38

They had their first visitors on Sunday—Janet Woodrum from the Harmony Public Library, with her mother and father in tow.

“Surprise, surprise,” Janet said when she saw Barbara. “I came home for the weekend and thought it would be fun to see you.”

Barbara hugged her. “I’m so glad you did. I’ve missed you. How have you been?”

While Barbara and Janet visited, Sam welcomed Janet’s parents. Two possible new attendees in a congregation of twelve. Sam did the math. Sixteen percent growth on his first Sunday. Not bad.

Having served as a local doctor, her father knew several of the members, and those he didn’t, his wife, the local elementary school principal, did.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” Janet’s mother said. “I didn’t think we’d know so many people here.”

Sam had already forgotten their first names, so he was relieved when Ruby Hopper approached them and greeted them by their first names—Dan and Libby. Ruby Hopper, it turned out, volunteered in the school library once a week, reading to the children.

“Ruby, I forgot this is your church,” Libby Woodrum said. “What a pleasure to see you.” She turned toward her husband. “Dan, this is Ruby Hopper. Ruby, this is my husband Dan.”

“I’ve heard a great deal about you,” Ruby said, shaking his hand. “All good. It’s an honor to have you both at meeting today.”

“The honor is ours,” Dan Woodrum said. “My wife has spoken of you many times over the years. I’m glad we’ve finally met.”

He glanced around the meetinghouse. “What a lovely building. Of course, Janet and Libby came here for scouting, but I never had the pleasure. This is how a church ought to feel. Why, it feels like it grew out of the ground, as if God planted it here. Such peace and beauty.”

Sam was delirious with joy. At Harmony Friends, visitors were accosted by Dale Hinshaw and harangued about their faith, which Dale generally found lacking. If Dale didn’t reach the visitor first, Fern Hampton did, planting herself in the meetinghouse doorway, scowling, with arms crossed, not unlike a bouncer in a bar. But Ruby Hopper was a natural—welcoming without being overbearing and a whiz at names.

Since Dan Woodrum was a retired physician, Sam began telling him about the hernia operation he had undergone several years before, and how he had nearly died.

“I’m sure Dr. Woodrum doesn’t want to hear about your hernia,” Barbara said, taking Sam by the arm and guiding him to his spot on the facing bench. “Besides, it’s time for meeting to start.”

She whispered in his ear, “Don’t blow it. I like it here.”

The conversations died down as people took their places. Barbara sat with the Woodrums, next to Janet, delighted her friend had come to visit. A few moments of silence passed, Sam rose to his feet, welcomed everyone, and expressed his joy at serving as their new pastor. They sang a hymn, one unfamiliar to Sam, about the interconnectedness of trees and whales and Native Americans. It was from a new Quaker hymnal Sam had heard about, but had never seen, on account of Dale Hinshaw declaring it liberal gobbledy-gook, the proceeds of which went to arm communist revolutionaries.

Norma Withers played the piano, quite well in fact, then Sam delivered what he believed to be his finest sermon ever. Thus he was surprised when no one stood to applaud at its conclusion. They sat silently, Sam wanting to give them ample opportunity to express their appreciation for his message, but apparently they were too deeply moved for words. So after a few moments Doreen Newby made her way forward to the pulpit, quilts in hand.

In the excitement of the morning Sam had forgotten that Doreen Newby was pumped and primed to gab about quilts for thirty minutes. Sam closed his eyes and bowed his head, as if in prayer, wondering how he might redeem the worship service so the Woodrums wouldn’t think they were kooks with a quilt fetish. He begged God to strike Doreen with a sudden case of laryngitis, but God seemed in no hurry to answer his prayer and Doreen droned on, showing one quilt and then another. Sam was never going to build a church this way.

Eventually, after what seemed like days, Doreen finished. They sang another song, this one about God being a mother. Sam offered a closing prayer, then people turned to the person next to them and shook hands.

Dan Woodrum was the first to reach him.

“That was the most profound message I’ve ever heard in a church. Simple, touching, insightful.”

“Thank you,” Sam said, trying his best to appear modest.

“I’ll admit,” Dan went on, “when I saw her come forward with her quilts, I had misgivings, but when she began talking about her grandmother making them during the Depression from scraps of cloth to keep the children warm, I remember my grandmother doing the same. What a timely reminder of human compassion.”

A tear leaked from his eyes.

“Forgive me, I haven’t been moved like this in years. Then we sang that song about the feminine qualities of God. It all fit together so beautifully.”

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose.

“It’s a little program we began sometime ago. We ask someone each week to speak on a topic dear to their heart,” Sam said.

“Well, it’s brilliant. I must admit, and please don’t take offense, but I have grown weary of pastors going on and on every Sunday. God can speak through others, as we clearly saw this morning.”

“That was my thinking, too,” said Sam, now taking full credit for a practice he’d spent much of the previous week trying to eliminate.

But Dan Woodrum didn’t hear him. He was thanking Doreen Newby, and hugging her. Hugging her! As if she were his long-lost sister.

The men began setting up tables while the women hurried to the kitchen to bring out food.

Sam made his way to Janet and Libby Woodrum.

“I hope you’ll join us for lunch,” Sam said. “We have more than enough food.”

“Barbara has already invited us, and we’re planning on staying,” Janet said. “Thank you for your message, Sam. It was nice.”

Nice. Sam had learned long ago that when someone told him his sermon was nice, they hadn’t been paying attention. Hitler could come back from the dead, stand in a church, announce the invasion of France, and every third person would pat him on the back and thank him for his nice message.

The food made up for it. Pies everywhere. And bless Doreen Newby’s wacky heart, fried chicken, her grandmother’s recipe. Sam sat beside Wilson Roberts, who regaled him with stories of Hope in the old days, before the city grew out to it.

“Yeah, when I was a kid, this was considered the country. The meetinghouse property was a cow pasture. Of course, the hardware store’s right where it’s always been. Have you been there yet?”

“Not yet. Hope to very soon, though.”

“Man who runs that is named Charley Riggle. His family’s been here ever since anyone can remember. Salt of the earth. Has a really nice plumbing section for such a small store.”

“Just a bit past the hardware store is our grocery,” Wilson continued. “The Droogers own it. They moved down here from Minnesota a few years ago. Good folks, but they talk kinda funny. You can tell they’re not from around here. Maybe you and Barbara could shop there. We’ve been trying to get them to join the meeting. They’ve come once or twice.”

Wilson Roberts was wound tighter than a tick. Sam was desperate to escape his clutches and woo the Woodrums, maybe wring out of them a promise to return. Visitors had to be finessed. The bait had to be dangled in front of them, the hook set, the line reeled in slowly. Next thing you knew, you had them landed in the boat, joining the church, and teaching a Sunday school class. There was an art to it.

He wondered if the Woodrums were tithers. Janet had once mentioned they belonged to a church. Sam wondered which one. He hoped it wasn’t a liberal one. He liked liberals, but they were lousy givers. He preferred recovering conservatives with an expanding view of God but still afraid not to tithe. It was a fine line. You had to keep folks just a little afraid, or they wouldn’t give a dime. Once they started talking about their brother the wolf and the Great Spirit, they were pretty well useless as far as tithing was concerned.

He caught up with the Woodrums as they were leaving. He thanked them for visiting, and invited them to return. They had stayed to clean up, which was a good sign. He was a bit too eager, following them out the door, when Barbara took his hand and squeezed it, hard. He watched as they walked to their car and drove away.

“Geez, Sam, I thought you were going to run out there and wash their car or something. Give them a little space,” Barbara said.

“I just wanted them to feel welcome.”

“Welcome is one thing, stalking is another. Try and relax. The world won’t end if they don’t come back.”

Sam panicked. “Did they say they wouldn’t come back?”

“No, now settle down. They said they enjoyed themselves and would be back.”

“Those were their exact words?” Sam asked. “They said they’d be back?”

“Yes, those were their exact words. Now go back inside and be with the others.”

While Barbara stood outside on the meetinghouse porch, Sam went inside and helped put away the tables, still wondering what in the world a Quaker meeting could have done to take upwards of a hundred and fifty members down to twelve.