You know that neighborhood pub my people go to sometimes?  The one up on Ivanhoe?  Funny thing 'bout that place — used to be a church.  Makes a far better pub than it ever did a church, and Lordy, even when it was a church, it weren’t no house of the Lord.  The goin’s on there, I tell you, they weren’t no different than those soap stories Mary used to watch on that picture box when she lived here.

Wasn’t even a church at first.  First time we saw that building – this was before me and my dear George bought our house, when we were still livin’ in those little rabbit hutches the company called housin’, up to Pier Point — saw it at the Lewis and Clark 'Sposition in aught-five and Hetty ’n me paid two pennies each to see our first movin' picture inside.  Saw lots of things in there, now that I think 'bout it, even a contraption of bones they said was a big lizard that lived a long time ago and walked taller than a tree, can you imagine?

Back then it looked different, more like that Capitol building down in Salem with the big dome and all those columns up front.  Not big like that, though.  Company by name of National Cash Register had it built, and they were a big deal 'round here 'til the Depression cleaned everybody out just like those registers they sold.  But when they built that place for the big Fair, they were goin’ strong, givin’ out paychecks to damn near five hundred people here on the Peninsula. 

When the Fair finally closed, there was all kinda talk 'bout what was gonna happen to that building.  Some thought it ought to be a school house, some wanted to turn it into an opera house 'cause of somethin’ they called the 'coustics.  Heavens…there was even talk for awhile that LaVerne Delacroix was gonna buy it, which of course set that goody-goody Harriet Sanderson into her usual tirade 'bout the workin’ women over at Miss LaVerne’s.  Don’t know what Miss LaVerne thought she needed with a place like that old NCR building, but the way I see it, she and her girls had as much right to buy that place as anyone.  And I told Harriet as much when she tried gettin’ me to sign that foolish petition to put a stop to it, though I would’ve said it whether I believed it or not just to get Harriet’s goat.

Now, the First Congregational Church up on John Street had a preacher by the name of Tobias J. Finkle, could sweet talk the dogs off the meat truck.  Slicker than a gravy sandwich he was, but had an easy smile and his sermons were wont to make you laugh more than hang your head as the sinner you were, and folks cotton to that real quick.  Had 'nough followers to keep his church and his collection plate full on Sunday mornin’s, 'specially the ones that counted, like the Mayor and the Judge and Doc Thompson and all the rest of the muckety-mucks of St. Johns. 

So when he got it into his head that that NCR building would make a handsome church for his congregation, don’t think there was a soul that thought he wouldn’t get it, whether it was a soul he’d been savin’ or not.  And it wasn’t that they didn’t need a new place — the one they were in was fallin’ apart and they seemed to be growin’ even faster than St. Johns itself – but most folk in these parts were poor, could barely afford homes of their own let alone a fancy new one for the preacher and his God.  He got it though.  Not too sure 'xactly how, but I suspect ol’ Tobias had a discussion with the president of NCR 'bout how renderin’ unto God what was His could save him the trouble of renderin’ unto Caesar what was Caesar’s.

Well, they loaded that building onto a boat and ferried it on up the river.  It surely was a big spectacle, that big old building on one of the river runners, lookin’ like a small tip one way or the other and it’d slide right off, and people were lined up 'long the riverfront to watch it float on by.  I suspect they were waitin’ for the damn thing to slip into the river as much as anythin’ — and they nearly got their wish, George and Rufus said later, 'cause they were on the ferry crew.  But they managed to get that building up the river, landed to Pier Point, and carted into downtown St. Johns, over to Ivanhoe where it sits now.

Lookin’ back, I s’pose we all should’ve known that that building wasn’t never meant to be a church, as much trouble as it was.  Nothin’ wrong with the building, 'course, but if it hadn’t been a church, I would’ve thought it was cursed.  Well, cursed with that preacher, anyway.

Most everythin’ I know 'bout the preacher is 'cause of Dorothea.  Dorothea Gibbons – she was part of our Sewing Circle, don’t you know, and her husband John worked the docks with George and Rufus – she kept house for him three days a week.  I expect she knew the preacher better than anyone, cleanin’ up after him like she did; don’t care who you are, there’s no secrets you’re keepin’ from the help, no ma’am.  You’re a fool if you think otherwise, and Tobias J. Finkle, he was a damn fool.

See, the preacher had a fondness for the ladies.  Which wasn’t no problem, strictly speakin’, 'cause he wasn’t married and Congregationalists didn’t frown on a whole lot anyway.  Trouble was, his particular fondness wasn’t limited to just the single ladies, but to the married ones, too…to hear Dorothea tell it, 'specially the married ones.

Been 'round a good long time but still don’t understand menfolk when 'nother man gets involved.  Half of 'em get stupid, half of 'em go blind.  I guess the preacher must’ve had a streak of good luck, ’cause he got the half that went blind for a fair stretch.  Oh, had a couple close calls, don’t think he didn’t, but for a man who spent more time romancin’ the ladies than he did on his divine duties –a man of the cloth, mind – he sure had one hell of a streak of good luck.  But when he took up with Madeline St. Claire, that streak of good luck dropped dead.

Madeline was Vivian St. Claire’s sister-in-law — the same Vivian nearly got run over by Doc Thompson’s Steamer — and had her nose even higher in the air than Vivian ever did.  Her Clifford (Vivian’s brother) was the pastor over to the Baptist church, preachin’ hellfire and damnation Sundays at eight and eleven, and Wednesday nights if you hadn’t had your fill.  Livin’ in a place like St. Johns where the menfolk were more apt to worship at saloons and billiard halls as a church must’ve driven a man like Clifford bat-crazy most of the time, watchin all the sinnin’ goin’ on right under his beak.  I guess it didn’t help that most everyone 'round here was from somewhere that had their own notions 'bout religion and God and the like, notions that didn’t quite square with Clifford St. Claire’s.

So when Madeline started havin’ an affair with Tobias, it was a right proper ruckus brewin’.  It weren’t so much Madeline’s cheatin’ on him that I think got Clifford’s back up, not like you’d expect, anyway.  No, the thing that broke the camel’s back, as they say, seemed to be she was cheatin’ on him with a Congregationalist.  Consortin’ with the enemy, to Clifford St. Claire’s Baptist way of thinkin’.

Now, it just so happens that 'bout the same time Madeline started sneakin’ round on Clifford, ol’ Tobias’ church was flush with money, and I mean flush.  I’m not talkin’ a nice chunk banked, I’m talkin’ a small fortune.  Well, a preacher might be crookeder than a barrel full of fish hooks, but seems like you don’t suspect anythin’ crooked when it’s a preacher.  Leastways, not for awhile.

Don’t think even Dorothea knew 'bout the money before the story came out, not where it came from anyway, and it pained her to admit it.  But she sure guessed somethin’ was up when those nice suits started showin’ up in his closets.  Oh, he was always a dandy, preacher or not, but Dorothea said that man never had more than two suit coats in his closet and then suddenly he had 'nough for a month of Sundays.  Had more shoes than any man has a right to have, too, and I think that’s 'bout the time all of us in the Sewing Circle started speculatin’ he was fixin’ to leave St. Johns altogether.  Rose said maybe he was fixin’ himself up for a political run, but then Francie says 'course not, no way a preacher’s gettin’ elected in this town, so then Rose says maybe not in St. Johns, but maybe down to Portland, and Francie says Portland would elect a Prebysterian before they’d vote for a Congregationalist, and that’d be the same day Lucifer himself is ice skatin’ down the Willamette River, so then Rose, Rose, tells Francie that if that yellow-bellied cheat Nathanial Wilkins can get himself elected Mayor, the Devil most certainly would be doin’ figure-eights for the damned, thankyouverymuch.

Well, Rose and Francie reconciled and then the talk at the Sewing Circle was all 'bout where that money was comin’ from.  Oh, we knew he was skimmin’ it outta the church, but the question was, who was givin’ it to the church?  Yes, Madeline St. Claire, that’s who.

Seems Madeline’d been shufflin’ money over to Tobias almost as soon as their affair started.  And she had plenty of it to shuffle, on account of her family – she was a Fremont before she became a St. Claire...and yes, those Fremonts – and they made sure she had 'nough to keep her livin’ like she was still a debutante instead of a pastor’s wife.  So she and Tobias took up with each other and a few months later, they were plannin’ to run away together and she started settin’ her money aside so Tobias could make all the arrangements.  But she couldn’t give it right to Tobias, no ma’am, not without settin’ the whole town on fire with the gossip, so she signed it over to the First Congregational Church of St. Johns and then Tobias did the rest.  And picked himself up a nice wardrobe while he was at it.

Well, Clifford St. Claire found her bank book one Sunday mornin’ right after the early service and he asked her was she donatin’ money to those God-forsaken Congregationalists, and next thing you know, they’re shoutin’ at each other so loud everyone in the rectory can hear 'em and these are Baptists, mind, so when Madeline informs Clifford at the top of her lungs (and that girl had a pair, I’m here to tell you) that she’s havin’ an affair with Tobias J. Finkle, well...that whole congregation probably trembled with fear of bein’ struck down by lightnin’ just for bein’ in the vicinity of such a sinner.

This next part I’m tellin’ you firsthand, 'cause I was sittin’ in the pew that Sunday, third row from the front, and I watched Clifford St. Claire march down the center aisle of the First Congregationalist lookin’ like he was gonna visit the Lord’s wrath on us all.  He comes burstin’ through those doors – they were still the original ones then, the ones with the carvings in the center panels – and Tobias was in the middle of his sermon and he just stops, looks up, and sorta shivers, like he’s got a chill.  I’ll tell you, I’ve never seen a man turn so pasty white that wasn’t dead.  Which I’ll bet he was wishin’ he was, and I’ll admit I thought for a moment we were gonna see Leviticus 20:10 come to life right there in the sanctuary, 'cause Tobias knew why Clifford was there and all of us in the Sewing Circle knew why he was there, too.

But it was Proverbs 6:32 that Clifford started yellin’ at Tobias and then the whole congregation knew why, too, and that whole congregation, and I mean everybody, inhaled all at once, like to suck the air right outta that room, and we’re all starin’ at Clifford and Tobias, just dyin’ to see what’s gonna happen next, and then, and then…well, don’t know what I thought was gonna happen next, but I sure didn’t imagine Tobias would just turn tail and run out the side door.  But run he did, all the way to his house, and by the time any of us recovered from the shock, he had his horse loaded up with a steamer trunk and every last one of those suits.  Caught the train at the station up to Kenton and that was the last we ever saw of him. 

Madeline went chasin’ after him, 'course.  Caught the twelve thirty-five up to Seattle where the ticket seller told her Tobias had headed.  But she never did catch up with him and he never sent for her, neither.  Francie said she always suspected he was probably plannin’ to leave her behind all 'long, just wanted her money 'til he had 'nough to make life comfortable, and I’d say Francie was right on that count.  Had poor Madeline’s head so addled she couldn’t see what was plain in front of her.

She did all right, though.  Married herself an ambitious fella from Portland — a lawyer, I think.  He ran for mayor down there a few years later and even managed to get elected.  And, as it happened, he was a Presbyterian.  Didn’t see the Devil ice-skatin’ down the Willamette on election day, but we did get one hell of an ice storm when he was inaugurated.