Chapter 18: The Fellowship Hall

The fellowship hall of Marilyn's church smelled of burnt coffee and ham salad.

Two hundred people in their Saturday best sat at long folding tables under a banner that said Building Our Future.

Marilyn stood at the lectern up front in a lavender suit and her pearls.

The pastor stood beside her, a gray-haired man holding a folded program, smiling at the room.

Dot and I came in through the side door, and found two seats at the back beside a woman with a plate of deviled eggs.

"You sure?" Dot whispered.

"Hush."

"I'm only asking because there are a lot of casseroles in here."

I almost smiled, and sat very straight instead.

Marilyn thanked the kitchen committee, and the youth group, and the Lord.

Then she put both hands on the lectern.

"Friends, the Bledsoe family has been blessed," she said. "We have had a trial this week, and I won't pretend we haven't."

The room made a low sympathetic sound.

"But a trial shows us what we're for. My son and I prayed on it, and we decided to give back."

She lifted a white envelope.

"In the name of the Bledsoe family, we are pledging three hundred thousand dollars to the new sanctuary."

The hall burst into applause.

People turned to their neighbors. A man near the front wiped his eyes.

The pastor reached for Marilyn's hand, and she bowed her head to receive the praise.

I stood up.

I hadn't planned the first words, and they came out plain.

"That money was my father's."

The applause faltered, and then stopped.

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