Stone Lake: part 66

A Star Tribune serialized novel by Richard Horberg

Chapter 23 continues

The story so far: Mary Zane drops a bomb in her letter.

A few days later, right in the middle of class, the student messenger brought him a note in a sealed envelope. It turned out to be from Rev. Miracle Mayfield, asking him if he would drop over to the church some afternoon for a little talk.

Allen was surprised. Since he hadn't been to church for a couple of months, a truant, perhaps the man wanted to chide him a little bit for his absence.

When school was over the following day, he walked the three blocks to the church and found Mayfield sweeping up the main aisle. The minister greeted him jovially, put down his broom and led him to the office. "Mrs. Hokanson, the cleaning lady, is sick," he said. "You find me at a menial task — one of many."

"I wash the blackboards in my classroom every day too," Allen said.

Allen gathered that they were going to have nothing more than a pleasant little chat, as they'd once had on the street. "Please call me Allen," he said.

The church office turned out to be very small, containing not much more than a desk, a shelf of books and a picture of Jesus. With only one small window, it seemed a little dark and gloomy even with the ceiling light on. A fitting place, perhaps, to pray — or to arrange a funeral.

"So this is where you write your sermons," Allen said cheerfully. He saw the minister's gown hanging from a peg on the wall.

"More often, I'm afraid, I write them at the kitchen table."

"Ah."

"Haven't heard the name since I was at seminary," he said. "Seems to me he was a poet too, was he not?"

"Yes, a great poet."

"Well, that makes us colleagues again, doesn't it."

Allen nodded. Given an opening, he thought that it might be a good idea to anticipate the minister. "Colleagues or not," he said, "I'm afraid I haven't been to church recently."

"Yes, I've noticed that."

Allen was not sure that ministers had minds, formidable or otherwise. He remembered the big Swede who had substituted for Mayfield and confessed that the last time he'd attended church a lay preacher was there.

"Ah, Hjalmer Peterson. I heard that things didn't go so well."

"He was sincere — that's about the best I can say for him."

"What's the worst?"

"Frankly, I didn't like his emphasis on hell."

"You don't believe in hell?"

"No."

"I can live with that. But I hear you've been trying to persuade others that hell does not exist — small children, I think. Is that right?"

Allen remembered the little boy in the school doorway. Spies everywhere, indeed. "One small boy," he said. "He was crying because you told him he was going to hell. I tried to comfort him."

The minister gazed at him for a moment longer. "I would be remiss in my duties if I didn't remind you that, as a schoolteacher, you had no right to do that — on school property. The school is your domain. The church is mine. If I remember right, they're supposed to be separate."

"And just how do you know that?"

"In the same way any reasonable person knows it. It's silly. It's unbelievable. What you don't know is that you hurt that little boy very much."

"I told him the truth. I tried to save him. And I assure you that I do believe in hell."

Allen, bristling a little bit, said he was glad to hear it. It meant, he thought privately, that the minister was not a hypocrite. What it said for his credibility, however, was another story.

Mayfield leaned back in his chair. "You're not the first person to say something like that to me, I assure you. But I'm glad to learn that you have a little spirit. I wasn't sure. Your reputation in the town is that you're a very nice young man. My experience has been that very nice young people don't always have much spirit. Frankly, I see them all the time as Sunday School teachers."