On Zion's Hill

Why should he be jealous of Randy and Angie? She is just a woman he’s only known for a few days. But it’s been a special few days. Just then, Ken rewinds to what he heard the first time he saw her in the tabernacle.

  JUST FOUR DAYS AGO, Angie sat in the row in front of him, wearing the creamy colored outfit. The top was lemony yellow with white stripes, he remembers. With a mother and two fashionista sisters, Ken notices details about clothes. Yes, it was Sunday evening. He’s sure he heard, “She’s the one for you.” Not out loud in his physical ear, but in his spirit. And, though this is the first time this has occurred, Ken is convinced he has heard a message from the Lord.

  Well, if Angie’s the one for Ken, the woman who’s to become his wife, he certainly is not going to stand by and see her man-handled by Randy!

  “Do you have to work the same hours that he’s in there?”

  “Yeah. It’ll be okay. We used to have a system. It won’t really be a problem. He’s left handed, like you are, Ken.” She looks down and squeezes the hand that still holds hers.

  “So, he works on the right side of the stand, and I on the left. Stella usually takes the orders, collects the money and makes change. It may really work out okay. We might not bump into one another too much.” She smiles a little, picking up the vibes that Ken may be a little jealous…just as she had been last night. That’s nice. He’s worried about her being in such close proximity of another man.

  Well, Ken shouldn’t be. Angie’s neither interested in Randy now nor will be interested in Ken after Sunday, or so she tells herself. As in previous years, he’s the guy of the week. What’s the likelihood they’ll exchange addresses and even exchange more than a couple of letters?

  Not many guys are all that good about writing. She and Ken won’t have phones in their rooms at college and the pay phones in the hall require a stack of coins to pay by the minute. He probably wouldn’t call.

  And she’d better not. Her Mother always says nice girls don’t call guys. But it is nice to think Ken’s just a little protective of her. Just the way he was protective of Thia. Ha! Thia, the Lady in Navy, is his sister! What a waste of emotional energy and loss of sleep!

  Ken looks at his watch again, surprised that it’s nearly four-fifteen, and a little uncomfortable with the thought that he’s taking Angie back to a place where she’ll be in such cramped quarters space with another guy. He does remember Randy.

  He and Ken are about the same age. They grew up going to the same church, but had gone to different high schools. Both left town right after high school and had only seen one another a few times in the interim.

  Ken hadn’t gotten back to the Valley much when he was in the Air Force. When he did return, he wasn’t often in town on weekends and seldom got to see folks from church. But, he does remember that Randy used to be quite a ladies’ man, with a reputation as a flirt. Maybe he’s more mature now. Maybe he’s already married. Lots of guy their age are. But, maybe not. Though he’d heard some rumors, Ken hasn’t heard anyone talking about Randy being engaged or anything.

  “Come on Angie; let’s start walking back to the car. We’ve got to get you up the hill and back to work. Do you have to change clothes?”

  “No, I’m going to wear what I have on. You’ve seen those big all-over aprons. I don’t get too messy when I work the stand. Just warm and a little sweaty. Oh!” She slaps her hand over her mouth.

  “Ladies aren’t supposed to sweat are they? You have sisters. You’ve probably heard them saying that pigs sweat, men perspire and women glow. Well, after a busy day dipping ice cream, my glow drips!” she chuckles, walking and talking comfortably with Ken about such bodily secretions.

  With a half hour before having to leave, they finish the trail, walking briskly. They soon are back in the car, again him perspiring and her glowing from the heat and both knowing that open windows will not likely be enough to cool them off before they reach the grounds again. Still, Angie is less tense. The Lady is Navy is his sister. Ken, however, is a little tenser. This weekend, Angie will be working with Randy, the Handy Man.

  13 – The Tweenies

  THE TWEENIES QUEUE UP WHEN THE WORD GETS OUT that Randy is working the stand. He already has a big head when it comes to the ladies and, in the spotlight of adoring fans, it swells even bigger. In his tiny mind, he acts like BMOC means Big Man on Campground! The space in the stand shrinks and stifles.

  Showboat Randy starts showing off right away. Disregarding the others in the stand, in a flash, he speeds up his dipping and filling the cones with the varied requests for ice cream flavors. Earlier, he and Angie had alternated taking orders. Now with the teeny-boppers watching, Randy tries to fill all the orders.

  It’s tough to work in an orderly fashion. The narrow freezer, stocked with the five gallon tubs just two deep and nine across requires Randy to reach over into shared space to get to some of the flavors. Stella, trying to maximize efficiency, stocks two tubs each of the most popular flavors, one each of chocolate, vanilla and strawberry on the left and right ends of the freezer, but the five other flavors are arranged in the middle.

  The eighteenth slot is for an extra maricopa, which has been a favorite this year, now that there is no black walnut. So Randy and Angie each have space in front of them for four tubs they don’t have to share, but often find themselves reaching across the other’s arms to get to the flavors in the middle.

  The outdoor temperature has ratcheted up and is hanging on to eighty-five degrees. The line lengthens, and the three workers in the stand are getting really busy.

  “You know what?” Stella informs them. “I’m going down to our house in town and bring back a bar stool to use this evening and tomorrow. The weatherman’s saying it’s gonna be just as hot tomorrow. And we know that with increased pre-registration, it’s probably gonna be just as busy. It’s just too tight in here. I’m gonna set the bar stool outside. I can still set my change box on the window ledge and work from there.”

  “Sounds good to me, Stella.” Maybe it’ll be a little less tense in this box tomorrow. When Stella leaves to rest in their trailer, Randy wants to talk, to catch up since he’d last seen Angie. Angie isn’t particularly curious about his life, but it wouldn’t be polite to appear impolite.

  She’s glad when Stella returns to help with the after dinner trade. Now Angie can stop listening to Randy and mentally recreate the afternoon she’d spent with Ken.

  How surprised she was to have jumped into the car with him when she was supposed to be angry with him. Then, what a relief to learn that the Lady in Navy was not a femme fatale. She was, in fact, Ken’s sister. And what a lovely young lady! If the rest of his family is attractive as she and Ken, it bodes well for handsome children. Children! All right, Angie. First, “husband” in your poems and now “children”.

  “What?” Angie asks, startled that someone may have heard her thoughts. “What were you saying?”

  “I was just asking what classes you took last term. Still planning to be a high school English teacher?”

  “Yes, Randy. I’m still planning on getting my teaching license along with my Bachelor of Arts degree. I have a friend who’s been helping me map out a way to do both in four years.”

  “Get your teaching credentials and BA at the same time? You’ve got to be kidding. When are you going to have time for any fun?”

  “Fun? Who’s got time for fun in college?”

  “College is a time to have a good time before you have to get a real job, get married, and get all bogged down with being a responsible grown-up!”

  Between customers, the conversation goes back and forth, primarily between the two young workers. Stella focuses on taking orders, making change, and seeing that the cones and cup dispensers remain stocked. She’d had to refill them both twice this afternoon. She left for a few moments, hiking up to the office to call in an order for more supplies.

  “Hey, why aren’t you singing tonight?” Angie asks. “I thought all the men are supposed to sing. It’s Men�
��s Day, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know. Friday’s always Men’s Day!” He winks.

  “Don’t you sing in your church choir?” She ignores.

  “Nah, I’m not doing any of that anymore. In fact, I hardly even go to church anymore. I’m just up here this year to help out Moms. She called me the other day and whined that even with your experienced assistance, she’d need extra help this weekend.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “You know her cousin is the camp registrar. She told Moms the numbers really are up this year, especially for the weekend. Moms didn’t want to train somebody new for just a couple of days, so she begged me to come. That wasn’t enough, though. She threw in how cute and grown up you’d gotten since I saw you last. Now, that was a big draw.”

  “Yeah, right,” Angie throws back. Just a little pleased that someone else is attracted to her. Too bad it’s this guy.

  “Of course, I can’t let my Moms down after all she and Pops did for me last year.”

  “What’s so special about last year?”

  “Well, I got into a little trouble, and they had to bail me out.”

  Angie’s eyebrows fly up with curiosity.

  “Nope. Don’t want to talk about it. It’s all over now. I’m off parental parole, but I still have to pay them back somehow. They’re letting me finish college. Still, I owe Moms, so, like the really great son that I am, I’m here.” He sticks out his chest, a strutting rooster in the one foot of space between them, then hearing his mother’s return, reaches to scoop out some vanilla for the customer waiting in line.

  Angie, too, double tasks. She is topping a triple-dip sugar cone with a perfectly round ball of that blue bubble-gum ice cream. She hands the cone to the teenage boy who scarfs down the ice cream on his way to the rear of the tabernacle where she’d seen other teens gathering.

  Customers gone, Angie responds, “No problem, Randy.” Sanctimoniously, she continues, “But, you know you ought to stay connected with your church family. They’ll be able to help you get back on the right track. Who’s the pastor in the church where you live now? You know the most important thing is to get back on track with God. How’re you doing with that relationship?”

  “Like I said, Angie. I don’t want to talk about it. I get enough of that from my parents.” Randy stiffens, stops his skinning and grinning and focuses his attention on dipping and serving the pair who’ve just walked to the window.

  Angie’s okay with that. But, when there’s a lull in the traffic, Randy becomes more aggressively attentive in what seems to be an even smaller space than before. Too often he bumps her arm reaching across to scoop ice cream in the tubs on her side, but he also brushes against her when it has nothing to do with their work.

  Yes, Randy still is handsome. Yes, he still is a big talker, until you touch on a subject too close to home. But neither his looks nor his conversation attract Angie. She keeps comparing her times with Ken, and Randy just doesn’t measure up. She’d known him longer, but that doesn’t matter. Ken is the man she would rather be dipping and talking with in these close quarters.

  AN HOUR AND A HALF IS NEARLY PASSED. Angie glances around the shoulders of her customers at the male choir members strolling across the grounds to the tabernacle. They come from trailers up behind that cavernous building, from cottages along the road to the right, and from cars in the parking lot down the hill to the left.

  The singers are dressed in dark pants and long-sleeve white shirts. Many are tugging at the red bow ties their director has asked them to wear this year. They look like clip-ons, but the guys keep twisting and turning them as if that will make the clip-ons sit as straight and snug under the collars as hand-tied bows.

  The streams of dapperly-dressed men converge at the rear of the tabernacle, and the assemblage flows around the corner and settles into two lines at the door. Through the speakers on the tabernacle eaves, piano and organ music signals the service is about to begin. Ah, it’s “We Are Soldiers,” just like last year.

  The male choir sings a rousing version with the passion of the renowned gospel singer, James Cleveland. The men in line sway with the music. They’ll process in, stepping in time, backs ramrod straight, like ushers in a wedding. Right foot forward. Left foot joining. A beat with feet together. Left foot forward; right foot joining. Feet together. Right, together; Left, together. Rocking, swaying, and singing. Oh! That’s Men’s Day on Zion’s Hill.

  Stella’s back. Why doesn’t she just put up the “Closed” sign? If she’d just stop taking orders, they could clean up and leave a little earlier tonight. But that is not to be. Even after the sign is up, people still hang around, hoping they’ll get a cone and finish it before the choir has reached the front and the ushers allow latecomers to enter. Stella says she’ll just take one more order, but won’t close the window in the faces of the customers. Those in line get the message and reluctantly turn away.

  Angie shrugs in resignation and wrings out the cloth sitting in the Clorox water. It’s her job to wipe the little shelf where customers lean elbows, grasp with grimy hands, and thump purses that have been set who knows where. Awaiting their ice cream or searching for coins in their purses or wallets, customers leave an amazing mess. And those sticky drips from consumers too slow to lick ice cream dripping from their cones and cups. Yuck!

  The organ and piano have begun the introduction to the first congregational hymn before Stella nods for the two helpers to leave. She’s satisfied that all is clean, stocked, and ready to open for business immediately following tonight’s benediction.

  Angie grabs her purse under the counter and pulls out her compact. Yes, she’s glowing a bit from both the work and the tension, but doesn’t want to run back up to the dorm room. Instead, she just pulls out her red sponge, wipes her face, then dabs on a light dusting of powder in hopes it will mute the shine and create a satisfactory matte finish on the currently splotchy one.

  The men’s voices join the musicians. Angie clamps the compact closed, stuffs it into her purse, and, ignoring Randy’s imploring eyes, steps out the back door of the stand. Randy stays close. Angie tries to shake him off without being impolite and looks around, trying to spot Ken through the crowd of latecomers standing restlessly at the rear of the tabernacle.

  She rises up on her tiptoes, but that doesn’t help. Randy’s neither taking the hint that she’s looking for someone else, nor is Angie able to see Ken. She decides to just be assertive, say nothing more, and step away more briskly. She and Randy will be working together after service, and she’ll just deal with him then. Ken is waiting for her somewhere.

  YES, KEN IS WAITING. It will be awhile before the ushers seat late arrivals like him and Angie. That’ll be alright. He’d noticed how busy it was at the ice cream stand and that Stella will have them clean up and set up before she lets Angie leave. He’s decided not to worry about Randy, the Handy Man. At least, not much.

  Oh, great. There’s Angie, and Randy’s right behind her. The first congregational song ends, the organ is playing the introduction to the second, and the ushers begin seating the late comers. Randy, unaware that Angie’s proximity to Ken is significant, reaches out to pull her closer to him so they can be seated together. When Ken takes her hand, Angie shakes Randy off with a shoulder wiggle, and allows Ken to gently pull her along as he follows the usher to the two seats on the end of a row near the middle of the sanctuary. No room for Randy. He is directed across the aisle.

  Angie glances over at Randy’s frustrated face, shrugs her shoulder again, ignores his questioning look and stands nearer to Ken. He’s begun singing the chorus of the new song. Speculating about Ken and Randy, Angie thinks the lyrics “We Are Soldiers,” mentioning soldiers fighting until they die, could be figurative about Christians enduring problems and also literal about these two guys vying for a girl. Like her. She’s worth the battle, right?

  A medley of masculine praise hymns has ended with “Rise Up, Oh Men of God!” The larger than normal bass section
lends macho force and authority to this traditional men’s choir song, and the congregation sways and claps with the choir.

  Soon, it’s offering time, and the organist is playing “Saved, Saved,” a familiar song the congregation begins singing without the leading of the choir director.

  I’ve found a Friend, who is all to me,

  His love is ever true;

  I love to tell how He lifted me

  And what His grace can do for you.

  Saved by His pow’r divine,

  Saved to new life sublime!

  Life now is sweet and my joy is complete,

  For I’m saved, saved, saved!

  Angie is carried along by the beat and lyrical declarations. Ken too. Randy, maybe. For just a few moments they all are taken up by the joyful Spirit in their presence, and none is puzzling over the angst of this past afternoon. Randy, too.

  The syncopated back beat inspires the Saints to follow the enthusiasm of the Men’s Choir that marches down and around to put their offering in plates on the front table, in much the same way as the Children’s Choir did last night. The ushers pass the normal white baskets to the congregation, and by the time they reach the mid-tabernacle rows, many are over two-thirds full.

  Offering over, rustling stops, and hushed curiosity drifts across the tabernacle. And by the time it reaches the rear, all eyes are looking forward to see who’s bringing the special music selection tonight.

  With a firm hand on his elbow, the usher guides a man wearing sunglasses up the stairway and across the platform. The congregation shuffles nervously as they watch his slow gait. He stumbles and then settles behind the podium, gripping the lectern to secure his stance.

  Eyes follow the usher’s brisk departure, and attention returns to the soloist. He tilts his head upwards, and the ceiling light sparkles off his dark glasses and bronze skin. Head tilted in a Ray Charles angle, the blind singer swivels towards the piano, nods, and the introduction begins to “Peace in the Valley”.