Leaving Fishers by Margaret Peterson Haddix
“It is!” some in the crowd cried out.
“We modern Americans, we like to sit around and stew about everything that’s wrong with the world. ‘Oh, no, there’s pollution.’ ‘Oh, no, the unemployment rate’s too high.’ ‘Oh, no, I’ve got a history paper due; it’s supposed to be twenty-five pages long and I’ll actually have to go to the library to do some research.’”
Several people tittered as Pastor Jim made a mock mournful face. “Oh, yes, you can laugh—but you students out there, you know you say things like that!”
More laughter. Pastor Jim thumped his hand against the podium. “I don’t want to imply that there aren’t real problems in this world—there are, and we as Fishers have an obligation to be concerned about them. But we also have an obligation to rejoice over all the good things God has given us. We have all the food we need, we have all the clothes we need—some of you girls out there have more clothes than you need, but we won’t get into that right now—” Pastor Jim chuckled, and the crowd laughed along with him. “You get the point. And those are just material things. We all know the greatest gift of all is Jesus, who died for our sins . . . .”
Dorry started to tune out Pastor Jim. This was the same old church stuff she’d gotten back in Bryden. She glanced over at Angela, who was listening raptly, her head tilted, in total concentration. Everyone else around her seemed just as fascinated. The crowd that had been so raucous before was absolutely transfixed now.
Then the crowd laughed at something Pastor Jim said, and several people shouted out, “Amen, brother.” It reminded Dorry of TV church services—shows she bypassed quickly, flipping through the channels on dull Sunday mornings. She didn’t need much imagination to picture Pastor Jim as a TV preacher. Could all these people really have fallen for his act? Dorry looked around again, watching the smiling faces, the radiant expressions. Was something wrong with Dorry that she wasn’t transfixed, too?
Pastor Jim finished with a prayer and went to sit down. A trio sang while a bunch of people passed wicker baskets for the collections. Angela leaned over to Dorry and whispered, “Don’t worry. New people aren’t expected to put anything in. Only believers.”
Dorry hadn’t planned to put anything in, anyway.
After that, Brother Paul stood again, and led the crowd in several more songs. Almost against her will, Dorry felt the rising joy again. For as long as the singing lasted, she felt a kinship with everyone in the room. They were all part of one thing, the same song. Dorry joined in again, tentatively at first, then stronger. Angela smiled at her.
This time when Brother Paul brought the singing to a close, he stood still for a few moments, as if in awe. The entire room was silent. No one coughed or whispered or, it seemed, moved at all. Dorry could hear the hum of the room’s ventilation unit. “I felt the Spirit in your singing,” Brother Paul said softly. Then with a flourish, he shouted, “Rejoice!” He thrust his right arm high in the air, as if raising a sword.
That one word seemed to break the spell in the room. People stood up, began to chatter. Someone tapped Dorry on the shoulder. “Hello. Are you a friend of Angela’s? I’m Susan.”
“I’m Joyce,” someone else said. “Glad you could come.”
Dorry lost track of names after that, but at least a dozen people greeted her and introduced themselves.
“Are you going to Fellowship Hour?” one of the girls said. Dorry thought her name was Elizabeth.
“Want to?” Angela asked. “It’s coffee, juice, and doughnuts. Stuff like that.” Dorry looked at her watch. Her parents were expecting her home for Sunday dinner, and it was already eleven. If Fellowship Hour really lasted an hour, she’d be late. “We don’t have to stay long,” Angela said.
“Okay,” Dorry agreed. She followed the others out of the auditorium into another room with a fancy glass chandelier. There were two tables with coffee, tea, several juices, doughnut holes, and cut-up fruit. Several chairs were scattered about the room, but most people were standing. Everyone seemed to be with lifelong friends, chattering away happily. Dorry felt a pang. How long would it take her to be that comfortable with her friends? But Angela and Joyce and Susan and the others surrounded her, laughing and talking all at once. They all seemed to know each other already, but they wanted to know everything about Dorry.
“Angela said you just moved here from Ohio?” Susan asked.
“Yes,” Dorry said. Then it was easy to talk, to tell her story and let the others sympathize. They all got doughnuts and juice. It was a happy moment.
Suddenly Pastor Jim was beside her. “Dorry!” he said, touching her arm lightly. “I’m so glad you could come. What did you think of the service?”
Dorry tried to find a good answer. How could she tell a minister she wasn’t really into religion? Then, as if prompting an awkward preschooler, Angela said, “You seemed to like the music a lot.”
“Yes,” Dorry said. “I did.”
Pastor Jim nodded appreciatively. “It was awe-inspiring this morning, wasn’t it? Sometimes 1 think that’s the closest we’ll ever get to heaven on earth, listening to wonderful music. Do you sing or play any musical instruments?”
“No,” Dorry said. “My sister’s the musical one. My dad refused to pay for lessons for me because he said I’d just quit when I discovered boys. That’s what my sister did.” Now, why had she said that? It made her dad sound like an ogre. Which he wasn’t, of course.
Pastor Jim was nodding sympathetically. “It’s tough being a parent,” he said. “And it’s tough following siblings who sometimes seem to mess up your chances for, shall we say, the riches of life.”
“Oh, it wasn’t that bad,” Dorry hastened to add. “By the time I came along, my parents were just plain tired. They thought they were done raising children. I was a mistake.” Dorry said it flippantly. She wanted to be as joking and casual as everybody else at the Fellowship Hour. But Pastor Jim gave her a look aching with compassion.
“Oh, you should never say that, even in jest,” he said. “Even if your earthly parents didn’t intend your existence, God did. He must have a special purpose in mind for you. Remember Sarah and Abraham? The child God gave them in their old age was the blessing of their lives, and the beginning of the entire Hebrew people.”
Dorry had to look away from his strange, piercing eyes. She couldn’t remember exactly who Sarah and Abraham were, but hearing Pastor Jim tell her that God had a special purpose for her made her feel funny. Her heart beat fast and her face felt hot. She wanted to say, “Oh, no, it never bothered me that I was a mistake,” but suddenly it seemed that it always had. And maybe Pastor Jim had now cured that hurt she’d carried around all her life, without even realizing it. Why had her parents said that to her—“You were a mistake”? Didn’t they know how it would hurt? Why hadn’t they told her she had a special purpose?
Pastor Jim lay his hand gently on Dorry’s shoulder.
“Bless you,” he said tenderly. “You’ll be back.”
Chapter
Seven
TWO WEEKS LATER, DORRY SAT IN A VAN with Brad and Angela and a bunch of other kids riding to the Fishers Annual Fall Retreat.
“Come on—you’ll have fun,” Angela had said, inviting her in the hall between classes one day.
It was a constant refrain, the line that had lured Dorry to two weeks’ worth of Fishers parties and pizza dinners and even a repeat of the Sunday service. Regardless of what she thought about religion, Dorry was usually easily persuaded. Anything beat sitting in the apartment alone while her parents worked. Even the retreat seemed perfectly timed—it fell on a weekend when both her parents were working Saturday. Still, Dorry hesitantly protested, “But I’m not really a Fisher. . . .”
Angela playfully slugged her. “Oh, that doesn’t matter. We like you. Remember?”
She could hardly forget, they reminded her so often. Dorry liked her new friends—of course she did—but she still thought they were a little strange. She’d noticed the other kids at Cre
Now Angela was leaning toward the window, “Just wait till you see the Lakeland Hills lodge. Oh! There it is—”
Dorry turned and stared. The building in front of them was stunning. Nestled among a grove of trees vibrant with autumn colors, the lodge had balconies on every level and gingerbread trim on the roof. It looked very expensive. She wondered how Fishers could put on the retreat “totally free,” as Angela had assured her.
“Come on.” Angela tugged on Dorry’s arm. “Inside’s even nicer.” Everyone else was climbing out of the van, mingling with kids from the other three vans that had driven behind them. Except for Brad and Angela, she didn’t know anyone else. She thought she’d seen a couple of the kids at Fishers services, but she wasn’t sure.
“I’ll get your suitcase,” Brad said.
“What about your own?” Dorry asked, even as she felt a thrill of pleasure that he seemed more concerned about her than himself.
“My own? I travel light, my dear,” Brad said in his joking tone. “I have the clothes on my back—what more do I need?”
“Everything you dropped off last night,” Angela said, laughing.
As they all jumped out of the van, the door of the lodge swung open and Pastor Jim stepped out. “Welcome, all,” he proclaimed. “Let the fall retreat begin!”
It was so formal Dorry had to laugh, and so did several others. She smiled at a shy-looking boy with glasses and he smiled back. She felt her already-high spirits zoom skyward. She took a deep breath of the crisp fall air and felt like she was inhaling pure joy.
“Come in, come in,” Pastor Jim urged.
They all traipsed in. The main floor of the lodge was open, with sliding-glass doors at the back leading to a deck. Dorry gasped at the view beyond: a deep, heavily wooded ravine. It was incredible. She hadn’t known that flat, flat Indiana had such scenery.
Pastor Jim let the full impact of the sight sink in before speaking. “Do you know each other well after the drive?”
People muttered no’s.
He shook his head sorrowfully. “And you’re all such wonderful people. . . . Janelle here is a talented musician who has the voice of an angel. I’ve heard that Sam is a better joke teller than any so-called comedians on TV. Dorry just moved here from a small town in Ohio, Bryden, and she’s already gladdening the hearts of her many new friends at Crestwood High . . .”
He went on naming names and giving brief descriptions, touching each person lightly on the arm as he went around the room. He seemed to know everyone well. Dorry concentrated on matching names and faces. The boy with glasses who’d smiled at her outside was introduced as Zachary, and he was billed as a scientific genius.
“Anyone remember everyone’s name?” Pastor Jim asked at the end.
Dorry thought she did. But before she could decide if she was going to speak up, Pastor Jim went on.
“Anyone remember just one other person’s name?”
“Sure,” several people said.
“Janelle, then,” Pastor Jim said. “Say your name and one other.”
“I’m Janelle,” she said, and pointed, “and that’s Bob.”
Then Bob named himself and Janelle and Lisa. Then it was Lisa’s turn. The group went on, adding one name to the list every time. Dorry came in at about the eleventh name, and managed to name everyone without embarrassing herself. The group broke into applause for the last person, a girl named Sarah, who rattled off the names without pausing for breath.
“You forgot someone,” Pastor Jim said, clowning a pout and pointing to himself.
“Oops—and that’s Pastor Jim,” Sarah said.
“So it’s my turn now,” Pastor Jim said. He went around saying everyone’s name again slowly. His resonant voice caressed each word. Dorry felt bad for having thought he was like a TV evangelist, someone who stood in a studio somewhere and pretended he was talking to real people, not blank air. Pastor Jim obviously cared deeply about each one of them. If Dorry ever had a boyfriend, she’d want him to say her name the way Pastor Jim did. “And there’s still one name we’ve left out,” Pastor Jim said. “Does anybody know it?”
Everyone looked around, puzzled.
“An important name,” Pastor Jim added.
“God,” Zachary said. “Or Jesus.”
“Close,” Pastor Jim said. “The Holy Spirit. The part of the Trinity that is with us always. When He appeared to his disciples after his death, Jesus promised they would never be alone, and it is the Holy Spirit that true believers can rely on always.”
Pastor Jim went on about the Holy Spirit at some length, but it didn’t seem like a sermon or a lecture. It was more like he was sharing news that mattered a great deal to him, and he was eager for everyone else to know it, too. For once, Dorry didn’t mind hearing about religion. She wondered what it was like to be Pastor Jim, so sure that he was never alone.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. There were other games and skits and a hike in the woods and pizza for dinner. Then there were more games and a late-night snack of popcorn and hot chocolate. Nobody seemed to want to go to bed. By 1 a.m. they were all sitting around the lodge fireplace talking about God.
“Do you ever wonder how God could really be in charge of everything?” a girl named Danielle asked. “What’s it called? Omni-something.”
“Omnipotent,” Brad supplied the word, and pretended to take a mini bow for his own brilliance.
“See, that’s where I have my problems with God,” said another girl, Moira. “I think I’d like Him better if He weren’t in charge.”
“Why?” Angela asked.
“Because there are so many bad things in the world. Think about people dying of AIDS, or cancer, or starving to death in Africa. If God’s really in charge, and He’s supposed to be a good guy, how come there’s so much suffering?”
Everyone was silent. Dorry waited for Pastor Jim to answer from the back of the crowd where he was lounging. She was curious what he’d say. But the next voice wasn’t Pastor Jim’s resonant one.
“It’s because of free choice,” Zachary said. His voice was thin and reedy, but echoed in the huge lodge. “You know, after Eve ate from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, God gave humans the power to make choices in their lives. It naturally follows that if some of our choices are bad, bad things happen.” He shrugged, as if it were just an academic point.
“So if bad things happen to you, it’s your fault?” Moira said. She was sitting up straight now. “My little brother got leukemia, and was on chemotherapy for a long time and then . . . then he died anyway. What did a six-year-old do that he deserved to die?” She ended with a whimper that was almost crying.
Because he was right behind her, Dorry heard Zachary’s answer: “No, I don’t mean it was your brother’s fault. Maybe it was the fault of everybody else, society as a whole, that we haven’t worked hard enough to find a cure for cancer. Why do we spend so much on, I don’t know, sports, when the same money could save a lot of lives?”
Dorry had never thought of things that way. She wondered if Zachary was right. But she didn’t think many others heard him because Angela was speaking, her voice ringing clearly through the lodge.
“We all deserve to die,” she said. “The Bible says, ‘All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.’ Even six-year-olds. E
Now Moira really was crying. “So God did kill my brother.”
“No,” Angela said, more gently. “Death happens because of evil. God offers us a way out of evil, a chance to live with Him forever without sin. All we must do is accept Jesus’ gift of salvation.”
The lodge was quiet again, except for Moira’s sobs. Dorry looked around. The others all sat frozen, looking uncomfortable. Dorry thought everyone must be feeling the same as she was: embarrassed at witnessing Moira’s grief, not sure what to do. She wished there were something she could say to help.
And then, suddenly, Moira’s sobs ceased. “I feel—I see it—Oh my God!” She breathed in sharply.
“What? What?” several kids said at once.
Moira didn’t answer. Her face had gone very pale. Her dark eyes were unfocused, as if she were gazing far beyond the crowd and the lodge. She inhaled again, but slowly and steadily this time, ending with a beatific smile. Her eyes slid closed and she dropped her head as if in a trance. Then, slowly, she opened her eyes again. “Yes,” she breathed, still smiling peacefully. Her eyes were focused now, but she seemed oblivious to everyone’s stares.
“What happened?” Angela said.
“I think I saw . . . I saw God,” Moira said calmly. “He spoke to me. He said . . . I can’t really explain. It wasn’t like words.”
“But what did it feel like?” Angela persisted.
“Love,” Moira said. “He told me He loves me.”
Dorry couldn’t believe her eyes. How could someone go from crying that hard to being totally calm so suddenly? For Moira seemed absolutely at peace. A nuclear bomb could land at her feet, Dorry thought, and she’d go to her death still smiling that tranquil smile.
But just as abruptly as she’d changed before, Moira suddenly gasped, her smile gone. She held her hand over her face. “Oh, no,” she moaned. “Oh, no. He can’t love me—”