Just Shy of Harmony (14 page)

I
t was the morning of Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent, and the Coffee Cup restaurant was full. Vinny was at the griddle flipping pancakes, and Penny worked the booths, pouring coffee. Dale Hinshaw sat at the counter next to Asa Peacock.

“I was wondering if you could maybe look at my chickens,” Dale said.

“What’s going on?” Asa asked.

“I’m not sure. Their feathers are falling out, and they’re not laying as many eggs.”

“All the chickens or just some of them?”

“Just some.”

“It’s probably nothing. A lot of times they’ll molt this time of year. As for the egg production, you might try increasing their feed.”

“It couldn’t have happened at a worse time. I was going to the airport this weekend to pass out Scripture eggs to the Moonies. Now it looks like I’m running short of eggs.” Dale sighed. “First the church
didn’t give me the ten thousand dollars they promised. Now my chickens are looking puny. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the Lord had set His heart against my Scripture egg ministry.”

“Now don’t go getting all discouraged. Remember, Jonah had his whale and Daniel had his lion’s den.”

“Maybe it’s a test,” Dale said.

“I bet you’re right.”

“Could you and Jessie pray for me?”

“You know we will. Of course, it could be stress. Are you still keeping the chickens in your basement?”

“Yep, at least until I get enough money to build a coop.”

“You might try letting them outside every now and then. They like fresh air. You could try taking them for a walk. That might help.”

“You think so?”

“Couldn’t hurt.” Asa stood and plucked his bill from the counter. Vinny rang him up. “Happy Lent,” Asa told him.

“Thank you,” Vinny said.

“Are the Catholics having church tonight?”

“You bet. What about you guys? Do the Quakers recognize Lent?”

“Not really. We believe people should feel guilty the whole year round, not just for forty days.”

Vinny laughed and handed him his change. Asa deposited it in the Help Sally Fleming! pickle jar next to the cash register. Vinny peered at the jar. “How’s Sally doing?” he asked.

“Not good. Sam talked about her in church on Sun
day. They went ahead with the transplant, and they’ve got her in isolation. But it looks like she’s got some kind of infection. She’s fevered.”

Vinny shook his head. “Sorry to hear that.”

“Maybe you could put her on the prayer chain at your church.”

“We’re one step ahead of you. She’s been on there for a month now. We’re keeping a candle lit for her.”

“Thank you, Vinny. Times like this, a person needs all the prayer they can get.”

Vinny peered at Asa. “Is there anything else we can be praying about? Maybe something of a personal nature for you and Jessie?”

“Not that I know of. But if I think of anything, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

P
eople have been asking that a lot lately. They’ve been asking how Asa and Jessie are doing and talking about how marriage is so difficult these days, what with Hollywood winking at infidelity and all.

Asa isn’t sure why people have taken such an interest in marriage. The Sunday before, Bea Majors had risen from her seat at the organ during the prayer time and asked Sam if he could pray for all the marriages in the church.

“It just seems to me that Satan is hard at work destroying our marriages,” she said from the organ.

People stared at her. Satan doesn’t get mentioned much at Harmony Friends, but lately Bea has been dragging him out every Sunday. She’s been watching the Reverend Johnny LaCosta of the Johnny LaCosta
Worship Center on Wednesday nights after Jeopardy! According to the Reverend Johnny LaCosta, Satan has been working a good deal of overtime.

She talked with her sister, Opal, about it. Opal thinks Johnny LaCosta is a fraud.

“Number one,” she told Bea, “don’t trust any minister who accepts Visa or MasterCard. And number two, any minister who names a church after himself is a gasbag and a bozo.”

Bea thinks Opal is in denial, another thing the Reverend Johnny LaCosta warned about. Bea’s thinking of sending the Reverend a little donation so he can get the truth out to more people. A fifty-dollar donation will get her a prayer cloth touched by the Reverend Johnny LaCosta himself.

J
essie Peacock suspects people have been talking about her and Asa, though she isn’t sure why. The week before, she had run into Fern Hampton at the Kroger, and Fern had informed her that her nephew Ervin was thinking of becoming a counselor.

“He never really took the classes,” Fern explained, “but he’s read several books on the subject. He’s working for the street department now, so he’s only available of an evening.” Then she leaned closer to Jessie. “Sometimes it’s easier to talk to a stranger.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

Fern slipped Jessie a piece of paper. “Just in case anyone were to ask, here’s his phone number.” She patted Jessie’s hand. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. We all need help every now and then.”

Fern blames Jessie and Asa’s marriage troubles on the lottery money. She’s discussed it at length with Bea. “It was bound to happen,” she said. “Money changes people.”

Though Jessie and Asa have noticed people acting a little strange, they haven’t talked about it with one another. Asa was going to raise the subject with Jessie, but then he found the slip of paper in a grocery bag with Ervin written on it, along with a telephone number.

He anguished about it for several days.

Maybe this is what people have been talking about, he thought. Maybe this is what Vinny meant when he asked if Jessie and I needed prayer. Everyone knows but me. It’s always the husband who’s the last to know.

He finally asked Jessie one night after supper. “Uh, honey, I was just wondering how things are going for you. Are you feeling all right? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. Couldn’t be better!”

“Say, by the way, I found this and thought it might by yours.” Asa handed her the piece of paper with Ervin’s name on it.

Jessie studied the piece of paper, then smiled. “Oh, this is Fern’s nephew. He’s a counselor. Except that right now he’s working for the street department. Fern gave me his number last week at the grocery store.”

“Are…are you seeing him?”

“Of course not. I don’t need counseling.” She began to clear the dishes from the table. “It is odd, though. Everyone’s been asking me how I’m doing.”

“Me too. I wonder if there’s something going on we don’t know about?”

“Hard telling. The way people gossip in this town, it could be anything.”

They talked for a while about what they could do with that month’s interest money. Bea Majors has been after Jessie to send money to the Reverend Johnny LaCosta.

“Jessie, it’s like he knows your heart,” Bea said. “He just stares right out of that TV screen and peers into your soul. Plus, if you give a thousand dollars, he writes your name down in the Book of Life, which he locks in a vault so it’ll be safe when the Lord returns. That way the Lord’ll know who’s been faithful.”

Jessie told Asa about Bea as they were washing dishes.

Asa shook his head. “I’m afraid Bea’s straw doesn’t reach the bottom of the glass.”

“Yeah, something’s not right there. Speaking of Bea, what was that song she played for the offering this past Sunday?”

“I think it was ‘Tiny Bubbles.’”

“Maybe we could use this month’s money to hire a new organist for the church.”

Asa chuckled.

I
nstead, Jessie and Asa decided to set aside more money for Wayne and Sally Fleming. They want to get the Flemings out of that trailer and into a house with a yard so the kids can have a safe place to play. But for now they just want Sally to get well.

Her infection and fever had gotten so bad that Sally had asked to see the kids, so Deena Morrison brought
them to the hospital. The doctors let them behind the isolation curtain, but they had to wear masks and gloves.

Deena told Jessie about it after church.

“It was pitiful. The kids were crying. Wayne and Sally were crying. I couldn’t bear to watch it.”

“What are the doctors saying?” Jessie asked.

“Oh, you know doctors. They won’t say one way or the other. But I don’t see how she can make it. She’s wasting away.”

The Friendly Women’s Circle met the next Tuesday. They talked about Sally while they stitched their annual fund-raiser quilt for Brother Norman’s shoe ministry to the Choctaw Indians.

Bea Majors suggested they load Sally in Harvey Muldock’s RV and drive her to the Reverend Johnny LaCosta’s healing service. “He could cure leukemia with one hand tied behind his back. I’ve seen him do it. He can heal just about anything—cancer, consumption, warts.”

The Friendly Women want to believe people can be healed—they just wish God would use someone more credible than the Reverend Johnny LaCosta.

“It’s his hair,” Miriam Hodge complained. “Why does it have to be so big? And what’s with the white suit? He looks like Colonel Sanders.”

Sam was at the meetinghouse that morning. They asked him what he thought of the Reverend Johnny LaCosta.

“Not much,” he told them.

Bea whispered to Fern Hampton, “That’s jealousy
talking. Sam’s been praying for Sally all these months, and nothing’s happened.”

B
ack in January, Bea Majors and Dale Hinshaw had written a letter to the Reverend Johnny LaCosta inviting him to preach the June revival at Harmony Friends Meeting. The only thing they got back was a picture of the Reverend with a request for a donation to expand the Johnny LaCosta Worship Center.

Dale sent him ten dollars and asked if he could appear with his Scripture eggs on the Reverend’s TV program.

Bea taped the Reverend’s picture to her bathroom mirror. It’s the first thing she sees every morning.

Johnny LaCosta has never married and neither has Bea. She thinks the Lord might want them together. It’s the way he looks at her from the television set, like he knows her heart. She’s hoping he’ll come to Harmony for the June revival and they’ll get together. She sent him a picture of herself playing the organ. She signed the back of the picture Fondly, Bea. She was thinking of writing With Deep Affection, but didn’t want to come on too strong.

The night of Ash Wednesday, she hurried home from Italian Night at the Coffee Cup to watch Jeopardy. Her sister, Opal, watched too. They talked on the phone, guessing the answers and discussing Alex Trebek.

“Except for his hair turning gray and the liver spots, you’d never know he was pushing sixty,” Bea said.

At seven twenty-eight she told Opal good night,
then flipped over to Channel 40 to watch Johnny LaCosta’s Hour of Truth program from seven-thirty to eight. It’s their time to be alone, to commune soul to soul.

Johnny was talking about Lent and why he was opposed to it. Nowhere in Scripture is Lent mentioned, he pointed out. “We know for a fact that Lent has its origins in a pagan religion from the area of Babylon. We’ve invited the pope to come on the Hour of Truth for a frank discussion of the whole Lenten heresy, but he’s declined to meet with us.”

He frowned. It appeared to pain the Reverend Johnny LaCosta to have to rat on the pope/

I wonder if Vinny knows this, Bea thought. I’m glad there’s someone out there willing to tell the truth.

She rose from her chair and wrote out a check for fifty dollars to the Johnny LaCosta Worship Center along with a note asking him to pray for Sally Fleming. She licked the envelope shut and clothes-pinned it to the mailbox on her front porch.

She’s thinking if she gets the prayer cloth in time, she might drive up to the hospital and have Sally touch it. And while she’s at it, she might let Asa and Jessie have a go at it too.

G
osh, I’m getting tired of this. I need a vacation, Bob Miles thought as he sat typing at his desk at the Harmony Herald.

He’s written “The Bobservation Post” column every Tuesday for nearly twenty years. Twenty years of looking out the front window from eight to nine in the morning and writing what he sees. It’s the same thing every week: Jessie Peacock going into the Kroger, Kyle Weathers sweeping his sidewalk, and the lawyer Owen Stout walking with his briefcase past the Coffee Cup. He wishes a tavern would open on the town square. Instead of writing about what went on Tuesday mornings, he could write about what happened on Saturday nights.

Bob leaned back in his chair and imagined such a column:

A smile crossed his face. That’d sure sell some papers.

Instead, he wrote about Jessie Peacock going into the Kroger, Kyle Weathers sweeping his sidewalk, and the lawyer Owen Stout walking with his briefcase past the Coffee Cup.

Bob has been wanting to take the Herald in a new direction. He’s thinking of adding a liberal columnist to the editorial page. Maybe print a commentary or two in favor of socialized medicine or expanding the welfare system. Maybe something in support of gun control or against prayer in school. Something to get folks agitated. He’s been bored lately and could use the excitement.

He’d been keeping a close eye on the Wayne-and-Deena dating dilemma. When Sally came home, Bob had hoped for some kind of fracas to write about. Preferably one in public where he could take photographs of Sally and Deena catfighting over Wayne. But then Deena bowed out of the picture, and there went his story.

“She sure picked the wrong time to be noble,” he complained to his wife, Arvella. “I needed something to liven up the front page.”

“Maybe you could write about the Friendly Women and their fund-raiser for Brother Norman’s shoe ministry to the Choctaws. People kind of expect that this time of year.”

“I was thinking about that. I tell you what I’d like to
know. I’d like to know what this Brother Norman character is doing with all the money they’ve been sending him. There can’t be that many shoeless Choctaws.”

The next Tuesday he visited the Friendly Women and took a picture of them at the quilting frame in the meetinghouse basement. Underneath the picture he wrote, The Friendly Women of Harmony Friends Meeting stitch a fund-raiser quilt for Brother Norman’s supposed shoe ministry to the Choctaw Indians.

He passed out the papers Thursday morning, then left for a vacation in Florida. Bob’s always wanted to go to Florida, and after Arvella read that week’s paper she thought this might be just the time for them to go.

They left that afternoon and made it as far as Louisville.

“We should be safe here,” Arvella said, so Bob took the next exit and they stayed the night in a Motel 6. They woke up the next morning, ate breakfast at Bob Evan’s, then got back on the Interstate and headed south. It was kind of exciting, being on the run. Every five minutes he’d check his rearview mirror.

“Looks like we made a clean getaway,” he announced as they crossed into Georgia.

B
ack in Harmony, the Friendly Women were worked into a lather. Supposed shoe ministry. The nerve of him! They held an emergency meeting in the basement. Fern Hampton demanded they boycott the Herald, until it was pointed out that the Herald was free in the first place.

“Then let’s boycott his advertisers. That’ll teach them not to consort with the media elite.”

Oh, they were mad. To labor so hard on the Lord’s behalf only to be attacked by the liberal press. “It’s enough to make a person rethink the First Amendment,” Fern fumed.

Opal Majors suggested they hire the lawyer Owen Stout. “Let’s sue his pants off. That’ll teach him not to mess with the Friendly Women.”

It wasn’t a pretty sight, what happened in that basement. All their suppressed anger rose to the surface. For months they had avoided contention in order to labor for the common good of Sally Fleming. But you can be good only so long, and the Friendly Women had reached their limit.

They were not only mad; they were discouraged. They’d thought that with all their work, God would bless their efforts by healing Sally.

The next Sunday, after church, they went to see her. They drove to the city and stood peering through the glass into Sally’s room as she lay in her isolation tent. Fifteen robust Quaker women bringing all their faith to bear. Sally was asleep, so they clutched about the doorway and watched her. Wayne was there, tired and rumpled. The women lined up to hug him.

“We’ve been praying for you and Sally,” Miriam Hodge said.

“How’s she doing?” Fern asked.

“Not good.” His throat caught. “The doctors say the new bone marrow they gave her is attacking her body.
They call it graft-versus-host disease. I guess it’s pretty serious.”

Miriam grimaced. “Does Sam know about this?”

“No, I haven’t told him yet. I just found out myself this morning.” Wayne slumped in the doorway.

“Have you eaten anything today?” Jessie Peacock asked.

“No, I’ve been sitting with Sally.”

“You have to eat. Let’s go down to the cafeteria and get you something to eat.”

She took him by one arm, Miriam took him by the other. The rest of the Friendly Women fell into formation and marched behind them to the elevator that took them down to the basement cafeteria.

Wayne didn’t want to eat, but they made him.

“Clean your plate,” Fern ordered.

So he did. He knew better than to argue with the Friendly Women.

“How’s Sally been eating?” Jessie asked.

“Not too well. She’s lost her appetite. The food here isn’t all that good.”

“What she needs is some of our chicken and noodles,” Fern said.

“Oh, the doctors wouldn’t allow that. They don’t let you bring in food. They said it could be contaminated.”

“Contaminated! I’ll have you know no one’s ever got sick from my cooking.” Fern stood up from the table. “Come on, Friendly Women, we’re going to make some noodles.”

They fell into formation and marched into the cafeteria kitchen. There were two men in there. One
had a naked woman tattooed on his forearm. The other had a ponytail. They had dirty fingernails. They were smoking cigarettes, the ashes falling onto the countertop.

Men! Those Friendly Women had had it up to here with men. First it was Bob Miles impugning Brother Norman’s integrity. Now it was these two men with dirty fingernails smoking in a kitchen.

Fern glared at them. “Out! And don’t come back!”

I
t took the Friendly Women four hours to make the chicken and noodles. They sent Jessie to the grocery store to buy a chicken. “I wish I’d brought one with me,” Jessie lamented. “Those store-bought chickens are nothing but white lumps of chemicals.”

“It’ll have to do,” Fern told her.

Say what you will about Fern Hampton, when leadership is needed, she’s not one to waver.

They carried the chicken and noodles up to Sally’s room. She was awake by then. Fern hoisted her up in bed, and Miriam spoon-fed her the noodles. Sally ate half a bowl before falling back to sleep. Wayne ate the rest.

The Friendly Women stood back, awaiting her revival.

“Lord, raise her up,” Mrs. Dale Hinshaw prayed aloud.

But Sally just lay there, pale and worn, her breath a rattle.

“She sounds just like Dale’s chickens,” Mrs. Dale Hinshaw whispered to Jessie Peacock. “They’re not doing so hot either.”

They watched Sally another half hour.

“Maybe this is one of those slow miracles,” Bea Majors said. “The Reverend Johnny LaCosta was talking about that the other night. He said sometimes God delays your miracle to teach you patience.”

“That must be it,” Fern agreed.

Wayne had fallen asleep in the chair next to Sally. They filed out of the room and rode the elevator to the ground floor.

I
t was a quiet drive back to Harmony. It was after dark by the time they pulled in front of the meetinghouse. Miriam could see a light on in Sam’s office. She went inside and tapped on his door.

“Come in,” he called out.

Miriam pushed open the door. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be home with your family?”

“The boys are on spring break this week. I’m working now so I can take a few days off to be with them.”

Miriam smiled. “Enjoy them while you’re able. Life’s a fragile thing.”

“Yes it is. Have a seat. Let’s talk.”

“Thank you, I will. It’s been a long day.”

“How’s Sally?”

“Not any better. The doctors told Wayne this morning that the new bone marrow is starting to attack her body. I guess it’s pretty serious.”

Sam leaned back in his chair and shook his head.

Miriam continued, “You read all the stories in the Bible about Jesus healing people. With all our prayer, I just don’t understand why He isn’t healing Sally.”

“I’ve wondered that myself sometimes.”

“What do you make of it?”

“Well, I tell you, Miriam, I don’t want to say God can’t heal. After all, He’s God. He can do whatever He wants. But for whatever reason He doesn’t seem to do it nearly as often as we ask.”

“That’s true enough. I wonder why that is?”

“I think it has to do with freedom. God created a free world. And in a free world there exists the possibility not only for beauty and happiness, but ugliness and sorrow.”

Miriam sat silent. “I suppose you’re right,” she said after a while.

“So did you see any beauty today?”

“I did. I saw a bunch of women spend their day comforting Wayne and Sally the only way we knew how.”

“How was that?”

She laughed. “We made them noodles.”

“And I bet that made them feel loved.”

“I hope so.” The words caught in her throat. “I hope they know we love them.”

“I’m sure they do.” Sam paused. “You know, Miriam, maybe God is healing Sally after all, and we just can’t see it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that sometimes our deepest wounds are the invisible ones, the ones medicine can’t heal.”

Miriam looked at Sam. “Are you speaking from experience?”

“I am.”

“From when you lost your faith?”

“Yes. I’d been praying for God to do something here and when He didn’t do what I asked, I lost heart. Then I realized He was doing something, just not what I was asking.”

“So because you were looking to Him to do something in one area, you were blind to what He was doing somewhere else.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s what happened,” Sam admitted.

“So what was God doing somewhere else?”

“What God always does. Being lovingly present.”

“Forgive me for saying so, but sometimes it feels like that isn’t enough. Don’t you wish He’d do more?”

Sam chuckled. “Of course I do. Right now I wish God would cure Sally Fleming of leukemia.”

“Do you think He could?”

Sam thought for a moment. “I’m not sure. I just don’t know.”

“Doesn’t that drive you nuts, not knowing?”

“Not really. But then I’ve never thought we can know all there is to know.”

Miriam sighed. “It makes me tired to think of it.”

“It does me too. Let’s go home to our families.”

They walked outside. It was dark. The spring peepers were starting up. The light over the meetinghouse door shone down on the daffodil stems just breaking through the ground.

“I’m glad spring’s here,” Sam said. “It’s a lot easier to be optimistic in the springtime.”

He saw Miriam to her truck, then walked toward home. It was warm. Easter was nearing.

He thought about Bob Miles stirring up all kinds of excitement and leaving town.

What a luxury to have such a boring life you need to stir up excitement, he thought. I must be getting old. A little boredom sounds good right about now.