by Judith Pella
Zack barely closed the door behind his female guests when panic seized him.
A sermon!
It hit him like a pickax between the eyes. I n two days he was going to have to lead a church service and deliver a sermon. This shouldn’t be a surprise to him. He’d known on some level that such things would be expected of him if he pursued this crazy scheme, but he had chosen to minimize those thoughts.
Now questions bombarded his mind. What goes on in church, or specifically, this church? How do you lead whatever goes on? What would he be expected to say? Would they want him to pray? Would people come forward like in a tent meeting he had attended once with his mother?
What had he gotten himself into?
Frantically he paced around the Copeland parlor until he noticed the tea things and grabbed them up in a futile attempt to distract his thoughts. But they would not stop.I n two days everyone would realize he was a complete charlatan. They’d ride him out of town on a rail, maybe get him arrested. Was it against the law to impersonate a minister?
Dumping the tea dishes in the kitchen sink, he raced from that room to the foyer and sped up the steps two at a time.I t wasn’t too late to flee.
He threw open the door to his room. He could pack and be long gone before dark. But the first thing his gaze lit upon was that quilt on his bed. These people had gone to a lot of trouble to welcome him—well, to welcome L ocklin. Still, they wanted a minister. They wanted him to be the minister. And the first precept in any confidence scheme was to make your mark want what you had to offer. He had these people where he needed them.
His worst mistake now would be to panic.
He could do this.
He sucked in a deep breath and made his mind calm down and think logically. He was a good salesman. The only good thing his stepfather had ever had to say about him was that he could sell shoes to a legless man. Once he had sold snake oil and done pretty well at it until the law ran him out of town.
Religion was just fancified snake oil. And wasn’t a sermon just a sales pitch?
Still, to sell something you had to know your product, and it would be nice if he didn’t have to study theology for the next two days to come up with something. Then he remembered there had been some books in L ocklin’s carpetbag. He grabbed the bag, but before he tossed it on the bed, he carefully folded back the quilt. The ladies were going to want this back in acceptable condition when he left town.
Inside the bag he found the books, four of them in addition toL ocklin’s Bible. There was a two-volume set called Exhaustive Exposition of the Old and New Testaments. They were hefty, and Zack hoped he didn’t have to read them. The third book, not much smaller than one of the huge “Exposition” volumes, piqued his interest: The Sermons and Essays of Robert E. Markus. The fourth was a small book titled Brethren of Christ Manual for Ministers. This he ignored for the time being but thought it would be useful. For now he focused his attention on the book of sermons.
Zack smiled, noting the author was Markus, L ocklin’s apparent mentor. And it also appeared as if that scallywag L ocklin might have had the same idea that now occurred to Zack. All he had to do was memorize these sermons. There were enough to keep him going for months, even years. The book was broken down into themes such as salvation, giving, forgiveness. Then there were sections for various holidays like Easter and Christmas. There was one whole section devoted to the Sermon on the Mount. Zack wondered if that was for outdoor meetings or something. Curious, he opened the book to that chapter and found it was broken down into several sermons, each with a Scripture heading.
The first: “Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth . . . but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven. . . .”
Zack quickly moved on from that one because he wasn’t sure he could preach that with a straight face.
Next: “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.”
He’d heard that saying before but never knew it had come from the Bible. He passed that one because he didn’t want to risk offending any in the audience who didn’t happen to be meek.
“Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hid.”
He glanced at the sermon that went with this, and it was mostly telling the listeners to be better Christians. Maybe he could do that. Everyone wanted to be better. But should he be telling them to be better when he didn’t even know them?
Fanning the pages his eye lit upon the words, “Consider the lilies . . .”I ntrigued, he read more, “they toil not, neither do they spin.”
The sermon basically said not to worry, to trust God. He liked that.I t had a positive ring to it. Sitting at the desk, he read it through and decided to use it. Then he set about to memorize it. This was another of his assets. He could quickly commit anything to memory. His mother had often told him he was too smart to be a farmer.
But was he smart enough to pull off being a minister? He, and everyone else, would know on Sunday.
TEN
The first Sunday in June was sunny and warm. I n the best of circumstances this would bring out large numbers to the Main-town church service. The fact that this was the new minister’s maiden service meant that every living creature in the area would attend if humanly possible. Some even came from the Bachelor Flat church because they didn’t want to wait till their service the following Sunday to meet the minister.
There were about fifty people seated on the benches that had replaced the desks in the schoolhouse. Calvin Newcomb had said there were normally twenty or thirty who regularly came to the church service. Nerves like Zack had never known before attacked him. He was certain all the words he had spent the last two days memorizing were no longer in his head.
He walked up to the pulpit. Mr. Newcomb had told him that Clyde L ambert, known throughout the county as a fine woodworker, had built the elaborately carved pulpit in hopes of one day having a proper church building to put it in. Zack gripped its oaken sides so as not to reveal how much his hands were trembling.
“Good morning, ladies and gents . . . ah, gentlemen . . . that is, brothers and sisters . . .” He groaned inwardly. Right from the get-go it was a disaster. But he plowed ahead. “My sermon today is taken from the book of Matthew, chapter six, verse twenty-eight.” He’d been trying not to make eye contact with the people, looking over their heads instead, but he couldn’t help noticing some movement from the Newcomb bench. His gaze flickered in that direction. Mr. Newcomb had an odd look on his face.
Then something in Zack’s brain seemed to lumber into place. You don’t start the service off with the sermon! Mr. New-comb had come by on Saturday and spoken with him about the order of service, but Zack had been so worried about forgetting the words to the sermon that he’d forgotten all else. Well, now was the time to play his “greenhorn” card.
He uttered his most disarming chuckle. “So sorry, my friends.I am simply too anxious to regale you with my silver tongue!” He chuckled again, and to his relief a responding chuckle rippled through the audience. “First, however, Mrs. Renolds will lead us in a hymn.” He nodded toward a white-haired woman in the front row, and she rose and walked to the front.
“Thank you, pastor,” she said. She opened the book in her hands. “Let us sing ‘Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing.’ ” She blew into her key finder and then began to sing. She was the only one with a hymnal, but she had chosen a song that everyone knew well. Despite all her attempts, the tune was sung off-key. Unfortunately, the church lacked a piano or an organ.
Zack mouthed the words of the song as best he could. He had not had a chance to memorize any hymns. After the song, he welcomed Mr. Newcomb, as chairman of the deacons, to offer an opening prayer. Zack found the paper on which he’d written the order of the service, and things fell into place after that. He was glad the offering plate was passed before the sermon, for as the time for that performance drew near his nerves returned.
Reminding himself of snake oil, he took to the pulpit. He had writ
ten out the sermon so that it would appear as if it was his own work, but he never referred to the pages in front of him. He spouted Robert E. Markus’s words flawlessly, and as he did so, he scanned the audience to make eye contact with various individuals in the congregation. He remembered this was an important sales tool.
The service closed with another hymn and then a short song called the “Doxology.” Zack knew enough to walk down the aisle at the end of the song and stand at the door to receive his congregants as they filed out. He beamed at every spoken compliment.
“Fine service, Reverend.”
“Wonderful sermon.”
“Your words spoke to me!”
He put his memory to work once again as he asked each person their name. He even learned the names of the children. Next time when he saw them, he’d impress them by calling them by name. Yes, this was going to work out fine!
Just then a fellow came up and shook his hand.
“Mornin’, Pastor.I’m’m Stan Wallard and this is my wife Nessa.” He was a husky, ruddy fellow, his Sunday duds taut around his girth. His wife, whom Zack recalled from the welcoming committee the other day, was rather rotund herself, but Zack barely noticed her as she stood behind her husband.
“Good morning, Mr. Wallard. Pleased you could come,”
Zack replied, returning a firm handshake.
“I got a question for you.”
“Feel free,” Zack said broadly, then remembered who he was and how dangerous questions could be. But he couldn’t refuse in any case.
“Well, a fellow down at the mill where I work—he’s a heathen, if you ask me. Anyway, something about Solomon came up, and since you mentioned him in your sermon, I figured you’d know about it. I was telling him about how two women claimed the same baby and that Solomon decided who the real mother was by saying he’d cut the child in half and give half to each woman. He figured out who the real mother was when she said to spare the baby and give it to the other woman. This man said I was making up the story, or at least that it was never in the Bible. He bet me a whole dollar I was wrong.I could swear it was true, but me and the missus tried to find it and had no luck. I s it from the Bible, Pastor? And if it is, can you tell me where so I can show him?”
At first, the only response Zack could muster was a blank stare. Then his mind started working. He’d heard a similar story but hadn’t really known it was from the Bible. He did recall mentioning Solomon in his sermon but couldn’t recall the reference. His memory was good for rote memory but not for interpreting what was memorized. He certainly hadn’t been paying much attention to what he was actually saying.
Solomon . . . Solomon . . . ?
“Pastor?”
Zack had to speak or give up now and run for it. He had to take a stab. So what if he was wrong. Ministers didn’t have to know everything. But the story did sound like something biblical.
“Of course it is from the Bible, Mr. Wallard. You tell your friend.” He waited for protest from the others still waiting to greet him. Surely Mr. Newcomb, who was next in line, was knowledgeable of such matters. But the man made no comment, and Zack began to relax.
“He’ll need more than that. What book and such?” Wal-lard asked.
Zack groaned inwardly. He was good at thinking on his feet, but this was more like a test in school.
It was Mrs. Newcomb who came to his rescue. “Why, Stan Wallard, you can’t be expecting the pastor to use the Bible to settle a bet, now, can you?” She scolded as she would her own child.
“A dollar ain’t nothing to sneeze at,” Wallard said defensively.
Now Zack had the means to escape his predicament. “Yes, I simply cannot approve gambling in any form, and especially when it tries to use God’s Word as a parlor game.”
“I’m sorry, Reverend,” said a sincerely repentant Wallard.
“Didn’t think of it like that.”
“I’m sure you didn’t.I t was an honest mistake.” Zack smiled to show the man he didn’t think less of him for it. Zack had known a minister once who would spit hellfire at anyone for the least error, but even as a fake minister, he didn’t want to be that way.
When the Newcomb family filed by, Zack greeted them heartily. He already knew these were among a handful of families that formed the backbone of the church.
Mrs. Newcomb smiled warmly. “It was a lovely sermon, Pastor!” she said pointedly, her eye skittering briefly toward the Wallards. “I was especially moved by your story about your dog, Bones.I had a dog just like him when I was a little girl. How trusting our pets are indeed! How sad that yours ran away.”
“Maybe someday I ’ll be in a position to have another dog,” Zack replied. He himself had never had a pet, especially one so trusting and faithful as Markus’s little beast.
“When you settle into your own home,” the woman said with a smile that definitely held a deeper meaning. Mrs. Newcomb may have believed she was being coy, but from the first moment he had met her, he had not missed her all too obvious references to his singleness. L ogic told him that a young single man could fall prey to the designs of the young women in the community, but he was determined to fend them off for a couple of months. Yet what about their mothers? If Mrs. Newcomb had her way, he’d be married in two weeks, much less two months!
The two younger men in the family followed their mother. Boyd Newcomb was personable enough, as was the youngest, Georgie.
“Reverend,” Georgie said, “if you like to fish,I can show you all the best fishing holes in the county.”
“I am very fond of fishing. I shall call upon your expertise as soon as I am settled.”
Maggie Newcomb shouldered her way forward next. “I taught him everything he knows,” she said. “And I know a few places he doesn’t.”
“Well, very good, then.” He didn’t know how else to respond to that.
“And it was a very good sermon. Great, really!” She smiled.
Zack read the good-natured mockery in her tone. He wished they could go off together and have a good laugh about the fiasco. He figured he could easily enjoy Maggie’s company.
Ellie Newcomb was more reserved, almost detached. While all the other girls practically threw themselves at him, she was aloof. And it bothered him. I n fact, he was far less surprised by the other girls’ aggressiveness. He’d always had a way with women and believed there was not a one he could not beguile.
Yet here was a pretty girl who showed no interest in him at all. He hoped he hadn’t in some way offended her, because she would hold some sway with her important family.
She offered only a brief greeting and then moved on. While Zack pondered this, Mr. Newcomb came, the last to leave the church. He’d had to collect the offering money from the plates.
“I’m sorry it didn’t go as smoothly as I had hoped,” Zack said. He sensed this man would be more impressed by humility than false bravado.
“It was a fine service, Reverend.”
“Thank you for saying so.”
After Newcomb went off to greet another parishioner, Zack had a few moments alone while the people lingered in the school yard and greeted friends. He studied the group and knew these were good people. They were for the most part simple farm folk. Even the more affluent families, like the Copelands and the Parkers, were warm and friendly. He didn’t much enjoy hoodwinking them.
His gaze lit upon Maggie, who was talking to a young man about her own age, a homely, freckled fellow with brown hair that had several cowlicks. Pretty Maggie could do much better. Not far from her he observed her sister, Ellie, talking to a young man and a young woman whom he had met, Colby and Sarah Stoddard. Their mother was the pushy, domineering woman he was already coming to know well.
Zack was a sharp observer, if nothing else, and he did not miss the besotted manner in which Colby Stoddard looked upon Ellie. Ellie seemed quite comfortable with him, laughing and talking easily. They had probably grown up together. Zack found himself looking upon this Colby fellow as a comp
etitor.
Whoa, boy! he told himself, none of that kind of thinking. But he knew he was the kind of man who relished a challenge, which was probably why he was going to stick it out here and tackle this performance as minister with all he had. He also knew that if he had a hundred women bowing down before him, he was going to go after the one who wasn’t. But he couldn’t go after anyone, he reminded himself once again.
“Hey, Maggie.”
“Hi, Tommy! I t’s good to see you in church,” Maggie said, mostly because she knew as a Christian she should encourage someone like Tommy, who was probably a backslider. She was never comfortable with “witnessing” or, as her mother called it, “sharing her faith.” She felt it was hard enough for her to keep herself on the “straight and narrow,” much less badger others about it.
“My ma said I had to come and see the new minister. I told her that if my pa didn’t have to come,I shouldn’t have to either. When she said, ‘Pretty please,’I figured I ought to have a look-see.”
Tommy Donnelly was a funny-looking kid, Maggie decided, now that she really studied him. Freckled face, slightly bucked teeth, hair that stuck out all over his head, and a kind of slow way of talking that made you wonder if he was ever going to get all the words out. I t made her mad that people made fun of him and shunned him, but—she hated to admit this—it made her just as mad that people would think she’d be sweet on him. How could she be friendly to him without people getting the wrong idea?
“So what did you think of the minister?” she asked.
“Don’t know him but for the words he spoke. He’ll do, lessen he tries to browbeat me into comin’ to church.”
“But that’s his job, Tommy. Anyway, what do you have against church?”
“People are all phony. L ook at ’em. Not a one but you is come up to say ‘hey’ to me.”
“Don’t I count?I’m a Christian, you know.”
“You’re different.”
“I heard the reverend greet you. He called you by name.”
