Argosy Junction

by Chautona Havig

  Tad slipped from the room and found Lane at the computer. She barely glanced at him as she clicked through the process of purchasing a laptop, travel bag, and airline tickets to Tulsa. “I decided that if we’re going to do this, I need a way to keep in touch with everyone. Got our tickets too.”

  “Are you sure you want to?” Lane hadn’t been as eager to accept invitations to perform as Tad had been. To Tad, it was a chance to see the world, or at least a little of the country, but Lane wanted nothing more than to be home nursing her heart.

  “I can’t stay here and watch this. It’s spiritual suicide. You wanted to go, so I accepted four of the offers. I turned down the midweek ones and left open every other weekend so we’re busy for the next two months, but it’s not going to be all that overwhelming.”

  Tad clicked through his emails and pulled up one of Matt’s. Lane rubbed her temple as she read, her other hand unconsciously twirling a strand of hair around her index finger. “Recording, huh. I think that’s a bit premature.”

  “He says you can rent studios and do a print-on-demand thing for CDs. For the engagement party, that wouldn’t be something we’d want, but two of those places offered us a booth as a perk.”

  She whirled on the desk chair. “Did it occur to you that maybe I can’t handle going to Rockland again anytime soon? I’m barely able to read and reply to his emails. It’s over. Do you get that? Over. He wants someone I can’t be, and I hate what he wants. I’m not going there.”

  Her spunk was returning. Tad, as unhappy as it made him to see her hurt, was thrilled to see her strength and personality resurfacing. “Hey. Did it occur to you that places like Tulsa and Chicago might just have recording studios as well? Maybe even Spokane. I just thought it was a good idea.”

  ~*~*~*~

  Matt read the email with mixed feelings. They were going to Tulsa, Chicago, San Antonio, and Bakersfield. One was an engagement party, one a rodeo, but two were conventions similar to the one in Rockland. Perhaps they’d be back. Her emails would be even fewer and farther between.

  To: lanesywoolsey@letterbox.com

  From: mattrushby@letterbox.com

  Subject: Can I have your autograph?

  Lane,

  Who knew five songs and an encore would launch a new career? I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourselves. Maybe since you won’t be home to write me, you’ll send a post card.

  My mother asked how to write yours, so I gave her your father’s email address. I hope that’s all right. I didn’t know what to do about it. I think she’s figured out that something is wrong, so I guess I’ll have to talk to her.

  Hope says to tell you hello and that Kirky misses Tad, whatever that means. Be sure to ask Patience about the funny homeless woman I met the other day. I think you’ll enjoy the story.

  It’s late, and I’m still cramming for my final. Taking off all that time when you were here was great, but it sure put me behind in my class. It’s good though, it keeps my mind busy.

  Is it ok to say I miss you?

  Matt

  ~*~*~*~

  Warren slipped into the church as he heard the final amen. There was usually a few moments of silence before the men led their families into the fellowship hall. He’d worked carefully to time this perfectly. Pete Gideon’s eyes met his. Warren squared his shoulders and rose. An audible gasp echoed against the walls as everyone waited anxiously to see what Warren Argosy had to say.

  An eager light in Josiah Gideon’s eyes saddened Warren. The eagerness wasn’t because he hoped for genuine repentance. Josiah clearly wanted to see Warren abased.

  Warren stepped in front of the pulpit. “I would like to speak to the men, if I may. I have a confession to make.”

  These were the only words necessary to affect the response Warren desired. Women and children spilled from the room in hushed silence. Once the doors shut behind them, Frank Gideon stood and moved to the front pew closest to Warren. “Go ahead. We’re listening.”

  “I owe every man in this room a personal apology. I sinned against this body of believers in ways that it shames me to recollect. I am asking forgiveness.”

  Frank nodded and half rose in his seat, but Warren continued. “I allowed my pride, my self-righteousness, and my influence in this town and this church to poison our church against the rest of the body of Christ. My actions have hardened the hearts of men, women, and children.”

  The eyes of the men around him had softened somewhat but now hardened again. The incredulous looks on the faces of a few now gloated. Warren swallowed hard, but forced himself to continue. “I betrayed my wife. I exasperated my children. I did not speak the truth in love or in any other fashion. I did not bear my brother, Frank Gideon’s, burden, but rather, I added to it. Frank, please forgive me.”

  For a moment, Warren actually thought he saw something soften in Frank’s face. Pete Gideon stood, however, and ordered Warren from the building. “You cannot come in this room and attack us with backhanded accusations veiled as apologies. Your so-called request for forgiveness is an insult to the commandments of the Lord. Would you really have us forgive you for years of faithful service to the Lord and pity you for your rejection of Almighty God?”

  Warren felt a wave of compassion that he’d not expected to feel for the men who had pained his family so greatly. He nodded his agreement to go and started back down the aisle. At Frank’s side, he placed his hand on the man’s shoulder and said, “Frank, I do ask forgiveness. You needed us to help you through a rough patch in your life, and instead, I demanded that you fight another battle without rest. I am so deeply sorry. Even Jesus took time to rest.”

  Enraged, Josiah Gideon stood and ordered Warren from the room, demanding that he keep silent, but Warren, with a calm strength he didn’t know he possessed, continued down the aisle, asking direct forgiveness for specific offenses of each man he could touch. Pete followed to ensure that he left the building, but James Bryson stood as Warren reached him.

  “I forgive you, Warren.”

  “I was so wrong—so full of pride and arrogance. I cannot imagine the pain I put you and your family through.”

  “Out, out, out!” cried the enraged Gideon sons.

  Frank Gideon didn’t move. James Bryson followed Warren to the door, but Pete called him back to them. “If you leave this room with him, James, you will be placed under church discipline as well.”

  “For showing forgiveness and forbearance to a broken man?”’

  “For encouraging a man to mock the church!” Josiah bellowed. This man—”

  Frank Gideon stood. He placed his hand on his son’s shoulder effectively silencing the man for a moment. “I forgive you, Warren.”

  “Dad!”

  Frank walked down the aisle to shake hands with the man who had been his best friend for over twenty years before his “apostasy.” Josiah and Pete stared at one another in horror. A few other men shifted in their seats as though uncertain how to react. The room buzzed with murmurs and excited voices.

  At the back doors, Frank turned to address the room. “Twenty years ago, I asked for a month off of duty. I was struggling spiritually. Rather than receive the support I needed, this body—and it wasn’t just you Warren—threatened me with church discipline if I didn’t continue. I, against my wife’s pleadings and my own better sense, caved into peer pressure, but I grew hard. I taught my sons to be hard. I gloated when we dis-fellowshipped the Argosy family, and today I am ashamed. He showed more strength and Christian love in asking our forgiveness than I’ve seen shown within the Brethren for the past twenty years.”

  Without another word, the three men left the building. They stood, on the front steps staring at one another as if to say, “Now what?” The door opened and four other men joined them. Angry voices escaped as the door slowly closed.

  James Bryson looked at the men around him and said, “Did I really just tell the Brethren to buzz off?”

  Frank Gideon snickered. “Well, not in so many words, but—”


  “Know where I can buy a TV in this town?”

  The collective eyes of the group around James Bryson widened in surprise and then narrowed in confusion as he laughed. “I’m just joking! Man, we’ve lost our senses of humor.”

  ~*~*~*~

  A week later, a delivery truck bounced along the dirt road to the Bryson home. Nestled against the other side of the ridge that backed the Argosy ranch, the Brysons enjoyed the advantages of ranch life without the work. James drove a big rig five days a week between Spokane and Helena.

  Susan Bryson watched in confusion as the driver wheeled a large television box on a dolly up the walkway to the front door. He handed her an envelope and asked her to sign for the box. She watched him drive away as she slit open the envelope and read the short note. “The real question is; do you have anything to watch on it?”

  Nineteen

  To: mattrushby@letterbox.com

  From: impatience@argosyranch.com

  Subject: It’s me.

  Dear Matt,

  I still miss you. Daddy said to always tell people that you miss them because otherwise they don’t know that they are important to you. He was talking about Lane and Tad because they are in Chicago this week, but I miss you too so I should tell you.

  Why doesn’t Lane like you sometimes now? I know she doesn’t because sometimes when someone says your name she gets very nice and won’t joke about you. Other times she calls you a pest or a sheep in wolf’s clothing. I don’t know why she says it that way. Daddy says it the other way around. I think one of them doesn’t understand the saying. I don’t either, but I’m just a kid, and I don’t have to understand it. People just assume you do unless you look confused so I pretend I don’t think it is funny and usually that works. Shh. Don’t tell anyone. If they think I don’t understand, they try to explain it and that is boring.

  Boozer had puppies. It is my job to hold them a lot. I thought Tad was just making up stuff so I could feel important, but he showed me in his breeding manual about how puppies need lots of holding so that they are comfortable with people. He says it is even more important with kittens, but I don’t believe him. No one bothers to play with the kitties in the barns except for me.

  Tad and Lane get home tomorrow. I can’t wait. Their CDs came and we listened. They are good. I am sending one tomorrow so you can hear them too.

  Daddy went to church. He talked to the men and said he was sorry for getting mad at God and something about being himself and right for us. I don’t think he should apologize for that. I think it is good that he is right for us, but Daddy is usually right so I didn’t argue too much. It made Lane very mad. I heard her crying later. I think she misses you. Can’t you come live with us now? It is your turn.

  Daddy says it is bedtime so I have to go. Say hi to Aunt Carol and Uncle Jake for me!

  Patience—without an IM. 

  “Himself and right for us. Self-righteous. Oh, I miss you, Patience,” Matt murmured as he read the email. The words swirled on the screen. All hope of completing his assignment on comparisons between Joseph and Moses was gone once the world of the Argosy Ranch filled his room. Lane’s email mocked him from the inbox.

  He understood her latest emails now. They varied from nice and polite to sarcastic and dark. He’d not known how to take things, but now he did. With a resolute heart, he opened the next email.

  To: mattrushby@letterbox.com

  From: lanesywoolsy@letterbox.com

  Subject: Entangled hearts

  Matt,

  Guess what? Tad met someone! I am having the time of my life teasing him. He keeps trying to act like it is no big deal, but she emails twice a day. He met her in Bakersfield two weeks ago at that engagement party. They went for coffee afterward. Can you believe my brother had coffee with a girl that he wasn’t set up with? Oh, if only Kirky would be jealous. It would make life a lot more interesting.

  By the way, I cannot believe that I still have the crazy name that you gave me. I mean, any self-respecting girl would change her email address to something other than “Lanesy Woolsey.” I was thinking of something more attractive and alluring like, Venus de Alto or Montana Babe or something. Even Kirky’s “Mighty Aphrodite” is more interesting and exotic sounding, but I have to admit it is a bit frightening. Somehow it reminds me of those terrifying Swedish Viking opera singers with the horns on their heads and big beefy— Well, you get my meaning. But no, here I sit typing under the account of a twist on an archaic fabric term. Which, by the way, how did you know about linsey-woolsey anyway?

  The concert tonight was a success. I cannot believe we are doing this. It is such a strange feeling to get paid to joke with my brother and sing. We fly everywhere, and when we get home, we’ll have CDs waiting for us. Patience is so excited. Mom says we can take her on our next trip. We’re going to Branson to some kind of thing at Silver Dollar City. I don’t know much about it. Jude has become quite the manager. I go home and he has the best offers, at the most interesting places with the nicest accommodations all picked out, he has letters of acceptance and rejection written, and all we have to do is just approve and send. I don’t even do that anymore. Jude does it all.

  It has been almost two months, and I haven’t told you about the biggest change in our lives. I’m sure Tad, Dad, or Patience has, but I don’t know what they’ve said. You know, of course, that Dad is trying to “make his peace” with God. This has made me think about my situation and how I feel about it all. Unfortunately, you know exactly where I stand. I feel so lost and alone.

  Our family has regained some of its former status in the community already. Nine families have left the Brethren. Of course, with thirty more families still there, it was a significant loss, but not a devastating one. If I prayed anymore, I’d beg God to splinter the group that is left so that pack of wolves couldn’t do any more damage.

  The hard part of it all is that Frank Gideon left, but Josiah and Pete stayed. Frank’s married daughter Bethany and her husband Mike left though. They all lived at the compound where you stayed. Right now, it is a disaster. Josiah and Pete have to live and interact with those they have dis-fellowshiped. Frank has to show love and forbearance to the sons who have disowned him. I cannot believe that the God who made us to need each other so much condones this.

  I think I’ve decided that I believe in God the Creator. I believe that He does love me and cares about all of us. I just think that in our desire to make God like us, we created the whole Jesus thing and the Bible so that we can define God on terms we can understand. Sort of like how the Romans and Greeks did it, only not quite so ridiculous. It’s the only way any of it makes sense.

  But, as I said, the good thing about it all is that I can go into a restaurant and be served, buy gas without having to use the ATM thing at the pump, and even those still in the Brethren are more cordial than they were. I expect another ten families to leave before Christmas. If nothing else, the allure of actually celebrating it might draw out the people with little children.

  Well, our flight leaves at seven so I only have a few hours to get some sleep. I just felt bad that I hadn’t answered your last few emails.

  Tad suggested we get an Instant Messenger thing so that we can all talk on trips like this. I’ll look into it when I have time. If you already have one, let us know what it is so we get the same one. I think he said it has to be the same.

  Anxious to get home,

  Lane

  It was the first time Lane had opened up about the Brethren, her father, and her feelings about God since she’d left Rockland. He almost didn’t respond. He could write an interesting email without possibly irritating her, but he knew it would never do.

  Another glance at the email taunted him. He had to write it now before he lost the thoughts that assaulted him as he reread the words. He knew how to respond. He had to try.

  To:lanesywoolsey@letterbox.com

  From: mattrushby@letterbox.com

  Subject: Mighty Aphrodite?
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  Laney,

  You have got to be kidding me. Where ever did Kirky get the title Mighty Aphrodite? That is just ridiculous. Besides, I think it’s a bar in Fairbury! I do have a few suggestions if you insist on changing. There is always “Little No Sheep “or “Sheepless shepherdess.” I have other ideas, but I doubt you’d like to hear them.

  Branson eh? Boy, first Bakersfield, then San Antonio, now Branson. You two will be the toast of Nashville before long. Please promise me that you won’t cut your hair in weird ways and tease it within an inch of its life. Oh, and no rhinestones or fringy clothes; just stay Lane. You’re perfect as you are.

  Tad told me about Whitney. Of course, he doesn’t realize that, but he did mention her, casually of course, about thirty times in the last email. Do you like her?

  Patience told me a little about the church thing. Your Dad hasn’t written much about it except to say that he did ask forgiveness for his mistakes and that it went better than he expected.

  Lane, I wonder if you have ever read the Gospels without your Brethren filters on? Have you ever just read what Jesus said? You see, my problem is that I want to find common ground with you, and I think we have a lot of it, but I think you have a hard time seeing things without Brethren colored glasses.

  So can we start where we know we agree? I want to pretend that this is only important to me because it is about the Lord, but we both know that is a lie. I haven’t seen you in three months and I miss you. I try to be careful with what I say. Our friendship is more important to me than proving my point. But, your relationship with the Lord is more important than my friendship with you. I know that in my head. My heart screams for me to leave it alone before you shut me out of your life permanently. So, I write what is in my head to you and what is in my heart fills the drawer beside my bed.