The Prodigal: A Ragamuffin Story Read Online Free PDF Page B

outside.
    “Yeah,” his father said. He looked down at his plate, then across at Jack. “Will you say grace?”
    Jack hesitated, then shook his head. “Why don’t you,” he said.
    Tom nodded slightly. “For this food we are about to consume and for all your good gifts, we are truly thankful, oh Lord. Amen.”
    The clinking and clanking of utensils against plates was the loudest noise for the next few minutes. Jack looked up now and then to see his father chewing slowly, thoughtfully.
    Bacon was crunched, coffee slurped.
    “How are things at the store?” Jack managed when it became clear he would have to be the one to start.
    “Oh,” Tom said, swallowing, “we get by. Things are tough for everyone.”
    “Is Mary still working for you?”
    Tom shook his head. “Not for years.”
    “Really?” Jack shoveled some eggs onto his fork. “I thought—” He shook his head. Well. “What does she do, then?”
    “She went to work for herself,” Tom said. “She’s got her own accounting office now. Busy during tax time.”
    “Wow,” Jack said. “I guess I thought she’d die at the cash register.”
    Tom actually chuckled a bit at that. “She and her MBA got too expensive to keep,” he said. “I’m sure she’ll tell you about it.”
    Jack’s half smile vanished. “I doubt that,” he said. “Is she still with Dennis?”
    Tom nodded as he buttered a slice of toast. “That’s the cash register she’ll die at,” he said softly.
    Jack seized this topic gratefully. “They’ve been engaged since I left for college. Are they ever getting married?”
    His father glanced up, then back down at his toast. “Ask me something I know the answer to.”
    Jack hesitated. “Did you tell her you were bringing me home? What did she say?”
    “About what you’d expect.” Tom shrugged. He looked across the table at Jack. “You know her. She’s a hard one. Told me I ought to leave you where you lay.” He shook his head. “Her exact words. Just didn’t see how I could do that.”
    “Yeah,” Jack said. He sighed. “I guess I would have advised you the same.” He had a thought—salvation!—about something else they could discuss. “How are things at Saint Paul’s sort-of-Lutheran Church? How’s Pastor John, the modern-day Martin Luther?”
    Pastor John Heinrich had led his church out of the national denomination some fifteen years ago over some theological issue or other. As a result, the sign out front said “Lutheran” in big letters, and below it, in much smaller letters, “Independent.”
    Jack had been away at school. When he returned, it was a
fait accompli.
    His father smiled for a moment, then looked out past Jack and then down at the table again before he spoke. “Not so good, I guess. Pastor John died three years back, and we can’t afford a full-time pastor anymore. We’ve had guest preachers, but it’s not the same.” He shrugged. “And most of us are old and getting older. I guess it’s time to admit defeat.”
    “It sounds like times are hard all over.” Jack knew from his reading, and from years of talking to other pastors, that small-town churches were drying up.
    “That they are,” his father said. “All the churches are down. Except First Baptist. They’re circling the wagons against the liberals.” Tom shrugged his shoulders slowly. “In scary times, people like to have their fears confirmed, right?”
    “I don’t know,” Jack said. “Maybe.”
    Was that what his father thought he’d been doing?
    Was it what he was doing?
    He cast his mind about for a way to put that back in the box. “Can’t—can’t you get some seminary kid who needs some on-the-job training?”
    His father looked at him. “What does a young person today know about my life? The life of Sister Clanton? She’s ninety-four, buried two husbands and seven kids.” He sighed again. “No. We tried that. We had some Lutherans from the program in Austin. Two boys and a girl. She was the best,