“Well, yes, of course I will. I’m really not all that busy, and anybody can find time for prayer. Or ought to, anyway. Who all will be there?”
“Oh, just a few, whoever can get away—to start with, anyway.”
“One thing, though,” I said. “I don’t want to have the closing prayer. I’d worry about what I was going to say all the time I was supposed to be praying silently.”
“I know what you mean,” LuAnne said, seemingly with relief. “See you then. Ten o’clock tomorrow, don’t forget.”
“I won’t, and thanks for thinking of me.” I hung up, still wondering—conducive to what?
Chapter 38
It had earlier crossed my mind to invite Mildred to go with me to the prayer group, but by the next morning I hadn’t gotten around to doing it and knew it was too late. Mildred didn’t like to be rushed around in the mornings and usually refused any invitation to anything before noon anyway.
Still, I wished that I had—for the company, you know—and, at the same time, wished that I’d turned it down. I didn’t know who would be there, other than LuAnne, and it might well turn into a round-robin of passing along gossip by way of prayer requests, with only a minute or two of prayer. I now thought of a dozen excuses I could’ve used—presents to wrap, Lillian needed menus and shopping lists, Sam wanted me to do something with him, and on and on. LuAnne would’ve never known the difference, although the Lord would’ve. He, however, was more forgiving than she was.
Actually, the real reason that I wasn’t eager to go was because of the news that Sam had brought back from the Register of Deeds office the previous afternoon. All I wanted to do was sit and ponder the impact of learning that Madge and her group of do-gooders were either renters or the beneficiaries of someone’s generosity. They certainly were not the owners of the Cochran house, for something called the Ridgetop Corporation held fast to the title. That meant that Madge and company had to be either benefiting from a gift—which I doubted because of the lack of public acclaim—or renting. How I would’ve loved to have seen the lease: How much was the monthly rent? Were the board members making the payments out of their own pockets? It was unlikely that they’d be getting state funds before any teenagers had actually been housed. And, normally, when you rent something, you pay both the first and last months?’ up front, which could amount to a tidy sum. Just where, I wondered, was the money coming from?
I had no answers, so I put on my coat, told Lillian I wouldn’t be gone for more than an hour, and left the house thinking these thoughts and more. Surely, I assured myself, spending thirty minutes or so in prayer would be more beneficial than pacing the floor wondering what could be done about the Cochran house.
Fighting a brisk wind as I crossed Polk Street and hurried toward the back entrance to the church, I determined to focus my thoughts entirely on laying my concerns before the Lord. Silently, of course, for I was not interested in a group discussion—a group anything, if you want to know the truth.
I walked through the large, empty Fellowship Hall, where Wednesday night suppers were held, went past a few Sunday school rooms, and rode the elevator up to the chapel extension. As I walked toward the bride’s room, I saw LuAnne waiting for me at the door of the lovely room provided for last-minute touches to a bride’s veil and train before her grand entrance.
“There you are!” LuAnne said, looking at her watch. “I thought you’d changed your mind.”
“Why, LuAnne,” I said, “it’s not yet ten o’clock. I didn’t get the time wrong, did I?”
“Oh, no. No, you didn’t. It’s just that everybody else got here early.” She reached for the doorknob, but before turning it—while I wondered why the door was closed in the first place—she said, “Now, Julia, remember that this is silent prayer and others have already started. So let’s just enter quietly, take a seat, and immediately bow our heads.”
That suited me—my eyes were already heavy—so I followed her into the room, keeping my head down so as not to disturb anyone, and found a seat on the far side. With head bowed and eyes lowered, I nonetheless glanced at the others seated in a small circle around the room, and wondered what I was doing there.
Perhaps, I thought to myself, this was the Lord working in mysterious ways His wonders to perform, for besides LuAnne, there were Lynette Rucker, Lorna McKenzie, Mary Nell Warner, Diane Jarret, whose rubber-soled shoes I recognized, and—of all people—Madge Taylor. Well, maybe after Madge had engaged in a period of prayer, she’d be willing to listen to reason—which would be one of those mysterious wonders.
Still, I wondered why none of the “usual suspects,” as Mildred called Sue and Carrie and Helen and Rebecca and Emma Sue and the like, were meeting with us.
With a sudden, grating clearing of her throat—interrupting my heavenward chain of thought—Madge told me.
“Julia,” she said, leaning forward, “I hope you won’t think we’re ganging up on you, but there’re a number of us who’re deeply concerned about your lack of compassion, which I readily admit is totally unlike you. And I hope you’ll take it in the spirit in which it’s meant, because we all care enough to try to help you before you go off the deep end.”
My head had jerked up when she’d said my name—I was stunned to be so addressed, and in public, too. Looking around at all the piously concerned faces, turned now toward me, I could only mumble a question. “Off the deep end of what?”
“Your Christian witness,” Madge replied firmly.
“Yes,” Lynette Rucker chimed in. “When we first moved here, you were held up as an example I
