Reverend Love wheeled out a big square box as high as his waist. A golden cross was etched on it. It was the weirdest contraption I’d ever seen, Mama. The top flipped back to reveal porcelain inside, like a tiny tub, except it didn’t have water in it yet. Steps folded down for a person to climb up to the edge.
“I’ll lead you up the steps, and you’ll turn around with your back to the inside of the baptismal pool.”
There was a small seat that tilted backward inside the tub. “I’ll stand over here. You’ll sit. I’ll say the prayer. You hold your nose, and I’ll dip you back. I’ll hold on to you. You’ll only be under for a few seconds.”
Faith looked skeptical. “What about her feet and legs? Won’t she be only half baptized?”
Reverend Love gave Faith a stop-kidding-around look. “It’s not necessary to get entirely wet.”
“Who thought this stuff up, anyway?” Faith asked.
“It’s been around since Biblical times. What’s important is the purpose. It’s for personal salvation. The water represents purification.”
Faith screwed up her face, confused. “I thought this was for babies.”
“It can be. But it’s for anyone, at anytime, whoever needs it or wants it.”
Faith looked at me. “But what if she doesn’t want to be baptized?”
“Then she doesn’t have to.” Reverend Love looked at me. “You have to believe, in order for it to work.”
Faith peered inside the pool.
“So, it’s possible that if she doesn’t believe in it, it’s not going to do a darn thing except get her all wet on a Sunday morning?”
Reverend Love smiled at me. “Could be. But that’s a chance Dulcie is going to have to take.”
I sat in the seat and wondered. I didn’t see how being dunked in that contraption would wash away all of the things that had become a part of me. Nothing could take away the fact that the world is full of people who find reasons to turn their own daughter away, or the fact that running away from home makes sense sometimes. Nothing could change a world where people hurt their kids, or alter it enough so that you don’t suffer the loss of the ones you love, or make it so that people don’t sometimes feel bad enough to want to stop living, and take the only way out.
No, Mama, the world didn’t make sense. All those things couldn’t just be washed away, could they? It seemed mighty probable that all I was going to get was wet on a Sunday morning.
31
d-o-g-m-a
dogma (n.)
an opinion; that which one believes
In the vestry that Sunday morning, the gauzy white gown Evangeline had fitted for me hung on its hanger, waiting. Once I went through the sanctuary doors, Mama, I’d have to go through with it—washing everything away like dirt down the drain. The slate wiped clean.
Aunt Bernie had knocked herself out with flower arrangements. White, purple, and yellow blossoms popped out of baskets near the altar. Reverend Love wore a special white robe on top of his regular church clothes. Evangeline and the choir were decked out in the new rainbow-colored robes, and I had to admit, they were an eyeful. Redeemer practically gleamed with brightness.
Before the service, I overheard Mrs. Swinson say to Mrs. Spangler about the new robes, “Did you ever think you’d see anything like those in the house of the Lord?”
Mrs. Spangler shook her head and harrumphed loudly.
When her mother wasn’t looking, Loretta smirked at Faith and me. Faith made a gesture in reply that shouldn’t be made in church.
Faith dragged me over to Jason and his mother in the parking lot when they arrived. Jason’s face flashed red when he saw us. Faith was fearless.
“Jason. No hard feelings, okay? I apologize for what I did. Don’t blame Dulcie. It wasn’t her fault. I put her up to it.” I had a feeling her apology was something Reverend Love had put her up to.
Jason’s eyes were cold. Faith stuck out her hand. “Do unto others and all that, you know. I’m sorry. I really am. Dulcie is too.”
I agreed with all my heart. I tried to let him see that it couldn’t be truer.
Jason ignored her hand.
Mrs. Burdine said, “Jason appreciates that. Don’t you, Jason?” She nudged him.
“Yeah, whatever.”
Jason pushed past us and opened the back of the Burdines’ truck, led Marlow out, and tied him to the truck door. Otis wasn’t with them, still off taking the cure, I supposed.
We took our seats inside, and finally, after the longest sermon in the history of the world, Mrs. Wheeler began the hymn that was my signal to change into my robe.
The choir rose together, a living, breathing rainbow, each shiny robe like a piece of a human kaleidoscope. A golden embroidered swan glittered on every collar. Evangeline stood out in front in a royal purple gown and a multicolored silk scarf to lead the largest choir assembly I’d ever seen on a Sunday. It seemed there were more people in the choir than in the pews.
Faith squeezed my hand. She whispered, “Don’t drown,” and gave me a wicked smile.
In the vestry I put on my baptism robe. I checked out my gown in the cracked mirror, making sure my slip covered all the right parts, not recognizing the girl I saw there. I looked like an anxious bride-to-be, ready to run.
I could hear Reverend Love speaking in the chapel to the congregation, his voice echoing in waves, rising and lowering. I just wanted the whole thing to be over with, Mama.
When the organ sounded, I left the vestry and went outside to the front of the church.
As I stood before the church doors, the gauzy white sleeves of the gown fell over my hands like angel wings. The sun beat down on my back as I waited for the processional.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something move.
Marlow.
Head to the ground, his lean tail wagging, he searched willy-nilly around the picnic tables. Part of his leash dragged along behind him. He’d either come untied or had yanked himself free. Roaming where his nose led him, he headed out to the field, sniffing the ground.
I patted my leg, trying to get him to come to me. He ignored me, snorting along the edge of the field. I snapped my fingers to get his attention. Marlow turned his head and looked at me, with no intention of stopping his romp. He galloped through the patchy field, his brown coat barely visible as he loped through the grasses.
I clapped and blew air through my fingers, trying to whistle. By the time I reached the edge of the field, he was on the path alongside the fence line, headed straight for the broken fence and the NO TRESPASSING sign.
My heart shot straight into my feet. Marlow was a hunting dog—a bird dog—trained to smell out birds. I took off running as fast as the crazy gown would allow. I picked up the hem, threw it over my arm, and pumped my legs, determined to catch Marlow before he went over the fence.
He jumped over the broken part of the fence easily. That old dog was spryer than he had any reason to be, Mama. Happy to be running wild, free of his chain, he bounded like a pup.
As I clumsily made my way over the fence, the sleeve of my gown snagged on the same nail I’d caught the very first time I’d gone over, which slowed me down. I had to unhook myself.
Marlow barked, his excited yaps confirming that he’d found the swans. My side ached and pinched. My lungs heaved. It felt like heavy boots were stomping on my chest. My breath came in ragged waves, my stomach threatening to upend itself entirely.
When I got to the edge of the water, I spied Marlow, intent on the swans, searching for a way to get to them through the thick sedge grass at the water’s edge. Mr. Cobb circled the cygnets in alarm. He and the babies plopped into the water, aiming for the far side of the pond. Penny stood on the nest on the small island in the middle, her wingspan extended fully. She hissed and flapped in fury at Marlow.
Marlow found his way along the upended oak tree, inching his way along the trunk to Penny and the nest. The tree was wide enough to hold him, and though he almost lost his balance, his nai
ls dug in.
I stood at the pond’s edge, Mama, gasping and fighting for air. I picked up a stick and threw it at Marlow, hoping to stop him from his intent. My arm was rubbery and weak. The branch landed in the water and stuck in the reeds.
Everything sped up, like a movie in fast-forward.
Penny flew at Marlow. Her wings pounded and struck him, but he was trained to go for her weak spots. Mr. Cobb, only a few yards away, on the other side, flapped his wings in sympathy and concern, hissing and hovering over the cygnets.
Penny hit Marlow in the side, punching him with one of her powerful wings. He yelped. She pecked at his snout, jabbing him hard. Marlow became infuriated. He growled and jumped at her. She beat her wings frantically, stirring up leaves and dirt, backing away.
With one last giant lunge, Marlow dove at Penny. His teeth settled around her long neck. She flailed back and forth in agony. Bright blood spilled down onto her white feathers, her wings continuing to beat despite her injury.
I stumbled closer to the edge of the pond and waded in—hoping to help Penny. The air from her wings whooshed past my face. I grunted—sounds from my throat, raw and desperate, as I tried to make my way to her.
Marlow shook her back and forth. Unable to defend herself any longer, Penny became limp in his teeth. In distress Mr. Cobb hustled the babies out of the water on the far side of the pond, ruffling his feathers, hissing in fury. He had saved the babies but couldn’t help Penny. Neither could I.
Penny made noises—horrible ones, like air escaping out of a balloon. I was knee-deep in the water, the gown pulling like dead weight around my feet.
Marlow shook Penny until she lay still, blood flowing from her wound, her beautiful long neck crumpled in the leaves of the nest.
Then, Mama, a place deep inside me exploded. The force of it was hot and thick, like lava.
I heard a strange sound. So loud that I covered my ears. It took me some time to realize it was me—screaming, “No. No. No. No,” over and over, my voice rising above the nest—escaping as if it, too, were a bird in flight.
32
b-a-p-t-i-s-m
baptism (n.)
any experience or ordeal that initiates, tests, or purifies
Once my voice came out of me, Mama, I couldn’t seem to stop hollering.
“NO, Marlow! Noooo! Get away!” I screamed.
Marlow sniffed at Penny, his tail wagging uncertainly.
I pushed toward the nest, but the baptism gown was waterlogged and heavy. In the middle of the pond, swollen with the recent rains, the water was up to my chest. My feet and ankles became twisted up in the fabric and entwined in tendrils of undergrowth. I couldn’t move.
Marlow’s attention was drawn to the babies on the other side. He splashed into the water and dog-paddled toward them. My voice cracked as it screeched out of me.
“No, Marlow! No. Stop. Come back.”
The gown seemed to have a life of its own, pulling me under. I was stuck in place and couldn’t swim. I kicked hard and got one foot free of the fabric, but the muck underneath me gave way and sucked me down. I flopped my arms in an attempt to stay above the water, but after squirming around in the heavy baptism gown, the strength drained right out of me.
I poked my head up high enough to squeal, “Help!” as loudly as I could.
Nasty brackish water went down my throat. I swallowed it, choking, kicking my legs furiously, aiming for the shore, willing myself to move. I tore at my robe, making an effort to take it off.
“Help.” My voice rasped out of my throat, hoarse and gravelly.
Marlow had reached the other side. Mr. Cobb stood his ground in front of the dog before him, wings extended, preparing to defend himself and protect the babies. The cygnets darted here and there, frantic, afraid to leave Mr. Cobb’s side.
I went under again. I was so tired, Mama.
So tired.
All of a sudden I felt peaceful. I didn’t want to fight anymore. My arms and legs went limp, and I let myself float underwater. I felt like I’d been transported into a quiet dream world, lit with sunlight sparkles.
It was then that you came to me, Mama. It was as real as could be. Your voice right in my ear. “Dulcie.”
Your face came into view. It was such a relief to see you, Mama. All I wanted to do was go to you. I could have reached out and taken your hand, you were so close.
But you shook your head. “Fight, Dulcie. Don’t you dare give up. Keep kicking. Rise on up.”
But I resisted, floating, letting the dark come in.
Your voice became urgent. “Dulcie, come on, baby. Kick.”
I scissor-kicked my legs, pushing my head up, choking on bits of leaves and water weeds.
Everything got confused after that. A sound filled the world, so enormous, I couldn’t locate the direction of it. It echoed in the trees all around me.
A gunshot.
Hands grabbed my shoulders, my waist—someone was behind me, pulling and dragging me out of there.
I blinked, trying to see through the guck in my eyes. Jason Burdine stood at the foot of the weeping willow, hunting rifle to his eye. In a daze I watched as he aimed and fired again.
Jason shot Marlow just as he reached Mr. Cobb.
Faith’s voice echoed in my head. A wild scream that was my name.
Strong hands lifted me up and out of the water. I coughed, my eyes and ears filled with liquid, my body covered in thick muck.
Someone picked me up and carried me. I squinted, trying hard to see. Reverend Love had me in his arms. He stumbled through the muddy water and lifted me up onto solid ground, my weight sinking him to his knees. His glasses slid askew, his face intent.
“Let’s get you out of here.”
He stood, lifted me again, and carried me beyond the fence, through the field, to the back of the church, Faith following along. “Is she all right? Is she?”
My eyes blurry, I could make out folks huddled in groups near the picnic tables, their faces a sea of concern. Evangeline stood near the vestry door, her hand over her heart. She met us, then walked alongside Reverend Love as he brought me inside. “Lord have mercy.”
He settled me into Evangeline’s old stuffed chair.
I turned my head and coughed up brown goo.
Suddenly Aunt Bernie was beside me. Her frightened eyes told me everything I needed to know. I shivered, my body covered in goose bumps—those goose bumps a sure sign that her love was a real thing, Mama. True-blue.
Sobs racked me, my chest heaving. I coughed and cried, trying to tell her what I’d wanted to say for so long.
“I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t . . .”
Aunt Bernie stroked my face, cradling my head.
“I know, sweet girl, I know.”
33
b-l-e-s-s-i-n-g
blessing (n.)
a grace said before or after eating; the gift of divine favor; good wishes or approval; anything that gives happiness or prevents misfortune
Following doctor’s orders, Aunt Bernie kept me in bed for a few days. I’d swallowed a good deal of mucky water and had a nasty cough. Despite my raspy throat, I couldn’t stop talking. A flood of words kept coming as if somebody had turned on the faucet and removed the handles—just pouring out of me, Mama.
“Aunt Bernie, this is really good chicken soup, best soup I ever had. I think it’s making me better. . . . I really do feel fine. . . . I think I can get out of bed today. . . . I don’t have a fever. . . . My cough is almost gone. . . . I need to get up to check on Mr. Cobb and the babies. . . . I have stuff to do. . . . I was thinking . . .”
She interrupted me. “Pipe down, Dulcie. Rest. Plenty of time for all that.”
I tried to sit up, feeling woozy but determined not to show it. I thought if I flattered her, she’d give in.
“No, the soup is like magic. Really. Every sip is restoring me to health. How do you make it? Is there a secret recipe or something? It’s not like anything I’ve ever had before.�
�
Aunt Bernie sat on the end of the bed. “That’s because it doesn’t come from a can. I thought I’d never say this, but be quiet now. Rest.”
Faith visited me, as soon as Aunt Bernie said it was okay. One of the first things I asked her was how she managed to get Reverend Love and Jason to the swan’s nest.
“After they played your entrance music and you didn’t show up, Preach was fixin’ to blow a gasket. He gave me the eye, and I went to look for you, to see what was holding you up. I figured you’d decided not to go through with it.”
She pulled a stick of gum out of her pocket, popped it into her mouth, and handed me a piece.
“Where’d you get that from?” I asked.
“From Bean. And no, I didn’t steal it.” She smirked. “Anyway, like I was saying, on Baptism Sunday when I went outside, you weren’t on the porch. I searched the parking lot and the cemetery. When I didn’t find you, I figured that you’d gone to the swans’ nest. Then I heard yelling and Marlow barking out behind the church, and I put two and two together.”
She put her feet up on my bed. “Later, Preach told me he had known something was wrong. He just figured you’d chickened out so he had gone ahead and finished the service. Anyway, as people came out the door of the church, I searched for Jason, figuring he’d want to know his dog was on the loose. When I found him, I told him I suspected his dog had hopped the fence and was rousting the swans back behind the church. He raced to the Burdines’ truck and grabbed his daddy’s hunting rifle from the back window. I shouted after him, ‘What the devil do you need that thing for?’ He told me Marlow was a hunting dog, and didn’t I get what would happen to those birds? He said he had to stop Marlow. I told him to follow me, and we took off running. Preach saw us from the porch and came after us. He yelled, ‘Where in heaven’s name are y’all going with a gun?’ ”
Rising Above Shepherdsville Page 17