A Tale of Deception

  MICA IS A small town, like so many others nestled in the rolling hills of the Palouse, southeast of Spokane, Washington. It’s a community with a few streets of timeworn homes of various styles and sizes. Among them reside a few farm houses, which once existed on vast acres of land, now constrained to insignificant pieces of earth.

  In front of one old, weathered home, a few derelict cars sat frozen amid the weeds, in front of a sagging fence, lost in time. Another plot of land concealed an old trailer house behind shrubbery and tall pines, as a dirt driveway passed beyond into the back somewhere.

  Highway 27, originating in Opportunity, Washington, a suburb of Spokane, journeyed south past Mica, through comparable townships, like Valleyford, Freeman, Rockford and Fairfield… small farming towns sprinkled along the asphalt river flowing around and through the rolling hills of the Palouse, an agricultural land of wheat, legumes, and blue grass.

  This vast, windswept region continued south for a hundred miles or so into Oregon State and spread from parts of eastern Washington into Idaho.

  Ann traveled this road almost daily, so familiar, yet ever changing. This morning, she noticed the new wind farm far off on the horizon, the blades of the wind machines slowly, lazily turning, as their silver structures melted into the early summer sky, like ghostly aliens, swinging their arms in some strange, foreign gesture.

  This new technology was changing the landscape all over the area, allowing the land to be worked, while the renewable energy assisted the sagging economy.

  In awe, she remembered reading that the blades of the huge wind machine were so large, a 747 jet liner could park in its circumference.

  Shaking the whimsical thought from her mind, she pulled into the turn lane and crossed the freeway onto Belmont Road. Her car rumbling over the multiple railroad tracks running along the highway, serviced by the Union Pacific Railroad transporting timber products from Idaho into Spokane.

  This small road ran a short distance through town, emerging in the farmlands and pastures beyond, before the forested hills rose to meet Mica Peak. The small, five block community was spread out on the right side of Belmont, while on the left stood the old two-story post office, now used for the Freeman Granary Co-op upstairs, and the Mica Peak Real Estate offices below.

  Next door was the old Harbinger Hotel, converted about twenty years ago into the Mica Community Church, with a vacant lot beyond, for the children to play in. Next, at the edge of town, hidden in an overgrown pine forest was the old Jackson homestead, an empty, derelict set of buildings crumbling from years of neglect… left behind by those who had once worked the land, now sagging in the shadows like a ghost from the past, refusing to leave.

  Ann drove onto the small graveled parking lot in front of her office and got out of the car. Glancing behind her building, she saw the Mica Brick Factory. The single story, long, old factory buildings were surrounded by tall stacks of product, everywhere, with huge mountains of raw materials for making bricks piled in the back. They too were struggling to stay in business, making more product then they could sell, for now.

  Shelly Ferguson, Ann’s coworker pulled up beside her, and turned off her car. Ann admired her best friend for her honesty, devotion to friends and family, and her strength of character, as well as her beauty and grace. Her husband Jim was such a gentle and kind man, devoted to his wife and now their two, newly acquired children, Tom and Faith.

  Months ago, Jim had planned a trip to Kenya to celebrate their tenth wedding anniversary and experience a safari in the exotic lands of Africa. But, instead of a wondrous adventure, they were separated by war, death and loss.

  On Shelly’s journey to get to the American Embassy in Nairobi for help, she rescued two recently orphaned children near the Tsavo National Park. The trio struggled through the uncertainty, loneliness and dangers of a violent land. But, with God’s mercy and care they were rescued and reunited with Jim, and then spirited away to safety by the U.S. Marines, and home.

  Home, a word so wondrously valued now, with all its treasured meanings.

  “Hi Ann,” Shelly greeted her.

  “Mornin’ Shell,” Ann responded, as the two women walked together toward the office.

  Unlocking the door, the smell of old wood and age greeted them as the ancient floor creaked beneath them.

  There’s no smell quite like an old, well used building, Ann thought as she went to the windows, sliding them open for air.

  Shelly turned on the lights and went to put the coffee on. Ann turned on the ceiling fan and activated the computers.

  Picking up the phone, she checked their voice mail. Both calls were for Shelly. Ann examined her emails. She found only spam.

  When Shelly returned with two mugs of coffee, she found Ann with her head in her hands.

  “How are you doing?” she asked her friend gently, concerned.

  “Doin’ as well as can be expected,” was the reply, as Ann made herself busy.

  Shelly worried, because she knew Ann was struggling financially. How much, she couldn’t get Ann to tell her. But she knew she wasn’t eating lunch very often, and she was getting so thin. Shelly could see the strain on her friend’s face, but what could she do? Ann had made it clear she didn’t want Shelly to help.

  Is it a pride thing? Shelly wondered.

  Sometimes a friend has to stand back and watch helplessly as someone they care about struggles through their own problems.

  But, if she could think of a way to help, she would.

  Maybe I can get her to come over for dinner.

  Turning to Ann she said, “Ann, Tom’s been pestering me to ask all of you over for dinner soon. Though I think it’s more to see Marty than anything else,” she said smiling with delight at the budding friendship growing between their children. “Can you come?”

  Ann, reluctant to take advantage of Shelly and her generous nature, tried to resist, but she was hungry, tired, and her family needed to eat. Her resolve to trust in the Lord stood firm, but her determination to do this on her own was crumbling.

  “We’d love to,” she finally answered, in resignation.

  You may be supplying our needs through the Ferguson’s, Lord. But, I don’t want them taking care of us completely. It’s not fair to burden them with all my wants and needs. They can’t adopt us too!

  “Good,” answered Shelly with relief. “How about tonight?”

  “Fine, what time?” ask Ann.

  “6 o’clock?” Shelly asked.

  “Sounds great. I’ll call Mom and let her know.”

  Later in the day, a new client entered the office, and Ann took them out to see several homes. Returning, they thanked her and left. She watched them walking away, the prospect of making money going with them.

  Around three o’clock, she realized sadly, another unproductive day gone. Better pick up Marty.

 

  The Prospect