The Letter - Chapter 41

I woke up around 7:30.  There was a chill in the air. I wrapped myself in my bathrobe and turned up the furnace a notch.  I walked into the kitchen and looked out the window.  Cloudy, but at least it wasn’t raining.  Coffee or tea?  It felt like a coffee morning.  I made a small pot.  While the coffee was brewing, I decided to make myself oatmeal as a treat.  I just couldn’t face a bowl of cold cereal and milk on a chilly morning like this.  I added butter, a little milk and some maple syrup to the warm cereal, poured a steaming cup of coffee and sat down to eat my breakfast. 

I considered skipping church, but knew that my absence would likely worry Beverly.  Still, it was early.  I didn’t need to start getting ready for another hour.  I finished my breakfast and walked to the front door to look for the Sunday paper.  I glanced at the front page and then pulled out the editorial section.  That reminded me that George’s editorial was due to be published in Pittsburgh’s paper today.  I considered leaving the paper and going to my computer to search for his story, but decided I’d wait till after church.  It would be nice to send him a message after I saw it. Pittsburgh is three hours ahead of the time here. I pictured George and his daughter discussing his article while enjoying a late breakfast.  Or maybe by now he’s at church, receiving compliments on the article from members of his congregation.  I found that to be a pleasant thought.  I hoped he was a church member, though I had no reason to believe he was.

I poured myself another cup of coffee and continued to read the newspaper.  There was continued conflict in the Middle East.  The North Korean dictator had made a bellicose speech threatening to build more missiles and bombs.  Locally, there was a shooting downtown – two dead and four hospitalized.  The shooter was in custody.  George, I thought, the country needs more people like you to speak out against this kind of senseless violence. 

I poured the last of the coffee into my mug and checked the clock.  Time to get ready for church.  I carried the mug of coffee into the bathroom and turned on the shower.  The hot water felt good.  I stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around myself and picked up my mug.  I finished the last few sips and carried it into my bedroom and got dressed for church.

The Gospel reading was from Matthew – Jesus preaching the Sermon on the Mount.  The passage that stuck with me was when Jesus said, ‘[L]et your light shine among others, so that they may see your good works.’  I thought about George’s article and the good work he was doing.  After the service, I met up with Beverly at coffee hour.

“Good morning, Ellie,” said Beverly, setting down her coffee and a plate of cookies.  “You need to have some of these.  They’re delish.”

“Thank you.”  I picked up one of the cookies and took a bite.

“So how are things with you and George?  Has he popped the question yet?”

“Sheesh, Beverly.  We’ve only just begun to message each other.”

Beverly started singing, “We’ve only just begun . . . to message . . . each o-other.”  She cleared her throat.  “That’s going to need a little work.”

I laughed.  “Not quite Karen Carpenter, but I’ll bet they could use you in the choir here.”

“You think they have room for a female baritone?”  Beverly dug into her purse.  “Here.  I’m returning the nasty letter that George didn’t write.  I’m pretty sure his daughter didn’t write it either.  Yes, I talked to her.  No thanks required.  Anyway, I’m at a loss as to who could have done such a thing.  I would probably have to travel to Pittsburgh to figure it out.  And as much as I enjoy traveling, I have to admit that Pittsburgh is not on my bucket list.”

“It’s actually quite nice.  So many people still have the outdated image of Pittsburgh as a smoky industrial city.”

“No matter.  I’m turning the case over to you.  Any plans for this afternoon?”

“Not really.  George got an article published in the Pittsburgh paper.  I’m going to go online when I get home to read it.”

“Really, do you know what it’s about?” 

“Yes, it’s about the gun violence across this country and the lack of political will to do anything about it. He posted the article on his blog and then submitted it to the newspaper.  So actually, I’ve already read at least a version of it.  But it will be neat to see it published by the Post-Gazette.

“Good for George.  I’ll have to look for it. The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, you say?”

“Yes, that’s it. So after I see it, I’ll probably send him a congratulatory note on Facebook.  Beyond that, I’m not sure what else I’ll do.  It’s such a dreary day.  I’ll probably curl up on the couch with some tea and try to finish Gilead.”

“The Marilynne Robinson book?”

“Yes.  I’ve really enjoyed it so far.”

“Perhaps I’ll borrow it from you when you’re finished.  Well, I’m ready to go home.  What about you?”

I nodded.  We got up, tossed our waste in the trash can and walked together to the parking lot. 

“I’ve got nothing big planned all week,” said Beverly.  “Give me a call if you’d like to do something together.”

“Will do,” I waved as we got into our cars to drive home.

I arrived back home at just past noon.  I fixed myself a bowl of soup and a half sandwich.  When I finished lunch, I decided it was time to search for George’s article.  I found it easily enough on the newspaper’s website.  I was pleased to see that the paper hadn’t done much editing.  The article was close to the way it had appeared on George’s blog.  There was a blurb following the article which said that George was a retired lawyer living in Bethel Park and gave his email address.  There also was a place where readers could write comments on the article.  I started to read some of the comments.

The first few were complimentary. ‘Good article,’  ‘Nicely written,’  ‘Let’s hope your article motivates our politicians to responsible action.’  Then they got darker.  ‘I’ll never give up my constitutional rights or my guns, despite the efforts of people like you to take them.’  And there were a few that were downright scary.  ‘Aren’t you the guy that punched someone who was supporting the second amendment?  I know where you live George.’  I shivered at some of the creepy insults some of the commenters posted.

I went to Facebook to see if George had posted anything about the article.  There was nothing – not even a link.  I thought about sending him a message, but those comments made me want to tell him my concerns.  I realized I didn’t have a phone number for George.  Then I remembered that Beverly had said she had telephoned George’s daughter.  I telephoned my friend.

“Hello Beverly?”

“Hi Ellie.  I like your friend’s article.”

“Yes.  So do I.  But did you look at the comments section below the article?  Some pretty hateful stuff.”

“Really?  I can’t say I’m surprised.  Some of those gun people are crazy.”

“That’s what worries me.  I want to call him, but I realized I don’t have his number.  I thought I might search the internet, but then I remembered you saying you had called and talked to his daughter.”

“That’s right.  I have their land line number.”

She gave it to me.  “Thanks Beverly.”

“You’re welcome.  Give me a call if you reach him.  This will be the first time you’ll actually hear each other’s voices – at least since high school.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.  Okay, I give you a call later.”  I put down my phone and took a few moments to gather my composure.  Then I dialed George’s number.