Earthly Vows (10 page)

The church doors were unlocked. Jeb strolled inside through a lobby, and entered another set of doors opening to a church
aisle. A blue floral rug ran the length of the aisle pointing straight into the platform and the preaching lectern. As he
walked down the aisle, voices quietly murmured from other rooms. He ascended the two steps to the top of the platform and
then stood behind the lectern where he opened his Bible. The pages fell open, bookmarked. The electric light overhead illuminated
the words more keenly than the single naked bulb hanging over the Church in the Dell lectern. There was a woody aroma in the
room. He examined the ceiling. The beamed ceiling and the walls were laid with a golden oak, wood shining as though it had
just been put in.

The rear door opened and a woman looked startled to see Jeb. “I hope I’m not disturbing you. I come in early to set up the
Communion plates.”

“Not at all. I’m Reverend Nubey,” he said.

“We heard a new man was coming to take a turn in our pulpit. Glad to meet you,” she said. “Have a look around. Our building
is nearly a century old. It’s been took good care of.” She excused herself and disappeared into the lobby.

“If I may suggest, you can switch on that light over the lectern,” said a voice. A young man, whose face had an eager boyish
quality, walked quietly across the platform. He carried a tray of water, a pitcher and a single glass. “We thought you might
need a drink as you preach, sir.” He placed the tray on a stand behind Jeb. “Our last minister taught us to serve the pastor
so that he could better serve others.”

“I’m Reverend Nubey,” said Jeb.

“Pleased, I’m Rowan. I help out wherever I’m needed.” He filled the glass and handed it to Jeb and padded away through an
exit door on the right side, where he disappeared into a room hidden behind the platform.

Jeb turned on the reading light. The pages were bright and legible. He sipped the water and then took off his jacket and laid
it over a platform chair. The attention given to him made him relax and enjoy his surroundings.

Oak pews formed rows on either side of the sanctuary, big enough to seat five hundred or more congregants. Glass light fixtures
hanging in suspended rows made the sanctuary glow. The only chandelier in the building hung over where he stood. There were
stained-glass windows on both sides. He descended the stairs and walked between the end pews and the windows to study the
artwork. Scenes depicted the Apostles and certain elements of the life of Christ leading up to His Passion.

Church in the Dell’s small chapel existed only to serve the members who filled its pews, a sort of people holder, as it were.
First Community’s structure had taken on a traditional aesthetic.

“She was a cripple.”

The voice startled Jeb. Henry Oakley had slipped up behind him.

“Sorry, Reverend. You seem to be enjoying some quiet time.”

“Good morning, Henry. Who was a cripple?” asked Jeb.

“The artist who created all of these windows. She had polio as a girl.”

Jeb and Henry walked the aisle. More people filtered into the sanctuary. Jeb listened as Henry described how the artist suffered
to create the window glass. He commented about her tendency to use blue more than any other color and did that have anything
to do with suffering. He didn’t know and Jeb didn’t venture a guess. Henry said, “It takes two days for the cleaning men to
clean the windows.” The glass rose from two feet above the floor to the ceiling. “The artist, she would hold up her arms until
they ached, her neck hurting. So the janitors see the window cleaning as a mission.”

“Henry, may I ask you the order of the service?”

“The choir will sing three congregational songs and then I will introduce you to the parishioners as our visiting minister.
I don’t know how you were installed at your last church, but until you tell us for certain you want to be considered for candidacy,
we will instruct our members to consider you a visiting pastor from Arkansas.”

“Have others preached here since your pastor left?”

“A revivalist and one missionary. And, of course, Jon Flauvert.”

Jeb nodded as Henry spoke. He wanted to answer right then and there that he would accept the post. Instead, he quietly listened
and followed Henry out of the sanctuary.

The choir could be heard warming up in a room behind the platform. Henry continued showing Jeb the rest of the building. In
the building’s rear section was a large kitchen, next to a dining hall. “We have a soup kitchen for the migrants,” he said.
“For years, our ladies’ committee fed the hobos that passed through, but after this Depression hit, the everyday folks started
hitting the rails in search of work.”

“I’m glad to know you’re feeding them,” said Jeb.

“The trains brought them right through town, right through Packingtown. Livestock is auctioned and butchered down around those
parts.”

“Glad there are places where people can go to get help. I’m trying to find work for a young woman there now.”

“Oklahoma City was able to accommodate for a while. Problem is, one city like ours can’t give a job to every person put out
of work in this country. Some move on to California, some to Texas. Some stay and hope for help.”

“Why is it that you’ve not been hit as hard as the rest of the country?”

“We’ve had dust storms and crop failures. But drive by our governor’s mansion and see for yourself. Right out on the front
lawn are oil derricks. We got more oil than we know what to do with. One of those oil men attends First Community.”

“I see, I see. I suppose you understand how unusual it is to find a church doing well in hard times?” said Jeb.

“We’ve been hit, don’t get me wrong. Some of our members have been put out of work. It’s made us all live more practically
now. But the oil fields have lessened the sting.” He unlocked a few classroom doors as they walked down the hallway. “Here’s
the way I see things, we got this pocket of commerce here and don’t know how long until it unravels. But as long as people
in this country don’t turn back to the horse and buggy, Oklahoma City’s got a good shot at weathering out this Depression.
I say the automobile is here to stay. Some say I’ll be proven wrong.”

“Seems like even if all I have to keep it together is bale wire and bobby pins, I keep hanging on to my old Ford. Hard to
remember what it was like without it.”

“Can’t say as I want to go back to sitting behind a mare myself. Let me show you our dining facility. We built it five years
ago. When you close your message in prayer, you’ll be escorted back to the dining hall. The deacons’ wives have prepared a
dinner for you. Hope you like fried chicken. We’ll give the deacons a chance to meet with you then, if that’s acceptable.”
The door opened to the choir room. Twenty or more choir members were slipping into robes. Henry led Jeb past them and into
the dining hall. A dozen women were already popping open tablecloths and covering tables.

“I wasn’t expecting dinner,” said Jeb. He thanked him.

“Your fiancée and her sister are invited too. They’ll have a chance to meet the women in our church.” He led Jeb back into
the hall.

The choir filed past them and up a set of steep stairs to the choir loft.

Henry led Jeb back to the lectern. “Are you ready, Reverend Nubey?” asked Henry.

“I am,” said Jeb. He pulled on his coat and tightened his tie.

People filed into the sanctuary, taking up spaces as far as the front row. Jeb had never lectured in front of a crowd that
size. The high rafters serviced the sound naturally. The music director led the choir in a crescendo that swelled until Jeb
could feel the vibration in his ears.

Two other elders sat to the right of Henry on the platform while Jeb took his place left of Henry. He had not seen Fern or
Donna since the music commenced, but it would be easy to lose a face in a sea of so many.

“Do you ever get the jitters, Reverend?” Henry asked. “I’ve always wondered if preachers got wet feet every Sunday. You don’t
have to answer.”

“I always thought a big church might scare me. Maybe it does. I’ll answer you after the sermon.” If he admitted to being nervous,
it would only make things worse.

Henry laughed and Jeb tugged at his collar.

“I could use some of that water,” said Jeb.

Henry poured him a glass from the pitcher left by young Rowan.

“Must be at least seven hundred in attendance here this morning. Our old pastor, Reverend Miller, used to say it was harder
to preach to a sparse auditorium.”

Jeb’s throat felt parched in spite of the drink of water.

The third song ended and the choir was seated. Henry introduced Jeb in as simple a manner as he had said he would. Jeb decided
to search as he spoke, until he found Fern’s face. The sight of her in the earlier days at Church in the Dell, when he preached
so wet-behind-the-ears, always calmed him. This morning he needed to see her smiling up at him in a room full of strange eyes
staring back. Most of the men were dressed in dark suits, the ladies in hats and dresses of blue and yellow, pink and white.
He offered a prayer, but as the congregants bowed their heads, he peered through his lashes searching for Fern. Had she worn
a hat? He could not remember. There was a whole herd of women’s hats bowing out in those pews. Was her dress green or pink?
Why hadn’t he noticed? He remembered her shoes, her long toes pressed into black-and-white alligator leather, but nothing
else, nothing helpful.

He made his opening comments. The next sip of water seemed to help. He commenced the message. During the sermon, he methodically
looked left to right, making eye contact, and then assessing what he felt he was reading as the congregation’s approval. He
was met with so much disapproval in his first year at Church in the Dell that he learned to appreciate the sight of smiling,
relaxed faces.

An usher opened one of the oak doors and helped a woman through the door in the rear of the sanctuary. Behind her a smartly
dressed man followed. The usher seated the couple in a pew, second to the last row on the right side. The man assisted the
woman, who looked to be his wife, handing her a pocketbook after she settled into her seat. He then sat forward, his hands
gripping the pew in front of him as he looked up and down the aisle. It was Senator Walton Baer and he was looking for someone.

A woman in the front row shifted uncomfortably, most likely in response to a pause held out a moment too long by Jeb. He looked
back down at the text and closed his eyes like ministers do to allow a point to seep in. He continued his next point and his
mind took on two tasks, the first being to deliver the message he came to deliver, and secondly, to find Fern.

By the final point, the sermon overtook his thoughts. The steady pace of the message found a good rhythm. An occasional nod
of a church member’s head spurred him to continue to feed the hungry faithful who had gone too long without a shepherd. Jeb
felt a unity of soul. They needed him.

He said, “And in conclusion,” and the several women from the food committee slipped out of their chairs. A musician returned
to the piano stool and played a chorus, a soft backdrop cadence to underpin his final comments.

Before he asked members to bow for prayer, Fern’s soft blond crown appeared from behind a woman’s large hat. She was too far
away for him to read her face. She’d always been the one he looked to for encouragement. But in a church of this size, her
face was nearly indistinguishable. He turned back to the right, where he found Senator Baer looking at Fern. Then he sat back
next to his wife.

After Jeb’s concluding prayer, Henry Oakley escorted him off the platform. Jeb was flanked by an entire committee of men,
who followed him down the hall and into the dining hall.

Marion was holding the rear door open when Jeb and Henry arrived. “I’ll go and find your fiancée and her sister. You’re seated
at the head table, Reverend Nubey, next to Henry and me and our deacon board and their wives. I hope you find everything to
your satisfaction.”

He was hoping to find Fern and Donna following the deacons into the hall, but they most likely had gotten lost in the throng
of retreating church members.

“I couldn’t be more pleased, Mrs. Oakley. Things couldn’t be more perfect.”