Friday, September 20, 2013

Zebulon - Day 141 - Historical Fiction

Sure enough, after a little while of walking down the country road, there it stood by the side of the road, a small white building with a steep atop. The bells were ringing once again, as the young man stood to one side of the door, pulling the bell rope. Say, that looked like fun. 

I held Les' hand in one of mine and Marie's in the other as we made our way in. Grandda was shaking some of the other people's hands. I recognized several of them from town and also those who had stopped by the house. They nodded at me and smiled. As I returned their smiles, I suddenly felt as though I was among friends and became very much at ease. 

We made our way to a pew about half way down the aisle that ran between the rows of rough-hewn pews. There were thin red cushions on them, which made them a little more comfortable for my bony back-sides. I continued looking around, and took in the card-board fans that were in the pew backs in front of the pews we sat on. I took one out, and saw the name of a funeral home on it, accompanied by a picture of a building. Returning it to the pew back, I looked over at the windows, which were just ordinary windows, not like ours back home. 

In one corner of the church sat a coal-burning stove, which gave out heat, apparently meant to heat the building and seemed to be doing a fairly good job, depending on where one sat in the room. There was a doorway on either side of the pulpit, which I supposed led somewhere; I had no idea where, but guessed I would find out. 

Behind the pulpit was a couple of rows of seats, where I guess a choir sometimes sat. Behind those seats, I could see a baptistry with a picture of someone's idea of what Jesus looked like that hung up above the baptistry. Maybe that is where Grandda and I would be baptised sometime. 

There was an upright piano that sat near the stage where the pulpit was, and soon a lady sat down at the piano. I had seen her somewhere before...yes, it was the Sherrif's wife. She began playing "Bringing in the Sheaves" and pretty soon we were standing and singing. It was wonderful to stand there and hear my Grandda's bass voice, booming out the words enthusiastically. He could really mean them now. 

Pretty soon, the preacher stood up and came to the pulpit from the front row of pews. He was a man of about fifty years, kind of round in shape, with a friendly face that invited you to be welcome by its very aura. I knew I was going to like him. He voiced a verbal welcome to everyone, then invited everyone to shake hands while the pianist played another song.

We found our pew inundated with people giving us a friendly handshake and welcoming smiles. After everyone returned to their seats, he led us in prayer and then we sang another hymn. The preacher, opening his Bible, said, "Please open your Bibles to Romans 3:20, and stand while I read God's Word,"

(To be continued) 

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