Like Sweet Potato Pie

by Spinola, Jennifer Rogers

  I rubbed my back where it’d hit the pew, my racing pulse calming to normal. “Well, I can’t leave her alone yet, can I? She’s still pretty little.” I checked my watch. “I’ve got to work after this, and if you don’t go straight home then …”

  “You’re the one who wanted a dog, Ro. Think of something.”

  “No, Becky wanted me to have a dog.” I narrowed my eyes at Becky, and she stuck her tongue out at me. “What am I supposed to do now? Leave her with Stella?”

  All that cigarette smoke? No way.

  Becky’s gaze suddenly lit on Faye. “I know who you can call,” she said.

  Faye looked up innocently from her conversation with Adam, and I tried to catch Becky’s eye. Making big Xs with my hands and shaking my head furiously.

  “Oh, nothin’,” said Becky sweetly, shoving me toward the hallway door. “Jest tryin’ ta think a who might be able ta keep Shiloh’s li’l puppy a few hours. Too bad ain’t none a us nearby.”

  Faye thought. “Well, don’t Earl live out that way?”

  “Why, thanks, Faye! He shore does, come to think of it. Ya got his number? I shore don’t. An’ Shah-loh … well, she’s tied up right now.” She gave me an extra push and shut the door in my face for good measure.

  Then Faye’s muffled voice. “I reckon I’ve got his business card here somewhere.”

  “Atta girl,” said Becky. And I could hear her grin through the door.

  “Chili’s it is.” I pushed open the sanctuary door. “Kyoko’ll meet us there, dog-free.”

  “Thanks ta Earl.” Becky winked.

  “Not so fast.” Adam clicked off his cell phone. “Chili’s says there’s an hour and a half wait.”

  “What?” we all yelped.

  “Doggone Methodists!” Tim joked, pretending to stomp.

  “Try Cracker Barrel or Mrs. Rowe’s,” suggested Becky. “I’m starvin’!”

  I shook my head. “No Southern food. Kyoko’s a little particular.”

  “Well.” Becky raised an eyebrow. “There’s the Mill Street Grill, which I ain’t payin’ half our salary for, or fast food.”

  “Or The Green Tree.” Adam looked at me pointedly.

  I put my hands up. “Oh, no! Don’t even think about it! I vote for Burger King.”

  They outvoted me. I sulked all the way to the car, not noticing the yellow-clad woman I’d sat next to at the beginning of the service until I saw her reflection in my car window.

  “Excuse me,” she said politely as I spun around. “I didn’t mean to startle ya.”

  “Of course not.” I pulled off my sunglasses. “Thanks for helping me find Tim and Becky. Me being a stranger and all.”

  “You’re no stranger.” The breeze lightly ruffled her black hair. “I knew ya’d be here today.”

  I gazed back at her neatly styled hairdo and sparkly flower earrings, brown hands tucked into her long winter coat. But I didn’t recognize her.

  “Were you … waiting for me?” I asked hesitantly, glancing around. Most of the crowds had dispersed already.

  “Absolutely. I didn’t want to intrude but wondered if I could talk to ya a minute.”

  “Uh … sure.” I moved uncomfortably to check my watch.

  “I’m Beulah Jackson. I knew your mother. She accepted Jesus in my livin’ room.”

  Chapter 7

  I wavered, barely feeling the cold wind ruffle my hair. “My mom?”

  “Ellen Jacobs.” Beulah’s dark eyes echoed back tenderness. “I used to work as a temp at the Virginia School for the Deaf and Blind where she taught, and I invited her to our church one Sunday ‘cause she seemed kinda lonely. I didn’t think she’d wanna come back, and she didn’t think so either, but she took to Faye like butter on grits. Faye’s one sweet woman, ain’t she?”

  I nodded, my thinly veiled emotion rising so quickly I had to choke it back.

  “Faye and I invited her back again, and she came. Askin’ all kinds a questions. Talkin’ about her hurt and anger. We met with the pastor’s wife an’ read the Bible and prayed together. Then I invited her to a Bible study at my house, and the small group put her at ease.”

  The wind blew again, and I tightened my jaw against tears, imagining Mom sitting on Beulah’s sofa, Bible open in her lap. The same leather cover I now clenched in nervous fingers.

  “And mostly, Shiloh, we just prayed for her. Lord knows she’d been jest about broke in half. Done lost ev’rything important to her and gave all her money away to them cults.”

  “Raelians. One-Spirit Life Forces. Communes. Hindu stuff. I know.” Tears stung my eyes at the memories of Mom strung out on psychedelic tea, eyes unseeing. Her shaking hands reaching for a mantra to read until she fell asleep on the sofa, limp arm dangling on the cold, blistered linoleum.

  Mom’s story, for the first time, sounded just a little bit like mine.

  No, I hadn’t chased aliens or gurus, but I’d handed over my earnings to a different cult—one that promised happiness and success if I climbed corporate ladders and bought and charged. Wasting years and dollars trying to be someone that, all of a sudden, I didn’t even know.

  Beulah reached out, unafraid, and took my hand firmly between hers.

  “But Jesus changed your mama’s life inside an’ out, and she became a new creation. Everything broken He made whole! Everything that caused her downfall became her strength!

  “I want ya to know Ellen Jacobs lived and died a courageous woman of God, and I ain’t ever seen a woman who lost so much be so filled by God’s grace. She became a prayin’, singin’, believin’, rejoicin’ woman of victory through Jesus Christ, and Shiloh Papillon Jacobs, so can you!”

  Beulah’s forceful words startled me so much I didn’t realize for a few seconds that she’d used my middle name. A gust of wind sent a rush of golden leaves across us, like my flood of emotions. Tumbling and scuttling over themselves, brittle thin.

  “I believe in Jesus,” I said, shivering despite my sweater. “I asked Him into my heart not long ago.”

  “I know ya did.” Beulah didn’t flinch. “The Lord revealed it to me while I prayed for ya. And I’m here to tell ya He’s gonna do great things through ya! There ain’t a thing in your life He can’t make new. He says, ‘Behold, I make all things new!’ And that includes you.”

  She put a hand on my cheek. “Ya may be broken in spirit now, but Jesus will fill ya. ‘Here I am! I stand at the door and knock,’ He says. ‘If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me.’ ”

  “The Bread of Life,” I whispered, mind spinning back to the sermon.

  “Exactly! It’s no accident God brought ya here. He has plans for ya, honey! Here! Now! I don’t know what ya left behind, but it’s Egypt! The land of slavery. Leave Egypt behind ya! The Lord Jesus is your Promised Land now.”

  I didn’t understand all her words, but my posture must have melted. Beulah gathered me into her arms and pressed my cheek against hers.

  “I’ve been prayin’ for ya every single day,” she whispered into my ear. “Ever since I started with your mom. An’ we’re gonna start on the rest a your family, one at a time. Ya hear me? You’re gonna see God do great things.”

  I drew in a ragged breath, feeling tears leak out. “How did you know my middle name?”

  “Ellen told me. Said she chose it durin’ one a them artsy phases and ya always hated it.”

  I nodded, half laughing and half crying.

  “But I said, ‘Doesn’t papillon mean “butterfly” in French?’ I told her God don’t make mistakes, and her little girl will be transformed as much as one a them ugly caterpillars into the most beautiful butterfly she’s ever seen. And I’m here talkin’ to ya today to prove it.”

  A footstep on concrete filtered over from the distant front steps, and I looked up to see Adam and Todd politely turned away, hands on the metal railing. Tim’s white pickup paused, engine running, near a clump of shrubs.

  “I thought t
hey’d all left already!” I turned slightly, shielding my moist eyes.

  Oh, right. Something about getting me out of church without a bunch of crying and hugging. So much for Scout’s honor!

  Adam glanced back at Beulah and me, raising his palms in a questioning gesture. I shot him a thumbs-up, trying to smile.

  But as I shivered in the chilly sun, which peeked briefly from behind a puff of low-flying cloud, I was glad I’d come to church—even if Kyoko complained. Glad I’d met Beulah. Glad, even, for the damp spots on my cheeks as I dug through my purse for a tissue.

  Beulah glanced over to the front steps. And as she opened her mouth, I knew what she’d say. “There’s a good man, Shiloh Jacobs.”

  “Who, Tim? Yeah, he’s kind of redneck, but I like him.” I played dumb.

  I didn’t think Beulah could roll her eyes, but she did. “I wasn’t talkin’ about Tim.”

  “Why, did God give you a revelation on Adam, too?” I asked a little tartly, pulling a tissue out of the small plastic packet. A leftover from Japan, where they passed them out on the street for advertising. The kanji characters on this particular packet proclaimed, in a riot of pink, special discounts for “bridal shaving.” What, like for Godzilla? I dabbed at my mascara.

  “You think Adam and I are supposed to be together or something?” I wiped my nose in irritation, eyes landing on the absurd cartoon drawing of a smiley bride and groom on the tissue packet. I shoved it back into my purse and zipped it forcefully.

  Beulah chuckled. “I never said that! And if He did give me a revelation on it, which He didn’t, I shore wouldn’t tell ya! He don’t need me to get people together. Although if He’s lookin’ for helpers, ‘Lord, thy servant heareth!’ ” She spread her hands and looked toward heaven with merry dark eyes.

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s just that some people seem to think Adam and I … I don’t know.” I shrugged and dropped my gaze, fiddling with my purse strap. The way I had in the hallway with Adam, fingers trembling slightly. “He’s nice and all, but …”

  A vision of Carlos’s brilliant, beautiful face flitted through me with almost palpable pain.

  “Adam’s not my type at all.” I shook my head for emphasis. “In any possible way. And not only that, I’m just passing through town, not staying.”

  I fumbled with my wrinkled tissue and dropped it. Reached to pick it up off the asphalt and dropped it again then splattered my keys when I grabbed for the tissue.

  “They’re … uh … waiting for me.” I gestured toward the steps, embarrassed. Sniffling the last of my tears.

  “If ya didn’t have plans, I’d invite ya home for lunch. My Frank’s at home, not feelin’ so well today, but we’d pull ya up another chair and feed ya ‘til ya pop.”

  “Thanks.” My eyes raised in a smile. I felt foolish suddenly, running away from Beulah, who glowed raw love and faith like a sunrise over the sloping curves of the Blue Ridge Mountains, drowning everything in gold. “We’re going to The Green Tree, but maybe next time we—”

  “Did you say The Green Tree?”

  “Sure. That quasi-vegetarian place.”

  “Do you know a Trinity who works there?”

  “Trinity?” My eyebrows shot up. “Trinity Jackson? Of course I do! We wait tables together! Why, just last night she came to my house to spy on—” I caught myself in case Faye could hear me, wherever she was.

  “Trinity’s my granddaughter!” Beulah cried out, gripping my arm. “Ya work with my son’s girl! The one I’ve been praying about for twenty-six years now! For her to love the Lord Jesus, and you’re … you’re …” She broke off, tears swelling in her eyes. “Well, Shiloh, do you believe me now that God don’t make mistakes? He’s put you right there according to His blessed plan!”

  “Huh? You mean, like on purpose?” If God’s so-called “blessed plan” for me included hauling dirty plates to foul-mouthed dishwashers who hollered about NASCAR over the hiss of the steam sanitizer, He and I needed to have a chat. Pronto. “Why would He do a thing like that?”

  “To bring the goodness of the Lord to Trinity, girl!” She shook my arm. “Don’t ya get it? You’re an answer to my prayers!”

  “You mean God cares where I … work?” I wrinkled my nose. The thought struck me as kind of absurd. I mean, I knew it from the Bible, what few portions I’d read, but … The Green Tree? “I’m just trying to make money. And Jerry hired me.”

  I pictured the Japanese visitors in the Buddhist temples, writing their prayers on rows of wooden plaques, hoping to catch divine attention. Clapping their hands and tossing coins. Prayer ribbons flickering in the wind like lost kites.

  While Beulah Jackson stood in front of me in her long gray coat and told me God planned the exact place—exact time in history, even—I’d work? And with whom?

  “Does God care where ya work? Baby, He’s planned every detail in your life to bring Him honor and grow ya strong and firm in Him!”

  I scuffed my expensive heel in the asphalt, playing with my sunglasses. “You mean that?”

  “With all my heart, sugar! He’s got every hair on your head numbered.”

  “Well, tell Him to add a few more,” I said, trying to cover the lump that suddenly swelled in my throat by picking some strands off my sweater.

  Beulah winked at me. “Tell Him yourself, girl! He’s waitin’ on ya!”

  My hands were still shaking when I pulled out of the church parking lot, breathing in the now-familiar scent of Mom’s car interior. The berry scent of her air freshener that lingered, like her memory, suddenly sweet.

  I flashed my lights as our pickup-truck-and-car parade passed a gas station. I turned in, the others honking as they headed to The Green Tree.

  But instead of pulling up to the pump, I drove around behind the lot, shaded by overgrown vines and lilac shrubs. A shock of standing trees dripped green leaves mottled with cherry red across scarred concrete.

  I parked, peeled off my sunglasses, and sobbed into my hands.

  It took me all the way to The Green Tree to collect myself. Beulah’s words. The Bible open in my lap as Pastor Davis urged us to call out to Jesus. Adam’s hand on my shoulder as we stood in the hallway, purse strap twisting in my hands.

  I wedged my Honda between two badly parked cars and let the engine die. Sat there in the silence, golden leaves fluttering down onto my windshield like feathers. I let my head sink down to the steering wheel. I needed quiet. Needed rest. Needed …

  “Aw no, Kyoko! Not there!” I rolled down my window and gestured. Honked my horn. But she didn’t hear. Didn’t look up.

  So much for quiet. I sighed and grabbed my purse, praying for God to calm my fraying nerves as I slammed the car door behind me.

  Kyoko had parked her red Mitsubishi in front of a fire hydrant on the wrong side of a historic one-way street. She leaned lazily against it, tapping on her cell phone. Chunky black boots and black pants. Blue-and-black punk-rock T-shirt depicting Van Gogh’s The Scream.

  “Kyoko!” I broke into a trot. “You can’t park there!”

  “Huh?” She looked up, sleek hair pulled back in a twist, maroon-stained points poking up wildly. “Oh hi, Ro! Hold on. I’m trying to find that cop’s number.”

  “Why? What cop?”

  “What’s his name? Shawn? Shack?”

  “Shane?”

  “Yeah, Shane. That’s it.” She tapped some more. “Think he’ll come out here and try to ticket me? I wanna see if he’s as good-looking as Stella says.”

  Of all the …! I halted, purse sliding off my shoulder. “When did you talk to Stella?”

  “This morning. While you disappeared on your mysterious excursion.” Kyoko waved her hand. “But don’t worry. I’m not horning in on Shane. It’s for you.”

  I sputtered, speechless.

  She raised an eyebrow. “And don’t you look all frilly today! Where’ve you been, Ro-chan, all dressed up? A baby shower or something?” She appraised my heels and lacy sweater with a sli
ght nod. “Well, that cop’s eyes’ll bug right out of his head, anyway. So how do you spell his last name?”

  Before I could even come up with a snotty retort, cowboy boots clicked on the distant sidewalk. Coming toward us. Echoing against the faded brickwork of bygone buildings, which stretched their ancient arms into a moody sky.

  “That must be your posse.” Kyoko attempted, somewhat, to wipe the smirk off her face. “Do they do Civil War reenactments here? That guy’d fit right in as one of the Rebs if you put a uniform on him.” She smacked her forehead. “Oh, wait! Tim does that, doesn’t he? In … where again? Winchester? Where viewers occasionally get mugged, and-or—”

  “Cut it out!” I rolled my eyes and grabbed her arm as she chuckled at her own joke. “Come meet them. And be nice!”

  Becky waved wildly, and Kyoko gave a lazy wave in reply, leaving her car guarding the fire hydrant.

  “Well, well! Ya come all the way from Japan?” Tim grabbed Kyoko’s hand and pumped it hard.

  “Presumably.” Kyoko squeamishly withdrew her glittery lime-green nails (repainted, apparently, from last night’s deep-blue shade) and shouldered her purse. “And you must be Tim? I’ve … um … heard about you.”

  Her oh-so-innocent grin unsettled me, as did the sly way in which she said it.

  “Tim Donaldson.” He grinned, hugging Becky. “And this here’s my cute li’l Becky. Ain’t she a peach?”

  “Well, she’s certainly rather fruitlike. Yes.” Kyoko tried to shake Becky’s hand, but Becky threw her arms around Kyoko.

  “Welcome to Staunton, Kyoko!” Becky bubbled, beaming. “Faye can’t stay but she’s comin’ by to say hi, an’ Adam and Todd’s waitin’ on us, and everybody’s so pleased ta meet ya! Yer gonna jest love it here!”

  “I bet I will.” Kyoko showed her teeth.

  When we arrived at The Green Tree, Adam politely shook hands with Kyoko and held the door for us as we filed inside, Dawn seating us near the window. Before I could change the subject to something—anything—not involving (1) deer hunting (2) the Civil War, or (3) weapons, Todd whipped out a shockingly detailed drawing of an army tank and plopped it in front of Kyoko.