by Lynne Hinton
The preacher stood up, nodding his head, biting the inside of his lip, like he was thinking. “All right then,” he said, tapping the window with his finger, and turned slowly to walk back to the church office.
Beatrice watched him in her rearview mirror, surprised that he had abided by her wishes and was not going to demand she talk to him. She was shocked that he was giving her exactly what she had asked. She blew out a long breath and followed him in the mirror.
He didn’t go inside the church, but rather he sat down on a bench near the back of the building, near the office door. The children from the preschool had just come out in the adjacent playground and he was sitting there, apparently enjoying their play.
Beatrice looked back at her own reflection in the mirror. She was a mess. Her makeup had been wiped away; the mascara she had put on earlier was smeared all the way down her cheeks. Her eyes were puffy and red.
“No wonder he didn’t put up a fight about leaving me alone,” she said to herself, dabbing at her face with a tissue. She touched up the sides of her hair and looked back in the direction of the church and at her pastor sitting on the bench. She took in a deep breath, turned the engine off, and unbuckled her seat belt. She got out of the car and headed in his direction.
She stood next to him for a few seconds before speaking. She watched the children as they squealed in delight, running from one toy to another. A couple of little girls were swinging on the swing set, a few were sliding down the slide, and one little boy was sitting in the sandbox, playing with trucks. A light winter breeze blew, and Beatrice pulled her jacket together and zipped it. It was sunny but still cold. The landscape around them was barren, deep in the middle of February and winter.
“I do love sitting out here and watching them play,” the pastor announced without turning around to Beatrice. “Somehow, it doesn’t matter what my day is like, if I just make the time to sit out here and watch them, see how they get along, how they laugh and jump and run, how they are so delighted with themselves and life, well, it just somehow settles me.” He turned around to his parishioner, still standing behind him. He paused for a second. “You want to join me?” he finally asked.
Beatrice smiled a weak smile and walked around to take a seat beside the older gentleman.
Reverend Joles had been at Hope Springs Community Church for about three years, but Beatrice had never spent more than a few minutes with him. She brought him prune cakes, as she did for every pastor, and did anything he asked her to do. She made calls to the homebound members, took communion to the sick, hosted fellow-ship hour after worship or during special events. She was the recording secretary for the Women’s Fellowship and she never missed a Sunday, but in all the time that he had been there, Beatrice never took the time to get to know Reverend Joles or his wife.
She realized as she sat there beside him that she really didn’t know anything about him. So unlike herself, Beatrice had not pestered him for personal information or details about his life before coming to Hope Springs. She hadn’t invited the couple over to the house for a meal. She hadn’t dropped by the office to get to know him better. She hadn’t gone to the parsonage to drop off leftovers or to see how he and his wife had decorated the place. Once Charlotte left and Margaret got sick, Bea simply lost interest in new folks, even the pastor of her beloved church.
“Is that Nadine’s little boy?” she asked, referring to the child in the sandbox.
“Jackson,” the preacher answered. “He’s four this year,” he added. “And that’s Laura and Billie, and the little one on the slide is Austin.” He pointed to the little boy just getting ready to slide down. “He’s Edie and Pete’s grandson,” he said.
Beatrice glanced over at the pastor. She didn’t know that he had taken such a personal interest in the children at the day care center. Somehow, hearing that he knew all the children’s names surprised her.
She looked back at the children and shook her head slowly. “Four years old,” she noted, referring to the little boy about whom she had first asked. “It’s hard to believe Nadine has been married that long and has another baby.” She thought for a second. “It’s hard to believe that it’s been almost ten years since little Brittany died.” She felt the tears welling up in her eyes. She was an emotional mess at this point. Any memory was enough to set her up for a weeping jag.
There was a pause.
“I remember hearing about that death,” Reverend Joles responded. “Your pastor did a wonderful job caring for this community after that tragedy.” He pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to Beatrice, without ever looking at her. “There can’t be anything harder for a family or a community than the death of a child.”
“It broke us,” Bea said, recalling the death, the funeral, and the aftermath. She remembered Nadine and her suicide attempt, Charlotte’s coping skills of working long hours at the church, Jessie’s poignant prayers that she would stand in the congregation and pray every Sunday morning, and she remembered Margaret and her way of gathering everyone to her and holding them, the way she gave so much comfort with just her presence.
Beatrice thought of Margaret and she started crying again. She dropped her head in her hands, and the pastor waited a minute and then placed his hand on her shoulder.
“You missing Margaret?” he asked, surprising Beatrice that he knew what was wrong.
She looked up at him and nodded her head. “She was my best friend,” Beatrice explained. “She was loyal and smart and she could tell me what to do right now,” she added.
There was a pause before the pastor spoke.
“Margaret Peele was as fine a person as I have ever known,” Reverend Joles noted.
“She was that,” Beatrice added. She wiped her eyes.
There was another pause in the conversation.
“You know, in the same way that after Nadine’s little girl died there was a pall cast over this church, I sort of feel as if a sorrow has settled on this community since Margaret passed. I just get the feeling we’re all kind of stuck in some kind of an old grief.” He pulled his hand away, and Beatrice leaned back against the bench.
Beatrice didn’t respond right away. She thought about what the pastor was saying. She thought it seemed quite accurate about the folks at Hope Springs.
“I suppose you’re right,” she agreed. “Margaret was the spiritual center of this church. Without her, I just feel like we’ve lost our foundation.” She blew her nose on the handkerchief and then realized how what she had said might have offended the spiritual leader of Hope Springs Church. She tried to correct herself. “I don’t mean you don’t bring us a lot in your leadership, Pastor,” she said. “I just, I …” Beatrice struggled for the words.
“You don’t need to worry about my feelings,” Reverend Joles interrupted. “I know what you mean.” He dropped his hands on his lap. “And you’re right, she was the foundation for this church. She was like the flight attendant on a plane.”
Beatrice glanced over at the minister. “I don’t follow you,” she said, looking confused. “Margaret hated to fly.”
Reverend Joles smiled. “I don’t mean literally, Bea,” he responded.
Beatrice nodded.
“Have you ever flown?” he asked her.
“Of course,” Beatrice replied.
“Have you ever been on a flight that was maybe bumpy or turbulent?”
Beatrice considered the question. She nodded.
“Did you notice how when that happens, everybody looks at the flight attendant?”
Beatrice thought about the time she flew with Dick to Florida and there was a thunderstorm. She recalled how the plane rocked and dipped and how she had been scared to death. She realized that Reverend Joles was right. She had looked at the flight attendant who was working in the section of the airplane where Beatrice was sitting. The woman had been serving drinks at the time, and she never missed a beat. She kept taking orders and pouring soda and juice and water and never cast a look of fear or worr
y. She never glanced out the window or turned to look at another flight attendant. She just went along with business as usual. And it had calmed Beatrice, and as she remembered the flight she understood what the pastor was trying to explain.
“Everybody looks at the flight attendant to see how she’s acting,” he continued. “They watch her to see if she is upset or nervous, and if she isn’t, everybody feels comforted, hopeful. They know that if she’s not upset, everything is going to be okay.”
Beatrice nodded, completely understanding. “Margaret was our point of reference for how we should be,” she said. “Everybody looked at her, looked to her, to know whether we should be upset or concerned.”
“Or not,” Reverend Joles added.
“Or not,” Beatrice repeated. She started to cry again. “And now we don’t have a flight attendant and I feel like my plane is falling from the sky.” She shook her head. “And I don’t know where to look for comfort or help or instruction.”
The pastor didn’t respond for a while. He just sat while Beatrice cried. Finally, he leaned forward, glanced over at Beatrice, and spoke. “Beatrice, I will never be Margaret and I can’t be Reverend Stewart, but I would like to be your friend, if you’d let me. I know it’s been hard to accept me here and I’ve respected that difficulty for all the time I’ve been at Hope Springs.” He cleared his throat. “But I’m kind of lone-some too,” he added. “It would mean a lot to me for you and the others just to let me in, a little.” He cleared his throat again, and Beatrice looked. “I miss her too,” he said. “I miss Margaret Peele too.”
The two sat there for a few minutes without speaking until a couple of the children came over to the fence that surrounded the playground and stared at the two grown-ups sitting on the bench near them.
One of them, a little girl about five years old, called out, “Pastor Tom, are you and that lady all right?”
He smiled at the little girl. “Libby, I think we’re both going to be okay,” he replied. “And you are very sweet to come over and check on us,” he added.
The little girl grinned. “Well, Pastor Tom, you said that you were my friend, and making sure you’re okay is what friends do,” she said, sounding very much as if she thought the minister ought to know that already. Then she shrugged and took the hand of the little girl standing beside her, and they turned and ran back to the swing set.
Beatrice turned to look at the pastor. “Margaret would want me to ask you for help,” she said. “She probably was the one who sent you to me today,” she added.
Reverend Joles smiled and took Beatrice by the hand. “And what kind of help are you needing, my friend?” he asked.
“Well, Pastor,” she confessed. “It’s kind of a long story but it starts with a wedding in Mexico.”
“That sounds like a movie I just watched last night,” he remarked. “Do you get HBO?” he asked.
“I am planning to pay for those channels!” she yelled, and the pastor looked at her in confusion.
“Okay,” he responded.
All the children and teachers on the playground turned and looked in their direction.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized to the reverend, and then spoke loudly enough for the others to hear. “I’m sorry.” She waved at them with the handkerchief, and they returned to their play. “I’m still just a little upset,” she said to Reverend Joles, realizing she still had his handkerchief. She handed it back to him.
He glanced down at the dirty handkerchief. “Just keep that, Beatrice.”
She nodded and placed it back on her lap.
“So, your story starts with a wedding in Mexico.” He repeated what she had said earlier.
The two of them stopped talking and watched as the teacher called for the children to assemble into a line and follow her into the building. The children laughed and shouted as they walked inside. In the back of the line, Libby, just before heading through the door, turned and waved. And the two adults, smiling at the little girl as she left the playground, waved together, looking a lot like old friends.
Chile con Queso
4 tablespoons butter
1 large onion, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 cup light cream
2 10-ounce cans chopped tomatoes
2 8-ounce packages Monterey Jack cheese, shredded
1 4-ounce can hot chopped green chiles
Melt butter in a large skillet and sauté onion and garlic. Sprinkle flour while stirring. Add cream and tomatoes to ingredients in skillet. Bring to a slight boil and simmer 2 minutes, stirring. Add the cheese a half cup at a time, keeping the heat turned down. Add chiles.
—Janice B.
Chapter Ten
Carla was awake, dressed, and sitting at the dining room table when Charlotte walked in the back door for work. Janice, Iris, Denise, Martha, and her two small children, both girls, were all sitting with her, eating breakfast. The four other adult residents and the two children had plans for the day, and Charlotte had been hoping that she would have some time alone with Carla to talk about the recent events that had brought her into St. Mary’s.
“Well, don’t all of you look chipper and ready to face the morning?” Charlotte commented as she closed the door behind her. Her arms were full of shopping bags because she had stopped by the Goodwill Center to find Carla some things to wear. She knew that most of the clothes at St. Mary’s would be too large for a woman as petite as she was.
The manager at the donation center usually allowed Charlotte to shop before they opened the store. The two women became friends when the manager, a victim of domestic abuse, had stayed a couple of weeks at St. Mary’s after Charlotte first arrived in Gallup. Charlotte had helped the woman land the managerial position at Goodwill, and in return she liked being able to do anything she could for the residents of St. Mary’s. She donated most of the clothes to the shelter. She also gave them furniture and books and anything else the women needed.
“You already been shopping?” Denise asked. She walked over to help Charlotte carry some of the bags. “You find anything in a twelve?” She opened one of the bags and peered inside.
“Here,” Charlotte said, handing her another bag. “This one is yours.”
Denise smiled and yanked the bag from Charlotte. She put the other bags she was holding on the floor. “Did you get a skirt?” she asked, and before Charlotte could answer she pulled out a long dark blue skirt. “You are so fabulous, Sister Charlotte!” she exclaimed. And she ran out of the room to try it on.
“Wait!” Charlotte yelled. “You forgot the blazer.”
Denise flew back into the room and grabbed the bag from Charlotte, who was still standing in the doorway holding it. “It’s a suit!” she yelled in delight. “I have a suit!” And she turned and ran down the hall.
“She’s wanted a nice suit for three months,” Martha explained to Carla, who appeared surprised at what had just happened. “She’s been studying to be a court reporter and she was told that she has to have a dark suit to get the job.”
Carla nodded and then quickly looked away from the other woman. Charlotte could see that there hadn’t been a lot of conversation or eye contact before she had arrived. She took the bags and dropped them off in her office. She would show her findings to Carla when everyone left.
Charlotte walked back into the dining room and noticed everyone as they watched Carla trying unsuccessfully to eat her first spoonful of cereal. With the injuries she had suffered, she couldn’t open her mouth wide enough for the spoon, and once she realized that, she just put the spoon back in the bowl. The other women glanced away, ashamed they had been staring. There was an awkward silence at the table.
“Why don’t I fix you a milk shake?” Charlotte asked.
Just as she asked the question, Darlene walked into the room behind her. “I will fix the milk shake,” she announced. “Because I am the queen of shake,” she added.
The
little girls were watching and they both clapped their hands. “I want one too!” the younger one cried.
“You don’t need no milk shake,” Martha said, pushing the bowl of cereal closer to her daughter. “You can eat your cereal.” And the little girl pouted but took up her spoon and continued eating.
Darlene went into the kitchen and over to the freezer, got the ice cream, opened the refrigerator, pulled out the milk and some blue-berries, and then went over to the counter, cut half of a banana, and then slid the blender toward her. She mixed everything together, grabbed a tall glass from the cabinet, and poured the contents from the blender into the glass. She found a straw and then walked into the dining room and put the concoction in front of Carla. “I had my mouth wired together for six weeks after my jaw was broken. I can make any kind of milk shake you want.” She smiled and walked back into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee.
“Thank you,” Carla mumbled.
The women all nodded their approval.
“So, who needs a ride this morning?” Charlotte asked, smiling. The tenderness she observed among the women at the shelter always touched her deeply. She knew the kindness, the easy way they had with one another, the knowing way they spoke to one another, was the very best medicine the women would ever receive. She walked around with the coffeepot and began refilling the women’s cups.
“It’s all being handled,” Janice announced, waving away any more coffee and clearing away her dishes to take them into the kitchen to put into the dishwasher. “I’m taking Martha and Denise and the girls. Darlene is driving Iris to her doctor’s appointment. We’re all in good shape, Sister.”
