Simple Gifts by Lori Copeland

the long day I’d put in waiting on the plumber and roofer. Mr. “Yup” called late last night to say he hadn’t got around to me (no kidding), but he’d be there first thing this morning. I’d waited. And waited. Neither the plumber nor the roofer had shown. The roofer hadn’t phoned, so I didn’t know his plans, but “Yup” called to say he’d run into a little trouble on the previous job and couldn’t get around to me that day. Tomorrow morning. For certain.
    Yup. I’d believe it when I saw it.
    Linda Bates, who used to be Linda Andrews, my best friend in high school, greeted me with open arms.
    â€œMarlene! You rascal! Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?” She shook her head. “You look fantastic! Slim, you’ve let your hair grow out, and what eye shadow are you wearing? It makes your eyes positively sparkle! How long are you here for?”
    â€œUntil Monday—“
    â€œOh, you’re not! Now that we’ve got you, we’re going to make you stay for a decent visit.”
    The congregation settled down and reached for hymnbooks. We sank onto the scarred pew, giggling. Joe peered at us from the dais.
    Frank Qullian, song leader for the last twenty-five years, announced the first hymn and threw out his arms, motioning us to rise (Moses with a lead-pencil baton). Miss Mattie hit the opening chords, and our voices lifted in harmony. I guess she must have pushed the button on the page, because right in the middle of “Amazing Grace” she abruptly switched to “Showers of Blessing.” The congregation exchanged bewildered glances and struggled to catch up.
    The page-turner swung into action again, and Mattie, looking a trifle confused, swung with it, right into the ringing notes of “Revive Us Again.”
    This was one of my favorites, and I put my heart into the chorus. “Hallelujah! Thine the Glory!”
    The page turned and Miss Mattie switched octaves. Frank shot her a look as the congregation gamely belted out “When the Saints Go Marching In!”
    Linda broke up beside me. I wasn’t going to look because if I started laughing I’d never stop. I shot Joe a helpless glance. He sat on the dais, transfixed with an angelic expression on his face, as if he hadn’t a clue what was going on.
    Smart. Miss Mattie was going to throttle him.
    The elderly organist ended her rather spirited—and different—medley with “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.” The congregation struggled mightily and roared out the closing words: “Our God is marching on!”
    Mattie rose from the bench looking regal, if slightly dazed. I was proud of her. I would have mopped the floor with Joe Brewster.
    Joe immediately charged to the podium and opened with prayer, which gave us a chance to pull ourselves together. The prayer was long and involved and included everyone from the president to the church janitor. Finally we heard “amen” and gratefully opened our Bibles. I kept an eye out for Vic, but he didn’t show. I was used to men not showing up. There had been long days and nights when I’d waited for Noel to come home, never knowing if he was detained by business or pleasure. In Vic’s case, I guessed it wasn’t my concern.
    Tears stung my eyes, blurring the printed page. God had been good to me, and I was too quick to feel that I was the only one with problems. I’d failed him numerous times, but other than Herman, he’d never failed me. He’d given me a beautiful, healthy, loving daughter, and I was hiding from her like a hunted animal.
    Shame on you, Marlene . He gave you the responsibility of raising a child. If Sara’s a clinging vine, you have no one to blame but yourself.
    Sad, but true. I couldn’t blame Noel; he’d never been around to help. He sent presents and showered our daughter with attention the few times he decided to make an