Veda: A Novel (3 page)

“But if they ain’t listnin…”

“God tells us not to be discouraged, Veda. But now Mr. Carlson has given me a chance to do God’s work in a different way. I’ll be helping with revival meetings.”

Raymond talked for a long time. After we said goodnight and I went to my room, I laid awake thinkin about how handsome he was and what a good person he must be to help people git saved. I thought about Mrs. Carlson wantin me to meet him, and Mama sayin the Lord would send me someone to marry. I wondered if Raymond might be the one.

After that first time, we set together pretty regular. He talked and I listened. He told me about his father and mother, about his older brothers and his sister, and the two brothers and a sister that died before he was born. He said his mother was afraid she’d lose him too, ‘cause he was sickly, so she kept him out of school for several years and taught him at home. He had always dreamed of bein a minister, wanted to go to the Adventist Academy, but when his mother got sick he had to take care of her and his younger brother. There was never enough money for him to get a formal education.

Most of the time, though, he talked about the Bible. Readin passages to me. Explainin things. One night he was talkin about redemption. “Veda, do you know what that word means?”

“It’s gittin yer sins warshed away,” I said.

“Waaashed away,” he said drawin out the aaahhh. “Having one’s sins waaashed away by the power of prayer.”

Shamed by how he mocked me, I stood up and started for my room.

“Here, Veda” he said, handin me a piece of paper. “I’d like you to read these.”

I took the paper. It was a whole list of Bible verses: 1 Corinthians 1:30, Romans 3:24, Ephesians 1:7, Colossians 1:14. Alone in my room, I looked them up. They all had to do with forgiveness. I wondered what he thought I needed forgiveness for. Mis-pernouncin the word warsh maybe?

When I didn’t go to set with him the next night, Mrs. Carlson asked me what was wrong.

“He doesn’t like me,” I said. “He makes fun of the way I talk.”

“Yes he does like you,” she said. “He likes you a lot.” She told me he hadn’t meant to hurt my feelins. “It’s just his way. He was trying to help.”

So I went back to settin with him. I read what he said to read, and paid attention to how he talked. He knew about all kinds of things, not just the Bible. He could name all the countries, their capitals, and their natural resources. He knew all the mountains and the oceans. Knew the names of flowers and trees. And he told me more about weather than I ever wanted to know. Like what year had the hottest summer and the earliest spring, the last time winter had come this early, and how one year’s rainfall compared with all the others. Said he been keepin track since he was a boy. Showed me some of the diaries he wrote it in. It was all there. Ever’day he put in the high and low temperature. If it rained or snowed or the wind blew, and if there was sunshine or fog. Seemed silly to me. I didn’t understand why anybody’d go to so much trouble over weather.

“They’d make a lovely couple,” I heard Mrs. Carlson tell Mama. “You know, Veda could do worse.”

Mama’d already set her sights on Raymond. He was both Adventist and single. When I was home on Sabbath, it was, “that nice young man” this and “that nice young man” that. She repeated what he’d spoke about in church, kept sayin what a good singin voice he had. So, of course, when she heard from Mrs. Carlson that we was keepin company, it put a real spin on her tail. She started askin him to supper pert’near ever week. One Sabbath he stayed so long talkin about the mornin’s sermon that Papa got disgusted with him. Kept comin in and sayin things like, “You have a long walk ahead of you, don’t you?” and “It’s gittin kind of late, don’t you think?” Finally Raymond took the hint and said he better be headin back before it got dark.

Mama was real put out at Papa. “Miles,” she said, “you oughtn’t to have done that, it wasn’t polite.”

“Well, the boy ought to know when he’s wore out his welcome.”

“Still, it was rude. He was company.”

“I don’t see why you’re so all fired up over this fella,” Papa said. “He can spout the Bible word for word, but he hasn’t done a day’s work since he’s been here. Far as I can tell he don’t amount to a good goddamn.”

“Miles! Shame on you. He’s going to be working with Mr. Carlson, speaking at revivals,” Mama said.

“Ha. But can he earn a livin? I know you’ve got your eye on him for Veda, but I’m tellin you the boy’s a fool.”

“You hush,” Mama said. “He ain’t a fool. And Veda needs someone who’s a good example to her. Lord knows you ain’t. Telling her them stories of yours, teaching her to swear like you done.”

“Well,” Papa said, “far’s I’m concerned a girl needs some spunk. It’s better’n bein one a them sourpuss types you’re dead set on turnin her into.”

“You stay out of it, Miles. That young man likes Veda, and if he does ask her to marry him, I’m goin to be on his side.”

Papa might’ve been right about Raymond’s ambition, but he was the first man to give me a second look, and I didn’t want him to stop comin around. Raymond stayed at the Carlsons’ all winter. He canvassed in Cave Junction when it wasn’t rainin too hard, and led the singin at church on Sabbath. And when he wasn’t doin things for the church, he chopped wood and cleaned up around the property, cuttin back rose bushes and haulin off piles of dead leaves. The little girls liked him, and he was real good with em, settin with Lydia, who was learnin her letters, readin em stories in that slow, sing-songy way of his.

In early February, Raymond left with Mr. Carlson to do the revival meetins and it wasn’t long before Mrs. Carlson started gittin letters. They come from places most people never heard of: Jerome Prairie, O’Brien, Kerbyville, Ruch, Provolt, Merlin. Told about the trouble they was havin gittin around ’cause of all the snow and ice. About havin to meet in cold, dark buildins with no electricity. Havin to use candles and kerosene lamps, and how they built a contraption with a car battery to run their slide projector.

“My husband is so blessed to have the help of that young man,” Mrs. Carlson said more than once. And she never mentioned Raymond without addin, “He’s going to make a wonderful husband for some lucky girl.”

.

4
Raymond’s Diary:

March 3, 1937, (Wed.) [Max 67°, Min. 33°.] A chill, dense fog this morning with slight frost; but clear and warm during the day, the warmest of the season so far. I canvassed in and around town today, attending prayer meeting in the evening. Veda went with me to the meeting and on our way back to the Carlson place we became engaged.

I
T WAS JUST A ORDINARY
prayer meetin, but it was the first time Raymond asked me to go with him. I fixed my hair and put on the new green dress I got when Mrs. Carlson took me with her to Grants Pass. The green brung out the color of my eyes and made me look almost pretty. I had new shoes, too, and I should of known not to wear em since we’d be walkin, but I wanted to look nice.

Raymond talked the whole way, sayin how early spring was this year, pointin out pussy willows and the crocus and daffodils that were comin up in places, sayin how much he liked spring and how much he enjoyed goin on picnics.

“I love picnics too,” I said.

He talked about last Sabbath’s sermon and what lessons we could learn from it, the film strip he was in charge of settin up at the meetin, and the songs he picked out for us to sing. My feet hurt. I could tell I was goin to have blisters.

When we got to the church I went in the bathroom to look at my feet. There was big watery blisters on both heels and it was all I could do to git my shoes back on. I said a little prayer askin God if, when the meetin was over, He could git somebody to offer us a ride. By the time Raymond got his film wound up and put the projector away, though, ever’body else was gone.

It had got cold and I didn’t have a sweater, so when Raymond offered his suit coat, I took it. I tried not to limp, but my feet hurt so bad I wanted to cry. We went for quite a ways with neither one of us sayin anythin, and then Raymond says he wants to ask me a question.

“Go ahead.” I hoped he was goin to ask me to go on a picnic.

“Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior?”

Had I accepted Jesus? What kind of question was that? My head buzzed. Afraid I might cry now for sure, I just nodded my head.

“In that case,” he said, “will you marry me?”

My jaw dropped. “What did you say?”

“Will you marry me?”

Wasn’t there supposed to be somethin between findin out I believed in Jesus Christ and askin me to marry him?

I took off walkin, fast, forgittin my sore feet. My mouth was dry and I felt like I might be sick. What did I feel about him? He hadn’t asked me that. Did he even want to know? Did I know? I had wondered if he might ask me to marry him. Someday. Even hoped he would. But I didn’t expect it now. Not yet. He’d never said he liked me. Never said I looked nice. Never held my hand. Nothin.

I could hear him behind me—his breath, his shoes crunchin the gravel—I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to say yes. But I didn’t want to say no either. I needed time to think. I wanted to get married, I wanted to have babies. If I told him I needed more time, he might not ask me again. Maybe nobody else would either. I was eighteen years old already. I could end up an old maid.

When I got almost all the way back to the house, I stopped and waited for him. I took a deep breath. “Okay,” I said, “I’ll marry you.”

“Good.” He smiled and patted my arm. “That’s settled. Let’s go in and tell the Carlsons.”

“That’s wonderful news,” Mr. Carlson said, slappin Raymond on the back. Mrs. Carlson hugged me and said she knew the Lord would bring us together. Lydia and Anna hopped up and down like it was a surprise birthday party. Seein how excited they were made me feel better about it too.

“I’m almost twenty-five,” Raymond said. “I thought it was time I found a wife.”

“Well come on, you two,” Mr. Carlson said, “I’ll drive you over so you can tell Veda’s folks.”

I knew Mama’d be tickled to death, but I was nervous about tellin Papa ’cause of what he said about Raymond bein a fool. But Papa didn’t say nothin against it. He just set there lookin disappointed the way he did when the Ford had a flat tire. Like he wasn’t happy about it but he knew it was bound to happen sooner or later.

Raymond suggested we wait till September to have the weddin, and I thought it was so he could save money to git us a place to live. I said it was okay with me.

“I’ll be back from canvassing by then,” he said.

“You didn’t tell me you were goin away.”

“The Lord has called me again.”

“But you can’t. You need to stay here. So you can find work.”

“This is my work, Veda,” he laced his fingers together like he was prayin. “Helping people prepare for Christ’s return is the only work which can have any effect in bringing about our salvation.”

I started to say I meant work that paid money. So we’d have somethin to live on. But he stopped me.

“The Lord provides for his servants, Veda. I’ll be back by September. I’ll find employment then.”

My stomach churned. Papa’s “But can he earn a livin?” played over and over inside my head. I knew I wasn’t as good a Christian as Raymond. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to be. But he’d been helpin folks git ready for Christ’s return for a long time and I thought it was time he got himself ready to git married. I didn’t really think he’d stay gone that long, though. I thought he’d git tired of havin doors slammed in his face. I thought he’d miss me and come back long before September.

His letters always started “My Dear Veda,” or “My Darling,” and I’d think he was goin to say he loved me or he missed me, but he didn’t. He asked after my health and said he hoped I wasn’t workin too hard. Reminded me to read the scriptures. Complained about people not listenin to him, about his feet hurtin from all the walkin. Of course he told me if it was rainin, and how much and for how long. Or if it was hot, he’d tell me if it was normal for this time of year.

Once in a while somebody’d give him a ride back to Cave Junction and he’d spend Sabbath with my folks and me. He looked a little worse off ever’time. Clothes all wrinkled and dusty, shoes wore down. I always wondered if the Lord really was takin care of Raymond’s needs. Seemed to me, he could use a haircut and a decent pair of shoes.

.

5

E
VER’TIME I SEEN MY NIECE FLOSSIE
, she had a new boyfriend. She’d say things like, “He’s all over me… He begs me to sleep with him… He’s crazy for me… Says we’ll git married as soon as his ship comes in but he loves me too much to wait.” It was always the same story. But always a new guy. “That last sonofabitch was two-timin me,” she’d say. “I seen him with somebody else. You’re so lucky to have Raymond.”

I wondered if she meant it. She always made fun of how proper Raymond was, called him a stick in the mud. And I wondered if I really was lucky. I mean it was true I never had to worry about him takin up with some floozy, but I felt sort of jealous of Flossie. I wished Raymond would say he was crazy for me and couldn’t stand to wait. I wished he would kiss me and beg me. I wished he would at least touch me.

“Why won’t he even say he loves me?” I whined to Mama. “Why can’t he be romantic?”

“Romance is a bunch of foolishness,” she said. “It’s what gets girls in trouble. They’ll promise the moon, E some of em. Look at Flossie. Thank God you have a wonderful Christian man like Raymond.”

“I know, Mama, but I want him to be in love. want to be in love. And I don’t even know what that’s supposed to feel like.”

All she said to that was, “Once you’re married you’ll know.”

Romance. I thought about it all the time. Dreamed about it. Studied pictures in magazines. Happy couples holdin hands, laughin, or just lookin at each other. You could tell they was in love. It was how I wanted Raymond to look at me.

“That’s not real life,” Mama said. “It’s all put on. Throw them magazines away. You’re just settin yourself up for disappointment.”

In my letters to Raymond, I called him Sweetheart. I said I loved him and missed him and couldn’t wait for him to come back. I kept hopin he would write the same things to me, but he didn’t seem to catch on. His next letter would come and it’d have the weather report, say how nobody would buy the books he was sellin, complain about religious prejudice. And folded inside the same envelope, corrected with red pencil like schoolwork, would be my last letter to him.