Tales From The Loon Town Cafe by Dennis Frahmann

Author:Dennis Frahmann [Frahmann, Dennis]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2013-02-15T05:00:00+00:00

chapter eleven

A stark day. Dead leaves untethered from the trees lay sodden in listless piles, trampled by the rain. The still air held the threat of turning colder. A thin line of dark clouds hanging above the northern horizon portended a sleet storm. Dark clouds from the north were conquering the skies above the Town Square. By afternoon, the sun had disappeared in the murk, and it seemed to be early evening even though it was barely three o’clock. Not a customer was in the cafe.

“I’ve been thinking,” I said to Thelma, as we both leaned against the counter looking out across the empty tables, through the glass plate window and across the deserted square, “maybe I should go to that funeral today.” The Gundersons were being buried later, and I thought it could be good for business to make an appearance.

Bromley walked out of the hotel on the opposite side of the square. Claire ran after him. They both were dressed in their Sunday best. They headed briskly in the direction of the Old World Lutheran Church.

“Now why are you thinking that?” Thelma asked. “I could hear that old windbag Paul Mall was in here earlier. Did he make you feel guilty?”

“Nothing like that. I’ve just been thinking about some of the things you said to me the other day, about how I’m not in touch with the town, how I want to manage this town like a story I write. I know I don’t have much contact with anyone in this town except for what goes on in this restaurant. I go to movies in Timberton. Most of what I hear in Thread gets filtered by the people who come into my restaurant. Do you think I’m isolated?” I noticed Mr. Packer was leisurely heading in the same direction as Claire and Bromley.

“I think it’s just fine if you want to head on over to the Lutheran Church. It don’t look like no one’s planning to spend any time in this place.” Thelma started to remove her apron. “I’ll tell you what. We’ll both head on over to that funeral. I guess I can stand a dose of Pastor Paul Mall today.”

The church was packed. Thread did enjoy its funerals. Thelma and I sat in the very back pew, which was all for the better, since being so far back made it harder to hear the sermon of Pastor Paul Mall. I hadn’t been in this church for nearly twenty years. After I had been confirmed, I never wanted to attend Sunday services. I had forgotten the naked little cherubs that were painted on this ceiling, their tiny bare butts pointed here and there.

I tried to count the separate pieces of glass in the stained glass windows, but I lost count as I moved into the nativity scene. I had always mixed up the numbers when I was a kid too. I looked around the room to see who was in attendance. There was a lone young man in the front row.

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