Verve Mania

Verve Mania

A Shepherd

Published by Christian Ebook Publishers at Smashwords

Copyright 2013. A Shepherd.

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Verve Mania

Copyright © 2013.

To The Author.

Ebook.

Front cover design by: Christian Ebook Publisher.

ISBN: 0 9585226 8 5

All rights reserved.  No part of this publication, either text, diagrams, photographs, or cover may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system (except for Ebook purchase) or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or any other manner except for quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the author, publisher, and/or the copyright holder.  

Published by Christian EBook Publisher.

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Contact author:  vervemania@hotmail.com

Verve Mania

‘Verve’:

Noun – great vitality; enthusiasm and liveliness; sparkle; gusto; spirit; animation; energy.

Dedication

Dedicated to:  J. A. & W. B.

Two true Shepherds who cared for, and

developed me in ministry to be a shepherd.

I Peter 5: 2 Feed the flock of God among you.

Borrowing the words of the TV classic and

iconic ‘Law & Order’:

‘Although inspired in part by true incidents

the following story is fictional and

does not depict any actual

person or event.’

[Slight adaptation acknowledged]

CONFRONTATION - 2013

Andy slowly stopped his shiny black sports BMW, nudging it gently into a line of tall snow covered pine trees, standing like sentinels adjacent to the concreted parking area.  A branch gave way to its load of snow.  It fell soundlessly across the front of the bonnet of Andy’s car, slowly melting with the heat off the engine.  

Carefully Andy had eased his car in to avoid skidding on the black ice.  But, he was so taken with the height and size of the pine trees that he had accidentally slid the car to a halt, bumping one of the lower branches.  A strange thought crossed Andy’s mind.  Is that one of my trees?  Is that one I planted?  He shook off such stupid childish thoughts.

The BMW was from the top of the range, the latest edition to their sports series.  Andy’s perfect climate-controlled environment and specially fitted heat controlled leather seats had protected him against the harshness of the cold winter he would step into.   Five degrees Fahrenheit/minus 15 Celsius showed on his car temperature indicator at 9.15am on a frigid morning.

Andy looked over to his right, to the floor well of the passenger side of his car at his old black overshoes.  Glancing over to the main building he gauged it wasn’t worth putting them on, for fifteen paces, to guard against the snow, sludge, and ice.  Anyway he wanted to make an impression and sloshing into the room in old black overshoes just didn’t cut it.

As Andy stepped out, $450 full leather imported Italian shoes squelched in half-frozen snow and ice.  Peasants, he mumbled as he put on his caramel coloured Armani overcoat and flicked off snow from the top of his right shoe.  He turned his coat collar up against the freezing breeze.  Why on earth couldn’t we have met in a decent hotel in the city, instead of this frozen wasteland?  Andy was deeply irritated.  Nothing seemed right today.

As he looked at the trail to his left that headed to the lake his mind flicked back to childhood memories of warm beautiful summer holiday seasons.  Then, a myriad of coloured wild flowers grew along the winding trail.  Shrill laughter from children, including himself, running along the jetty and launching themselves with excited squeals into the cool clear lake beyond had constantly filled the air.  

Andy shook his head.  Where had that come from?  It had been years, countless years, since such pleasant thoughts had invaded his mind.  

Childhood rubbish, he mused.  But, unfortunately, his regular pattern of thoughts over the past few years had contained not near the same joy or beauty.

Outside the warmth of the car it was still, breathlessly still, as oft is the case when scintillating hoar frost dresses the trees in a shimmering display of winter white and ice wonder.  With the sun, glinting through the trees and their ice encrusted branches at odd angles the effect was almost beyond description in beauty.  Rainbow colours glistened off and through the occasional icicle.

But, Andy didn’t see any of this.  He now stood involuntarily staring at the two other cars in the car park, and The Hideaway beyond them.  Staring at the silver-grey Volvo he knew it to be John’s.  The off-white Ford, with a dent in the rear fender, next to the Volvo was at least eight years old.  Typical, he said out loud thinking of Rob, its owner, and knowing how unpleasant the threatening meeting before him would be.

Warm plumes of white-grey smoke curled upwards in lazy spirals from the old chimney in the centre of the roof.  The aged chimney was made from the beautiful bush rock native to the area.  The smoke plumes lazily lingered a few feet above the chimney dancing with each other in swirls, seemingly unwilling to leave for cooler heights.  Then, they rose as if summoned from above and melted into frigid sky.  

Translucent icicles with a glint of sunshine trapped inside draped down from the moss-covered shingle roof, some reaching down more than a foot.  The aged wooden log exterior of the cabin, much with remnants of moss-covered bark, seemed to Andy to have not changed in thirty, or was it thirty-five years since he had last been here?  With every hesitant step, as he walked to the cabin, Andy’s breath hung around him, seemingly reluctant to leave its warm abode, in vapour trails of discontent.

Better get this over with, he thought as he made his way to the familiar porch.  He didn’t knock.  He didn’t need to.  He knew exactly who was waiting inside for him and why.  Being fifteen minutes late was deliberate.  Make them wait.  How dare they summons me here?  

Rob had left a message on Andy’s cell phone message bank.  It was taken by Andy as a direct threat of Rob ‘going public’ with his accusations.  But, John’s earlier personal invitation to attend had eased his temper and satisfied and calmed his anxious need to be present.

The old wooden door squeaked noisily as it opened.  Instantly the rich smell of fine brewed coffee filled his nostrils.  Chance encounters of smell and sound have a way of reverting our mind to bygone days.  His mind flipped back to opening the noisy door as a child and hearing that same welcoming sound of the squeak of the door.  Nobody could ever get inside unannounced.  And so it had been as far back as Andy could remember.  It wasn’t oiled for that very reason, to announce entrance.  

From a cold icy exterior at minus 15 Celsius Andy stepped into an embracing warm environment.  John and Rob were standing at the open fire.  Rob was prodding a resistant smouldering log that refused to move closer to the fire, with a long blackened poker.  Showers of sparks were flying upward as he was deep in conversation with John.

John had already partially turned at the first hint of the automatic warning system of the door.  

Hi Andy.  Come on in.  Too cold to be out there, though the frost, and snow on the trees and through the valley drive is stunningly beautiful today isn’t it?  Andy turned to look outside and for the first time since arriving noticed the pristine beauty of his surroundings.

If you say so John, he said slamming the aging door behind him.  Let’s get this over with.  I haven’t come here to socialise or to admire the scenery and beauty.

Rob had looked up and seemed almost defensive yet threatening with the poker in his hand.  What’s the matter Andy?  Don’t want to mix with mere commoners like us?

John turned to face the fire.  Rob, we’ll never settle anything starting like that.  Just quieten down.  

Turning to Andy who was walking to the centre of the room John continued.  Give me your coat.  Take a seat.  Coffee is fresh, just made it.  I’ll get you some.  He took Andy’s expensive coat and wandered off to hang it on old wooden pegs near the kitchen door that led outside.  The pegs were literally worn thin from overuse through many a year.  

Rob and Andy just glared at one another like two vicious dogs circling, waiting for the conceded advantage to pounce.

Rob had moved to sit on the large faded red leather chair nearest the fire.  The bright red leather colour was almost gone from the edge of the chair, worn by age.  But, as Rob flopped into it, it felt just as comfortable as ever.  Well over thirty-five years old the charming chair was worse for wear but no less comfortable.  Andy, across the familiar small coffee table in the centre of the room, seemed poised as he sat nervously just on the edge of his lounge chair.

John returned with three coffees, cream and sugar on an old familiar wooden tray and took his place on the sofa between them, looking from one to the other.  Come on guys, let’s not start with tension.  It’s important to settle this issue sensibly now.  We go back a long way.  Can’t you remember the good times we had together here?  What, is it over thirty, or thirty-five years ago we were last here together?

Just cut out the trip down memory lane John.  You know he’s making wild accusations that he can’t prove.  And that can and will land him in serious trouble in court if he’s not careful.  I’ve already met with my lawyers.  Andy was visibly upset as he angrily pointed directly at Rob.

Rob was grinning sadistically, as he nestled comfortably into the back of his chair, and fired back his response: What’s the matter Andy?  Got caught with our hand in the cookie jar did we?  Serves you right, though this time I’m going to make sure you pay.

John shifted from the corner of the sofa.  Cut it out now, both of you.  The very point of coming here is to try to sort this out.  Turning to Rob, John began to attempt to mediate between them both.  

Rob you just can’t make wild accusations against Andy without specific facts and surely actual proof, not innuendoes.  Stories and second hand information are not facts.  And, I’m telling you that you shouldn’t print a word of it in that magazine of yours.  Honestly Rob, it has become a sleazy production.  You really have to clean it up.

Andy cut John off before he could continue.  My lawyer is preparing an injunction right now to stop you publishing one word of your trash accusation concerning me, or even implying any facts or opinions about me, in your next or any subsequent issues.

Trash, trash!  Is that what you call Margaret.  Personally, I don’t care how far you went with her.  I’ve got a certified photocopy of the cheque that your lawyers, through your church, gave her to pay her off.  Rob was now on his feet yelling, face livid, with finger aggressively pointing at Andy.

The colour had drained from Andy’s face.  His speechless mouth was wide open unable to articulate the next verbal tirade he would throw at Rob.

John intervened.  I said cut it out.  Didn’t you listen?  Rob sat and Andy eased back into his chair for the first time.  He was still pale from Rob’s unexpected disclosure.  He thought to himself:  He knows far more than I gave him credit for.

Rob wasn’t finished.  I also blame you and your church for Chas Brooke’s suicide.  We’ve had it with you and your high and mighty ways.  This time you will not get away with it.  You’ve run rough shod over the Christian community for far too long with your unethical and selfish ways.

Rob, I said that was enough, implored John in a seeming fruitless appeal to Rob.  Turning to Andy John continued.

"Andy, I’ve become aware of the severe accusation Rob’s making.  As you know I am handling it with the other Executive members of our denomination.  But, I want to talk to you man to man about it.  In fact, that is what the entire Executive has asked of me.  Presently there are all sorts of wild rumours out there.  This is not going away Andy.  It’s not just Rob and his sensationalising paper that are the problem.  

This accusation has become a public rumour throughout church life, coming to the surface through many avenues.  Some people are definitely out to assassinate you, but others just want honest answers.  But, I want you to know personally that none of the leaks came from my office."

Andy was unusually subdued.  If it’s one person I can truly trust it’s you John.  I have no time for bucket-mouth over there and his perverted little paper.  Rob was about to interject, but John stayed him with an outstretch palm, demanding silence.  Andy continued.

Well, here we are.  What are you, or more correctly we, going to do about it?  The reference to a certified copy of the cheque had completely taken the ferocity out of Andy’s normal defences when cornered.

Slowly Andy gazed around the old room.  His nervousness showed as his eyes settled on familiar aspects of the room.  Old, warm objects of childhood memories came into view.  For the first time, he could feel the heat of the open fire upon his face.  Or, was it flushed cheeks because of embarrassment?  Those old wooden windows with wondrous deep winter ice-created crazy patterns seemed so beautiful, yet remote from his inner turmoil.  

Andy stood, almost ignoring the silence that had awkwardly settled, and walked slowly to the window, touching it softly, tracing the iced-crazed patterns on the outside of the glass in the pane with his right index finger.  Slowly turning to face the other two he spoke.  But, it seemed to those present he spoke into the air about some time past, instead of directly to them.  

It all started here and Agape Lodge, didn’t it?  His hands were now softly stroking the beautiful internal stained pine boards made from a split log, with intricate dark brown knots.  Split logs made up all the walls of The Hideaway.  Each planed split log held concealed mysteriously hidden strange shapes when they were children.  

Here, years ago?  It all started here?

Rob was about to interject, but caught John’s eye and thought better of it.

Andy was making his way back towards the coffee table.  He knelt down and lifted it up from the end.  See, it’s still here, as he fingered three sets of initials carved in the base of the table so long ago.  J.H, he mumbled almost inaudibly from under the table, and then looked over the rim at John.  R.I, staring at Rob, and my own initials A.B.  A reluctant, wilful tear, that Andy was almost commanding not to flow, began to form in the corner of his eye.

The three of us made this for MB and PB, what over twenty-five or thirty years ago?  Remember that? said Andy putting down the table that had been a part of each of their lives from their teenage years.

Actually Andy, it may end up being closer to forty years ago, chipped in John, moving to the edge of the aging but comfy sofa.  We were just fifteen years old when we decided to build it together as a present for MB and PB’s Silver Wedding anniversary.  Remember?

CLAY DISCOVERED - 1963

Life and business had been very good to Bill and Betty Russell.  At forty-five they had been able to retire multi-millionaires.  Not a mean feat in the 1960s.  Sensibly they secured a significant amount of their hard earned money in a diversity of investments.  This guaranteed a substantial personal income for many years to come.  The acquisition of money was never a concern or a driving force in Bill and Betty’s life, but always a tool to do good.  And they were very highly accomplished at doing good.

Sadly, they had remained childless all of their happy married life, much to both of their consternation and concern.  Instead of becoming self-absorbed and negative with their lot in life, they turned it into a creative opportunity that would later mirror as a model to many others.

For nearly six years the Russells’ had owned Agape Lodge, which they ran as a refuge for orphaned children.  Some children came and went in a matter of months; others stayed for years.  Nestled in a valley in a picturesque part of the edge of town, just over a series of beautiful rolling hills, Agape Lodge was a veritable haven for desperate orphaned children.

The entire property covered twenty-five fertile acres of wooded hills, a very small lake, more like an extended large dam, and cleared paddocks around the house.  Plenty of room to run, hide, have fun, chase the two cows and play with the Russell’s dog called ‘Action’.  He was named that way by the children because that was just what he wasn’t.  

The brown, black, and white coloured overweight beagle hound loved nothing better than to sleep, seemingly continuously, on the sunny side of the porch, with both of his huge ears stretched out perfectly flat left and right.  But, when it came to hunting rabbits Action came into a league of his own.  

Off he would run, with his nose barely above the ground sniffing as he ran.  Behind him would be a group of excited jubilant children, running, giggling, many with coloured feathers from local birds in their headband playing Indians, trying to keep up with dog wonder.

The well-established deciduous trees turned fall into myriad-coloured hues from brilliant orange, reds, and yellows to subdued browns and ambers.  The spring greens seemed to children and adults alike brighter and yet softer here than anywhere else on earth.  The small lake was crystal clear and cold, ever fed from small intermittent mountain springs.  In the blistering heat of summer, it was a refreshing necessity.  You could see the bottom clearly, and the fish that swam there were visible, even when you had rowed out one hundred and fifty feet to the lakes centre from the tree lined shore and the old rickety wooden jetty.  The lake was just large enough to stock trout, and other game fish, and Bill taught many an excited child to fish and sail in its waters.

Having ten very large bedrooms, beside their master bedroom suite and staff residences, the Russells’ turned their childless plight in life into a din of intense human sound of the youthful sort and joyful play of those children deserted by parents, or those that tragically had lost their parents in death.

Their considerable wealth allowed them to hire adequate certified and trained staff that professionally, but ever lovingly, attended to the needs of the children.  But, it was the Russell’s uncompromising love that gave Agape Lodge its true character and name.

As well as Agape Lodge Bill and Betty Russell purchased a large cabin up in the lakes region and rolling hills bordering the snow covered mountains, adjacent to the State Park.  It was just over an hour away, and used for summer and Thanksgiving vacations, plus other special occasions.  Sixty-six acres of heaven.  Later Andy, John, and Rob would christen it: The Hideaway, a name that stuck even with the rest of the children.  But, none loved it more than The Three Amigos.

Through the end of 1962 and the beginning of 1963 three special boys had come to Agape Lodge.  Andy Brayden had arrived first.  He was an abandoned, withdrawn child of crack/cocaine-dependent parents.  The courts had assigned him to the Russells’ and Agape Lodge.  Even as a ten-year old he was extremely shy, frightened and scared of every move any human being made.  

When Andy arrived his small framed emaciated body evidenced the last brutal beating his demented drug-dependent parents had given him in a moment of drug-induced stupor.  Now, he was free from their frightening and cruel domination.  Though government bodies searched, no other blood relative could be found to take Andy in.

Three months later John Holland joined the ‘Russell Gang’ as all the children liked to call themselves.  John’s parents were both killed in a tragic plane crash on their way to attend the funeral of their only relative.  In one frightening accident a little boy was left not only parentless, but without a single living relative.  Grandparents on both sides had died early.  Instantly John and Andy became good friends.

Bill and Betty were pleased to see Andy begin to come out of his shell, with the warm natural friendship of John.  The worst that life could throw at a small child was being healed by unconditional love.

The Three Amigos, as Bill and Betty would christen them, were made complete three weeks later with the arrival of Rob Ingles.  Sadly Rob’s father was killed in Vietnam.  His mother unable to cope and process her grief tragically committed suicide a year later.  Though Rob had two relatives who could take him they were unwilling to do so.  He became a ward of the State.

So this shy little boy arrived one bag in hand in a very official looking black car, with an even more official looking county officer.  As it drew up to the front of Agape Lodge John and Andy was sitting on the top step waiting for their new friend, as the Russells had defined the soon-to-arrive young boy.

Within minutes Rob was off playing with John and Andy, leaving the county official alone to finalise admission with Bill.  Rob’s bag was stranded, almost deserted, on the porch till Betty picked it up with a smile.  

Come in for a coffee, she said to the government official that brought Rob.  Why is it they always wear black suits, she thought to herself as she gestured towards the door.  The front fly-screen door with paint peeling off squeaked with its normal warm sound of a contented home.  The insect-repelling mesh was coming loose, the result of children constantly pushing the screen itself and not using the handle of the door.  It would be replaced before spring would arrive and be a yearly chore, almost an annual ritual that Bill enjoyed doing.  The mesh lasted only one season with the constant push of tiny, often dirt-grimy hands always in a hurry.

Rarely over the next fifteen years would The Three Amigos be separated.  As with all young boys they got into all sorts of scrapes, trouble and fun.  Life was good.  Agape Lodge was a great place for any child to grow up.  It was home.

One day at church, on a bright warm spring morning, when the service to them was bordering on boring, they noticed that the pew seats were held to the end supports by strong wooden pegs that passed through the seat, after the pew seat itself had passed through the end support.

Normally, they should have been glued strongly in place and been immoveable.  Maybe long ago they were.  But John, Rob and Andy had discovered, through youthful inquisitiveness, that the pew, third row from the front, on the right hand side of the church, had pegs that were loose.  So one day, just before church started, they ‘borrowed’ the pegs.  Just a natural thing to do for young fun-filled boys.  Nothing happened that Sunday.

Next week was also a bright, sunny spring morning.  The Russell Gang occupied nearly two full rows at church.  Just as the first song began Mrs Kent, her husband and her tribe of children arrived.  Pa Russell had commented to Betty in a low singsong tone mixed in with the music: Why on earth can’t that woman ever be on time.

Shoosh! Betty whispered with a grin and gentle fun-filled dig in the ribs.

Mrs Kent, Mr Kent, and their three children, all of whom was grossly overweight like their mother, sat as usual third row from the front on the right?  As the first song was finished they seated themselves in their row towards the aisle, with Mrs Kent immediate to the aisle and Mr Kent after the three children.  Two other congregational members sat to Mr Kent’s right, just right of the centre of the middle seat stay and support.

The boys looked at each other in horror, as they saw the seat move, and waited breathless for the expected result.  After standing and sitting three or four times as part of the worship service and standard church protocol for singing the inevitable happened.  

During the previous three rising to sing and then seating actions, by five rather over extended Kent posteriors, the end of the seat had disappeared a little more each time, inside the end support.  Then, it finally happened.  It seemed to the boys it all happened in slow motion, before their very expectant horrified eyes.  Just as the well endowed rear end of Mrs Kent, and that of her three children and husband, equally weight-challenged, hit the seat it collapsed.

The immovable force in Mrs Kent had met the moveable object in the church pew.  And gravity won out.

It couldn’t have been better timed.  The minister had at that crucial moment, as everyone was taking their seats, just announced the need for the church to consider refurbishing the building in more modern décor, inclusive of new seats, instead of old wooden pews.

As if on perfect cue, after holding for twenty seconds after being assaulted with weighted rear ends, the end support of the pew totally split away from the seat and clattered to the floor into the aisle with an incredible bang.  Everybody was startled and stared speechless.  Then, the left end of the seat sank quickly to the ground, and with the vastly superior weight left of the centre support all things went from bad to worse from that moment onwards.  

The pew hit the floor with the thunderous weight of Mrs Kent on top of the end.  The right hand end of the pew flew rapidly up in the air, almost catapulting its two startled residents.  Pivotal on the centre stay, now without end support, all six other individuals, once all sedate church members who had previously been seated quietly shifted, rather slid dramatically left.  They all unceremoniously accumulated into a huge ‘unsanctified’ heap on top of Mrs Kent.

After a few moments of complete chaos Mrs Kent was discovered with her dress over her head and her Sunday best around her neck.  That day the three boys saw what white lacy bloomers were like when they weren’t on the clothesline drying.  Betty was furiously trying to cover three boy’s eyes.  Somehow it didn’t work too well with just two hands.

At least three deacons trying not to laugh, and being less convincing in conveying sympathy, disentangled the mass of humanity that was almost in a perfect ‘seven-person stack’ in the aisle.  Congregational members were bent over in stitches.  Those trying not to laugh, with their hands over their mouth, were fairing far worse than those who just let go of their laughter.

That day the church raised its entire budget for seat refurbishment in a single extra offering.  Andy, Rob and John thought they were in for terrible trouble after the service.  

After the meeting Andy, Rob and John were outside church staring at the three strong pegs in Andy’s hand that had been still in his coat pocket from last week.  They had once belonged in the now-collapsed pew.  At that exact same time Jake Smethers, the local minister saw them and the ‘errant’ pegs in Andy’s hand, as he was shaking hands at the door with his rather happy congregation.  

Old Mrs Smith, ‘Granny Smith’ to most of the congregation, now well over 80 years of age, shook Jake’s hand heartily.  The flowers on her hat, matching her spring floral dress, bobbed in harmony with her chuckle.  

Best service we’ve had for ages Jake.  Can we do it all over again next week?  She giggled into her handkerchief.  Other parishioners also in the church foyer joined in the merriment.  Loved the special pew collapse.  How long did it take you to organise that?  Jake hadn’t had his hand shaken so heartily in ages.  Granny Smith couldn’t get any more out for laughing and walked off with several other parishioners all laughing hysterically about the events of the day.  

Mrs Kent’s episode would become legendary.  It’s the stuff of great tales and community funny stories.  However, with each regaling of the episode it was destined to be exaggerated just a little more.

Jake could see the boys looking very sheepish.  Andy had hastily put the pegs away in his pocket.  Bill and Betty were a short distance away in conversation with church friends, all animated about the service that day.  Mrs Kent was among them.  Fortunately, she was very good-humoured about the whole incident, laughing herself with the other people.  Never thought my bloomers would make me so famous.  That did it; everybody was buckled over in fits of laughter.

Jake seeing he had a spare moment walked up to The Three Amigos.  They thought the end of the world had come.   Heads dropped, and they stared at their less than shiny shoes.

Thanks guys, said Jake in a whisper.  I couldn’t have arranged for better motivation encouraging people to give if I’d tried.  It was priceless.  Here, Andy give me those pegs.  I’ll hide them, concluded Jake as he hid the three pegs in the right pocket of his black suit coat.  Looking back at the boys he winked as he went back to chat with some more extra happy folk exiting the church.

Bill and Betty couldn’t understand why Jake and the three boys were laughing.  Neither could they understand why Jake took the boys out to the local milk bar for milk shakes all round later in the week.  You could almost hear the peels of raucous laughter two blocks away as Jake and the boys relived the ‘sinking of the Titanic’ as they called it in private.  But the name got out.

Once in his sermon, three months later, Jake used an illustration from the actual story of the sinking of the Titanic.  The moment he said those words The Three Amigos burst out in laughter, and Jake could barely hold in his laughter.  Many others in the congregation joined in knowing the joke.  Bill and Betty and several in the congregation, not knowing the implications, thought everybody had lost their senses.

At any time Agape Lodge would house from six to fifteen needy children, but it oozed with affection, love, respect and encouragement.  At the centre of the culture of the home were the longest residing residents - The Three Amigos.

Eventually John, Andy, and Rob would become the only three children who stayed from their admission through to the time they would go together to College.  It wasn’t that Bill and Betty loved them any better, or for that fact more than the other children.  But, it just seemed natural that at fifteen years of age, and adoption to childless couples seemingly impossible, they formally adopted The Three Amigos.  The excited affirmation of the three children was spontaneous when they found out that they would be legally adopted.

Fifteen-year olds boys are not prone to cry.  Not the done thing.  But, Betty was sure she saw a tear slowly escaping from the corner of Andy and John’s eyes as they with Rob cut a huge cake with their three names sculptured in blue icing on the top.

Bill took time among his many responsibilities to teach all the boys at Agape Lodge skills in working with wood, which had been his lifelong hobby.  He passed his woodworking skills onto the boys, in carving as well as construction.  Because Bill’s work shed had machinery with the potential to harm the boys, if used incorrectly, the shed door to Bill’s hobby area remained padlocked when he was not using it.  Only when he was there could they venture in and turn their idle hours to creative wonders.

Betty’s kitchen had the obligatory cutting board made by John.  It consisted of five different North American woods glued together and planed smoothly.  She treasured it.  Agape Lodge boasted several other little wood mementos, equally loved, from The Three Amigos.

But, nothing meant as much to Bill and Betty as the table the three boys made when they were fifteen years old.  After weeks of pleading Bill finally gave in to let them use his shed unchaperoned.  It was definitely a highly secretive project they protested.  For the first few days Bill hovered just far enough away not to be seen, but able to hear.  No electrical machinery could be heard.  Betty stuck her head out of the kitchen window, through the loose insect screen that was due for replacement.

Bill, you come away now.  You let those boys be.  They won’t come to any harm, unless of course; you didn’t train them well.

Bill turned and smiled and walked inside for his late afternoon coffee.  Sipping it slowly, watching the curls of steam ascended upwards he looked every now and again out the window at the shed.  He finally said: Think I’ll just go outside and finish this while I sit on the porch swing.

Trusting that he had suggested a worthy reason for an escape and to get closer to the shed, he was interrupted by: Well I’ll be Bill Russell; you can’t leave those boys alone five minutes.  Wait on there I’m coming with you.  You can chat to me instead of pestering the lads.  You leave em be now, you hear me.  

Bill laughed as he caught Betty’s flour-covered, aproned waist and escorted her out to the porch to sit on the creaking swing as they watched the sun slowly settle early over a myriad of coloured trees, dressed in all their fall splendour.  Somehow those final rays of light seemed to catch the draining colours of life with another flare of beauty, before they would soon fall from the tree to nestle into the accumulating leaf-mould below, turning back eventually into rich black soil that surrounded the home.

A soft light glowed in the shed from a single old globe dangling from cobweb trusses supporting a sagging aged moss-covered wooden shingle roof.  Serious carpenters were at work.  A mysterious project would soon be revealed.  The three boys were allowed to work each afternoon for two hours before tea, and an hour after, reluctantly unaccompanied by Bill.  Never had Betty known them finish all their dinner so quickly.  No vegetables were left by any of the three, even brussel sprouts.

The secret project had a special hiding place in the corner of the shed.  An old, paint speckled canvas tarpaulin covered it.  Bill was sworn to promise never look under the cover.  Though tempted he fulfilled his word.

Two weeks later the masterpiece was finished.  Three fifteen year olds beamed with joy and pride as they presented a beautifully worked and lacquered table with carvings of flowers in each corner and down each leg.  It was an emotionally grateful present to their ‘Mum’ and ‘Dad’ as a gift for their 25th wedding anniversary.  Betty cried and Bill hugged the boys together in a huge ball of laughter as they rolled around the bearskin rugged floor in front of a warm blazing fire.

Finally, when order was restored and all the children in the home enjoyed cake and cool-aid, The Three Amigos shared their deepest secret, saved for this crucial moment of revelation.

Look under the table PB.  Bill was used to this term of endearment.  For nearly two years, the three boys had called him ‘PB’ for ‘Pa Bill’and Betty they called ‘MB’ for ‘Ma Betty’.  No one really knew how it started, but like many warm family traditions it stuck with all the other children as well.

Bill slowly picked the table up from one end.  Giving Betty a wink he peered under the edge of the table.

No PB the other end, over near that leg, excitedly said Rob pointing at the exact opposite end of the table.  With a grin Bill, dutifully did as he was told.  As he changed ends the boys could see the smile on his face begin to express his inner satisfaction.

Look Ma, the boys have each carved their initials into the bottom of the table.  You guys really did that carving so neat.  Let me say… he continued with a tear in his eye as he put the table carefully down.  I’ve never seen a finer table.

Three teenage chests swelled with pride.  Betty gave them an extra hug.  Somehow they seemed to get lost in her aproned bosom.

No, No.  I’m not going to have this table here in the house, said Betty standing.  Three pairs of disappointed eyes instantly darted towards her.  Faces appeared confused, a little crest fallen.

No.  This table is far too good for here in the house.  It will get knocked around far too easily.  I know just the perfect place for it.  When we all go up to the cabin for our Thanksgiving break in a couple of weeks, we’re going to take it with us.  It’s going to have pride of place in the living room, in front of the fire.

Yes! yelled Andy, punching the air.  Bill laughed, and the household erupted again in laughter as they jumped all over Bill ready for another rumble.

I’m getting too old for those rumbles, said Bill later to Betty late in the evening.  Those boys are getting stronger by the month.

Might it be you’re getting older and weaker my dear, chipped in Betty.  Honey, never get too old for a rumble on the floor!  She made her comment as she walked into the kitchen with a pile of cake plates, amazingly balanced up her arm, looking over her shoulder as she went.  Bill just looked up and knowingly smiled.  

Yep!  But you’re not the one sporting the bruises.  They both laughed.

After two weeks the old bright yellow 25-seater bus was packed with nine excited children and one staff member with Bill and Betty ready for a Thanksgiving weekend away.  Bill loved to drive ‘Old Rattle-bones’ as he called it.  Because they had to go over the mountain pass to their cabin, called The Hideaway that in the dead of winter was always snow bound and could often have deep frosts by Thanksgiving, he always insisted on the highest standard of maintenance for the bus.  With the numbers of children in Agape Lodge varying ‘Old Rattle-bones’ was Sunday transport to church as well as transportation for trips.

Fred, a retired mechanic from church, came over once a month and went right over every vital part, giving special attention to the brakes.  Betty would watch them through the window as Bill and Fred both sat on small wooden stools checking the wheels, brakes, the bus under carriage and eventually the engine.  Fred’s visits always took two hours, probably an hour longer than necessary, because of chatting.  About halfway through Betty would bring out hot coffee and cakes.  Somehow Fred’s visits were incomplete without coffee and cake.

Holding the tray of coffee and cakes Betty remarked:  It seems to me Bill the ratio of work to talk is work half an hour, chatting one and a half hours.  Fred just laughed and thanked Betty for his coffee and freshly baked cakes as he agreed with her.  He loved his monthly visit as much as Bill did.

Bill again tried to pay him but Fred was adamant.  No way Bill.  It’s my contribution to your wonderful effort with the kids.  Anyway, I’d be too worried Betty would give me an account for the coffee and cakes.  Both laughed as Bill walked Fred to his car.

Thanksgiving holiday was always taken at The Hideaway.  Of all the children in town these nine were so grateful that they had a place to call home, a place for Thanksgiving.  Because of being orphaned or abandoned none had a normal home for Thanksgiving, so the Russells’ did everything in their power to make that holiday very special for every child individually.  Children now had a family who genuinely loved them.  Now, they could celebrate Thanksgiving with new meaning.

John helped Bill stack nine beautiful pine trees about three feet tall into the back of the bus beside the grocery supplies, and the all important special table.  They just fitted in partially blocking the view out of the rear window.

PB, what’s they for? yelled Rob, the last to leave the house as he headed for the bus.

I want you boys to give me a hand planting them around the car park at The Hideaway, Bill called back.  You, Andy and John have three holes each to dig to put your own three trees in.  It has been raining up there for two days so the soil will be really soft.  You’ll have those holes dug in no time.  They can be your special trees.

Great!  Sure thing, Rob yelled as he jumped onto the bus wrapping his bright red scarf, Betty had knitted him, around his neck against the approaching cool of a winter, eagerly edging its way into the fading year.

The Hideaway was large and spacious.  Before Bill purchased it, a community group using it as a campground had owned the property.  It originally had four huge bedrooms, more like large dormitories, instead of the twelve individual bedrooms at Agape Lodge.  

Except for Bill and Betty’s two-room suite and a private room for the cook, which were both separate, bunks filled each of the other four larger bedrooms.  There were six double bunks, as well as a bathroom, with two shower cubicles and toilet area to each of the four large bedrooms.  Sleeping in the same large room ensured that endless giggles, chatting and laughter late into the night were usually the order of events on each ‘family’ holiday.  Often, the room the girls were in was noisier than the boys.

The Russells’ worked very hard to create a warm, loving family environment.  In some ways Betty almost over-compensated for the deprivation nearly every one of her ‘sacred charges’, as she called them, had experienced.

All the children loved going to The Hideaway.  It was completely constructed out of sawn half logs on the exterior and interior, with a wooden shingle roof that much to Bill’s concern had to be replaced every twelve to fifteen years.  The roof nestled around a natural stone chimney that sat in the middle of the building.  It took only a couple of years after each roof replacement that the new roof was covered with beautiful patches of soft moss and lichen on the more shaded side of the building.

Surrounding the buildings was beautiful deciduous trees of an incredible diverse nature that the precious owner had deliberately planted.  Variety must have been their goal, and the effect was stunning.  Someone must have loved colour, because the fall dressing of the trees exceeded ‘breathless’ for description.  

Beautiful well-worn paths in spring hosted carefully planted bulbs and flowers each side of the well-trodden paths.  They were resplendent in beauty as the spring flowers graced the air with their colours and fragrance as the paths wound their way to an open paddock, the lake, and the wooded hills beyond.  The mountains, always dressed in a purple haze, and in winter topped with snow, were visible in the far distance.

Many an intense and fierce game of baseball was played on the paddock.  However, before each ‘Hideaway World Series Game’ each summer break, Bill would mow the paddock with his tractor-cutter he kept in the old shed, which was almost falling down.  

Prior to Bill mowing, the children loved to romp in the waist high grass and collected for Betty as many different flowers of as varied a colour range as could be imagined, to grace the large dining room table and common room area.   Throughout most summer holiday breaks the dining table rarely lacked fresh floral colour.

The Hideaway property was a wondrous playground for a growing child.  But, one