CHAPTER THREE
Paul woke up at 9 on Saturday night and he couldn’t ever remember having been so tired. He lay in bed for several minutes before sitting up and looking around his room. He blinked his eyes over and over; it took several seconds for them to get used to the dark. He got up from his bed and started toward the bathroom. He flipped on the light, which was much brighter than it needed to be, and started the shower. He shed his clothing slowly, leaving it piled in the bathroom behind the door. He showered gingerly, his limbs sore and fatigued from the work he had done the past week. Tomorrow morning was church and he was certain since Pastor Willie had just worked from sunup to sundown for five straight days, he would take Sunday off, and than meant he would get a day off too. And that was something to be grateful for. But that Saturday night, as he stood under the warm stream of the shower, Paul was thinking of little else.
The week had been a blur. On Tuesday morning, he woke up at 6, not unusually early for him, and met Pastor Willie just outside his room. Paul was wide-awake and ready to go, still feeling fortunate at having found work so soon. They stopped at the same little dive they had eaten at the day before and had breakfast and Paul had forgone the coffee Pastor Willie was drinking. Less than twenty minutes passed before they headed to a home of a church member to dig up a bad gas line. There was a spot in the back yard, discolored and hard, that had stopped growing grass as early as two years before. A gas leak had been diagnosed and they were going to fix it.
Within a half hour, two more men showed up to help. They were dirty and unkempt and Paul couldn’t tell if it was just because they had awakened early and threw their work clothes on, or if they were guys like him, with no work and no money. He suspected a little of both. Paul held out his hand as introductions were made. He was used to shaking hands but he wasn’t used to meeting handshakes that were as strong and as meaningful as the ones he had taken so far in this little town. He was usually the one who had the stronger grip. But these, every one, seemed to carry the same blue-collar quality to them Paul respected. And since he thought of himself as a workman, and since that respect was something he wanted to be reciprocated, when he took a strong handshake, he gave in kind.
Paul had met many men over the last two years who could work, really work, and in that time, he had developed a work ethic that could match any of them. He had a level of pride that refused to allow him to not earn the pay, food or otherwise, that the work was affording him. But more than that, he refused to be outworked. It didn’t matter who or what or where, no one was going to outwork Paul McGovern.
But that Tuesday morning in an old woman’s back yard, Paul found out something different. Every man worked as hard as he did, or harder. And there was one man in particular who just seemed to have the endurance none of them did. It should have been the career ditch-digger, or the guy who showed up with his own shovel. It should have been the biggest, hardest man in the bunch, but it wasn’t. It was the softy. It was the guy whose knees spent most of their time on the floor, and whose hands spent most of their time clasped together. It was the guy who was supposed to be the meek and humble, the one who made his living as teacher of men. The hardest worker in the bunch wasn’t the roughneck; it was the shepherd.
Just before 7:30, Pastor Willie gathered the men in a circle and began to pray. The other two men bowed their heads and closed their eyes; Paul did the same only out of respect for Pastor Willie, who prayed for their safety and for a quick and efficient workday. He prayed for only a minute or two and the four were digging by 7:30.
They started fast and never let up, digging up the rancid, rotten ground and slinging the foul earth from the ditch to the top for five hours without stopping. When they finally got to the gas line, they not only found a leak, but also that the old gas pipeline was rusty and brittle. Its entire length had to be replaced from the house to the alley.
They broke for lunch around 1:00 in the afternoon. They sat in the shade of the old woman’s pecan tree and inhaled the sandwiches she had made for them. By 1:30, Pastor Willie was standing back in the ditch, shovel in hand. Paul was close behind. The first couple of hours, the four men managed to keep up their first half pace, but as the afternoon wore on, it was clear the two men could not keep up with Paul, who in turn, was having a time matching Pastor Willie’s breakneck tempo. When the others took five for water, Pastor Willie and Paul kept on digging.
“If you’re working, I’m working,” Paul thought to himself, and he pushed his shovel deeper into the ground to bring up a fuller load than before.
“If he wants to work, then we’ll work,” thought Pastor Willie, and he beat himself nearly to death just so he would still be working when Paul had stopped.
But Paul didn’t stop. And neither did Pastor Willie.
They worked through the afternoon and into the darkness, and the other two men worked alongside them if for no other reason than from the fear of asking either of them when quitting time would be. It turned out to be the old woman whose resolve neither of them could match. After several invitations from her for them to stop for the night, she finally came out, Bible in hand, scolding Pastor Willie for working the men too hard. Paul silently laughed, his smirk cloaked in darkness, but he kept digging, refusing to relinquish his shovel until Pastor Willie had.
“Did you hear me young man? Paul froze in mid-lift and stared at her, eyes wide. “I saw that feisty grin of yours. I said put that shovel down and I meant it.” She pointed her Bible in the direction of the other two. “That goes for you, too.” It was wasted breath. Both men had already dropped their shovels and were sitting on the top ground, their legs dangling over the side of the ditch. They both had water bottles to their lips.
“Good,” she said. “Now you listen to me. I don’t know what you think you’re trying to accomplish, but this isn’t going to get done tonight, so you boys get yourselves right out of that ditch and get home.” She turned back towards the Pastor and pointed her Bible at him. She was so close it was nearly touching his face. “Now I know I’m not the only little old lady in your church; if you really want something to do, take care of someone else.”
The men just stood there without moving, their jaws still hanging, flabbergasted at her rebuke.
“You heard me, get on. I won’t say it again.”
At that, the men dropped their shovels, leaving them lay where they were until they should return the next morning.
“And don’t come through the house, you’re all filthy and the last thing I need is that stink inside the house.”
But it didn’t matter; they were already trudging around the side of the house to the side gate. They came around the front and headed for the truck. They were almost in when they heard a voice.
“Oh, Pastor.” The little old woman was leaning out the front door, her left hand on the handle of the screen door.
“Yes, Ivy?”
“You boys sleep well tonight and come a little early; I’ll have breakfast for you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” returned Pastor Willie. He hopped in the truck, where the other three were already waiting. As they drove off, Paul looked toward the house where she was raising a hand in farewell and in the light of the porch, Paul could see the sweetest smile on her face that he’d ever seen. Afraid not to, he slowly raised his hand to half-mast in an unenthusiastic good-by and thought to himself that he was going to do exactly what she said and be there early for breakfast.
The next morning they did as they were told and true to her word, she had bacon, eggs and pancakes waiting for them. Paul thought it would be enough to feed twice as many men, but the four of them managed to eat every bite. By 7:30, they were back hard at it and by 8:30, the two men who had come with them were beginning to wonder if they were needed at all. The lion’s share of the work was clearly being done by the two crazy men who would hardly stop for lunch. They were, however, smart enough not to provoke the temper of that little old woman by missing a meal.
During that day and all through the next, they hid their competition, watching one another sideways, each stealing glimpses of the other’s progress during times when they believed they would not be seen. But it was in vain. Though each man managed to keep his own prying eyes hidden from the prying eyes of the other man, it was the eyes of the wise, old widow who caught every move from her catbird’s seat.
And just about the time the two men thought they would drop from exhaustion, the job was done. It took three days working from daylight to dark, feet and feet of new PVC pipe, a work crew with some special equipment and several gallons of drinking water, but they got it done.
On Thursday morning, Paul was waiting outside again for Pastor Willie. The two men ate donuts and drank coffee on their way to the old woman’s house where they would spend a couple of hours cleaning up her yard. When they arrived, both men stayed in the truck a moment longer than usual, their sore bodies bludgeoned by the torture they had inflicted upon themselves. But too proud to admit weakness, they reached for the door handles and let themselves down from the truck.
They cleaned the yard and knocked on the back door to let the old woman know the job was done. She invited them into her house and served them each a glass of iced water. She thanked them and tried to pay them. They told her they were happy to do the work and refused to take the money. Pastor Willie knew it would show up in the plate on Sunday, but that was between her and God. His not taking the money was between him and God. And that was how Pastor Willie liked things. He liked them in God’s hands so He could bless whom He chose, and through whom He chose.
As they were leaving, the old woman opened the door and thanked them again with a light kiss on each of their cheeks. And then she said something to Paul he wouldn’t forget.
“You know, son, I only saw one man who could work as hard as Willie.” She turned her head and looked at a photograph that hung on the wall near the door. It was a wedding picture and Paul believed he could see the resemblance. “His Uncle Samuel would be very proud of you.”
“Uncle Samuel?”
“He’s the one who taught Pastor Willie how to work?”
“He sure did,” she answered. She gazed silently at the photo for a moment and Paul could see the longing for him. “Well, you boys get along,” she said and gripped Paul’s hand. “Very proud,” she said again and touched him on the same cheek she had kissed. Her hand was soft and cool, like his grandmother’s.
“Thank you,” he said, and he meant it. If it wasn’t the best compliment he’d ever been given, it certainly meant the most to him.
Friday morning they were supposed to help a man move from one house to the other. What Pastor Willie thought would be a short, two-location move, turned out to be a two-day affair, covering three homes, four storage units, two sisters and a kennel. And over those two days, despite Aunt Ivy’s attempt to absolve him of the need to outwork Pastor Willie, Paul held on to his pride and tore into the work at the same frenetic pace he had ended with; and Pastor Willie was up to the challenge. They pushed one another, as well as their own agendas. Paul drove himself to keep from being outworked by a soft-handed preacher. But Pastor Willie drove himself because he knew iron sharpened iron. After a while, he just wasn’t sure which piece of iron he was.
When the week was done, both men were mentally, physically and spiritually exhausted. And that is how, at 6:30 on Saturday night, Paul fell headlong onto the bed in his new apartment and was soon fast sleep. When he woke up again, it was 9:00 pm., but he thought it was morning. He had showered and eaten breakfast before he started to wonder why it was still dark out. He sat on the corner of his bed, his limbs heavy with fatigue, thankful that tomorrow, there would be no work, only church.
He hadn’t been to church since he was a kid, but it was one of the conditions of his “employment”, if it could be called that. He thought about what church would be like and started wondering if he might not rather go to work tomorrow; at least work was something he knew.
Ten minutes later, he was back asleep, not caring that in only a few hours, he would once again both shower and eat breakfast and that regardless of his insecurity, he would be sitting in church once again for the first time in more than fifteen years.
CHAPTER FOUR
When Paul woke up the next morning, it was with a pleasant, if not surprising, sense of renewal. He lay in his bed, arms behind his head, staring up at the white ceiling, slowly growing aware of a deep undercurrent of peace flowing through him. It was subtle, but it was there. He sat up and brought his knees, still covered by blankets, to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, clasping his hands together. He groaned. He still ached; that was apparent when he had reached over to turn off his alarm ten minutes before, but though the soreness in his body had not abated, his mind and his spirit were refreshed. That was a new feeling to Paul.
He had rested, but unlike most new places, here he had rested well. But it was more than that. He had met good people, found a place to stay and had worked an honest week and had earned an honest wage. But still, he thought, there was more to it; here was the first place he had ever really felt this way.
“What is it?” he thought.