Fiction: Sunday Morning in Harville Place

Sunday Morning in Harville Place

The roar of the motorcycle caught the attention of everyone in town. Harville Place was one of those small towns where everyone was known to each other by sight, if not by name. And so, since everyone knew that the only inhabitant of the town who owned a motorcycle was Mr. Frederick, who was in Florida for the month, there was an immediate curiosity about the person on the Harley Davidson.

“I bet he’ll cause trouble,” Mrs. Higley said as the bike screeched past the grocery store.

“You think every stranger will cause trouble,” her daughter said, rolling her eyes. Still, she kept a wary gaze on the back of the leather jacket.

The mayor prayed that the rider would behave, the sheriff prayed that he wouldn’t, and the Women’s Auxiliary Club prayed that he wouldn’t run over any of the decorations for the annual street fair.

         The motorcyclist rode all the way through town without incident, and came to a stop in the parking lot of Mountain United Methodist church. Inside the church, the congregation tried not to let the mystery distract them from Pastor Jim Evan’s benediction. Even so, whispers began to circulate around the chapel.

“Is he going to come in?”

“He’s a bit late if he is…”

“I bet he’ll cause trouble.”

“Oh hush, Mr. Higley.”

Finally, Pastor Evan finished his benediction and gave the final ‘amen.’ The congregation rose en masse and hurried to the doors, chattering excitedly. Jim Evan smiled and shook his head, following his flock outside at a more sedate pace. He emerged outside to a sort of startled hush, and immediately saw the reason.

The rider, after the removal of the helmet and leather jacket, was revealed to be a beautiful dark-haired woman in her thirties. She wore tight-fitting jeans, boots, and shirt, and had replaced the helmet with a Yankees baseball cap.

As soon as the rider spotted the young pastor, she smirked and said, “Hey, Jimmy. Miss me?”

The mutterings that this engendered increased twofold when Jim breathed out, “Erica. What- how-“

The woman, Erica, laughed openly and said, “Never thought I’d live to see the day you were struck speechless, Jimmy. I think I kind of like it.”

Jim had recovered himself, and started to move through the crowd toward her. “There was no need for you to skulk around outside. You could have come in for the end of the service.”

Erica laughed again, and it was bitterer this time. “I’m not here to cater to your delusion of being a good person, Jimmy.”

Jim’s attitude grew bristly, and he snapped, “It’s not a delusion-“

“You’re fooling yourself if you think you can be anything other than what you are,” Erica interrupted, “I know you, more than you know yourself. I’ve seen you naked, remember.”

The crowd gasped at this crass admission, but Jim ignored them as he said, “You’re my sister, and we were two. That’s hardly a full psychological profile.”

Erica did not laugh this time, but instead snarled, “Look at you, with your big words and your preacher’s robes. Do you think that this can excuse what we did, that your holy cloth can hide the stains on your hands?”

“What happened then is in the past,” Jim intoned, “It has been forgiven.”

Erica cackled then, throwing her head back and letting out harsh, jarring, almost inhuman sounds of amusement that distorted her pretty voice into something hideous. “Nothing is forgiven,” she said, “That isn’t something that can be forgiven, and it certainly can’t be forgotten.”

“God is willing to forgive all things,” Jim said, but he sounded less sure.

He was now standing in front of his sister, the crowd having parted to let him through.

“What do you want?” he asked wearily.

She grabbed his arm with rough desperation. “Come with me,” she said softly, “It can be like it used to be. They can’t find us anymore, I took care of that.”

Jim pulled out of her grip with a sharp tug. “I can’t,” he said, almost gasping with some unknown emotion. “I have a responsibility to the town- the church-“

“Damn the church!” Erica shouted. She pulled off the Yankees cap and threw it onto the ground. “And damn you!”

She turned back to the motorcycle, tugging on her jacket and helmet. Sitting astride the bike she said, voice muffled by the helmet, “I guess you really have changed, Jim.”

She rode off.

Jim stood there for a long moment, looking stricken, then stumbled back into the church. Mr. Higley, whose wife and daughter had joined the spectacle, said, “I said she was going to cause trouble.”

“Oh, shut up,” his daughter groaned.

The next week Pastor Jim was gone, vanished with all of his possessions. The incident became one of those moments that stuck in the town’s collective memory, causing speculation for years to come. Gossipy old women would cluster around coffee tables wondering just what the young pastor and his devil sister had done.

Eventually, though, the memory faded away and soon people forgot to wonder about the fate of Jim and Erica Evan.

Author's Note: This was another story written for a self-imposed prompt. I chose about nine random words, then challenged myself to write a story using all of those words. The end result wound up a lot better than I expected, and I'm still really fond of this piece.