Traveling By the Tombstone Passage

By Julie Hadler

1991. Jonah knelt before the gravestone to pray. He placed his palm on the cold smooth surface, as if bestowing a blessing on his father's head. Rev. Edward Tyson, 1929-1983.

Dear Lord, please forgive me.

The edges of the stone began to blur. He blinked and squinted at the writing. The engraving was melting, a videotape rewinding. In its place stood a long-haired teenager.

"So are you joining the party, or just going to stand there?" A classmate from his 1975 algebra class said.

In 1981, Jonah interviewed for admission to the seminary, but ten years later he's settled for a job as a nonprofit administrator. Then a bizarre experience at Hemingway Cemetery makes him question where God's will ends and his will begins. Can he dare to pursue his mission again?

Fellow sojourners Roz and Will also have dreams that unraveled because of questionable choices. When Jonah realizes they have the talent but lack the right setting, he makes them a offer. But will helping them quash Jonah's last chance to achieve his goal? 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Julie Hadler
• Release date: Sep 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393579120

Julie Hadler

Julie Hadler is proud to have been raised in the Iowa City area. She now lives in Chicago with her husband and two daughters. When not writing, Julie has more passionate interests than will fit on this page. A few interests that will always remain are Christian meditation and baking!

Book preview

Traveling By the Tombstone Passage

Julie Hadler

Published by Julie Hadler, 2021.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Chapter 1. The Rev's Parents. Peoria IL, 1959

Chapter 2, Jonah, Oak Park IL. 1975

Chapter 3 Jonah. Oak Park, IL. 1975

Chapter 4   Roz. Queens, NY. 1986

Chapter 5  Roz. Queens, NY 1986

Chapter 6  Roz. Queens, New York, 1988.

Chapter 7   Roz. New York. 1989.

Chapter 8 Roz. Chicago, IL. 1993

Chapter 8  Alverna. Padua, Italy. 1976

Chapter 9  Will. Peoria IL, 1949

Chapter 10  Alverna. Chicago IL. 1985.

Chapter 11  Will. Oak Park, IL. Spring, 1979

Chapter 12   Jonah. Trinity Christian College, Chicago IL. 1980.

Chapter 13   Alverna, Oak Park, IL  1998.

Chapter 14  Will. 1954. Springfield IL

Chapter 14  Jonah. Oak Park, IL. 1983

Chapter 15  Jonah. Oak Park IL. 1980.

Chapter 18  Jonah. Elmhurst and Oak Park IL, 1988.

Chapter 19  Roz. Queens, New York. 1994.

Chapter 20  Rev/Jonah. Chicago IL, 1994. A few days later.

Chapter 21  Will. Suburban Chicago, IL. 1990.

Chapter 22   Roz. Chicago IL, 1995

Chapter 23  Alverna. Chicago IL. 1979.

Chapter 24    Roz. Hemingway Cemetery, 1995. And 1945.

Chapter 25   Roz. Manhattan, 1945.

Chapter 26   Roz. Manhattan, New York. 1945.

Chapter 27   Alverna. Near Hemingway Cemetery, Oak Park IL. 1995.

Chapter 28   Roz. Cherry Lane Theater, Manhattan. 1945.

Chapter 29    Roz's client. Oak Park IL. 1996

Chapter 29    Roz and Will. Oak Park IL. 1996.

Chapter 30   Roz. Ida B. Wells Clinic, Oak Park IL. 1996

Chapter 31    Alli and Jonah. Oak Park IL 1996

Chapter 32   Will and Jonah. Benningan's Restaurant, Oak Park IL. 1996

Chapter 33    Will and Alli. 1996.

Chapter 36.   Jonah. Chicago IL. 1995.

Chapter 38   Alli. Chicago IL . 1995.

Chapter 39   Jonah. Oak Park, IL. 1995.

Chapter 40  Jonah. The Chicago Bible Institute. 1995.

Chapter 41  Jonah. Chicago Bible Institute, 1995.

Chapter 42  Jonah. Hemingway Cemetery. 1995.

Chapter 42  Roz. Chicago, 1994.

Chapter 43   Alli. Atlantic Ocean. 2012.

Chapter 44  Alli. Oak Park, IL 1995.

Chapter 45  Will. New Hampshire and Illinois, 1968 and 1995.

Chapter 46  Jonah, Oak Park, 1995.

Chapter 47   Alli. Queens, New York. 1994.

Chapter 48  Will. Oak Park IL. 1995.

Chapter 49  Jonah. Oak Park IL. September 1995.

Epilogue. Chapel, Oak Park Christian Reformed Seminary. 1997.

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Chapter 1. The Rev's Parents. Peoria IL, 1959

No, Ed, I don't like Lazarus, said Pastor Tyson's wife Meredith, putting down the pancake turner.

But we agreed we want a biblical name, honey. Just think of the symbolism—raised from the dead and given a second chance!

She heaved her bulky stomach into a kitchen chair. It's just too...strange for me. Remember how we were also thinking 'Peter'—he got another opportunity too. And what he did with it! Sipping her orange juice, she gazed at the formica-and-chrome table her parents had passed along to them.

Yeah, but 'Peter' is overused, he said, frowning. A child needs a name that honors their individuality. "

She got up and brought him a stack of pancakes. The baby could be a girl. Remember, you agreed on 'Tamara' for a girl. He smiled and poured syrup on the fiesta ware plate, then topped it with a pancake.

Yes, we're on the same page for a girl's name. But we don't have one for a boy. Lemme see...

The Bible was a permanent fixture on their table, and he reached for it. In spite of not being perfect, many people served God and made a difference. The pastor bent his head over the open book. 'David?' Nah, too common, like 'Peter.' How about 'Moses?'

With lips pursed towards one side of her face, she gave a slight head shake. Keep skimming.

He passed over Isaiah and Jeremiah, deeming them too...unusual? Ed passed through the minor prophets the Old Testament: Joel, Amos, Obadiah, Jonah. He paused and laid the Bible down. Taking a bite of her flapjack, she stared at him.

What? Or should I ask 'who?'" she quipped.

What do you think of 'Jonah?' God tells him to go and beg the people to repent, but he's too afraid. He runs away, but God leads him to change his mind, and he goes forward to complete his mission.

Manicured fingernails drummed on the table. He was brave, after that 'big fish' trauma. 'Jonah.' I like it.

Doing what the Lord called him to do, after a wake-up call. Kind of reminds me of myself. He chuckled and closed the Bible with a soft thud. People are familiar with the name, so although it's not common, it won't seem too weird, he gestured. His hand landed on her wrist, caressing it.

Fingers twined to together, they smiled at each other. Jonah it is.

Chapter 2, Jonah, Oak Park IL. 1975

I love my father, I do. But his narrow neckties, and the way he walks down the streets of Oak Park, greeting people is embarrassing sometimes. He knows our neighbors, his congregation members, and everyone in between. And he forgets names only once in a while.

Would it kill him to trash some of his old pants and buy a few pairs of bell-bottoms? Wearing jeans would be too much, but he could make a little effort with some decent threads. Still, Dad can be cool. We talk about stuff that most guys' parents wouldn't touch with the ten-foot pole. Last night's conversation hadn't been as painful as it could have been. He had broached the subject the evening before, while we walked Darlin, my little schnauzer.

Why'd you come with us tonight?

So, Dave's having a party this weekend, huh? he said.

The neighborhood lay quiet, the September air the same temperature on the porch of our bungalow as inside the house.

Mom told you she said I could go, right?"

Of course she told me, he said with a grin. Remember, we are spies, out to monitor every second of your existence. You only have to do one thing to win this privilege: one conversation with your ancient dad, right now.

Okay. Sock it to me.

Remember when you were thirteen, and we first allowed you to stay home alone while Mom and I went out for an hour or two? And we talked about earning our trust by following the rules while we were out?

Sure. And I did, and everything's been great.

Dad nodded and stepped over a cracked portion of the sidewalk; a tiny tectonic plate risen above the surrounding concrete. Staying alone for longer and longer amounts of time is an earned privilege, and you've done well. This upcoming party is a lot like that.

He didn't have to spell it out. So, this is the same kind of test. If I pass, we're cool.

That's the basic idea. Dad slowed his pace, as if the gravity of his words added weight to his body. The rules are to meant to keep you safe.

This was going to take longer than expected. Maybe if I cut Darlin's walk short, he'd shorten his sermon?

Being clear about our expectations is important. I don't think you've been to a big party like this before.

What do you mean, 'a big party'? Stopping in my tracks, I yanked Darlin's leash and made her whimper in protest.

My informant, your mother, says Dave's invited most of the sophomore class, isn't that right?

My mouth squirmed to the side. Yeah, okay. But he just got his driver's license—you gotta get your kicks, you know.

Yes, I understand. Getting my license was memorable too. Here's my concerns. He raised a hand to tick off reasons one by one. "I know Dave's parents will be there. But I also know that kids are resourceful. So, it's possible that some booze or marijuana could find their way into their house. Agreed?"

Yeah, I guess. Was I going to lose this debate before it began?

Dad stepped off once more down the sidewalk, and I matched his pace. You've tried beer, and the Chablis we serve at holidays, and I never got the impression you loved it, he said, implying the question.

Not really. How could I tell from the one-ounce glass you gave me?

Dad's sturdy chin bobbed up and down, closing that subject.

Then there's marijuana. Why do you think we don't want you to try it, besides the fact that it's illegal?

Because you think I'd turn into some kind of space case, I deadpanned.

As if considering some pagan tribal dialect, Dad lifted his eyebrows.

Like out of touch with reality? Yes, from what I understand, that can happen. Regular use can also cause brain damage. The point is, it's illegal, and there are no known benefits to using it. If you are offered booze or marijuana, I want you to call us. We will pick you up, whenever or wherever. Understood?

Nodding and shrugging was all I was going to give him.

So I'm curious, I'm not stupid.

Chapter 3 Jonah. Oak Park, IL. 1975

Permission to go to Dave's was a reprieve; a temporary pass. Life as a PK (pastor's kid) generally meant having a reputation of angel or devil imposed on you. I'm neither, of course. Sometimes I'd been excluded from parties based on this unfair image. But Dave didn't listen to all that; we'd been, if not best friends, allies since fifth grade.

Ironic, that was the word for Dad's qualms. Dave's mom and dad were as square as they came, greeting everybody and even dancing a little. A few times we'd tried to lead them astray by impersonating his grandmother over the phone, pleading for help with an overflowing toilet. But we couldn't pull it off.

Oh well. There would be plenty of pizza, Dave would play some records he'd just bought, and maybe some seniors would even show up.

I got there around nine, lugging a big bag of Fritos and six-pack of Coca-Cola. The chips went into a large plastic bowl and Dave's Mom led me down the shag-carpeted stairs to the rec room in the basement. The Mamas and the Papas sang about California Dreamin' on the hi-fi, and I picked up a pool cue and greeted my buddies. So far, the room's noise didn't prevent conversation.

What's happening?

Everything, man, said Dave. Want some pizza?

Next to the table, several girls in knee-length vinyl boots and flared mini-skirts swayed to the music. One wore a medallion that swung like a pendulum. Their dates held them around the waist protectively.

Billiards are more fun than dancing in my book, so I waited my turn at the outskirts of the table, swigging my Coke. As the night advanced, so did my game. I won three games and even ten dollars from an overconfident freshman who'd tagged along to the party with his sister.

The music crested at about 11:30 with Twist and Shout and then Dave put on the mellow make out sounds. Couples began dragging beanbag chairs into dark corners and getting to know each other better. I stopped hustling games and sat down with a paper plate of pizza. Before I could finish my slice, someone emerged carrying pans of brownies.

No frosting on these two 9-13 rectangles of chocolaty goodness. I eyed them, curious rather than hungry. A student a year or two older than Dave and I slapped the brownies down on the card table with the chips and fondue and began to saw at them with a plastic knife.

Bake those yourself? I said, sidling up to the stranger. He wore a costume few could pull off; black biker jacket, loose gauze tunic, and hobnail boots. Extra tough-guy points for the metal studs on his headband. The bearded guy's eyes didn't immediately focus on me. Instead, pale blue irises fixed on the wooden paneling behind him. Help yourself, I think you need one. Don't be uptight, man.

Were those just brownies, or were they Brownies, that could transport me to La-La land?

He reminded me of Bigfoot. How could I stall him? Hey, I'm Jonah. Are you a friend of Dave's?

The big guy had finished cutting them. Extracting one from the pan, he began to eat it out of his mammoth hand.

Yeah, I guess. I went to school with his brother Jack, he said, cleaning his hand with his tongue. Finger lickin' good!

Calling Dad would be so square. I backed away, nerves firing away in my head.

If I left right away, I wouldn't have to call.

Taking a couple of steps back, I bumped into Dave; who was giggling.

The chaperon is taking charge. Jack said he'd make sure the party didn't bomb. You gotta try the brownies. They make the girls a lot more interesting.

I rolled my eyes. How would someone bombed like you know?

He shooed me away like an insect. Calm down, man. Here, I got you another Coke.

Maybe I should just relax. Thanks, man.

Sometime after midnight I couldn't see straight anymore. Dizzy, I scavenged the room for an empty bean bag. When a spaced-out acquaintance rolled off one, I seized the opportunity and eased into it. The room pulsed with color; prismatic images sharpened and faded. I struggled to focus on objects in front of me.

My Coke can smelled strange. After sitting about ten minutes, the dizziness seemed to go away. I got up and strode over to this pretty blonde who seemed familiar; maybe from algebra class.

Something must have been in my drink; I feel invincible.

Grasping her hand, I recited a poem I made up on the spot. She told me to wait right there, she wanted her girlfriend to hear my far-out verse. Too bad for me, she didn't come back.

Whatever was in my Coke, I wanted more.

I went to the cooler, grabbed another can, pulled the tab off, and took a swig.

Need something for that Coke? said Bigfoot.

There was no hesitating this time. What I had before did it for me. Hit me again.

Bigfoot took a silver flask out of his hip pocket. My brain meandered into a curious thought. Had he been doctoring my drinks all night? How many Cokes had I had? Three, or four? But I was floating somewhere above the house by now, and I didn't want to come down yet.

Bigfoot smiled and poured something into my Coke.

Bottoms up, man!

And that was exactly the way Dave's parents found me, lying on their shag carpet in their living room the next morning.

Chapter 4   Roz. Queens, NY. 1986

––––––––

Halls-Mentholypus wrappers littered my comforter, reminding me why I felt so nervous. Only once in a blue moon did I wake up before the WXXT deejay prodded me.

Stretching out my arms, I loosened tight joints, then pulled on a pair of leggings and topped it with a ruffly mini-skirt and cropped tee. I scooted down the hall to the bathroom. Would people be able to tell how lousy I felt just by looking? So far, my curly perm had held up okay; I could skip shampooing until before the performance. That would give me more time to gargle thoroughly.

My throat ached; at the worst possible time! I closed the door to muffle the sound. Mom would want a health status report.

Rosi—do you want any eggs this morning? She called from the kitchen.

No thanks, Ma.

Skipping down the stairs as usual wasn't going to happen.

How's our Eliza this morning? Mom turned back to the counter, putting them back into the carton.

Better, Ma.

My mother held up a slice of bread. I nodded.

Just toast? Are you sure that'll hold you until lunch? I wagged my head yes. She inserted it into the slot and suddenly turned to face me. Wait a minute. Just the nodding. Your throat still hurts, doesn't it? She breezed over, laying her hand on my forehead.

We locked eyes, like MTV stars desperately trying to