Anne Tyler - Saint Maybe

“Where is Mrs. Jordan? Shouldn’t we stop by and pick her up?”

“She has to drive now, on account of her rheumatism.”

“This is depressing,” Agatha said.

It did seem depressing. Or maybe that was just the season, the thin white light of January; for in spite of the sunshine the neighborhood had a pallid, lifeless look.

The church was barely half full this morning, but there weren’t six empty chairs in a row and so they had to separate. The men sat near the front, and Daphne and Agatha sat at the rear next to Sister Nell. Sister Nell leaned across Daphne to say, “Why, Sister Agatha! Isn’t this a treat!” Daphne felt a bit jealous; she was never called “Sister” herself. Evidently you had to leave town before you were considered grown.

Two years ago Sister Lula had willed the church her electric organ — the very small kind that salesmen sometimes demonstrate in shopping malls — and Sister Myra was playing “Amazing Grace” while latecomers straggled in. Under cover of the music, Agatha murmured, “Show me which one is Clara.”

Daphne looked around. “There,” she said, sliding her eyes to the left. Clara sat between her father and her brother — a slim woman in her mid-thirties with buff-colored hair feathered perfectly, dry skin powdered, tailored suit a careful orchestration of salmon pink and aqua.

“Why isn’t she sitting with Ian?” Agatha asked.

“Because she’s sitting with her father and brother.”

“You know what I mean,” Agatha told her. But just then the music stopped and Reverend Emmett rose from behind the counter to offer the opening prayer.

He was getting old. It took Agatha’s presence to make Daphne see that. He was one of those people who hollow as they age, and when he turned to reach for his Bible his back had a curve like a beetle’s back. But his voice was as strong as ever. “Proverbs twenty-one: four,” he said in his rich, pure tenor. “ ‘An high look, and a proud heart, and the plowing of the wicked, is sin.’ ” Then he announced the hymn: “In the Sweet Bye and Bye.”

Daphne loved singing hymns. She had forgotten, though, what a trial it was to sing with Agatha, who talked the words in a monotone and broke off halfway through to ask, “Where are the young people? Where are the children?”

Daphne wouldn’t answer. She went on singing.

The sermon had to do with arrogance. Nothing was more arrogant, Reverend Emmett said, than the pride of the virtuous man, and then he told them a story. “Last week, I called on a brother whose wife had recently died. Some of you may know whom I mean. He was not a member of our church, and had visited only a very few times. Still, I was surprised to see him bring forth a bottle of wine once I was seated. ‘Reverend Emmett,’ he said, ‘you happen to have arrived on my fiftieth anniversary. My wife and I always promised ourselves that when we reached this day, we would open a bottle of wine that we’d saved from our wedding reception. Well, she is no longer here to share it, and I’m hoping very much that you will have a glass to keep me company.’ ”

Daphne held her breath. Even Agatha looked interested.

“So I did,” Reverend Emmett said.

Daphne started breathing again.

“I reflected that the Alcohol Rule is a rule for the self, designed to remove an obstruction between the self and the Lord, but drinking that glass of wine was a gift to another human being and refusing it would have been arrogant. And when I took my leave — well, I’m not proud of this — I had a momentary desire for some sort of mouthwash, in case I met one of our brethren on the way home. But I thought, ‘No, this is between me and my God,’ and so I walked through the streets joyfully breathing fumes of alcohol.”

Agatha fell into a fit of silent laughter. Daphne could feel her shaking; she had a sidelong glimpse of her white face growing pink and convulsed. In disgust, Daphne drew away from her and folded her arms across her chest. She didn’t hold with the Alcohol Rule herself, but she almost wished now she did just so she could make a gesture like Reverend Emmett’s. In fact, maybe she already had. Couldn’t you say that every social drink was a gift to another human being? She played with that notion throughout the rest of the sermon, deliberately ignoring Agatha, who kept wiping her eyes with a tissue.

At Amending, Daphne confessed in a low voice that she had spoken rudely to her grandfather. “I told him to quit bugging me about a job,” she said, “and I called Ian an old maid, and I said Bert could go to hell when he showed me where I’d skipped on a bookcase.” Sister Nell was murmuring something long and involved about a dispute with a neighbor. Agatha said nothing, wouldn’t you know. This meant she got to hear everyone else’s sins and pass judgment. “Talk about an high look!” Daphne whispered sharply, and then Reverend Emmett said, “Let it vanish now from our souls, Lord. In Jesus’ name, amen.” After that they stood up to sing “Love Divine, All Loves Excelling.”

The Benediction was hardly finished before Agatha was in the aisle, making her way toward Clara as she put her coat on. Daphne followed, but then Brother Simon stopped her to talk and so she arrived at Agatha’s side too late to introduce her. “I’m Agatha Bedloe-Simms,” Agatha was saying. (Only the rawest newcomer mentioned last names within these walls, but no doubt she wanted to establish her connection to Ian.) “I believe you must be Clara.”

“Why, yes,” Clara said in her ladylike, modulated voice. “And this is my father, Brother Edwin, and my brother, Brother James.”

She was probably making a point, with all those “Brothers,” but if so it passed right over Agatha’s head. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Agatha told them. “Clara, Ian has talked so much about you.”

“Oh! Has he?” Clara asked, and a blush started spreading upward from her Peter Pan collar.

Daphne felt confused. Had he really? Before she could find out, though, Reverend Emmett reached their group. “Sister Agatha,” he said, “I’m so glad to see you here.”

He gave no sign of recollecting that Agatha had spurned his church for years and insisted on a city hall wedding. And Agatha herself seemed unabashed. “So tell me, Reverend Emmett,” she said, “what does a fifty-year-old bottle of wine taste like, anyhow?”

“Oh, it was vinegar,” he said cheerfully.

“And don’t you think mentioning it to us was another form of mouthwash, so to speak?”

“Ah,” he said, smiling. “Something to confess at our next Amending.”

He turned to Stuart, who had shown up behind her with Ian. “You must be Agatha’s husband,” he said.

“Brother Stuart,” Stuart announced, with the prideful smirk of someone speaking a foreign language.

There was a bustle of introductions and small talk, and then Reverend Emmett moved off to greet someone else and Agatha whispered to Daphne, “Do we have enough lunch for three extra?”

“Three?” Daphne asked.

“Her father and brother too?”

They didn’t, but that wasn’t the issue. Daphne said, “Agatha, I really don’t think—”

Too late. Agatha turned to Clara and said, “Won’t the three of you come home with us for lunch?”

Clara was still blushing. She looked over at Ian. “Oh, we wouldn’t want to inconvenience you,” she said.

“Right,” Ian said. “Maybe some other time.” And he took Agatha’s arm and propelled her toward the door. Daphne and Clara were left gaping at each other. Daphne said, “Um …”

“Well, it was lovely seeing you,” Clara said melodiously.

“Yes, well … so long, I guess.”

Daphne hurried to catch up with the others. Ian still had hold of Agatha, who was looking cross. Outside, when they regrouped — Agatha walking next to Daphne once again — Agatha muttered, “What a dud.”