“So I heard you go to Purdue?” Hank commented to Levi.
“Yes, sir. I’m a Boilermaker.”
“Went to Ohio State myself. Studied architecture. What’s your major?”
“It was engineering, then I switched to sociology. But I have a buddy who’s an acting major, so I’m thinking of doing that.”
This was news to Sam and Barbara, who tried not to act surprised.
“Lot of money in acting,” Hank Withers said. “If you hit it big. Of course, most actors don’t. They end up waiting tables. Not that there’s anything wrong with waiting tables. Did it myself during college.”
“I was also thinking of maybe majoring in engineering again. I kind of miss it.”
Hank nodded. “A noble profession, engineering. If it weren’t for engineers, we’d still be living in caves and pooping outdoors.”
“Yeah, we engineers are pretty much responsible for modern civilization,” Levi said, now proudly numbering himself among that accomplished tribe.
After dinner, they bid a warm good-bye to Hank and Norma, then returned to the parsonage. With no television, Levi took it upon himself to regale them with stories of engineering’s finer moments in history.
“Herbert Hoover was an engineer. Did you know that, Dad?”
“No, I surely didn’t.”
“And a president, and a Quaker,” Levi added. “We engineers are multifaceted.”
It had been a long day, and before long Sam and Barbara fell to sleep on their air mattress while Levi spoke of splendid and sundry wonders.
32
The Gardners moved to Hope the last Friday of July. The day before they had met at Owen Stout’s law office for the closing, where Uly Grant and his wife presented them with a check for their house, then raised their right hands and pledged not to paint over the strip of paint in the dining room where Sam and Barbara had recorded their sons’ heights. That evening, the Hodges, Muldocks, and Peacocks stopped by with supper and lingered into the dark hours, visiting on the porch. Miriam and Ellis had returned to the meeting after the Methodists had attempted to baptize them. Ellis and Asa were reconciled, united in their mutual distrust of their new pastor, Paul Fletcher, who in a few short months had reduced Harmony Friends Meeting to half its former size.
Everyone was glum, except for the Gardners, who were trying, for the sake of their guests, to appear miserable.
“If it doesn’t work out, perhaps you could come back,” Miriam suggested.
“Thank you,” Barbara said. “That’s very kind of you.”
Not on your life, Sam thought.
The past several months without Dale Hinshaw and Fern Hampton in his life had been pure ecstasy, as if he had been the test subject of some exotic narcotic. He had never known such elation. It had taken a few months for Sam to relax, for the trauma to wear off. He felt as if someone had been beating his head with a hammer, then had suddenly stopped. Feeling was coming back. And joy. His creative juices were bubbling again as he contemplated the twelve Quakers in Hope. Jesus had once accomplished wonders with twelve people. He couldn’t help but wonder if the same might be true for him.
With their beds packed away in Uly Grant’s truck, they slept at Sam’s parents’ house on the foldout sofa. Levi slept in the recliner. Sam’s mother was beside herself with grief.
“We’ll never see you again,” she wailed, as they stood beside the truck the next morning, hugging one another good-bye.
“For God’s sake, they’re only moving two hours away. We can see them every weekend, if we want,” Sam’s father pointed out.
Oh, dear Lord, please don’t let my parents visit every weekend, Sam prayed.
While there were some things he would miss about living in Harmony, being his parents’ pastor wasn’t one of them. On several occasions, in the middle of a sermon, his father had interrupted him in order to regale the congregation with a story, usually unflattering, from Sam’s childhood.
Like the time Sam was preaching on marital love and his father had chuckled out loud from the fourth row and said, “Hey, Sam. Remember when you were fourteen or fifteen and we found that girlie magazine you had hidden under your mattress? Your mother was worried you’d end up becoming a pervert, but now here you are, a minister. Just shows you what the Lord can do.”
Sam wouldn’t miss that. Nor would he miss his mother rising to his defense in the monthly business meetings, including the time she told Dale Hinshaw he was so stupid he couldn’t find his ass with both hands. Had actually said the word ass during a church meeting. His own mother. No, he wouldn’t miss that.
Sam, Barbara, and Levi climbed in the truck, then swung past Uly Grant’s house; Uly would follow them in their car to Hope, help them unload, then drive his truck back to Harmony that evening. With Levi driving, it took them a little under two hours to reach the outskirts of the city. Barbara sat in the middle, her legs straddling the transmission hump, and Sam stationed himself at the passenger window, cramming an imaginary brake pedal to the floor and yelling at Levi to drive slower.
Wanda and Leonard Fink were at the parsonage when they arrived, watering the daylilies and hydrangeas.
“Who are those old sourpusses?” Levi asked.
“That, my son, is Leonard and Wanda Fink,” Sam said. “If I’m not mistaken, they are the people who didn’t want the meeting to hire me as their pastor.”
“You don’t know that,” Barbara said. “Now be nice, the both of you, or I’ll send you back to Harmony and I’ll stay here.”
While the Gardners and Uly unloaded the truck, Wanda Fink hovered over Barbara, explaining the rules regarding the use of the parsonage, down to the hangers she preferred the Gardners use should they decide to display pictures on their walls, which she hoped they wouldn’t since it left holes in the drywall that would eventually have to be spackled and repainted.
“The last pastor we had hung pictures everywhere,” Wanda Fink complained. “It was an absolute disaster. It took the parsonage committee an entire afternoon to patch the walls. And he didn’t put felt pads on his chair legs even though we told him to several times. There were several scratches on the floors. Inconsiderate. Just plain inconsiderate.”
After she was done advising Barbara on matters inside the house, Wanda started in on Sam about the outside, recommending he mow north-to-south lines one week, and east to west the next. “We had a pastor once who mowed the same direction all the time. After a while the grass all leaned one way. And be sure the grass is never cut shorter than four inches. Otherwise, the weeds take over. And if you see moles, let us know immediately. One year we had moles and the yard was practically destroyed before the pastor told us.” She shuddered at the memory.
“If we get moles, should I tell the parsonage committee or the lawn committee?” Sam asked.
“To hear the lawn committee tell it, you’d think it was their job,” Wanda Fink said. “But as the clerk of the parsonage committee, I believe that’s under my authority. The lawn committee thinks otherwise.”
Sam was beginning to understand why Hope Friends Meeting was down to twelve people. If he had his way, it would soon be down to ten, with the Finks down the road at the Baptist church, giving some other pastor ulcers.
Sam promised to mow the yard in alternating directions, and Barbara pledged not to drive nails into the walls without permission. So Wanda Fink left satisfied, her husband in tow.
“I don’t envy you this church,” Uly said.
“She can’t be any worse than Dale and Fern,” Sam said. “And there’s only one of her. Everyone else seems pretty nice. I can handle one kook.”
It took them the rest of the afternoon, then Ruby Hopper and Wilson Roberts stopped by with supper to give the official welcome. A woman was with them who looked vaguely familiar, though Sam couldn’t remember her name.
“I’m sorry,” Sam said, reaching out to shake her hand. “I know we’ve met, but I can’t remember your name.”
She smiled and S
am tingled. She wore her hair in a French braid, Sam’s one weakness, and had a summer tan, Sam’s second weakness, and deep blue eyes, his third.
“I’m Ruby’s niece. You know my aunt Miriam and uncle Ellis. We met one Sunday several years ago when I was visiting them for the weekend and came to meeting with them. My name is Gretchen Weber.”
As soon as she said her name, Sam remembered. Years ago, he had spent a half hour of Quaker silence admiring her surreptitiously until Barbara had noticed and cleared her throat, bringing him out of his reverie. She had raised the matter afterward, with Sam feigning ignorance.
“I’m not sure who you’re talking about,” he’d said. “I can barely remember her. You say she was with Miriam and Ellis? I don’t even remember her name. Georgina? Geneva? Gail?”
Barbara had flicked his ear then, too.
Now here Gretchen Weber was again. Sam glanced at her left hand. No ring.
“Do you live in the area?” Sam asked.
“Less than a mile from here,” Gretchen said. “I have a veterinary practice.”
“Oh, that’s right. I remember Miriam and Ellis telling me you were a veterinarian. Is Hope Friends your home meeting?”
“When I go to church, I come here, but it’s not very often. My work takes up most of my time.”
Sam was ready to invite her to attend regularly, when Barbara materialized at his side, took Sam’s hand, and squeezed it until his knuckles cracked.
“Hello, Gretchen,” she said. “It’s so good to see you again. Isn’t it nice to see Gretchen again, Sam?”
“It certainly is,” Sam agreed, suspecting he was in trouble no matter what he said.
“This is our older son, Levi,” Barbara said, introducing Levi to Gretchen. “And this is our friend Uly Grant. He’s helping us move.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Uly said. Yes, indeed, a great pleasure. Uly was grateful his wife wasn’t there to crack his knuckles.
The food was carried in and their guests departed—Ruby, Wilson, and Gretchen to their homes and Uly back to Harmony, with the effusive thanks of the Gardners, who promised to keep in touch.
“Well,” said Sam to Barbara, as Uly backed his truck out of the driveway, “it sure was nice of them to bring us dinner. Very thoughtful. And that Gracie seems like a nice young lady.”
“It’s Gretchen, not Gracie,” Barbara said. “And stop acting like you’re not attracted to her. We’ve been married nearly thirty years. I can read you like a dime-store novel, Sam Gardner.”
“I only thought she was pretty because she reminds me of you,” Sam said, ever the diplomat.
They ate supper, then began unloading their boxes, deciding what went where.
“It’s odd not having Addison around,” Sam said.
“Yeah, I kind of miss the little nerd,” Levi added.
“I wonder what he’s doing this very moment,” Barbara mused. “I hope the sergeants aren’t beating him up.”
“I don’t think they’re allowed to do that,” Sam said. “But whatever he’s doing, I’m sure he’s enjoying himself.”
33
At the very moment, at Fort Sill, in the state of Oklahoma, Addison’s intelligence and lineage were being questioned by a large man with no hair, sporting a tattoo of a pit bull on his right bicep.
“Were you born in a barn? Have you never made a bed? Didn’t your parents teach you anything? This isn’t rocket science, Gardner. Now do it again and do it right.”
“No, sir, I was not born in a barn. Yes, sir, I have made a bed. Yes, sir, my parents taught me a great deal. Sir, I would be happy to remake my bed, sir. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to get it right, sir.”
“And what kind of name is Addison anyway? That sounds like a girl’s name.”
Addison cursed his parents underneath his breath.
Addison Gardner had been in the army less than a week and was giving serious thought to renouncing his citizenship, fleeing the country to a banana republic, and seeking political asylum.
That very morning, in the midst of a pleasant dream about his mother’s cooking, which he desperately missed, he had been wakened at two in the morning and made to walk ten miles in the rain carrying a sixty-pound rucksack. The bald man had been right beside him the entire way, pointing out his many shortcomings, prophesying his quick and gruesome demise should he ever encounter an enemy.
“I’ve got a little daughter at home who could kick your butt.”
Addison didn’t doubt it for a minute. His daughter probably looked just like him—bald and tattooed.
In his eighteen sheltered years, Addison had never met anyone like his sergeant. He had grown up in the comfortable confines of a minister’s home, and had gone to church every Sunday; there he had been taught that Jesus loved him, and not just him, but everyone, including baby lambs, which Jesus carried on his shoulder, if the picture in the basement classroom of Harmony Friends Meeting could be believed. Now to meet the living, breathing personification of Satan, to come face-to-face with the Antichrist, the seven-headed beast of Revelation, was to realize Dale Hinshaw had been right after all, that evil did exist in the world and that he, Addison Gardner, was now trapped in its clutches.
After the hike, they had returned to the barracks and been given fifteen minutes to shower, shave, and clean their quarters, which apparently wasn’t long enough, given the reaction of their sergeant, who ordered them to do push-ups, then clean the floor with Q-tips.
That night before falling asleep, Addison studied both his feet, hoping against hope they weren’t covered in blisters, but instead cancerous lesions requiring amputation that would lead to his subsequent discharge from the United States Army. Unfortunately, each of his fellow soldiers was similarly afflicted, and Addison thought it unlikely they all had cancer.
He lay in bed thinking of his friends back in Harmony, who at that moment were likely at the town park sitting on their car hoods, or at the Dairy Queen. Most of them would be going away to college, which hadn’t seemed all that appealing back in the winter when he’d decided to join the military, but now seemed a most pleasant prospect and one he wished he’d considered a bit more carefully. He thought about their house in Harmony, then remembered it wasn’t theirs any longer, so he wondered about their new home, which he hadn’t seen, and probably wouldn’t live to see.
He’d written home every week, as ordered by his sergeant, to report he was doing fine, was making friends, and thoroughly enjoying himself. That, too, was ordered by his sergeant.
“You think your parents want to hear that you’re tired and homesick and miss your mommy and wish you could come home? No, they don’t, so don’t tell them that. Tell them you’re fine, meeting nice people, and having the time of your life. Or you’ll do push-ups until your arms fall off.”
Addison had written his last letter in code, using every third letter to say his life was in jeopardy, the food was terrible, and to meet him outside the gate with a getaway car, false ID, and a thousand dollars in unmarked bills. All to no avail. His parents wrote back to tell him how proud they were of him, how happy they were that all was well, and to keep in touch. One evening, certain he would be dead within the next few weeks, he wrote a will leaving everything to his brother, whom, to his great surprise, he missed with all his heart.
He hadn’t told anyone his father was a minister, which he feared would seem unmanly. Instead, he invented an entire family out of whole cloth, including a father who was a special agent for the FBI, a mother who was a martial arts instructor, and a brother who lived in Wyoming and worked as a cowboy. While he was at it, he added a sister to his family, a cheerleader at Duke, who might come visit him any day now and bring her cheerleader friends. It was the last family member, the imaginary one, that elevated his status. He had clipped a picture from Sports Illustrated, with a cheerleader in the distant, fuzzy background, and had passed it around his platoon.
“That’s my sister right there. Heather. She doesn’t have a
boyfriend. She says the football players are too immature, that she wants to date a real man. She might be here at graduation.”
His popularity soared. Now he just needed an attractive young woman to attend his graduation, posing as his sister. Amanda Hodge, Ellis and Miriam’s niece, had grown into quite a looker, and was the perfect age, but was probably too honest for such deception. It didn’t much matter anyway; he’d be dead of blisters by the time graduation rolled around.
He had spent the last two years complaining about Harmony, how small and boring it was, how everyone was stupid, how he couldn’t wait to leave and never come back. His father laughed and said he’d felt the same way when he was Addison’s age, which was his father’s response to every complaint. Addison didn’t believe his father had ever been his age, that the pictures of him that age were phony. The boy in the pictures had hair, for instance, and was skinny, and looked nothing like his dad.
But now, a few weeks into basic training, he wasn’t so sure. Now his parents seemed a little wiser, a bit more interesting than he had once thought, more competent. He felt bad for creating a whole new family when his old family had been perfectly fine, certainly better than most. They worked hard, paid their bills, volunteered at the Corn and Sausage Days, and helped their elderly parents. He hoped no one would ask his father about his work as a special agent for the FBI. He didn’t want his parents to know he’d lied about them, that what they did, until now, had seemed insufficient to him.
He couldn’t wait to see them. He’d give the army four years, see a bit of the world, then go back to Indiana and get his degree. Maybe move back to Harmony and become a guidance counselor at the high school and when kids complained about how boring and stupid everyone was, how they couldn’t wait to leave town, he would nod and say, “I felt the same way when I was your age.” Then he would tell them to do what they must, since some lessons couldn’t be taught, only learned.
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