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The haste with which Deena Morrison began a new Sunday school class was staggering. By Sunday evening, she had secured Jessie Peacock’s approval, drafted the help of half a dozen people, went online to research curriculum, narrowing it down to two possibilities: God as She: A Perspective on Feminist Theology and The World’s Religions: The Many Paths to God. She phoned Judy Iverson for her opinion, who suggested Deena put it to an informal vote.

“Why don’t we send out an e-mail to the meeting with a brief description of each class? See what people might be most interested in.”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Deena said. “If people have a say in it, they’ll feel more invested.”

Deena sent out a church-wide e-mail the next morning, on Sam’s day off. Within fifteen minutes, he’d received four phone calls from irate Quakers threatening to jump ship. By the end of the day, God as She had gotten three votes, and The World’s Religions, two. But eight people had voted to rescind Deena’s membership in the meeting, fire Sam, and appoint a pastoral search committee.

At the meetinghouse, Lindsey Hinshaw had gotten a dozen phone calls, left at noon for lunch, hadn’t come back, and wasn’t planning to do so anytime soon. She left a message on Sam’s answering machine to tell him she was quitting, that it wasn’t worth the trouble.

“I don’t know how you do this,” she said in her message. “These people are driving me crazy. They’re so uptight.”

Barbara was working at the library. Sam spent the day there, reading a book on how to sell your own home. The nostalgia that had motivated the return to his childhood church was quickly fading. He was beginning to imagine what it might be like to start fresh somewhere else. He’d always wanted to own a hardware store in a small town and sell pocketknives and tools and other useful items. He’d never met a depressed hardware store owner. He and Barbara had visited the Bahamas for their twentieth anniversary. There were seven hundred islands in the Bahamas and surely one of those islands needed a hardware store.

He went home at lunch to eat a sandwich. He got four phone calls, but ignored them all. He had learned not to answer the phone or listen to his answering machine on his day off, lest he be plunged headlong into work. He started a load of laundry, then returned to the library.

“Are you going to spend the entire day here?” Barbara asked.

“I most certainly am,” he said. “Not one person in the congregation knows I’m here. I might move in a cot and sleep in the periodicals.”

He napped for an hour, read National Geographic cover to cover, then talked with Janet the librarian about her relationship with Matt the Unitarian pastor. He advised her against marrying a pastor.

“It’s no kind of life. You spend all your time helping people, but it’s never enough. Plus, you have to work every weekend when your children are off from school. When you have time, they don’t. When they have time, you don’t.”

“Matt probably won’t stay a minister,” Janet said. “What he really wants to do is teach.”

“Well, there you go. Tell him to do it now, while he’s young.”

Barbara’s shift ended at five, so they walked home together and made breakfast for supper—French toast and bacon—which boosted Sam’s mood considerably. He loved breakfast food for supper and would have it every night were it up to him. After supper, they washed the dishes, folded laundry, and went for an evening walk, just the two of them. An empty-nest kind of evening, a portent of things to come.

They talked about the boys, then made plans to visit Levi in a few weeks, after he’d had time to settle in at college. Addison was still planning on joining the military, a prospect that alarmed them both. The Gardners were not warrior stock. They came from a long line of passive people who hated conflict, and now their younger son, their baby, was going to be yelled at by sergeants and taught how to knee people in the crotch. It depressed them to think about it, so they changed the subject.

“What are you going to do about Lindsey?” Barbara asked.

“What’s wrong with Lindsey?”

“You didn’t listen to the answering machine, did you?”

“Nope, not on my day off.”

“She quit,” Barbara said. “Said people were driving her crazy.”

“Looks like the rats are jumping the ship,” Sam said, grimly.

They walked in silence, thinking. After a few minutes, Sam said, “I probably should have hired Nora Nagle when I had the chance. I wonder if she would leave the Legal Grounds to come work at the meetinghouse.”

“I heard Judy Iverson was looking for part-time work, now that the twins are in school,” Barbara said, not caring one whit for the prospect of her husband spending time alone with Nora Nagle in the meetinghouse basement.

“She’d be great,” Sam said. “You think she’d do it?”

“Never hurts to ask.”

“I’ll call her tomorrow.”

They passed Sam’s parents’ house. His father was raking leaves in the near dark, so they helped him finish, then went on their way. All in all, it had been a fine day. The time off had given him perspective, and he fell to sleep thinking none of his problems were so great they couldn’t be solved with intelligence, careful work, love, and forgiveness.