Signs and Wonders

by Philip Gulley

  That was two years ago and now the contract was largely forgotten, except when someone needed Sam to watch their pets, which is how he found himself at Dale’s house the next day, opening a can of 9 Lives and spooning it into a bowl.

  He was washing the spoon when the phone rang. It rang six times before he heard the answering machine click on in the living room. He walked in to listen. He heard the whir of tape, then a woman’s voice. “Yeah, this is Ingrid. I’m calling for Dale. He called about my whip act, I suppose. I charge five hundred dollars for a personal appearance, and if the cops bust us, you have to pay the fines.”

  Sam was disgusted, but not surprised. It was always the finger-pointers who had the secrets. For as long as Sam could remember, Dale had railed against anyone with the nerve to disagree with him on a matter of faith. Now his dirty secret was out, and Sam had proof.

  He opened the answering machine, took out the cassette tape and put it in his pocket. It really wasn’t stealing, he told himself. It was more a seizure of evidence. Besides, Sam had a congregation to protect. It said so in his contract, on the fifth page. “Pastor will be responsible for the spiritual well-being of the church members.”

  He had argued against it at the time. “How can I be responsible for your spiritual well-being? Isn’t that up to you?”

  Fern Hampton had cocked her head and stared at him. “Now, Sam, if we wanted to be responsible for our own spiritual well-being, why would we hire a minister? That’s what we pay you to do. It concerns me that you’re shirking your duties before you’ve even begun. Are you sure the Lord has called you to be a minister? I don’t see much evidence of spiritual maturity on your part.”

  Miriam Hodge had come to his defense. “How we can ask Sam to be in charge of our spiritual well-being? Although he might have an influence on our spiritual growth, aren’t we finally responsible for our own faith?”

  That led to a three-hour discussion on whether the pastor should be held accountable for the spiritual health of the church members.

  “The way I see it,” Dale Hinshaw had said, “is that if I commit a sin, but I don’t know it’s a sin because Sam never preached against it, then Sam should be the one who goes to hell, not me.”

  Everyone but Sam and Miriam had sided with Dale, which resulted in a line in the contract requiring Sam to post on the bulletin board a list of sins people shouldn’t commit.

  The good thing is that these people are rather conventional sinners with limited imaginations. It didn’t take Sam long to come up with a list of sins they might commit. Gossip, thoughts of lust, some cheating on taxes, a few fishing lies, and an occasional dalliance with Unitarianism while on vacation. Once, after Johnny Mackey’s car went missing, it appeared one of them was a car thief. But it turned out Johnny had loaned it to Ellis Hodge, and it had slipped his mind.

  But Dale Hinshaw consorting with Ingrid and her amazing whip was real sin. At the very least it was lust, maybe even adultery, both of which were listed on the bulletin board. Honest-to-goodness, genuine, old-fashioned sin. And Sam had him dead to rights. On tape!

  He wasn’t quite sure how to go about it, whether he should confront Dale gently, as advised by 2 Timothy 2:25, or come right out and smite him according to the book of Leviticus. By the time the Dale Hinshaws returned on Saturday, Sam had decided to preach a sermon against adultery, in hopes Dale might come to his senses, stop fraternizing with Ingrid and her amazing whip, and return to his wife of forty-one years with her sensible shoes and support hose.

  When they came into meeting that Sunday, Sam pulled Dolores Hinshaw aside for a private moment and asked how she was doing. She sniffed and dabbed her eyes. “There’s some people who say they’re Christians, but they aren’t. You trust them, but they let you down.” She sniffed again.

  Sam gave her a hug. “You needn’t say anything more. I know exactly what you mean.”

  He was livid to see the pain Dale had caused this fine woman. Sam had never been one to preach on sin, preferring to focus on more positive matters, such as love and forgiveness and everyone working together at the annual Chicken Noodle Dinner. But this was not a time for soft talk. This was a time for admonishment and rebuke.

  People were settling in for their customary naps, when Sam stood and began reading from the book of Leviticus, warning of death to adulterers; every now and then he raised his head to look at Dale, who appeared unconcerned over the pain he’d caused. By now, people were wide awake and wondering where Sam was headed.

  It was then Sam moved in for the coup de grâce, the stroke of mercy. He closed his Bible and pointed in the general direction of Dale. He softened his voice. “But even for the adulterer, there can be forgiveness, if he but humbly confesses his sin and seeks God’s pardon.” With that assurance, Sam sat down in the Quaker silence, waiting for Dale to come forward and throw himself on the mercy of the Lord. It would be a beautiful moment. Sam would lay his hand on Dale’s foul, sinful flesh and announce forgiveness, and maybe even return the tape.

  After several minutes, Sam looked up. Everyone was staring at him, wondering with whom he had committed adultery and when. He’d gone to a pastor’s conference the month before, or so he’d claimed. It must have been then. Now, consumed with guilt, he was ready to come clean. They weren’t surprised. It was always the finger-pointers who had the secrets.

  Fern Hampton was trying to recall which page of Sam’s contract forbade adultery. She knew it was in there. She had insisted on it. There was something about Sam, a smoothness about him she’d never trusted. She had told Opal Majors, “It’s the ones who preach about love that you got to keep an eye on. Next thing you know, they’re out hugging everyone, and you know what happens then. Give me a hellfire preacher any day of the week, that’s what I say.”

  Meanwhile, Sam sat behind the pulpit, waiting for Dale to say something. He wondered why he was taking so long, then worried that maybe he’d pressed him too hard. After all, despite what his contract says, you can’t be responsible for someone else’s spiritual well-being. Folks have to work out their own salvation. It was the Spirit’s job to convict Dale of his sin, not his. Sam had his own problems, his own sins to confess. Like the theft of Dale’s answering machine tape. He could feel the tape in his pants pocket. Maybe he shouldn’t have taken it. He felt guilty.

  Lord, why did I steal that tape? he said to himself. What was I thinking? As is often the case, Sam had become what he most despised—a finger-pointer.

  People were still watching him. “I’ve done something terribly wrong,” he said, in a quiet voice. He struggled to go on. “I can’t go into any details.” A few disappointed groans were heard. They’d been looking forward to the details. “But I ask God’s forgiveness and your forgiveness also.”

  No one spoke for the longest time. Finally, Miriam Hodge stood, went to Sam, hugged him, and said he was forgiven, which Fern Hampton thought was a bit hasty, but she kept quiet.

  Sam was faint with gratitude. It was so wonderful to have friends you could trust with your sin, people who wouldn’t assume the worst about you, people who would forgive you even before you asked. Besides, maybe Dale had a good reason to talk with Ingrid and her amazing whip. Maybe he was trying to lead her to the Lord. Maybe she had found one of his salvation balloons and was calling to talk about the Lord. Sam hadn’t thought of that.

  Oh, Lord, forgive me for assuming the worst about him, he prayed. Forgive my self-righteous, judgmental spirit. He thought about that. He wasn’t sure self-righteousness was on the list of sins he’d posted on the bulletin board. It if wasn’t, he’d have to add it. Self-righteousness could do a lot of harm, after all. It’s better to forgive and show mercy. Isn’t that what he’d always preached?

  They closed with a song. Then Sam stood at the back, hugging everyone as they passed. Some of them seemed a little hesitant, but that was to be expected. It would take time to forgive him for what he had done. Sam didn’t hold that against them. Instead, he preferred to think the very b
est of them, just as they had done for him.

  Ten

  Vacation

  With the crisis of Dale Hinshaw and Ingrid and her amazing whip behind him and the opening of school two weeks away, Sam Gardner thought it was maybe time to take the family on a little vacation. It was like this every year, Sam waiting until the last minute, when the popular vacation destinations were fully booked, then loading his family into the car to visit some obscure place. Just once, Barbara wanted to take a vacation they’d actually planned, instead of waiting for the vacation mood to hit Sam, then loading up the car, and lurching off in the direction of his latest interest.

  Two years before, they’d taken the “highest points” vacation, when they’d driven to the highest point in each surrounding state. Last year, they’d taken the “hardware store” vacation, during which they’d visited small-town hardware stores in the southern half of the state. Sam had talked of little else since and hinted that maybe this year they could visit the small-town hardware stores in the northern half of the state.

  Barbara was less than enthusiastic. “If you think I’m going to spend another vacation hanging around hardware stores, you’re crazy. Just once, I’d like a normal vacation, like other people.”

  The next Sunday, Ellis Hodge gave Sam an article he’d clipped from the Hoosier Farmer about round barns, which he read to Barbara and the boys at the supper table the Wednesday before their vacation.

  “It says here there used to be twenty-three round barns in the state. Now there’s only fourteen. You know, maybe we oughta go see them before they’re all gone. Wouldn’t that be fun? It’d sure give the boys something to tell their friends about.”

  Barbara tries to sound positive whenever the children are present, though it’s getting increasingly difficult. “That’s certainly a shame about those barns. Why don’t we go see one or two, then maybe head up to Chicago and spend a few days at a hotel? I’ve always wanted to take the boys to the Museum of Science and Industry. I’ve heard it’s really neat. Then we could see the rest of the barns next summer.”

  Sam frowned. “I don’t know. These barns might not last another year. I say we visit them this year, then save our money and go to Chicago next summer. Yeah, I think that’s what we’ll do.”

  Sam is getting more like his father every year, which Barbara knew would happen, but it’s not making it any easier to take. When they were first married, he was careful to solicit her opinion. Now he just tells her what they’re going to do and expects her to smile and go along. Some days, it’s all she can do not to smack him.

  She wonders if it’s a pastor thing, if those verses in the Bible about the man being the head of the household haven’t finally gotten to him. He’s been quoting Scripture to her. They’ll be arguing and he’ll quote a passage from Romans, as if that settles everything. She’s been reading the Bible, too, so she can quote back, but not many of the verses take the woman’s side.

  She was talking about it with Mabel Morrison. “That’s religion for you,” Mabel said. “The men start them up, slant things their way, then tell us God wants it that way. Then, if a woman rebels, they call her a sinner. Isn’t that convenient?”

  Mabel bought an ad in the Harmony Herald inviting free-thinking women to meet at her house to reflect on the motherhood of God. It caused a flood of letters to the editor prophesying Mabel’s eternal damnation.

  Back in June, she showed up at Harmony Friends Meeting thinking she’d give organized religion one more try. She attends the Live Free or Die Sunday school class, which was begun in 1960 by Robert J. Miles, Sr., but is now being taught by Dale Hinshaw, whom she enjoys tormenting. “Dale, when you say we have to follow every word in the Bible, do you also mean Leviticus 19:19, where it says not to wear a garment made of two kinds of material? The reason I’m asking is because that shirt you’re wearing looks like a cotton-polyester blend to me, Dale. What have you got to say for yourself?”

  Dale suggested at the next elders meeting that things around the church were getting lax, authority-wise, and maybe it was time for a little correction and reproof, starting with Mabel. But the rest of the elders didn’t want to take her on and told Dale if he felt led to correct and reprove Mabel, he was on his own.

  Barbara decided if Mabel could buck two thousand years of Christian tradition, she could stand up to Sam. She told him if he wanted to take a statewide tour of round barns, he could, but she and the boys were going to Chicago.

  This feminist uprising has caused much grumbling at the Coffee Cup Restaurant, where the men gather each morning to philosophize, drink their coffee, and lament their difficult lives. They wonder why their wives can’t be more like Heather Darnell, the waitress, who smiles and pours their coffee and asks if there is anything they need, anything at all.

  The men advised Sam to take a stand, that if he caved in now Barbara would lead him around by the nose the rest of his life.

  “Don’t it say in the Bible somewhere that the man’s in charge?” Vinny Toricelli asked Sam. “Or don’t you Quakers follow the Bible anymore? Say what you will about us Catholics, at least our women know their place.”

  Vinny has been encouraging Dale Hinshaw to leave the Quakers and join up with the Catholics. That would be quite a coup, converting a Quaker to the “one, true church,” even if it is Dale Hinshaw. When Quakers get upset, they join the Baptist church. Unless they have a little money; then they hook up with the Methodists. But no Quaker in Harmony has ever left to become a Catholic.

  The only thing holding Dale back is the Catholics calling their priests “Father,” which is expressly forbidden in Matthew 23:9. “Call no man your father on earth, for you have one Father, who is in heaven.” Other than that, Dale thinks the Catholics have pretty well hit the nail on the head.

  Vinny has been praying for the pope to hold fast and not cave in to the latest theological fads just to keep the women happy. “There’s a reason we hire our popes from the old country,” he told Dale. “The men over there, they don’t take no guff from their women. You get an American pope in, and he’d be starting some committee to maybe talk about having women priests, and next thing you know, they’ll be saying Mary wasn’t a virgin. You watch and see.”

  To Sam’s horror, he occasionally finds himself agreeing with Vinny and Dale. One morning at the Coffee Cup, he heard himself say, “You got that right.” Quaker ministers were supposed to be progressive. They were supposed to champion equality, defend the oppressed, and generally annoy men like Dale and Vinny. Now here he was agreeing with them, which was further proof he needed a vacation, and that his wife might have a point.

  He sat at the counter of the Coffee Cup thinking about vacation and listening to the men complaining. He didn’t want to be like them. Maybe they should go to Chicago after all. Barbara asked for so little. She worked hard to keep up the house and take care of the boys. Then she asked for one little thing, to go to Chicago for vacation, and he’d said no. He was ashamed. He paid his bill, and then went home to his beloved wife, his equal, his partner in life. He found her in the basement, switching clothes to the dryer.

  She looked up at him. He smiled. “Uh, say, I’ve been thinking about vacation. I don’t really want to see those barns. I think we should go to Chicago. You’re right. It’d be a good experience for the boys.”

  “No,” she said, “I think you were right about the barns. They may not be here next year. Besides, you work hard and it’s really your vacation, so let’s do what you want. I’m sorry I lost my temper.”

  They went back and forth for an hour, Sam arguing for Chicago and Barbara pushing for the barns. The longer they argued, the more headstrong they became.

  Finally Sam said, “You know what really bothers me. I’m trying to work with you here, but you always have to have your way. I don’t remember my parents ever arguing like this. My dad just told us the way it was going to be, and that was it. Boy, do I wish things were still that way.”

  He knew it was the wrong
thing to say as soon as he said it. Barbara got real quiet and started to tremble, then said in a cold, low voice, “If you think I’m going to cave in just because your mother did, you better think again. I told you we could go see the barns, and that’s what we’re going to do.”

  The rest of the day was very quiet.

  Sam went to the Coffee Cup the next morning. Vinny poured him a cup of coffee.

  “So’d you set her straight?” he asked Sam. “You going to see the barns?”

  “Yep, it looks that way.”

  “That’s telling her. Good for you, Sam. That’s a way to stick to your guns.”

  The other men congratulated him for standing up to tyranny, asserting his manhood, and quelling the feminist uprising.

  “How’d you do it?” Vinny asked. “Did you just walk in there and tell her the way it was gonna be?”

  “Something like that,” Sam said.

  The next day was Friday. That evening the Gardners packed their car. They left early the next morning.

  It took them seven days to see fourteen barns. Sam did the driving, while Barbara navigated. Every time they’d approach a barn, she’d say, “Oh, my goodness, would you look at that! A round barn. Imagine that! Boys, look at the round barn. Say, you don’t see those much anymore.” Then she’d turn and smile at Sam. “You’re right, Sam. This is a lot more interesting than the Museum of Science and Industry.”

  They camped at night, sleeping in a tent. Sam had forgotten the cots, so they had to sleep on the ground. It rained every night. Each evening, Barbara would crawl into her sleeping bag, sigh, and say, “Just think, we could be staying in a hotel right now. Instead, we’re out here with nature. You were right, Sam, this is so much nicer. I bet we’ll never forget this.”

  Sam kept quiet, having decided the first day that turning the other cheek was the higher, nobler path.

  They would lie in the dark, listening to the rain pounding on the tent, a fine mist settling upon them. After a half hour, just as Sam was falling asleep, she would say, “Maybe next year we can visit the rest of those hardware stores.”