Saint Francis in the Garden: The Conclusion to the Three-Part Michael Forester Series

By Frank S. Johnson

Saint Francis in the Garden, the third book of the Michael Forester series, brings full circle the Flat Creek boys gift that has in the past provided both insight and despair. Religious intolerance and corporate greed in the heartland provide the catalyst. His possession of the sight influences his protection of a virtually unknown couple in need, while his kindly nature and also his rather brutal tendencies serve them well. His waking dreams of future dangers weave intrigue to storm-like intensity thereby reminding us that avoidance of risk by this Kelly is not an option. Trouble finds you. It always has, a friend tells him. Again stretched to his physical and mental limits among the pristine lakes of the North Country, the last of the Barry County Kellys struggles while clashing head-on with death on Norway Island.

The author has spent the better part of thirty years teaching science in rural Ozark schools. Firefighting in the Northwest, serving as policeman in the army, and extensive traveling in his youth provided valued experiences. During his twentieth year a desire to write was sparked by two contemplative months as a fire lookout on an isolated peak above a wild river in Idaho. Different episodes in Europe provided opportunities to travel via train, bicycle, and his thumb from Athens to Amsterdam. Presently, he resides with his wife on a hundred acre farm where raising cattle and wine grapes have now taken the place of raising children. Five books later he maintains his quest to write novel tales for those of noble heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 3, 2013
• ISBN: 9781475992977

Frank S. Johnson

The author has spent the better part of thirty years teaching science in rural Ozark schools. Firefighting in the Northwest, serving as a policeman in the army, and extensive traveling in his youth provided valued experiences. During his twentieth year a desire to write was sparked by two contemplative months as a fire lookout on an isolated peak above a wild river in Idaho. Different episodes in Europe provided opportunities to travel via train, bicycle, and his thumb from Athens to Amsterdam. Presently, he resides with his wife on a hundred acre farm where raising cattle and wine grapes have now taken the place of raising children. Five books later he maintains his quest to write novel tales for those of noble heart. The author has recently been honored as a finalist in the William Faulkner Literary Contest and on the short list with the Chanticleer Literary Contest.

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Copyright © 2013 by Frank S. Johnson.

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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4759-9296-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-9297-7 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013909652

iUniverse rev. date: 06/28/2013

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Thank you

Books are seldom the sole product of the author’s efforts. I wish to thank those who have sparked my motivation to conclude this series which began from a few pages passionately scribbled down while on a storm-tossed island in Lake Superior ten years ago.

To Angela, Lewis, James A., Karen, and especially Theresa and Susan, thank you. Your patience with my ramblings has helped steer me toward better storytelling.

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Education’s greatest contribution is tolerance.

. . . Helen Keller

An Important Note

Saint Francis in the Garden is the last of a three-part series totaling nearly a thousand pages. The first book, Good Fortune Sweet Journeys, introduces the reader to Michael Forester, a rural Missouri school teacher with a grand dose of ‘the Irish’ in his bloodline. His inherited curse of waking dreams or fey shapes his life despite his stubborn desire to ignore it. The second book in the series, Recapturing Lisdoonvarna, follows Michael’s ancestors from Ireland to New York City and finally to the south of Missouri in the 1860’s. I dive right into the last book, Saint Francis in the Garden, and provide no detailed synopsis of either of the first two books. I’m leaving the importance of reading the initial 700 pages of the series to you. I’m assured that the journeys of Michael Forester’s family in their hundred and fifty-year saga will deliver nothing less than pleasurable entertainment while you’re tucked away warm and cozy in your favorite chair by the fire.

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CHAPTER 1

Freedom with a Price

JAKE KOLL, A YOUNG MAN on a mission, danced his sleek kayak with repeated precision around granite boulders time and time again. The rocks seemed to leap up to him from the raging white capped stream. Today, there would be no stopping to catch a breath as the late April flood carried him downstream with a vengeance.

Spectators with differing agendas cheered from the water’s edge. A blur to him their shouted messages were clear. They pressed him to go faster despite the real dangers in capsizing. A mantle of hard-earned grace usually followed him weekend after weekend through the roaring springtime rapids of Missouri’s Saint Francis River. And with each run, a joy filled him that he could not describe. All around but unseen to the absorbed and frantically paddling Jake, the new green of sycamores and spindly willows pierced the shoreline while also shading onlookers from the afternoon’s warming sun.

Muscles tensed for the next encounter with new rapids, but focused he remained. His composure was enviable. He felt empowered. A wealth of free-spirited energy ran through him as his lightweight craft negotiated whitewater of increasing difficulty on the raging stream. High on adrenaline, he lived for such days as this. The sun on the water and the good run yesterday ran through his mind while his friends from Saint Louis University lined the shore screaming. Their encouragement pushed him to a higher level while his senses heightened. The scent of spring filled the air.

Jake had no doubt that today’s run on this Class IV river would be one to remember. He hoped his new friend, Valerie, was seeing him in his prime. Twenty-five, oh, to be twenty-five years-old forever!

Jake’s remarkably short, high-tech craft made it through another obstacle-laden rapid and then another. Then around a bend and on to still another challenge, his boat surged out of control in the frothing waters despite his furious paddling. A rock rushed at him. Instinctively, he attempted a correction. His positioning was inches off. With no time to maneuver, his sleek craft careened off one boulder and flipped. His shoulder and head plowed the stony bottom.

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So? Mark offered with a smug look to his dripping wet friend. He turned to Valerie and then back to Jake. Hey, buddy, you’re not supposed to dredge the bottom with your head!

Jake smiled his friend’s way while he unstrapped and then studied the helmet. Deep, new scratches covered the top and sides. His neck was strained. The right side of the helmet’s hard plastic was badly damaged. He shook his shoulder. Nothing broken, he decided, but the aching had already begun.

Jacob Koll, you might consider avoiding submerged trees! The rocks you can probably survive. Next time you won’t be so lucky with those branches. Mark was done, but understood his words would have little effect on his exhilarated and very stubborn roommate.

All the while, Jake smiled at a girl he had only recently met. Valerie stood anxiously on the water’s edge doing her best to smile back. Slim, bright-eyed, but with only strands of blonde hair shining in the sun, she stood out from the other young women on the shore. Besides her brilliantly colored head scarf, Valerie was not scantily clad in a colorful bikini with a towel around her waist as were the majority of co-eds but in loose cut jeans and a long sleeve blouse. However, she had been screaming with excitement for her adventurous new friend like all everyone else. Jake’s ride down the river had scared her. She finally yelled what she felt she had to say, Jake, you didn’t tell me it would be so rough!

It’s okay, he offered. The next run will be easier.

The next run! Her head shook in confusion while her words came out drained and unsympathetic. Are you serious?

Tall and broad-shouldered with auburn sun-bleached hair and blue eyes that attracted so many young women, Mark Wilkinson looked with a growing smile first to Jake’s new lady friend then back to his companion from the last three years at Saint Louis University. When he spoke, exasperation mixed with concern in his tone. "Don’t push it so hard, mi amigo. You may come in first place, but you might also become, shall we say, fish food." Any tension in Mark quickly subsided. Inside, he was truly envious of Jake’s devil-may-care attitude.

Cautiously Mark stepped ankle-deep into the clear river. Guys, this water is freezing!

He established a steady foothold and then used his strong hands to grasp the cockpit’s curved edge. To him the boat was like a feather in the wind. He watched in admiration as his dark-haired and shorter friend performed the acrobatic trick of gracefully stepping out. While Jake pulled his boat on shore and then walked to Valerie and the dry towel she offered, Mark wondered about both his friend and his new sweetheart. Jake Koll was a natural with a kayak paddle in hand, the extreme. And yet, despite being possibly the best on the Saint Francis, Mark worried how far Jake would allow his racing fever to consume him. Would Jake’s recklessness scare away the one girl Mark hoped his friend might have the good sense to keep?

CHAPTER 2

S’Mores by Starlight

CAMPING ON THE RIVER THAT evening, Mark, Jake, and Valerie watched the river mist rise. An early spring chill descended on the valley while Jake and Valerie sat arm-in-arm. Jake’s sleeping bag draped around the couple. Both watched a frustrated Mark busily fussing over a hastily built fire. Wood gathered on the gravel bar under a great spreading sycamore billowed up choking smoke, glowing airborne embers, yet regretfully, only sporadic flickers of flame.

Jake, Valerie quietly chided her new friend, you were too wild on the river, today. I’m not so sure I’m looking for a friend who so easily throws caution to the wind.

Her words set Jake back. However, he noticed that she didn’t scorn his warmth or the sleeping bag over her shoulders that held back the nippy river air.

Valerie added in a softer tone, You probably won’t want to take me camping again. I tell people what I think, especially people I’m learning to care about.

Jake listened, completely tuned in to his new friend. Of Valerie’s attributes, this was one of her best. She was unafraid to do or say the right thing. At his fraternity party her looks didn’t catch him at first. It was her sensible thinking. She didn’t smoke or drink, but there were other qualities that he noticed as the evening digressed. When Val decided to leave after a rude outburst from more than one fraternity brother, Jake was able to stop her at the front porch and convince her to stay and talk. They sat on the stairs, the loud party forgotten, while they shared stories until midnight. Jake decided that night. Valerie was special and someone to get to know better.

Yeah, you’re right, Jake conceded honestly to the pretty girl snuggled in against his shoulder. He understood the impossibility of luring her into his sleeping bag for the night as he had many other girls, and that was okay.

On his knees with his face low to the ground, Mark blew with little effect on the glowing coals of the fire. From his compromising position he suddenly howled out in disbelief, Well, Jake, that’s a first!

Oh, cool it, Mark! I’m not that conceited.

Well, at least not tonight, his best friend said, while throwing a big smile toward Valerie. It reached her despite the cloud of smoke between them. He knew she liked him, too.

After more diligent efforts on Mark’s part, the fire acquired a life of its own and began to pop, crack, and blaze brightly. Turkey brats sizzled on the grill, and the tea pot began to steam. The two friends thought it best to leave the beer at home and sipped at their water bottles. Valerie waited for hot tea. Conversation turned mellower once the warmth from the fire lured them closer.

Jake tossed flippant words out to both friends while hoping for a smile. It’s been a beautiful day, guys, don’t you think, barring me nearly killing myself?

Valerie frowned but for a moment before attempting to distract both young men by pointing to a night sky full of brilliant stars. Mark and Jake turned toward her and let their eyes follow slim feminine fingers directing them to look up.

Do you guys know much about the stars? My mother and aunt have taught me a lot. She added, Taking astronomy as a freshman didn’t hurt either.

Sure, tell us, Jake said. I don’t remember much about the constellations, well, since Boy Scouts.

First we need to get away from the fire. Let’s walk down to the river bank. With that said the trio strolled the length of the nearly flat gravel bar that reached into the middle of the stream. Valerie pointed out the Big Dipper bright in a dark sky, but supplied much more information. The pointer stars do point to the Little Dipper. The binary stars in the handle are Altar and Mizar. The oddity of the Native American concept of the same constellation is extraordinary, don’t you think?

The boys sent her puzzled looks.

"Do you guys realize that Ursa Major means big bear in Latin?" Both young men nodded unimpressed. They had expected more. Both had been scouts in junior high but in different towns. Mark had earned merit badges in the basement of the First Baptist Church, and Jake, the Jewish Community Building just outside the Jewish temple.

What’s odd, though, Valerie continued, "is that native people in Asia and America think of it as a bear. The English of course call it the Plough for good reason. It looks like one."

So what do the people of Islam call it? Jake asked with playful sarcasm.

Valerie stared her friend down before she spoke. How would I know, Jake? I’m an American just like you. That would be like me asking you what American Jews call it or American Baptists.

Jake was floored and for a few moments had nothing. Then to his credit he offered, I’m sorry. That was stupid.

Well then, let’s forget it and move on.

All the while Mark watched Valerie with admiration. For his best friend to have found such an intelligent, lovely woman was possibly the luckiest thing he had ever done. Mark would have fun all next week informing Jake about constellations known only to his American Baptist ancestors.

So, Jake backtracked while trying to save face and also to solve the problem, the oddity is that ten thousand miles away people name a group of stars the same thing. Interesting! I wonder how that happened.

Mark jumped in quickly with his own hypothesis. Don’t you see? Where do scientists think Native Americans originated? Asia is the answer. So, Val’s mystery isn’t so mysterious after all.

Mark, you’re probably right, Valerie said with genuine enthusiasm. That’s exactly the answer my astronomy professor gave the class.

It’s a lovely night, Jake politely prodded the light-haired girl so herself and intent on lecturing. With sincerity he asked, What else can you teach us?

Well, if you looked there, straight above us, that bright star is Vega. Below it is a small parallelogram of four dimmer stars. Can you make… them out? They could, but a loud splash upstream interrupted Valerie mid-sentence.

What was that? In the dark she could barely see their faces but was sure they were smiling.

So, what was it? she asked wary of anything the duo might say next.

Jake began but Mark broke in, I could lie as Jake is surely planning, but I feel it necessary to tell you the truth. Jake would have frightened you with a horror story.

Go on? Valerie prompted.

Mark evaluated Valerie first with a smile and then Jake. He explained, On this river there’s a lot of wildlife, Val. What we all heard was a beaver slap. They slap their tails and dive into the water. They’re telling us they live here and go away.

She scowled at Jake, but he probably couldn’t see. Thank you, Mark. As she spoke, another loud slap occurred even closer. Where did you learn that?

Remember, Val, Mark replied, I’m pretty much a country boy at heart. Just ignore the beavers and finish your stellar story about the stars. He hoped his pun would conjure a groan if not a real laugh. Neither occurred.

She pointed with her flashlight, "Below Vega is Denab, the brightest star in the constellation, Cygnus or The Swan. Or if you want to use the Roman name, you would call it the huntress, Diana."

While following Valerie’s arm as she pointed at the constellation, Jake’s mind focused not on the stars but on the young woman before him. His mind swirled back to when he first met her at the fraternity party. Their conversation on the front porch steps had indeed turned stellar and provided a poignant display of both their personalities, the little points they disagreed upon and then so quickly to the many that they shared. All of this amazed Jake at first, because they had been raised by conservative families, in the confines of very different religious philosophies while separated by no more than two miles in a thriving metropolitan city. Long before their in-depth conversation ended, Jake shuddered at the thought of walking Valerie home and finishing off the night. He had no desire to relinquish the young woman to her mother’s house or to anyone. To finalize such a dream-like, soulful evening would be a blunder on the indisputable grounds that their time together had simply been so special. From practical experience Jake knew that spellbinding evenings would unlikely be repeated.

He remembered being drawn immediately to someone much more the same than different. He had almost finished law school and Valerie had begun her post graduate medical studies. She was a thinker with whom he was pleased to find shared common values, ambitions, and amazing tolerance for other people different than herself. That she was a practicing Muslim and he was a semi-practicing Jew was addressed but not judged.

The crackling of the fire caught his attention. Back here and now on this gravel bar on the night-fallen Saint Francis River, he heard her ask, Who coined the phrase, education’s greatest contribution is tolerance?

Baffled, Jake replied, I don’t know. Maybe Martin Luther King, Oliver Wendell Holmes, or JFK. What do you think, Mark? But Mark was speechless by the fire.

Jake appraised Valerie’s appreciative smile and its lack of condescension. When she answered, Actually it was Helen Keller, Valerie Ohamara rose to a still higher level of his respect.

Wow! Mark let out from his cross-legged position. Helen Keller! Cool. If given another guess, I would have guessed Gandhi.

Valerie listened and appreciated the sensitivity of the two young men so close on the gravel bar and beginning to be so close to her heart. Earlier that evening, she had overheard Mark joking with Jake around the fire. Failing to woo her properly would be a travesty. Should you fail, my friend then I will die trying to win her myself.

She had continued her clandestine eavesdropping in the shadows. The First Baptist Church of West River, Missouri and Valerie’s mosque in Saint Louis, Jake shot back, are opposites don’t you think, old buddy?

Then Valerie heard Mark counter, No, Jacob Koll, alias Jake the dope, this Missouri boy would throw it all away to be with Valerie. We, all three of us, are so remarkably the same, and clearly on the same early important pages as far as religion is concerned if only the first few. Treat her right, or I will forever be waiting for your misstep. Although she felt guilty for spying, Valerie had taken to heart every flattering word and Mark’s religious wisdom.

A little later, she was again lecturing Mark on stellar magnitude versus brightness. Jake watched, studying her every word and gesture. Was it that she didn’t look as if she were Muslim that attracted him? Her long blonde hair was a far cry from the curly black hair like his own that one might expect. Half Romanian and half Serb, he remembered her telling him that first night but one hundred percent American like himself. He could see that.

While treasuring Valerie’s pleasing image by the soft lights of the campfire and lost to his other recent and shallow gallivanting with other young women on campus, Jake heard Mark holler out, And now the finale! We’ve marshmallows, graham crackers, and Hershey Baahs! Then continuing his carnival barker’s pizzazz, Ya’ll know what that means!

Soon, daubs of puffed sugar on sticks surrounded the fire. While Jake twirled his blackening blob, he watched the others strive to attain golden-brown perfection. Jake’s flaming globe came out of the fire just to his taste, charcoaled.

He burned his fingers layering the S’More properly, while his thoughts moved to both his father, Jacob Koll, Senior, orthodox Jew, zealot of the faith and then Valerie’s mother, Valeriaka Ohamara, a moderate, clear-thinking widow who just happened to be Muslim. Several weeks before, he had become aware that his father and her mother were similar in ways no one would suspect. Both had emigrated from Europe after World War II. Jake’s father had come over as a ten-year-old and Valeriaka as a toddler. Both had either first hand or second hand accounts of the destruction and horrors of those terrible times in the early 1940’s.

Valerie’s long fingers offered a gooey, sugary S’More and rechanneled Jake’s pensive mood to the present. Thanks, he said as he savored his treat and the crisp autumn night. She had grown lovelier to him each day, each hour. Jake looked into her bright eyes. The sticky goop on her chin only made her more attractive. He laughed, thinking that ‘pretty’ had always helped, although Jake had understood from the beginning. Valerie was much more than pretty.

Their deep conversation continued until the wee hours under the great expanse of a starlit sky. Then all three fell exhausted into their respective bedding, sleeping fitfully but warm on the hard gravel bar.

At dawn, each sat up in their cozy cocoons and watched the others shake off the heavy dew. The fresh smells, the sounds of birds, and the chilly air filled their waking. Tomorrow was Monday, Jake remembered, and all too soon the three would be so intensely immersed in studies that this special weekend would quickly be far away and lost in time. Even so, he gazed with childlike delight at the mystic river so near his feet. The water bubbled and swirled with hypnotizing effect, and yet even more so downstream. There, he attempted the impossible with his digital camera, to capture the moment as the morning mist rose over sun-dappled rapids.

To his side he noticed Valerie still in her sleeping bag but kneeling toward the east and praying. He silently prayed, too, but his spiritual quest dealt mostly with his relationship with Valerie and not allowing his rashness or stupidity to ruin his chances.

CHAPTER 3

Fearsome Threesome

A WEEK LATER A PLEASANT fall evening found the three again comfortably together. Valerie’s lawn blanket lay on the sweet smelling grass in Tower Grove Park. They had positioned themselves pointing inward with heads together, eyes up to the night sky. Their figures were a triad of spokes on a wheel, closer as friends than most people could ever hope.

Their talk went from stars to school then toward what was happening in the world. Valerie explained her ambitions in medical school that would all too soon be complete. Internship remained. Jake listened in admiration and then described his future to impress her. Too soon, he was disappointed.

Jake, Valerie said, "you could do a lot better than being a lawyer. So many lawyers are simply tools, part of the problem. After a while, you’ll get bored and run for political office. Becoming a tool of the