Almost Friends (9 page)

F
ern Hampton stewed in her juices that week, waiting for Krista to phone and apologize for her outrageous behavior. But she heard not a word. Indeed, no one from the meeting had called to plead forgiveness, and each day that passed heightened her fury. That Friday, she gathered the official minutes of the Friendly Women’s Circle from her basement and marched down to the meetinghouse, where she dumped them on Frank’s desk.

“What are these?” Frank asked.

“The minutes from the Circle. I’m quitting the church.”

She stepped back, her arms folded across her chest, glaring at Frank and savoring the moment.

At this point, she knew, he’d plead with her not to act hastily, to please reconsider, that they couldn’t manage without her.

“I’ll be sure to pass them along to the Circle,” Frank said. “Is that all you wanted?”

Fern had been a member of Harmony Friends all her crabby life, and her parents before her, and it had come to this—dismissed as one would toss away a soiled tissue.

Frank glanced at his watch. “Lunchtime. Gotta go. Been nice seeing you, Fern.”

With that, he was out the door, like a man fleeing a tornado’s approach.

Fern slithered into the pastor’s office to hiss at Krista, but it was deserted, not a soul in sight. Then she strode through the meetinghouse, room by room, collecting the artifacts her family had donated over the years—the Frieda Hampton Memorial Clock, The Fleeta Hampton Memorial Pulpit Bible, and the Fred Hampton Memorial Pulpit Chair, where Sam sat each Sunday, before that interloper had come along.

Sam had bellyached about the chair since his first year there. The back was carved in the shape of an eagle, its beak facing forward, jabbing him smack between his fourth and fifth vertebrae. But no other pastors had ever complained. Pastor Taylor had sat in that very chair each Sunday for thirty years with nary a whimper. Pastors these days are whiners, Fern thought. She hauled the clock, Bible, and chair to her car, lifted them into the trunk, then sped away, her tires flinging pebbles against the side of the meetinghouse.

Krista walked around the corner just as Fern was fleeing the meetinghouse. Ordinarily, she entered through the back door, but this time, following a peculiar hunch she couldn’t
quite explain, she went through the meeting room to the office, which was how she noticed the sacred treasures were missing.

Someone had stolen the church’s Bible! The nerve! She hurried into the office and dialed the police department, where Myron Gillis, only three days on the job, was itching to make his first arrest. Though Myron had never been trained as a police officer, he had the benefit of needing a job the same time his uncle, Harvey Muldock, had been charged with the responsibility of hiring a new officer for the town.

Myron listened carefully as Krista described the car she’d seen speeding away from the meetinghouse. He thanked her, assured her the treasures would be safely returned, then dashed to his car to track down the desperado who’d masterminded this blasphemous act. He caught up with Fern on Main Street, at the stoplight in front of the
Harmony Herald
building. Bob Miles watched from the front window of his office. This was the juiciest bit of news he’d witnessed in some time—Fern Hampton busted by the police. He typed away as the drama unfolded outside the window.

Being new to the job, Myron Gillis hadn’t developed a keen sense of proportional response. After finding the Bible, clock, and chair in Fern’s trunk, he handcuffed and escorted her to the backseat of his cruiser for a ride to the police station for interrogation and possible torture for stealing the sacred artifacts of Christianity. He’d known Fern all his life, but it was always the ones you knew who turned out to be secret agents of terrorist regimes.

Bob considered intervening, then decided against it. Journalists, after all, were to report the news, not thrust themselves in the middle of it. Instead, he snapped a photograph of Fern being hauled away, then hurried to have the film developed at the Kroger, where Shirley Finchum’s daughter saw the evidence of Fern’s headfirst fall into disgrace and phoned her mother to report Fern’s plight.

The problem with being Fern Hampton is that your reservoir of goodwill is so shallow no one is inclined to come to your aid. Fern was given one call, which she used to phone Bea Majors, who was busy in her flowerbeds and couldn’t get there until the next day. In the meantime, Shirley was working the phones, informing the populace of Fern’s felony, which was how Krista learned about it.

She arrived at the police station just as Officer Gillis was fingerprinting Fern to check for past offenses.

Krista asked him to release Fern. “I didn’t know it was her,” she explained. “We certainly don’t want to press charges against one of our church members.”

“She told me she’d quit the church,” Myron said. “So now can I arrest her?”

“Please let her go,” Krista said. “It was all a misunderstanding.”

Myron frowned. “That don’t take care of everything. I can drop the theft charges, but I still got her for assaulting a police officer. She kicked me in the shin and said us Gillises didn’t have the sense to come in out of the rain.”

“I’m sure she regrets that,” Krista said.

“No I don’t,” Fern said. “I meant every word. I taught all the children in that family, and they were all dumber than doorknobs.”

“How about just one night in jail?” Myron pleaded.

“Go ahead, lock me up,” Fern said. “I’ve got nothing to live for anyway, now that I’ve been kicked out of the church.”

“Fern, you’ve not been kicked out,” Krista said, helping her from the chair.

“It’s clear I’m not wanted. No one’s phoned or stopped by to see me.”

“I’m sorry, Fern. I had no idea you were this upset.”

“Well, you should have known. You’re a minister, after all. You should know what I’m thinking.”

Though Krista had only been pastoring two months, she had already observed a curious phenomenon—her parishioners were under the impression she was a mind reader, knew what they felt, knew when they were sick, indeed knew all manner of trivia about them without their ever telling her.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, Fern. You should have called to tell me you were upset, and I would have visited you and we would have talked.”

“Go ahead, blame it on me. I knew you would.”

“I’m not blaming anyone. We parted company under difficult circumstances, and I thought it wise to give you time to cool off.”

“So you knew I was mad and didn’t do a thing about it,” Fern said. “Some minister you are.”

With that, she gathered her purse, glared at Myron Gillis, harrumphed at Krista, and marched from the police station.

“Wish I could have put her in the slammer,” Myron Gillis said.

“Wish I would have let you.”

Krista rose early the next morning, spent several hours on reading assignments and a paper for school, then drove to Cartersburg to meet a childhood friend for lunch. It was a difficult hour. Her friend’s mother had passed away the week before, and Krista spent much of the hour listening to her friend lay bare her suffering. Reaching across the table, Krista held her friend’s hand.

Across the restaurant, obscured by a palm plant, Fern Hampton peered through the fronds, aghast at Krista’s conduct. She’d gone to the Wal-Mart, then had stopped for lunch, inadvertently stumbling into a den of iniquity! If she hadn’t seen it, she wouldn’t have believed it. But who could deny it now? Krista Riley, seated in a public restaurant holding hands with another woman. Right out in the open, in front of God and everyone.

Fern scrunched down behind the palm plant so Krista wouldn’t see her and watched until Krista and her friend rose to leave, when they embraced one another, said good-bye, and exchanged air kisses.

If that wasn’t proof, Fern didn’t know what was.

What was ordinarily a forty-minute drive home took Fern thirty-one minutes. Opal Majors was the first person she called. After swearing Opal to secrecy, which she did to
ensure Opal’s undivided attention, Fern revealed the sordid news that their church was being taken over by perverts.

Opal gasped. She’d heard of things like this happening in California but had never imagined it could happen in Harmony.

“There that chippy little pastor of ours was, sitting in a restaurant holding hands with another woman, right out in the open,” Fern said. “People were staring at them and everything. I tell you, I never felt so sick in all my life. And to think she’s our pastor.”

“Holding hands doesn’t mean anything,” Opal said.

“Then what about hugging and kissing. I suppose that was nothing.”

“They kissed?”

“Right there in the restaurant, slobbering all over one another.”

“Oh, my.”

“And to think I let her hold my hands when she prayed for my warts,” Fern said, with a shudder of disgust.

“Oh Lord, I just thought of something.”

“What?”

“She’s going over to Bea’s this afternoon to pray for her arthritis. No telling what she’ll do to Bea. I better warn her.”

“You call Bea then. I’m calling Dale Hinshaw to tell him. He’ll know what to do.”

That Fern Hampton would judge Dale Hinshaw a reliable guide to anything was further proof of her addled mind.

“I thought you wanted to keep this a secret,” Opal said.

“This is no time to keep silent. We got to warn people,” Fern declared.

“I sure can’t believe that of Krista. She seemed so nice.”

“I saw it with my own eyes,” Fern said. “I’m not making it up.”

“I know, I know. It’s just a shock.”

“Well, I’m not surprised. There was something about that little missy that didn’t feel right from the start.”

“I kind of liked her myself,” Opal said, then clarified, “Not in that way, of course. I just meant that she seemed nice.”

“It’s the nice ones you got to worry about. They’re always hiding something. You’d better call Bea and tell her to lock her doors.”

After hanging up, Fern phoned Dale.

“I knew it,” he exclaimed triumphantly. “I knew there was something there. So that’s why she came here, to turn us into one of those fluffy churches.”

“Seems clear enough to me,” Fern said.

“That’s how they do it,” Dale said. “They come into a church, all nice and polite, then they start working on the children, and next thing you know, the kids are singing about global warming and you’re taking up an offering for world peace.”

“What can we do?”

“We tell the elders, that’s what we do,” Dale said. “We’ve got to nip this in the bud.”

They began working the phone with a scorching intensity, calling the elders to demand they meet and stamp out this abomination, lest the Lord, in His righteous anger, smite them all.

K
rista was working on her sermon that evening when she heard the elders come in through the back door and assemble in the meetinghouse basement.

“Oh, is there a meeting?” she asked Miriam. “I didn’t see it on my calendar. It’s a good thing I was here.”

“It’s you we’re meeting about,” Fern sniffed. “You thought you could keep your dirty little secret all to yourself, didn’t you?”

“Fern, be kind,” Miriam said.

“What’s going on?” Krista asked.

“As if you don’t know,” Fern said.

“Krista, I’m sorry,” Miriam said, “but Fern and Dale called a special meeting, so we have to have it. I’m sure it’s all a misunderstanding.”

“If you ask me, we can’t be rid of her soon enough,” Fern said.

“I’m not going to have you attend,” Miriam said to Krista. “We’ll meet. Then if it merits meeting with you, we’ll set up a time to talk with you.”

“Surely you’re not going to let her preach tomorrow?” Fern said.

“Yes, she is,” Miriam said. “She’s our pastor, and she’ll be bringing the message tomorrow.”

“Well, that’s a fine how-do-you-do.”

Miriam walked Krista back to the office. “Don’t you worry about anything. Fern’s still upset about the Chicken Noodle Dinner, and she’s found a way to get back at you.”

“You sure I don’t need to stay?” Krista asked anxiously.

“Let’s not give Fern the satisfaction,” Miriam said.

“All of this because I added sugar to the tea?”

“No, all of this because you didn’t cower in her presence.”

Krista finished writing her sermon, then walked to her apartment over the hardware store. For a Saturday night, it was unusually quiet. The lights from the Royal Theater flickered through the window into her living room. She’d thought of going to the movie, but after a day of sermon writing she was tired and more than a bit unsettled by Fern’s animosity.

She was taking a class at seminary about church conflict. The professor talked in rosy tones about reasoning with people and finding common ground, but it was clear he’d never met anyone like Fern Hampton. Five minutes in the same room with Fern Hampton and he’d have her in a chokehold, squeezing for all he was worth.

She stretched out on the couch, closed her eyes, and envisioned a silent bulldozer grinding through her mind, pushing the unpleasantness away.

Back at the meetinghouse, Miriam Hodge listened carefully to Fern, wondering why she had ever volunteered in the church.

“So tell me again why you think Krista is a lesbian?” Miriam Hodge asked.

Fern shuddered. “Don’t say that word. I hate it.”

“If you’re going to accuse someone of being one, then you should at least use the word,” Miriam said. “It’s not a bad word.”

“You didn’t see what I saw. It was terrible. She and that other woman were holding hands and hugging and kissing, right there in broad daylight.”

“And from this, you’ve deduced that our pastor is a lesbian.”

“I know one when I see one.”

“Fern, when Amanda was in her car wreck last year, you gave me a hug. And you kissed me on the cheek. Does that mean you’re a homosexual?”

“Don’t be foolish. You know I’m not one of them.”

“My point is that just because Krista hugged another woman doesn’t mean she’s a lesbian.”

“It’s all right here in the Scriptures,” Dale Hinshaw piped up. “First chapter of Romans. Folks stop honoring God, next thing you know, women are committing shameless acts with one another. You can read about it in the Bible.”

“Women committed shameless acts in the Bible?” Harvey Muldock asked, perking up. “How come Sam never preached on that?”

Miriam looked at Dale, perplexed. “What’s that got to do with Krista?”

“Well, if you don’t know, I can’t tell you,” Dale said.

“Where exactly in the Bible are these shameless women?” Harvey persisted, his interest in Scripture appearing to grow by the moment.

“As long as that woman is our pastor, I can’t support this church financially,” Fern said.

Typical Fern Hampton, Miriam thought. Fern donated precisely fifty-two dollars a year, tossing a wadded-up one-dollar bill in the offering plate each Sunday and doing that grudgingly, her pain in parting with her dollar obvious to anyone watching.

“You do what you need to do, Fern,” Miriam said with a tired sigh.

“I’m going to follow the Bible,” Fern said. “She sinned against me, threw me out of the kitchen the day of the Chicken Noodle Dinner. The Bible says I have to set her right.”

“Fern’s right,” Dale said. “Matthew chapter 18, verse 15.”

“And if she doesn’t apologize, then I’ll have to take someone with me and talk with her again.”

“You do that, Fern. You go talk to Krista,” Miriam said. “Settle your differences with her, so we can get beyond this. It’s hurting the church.”

Krista woke to the sound of someone pounding on her door. She sat up on the couch, rubbed her eyes, and made her way
across the room to open the door, where she saw Fern, who peered around Krista into the apartment. “Got anybody in there with you?”

“What brings you by at this hour?” Krista asked. “Would you like to come in?”

Fern stepped past Krista cautiously, as if she feared contagion.

“Would you care for a drink?” Krista offered, acting with a charity she didn’t feel. “I think I have some lemonade.”

“I didn’t come to socialize. I’m here on the Lord’s business. The church sent me.”

“Oh, I see. Well then, please sit down and tell me what’s on your mind.”

Fern sat on the edge of the sofa, her back ramrod straight, clutching her purse as if she were afraid Krista would conk her on the noggin and steal it.

“Miriam Hodge sent me here to see if you’re, uh, if you like women.”

“Excuse me?”

“Miriam Hodge wants to know if you like women.”

“Sure, I like women. Some of my best friends are women.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it! Don’t think you can play dumb. I saw you holding hands and kissing that woman in the restaurant. Don’t pretend you didn’t.”

“Fern, it’s ten o’clock at night. I’ve had a long day, and I’m tired.”

Fern took a deep breath, then jutted out her formidable bosom. “Miriam Hodge wants to know if you’re a queer.”

“Miriam Hodge wants to know what?” Krista asked, incredulous.

“She wants to know if you’re queer,” Fern repeated.

“I can’t believe Miriam Hodge wants to know that,” Krista said.

“She most certainly does. She said it was hurting the church and told me to come talk with you and get the matter settled.”

Krista sat quietly, contemplating her response.

“Well, are you?” Fern asked.

“It isn’t any of your business.”

Fern gasped. “It most certainly is.”

“I disagree, and I’m not going to answer,” Krista said.

“That settles it. You must be one. Otherwise, you’d deny it.”

“I’m not denying it,” Krista said. “Nor am I affirming it. I simply won’t dignify such an inappropriate question with an answer. My sexual orientation is none of the church’s business.”

Fern rose from the sofa. “You’re our minister. Everything you do is our business.” She marched across the room and as she exited the apartment said, “Since you won’t be honest with me, I have no choice but to tell Miriam and the other elders you haven’t cooperated.”

When she got home, Fern phoned Dale Hinshaw, who was seated next to his phone, awaiting her report.

“It’s just as we feared,” Fern said, as if it pained her to reveal it. “She’s queerer than a three-dollar bill.”

“Did she admit it?”

“She didn’t deny it.”

“That settles it,” Dale said. “The guilty ones never admit it.”

“What do we do now?”

“Well, according to Matthew 18, you have to go back and take someone from the church with you. I’m happy to offer my expertise,” Dale said humbly. “I’ve had some experience confronting backsliders.”

“When should we speak with her?”

“How about we get to church early tomorrow, before Sunday school, and talk to her then?” Dale said. “That way, if she gets right with the Lord, she can go ahead and preach. And if she doesn’t, I’ll do the preaching.”

“Dale, I fall to my knees each day and thank the Lord you’re in our church. I don’t know how we’d manage without you,” Fern said, her voice catching.

The next morning Krista was seated at her desk, absorbed in her sermon, when Dale and Fern came into her office a half hour before Sunday school. They stood there several seconds, seemingly perturbed Krista didn’t notice their august presence.

Dale cleared his throat.

Krista glanced up. Oh Lord, she thought, not these two. Not now.

“Good morning, Dale. Hello, Fern. What brings you here so early?”

“Concern for your soul,” Dale said.

“Pardon me?”

“We’re concerned for your soul,” Fern said, though by the tone of her voice it was clear she didn’t give a rat’s patoot for Krista’s soul or any other part of her.

“In obedience to Matthew 18, we’ve come to ask you to repent,” Dale said.

“Repent for what?”

“You know what,” Fern snapped.

“Is it true what Fern told me?” Dale asked.

“Probably not, but I can’t say for sure since I don’t know what she told you.” Krista was starting to feel feisty.

“She told me you wouldn’t answer her about whether or not you were homosexual.”

“That’s right,” Krista said. “My sexual orientation is a private matter.”

Dale tried to appear mournful, but even Krista, who hadn’t known him long, suspected he was enjoying his role as inquisitor immensely.

“There’s no use trying to hide it,” Fern said. “I saw you and your little hussy yesterday in Cartersburg, making moon eyes at one another.”

The start of Sunday school was fast approaching. Krista could hear people entering the meetinghouse. She rose from her chair and made her away to where Dale and Fern were standing.

“Are you two done?” she asked. “Or must I hear more of your nonsense?”

Dale began trembling in anger. “We’ll be speaking to the church about this matter,” he warned.

Krista pointed to the door. “Please leave.”

“You can’t talk to us this way,” Fern blustered.

Years of teaching school had taught Krista how to handle the unruly. She grasped Fern’s elbow in one hand and Dale’s in the other, squeezed firmly in the soft spots, weakening their resistance, and escorted them to the door.

If ringside seats had been sold to the comeuppance of Dale and Fern, the church could have retired its debt and built a new wing, so weary were people of their bullying.

But Krista took no joy in what she had done and suspected that, rather than putting Dale and Fern in their proper place, she’d only succeeded in angering them further and would soon pay heavily for what she had done.