Almost Friends (12 page)

K
rista Riley had been preoccupied all week, anticipating Friday evening and the termination of her brief career as a pastor. Thursday morning found her seated in class, listening to a professor drone on about the Hittites and the Ammonites, people long dead and of little concern to her or any of the seminarians around her, most of whom were dozing or working that morning’s crossword puzzle.

Studying ancient animosities was of some consolation; it helped her put her own struggles in perspective. It wasn’t as if human strife were a modern trend. She would face other challenges in the future, and this one would fade from memory. She kept telling herself that, but the knot in her stomach didn’t lessen, and she dreaded Friday’s meeting more each hour.

After lunch, she was summoned to Dean Mullen’s office. He was seated behind his desk, smiling pleasantly. “Welcome, welcome. Come in, come in.” Krista went on guard immediately,
having learned that when Dean Mullen repeated himself, bad news was often at hand.

“Sit down, sit down,” he said.

She sat in the chair beside his desk.

“Well, well,” he said, leaning back in his chair, smiling. “How are things working out for you in Harmony?”

Krista considered how best to answer. “It’s a curious place,” she said after a moment’s pause.

Dean Mullen chuckled. “Yes, yes. You can say that again. You sure can say that again.”

Krista’s dread deepened. A double repeat. This couldn’t be good.

“I got a phone call from Miriam Hodge this morning. She mentioned you’d hit a bit of a rough patch.”

“You might say that,” Krista said.

Dean Mullen studied his calendar. “There are two weeks remaining in your ministry there. Wouldn’t it be easier just to quit?”

“Yes, I suppose it would,” Krista said. “But I’m not going to.”

Dean Mullen smiled. “That’s the spirit. Hang in there with them. That’s what I’ve always said. Hang in there with them.”

He hesitated and then said, “Miriam said several of the members have accused you of being a lesbian.”

“That’s right.”

“And that you’ve refused to say one way or the other.”

Krista smiled. “Actually, I told them it was none of their business.”

Dean Mullen laughed a deep, rich laugh. “Good for you. Good for you. If you cave in to tyranny, there’ll be no end to it.” He stood up behind his desk and walked around to Krista, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Krista Riley, you are going to make some church somewhere a wonderful pastor. You are strong and self-confident, but also kind.”

Krista was flooded with warmth. “Thank you, Dean. Thank you.”

Now I’m repeating myself, she thought. It must be contagious.

“Don’t mention it,” Dean Mullen said. “Don’t mention it.”

She made her way to the door, then paused when the dean asked, “What’s Sam Gardner doing in all of this?”

“To be truthful, not much,” Krista said.

“Huh, that surprises me,” Dean Mullen said with a frown. “Sam is usually a pretty good egg. You want me to phone him? Ask him to put in a good word for you? Maybe goose him along a bit?”

Krista thought for a moment. “No, I think I need to stand on my own two feet.”

“You do that then. And we’ll be praying for you. God’s peace and strength to you, friend.”

She left the dean’s office elated, feeling more alive than she had in years.

Back in Harmony, Sam spent the morning helping his mother wash windows and discussing the upcoming showdown. He didn’t disclose what he’d overheard in the library. His mother,
he had learned over the years, was not the most objective person when it came to Sam and his detractors. He didn’t want to see her engaged in fisticuffs with Fern Hampton.

After a lunch of grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup, Sam stopped by the meetinghouse to visit with Frank, whom he caught dozing in his chair.

“You better get all the rest you can now,” Sam told him. “When I’m back in charge of things, you’ll be too busy to slack off.”

Frank groaned and rubbed his eyes.

“What’s the matter?” Sam asked. “Miss Rudy keeping you up too late?”

“Shush up, you young whippersnapper.”

Sam enjoyed Frank, if only because it made him feel young to be called a whippersnapper or any of the other colorful names Frank regularly bestowed on him, such as hooligan, lout, and ruffian.

Sam wheeled his chair into Frank’s office and sat down, propping his feet on the edge of Frank’s desk. “Anything new?”

“Fern Hampton stopped by.”

“What’s our old friend Fern up to?” Sam asked.

“Seems she wants to bring in Shirley Finchum’s grandson to replace you.”

“Yes, I heard something about that.”

“And,” Frank said, smiling broadly, “she said if I backed her, she’d make sure I stayed on as secretary and got a raise.”

“Well, that little scalawag,” Sam said. “Of all the nerve.”

After he told Frank about the conversation he’d overheard
between Fern and Dale, Frank asked, “Shirley Finchum and Stanley Farlow are in on it too?”

“It appears so.”

“I’ve never trusted the Finchums or the Farlows. They’re ne’er-do-wells!”

“Good-for-nothings!”

“Malingerers!” Frank said.

“Idlers!”

They collapsed in a fit of laughter, giggling like two schoolgirls.

“You gonna be at the meeting?” Sam asked.

“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I think we oughta sell tickets. I saw Clevis Nagle at the Coffee Cup this morning, and he asked if he could come and he’s not even a member.”

It occurred to Sam they weren’t exhibiting the proper gravity for such an occasion, but after his anxieties about losing his job, it felt good to laugh.

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him there probably wouldn’t be room, but that he could purchase the video for twenty dollars.”

“What?”

“Sure, why not? Besides, if we tape it, we’ll have it on record. You know how Fern is. We have a meeting to decide something and if she doesn’t get her way, she just keeps hammering away, claiming we’d never made a decision one way or the other, until she gets her way. If we tape it, we’ll have her dead to rights.”

“Good thinking,” Sam said. “Okay, you can tape it. But you can’t sell it.”

“Not even if we give the money to Brother Norman’s shoe ministry to the Choctaw Indians?”

Sam frowned. “No, not even then. It isn’t seemly.”

“You’re the boss,” Frank said.

“Maybe not now,” Sam said, standing to leave, “but in another couple weeks. Then you’ll have to stop all your goofing off and do some real work.”

“You never know what Quakers will do. We might decide to keep Krista on and give you the heave-ho. I wouldn’t be picking colors for your office just yet.”

Sam chuckled. He’d missed bickering with Frank.

He stopped past the newspaper on his way home to pick up that week’s edition of the
Harmony Herald.
He plucked a paper from the wire rack outside the front door, depositing a quarter in the canister. He walked over to the bench on the sidewalk, sat down, and glanced at the front page.

Local Church on Verge of Split!
it read. The article went on at length, spilling over to the back page, describing the controversy over Krista, naming names and generally sparing readers no detail.

Sam groaned.

“Pretty good piece of reporting, if I do say so myself,” Bob Miles said, standing behind him.

“I wish you hadn’t done this, Bob. It’s just gonna make folks upset.”

“What do you mean? Everybody knows anyway. Might as well write about it. In fact, I’m thinking of starting up a new weekly column on the church fights in this town. One week I could write about the Catholics fighting, then the Baptists, then the Quakers. Now that would sell some papers.”

“There are things here only the elders knew,” Sam said, deeply perturbed. “Who spilled the beans?”

“I never reveal a source,” Bob said loftily.

“I can’t imagine the Friendly Women will be happy to see this. They’ll probably pull their ad for next year’s Chicken Noodle Dinner,” Sam said.

“Okay, it was Fern Hampton and Dale Hinshaw. They told me everything,” Bob said, his ethics crumbling under the threat of economic pressure.

“I knew it. I knew it was them. The big blabbermouths.”

“Don’t tell them I told you,” Bob said. “They’ll never tell me anything again.”

Sam read the rest of the paper, seething over Dale and Fern. The nerve of them, revealing confidential matters discussed in the elders meetings, Sam thought. Unfortunately, the elders at Harmony Friends, with the exception of Miriam Hodge, regularly blabbed the church’s business all over town. If a lack of discretion were grounds for dismissal, Sam would have to fire half the church.

He folded the paper, tucking it under his arm, then walked the three blocks home down Washington Street. Barbara was in the kitchen, folding laundry on the table. She greeted Sam
with a kiss, then said, “Miriam Hodge just called. She wants you to call her.”

“Bad news?”

“She didn’t say. She just wanted you to call her as soon as you got in.”

Sam dialed her number, listening to the three short rings of Miriam’s line. The Hodges were on a party line, which they shared with three neighbors. Whenever he spoke with Miriam, he could hear Leota Stout’s muffled breathing as she listened in.

Miriam picked up the phone.

“Hi, Miriam. It’s Sam, returning your call.”

“Hello, Sam. Thanks for calling back.”

They listened quietly. Leota Stout coughed.

“Leota, I believe the phone’s for me, dear. Would you mind hanging up?” Miriam said.

The phone line clicked.

“What’s up?” Sam asked.

“Sam, I feel terrible telling you this, but I can’t make tomorrow’s meeting.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Not really. My sister phoned this morning, and she’s having an operation tomorrow. She asked if I could come help her. She doesn’t have anyone else, and I couldn’t tell her no.”

Sam stifled a sigh. This was disastrous. Miriam Hodge was often the only reason the church didn’t descend into total
lunacy. There was no telling what would happen with her gone.

“Of course you need to go be with her,” Sam said charitably. “She’s your sister.”

“I’m sorry, Sam. I know I’m letting you and Krista down, but it can’t be helped.”

“I’m sure she’ll understand, Miriam. Don’t you worry about it. You just take good care of your sister.”

“Thank you, Sam. I appreciate your understanding.” Miriam paused. “I know this is irregular, but I’m on my way out the door now. I tried phoning Krista, but she wasn’t home. She must still be in class. Would you mind phoning her and explaining my predicament?”

“Not at all,” Sam lied. “I’d be happy to do it.”

Embarrassed by his reluctance to come to Krista’s aid earlier, he’d been avoiding her, but now contact seemed inevitable.

“Do you happen to have her number?” he asked.

Miriam recited it, and Sam wrote it down, assuring her he would call.

He phoned her that evening, after the boys were in bed. She picked up on the second ring. “Hi, Krista. Sam Gardner here.”

He didn’t ask her how she was doing for fear she would tell him.

“Just wanted to touch base with you before the meeting tomorrow. Miriam Hodge tried calling you earlier. She won’t
be able to be there. Her sister’s in the hospital. But she wanted to tell you not to worry.”

Krista sighed. “That’s not good. I was counting on Miriam’s support.”

“I’m going to be there.”

Krista hesitated. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but you’ve been pretty quiet through all of this. I’ve been waiting for you to say something.”

“About that,” Sam said, swallowing hard, then plunging ahead, “you’re absolutely right. I should have spoken up for you when all this started. The truth is, I’ve been rather jealous. You’re so gifted, and people seemed so enamored with you. I was afraid of losing my job to you.”

Krista didn’t say anything at first. Sam thought they’d been disconnected. “Krista, are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m still here. Sam, when I came to your church, it was with the understanding that I would only be there three months. Even if the meeting had offered me your job, I wouldn’t have taken it.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t trust you,” Sam said. “And I want you to know that I’ll make it up to you. If they fire you, I’m gone too.”

He said it without thinking, grew slightly panicked by his promise, but resolved inwardly to honor it.

Krista chuckled. “Don’t do that, Sam. I only have two more weeks to go. It’s not worth quitting over. You have a family to support. Let’s just not make it easy for them to fire me. Okay?”

“You got it,” Sam said.

They chatted a few minutes more. When Sam finally hung up the phone, he felt much better. Regaining one’s integrity was never easy, but it paid handsome dividends, and he went to sleep, confident that no matter what happened the next day he would at the very least not be a weasel.