The Prospect by Eliot Parker (e novels to read online txt) 📕

impossible to appreciate the culture of Sheaville, West Virginia without first understanding its religion. The popular perception of religion in West Virginia is often condescending, portraying Appalachians as naïve and misguided. However, they are ordinary people living a religious life.
The typical West Virginian church, insofar as there is a typical church, is represented by a wide variety of Protestant Denominations, possessed of smaller congregations, and housed in small buildings. The church is subject to splintering, unlikely to combine with other church groups in any official, permanent way and composed of a congregation the members of which had probably known each other for quite some time. They are, of course, exceptions to this facet of the common Appalachian church. There are large churches with large congregations, churches that are members of the Southern Baptist Convention or the Catholic faith, and churches that recognize an external hierarchy.
The church in West Virginia provides opportunities to strengthen community ties. Events such as baptisms, church “singings” that last all day, revivals, and even funerals give people a time and place to come together and express a sort of collective friendship. Couples often meet at church. Ties between people who see each other very seldom are renewed at church events. While nominative spiritual, church, as an activity, seems to be equally social.
In Sheaville, Sunday was considered the most important and influential day of the entire week. Regardless of how much work needed to be done at home or in the community, life came to a halt on Sunday. Sheaville was fortunate to have many churches in the town featuring a variety of religious denominations. Two United Methodists churches were located at the end of Central Avenue, closest to Clark Field and one Baptist church along with a Roman Catholic Church could be found at the end of Maple Street, near the old Harlan Shea sawmill. Although the congregations were small, usually around 100 people per church, residents would spend the majority of Sunday afternoons swapping stories about the rich spiritual blessings they received at church, and whose minister, reverend, or father delivered the best sermon.
When the Loggers were in town during the summer months, the perception of Sunday changed. Families of all ages and sizes swarmed to Clark Field every Sunday afternoon for baseball. The Loggers always kept the same Sunday start time of 2:00p.m. sofans had some time between the end of church and the first pitch to eat, change clothes, or spend time with their loved ones.
One tradition that began when Walter Mann became manager of the Loggers was the Sunday morning devotional. Usually around 9:00am, Walter and the players would gather in the locker room of Clark Field and have prayer and a short devotion. Some of the players enjoyed the spiritual service, others did not, and some went just because they were afraid of losing playing time during games if they did not attend. One rule was certain: there were no excuses for missing the team service, absolutely none. Walter told his players he was not spiritual, but believed in God’s ability to determine outcomes in life, especially baseball games-which to Walter-were a large reason for their existence in the first place.
The only time he ever donned a non-managerial outfit that did not consist of blue jeans, boots, and faded collared t-shirts was during the team devotional. During Christmas and Easter, the manager often ventured to Phil Rodney’s department store and bought a brand new suit for the Christian holidays. On most Sundays, he wore a variety of nicely pressed and preserved slacks, starched white button shirts, and mahogany shoes that were polished past the point of glowing.
“Today boys, I wanna talk about our talents, cuz that is why we are here and why we play this here game,” Walter said, colloquially. Always sensitive to the individual religious philosophies of his players, his sermons were usually spiritually linked with a universal theme applicable to all religions.
“Our gifts and talents, they are from up above,” Walter continued. “You know, that is one of the greatest things about being here and being alive. Each one of us is unique. One of ya may have that gift of talking, the other the gift for a tad of that compassion, yet another the gift of music. But remember, all gifts come from God.”
Shane wasn’t interested much in God for some reason, although he could not help but think about Olivia’s opinion on the matter. Sitting on the wobbly wooden bench with one leg drawn up, he started at the one of the peeling painted lockers, counting the cracks and missing chunks and chewing on his fingernails.
When Shane did take his attention away from counting the peeling paint, he observed how the rest of the team was also disinterested.
Biggie Rowan’s legs were spread apart with his hands folded behind his head. Ryan was fiddling with tip of a mangled plastic straw while Chaz managed to pull his gray Loggers baseball cap over his eyes in order to take a nap, a trick he probably learned from living with Olivia. The only person actively participating in the sermon was Harry Deitzler. It seemed that Walter was talking to Harry and Harry only. Each word spoken was scribbled on the first baseman’s yellow legal pad and some words were even circled or underlined for emphasis. Why this was done was a mystery to Shane, although watching paint peel seemed more enlightening.
“We all have choices in this here life, boys,” Walter elaborated. “We all come to a crossroads when we have to choose our savior or ourselves. We should be thankful of the gifts and talents he has given us and use them for his glory. Let us pray.”
Whatever Walter was asking for and speaking of in his prayer, Shane did not listen. He managed to mosey his way around his teammates and past his bowing manager and walked out onto the field. The end of the devotion was the same. Walter would excuse the team and tell them to be back at the field at 11:30 to warm ups. Instead of listening to the usual jargon or leaving Clark Field immediately, Shane grabbed a basket of baseballs and a dust-ridden bat on his way up the concrete landing and headed for home plate to practice his hitting.
Although pitchers were never known to be great hitters, Shane desperately wanted to change that stereotype. So far this season, he was hitting a respectable .210, but without any RBI’s. He lobbed the balls in the air and swung at them as they descended towards the ground, attempting to simulate a real pitching and hitting situation even though he was alone.
The first two swings generated large whiffs of air. The next two swings established contact with the baseball, but they rolled softly to second base and past the foul line down the first base line. The next few swings were better, as one ball was driven to shallow left field and would have fallen for a hit, provided there was a left fielder and a centerfielder to chase it.
Shane kept tossing and swinging as many of his teammates scattered from the locker room as if it was on fire. Afraid to interrupt his rhythm, Shane did not attempt to talk to Chaz, Harry, or Ryan, electing to continue practicing until the bucket of baseballs was empty.
After what seemed like hours of tossing and swinging, Shane heard the sounds of feet walking in an odd arrangement. The gravel behind home plate was very unforgiving in cleats, and he knew that sound all to well. The footsteps resembled someone wearing cleats, causing Shane to figure it must be Chaz sneaking up on him.
“You suck Martinez, I already know it’s you coming up behind me,” Shane boasted. “Just come on around here and show yourself.”
Without warning, Shane’s body froze. He could feel a warm, squishy presence surrounding his eyes, causing him to drop his bat over his shoulder and lean forward. The squishy matter turned hard and firm and he could feel a significant amount of weight on his back as he bent forward.
“Put me down,” bellowed Olivia. She slid up Shane’s back as her blue dress gradually rose past her thighs, straddling her hips.
The pitcher did as instructed, and Olivia’s legs pattered against the ground, one after the other. “What in the world are you doing, trying to assault me?” Shane asked. His stern tone was an indication that he did not find this prank funny. As he turned around, Olivia was moving strands of her straight, black hair away from her face and mouth.
“Sorry, I thought that it would be a more creative way of saying hello, she said soothingly. “Our first couple of meetings have been creative, but in a bad way.”
Shane wanted to blurt out the phrase I know whose fault that is but he bit the lower corner of his lip instead.
“I guess you are here so that I will have to go to church with you. Okay, a bet is a bet. You want me to go next week? Give me the time so I can get showered and ready.”
Smiling Olivia was impressed with Shane’s sudden glimpse of honesty and integrity.
“I am not here to hold you to that silly bet. Forget about that. I was wondering if by any chance you have seen my golden cross necklace. I think I lost it when I came to your house the other day. I did not know if you had it, so I just decided to come down here to ask you.”
“I am impressed Olivia,” Shane quipped. “You came all this way down here to ask me if I had your cross.” His thumb ran alongside his chin in an investigative gesture as he stared over Olivia. “Yes, I do have your necklace. It would take me a while to go and get it right now, unless you need it for something.”
Olivia began to stammer slightly. “Well, I wanted to wear it to church this morning. I cannot tell you how long it has been since I have gone to church and not had the necklace on. No big deal, though. I can just get it from you tomorrow or something.”
“Okay. That’s cool with me.”
Refusing to be thwarted from his hitting exercise, Shane shivered voluntarily and reached down to pick up his bat and baseballs. He quickly reacquired his rhythm and began hitting the falling baseballs harder and harder with each swing. As he kept swinging and the crack of the bat was bouncing throughout the ballpark, Shane could see a shadow forming behind him as the rising golden sun began its assent into the skies over Sheaville.
“Look, ah, Olivia, if the necklace is really a big deal, I will be happy to go home and get it.”
“No, it’s not a big deal, really.”
“Ok then.”
Shane Triplet was assuming that Olivia would begin to realize that he did not want her at the ballpark while he was practicing. For the first time, Olivia was not annoying, contrite, brash, or any of the other adjectives Shane conjured up to describe her. Still, the pitcher liked to be alone when he practiced the baseball fundamentals, regardless of who was watching or how they behaved.
Intent on trying to discern why she was still standing behind him, Shane quit, again, his hitting ritual and laid the bat down on its side. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and turned around to face the girl. Olivia was standing piously behind him, almost expecting him to verbally explode once he saw her.
“Olivia, no offense, but I need to be alone when I am getting ready for a game. We play this afternoon and I really must work on my hitting.