Looking for Salvation at the Dairy Queen (19 page)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Sunday School Teacher's Miraculous Reception

T
he next morning, everybody was buzzing around the house like a bunch of worker bees trying to please the queen. Miss Mabie and Flora and me had left Atlanta so quickly I hadn't really thought about what to wear to the funeral. Daddy would insist on me wearing black, I knew that much, and I'd spent the last half hour rummaging through my sister's closet looking for a black skirt to go with the black silk blouse I had bought for work. Martha Ann was frantically hunting for a pair of nylons that didn't have a run. I could hear her cursing and slamming drawers all at the same time. And Flora was already frying bacon, hollering for everybody to come and eat a hot bacon biscuit before putting on our funeral clothes.

In all the rush I hadn't really given much thought to poor Miss Raines, at least not up until now. I found one of Martha Ann's baby dresses hanging in the back of her closet. And all of the sudden, looking at the delicate smocking and the little yellow ducks embroidered along the hem, I wondered who was going to help Miss Raines dress her baby. We were about to bury the one man she truly loved, and she was having his child. I knew she was sitting in her house all alone, with a pile of damp Kleenex growing by her side.

Gloria Jean said she had heard from Ida Belle who had heard from Ruthie Morgan's mother that Miss Raines would not be attending daddy's funeral, thinking her presence might be too uncomfortable for the Cedar Grove congregation. She was going to finish up some packing and then head on down to Summerville. Surely, the sweet Sunday-school teacher with the big, blue eyes didn't think she needed to keep pretending she had a fiancé named Donald.

I needed to talk to Martha Ann. She had given up her search for a new pair of nylons and had shifted her attention to putting on her makeup. She was standing in the bathroom in front of the mirror. Gloria Jean had picked up some new waterproof mascara for us at the Dollar General Store. She said crying for the dead was not a good reason to let your makeup run all down your face, and she made us promise we'd only use the Maybelline she left sitting on the bathroom counter.

Martha Ann was struggling to open the cap. I told her to run it under hot water and see if that would help. She kept fiddling with the tube of mascara as I started talking, telling her how worried I was about Miss Raines and her little baby. After all, that baby was our kin, too. Martha Ann dropped the mascara in the sink. “Damn it. It doesn't run because you can't get it out of the tube to put it on your eyelashes in the first place.”

“Hey, Martha Ann, did you hear what I just said?” I asked, taking the mascara from her hand and loosening the cap before giving it back.

“Yes, yes, I did, I'm sorry. I'm just kind of nervous,” she replied, turning toward me and giving me her full attention. “Look, I'm worried, too. I have been for a long time. You know that. I just wasn't sure if anybody, other than you, would understand.”

“Well, we're all that's left of our daddy, and I think we need to make things right for him. And the only way to make things right is for Miss Raines to be here with us.”

“Yeah sure, I don't care if she comes to the funeral. I think she should be there.”

“No, that's not what I mean. I mean she needs to be here, in this house, with us,” I said real carefully.

“You mean live with us,” Martha Ann repeated, just to be certain.

“We're her family now, and we need to help her raise our little brother or sister.” There, I'd said it. But before I had time to worry about her response, Martha Ann squealed with excitement. She loved the idea of having a baby in the house. Then she suddenly hesitated, wondering where we'd put everybody, especially with Mama back at home. She was not willing to share her room with a newborn baby no matter how cute he or she turned out to be. I told her I hadn't worked out all the details yet, but kind of like the feeding of the five thousand, we'd take care of everybody.

On the other side of the door, I could hear Flora hollering from the kitchen. “Ya gonna need to keep up ya stren'th. Ya hear me?” She was on the telephone talking to Miss Mabie, who had spent the night with Gloria Jean. Flora was already pacing the kitchen floor, worrying that Miss Mabie wasn't getting herself something to eat. She had no more hung up the phone when Gloria Jean called, for the third time this morning. She wanted to make sure us girls didn't forget to carry a lace handkerchief as well as an extra bottle of Aqua Net. Lord only knows what she planned on doing with all that hairspray at Daddy's service. She told Martha Ann to come over with her nylons, and, with a little Revlon clear nail polish, she'd have those stockings looking as good as new.

I knew if I was going to get Miss Raines to the church, I needed to leave now, while everybody was tending to their own pressing needs. Flora had finally left the kitchen, and I could hear her in Martha Ann's bedroom grunting as she tugged and pulled her girdle up and over her tummy. Flora would insist on driving Miss Mabie's car to the church, especially with all this snow on the ground. I stood outside Martha Ann's bedroom door and told Flora to tell everybody that I'd meet them at the church, and not to worry, I was going to take Daddy's car. Flora yelled back from inside the bedroom, wanting to know where I was headed right before my daddy's funeral was about to begin. It wasn't right, she said, to keep the dead waiting.

I told her that I just needed a minute or two to myself. “You understand, don't you, Flora?” I said, not waiting for an answer. I headed down the hall, grabbing my heavy wool coat from the closet and then running toward the front door. But as I threw my coat over my shoulder, something caught my eye. Mama was ironing one of my dresses. I wanted to ask her why she was doing that. I already had something to wear to the church. But all I could do was stand in the hallway and watch her hand gently glide the iron back and forth, smoothing every wrinkle out of the fabric. Ruthie Morgan's mama had never ironed anything as perfectly as this.

She set the iron down and looked up at me. I smiled, letting her know how thankful I was, and then I turned back toward the door and ran out onto the porch. The steps were covered with a thin layer of ice and as soon as my foot touched the first step, I fell flat on my bottom. Thankfully, my heavy coat cushioned the fall, but I couldn't help but laugh, wondering if Daddy and his new band of angel friends had seen that from above. I kept my curse words locked in my mouth just in case and picked myself up and walked very carefully to the Oldsmobile. The door was frozen shut and I had to pull hard on the chrome handle, leaning my entire body away from the door. When it opened, I fell on my bottom again.

This time Martha Ann yelled from the bathroom window. “Your butt's going to be frost bit by the time you get to Miss Raines.” I could still hear her laughing as she closed the window behind her.

I pulled myself up into my daddy's car and settled in behind the steering wheel. For the first time since hearing that my daddy had passed, I truly felt his presence, his gentle, comforting presence. I put the key into the ignition and waited for the engine to warm. I didn't need any shivers down my spine to tell me that I wasn't traveling alone.

I backed the car out of the driveway and then headed toward the church. Cedar Grove's brick exterior stood out like a monument on the snowy, white ground. The black hearse was already there parked alongside the building, waiting to carry daddy's casket to the cemetery. I wondered if the men from the funeral home were going to be able to get my daddy in the ground, considering how freezing cold it was. I whispered I'd be back and then turned left and headed into town.

It felt like Christmas Day. Every building was closed and shut tight; even the lights at the Dairy Queen were turned off. Everybody in Ringgold was on his way to say good-bye to my daddy. Everybody but one, and I had to go get her.

When I pulled in front of Miss Raines's house, I could see boxes neatly stacked on her front porch. She was standing in the picture window, staring out at nothing. She jumped when she saw the car, obviously startled at the sight of my daddy's Oldsmobile. I climbed out of the front seat, this time leaning on the hood of the car to steady myself as I walked toward the curb. She was already standing on the porch waiting for me, holding out a hand to guide me up the two final steps to her house.

“Catherine Grace, what are you doing here? You should be at the church by now.”

“Well, since it's my own daddy's funeral, I don't think they'll be starting without me. You're right, I do need to be heading that way, but I needed to say something to you first,” I said, not giving her the opportunity to interrupt. “Martha Ann and I have been doing some talking, and we agree that there's not going to be a funeral if you're not there. So get your coat, and let's go.”

“Catherine Grace, that is very kind of you girls, but I don't think the rest of Cedar Grove is going to feel too good about me showing up at Reverend Cline's funeral. They don't want to think your daddy had anything to do with this baby. Apparently they want to think I just miraculously conceived this child or, at the very least, went up to some bar in Chattanooga and let the first guy who asked me to dance knock me up. Oh Lord, I'm sorry, Catherine, I don't normally talk like this. I just haven't been myself lately.”

“Miss Raines, of course you're not yourself. You're pregnant, and Flora says any woman who has a baby growing in her is sure to be acting like a crazy person. And as far as all those other people are concerned, well, I guess they'll just have to go find themselves another funeral to cry at if they don't want you there because I'm not leaving without you. Now get your coat. It's really cold out there.” Miss Raines stood perfectly still, unable to speak or move, but I could see the tears starting to well up in those beautiful blue eyes of hers.

“Listen. I know that for a long time I was plain rotten to you, just downright mean. Truth be told, I always liked you. I was just so mad that my mama was gone, and I found it was easier to be ugly to you than to my own daddy. It wasn't right. But you're family now, and you need to be at that funeral today—for Daddy, for Martha Ann, for me—and most of all for that little baby inside your tummy. And after the service, I've got news for you, Miss Raines, you're coming on home with us. You don't need some imaginary husband in Summerville. You need a family, now more than ever.

“Now go get your coat because I'm really not leaving without you. And it really is cold out there. Besides, I sure would hate to have to call the sheriff out in all this snow to come and put you in that car, and you know good and well he'll do anything for Reverend Cline's little girl,” I said with a big grin on my face.

“Well, in that case,” she said, crying again so that I could hardly understand what she was saying, “I guess I better get my coat.” As she walked past me, she reached out to hug my neck but suddenly lifted her head as if she had heard a frightening noise. “Oh Lord, Catherine, what about your mama? What's she going to think about me showing up at Marshall's service?”

“I'm sure she's feeling a bit out of place herself. Ida Belle and Brother Fulmer thought it was best we forewarn the congregation, for fear somebody might have a heart attack seeing her alive and all. So don't worry, she'll be fine with you being there. Who knows, seeing you two together may be enough of a shock to leave even Roberta Huckstep speechless, for once.”

By the time Miss Raines and I pulled into the church parking lot, we could hear the piano playing inside the church. Thankfully, Mrs. Gilbert was in town and she had arranged a collection of Daddy's favorite hymns. I could hear the last notes of “I'd Rather Have Jesus” trail into the beginning of “When the Roll Is Called Up Yonder.” Miss Raines and I helped each other climb up the cement steps to the door. Brother Fulmer had carefully scraped off the ice and sprinkled the steps with rock salt. We could hear the salt crunching underneath the weight of our bodies.

As I pushed on the door of the church, I saw Martha Ann standing guard in the entry. She grabbed the door from the inside and pulled it open, and there in the entry of my daddy's church stood Miss Raines and me and Martha Ann and Lena Mae, the four women Daddy loved the most. We walked toward the center aisle and I could see my daddy's casket covered with a blanket of red roses. I took a deep breath, needing a moment to remind myself that my daddy was the one we had come to bury. Then we stepped into the sanctuary, standing side by side.

The church fell completely silent. Mrs. Gilbert even missed a few notes on the piano but quickly picked up her place and continued to play. As we walked down the aisle, I could feel everyone staring at us. I could hear Roberta Huckstep's familiar gasp, but I just smiled. I reached for Martha Ann's hand, and she squeezed it tight, reassuring me of what I had come to do.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

You Will Be Like a Well-Watered Garden

G
loria Jean and Miss Mabie and Flora were already sitting in the first pew. Gloria Jean stood as we approached, hugging each one of us as we reached the front of the church. When she wrapped her arms around Lena Mae, you could hear everyone's surprise rush through the air. For Gloria Jean, that was nothing more than encouragement, and she opened her arms even wider toward Miss Raines.

I waited for the music to soften, then I walked up three final steps and, for the first time, took my place behind the pulpit. I stroked my hand across its top, feeling its uneven surface where years of Cline men pounding their fists had left an impression. When I was little, I would sit at the base of the pulpit waiting for Daddy to finish talking to anyone who needed his ear. But I had never stood here with some thing to say, and in that moment, I realized what an ominous responsibility it was being Ringgold's preacher. I looked at Mrs. Gilbert the way my daddy used to do, and she softly brought the hymn to a close.

“Good morning, everyone, thank you for coming today. I hope you feel like I do, that I'm here not to say goodbye to my daddy, but to celebrate his life. I'm sure some of you are struggling with my daddy's death—and his life—right now. Heck, you may be even questioning your own faith, a little uncertain of what or who to believe anymore.

“My daddy liked to preach the parables. Of course, you all know that as well as I do. He always told Martha Ann and me that Jesus understood that children, even the grown ones, learn best when listening to a story. One of Daddy's favorites was the Parable of the Weeds, and it was always one of my favorites because Daddy told it in a way that I could really understand. I want to share that story with you now if you don't mind.

“You all know that my granddaddy loved his garden. He loved to tend to each and every one of his plants almost as much as he loved and tended to all of you, but most of you probably know that, too. But did you know that his garden was his secret hiding spot, where he went to think and rest and praise the good Lord? I'm not sure if my daddy told me that or if I just figured it out for myself.

“Anyway, what you might not know is that one day a real Cherokee Indian came over from the Sequatchie Valley to give my granddaddy a purple tomato plant. That's right. A real Cherokee gave him that plant as a gift for praying his little Indian boy, who was sick with a high fever, back to health. Granddaddy loved that vine because, as Daddy told it, it had come from the goodness that can be done in the world.

“But when he planted it, even though the tomatoes were sweet and plentiful, hundreds of weeds sprouted up around the vine, trying to strangle it to death. Every day Granddaddy pulled the weeds that had grown up during the night. Every day he pulled the weeds that were trying to choke the life right out of it. He never turned his back on that vine.

“I think we're kind of like that garden. Some of us here at Cedar Grove are trying to grow strong beautiful tomatoes, and some of us are like the weeds, trying to choke the life out of everybody else. My daddy was a good man. He was a good father. And he was a good preacher. Brother Hawkins, you know that firsthand. Daddy stood by you when your daughter went down to Texas to birth her little baby. And, Deacon Evans, wasn't it Daddy who went and smoothed things over with your wife when she locked you out of the house after you lost all your savings at the dog track down in Florida?”

I could see each and every person sitting before me starting to squirm for fear I was going to continue calling the roll of sinners, so to speak. But I didn't need to. They knew they were in no position to be casting any stones.

“But one thing's for sure, my daddy wasn't perfect. Miss Raines's growing belly is testament to that. My daddy loved Miss Raines. He had loved her for a long time. It's just a shame he couldn't have loved her honestly. I think when my mama left, well, my daddy just wasn't able to admit to all of you that his sweet young wife wanted more than he could offer. I don't know, maybe he thought that if he couldn't make things right with his own wife, then none of you would ever trust anything he had to say about loving one another. So he let us all think she drowned.

“And now I wonder, with an innocent little baby on the way, if up and dying wasn't the only way my daddy could keep from disappointing all of you here at Cedar Grove. That's how much he loved each and every one of you. And I think if we turn our backs on our sisters, on Lena Mae and Miss Raines, then we are no better than the weeds choking the life out of those beautiful vines.”

When I looked up, Mrs. Roberta Huckstep was holding her head in her monogrammed handkerchief. Everybody was tearing to one degree or another. So I just stood there for a moment, just like Flora would want me to do, giving everyone a chance to let the sadness pour out of their bodies.

I looked to Mrs. Gilbert, and she began to play “Just As I Am.” At first the sound of the piano merely muffled the noise of a crying congregation. Then one by one, people began to sing, finding comfort in the words that surely now, more than ever, were a comfort to my daddy.

Just as I am, and waiting not
To rid my soul of one dark blot,
To Thee whose blood can cleanse each spot,
O Lamb of God, I come! I come!

Just as I am, thou wilt receive,
Wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve,
Because thy promise I believe,
O Lamb of God, I come! I come!

I could hear Brother Fulmer's deep baritone voice roll through the room, and even Mrs. Gulbenk's wavering soprano sounded pretty today. In fact, the entire congregation sounded different, sweeter, purer. And slowly one voice among all the others became stronger and clearer, one beautiful voice that belonged to my mama.

All these years, I couldn't remember what Mama's singing voice sounded like. Lord knows I tried to remember, but the voice I kept hearing in my head all these years was just one I had heard on the radio. Turns out, my mama sounded like an angel, a heavenly angel. Mrs. Gilbert started playing real softly so her voice could be heard above the others. And one by one, every voice at Cedar Grove grew silent, leaving my mama alone to serenade my daddy as he made his way through the Pearly Gates.

The sound filling the church that day surrounded me completely. I felt warm and comforted. I felt loved, the kind of love that comes only from your own flesh and blood—and those who love you as their own. I had spent a lifetime trying to get away from this place. Funny thing, you can run away from your family, and you can run away from dreams, but, like Daddy kept trying to tell me, there's just no running away from your destiny. I knew where I needed to be.

For a while after Daddy's funeral, everybody in Ring-gold was real nice to one another. Ruthie Morgan's mama and some of the other ladies at church even hosted a baby shower for Miss Raines. Ida Belle spent two whole days making little cookies in the shape of baby bottles. Ruthie Morgan, who I started calling by her first name only, crocheted a white blanket for the baby, using a design Mrs. Gulbenk found in an old Simplicity pattern book. Brother Hawkins built a rocking cradle for the baby, and his wife painted Noah standing in his ark across the headboard. They laughed that it wasn't as good as a felt board, but they figured a Sunday-school teacher wouldn't want to waste any time in teaching her little one the Bible.

Mrs. Huckstep stopped by regularly for a month or so to bring a macaroni casserole or a vase of fresh flowers, just to brighten our day, she said. And oddly, it did. But it seems that people can only act right for a little while before their old ways get a hold of them. Probably for the best anyway. I imagine Mrs. Huckstep might have combusted herself if she hadn't finally opened her mouth and let all that gossip she had been bottling up since the day Daddy died drain out. She tried her very best to convince every churchgoing lady in town, which would be everyone but Gloria Jean and Mrs. Dempsey, that their dear departed preacher was seduced by the beautiful Sunday-school teacher nearly half his age. Women from Alabama are like that, she'd say.

Miss Raines said she had expected that kind of talk, and I think sometimes, late at night, she wondered if it was true. I kept telling her that Daddy loved her and she needed to hold her head high. Besides, I told her, no one pays Mrs. Huckstep half a mind anyway, especially now that she is consumed with planning Emma Sue's debutant party. Heck, when I was little, I figured everybody believed every word that came out of that woman's mouth. Now I know that there are very few people in this town who really pay much attention to anything Mrs. Huckstep has to say; even her precious little Emma Sue seems to ignore her most days.

Flora and Miss Mabie stayed for another three weeks or so. And even though they may not be living under the same roof with us on a daily basis, Flora and Miss Mabie are part of our lives for good now. They drive up from Atlanta every month for a visit. Miss Mabie always stays with Gloria Jean, and Flora sleeps with me, just in case there's a thunderstorm. As soon as Flora walks through the door, she heads straight to the kitchen to warm up the stove, then spends the day cooking biscuits and pineapple upside-down cake.

Miss Mabie and Gloria Jean have become real good friends. Truth be told, I think Miss Mabie is the first true friend Gloria Jean has had in a long time, since Lena Mae floated away. The two of them sit around the kitchen table and talk about old times for hours on end. I saw them drink an entire bottle of Boone's Farm wine one night when they got to talking again about old boyfriends down in Birmingham, a very favorite subject of theirs. Gloria Jean even invited Meeler up from Dalton just so he could meet her dear friend Miss Mabie.

Miss Raines settled into the Cline house rather nicely. She and the baby have Daddy's room, although it hardly looks the same with her pine furniture and pink chintz curtains hanging on the window. Flora loves tending to Miss Raines as if she were her own daughter. Heck, she doted on that woman every minute when she was expecting, rubbing her back and feeding her tummy. When that little baby finally came after one very long night in June, Flora was there to catch her. Miss Raines took one look at her baby's sweet round face and named her Flora Grace Cline. Flora took that little girl in her arms and cried like a baby. She said she never dreamed she'd know the day when a white mama would name her baby after a black woman like herself.

Even now when Flora comes to Ringgold, she makes Miss Raines eat and rest, and while Miss Raines does what she is told, Flora rocks the baby in her big, strong arms, comforting and soothing her just the way she did me the day my daddy died. Flora and Miss Raines are the two best mamas little Flora Grace could ever hope to have.

Martha Ann didn't go back to school till the first of February. She said she wanted to spend some time getting to know her mama, and who could argue with that? She and Mama took long walks and spent hours looking at the same old baby pictures of the two of us. Sometimes we'd play a game of Monopoly or stand in the kitchen and cook. But the rhythm of our bodies being together never beat quite right, and most of the time, Martha Ann kept to herself, reading her books. Mr. Boyce stopped by faithfully every week to give my sister a new book or two, mostly ones written by famous women like Jane Austen and Sylvia Plath. Mr. Boyce said their lives were filled with angst and he thought Martha Ann might find it helpful to read what they had to say.

When she started back at school, I got in the habit of walking her there myself, not that she needed an escort or anything. But it is the one time of the day when we are completely alone. We talk about Mrs. Gulbenk and football and Daddy and anything else that comes to mind, but mostly we talk about Martha Ann's dreams. She says she wants to live in a world of words. She just hopes it's not that far from home.

Mr. Boyce thinks Martha Ann needs to start thinking about college. He wants her to talk to a friend of his at Vanderbilt. He thinks she could get a scholarship.

Mama left, again. She didn't drown, not this time. She just got on a bus and headed back to Willacoochee. She tried to stay and make a life with us, but too much time had passed. The more Martha Ann and I talked about our memories, the more she realized what she had missed. Our childhoods were gone, and she could never have them back. I doubt Mama is ever going to forgive herself. That happens sometimes, Flora said. “The good Lord is full of grace but sometimes a person will just whip himself senseless before taking the forgiveness that He offers up for free.”

Daddy always said he was working overtime to save God's children from a life of eternal damnation. But now I'm thinking Daddy may have been wasting his time because it sure seems like some of us spend most of our days walking through hell right here on earth.

I keep Lena Mae's special box in my room. It blends in with all the other treasures that have found their place back on the top of my dresser. Our mother still sends us a card on our birthdays, and sometimes she even calls us on the telephone. But our mama drifted away a long time ago.

After she left, I spent more time with my friend Lolly. I finally told her that she deserved more than a crystal vase, and then I gave her my three blue vinyl suitcases. I told her I didn't need them anymore, but I thought maybe she did. It took her five whole weeks to pack those bags. Slowly and deliberately she chose each and every piece of her life that she wanted to take with her. I've heard that her mama hasn't been doing well since Lolly left town, but I don't know if she really misses her or just misses beating up on her.

As for Catherine Grace, well, I decided it was time I planted me a garden.

After Daddy's funeral, something drew me back to the land my granddaddy loved so much, right behind Cedar Grove church. I still say a little prayer before stepping into the dirt, just like I did that very first time so many years ago. I planted one tomato vine in Daddy's honor and one purple tomato in Granddaddy's honor. That's right, Catherine Grace Cline is growing her very own tomatoes.