Just Shy of Harmony

by Philip Gulley

  The pressure’s been getting to him. The week before, Channel 5 had interviewed him about his Scripture eggs. They filmed him down in his basement, where he’s been keeping the chickens. He’s up to twenty chickens, which are laying over a hundred eggs a week. He’s passed out Scripture eggs to all the Jehovah Witnesses, Unitarians, and Mormons within fifty miles, and is thinking of moving on to the Episcopalians, who are a little too liberal to suit Dale.

  He’s been doing all the egg distribution himself and is getting tired. He was hoping the interview would generate some volunteers, but no one’s called yet.

  Way back in August, the elders had promised Dale ten thousand dollars for his Scripture egg project, but so far Dale hasn’t seen a dime of that. His wife had been complaining about the chickens being down in the basement, so he was going to use the money to build a coop in his backyard and take the project worldwide. But at the November elders’ meeting, Miriam Hodge had persuaded the rest of the elders to reconsider not only their support of the Scripture egg project, but also their decision to build a gymnasium onto the meetinghouse.

  Dale’s last, best hope was that someone might see him on Channel 5 and send him enough money for the project to go forward. He’d even rented a post office box, which the lady announcer read as they showed the number on the screen. Dale has walked to the post office every day since and peered through the little window, but so far no checks have come.

  He doesn’t understand why Jessie and Asa Peacock haven’t helped. “You’d think with all that money they got, they’d want to help,” he grouched to his wife.

  He thought about it while cleaning the meetinghouse walks. It was his turn to preach the next day. He decided to preach on the Scripture text, about how those who help a prophet receive a prophet’s reward. He thought that would be just the inducement Jessie and Asa needed to part with ten thousand dollars.

  He finished shoveling, went home, and spent the rest of the day at the dining room table working on his sermon.

  Dale Hinshaw woke the next morning, showered, shaved, and combed back his hair, then ate a little breakfast and put on his black suit. He and the missus drove to church. The streets were plowed smooth. The sun was out, and the snow was melting. Patches of asphalt were showing through. It was the Sunday before Christmas, so there was a big crowd at church.

  Ordinarily the sermon comes last in the service. They start with a hymn, then move into prayer time, then take up the offering, then sing another song, then have a little dab of silence in honor of their Quaker heritage. Then there’s a fifteen-minute sermon followed by a closing prayer, and they’re out the door and eating pot roast within the hour.

  But that morning Dale started off with his sermon on how those who help a prophet receive a prophet’s reward, then had thirty minutes of silence.

  He’d told his wife, “I want to give the Lord sufficient time to convict Jessie and Asa of their sin.”

  He peered at Jessie and Asa the whole while, but they didn’t budge. He kept waiting for one of them to stand and say, “We have a prophet right here in our midst whom we’ve failed to help. We need to repent of our selfishness and be generous.”

  Then he would be a magnanimous prophet and forgive them, but not before describing his need—ten thousand dollars to build a chicken coop and take the Scripture eggs worldwide. Then he’d call the ushers forward to take up a special offering. He’d warned Ellis Hodge and Harvey Muldock to be ready with the plates.

  But no one stood to speak during the silence except for Wayne Fleming.

  “I’d like to ask your prayers for Sally,” he said. “We’re going to the hospital in a couple weeks to meet with the doctors.”

  He sat down.

  Darn that Wayne Fleming. He’s always thinking about himself, Dale fumed to himself. He was going to stand and redirect their attention to his message, but before he could, Miriam Hodge rose to speak.

  “I know we’ve never done this before,” she said, “but I’d like for us to gather around Sally and pray for her.”

  All around the meeting room, people looked at one another, watching to see who’d move first.

  Sam and Barbara were the first to move. They stood up in the fifth pew and walked two pews back to where Wayne and Sally and the kids were seated. Uly Grant was right behind them, with Fern Hampton bringing up the rear.

  What’s going on here? These people are out of control, Dale Hinshaw thought. We’re supposed to be praying for my Scripture egg project and taking up a special offering. What’s going on here?

  He was about to tell people to sit back down, and would have except that Miriam had begun to pray for Sally. It was a radiant prayer. When Miriam finished, Sally and Wayne were crying. Uly passed Wayne his handkerchief, and Fern sat next to Sally and drew her close.

  People were crowded thick around the Fleming family. The men were sniffing hard, and the women were weeping. The small children looked on, mystified.

  “I know this is unusual,” Fern said, “but I’m thinking maybe we should take up a special offering, right now, for Wayne and Sally.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea,” Jessie Peacock exclaimed.

  Ellis Hodge and Harvey Muldock were poised at the back, offering plates in hand. They moved forward and worked their way through the swarm of people.

  They collected over ten thousand dollars. Ellis and Harvey counted it three times on the table in front of the pulpit. People gasped when Ellis announced the total. He had to say it twice. It was mostly neatly folded one-hundred-dollar bills men had pulled from the deep recesses of their worn wallets. Emergency money. Money in case they were up in the city and their car broke down. Jessie and Asa had topped it off with a check for six thousand dollars.

  Ellis put the money in a coffee can from the kitchen and handed it to Wayne. Wayne could barely whisper a thank-you.

  Dale Hinshaw wanted to snatch the can from Wayne’s hand. He thought of taking another collection while people were in a giving mood, but folks had already begun filtering out of the meetinghouse.

  As the crowd thinned, Deena Morrison made her way to Wayne and Sally. She sat beside Sally and offered her hand.

  “Hi, Sally. I’m Deena.”

  “I know,” Sally said, smiling. “My children told me all about you. They really love you.”

  “They’re wonderful children.”

  “Thank you for being nice to my family while I was gone. You were a real help to them. I hope we can be friends.”

  “I’d like that.” She leaned into Sally and hugged her. “If I can do anything at all, if you need any help, please let me know.”

  “Thank you, Deena. I will.”

  Katie climbed onto Deena’s lap, and Deena drew Katie to her. “And how are you, Miss Katie?”

  “I’m fine, Deena. I miss you. You want to feel my wing buds?”

  Deena touched Katie’s shoulder blades. “Oh, Katie, those are the finest wing buds in the world.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Yes I do, sweetheart.”

  Deena looked across Sally to Wayne. “Hi, Wayne. How are you holding up?”

  He could still barely talk. He nodded his head. “Gonna be all right.” There was an awkward pause. “Your grandmother told me you were thinking of moving back to the city to be a lawyer.”

  “I’ve been offered a job, but I haven’t made up my mind whether to take it. I’m leaning toward staying.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. You sure are a blessing to this town.”

  “I just don’t understand this church,” Dale Hinshaw complained to his wife as they walked down the aisle toward the door. “I gave them an opportunity to do the Christian thing, and they just sat there like lumps on a log.”

  “Not everyone has your servant heart, honey.”

  Dale sighed a heavy sigh. “I’m not sure how much longer I can keep it up. The pressure’s getting to me.”

  “It’s more than any one man should have to bear.”

 
They opened the door of the meetinghouse. It was dazzling bright. The snow had thawed from the streets. They could hear the drip, drip, drip of the melted snow falling from the roof. They walked down the sidewalk.

  “What hurts most of all is Asa and Jessie not helping me,” Dale said.

  “Well, honey, some folks just think only of themselves. That’s just the way it is.”

  Eighteen

  A Ministry of Availability

  New Year’s Day was two weeks past, and most of the people in Harmony had already forgotten their resolutions. Except Sam Gardner, who had resolved to believe in God as quickly as possible so he wouldn’t have to listen to the elders preach any more than was necessary.

  Harvey Muldock had given one good sermon on how autumn is the season of dying, but that spring brings new life and thus is God’s encouragement for us to remain faithful in the face of death. Now that the church had learned of Sally Fleming’s leukemia, Harvey’s words seemed eerily prophetic.

  The second Sunday of January, Harvey preached about how tired the disciples must have been walking on the road to Emmaus. He talked about what a blessing the automobile was and how, speaking of automobiles, Harvey Muldock Plymouth was gearing up for its annual tax sale.

  Sam fidgeted in the fifth pew. The preaching was growing worse. The elders were starting their third round of sermons. It was Sam’s theory that most folks had at least one good sermon in them and, if pressed, could possibly come up with two. But to hope someone might deliver three good sermons in a row was stretching it. Sam was trying to determine which was better: a bad sermon by someone who believed in God or a good sermon by someone who didn’t.

  Fern Hampton had given two sermons about Brother Norman’s shoe ministry to the Choctaw Indians. In the first sermon she told how in the old days the Choctaw Indians didn’t need shoes because they were one with nature. “But then we came along and they adopted our customs, one of which was wearing shoes. Now I figure since we got them started wearing shoes, the least we can do is shod them.”

  The ladies of the Friendly Women’s Circle nodded their heads in solemn agreement.

  Fern’s second sermon was based on the premise that if you give an Indian a pair of shoes he will have shoes for a year, but if you teach an Indian to make shoes he will have shoes for a lifetime. She wants the Circle to travel to Oklahoma and teach the Choctaws how to make their own shoes.

  Miriam Hodge has been the only ray of sunshine amidst this theological drizzle. On the Sundays she preaches, all the rows are filled. She’s not a yeller. She doesn’t even stand at the pulpit. She stands in the aisle near the first row of pews and speaks from her heart. One Sunday she revealed how she’d been mad at God for not giving Ellis and her any children. People aren’t accustomed to this kind of openness. It intrigues them. Except for Dale Hinshaw, who chastised Miriam for being angry with God. But the rest of the people are captivated with her candor. When Dale speaks they think about their pot roast cooking in the oven, but when Miriam speaks they think about their walk with the Lord.

  She’s been especially helpful to Wayne and Sally Fleming. She goes to the trailer on Wednesday evenings to pray with Sally. Then, on the Sunday before Sally was to begin her treatment, in the quiet after the Harvey Muldock automobile sermon, Miriam had the church pray for the Flemings.

  She’d read in the book of James about elders anointing the sick with oil. They’d never done that at Harmony Friends Meeting before, so Miriam reasoned it was a good time to start. She went to the Coffee Cup and borrowed a bottle of olive oil from Frank Toricelli, who’s been using it on Italian Night.

  She didn’t tell the other elders, for fear it would launch a three-hour debate on the healing properties of olive oil versus those of corn oil. After Harvey spoke, Miriam rose up from the fourth row and invited the elders to gather around Sally. For once, they didn’t hesitate or look at one another to see who would go first. They just stood up, walked over to Sally, and put their hands on her head, while Miriam dabbed olive oil on Sally’s forehead and prayed for her.

  Sally sat there, scarcely moving, not sure what to do. She’d heard of miraculous healings before. She’d seen people talk about it on TV. The people had always felt warm and tingly. She didn’t feel that way, though it was nice to be the object of prayer. She’s never had this much love directed her way.

  When she was a little girl and her mother died, there had been a flurry of concern for her. But after a time people moved on to other cares. She would come home from school to their silent house and lock the door. It was frightening to be so little and by herself, so she’d pretend her mother was alive and in the house with her, taking a nap in the back bedroom. Sometimes Sally would talk to her. Around six o’clock her father would pull up at the broken curb from his job at the factory. Sally would heat up TV dinners in the oven, and they’d sit in front of the television and watch the news. He’d fall asleep on the couch and she’d cover him with a blanket. Then she’d clean the kitchen, do her homework, and go to bed.

  She wasn’t really raised; she just kind of grew up.

  It troubles her to no end that that might happen to her children.

  She talked about it with Miriam one Wednesday night in early January after prayer. Wayne was at work, and the kids were in bed. Miriam and Sally were seated on the worn couch.

  Miriam had asked Sally, “What can I do for you?”

  “Just pray for me.”

  “Of course I’ll pray for you. But is there something else I can do for you?”

  Sally began to cry. “If something happens to me, can you make sure my kids are taken care of? Wayne’ll have his hands full.”

  “If anything happens to you, Ellis and I will make sure your children are well cared for. You have my word.”

  Miriam thinks maybe this is God’s reason for not giving her and Ellis children of their own—so they can care for other people’s kids. They call it their “ministry of availability.” They took in Amanda, Ellis’s niece, the year before. It’s been such a joy to have Amanda in their lives. Except they worry that Ellis’s no-good brother, Ralph, will sneak back and steal her away, so they’ve hired the lawyer Owen Stout to begin adoption proceedings. They drive Amanda to and from school and lock their doors at night, just in case. They’d never locked their doors before, on account of Ellis’s parents lost the key in 1957. Now, Ellis has put a new lock on the door. It troubles him, having to guard against his own flesh and blood.

  The Monday Wayne and Sally went to have tests run at the hospital in the city, Miriam went with them. Ellis stayed home to care for Amanda, and Deena Morrison took the Fleming kids to her house.

  The tires are bad on Wayne’s truck, so Miriam drove them in hers. She arrived at their trailer a little after seven in the morning. Deena pulled up behind her to take the kids to school. Sally kissed her kids good-bye.

  “Will you be home tonight, Mommy?” Katie asked.

  “I’m not sure, honey. It depends on what all they have to do. But I promise I’ll be home soon. Before you know it.”

  “Will you be all better then?” asked Adam.

  “You bet,” Sally said, but to herself she prayed, Oh, dear Lord, please let me live. Please heal me. Let me see my children grow.

  They finished their good-byes, then Miriam, Wayne, and Sally climbed into the truck and drove east toward the city. The traffic was light. It was an overcast winter morning. The weatherman on Channel 5 had predicted snow later that day. It took two hours to reach the hospital. Miriam dropped Wayne and Sally off at the front door, then went to look for a parking space.

  Wayne and Sally sat on a bench inside the door. It felt good to sit. Sally’s been so tired lately. Her appetite has dropped off, and she’s been losing weight.

  Miriam came through the door. They read the directory on the wall and made their way to the doctor’s office. They were right on time for their appointment. Miriam sat in the waiting room while Wayne and Sally talked with the doctor.

 
They’d met the doctor when they’d come for tests the month before, a Dr. Kinnan. He looked impossibly young to be a doctor, which didn’t boost Wayne’s confidence.

  “Come in. Sit down,” the doctor said. “Good to see you again.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Wayne said, helping Sally to a chair.

  Dr. Kinnan looked at Sally. “How are you feeling?”

  “I think I’m doing okay.”

  “She’s been awfully tired,” Wayne said.

  “Is that right?”

  “Yes,” Sally said. “Here in the past month or so. I’ve also not been eating much. I feel full all the time.”

  “Sally, I need you to sit here on the edge of the table,” the doctor instructed.

  He probed her stomach and frowned.

  “Sally, the reason you feel full is because your spleen is enlarged. This verifies the tests we’ve been running. It appears your leukemia is advancing. You have what is known as chronic myelogenous leukemia. Fortunately, it is treatable. Though I’d be a lot more hopeful if you had come to us when it was first diagnosed.”

  No one spoke for a while. Wayne reached over and took Sally’s hand.

  “But we’re not throwing in the towel yet,” the doctor said. “We’ll just need to be a bit more aggressive in our approach.”

  He paused.

  “We’ve been having some success with interferon therapy. Unfortunately for you, it seems to work best in the early stages. It’s my opinion that your best chance to beat this is through a bone-marrow transplant.”

  “What’s that?” Wayne asked. “How does that work?”

  “Simply put, Sally’s bone marrow is making too many white blood cells. So what we’ll need to do is kill off Sally’s bone marrow with chemotherapy and radiation and replace it with new bone marrow from a suitable donor. But before you make that decision, you need to know three things. Number one, a bone-marrow transplant is a very drastic treatment, and you’re going to be very sick. You might even die. You need to be aware of that. Number two, we might not be able to find a suitable donor who matches your tissue type. Do you have any brothers or sisters?