Outside the church the light was beginning to fade, and there was a little breeze. But it was dark down in the basement and the recessed ceiling lights had been switched on.
The five members of the ministerial relations board were there along with the assembly director from Greeley, a middle-aged man with bifocal glasses. He was wearing a white shirt and tie but it was a warm evening and he had draped his coat over a chair. They all sat around one of the long tables that had been unfolded and set up.
The director had opened the meeting with a prayer and then they had begun to discuss Reverend Lyle. The board wanted to put this outrage and unhappiness and disruption behind them, they wanted Lyle to be replaced, to be discharged and not to be allowed to preach in Holt again.
Maybe he doesn’t even want to, one board member said. He wasn’t here this last Sunday.
No, he was here, one of the others said. He just didn’t do any preaching.
Would you be willing to allow him to stay, the director said, if I talked to him and he agreed to avoid this kind of controversy?
I don’t want to take the chance, the first man said. There’s no knowing what he’ll say when he gets up in the pulpit. You can’t trust him. He could say anything.
But I think he would be willing to make some kind of promise if I talk to him.
I don’t even want to try.
What about the rest of the board here?
They looked back at the director, in his tie and white shirt, and didn’t say anything.
I’ve spoken to him by phone, he said, but I haven’t seen him yet. Does he look pretty bad? I understand he was attacked.
Attacked. I wouldn’t call it that, another man said.
What would you call it? I heard two men stopped him at night and beat him.
He was out wandering around town at night, looking in people’s houses. What would you expect? After what he said in church.
And you think that justifies what those men did. Settling the score for the whole town, so to speak.
I’m not saying that. Did I say that?
But they did hurt him.
A little. Not much. I don’t think he was hurt very bad.
That makes it all right then.
No. Somebody roughed him up. We know that. But nobody knows who. If anybody knows who it was they aren’t saying. And he never made any complaint or accusation to the police. It wasn’t much anyway.
So he’s all right now. He’s not seriously hurt.
He’s able to talk at least, the first man said. Like we said, he came to church last Sunday and spoke a little.
What did he say?
I wasn’t there. I heard he just said that he didn’t have anything more to say. He told people to go home. It wasn’t a sermon.
It was then that Willa and Alene Johnson opened the basement door and looked in at the board members and the director.
Yes? the chairman said. We’re meeting here, Willa. This is a board meeting.
We know you’re meeting. That’s why we’re here.
But you’re not on the board. This is a private conference.
I know, Tom. I’ve been on the board myself. Before you were even a member of the church, when you were still just a little boy scurrying around here in the basement bothering people.
She and her daughter stepped into the room and shut the door. Willa was carrying her purse. Otherwise they had nothing with them. They came up to the table where the five men and the director were sitting, watching them.
I want to talk to you, Willa said.
But you shouldn’t even be here, the chairman said. I’ve already told you. You must see that.
I know what the rules say, but we’re here nevertheless.
Let’s let her speak, the director said. If you don’t mind, I’d like to hear her.
But this isn’t the normal way, the chairman said. This isn’t official now. We’re going off record now.
Have we met before? the director said, looking at Willa.
Yes, but you don’t remember. I’m Mrs. Willa Johnson and this is my daughter Alene Johnson. We’re both longtime members of this church.
It’s good to see you. Will you sit down?
I don’t think so. I don’t expect we’ll be here long enough to bother with chairs. We know what you’re doing here.