The Lutheran Ladies' Circle: Plucking One String (17 page)

*

Those who attended the service said it was quite transforming to see the old black symbols stripped away. New gold and white adornments filled the sanctuary with the accompaniment of a brass ensemble and many tiny, lit candles.

The one-person revolution became part of church history. Of course, the name of the real culprit was never used; so thereafter, when people said, “It’s-a-Lorena”—they really meant “change.”

THE OKLAHOMA SUN had become a heat lamp, baking each day of May a little longer. Evening brought a few degrees of relief. Its arrival was announced by the hum of lawn mowers and the shouts of children who’d abandoned the air conditioning. The maintenance man outside of The Cuppa Bistro pushed his mower back and forth, heedless of the cloud of translucent insects rising before him. Inside, diners ate as refrigerated air chugged through vents and dropped into the sun-drenched dining room.

“I’ll take a cuppa.” Lorena stood at the counter, pointing to the menu with one hand while working the other under her short-sleeved, floral green jacket to tug the strap of her sundress. “Their gazpacho and garlic sourdough are really good.”

Kay scanned the laminated, one-page menu, intermittently glancing at Lorena’s flower earrings, matched necklace, and purse. She looked down at her faded jeans and loose knit shirt. As a graphic designer, she dressed for comfort not customers. It was coincidence when the latest trend coupled with her style. She continued to stare at the menu, but was trying to think of the last time she’d changed her purse to match her jewelry or even the season. “I’ll have whatever she ordered,” she mumbled, handing the menu behind her.

“Thanks, but I don’t need it,” Hettie said. Hints of flour-dust covered the front of her shirt. “Just berry gelato for me. A big cup.” School had been over for several hours, and even though she’d organized this little meeting, it had interrupted a baking project.

“Okay. I’m here.” Lorena settled into a chair. “Is this some kind of intervention?”

“I think interventions make you realize you’re out of control and convince you to commit yourself.” Kay folded a napkin in half. “You’re past that.”

“Now, Kay.” Hettie used her teacher-voice. “You said you’d be helpful.” She switched on a sympathetic smile as she turned to Lorena. “We’re here because you haven’t been to church in a while, and you weren’t at the last Ladies Circle.”

“She rarely goes to Ladies Circle.” Kay sat her drink on the folded napkin, shrugging at Hettie’s pointed stare.

“I can’t go back.” Lorena gave a single wave. “I miss you all, but I made such a scene. I can only imagine what people are saying. What’d Vera say?”

“Nothing. Vera doesn’t talk about people. Only us cats hiss and growl.”

“Speak for yourself.” Lorena eyed Kay. “How they got those changes by Vera is a mystery. Maybe that early Easter service would’ve gone differently if she’d been there to help me.”

“You did a great job all by yourself.” Kay ignored Hettie’s teacher-stare. “I don’t think cremating lilies is Vera’s style. She’s more of a nip-it-in-the-bud sorta gal.”

“Vera’s been busy.” Hettie spoke quickly. “Her aunt is coming to stay with her, and she’s more than a little distracted. Now, can’t we leave all that in the past and you return?”

Lorena shook her head. “There is no past. Everything keeps changing. Next thing you know, we’ll be singing bluegrass to the accompaniment of a gut bucket.”

“So you’re never coming back to Shaded Valley Lutheran?”

Kay frowned. “Oh, rub a duck. Don’t you know that’s why there’re two Lutheran churches in each town? It has nothing to do with doctrinal differences. It’s so when someone gets ticked off, they can worship at the other Lutheran church until they get ruffled there. Churches don’t grow; we just exchange members.”

“I’m not going back to the other Lutheran church either.” Lorena took a sip of her ice tea and stared at the table.

“What’re you going to do?” Hettie asked.

Lorena shrugged, turning her glass, watching it spiral sweat rings on the glass tabletop.

“You’re considering one of those evangelical churches, aren’t you? This is an intervention after all.” Kay reached across the table and gripped Lorena’s forearm. “Don’t let the threat of fire and brimstone dazzle you. Sure, sure, their no-dancing, no-card-playing policies sound fine because you’re too old to rap and play poker, but there’s more to religion than good singing and being saintly.”

“Stop it, Kay,” Hettie hissed. She turned to Lorena. “I thought about bringing Vera, but you two…sometimes…compete.”

“There’s singing all the verses of
all
the songs, even if they sound like funeral dirges,” Kay continued. “There’re potlucks with no less than three Jell-o salads containing pastel, multi-flavored marshmallows, not just the miniature, white kind. There’re quilting parties and sometimes we actually quilt. And what about the mandatory coffee hours? We’re known for our
strong
coffee.”

People at other tables stared.

Kay stood, unceremoniously palming the top of Lorena’s lacquer-sprayed head. “Think of your heritage. We’re German.” Kay bent low, still holding her firmly. “Actually, you look kinda Norwegian to me. But we have a favorite hymnal that’s as old as German dirt. Sometimes we even use it. We’re known for being inflexible. What other church can offer you that? Come back, Lorena. Come back to the Lutheran light.”

“You’re messing up my hair.” Lorena squirmed as Kay mashed her bangs into her eyes. “Vera’s starting to look good to me,” she said to Hettie.

The schoolteacher rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. “I asked Brynn to come. She’s sane and sensitive, but she couldn’t be here. Think of this as atonement for what you did.”

“I was a substitute?” Kay straightened, removing her hand from Lorena’s head and pointing to the table. “Just put it there,” she said to the waitress standing near her with their order.

Lorena finger-tousled her hair into place. “Is this the end of the intervention?”

“Do you want me to start again?”

“No!” Hettie said. “Shut up and sit down.”

“I’m Baptist, and some of us dance,” the waitress said.

“Do you polka?” Kay asked.

“No. Do you all?”

“If I eat enough Jell-o salad.” Kay smiled.

The waitress squinted, shaking her head. “What does gelatin have to do with—”

“Wiggles.” Kay gave a quick hula of her hips before sitting. The young lady turned away, giving the other patrons a big-eyed look.

“I’m sorry, Lorena. Ignore Miss BatCrazy here.” Hettie scooched her chair closer, leaning forward. “We miss you and want you to come back.”

Lorena stirred her soup. She shook her head, not looking at them. “I wanted Easter to be perfect. Easter shouldn’t change.”

“That’s what Pontius Pilate said, too. ‘You crucify a guy, why can’t he stay dead?’” Kay nodded.

“You
know
what I mean.”

“And those Pharisees agreed with you about change.” Kay nodded. “‘Why can’t that Jesus-fellow heal Monday through Friday like a regular physician? We have rules about curing on the Sabbath.’”

“This is different.”

“And my favorite, and this is why I joined the church; ‘Why can’t that priest at that little church, what’s his name? Martin Luther? Yeah. Why can’t Luther just shut-up and let us continue to sell forgiveness for sins? Little, nobody priest trying to change things.’”

“All right. All right. I know change is inevitable.” Lorena tore her bread in half. “I wanted Easter to be perfect. That’s all.”

“Why?” asked Hettie.

“I…don’t know. I had an image of the way everything was supposed be on Easter morning. It was ruined.”

Hettie took a tiny taste of gelato. “I asked my fourth graders to draw a picture of spring. Most kids drew a circle with some petals sticking out of it.” She used her itty-bitty spoon to point. “That’s the attitude Kay would have—it’s a flower. Use your imagination. It’s good enough.” Kay raised her eyebrows twice and ate her gazpacho.

“But I had a student who kept starting over because the clouds or birds weren’t perfect. I bet she drew it four or five times.”

“What’s your point?” Lorena said.

“I asked her, ‘Could you think about why it has to be perfect, and tell me?’ I’ll ask you the same thing. Why did the Easter service have to be perfect?” Lorena shook her head. “My student couldn’t tell me either.” The three ate without speaking. Hettie hoped the silence would break Lorena, as it often did a nine-year-old.

“Want my bread?” Kay pushed back from the table. Lorena shook her head again. Hettie held out her hand, and Kay handed it over. “Well, Jesus came into an imperfect world. Must’ve driven Him crazy. So I’ll use your favorite phrase, ‘What would Jesus do?’”

Lorena tore the crust from her sourdough, eating only the soft part as she thought. Finally, she sighed, “I guess He would die. Die to make it perfect.”

“Grace.” Kay smiled. “Accepted just like you are and made perfect by someone else’s effort.”

“We’re not talking about me.” Lorena pushed back from the table. “We’re talking about Easter.”

“Say,” Hettie used her light tone, “I’ve got news. A couple checked out the church on Good Friday. They were looking for a place to have their wedding. The bride loved your decorations, Lorena.”

Lorena sneered. “They were black. It was Lent.”

“That’s the bride’s colors, black and red. She wanted to know if we’d drape the cross in black again for her December wedding.”

“Ewwww,” Lorena groaned, shaking her head. “That’s just wrong.”

“She thought it was
perfect
,” Kay said.

“You’re an ass sometimes.” Lorena put several bills on the table and stood.

“Yeah, but you love me in spite of my faults. That’s grace. Besides, I don’t think you can call people an ass if you become a Baptist.”

“I’ll see you, Hettie.” Lorena headed for the door.

“This Sunday?”

“Maybe, if I get to call Kay other names, too.”

“That’s the spirit. ‘Sin, so grace can abound,’” Kay called after her. They watched as she walked to her car, got in, and drove away.

“Do you think she’ll come?”

“Do you think she’ll realize she and Vera argue because they’re so much alike?”

Hettie frowned. “So if Vera’s her benchmark, why does she need to be perfect?”

“This and all questions will be answered.” Kay made a signal for the check. “I’ve found God’s a great teacher. He keeps giving the same lesson until we get it. Only
then
do we get to move on.”

A PREGNANT ALLIE reclined on the couch in the narthex, cutting flame-shapes from orange and red construction paper. “Why fire for Pentecost? Why’d the Holy Spirit appear as tongues of fire hovering over heads?”

“As opposed to what? Making people’s eyes glow white?” Hettie taped monofilament to a paper flame and handed it to Walt.

“You women talk about the weirdest stuff.” Walt passed the flame up to Kay atop an ancient wooden ladder.

Kay taped the transparent line to the ceiling. “That white-eye thing would be too confusing. You couldn’t tell the difference between Christians and zombies. C’mon, Walt. Hand them up a little faster.”

“What do ya want? A ladder holder or a flame thrower? He smiled at his little joke, turning to help Hettie with the monofilament. “And…there’s no such thing as zombies.”

“Yet.” Kay motioned for him to keep his grip on the rungs.

“This ladder ain’t gonna fold up on you. Now, you may fall off, what with all the lip flappin’ you’re doin’ up there, but it’s solid.”

“I bet this baby was used to scale castle walls,” Kay said. “I should’ve brought mine from home. Why do you refuse to get us a lightweight, aluminum one?”

“Cecil Weinhauer gave this to the church, and it still has years left in it.” Walt rubbed the heavy, wooden rungs spotted with paint and scraped with use.

“Fuds buds.” Hettie handed Walt some flames. “Cecil died ten years ago. I bet he was lifting that ladder when he had his heart attack.”

“You gals need to put on some muscle. I’m just helpin’ you all because Hettie brought me some homemade cinnamon rolls. Don’t get used to this.”

Kay had climbed down and was pointing to another spot. “Okay, move this staircase again, Mr. Head-of-the-Property-Committee. You’re toting this tree trunk around for us because you won’t buy us a ‘woman’s ladder.’”

“How I suffer for The Church.” Walt shook his head as he scooted the ladder over. Kay climbed the rungs then waggled her hand for something to hang.

“Just perch up there a minute. We’ve got a problem on the assembly line.” Walt watched Hettie yank at the snarl of monofilament.

“Cut it off, and trash it.” Frustration tinged Kay’s voice. “It’s about a penny’s worth of fishing line.”

“You wanna throw everything away instead of fixin’ it.” Walt stared at Kay as he patted the heavy rails of the ladder. “Isn’t that what those flames you’re manhandling represent? A Holy Spirit who makes you realize you’re broken. Some folks don’t even know their screws are comin’ loose until they fall completely apart. You want a god who throws us away? No repairs provided?” He patted the rungs again.

“Carpenter theology. Interesting.” Kay smirked at him. “Are you saying you can fix this ladder so it isn’t heavy?”

“I could take about hundred twenty pounds off it.” He gave the ladder a shake. Kay gave a
stop-it
shout, stomping the rung next to his hand.

“Why don’t both of you join the youth discussion this Sunday?” No one had noticed Phil enter. Shin-guards covered the front of his legs, and a baggy shirt emblazoned with “Italia” hung over long athletic shorts. “We’ll be arguing if God is male or female.”

“Hey ya, Phil.” Kay waved. “Don’t let Vera know you’re discussing such heresy.”

“Has to be a man,” Walt muttered. “He knocked down the walls of Jericho. You women can’t even move this little ladder.”

“It’s a trick question.” Phil shifted the grip on the large painting in his hands. “He’s everything: man, woman, child—remember His name is ‘I Am’. It’ll be a lively session. You could add your man-reasoning, Walt. The guys will like it.”