Inn-By-The Bye Stories - 20

By William Flewelling

In an endeavor to find a fresh way into the scriptural text upon which I would be preaching, I began to develop an imaginary world populated primarily by wee folk. I found that they - the characters I developed and the way that they evolved in m mind and on the page - served me well as a consideration of how I sensed things happening in the scriptural text at hand. I want to make these stories and the world they represent newly available, and so I bring them to book form, fifty stories at a time.

The cover drawing is done by Eve Sullivan, the author's granddaughter.

The drawing is the artist's conception of Missus Carney, standing in the dining room of the Inn-by-the-Bye.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9781728359458

William Flewelling

I am a retired minister from the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) living in central Illinois. Led by a request from Mildred Corwin of Manua OH when I arrived there in 1976, I long developed and led a series of bible studies there and in LaPorte IN and New Martinsville WV. These studies proved to be very feeding to me in my pastoral work and won a certain degree of following in my congregations. My first study was on 1 Peter, chosen because I knew almost nothing about the book. I now live quietly in retirement with my wife of 54 years, a pair of dogs and several cats.

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© 2020 William Flewelling. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  04/17/2020

ISBN: 978-1-7283-5946-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-5945-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020907077

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Also By This Author

Poetry

Time Grown Lively

From My Corner Seat

Enticing My Delight

The Arthur Poems

From Recurrent Yesterdays

In Silhouette

To Silent Disappearance

Teasing The Soul

Allowing The Heart To Contemplate

As Lace Along The Wood

To Trace Familiarity

The Matt Poems

Elaborating Life

The Buoyancy Of Unsuspected Joy

To Haunt The Clever Sheer Of Grace

The Christmas Poems

Life Is Employed

Adrift In Seas Of Strangeness

Composure In Constraint

The Ash Wind Sigh

Unplanned Obsolescence

Savored Once And Once Again

The Simple Curvature Of Words

Weave Tapestries Of Naught At All

Inn-by-the-Bye Stories

vols. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8,

9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16

17, 18, 19

Devotional

Some Reflective Prayers

Reflective Prayers: A Second Collection

A Third Collection Of Reflective Prayers

For Your Quiet Meditation

A Fourth Collection Of Reflective Prayers

Cantica Sacra

A Fifth Collection Of Reflective Prayers

A Sixth Collection Of Reflective Prayers

A Second For Your Quiet Meditation

A Second Cantica Sacra

Directions Of A Pastoral Lifetime

Part I: Pastoral Notes, Letters To Anna, Occasional Pamphlets

Part II: Psalm Meditations, Regula Vitae

Part III: Elders’ Studies

Part IV: Studies

Part V: The Song Of Songs: An Attraction

Exegetical Works

From The Catholic Epistles: Bible Studies

Paul’s Letter To The Romans: A Bible Study

The Book Of Hebrews: A Bible Study

Letters Pauline And Pastoral: Bible Studies

The First Letter of Paul To The Corinthians: A Bible Study

The Gospel According To Luke 1:1 Through 9:50: A Bible Study

The Gospel According To Luke 9:51 Through 19:27: A Bible Study

The Gospel According To Luke 19:28 Through 24:53: A Bible Study

all published by AuthorHouse.com

Contents

Foreword

CMLI

CMLII

CMLIII

CMLIV

CMLV

CMLVI

CMLVII

CMLVIII

CMLIX

CMLX

CMLXI

CMLXII

CMXLIII

CMLXIV

CMLXV

CMLXVI

CMLXVII

CMLXVIII

CMXIX

0CMLXX

CMLXXI

CMLXXII

CMLXXIII

CMLXXIV

CMLXXV

CMLXXVI

CMLXXVII

CMLXXVIII

CMLXXIX

CMLXXX

CMLXXXI

CMLXXXII

CMLXXXIII

CMLXXXIV

CMLXXXV

CMLXXXVI

CMLXXXVII

CMLXXXVIII

CMLXXXIX

CMXC

CMXCI

CMXCII

CMXCIII

CMXCIV

CMXCV

CMXCVI

CMXCVII

CMXCVIII

CMXCIX

M

Appendix: Texts For Stories

About the Author

Foreword

Halfway through the prior set of these stories – Inn-by-the-Bye Stories – 19 – we finished up twenty years of these reflections. Although I had answered after the production of VI among these stories that I had no idea how many chapters would be involved, by this time, I was well into the habit and the rhythm of writing the stories, always serving me as surprises over the texts I would be preaching on the next Sunday or, occasionally, an extra service. Being 55 at the time this sequence began, I may have thought, if I thought at all, that the series would unroll for another decade or so. I had no reason to imagine breaking out of the rhythms and the flow that had come to identify my life in ministry.

Indeed, all these stories, running in to May of 2002, clear to M, the Roman Numeral for 1000, were the product of that rhythm and process that had come to flow so regularly in my thought and devotion. I knew that there were readers who were frustrated trying to know the details of the map of Hyperbia. I knew as well that pieces of that map had been more or less detailed over the years, but that there were gaps and areas left to hand waving imprecision. I could only hope that readers would come along who would find the imprecision inviting their imagination to create, in whatever state of fog, the connections insofar as they were of any importance to the stories and to the experience of the land of Hyperbia.

The places made a setting for the people. And the people, the wee folk of Hyperbia in all its sundry parts, were the ones that made the stories work. I hope my readers will discover, as one time readers may have done before, that the people invite your imaginative share in their occasions and their happenings together.

I will often, having retyped and then proofread and edited the story, drop down to the list of texts in the Appendix and note what it was that lay behind the writing of the story. By this time in my life, most of the texts are recalled, at least in outline, by noting them. Some, however, require me to take a quick gander in the Bible for a reminder. Most often, it comes then to a nod and a smile before I move along to the next story in the line.

I hope you, too, find them of surprise and intrigue. Enjoy!

William Flewelling

CMLI

The front door of the Inn-by-the-Bye flew open; Thyruid, surprised, turned from his polishing work and gazed across the dining room into the Foyer, toward the flung-open door. Breathlessly rushing in, leaving the door loose and open and giving it no mined, Walter lunged his way across the Foyer, leaping over the steps down, sliding awkwardly to a rumpled stop in front of Thyruid.

Wide eyed and in a sweat, panting heavily, Walter wanted to gather himself enough to begin to stammer. At last, he began, seeing the patiently questioning look in Thyruid’s eyes: ‘There … there … there is … a … a … a whole company of people coming up from …. from … from out beyond the … uh … uh … Fringe’.

‘Who is coming?’ ‘I do not know. I merely saw the crowd, a great crowd, strung as far as I could see, and that trail no one ever takes, out into some other world’. ‘I know where you mean. We have had travelers come through from there before … though it has been a long time now. A long time’.

‘You do not look like you are frightened!’ ‘Why should I be frightened, Walter? We do not get visitor soften; but that is all the more reason to welcome them when they do come’. ‘But … but, there are … so many of them!’ ‘Well, Walter, that being the case, I had best hasten with my polishing’.

Thus matter-of-factly did Thyruid turn back to his morning chore. Looking over the brassware he had been polishing, studying the work with critical precision the round Innkeeper decided it needed and deserved another application this morning. So, he pulled his cloth out form the polish pot again and began to rub the trim into a yet-brighter polish.

Walter watched: ‘I thought you would be preparing for this … this invasion of aliens, but hardly by polishing brassware!’ Without pausing in his work (other than to move on to the next piece), Thyruid asked: ‘And what else should I do? If they come in peace, I will host them. If the come for ill, perhaps I will charm them with biscuits and beauty’. ‘Bah!’

Walter stalked across the floor, stomped up to the Foyer and fumed his angry way across the Foyer floor to the still-open door. Pausing there, he turned back with a snarl on his face and groused: ‘You are impossible! If trouble comes your way, it is your fault’. ‘I take no responsibility for you’ replied Thyruid. The door slammed behind Walter as he came to the Commons, wondering what to do next.

The perennially troublesome Walter stalked across toward the Big Rock, figuring he had time yet to duck down the Valley Road, then up a back way into the Hills … a way not well known and somewhat obscure, increasing his chances of feeling he was being secure.

Walter had almost reached the Big Rock when he was hailed by name. Blanching, he let his eyes dart toward the voice … off to his right and at the base of the Leaferites’ Hill: Terzi! ‘What have you to do with all this?’ asked Walter without breaking pace. ‘All what?’ replied Terzi. Walter merely snorted and sneered, turning past the Big Rock.

Ahead, down the path along the Hills came the vanguard of what Walter called ‘the horde’. Blanching yet again, Walter hurried and slipped down the Valley Road. Out of sight, he ran, ran to the Narrows and cut up into the Hills, nearly across from the more commonly used root steps on the way into the Crossed Hills.

For his part, Thyruid finished (to his satisfaction) the daily polishing chores. Replacing the polish pot behind the counter, wiping his hands on a towel, he moved on through the swinging door into Marthuida’s kitchen. ‘That was Walter, making all the fuss’ he offered. ‘I thought so. What was his problem today?’ "He says there is a crowd, a great crowd coming this way … from the path along the Fringe, out where some came years ago’.

‘I remember: a hungry lot’. ‘I thought they were. Do you think we might do well to make a bit of extra preparation, in case they come by here?’ ‘Maybe. I guess I will mix up some more batter… get it started … just in case’. ‘Need help?’ ‘No: you take care of the other side of the swinging door’. ‘Oh’.

Coming back into the dining room, Thyruid found Terzi ambling across the room, chatting pleasantly with Clyde and Missus Carney. He also was mentioning the coming crowd … and chuckled over Walter, ‘a man afraid of his own shadow’.

‘Good morning, Terzi! What brings you from the Leaferites’ Hill to my Inn-by-the-Bye? ‘Good morning! I come to pay a long overdue visit … I get busy and don’t get by here often enough, it seems. Then, I also saw Walter … poor man … and this crowd coming along the edge of the Fields. Now, I am curious about who is coming!’

If we get a crowd here, maybe they will want some entertainment’ interjected Clyde. ‘Just in case, let me get my shawm. I bet I can ready my reed around my mug of coffee!’ Leaving Missus Carney near her chair, he retreated upstairs, seeking the shawm up in his room.

On a second whim, he rapped also on Geoffrey’s door, disturbing his sleep. Apologizing for the intrusion, Clyde told the gentleman’s gentleman of the likely influx of what Walter termed a crowd, that he was even getting his shawm ready … just in case’. Around a yawn, Geoffrey nodded, and mumbled: ‘Just in case, maybe I ought to get ready … for a crowd’.

Clyde reappeared; it would take a bit for Geoffrey to array himself. But Clyde had a reed in his cheek and his shawm in his hand … to leave on the table, … just in case. Already, as he came down the stairs, he could hear voices with odd accents outside; he hurried down the stairs and across the Foyer so as to precede them … and reach his seat by the hearth in pretended leisure.

As Clyde assumed his typical pose, recognized by anyone who frequented the Inn, the door opened and admitted a stream of folk. Thyruid walked out to greet them … obviously strangers … so as to make them strangers no more. The room filled. He assured them as best he could that this was a public place, an Inn that breakfast was served, and he would be glad to share with them this morning.

Pleased, the crowd crammed the room, taking all the vacant seats and milling around the more. Gather that tea would be a grand beginning, Thyruid began. Clyde, measuring the scene, stood. ‘Shall I play?’ he called out loudly, holding up his shown.

‘Only if we can dance on the counter!’ ‘Ascend!’

6 May 2001

CMLII

Unusually restless early-on, Missus Carney was up. She knew her real dependence on the kindness of strong arms to help her get from up to down, even those last two steps into the dining room of the Inn-by-the-Bye. So, she also realized that such an early rise amounted to an exercise in folly. Nonetheless, she was simply no longer able to rest out the night between her covers and in her cozy bed in her simply room here at the Inn. No more did she sleep soundly on a low mat over the hardpacked clay floor in the yellow mud hut she had called home so long in Apopar. No: instead, it was a coddling cot, a bed in a room all her own. Even so, this very early morning, she was all restless possessed of an uneasy squirm.

Missus Carney got herself up; it seemed her only choice. Pacing, with a hand out to whatever lay near enough to stabilize her walk, she moved about the room … shuffling and groping through the night.

‘Once’, she thought, ‘I would be gliding across this dark, instinctively responsive to the familiar if subtle hints of her lived-in space. But no longer: now, it is grope and reach, shuffle and lean, totter, dodder, move with unclarity in the night. But the window was found, not far from where she thought to find it. Pulling back the curtain, peering out, Missus Carney saw naught but more, extensive darkness. No moon appeared, nor did stars make any difference around this part of Hyperbia.

Dropping the curtain again, Missus Carney wondered what part of the night this might be, near to dawn or left off somewhere in the middle of the darkness, a time when it was but mildly foolish to be up like this, or one in which she, by rights, should be moving resolutely back toward sleep. She did not know. There was no clue around to be found.

Missus Carney herself felt wide awake – not groggy nor tired (save as she always seemed tired anymore). Standing still, as still as she could manage, she listened carefully: nothing. There was not a sound anywhere to be heard. Sometimes, when she woke early, she could hear Thyruid about downstairs. And Clyde had a sort of natural noise whenever he was about. Geoffrey never rose early; it was simply not his way. Sitting on the bed, Missus Carney murmured: ‘It must be in the middle of the night’.

Letting out a sigh, Missus Carney sagged into a slouch. She ought to slip once again under her covers, stretch out, nice and warm, cozy-like, and slide back into contented slumber. She told herself she ought to go back to sleep. The problem was: she was not only wide awake but indomitably restless as well. Even sitting here found her legs jerking about, moving in random disarray. She had a knee to steady – to no effect at all. Scowling at the unseen, Missus Carney roused herself again and shuffled, tottering and groping about her room. ‘I might as well get dressed’ she muttered beneath her breath.

Dressed for the day that had not arrived, Missus Carney went back to her window. All was dark; night continued, proving it had not been close to dawn when she sought it before! With a listening ear, she tried to discern some sound: nothing.

Dropping the curtain again, she turned and tottered to-and-fro about her room, as close to pacing as she could manage anymore. Not for long, though, did she keep up this routine. Instead, she found her door and slipped into the upper hallway. All was dark here, too … though there seemed to be a slight glow from downstairs. ‘Naturally’, she thought: ‘Thyruid has those lamps turned way down for the night, but still burning’.

Looking down the stairs, she could almost make out the descent by this softest glow reflected two or three times from the dining room, around the Foyer, and then up the stairs. (Obviously, the light was entirely relative: bright only in contrast to the entirely absorbing lostness otherwise to be seen.)

Once upon a time, she would slip down the staircase with ease. She would like to say there was a day she would do it with a grace, even an elegance. Those days, however, were spent in Apopar … where there were no staircases to descend, let alone in gracious elegance! Once upon a time is not now. Missus Carney knew that fact, possessing a truly practical bent, after all. She would not take the stairs by herself.

Standing, gazing, feeling out of place and ill-timed, Missus Carney heard steps. She caught her breath, held the wall for stability. Yes: a step on the steps outside the door, coming from the Commons. ‘I should be asleep’, she thought; but, maybe, I am up like this … for this!;

The door opened; Missus Carney could hear it though the dim, dim light was nowhere near able to show any approximation to detail. Footsteps, light and soft, crossed the Foyer in an odd rhythm. ‘It must be Carymba’ she reasoned. ‘Welcome to the Inn, Carymba’ she spoke, in a firm but soft voice.

‘Missus Carney?’ replied the waif. ‘Yes’. ‘Where are you?’ ‘At the top of the stairs’. ‘Stay there! … I will slip up to you’.

Steps came lightly up the stairs; Missus Carney could see the shadow climb for the dim glow was obliterated by her form. ‘Can you sit on the top step?’ ‘I suppose … with a little help … or, maybe, a lot!’ Carymba could hear the near