The Lutheran Ladies' Circle: Plucking One String (2 page)

“Wait a minute.” Hettie waved the brownie spatula like a kid demanding to be called on. “Why can’t we use my suggestion?”

“There is a pagan root to Halloween. So it’s best not to encourage it to grow to a full blown celebration of all things ghoulish and satanic.” Vera cocked her head and gave her authoritative stare which implied,
And that’s that
.

“Oh fuds buds.” Hettie eye-balled her right back. Vera’s “stare” didn’t faze her. She faced thirty 4th graders every day.

Round-faced Micki nodded, but no one was sure who she was agreeing with. And that’s just how she intended it. In her thirties, she had a deep concern about everything except her own weight. She was busy serving a brownie to their newest member, Allie. She leaned close to the 28-year-old and spoke like a play-by-play announcer, decoding the deeply ingrained traditions of the Ladies Circle.

“You see, we’ve done this party since Martin Luther was an acolyte.” She added a wink and nudged Allie in the ribs in case the new gal thought Luther was some old codger that attended the early service. Allie returned a cautious smile. “Anyway, the Ladies Circle hosts the Halloween open house and invites all the children in the neighborhood. The games and stations are manned by the high schoolers. Everybody wins candy or junky little plastic toys. It’s a nice outreach into the community.”

“Nobody joined the church.” Vera nodded
thanks
when Micki served her a brownie. “The same kids have been coming for so long, they’ve had kids. We’re probably hosting the 3rd generation of dental decay. And no one has ever said, ‘Wow. Those Lutherans sure give a great Halloween party. Let’s join that church.’” Vera shoved the pan down the line, leaving Micki staring after it with her napkin empty. “We’ve become the place to take your kids if it’s raining.”

“What’s the matter with being a safe place to take your kids?” Hettie said. “That’s a nice way for people to think about church.”

“Oh sure.” Vera closed her eyes and shook her head. Hettie thought she looked like she was in a death rattle when her straight, white hair jerked back and forth. Unfortunately, she always came out of it and delivered her sermon. “Parents just love for their children to receive candy from black-robed servants of Satan and hideous monsters.” Vera paused letting silence frame her words as she turned to stare at Kay. “And some of last year’s costumes were inappropriate. I’m not just talking about the teenagers’ disguises.”

“A biker chick is not inappropriate.” Kay, a short woman, barely 5 feet tall, had big hazel eyes that hinted they were brimming with secrets. Because she was forty, divorced, with two teenage sons, she had advanced experience in arguing. “Give it up, Vera. Jesus would’ve associated with biker chicks. He was that kind of savior.”

“Yeah, but He wouldn’t have taken candy from any.” Hettie smirked.

Nan, the church organist, nibbled her brownie. Feeling no riptides in the banter, she took a step into the conversation. “I think it was your skull and crossbones tattoos that scared the children. I’m surprised you didn’t hand out candy cigarettes to complete your image.”

“Hey, do they still make those?” Kay’s eyes widened with interest. She glanced around the table, noting that the pan had made the circle, so she kept the container in front of her, breaking off small chunks and eating them.

“Oh good grief. I don’t think a Halloween party makes you a pagan any more than going to church on Christmas Eve makes you a Christian,” Hettie said.

“No, of course not.” Nan stepped into the chatter a little deeper. “Lutherans know you have to go to church at least twice a year: Christmas
and
Easter.”

“Ladies.” Vera scowled them into silence. The group had gotten worse since she’d been gone. She suspected they’d been saving up, waiting for her return. “We’re moving on to new business.”

“Oh, oh, oh,” Hettie squeaked, her fuzzy hair wiggling as she waved her hand. “Let’s have a wiener roast instead. You know, a bonfire, hot apple cider, maybe s’mores.”

There was a bit of silence while everyone considered this new venture. Vera cleared her throat. “Still pagan. In some countries, people have bonfires to drive away evil spirits.”

“Good grief, Vera, what are you, the Halloween police?” Hettie scowled.

“I thought she was the Jell-O police. Correct size of marshmallows. That sort of thing,” Kay said.

Vera gave both of them a withering look.

Micki pointed to her empty napkin then the brownies. Kay pulled the pan closer to her chest, giving her a smiling snarl.

“Isn’t hell a place where ‘the fire never dies’?” Nan said boldly, tickled at her foray into the verbal volley. “Sounds to me like evil enjoys a good fire.”

“Well,
duh
. No wonder the bonfires don’t work.” Hettie swatted at Micki as the large woman reached for her stockpile of brownies. Peering at her over the rims of her glasses, she admonished, “You know you have to take what you want before it gets to Kay.”

“The chocolate doesn’t make it past Kay.” Micki translated for Allie, and shook her head when the new member offered her own brownie.

“Do you think it would be okay,” Micki said, “if we had the Halloween party and everyone dressed as a character from the Bible? It would be a positive outreach with outstanding role models. I’ve always admired Esther. She was obedient and generous.”

The silence lasted about five seconds while everyone tried this in their imaginations.

“What’s the difference between how one Bible character looked from another?” Nan said. “We’d all be running around in bathrobes with scarves over our heads. It’d look like the Christmas play.”

“There are sheep in the Christmas play,” corrected Hettie.

“I could be a camel,” offered Allie, “or an animal off Noah’s yacht.”

“And Mary, Jesus’ mother, looked different. She always wore blue,” Hettie said.

Nan wound herself up and jumped into the gush of jabber. “I’ve always thought that was crazy. I know all the paintings have her in a blue dress, but no woman, except Little Orphan Annie, had a wardrobe in only one color.”

“It’s symbolic, like a halo.” Vera sighed as though she were explaining art literacy to a wall.

“I’m dressing as a harlot,” Kay announced. “I’ve still got some skull and crossbones tattoo-stickers left.”

“Then you’ll look like everyone else in bathrobes.” Vera rolled her eyes. “Just don’t wear a scarf. A harlot advertised by leaving her head uncovered and showing off her beautifully braided hair.” The room stilled as heads turned toward Vera. “What?” she asked.

“Harlot-dress-code Police,” whispered Kay, popping a brownie chunk into her mouth.

“How about if we…” started Allie. Eyes switched to the new member. “Instead of celebrating Halloween, we could invite the neighborhood for pumpkin pie around Thanksgiving? Maybe some special music? We could…uh…” She withered into silence, feeling eyes on her.

No one said a word. Cars could be heard passing by outside. The muted chords of someone practicing the piano in another room drifted into the silence.

“So moved,” Kay said.

“Second,” Hettie called. “All in favor?”
Ayes
sounded before her words faded out. “Oh sorry, Vera, did you want to call the vote?”

The white-haired woman stared around the room. Indeed, the ladies pushed the edges of their usual skylarking. And did she hear a tone of disrespect in their taunts? That needed to change. “Nan.” Vera pointed her pencil. “We’ll be looking forward to the special music you come up with. Maybe handbells and the choir?”

The organist slouched back into her chair silently flogging herself. It was her own fault. This happened every time she opened her mouth at these meetings. She always left with more work.

“Okay. New Business—” Vera began.

“I'm wondering,” Kay said, “in order to adjust my Biker-Chick Code of Ethics, did we ever figure out whether a Halloween party was right or wrong?”

“Anything that motivates you to dress as a harlot can’t be good,” Hettie said.

“So, if I were inspired to be a saint instead of a sinner, we could have a party?”

Micki leaned toward Kay, rapping on the table to draw her full attention. “I think if we were trying to be saints, we’d give kids: schools, health, safety, and hope instead of luring them to God with candy.”

Kay smiled and pushed the pan of brownies toward her.

Vera’s mouth tightened. She couldn’t even get to the first item on her agenda. This had to end.

“IS EVERYTHING READY for the Autumnal Feast?” Lorena paced the narthex.

The old property manager watched her tug at her jacket. It was hard to hide thirty extra pounds, even if she tried to squeeze it under a coordinated suit. He was wary of her perfect blonde hairdo and manicured hands. To him they screamed, “I can think of a lot of chores for you to do!” He nodded and began inching away, relying on The Rules to save him.

The 60+year-old volunteer custodian was at least a foot taller than most women, but felt like a sullen teenager when he had to deal with them, which was often. The church widows kept poking into his life. After cancer had claimed his wife, he’d discovered he could take care of himself middlin’ well. His chosen uniform, a flannel shirt and carpenter jeans—usually the same pair for a week—saved laundry chores. He didn’t need much. Mostly, he enjoyed the silence.

Everything Walt knew about women, he’d learned on the Property Committee. He’d discovered that you had to be careful around these ladies. Rule Number #1: Complain about everything. If you didn’t gripe that all tasks were a royal pain, they’d have you repainting the Sunday school rooms and re-caulking toilets just because there was a wedding, or a sing along, or Betty Lou had a whim for the color ecru.

“Oh, Walt!” A perfect, toothy-smile appeared on Lorena’s fifty-trying-to-be forty-face. “Could you change the marquee?”

He stood round-shouldered and solemn-faced, looking at her. Rule #2: Never give ’em too much information.

“Please?” she urged. “I’d like for it to read:

Take an Autumn Walk with God

Nov 25
   
7 PM”

He recognized the sticky tone in her honeyed voice and gruffed, “I’ve already got a literary work posted. Nobel prize stuff:

Thanksgiving service.

7 PM”

He shuffled toward his tool pantry. Rule #3: Try to get away as quickly as possible.

Lorena followed, crowding him into a retreat inside his closet of ladders, wrenches, and extension cords. “It needs to look more special,” she said. “The other Lutherans are coming to celebrate.”

“Huh?” Walt mumbled, rubbing the back of his bald head. Stillwater’s other Lutheran church was full of Missouri Synod belief which differed from Evangelical Lutheran doctrine. Most members couldn’t name the differences, but they knew they were big sticking points because the two groups rarely worshiped together. “I thought we were only doing this for the neighborhood.”

“Yes, it started out that way but grew. Now I have to decorate for everyone. Could you change the marquee?”

He squinted one eye at her. “Vera’s in charge. You’re not even on the committee.”

“Brynn and I are the Sanctuary Arts Team. We’re willing to help if we don’t have to go to meetings, and we don’t need Vera’s permission for everything. C’mon, Walt, The Episcopals and Methodists are coming too.”

“Oh that’s different.” His big hand held out the box of plastic letters. “You’d better change it.”

“We need to dress up for the Autumnal Feast. Just like you do when company visits your house.”

“Wouldn’t know about that.” He shook the box back and forth, rattling the letters at her. She turned and began rearranging the harvest display.

Hettie caught the end of their conversation as she lugged a bucket of flowers to the Fellowship Hall. “It’s a Thanksgiving service, Lorena. ‘Autumnal’ is a scary word. It sounds like something requiring a stomach sedative and a bed rest.” She winked at Walt as he made his getaway. “And Vera spent a lot of time on that fall arrangement; what’re you doing to it?”

“It needs a dash of color right here, that’s all.”

*

“Lorena’s up there redoing the Thanksgiving display.” Hettie thudded the flower bucket onto the counter.

“What could she do to it? Rearrange the nuts?” Brynn shrugged. Her long, dark braid swung back and forth as she pulled vases from the box on the floor.

“Look, you know how Vera is hung up with boundaries?” Hettie said then waved the thought away as an understatement. “She’s getting worse. At the last Ladies Circle, she was actually glowering at us. She needs to take a break.”

Brynn shoved the box back into the closet with her foot. “She’s casting around for her position—her identity—since her husband’s gone. Nudging her out might make it worse.”

“All right, Miss Social Worker, you’d better see if you can get Lorena to stop messing with Vera’s display, or we’ll feel the repercussions of more lost identity.”

“You’re a teacher; treat it like you would in your classroom—redirect her.”

Hettie went to the stairway and yelled, “Lorena, we desperately need you down here. Help us set up tables.” The two women grinned at each other when the full-figured blonde appeared in a few minutes.

“You know how I like to put the finishing touches on things,” Lorena said. “Vera’s display needed a splish of color. I added a little
wow
.”

Hettie rolled her eyes. “Please, could you let Vera be in charge? We volunteered to do the kitchen work.”

“What would Jesus do since she’s not here?” Lorena sing-songed as she ducked into the kitchen.

“I think He’d
zap
her,” Hettie mumbled.

“Hettie!” Brynn grinned. “Jesus never zapped anybody.”

“Couldn’t you just see her at the last supper? ‘None of these plates match. We only have one cup for the wine? Who made this bread?’”

Lorena stuck her head out the kitchen door, eyeballing Hettie into silence. “Where are the pies?”

“People will bring them when they come.” Brynn floated a round, orange table cloth onto a table. Hettie followed her, centering a vase stuffed with sunflowers and sweet-smelling eucalyptus on the tabletop. “Come help us.”