Almost Friends

by Philip Gulley

  If that wasn’t proof, Fern didn’t know what was.

  What was ordinarily a forty-minute drive home took Fern thirty-one minutes. Opal Majors was the first person she called. After swearing Opal to secrecy, which she did to ensure Opal’s undivided attention, Fern revealed the sordid news that their church was being taken over by perverts.

  Opal gasped. She’d heard of things like this happening in California but had never imagined it could happen in Harmony.

  “There that chippy little pastor of ours was, sitting in a restaurant holding hands with another woman, right out in the open,” Fern said. “People were staring at them and everything. I tell you, I never felt so sick in all my life. And to think she’s our pastor.”

  “Holding hands doesn’t mean anything,” Opal said.

  “Then what about hugging and kissing. I suppose that was nothing.”

  “They kissed?”

  “Right there in the restaurant, slobbering all over one another.”

  “Oh, my.”

  “And to think I let her hold my hands when she prayed for my warts,” Fern said, with a shudder of disgust.

  “Oh Lord, I just thought of something.”

  “What?”

  “She’s going over to Bea’s this afternoon to pray for her arthritis. No telling what she’ll do to Bea. I better warn her.”

  “You call Bea then. I’m calling Dale Hinshaw to tell him. He’ll know what to do.”

  That Fern Hampton would judge Dale Hinshaw a reliable guide to anything was further proof of her addled mind.

  “I thought you wanted to keep this a secret,” Opal said.

  “This is no time to keep silent. We got to warn people,” Fern declared.

  “I sure can’t believe that of Krista. She seemed so nice.”

  “I saw it with my own eyes,” Fern said. “I’m not making it up.”

  “I know, I know. It’s just a shock.”

  “Well, I’m not surprised. There was something about that little missy that didn’t feel right from the start.”

  “I kind of liked her myself,” Opal said, then clarified, “Not in that way, of course. I just meant that she seemed nice.”

  “It’s the nice ones you got to worry about. They’re always hiding something. You’d better call Bea and tell her to lock her doors.”

  After hanging up, Fern phoned Dale.

  “I knew it,” he exclaimed triumphantly. “I knew there was something there. So that’s why she came here, to turn us into one of those fluffy churches.”

  “Seems clear enough to me,” Fern said.

  “That’s how they do it,” Dale said. “They come into a church, all nice and polite, then they start working on the children, and next thing you know, the kids are singing about global warming and you’re taking up an offering for world peace.”

  “What can we do?”

  “We tell the elders, that’s what we do,” Dale said. “We’ve got to nip this in the bud.”

  They began working the phone with a scorching intensity, calling the elders to demand they meet and stamp out this abomination, lest the Lord, in His righteous anger, smite them all.

  Eighteen

  The Divide Deepens

  Krista was working on her sermon that evening when she heard the elders come in through the back door and assemble in the meetinghouse basement.

  “Oh, is there a meeting?” she asked Miriam. “I didn’t see it on my calendar. It’s a good thing I was here.”

  “It’s you we’re meeting about,” Fern sniffed. “You thought you could keep your dirty little secret all to yourself, didn’t you?”

  “Fern, be kind,” Miriam said.

  “What’s going on?” Krista asked.

  “As if you don’t know,” Fern said.

  “Krista, I’m sorry,” Miriam said, “but Fern and Dale called a special meeting, so we have to have it. I’m sure it’s all a misunderstanding.”

  “If you ask me, we can’t be rid of her soon enough,” Fern said.

  “I’m not going to have you attend,” Miriam said to Krista. “We’ll meet. Then if it merits meeting with you, we’ll set up a time to talk with you.”

  “Surely you’re not going to let her preach tomorrow?” Fern said.

  “Yes, she is,” Miriam said. “She’s our pastor, and she’ll be bringing the message tomorrow.”

  “Well, that’s a fine how-do-you-do.”

  Miriam walked Krista back to the office. “Don’t you worry about anything. Fern’s still upset about the Chicken Noodle Dinner, and she’s found a way to get back at you.”

  “You sure I don’t need to stay?” Krista asked anxiously.

  “Let’s not give Fern the satisfaction,” Miriam said.

  “All of this because I added sugar to the tea?”

  “No, all of this because you didn’t cower in her presence.”

  Krista finished writing her sermon, then walked to her apartment over the hardware store. For a Saturday night, it was unusually quiet. The lights from the Royal Theater flickered through the window into her living room. She’d thought of going to the movie, but after a day of sermon writing she was tired and more than a bit unsettled by Fern’s animosity.

  She was taking a class at seminary about church conflict. The professor talked in rosy tones about reasoning with people and finding common ground, but it was clear he’d never met anyone like Fern Hampton. Five minutes in the same room with Fern Hampton and he’d have her in a chokehold, squeezing for all he was worth.

  She stretched out on the couch, closed her eyes, and envisioned a silent bulldozer grinding through her mind, pushing the unpleasantness away.

  Back at the meetinghouse, Miriam Hodge listened carefully to Fern, wondering why she had ever volunteered in the church.

  “So tell me again why you think Krista is a lesbian?” Miriam Hodge asked.

  Fern shuddered. “Don’t say that word. I hate it.”

  “If you’re going to accuse someone of being one, then you should at least use the word,” Miriam said. “It’s not a bad word.”

  “You didn’t see what I saw. It was terrible. She and that other woman were holding hands and hugging and kissing, right there in broad daylight.”

  “And from this, you’ve deduced that our pastor is a lesbian.”

  “I know one when I see one.”

  “Fern, when Amanda was in her car wreck last year, you gave me a hug. And you kissed me on the cheek. Does that mean you’re a homosexual?”

  “Don’t be foolish. You know I’m not one of them.”

  “My point is that just because Krista hugged another woman doesn’t mean she’s a lesbian.”

  “It’s all right here in the Scriptures,” Dale Hinshaw piped up. “First chapter of Romans. Folks stop honoring God, next thing you know, women are committing shameless acts with one another. You can read about it in the Bible.”

  “Women committed shameless acts in the Bible?” Harvey Muldock asked, perking up. “How come Sam never preached on that?”

  Miriam looked at Dale, perplexed. “What’s that got to do with Krista?”

  “Well, if you don’t know, I can’t tell you,” Dale said.

  “Where exactly in the Bible are these shameless women?” Harvey persisted, his interest in Scripture appearing to grow by the moment.

  “As long as that woman is our pastor, I can’t support this church financially,” Fern said.

  Typical Fern Hampton, Miriam thought. Fern donated precisely fifty-two dollars a year, tossing a wadded-up one-dollar bill in the offering plate each Sunday and doing that grudgingly, her pain in parting with her dollar obvious to anyone watching.

  “You do what you need to do, Fern,” Miriam said with a tired sigh.

  “I’m going to follow the Bible,” Fern said. “She sinned against me, threw me out of the kitchen the day of the Chicken Noodle Dinner. The Bible says I have to set her right.”

  “Fern’s right,” Dale said. “Matthew chapter 18, verse
15.”

  “And if she doesn’t apologize, then I’ll have to take someone with me and talk with her again.”

  “You do that, Fern. You go talk to Krista,” Miriam said. “Settle your differences with her, so we can get beyond this. It’s hurting the church.”

  Krista woke to the sound of someone pounding on her door. She sat up on the couch, rubbed her eyes, and made her way across the room to open the door, where she saw Fern, who peered around Krista into the apartment. “Got anybody in there with you?”

  “What brings you by at this hour?” Krista asked. “Would you like to come in?”

  Fern stepped past Krista cautiously, as if she feared contagion.

  “Would you care for a drink?” Krista offered, acting with a charity she didn’t feel. “I think I have some lemonade.”

  “I didn’t come to socialize. I’m here on the Lord’s business. The church sent me.”

  “Oh, I see. Well then, please sit down and tell me what’s on your mind.”

  Fern sat on the edge of the sofa, her back ramrod straight, clutching her purse as if she were afraid Krista would conk her on the noggin and steal it.

  “Miriam Hodge sent me here to see if you’re, uh, if you like women.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Miriam Hodge wants to know if you like women.”

  “Sure, I like women. Some of my best friends are women.”

  “That’s not what I mean, and you know it! Don’t think you can play dumb. I saw you holding hands and kissing that woman in the restaurant. Don’t pretend you didn’t.”

  “Fern, it’s ten o’clock at night. I’ve had a long day, and I’m tired.”

  Fern took a deep breath, then jutted out her formidable bosom. “Miriam Hodge wants to know if you’re a queer.”

  “Miriam Hodge wants to know what?” Krista asked, incredulous.

  “She wants to know if you’re queer,” Fern repeated.

  “I can’t believe Miriam Hodge wants to know that,” Krista said.

  “She most certainly does. She said it was hurting the church and told me to come talk with you and get the matter settled.”

  Krista sat quietly, contemplating her response.

  “Well, are you?” Fern asked.

  “It isn’t any of your business.”

  Fern gasped. “It most certainly is.”

  “I disagree, and I’m not going to answer,” Krista said.

  “That settles it. You must be one. Otherwise, you’d deny it.”

  “I’m not denying it,” Krista said. “Nor am I affirming it. I simply won’t dignify such an inappropriate question with an answer. My sexual orientation is none of the church’s business.”

  Fern rose from the sofa. “You’re our minister. Everything you do is our business.” She marched across the room and as she exited the apartment said, “Since you won’t be honest with me, I have no choice but to tell Miriam and the other elders you haven’t cooperated.”

  When she got home, Fern phoned Dale Hinshaw, who was seated next to his phone, awaiting her report.

  “It’s just as we feared,” Fern said, as if it pained her to reveal it. “She’s queerer than a three-dollar bill.”

  “Did she admit it?”

  “She didn’t deny it.”

  “That settles it,” Dale said. “The guilty ones never admit it.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “Well, according to Matthew 18, you have to go back and take someone from the church with you. I’m happy to offer my expertise,” Dale said humbly. “I’ve had some experience confronting backsliders.”

  “When should we speak with her?”

  “How about we get to church early tomorrow, before Sunday school, and talk to her then?” Dale said. “That way, if she gets right with the Lord, she can go ahead and preach. And if she doesn’t, I’ll do the preaching.”

  “Dale, I fall to my knees each day and thank the Lord you’re in our church. I don’t know how we’d manage without you,” Fern said, her voice catching.

  The next morning Krista was seated at her desk, absorbed in her sermon, when Dale and Fern came into her office a half hour before Sunday school. They stood there several seconds, seemingly perturbed Krista didn’t notice their august presence.

  Dale cleared his throat.

  Krista glanced up. Oh Lord, she thought, not these two. Not now.

  “Good morning, Dale. Hello, Fern. What brings you here so early?”

  “Concern for your soul,” Dale said.

  “Pardon me?”

  “We’re concerned for your soul,” Fern said, though by the tone of her voice it was clear she didn’t give a rat’s patoot for Krista’s soul or any other part of her.

  “In obedience to Matthew 18, we’ve come to ask you to repent,” Dale said.

  “Repent for what?”

  “You know what,” Fern snapped.

  “Is it true what Fern told me?” Dale asked.

  “Probably not, but I can’t say for sure since I don’t know what she told you.” Krista was starting to feel feisty.

  “She told me you wouldn’t answer her about whether or not you were homosexual.”

  “That’s right,” Krista said. “My sexual orientation is a private matter.”

  Dale tried to appear mournful, but even Krista, who hadn’t known him long, suspected he was enjoying his role as inquisitor immensely.

  “There’s no use trying to hide it,” Fern said. “I saw you and your little hussy yesterday in Cartersburg, making moon eyes at one another.”

  The start of Sunday school was fast approaching. Krista could hear people entering the meetinghouse. She rose from her chair and made her away to where Dale and Fern were standing.

  “Are you two done?” she asked. “Or must I hear more of your nonsense?”

  Dale began trembling in anger. “We’ll be speaking to the church about this matter,” he warned.

  Krista pointed to the door. “Please leave.”

  “You can’t talk to us this way,” Fern blustered.

  Years of teaching school had taught Krista how to handle the unruly. She grasped Fern’s elbow in one hand and Dale’s in the other, squeezed firmly in the soft spots, weakening their resistance, and escorted them to the door.

  If ringside seats had been sold to the comeuppance of Dale and Fern, the church could have retired its debt and built a new wing, so weary were people of their bullying.

  But Krista took no joy in what she had done and suspected that, rather than putting Dale and Fern in their proper place, she’d only succeeded in angering them further and would soon pay heavily for what she had done.

  Nineteen

  Sam the Weasel

  Sam Gardner sat with his wife, children, and parents in the fifth row on the right-hand side of the meetinghouse, directly behind Ellis Hodge and his assorted kin.

  For the first eighteen years of his life, Sam had spent Sunday mornings staring at the back of Ellis’s neck. Some people think of God when they hear a certain hymn, others when they read the Bible. Sam’s thoughts turn to the Divine whenever he sees a farmer’s neck.

  Fern Hampton sat behind the Gardners. She was always stirred up about something, but this morning she seemed especially provoked. She fanned herself briskly with a Last Supper cardboard fan, compliments of the Mackey Funeral Parlor. When Krista appeared at the back door of the meeting room and made her way to the pulpit, Fern grew visibly agitated, fanning the air about her even more swiftly.

  Sam leaned over and whispered in Barbara’s ear, “I wonder what’s got Fern all worked up?”

  “Some act of human kindness, no doubt,” Barbara whispered back.

  They tittered until Sam’s mother shushed them.

  Bea Majors launched into a song on the organ, something Sam didn’t recognize, which was not unusual. He couldn’t identify most of the songs Bea played.

  “What song is that?” he whispered to Barbara.

  “‘Amazing Grace.’”

&
nbsp; “Are you sure it isn’t ‘Leaning on the Everlasting Arms’?” he whispered.

  Barbara listened carefully. “‘Bringing in the Sheaves,’” she said.

  “Yes, that’s it,” Sam agreed.

  That mystery solved, they leaned back in their pew, bowed their heads, and settled into the Quaker worship.

  Bea’s song shuddered to a merciful end, and she climbed down from the organ seat as one would dismount a stagecoach after a hard day’s ride, flexing her back, stretching her arms, and wiggling her fingers.

  Silence engulfed the room, though when Sam listened carefully he could hear the whisper of fabric as Fern fanned herself vigorously. Across the meeting room Harvey Muldock blew his nose with a loud honk, then inspected his handkerchief, clearly satisfied with the result.

  “Is it almost over?” Sam’s son Addison whispered, his head rolling back in boredom and thumping the pew. Barbara pulled him across her lap and rubbed his head, straightening his hair.

  Sam glanced over at Dale Hinshaw, who was reading his Bible, his fingers tracing the words, his lips moving. Dale’s favorite pastime was rummaging around the Old Testament in search of obscure rules someone might have broken, then standing during the Quaker silence each Sunday to pronounce judgment. Sam had been told that the week before Dale had accused Jessie Peacock of violating Deuteronomy 22:5 by wearing pants. When Asa had come to his wife’s defense, Dale had declared, rather snootily, that he didn’t value the opinion of a man who was in flagrant violation of Leviticus 19:9.

  Krista had obviously learned from experience and stood to make the announcements before Dale could rise to rebuke a backslider.

  For someone so new to ministry, Krista was unarguably polished. Where Sam ordinarily fumbled with the bulletin as he read the announcements, she recited them from memory, adding insightful commentary along the way.

  Ralph Hodge came forward and announced the first hymn, which they sang poorly but with much zeal. Then Krista stood and invited people to share their joys and concerns. She listened carefully as others spoke, then ended with a prayer, lifting each person’s name to the Lord.