“Except for his hair turning gray and the liver spots, you’d never know he was pushing sixty,” Bea said.
At seven twenty-eight she told Opal good night, then flipped over to Channel 40 to watch Johnny LaCosta’s Hour of Truth program from seven-thirty to eight. It’s their time to be alone, to commune soul to soul.
Johnny was talking about Lent and why he was opposed to it. Nowhere in Scripture is Lent mentioned, he pointed out. “We know for a fact that Lent has its origins in a pagan religion from the area of Babylon. We’ve invited the pope to come on the Hour of Truth for a frank discussion of the whole Lenten heresy, but he’s declined to meet with us.”
He frowned. It appeared to pain the Reverend Johnny LaCosta to have to rat on the pope/
I wonder if Vinny knows this, Bea thought. I’m glad there’s someone out there willing to tell the truth.
She rose from her chair and wrote out a check for fifty dollars to the Johnny LaCosta Worship Center along with a note asking him to pray for Sally Fleming. She licked the envelope shut and clothes-pinned it to the mailbox on her front porch.
She’s thinking if she gets the prayer cloth in time, she might drive up to the hospital and have Sally touch it. And while she’s at it, she might let Asa and Jessie have a go at it too.
Twenty-three
The Ministry of Noodles
Gosh, I’m getting tired of this. I need a vacation, Bob Miles thought as he sat typing at his desk at the Harmony Herald.
He’s written “The Bobservation Post” column every Tuesday for nearly twenty years. Twenty years of looking out the front window from eight to nine in the morning and writing what he sees. It’s the same thing every week: Jessie Peacock going into the Kroger, Kyle Weathers sweeping his sidewalk, and the lawyer Owen Stout walking with his briefcase past the Coffee Cup. He wishes a tavern would open on the town square. Instead of writing about what went on Tuesday mornings, he could write about what happened on Saturday nights.
Bob leaned back in his chair and imagined such a column:
There goes church elder Harvey Muldock, looking both ways to see if anyone is watching, then slipping into the tavern. Deena Morrison is locking the door to the Legal Grounds. She’s walking past the tavern. Ernie Matthews gives a wolf whistle and leers at her.
A smile crossed his face. That’d sure sell some papers.
Instead, he wrote about Jessie Peacock going into the Kroger, Kyle Weathers sweeping his sidewalk, and the lawyer Owen Stout walking with his briefcase past the Coffee Cup.
Bob has been wanting to take the Herald in a new direction. He’s thinking of adding a liberal columnist to the editorial page. Maybe print a commentary or two in favor of socialized medicine or expanding the welfare system. Maybe something in support of gun control or against prayer in school. Something to get folks agitated. He’s been bored lately and could use the excitement.
He’d been keeping a close eye on the Wayne-and-Deena dating dilemma. When Sally came home, Bob had hoped for some kind of fracas to write about. Preferably one in public where he could take photographs of Sally and Deena catfighting over Wayne. But then Deena bowed out of the picture, and there went his story.
“She sure picked the wrong time to be noble,” he complained to his wife, Arvella. “I needed something to liven up the front page.”
“Maybe you could write about the Friendly Women and their fund-raiser for Brother Norman’s shoe ministry to the Choctaws. People kind of expect that this time of year.”
“I was thinking about that. I tell you what I’d like to know. I’d like to know what this Brother Norman character is doing with all the money they’ve been sending him. There can’t be that many shoeless Choctaws.”
The next Tuesday he visited the Friendly Women and took a picture of them at the quilting frame in the meetinghouse basement. Underneath the picture he wrote, The Friendly Women of Harmony Friends Meeting stitch a fund-raiser quilt for Brother Norman’s supposed shoe ministry to the Choctaw Indians.
He passed out the papers Thursday morning, then left for a vacation in Florida. Bob’s always wanted to go to Florida, and after Arvella read that week’s paper she thought this might be just the time for them to go.
They left that afternoon and made it as far as Louisville.
“We should be safe here,” Arvella said, so Bob took the next exit and they stayed the night in a Motel 6. They woke up the next morning, ate breakfast at Bob Evan’s, then got back on the Interstate and headed south. It was kind of exciting, being on the run. Every five minutes he’d check his rearview mirror.
“Looks like we made a clean getaway,” he announced as they crossed into Georgia.
Back in Harmony, the Friendly Women were worked into a lather. Supposed shoe ministry. The nerve of him! They held an emergency meeting in the basement. Fern Hampton demanded they boycott the Herald, until it was pointed out that the Herald was free in the first place.
“Then let’s boycott his advertisers. That’ll teach them not to consort with the media elite.”
Oh, they were mad. To labor so hard on the Lord’s behalf only to be attacked by the liberal press. “It’s enough to make a person rethink the First Amendment,” Fern fumed.
Opal Majors suggested they hire the lawyer Owen Stout. “Let’s sue his pants off. That’ll teach him not to mess with the Friendly Women.”
It wasn’t a pretty sight, what happened in that basement. All their suppressed anger rose to the surface. For months they had avoided contention in order to labor for the common good of Sally Fleming. But you can be good only so long, and the Friendly Women had reached their limit.
They were not only mad; they were discouraged. They’d thought that with all their work, God would bless their efforts by healing Sally.
The next Sunday, after church, they went to see her. They drove to the city and stood peering through the glass into Sally’s room as she lay in her isolation tent. Fifteen robust Quaker women bringing all their faith to bear. Sally was asleep, so they clutched about the doorway and watched her. Wayne was there, tired and rumpled. The women lined up to hug him.
“We’ve been praying for you and Sally,” Miriam Hodge said.
“How’s she doing?” Fern asked.
“Not good.” His throat caught. “The doctors say the new bone marrow they gave her is attacking her body. They call it graft-versus-host disease. I guess it’s pretty serious.”
Miriam grimaced. “Does Sam know about this?”
“No, I haven’t told him yet. I just found out myself this morning.” Wayne slumped in the doorway.
“Have you eaten anything today?” Jessie Peacock asked.
“No, I’ve been sitting with Sally.”
“You have to eat. Let’s go down to the cafeteria and get you something to eat.”
She took him by one arm, Miriam took him by the other. The rest of the Friendly Women fell into formation and marched behind them to the elevator that took them down to the basement cafeteria.
Wayne didn’t want to eat, but they made him.
“Clean your plate,” Fern ordered.
So he did. He knew better than to argue with the Friendly Women.
“How’s Sally been eating?” Jessie asked.
“Not too well. She’s lost her appetite. The food here isn’t all that good.”
“What she needs is some of our chicken and noodles,” Fern said.
“Oh, the doctors wouldn’t allow that. They don’t let you bring in food. They said it could be contaminated.”
“Contaminated! I’ll have you know no one’s ever got sick from my cooking.” Fern stood up from the table. “Come on, Friendly Women, we’re going to make some noodles.”
They fell into formation and marched into the cafeteria kitchen. There were two men in there. One had a naked woman tattooed on his forearm. The other had a ponytail. They had dirty fingernails. They were smoking cigarettes, the ashes falling onto the countertop.
Men! Those Friendly Women had had i
t up to here with men. First it was Bob Miles impugning Brother Norman’s integrity. Now it was these two men with dirty fingernails smoking in a kitchen.
Fern glared at them. “Out! And don’t come back!”
It took the Friendly Women four hours to make the chicken and noodles. They sent Jessie to the grocery store to buy a chicken. “I wish I’d brought one with me,” Jessie lamented. “Those store-bought chickens are nothing but white lumps of chemicals.”
“It’ll have to do,” Fern told her.
Say what you will about Fern Hampton, when leadership is needed, she’s not one to waver.
They carried the chicken and noodles up to Sally’s room. She was awake by then. Fern hoisted her up in bed, and Miriam spoon-fed her the noodles. Sally ate half a bowl before falling back to sleep. Wayne ate the rest.
The Friendly Women stood back, awaiting her revival.
“Lord, raise her up,” Mrs. Dale Hinshaw prayed aloud.
But Sally just lay there, pale and worn, her breath a rattle.
“She sounds just like Dale’s chickens,” Mrs. Dale Hinshaw whispered to Jessie Peacock. “They’re not doing so hot either.”
They watched Sally another half hour.
“Maybe this is one of those slow miracles,” Bea Majors said. “The Reverend Johnny LaCosta was talking about that the other night. He said sometimes God delays your miracle to teach you patience.”
“That must be it,” Fern agreed.
Wayne had fallen asleep in the chair next to Sally. They filed out of the room and rode the elevator to the ground floor.
It was a quiet drive back to Harmony. It was after dark by the time they pulled in front of the meetinghouse. Miriam could see a light on in Sam’s office. She went inside and tapped on his door.
“Come in,” he called out.
Miriam pushed open the door. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be home with your family?”
“The boys are on spring break this week. I’m working now so I can take a few days off to be with them.”
Miriam smiled. “Enjoy them while you’re able. Life’s a fragile thing.”
“Yes it is. Have a seat. Let’s talk.”
“Thank you, I will. It’s been a long day.”
“How’s Sally?”
“Not any better. The doctors told Wayne this morning that the new bone marrow is starting to attack her body. I guess it’s pretty serious.”
Sam leaned back in his chair and shook his head.
Miriam continued, “You read all the stories in the Bible about Jesus healing people. With all our prayer, I just don’t understand why He isn’t healing Sally.”
“I’ve wondered that myself sometimes.”
“What do you make of it?”
“Well, I tell you, Miriam, I don’t want to say God can’t heal. After all, He’s God. He can do whatever He wants. But for whatever reason He doesn’t seem to do it nearly as often as we ask.”
“That’s true enough. I wonder why that is?”
“I think it has to do with freedom. God created a free world. And in a free world there exists the possibility not only for beauty and happiness, but ugliness and sorrow.”
Miriam sat silent. “I suppose you’re right,” she said after a while.
“So did you see any beauty today?”
“I did. I saw a bunch of women spend their day comforting Wayne and Sally the only way we knew how.”
“How was that?”
She laughed. “We made them noodles.”
“And I bet that made them feel loved.”
“I hope so.” The words caught in her throat. “I hope they know we love them.”
“I’m sure they do.” Sam paused. “You know, Miriam, maybe God is healing Sally after all, and we just can’t see it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that sometimes our deepest wounds are the invisible ones, the ones medicine can’t heal.”
Miriam looked at Sam. “Are you speaking from experience?”
“I am.”
“From when you lost your faith?”
“Yes. I’d been praying for God to do something here and when He didn’t do what I asked, I lost heart. Then I realized He was doing something, just not what I was asking.”
“So because you were looking to Him to do something in one area, you were blind to what He was doing somewhere else.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s what happened,” Sam admitted.
“So what was God doing somewhere else?”
“What God always does. Being lovingly present.”
“Forgive me for saying so, but sometimes it feels like that isn’t enough. Don’t you wish He’d do more?”
Sam chuckled. “Of course I do. Right now I wish God would cure Sally Fleming of leukemia.”
“Do you think He could?”
Sam thought for a moment. “I’m not sure. I just don’t know.”
“Doesn’t that drive you nuts, not knowing?”
“Not really. But then I’ve never thought we can know all there is to know.”
Miriam sighed. “It makes me tired to think of it.”
“It does me too. Let’s go home to our families.”
They walked outside. It was dark. The spring peepers were starting up. The light over the meetinghouse door shone down on the daffodil stems just breaking through the ground.
“I’m glad spring’s here,” Sam said. “It’s a lot easier to be optimistic in the springtime.”
He saw Miriam to her truck, then walked toward home. It was warm. Easter was nearing.
He thought about Bob Miles stirring up all kinds of excitement and leaving town.
What a luxury to have such a boring life you need to stir up excitement, he thought. I must be getting old. A little boredom sounds good right about now.
Twenty-four
A Time to Die
Good Friday morning, Sam Gardner and his brother, Roger, sat at the counter of the Coffee Cup eating breakfast. Roger had come home from the city for the Easter weekend. He and Tiffany, the vegetarian, had broken up.
“I couldn’t take it anymore,” he told Sam. “It was all she talked about—vegetable this and vegetable that. Plus, she was starting to go a little overboard.”
“Oh yeah? What’d she do?” Sam asked.
“She started carrying a can of spray paint with her and whenever she’d pass someone wearing a fur she’d spray-paint ’em.”
Sam laughed. “You’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not. She was going off the deep end. She even got put in jail once. But that’s not the worst of it. She saw me in the drive-through lane at Burger King. All I ordered was a Coke, but she accused me of fraternizing with the enemy and didn’t talk to me for an entire month.”
“That’s a little extreme.”
“All she ever talked about was what she believed. Never cared what anyone else thought. Never lifted a hand to do anything for anyone, but expected the whole world to bow to her wishes. To tell you the truth, I’m glad to be shed of her.”
The bell over the door tinkled. Ernie Matthews walked in. “Hey, Roger, long time no see.”
There was an empty seat next to Sam. Dear Lord, please let him sit somewhere else, Sam prayed.
“I’ll just sit here next to Sam. You don’t mind, do you Sam?”
“Actually, Roger and I—”
“Good, good. I’ll just sit right here. Hey, Penny, can you pour me some coffee over here? Say, Sam, I got this joke. You’ll get a kick out of this one, you being a minister and all. This man walks into a church and sees all these names written on the wall. The pastor comes up to him, and the guy says, ‘What are all these names doing on the wall?’
“The pastor says, ‘Those are the names of the people who died in the service.’
“The guy looks at the pastor and says, ‘Was that the eight o’clock service or the ten o’clock service?’”
Ernie bellowed and slapped the table.
Lord, how
could you do this to me? Sam thought.
“That was pretty good, Ernie,” Roger said. “I bet the ladies around here really appreciate your sense of humor. So are you dating anyone now?”
“No, no one in particular. I’m kinda playing the field. But I’ve been thinking of giving Deena Morrison a chance to date me.”
“I bet she can hardly wait,” Sam said.
“Who’s Deena Morrison?” Roger asked. “I’ve not heard of her. Any relation to Harold and Mabel Morrison?”
“She’s their granddaughter,” Sam said. “She moved here last year to open a law practice, but now she’s running the Legal Grounds Coffee Shop.” He leaned closer to Roger. “She’s not dating anyone at the moment. You want to meet her?”
“Not me. I’ve had it with women.”
“You’d change your mind if you ever met her. She’s a remarkable lady.”
The bell over the door tinkled again. Dale Hinshaw and Asa Peacock walked in and took a booth near the back, underneath the swordfish. Penny poured them coffee, and Vinny dropped four more eggs on the griddle.
Dale sighed.
“What’s wrong?” Asa asked.
“It’s my chickens. They’re losing more feathers than ever.”
“Did you try giving them some fresh air like I suggested?”
“Yep, I’ve taken them on walks every night. Do you know how hard it is to take twenty chickens on a walk? They’re not like dogs, that’s for sure.”
“Gee, Dale, I’m sorry to hear of your troubles.”
“Oh, it’ll work out okay. I guess I just have to have faith. Speaking of troubles, are you and Jessie doing any better?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s okay, Asa. You don’t have to be embarrassed. I know you and Jessie have been having marriage problems. In fact, everyone knows. It’s all over town. I just want you to know I’ve been praying for you.”
Asa stared at Dale.
“What happened?” Dale prodded. “You can tell me. Did winning all that money go to Jessie’s head? I was afraid that would happen. I tried to warn her in a Scripture egg.”
Just Shy of Harmony Page 17
