by Leisha Kelly
“He also said you had you an illegitimate child!” Bernice Walker burst out in a shriekish voice. “And here you are bringing her into God’s house!”
“Where else would I bring her?” Samuel said wearily and walked on inside.
Bernice stood there in shock. “He didn’t deny it! Oh, dear Lord, Julia! He didn’t deny it!”
She reached her large arms toward me, and I wasn’t sure whether to receive her awkward hug or step away. He didn’t deny it? So what? He was just tired of hearing it! Tired of the accusations. Why should he have to defend himself in the house of God?
“You stink!” Robert suddenly exclaimed, and I whirled in surprise.
“Robert!”
“It ain’t right, them marching up and saying stuff like that about my dad! You stink, that’s all!” he told the Walkers again. “Just ’cause some stupid criminal comes and says a bunch of stuff doesn’t mean you have to believe it!”
Harold and Bernice stared at him, shaking their heads, clucking their tongues.
“Robert, that’s no way to talk, no matter how you feel.”
“Why don’t you tell them that? My dad’s the best person in this place! He don’t believe lies about everybody else! He don’t march up saying ugly stuff—”
“Children should be taught to hold their tongues,” Bernice said sanctimoniously. And oh, how I wished she would just go away! Robert was right. Why should I have to correct him?
“Robert, dear, you might as well go on to your Sunday school room,” I said quietly. “Sit with your friends. We’ll talk about this later.”
“It ain’t right, Mom. He didn’t do nothing! An’ Katie might be illegitimate, who knows? But she ain’t Dad’s. That don’t make no sense at all.”
I hadn’t been aware that he understood what that word meant. But he did, obviously. “I know. But go on. Please.”
He walked away; Harold and Bernice were still shaking their heads at me. Like I was doing wrong for not reproving my son for standing up for his father.
Let them shake their heads. I was glad for Robert. Maybe I’d thank him later. But Samuel was right too. Let them believe what they want to believe. I marched up the steps and into the church, hugging Emma Grace tight.
“Julia?” Bernice called.
I ignored her.
“Julia?”
I could hear other scattered voices behind me, people gathering from the churchyard, but I didn’t stop.
Bernice sighed, her disapproving voice floating over all the other chatter.
“Well, I’ll be . . . that Juli Wortham . . . don’t she know the kind of man she’s married to?”
EIGHTEEN
Samuel
As soon as I was in the church, Hazel Sharpe made a beeline in my direction. “What happened to you? Your eye’s true purple. You’ve been fightin’! A grown man!”
Beside me, Katie squeezed my hand, surely remembering this sharp-tongued woman from our previous encounter.
“I heard tell from the Posts about one a’ those Hammond boys gettin’ hurt at your place. And now look at you! What kind of foolishness have you had goin’ on out there, anyway?”
“Barrett told you about Franky?” It surprised me, it truly did, that he would come and talk to Miss Hazel.
“Well, a’ course he knew folks from church oughta know. I seen his truck over at the pastor’s last night, and I went right over there to see if there was anything I could do.”
It must have been quite an evening for Pastor Jones. With Barrett bringing such news, Hazel dropping in, and apparently Edward showing up at some point to tear me down.
“Lot more to you than meets the eye, Samuel Wortham,” Miss Hazel was saying. “You been hidin’ things.”
I was looking toward the front, where Pastor Jones was kneeling in front of the cross as he did before nearly every service.
“I know you was in to see Ben Law the other day,” Hazel continued. “I seen you comin’ from there. I went an’ talked to him, I’ll have you know! Law-abiding citizens got an obligation to the community. If there’s trouble, we got every right to know! He told me about you, so you don’t have to stand here so bold-faced. I know the shameful sort a’ things you been up to—”
“Excuse me, Miss Hazel.” I tried to edge around her, toward the pastor. But she didn’t let me by.
“Sin is sin, Samuel Wortham, whether it’s yesterday or six years old!”
Pastor lifted his head and looked over at us with a frown. He’d told me once what a trial it was, having Hazel in his congregation. Of course, it wasn’t only her today. He stood to his feet quickly and came in our direction, reaching his hand to me.
“Good morning,” he said, looking from me to Katie and back again.
“Disgraceful, ain’t it?” Miss Hazel asked him.
“Are you all right?” Pastor asked me.
“Yes, sir.”
“He’s been fightin’!” Hazel proclaimed. “An’ he calls himself a Christian! You’ll have to set him straight, Pastor! That little boy hurt on account a’ him, and now him bringing this girl right in front of us like he ain’t got the sense to be ashamed! We can’t be havin’ it! Not in God’s own church!”
There was a heaviness in the pastor’s face unlike anything I’d seen in him before. “I would like to talk to you, Samuel,” he said. “And your wife. After the service.”
“Yes,” I told him, suddenly feeling a heaviness of my own. “That would be fine.”
“This is a pretty young lady you have with you today,” he continued, taking Katie’s hand.
For the first time I noticed the tears in Katie’s eyes. Scary Miss Hazel. I should have known better. Even though Katie had wanted to be with me, I should have sent her straight on with Sarah so we wouldn’t run the risk of such an encounter. But it was too late now.
“What’s your name, child?” Pastor was asking.
She looked up at me, her little lip quivering.
“It’s okay,” I told her. “The pastor is my friend.”
She sniffed. She glanced at Miss Hazel and quickly turned her eyes away. “Katie,” she said, barely a whisper.
“A lovely name,” Pastor told her. “And we’re very glad to have you today. I hope you enjoy the service.”
“Pastor Jones!” Hazel exclaimed. The hat on her head was quivering, though she looked to be standing still.
“Do you see that picture over there?” the pastor asked Katie, pointing to a framed portrait of Christ. She nodded. “That’s Jesus,” he told her. “A long time ago he told his disciples to allow the children to come to him so that he could bless them. And that’s exactly the way he feels about you now.”
Hazel scowled, and I wondered if she didn’t understand the pastor’s words as the gentle rebuke they were surely meant to be. Regardless of any guilt of mine or her parents, Katie should be welcomed by all the church folks, smiled upon, loved, and blessed. I was grateful to the pastor for having that understanding.
“We can’t condone sin in the church,” Hazel declared bluntly. “We’d have the whole town runnin’ wild. You can plain tell he ain’t one bit sorry.”
For the first time, Pastor turned his attention to the stooped old lady.
“I already said I would meet with him after the service—”
“I sure would like to hear what he has to say for himself—”
“Privately, sister. This is no more concern of yours. Let us be thankful that in a difficult time, Samuel has come to the house of God for comfort.”
“He oughta have come for repentance,” Hazel huffed.
“And we are not to judge unless we’re prepared to be judged,” he added gently.
Suddenly Julia was placing her hand on my arm. I hadn’t even seen her walk up to us. Pastor saw her gesture and gave her a nod.
“The thought of bein’ judged don’t scare me at all,” Hazel insisted.
“Perhaps it should,” Julia said quietly.
You’d have thought the old woman had been hit
by a club. She staggered back a step and was suddenly breathing hard. “Pastor Jones, did you hear that?”
“Yes. I did. I think Julia means all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. We have to acknowledge that we need repentance of our own in order to safely stand before his judgment.”
Hazel shook her head at him. “You ain’t speakin’ to no heathen here. I’ve heard that all my life.”
“It always serves us well to reflect on our hearts and the extent of God’s grace.”
“Yes. Of course,” she told him impatiently. “But the prophets an’ Jesus hisself made plain that we can’t just nod our head at sin. We’re s’posed to rebuke it. Put it ’way from ourselves—”
“And love one another,” the pastor added.
I smiled.
“The Hammond boys are here,” Pastor Jones suddenly said brightly. “Dedicated young men. I didn’t know we could expect them without their father.”
He started for the door, and Juli and I followed him, leaving Miss Hazel to stand and stew by herself. Young Sam and Joe were just coming in with the little boys. It didn’t look like Willy and Kirk were with them. If they’d come in George’s wagon, they must have started out well before we did.
Thelma Pratt hurried to Sam, asking about Franky and taking hold of Harry before he crawled under a pew.
“Good morning, Mrs. Wortham,” she said quickly. “Are you going straight to your Sunday school room? I can hold Emmie for you if you’d like.”
“Thank you, Thelma,” Juli said. “That’s very kind.”
Juli took Harry’s hand, and Thelma took Emma Grace. Thelma stared for a moment at my black eye. I guess everybody was wondering, but it was Joe who asked.
“What happened, Mr. Wortham? Pa wasn’t mad at you, was he? Surely he wouldn’t bust ya—”
“No. It had nothing to do with him.”
“Must a’ been your brother, then,” Joe decided. “Hope you cleaned his clock. I sure wouldn’t blame you. I felt like bustin’ him myself. They hadn’t oughta let people drive who don’t watch. Franky was just tryin’ to be nice, cleanin’ off his car for him.”
“I know. He’s a good kid. I feel bad that he got hurt.”
“Weren’t your fault.”
Hearing those words, Pastor turned to me again. “Barrett said he’d take me up to see Franky this afternoon. Would you like to come along, Samuel?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Thelma took Emmie to a seat next to Delores Pratt, her mother. Julia took Harry, Berty, and Katie with her to a Sunday school room. Joe went to find Robert and the older class. And I found a seat with Sam Hammond, behind Thelma Pratt. Sometimes Julia sat with Hazel and stayed in the sanctuary for the opening hymn before taking the little ones to class. But not today.
For adult Sunday school, Clarence Cole got up at the sound of a bell and talked on and on about sin and repentance, looking most of the time at me. I was glad Katie wasn’t in here. I was glad Juli taught the Sunday school for her age. At least the child wouldn’t have to be uncomfortable in her classroom.
I was feeling more and more uneasy. Sore. And closed in, as if the sanctuary were full of nothing but stagnant, dead air, though the windows and door were wide open. I bowed my head, feeling awfully heavy. But then, before Hazel Sharpe got up to play more hymns on the piano, Ralph Gray moved from his usual place to sit beside me. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t even look at me. He just sat there. And the world seemed better for it.
By the time the kids came back in, most of the heaviness was gone. Ralph’s wife, the other Sunday school teacher, was ahead of Julia and sat down next to her husband. Their daughter, Rachel, my son, Robert, and Joe Hammond filled the rest of the pew. And just as Hazel Sharpe was sitting back down, Julia, with Sarah, Katie, Rorey, Harry, and Bert, moved quickly to join her. Most Sundays, Hazel tolerated Juli’s presence, ignoring her for the most part. I would sit with them sometimes, and we would get a sideways glance or two and a pat on the back and a chuckle from some of the other church family who thought the whole thing funny. Worthams sitting with Hazel Sharpe. And nothing she could do about it! After all, she wouldn’t get up and move. It was her pew.
But today, Hazel was particularly incensed. She tried to scoot over so there’d be less room for all the kids, but that didn’t bother Harry at all. He only clambered around to the other side of her. She plunked her shawl down on the seat, but he promptly sat on top of it. Juli didn’t even seem to notice. She was sitting between Sarah and Katie, with Berty trying hard to climb up on her lap.
“Let us turn to the book of Luke,” Pastor was saying.
Hazel pulled her shawl out from under the boy, sliding him noiselessly on to the hard seat. He stared up at the feather in her hat, and she turned her eyes to the front, looking sour indeed.
“Judge not, and ye shall not be judged: condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned. Forgive, and ye shall be forgiven . . .”
Harry’s hand was slipping up, while he watched Hazel’s face to see if she was noticing. I was too far away to stop him. Juli didn’t see. And Vivian Day, sitting directly behind them, didn’t pay the slightest bit of attention.
“Harry, no,” I whispered. But of course he didn’t hear me. I was hoping someone closer to him would. Maybe they would stop him. But quick as a wink, Harry’s little hand shot the rest of the way up, yanked that bright yellow feather from its place, and then jerked back down again. And he sat up straight, looking at the preacher as if nothing had happened.
Hazel’s hat fell off her head. I could see her turning crimson, whether from embarrassment or rage, I wasn’t sure. And Harry, the little rascal, just sat there snickering.
“. . . with the same measure that ye mete withal it shall be measured to you again . . .”
I saw the pastor smile, turn his eyes toward Harry, and gently shake his head. Only then did I see that Harry was waving the feather in circles, down low where he wouldn’t create too much of a scene. Hazel reached and grabbed the feather away from him. Juli finally noticed, but there was little she could do about Harry now.
Harry fidgeted, raced his fingers across the back of the pew in front of him, and otherwise gave poor Hazel fits until Pastor’s wife reached back and handed him a piece of paper. He spent the rest of the service carefully tearing it in shreds. When Hazel got up to play for the closing hymn, tiny bits of paper were clinging to her skirt and falling piece by piece to the floor.
She played loud and fast—the bounciest version of “The Lily of the Valley” I’d ever heard. And I kind of liked it.
NINETEEN
Julia
“Don’t ever allow that little heathen to sit beside me again, Juli Wortham!” Miss Hazel puffed just as soon as Pastor dismissed the service. “What in the world is his father teaching him? What are you teaching him?”
“Well, not to be heathen, surely,” I said. “I’m sorry. I was so busy watching for Bert and Katie that I didn’t notice him slipping ahead.”
“I’d hate to see what your classroom is like! We shouldn’t have teachers who can’t control the children, I say!” Hazel looked scornfully down at Harry. “Apologize, young man. Right this minute!”
Harry just gazed up with a coy little smile. “I ’pologize. I like your hat.”
Hazel looked like she could burst. I thought she might yell, but she didn’t. “You are not to touch a lady’s hat again! Do you understand? Nor any piece of it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled all the more brightly. “Purty feather. Nicerer than our chickens’ feathers, I’ll say.”
Miss Sharpe held it out like it was some distasteful thing and dropped it in his direction. “You might just as well keep it then, since you bent it all up. But if your father were here, I’d insist he take you to the woodshed! Juli, I expect you to inform George Hammond of his son’s outrageous behavior.”
She started brushing the remaining bits of paper off of her skirt, and I tried to help her, but she only gave me a scowl.
“Better tend to your own,” she warned. “Keep an eye on that husband of yours.”
I knew what she meant. And it was a cruel taunt, inferring that Samuel was untrustworthy.
Maybe I was feeling as ornery as Harry, but I just couldn’t resist turning it around. “Why, thank you, Hazel. Some folks assume that a mother and Sunday school teacher has her place just with the children. It’s nice of you to understand how much a blessing it is to train my attention on my own dear husband.”
I gave her a hug. A huge hug, right in front of everybody milling about. She looked at me like I’d completely taken leave of my senses. Shaking her head, she couldn’t seem to utter a word.
“Have a wonderful day,” I told her. “Won’t you come out and have dinner with us sometime? Have Herman bring you, and he can stay too.”
I hardly knew what I was saying. I could scarcely imagine being able to put anything on the table good enough to suit Hazel Sharpe, we had so little of everything. But Emma would have approved. Even if Hazel never came, I was glad I’d offered. After all, she had gotten Bibles for every one of the kids at Christmastime. In memory of Emma Graham. A stunningly generous act that had shocked everyone who had heard about it.
I hugged her again. “Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank you again so much.”
“Just . . . just what do you think you’re doing, Juli Wortham?” she stammered. “I never seen the like!”
“I just appreciate you so. Those Bibles that you gave the children—”
She frowned. “Did they even bring ’em to church today?”
“Robert and Sarah did. I think the Hammonds forgot without Lizbeth home to remind them.”
“Without Lizbeth!” Hazel rolled her eyes. “George couldn’t no more raise his kids than the man in the moon! Why, if it weren’t for you an’ Lizbeth, they’d all be naked and starved by now.”
“Well, women have an important role, that’s sure, but George is doing his best.”
“That ain’t my point! Lizbeth ain’t a woman yet! An’ your husband an’ George Hammond are the poorest excuses for fathers in this whole church. I declare, Juli, why you put up with it all is beyond me. Havin’ a liar and a cheat! But then maybe you don’t know what else to do but follow ’long on his coattails.”