Just Shy of Harmony (6 page)

“I’m sorry about your grandmother’s wedding ring quilt. If you want, I’ll try to find out who bought it and get it back for you.”

“That’s okay. That’s what I get for my foolishness. I just hope whoever has it appreciates it.”

She tried not to cry, thinking about it. It’s an odd thing, how every blessing has its shadow. Their bills were paid. They had more money than they knew what to do with. But at that moment Jessie would have paid a million dollars to have her grandma’s quilt back.

She didn’t say that to Asa. She just wiggled into him and said, “I love you, honey.”

“I love you back.”

He reached up and turned off the light above the bed and fell asleep.

Jessie eased the covers off and stole over to the blanket chest. She took one of her grandmother’s quilts and spread it on the bed, then got underneath the covers. Smelling the quilt and the memories behind it, she went to sleep.

J
essie Peacock was glad she’d told Asa about accepting the lottery money, especially since it was the headline story in that week’s edition of the Harmony Herald. When they went to church that Sunday and the offering plate drew near their row, Bea Majors stopped playing the organ, raised off her seat, and peered at Asa to see if he would give anything. All across the meeting room, people were watching.

The offering plate stopped at row six while Fern Hampton fumbled in her purse for two dollars. Then it was passed to the Wayne Fleming and Deena Morrison pew, formerly the Wilbur Matthews pew. Deena dropped her offering in the plate, then handed it to Dale Hinshaw, the morning’s usher, who executed a well-rehearsed backward full step with a half turn to row eight—the Jessie and Asa Peacock pew.

Wayne and Deena hadn’t read the Herald. They couldn’t figure out why everyone was staring at them. Then Fern Hampton whispered, “Hey, you’re
blocking my view. Slide over,” and that’s when they realized people were looking at Jessie and Asa, not them.

Wayne slid over and turned to watch, just as Asa eased a check from his billfold, placed it in the offering, and passed the plate to Dale. Dale plucked the check from the plate, unfolded it, and read the numbers.

“Yep, they tithed. Three hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” he announced to the congregation.

Bea Majors resumed her playing, but no one was listening. They were turned in their pews, talking to one another.

“Seems they could have given a little more, what with all the money they won,” Fern Hampton commented to Charlie and Gloria Gardner.

“Maybe this means we can get some uniforms for our new basketball team,” Bill Muldock whispered to his brother, Harvey.

Dale Hinshaw was thinking to himself: If I had twenty thousand of that, I could take the Scripture egg project international. Maybe even ship some eggs to the Muslims. His mind reeled at the possibilities.

He and Ellis Hodge made their way down front with the offering and stood in front of the pulpit.

“Let us pray,” Sam Gardner said. People stopped talking and bowed their heads. Bea Majors softened her organ playing. Lately, she’d been playing the organ while Sam prayed. She’d gotten the idea from watching a TV preacher. Sam didn’t care for it, but she was the only person in the church who knew how to play the organ so she was beyond correction. Occasionally,
while Sam was preaching, she would play background music for emphasis.

“Lord, we thank you for all the gifts you’ve given us. May we use them for your glory,” Sam prayed, while Bea played “We Give Thee but Thine Own.”

“Amen,” said the congregation, and worship was over.

S
am gathered up his sermon notes and tucked them in his Bible. Seventy-seven down, one thousand four hundred and twenty-three sermons to go, he thought. He had twenty-nine years left on a thirty-year mortgage. He’d counted up all the sermons he’d have to preach before his mortgage was paid off. Fifty sermons a year for thirty years equaled fifteen hundred sermons. He’d be sixty-nine years old. He had doubts about whether he’d make it.

What began as discouragement for Sam in April had by June moved into depression and was now, in mid-August, full-fledged unbelief.

These people would cause Jesus to become an atheist, Sam told himself.

The tractor hadn’t helped. It was just one more pressure. One more thing to take care of.

As it was, Sam had plenty enough worries. Giving had been down at church. People would drop a dollar in the plate, thinking that would do it. The chairmen of the committees would spend money the church didn’t have. Sam would point out that they didn’t have the money.

“Well, it’s right there in the budget,” they’d say. “It
says right there on line twelve that our committee has eight hundred dollars to spend.”

“But if people aren’t giving money, then we don’t have it to spend, no matter what line twelve says,” Sam would explain.

“Well, I never heard of such a thing. Pastor Taylor never said anything like that. He never talked about money.”

Which is why our church is down to ninety-five dollars and my last three paychecks have been late, Sam wanted to say.

He’d been thinking of taking a part-time job, in case the church had to cut his pay. A friend from seminary had become a salesman for the Eternal Life Insurance Company of Colorado Springs, Colorado. He’d called Sam the month before, long distance from the city, to ask Sam if he wanted to sell life insurance.

“You can stay right there in Harmony and be a pastor. In fact, most of our agents are pastors. We’ll send you to school in Colorado for two weeks at our expense. You could pull in another twenty thousand dollars a year, maybe more. How about it?”

Sam told him he’d think about it. He could use the money but wasn’t sure he had the time. He had only one day off a week as it was. Hardly saw his boys. They might as well not even have a father, for all the time he saw them.

So when Asa and Jessie Peacock tithed their lottery winnings, Sam was greatly relieved. Maybe the church could pay him on time now. Maybe they’d even give him a raise and more time with his family.

Sam speculated about it at his parents’ house that Sunday afternoon. He and Barbara were sitting with his parents on their porch after dinner.

“This is sure good news for the church,” Sam said. “We can invest that money. The interest alone would pay my salary. Just think, I’d always get paid on time.”

“Don’t count on that happening,” Charlie Gardner said. “It would make too much sense. I remember, it was about twenty years ago, when Bea and Opal’s mother died and left eighty thousand dollars to the church. That was some serious money, let me tell you.”

“We had eighty thousand dollars? I never heard anything about it,” Sam said.

“Yeah, well, it’s still a sore point. People don’t talk about it much. We were gonna build on to the meetinghouse, so the trustees hired some fancy architect from the city to draw up the plans and that cost sixty thousand dollars and there went our money. We had twenty thousand left, which the trustees used to put a new roof on the meetinghouse. It was a special kind of roof, guaranteed for life.”

“But our meetinghouse roof leaks like a sieve.”

“Yeah, the company that did it went out of business.”

“Well, I’m sure people have learned a lesson and won’t let this money go to waste,” Barbara said.

Charlie peered at Sam’s wife. “These are the same people who think Dale Hinshaw’s Scripture eggs are a good idea.”

“We’re sunk,” Sam said.

“Doomed,” added his mother.

“You watch and see,” Charlie Gardner said. “That money will burn a hole in their pockets.”

They sat on the porch, glum.

T
hat Thursday was the third Thursday of the month, the night of the monthly elders meeting. They gathered down in the basement of the meetinghouse at the folding table next to the noodle freezer.

They were all on time for once. Miriam Hodge opened with a prayer, then steered their way in record time through the reading of the minutes and the old business.

“Is there any new business?” she asked the elders.

“I’d like to propose the church donate twenty thousand dollars to the Scripture egg project,” Dale Hinshaw said. “I think we can reach the Muslims in a big way.”

Dale had a globe with him, with straight pins stuck on fifty cities throughout the Middle East, Asia, and Africa.

“These are your major Muslim strongholds,” he continued. “If we could hand out ten thousand Scripture eggs a year in those cities, we could do some serious damage for the Kingdom. I’ve figured out a way we can do it using missionaries already in place. We could mail one hundred chickens to each missionary.”

“Excuse me,” Miriam said, “but don’t those people speak different languages?”

“I’ve already thought of that. The missus is home right now working on the translations. She’s having a little trouble with Swahili, but she’ll make it.”

“I’m not sure the church would approve spending twenty thousand dollars in such a way,” Miriam said.

“Well, I’d hate to think the day has come when we’ve lost our heart for the lost.”

“Supposing we could give you ten thousand? What could you do with that?” Harvey Muldock asked.

“Well, I suppose we could send maybe fifty chickens to each missionary. Of course, that’ll slow the spread of God’s Word. So long as you’re willing to stand before the Almighty and justify your actions, I guess I could try it on ten thousand.”

“I approve giving Dale ten thousand dollars for the Scripture egg project,” Harvey proposed, unfazed at the prospect of standing before the Almighty.

“Does this meet with your approval?” Miriam asked the other elders.

“Approved,” they rumbled, except for Asa Peacock. He just sat in his chair, thinking. Ten thousand dollars for Scripture eggs. This wasn’t what he and Jessie had in mind when they’d given the money to the church.

They’d talked about it that morning at the breakfast table.

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Wayne Fleming could get his diploma and land a decent job and buy a house for those kids? Maybe the church could give some of the money to him,” Jessie had said. “Why don’t you propose that at tonight’s meeting?”

“Now there’s a fine idea,” Asa had agreed.

So when Miriam asked, “Is there any other new business?” Asa raised his hand.

“Well, Jessie and I were talking this morning and we were thinking how nice it could be if the church
could maybe help Wayne Fleming. He’s been working nights at the Kroger and taking one class at a time. Maybe we could give him enough money so’s he could work part-time and finish college, and then…”

Fern Hampton interrupted, “Are he and that Deena living together?”

“Most certainly not,” Sam Gardner said. “She’s living with her grandmother.”

“Still, I don’t think it’s right that they come to church together,” Fern said. “Him being married and all. And I don’t think they ought to sit in Wilbur Matthews’s pew like that.”

“Fern, Wilbur’s been dead for twenty-five years,” Sam said.

“I still think they could be more respectful of his memory.”

“I think it’s wonderful they’re coming to church and I hope it works out for them to get married,” Miriam said. “Those children need a mother.”

She turned to Asa. “I think your idea is a fine one. Why don’t we approach Wayne and see how much money he’d need to cut his work hours and take more classes?”

“I’d be happy to talk with Wayne,” Sam said.

“Now hold your horses,” Harvey said. “I believe we’re starting a dangerous precedent here. What happens the next time someone else needs help? We oughta think long and hard before just jumping in and helping someone like that.”

“We’d be encouraging adultery,” Fern said.

“Far be it for me to judge, but I think Fern’s right,” Dale said.

Sam sighed. For a fleeting moment, he’d believed the church was going to do something worthwhile. He’d felt a momentary rise of hope. I should have known better, he thought.

Harvey cleared his throat. “As long as we’re on the subject of money, my brother Bill is requesting a thousand dollars for uniforms and shoes for the church basketball team. And we figured that as long as we’re gonna have new uniforms we maybe should build a new gymnasium onto the meetinghouse.” He passed some papers to Dale, sitting on his left. “Take one of these, Dale, and pass ’em down.

“We’ve worked up some figures. If we do some of the labor ourselves, painting and such, we can build a gymnasium off the west end of the meetinghouse for a little under three hundred and forty thousand, which is just what we have left. Now if that ain’t a sign from the Lord, I don’t know what is. Of course, it just wouldn’t be for the basketball team. We could use it for other things too—the Chicken Noodle Dinner, the ladies’ quilt project, revivals, emergency housing during national catastrophes. What do you think?”

“I tell you one thing,” Fern said. “I’m not sure how much longer the ladies can keep making noodles down in the basement, what with all those stairs. Our knees can barely take it. Speaking on behalf of the Friendly Women’s Circle, I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

“Let’s discuss this a little further,” Miriam said. “That’s an awful lot of money for something we really don’t need.”

“I think Miriam’s right. We don’t need a gymnasium,” said Sam.

“I disagree,” Dale said. “If we had a gymnasium we could have a Bible aerobics class like that new church in town.”

“That would certainly help our knees,” Fern pointed out.

“I think the Lord’s will on this is becoming pretty clear,” Harvey said. “Does everyone else approve?”

“Approved,” rumbled the elders, except for Sam, Miriam, and Asa.

Asa was sorry he and Jessie had donated the money. A gymnasium, he thought. What in thunder will we do with a gymnasium?

Sam looked at his watch. He thought to himself, It took us thirty minutes to spend three hundred and fifty thousand dollars. That’s got to be a record.

“I’d like to make a proposal,” Fern said. “As most of you know, my mother was a sainted member of this church all her life.” She paused and sniffed and dabbed her eyes with a Kleenex. “I think it’s only fitting that we name our new building in honor of her. The Fleeta Hampton Memorial Gymnasium. And I won’t even ask if the rest of you approve, because I know you do.”

They should have seen it coming. It was just like Fern Hampton to not put a dime toward something, then have it named for someone in her family. There was the Fred Hampton Memorial Drinking Fountain and the Frieda Hampton Memorial Crib, which Frank the secretary had bought for the Iverson Chinese twins. Fern had gone and had a plaque made with her sister’s name on it and had bolted it right to the crib. The thing of it was, Frieda Hampton hadn’t even liked children, and children hadn’t liked her.

This is it, Sam thought. I’m selling insurance.

Miriam said, “I think this a misuse of Jessie and Asa’s generous gift.”

“Now, Miriam, don’t be a sore loser,” Dale said. “The Lord loves a cheerful loser. It says that in the Bible.”