by Julie Kibler
The preacher’s voice and the rhythmic, almost singsong responses from his congregation reached my ears long before I arrived. I slowed at the unfamiliar chorus, my intentions cloudy now. It wasn’t as if I could simply duck under the arbor and become part of the congregation, no matter what the church’s sign claimed. What a commotion I’d cause, a skinny white girl dressed in her brother’s trousers.
So I crept around the side of the church, careful to hide in the shadows. I scanned the small crowd gathered under the arbor, searching for familiar silhouettes. I could see only the backs of most of the congregation, sitting or standing as they were, facing the preacher, except for those seated in a few rows of benches behind him. I spied Nell’s profile there in the makeshift choir loft. She was gazing at the preacher and, along with the rest, responding with nods, amens, hallelujahs, and longer phrases I couldn’t distinguish from where I watched. The preacher was younger than I’d expected—no more than a few years older than Nell—and I understood her enchantment. Not only did he speak apparent truth but he was quite a handsome fellow, too.
My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I leaned against the church’s weather-beaten clapboards. Then I started at the discovery of a young woman seated on a tree stump less than three yards away. She held a bundle close, and in a rare pause in the sound from the arbor I heard the unmistakable noise of an infant releasing from a mother’s breast and then soft baby sighs while the mother lay her over her shoulder to burp. I knew immediately I’d interrupted a private moment, but I also, by then, saw the gleam of her eyes, wide and gaping at me. A young white man hidden in the shadows of a Negro church was probably not only far from ordinary but also threatening as a general rule.
I gulped once, twice. How could I ease her mind without giving away my hiding place to the others? “Don’t—don’t worry,” I whispered, at a near loss for words and stumbling over the few I could find.
She pulled the infant closer, and her eyes opened wider, if possible. She shrank back as I stepped near. “Don’t hurt my baby. Please, just leave my baby alone.”
Her terror that I might do some unimaginable thing to her infant knocked the tie out of my tongue, and I rushed to reassure her. “I’m not going to hurt your baby. I’m not going to hurt anyone. I’m here for the service, like you.” I yanked off my cap and closed the gap between us, leaning to study the baby. The woman hurried to cover her bosom. Some of the young mothers in my town fed their babies by breast, but always in seclusion, never acknowledged aloud, as though it were a dark secret to be concealed. I harbored a hope that one day I’d be a mother, too, and that I might feed my child that way, yet the sight of an exposed breast still flustered me. I’d never even seen my own mother’s naked chest.
“It’s a beautiful baby,” I said, hoping to diffuse her tension and my embarrassment.
“Oh, you’re just a girl,” the woman said, clucking now that she could see and hear me clearly. “She’s a girl, too. My baby girl.” She held the baby away from her, beaming at the tiny face. The little one had already fallen asleep in the peaceful shadows, and her mother dabbed a line of milk pooling at the corner of her rosebud mouth. In spite of her relaxed pride, though, I knew I still puzzled the woman. I knew what question would come next before she spoke it. “What you doing here? I mean, you said you come for the service, but—” She shook her head.
“Well…” I paused, giving myself time to come up with a better reason than the ones I’d thought of so far. I settled on two truths. “That sign out front? It says ‘All Welcome Here.’”
Her eyebrows rose, but she shrugged. “Can’t argue that one, I suppose. Just never been tested before, far as I know. Course, here you are, hiding in the shadows.”
“Well, yes. But”—I took a breath and plunged ahead—“that girl in front, in the choir? The one on the left in the pink dress.” I waited to see if she followed me.
“Nell Prewitt?”
“Yes! Nell. She works for my family. She told me she was singing tonight, and I wanted to hear her. She practiced her song at my house one day, and, oh, it was like an angel on my front porch. I wanted to hear her sing at church, where I’m guessing it will be even more heavenly.”
The woman pondered my answer, then nodded, and her shoulders relaxed fully. It seemed my explanation contained too many inarguable details to be a lie. I didn’t tell her the third reason—that I also hoped to glimpse Robert, and, if it wasn’t too much to ask, to speak to him. I’d missed him so much.
“Well, you’re not too late, and it won’t be long now. Preacher’s almost done.”
“Do you know Cora? Nell’s mother? And her brother?”
“Course I do. All the Prewitts been coming to this church long as I remember. We’re all raised up here. Baptized and married and buried. Their family, mine, plenty others.”
“Have you seen them tonight? Cora?” I hesitated. “And Robert?”
She pointed. “Cora’s there on the front row, her and her man, Albert—Robert’s and Nell’s daddy. Probably sat down an hour early to get the best seats so they can hear their girl singing like an angel.” She smiled as she echoed my compliment of Nell. “Robert, I don’t know. Either sitting with the boys in the back, cutting up and being obnoxious like they do, or off somewhere doing something Preacher asked him before service. Probably that. He’s a good boy. They’re kind of tight, and they’ll be in-laws soon, if I guess right. Brother James and Nell got their eyes on each other more than strictly necessary lately.”
My powers of observation weren’t half-bad. I smiled for Nell. She loved her church, and I couldn’t imagine a better life for her than to be a preacher’s wife instead of doing domestic work forever like her mother. We’d both been hiding things from each other—though the fault was all mine.
“Baby girl’s happy now. It’s time I go sit with my family. Should I tell Nell or Cora you’re hiding over here?”
“Oh no!” I took a physical step back, and my heart hammered my ribs. “Cora would be worried if she knew. She’d probably feel like she had to tell my mother or my father tomorrow, and I’d be in bigger trouble than you can imagine.” I shook my head furiously, picturing any of the four of them if they found out. I almost regretted fibbing about being there after all. But I felt sure the young mother wouldn’t give me away.
“Okay, then. Don’t you worry. But you gonna be safe getting back home? Where do you live?”
“Shalerville.”
Now she shrank back. “That’s a good hike in the dark by yourself. What can you do, though.” It was not a question. We both knew what she meant. I wondered how she’d react if she knew Robert had walked me all the way through my town in the dark before.
“There is one thing you could do,” I said. “If you see Robert, tell him I’m here? I’ll wait around the corner there, near the building. After the service, perhaps he and Nell can walk me partway. But let him tell Nell. Don’t worry her by saying you saw me.”
Studying me, she pulled the baby tight again and pushed herself up from the tree stump with her free hand. I could envision the wheels turning in her mind as she contemplated my request, but eventually she nodded. “You be careful, young lady. I’ll tell Robert you’re here. Enjoy Nell’s singing.”
“Thank you,” I called softly as she moved away. “Your baby is lovely.”
The worry on her face vanished, and she beamed back at me.
She approached the arbor, slowing to study the young men grouped near the back. She whispered to a seated teenager. He pointed off to the side, and I spotted Robert then, leaning against one of the thick wooden posts that supported the arbor; he stood on the outside, not under its shelter. Hands deep in his pockets, he gave the appearance of listening to the preacher, except I could see his face, which wore a faraway expression. Was he thinking of me? Of our time in the arbor? I shook myself. He had more worthwhile thoughts than mooning over me—even if I mooned over him more than I cared to admit.
The woman eased toward hi
m and tapped his shoulder. He reached back as if to swat a june bug, then realized she was there. She whispered, pointed toward the church and the corner where I’d promised to wait. His face flashed from distant to wary. The young mother squeezed his arm, then skirted the arbor to the other side, where she slipped past a man to sit beside a toddler, who covered her with kisses, as though she’d been gone for days. She might have argued, but she was the second person I could have compared to an angel in one evening.
I hoped Robert considered her a messenger of good tidings. More likely, he was fuming about my increasing boldness. He crossed his arms and hunkered against the wooden support, almost as if he wished to mold himself to it and blend in until he disappeared. I almost ran. Even if the dark seemed formidable now, his expression brought me face-to-face with how ridiculous I must seem—a careless, stupid child, sneaking here, placing not only myself in danger but also him, once more. I shrank into the deeper shadows, though, and backed toward the corner. If I left, he’d feel responsible to go looking for me along the dark road back to Shalerville. I leaned my forehead against the rough boards of the building to wait.
Eventually, though, hands still buried in his pockets, Robert strolled to the back of the arbor and cut diagonally across the property. Away from me. My breath caught. Would he simply leave, sidestepping my foolishness? Or had he misunderstood the young mother’s instructions?
I sank against the building and sighed loudly. If the preacher had paused then or moved into silent prayer, the whole crowd would have discovered me.
Then I heard a frantic whisper. “Isabelle!”
I jerked my head around, nearly losing my balance in the process. Robert shushed me with one hand and steadied me with the other. Then he stepped back and studied me a full five seconds before he shook his head. “You crazy girl.”
I clasped my hands behind my back and forced a smile. I hoped I could charm him, or at least disarm him. “You’re right. I am crazy. But you’re always tempting me into these silly situations. I must be losing my mind.”
“Well, if you’re here to listen to Nell, like the lady said you were, we’d best shut our mouths. There she goes.” I swiveled, and sure enough, Nell stood at the front now, mere yards from the preacher. He’d stepped closer to his congregation and was issuing an altar call, his arms reaching toward them. He nodded to Nell, and she opened her mouth. Then out floated the notes and words she’d practiced on my porch the week before, so pure and sweet they hovered in the air all around us, even here, so far from where she sang.
She didn’t look at Brother James and he didn’t look at her, but a nearly palpable connection flowed between the two of them as they issued an invitation for the members of the congregation to respond to the message.
Clearly, they were meant to do this. Together.
My heart ached. My throat swelled. Tears pricked my eyes. Would I ever have such a partnership with a man I loved? So far, the interest my mother had tried to stir in me with the local boys had fallen flat. I’d met only one fellow with whom I could imagine sharing my life and living my dreams, and it was an impossible notion.
Yet here I was.
My shoulders shuddered, my sigh now broken by tears.
“Powerful good together, Nell and James,” Robert whispered.
I could only nod. Nell began a new verse, and several people moved forward to line up before Brother James, where they spoke and prayed with him one at a time, some openly weeping. Others knelt where they were, heads bowed toward the rustic benches, issuing unspoken requests directly to God, without a human intercessor. It was beautiful and more inspiring than anything I’d seen in my own place of worship, where we sang the same hymns over and over, and our minister, who’d been there more years than I’d been alive, delivered the same fire-and-brimstone messages Sunday after Sunday, so monotone, nobody shook with fear unless called out publicly by Reverend Creech for dozing during his sermon.
When the last one reached Brother James, and no others stood to follow, Nell began humming the song’s chorus quietly, and the choir joined her in a soothing, almost lullaby. James raised his hands high again, beckoning his congregation once more, and when no one else responded, he lowered them and clasped them behind his back. He offered a spoken prayer to end the service.
After his benediction, the choir sang again to send out the members, this time in a fast and rhythmic chorus. Some sang and clapped along; others gathered up sleepy children or embraced one another. I’d never seen such a joyful group. The state of their clothing, threadbare and outdated in most cases, indicated they struggled with poverty, barely hanging on even as America finally emerged from terrible times, yet they seemed thankful regardless.
“So, Miss Isabelle.”
Robert’s voice startled me. He seemed amused even in his annoyance, and I knew he’d reverted to “Miss” only to tease me. I’d temporarily forgotten him behind me, and he tilted his head now and eyed me with curiosity. I struggled to speak, my voice momentarily lost after watching his family and friends worship. Finally, I said, “I know you think I’m stupid for coming here. Isabelle and another one of her dangerous ideas.” I sighed. “But that was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I do envy you sometimes, Robert, even if you can’t believe it. Your family and your church and all the people who surround you, they amaze me. That young mother who found you? Once she got over the fact that I wasn’t a white boy come to cause trouble, she was so gracious, just like that sign out front says. I didn’t even know what I longed for, but now I know. This.” I spread my hands, indicating the last few lingering under the arbor and more. My voice became ragged and I nearly wept. “If only I could have it.”
Robert laced his fingers together and rested his chin on them awkwardly, as though uncertain what to do with his hands. “Be careful now, Isabelle. You might make me feel something I shouldn’t. Make me want to do something I can’t do.” He took a short step back.
“What, Robert? What do you feel? Was I not wrong that day in the arbor? It’s not just me? Tell me. Show me.”
The crowd behind the church had dissipated quickly at this late hour, and the lanterns hanging near the arbor swayed in a light breeze that had begun to stir, the only other movement visible now. The current raised gooseflesh on the back of my neck where my hair, freed from my brother’s cap, clung to my skin, damp with perspiration.
“You know I can’t,” he said. “You know it would be wrong, cause all kinds of trouble.”
He was right. I knew he was right. So why didn’t his protests cool my feelings? Why couldn’t I step away from this folly and ask him to walk me to the outskirts of Shalerville, once and for all, back where I belonged—even if it no longer felt like home.
“Robert,” I said, and shook my head the tiniest bit and gazed up, bolder than ever, into his eyes. Then he was there. He erased the space between us. Slid his hands around my waist to pull me close, then lifted one to press my head against his shoulder, just as he had during the storm. I stayed there, almost not breathing, listening to the tum tump, tum tump of his heart beating against my ear. I felt safe there, harbored in his embrace, and I didn’t want to be anywhere else, ever again. I didn’t want to move.
But then he lifted my chin with his finger and met my eyes with his, asking a question I’d never been asked, all with those simple gestures.
I leaned my head back, still cradled by his hand, and raised up on tiptoe. Yes.
He pressed his mouth to my mouth, gentle and hungry, and his lips, soft and warm, against mine. I gasped when his tongue gently prized them apart to explore the very edges of their interior. He drew back again, then dropped barely perceptible kisses on my forehead, my cheeks, my jawline, and even on the underside of my chin, where I’d never dreamed the nerves could be so sensitive to a touch lighter than the tickle of a blade of grass.
I was unable to contain my giggle. He stopped. Held me away from him and studied my face. I wondered if I looked different now.
; “Where did you learn to do that?” I asked. I was serious. I couldn’t picture him reading the racy stories my classmates hid from their mothers. Perhaps he’d seen movies—a love story in a Cincy cinema that permitted Negroes in the balcony.
He tilted his head. “Maybe I’m a natural. Or maybe I can’t reveal my sources.” I felt a twinge of something. Was it jealousy? Jealousy of the other girls he might have kissed this way before? But what right did I have to think I should be the first? The only?
What right did I have at all?
He must have detected my sudden doubt, because he slid his fingers down to my elbows, then pushed me slightly away and rested his hands on his hips. “You make a right pretty boy, Isa, but I suspect it’s time you were getting home.”
We walked in silence at first. I’d forgotten my worries again and was so caught up in the euphoria of the evening, I didn’t notice when his steps began to drag. His face grew more serious and anxious the closer we came to that sign at the edge of Shalerville. “Isabelle?” he asked finally, and dread wormed its way through my stomach.
“Don’t say it. Don’t,” I muttered, and pulled his hand to mine, not caring we were mere feet from a place opposed to his very existence except for the services he could perform by daylight.
But he did say it. “That can’t happen. It didn’t happen.”
“I don’t care about them, you know.” I jutted my chin toward town, then leaned my head back and gazed blatantly into his eyes. “I don’t care what anyone thinks. I meant everything I said. Every word.”