The First Ladies Club Box Set

by J B Hawker

  Peter asked who she was talking about, but Ariadne brushed the question aside, cutting off further discussion by shutting the door, leaving Peter standing outside.

  *

  “Ryan, I’m leaving!” Merrill called to her nephew.

  Ryan opened his bedroom door and stood in the doorway.

  “When will you be home?” he asked.

  “I hope the meeting will wrap up before nine. I’ll call if I’m going to be later. Be sure to finish your homework. I made butterscotch pudding; in case you get hungry before bed.”

  “Thanks. Have fun,” Ryan said, opening the refrigerator.

  “Oh, and if you go any place, be sure to leave a note.”

  “Will do. See you later.”

  Merrill went out, wishing she could stay in.

  This meeting shouldn’t be as unpredictable as Bethany’s Bible study might have been, but Merrill was never a fan of evening meetings.

  Boring reports and heavy desserts were not high on her list of favorite ways to spend her precious downtime.

  She tried to psych herself up on the drive to Manota’s apartment by praying for the evening to go according to God’s will. She had learned God often gives us delightful surprises when we least expect it.

  There were a few other cars parked on the street outside the apartment complex when Merrill arrived.

  The neighborhood was run down, with graffiti on the cracked stucco wall surrounding the residents’ parking area.

  Only one exterior light illuminated the walkway. Merrill noticed some of the others had been broken.

  Seeing the environment where she lived Merrill began to feel more sympathy for Manota.

  Searching for the apartment number in the gloom, she passed a unit on Manota’s level ablaze with light and booming forth loud music. Merrill could feel the strong bass beat vibrating the floor beneath her feet.

  She found Manota’s apartment only a few doors down.

  Merrill felt a twinge of guilt for not visiting this member of her flock before. Vowing to do better in the future, she knocked at the door.

  Bertha Reeves, a long-time church member, opened the door and welcomed her pastor into the tiny living area.

  Metal folding chairs augmented Manota’s forest green sculpted velour chair and sofa.

  About half of the folding chairs were already filled with ladies Merrill recognized from her congregation.

  Manota stepped out of the kitchenette as Merrill was greeting the other women.

  “You sit there, Pastor,” she indicated the overstuffed chair.

  Merrill sat, unexpectedly sinking down into the seat cushion until her feet no longer touched the floor.

  Surprised by the sudden drop, she struggled to pull herself up, finally perching on the edge of the chair, looking as composed as possible.

  “Thank you,” she said, trying to ignore the other ladies’ stares.

  “There’s coffee,” Manota offered.

  Wondering how she would be able to balance a cup and a Bible in her precarious position, Merrill declined.

  “It smells wonderful, but it’s a bit too late for me to drink coffee. I’d never get to sleep. Thanks, anyway.”

  Manota shrugged and disappeared into the back of the apartment for about fifteen minutes, leaving Merrill to wonder if she was still suffering from some digestive malady.

  Following the arrival of two more women, Manota rejoined her guests. She stood in the center of the room and cleared her throat.

  “As we are all well aware, Bethany Sisco was pushy and hard to get along with, but she’s gone, now, so we don’t need to go into all that. We know how much she wanted to get a women’s group going, and even though none of us wanted to hear any of her crazy ideas on the Bible, she was right about us needing to reactivate our circle. That’s why I invited you here tonight. So, I move that we establish a regular monthly meeting for prayer, devotions, and missions support projects and we call ourselves the Bethany Circle.”

  With that, Manota sat on the sofa, awaiting reactions.

  No one spoke, allowing the throbbing beat of the neighbor’s music to fill the silence.

  “Uh, Manota, are you planning to elect officers, or will this be a more informal group?” Merrill asked.

  “Whatever everybody wants is fine with me. I’ll be the President, unless someone else wants it.”

  “That’s a good idea, Manota,” Bertha said. “You were always president of our group before, so you will know what to do.”

  “All right, then. All in favor of naming our group the Bethany Circle, say so,” Manota said.

  After the vote, the ladies shared in reading a chapter in the Gospel of Matthew aloud, briefly considered sending letters to a missionary in the Congo, shared their concerns in a prayer circle and then converged on the cookies and pie in Manota’s kitchen.

  Merrill was mainly an observer, except when asked for her pastoral opinion and when called upon to offer a blessing on the refreshments.

  After chatting with the others as they ate, she approached Manota to thank her and say good night.

  “Thank you for coming to our first meeting, Pastor. You don’t need to worry about coming again. We know you have more important things to do,” Manota responded.

  “The fog was rolling in when I got here, Pastor Merrill,” one of the late arrivals said. “Please drive carefully.”

  “Thanks. I’ll see you all Sunday,” Merrill said as she left.

  It was even darker walking back to her car.

  The lone functional exterior light was out. The only illumination shone out through apartment windows.

  Merrill walked quickly to her car, feeling uneasy in the unfamiliar neighborhood.

  When a group of rough-looking teenagers approached, she held her handbag close and moved to the edge of the sidewalk until they passed.

  “Don’t be such a Nervous-Nelly,” she chastised herself, as she quickly unlocked her car and got in.

  She locked the car door, nonetheless, and felt relieved to be leaving the area when she drove away.

  The group of young men paused at the corner and watched her car drive away.

  “You really think we shoulda done it?” a skinny boy with acne and a growing-out Mohawk asked.

  The largest of the young thugs pulled a wad of bills from his pocket and waved it in the smaller boy’s face.

  “Never turn down easy dough, you dipstick,” he growled before cramming the money back into his jacket pocket.

  The roads were slick from the fog, but visibility wasn’t too bad.

  Merrill was looking forward to a warm bath and a cup of tea before bed as she approached a four-way stop at the bottom of the hill below Manota’s apartment.

  All bedtime plans fled from her mind when she stepped on the brakes and the car didn’t even slow down.

  She frantically pumped the brake pedal, but the car continued to pick up speed as she sailed through the intersection on the blessedly empty street.

  Merrill shifted the car into a low gear to slow the engine and turned into an uphill driveway, slowing the vehicle’s momentum even more, then pulled the emergency brake lever, as she rolled into a ditch, bringing the car to a shuddering stop.

  She sat in the car for a moment to catch her breath, then got out, shakily pulling her phone from her purse to call for road service.

  No way was she getting back into that car with no brakes, so Merrill shivered beside her car for about a half-hour in the foggy darkness waiting for the tow truck to arrive.

  *

  “Thank you, so much,” she said, as she climbed down from the truck’s cab in the church parking lot.

  “You can call the service department tomorrow to find out when it’ll be ready, ma’am,” the driver said before pulling away with her car in tow.

  Merrill was glad Ryan was still up when she walked in. She was eager to talk about her latest misadventure.

  “It didn’t sound like your car pulling up outside, Aunt Merri,�
� he said.

  “My brakes failed on the way home; can you believe it? I got a ride with the tow truck driver.”

  “Did you run into anything?” Ryan asked. “Oh, man, that must have been scary.”

  “It was, but God was looking out for me. I managed to get stopped without too much trouble. Still, it’s inconvenient and an expense I hadn’t expected. The last time I took that car in for servicing they didn’t say anything about the brakes needing work.”

  “Do you need to take money from my trust fund for the repairs? I don’t mind,” Ryan offered.

  “Thanks, dear, but that won’t be necessary. That money is for your education and you are going to need every penny. I’ll be able to tweak my budget a bit. Don’t worry about it. I’m okay, just tired and frazzled. Thanks for letting me vent. I think I’ll got up to bed. Please remember to lock up and turn the lights out.”

  “Sure. G’nite.”

  Ryan was worried. It seemed like a lot of bad things were happening to his aunt. He didn’t know what he’d do if anything happened to her.

  As he turned off the lights and locked the doors before heading to bed, Ryan said a prayer for God to surround Merrill with His guardian angels and keep her safe.

  Ryan didn’t think he could face losing her, too.

  *

  When Merrill called the garage at mid-morning, the service manager reported her brake pads were coated with oil and all her brake fluid had leaked out, but they hadn’t been able to see where the oil leak was coming from, or find the leak in the brake line. They were running diagnostics, but her car wouldn’t be ready until at least the next day.

  “Botheration!” Merrill exclaimed, as she hung up the phone.

  “Yes?” One of the workmen repairing the sanctuary stuck his head into Merrill’s office as he walked by.

  “Were you talking to me?” he asked.

  “Oh. No. Sorry. How’s the work going?”

  “We’re all done with the painting. The last coat’s almost dry. We’ve got the carpet guys coming tomorrow. Looks like we’ll be out of your hair by the end of the week.”

  “That’s wonderful. Not that you have been any bother. We all appreciate the work you and the rest of the crew have been doing,” Merrill assured him.

  This good news almost made up for the annoying problem with her car.

  The plumber had finally installed the new fittings in the men’s room, too, so very soon they would finally get to worship in the sanctuary.

  Merrill decided to focus on only these blessings as she returned to her work.

  Chapter 26

  Merrill walked down the red-carpeted central aisle in the Missionary Baptist Church sanctuary and sidled down the pew to sit beside Elizabeth and her husband, Reverend Gilbert G. (for Gilbert) Gilbert III, otherwise known as Gil, or Triple G to his friends from seminary.

  “Hi, so glad you could make it,” Elizabeth said.

  “Pastor,” Gil leaned around his wife to shake Merrill’s hand.

  “I was afraid I was going to be late. I had a phone call from a parishioner as I was leaving the house,” Merrill explained.

  At that moment, white-haired Doctor X. Alfred Burt stepped up to the pulpit to welcome the members of the Bannoch Ministerial to their monthly program and luncheon, hosted this month by the Missionary Baptist Church.

  After offering welcoming words and an opening prayer, Doctor Burt introduced the MBC gospel choir, accompanied on piano by his wife, Peggy.

  The opening piano chords rang out and the room was instantly filled with joyful sounds of praise.

  As the choir swayed, their blended voices running up and down the scale, Peggy bounced along the piano bench, her fingers flying over the keys and the bright pink and green hummingbirds on her hat bobbing up and down.

  When the last sparkling high note faded, the gathered pastors exploded with applause and shouts of “Amen!” as the choir left the platform.

  “Wow!” Merrill whispered to Elizabeth.

  “I know,” Elizabeth replied. “Aren’t they marvelous? That’s what I call spirit-filled music.”

  “I never imagined Peggy had that kind of talent. How can she direct the choir from the piano, like that, without missing a beat?” Merrill asked.

  “It’s an extraordinary gift. She is in much demand around the state as a conference music director and accompanist.”

  “I never would have guessed.”

  “The women in our First Ladies Club are loaded with unexpected talents, Merrill. I think you can find hidden depths in almost every pastor’s wife.”

  After a brief business meeting, the ministers adjourned to the Fellowship Hall for lunch prepared by the Missionary Baptist Church women’s group.

  Returning to their places at the long table, their plates laden with a mouth-watering array of food, Elizabeth turned to Merrill with a smile.

  “This is more like it,” she said, scooping up a forkful of pasta salad.

  “What do you mean?” Merrill asked.

  “Before you came to Bannoch, I only attended the Ministerial Association’s annual Christmas meeting, when spouses are invited. I missed out on all this the rest of the year. Now there are two ordained women in the Ministerial Association and I’m finally accepted as an equal, so I come every month. It’s great.”

  “Happy I could help,” Merrill grinned. “The group has been very welcoming to me. I don’t think they meant to snub you before. They were simply confused by your being Gil’s wife, as well as a pastor.”

  “You may be right. We don’t need to go looking for slights where none are intended. Enough come our way as clergywomen without asking for more.”

  “When I was in seminary, I knew I would find resistance in some congregations, but I expected it to come from the men. I was so surprised to find it is often the women who can’t accept one of their own as pastor,” Merrill said.

  “Oh, I know! I think it is jealousy,” Elizabeth said.

  “Really?”

  “Sure. I have a dear friend who once confessed to me that she had a hard time warming up to a woman in the pulpit. She said she had to fight a little voice in her head, saying, ‘I could do that as well as she can.’ Women compare themselves to a woman pastor, but not to a man.”

  “I hadn’t thought of it that way. I wonder if men do the same with male pastors,” Merrill said.

  “I doubt it. No matter how politically incorrect it may be to say it, women and men are just built different.”

  “Thank God for that,” Gil offered from across the table. “Are you about ready to go, Liz?”

  *

  Thom Ortello was rummaging through the Sunday School supply cabinet in the church annex when Alden Boreman approached.

  “Whatcha lookin’ for, Thom?” Alden asked.

  “I need a map of the Holy Land during King David’s reign. I know I saw it in here the other day.”

  “That lady preacher probably moved it. You know how women are, always rearranging things and wanting to make changes,” Alden said.

  “Boy, that’s right. Christine is always pushing the furniture around at our place. Makes me tired just watching her. But I won’t let her touch my desk…or my recliner, of course.”

  “Yeah, well, at least your little woman knows enough to keep her meddling at home.”

  “Not like some people we could name,” Thom agreed.

  “What are you gonna do about Pastor Merrill? She isn’t going to get away with all these changes, is she?”

  “I’ve been putting a lot of thought into that problem, Alden. Pastor Merrill is a menace. She thinks she’s so smart, with her degrees and languages and all, but she’s going to find out some of us are even smarter.”

  Thom pulled a map from the cupboard and the two men walked down the hall together, grumbling about what should be done with female pastors.

  *

  “Thank you for asking us to join you for Sunday dinner, Manny. Muriel, the dinner was delicious!” Merrill said as
she and Ryan finished their meal at the Lum’s dining table.

  “I haven’t had authentic Taiwanese cooking since my folks took us on a short-term mission project outside Changhua,” Ryan said. “This was great.”

  “My family is from Changhua. Such a coincidence,” Muriel said.

  “Maybe my folks met them,” suggested Ryan.

  “There are almost a quarter of a million people in Changhua, so that would be an exceptional coincidence,” Manny said.

  “Yeah, I guess I was being sort of goofy. But I liked the idea of you guys being kind of connected to my folks, you know?”

  “Of course. You miss your parents very much,” Muriel said. “Perhaps they did meet some of my relatives in Taiwan. What villages did they visit?”

  “I don’t even remember. I was pretty young. We lived in so many mission fields, they sometimes all blur together.”

  “You had a remarkable childhood, Ryan,” Manny said. “Will you become a missionary like your parents?”

  “Gosh, no!” Ryan exclaimed. “Don’t get me wrong. My folks were great, and I love the Lord, too, but, well, I guess I don’t have a call to foreign missions. Seems like ordinary Christians right here in the States need to get it together, instead of heading to some far-off land.”

  “You have a good point, son,” Manny said. “Reminds me of what Jesus said about getting the log out of our own eye before trying to help someone else with the speck in theirs.”

  “Sounds like a sermon topic to me. Thanks for the inspiration,” Merrill said with a grin.

  “Today’s sermon was very thought-provoking, Pastor Merrill,” Manny said. “The whole service was good.”

  “I was so encouraged to see almost all of the chairs filled. Everyone seemed excited when I announced that repairs are complete and we will, finally, be using our sanctuary next Sunday. It’s been a long time coming,” Merrill said.

  “It was fortunate you had removed many of the back pews before the fire, Pastor Merrill,” Muriel said.

  “I don’t think we could have matched the original pews, if we’d had to buy new ones. Even in the midst of trials we can see God’s blessings, if only we will look,” Merrill said.