As an April Fool’s joke on the Farm, Reverend Jeremy showed back up on that date. He had resided briefly at the Farm in late fall the previous year in Ted’s old plywood cabin-shack, leaving in November when he realized it gets cold in North Idaho and snows all winter, a lot, and that flip flops won’t cut it for footwear. Upon returning, and still driving the same highly-suspicious van and pulling a trailer of dubious construction, he idled up into the driveway, staggered out of the driver’s door, and in some sort of English asked the first person he saw if they knew where George was. Not recognizing the Reverend, he was told to get his rolling carnival off of the property.
He didn’t, and when George returned that evening, the Reverend was there to greet him. He asked George if the road to his shack could be plowed as he had a bunch of new valuables to deposit, and the snow was still too cold for him to walk around on in his flip flops. Gabriella was with George, and she took one look at the Reverend’s van and trailer and announced that she was not going to have that rolling heap devalue the Farm by being parked where people might see it.
The Reverend’s old, rusted-out ice cream van had been modified over the winter. In order to hold more stuff, or more likely, to allow the same amount of stuff while transporting more dead bodies on the inside, an outer luggage rack system had been cobbled together from old pieces of conduit and water pipe. This tubing contraption was then drywall-screwed to any available not rusted through body parts on the van, whereupon different items were lashed down Beverly Hillbillies–style. An old roadside recovery of a bicycle with one bent wheel was mounted to the front, only obscuring the windshield by two-thirds or so. An even older and more damaged canoe was expertly secured to the top of the rack system by pieced-together hay bale twine, as were the recycled flat screen television boxes on the sides that held God only knows what.
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