On Zion's Hill

by Anna J. Small Roseboro

  The preacher for the evening leans over to pick up his well-worn leather Bible from the table next to his high-back chair – the one in the center reserved each evening for the person preaching for that service. Sometimes, like tonight, the chair dwarfs the speaker; but there is at least one speaker, Reverend Reeves, who dwarfs the chair.

  Reverend Reeves is one of those weekend speakers who preaches with such vivacity that folks vocalize in the call and response style often caricatured in movies with Negro churches. He really stirs up the crowd and challenges folks to live a holy life joyfully and vibrantly.

  His wife has a great voice and plays the organ as well. She probably will sing too when he preaches Sunday morning. It’s good to see a couple who complement each other that way. Maybe Angie and her husband will become a team working for the Lord. Who knows, her life’s partner may be sitting right behind her tonight.

  AGAIN, ANGIE REMINDS HERSELF to pay attention to the minister who by now stands leaning forward, gripping the edges of the podium, raising his palm-up hands, inviting the congregation to stand. They do and he prays.

  “Most gracious Heavenly Father, we know You are here in our midst, and we invite You to remain among us as I attempt to break the Bread of Life for these who have come to hear Your Word. Open my mouth to speak what You’ve laid on my heart to bring to these folks tonight and open their hearts to hear what thus saith the Lord. We ask this in the name of Your Son, Jesus Christ. Amen. Please be seated and open your Bibles to…”

  Just as she is seated, Angie feels a tap on her left shoulder. She turns and sees Cute Head pointing his index finger up at an angle. His hand barely rises above the back of her seat; he wants her to look up. Something with a long tail skitters along one of the open beams crisscrossing the top of the tabernacle. “A mouse!” Cute Head whispers and smiles.

  She shivers, tamping down a squeal. Torn between fear that the mouse will drop on her head and the thrill that Cute Head has spoken to her, she tenses with anxiety and anticipation and whispers, “Oh, don’t fall on me. Please, please, please! And don’t let Cute Head think I’m too weird to look for me after service.”

  The mouse skitters along the rafter and she no longer can see it, but she does spot what looks like a nest in the window ledge up near the roof. She shudders and watches the mouse flit through one of the rafter openings that helps ventilate the tabernacle.

  She soon loses interest in both the mouse and the young man behind her. The minister is getting into his sermon, and she disciplines herself to listen. That really is the reason for coming to camp meeting. Right? To learn more about living for the Lord, to meet with the Saints from across the nation, and perhaps, to meet her partner for life. But first things first.

  ANGIE HAS TO TIPTOE OUT just before the altar call because the ice cream stand opens immediately after evening service, Tonight, she must scurry back to her dorm room, change into her work clothes, and be in the stand ready for the after service customers. Timing her departure always is a challenge: how to tell when the speaker is winding down the sermon but has not yet begun the invitation for prayer. It would be rude to leave during that reverent moment when listeners are making crucial decisions about what they’ve heard.

  From years of attending such services, she recognizes the clues and cues for when to leave. Sometimes it’s a change in the vocal rhythm, the volume, or even the pace of the speaker. It may be when the minister closes his Bible or begins stacking his notes, evening up the corners just so. She has become quite adept now that she’s been working for Stella a couple years. Angie has missed her timing enough to have been scolded by her boss who always sits in the back row and seldom disturbs anyone when she leaves.

  Tonight, though, caught up in the sermon, she nearly misses the signal. The minister has just reminded the congregants of God’s love and the fact that He will always be with them as they mature and through the indwelling of His Spirit become more like Him That’s something to chew on. That relationship, the minister promises, will help her to face the challenges at work and at college, and that she can just relax and be.

  She gathers her things to leave and reflects. That’s good news. There is no need for a Christian to appear to be more than God has made one to be, or to despair when one fails in some way. “God,” the minister says, “is Sovereign. He, a God of Love, knows all and controls all that Christians will let Him control and whatever occurs in our lives is for our good and His glory.”

  This causes her to wonder if she should trust God to help her meet the guy sitting behind her. He looks good, sings well, seems to have a sense of humor and wants to share it, and he is at camp meeting – the first Sunday.

  She glances at him and tiptoes out, scrunching her shoulders to appear smaller. She quietly heads for the rear door, around the tabernacle, and back up to the dormitory room to change out of her new yellow outfit.

  Why, she wonders, would a handsome guy in his early twenties be here on the first Sunday? Most guys this age either are in the military or at home working. Few will have been on their jobs long enough to take more than a week’s paid vacation, and very few young men who are up and coming come to services the first day. She is having second thoughts about this guy. Maybe he isn’t someone she wants to meet, marry and spend her life with.

  Yes, Angie has leaped into the future in her thoughts about the attractive man who was seated behind her. When her eyes first spotted him, she’d noticed his broad shoulders, his firm, but not stiff stance. He leaned forward listening attentively and stood to sing with apparent enthusiasm. He neither slumped in his seat nor swayed when standing. He didn’t seem to be a clapper, yet appeared comfortable when those around him rocked, raised their hands or clapped to the rousing opening songs.

  But what is a handsome, respectful young man his age doing at camp meeting this early in the week? Is he a slacker? Or is he well-off, can afford the time, and has the interest to come to this place at this time? Hmmm. Is this his first year on Zion’s Hill? Is he related to one of the big, influential families? She’d been coming for years and has met most of the guys who come regularly. No time for such cogitation, though. She must hurry along and get back down to the stand.

  From her second floor dorm room, she can hear sounds from the service – just faintly – through the speakers mounted on the outside corners of the tabernacle roof. The choir has already sung, “Just As I Am,” the standard altar call song, and she now hears the opening bars of the closing song, “God Be With You Till We Meet Again.” Scurrying, she’s back in the stand by the final chorus.

  3 - The Meeting

  ANGIE ONLY HAS A FEW MINUTES to get the apron on, her scoops in the water, and ready for the coming customers. She’s got to adjust her attitude, too. It’s a shame how many folks leaving a church service leave their manners on the seat with their cardboard fans. Thankfully, there are enough polite ones to make working in the stand more a pleasure than a pain for her. Not much time for talking though. Business is business.

  Stella is experienced and orders the Conley flavors her customers like and opens the stand at just the right times to be available for them. She and her husband have negotiated a rare contract to sell the renowned gourmet ice cream on Zion’s Hill during this annual meeting. With attention to detail, they’ve qualified for renewal three straight years. Stella assures Angie that it’s the combination of premium ice cream and courteous service that brings the customers back year after year. When the stand is open, they usually are busy.

  It takes a few days to regain the rhythm of pulling the cone from the tube hanging from the wall, grabbing the right sized dipper, locating the requested flavor, and scooping a solid, round scoop of ice cream. It takes skill to position the creamy confection firmly on the cone so the balls don’t tip over when handing the cone to the customer or topple off on that first lick as the customer strolls away from the counter.

  Angie prides herself on being fast and organized. It never takes her long to memorize the patt
ern in which the eight kinds of ice cream are arranged. She usually remembers the favorite flavors of the regular customers and amazes them when she offers them what they plan to order. It takes a couple of days, though, to build up the arm muscles needed to scoop quickly and efficiently.

  She really does relish interacting with the customers, even though, when bending over to dip the cream, she mostly sees waistlines, belts and bulging midsections, and the customers mainly see the top her head and the back of her collar. Angie’s boss must be satisfied, though. The stand stays busy, and Angie has been invited back for the third year.

  It’s nearly two hours before the lines trickle down and Angie is pooped. Stella says Angie can go and lets her know the time to arrive on Monday.

  NOW, SHE’S OFF FOR THE EVENING and has a half hour or so to spend on the grounds before going back to the dorm room for the night. She respects her grandparents’ curfew, even though it seems a little strict for a woman her age. She’s a college sophomore, but in their eyes, she’s still “little Angela Jeanette”.

  She hangs up her apron, takes a moment to straighten her skirt, tug down her knit shirt, and pat her hair into place. Who knows, she may meet someone interesting this evening. She lifts the latch on the slatted door and steps down, careful not to land on the rut just to the right of the exit and twist her ankle the first night of camp meeting.

  Rounding the corner, she spots a group of young people chatting near a post lamp puddling light in the grassy green common area between the tabernacle and road in front of the concession stands. She spots her friend, Lily, and ambles over. Although they had exchanged addresses again last summer and promised to keep in touch, their correspondence dwindled off before Thanksgiving. Nothing new about that. Happens every year.

  Earnest though they are, few of the teens who meet during camp meeting remain in touch for more than a few months after it ends. The impetus to write fades, entropy takes over as each gets involved in school, local youth groups, and jobs. Now with college, who knows whether this year the writing will last even until October?

  Angie sidles up to the group and stands at the edge, listening to the banter, feeling welcome but reluctant to join in until she can follow the flow of the conversation. What? There’s Cute Head on the other side of the group. He has put on a blue windbreaker, which billows slightly in the gentle night wind, and he stands comfortably with his hands in his pockets.

  He remains outside the circle, and like her, is listening attentively, but saying nothing. When he looks up, he acknowledges her presence, but makes no move to get any closer or to ask anyone to introduce them. Doesn’t he recognize her? She was sitting in front him in the service that just got out. Her chest tightens with disappointment. Maybe she’s not as memorable as she thought. Just then, Lily turns her way, sees her, greets her, and puts her arm around Angie’s shoulder, drawing her into their circle.

  “Hey, guys. This is Isaac’s sister. You remember Isaac from youth camp? He was camp king a couple of years ago. Well, this is his sister, Angie.”

  “Hi. Were you at camp that year, too?” asks Charles, the guy standing possessively next to Lily.

  “No, she hasn’t been to youth camp, but I know her from the years we worked in the dining room together.” The others in the group extend their hands as Lily introduces them. Each greets her verbally and continues talking to one another or asking something of her. Questions and comments tumbling over each other.

  “Yeah, I remember, Isaac.”

  “Quite a guy. What’s he doing now, Angie?”

  “Is he coming this year? I know he’s in college now and probably working this summer, huh?”

  “All of us here worked at youth camp this year. Earned a little dough that way, but I’m still going to have to get back home in a couple of days so I can help my uncle with his lawn care business. He pays pretty good, and I need all I can earn for tuition this fall.”

  “You too? My aunt’s helping me out this year. Says if I’ll stay here all week watching my cousins so she and my uncle can enjoy their vacation, she’ll pay me enough for books this fall. The prices are out of sight!”

  “Yeah. Those professors certainly don’t mind assigning expensive texts, do they? They always pick the latest book their friends just published.”

  “So right! It’s a racket I think. ‘You write a book and I’ll make my students buy yours. When mine comes out I expect you to make it a required text for your class.’ I can just hear ‘em talking by the mimeograph machine.”

  “Some racket and we gotta pay to play. Anyway, I’m glad I’m staying and still earning rather than spending. What about you, Kenneth?” Lily says, turning to the guy in the blue windbreaker.

  So. His name is Kenneth. Kenneth what? And why is he here for the first Sunday? Has he been a counselor, too? Will he have to leave for a job? Will someone introduce us? Is he even interested?

  Angie looks up to find him looking at her. He gives a half smile, and she shifts her eyes to glance over his shoulder, afraid that her look will give away her eagerness to meet him. Just then, Lily helps out.

  “Hey, Ange, this is Kenneth Robertson. He was a counselor with us at camp this year.” She rattles on, revealing more. “Ken lives in town and is home for the summer. Ken plays ball for Penn State. You know Brother Ralph who heads the camp? He knows Ken from church. Well, Ken came to help out with the sports this year,” she says, thumping him on the shoulder and smiling up at him.

  Oh no! Maybe Lily and Ken already are an item.

  Lily commends, “We had a pretty big camp this year--more teens than ever, and Ken did a great job with them. Of course it helped that he’s a local hero from his days playing high school basketball. Ken’s team beat Shenango Valley’s three time regional champs! Plus, he’s a solid Christian and did a great job with the Bible study with his guys.” Why is Charles looking like that? Is he jealous of this jock?

  Grabbing Ken’s hand, Lily pulls him across the circle and resumes the introduction. “Ken, this is Angie. You know, the one I told you I wanted you to meet? Well, here she is. She’s finished her first year in college too. Right, Ange?”

  Angie nods, feeling surprisingly shy. She looks at Lily, who continues, “I thought you guys would have lots to talk about being that you’re both serious collegians and committed Christians too. Yeah, Ange, I think you’ll get along well. And Ken, she’s good people. We go way back. We used to work together in the dining room. I’ve moved up to cashier. Angie’s moved up to the ice cream stand.”

  By this time, Ken is standing right next to Angie, looking down at her quizzically. Will Lily’s promise prove true? Will they really hit it off? Angie takes a deep breath, extends her hand and looks up at Ken. His eyes warm to hers in recognition. “Ah, yes. You were sitting in front of me in service, weren’t you?”

  “Yes,” she smiles. “That was me.” She should have said, “That was I.” After all, she is an English major and should set a good example. But she doesn’t want to sound all proper and superior. She’d been teased about that a lot in middle school.

  Instead, shivering in retrospect, she goes on, “And you pointed out that mouse. You don’t know how scared I am of mice. It was hard to squelch the scream. It was crawling up my throat!”

  “You didn’t look scared to me. In fact, you appeared remarkably calm and collected.”

  He seemed remarkably calm and collected himself. Good thing he hadn’t seen her knuckles popping when she clinched her the edge of her seat, trying to hold herself in place and not run out in the middle of service. She looks back up at Ken, who’s still talking.

  “Oh, the mouse just ran along the beam and out the opening. I didn’t see it anymore. By that time, though, I was drawn to what the minister was saying. He was good wasn’t he?”

  “Yeah,” she replies thoughtfully – thinking about Ken and how mellow his voice is and also about the sermon. It’s good to meet someone who appreciates a well-delivered message. Especially a well-spoken man
who also is handsome – in Angie’s opinion anyway.

  It’s hard to tell for sure in the shadow of the overhead lamp, but she likes what she sees of this man. He’s a little taller than her five feet eight inches. Her dream man is about six feet two. Ken seems about that height.

  He stands erect, proud, but not haughty, even though Lily and her friends rattle on and on about Ken’s athletic prowess and his success with the rowdy teens at youth camp. Good. He can take a compliment and not get all blown up. Maybe there is something worth considering about this guy. And maybe he feels the same about her. But what does he know about her, really?

  Ken continues to make eye contact with Angie as though he is interested in extending their conversation. He steps a little to the side and asks her, “Well, how long have you been coming to camp meeting?”

  “Oh, I’ve been coming since I was a kid.”

  “Really? I only came a couple times before I graduated from high school and went into the Air Force. I haven’t been home during the summer in years.”

  “Oh!” Angie utters. That’s why she hasn’t seen him before. He lives nearby. That may explain why a guy like Ken is up here this first Sunday. Not that it’s really all that important.

  But her experience has been that the really eligible guys come up for Second Sunday. Now, wouldn’t it be nice if Ken could come up afternoons this week before evening services. That would give them a few days to get to know each other before the weekend when the grounds get crowded and the ice cream stand is opened longer after services. Before other competition from more popular women, is what Angie really thinks, as the conversation continues among the rest of the group.

  She isn’t all that bad looking, but she seldom stands out in a crowd. Her clothes are nice, but rarely are the height of fashion and never the expensive brand names. Her figure is all right, but she has rather skinny ankles and generous hips. Her complexion is dark brown, and her skin is clear. She keeps in pretty good shape running some track in college, walking to and from the bus stops going to work, and hoofing it back and forth across campus between classes. She’s okay, but she can use all the lead time available to get to know Ken before he is distracted by other better-looking, better-dressed women. But maybe Ken has a job and can’t come during the day.