Life, Etc. -- Sixteen

As they stepped outside Stephen suggested they look in some of the shop windows.  Evening temperatures were beginning to dip into the colder ranges, but the evening was clear.

 

“Stephen, have you set a date for your trip to Italy yet?”  He hadn’t mentioned the travel books since his first time in the shop.

“Let’s just say it’s a dream—but one I hope to fulfill sometime in the not too distant future.  I’ve always wanted to travel.  But I’m not one of the rich televangelists.”  Stephen winked and then said, “My bachelor’s degree is in Art History—and I’ve never done anything with it, but read and dream.  My former wife and I planned to go a couple of times, but something always came up.”

“So Megan, what are your unfulfilled dreams?”

“Actually, I’m living my dream!”  She told him of the bookshop she worked in as a teenager.  “I love the smell, sight and feel of books!  I said that someday I would own my own shop, and now I have it!”

 On the drive home, Megan remained quiet for awhile.  She hadn’t felt so relaxed with a man since the earlier years with Jonathan.  Stephen had an air of intimacy about him, but had made no attempt to hold her hand or touch her in any way except to put his hand on her back as she got into the car.

 

He looked across and smiled at Megan.  “OK, be honest, are you comparing me with Roland Fisher, and if so, how do I fare?”

 

Megan turned to Stephen.  “No, Stephen, you are not Roland Fisher…”

As they drove into Maple Village Stephen offered to pay Lauren’s babysitting fee and take her home.  Megan said she would pay, but she thanked him for the offer to drive Lauren.

That night, as Megan snuggled into her down comforter, she smiled as she thought about her evening with Stephen.  Although she couldn’t anticipate the future in that relationship, she did believe she had a new friend.

The next morning, as she opened her eyes, the first thing Megan thought of was Jonathan’s request to have Emily for Thanksgiving.  She needed to call him back.

 

Emily hated to be awakened in the morning, but reacted far more tranquilly if Gilly kissed her to consciousness.  Megan opened Emily’s bedroom door and Gilly ran in.  Within seconds, Megan heard laughter.

 

“Honey, your dad called to see if you’d like to spend Thanksgiving with him.  What do you think?”

“That would be cool, Mom!”  Emily’s face lit up at the suggestion.

“I think he has a girlfriend he wants to introduce you to.  How do you feel about that?”  Megan knew that inevitably this would take place, but she hurt for her daughter as her life began this new phase.

“Mom, I’m OK with it but I want to decide if I like her or not.  Jessica’s father has a girlfriend and she hates the woman.  If Daddy’s girlfriend is nice, fine.  But if I don’t like her, I’m going to tell him!” Emily said with emphasis.

“Honey, I think that’s only fair.  Of course, that doesn’t mean that Daddy will leave her out in the cold.”

 

Emily giggled as she thought of the woman standing on the sidewalk while she and her dad played board games.  “Yeah, I know.”

                    

 The next week went quickly.  More customers, more book orders.  Business was growing in spite of the recession.  Chris’s knowledge of the business increased each day, so Megan found time to expand the coffee shop offerings.

                      

Since Emily didn’t have school the whole week of Thanksgiving, she flew to her dad’s the following Sunday.  Megan did not like having Emily gone.  The apartment seemed empty, and usually the first night away, she nursed her aching heart with a box of chocolate and a trip to Guilt-Land where all bad parents cry on one another’s shoulders.  In her heart, she knew she wasn’t a horrible parent, but custody, child support and weeks away from her child were not on the horizon when she and Jonathan first held Emily in their arms.

Just as Megan unlocked the shop on Monday morning, Diane opened the door.  They both laughed at their own surprise.  “Wow, you’re out early Diane—and you’re not even in pajamas!”

 

“I need a cup of coffee and a muffin.  The boys are at a play date and I was too lazy to fix a pot this morning.  Besides, I wanted to talk with you about Thanksgiving.  What are your plans?”

“I really haven’t thought of it.  I’ve been traipsing through Guilt-Land.  What do you have in mind?”

“Who else do you know who is single and alone—we could organize a lonely hearts dinner?”

 

“It’s gotta have a more appealing moniker if you expect to gain any participants.”  Again they laughed.  Megan liked the idea, but didn’t know who else might fit into the category.

“How about Stephen Forbes?”  Diane had a glint in her eye as she spoke.

 

“Hey, don’t try to match-make.  I haven’t heard from him since we had dinner together.  He really is nice, but I am not anticipating anything romantic—at least not in the near future.  Besides, three wouldn’t be enough.”

“Look,” said Diane.  “Why don’t you call Stephen and see if he has any friends, male or female, who would like to join us?”

“I don’t know…,” Megan felt hesitant.  Just then the phone rang in the shop.  She went to answer it.

“Well, hello—and speak of the devil!  Diane and I were just talking about you.”

From the other end, Stephen laughed, “I knew my ears were burning.  I thought it was the new after shave I bought.  So, what makes me so interesting?”

“Well, we were just talking about getting a group of singles together for Thanksgiving.  Do you have plans?”

“I do have a friend coming down from Portland.  He’s a minister at an Episcopal congregation there, and he’s single.  He might like a larger get together than just him and me.  Besides, fixing a turkey for two people isn’t much fun.”

“Well, that’s a beginning.  Diane and I will see if we can round up a couple more.  I’m surprised you haven’t had lots of invitations from your members.”

“Actually, I’ve turned down several.  And then once Michael said he was coming, it was easier.”

Megan remembered that she didn’t initiate the call.  “O, Stephen, I took over the conversation.  Why did you call?”

“That’s right, I did, didn’t I?  I found an ad for a book on Italian art history that looks really good.  Could you order it for me?”  Megan took all the information and said she’d get the order out right away.

To be continued...

Life, Etc. -- Fifteen

“Megan, I’m not sure I can give you the answer you want or need to hear.  I guess I’d like to say first that what little I’ve seen of you I respect.  I like your energy and your courage.  I like the way you respond to people—even Roland Fisher—or perhaps especially Roland Fisher!”  Stephen smiled.

Megan hadn’t heard such a lovely speech about herself in a long time.

Stephen went on, “As you know I’ve been here nearly a year, and I can honestly say I haven’t made one real friend.”

“Stephen, you have an entire congregation!  The stories I’ve heard about single pastors tell of long lines of female parishioners just waiting with casseroles on the doorstep for every meal—one lady trying to outdo another for the prize of the quickest-way-to-a-man’s-heart—and all that!”  Megan screwed up her face into a knowing smile.

“OK, there is some truth to the stories you’ve heard.  But out of that line of candidates, not one friend has emerged.”

 

Megan heard honesty in his voice.  He didn’t show any signs of self-pity but a sincere desire for contact.  “Stephen, I can certainly understand a need for friends—but isn’t there a problem with 'stepping out of the fold'?”—Megan held up her hands to show air-quotes.  “I understand there are many within deeply conservative religious traditions that believe one should not seek any alliances outside their community.”

Just then the waiter brought the food.  As soon as they tasted the salmon they agreed it was a good choice.  Stephen continued, “Megan, let me tell you a little about Christianity if I may.”

“Please do, Stephen, because I really don’t know much about it except from the likes of your head elder.  And I see nothing attractive about the whole idea.”  Megan believed she needed to be honest, though she didn’t mean to offend.

“I'll give you the 25 cent version.  In the United States alone, there are literally 100’s of denominations and organizations that call themselves Christian.  And each one of them, at some level believes it holds the truth.  Baptists believe it; Presbyterians believe it; Latter-day Saints believe it; Catholics believe it.  Some of the more conservative—or those who believe in a literal translation of the word of God—express their truth strongly, and many go so far as to believe that God has spoken to individuals and only that person has a handle on God’s message.

“People like Roland Fisher are most often those who have come from a very painful background or perhaps have a diagnosable mental illness—or in any case, have an extreme need to take control of their world—since internally, theirs is often out of control.  So they latch onto a religious community, or are driven to straighten out the people around them.

 

“I’m not suggesting these are bad people.  In most cases they are completely sincere--though I believe, sincerely misguided--and since they believe their version is the only way to heaven, they feel especially driven to get their truth out to save souls.

“There are also segments of the population who are willing to accept what a leader says without questioning authority.  On one hand this can be a good thing—because some people need to change their lives for the better.  And, in most cases, church authority is looking at teaching good values—honesty, compassion, etc.—to people who need direction.

“But what many of these in reality are doing is making their God reflect what they want and believe.  And it is very easy to look at Scriptures and tweak them in such a way so that one can be convinced of lots of things that are not necessarily spelled out as clearly in the Bible as some think.”

Stephen took a deep breath and put his head down.  With his hands almost prayer-like in front of him, Megan was ready to excuse herself and go to the restroom. Suddenly Stephen put his head up and smiled and winked, “I think I’m giving you more than the 25 cent version.”

“Please go ahead.  This answers a lot of questions for me.”

“Mr. Fisher is one of those extremists who feel so completely out of control in his internal world that he must do everything he can to control his outside world.  Although I feel sorry for him, I am also concerned about him.  I have not been sympathetic with him, and others are calling him on his authoritarian ways—you are also standing up to him.  I’ve noticed a difference in him lately.  I’m afraid he’s about to crack.”  Stephen hesitated for a few seconds and then said, “OK, there it is—perhaps the 50 cent version.”

“So you’re telling me it’s not enough to say that one is a Christian, it has to be narrowed down to a particular denomination?”

 

“Not really, the examples I've talked about pertain mostly to the more legalistic Christians—those who lean strongly to the right.”

“Stephen, I don’t know you well at all.  But you don’t appear to be of that mindset.”

“That’s been part of my problem.  This congregation in Maple Village is a group of good, caring people.  But they do tend to be a more conservative lot.”

“Then why did you become a part of all this if that isn’t the way you believe?”  Megan felt confused.

“I know it sounds very simplistic, but I really hoped that I could help them to see a bigger picture.  When you read the words of Jesus and Buddha and many other saints of old, they all pretty much say the same thing about how we must treat other people.  With Christianity, of course, you have the element of heaven or hell upon which everything is focused.

 

“I want to help teach people that loving acceptance of diversity, whether religious, ethnic or whatever the difference is what enriches life.  Unfortunately, that is not a belief that is easy to accept because it isn’t rule based.  And the conservative mindset finds it easier to follow a list of rules.”

“Wow!  There is so much more to this than I ever imagined.  My hat’s off to you for even considering that you can make a difference in the life of someone like Roland Fisher!”  Megan sat thinking about what Stephen had said.

“Well, remember, Megan.  Mr. Fisher is one of the extremists—so change for him is very difficult.”

The waiter brought the check and Stephen pulled out his wallet.  Megan excused herself to go to the ladies’ room.  They met back at the table and Stephen helped her into her jacket.

To be continued...

Life, Etc. -- Fourteen

Back in the shop, Megan couldn’t stop thinking about Isabelle.  She was helping a customer in the Mystery section when the phone rang.

    

Chris grabbed it.  “Yes, she’s in, just one moment.  May I tell her who’s calling?”   Chris gave his mischievous smile that Megan recognized well.  “It’s for you, Megan,” Chris said in his sing-song-ee voice as he mouthed, “It’s the pastor.”  He was determined to link her romantically with every male caller.

Megan made a face at Chris as she took the receiver.  “Hello, this is Megan.”

“Hi, this is Stephen Forbes.  I would still like to chat with you.  Could I take you out for dinner Friday night?  No obligations—no expectations.  Every time I try to talk with you there are distractions and I want an opportunity to get acquainted.”

Megan wasn’t sure how to respond.  She could not forget that he was a pastor in a very conservative religious community of which she wanted no part.  But she also did not believe he had the same mindset as his head elder.  “Well, pastor,” she began.

“Please drop the pastor and call me Stephen.”

“OK, Stephen, I’m not sure we have a lot to talk about, but, well, yes, I’ll go,” she responded with obvious hesitation.  “I will if I can get a sitter for Emily.”

“Would 6:00 on Friday work?  I thought we could drive into Sisters,” Stephen asked with a hopeful note in his voice.

“Yes, that should be OK.”  Megan hung up and turned to Chris whose face held a cute, but wicked grin.

“So-o-o, the boss has a date!”

“No, I wouldn’t call it a date—more like an opportunity to clear some air.  Now get back to work and earn that huge salary I pay you!”

Just before closing, Louise stopped by with Danny.  Megan took the opportunity to ask if he’d be interested in telling stories to a group of children every couple of weeks.

“That would be very nice,” Danny responded in his most serious voice.

“What books are your favorites?” she asked.  Megan was thrilled when he rattled off a dozen or more titles.  “I think we should wait until after the first of the year.  People are so busy during the holidays.”  As they were about to leave Danny walked up to Megan and reached his arms out to her.  Megan and Danny stood hugging and Megan was reminded that other than Emily, there were few hugs in her life.  And this one was definitely special!

                

Lauren rang the bell at 5:45 and Emily ran down to get her.  “Em, I brought a new game to teach you.  Let’s see if your Mom will let you stay up a bit longer tonight.”

“Yes!” Emily ran up the stairs.  “Mom, can I stay up later tonight?  It’s Lauren’s idea!”

Lauren winked at Megan as she came into the kitchen.  “OK, how about 9:30?”

“Mom, can’t I stay up ‘til 10?”

Lauren stepped in.  “You know, 9:30 will give us lots of time.”

Megan gave Lauren last minute instructions about snacks when the door bell rang again.  “OK, I’m off.  I’ll come in and kiss you when I get home, Em,” Megan said as she squeezed her daughter.

When she saw Stephen at the door, she relaxed.  Never having gone out for dinner with a minister, Megan wasn’t sure how to dress.  She’d settled on black slacks and a sweater and found that he’d decided on the same thing.  They laughed when they realized how alike they were dressed.  “Maybe they’ll take us for twins,” Stephen said as he opened the car door for Megan.

The drive to Sisters was beautiful.  Stephen and Megan’s getting acquainted chatter came easily—origins, university education, and the inevitable divorce that brought major changes to both their lives.

“Do you have a particular restaurant you like in Sisters?” asked Stephen as they pulled into town.

“No, actually I’ve only been here a couple of times and can’t even remember where we had lunch.

Driving into the main street, they saw the lights from quaint little shops and eye-catching window displays.  This is another place Diane and I need to come and explore, thought Megan.

“A friend from Portland mentioned Tender Vines, so I thought if you had no other preference, we’d try it out.”

“I’m game.  Let’s be adventurous.”  Megan smiled.  She couldn’t believe how relaxed she felt.  But the evening wasn’t over….

The restaurant had an elegant, but rustic feel.  Linen napkins filled crystal goblets on old, heavily carved and beautifully polished tables that took Megan back to the feel of old European elegance.  Cozy too since there were several small dining rooms—good for privacy.

After ordering—baked salmon looked good to them both—the energy between them became confused—each feeling the other’s discomfort.

 

Megan finally spoke.  “So far, Stephen, I’m enjoying getting acquainted with you, but I’m still not sure why we’re here.”   Might as well speak out and put the question on the table.

Life, Etc. -- Thirteen

          “That opportunity didn’t last long.  Roland and the head elder argued constantly.  It all comes down to Roland’s inability to accept anyone else’s ideas.  My father was the same way, so I guess I’ve always thought that was just the way men were.

          “Five years ago, we moved to Maple Village.  Roland was hired as the mechanic at Wiley’s Service Station on the west end of town.  A year ago, he became manager when Mr. Wiley wanted to begin wintering in Arizona.

          Isabelle took a breath, and all Megan could think as the room filled with silence was no wonder Isabelle looks and acts as she does.  Megan felt both sympathy and anger at this woman.  Why hadn’t she just told her husband to go to hell?  Why did she put up with his crap?  Can you really love someone like that?  Instead, she said, “Isabelle, you’ve really traveled a journey.  Unfortunately, it sounds more like something out of the 19^th century!  I’m sorry, please don’t be offended, but….”

          “Megan,” Isabelle responded in a gentle tone, “I’m not offended.  In fact, I’m just coming to a bend in the journey you referred to.”  An almost conspiratorial smile came across her face.

          “Eight months ago, my mother died.  The doctors diagnosed her with cancer and within a month, she was dead.  As sad as I felt, I knew Mother’s life had not been easy, and I am thankful she can be at peace.

          “I went home to pack up my Mother’s things—my Dad has Alzheimer’s and is in a nursing home in a little town in Texas.  Six months ago, I was finally able to sit down and go through Mother’s things.  I have only one box, but I wanted to find out more about Mother and the life she had with my father.  Among some old papers I pulled out an envelope.  It stuck out from the rest because of its whiteness—it was new.  I hadn’t noticed it when I packed the box, so I opened it and found a letter from my mother written three weeks before she died.”

          Megan felt her stomach lurch.  She could feel an emotional pull though she still didn’t know why Isabelle sat in her living room telling her story.

          Isabelle sighed loudly and went on, “I brought it if you want me to read it.”

          Megan looked at Diane who smiled.  Her eyes went back to Isabelle who was obviously waiting for a reply.  “Yes, please, I would like you to read it.”

     
          “My dear sweet daughter, Isabelle,” she began with an obvious catch in her throat.  “I am writing to you because a week ago I found out that I have pancreatic cancer, and the doctor says I will go quickly because it’s too late for treatment.  I am at peace, Isabelle.  When you read this letter, I don’t know where I’ll be, but I am not afraid.

          “What I must say to you my wonderful daughter is that I am so sorry.  I have not been the role model for you that I needed to be.  When I was a child, my mother taught me to cook good meals, keep my family’s clothes clean and pressed, scrub my house from top to bottom, and discipline my children.  But first and foremost it was my responsibility to keep my husband happy through my submission and devotion to him.  That’s all the information I came into marriage with.  And because of your father’s occupation, I followed those rules to present myself as I should to his congregants and to my children.  In strict religious systems, news of the outside world, or even thinking inside one’s world is not encouraged, especially among the women.  So here I am at 70 years old, wishing every day that I had something else to leave you.  Because, I fear, I left you nothing more than my mother left me.

          “When you were sick in Belize and the bush doctor healed you, I began getting a tiny glimpse of a bigger world than just our belief system.  I tried to talk to people, to ask questions such as, what about other religious traditions in the world—don’t they have a part in God’s kingdom?  One woman was so bold as to do her duty by telling your father that I was asking inappropriate questions for a pastor’s wife.

          “When I came to visit you when Roland was ill in Texas, I could see your life was going to be a duplicate of mine.  You were living out the role I had presented to you.  My heart ached for the life you lived.  But I didn’t know how to talk to you.  If I didn’t have the courage to walk away, how could I ever hope that with two small children, you could leave yours?

          “I cannot die, Isabelle, without telling you some things I’ve come to believe.  Though I have not acted on this knowledge, in some sense it may be my intuition I’ve come to trust. 

          “Isabelle, if there is a God—don’t be shocked that I make such a statement—I believe it is not a ‘he.’  Are you shocked further?  I do believe in some kind of transcendent power—a Spirit, an Energy, but not the old man with the beard who tries to tell us all, through male preachers, that we have no choice but to be sinners because we are descendants of Adam and Eve--and, above all, women are to be submissive, to the point of subservience, to men.”  When Isabelle lifted her head from reading, her face glowed.  Her smile radiated from ear to ear and for the first time, Megan saw a beautiful woman.

 

          She lowered her head to continue, “I wasted my life believing in everything but myself.  It would be easy to blame your father or my parents, but blame only makes the list very long.  Instead, I look at culture and women’s place within society and old interpretations of scripture that have not been contextualized—particularly in the belief systems we’ve been a part of.  Blame is not the answer.

 

          “Isabelle, even as I face death, I want to encourage you to find your way, learn who you are, role model something different for your children than I role modeled for you.

 

          “When you were a little girl, I sensed your intelligence from infancy.  I know you still possess it, but you may need to dig around to find it.  You’ll require support along this journey of knowing who you are.   It will be painful.  Where your future takes you will depend upon decisions you have the courage to make.

 

          “Isabelle, I'm tired now.  I love you, I will love you even in death.   As I take my last breath, it will be to send you courage.”  Isabelle choked on the last words.  Slowly she raised her head and looked first to Diane and then to Megan.  Again her face glowed as tears slowly fell on her cheeks.

          The three sat is silence for a couple of minutes.  No one wanted to contaminate the air with words.  Megan looked out the window to see the top of Mrs. Elsworth’s grove of trees.  Only a few stubborn gold leaves continued to cling to the branches.  A gray fog drew in a thickness that bordered on claustrophobic.  And at that moment she felt a connection with the gloom of the afternoon.

          Diane spoke first.  “Isabelle, I feel like we’ve been brought to the edge of a precipice.  I’m looking over the edge of a steep hill with many paths down the craggy side.”   She stopped and took a breath.

          “I know, Diane.  I’ve spent the last few months trying to decide what lay ahead for me.”  Isabelle hesitated.  “But first I need to tell you both why I’m even talking to you about all this.”

Megan stole a glance toward Diane.  She felt intimacy in a palpable way—a creamy silk length of cloth with ragged edges hovered around them—she knew she could touch it if she raised her hand.

 

“About a week after I read my mother’s letter,” Isabelle spoke again, “I was at Albertson’s when I heard the two of you talking excitedly at the other end of the aisle.  I admit I eavesdropped.  I can’t even tell you now what you were talking about, but what caught my attention was your excitement.  There was an energy coming from both of you.  Something foreign to me—yet so appealing.  You two must be close to my age.  Look at me.  People have suggested that I’m as old as Roland!”

Megan hoped her internal affirmation of Isabelle’s words didn’t show on her face.

“I’ve heard enough gossip from church members to know that you’ve both had sadness in your lives, but look at you—you are alive and vibrant!”  Isabelle took a deep breath and continued.  “I heard about the book club and decided to go.  Then the book you spoke about tipped the scales—I knew it was important to connect with you.  This is not like me.  I don’t understand my courage.”

“Go ahead, Isabelle.  Tell us what we can do for you,” Megan wasn’t sure what part she might play.

“OK, I need friends.  I need to find a new reality.  I don’t know what this will mean for my life, my marriage, my family.  The only thing I’m sure of is that I will die if I continue life as I have been living.  I’ve never really had close friends.  Roland never wanted me to.  And the only women I knew were members of our churches.  Diane and Megan, I’m asking if you will be my friends.”

Megan and Diane looked at one another, so touched and feeling so humble.  Tears ran down their cheeks.

Diane spoke first.  “I’d be honored, Isabelle.”

“And I will as well,” responded Megan.  “But I have to add, I’m not your husband’s favorite person.  What will he think about your new friends?”

Isabelle tried to smile.  She spoke slowly but with determination, “This is about me and decisions I must make. I’ll just have to take one day at a time.”

Megan glanced at her watch.  They’d been together for an hour and a half.  She needed to get down to the shop so Chris could have a break.

Isabelle spoke up.  “I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted!”  The three laughed.

Diane jumped up and said, “I don’t know about you, but I need a hug!”  They laughed again—the comic relief came at just the right moment.

To be continued...

Life, Etc. -- Twelve

“When we returned to the U.S., we moved to a small town in Texas where my father started a congregation—a very conservative one.  Roland was the first person my father baptized.  He was around 40, and had quite a past with the law and other questionable activities.  He’d basically been told by the local sheriff that if he didn’t get religion soon he’d be headed to jail for a long time and then probably hell on roller skates.

          “By then I was 18, and anxious to leave my father’s home.  He was so strict and didn’t believe in any kind of fun.  I knew Roland had a past, but I thought anything was better than being at home.  We started seeing one another—which meant he came to Sunday dinner, picked me up for Prayer Meeting on Wednesday evenings, and, of course, church both Sunday morning and evening.  Since he belonged to my father’s congregation, Daddy had no objection to our relationship.  My first kiss happened in the back row of the church when my father’s head turned away.

          “So, we were married when I was 18½ and Roland hired out helping farmers work their crops.  There were so many people in that area of Texas who wouldn’t hire Mexicans that Roland had no problem staying busy.

          “About five years after we got married, Roland said God called him into the ministry.  My father was elated—none of my siblings wanted any part of church life.  Daddy and Roland prayed that God would show them where we should start up a church.  Within six months, Roland believed God told him to go to Garland, outside of Dallas.  He said God needed him to cleanse the town of sin.

          “We moved there, and Roland worked hard to form a group of believers.  But after about 30 people started attending—it was held in our living room because no one had the money to finance a building—disagreement began.  Roland believed that he should do only as God instructed him, and wouldn’t listen to anyone unless the person agreed with him.

          “I know, I’m giving a lot of detail.  I’ve never talked with anyone other than Diane about any of this.”

          Diane reached over and touched Isabelle’s hand softly.  “Isabelle, you talk as much as you want.”

          Isabelle smiled and took a breath.  Megan thought she actually saw a bit of color coming to Isabelle’s face.

          “We lived in Garland for three years.  By this time, we had our two children and I was busy trying to keep things going at home while Roland worked hard getting word out about our meetings.

          “One day Roland came home very sick.  He had a fever, upset stomach and was very weak.  He vomited off and on all night.  By morning, I told him we had to get him to the doctor.  But Roland said that we should just pray and God would heal him so he could continue his work.  After three days, Roland was so weak I thought he might die.  Then I remembered going to the Maya doctor with very similar symptoms.  I knew better than to say anything to Roland, so I called my mother.  Completely unknown to my father, she had found an outlet for herbs and other plants the Maya use for curing illnesses.  She didn’t claim to be an expert, but did know something about a few things that seemed to attack our family most often.

          “Mother offered to come for a visit and bring some of the dried plants.  She arrived by bus the next day.  I used the herbs and plants as Mother instructed and hid them in Roland’s food, his tea, even his eggs for the next few days.  Within a short time, we began seeing a change.  He was actually getting better, but we couldn’t tell him why.

          “Isabelle,” Megan interrupted, “did you know before book club met that I would be talking about a Maya bush doctor?”

          “No, that’s what is so amazing about all this—the dots connecting, so to speak—first my illness, then Roland’s, and then the book, and my coming to hear about it!”

 

          “I’m sorry, Isabelle.  Please go ahead with your story.”

 

          “Mother was such a help to me during her visit.  We never had money for anything other than essentials because Roland used any extra for furthering the work of God as he called it.  Having lived in the mission field, Mother could create most anything out of almost nothing.  We cooked and sewed for the kids, and she read them fairy tales—stories that Roland would never have allowed in the house.

 

On that visit I would often see Mother watching me with a desperate kind of look—as if she wanted to say something.  Then she’d sigh and look away.  Our visit together was wonderful.  Unfortunately, those times were rare.

          “Much of Roland’s ministry was independent of any governing organization.  He didn’t want to be attached to too much power.  He expected his believers to tithe 20% of their income, the women were not to work outside the home and the children had to be home schooled.  Submission of women held supreme ruling in his eyes.  Finally the members dropped out, one family after another.  They were good people, but Roland’s controlling ways were more than they could take.

 

“Roland, out of desperation decided he’d look for a congregation that believed as he did.  He wrote letters to the governing bodies of many religious communities as a way of investigating their beliefs and religious practices.

          “Eventually we had no money to pay the rent.  Roland took a job working as a mechanic in a service station, but was very upset about it.  ‘No man called by God should have to work like this,’ he’d say indignantly.  After about six months, we got a call from a small congregation in eastern Oregon.  We packed our few belongings and moved there in the dead of winter.

           To be continued...

Life, Etc. -- Eleven

          About 8:30 that evening, Megan had just kissed Emily goodnight, when the phone rang.  “Hi, this is Diane,” Megan heard before she could say hello.  “Have you got a few minutes?  I want to tell you about my visit with Isabelle Fisher.”

          Megan smiled.  “I’ve got al-l-l night.”

          Diane started out by saying that the woman told her it would be OK to tell Megan about the visit.  “She’s not really much older than we are.  She likes our book club and wants to become a part of it.  She wanted to know if anyone could come, was there a cost to join, and if she’d be welcome?”

          “All those questions after she came unannounced her first time?”  Megan figured there must be some agenda.  She felt more than a little paranoid—after all she WAS Roland Fisher’s wife.

          “Megan, wait until you hear her story—it’s incredible!”  Diane hesitated, then a deep sigh and spoke, “You know, I should not be the one telling you all this.  Isabelle needs to do this herself.  I want to bring her over myself tomorrow.  I’ll try to make it when Chris is working so he can watch the store while we go upstairs.  Can I make arrangements and call you tomorrow?”

          After Megan hung up, she felt suspended or was it the sensation of waiting for the other shoe to drop?  Perhaps again she might just be feeling paranoid.

 

          She laid the phone down and it rang again.  As soon as she heard the voice, Megan wondered, Will my heart ever just relax when I hear Jonathan’s voice?  “Megan, I’d really like to have Emily for Thanksgiving.  Do you think that can happen?”  The plan was that Emily spend both Thanksgiving and Christmas this year with Megan since Emily had spent an extra week with him last summer.  But Jonathan was never satisfied with status quo.

          “I’ll have to let you know, Jonathan.”  Megan handled his changes in schedule better when she took time to think them through.

 

          “Aw, come on, Meg.  You’ll get her all Christmas break.  I’m going to be out of the country then.”

 

Hmmm…  Where is he going?  Impressing one of his girlfriends with a trip?  “Jonathan, I said I’d let you know.  Give me some time.  I’ll call you on Saturday.”  Megan hung up quickly.  She didn’t want to get into a conversation with him tonight.  For the most part, they got along well.  They both made an effort for Emily’s sake, but it still hurt to have Emily come home from her visits and talk about women who went places with them.  Jonathan wanted to be a good father, but had trouble doing it alone.

 

            At 2 p.m. the next day, Diane and Isabelle Fisher walked through the front door of the shop.  Megan went to greet the women.  “Hi,” Megan tried to sound cheerful and welcoming.  “Let’s go upstairs.”  She called Chris, “Come on out front, Chris, so you can keep an eye on the door.  I’ll be upstairs for awhile.”

          Diane and Isabelle were sitting on the couch as Megan brought in tea and scones.  She set the tray on the coffee table.  “Do you mind if I call you Isabelle?” Megan looked as cheerful as she could at the very pale Isabelle Fisher.

          “Oh yes, please do.”  she said with a smile as she looked around the living room.  “Your home is really pretty.  I love your bright colors.”

          Megan was surprised that someone so colorless would notice.  “Thank you, I think it’s cheerful.”

          “Megan,” began Diane, “Isabelle gave me permission to talk about my visit with her, but I think she needs to tell her own story.”

          Again Isabelle smiled shyly.  “Well, if you want me to.”  She shifted in her chair and took the cup in her hand.

 

          Megan sat on a chair across from the couch.  She felt incredibly uncomfortable—what was Diane thinking, putting this woman on display like this?

          Isabelle took a sip of her tea and then looked at Megan.  “I guess my story begins a long time ago.  I was raised by missionary parents.  We lived in Belize from the time I was four until I turned 12.  My father was pretty hard line about Christianity—very conservative in his thinking and believed if you spared the rod, you spoiled the child.

 

“I was about 11 years old when I became very ill.  My parents took me to a doctor in Belmopan, the capitol of Belize.  I had terrible stomach pains and vomiting.  The doctor gave me some medicine, but the pain just got worse.  Mother wanted us to come to the U.S. for better medical treatment, but my father said it was probably the flu and wouldn’t allow us to go.

          “During the time I was ill, he had to travel to another area for two week long evangelistic meetings.   We lived in a small village, so our home was much like many in the area—quite shanty-like—a couple of rooms, natural lighting and no electricity.  We burned candles in the evenings.  Mother worked hard to keep it neat and clean.  Most cooking took place out of doors.

    

"After my father left for the meetings, I got no better and Mother became terribly worried.  She talked to some of our neighbors and they suggested she take me to a bush doctor who lived in another village.  My father thought that kind of thing was of the devil and would have been furious if he knew his daughter was being treated by a local doctor.  But my weakness and weight loss left Mother desperate.

          “One morning, a couple of days after my father left, two men from the village came to take us to Benque to see a doctor there.  One of Mother’s friends accompanied us.  The men had a rusty old truck.  I lay on a pile of blankets in the back with Mother.  It was hot.  The road was bumpy, and I was terribly weak.  The trip took about an hour.  When we arrived, one of the men carried me to a hut and laid me on an old table.  The hut had no electricity, and it looked dirty.  I could see Mother’s worried face as she looked around.

          “An old woman came into the hut and talked with Mother’s friend.  Mother spoke Spanish but the two women spoke in Mayan.  Our friend asked Mother to explain all of my symptoms and she translated them for the bush doctor.  While they were talking, I fell asleep.  I woke up as the old woman was washing my body with something that had an odd but pleasant smell.  Then she gave Mother some ground up leaves and told her to make tea and I had to drink the tea several times a day.

          “The short story is that by the time my father returned 12 days later, I was better.  Of course, my father said that he’d been right—I’d had the flu.  He never found out about my trip to the bush doctor.”

          Isabelle looked at Diane and Megan with a sheepish smile.  “I’m sure I know what you’re thinking.  ‘You definitely married your father!’ And, in many ways you’re right.”  Megan only smiled.

             The story continues...