Almost Friends

by Philip Gulley

  Krista considered how best to answer. “It’s a curious place,” she said after a moment’s pause.

  Dean Mullen chuckled. “Yes, yes. You can say that again. You sure can say that again.”

  Krista’s dread deepened. A double repeat. This couldn’t be good.

  “I got a phone call from Miriam Hodge this morning. She mentioned you’d hit a bit of a rough patch.”

  “You might say that,” Krista said.

  Dean Mullen studied his calendar. “There are two weeks remaining in your ministry there. Wouldn’t it be easier just to quit?”

  “Yes, I suppose it would,” Krista said. “But I’m not going to.”

  Dean Mullen smiled. “That’s the spirit. Hang in there with them. That’s what I’ve always said. Hang in there with them.”

  He hesitated and then said, “Miriam said several of the members have accused you of being a lesbian.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And that you’ve refused to say one way or the other.”

  Krista smiled. “Actually, I told them it was none of their business.”

  Dean Mullen laughed a deep, rich laugh. “Good for you. Good for you. If you cave in to tyranny, there’ll be no end to it.” He stood up behind his desk and walked around to Krista, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Krista Riley, you are going to make some church somewhere a wonderful pastor. You are strong and self-confident, but also kind.”

  Krista was flooded with warmth. “Thank you, Dean. Thank you.”

  Now I’m repeating myself, she thought. It must be contagious.

  “Don’t mention it,” Dean Mullen said. “Don’t mention it.”

  She made her way to the door, then paused when the dean asked, “What’s Sam Gardner doing in all of this?”

  “To be truthful, not much,” Krista said.

  “Huh, that surprises me,” Dean Mullen said with a frown. “Sam is usually a pretty good egg. You want me to phone him? Ask him to put in a good word for you? Maybe goose him along a bit?”

  Krista thought for a moment. “No, I think I need to stand on my own two feet.”

  “You do that then. And we’ll be praying for you. God’s peace and strength to you, friend.”

  She left the dean’s office elated, feeling more alive than she had in years.

  Back in Harmony, Sam spent the morning helping his mother wash windows and discussing the upcoming showdown. He didn’t disclose what he’d overheard in the library. His mother, he had learned over the years, was not the most objective person when it came to Sam and his detractors. He didn’t want to see her engaged in fisticuffs with Fern Hampton.

  After a lunch of grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup, Sam stopped by the meetinghouse to visit with Frank, whom he caught dozing in his chair.

  “You better get all the rest you can now,” Sam told him. “When I’m back in charge of things, you’ll be too busy to slack off.”

  Frank groaned and rubbed his eyes.

  “What’s the matter?” Sam asked. “Miss Rudy keeping you up too late?”

  “Shush up, you young whippersnapper.”

  Sam enjoyed Frank, if only because it made him feel young to be called a whippersnapper or any of the other colorful names Frank regularly bestowed on him, such as hooligan, lout, and ruffian.

  Sam wheeled his chair into Frank’s office and sat down, propping his feet on the edge of Frank’s desk. “Anything new?”

  “Fern Hampton stopped by.”

  “What’s our old friend Fern up to?” Sam asked.

  “Seems she wants to bring in Shirley Finchum’s grandson to replace you.”

  “Yes, I heard something about that.”

  “And,” Frank said, smiling broadly, “she said if I backed her, she’d make sure I stayed on as secretary and got a raise.”

  “Well, that little scalawag,” Sam said. “Of all the nerve.”

  After he told Frank about the conversation he’d overheard between Fern and Dale, Frank asked, “Shirley Finchum and Stanley Farlow are in on it too?”

  “It appears so.”

  “I’ve never trusted the Finchums or the Farlows. They’re ne’er-do-wells!”

  “Good-for-nothings!”

  “Malingerers!” Frank said.

  “Idlers!”

  They collapsed in a fit of laughter, giggling like two schoolgirls.

  “You gonna be at the meeting?” Sam asked.

  “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I think we oughta sell tickets. I saw Clevis Nagle at the Coffee Cup this morning, and he asked if he could come and he’s not even a member.”

  It occurred to Sam they weren’t exhibiting the proper gravity for such an occasion, but after his anxieties about losing his job, it felt good to laugh.

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him there probably wouldn’t be room, but that he could purchase the video for twenty dollars.”

  “What?”

  “Sure, why not? Besides, if we tape it, we’ll have it on record. You know how Fern is. We have a meeting to decide something and if she doesn’t get her way, she just keeps hammering away, claiming we’d never made a decision one way or the other, until she gets her way. If we tape it, we’ll have her dead to rights.”

  “Good thinking,” Sam said. “Okay, you can tape it. But you can’t sell it.”

  “Not even if we give the money to Brother Norman’s shoe ministry to the Choctaw Indians?”

  Sam frowned. “No, not even then. It isn’t seemly.”

  “You’re the boss,” Frank said.

  “Maybe not now,” Sam said, standing to leave, “but in another couple weeks. Then you’ll have to stop all your goofing off and do some real work.”

  “You never know what Quakers will do. We might decide to keep Krista on and give you the heave-ho. I wouldn’t be picking colors for your office just yet.”

  Sam chuckled. He’d missed bickering with Frank.

  He stopped past the newspaper on his way home to pick up that week’s edition of the Harmony Herald. He plucked a paper from the wire rack outside the front door, depositing a quarter in the canister. He walked over to the bench on the sidewalk, sat down, and glanced at the front page.

  Local Church on Verge of Split! it read. The article went on at length, spilling over to the back page, describing the controversy over Krista, naming names and generally sparing readers no detail.

  Sam groaned.

  “Pretty good piece of reporting, if I do say so myself,” Bob Miles said, standing behind him.

  “I wish you hadn’t done this, Bob. It’s just gonna make folks upset.”

  “What do you mean? Everybody knows anyway. Might as well write about it. In fact, I’m thinking of starting up a new weekly column on the church fights in this town. One week I could write about the Catholics fighting, then the Baptists, then the Quakers. Now that would sell some papers.”

  “There are things here only the elders knew,” Sam said, deeply perturbed. “Who spilled the beans?”

  “I never reveal a source,” Bob said loftily.

  “I can’t imagine the Friendly Women will be happy to see this. They’ll probably pull their ad for next year’s Chicken Noodle Dinner,” Sam said.

  “Okay, it was Fern Hampton and Dale Hinshaw. They told me everything,” Bob said, his ethics crumbling under the threat of economic pressure.

  “I knew it. I knew it was them. The big blabbermouths.”

  “Don’t tell them I told you,” Bob said. “They’ll never tell me anything again.”

  Sam read the rest of the paper, seething over Dale and Fern. The nerve of them, revealing confidential matters discussed in the elders meetings, Sam thought. Unfortunately, the elders at Harmony Friends, with the exception of Miriam Hodge, regularly blabbed the church’s business all over town. If a lack of discretion were grounds for dismissal, Sam would have to fire half the church.

  He folded the paper, tucking it under his arm, then walked the thr
ee blocks home down Washington Street. Barbara was in the kitchen, folding laundry on the table. She greeted Sam with a kiss, then said, “Miriam Hodge just called. She wants you to call her.”

  “Bad news?”

  “She didn’t say. She just wanted you to call her as soon as you got in.”

  Sam dialed her number, listening to the three short rings of Miriam’s line. The Hodges were on a party line, which they shared with three neighbors. Whenever he spoke with Miriam, he could hear Leota Stout’s muffled breathing as she listened in.

  Miriam picked up the phone.

  “Hi, Miriam. It’s Sam, returning your call.”

  “Hello, Sam. Thanks for calling back.”

  They listened quietly. Leota Stout coughed.

  “Leota, I believe the phone’s for me, dear. Would you mind hanging up?” Miriam said.

  The phone line clicked.

  “What’s up?” Sam asked.

  “Sam, I feel terrible telling you this, but I can’t make tomorrow’s meeting.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Not really. My sister phoned this morning, and she’s having an operation tomorrow. She asked if I could come help her. She doesn’t have anyone else, and I couldn’t tell her no.”

  Sam stifled a sigh. This was disastrous. Miriam Hodge was often the only reason the church didn’t descend into total lunacy. There was no telling what would happen with her gone.

  “Of course you need to go be with her,” Sam said charitably. “She’s your sister.”

  “I’m sorry, Sam. I know I’m letting you and Krista down, but it can’t be helped.”

  “I’m sure she’ll understand, Miriam. Don’t you worry about it. You just take good care of your sister.”

  “Thank you, Sam. I appreciate your understanding.” Miriam paused. “I know this is irregular, but I’m on my way out the door now. I tried phoning Krista, but she wasn’t home. She must still be in class. Would you mind phoning her and explaining my predicament?”

  “Not at all,” Sam lied. “I’d be happy to do it.”

  Embarrassed by his reluctance to come to Krista’s aid earlier, he’d been avoiding her, but now contact seemed inevitable.

  “Do you happen to have her number?” he asked.

  Miriam recited it, and Sam wrote it down, assuring her he would call.

  He phoned her that evening, after the boys were in bed. She picked up on the second ring. “Hi, Krista. Sam Gardner here.”

  He didn’t ask her how she was doing for fear she would tell him.

  “Just wanted to touch base with you before the meeting tomorrow. Miriam Hodge tried calling you earlier. She won’t be able to be there. Her sister’s in the hospital. But she wanted to tell you not to worry.”

  Krista sighed. “That’s not good. I was counting on Miriam’s support.”

  “I’m going to be there.”

  Krista hesitated. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but you’ve been pretty quiet through all of this. I’ve been waiting for you to say something.”

  “About that,” Sam said, swallowing hard, then plunging ahead, “you’re absolutely right. I should have spoken up for you when all this started. The truth is, I’ve been rather jealous. You’re so gifted, and people seemed so enamored with you. I was afraid of losing my job to you.”

  Krista didn’t say anything at first. Sam thought they’d been disconnected. “Krista, are you still there?”

  “Yes, I’m still here. Sam, when I came to your church, it was with the understanding that I would only be there three months. Even if the meeting had offered me your job, I wouldn’t have taken it.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you,” Sam said. “And I want you to know that I’ll make it up to you. If they fire you, I’m gone too.”

  He said it without thinking, grew slightly panicked by his promise, but resolved inwardly to honor it.

  Krista chuckled. “Don’t do that, Sam. I only have two more weeks to go. It’s not worth quitting over. You have a family to support. Let’s just not make it easy for them to fire me. Okay?”

  “You got it,” Sam said.

  They chatted a few minutes more. When Sam finally hung up the phone, he felt much better. Regaining one’s integrity was never easy, but it paid handsome dividends, and he went to sleep, confident that no matter what happened the next day he would at the very least not be a weasel.

  Twenty-three

  The Showdown

  Friday morning dawned clear. Outside Sam and Barbara’s bedroom window, the sun struck the red maple, turning it to fire. He blinked awake and rolled over to hold her, but her side of the bed was empty. He could hear her bustling about downstairs as she got the boys ready for school. He swung his feet over the side of the bed, blinked his eyes to clear the cobwebs, and donned his robe and slippers.

  Barbara was standing at the counter mixing pancake batter, Levi was setting the table, and Addison was curled up in the chair beside the woodstove in their kitchen, entertaining the breakfast crowd by reading aloud from a Calvin and Hobbes cartoon book.

  After a leisurely breakfast, Sam took a shower and dressed. Then he and Barbara walked the boys to school.

  “You think many folks will come to the meeting tonight?” Barbara asked on their way home.

  “It’ll be packed,” Sam predicted. “Fern and Dale have been working hard to fill the place with sympathizers.”

  “I can’t believe this is happening in a Friends meeting,” Barbara said, shaking her head.

  “It’s annoying,” Sam said, “but not surprising. Some of those folks not only don’t know what it means to be Quaker, they don’t care to know. We ought to change our sign to read Harmony Almost Friends Meeting.”

  Barbara chuckled. “That would be closer to the truth.” She turned toward him. “Have you decided whether you’re going to speak tonight?”

  “Yep. Haven’t figured out what I’m going to say, but I’m going to say something.”

  “That’s my Sam,” she said, squeezing his hand.

  The day sped past. After a light supper, Sam and Barbara and the boys left for the meeting at six-thirty. Church being free and the football game costing four dollars, people looking for excitement at a bargain were filling the meetinghouse. Longtime members, displaced from their customary pews by Baptists and Catholics, were flitting about in a tizzy. Fern Hampton arrived to find Ned Kivett and the extended Kivett clan residing in her pew and had cleared it within thirty seconds, knocking them aside like bowling pins.

  Krista entered the meeting room at five before seven. The chatter subsided as people grew aware of her presence. She walked by herself to a pew up front. Sam and his family rose from their seats and went to sit with her.

  With Miriam Hodge absent, the task of leading the meeting had fallen to Asa Peacock, a nice man in Sam’s opinion, though a life spent wading through manure seemed poor preparation for the niceties of ecclesial dialogue. At seven o’clock, Asa stood and made his way to the front of the meeting room to stand at the pulpit. Normally reticent, he became talkative when nervous.

  “Well, I guess with Miriam gone to take care of her sister, it falls to me to get things started. We’re here because Fern and Dale think Krista is, uh, well, how should I say this, uh, not quite right in the sex department. And she won’t say one way or the other, even though it sure would make our jobs easier if she did. Now there are some folks who think she’s not fit to be a pastor, but other folks who like her, so we’re just gonna settle this nice and fair and take a vote.”

  Sam raised his hand.

  “Yeah, Sam. What’s on your mind?”

  “Asa, I know you’re in charge and I don’t mean to tell you what to do, but Quakers don’t vote.”

  Asa blushed. “Oh, that’s right. Sorry about that, folks. Well then, I guess we’ll just talk things over and see what we come up with. Who wants to go first?”

  Shirley Finchum grasped the pew in front of her and hauled herself upward. “I say we g
et rid of her. She’s been here long enough, and so has Sam,” she said, her appreciation for Sam’s lawn-care assistance apparently fading.

  “That girl’s been nothing but trouble since she got here,” Fern said, lunging to her feet, scattering Kivetts in her wake. “She’s split the Friendly Women right down the middle. We got along fine until she came.”

  Sam leaned over to Krista. “Try not to take it personally,” he said. “I’m sure they don’t mean it.”

  “Firing’s too good for her,” Dale Hinshaw screeched. “We need to cast her out of the church altogether.”

  “I, for one, appreciate Krista and her ministry,” Judy Iverson said. “As for her sexual orientation, I don’t think that’s any of our business.”

  “Judy’s right,” Deena Morrison said. “We’ve not asked anyone else what we’re asking her.”

  “I liked the tea she made at the Chicken Noodle Dinner,” Harvey Muldock said. “I’ve been telling Eunice for years they needed to sweeten it up.”

  “The tea was good,” Asa agreed.

  “We all got along in this church just fine until she got here,” Stanley Farlow said. “Now we’re fightin’ with one another. I’m just glad my mother isn’t alive to see this.”

  “I knew he’d work his mother into this somehow,” Barbara whispered to Sam.

  Sam sat quietly, contemplating Stanley Farlow’s mother, who, had she been alive, would have called for Krista’s public flogging.

  “I suppose we ought to ask Krista if she wants to speak,” Asa Peacock said.

  Silence fell across the meeting room. People turned toward Krista, expectantly. After a few moments, she rose and turned to face the congregation.

  “Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve wanted to be a pastor. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. Of course, when you’re Roman Catholic and female, that’s pretty hard to do,” she said, smiling. “So I became a teacher instead. But still my dream was to be a minister, to have a church like this one where I could help people and serve God. Then the way opened for me to come and be with you, and I was so happy.”

  She paused, as if weighing whether to continue, then spoke again. “Every generation of the church has its struggle. Our parents had to decide whether to include people of color. Today, the church is locked in a debate about whether homosexuals can belong. Your preoccupation with my sexuality leads to nothing good. If I tell you I’m straight, you’ll let me stay, though some of you would still wonder about me and treat me poorly. If I tell you I’m homosexual, I would not be welcome. No matter how I answer your question, one thing remains unchanged—gay people are not welcome here.”