The Narrow Path

by Gail Sattler

  As they waited for the last board member to arrive, he couldn't help but be aware of every move Miranda made since she sat across the table from him. Every time he turned her way, she was already looking at him, and as soon as he looked back, she glanced away. When she wasn't looking at him, he tried not to stare at her fire- engine-red lipstick, her worldly clothing, or her uncovered, unbound hair.

  He gritted his teeth. She was the only woman in the room not wearing a prayer kapp. Even though they sat in the meeting room, it was still God's house, and they would still have a short prayer. As a woman, she should be wearing a head covering.

  Last night he'd gone home in a state of shock, which had only begun to wear off. He had tried to remain a gentleman, yet his mind had been mostly numb about this woman.

  Now his thoughts were clearer. Everything about her had been the exact opposite of what he had expected. He could not in good conscience give this city woman full blessing and a free rein on the most important event in his church's history.Even though she called herself a Mennonite, she knew nothing of his people or their culture. Although it was true that he had never executed a project of this magnitude before, he did know his church and his people.

  As the general manager for Onkel Bart's furniture factory, the largest employer in town, managing was his job. He made decisions on purchases for all supplies and materials and approved or amended all design changes. He also did all the hiring, and occasionally he needed to fire someone, which was never pleasant, but he did what had to be done. He ran the company proficiently, with a profit, even when economic times were difficult. The current fiscal year end was approaching, and it held good promise of being their best year since Onkel Bart had retired and given Ted full control of his corporation.

  Certainly he could run a church musical as efficiently as he ran a company. Only the church board didn't think so.

  On purpose, Ted dropped his pencil on the floor, then bent to pick it up. With his face below the table, he closed his eyes and quoted to himself a verse from Psalms he'd memorized to help him deal with the stabbing feeling of betrayal: A man's wisdom gives him patience; it is to his glory to overlook an offense.

  He had prayed about this, but he needed to pray some more.He still felt angry about being pushed aside, and his anger had begun to leak out in inappropriate ways. At work, where he'd always been considered fair and reasonable, he'd been irritable almost to the point of being short-tempered, which wasn't like him at all. Or at least, he thought it wasn't—something else he needed to pray about. He certainly had not been in his glory lately, nor had he used much patience. He was convinced that he had been a poor leader and a worse example. Perhaps now, here at church, in front of his elders, his pastor, and his Lord, he needed to repent and overlook the offense of being thrown in the recycle bin like a bent nail.

  Ted righted himself in the chair and laid the pencil alongside his notepad.

  Pastor Jake addressed everyone seated around the large wooden table—the table Ted had made for the church with his own hands, sparing nothing for the Lord's work.

  "We are all here now. Are we ready to start?" Pastor asked.

  Everyone, including Miranda, nodded, so Pastor Jake opened the meeting with a prayer.

  After everyone's "amen," Pastor folded his hands on top of the notepad in front of him. "I know all of you have met Miss Klassen, but I would like to make our introductions formal for the sake of the minutes."

  Miranda held up an odd-shaped pen. "I know the minutes of the meeting are being written down, but does anyone mind if I also record the meeting?"

  Kathleen smiled. "Of course not. I can also let you read the minutes of our past meetings if you want to see what ideas we had before we decided to bring you here."

  Miranda's eyes widened. "Really? That would be great.Thank you."

  Pastor Jake nodded his agreement, then opened the meeting by introducing everyone on the church board—Leonard and Lois Toews, who were the head deacon couple; Elsie Neufeld as the Ladies Ministry Coordinator; William Janzen as the treasurer; Kathleen Loewen as the church secretary, and Ryan Schofield as the youth leader, who would organize the younger people to build all the sets and maintain the stage.

  Pastor Jake turned toward Ted. "You have already met Ted Wiebe. Ted is our worship leader."

  Ted felt the heat of everyone's eyes on him. He cleared his throat. "Welcome," he said.

  A silence hung in the air, but he didn't know what else to say, or even if it was wise to say anything. He'd seen the shock in everyone's eyes as they came into the room, wondering why this city woman was at their meeting. When Pastor Jake introduced her, he'd thought Elsie might faint. For now, everyone needed time to think and evaluate.

  Miranda blinked a few times, then stared directly into his eyes. "Thank you for picking me up at the airport yesterday."

  Not a single head turned away. Everyone's concentration remained fixed on him. "It was not a problem," he muttered.Manners dictated that he say, "It was a pleasure," but it wasn't.

  The room remained silent until Pastor cleared his throat, thankfully drawing everyone's attention to where it belonged, away from him and to Pastor.

  As the meeting continued, everyone discussed ideas Ted had already heard before, some of them his own, while he listened.At the last meeting, he'd taken meticulous notes, scrawling out ideas and schematics. Now he sat with crossed arms.

  When everyone finished speaking, Miranda picked up her pen, clicked it, then set it down in front of her. Her notepad remained completely blank. Either she had a photographic memory, which he doubted, or she wasn't really interested in anything they'd discussed.

  Pastor Jake also put down his pen, but at least he'd been writing with it. "Does anyone have any questions or comments?"

  Ted could see it in everyone's eyes. In addition to the expected questions about the presentation, the most important considerations were those closer to everyone's hearts and homes—how would Miranda Klassen fit in here, and how would she affect everyone, especially their young people, many of whom already struggled with the limitations of their protected community versus the freedom, dangers, and vulnerabilities of life in the cities.

  No one said anything; no one asked any questions. But Ted could understand this. It had taken him an entire day to collect his thoughts. He could only think that others would need time as well. But time was something they didn't have. They only had the length of the meeting, and they were already running late.

  Ted turned to Miranda. "I am sure this will be very different than what you have done before."

  "Yes, but the message behind Christmas is universal. After I get to know more people, I don't think I'll have any problems.At home, I consider everyone who wants to be involved before I put anything together. Here, I will do the same thing.It will work. But first I need to study the area, including all the demographics."

  Ted blinked. Demographics? "This is not a political rally. It is a celebration for our church."

  "Exactly. I need to know who I'm trying to reach."

  He narrowed his eyes. "Which we made clear in our proposal to you." He lowered his voice. "Nothing has changed."

  One of the ladies made a quiet gasp.

  "But in order for this to work, we have to reach everyone we can. We want to pack this place, which seats four hundred people, with more than friends and relatives for five performances.We're going to reach souls as far as we can go. We need to do what it takes to get people excited and to come from miles around. That means advertising in all the local papers and doing promos. I need to check into the cost of a few radio ad spots during rush-hour traffic. We can do a movie trailer and put it on YouTube and anywhere else we can online.We'll set up a website for the church and run it there too. I'll start a blog and gather a chain of Internet influencers."

  Words he'd heard in Sunday school all his life and had taught himself in Bible study meetings roared through his head: Be ye in the world but not of the world.

&nbs
p; "Not over the Internet," Ted blurted out. He stood slowly, leaning forward over the table, glaring at her, deliberately towering over her. He was the only one besides the pastor who had significant dealings over the Internet. While there was much good, the evils far outweighed the godly content on the wideopen computer networks. With the Internet came temptation of a magnitude no one here had ever experienced. He could not expose his people to that. "Niemols," he snapped. Never.

  Beneath the table, clothing rustled and boots scraped on the tile floor.

  Ted gritted his teeth. Of course they wanted to reach the unsaved. But they weren't going to risk their families or compromise the traditional lifestyle they'd worked so hard to guard.Like everyone here, he wanted to bring new people into God's kingdom, but he wanted those who came to their church to be family people of good morals. If she sent open invitations over the Internet, all the unsavory characters of the area would come and poison their innocent members. He knew how ugly it was out there. Every time he had to travel, it took him days to wind down after being thrust among the evils of the modern world.

  Pastor cleared his throat. "Uh . . . well . . ." he stammered, "we do want this to be an outreach."

  Miranda sat tall in her chair, turning as she spoke, making brief but definite eye contact with every person around the table. "Then we have to do more than just put a note in the church bulletin. We have to speak to people the way they're used to listening, and that means using the modern media to our full advantage." Her voice lowered, both in volume and in pitch. "Or I can pack up my things and go back to Seattle."

  Ted held his breath. It had finally been said. But somehow it didn't have the same effect coming from Miranda as it would have from one of the church board members, the pastor, or himself.

  No one said a word. No one suggested that they take this to a vote to see if it would work.

  He sank back down in his chair. Their church had worked hard over the years to maintain a close bond of tradition and spirituality, keeping their members pure by minimizing temptation.

  Miranda was now saying they could use her city ways, everything they'd wanted to keep out, to bring people in. It was like offering another apple from the Garden of Eden.

  Pastor Jake tapped his pen on the table. "I have thought about this, and Miss Klassen speaks the truth. We agreed that we want to reach as many people as possible. Miss Klassen thinks we should do more than what we have done before, and we will be able to reach even more souls. This is what God wants us to do."

  Ted's stomach tightened. Of course God wanted all His children to show His love and reach out in fellowship. But that didn't mean putting their families and their children at risk. Successful outreach happened when you got to know people and then invited them into the fold—not when you opened the doors to the evils and poisons you had worked so hard to avoid. Most of the people in their church had no idea what life was like outside of the safe boundaries of their burg and surrounding farms.

  He did. He'd been exposed to all sorts of distractions and temptations when he traveled. He did his best to keep himself pure, and sometimes he failed. But by God's grace, he could keep himself as unscathed as possible.

  If this was what his church decided they wanted, there was only one thing Ted could do.

  He turned to Miranda and hooked his thumbs in his suspenders."Then I will help you do this. I will do everything I can to assist you." And Lord, protect us.

  "Ach, you should not be here in my kitchen getting your own tea. You are a guest." Susan extended one arm in the direction of the doorway. "You should be showing your pictures and good ideas to the men. I will bring you more tea when it is ready. Go into the living room."

  "Thanks," Miranda said. Nervously, she ran her hand down her slim skirt. She didn't know why she had brought it, but now she praised God for His divine intervention. It wasn't exactly suitable for church, but it had saved her from being the only woman in the entire Sunday morning service wearing slacks. With the hemline just above her knees, it was the shortest skirt in the congregation, but at least it was a skirt. Still, she wondered if she had made the wrong choice and should have worn dress slacks this morning. At church, most of the men had averted their eyes, as if seeing her legs was too shocking.

  Now, here, at Susan and John Friesen's home, she felt as exposed as if she were at the beach wearing a bathing suit two sizes too small. In the smaller crowd, in a private home, she could tell when one of the men stared at her legs, then turned his head when she caught him looking.

  At church it had been worse, even though she sat on the women's side with Lois. There, where the men could no longer be disturbed by her legs, the women had stared at her shoes.She'd heard a few "tsks," but no one had made any specific comments. After the service Lois ignored the obvious disdain and introduced her around to the ladies, and Ted had introduced her to a few of the men.

  Lois entered the kitchen just as Susan began to shoo her out. She rested her hand on Miranda's arm. "You do not need to be so nervous. Your ideas, they are good."

  "I know," she mumbled, running her hand once more down her skirt, smoothing out yet another imaginary wrinkle. "But I'm worried that I didn't make a very good first impression this morning. I had the feeling Ted usually stays longer after the service, but he seemed to be rushing me out the door." Ted, more than any of the other men, made a point of keeping his eyes glued to her face and not her legs.

  Lois's eyes followed her hand. "Ah, you are feeling strange about your skirt. Ja, it is very different from the rest, but it is not something that cannot be fixed. I love to sew. Let me work with you, and we will have a lovely new dress for you by next Sunday."

  Miranda glanced down at Lois's dress, then back up to the woman's face. All morning, even though she knew it would be that way, she had been stunned by the mass uniformity. All the men, including Ted, had worn plain dark suits, blending together in a sea of sameness. The women's side had shown slightly more color, but the effect was no different. She couldn't remember anything specific or eye-catching about a single thing anyone had worn, male or female.

  She swallowed hard. "Thank you, Lois, I would really appreciate that. No one has ever made anything for me before.I'm honored."

  Lois waved one hand in the air. "Doats jau neuscht. It is nothing.I used to sew dresses for my daughter. It was something we both loved to do. Now I get to do it again. It is something I enjoy."

  "Thank you. I'd love your help. I only own one long skirt, and it's quite different from what I'd wear here." It was a satiny formal gown she had worn only once at a college party. Even though it hung to her ankles, the right side had a slit that went up to her thigh. She bit her bottom lip thinking of the reaction that would get from the men here. Especially Ted. So far nothing she had said or done had met with his approval.

  "But I feel I should be in the kitchen with the rest of the women." As at church, the separation of men and women continued here at John and Susan's home. After the meal the men had naturally moved into the living room to share ideas while the women had silently cleared the table and retreated into the kitchen. A few minutes had passed before Miranda realized she was the only woman in the living room with the men—the only one wearing the shortest skirt these men had seen in years, maybe even in their lives. She had nearly run for the kitchen.

  "At home I take the leftover food and put it in the fridge, then go back and join my guests. My father and I do the dishes together after everyone leaves."

  Lois gasped. "Your father is the pastor, is he not?" She pressed one hand to her mouth, as if the thought of the pastor doing his own dishes was too horrible for words.

  "Yes. It's just him and me. My mother passed away a long time ago. It seems that lately the only time we get to talk is when we do dishes. So in a way, sometimes we look forward to doing them." Although at home the process wouldn't take as long, because unlike anyone in Piney Meadows, they had a dishwasher.

  "Let us not talk of dishes. You go. There is Ted, waiti
ng for you."

  Inwardly, Miranda cringed. She didn't want to talk to Ted.

  Today he blended in like everyone else, but yesterday, after presenting her thoughts, she had felt like an invading rival in a Star Trek movie. Ted had risen from the quiet void of nothingness, emerging like a Klingon Bird of Prey decloaking with battle stations engaged, while all around him men cowered, knowing death was near. But instead of speaking Klingon, he'd said something in Low German.

  She would have understood Klingon better. But the message was clear. Ted disagreed with pretty much everything she'd presented. And Klingons showed no mercy to their enemies.

  She couldn't remember if Klingons wore suspenders. The thought made her want to giggle. She would google that to find out—if she could ever obtain Internet access.

  Miranda blinked and focused on Ted, standing quietly beside the couch, patiently waiting for her with all the other men in Susan's living room.

  Lois nudged her from behind. "Go. Show everyone what you showed me last night. It is good."

  Slowly, Miranda made her way into the living room, needing that cup of tea more than ever. She sat on the couch, positioning herself behind her laptop, and flipped open the cover. The couch moved as Ted settled into the space beside her.

  He turned and gave her a half-smile. "Your church must be very much different from ours."

  Miranda quickly turned so she didn't have to look at him.Her skirt had crept up slightly as she sat, and here she couldn't hide herself under the table. "Yes," she said softly as she hit the power button. Unless it was communion Sunday, like many in the congregation, suitable clothing was her best jeans and her most comfortable shoes. She'd never felt so out of place in her life as she had during the service.