“Who’ll cook our supper. He actually said, ‘Who’ll cook our supper,’ ” Barbara complained to her mother the next day. “It was all I could do not to throttle him.”
“That’s a man for you. Your father’s the same way. I spent two hours fixing supper last night and he told me the pot roast was tough. Can you believe that?”
She went on and on, describing in great detail the many faults of Barbara’s father. Barbara remembered why she seldom phoned her mother.
“Mom, can I talk to you for five minutes without you complaining about Dad? I’m dying here. If something doesn’t change, I’m going to kill Sam or have an affair.”
“Kill him,” Barbara’s mother advised. “Get a jury of women and you’ll walk. But wait until Addison leaves for college. You don’t want him to find the body.”
“Oh, yes, about that. Our number-two son wants to join the army.”
“Oh my Lord. What is he thinking? Why does he want to do that?”
“He told us he wanted an adventure. That he didn’t want to be like Sam and end up spending most of his life in the same place. Plus, think about it. He was just a kid when 9/11 happened and all he’s heard is how the soldiers are heroes. What young man wouldn’t want to be a hero?”
“I suppose you’re right, but I can’t bear the thought of him being in a war.”
“We can’t, either, but his mind is made up.”
They kvetched about men and boys and how sometimes they were indistinguishable, and when they finished talking, Barbara had decided not to kill Sam or have an affair. But she did walk the three blocks to the library to fill out an application, then drove to Cartersburg and bought a laptop computer so she wouldn’t have to keep asking Sam’s permission to use his computer.
She’d been asking for one for a year and he’d always said, “Let’s wait until the next paycheck. Money’s a little tight now.”
“Yeah,” she wanted to say. “Of course it’s tight when you go to college and seminary for eight years, then come back to your hometown to a job that pays chicken feed, but you put up with it because you’re nostalgic and don’t want to live anywhere you haven’t spent your entire life.”
She wanted to say that, but she didn’t.
Moving to Harmony had been Sam’s dream, not hers. She had gone along with it for the sake of their sons. It was a good place to raise children, but not such a good place for adults who valued independent thought. After she’d written a letter to the editor welcoming the Unitarians to town, Dale Hinshaw had fired off a letter to the Herald taking her to task. Bob Miles had printed it, like the muckraker he was, and Sam had done nothing about it.
“It’s a free country, what do you want me to do?” he’d asked her.
“You could stand up to Dale Hinshaw for once,” she’d said. “Just once, you could go up to him and say, ‘Dale, if you want to pick on me, that’s one thing, but leave my wife out of it.’ ”
“I could lose my job doing that.”
“Fine, I’ll talk with him,” Barbara said. “I have a few things I’ve been wanting to say to him and it’s about time I did.”
“Don’t do that. I could lose my job.”
“Yeah, well, you could lose your wife, too. Have you ever thought of that?”
She would never leave him, but he didn’t need to know that. It was good to let him think it was a possibility. She’d taken to introducing him as her first husband, just to keep him on his toes.
As for Sam losing his job, it was nearly impossible to get an entire group of Quakers to agree on anything, though they could occasionally rally and kick a pastor to the curb, if need be. So Sam lived in constant fear they might unite around one great cause and he would be out on his keister, a fear he regularly shared with Barbara, to her deep aggravation.
He’d taken her out to dinner to soften her up, to the seafood buffet at the Holiday Inn in Cartersburg, as if two pieces of greasy fish and a few rubbery scallops were adequate compensation for not defending his wife. When they got home, she went straight to bed with a stomachache. He’d come into the bedroom looking for that. That was something she still enjoyed, but not with a gut full of nasty fish congealing in her intestines. He was in the bullpen, warming up, ready to step up to the plate, when the check valve blew. She barely made it to the bathroom. He’d slept on the couch that night, too.
6
The Monday morning after the wedding, Sam woke up early and went for a walk out in the country toward Ellis and Miriam Hodge’s farm. He arrived at their house just as they were pulling out of their driveway. Ellis rolled to a stop and lowered his window.
“Howdy, Sam. Out for a walk I see.”
“You bet. What are the Hodges up to this beautiful morning?”
“Don’t you remember, Sam?” Miriam said. “We’re going to the Smoky Mountains.”
In all the years of their marriage, Ellis and Miriam had never flown anywhere, and gave considerable thought before driving beyond the county line. Ellis didn’t trust engines. He believed all engines were as persnickety as the engine on his Farmall tractor and he’d have to climb out on the wing, thirty thousand feet in the air, and whack it with a hammer or duct tape a fuel line to keep it running. Distrusting the internal combustion engine, he seldom drove beyond walking distance from home, which gave him about a five-mile radius. But now he was throwing caution to the wind and driving four hundred miles to the Smoky Mountains. The month before he had noticed blood on his toothbrush and had convinced himself he was dying of cancer, so he was going to the Smoky Mountains, which he’d always wanted to see before he died.
“How long will you be gone?” Sam asked.
“Should be back next Sunday,” Ellis said. “Unless we have trouble with the truck, then there’s no telling.” He looked anxious, thinking about blown engines, flat tires, and fuel explosions.
“Traveling mercies,” Sam said. “Enjoy yourselves.”
It was a half-hour walk back into town, past the town garage, down Main Street to the meetinghouse. Technically, Monday was Sam’s day off, but he went in just the same and found Lindsey Hinshaw in the office, reading the church’s mail.
“Good morning, Lindsey,” he said.
“I thought today was your day off,” she said.
“It is. I just wanted to stop by and check on things. Any messages on the answering machine.”
“Pastor Matt called to thank you for helping him out this past Saturday. The superintendent called and wants you to call him back as soon as you can. And my grandpa called. He and Fern Hampton have called a special meeting of the elders tonight at seven p.m. and want you there.”
“Criminetly,” Sam said. “It’s my day off. I don’t want to go to a meeting tonight. Would you please call him back and tell him I’m not available.”
“He won’t like that.”
“This happens every week. I take a day off and someone calls me with something that just can’t wait.”
He left the meetinghouse in a sour mood, his formerly pleasant day thoroughly ruined. Barbara was in the basement doing the laundry when he got home. “Dale Hinshaw phoned,” she yelled up the stairs. “There’s a meeting tonight at seven. He wants you there. I told him it was your day off, but he said it was an emergency.”
“Everything is an emergency,” Sam muttered. “Do this, do that, be here, be there. Hurry up. I need it now. You’d think the world was ending.”
He yelled down the stairs to Barbara, “If he thinks I’m just going to drop everything because he asked me to, he’s got another think coming.”
Sam arrived at the meeting five minutes late to show Dale and Fern he couldn’t be pushed around.
Dale Hinshaw, Fern Hampton, Bea Majors, and her sister, Opal, were in the meetinghouse basement, seated around a folding table, waiting for Sam to arrive. Miriam Hodge was the other member of the elders’ committee, the only one with a functioning brain. It mystified Sam that in a congregation of reasonably bright folks, four of the dimmest pe
ople served as elders. If it weren’t for Miriam Hodge, the elders’ committee would have steered the church off the cliff years ago.
Sam greeted them, then turned to Dale and said, “So what’s the emergency?”
“With Miriam gone, we’ll need an acting clerk,” Dale said, ignoring Sam’s question. “Any suggestions?”
“I think you should be in charge, Dale,” Fern said. Bea and Opal Majors nodded their agreement.
“I thought only the clerk could call a meeting,” Sam said.
“Well, Miriam can’t very well call a meeting if she’s not in town, now can she?” Dale said.
“And you’re sure this can’t wait?” Sam asked.
“Not one more minute,” Dale said.
Sam hated it when Miriam missed a meeting.
“Okay, what’s so important it can’t wait until Miriam gets back?” Sam asked.
“I got a call from the superintendent this morning and he’s awful upset,” Dale said. “Have you talked to him yet, Sam?”
Sam had forgotten to return his phone call. “No, not lately. What did he want now?”
“He told me you married two women this past Saturday,” Dale said. “In direct violation of our beliefs.”
“I don’t think it’s accurate to speak of ‘our beliefs’ since we all don’t believe the same thing,” Sam said.
“Were you or were you not there?” Fern said.
“Yes, I was there,” Sam said. “I said a prayer of blessing. Pastor Matt at the Unitarian church was sick, so I stepped in at the last minute to help.”
“That’s it, you’re fired,” Fern snapped.
“Opal and I have a nephew who would make a fine minister,” Bea suggested. “Should we call him?”
“We’ve been through this before,” Sam said. “You can’t just fire me. That has to be decided by the congregation.”
This was the third time Dale and Fern had tried to fire Sam. Once for not wearing a suit and tie at Easter, and another time for suggesting they cancel the Chicken Noodle Dinner. Fern had spent an entire elders’ meeting complaining that none of the younger people wanted to help with the dinner and she was tired of doing all the work and if people didn’t want to work, then maybe they should just cancel the dinner, which Sam said was fine with him, that he was tired of it, too. Then Fern said it was a shame when the church’s pastor lost his passion for ministry and that Sam should quit so they could get themselves a minister with a heart for the Lord.
“The superintendent said he’s going to have to fire you,” Dale said.
“Yeah, well, he can’t fire me, either,” Sam said. At least, he didn’t think so, but maybe the rules had changed.
Their superintendent routinely confused himself with God and had gotten in the habit of handing down edicts to the pastors, most of which Sam ignored, since the superintendent lived two hours away and hadn’t darkened the door of Harmony Friends Meeting in three years.
Bea Majors chimed in. “I don’t see how you can remain our pastor after this. The congregation won’t stand for it.”
She had him there. With Miriam Hodge gone, and Asa Peacock out of commission with a bad heart, Sam was hanging on by a thread.
He sat quietly, fuming. Fern Hampton and the Major sisters had never been married. Dale Hinshaw had reduced his wife to a mindless robot. Now they wanted to fire him for praying for two people who genuinely cared for one another. He couldn’t believe he’d given up his one free evening for this.
“Well, folks, it’s my day off, so I’m going home,” Sam said.
“We’re not done here,” Dale said, his voice rising. “What are we going to tell the superintendent?”
“Tell him to mind his own business,” Sam suggested. “Or tell him to grow up. Or maybe you should tell him people won’t always do what he wants and he’d better get used to the idea. Take your pick, Dale.”
He walked by Grant’s Hardware store on the way home. He sometimes envied Uly Grant his vocation. Why couldn’t his father have owned a hardware store? Hardware stores sold nuts and bolts to anyone, straight or gay, black or white, male or female, Catholic or Protestant, Democrat or Republican; it didn’t matter. Sam had known Uly Grant since the first grade. They’d sat together for twelve years, in alphabetical order, and he’d not once known Uly Grant to be mad at anything or anyone. Sam thought there was something about hardware stores that made a man content.
Uly was locking the front door of the store as Sam went past. He fell into step beside Sam.
“Well, hello, Sam Gardner. How the heck are you?”
“Good enough, I suppose. How are the Grants?”
“We’re doing fine,” Uly said. “Hey, I heard you might be leaving us.”
“Who told you that?” Sam asked.
“Lindsey Hinshaw mentioned something about it.”
“Well, she was mistaken,” said Sam.
“I hope you don’t, Sam. I just thought maybe you’d found a church that could pay a little more. Couldn’t hardly blame you, what with your boys heading off to college.”
“Barbara’s interviewing for a job at the library. That’ll help.”
“Not that I want you to move, but if you ever do, be sure to let me know. We might be interested in buying your house. Always liked that house.”
“Don’t start packing your things just yet,” Sam said. “We’re staying put.”
Sam walked on, thinking about Lindsey Hinshaw, wishing Frank, his previous secretary, hadn’t moved to North Carolina. Frank had kept the malcontents in line. He had been in the military and understood warfare. Sam suspected Lindsey was a spy, sent by Dale to infiltrate the pastor’s office and sabotage Sam’s best efforts. She’d bear watching, that one.
7
Barbara woke early the next morning for her interview at the library. She’d had her hair styled the day before, had bought a new outfit at the JCPenney in Cartersburg, and had purchased a teeth-whitening kit at the Rexall, but had fallen asleep with the whitening strips on. When she smiled, she looked like a car with its brights on. She made a mental note not to smile.
She was counting on this job. Sam was losing interest in his ministry at Harmony. She could tell. The first ten years, he’d been excited, full of ideas, gabbing about his job. Now he just complained. They needed a plan B, something to fall back on, and her getting a job was probably it. She wished Miss Rudy were still the librarian. She’d be sure to get the job. But Miss Rudy had retired that summer after sixty years at the helm, navigating the library through the choppy waters of budget cuts from town board members who hadn’t read a book since high school. Then the library board voted to bring in DVDs, and that had been the final straw. Movies in the library! All manner of sex and violence and foul language. The first box of movies had arrived on a Monday morning and by noon that same day Miss Rudy had written her letter of resignation and put her house up for sale. Two weeks later she moved to the city to live with her cousin.
The new librarian, a Ms. Woodrum, was fresh out of college and referred to herself as a media specialist. She’d removed Miss Rudy’s NO TALKING PERMITTED sign, and brought in bean bag chairs for the children to flop down on like fat slugs. For the first time in living memory, a child could enter the library and be reasonably confident he would leave alive. Then Ms. Woodrum had opened the library on Sundays, in direct defiance of Scripture, or so said Pastor Jimmy of the Harmony Worship Center, who wasn’t quite sure where the verse was, but knew it was in there somewhere. Then, without consulting anyone, she had ordered a book on sex education, causing much wailing and gnashing of teeth, all of which she ignored.
Barbara arrived an hour early for the interview and read National Geographic, which Miss Rudy hadn’t carried on account of the pictures of naked African women. A few minutes before the interview, the new librarian walked past the periodicals, saw Barbara, introduced herself, shook her hand, and ushered her into her office.
“Thank you for this interview, Ms. Woodrum,” Barbara said. “I�
�m very grateful for this opportunity.”
“Drop the Ms. Woodrum. I’m Janet,” she said. And though they had never met, Barbara felt immediately at ease. After a wide-ranging conversation in which they discussed books and college and teeth whiteners, Janet offered her the job, then asked, “Oh, one more thing. I know your husband is a minister, but can you work the occasional Sunday?”
Barbara thought about Dale Hinshaw discussing the seven-headed beast of Revelation in Sunday school, realized she’d finally found a way to escape, and said she would be happy to work on Sunday, or any other day.
“Great! When can you start?”
“Right now,” said Barbara.
“Let’s get going then. I’d like you to shadow me this first week, learn the ropes, then we’ll turn you loose on the place.”
It was a splendid day for Barbara. Working in a library, surrounded by books, discussing important ideas with intelligent people. The library closed at 8 p.m., but she and Janet stayed over, shelving the last of the books that had been returned that day. She walked home, tired but happy, pleased to be doing something other than housework.
Sam and Addison were watching television and eating bacon, wiping their greasy fingers on their pants.
“Bacon? Is that all you’re having?” Barbara asked.
“It wasn’t just bacon,” Sam said. “It was bacon-wrapped bacon.”
“Yeah, it was my idea,” said Addison. “We deep-fried it.”
The stove was splattered with bacon grease, which Barbara ignored, though not without difficulty. What was it with men? She prepared herself a salad. Sam wandered into the kitchen.
He leaned against the counter. “So how was your day?”
She smiled. “You are now looking at the assistant librarian of the Harmony Public Library.”
Sam laughed. “Well, look at you.” He hugged her, then arched his eyebrows. “Did I ever tell you I have a thing for librarians?”
“I wouldn’t put it past you.”
A Place Called Hope: A Novel Page 3