The Recluse Reclaimed

Leonard Weidman's rope-drawn red Radio Flyer wagon squeaked to a stop against his calf. He had interrupted the long walk home across the street from the entrance to the Piney Woods Community Chapel parking lot. Leonard removed a worn camo ball cap with one lean hand and raked the fingers of his other hand through unevenly-cut gray hair. His expression became wistful as he read the chapel's marquee. His eye is on the sparrow. Leonard sighed.

The purple crape myrtles flanking the main sanctuary door had grown substantially in the years since his wife's memorial service. A little girl in a cotton sundress sat on the front step, emitting breathy whistles and watching sparrows hop after the seeds she tossed onto the walkway.

"Well, I guess he's looking after those sparrows, at least," Leonard remarked to the liver roan hunting dog at his side.

The dog regarded him for a moment before touching noses with a floppy-eared puppy of uncertain lineage that hooked its paws over the wagon's slats to look out. Then the pointer stepped forward, drawing the puppy along the slats by the twine that connected them. Feeling the unfamiliar tug on its neck, the dog cast a curious expression toward its master.

"You found him, Artemis. He's your puppy, unless someone claims him," Leonard told his dog. "I doubt anyone will, so you're the one who has to teach him to walk on a leash." He rubbed Artemis' head before lifting the puppy out of the wagon. "And you, are you ready to walk some more? We have places to go, things to do."

Leonard looked beyond the church entrance to the barn-shaped outbuilding at the far end of the parking lot. "And we have people to see, I guess," he finished.

A hand-painted sign over the small barn's open double doors read Food Bank. A smaller sign to the right of the opening announced Hours above less-decipherable text. A handful of people milled around a folding table in the shade offered by a stately oak tree.

Leonard pulled back his faded blue suit jacket enough to tuck in his beige work shirt, hiking up his best slacks in the process. He took a deep breath, set his jaw, and crossed the street only to stop again on the south-side sidewalk.

A portly woman in a lavender flower-print dress noticed the trio's approach and waved. "Hey, Mr. Weidman, have you come to visit us today?"

Leonard licked distaste from his mouth and ducked his head toward his companions. "I guess that's our cue, Artemis—and, whatever your name is, pup." Tugging the wagon's rope, he proceeded onto church property for the first time in years. "Yes ma'am, we have," he answered with a nod.

Artemis walked sedately beside her human, but the puppy surged forward to the limit of its twine. Then it hung back to look at a butterfly that landed on the rifle stock that protruded from the front of the red wagon.

"What a cute puppy!" exclaimed someone as it tried to greet all its new acquaintances with licks and bounces. "Where did you get it?"

"Artemis found a box of puppies in a ditch up by my place. It had been taped shut. I had to bury the others, but this one seems to have pulled through."

"I hate it when people do things like that," said the woman in the lavender dress.

Leonard's face hardened. "Yes ma'am, Mrs. Jenkins. So do I. Some people are just heartless."

"Call me Betty, Mr. Weidman. Now, what can we get you? Our food bank is too full, and we haven't had hardly any customers this week."

"How do you take your coffee Mr. Weidman," asked an oval-faced brunette with a baby harnessed to her chest.

"Black is fine, thank you," Leonard replied. He accepted a steaming cup and inhaled its aroma. He turned back to Mrs. Jenkins. "You wouldn't have anything resembling puppy food, would you? I have goat milk, of course, but I'm not certain that's enough to grow a puppy on."

A teenager seated on a nearby bench looked up from his cell phone. "No, we never get dog f—"

Betty interrupted him with a glare. "No, Jimmy, it just so happens that Mr. Ingles dropped some off this morning."

"I never saw Mr. Ingles."

"Well, he did. Go check by the other door of the shed, near where I keep my purse."

"I stocked all the shelves back there, and I never saw any—"

"I said, go check!" Betty growled. Then she added more gently, "And bring out the ten-pound bag of puppy food that's back there. By my purse. It might take you a couple minutes, because there's probably some things stacked on it by now."

Jimmy cocked his head and looked like he was about to object again when the young mother grabbed his shirtsleeve and said, "Come on, Jimmy, I'll show you what Mama means."

"Thank you, Grace. Now, Mr. Weidman, you look like you need some cookies to go with that coffee. Lena Mailer baked these this morning. And your wagon is nearly empty. What can we fill it with? We have milk and cheese, crackers and peanut butter, nuts and trail mix, apples and oranges, dry pasta—"

"I really just came to inquire whether you had something I can feed the puppy. I could've gotten some at the store, but I'm a bit short on cash this week, so I was only able to buy the cheesecloth I needed and a couple other things." He gestured apologetically toward the lone paper sack at the back of the wagon.

"I understand. Jimmy's finding it now. But, you're going to need some bread to go with your homemade goat cheese. And, really, you'd be doing us a favor if you'd take some of these canned goods off our hands. We have lots of soup—and chicken in a can. You could even mash that up to mix with the puppy food, if you didn't want to eat it yourself."

Leonard pursed his lips and studied the deep creases on his worn leather boots. "Well, if you need to make room …"

"We do! We're expecting a big delivery tomorrow. We need the shelf space." She signaled one of her church ladies with a pointed look, and the older woman disappeared into the outbuilding. "I should get your dogs some water while she's gathering a few things. What's the puppy's name?"

"I figured I'd let Artemis name him. She found him," Leonard said with a wry smile.

Betty raised one of her painted-on eyebrows quizzically, then burst out laughing. "Mr. Weidman! That is so funny! No, really, what did you name it?"

"I haven't yet. Honestly. I suppose he should have a good, strong name, a hunter's name. What do you think of Nimrod?"

"A dog named Nimrod? I guess that makes as much sense as a dog named Artemis." Betty set a stoneware bowl on the ground and cracked open a bottle of water to pour into it.

The volunteer emerged from the food bank barn with Grace, both heavily laden, and they placed cases of cans into Leonard's wagon. "This one is beef barley soups, this one is pork and beans, and the top one is the chicken Betty mentioned. Let me get you some fruit, too." They disappeared a second time into the recesses of the outbuilding.

A shadow of concern flickered across Leonard's face. "That's a lot of food for you to spare, Mrs. Jenkins. Maybe it should go—"

"Nonsense," said Betty. "It's meant to be eaten, and for some reason our regulars haven't made it by this week. You're doing us a favor by taking it. Can I refill your coffee?"

Leonard shook his head and squinted at the things in his wagon. He reached in and pulled out several furs. "I wasn't sure what I was going to do with these when I brought them along today, but—do you think you'd like to add a fur collar to your winter coat, Mrs. Jenkins? These are the last three rabbits Artemis and I have gotten. I shot two, and Artemis brought me one on her own."

Betty reached out and caressed one of the furs. "And you tanned them yourself? Oh, this is so velvety!" She leaned in and added conspiratorially, "I've been wanting to replace Grace's coat for some time, but these could give it new life."

"Then they're yours." Leonard inhaled slowly and deeply, then let it out, and his shoulders relaxed.

"Do you get much time to read, Mr. Weidman? A member of our congregation self published a Western adventure, and I have copies I need to give away." She extended a paperback to Leonard, and he accepted. "I made the bookmarks myself. One side has some precious Bible verses, and the other side has the schedule of our services here. We'd love to see you in church on Sunday."

"I haven't set foot in a church since—" The corners of Leonard's mouth tightened as he scanned memories that hovered far away to his left. "Not since Kathleen's service. I don't reckon God would want much to see me show up after all this time."

Betty's eyes grew shimmery, and she swallowed hard. "I'm sure he would, Mr. Weidman. And I would, and Grace and Jimmy. Think about it for me?"

Jimmy clomped heavily around the corner of the barn, panting, with a sheen of sweat on his forehead. "I got—um—I found a ten-pound bag of puppy food." He glanced apprehensively at his mother, who eyed him sternly. "Plus, Grace told me to—um, anyway—this is soft puppy food, in case it doesn't have teeth yet to crunch the dry dog food with."

"I knew you'd find some where I told you to. Just set those in the wagon," said Betty. She leaned over to rub the pointer's head. "Artemis, you take good care of Nimrod, and remind Mr. Weidman we'd love to see him in church any day he can make it."

Leonard nodded slowly, surveying his full-to-the-brim wagon. "You've been very generous, Mrs. Jenkins. I'll think on it. I surely will."

A sparrow landed on a faded yellow bumper and cocked his head at Leonard Weidman as he made his way out of the Piney Woods Community Chapel parking lot to resume the long walk home.

"I didn't whistle for you, those are my wheels squeaking," he told the bird.

The sparrow flitted to the top of the church's sign, then descended to join its friends on the front walkway. Leonard took a deep breath, allowing his gaze to drop to his wagon and the puppy that watched him expectantly. Maybe God did care about him, after all.

"I'll be back on Sunday, all right?" he murmured, eyes upward. "We can talk more then."