Looking for Salvation at the Dairy Queen (12 page)

Laura Lynn was almost happier than I was to hear about my new job. She had already figured that with a paycheck or two in my pocket, I could be looking for a place of my own and she and Royce could get back to loving each other full-time. Heck, Royce almost picked me up off the floor when he heard the news. Those two will most surely be birthing a baby by their first wedding anniversary, if not sooner.

But after Laura Lynn went to bed, I got down on my knees and thanked the Lord for Mr. Wallis and my new job. If I was going to be the best sales clerk Davison's had ever had, I figured I was going to need the Almighty on my side. To tell the truth, talking to the Lord was coming a whole lot easier these days—what with Him finally listening and all.

Of course, Daddy always taught me to pray for my enemies first, but I skipped right over Laura Lynn and the like and started thinking on Daddy and Martha Ann and Gloria Jean. I wondered if they were missing me as much as I was missing them. I hadn't heard from Daddy yet, even though I had already written him two long letters. I reckoned the church was keeping him pretty busy, especially with Homecoming just around the corner. And I was sure Roberta Huckstep was buzzing about his ear, reminding him how little Emma Sue would never think of leaving her family like I'd up and done.

After saying all that, I just lay there and wondered about Hank. I saved him for last, so I could take my time thinking about his blue eyes and his strong arms and the way he'd whisper in my ear, causing my insides to tingle. I saw his red pickup pull into the parking lot at the Dairy Queen as my bus was pulling out. A part of me had wanted to yell at that driver to stop and let me get off. But I just closed my eyes instead. And now when I couldn't think about Hank Blankenship anymore, I just closed my eyes and went to sleep.

September 19, 1975

Dear Catherine Grace,

I was so excited to finally get a letter. Mr. Winfield brought it right to the door. He said he knew I'd been waiting on pins and needles to hear from you and that the U.S. Postal Service wanted to do whatever it could for Reverend Cline's baby girl. Ha, the U.S. Postal Service being Mr. Winfield and his wife!

You have no idea how much I've been missing you, but I am absolutely thrilled to hear about your new job—although you have to admit that it's a little ironic that you had to go all the way to Atlanta to sell strawberry jam! No kidding, we're all real proud of you. Gloria Jean says sales are sales and you obviously have a natural-born talent for it. Daddy even smiled when he heard the news.

As exciting as it must be in Atlanta, rest assured that it is just that quiet here. And who would have thought this place could get any worse? Thank goodness Gloria Jean has been coming by to check on us, because if she didn't, I don't think this house would have seen a smile lately. She said to tell you that she's waiting for a letter of her own!

I know you'd like to hear that Daddy is doing fine, but I have to be honest with you, Catherine Grace, he's not. He's sad, really sad. He misses you terribly. And most days, he acts as though you've up and died. He spends most of his time at the church reading the Bible and doing God only knows what. And when he comes home, he never has much to say. He watches the news, shakes his head as if to remind me that the world is a bad place, and then goes to bed.

Last Sunday, he woke up acting more like his old self. He even put a pot roast in the Crock-Pot. I had hoped Miss Raines might be coming over for lunch just like she used to. But she didn't. In fact, Daddy hardly spoke to her after the service. And oh my, the sermon, let's just say he spent more than an hour preaching the parable of the Prodigal Son—sounding very much like the wounded father. I think he just wanted to remind the congregation that his precious, wayward daughter would be coming home as soon as she figures out what a big mistake she's gone and made. (Although he may have to rethink this, seeing how the Prodigal Son never landed a job at Davison's department store!)

And just so you know, according to Daddy's version of the story, I'm the loyal, devoted child who stayed home to water all these stupid tomatoes. And of course I'll also be the one stuck cleaning the house and helping Ida Belle cook for the big party he's going to have in celebration of your grand return!

Laura Lynn sounds nice enough, but you're right, it is really strange to think about the family we have and don't know anything about. But I guess lucky for you a Cline turned up in Atlanta even if she wasn't what you were hoping for.

OK, now you need to sit down, Catherine Grace, because if you don't, you are going to hit the floor laughing. At the Tigers' first home game, little Miss Emma Sue was making her official debut as a Ringgold varsity cheerleader. Yuk! Anyway, her entire family was there, sitting in the bleachers, waving signs that read, “Go Tiger Sue,” and taking at least a million pictures.

During halftime the cheerleading squad ran out onto the field for their big cheer, and Walter Pigeon lifted Emma Sue up over his head. She was standing on Walter's shoulders, grinning so big, so impressed with herself. Anyway, she was supposed to fall into Walter's arms, but somebody blew a horn and distracted poor Walter Pigeon and Emma Sue fell right on the ground!!!

She cracked her cute little tailbone! In two places! And now she has to sit on this piece of foam that looks like a giant doughnut. She carries it around with her everywhere she goes. If she's not sitting on it, she's wearing it around her wrist like a bracelet! I have never laughed so hard in my entire life. Mrs. Roberta Huckstep hasn't been in church for two weeks. I think the entire family is suffering from terminal humiliation, at least that's what Gloria Jean called it. I love it—terminal humiliation!

Of course, we lost the game, but nobody cared. Robbie Preston is the only quarterback I know of who can't throw a football. And you know as well as I do that we can't beat LaFayette just running the ball up and down the field.

By the way, the new English teacher from Murfreesboro never showed up. Apparently she got caught in a compromising situation with the principal at her old school. Needless to say, she was asked not to come to Ringgold High. So Mr. Boyce, a retired English teacher from some boys' school in Chattanooga, was hired at the last minute. At first I thought he was going to be a downright, total bore. But he's wonderful. He actually believes that there are other great American writers besides Mrs. Tyne's beloved William Faulkner!

He told me I'm one of the most promising students he's ever had, and as much as I love words, I ought to think about being an English teacher or a newspaper writer or maybe somebody kind of like Mary Tyler Moore. How about that?! Maybe I could work for the paper in Atlanta, and then we could live together. Wouldn't that be great!

Of course, we might have to wait till poor Daddy has completely lost his mind or is dead and buried cause I'm not sure he'll ever be able to stand both of his baby girls leaving town. Just kidding! I think!

Lots and lots of hugs and kisses,
Martha Ann                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                

T
urns out the nice old lady with the room to rent lived in a big beautiful house right smack dab in the middle of Buckhead. Laura Lynn couldn't stand it that I, Catherine Grace Cline, made it to the fancy neighborhood before she did. She was so mad, she could have spit but instead she dropped me off at the end of Miss Mabie's driveway, leaving me to lug my bags to the house all on my own. I was huffing and puffing something awful by the time I made my way to the front steps.

Miss Mabie was standing just outside her door when I got there, looking real tiny and small next to the huge, square white columns stretched across the front of her house. She had a rather nice figure for a woman her age, and her hair was snow white and cut in a short, stylish bob. She looked very sophisticated and elegant till you got down to her feet and saw her brown, clunky orthopedic shoes. She told me later that she was a vain woman from the tip of her head all the way down to her ankles—but that's where her vanity turned to comfort.

“Child, are you Catherine Grace Cline?” she asked, pointing her little crooked finger right at me.

“Yes, ma'am, I am.”

“Child, you walk all the way here?”

“No, ma'am, my cousin dropped me off at the end of your driveway.”

“Hmm.” Then she looked me over long and hard.

“Well, your cousin's either got no manners at all or she doesn't like you too much. Which is it?”

“I think a bit of both to tell the truth.”

“Damn it. Well, I've either got me the best tenant I've ever had or I need to go and lock the silver closet. Come on and get in here and let's find out which it is.”

She yelled for Flora to come and take my bags, and almost instantly a large black woman appeared from behind a white swinging door. Miss Mabie didn't introduce us, but Flora flashed a quick smile and then headed up the stairs carrying all three of my bags in her hands.

Miss Mabie turned her back to me and walked away, obviously intending for me to follow. She stopped in the kitchen and pointed to the kitchen table, directing me to take a seat. She fixed me a glass of iced tea, all the while explaining the rules of the house. No smoking and no loud music. Rent was due the first of the month. Local calls could be made from the phone in the kitchen. And any gentleman callers were welcome as long as they didn't smoke or play loud music.

Then without me even asking, Miss Mabie told me that she ran away from home when she was no more than sixteen, catching a ride with some insurance salesman passing through Georgia on his way to New York City. She said she used to model for a store called Bloomingdale's and even danced on Broadway! She said Gene Kelley was a very good friend and she emphasized the
very.
And she said she used to be tall till life and old age beat her down.

I didn't understand her ever wanting to leave New York City, but she said she loved the South and since her daddy left her with more money than she knew what to do with, she figured she'd come home and spend the rest of her years sipping gin and tonics and swatting flies. She told everyone in town that she had been married twice and widowed twice. She said that Atlanta society preferred to think that she had known the love of a man only within the sacramental confines of matrimonial bliss. “Marriage would be wonderful, dear,” she reassured me, “if it weren't so everyday.”

Miss Mabie's house was like a giant jewelry box filled with treasures she'd found all over the world, like that huge blue-and-white jar that always sat in the middle of the dining room table. Miss Mabie said it was an ancient Chinese vase and that it was older than Ringgold. Flora kept it filled with fresh flowers every single day.

My room probably wasn't much bigger than our tool-shed back home, but I loved it. It was painted a soft shade of yellow and had a large picture window that looked out on the backyard. And right outside my window was one of the prettiest magnolia trees I'd ever seen. Sometimes, when I was lying in my bed, I actually felt like that little baby bird Daddy was always talking about. And there I was, safe and sound, settled in my nest way up high in my beautiful magnolia tree.

Miss Mabie said she loved knowing somebody else was in the house with her, especially the daughter of a preacher. Flora was always there, too, but she was the biggest scaredy cat I'd ever seen. When it was storming and lightning one night, Flora cried so hard, Miss Mabie had to let her come in bed with her just to quiet her down.

I liked to sit in the kitchen and talk to Flora while she worked. She was a large-boned woman, but the graceful way she moved her body around the kitchen was something beautiful to watch. She was a lot like Ida Belle, actually, but with skin as dark as night. She'd been cooking Miss Mabie's meals since she was fourteen years old. Flora said her own mama died shortly after giving birth, and she said her daddy never did get used to looking at her. Her daddy worked for Miss Mabie's daddy and so they met when Miss Mabie was home visiting. He told her he had a girl, didn't know what to do with her. Miss Mabie said she did. Flora said Miss Mabie was the only mama she'd ever had. She also said she was the craziest white woman she'd ever known.

“Oh precious Jesus,” she told me one afternoon while she was rolling out dough for the evening's biscuits, “she took me shoppin’ for some new clothes as soon as I started workin’ for her. She said there was no lookin’ like a street chil’ in her house. You shoulda been there. She tol’ all a those clerks that I was her baby niece visitin’ from South Carolina. I think she done it for fun, jus' to watch ’em all squirm like some little earthworm after the rain. But Miss Mabie spent so much money in that sto’ they jus' had to smile.”

Flora thought it was very funny that I was selling fancy foods and didn't know how to do much of anything in the kitchen but make strawberry jam and Thursday-night meatloaf. I told her I also knew how to make Mrs. Gulbenk's special tea, but she said that didn't count.

Most nights Miss Mabie asked me to join her for dinner, unless she was too tired, and then Flora served her in her room. We always sat on opposite ends of the big, long table in the dining room. Miss Mabie was a little hard of hearing, so talking at the table was more like a shouting match on a school playground than the exchange of some polite conversation. Flora always sat in the kitchen by herself, except for Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Easter. I felt kind of funny about that, but I didn't dare ask Miss Mabie how come.

Most days I just couldn't stop pinching myself. I had paid Miss Mabie my first month's rent, had bought myself a pretty pair of panties, and still put one hundred and fifty-three dollars in the bank. I was waking up in a world that I had only dreamed about, except in this dream there was a magnolia tree outside my window. And even though I found myself wondering what Daddy and Martha Ann were doing, I just couldn't imagine being anyplace else.