Bea and Wiffles passed Sam Gardner, who was walking to the meetinghouse.
“How’s Wiffles?” Sam asked. “Still bound up?”
Bea nodded.
“I’ll say a prayer for her.”
“Thank you, Sam. That’s kind of you.”
“How’s your job at the Coffee Cup? Are you still playing the organ on Italian Night?”
Bea beamed. “Oh, yes. Five to seven every Wednesday night. It gives me a little mad money.”
Sam wondered what Bea Majors, with her rolled-down hosiery and orthopedic shoes, would do with mad money. “Maybe Barbara and I and the boys will come some Wednesday night and hear you play,” he offered.
“You might want to come tonight. I’ll be making my singing debut tonight.”
“Do Vinny and Penny know that?”
“No, I’m going to surprise them. You know the song ‘That’s Amore’? Dean Martin sings it. You know the one. I’ve been practicing it at home, and I think I’m ready to sing it in public. Wanna come hear me?”
“Gee, Bea, I’d love to, but, uh, I’m a little busy tonight.”
“That’s okay. I was gonna sing it this Sunday in church too. I just love that song. It’s so pretty. And doesn’t Dean Martin just take your breath away?”
“He’s a dreamboat, all right.”
Sam had asked the music committee to talk with Bea about her musical selections, but so far they’d refused. Bea’s sister, Opal, is in charge of the music committee. When Sam brought it up, she’d said, “You never have liked our family, have you?”
“I hope people enjoy your song tonight at the Coffee Cup, and I hope Wiffles gets to feeling better. You take care, Bea.”
“Bye, bye, Sam.”
It was a busy day for Sam. He had several hours of paperwork and a meeting with Frank the secretary. Then he drove to the city to visit Sally Fleming. After the promise of a miracle, he half expected to see her up and walking around, but she wasn’t. In fact, she looked worse, so he didn’t stay long.
On his way home, he drove past the Coffee Cup as Bea was walking in to play for Italian Night.
It’s been a wonderful year for Bea. She retired after thirty-five years at the glove factory in Cartersburg. Now here she is, working in the entertainment industry. Opal has suggested she hire an agent and go on the road.
“Look at that Liberace guy. He started out playing in the church and look where he ended up. All you need is an act, something people will remember. Maybe you could have Wiffles sit on the organ while you play,” Opal said.
Bea was halfway considering it. Then Wiffles got sick, which Bea took as a sign from the Lord that she was to stay in Harmony. Plus, if she traveled she might not be able to follow the ministry of the Reverend Johnny LaCosta. She lives for Wednesday nights when she gets home from the Coffee Cup, puts on her house slippers, and settles back in her chair to watch Jeopardy from seven to seven-thirty and then the Hour of Truth program from seven-thirty to eight o’clock.
It amazes her what that man can do. The month before he’d had a burden for a tribe in the Congo and had asked his television family for donations so he could go there, maybe start a church, and take them some clothes. Bea went through her closet and sent him three of her dresses, two pairs of shoes, and twenty dollars, plus a note reminding him to put in a good word for Sally Fleming and her leukemia.
This week, the Reverend Johnny LaCosta was telling how the Lord had energized his spirit to send healing power over the airwaves and into people’s homes. Bea sat watching, enthralled.
She wishes Sam could be like this. She believes Sam thinks too much, that his fondness for reason prevents the Lord from working through him. It was nice of him to pray for Wiffles, but she wasn’t getting her hopes up.
He’s no Johnny LaCosta, that’s for sure, she thought, sitting in her chair.
There was a song by the Hour of Truth singers, then the Reverend began his ministry of healing.
“The Lord is giving me a name just now. It begins with an S. I can’t quite make it out. Sandra. No, that’s not it. Sally. Yes, that’s it. Sally. And Sally is sick. She’s very sick. In fact, she’s near death. She has an illness. The Lord is showing me that illness. I see an l. Sally has lupus. No, that’s not right. Lord, show me her illness. I see an l and an e. It’s leukemia. Sally has leukemia.”
Bea edged closer to her television. Now the Reverend was sweating and wiping his brow with his prayer cloth.
“Sally has leukemia, but by the power of God she is being healed right now. She is HEALED. Her bone marrow is well. Her blood is being restored. She will LIVE.”
Bea could hear the Hour of Truth church congregation clapping and shouting “Amen.”
She watched as the Reverend raised his hand. “Wait. The Lord is not finished with His mighty works. He’s telling me more. Yes, Lord, I’m listening.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Sally has a friend. Yes, there is someone who’s been praying for Sally. Her name is Bea.”
Bea gasped.
“Her name is Bea, and she’s been praying for Sally. Bea has another need, which the Lord has not revealed to me. But her need will be met. God is faithful.”
Wiffles! Bea exalted. He must mean Wiffles!
Bea leapt from her chair and ran to the kitchen to the telephone. She called all the women of the Friendly Circle and told them what the Reverend Johnny LaCosta had done for Sally. She phoned the hospital to tell Sally she was healed, but couldn’t get through. The switchboard was closed for the night, and Bea punched the wrong number and ended up speaking with a janitor. She told him about Sally and Wiffles.
Then she called her sister, Opal, who was skeptical.
“What do you mean the Lord told him about Sally and her leukemia? You’ve written him three times about it.”
“Yeah, well, what about what he said about Wiffles? How do you explain that? He knew all about Wiffles.”
“Did he mention Wiffles by name?”
“Not exactly. But he knew I had another concern.”
“Well for Pete’s sake, who doesn’t have concerns? He’s a phony.”
“You know, Opal, if I were you, I’d be a little be more careful about mocking a servant of the Lord. In the Old Testament, God killed people for less than that.”
Opal laughed. “Johnny LaCosta is the one who ought to be careful.”
Bea was so mad she hung up the phone and went upstairs to bed.
Bea woke up the next morning and called Sam at the meetinghouse to tell him that the Reverend Johnny LaCosta had healed Sally.
“Bea, I just saw Sally yesterday, and she looked pretty sick to me,” Sam said.
Bea began to weep. “Doesn’t anyone believe in miracles anymore?”
“Well, sure, Bea. But that LaCosta character, why, he’s a fraud. He’s just in it for the money. He preys on poor, desperate people who don’t know any better.”
Bea didn’t say anything, but right then she thought of rewriting her will and leaving out the church.
Sam paused, then said, “Bea, I know you like watching The Hour of Truth, but as your pastor I have to tell you it’s not good for you to take that stuff so seriously. I bet LaCosta hasn’t even been to seminary.”
“Jealousy doesn’t flatter you, Sam Gardner. You’re just upset that God didn’t use you to heal Sally. Jealousy, that’s all in the world it is.”
Then she hung up the phone.
Sam sat at his desk, fuming. Frank the secretary tapped on his door and came in.
“I got a call from Fern Hampton,” Frank said. “She said Bea called her last night all excited about Sally getting healed. You don’t suppose it’s true, do you?”
Sam snorted. “Of course not.”
The phone rang in Frank’s office. “I better grab that. I called the hospital and left a message for Wayne to call me. That might be him now.”
“You did what?” Sam asked.
Frank picked up the phone. “Harmony Friends Meeting. This is Frank. Hey, Wayn
e. How ya doing?”
“Why did you call Wayne?” Sam yelled from his office.
“Uh, excuse me, Wayne, Sam’s asking me something.” Frank covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “Sam, what in the world do you want? I’m trying to talk to Wayne here.”
“Did you call him to see if Sally was healed?”
“Yes, I did. I didn’t see any harm in it. Now are you through throwing your little fit?”
Sam shut his door, hard.
Frank took his hand from the mouthpiece. “Hey, Wayne. Sam just wanted me to tell you hi. So, uh, how are things this morning?”
Wayne was so excited, Frank could barely make out what he was saying.
“What?…You’re kidding! What are the doctors saying?…She’s out of bed and walking? When did this happen?…What time last night?…Oh, my. Wayne, that’s wonderful. Are they gonna run some more tests?…Of course, you know we’ll be praying…. Sure, I’ll tell Sam. It’ll be my pleasure. I’ll let all the church know.”
Frank hung up the phone.
Well, I’ll be, he thought. “Sam! Sam! You’ll never believe it.”
By noon that day, the news of Sally’s healing had spread all over town. Bob Miles at the Herald pulled his headline about the death of Dale’s chickens and ran a two-inch headline about Sally’s healing. Bob wanted to leave himself some wiggle room just in case it wasn’t true, so he wrote Church Claims Supposed Miracle.
Sam got in his car and drove to the city to the hospital to see for himself. He found Wayne and Sally in her room. Sally was sitting up in bed, smiling. Wayne was sitting behind her, rubbing her back.
She grinned when Sam walked in the room. “Hi, Sam,” she said, her voice strong.
Wayne looked dazed. “It happened last night,” he said. “I was sitting right there.” He pointed to the chair next to the bed. “It was a little before eight o’clock. I had fallen off to sleep and all of a sudden I opened my eyes and there was Sally, sitting on the edge of her bed saying she was hungry.” He hugged Sally to him. “Didn’t you, honey?”
Sally nodded. “I was lying in bed and my body started tingling all over, and after about five minutes I felt like my old self.” She began to cry. Tears were streaming down her face.
“What are the doctors saying?” Sam asked.
“They’ve been drawing blood and running tests all day,” Wayne said. “The only thing they’ll tell us right now is that her numbers have taken a turn for the better.”
“Well, let’s just take it a day at a time,” Sam said. “Let’s wait and see what tomorrow brings.”
Wayne looked at Sam. “No, Sam, it’s over. It’s finished. Sally’s healed. God healed her. Bea called and told us about that faith healer she watches and what he said on TV last night. And that ain’t all of it. This past Sunday morning, I was sitting here in my chair and I heard a voice saying I’d see a miracle. That’s all the voice said—You will see a miracle. It said it three times, just as clear as you’re hearing my voice.”
Sam reached for a chair to steady himself. Oh, Lord, why would you use Johnny LaCosta? Of all the people you could have used, why did you use him?
“I’m awfully glad for you both,” he said.
They talked a while longer, then Sam excused himself and drove back to Harmony. He got home in time for supper, then helped Barbara with the dishes. A little before seven, he kissed his boys good night and walked the three blocks to the meetinghouse for the monthly elders meeting.
It was a short meeting. Dale Hinshaw was absent with a head cold, for which Sam silently gave thanks. Miriam Hodge dispensed with the old business and breezed through the new business in record time. Then they talked about Sally’s apparent healing, except for Sam who sat in his chair brooding, not paying attention. He heard his name mentioned.
“Huh? What?” he said.
“I was just asking if you could close our meeting with a prayer,” Miriam said.
Sam prayed, thanking God for His loving-kindness. He wasn’t about to thank God for the Reverend Johnny LaCosta, so he kept quiet about Sally.
He finished praying, and the elders left, except for Miriam. She scooted two chairs down the table toward Sam. It was just the two of them.
“Are you not feeling well?” she asked.
“Oh, I’m feeling fine. Just a little scatterbrained, that’s all.”
“Did you happen to see Johnny LaCosta last night?”
“I don’t make it a habit of watching him.”
“I don’t either. But Bea has been after me to watch it, so Ellis and I turned it on last night. We were quite surprised to see him mention Sally.”
Sam didn’t say anything.
“Sam, do you believe she’s been healed?”
“Who knows?”
“You went to see her today. I called the meetinghouse, and Frank told me you had gone to be with her and Wayne. How was she?”
“She was…she seemed to be doing okay.”
“You don’t seem too pleased about that.”
“I’m reserving judgment. So far we have only the word of a television huckster that she’s healed.”
“You seem annoyed that she could be healed. What would be wrong with God using Johnny LaCosta to heal Sally?”
Sam sputtered. “First, God didn’t use Johnny LaCosta to heal Sally. God doesn’t use people like that.”
“How do you know?”
“I just know, that’s how.”
“I think God can use anyone.”
“You’re entitled to your opinion.”
“Sam Gardner, you are a mystery to me.”
“How’s that?”
“Not six months ago you sat at this very table and told the elders how discouraged you were that God never seemed to do anything. Now it appears He might have done something, and you’re mad about it.”
“That’s not so.”
“Forgive my impertinence, but I think it is. And what upsets you more than anything is that God might have used someone you don’t care for.”
Sam didn’t say anything.
“I won’t belabor the point,” Miriam said. “But if God chose to heal Sally through this television preacher, shouldn’t we be grateful? Would you have liked it better if God hadn’t healed her?”
“Of course not.”
“Then let’s give thanks, Sam. It appears we might have a healing on our hands.” She smiled.
Sam smiled back. “I still think he’s a bozo.”
“So do I. But apparently God uses bozos too.”
They laughed.
“Besides, Sam, Johnny LaCosta wasn’t the only one praying for Sally. We had this church praying twenty-four hours a day. The Catholics were praying, and the Baptists. Fern and Bea and the Friendly Women and even Dale were praying for her all along. And let’s not forget that a lot of doctors were working to make Sally better.”
“That’s right. It probably wasn’t Johnny LaCosta after all.”
“We’ll never know, Sam, will we?”
“I guess not.”
“Which means we shouldn’t despise the prayers of any one person, should we?”
Sam didn’t say anything.
Miriam gathered up her papers and rose from her chair. “You take care, Sam.”
“You do the same, Miriam.” He paused. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Sam.”
He sat at the folding table in the basement, pondering what Miriam had said. How he’d been discouraged when God didn’t seem to be working, then when God did do something it made him mad. It occurred to Sam that he wasn’t an easy man to please.
Upstairs, the Frieda Hampton Memorial Clock bonged nine times. He rose from his chair, rinsed his coffee cup out in the kitchen sink, turned off the church lights, and walked down Main Street toward home.
Over at the Legal Grounds, Deena Morrison was turning the sign from Yes, We’re Open to Sorry, We’re Closed. She waved through the glass at Sam as he passed. He smiled and waved back.
&nb
sp; She cracked open the door. “Have you heard the news about Sally?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t God good,” Deena said. It was a declaration, not a question.
Sam smiled and nodded his head in agreement.
God is good, he thought. Bewildering, but good.
Acknowledgments
I am indebted to the good people at HarperSanFrancisco for valuing truth above conformity. Their open minds and gracious hearts are deep refreshment.
In addition to writing,
Philip Gulley also enjoys the ministry of speaking.
If you would like more information,
please contact:
David Leonards
3612 North Washington Boulevard
Indianapolis, Indiana 46205-3592
317-926-7566
[email protected]
If you would like to correspond directly with
Philip Gulley,
please send mail to:
Philip Gulley
c/o HarperSanFrancisco
353 Sacramento Street
Suite 500
San Francisco, CA 94111
About the Author
PHILIP GULLEY is a Quaker minister, writer, husband, and father. He is the bestselling author of Front Porch Tales and the acclaimed Harmony series, as well as If Grace Is True and If God Is Love, coauthored with James Mulholland. He and his wife, Joan, live in Indiana with their sons, Spencer and Sam. You can visit his website at www.philipgulleybooks.com.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
Glorious praise for
PHILIP GULLEY’s
beloved HARMONY novels
“Who can resist another invitation to this remarkable author’s domain of dear hearts and gentle people?”
Paul Harvey Jr.
Just Shy of Harmony Page 19