Free The Diva Wore Diamonds by Mark Schweizer

of the churches—St. Barnabas, Sand Creek Methodist, and New Fellowship Baptist—all ready to lead the children in pursuits they essentially knew nothing about but were happy to learn along with the kids. I recognized most of the folks, but there were some who were new to me.
    Shea Maxwell was helping at the sandal-making tent, Carol Sterling was getting the clay ready to be molded by young potters, and Gerry and Wilma Flemming, the herbalists, were putting fresh-cut herbs in mason jars. The herbalists were also in charge of making tea for the tent-mothers and had an electric coffee pot burbling away to provide hot water on demand. An orange extension cord snuck out the back of the tent and snaked its way to the parish hall.
    Brianna Stafford was sorting the beads in the jewelry shop, and Beaver Jergenson, the armorer, would happily show the little warriors in the group how to make some basic biblical armor out of wood, leather straps, and scraps of metal. There was a candy shop where the children could spend a coin if they had one left over. They’d get their ten coins each morning from their tent-mother, and coins were required for apprenticing in the shops, petting the animals, giving alms to the beggars, making their offerings in the temple, and various other things.
    Skeeter Donalson made a convincing leper, although, with all the dirty rags he was wearing, it was tough to make out his pockmarked face and permanently greasy hair.
    In addition to the folks from St. Barnabas, there were some I didn’t know—a basket weaver, a carpenter, and someone who, according to the placard in front of her tent, was named Lydia, and was going to show kids how to dye cloth purple. I also didn’t know the two soldiers or the beggar. Their costumes were great, though, probably left over from an Easter pageant at one of the other two churches. I was the Roman tax collector and, hence, the bad guy.
    Kimberly Walnut was scuttling back and forth like a hermit crab at the Dead Sea, checking her lists and directing adults to their appointed posts. She looked very busy, but, in fact, the tent-mothers had everything under control. Kimberly just had to get the skits running on time.
    Unfortunately, the first person I ran into after I’d gotten into my tax collector outfit was Pete. This particular costume was more along the lines of John Wayne’s centurion look in The Greatest Story Ever Told . Short red tunic with a “pleather” overlay replete with brass-colored plastic medallions on strips that hung past my waist, sandals, and a red cape. There was a helmet as well. It was a bit small, but it more than made up for it in style, the hard plastic silver crown sporting hinged face-guards, and topped by red bristles stiff enough to sweep the floor of the Slab Café. The sword was a bonus.
    Pete almost fell over laughing. “Your legs!” he guffawed. “You need to get down to Noylene’s Dip ‘N Tan.”
    I stabbed him with my sword. Unfortunately, it was made of rubber.
    “ Did you bring my sandwich?” I asked.
    “ Yep.” Pete handed me a paper bag, still chuckling. “As ordered. One Reuben sandwich—corned beef, sauerkraut, Swiss cheese and Russian dressing on toasted rye.”
    “ And chips?”
    “ Yeah. Chips.”
    Moosey ran up, followed closely by Christopher and Dewey. “Hey, Chief!” he yelped. “Lookit! We’re in the tribe of Issy-something!”
    “ Issachar,” said Christopher.
    “ We’re the warriors!” said Dewey.
    “ Robert’s over in the Baptist tent,” said Moosey. “He has to stay with his class. He’s a Benjamin.”
    “ I could use some Benjamins,” said Pete.
    “ Bernadette and Ashley are in our tent, too,” said Dewey, after giving Pete a blank stare for a moment. “And Samantha.”
    “ We coulda had two more,” volunteered Christopher, “but Mrs. Konig said six were plenty.”
    I smiled at the mention of Meg’s moniker. She’d gone back to her birth name, Farthing, after her divorce ten years