I guess I took a deep breath. Gramps stopped his talking and his eyes pinned me down.
“That new teacher been trying to teach you evolution?”
“Not in school, no,” I said quickly.
“Then where’d you get this stuff?”
“Camellia gave me a book for Christmas an’—“ I hated to lay the blame on Camellia.
Gramps just nodded.
“Her pa is letting me read his library books. I found the same thing in them, and Camellia says that—”
“Don’t you believe it,” Gramps cut in. “Not one word of it.”
I nodded and swallowed hard. It was a relief to me to have some solid ground under my feet again.
With my beliefs about creation and the Creator securely intact again, I felt an obligation to pass on my knowledge to Camellia.
The next Thursday when we settled ourselves to study after having our tea and those messy little pastries, I brought up the subject.
“You know those books,” I began, trying to choose my words carefully, “well, they are a bit mixed up on things.”
“What books?” she asked me.
I didn’t want to come across as a know-it-all, but I did feel that Camellia should know the truth.
“The ones on evolution,” I said hesitantly.
“Mixed up? How?” she asked.
“That’s not the way things really happened,” I stated firmly.
“The Bible has it all in here,” and I pulled my Bible out from under my sweater and proceeded to open it to Genesis, chapter one.
“Oh, Josh,” Camellia said, playfully pushing at my hand that held the Book. “Don’t tease.”
I blinked.
Camellia was entertaining herself in silvery gales of laughter.
“I’m not teasin’,” I finally said, my voice low and serious.
Camellia’s laughter died then and she looked at me, her face wearing a look of total disbelief.
“You’re not?”
“No, I’m not. See? It’s all right here. Nothing evolved. God created everything.”
“You don’t really believe that?”
“I do—I most certainly do. And you would, too, if you’d just read what it says. See—”
“But it doesn’t make sense. I mean—”
“
Evolution
doesn’t make sense,” I countered rather hotly. “Why would things ‘evolve’ when their present state was not nearly as demanding? Why—”
“Oh, Joshua—think! Don’t just fall dumbly for those old superstitions that have been passed down from generation to generation. We are enlightened now! No one who is a scholar believes that Bible gibberish.”
I looked at her in silence, my thumb still held in the page I had wanted to show her.
“You know what it says?” I finally asked.
“Of course I know what it says. Papa taught me all about the false statements that are in there so I might know how to refute them.”
“You don’t believe the Bible?” I asked in amazement. I could not understand how anyone could possibly know what was written in its pages and still not believe what it said.
Camellia stood up and came slowly to me. She was no longer smiling, but she had a soft, pleading look about her now, like a woman placating a spoiled or sensitive child.
“Look, Joshua,” she said, “we understand that this is hard for you, being raised in the church and—and—well, we are willing to take it slowly—to help you to understand. That’s why Papa has given you the use of his library. With scientific data at your disposal, you will discover the truth for yourself. You have a good mind, Joshua. Papa is most pleased with it. I am proud of you. You can be anything you want to be. There is no limit, Joshua.”
“I’m gonna be a preacher,” I said quietly.
“But
anybody
can be a preacher,” Camellia moaned. “Can’t you see?”
I shut my Bible with a slam I had never used on it before and immediately felt ashamed of myself. Unconsciously I reopened it and closed it tenderly.
“I’m afraid I don’t see,” I said to Camellia.
“Well, Papa said that you have potential. More potential than any student he has ever had. He will help you make something worthwhile of yourself if only—”
“An’ you were helping him?” I asked coldly.
“Of course.” The words were out before Camellia realized what she’d said. She caught herself and flushed. “Well, not the way you mean. I like you, Joshua, I do—”
“I think I’d better go,” I said, feeling all mixed up inside.
I couldn’t understand all of this, but I didn’t like it. Not one bit. I moved to the door, but Camellia was there before me. She faced me, with cheeks flushed and her eyes sparking angrily. Even then I was aware of how pretty she was.
“Joshua,” she said, “if you go like this—just up and walk out in a rage—can’t you see what it will do to my father? Hasn’t he suffered enough already? He lost his position in his last school— a good position—just because he tried to help some capable students understand science, true science. And now you are going to—to spurn his help and—”
I had stopped. I couldn’t very well push her aside and force my way out of her home.
“Don’t you see,” she went on. “He just wants to help you.”
“By takin’ away the truth—and makin’ me believe a lie?”
“I can’t believe this, Joshua,” she said hotly. “You have a good mind. How can you just accept everything that they tell you—without thinking it through or anything.”
“But don’t you see,” I replied, “that is what you’ve done. I mean, just because you love your pa, you believe whatever he tells you without even having proof. The Bible has been proved over and over, and it never comes up short with pieces all mis-sin’ and—”
Camellia moved away from the door. Her eyes were dark with rage.
“If you go now,” she said through tight lips, “don’t ever come back.”
I nodded my head, my throat workin’ hard on a swallow. I wanted to invite her to church. I wanted to say that I’d pray that she might learn the truth. I wanted to say that I was sorry— for—for how everything had turned out, but I couldn’t find my voice to say anything, so I just nodded and left.
That heavy lump in my chest stayed with me as I made my way home. My feet dragged, and the short distance had never seemed so long before.
T
HE NEXT MORNING
, after a restless night, I wished with all of my heart that I could just stay in bed and not ever go to school again. I knew Aunt Lou would soon be in my room fussing over me if I was even late getting up, so I reluctantly crawled out and made my usual preparations. I sure didn’t want Aunt Lou fretting about me for fear it might cause some kind of harm to the coming baby.
I dressed and washed at the kitchen basin and slicked down my hair good enough to do. We had our breakfast together, Uncle Nat telling Aunt Lou his plans for the day. I was glad I didn’t need to enter the conversation much.
In no hurry at all to get to school, I sort of dawdled along until I heard the bell ring. I had never been late for school before and I found myself running now. I didn’t want a “tardy” mark on my report card.
Most of the kids had already hung up their coats and shoved and pushed their way into the classroom by the time I arrived, puffing from my run. I hurriedly threw my jacket at my hanger and, fortunately, it stuck. I picked up my books and my lunch bucket and hurried to my place. I almost ran smack into Camellia in the hall. I guess we both got red. Me, from embarrassment. From the way she sniffed and flung back her long, silken hair, I guessed her redness was from anger.
I stumbled my way to my desk and got out my Dickens like I was supposed to do.
There were no flashing smiles across the room, no waiting at the door just to walk out into the schoolyard with me. I tried not to even look her way, and I suppose she tried not to look mine.
Mr. Foggelson did not call on me to recite or give an answer all day long. In fact, I might as well not have been there for all I was noticed.
The fellas must have realized something was up. At recess time their teasing took a new tack. “What happened, Josh— drop all her books in the snow?” and so on. I tried to ignore them, but it was pretty hard to hide the fact that things were different now.
When school was over for the day, I breathed a sigh of relief, ready to hurriedly slip from the school building and run for home. But Mr. Foggelson’s voice stopped me. He hadn’t used the raised eyebrow trick, and I had been sure I was going to be able to slip off without a confrontation. Now his soft-spoken call of my name stopped me mid-stride.
I turned slowly, half hoping I was only hearing things. I wasn’t. There stood my teacher beside my desk, the chalk brush in his hand and his eyes on me.
I retraced my steps slowly.
“You—you wished to see me, sir?” I said after swallowing two or three times.
“Yes, Joshua.” He pointed to my seat.
I sat down, somewhat glad that I didn’t need to stand. On the other hand, I knew I wouldn’t be able to bolt for the door from a sitting position, and I sure did wish I could bolt.
Mr. Foggelson laid aside the brush and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his hands. The actions were slow and deliberate and I waited, wishing to get this over.
“Camellia tells me that you and she had an unfortunate little misunderstanding last evening,” he said slowly. He waited for me to acknowledge his words and I finally found my voice.
“I don’t think so, sir,” I said respectfully.
His eyebrows shot up.
“You didn’t have a misunderstanding?”
“No, sir. I think we understood one another very well.”
He paused and stared at me. I tried not to let my eyes waver.
“You’ll have to explain that, Joshua,” he said then. “I don’t believe I follow you.”
“Well,” I said, shuffling my feet under my desk and dropping my gaze, “Camellia believes that stuff about evolution, and I believe what the Bible says.”
“Have you studied evolution, Joshua?” he asked me, knowing that I would have to say no.
“No, sir. Not really. But I’ve read enough—”
“Perhaps you are making your judgment too hastily,” went on Mr. Foggelson reasonably. “Don’t you feel that you should acquaint yourself with all of the facts before making your decision?”
I had dropped my gaze but I raised my eyes again so I could look squarely at him. I tried not to flinch.
“No, sir,” I said, rather quietly.
“And why not?” he quizzed me. “Are you afraid of the truth?”
I answered that one quickly.
“No, sir.”
“Then why did you refuse to look at what other learned scholars have arrived at after years and years of scientific study deductions?”
“Because—“ I swallowed again, “because, sir, it disagrees with the Holy Scriptures.”
“Have you ever considered that the ‘Holy Scriptures,’ as you call it, could be wrong? That it could be a mere invention of man to satisfy his superstitious need for a god to cling to?”
“No, sir.”
“Then perhaps, Joshua, it would do you well to carefully consider the possibility. How do you know that your ‘Bible’ is as accurate as you have been made to believe? How do you know that it isn’t a book of fairy tales? Do you have proof, beyond all doubt?”
I didn’t answer. I just sat there and shuffled my feet and swallowed and awkwardly thumbed the pages of my geography book.
“I want you to think about it, Joshua. A good mind is not to be wasted. I would feel a failure if you, my best student, closed the covers of scientific books because you dared not challenge the teachings that you have had thrust upon you since babyhood. If the Bible is really true, then it should bear the scrutiny, right?”
That sounded reasonable. I nodded dumbly.
“Well, then,” said Mr. Foggelson, giving me the token of a smile, “I am glad we have had this talk. My library is still at your disposal. I hope you will use it, and open your mind up to all truth.”
He nodded and I understood that meant I was dismissed. I gathered up my books and stood to my feet.
“Good night, sir,” I had the presence of mind to mumble and left the room, gathering momentum with each step.
A lot of troubled thoughts were tumbling around in my head, but of one thing I was sure. I would not be going back to the Foggelsons’ to use the books in the library. There was too much in them that I wasn’t ready for yet. Someday—maybe someday I would need to grapple with the theories they presented as fact, but not now. I wasn’t ready to face them head-on, and I had the sense to know it.
And I wouldn’t be going back to “tutor” Camellia either. The tutoring was just a ruse. I had liked her. Had enjoyed hearing her laugh, her chatter, had liked to watch her toss her mane of shiny hair, had found her exciting and interesting, but I wouldn’t be going back. She left me with such confusing thoughts when she challenged my belief in the Bible, my desire to be a minister. No, I would not spend time with Camellia again.
And the tea and pastries I could sure do without. Aunt Lou’s milk and cookies were far more filling.
No! I was most definite in my decision. I would not be going back to the Foggelson house.
I
WAS GLAD TO PUT
the difficult months of January and February behind me. By March I was feeling more comfortable at school. Mr. Foggelson had obviously given up on me, for he never asked me to come over to the house or stay and chat after class. I felt sorry about it in a way, but I was relieved, too.
He hadn’t given up on some of his theories though, about “religion” being an escape for shallow minds or evolution being the “true” science. Often he inserted sarcastic little comments into his class lectures. At first I could often feel Camellia’s eyes on me at such times, but then she too seemed to put me out of her mind entirely.
Word began to circulate through town that Jack Berry was doing a lot of visiting at Camellia’s house. I don’t know why that bothered me, but the haunting old chant of
Jack Berry, Jack Berry
was hammering away in my brain again. I tried hard to shove it aside but it kept hanging in there. I didn’t understand it. Why was it haunting me again?