The Lutheran Ladies' Circle: Plucking One String (3 page)

“We need to slice and plate the pies before the service.” Lorena patted her lips, studying the kitchen. “I’ll make the coffee so it’s not so strong that the lame get up and dance after a sip. I’m afraid you two are going to have to skip church and stay down here and cut pies.”

“I know what Jesus would do in this situation,” Hettie sing-songed.

“What?” Lorena yelled over the sound of water pouring into the 20-cup coffee urn.

“This is like the Bible story where whiny Martha bellyaches about preparing supper. And Jesus tells her that it’s more important to trot upstairs and be fed from His word, than to stay downstairs and cut pies.” There was no reply from the kitchen.

The first dessert arrived before Vera did. “Doesn’t that seem weird?” Lorena said, tugging her jacket over the strained waistband of her pants. “She’s been queen bee-ing every function as long as I’ve been here. Either she’s ill or the world is spinning backward.” With a grin, she took over, stationing herself at the kitchen door. She greeted pie bearers with compliments and gracious smiles, sliding their pastries across the counter. Apple crisps, cherry almond tarts, blueberry cheesecakes, and even chocolate custard doodled with caramel paraded into the pass-through window so Brynn and Hettie could slice them.

The deep aroma of coffee wafted around the room. Hettie had finished whipping the cream in a chilled bowl when the muted sounds of the hand bells traveled through the walls and floorboards.

“Oh, it’s the prelude,” Lorena exclaimed and disappeared up the stairs. In a minute she came hurrying back down. “I met Vera in the narthex with her pie. It’s still warm,” she said, rushing it to the pass-through.

Her quick release dropped the dish on its side. The contents catapulted onto the counter with a juicy
plop
.

Lorena froze. The chimes of Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” rang out. All three women edged toward the pie as though it were a corpse.

“Vera’s Secret-Pumpkin-Delight.” Lorena grimaced.

“We just won’t serve it.” Hettie shrugged.

“No, no, no. You can’t throw it out.” Lorena grabbed Hettie’s arm. “Can you imagine what would happen if word got around that we ask people to bring desserts then serve some and throw others out? Oh no! We’d never get anyone to trust us with their baked goods again. We’d have to drive that pie five miles away in order to hide it a garbage can where no member would find it. Maybe a porn shop’s trash can.”

The pie had fallen upside down on the counter with the plate landing on top of it. Half of the orange custard was in the broken crust, half out. “We’ll confess,” Hettie said, “that you massacred her pie.”

“This took all afternoon for her to make. That’s why she was late. You should’ve seen her face when she gave it to me. You’d have thought she’d just given birth.”

Brynn rolled her eyes.

“Well, we’ll do what Jesus would’ve done.” Hettie gave Lorena a dry stare as she pulled a pancake turner out of a drawer. “We’ll serve ourselves this mess.” She scooped up pieces and splatted it into the pie dish.

*

It was fortunate the organ and congregation began the first stanza of “Now Thank We All Our God” at the exact moment the ladies came upstairs into the narthex; otherwise, the congregation and guests would have heard Lorena squealing, “Oh my God! Oh my God! Who did this?”

A faint smile curled across Brynn’s mouth. “It was Roger,” she said. “He called earlier and said he was bringing a pumpkin.”

The elephantine specimen was three feet tall. It had taken several grown men and a wagon to lug it into the church. Rather than have it huddle in the corner, Roger had dumped the contents of the big cornucopia and wiggled the butt end of the pumpkin into it, like a baby’s sock on a basketball.

“What does he think this is? The county fair? I can’t believe all those people saw this and think this is how we decorate for them.” Lorena’s acid stare burned into the display.

“Let Vera know it was fine when you changed her hard work—before Roger changed it.” Hettie winked as she stepped into the sanctuary.

*

With the ending notes of the service, Vera judged the event as a joyful accident. Somehow it had all come together while she was at home with her unfaithful water pipes, which had begun breaking at every opportunity in order to have a tryst with the plumber.

She hadn’t had time to twist any ears over wrecking her display, but it could wait. For now, the pews had been full. Children were home from college. Many of the “other” Lutherans had attended. Even the Episcopalians and Methodists had a good showing. Perhaps this neighborhood outreach was more successful than a Halloween party. Even Walt seemed full of rare friendliness as she watched him usher a herd of unfamiliar faces down the stairs toward the pie social. She waved. He replied with a chin tuck.

Walt had treated the occasion as “spiffy” by wearing a pressed, blue shirt. When he arrived at the kitchen counter, his eyebrows shot up as he surveyed the plate he was handed. “What the heck is this?”

“Oh, shut up. It’s your piece of pie.” Lorena’s earlier hospitality had evaporated. She plopped whipped cream on top of it, scanning the crowd for Vera.

“It looks like it’s already been eaten and spit back out,” he said.

“Just help us out. We had an accident. We gave you a really big piece.” She gobbed more whipped cream on top.

“I already helped you. I changed the marquee like you asked.” He nodded.

Lorena patted his arm. “See, Walt, look at all the new people your sign brought to our service tonight.”

“You’re right.” He winked. “It pays to advertise.”

Behind him, Roger got the same treatment on an even bigger ball of pie. Lorena put so much whipped cream on his goo-and-crust combo, it appeared he was carrying a plate of foam.

“I don’t know if I can eat that much,” he said, eyeing his serving.

“Oh, I know you like big things.” Lorena scowled. “Anyone who’d bring that King-Kong pumpkin to church must’ve worked up an appetite.”

“I wanted to give my biggest and best to God.” Roger offered an innocent smile. Brynn, manning the dishwasher, gave him a thumbs-up.

For most of the evening, tension bounced around the kitchen as they waited for Vera’s discovery of the pie-wreckage. Lorena cut out early, saying a hurried good-bye after everyone was served, leaving Brynn and Hettie to clean up and lock the doors.

“I told Vera we’d served all of her Pumpkin Delight.” Hettie dug through her purse for her keys. “It was weird; she didn’t say a word. I think she’s sick.”

“The church she knows is fading away. Some confusing new creature is taking its place.” Brynn paused next to her car. “Hymns have morphed to Christian rock. Sermons are available anytime on podcasts, not just Sundays. You can stay at home and go to a meeting via streaming video. It’s frightening. She’s losing the history that molded her faith. The same foreboding happened to my Norwegian parents when they no longer could find a church service in the old tongue.”

Hettie unlocked her cars doors. “Someday Vera’ll go off like an asteroid hitting a nuclear plant. No telling what’ll happen to this place.”

“Until then, we’ve got God’s sense of humor and Walt’s bald-faced honesty.” Brynn pointed to the church marquee.

FREE PIE

Walk-ins Welcome

7 PM

“LADIES, I TRIED to avert this disaster, but it seems my knowledge of our history isn’t useful or needed.” Vera sniffed as she tapped her pencil against the agenda and scanned the women. The conversations around the table at the Ladies Circle faded or paused. The meeting should have started ten minutes ago, but the chocolate hadn’t arrived yet.

“What disaster?” asked Hettie as she carried a coffee pot from the kitchen. She locked eyes with the older woman as she sat with a heavy plop. She shouldn’t enjoy the way Vera’s mouth turned down when challenged, but the dynamics were one of the interesting things about these meetings. She felt a bit guilty about poking Vera’s sore spots, but in the past when Vera’s husband, the pastor, was alive, there hadn’t been any chance of influencing a discussion. Now, after a bit of nudging, a few fractures were appearing in Vera’s decisions. Unheard of.

“This is what happens when a church calls someone right out of seminary.” Vera didn’t bother to hide the I-told-you-so in her voice. She’d voted against calling Poe Muldoon for their pastorate. He was a sincere minister, but Shaded Valley Lutheran needed a leader whose theology had been seasoned by cranky parishioners and pushy liberals. “These untested pastors get many of their ideas from internet forums and sensitivity groups.” She shook her head.

Nan had seated herself at the corner of the table, far away from Vera. Her latest defensive weapon rested in her lap: a wad of yarn and a pair of needles. Busy hands would keep her mouth shut. No one paid attention to a woman knitting and minding her own business. She could watch the action without becoming collateral damage.

“This year, the pastor and the Worship Committee have decided that Advent has become overshadowed and overlooked.” Vera straightened her already erect spine a bit more, lifted her chin, and paused, letting the silence build. With warning in her voice, she announced, “We can’t decorate or put up a Christmas tree until Advent is over.”

Kay ruined the dramatic moment by
shooshing
across the floor, still in her bedroom slippers. She slid a plate of chocolate-oatmeal cookies in front of Micki, sat down, and laid her head on her folded arms on the table. Her face had crease lines from the pillow that had been piled under her nose until a few minutes before this Saturday morning meeting.

“Why’d you even bother coming?” curly-haired Micki asked.

“Cookie K.P,” she mumbled, shooing a hand at the plate of treats being passed around.

Nan bit her lip. Her heart changed to a samba-beat of worry. Her knitting needles clicked a quick tempo as they birthed a mitten. As church organist, she planned for events. She understood what Vera was trying to tell them. With a grip on her needles, she pulled her lips tight against her teeth. She wasn’t going to say a word. Nope. Let someone else get picked for more work.

“As I was saying,” Vera raised her voice, “if we wait the entire four weeks for Advent before allowing Christmas into the sanctuary, we’ll be doing four weeks of decorating in four days.”

Silence descended upon the table, as though someone had taken the Lord’s name in vain.

“Now, wait just a minute.” Hettie scowled. “I teach. I can’t decorate 24 windows in four days.” Her plump cheeks and curly-clown hair ruined her attempt to glare. Nan let out the breath she’d been holding and gave Hettie an encouraging nod.

“Psshaw.” Kay propped an elbow on the table, leaning her cheek against her knuckles. “I do everything a few days before Christmas. As matter of fact, last year I did all my shopping on Christmas Eve. There were great sales.”

“Yeah, we know how you decorate,” Hettie said flatly.

Kay simply raised both eyebrows twice and smiled.

“Advent has always been the Cinderella step-child to Christmas,” Hettie said. “What spiritual experience are we supposed to get out of this besides inconvenience?”

Nan nodded like a bobble-head doll. Surely non-verbal support didn’t count as volunteering for anything, but to be sure, she didn’t look at Vera.

“I had a long discussion with both the pastor and the head of the Worship Committee,” Vera said. “They felt Christmas would be more meaningful if we waited. I can understand where they’re coming from.” Vera’s voice was calm and slow. She even added a sympathetic smile. Now that others were indignant, she didn’t have to be. She could urge support of the silly idea and smile graciously when it failed. She was flexible that way. “Everyone starts Christmas as soon as Wal-Mart has sold enough Halloween masks to make room for tree ornaments. So we are going to
wai
t on Christmas. That’s what ‘Advent’ means:
waiting
.”

Hettie rubbed her forehead, gazing upward. “No…I’m pretty sure it means
coming
. It’s been about a hundred years since I was in Confirmation classes, but my two functioning brain cells remember that.”

“Wasn’t Moses in your Confirmation class?” Kay asked.

“Why, yes.” Hettie gave Kay a measured look. “That’s why the word is so clear to me. We saw Moses
coming
down from Mt. Sinai carrying our Catechism book. We didn’t have all those creeds and policies to memorize like there are now days—just ten commandments. Unfortunately, we had too much idle time. Started dancing. Making golden calves and whatnot.”

“That’s exactly the point.” Vera tapped the table with her pencil. “Advent is about what you do while you’re waiting.”

“I hate waiting.” Hettie scrunched her face up, making her glasses slide down her nose.

Micki’s eyes widened with concern. “Oh Vera…have you told the Sanctuary Arts Team? Lorena’s eyes will spin in her head when she hears this.”

Nan lay her knitting in her lap. She loved the passion of these meetings. It was the stuff You Tube videos were made of. “You need to light a fire under her, Vera,” she said. “That Team still hasn’t removed the Thanksgiving display.”

“Don’t worry about it, Nan. That’s my job. In the meantime,” Vera pointed her pencil, “you need to organize the children’s Christmas play.”

Nan winced.

*

“Roger, this is Vera calling. I wanted to thank you for bringing in one of your prize pumpkins for the fall display.”

Always start off with a compliment. She’d learned the sandwich method of criticism at the first church Jim had been called to serve. The pianist had played every hymn to the tempo of
Streets of Laredo
, the western song of 1924. Slow and loopy. Jim had asked the musician to pick up the beat, but the same swoopy melody came through, as though she could only read four notes before pausing to decipher four more.

Vera had also talked to the woman—just to make her husband’s words clearer. She’d carefully wrapped her hidden criticism with compliments. Strangely, the good parts were the only thing the pianist chose to hear. Afterward when anyone complained, the musician claimed, “The pastor’s wife likes my playing.” Since then, Vera had learned to sharpen her words.