17

What do you mean, we owe Purdue five thousand dollars?” Sam bellowed. “We don’t have five thousand dollars.”

“It’s for Levi’s housing for the second semester,” Barbara explained. “It has to be paid in advance.”

“That’s crazy! Where in the world are we going to find that kind of money?”

“You might remember my asking that very question last spring when we paid the first semester’s housing. I said, ‘Where will we get five thousand dollars in October for the next semester’s housing?’ and you said, and I quote, ‘Don’t worry, honey, God will provide.’ ”

“I really said that?”

“Several times,” Barbara said.

“Well, then, I must have meant it. So let’s see what happens.”

“The next time you’re speaking with God, you might mention that Purdue wants their money by the fifteenth.”

“Why don’t you tell God?”

“Because I’m not the one who spoke on God’s behalf,” Barbara pointed out.

Sam had been job-free, a term he preferred over unemployed, for a little over a week, with not one prospect in sight. He had applied for unemployment benefits only to discover ministers weren’t eligible for assistance. Deena Morrison had given him a job at the Legal Grounds Coffee Shop, but on the first day he sneezed while carrying three grande mocha lattes, which he spilled on a group of red hat ladies, scalding them. Deena fired him as nicely as she could, gave him fifty dollars to ease him out the door, and suggested he contact Harvey Muldock about selling cars.

“I don’t want to sell cars,” he told Barbara that night. “I know I called Harvey before, but it seems like such a cliché, an unemployed minister selling cars. I was hoping for something a little more meaningful.”

“Until something meaningful comes along, could you maybe do a load of laundry, and pick up around here a bit? I could use a little help.” With Sam out of work, she was now working every day at the library.

He had taken to watching Dr. Oz on daytime television and thought of getting his own television show offering medical advice. While he had no formal medical training, his many years as a hypochondriac had left him well educated about various maladies. He’d made the mistake of mentioning his idea to Barbara.

“So I guess we’ve now left the realm of reality,” she said.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean you have absolutely no credentials for giving anyone medical advice about anything. You have no training in that field.”

“I’d like to think that being a pastor has taught me something about illness. Think of all the hospital visits I’ve made over the years.”

“You’re right, I didn’t even think of that. Say, since you help count the offering each week, maybe you should apply to be the bank president. I hear Vernley Stout’s retiring.”

Sam thought for a moment, intrigued at the possibility. “Not a bad idea,” he said. “Not a bad idea at all.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Sam, get another church. There has to be some church somewhere looking for a new pastor.”

“I’ve read the classifieds in Quaker Life for the past six issues. They’ve all found new pastors. Those that haven’t don’t want me. I’ve been blackballed.”

“Have you phoned any of the other Quaker pastors? Maybe one of them is planning to change churches and you could get a foot in the door somewhere.”

“Now there’s an idea,” Sam said.

He began phoning the pastors that very evening. Most of them were sympathetic, but none of them were especially helpful.

“I heard you did a same-gender wedding,” said Scott Wagoner, a pastor who had attended seminary with Sam.

“It was an accident,” Sam explained. “I didn’t realize the groom was a bride.”

“Did you explain that to the superintendent?”

“I tried, but he was in no mood to listen.”

“Yeah, well, listening is not his strong suit,” Scott said. “Boy, he sure has a bee in his bonnet over this. What did you do to him anyway? I’ve never seen him so worked up.”

“I guess I didn’t pay His Highness sufficient reverence.”

They groused a bit longer about egotistical leaders, then said good-bye. Sam went through the downstairs rooms turning off the lights, then climbed the stairs to bed. A headache was forming just behind his eyes. He would have to call Levi tomorrow and tell him they were out of money for college. The thought of it sickened him, his son leaving college to mop floors for minimum wage at the McDonald’s by the interstate. It was all he could do not to cry.