Sadie—how unfair that she would have someone make up such things about her. I mean, a woman of such character, like yourself, must have taken that very hard.”
Oh Bertie! Did she honestly think Sadie didn’t feel the barb behind her words? “It was quite a shock,” she said out loud.
Bertie clicked her tongue and lowered her chin, looking at Sadie over the top of her glasses. “I’m surprised the paper would print such obvious lies.”
Sadie noticed Brother Leverage standing a few feet to the left. He was looking out the window, but Sadie couldn’t help wondering if he was standing close enough so that he could overhear what they were saying.
“I was surprised as well,” Sadie said, looking longingly toward the chapel doors. She needed to make her escape. She was not up to sparring with the likes of Bertie Mayer after all.
“Especially when they talked about that locksmith,” Bertie continued. “My cousin Faye lives by him, you know. She remembered seeing you there once or twice—rather late in the evening. Of course, I assured her you were the picture of virtue and that she must be mistaken.”
Sister Maureen Morne walked by and gave Sadie a look Sadie couldn’t quite decipher. Was it sympathy for having been caught in Bertie’s net? Or was it something else? Would she pull Bertie aside after their congregational meeting to ask her what Sadie had said? Suddenly it felt as though everyone was talking about her or thinking about her—just like Friday night’s dinner. She should have stayed home, but it also made her angry that she wasn’t safe at the one place she should be.
“Thank you, Bertie,” she said, noting the stiffness in her voice but not expecting that Bertie would. “I appreciate your thinking so well of me. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She turned, pretending not to see Bertie’s bony hand reaching for her arm as she headed for the chapel doors. Bertie’s fingers barely brushed her elbow, but Sadie didn’t stop.
She usually sat in a front pew next to Sister Ruth and Sister Leanne—other women who came to church by themselves—but today she sat on the back row for fear that her friends would expect a rehashing of all that had happened. She pretended to study the church newsletter in order to avoid making eye contact as people filled in the empty spaces. Bertie patted her head—her head!—when she walked by, and Sadie fought the urge to slap her hand away. She’d always found Bertie to be a nuisance—even if she was the most amazing seamstress in town—but had never been on the wrong end of information with her before. As much as she didn’t like the comparison, Sadie couldn’t help but think of the times she had imparted information about people. She wasn’t hurtful about it and always categorized it as a “healthy interest in other people’s lives,” but had she made someone feel the way she felt now? She sincerely hoped not.
Pastor Donald stood at the pulpit as the prelude music ended, allowing Sadie to breathe normally again. No one would try to converse with her during the sermon. How long am I going to feel like I’m beneath Garrison’s microscope? she wondered as she turned to the opening hymn.
Sunday School was better; she taught the nine-year-olds, and as long as she gave them treats—miniature candy bars this week—they were putty in her hands. After all the meetings, she hurried to her car, not wanting to be caught by anyone else. It was perhaps the first time she’d ever not stayed to help put up chairs or visit with her friends. The heat outside was intense, and the seat of her car burned the backs of her legs when she slid inside, causing her to gasp. She couldn’t wait until this heat spell was over. As she drove through the parking lot, she read the marquee on the front lawn: “For by grace are ye saved through faith—Ephesians 2:8.”
Something rushed through Sadie, and she stopped to read the
Oh Bertie! Did she honestly think Sadie didn’t feel the barb behind her words? “It was quite a shock,” she said out loud.
Bertie clicked her tongue and lowered her chin, looking at Sadie over the top of her glasses. “I’m surprised the paper would print such obvious lies.”
Sadie noticed Brother Leverage standing a few feet to the left. He was looking out the window, but Sadie couldn’t help wondering if he was standing close enough so that he could overhear what they were saying.
“I was surprised as well,” Sadie said, looking longingly toward the chapel doors. She needed to make her escape. She was not up to sparring with the likes of Bertie Mayer after all.
“Especially when they talked about that locksmith,” Bertie continued. “My cousin Faye lives by him, you know. She remembered seeing you there once or twice—rather late in the evening. Of course, I assured her you were the picture of virtue and that she must be mistaken.”
Sister Maureen Morne walked by and gave Sadie a look Sadie couldn’t quite decipher. Was it sympathy for having been caught in Bertie’s net? Or was it something else? Would she pull Bertie aside after their congregational meeting to ask her what Sadie had said? Suddenly it felt as though everyone was talking about her or thinking about her—just like Friday night’s dinner. She should have stayed home, but it also made her angry that she wasn’t safe at the one place she should be.
“Thank you, Bertie,” she said, noting the stiffness in her voice but not expecting that Bertie would. “I appreciate your thinking so well of me. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She turned, pretending not to see Bertie’s bony hand reaching for her arm as she headed for the chapel doors. Bertie’s fingers barely brushed her elbow, but Sadie didn’t stop.
She usually sat in a front pew next to Sister Ruth and Sister Leanne—other women who came to church by themselves—but today she sat on the back row for fear that her friends would expect a rehashing of all that had happened. She pretended to study the church newsletter in order to avoid making eye contact as people filled in the empty spaces. Bertie patted her head—her head!—when she walked by, and Sadie fought the urge to slap her hand away. She’d always found Bertie to be a nuisance—even if she was the most amazing seamstress in town—but had never been on the wrong end of information with her before. As much as she didn’t like the comparison, Sadie couldn’t help but think of the times she had imparted information about people. She wasn’t hurtful about it and always categorized it as a “healthy interest in other people’s lives,” but had she made someone feel the way she felt now? She sincerely hoped not.
Pastor Donald stood at the pulpit as the prelude music ended, allowing Sadie to breathe normally again. No one would try to converse with her during the sermon. How long am I going to feel like I’m beneath Garrison’s microscope? she wondered as she turned to the opening hymn.
Sunday School was better; she taught the nine-year-olds, and as long as she gave them treats—miniature candy bars this week—they were putty in her hands. After all the meetings, she hurried to her car, not wanting to be caught by anyone else. It was perhaps the first time she’d ever not stayed to help put up chairs or visit with her friends. The heat outside was intense, and the seat of her car burned the backs of her legs when she slid inside, causing her to gasp. She couldn’t wait until this heat spell was over. As she drove through the parking lot, she read the marquee on the front lawn: “For by grace are ye saved through faith—Ephesians 2:8.”
Something rushed through Sadie, and she stopped to read the
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