On Zion's Hill

  “Well, Angie and Randy,” Stella greets breathlessly, coming up from her trailer where she’d changed out of her Sunday suit, “our last day. How’re you two holding up?” She looks up, noticing Angie’s hat. “Here’s the key to my trailer, Angie. You can put your hat, gloves and purse down there. They’ll be fine.” She looks down at Angie’s chunky heels. “I see you’ve worn relatively comfortable shoes.”

  Angie nods and accepts the offer of keys and the approval of her choice of shoes, hoping they prove to still be comfortable after her shift in the stand. While in the trailer, she uses the toilet and looks in the mirror. Fluffing her hat-smashed hairdo and feeling the nappy edges, she promises herself that before school starts, she’ll get a LustraSilk perm so she won’t have to worry so much about sweating back her hair.

  By the time Angie returns to the stand, her partner has hooked open the wooden door to the serving window. Stella has straightened the sign, lugged out her stool, settled to the right of the window, and set her change box on the window ledge. Angie grabs her apron and visually inventories the tubs of ice cream in the freezer, confirming that they all are lined up in the same order they’ve used all week.

  Within five minutes, campers who’ve not gotten into the tabernacle, who’ve left early, or decided to have dessert first, begin lining up for ice cream.

  “Three scoops on a sugar cone. That’ll be seventy-five cents,” Angie tells the first in line.

  “Seventy-five cents? It was only twenty cents a scoop last year.” Angie nods to this customer as she did to the first one she’d had last Sunday.

  “I know, but that’s the price this year. Twenty-five cents a scoop on a cone or in a cup. You got three scoops, so that’s seventy-five cents.” Same as last Sunday.

  And just as last Sunday, the frustrated customer turns to the others in the line, “Can you believe that? Gone up five cents a scoop! You’d think Christians wouldn’t be trying to make a profit off the Brothers and Sisters coming to camp meeting. They know we can’t hardly afford the cost of gas and rooms and food for the week, plus offerings at every service. It just ain’t right!” This customer adds, “After that last offering call, I only got a sixty cents left for ice cream.”

  “Well,” the lady behind her advises. “Get yourself two scoops, and you’ll have a silver dime to take home.” And then, just a little different from last Sunday.

  Recognizing she’s getting no sympathy, the lady orders, “Alright. Gimme two scoops of black walnut in a cup!

  Angie tilts her head up to the sign listing the flavors. “We don’t have black walnut this year.” Fed up, the lady snatches her money off the ledge and flounces off.

  “May I help you?”

  “You’re awfully patient. I be done tole her where to get off, if I didn’t just come out of service! Will you gimme some of that mari-mara- meri – you know that ice cream with the caramel running through it.” Randy chortles as Angie waits on the customers in her line and he, the next in his.

  “Yes, ma’am.,” Angie replies. “Would you like one or two scoops of maricopa in a cup or on a cone? Two scoops in a cup. That’ll be fifty cents. You can pay Stella, right there.” Stella nods in approval.

  NEARLY AN HOUR GOES BY BEFORE THERE’S A LULL in the lines and Angie notices Ken, Thia and Melvin standing in a tight circle a few feet from the stand. They look her way, then talk. Ken’s shoulders tense. He’s upset about something. Angie can’t hear him.

  “I didn’t know Randy the Handy Man was going to be working in there all weekend,” Ken grouses to Thia and Melvin.

  “Randy, the Handy Man? You mean Stella’s son? He’s okay. Yeah, I know he got that girl pregnant last year. But he’s okay, now.” Melvin endorses. “I saw him in town Saturday, and we had a pop at McDonald’s. He was a little glum at first. But he eased up. He was nearly in tears telling me about what happened Friday during the Men’s Day service.”

  “Arrogant Randy, teary in public? That’s hard to believe,” Thia adds scornfully. “That doesn’t sound like the BMOC I know.”

  “Well,” Melvin continues. “I believe you’re going to find he’s different. A new creature in Christ Jesus.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it.” Thia continues disdainfully. “You know he tried to hit on me the last time he was in town. I told him to get lost.”

  “That was then,” says Melvin. “I believe him. He seemed sincerely sorry for what he’s put his family through.”

  “Humph!”

  “Thia, he admits he has not been all that respectful of the women in his life. He even apologized to me when he found out you and I are going steady.”

  Ken just listens, praying that Angie is safe with the Randy he knows, or thought he knew. It’s awhile before his shoulders relax. Hearing Melvin, Ken decides to give the guy the benefit of the doubt. But he’s keeping an eye out. His eyes roam back over to the stand. They stop when he sees Angie looking at him quizzically. He wonders if she’s been watching him, thinking she’s pretty sensitive to him, if she is. If she senses he’s upset about something, she’d be right. He smiles, nods to her, and slowly starts walking her way.

  Before he arrives though, a slew of kids and teens descends on the stand, wiggling and giggling and waiting to see what their doting grandparents will cough up for them this last day.

  Ken intently watches Angie and Randy wait on the group. The two work in tandem. Randy is careful not to brush or bump Angie as they crisscross arms to fill this order of eclectic choices. Some want a scoop in a cup, others two scoops on a flat bottom cone; one wants a scoop of red and one of white on a pointy bottom cone. One tweeny cops an attitude when she learns there are no sprinkles, but stops immediately when her grandmother gives her the look. Otherwise, they are a well-behaved group, and Angie and Randy automatically alternate, filling their requests, as though choreographed.

  “Is that it? Have you all got what you want?” Grampa asks. The kids look up and nod, spooning and licking the flavors of their choice.

  There’s just one more girl, about thirteen years old, who’s been preening in line, hoping Randy will notice her. However, before she can tell him what she wants, the four year old who’d been first in line, smashes his ball of chocolate with his tongue and it tumbles off. Surprisingly quick, he catches it in his other hand before the schmushy mound hits the ground.

  “Oh! Granmommy,” he howls and hops, “it’s cold!” Tears well up. His eyes beg for help. Gramma and Grampa are just far enough away to be of little assistance. The cousins are distracted with their own treats. Quick-thinking Angie grabs a cup and holds it out to the little one. He’s smart enough to roll the ball of ice cream into the cup, and then holds out his drippy hand, tears plopping into the mess dribbling through his fingers.

  Randy reaches over with a napkin. The older cousin awaiting her order takes the napkin and flutters her eyes at Randy; only half smiling, to hide her sparkling braces. With loving attention, she gently wipes the little one’s hands, flips the dirty napkin into the trash can sitting to the left of the window, then looks up at Randy for approval. He gives her a big brother smile.

  Another potential disaster averted, Angie and Randy finish the order, the grandparents pay, and the happy family leaves. Just a few people remain in line. The crowds on the grounds have thinned as loaded cars groan down the hillside roads surrounding the tabernacle, joining the traffic creeping to the highways taking each family back home. Angie notes numerous passengers looking back longingly, sad to be leaving Zion’s Hill.

  Just another hour and she’ll be finished. She too is a little sad to leave, but not totally. The ice cream stand is closing, but the other concessions across the road will remain open until about eight o’clock or until they’re sold out. Here in the stand, they’ve virtually scraped the bottom of their tubs to fill the final orders, so closing at six is good for her. Stella says her husband will come help her do the final clean-up. “Right on!” Angie jubilates. “I can leave at six on the dot!”


  Stella smiles knowingly and hands her a generous check, the hourly rate on which they’d agreed as well as a bonus based on the increased sales they’ve had this week. Angie doesn’t wait a second longer than it takes to get her things out of Stella’s trailer. Ken is waiting.

  He’s been sitting alone on a bench a few feet from the stand, just watching the grounds empty of campers. Melvin, keeping his promise to treat Thia to dinner, has escorted her up to the campground dining hall. She may be shapely as a model, but Thia loves to eat well and is comfortable enough with Melvin to pig out in his presence. Ken has promised to wait and have something with Angie when her shift ends. And as he promised, he is here to meet her.

  Earlier, as promised, Ken had met his young camper’s sister. True to his word, Joey had located Ken, run back to the tree with the knot in it, returned with his older sister in tow, and rushed back up to introduce her.

  “HEY BROTHER KEN, THIS IS MY SISTER, CELESTE. Remember, I tole you she was coming up this weekend. Where was you last night? We didn’t see you. Well?” he queries, grabbing her hand and pulling her forward. “Here she is. She good looking like I told you. Right?”

  Celeste is as handsome as Joey had claimed. She’s a stately woman, conservatively dressed in a pale green shirtwaist accessorized with a wide black patent leather belt, mid-heel shoes, and a modest sized handbag. Gloves that match her pillbox hat peek out of the side pocket of her purse. She extends her hand toward Ken. He meets hers and gives it a cordial shake.

  ”Glad to meet you, Celeste.” He releases her hand, and then stands with both his clasped behind his back. “Joey’s real proud of your new job with the Urban League. Even bragged all week about being in the March for Freedom and hearing Reverend King.”

  “Really? I can just imagine. The whole family participated. My parents have been members of the Urban League for years and were thrilled when I accepted the job as a legal secretary in the League’s office. We’ve been real busy this summer.”

  “I can imagine. It must have been exciting, too.” Ken replies, trying to express interest in her when he really has none. “Is your office chartering buses for the March on Washington?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, we’ve got a waiting list of folks who want to join the march and hear Reverend King again on the Washington Mall. He’s one of the speakers lined up to present in front of the Lincoln Memorial.”

  “Are you going?”

  “Yes, our whole staff gets to go. With the thousands of marchers expected, it’s going to be tough to get a place close enough to hear him. I’m going to get an early start that day,” she beams.

  “Didn’t I tell you she is smart?” Joey rattles on, and then sees his mother beckoning them. “Aw, Mom’s calling us, Celeste.” He calls across to his mother, “We gotta leave now? I just introduced them. I want you to meet him, too.”

  “Okay Joey,” she says, and she and her husband join the three, meet and greet and then repeat, “You know we have to leave now.”

  “I know. I know. Celeste gotta be at work early Monday.” He shrugs with resignation, turns to leave, and then eager to extend the conversation asks, “Ken, you going to work tomorrow, too?”

  “No, Joey. I’m heading down to State College. Pre-season training starts at the end of the week. I have to get moved into my apartment, pick up my schedule, and buy books before things get hectic on campus.”

  “Really, Brother Ken? I’m gonna to go to college and play basketball like you. I was really good at camp wasn’t I?” Joey asks, looking at his parents, not Ken.

  “You’re quite an athlete, Joey. I’m sure you’re going far. I’ll be watching for you on TV.” Joey’s parents have been introduced, exchanged handshakes, and now all four turn to leave with Joey glowing from praise.

  “Bye, Brother Ken. See you next year!” Joey waves. Looking back, he nearly trips off the curb, catches himself with an embarrassed laugh, then gets in step with his family, walking purposefully down the hill.

  Ken is grateful. He has been kind to Joey and polite to his family, but he really is not ready to get involved with another woman, even one who is as striking and smart as Celeste.

  HE SPENDS THE REST OF THE AFTERNOON in similar fashion. Greeting families of his counselees and waiting. Between encounters, like body guard, he checks out the stand to see if Randy is taking advantage of the tight working quarters to act like a man on the prowl with Angie.

  Ken admits that he’s begun to care about such things. Though he’s not in a hurry to become embroiled in a serious relationship, he does not want Angie getting into one with someone else, even a reformed Randy, as Melvin claims. Reformation takes time, and Ken has no evidence that Randy has really changed. Anyway, God has virtually promised Ken that Angie is the one for him. So Ken waits and watches, then strides over to the stand when Stella carries her stool and change box around back, signaling that business is over for the year.

  “You ready?” he asks when Angie joins him outside the trailer where she’d gone to retrieve her things. Angie nods, adjusting the hat she’s decided to put back on rather than return it to the dorm. “Still want some of that fish?” Angie, hungry, blushes and nods. “Well, come on. The line is shorter now. We should have only a couple minutes to wait.”

  “Great. I’m starved. Other than the peanut butter and crackers I had for breakfast and a few licks of ice cream off my hands, this will be my first real meal today. How about you get the fish sandwiches and I get the fries? I’m not rolling in dough, but I did get paid today. Stella even added a little bonus. That be okay with you?”

  “Sure, that should work,” Ken says with relief. He wants to be generous, but he’s a little cash strapped. He’s holding back a little because he wants to invite Angie to go bowling with him, Thia and Melvin this evening.

  Among the folks he talked to after service this afternoon are some of the camp counselors who live nearby or who aren’t leaving for home until tomorrow. Most are going bowling at eight this evening. As his belated thank you for their work during camp, Brother Ralph, their camp director, has rented out the place for all who want to attend. It’s just the kind of date Ken can afford. Three free games and shoe rental thrown in.

  Ken and Angie get their food and stroll down to the picnic table next to the playground. The area has been abandoned by kids on swings and even teens playing basketball. Most families are packing or have left, and things are quieting down all over the campground.

  Angie is relieved that Ken settles for cups of water they got from the hamburger stand. He’s delighted that she is as sensitive about money as he. On the walk down the hill, Ken asks, but she doesn’t respond to his invitation to go bowling.

  When Ken explains that Lily and other counselors she’d met will be there, as well as Thia and Melvin, she accepts, no longer reticent about going off the grounds in the evening with a man she’d just met a week ago. Now seated, Ken asks the blessing, and they eat companionably and chat about the morning service.

  In Angie’s eyes, this is another plus for Ken. Here’s a man comfortable talking about money and also comfortable praying out loud in public. That’s two plusses.

  “I really liked the song Reverend Reeves’ wife sang before the sermon.” Angie opens. “I know I’m still a teenager, but I really do like some of the old hymns. “He Hideth My Soul” is one of my favorites.”

  “I’m with you. Those oldies but goodies are nostalgic for me. When I was in the Air Force, hearing the old songs on the radio comforted me, and also made me lonesome for home. As eager as I was to leave the valley, to get out on my own and on with my life, I missed the music at our church. Music is emotive for me, evoking memories of special people and special times.”

  “Really? Me too. What are your favorites?”

  “Favorite whats? Songs, people, or incidents?”

  “Well, all three. Is there one song that brings back all three?”

  “Um,” Ken takes another bite of his sandwich as a delay ta
ctic, trying to organize his thoughts on a song, a person and an incident. “As a matter of fact, there is. Melvin’s father has a deep bass voice. He loves the hymn “We Reap As We Sow,” a song that has a bass repeat on the chorus. In my mind’s eye, I can see him throw back his head as he sings. In my mind’s ear…”

  Angie laughs at the image of a mind’s ear. “In my mind’s ear,” Ken continues in spite of her laughing at his imagery, “his rumbling bass repeats a message I’d sometimes like to forget.” Ken sings the refrain.

  Soon you shall gather what you now scatter,

  Unto your life give diligent heed;

  What we are sowing surely is growing,

  That which we reap shall be as the seed.

  She recognizes the song and joins him on the second go round. He sings the answering bass line. They look at each other and smile when they realize they’ve sung the final phrase in perfect harmony. In thoughtful silence, they finish their fries. Both wondering what this singing together may signify.

  “Those lyrics are a challenge.” Angie concedes. “They remind me of Doctor Jamieson’s sermon last night.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You missed a really good one, Ken. You know his delivery style is so different from Reverend Clarkson’s that some people miss the power of his message.

  “It’s almost like being cut with a scalpel. You hardly realize you’re cut till you see the bleeding.” Angie stops and looks down at her greasy fingers. Her eyes are revealing her heart, and she’s not sure she’s ready to share what happened to her in the dorm room this morning, so she tries to redirect the conversation. “Um, Ken. You gonna need that extra napkin?”

  “No, one’s enough for me. I can just lick my fingers,” he replies handing her the napkin. “Those fries are something else, aren’t they? “ He licks his fingers.

  She takes the napkin, “Thanks”

  Ken continues. “You know, this is the only place I eat them with vinegar. Don’t know why I don’t think of using vinegar at home.”