The Pastor's Wife Wears Biker Boots (24 page)

Norman cocked his rifle.

I froze, afraid to move but too afraid to stay in the shadows. Goliath didn’t budge. He wouldn’t go anywhere without me, and I knew it. As soon as I heard Bernice’s voice fade further away from the door, I bolted down the hill toward home, Goliath on my heels.

I didn’t know what they were up to.

But I sure wasn’t sticking around to find out.

33

My stomach bunched up in knots, and I couldn’t untie it. I always felt like this on board meeting day. I knew it wasn’t healthy for me to get worked up about it, but I couldn’t help myself. The clock ticked mercilessly slow. I watched its dawdling hands inch toward 7:00 PM with a twitch in my eye.

After I’d run home two nights ago and banged into the house like a mammoth running from extinction, Aaron checked the storage closet the next morning but found nothing suspicious.

“Maybe they snooped around in the old church records.” He shook his head and sat at his desk in his home office.

“With a shovel and a rifle?” I knew those props had something to do with why they were in there.

“Who knows? I must not be picking up the local customs.”

I laughed. “You’d think we would after five years.”

Aaron turned and looked at me. “I don’t want you bringing this up in the meeting tonight. It would be awkward explaining that you spied on them, and I have other pressing things to address. I don’t want to muddy the waters.”

“But…”

Aaron raised his eyebrows at me. “Kirstie, please. Just tonight. I promise to address it later if I need to. But for now, let’s just leave it alone, OK?”

“OK, I guess.” I didn’t agree with him, but when it came to church matters, I trusted his judgment.

Even though Aaron and I arrived early, Bernice, Norman, and Elder Pete were already in the fellowship hall where we held our meetings. We could hear them talking as we came down the stairs.

“It’s out of the question,” Norman muttered. “Out of the question. I refuse to allow it. An expansion isn’t needed.”

We rounded the corner in time to see Elder Pete lean toward Norman’s side of the table. “But we don’t have enough rooms for Sunday school, not to mention enough space in the fellowship hall now.”

Bernice huffed and reached across Norman to point a finger at Elder Pete. “We’ve got plenty of room. Those biker folks the pastor’s been dragging in here—how much money do you think they contribute to the pot each week? Besides, they’re fly-by-nighters anyway. Another month and they won’t be coming here anymore.”

Board meetings were open—anyone in the church could come to them. But I sure wished Bernice wouldn’t. I only came to update the board on upcoming details for special events and planned to make a hasty exit. But from the sounds of it, Aaron needed my support tonight.

“They’re not the ones bringing their kids to church, Norman,” Elder Pete said.

Aaron cleared his throat to let them know he was entering the room. “Good evening, gentlemen. Bernice.”

“Evening, Pastor.” Elder Pete waved hello. Bernice and Norman glared down at the table.

Shortly after we arrived, Deacon Jeff and Elder Cobb came in together. Other board members weren’t able to make it, but Aaron would brief them on the meeting by phone.

Everyone, except me, helped themselves to one of Bernice’s muffins. My stomach was in no condition to digest. Elder Pete had made coffee and set out sugar and spoons while folks filled up their own mugs with names written on them with magic marker. We hung them on the kitchen wall, and every time we got together for a service or a meeting, we used them. Aaron and I had matching Superman mugs. They helped us remember not to take difficult matters too seriously. And I don’t know about Aaron, but for me, laughing at circumstances helped.

We took our places around the table. We sat in the same place every single time as if our names were engraved on the chairs.

Aaron began with prayer and a short devotion before going over the regular business of the church finances for the month, the success of the men’s breakfast last month, and other incidental items.

I explained our plans for a small biker rally in two weeks.

Bernice was, as predicted, unhappy.

“I don’t like this motorcycle business, and you know it.” She sniffed. “I’m not paying for any needed repairs. I won’t do it.”

I smiled and nodded. “I understand. If anything like that happens, I’m sure the bikers will be sure to take care of any expenses of that sort.”

“Well, there better not be any damage to this property whatsoever. My great-grandfather built this church. Don’t you forget it.”

How could I possibly? I wanted to say it. But I breathed deeply and nodded.

“Speaking of building,” Aaron sounded cheerful. “I’ve spoken to each of you individually about our need to expand. As you know, I suggested we begin the process in small steps and on a cash basis only—build as we have the funds.”

“And how do you propose to do such a thing? I’m not going to contribute to it.” Bernice picked at her fingernails.

I had at least a dozen pithy comebacks for Bernice. But I bit my tongue and held in my anger.

“There are other people who might be willing.” Elder Pete seemed excited about the idea. “I’m all for it. It’s obvious we need more classrooms. We’re bursting at the seams. Bernice, you complain every Sunday about the noise level. The children need real classrooms—not these flimsy dividers.”

Pete pointed to the partitions currently dividing the fellowship hall. It was true: we needed classrooms in the worst way.

“Too bad. This land has been surveyed, and there’s nowhere to build an addition. I’m voting no.” Bernice slapped the table with her hand. I noticed she’d chipped the nail polish off all the fingers on her left hand.

“I haven’t put it up for a vote yet,” Aaron said. “We’re only discussing it at this point. And as for the survey, that was done over fifty years ago. Building technology has changed a lot since then. There are many more options now.”

“And we’ve got the lot across the alley there.” Deacon Jeff pointed toward the same back door I’d run from two nights ago. “We could easily build an education wing over there.”

Aaron nodded. “My vision includes a gym, too. There’s no place for people to gather in this town, or for kids to hang out.”

“That’s just what we need.” Bernice whined and rolled her eyes. “A bunch of country folks tracking their muddy pig boots into our nice clean church.”

“Bernice,” Aaron said. “I hear what you’re saying. You’re concerned about the property.”

How could Aaron be so diplomatic? It was a good thing I wasn’t the pastor.

“But,” Aaron continued. “We need to remember that people come before property. Souls are all we take to heaven. We don’t take buildings or lands.”

There was an uncomfortable pause. I wanted to say something. Oh, how I wanted to say something. I wanted to remind Bernice and Norman that they weren’t the ones squeezing thirty-four preschoolers into one little cubicle and trying to keep them from escaping. They weren’t the ones packing neighborhood kids into Super Church and trying to do crafts with them elbowing one another and giving each other black eyes.

“I think it’s a terrible idea.” Norman inserted his thumbs into the clasp on his overall suspenders. “We used to be this nice little country church, and then you people come in here with all your new-fangled, highfalutin big city ideas and ruin it. You don’t have the proper vision for this church at all. Not in the least.”

“What do you mean, Norman?” Aaron’s voice held calm and steady. “What’s the proper vision?”

Norman cleared his throat and folded his hands on the table. “You came to a country church, Pastor. It ain’t going to be anything but a country church. I don’t care how much money you spend on those little tyrants. Their parents aren’t going to come to church. Running that church bus is draining the budget dry. Look at this— we’ve had to scrimp to keep the light bill on. We don’t want no mega-church.” He pointed to the financial report.

“But we had more than enough, Norman.” Aaron smiled. “God always comes through.”

“Kids these days don’t appreciate nothin’.” Bernice grabbed the financial sheet out of Norman’s hands and looked at the figures as if she saw them for the first time. I knew she’d asked for a financial statement a week prior. “Kids these days are nothin’ but a spoiled mass of humanity. It’s why I made the wise and proper decision not to have children. You should be thinkin’ about the older folks—the ones that contribute money to pay your salary. That’s who you should be tryin’ to please. Those kids don’t sign your checks, Pastor.”

Everyone sat in silence for a time.

Pete’s eyes twinkled. Only Pete could find pleasure in confrontation.

I hated it. I sat beside Aaron, looking down at my notes. How could people grow up in church their entire life and miss the point entirely? Didn’t Jesus say let the little children come?

Aaron sat up in his chair, closed his notebook, and folded his hands on top of his Bible. “Norman and Bernice, you should know that regardless of who signs my check, I will pastor this church as God has called me to pastor it. Man might sign my check, but God takes care of me. And I refuse to reject a child or adult who wants to walk through these doors. As long as I’m the pastor here, we’ll welcome people of all walks of life, no matter their background, age, or size of their pocketbook. And further, if God wants this building program to go forward, I will do everything in my power to see that it’s done.”

“And I assure
you
, Pastor,” Bernice snapped, “that I will do all in
my
power to see that it doesn’t. Everyone at this table knows who pays the biggest tithe at this church. And should things not go the way I’ve planned, Norman and I will pull our support and send our dollars elsewhere.”

I almost laughed because everyone turned their heads in unison towards Aaron like spectators at Wimbledon, waiting for his return volley.

“That’s fine, Bernice.” Aaron didn’t look at all ruffled. “You do what you think you need to do. I don’t care if I have to get another job. Until God tells me to leave First Christian Church, I’m not going anywhere. My marching orders are from God—not man. Be careful, Bernice, who you get your marching orders from.”

“Is that a threat, Pastor?”

“No, Bernice. I think you’re treading on dangerous territory, and it’s my job as your pastor to warn you.”

“Sounds like a threat to me.” Norman stood up, his hands shaking.

I didn’t get it. Why was this a big deal to them? Why wouldn’t they want the church to grow? There was another unseen reason that Norman stood next to Bernice ready to slug my husband.

“C’mon, Norman. We’re going home.” Bernice grabbed Norman by his suspenders and pulled him toward the stairs. “I’ve heard all I care to hear.”

Was it my imagination, or did I hear someone mumble “good riddance”? I stared down at my notes until I heard Bernice and Norman’s truck start and peel out of the parking lot.

Deacon Jeff broke the awkward silence. “I think we should all take a few weeks and pray about the expansion, Pastor, and let people talk about the idea and get used to it. Change comes hard in these little towns.”

Aaron nodded. “I agree. We can come together later and decide the best route. In the meantime, we’ll get some figures together of what it would take for such a project.”

“I can do that,” Pete said. “My sister-in-law’s a contractor. I’ll give her a call.”

“Good.” Aaron clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Gentlemen, I appreciate your help. And while we’re praying about the project, I think we should add Norman and Bernice to our daily prayers. Would you do that for me?”

The men agreed they would pray.

But I didn’t say a word.

34

Even though I didn’t promise to pray for Bernice and Norman, I found myself praying a lot for them.

“Please, God, don’t let them catch me cleaning up this spilled pot of chili in the fellowship hall.”

“Please, God, don’t let Bernice see Patrick feed hot dogs to Goliath from his teeth at the motorcycle rally.”

“Please, God, let Bernice come before the bikers get here and leave before they get here, and don’t let Norman see any of the Harley Honeys in halter tops.”

By the time the day arrived for the church motorcycle rally, I was exhausted from planning and organizing the events, food, lodging, and bands. Thankfully, the church ladies came through with heaps of salads, desserts, and plenty of frosty cold drinks for the hot and thirsty bikers.

We’d pounded the last stake in the ground for the food tent when Atticus and his gang rolled up. I was so happy to see him and his buddies that I jumped up and down like a little girl.

Fortunately, none of the more dignified ladies in the church saw me. They were too busy watching Opal run toward Atticus and throw her tiny arms around his cedar tree neck.

“What on earth does she see in him?” I heard them whisper. Deep down I knew love was one of those things for which there was no explanation. Those two were smitten the moment they saw each other.

“He says the nicest things, and he always treats me with such respect,” Opal told me a few days before the rally. “I never knew bikers were nice.”

“To be honest, Opal, neither did I. I’m guilty of preconceived notions myself when it comes to bikers.”

“He always asks before he gives me a kiss.” Opal blushed. “Like an old-fashioned beau. I love that.”

“Me, too.” I couldn’t be happier for little Opal. If anyone deserved a nice man, she did.

More bikers arrived, and the ladies served food and drinks. Then, without warning, the skies opened and rain poured in gentle streams on everything we’d set up. It was a warm rain, so no one was too upset, but the deluge made the lot where we were going to play our games all muddy.

“Hey, Kirstie! Pastor!” Atticus yelled at us from across the alley. “Come over here. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

I helped Aaron adjust his rain poncho, and we splashed over to where Atticus stood beside a tiny little fellow with a Tweety Bird tattoo on his arm. “This here’s Clarence Rifkin. He’d like to represent Patrick pro bono at his court hearing.”