Authors: Kathryn Magendie
Easter morning, I followed Momma into her room to watch her get ready. She shook off her housecoat, and wiggled into the new dress. It was light green and had a wide belt that she made an extra hole in so it would fit just right. Standing at the mirror, she tilted her head one way, then the other. She unzipped the back of the dress, pulled down the top, took off her bra, and then zipped the dress back up. She hopped up and down a few times. “Not bad for having had three babies,” she said to herself in the mirror.
Next came silk stockings she rolled in a ball and then slid up her leg. Holding up her shoes, she said, “Look at these new high-heels, Virginia Kate.”
“They’re pretty, Momma.” I didn’t tell her I’d tried them on earlier, tottling about a foot before I fell and busted my fun all up.
She left her hair hanging down her back, but pulled mine into a ponytail since my hair always tangled up underneath at my neck. Momma called it my rat’s nest. She pulled and tugged until I went slap dab crazy. When she was done, I swung it around to watch it fly.
Momma held up two tubes of lipstick. “Pink or red?”
I quit swinging my hair. “Red?”
“No, not at a church.” She put down the red and opened the pink one, twisting until the lipstick was all the way up.
I said, “Pink?”
She closed the tube with a click. “No, I hate pink. I’ll just go bare.” She laughed as if she said a good joke, and smeared a bit of Vaseline on her lips so that they shined. She turned to me. “So, how do I look?”
“You look bee-u-tee-ful.”
“Prettier than that girl at Daddy’s work?”
“Yes Ma’am.” I hadn’t seen the girl at Daddy’s work, but so far, nobody was prettier than Momma.
She pulled on her gloves and hat and walked out of her room, leaving me in a cloud of her sweet smell. She had her chin out like she does when she’s feeling proud, or mulish. Daddy whistled when she did a slow turn for him. They headed out the door like movie stars. We kids followed them and waited while Daddy took pictures of her. By the tree she made her lips pout, tilted her head to the right, and put her gloved hands cupped under her chin.
Daddy said, “Get over by the car.”
She threw back her head and laughed and Daddy snapped the picture. Next, she leaned back on the front of the car, and her hair fell on the hood. Daddy asked, “Woman, did you forget something?”
Momma winked at Daddy. While he snapped the last one, his shadow moved away from his feet, as if his insides were spilling into the grass.
Momma fluffed her hair. “What about the kids’ pictures, Frederick?”
Daddy looked at his watch. “We’ll have to take them when we get back.”
I wasn’t having as much fun in my Easter clothes as Momma was. I wore a stiff cotton and lace dress with a little bonnet that fit funny over my ponytail, lacy socks, and shiny shoes. Micah’s suit matched Daddy’s, except Micah’s tie was brown instead of green. Andy wore seersucker overalls with a white shirt and white shoes.
Andy was in the front seat where he sat as comfortable as an angel on a cloud. He kept saying, “Is Uncle Jesus dere? Huh, Daddy?” Mee Maw once told Andy that Jesus was like a good uncle, so Andy thought he was a real person. Daddy didn’t answer him; he was busy helping Momma so she wouldn’t run her stockings.
Micah and I piled into the backseat with our pout mouths. My shoes pinched my toes; the strap cut into my foot. I told Momma, “Jesus won’t care about shoes.”
Micah said, “I got it worser than you do.”
I grabbed at the strap, and pulled my face into ten kinds of pitiful.
Micah pulled the collar away from his neck, sticking his tongue out to the side like a dead cow. His neck was dirty and I wondered how he got by Momma like that.
Momma turned around and pointed her finger at us. “You two hush it.”
Daddy said, “You all look so good; I’m feeling extra proud today.” He roared up the engine of the Rambler and took off.
We were late to the church. All the Baptist-heads turned and looked when we came in. They watched Momma walk bold as you please to the front. Some of the men had their mouths open, as if they’d said “Oh” and forgot to close them again. The women held their fans over their mouths and whispered.
The preacher stared at Momma’s new dress. I stared at him. He had big shoulders and had light brown hair in a crew cut. I didn’t know what preachers were supposed to look like, but I didn’t picture them kind of handsome like that. We sat in the third bench, and I watched Momma to see what I was supposed to do. Her mouth was open a bit and she licked her Vaseline lips with her tongue. I saw her do that a lot and thought it was a secret thing girls did. She bounced around trying to get herself comfortable on the hard seat. The man beside us made a sound like he’d dived into a cold creek.
A woman big as a piano went to play the organ. That’s when it was time to stand up and sing. After songs about bloody lambs (I almost cried about the poor little lambs), Christian soldiers, and rugged crosses, Mr. Preacher stood up and took to preachering. Micah pretend-snored, and Daddy pinched him on the knee, but smiled when he did it. Andy fell asleep on the bench, his head in Momma’s lap, not even waking up during the fist pounding. Momma looked right up at Mr. Preacher as if he was Lord of the Baptists.
After the singing, hollering, and pounding were all over, Mr. Preacher king-stepped down the stairs. When he passed us by, he slid his eyes over to Momma, but she kept her eyes on the big cross. Another man stood up and told us to stand with our heads down in prayer. I’d never prayed before, but I gave it my best. I said, “God, please make Momma and Daddy stop hollering. I’m right tired of it.”
I heard Micah ask, “God, why did you even make neckties if you’re so smart?”
Andy asked, “Where’s Uncle Jesus?” He stood on the bench and looked all around. Daddy put his hand over Andy’s mouth to get him to stop calling out, “Uncle Jesus? Uncle Jeeeee-suuus!” He must’ve thought Mr. Preacher was Uncle Jesus.
I tried to think of more things to pray about when someone said “A-men!” and then some of the men-folk took up talking, laughing, shaking hands, and calling each other Brother. The mommas pulled their kids by their sleeves. Some of the mommas looked like they sucked on lemons. I wondered if that was what church going did to a person. The daddies followed behind, holding Bibles with one hand, jingling their keys and change in their pockets with the other. Momma wouldn’t leave. She kept staring at the Cross.
Daddy tapped his fingers on the bench. “Katie, let’s go. I’m hungry.”
Momma ignored Daddy.
Micah said, “I told you it was boring. And nobody even got drowned.” His mouth looked soured—and he’d only been in church this once.
I made sure my mouth stayed like it was by grinning real big.
Finally, when almost everyone was gone, Momma left the pew. We followed behind her like ducks, but Momma’s tail was the only one wagging.
At the door, Mr. Preacher shook Daddy’s hand, telling him what a fine family he had. Daddy said some Shakespeare or maybe he just said thanks, then he picked up Andy and walked outside. Mr. Preacher took my momma’s hand. “This must be your first visit among my flock, Mrs.?”
“Carey. You can call me Katie.”
“Katie. Yes. I’m Foster, Foster Durant.” He grinned like one of those big crocodiles on Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom, then said, “I hope you will see your way back to services again real soon.”
“We’ll see.” She smiled and pulled off the glove on her right hand. “You have a lovely church; did your wife help you fix it up for Easter?” With that hand, she fiddled with the top of her dress.
“Never cleaved to a wife.” He stared at her hand, and then looked over at me. “Is this your little girl? What a pretty thing she is—just like her mommy.” He patted the top of my head and I tried not to get the sour lemon lips. “She looks all exotical like in explorer books.”
“This is Virginia Kate.” Momma touched my cheek.
“Such dark eyes. You people In-jun, or Eye-talian, or something, what?”
“I reckon you ask too many questions, Preacher Durant. Is that how Baptists do things?”
“I didn’t mean anything forward, Ma’am.” He took out a handkerchief and dabbed his face. “I could give you a Bible. I have some extras. I mean, I notice you don’t carry one about.”
“Oh, gosh.” She put her finger on her lips and made small circles. “Hmmm.” She pulled her shoulders back. “Gosh, I don’t know, Preacher Durant.”
“Please, call me Foster.” His voice mouse-squeaked. He was even sillier when his face turned blotchy-pink. “We honor the Lord mornings and evenings on Sundays, then Wednesdays with a family supper, and there’s a Bible studying group that meets every other Saturday.”
“People go to church all those times? My lord. Are you kidding me?” She put her hand on his chest and pushed at him. Without looking at me, she asked, “Virginia Kate, what do you think? Should we come back to this church with this friendly preacher-man?”
He mopped his face and stared at Momma.
I didn’t trust shiny men. “No, Ma’am.” I hoped she wouldn’t get mad at me, but I had to tell the truth when it felt important enough.
“We’ll think about it, Preacher Foster.” She turned her back on him, grabbed my hand, and called to Micah.
Micah was busy touching a painting that showed a bunch of people drowning in the water, holding their hands up to a boat with their mouths open, their eyes big and scared. Micah’s eyes were closed like he was blind as he felt the painting. He pretended he didn’t hear Momma.
She went over, pulled his sleeve, and we marched on out.
Outside, Daddy was listening to an old man who wore a suit that was too big for him. We walked up in time to hear him say, “Yeah, I got the ’ritis and the gout something fierce. Sometimes cain’t get out of bed.”
“That’s terrible.” Daddy patted my head when I stood beside him. He still held Andy, who was asleep again, missing everything.
The old man pea-eyed Momma up and down. He noticed me and tried to hunker to my level. “Look at you, all dressed up.”
I wrinkled my nose. Micah ran over by our Rambler and picked up rocks to put in his pockets so he wouldn’t have to smell the old man’s breath.
“You like church, little lady?”
I put my hand over my nose and said, “No, Sir.”
The old man laughed, turned back to Momma, opened up his mouth, and let a million words fall out. “Jeremiah here. Born in Oregon and left when I was a little mite, been in two wars, married a good woman like you and then lost her to the cancer ten years gone by. Been in West-By-God-Virginia since 1932!” He horse-tooth grinned.
“Hello, Jeremiah.” Momma leaned over and kissed him right at his mouth, her hand held on to his shoulder so he wouldn’t keel over. I looked back at Preacher Foster Durant. He stared at Momma, his handkerchief just a-going on his big shiny face.
Daddy laughed when Jeremiah said, “Oh my!”
“Well, Jeremiah, my kids are hungry and tired of church,” Momma said.
We all jumped into the car, and Daddy drove off. I turned around in my seat and saw Jeremiah standing right still, touching his lips as if he was under a spell. Preacher Foster Durant held his Bible, his spell with Momma shining up his face.
Back in the holler, Daddy took pictures of us kids before we tore off our clothes. Then we ate roast, potato salad, deviled eggs, and lemon icebox pie. After that, we had our first ever Easter egg hunt. We just never thought to do it before. Daddy gave us each a basket full of Peeps, chocolate bunnies, and jellybeans. We poured it all out on our beds so we’d have a place to put the eggs we found. Daddy and Momma sat on a blanket under the maple and drank blackberry wine. It was a strange and good day.
The next week, Daddy gave me a picture of us. Micah made a frame for it out of Popsicle sticks. He glued our picture to it and used more sticks on the back to make it stand up. On the bottom of the frame, he wrote his name in a way he thought was clever with curly cues and a big dot over the
i
. In the picture, we grinned big-open-mouthed, glad to be out of church. We didn’t have our shoes on; those we’d torn off in the car on the way home.
Micah was in a telling-me-stuff mood. “I’m gonna be famous. You wait and see.”
I flopped cross-legged on his bed while he put his paints away.
“I’m going to make buckets and trucks of money and live in a mansion on a hill.”
“Can I come visit?”
“Sure. It won’t be in West Blahginia, though.”
“How come?”
“Because I’ll be rich and I won’t have to live here, that’s why.” He scribbled on his pad, making a face with lightning bolts coming out of the eyes. “It’s stupid here.”
“Is not.”
“Is too. Stoooopid.” He punched me on the arm and pinched my knee until I said uncle. “I have homework, Squirk-brain. Get out.”
I grabbed the Popsicle stick frame with our picture, and ran back to my room to set it on the table by my bed. I lay across my bed, chewing a Peep from my Easter loot. My dirty feet were on Grandma Faith’s quilt and she didn’t care, and neither did I. I thought about Micah leaving me and decided it couldn’t happen, since that would be too sad. I finished my Peep and went back to his room. Micah was looking out the window, long and hard and far away. I told him that he could never, ever leave me. I told him loud enough that he quit looking so far away and looked at me.
It takes two to tangle
Momma visited the Baptists for a while. The rest of us didn’t want to go, and she didn’t make us. We stayed home with Daddy and did Shakespeare plays. Micah was Hamlet and said, “To be or not to be.” I was his momma who was poisoned, Andy killed Hamlet with a sword, and Daddy played the rest.
The last Sunday she went to church, Momma came home mad as a wet cat. She tore off straight to the kitchen, came out holding a circle glass with one piece of ice floating, and drank it down in two gulps. I was coloring and she made me go outside the lines of the pony when she hammered her glass on the table. “That stupid Foster Durant.”
When Daddy came in from mowing the grass, he sipped his drink while Momma made meatloaf and cream potatoes with green beans. She didn’t say why Preacher Foster Durant was stupid, but I could’ve told her that before. The whole rest of the day went by without one word of fussing and no more talk about church and preachers. I took a deep breath of happy.