“I started walking from the bus station, flat broke, no idea where I was or where I was headed. My feet were plumb ready to give out. When I was sure I couldn’t take another step, the Lord sent me that sign I’d asked for. A swan, wings spread wide, appeared in the sky above me, circling and swooping, guiding me straight to Redeemer Baptist.”
Evangeline pressed and wiggled the tip of the iron down the length of the fabric, moving in long strokes, pressing it until she was satisfied.
“The pastor of the church at that time, Reverend Moore, was just locking up when I showed up. He saw me out by the parking lot and invited me in to rest my feet. After he gave me some tea, in this very room, he asked, ‘You wouldn’t know anything about looking after a church, would you?’ and I said I thought I was up to that.”
We folded the ironed cloth, each of us holding an end. “His housekeeper had passed just that month. She’d looked after the church for him too. I’ve been here at Redeemer ever since. When Reverend Moore died last year, he left me his house and put in his will that I was to always have a place here at the church.”
Evangeline unplugged the iron. I moved to the floor and sat cross-legged, letting her have the armchair. She sat down and put her feet up on one of the metal chairs next to the table.
“When Reverend Love came to take over, he kept me on to look after the church. This spring he surprised me some and asked if I was interested in leading the choir.”
Evangeline wrinkled her nose as if she could smell something not quite nice. “That’s riled up a few folks, I gather, but for the first time in my life, I’m doing something I love doing. Music has lifted my pains and smoothed out the rough places, and if I can bring that to others, then it is my pleasure and my calling.”
She patted the arms of the chair with both hands. “The good Lord meant for me to do it. That’s why he sent me that swan. This old world is full of signs and wonder, if you pay attention.”
The sun was starting to lean toward late afternoon, and Evangeline shooed me out, waving her hands. “You best get home before Bernice calls out the police. You come on and see me tomorrow morning. We’ll get started attaching sleeves and sewing these up.”
Back at the house, Aunt Bernie was making green bean casserole in her stocking feet. She would fry my butt like hamburger if she knew I’d spent the afternoon with a bunch of swans. Aunt Bernie was always after me about my lollygagging and would have pitched a fork into the hay if she’d known how close Mr. Cobb had come to pecking my eyes out.
Aunt Bernie put the casserole into the oven. She folded napkins on the table for supper, and then, as if she could read my mind like the Amazing Kreskin on television, she said as casual as you please, “Ray telephoned this afternoon. He’s driving down to visit on Sunday.”
Aunt Bernie and Reverend Love were always saying the Lord works in mysterious ways. I didn’t know if it was true or not, but maybe Evangeline was right, Mama. The world was full of signs and wonders. I just had to pay attention.
17
c-o-n-c-a-t-e-n-a-t-e
concatenate (adj.)
linked together; connected
The heat wave in Shepherdsville continued with no letup. Aunt Bernie said it was drier than she could remember it ever being before—the earth parched, the cornfields browning. Everybody talked about the energy crisis nonstop—how we couldn’t use electricity or turn on the fans because President Carter said not to. It was practically a sin to use an air conditioner.
Evangeline would have none of it. She had three fans going in the vestry, with two electric sewing machines set up on tables. “Lordy-be, it’s hot.” Sweat beaded on her forehead, shining like diamonds.
Over the next three days Faith and I settled into a routine.
We wrangled fabric into the clunky old sewing machines, doing our best to make neat rows of stitches, our feet pressed on the pedals. Evangeline showed us the trick of winding bobbins and how to keep the fabric flat as we worked. The air was thick as we poked multicolored threads through the eyes of needles and learned to run stitches up the clear tracks of the seam lines traced onto the cloth.
Evangeline taught us church hymns, folk music, and—best of all—Supremes songs. Diana Ross had nothing on Evangeline, Mama. Her voice poured into the vestry, as good as anybody on the radio. Faith sang along, rocking back and forth, playing a pretend piano—our own personal choir.
We sewed every day until lunchtime, then had sandwiches and Cokes at the picnic tables. Evangeline helped us pick dandelions and field violets and put them into tin cans for centerpieces, giving the rickety old outdoor furniture some beauty.
Every afternoon Evangeline called “quittin’ time” when the heat became too much to bear. She would fold everything up, pack her cooler into the trunk of her beat-up VW bug, and putt-putt down the road, her rusty tailpipe talking back the whole way.
After Evangeline left each day, Faith headed upstairs to wait for Reverend Love, who worked in his office each afternoon, conquering his sermon for Sunday. I would wait fifteen minutes or so, hovering near Maybelle. When the coast was clear, I’d hide my bike in the bushes and head down the field and over the fence to Mr. Cobb, Penny Lane, and the babies.
I’d filched an old Tupperware container from Aunt Bernie’s kitchen, and I would fill it with bread, cereal, or biscuits—anything I could stash away when Aunt Bernie wasn’t looking. She made mention of my seemingly unending appetite. “Where do you put it all? My land.”
The swans grew more comfortable with me, even seemed happy to see me when I arrived. Even though we were different species, I took this as a sign that we were becoming friends. They would greet me, pirouetting and dancing in the water like ballet dancers in unison, the little ones following, pattering in circles nearby.
Mr. Cobb became brave enough to eat out of my hand. I tossed the contents of the Tupperware to the rest of his swan family—who had become more courageous, more certain I meant them no harm.
Mr. Cobb patrolled his territory like a soldier when he wasn’t feeding. Always distracted with mothering, Penny would let bread crumbs fall from her beak as she tended to her brood. Mr. Cobb and Penny remained on watch as the cygnets came closer to feed on the morsels I left them on the ground.
After a while I could tell the cygnets apart. I took out my notebook and drew pencil sketches of them, trying to capture their personalities.
There was a bold one with light feathers that I named Feisty. A smaller pink-footed finicky one, I called Trouble. The two who were always quarreling became Nip and Tuck, and my very favorite was little Lonely-Heart, the shyest of all.
They grew used to my presence, and we became accustomed to each other’s ways. As the swans went about their business, sometimes I lay back, head on my Bible bag, with my eyes closed, listening to their tiny bustlings and occasional splashes. Once in a while I napped, dreaming of you, Mama—and Ray, or that I was at home at Lilac Court, or onstage at the spelling bee, words circling in my brain.
Sometimes my dreams got twisted up. Aunt Bernie would be in the trailer with us, or Ray would appear, preaching like Reverend Love at the pulpit at Redeemer. Evangeline appeared in the audience while I tried to spell out the word “cookies” and couldn’t remember how to. Sometimes you sat with me on the porch of the farmhouse, not saying a word, pointing at your throat as if you couldn’t speak either, and I would wake up in a sweat, my heart beating in my ears.
Friday afternoon, just as I situated myself into the tree limb with my notebook, Faith found me.
I sat up, startled by the sudden noise of the birds’ rustling. The swans were out on the island nest when she appeared. Mr. Cobb’s wings raised in alarm. He eyed her warily.
“Dulcie?” She didn’t see me as she made her way into the clearing. I stiffened and froze, hoping she’d go away. Her voice grew louder. “Are you back there?”
I stood, angry to have been frightened—but most of all, disappointed to be discovered in the place I’d claimed for my v
ery own. Faith spotted me and headed in my direction.
“What are you doing all the way in here?”
She blundered her way to me, the dry skunkweed scratching at her ankles.
“I thought I saw you go over the fence. What on earth . . .”
Mr. Cobb swam directly for the shoreline, his feet beating the water in a beeline toward her. He expanded his wings and approached Faith, meaning to throttle her good.
Faith’s eyes grew wider as he got closer.
She squealed, “Eeeeeeeeeee!” like she was at a pig-calling contest, until I put my finger to my lips, signaling for her to pipe down.
I moved closer to her and motioned for her to stand as I was—still, arms extended wide. She did as I did, whispering, “Shoo. Go away. Go on. Please?”
Mr. Cobb lowered his wings and waddled over to me—protecting me, as if I were part of his territory.
Faith stood still, too afraid to move. Mr. Cobb flounced into the water, his job done. “Can I stop doing this now?” she whined.
I nodded, lowered my arms, and sat back down on the tree limb, waiting for my heart to return to its normal pace. She picked her way through the overgrowth and sat near the weeping willow. Faith assessed the place, taking in the light and the stirring of the leaves. Her voice was soft as her eyes swept over my secret place. “The swan nest. The one Evangeline talked about. This it?”
I nodded, but I sent her a message. Secret, until now. She held up her hand. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anybody you were back here.”
Faith rose and pulled long pieces of grass from the edge of the pond. When she had gathered a handful, she sat again and leaned against the base of the tree.
“Preacher-man told me to make myself useful. He’s in there sweating over his typewriter. Wouldn’t it be awful to have to come up with something to say to people every single week? Like that telephone game. Where you have to tell what the person next to you said. Except he’s trying to tell everybody what God said, wondering if he got it right.”
She wove the grass, overlapping the long strands into a green band. “I saw you taking off for the fence, and I followed you. I wondered where you were going. Thought maybe you were running away or something.” She turned her head and looked up at me, teasing, “You’re trespassing, you know.”
I rolled my eyes. Faith spied my notebook. It had fallen to the ground when she’d startled me, my drawing of the swans smudged. “Can I see?”
She read the names of the babies out, sounding out the names slowly, squinting at the words with effort. I don’t think Faith read much, Mama.
“Lonely-Heart.” She pointed at tiny Lonely-Heart out on the nest. “The one that’s at the tail end. All by herself? Let’s see. Nip and Tuck. Those two.” They were easy to spot, pecking at each other in a constant battle.
“Trouble. That’s the one who’s plucking his feathers, and Feisty . . .” She pointed. “He’s the one that’s going back and forth.” Her face softened. “You drew them real good.”
Faith handed me back my notebook, the green woven band a bookmark in the pages.
We watched the swans for a while, the magic of the place releasing Faith’s true nature—the sadness that floated around her like a rain cloud. I thought of her in the church basement and the night she had slept there alone. All of her toughness seemed to melt away here with the swans.
Penny circled up the cygnets and pushed them onto the nest. “That’s the Mama, huh?”
I nodded, and wrote, Penny Lane is her name, in my notebook and showed it to her.
“Like the Beatles song?” She rocked back and leaned on her elbows.
After a bit she turned over onto her stomach and looked at me.
“Preach told me about your mama.” She poked the earth with a stick. “About what happened.”
Faith took a breath and revealed her own secret, saying it quick, like she had to get it over with. “I haven’t seen my mom since I was, like, eight. She took off with some guy, and I haven’t seen her since.” She threw the stick into the tall grass. Hard.
“I don’t forgive her. I hate her.”
Her face darkened, splotchy places etched on her face. “I hate hating somebody I’m supposed to love.”
Then, like an unexpected thunderclap, Faith broke into hard sobs. She rose to her knees and put her hands in front of her face, her shoulders hunched. I dropped down beside her and put my hand on her back. She shrugged me off and wiped her eyes, as tough as ever. “It’s no big deal.”
But I could tell it was, Mama. Her mother broke her heart and left her all alone in this world. Faith and me were more alike than I ever thought possible.
If the angels in heaven could have looked down, Mama, they would have seen us, kneeling by the water’s edge, our sorrows sewing us together like Evangeline’s glistening thread.
18
a-f-f-i-n-i-t-y
affinity (n.)
similarity of structure; family resemblance; a natural liking or sympathy
On Saturday, Aunt Bernie planned a day of cobbler-making and Jell-O molding. The transistor radio in the kitchen, tuned to WGOD, played scratchy hymns. As I finished breakfast, Aunt Bernie pulled tins of flour and boxes of gelatin out of the cupboards, readying her weapons for an all-out assault on the taste buds of Shepherdsville.
A knock at the side door made us both jump, neither of us expecting company. Aunt Bernie dried her hands off on her apron. “Land sakes alive, who’s come all the way out here?” She peeked through the window curtain. A sigh escaped as she opened the door.
Faith stood on the steps, in cutoffs and a T-shirt, a man’s handkerchief tied around her head. “Dulcie here?”
Aunt Bernie sputtered, “Well, she is . . . but . . .”
Faith whooshed past her, budging her way through the door. “Preacher-man drove me over.”
Aunt Bernie eyed Faith as if she were a wasp that had gotten in. A wasp she meant to swat.
Faith winked at me. “We got big plans today.”
Aunt Bernie surveyed my face.
I didn’t know what Faith was talking about.
“Don’t worry, Aunt Bernie. It’s all on the up-and-up. We’re going to the Bolt and Spool to get sewing needles. Evangeline needs ’em.”
Faith scooted up onto the countertop and sat, grabbing a piece of bacon from the paper-towel-covered plate Aunt Bernie had left by the stove.
“Reverend Love took Mary to the doctor. She’s been having pains.”
A vein throbbed on Aunt Bernie’s forehead. Faith knew just how to get into Aunt Bernie’s good graces. A little gossip. She dangled information like a worm on a hook.
“Yep, she was feeling sick as a dog last night. Her ankles puffed up something awful.”
Aunt Bernie took the bait, the worm wiggling all the way down. “Poor thing. That baby is apt to come anytime now.”
Faith jumped down and grabbed my hand. “Come on. Let’s hit the road.” She glanced at the Grateful Dead T-shirt hanging down below my knees. “Get dressed. Shepherdsville ain’t ready for that git-up.”
Aunt Bernie agreed with Faith. “Yes, please. Go on upstairs and change . . .”—she paused and let out a poof of air—“into something respectable.”
Faith leaned against the counter. “So, she can come?” She arranged her face to pretend-seriousness. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t get into any trouble. I promise.”
Aunt Bernie shook her head, aiming to say no. “Well . . .”
Faith made doe eyes.
Aunt Bernie bent and folded in the gale force of Faith. “Oh, all right, then. Get on with you.”
Faith followed me to my room and flounced onto the bed. “I just made all that up. Last thing Evangeline needs is sewing stuff. I swiped five dollars off Preacher-man’s dresser.” She rolled onto her stomach, feet in the air. “Let’s go spend it.”
I tilted my head and bugged out my eyes, hoping she got my drift. Juvie hall is your next stop, if you don’t watch it.
&nb
sp; Faith pooh-poohed me. “Don’t be such a worrywart. He won’t even notice.”
I opened the closet and pulled out one of Aunt Bernie’s approved dresses.
Faith whispered, “Preach and Mary are a trip. Do you know they won’t even kill flies loose in their house? They carry them out and let them go, saying they are God’s creatures too.” She poked a stick of gum into her mouth. “Asking all the time how I am, if I need anything, patting my head, making sure I brush my teeth, tucking me in at night, kissing my forehead like I was their real kid.”
Then she muttered, “Thank God I’m not.”
I don’t think she was talking to me. It seemed to me she was trying hard to convince herself that even though she’d missed out on all those things in her own family, they were beneath her dignity. She pointed to the dress I’d pulled from the closet.
“God, Dulcie. You can’t wear that dress. We’re riding your bike. It’s summer, for Christ’s sake.”
She slapped her hand over her mouth.
“Oops. Lord’s name in vain.”
I pulled the suitcase out from under the bed, Mama, and tucked your T-shirt inside. I found a pair of shorts and a tank top, and changed into them—then, for Aunt Bernie’s sake, put the dress over them. I closed the suitcase and shoved it back under the bed. Faith toured the room, touching here and there, letting her fingers travel around my things—Aunt Bernie’s Bible, my Webster’s, finally landing on the spelling-bee cup full of words.
She squinted at the shiny plaque on the front of the cup: FIRST PLACE, ROSS COUNTY REGIONAL SPELLING BEE. She picked through all the words I’d written, and unfolded one or two of the tiny squares. “I don’t even know what these words mean. You can really spell all these?”
I pulled my hair into a ponytail. None of your beeswax. I took the cup away from her and put it back. Those words were between you and me, Mama.
Your National Geographic collection and the map of the world on the wall caught her attention. Faith studied the map, letting her fingers trace the yarn you’d woven between the pushpins, creating patterns from here to there, places you hoped to travel to after you graduated high school and went to college. Places you never got to because I came along and ruined your dreams.
Rising Above Shepherdsville Page 10