In Front of God and Everybody

by KD McCrite

  “Are you mad?” I asked her.

  “Woo?” she said. “Mad at you?”

  “No! Are you mad at that old man?”

  “You could say I’m a little ticked off. Am I mad at myself? Oh, my goodness, yes! I’ve just been telling everyone here that I knew he was a bad egg, but I wouldn’t let myself believe it. Reckon he turned my head with his charm.”

  “Charm? Mr. Rance?” I shuddered. “You’re not gonna marry him tomorrow. Right?”

  “Mercy me, no!”

  “’Cause he does not deserve you,” I said.

  “Of course he doesn’t.”

  “So have you told him?” I asked.

  The adults all looked at each other and said nothing. Myra Sue looked mildly interested.

  “What’s going on?” my sister asked.

  “We’re waitin’,” Grandma said.

  “Waitin’ on what?” I asked.

  She grinned real big. “Just waitin’.”

  Well, they didn’t have to wait long, because pretty soon, while I ate a bowl of Cheerios with a banana cut up in it, ole Mr. Rance knocked on the front door. Then he came on inside without being invited, just like he thought he was family. Mama and Daddy and Grandma and Ian and Isabel were drinking coffee and eating coffee cake—yes, even Isabel nibbled a small piece of coffee cake—and they all eyeballed him as he walked into the kitchen. Nobody had a smile right then.

  “Wal, howdy there!” he boomed.

  He made a beeline for Grandma and smooched her real loud. I fought the urge to throw the rest of that coffee cake right at his fat old head. Myra Sue curled up her nose like she smelled dog doo instead of that tiresome Old Spice, which seemed to fill all the extra space in the kitchen. I decided he used so much aftershave ’cause he was trying cover up his own disgusting awfulness.

  “You wasn’t at home, Miz Grace darling, so I figgered I’d find you here.” He spotted me seated beside her and tousled my hair. “Hey there, Oliver! How’s the boy? Hee hee.”

  Boy, oh boy, his worn-out joke was a real knee-slapper. Mr. Rance glanced around.

  “This here is a solemn bunch. Who died?” He snorted and laughed and, when no one joined in, he sort of shrugged and said, “How about a cup of coffee for your honey-pie, Miz Grace, on the eve of our special day?”

  I nearly choked.

  “Coffee’s right there,” Grandma said, waving her hand carelessly toward it, “and the cups are in the cabinet above the percolator.”

  He gave her a funny look but went to get his own drink.

  “How ’bout a piece o’ that cake y’uns are eatin’?”

  “Help yourself,” Mama told him casually, sipping her coffee.

  He raised both eyebrows and looked at Daddy. “Say there, Mike, you need to teach your womenfolks how to treat a feller. It’s a blamed shame a man’s gotta get his own treat around here, ain’t it?”

  Again he laughed his loud, obnoxious braying laugh, and again no one joined him.

  “Not that I’m complainin’,” he yelled as he poured his coffee—and managed to slop it all over the countertop and the floor. Then he cut himself a piece of coffee cake that left only a smidgen in the pan.

  “Well, you shouldn’t complain, Jeffrey,” Grandma said. “You’ve had things pretty good for a long time.”

  “How zat?” the old goofball hollered, cupping his ear her way.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, turn on your hearing aids or turn them up!” Grandma said. “I’m about half-convinced you ain’t near as deaf as you want everyone to think you are.”

  “Why, I can’t hear a thing, Miz Grace, and you know it! I’m ashamed at you fer sayin’ otherwise.”

  “Baloney!” Grandma replied. “And I said you’ve had things pretty good for a long time.”

  He fiddled with his hearing aids for a long time, looking down at them, but I was watching him real close. In fact, we all were, and what I saw was his eyes darting around like he was looking for a good path to take. Finally, he shoved the things back into his hairy holes, looked at everyone, and grinned real big.

  “There! That’s better. Now I can hear y’uns. What was that you said, Miz Grace, about me having it pretty good? Why, shore I have it good. I got you!” And he smooched her another loud one.

  She huffed out a long, irritated breath.

  “Don’t try charming me, Jeffrey Rance. Your jig is up.”

  He gave a shifty-eyed glance around the room again and cupped an ear, but before he could say one word, Grandma spoke up again. “Don’t you be acting like you didn’t hear me.”

  He sat back and gawked at her.

  “Miz Grace, I don’t know what’s got into you today. Didn’t you get enough sleep last night? You look as pretty as a peach, don’t she, folks, even if she is a mite tired? And you’re in the bosom of your family, and tomorrow you’ll be marryin’ the man of your dreams. Why, you ain’t gettin’ cold feet, are you?”

  Grandma stayed casually slouched in her chair and didn’t move. She twisted her mouth as if she were trying not to bust apart with words. For a little bit, she fiddled with the handle of her white mug, then took a sip of coffee. It was like she drew out the moment we all knew was coming, kinda like when Queenie catches a mouse.

  “No, I ain’t getting cold feet,” she said at last. She sat up straight and looked at the old man. “And I’ll tell you something else I ain’t getting.” She gave him a grim smile. “I ain’t getting myself legally tied to a sneak, a leech, or a loudmouthed old freeloader. And I ain’t paying any more of your bills, or buying you any more lunches and tires and gasoline. Or new boots, neither. I’m ashamed I’ve already done all that.”

  My mouth fell open. I didn’t know she’d done any of that.

  She took a deep breath. “But here’s the thing, J. W. Rance, and I want you to hear it loud and clear, so make sure your ears are clean, those hearing aids are turned on high, and you’re listening real close.”

  She got right in his face, her nose about an inch from his.

  “The one thing I ain’t never had, never wanted, and the main thing I ain’t never gonna have in a million years is this: I ain’t ever gonna have the husband of another woman.”

  He looked frozen, staring at her like he was made of rock. His face was redder than I’d ever seen it. Now, after being caught and embarrassed in front of everyone that way, the old coot ought to have had enough sense to get up and skedaddle out of our house. But you know what he did instead? I’ll tell you.

  He kinda shook himself all over like a wet dog; then he looked around at everyone with this mud-eating grin on his face. He smirked as if to tell us all that Grandma had done gone off the deep end.

  “Why, Miz Grace, I don’t know what you’re carrying on about, but maybe you ought to go lay down. You’ve done—”

  “Oh, be quiet, you old goofball,” I said, because I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “We know all about you ruining Emmaline Ellison Rance’s family ranch down there in Texas by selling that ranch to Japanese developers like a big, fat dope! We know you made her so upset that she had a heart attack, and then you ran away. We also know you’re still married to her. But now that they know where you are, you can’t hide—”

  “What do you mean they know where I am?” Suddenly his voice wasn’t all corn-pone and Texas. “Who knows where I am?”

  “I mean Mrs. Rance, your wife, and everyone else down there in Beauhide County who might be interested in your whereabouts. They know that you live on Rough Creek Road in Zachary County, Arkansas.” I grinned real big. “I had the honor of calling the sheriff my own personal self. You know. Just in case you’re also running from the law as well as your wife. . . .”

  He stood up, knocking his chair over backward, and cussed like you wouldn’t believe.

  “How did you find out?” he shouted, but he didn’t wait for the answer.

  He pointed a thick finger first at Grandma, then at Daddy.

  “I thought the two of you were a coupl
e of gullible, dumb hicks from the sticks. Stupid, rednecked hillbillies like everyone else on this fool road in this fool state. So how come you got so smart all of a sudden?”

  “You can thank April Grace for that,” Grandma said.

  I piped up. “And Ian.”

  Mr. Rance snarled like a rabid dog and started cussing again and calling us names I won’t repeat. Daddy stood up and so did Ian; then the rest of us stood.

  “Get out of my house,” Daddy said through clenched teeth.

  “Yes, leave.” Mama stared the old man right in the eye.

  “Go,” said Grandma.

  “And don’t come back,” I added.

  Isabel leaned forward and said, “Don’t let the door hit you in the . . .”—she looked at the rest of us—“. . . backside.”

  Ian grabbed the old man’s arm.

  “Let go of me, you pantywaist,” Mr. Rance growled, trying to pull away.

  I reckon all those weeks of farmwork had toughened up Ian’s muscles, because he held on firmly as he steered Mr. Rance toward the back door, which I rushed to hold open. Then good ole Ian escorted that old man across the porch and down the steps.

  Everyone clustered on the back porch to make sure Mr. Rance went to that red Dodge pickup of his. He opened the door and put one cowboy-booted foot halfway inside, then turned and looked at us. He gave us a sneer.

  “Miss Grace, you don’t know what you’re missing by turning me down this way.”

  Grandma rested one hand against my shoulder, and I heard her chuckle quietly.

  Out loud, she said, “Oh yes, Jeffrey. I know exactly what I’ll miss. Good-bye.”

  “Yeah!” Myra Sue yelled out. “Good-bye!”

  The old man stood there and stared at us. He sneered again and shook his head. He muttered and swore under his breath, but we didn’t care. We turned and trooped back into the house, all except for Ian and Isabel. They stayed outside—watching, I guess, until Mr. Rance and his pickup were out of sight.

  When they came inside, Mama said, “I’ll make us a celebration lunch. Isabel, would you rather have salmon or turkey breast?”

  Isabel stared at Mama for a minute; then she ran from the room. We all looked at each other, mystified. A few seconds later, though, she came trotting back down the hallway, high heels clicking against the floor.

  “This,” she announced as she came into the kitchen, waving the framed prayer that had been hanging in Mama and Daddy’s room. “I am not a religious person, as you know. I’m not even sure I believe in God, but this prayer . . .”

  She looked at it in her hands a moment, then began to read. Unlike the shrill bite to which we’d become accustomed, her voice turned quiet, and it was a pleasure to hear.

  Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

  Where there is hatred, let me sow love.

  Where there is injury, pardon.

  Where there is doubt, faith.

  Where there is despair, hope.

  Where there is darkness, light.

  Where there is sadness, joy . . .

  She looked up. “I read this last night for the first time.” She blinked a bunch of times, but this time she blinked back tears. “Lily, you and Mike exemplify these words every day. I’m sorry I’ve . . . that I have been . . . well . . .” She cleared her throat a couple of times, then looked Mama in the eye and said, “After what my influence did to dear Myra, you have every right to throw us out of your house and never let us return. What I did is simply inexcusable, but I hope someday you’ll forgive me.”

  “Isabel, of course I forgive you. And I’m sorry I lost my temper—”

  Isabel shook her head. “No. I deserved it. And you know something? You cook whatever you want to for the celebration lunch. I’ll eat it. I’ll even help prepare it.”

  Mama smiled that warm, sweet smile she held in reserve for everyone. Grandma laughed. Then they all three had a long group hug.

  I looked at my sister, and she looked at me. We giggled just like we used to when we were kids. I liked that.

  On Labor Day, to celebrate the holiday and the end of summer, and to signal the new school year, the Reillys, the Freebirds, and the St. Jameses all sat at our dining table and ate homemade ice cream—even Temple and Forest, who rarely ate sweets, and Isabel, who was trying to give up smoking. Myra Sue—whose hair looked almost normal since Mama had taken her back to Faye’s Beauty Shop and had a color put on it—sat next to Isabel. Both of them had polished off a good meal, just the way they’d done at every meal since the day Myra Sue first went to see that doctor.

  You want to know something? Ole Isabel was a lot better looking after she’d gained a few pounds. And she tolerated Temple and Forest because both of them looked and smelled like they’d had a recent bath. Maybe one day she’d like them because they were nice people.

  Old man Rance wasn’t there, of course, because he sat in jail. It seems he not only had a wife in Texas, but one living in Colorado and another in North Carolina.

  “Goodness gracious,” Grandma had said when she received that news. “With all them women, what’d he want another one for?”

  “Well, since the others all had significant property, I figure he was after this farm,” Daddy said.

  She snorted at that. “Reckon if I’d told him I had signed it over to you a long time ago, none of this nonsense woulda happened.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “but now he won’t be fooling any more nice old ladies.”

  She had given me a fat kiss. “And for that, we are all eternally grateful.”

  For myself, I was eternally grateful that the old goofball wasn’t at the table having homemade ice cream with us that evening. I sure wouldn’t miss that smell of too much Old Spice for the rest of my life.

  “April Grace,” Isabel said, as I scooped out more ice cream into my bowl.

  “Ma’am?”

  “I just want to thank you again for your suggestion. For teaching dance at the school. I believe teaching theater and dance is my true calling.”

  “Well, the younger kids might run you crazy,” I said, “but the high schoolers like my sister will enjoy it.”

  “My lambkins has been a different person, you know,” Ian said, smiling at his missus. “She has a new lease on life.”

  “It just came to me when I remembered the school planned to add those classes to the curriculum,” I said. “You have your degree, so it just seems logical that you’d be the one to teach them since you’re a dancer and know about acting.”

  “Way better than Coach Frizell,” Myra Sue put in.

  “Way, way better,” I agreed.

  “Just because he’s athletic does not mean he can dance,” my sister said.

  “Amen!” I added.

  Coach Frizell was as mean as you expect a football coach to be. Could you see him doing a pirouette or a petit battement?

  Now that it was autumn, work had begun on the St. Jameses’ house. Daddy said that by the end of October, the St. Jameses’ house ought to be finished, and they’ll have something nice to move into. I think I’m gonna miss them some.

  But today, I was happy as a pig in mud. I sat down and shoved a spoonful of ice cream in my mouth. Once it had slid its sweet, cold way down my guzzle and settled satisfactorily in my stomach, I grinned, looking around.

  Mama and Daddy exchanged tiny bites from each other’s spoons. Good grief. Well, but what do you expect from them?

  Temple and Ian and Forest were deep in discussion about the rain forests.

  Grandma was all dolled up because she had a date. And don’t get all excited. She learned her lesson about who to get serious about and who to avoid. She said she refused to dry up on the vine, whatever that means. She and Ernie Beason from Ernie’s Grocerteria were going to the movies that night. They planned to see Karate Kid II, which wasn’t exactly the latest movie, but in Cedar Ridge, if it’s been out less than two years, it’s new.

  I reckon Grandma didn’t look so bad with her hair short
and colored, and I have to admit I was getting used to her makeup. She took exercise lessons from Isabel too. She looked pretty good, if you ask me, even though she sort of looked like a dolled up version of Angela Lansbury from Murder, She Wrote.

  Isabel drizzled a little more chocolate sauce on Myra Sue’s ice cream, then added more to hers. She added a dollop of whipped topping on them both and sprinkled a few chopped pecans. Right about then she looked up and met my eyes. She gave me a wink and a smile.

  You know what? When Isabel smiles, her whole face lights up.

  THE END

  Acknowledgments

  Growing up in the Ozarks hills, I’ve had ample opportunity to know people from all walks of life. From the down-home country folks like Grandma in this story to less-than-kind, out-of-town newcomers like Ian and Isabel St. James. I count it a blessing from God that I’ve had the opportunity to know so many diverse people. They have helped lay the groundwork for building multilayered characters.

  Special thanks to my wonderful agent, Jeanie Pantelakis, who saw the potential in April Grace Reilly and cheered me on when discouragement tried to set in. Heartfelt gratitude goes to editor MacKenzie Howard, who “got it” when she read this story. Editor Kristin Ostby exhibited admirable patience and understanding as we polished the final product together. I suspect she’s a city girl who was somewhat bumfuzzled by the antics of the country-fried April Grace but loved that little redheaded spitfire anyway. Without people like these hardworking professionals to encourage and guide us, where would we writers be?

  Cliques, Hicks,

  and Ugly

  Sticks

  Don’t miss out on book two in the

  CONFESSIONS OF

  April Grace Series!

  ONE

  Recovery Isn’t As

  Easy As It Looks

  Isabel St. James is a recovering hypochondriac.

  She once thought she had hoof and mouth disease just because she skittered through the barnyard while the cows were there waiting to be milked. Another time she swore up and down and sideways that the air in the Ozarks was full of poison and begged her husband to take her back to the city for the sake of her lungs. She was puffing on a cigarette as hard as a freight-train when she said it, too. Boy, oh boy.