A Place Called Hope: A Novel

by Philip Gulley

  “Hey, now you’ll know who’s checking out the sex education book,” Sam said.

  “First thing I looked up,” she said. “And you would be amazed. Wish I could tell you their names, but I can’t.”

  “Tell me their initials.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Just the first letter of their first name,” he pleaded. “And if I guess, just nod your head.”

  “Can’t do it. It’s privileged information.”

  “Do I know him?” Sam asked.

  “How do you know it’s a him?”

  “ ’Cause hers don’t check out sex education books.”

  “Oh, you have a lot to learn, Sam Gardner.”

  “Just tell me who it was.”

  “Nope, can’t say. But I will tell you this: You would be shocked. You wouldn’t guess who in a million years.”

  “Are they members of the meeting?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. I can’t say.”

  “If they’re members of the meeting, I really should know,” Sam said.

  “Why is that any of your business?”

  “Just tell me,” Sam begged.

  No one loved a secret more than Sam Gardner. He became a pastor to learn people’s secrets. He knew things about people in Harmony that would curl the hair. And he always told Barbara. Always. Not that she’d ever asked, but once he knew a secret he had to tell someone. Secrets leaked out of him, like air from a punctured tire, like pus from a wound. If he had been a spy and had ever been captured, he would have spilled the beans in five minutes for a glass of water.

  It had been a long day and Barbara was tired. She went to bed early, not giving Sam the opportunity to prove his attraction to librarians in the manner he desired. Instead, he cleaned the kitchen, picked up the downstairs, and folded the laundry, there being a myriad of ways to show affection and appreciation.

  8

  Sam was seated at his desk the next morning when he heard Lindsey say, “Hi, Grandpa. What are you doing here?”

  As if she didn’t know, Sam thought.

  “This is my granddaughter, Lindsey,” he heard Dale say. “She’s the Director of Communications here at the meeting.”

  “A pleasure to meet you,” an unctuous voice, dripping with insincerity, responded. “God bless you for your ministry here.”

  The Quaker superintendent! Sam wanted to hide under his desk, and would have if Lindsey hadn’t said, “Yes, he’s here. Go right on in.”

  When Sam had become a pastor, the superintendent at the time had been a calm, caring man, a pastor to the pastors, with a genuine love for people, and prone to err on the side of grace. But he had retired, and had been followed by a string of short-termers, coasting toward retirement. The latest superintendent had come along with a plan to start new meetings and double membership, which hadn’t yet happened, though he had managed to run off several good pastors whose theology wasn’t to his liking. He was a strutter, a man given to arm-waving and self-righteousness, two qualities Sam had never admired in clergy. Now here he was, standing in the office doorway, blocking Sam’s retreat.

  “Sam, my child, so good to see you.”

  He was a year younger than Sam, but referred to all the pastors as his children, no matter their age. Except for the women ministers, whom he called his girls. He was as good an argument against institutional religion as Sam had ever met.

  All his life, Sam had strived mightily to make everyone happy, but since crossing the half-century mark he had decided to let others make him happy for a change, and figured Dale and the superintendent were a good place to start.

  “Well, look what the cat drug in,” Sam said. “Come in, gents. Sit down, take a load off. I’d offer you something to drink, but we’re out of everything.”

  They sat down. Lindsey followed them in, standing in the doorway.

  “What can I do for you?” Sam asked.

  “I’ll not beat around the bush,” the superintendent said. “I heard you conducted a gay wedding.”

  “Not exactly,” Sam said. “I offered a prayer at the wedding of two women.”

  “It wasn’t a wedding, since homosexuals can’t marry,” Dale said.

  “Well, if it wasn’t a wedding, then I guess your visit was pointless,” Sam said, smiling at the superintendent. “Sorry you had to drive all that way for nothing.”

  “Whether or not it was a wedding isn’t the point. Your very presence implies acceptance of what happened,” the superintendent said. “And not just your acceptance, but the acceptance of this congregation, and by virtue of that, the acceptance of our entire yearly meeting.”

  “I was invited to offer a prayer for two young women and I did so. I saw nothing wrong with praying for two people wanting to share their lives with one another.”

  “The Lord condemns it,” Dale snapped.

  “That’s your opinion,” Sam said. “Not mine.”

  Lindsey spoke from the doorway. “Come on, Grandpa, leave Sam alone.”

  This was certainly a surprise.

  “This doesn’t concern you, Lindsey,” Dale blustered. “Go back to your desk.”

  “Dale, I’ll thank you not to order my staff around,” Sam said. “Lindsey, this is your church, too. You can say what you wish.”

  Dale stared at Sam like a landed fish walloped by a two-by-four, his mouth agape. “I knew you would turn her against me.”

  “Don’t be silly, Grandpa. I’m not against you. I just don’t agree with you.”

  “Let’s get back to the matter at hand,” the superintendent said. “I can’t have my pastors running around condoning this sort of thing.”

  “I am not your pastor,” Sam informed him. “I’m my own man. You don’t own me.”

  “According to the Oversight Committee, pastors report to me.”

  “Ah, yes, the Oversight Committee,” Sam said. “The committee you formed without asking the rest of us. They have no authority over me. God has called me to ministry, and this congregation invited me here. Until God tells me I can’t pray for people, I will continue to do so.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Dale said.

  “Indeed we will,” Sam said. He turned to face the superintendent. “The church has plenty of small-minded people afraid of change. Our leaders need to move us beyond that, not encourage it.”

  For someone who wasn’t good on his feet, Sam was surprised by his burst of eloquence and wished it were being recorded.

  The superintendent rose to his feet. “Given the circumstances, I’ll have to retract my offer for you to speak at our next pastors’ conference. It’s clear to me you are no longer in the Spirit. In fact, I prefer you not attend at all.”

  Sam had never liked attending pastors’ retreats, but now that he knew the superintendent didn’t want him there, he’d be sure to go. If he were still around, that is.

  “Gentlemen, I have work to do. I trust you can find the door.”

  “This matter is not over,” the superintendent said.

  “No, I suppose it isn’t,” Sam said. “But this conversation is. I have other things to do. Next time, please make an appointment.”

  The superintendent strode from the office with Dale in tow.

  “I’ll be gone within the month,” he told Lindsey after they had left. “You watch and see.”

  “I love my grandpa, but he’s wrong,” Lindsey said. “And I’m going to talk to him and tell him so.”

  “Lindsey, I appreciate your support, but don’t stick your neck out for me. I don’t want there to be hard feelings in your family.”

  “He’s the one who was all hot for me to take this job,” she said. “He’s probably regretting that now.”

  Even though it was only Wednesday, Sam went to work on his sermon. It was a scorcher of a message, in which he quoted Jesus and the prophets of old, going hammer and tongs against injustice and narrow-mindedness. If the elders didn’t like it, they could always attend the Harmony Worship Center, where they sang one-line so
ngs projected on big screens and couldn’t make a noodle to save their souls.

  9

  The same morning Sam Gardner was set upon by Dale and the superintendent, Miriam and Ellis Hodge were in Gatlinburg, Tennessee, strolling from one souvenir shop to another.

  “I wouldn’t give you a plug nickel for this junk,” Ellis grumbled. “I can’t believe we drove four hundred miles to see this.”

  Miriam didn’t point out that the vacation had been his idea.

  “Let’s drive over into North Carolina,” Miriam suggested. “We could go to Asheville and see the Biltmore Estate.”

  “Better not. I think something’s wrong with the truck. We probably ought to head home.”

  It had been like this since the second morning of their trip, when they’d had a flat tire.

  “It’s an omen,” he’d said. “I think we should go back. I think the house is on fire.”

  They’d phoned his brother Ralph, who’d told them their house was fine, but that Sam was in trouble for marrying two lesbians.

  “He did what?” Ellis had asked.

  “Married two women at the Unitarian church. Least that’s what Asa Peacock told me. Dale and Fern are all worked up about it and trying to get him fired.”

  “Well, that’s nothing new,” Ellis had said. “They’ve been trying to get him fired ever since we hired him. Anything else going on?”

  “Nope, that’s about it.”

  “You sure our house isn’t burning?” Ellis had asked hopefully, desperate to return home.

  “I’m looking out the window at it right now. Everything’s fine.”

  They had arrived in Gatlinburg and checked into a honeymoon hotel, sleeping in a heart-shaped bed that sagged in the middle. They slept on top of the blankets with their clothes on, staring at themselves in the mirror above the bed, somewhat embarrassed, praying they wouldn’t run into someone they knew.

  Gatlinburg was a disappointment, a haphazard pile of shops selling souvenirs made in China. More than once, they were squeezed off the sidewalk to let groups of hefty people pass.

  “I’ve never seen so many obese people gathered in one place in my entire life,” Ellis grumbled. “It’s like a convention of fat people.”

  “Be nice,” Miriam said.

  “And to think they cut down trees to make this place.”

  Ellis had become more opinionated as he had aged, a development Miriam found most distressing. She worried he was losing his mind. On several occasions she had caught him in the barn listening to fanatics on the radio rant about the government. It was depressing the cows, causing their milk output to drop, so she had taken her hedge clippers and cut the radio’s electrical cord.

  They were at the hotel when Miriam’s cell phone rang. It was Fern Hampton, who made small talk about the weather, then asked when they might be back.

  “Probably late Sunday,” Miriam said. “Why? Is there a problem?”

  “Oh, no, everything’s fine. Just wanted to make sure you were all right. You and Ellis enjoy yourselves and don’t worry about a thing. Good-bye for now.”

  “That woman is up to no good,” Miriam said. “She’s never cared whether we were all right. She’s up to something. Mark my words.”

  “Maybe we should go home,” Ellis said.

  “Maybe we should,” Miriam agreed.

  But they didn’t go immediately. Instead, they drove into the park, which was beautiful, and shared a picnic beside a stream, and watched trout swimming in a deep pool underneath a log, then stretched out for a nap on the mossy bank. For one pleasant afternoon, Ellis was grateful for their vacation and understood why others might occasionally wish to leave home for lovely moments such as these.

  10

  That same afternoon, Dale Hinshaw, Fern Hampton, and Bea and Opal Majors were seated around Fern’s kitchen table, plotting Sam’s overthrow.

  “It’s got to happen this Sunday, before Miriam and Ellis get home,” Fern said. “They’re always sticking up for Sam.”

  “He’s got to go,” Dale said. “But there are folks who like him. I think even Lindsey likes him.” He shook his head, mystified. “I don’t know what’s gotten into that girl.”

  “She and Sam sure have gotten close lately,” Bea said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if something’s going on there. You know how ministers are with their secretaries.”

  “Lindsey’s not that kind of girl,” Dale said. “She wouldn’t do that.”

  “You didn’t think she’d support sodomites,” Fern snapped. “Maybe she’s not the little angel you think she is.”

  “She might have to go, too,” Opal said. “Especially if she and Sam are sleeping around.”

  “You know they are,” Bea said. “Why else would she stick up for him?”

  “I don’t know what Barbara sees in that man,” Fern said. “She’s working at the library now, you know. Probably realized their marriage was falling apart and she needed a job. I’ve seen it happen time and again. Maybe it’s time someone told her what he’s up to. What a sad marriage it must be.”

  It was ironic that Fern Hampton, who had never been able to convince even one man his life would be better with her, would consider herself an expert on marriage.

  “He’s been cozying up to the Unitarians. I think if folks knew that, he’d be out of here,” Dale said. “We ought to send out an e-mail and call for a meeting of the church.”

  “Can we do that?” Fern said.

  “Sure we can. We’re the elders, after all,” Dale said. “I have a list of everyone’s e-mail addresses that Lindsey put together.”

  Dale’s missive went out that very night, a long diatribe, sprinkled with Scripture verses, detailing Sam’s various shortcomings, chief among them his utter disregard for tradition and authority and the Lord. Dale observed that Sam had recently been seen in the company of Unitarians, who everyone knew didn’t believe in God and were going straight to hell.

  Sam’s mother, Gloria Gardner, phoned Sam the minute she read the e-mail. “What do you mean, you don’t believe in God? When did that happen?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I just got an e-mail from Dale saying you don’t believe in God.”

  Sam assured his mother he still believed in God.

  “He also said you conducted a same-gender marriage,” his mother said.

  “It was an accident,” Sam said. “I didn’t realize it was two women. And I didn’t conduct the wedding, at least not officially. All I did was say a prayer.”

  “Well, there’s nothing wrong with that. We’re supposed to pray for people.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Sam said.

  “What are you going to do, honey?” his mom asked.

  “I’m going to go to bed,” Sam said.

  “No, I mean about the e-mail.”

  Sam fell silent for a moment, thinking. “I tell you, Mom. I’m tired of this nonsense. If the meeting wants to fire me for praying for two women, so be it. I’m not sure I want to even pastor a meeting where that would be an issue.”

  “Oh, no, don’t say that. We need you.”

  “That’s a matter of opinion. Dale and the superintendent came to see me this morning. They obviously think the church would get along fine without me.”

  “Oh, Dale is just an old sourpuss. Ignore him.”

  “He’s pretty hard to ignore,” Sam said.

  “I’m going to call him and give him a piece of my mind,” Gloria said.

  “Don’t, Mom. That’ll just make things worse.”

  “Somebody needs to rein him in. What about Miriam? Where is she in all of this?”

  “She and Ellis are on vacation,” Sam said. “Won’t be back until Sunday night.”

  “Well, you can make it until then. Miriam will get things straightened out when she gets home.”

  “Even if she does, it’ll just be something else next month. It’s not like Dale is going to wake up one morning, realize he’s hateful, and change h
is ways.”

  “Maybe he’ll die,” she said hopefully. “Or maybe someone will knock him off, like in the movies. Say, wasn’t Ralph Hodge in jail once? I bet he knows someone who can kill him.”

  “Don’t you think that’s a bit extreme?” Sam asked.

  “Perhaps so, but let’s not rule it out.”

  Sam made a mental note never to cross his mother.

  He wished his mother a pleasant evening, hung up the phone, and went to bed. His mother, her curiosity stirred, looked up on Google how to kill people without getting caught.

  11

  While Gloria Gardner was reading about poisonous toadstools, the engine in Ellis Hodge’s Ford pickup sputtered once, then twice, then died, stranding him and Miriam on Interstate 65, smack in the middle of the John F. Kennedy Memorial Bridge, spanning the Ohio River, connecting Indiana and Kentucky. Semitrucks blasted past them, rocking their Ford back and forth.

  “Darn Democrats,” Ellis muttered. “I knew this was bound to happen.”

  “What do the Democrats have to do with it?”

  “It’s a Democrat bridge,” Ellis sputtered. “They’ve been laying for me.”

  “I told you fifty miles ago to get gas, but you didn’t. Don’t blame the Democrats for your poor judgment.”

  Within a few minutes, a police officer pulled up behind them, asked to see Ellis’s driver’s license, wrote him a ticket because it had expired the month before, then radioed a tow truck to bring a gallon of gas, which cost Ellis ninety dollars, the same amount he was trying to save by driving straight through and not getting a hotel room.

  They pulled into their driveway a little after midnight, grateful to be home and not crushed in a tangle of metal over the Ohio River, while people inched past them in the left hand lane, slowing to view their mangled bodies.

  “I’m never leaving the county ever again,” Ellis said. “I’ve had it with travel.”

  He lay in bed, rehashing their trip, enumerating his many disappointments, from the price of gasoline to souvenirs made in China to state police and tow truck drivers, who he suspected were in cahoots and getting rich on unsuspecting tourists.