Almost Friends by Philip Gulley Read Free Book Online Page B

uncommitted. Krista studied their lists, mentally toting up the years before ordination, and concluded she’d be eligible for retirement before she’d preached her first sermon.
    The Quakers, however, fewer in number and desperate for new members, received her with open arms.
    “We’d be happy to have you attend our seminary,” the dean said, walking around his desk and closing the door, lest a prospective minister escape. “We have grants and loans and work-study programs. We can put you right to work. Several small meetings in the area need pastors. You can have your pick.”
    The Quakers’ desperation should have made her suspicious, but after years of hearing NO! to her dream, Krista’s jubilation was high, her defenses low, and she enrolled on the spot.
    “Classes start the first of September,” the dean told her. “Welcome to seminary.”
    The dean went on, describing the many details of graduate school. Krista took notes, growing dazed by the torrent of information flowing her way.
    He paused. “Any questions?”
    “Where will I live?” Krista asked. “Is there student housing?”
    “Not exactly. But a number of Quakers close to here rent out rooms to our students.” He pulled a paper from the topdrawer of his desk and ran his finger down a list of names. “Hmm, now, let’s see. Frances Drake. No, she’s a bit of a crank…Ginette Wilson. Oh, she passed away. Can’t stay with her.” He dutifully crossed her name off the list. “Here we go. Ruth Marshal has room. I think you’ll get along well with her.” He reached over, picked up his phone, and dialed her number. “Yes, Ruth Marshal, this is Dean Mullen.”
    His destiny apparently determined at birth, the dean of the seminary was aptly named Dean.
    “We have a woman student who needs a room. I thought I’d send her over if you’re still interested.”
    Sitting across the room, Krista could hear Ruth Marshal’s voice over the phone. “Does she smoke?”
    “Do you smoke?” the dean asked Krista.
    “No.”
    “No, she doesn’t smoke,” the dean reported to Ruth Marshal.
    “She doesn’t drink, does she?” Ruth Marshal asked.
    “How about alcohol?” the dean asked.
    “Not so anyone would notice,” Krista said, smiling.
    “She appears quite sober to me,” the dean said over the phone.
    “Well, send her over then,” Ruth Marshal boomed.
    It was only two blocks away, so Krista walked, following the dean’s directions. It was a pleasant walk, down a street tunneled in by oaks and maples. Ruth Marshal lived in an old house, a bit worn around the edges, though the hedges were neatly clipped and the lawn freshly mowed. She was seatedon the porch swing, awaiting Krista’s arrival. She showed her through the front door. The scent reminded Krista of her grandmother’s house—a hint of antique dust, English muffins from breakfast, and Murphy’s Oil soap.
    Ruth guided Krista up a broad walnut staircase that positively gleamed. “You’ll have the whole upstairs. A bedroom, a sitting room, and a bath. It’s all furnished. We’ll share the kitchen and dining room. We clean up after ourselves. And I won’t eat your food in the refrigerator if you don’t eat mine.”
    As they toured the three rooms, Ruth Marshal reeled off more rules, all of which sounded tolerable to Krista, though a little persnickety.
    “You’ll need to close the windows during rainstorms. I do washing on Mondays, so you’ll need to have your dirty clothes and bed linens in the basement next to the washer by eight in the morning. Gentleman visitors are confined to the downstairs living room and can stay no later than nine o’clock. And please don’t use Comet on the tub and sink. It scratches the finish.”
    Krista nodded, beginning to wonder what she’d gotten herself into.
    “Any questions?” Ruth Marshal asked.
    “I think you’ve covered it all, Mrs. Marshal.”
    “Call me Ruth. We Quakers don’t hold with formalities. Oh, and I almost forgot, we