Leaving Fishers (7 page)

Pastor Jim finished with a prayer and went to sit down. A trio sang while a bunch of people passed wicker baskets for the collections. Angela leaned over to Dorry and whispered, “Don’t worry. New people aren’t expected to put anything in. Only believers.”

Dorry hadn’t planned to put anything in, anyway.

After that, Brother Paul stood again, and led the crowd in several more songs. Almost against her will, Dorry felt the rising joy again. For as long as the singing lasted, she felt a kinship with everyone in the room. They were all part of one thing, the same song. Dorry joined in again, tentatively at first, then stronger. Angela smiled at her.

This time when Brother Paul brought the singing to a close, he stood still for a few moments, as if in awe. The entire room was silent. No one coughed or whispered or, it seemed, moved at all. Dorry could hear the hum of the room’s ventilation unit. “I felt the Spirit in your singing,” Brother Paul said softly. Then with a flourish, he shouted, “Rejoice!” He thrust his right arm high in the air, as if raising a sword.

That one word seemed to break the spell in the room. People stood up, began to chatter. Someone tapped Dorry on the shoulder. “Hello. Are you a friend of Angela’s? I’m Susan.”

“I’m Joyce,” someone else said. “Glad you could come.”

Dorry lost track of names after that, but at least a dozen people greeted her and introduced themselves.

“Are you going to Fellowship Hour?” one of the girls said. Dorry thought her name was Elizabeth.

“Want to?” Angela asked. “It’s coffee, juice, and doughnuts. Stuff like that.” Dorry looked at her watch. Her parents were expecting her home for Sunday dinner, and it was already eleven. If Fellowship Hour really lasted an hour, she’d be late. “We don’t have to stay long,” Angela said.

“Okay,” Dorry agreed. She followed the others
out of the auditorium into another room with a fancy glass chandelier. There were two tables with coffee, tea, several juices, doughnut holes, and cut-up fruit. Several chairs were scattered about the room, but most people were standing. Everyone seemed to be with lifelong friends, chattering away happily. Dorry felt a pang. How long would it take her to be that comfortable with her friends? But Angela and Joyce and Susan and the others surrounded her, laughing and talking all at once. They all seemed to know each other already, but they wanted to know everything about Dorry.

“Angela said you just moved here from Ohio?” Susan asked.

“Yes,” Dorry said. Then it was easy to talk, to tell her story and let the others sympathize. They all got doughnuts and juice. It was a happy moment.

Suddenly Pastor Jim was beside her. “Dorry!” he said, touching her arm lightly. “I’m so glad you could come. What did you think of the service?”

Dorry tried to find a good answer. How could she tell a minister she wasn’t really into religion? Then, as if prompting an awkward preschooler, Angela said, “You seemed to like the music a lot.”

“Yes,” Dorry said. “I did.”

Pastor Jim nodded appreciatively. “It was
awe-inspiring this morning, wasn’t it? Sometimes 1 think that’s the closest we’ll ever get to heaven on earth, listening to wonderful music. Do you sing or play any musical instruments?”

“No,” Dorry said. “My sister’s the musical one. My dad refused to pay for lessons for me because he said I’d just quit when I discovered boys. That’s what my sister did.” Now, why had she said that? It made her dad sound like an ogre. Which he wasn’t, of course.

Pastor Jim was nodding sympathetically. “It’s tough being a parent,” he said. “And it’s tough following siblings who sometimes seem to mess up your chances for, shall we say, the riches of life.”

“Oh, it wasn’t that bad,” Dorry hastened to add. “By the time I came along, my parents were just plain tired. They thought they were done raising children. I was a mistake.” Dorry said it flippantly. She wanted to be as joking and casual as everybody else at the Fellowship Hour. But Pastor Jim gave her a look aching with compassion.

“Oh, you should
never
say that, even in jest,” he said. “Even if your earthly parents didn’t intend your existence, God did. He must have a special purpose in mind for you. Remember Sarah and Abraham? The child God gave them in
their old age was the blessing of their lives, and the beginning of the entire Hebrew people.”

Dorry had to look away from his strange, piercing eyes. She couldn’t remember exactly who Sarah and Abraham were, but hearing Pastor Jim tell her that God had a special purpose for her made her feel funny. Her heart beat fast and her face felt hot. She wanted to say, “Oh, no, it never bothered me that I was a mistake,” but suddenly it seemed that it always had. And maybe Pastor Jim had now cured that hurt she’d carried around all her life, without even realizing it. Why had her parents said that to her—“You were a mistake”? Didn’t they know how it would hurt? Why hadn’t they told her she had a special purpose?

Pastor Jim lay his hand gently on Dorry’s shoulder.

“Bless you,” he said tenderly. “You’ll be back.”

Chapter

Seven

TWO WEEKS LATER, DORRY SAT IN A VAN with Brad and Angela and a bunch of other kids riding to the Fishers Annual Fall Retreat.

“Come on—you’ll have fun,” Angela had said, inviting her in the hall between classes one day.

It was a constant refrain, the line that had lured Dorry to two weeks’ worth of Fishers parties and pizza dinners and even a repeat of the Sunday service. Regardless of what she thought about religion, Dorry was usually easily persuaded. Anything beat sitting in the apartment alone while her parents worked. Even the retreat seemed perfectly timed—it fell on a weekend when both her parents were working Saturday. Still, Dorry hesitantly protested, “But I’m not really a Fisher. . . .”

Angela playfully slugged her. “Oh, that doesn’t matter. We like you. Remember?”

She could hardly forget, they reminded her so often. Dorry liked her new friends—of course she did—but she still thought they were a little strange. She’d noticed the other kids at Crestwood made fun of them sometimes, snickering
when the Fishers bowed their heads and prayed over lunch. Now that Dorry knew about Fishers, they didn’t hesitate to pray in front of her. Sitting between Angela and Brad, her own head resolutely unbowed, Dorry was always torn between wanting to assure the rest of the Crestwood students, “Look, just because I’m sitting with them, it doesn’t mean I’m as crazy as they are,” and wanting to defend the Fishers, “Hey, they may be different, but at least they’re nice. They talked to me when none of you would.” Of course, she knew no one else at Crestwood cared about her, one way or another. And the Fishers did. Why else would Angela look so delighted when Dorry agreed to come to the retreat?

Now Angela was leaning toward the window, “Just wait till you see the Lakeland Hills lodge. Oh! There it is—”

Dorry turned and stared. The building in front of them was stunning. Nestled among a grove of trees vibrant with autumn colors, the lodge had balconies on every level and gingerbread trim on the roof. It looked very expensive. She wondered how Fishers could put on the retreat “totally free,” as Angela had assured her.

“Come on.” Angela tugged on Dorry’s arm. “Inside’s even nicer.” Everyone else was climbing out of the van, mingling with kids from the other
three vans that had driven behind them. Except for Brad and Angela, she didn’t know anyone else. She thought she’d seen a couple of the kids at Fishers services, but she wasn’t sure.

“I’ll get your suitcase,” Brad said.

“What about your own?” Dorry asked, even as she felt a thrill of pleasure that he seemed more concerned about her than himself.

“My own? I travel light, my dear,” Brad said in his joking tone. “I have the clothes on my back—what more do I need?”

“Everything you dropped off last night,” Angela said, laughing.

As they all jumped out of the van, the door of the lodge swung open and Pastor Jim stepped out. “Welcome, all,” he proclaimed. “Let the fall retreat begin!”

It was so formal Dorry had to laugh, and so did several others. She smiled at a shy-looking boy with glasses and he smiled back. She felt her already-high spirits zoom skyward. She took a deep breath of the crisp fall air and felt like she was inhaling pure joy.

“Come in, come in,” Pastor Jim urged.

They all traipsed in. The main floor of the lodge was open, with sliding-glass doors at the back leading to a deck. Dorry gasped at the view beyond: a deep, heavily wooded ravine. It was
incredible. She hadn’t known that flat, flat Indiana had such scenery.

Pastor Jim let the full impact of the sight sink in before speaking. “Do you know each other well after the drive?”

People muttered no’s.

He shook his head sorrowfully. “And you’re all such wonderful people. . . . Janelle here is a talented musician who has the voice of an angel. I’ve heard that Sam is a better joke teller than any so-called comedians on TV. Dorry just moved here from a small town in Ohio, Bryden, and she’s already gladdening the hearts of her many new friends at Crestwood High . . .”

He went on naming names and giving brief descriptions, touching each person lightly on the arm as he went around the room. He seemed to know everyone well. Dorry concentrated on matching names and faces. The boy with glasses who’d smiled at her outside was introduced as Zachary, and he was billed as a scientific genius.

“Anyone remember everyone’s name?” Pastor Jim asked at the end.

Dorry thought she did. But before she could decide if she was going to speak up, Pastor Jim went on.

“Anyone remember just one other person’s name?”

“Sure,” several people said.

“Janelle, then,” Pastor Jim said. “Say your name and one other.”

“I’m Janelle,” she said, and pointed, “and that’s Bob.”

Then Bob named himself and Janelle and Lisa. Then it was Lisa’s turn. The group went on, adding one name to the list every time. Dorry came in at about the eleventh name, and managed to name everyone without embarrassing herself. The group broke into applause for the last person, a girl named Sarah, who rattled off the names without pausing for breath.

“You forgot someone,” Pastor Jim said, clowning a pout and pointing to himself.

“Oops—and that’s Pastor Jim,” Sarah said.

“So it’s my turn now,” Pastor Jim said. He went around saying everyone’s name again slowly. His resonant voice caressed each word. Dorry felt bad for having thought he was like a TV evangelist, someone who stood in a studio somewhere and pretended he was talking to real people, not blank air. Pastor Jim obviously cared deeply about each one of them. If Dorry ever had a boyfriend, she’d want him to say her name the way Pastor Jim did. “And there’s still one name we’ve left out,” Pastor Jim said. “Does anybody know it?”

Everyone looked around, puzzled.

“An important name,” Pastor Jim added.

“God,” Zachary said. “Or Jesus.”

“Close,” Pastor Jim said. “The Holy Spirit. The part of the Trinity that is with us always. When He appeared to his disciples after his death, Jesus promised they would never be alone, and it is the Holy Spirit that true believers can rely on always.”

Pastor Jim went on about the Holy Spirit at some length, but it didn’t seem like a sermon or a lecture. It was more like he was sharing news that mattered a great deal to him, and he was eager for everyone else to know it, too. For once, Dorry didn’t mind hearing about religion. She wondered what it was like to be Pastor Jim, so sure that he was never alone.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. There were other games and skits and a hike in the woods and pizza for dinner. Then there were more games and a late-night snack of popcorn and hot chocolate. Nobody seemed to want to go to bed. By 1 a.m. they were all sitting around the lodge fireplace talking about God.

“Do you ever wonder how God could really be in charge of everything?” a girl named Danielle asked. “What’s it called? Omni-something.”

“Omnipotent,” Brad supplied the word, and
pretended to take a mini bow for his own brilliance.

“See, that’s where I have my problems with God,” said another girl, Moira. “I think I’d like Him better if He weren’t in charge.”