in the Normal Interdenominational Summer Softball League.

On a sunny Sunday afternoon The Miracles gathered at a city park for their first practice. Shane arrived early with a cooler of water and sports drinks. Del Winslow, a heavyset sixty-two year-old member of the choir, was already waiting for him.

“Great day for playing ball, eh coach?” Del called out as he approached.

“Sure is,” Shane agreed.

Del swung his arms vigorously from side to side to loosen up. “If you need any help today, I was captain of my college intramural baseball team, you know.”

Shane did know. Del had told him on at least three occasions. Shane thanked Del for his generous offer.

Pastor Henry O’Donnell’s car pulled into the parking lot. Henry, his fifteen year-old daughter Katie, her boyfriend Joe and her best friend Tabitha piled out. Katie and Tabitha looked excited to be there. Henry did not. Joe looked sullen and bored, but then he was a teenage boy so Shane figured that was probably his normal expression.

Del noticed the shiny, unblemished mitts the newcomers were carrying. “Are those new?” he asked Henry.

“Yeah,” Henry replied. “We swung by a sporting goods store on the way over.”

“Make sure you oil them,” Del instructed, “And tonight put a ball in each one and put rubber bands around them. It will help shape them.”

“Will do,” Henry said, but in fact the mitts would spend the night forgotten in the trunk of his car.

Before long the rest of the team had arrived: hard core amateur athlete Kevin Boyer, his new coworker Thad Wheeling, and bubbly, rotund Missy Moore. Missy brought homemade brownies to celebrate their first practice. As a result, they didn’t get started quite as quickly as Shane had planned.

“All right, let’s warm up,” Shane called out when the pan of brownies was reduced to a pan of crumbs. “Pair up and toss the ball around.”

As the players began warming up, Shane got his first look at his team’s skills. There was some cause for concern. Katie was playing catch with Tabitha. Katie could throw the ball okay, but whenever Tabitha threw it back, Katie would squeal and dodge instead of catching it. Shane had the two girls move closer together and instructed Tabitha to throw underhand until Katie wasn’t as afraid of the ball.

As he turned away from them, he noticed that Del was red-faced and sweating. “You all right, Del?” Shane asked.

“Oh sure, Coach,” Del responded. “Bit warm today, isn’t it?”

Shane actually thought it was pleasantly cool but he agreed with Del’s assessment just to be polite.

Kevin and Thad were a bright spot, making crisp, clean throws back and forth. And Joe looked like he might be pretty decent, even if his method of communication consisted mostly of annoyed grunts.

After twenty minutes or so, Shane called for a break. Del hustled over to the cooler and downed a bottle of bright red sports drink. After he finished, he whispered to Shane, “We’ve got some work to do to get this team in shape, eh coach?”

Shane smiled and nodded, then called for everyone to gather around. “We’ll take it easy since it’s our first practice,” Shane told them. “Let’s take the field and we’ll rotate through hitting.” He then assigned them each positions.

Shane put himself on second base. Del had insisted on playing first base as he had in college. They jogged out to their places. When Del reached first base, he bent over, hands on his knees, and sucked in big gulps of air.

“You okay, Del?” Shane called out.

“Fine,” Del responded, quickly straightening up. “Boy, I’ve missed the ol’ ball park.”

Pastor O’Donnell came running up to Shane.

“You’re supposed to be in right field,” Shane told him.

“I know, but there’s a bee hive over there,” the pastor said.

“Don’t be a wimp,” Del said between gasps, “bees won’t sting unless provoked. Don’t bother
them, they won’t bother you.”

Pastor O’Donnell didn’t look convinced but he returned to his position.

They each took turns going up to bat. Kevin, the pitcher, threw in pitches until each batter hit one, at which time the fielders practiced throwing to the correct base. Usually that base was first which meant Del was getting quite a workout. Shane grew more concerned as Del’s face grew more red. “Do you need a break,” he called over.

“Me?” Del asked. “No, no. I’m just beginning to get into the groove.” He flashed Shane a thumbs up and grinned as sweat dripped from his nose.

Most batters got a hit within two or three pitches. Then came Katie’s turn.

Katie’s fear of the ball was not just limited to catching it. Kevin took it easy on her, tossing pitches in as gently as he could. Still, she yelped and ducked every time. After a few dozen attempts, Shane could tell the team’s patience was wearing thin.

Shane jogged over to Katie. She was clearly embarrassed.

“It’s okay,” he told her. “Just relax. Kevin’s going to pitch nice and slow. The ball won’t hurt you. Just try to keep your eye on it and swing when it gets close. Think you can do that for me?”

Katie looked into Shane’s big blue eyes. Shane didn’t know it, but Katie had a little crush on him. She nodded.

Shane jogged back to second. Katie took a deep breath and planted her feet firmly. She was going to swing at this pitch no matter what. Kevin tossed the gentlest, slowest lob he could manage. Katie closed her eyes and swung.

Amazingly, the bat connected right in the sweet spot. Katie hit a nifty line drive right down the first base line. Del waved his glove half-heartedly toward it, but it skipped past him. Katie opened her eyes and asked Missy, the catcher, “what happened?”

“You hit it!” Missy shouted. “Run!” Katie took off toward third base.

Meanwhile, the ball bounced toward pastor O’Donnell. He scrambled forward to catch it. It rolled between his legs. He reached back, snagged it, and turned to throw toward first. But as he released the ball, his legs got tangled and he fell on his backside. The ball sailed off in a completely unintended direction - right toward the bee hive.

The ball struck the beehive and it exploded in a shower of honeycomb and bees. The buzzing of the angry swarm could be heard across the entire field as the bees spread out in an insect mob looking for vengeance.

“Run!” Shane shouted, though he needn’t have bothered. Every player was already dashing for the cars. Even Del.

Shane dived into Kevin’s car because it was closer than his. As they sat there catching their breath, they saw Del open the door to his car, lean out, and throw up red sports drink.

“I guess practice is over,” Shane said. “But I think we got off to a good start for our first time.”

“We’re gonna get killed,” Kevin muttered.

“It’s only a church league. Maybe all the teams start out like this.”

All the teams did not start out like that as they were soon to discover.


The Little Church Stories will take a break from the Miracles, but they’ll be back soon for “Game One.”

The Normal Miracles

by Douglas J. Eboch

Hear the story read by the author.


In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. This year, choir director Shane Reed proposed organizing a church softball team to play in the Normal Interdenominational Summer Softball League. Pastor Henry O’Donnell thought it was a fine idea as long as he didn’t have to play. When Henry was a boy he’d gotten his exercise chasing the ice cream truck. As a teen, he’d stayed in shape by running from bullies. But as an adult he’d become completely sedentary.

The deadline to register teams was just over a week away. Shane had two tasks to accomplish before then: Find a minimum of nine players and come up with a team name. He focused first on recruiting.

After announcing the team in church, Shane quickly got three people to sign up during coffee hour. First was Kevin Boyer. Unlike Pastor O’Donnell, Kevin loved sports. He was already on a city league softball team, not to mention tennis and flag football teams. Any leisure time Kevin couldn’t fill by playing sports, he tried to occupy by watching sports on TV.

Second was Del Winslow, who despite being 62 and a few dozen pounds overweight, assured Shane that he was an expert first baseman. “I was the captain of my college intramural baseball team,” Del informed him, leaving out the additional information that the team had finished next to last every year but one. That year it had actually finished last.

The third was Missy Moore, a rotund, energetic woman who said she’d be delighted to play, though she admitted she wasn’t very good. Shane gladly signed her up mostly because the league required three women on the field for each team. He figured she could be the catcher.

Four people wasn’t enough to make a basketball team, let alone a softball team. Shane cornered a few other congregants but he wasn’t having much luck. Then Katie O’Donnell, the pastor’s fifteen year-old daughter, and her friend Tabitha skipped over. “Hi Shane,” they said simultaneously in singsong voices. “Whatcha doing?”

“Signing up people for the church softball team. You two wouldn’t be interested, would you?”

The girls looked at each other with knowing smiles. “Sure,” Katie said.

“Yeah,” Tabitha agreed.

Shane hid his surprise and handed them permission slips for their parents to sign.

As the girls walked away, Katie whispered to Tabitha, “Mr. Reed’s hot, huh?”

“Yeah,” Tabitha agreed. “I wonder if he’ll take his shirt off at practice if it’s warm.” The girls giggled and went to get coffee.

That still left Shane three players short of a full team with the league kick-off meeting the following Sunday afternoon. Kevin helped by recruiting a new co-worker named Thad Wheeling who had just transferred to town. With two open spots to go, Shane started making phone calls.

He was nearing the end of his list with no success when he dialed organist Walter Tibble’s number. Walter hadn’t participated in anything resembling organized sports in thirty years but he owed Shane a favor for helping him move an old refrigerator a few weeks earlier. Walter had inadvertently dropped the refrigerator on Shane’s foot increasing the size of the debt. Shane poured on the guilt trying to overcome Walter’s reluctance.

And just as he thought Walter might be wavering, Shane’s call waiting beeped.

It was Kevin. “Jill says I can’t join the team,” Kevin told him. “She says I spend too much time playing sports while she has to watch the kids by herself.”

Shane knew Kevin and Jill’s two daughters and could understand Jill’s feelings. But his primary concern was the potential loss of his most promising player. “Can we discuss this,” he asked.

“Sure, but Jill’s the one you have to convince,” Kevin told him. “Maybe if you could find her a baby sitter. We seem to have trouble keeping them.”

“Okay. I’ve got Walter on the other line. Let me finish up with him, then I’ll…” Shane trailed off. He was getting an idea. “I’ll call you right back,” Shane said.

He clicked over to Walter. “Walter,” he said, “I’ve thought of another way you can pay me back for helping with the refrigerator. How about giving a couple kids piano lessons for me during the games so their father is free to play ball?”

Walter jumped at the chance to avoid regular exercise. “I could do that. Who are the kids?”

“Mary and Susie Boyer.”

“Oh no!” Walter howled. Mary and Susie were legendary around the church and not for lady like behavior or childish adorableness. Shane had to throw in washing Walter’s car after every game to get him to reconsider.

After an hour of back and forth phone negotiations that would have made the United Nations proud, Shane brokered a complicated three way deal. He managed to overcome Walter’s objections that the girls were really too young for piano lessons and that the Boyers didn’t have a piano for them to practice on. Jill assured Walter she didn’t expect the girls to achieve any actual musical proficiency. The truth was, she just wanted a few hours for herself. With the girls tormenting Walter, she didn’t particularly mind that her husband wouldn’t be around. Visions of long bubble baths danced in her head.

Shane was relieved he’d averted that crisis, but he was still two players down when he arrived at church Sunday morning.

Katie solved half his problem by informing him that her boyfriend Joe wanted to play. Katie was clearly delighted at Joe’s taking interest in one of her activities. What she didn’t know was that he had overheard Katie and Tabitha talking about Shane’s muscular forearms and figured he better protect his territory.

Still, when Pastor Henry O’Donnell saw Shane at coffee hour and asked him how the team was coming together, Shane was despondent. “I’m still one player short and the registration deadline is in an hour,” he told the pastor “It’s going to take a miracle to make this work.”

Unfortunately for Henry, his wife Jennifer was standing next to them. “Why don’t you play?” she asked.

“I’d love to but I’m too busy,” Henry told her, shrugging apologetically at Shane.

“Please,” Jennifer scoffed. “It’ll do you good to get some exercise. Besides, Katie’s on the team. Wouldn’t it be nice to have some father-daughter time with her?”

“But honey…” Henry started to protest.

“Sign him up,” Jennifer told Shane. Shane looked at the pastor, unsure what to do. Henry sighed and nodded his agreement.

“Great!” Shane said. “We could still use an alternate. Do you want to play, too, Jennifer? Then it would be family time.”

“Oh no,” Jennifer said. “I’m way too busy for softball.” She hurried off before her husband could come up with a snide comment.

“Guess you got your miracle,” Henry muttered.

Shane rushed off to the kick-off meeting before anyone could bail out. When he handed the coordinator his form, she pointed out that he had neglected to fill in a team name. In all the chaos of recruiting he had forgotten to think of one. Shane smiled. “Put down The Miracles,” he told her.


Coming soon: The Normal Miracles have their first practice.

Open Mic Night

by Douglas J. Eboch

Hear the story read by the author

In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. During services, Pastor Henry O’Donnell likes to use a lavalier mic, a type of radio microphone that clips to his tie, so he can walk around unencumbered by cables and still be easily heard. He feels it made his sermons more dynamic - and a little razzle dazzle helps get the message across.

Last Sunday morning, however, when he stepped to the front of the sanctuary to welcome everyone, Pastor O’Donnell discovered he’d forgotten to put the lavalier mic on.

It was an annoyance but hardly a disaster. He would just have to use the pulpit microphone or the microphone on the stand by the piano that was used for announcements or special music. It would limit his movement, but he would just have to make up for the reduction in showmanship with more forceful preaching.

Things proceeded fairly smoothly until the pastor’s prayer. Pastor O’Donnell moved the microphone on the stand out to the center of the dais and delivered what he thought was one of his more eloquent prayers. Then, as was his custom, he said, “now we move to a time of silent prayer.” The sanctuary fell quiet as the congregation made their private requests of God.

And then Katie O’Donnell’s voice broke the silence, filling the sanctuary. “Is my Dad boring or what?” she said.

O’Donnell was startled. He looked up to the balcony where his fifteen year old daughter Katie normally sat with her friend Tabitha so they could worship away from all the stodgy grown ups. But they weren’t there.

“I need some coffee if I’m going to sit through any more of that,” came Tabitha’s voice, loud and clear. Pastor O’Donnell realized the voices were coming over the speaker system. And that’s when he remembered where he’d left his lavalier mic.

Right before service, Ralph Billings, the head usher, had asked the pastor to help him move the large table into position for coffee hour. O’Donnell had taken off his sports coat and the lavalier mic to do so. The whole process had taken longer than expected due to a misadventure with a wobbly table leg and a stray nectarine. O’Donnell had to rush to make it up to the sanctuary by the start of service. He must have left the microphone in the lounge, where it was now picking up the conversation between Katie and Tabitha who were apparently playing hooky from the service.

O’Donnell found the congregation was staring at him. “Amen,” he said, since it appeared everyone had run out of things to pray silently about.

“I can’t believe your Dad is letting you go to the concert with Joe on Friday,” Tabitha said.

“It’s only so I won’t tell Mom what happened when he was giving me a ride home the other night.”

Pastor O’Donnell’s face went pale. He lunged for the small door at the back of the dais where the audio controls were kept. Unfortunately, he had forgotten about the unaccustomed microphone cord trailing behind him. He tripped and fell flat on his face, banging his knee badly.

“What happened,” Tabitha asked Katie in a conspiratorial tone that was still plenty audible over the speakers.

O’Donnell leaped to his feet and raced for the audio controls, ignoring his throbbing knee.

“He was talking on the cell phone and drove through a stop sign. Of course there was a cop waiting right there,” Katie said.

O’Donnell made it to the door and threw it open, slamming it on his thumb.

Katie continued her story. “My Dad tried to argue with him and the cop gave him a ticket for speeding as well as for running the stop sign.”

O’Donnell hit the switch for the lavalier receiver. Tabitha’s voice was cut off in mid “wow.”
O’Donnell glanced over at Shane, the choir director. Shane was furiously chewing his lips in a desperate attempt not to laugh. “Start the anthem,” O’Donnell hissed.

As Shane directed the choir to stand, Henry slipped back to his seat behind the pulpit. When the choir reached the second verse of the anthem, he ventured a peek out at the congregation. He located his wife Jennifer in the middle of the left section of pews. She was staring straight at him with a furious look. O’Donnell ducked back behind the pulpit.

O’Donnell suspected he was going to be in for quite a lecture after the service. But he had a more immediate problem.

His sermon topic was honesty.

On the ride home, Jennifer informed Katie that she would not be going to the concert with Joe.

“But Dad promised!” Katie shouted.

“I know about the deal you made. You and your Dad will be spending Friday night cleaning out the garage.”

“It’s not fair,” Katie pouted.

Henry turned back with a severe glare. “Serves you right for ducking out of church,” he said.
But the distraction caused him to miss the stop sign just ahead. And unfortunately there was a motorcycle officer waiting to cross in the other direction.

White Board Heat

Hear the story read by author Douglas Eboch

In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. It’s a quiet little church…or so it seemed until she walked into his office one drizzly gray Monday morning. She looked like trouble with her white-gold curls and her floral print dress. “We’ve got a problem,” she said, confirming his fears. She was Tammy Billings, church secretary, and she was about to drop a family size can of worms in his lap. Who was he? O’Donnell. Pastor O’Donnell.

“The white board in the choir room is missing,” Tammy told him. “And we need it for the Finance Committee meeting tonight.”

O’Donnell supposed the white board could have miraculously grown legs and decided to relocate to nicer digs on its own. Only problem was, O’Donnell didn’t believe in miracles. Okay, actually he did, but not when it came to ambulatory furniture. No, he was fairly certain this inanimate object had flesh and blood help vacating its premises.

The solitaire program on O’Donnell’s computer would have to wait. He had a more dangerous game to play.

O’Donnell’s first call was to the choir director, Shane Reed. The kid had a voice like an angel but that didn’t mean there was a halo over his head. O’Donnell wanted to see what kind of song he’d sing.

“The white board was there after the service yesterday,” Shane told him.

“Was the door locked when you left?” O’Donnell asked.

“No,” Shane said. “Walter’s stuff was in there. He said he had a few chores to take care of and he’d lock up after he was done.”

Walter was Walter Tibble, the church organist. During the week, he made his nut by teaching piano to squirrelly kids. O’Donnell reached him at home where one of the animals was murdering a long dead composer in the background. That particular tune was not music to O’Donnell’s ears.

Walter said he couldn’t remember if the white board was still in the choir room when he locked the door. “Did you see anyone unusual at the church when you left?” O’Donnell asked.

“The only people I saw were the women’s group. They were having their monthly tea.”

A few members of the women’s group definitely qualified as unusual. O’Donnell also suspected he knew what Walter’s “chores” were.

“What kind of cookies did they serve,” O’Donnell asked.

“Chocolate chip and peanut butter,” Walter said without thinking. Suspicions confirmed.

Tammy was a member of the women’s group and would have remembered if they borrowed the white board for their meeting. He asked her who else attended. As she went down the list, one name jumped out at him like a cat in a horror movie: Jill Boyer.

“Were her girls with her,” O’Donnell asked.

“No. I think Kevin was watching them downstairs,” Tammy said.

Jill and her husband Kevin had two little girls, Susie, age two and Mary, age four. Mary and O’Donnell went way back. At least as far back as you could go with a four-year-old. She had the face of a cherub and the personality of a sociopathic anarchist. They say good things come in small packages. Mary was proof that chaos comes in a pretty small package as well.

O’Donnell placed a call to Kevin. Kevin told him that he let Mary and Susie play in their Sunday school classroom during the Women’s Group meeting.

“Were you watching them the whole time,” O’Donnell asked?

“Of course,” Kevin said.

It had been quite a while since O’Donnell took a tumble from a truck of turnips. “Are you sure,” he pressed.

Kevin cracked like a glass trampoline. “Well, I was in the room right across the hall. There was a baseball game on the radio and the girls were being really loud. They didn’t break anything too valuable, did they?”

“Not that we’ve discovered yet,” O’Donnell told him and hung up.

The classroom was just two doors down from the choir room. Even Mary’s short legs could make that journey in less time than it took a professional ball player to round four bases. O’Donnell went to investigate.

The classroom looked like a couple bombs had gone off in it. O’Donnell guessed these bombs were named Mary and Susie. They’d constructed some kind of fort in the middle of the room out of desks, chairs and blankets. Apparently, the defenses were good enough to repel anyone who had asked them to clean up after themselves.

O’Donnell grabbed one of the blankets and pulled. Just as he suspected – the central support for the construction was the choir room white board.

O’Donnell returned the white board and went back to his office. He put his feet up on his desk and poured himself a shot of herbal tea. He doubted this would be the last time he’d be cleaning up after one of Mary’s messes. But that’s just the way the sugar cookie crumbled in the mean halls of the little church. He drank his tea. Case closed.

Photo Directory

by Douglas J. Eboch

Hear the story read by the author.


In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church on the corner of Wilson and Elm. Every few years they do a photo directory of all the members. A company sends a photographer to take everyone’s portraits. The photography is free, the company making their money by selling portrait packages to the participants. The whole process takes three long Saturdays.

Church secretary Tammy Billings was in charge of signing everyone up for a time slot. She met the photography people at 8 a.m. on the first Saturday with a neatly printed schedule for the day. The photographer this year was an energetic young man named Marcus. He was accompanied by a considerably less energetic young saleswoman named Kelly.

Marcus asked Tammy to pose as a stand-in on the stool while he set up his lights and backdrop. He took his job very seriously, as though he was shooting the cover of a national magazine. Kelly, on the other hand, simply set her laptop on a folding table and began playing computer solitaire. As Marcus was trying different colored gels on the backlight, he told Tammy she had lovely bone structure and asked if she’d ever been a model. Tammy giggled and reminded herself that she was a married woman.

At 9 a.m. the first subject arrived. Marcus declared himself ready to start shooting at 9:30.

Tammy liked Marcus’s spirit. She did not like the fact that he was an hour behind by 11:30 a.m. The lounge was filling up with people waiting for their turn.

The Boyer family had been scheduled at 11:00 a.m. They arrived twenty minutes late, which would have annoyed Tammy if everything weren’t already so far behind schedule. Tammy informed Kevin and Jill Boyer of the delay and asked them to take a seat.

They sat next to Henrietta Miggins, age 69, who was scheduled just ahead of them. Henrietta did not like to be kept waiting and she was not the type to keep her displeasure to herself. Approximately every five minutes Henrietta went to Tammy’s check-in table to ask about the delay.

The Boyer girls, Mary, age 4 and Susie, age 2, were not good at waiting patiently either. Mary decided to amuse herself by poking Susie in the arm. Susie did not find the game nearly as amusing. Jill separated them and begged them to sit still and not mess up their nice clothes before the picture could be taken. She also had to throw an occasional beg Kevin’s way as he fiddled with his tie.

Without a little sister within striking distance, Mary became fascinated by the fake flowers on Henrietta’s hat. She suggested Henrietta put perfume in them to make them smell pretty. Henrietta gave the girl a severe glare then went to check with Tammy on Marcus’s progress again.

Missy Moore had been there longer than any of them, but she waited patiently and cheerfully. Missy was excited to have her picture taken. She’d worn her favorite pink dress and was in the bathroom reapplying her make-up for the third time that morning when the Boyers arrived.

Missy loved kids, though she had none of her own. When she came out of the bathroom and saw Mary and Susie, she squealed with delight. “Oh don’t you two just look precious in your pretty little dresses!” she exclaimed and gave them a big hug, one wrapped in each arm. Henrietta rolled her eyes, though she was thankful for the relief from Mary’s attentions.

Marcus finished taking Walter Tibble’s portrait and said he was ready for Missy. Kelly the saleswoman salivated as Missy checked herself in the mirror one last time. She suspected this woman would order lots of pictures.

Missy beamed as Marcus complimented her rosy cheeks and cheerful smile while he posed her atop the stool. He stepped back and said, “gorgeous.” Missy blushed.

Marcus went behind the digital camera and took hold of the shutter release cord that allowed him to take a picture without jostling the camera. “Big smile,” he said. Missy smiled her biggest. And just as Marcus depressed the shutter, a naked two-year-old girl ran past.

Susie had taken advantage of a distraction caused by Mary inadvertently yanking one of the fake flowers out of Henrietta’s hat. Susie slithered out of the frilly yellow dress her mother had wedged her into that morning and made a break for the door.

Missy was so startled by the diminutive streaker that she nearly fell off the stool. “That’s okay,” Marcus said, “We’ll just take that one again.” Marcus repositioned Missy on the chair as Jill ran by in pursuit of her daughter, spilling apologies.

Marcus returned to the camera. “Got another one of those ravishing smiles in you,” he asked with a wink.

Missy grinned. Marcus pushed down on the shutter release.

And got a great picture of the backdrop falling on Missy.

Mary was standing on the other side, giggling. Jill ran up with Susie under her arm, looking mortified. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “Are you all right?”

Missy clambered out from under the backdrop. “I’m fine,” she assured Jill.

Jill turned on Mary and unleashed a tirade of anger on the rambunctious girl, saving a few choice words for her husband for not keeping closer watch. Missy stepped in before Mary started crying. “It’s okay, really!” Missy said. Then she knelt and pinched Mary’s cheek. “You’re just bored, aren’t you? This is no fun for a little girl like you. Maybe we can get you something to play with.”

“I’ve got something,” Marcus volunteered. He always brought toys with him to get his younger subjects to smile. He handed a plastic horse with a long pink tail to Mary, whose face lit up.

“Thank you,” Jill said, with as much relief as gratitude. “Come on, we have to put Susie’s dress back on.” She led the two girls away.

Marcus regarded Missy. Her precisely arranged hairdo had been completely undone by its encounter with the backdrop. “Would you like a minute to get yourself back together,” he asked.

“Oh yes, please.” Missy said.

Missy hurried off to the bathroom. Tammy suggested maybe they better go ahead and shoot the next person on the list while Missy cleaned up. “That’s me,” Henrietta said, striding over to the table.

Tammy peeked around her at the frazzled Boyer family. Mary and Susie were fighting over who got to play with the plastic horse. “Henrietta, do you think maybe we could let the Boyers go first?” she asked.

Henrietta fixed her with a steely gaze. “Who’s next on your list,” she demanded.

“You are,” Tammy sighed. Henrietta nodded triumphantly and strode over to the stool.

Marcus went to position Henrietta. “Don’t touch me,” Henrietta snapped. “You ought to show some respect for a lady, young man.”

“Okay,” Marcus said slowly. “Just put your hand in your lap then. And tilt your chin up.” Henrietta complied. “Now smile,” Marcus said.

Henrietta did not smile.

“Smile,” Marcus repeated louder.

“I’m not deaf,” Henrietta said. “I just prefer not to grin like a fool in my picture.”

“Don’t you want to look happy in your directory?”

“I’d rather look dignified.”

Marcus turned on the charm. “Come on, I bet you have a really pretty smile.”

“Mighty fresh, aren’t you,” Henrietta responded.

Marcus decided to try a joke. “What did the blue jay say to the robin,” he asked.

“I hate people who waste time telling stupid jokes?”

Marcus sighed. He was about to give up and take the picture when suddenly the plastic horse flew in and hit him in the groin. Marcus grunted and fell to his knees. Tears welled up in his eyes.
He looked at Henrietta who appeared as startled as he was. Then she bursts out laughing. Instinctively, Marcus pushed the plunger on the shutter release.

When the camera clicked, Henrietta stopped laughing. “Did you just take my picture?” she asked.

“Yep,” he said through clenched teeth. He checked the results on his laptop screen. Henrietta looked joyful and free spirited. Anyone who knew her would claim the photo didn’t capture her true nature at all.

“It’s great,” Marcus said. “Next!”

“Wait, wait,” Henrietta demanded, but it was too late. The Boyer family appeared and the two girls engaged in a game of tag around her. Kelly took Henrietta’s arm and led her away. When Henrietta saw the portrait, she was horrified.

“Would you like to order any photos,” Kelly asked.

“Certainly not,” Henrietta sniffed and walked out.

When the directory came out two months later, it contained the first picture of Henrietta smiling in church directory history.

(c) 2008 Douglas J. Eboch

The Work Party

by Douglas J. Eboch

Hear the story read by the author.


In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. A recent rain storm had done extensive damage to the basement classroom used by the “Guppies,” the pre-school Sunday school class, and the hall outside. So the church held a work party one Saturday to replaces some damaged dry wall, repaint and re-carpet the affected areas. Using volunteer labor from the congregation for such tasks helped the church save money. Nobody ever thought to consider the cost in emotional stress until after the events were over.

The work party had been listed in the bulletin and mentioned in the announcements during the three previous services. Pastor Henry O’Donnell had also reminded everyone he talked to during coffee hour the week before. Yet he was still not surprised when he showed up Saturday morning to discover only Ralph Billings, his wife Tammy, and Del Winslow in the lounge.

“Just us?” Del asked.

“Looks like it,” Ralph said.

“Are you helping,” Henry asked Tammy.

“Oh no,” said Tammy, who was the church secretary. “I’ve got work to do in the office.”

The three men started downstairs when a cheery, “Good morning” stopped them. Missy Moore strode into the room wearing brand new blue overalls, a pink tool belt, and a broad smile. “Is this where we’re meeting for the work party?” she asked.

The men looked at each other. They weren’t quite sure what to make of this development. “I brought donuts,” Missy added, holding up a box.

The men grinned. “This is the place,” Henry told her.

After fortifying themselves with a donut each, the first thing they did was remove all the furnishings and toys from the classroom. They moved everything upstairs into the lounge, carrying supplies and tools down on the trips back. They set up a staging area in a classroom across the hall from the Guppies’ damaged classroom.

The next task was to tear out the old, water damaged carpet. Ralph cut the carpet into four strips with a carpet knife. The floor under the carpet was cement so it had been glued down. Whoever did it had used liberal amounts of glue and hadn’t limited the adhesive to the edges of the room. Each of them took a strip and began peeling it back.

When Henry had about three quarters of his carpet strip free, he hit a particularly stubborn patch of glue in the middle of the floor. He adjusted his grip on the loose carpet and leaned back. For a few seconds nothing happened. Then, the carpet jerked up with a tearing sound - and Henry lost his balance. He fell back and his elbow went through the wall behind him.

“Are you all right, Pastor?” Ralph asked.

“Uh huh,” Henry said, yanking his elbow out of the wall.

“Good thing we’re doing some drywalling today,” Ralph said. “We’ll add that spot to the list.”

Perhaps because of this mishap, Ralph suggested that he and Del hang the drywall in the classroom while Henry started painting the hall. Henry might have felt insulted but the truth was he knew he wasn’t particularly handy. Painting seemed like something he could handle.

“What should I do?” Missy asked.

“Well,” Ralph said, “the legs of the furniture upstairs need to be cleaned off. Maybe you could start on that.”

Missy seemed a little disappointed, but headed upstairs to work on the furniture while Roger and Del began replacing the drywall under the window where water had leaked in. Henry, meanwhile, prepared to paint the hall.

Karen Winslow, the Sunday school teacher, had suggested painting the walls yellow and the baseboard and trim white to brighten up the classroom areas. Everyone agreed it was a good idea at the time. But Henry noted that Karen hadn’t shown up to execute her wonderful plan. It meant he couldn’t just paint over the water damage on the lower few inches of the previously white walls. He was going to have to paint the whole thing.

He was using a roller to apply yellow paint on the first section of the wall when Del came out of the classroom to get some more drywall nails. “What are you doing?” Del asked. “You should paint the baseboards and trim before you paint the walls. That way it doesn’t matter if you slop over onto the walls because you can just paint over it.”

“Oh. Okay,” Henry said. He put the roller down and got out the white paint and a brush. Del nodded his approval and returned to the drywalling.

Henry bent over to begin painting the baseboard and heard a ripping sound. He reached back and discovered his old work jeans had split in a most embarrassing spot. He was not having a good day. He found a carpenter’s apron among the tools and tied it backwards around his waist. Then his eyes fell on the donuts. He decided he could use another to lift his spirits.

While Henry enjoyed a jelly filled pastry, Missy came downstairs to check on the boys. When she entered the hall, she was shocked to see that Henry had stopped painting the wall before covering a complete section and hadn’t smoothed the edges of the paint or the drips. She grabbed a brush and did it herself so there would be no bumps or seams in the finished paint job. Then she noticed nobody had removed the switch plates or socket plates. Fortunately, she had a screwdriver in her tool belt and took care of that detail in no time.

By the time Henry came out licking jelly from his fingers, she had returned to the lounge. He didn’t even notice what she’d done as he returned to his work on the baseboards.

Then Ralph came out to get drywall tape. “What are you doing?” He asked. “You should paint the walls before the trim.”

“Del told me to do it this way,” Henry said.

“Del doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Ralph snorted. “Paint rollers create a fine spray. It’ll spot your trim if you do it last.”

“Oh. Okay,” Henry said. He put down the brush and returned to the roller.

About twenty minutes later Del came out. “What are you doing,” he started to say.

“Just let me do it my way,” Henry snapped.

Finally, Henry finished painting the walls. He figured he’d earned another donut and selected one covered in powdered sugar. Refortified, he returned to the hall licking powdered sugar from his fingers and began painting the trim.

Upstairs, Tammy was meeting a young couple who was considering getting married in the church. She took them to see the sanctuary, then asked if they’d like to meet the pastor. “He’s downstairs working on some remodeling,” she told them.

In fact, Henry had just finished with the hallway trim. He stepped back to admire his handiwork.
Unfortunately, he stepped right into the roller pan and his feet shot out from under him in the slippery paint. He fell hard on his rear, splitting his pants even more. The brush flew out of his hand, bounced off the wall, and hit him square in the face leaving him with a mouthful of paint.

It was the last straw. He spit out the paint and let loose with a string of profanity. He stopped mid-word when he looked to his left.

Standing at the bottom of the stairs were Tammy and the young engaged couple who appeared quite shocked at his monologue. O’Donnell opened his mouth but found he didn’t know what to say…which was uncommon for him.

Tammy had no such problem. “This is our janitor,” she said, gesturing at Henry. “I don’t see the pastor anywhere. Do you know where he is?”

Henry shrugged.

“Oh well, you’ll just have to meet him another time,” Tammy told the couple and guided them back toward the stairs. “Let me show you the bride’s room.”

Henry went to get cleaned up, then treated himself to a chocolate covered donut to wash the paint taste out of his mouth. He was just coming out licking chocolate frosting from his fingers when Del and Ralph emerged from the classroom.

“This man knows nothing about hanging drywall,” Del said.

“Me? I don’t know where you got your crazy ideas,” Ralph responded.

“Well, it’s done anyway. We were going to sneak out for a beer before we paint the classroom. Wanna join us, Pastor?”

Henry nodded. A beer sounded pretty good. They headed upstairs where Missy was finishing up with the furnishings.

“We’re going for a beer,” Del told her. “Do you want to come?”

“I don’t care for beer,” she responded. “But Tammy and I are going to have tea in a little bit. You go on and I’ll finish up here.”

The men headed out. Missy went downstairs to have a donut. She was surprised to find the box nearly empty. She also noticed that Henry had missed a few spots with his roller.. She grabbed it and smoothed over the paint job. Then she touched up some areas where he’d gone a little off course with his trim brush. Her father had been a contractor and she knew all about painting and drywall. She was a little disappointed her skills hadn’t been needed today.

The men returned after Missy and Tammy had left for tea. They stopped in the hallway and admired Henry’s work.

“Wow,” Ralph said. “You really did a good job.”

“Thank you,” Henry beamed.

Then they went to paint the classroom. Though first Ralph and Del had to argue for half an hour over whether to start with the walls or the trim.


(For Norma. Feel better soon.)