The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Real (41 page)

Hoshi nodded vigorously. “Tell them what you're doing now, Nony.”

Nony smiled sheepishly. “You know me, my sisters. I cannot sit on my hands. The United States Congress is considering a fifteen-billion-dollar bill to globally fight the scourge of AIDS. So I'm back to letter writing and making calls to representatives. Such a bill could make a big difference for my country—especially since a third of the money would be earmarked for abstinence education.”

“Huh?” Yo-Yo wrinkled her face. “
What
education?”

Edesa, who was closest to Yo-Yo's age, leaned close to her ear and whispered loudly, “Abstinence. No sex. Not sleeping around.”

Everybody laughed—except Adele, who started humming a few bars of “What a Mighty God We Serve.” A few people picked up on the words, filling in until we were all singing, “. . . Lift your voice and say it: He's a mighty God!”

I had to take a bathroom break—my left leg still got stiff when I sat too long—but when I came back, Stu was telling about the trip to Lincoln Correctional. The group sat open-mouthed and bug-eyed that our “Bandana Woman” was actually getting an early parole—and was coming to live at Stu's house.

“Lord, have mercy,” Ruth muttered, fanning rapidly with a piece of paper.

“Becky came back to the visitors' room after she left?” Edesa wanted to know. “What did she say?”

Hoshi picked up the story. “She wanted to know why.
Why
would Stu offer to let a convicted thief live in her house? And Stu told her, ‘Because Jesus would.'What is that verse you quoted, Stu?”

Stu seemed embarrassed. “Don't know if I quoted it very well, but the one where Jesus said if we have two coats, we should give one to the person who doesn't have any.”

“Yes, that is it. And she started to ask each one of us why we call ourselves Christians.” Hoshi's voice softened. “It was the first time I told her the choice I had to make between my parents and following Jesus.”

“Yeah. Hoshi gave a good answer.When Becky asked me”—Yo-Yo slouched further down on her chair—“I kinda hemmed and hawed, said sometimes I wasn't sure if I was a Christian or not 'cause I hadn't been dunked yet.” Yo-Yo suddenly sat up. “And you know what she said? The nerve!”

“What!” we chorused.

“She said I better get off the fence. I could be a pagan like her or a Christian like these guys, but I better choose.”

Adele belly-laughed. “Out of the mouths of thieves!”

The rest of us just shook our heads. Becky Wallace, of all people, telling Yo-Yo to get off the fence. Avis prodded, “And?”

Yo-Yo looked all wide-eyed and innocent. “And what?” Then her grin slipped. “Yeah, yeah, I know what you're askin'. Okay, okay. I've decided. I want to get dunked. You know, baptized. Like Jesus said.”

WE HAD A PRETTY good “Holy Ghost Party” the rest of Yada Yada that night, laughing and singing and thank-ing God that we'd come a mighty long way. Yo-Yo resisted suggestions that she get baptized on Easter—next week!—protesting that it was still only April and the lake was still cold.

“So
now
you worry about jumping in the cold lake,” Ruth sniffed. “Seems I remember you doing that Polar Bear Plunge on New Year's Day.”

“That was different,” Yo-Yo insisted over our laughter. “What I was thinkin' was maybe the first weekend in May—our anniversary.” She must have caught our blank faces because she sounded exasperated. “
Duh!
The anniversary of that women's conference thing last year—the weekend we all met, remember?”

Recognition dawned around the room. The first weekend of May.
“Bendito sea Jesús!”
Delores whispered. “Has it been a whole year?”

Everybody started talking at once—till Yo-Yo yelled, “Hey! Can I finish?”

The hubbub died away. “Thank you very much,” she said sarcastically. “Anyway, I don't go to no church, you know, I usually gotta work, so I was wondering if Uptown would do the baptizing thing—since four of you Yada Yadas go there already. I kinda like that church, anyway.”

“Absolutely, Yo-Yo,” Avis said. “I'll speak to Pastor Clark.” She glanced around the circle. “If that's all, why don't we close our—”

“Not dat Yo-Yo been showin' up at any other churches when Yada Yada comes to visit,” Chanda pouted, ignoring Avis's attempt to wrap up our meeting. “So, what the rest of you sistas t'ink about Paul and Silas last week? What you say, Sista Jodee?”

Oh great. Why is she picking on me?
I squirmed, and then blurted, “Okay. I'm glad I went. I especially liked that processional song, the one about ‘Can't turn around, we've come this far by faith.' But . . .” I groaned. “I still feel so
white
when I'm in an all-black setting. I mean, I've been around you guys for a whole year, and I still don't blend in.”

“You feel so—what?” Florida started laughing so hard she had to hold her side. Her laughter was so contagious we all ended up giggling. Except—what was so funny about what I said? I was just trying to be real.

Florida finally wiped her eyes. “Jodi Baxter, honey girl. Nobody here wants you to be black. God sure don't, or He would have made you that way. Just be your white-bread self—that's fine by me. Most important thing you do is show up. And not runnin' when this racial stuff gets messy. Now that counts for somethin'.”

She wagged a finger at me. “We
all
come a long way, baby. Way I see it? We need
all
the sisters in this Yada Yada thing to show off just how big God is. Praise Jesus! We got a good thing goin' long as we accept each other for just who we be, takin' those itty-bitty baby steps along the way. Some day we get there . . . Say, Avis.Wasn't you tryin' to close us out?”

40

D
on't know why I felt so teary after Florida wagged her finger at me.
“Most important thing
you do is show up . . .”
Wasn't sure what she meant, exactly, but for some reason she made it sound like it was enough to just
be there,
together, slogging along.

Yeah, I could do that.

Our meeting had run over its usual time, and even Daylight Savings hadn't kept darkness from blanketing Nony's genteel neighborhood. Those of us with cars gave rides to those who'd walked from the el. Delores seemed especially pushy to make sure she and Edesa rode with Stu and me down to the Howard Street el station.

“Jodi,” she said, as soon as she'd squeezed her “pleas-ant plumpness” along with the bulging plastic bag into Stu's skinny backseat. “It is true you are home by yourself this week? Not working? Oh,
gracias a Dios!”
she cried happily when I nodded. “You are my answer to prayer!”

Red flags went up. “Uh, in what way? I do have lesson plans I gotta—”

“You can sew,
sí
?” Delores leaned forward and lowered her voice, as if the car might be bugged. “I was planning to sew these quilt squares together this week— but with my work hours?
Imposible!
And there's no time to lose—not if Peter is taking Avis to South Carolina. Am I right, Edesa?” She leaned back, the plastic bag crinkling and squishing. Edesa just laughed.

I twisted around in my seat as Stu headed down Chicago Avenue toward Howard Street. “Delores! I don't know anything about putting a quilt together. Doesn't it have to be, you know,
quilted?
All those tiny little stitches?”

“No, no, do not worry about that! When the top is pieced, we take it to my friend. She will do the quilting. But she needs at least two weeks! That's why we need to get the squares sewn together pronto.”

“But—”

“I'll help you,” Stu said, pulling up alongside the el station. “It won't be hard. I did one of these before.”

I stared at Stu.
Thank you very much, Leslie Stuart. I was
trying to get out of this!
I jumped out of the car and pulled my seat forward so Delores and Edesa could wiggle their way out of confinement.
“Gracias, gracias!”
Delores cried, giving me a big kiss on my cheek and thrusting the lumpy plastic bag into my arms. “I will call you—oh! I hear a train coming. Edesa! Come, come!” And she bustled through the lower-level doors.

“I need instructions!” I yelled after her, but with a wave they were gone.

MY ANSWERING MACHINE WAS BLINKING when I let myself in the back door after saying good night to Stu. Willie Wonka rose stiffly from his watchdog post just inside the door and gave me a quick wet-nose greeting, though he obviously had bladder issues in mind. I let the dog outside and then punched the button on the answering machine.

“Hi, Jodi. It's Avis. Just wanted to let somebody know I decided to go see my cousin. Not sure when I'll be back—by next Sunday for sure. Don't want to miss Easter service. Tell the sisters to be praying.”
Click.

“Decided to go see my cousin.”
I grinned in the dark kitchen.
Decided to spend the week with Peter Douglass is
more like it.
Well, visit her cousin too, of course. This was definitely a multilayered thing.

The next message was from Denny. “Hi, Jodi! Sorry we missed you.We're going into New York City tomorrow to see Ground Zero, maybe stay overnight at a hotel and see some of the sights on Tuesday. I've got the cell if you need to get hold of us.” A pause. “It's pretty lonely without you, babe. Hope you and Wonka are managing okay. Call me back just to let me know you're okay.”

I hit
redial
, but all I got was the senior Baxters' voice mail on the other end. Tried the cell too; same thing. Left a brief message both places, yet it wasn't the same as talking to Denny in person. Wasn't the same crawling into our queen-size bed a while later, either.
Only three
days down . . . six whole nights to go?
Emptiness stretched like a desert on Denny's side of the bed.

Okay, I knew it was against house rules, but I let Wonka sleep on the bed. Actually, I had to hoist him up there like a crate onto a cargo ship. Once on top of the big beach towel I spread over our wedding-ring quilt, Wonka's eyes closed in doggy bliss. His bulk and soft wheeze were comforting—though he didn't smell as good as Denny.

I'd definitely have to wash all the bedding before Denny got home.

I TRIED TO LAY out the quilt squares the next day on the living room floor but realized I was definitely in over my head. Besides the embroidered quilt squares from the various Yada sisters, Delores had included squares of a beige, black, and gold leaf print, plus long strips of solid muslin and solid black. At the bottom of the bag was a pencil sketch showing the basic idea: embroidered squares alternating with print squares, solid muslin strips separating blocks of squares, muslin and black strips making a large border. Gosh, it was going to be beautiful . . . if I didn't ruin it first.

By the time Stu got home from work, I had sewn the first row of squares together—three embroidered and two print—and made a beef and broccoli stir-fry supper for two. We sat on the living room floor with our plates of food, admiring the different embroidered squares done by such different personalities. Nony had done an appliquéd shape of the African continent, with the country of South Africa highlighted in gold-colored cloth. She had embroidered the word
LOVE
in the middle of the continent, and in embroidered script under the Cape of Good Hope: Nony Sisulu-Smith . . . Chanda had embroidered a border of flowers and the words Best Wishes in the center . . . Adele had three dancing “sistahs” and the words
YADA YADA
in a rainbow over their heads; just her initials beneath the dancing feet identified her square . . .

Stu picked up my square, which hadn't been sewn yet. “Jodi! I like this. But where did you get the idea?” My insides fluttered as I looked at my hours of work: an angel with brown skin hovered over a circle of stick figures, all different colors. The angel's wings and arms stretched out and around the huddle of stick figures. Over the angel's head was the word
Avis
. . . and below the drawing, I'd embroidered the words:
Refuge in Battle
.

“It's her name. Avis means ‘refuge in battle.' I . . . thought it was very appropriate. She's definitely been that to me. To our whole group, I think.”

To my surprise, Stu gave me a hug. “That's awesome, Jodi. Makes me wish . . .” Her voice got funny for a moment, but she swooped up another square that had Spanish words embroidered in reds and yellows and orange all over it:
¡Gloria a Dios! ¡Jesús les ama! ¡Bendiciones!
¡Alegría!
“Must be Edesa's or Delores's—hey, let me show you how the strips get sewn on. Not a big deal once you know how.”

As Stu hunched over my sewing machine in the din-ing room, blonde hair tucked behind her ear with the row of little earrings running up the curve, I grinned at her back and made a silent promise:
Someday, Stu, we'll
make a quilt for you, and I'll make a square that says “Leslie
Stuart . . . Caretaker.”