Earthly Vows Page 7

  He rode the elevator back up to the top floor and walked down the hallway and out into the rooftop garden. The clouds had cleared and the moon was nearly whole, like it had filled up with air and might break open. He stood on the spot warmed by Fern not an hour ago.

  A waiter called from the glass doors, Indian-looking in the face. His open necktie hung loosely down his shirt. “I’m supposed to lock up. But I can come back if you need some more time. You going to be out here awhile, sir?”

  “Five minutes, okay?” asked Jeb.

  “Sure, glad to oblige. Want me to get you a drink, last call? You look like you need a whiskey.”

  Jeb turned it down, but thanked him. There was the scent of Fern’s perfume hanging around. He smelled one of his cuffs. Her lipstick had smudged the sleeve.

  Only an occasional car rattled past below. A flock of rock doves settled and nested along the roof. He tried to recall some of his sermon ideas, but Fern kept sifting into his thoughts. The door opened again and a woman’s voice called. He turned, hoping that she had followed him and was still wearing that bathrobe and tasting of salt.

  “Only me. I’m a maid here. The bartender asked me to come and lock up. Are you all right?” she asked.

  “I needed some air is all.” He gave the girl two bits for her time. He left the garden and took the elevator back to his floor. No light shone under Fern’s door.

  He did not know what he would say to her in the morning. But in a few days she would marry him. Weddings fix things, he had heard.

  When he finally fell asleep, he slept restlessly, waking up a couple of times, but then falling into a deep hibernation, which shut his mind down and gave him blessed peace. He did not wake up again until the sun was shining through the window shades, reminding him that summer still lingered while the sameness of life evaporated.

  5

  OUTSIDE, PLANTING HIS FEET ON THE downtown sidewalk, Jeb watched the sun coming up. He could set his watch by the sun in August. He sniffed deeply, enjoying the café smells mingling with car exhaust. First one automobile and then another motored by, click-and-click-and-clack. The rubber tires rhythmically hammered the dusty brick streets.

  A pencil salesman held out his cup. “Three for a penny,” he told Jeb. He did not sound like an Okie, more like a Kansas boy, a bit of spit and polish to his manner. His suit was pinstriped, frayed at the jacket sleeves. His necktie was expertly tied and his shirt and trousers neatly pressed.

  As Fern approached, Jeb dropped a penny into the cup, but turned down the pencils. The man insisted Fern take the pencils, not wanting a handout. She accepted them and put another coin in his cup. Fern gave Jeb the newspaper she bought from a paperboy on the corner. “We’d best go inside. Donna’s already ordered breakfast,” she said. Donna held a table inside the Coffee Shop.

  Two Indians in feathered derbies conversed in the lobby, stepping out of the way to tip their hats at Fern.

  “The cook’s out of biscuits, but they have hotcakes,” said Donna.

  Jeb sat between them, facing the windows street-side. The Coffee Shop’s waiter gave him his order of pancakes and filled his coffee cup. A blue dish of grits was placed next to the breakfast plate.

  “I haven’t had a Sunday breakfast like this since I started teaching,” said Donna. “Remember that restaurant, Fern, that Mother and Daddy took us to when we were small, that one up in Vermont? Didn’t they make their own syrup? Taste this and see if it isn’t as good.”

  Fern accepted the forkful of pancake from her sister and then said to Jeb, “Did you find the church out on your walk yesterday?”

  “Three blocks from here. If you can’t get there in those shoes, I can order a cab if you want.” Jeb mixed his eggs with the grits.

  Fern had changed out of her teaching shoes. She glanced down at her upturned heel. “I can walk. Donna, you going?”

  “Sure. I need a little religion in my life,” she said.

  Fern picked up the saltshaker. She had replaced the bracelet she wore Friday night with a snug gold rhinestone bracelet.

  Jeb touched it and stroked her wrist.

  “Do you like it?” she asked. “I bought it yesterday. Donna and I found a shop where an old woman makes every piece of jewelry by hand.”

  “Where? In the hotel?”

  “No, two blocks west of here,” she said.

  “So you must have seen the church.”

  “I don’t think we went that far, did we, Donna?”

  “It’s a whole block farther,” said Donna.

  “I look forward to seeing it today, Jeb. You know that, don’t you?” asked Fern.

  “I only meant that since you were so close, it seems you would have taken a walk around the place. You like gardens. The church is surrounded by trees and flowers.”

  She turned her hand up and clasped his hand. “You’re right, I should have gone there already. I can’t wait to see it.” Her eyes lifted.

  “Yesterday, seeing the church gardens, it came to me how little has been given to Church in the Dell.”

  “God prayed in a garden, didn’t he?” asked Donna. “Is that what you-all are talking about?”

  “If the people are happy, what’s the difference?” asked Fern.

  Jeb nodded, absentminded and staring out at the main drag, the Sunday drivers increasing in number. “The churches like First Community were few and far between where I grew up. Until now, I never gave much thought to steeples and gardens.” He picked up his Bible and said, “I’d like to go early and see the inside of the sanctuary. Join me when you finish, ladies.”

  “It’s still an hour until service time,” said Fern.

  “The two of you can come when you’re ready.” He rose and pretended not to notice how they stared after him.

  The church doors were unlocked. Jeb strolled inside through a lobby, and entered another set of doors opening to a church aisle. A blue floral rug ran the length of the aisle pointing straight into the platform and the preaching lectern. As he walked down the aisle, voices quietly murmured from other rooms. He ascended the two steps to the top of the platform and then stood behind the lectern where he opened his Bible. The pages fell open, bookmarked. The electric light overhead illuminated the words more keenly than the single naked bulb hanging over the Church in the Dell lectern. There was a woody aroma in the room. He examined the ceiling. The beamed ceiling and the walls were laid with a golden oak, wood shining as though it had just been put in.

  The rear door opened and a woman looked startled to see Jeb. “I hope I’m not disturbing you. I come in early to set up the Communion plates.”

  “Not at all. I’m Reverend Nubey,” he said.

  “We heard a new man was coming to take a turn in our pulpit. Glad to meet you,” she said. “Have a look around. Our building is nearly a century old. It’s been took good care of.” She excused herself and disappeared into the lobby.

  “If I may suggest, you can switch on that light over the lectern,” said a voice. A young man, whose face had an eager boyish quality, walked quietly across the platform. He carried a tray of water, a pitcher and a single glass. “We thought you might need a drink as you preach, sir.” He placed the tray on a stand behind Jeb. “Our last minister taught us to serve the pastor so that he could better serve others.”

  “I’m Reverend Nubey,” said Jeb.

  “Pleased, I’m Rowan. I help out wherever I’m needed.” He filled the glass and handed it to Jeb and padded away through an exit door on the right side, where he disappeared into a room hidden behind the platform.

  Jeb turned on the reading light. The pages were bright and legible. He sipped the water and then took off his jacket and laid it over a platform chair. The attention given to him made him relax and enjoy his surroundings.

  Oak pews formed rows on either side of the sanctuary, big enough to seat five hundred or more congregants. Glass light fixtures hanging in suspended rows made the sanctuary glow. The only chandelier in the building hung over wher
e he stood. There were stained-glass windows on both sides. He descended the stairs and walked between the end pews and the windows to study the artwork. Scenes depicted the Apostles and certain elements of the life of Christ leading up to His Passion.

  Church in the Dell’s small chapel existed only to serve the members who filled its pews, a sort of people holder, as it were. First Community’s structure had taken on a traditional aesthetic.

  “She was a cripple.”

  The voice startled Jeb. Henry Oakley had slipped up behind him.

  “Sorry, Reverend. You seem to be enjoying some quiet time.”

  “Good morning, Henry. Who was a cripple?” asked Jeb.

  “The artist who created all of these windows. She had polio as a girl.”

  Jeb and Henry walked the aisle. More people filtered into the sanctuary. Jeb listened as Henry described how the artist suffered to create the window glass. He commented about her tendency to use blue more than any other color and did that have anything to do with suffering. He didn’t know and Jeb didn’t venture a guess. Henry said, “It takes two days for the cleaning men to clean the windows.” The glass rose from two feet above the floor to the ceiling. “The artist, she would hold up her arms until they ached, her neck hurting. So the janitors see the window cleaning as a mission.”

  “Henry, may I ask you the order of the service?”

  “The choir will sing three congregational songs and then I will introduce you to the parishioners as our visiting minister. I don’t know how you were installed at your last church, but until you tell us for certain you want to be considered for candidacy, we will instruct our members to consider you a visiting pastor from Arkansas.”

  “Have others preached here since your pastor left?”

  “A revivalist and one missionary. And, of course, Jon Flauvert.”

  Jeb nodded as Henry spoke. He wanted to answer right then and there that he would accept the post. Instead, he quietly listened and followed Henry out of the sanctuary.

  The choir could be heard warming up in a room behind the platform. Henry continued showing Jeb the rest of the building. In the building’s rear section was a large kitchen, next to a dining hall. “We have a soup kitchen for the migrants,” he said. “For years, our ladies’ committee fed the hobos that passed through, but after this Depression hit, the everyday folks started hitting the rails in search of work.”

  “I’m glad to know you’re feeding them,” said Jeb.

  “The trains brought them right through town, right through Packingtown. Livestock is auctioned and butchered down around those parts.”

  “Glad there are places where people can go to get help. I’m trying to find work for a young woman there now.”

  “Oklahoma City was able to accommodate for a while. Problem is, one city like ours can’t give a job to every person put out of work in this country. Some move on to California, some to Texas. Some stay and hope for help.”

  “Why is it that you’ve not been hit as hard as the rest of the country?”

  “We’ve had dust storms and crop failures. But drive by our governor’s mansion and see for yourself. Right out on the front lawn are oil derricks. We got more oil than we know what to do with. One of those oil men attends First Community.”

  “I see, I see. I suppose you understand how unusual it is to find a church doing well in hard times?” said Jeb.

  “We’ve been hit, don’t get me wrong. Some of our members have been put out of work. It’s made us all live more practically now. But the oil fields have lessened the sting.” He unlocked a few classroom doors as they walked down the hallway. “Here’s the way I see things, we got this pocket of commerce here and don’t know how long until it unravels. But as long as people in this country don’t turn back to the horse and buggy, Oklahoma City’s got a good shot at weathering out this Depression. I say the automobile is here to stay. Some say I’ll be proven wrong.”

  “Seems like even if all I have to keep it together is bale wire and bobby pins, I keep hanging on to my old Ford. Hard to remember what it was like without it.”

  “Can’t say as I want to go back to sitting behind a mare myself. Let me show you our dining facility. We built it five years ago. When you close your message in prayer, you’ll be escorted back to the dining hall. The deacons’ wives have prepared a dinner for you. Hope you like fried chicken. We’ll give the deacons a chance to meet with you then, if that’s acceptable.” The door opened to the choir room. Twenty or more choir members were slipping into robes. Henry led Jeb past them and into the dining hall. A dozen women were already popping open tablecloths and covering tables.

  “I wasn’t expecting dinner,” said Jeb. He thanked him.

  “Your fiancée and her sister are invited too. They’ll have a chance to meet the women in our church.” He led Jeb back into the hall.

  The choir filed past them and up a set of steep stairs to the choir loft.

  Henry led Jeb back to the lectern. “Are you ready, Reverend Nubey?” asked Henry.

  “I am,” said Jeb. He pulled on his coat and tightened his tie.

  People filed into the sanctuary, taking up spaces as far as the front row. Jeb had never lectured in front of a crowd that size. The high rafters serviced the sound naturally. The music director led the choir in a crescendo that swelled until Jeb could feel the vibration in his ears.

  Two other elders sat to the right of Henry on the platform while Jeb took his place left of Henry. He had not seen Fern or Donna since the music commenced, but it would be easy to lose a face in a sea of so many.

  “Do you ever get the jitters, Reverend?” Henry asked. “I’ve always wondered if preachers got wet feet every Sunday. You don’t have to answer.”

  “I always thought a big church might scare me. Maybe it does. I’ll answer you after the sermon.” If he admitted to being nervous, it would only make things worse.

  Henry laughed and Jeb tugged at his collar.

  “I could use some of that water,” said Jeb.

  Henry poured him a glass from the pitcher left by young Rowan.

  “Must be at least seven hundred in attendance here this morning. Our old pastor, Reverend Miller, used to say it was harder to preach to a sparse auditorium.”

  Jeb’s throat felt parched in spite of the drink of water.

  The third song ended and the choir was seated. Henry introduced Jeb in as simple a manner as he had said he would. Jeb decided to search as he spoke, until he found Fern’s face. The sight of her in the earlier days at Church in the Dell, when he preached so wet-behind-the-ears, always calmed him. This morning he needed to see her smiling up at him in a room full of strange eyes staring back. Most of the men were dressed in dark suits, the ladies in hats and dresses of blue and yellow, pink and white. He offered a prayer, but as the congregants bowed their heads, he peered through his lashes searching for Fern. Had she worn a hat? He could not remember. There was a whole herd of women’s hats bowing out in those pews. Was her dress green or pink? Why hadn’t he noticed? He remembered her shoes, her long toes pressed into black-and-white alligator leather, but nothing else, nothing helpful.

  He made his opening comments. The next sip of water seemed to help. He commenced the message. During the sermon, he methodically looked left to right, making eye contact, and then assessing what he felt he was reading as the congregation’s approval. He was met with so much disapproval in his first year at Church in the Dell that he learned to appreciate the sight of smiling, relaxed faces.

  An usher opened one of the oak doors and helped a woman through the door in the rear of the sanctuary. Behind her a smartly dressed man followed. The usher seated the couple in a pew, second to the last row on the right side. The man assisted the woman, who looked to be his wife, handing her a pocketbook after she settled into her seat. He then sat forward, his hands gripping the pew in front of him as he looked up and down the aisle. It was Senator Walton Baer and he was looking for someone.

  A woman in
the front row shifted uncomfortably, most likely in response to a pause held out a moment too long by Jeb. He looked back down at the text and closed his eyes like ministers do to allow a point to seep in. He continued his next point and his mind took on two tasks, the first being to deliver the message he came to deliver, and secondly, to find Fern.

  By the final point, the sermon overtook his thoughts. The steady pace of the message found a good rhythm. An occasional nod of a church member’s head spurred him to continue to feed the hungry faithful who had gone too long without a shepherd. Jeb felt a unity of soul. They needed him.

  He said, “And in conclusion,” and the several women from the food committee slipped out of their chairs. A musician returned to the piano stool and played a chorus, a soft backdrop cadence to underpin his final comments.

  Before he asked members to bow for prayer, Fern’s soft blond crown appeared from behind a woman’s large hat. She was too far away for him to read her face. She’d always been the one he looked to for encouragement. But in a church of this size, her face was nearly indistinguishable. He turned back to the right, where he found Senator Baer looking at Fern. Then he sat back next to his wife.

  After Jeb’s concluding prayer, Henry Oakley escorted him off the platform. Jeb was flanked by an entire committee of men, who followed him down the hall and into the dining hall.

  Marion was holding the rear door open when Jeb and Henry arrived. “I’ll go and find your fiancée and her sister. You’re seated at the head table, Reverend Nubey, next to Henry and me and our deacon board and their wives. I hope you find everything to your satisfaction.”

  He was hoping to find Fern and Donna following the deacons into the hall, but they most likely had gotten lost in the throng of retreating church members.

  “I couldn’t be more pleased, Mrs. Oakley. Things couldn’t be more perfect.”

  Jeb was led to the head table and seated in the center chair. His plate was picked up by one of the ladies wearing a blue apron. She told him that she would fill his plate and asked him about some of his favorite selections. He told her what sounded good to him. Another woman filled his iced-tea glass and placed a saucer of bread in front of him.