“I’m almost ready,” Emma called from inside the closet.
Belinda sat on the bed, then leaned back on the large pillows and put her feet up. A few minutes later John Cole came through the door and saw her there.
She said, “Surprise.”
“Uh…is my wife around anywhere?” He looked as if he thought he might be in the wrong house.
“No, I just came to put my feet up,” Belinda said, then chuckled at his confused expression. “She’s in the closet, but don’t go bothering her. We have five minutes to get her out of here. We’re goin’ to the Glorious Women’s Day.”
“The what?”
“The Glorious Women’s Day. It’s an all-day seminar where we learn to be more glorious, if you know what I mean.” She winked and enjoyed watching John Cole turn red.
“O-kay.”
“I told you about it,” said Emma, coming out of the closet carrying shoes and a matching purse. “There’s ham and cheese, if you come home later for lunch. I’m not certain when I’ll be home this evenin’, but I made you a little chicken pot pie. It’s there in the refrigerator. All you have to do is put it in the microwave.”
Belinda could not believe that John Cole had to be cared for like a little boy. She swung her head to see his reaction.
He said, “Oh, okay. I just wanted to tell you that the water is runnin’ in the pool.”
Belinda thought he did look like a boy.
Emma said, “Oh—wonderful!” Putting on her shoes as she went, she did a little hop-skip over to the glass doors to the yard.
Standing just behind her shoulder, John Cole pointed at a big tanker truck, explaining that it was filling the pool, rather than have water dribble for days through a hose. He went on about additives to the water, and pressure, and things of that nature, while Emma admired everything.
Belinda thought it was like watching a little boy do hand-stands in front of a wide-eyed applauding girl.
When this had gone on for upwards of three full minutes and John Cole opened the door to take Emma out for a close-up look, Belinda grabbed her arm. “I’m afraid we don’t have time for that. I’ll bring her back this evenin’, John Cole, and you can show her some more.”
As they got into the car, Emma said, “All I care about is that the pool gets in, looks pretty and works. But John Cole likes to show me how it all works and everything that went into it, and to have me ooh and aah. It’s important to him.”
“I can see that,” said Belinda, hitting the accelerator and sending the car down the driveway and out onto the highway heading north, driving easily with one hand on the steering wheel.
Emma glanced over at her friend, from the toe of her coral high-heel shoe pressed on the accelerator to her hair, held in place with firm spray. While Emma was more relaxed in her own appearance, she felt a little disheveled, likely because she had not had her heart in going. She f lipped down the visor and checked her appearance, saying, “I’m glad I went back in and put on this skirt. I had been goin’ to wear pants, but Mama said she thought this was a Pentecostal or Charismatic Church, or something like that. I didn’t want to offend anybody.”
Belinda, who could not imagine that Emma could ever do anything to offend, said, “You look real nice. You always do. And I think it’s non-denominational.”
“Non-denominational…I’ve seen that a lot. With so many of them, they are rather makin’ a denomination of it, aren’t they?”
Belinda could not find a comment to that. She did say, “They have lively services. Mama and I have attended up there a few times.”
“You have?”
“Uh-huh.” Noting her speedometer, she let up a little on the gas. “Back last January, Naomi went up to speak one Sunday, and we went along to give her support. We had such a good time that we’ve gone back every now and again. Don’t tell anyone about Naomi havin’ such a good time. Everybody knows she goes to speak at other churches, but no one knows sometimes she just goes to enjoy herself.”
Belinda shut her mouth on any further information about Naomi’s life and endeavors, but she felt free to give her own view. “I sure wouldn’t want to say anything to Pastor Smith, and I know our Valentine First Methodist services are supposed to be stately and reverent, but sometimes I think another word for them is dead. Heaven knows that Pastor Smith has tried with his guitar, but every time he brings in new music, he gets jumped on for it. And since old Mr. Emerson died, not one person hollers out ‘amen.’ I’ve done it a couple of times, but it just doesn’t seem the same. I’ve tried to get Lyle to do it, but he won’t. He was raised Episcopalian.”
“Oh, John Cole wouldn’t do it, either, and he was raised Baptist. The quiet sort of Baptist,” she added to distinguish.
They drove along in silence for some minutes. Belinda thought of snatches of their conversation, and saw in memory Emma and John Cole standing together and looking out at the pool, and Emma doing what she called her “oohing and aahing.”
Quite suddenly she said, “You know, Emma, no matter how frustrated you are with your marriage to John Cole, there is no denyin’ that you two have held it together for thirty-two years, and you both still get on with each other. He’s still showing you things, and you’re still oohing and aahing. I think churches are sort of like that.”
“You do?” Emma couldn’t quite figure out what in the world Belinda meant.
“Yes.” Belinda said.
And then the steeply pitched roof and spire of the Servants’ Fellowship Church came into view, and Belinda pointed it out, going on to explain how the church building was patterned after those mega-churches you could see on television. “Only about a fourth the size, of course, but it has a basketball court and a cafeteria.”
“Well, my word.”
The church came into full view. Very modern, with a lot of sharp angles and glass. There was also young people, with Follow Me to Servants’ Fellowship Church printed on the backs of their yellow T-shirts, directing the stream of cars, vans and church buses into the parking lot.
Pulling into a parking place and noting the number of women heading toward the front of the church, Belinda commented, “I think a lot of women wanted a day off.”
At the entry doors, a very nicely dressed woman, who smelled unmistakably of Interlude—Belinda carried it at the drugstore—handed them a program and said with a bright smile, “Welcome, sisters. We’re glad you’re here.”
“Thank you. We’re glad to be here.” Emma shook the woman’s hand with delight. She always appreciated polite friendliness, and she especially liked being called sister. It made her remember going as a child on a number of occasions to visit the family of a distant cousin. It was her chance to play with about a hundred children, and the whole family said “sister this” and “brother that.” She seemed to recall that the father had been a minister. The mother had played the piano and would round up the children for group singing. Being an only child, and lonely, Emma had loved it.
While Emma went off to find the restroom, Belinda looked around the lobby and quite happily took note of the many nicely dressed women.
She saw with high approval a number of black women dressed to the hilt. They wore feminine suits of vivid colors, with purses and shoes to match. Belinda, in brilliant coral-colored silk, also with a purse and heels to match, fit right in. And there were a lot of hats. Studying the hats, Belinda toyed with the idea of getting herself one.
If anyone asked her—and no one did, but she generally spoke up anyway—this was the way all women should dress. Especially women of the size and shape that Belinda was, which was what she thought of as buxom and which half the women in the world were. Dressing up lifted a person up. This had been her own experience. Back when she had been sloppy, she had been depressed and going nowhere in her life, but when she began to dress well, she began to feel well and make something of herself. Weren’t all these women smiling?
Maybe that was the reason for the liveliness of the church, she thought,
the idea coming to her in a rush. Back at Valentine Methodist, there were only a handful of women who dressed as elaborately as Belinda did, generally in a suit and with full accessories.
Just then she saw a woman come through the doors wearing a sloppy T-shirt, knit pants and sandals. Looked like she was going to a picnic. If it had been up to Belinda, she would have told the woman to go home and take ten minutes to put on some decent clothes. But of course it wasn’t up to her, and she saw a greeter smiling and giving the sloppy woman a program.
The next instant she felt contrite. It was not for her to judge, yet what could be better than for the sloppy woman to be surrounded by good examples of how to dress? The wheels of her fertile mind began to turn, and an idea for a commentary for her radio spot came to her. She would start giving easy fashion tips to raise women’s consciousness. This was obviously a ministry to which she was well-suited. Maybe she could start a revival of dressing up and liveliness in her church. And she could come out with a line of clothing, too—Glorious Woman by Belinda Blaine.
Although Lyle got upset that she did not use his last name of Midgett. Why she didn’t was pretty evident. You just could not have the name of Midgett planted on a woman who wore a DD cup bra.
Just then Emma returned and said in a hushed voice, “I didn’t wear pantyhose and I feel like maybe I should have.”
“Uh-huh.” Belinda gazed at her.
“I didn’t figure I needed to under a long skirt. But I did wear panties.”
“That’s good news.”
“Well, it might be if a wind comes up.” Emma smiled sweetly. She had gotten pretty lively being around all the women smiling and greeting each other. There had been several women “sister-ing” each other in the restroom.
They went to the refreshment table and had both gotten tea when Gracie, Sylvia and a number of Gracie’s friends showed up. Introductions were made all around, and since the mother of one of Gracie’s friends was a deacon in the church, introductions just kept going on as people went past. With so many people, it was easy for Emma and Sylvia to more or less ignore each other.
Emma was surprised to encounter two women whom she had known during Johnny’s school days, and further surprised that the women remembered her after so many years. They each reported proudly on their now-grown children and how each of their lives was now going. One woman was a financial advisor and the other a yoga instructor. Emma was glad to be able to report on Johnny, as well as have something to say in answer to the question: “So what are you doing now?” When telling of her artistic endeavors, she had the odd but profound sense of having stepped across a threshold and back into life.
The Ladies Circle from the Valentine First Methodist showed up—Belinda approved of how each one was very nicely dressed, if rather sedately—and more introductions had to be made. Everyone was very excited to meet “our little Gracie,” as Naomi Smith introduced her to the church ladies. Inez Cooper, President of the Ladies Circle, brought up the subject of the group holding a shower for Gracie. She put it off as neglect on Emma’s part that a date had not been set. This was discussed for some minutes. Inez was impressed with Sylvia Kinney and anxious to set a date when she could join them. She cornered Sylvia, who kept edging backward, until she bumped into the refreshment table.
“Emma!” a voice called out.
Emma looked around to see, of all people, her sister-in-law Joella rushing toward her with outstretched arms. With a squeal, Joella gave her an enthusiastic embrace.
“I was visitin’ my cousin Marylou over in Purcell. That’s her, the one with the heart earrings and the hearts around the bottom of her skirt.” Joella turned to point toward another group of women halfway across the lobby. “Her husband’s sister down in Elmore City had the tickets, so we thought we’d all just drive over. It wasn’t so far at all.” Then she turned her head and looked just beyond Emma’s shoulder. “My good Lord—Sylvia! What in the world are you doin’ here, girl? I am glad to see you!”
Sylvia, who had been released by Inez and was attempting to be invisible next to the wall, was hauled out and hugged by Joella. Emma thought Sylvia held up well.
Then Joella took both Sylvia and Emma by the hands and leaned in close. “I just had no idea there would be blacks here. My cousin and her mama didn’t know, either.”
Emma stared at her sister-in-law. She could not face Sylvia. Before she could get out a response, Joella, who did not require any response, rattled on about being thrilled to see them, until her cousin hollered her name.
“Oh, I got to go. Marylou won’t go to the toilet without me. I’ll see y’all later, though.” She blew them kisses as she hurried away.
Emma tried to get her eyes to come around to look Sylvia in the face but was given the excuse to avoid it, as Gracie drew her mother away at the same time that Belinda motioned to Emma from across the lobby. She went over, and Belinda introduced her to a woman who was the manager of the church bookstore. The church had its own little bookstore. What an amazement. And right then and there Belinda went to hawking Emma’s stationery.
For godsake, Sylvia thought at both Joella and everything going on around her. Women were chatting and laughing and saying things like, “Praise God, I’m so glad to see you, sister,” and “Bless God, I am glad to be here.”
Sylvia had not been inside a church since Gracie’s confirmation at the age of twelve. For all of her life, anyway, her experiences had been confined to the old moss-grown Catholic churches, or Presbyterian and Episcopal ones for the occasional wedding or funeral. She had gone through a phase for about six weeks of tuning in on Sundays to one of those popular television preachers. When she realized that she was trying to scoot Wadley out of the house in order to watch the preacher, because she could not bear for anyone to know, she had broken off watching altogether.
As she went with Gracie through the doors to the sanctuary, Sylvia had the sudden absurd but very real anxiety that she, a fallen-away Catholic, might be struck dead. She furtively crossed herself.
Nicole and her mother, Evelyn, took on the duties of playing hostess for their church, and led the group to the first and second rows on the right side. Sylvia managed to get the end of the pew, so as not to be sandwiched in. She thought she could not breathe if she was sandwiched in. Emma and her friend Belinda sat right behind them, chatting happily all around. Emma leaned forward to say something to Gracie. With Emma’s face on the other side of Gracie, Sylvia could not hear what was said, but she saw Emma’s hand lying on Gracie’s shoulder. The woman always seemed to be touching everyone.
When Emma had sat back, Sylvia put a hand over and patted Gracie’s leg. Gracie smiled at her. Sylvia was so glad she had pleased Gracie by coming that tears sprang into her eyes, and she quickly averted her face. She just hoped the day went by fast.
26
Glorious Women Come Out
The Glorious Women’s Day seminar had been organized primarily by Reverend Mae Stamp, the assistant pastor of the Servants’ Fellowship Church, and Naomi Smith, wife of the pastor of Valentine First Methodist.
Sister Mae, as she was generally called, was as large, dark and dynamic as Naomi was petite, pale and reserved. However, the women were fast friends, sharing an abiding faith in God and the firm belief that the chief need for women was joy to carry them through the whirlwinds of modern life. Having greatly enjoyed a number of massive women’s spiritual renewal weekends, both women were dedicated to bringing something similar to their small neck of the woods. Also, both had reached the daring and amazing age of fifty and knew the ins and outs of pleasing the sensitivities and prejudices of differing denominations.
In the audience were upwards of three hundred women from a cross section of Christian denominations, as well as many who didn’t know what they believed, if anything in particular. There were those who had been to the seminar the year before and had a good time, those who felt compelled to go to church any time the doors opened, and those who had been dragged there and co
uldn’t find a way out of it. Some came out of desperation for some time off, or because of sad lives and the small hope of finding something, even if they didn’t know what it was.
A young stylish woman at the electronic keyboard began playing what some recognized as “Michael Row the Boat Ashore.” This sent stragglers hurrying to their seats. A few minutes later, a tall, handsomely dressed man came striding out and introduced himself as Reverend Ambrose Perkins, head pastor of the Servants’ Fellowship Church. He made a couple of jokes about his wife having told him to say what he had to say and get out. Everyone in the audience knew that he was the respectful offering to those in attendance who did not believe in women ministers. As the male head pastor of the church, he led the opening prayer and then officially turned the proceedings over to Sister Mae.
Sister Mae was a lively woman who moved fast. She said, “We are glad you are here and want everyone to enjoy today, so let’s get goin’ with this celebration.”
She brought out the Servants’ Fellowship women’s gospel choir, six women in deep purple robes, accompanied by three lead singers, who turned out to be Gracie’s friend Nicole Davies, with her mother Evelyn and older sister Cherise.
The three were tall and elegant. They lit into a popular eighties-style rendition of “Come Out the Wilderness,” followed by the old tunes “Sweet Baby Jesus” and “Amazing Grace.”
The gospel beat and rousing voices filled the high-ceilinged room, and got hands to clapping and toes to tapping. The more enthusiastic in the audience stood and danced in place. Even those of more reserved inclinations could not help tapping their fingers. This went on for quite a while. They sang all six verses of “Amazing Grace,” then went back and sang the first verse a second time.
Emma and a few of the other women from Valentine First Methodist could not ever recall singing the fourth and fifth verses. Pastor Smith always skipped over them in order to keep the service on schedule. A few of the women from Valentine Episcopal and First Presbyterian only knew the first verse, because that was as far as they ever got.
Chin Up, Honey Page 25