The Recluse Storyteller by Mark W Sasse Page A

our sense of community. How many times have you heard about someone who has been dead for weeks, being found in their apartment or house—usually by some bill collector or meter reader? It’s a sad, sad testament of our society. Look, Margaret is lucky. She has a group of people who care about her, or at least I think so, or you wouldn’t have shown up tonight. We need to do what is right for her, and we can’t be worried if we have been slighted or hurt by her actions. Our actions must be driven by her best interest. Nothing else should matter.”
    Reverend Davies sat down, and everyone fidgeted around, squirming like a group of school children in front of a principal — even if Reverend Davies didn’t mean it to come across so.
    “Good sermon, Reverend. I always thought being a meter reader would be a terrible job,” said Cheevers.
    Janice rolled her eyes.
    “Thank you, Reverend. I think we all want what’s best for Margaret. I’m sure you do, too, right Mrs. Trumble?”
    “Of course,” she said indignantly, shaking her head from side to side at such an insinuation.
    “Okay. We have a couple people who think we need to be proactive and a couple who think that nothing should be done. What can we all agree on?”
    They all started talking at once. It would be a long night.
     
    * * *
     
    “Well?” the twins peered at Margaret with expectant eyes.
    “I have more ice cream,” Margaret said.
    “I’m so full,” said Pam, echoed by Sam holding her stomach. “But we’d like you to continue the story.”
    Margaret smiled. She loved looking at the twins on her couch. She obliged.
     
    * * *
     
    “Georgia ran full-tilt, headlong, torso forward, mouth open, cartoon-legs spinning, trying to keep up with her upper body momentum.
    “‘Gwen!’ she yelled forcefully. Gwen had been resting with the baby in the tall grass halfway down the hill’s peak. She stood up abruptly and peered like a wild cat through the tall strands of alfalfa.
    “‘Georgia! I’ve had to do all the work,’ admonished Gwen bitterly.
    “‘Come quickly. Come! Father is here—at the top of the hill, waiting for us.’
    “‘Papa?’
    “Georgia panted loudly, trying to talk without any air. Her breath kept sucking the words back into her mouth.
    “‘Papa? Georgia, what are you talking about?’
    “‘Papa is here. He’s waiting for us. Oh Gwen, it’s what we’ve been waiting for. He’s come back. He’s come back. I told you. I saw the sign in the sky. The bright light. Come on!’
    “Gwen’s heart melted. Her eyes sunk and her cheeks followed, as if the strong, brave-faced girl no longer needed to be so strong. Her defenses fell, and she started crying as she saw the genuine hope and love in Georgia’s face. She picked up the baby in one arm and reached out to Georgia with the other. The two cats who fought incessantly were at peace. All territories and boundaries finally torn down — united in their determination that their family would move forward—that mother would once again be happy. Gwen smiled widely at Georgia, a rare occurrence indeed.
    “‘Take me to him.’
    “Georgia tugged on her arm, and they sprinted up the hill. Each step burned Gwen’s elbow as the baby wriggled up and down, but she didn’t care. Georgia was nearly laughing. She refused to let go of Gwen’s hand and pulled her along like Starling pulling the carriage.
    “‘We’re almost there. We’re almost there.’
    “They reached the summit of Harper’s Hill, panting wildly. The tall wide-spread crab apple stood motionless, witnessing the unfolding drama. Georgia let go of Gwen’s hand and surged forward toward the tree. She brushed against it with her hand.
    “‘Papa! Papa! Gwen’s here. Gwen’s here.’
    “The patch of grass behind the tree winced at Georgia, ashamed to be so empty. The table was gone. The chairs were gone. Papa was gone. Georgia stood expressionless, her heart barely beating, her lungs barely breathing, her eyes