12

Saturday morning found Sam Gardner at the Coffee Cup with his younger son, Addison, eating pancakes and listening to the gossip, much of it about him and how he’d lost his mind and broken the law marrying two women. The same Bob Miles who had lauded his kindness and courage was now predicting Sam would be arrested before the day was over.

“If you get sent to jail, can I have your car?” Addison asked.

“I’m not going to jail. They don’t send people to jail for saying a prayer at a gay wedding.”

“Wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Bob Miles said. “Down in Texas it’s a life sentence.”

“Maybe if a few more states started arresting a few of these liberal preachers, we’d nip this nonsense in the bud,” Myron Farlow said. “I’ll tell you right now, if my priest married two gays, he’d be gone in a heartbeat. I’d see to it.”

Vinny Toricelli, the owner of the Coffee Cup, snorted. “Myron, I haven’t seen you at church in so long you’ve probably forgotten how to get there.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t have my morals,” Myron said.

“Good to know the owner of a bar has morals,” Vinny said.

“Well, just see if I eat here anymore,” Myron said, peeling a bill from his wallet, throwing it on the counter, and stalking out.

Dale Hinshaw, two booths down from Sam, finished his cup of coffee, paid his bill, then stopped at Sam’s table on his way out. “Well, I hope you’re proud of yourself. You’ve got the whole town fighting. That’s a fine Christian witness.”

Sam continued to eat his pancakes, ignoring Dale, who turned and left.

“Dale Hinshaw’s a big, fat butthead,” Addison said.

“Be nice,” Sam said. “Just because he’s rude, doesn’t mean you have to be. Besides, he’s not big. Neither is he fat.”

It being Saturday, Barbara was working at the library, so after Sam and Addison finished eating, they stopped in to see her. She introduced them to Janet Woodrum, the new librarian.

“We’ve met, but haven’t been formally introduced. Hello, Janet. It’s a pleasure to have you in Harmony,” Sam said, extending his hand. “Barbara thinks the world of you.”

“Well, I think the world of her. I can’t believe we have someone of her caliber working with us.”

“We’re very happy for her,” Sam said.

“That’s not what you said last night,” Addison pointed out. “Last night you were complaining about having to do the extra cooking and housework.”

There were days Sam regretted being a pacifist and today was shaping up to be one of those days. It wasn’t yet ten o’clock, and he had already been tempted to wring several necks.

“I understand you pastor the Quaker meeting here in town,” Janet said, deftly changing the subject.

“That’s right,” Sam said. “You’re welcome to join us some Sunday.”

“Thank you for asking, but I’ve been attending the Unitarian church.”

You and half my meeting, Sam thought.

“She and Matt have a date tonight,” Barbara said. “He’s taking her up to the city to see a play.”

“I guess that means he’s feeling better,” Sam said.

“Yes, much better,” Janet said. “And it was so kind of you to step in and conduct Chris and Kelly’s wedding at the last minute. They really appreciated it and so did Matt.”

“I didn’t actually conduct it,” Sam said. “I just said a prayer.”

“All the same, it was very kind of you. And brave.”

“It got him in lots of trouble,” Addison said. “Dale Hinshaw’s trying to get him fired.”

“Let’s not talk about that now,” Barbara said.

“Well, if the Quakers fire you, we Unitarians would love to have you,” Janet said.

Sam was momentarily lost in thought, imagining what it might be like to pastor a Unitarian church. No more Dale Hinshaw dragging the church back to the Stone Age, no more Fern Hampton waging jihad against the Friendly Women’s Circle, no more Bea Majors pounding the organ every Sunday morning until his eardrums exploded. They used guitars in the Unitarian church! Guitars and flutes, softly and expertly played, with hymns about nature and love and laying down your weapons and riding bicycles instead of driving everywhere. Hymns that actually matched the sermon theme and didn’t consign people to hell in cheerful 4/4 time. The guitarists and flutists didn’t miss half the notes and blame the congregation, like Bea Majors did each Sunday. He wondered how one went about becoming a Unitarian pastor.

When they arrived home, Addison changed into his sweats and went to the park to shoot baskets. The message light on their answering machine was blinking. Miriam Hodge had phoned, informing him they’d returned early from their vacation and would see him the next morning at Quaker worship. “Call me if you need to talk,” she said.

He debated whether to bother her. If he phoned her every time Dale Hinshaw was off his rocker, they’d be talking several times a day. He decided to let it rest, and went out to his garage to organize his nuts and bolts, a task that kept his hands busy and his mind free, permitting him to think grand thoughts and noble ventures.