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IF GREG HAD BEEN WORRIED about Katrina spending hours tonight at the church, he refused to show it. She’d been in the dining room for ten minutes before he emerged from his office.
“What are you doing, Mouse? I thought you were practicing.”
She kept her back to him and glanced over her shoulder. “Just cleaning up after dinner.”
“Everything ok?” There was a hint of concern in his voice that might have been endearing if he’d come out and asked that question as soon as she walked in the door.
After Miles left, she decided to tell her husband everything. About the music, about his strange visit. But during the minute and a half it took to walk from the pulpit to the back door to the parsonage, she’d lost all her resolve. First of all, there was nothing about the musical encounter she’d experienced today with Miles that her guitar-player of a husband would come close to understanding. Second of all, if she made a big deal about her teacher’s behavior in the sanctuary, there’s no way Greg would listen to the story and leave it at that.
There’d be questions, anger, jealousy. And what for? What was so weird about a man stopping by to drop off a coat his student had forgotten at their lesson? A lesson in which they’d made music together with a harmony, an energy that even the most untrained listener could detect?
The whole thing was a big misunderstanding. Miles asked her to play a simple song, she mistook his request, somehow twisted it into the realms of impropriety, and why? A year ago, during her days with the Long Beach Symphony, there would have been nothing questionable about two musicians staying after practice, making a little music together, showing off what they’d been working on. Why had she made such a big deal over nothing?
She’d been rude too. Miles hadn’t argued with her, hadn’t acted mad, but she could tell he was surprised. All he’d wanted was one song. Why did she have to go and turn it into something shameful?
And why did her ear still burn where his breath had fallen on her?
Katrina carried the plate of stale buns into the kitchen only to realize her husband was still waiting for a reply.
“I’m fine.” She couldn’t remember the exact question but figured this was a pretty safe response. Summoning up her new sense of boldness, she met her husband’s gaze. “What’s wrong? Was I out too late?”
He shook his head. “No, you’ve just been acting strange all evening. You haven’t played your violin at the church in months, and earlier you ...”
“I would have played here, but I thought you were on a work call. I didn’t want to make too much noise.”
“That’s not the problem.”
“Then what is?” She hadn’t meant to sound so testy, but now she realized that it was her husband’s fault things got so awkward with Miles. If she hadn’t been so worried about him walking over, misconstruing what she was doing there with a man in the sanctuary, she wouldn’t have been so rude. She could have played a piece for her teacher, they could have talked for a few more minutes, and that would be the end of it.
Greg shook his head. “Never mind. I’m probably just overreacting.”
She crossed her arms. You think? She knew better than to say the words out loud.
He pulled out a chair and sat down at the table while Katrina continued to clean up their mess from dinner. “I’m sorry, Mouse. It’s just that the elders are breathing down my neck again. I’m probably not in the best of moods right now. I wasn’t trying to pick a fight or anything.”
Katrina tried to remember. Had her husband ever apologized this readily to her at any point in the past?
“That’s ok,” she told him, thankful that her clearing job gave her something to do so she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. “What’s going on with the elders, anyway?” What she should have said was what is it this time? but she wasn’t sure how helpful that sort of phrasing would be.
“It’s that stupid pageant. Mrs. Porter’s ticked because she felt shanghaied into helping when you ...”
“I didn’t ask that woman to lift a pinky last night.” Katrina slammed the bowl full of leftover peas on the counter. “I didn’t invite her. I didn’t ask her to butt in.”
Greg shook his head. “No, but apparently you left halfway into the rehearsal and didn’t even stick around to see if all the kids got picked up.”
Katrina opened her mouth to argue back, but he was basically right.
He sighed. “I know Mrs. Porter’s a difficult person to deal with. She’s got her own idea of how to run things. What do you expect? She was a teacher and then a principal for decades. She’s used to bossing people around and getting her own way.”
It wasn’t fair. First the woman intruded on the rehearsal, assumed the role of director since apparently Katrina wasn’t doing a good enough job, and then she had the audacity to complain when Katrina left five minutes early?
“Listen.” Greg’s voice was soft, more defeated than argumentative, but for once in their marriage Katrina was itching for a good fight. A yelling match. Any outlet where she could focus all this irritation and rage. “We’ve talked about this before. Appearances mean a lot here. We really need to make it a point to be the first people in and the last ones to leave whenever they’ve got something going on. Ok? I know Mrs. Porter’s a pain, but that’s part of our job description. It’s just something we need to put up with.”
She had plenty to say in response. Remind him that it was his name on the contract, his name on the checks, his name on the paystubs, not hers. This wasn’t her job. The church didn’t hire her. They didn’t pay into her Social Security account or force her to keep office hours or write her a job description.
That’s because the job description for the role of pastor’s wife at a church like Orchard Grove would cost too much ink and take up more paper than the stingy elders here were willing to dish out. A job description that didn’t just require her to call in the nursery workers, fill in at a moment’s notice anytime someone failed to show, lead music with her husband whenever the pianist was out of town, attend every single stupid women’s luncheon and fundraising tea the Missionary League organized, and direct the children’s Christmas pageant. Her job description also required her to be the first one in and the last one out every time the church opened, the one to make sure all the lights got turned off properly, the only woman who was expected to wear both a dress and nylons every single Sunday of the year, to be on call to play her violin at will as if she were some sort of street-corner musician taking requests.
And all this without pay and simply because she’d fallen in love with the man the folks at Orchard Grove wanted to call their pastor.
What plumber’s wife was expected to arrive with him to every job looking pretty and clean and ready to work at a moment’s notice? What teacher’s spouse was expected to be the first one into the classroom and the last one out each day as well as the one to lock everything up properly when all was said and done? Was a doctor’s wife expected to clean up the exam tables or babysit the kids in the waiting room or take the temperature for all her husband’s patients?
There were so many thoughts, so many arguments, so many complaints running through Katrina’s head, but she knew if she started to tell her husband everything that was on her mind, she would lose any sense of self-control. And how could she expect him to take her seriously then? Cursed hormones. Cursed town.
She hated being a pastor’s wife. Hated it with an intensity she hardly recognized in herself. Hated the pressure to look perfect, act perfect, be perfect. And no matter what she did, even if she was doing everything right, someone would still complain that it wasn’t good enough.
There would always be someone pointing out all her mistakes, talking behind her back about all her shortcomings. Just like in the bathroom at the pageant rehearsal. She could tell Greg about what happened. At least explain why she left church early. But there was no way she could make it through the story without tears. The humiliation was so deep, the wounds still fresh. And she hated crying in front of him. Hated it because he always tried to comfort her. He didn’t realize that her tears were almost always now tears of anger, but he’d jump in and do what he could to cheer her up. Kiss her boo-boo and make it all better.
She should have never agreed to come here. She should have never thought she could make it as a pastor’s wife, not at a church like this.
Her mom had tried to warn her, hadn’t she? But Katrina never listened.
If she’d known what kind of town they’d end up in, if she’d had any sort of inkling of what type of reception was waiting for her at Orchard Grove Bible Church, could all the love in the world have convinced her to follow Greg here?
Or should she have taken her mom’s advice and just stayed home? The thought was dark, oppressive, and ugly, but the more she examined it, the more she wondered if it was true.
Maybe she would have ended up happier if she hadn’t married him at all.