Almost Friends (8 page)

T
he Chicken Noodle Dinner was a stunning triumph, owing to Buffy Newhart’s plug at the end of the parade in an interview with Bob Miles of the
Herald.

“What are you doing next?” he’d asked her. “What are your plans for the future?”

“I’m going to the Chicken Noodle Dinner,” she’d said.

Over the years many a Sausage Queen has been confounded about what to do after the glory of queenship. A few moved on to further glories, most notably Nora Nagle, who starred as a dancing grape in an underwear commercial. But many more struggled, having peaked early. It is the unspoken shame of Harmony that of the forty-two former Sausage Queens, fifteen of them required psychiatric treatment, twelve moved to the city, five of them took to drink, and one became a Buddhist.

Still, young ladies all over town aspire to that high office, knowing it might spell their ruination; they seem
to be willing to risk their future in hopes of achieving that fleeting honor.

As was the custom, the freshly crowned Sausage Queen Buffy Newhart gave the blessing of the noodles, thanking God for first one thing and then another—the privilege of representing the town at the state Sausage Queen contest, the food they were about to partake of and the hands that had prepared it, and the opportunity to live in a free country where they could worship anywhere they wished or not worship at all, if that was their choice, amen.

Dale Hinshaw was pleased until she hit the last line, when he became visibly upset, having labored for years to make worship mandatory, lobbying the Honorable Henry Tuttle to sponsor a bill requiring every citizen to worship each Sunday, ideally at a Protestant church, unless one couldn’t be found, then at a Catholic church, so long as one didn’t make a habit of it.

He wanted to admonish Buffy but couldn’t get near her for the entourage that surrounded her, attending to her every wish. Instead, he recorded her transgression in his pocket notebook, lest he forget her sin amidst the rapture of noodles and general excitement.

With Fern Hampton gone, Krista Riley served the noodles, spilling not one noodle the entire afternoon. This was akin to pitching a no-hitter her first time on the mound, and when she laid down her spoon two hours later, the Friendly Women broke into applause.

Sam’s entire family was present in the meetinghouse basement, including his brother, Roger, who’d driven out from the city for the day.

It was Charlie Gardner’s first foray into public since his heart bypass, and he was stuffing himself with noodles.

“Best noodles anywhere,” Charlie Gardner said, scraping his plate with a flourish.

His wife beamed with pleasure.

Krista, moving from table to table to chat with the lingering diners, approached Sam’s table. “How are the Gardners?”

“Finer than a frog’s hair,” Charlie Gardner said, his mood elevated by the surfeit of noodles.

“I’m Roger,” Sam’s brother said, standing up and smiling broadly, his bachelor radar on high alert in the presence of an attractive single woman.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Roger,” Krista said, shaking his hand.

“Please join us,” he offered, holding out an empty chair conveniently located beside his.

“I’d like nothing more,” she said. “But there’s still a lot of work to be done.”

“Oh, rest for a spell,” Gloria Gardner said. “You’ve earned it.” She turned and spoke to Sam. “You wouldn’t believe how hard Krista’s worked. I don’t know what we would have done without her.”

“Better watch out, son. She might take your job,” Charlie Gardner teased.

“You know us women, we’re sneaky that way,” Krista said, poking Sam’s shoulder.

Sam frowned. A look of alarm crossed his face.

“So how do you like being a minister so far?” Gloria Gardner asked.

“I’m having a ball,” Krista said. “But, Sam, I don’t know how you do it. Every time I turn around, there’s something else to do. They told me you’ve been pastoring eighteen years now. How have you lasted so long?”

Sam smiled modestly, started to speak, but was interrupted by his father.

“He doesn’t work very hard, that’s how he does it,” Charlie Gardner said. “Frank does most of the work.”

That’s the last time I buy him Cheetos and Dr. Pepper, Sam thought.

“So how do you find time for your boyfriend?” Roger asked Krista. Roger was still single, fast approaching forty, and had lost all sense of subtlety.

“Easy,” Krista said. “I don’t have one.”

“If I’ve told Sam this once, I’ve told him a hundred times, don’t be so busy with your career that you forget to love.”

Sam rolled his eyes. Roger had never told him any such thing.

Krista blushed and began gathering empty plates onto a tray to carry to the kitchen.

“Let me help you,” Roger offered, ever the gentleman.

“Somebody better hose him down,” Sam whispered to Barbara, who snorted, then began to laugh.

In the midst of her laughter Sam glanced across the table at his father, who was holding his chest, his face the color of a radish.

“Dad, you okay?” Sam asked.

“My chest,” his father gasped.

Sam turned to his mother. “Call for an ambulance. Quick.”

He ran around the table to his father and helped him to the floor, loosening his shirt collar.

The Friendly Women gathered around, concerned, their hands clutched in prayer.

“Dad, where does it hurt?” Sam asked.

“Chest…arm…neck,” his dad answered weakly.

“Oh, Lord, he’s having a heart attack,” Bea Majors said. “Lift his legs. If someone’s having a heart attack, you need to lift their legs.”

“That’s if they’re having a stroke,” Jessie Peacock said.

“No, Bea’s right,” Opal Majors said. “You got to lift their legs.”

Jessie Peacock, always one for compromise, said, “How about just lifting one of his legs.”

“C-c-cold,” Charlie Gardner chattered.

“Barbara, run and get the blanket from our car,” Sam said.

“Probably heartburn from all those noodles,” Opal said, then absolved herself of any blame. “I told him not to eat so many. He had three plates.”

Gloria Gardner returned to her husband’s side, crouching on the floor beside him to smooth his hair and comfort him. “Johnny Mackey’s on the way. You just hold on, honey.”

The uninitiated might rest easy to learn an ambulance was on its way, but those familiar with Johnny Mackey’s history of procrastination were not at all comforted by Gloria’s report. Johnny had been known to stop for gas, groceries, and even lunch on his way to a medical emergency.

Barbara bustled in, carrying a blanket, which Sam spread over his father.

Dale Hinshaw knelt beside Charlie. “Times like this, a man needs to get right with the Almighty. You got any sins to confess before you meet the Lord?”

“Dale, don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Sam asked, gently nudging him aside.

“Adultery? Lying? Cheating? Anything at all you need to repent of?” Dale persisted, oblivious to Sam’s hint.

Some men dream of illicit romance, others of vast fortunes. It seemed Dale Hinshaw had long fantasized of leading a dying sinner to the Lord. Unfortunately, Charlie Gardner wasn’t cooperating.

“How about drinking? Stealing? Did you ever murder anyone?”

Charlie shook his head, albeit feebly.

“Lust? Greed? Gluttony?” Dale pressed on.

“He’s got you there, Charlie,” Opal Majors said. “Three plates of noodles. If that isn’t gluttony, I don’t know what is.”

“Gluttony it is,” Dale cried out gleefully. “I knew there was a demon in there somewhere. We just had to root him out.”

The whole time Dale was working feverishly to exorcise
Charlie’s demons, Krista stood with her arm around Gloria Gardner, unsure of what to do.

When Dale paused to catch his breath, she suggested they pray for Charlie, in hopes it would silence Dale.

“Good idea,” Dale said and began to beseech the Lord to forgive Charlie for overindulging. “Lord, we ask your mercy here on Charlie, even though he’s disobeyed your Word and made a pig of himself—”

“Actually,” Krista interrupted, “I was hoping we could have Quaker silence.”

“Pipe down, Dale,” Bea Majors said, then turned to Krista. “Since you cured Fern of her warts, why don’t you have a go at Charlie.”

Krista knelt, laid her right hand upon Charlie’s chest, and began to pray quietly. People pressed in, straining to hear, but her voice was so soft they couldn’t make out the words.

“For crying out loud,” Dale groused. “I can’t hear a word she’s saying.”

“Zip it, Dale. She’s not praying to you,” Bea Majors said.

At that precise moment, as if to punctuate Bea’s counsel, Charles Gardner emitted the loudest, longest belch that had ever been heard in the environs of Harmony.

“Well, Dale, looks like he expelled that demon you were talking about,” Bea Majors observed.

Charlie’s eyes fluttered open, and he sat up. “What’s everybody doing looking at me?” he asked. “Hey, what am I doing on the floor?”

Opal Majors, though not of the Roman persuasion, crossed herself. “My Lord, she’s done it again. First, she cured Fern, then she didn’t spill a noodle, and now she’s gone and healed Charlie. We got ourselves a miracle worker.”

The Friendly Women studied Krista silently, not certain what to make of such powers and the woman who held them.

Sam stepped back away from the crowd and regarded Krista quietly, torn between deep appreciation for her ministry and a rising envy for her gifts.

J
ohnny Mackey arrived at the meetinghouse an hour later. Charlie was working on a fourth plate of noodles to build his strength, Gloria was washing dishes, Sam and Barbara and their sons were mopping the floor, and Roger was glued to Krista’s side, tighter than a tick.

“Sorry I’m late,” Johnny said. “Couldn’t find my keys.”

Over the years, Johnny Mackey’s ambulance keys had been found in a number of interesting locations, including the counter of the Coffee Cup. Frank had hung them on the bulletin board in hopes someone might claim them, which Johnny did a month later, though not before transporting the sick and lame in the bed of his pickup.

“It’s all right,” Sam told Johnny. “Dad’s better now.” He had to bite his tongue to keep from stating the obvious—that with Johnny Mackey manning the ambulance, it behooved the populace to pray for divine intervention.

“Say, those noodles sure look good,” Johnny said. “Got any left?”

“Help yourself,” Charlie said as he served himself his fifth plate.

“So how you feeling?” Johnny asked, in between bites of noodles.

“Terrific. It was the craziest thing. One minute, my chest is killing me, and I’m stretched out on the floor thinking I’m gonna die. The next minute I’m feeling tip-top.”

“What happened?” Johnny asked.

“Don’t know and can’t remember. Gloria said Krista laid her hand on my chest, said a prayer, and here I am. That little missy sure is something.”

Sam was relieved when his father’s description of Krista’s many virtues was interrupted by a panting Bob Miles, camera slung around his neck, his notebook at the ready. He looked rather startled to see Charlie Gardner in the full bloom of health.

“I heard you were dead. I was going to take your picture for the
Herald
.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Charlie said.

“What happened?”

Charlie’s enthusiasm for his near-death experience was growing, and he recounted, with several dramatic embellishments, how Krista had, in his words, “plucked him from the jaws of death.”

“What we need,” Bob said, “is a photographic reconstruction. Charlie, you lie down there on the floor.” He marched over to Krista and led her beside Charlie. “Krista, you kneel down and put your hand on Charlie’s chest just like you did.
Then maybe if you could lift your other hand up to heaven, like you’re commanding the Lord to heal Charlie. That’ll add a little pizzazz.”

Krista had severe misgivings, but Charlie was desperate to have his picture in the paper, so she went along, despite her better judgment.

“Now on the count of three, you both look at me and smile,” Bob said.

“One, two, and think of your wedding night, three,” Bob said, then clicked the shutter and smiled happily. “The Sausage Queen just got bumped to page two.”

As he watched from across the basement, Sam felt prickly with envy—warm and flushed and slightly mad. Krista had been in Harmony a scant two months and she’d already cured Fern of warts, served on the front line of the Chicken Noodle Dinner, saved a life, and had her picture taken for the front page of the
Herald.

It had taken him six years working the Chicken Noodle Dinner to be promoted to the lemonade line, and the best he’d done in the
Herald
was page four, when Bob had printed his and Barbara’s engagement picture seventeen years before.

Even as he was consumed with resentment, he knew it was wrong but felt powerless to repent, so strong were his feelings. And when he left the meetinghouse an hour later, his family in tow, he was preoccupied with concern for his employment and more than a little grouchy, snapping at his family and being a general pain in the posterior the rest of the day.

A good night’s rest restored his mood, and after breakfast Sam walked to his parents’ house, where he found his father out in the garage, gassing up the lawn mower.

“Hi, Dad. Whatcha doing?”

“What’s it look like I’m doing?”

“Filling the mower with gas,” Sam ventured.

“You got it.”

“If you need me to mow, I’ll have to go back home and get my old tennis shoes,” Sam said. “I don’t want to get these grass-stained.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll do the mowing.”

Sam went inside, where he found his mother seated at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee.

“Did you know Dad is going to mow?”

“Yes, he woke up this morning bound and determined to mow. I told him not to, that it was too soon after his operation, but he says he feels fine.” She shook her head, exasperated. “Why don’t you go out there and stop him?”

Sam chuckled. “Yeah, right. I’m sure he’ll listen to me.”

“What should we do?”

“Well, I think I’m going back to work,” Sam said.

“I thought you had another month off,” his mother said.

“I guess that’s technically true. But since I took off to help with Dad and he’s doing fine, I’m sure they’ll be happy to have me back early. Besides, it’ll save them from having to pay two pastors.”

The Quakers, Sam had learned over the years, were never as excited as when they were saving money.

Coincidentally, the elders were meeting that night. Sam ate an early supper and arrived at the meetinghouse a little before seven, just as the elders were pulling into the parking lot.

Miriam Hodge opened the meeting with a devotional thought, offered a brief prayer, then welcomed Sam to their meeting. “So what brings you here this evening? We weren’t expecting you, since you’re still on leave.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk about,” Sam said. “Dad’s doing better, and I’m ready to come back to work.”

His statement was greeted with silence as the elders glanced awkwardly at one another.

Miriam Hodge was the first to find her voice. “We’re certainly glad your father is better, Sam.”

“Yeah, Sam. That’s great news,” said Asa Peacock.

“Does this mean Krista has to go?” Bea Majors asked, clearly disappointed at the prospect.

“I thought you were supposed to be gone another month,” Harvey Muldock said.

“I was,” Sam said. “But now that my father is better, I thought I’d come back.”

“Why don’t you take another couple months off,” Opal Majors suggested.

“Now there’s a thought,” Harvey Muldock said.

This wasn’t going quite the way Sam had hoped.

“I just thought if I came back now, it’d save the meeting from having to pay two pastors,” he said.

“Oh, it’s not that much money,” Bea Majors said. This from the woman who in 1976 had demanded the church
switch from Kivett’s Five and Dime toilet paper to Kroger toilet paper in order to save eleven cents, ultimately costing the meeting Ned Kivett’s tithe. Now she was spending money like a drunken sailor.

“I hate to see us break our word to Krista,” Asa Peacock said. “We told her we’d need her at least three months.”

“It wouldn’t be good to break our word,” Miriam Hodge agreed.

“Besides, I was hoping she’d cure me of my arthritis,” Bea said. “If we let her go now, I can kiss that good-bye.”

“Maybe I could have a go at your arthritis,” Sam said, growing desperate.

“Nothing personal, Sam,” Bea said, “but I’ve been on the prayer list three years now, and all your praying hasn’t done diddly-squat for my arthritis.”

“Maybe I could pray for you now,” Sam suggested.

He bowed his head, reached over to Bea, who was seated beside him, laid a hand on her gnarled, arthritic fingers, and began to pray for the Lord to heal Bea of her wretched malady. When he finished praying, Sam looked at her expectantly.

She wiggled her digits, then winced. “No good, Sam. I guess it’s up to Krista now.”

“It’s just as I suspected,” Opal Majors said. “The power’s gone out of you. Why don’t you take another couple months off and get right with the Lord.”

“Couldn’t hurt,” Asa Peacock said.

“Of course, you’d still be on the payroll,” Miriam Hodge added.

“I’m sure Krista wouldn’t mind staying an extra month,” Harvey Muldock said, visibly pleased by the possibility.

The longer Sam stayed at the meeting, the worse his predicament grew. He excused himself before they decided to get shed of him completely.

It took him ten minutes to walk home. By the time he arrived, he had worked himself into a lather.

“You won’t believe what happened,” he told his wife.

“What?”

“They the same as gave me my walking papers. I went there to tell them I was ready to come back to work, and they gave me an extra month off. It’s clear they don’t want me back.”

“Sam Gardner, you are one odd duck,” Barbara said. “You’ve been complaining for years that you’re overworked and underpaid. Now they want to give you paid time off and you’re upset.”

“You like her too, don’t you?” Sam said.

“Like who?”

“Krista. You like her sermons better than mine.”

“Sam, jealously doesn’t become you.”

“Jealous? Who said I was jealous? I’m not jealous.”

Barbara sighed.

“Yes, I enjoy her sermons. But I like yours too. I think the meeting is fortunate to have both of you.”

“Now my own wife has turned against me,” Sam muttered, stalking from the room.

He busied himself at his workbench in the garage, building a doghouse. Barbara readied the boys for bed, gave him
an extra hour to cool off, then went outside to gauge his mood.

“What are you building?”

“A doghouse.”

“Who for?” Barbara asked.

“Us.”

“We don’t have a dog.”

“I thought we could get one. That way I’d have at least one member of this family who was loyal to me.”

She clenched and unclenched her fists, fairly vibrating with anger. “I’m going to bed. If you want to stay outside and feel sorry for yourself, you can, but I don’t have to sit around and watch.”

“I guess that proves my point,” Sam said. “I have a problem and you don’t want to be around me. If you were a dog, you’d be happy to be with me.”

“If I were a dog, I’d bite you.” She turned, walked to the garage door, then stopped. “You coming to bed anytime soon?”

“Probably not. I want some time by myself.”

“Okay, then. See you in the morning.”

“Good night,” Sam said.

“Night.”

For early autumn, it was a steamy night. Sam raised the window over his workbench and looked down the alley just as Shirley Finchum walked past with her dog on a leash, making their evening rounds.

“Hi, Mrs. Finchum,” Sam said, peering through the window screen.

She gave a slight jump. “You startled me, Sam.”

“Sorry about that.”

“What are you doing in there?” Shirley asked.

“Oh, just puttering around.”

“How’s your dad?”

“Much better, thank you.”

“I heard the new pastor healed him,” she said.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Sam said. “All he had was indigestion.”

“They’re saying he was dead and she brought him back to life.”

“You know how rumors get started,” he said dismissively.

“I was talking with Jessie Peacock today at the grocery, and she mentioned how much they all like her.”

Sam frowned.

“Well, just between you and me, I don’t hold with woman ministers. You know what the Bible says about them, don’t you?”

It baffled Sam why people felt obligated to quote the Bible to pastors, most of whom had read the Bible, some more than once.

“It says a woman shouldn’t teach a man is what it says,” Shirley continued.

“Yes, ma’am, it surely does.”

The Bible also said disobedient children should be stoned to death, but Sam didn’t point that out. These were dark days, he reckoned, so he would take his friends wherever he could find them.