Keeping Secrets by Linda Byler

pale, opened the door. Sadie looked at her closely, noticing the swelling of her eyes. Was it just the warm summer weather?
    “You okay?” she asked.
    “Course, why wouldn’t I be all right?” Anna said, her voice strained. Hoarse? Had she been crying?
    Erma Keim thumped her way upstairs, and Anna pushed past Sadie, quickly disappearing down the stairway.
    Sadie and Erma entered the bathroom together, Erma saying quite loudly, “Something smells bad! Eww! Someone threw up or something!”
    Sadie winced, never knowing Erma to be tactful. She sniffed, then pushed aside the lace curtains to open the window wider.
    “How can you tell?” she asked.
    “I just can. Hey, my job at the produce market is coming to an end in September. Do they need someone down at Aspen East, where you work? I need to get serious about a job.”
    Sadie smiled to herself, knowing they were not supposed to discuss business or monetary concerns on a Sunday. But typical Erma, speaking loudly what was on her mind, no matter the day or the circumstances.
    “I can check for you.”
    At the thought of Erma Keim and Dorothy Sevarr together in one kitchen, Sadie resigned herself to culinary war, with Dorothy defending her kingdom as queen of the domain, and the invading Erma trying to steal the crown in the first week.
    The room was becoming quite warm. Women groped in their pockets for a square of folded, white handkerchief, lowering their faces to wipe discreetly at the perspiration beading their foreheads.
    Little boys sat patiently beside their fathers, their bare feet swinging, their bangs dark with sweat, as the fathers swiped at their collars, loosening them slightly. The tired and restless babies grew too uncomfortable to sleep, while mothers patiently held them, their eyes a picture of submission.
    The second speaker, a shy young minister who had only been ordained a few years ago, droned on. His monotone voice led the older men down a ramp slick with sleepiness, lassitude, then sleep, until they jerked back to consciousness—and embarrassment.
    The minister did the best he could, Dat said. The Lord had chosen him, and someday, he’d overcome his quietness and shyness. Dat always had a soft spot for Phares Schlabach, who Dat said was truly humble, a good servant in the Lord’s vineyard. And don’t you kid yourself; if you paid attention, he said some profoundly interesting things, pointing out bits of Scripture no one else thought about.
    Dat was like that. He respected and admired the quiet ones. The simple men of the community who struggled to make a living were often overlooked. They stayed in the background, smiling, and thoroughly enjoying the more talented storytellers who drew all the attention.
    Dat said his girls would do well to marry a man like Phares.
    After services, Sadie helped set the long tables with the Sunday dinner they always ate at church. The women spread long, snowy white tablecloths on benches elevated by wooden racks to form tables. For each place setting, they supplied a small plate for pie, a cup, knife and fork, and a water glass. Along with plates of sliced, homemade bread, the women served butter, jam, cheese, peanut-butter spread, pies, pickles, sweetened little red beets, and plates of ham.
    It was the traditional meal at every church service, and so delicious each time. It was more like a snack or a hurried lunch. There were no elaborate dishes. They did no cooking, except to make a large pot of coffee. But it was a church dinner, a taste of home and community, a meal shared after services, as talk and laughter moved among the good food. Everyone ate hungrily and revived their spirits.
    Sadie and her sisters washed dishes, filled water glasses, served coffee, whatever was necessary. They talked with their friends as they held fussy babies so mothers could sit down to eat in peace.
    Erma Keim dashed among the tables, every movement well calculated, the picture of efficiency. Sadie couldn’t help but wonder