Almost Friends

  Sam invariably forgot the names and had to end the joys-and-concerns prayer by saying, “We especially remember those whose names were mentioned.” Everyone knew he’d already forgotten their names, and when he assured them after church, in the greeting line, that he’d pray for their loved ones, they were skeptical.

  Barbara leaned over and whispered to Sam, “How does she do that?”

  Sam snorted. “Oldest trick in the book. Anybody can do it. Just takes a little practice.”

  Miss Rudy, with the crisp enunciation of a librarian, read the Scripture, then returned to her seat next to Frank, who the month before, in defiance of pew protocol, had moved from the tenth row to the third row to sit with Miss Rudy, even though they weren’t married. When people weren’t talking about Krista, they were talking about them. As Miss Rudy made her way back to her seat, Dale frowned at her, clearly disturbed by her brazen behavior.

  Krista preached about Jesus and the Pharisees. Sam could tell it was an effort for her not to name names. The sermon was brief, as fine preaching should be. When she finished, she sat down in a folding chair behind the pulpit. That’s when Sam noticed the pastor’s chair was missing. For that matter, so was the clock. What a delicious mystery that was! It gave him something to think about in the silence that followed.

  The puzzle was solved when Fern Hampton rose in the quiet to speak. “Many of you have probably noticed the clock and Bible and pulpit chair are gone. The clock was given in honor of my sainted grandmother, and my own father made the chair.” She paused dramatically, as if collecting herself. “I felt I had no choice but to take them after Krista threw me out of the church.”

  Across the meeting room, people gasped. Behind the pulpit, Krista shook her head.

  Fern went on. “The truth is, our pastor is a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I know some of you have been taken in by her so-called healings, but I knew from the start something wasn’t right with her. This past Friday, she called the police and had me arrested for taking what was rightfully mine. Then yesterday she disgraced the church in public. I won’t tell you what she did. It’s too shameful to mention. But it had something to do with another woman. When I challenged her, she denied it. When I took Dale with me as a witness, she threw us out of the office.”

  Dale, looking appropriately saddened by the whole sordid matter, nodded solemnly.

  “Sam has said he wants to come back, and I think it’s high time we let him,” Fern said. “That woman is tearing this church apart.”

  Sam perked up. He hoped others would stand and demand his return.

  “Why do you care who our pastor is?” Frank said. “You told me on Friday you were quitting the church.”

  “I was mad with grief,” Fern said. “I wasn’t thinking right.”

  “This is wrong,” Barbara whispered to Sam. “Stand up and say something.”

  Dale rose from his pew, stabbing the air with his finger to punctuate his words. “What we’ve got ourselves here is nothing but old-fashioned sin. Romans chapter 1, verse 26.”

  All over the meeting room, people reached for their Bibles. “Is that in the Old Testament or the New Testament?” Harvey Muldock asked.

  Miriam Hodge stood. “This is inappropriate. Worship is not the time or place to accuse anyone of such things.”

  “The Bible is clear,” Dale said. “Matthew 18. If someone in the church rejects correction from two persons, tell it to the church.”

  Barbara nudged Sam. “Say something,” she said.

  Sam knew it would be the honorable thing to do, but all he could think about was getting his job back, and he remained still.

  “As the clerk of the meeting, I’m calling a special business meeting for this Friday evening at seven o’clock,” Miriam said.

  “Friday!” Harvey Muldock shrieked. “That’s high-school football night. We can’t meet on Friday.”

  “Friday night it is,” Miriam declared firmly.

  Harvey appeared genuinely torn, forced to choose between watching football or hearing about women committing unnatural acts. He groaned in anguish.

  “Let us continue our worship in silence,” Miriam said. “I ask you to pray that we might be gracious and wise, full of God’s love for one another.”

  It was clearly too late for that.

  After fifteen minutes of silence, Miriam rose and prayed, bringing the worship to a close. Krista walked down the center aisle, her head held high, stationing herself at the door to shake hands with people as they passed by, most of them averting their eyes.

  Dale and Fern slunk out the side door.

  Barbara didn’t speak to Sam the whole way home. But when they were alone in their bedroom, she unloaded. “Sam Gardner, why didn’t you say something? They said those awful things about her, and you didn’t come to her defense.”

  “I didn’t need to. Miriam did.”

  “You’re the pastor. You should have said something.”

  “Technically, I’m not the pastor right now,” Sam reminded her. “I’m still on leave.”

  “You weasel.”

  “Look, if Krista is going to be a pastor, she’s going to have to deal with nutcases. The sooner she learns that, the better off she’ll be.”

  “Maybe she wouldn’t have to deal with nutcases if reasonable people found the courage to speak up,” Barbara said.

  “There’s no talking with you when you get in this logical mood of yours,” Sam said.

  “Yes, I can see how logic might be hard to refute.”

  They’d had these arguments before, Barbara wanting Sam to take a firm stand and Sam refusing.

  “I’m a pastor, not a prophet,” he said. “Prophets get fired. Pastors have a family to support. Besides, I thought you believed in equality. You’re perfectly free to stand up and defend Krista, if you wish.”

  “I might just do that. But I’ll tell you something, Sam Gardner. Something I’ve never told you before. Something I never felt toward you before.”

  “What?”

  “I’m losing my respect for you, that’s what.”

  The room fell silent. Sam slipped off his dress clothes, hung them in the closet, then pulled on blue jeans and a sweatshirt.

  “I’m doing this for you and the boys,” Sam said finally. “Krista is gifted in ways I’m not, and people really like her. Don’t you remember how we ended up back here? How my last church fired me because they liked that evangelist who came to speak? We had to move in with my folks, for crying out loud! I don’t want to put you and the boys through that again.”

  “Don’t hide behind us. We’d rather have a husband and father with character than one we don’t respect.”

  “Yeah, Dad, it was pretty wienie of you not to stick up for Krista,” Levi said from the other side of their bedroom door.

  “Yeah, Dad, pretty wienie,” Addison echoed.

  “You boys stop listening to our private talks,” Sam yelled. “And treat me with more respect.”

  “A wise person once told me respect couldn’t be given; it had to be earned.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “You did, Sam,” Barbara said, walking from the room.

  For crying out loud, he thought. They’ve all gone nuts.

  Krista had planned on staying the afternoon in Harmony visiting her flock, then driving back to the city in the evening. But it had taken all her energy and goodwill not to flee the meetinghouse after Miriam’s prayer. Her appetite for fellowship was now considerably diminished. She stopped by her apartment, changed into her blue jeans, packed her suitcase, and began the long drive back to the city, wondering all the while if Principal Dutmire would hire her back.

  She pulled into Ruth Marshal’s driveway just before supper.

  “I was hoping you’d return in time to join me,” Ruth said, setting an extra plate on the table.

  “I’m afraid I won’t be good company tonight,” Krista said.

  Ruth Marshal had many fine qualities; one was an unerring instinct f
or when to listen. She turned off the stove, poured two glasses of iced tea, and sat at the kitchen table.

  Krista told her everything—the tea in the sugar at the Chicken Noodle Dinner, Fern’s brush with the law, her visits from Fern and Dale, wrapping up with a vivid description of that morning’s worship.

  Ruth Marshal said nothing at first. She took a sip of her tea, then leaned back in her chair, her brow creased in thought. After several moments, she leaned forward and said, “Do you want to know what I think?”

  “Yes, I certainly do.”

  “I think they’re nuts,” Ruth Marshal said.

  Krista laughed. “Maybe some of them, but not all of them.”

  “I suppose not. Miriam Hodge seems capable. Did the pastor defend you?”

  “No. He sat there like a lump on a log,” Krista said.

  “The weasel.”

  Krista sighed. “I have no idea what I should do. To be honest, I’ve been thinking how nice it would be to return to teaching.”

  They sat quietly for a few moments.

  “Krista,” Ruth said after a while, “I’m not a pastor, but I’ve thought carefully about the job in my years in the church. For all our vaunted talk about equality, we Quakers often treat our women pastors terribly. Many of our meetings won’t even hire a woman, except for a minor role. So the deck is stacked against you from the start. And you’ve never been married. That, of course, is your business and no one else’s. But there will be suspicious souls in every congregation with nothing better to do than speculate about your sexual orientation.”

  “I’m not a lesbian,” Krista said. “I just haven’t found the right person. But that’s no one’s business but my own.” She paused for a moment, took another drink of tea, then said reflectively, “There are good people in that congregation. I know there are. Why didn’t they speak up?”

  “Because they’re afraid. People like Fern and Dale think nothing of going on the attack. It is another day’s work for them. No one likes to be on the receiving end of that, so nothing is said.”

  “What should I do?”

  “That is not for me to say. But if you’re going to stay in ministry, you’ll need to be aware of the difficulties and be prepared to deal with them. You’ll need to dispose of any rose-colored glasses.”

  “It shouldn’t be that way.”

  Ruth reached across the table and took her hand. “Krista, dear, many things shouldn’t be the way they are. And you will challenge them. And sometimes you will even change things.”

  “What about the other times?”

  “Oh, the other times you’ll get run over. But you should try anyway.”

  It had been a grueling day, and Krista was suddenly aware of being tired. She thanked Ruth, then came around the table to hug her. Ministry wasn’t working out the way she’d hoped, but she had met Ruth Marshal, so the venture hadn’t been a total loss.

  She went upstairs, showered, and climbed into bed. Lying on her back, her hands behind her head, she thought back on her life, trying to recall what she might have done to deserve being pastor to Fern and Dale.

  Twenty

  Choosing Up Sides

  By Monday morning, word had circulated through town about the pastoral bloodbath at Harmony

  Friends Meeting, and people were choosing up sides—the progressives in support of Krista, the purists, who’d been suspicious of women ministers all along, backing Fern and Dale.

  The Sam Gardner household was chilly. When Sam came downstairs after his morning shower, his sons were eating the last of the pancakes and bacon, and Barbara was tugging on her shoes for her morning walk.

  “What’s for breakfast?” he asked.

  “Whatever you want,” Barbara said. “Help yourself.”

  Sam opted for breakfast at the Coffee Cup, where he found a surprising number of his fellow churchmen squeezed into the booths. He pulled up a chair to the end of Ellis Hodge’s booth. Ellis was seated with his brother, Ralph, Asa Peacock, and Harvey Muldock.

  “Craziest thing I ever saw,” Ellis Hodge said. “All I said was that since Sam’s dad was doing better, we ought to let Krista go and bring Sam back. Then we wouldn’t even be having this trouble, and Miriam dumped my eggs right in the sink.”

  “Jessie hasn’t spoken to me since church,” Asa said. “She told me I should have said something since I’m an elder.”

  “Sounds like she’s been talking with my wife,” Sam said.

  “Eunice is mad at me for mentioning the football game Friday night,” Harvey said. “All I did was point out that we had a ball game that night. What was wrong with that?”

  Ralph Hodge sipped his coffee.

  “Why are you here, Ralph? Sandy mad at you too?” Ellis asked.

  “Nope. I’m in charge of my household. I tell my wife how it’s going to be, and that’s that.”

  The other men snorted.

  “Just don’t tell her I said that, or I’ll be in the doghouse with the rest of you,” Ralph said.

  Penny Torricelli stomped over to Sam. “What’ll you have and make it snappy. I’m busy this morning.”

  “And a pleasant good morning to you,” Sam said.

  “Sam Gardner, you ought to be ashamed of yourself,” Penny snapped. “They attack a fine woman, and you sit there on your hands.”

  “I am on a leave of absence,” Sam said. “It would have been inappropriate for me to intrude on the church’s business while on leave.”

  “I knew you’d have some weaselly excuse,” Penny said.

  “I would like French toast,” Sam said. “Warm syrup, no powdered sugar, with a cold glass of milk, which you may bring when my French toast is ready.”

  He unrolled the napkin around his tableware and smoothed it across his lap, ignoring Penny’s glare until she walked away.

  “Yeah, it was pretty weaselly, Sam,” Asa said. “You should have spoke up for Krista. I didn’t say anything because I thought you would.”

  Ellis Hodge shook his head in disagreement. “No, Sam’s right. He’s on leave. He shouldn’t be buttin’ in on the church’s business with its pastor. It’s not his concern.”

  “Thank you, Ellis. Those are my feelings exactly.”

  “Though you probably would have been forgiven if you’d have had the nerve to stand up and defend Krista,” Ellis went on. “She did heal your father, after all.”

  “Asa’s right,” Harvey said. “You should have said something, Sam. Then we wouldn’t have had to meet on Friday night, and I wouldn’t be in trouble with my wife.”

  “That’s easy for you guys to say. You have job security. Ellis, you and Asa have your farms. Harvey, you have your garage. I take time off to care for my father, and then when I’m ready to come back to work, you tell me to take another month off. How am I gonna take care of my family when I’m ready to come back and you’ve decided to get rid of me and hire Krista? Answer me that?”

  He crumpled up his napkin and threw it on the table, where it bounced into Harvey’s empty plate.

  No one said anything.

  It occurred to Sam he might have said too much.

  He wasn’t sure what to do next—leave or change the subject. He was saved from having to decide when Penny brought his French toast and milk.

  “Thank you, Penny.”

  She nodded curtly.

  While the others looked on, Sam buttered his French toast, doused it liberally with maple syrup, cut a small piece with the edge of his fork, and ate it, chewing thoughtfully.

  Harvey Muldock spoke first. “Boy, I guess we got told.”

  Sam took another bite, then followed it with a drink of milk.

  “What kind of people you think we are?” Ellis asked. “You think we’d get rid of you, just like that? Sure, Krista might give a better sermon than you, but you’re our friend. We’re not gonna throw you over for somebody else.”

  Sam reddened, embarrassed.

  “Shoot, Sam, we’ve known you all your life. We wouldn’t do
you that way,” Ellis said.

  “Fern and Dale have known me all my life, and they’re always trying to get me fired,” Sam pointed out.

  “Well, that’s Fern and Dale. They don’t speak for the rest of us,” Asa said.

  Harvey reached across the booth and punched Sam on the shoulder. “You’re stuck with us, buddy. We wouldn’t fire you even if you wanted us to.”

  Sam retrieved his crumpled napkin from Harvey’s plate and blew his nose. His eyes felt leaky. “Thank you, Harvey. I appreciate that.”

  “Yeah, a new preacher might make us toe the line,” Asa said. “We’d have to start going to church on Wednesday nights.”

  “And tithing,” Ellis added.

  “No telling what would happen with a new preacher,” Harvey said. “We’d maybe start growin’. Then we’d have to build a bigger church, and think what that would cost us. Nope, Sam, you suit us just fine.”

  “Thank you for your vote of confidence, gentlemen. I can’t tell you what it means to me,” Sam said.

  “Let me buy your breakfast, Pastor,” Asa said, plucking Sam’s bill from underneath his plate.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Sam said.

  “I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

  “Then thank you very much.”

  “I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got corn to pick,” Ellis said.

  “Me too,” Asa said.

  “Yep, work’s a-waitin’,” Harvey said. “How about you, Ralph. What’s on your plate today?”

  “Thought I’d help my brother with the harvest,” Ralph said. “Can you use someone to drive the truck?”

  “Sure could,” Ellis said.

  They bade Sam good-bye, paid their bills, and left the Coffee Cup.

  Sam finished his breakfast, wishing he had something to do. After two and a half months of rest, he was thoroughly exhausted and longed for something to keep him occupied. The older he got, the more he became like the people who annoyed him—the folks who couldn’t let go, who had to keep their hand in and stir the pot, even when it was someone else’s turn. He was a basket case after ten weeks. He hated to think what retirement would do to him. He’d probably end up like Dale and Fern, annoying his peers to no end.