Almost Friends (10 page)

S
am Gardner sat with his wife, children, and parents in the fifth row on the right-hand side of the meetinghouse, directly behind Ellis Hodge and his assorted kin.

For the first eighteen years of his life, Sam had spent Sunday mornings staring at the back of Ellis’s neck. Some people think of God when they hear a certain hymn, others when they read the Bible. Sam’s thoughts turn to the Divine whenever he sees a farmer’s neck.

Fern Hampton sat behind the Gardners. She was always stirred up about something, but this morning she seemed especially provoked. She fanned herself briskly with a Last Supper cardboard fan, compliments of the Mackey Funeral Parlor. When Krista appeared at the back door of the meeting room and made her way to the pulpit, Fern grew visibly agitated, fanning the air about her even more swiftly.

Sam leaned over and whispered in Barbara’s ear, “I wonder what’s got Fern all worked up?”

“Some act of human kindness, no doubt,” Barbara whispered back.

They tittered until Sam’s mother shushed them.

Bea Majors launched into a song on the organ, something Sam didn’t recognize, which was not unusual. He couldn’t identify most of the songs Bea played.

“What song is that?” he whispered to Barbara.

“‘Amazing Grace.’”

“Are you sure it isn’t ‘Leaning on the Everlasting Arms’?” he whispered.

Barbara listened carefully. “‘Bringing in the Sheaves,’” she said.

“Yes, that’s it,” Sam agreed.

That mystery solved, they leaned back in their pew, bowed their heads, and settled into the Quaker worship.

Bea’s song shuddered to a merciful end, and she climbed down from the organ seat as one would dismount a stagecoach after a hard day’s ride, flexing her back, stretching her arms, and wiggling her fingers.

Silence engulfed the room, though when Sam listened carefully he could hear the whisper of fabric as Fern fanned herself vigorously. Across the meeting room Harvey Muldock blew his nose with a loud honk, then inspected his handkerchief, clearly satisfied with the result.

“Is it almost over?” Sam’s son Addison whispered, his head rolling back in boredom and thumping the pew. Barbara pulled him across her lap and rubbed his head, straightening his hair.

Sam glanced over at Dale Hinshaw, who was reading his Bible, his fingers tracing the words, his lips moving. Dale’s favorite pastime was rummaging around the Old Testament in search of obscure rules someone might have broken, then standing during the Quaker silence each Sunday to pronounce judgment. Sam had been told that the week before Dale had accused Jessie Peacock of violating Deuteronomy 22:5 by wearing pants. When Asa had come to his wife’s defense, Dale had declared, rather snootily, that he didn’t value the opinion of a man who was in flagrant violation of Leviticus 19:9.

Krista had obviously learned from experience and stood to make the announcements before Dale could rise to rebuke a backslider.

For someone so new to ministry, Krista was unarguably polished. Where Sam ordinarily fumbled with the bulletin as he read the announcements, she recited them from memory, adding insightful commentary along the way.

Ralph Hodge came forward and announced the first hymn, which they sang poorly but with much zeal. Then Krista stood and invited people to share their joys and concerns. She listened carefully as others spoke, then ended with a prayer, lifting each person’s name to the Lord.

Sam invariably forgot the names and had to end the joys-and-concerns prayer by saying, “We especially remember those whose names were mentioned.” Everyone knew he’d already forgotten their names, and when he assured them after church, in the greeting line, that he’d pray for their loved ones, they were skeptical.

Barbara leaned over and whispered to Sam, “How does she do that?”

Sam snorted. “Oldest trick in the book. Anybody can do it. Just takes a little practice.”

Miss Rudy, with the crisp enunciation of a librarian, read the Scripture, then returned to her seat next to Frank, who the month before, in defiance of pew protocol, had moved from the tenth row to the third row to sit with Miss Rudy, even though they weren’t married. When people weren’t talking about Krista, they were talking about them. As Miss Rudy made her way back to her seat, Dale frowned at her, clearly disturbed by her brazen behavior.

Krista preached about Jesus and the Pharisees. Sam could tell it was an effort for her not to name names. The sermon was brief, as fine preaching should be. When she finished, she sat down in a folding chair behind the pulpit. That’s when Sam noticed the pastor’s chair was missing. For that matter, so was the clock. What a delicious mystery that was! It gave him something to think about in the silence that followed.

The puzzle was solved when Fern Hampton rose in the quiet to speak. “Many of you have probably noticed the clock and Bible and pulpit chair are gone. The clock was given in honor of my sainted grandmother, and my own father made the chair.” She paused dramatically, as if collecting herself. “I felt I had no choice but to take them after Krista threw me out of the church.”

Across the meeting room, people gasped. Behind the pulpit, Krista shook her head.

Fern went on. “The truth is, our pastor is a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I know some of you have been taken in by her so-called healings, but I knew from the start something wasn’t right with her. This past Friday, she called the police and had me arrested for taking what was rightfully mine. Then yesterday she disgraced the church in public. I won’t tell you what she did. It’s too shameful to mention. But it had something to do with another woman. When I challenged her, she denied it. When I took Dale with me as a witness, she threw us out of the office.”

Dale, looking appropriately saddened by the whole sordid matter, nodded solemnly.

“Sam has said he wants to come back, and I think it’s high time we let him,” Fern said. “That woman is tearing this church apart.”

Sam perked up. He hoped others would stand and demand his return.

“Why do you care who our pastor is?” Frank said. “You told me on Friday you were quitting the church.”

“I was mad with grief,” Fern said. “I wasn’t thinking right.”

“This is wrong,” Barbara whispered to Sam. “Stand up and say something.”

Dale rose from his pew, stabbing the air with his finger to punctuate his words. “What we’ve got ourselves here is nothing but old-fashioned sin. Romans chapter 1, verse 26.”

All over the meeting room, people reached for their Bibles. “Is that in the Old Testament or the New Testament?” Harvey Muldock asked.

Miriam Hodge stood. “This is inappropriate. Worship is not the time or place to accuse anyone of such things.”

“The Bible is clear,” Dale said. “Matthew 18. If someone in the church rejects correction from two persons, tell it to the church.”

Barbara nudged Sam. “Say something,” she said.

Sam knew it would be the honorable thing to do, but all he could think about was getting his job back, and he remained still.

“As the clerk of the meeting, I’m calling a special business meeting for this Friday evening at seven o’clock,” Miriam said.

“Friday!” Harvey Muldock shrieked. “That’s high-school football night. We can’t meet on Friday.”

“Friday night it is,” Miriam declared firmly.

Harvey appeared genuinely torn, forced to choose between watching football or hearing about women committing unnatural acts. He groaned in anguish.

“Let us continue our worship in silence,” Miriam said. “I ask you to pray that we might be gracious and wise, full of God’s love for one another.”

It was clearly too late for that.

After fifteen minutes of silence, Miriam rose and prayed, bringing the worship to a close. Krista walked down the cen
ter aisle, her head held high, stationing herself at the door to shake hands with people as they passed by, most of them averting their eyes.

Dale and Fern slunk out the side door.

Barbara didn’t speak to Sam the whole way home. But when they were alone in their bedroom, she unloaded. “Sam Gardner, why didn’t you say something? They said those awful things about her, and you didn’t come to her defense.”

“I didn’t need to. Miriam did.”

“You’re the pastor. You should have said something.”

“Technically, I’m not the pastor right now,” Sam reminded her. “I’m still on leave.”

“You weasel.”

“Look, if Krista is going to be a pastor, she’s going to have to deal with nutcases. The sooner she learns that, the better off she’ll be.”

“Maybe she wouldn’t have to deal with nutcases if reasonable people found the courage to speak up,” Barbara said.

“There’s no talking with you when you get in this logical mood of yours,” Sam said.

“Yes, I can see how logic might be hard to refute.”

They’d had these arguments before, Barbara wanting Sam to take a firm stand and Sam refusing.

“I’m a pastor, not a prophet,” he said. “Prophets get fired. Pastors have a family to support. Besides, I thought you believed in equality. You’re perfectly free to stand up and defend Krista, if you wish.”

“I might just do that. But I’ll tell you something, Sam Gardner. Something I’ve never told you before. Something I never felt toward you before.”

“What?”

“I’m losing my respect for you, that’s what.”

The room fell silent. Sam slipped off his dress clothes, hung them in the closet, then pulled on blue jeans and a sweatshirt.

“I’m doing this for you and the boys,” Sam said finally. “Krista is gifted in ways I’m not, and people really like her. Don’t you remember how we ended up back here? How my last church fired me because they liked that evangelist who came to speak? We had to move in with my folks, for crying out loud! I don’t want to put you and the boys through that again.”

“Don’t hide behind us. We’d rather have a husband and father with character than one we don’t respect.”

“Yeah, Dad, it was pretty wienie of you not to stick up for Krista,” Levi said from the other side of their bedroom door.

“Yeah, Dad, pretty wienie,” Addison echoed.

“You boys stop listening to our private talks,” Sam yelled. “And treat me with more respect.”

“A wise person once told me respect couldn’t be given; it had to be earned.”

“Who told you that?”

“You did, Sam,” Barbara said, walking from the room.

For crying out loud, he thought. They’ve all gone nuts.

Krista had planned on staying the afternoon in Harmony
visiting her flock, then driving back to the city in the evening. But it had taken all her energy and goodwill not to flee the meetinghouse after Miriam’s prayer. Her appetite for fellowship was now considerably diminished. She stopped by her apartment, changed into her blue jeans, packed her suitcase, and began the long drive back to the city, wondering all the while if Principal Dutmire would hire her back.

She pulled into Ruth Marshal’s driveway just before supper.

“I was hoping you’d return in time to join me,” Ruth said, setting an extra plate on the table.

“I’m afraid I won’t be good company tonight,” Krista said.

Ruth Marshal had many fine qualities; one was an unerring instinct for when to listen. She turned off the stove, poured two glasses of iced tea, and sat at the kitchen table.

Krista told her everything—the tea in the sugar at the Chicken Noodle Dinner, Fern’s brush with the law, her visits from Fern and Dale, wrapping up with a vivid description of that morning’s worship.

Ruth Marshal said nothing at first. She took a sip of her tea, then leaned back in her chair, her brow creased in thought. After several moments, she leaned forward and said, “Do you want to know what I think?”

“Yes, I certainly do.”

“I think they’re nuts,” Ruth Marshal said.

Krista laughed. “Maybe some of them, but not all of them.”

“I suppose not. Miriam Hodge seems capable. Did the pastor defend you?”

“No. He sat there like a lump on a log,” Krista said.

“The weasel.”

Krista sighed. “I have no idea what I should do. To be honest, I’ve been thinking how nice it would be to return to teaching.”

They sat quietly for a few moments.

“Krista,” Ruth said after a while, “I’m not a pastor, but I’ve thought carefully about the job in my years in the church. For all our vaunted talk about equality, we Quakers often treat our women pastors terribly. Many of our meetings won’t even hire a woman, except for a minor role. So the deck is stacked against you from the start. And you’ve never been married. That, of course, is your business and no one else’s. But there will be suspicious souls in every congregation with nothing better to do than speculate about your sexual orientation.”

“I’m not a lesbian,” Krista said. “I just haven’t found the right person. But that’s no one’s business but my own.” She paused for a moment, took another drink of tea, then said reflectively, “There are good people in that congregation. I know there are. Why didn’t they speak up?”

“Because they’re afraid. People like Fern and Dale think nothing of going on the attack. It is another day’s work for them. No one likes to be on the receiving end of that, so nothing is said.”