Chapter 7: Guarding the Outhouse

We had a nice leisurely breakfast with just Rachel and I. We sat side-by-side and enjoyed our quiet moment of privacy with each other. The food had begun to work its wonders in me. For the first time, new changes inside my body made themselves known. I mentally shrugged my shoulders and figured it was to be expected, in light of all that had happened lately. My mind went back to the task at hand, to eat while I enjoyed Rachel's nearness.

"Forrest, my dearest one," Rachel interrupted my thoughts, "We have to think of the future."

"Yeah," I answered, "But which future do you mean? Every time we turn around it seems our future gets changed on us. I'm just about ready to load what I can in the bronco, kidnap you and run off to Arizona or a hippy commune in New Mexico." I shuddered theatrically and added, "Even Woodward, Oklahoma would be better than this." One of my foster parents had said her father was born there and he always swore it was the most ignorant town found anywhere outside of Bill Clinton's Arkansas.

She placed a finger on my lips. "Shush. You're venting. Think serious for a minute. We need to plan for the future. So let's get serious here and plan beyond the next five minutes." That was as far as she got. The world just wouldn't let us be.

"Say, anybody ever tell you how you look just like that new prophet guy?" Our waitress leaned across the table and refilled my coffee cup. "You ain't him are you?"

"Yes, I am he," I sighed the answer.

"What are you doin' in here if you're so rich and famous?" She backed up a step and stared at me.

Rachel's lips tightened into a thin line. She took a deep breath and frowned, "My fiancé likes your pancakes. Now will you excuse us? This is a private conversation."

"Well, excuse me," the waitress stuck her nose in the air and stalked off.

I told Rachel, "Let's go," then slid out of the booth and held my hand out to help her up. I dropped a tip on the table and led the way to the cashier. I wanted to pay and leave, our magic moment together had been ruined.

As we stood in line to pay the bill, our waitress hurried up and planted a kiss on my lips. There was a flash and I stepped back. She hurried around behind the counter and took a small camera from another waitress. They both grinned.

Rachel doubled up her fist and started after the waitress. I held her back. "Come on, let's get out of here." She was reluctant to let it go and follow me. I held the door open for her. She stopped and looked back toward the cash register and the grinning waitress.

Indignation and moral outrage were but two of the emotions Rachel showed right then. "Forrest, if another woman ever kisses you again the way she just did, I'll yank every bleached hair out of her head by the roots." She sounded more than willing to do it right then.

We shopped for our groceries and other supplies at Smith's and made one last stop at the feed store to order more of the special trail mix they made for me. I had a hunch we would buy a lot more of the stuff before winter was over. Just as we pulled away from the feed store my cell phone rang. "Hello?" I answered.

"Is this the prophet Mister Forrest?" a man's voice asked.

"This is Forrest Eden," I corrected him.

"Well, we have a double wide park model to set up on your lot and we can't get in to make the delivery."

"Hang tight, we'll be there in a few minutes." I clicked the phone off and sped up.

"What is it?" Rachel asked.

"I don't know, it's something about a park someone wants set up at the house. Whatever it is must be something Ralph ordered," I answered. As soon as he was paid, the clerk and a helper loaded the sacks of feed into the back of the old Bronco.

With all the heavy traffic on the road it took a half hour to get home. I saw what looked like two halves of a large mobile home loaded on lowboy trailers. I figured those two halves combined equaled the square footage of floor space of my house. Ralph had outdone himself. Then I wondered, where are the wheels?

"My word, what is that?" Rachel asked. Neither one of us had ever seen one before.

"I think it's where the hired help is supposed to sleep," I told her.

"What hired help?"

"Our guards, dearest one, our keepers. Remember Ralph said he was going to arrange on site protection? I believe this is where they are supposed to live." It made sense to me. I pressed the button on the remote and watched the gates swing open.

We drove through and nodded to the lead truck driver. He was careful as he brought his rig through the gate and stopped. "Where do we set up?" he asked.

I looked at Rachel and she looked at me. I shrugged. She made the decision for me, "Over there, just south of the house where the ground is flat. It should be a nice place for you."

The lead driver nodded and positioned his load. The drivers and their helpers set jack stands under the frame of the first half along both sides where they extended out past the edges of the trailer. There was a loud hissing noise and the trailer bed lowered down until the first half of the new home settled onto the jack stands. The driver took his time when he pulled forward until he was clear and began to turn in a big circle until he was headed back out toward the road.

The second driver drove his load through the gate and around until he was aligned perfectly with the first half. After he pulled away the two halves were shifted together and bolted tight to one another. Then they eased out the pullout rooms. That thing was huge. When they finished, a set of skirts went on to hide the jack stands. Then heavy wrought iron steps were placed at the front and back doors.

"Are you the guy who called me?" I asked the lead driver.

"I shore am," he told me, a strong hint of the south in his voice.

"What was that about a park? All I see is a trailer house." I looked at him for an answer.

With an air of exaggerated patience he told me, "This trailer house is called a 'park model' because it has no wheels." He looked at me like I was not too bright.

"Why build a trailer house and not put wheels on it?" It seemed sort of stupid to me.

"Hell, how would I know? We just haul 'em around and set 'em up. Why don't you call the manufacturer and ask them. I bet they have a dumb question department all set up just so you personally can call in and ask questions." He shook his head.

I remembered the caller in Denver who asked me a dumb question. I remember my response. All at once I understood her and no longer thought her an idiot. Chastened, I told the driver, "Oh." Then I shut up.

I looked over toward the road. Men in black parkas and black pants stood around just outside the gate. "I believe those people over there are our new keepers," I muttered to Rachel.

The sarcastic driver handed me a clipboard to sign. He still looked put out I was so uninformed. I scribbled my signature in the proper place. Then both drivers got in their rigs and drove away toward I-80.

We walked over to where the new security men stared at the gawkers lined the road. One noticed our approach and said smartly, "Heads up." They turned as one to inspect us. I saw no friendliness nor animosity, only mild curiosity.

"Hi," Rachel greeted them.

"The one who seemed to be the leader nodded and said, "Ma'am."

"I'm Forrest Eden," I told him and shook his hand. "I have an insulated potable water hose long enough to reach from the house to your water inlet. It's wrapped with heat tape to prevent freezing. There is also a power outlet rated at a hundred amps to supply electricity in my basement. It should be more than adequate for right now. I'll show you where everything is and order whatever else you need. My cable hookup will give you television for the off hours."

"Jason Corn," he identified himself. His stern face almost smiled then.

"Tell your men to all come into the house and have a cup of coffee. It's pretty cold out here." He nodded and motioned for the others to follow us.

Everyone trooped in and removed parkas. I brought out my big coffee urn and started fresh coffee. Jason Corn took a chair at the kitchen table and leaned back, staring critically around. "Is this your week-end place?" he asked.

I felt self-conscious and laughed and felt as if I should apologize for my lack of a more regal home. "No, this is where I live day to day. Vendors on the Internet don't garner the real big bucks, unless you own E-bay or something."

"But I thought you were the faith healer on TV," he looked at me curiously.

"Look," I told him, " For the ten thousandth time, I am not some religious guru. I am not a holy man and I do not have a pipeline to God's ear or any other part of His Heavenly anatomy. I am a person who has had some weird stuff happen to him and I don't know what it is and I would prefer it never had happened."

"Oh?" he asked skeptically. The expression on his face said he did not believe me for even a nanosecond. After all, who wouldn't give their right arm to become a miracle worker? Well, me for one.

"Yes. I had a very well ordered life, not too exciting by most people's standards, but it was right for me. I like bland. Then this ... whatever it is happened to me and I am stuck with notoriety I don't need. I want to be known as an honest e-merchant, not a freak of some kind. People who scramble for fame and notoriety because they have such hungry egos have no idea how much people like me hate the limelight."

Jason nodded and changed the subject. It was clear he didn't believe me or my denials. He inhaled deeply. "I don't know if it's the mountain air or what, but the coffee smells great. It has to be the best smelling brew I have ever come across."

I grinned at all his "smelling" and showed him the label. "It's Jamaican Blue Mountain. "Far as I'm concerned this has the finest flavor of any coffee in the world. Well, some of the Aribicas come close. I don't brew it for every day because it is so expensive. Usually I drink a nine dollar a pound Columbian or an African blend. But I thought it might make a nice greeting since you all looked so cold."

"If it tastes anything like it smells, I'll have to buy some for myself." I liked a fellow coffee lover. As soon as it finished brewing I got out ten of my mismatched coffee mugs and filled them. The mugs, like my dishes were all leftovers from various lots of merchandise I had bought and sold.

"There's sugar on the table and cream in the fridge. I'll be right back." I hurried from the room to find out what had happened to Rachel. She was on the phone. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize Timothy was her last name. I'm also sorry Sarah didn't confide in you the fact she intended to send Forrest an email." Rachel was not very good at placating people. She was either too nice or too abrupt in confrontational situations.

She gave me a helpless look and I gestured for her to hand me the phone. "Hello, This is Forrest Eden," I said.

There was moment of silence and then a woman's voice started in, "I don't know why you people are after that girl. She doesn't have any money or family. She has leukemia and won't live more than another year, according to the doctors. I will not permit her be used in some phony religious thing. Can't you hustlers just let her spend her remaining time on Earth in peace?" The woman was angry, I could feel it and hear it in her voice, as well as her words.

"Ma'am, whatever you name is, I am not a religious anything. I am not a phony trying to suck money out of anyone. And last, I am merely following up on something sent to me by email. In the first place I don't want any money from you, her or anyone else. I don't need your money. Now I don't know if I can even help her. But if I can, wouldn't it be the right thing to at least see if I can?"