Uncovered

             Miss Gladys Blyfield peered from her window at the Hope on the Hill Nursing Home which overlooked Lake Colton.  A prolonged drought and additional use for agriculture upstream had so diminished the flow into Lake Colton that it was beginning to reveal all that had been submerged when it was formed.

Lake Colton had been man-made sixty years earlier when Miss Gladys was a young woman.  The Colton Dam had been constructed at the end of Colton Valley submerging the small town of Springville, a lovely little village where friendships were deep, but also a place where everyone knew everyone else’s business.

For example, everyone “knew” that Rev. Dick Jamieson’s wife had run off with a drifter handyman who had been in the village for about six months prior to her disappearance.  It was obvious, because he had disappeared at the same time, just a few days before the valley had begun to flood.  It made sense that he had moved on.  There had been a great deal of work for him during the time everything was being moved out of the valley to higher ground.  Some folks had their homes moved. Others abandoned their houses, taking the compensation provided to them by the power company which had built the dam, and rebuilt in the new town of New Hope.  Much construction and remodeling had made for several months of steady work for Jack Blomquist.

On the other hand, it had made no sense at all that Shirley Jamieson had disappeared with him.  Pastor Dick was respected in the village as a kind, mild-mannered and generous young man.  How could Shirley have left him for the rough-around-the-edges Jack?  Dick Jamieson’s display of dignity in the midst of his grief was quite touching.  No one ever went looking for Shirley.  She had been seen more than once talking with Jack Blomquist.  She had been seen walking for no apparent reason past various places where he had been at work.  Was there a relationship?  An obsession on her part?  Most of the town gossips were sure they knew.  At the time, Miss Gladys had been one of the main purveyors of juicy tidbits.

In the intervening sixty years, the level of the lake had fluctuated, but never before had the remnants of Springville begun to protrude above the level of the water.  In the intervening sixty years, Pastor Jamieson and the town gossips had become old, and stories had evolved over time so that no one was sure of “truth” any longer.  If it were to “protrude above the water” would it even be recognized?

Pastor Jamieson had served his entire life-time at the church in New Hope remaining a bachelor, since there was no way to know for sure if Shirley was dead or alive.  Initially, this was somewhat disappointing to Miss Gladys.  A marriage to him would have elevated her social standing in New Hope.  But, he had continued living in the village, throwing himself into every charitable endeavor taken on by his community and never showing an interest in eligible young ladies. 

Eventually, Dick Jamieson retired, and he too was now a resident of Hope on the Hill Nursing Home.  A younger pastor now lived in the parsonage and served the community which had grown a great deal over the sixty years.  Everyone no longer knew everyone else’s business.

After over a year of the drought, Pastor Bill Shortz had stood in front of the parsonage looking at the muddy pond that had been Lake Colton.  The first of the skeletons of the past to protrude from the murk was the cross on the steeple of the old abandoned church.  In addition to being the tallest building in the old village, the church had stood on a bit of a rise in the valley.   Although that was the physical explanation for the cross, and only the cross, appearing first, it gave many in the village an unsettled feeling.  Some said that it looked like a marker in a graveyard, especially at night in the moonlight.

When more months passed without rain, the water level dropped still further. Now as Pastor Bill looked out he could see that although many buildings were still partially submerged, the entirety of the semi-collapsed and rotting remains of the church was now exposed, surrounded by a couple feet of sludge and muck.

Pastor Shortz set out on a Tuesday afternoon to do his weekly visits to the “shut-ins” of the community.  His itinerary included the Hope on the Hill Nursing Home.  In particular, he was looking forward to talking with Dick Jamieson.  He found Dick Jamieson sitting on the enclosed porch overlooking the lake.

“Hello, Dick.”

“Hello….Pastor….Pastor Bill?”  Dick Jamieson’s memory was beginning to fail him.

After an exchange of pleasantries, Dick asked if Pastor Bill knew whether anyone was poking around the reappearing ruins.

“I haven’t heard anything.”

A strange faraway look on Dick’s face seemed to indicate that he was struggling with something.  Bill was unsure if an unpleasant memory or the inability to recapture an elusive memory was causing some inner turmoil.

“I hope we get rain soon,” Dick said softly.  “I guess we don’t need the power generated so much anymore….what with the wind turbines on the hill across the valley now.  But, the lake certainly does look muddy and ugly.”

No more was said of the disappearing lake or the reappearing church, and Bill soon offered to read a Psalm for Dick.  Dick declined, but he did ask Bill to join him in prayer for much needed rain before he left to make his other visits in the nursing home.

Pastor Bill’s next stop was Miss Gladys Blyfield.  He had no way of knowing what Miss Gladys was about to unload on him.  Although Miss Gladys had initially believed and passed on the gossip about Shirley Jamieson running off with Jack Blomquist, another scenario had eventually come to her.  It had struck her one day out of the blue while she was vacuuming her apartment and sulking about Dick Jamieson never showing any interest in her.

She did not wait for Pastor Bill to bring up the shrinking lake and emerging village ruins.  As soon as he was seated, she began eagerly.

“I never believed the others, you know.  They all said that Shirley Jamieson ran off with that Blomquist guy.  No, sir.  I for one never believed it.  Once when I was alone in the church with Shirley doing some cleaning, she admitted to me that Pastor Dick was not as mild-mannered as everyone thought.  She didn’t say it in so many words, but I think he abused her.  If she did run off, I think she had good reason, but… (she paused for effect) …I think she is still down there somewhere.  If the rain holds off longer, maybe we’ll know the truth.”

Bill stared in disbelief.  Was she accusing Dick of harming Shirley…..possibly killing her?  Maybe Gladys was not in full possession of her faculties and was spinning a ridiculous and totally false tale.  But, the strange look he had seen on Dick’s face came to mind also.  The disappearance had occurred almost simultaneously with the flooding.  Dick’s explanation had never been questioned.  If anyone had doubts, they had not emerged until after the village was submerged.  He shook off the unpleasant possibilities and offered to read a Psalm to Gladys.

She requested Psalm 124, and he found himself reading:

If the Lord had not been on our side when men attacked us, when their anger flared against us, they would have swallowed us alive; the flood would have engulfed us, the torrent would have swept over us, the raging waters would have swept us away.  …  Our help is in the name of the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.

As he finished reading and offered to pray with Gladys, he thought he saw a smug smile playing on her lips.  He began to believe his imagination was running wild, and that he should mistrust his own sanity.  He headed home to talk with his wife, who was always a source of stability and good sense.

Cheryl Shortz welcomed her husband with a fresh pot of coffee and warm cookies just removed from the oven.  He sat down with a sigh, feeling safe in the haven of their home.  Even as he pondered his own domestic bliss, he considered what it would be like to live in the parsonage if instead of peace and comfort, one experienced turmoil and pain.  What if it was the place where “anger flared” and one felt “swallowed alive?”  He decided he did not have time to share his confusing jumble of thoughts with Cheryl before their two children arrived home from school.  Instead, he just inhaled the aroma of cookies and calm in Cheryl’s kitchen.

The ruins at the bottom of Lake Colton were, of course, too much of a temptation for the teenage boys of New Hope.  Canoes and waders were employed and the nooks and crannies were explored on a daily basis, as though buried treasure might be found.  Most of the parents did not know this was happening and would have forbidden exploration of the possibly dangerous ruins.  So, when a group of boys caught a glimpse of a skeleton inside the sagging church, they agreed not to tell their parents.  More than one, however, could not resist bragging to his girlfriend about their exploits.  The daughter of a state trooper questioned her dad as to whether such a tale could be true.

And so, a much belated investigation began.  The skeleton was female and the hyoid bone was fractured indicating strangulation.  The woman had probably been dead prior to the flooding and her body stashed in the old church.  The only woman who had disappeared around this time was Shirley Jamieson.  Was she abandoned by a lover who didn’t want to take her with him when he left the area, or had the man who had led the church for decades been carrying guilt for decades?

Bill Shortz experienced a wave of nausea when he heard the news.  He wondered if the police had already questioned Dick Jamieson.  He felt compelled to go see Dick himself.

When he arrived at Dick’s room, he was met by a nurse.  “Oh, Pastor Bill.  I am so glad to see you.  Dick has taken a bad turn….we think he has had a massive stroke. The last coherent thing he said was that we should call you.”

“I am so sorry.  Did he say anything specific as to why you were to call me?”

“He repeated several times…..’read 51, read 51.’  Do you know what that means?”

Since Bill always offered to read a Psalm when he visited shut-ins, he assumed Dick had meant Psalm 51.  He approached the bedside and opened his Bible.  Not knowing whether Dick could hear and comprehend, he began to read.

Have mercy on me, O God, according to your unfailing love; according to your great compassion blot out my transgressions.  Wash away all my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin.  For I know my transgressions, and my sin is always before me….

Dick clung to life for three days and then slipped away.  That was the day the drought broke and the rains began.

Dick Jamieson had no family to plan a memorial service, so it was left to Pastor Bill.  He had no idea what to say….what NOT to say. He watched the waters rising in the lake, covering up the ugliness and decay of what had been Springville and wondered whether Dick had for all those years been hiding ugliness and decay within his own soul.  Could a man stand before his congregation and preach love and godly living when he harbored a horrible truth?

Bill crawled into bed next to Cheryl.  They both enjoyed listening to the rain pelt the roof from the warmth and security of their own bed.  She snuggled against him with her head on his shoulder.  Bill sighed deeply.

“What’s wrong, love?”  Cheryl asked.

Bill found himself pouring out his disjointed and upsetting thoughts in no logical sequence: Gladys Blyfield’s implication, Dick’s strange expression, the discovered skeleton, the request for Psalm 51.  Was there meaning and relevance or where these pieces from different puzzles that didn’t fit together at all?  How could he do a memorial service for Dick not knowing if Dick was guilty and had repented, not guilty at all, or worst of all guilty and unrepentant?  What did the people of the church know or suspect?  How had this impacted the church’s ministry in the community over the years?

Then they lay in the darkness together, neither one speaking, listening to the drone of the rain.  Cheryl did not know what to say to Bill, but she silently prayed for him to be granted wisdom.

In the end, Bill Shortz honored Dick Jamieson for his years of work in the church and community with a very traditional and respectful memorial service.

But on Sunday, he preached from Matthew 23.  He talked about how the lack of rain had revealed decay and filth.  Restoration of the rain had covered the mess, and made Lake Colton beautiful again, but everyone knew what was underneath.

Then he read:

Woe to you…hypocrites!  You clean the outside of the cup and dish, but inside they are full of greed and self-indulgence. … First clean the inside of the cup and dish, and then the outside also will be clean.  Woe to you…hypocrites!  You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of dead men’s bones and everything unclean.  In the same way, on the outside you appear to people as righteous, but on the inside you are full of hypocrisy and wickedness.

By the time he had finished preaching, instead of thinking about the possible and unproven sin of Dick Jamieson, the hypocrites walked out that Sunday wondering how and when their own guilt would be uncovered.