We sat in silence for a long while, watching stars beam to us from thousands of miles away, clouds moving across them in bands, making them disappear. After some time she said, “You might never see Faith again. You have to prepare for that.”
I looked down at my lap and nodded. I knew that, but I didn’t like to hear it.
Aunt Bernie looked up at the ceiling of the car, reached up, and fiddled with the overhead light, trying to flick it on—with no luck. “I know you were trying to protect her, but there are just some things you can’t fix, you understand? No matter how much you want them to be different.” She gave up her struggle with the light. She took my hand and squeezed it.
I squeezed back and continued to study the stars. Aunt Bernie was right about Faith. She might have run away in any case—telling the truth might not have changed anything for her—but I felt responsible for the whupping Jason had gotten. The vision of Otis kicking him on the ground played over and over in my mind when I closed my eyes.
Reverend Love arrived finally, his car empty—without Faith.
He opened the church, and we helped him search the building one more time. We checked the basement and the vestry again.
Reverend Love and Aunt Bernie called out, down the hallways and in the sanctuary, “Faith. Faith!”
The empty church echoed back her name.
Reverend Love leaned against the pew nearest the doors, dark circles under his eyes. He said he needed to go back to the hospital to check on Mary. Then he walked softly beside us through the parking lot, the gravel cracking under our feet.
“Bernice, thank you.” He stopped and took her hands in his. “Pray for her.”
Aunt Bernie urged him into the car. “You go on now. You’ve a baby to shepherd into this world.”
We drove back to the farm, the morning light bringing bird call. Aunt Bernie made fresh biscuits as the sun struggled to peek through an overcast Monday morning. I practically fell asleep in my gravy, I was so tired.
Aunt Bernie shooed me to bed.
I slept until lunchtime.
Later, the afternoon was gray and ominous, with thunderclouds racing across the sky. The radio announcer at WGOD issued a tornado watch, and at nightfall, rain poured as if the sky itself were boiling mad. The storm soaked the earth, leaving pools in the culverts, blowing down the clothesline. I couldn’t help wondering where Faith was, hoping she was inside somewhere safe.
We got the call that Monday night that Reverend Love and his wife had had a baby girl. They named her Charity.
Still no word about Faith.
27
v-i-g-i-l
vigil (n.)
a purposeful or watchful staying awake during the usual hours of sleep
Rain fell hard all Tuesday, the constant patter on the roof a reminder that Faith remained missing, maybe without shelter. I tried to read some of the books Aunt Bernie kept around—yellowed Agatha Christie and Sherlock Holmes mysteries smelling of must, none as interesting as the mystery of Faith’s whereabouts.
Aunt Bernie roosted in her easy chair, knitting. A baby blanket took shape in her lap, her hands quick and nimble, needles clicking, as she watched a Billy Graham crusade televised from Cincinnati.
Something had shifted between Aunt Bernie and me since our midnight drive. We’d settled in our ways around each other, becoming cozier, peas in a pod, so to speak. I found myself seeking out Aunt Bernie’s company rather than avoiding it.
We watched television together. She tried to teach me to knit. I helped her around the kitchen.
The minutes crawled; the rain fell.
No word.
• • •
By Wednesday afternoon the rain had stopped its temper tantrum and became less violent. Water continued to fall in small pellets, pinging in the hog trough and tapping the windows. Aunt Bernie had some work to do at WGOD, so she drove me over to see Evangeline at the vestry, rain pelting the windshield.
“I heard that Jason and his mother are doing fine,” Aunt Bernie said. “Otis is down to the county hospital, drying out.” She turned off the windshield wipers. “I thought you’d like to know.”
It did make me feel better that Otis was being kept away from Jason for the time being.
When I arrived at the church vestry, Evangeline handed me the Sunday bulletin I’d placed on the shelf next to Jeremiah’s sign. She said, “You left this behind.”
When she turned to hunt through her sewing stuff, I took my letter from Reverend Love’s preaching robe and stuffed it into my dress pocket. Thankfully, in all the ruckus, he hadn’t found it. With Faith’s taking off like she had, it would have worried him even more. He would surely have told Aunt Bernie about it, who would have chained me up like old Marlow if she knew I’d considered running away.
Evangeline brought out gold thread and long embroidery needles. “I have a surprise for you. I traced the swan you drew on your Sunday bulletin and made a design from it.”
Evangeline unfolded a paper pattern in the shape of a swan in flight, an exact replica of my hand-drawn picture. She pinned the pattern onto the collar of a bright lavender robe.
“We’ll take gold thread and embroider the design right onto the fabric. Just follow the lines.”
I threaded the needle and did my best to follow the small figure of the swan on the fabric, carefully, in and out, each stitch forging a golden path through Evangeline’s pattern.
Hours passed; I barely noticed the time as I worked. Evangeline hummed quietly but didn’t bring up the subject of Faith.
I wondered how Mr. Cobb and Penny Lane had fared in the rain. I imagined the babies had grown another inch. It was far too soggy to check. Plus, I don’t think Evangeline would have let me out of her sight.
When Aunt Bernie picked me up that afternoon, Evangeline pointed her finger at me, saying, “You come back tomorrow. We’ll finish up. We’ll want these to be ready for Baptism Sunday.” She tapped the table, her palm flat. “Plus, I miss you when you’re not here.”
• • •
By Thursday morning the sun was shining, drying up the puddles. With the rain over, the orange tiger lilies burst out, and the oak trees in the yard shimmered, their leaves lush. I swear, Aunt Bernie’s garden had grown a foot overnight. The bean plants shot up to my shoulder. Her climbing roses bloomed a crimson red next to the front porch door, their scent making the air sweet and delicate.
Aunt Bernie puttered in her garden, wearing a big moth-eaten hat. She knelt on some towels, weeding in and around her beans, while I took a spade to her lettuce patch. She sat back on her ankles, her face red, perspiration making it shine, her hair curly in the heat.
“Hard to believe that everywhere for as far as the eye can see used to belong to our family. Acres and acres of farmland, crops tended and harvested, year after year. Here I sit, struggling with this tiny garden. Sometimes I wonder that I don’t sell this place too.”
She wiped her forehead with her sleeve. “But I can’t let go of it. A place becomes part of you, and you carry it with you, no matter where you are.”
I knew what she meant. Lilac Court was like that, and the pond behind the church.
After I finished my chores, I rode Maybelle out to the swans’ nest with some biscuits from the bread box, before my afternoon’s work with Evangeline.
The cygnets had sure enough grown to almost knee high, lighter feathers growing along their wings as their darker baby fuzz let loose. Penny and Mr. Cobb waited in the shallows, their necks craned, as if to say, Where in the dickens have you been? I tossed the biscuit bits to them, and they lazily swam to the edge, their family following. I crawled up onto the tree branch, happy to listen to their little rustles and the buzzing of the field bugs.
I had just tossed off my sneakers, Mama, when I saw something tucked in a small hollow of the tree. A tiny yellow envelope—the sort people put in the collection plate. I pulled it out. It was still damp from the rain. I turned it over and found my name written on it in penc
il. I opened it, my heart jumping in my chest.
Inside was Faith’s gum-wrapper bracelet, the one she’d made the day we’d visited Bean—and a twenty-dollar bill. I slipped the bracelet onto my wrist and tucked the twenty into my Bible bag. Leaving it there was clearly a sign that she meant for me to return it to Reverend Love for her.
Aunt Bernie was planning a visit to the Loves’ come Saturday, when Mary returned home from the hospital. Aunt Bernie had cast on and purled like crazy, finishing up the baby blanket for Charity. That would be my chance to return the money to Reverend Love. I hoped it might ease him some, knowing that Faith had left it. Returning it was her way of saying she was sorry she’d stolen it in the first place.
That night, after Aunt Bernie had gone to bed, I dug into your old National Geographics, Mama, and read some of the articles about the places you’d pinned on your map. I liked knowing that you’d seen the same pictures and read the same words when you were a girl. It was a comfort, turning the same pages that you had once touched.
I read about a place called the Rock of Gibraltar in Spain, a place that sailors in olden times believed was the end of the world. They thought that if you sailed past the rock, you would fall off the end of the earth, never to be seen again.
Maybe that’s where you went, Mama—both you and Faith—past the Rock of Gibraltar, or someplace like it. I found the spot on your map and traced my fingers from Ohio all the way to Spain. I pushed in a pin. I took out all the other pins and left that one. I tied a piece of yarn from Aunt Bernie’s knitting basket between you and me. I put a pin in Nashville, too, and tied a piece of yarn between me and Faith and back again—a crazy-shaped star hovering over the world.
It made me think of when I was little, Mama. Remember when we’d search the sky and find the first star in the evening? We’d hook our pinkies together and wish on that star, sending our secrets up into the unknown. Sealing our wishes tight; you’d say “pins” and I’d say “needles.” Then we’d blow them through our fingers, hoping they’d land where we’d sent them. We couldn’t tell each other what we’d wished for, else it wouldn’t come true.
That night in your room in Shepherdsville, a long while before sleep stole me away, I stared at the map and the star I’d created. A warm breeze whispered at the curtains, catching my thoughts and lifting them out and into the night, taking my wish with it.
28
a-s-c-e-n-d
ascend (n.)
to go up; move upward; rise
On Friday, while Aunt Bernie was at a Ladies’ Auxiliary meeting in the church basement, I worked with Evangeline in the vestry, finishing up the new choir robes. I stitched and trimmed stray threads from hems while she embroidered the swan design on the collars. She’d taken over that task when my first two or three attempts at swans had ended up looking like flying pig ears. Her robes were a thing of beauty, Mama. Ready to wear—that is, if enough of the choir showed up to wear them on Baptism Sunday.
Evangeline had just gotten started on the very last robe, when Aunt Bernie showed up at the vestry door, looking steamed up and frazzled. Evangeline lowered her work into her lap. “Well, looky here. A visitor. We don’t get many of those.”
Aunt Bernie stepped in gingerly, sidestepping fabric piles. “Miss Tucker, sorry to interrupt.” She extended her hand to Evangeline. “We haven’t had much of a chance to talk, but I wanted to thank you for all you’re doing for the church, and especially the time you’ve spent with Dulcie.”
Evangeline took Aunt Bernie’s hand. “It’s my pleasure. Though I have to say, not many have expressed much interest in what we got going on in here. Have they, Dulcie?”
Aunt Bernie took a couple of steps my way and inspected my handiwork—the hem of a lemon-colored robe. “Well, my land, Dulcie. Those stitches are neat as a pin.” She smiled, a nervous tic playing at her mouth. “You’ve taught her well.”
Evangeline pooh-poohed her. “She’s taught herself.”
Aunt Bernie stood uncomfortably, as if spiders were crawling in her underwear. She flushed, or maybe it was the heat.
Evangeline waited.
Finally Aunt Bernie stammered, “In—in ten minutes the members of the Ladies’ Auxiliary Committee are meeting with Reverend Love in the chapel.”
Evangeline waited.
“They have an agenda and a petition.”
Evangeline waited.
“Miss Tucker, they’re going to ambush him. Good Lord, the man just had a baby, and they think now is the time to have it out about . . . well . . . about you.”
Aunt Bernie continued. “Lavinia Swinson and the others are not happy with the changes Reverend Love has made. There’s been talk about his past, and his not being a good example to his flock. His hiring you seems to be, for some of them, proof that he’s not fit to lead a congregation. There’s even been talk about contacting the state council.” She pointed at the robes.
“They’ve got wind of the new choir robes, and some of them are fit to be tied about that. I know it’s just an excuse, something they’ve latched on to . . . but . . .”
The only sound in the room was a fly that persisted in landing on Aunt Bernie’s shoulder. She waved it away. I kept my head down, clipping threads.
Evangeline looked at Aunt Bernie as if Aunt Bernie had been hit upside the head and were addlepated in the extreme. “I can’t change that way of thinking, Bernice.”
Aunt Bernie clasped her hands together, lowered her head, and nodded. Evangeline forced a smile. “I appreciate your concerns, but there’s nothing to be done about it.”
“Well, I just wanted to let you know, is all. There is probably no stopping that petition, but . . . I . . . thought . . . maybe if you’d come to the meeting . . .”
Evangeline stood up, laying down the robe she was working on. “Now, Bernice, what kind of good would that do?”
Aunt Bernie looked defeated, like someone had fizzled her fireworks. “I don’t know, but it seems right that you be there.”
Evangeline calmly said, “I’ll think about it. I will.”
After Aunt Bernie left, Evangeline said, “Dulcie, you go on now. We’re done for the afternoon.” She walked out the vestry door without another word and out to the edge of the field. I watched through the window as Evangeline stood out there, staring at the tree line, hands on her hips.
I cleaned up, put away my scissors and thread, and hung up the robes. I headed straight for the chapel. Whatever was going to happen, I didn’t want to miss it, Mama. First I’d lost you, then Ray had gone missing from my life, and then Faith had taken off for Nashville. I couldn’t abide the thought of losing Evangeline, too.
I sneaked into the back of the church. There was a good crowd of folks there to protest Evangeline’s being the choir director. Aunt Bernie had settled up front with a few other ladies. I guessed they were in favor of honoring Reverend Love’s choice, like Aunt Bernie, but I gathered that the majority clumped together in the middle, murmuring amongst themselves, were there to try to persuade him to find a replacement.
Of course, Mama, you can guess that Lavinia Swinson was there, fanning herself with one of the church fans on a stick, along with Mrs. Butler, Noreen Taylor with her new baby, and some other members of the Auxiliary. There were a couple of men there too, Len and Lou Young, two bachelor brothers. Their dairy farm wasn’t far from Aunt Bernie’s. There was rustling and whispering behind hands, everyone shifting this way and that as they waited for Reverend Love to show up. I sneaked up the side aisle to get closer, trying to keep out of sight.
Finally Reverend Love came down the steps from his office and up the center aisle to the front of the church. He wore dress pants and a white shirt, the sleeves rolled up, his fingers stained with ink. His jaw was set hard, making him resemble a boxer ready for the ring. His hair was combed and wet with Brylcreem.
He positioned himself at the front and stood below the pulpit, before the crowd that had come there to challenge him. I swear, Mama, he took time to
look each and every one of them in the eye before he spoke, settling on the leader of the pack.
“Mrs. Swinson, why don’t you tell me the purpose of our gathering today?”
She stood, her pearls clacking against one another, holding a piece of paper. “I have here a petition of fifteen signatures stating that we feel a new choir director should be appointed.”
Reverend Love walked up the aisle and took the paper from her. He looked it over, then turned to Mrs. Swinson, a tight smile plastered on his face.
“What I gather from this, Lavinia, is that you’ve managed to persuade fourteen other people to be as narrow-minded as yourself.” He walked back up to the front with the petition, folded it into quarters, and stuck it into his pocket. He leaned against the raised stage of the pulpit and crossed his arms.
Mrs. Swinson was still standing. “I am not narrow-minded, Reverend. I only believe we should seek someone who has real credentials.”
Reverend Love looked incredulous. “Lavinia, Shepherdsville is a small town in the middle of hundreds of acres of farmland. The nearest city is an hour away. Where would we get someone with, as you call them, credentials?”
Mrs. Swinson was prepared with her answer. “We could put an ad in the Cincinnati paper.”
Reverend Love laughed. “Who do you think would move to Shepherdsville to lead a small choir for a pittance?”
Mrs. Swinson was undeterred. “Also, while I am not disputing that we could save money for a new furnace by not buying new robes, I think having a . . . a . . .”—she spat out the rest—“mish-mosh of colors will make our Sunday service no better than a Saturday cartoon. Our robes should be somber, understated. Maroon or navy—all one color.”
Reverend Love looked flabbergasted. “Are you under the impression that God cares what color you wear, Lavinia?” He asked for a show of hands. “Who is in agreement with Mrs. Swinson?”
Rising Above Shepherdsville Page 15