My Name Is River
Page 9
Gram gobbles her bologna sandwiches, slurps up her soup, and then guzzles three big glasses of our magical punch. “Whoooeeee!” she shouts. “That’s the best drink I’ve ever had!”
I figure those three glasses of punch just added a whole lot of years to her life. Plus she’ll probably drink what’s left in the pitcher before she goes to bed. So, with all that punch and me praying for her every night, I think Gram will be around for a real long time.
Billy eats his bologna sandwich in fast-forward motion, says see you later, and runs out the door (I’m sure he doesn’t want to polish twice).
Gram actually decides to lie down for an afternoon snooze, so I decide to make the labels for our display. Monday will be here before we know it.
19
Good Ears
Saturday morning as I’m finishing my bowl of Frosted Wheat Flakes, I see Billy walking up our driveway (at least today he slept in later than the birds). He’s carrying Pastor Henry’s typewriter, which looks like it weighs as much as he does, and so I hurry and open the door for him. “Morning, Billy. Want me to grab that?”
“No, that’s okay. I’ve got it.” He sets the typewriter on the table and sits beside me.
I hold our project labels out for Billy to see. “Look what I made yesterday while you were busy shining pews.”
“Wow, River! They look great! Thanks for doing them.” He puts a piece of paper in the typewriter. “Well, should we do our essay first?”
“I suppose… we might as well get the torture over with.”
“Oh, come on, River. Essays aren’t that bad,” he says. “I’m thinking that since you’ve got two good hands, you should do the typing. You’ll type twice as fast.”
“Fine with me,” I say, “and since you have twice the brains, you can tell me what to type.”
Billy laughs. “Fair is fair.”
I take in a deep breath. “Okay, if our essay needs to be two hundred and fifty words and I can type about five words a minute, how long is this going to take?”
Billy shifts into teacher mode. “Well, think of this as a math problem. If you type five words a minute, simply divide two hundred and fifty by five to see how many minutes it will take.” He waits a minute and then looks at me like I should know. “Well?”
“Well, what?” I say. “You’re the one with twice the brains.”
“But you’re the one who wants to know.”
I scribble a few numbers on scrap paper. “Fifty minutes?”
“Perfect, but that accounts only for your typing. We need to add some time for me to read our notes, think about them, and put everything together.”
“With a brain like yours, we only need to add three minutes.”
“Give me a break, River—I’m not that smart!”
Ninety minutes later I type the last word of our essay. I press the caps lock key and type THE END at the bottom of the page. But when Billy sees it, his eyes bug out. “I don’t think you need to type that! Ms. Grackle’s been a teacher for a real long time, and I’m sure she knows when an essay ends.”
“But it’s like an exclamation mark shouting, ‘We’re done!’ Besides, it makes me feel good… like I finally accomplished something important.”
“Well, if it makes you that happy, we should keep it.”
Miss Nightingale is right. Billy is a gentleman.
As we sort our photos, Gram comes back from her morning walk along the river. She bursts through the screen door, leans her hiking stick in the corner of the kitchen, and hollers, “God Almighty, that’s one beautiful morning out there!”
My face gets instantly hot, and I’m totally embarrassed. I’m pretty sure it’s sinful to say “God Almighty” like that, but Billy didn’t flinch. Maybe he’s too caught up in our project to notice, or maybe he’s just being polite. But when I look again, I can see he’s holding back a crooked, little half grin.
Gram wipes the sweat off her brow, waddles over to me, and rubs my head. “How’s my sugar pie this morning?” Then she looks at Billy. “And how’s Billy? Sorry ’bout your dad having you polish all those pews yesterday. Don’t get me wrong. I respect your daddy one hundred percent, but if it was me, I wouldn’t have made you do it. That’s because I loved having you here to welcome me home.” Then she waddles over to Billy and rubs his head. “Now, don’t you tell Pastor Henry on me,” she says and chuckles, “or he might not let me come back to church.”
Billy laughs at Gram. “You don’t need to worry about that. He’s never closed the doors on anyone. He’s just strict sometimes, especially when it comes to school or telling the truth. Besides, I deserved it. I shouldn’t have lied and skipped school, even if it was for a good reason. Those pews needed a good shine, anyways. Wait until you see them.”
Gram looks at me. “What do you say, Sugar Pie?”
“About what?”
“You want to go to church again tomorrow and see those shiny pews?”
I don’t hesitate for a second to tell her yes. But my excitement hits the floor when she opens the fridge and pulls out the milk jug. I hold my breath. “God,” I whisper inside, “please don’t let her do leg lifts with that.” And at that very moment, I learn God has extremely good ears because Gram sets the milk jug on the table instead of tying it to her ankle. Then she opens the cupboard and grabs three tall glasses along with her tin of chocolate-chip cookies.
20
A Father Who Loves Me
On Sunday morning Pastor Henry pulls their big white van into our driveway, just like he did last week. And as soon as Gram and I hop inside, the little Whippoorwills flock around us. I love the feel of them climbing all over me (and I’m pretty sure Gram does too). First Gram gives each of the girls a ride on her knee as she sings out, “This is the way the ladies ride, the ladies ride, the ladies ride. This is the way the ladies ride all the way to church!” It makes me remember when I was small enough to sit on her knee.
Then she gives each of the boys a ride, but she changes the words to, “This is the way the gentlemen ride, the gentlemen ride, the gentlemen ride. This is the way the gentlemen ride all the way to church!”
We walk into church, and every one of us is greeted with a hug. Gram parks herself beside the donut table and eats enough to last her the week. I take only one. After all, Jesus is guarding them (I don’t think Gram noticed).
Billy and I stay with Gram near the donut table, and everyone who comes over has something nice to say about the birding place. Mrs. Martin, our lunch lady, says she can’t believe how big her bee balm has grown and wants to know what our secret is. Billy and I don’t say a word about the river water, so we all agree it must be the music of the birds (Mrs. Martin says a flower only grows when a bird sings).
All of a sudden, Mrs. Martin moves in super close and positions her face at my ear. She whispers, “I thought you should know that our milk suppliers are all out of chocolate.” Her words feel like a swarm of buzzing mosquitos near my ear, but I keep myself from swatting at her. Then she buzzes again, “But no need to worry because I hid every carton we had left, and I’m going to make sure you get chocolate milk every single day this week.” My mosquito swatting thoughts disappear.
Mrs. Bunting comes over next. She tells us how much she enjoys the birding place and that she can’t believe how well her daylilies and blue phlox are doing. “One day last week,” she says, “I was sitting on the log saying my prayers when I counted nine hummingbirds! Can you imagine! I’ve never seen so many hummingbirds all at once!” Then she wraps her arms around Billy and me and gives us a Sunday squeeze. “There’s something special about that birding place.”
I drink the last sip of Gram’s coffee before we head to the big part of the church (which today I learn is called a “sanctuary”). And I like that word because if you say it real slow (like sank-chu-ary), it has a very holy sound about it.
We sit on the same bench as last Sunday. I decide that even though they’re technically called pews, I’m still going to
call them benches. I don’t think a word like pew is nice enough for a place like this. After all, Pastor Henry says this is God’s house.
Pastor Henry stands up front again. This morning he has a mile-wide smile spread across his face (he must’ve forgotten all about me and Billy skipping school, or maybe he’s just happy to see the pews so shiny). He asks us to open our hymnals and join with him in singing “The Solid Rock.” I’m glad the piano lady doesn’t have a microphone in front of her because her voice is plenty loud without one (plus she clearly doesn’t have the kind of voice you’d want to broadcast).
I stand beside Billy, and we share a hymnal. He’s so lucky he can read music. I follow along and listen, hoping maybe I can learn too.
When the song ends, Pastor Henry asks us to sing it once more. He wants us to pay attention to the words. This time I try and sing along too.
My hope is built on nothing less
Than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.
I dare not trust the sweetest frame,
But wholly lean on Jesus’ name.
On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand,
All other ground is sinking sand;
All other ground is sinking sand.
When darkness seems to hide His face,
I rest on His unchanging grace.
In ev’ry high and stormy gale,
My anchor holds within the veil.
His oath, His covenant, His blood,
Support me in the whelming flood.
When all around my soul gives way,
He then is all my Hope and Stay.
When He shall come with trumpet sound,
Oh, may I then in Him be found!
Dressed in His righteousness alone,
Faultless to stand before the throne!
On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand,
All other ground is sinking sand;
All other ground is sinking sand.
Even though I don’t understand every single word, I really like this song (and I’ll bet Gram will be singing it all week while she’s galloping, skipping, and hopping around our house).
Pastor Henry opens his Bible. “This morning we’ll read from the book of James. This is what he writes: ‘Come now, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit”—yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, “If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that.” ’ ”
Pastor Henry clears his throat, then closes his Bible. “James is saying that our lives are short. They’re here and gone like a mist, a vapor, or a puff of smoke” (I wish Pastor Henry didn’t mention that part about the puff of smoke because if Gram’s paying any attention, she might be tempted to start up again). Gram must have read my mind because she pats me on my knee and whispers, “Now, don’t go worrying yourself, Sugar Pie.”
Pastor Henry looks back and forth across the sanctuary. “We can plan our lives, and there’s nothing wrong with that, but we need to include God. When we do, he’ll set the course. But sometimes he changes the course in a direction we’d never expect.” Pastor Henry holds his Bible close to his chest, like it’s his favorite book in the whole world. “We can only see from one moment to the next, but God knows our life from before its beginning all the way through to its end… and since we never know when that will be, we need to be ready.”
Someone from the back of the church shouts, “Amen!” I turn around and see Mrs. Martin with her arms raised to the ceiling, but I keep myself from snickering because I’m counting on that chocolate milk.
Pastor Henry steps down from the stage and stands right in front of everyone who’s in the first row (I’m glad I’m sitting three rows back). All of a sudden, he gets a serious look on his face. “What would happen if you were in a car wreck on the way home from church today and you didn’t survive? Do you know where you’d spend eternity? Would it be heaven? Or would it be hell? God lets us make that choice. He made it so easy for us to spend eternity with him in heaven… and he doesn’t want anyone to miss out.”
I hear Mrs. Martin shout amen again, but this time she’s annoying me because I want to hear what Pastor Henry has to say, even more than I want chocolate milk. With Gram almost dying, it got me thinking about life and death and all that stuff.
Pastor Henry explains, “God gave his son, Jesus, to die on the cross for us. He did that in exchange for our sins. He says there’s not one person on earth who hasn’t sinned.” Now I’m getting warmer by the minute, and I’ll bet my face is redder than a hot tamale because all I can think of is how I lied about my stomachache, the sour orange juice, moldy toast, and lumpy oatmeal. But I keep listening because I really want to hear.
Pastor Henry’s voice turns soft and gentle. “But there’s good news. When we ask God to forgive us, he does. We’re completely clean—a whole new creation. It’s that simple. And,” he says, “it gets even better. God is your heavenly father and loves you more than you could imagine. He loves you like no one ever has or ever will. And he will never leave you.”
All I’ve ever wanted is to be part of a real family and to have a father who loves me. So since my real parents haven’t found me yet and my adoptive parents haven’t come back, maybe having a heavenly father will do just fine until then. I’m sure it’s okay to have a heavenly father and an earthly one both at the same time.
The whole church is silent (even Mrs. Martin) when the piano lady tiptoes over to the piano. She begins playing softly. Her hands move back and forth across the keys in slow motion, which actually looks a bit dramatic.
Pastor Henry asks us to sing one of his favorite hymns, “Come to the Savior, Make No Delay.” This time I begin singing on the first word and don’t worry if I know the song or not.
Come to the Savior, make no delay;
Here in His Word He has shown us the way;
Here in our midst He’s standing today,
Tenderly saying, “Come!”
Joyful, joyful will the meeting be,
When from sin our hearts are pure and free;
And we shall gather, Savior, with Thee,
In our eternal home.
Pastor Henry stops singing before the song’s even over. “If there’s anyone who would like to have a heavenly father, I invite you to come up front with me.” Then he adds, “There’s no need to worry what anyone else will think. Now we’ll sing the last two verses, and then the service will end.”
“Suffer the children!” oh, hear His voice!
Let ev’ry heart leap forth and rejoice;
And let us freely make Him our choice;
Do not delay, but come.
Think once again, He’s with us today;
Heed now His blest command, and obey;
Hear now His accents tenderly say,
“Will you, My children, come?”
All of a sudden, my body stands up, and I feel myself walk to the front of the church. It’s like I’m being pulled by a giant magnet. Then before I know it, I realize Gram’s standing on one side of me and Billy’s on the other. And if I didn’t know better, I’d swear Pastor Henry has tears in his eyes.
Pastor Henry smiles at me and Gram. “I’m very glad you came forward,” he says, “and I can only imagine how all of heaven is rejoicing.” Then he looks at Billy. “Did you come to support River?”
Billy shakes his head. “I want to make sure I’m ready too.”
Pastor Henry puts his arm around Billy’s shoulder. “You made a decision to follow God when you were five, Billy. You don’t need to do it again.”
“I know, Dad, but I was little then. I’m older now. And even though God doesn’t need me to do it again, I want to.”
Pastor Henry squeezes Billy’s shoulder. “Well, that’s certainly fine.”
Pastor Henry leads us in a prayer. He says we can repeat it out loud if we want. All three of us do.
21
Presentation Day
Ms. Grackle greets everyone Monday morning with a huge smile. And since it’s Project Presentation Day, she’s dressed as if she were having dinner with the president of the United States. She’s squeezed up tight in a sparkly purple dress and is wearing purple sparkly shoes, lipstick, and nail polish to match. Plus, she’s wearing earrings that dangle all the way to her shoulders (I definitely think she went overboard).
She taps a ruler on her desk. “Since each one of you has worked incredibly hard and very diligently on your projects, I’ve invited Mr. Sparrow’s class to join us for your presentations. I’m quite pleased, to say the least. I’ve never had a class who’s taken their projects as seriously as you, so I wanted to do something extra special for you.” The classroom grows dead silent. I think everyone was expecting something more.
Within seconds Mr. Sparrow’s class walks through the door. The rotten thing is, there are so many students that we have to double up on our seats, which seems more like a punishment.
As Ms. Grackle introduces our first presenters, Mr. Sparrow raises his hand and asks if she could wait a minute. He said he has one more student coming. Then three seconds later, Robert Killdeer walks through the door. Billy and I look at each other (and I wonder if his heart is beating as fast as a hummingbird’s too).
Once Robert finds half a chair to sit on, Ms. Grackle click-clacks her way to the door and closes it. Then she click-clacks back to the front of the room, all the while shimmering like a jar of grape jelly. She introduces Sam and Joel, who did their project on stamp collecting. They pass around stamps from all over the world. They do a great job presenting, but I don’t see how collecting little square pieces of paper with dry glue on the back could be as much fun as they say. I wonder if Robert will try to steal any when they’re passed his way (I’m definitely keeping an eye on him).