by Ann B. Ross
“Oh, no’m, I’m just trying to get myself together.” She rubbed her eyes and yawned. “I better brush my teeth.” Then she went into the bathroom and turned on the water.
Plainly, this was not working. I waited for her to return, but she went into her newly constructed dressing room and began to slide clothes hangers around. “I can’t ever decide what to wear this time of year,” she called. “It’s too warm for anything heavy, and too late for summer things.”
“You need some transitional outfits,” I called back. “Something that’ll do for this in-between weather.”
“Oh, good. I can go shopping.” She gave a light laugh, but didn’t reappear in the bedroom.
I waited while she put on a blouse and skirt, hoping that she’d exercise some speed so that I’d have time to bring up the matter that was weighing so heavily on me.
“Hazel Marie, as soon as you’re ready, I need to talk to you.” Maybe that would light a fire under her.
“Ma’am? Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”
“I said . . .” But by that time she was back in the bathroom, running the hair dryer, so I gave up. Raising my voice over the racket, I called, “I’ll meet you downstairs.”
We slid into the pew, taking our places between Sam and Little Lloyd just as Pastor Ledbetter entered the sanctuary behind the choir on their procession down the center aisle. Sam held the hymn book out for me, and I began mumbling the words. As we sat down, he raised his eyebrows and cocked his head toward Hazel Marie. I shook mine and whispered, “I couldn’t tell her. She was too busy getting ready.”
He leaned close and whispered back, “Just as well, because I’m having second thoughts about telling her at all.”
I frowned at him, but it was neither the time nor the place to raise questions. Pastor Ledbetter had started the service, and I had to appear to pay attention.
The thought of our impending peril was enough to keep my mind far from the pastor’s preaching, but gradually I began to notice something else going on in the congregation. I caught LuAnne Conover’s eye from her place across the aisle, as she smiled at me in a curiously knowing way. Then when we stood for another hymn, Helen Stroud leaned from the pew in front of us and whispered, “We’re all praying for you.”
Then, bless Pat, if I didn’t notice two other women nodding and smiling directly at me in what I took to be an encouraging way, and Margaret Easley, who was sitting behind us, patted my shoulder as one of the deacons started the collection plate down our row.
Something was going on, and all I could think of was that Brother Vern had started his tell-all campaign already. Lord, surely not this soon. Why, he’d not given us time to refute his claims, or do any tests, or threaten a lawsuit, or anything.
I bowed my head, hoping that they’d all assume I was in a state of prayer. I was, but I was also trying to hold myself together. All I wanted to do was get out of there and be safe in my own home, along with Hazel Marie and Little Lloyd, and Sam, of course, far from whispers and knowing glances. We just had to put the brakes on that meddling snake-oil preacher, and if it meant digging up Wesley Lloyd Springer, I was about ready for a shovel.
Before I married Sam, it had been my custom to bypass the bottleneck in the vestibule when the service was over and slip out the side door. I felt no need to shake the pastor’s hand just to let him know I’d been in attendance or to tell him I’d enjoyed his sermon, when nine times out of ten, I hadn’t. And on that subject, a sermon that had the fires of hell as its topic wasn’t all that pleasant to contemplate in the first place, although any number of people will go out of their way to tell the pastor they’d gotten enjoyment from it.
But the days of evading the press at the main door were over, for I’d married a gregarious man who liked nothing better than to greet and socialize with everybody he met. So, we shuffled along with the crowd toward the pastor in his black robe who stood at the door, smiling as he accepted accolades for his performance. And, wouldn’t you know, but just as we drew near, Adelaide Simpson, who’d crippled a dozen people in the line with her walker, held up everything to tell the pastor the latest on her pool-playing son who never visited her.
I wanted to pinch her and tell her to make an appointment if she needed counseling, but my attention was diverted by Sarah Manning, who whispered, “We’re all with you, Miss Julia.”
Before I could respond, the crowd separated us, and I had no opportunity to ask her what they were with me in. But her comment shook me, because the only thing I was in was trouble with Brother Vernon Puckett, and nobody was supposed to know about that.
When finally we were able to approach Pastor Ledbetter, he reached past me to shake Sam’s hand, in spite of the fact that mine was extended in plain sight. I withdrew my hand and moved on out the door.
“Oh, Miss Julia,” the pastor said, just as I thought I was on my way. “I’d like to have a little chat with you. Would you be available this afternoon?”
It took me a moment to gather my wits, for every previous time that the pastor had wanted a little chat, it had been to correct and admonish me. And on this day I was in no mood to subject myself to such a session again.
I glanced at Sam, whose eyebrows were slightly raised, indicating that he was at a loss, too. “Sam and I will be home all afternoon,” I said, trying to be hospitable. “You can drop by any time that’s convenient with you.”
“If it’s all the same to you,” he said, meaning that it didn’t much matter whether it was or not, “it would be better to discuss this in my office. About three o’clock? And, Sam, if you don’t mind, this is something between Miss Julia and me.” He smiled his ingratiating smile, and went on, “I’m sure she’ll confide in you, and have the benefit of your advice and good sense.”
I drew in my breath sharply, about to announce in no uncertain terms that I could count on my own personal good sense. But we were overtaken by the crush of people anxious to get home to their Sunday dinner, and out the door we went. I took Sam’s arm as we started down the sidewalk, holding it tightly as I fumed over the pastor’s words.
“Wonder what that’s about?” Sam mused, guiding me around a root that had penetrated the sidewalk.
“There’s only one thing he could possibly want to talk to me about, and that’s Brother Vern and his fairy tale of Little Lloyd’s ill-gotten gains.” And with that thought, I stepped out right smartly, already preparing myself to do battle with another man who had done his level best once before to grab a share of the Springer estate. Even then Pastor Ledbetter had raised questions about Little Lloyd’s paternity, asking how I could be sure that Hazel Marie wasn’t playing me for a fool. And all because at some point, and for some unknown reason, Wesley Lloyd had hinted around to the pastor that he planned to make the church his primary beneficiary, with a lifetime trust for me. Which meant that I would’ve been a supplicant to Pastor Ledbetter and his faithful session for my livelihood.
The best thing Wesley Lloyd had done, although it hadn’t seemed that way at the time, was scribbling out that last-minute last will and testament, leaving everything to the child he knew to be his own. He’d cut out both me and the church, but since the church wasn’t his widow and I was, I got what was coming to me anyway. Namely, half.
And I intended to hold on to it, while keeping the other half safe for Little Lloyd and out of the hands of the likes of Brother Vernon Puckett and Pastor Larry Ledbetter.
Chapter 6
“I’ve a good mind not to go,” I said, glancing at my watch as it neared three o’clock. Sam and I had been enjoying our day of rest, sharing the Sunday paper in the living room, while Hazel Marie and Little Lloyd were off somewhere with Mr. Pickens.
Sam grinned, looking at me over the paper that he read from one end to the other. “You defying the preacher now?”
“He needs defying. The idea, wanting to talk to me but not to you. I think I resent that.”
“Now, Julia, you’d be even more up in arms if he insisted that I c
ome along, when he really wanted to talk to you.”
“Well, tell me this, what does he have to say that’s so secretive that it can’t be discussed right here? He just wants to have the trappings of authority that his office gives him. I know him. He’s either going to try to correct me about something or talk me into doing something. And I am not going to direct the Christmas pageant this year, I don’t care what he says.”
Sam laughed. “Tell him you’re too busy with me to take on anything else.”
“Oh, you,” I said, smoothing my hair in front of the Chippendale mirror over the butler’s desk. “Well, tell me this, what am I going to say if he brings up Brother Vern?”
Sam lowered the paper again, letting it rest on his lap. “Don’t discuss it with him. Just smile and tell him that I’m taking care of it. Plead ignorance, then get up and come home.”
“I hope I can do that,” I said, turning away from the mirror, having done all I could to make myself presentable. “But he always draws me into an argument, in spite of my good intentions. Oh, Sam, what if he already knows everything that Brother Vern is saying? What if he intends to accuse Hazel Marie of immoral activities? Or go after Little Lloyd’s inheritance, like he did once before?”
“Julia,” Sam said, reaching for my hand, “let’s don’t put the cart before the horse. I doubt Ledbetter knows anything about Brother Puckett. And if he does, you come get me.”
“Well, all right,” I said, taking a deep breath, “but you better not go off anywhere. I want you here where I can find you.”
And with that, I took my pocketbook and started out for the church across the street.
Entering through the backdoor that the pastor had left unlocked for me, I walked down the short hall that led into the Fellowship Hall under the sanctuary. I tried to tiptoe along, fearful of breaking the unnatural quiet of the building.
I kept looking over and around my shoulder, slightly spooked by the heavy silence. In spite of the bright afternoon outside, the shadows in the dimly lit Fellowship Hall made me scurry along toward the pastor’s office, my Naturalizer heels tapping on the tile floor.
“Pastor Ledbetter?” I called, not wanting to sneak up on him and scare him half to death.
As I rounded the corner that led to his office, I could see a light coming from Norma Cantrell’s center of command. The only good thing about coming in on a Sunday afternoon was the fact that I wouldn’t have to deal with the pastor’s arrogant secretary.
I raised my hand to knock on the open door just as Pastor Ledbetter appeared there. “Miss Julia, come on in. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“I’m right on time,” I reminded him. “So you couldn’t have been waiting long.”
“No, no,” he said, giving me a welcoming smile that was much too hearty for the little chat he’d promised me. “I didn’t mean that at all. I came early to work on a sermon or two. Come in, have a seat.” He waved his hand at one of the two damask-covered wing chairs in front of his desk.
I took a seat and rested my pocketbook on my lap. Looking around at the paneled walls, built-in bookcases, and plush carpeting that needed vacuuming every day of the week, I couldn’t help but think again of what it all had cost. Take that paneling, for instance, it wasn’t your inexpensive Home Depot laminated boards. It was the real thing, and better than what was in the homes of nine-tenths of his congregation.
I happened to have seen the budget expenditures for the refurbishing of this office to the pastor’s specifications, and I’m here to tell you, the thought of it made my blood boil every time I was reminded of it.
Pastor Ledbetter surprised me by taking the other wing chair rather than going behind the desk to his executive chair. That new tactic put my guard up even more, as I figured he’d been reading some article on the new trends in pastoral counseling techniques.
“Now, Miss Julia,” he said, steepling his fingers and bringing them toward his mouth. “There’s a little matter that’s recently come up, and I thought the best way to deal with it is for you and I to come to terms. Privately, that is, before it gets out of hand.”
Well, right there, I felt a shiver sweep through my system. It sounded as if Brother Vern had gotten to him, and I could’ve put my head down and cried. Over and above that, his oh so genteel use of the term for you and I made my skin crawl.
“If anything’s about to get out of hand, Pastor,” I said tightly, though slightly untruthfully, “I don’t know one thing about it.”
“I’m sure that’s true. At least, I’ve been assured that you’re not in on it.” He stopped tapping his fingers against his chin, and gazed directly at me. “But it has to do with you, and that’s why you’re the one to stop it before it gets too far along.”
What in the world did he want me to do? I had no control over Brother Vernon Puckett, although if I had any, I wouldn’t hesitate to use it. But if the pastor expected me to disown Hazel Marie and Little Lloyd before the gossip got going good, he was going to have to keep on expecting.
By this time, my back had gotten so stiff, I knew I’d have trouble getting out of the chair. Gazing right back at him, I said, “How am I going to stop what I don’t know anything about? And if you think that I should talk to Hazel Marie, well, I’m going to do that already. And that’s all I’m going to do. Sam’ll take care of the rest.”
He frowned. “What rest?”
“Why, you know. If it comes to providing legal advice, Sam’ll take care of that.”
He sprang from his chair, a look of sheer amazement on his face. “My goodness gracious alive, Miss Julia, we don’t want it to go that far! There’s no call for Christians to be suing each other. No, no. Why, it would fracture the church and damage our witness beyond repair.” He began to pace the plush carpet, making a path of tracks all across it.
He came to a stop and looked off in the distance. “But maybe you should talk to Hazel Marie. She may be able to help, even though as far as I know she’s not involved.”
“Not involved! Why, Pastor, if she’s not involved, I don’t know who is.”
“I expect they thought she was too close to you to keep it a secret.”
“Well, I admit she’s not the best person to confide in if you want something kept quiet. She doesn’t mean to tell, it just comes out before she knows it. But, Pastor, she has to be told sooner or later, since she’ll suffer so much from it.”
Pastor Ledbetter looked at me as if I’d been speaking in tongues, something he wouldn’t tolerate in any shape or form. “She’ll suffer? No more than any other member of the church, which is why all you have to do is say no, and stop this divisive movement in its tracks.”
“Then we’re in agreement, Pastor. And you can’t possibly want to stop it any more than I do. But as far as it being divisive, what in the world does the church have to do with it? I mean, this only concerns me, Hazel Marie, and Little Lloyd, so I’ll thank you to keep the church out of it.”
I thought his eyes would pop out of his head. “How can the church stay out of it? It will change everything! In fact, nothing’s been the same since that petition landed on my desk.”
I sank back against the chair, finally realizing that the pastor and I were talking at cross purposes. And not for the first time, either.
Blowing out my breath, I asked with some relief, “What petition?”
He turned and walked back across the room, running his hand through his hair in agitation. He needed to stop that little habit, since his hair was becoming noticeably thinner.
Then he looked up and began to tell me what I already knew. “Miss Julia, you know what turmoil the Presbyterian Church, U.S.—what was once called the Southern Presbyterian Church, or the PCUS—has gone through ever since the Northern Presbyterians took us over. Now, in spite of my efforts to lead this congregation to higher ground, we’re a part of the PCUSA.”
“Lord, yes, and I never could keep them straight. I’m never sure which set of initials we belong to now.”
“Yes, I remember. You didn’t think that women should be elders or deacons, because that meant they’d have to speak up in church, which Paul advised against, and because they were likely to disagree with the way men have run the church for, lo, these many years.”
“Well,” he said, stiffening and nodding sharply, “yes. But it’s not just what I think. My stance is based upon the clear Scriptural teachings that a woman should not be permitted to usurp authority over a man. And, furthermore, we are told that a deacon should be the husband of one woman. It can’t get any plainer than that. Deacons are supposed to be men.”
I kept my peace, even though the issue was elders, not deacons.
He rubbed his hand over his face, then calmed himself down. “But you’ll remember that a number of our southern churches pulled out of the merger and either formed another Presbyterian denomination or petitioned to join an established conservative denomination rather than permit women to have positions of authority.”
“Yes, and I remember that you wanted to do the same, but you couldn’t get the votes to let you do it.”
He bowed his head in tacit agreement, but his hands tightened on the back of the chair. “True, I did want to lead our church out. But when the vote failed, I felt that we could remain in the merger and simply ignore the more egregious rulings of the General Assembly. I thought that this congregation would follow my leading, in spite of what was dictated, and keep women out of our session and diaconate. And it has, right up to this point. And that’s where you come in.”
Chapter 7
“Pastor,” I said as strongly as I could, “if you’re asking me to support another vote to split this church asunder, you’ll have to look elsewhere, because I will not do it. If your conscience won’t let you stay in whatever initialed denomination we’re now in, then you should go, and go alone. But don’t try to take all or any part of the congregation with you. We’re happy where we are, and as long as the new General Assembly doesn’t bother us, we won’t bother it.”
