~by Colleen O’Brien
Scene in a pub in Jefferson, Iowa, on a late summer day, 2026:
Six townies lounge at the bar chatting, sipping, gazing into space. A lone woman sits at a table smiling dreamingly as she munches on French fried onion rings. The bartender chats with the old guy leaning against the wall at the end of the bar.
A couple walks in, strangers. They ask if they can sit at the two barstools in the middle. The townie sitting next to the empty seats sticks out her hand. “Hi, I’m Mirabelle. Have a seat. Welcome to Jefferson.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Tex and this is my wife Arkana.”
“And this is my sister BellaBella.” Mirabelle leans back and pats her sister on the shoulder. They all shake hands and the couple order their beers.
“So, where you from?” asks Mirabelle.
Tex says, “We live in Texas and are on our way to Chicago.”
“And what wrong turn did you take to wind up here?” asks BellaBella.
They all laugh, and Tex says, “Some guy we met in Missouri said it would behoove us to drive through Jefferson, Iowa, and stop at their bell tower.”
“That was nice of him. Did you catch his name?”
“Nope.”
“Well, the truth is, there are Jeffersonians all over the country, and quite a few of us move back. My sis and I always called it the Center of the Universe.”
The couple smile in tandem. “That’s pretty interesting for such a small . . .” Arkana begins.
“. . . but the bell tower is closed,” Tex interrupts.
Mirabelle looks startled. “It’s a little early for that,” she says, slides off her barstool and out the front door she goes.
BellaBella asks the couple, “Did you see Thomas as you walked over here from the tower?”
“Thomas who?” asks Arkana.
“Jefferson, of course,” responds BellaBella. “When you walk out of here, turn left, go half a block and cross Lincoln Way to Thomas Jefferson Garden to say hi. Tom is usually sitting on a bench reading a book.”
“Usually?” asks Arkana, a tad confused.
“Well, always,” says BellaBella, adding seriously, “He Is a statue, you know.” She shrugs at Tex and Arkana. “Historically, Mr. Jefferson was known to prefer reading to talking to folks.”
Arkana and Tex look at each other and widen their eyes. Arkana asks, “So, why is it that people move back here?”
“Well, we aren’t sure,” says BellaBella. “There are plenty who never left and a good number who come back. Both my sister and I are returnees. We just seem to like it here. We never did quit talking about Jeff, no matter where we lived.”
“That’s remarkable,” says Arkana. “I never went back to my little town in Texas. Ever.”
“Hmm,” says BellaBella. “That’s too bad. We came back often for class reunions. And Bell Tower festivals. Seemed like the next thing to do after living someplace else. It’s almost like it was when we were kids.”
Just about then, in comes Mirabelle with a short, friendly-looking fellow. “Here we are, folks,” she says to the Texans. “I want you to meet The Man. He will be your guide to the Bell Tower. You will see all of Greene Couty, Iowa – and at this time of year, it’s rolling green for miles, several shades of it — and of course the rooftops of downtown. What we call Roo-Fart.”
Arkana laughs. “Roo-Fart? What in the world?”
“It’s really “Roof Art,” says BellaBella, pronouncing carefully. “Named by the person who started it all.
The fellow Mirabella dragged into the bar shakes hands with Tex. “How do you do? I’m The Man. Come along. I’ve got half an hour.”
Out they go, the young couple trying to keep up.
“When they come back,” says BellaBella, “do you think they’ll decide to move to the center of the universe?’”
“I think maybe they’ll have to consider it, don’t you?”
“You’re right,” says her sis. “The proof is in the pudding.”
They become quite tickled with one another; their friends at the bar just let them be silly.
