Chapter 4: His Victory

Bill Pierce noticed Carolyn come up from the choir-robing room wearing what was now definitely her best dress. It was flowing, not blatantly announcing her pregnancy, but Gladys had guessed -- in front of half the choir -- the first time she saw it. He moved to a table with two empty chairs. Richard and Judy Grant, their son Pete, and their daughter Marilyn were at the table. Pete was a freshman in high school and Marilyn was a senior, nearly two decades over the age of kids he enjoyed dealing with. Still, he thought it only civil to at least talk with the older kids. And neither looked their age. Marilyn, in particular, was small enough so that he could pick her up and lift her to the ceiling. If he tried, he’d make four enemies, five counting Carolyn, but the physical effort wouldn’t be that great. Pete, heavier and inches taller, could still pass for a sixth grader.

Beatrice was walking now, which meant that she was running. She ran over to him, was lifted up towards the ceiling, and ran back to Lily and the gooey pastry that was the food for this coffee hour. He held a seat for Carolyn and then sat himself. Grace Benton got up to make an announcement. She was one of the perennial honchos of the UMW.

“If I might have your attention, please. The fall Unite Methodist Women rummage sale is coming up. It’s Friday night, November 22nd and Saturday, November 23rd. This year, to make it more convenient for everybody, we are going to start setting up on Wednesday evening. So, bring the clothes and other articles you no longer want Wednesday night after eight and Thursday night after six. That’s Wednesday the 20th and Thursday the 21st. We need help moving tables, so any strong men that can come are needed on Wednesday from six to eight.”

Marilyn, a girl who normally had the sort of pretty smile that so many high-school girls sport, looked agonized and ugly.

“I tried to tell them, dear,” Judy said.

“If only they’d asked.” Marilyn sounded close to tears.

“What’s wrong?” Bill asked. Pretty girls shouldn’t cry, it ruined their faces. Besides, the rummage sale wasn’t a disaster, it marked the season.

“That Wednesday is MYF meeting night -- right here. They’re going to set up the rummage sale -- right here.” The location he knew. He didn’t patronize the sale, seldom even had anything to contribute, but he knew where they held it. For that matter, neither group had all that much choice. “If they’d asked we could have moved our date. It would have been something we contributed, after all. Instead, they waited until after our last meeting to announce that they were taking over. MYF can’t even offer, ‘cause we don’t meet before that night.”

“Well, dear,” Judy said, “I only heard about it last night, myself. I pointed out that there was a conflict, and Grace said that she was sure that the MYF would be glad to cooperate.”

“If she’d asked, we would have. But now I have to call everybody and tell them. Tell them what? I’m not entitled to change the date or location without a vote.” At that point, he remembered that Marilyn was president of the MYF.

“Well,” Carolyn said as they were driving home, “I should get some things together for the sale. Two pairs of jeans, for starters.”

“Would you mind waiting ‘til the next one?”

“Bill, I’m never going to fit into those jeans again, let alone next spring.” Around the time of the spring rummage sale, she’d be nine months pregnant.

“Yeah, but I don’t want to cooperate in any way with pushing kids around. That sucks.”

“Well, I’m sure they didn’t mean anything. They just didn’t think.” He was less sure. Certainly, they may not have known the dates of the MYF meeting. He hadn’t. But Judy had told them, probably at a meeting of the UMW. You can respond, “Conflict, oh we’ll have to adjust”; you can respond, “Conflict, oh they will have to adjust.” And that makes all the difference.

“Fine. Can you hold on to the things for one more season? We still have a large apartment.”

“Sure.”

Still, this would be an unnoticeable bit of noncooperation. He had seldom contributed and never shopped there. He didn’t have many places to wear clothes that weren’t new and fitted to him. Carolyn, who wore jeans and sweatshirts, had bought almost no clothes before her pregnancy -- new or used. After dinner, he got out his typewriter.

Dear Mrs. Benton,
I would be glad to help set up tables for the rummage sale. However, the room won’t be available until the MYF meeting, which occurs on that night, is over. Please have Marilyn Grant, the president of MYF, call me when that meeting is over. I’ll come to help set up then, however late.

He signed it and put his phone number. Then he wrote a cover letter suggesting others join his boycott. He made a list of fathers of high-school age kids from the church directory. He added a couple of personal friends, including Dan. He showed his work to Carolyn.

“One thing I know,” she told him. “You don’t fight the UMW.”

“What are they going to do to me? Keep me off the finance committee?” He’d been asked to serve and had agreed. After all, he’d promised the church some service. If they decided that they didn’t want him, he’d be happy.

“You don’t fight the UMW.” And, of course, she was right. You don’t fight the UMW and win. On the other hand, he wasn’t trying to win. He was saying “Shame on you!”

He took his letters to the office on Monday and had them copied. He bought some envelopes and stamps and addressed them Monday and Tuesday nights. Then he mailed them Wednesday. He’d sent one to Dan, and they were standing together on Sunday when Grace Benton came up to him.

“Really, Bill, you haven’t helped in the past.” Which was true.

“True enough. I’m planning to reform. But I don’t want to stand around Wednesday night waiting for the MYF to end up. They’re a regularly-scheduled meeting -- second Wednesday in the month -- and regularly-scheduled meetings take precedence.” He didn’t say, ‘you old bat,’ but he thought it.

“Well, Dan, you’ll be there, won’t you?”

“Sorry. Gladys told me about the sale, but we both thought set-up would be on Thursday, as it always is. I’ve got something else planned for Wednesday -- class prep.”

“Well, I never...” And she walked away.

“Well,” Dan said, “you kicked over the hornet’s nest that time. How many letters did you send out, anyway?”

“Two dozen, maybe a little less. I’d hoped you’d sign on to my boycott.”

“Gladys is an active member of UMW. She told me I couldn’t. She also told me I had something else to do on Wednesday night. You know, it’s not all that long ago that our kids were active in MYF.”

“So, you’re a passive supporter?”

“So, I have unfortunate but inescapable commitments for that Wednesday night.”

“Since when is class prep inescapable?”

“Gladys suggested washing my hair. I hadn’t thought about an excuse until just now. What’s your dog in that fight, anyway?”

“You don’t push kids around. Washing your hairs would be believable; tell her you wash them one at a time. What do you think the outcome will be?”

“Nobody can tell. I’ll tell you this, I’m by far the younger of the two guys who set up tables last time. And, set-up on Thursday is the way we always do it.” That was a powerful argument -- ‘let’s do it like last time.’

“We’ll see.”

“But, really, if they put it off to Thursday, you really should show up.”

“I will. After all, I can drive Carolyn to choir practice. How much work are we talking about, anyway? Ten tables? What does that take?”

“With the two of us, twenty minutes, max.”

And the decision was that set up for the rummage sale would be Thursday, as usual. When he got Carolyn there, Marilyn was there with Doug, another MYF member. Andy Taylor, a new kid from MYF, and Dan and Gladys showed up before they actually began work. Bruce Ferguson, a stooped, white-haired man was there, too, but he didn’t insist on carrying tables. Dan, who’d done it before with Bruce, got them organized.

“Doug, why don’t you work with me? You – Andy, is it? -- can work with Bill. Mrs. Benton, why don’t you stand where you want the next table to go.” Copying Dan’s method, Bill held the table on its end while Andy pulled out and locked its legs. Then he swung it over and set it down. They each took an end and carried it to where it was needed. Natural competitiveness set in, and the two teams raced discreetly. Mrs. Benton was hard pressed to get to the next location before the table did. In the end, there were twelve tables arranged to Mrs. Benton’s wishes. Doug disappeared out the door when the heavy work was done. Bill suspected he was afraid of being assigned to sorting clothes. He walked over to where Marilyn and Andy were in conversation.