Signs and Wonders

by Philip Gulley

  That was in late March and Ellis is still snorting. Whenever he hears about global warming, he says to Miriam, “Humph, I thought we solved that problem back in Atlanta.”

  The money’s always been tight, but with Amanda it’s even worse. Twenty dollars here, fifty dollars there. The tractor’s been broke for a month, and they don’t have the money to get it fixed. Then, to top it off, Pastor Sam stopped past one evening and asked if they needed help from the church. Ellis tried to laugh it off, but he was embarrassed. “No, thank you, Sam. You give that money to someone who needs it. We’re doing just fine.”

  When Sam left, Ellis stalked around the house, grouching about how the church people were talking about them and vowing not to go on church welfare. He glared at Miriam. “How did they know we were having problems? You must have said something at the Friendly Women’s Circle. What did you tell them?”

  “I’ve not said a word to anyone. And I don’t appreciate your tone of voice.”

  Then they began picking at one another and over the next few days began commenting on matters they used to let slide.

  “Do you have to scrape your fork against the plate like that?” Ellis asked Miriam one evening during supper. “It’s rather irritating.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t clip your toenails in the bathroom and just leave them on the floor,” Miriam told Ellis the next day. “Would it kill you to sweep them up?”

  In June, Amanda was invited to join the Debutante Club at Opal Majors’s house. Opal takes in farm girls and teaches them which fork to use, how to sit like a lady, and how to walk with books on their heads. After a month of lessons, they rent a limousine and travel to the city for dinner at the revolving restaurant on top of the insurance building and an opera. The program runs a hundred dollars—limousine, dinner, and opera not included.

  Amanda couldn’t decide whether to join the Debutante Club or the softball team, which costs twenty dollars and culminates in a trip to Cartersburg for the county tourney and a hot dog and chips from the concession stand.

  Ellis pushed her toward the softball program.

  He gave her the mitt he’d used as a kid, but after forty years the leather had rotted and it was falling apart. Miriam thought Amanda should have a mitt of her own, so over Ellis’s objections they drove her into town to Uly Grant’s hardware store to scrutinize the mitts for sale. There were two mitts in stock—a left-handed first-baseman’s mitt, which Uly’s father ordered by mistake in the late sixties, and a brand-new genuine cowhide mitt marked seventy-five dollars, which was seventy-five more dollars than Ellis had counted on spending.

  The first-baseman’s mitt was eighteen dollars. Ellis tried to steer Amanda toward it by pointing out how useful it would be if she could throw with either hand, but Miriam glared at him, so Ellis had to dip into the emergency hundred-dollar bill he kept hidden in his wallet. He wasn’t happy about it and complained the whole way home until Amanda was practically in tears. She told Ellis she’d get a job and pay him back the money.

  Miriam had been taught by her parents that husbands and wives should never go to bed mad. But if she had abided by that, she’d have stayed awake the entire month of June. She was that mad at Ellis. She didn’t speak to him for several weeks, except for the essentials, and only then with a poisoned courtesy.

  In late June, Ellis relocated to the barn to live with the cows. He moved his recliner out there, along with a television set and a box fan. He ventured into the house just long enough to eat. After a while, he began to smell like the cows, which, if you’re residing with cows, you tend not to notice. But Miriam did, and said she wouldn’t be offended if he ate his meals out in the barn, too.

  “Fine with me,” Ellis mumbled under his breath. “At least the cows don’t argue.”

  The downside of never fighting is that you’ve never learned how to make up, so Miriam and Ellis were locked in a stalemate. Living in the barn seemed easier than resolving their differences, so Ellis stayed put. He even stopped going to church, except for the Furnace Committee meeting.

  Miriam would stand at the sink of an evening washing the dishes and looking out the window toward the barn. Every now and then, she’d catch Ellis watching back. It went on like that, Ellis in the barn and Miriam in the house, until one evening in late July, when Miriam found Amanda crying in her bedroom about how everything was her fault and how Miriam and Ellis would have been better off never to have adopted her. She wanted to take the mitt back to the store. She hadn’t used it much. Maybe they could get their money back, she told Miriam.

  “It’s not your fault, honey. Things like this happen sometimes. It’ll work out. Don’t worry.”

  Miriam sat with Amanda until she fell asleep, then went downstairs and sat in her chair. There was an empty spot where Ellis’s chair had been. She began to cry. All these years they’d been married with never a hard word, and now this. Foolish pride, that’s all it was. She went out to the barn and there he was, sitting in his recliner, dejected.

  “I miss you,” she said.

  He sniffed. His stubbly chin trembled. “I miss you, too.”

  “Would you come back home?”

  “If you’ll have me,” he said.

  They carried his chair into the house. It smelled like the cows. Miriam was going to say something, then decided against it. Instead, she ran a tub of water and they took a bath together, like they did when they were first married and were thinner and could fit in a bathtub together. Now it was a tighter fit, but they didn’t mind. They bathed one another. Miriam had to go over Ellis twice to get the cow smell off. Then they went to bed and held each other and made their peace, this anxious farmer who worried about money and his wife, who didn’t always understand him, but loved him anyway.

  When they woke up the next morning, Amanda was gone. Her bed was made and her baseball mitt was on the pillow along with a note saying how sorry she was to cause so much trouble. Inside the mitt were thirty dollars and an IOU to Ellis for forty-five dollars. Her bicycle was gone from the back porch, along with her backpack.

  They called Bernie, the policeman, then got in their truck and drove the roads between their house and town, looking in the ditches, sick with fear. They barely spoke, except for every now and then Ellis would choke up and say it was all his fault for being so cheap.

  A little before noon, they found her bike behind the Rexall drugstore in town, where she’d bought a bus ticket to the city. Bernie phoned ahead to the police. Then Miriam and Ellis got in his car, and they drove to the city to find her. Bernie ran his siren the whole way there, weaving in and out of the traffic, with Ellis and Miriam clutching one another in the backseat, wishing they’d followed in their truck.

  Bernie has been the policeman in Harmony ever since his brother-in-law, Harvey Muldock, was on the town board and they needed a policeman. He’s kept the job because it’s a small town, he’s a nice guy, and letting him go would cause hard feelings. But he’s not real smart. He told Ellis and Miriam not to worry, that if they didn’t find Amanda, they could always put her picture on a milk carton.

  “Look on the bright side,” he said. “Maybe they’ll mention on the milk carton that she was the National Spelling Bee champion. That would make a nice keepsake.”

  The police in the city nabbed Amanda as she was coming off the bus. They took her to the police station until Miriam and Ellis arrived with Bernie. The police made them talk with a social worker, which embarrassed Ellis. They took Amanda off by herself in a room and asked her questions about Ellis. He felt like a criminal. Then they let Miriam and Ellis visit with Amanda alone. Ellis apologized about the mitt.

  “Amanda, honey, you don’t know this yet, but when you’re an adult, you worry about things like money. I’ve just been anxious, that’s all. I sure didn’t aim to take it out on you.”

  She told him not to worry, that one day she’d invent something and make them all rich.

  Ellis chuckled at that. “If anyone could, honey, it’d be you. Yo
u’re the smartest kid around.”

  Finally, late in the afternoon, they let them go home.

  Bernie dropped them off at the Rexall, where they’d left their truck. It was supper time. They hadn’t eaten all day.

  “It’s Italian Night at the Coffee Cup,” Ellis said. “What say we grab a bite to eat?”

  “Can we afford it?” Miriam asked.

  Ellis grinned and rubbed Amanda’s head. “Why, sure we can. We’re rich. We’ve got Amanda, after all. She’s our treasure.”

  They ate from the buffet, while Bea Majors played Italian tunes on the organ. She knew only five songs, but they sat through three cycles, drinking in the atmosphere. Ellis reached over and took Miriam’s hand. “What a life we have,” he marveled. “Aren’t we blessed!” He kissed the top of Amanda’s head. “How’s our treasure? Did you get enough to eat?”

  It was just like the old days.

  The next Saturday, they drove to Cartersburg for the county softball tourney. It was a beautiful summer day. The temperature was in the high seventies; there were just enough puffy clouds to cast shade. Amanda’s team lost twenty-three to nothing, which everyone took in stride, having lost all their games this season. At first they would get all worked up and yell and scream, but failing so spectacularly has eased the pressure. Now the parents relax and visit while their children are mauled; then they eat a hot dog and chips and watch the next game.

  Amanda was secretly pleased her team lost. When she first came to live with Ellis and Miriam, she feared the only reason they wanted her was because she’d won the National Spelling Bee. She worried what would happen if she lost at something, whether they would still love her. So to lose all the games and still have Ellis and Miriam rub her head and tell her they were proud of her and not to be discouraged because there was always next year was a consolation to her.

  She still didn’t understand why Ellis had lived in the barn for a month. They hadn’t discussed such things at the Future Problem Solvers of America’s annual convention. They’d stuck to the easy stuff like overpopulation and global warming. Someone else was going to have to figure out Ellis. Someone a lot smarter than she was.

  As for Ellis, he ate his hot dog and watched the game and thought back to when he was little and life was simple. Although he has this vague memory that maybe it wasn’t easy for everyone. He remembers his mother standing at the kitchen sink, looking out the window toward the barn where his father was, not speaking, a tear running down her cheek. Maybe that’s what it meant to be an adult. To weep for reasons children didn’t understand. He wasn’t sure. Someone else was going to have to figure that out. Someone a lot smarter than he was.

  Nine

  The Amazing Whipples

  Ever since their kids were little, the Dale Hinshaws have taken off the first week of July to go fishing up north. Except this year. With their salvation balloons ministry just getting off the ground, they’d skipped their vacation in order to serve the Lord. In the past month, they’d released two thousand salvation balloons. As a result, a family of five from Wisconsin had come to the Lord, and there had been only one casualty—the death by suffocation of a farsighted trumpeter swan who’d mistaken a withered balloon for a plant shoot, to its eternal regret.

  Dale had aimed the salvation balloons toward Chicago in hopes of bringing a few Democrats to the Lord. The wind had pushed one balloon north to Fond du Lac, where it was found by the father of the Amazing Whipples, a family of tumblers, who were performing for the summer at the Lake Winnebago Amusement Park and Petting Zoo. The Amazing Whipple parents had three daughters, each of whom had blossomed into feminine fullness, which was evident when they wore their tight leotards.

  In early August, Dale received a letter from the Amazing Whipple father thanking him for flying the salvation balloon their way. Because of Dale, all the family had repented, were thinking of changing their name to the Amazing Grace Whipples, and were now tumbling for the Lord. They enclosed a picture of the shapely Amazing Whipple daughters arranged in the shape of a cross.

  A week later, the phone rang at the Dale Hinshaw home. It was the Amazing Whipple father. The Lord had told him not to let his daughters perform in leotards anymore, that it inflamed worldly desires in the hearts of men, so he had them tumble in sweatpants instead. Attendance had declined precipitously, and the park manager was letting them go.

  They were discouraged. Their only desire had been to tumble for the Lord. Now they’d been fired and were low on money. They believed God was leading them to bring their tumbling ministry to churches. But they needed funding. Could Dale help? They would pay him back, he promised. The Amazing Whipple father began to weep over the phone.

  He talked about their life before they’d met the Lord, how they’d compromised their morals to make money and done things they weren’t proud of, things he’d rather not talk about, things they might have to do again if no one helped them. They hadn’t realized being Christian was such a burden. They were weakening in their faith. Could Dale help them?

  Dale asked how much money they needed.

  The father wasn’t sure, but thought a thousand dollars would see them through. Their van needed work, and the girls needed matching sweatpants.

  “I know it sounds silly,” he told Dale, “but if we wore matching costumes when we tumbled for Satan, we need to look even nicer when we tumble for the Lord.”

  Dale couldn’t argue with that.

  He went to the bank, cashed in a CD, drove over to Cartersburg to the Western Union, and wired the Amazing Whipples a thousand dollars. It was a lot of money, but he felt responsible, since it had been his salvation balloon that had caused them to lose their job. If it hadn’t been for that, the Whipple daughters would still be gainfully employed in their leotards, inflaming worldly desires in the hearts of men.

  The father had promised to call when the money came, so Dale hung close to the phone. But it didn’t ring that day or the next. Dale called the Western Union and asked if the money had gone through. He could hear the operator pecking away on her computer. “Yes, sir, our records indicate the money was picked up.”

  On the third day, Dale phoned directory assistance and asked for the number of the Amazing Whipples from Fond du Lac, Wisconsin.

  The operator told him there were no Whipples in Fond du Lac. “But I do have a listing for an Ingrid and her Amazing Whip.”

  “That may be it,” Dale said. “What’s the number?”

  He copied the number down, then phoned. It rang five times, before a machine came on. “This is Ingrid. I’m not here, but you can leave a message.” Her voice sounded slurred, as if she’d been drinking. There was whooping in the background and rock music.

  Oh, Lord, I’m too late, Dale thought. He left his name and number on the machine. It made him uneasy. He worried that the Amazing Whipples had stumbled in the faith and were back to wearing leotards. He fretted for two days, before speaking to the missus. “I got a feeling something ain’t right. I think we oughta get in the car and go up there and see if we can find ’em. I know it’s crazy, but I think they need us.”

  They packed that morning, then called Sam Gardner to come by once a day and feed their cat. At the bottom of Sam’s contract, in small print, it reads, “Pastor will also be responsible for ministering to members as the Lord might lead.” He ends up making a lot of airport runs and feeding pets and mowing yards while people are on vacation. During his annual review, they evaluate whether or not he has a servant’s heart and adjust his pay accordingly.

  It was Sam’s fault. When he was being interviewed, he’d insisted on a written contract to keep from getting fired in the middle of the year. They’d balked at first, but then had given in and proceeded to fill the contract with vague requirements that could be interpreted to mean anything they wanted, up to and including lawn maintenance and pet care.

  The contract was eight pages long, typed, single-spaced. Any annoying thing any pastor had ever done was expressly forbidden, a
nd these people had long memories, recalling aggravations from decades before. It stipulated how Sam should dress, where he should live, and how if someone in the church died while he was on vacation, he was to come home. It listed a myriad of rules dictating his every move. Then, fearing they might have left something out, they added, “Pastor will also be responsible for ministering to members as the Lord might lead.”

  Sam had suggested the contract talk about their partnership in the work of the Lord, but Fern Hampton had shot that down at their first meeting. “If we’re partners, then how come you’re the only one getting paid. I say if we’re going to be partners, we should all get paid. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, that’s what I say.”

  By the time they were done drafting the contract, Sam’s pay had been cut two thousand dollars and he’d lost his education expense account.

  “The problem today is that too many ministers got too much education as it is,” Dale Hinshaw had said. “Whatever happened to a good, old-fashioned, simple faith? Maybe if these pastors would pray a little more instead of burying their heads in books, we’d all be better off.” And that was the demise of Sam’s education expense account.

  Then Fern Hampton tried to sink his transportation expense account by pointing out that he lived within walking distance of the meetinghouse, and why should the church pay for his gas when the walk would do him good? “And as long as we’re making out a contract, I don’t understand why we’re paying for his health insurance. It seems to me if he had a little more faith, he’d trust the Lord to heal him when he got sick.”

  Dale Hinshaw said, “Speaking of trusting the Lord, maybe we need to ask Sam whether he even believes in the Lord. I mean, why should we even be paying a minister who may not believe in God? It’s putting the cart before the horse, if you ask me.”

  No one had asked him, though that had never stopped Dale from offering his opinion.