by Nancy Canyon
Alice reached for her cross. “I go to church to worship God, not to promote myself.”
“Who are you kidding? You’re no angel. It’s just a nickname. You’re there to see lover boy.”
Alice gasped. “You’re wrong.”
“I don’t think so. I see the way you look at him.”
“Enough, already,” her mother snapped. “Whatever our personal reasons, you’ll enjoy Pastor Smith’s service without me.”
Alice choked. She gulped her coffee and wiped her mouth with a paper napkin. “Why?” she asked, her voice breaking.
“I’m taking the bus to Joy. Nana needs me.”
“You can’t!”
“Give me one good reason why not?”
“It’s…it’s too hot to travel.”
“Grandma Rose needs help moving into a retirement home. We do what we have to do, heat or no heat.”
“We can manage for a night. Alice will whip us up something good to eat.” Her father rested his elbows on the table and leaned toward her. He grinned and said, “Isn’t that right, Alice?”
Alice’s angry fear snapped at her ribs like willows in swift water. She squeezed the fork handle, “Whatever you say.”
“I hate Alice’s cooking,” Christie said. “Thank goodness there’s leftover goulash to eat.”
Alice threw her fork down and pushed back the chair. “Fine! I’ll be in my room.”
“Change out of that dress while you’re up there pitying yourself,” her father said. “You look like a tramp in that get-up.”
A half hour later, Alice walked out of her room wearing the same navy-blue crepe dress and blue flats she’d worn to the father-daughter dance. She’d waited in the shadows that night for her father; he never showed.
She stood at the top of the stairs, her drawing book clutched to her stomach like a shield. After church she’d sketch Stephen’s lilies in the church garden.
“Wait in the car, Violet. I’ll bring your suitcase.”
“Hurry up, Alice,” Christie shouted. “We’re going to be late.”
The door slammed shut and the house held its breath. Fear rose in Alice’s stomach like silent water. If she hadn’t dallied over which dress to wear to church, she’d be sweating in the hot car alongside her mother and sister.
“Get down here, Alice!”
Alice numbly fingered the satin edging along the scooped neckline of her dress. Her thoughts fuzzed out, twirled into an eddy, caught the current again and drifted downstream.
“Alice, goddamn it. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get your ass down here.”
Alice bit down hard on her lip until the pain roused her from her stupor. She bolted down the stairs and past her father. “Sorry. I was changing my dress.”
He grabbed her arm, jerked her back. “What’s the big hurry, Angel?"
“Mother’s waiting,” she said, annoyed suddenly by the crooked knot in her father’s steel-colored necktie. “Let go of me, or I’ll—”
“Or you’ll what, Angel?” He laughed. “Now walk back up those stairs and bring down your mother’s suitcase. And, snap it up! It’s a goddamn barbecue out there. If she heat-strokes, you’ll be at fault.”
Alice turned and walked back up the stairs, counting each step as she climbed—ten. Ten steps. Ten gnawed fingernails. Ten kicks to her father’s face. Ten knives sticking into his back. Stepping through the bedroom door, she reached for her mother’s luggage. On top of the brown suitcase was a folded silk nightgown the color of wild roses. She touched the pink cloud, snagging the fabric with a hangnail. She jerked her hand away. The bodice caught. A tiny thread puckered the delicate fabric.
“Great! I’ve ruined it. Mother will be furious.”
“What’s taking you so long?”
“Be right there.” Alice grabbed the nightgown off the suitcase and a card spilled to the floor: Wear this tonight, Angel. Love, Daddy.
Gasping, she threw the card and gown into the trash. Sketchbook in hand, she grabbed the suitcase and hurried down the stairs.
Her father touched her shoulder. “What took you so long?”
She shook him off. “It’s heavy," she said, and hurried out the door.
Alice settled herself into the backseat of the stifling ’55 Chevy next to her sister. Christie snarled from behind the mound of white satin. “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing.” The trunk slammed and her father climbed behind the wheel. He flung his arm over the seat-back and smirking, backed from the driveway. “Pastor Smith’s buying me a burger,” he said, screeching to a stop. “Can’t wait!”
“Jim, stop it.”
Jim faced forward and shifted into first. “Don’t nag me, Vi,” he said, and sped off. “You know where that gets you.”
“Slow down, Jim.”
“You driving, Vi? Christie’s late for choir and you gotta get to the Bus Depot.”
Alice remembered Stephen’s words: Things happened for a reason. There was no good reason for the way her father treated her. She leaned her forehead against the side window and stared out at the burnt lawns blurring past. Without her mother home to protect her, she didn’t know how she would survive the night.
“I’ll drop the girls first, then swing on over to the bus station. Maybe I’ll get lucky and miss most of Pastor Smith’s lousy little sermon.”
The lighter clicked from the dash. Violet lit her cigarette. Smoke filled the car. “Give him a chance, Jim. He’s new at this.”
“Belle’s having a girl. I just know it. Maybe she’ll pop today,” Christie said. “What if her water breaks in public? People will think she wet her pants. How embarrassing.”
“The first one’s usually late,” her mother said. “Alice was.”
“If I were her father, I’d throttle her. Bastards ruin a good family’s name.”
Alice tuned out their conversation and examined her fingernails, vowing to quit chewing them for Stephen’s sake. The car hit a pothole and tossed her sideways into her sister.
Christie shoved her. “Gross, Alice. Only babies bite their fingernails.”
“What do you know about babies?”
“More than you ever will, Stupid.”
“Don’t start, you two,” their mother said, and blew smoke through her nose as she spoke. “And, why in heaven’s name are you bringing that drawing book of yours to church?”
“To sketch the lilies after church.”
“In this heat? You’ll sunstroke.”
“There’s shade in the garden.”
“There’ll no sketching today. You’ll be helping me with inventory today.”
“It’s Sunday,” Alice said. She shook her head to quiet the buzzing that dulled her hearing. “We’re supposed to rest on Sundays.”
“There’s no rest for a fallen angel.”
“Jim, let her alone. It won’t hurt anything if she spends the day sketching?”
“Inventory!” Her father took the corner overly fast, squealing the car into the church parking lot. They screeched to a stop and sat there, people on the sidewalk staring. Alice watched as a cloud of dust washed over the gawking congregation.
“Damn. Will you look at those apples? Kiss your mother goodbye, girls,” he said, jumping out of the car. “Alice, leave your book in the car. I’ll look after it. Back in a sec, Vi.” He dashed through the dust into the apple orchard.
No way was she going to leave her sketchbook for his prying eyes. Slipping it behind her back, she climbed out of the car.
“Get out of the way,” Christie said, knocking her against the door mirror.
Alice grabbed her stinging shoulder. “Watch it!”
Christie ran off ahead of her, dragging her white choir robe along the dirty asphalt, weaving through the crowd of staring churchgoers. Alice remembered to smile when they looked her way.
Her mother took the last drag off the Viceroy and tossed the butt out the window. “What are you waiting for, Alice?”
Alice grabb
ed her arm. “Please Mom, don’t go!”
“For Christ’s sake, Alice. You’re acting like a child. I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately?”
“Nothing,” Alice said. She could feel the dam of her resolve weakening. Her father’s leather soles slapped the pavement behind her. She swung about just in time to catch the apple he tossed over the hood toward her.
“Damn, it’s muggy today.” He opened his pocketknife and sliced a wedge from the summer apple. “Hurry up. You don’t want to miss lover boy’s little sermon. I’ll be right back.”
The pipe organ’s bass chords reverberated through the church, vibrating the bottom of Alice’s feet through the soles of her navy-blue flats. Hankies and programs fluttered, stirring the air, mixing the smell of bee’s wax with lemon wood polish and old-lady perfume. Sun poured through red stained-glass windows, tinting the sanctuary pink. A nightgown the same color as the light was crumpled in the trashcan back at home. Alice’s head felt woozy, her stomach churning. She needed a place to stay the night.
“Psst! Alice!”
She looked up to see Gena hurrying toward her.
“Sit up front with Mom and me.”
“Can’t, I’m waiting for Dad.” She nested herself over the top of her sketchbook and set the apple on the pew next to her.
Gena slid in beside her. “So, what’s with the apple?”
“Dad stole it from the orchard. Want it?”
Gena grabbed the fruit and crunched into its unblemished flesh. “Ummm, crisp and juicy.”
“Did Rod call you?”
“Nope.”
“Don’t worry. He will." Alice wiped her brow with the back of her hand. “I’m roasting. Dad made me change. Said I looked like a tramp in my sundress.”
“So you wore your dad-daughter dress to keep him happy? He’s an asshole, you know.”
“Gena!”
“Well, he is. What happened to your fingernails?”
“They’re a mess.” Alice curled her fingertips into her palms. “It’s Dad. He’s making me crazy. I need to get away from him.”
“Come over after church. We’ll go to the river.”
“I mean permanently.”
“Move in then. Mom wouldn’t care.”
“They’d never let me.”
“You’re eighteen. Do what you want.”
“He’d just haul me back home.”
“You’re always crying wolf, Alice Sharp. I’m tired of it,” Gena said, taking another bite of apple. As she chewed, she looked around the church.
“Am not either. And besides, what do you know? Your mom’s the best.” Alice looked around for her father. She hoped he would miss the service.
“Guess what?” Alice said, lifting her red hair off her overheated neck. “Stephen bought me a burger last night. We ate at the river.”
“Holy shit!”
“Shhhh! Everyone’s looking. Invite me for a sleepover and I’ll tell you all about it.”
“Far out! We’ll make popcorn. Drink cokes. Maybe rob the liqueur cabinet after Mom goes to sleep.”
The church door creaked open. Alice turned to see her father looking around for her. He caught her eye and nodding, strode down the aisle toward her. She turned to her friend. “Here he comes. Meet me in the garden after church. I’m sketching the lilies today. We can go to your house after that.”
“Okay,” Gena said, getting up to leave.
Alice’s father slid in next to the two girls. “Joining us today, Gena?” he asked, his eyes lowering to the dark well between Gena’s breasts.
Alice leaned forward to block his view. “She’s just leaving. Mrs. Anderson’s waiting for her up front.”
“Thanks for the apple, Mr. Sharp. Tart and crisp, just like I like ‘em.”
“Like I always say,” he said, looking her over, “first ones to ripen are the best.”
“Right.” Gena’s face darkened. She turned and hurried off.
Alice’s father leaned closer to her. “You know, you could learn something from her. She’s a sharp dresser. Pretty hair.”
“Did you have to look at her that way?”
Her father laughed. “You’re a chip off the old block, Angel. Want some gum?” He pulled a pack from his shirt pocket and offered her a stick.
“No,” Alice said. The corners of her sketchbook dug into her thighs. She shifted her weight, fanning her face with her program. She felt faint.
Jim smacked his gum in her ear. “Here’s lover boy now.”
Alice leaned away from the smell of peppermint and her father’s heat; she peered between the heads of the folks sitting in the pew in front of her. Stephen was pulling at his sash, trying to free it from his chair. When he finally got it loose, his cheeks had turned bright red with embarrassment. He brushed sandy hair out of his eyes and stepped up to the podium.
“Morning, everyone. It’s nice to see you this morning. Would you please turn to hymn sixty-eight.”
Alice grabbed the hymnal from the back of the pew. Pastor Smith lifted both hands and the congregation rustled to standing. The organ music swelled just as a ray of sunlight broke through the window, washing over the pulpit like pure river water. Shivering, Alice belted out the song along with the rest of the congregation. When they were finished, Stephen gestured for them to sit down. Alice turned, having forgotten her sketchbook resting in plain view on the pew. She sat down quickly before her father confiscated it.
“Give it here,” he said.
Alice pulled it out from beneath her legs and the photo spilled onto the floor.
Her father grabbed the picture. “Where’d you get this?” he said, and slipped it into the pocket of his shirt.
“Don’t remember,” she said, and moved a few inches away from him. She set the book on the pew on her opposite side.
A woman turned to shush them. Gena’s mother stood at the pulpit saying something about a bake sale to be held at the Fourth Celebration.
“Thank you, Sally,” Pastor Smith said. “Enjoy goodies and support the church at the same time. What could be better?”
Alice’s father whispered, “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay out of other people’s business.”
Stephen said, “Today’s topic is forgiveness.”
The word snagged Alice’s attention like rusty barbwire catching the hem of her jeans. How could she forgive her father for treating her the way he did? She remembered the first time her father ever touched her. He had sent her to the storage room to fetch paper bags for the front counter. She was only six years old and feeling so grownup and proud to be working alongside him at the store. She didn’t hear him come up behind her and before she knew what was happening, his hand was under her shirt, feeling her bare skin at the same time his hot breath covered her ear, warning her not to tell anyone. Now, just thinking about it made her body freeze and her pulse quicken. The idea of forgiveness was the last thing she could imagine. Her father snored softly beside her. A wave of vertigo washed over her. She took a deep breath like her mother had taught her, to calm a sick stomach. Her father startled, looked around, smiled and fell back to sleep. Stephen went on about God forgiving everyone. Alice picked up her drawing book and slipped out the side door.
It was hotter outside than inside, but not nearly as stuffy. Alice wandered over to a shaded bench and took a seat beneath a twisted bull pine. She cradled her head in her hands, waiting for the spinning to stop. Her mother had taken her to see Doc Redman once for dizzy spells, but he couldn’t find anything wrong with her. She wanted to tell him what was really wrong, but she’d promised her father to keep the secret. How afraid she felt when he came to her room in the middle of the night. As he smiled and said she’d probably grow out of it, she gave him the dark look her mother called brooding. He’d stopped, studying her closely, then went on to say, “Well, anyway…I’ll see you again at your yearly checkup. We’ll see how it’s going then.”
The church door crashed open. Alice’s father s
hot out ahead of the sleepy crowd and marked her with a pointing finger. “Get your butt into the car,” he said, jerking his arm toward the parking lot.
He was halfway across the sizzling blacktop when Christy ran past, her choir robe trailing on the ground. “What’d you do now, Stupid?”
“Nothing,” Alice said, and followed along slowly. A gust of hot wind blew dust into her eyes. Stopping, she rubbed away gritty tears. When she looked up again, the glow of taillights backed rapidly toward her. The Chevy’s brakes squealed as Alice jumped out of the way.
Her father leaned out the window and yelled, “Storm’s brewing. Take a big one to rouse me from the coma that sermon put me in. Get in the car, Alice.”
“Yeah, hurry Alice. I’m starving.”
Alice approached the car window, her red hair whipping into her face. She brushed it aside. “I’m sketching the lilies in the church garden today. I’ll walk home later.”
Alice’s father mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. “You’re testing my patience, Angel. Now get in the car.”
“Alice,” Gena called. “Come on. Let’s see the lilies in the church garden.”
Alice turned to see Gena reaching for the latch at the garden gate. “Gena! Don’t go without me!”
“Alice, do you need help?” a gruff voice said.
She turned to see the pharmacist. “Hello, Mr. Henry,” she said. She could feel her stomach tighten as people began to stare. She remembered to smile. “No, thank you, Sir.”
“Hello, there Jim,” Mr. Henry said. “Anything I can do?”
“Kids are hungry, Joe. Just need to get them home. Alice, you’re causing a commotion. Hurry up.”
Suddenly, Alice remembered the red fox escaping beneath the barbwire fence and recalled sitting at the river with Stephen. She pulled herself back from the daydream and thanked Mr. Henry. Climbing into the front seat beside her father, she waved to Gena as they drove away.
The Chevy sped east along River Road, heading toward Carl’s Crossing. Alice saw the sun-bleached willows, dull and lanky, their weary heads drooped toward the glinting river. She decided to ask her father to drop her at South Hill Road. She needed to sit in the shade of a weeping willow and sketch rocks, leaves and birds. She knew that would make her feel better. She turned to her father, noticing his flexed jaw muscles, his iron hands gripping the steering wheel. Before she could say anything, they skidded around another corner, forcing her to grab the door handle to stay upright.