She pulled over at the church, stopping the scooter as she looked around her head on a swivel. This couldn’t be the right place, but it was the only little white church on the road.
She was careful crossing the two lane rural road. The church topped the hill so cars could appear and disappear quickly
Apparently so could houses. The little red house and garden that was there just last week. It’d been a beautiful little set up, complete with pergola over the back yard patio and the inevitable white picket fence.
Where it had been, there was now there a field with no a house had ever been there. Not even a trace of foundation could be seen under the grass and wildflowers.
The old man had been in his garden when she pulled over last week. She’d been riding her piaggio deep in thought. She’d seen the church and it’s cemetery and pulled over into the gravel lot that’d been almost swallowed up by grass. She’d looked more closely and found the church deserted, paint peeling, windows in tact at least…so there was a caretaker. That also explained the well kept cemetery and the mowed lawn.
He’d waved and she’d crossed the road and opened the gate. From inside the gate she looked back and could only see the tips of her handlebars…the honeysuckle vine decorated his fence and danced with his rose bushes. She introduced herself and he’d nodded to the old church across the road by way of his own introduction.
“I take care of things around here, until I’m no longer needed and if I may say so you look like a rider with a lot on her mind,” he observed. “May I make an observation? Don’t do anything hastily.”
She’d been contemplating some intense things.
His words and the gentle smile encouraging patience felt like it lifted a weight from her and she smiled her first smile in days. He bid her farewell and a grandfatherly ‘be careful.’
She’d come back to thank him.
And found nothing but a field.
Beyond the cemetery, on the same side of the road, is a three story weather beaten to grey home with a well in the side yard and several ramshackle barns and outbuildings behind it.
A young man stepped off the wraparound front porch as she approached the house on her bike. Lifting his arm he flagged her down.
“I’m the caretaker at the church, can I help you,” he began, as she stopped the bike and removed her helmet. He held out his hand,”I’m Michael Emerson.”
“Rowen Summa,” she introduced herself. “I live over in Lathrop and I like to ride the back roads when I have the time.”
He laughed.
“You’ve been down this road before,” he said. “Your bike is a memorable one.”
She nodded.
“All these back roads start to look alike. I could’ve sworn that yesterday there was a house there but I maybe turned off too early from the main road. Maybe there’s another white church and I forgot or haven’t seen it.’
He shook his head.
“I was named after Pastor Michael,” he explained. “That was him you met yesterday. He’s sort of the area’s guardian spirit. I only see the house once in a very great while but it’s always when someone needs him. Not sure you’ll see the house again but you never know. “
He stepped back towards the house.
“Just thought you should know,” he said. “Drive safe.”
He left her jaw on the grass as he turned his back and walked back to the porch.
She put the helmet back on her head and gunned the bike.
“Mysterious ways, they said,” she murmured. “A house disappears and turns into a field. What the heck.”
The road rolled out from under her wheels and she aimed her bike back towards her home.
Imagecollectors.online 