The First Ladies Club Box Set

by J B Hawker

  “Practically a grown man. You know how to set up the tents, make a campfire, and all that, right?” Hope asked.

  “Sure. I’ve helped Mr. Miller do it often enough. I’ve gone camping with the group every year since I was eleven.”

  “Well, that settles it, then,” Hope said.

  Turning to the custodian she added, “Mr. Watts, I believe the camping trip will go ahead as planned and we’ll have our supplies out of your way in a couple of weeks.”

  “You know someone who’s crazy enough to tackle a long weekend in the wilderness with our rowdy bunch?” he asked with a teasing glance at TyVon.

  “Yes, Mr. Watts, I believe I do.”

  …

  That evening Hope and her sister-in-law, Shebana, were in the kitchen putting finishing touches on dinner while Gideon set the dining room table.

  “Do we need spoons?” he called out.

  “Just use complete place settings, doofus!” Shebana replied. “You’ve got a dishwasher, remember?”

  “That brother of mine was always looking for ways to avoid washing another dish,” she commented to Hope.

  “Growing up on the reservation, we were lucky to have running water. Our grandmother wouldn’t have dreamed of the luxuries we enjoy, now. Gideon and I were her only laborsaving devices.”

  “Gideon has told me so many stories of life with your grandmother on the reservation in South Dakota. He says he learned the value of honest hard work from your unci,” Hope said.

  “Well, that wasn’t his attitude back then, I can tell you,” Shebana grinned. “Isn’t that right, little brother,” she added to Gideon as he entered the kitchen.

  “What? Are you telling my bride scurrilous tales about my misspent youth?” he teased, throwing an arm around each of the women. “Don’t poison her mind against me, Sheba. Hope still thinks I’m a good catch.”

  “I certainly do. Nothing anyone can say will change my mind. I caught you fair and square and I’m keeping you,” Hope declared, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

  “Come on, you love birds. Let’s eat before I lose my appetite,” Shebana said, carrying a bowl of steaming mashed potatoes to the table.

  Sitting at the table, Hope took a sip of water and announced, “Well, Gideon, you got your wish.”

  “You’re pregnant?” he cried, jumping up and knocking his chair over.

  “I’m going to be an auntie!” Shebana said, clapping her hands together.

  “No, no!” Hope said, gesturing for him to sit down. “Not that wish, Gideon. Sit down and let me explain.”

  Gideon picked up his chair and resumed his seat with a puzzled expression.

  “What wish are you talking about, then?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry for the anticlimax, but I’ve decided to take the youth group camping, that’s all,” Hope said. “I had no idea you might think I meant, well, you know...”

  “It’s not your fault my silly little brother jumped to the wrong conclusion, Hope. He’s always doing that,” Shebana said, patting her sister-in-law’s hand. “Tell us why you decided to take the church kids camping.”

  “I’m sorry, honey,” Gideon said. “I visited Amber Sims and her new baby today and I suppose I had babies on my mind. I’m really happy you’ve decided to help out and take the kids. I know you will do a great job.”

  “Why can’t you do it, Gid?” Shebana asked.

  “I’m already committed. When I learned our leaders had a family emergency and couldn’t take the kids, I tried to get out of my other duties and it just wasn’t possible. I couldn’t find anyone else in the congregation who could do it, either, so Hope is saving the day for our young people.”

  “I remember when I accompanied the group on the annual camping trip one year. It was lots of fun... even though my air mattress deflated the first night and never recovered. Boy, was I sleep-deprived by the end of that trip! Be sure to take a foam mattress pad, Hope,” Shebana said.

  “Hope is a veteran camper, Sheba. She’s an ex-Marine, don’t forget,” Gideon said, beaming with pride.

  Shebana replied, “Sure, but I doubt she had to wrangle a bunch of teenaged campers while in the Marines. That is a whole different skill set, believe me.”

  “I won’t be alone, though,” Hope said, turning to Gideon. “We’ll have parent chaperones, too, right?”

  “Sure. No one else felt up to organizing and being the leader, but I’m sure there are probably at least a couple of folks who will be happy to come along,” he replied. “What about you, Sheba? You’ve gone with them before.”

  “I’m afraid not. I’ve got too much work on right now to get away for a long weekend,” she said. “I’m writing a piece on domestic violence for a national magazine and my deadline is looming.”

  “Oh, will you be interviewing anyone I know?” Hope asked.

  “I can’t use names of victims, of course, but I’m including interviews with the staff of the shelter in Tillamook where we took Wendy Riverton to get her away from her crazy husband a few years ago,” Shebana replied.

  “I don’t think crazy husband is the Christian way to refer to that poor man,” Gideon said. “He was mentally unbalanced; he was trapped in the hellish world of his delusions. I visited him as you know. I went to the secure mental facility for months, hoping to see a glimmer of improvement, but it never happened. I suppose his untimely death was a blessed release.”

  “It was for Wendy, anyway. She couldn’t move on with her life as long as there was hope he could be cured,” Shebana said.

  “She and the kids are doing well, now. I see her at the salon where I get my hair trimmed and when I was in there, she showed me an engagement ring,” Hope said. “I sure hope this time it all works out for her.”

  “I’d imagine she would think twice, after the way her last marriage turned out,” Shebana said. “She wasn’t too perceptive in her choice of a husband.”

  “Yes, from what I heard, there were plenty of warning signs,” Hope said.

  “Not everyone can pick a winner as well as you did, dear,” Gideon teased, hugging her.

  Shebana rolled her eyes, shook her head, and began to gather up her sweater and purse.

  “I’d better go before it gets too deep in here,” she said. “Thanks for dinner. See you on Sunday!”

  When his sister was gone, Gideon and Hope cleaned up the kitchen together. Gideon poured them each a glass of wine and carried the drinks into the living room where he set the glasses on the coffee table. He flopped down onto the sofa next to his wife, slipped off his shoes, and put his stockinged feet on the table, too.

  “Careful!” Hope warned, lifting her glass out of harm’s way and leaning back against Gideon’s shoulder.

  “Your sister is so pretty, smart, and funny. I wonder why she’s never married,” she said.

  “It’s a long story,” Gideon said, taking a sip of wine.

  “I love a good story and we’ve got time,” Hope said. “You’ve hinted before, but now I want you to tell me all the gory details.”

  “You already know about our unfortunate past, and the important thing is that we both turned out okay.”

  “You told me you were raised by your grandmother because your mother couldn’t take care of you, and I know you were both eventually adopted by a missionary couple, but you’ve never really talked about what that was like,” Hope said, sitting up and facing Gideon. “I’m your wife and I want to know all about you.”

  “Okay. I’m not ashamed or anything. It just seems like such a ‘woe is me’ tale and it’s all behind us,” he said. “Maybe not all behind Shebana, though.

  “I think I told you our mother was an alcoholic, but I don’t think I mentioned that she was also drug-addicted... and a prostitute. That’s why our grandmother raised us. Our granddad was a white man I never met. My dad was apparently at least half African American and Shebana had a different father. DNA testing suggested he was Asian and African American, which explains her beautiful almond-
shaped eyes.

  “We weren’t really accepted by the other kids on the reservation. That’s one of the reasons our aging grandmother let the missionary couple, the Goodmans, adopt us, but we resented it. Shebana was especially hurt by what she saw as another rejection. After moving to California, we both came to see what a sacrifice Unci had made when she gave us a fresh start.

  “Dad Goodman made sure we both got college degrees and that would never have been possible if we’d stayed on the res. Shebana met the love of her life at the university in San Luis Obispo. She became engaged to an Air Force lieutenant stationed at Vandenberg, but shortly before their wedding date, he was posted to the Middle East where he was killed by an IED.”

  “How awful!” Hope cried.

  “Yes, it was. Shebana was shattered. She held herself together by tunneling into her studies. She graduated at the top of her class, but in doing so, she grew a callus on her heart to protect herself from the pain. At least, that’s the way I see it. Although you’d never guess it to look at her, she’s just too afraid to let another man get close,” Gideon said.

  “Wow,” Hope said. “How can we help her?”

  “We can’t unless she reaches out. Believe me, I’ve tried. She rebuffs all my attempts. But that doesn’t stop me from loving her and praying for her.”

  “It won’t stop me, either,” Hope said, snuggling against Gideon. “You’re a good brother... and a good man.”

  Chapter THREE

  A chill wind blew off the ocean and clouds filled the sky as Hope bumped her aging Jeep onto the rutted verge of the gravel driveway of a weather-beaten two-story Victorian house. She turned off the engine and sat with her hands gripping the wheel, trying to calm her nervous stomach.

  A large, distinguished-looking black woman mounted the steps to the home’s slightly sagging wrap-around veranda and Hope recognized Peggy Burt, wife of the Missionary Baptist pastor. Seeing Peggy, a talented musician, a formidable organizer, and an ideal pastor’s wife, caused the butterflies in Hope’s stomach to flutter even more.

  She gave herself a mental pep talk and was unbuckling her seatbelt when she was jolted forward as a beat-up twenty-year-old station wagon slammed into her back bumper.

  “Sorry!” sang out the wagon’s driver, struggling to disentangle a flowing tie-dyed scarf from her gearshift as she backed out of the car.

  Judy Falls, wife of a retired Presbyterian pastor, looked up and grinned; her shaggy blond hair drooping messily over her full, rosy cheeks.

  She wiggled her fingers in greeting, and then dove into the backseat to retrieve a large tapestry tote bag, displaying her impressive backside in a colorful peasant skirt, its hem sagging. Both the skirt and Judy’s wrinkled organic all-cotton blouse were badly in need of a wash and her faux-leather thong sandals revealed toes coated with dirt.

  A throwback to the hippy era, Judy somehow managed to maintain her voluptuously unrestrained figure on a strict vegan diet. Some of her attitudes were eccentric, but her genuine love of the Lord had earned her a grudging tolerance, if not outright welcome, from her husband’s conservative Presbyterian congregations.

  As a founding member of the First Ladies group, her kind heart and enthusiasm were always welcome at the meetings.

  “I don’t think I did any damage,” Judy said, glancing at the Jeep’s bumper as she approached Hope’s car window.

  Hope had remained in her car, stunned by this colorful apparition.

  “Are you okay?” Judy asked, noticing Hope’s pale face.

  “Yes, fine. No harm done,” Hope managed to reply, opening her car door and stepping out.

  “Have we met?” Judy asked, peering up at Hope through her thick, uneven bangs.

  “No, I don’t think so. This is my first meeting. I’m Hope Masters... uh, Hopkins,” she said, holding out her hand.

  She was still getting used to her new married name and it didn’t come naturally, yet.

  Clutching her scarf, Judy attempted to transfer her overloaded tote bag into the same hand and dropped both the bag and the scarf onto the gravel.

  With a shrug and a what-the-heck grin, she threw her arms around Hope, enveloping her in a welcoming hug.

  “I’m Judy. Judy Falls,” she said, stepping back and picking up her things. “Who’s your husband? Mine used to pastor the Prez church, but he retired to take care of our second set of twins. Boys. River and Forrest. Late-in-life surprises are the best kind, don’t you think? I run a recycling and up-cycling boutique downtown and write a blog for vegans and other eco-minded types. Too busy to wrangle twins, this time around. My girls are both off on their own. You got any kids?” she asked, pausing for breath.

  “I’m newly married to the pastor of Mount Zion...” Hope began.

  “Come on, we’d better get inside. We can’t stand here gabbing and keep the other ladies waiting,” Judy said, scurrying ahead of Hope toward the house.

  Her head spinning, Hope followed, wondering what she had gotten herself into.

  When she arrived at the front door, it was standing open. As Hope hesitated on the threshold, a warm voice called out, “Come on in!”

  The hostess for today’s meeting, a tall, attractive woman in her mid-forties with a mane of fading red-gold curls, stood in the entry hall, smiling.

  “Hi, Hope! I’m so glad you could make it today,” Naidenne Davidson said, stepping forward.

  Relieved to see the familiar face of her friend who was the wife of her former pastor, Hope greeted her with a hug.

  “Well, I’ve wanted to come before, but you know how busy it can be...” Hope murmured.

  “Of course!” Naidenne said. “We all do. Every member of this group was a new wife once-upon-a-time. That’s one of the reasons we formed this little club of pastors’ wives in the first place.”

  The women of the club represented a wide range of Christian religious traditions and styles, so they had agreed to concentrate only on their commonalities. All the members shared a love of God and a desire to serve Him in their community. Besides providing emotional support to each other, the club held regular fund-raisers for various community improvement projects, always being mindful not to compete with fund-raisers or other activities of the local churches.

  “Come on in, I’m eager for you to meet everyone,” Naidenne urged, shutting the door to keep out the blustery weather and leading Hope into a large formal dining room.

  Naidenne had managed to create a feeling of coziness and charm, despite the high ceilings and dark moldings in the drafty old parsonage, built in the days when preachers with large families were common.

  The house was owned by her husband’s church, so new paint and updates had to be approved by a committee; a process fraught with possible landmines and sacred cows, which Naidenne preferred to avoid. Fortunately, her innate sense of style and sewing skills had managed to achieve a homey feeling without remodeling.

  In this room, several women gathered around a rustic trestle table, finding seats on an array of mismatched chairs and a couple of castoff church pews, all adorned with matching chintz cushions.

  Standing at the front of the room talking to an older woman Hope recognized as Naidenne’s sister-in-law, Rosamund, Peggy Burt was preparing to call the meeting to order.

  Rosamund held a squirming red-haired toddler, Naidenne’s young son, Timothy.

  The boy held his arms out to his mother when she approached, and Hope saw Naidenne lean forward to give him a kiss before Rosamund took the child upstairs.

  Seeing another familiar face, Hope dropped onto a bench beside Gwennie Barthlett.

  Gwennie squeezed her hand, saying, “I’m so glad you could make it.”

  Hope was surprised to see Gwennie dressed in her workout gear of a sweatshirt and over-stretched yoga pants. She hadn’t realized it was the woman’s everyday costume.

  Peggy cleared her throat, the rest of the women found their seats, and the meeting was called to order.

  …

  Dr
iving home two hours later, Hope tried to remember the names of the women she’d met and match them to the churches they served.

  Her mind was a whirl of impressions completely shattering her preconceptions of what a “proper pastor’s wife” looked and acted like. Each of these women was unique, as was her approach to the role.

  For the first time Hope believed Gideon was right when he’d told her to relax and be herself. A weight she hadn’t fully realized she’d been carrying was gone.

  In just this one gathering, much had been revealed to Hope about the many-faceted life of a pastor’s wife.

  The wives and widows of retired ministers also had a lot of wisdom to offer, with the possible exception of sweet and friendly Judy Falls, whose wisdom hadn’t been immediately obvious.

  Tiny Olivette Vernon, who Hope knew from one of her senior citizen self-defense classes, was a founding member of the group. Olivette had lived in Bannoch for many years while her husband pastored the Reformed Church. Now widowed, she lived in nearby Tillamook but still attended the First Ladies Club meetings whenever she could. She wasn’t very talkative, but when she spoke it was with grace and honesty.

  Another original member, Elizabeth Gilbert, no longer co-pastored the local Methodist Church with her husband, but after a stint serving as missionaries, they had returned to Bannoch to retire. Besides being an ordained minister, Elizabeth had been a nurse practitioner. Hope was impressed with the woman’s intelligence, compassion, and energy. At the meeting, Elizabeth immediately put Hope at ease and made her feel welcome... as an equal, rather than a newbie. Hope appreciated that.

  Hope was accustomed to being self-assured and confident in every situation, but the role of pastor’s wife left her feeling off-balance and insecure. It was refreshing when Elizabeth had asked about her years in the military and her self-defense classes. Hope felt on firmer footing and was able to relax.

  The business meeting was a necessary evil, Hope supposed, with all the talk about fundraisers and committee reports, but once Naidenne served the refreshments and the ladies began sharing what was going on in their lives, Hope had been intrigued to see how similarly, yet how differently, each of the women fulfilled the role of pastor’s wife.