A Covington Christmas by Joan Medlicott

Author:Joan Medlicott
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gallery
Published: 2005-11-05T00:00:00+00:00

14

The interior of Cove Road Church grew brighter by the day. Light bounced off the fresh white walls. Sunshine streamed through the stunning stained-glass windows, and sent rich tones of greens and blues and reds onto the drop cloths and across the cream-colored blanket that the indomitable Ida had thrown across her quilt, and under which she sat with her hat and gloves on, shivering in the chilly church.

A huge vase of pale orange roses was soon followed by slender pink lilies with lush yellow throats, followed by glorious hothouse daisies. The woman whom Denny had seen never reappeared, although he watched for her. Everyone continued to try to guess who had left the flowers. Amelia, some insisted. Others believed it was the pastor himself trying to cheer them, trying to make the work easier. Some whispered that God Himself had placed the flowers, a miracle.

Someone suggested that the flower person came to visit a relative buried in their cemetery. This idea took on credence and stirred curiosity. People began to spend more time visiting the graves of their relatives. Even in the cold, they pulled away a dried dead weed here, cleaned off a grimy headstone there. June and May visited the graves of relatives they hadn’t thought of in years. They chattered with Covington folks they rarely saw and stopped to visit for a bit with Pastor Johnson, who was feeling stronger since he’d had the B 12 shots and who was immensely cheered by all the company.

Word began to spread locally that the little church in Covington was being transformed, that it had real nice stained-glass windows, and a really strange painting of Jesus. People from a congregation over in nearby Jupiter dropped by. They arrived in a filled-to-the-brim station wagon, complained that the church was as cold inside as it was outside, and left in a hurry.

A local retirement home transported a busload of its residents, who, wrapped in coats, stood in silence or sat in pews and stared at the painting. Some considered it blasphemous. Some were deeply moved by it. Some were sure that Jesus would not like it.

“Probably painted by a heathen,” a woman muttered.

Others praised the work.

Ida appointed herself the guide and ushered visitors around the little church as the painting of the walls continued. Always good at storytelling, she made up a tale about the history of the church. “It was founded by two families who used to live ’round these parts,” she told the visitors. “One of the families had a son, the other a daughter, and they fell in love. Both families were right set against their marrying. Old family feud over land and cattle; you know how that can be.”

People from Madison County knew about feuds, shootings, and families not speaking for generations. Although folks today laughed and joked about it, it wasn’t known as bloody Madison County for nothing.

“So.” Ida sighed and proceeded. “The young’uns run off, and Lordy mercy if they don’t get killed in an awful train wreck.

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