Hands shot up, some reluctantly, as Lavinia Swinson looked around at each of the others, willing them to follow her lead.
“And who is not in agreement?”
Aunt Bernie and her clutch of ladies raised their hands. I knew I wasn’t counted, but I raised my hand anyway.
Reverend Love was about to speak, but he stopped, because Evangeline had come through the side door from the vestry.
Oh, how that room quieted, Mama. You could have heard even the tiniest fart.
Evangeline, looking every bit as regal as a lion, walked up the steps and across the stage past the pulpit to the organ. She calmly pulled out the bench and sat, her back as straight as a lighting rod.
Everything stopped. I held my breath.
Reverend Love took one look at Evangeline, then turned and put his hands into his pockets. He looked at the floor, the tiniest something teasing around the corners of his mouth.
Mrs. Swinson slowly sank her butt back down into the pew. No one said another word.
Evangeline held the entire church under her spell while she uncovered the keys and switched on the organ. It was quiet, the people in the pews staring at her, fascinated. I was dying to see what she was going to do.
The tension in the room rose along with the temperature, until at last Evangeline spoke. Her voice, rich and deep, bounced off the walls. It seemed to lift me off my seat, it was so powerful.
“When I was a little girl, down in Atlanta, where my people are from, I lived in a fancy house.” Evangeline played a note. The organ responded with a deep tone.
“A fancy house with silver and china and fine linen imported from France. There was a baby grand piano in that house. It was one of the finest houses in all of Atlanta.” Evangeline paused and played a chord.
Mrs. Swinson looked positively green, like she was going to lose her lunch.
“My mother was a maid in that house. She worked there all her life. We lived downstairs in the servants’ quarters. The lady who owned that house took a liking to me.” Evangeline smiled, the memory warm on her face.
“She taught me to play the piano.” As if to prove it, Evangeline ran her hands over the keys of the organ, low notes to high notes, octave by octave. “But once I left that house, I didn’t have a piano to play. I didn’t play for a long time.” Evangeline put her hands in her lap. “When I came here to Shepherdsville, I was a lost soul. My little boy had died, and I saw no reason to keep going. Reverend Moore gave me a job, and I did that job for eighteen years. I cleaned this church, every pew, every hymnal, this organ—every toilet.”
All eyes were on Evangeline. No one could look away. I gripped the edge of the pew, squeezing the wood with all my might.
“For eighteen years, when there was no one here but me, I’d come to this very organ and I’d play.” Evangeline touched the organ tenderly. “I played music for my little boy. All the songs he didn’t ever get to hear. I played and I played and I played. And it saved me.” Evangeline played one final note. “Saved me.”
No one moved or spoke. I noticed that Mrs. Taylor, who was holding her sleeping baby, appeared to be close to busting into tears.
Evangeline said softly, “If you would, please open a hymnal.” There was a moment of incomprehension.
Reverend Love quietly told them, “Go on, y’all.” Everyone did as he said, taking the hymnals out of their places in the backs of the pews, rustling them open.
“If you would be so kind as to call out a hymn number,” Evangeline said.
There was a moment of silence. It was Aunt Bernie who spoke first. “Hymn number 391.”
Evangeline didn’t have a hymnal, or music in front of her at all. She knew what Hymn 391 was without looking.
“O Happy Day That Fixed My Choice.”
Then she played and sang it. All the verses. Oh, Mama, Evangeline made the woodwork vibrate and the windows shake, her singing a thing of glory, as pure as pure. A person couldn’t hear her voice and not have their heart rise up to meet it.
Happy day, happy day,
When Jesus washed my sins away!
He taught me how to watch and pray,
And live rejoicing every day
Someone else called out a number after Evangeline hit the last notes.
“Hymn 214.”
Evangeline knew that one too.
“The Old Rugged Cross.” She was just getting warmed up, apparently.
So I’ll cherish the old rugged cross,
Till my trophies at last I lay down;
I will cling to the old rugged cross,
And exchange it some day for a crown.
Everybody kept calling numbers, and Evangeline kept playing those hymns, Mama. It was clear she knew every hymn in the book, every single verse, every single word.
Evangeline was magnificent.
“Magnificent.” Webster’s definition: “beautiful in a grand or stately way; exceptionally good.” I only wished Faith had been there to see it.
It wasn’t long before people started singing along, especially those who were choir members. There was clapping and swaying, and everyone forgot the reason they were there in the first place—which was to get rid of Evangeline.
At last Reverend Love held up his hand. Everyone quieted and listened. “When I first came to Redeemer, I was alone in my office one day. Evangeline Tucker didn’t know I was in the building. I overheard her playing music, singing like the angels themselves. I thought her talents were going to waste, cleaning this building, so I offered her the job of choir director.”
He looked right at Lavinia Swinson and said, “Her credentials were clear to me, and I hope now to you, too. Are there any more questions?”
Mrs. Swinson blurted, “Well, but who is cleaning the church, then?”
Reverend Love smiled. “The members of the Youth Bible Study Group have been helping out now and again, when they need a change of pace. But we haven’t had an official cleaning person since I began. I was thinking the Ladies’ Auxiliary could form a committee and circulate the duties amongst y’all. That would be a big help to this congregation, wouldn’t it, Lavinia? Could you manage it?”
Mrs. Swinson looked like someone had stuck a sock right in her mouth.
Reverend Love continued, “Now, it is true that new choir robes are being made for services. The old ones were worn to threads. I hope you’ll agree that the new ones will be a welcome addition. Having all one color, like it was before—well, I understand it’s what you’re used to, but I like Evangeline’s idea. I hope the new robes will brighten services and help us appreciate the many colors the Lord put on this earth.”
Reverend Love smiled. “May I please see a show of hands of those in favor of Evangeline Tucker’s continued placement as choir director and approval of the new robes?”
Everyone’s hand went up, Mama. Every single person’s. Mrs. Swinson’s was the last, but after looking around her at all the hands in the air, she realized she was defeated.
Afterward folks rose in a hubbub, clearly impressed. Some hurried out to their cars, like Lavinia Swinson, but many went up to speak to Evangeline.
I watched Reverend Love. He took the folded petition out of his pocket, balled it up, and arched it through the air to the metal trash can in the hallway, outside the sanctuary door.
It was a prayer shot for sure, but he made it—a perfect swish.
29
r-e-j-o-i-c-e
rejoice (v.)
to be glad, happy, or delighted; be full of joy
When I looked down at Charity in her Moses basket, her face puckered up like a buttercup, I’d had no idea how delicate babies were, Mama. Her tiny nails and wispy hair reminded me of the cygnets—awkward and elegant at the same time.
Aunt Bernie had made a plate of sugar cookies with pink icing, and we’d brought them over to the Loves’ house Saturday afternoon, along with the soft pastel-colored knitted blanket for the baby. I had the twenty-dollar bill in my pocket, still tucked in its envelope. When the time
was right, I aimed to give it to Reverend Love.
We’d picked up Evangeline on our way over to the Loves’. She’d brought a teeny tiny rose-colored choir robe she’d made for Charity. Aunt Bernie oohed and aahed over it, but I could tell she was miffed that Evangeline had outdone her in the giving department. Evangeline knew just what to do, though. She oohed and aahed over Aunt Bernie’s baking talent.
“Bernice Dixon, you ought to have a bake shop. Those cookies smell like heaven.”
Aunt Bernie beamed.
The Loves’ kitchen counter was blanketed with food in containers and on fancy plates. Apparently, having a baby is an excuse for a bonanza of food.
Aunt Bernie sat next to me on the sofa. Evangeline and Reverend Love relaxed on the piano bench and talked about the baptism service the Sunday after next.
“You want to hold her?” Mary asked me. I didn’t know that I wanted to, until I did. Mary gently positioned Charity in my lap, the baby’s head resting on my arm. “I’ll bring out a plate for y’all. We’ve more than we know what to do with.”
Aunt Bernie’s hard places softened around Charity. Her face was tender as she watched the baby sleep in my arms. “I held you when you were a baby. Did you know that?”
I gave Aunt Bernie all my attention.
“When your mother showed up at the door of the farm, I told her she’d better go. She begged me to meet her, down at the Old Mill. I made some excuse to our folks and met her there.”
This was news to me. Mama, why didn’t you ever tell me?
Aunt Bernie ran her finger along Charity’s cheek. “You were such a little thing, just like Charity. Your mama loved you so much. No matter what she’d been through, you were the center of her universe, that was clear. I held you for a while, and you looked right at me, your eyes like little pieces of blue sky—wise, even then.” She sighed. “Emma had hoped that if our folks saw you, they’d change their minds and let the two of you stay. I told her not to expect that. When I explained that they never even spoke of her, Emma understood it was no use, and left town.”
She put her finger into Charity’s grasp and whispered in the baby’s direction. “I should have gone with her. I know that now.” Aunt Bernie flushed, her voice thick and overcome with emotion. She took a drink of lemonade and cleared her throat. “Mary, can I help with those cookies?”
Reverend Love sank into the sofa next to me, his face clean-shaven, nicked on the chin. He looked even younger than usual. I couldn’t believe he was somebody’s daddy now.
“It’s a miracle, isn’t it? A brand-new soul. Pure. Come Baptism Sunday, in the Lord’s eyes your soul will be as pure as hers.”
What a crazy thing, Mama, that Reverend Love and all of them believed that taking a bath in front of people would wash away all of it—the weight of all of those things too heavy to float. Hitting Loretta. Getting Jason in trouble. Not telling the truth about Faith. Leaving you.
Reverend Love took the baby from me. I wrapped my fingers around the envelope in my pocket, waiting for the time to hand it over and let him know where I’d found it, giving away my secret about the swan’s nest. I had my smiley-face notebook in my Bible bag, and was ready to write out what I needed to say. But I was afraid, Mama, that if I told, I wouldn’t be able to visit Penny and Mr. Cobb anymore.
A knock sounded at the door. Reverend Love got up to answer.
Through the screen I could see an Ohio state highway patrolman standing on the porch, his shiny badge glistening in the sunlight.
“Reverend Love?”
Mary came out of the kitchen, alarm on her face, a plate of brownies and cookies in her hands. She dropped it onto the coffee table with a plunk and held out her hands to take Charity from Reverend Love. His voice was soft, fearful. “How can I help you, officer?”
The patrolman peered inside at all of us. “Sir, could you step outside, please?”
Mary put her hand on Reverend Love’s shoulder. “Anything you have to say, you can say in front of me.” She handed the baby to Evangeline.
Aunt Bernie and I got up from the sofa. Reverend Love and Mary followed the patrolman outside. We gathered around the screen door, practically pressing our noses against it. The highway patrol cruiser was parked in the driveway behind Aunt Bernie’s car.
“Please wait there, sir,” the officer said.
Reverend Love and Mary stood in the yard, holding tight. Everything moved in slow motion. It took the patrolman an eternity to reach the back door of his vehicle and open it.
Faith stepped out from the car. Her body seemed smaller than I remembered. She had dark circles under her eyes. Her hair was greasy, her clothes wrinkled.
I shot out the door and onto the porch, like a bullet.
The patrolman led Faith forward. “We picked this gal up in Centerville, hitchhiking. She’s lucky nobody took it into their heads to pick her up. She said she belongs here. Gave this address. Wouldn’t give me her name.”
Faith stood by the patrolman, her eyes round.
Reverend Love stood, as rooted as a tree, her name falling off his lips. “Faith.”
“S’cuse me, sir. What did you say?”
“Faith. Her name is Faith.”
I grabbed ahold of the porch post, hoping he wouldn’t send her away. But it was Mary who stepped forward. “She does. Belong here.” She looked at Reverend Love. “With us.”
Reverend Love took a few steps until he was in front of Faith. “Yes, we had a bit of a misunderstanding. But that’s all over now. Isn’t it?”
Faith nodded and walked straight into his arms.
Reverend Love held her tight, then sent her into Mary’s waiting arms. He said to the patrolman, “Sorry for your trouble. We’ll keep a better eye on her. Y’all don’t need to worry about that.”
Mary gave Faith a good looking-over, cupping her face gently. “Let’s get you inside. Nothing a bath won’t cure.” Reverend Love walked the patrolman to his vehicle. Faith crossed the yard with Mary.
When they got to the porch, Faith stopped in front of me. She didn’t have to say anything. Her face said it all.
I pulled the yellow envelope out of my pocket and passed it to her. She took it.
“I’ll give it to him. Thanks for hanging on to it for me.”
Faith touched the gum-wrapper bracelet on my wrist. I pulled it off and offered it back. She stopped me. A smile broke across her dirt-streaked face. “No, I wanted you to have it. You know, like a friendship bracelet.”
I slipped it back on, so that it was circling my wrist, more precious than diamonds.
Mary put her arms around us. “Come on inside, girls. Faith, there is someone I’d like you to meet.”
30
g-r-a-t-i-t-u-d-e
gratitude (n.)
warm, appreciative response to kindness; thankfulness
While Evangeline fitted my baptism gown, Faith held the pins. Evangeline picked up the ends of the fabric, fashioning a hem around the bottom.
“You look like you belong on the top of a Christmas tree.” Faith laughed. “Are you sure you’re going through with this?”
I looked at myself in the mirror. I didn’t have a choice. Reverend Love and, especially, Aunt Bernie had their hearts set on it.
Evangeline said, “You’ll want to bring an extra set of drawers.”
Faith spewed the Coke she was drinking all over her shirt. “ ‘Drawers’?” We collapsed in a heap, giggling. “You mean underwear?”
Evangeline rolled her eyes. “Lordy be.”
I took off the gown, and Evangeline shooed us out of the vestry. We sat on the picnic tables waiting for Reverend Love to give me instructions on how to get baptized. Baptism Sunday was in two days.
Faith picked some dandelions by the side of the parking lot, then sat braiding them together. She didn’t look at me while she worked. It had been almost a week since she’d come back.
I was surprised when she spoke, the words rushing out fast, like she couldn’t control
them.
“What I did was so stupid, Dulcie. Mostly because I realized you were a good friend. You stood up for me when I didn’t deserve it. I left you in a tight spot.”
She concentrated hard on her chain, her fingers working the stems back and forth.
“I talked myself into believing that it didn’t matter. I had it in my head that I was going to leave here anyway. It wasn’t until you walked away from me that night that I realized I did care. I didn’t want to leave here. I wanted to stay. But I got scared.”
The mound of dandelions beside her shrank as she added them to her creation.
“I went out to the swan’s nest to think. When I came back to the church, everybody was gone. Evangeline wasn’t at the old minister’s house. I walked all the way back to the Loves’ house, but they weren’t home either. I planned on telling the truth to Preach, but the whole world had gone missing. I got to feeling so bad, I packed my stuff and took off. I convinced myself that nobody cared, ’cause of what I’d done.”
Faith braided the stems, her fingers stained buttery-gold. She rubbed her nose, and it left a mark.
“I didn’t know that Charity was being born and that Otis Burdine had gone wild on Jason. I was too ashamed of myself to come out to your farm. I told myself I was quits with Shepherdsville, that I didn’t belong here. But the whole time, a part of me knew that this is right where I belonged.”
She finished her work and placed the crown of dandelions on my head. “I didn’t get very far, anyway. I sneaked into the KOA and found a rental cabin nobody was using, and slept there. I took what I needed from campsites—hot dogs and stuff to eat—until the manager caught me and called the cops. I hid in a ditch and had started hitching back when the highway patrolman found me.”
Reverend Love poked his head out of the vestry door. “Dulcie, you ready?”
The sanctuary was cool when we entered, though sunlight streamed through the windows in long beams. Reverend Love took this whole baptism thing real serious, Mama.
“Now, first of all, you’ll wait out on the galilee.” I didn’t know what he was talking about. He smiled. “That’s church-speak for ‘porch.’ After my sermon Mrs. Wheeler will play 'All Things Bright and Beautiful' on the organ. Evangeline will cue the choir, and you’ll go change. When you have on your robe, you go out the vestry door and back around to the front. You’ll wait there during the collection. Then, when you hear the processional, you’ll come down the aisle.” He walked up the steps to the altar. “To me, up here.”
Rising Above Shepherdsville Page 16