Just Shy of Harmony (16 page)

She tried to imagine herself in Sally’s place. Lying in a hospital bed, away from her children, bad sick, maybe even dead by now.

Lord, she prayed, if you’ve ever had a mind to heal someone, let it be Sally and let it be now.

W
hat a year this has been, Sam thought as he sat in the meetinghouse on Easter morning.

He and Barbara had spent Friday night and a good bit of Saturday at the hospital, sitting with Wayne and Sally. Sam hadn’t had time to write a sermon so he had Frank the secretary remove the word “sermon” from the bulletin and put in the word “meditation.” The difference between a sermon and a meditation being about fifteen minutes.

The meetinghouse was full. The men were wearing ties, and the women had orchids pinned to their dresses. Bea Majors played the prelude, and they sang the first hymn, “Christ the Lord Is Risen Today.” Sam could hear Miriam Hodge singing the “Alleluia” part, her soprano voice rising above the others and hanging in the pitched corners of the old meeting room.

Then they sat in Quaker silence, contemplating the mystery of the Resurrection. Sam tried to remember how many Easter mornings he’d spent in the meetinghouse. Thirty-nine years minus the twelve years he had
pastored in the next state over equaled twenty-seven Easters at Harmony Friends Meeting.

Twenty-seven Easter mornings in this very room, he marveled. The most memorable service was in 1976, when the elders of the meeting got it in their heads that the youth of the church should put on an Easter sunrise service. It had been Sam’s job to say “Behold, the Son has risen,” then raise the window blind just as the sun cleared Kivett’s Five and Dime and shone into the meeting room. He’d practiced raising and lowering the blind the day before. A sharp tug downward on the string, holding onto the blind as it recoiled.

But on Easter morning, when Sam announced “Behold, the Son has risen,” he tugged the string a little too hard, the bracket holding the blind came loose from the wall, and the blind fell, conking Mrs. Dale Hinshaw squarely on the head. Fortunately Mrs. Dale Hinshaw used a lot of hair spray, so the blind took a bounce and hit the floor.

The next year the elders went back to having Pastor Taylor conduct the Easter service.

After ten minutes of silence, Sam rose to give his meditation. He talked about the Resurrection—how, when things seemed hopeless and the disciples were despairing, Jesus was raised to life, thereby giving us reason to hope.

He didn’t speak long, maybe five minutes. Truth doesn’t need elaboration or embellishment; it can stand on its own two legs. All the adornment in the world doesn’t make the truth any more true. So Sam kept it short.

Then, under the watchful gaze of Dale Hinshaw,
the ushers took the offering and Opal Majors sang “I Know That My Redeemer Liveth,” which she does every Easter. Her sister, Bea, accompanies her on the piano but plays too fast. By the third verse, Opal is gasping for air and missing many of the notes. But they let Opal sing anyway because they haven’t found a way to stop her, and because they believe no situation is hopeless, not even Opal’s singing.

They followed along in their hymnals as she sang:

I know that my Redeemer liveth

And on the Earth again shall stand.

I know eternal life He giveth,

That grace and power are in His hand.

Opal finished the song and took her seat.

There was more Quaker silence. Too much silence, some of the people thought.

The children squirmed in the pews, anxious for church to be finished so they could search for Easter eggs. Harvey and Eunice Muldock sat on the left side, five pews back, praying. Eunice prayed that her ham loaf would turn out all right. Harvey prayed that it wouldn’t so they could eat at the restaurant in Cartersburg. For the past thirty-eight Easters, Eunice had made ham loaf for Easter because Harvey had lied on their first Easter and told her it was delicious, when it was all he could do to choke it down.

Harvey believes the ham loaf is God’s punishment for his lie.

Sam sat behind the pulpit dwelling on Wayne and Sally. He and Barbara had expected to find Sally dead
the night of Good Friday, but she had hung on and had even been able to talk with Sam and Barbara a few minutes Saturday afternoon. Sally was just well enough to keep them hoping, but not so well that they could rest easy.

Sam could think of little else Easter morning. Indeed, he was so preoccupied that he almost missed the voice. Occasionally in the past, Sam had had the distinct impression that God was speaking to him. He didn’t talk about it for fear people would think he was like certain television preachers whom God seemed to speak to every three minutes and fifteen seconds. But every now and then a still, small voice would press upon his mind so vigorously that it could not be dismissed, and this Easter morning was such a time.

I will give you a miracle, came the voice, so real it seemed the speaker was in the meeting room.

Sam looked up to see who was talking, but everyone had their heads bowed.

I will give you a miracle, the voice repeated.

Then, so as to be perfectly clear, the voice came once more. I will give you a miracle.

Sam wasn’t sure what to do. What do you say when God has promised you a miracle? He looked at the bulletin in his hand. Frank the secretary had bought a book of religious quotes at a garage sale and had taken to putting quotes on the front cover. This week there was a quote from the Christian mystic Meister Eckhart:

That struck Sam as a fitting response.

Thank you, Lord, he prayed. Thank you for becoming real to me again. Thank you for being with Wayne and Sally. Thank you for the miracle. I don’t know what it will be, but thank you just the same.

He paused and raised his head. From where he sat he could just see the top of Dale Hinshaw’s head. And, uh, thank you for Dale, I guess.

He felt noble, thanking God for Dale and halfway meaning it.

Then the Frieda Hampton Memorial Clock chimed eleven-thirty, and Easter worship was over.

Sam rose from his chair and walked to the back of the meetinghouse, where he shook hands and wished people a Happy Easter. Everyone thanked him for his meditation, even Dale Hinshaw.

“Sometimes it’s the short messages that do the most good,” Dale said. “At least that’s the way I felt about my Scripture eggs.”

Sam was in a charitable mood. “We’ll sure miss your Scripture eggs.”

“Well, I tell you, Sam, I’ve been praying on that. Remember how the Lord killed off the Canaanites to open up the Promised Land? Maybe that’s what happened with my chickens. Maybe God killed them off so’s I could have my promised land. Maybe the Lord had something bigger in mind for me all along. Maybe He never even wanted me to do the Scripture eggs in the first place.”

“Others probably wondered the very same thing.”

“I can’t wait to see what He has in mind for me to do.”

“I can barely stand it myself,” Sam said.

They walked outside together. It was a beautiful Easter morning. The daffodils outside the meetinghouse door blazed with yellow, like miniature suns settled to the earth.

I will give you a miracle, Sam remembered.

A wild surge of hope pressed through him.

A miracle! He could scarcely wait.

B
ea Majors woke up the Wednesday after Easter and took her cat Wiffles for a walk around the block. Wiffles had been obstructed lately, and Bea hoped a walk would get things moving in the right direction. That was her theory, anyway. She was too embarrassed to talk with the veterinarian about it. She’d thought of writing the Reverend Johnny LaCosta and asking him to pray for Wiffles, but decided against it. She’d already written him three letters about Sally Fleming and didn’t want to appear greedy for a healing.

Bea and Wiffles passed Sam Gardner, who was walking to the meetinghouse.

“How’s Wiffles?” Sam asked. “Still bound up?”

Bea nodded.

“I’ll say a prayer for her.”

“Thank you, Sam. That’s kind of you.”

“How’s your job at the Coffee Cup? Are you still playing the organ on Italian Night?”

Bea beamed. “Oh, yes. Five to seven every Wednesday night. It gives me a little mad money.”

Sam wondered what Bea Majors, with her rolled-down hosiery and orthopedic shoes, would do with mad money. “Maybe Barbara and I and the boys will come some Wednesday night and hear you play,” he offered.

“You might want to come tonight. I’ll be making my singing debut tonight.”

“Do Vinny and Penny know that?”

“No, I’m going to surprise them. You know the song ‘That’s Amore’? Dean Martin sings it. You know the one. I’ve been practicing it at home, and I think I’m ready to sing it in public. Wanna come hear me?”

“Gee, Bea, I’d love to, but, uh, I’m a little busy tonight.”

“That’s okay. I was gonna sing it this Sunday in church too. I just love that song. It’s so pretty. And doesn’t Dean Martin just take your breath away?”

“He’s a dreamboat, all right.”

Sam had asked the music committee to talk with Bea about her musical selections, but so far they’d refused. Bea’s sister, Opal, is in charge of the music committee. When Sam brought it up, she’d said, “You never have liked our family, have you?”

“I hope people enjoy your song tonight at the Coffee Cup, and I hope Wiffles gets to feeling better. You take care, Bea.”

“Bye, bye, Sam.”

I
t was a busy day for Sam. He had several hours of paperwork and a meeting with Frank the secretary. Then he drove to the city to visit Sally Fleming. After
the promise of a miracle, he half expected to see her up and walking around, but she wasn’t. In fact, she looked worse, so he didn’t stay long.

On his way home, he drove past the Coffee Cup as Bea was walking in to play for Italian Night.

It’s been a wonderful year for Bea. She retired after thirty-five years at the glove factory in Cartersburg. Now here she is, working in the entertainment industry. Opal has suggested she hire an agent and go on the road.

“Look at that Liberace guy. He started out playing in the church and look where he ended up. All you need is an act, something people will remember. Maybe you could have Wiffles sit on the organ while you play,” Opal said.

Bea was halfway considering it. Then Wiffles got sick, which Bea took as a sign from the Lord that she was to stay in Harmony. Plus, if she traveled she might not be able to follow the ministry of the Reverend Johnny LaCosta. She lives for Wednesday nights when she gets home from the Coffee Cup, puts on her house slippers, and settles back in her chair to watch Jeopardy from seven to seven-thirty and then the Hour of Truth program from seven-thirty to eight o’clock.

It amazes her what that man can do. The month before he’d had a burden for a tribe in the Congo and had asked his television family for donations so he could go there, maybe start a church, and take them some clothes. Bea went through her closet and sent him three of her dresses, two pairs of shoes, and twenty
dollars, plus a note reminding him to put in a good word for Sally Fleming and her leukemia.

This week, the Reverend Johnny LaCosta was telling how the Lord had energized his spirit to send healing power over the airwaves and into people’s homes. Bea sat watching, enthralled.

She wishes Sam could be like this. She believes Sam thinks too much, that his fondness for reason prevents the Lord from working through him. It was nice of him to pray for Wiffles, but she wasn’t getting her hopes up.

He’s no Johnny LaCosta, that’s for sure, she thought, sitting in her chair.

There was a song by the Hour of Truth singers, then the Reverend began his ministry of healing.

“The Lord is giving me a name just now. It begins with an S. I can’t quite make it out. Sandra. No, that’s not it. Sally. Yes, that’s it. Sally. And Sally is sick. She’s very sick. In fact, she’s near death. She has an illness. The Lord is showing me that illness. I see an
l
. Sally has lupus. No, that’s not right. Lord, show me her illness. I see an l and an e. It’s leukemia. Sally has leukemia.”

Bea edged closer to her television. Now the Reverend was sweating and wiping his brow with his prayer cloth.

“Sally has leukemia, but by the power of God she is being healed right now. She is HEALED. Her bone marrow is well. Her blood is being restored. She will LIVE.”

Bea could hear the Hour of Truth church congregation clapping and shouting “Amen.”

She watched as the Reverend raised his hand. “Wait. The Lord is not finished with His mighty works. He’s telling me more. Yes, Lord, I’m listening.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Sally has a friend. Yes, there is someone who’s been praying for Sally. Her name is Bea.”

Bea gasped.

“Her name is Bea, and she’s been praying for Sally. Bea has another need, which the Lord has not revealed to me. But her need will be met. God is faithful.”

Wiffles! Bea exalted. He must mean Wiffles!

Bea leapt from her chair and ran to the kitchen to the telephone. She called all the women of the Friendly Circle and told them what the Reverend Johnny LaCosta had done for Sally. She phoned the hospital to tell Sally she was healed, but couldn’t get through. The switchboard was closed for the night, and Bea punched the wrong number and ended up speaking with a janitor. She told him about Sally and Wiffles.

Then she called her sister, Opal, who was skeptical.

“What do you mean the Lord told him about Sally and her leukemia? You’ve written him three times about it.”

“Yeah, well, what about what he said about Wiffles? How do you explain that? He knew all about Wiffles.”

“Did he mention Wiffles by name?”

“Not exactly. But he knew I had another concern.”

“Well for Pete’s sake, who doesn’t have concerns? He’s a phony.”

“You know, Opal, if I were you, I’d be a little be more
careful about mocking a servant of the Lord. In the Old Testament, God killed people for less than that.”

Opal laughed. “Johnny LaCosta is the one who ought to be careful.”

Bea was so mad she hung up the phone and went upstairs to bed.

B
ea woke up the next morning and called Sam at the meetinghouse to tell him that the Reverend Johnny LaCosta had healed Sally.

“Bea, I just saw Sally yesterday, and she looked pretty sick to me,” Sam said.

Bea began to weep. “Doesn’t anyone believe in miracles anymore?”

“Well, sure, Bea. But that LaCosta character, why, he’s a fraud. He’s just in it for the money. He preys on poor, desperate people who don’t know any better.”

Bea didn’t say anything, but right then she thought of rewriting her will and leaving out the church.

Sam paused, then said, “Bea, I know you like watching The Hour of Truth, but as your pastor I have to tell you it’s not good for you to take that stuff so seriously. I bet LaCosta hasn’t even been to seminary.”

“Jealousy doesn’t flatter you, Sam Gardner. You’re just upset that God didn’t use you to heal Sally. Jealousy, that’s all in the world it is.”

Then she hung up the phone.

Sam sat at his desk, fuming. Frank the secretary tapped on his door and came in.

“I got a call from Fern Hampton,” Frank said. “She
said Bea called her last night all excited about Sally getting healed. You don’t suppose it’s true, do you?”

Sam snorted. “Of course not.”

The phone rang in Frank’s office. “I better grab that. I called the hospital and left a message for Wayne to call me. That might be him now.”

“You did what?” Sam asked.

Frank picked up the phone. “Harmony Friends Meeting. This is Frank. Hey, Wayne. How ya doing?”

“Why did you call Wayne?” Sam yelled from his office.

“Uh, excuse me, Wayne, Sam’s asking me something.” Frank covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “Sam, what in the world do you want? I’m trying to talk to Wayne here.”

“Did you call him to see if Sally was healed?”

“Yes, I did. I didn’t see any harm in it. Now are you through throwing your little fit?”

Sam shut his door, hard.

Frank took his hand from the mouthpiece. “Hey, Wayne. Sam just wanted me to tell you hi. So, uh, how are things this morning?”

Wayne was so excited, Frank could barely make out what he was saying.

“What?…You’re kidding! What are the doctors saying?…She’s out of bed and walking? When did this happen?…What time last night?…Oh, my. Wayne, that’s wonderful. Are they gonna run some more tests?…Of course, you know we’ll be praying…. Sure, I’ll tell Sam. It’ll be my pleasure. I’ll let all the church know.”

Frank hung up the phone.

Well, I’ll be, he thought. “Sam! Sam! You’ll never believe it.”

B
y noon that day, the news of Sally’s healing had spread all over town. Bob Miles at the Herald pulled his headline about the death of Dale’s chickens and ran a two-inch headline about Sally’s healing. Bob wanted to leave himself some wiggle room just in case it wasn’t true, so he wrote Church Claims Supposed Miracle.

Sam got in his car and drove to the city to the hospital to see for himself. He found Wayne and Sally in her room. Sally was sitting up in bed, smiling. Wayne was sitting behind her, rubbing her back.

She grinned when Sam walked in the room. “Hi, Sam,” she said, her voice strong.

Wayne looked dazed. “It happened last night,” he said. “I was sitting right there.” He pointed to the chair next to the bed. “It was a little before eight o’clock. I had fallen off to sleep and all of a sudden I opened my eyes and there was Sally, sitting on the edge of her bed saying she was hungry.” He hugged Sally to him. “Didn’t you, honey?”

Sally nodded. “I was lying in bed and my body started tingling all over, and after about five minutes I felt like my old self.” She began to cry. Tears were streaming down her face.

“What are the doctors saying?” Sam asked.

“They’ve been drawing blood and running tests all
day,” Wayne said. “The only thing they’ll tell us right now is that her numbers have taken a turn for the better.”

“Well, let’s just take it a day at a time,” Sam said. “Let’s wait and see what tomorrow brings.”

Wayne looked at Sam. “No, Sam, it’s over. It’s finished. Sally’s healed. God healed her. Bea called and told us about that faith healer she watches and what he said on TV last night. And that ain’t all of it. This past Sunday morning, I was sitting here in my chair and I heard a voice saying I’d see a miracle. That’s all the voice said—You will see a miracle. It said it three times, just as clear as you’re hearing my voice.”

Sam reached for a chair to steady himself. Oh, Lord, why would you use Johnny LaCosta? Of all the people you could have used, why did you use him?

“I’m awfully glad for you both,” he said.

They talked a while longer, then Sam excused himself and drove back to Harmony. He got home in time for supper, then helped Barbara with the dishes. A little before seven, he kissed his boys good night and walked the three blocks to the meetinghouse for the monthly elders meeting.

I
t was a short meeting. Dale Hinshaw was absent with a head cold, for which Sam silently gave thanks. Miriam Hodge dispensed with the old business and breezed through the new business in record time. Then they talked about Sally’s apparent healing, except for Sam who sat in his chair brooding, not paying attention. He heard his name mentioned.

“Huh? What?” he said.

“I was just asking if you could close our meeting with a prayer,” Miriam said.

Sam prayed, thanking God for His loving-kindness. He wasn’t about to thank God for the Reverend Johnny LaCosta, so he kept quiet about Sally.

He finished praying, and the elders left, except for Miriam. She scooted two chairs down the table toward Sam. It was just the two of them.

“Are you not feeling well?” she asked.

“Oh, I’m feeling fine. Just a little scatterbrained, that’s all.”

“Did you happen to see Johnny LaCosta last night?”

“I don’t make it a habit of watching him.”

“I don’t either. But Bea has been after me to watch it, so Ellis and I turned it on last night. We were quite surprised to see him mention Sally.”

Sam didn’t say anything.

“Sam, do you believe she’s been healed?”

“Who knows?”

“You went to see her today. I called the meetinghouse, and Frank told me you had gone to be with her and Wayne. How was she?”

“She was…she seemed to be doing okay.”

“You don’t seem too pleased about that.”

“I’m reserving judgment. So far we have only the word of a television huckster that she’s healed.”

“You seem annoyed that she could be healed. What would be wrong with God using Johnny LaCosta to heal Sally?”

Sam sputtered. “First, God didn’t use Johnny LaCosta to heal Sally. God doesn’t use people like that.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know, that’s how.”

“I think God can use anyone.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion.”

“Sam Gardner, you are a mystery to me.”

“How’s that?”

“Not six months ago you sat at this very table and told the elders how discouraged you were that God never seemed to do anything. Now it appears He might have done something, and you’re mad about it.”

“That’s not so.”