| General Fiction posted January 18, 2025 | Chapters: |
...17 18 -19- 20... 
|
  |
What to do with a headless chicken
A chapter in the book Ben Paul Persons
Ben Paul Persons, Ch 19
by Wayne Fowler
In the last part Ben Paul and Sylvia have no success at finding a found ring’s rightful owner.
Chapter 19
Early the next morning, just as Ben Paul and Sylvia were about to go out for breakfast, the phone rang. Sylvia answered it. “I guess we’d better meet this one,” she said. “I have an address. You probably heard me tell her 8:00?”
Ben Paul had heard the time. He asked the details.
“We’ll learn more when we meet her, but she’s the pastor’s wife of the First Evangelical Church.”
“A pastor’s wife with that kind of ring?”
“Yeah. My thoughts exactly. Seems she called Shoney’s. They gave her our number.”
“Blows my other theories a little.”
“Yeah, but only a little,” Sylvia agreed. “We’d better git if we want breakfast and not be late.”
“I hate to be late for anything,” Ben Paul said, getting chuckles from Sylvia.
“I’ll drive,” she said. “I have a heavier right foot than you.”
Ben Paul chuckled at that one.
+++
“I was too embarrassed to say anything at first,” Wanda Fischer said. “I mean what evangelical pastor’s wife owns a $12,500 diamond ring, the stone the size of an acorn? Right?”
Ben Paul and Sylvia let her talk.
“When our bank account got to $20,000, John let me buy it.” Wanda sheepishly said that her limit was $10,000, but this one was on sale for just over that, but with sales tax and luxury tax it came to nearly $12,500.
She described it to a T, even to how many prongs held the stone in place.
“I couldn’t wear it to church, or to any church event. Not even to denominational conventions. I wore it when John and I went out. Or when I went shopping in Wichita. Sometimes, when… well, I’d wear it to bed.”
At that, she blushed and rose from her seat. “Oh my. My hospitality. You must think me awful. I have coffee made. Or would you like tea, Sylvia. Sylvia, right?”
“Coffee would be fine. For both of us – black, no sugar. Can I help?”
“Sure. It’s much easier to carry coffee when your hands aren’t shaking. I feel so embarrassed.”
“I sent Ben Paul out to get the ring. Why don’t we sit in here at your table?” Sylvia suggested.
“In here, Ben Paul,” Sylvia called when she heard him enter the house.
“I believe this is yours, Madam,” Ben Paul said, handing the ring over with a flourish.
“I…” After accepting the ring, Wanda continued. “I feel like… I don’t know. Like I don’t even want it now. Like, I don’t know… it’s dirty.”
“I think I understand,” Sylvia said. “Ben Paul, honey?”
Ben Paul perfectly understood Sylvia’s tone and where it was going. “I’ll have my coffee on the veranda,” he said, picking up his coffee cup and heading toward a patio.
“Wanda, I’m no psychiatrist or even a minister." Sylvia's eyes softened. "But you had a need that was not being met. The ring satisfied that need. But it won’t anymore. You know that. But the need is still there. And before you ruin yours… or John’s lives. You need to face it.”
Wanda started to speak, but before she began, Sylvia continued. “That’s how affairs start… women with unmet needs.”
Wanda blurted out, “We do it regularly. I make sure John doesn’t have that… unmet need you mentioned.”
“But it isn’t working for you. There’s a book I read… I can’t remember now, but there are different languages in which people receive love. If a man hits on four of the five, well… you.
“The key is communication. You have to talk to John. Thank him for the things he does for you. He might be bending over backwards to compliment you, compliment you for everything.”
Wanda laughed. “He does. I laid down a bathroom rug the other day and he complimented the way I did it. It was hysterical.”
“And both of you wish he would knock it off. But he’s neglecting that one thing. I don’t know if he doesn’t touch you often enough, or he doesn’t gift you personal things, or not tell you he loves you often enough, but you have to talk. Set up a time, an appointment if you have to.
“But do NOT see the assistant pastor on the sly!” Sylvia laughed, her eyes letting Wanda know that it was a joke, maybe a half-joke, but said in love.
“Now, we have to go.”
“Sylvia?...
“No. I won’t take the ring. Sell it and give to the poor, or to missions.”
Wanda sighed. “Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.”
“Ben Paul?” Sylvia said, not yelling, but loud enough for him to hear.
“Yes, dear?”
“Time to go, darling.”
“Oh!” Wanda exclaimed.
“I need to give you a reward. How much would be right? Oh, silly me. You wouldn’t answer that if I twisted your arm.”
“Nothing… two cups of coffee. Honestly. I’m so glad that we could help.”
“You have, Sylvia, you have.” Tears welled in Wanda’s eyes, quickly cascading down her face. “I won’t even apologize for crying.”
+++
“Yes, you can ask what I told her,” Sylvia said on the drive back to the motel, soliciting a grin. Then she related her counsel.
“I could not have done better. I believe you were perfect. Have I told you lately that I love you?”
“Could I tell you once again somehow,” Sylvia returned.
Inside the motel, the phone rang as they began packing to leave. Reluctantly, Ben Paul answered it. “Hello?”
“Ben Paul Persons?”
“That’s me.”
“Look. I’m John Fischer, pastor of the First Evangelical Church. Would you preach for us next Sunday morning?”
Instantly, Ben Paul felt quickened by the Holy Spirit. He needed to preach that service. “Yes sir. I would.”
“Fantastic! I’ve read everything the papers put out on you. Fascinating. I’m positive my congregation would like to hear from the Dodge City bank holdup sleuth.”
“When’s a good time to meet with you?” Ben Paul asked.
“Oh, no need. Service time is 10:45, but stop in anytime you’d like if you’re in the area.”
Ben Paul allowed him to say goodbye and then simply hung up.
“I wouldn’t preach that man’s church for a hundred dollars, but I must for God.”
“Who was it?” Sylvia asked.
When Ben Paul told her she said, “Wanda called him. And instead of asking you to preach on languages of love, he wants you to titillate the audience with a story, an entertaining adventure.” Disgust penetrated Sylvia’s voice.
“Well guess what.”
“What? We need jobs if we’re going to eat and sleep. There’s no YMCA in this town, remember?”
+++
“Ben Paul, do I have to put my foot down?” Sylvia was unhappy with Ben Paul’s decision to act the clown, the person inside the Liberty Insurance costume prancing about, waving a placard like a buffoon. It looked innocuous enough but for hour after hour?
“Sylvia. You can see the motel from here. I get paid daily, and I can walk back to the motel. In one day I pay for our eating. And that includes pie! I promise to take breaks, okay?”
With that, Sylvia drove Tank a little further on Main Street, stopping at a bookstore that had advertised a second grand opening and a book signing the next Saturday.
“Oh honey! Would you? There are so many reasons that I need you,” the female proprietor said. “I don’t want to be tied to the coffee table. My help, is too busy making the business money, and I just didn’t want to hire a young person for only a few days. They need a job that lasts and if they take this, then they miss out on a real job. Thank you, dear.
“The main thing is not to fill cups more than an inch from the top. Little spills can ruin books. I don’t know why I even decided to offer coffee, but… And would you sort of patrol the aisles? People set the cups everywhere in order to pick up books. This was a terrible idea. Anyway, thank you.”
Sylvia expressed her gratitude for the position and began work by tidying the area, even cleaning the floor around her station.
An hour later, Sylvia stepped out to check on both debris on the sidewalk, and Ben Paul down the street. Startling her a bit, the owner, Mrs. Jackson, stepped from behind.
“Would you look at him?” Sylvia said. “That’s my husband. He’s 82 years old dancing like a headless chicken.”
Mrs. Jackson asked the story, why the two had sought and taken such work. After hearing a simplified version, that they were witnesses to the local bank robbery and had to clear Ben Paul’s name when all they were doing was driving home to Colorado, and that now they felt compelled to stay in their motel until Sunday, Mrs. Jackson insisted that Sylvia drive down to fetch Ben Paul, that for ten cents more per hour, Ben Paul could carry a sandwich sign and take as many breaks as he desired.
Within the hour Ben Paul was strolling up and down Main Street with two posterboards tied together with yarn, a huge smile on his face as he met people. He imagined his father street preaching two-minute sermons – point, shoot, reload.
5 Love Languages by Gary Chapman
Pub 2005, not 1972, the setting of this story
Ben Persons: young man called of God (1861-1890)
Ben Paul Persons: 81-year-old son of Ben Persons (1891-)
Sylvia Adams Persons: grand-daughter of Livvy (1904-)
Slim Goldman (Herschell Diddleknopper): miner who Ben (senior) rescued in 1886
Mary Goldman/Diddleknopper: wife of Slim
Tony Bertelli: protegeÃÂâÃÂÃÂÃÂàof Ben persons (Sr)
Angelo, La Lama, Caruso: Chicago friend of Ben Sr., Police lieutenant
Al Fresco: St. Louis man who raped and impregnated Ellsabeth, wife of Tony
Malcolm Richards: chaplain of the St Louis mission
photo courtesy Linda James, pexels
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Pub 2005, not 1972, the setting of this story
Ben Persons: young man called of God (1861-1890)
Ben Paul Persons: 81-year-old son of Ben Persons (1891-)
Sylvia Adams Persons: grand-daughter of Livvy (1904-)
Slim Goldman (Herschell Diddleknopper): miner who Ben (senior) rescued in 1886
Mary Goldman/Diddleknopper: wife of Slim
Tony Bertelli: protegeÃÂâÃÂÃÂÃÂàof Ben persons (Sr)
Angelo, La Lama, Caruso: Chicago friend of Ben Sr., Police lieutenant
Al Fresco: St. Louis man who raped and impregnated Ellsabeth, wife of Tony
Malcolm Richards: chaplain of the St Louis mission
photo courtesy Linda James, pexels
You need to login or register to write reviews. It's quick! We only ask four questions to new members.
© Copyright 2025. Wayne Fowler All rights reserved.
Wayne Fowler has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
