27

Christmas came and went. No longer in charge of the annual progressive nativity scene, Sam was able to relax and enjoy the season. Uly Grant had hired him to help out at the hardware store for the Christmas rush, and had kept him on. Ruby Hopper phoned each week to report the progress of the search committee. They were nearing a decision, and were down to working out the details—salary, vacation, health-care benefits, and the like. With the economy back on track, Wilson Roberts had sold off his interest in his plumbing fixtures business and donated a chunk of money to the meeting, causing Sam to be deeply grateful for toilets and sinks.

“I’ll never say another bad thing about toilets as long as I live,” he told Barbara.

There was an ice storm in March, knocking out power to the town for three days. With no Internet or television, families were forced to talk with one another. On the second day, cell phones lost their charge; people who had canceled their landlines were in a disconnected daze. Paul Fletcher preached a sermon on the end times, believing the loss of electricity was a portent of Christ’s return, possibly within the next week or so. But the Son of Man didn’t get the memo, so peace and quiet descended instead, and people began to wonder why they wanted television, Internet, and cell phones in the first place.

The last week of March, Addison Gardner departed from his customary gentleness long enough to punch Evan Farlow squarely on the nose, which earned him a three-day suspension. Sam took three days off from the hardware store and he and Addison drove to Gettysburg and stood on Little Round Top, where in 1863, Colonel Joshua Chamberlain and the men of the 20th Maine held fast against the rebels. In his mind’s eye, Sam saw young men scattered dead upon the hills and began to leak tears, thinking of Addison leaving in a few short months to join the army. He had signed up the month before, had been sworn in, and would be leaving home at the end of June for basic training. Sam had always believed in letting his sons choose their own paths, but the thought of his younger boy being in harm’s way was sometimes more than he could bear.

Levi was well along in his second semester of college. Barbara’s folks, bless their hearts, had dug deep and helped, and Levi had gotten a job waiting tables on the weekends. He had switched his major from engineering to sociology, an interesting field of study, but no more lucrative than theology. Inmates making license plates earned more money than sociology majors. Sam figured his son would be financially better off in prison—three squares a day, free clothes, a cot to sleep on, and a little walking-around money. He tried not to think how much it was costing to subject his son to a lifetime of poverty. Sam had taken to playing the lottery, sneaking over to Cartersburg once a week and buying two dollars’ worth of tickets, all for naught.

When he and Addison arrived home from Gettysburg, there was a message from Ruby Hopper on their answering machine, asking Sam to call her, which he promptly did.

“Can you begin the first of July?” she asked, by way of greeting.

“I certainly can,” said Sam. “Our younger son is leaving for the army at the end of June, and we want to spend as much time with him as we can, but I think I can be ready by July.”

Ruby Hopper laughed. “We’ve been without a pastor so long, another month won’t matter. Why don’t you enjoy time with your son, use July to pack and move, and start here the first of August?”

“That sounds perfect,” Sam said. “I must say I’m a little surprised you decided to call me as your pastor. When it took so long, I thought you’d decided to go with someone else.”

“No, it was nearly unanimous.”

Nearly unanimous. Sam wondered who didn’t want him.

“But it’s all settled now, and you’re going to be our new pastor. We have a few housekeeping details to take care of. We’d like you to select paint colors for the parsonage, so it can be painted before you move in. Perhaps you and Barbara would like to make one more visit, so you could walk through the parsonage.”

“You’re going to paint the parsonage?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t we?”

“I don’t know,” Sam said. “I just thought we would have to do that.”

“No, you pick the colors you want, and we hire a painter. That’s our responsibility. And you’ll need to pick new carpet for the master bedroom. The kitchen has a stone floor, and all the other rooms have hickory floors. The master bedroom has carpet that probably needs to be replaced. Since you’ll be living there, you should select the color.”

Sam was beginning to think this was an elaborate practical joke. A Quaker meeting letting their pastor pick paint colors? Not just slopping white paint on everything and saying, “Good enough.” Replacing the bedroom carpet before it was worn through? What kind of madness was this?