By CHARLES BOOTHE - |
Aunt Ebb had a little secret, one that she kept pretty darn quiet, considering how the family liked to get into each other's business.
I didn't know about it until I was grown, and I had spent a lot of time with her growing up. In fact, since my father had left home to drink and chase skirts, she was a father figure to me, teaching me all about the outdoors, and a lot of life lessons.
But I never had a clue she enjoyed doing something that no one, or at least the vast majority of people around her, knew about. And it was probably a good thing, considering how concerned they would have been about her soul.
If I had been a bit more on my toes, I may have noticed a hint of her secret around communion service time every year.
You see, the Church of the Brethren has a foot-washing once a year, where the congregation gathers to sort of reenact the Last Supper, the men gathered around one table and the women around another.
I'm still not sure how they managed to fit those tables into that tiny country church, but they did, a testimony to the occurrence of miracles, I suppose.