A Place Called Hope: A Novel

by Philip Gulley

  “Seemed longer than that somehow.”

  “Did you meet anybody interesting?”

  “Yeah, they put me in the same cell with a serial killer,” Sam said. “You busted me out just in time.”

  “It was the least I could do. I’m sorry about yesterday. I should have been more understanding. I know you’ve been worried about finding work. Forgive me?”

  “Nothing to forgive,” Sam said. “I’m the one who should apologize for storming off like that. I shouldn’t have just sprung this on you and expect you to drop everything and move.”

  “Well, unless someone dies and leaves us a lot of money, we’re going to have to work. If Hope Meeting calls you to be their pastor, then that’s where we’ll go. Besides, I’ll have a better chance of getting another job in the city.”

  “You’re the best,” Sam said. “Did I tell you I kept your picture next to my cot the whole time I was in jail? You were all I thought of.”

  “That’s sweet.”

  Fifteen hours in jail had done Sam a world of good. Barbara made a mental note to have him arrested more often.

  24

  Sam was ironing a shirt for his interview when Addison arrived home from school.

  “It was all over school that you got arrested,” he told Sam. “The kids thought it was pretty cool that a minister got busted.”

  “I’m not exactly proud of it,” Sam said.

  “Is it true you punched a cop?”

  “Most certainly not,” Sam said. “I don’t hit people.”

  Addison looked vaguely disappointed.

  Sam finished his shirt, then took a damp washcloth to his navy blazer to wipe away Eunice Muldock’s makeup. She hugged him every Sunday at church, leaving an imprint of her face on his blazer.

  The drive to Hope was a pleasant one, past farms and through small, tidy towns. As Sam and Barbara approached the city, countryside gave way to suburbs, and traffic thickened.

  “Ooh, an Arby’s, let’s eat there,” Sam said. “You wouldn’t believe how many times I thought of Arby’s when I was in jail.”

  “Didn’t you say you were thinking of me the whole time?” Barbara asked.

  “I did. I thought of you and me sitting in Arby’s eating roast beef sandwiches.”

  They ate, then went in search of Hope Friends Meeting, which took some time, because of Sam’s poor sense of direction, and the Quakers’ tendency toward modesty and their reluctance to announce their presence with a helpful sign. But they finally found the handsome wood and stone meetinghouse on a quiet side street, barely visible through the trees of what at first glance appeared to be a wooded park.

  “Oh, it’s beautiful,” Barbara said.

  “I had forgotten how beautiful,” Sam said in agreement.

  In the opposite direction stood a smaller building of similar design.

  “I wonder if that’s the parsonage?” Barbara asked.

  “I believe it is.”

  “Oh my gosh. It’s gorgeous. Look at all the trees. It’s like living in the middle of a forest. It doesn’t even feel like we’re near a city.”

  “Dear Lord,” Sam prayed. “Please let these people be normal.”

  They parked their car and walked, hand in hand, up to the meetinghouse.

  “It looks good so far,” Barbara said. “But if anyone here is named Hinshaw, I’m leaving. I’m standing up and walking out.”

  “I don’t think Dale has any relatives at this meeting.”

  Hinshaws could be found at Quaker meetings throughout the Midwest. They metastasized like cancer, leeching on to host bodies and robbing them of life. Fortunately for Hope Friends, Hinshaws gravitated toward small towns and avoided the cities.

  A dozen people were in the meetinghouse, seated around a table at the back of the meeting room. They rose to their feet when the Gardners entered.

  Sam recognized Ruby Hopper, who looked just like her cousin Miriam, and made his way to her, smiling, his hand outstretched. “You’re Ruby Hopper.”

  “I am, indeed,” she said. “And you’re Sam Gardner.”

  “Yes, and this is my wife, Barbara,” Sam said.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Barbara. Can I get either one of you something to drink? We have coffee, tea, lemonade, and ice water. And pie. Coconut cream or strawberry rhubarb, whichever you prefer.”

  Sam preferred a piece of each and was on the verge of saying so, when Barbara smoothly intervened.

  “Water is fine, thank you. And Sam will have coconut cream and I’ll have strawberry rhubarb. That’s very kind of you, Ruby. Thank you.”

  A tall man with a wild thatch of silver hair approached them, offering his hand. “Name’s Hank Withers. Pleased to meet you.” He shook Sam’s hand, then turned it to study his fingernails.

  “Clean fingernails. That’s a good sign. The last fella we interviewed had dirty fingernails. Now personally, it didn’t bother me too much, but the women didn’t care for it.”

  “I bathe regularly,” Sam said.

  “Forgive my husband,” an attractive older woman said. “He thinks Quaker honesty requires him to say every thought that comes to mind. My name is Norma Withers. It’s a pleasure to have you with us.”

  Sam greeted her, and introduced Barbara.

  “Have you been to our meeting before?” Norma Withers asked.

  “Several years ago. I was here for a meeting of the American Friends Service Committee.”

  “Oh, yes, now I remember. That’s where I’ve seen you. Ruby and I prepared the meal for that gathering.”

  “Lasagna, homemade Italian bread, and salad,” Sam recalled. “With peach cobbler for dessert, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Sam remembered every church meal he had ever eaten, and often reminisced aloud about them. Barbara headed him off at the pass.

  “This is such a lovely meetinghouse,” she said.

  “Thanks,” Hank Withers said. “It was the only church I ever designed. I’m an architect. Or was. Retired now. They hired me to design it in 1983, built it in 1984. Norma and I came the very first Sunday and joined three weeks later. Biggest mistake I ever made. They still owed me a thousand dollars, but when I joined the meeting they asked me to donate the balance. Designed the parsonage, too. Didn’t get one red cent for it.”

  Sam chuckled. “Yeah, we Quakers are sneaky that way,” he said. “But you did a fine job. This is one of the prettiest meetinghouses I’ve ever seen.”

  “Now I’m clerk of the Limb Committee,” Hank said.

  “Limb Committee? What’s a limb committee?” Sam asked.

  “Just like it sounds. I’m in charge of making sure the tree limbs get picked up. Got a lot of trees here. If we didn’t have a limb committee, the yard would be a mess.”

  “What other committees are there?” Sam asked.

  “Well, let’s see, we have the limb committee, the pie committee, the roof committee, the snow committee, the lawn-mowing committee, the kitchen committee, a funeral committee, a parsonage committee, and the pastoral search committee,” Hank Withers said.

  “Don’t forget the peace committee,” Norma Withers added. “And technically, we have an elders’ committee, but it doesn’t meet regularly.”

  “We had a wedding committee once, but we haven’t had a wedding in years,” Hank said. “And we’re thinking of starting an outreach committee to focus on the growth of our meeting.”

  Ruby Hopper served Sam and Barbara their pie, then urged everyone to take a seat. “As you know,” she told the group, “this is Sam and Barbara Gardner. They have joined us this evening to help us discern whether we should call Sam to be our next pastor. Let’s go around the circle and tell Sam and Barbara our names.”

  Sam ate his coconut cream pie and listened intently, trying to memorize each name. Meals he remembered, but names slipped away.

  “Now that we’ve been properly introduced, let’s proceed,” Ruby Hopper said. “First I want to thank Sam and Barbara for driving all this way to be w
ith us. Sam, would you mind telling us a bit about your ministry?”

  “Happy to. Since graduating from seminary, I’ve pastored two meetings. I ministered in Illinois for several years, then fifteen or so years ago, we returned to my hometown, where I eventually became the pastor of Harmony Friends, my home meeting.”

  “And how did that ministry go?” Ruby asked.

  “Generally well,” said Sam. “We experienced some growth. There were some theological differences, but we managed to work through most of them.”

  “I heard you got canned,” Hank Withers said.

  A portly older man nodded in agreement. “Yep, that’s what I heard.”

  Sam racked his brain, trying to remember the man’s name. “Wilson Roberts, right?”

  “Yes, that’s right. Owner of Roberts’ Fixtures, now retired.”

  “Well, let me speak to that,” Sam said. “My departure was a mutual decision. Several of the elders thought it was best I leave, and rather than putting the meeting through a contentious fight, I decided it would be wise to turn in my notice.”

  “My cousin Miriam told me all about it,” Ruby Hopper said.

  “It was probably for the best,” Sam said. “I had done all I could for the meeting. It was time for new leadership.”

  He hoped he sounded diplomatic, like a statesman, above the fray.

  “So marrying two women didn’t have anything to do with it?” Wilson Roberts asked.

  “That certainly didn’t help,” Sam conceded. “But just to be clear, I didn’t marry them. I said a prayer for them. I was pinch-hitting for a Unitarian pastor who was ill.”

  Most of the people nodded, poker-faced, refraining from comment, except for a man and woman who looked displeased. Sam tried to recall their names. Mink? Kink? Fink, that was it, the Finks. Leonard and Wanda Fink. Sam wondered if they were unhappy with what he had said, or generally unhappy with life. They looked as if they were having teeth extracted without anesthesia.

  “When you’re a pastor,” Sam said, “you have to be able to sense the end of your usefulness. You have to know when you’ve done all you can for a congregation. I didn’t want to leave Harmony under these circumstances. I had hoped for a tidier end, maybe a party with cake, and a farewell sermon, but it didn’t work out that way. Now we must discern together if I have the gifts you need to help this meeting forward, so let’s focus on that.”

  “Well stated,” said Norma Withers. “Let’s discuss your thoughts on various matters.”

  They lobbed him a few softballs, which he answered easily. Questions about his spiritual journey, his education, his strengths as a pastor, his philosophy of ministry.

  “Sam and Barbara, do you have anything you wish to ask us?” Ruby Hopper asked.

  “I would like to know if you have certain expectations for the pastor’s spouse,” Barbara said. “Would I be expected to teach a Sunday school class or work with children or clerk a committee?”

  “If you join our meeting, we would urge you to be open and faithful to whatever ministry God is calling you to. There will be no added expectations just because you’re married to our pastor. Pastoring is his calling, not yours,” Ruby explained.

  Barbara never dreamed she would hear those words uttered. She began mentally packing up their house in Harmony, filling out change of address cards, and digging up her flower bulbs to bring with them.

  “It’s not that I don’t mind helping in the meeting,” Barbara hastened to add. “As a matter of fact, I enjoy working with children.”

  “About that,” Wilson Roberts said, “we don’t exactly have many children in the meeting right now.”

  “Well, wherever two or three are gathered—” Barbara began.

  “We don’t even have two or three,” Norma Withers said. “In fact, we don’t have any children here. We used to have a lot of children, but they’ve all grown up or left. We were hoping our new pastor, whoever that might be, could help us reach out to young families.”

  “Children are our future,” Sam said. Whenever he was nervous, he was prone to utter tired, obvious clichés. He had wanted to break the news of Hope’s size to Barbara gently. Maybe get a glass or two of wine in her first, get her relaxed.

  “Heck, at this point, we’d take just about anybody,” Hank Withers said. “Young, old, comatose. Anyone. We’re not picky.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking,” said Barbara, who was going to ask whether they minded or not, “just how many people are in the meeting?”

  “You’re looking at it, sister,” Hank said. “Everyone in the meeting serves on the search committee.”

  “Lately, it’s just been Ruby and me,” said Wilson Roberts.

  “That’s because we trusted you and Ruby to bring us a good candidate, and you succeeded,” Norma Withers said, smiling. “Shifting gears a bit. Sam, this is a bit embarrassing, but it’s the world we live in today. We will have to have a background check run on you. It’s our policy for anyone seeking leadership in our meeting, or anyone working with children.” She paused, then added, “Even though we don’t have any children yet, we know that will change.”

  “I think background checks are wise,” Sam said. “I don’t mind at all.”

  In fact, at the recommendation of their insurance company, Sam had suggested the same thing at Harmony, but Fern Hampton had thrown a fit. “You’re telling me I have to have a background check? That’s outrageous. I was a public school teacher for forty-five years, and now you’re telling me I’m a pervert. That’s a fine how-do-you-do. You sure didn’t care about my background when you asked me to teach Sunday school last year. Now you want to call the police to see if I’m a rapist.”

  Sam had dropped the subject.

  “Before we end our time together, does anyone have any questions they’d like to ask Sam?” Ruby Hopper said.

  “I’d like to ask Barbara a question,” Wanda Fink said.

  Wanda Fink had plucked her eyebrows, then had drawn them in with eyeliner high above her eyes, like the Gateway Arch, making her appear perpetually surprised. Her lips were pursed, as if drawn tight by a surgery gone wrong. She was a hard person to read.

  “Yes,” Barbara said, “what’s your question?”

  “I’m the clerk of the parsonage committee and one of our pastors’ wives used an abrasive cleaner on the bathtub, even though I had distinctly warned her not to. What type of cleaner do you intend to use on the sinks and tub?”

  There’s one in every church, Barbara thought.

  “It’s probably premature to be talking about cleaning the parsonage, but if you decide to call Sam to be your pastor, and if he decides to come, then perhaps the parsonage committee can supply the proper cleaner,” Barbara said with a smile, resisting the urge to reach across the table and smack Wanda Fink upside the head.

  “Yes, let’s leave it at that for now,” Ruby Hopper said. “Sam and Barbara, thank you so much for being with us. I’ve made you a little something to take with you.”

  She hurried over to the refrigerator and pulled a pie from it. “I hope you like raisin pie,” she said.

  “We certainly do,” said Sam. “That’s very kind of you.”

  He turned to the congregation. “It was a pleasure meeting all of you. I do hope we have the opportunity to see one another again.”

  The twelve walked them to the front door and bid them good-bye.

  “We’ll be in touch,” Ruby Hopper promised.

  Sam opened Barbara’s car door, just in case they were being watched, then hurried around to his side and pulled away from the meetinghouse toward Harmony.

  25

  So when did you plan on telling me there were only twelve people in the entire congregation?” Barbara asked, as they turned left out of the meetinghouse lane.

  “Is that how many people are in the meeting?” Sam asked. “I really hadn’t noticed.”

  “How in the world can a meeting with only twelve people stay open?” Barbara asked. “I don’t see ho
w they can keep it going. Are you sure we should do this?”

  “They haven’t extended an offer yet,” Sam pointed out.

  “They will. They want you.”

  “I don’t think the Finks were all that smitten with me,” Sam said.

  “Yeah, she sure was uptight. Asking me about bathtub cleaner. What a kook.”

  “The pie sure was good. I’d become their pastor just for the pie.”

  “That’s another thing,” Barbara said. “Don’t they seem kind of weird about pie? I mean, come on, a pie committee? I’ve never heard of a church having a pie committee.”

  “That is one committee meeting I wouldn’t mind attending,” Sam said.

  They arrived home a little before midnight. Addison was still awake, awaiting their return.

  “Are we moving?” he asked.

  “Don’t know yet,” Sam said. “They’ll probably want to think about it for a little while. Maybe have me back for some more meetings. Knowing Quakers they won’t make a decision until this time next year.”

  “If you move before school is over, I want to go with you,” Addison said.

  Sam and Barbara looked at him, perplexed.

  “Honey, we weren’t going to move until your schooling was done,” Sam said. “We’d already made up our minds about that.”

  “Besides, don’t you want to graduate with your class?” Barbara asked. “You’ve been with them since kindergarten.”

  “Yeah, but some of them are jerks,” Addison said.

  “Got those in every group,” Barbara said. “But it’s not like you to say that. Did something happen at school today?”

  He didn’t answer at first, then said, “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “What’s going on, buddy?” Sam asked.

  “Dad, why’d you have to go and marry two women? Didn’t you know it would cause us trouble?”

  “Has someone been giving you grief about it?” Sam asked.

  “Not at first, but now there’s some guys who won’t shut up about it.” Addison’s voice caught. “They called me a fag.” He looked away, embarrassed.

  “You want me to talk to the principal?” Barbara asked him.