Just Shy of Harmony (9 page)

T
he kids went back to school the Thursday after Labor Day. Harmony’s townspeople woke to the sound of buses grinding up the hill near the park, and looked out their windows to see the children riding their bikes to school. The kids parked their bikes in the bike rack that Mr. Griswold, the janitor, had built under the tulip poplar behind the school.

Wayne Fleming got home from work just in time to drive his kids to school. It was a big day. Kate, his youngest, was entering kindergarten. Rachel was in first grade, and Adam in second.

Wayne drove them to school and walked them to their classes, then came back home, took a shower, and went to bed. The phone woke him up a little after lunchtime. It was the manager at the Kroger, asking if he could come in early that day to work.

Wayne had wanted to be home when his kids got out of school, but money has been a little tight so he agreed to go in. Adam needed braces, and Wayne’s insurance didn’t cover them. He called Deena Morrison
to see if she could pick the kids up at school and bring them home.

“The neighbor lady can’t be here until around seven,” he explained. “I guess they can wait until then to eat supper.”

“Nonsense. I’ll take them to my house for supper. And I’ll have them home by seven o’clock.”

“I sure do thank you. They’ll enjoy being with you.”

“I’ll enjoy being with them.” She paused. “Are we still on for the Corn and Sausage Days parade this Saturday?”

Wayne had forgotten his promise to take Deena to the parade. What a mess, he thought.

“You bet we are, Deena. I’m looking forward to it. I just hope I feel up to it. I’ve been feeling a little puny lately.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope you get to feeling better. I miss seeing you.”

“I miss seeing you, Deena.”

They talked a little longer, then said good-bye.

A little before three, Deena hung the Sorry, We’re Closed sign on the front door of the Legal Grounds Coffee Shop, climbed in her Jeep, and drove to the school to get the kids.

Adam, Rachel, and Kate came out of the school, saw Deena, and ran to her.

“What are you doing here?” Kate asked. “Where’s Daddy?”

“Your daddy had to work, honey. But don’t you worry. We’re going to eat supper at my house.”

She buckled them inside her Jeep and drove to her grandmother’s house.

Mabel Morrison was sitting on her front porch when they turned in the driveway. She peered at the children. “Who have you brought home? Who are these children? I don’t believe I’ve ever met them.”

Kate laughed. “You know us. We’re Deena’s friends.”

“Oh, so you are. Well, since we know one another, I suppose you can sit on my lap. Come on up here.”

Kate climbed onto Mabel’s lap. Adam sat on the porch rail, and Deena and Rachel sat on the porch swing. Rachel leaned into Deena.

“I have a secret,” Kate whispered in Mabel’s ear.

“Oh, I love secrets. Let me guess what it is.” She squeezed her eyes shut and thought hard. “Does it have anything to do with an elephant?”

“No. You’ll never guess, so I’ll tell you. My mommy’s coming home.”

Mabel Morrison’s eyes opened wide. “Your mommy’s coming home. Why, uh, that’s nice, honey. I’ll bet you’re excited.” She looked at Deena, who had turned rather pale.

Mabel turned back to Kate. “When’s your mommy coming home?”

“This Saturday.” She counted on her fingers. “In two days. Daddy said we’ll all spend the day together, just like we used to.” Kate turned to Deena. “Daddy said we could all go to the parade together. Do you want to come with us? You’re our friend too.”

Deena didn’t hear her.

Kate tugged at her sleeve. “Will you go to the parade with us?”

Mabel lifted Kate from her lap and set her on the floor. “Kids, if you go into the kitchen, you’ll find
some cookies in the cookie jar. Adam, honey, can you be a big boy and pour the milk for your sisters?”

“Sure,” he said. The kids opened the screen door and went inside.

“When did all this come about?” Mabel asked.

“It’s the first I’ve heard of it. I wonder when Wayne was going to tell me…”

“Hopefully before Saturday.” Mabel rose from her rocker and sat beside Deena on the porch swing. She put her arm around her granddaughter. “I’m sorry, honey.”

Deena’s throat felt tight. Her eyes burned. “It’s all right, Grandma. I’ll be okay.”

“Maybe when they’re together this Saturday, he’ll tell her he wants a divorce. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

“Grandma, how can you say that? It would be sad. For their sake, I hope just the opposite happens. I hope they get the help they need, that they’ll stay married, and that those precious children will have a mother again.”

Mabel gave an indignant snort. “You can’t be serious. What kind of mother would leave her children?”

“A mother who needs help. Now maybe she’ll get it. In any event, I’ll not stand between a man and his wife. I never should’ve dated Wayne in the first place.”

The children returned to the porch, and Deena walked them to the park to play on the playground, then fed them supper before driving them home. The neighbor lady was waiting for them. Deena kissed the kids good-bye and gave them hugs. She’d always wanted children. Sometimes she imagined that Adam, Rachel, and Kate were her children—that she and Wayne had married and they were all a family.

She hugged Katie to her, hard.

“Ouch,” Kate said. “Be careful of my wing buds.”

The week before, Kate had asked Deena what her shoulder blades were for, and Deena had told her they were wing buds—that when she became an angel, her wings would sprout from there.

Deena settled herself in the Jeep and drove home.

H
er grandmother was standing at the stove, heating water for tea. There was a box of Kleenex on the table. Deena took one and scrunched it in her hand. Mabel poured her a cup of tea, then sat across from her.

“What am I going to do?” Deena moaned.

“Fight for your man.”

“That’s just it, Grandma. He’s not my man. I was foolish to date him the first place. We’re through. It’s over.”

“Don’t be rash. You knew she’d be showing up sometime. Wait and see what happens.”

“I just wish Wayne would’ve told me. I hate that I had to hear it from the kids.”

“I’m sure he had a good reason for not telling you yet. Why don’t you ask him?”

“No. It’s his place to tell me. I’m going to wait and see if he tells me.”

She blew her nose and went upstairs to bed.

The next morning she woke and walked down to the Legal Grounds. As the coffee brewed, she watched out the window at the town kids making their way to school.

Wayne entered the shop a little after eight. He sat at the table near the window. Bea and Opal Majors were in the shop lingering over their coffee. Opal asked Deena for an apple muffin.

“Sorry,” Deena said. “We’re closing.”

“Closing! What do you mean you’re closing? Why are you closing?”

“Because the man just got here to spray for bugs. We’re having a terrible cockroach problem.”

Bea and Opal gathered their things and left.

Deena hung the Sorry, We’re Closed sign on the front door and sat at the table across from Wayne.

“We need to talk,” Wayne said.

“What about?”

This was the part Wayne hadn’t been sure about—how to tell his girlfriend that his wife was coming home.

The week before, he’d gotten his hair cut and asked Kyle’s advice.

“It doesn’t really matter,” Kyle told him. “You’re sunk no matter how you do it.”

Wayne groaned.

“Think about it,” Kyle said. “Let’s say you go back to Sally. There’s no way Deena will have anything to do with you. And you’ll be stuck with a woman who’s left you once and will likely do it again. Every time she goes to the grocery store, you’ll wonder if she’s coming back. On the other hand, let’s say Sally comes back here to live, but you marry Deena. There’ll be a catfight for sure. Have you ever seen two women fight over a man?”

“Can’t say as I have.”

“I saw it in a movie once. It’s nasty. All sorts of clawing and scratching and biting. And the worst part was that the man ended up getting blamed. No matter what you do, you’re sunk. Do you want your neck shaved?”

“Sure.”

“Have you considered becoming a priest and being celibate?”

“Not even for a moment.”

“Then you better tell Deena, and the sooner the better. Just come right out and tell her.”

So that’s what Wayne did in the Legal Grounds Coffee Shop. He reached across the table and took Deena’s hand.

“Sally’s coming home tomorrow,” he said.

Deena turned her head away. She knew if she looked at him, she’d cry.

“I’m sorry I’m just now telling you. I’ve known for some time. I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you. Please forgive me.”

“How long will she be here?”

“Just for the weekend. She wants to see the kids.”

“And the kids want to see her, of course. I think it’s nice they’ll be together.”

“I need to be there. I don’t want to leave the kids alone with her just yet. I won’t be able to take you to the parade.”

“I understand.” She pulled her hand from his. “Is she just coming to see the kids? Did she say anything about wanting to see you?”

“She said she hoped we could maybe work things out, but I don’t want to. She had her chance.”

“I see.”

“Are you mad?”

“No, I’m not mad.” Deena hesitated, then gathered up her courage. “But Wayne, I don’t think we should date any longer. You need to be with your wife and get help for your marriage. You owe that to your children. And you can’t do that if you’re dating me.”

“Oh, Deena, don’t do this. My marriage is over. I’m telling Sally tomorrow. You’re the one I want.”

“I’ll not do it this way. I’ll not take a man from his wife. Not if she wants to try and make it work. I won’t do it. Talk with her. Get counseling. Fix your marriage. You owe it to the kids.” She rose from her chair. “Thank you for the past few months. I’ve enjoyed getting to know you and the kids. I wish you and Sally all the luck in the world. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

“Can we still go to church together? I won’t try to hold your hand or anything.”

“I don’t think so. It wouldn’t be right.”

Deena went to the front door and turned the sign around to read Yes, We’re Open. She walked behind the counter and poured out the old coffee.

Wayne stood and opened the door. The bell overhead tinkled. He walked out. The door swung closed behind him.

Deena stood at the sink, watching the coffee swirl down the drain, listening to the bell jingle fade away.

It’s all gone. No more Wayne, no more kids, no more Sunday mornings at church, no more picnics. No more wing buds.

What surprised her most was the hurt. The aching hurt of failed love whimpering to a sad and lonely end.

I
t took Sam until October to work up the courage to tell the elders of his struggle to believe.

He had been primed to tell them at the September elders meeting. But when Miriam Hodge asked if there was any new business to discuss, they’d talked for three hours about whether they should get a building permit for the church’s new gymnasium.

The elders were sharply divided. There was the “Let Every Person Be Subject to the Governing Authorities” faction, who believed that the Apostle Paul’s injunction to the Christians in Rome supported the use of building permits. This group was led by Miriam Hodge. Then there was the “We Must Obey God Rather Than Man” faction, who believed that the Apostle Peter’s defense before the high priests was an argument against building permits. They were headed up by Dale Hinshaw.

The elders argued for three hours before Miriam announced, “It’s getting late and we’re tired. We’ll talk about this again next month. Is there any other new business?”

Sam didn’t think it was the best time to tell them he didn’t believe in God, so he kept quiet.

Now it was the third Thursday of October. Sam arrived at the meetinghouse early and sat on the steps waiting for Miriam to arrive. She pulled up to the curb in her truck.

“Hi, Miriam. How are you?” he asked, as she walked up the steps.

“Weary,” she said, sitting beside him. “I’m not sure I’m up to another building-permit discussion.”

“Maybe we can give them something else to talk about. I’ve got something to tell the elders, and I’d prefer to do it right up front.”

Miriam looked at him. “Sam, is everything all right? You’re not leaving us, are you? I know you’ve been pretty frustrated.”

“No, I’m not leaving. At least not right now. I just need to talk with the elders.”

T
he elders began pulling up to the meetinghouse in their cars. They tromped downstairs to the basement and sat at the folding table next to the noodle freezer. Miriam opened with a prayer, then said, “Before we begin our meeting, Sam has something he would like to say.”

“Uh, thank you, Miriam. Well, I just thought you ought to know that I’m not sure I believe in God anymore.”

When he said it out loud, it sounded more blunt than he’d intended. So he added, “It’s not that I don’t want to believe. I’ve been praying for God to be real to me.
It’s just that nothing’s happened, and I’ve grown discouraged. I’ve got these doubts. And I just thought you should know…and that maybe you could help me.”

Everyone stared at Sam.

Dale Hinshaw was the first to speak. “What do you mean you don’t believe in God? You have to believe in God. It says so in the rules.” He reached in his briefcase, pulled out a copy of Quaker Faith and Practice, and thumbed to the first page. “It says right here that we believe in one holy, almighty, all-wise, and everlasting God. I told you when you went away to that fancy seminary this would happen. Don’t you remember? If you’d have just listened to me, it wouldn’t have come to this.”

“Oh, Lord,” Fern Hampton wailed. “We have a minister who doesn’t believe in God. No wonder this church is in such sorry shape.”

Harvey Muldock said, “You know, Sam, when I’m going through a hard time, I buy something. Why don’t you stop past the dealership tomorrow and we’ll see if we can’t work you a deal on a new car. That ought to boost your spirits.”

“Thanks, Harvey, but I don’t think a new car will help.”

“I think we should be tape-recording this meeting,” Dale said. “Just in case we end up firing Sam. That way we’ll be protected if there’s a lawsuit.”

“Oh, for goodness sakes. We’re not going to fire Sam,” Miriam scolded. “Get that idea out of your head.”

“We can’t let this get out,” Fern wailed. “What will people think? They’ll think we’re all atheists, that’s
what they’ll think. There go our chicken noodle sales. Did you think about that, Sam? Did you think how this might affect our noodle sales? Of course you didn’t. You were too busy thinking about yourself. It used to be if people didn’t believe in God they had the Christian decency to keep it to themselves.”

Sam hung his head. This is what I get for casting my cares on the body of believers, he thought.

Asa Peacock cleared his throat. “I think we’re being too hard on Sam. He’s come to us with a problem, and I think we need to help him, just like he would help us if we were struggling. Sam, what can we do for you?” Asa reached across the table and laid his hand on Sam’s.

Sam wanted to cry. He struggled to keep his voice even. “Thank you, Asa. I don’t know what you can do. I just don’t know. I’ve lost my faith. Lost my hope. I’m empty inside. Just plain empty. I’ve been praying, but nothing’s changed.”

“Well, of course nothing’s changed,” Dale said. “God doesn’t answer the prayers of a man who doesn’t believe in Him.”

“Does this mean you have to believe in God before asking God to help you believe in Him?” Miriam asked.

“That’s what it means,” Dale said, a satisfied smile on his face. “That’s how it works.”

“Well, I’ve never heard of such foolishness,” Asa said. “It seems to me God would welcome the prayers of a struggling man.”

Dale started to say something, but Miriam saw where it was headed—before long they’d be embroiled
in a three-hour theological debate on whether God listens to the prayers of a struggling man. She interrupted him. “Sam, I want to thank you for being honest about your doubts. I can’t help but think we’re partly to blame. I’m certain we’ve been a discouragement to you in many ways.” She paused, and her voice softened. “It has been my experience that doubts about God always begin with doubts about people. I know when you came here you had high hopes for our little church. I suspect we haven’t always been enthusiastic. We could, and should, have done more.”

“Well, you can’t blame me,” Dale said. “I’ve done my part. The Scripture egg project this year. Last year, I brought in Billy Bundle to preach the revival. And don’t forget my signs.”

“I’m sure we’ll never forget your signs,” Miriam assured him.

Dale had put up Burma Shave–style signs in front of Harvey Muldock’s car dealership: Go to church, and learn to pray. Or when you die, there’s Hell to pay. On the west edge of town he’d erected signs reading, If you cheat, and drink and lie, turn to God, before you die.

“It’s not like I’ve been slacking off, either,” Fern said. “Thanks to me, we have a new low-flow toilet in the women’s bathroom, plus an oak-grained vanity. I’ve not been shirking my Christian duty.”

“I’m not suggesting we’ve been lazy,” Miriam said. “I just wonder if we’ve forgotten why we’re here.”

“I know why I’m here,” Harvey Muldock said.

“Why is that?” Miriam asked.

“I’m here because my parents were members of this
church and their parents before them. In fact, it was my great-great-great-grandfather, William Muldock, who helped start this church. That’s why I’m here.”

“But why did he start this church?”

“Well, near as I can tell, he got mad at the Quakers over at Sugar Grove and decided to start a new Quaker church here in town.”

Miriam sighed. “Let me put it another way. What do you suppose God is calling us to do as His people?”

There was silence.

“Raise money for Brother Norman’s shoe ministry to the Choctaw Indians,” Fern ventured.

“I’m sure that’s part of it. Any other ideas about what God is calling us to do?”

“Spread His Word through my Scripture egg project,” Dale said.

“I’m certain God wants us to tell others about Him.” Though I doubt your Scripture eggs are what He had in mind, Miriam thought to herself.

Sam was studying the plastic wood-grain swirl on the folding table. He raised his head. “I think God wants to love the world through Harmony Friends Meeting,” he said.

“Bingo!” cried Miriam.

“Bingo? Now why didn’t I think of that?” Fern said. “We could make a lot of money holding bingo games. The Catholics clean up. No reason we couldn’t.”

“Not that kind of bingo,” Miriam said. “I was simply agreeing with Sam. He said he thought God wanted to love the world through Harmony Friends Meeting, and I was agreeing with him.”

“Sounds like a lot of work. Wouldn’t it be easier to hold a bingo game on Saturday nights and give the money to Brother Norman?”

“I don’t think it would be right for the church to play bingo,” Asa said. “Bingo is gambling, pure and simple.”

“Look at the pot calling the kettle black, Mr. Lottery Millionaire himself,” Fern huffed.

“We’re not here to talk about bingo,” Miriam said. “Bingo is not on the agenda. We’re here to help Sam understand why he is discouraged. Though the longer we talk, the more it’s becoming clear how it might have happened.”

Asa said, “Sam, I asked earlier what we could do to help you. Have you had any thoughts?”

Sam hesitated before speaking. “There is one thing. Preaching hasn’t been easy. I can do everything else—visit the sick, fill out the paperwork, attend the meetings—but I feel like a hypocrite preaching. Standing up there telling you folks to believe something I don’t believe myself. I just can’t do it anymore.”

“What would you propose we do?” asked Miriam.

Sam thought for several moments, then said, “Well, you’re the elders of the meeting. Why don’t you do the preaching?”

“We’ll have to cut your pay,” said Dale. “I’d like to recommend that we give Sam’s pay to my Scripture egg project.”

“We’ll do no such thing,” Asa said. “We pay him peanuts as it is.”

“Sam, I think your idea is splendid,” Miriam said. “We can do the preaching. We can take turns. Give you time to work through this. Do the rest of you approve?”

“If we don’t want to preach, can we just find someone who can?” Harvey asked.

“Certainly.” Then Miriam thought of Billy Bundle, the World’s Shortest Evangelist. “But I’d like to suggest that whoever preaches needs to first be okayed by the elders.”

The elders rumbled their approval.

Miriam said, “I can start. I’ll preach this Sunday, then Dale, then Harvey, then Asa, then Fern.”

“Can I preach about my Scripture egg project?” Dale asked.

“Dale, you preach on whatever the Lord lays on your heart. Now as the elders of this meeting, we’re going to pray for Sam. I want you to stand up and gather around him.”

“Can’t we pray sitting down?” Fern asked.

“No, we’re going to put our hands on Sam’s head and pray for him.”

Asa walked around the table and stood behind Sam, laying his hand on Sam’s head. Then followed Dale and Harvey and Miriam, and finally Fern, with a heavy, inconvenienced sigh.

“Lord,” Miriam prayed, “we pray for your servant Sam. We ask your forgiveness for failing you and failing Sam. We’ve not been the church you called us to be. We repent of our apathy and self-centeredness. Forgive us. Restore Sam. Strengthen his faith and deepen his love for you, Lord. Amen.”

The elders stood around Sam, silent, their hands on his head.

A tear slid down Sam’s cheek. “Lord, ignite my heart,” he prayed in a whisper.

“And while you’re at it, Lord, bless my Scripture egg project,” Dale said.

“Lord, tell us what to preach,” Asa prayed. “Help us help your church. Amen.”

“Amen,” rumbled the elders.

There was more silence. Fern raised her hand from Sam’s head, then Miriam and Harvey and Dale, and finally Asa.

“We love you, Sam,” Miriam said. “Don’t you forget that. And even though you don’t believe in God just now, He believes in you. You’ll remember that, won’t you?”

She hugged him to her.

“I’ll remember.”

Asa and Dale and Harvey shook his hand. Fern smiled at him, though not too big a smile.

“I just hope this doesn’t affect our noodle sales,” she said.

T
hey turned off the lights in the basement and walked up the stairs out into the autumn evening. The elders climbed into their cars and drove away, while Sam walked the four blocks down Main Street to Washington Street to his home.

He felt light. His step was buoyant. Honesty is a sweet liberation, he thought.

He walked up the stairs, across the porch, and through the door. Barbara and the boys were in their beds. He kissed the boys good night, then brushed his teeth, and lay down beside his wife.

He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her to him.

A sweet liberation, he thought as he drifted off to sleep.