The Lutheran Ladies' Circle: Plucking One String

by Kris Knorr

  “It was a joke,” protested Kay, waving for the dish to be hurried around the table.

  Nan sat forward in her chair. “You’re kidding. When did we do this?”

  “Well, it might have gotten a bit overshadowed by Christmas, but I put a box in the narthex to collect goods. I put a poster on it, but someone…” Hettie looked at Vera, “felt a sign that said ‘Hygiene Collection’ was inappropriate for the Christmas visitors. So I stuck a tasteful little ‘Donate” sticky note on it, but it kept falling off.”

  “No. No. You needed a big honkin’ sign. One that smacks ’em in the head. ‘Soap for Missions’.” Kay waggled a large hunk of chocolate-walnut fudge in the air, “Marketing, Hettie, marketing.”

  “Well, all right, Miss Funny Pants, you can do the next project.” Hettie smirked.

  “Ladies.” Vera sent a stern look at the women. “The topic is the youth sandwich fund—Nan?” The church organist had turned away from the table, her head in her hands. “Nan? Are you all right?”

  The organist faced them, her mouth scrunched tight, but a giggle squeaked out. “Can you imagine people trying to figure out what to put in a box intermittently marked: Donate and Hygiene?”

  “Or who it was for?” Kay said.

  “Did you,” Allie, the new member, asked, “collect anything in the nameless box?”

  “I got some…” Hettie tried to restrain the laugh percolating up her throat, “feminine hygiene products.” Kay and Nan hooted.

  “And some toilet paper,” Hettie tittered. “And…some paper towels. I can’t figure that one out.” Her face turned red as she pressed her fingertips to her lips.

  “I gave that!” Micki’s mouth puckered in a slight pout. “I thought we were collecting stuff for the ladies’ restrooms.”

  Hettie cleared her throat. “Thank you, Micki. That was nice, and the strangest thing happened to the box.” A giggle leaked between her words. “I found it…I actually didn’t find it.” Her face turned redder and a tear escaped. “Walt found it—” she squeaked, “in the men’s restroom.”

  Squeals and yowls followed, except for Vera. She slowly tapped her agenda with her pencil, waiting for a moment of maturity to dawn. With a voice that could chip ice, she skewered anyone who would give her eye contact. “I am so sorry our December mission project became a joke. That is an important month with so many in need.”

  “Oh, Vera, the weather’s miserable. We all needed a good laugh before getting down to business,” Kay said. The women were blowing their noses, dabbing their eyes with tissues, and trying to look as serious as Vera’s words.

  “Well, Kay,” Vera’s voice carried a sandpaper edge, “since our last mission drive did not meet expectations, I believe you will be doing our next project. I think you have some catching up to do. Can you handle that?”

  Kay frowned and studied Vera, deciding if she’d tossed out a put-down or a dare. Two-word replies flitted through her head. Bite me seemed kinder and more humorous than Stick it. Neither had ever gleaned the positive results she’d hoped but were immensely satisfying to say. After a moment of culling her thoughts, she gave Vera a measured look. “I accept your challenge.” She fanned a fudge-laden hand across the room. “I can see posters and newsletters: Socks for Saints and Sinners!”

  Hettie broke into another giggle.

  “I’m serious,” Kay said, wiping her fingers on a napkin. “Different groups in the church will collect new, unused socks. There’ll be a prize for the group that donates the most. We’ll send the whole shebang to Lutheran Missions.”

  “I never meant for this to be a contest,” Vera said.

  “I’ll bring socks.” Micki wiped her eyes with her fingertips.

  “Fine.” Vera’s voice sounded tired. “Don’t go overboard with it, Kay. Now, as I was saying prior to this laughfest…our fundraiser with the youth—”

  “Oh, we’ll just do it the same way we do youth dinners.” Hettie rubbed a tissue under her nose. “I’ll sell tickets with the kids because I like those teenage boogers. You buy the groceries, Vera, because you like watching the money, and everyone will assemble the sandwiches.”

  “Well, there is the matter of baking the buns.” Vera consulted her list.

  “Buy the buns,” Kay said flatly.

  “Hettie and Merle love to bake, and it’ll save money.” Vera gave Kay a “that’s-that” stare.

  Hettie’s giggles evaporated. Her teacher eyes narrowed as though she’d discovered someone cutting the lunch line. “That’s true, but I don’t remember volunteering myself or my husband to do the cooking.”

  “Well, I like shopping, but I don’t remember saying I would buy all the supplies. This was your plan.”

  “You’re right, Vera. You didn’t. We’ll switch. You bake. I’ll shop with the kids.”

  “Buy the buns,” Kay droned, remembering that the Ladies’ last baking project had yielded little hamburger buns domed so high it required a reticulating jaw to get a mouth around them. “Homemade buns are goofy. Right?” She looked to Micki for support.

  Micki put on a look of seriousness. “If Hettie’s doing the shopping, who’s selling tickets?” A timely change in the subject had always been her best peace tactic. Too late, she realized she’d suggested a new duty. Wide-eyed, she shrunk in her chair and studied the table, hoping she hadn’t volunteered.

  Nan suddenly became busy with her knitting. The room fell silent. “Kay?” Hettie stared down the line of women. “And don’t use that adiophora stuff with me. Your kids are part of this group using the fundraising monies.”

  “What’s adiophora?” asked Allie.

  “It’s…complicated. I’ll tell you later,” Micki said.

  “It’s not complicated.” One corner of Kay’s mouth kinked into a frown.

  “You can teach Lutheran ‘middle issues’ later,” Vera’s voice tightened so the words snapped out. “Will you help or not?”

  Again, Kay looked at her, replies rolling through her head. “Yeah, sure,” she finally said. “I’ll sit in the narthex, hawking socks and sandwiches.”

  Allie raised her hand half-way. “I’ll help you.”

  “You’re new. I’d hate for you to leave our church so soon,” Vera said. “Working with Kay is like hanging on to run-away horses.”

  “I’ll always be running in the right direction.” Kay gave Vera a smile, raising her eyebrows twice and pushing the plate of fudge toward her new partner. “Welcome, Allie-girl.”

  Hettie scooted her chair back. “Let’s take a break and make some coffee now that we’ve got Kay’s fingers pried off the chocolate.”

  “Ladies.” Vera took a breath. She searched for words she rarely used and found courage was a bigger problem than vocabulary. After the Christmas-ink-pen fiasco, she’d spent hours wondering if her God was too small. She’d concluded that perhaps she constricted His style because she was doing most of His job. She’d decided to include others in the workload. She glanced around the table. “If I’m baking, I’ll need help. Roger and his boys have signed up to assist, but I doubt if they’ve ever made buns either.” More neediness than she’d intended whinged into her request.

  The women blinked at her. An awkward silence bounced around the room. “Are you saying you want someone to tell you what to do and how to do it?” Kay said.

  Vera straightened; she knew this wasn’t going to be easy. “I’m asking for help, yes.” She pointed a pencil at the quietest person in the room. “Nan?”

  Kay patted the organist on the back. “You almost made it out of here without extra work.” Several of the women sealed the appointment by escaping to the kitchen for coffee. Hettie leaned across the table asking Micki, “Did we ever decide what I was supposed to do with that personal hygiene stuff?”

  Vera watched the meeting unofficially break up. She’d put herself out there. It hadn’t gone badly. Perhaps Jim had been right when he used to tell her, “Control was the surprising result of letting go.”

  Perh
aps.

  A Long Wait for an Apology

  TWO TIMES A year, the Sunday school teachers and youth leaders met over platefuls of pizza and German chocolate cake. Their alleged goal was to exchange curriculum ideas, but their true purpose was to avoid another “Wedding War.” Mumbled stories still haunted leaders about the scheduling catastrophe between a hundred teens arriving for the Battle of the Bands and the confused guests of the Sparker/Hammet wedding. The frenzied bride had secured and defended the sound system, but the teens had commandeered the parking lot. There was a stand-off until the pastor negotiated a solution that included many of the wedding guests rocking out to the bands.

  In the past, Vera had come to these meetings in order to relay information to her husband. So no one considered her attendance strange even though Pastor Jim was dead, and she wasn’t a member of the Education committee. It would be the last time they’d overlook her presence.

  As the chairman reached the end of the over-long agenda, folks closed their notebooks and began gathering their belongings. Vera’s voice pierced their end-of-meeting-relief, “I have one more thing.”

  She took a breath, weighing her thoughts. She’d stuck a test toe into the watery theory of letting go, and discovered there were cold attitudes that needed to be controlled or anarchy would rise, the apocalypse would arrive sooner, and old people could expect to be ignored like derelict hound dogs. Some things could not be allowed to slip. She’d considered doing this privately but this was important. Each educator needed to nip invisible disrespect in the bud.

  “Yes?” The chairman rearranged his face in what he hoped was a patient look.

  Vera turned to Phil, the youth director. His high cheekbones underlined his dark eyes. He gave her a quick smile. “Well,” Vera continued, “you know how you said that if we had any problems with the youth, we should come directly to you?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Two weeks ago, I was talking with Roger—he and his sons volunteered to help bake buns for the youth fundraiser. One of his boys, I don’t know which one, they both look alike to me; well, one of his boys walked up and slid right between us while we were talking. So I grabbed him by the back of his collar and pulled him out of our way saying, ‘This isn’t about you.’ Unfortunately, a button popped off the front of his shirt when I moved him out of the way.

  “I apologized. I told him I was sorry, and I would repair it for him.” And she did feel badly. It had been a gentle tug, but the button had arced like it was shot from a trebuchet. The boy had watched it bounce and roll on the floor while she noted Roger’s estranged wife obviously couldn’t even sew on a button. No wonder Roger had custody of the kids.

  Phil sat perfectly still under the white-haired woman’s scrutiny. He noticed she’d been massaging her fingers, first with one hand then the other, while she spoke. He breathed a silent sigh of relief, believing that she simply wanted to clear her conscience. Speak her regret and let it be known she wasn’t in the habit of manhandling kids. He’d be able to catch the last half of Monday night football. He added a go-ahead-nod, but closed his notebook.

  “Well,” she continued, “I moved Roger’s boy out of the way, and when I turned to resume our conversation, he made a face like this.” Vera glared and worked her jaw open and closed like the Sesame Street grouch on a tirade. A couple laughs arose at her mime act, but choked into coughs when she added in a cracked voice, “I’m not going to tolerate such disrespect. I’m…just not.” Her gaze dropped to the floor for a moment then yanked back to Phil. “And you saw the whole thing.” Her finger poked the air space between them. “I’ve waited two weeks, and I still haven’t received an apology.”

  Silence boomed through the room; its invisible weight slowing time. A few people blinked in confusion. Some gaped as though she’d admitted to waterboarding visitors at Lutheran convocations. Others looked at her sideways, then at the youth director.

  Phil’s face was a frozen stare. He didn’t move, feeling as if she’d shoved a cattle prod in his chest. The woman must’ve snapped, her brain cells sparking as they faded. He opened his mouth a couple of times before he found his voice, “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what you need. It’s unfortunate, and I’ll speak to the kid, if you can figure out which one it was.”

  “I want an apology,” she demanded. “I haven’t heard from the child or Roger, and you’ve done nothing about it.”

  “What did you want me to do?”

  “You saw the whole thing.”

  “I was across the room. I saw it, and then you were talking with his dad. I assumed you and Roger had taken care of it.”

  “We finished making our cooking plans, but he didn’t apologize and I’m still waiting.”

  “How would I know that?” Phil said.

  “You said we could come to you if we had problems.” Vera folded her arms across her chest. Since the day it had happened, she’d thought about the kid’s mocking disrespect. But she’d vowed to give her clutch on control a vacation. She’d wait to see what others—Roger, as a parent, and Phil, whose job it was to guide and control kids—would do about the problem. It had turned out like everything else. If she didn’t do it, it didn’t get done.

  Phil scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “Mrs. Henley, why are you doing this at this meeting? Why are you blasting me in front of all these people?”

  “Because I haven’t had an apology yet.” That was the reason that came out of her mouth, but there were parts “b” and “c” which she chose not to embarrass him with in public. He slopped into church in shorts and a ball cap most of the time. The bulk of his inadequate teaching was watching movies or listening to music and then discussing it. He was a nice enough fellow, but needed advice and more years of experience to help 15 adolescents grow up the way they should.

  “Look, I’ll talk to him. Why didn’t you mention it immediately?” Phil asked. “You expect me to do something about an incident that happened two weeks ago, but you haven’t let anyone know about it until now?”

  Vera straightened her shoulders and took a breath. “I want an apology. This attitude of impertinence is not acceptable from our youth.” She glanced around the room. Faces stared at her. The silence stretched as she waited for someone to agree: the youth could use more manners. Courtesy and respect needed to be part of every grade level’s curriculum.

  No one moved. Everyone’s words choked in their throats as though silence had asphyxiated the air from the room.

  Vera’s eyes narrowed on the committee chairman, who looked at her as though she had snakes in her hair. Her stare finally roused him to stand and speak. “I think we should support our youth director.” He snatched up his notebook adding, “And…our teachers or anybody who works with kids.” He looked everywhere except Vera’s face. “It’s a hard job. They deserve encouragement. Meeting’s adjourned.”

  Vera watched him turn and leave. People hurried from the room, giving each other looks and casting worried glances at her. She pretended not to notice. She’d tried. She’d let go, shared her feelings, expressed her expectations, and people looked at her as though she’d lost her mind. That was what happened when a person asked for help. It wasn’t God that was too small; it was people that were too narrow in their thoughts. She’d had this argument with Jim. If only he were here to see this.

  Phil began straightening the room. Vera noted at least he hadn’t run away like the chairman. She approached him as he collapsed metal chairs and put them on the storage rack. Someone needed to help him figure out how to do his job.

  The Serious Consequences of Words

  “DID YOU HEAR about Vera?” Hettie scanned the cozy interior of Bean Me Up Kafé and headed for two empty chairs.

  Kay tossed a tip in the jar, picked up her coffee, and followed. “What’d she do now? Is this why you wanted to meet?”

  “It’s related. I need to talk to you about the youth fundraiser which Vera blew out of the water with her outburst last night. She really s
tepped over the line.”

  “She’s stomped over the line for years. Why’s this different?” Kay tossed a newspaper off a chair and sat.

  “Because she chewed up the youth director for something Roger’s kid did weeks ago.”

  “She’s chewed on everyone at one time or another.” Kay waved her away. “What’d the kid do?”

  “After she tugged him around by the shirt collar, he disrespected her by making a face.” Hettie showed her teeth in a mock-mad-dog sneer then rolled her eyes. “It was supposed to be behind her back, but she noticed it. She’s mad because Phil saw it and hasn’t made the kid apologize. She ripped him in front of the entire Education Team.”

  “I thought everyone knew she had eyes in the back of her head. Why don’t they both apologize and move on?” Kay shrugged. “And why’d she do it at the meeting?”

  “She’s either ill or losing her mind. Haven’t you noticed how short-tempered she’s been at the Ladies Circle?”

  Kay shook her head. “Like I pay attention at meetings? And she’s always ticked at me. So, no, nothing seems different.”

  “Well…you have to admit you deserve it most of the time.” Hettie took a long sip of her coffee, then not looking at Kay, set it carefully on a napkin, smoothing each corner with a fingertip as she spoke. “I think we should talk to her.”

  “She does wonderful projects if you overlook her need to control everything at a cellular level. Why don’t we continue ignoring her behavior like everyone’s been doing for years?”

  “Because Pastor Jim is gone, there’s no damper on her. Folks are tired of putting up with it, and she’s getting worse. I’m worried for her.” Hettie risked a glance at Kay. “She doesn’t really have any friends who are honest with her.”

  “How about Lorena? She’s a perfectionist like Vera. Or Pastor? He gets paid to talk tough love.”

  “Lorena would find fault. And Pastor…he’s too young and new for Vera to take him seriously.” Hettie leaned forward. “You don’t put up with her behavior. You’re the only one who’s ever talked to her honestly, like the night of the Christmas Eve pageant.”