by Ann B. Ross
He bowed his head, but I couldn’t tell if he was praying for strength or conceding defeat. But then he lifted his head, and I saw he was doing neither. “That’s exactly the problem. The General Assembly is bothering us. They’ve opened the floodgates, and a few liberals with radical ideas have rushed in right here in our congregation. The only way I know to stop them is to ask you, no, beg you, to refuse to run.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m not putting this very well, am I?”
Frankly, he wasn’t. In fact, I’d never seen the pastor quite so distraught. I could’ve felt for him, if he hadn’t long ago exhausted all my compassion.
“Try again,” I said, “and tell me how in the world I’m involved with the antics of the General Assembly.”
“Look at this.” He strode behind his desk and took several pages from a folder. Waving them in the air, he said, “This is a petition, signed by practically every woman in the congregation.”
“I didn’t sign it. I don’t know anything about it.”
“I know you didn’t,” he said, shaking the papers. “Don’t you think I haven’t studied every signature on the thing? And that’s another problem, which makes it illegitimate in the first place.”
With that word, I stiffened again. I was not going to listen to any aspersions cast against Little Lloyd. But before I could open my mouth, he was ranting on.
“Before any name can be put on the ballot, that person has to acknowledge his willingness to run and to serve if elected. And since they didn’t get your permission beforehand, I’m within my rights to just ignore it.” He slapped the papers down and ran his hand through his hair again. “Except I can’t. There’re too many names, too many people supporting you. The only thing to do is to plead for your understanding of what this will do to the church, and ask you to refuse.”
“I still don’t know what I’d be refusing.”
“The session, Miss Julia!” His voice caught in his throat, as he almost strangled over the words. “They want your name on the ballot when we elect elders next month.”
“Well, my word.” I collapsed against the back of the chair, stunned almost as much as he was. “I’ve never thought about . . .”
“I know you haven’t,” he said, as a conciliatory tone crept into his voice. “I know this isn’t your doing, for you are as traditional as the day is long. There’s no way that you would want to be the first to break with tradition and create strife in the church. We’ve always had men on the session, and I just can’t see you leading a new wave of modernism.”
“Nor can I,” I mused, half to myself.
Relief flooded across his face. “Good! So we can just tell these ladies that you aren’t willing to run, and be done with it.”
I held up my hand. “Not so fast, Pastor. I’d like to know who all has nominated me.”
“Oh, I don’t think that would be wise. Suffice it to say that there are enough signatures to make you a strong candidate. But I think it best to just file this away, since you’re refusing the nomination.”
“I didn’t say that.”
His face fell. “You didn’t?”
“I don’t think so. I need to study on this a while. It comes as a shock, you know.”
“I think,” he began, then cleared his throat and tried again. “I think you should talk it over with Sam. And pray about it long and hard. You may not realize what a hornet’s nest a woman elder would stir up.”
Oh, I thought I did, especially in the session itself. And I couldn’t help but smile at the thought. On the other hand, to accept the honor simply to show our arrogant preacher and the smug old men on the session a thing or two was hardly sufficient reason to take on such a heavy responsibility—and it a spiritual one, at that.
So I turned it over in my mind for a few minutes, gradually realizing that I was more interested in the political aspects of the nomination than the spiritual ones. “How many supporters do I have?” I pointed to the pages on his desk.
“A fair number,” he reluctantly admitted. “But of course, when it comes down to it, not all of them will vote for you. They may change their minds.”
I kept thinking. “All of them women?”
He tightened his mouth. “Most of them.”
“Uh-huh.” So some men had signed the petition, too. Interesting. “I tell you what, Pastor, I need to think about it. As you’ve told us many times from the pulpit, becoming an elder is a high honor, one that requires a strong spiritual foundation, great integrity, and the Lord’s leading. I didn’t ask for this, never even considered it, but here it is anyway. I feel a little like Moses, who was minding his own business and taking care of his sheep when a bush flared up in front of him. So I need to be sure what the Lord wants me to do.”
I thought he would choke then. “The Scriptures are clear!”
“Yes, I know. But I’m neither the husband of one wife nor of many wives. But then, I haven’t been nominated for the diaconate anyway, have I?”
If he wanted to stand on a literal reading of the Bible, I was more than willing to take him on.
I was so full of the news that I practically ran across the street. Throwing the door open, I rushed into the house, slinging my pocketbook aside as I went.
“Sam,” I called as I rushed by, “where’s the church directory?”
Not waiting for an answer, which would’ve been slow in coming since I’d disturbed his Sunday nap, I dashed through the dining room and into the kitchen. Pulling out the drawer under the telephone, I snatched up the directory and headed toward the living room again.
Sam met me, but I veered around him and took a seat on the sofa. “You’ll never guess what the pastor wanted,” I said, as I opened the directory. “Come help me, Sam. Oh, I need a pen.”
“There’s one right beside you.” He pointed to the lamp table. “I was doing the crossword puzzle until I nodded off.”
“Come sit down,” I said, patting the sofa. “We need to get some campaign statistics.”
Sam smiled, somewhat bemusedly, and took a seat. “What campaign are we talking about?”
I had to laugh, so delighted to have the upper hand over the pastor. I know that doesn’t speak very highly of my spiritual state, but Larry Ledbetter had made me squirm so many times in the past that I couldn’t help but take a little pleasure in the changing tides.
“Oh, Sam, the pastor is beside himself because—hold on to your hat—I’ve been nominated for the session. Can you believe that?”
“Sure I can. And you’d be good at it, too. You’ll do it, won’t you?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but was brought up short as I recalled my determination to follow his lead as the head of the household. “What do you think I should do?”
“Why, Julia, whatever you want. That’s a decision you’ll have to make. How do you feel about it?”
I brushed that aside with a wave of my hand. “I don’t know yet. I told him I’d think about it, which certainly didn’t reassure him. But, look, Sam, I want to count how many women there are on the church roll. He showed me several pages of a petition, but he wouldn’t let me look at it. Just said it was mostly signed by women.”
“So you want to see how many members are women?” Sam was always quick to understand my methods.
“Yes. I want to know what percentage of the total membership is made up of women. Of course,” I said, with a sideways look at him, “he did admit there were a few men who’d signed it, too. Did you know anything about it?”
“Nope. But I would’ve signed it, if I had.”
Well, of course one would hope that one’s husband would be supportive, although I knew from experience that one’s husband couldn’t always be counted on. I patted his hand, grateful for his trust in me as a spiritual leader.
With Sam’s help I went through the directory, counting the number of women and men who were church members, and eligible, therefore, to vote in the upcoming electio
n.
When we finished, I looked at him with a merry glint in my eye. “No wonder the pastor is pulling his hair out. Women outnumber men by almost two to one. If they all vote for me, why, I’d be an elder without needing a recount.”
Then, as the threat posed by Vernon Puckett rushed to the forefront, I closed my eyes and sighed. “Oh, Sam,” I said, leaning my head back as the directory slid off my lap, “I can’t let myself get all exercised over this. I already have my hands full with Brother Vern. Besides, why in the world would I want to give up an evening or two every month to sit around arguing with a bunch of old men?”
“Especially when you could sit around here arguing with one old man?”
I opened one eye and smiled at him. “And we don’t have to put up with the pastor like the session does.” I sat up straight then with another heavy sigh. “This elder business has come up at the most inopportune time. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t at all mind becoming a thorn in the pastor’s side. But I don’t see how I can, what with all the upset and turmoil Brother Vern’s bringing down on us.”
“Don’t completely discount it, Julia,” Sam said. “Give it some serious thought before you turn it down. Apparently a lot of people want you on the session, which means they think you’ll give them a voice in what goes on.”
“Oh, they’d have a voice, all right, if I did it. But not everybody in the church would like hearing it. Well,” I said, rising, “I don’t have to make a decision today. And, who knows, you might fix Brother Vern’s little red wagon in the next day or two, and I’ll be ready to take on something else.”
I began to gather the newspapers together, stacking them for the recycling bin. “Tell me the truth, Sam,” I said, stopping with a pile in my arms. “You do think you can put that matter to rest, don’t you?”
“It depends, Julia,” he said, getting up to stand beside me.
“Oh, don’t say that! I don’t want to hear it if you’re having doubts.”
“All I’m saying is, we don’t know what Puckett has up his sleeve. Until we know that, I can’t promise it’ll all be behind us in a few days.” Sam took the papers from me. “Here, let me do that. Have you said anything to Hazel Marie?”
“I can’t get her alone long enough to tell her anything. But in the morning I’m going to do it if I have to tie her down. She has to be prepared for the rumors and gossip that could undo everything I’ve done for her.”
“Well, don’t say too much,” Sam said, turning me toward the kitchen. “But do tell her I’m keeping an eye on him.”
“I will, and I know that’ll give her comfort. I declare, Sam, I get so indignant when I think of how some people just live for the latest gossip. You’d think they had better things to do.”
Sam pushed open the kitchen door. “Let’s not start worrying before we have to. And to get your mind off of it, I’m going to fix you my special Sunday evening omelet.”
Well, who was I to refuse such an offer? Having never before seen a man busy himself in a kitchen, my mood was considerably lightened. Even so, I was still stewing over the thought of the avid gossipers who would lick their lips at anything new and sensational they heard about Hazel Marie. Or me.
Gossip has been the bane of my existence, and I just had no use for those who indulged in it.
As Sam beat a number of eggs in a bowl, I began to set the table. Then, remembering the news that Hazel Marie had told me, I said, “Oh, Sam, I forgot to tell you. Guess what Hazel Marie said she heard about Dub and Clara Denham.”
Chapter 8
“Hazel Marie,” I said, looking up at her as she started down the stairs the next morning. I was determined to waylay her, so I’d been waiting in the hall for her to put in an appearance. “You’ve been so busy lately that it looks like I have to make an appointment just to talk with you. As soon as Little Lloyd is off to school, I want us to sit down so I can get something off my mind.”
“We’re both busy this morning, Miss Julia,” she said, “so maybe you better tell me now.”
At my questioning look, she smiled and said, “We have circle meeting this morning over at Marlene Easton’s. Did you forget?”
“Oh, my goodness,” I said, running my hand over my forehead, done in by my forgetfulness. “Yes, I’d forgotten. Hazel Marie, I tell you, my plate is so full right now that it’s a wonder I remember my own name.” Then, looking up at her, I went on. “Let’s not go. I really need to discuss something with you.”
“Oh, Miss Julia, I’d skip it if I could. But I’m supposed to give a report on the child we’ve been assigned at the children’s home. They sent a list of what the little girl needs for Christmas, and I have to pass it around so our members can sign up for what they want to get her.” She began heading for the kitchen, where Sam and Little Lloyd were finishing their breakfast. “And Helen says I have to lead a prayer, too. And every time I have to pray or speak in front of people, I get so nervous I can’t think about anything else. But this afternoon, let’s sit down and have a long talk, okay?”
I mentally threw up my hands. If it wasn’t Mr. Pickens or a gambling game, it was the church that was filling her days, and, since I’d been the one who’d opened doors for her, I had nobody to blame but myself that she had so little time for me.
As soon as Marlene greeted us, and we’d stepped into her spacious and modern living room, I suffered my usual spell of vertigo. I declare, when you build a house on the side of a mountain, you should be careful of having floor-to-ceiling windows. I always felt I’d slide right off the floor and go tumbling down the mountainside, but I guess if you reside in one of those cantilevered houses, you eventually get used to living on the edge.
Some dozen or so women were milling around in Marlene’s living and dining rooms, talking together and partaking of coffee cake, toasted pecans, and coffee. Hazel Marie and I put our pocketbooks by chairs in the circle that Marlene had set up in the sparsely furnished living room, and joined the group around the table. I was immediately greeted by my campaign supporters, eager to talk now that they’d turned in their petition to the pastor.
“You’re going to do it, aren’t you?” Leona Miller asked, her coffee cup teetering on a dessert plate.
“We’re all for you,” Miriam Hargrove said, putting a hand on my arm. “As far as I’m concerned, it’s past time for a woman to be on the session.”
“Three cheers for our candidate!” Mildred Allen moved close to me as I tried to get to the table, almost mashing me into Hazel Marie. Mildred was a heavyset woman with thyroid problems who could never judge the amount of space she required.
As others came up, congratulating and encouraging me, I tried to remain noncommittal, telling them that the surprise nomination deserved serious thought that I’d not yet had time to give it.
“But you’ll be so good,” Helen Stroud said. “We really want you to run.”
Emma Sue Ledbetter, the pastor’s wife, had absolutely nothing to say. She tried, though, but her eyes welled up in her typical response to anything that distressed her. And anything that distressed the pastor played havoc with her, too.
LuAnne Conover peeked around the centerpiece on the table and smiled at me, but she was noticeably silent on the subject of my run for the session. LuAnne had been my friend for ages, but that didn’t mean she’d cross the pastor for my sake. I wished I’d gotten a look at the names on that petition.
Hazel Marie latched on to Kathleen Williams, asking her what was going on that she didn’t know anything about. I saw her smile get wider as Kathleen filled her in on the crisis that was about to hit the church with a woman’s name on the ballot.
Tonya Allen, Mildred’s daughter who was once her son, and as level-headed as they come, came by as I filled my plate. “I don’t know who started this, Miss Julia, but we all realized that we need a woman on the session. And you were the unanimous choice, because we know you always speak your mind.”
“Yes, well, I’ve never been accused of reticence.” I smile
d at her, thinking to myself that Tonya would be better on the session than any of us. She could see both sides, don’t you know. But Pastor Ledbetter would have to be physically restrained if anybody nominated her.
Helen, who was either the chairman or the president of most every group I belonged to, called the meeting to order, so we took our seats and balanced coffee cups and napkins on our knees. She thanked Marlene for having us, dealt with a few routine matters consisting of reminders and announcements, then called on Hazel Marie for her report. I was the only one, since I was sitting next to her, who knew how nervous Hazel Marie was as she passed around the list of Christmas gifts for our chosen orphan.
“If you’ll bring your gift to our December meeting, all wrapped and everything, with her name on it, I’ll take them to the church,” she said. “Then somebody will take them over to the children’s home a week or so before Christmas.”
“What if we want to get something that’s not on this list?” Miriam Hargrove always had to be different.
“That’s all right,” Hazel Marie said. “But let’s be sure and get these things first. You’ll notice that it’s mostly things the little girl needs, like sweaters and socks and gloves, but I think it’d be nice if we got her something to play with, too.
“Now,” Hazel Marie went on, her voice faltering with nervousness, “let’s bow our heads in prayer.”
I did, but cut my eyes up at her as she opened a sheet of paper where she’d written out her prayer beforehand. Some people do that, you know, which is perfectly acceptable, but most Presbyterians think it shows a higher state of grace if you wing it. But Hazel Marie’s prayer was stunning in its beauty and eloquence. And its brevity. I was so proud of her that I patted her arm in commendation after she said amen and sat down.