A Place Called Wiregrass (24 page)

“Let us open our hearts to prayer now and seek divine guidance on how to address these matters.” Dr. Winters closed his eyes and smiled. “Dear Father, we seek you on how to help those less fortunate in Houston County and the surrounding areas. We ask for your guidance…”

“I tell you how you can help.”

A gasp erupted from the congregation. Eyes shot open and discovered the man with a twitch standing below Dr. Winters on the church floor.

“Oh, my stars,” Prune Face said behind us.

“You can help by being Christians is all.” The man’s head suddenly jerked towards his right shoulder. His shirt seemed dirtier under the light beaming down upon the pulpit. “Y’all say you’re Christians. I sat right out front tonight. Right out yonder by the front door. Not a one of you even spoke. You drive up in your fancy cars and fancy clothes. Not a one of you spoke.” He scratched the bald crown of his head and mumbled beyond the understanding of human ears.

I looked up at Dr. Winters. His blue eyes were wide and his knuckles were white, clinching the sides of the podium.
The elderly man with silver hair and a light blue sport coat in front of us slipped out of his pew and walked towards the twitching man.

“And y’all call yourselves Christians.” The guest’s voice cracked when he repeated the words. But he did not resist when the elderly man took his arm and led him through the side doors next to the organist. I heard the man’s voice one last time. “I am a Christian.” His declaration was muted behind the heavy brown door.

The ruffle of programs and a couple of coughs were the only sounds that echoed in the sanctuary. It seemed like hours watching Dr. Winters lick his lips and sip water from the crystal glass placed next to the podium. Even I looked down, feeling pity in knowing all too well how the visitor felt. From the corner of my eye, I saw Miss Claudia look down and slowly shake her head.

“The man has obvious mental challenges and needs our prayers,” Dr. Winters finally said. He removed the pressed white handkerchief from his coat pocket. “That man, like many others, needs our help.” Dr. Winters dabbed the glistening spots from his tanned forehead and, as smooth as shifting gears on a foreign luxury car, opened discussion on placing Miss Claudia’s vision of a rescue home next door to the church.

“Well sir,” a distinguished older man with a gray mustache said, “looks like to me we’re setting ourselves up for trouble.” The crowd mumbled, and I turned to see many heads agreeing with his comments. “Don’t get me wrong now. I’m all for helping the little ladies. But putting that thing smack dab next to the church is just asking for trouble.”

A woman about my age stood up. Her soft voice cracked when she spoke, and she gripped the pew ahead of her. “I hadn’t planned on saying anything, but I don’t care if this home for battered women is across town or across the street, we’ve got to stand up and help.”

“Darling, I’m all for helping.” The older man stood back up. “We just got legal considerations. Now, I served as circuit judge for sixteen years. I know how jealous husbands can be. We just don’t need this place next door at the old Jackson home. What if some nut case shows up and shoots the place up on a Sunday night? That thing could happen while we’re all walking out to our cars after church.”

Seven church members seemed to speak for the entire body that Wednesday evening. With the exception of the woman my age and one older lady who coughed so much I could barely hear her, all the comments were negative. All the talk of decreased property value and potential gunfire from irate husbands suddenly made Miss Claudia’s vision of safety sound dirty. She never looked at her church family as the comments flew faster than the automatic bullets they feared. She simply adjusted her glasses and stared at the bowl of sunflowers sitting on a table near the spot where the surprise speaker had made his accusations.

“As a committee member, I started not to say anything,” Prune Face said. She stood up from the pew and turned towards the crowd. Looking at her from behind, I discovered one of her secrets. Underneath the curls of ash blonde was a beige pad, visible at the base of her so-called hairline.
A falsey on a falsey
.

“But after meeting upon meeting with city council members, United Way, and other churches, I cannot in good faith put this home near our beautiful church.” Prune Face sat back down and was straightening her skirt when she saw me. With her looking right at me, I rolled my eyes and slowly turned my head towards the front of the church.

“And I don’t mean any harm at all by saying this,” the older man said with his hand placed over his heart. “But tonight with that poor man.” He paused and closed his eyes. “Well, let me just say if this home opens next door we’ll see many more
like him. All sorts coming around here. Half of them probably drug addicts and the like.”

If I had more education, I would’ve stood and said something about the old man’s comments.
And he calls himself a judge
. When I turned to read Miss Claudia’s reaction to the judge’s comment, she had disappeared.

“Ladies and gentlemen, as you all know, this was my proposal for our church.” Miss Claudia stood in front of the church, both hands on top of her cane. Her sweet half-smile told me that she was giving in and walking away from her vision. She had been a member of this church for fifty-two years, she had told me on the drive to the service. She was a part of this world, and there were unspoken rules to follow.

“I still believe this home is what God wants. Whether it’s done here or elsewhere makes no difference. Because the One who calls me is faithful, and He will do it.”

“Amen,” the woman who stood up and defended the home said.

“What troubles me more is some of the talk I’ve heard tonight in the Lord’s house.” Miss Claudia glanced at Dr. Winters and sighed. “I declare, how far have we gone when we’re not moved by what we’ve seen by that man who spoke to us? When all we do is argue and carry on? It is the call for us to be the light for Jesus. And quite honestly, it hurts me to say all I see are dull bulbs.” She bit her lip and cleared her throat. I looked down at my bare legs, longing to go put my arm around her. Dr. Winters approached her, but folded his arms when she raised an eyebrow at him.

“And Judge Harland, I beg your pardon. But you’re out of line with some of your remarks. The women needing this home are not the bottom of society’s barrel like you said. They’re decent, smart women who’ve been punched down to the bottom.”

“Amen,” I yelled out. The echo of my voice against the high walls made me flinch. I quickly cut my eyes to see if anybody was staring at me.

After Miss Claudia took her seat, a floor vote was taken. If Miss Claudia was successful that evening, it was in making sure the defeat of her home would not be unanimous. The church would not support a safe haven for battered women within ten blocks of First Methodist. But the church noted its moral support for a home placed elsewhere in Wiregrass.

We left through the side door, the same one that the undesirable had earlier exited. We walked through the hallway with white Sunday school doors on either side. Photos of new members and children’s hand-painted prints on construction paper decorated the entrances. I trailed behind Miss Claudia, not knowing how to handle her disappointment. Our shoe heels and her cane tapped, out of sync, on the beige tile floor.

While Miss Claudia put on her nightgown, I called Kasi to make sure Cher was within her sight. “You old mother hen. Her and Laurel are laying here on the floor watching a scary video,” she said. I hung up wondering if Cher had complained to Kasi about me calling and checking on her like it was her first overnight trip.

I poured the steaming water into a china tea cup. The white Sleepy Time tea bag floated to the top.

“Thank you, sugar.” She sat in her bed and looked grayer than usual against the mahogany headboard. “You’re going to spoil me yet.”

“A little spoiling will do you good,” I said and placed another pillow against her neck. “I hate how everything turned out. You know, with the home and all.”

Her hazel eyes looked tired and weary. “This is where faith comes into play. Now we just sink in our heels and pray,
knowing God will do it.” She sat the white china cup down on the tray and stared at her armoire.

“I’ve been a member of that church ever since I married Wade Tyler.” She rubbed the tea-bag label between her red fingernails. “Oh, even back in those days it was snooty. Only thing was, I prepared myself for it.”

“After Wade married me, he sent me off to Miss Porter’s. Some high-brow finishing school in Atlanta.” She laughed.

“That poor old thing earned every penny with this backwoods girl from Apalachicola, Florida. I learned how to eat, how to walk, and especially how to talk.” Miss Claudia pressed her back firmly against the pillows, clasped her hands, and pursed her lips together until she looked so prissy that I burst out laughing.

“She taught me to drawl the letter ‘I’ out so I didn’t hit it so hard and sound crackery. I declare, I was just too precious for words.” Miss Claudia closed her eyes and stuck out her tongue.

I leaned into the wingback chair. I liked laughing with her. For me it was the same type of feeling I imagined LaRue and Suzette got from cocaine.

“But Miss Porter didn’t have to teach me about clothes. I was the craziest thing over clothes you ever did see. And after living with Nettie in the quarters, I knew how to make those flashy dresses like she used to wear.” Miss Claudia slapped her bed. “Can you imagine if all those high-society women at Miss Porter’s would’ve known I learned my taste from a colored harlot.”

She wiped the tears of laughter from the corner of her eyes. “But no, I was so excited when I got back to Wiregrass and those ladies in the church accepted me. All their sweet little luncheons and circle meetings. It wasn’t until Wade died that I really stopped playing church and got into a love relationship
with God. That poor soul tonight was the final straw. His words hit me square in the eye.”

“I know. I even wanted to get up and say something to that old judge.”

“No, not Judge Harland. He’s always been a little touched. I’m talking about the man who looked so pitiful.” Miss Claudia gazed across the bedroom at the closet door.

“I declare, it was just like the Lord spoke to my heart the very minute that man opened his mouth. That man could’ve been me, before Miss Porter’s school.” She was quiet and looked into the cup of tea sitting on the tray. “You know, Erma Lee, I’m ashamed of myself. I should’ve told that church. Told them that I was one of the women they feared having near their precious church house.”

“At least you had the guts to get up there to start with.”

She rested the back of her head against the tall headboard.

“All these years, I’m still hiding behind smoke and mirrors.”

During my drives home from Miss Claudia’s I began circling around the Garland Motel. Each time I maneuvered my car by the glass motel office, the air would get caught up in my chest and I would have to remind myself to breathe. I’d sit in my humid car hearing the steady rap of crickets and the occasional roar of a semi truck and think of ways to destroy him. A bomb planted inside his white van. A sniper planted under the faded green slide by the weeds and high grass. The spot at the motel where a swimming pool must once have been.

As I watched the usual motel clerk with short brown hair and square glasses stare at
Wheel of Fortune
on her office TV, I reminded myself that revenge belonged to the Lord. I thought of the Bible readings Miss Claudia and me did on Paul and how he had a thorn placed in his life that the Lord would not
take away. Miss Claudia said we do not know what Paul’s thorn was. Who knows, maybe Paul had a LaRue in his own life. “Lord, please take him away from here,” I prayed for the thorn that sat inside room 107.

If one thing Bozo’s drunken fury taught me, it was that life had to go on whether I was smiling or not. Frowns always drew too much attention. To prevent Gerald from thinking anything out of the ordinary was going on in my life, I invited him to supper.

Earlier that day Miss Claudia met with the city planner about using city funds for the rescue home, and Richard offered to go with her. “No need bringing your credentials up to the poor man. Everybody knows you have your law degree. Just let me do the talking,” Miss Claudia instructed. Looking into the mirror of a small compact case, she drew her red lipstick, and Richard lifted sofa cushions searching for his car keys.

After they left, I went home to do some last-minute cleaning for Gerald’s arrival. Cher’s little pink radio blasted country music while I dusted, swept, and mopped. Whether I wanted to or not, I was going to force myself to be in a good mood. The floor slightly bounced like a trampoline as I danced around the sofa, sorting through the clothes and linens I had cleaned earlier in Miss Claudia’s washer.

LeAnn Rimes’s voice trailed down the narrow hallway. I fumbled over the words trying to sing along and carry Cher’s fresh-smelling bed linens at the same time. Chicken-fried steak, sweet potatoes, and black-eyed peas. I selected the menu for Gerald’s dinner and stretched the pale yellow sheet over the corners of Cher’s mattress. I was still thinking of a dessert choice when I lifted the bottom edge of the mattress with my knee and tried to force the shrunken sheet over the
corner. Down by my bare foot on the box springs, I saw what looked like a long, skinny spitball. The wrapped ends and the black burnt markings convinced me the object was not a classroom nuisance. My weight fell to the bed, and I held the joint of marijuana in the palm of my hand as if offering a guest a piece of candy. In the second it had taken me to drop the mattress, the thorn in my life had grown to become a poisonous tree.

Canceling the meal with Gerald was the last thing on my mind. I jumped into my car and sped down the asphalt driveway. Blood boiled in my ears, and I dared Miss Trellis to step out of her white block office and get onto me for speeding in her trailer park.

Cher never saw me pull into the main parking lot of the city swimming pool. The section Cher had forbidden me to enter. The squeals and splashes of the young kids who lined up behind the high diving board drifted into my car. My eyes searched through the windshield for the green bathing suit she had purchased with car-wash earnings.