Sintown Chronicles I: Behind Closed Doors (25 page)

“But ... well ... I'm not a lesbian."

“Oh my God,” Sandra exclaimed, aware that she was now blushing for one of the few times in her life. “I'm not either. That isn't the kind of girlfriend I meant."

“Oh, I am sorry, Sandy. I don't know why I thought that,” Susan apologized holding Sandra's hands. “I need to sit down a moment. This has been a long day. I am so embarrassed."

The two sat across from each other at the library table. Neither knew what to say next. Finally, very softly, Susan said, “Yes, I do know why. When I was a freshman, two girls I thought were friends forced themselves into the shower with me. They ... they did things to me."

“I'm sorry, Susan. They raped you?"

“No."

“Oh, that's good. But it frightened you anyway."

“They did to me what you have guessed, but it wasn't rape. I didn't try to stop them."

“Damn it, Susan. You're a lawyer. You know what rape is. They raped you."

“I know that legally it was rape, or at least sexual assault, but I wish so much I had told them to stop."

“There's more to it, isn't there Susan?"

The tears streamed down the young attorney's cheeks, carrying mascara from her lashes. She could only nod.

Remembering her own rape, Sandra reached for Susan's hands and held them firmly this time. “You enjoyed it. That means only one thing. You have a healthy, responsive body. That's all."

Without realizing it, Sandra had solved a deep emotional problem for both Susan and herself.

Before going to bed that night, Susan called the answering machine in her Winston-Salem apartment. There was one curious message from Victor. “Susan, I hope you are enjoying the visit with your sister. I know you gave me her number, but I can't find it. Anyway, something has come up that we may need to discuss. I'll know more tomorrow and I'll call you after you get home. I love you."

After the guests departed, Sandra and Tim snuggled on the sofa in the den.

“You are a piece of work,” he lovingly said.

“What do you mean by that?” There was appreciation in her tone of voice.

“You fish, you sew, you read, you write, you're the world's most beautiful woman, and the world's greatest cook. Most important of all, you put up with me."

“Thank you, kind sir,” she purred. “You ain't seen nothin’ yet."

“I interrupted you at dinner tonight. I'm sorry, Dudette. I didn't realize it until I had already done it and I couldn't think of a way to steer the conversation back to Susan's boyfriend. I realize you would have liked to ask her more questions. I hope you talked about him while the two of you were in the library."

“We did."

“I know what you have on your mind, you know."

“Since when did you become a mind reader?"

“You think I should hire this boyfriend to look after our business interests."

She was very aware of the fact that his words included her as a partner in business. She held him a little tighter and kissed his neck. “You're right. What do you think?"

“It wouldn't hurt to talk to him. I'll see if I can get his number from Susan tomorrow."

She dug into her pocket and produced a slip of paper. “Call him tonight,” she advised.

After the telephone call, Tim snapped on his computer, selected a new document under MS Word, and began to type, pausing frequently for thought.

Dot

+ Town lawyer

+ Clinic

+ Remodeled buildings

+ Paid fire chief

+ Rescue squad?

+ School?

+ Preacher

+ Jobs

+ Entertainment

+ Library?

+ Street lights

+ Police?

+ Water?

+ Sewage disposal?

+ Trash disposal?

+ ?

He printed the list, snapped off the computer equipment, roamed through the house turning off lights and locking doors, and quietly ascended the staircase.

He stood beside Sandra, drinking in her beauty. She had fallen asleep, propped up in bed, waiting to scratch his head.
Middlemarch
lay open in her lap. He gently removed the book, inserted a bookmark, and silently placed the novel on her nightstand. The sheet she always pulled up to her neck while propped up in bed had slipped below her breasts. He gently kissed each one. She stirred, briefly opened her eyes, smiled and scooted down in the bed. He gently arranged her pillow. There was a warm glow somewhere deep within him as he turned off her reading lamp.

As he brushed his teeth, words, unbidden, filtered into his mind. Isn't love an emotion we can't control, that overpowers common sense and logic? Does anyone ever choose to love another? Is there any defense? Once cupid's arbitrary arrow has struck, is there any cure? Would anyone in his right mind ever want the cure, even if one did exist?

He liked these thoughts. They made sense. They were almost poetic. He thought he should write them down ... but he didn't.

Since it was the last dinner on the grounds for the season, Tim and Sandra decided to stay after the morning worship service. Tim found himself in the company of several of the men of the church, including most of the deacons, while the visiting minister, Mack McGee, cornered Sandra.

“You know, Mrs. Dollar, there is considerable speculation on the part of church members as to whether or not you and Tim will join the church,” said the friendly preacher.

He is so damn close, she thought. I wish I had not worn this low cut dress, but flat-chested women must not turn him on. He hasn't even tried to sneak a peek.

“I'm afraid their main interest is not your spiritual welfare,” he continued. “I understand there are few people of means left in Dot. They sorely miss Pete Harlow's financial contributions. They would like to have them replaced with the Dollars’ dollars."

Sandra chuckled. “You have to be one of the most honest preachers in the entire world."

Mack smiled. “I never learned how to lie. I used to try it sometimes when I was a youth, but I am too stupid to keep up with my prevarications. Inevitably, I wind up telling on myself. I just decided it was best to be honest and let the chips fall where they may."

“Okay, I'll be honest with you too. Tim and I haven't talked about joining the church. I think Tim used to attend church regularly, but something happened. I'm not exactly sure what. Anyway, he quit going. He said he was ashamed to be a Southern Baptist anymore."

“I think I know what that something was, and I share his disgust, but every Baptist Church is different. In reality the Southern Baptist Convention actually exists only a few days out of the year, and then disbands until the next annual convention."

“Yeah, well, you'll have to talk with Tim about that. I think he would probably join this church if you were the permanent pastor. He seems to think you are special."

“That's quite a compliment, but I prefer to talk with Sandy. I want to know what Sandy thinks."

“Preacher, my religious convictions are rather unconventional and private."

“Now Sandy, you said you were going to be honest with me. I don't think you have any religious convictions at all. Am I wrong?"

She smiled. “No, you are not wrong, but you are not right either. I've heard so much junk I just don't know what to believe."

“So you don't believe anything?"

“I believe in a God, but I don't believe the things you preachers preach. No, wait. I take that back. I confess I have nodded through most of the sermons you have preached, but what I have heard from you I do believe. You're not like the others."

“I've been told that before,” he laughed. “In fact, I was kicked out of a church once because I was so different. Let me ask you something. I understand you are an avid reader. Have you ever read the Bible?"

“Oh, I've read little snatches here and there. I don't think the holy book is holy. I don't think God wrote it. I certainly don't think it is infallible. I guess I just don't think it's worth reading."

“Well, we agree and we disagree. I don't think God wrote it either, but it is a collection of thoughts and historical events written by people who were searching for an understanding of God. Let me offer you a challenge, Sandy. Read the
Gospel of John
. If you will read John's gospel, I'll promise to read
Silas Marner
."

“Preacher, I don't think there is a Bible in the house, but if there is one, I'll read this
Gospel of John
just for you."

“I'll be glad to loan you a copy, but not the one I have with me. It's special. I'll bring you one next Sunday."

“Don't bother. I'll pick up one the next time I am in Charlotte. Is there a reason you want me to read
John
?"

Mack smiled. “Of course there is. I believe the
Gospel of John
. All of my personal experiences and all religious books I read including the rest of the Bible I compare to the
Gospel of John
. If an expressed thought or experience agrees with John's Gospel, I accept it as truth. If it doesn't, I have to think long and hard about it. If you are going to buy a Bible, Sandy, I'd like to suggest you purchase the
New Jerusalem Bible
. I like that translation best. It started out as a Bible for Roman Catholic laymen, but it was so widely accepted that in its current edition it is truly ecumenical."

Sandra made a note to buy a copy of the
New Jerusalem Bible
and to look up the meaning of the word “ecumenical.” “Since we are being honest, Mack, I don't have much religious training. I probably won't be able to understand this
Gospel of John
. If I do read it, you must promise to preach some sermons on it to help me understand."

“You'll understand enough of it, Sandy, but that's a promise I will be glad to keep if it turns out I that am going to be around here long enough."

“Are you planning to leave us?"

“You know the church is looking for a permanent pastor."

“Why don't you become the permanent pastor?"

“I haven't been asked."

“If you were asked, would you accept?"

“In a heartbeat, but that must remain our little secret. It isn't considered proper for a minister to apply for a job."

“Why not?"

“Beats the hell out of me,” he laughed.

“I think you are right, Deacon,” Tim responded to a question. “Mack McGee is one whale of a preacher. He talks to us, and shares from his experiences as a sinner, rather than looking down at us as if he were a saint."

“Then don't you think he is the logical man for us to call as our next pastor?” asked Deacon Jones.

“That's not for me to say. I'm not a church member."

“You do have an opinion though, don't you?"

“Of course, but are you sure you want to hear it?"

“Certainly I do."

“Okay then. I mean no disrespect, but I think of the Dot Baptist Church as being a country church. I think of country churches as congregations of simple, hard working folk who are very conservative and who fit right in with the current ultraconservative teachings of the Southern Baptist Convention. I think if Mack were to become the pastor you would either lose most of your congregation or would have to sever your ties with the Convention—maybe even remove the word ‘Baptist’ from the name of the church.” By this time twenty or more men had joined the group conversation and they all burst into laughter.

Tim looked bewildered. “Was it something I said or do I have spinach between my teeth?” he asked.

A man whom Tim had not formally met replied. “Tim, we withdrew from the Southern Baptist Convention years ago. We thought about renaming the church, but voted against it. It is our contention that it is the Convention, not us, which needs to remove the word ‘Baptist’ from their name. Historically, Baptists have been fiercely independent. The founders of this church believed strongly in the principle that every man is free to interpret the Bible according the dictates of his own soul. This crowd controlling the Convention now insists that we all interpret it the way
they
interpret it."

“Hell,” a voice piped up from the crowd. “They can't even agree among themselves."

There was more laughter.

“In that case,” Tim said smiling warmly, “I think Mack would be a wonderful choice."

“If Mack were our pastor, would you become a church member?” the deacon asked.

“I want to think about it carefully, and I want to talk with Sandy about it. However, I believe that what you have just told me is reason enough for me to become a member of your church, whether Mack is the pastor or not. This is not to say I don't like Mack. I really do, but I doubt we would be able to even match his present salary and benefits."

“You're probably right,” the deacon continued. “We couldn't match his salary,” he said gesturing towards the assembled group, “but
we
could.” The last gesture included Tim.

“I won't make a commitment right now, but find out if Mack is interested and how much money we are talking about and get back to me on it."

The group began to break up, but Tim, raising his voice, regained their attention. “You set me up with this conversation,” he began, smiling, “to see if I would help pay Mack's salary. Now I want some advice from you."

He pulled out the list that he made the previous night and explained that he wanted to be a good citizen of the community. There seemed to be many community needs but no leadership. If the community wanted to die, it would appear to be on the right course, but if it wanted to continue to exist and even thrive, careful planning was necessary as well as hard work. The response was not overly enthusiastic, but the group agreed to hold an old-fashioned town meeting at the church the following Saturday night. Diane Sizemore had joined her husband for this part of the conversation and volunteered to announce the meeting in the
Courier
and to print and distribute flyers.

Victor Kimel was sitting on the porch when the Dollars returned from church. Tim approached him with outstretched hand. “You must be Victor. I'm Tim Dollar and this is Sandy. I'm sorry we are late. I'm afraid I got into a long bull session with some of the town people after church and let the time get away from me."