c. 2026 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(2-26)
The Mountaineer Travel Plaza had always been a safe space for Krista Pearl. When she was battling marriage chaos at home, before her ex-husband went to jail. When her son was coming of age without a dependable father figure in the household. And when she struggled to live alone on a single income, upon being left with an empty nest. Her co-workers were friendly and supportive. Regular customers and professional drivers seemed to appreciate her candor and cheerful demeanor. Yet as her adopted friend with the garaged, Harley-Davidson chopper became known around that area, this comfortable situation shifted to something more severe.
After a busy weekend, when winter temperatures thawed slightly, a delegation of religious dignitaries visited her workplace. They were direct in criticizing her choice of companions. Along with offering strong opinions about what constituted a Christian walk of faith. This confrontation came as she was about to go outside for a moment off-the-clock.
Reverend J. Fortrell Hageschutte stood in front of their hot dog stand, which was fortified with chili, cheese, toasted buns, and various condiments. He had a burly appearance that made him visibly imposing. With a booming voice that served him well when in the pulpit at his sanctuary.
“If you’re on a break, ma’am, I’d like to discuss that biker fellow you’ve become attached to, recently...”
The hourly clerk was headed to her Jeep, for a smoke. But paused politely.
“Is that any of yer business, mister? I don’t reckon y’all actually know each other. Maybe that’s fer the better, though.”
The clergyman snorted with indignation. He did not care for her tone.
“Miss, you know what a good reputation means, especially around these parts. We like to think of ourselves as being a little bit closer to God here in West Virginia. That is something that does not happen by accident. We’ve got to be vigilant about it. And you always seemed to be one of us, until now. But there are whispers at the Taylor County Nazarene Worship Center. Loud, droning whispers that can’t be ignored! People wonder about the man you have brought to services in different congregations across our area. He does not conduct himself with the deference and care that we might expect as community leaders. His look is not one that comports with a clean, scriptural life. Furthermore, I must say that his attitude about the Bible is arrogant, and out of line! I don’t need to be lectured by anyone regarding Jesus or the Holy Father. I have a personal relationship with both of them!”
Krista smiled patiently. Her break was about to end, without a single cigarette. Yet she wanted to finish their conversation.
“Congrats on all yer success, pastor! I know plenty of people from the church come here fer coffee and donuts, gasoline or diesel fuel, and whatever else. I like to worship with y’all sometimes. Though I have attended services at other places, like with my kinfolk in Philippi...”
Hageschutte stiffened at the mention of that other group.
“THERE’S ANOTHER POINT TO BE MADE, MA’AM! I THINK THOSE INDIVIDUALS PLAY A LITTLE LOOSE WITH GOSPEL TEACHINGS! THEY’LL LET ANYBODY SIT IN THEIR PEWS. NOW, I KNOW GOD’S HOUSE IS OPEN TO ALL, BUT IT HAS TO BE WITH SOME STIPULATIONS. YOU CAN’T JUST HAVE A BUNCH OF OUTSIDERS TAKING OVER, WHEN ELDERS AND DEACONS ARE ALREADY APPROVED TO GUIDE THE FLOCK! COMING TO WORSHIP MEANS BEING SERIOUS ABOUT THE BIBLE AND ITS COMMANDMENTS! WE DON’T INTEND TO BE A SOCIAL CLUB! NOT AT ALL! WE ARE A CONFABULATION OF THE FAITHFUL! A PLATOON OF SERVANTS TO THE LORD!”
His target had to return to her duties. So, she gestured toward a big, logo clock on the far wall.
“Reverend, my oddball buddy grew up with a dad just like yerself. Brother Podmore Redman, y’all might have heard about him? An old country preacher, he called himself. Still active right until the time he was called home, in Kentucky. That wild son of his knows more about the good book than ya might imagine. Now, I know he’s covered with tattoos and road scars, and whatnot. I think even a healed-over bullet wound on his belly. That makes him attractive, in a certain way, though. There’s somethin’ about bad boys that soften a girl’s heart. But I ain’t fooled by horse poop! I know the stink of that mess. I’ve been through some hard things, too. Like raisin’ a boy pretty much on my own. He’s a Marine now, I’m proud of him! And proud of myself fer helpin’ to make it happen! But... I’m outta time fer small talk. Got to go back to work and earn my keep. Have a good day, sir. Maybe I’ll see ya at church again...”
The evangelist huffed and frowned before turning on his heel.
“If you show up again with that man on your arm, we might have a problem letting you through those doors. Keep that in mind, miss! Keep that foremost in your mind!”
A line had formed at the front counter. There were truckers waiting to pay for showers and fill-ups. Plus, local patrons with Mega-Mugs of fresh brewed caffeine. She did not look back when returning to her register.
In their parking lot, the gaggle of outraged believers circled a crew-cab pickup that carried signage for the Nazarene center. There were members of several other denominations present as well, including Methodists, Presbyterians, Baptists, and even a Lutheran group. Sunshine peeking through the clouds had brightened their spirits, and given encouragement for the protest. But now, it seemed that their effort had stalled. No one was paying attention.
Hageschutte shook his head before sliding behind the wheel of his Chevy Colorado.
“We stated our case, brothers and sisters. Maybe, for the moment, that was enough. God’s children cannot be silent, not today or tomorrow, or ever! When more challenges come, we will continue to show our faith. We will put our shoulders to the stone! We will testify for a risen Christ, and a loving creator! Amen, I say! Amen!”
The throng of religious demonstrators agreed with his declaration. A chant rose as they departed.
“AMEN! AMEN! AMEN! AMEN!”
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