Summer of the Redeemers

by Carolyn Haines

When it seemed that the congregation would surely jump up and bust out the doors, the little singer called a halt to it and turned the show back over to the preacherman. The boys had called him Brother Marcus, and I was eager to see what he looked like. The man who walked up to the edge of the stage was tall and lean, younger than I’d expected. His chestnut hair was pomaded back, and it glistened in waves under the hanging light bulbs. The crease in his pants was razor sharp, and his jacket hugged him tight and had big padded shoulders.

  The attention he gave his clothes was very different from the way the congregation was dressed.

  For the first time I noticed the plain walls of the church and the lack of any softness. The floor was unpolished wood and the pews were unrelieved by any cushions. There weren’t any plants or flowers on the little table up front, and even in their Sunday best the women were as drab as female mockingbirds. The men weren’t any better in their dark suits and white shirt collars. I could only see their backs, but I knew the shirts were buttoned tight with subdued ties.

  In the very front of the church there was a hand-carved crucifix. At first I didn’t pay much attention to it because it was all dark wood. Something in the shape caught my eye. On closer examination, I saw that the figure of Jesus was expertly cut. I could almost feel his anguish and the blood coming from his hands and feet. The more I looked, the more I realized the crucifix was one of the most gruesome things I’d ever seen. The nails in Christ’s palms were so real, the thorns digging into his head. But there was something beautiful in the man’s body. It was the way the wood curved and twisted, shaping the torment of the man. Brother Reuben and the crucifix were certainly the most awe-inspiring things in the church.

  The preacherman called for testimonials. This was something new in my experience. I knew what court testimony was, when people swore under oath at a trial. I’d never heard of it in a church, though. To my surprise, the girl with the tambourine took a few steps forward and then stopped. She stared into the audience. It looked as if her whole body quivered, poised on the edge of some tremendous decision.

  Before she could do anything, a man in the middle of the church stood up. Beside him a slender woman grabbed his arm and cried out.

  “Please, Lucas, please don’t!” She clung to his arm, and as he struggled to move in the aisle, he pulled her along with him. She was holding his arm and crawling on her knees after him, begging.

  “Well, Brother Simms, do you have a confession?” the preacherman asked. He acted as if the woman did not exist.

  Brother Simms was a tall man, his body filled out with muscle. His gray suit was neatly pressed, and except for the woman clinging and begging, he looked to be a regular man. I could only see the back of his head, though, so I was unprepared when he turned to angrily look at the woman who clung to him. His face was twisted with hatred.

  “This woman suffers from the sin of vanity, Brother Marcus.” He spat the words in the woman’s face. In the hush that followed, he shook free of her and she fell to the floor. “My wife is vain. She’s consumed with her looks and her mirror.”

  Amens skittered around the room, but all the hand waving and speaking in tongues had slowed up.

  “She thinks she’s better than us,” a woman near the front stood up and said. “She won’t answer to her church name. Her husband names her right. She’s bitten by the demon of vanity.”

  “Save her, Jesus,” another woman cried. “Save her soul from damnation.”

  The woman struggled to her feet in a half crouch. She ignored the congregation and reached up for her husband’s arm. “Lucas, please don’t do this. It wasn’t a crime, what I did. Please!”

  From his pants pocket the man she called Lucas pulled out a flattened piece of cardboard. He took it to the minister, covering the church in six long strides.

  “Hair color,” he said as he turned back to face the congregation. “It’s the box the hair color came in. My wife bought herself some Lady Clairol. She didn’t want to look old. She wants to stay young. She thinks going gray is unattractive. She thinks she knows better than the Lord what color her hair should be.”

  Still crouching, the woman buried her head in her arms and cried. She was wearing a pale pink dress, something that would have looked more in place on a young girl.

  The man walked back to her and roughly pulled the pins from her hair. It came down in a tumble, just below her shoulders. It was a dark brown color, a pretty shade.

  “She looks like a whore!” her husband cried. With a savage jerk he pulled her to her feet. Grabbing hold of both shoulders, he turned her around in a circle. “See her hair. Ain’t it beautiful? She looks like a young woman, doesn’t she?”

  My fingers bit into the windowsill. The poor woman was crying, the tears running off her face, but she didn’t make a sound. At first she tried to hide, and then she got a little backbone and finally held her head up.

  “Brother Simms, bring your wife to the front of the church. I think the sin of vanity is one that we can all learn from.”

  The woman didn’t make any effort to resist as her husband half pushed her ahead of him to the small stage. The preacherman walked up to her and lifted a strand of her hair and held it aloft. “A painted woman will never enter the gates of God’s kingdom,” he said in a loud whisper. “We must save your soul, Sister Florence.” Brother Marcus motioned to the piano player, who jumped up from her seat and rushed out a back door.

  “My name is Susana,” she said in a soft voice. “Susana Hebert. There is no such person as Sister Florence. I’ve done nothing wrong. You may think what you want to, but I know I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Hair dye is a tool of Satan,” Brother Marcus thundered at her.

  “My husband has a fondness for the young girls,” she whispered, but it carried clearly throughout the still church. “I was only trying to look young for him.”

  Lucas Simms slapped her hard across the face. “Watch your mouth, wife,” he said in an ugly tone. “You’re getting old, and you can’t face up to it.”

  The piano player returned and approached the stage with caution. Brother Marcus waved her forward, and in the flicker of an eye he took something she handed him.

  “We’re going to redeem your soul, Sister Florence.” Before the woman had a chance to react, he grabbed a handful of her hair. He opened the scissors the piano player had given him. With a quick motion he cut the hair a half inch from the woman’s scalp.

  The dark brown tresses fell over her pink dress and to the floor. In the hushed silence she didn’t move or cry out.

  “Save her, Brother Marcus,” someone called from the audience. “Save her.”

  The dwarf motioned to the piano player, and the rousing chords of a new hymn echoed in the church. The dwarf sang while the preacher sheared. The congregation was louder and more excited than ever before. It wasn’t any snake handling or foot washing, but it was the most dramatic thing I’d ever seen in a church.

  “Now take her home and teach her that her value comes from being a good and obedient wife,” Brother Marcus directed Lucas Simms as he snipped the last of her hair. He gave the woman a little shove down toward the congregation as he picked up his Bible and began pacing the stage.

  When there was a pause in the singing, he signaled for quiet. “Now who else has a sin to confess? Any gamblers?” He looked about the room. “No gamblers here, praise the Lord.”

  The congregation responded with applause.

  “How about dope fiends? Any dope fiends in this house of the Lord?” He paused dramatically for a moment. “Well, I didn’t think we had any dope fiends among us. Satan doesn’t work that angle here on Kali Oka Road.”

  It was shocking to hear him say my road as if he belonged here. It reminded me that I was an eavesdropper, and that if I was caught, the penalty would be severe.

  “What kind of sinners do we have?” the preacher asked. He rocked back and forth on his heels and thrust his Bible forward so that the light from the windo
ws caught the gilt edges of the pages.

  The young girl with the tambourine stepped toward him. She said something no one else could hear. The preacher stepped back from her, his face going colorless. He tried to reach out and touch her shoulder, but she jerked back from him. She faced the congregation.

  “I got to say this.” She looked wildly about as if searching for someone she couldn’t find. “I don’t have a choice. I got to say this to save my soul from hellfire.”

  From the middle of the congregation plump Georgie stood up. He stared at his sister, and some signal passed between them. “Don’t, Mag, don’t do it. Nobody will believe you.”

  He didn’t speak loudly, but I heard him. I felt what he said, the fear and pain. Then he cried out loudly, “Don’t do it, Mag! Don’t! It won’t do any good.”

  The girl wavered and looked as if she might cut and run, but she didn’t. Behind her the preacher stepped forward. Whatever indecision had held him in its grip, he’d come to terms with it. He reached out to put his hands on the girl’s shoulders, but she sidestepped him. She spoke again. “There’s someone in this church possessed by evil.”

  Her words flamed around the room, quieting all talk and movement. In the back row two men stood up and started forward. The girl saw them, and she pointed at them.

  “They’re coming up here to quiet me so there won’t be trouble, but I got to say my say. Rev. Marcus has called for testimonials to the Lord. He’s called on sinners to unload the burden of their grief at the altar of God. I saw the forgiveness this congregation showed Mrs. Simms.” She smiled bitterly. “Well, I’m here anyway, and I don’t expect no kindness. I only want to confess.” She took a breath. “I’ve been fornicating.”

  “Listen to this poor wayward lamb of God.” The minister shook his Bible behind her. “Poor little child, she doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

  Georgie lurched forward and was jerked back into his seat. He struggled to stand again, and beside him a tall, heavy-set blond man held the boy in place. The man stood up slowly and stared straight at the girl. “Magdeline Scott, get down from there and come over here to your family!”

  The words were dark thunder. They rocked the girl until she dropped to her knees. Behind her the preacher stood transfixed, his eyes staring into the back of her head with a look that would have drilled through to her brain if he’d had the power.

  “I’ve sinned against the Lord and my family.” The girl buried her face in her hands and started to weep. “I have to confess to save my soul and the soul of—”

  The preacher’s hand on her hair was nothing short of a jerk. It was almost as if he lifted her to her feet by the hair.

  “This poor lamb has gone hysterical on us. The power of Brother Rueben’s singing has churned up her spirit and confused her mind. We all know Magdeline.” He turned her so that her face was pressed into the lapel of his jacket. He held her with his right hand hard against him. “Magdeline Scott is no whore of Babylon.”

  “My name is Maggie!” the girl cried out. “Maggie! Not Magdeline, just Maggie!”

  The first whispers began to stir in the congregation. It was as if everyone had held their breath and finally let the air out.

  The preacher still had a grip on her hair. “Magdeline is a lamb of God, a sweet child with a voice touched by the Father’s hand. She’s confused. In her desire to seek his grace, she’s imagined herself as a sinner. Isn’t that so, Magdeline?”

  His fingers were buried deep in her hair. The girl turned slowly to face the congregation. Her expression was contorted. “Yes, Brother Marcus, whatever you say.”

  “Poor Magdeline wants some attention from us church folks. She craves the limelight, and not even her beautiful singing is enough.”

  “She needs some attention at home.” A heavy woman from the back of the room spoke up. “If she’s not whoring, she shouldn’t claim to be. If she’s lying, she deserves to be punished for that.”

  “Well, it appears that Magdeline has something to atone for, the sin of lying. And lying to achieve prominence and self-importance. I think that’s a sin we can work on together, Magdeline.” The preacher lifted his hand from her hair and stroked her head gently. “Now run along and think about this. I’ll see you in my office after lunch, and we’ll talk about this need you have to draw attention to yourself.”

  Magdeline Scott fled the little stage. She ran behind the piano and disappeared into the darkened corridors of the church. There was only the sound of her hard-soled shoes on the linoleum and the slamming of a door.

  I felt as if a giant fist had unclenched on my ribs. Magdeline Scott. And Georgie. I peeped at him through the window. His face was turned down, and something that looked suspiciously like a tear was hanging off the end of his nose. The two adults beside him, the heavy-set man who had stood up and called Magdeline, and the thinner woman had lost all semblance of life. They were stone. They both looked straight ahead, without expression. Somehow the rest of the congregation had shrunk away from these three. They were isolated and alone in the center of a crowded pew.

  From the middle of the church a young man stepped forward. He smiled to the left and right as he went up to the stage.

  “Timothy!” The preacher’s greeting was warm.

  “That poor little girl standing up here makin’ up stories to tell just broke my heart. Especially when I was so full of sin myself, before the Lord touched my soul. Poor little thing can only imagine what sin is. But I’m here to tell you I know sin. I’ve walked hand in hand with Satan, and I’ve felt the worldly pleasures he tempts all men with.”

  He stepped up on the stage and turned to face the congregation. “I came to the Blood of the Redeemers Church last month, as most of you know. From Texas. Some of you know about my dealings out there, and some don’t. But it was Brother Marcus, when he was out there on his May ministry, that took a moment out of his life and changed mine completely.”

  Timothy was glib. No one in the congregation seemed to notice when Brother Marcus backed into the shadows and disappeared. Everyone was enthralled with Timothy’s story of sex and drugs in Texas.

  I saw Marcus leave. He went out the same door Magdeline had left through. Georgie and his parents sat like rocks in the pew. I felt a sudden need for action, to hurry around the church and see about the girl. There didn’t seem to be anyone who would make sure she was okay except Georgie, and he wasn’t about to move off his pew.

  I’d come to the church to see something, and what I’d seen was more than I’d expected. I knew what fornicating meant. Effie had talked about it. Married people did it, but they didn’t call it fornicating. They called it making love or making babies. Teenagers and boys called it fucking. The only time I’d tried to call it anything I’d gotten in big trouble. I couldn’t imagine standing up in church and laying claim to fucking. Not a girl no older than me. I wasn’t certain what it all meant.

  Timothy was still talking, and Brother Rueben had joined him on the stage and was leafing through the hymnal for his next selection. I was suddenly aware that someone was looking at me. Greg was seated in a pew all the way across the church, but he was staring directly at me. The tiniest smile touched his lips when he saw that I saw him. I knew what he was thinking—I couldn’t leave them alone. I was inviting him to do something. I drew back and pressed hard against the white wall, even knowing that it was too late. Greg had seen me.

  Thirteen

  PRESSED hard against the wood, I waited for Greg to sound the alert. My life flashed before my eyes, or at least parts of it that I didn’t want to remember. The past summer, against Mama Betts’ iron will, I’d convinced The Judge to take me to see Invasion of the Body Snatchers at the Jexville Theatre. It had taken the movie five years to make its way to Jexville, and I’d been waiting for half my life to see it. Mama Betts said the movie had permanently scarred me because I was always talking about pod people and invasions.

  Sweating against the white wood of that church, I knew real
terror. The Redeemers were worse than aliens. If Greg screamed that I was at the window watching, they’d pour out of that church with the single-mindedness of ants. They’d catch me and drag me inside and pretty soon I’d become one of them. I was terrified. Paralyzed. I had the sudden urge to pee.

  I thought I was going to wet myself right there on the spot when a rock thudded about an inch from my head. Alice was half crouched at the creek, waving me toward her. She was ready to cut loose with another rock if I didn’t respond. My fear broke and I took off running.

  I was about twenty yards from the creek when I heard the scream. It was followed by a plea. “Stop! Please don’t!” and then the sound of crying.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Alice asked.

  I almost tumbled headfirst into the creek. “Come on.” I urged her. “Let’s get out of here before they all come out.”

  “Bekkah! What happened?”

  The sound of screams rose again on the air. “Jesus Christ! I hope he doesn’t hurt her bad.”

  “Bekkah Rich, who’s screaming and crying like that? I’m not going another inch until you tell me!”

  “Fine time for bravery, Alice. It’s Magdeline Scott. She confessed to fornicating, and the preacher is probably beating her.”

  “Holy shit.”

  We ran to the bicycles and pedaled toward home. We’d gone about half a mile when Alice suddenly braked. “We can’t just run off and let them beat her.”

  I stopped, too, sweat running down the leg that I braced in the hot sand. “What can we do?”

  “You were so all-fired ready to get evidence to call the police. Let’s stop at Connie’s and call them.”

  For the first time since we’d left the church, I stopped to think. The Judge had taught me to “weigh the evidence.” He was always talking about news reporters and how they had to be observant and how they had to weigh the evidence of what they saw and what they were told.

  “I didn’t see anything real.” I traced the sweat that ran down my dirty leg. I was ashamed of myself. I’d cut and run when I should have stood my ground and watched. So what that Greg had seen me? The Redeemers weren’t really aliens. They wouldn’t have hurt me. They might have gotten mad and called Effie, but they wouldn’t have hurt me. But they had hurt the girl called Magdeline Scott.