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"Ben Paul Persons"


Chapter 1
Ben Paul Persons

By Wayne Fowler

This is a continuation of the ‘Right in the Eye’ segment of the ‘One Man’s Calling’ story of Ben Persons, Tony Bertelli, and Slim Goldman (Diddleknopper) and now Ben Paul Persons. This will complete the story. For those who’ve not reviewed the 136 preceding chapters, I welcome reviews (edits and suggestions).
 
Here are the 136 in a nutshell:

After earning his Minister’s credentials, the original Ben Persons joined a wagon train west at 19 y.o. following God’s call. Several miraculous events led him from Colorado to Chicago then San Francisco, and ultimately to Alaska. Ben died in a winning gunfight against the ‘Bad Man of Alaska’. Ben Paul was born almost nine months after his father’s death.

The tale continued with Tony Bertelli, a Chicago youth befriended by Ben. Following graduation from the Moody Bible Institute, Tony ultimately accepted the pastorship of a St. Louis church. A life-threatening circumstance prompted Ben Paul and his mother to come to Tony’s and Ellsabeth’s aide, from Santa Rosa, California. Though Ben Paul was only twelve y.o., he shot-gunned to death a man intent on his own, as well as Tony’s family’s destruction.

The ‘One Man’s Calling’, transformed to ‘Another Man Is Called’, then became ‘Right in the Eye’, Slim Goldman’s tale of rescue by Ben Persons while in the Colorado gold country. Slim, after miraculously surviving a decades-long coma, came to in 1971. Slim decided to pursue a search of his rescuer in his quest to learn of the ‘One’ who Ben Persons prayed to. The search took him to Ben Paul Persons who had just retired at age 81 from pastoring in Santa Rosa.

In a similar quest, seeking out his father’s history, Ben Paul traveled to Creede, Colorado, where he met and married the granddaughter of his father’s first love. Sylvia is the granddaughter of Livvie. After a series of events involving mystery and murder, their dog, Benji, accidentally discharged a shotgun, killing Ben Paul’s and Silvia’s assailant.

Here the tale takes up with Ben Paul and Sylvia (Sylvie) as they decide to travel the nation, in part, tracing Ben Person’s origin.

Thank you, dear FanStorians, for sticking with the stories and for your much-appreciated editing helps. I hope you can accept that Ben Paul at 82 is the new 72 by the grace of God.

Of course, the first part of a new work should be gripping, action-packed, spell-binding drama. Maybe I’ll rewrite, melee-ing Ben Paul and Sylvia in a life-or-death battle, we’ll see. For now, though, here’s chapter 1 substituting for 137 for the benefit of those unwilling to reach into the archives. For the blood-thirsty among you, skim this one, and the next chapter, as well. I’m just setting the tone for the ‘wet’ work. In a normal book, these three chapters would be combined.

*This preambulational prologue stretched the post to an unseemly length (over 2000 words). If you need a break (nap, snack, or brisk walk), now would be a good time.
 
Chapter 1

Ben Paul Persons, the son of famed Ben Persons, lived 81 years before ending the criminal life of Colorado State Trooper Detective Donald Albion, with the help of his and Slyvia’s trusty pooch, Benji, of course. For 81 years Ben lived the comfortable and rewarding life of a small-town pastor, preaching God’s word, seeing people become saved, tending God’s flock. The Jesus Revolution greatly impacted his church. Retirement brought him to the perils experienced by his father, the man who killed Alaska’s bad man, Soapy Smith.

    Sylvia Adams is the granddaughter of Livvy and Williams Ferlonson, the first love of young Ben Persons, Ben Paul’s father. Livvy and Ben met in Alpine, Colorado, after Ben left his wagon train family in Santa Fe –following the lead of God’s will. Sylvia wrote a rough history of Creede, Colorado, a history provoking Ben Paul’s interest as he sought to learn of his long-deceased father. In short order, Ben Paul and Silvia married.

    “Well, what now?” Sylvia asked after fueling their vehicle.

    “A nap?” Ben Paul suggested with a winking glance at Sylvia.

    She reached and caressed his thigh as she concentrated on the road ahead. Thirteen years his junior, Sylvia didn’t mind doing most of the driving. Neither did she mind him nodding off for a few minutes as they made their way to Cerrillos, the hometown of their true friends, Slim and Mary, owners of a motel where they would stay a few days recuperating from an ordeal of death and destruction.

    “Sylvie,” Ben Paul began as he stirred from a power nap on their way back home. “Had a thought.” Sylvia’s brows perked as she trained one eye on her recently wed husband while generally aware of the mostly empty road.

    “No urgency to go to California – my sister we can visit sometime. But I’ve a mind to do some touring, a bit of history, a bit of sightseeing.” He looked square at Sylvia, waiting her reply.

    After a moment, she did. “Heard southern Utah’s nice. Slim and Mary would watch Benji.”

    Ben Paul smiled. “We could hike to waterfalls, mountain tops, see those arches and natural bridges I’ve heard about.”

“Not too sure about the mountain tops, but the rest sounds fun.”

Ben Paul continued, “Trace the Old Spanish Trail, the Santa Fe Trail…”

“I read Eisenhower’s puttin’ together a route from Chicago to Los Angeles, a Route 66,” Sylvia added.

Ben Paul was fairly certain that Route 66 predated Eisenhower, that he was concentrating on a national highway system, but let it go. “Were we to venture northward, we could drive the old Lincoln Highway, the route from New York City to San Francisco.”

“Make a giant loop. I wouldn’t mind seeing the Empire State Building.”

Ben Paul smiled, sensing their mutual excitement.

“How we going to pay for all that high-fallootin’ traveling?” Sylvia asked.

“We both draw Social Security. We travel cheap, YMCA some nights. I could write some letters and set up some preaching dates.”

Sylvia eyed him, “A regular Aimee Semple McPherson, are you?”

Ben Paul laughed. “No hanging from the rafters or howling at the moon, but God has enlightened me somewhat.”

“I know he has, Ben Paul. I know he has.” Sylvia reached to stroke Ben Paul’s cheek.

+++

“How ‘bout this one?” Ben Paul asked Sylvia as he folded the Alamosa newspaper automobile ads. 1970 Ford Fairlane? It has a V-8, AT, PB, 3speed, a heater and a radio, and 32,000 miles.”

“Gladys over at the Collector’s Office has one of those,” Sylvia replied before Ben Paul could state the asking price. “She can’t hardly get up her own driveway off 149. And in the winter her right rear wheel just spins.  But that’s a lotta miles.”

Ben Paul moved on to the next ad he’d circled. “A 1965 Olds Cutlass. 330 c.u. but 87,000 miles, new tires.”

“Cubic inch,” Sylvia detailed. “That’s a V-8. Kinda old, though. Might be all rusted out.”

“315 hp – horsepower,” Ben Paul added as Sylvia began to open her mouth. “Three-speed manual for $850.”

“The power is better. Three hundred horsepower could easily carry four people up these mountain grades. A bit high priced, though, ‘specially for that many miles. It’s ‘bout worn out.”

“And the rust,” Ben Paul returned, moving on. “Here it is,” Ben Paul said, a bit of excitement in his voice. “I remember seeing these up and down Santa Rosa Avenue, around the courthouse square to Mendocino Avenue, and loop around Wendy’s at one end and the High School at the other. Didn’t matter if the kids had hot cars or not, that was the thing to do. They’d go past Luther Burbank’s home and gardens where I’d spend evenings on occasion. Loud cars and louder music. I’ll tell you.”

“Bad, huh?” Sylvia asked.

“Oh, no. Not really. They were good kids. A bit wild, some of them. Some got drafted. A couple went to Canada. But what I really remember was that a lot of them came to the Jesus Revolution movement, filled my church many a time. They were serious, too.” Ben Paul dropped his paper and closed his eyes.

Sylvia gave him his moment.

Presently Ben Paul resumed his car search. “Anyway, a 1967 GTO. Now that was a thing of beauty.”

“There was one here in Creede, I recall,” Sylvia said. “Bob Moore got it for his son. Bob was a real estate agent. Did very well. The boy wrecked it just a few weeks after. He drove it right into the Five and Dime. Bob couldn’t get any listings after that and moved to Canon City a year later.”

“1970 Ford Galaxy 500. 8,000 miles. 351 V-8 with 250 horsepower. With a Cruise-O-Matic AT.  PB, A/C, radio, heater, and four-doors – like new.”

“How much?” Sylvia asked, her ears perked, giving Ben Paul her full attention.

“Asking $1800.”

“That’s a lot of money.”

“Yeah, but it says it’s ‘like new’. Off the lot that car probably went for three to four thousand, closer to four, my guess.”
 
“Might need tires,” Sylvia said.

“We still have my insurance money. And we could sell your car for five hundred.”

“More like four.”

“Still.”

“Any more we could look at since we’re all the way over there?” Sylvia asked.

“We could look in a couple car lots.”

Sylvia nodded as she struggled to get her coat off the hook.

“I think I’ll look for a different kind of coat rack,” Ben Paul said.

“Ah, no need, We’ll be travelers this time next week.” Sylvia offered Ben Paul her prettiest smile. “I’m anxious to hear you preach, my preacher man. With that she hugged him tightly. “Thank you for marrying me.”

Ben Paul nuzzled Syvia’s neck. “I’m the eternally grateful one, my beautiful bride.”

Three kisses and a few minutes later they were bound for Alamosa.

“Ben Paul,” Sylvia said. “Let’s get a road atlas while we’re in the city and plot our trip.”

“Best we can, anyway.” Ben Paul agreed. “We have those five preaching engagements. And I expect more as soon as we’ve done a few of those.”

“We can head out from Los Cerrillos, right?”

“Wouldn’t go any other way. Spend a couple days with Slim and Mary, and then the Sunday after in Santa Fe.”
 

Author Notes Ben Persons: young man called of God (1861-1890)
Ben Paul Persons: 81-year-old son of Ben Persons (1891-)
Sylvia Adams: grand-daughter of Livvy (1904-)
Slim Goldman (Herschell Diddleknopper): miner who Ben (senior) rescued in 1886
Mary Diddleknopper: wife of Slim
Tony Bertelli: protege' of Ben persons (Sr)
Soapy Smith (Jefferson Randolf Smith) was killed by Frank H. Reid in a gunfight in Alaska


Chapter 2
Ben Paul Persons, Ch 2

By Wayne Fowler

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.

In the last part Ben Paul and Slyvia decided to take an extended road trip, buying a vehicle for the journey.

Chapter 2
 
Suddenly a pick-up truck overtook them. Ben Paul and Sylvia had been on the road less than three hours. Just as it neared their side, a loud blast shook them from their reverie. Their car quickly became nearly uncontrollable, an obvious blowout on the left front. Ben Paul reached to help steady the steering wheel, though Sylvia had managed to get the vehicle to the shoulder. The pick-up truck pulled over ahead of them and was reversing to come to their aid, so Sylvia and Ben Paul thought.

As Sylvia and Ben Paul began to open their doors, they were kicked shut, spraining Sylvia’s wrist in the doing. Before Sylvia could even yelp, the man at Sylvia’s door shouted, your purse and his wallet!” The man at Ben Paul’s door motioned for Ben Paul to roll down his window. It was a wonder either Sylvia or Ben Paul could hear anything with the commotion Benji was making, barking and snarling as the two had approached their car. Benji tipped Ben Paul and Sylvia to the possibility that they were not there to assist with a tire change.

Before the man could break Ben Paul’s window glass, he rolled it down.

“Shut that mutt up, or I will!” Ben Paul’s man yelled, waving a short-barreled pistol about. As he leveled the sights on Benji, Ben Paul saw that without doubt, their money in the robbers’ hands, they would shoot Benji, if not themselves before leaving. “We just wantcher money. Hand out yer purse an’ wallet!”

Ben Paul handed Benji to Sylvia, nodding a coded message to her. Feigning slapping at his pants and shirt pockets, Ben Paul said, “It hurts these old hips to sit on it. My wallet’s in the back… in my jacket. Let me out and I’ll get it. Our travel money’s back there anyway.”

Knowing Ben Paul was up to something, Sylvia eyed her driver’s side thief, a young, skinny man of about twenty, pimply-faced with evidence of manic scratching. He did not have a gun in either hand, but stupidly kept his left in his britches pocket, his right halfway inside the car into the opened window.

Once outside the car, the robber on the passenger’s side backed up, out of Ben Paul’s reach. He was clearly the leader of the two, about forty years old, unshaven, roughly dressed in old and dirty clothes. He kicked uselessly toward Ben Paul. “Be quick about it! A car comes up, I’ll just plug ya, an’ take suitcase an’ all. Her too,” he added, waving his gun toward Sylvia.

Ben Paul opened the rear door, bent over, and reached to the seat where his jacket covered the shotgun that was pointed toward himself and the robber. “Here it is, our satchel of bank notes.”

Piquing the robber’s interest, he stepped to where he could peer into the backseat area.

Boom! Ben Paul, in one fluid motion, cocked the hammer and pushed the trigger, trusting that all the buckshot would travel between his legs and that some of them would find a part of the would-be hold-up man.

Before Sylvia’s man could even flinch, Benji’s teeth were deeply embedded into his hand. Ben Paul’s man dropped his gun as he grabbed his left leg. Ben Paul retrieved the pistol and corralled both men.

“Sylvie, come take the gun while I tie these two up.”

 “You’re not gonna shoot them?” she asked.

Ben smiled. “I’m thinking we tie them to our car, take theirs, and leave them here.”

“You can’t do that!” the shot man screamed. I’m shot! Bleedin’!”

Ben Paul didn’t reply but finally found some twine in the bed of the robber’s pickup. “Police’ll be by for you before you bleed out,” Ben Paul finally said. “Like they say in the movies, “It’s just a flesh wound.” Using enough twine to tie a dozen hay bales, the two were secured to the passenger side front door where passers-by would not immediately see them.

Ben Paul nodded to Sylvia’s foresight to extract her car keys as he transferred their luggage to the thieves’ vehicle.
A mile down the road, Sylvia looked to Ben Paul, “You’re just full of surprises, Preacher Man.”

“Not the first I’ve put down with a shotgun.” Ben Paul turned his eyes from Sylvia. Closing them, he saw Al Fresco charging him that night when he was twelve years old, killing him.

Sylvia knew to offer Ben Paul his time. “Ben?” Sylvia asked several miles further on. “Can I ask about lying? I mean I’ve got no problem with what happened. Not at all. Or how… well, any part of it. But you had your wallet in your pocket all the time.” She turned and smiled at him. “And I know we don’t have any bank notes.” She snapped a quick wink as she turned back to the road.

“Situational ethics,” Ben Paul said after a moment.

“Sounds… I don’t know, like doing the right thing might be different to different folks.”

Ben Paul didn’t respond for a minute. “Let me try to put it into a nutshell.”

“Your doctrine into a walnut shell?” Sylvia asked, smiling.

Ben Paul smiled back. “David, in the Bible, ate and fed his troops the bread designated for only the Lord’s servants, the priests. Jesus directed his followers to pick and eat corn, or whatever, on the Sabbath. When they were called out on it, both, David and Jesus, justified themselves. Now a little closer to home. Over in Nazi Germany, there were many good Germans and other Europeans who hid Jews from the Nazis and lied about their actions. Now a woman who is being evicted, movers carrying out her furnishings as she speaks, tells her dying husband everything is fine, dear. It’s okay to go on.

“There’s lying to cover up a crime, or scheme, lying for personal gain, and there’s saying things that are not true for God’s good.”

“But…”

Ben Paul held up his hand. “It’s in the praying to live in God’s will before robbers ever knock on your window. And saying and doing what he would have you say and do in that moment. I’ll never recommend anyone lie, but neither am I saying that God might. Right or wrong, I’m at peace.”

“And so am I, my darling man. So am I.”
 
+++
   
    A few minutes after five in the morning, Ben Paul and Sylvia’s motel room phone woke them, though they were both in the throes of beginning to awaken. Sylvia’s wrist was healing quickly. And with one of the would-be evildoers testifying against the other, Ben Paul and Sylvia were free to travel whenever they were ready.

 It was Mary, apologizing for waking them, but would they come to her place as soon as they could? “Of course!” Within minutes they were sitting in Mary’s kitchen.

    “I just don’t know,” Mary said, putting more bread in the toaster. Sylvia got up to set out plates along with Mary’s jam and marmalade. “He got up sometime in the night to use the bathroom. I didn’t look at the clock. I think it was early, not long after falling asleep. You know how the first half an hour or so you’re pretty much out of it?”
    Sylvia and Ben Paul both nodded.

    “Well, when I woke at 3:30, Slim wasn’t in bed. His side was cold like he hadn’t slept in it. I got up and… well it’ll be light soon, and I just couldn’t wait any longer to come get you. Something isn’t right, Slim going out like that, it being this cold out, too.”

    “You’re right, Mary. And we’re glad you got us. You are absolutely right. Let’s give it another half an hour when we can see a little better and we’ll scour the countryside where he might’ve walked.”

    “I’m just so worried he fell, or… well, you know how old he really is.” Mary's voice cracked, her eyes blinking back tears.

    Sylvia stepped to her, offering a comforting hug. “Remember, Mary. In Slim’s world, he’s only months from being a prospector, a mountain man. We’ll find him.”

    With three of them, they couldn’t quickly devise a plan, knowing that two search parties would be twice as effective, but Ben Paul was unwilling that any of them set out walking into the rough countryside alone, especially while it was still just barely twilight. “Let’s drive out toward the graveyard. That way two can watch each side. Then we’ll all walk the cemetery and all around.”

    Sylvia shot a glance to Ben Paul, understanding that there was a chance Slim felt death’s approach and rather than Mary find him dead beside her… Where better place to lay down and die than in the graveyard?

    Without any sign of Slim, Mary drove slowly back to town while Ben Paul and Sylvia walked the shoulders – to no avail.

    “Let’s knock on doors at all the houses on the edges of town,” Mary suggested. “That old hoot might have decided to just wander. Who knows what might go on in that…” Mary stopped short of disparaging Slim’s ancient brain.

    “I’m sorry to bother you so early,” Mary said at a house at the dead end of a dirt road. “Did you hear anything out of the ordinary in the night? Slim’s missing. Your dog barking… or anything?”

    No luck at any of the homes. By then it was light enough that they could look for bootprints that might have been Slim’s, had he walked into the federal land surrounding Cerrillos.

    “Let’s go back to the house and look a little harder around there. Might be something simple,” Sylvia suggested.

    “Also look and see what he might’ve taken with him… like his rifle.”

    None of them wished to think about what he might have done with the rifle in the middle of the night.

    Fortunately, the rifle was where it stayed, in the coat closet. Nothing was missing but his light jacket.
 

Author Notes photo is my own
Ben Persons: young man called of God (1861-1890)
Ben Paul Persons: 81-year-old son of Ben Persons (1891-)
Sylvia Adams: grand-daughter of Livvy (1904-)
Slim Goldman (Herschell Diddleknopper): miner who Ben (senior) rescued in 1886
Mary Diddleknopper: wife of Slim
Tony Bertelli: protege' of Ben persons (Sr)
Al Fresco: St. Louis man who raped and impregnated Elsabeth, wife of Tony


Chapter 3
Ben Paul Persons, Ch 3

By Wayne Fowler

In the last part, Ben Paul and Sylvia begin their trip only to be immediately waylaid by bandits. Slim turns up missing the first night of their Cerrillos stay.
 
Chapter 3
 
    When Ben Paul and Sylvia returned from walking the entire town, talking to whomever they could, they found Mary tending to the motel records trying to figure out what happened to Slim.

    “Ralph checked him in,” Mary said without preamble as Ben Paul and Sylvia entered the office. Ben Paul and Slyvia both knew that Ralph was Mary’s part-time help. “Something odd. Remember the truck in the parking lot a few doors down from yours? It was a pickup jacked up for those big, knobby tires.”

    “I remember it,” Sylvia said. “Don’t see many of those except up Bachelor Loop at Creede. I checked the room, he’s gone.”

    “The truck was gone when we came out at five,” Sylvia said. “You see a connection of him to Slim?”

    “Funny. His name’s almost the same as one of Jackson’s cousins. I didn’t know him, but I knew of him. He and Jackson were ‘bout raised together, but I’d only met him once as I recall.”

    Ben Paul asked, “Jackson was your ex, right?” Mary only nodded. Ben Paul looked at the name. “Bill Framer. Not too common a name, I’d say.”

    “Bill Farmer was Jackson’s cousin.” Mary picked up the phone. “I’m gonna call Ralph and see what he can tell us. Maybe he wrote the name down wrong. Or maybe he didn’t check Framer’s ID.”

    Ben Paul and Sylvia waited silently as Mary spoke with Ralph, understanding that Framer was the name given, but that he had no ID handy, so Ralph checked him in without it, a common practice by both himself and Mary. The description that Ralph offered could be the cousin.

    “Revenge?” Sylvia said unnecessarily. “He knocked on your door, Slim answered it without waking you, went out to see about something or other, and got kidnapped?”

    Ben Paul and Mary nodded.

    “So…”

    “We get in the car and scour the back roads. Maybe see tire tracks,” Ben Paul suggested. “Take our shotgun.”

    “And Slim’s rifle. But we’d better take Slim’s truck, even if it isn’t as comfortable. Farmer might go a ways off the road with his rig.”

    Their search took a decidedly more somber tone.
 
+++
 
    “There! Up there to the right! See those tracks?” Mary was excited enough to jump from the truck before she got it fully stopped, jerking it to a hopping halt. She was in a hurry, to find Slim, but not so much to find a corpse. It was only the second back road they’d ventured, but over an hour into their search.

    “Looks like it left the road and came back, too. See up there?” Another set of tracks cut the shoulder a dozen yards further on. Ben Paul continued, “It might be close that he turned around, or a mile on. I’m guessing just out of sight. Let’s drive as far as we can. Go slow, and if it gets too rough, we can walk.”

    “There he is!” Sylvia shouted. They’d just rounded a small knoll, each spotting Slim sitting on the ground holding a blood-soaked bandana to the side of his head. They’d all seen him at the same time, but Sylvia was the first to shout and point.

    As the women ran to him, trying to ascertain his injuries, Ben Paul fetched a blanket from behind the truck seat.

    “Don’t recall a thing,” Slim managed as Ben Paul began to pick him up. “Ain’t that sumpin’, saved by Ben Persons agin.”

+++
 
    Mary insisted that the emergency room doctor address all three of them in Slim’s presence: herself, Sylvia, and Ben Paul.

    “Hypothermia and blood loss is the worst of it,” he began. “His memory of the ordeal will return, or it won’t. No way to know. Nothing we can do about your ear, Mr. Goldman. The bullet clipped your ear. Can’t help the fan tail look. And it grazed your skull. The good news is that there’s no resulting fracture, and no infiltration.”

Taking that all to be good news, the three nodded.  
 
“Better’n getting’ shot in the eye,” Slim returned to a wide-eyed intern.

    “That how you lost it?” the doctor asked.

    “Shot right in the eye by claim jumpers.” Pointing to Ben Paul, he added, “His daddy rescued me.”

    The doctor looked at Ben Paul, accurately estimating his age and how old his father must be, or have been. Shaking his head in confusion, he bade his farewell and left the room.

    “Man must’ve been some kinda bad shot,” Slim said, “pullin’ hard to the right, my guess. Me out cold an’ bleedin’ hard.”

    “The cold temperature might’ve saved you, helped wake you up,” Mary speculated.

    “My guess is that he was somethin’ of a coward, scared to be sure with a second shot, wanting to get away quickly,” Ben Paul said.

    “The law hasn’t been here yet,” Mary said.

    Oddly, the County Sheriff’s deputy who’d first investigated Jackson’s death knocked and entered Slim’s room. Ben Paul, Mary, and Sylvia edged together, making room for him. “Saw yer name on the report,” he began. “Snatched the detail up for myself. You all right, Mister…Goldman?” His pronunciation of Goldman gave away his suspicion of the name.

    “Not bad fer an ol’ codger shot in the head… agin. Left fer dead.”

    “Any idea who did it?”

    “Yessir. And nosir. Good idea who it was, but gonna plead forgettin’ everything.”

    The deputy looked from one to the other of the four in the room.

    “Can you explain a bit? So’s I can write a credible report?”

    Slim cleared his throat before speaking. “Well, what if some relative of Jackson was out for revenge? And he thought he’d done it, that I was dead. What if we let him go on thinkin’ that? Might save me from getting’ bushwhacked another day? Maybe even save Mary from getting’ hurt in the doin’.”

    The deputy slowly nodded, as did the other three. “So you don’t remember anything. I understand completely. Pretty common with head injuries. Folks,” he said, looking to Ben Paul, “but that only works if he was an outta towner.”

The three convinced the deputy with their looks and nods.

“If you would all write individual reports…” Winking he added, “Try not to copy off one another. Just be sure not to put any guessing about who might have done it.” Again, he offered a wink along with a modest grin. “Just drop them at the Sheriff’s office any time in the next day or two.”

    The three promised that they would, bidding him his leave.

    “We don’t need to mention the names Framer or Farmer, either one,” Ben Paul suggested.

“Doubt that rascal will ever even look for a report. Might figure critters and vultures’ll help keep his secret for years,” Slim said to solemn nodding heads.
 
With Slim's injury healing nicely and Sylvia's sprained wrist well enough for her to drive, the Galaxy equipped with power steering, she and Ben Paul were ready to begin their adventure, their only concern that Benji decide he preferred Slim and Mary to themselves.
 

Author Notes The photo is my own.
Apologies for the paragraph indenting vagaries.


Chapter 4
Ben Paul Persons, Ch 4

By Wayne Fowler

In the last part Ben Paul, Sylvia and Mary found Slim, having been shot in the head. He had bled a lot, but survived. The law decided to downplay the incident in hopes that the likely out-of-state revenge shooter would consider Slim dead, and simply disappear.

Warning: preaching and scripture in this chapter.

Chapter 4

“No anti-war baloney, Reverend Persons. Got to promise. There’s some in there who’ll put a hole in ya. Some lost sons in Vietnam. Hell, halfway back on the right side you might see a young man all scarred in his face – shrapnel from our own artillery. And he’s dying of some kind of cancer, won’t take treatment. He’s not here every week, but he might be. He don’t wanna hear his life ruined fer nothin’.”

    Ben Paul and Sylvia were at the church in Santa Fe, the first of Ben Paul’s scheduled engagements.

    Ben Paul stood silently, flinching at the pastor’s comfort in speaking of Satan’s lair. “Let’s pray about what God would have me to preach.” They were in the church foyer, the expanded hall between the entry doors and the sanctuary. Ben Paul was surprised that when he’d called the pastor the evening before from the motel room the church had reserved, that the pastor suggested they meet at the church at 11:00. Ben Paul was not current with Southwest custom and protocol, but he expected a more hospitable greeting: supper, or breakfast, or an invitation to meet in person before service time.

    The pastor, Reverend Tommy Bass, blanched. “Right here? Uh, we could go into…”

    “The sanctuary would do,” Ben Paul suggested.

    “The adult class is meeting in there.” Pastor Bass nodded to the set of doors leading into the sanctuary.

    Very slightly, but with pressure nonetheless, Ben Paul guided Pastor Bass to a nearby bench, again leaning the shorter man to his knees. Sylvia took a half step backward and watched, more curious than nervous.

    “Lord Jesus, here we are in your house. The Community Church of Santa Fe, New Mexico, in your house my Lord and Savior, where we learn from your Word, where we worship at your feet, and where we praise you for your wonderful goodness and faithfulness, for the miracle of eternal life you have made available to us.

    “Here now Lord I humbly ask that I only say what you would have me to say – no more, but certainly no less. Hide me, dear Lord behind your Holy Spirit. Let people not see me, but only you. Open their ears of faith and their eyes of understanding. Lord, as you prayed in John chapter twelve, ‘Let me not speak of my own accord, but what the Father who sent me commanded,’ what to say and how to say it.

    “And we’ll be sure to give you all the praise and glory forever…”

    Ben Paul waited for Pastor Bass to pray, somewhat surprised by his total silence to that point.

    “Amen,” Bass said as he rose to his feet, glancing around at those who began collecting, waiting for the adult Bible study to end.

    Just as Ben Paul took Sylvia’s hand the sanctuary doors opened. The two joined those who attended only the worship service, entering the largest church he’d ever been in, seating for what he thought might be as many as three hundred.
 
+++
 
    The choir was exceptional, the congregation’s participation greater than Ben Paul expected considering his reception by Pastor Bass. Ben Paul chastised himself for being judgmental. The worship leader – the assistant pastor – Ben Paul heard Pastor Bass say, had a superb quality to his voice, both singing and leading. After later discovering that he also taught the adult class, Ben Paul was not surprised at the large turnout.

    After an introduction by Pastor Bass, Ben Paul took the pulpit. He began by praying very similar to his prayer with the pastor. Then he introduced himself and Sylvia.

    “Folks, I’m here for one purpose, and one purpose only – to preach Jesus Christ, the son of God born of a virgin, living a sinless life, sacrificing himself on a cross, and rising from the dead on the third day for the singular purpose of redeeming you, his creation lost in a world of sin and corruption.

    “That’s it, folks. That’s what I’m here to say.

    “Now, I could run you through the Bible for the next thirty minutes supporting each point. But I won’t.

    “Why would he do that, you might ask, the God of the universe subject himself to the cruelty of man. Why not just create a submissive people? People eager and willing to bow at his feet at the snap of his finger?

“Men, is that what you wish from a wife? From your dog? Wives, the same. Would you want a man who didn’t care to talk to you, to smile at you, to laugh with you? You unmarried… who doesn’t desire a friend closer than a brother… or sister? One who shares your joys… and your sorrows. We have such a one – Jesus Christ, whose spirit lives in each one of us. Open your Bibles to the book of John chapter fourteen, verse twenty. ‘At that day ye shall know that I am in my Father, and ye in me, and I in you.’ I am in the father. You are in me, and I am in you.' Turn to Romans, chapter eight beginning with verse ten. ‘But if Christ is in you, then even though your body is subject to death because of sin, the Spirit gives life because of righteousness. And if the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead is living in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies because of his Spirit who lives in you.’

“Now remember, Paul is writing to the Romans, those who drove the nails, as well as to the Jews living in Rome. And we just read that the spirit of Jesus is in us.

“Now, why the downtrodden faces?”

Ben Paul caught the worship leader’s eye, signaling him to the piano. He and three others quietly made their way and began a soft background of a worshipful tune.

“'Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. And the fruit we’re talking about is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness…'”

Suddenly an older lady in the congregation threw up her hands praising Jesus.

“Folks,” I don’t know your practices, but I feel the strongest sense that some, many of you need to come forward and seek the Lord. Would you do that?”

Pastor Bass was the first to the altar. Ben Paul approached him and leaned into his ear, “Lord, touch my brother.” After the slightest pause, Ben Paul quietly quoted Proverbs 3:5 – “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart, and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”

Ben Paul moved on to others standing in the area of the bench altars, filling it, with more overflowing into the aisles. He noted that Pastor Bass was praying for people as well. Ben Paul went from one to the other laying his hands on their heads as he prayed, to some offering a whispered prophetic word personally, to others a spoken prayer in a normal tone. To others, Ben Paul felt urged to offer scriptures, some pointedly upbraiding in a plea toward repentance, others uplifting. Ben Paul looked to his right and saw the scarred and misshapen veteran, his face evidence of war’s brutality. “May I?” Ben Paul asked, their eyes locked. Ben Paul waited for the slightest nod from the still-faced man.

“I appeal to you therefore, brother, by the mercies of God, to present your body as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.

“Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also. And whither I go ye know, and the way ye know.”

Looking back into the man’s fast-blinking eyes, Ben Paul allowed him a moment.

“Thank you, Pastor.”

Ben Paul shook his hand and immediately spotted Sylvia.

“There you are.” He held out his hand to her. “Shall we get our coats?”

“We’re leaving?”

“Pastor Bass is tending the flock. It’s right for us to slip away.
 
+++
 
“Do you remember what you said over me?” Sylvia asked.

They were nearly to their motel with Ben Paul driving.

“I didn’t know I had. You, I mean. But no, I don’t remember any specifics to anyone.”

Sylvia stared at him in amazement. She opened his Bible to where she had her finger marking the page. She began to read – “If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing. Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; ... You quoted the entire thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians. I thought it was, but I had to look it up. I was reading it for the third time when you found me.”

Ben Paul smiled to her.

“My Preacher Man. I think I’m just now beginning to know you. And I love you as if I have never known love before.”
 

Author Notes photo is my own

Ben Persons: young man called of God (1861-1890)
Ben Paul Persons: 81-year-old son of Ben Persons (1891-)
Sylvia Adams Persons: grand-daughter of Livvy (1904-)
Slim Goldman (Herschell Diddleknopper): miner who Ben (senior) rescued in 1886
Mary Goldman/Diddleknopper: wife of Slim

John 12: 44-50
All scriptures are presented in the KJV for consistency with the era of the story.


Chapter 5
Ben Paul Persons, Ch. 5

By Wayne Fowler

In the last part Ben Paul preached his first engagement in Santa Fe.
 
Chapter 5

“Well, we have the afternoon off,” Ben Paul announced.

“You aren’t preaching this evening’s service?”

“I called the Reverend Bass’s house just now, while you were in the bathroom. I think he was happy that I’d canceled. My guess is that he wants a prayer and worship service tonight.”

“What about your pay?”

“Honey, I’ve already been paid plenty! But I’d guess there’ll be a check waiting for us at home.”

“Yes, we have,” Sylvia replied, hugging him tightly. “So what do you want to do? Oh, there’s a Civil War site close to here, Glorieta Pass. I remember reading about it way back in school. I remember being shocked that the Civil War reached so far west.”

“First, I learned it as the War Between the States. Second, I’d love to. Let’s go. You know where it is?”

“We have a state map, remember? I saw it on there yesterday.”

On the short drive, Sylvia explained what she remembered: that troops from Texas thought to capture the Colorado gold country and with that, finance the war, perhaps gain England’s recognition as a sovereign nation. Instead, they got their chops busted, nearly starving to death having to walk back to Texas. “And it happened right here. Imagine,” she said.

Pointing toward a drop-off as they walked the area, Ben Paul said, “According to this sign, right down there is where the Texans' store wagons were all burned, all their food, ammo, supplies, everything. And their mules were either killed or taken.”
 
+++
 
    At breakfast the next morning they decided to head toward Route 66 and stop wherever they pleased. They had a week to get to Amarillo, Texas, only a five-hour drive away.

    “Oh look!” Sylvi nearly shouted. “A stagecoach stop. It looks just like I would imagine. I wish Slim could see this.”

    “He might have,” Ben Paul said as he turned into the lot. “The stables and corrals look like they’re as old as he is.”

    “They have a café. Let’s get a cup a’ coffee. What we had this morning might as well have been water.”

    Ben Paul remembered that she’d not asked for a refill. “They had these about every fifteen miles. Probably not as elaborate as this place. This looks like it might’ve been an overnight stop.”

    “Kozlowski’s,” Sylvia said, returning from a tourist sales counter. “It was, still is, a ranch and livery stable.”

    “Probably why so many corrals and barns. They more than likely sold horses and mules. Maybe even keep beef stock up close for sale.”

    “This place really puts you back.”

    “Railroads put a lot of stage lines out of business back in the day, but not all.”

    Back on the road, Sylvia called out the Pecos River. “Remember Pecos Bill?” she asked.

    “Pecos Bill could lasso a tornado.”

    “Cyclone,” Sylvia corrected.

    “And Paul Bunyan.”

    “With his blue ox.”

“Babe,” Ben Paul corrected.

    They both laughed

    “A thousand miles apart and we learned the same children’s fables. Do you think the clothes really make the man?” Sylvia asked.

    Ben Paul recalled the story, The Clothes Makes the Man. “Sure. The bank robber who was assigned to dress up and act like the security guard actually arrested his partners. I mean, that’s a bit far-fetched, but put a suit on a hobo, and all of a sudden he has table manners. I’ve seen it. Or hippies in church. They clean up and you can’t tell ‘em from Sunday School kids, the way they act.”

    “Or do they revert back to the nice kids they were before leaving home?”

    Ben Paul shrugged.

    “It’s a little out of our way, but Las Vegas, New Mexico, is supposed to be really nice, a beautiful downtown.”

    “And this is the Santa Fe Trail,” Ben Paul added. It traveled right through the center of Las Vegas, I’ve read somewhere.”

    “Ben Persons, your father, rode his horse right here, and right through Las Vegas,” Sylvia said unnecessarily, but appreciated by Ben Paul.  

    In the center of the old town, they strolled across the Las Vegas Plaza. “Can you imagine?” Sylvia said, nodding toward the Plaza Hotel. “That historic hotel built in 1882 was just being built when your dad came through.”

    Ben Paul nodded taking in the area, trying to see what his father might have. “Fort Union’s just up the road. Let’s have a nice supper, get a room somewhere, and tomorrow go see the wagon ruts that are still there.”

    “I’d love that. Mexican?” She asked, meaning what to eat for supper.

    “You sure you’re up for that for the evening meal?” he asked.

    “We could go into one of the authentic Mexican food cafes. They’re not as spicy. Unless you add it, of course.”

    The place they chose to eat was a simple café just off the plaza, the dining area would be crowded with a dozen people, but being off-season, there were only two other customers, a middle-aged couple who hadn’t said a word to one another the entire time Ben Paul and Sylvia were there. Ben Paul recalled the vanity plate on the only car out front: NLUV, thinking that the endearment must have been chosen several arguments past.

    As Ben Paul and Sylvia were finishing their meal, somewhat chagrinned that the waitress hadn’t refilled their water glasses, a shriek came from the kitchen area. A young, bosomy girl who Sylvia estimated to be about sixteen bolted out. “Will you take me home? Please?” she pleaded of Sylvia.

    “Of course,” Sylvia answered.

    Ben Paul gestured to the empty plates, wondering how to pay, who, and where to pay for the meals.

    “Free,” the girl said. “Can we go?”

    It was then that Ben Paul noticed the blood on her arm, a pretty serious cut dripping to her hand. Her eyes held terror.

    With a bandana from his pocket, he wrapped her arm as he ushered her out the door, fast-stepping the block to their car.

The other couple had yet to say a word, or look to up from their plates.

Sylvia quickly drew two fives from her wallet, wishing she’d had time to come closer to what she thought they owed.
Just before exiting, she glanced back toward the kitchen where a 200-pound, five-and-a-half-foot tall, thick-set Latino man stood glaring at her, murder in his eyes. Sylvia quickly caught up with the two.

“Where do you live?” Ben Paul asked. “Do you want to go to the police?”

“No police. They dón like us. And they neber belieb a Mexicali.
“Can we go?” she asked gesturing with her hands. “That way,” she said, pointing to the left, against traffic on a one-way street. Being no cars on the road, Ben Paul drove left for the block before turning left again.

“I lib past the springs caliente, the hot springs.”

“That man cut you,” Sylvia charged. “You should report him.”

“He is my stepfather. It will go bad for me.”

“Then we can’t take you home,” Ben Paul said, slowing the car. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Juanita. My friends call me Tia. My friend’s house. My home is that way.” She gestured indiscriminately over her shoulder.

“What are you going to do?” Sylvia asked.

“My girlfriend brother want to marry me. I dón like him much. But he dón hurt me. He leeb on a ranch. I can go there.”

The next morning Ben Paul and Sylvia found the girl asleep in the backseat of their car, having forgotten to lock the back doors.

“Oh!” she said. “Can you take me away? The police…” Tia looked about, reminding Sylvia of a skittish bird.

“Why would they be after you?” Ben Paul asked.

“Navarro is dead. They think I killed him.”

“Navarro is the heavy man?” Sylvia asked. “That’s crazy! I saw him alive when we left. You… you didn’t go back, did you?”

“No, senora. My friend’s family all told the police I was there all night. But when they dón belieb them, I ran.”

“How did you find us?” Sylvia asked.

“Only so many hotels gringos like – old and fancy. Much money, Or low price with good heat.”

“Smart girl,” Ben Paul said, snickering. “But we can’t help you run away. You’ll live your whole life running. We can give our statements. Testify in court, if necessary.”

“They will not belieb you. They will say you dón know what you are talking about. They will not belieb you.”

“Tia, my husband is a very persuasive man,” Sylvia said, smiling brightly.

Tia looked all about the car, through all the windows. “I cannot run from here on my feet. I will be caught.”

+++

    “If I take you back to your friend’s house, can they get you out of town? Maybe to the brother’s ranch… where he works?”

    “M-maybe,” Tia answered.

    As Ben Paul pulled in front of the house, the car was immediately surrounded by three police cars, deputies racing to the Ford Galaxy with guns drawn.

    “Out of the car!” two or three of them shouted. “Now!”

    Once at the Sheriff’s Office and able to tell their story, the first thing the detective said was, “I don’t believe you. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
 

Author Notes Ben Persons: young man called of God (1861-1890)
Ben Paul Persons: 81-year-old son of Ben Persons (1891-)
Sylvia Adams Persons: grand-daughter of Livvy (1904-)
Slim Goldman (Herschell Diddleknopper): miner who Ben (senior) rescued in 1886
Mary Goldman/Diddleknopper: wife of Slim
Tony Bertelli: protege’ of Ben persons (Sr)
Al Fresco: St. Louis man who raped and impregnated Elsabeth, wife of Tony


Chapter 6
Ben Paul Persons, Ch. 6

By Wayne Fowler

In the last part Ben Paul and Sylvia enjoy northern New Mexico until their Las Vegas (NM) café waitress, with a cut arm, pleads for them to take her away. They find her in their car the next morning, hiding from the police. She is accused of killing the man who cut her, a man Sylvia saw very much alive. (Apologies for this long chapter.)
 
Chapter 6
 
    “Ben Paul, what do we do? We know the girl didn’t do it. That man was fine. Not fine… he was evil, but very much alive.”

    “We need to go talk to her. See if any of her people can help her. See if she’s getting a lawyer… public defender, or whatever.”

    Sylvia agreed, though she had no confidence that they would be allowed into the jail to see her.
 
+++
 
    “Yes, you’ve said three times now that visiting hours are on Wednesday afternoons from three to three-thirty.” Ben Paul pulled out his wallet and extracted a card. “I’m her minister. And so is she,” he said, pointing to Sylvia.

    The sergeant took Ben Paul’s license card and studied it. “Don’t say what denomination. She’s Catholic.”

    “Not every Latino person is Catholic,” Ben Paul insisted. “Now which way is she?”

    After a moment, the sergeant flicked Ben Paul’s card to the countertop and then picked the card back up, tearing it to shreds. Grinning, he turned away. “In there,” he said after a moment, waving toward a hallway door as he went through another door.

    Eventually, Ben Paul and Sylvia made it to a room with a barred cut-out in the wall. Within moments, Tia appeared with a deputy stationed nearby. She sported a blackening eye.

    “Can we have privacy?” Ben Paul asked.

    The deputy shook his head. “Only for lawyers.” His face was expressionless.

    “Tia, what happened to your face?” Sylvia asked concern in her voice.

    Tia shrugged. “Some in here liked Pedro.”

    Talking softly, Ben Paul asked her the relevant questions, learning that she had no one to call, and that she expected her friend’s brother would no longer want to marry her. She’d not seen a public defender and was not told that she would before her court date.

    “Hang on Tia,” Ben Paul said. “Now tell me exactly what happened in the kitchen. Don’t leave anything out.”

    Tia took a breath, glancing over her shoulder at the overweight guard. “I was prepping vegetables… with a leetle knife.” She held out spread fingers indicating a paring knife.

    Pedro reached from behind me and pinched my… she looked from Ben Paul to Sylvia. “My nipple. It hurt bad. I can show you.”

    “I turn to get away and the knife… I stab him here.” Tia indicated her side, several inches above the kidneys, and on the wrong side for the heart.

    “How deeply, do you think, Tia?” Sylvia asked.

    Tia held out her thumb and her forefinger spread about half an inch. Even if it was twice as deep, Sylvia thought, it couldn’t have been more than a sting to the heavy man that she’d seen, a man showing no sign of distress.

    “What then?” Ben Paul asked.

    “Then he take my knife and the next thing I know, I am cut and bleeding and I yell. Then I run out and see you.” Tia looked to Ben Paul as if he was her savior, tears welling in her eyes.

    Knowing that their time was up, hearing the door behind them begin to open, Ben Paul asked Tia if she would pray with them. The sergeant waited until Ben Paul was finished with his prayer for Tia’s freedom, her safety, and her peace of mind.
 
+++
 
    “What can we do?” Sylvia asked once safely in their car.

    “We need to find NLUV’s owner, the couple in the café. Their car was a green Chevy with vanity plates NLUV.”

    “They sure didn’t seem to be in love,” Sylvia said to Ben Paul’s agreeing nod.

    After a moment, Ben Paul responded. “We need a Spanish deputy. But we can’t draw attention to ourselves in searching for one.”

    “What if there isn’t one?”

    “I can’t believe there isn’t. There’s a million reasons to have a fluent, Spanish-speaking deputy, even if only for a jailor. Let’s go to the girlfriend’s house and start there. I think it’s safe to assume she speaks English.

    “She’d better because if it isn’t a menu item, si and no is just about my Spanish vocabulary.

    Ben Paul knew that she was exaggerating, but did not argue the point.

    Fortunately, Tia’s girlfriend was home. “I’ll call Edwardo,” she offered. “I will have him meet you in your motel?”

    Ben Paul nodded assent. “Tell him the Blue Diamond. Room 221.”

    “Room 221,” Elena repeated.

    Ben Paul assumed she would remember the Blue Diamond.

    As soon as they parked Tank, the name they’d given their Ford Galaxy, two deputies approached.

    “Get out of the car. Turn around and put your hands behind your back,” one of them commanded Ben Paul.

    “May I ask what this is about?”

    Handcuffed, Ben Paul stumbled forward, catching himself on Tank’s side mirror by his elbow, saving himself from being slammed to the ground.

    “Stop that!” Sylvia’s charge was restrained by a second officer.

    “Now, Ma’am, we could ruin your day, too, if that’s what you want. You folks made it pretty easy to see which side you’re on. Most outsiders know to take their stroll, buy a shirt, eat their meal, and move along.”

    The handcuffing officer decided it was his turn to speak. “You like visiting our jail so much, we’ll give you the full tour.  You’re under arrest for suspicion of conspiracy to commit murder.”

    “Ben Paul! What do I do?” Sylvia shouted to no avail as 82-year-old Ben Paul was manhandled into the back of a squad car.

    “Be careful with him!” Sylvia shouted, her ire rising by the moment.

    Sylvia was nearly beside herself. Ben Paul was arrested and she knew no one in Las Vegas. She feared for his safety. If someone, or someones, would beat up Tia, what would they do to Ben Paul? Would the simplest thing give him a heart attack?

    As she approached the room door, she realized Ben Paul had the key. No matter, though, the door was open. Inside sat the detective. The room had been ransacked.
 
    “I gave you my statement,” Sylvia said between gritted teeth. “The man was alive when we left. I never saw any knife, large, or small.”

    The detective sighed. “They’re out there searching your car now. We’ll find it. We can charge you with the same charges as your husband, add accomplice to murder, aiding and abetting, and interfering with an investigation. And your husband isn’t getting a lawyer either, not until he’s officially charged. You ready to cooperate?”

    Sylvia’s heart leaped to her throat. Her brain pounded. Who would help Ben Paul if they were both in jail? “I’m not saying one more word without a lawyer.”

    The detective smirked, taking handcuffs from a leather pouch. “Have it your way.” After taking a step toward her, grinning at her obvious terror-stricken expression, he sidestepped and left the room. Over his shoulder, he said, “You’d better hope we don’t find any fingerprints on the knife. Accomplices are as guilty as the murderer.”

    Sylvia looked out to see that Tank was still there, apparently undisturbed. She began to straighten up the room while she waited for a Latino deputy who may or may not show up if he’d witnessed the last several minutes.
 
+++
 
“See, there’s two problems.” Edwardo arrived, apparently unaware Ben Paul had been arrested. “One is that Pedro Navarro was a major dealer. He fed the young sellers. The other is that I can’t help. Not me, no ma’am. If one side didn’t kill me, the other would. And if I get involved, even a search of the tag, NLUV, I’ll lose my job. No. I understand. It’s too bad for Juanita. And for your man. Juanita will probably not live to see a trial, but there’s nothing I can do.

“If you have a lot of money, maybe you can get a Santa Fe lawyer and help your man, but… And I don’t have jail duty for a couple more weeks. I can’t help him in there.”

“Well at least tell me the story. How did Navarro die when she only pricked him?”

“Throat cut. And not with no little knife, either. But they didn’t find either knife. Not the little one Juanita said she used, and not a big one, either.”

“Well, thank you?” Sylvia said, her voice lilting, without a great deal of confidence.

“Oh, her arraignment is Friday, probably about midmorning, but you never know.”

“Appreciate it, Deputy. Thank you.”
 
+++

“Deputy Sheriff Sam Tobin,” Sylvia said to herself, thinking of the deputy who came to Slim’s hospital room. A New Mexico policeman. He can search the plate number… letters: NLUV. She willed herself not to cry.

It was over an hour before Deputy Tobin could call her, and another half an hour before he completely understood Tia’s predicament. “I’ll get back to you,” he said, leaving Sylvia feeling helpless.

“I shouldn’t feel this badly,” Sylvia said to Mary, having called her for support, someone to talk things over with. “I should have confidence, have faith, believe that all works to the good for those who love God and are called according to his purpose.”

Mary offered to drive out and help where they could, but bolstered by Mary’s confidence and generous offer, Sylvia declined her offer.

Within minutes the phone rang – an address. Accompanying the information was a plea for caution and safety, but she had NLUV’s address.

“Looks like no one’s home,” Sylvia said to herself as she slowly drove by. After returning, she pulled into the hundred-yard-long driveway. Just as she did, the garage door opened and a green Chevy with plates NLUV began to emerge, slowly backing out.

“What if they’re leaving, leaving the state? How long would Ben Paul be locked up? What might happen to him? To her?”

Sylvia checked that her seat belt was fastened.” It was. She gunned the V-8 engine reaching over twenty miles per hour in the couple dozen yards that separated the two vehicles. The heavier, momentum-spurred Galaxy won out, bringing the Chevy to a crumpled halt. Sylvia scrambled her 69-year-old bones from the car and raced toward NLUV’s driver door where a confused man sat fumbling with the door handle. “HOLD!” she commanded.

“Honey,” Sylvia shouted to the woman who’d stepped out through the front door, “would you call the police for an accident report?”

Sylvia stepped back to the rear of the Chevy. Its trunk had popped open. Laying inside was a white hand towel as might be found in a café kitchen. Peeling an end of the cloth back exposed two knives, one small, one large. Both were bloody.
The police would not have a right to search the car, but had every right to see what was evident.

Sylvia did not immediately reply to the responding patrol deputy’s greeting or questions, but merely gazed into the Chevy’s trunk, causing the deputy to follow the gaze. He returned to his squad car to call for backup and the Navarro case detective.

Sylvia couldn’t believe what she had done, ramming the car, commanding the man to stop, ordering the woman to call the police. Her steeled will to stare at the knives amazed her.
 
+++
 
    “Meester Person,” Tia said, first hugging him to say her goodbyes. Then she hugged Sylvia, an additional, heartfelt thank you. “Thank you again! I’m going to marry Pablo and leeb in the ranch. I think I will luf him. And I will name all my babies Ben and Sylbia.”

    All three laughed as Ben Paul and Sylvia bade their farewell.

    In the car and on their way to their Amarillo engagement, Sylvia patted the dashboard saying,” Good ol’ Tank is unscathed.”
 

Author Notes Romans 8:28

Ben Persons: young man called of God (1861-1890)
Ben Paul Persons: 81-year-old son of Ben Persons (1891-)
Sylvia Adams Persons: grand-daughter of Livvy (1904-)
Slim Goldman (Herschell Diddleknopper): miner who Ben (senior) rescued in 1886
Mary Goldman/Diddleknopper: wife of Slim
Tony Bertelli: protege’ of Ben persons (Sr)


Chapter 7
Ben Paul Persons, Ch 7

By Wayne Fowler

In the last part Ben Paul and Sylvia solve a murder mystery. Sylvia is the heroine freeing both Ben Paul and Tia, the accused murderer.
 
Chapter 7

    A somber-appearing gentleman of his mid-forties came out of the building to greet Ben Paul and Sylvia as they drove up to the church where Ben Paul had a scheduled engagement. It was apparent that he’d been watching for them. “I’m awful sorry,” he began before Ben Paul was fully out of the car. “I had no way to contact you. I even called the Creede sheriff’s office to make a courtesy call, but they said you were already gone.” Not giving Ben Paul an entry, he continued, speaking more quickly than Ben Paul expected from a Texan. “We can’t pay you. We’re broke.”

    “I didn’t take up the calling for the pay, Pastor. God gave me a message for the hour, and I don’t mind preaching for the reward God offers.”

    The pastor hemmed and hawed, shuffling his feet. He began to say that he couldn’t expect that, but was cut short by Sylvia who had by then joined Ben Paul’s side. “We didn’t get paid at our last engagement, but I wouldn’t trade the experience for a million dollars.”

    After a breath’s pause, the pastor invited them in. “I’ll call Edith,” Pastor Caples said as he picked up the phone in his office. “She’s right next door in the parsonage.” A few minutes after his call, his wife appeared at the office door. It was obvious that she’d been crying.

    “Are you tired after your drive, dear,” Edith said to Sylvia, who at 69 was old enough to be Edith’s mother. “Would you like to rest, or a cup of tea?”

    “I’d love a cup of tea, Edith. Thank you.” The two women left Ben Paul and Caples to themselves.

    “Well, Reverend Persons, what can I do for you? Would you like to look around? It isn’t much, but a lot of people have been saved, found God, been married, and buried in this church. It’s going on a hundred years old. We have a building fund to build new on the property that the church bought a couple years ago, but…”

    “But you’re broke. Wanna tell me about it?”

    Pastor Caples gritted his teeth, finally speaking. “Have a seat. This just happened. Had a special deacon board meeting three nights ago. The building fund money is gone. Nine thousand dollars. Gone.”

    “And the board accused you?”

    Pastor Caples nodded, evident that he didn’t trust his voice. Eventually, he said that there would be another board meeting Monday evening, presumably giving him time to return the money.

    “You didn’t take it,” Ben Paul stated emphatically.

    Pastor Caples snapped his attention to Ben Paul’s eyes. “How would you know?”

    Ben Paul smiled.

    “Even if I resign, I wouldn’t get another church with that sort of cloud. Word spreads, you know?”

    Ben Paul nodded and smiled. “Let’s pray for a few minutes. Just a few. And then you can leave me to study the sermon God gave me while driving. Fair enough?”

    Pastor Caples agreed, reaching out to grip Ben Paul’s hands. He began thanking God for bringing such an outstanding servant as Ben Paul Persons. Ben Paul finished praying for peace, comfort, and resolution for Pastor and Mrs. Caples.

    “Supper’s at 5:30 at the parsonage. Hope you like ham. Edith is the best.”

    “Love it,” Ben Paul replied, smiling.

    “We picked 5:30 as a way to try to pull out of the world. Avoiding the TV news helps. Someone questioned me about knowing what’s going on. I tell ‘em ‘This land’s not my home, I’m just passin’ through. Our citizenship is in heaven, Paul told the Philippians.’”

    “Sojourners and exiles here on earth, Peter said,” Ben Paul returned, joining the theme.

    “And extolled no better by the late great Jim Reeves.” At that, in as fine a baritone as Ben Paul ever heard, Pastor Caples nailed This world is not my home, I’m just a’passin’ through. My treasures are laid up, somewhere beyond the blue.”
 
+++
 
    “I’m a wreck,” Edith confided to Sylvia as soon as they were seated. “We’re accused of stealing the building fund. There’s no way I could teach the adult Sunday School class tomorrow, not with every eye accusing my husband and I.”

    Sylvia immediately perked up. “Oh my! That’s how God works.” Her tone was more that of surprise than declarative.
 
“Oh, get ready Edith, I’m going to talk your ears off. I’m so full.” Sylvia related her and Ben Paul’s service experience at the church in Santa Fe.

    “And God has been giving me a lesson on First Corinthians thirteen for the last hour of our drive, telling me just how to teach it. May I?”

    Edith nodded vigorously. “Mom… Oh my. I called you mom! I’m sorry. My mother’s been gone for years.”
    “I would imagine you need a mom just now.”

    Edith nearly spilled her cooling tea as she stood to hug. “Would you… tomorrow. Would you stay by my side the whole time. I’d like to discourage anyone asking, or saying anything in the church about, you know…”

    “Of course I will. And I think it’s an excellent idea. Now, how can I help with supper, I’m smelling ham?”

    Edith smiled.

+++
 
    “People,” Ben Paul began after a short prayer asking God to bless the service and the people. “I’m going to preach a sermon usually, unless driven by God, and driven if that’s the right word, that Pastors are loath to preach. Some of you are going to say right from the start, ‘Preacher, you’ve done and gone from preachin’ to meddlin’.’ But before we ever get there, I’m here to tell you that there is a way out. Jesus has provided an escape. And at the end of this message, I’ll explain how to do it. And if you still need a little more, well Pastor Caples is happy to serve.”

    At that, a few eyes crossed as heads turned to Pastor Caples, seated on the front pew.

    “The seven deadly sins,” Ben Paul began. “And I’m not talking about murder, adultery, or robbing the bank. I’m not referring to the Ten Commandments or any of the laws that the disciples owned that not even they could rely on to get them to heaven. I’m talking about the common failures of man that keep him from God’s best in their lives. I’m talking about pride, envy, gluttony, lust, anger, greed, and sloth, faults that hinder our walk in the Spirit, and damage our testimony among the unsaved.

    “Let’s go through them quickly:

    “Lust: the excessive desire for sexual gratification.

“Gluttony: overindulgence or overconsumption of food or drink.

“Greed: the excessive desire for material wealth or possessions.

“Sloth: laziness, avoidance of work or duty.

“Wrath: intense and uncontrolled anger or hatred.

“Envy: jealousy or resentment towards others' success or possessions.

“Pride: excessive belief in one's abilities or qualities; it is often considered the root of all other sins.

    “Now notice I said excessive, over, and intense. The superlative is the offense in most every case. Of course, when I see my neighbor drive home in a brand new car I wish I had one. Of course, we do. That, my friends, is not the envy that drives a man from God. That is the feeling that someday if we can save enough, we might also buy a new car.

    “Sylvia and I bought a car for this trip, a used 1970 Ford Galaxy 500.  Tank, we named her. Thank you Tank for getting us to Amarillo safely. She’s not a new Thunderbird or Lincoln Continental, but she’ll do.”

    Ben Paul went through all seven, offering scriptural references, finishing with promises of God’s forgiveness for repentance.

    “Now people, don’t go out of here thinking that you have to go to everyone who you’ve lusted after begging forgiveness.”

    There was general laughter among the parishioners.

    After a moment's pause, Ben Paul got their solemn attention back. “But he might. Your job is to trust and obey.”

    At that, Ben Paul turned the pulpit back to Pastor Caples.
 
+++
 
Sylvia followed Edith into the office when it was time to count the offering with one of the deacons. As they were counting, Sylvia tried to stay out of the way, not allowing anyone to think she was looking over shoulders. She noticed a financial report on top of the desk. Prominently on the right-hand side was a column for the building fund showing amounts donated by months. The grand total at the bottom included offerings from the left column and all the designated gifts of money.

Sylvia couldn’t help but notice that Edith and the deacon were taking checks from offering envelopes, and after quickly checking that the amount of a check equaled what was written on the envelope, set the envelopes aside, separated by offering category, a pile for missions, another for kids’ camp, and another for the building fund.

Some of the checks in the offering plate were without envelopes, but designations were made on the memo line. For those, Edith made a note on scratch paper, adding the note to the appropriate set of envelopes.

When the two were finished, Edith quickly added the cash and the checks together for a total. A light went on in Syvia’s head.

Pastor Caples, Edith, Ben Paul, and Sylvia went out to dinner after the service and on the way back to the church where, Ben Paul and Sylvia would get their car to go to their motel, Sylvia asked if they could go into the office for a minute, she had something that needed looked at.

“Do you have a file of past monthly financial reports?” Sylvia asked.

“Of course,” Pastor Caples said, quickly producing them.

Sylvia pointed out that for the past two months the columns had been added together: total giving, and the designated funds. She didn’t need to elaborate. Both Edith and Pastor Caples saw the double counting, adding the designated totals as if they, too, were offerings.

“Oh, bless God. Thank you, Jesus. And thank you, Sylvia. This would, of course, be caught sometime, but not before tomorrow’s board meeting. Thank you.”

To Ben Paul, Pastor Caples turned. You two have saved our lives, but I’m afraid we’re still broke. We can’t pay you.”

Ben Paul smiled. “We’ve already been paid, pastor. Our cups are overflowing.”

With that, they bade their farewells with many tears from all eyes.


Chapter 8
Ben Paul Persons, Ch 8

By Wayne Fowler

In the last part Ben Paul preached at one of his engagements. Sylvia discovered an accounting error that saved the preacher from being fired.
 
Chapter 8
 
    “Where to now, my beautiful bride?” Ben Paul asked, grinning as Sylvia adjusted the seat and mirrors. “We have two weeks until our next church.”

    “Two weeks! We could get into a lot of trouble in two weeks.”

    They both laughed.

    “Aliens?” Ben Paul asked.

    “Roswell, New Mexico,” Sylvia replied as Ben Paul made a mess of unfolding the map.
 
+++
 
    In Clovis, they stopped for gas. While Ben Paul went into the station office to pay for the fuel, Sylvia unsuccessfully attempted to scrub bugs from the windshield. Expecting, hoping that the opening door meant Ben Paul, so he could take over the job, Sylvia noticed a young Latina girl come out by herself. Sylvia estimated she was only seven or eight.

    A car that Sylvia had seen double parked a few spaces away fired up. Sylvia remembered thinking how rude it was for them to block the parked cars. The rear passenger door opened while the car was still rolling.

    Sylvia dashed in front of the car, grabbing the young girl’s hand. The car in question, two men in the car, one in front and one in back sped off, spinning tires in front of Sylvia and the girl.

    Without a word spoken between them, the girl released herself and flew back into the gas station just as Ben Paul came out. Sylvia didn’t relate the story until Ben Paul had cleaned the windshield and they were on their way.

    “I’d say you… and the aliens, saved that little girl from the unimaginable.”

    “Me, the aliens, and God. I felt him, Ben Paul.”

    Ben Paul nodded. “I think that’s how my father lived his entire life, continually sensitive to the Holy Spirit.”

    They drove the next several miles in silence.
 
+++
 
    “Roswell,” Ben Paul unnecessarily announced as they passed the city’s welcome sign.

    “Can we go to the crash site?” Sylvia asked.

    “You’re driving.”

    “So, you believe they actually crashed, that there are space alien creatures from outer space?”

    “I have… had… a friend who I respected very much who gave a convincing argument. And there’s nothing in the scriptures that says it isn’t possible that God has worshippers on planets other than Earth.”

    “So…” Sylvia shot him a glance.

    “It’s a hard I don’t know. Aliens on Earth would answer a lot of questions, though.”

    “Like?”

    “Like what happened on the road up ahead in 1947?” Ben Paul avoided Syvia’s question. She respected him enough to let it be.

    After a few moments in front of the UFO crash site, Ben Paul asked Sylvia if she was ready to go.

    “Yeah, I guess so. I don’t really know what I expected to see here. Of course, there wouldn’t be any debris left. But… Do you think they really crashed here… and the government covered it up?”

    Ben Paul shrugged his shoulders. Walking back to the car he said, “Maybe.”

    “Well, where now? We still have two weeks.”
 
    “Carlsbad Caverns?” Ben Paul suggested.

    “You wanna drive?” Sylvia asked.

    “You’re doing fine. As long as you want to, that is. Tank seems to respond to your touch better than mine.”

    Sylvia grinned. “She knows I’ll let him crash into things now.”

    They both laughed.

    In Carlsbad they took a motel room, ready to spend the next day in the National Park.
 
+++
 
    “Can you just imagine,” Sylvia said to Ben Paul as they descended into the massive cavern, “this place was discovered by a curious cowboy?”

    “I’m having trouble imagining a God who created the mountainous splendor, as well as subterranean magnificence.”

    “And not to mention the vast expanse and beauty of the universe. It’s a bit overwhelming.” Sylvia squeezed Ben Paul’s hand, bringing him back to the present.

    “Oh, huh,” he muttered. “I feel… I don’t know…”

    “Are you all right? Do you feel sick?” Sylvia for the first time truly considered Ben Paul’s age. At 82, he’d already outlived 99% of American males.

    “It’s, I don’t know… like a burden.”

    “You can’t, you know, lay it down?” Sylvia was trying to understand. The trip so far had been about learning to follow the leading of the Holy Spirit, learning how Ben Paul’s father, Ben, had lived his short life.

    “No, this is more like the kind of burden I’m to carry.”

    Several moments later, as they were taking in the science of the cavern in their tour group of a few dozen people, Ben Paul noticed a lady fumbling around in her very large purse. After extracting a small camera, she set her purse on the pathway at her feet. Ben Paul began to edge toward her. As the tour group moved to follow the guide, the lady did as well, forgetting about her purse.

    As Ben Paul neared the purse, he saw a hand reach to grab it. Ben Paul lurched and grabbed the young man’s wrist. “You’ll want to let it go,” Ben Paul said, turning his head to look him in the eye, only releasing the wrist after feeling and hearing the purse drop. The man bolted, running back toward the entrance.

    “Ma’am,” Ben Paul said handing the woman’s purse to her after catching up with the group.

    “Oh! How could I have. My whole life is in there. Thank you!”

    “You might want to put the strap over your head?”

    “Good eye,” Sylvia said, having witnessed most of what occurred.

    “The burden’s gone,” Ben Paul said.

    “Guess you did save that lady’s life.”

    Ben Paul shrugged. “Let’s catch up. This place is fabulous!”

    The remainder of the tour was exhilarating, but uneventful.
 
+++
 
    “El Paso?” Sylvia asked.

    “As good a place as any. Maybe we can find Rosie’s Cantina.”

    After a brief moment, Sylvia caught up. “And Marty Robbins’ Mexican girl?”

    Ben Paul smiled.

    After a meal featuring local green chili peppers, Sylvia suggested they run up to White Sands National Park. “White sand. I’ve heard of it, but never seen it.”

    “Sounds like a plan. And then we can work our way back to Route 66, if it’s okay with you.”

    “Of course it is,” Sylvia said, wondering why Ben Paul would even ask. “Wherever you’d like to go is always fine with me.”

    At White Sands they took a short hike, glad that they thought to wear their jackets.

    “Here they are, 10,000-year-old footprints.”

    Both Ben Paul and Sylvia studied them, both contemplating their significance.

    “You think this person’s roasting in hell, Ben Paul? Screaming her eyes out these past 10,000 years?”

    Ben Paul furrowed his brow, pinching his lips. “I can’t believe that of the Savior I love. Now, you might think I’ve gone Catholic but they might not have it totally wrong, their Purgatory, I mean. Peter said that Jesus went to preach to those who were dead. That’s after he was crucified. And John, in his Revelation, said Jesus has the keys to hell and death.

    “I choose to believe that the feet that made those tiny prints are dancing in glory right now.”

    Sylvia hugged herself, a spike of joy racing her spine. “Oh, Ben Paul. I would so love to hear that whole sermon.”

    Ben Paul closed his eyes in solemn agreement. “Let’s go back. I’m kind of anxious to get to Santa Rosa… New Mexico, that is.

    “You know, I had a young man in my church in Santa Rosa who worked at the Post Office. He said that I would be amazed at how many letters get misdirected to Santa Rosa, California, that were clearly marked New Mexico.”

    It was beginning to darken, but they were in a motel room in Santa Rosa by bedtime.
 
+++
 
    “There’s a car. Maybe the preacher is in,” Sylvia said unnecessarily as Ben Paul pulled into the church parking lot. The door being unlocked, the two entered and were met a moment later by a tall, lanky man dressed in a suit.

    “Hello, folks, I’m Pastor McCuen. What can I do for you? I was just headed to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, care for any?”

    Sylvia was fascinated by his bobbing Adam’s apple. “I’ll bet you sing bass in the quartet,” she blurted.

    “I do! How’d you guess, Miss…?”

    Blushing for having usurped Ben Paul’s role, Sylvia was momentarily mute.

    “I’m Ben Paul Persons. And this is my beautiful bride, Sylvia.”

    Sylvia blushed like a school girl.

    “We’d love some coffee. The diner where we had breakfast wanted a dollar for a refill!” Ben Paul grinned. “It’s not that I’m against being robbed, mind you. But at least they could have the decency to use a gun.”

    Pastor McCuen laughed, his Adam’s apple dancing.

    That next Sunday Ben Paul preached his sojourner message. Pastor McCuen and his quartet sang This World Is Not My Home.
 

Author Notes Roswell, New Mexico is the town nearest the alleged alien crash site in 1947. Strong evidence suggests it was real.


Chapter 9
Ben Paul Persons, Ch. 9

By Wayne Fowler

In the last part Ben Paul and Sylvia toured southern New Mexico (Roswell, Carlsbad Cavern) and Ben Paul preached.
 
Chapter 9
 
    “What’s next, my beautiful husband,” Sylvia chided as they prepared to head east from Santa Rosa.

    “Don’t have to be in Guthrie, Oklahoma, until next Saturday.”

    “Saturday?”

    “Don’t ask me. Maybe they have Saturday church. Maybe they’re having a revival. I don’t know. We oughta get there on Friday, though.”

    “Since it’s… about seven or eight hours away, that shouldn’t be a problem. How do you want to spend the next five days? I know, let’s stop at the visitor center and get a state map.”

    “Good idea,” Ben Paul replied.

    “The only thing I see nearby is the National Hall of Fame for Famous Indians.”

    “Well, now that you named it, it would be xenophobic not to go there.”

    “Xenophobic?” Sylvia exclaimed to Ben Paul’s ten-dollar word. “Xenophobic?” she exclaimed again, offering Ben Paul a look of incredulity. “I don’t know that word – it can’t be good.”

    “It isn’t; trust me,” he said, holding back a laugh. “It was in Word Power in the Reader’s Digest I looked at when we were in the laundromat last week.”

    “Xenophobic. I never want to hear you talk like that again.” Sylvia put on a tone of motherly condemnation.

    “Yes ma’am. Wouldn’t want to be accused of misogyny.”

    Sylvia nearly destroyed their map slapping it toward Ben Paul.

They both laughed.

“So, what happened that the Indian territory of Oklahoma became white people’s property?” Sylvia asked the cashier woman who sold her a sweater.

“’lotment,” she soberly replied. “Usually involved whiskey.”

Sylvia began to ask for an explanation but checked herself.

“Glad you didn’t pursue,” Ben Paul said once outside. “Looked like it might’ve set her off crying.”

“Or reaching for a gun,” Sylvia returned.

“We can stop into a library somewhere and find out.”

It turned out that the woman meant allotment, meaning people could buy the land where an Indian lived because it could be considered his, and could be sold, despite it being on tribal reservation land. The practice was supported by Federal Law.

    “This paper I picked up says there’s a Gospel Quartet Festival at the Oklahoma City Fairgrounds. It’s a bit pricey, five dollars a head, but we can come and go. And there’s different groups all over the grounds.”

    “Sounds exciting, Sylvia agreed. We could get a motel nearby and stay as late as we like.”

    “You mean stay up after eight o’clock?” Ben Paul had put on his teasing voice, soliciting his expected oh pshaw response.

+++
 
    “I feel like I’m in heaven,” Sylvia said after their first day at the festival as they drove the few miles to their motel. It was a smoking room, so they went out to buy deodorizing spray before settling in. But being the last room available, they took it. The manager even called around for them in an effort to find a better situation.

At the fairgrounds Sylvia exclaimed, “It’s so exhilarating. And those little girls singing How Great Thou Art? Oh my! That littler one is gonna be famous. Can we come back tomorrow?” Sylvia asked.

“Of course, darlin’. We can check in with the Guthrie pastor, find out what sort of service they’re having, and then spend the day at the festival.”

“I just hope you get paid this time, all the money we’re spending.”

Ben Paul laughed. “Oh, now. Pastor McCuen was very generous.”

“Yes, he was. And I’ll bet there’s a check waiting for us in Creede from Santa Fe, too.”
 
+++
 
    “Let’s get to the main pavilion early. The schedule says Bill Gaither will be there. He started up the Dove Awards. Watch, we’ll be hearing a lot of him in the future, I’ll bet.”

    “I won’t disagree. We sang He Touched Me regularly in worship services. But the schedule says… 7:00 PM.”

    “Oh. Okay, then wherever you want to head. I’m happy with hearing several of the groups.”

    At six o’clock they purchased a hot dog and a powdered sugar funnel cake to share in the main pavilion, intending to eat, and then watch people while they waited for the Gaithers.

    Thoroughly enjoying the show in their close to the center front seats, they both felt Bill might need some polishing as the spokesman for the group. Simultaneously, they sat up tall, sensing activity just off stage. They both felt the electrifying mood change. Bill Gaither stepped off stage toward the commotion but returned immediately.

    “We have a treat, ladies and gentlemen. We had to get him here under cover, so don’t be too alarmed at our guest’s appearance. Bill signaled his band and they began He Touched Me. The quartet harmonized humming. Dropping a cloak and raising his head only when reaching center stage, Elvis Presley began singing lead. It was minutes in before the crowd quieted enough to hear him. Fortunately, they stretched the two-and-half-minute song to five or six.

    Then he sang How Great Thou Art. Most of the audience was in worship, as well as awe of the man. Sylvia was convinced the shouts at the song’s dynamic conclusion could be heard in Creede, Colorado.

    “Folks, Elvis just finished recording He Touched Me. It’ll be released soon. Be sure to get a copy, and get more for all your friends and relatives!” He laughed and clapped Elvis on his shoulder. “A big thank you to Elvis! He has a plane to catch.”

    The roar was pandemonium.

    Ben Paul looked to Sylvia. She didn’t need to hear his unspoken words. She was ready to go home to the motel. Anything they heard after How Great Thou Art would be anti-climactic.

“I’m so glad they did not have him sing, or worse, sing as the last song before Elvis came on, The King Is Coming.”

“I so agree,” Sylvia replied. “It’s one of Gaither’s most popular songs, but…”

“That was a treat, wasn’t it?” Ben Paul asked.

“You are a treat, my Preacher Man.”
 
+++
 
The next morning at breakfast Ben Paul and Sylvia both noticed a gathering across the street from their diner. Folks were rushing to a central area. People were being urged into some sort of action.

    “A toddler is missing,” someone told them. An organized search was taking place. There were a hundred reasons that Ben Paul and Sylvia should allow the locals, the younger locals, and the authorities to do the bush-beating and door-knocking.

    “Ask me,” they heard one say, “they need roadblocks. Somebody snatched that kid. He’s in Mexico by now.”

    Before Ben Paul and Sylvia reached the main crowd to hear the leader’s instructions, they dispersed to vehicles parked around the Courthouse Square. Left to herself was a gray-haired lady almost Sylvia’s age sitting on a park bench that a moment earlier had been surrounded by volunteers. She was weeping, her hands covering her face.

    Sylvia gently sat beside her, wrapping her arm over her shoulders. The woman wept the louder for a moment, and then after a hiccupping sob, collected herself to look at her comforter.

    “It’s my grandson.” In a broken voice, she managed to tell the story. Her daughter and her husband and nearly two-year-old son came to vacation and visit her. They were camping on federal land nearby. When they woke, little Stephen was gone. She handed Ben Paul a copy of a roughly sketched map that she’d been clutching. “I’m supposed to go home and listen for a phone call.”

    Ben Paul studied the map, something clicking in his mind. The map depicted a north-south road with a tee road going to the left. The intersection was the town. To the left the road crossed a creek that angled back to the north-south road making a triangle. The region around the road and creek crossing was sectioned into quadrants labeled A, B, C, and D. Presumably the search parties were assigned sections.

    “I can’t just go home and sip tea!” the woman said.

    Ben Paul spoke out, still looking at the map. “My father and mother found a toddler. It was a long time ago. A map of that area would look like this. My mother told the story more than once.” In fact, she’d told and retold Ben Paul tales of his father several times, but here and now, Ben Paul simply wanted to convey the story, not portray an eccentric mother.

    “They found him right here,” Ben Paul said, pointing to where the creek came close to the southward road.

    “That, that has to be at least five miles!”

    Ben Paul merely raised his eyebrows.

    “Let’s go!” The woman shot from her seat, reaching for Sylvia’s hand. Within a moment they were in Tank and a few minutes later parked on the side of the road at an area where Ben Paul thought they could descend from the built-up roadway.

    “My parents had been camping. They were in a horse-drawn carriage. Mother went for water and heard the child’s crying and whimpering.”

    They all three walked downhill toward the creek and soon heard the sound of rushing water.    

    “Gamma!” A toddler walked from behind a tree. Seeing his grandma, his arms shot out. In a hobbling half-run, he only made it a few yards before being scooped up by his grandmother.

Author Notes This part of the tale takes place in 1973
Bill Gaither wrote 'He Touched Me' in 1963 and 'The King Is Coming' in 1970.
Elvis Presley recorded 'He Touched Me' in 1972
Allotment law: https://www.okhistory.org/publications/enc/entry?entry=AL011

Ben Persons: young man called of God (1861-1890)
Ben Paul Persons: 81-year-old son of Ben Persons (1891-)
Sylvia Adams Persons: grand-daughter of Livvy (1904-)
Slim Goldman (Herschell Diddleknopper): miner who Ben (senior) rescued in 1886
Mary Goldman/Diddleknopper: wife of Slim


Chapter 10
Ben Paul Persons Ch 10

By Wayne Fowler

In the last part Ben Paul and Sylvia enjoyed a gospel quartet festival with the treat of Elvis Presley.

Chapter 10
 
    “Amazing!” Sylvia said as she managed to negotiate Tank around a ninety-degree turn in the ultra-narrow, basically one-lane highway. However, a yellow center line divided it as a walking or bicycle trail.

    “The information we got back at the visitor center said that Route 66 was basically a route incorporating existing roads – mostly.” Sylvia slowed for the next sharp turn. “You wanna drive?”

    “No, you’re doing fine.

    “’Count the cost,’ Jesus said. Before you begin a project, determine whether you can finish it. My guess here is that a contractor only got paid if he connected two ends with pavement. He had the funding for halfway, so instead of a full road halfway, he built a half road the whole way.”

    “Amazing,” Sylvia repeated. “So, Joplin is your last engagement?”

    “Unless they refer us, yes.”

    “Well, we’re good either way. We might cut back on restaurant eating, though. We could buy a cooler and I could make sandwiches and such.”

    Ben Paul nodded.
 
+++
 
    “Be prepared,” Ben Paul began his sermon. “Every Boy Scout learns their motto on his first day. Turn in your Bibles to the book of Matthew, chapter 25. We’ll begin reading at verse one.” Ben Paul expanded and expounded on the scripture, laying out the scene and the traditions.

    “Of course, Jesus is talking about the end of days, when time draws to a close and the saints rise to meet Jesus. Be prepared. But I believe Sylvia and I have been brought here to Joplin for something closer to the here and now. Be prepared. Not just for the next life, but for this one. Who doesn’t check his well periodically to make sure the family or farm has water to last a dry spell? Who doesn’t look over the hay barn in the fall to make sure he’s ready for the winter? What housewife doesn’t look over her stocks before the family arrives for holidays?

    “People, a storm is coming. I know it just as my own father did preaching that a storm was coming to San Francisco before the ’06 earthquake. It was years in coming, just as your storm might be years in coming. But the farmer doesn’t wait until he is out of hay in February to think about filling the barn.

    “In California, as I said, their concern was earthquakes. Builders there are beginning to suggest codes that will supposedly make homes earthquake-proof. Now, whether they can save a house, or not, could be debated. But could they save a life?

    “You folks in the Midwest have had storm shelters for decades, but not all of you. And how long since your shelters have been made fast and secure?” How many of you only have enough oil in your lamps for half the storm season?

    “Iron straps can hold a roof onto the house. Maybe not save the building from destruction, but maybe save your children’s lives. Anchor bolts in the concrete slabs. Several of them. There’s a host of precautionary methods.

    “And not just your homes, but your hearts, as well. Your families. A storm is coming, people. If I thought it would come tonight, I would preach a different message. I would be screaming and pleading, begging you to be saved, to pray earnestly for your unsaved loved ones. But I’m preaching a springtime message. Just as Joseph counseled the Pharoah to store up grain for the lean years to come, you need to shore up your homes for the storm that is to come, If not for yourselves, then for your grandchildren.”
 
+++
 
    “Would you just look at that!” Sylvia exclaimed. “Did you see them?”

    “Yes, I did,” Ben Paul replied. “White squirrels. Look, there’s more.”

    “Well. I’ll be. Never saw the like.”

    “Somebody, some transplant from Moline, Illinois, said they have black squirrels, solid, jet black.”

    “Well, I’ll be. Guess it’s possible. Dogs and horses come in all colors. Think there are any black gulls?”

    “Those would be crows, my dear.”

     “Oh!” Sylvia swatted at Ben Paul as they both laughed.

    “What’s our plan,” Sylvia asked, somewhat surprised that they hadn’t discussed it all morning, just loaded the car, ate breakfast and headed east on Route 66.

     “We really are a land of immigrants,” Sylvia said. Ben Paul was driving while she studied their map. “Here we are in Lebanon. Sparta was just back there a ways. A sign pointed north to Warsaw. Cuba is up ahead. Krakow is up by St. Louis. There was Freistatt back by Joplin. That has to be German. Krakow isn’t far from Daniel Boone’s home according to the map.

    “Moscow Mills, Mexico, that’s up to the north. Oh, and north of that is Milan. Wanna go to Italy?”

    “Not particularly. But I would like to see Rome, I guess.”

    “Not in Missouri,” Sylvia answered after quickly checking the printed list of towns. But there’s Belgrade. And Brazeau. That has to be French. Oh dear. If I read any more of this fine print I’ll be sick.”

    “I’ll accept your premise that we’re truly an immigrant nation,” Ben Paul said, smiling and slowing a bit.

     “So where are we going?”
 
    “I have an address in St Louis of a church. Tony Bertelli preached there.”

    “You’ve mentioned his name,” Sylvia said.

    “We hadn’t received a reply to my letter before we left; so I don’t know what to expect. How about we get close to St. Louis and get a room?”

    “We could go to the YMCA?” Sylvia suggested, half hoping Ben Paul would nix the notion.

    He looked at her through a pinched eye. “I think we can afford a motel. But we’ll need to find a bank that will cash Joplin’s check first.

    Slyvia perked up as if she would see one amidst the pastures and corn fields.
 
+++
 
    Tony Bertelli’s church was in shambles, abandoned.

    “I have a name,” Ben Paul said. “Pastor Mike Renner. His church was near the Union Station.”

    Eventually, they made their way to the train station, but there was no church anywhere nearby. Had there been someone who knew, they would have told Ben Paul and Sylvia that their car was parked in the lot right about midway on the right side of the sanctuary pews and that Renner and his wife had both been dead for many years.

    “Oh, yeah,” a neighbor said, an old man who using a cane slowly made it to the door. Pastor Renner. I remember him. Didn’t he die? Buried my missus, he did. Over in Bellfountain. Nearest one with room. Got a double plot. My name’s already on the stone. Might get over there tonight. Hope so. Called the monument company. Said I had to wait ‘til I had the date. ‘Magine that. Have ta give ‘em my date ’fore they’ll do any more carvin’. Told ‘em to put today on it. They hung up.”

    Ben Paul wasn’t sure how long he would let the old man ramble.  

    “You look in a phone book? You look old ‘nough ta know that much. Come in. We’ll look.”

    Finally, they found a church listing in the Yellow Pages with a Thad Renner listed as the pastor in Ferguson, a suburb of St. Louis to the north. When Ben Paul offered to pray with the old codger before they left, Sylvia had a vision that sent a tremor coursing through her body – what if in the middle of Ben Paul’s prayer the old man just fell over and died? Stifling the fear, she joined them in prayer, not really breathing until they were outside.

    Ben Paul laughed at her tale.
 
+++
 
    “Biggest funeral I know of,” Pastor Thad Renner said. “Rev. Tony didn’t have much of a congregation left. Most moved away or died off, but he and Ellie wanted to stay right there til the end. He had a mission, he said. That was the sermon at his funeral – he fought the fight, ran the race, fulfilled his mission. He was a much loved, and respected, I can tell you… much loved man.

    “Could have been the President. Did you know that? Chose the ministry.

    “Wait a minute!” Pastor Renner snapped his fingers. “You’re Ben Persons! Right. You’re the boy who shot Al Fresco. Ah…”

    Ben Paul winced. It had been a long time. He hadn’t come all this way to search for himself, but for his father… or had he?

    Sylvia noticed the change overcoming him and reached for his hand.

    “Sorry. Not a good memory.” Pastor Renner’s apology fell short. “You’ll find Little Tony, only he goes by Antwan, at the pool hall by Union Station. Don’t know the name of it.”

    Ben Paul and Sylvia said goodbye and left, neither mentioning the ungraciousness or inhospitable nature of Renner.

    “There it is,” Ben Paul said, their search an easy one. “Has to be. Big Ed’s Billiards.”

    Neither smiled.

    “So you’re the famous Ben Paul Persons. I’d say I remember you, but I don’t. I think I was what, four, when you and your ma came out last?”

    When Ben Paul didn’t take his conversational turn, Antwan filled the void. “Shot my uncle right in the skull. Right on the top of his head. POW! And my adopted father killed my dad. POW! They should make a movie: The Guns of God.”

    Ben Paul didn’t correct him, that it wasn’t Tony’s hand that killed his father.

    “Guess you saved my life. But maybe not. Sure as hell saved the old man and my mother. Me, I ‘spect I’d be a Chicago White Sox fan, or a Dee-troit Tiger fan, shootin’ pool up there. Fresco woulda taken me home with him where I could be raised with my people.”

    “The Lord’s people are your people,” Ben Paul said.

    At that, Antwan flinched, jerking his body not in defense, but offense, as if to slug Ben Paul.

    Ben Paul didn’t budge.

    “Well, Mr. Persons. I figure I just returned the favor. I just saved your life. What do you have to say about that?”

    After a pause, Ben Paul replied. “Antwan, we’re going to get a sandwich and a jug of water, and we’re going into your father’s church and we’re going to pray for you until God tells us to stop.”

    “Well keep your noses peeled for the smell of smoke. That old building been wantin’ to be burned down for a long time.”

    After a stare-down that Ben Paul won, Antwan watched them turn and leave bearing a forced, nervous grin.
 
+++
 
    “What do we do?” Sylvia asked, knowing the answer. “And don’t suggest I stay in the motel.”

    Ben Paul asked if she had any idea where a grocery store might be
 

Author Notes Note: An E-5 tornado devasted Joplin on May 22, 2011
https://www.the route-66.com/ribbon-road-us66.html#history
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2011_Joplin_tornado

Ben Persons: young man called of God (1861-1890)
Ben Paul Persons: 81-year-old son of Ben Persons (1891-)
Sylvia Adams Persons: grand-daughter of Livvy (1904-)
Slim Goldman (Herschell Diddleknopper): miner who Ben (senior) rescued in 1886
Mary Goldman/Diddleknopper: wife of Slim
Tony Bertelli: protege' of Ben persons (Sr)
Al Fresco: St. Louis man who raped and impregnated Ellsabeth, wife of Tony


Chapter 11
Ben Paul Persons, Ch. 11

By Wayne Fowler

In the last part Ben Paul and Sylvia preached a preparedness message in Joplin, Missouri, and found Tony Bertelli’s dilapidated St. Louis church. They spoke with Tony and Ellsabeth’s mixed race son, who calls himself Antwan.
 
Chapter 11

    “Honey,” Ben Paul began once inside the church, Ben Paul having climbed in one of the broken windows, “I’ve been a minister for nearly sixty years. This is what I do: pray. Of course, you’re welcome to pray out loud with me, but mostly I’ll pray silently, in my heart and mind. I know that you are joining me, agreeing with me in prayer. I’m going to quote scripture in my praying, I’m going to repeat myself a lot just to keep going. I’ll start out loud so you can get the drift. But you are free to pray your heart whether you agree with me or not.

    “Sometimes I pace while I pray. And sometimes even while I’m doing other things, like making coffee. Sometimes, I have to stretch and walk while praying. You should just follow your own instincts. And if you nod off to sleep, that’s perfectly fine. I probably will too at some point.”

    “What about Antwan’s threat?” Sylvia asked.

    Ben Paul thought a minute. “The door I let you in is locked, but the handle turns from the inside. You have a car key. You should put it in your pocket, or I can make you a string lanyard. If I cannot drive you away, then you should get in the car and go to the police. Just tell them the Union Station old church and Antwan Bertelli.”

    “Okay, but just so you know, I’m not leaving you. But shouldn’t we bring in the food and water first?”

    Ben Paul smiled and nodded. Once done and back at the altar and front pew area, Ben Paul took Sylvia’s hands in his and began praying, eventually releasing her and kneeling at the altar.

    “Sylvie?” Ben Paul asked in a whisper. It was full-on dark and had cooled down considerably.

    “Uh, yeah. Ben Paul?” she answered, groggily.

    “I’m sorry to wake you, honey, but we have jackets in the car. And I think there’s a blanket in the trunk. I’ll get them but you’ll have to be at the door.”

    “Uh, okay. And get the flashlight from the glove box?”

    Ben Paul said yes, and held Sylvia’s hand as they made their way to the back door. Once back inside, they made sandwiches.

    “What’s that noise?" Sylvia asked after only a single bite of her baloney sandwich.

    They both listened. Soon enough, they heard shoes on stairs. The door to the basement creaked open.

    “Knew somebody was up here. Smelled yer baloney.”

    Even with the flashlight on his face, neither Ben Paul nor Sylvia could tell if the skinny man was forty or sixty. “I’m Ben Paul. This is Sylvia. Do you stay in the basement?”

    “Usually only nights. Got here early today on accounta we thought it was gonna rain. You got food?”

    “Yes, come over here and sit.” Sylvia motioned, though the man couldn’t see her in the dark.

    “Ther’s three of us. I’m Fats.”

    “Well, call them up. I’ll make supper for all three of you.”

    Ben Paul began to go to him with the light.

    “We got candles,” the man said.

    Presently all five were eating by the candlelight offered by three candles set on the altar.

    “We ain’t got homes,” the one called Fats said, though he was as skinny as Tom, the first of the homeless men to come upstairs. The third had yet to speak.

    “Is there a shelter anywhere near here?” Ben Paul asked.

    “Naw sir. Only out Forest Park Road. But… nowhere ta, ta scrape by out there.”

    Ben Paul understood the man to mean begging was slim pickings and the chance of getting alcohol money unlikely. He wasn’t being judgmental, simply figuring out the reality of the men’s lives.

    “And the shelter fills up quick. Most sleep whar’ they can, but we knew ‘bout this place. We got mattresses and blankets downstairs. Oh, an’ we flush. We ain’t trash. Got a bucket we keep full.”

    Sylvia looked at Ben Paul, seeing his gears turning.

    “Would you like another sandwich?” Sylvia asked all three.

    “Oh, no ma’am,” Tom said. “That there was a big sandwich. My stomach’s ‘bout to hurt now, so much in it. More, an’ I’d just lose it all.”

    The others agreed with him.

    “We could sure use a quarter, or even a dime, the third one said.

    “And your name?” Ben Paul asked.

    “I’m Tom, too. But I just answer to Hey.”

    “Well, Hey, and Tom, and Fats. We were having a prayer meeting. Would you like to join us. We’re praying for Antwan over at Big Ed’s Billiards.”

    “Twan? He gives us beer once in a while,” Fats said.

    “For cleaning table tops and sweepin’ up,” Tom added.

    “Sometimes,” Hey said, not to be left out.

    “But we don’t do no prayin’,” Fats declared.

    Ben Paul didn’t say anything.

    “We’ll leave you one of the candles. We can make do with two.”
 
+++
 
    “Well,” Sylvia said.

    “Well, that’s more like it. I always prefer two problems over one.” Ben Paul clapped his hands together. “Makes me feel needed, increases the need, so to speak.”

    Sylvia smiled and began putting away the food.

    “And I now know what to pray for,” Ben Paul announced.

    Sylvia just looked at him.

    “Turn this place into a homeless shelter and have Antwan pay for it.”

    Sylvia smiled. “So, what do we do now?”

    “Well, I’ll continue in the spirit of prayer, continuously, to quote Paul, but we can go to our motel now.”

    Sylvia began packing things up in earnest. After a moment, Sylvia sprang upright, seeking out Ben Paul’s eyes. “Who owns it?” she asked.

    “I imagine the denomination. They’ll either sign it over to a proper board or let us rent it for nothing.”

    “You’re sure of all that?”

    Ben Paul smiled. “As sure of it as I am of God telling us what to do with it.”

    Sylvia smiled.
 
+++
 
    “How do you go about even getting started on a homeless shelter?” Sylvia asked. “I wouldn’t have the first clue.”

    “Can’t be too different from California… some, but close enough. First thing would be to discover who the permitting authority is. Understand, though, that their primary job is to say “no”, to deny every request. Their second job is to collect as much money as they possibly can.”

    Sylvia gave Ben Paul an exaggerated frown.

    “Then, when you get to someone who can rule in your favor, you have to find money. And fortunately for us, we’ve already accomplished that.”

    Sylvia awarded Ben Paul another exaggerated frown, expressing her reservations on that front.

    “But the after is a concern, too. The ongoing operating funds. For that, we start at the local ministerial alliance…”

    “They have one?” Sylvia asked.

    Ben Paul smiled. “If they don’t, we’ll start one. But there are government resources, too. The mayor would like very much to rid the streets of homeless sleepers.

    “And our friend, pastor Renner will find himself pleased to add us to his monthly missions program.”

    “He will?” Sylvia’s cynicism showed.

    “Oh yes. And the less genuine his interest, the more he’ll give… to appease his guilt.”

    Sylvia nodded.
 
+++
    “I’m sorry, Reverend. Zoning doesn’t allow a shelter at that location.”

    “Would your supervisor, by any chance be around?”

    “Not until this afternoon. But you’ll need an appointment, and he’s booked the rest of the week.”

    Ben Paul thanked the lady for her help. “The mayor’s office,” Ben Paul announced. Might just as well hop over a few steps… winter’s coming and there’s a need.”

    “I’m sorry, sir, the mayor is out.” A young man at the mayor’s office nodded back toward the door Ben Paul and Sylvia entered.

    “Oh? When can I expect him?”

    “See that gentleman at the end of that bench behind you?”

    “I saw him when we entered,” Ben Paul said of the plastic skeleton fastened to the bench. “Cute. Then I’ll be next after him.” Ben Paul quickly strode to the bench, not to lose the clerk’s attention. “Sylvia, dear, would you be so kind as to go out and bring me a few sandwiches? I’d hate to suffer this gentleman’s fate while I wait.”

    “Sir, you…”

    “Oh, but I will. Not only that, but I believe I’ll conduct church prayer services while waiting, no use in wasting the Lord’s time. And after my wife brings me a sandwich she’ll go to the newspaper office.”

    “Uh, let me make a phone call.” After a brief call, the clerk returned to Ben Paul. “Uh, it seems the mayor returned and I wasn’t made aware. He has a couple minutes between meetings so he’ll see you now.”

    “Thank you, young man. Donald, wasn’t it? I’ll be sure to mention you in my prayers.”

    “Uh… thank you, sir. Right this way.”
 
+++
 
    “Then that’s what we’ll do Mr. Mayor. Both a waiver and a variance. And we appreciate your encouragement.”

    “Wow!” was all Sylvia could say as they walked back to their Galaxy, Tank.

    “Election year,” was all Ben Paul had to say. “But he’s right. He didn’t say it exactly, but he needs the cover of a legal presentation by a lawyer, and its backing by the alliance, which we’ve yet to discover. “First, though, we need to make a couple phone calls.”

    “Hello, Slim. Can you hear me all right,” Ben Paul nearly shouted, the long-distance reception not the best. After catching up with their travel adventures, Ben Paul came to his need. “Do you remember the San Francisco lawyer firm you went to? Where you gave them a gold nugget trying to find my father?”

    Slim didn’t, but Mary did. With the name of the firm, as well as the lawyer, Ben Paul called the information operator and got the phone number. This time, Sylvia called Mary to do the catching up as well as to ask her to call the lawyer to smooth the way.

    “Hello, Mr. Appleton? … Oh, sorry, I’ve had bad reception all morning… Yes, I can hear you fine. “I’m, Ben… Yes, Ben Paul Persons… Yes sir, Slim Goldman’s friend… Glad to hear it, Mr. Appleton. But really all we need is a referral. We’re here in St. Louis… Yes sir, Missouri.” Finally, after much explanation of what it was Ben Paul and Sylvia were wanting to do, Appleton asked them to call back the next morning, which would be nearly lunchtime in St. Louis, and to ask for his secretary who would have all the contact information they would need.

    “We’re going to have to go back to the bank again,” Sylvia said. “Maybe rob it this time to pay for all those long-distance phone calls.”

    Ben Paul chuckled.
 

Author Notes Ben Persons: young man called of God (1861-1890)
Ben Paul Persons: 81-year-old son of Ben Persons (1891-)
Sylvia Adams Persons: grand-daughter of Livvy (1904-)
Slim Goldman (Herschell Diddleknopper): miner who Ben (senior) rescued in 1886
Mary Goldman/Diddleknopper: wife of Slim
Tony Bertelli: protege' of Ben persons (Sr)
Angelo, La Lama, Caruso: Chicago friend of Ben Sr., Police lieutenant
Al Fresco: St. Louis man who raped and impregnated Ellsabeth, wife of Tony


Chapter 12
Ben Paul Persons, Ch. 12

By Wayne Fowler

In the last part Ben Paul and Sylvia began an all night prayer vigil in Tony’s abandoned church. Discovering three homeless men, they decided to convert the structure to a shelter. They began the process of obtaining permits and funding.
 
Chapter 12
 
    “Well, well, well, my sweet Preacher Man. You got rezoned!”

    “And waived!” Ben Paul added. “In less than a week.”

    “And pledges of $375 a month.”

    “So far,” Ben Paul added. “But they don’t start until we’re operational. “The stickler right now is the building code. We have a variance on sleeping quarters, and the structure is grandfathered as far as electrical, and windows and basic construction. But we have to watch what we’re doing with the kitchen and the plumbing. We have to add more bathrooms and 220 to the kitchen. They’ll let the furnace slide, but we know it has to work.”

    “It’s an oil burner, right?” Sylvia asked to Ben Paul’s nod. “Can it be switched over to natural gas?”

    “Got a man coming out tomorrow.”

    “So, when are you gonna see Antwan?

    “I was waiting on two things. One, an idea how much we needed, and two, waiting on God to tell me when.”

    Sylvia smiled, figuring Ben Paul probably had the two mixed up. “Can we sell the parsonage?”

    “We could, but then where would the preacher slash chaplain slash manager live?”

    “Oh. But I’m really glad to hear you say that. We haven’t talked about it all, but I wondered how long you intended us to run things.”

    “I’m ready to go the minute God releases us.”

    Sylvia visibly loosened, not realizing the stress that the issue had over her.
 
+++
 
    “Antwan, we need $13,400 dollars, most of it in the next couple weeks. But that’s not what I came over here for. We need you to preach the first sermon at the grand opening.”

    “You are Ben Persons, ain’tchoo? I heard stories about him, how he got the Whitestockings to give baseball gear. How he got the outfit to buy the land and build a ballpark. That and a lot more. But you are out of your mind – twice over.”

    “Antwan, I happen to know that you studied under your father, who graduated from the D. L. Moody Bible Institute. I also know that you completed and passed the Ambassador College Bible program administered by Herbert W. Armstrong.” Winking, he told Antwan that their mothers wrote letters back and forth.

    Antwan winced at both charges, not saying anything.

    “Now, I don’t know what happened in your life, but I do know that you haven’t done anything that can’t be forgiven… nothing.

    “The money won’t buy you absolution. That’s in the cathedral down the road. The money won’t even buy you peace of mind.”

    “Preacher. In case you didn’t notice, this is a pool hall… billiards. You don’t gotta drink, but if you wanna stay in here. Play pool.”

    Ben Paul had never held a pool cue in his life, but had somewhere heard about Minnesota Fats and had somehow seen a pool game on television. “I’ll have a Coke,” he said, nodding toward the tables.

    After opening a bottle of Coke for Ben Paul, Antwan racked the balls on one of the tables. There were a few other tables being used, but the bar only had one person drinking. The bartender was adjusting the television to I Love Lucy.

    “Larry,” Antwan bellowed.

    Larry changed the channel to a Humphrey Bogart movie.

    “I’ll break,” Antwan declared. “A hundred dollars a point, progressive.”

    Ben Paul did the math. He figured that progressive meant to put the balls in the pockets progressively one through fifteen. He quickly did the math all the balls combined would not equal 13,400. “Go you one better. We play, but if I sink the fifteen ball, it’s 13,400 and you preach.”

    Antwan thought a few seconds. “God okay with you gamblin’ away his homeless shelter, Preacher?”

“Remember Elija and the four hundred prophets of Baal? They bet on calling fire down from heaven. But I won’t kill you and all your employees.” Ben Paul smiled.

Antwan nodded and picked up where he’d left off. “And if I sink it, legally – legally for both of us – no money, and you leave St. Louis and never come back. Today!”

Ben Paul closed his eyes for a second, allowing God time to check his spirit. He didn’t. “Break ‘em.”

Antwan sunk the six ball on the break, meaning his turn continued until he missed, beginning with the one ball. He sunk the one, but did not have a clear shot at the two. His shot snuck the cue ball between the bank and two other balls, leaving no shot at all. Ben Paul miscued, his cue stick amateurishly sliding off the side of the cue as he struck it.

Ben Paul’s next attempt, at the five, was not much better, though he’d learned a little, having watched Antwan.
The five, seven, eight and nine balls all slapped into pockets with force, Antwan’s expression fierce, but his vitriol did not help him, missing the ten.

The ten ball was perfectly lined up for Ben Paul, only inches from the side pocket, the pocket in the middle of the long side of the table. The cue ball was about a foot from it with as easy a shot as anyone could imagine. Ben Paul cradled the tip of the cue stick just as he’d seen Antwan. He gently stroked the stick through his curved forefinger. He made sure that his backhand was gliding the stick’s motion in a straight line as if he could, aiming the tip of the stick through the cue ball, through the ten ball, and then directly into the pocket. On about the dozenth stroke, he let fly, hitting the cue much harder than he’d intended.

The cue ball collided with the ten, sending it harmlessly caroming off toward the end of the table to Ben Paul’s right. The cue ball caromed off the bank away from Ben Paul, and back to the bank near his hand. At the last second, he thought to move his hand allowing the cue to strike the fifteen ball, sending it down the rail, sinking it into a corner pocket.

Antwan’s jaw clenched, his eyes pinching shut beneath furrowed brows. He lifted his cue stick and broke it over his knee, heaving both pieces at Ben Paul who stood still, allowing the two halves to aimlessly sail by, one on either side.
Without a word spoken, Antwan fast-walked toward the bar. Ben Paul carefully laid his stick on the table and left the facility.
 
+++
 
    “You didn’t!”

    Ben Paul told Sylvia of the deal and the bet.

    “And you beat him?”

    “God beat him as sure as he lit Elijah’s soaking wet wood on fire. I could barely hold the stick.”

    “Oh… I don’t know what to say? Call the contractors! Let’s get started. You’re sure Antwan will pay?”

    “Oh, yeah. He’ll pay. And he’ll be preaching the grand opening sermon.”

    “He what?” Sylvia’s tone was that of incredulity, shock.

    “Part of the deal. I told you he was a trained preacher, right? Well, he is. It may only be five minutes long, but…”

    “It’ll count!” Sylvia finished.

Author Notes 1 Kings chapter 18 for the contest between Elijah and the prophets of Baal

Ben Persons: young man called of God (1861-1890)
Ben Paul Persons: 81-year-old son of Ben Persons (1891-)
Sylvia Adams Persons: grand-daughter of Livvy (1904-)
Slim Goldman (Herschell Diddleknopper): miner who Ben (senior) rescued in 1886
Mary Goldman/Diddleknopper: wife of Slim
Tony Bertelli: protege' of Ben persons (Sr)
Antwan (Anthony): son of Tony and Ellsabeth Bertelli
Angelo, La Lama, Caruso: Chicago friend of Ben Sr., Police lieutenant
Al Fresco: St. Louis man who raped and impregnated Ellsabeth, wife of Tony


Chapter 13
Ben Paul Persons, Ch. 13

By Wayne Fowler

In the last part Ben Paul and Sylvia made great progress toward converting the building to a homeless shelter. Ben Paul won financing and a pledge that Antwan would preach the first sermon by winning a pool game.
 
Chapter 13
 
    “We need someone, Ben Paul. The Grand opening is next Sunday.”

    Ben Paul did not tell her that he knew full well when the Grand Opening would be. Sylvia was standing right beside him when Antwan came over with his final installment of the 13,400 dollars and heard him tell Antwan what time he was expected the next Sunday. But Ben Paul understood that it was stress that had Sylvia unnerved. He understood very well that should no one fill the position, Ben Paul himself would be compelled to. And that would not do. Not only was Sylvia ready to head back home to Creede, but so was he. Every bone in his frame was exhausted.

    The next day as they found themselves together in the kitchen, each thinking about their evening meal, a tall, lanky, black man in a suit, absent a tie, wandered in. “Hello? Excuse me, I’m just in time?”

    “Justin Tyne?” Ben Paul asked as Sylvia dropped her jaw, leaving it open at the young man’s arrival.

    “No sir. Just in time for supper. Haven’t eaten all day, the price of food on the train.”

    “Justin, we’re about to go for Italian. You eat Italian?”

    “Yes sir. I’d eat anything that didn’t eat me first.”

    “Come then.” Ben Paul began to usher the young man back the way he’d entered the room after motioning for Sylvia to lift her lower jaw.
 
+++
 
    “Well, I’ll tell ya,” the young man said from the back seat of Tank as they made their way to an Italian mom-and-pop restaurant they’d learned of up by the Mississipppi. “First, my name’s Malcolm Richards. I graduated from the Moody Bible Institute last June. I could have had several churches, small ones. Or taken assistant preacher positions. I’ve been trying out and interviewing all summer and fall. But my heart knew - wasn’t any of them right.”

    “You’re not married?” Sylvia asked.

    “No ma’am. I know churches want a married man, but that would be wrong, marry someone just as a job qualification.”

    “So you got on a train? Why St. Louis?” Ben Paul asked.

    “Funny you should ask. I got to the station window and asked when the next train was leaving. They said if I ran I could catch the Texas Eagle. I just barely had enough money. And here I am.”

    “You just came here from Union Station?” Sylvia asked.

    “No ma’am. I called a church when I got off the train and asked about a ministers’ alliance meeting. The preacher I talked to came and picked me up, said I was right on time. At the meeting, every single preacher I talked to said ‘Ben Paul Persons’. And to go to the church across from the Union Station, right where I was three hours ago.”

    “Well, you got to meet your principal donors and your spiritual support.”

    “You mean I got the position?”

    Both Sylvia and Ben Paul laughed aloud. “Son, I don’t see how you can turn it down, the way God brought you here.”

    By the time they’d finished their spaghetti, Malcolm was anxious to meet Antwan. He felt in his soul that they would soon be friends.
 
+++
 
    “Oh, Ben Paul. I’m so excited for Malcolm. He’s perfect.” Ben Paul was driving and Sylvia was attempting to give him instructions to Lincoln’s highway.

    “Darlin’,” Ben Paul said, “what do you say we skip any more adventure and just try to make it home?”

    Sylvia tossed the map into the back seat. “I would love it. Right after we see Chicago and the tallest building in the world. And… the start of Route 66.”

    They both laughed.

    “Hon,” Sylvia said, striking a more somber note. “Do you think we’re doing the right thing, leaving before Antwan preaches his sermon?”

    Ben Paul took a moment to respond. “I think it’s six in one and seven in the other.”

    Sylvia caught the perversion of the six in one, half dozen in the other saying.

    “It’s just hard to see which hand has six and which has seven.”

    Sylvia smiled in complete understanding.

    “I think it might offer Antwan a little freedom, maybe give him, I don’t know… community stature.”

    Sylvia wasn’t sure what Ben Paul meant but let it go. “Might help him preach to the homeless instead of performing for you.”

    Ben Paul nodded.

    “What do you think he’ll preach on?” Sylvia asked.

    Ben Paul chuckled. “I don’t know, but I can’t wait to call Malcolm and find out.”
 
+++
 
    “His words weren’t very good. And his delivery was, well… bad. But his heart was right. Some of the men were nodding along. And not to sleep, either.” Malcolm chuckled at the double entendre. “Isaiah 55 – Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters. And he tied it to John 4:14 – never thirst again. I think I work on it and make it a recurring theme,” Malcolm said.

Ben Paul was too choked to get his response right, but immediately penned Malcolm a congratulatory and supportive letter.
 
+++
 
    “Route 66 starts right here,” Sylvia declared, rocking Tank with one foot on the gas and the other on the brake as if it was the start of a race. They sat at the intersection of Jackson Drive at Lakefront Trail.

    “Perfect,” Ben Paul said, crumpling the city map. “Head due west and we can visit Angelo La Lama Caruso on our way out.”

    “La Lama?”

“The Blade,” Ben Paul replied. “He taught me to point, shoot, and reload. Funny. I think of that formula when I minister, like that service in Sante Fe.”

“When you spoke blessings and scriptures over people, even me.”

Ben Paul nodded. “Point, shoot, reload. Of course, Angelo was talking about a shotgun.” Ben Paul’s expression fell somber. “Anyway. Angelo meant a great deal to my father… and me. And he’s just up the road.”

“Who do you think all those people are going to see?” Sylvia asked, pointing to the dozens of who she figured were tourists after they’d parked and began their walking search for Angelo’s grave.

“I’m afraid I know,” Ben Paul said. “I’m also afraid we need to be following them.” At the cemetery office, Ben Paul looked up Angelo Caruso and found his section on a chart.

“Well?” Sylvia asked, finding it unusual to have to pry information from Ben Paul.

“Al Capone.”

Sylvia stopped in her tracks. “Angelo is buried by Al Capone?” She was incredulous.

“Not by him, but nearby, I’m afraid. There are some who marked him as Capone’s man inside the police, one of them, anyway.”

“But you don’t believe that?”

“Absolutely not. He wrote my mother a letter, back… oh, back in ’28, way before the stock market crash. His name was in the news and, well, he cared what my mother heard, what she might think. God used him to save my life. And my mother and Tony, Ellie, and probably Antwan, too.”

“Well, I’d like to pay my respects to La Lama, Mr. Angelo Caruso,” Sylvia said, taking Ben Paul by the arm.

Too near Angelo, they saw gravestones for people Sylvia made mental notes of the names besides Alphonso Capone: Frank and Ralph Capone, Frank Nitti, Sam Giancana, Jake Lingle, and Angelo Genna. Sylvia shuddered seeing the first name Angelo so closely buried by Capone.

At Angelo’s gravesite, Ben Paul prayed aloud, offering gratefulness for everyone the Holy Spirit placed in his, as well as his father’s life, helping to follow God’s calling.

Angelo Romeo Caruso
Born March 7, 1868 Died Oct. 10, 1931
TO DO JUSTLY
TO LOVE MERCY
TO WALK HUMBLY
1290
 
 
+++
 
    “I can’t believe we didn’t search out your father’s Bible College while we were in St. Louis,” Sylvia said as they began looking for a motel along about suppertime.

    “We were pretty stressed just about the whole time there.”

    “You’re telling me! Hearing Malcolm’s story, I don’t know if I was floating or melting into a puddle. But a weight lifted that I didn’t even know was there.”

    Ben Paul nodded. “Malcolm and Antwan are going to do something there. I can feel it.”

    “That’s the Holy Ghost you’re feeling. And I agree. “There, how’s the Sunnyside Inn sound to you?” Ben Paul pointed at a motel.

    “Like breakfast, only I prefer my eggs scrambled.”

    Ben Paul laughed. “Looks full anyway.”

    “They’ve all looked full.

    “I keep wanting to ask, but never had the chance. Your pool game with Antwan… Was that legal? The way you knocked the winning ball in?”

    “Guess so. At least Antwan accepted the loss.”

    “He was really good about coming through with the money. He didn’t have to.”

    “Oh yes, he did. He knows God. He believes. He knew full well what might befall him.”

    Sylvia nodded. “I think we’re going to have to get off the main highway to find a motel. Unless you want a hotel in downtown Kansas City?”

    “Not particularly.”

    “Blue Springs is coming up. Let’s turn right on number 7.”

    They found a nice motel within two blocks.

    “We didn’t get far,” Sylvia said, her tone disappointed.

    “No, but we needed to let Malcolm have it. We could have spent the afternoon sitting around, or getting here.”

    Sylvia sighed. “You’re right. It was just hard driving getting out of St. Louis and Chicago, both. I guess I’m not a big-city girl. And then all those trucks! My lands!”

    “There certainly wasn’t any passing going on. I wish all that… whatever they were hauling, was on trains like they used to.”

    Ben Paul nodded.

     “That one time when there was a passing zone and you could see for a mile?” Sylvia looked to Ben Paul to see if he recalled. “And that gasoline truck took the whole time trying to pass the truck ahead of him but ended up slowing down and cutting off the cars that were behind? I was wishing he got a flat tire and had to sit on the side of the road for a few hours.”

    Ben Paul chuckled. “Careful, sweetheart. An annoyance can fester into an all-out war, a war you don’t want to fight and you may not win.”

    Sylvia looked at Ben Paul as if he was touched in the head.

    “Just sayin’.”

    “Sandwiches, or a diner?” Slyvia asked. “We have enough bread, but only enough baloney for… well… you.” She closed the Styrofoam cooler cover.

    “A half sandwich each and then go out for a Tastee-Freez?”

    Sylvia smiled and prepared the sandwich.
 

Author Notes Ben Persons: young man called of God (1861-1890)
Ben Paul Persons: 81-year-old son of Ben Persons (1891-)
Sylvia Adams Persons: grand-daughter of Livvy (1904-)
Slim Goldman (Herschell Diddleknopper): miner who Ben (senior) rescued in 1886
Mary Goldman/Diddleknopper: wife of Slim
Tony Bertelli: protege' of Ben persons (Sr)
Antwan (Anthony): son of Tony and Ellsabeth Bertelli
Malcolm Richards: the new shelter chaplain
Angelo, La Lama, Caruso: Chicago friend of Ben Sr., Police lieutenant
Al Fresco: St. Louis man who raped and impregnated Ellsabeth, wife of Tony


Chapter 14
Ben Paul Persons, Ch. 14

By Wayne Fowler

In the last part Ben Paul and Sylvia depart St. Louis after installing a preacher. Leaving St. Louis, they go to Chicago, to the beginning of Rt. 66 and to visit Angelo Caruso’s grave. (Another sermon in this chapter.) Apologies for the length.
 
Chapter 14

On the way back to their motel, thinking how he did not want to turn on the television, but that it was too early to go to bed, he spied a church up ahead where people were entering. “We’re just in time,” he said, causing Sylvia to recall Malcolm’s entry only a day previous.

    “I’m not very presentable,” she replied.

    “You are beautiful, my sweet.”

    “Okay, then. But let me brush my hair. And you need to tuck in your shirt.”

    Ben Paul smiled.

    At the entry, a man in a suit, the pastor as it turned out, greeted them, welcoming them to church.

    “Folks,” the pastor said as he took the pulpit from the worship leader, “we have guests with us. Reverend Persons, would you and your lovely wife stand and give us a testimony?”

    Ben Paul stood while Sylvia remained seated.

    “Who among us have not suffered trial and tribulation?” Ben Paul asked. “We have just come from a mountaintop and then today got onto I-70.”

    The congregation began laughing, each understanding the trials of driving on 70.

    “Like Jonah who after a fantastic victory in Ninevah, wanted to lay down and die… well. We of the new Covenant count it all as joy when we fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of our faith produces patience.”

    “Brother, I feel like you have a word for us. Please come up and share what God is telling you.”

    Sylvia smiled as Ben Paul strode to the pulpit like a forty-year-old. She’d learned to trust Ben Paul’s following of the Holy Spirit.  

    At the pulpit, Ben Paul lifted the pastor’s bible, mouthing a thank you to him. After introducing himself with a quick, two-sentence biography, he turned to the book of James and read from the first chapter, beginning with the second verse through the twelfth: “My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience… Blessed is the man who endures temptation; for when he has been approved, he will receive the crown of life which the Lord has promised to those who love Him.

    “Therefore, put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.

    “I’m not here to preach the armor of God. I sense that this church knows how to fight.”

    Chuckles and murmurs of assent emanated from the congregation.

    “But do you know what it is to stand? To wait upon the Lord? To renew your strength? Your pastor is going to teach patience.” Ben Paul, from the corner of his eye, saw the pastor nodding an exaggerated nod, up and down like a bobblehead toy.

    “Now understand how dangerous it is to lift parts of scriptures, parts of sentences, to make a doctrine of an incomplete phrase. But follow me here. Romans twelve: twelve. Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. Romans five six. You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless. Philippians four six. Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving.

    “Now turn to Romans, chapter five beginning with the first verse. Therefore, being justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ: By whom also we have access by faith into this grace wherein we stand, and rejoice in hope of the glory of God. And not only so, but we glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience; And patience, experience; and experience, hope…

    “Patient in affliction, at just the right time, do not be anxious, wherein we stand. From patience to hope, patience to hope. To the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love him.”

    “Pastor?” Ben Paul returned to his seat, knowing full well that his talk was hardly a sermon, but that a word from the Lord was often confused by the excessive abundance of words of men. Before he’d taken two steps the pastor, followed by the congregation, stood to their feet praising God.
 
+++
 
“Ben Paul. I feel so refreshed. Where are we, anyway?”

    “Blue Springs. Headed toward Kansas City.”

    Sylvia retrieved the state map from the back seat, taking a minute to refold it, and then carefully opened it to their location. “St. Joseph is where wagon trains headed for the Santa Fe Trail started out. I know your father’s was put together in St. Louis, but still, it came through Independence. Probably reorganized, too. Everybody double-checked their inventory and load. And they’ve had long enough to test their stock.”

    “So, we’re going to the Santa Fe Trail?” Ben Paul asked, their decision to head straight home on his mind.

    “Are you up for it?” she asked. “I mean…”

    “Independence it is, darling. Plot our course.”

    “Also,” Sylvia said, “I just can’t go straight home and not tell Mary everything that’s happened. Not that I would forget anything, but it’s all so fresh.”

    “I understand completely. And not to forget Benji. Our course?”

    “Wonder why Independence?” Sylvia asked.

    “My guess is that it’s south of the Missouri. They don’t have to try to ford it, or spend all their money getting ferried.”

    “Makes sense. Here it is. Just a few miles from here. Santa Fe Park. Says here you can still see the wagon ruts.”

    “From over a hundred years ago. Imagine that?” Ben Paul said.

    At the park a half-an-hour later, Sylvia repeated Ben Paul’s words. “Imagine that, because that’s what you have to do – imagine it.”

    “I can see them. Right through there. They curve and go that way.”

    “I suppose,” Sylvia agreed, reluctantly.

    “Did you expect muddy ruts, caked hard ruts?”

    “Well, isn’t that what a rut is?”

    “I suppose. Maybe they should just say trail, not wagon ruts.

    Sylvia nodded her head. “Anyway. No doubt your father rode his horse right through here beside the wagon. He’d already ridden well over two hundred miles and hadn’t even left civilization yet.”

    “Are we still on 56?” Sylvia asked.

    “50,” Ben Paul answered.

    “Good. Dodge City is about a hundred and fifty miles. Think we can make it?”

    “Only if you drive.”

    “I’m good to drive. Find a place to pull over. We’ve seen roadside picnic tables all over out here.”

    “You know,” Ben Paul said. “As monotonous as this countryside is, imagine doing it in a slow wagon train. Or on foot. A lot of people walked alongside.”

    “What did they make, fifteen miles a day, I think I read somewhere?”

    “Maybe a few more here where it’s fairly easy going. But yeah, not very far.”

    Sylvia shook her head. “Be nice when Eisenhower’s highways are done. All of them I mean.”

    “Should solve the truck problem,” Ben Paul said
 
+++
 
    Ben Paul came out from the Dodge City motel office to the car where Sylvia was waiting. “Sylvia, honey. Do you have any money? I’m a bit short.”

    “How expensive is this place?” she asked as she dug her wallet out of her purse.

    “About the same as we’ve been paying. It’s just been a lot of motels and diners and gasoline, is all.”

    “Seven dollars. Do you need my change, too? There might be another dollar’s worth.”

    “No. I think it was only four, maybe five something. I’m too tired to remember, exactly. I’ll be back in a minute. Oh, and I already asked him if there was a YMCA in town. There isn’t.”

    Ben Paul came back with a key. “Room 109. He gave us a minister’s discount. We might have enough for toast and coffee in the morning.”

    “There’s a few slices of bread and a little hunk of cheese left in the cooler,” Sylvia offered.

    “Oh. Terrific. You can have them. I want to fast and pray the evening meal.”

    “We can share, Ben Paul. I’m not even hungry.”

    Ben Paul just shook his head. “The room’s this way. I’ll walk if you’ll drive and park the car.”

    The room was only a couple hundred feet away and Ben Paul was waiting to unload as Sylvia pulled up. “I’ll be fine, dear. Really.”

    “Well, I won’t eat in front of you. We’ll both be fine.”

    Ben Paul set the luggage down and reached to hug Sylvia. “I’m sorry I let us run low, darling. I love you.”

    Syvia returned his love – and his hug. “Let’s get showers, and then you can teach me about fasting.”

    Ben Paul smiled and picked the luggage back up.
 
+++
 
    It was a Tuesday morning. Fortunately, the bank opened at nine, and not ten, as some banks did. Ben Paul and Sylvia were the first in line when the doors opened. Five others were in line behind them. It was not a large bank, only about the size of a modest house occupying the ground floor of a two-story, corner building.

    After Ben Paul presented his check for cash, the teller excused herself to make a phone call to verify the account. While they waited, two men entered the bank. Unwitnessed by either Ben Paul or Sylvia, but seen by other witnesses, the two lifted bandanas over their faces only after inside and securing the double doors with wedges.

    “This is a hold-up. Nobody move. You tellers no funny stuff, or else. They each had pistols.”

    Sylvia almost laughed out loud, wondering whether they’d learned their trade watching 1940s cops and robbers movies. Then she remembered their guns. She knew very well how easily they could go off.

    Ben Paul thought how ironic that they were witnessing a bank hold-up in Dodge City and whether this was a city skit, like a faux shootout on Main Street. Then he remembered the guns. They were both military-style, semi-automatic 45s, not old west six-shooters.

    “You people get over here.” One of the robbers directed the customers to an area away from the windows. “Stay put.”

    The other robber went behind the counter, disappearing with one of the female employees toward the vault, Ben Paul presumed.

    “You there. Yeah, you.”

    He was pointing his pistol at Ben Paul.

    “You look like you might not faint.” He pulled a cloth sack from inside his leather aviator jacket. “Take this behind the counter and fill it up with bills. No coins, just bills. And don’t try anything or your woman gets it. See?” He pointed his pistol at Sylvia.

    Ben Paul obeyed, having to edge one fear-frozen teller aside. He selfishly left three of the twenties in place, thinking of his and Slyvia’s gas tank and meals until they could get to another town. The next, he had to ask to open the drawer for him. This one, the one who’d gone to make the phone call, had returned.     Ben Paul saw something that struck him as odd, but he was too busy obeying and watching Sylvia and the robber who was watching the customers and the front door to think about it. He ended up leaving three twenties in each of the drawers in case some of the other customers were in for cash, as well.

    Within what Ben Paul thought was only two minutes, three at the most, the two robbers were headed for the door, the one with Ben Paul’s half-full sack and the other with a canvas satchel that appeared to be heavy.

    “Everybody stay calm, “a bank officer said. “The police are on their way. They’ll want statements from each of you.”
 

Author Notes photo courtesy Jason Fang, istock

Ben Persons: young man called of God (1861-1890)
Ben Paul Persons: 81-year-old son of Ben Persons (1891-)
Sylvia Adams Persons: grand-daughter of Livvy (1904-)
Slim Goldman (Herschell Diddleknopper): miner who Ben (senior) rescued in 1886
Mary Goldman/Diddleknopper: wife of Slim
Tony Bertelli: protege' of Ben persons (Sr)
Antwan: Tony and Ellsabeth's son
Angelo, La Lama, Caruso: Chicago friend of Ben Sr., Police lieutenant
Malcolm Richards: St Louis men's shelter chaplain


Chapter 15
Ben Paul Persons, Ch. 15

By Wayne Fowler

In the last part Ben Paul and Sylvia were witnesses to a bank robbery.(A shorter post, but combining with the next, which I would do in a novel, would make it too long. Grrr)
 
Chapter 15
 
    The detectives interviewed Ben Paul last, sitting him down at the customer side of the bank manager’s desk. There were two detectives, which Ben Paul thought odd, a waste of resources.

    “So, Mister-r-r… Persons. I’ve read your statement. Pretty short.”

    “I didn’t see much. Not their faces. I described their clothing the best I could.”

    “See, that’s the thing. You said there were only two, but you helped them rob the bank, didn’t you?”

    “That’s insane. My wife was out there. Everyone saw the man point the gun at me, order me.”

    “They saw him point the gun at everybody. And telling you to get the dough doesn’t mean anything. He can apologize for being mean later, when you get your cut.”

    “This would be comical if it wasn’t so ridiculous.”

    “So why’d you leave the marked bills in each of the tellers’ cash drawers?”

    Ben Paul stopped short, taking a quick breath. When he told them his reason, they both smirked, one of them snorting.

    “Yeah, well, one of the tellers said you shoved her out of the way so you could get to her cash. Another one said you grabbed at the money like a pro. And the third one said she saw you look at the suspect who’d gone into the vault with a funny eye. Those are her words.”

    That was when Ben Paul remembered what his subconsciousness had tipped him to during the robbery. But he was not going to share it with the detective who held him under suspicion.

    “I’m not arresting you. Not yet. But don’t leave town. And don’t change motels without letting me know.”

    Before Ben Paul could ask the question, the detective told him to just call the police station. Ben Paul wasn’t about to ask how he could get spending cash. For that, they had to go to another bank. Sylvia gripped her hands to keep from shaking.

    It wasn’t until they finally got a check cashed, had lunch, and were back in their motel room that Ben Paul told Sylvia the story. He’d already shared the entire interview with her, including orders not to leave town.

    “How long might that be?” Sylvia asked. “Days, weeks, months?”

    “When I was taking money from the last drawer, the robber and the female employee were coming out of the vault area. It was while they were in there still. I know I saw her lean into him and pucker. Like a fake kiss.”

    Sylvia’s eyes widened. “Did she kiss him?”

    “No. And she didn’t reach him with her lean in. It was only a fraction. But I saw it. And the pucker was quick. But I know it was real. And another thing. She was not afraid.”

    Sylvia breathed in deeply, as if the deep breath helped absorb the information. She exhaled forcefully as she pressed her hands together in prayer fashion. “So what do we do with that if we don’t tell it to the police?”

    “Did you notice that they were both wearing gloves?”

    “Only one of them. I didn’t notice the other.”

    “He was. So there’s no fingerprints on the scene.”

    “Except yours,” Sylvia reminded Ben Paul.

    Ben Paul smiled.

    “We need to find out who that female employee is, but not let her know that we’re investigating.”

    “What about getting a lawyer? We could call Halleck again and get another referral.”

    “Halleck won’t have one in a town the size of Dodge City. And Dodge is about the same as Santa Rosa. Back there, everybody knew everybody else. Many of them were related, or went to school with them, or dated them.

    “Our lady might be cousin to the lawyer we got. Or the lawyer could be cousin to the detective. Plus, I really don’t want to wipe out our bank account on lawyer fees.”

    Sylvia nodded to all of Ben Paul’s reasonings.
 
+++
 
    Ben Paul went alone into the bank, the scene of the crime, at precisely 9:01. He knocked on the manager’s door. From behind came a female voice. “Excuse me. You shouldn’t be here.” According to her name tag, she was the assistant manager, Christine Blayloff.

    “Oh, I’m sorry,” Ben Paul said. “I wanted to know if I could still cash a check. I didn’t want to put one of your tellers on the spot. Or upset them.”

    “I’m afraid not. As long as the investigation is ongoing you shouldn’t be in here.”

    “Uh, is your vault always open at precisely 9:00? You probably don’t know its make or model, do you? I thought not.”
 
Ben Paul’s tone at the last was as condescending as he could make it. “The manager isn’t in yet?”

    “It's a VSI, five pin…”

    “Five pins! That must make you careful not to make a slip, have to start over. Doesn’t Kansas Farmers Bank require either the manager or assistant and the head teller be present to open the vault?”

    “I can open it in an emergency!” Mrs. Blayloff insisted, arching her back and lifting her shoulders. “You must go now, or I’ll have to call the police.”

    “Fine, fine. Thank you for your time.”

    After leaving, Ben Paul joined Sylvia in Tank, positioned where they could observe the parking lot. At 9:30 a car pulled into the space designated Manager. A man dressed in a suit got out of the car and entered the bank through an employees-only door.

    “As I expected,” Ben Paul said. “The manager is King, and proves it by sauntering in to work a half an hour after everyone else is hard at it.” He had already shared what he’d learned from Christine Blayloff, that she was not supposed to have the vault door opened at 9:00 and also that it would take her far more than a minute to unlock and open it.

    “What I want to know,” Sylvia said, “is if she leaned in and puckered for you?”

    Ben Paul laughed out loud.

    “So let’s go to the motel and look for an address in the phone book.” She started Tank and headed out.
    “The only Blayloff is C. Blayloff at 801 C Street,” Sylvia said.

    “As long as we’re out, what’s the manager’s address? The name on his door was J. Weisenhart.”

    “Three Weisenharts,” Sylvia reported. “John and Jay and L.”

    “Father and son, probably. The other is probably a daughter. Write down all three addresses.”

    She did.

    “Did you see that car pull out of the lot behind us?” Ben Paul asked as they pulled out heading for C Street.

    “Uh, yes, now that you mention it. I know where you’re going. No one had gotten into it which means that the driver was just sitting in it.”

    “Watching and waiting for us. I don’t think I can lose him, not in his own town. So let’s go for an early lunch. I’ll drop you at… here, at this café. You can order for me. I’m going to drive down to a corner store where they have two doors, one on each street. I’ll park. Go in one door and out the other and use the alley to get back here. Our tail can sit and watch Tank.”

    “You’re so smart,” Sylvia chided as she exited Tank.

    They ate quickly and used the same alley as had Ben Paul. A few minutes after the tailing detective drove away, they returned to Tank to pursue their quest.

Author Notes photo courtesy: Linda James: pexels
Dodge City was the town of renown of the TV show 'Gunsmoke' with Matt Dillon as the U.S. Marshal.

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