by Ruth White
Poppy does not care much for the fancy food in the freezer, so he has made us a good hillbilly supper. He slides a pone of corn bread onto a plate and asks, “Do y’all want buttermilk or sweet milk to drink with that?”
We want both, and he brings them out of the Frigidaire to the table. He sits with us, and Aunt June says the blessing. The plates are passed around for soup beans, fried potatoes, and scalded spring lettuce with onions and fat back.
Then Uncle Otis says, “Okay, Garnet, let’s have the lowdown on this kid who called. Who are his people?”
“His people? How should I know?” I say.
“Well, do you know if they’re Rockefellers, or are they some shiftless clan over on Cripple Creek that runs a still?”
“He’s not rich, but I don’t know what kind of clan he comes from,” I say. “He’s from Ohio.”
“What’s he look like?” is the next question.
“I bet he’s got pimples on his face,” Emory says.
“He does not! He’s cute.”
“I’ll vouch for that,” Aunt June says.
“How old is he?” Avery wants to know.
“Fifteen.”
“Well, if you marry him,” Poppy says, his eyes twinkling, “can he preach good enough to make a living for you?”
We all laugh. The questions go on, and they listen while I tell them about Silver Shepherd. When the topic of conversation changes, I quietly study these relatives I didn’t even know three weeks ago. Yeah, Silver’s dad would have to say I come from good people.
When Aunt June starts to clear away the dishes, I say to her, “You just sit there and finish your coffee. I’ll clean up the kitchen.”
Mom would be proud.
14
I am wearing my new poodle skirt and pink blouse and carrying my poodle pocketbook with nothing in it but a handkerchief and a dollar bill Poppy gave me. I am wearing my hair down and banded with a pink ribbon. I think I am dressed about as nice as anybody else on this Wednesday evening at the Black River tent revival.
I am with Aunt June, Avery, and Emory. I was surprised when those two said they wanted to come. We are under a big tent that is set up on the school playground. We are seated in those folding chairs like you see at a funeral, watching people as they come in talking and laughing. Aunt June, Avery, and Emory know some of the people. Occasionally they wave and smile at this or that one or call out a name.
I don’t pay them much attention. I am watching the two tent flaps that serve as doors rise and fall when people come in. Waiting for my first glimpse of Silver. Some little kids keep darting in and out of the flaps. They are tickled with this big old tent, but they are aggravating the tar out of me. Why can’t they just sit down or, better yet, go to the playground?
Then there he is. He holds the flap aside and looks for me. He’s wearing a red short-sleeved shirt and khaki pants. Our eyes meet, and I am thrilled to see that his face lights up.
“There’s your young man,” Aunt June says when he comes toward us.
“That’s him?” Avery says.
My breath comes in and out of me too fast in little puffs. We say hello and do introductions. Silver speaks to everybody, but he keeps glancing at me self-consciously, and his face is as red as a Christmas bow. Aunt June says something to him, but Emory and Avery are tongue-tied.
“Can I show you something?” Silver asks me. “Outside?”
I look at Aunt June and she nods yes, that it will be okay. We go into the warm summer dusk, and he takes my hand without a word. I know this is a moment that will forever stand out like a shining star compared to ordinary moments. The sky over the mountaintops is navy blue and purple and yellow like a bruise. And the lightning bugs are thick. Somewhere across the river a night bird is crying out his one pitiful refrain—“Whip-poor-will! Whip-poor-will!”
There are people around us, but we don’t see them. Some of them speak to us. We mumble something back.
“Over there,” Silver says to me, and points to a stack of boxes behind the tent. “There are snakes in those containers. They will be brought out for handling after the service.”
“Snakes!” I cry. “Do you handle snakes, Silver?”
“No, I don’t.”
“What kind of snakes are they?”
“Poisonous ones. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be much point. The idea is to demonstrate your trust in God.”
Together, we stare at the boxes.
“But I enjoy seeing other people do it,” Silver says. “Don’t you?”
“I’ve never seen it done. Are they copperheads?”
“Probably. And possibly a rattler.”
“Are they penned up tight so they can’t get out?”
“Oh, sure.”
“Will you promise me something, Silver?”
“Anything.”
“Promise me you won’t ever handle poisonous snakes?”
“I promise,” he says with a grin. “But that’s no problem for me. I wouldn’t pick up any kind of a snake even if you paid me good money.”
“So you don’t feel like you have to demonstrate your trust in God?”
“Not like that I don’t.”
We walk around the playground as more and more people go into the big tent, and we are almost alone in the twilight. We don’t say anything else. He squeezes my hand so tight, our palms begin to sweat and stick together. We laugh when we pull them apart at the tent flap.
Then, without a word, we go inside with the others. Aunt June has saved two seats for us, and it’s a good thing, because the place is packed and some people are standing up behind the back row.
The Black River Baptist Church choir is singing “I’ll Fly Away,” and on the next hymn we are all invited to join them.
Will there be any stars, any stars in my crown,
When at evening the sun goeth down?
When I wake with the blest in the mansions of rest,
Will there be any stars in my crown?
Silver’s voice is strong, and he hits each note clearly. When we have sung some more hymns, a squatty middle-aged man wearing a pair of thick specs steps up on a raised platform like a stage in the middle of the tent with the audience all around it.
“And now it is my great honor and pleasure,” he says, “to introduce to you a most talented man of God—Matthew Shepherd!”
Silver’s dad is tall and good-looking, with a neat salt-and-pepper beard. I think I would have known him by his smile. It’s Silver’s smile. Is this the someday Silver? When he’s what? Forty-five maybe? Mr. Shepherd goes to the pulpit in the middle of the stage and begins to speak.
“Welcome, my friends.”
It’s a sermon full of pleading to all those who have lost their way in life. At one point Mr. Shepherd gets sobs in his voice, and Silver squirms in his chair. The people respond with their Amen’s and Hallelujah’s. You can tell they like him. He’s an interesting talker—I think. No, I’ll tell the truth. I don’t hear much of what he says. I am still back there under that bruised sky with Silver, and my thoughts are scattered to the wind like dried dandelion fuzz.
But Aunt June is sitting on the edge of her chair, absorbing every word.
After the sermon we sing “Just as I Am” while people pour down the aisle to confess their sins. Mr. Shepherd welcomes each one, says God’s blessings are heaped upon them mightily, and arranges for them to be baptized.
“Next Sunday at Hanging Holler,” he announces, “there will be all-day activities for young and old alike, plus outdoor preaching, baptism in the river, dinner on the ground, foot-washing, and I don’t know what all. We might throw in a wedding or two for good measure.”
The people laugh.
And now we get to the real show. Two big, burly men and one short, hefty woman come from the rear, bringing in the boxes of snakes.
“This is Lester, Carl, and Mavis,” Mr. Shepherd tells us, “the traveling snake trio from North Carolina. And tonight, my friends, they will show us t
he power of God.”
Mr. Shepherd sits in the audience as Lester, Carl, and Mavis set the boxes down. First Carl goes in for a copperhead and pulls the ugly thing out by its round, fat neck. The people gasp, then ooh … ooh and aah … aah and clutch each other’s arms and hands.
Silver touches my hand.
Emory says, “Dern!” low under his breath.
Aunt June covers her eyes, then peeps between her fingers. Three snakes are out now. One is a rattler. You can hear his old tail going to town. Boy, is he mad. He wriggles and opens his wide mouth, showing fangs. They are real long and sharp, but he does not strike.
The snake handlers put the slithering creatures on their shoulders and around their necks. That Mavis is just as fearless as the men. She watches her snake with a concentrated look on her face, like she’s charming it.
“Glory be to God,” Carl says. “He protects his own.”
At that Mavis and Lester begin to sing soft and low in harmony.
I sing because I’m happy.
I sing because I’m free.
For His eye is on the sparrow,
and I know He watches me!
“Amen!” the people say. “Amen.”
“His eye is on the sparrow!”
“Hallelujah!”
Yeah, it’s a show worth watching all right. Directly, the snakes are put away, and everybody breathes a sigh of relief. Nobody panicked and nobody was bitten. It’s a miracle. Mr. Shepherd dismisses us with prayer, and the service closes. I am sorry it is over, for now Silver and I have to go our separate ways. First he introduces me to his dad, but Mr. Shepherd is so busy shaking hands, he barely has time to give me more than a nod and a pat on the back.
“God bless you,” he says, then turns to somebody else.
Silver walks us to our car and tells us all good night. Aunt June and Emory sit in front, me and Avery in the back.
“Wonder if I could do that?” Aunt June is pondering things out loud again on the way home. “Wonder if I would have enough faith in God?”
“Wouldn’t try it myself,” Emory says.
“Naw!” Aunt June says, and laughs. “Me either.”
A pale yellow moon, more than half-full, has come up over the hills. It peeps out from behind the scattered clouds and sees me. I smile. Hello, there, Moon, my old friend. Yeah, it’s me, April Garnet Rose. It’s still me even after all that’s happened.
“You know what I wish?” Aunt June says to nobody in particular.
And nobody answers her.
“I wish they’d have a faith healer at one of these things. That’s what I wish.”
“A what?” Avery asks.
“A faith healer. You know, it’s a preacher that heals people through faith in God.”
“Heals them from what?” Avery wants to know.
“From whatever ails them,” Aunt June says. “A cold, maybe a sore throat, a bellyache.”
“Or question-itis,” Emory says as he glances back at his little brother. “You got a bad case of that.”
Emory’s eyes meet mine for a moment. Then he looks out at the moon over the mountaintop.
15
On Thursday, just like clockwork, there’s another letter from Mom.
Dear Garnet,
I don’t know why you won’t write me back. I’ve been looking every day for a letter from you. You are the most hardheaded girl I ever saw. Write to me. You hear me? You’re not too big to whip, you know, so don’t make me come up there.
I am working hard every day, and saving all my money for you.
Love, Mom
“Not too big to whip!” I say to Silver that night on the phone. “Like she’s in the habit of whipping me. Why, she never did whip me in my life! And I’ll tell her one thing, she better not start now.”
Silver does not say anything.
“Are you still there?” I say.
“Yes,” he says. “I’m just listening.”
“I’m not writing to her,” I say stubbornly.
“But it seems like she’s worried about you, April.”
“What if she is? It serves her right for dumping me like she did.”
We are both quiet.
I am the first to break the silence. “Say something.”
“Something,” he comes back.
“Say something else.”
“Something else.”
It’s not funny anymore.
“I took your advice, April,” he says. “I told Dad how I feel about the ministry.”
“You did?”
“Yeah, and I told him I want to quit.”
“What did he say?”
“He argued with me, but I stood my ground, and after a while he gave in. Then he said he’d pray for me. That’s what he says when he’s disappointed in me.”
“But he’ll get over it, won’t he?”
“I suppose. But anyway, I took your advice, now you have to take mine.”
“And what advice do you have for me, Silver?”
“I think you should tell your mom that you are mad at her, and tell her she hurt your feelings.”
I sigh. “So you think I should write to her?”
“Yeah. She’s your mom, and she’s worried.”
“Do you write to your mom?”
He is silent.
“Well, do you?”
“Sometimes,” he mumbles.
“I’ll think about it,” I tell him.
“As soon as Dad agreed that I don’t have to preach anymore,” Silver goes on, “I called Douglas and asked him to fill in for me until they can get another youth minister. He’s happy to do it, and I imagine the folks at Rugged Cross will want him full-time. That means I will be free on Sunday morning. Are you going to the all-day thing at Hanging Holler?”
“Yes!”
“Good. I’ll meet you there!”
I go into the television room and find Uncle Otis reading the newspaper. I am still bashful around him. It’s been more than a week since I got all those new clothes, and I have not had the nerve to thank him. He probably thinks I’m thoughtless and rude. Maybe now?
“Hey, Uncle Otis.”
“Hey.” He glances up. “Was that your beau on the phone?”
“Yeah,” I say. “It was Silver.”
“Well, you know, Garnet, I was saying to your aunt this morning, how nice it is having a teenager in the house.”
This is a surprise. I wait for more, but he pretends to be absorbed in the paper.
“Thanks,” I say to him, then add quickly before I lose my nerve, “and thanks for the clothes money. I never had pretty things before.”
He mutters something, but still does not look up. Could it be he doesn’t know what to say next? Then it comes to me that adults don’t always know how to act either, same as kids. I guess we’re all just muddling through, making mistakes, but doing the best we can. I sit there for a moment, then get up to leave the room so he can read his paper in peace.
16
Oh, come to the church in the wildwood,
oh, come to the church in the vale.
No spot is so dear to my childhood
as the little brown church in the vale.
Here we are at the morning service in this pretty little church at Hanging Holler. It’s made of brown stone and sits close to the Dismal River. I am sitting between Silver and Aunt June. Silver’s dad is up front with six other preachers.
Just before the sermon, the little cherub who sang at Joy Creek appears out of nowhere, walks to the front of all those people, and starts singing “It Is No Secret.” Silver whispers to me that her name is Denise, and she is famous in these parts. She goes from church to church singing at a different place every week.
It’s a regular service, with hymns and prayers and preaching—no speaking in tongues, and no snake-handling. Then we all go outside into the sunshine, where once again I find myself sitting with Silver on the grass eating dinner on the ground. Only this time we actually eat.
Aunt June sits with us, and after dinner she starts chatting with some people she knows. So Silver and I walk on a path through a wooded area by the river. There are other young people all around us.
“Your grandfather’s name is January,” Silver says to me, “your aunt’s name is June, your dad’s name is August, and you are April.”
“Right.”
“If you ever have a kid of your own someday, would you name it for a month?”
“I don’t know. I reckon you could name a girl May.”
“March would be a cool name for a boy,” he says.
“And speaking of names,” I say, “how did you get yours?”
“From the Lone Ranger’s horse, natur’ly!”
“Truth or lie?”
“Lie,” he confesses. “My mom’s name is Goldie, and when I was born, my dad said to everybody, ‘Now I have all the gold and all the silver I will ever want.’”
There is sadness in his voice and in his face.
“Why would your mom let you go so far away from her, Silver?” I ask. “I can tell you miss her, and she must miss you too.”
He doesn’t answer.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“It’s okay,” he says softly. “Naturally, you’re curious. I … I can’t really talk about it right now, but …”
“That’s all right. You don’t have to talk about it.”
“But I will tell you all about her eventually,” he says. “I promise. Just not today.”
We come to a tree with smooth gray bark and Silver takes a small knife from his pocket. He carves S.S. + A.R. I watch as he carves the heart. When he is finished, we just stand there admiring it. I am wondering how many years it will remain there. Distant singing breaks the silence.
Shall we gather at the river,
where bright angel feet have trod,
with its crystal tide forever
flowing by the throne of God?
The baptism service is beginning at a wide place in the river below the church. Silver takes my hand, and we walk that way with the other young people. Those who are to be baptized look like a painting, as they sit there, dressed in white robes, on the green riverbank with their ministers. The singers are standing behind them, and the other people are gathering around to watch.