On Zion's Hill

by Anna J. Small Roseboro

  “I haven’t seen much of you this week.”

  “Yeah, I know, Lil,” she responds, wrinkling her nose at the bleach odor.

  “How’s it been going for you?”

  “It’s been real busy over here. I guess it’s been pretty much the same for you over at the dining hall.”

  “You’re right. This afternoon we were hustling trying to get the folks all served in time for them to get a good seat to hear the Taylors. I’d like to go, but I know it’s crowded in there. Anyway, I need a break. Wanna get a cold drink and sit out here and catch up?” Lil says spotting a nearby bench.

  “Stella. Okay if I leave now?”

  “Sure, why not? But, let’s tidy up a bit first.”

  Angie swipes a damp cloth across the ledge countertop, pulls down the wooden door to close the serving window, rinses the ice cream scoops in hot Clorox water, then drops them in plain water, twists the edges of the trash bag together, and heads out the back door.

  “Will you take that round back?” Stella calls.

  “Sure, I’ll take it. See you about four thirty? Right?”

  Stella nods, and remains to take care of refilling both the cone dispensers and bringing in extra ice cream from the big deep freezer she shares with the Liz, who runs the hamburger stand. The Conley Family ice cream is famous in the Valley, and people all over the country look forward to having some when they come to Zion’s Hill, so Stella keeps well stocked.

  Here on Zion’s Hill, Stella is doing a brisk business for the Conley’s. Apparently, the family is pleased not only with the volume of Stella’s sales but also with the spillover clients who show up at the ice cream parlor in town. Instead of competing, the stand on Zion’s Hill has helped spread the word about the quality products their family makes and sells. Still, Stella will retain the retail contract only as long as the Conleys are satisfied with the appearance and cleanliness of the premises.

  On really hot afternoons, the stand always sells lots of the basic flavors – chocolate, strawberry and vanilla. But this year, they’ve been doing well with the new blue bubble gum, too. Things should be all right tonight; however this early afternoon’s crowd sure has been bigger than the previous days. It’s the Taylors today and tomorrow, folks will start arriving for the final weekend. It’ll be teeming after Thursday service too, with grown-ups treating the singers in the kids’ choir. Better bring over more napkins, too.

  Making sure the lid on the trash can fits snugly, pounding once more with the flat of her hand, Angie signals Lily and they stroll across the road to get a cold drink. When they return to a bench beneath a mature shade tree on the lawn between the tabernacle and the ice cream stand, they can hear the service, drink their Cokes, and relax.

  “Well,” Lily begins. “I’ve seen you in evening service with Ken and sitting down by the basketball court with him, too. Didn’t I tell you you’d like each other?”

  “Yeah, you did. Ken’s a good talker and listens well, too.”

  Lily smiles, but says nothing.

  “I don’t mean he brags about his accomplishments or anything like that.”

  “I didn’t think so. He certainly wasn’t like that at camp. It was the locals who kept telling him that it’s a poor dog that don’t wag his own tail. Ken didn’t though. All that I told you Sunday came out over the two weeks from Brother Ralph and a couple of the campers who live around here.”

  “I can imagine. It seems he’s quite a hero here in the Valley. What about you, Lily? I been seeing you around with that Charles guy you introduced me to Sunday night. You just meet him at camp this year?”

  “Yeah. He’s a first timer, too like Ken. We get along alright, but I don’t think it’s going anywhere. What about you and Ken?”

  “I don’t really know.” Angie smiles shyly, thinking more carefully about Lily’s query. “I can relax with him. You know. He gives me space.”

  “Space? What does that mean?”

  “Um. I’m not really sure. I guess...it’s because he doesn’t crowd me.”

  “You mean, physically?”

  “No. Not just that. It’s true Ken doesn’t push himself physically into my space. He talks, but not always about himself all the time like some guys. Maybe he doesn’t like me enough to care if I think he’s cool or not.”

  Lily sips her drink and nods. Angie keeps trying to explain.

  “We talk, but I don’t feel like I gotta be putting on airs for him,” Angie acknowledges.

  Lily’s smile invites Angie to keep talking.

  “I can be myself, whatever that means. Still, I do spend a lot of time thinking about what he thinks about me.”

  “Well, what you gonna wear tonight?” Lily asks knowing that Angie is sometimes self-conscious about her attire.

  “Oh, I don’t know? What about you?”

  “I’ll decide when I get back to the room. I’m heading up soon to take a short nap. I just wanted to see you a moment and get the skinny. What do you have in mind for this evening?’

  “What about if I just wear a different top with that skirt I wore Sunday night? Ken doesn’t seem like one of those guys who pay that much attention to what women are wearing, though. That’s all me, I think. There’s something comfortable about being with him, but I can’t depend on that. Competition’s coming this weekend!”

  “You’re right about that girl-friend. I wish I didn’t worry so much about clothes either, but that’s what it’s like on Zion’s Hill. And you know when the weekend folks get here, there’ll be a fashion parade of all the latest styles!”

  “Hmmm,” Angie still on her wardrobe choices proposes. “I’ve got a really nice scarf I could use with that tan two-piece I wore last night.”

  “Don’t think I saw that.”

  “Or, what about that suit jacket from Monday? It will look okay with the dress I wore Sunday morning before I even met Ken. Then I can save that other new outfit for the weekend. I hope that hat I made won’t look too amateurish. Only two new outfits and a homemade hat. I’m lost!”

  “You’ll be okay, Ang. Now me, I wish I had time to do something with my hair. I didn’t bring a straightening comb or hot curlers”

  “Why? What you need them for?”

  “Look at my hair! I thought it would be cooler being the cashier. But, I’ve been sweating like a pig in that dining room! See, my edges and kitchen are getting all nappy.”

  “Aw, Lily. You can wear a hat Sunday and no one will even notice!”

  “I could, but I didn’t bring one this year….Hey, Ang. Look who’s coming?”

  KEN HAS TAKEN THAT OPEN SPOT RIGHT NEAR THE GATE in the parking. He stopped to say “Hey” to guys playing basketball before heading up the hill. Now, as he rounds the corner of the dorm, he spots Angie sitting up on the bench with Lily. He’s only a few feet away when Lily sees him and stands up to leave. No offense, Ken thinks, but I’m glad I’ll have a little time alone with Angie this afternoon since I won’t be back this evening.

  “Hey, Ken. I was just leaving, but Angie will be here a little while” Lily informs Ken as she heads over to her folks’ cottage.

  “Hi, yourself. Well, Lily, since you’re heading off, I’ll just sit here if it’s okay with Angie,” he says to Lily, but looking at Angie for her approval to join her there.

  “Yeah, it’s fine with Angie. She’s been waiting for you!” Lily says slyly as she departs, for real this time.

  Angie swivels her head looking at each of them talking as if they think she can’t hear. However, she is glad to see Ken and slides over a bit to give him space to sit with her.

  Angie now speaks to him directly, “Hi, Ken.”

  “Hi Angie. Okay if I sit here while you finish your drink.”

  “Sure,” she says, gesturing for him to sit.

  “I drove my mom and some of her friends up for the service with the Taylors and thought I’d just hang around till time to drive them back home. How was Children’s Church this morning? It will be nice to see a coupl
e of my younger campers singing in the service tomorrow night.”

  And so it goes. They chat awhile, and then decide to head around back to see if a couple seats remain in the back of the tabernacle. There is a pair of seats. They enter quietly once Albert finishes his organ solo, slides off the organ stool and walks towards the small table where he’d left his speaking notes.

  Reverend Albert Taylor basks in the adoration of the white dressed ladies filling nearly two-thirds of the tabernacle. Christine, who is seated on the rostrum with her husband, hands him a folder and gives him an encouraging pat on the arm before he walks to the podium. Sighing with satisfaction at this gesture of affectionate support, the ladies sit up straighter, eager to hear their darlings, the Missionaries Taylor.

  ONCE AGAIN, ANGIE HAS TO TIP OUT EARLY to go get dressed in time to join Stella in the stand between the afternoon and evening services. Ken leaves with her to go get the car and drive up to pick up his mother and her friends at the side door where he’d dropped them off earlier. Angie cuts across the grass to get to the dorm while Ken heads straight down the road to the lot. She looks around at the folks just arriving, all changed for the evening and teens coming from all corners of the campground heading over to the concession stands.

  Angie grabs the metal pipe that serves as the banister along the exterior steps up to her second floor dorm room. Once inside, when she reaches the bathroom, she cocks her head to listen, hoping not to hear water splashing, a signal that there may be a line and she’ll have wait to get in to freshen up after a sweaty afternoon in the ice cream stand. She peaks in the door and hears from the shower, “Just a moment. I’ll be finished in five minutes.”

  That’s about the time she needs to gather up her wash cloth, towel, soap and deodorant. There won’t be enough hot water for a shower, so she doesn’t even plan to take one. Still she’ll wait until she can have the bathroom to herself. This is supposed to be camp after all, and a thorough sponge bath will just have to suffice. That worked when she stayed on her other grandparents’ farm.

  As she waits, Angie allows her mind to wander back to one particularly vivid memory of a summer she spent with them. That memory first arose during a high school biology class lesson about salmonella poisoning. Now hoping for no longer than the promised five minutes before she can have some privacy in the dorm bathroom, the childhood love story again unfolds for her.

  AFTERNOONS WHEN SHE WAS SEVEN OR EIGHT YEARS OLD, lying in wait, lurking at the edge of the gravel driveway, Angie would pounce on Granddaddy as soon as he got home from work! Though he worked with a construction crew and smelled like it, Angie didn’t mind his musky odor.

  She’d greet him with a full body hug, crunching dried mud on his overalls, smearing it with her sweaty cheek when she reached around his waist to grab the lunch box he hid behind his back. She could still hear the rumble of his rich baritone voice calling over her head to his wife, “Hello, Gracie-Girl. How was your day?” Angie did not learn until she returned as a teenager to visit them that Grandmommy always packed extra – more than he could eat – just so there’d be leftovers for her

  Back then, little girl Angie’d grab the lunchbox, run back up the driveway and sit by herself on the concrete slab porch. With the black hump-topped lunch box perched on her knees, she’d flip up the metal latches and thrust back the top, rattling the silvery Thermos bottle clamped inside the lid. Ahhh…the welcome aroma of leftover bologna sandwich, the faint whiff of peanut butter cookies, and perhaps a limp sliver of carrot! She loved that Granddaddy saved a portion of his lunch for her – she’d been on his mind even when he was at work.

  It was not until that high school Biology class when Angie learned about salmonella that she realized she could have died of love! But she hadn’t.

  SHE HADN’T THEN, and here she is now with her maternal grandparents, who also are sharing with her, not a leftover lunch this time, but generously given space in their campgrounds’ dorm room.

  How blessed she has been. How rushed she is now. She’d better get going, or she’d be later than usual getting cleaned up and dressed for duty this afternoon. She peeks out her dorm door to see if the bathroom door is opened. It isn’t. She’s got a few more minutes.

  Angie has settled on the skirt and blouse and adds a lightweight woven sweater with colors of both the skirt and the blouse. That’ll pull things together enough for this evening. She looks out the door and down the hall, noticing the bathroom door is open. The lady’s probably finished showering, so Angie quickly scoots down there before someone else slips in ahead of her. She turns on the hot water tap. Good. There’s still a little left. She’s thankful that the previous lady, though late, has left the bowl clean and Angie won’t have to use valuable minutes scrubbing out the sink before she begins her own wash-up.

  While water fills the sink, Angie looks up into the mirror and yelps. “Ugh! My hair’s a mess. I should have checked before leaving the stand this afternoon. Why didn’t Lily say something? I don’t have time to heat up the curlers and do anything with this head. What can I do with this hair in three minutes?” Shaking her head, Angie reaches for her washcloth and soap dish and does what she can do…freshen up.

  Angie decides to brush her hair back and hold what curls are left in place with a couple of reddish combs. There are enough colors in the sweater that the combs will find a match there somewhere. Back in the room, she pulls on the stockings she always wears…even in the summer, and reaches for the dangling garters. Stockings make her feel more put together, and the lightweight girdle keeps her generous hips from being so noticeable. Probably not true, but she endures the girdle anyway. Black shoes and purse will have to do.

  She finishes dressing and spritzes on a little Charisma cologne, her favorite Avon fragrance, and checks herself in the small mirror her grandparents have hung on the wall on their side of the room. “Good enough, I guess. This will just have to do for tonight.”

  She remembers her Bible just as she turns to lock the door, runs and grabs it from the chair near her cot, locks up, and scuttles down the steps just as she sees Stella hooking back the doors over the serving window and scanning the grounds for Angie. She’d better hurry up. She’ll have no reason to rush to service tonight since Ken won’t be there. Tonight’s Thia’s turn with the car.

  Thursday

  8 - That Lady in Navy

  “LATE AGAIN! ON WELL. WHAT’S TO BE EXPECTED WHEN WE don’t shut down the ice cream stand until half an hour before evening service begins!” Angie slows her hustling walk and reduces her gait to a more sedate pace. She just hums along with the hymn of praise, a little annoyed with the sputtering from the speakers that face the grassy expanse she crosses.

  By tomorrow the sound man surely will have that adjusted to benefit the overflow crowds on the weekend. Lots of folks have to sit outside during the services, especially Saturday night when the youth choir sings and, of course, on Sunday mornings when some local congregations cancel services in their home churches and join the week long campers for worship that day.

  Before she reaches the rear door to the tabernacle, the congregation is joyfully singing the chorus of another favorite old hymn of the Zion’s Hill Saints,

  I am a child of God.

  I am a child of God.

  I have washed my robes in the cleansing fountain.

  I am a child of God!

  “I AM a child of God,” Angie sings with conviction. God knows she has to work and will be late for services. He’s not worried about it, so why should she be?

  Well, that’s not what she’s really worried about. It’s meeting Ken. She still worries that he may decide to skip the meeting tonight because he’s behind on his studying. He had told her that getting a jump on that organic chem class he’s taking this fall is taking more time than he’d imagined. But he promised to be here, didn’t he? Yeah, he’ll be here.

  Nearing the crowd waiting to go in, she slows down, trying to appear cool and collected, letting her eyes scan
the group, looking for that handsome guy she’d met just four days ago. It can’t be just four days. They’ve only spent a few hours together and yet she feels she’s getting to know him quite well. Well? Where is he?

  Someone touches her elbow. “Angie?”

  Angie turns.

  It’s Ken.

  Thank goodness.

  But there’s a woman with him. Oh, no! And she’s stunning.

  Long dark brown hair, glowing light brown skin with meticulous make-up and bright brown eyes. She’s wearing an expensively tailored navy suit. Her blouse is the same light blue as the shirt Ken’s wearing. She’s about the same height as Angie, but with lovely long legs. She’s shod in complementary navy blue sling-back heels and carrying a handsome leather purse. It’s only Thursday and she’s wearing a hat. A hat that matches her blouse and gloves. She’s standing awfully close to Ken, too. This is just too much for Angie. She jerks her arm away and stiffens her shoulders.

  “Hello Ken,” she replies tersely.

  “Hi, Angie. Glad you’re still here. We thought we’d miss you.” She purses her lips.

  “It took me longer to find a parking place than I thought. I guess I didn’t expect so many people on a Thursday evening. What?” Ken stops and turns when the usher gestures for them to follow her in.

  There’s no time to talk. The woman with Ken steps in front of him, behind the usher; and as Ken follows her into the sanctuary; he reaches back and gently tugs Angie to follow them. The usher has found three seats and directs them to hurry. The woman goes in first, then Ken, and then Angie.

  Great. Just what she needed. Worry about competition when she says she’s not interested in getting involved! Angie has just sat down when the song leader signals the congregation to join in singing the next song. “Sweet, Sweet Spirit”. In fact they’ve sung it each evening since the choir introduced it on Sunday to remind them of the kind of service they’re to give to one another. It’s become the theme song for the week, and a challenge to Angie, especially this evening.