Read Desperado Dale (Scenic Route to Paradise) Online
Authors: Andrea Aarons
The older people had been through tough times
but always there was a season of prosperity which followed. The common mindset:
Would this downturn be any different? Surely, not!
As for the younger
generations who had known only virtual catastrophes, they were immune to the
new reality. After all, when the game or movie ended they could get up from the
couch and go raid the refrigerator before the next virtual scenario began. True,
“the kids,” those peterpan under 30 types, had heard the real stories and even
had a few encounters with spiritual dark forces but an indefinable
insidiousness had taken hold, permeating to the core of the soul of these
groups, leaving them incapable - as a group of grasping pure truth. Yet, groups
are made up of individuals and so individually, because of the abundance of
modern information and because of the good God in heaven restrained spiritual
darkness - individually, some young souls broke away from the group.
While Americans were grasping for answers within
and for survival without, much of the rest of the world continued forward
trying to stabilize day to day life at various levels. For the most part,
stability was available although the future appeared uncertain. At the
individual level, desperation and fear lurked behind the eyes of most. Even
Bible scholars knowing the scenarios prophetically penned in scripture
concerning the present time - the generation preceding national Israel’s rebirth,
even these people were uneasy. After all, Jesus Himself warned, “And when you
hear of wars and insurrections beginning, don't panic. True, wars must come,
but the end won't follow immediately...”
In this turbulent time, Mac and his crew pressed
toward his home
port
of
Almata
on the obscure main
island
of
D’Almata
in the
Adriatic
. For at least a millennium, Kerkyra was known
as the backdoor to D’Almata. In the past much trading had gone on between the
two islands but the rivalry between them was as evident as brothers competing
in a race. Although both wanted to win, neither wanted the other to lose.
After leaving his sister-in-law Kate behind on
St Helena
, Mac and bride, Merry
got a disjointed and urgent message from Merry’s mother. Toni urged Merry to
stop at Kerkyra because brother Dale was in trouble. D’Almata communications
had always been erratic but with
America
’s confused demise, many of the global satellite
systems had been interrupted. So neither Mac nor Merry could get through to
Toni Merriweather to clarify her hurried ship-to-shore plea for their help.
Although Kerkyra was a small island off the southern coast of
Albania
a bordering
island
of
Greece
, it was home to over
100,000 people and thus, they would need more information if they were to
genuinely aid Dale Merriweather - Merry’s brother.
Chapter 3 Giant Ginger Cookies
“So, Mr Adams, I have my first installment. I’ve
decided to start with your Mother’s favorite cookie recipe!” said Bean to her
ex-husband.
Mr Adams tried to disguise his astonishment at
this disclosure. Didn’t she realize the world was falling apart? Their
daughters’ safety was in question... the sons-in-law, the grandchildren were
living through a modern-day holocaust - if they were alive at all back in
America
! Hadn’t she understood
that the comfortable old world that they knew was imploding? Yet, Jellybean
wanted to make an heirloom cookbook for their progeny.
Was the woman senile
?
He wondered. He peered at his wife over his dark prescription sunglasses and
saw that indeed she was getting on in life...
Very old
, he decided.
Sometimes,
reality can be blurred by conjuring up comfortable memories.
Before he could voice his doubts, Bean
announced, “Giant Ginger Cookies!”
All the thoughts of Mrs Adams’ possible senility
and geriatric quirks attributed to the elderly, fled as he remembered well,
Mother Adams’ freshly baked giant-sized cookies.
Pausing but momentarily to gather his thoughts,
Bernie said, “Of course! It would be very proper to begin your promising book
with something so delicious and historic... very American too,” said Mr Adams,
forgetting his own consternation just moments before towards his wife’s casual
displacement concerning the recent horrific events. Soon enough he would recall
the recent disasters befalling his nation but for now only Giant Ginger Cookies
were before his mental screen. Like Pavlov's dogs, Mr Adams’ mouth watered.
“I would hope that you or perhaps, Anna’s good
cousin would attempt baking a few dozen before you destined the recipe -
recently untried, to your book. I think it only correct and above board. After
all, years from now one of our grandchildren might attempt to reproduce my
mother’s famous cookie and find you wrote in the wrong direction. Tsk, tsk and
there would be no one to make the correction,” he said hoping to inspire some
freshly baked cookies before too long.
Jellybean, notebook in hand, sat next to Mr
Adams on a stone wall that was built parallel to the street but several yards
away from it. After leaving Nick’s back patio, Anna had steered the rental car
north. It was late afternoon and she found she needed a nap before pushing into
the island interior in search of her cousin’s village and home. Ten years and
more had passed since she had last visited the family
village
of
Evangelos
and the island had
changed much. The lunch worked like a sedative and so, Anna had pulled over to
this shady cool spot off the main thoroughfare.
Not even the ever astute Mr Adams noticed the
three black motorbikes that roared north on the highway just minutes after Anna
turned off the engine. The riders wore black leather and the three moved as
one, dodging the slower traffic as they searched for their prey.
Grandpa Bernie could nap almost anywhere. He had
stretched out on the flat cool stones of the wall but was awaken by Jellybean’s
recipe declaration. The ancient tree that kept the sun from beating down on
them, moved overhead in response to a sea breeze blowing through. Gwyneth lay
on a thick quilt at Jellybean’s feet. The little girl had been looking at
picture books before dozing off. She slept on as Jellybean scribbled the recipe
into the notebook-
The Tasty
Traveler by Geraldine Adams
Mama’s Giant Ginger Cookies
Makes: twenty-five 4-inch cookies
Bake: 12 to 14 minutes per batch
Directions
1. In a medium mixing bowl stir
together flour, ginger, baking soda, cinnamon, cloves, and salt; set aside.
2. In a large mixing bowl beat
shortening with an electric mixer on low speed for 30 seconds to soften.
Gradually add the 2 cups granulated sugar. Beat until combined, scraping sides
of bowl occasionally. Beat in eggs and molasses. Beat in as much of the flour
mixture as you can with the mixer. Using a wooden spoon, stir in any remaining
flour mixture.
3. Shape dough into 2-inch balls using
1/4 cup dough. Roll balls in the 3/4 cup coarse or granulated sugar. Place
about 2-1/2 inches apart on an ungreased cookie sheet.
4. Bake in a 350 degree F oven for 12
to 14 minutes or until cookies are light brown and puffed. (Do not overbake or
cookies will not be chewy.) Cool on cookie sheet for 2 minutes. Transfer
cookies to a wire rack to cool. Store in a tightly covered container at room
temperature for up to 3 days or in the freezer for up to 3 months. Makes
twenty-five (25) 4-inch cookies.
Chapter 4 Dale in Drag
Like hens pressing into a chicken coop, a dozen women
along with several children came noisily into the restroom after a late
afternoon flight landed from
Paris
. Some twenty minutes previous, Dale had climbed down from
the ceiling tiles where he had been hiding. Hours earlier, Dale had readjusted
the chalky rectangular tile securely mere seconds before the island police
burst through the bathroom door ready for a fight. As Dale watched from the
narrow ceiling vent and praying for a plan, the stall door was kicked opened.
Their blatant disappointment made him smile and he was content to wait until
the airport settled down; the authorities convinced Dale carrying the pink
backpack had vacated the premises.
In his position above the bathroom drop ceiling,
Dale easily saw the several remodeling additions to the terminal. It was a
haphazard affair from his viewpoint and certainly not as safe as a busy airport
should be. Indirect light filled the space where he sat because of the half
dozen north facing windows that had been bisected by the remodel addition of a
drop ceiling. The construction was completed back in the seventies and now to
Dale’s advantage, the windows allowed the sunny day to light the area.
While hiding, Dale had a limited view of the
sinks and bathroom door by peering down through the vent. He used the absence
of ears below to rummage through his grandmother’s carry-on. Before long he
picked out the appropriate items needed for his escape. There was a pale green
cloth sack they used for the French markets, wadded into a ball inside the
carry-on. He pulled this out, as well. Dale didn’t want to rouse suspicion by
carrying the pink pack or even having it in his possession. He had climbed down
from the ceiling joists but the offending carry-on would stay in the rafters
until some electrician or aircon repairman found it, many days hence. Using the
green shopping bag, he reorganized Bean’s things, placing them inside, leaving
out the clothing he would need and a pair of her generic reading glasses.
When the clucking group of women entered the
restroom, Dale finalized his “look” by tying a black silk scarf about his neck
hiding his tell-tale Adams-apple and pulling down the spectacles from the top
of his head where another scarf hid his short busy locks except a few curling
girlishly about his ears. He exited the stall and immediately saw his mirrored
reflection in front of him revealing the three day beard. Pivoting, Dale
returned to the stall and flushed the toilet as a noisy cover-up before bolting
the lock once again.
Adjusting the silk scarf to conceal his lower
face, Dale touched the clip-on earrings reassuringly. The bright jewelry
pinched his ears but matched his skirt
and
he hoped, diverted attention
from his masculine form. There was nothing he could do about the black Doc
Martens, size 11 but this
was
Greece
he rationalized and many Greek women wore thick
black shoes.
The females were finished and it was time for
him to leave mingling with them as a diversion. He opened the stall door again
and glanced at his image before turning towards the exit. The mirror revealed
his ridiculous appearance but he had prayed and this was the scheme downloaded.
Dale knew God had given him the plan and his confidence in succeeding beyond
the airport guards was complete.
Dale had not bargained for the mental time warp
he moved through as he left the women’s bathroom and headed across the
terminal. When he was fifteen, Dale had been in a drama ministry and the present
reality of dressing as a forty-something Greek female reminded Dale of being
onstage. There was nothing for it but to get through the scene and off the
stage without tripping or forgetting one’s lines. Still, there was no
accounting for the other actors messing up which would leave Dale to improvise.
Sometimes impromptu acting worked and sometimes
it didn’t
.
This thought caused his palms to sweat. No matter; the show would go on and
even now, as he seemed to creep in slow motion toward the street, Dale needed
to follow-through.
The pale green bag hung on his left arm. Dale’s
mind raced even as his eyes looked steadily toward the exit. His legs carried
him forward mechanically slower than normal.
There are so many guards
! All of them armed.
It was the tense times that were unfolding which
caused the weaponry to surface publicly. Also, this little island was a
crossroads for drugs, contraband, illicit meetings and human trafficking. It
came to mind as he reconnoitered above the ceiling tiles, that the island
authorities were looking for a pink bag carrying a specific illegal
something... drugs, stolen goods or whatever. When he thoroughly inspected
Bean’s carry-on there was nothing but the usual travel paraphernalia.
About the time, Bean was scribbling her heirloom
cookie recipe and Gwyneth was napping in the dappled afternoon sunlight, Dale
was approaching two brawny guards standing on either side of the glass framed
airport terminal exit. After a brief glance, Dale commanded his eyes to look
away from either guard. They didn’t appear to be the same ones who had
initiated his earlier pursuit but they looked just as thick and mean. His heart
pounded and his mouth became very dry but he knew that he knew he would get
past these authorized thugs without harm. Dale had a strange surreal calm that
he recognized as God’s hand, resting upon him. Even so, Dale remembered that more
often than not these God allowed situations turned quickly into on-the-job
discipleship training or testing. Whether training or testing Dale wasn’t sure
which - but the calm dovetailed with a surprise, frequently enough.