A Cry of Angels (6 page)

Em put down his cup. "Where'd that big a fool come from?"

"Atlanta, he met her while he was at the college this summer."

"College! Jayell? And ain't much goin' on, he says!"

"Yeah, the college hired Jayell to design this little art center for them. It was written up in the
Star
and everything. And while he was up there he met this girl and they fell in love. She's at the boardinghouse now."

"How's old Phaedra Boggs takin' all that?"

"They say she didn't take it too good."

"Well, yer teacher must be sump'n else to pull him away from that Boggs gal. She's rough as a cob, but there ain't no finer lookin' woman nowhere. Boy, that's some gal!"

"Well, the teacher ain't all that bad lookin' neither. Kinda pinchy about the eyes, but she's got good legs."

"Legs! Listen to him. What you know about legs, boy?"

"I know more'n you give me credit for."

"Oooooh, man." Em stretched himself out on the cot. "Talkin' 'bout legs, mine's still achin'. Had to walk that last stretch from Little Holland, yestiddy. How 'bout you breakin' along and lettin' me rest 'em a little."

I got up to leave. "Oh, by the way, Jayell's been asking about you. He sure needs some help gettin' Lilly Waugh's house finished up."

"Lilly Waugh's house? Y'all ain't done with that one yet?"

"Well, he lost three months bein' up at the college, just runnin' back to do what he could on the weekends, and on her house it's been mostly just me and him since she won't let his black boys set foot on the place."

Em's eyes were closed. "Don't know's I want to set foot on Lilly Waugh's place agin, neither. That woman gives me the fan-tods."

"Well, anyhow it's all done now but the trim work. If you change your mind you can let him know tonight—" I stopped, remembering Miss Esther's admonition to keep him away a few days. But then, I thought of the girl in the hall, and looked at Em, and I couldn't resist it. Besides, church might be good for Em that night, with him just back off the road. "He's coming to take her to church tonight.
To church
, Em." I took the cigarette from his dangling fingers and stubbed it out. "Sure would be good to go to
church
again, wouldn't it, Em? Bet you haven't been the whole summer."

"Church." Em smiled sleepily. "Some peculiar things happen in church. You know, some years back I went in this little backwoods church in Tennessee—just passin' by one Sunday e'nin' and thought I'd drop in for services. Well, I noticed one of the front pews was missing, and I seen that when folks had to walk around that place they'd kind of shy away from it, wouldn't even steps on the nail holes in the floor . . ."

I started cleaning up the breakfast things. It was one of his long rambling stories I had heard a dozen times before. I emptied the coffee cup and rinsed it out and repacked Farette's lard can.

". . . so I ast somebody, 'Why's that pew been took out, and them folks actin' so skittish around that place?' Well, they didn't want to talk to me about it right off, me bein' a stranger, I guess. You know how mountain folks are . . ."

I closed the screen door and tiptoed down the stairs, his voice trailing.

"But finally they told me. Some years back, they said, there was a deacon, man by the name of Hoover, they said, that suspected his wife of carryin' on with another member of the church. Well, one night, right in the middle of services . . ."

I lost his voice in the afternoon hum and crick of the woods. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's to hear a story over and over again.

True to his word, Jayell arrived promptly at seven o'clock. Gwen Burns swirled into the parlor in a crisp white dress, complete with hat and gloves. When she saw me waiting on the couch, all decked out in my sport coat and clip-on bow tie, she looked surprised but said nothing.

When I followed them out and got in the back of the truck, she looked even more surprised—and said something.

"All right, what the hell's going on here?''

"Oh, him?" said Jayell. "It's all right, Miss Esther said he could go."

"Jayell! This is our first time together since I arrived. I've already seen more of him than I've seen of you!"

"Aw, what's it going to hurt to give the boy a lift to church? He don't go enough as it is. Wasn't for me and the Indian he'd probably never darken the door."

Gwen sighed. "Whatever you say, dear."

She would find that Jayell took his fundamentalist credo seriously. Unpredictable as he was, his wildness was just as often counterpointed with the beliefs his mother instilled in him as a child. He had taught shop at the high school, and although he kept a whiskey bottle under his desk, he submitted to a request by the Holiness preacher's boy and started the whole year's classes with devotionals. He slept on a cot in the rear of his workshop, sometimes with a woman, once with two, limped along the streets in unironed clothes, gambled and caroused with the worst kinds of people, black and white, drank and fought with Em and the quarry ledgehands along the river joints, but he never, ever missed church. He turned down a lucrative contract to build a guest cottage for a rich quarry owner's wife, and instead built a beautiful little Catholic chapel, free of charge, for the Italian stonecutters at Glenshade. He devoted an entire summer to crafting animal bunk beds, again without pay, for the orphans at Tucker Village, but while the Jaycees were waiting at the banquet to name him "Man of the Year," he was being hauled drunk and naked from the post office platform with a lady who traveled with a gospel quartet.

I saw that Gwen was carrying a Book of Common Prayer. "Are you Catholic?"

"Episcopalian" she slammed the door until it caught—"and you're all Baptists, I suppose."

"All but Mr. Rampey. He's a lapsed Lutheran. Oh, and Mrs. Metcalf, she's a Christian Scientist. She takes a drink now and then, but she swears it's
not
for medicinal purposes."

"I should hope."

"Myself, I've never joined any church."

"I'll pray for you."

"Oh, that ain't to say I don't attend. I attend a lot, thanks to Jayell and Em. Miss Esther don't care which ones, as long as they're fairly hardshell."

Actually I'd never spent enough time in any one church to develop a preference. Mostly I went with Em, and that exposed me to quite a variety. Usually we visited the off-brand tabernacles out in the country, crossing denominational lines without favoritism, except for those with a little extra whoop and holler, or maybe an all-night sing. At Miss Esther's church uptown, historic Pinnacle Baptist, it was tame as bathwater. The minister spoke softly, the congregation listened politely, and when somebody joined the church they just strolled down the aisle and shook the preacher's hand and the congregation voted them in, and, well, there just wasn't anything to it at all.

Whereas at our churches a man had to wrestle the devil to get his salvation, with tears and self-denunciations, and when he got down the aisle the preacher struggled with him, and then the congregation came for a turn, and when it all got done, that man knew he was SAVED. The only part of services Em couldn't take was Communion. Whether it was the pomp and silver of historic Pinnacle Baptist or the grape Kool-Aid and oyster crackers of Lamb of God Pentecostal, it sent Em away fighting the heaves.

"I hope," said the schoolteacher, "there is an Episcopal church in town."

"Oh, yeah," I said, "just the other side of the square. It's a little one, though."

"It's probably hardshell too. That's one of those cheap clip-on ties, isn't it? They all look the same."

We were backing down the driveway when the hedge shattered open and a large figure bore down on us, waving his arms.

"My God!" gasped the girl.

"It's Jojohn," said Jayell, hitting the brake, "when did he get in?"

Em pounded alongside and leaned breathlessly in the window.

"Goin' to church, I bet!"

"Don't tell me!" said Gwen.

"Mind if I catch a ride? 'Scuse me, ma'am, we ain't met. Em Jojohn. I look after the place. Don't mean to crowd in, now."

"Let all be welcomed into the House of the Lord," I said, happily, scrambling to make room in the back. Em plunged over the side grinning, and took off his hat and smoothed his hair. "Been lookin' forward to meetin' you, ma'am." He had on fresh khakis and his trouser legs were pulled down neatly over his boots. The girl was cutting glances at Jayell, but he wasn't seeing them. Across the road Wash Fuller was on his knees poking in the culvert with a rake. "Maybe he and that shy dog would like to come too," she said.

Em hummed happily to himself as he rolled a smoke. He offered her one. She declined with thanks.

Rounding the square, Em turned on his knees and shouted into the wind, "Seen a poster comin' in yestiddy, where the Parkins Family is at Four Fork Calvary this week . . ."

"The Parkinses," said Jayell with interest, "the ones with the kid that cuts such a commotion?"

"The same," Jojohn replied.

Without a word Jayell made a sharp right at the ice plant. When we passed the
GRANITE CENTER OF THE WORLD
sign at the cemetery, Gwen became suspicious. At the city limits she turned sideways in her seat and said, "We are going to the Episcopal church!"

Em spoke up quickly. "Aw, ain't nothin' happenin' there, little lady. You'll enjoy Calvary, them folks at Four Forks knows how to praise!"

Gwen abruptly slid over and shot a foot to the brake pedal. The treadless old pickup squalled off the road and scampered to a sliding halt in the yard of a granite shed.

There was heavy silence.

Em said tentatively, "You got a grab in that right front wheel, Jay."

Gwen sat tight-lipped, staring straight ahead. "Get out, both of you," she said. "I have had enough for one day."

There was another long silence.

Finally Jayell turned and looked over his shoulder, deadpan, and said, "Okay, Em, you're on your own. If she says go, you go."

Em read his look. He nodded, and solemnly pulled on his hat. He climbed out of the truck and beckoned me to follow. Beside the truck, he stopped and removed the hat again. Penitently, great shoulders leaning, he rested a foot on the running board, and his voice rumbled softly in her ear. "Miss, I reckon you think we're the wildest bunch you ever come acrost. Well, we are, and there's no excusin' us. If we're loud, if we got no manners, it ain't 'cause we don't like you, it's 'cause we're a little dazzled by you, and I guess it was our ignorant way of trying to cover up. You're the brightest penny ever to come down the slopes. I don't know what it is you see in that crazy clodhopper sittin' beside you, but I can sure see what he sees in you, and the last thing I'd want is to cause him embarrassment in your eyes. I want you to know I'll make no more trouble for you, and if any man does, all you got to do is point him out."

Em stepped back and pulled on his hat. "I know I shouldn't have led you off like that, but well, Jayell's daddy always loved that little church—he was baptized there, you know—and I thought you'd like to see it."

Surprised, Gwen turned to look at him, then at Jayell.

"One small favor, though," Em added quickly, "if you don't mind. I'd be more'n grateful if you'd let the boy ride back with you. It's most a three-mile walk and, well, they give him a lot of sulfa drugs when he was little and it weakened his knees."

The girl sat a moment longer. Finally she sighed. "Oh, I suppose it's too late to get to the Episcopal service anyway. Get in."

Em lifted me bodily over the side of the truck and scrambled in after me. Jayell put the truck in gear and a moment later we were buzzing down the highway.

"Wait'll you hear this Parkins family," Em was yelling over her shoulder, "they got a kid plays the banjo like you never seen!" And he rambled on and on until we drove into the yard of the little concrete block church.

I was only half listening, preoccupied with the outlandish notions of Jayell's father, ten years dead of radiator booze, crossing the threshold of
any
church, and that incredible business about sulfa drugs and weakened knees!

Jayell wasn't saying a word.

We pushed into one of the back pews, next to a smiling lady who was fanning herself and a coatless old gentleman beside her. He sat expressionless, staring, his hands limp in his lap and his white hair wafting gently in the breeze. The lady gave Em a long, hostile look, then smiled at Gwen. "We're the John Hoopers," she said, "nice to have you." Gwen thanked her and the lady patted my hand.

The pianist stopped playing and Mr. Hooper applauded until his wife grabbed his hands. A few people looked around but quickly straightened up. The Hoopers were well known. Em and I had seen them on previous trips. So Em felt qualified to explain, in a voice like a tuba, "The old man's a little off!"

"Mr. Hooper has had a stroke," Mrs. Hooper explained icily.

Gwen drew smaller in her seat.

The minister took the rostrum and explained that, once again, the sermon would be omitted and the service would be turned over to the Parkins family for their wonderful message in music. And as the plate was being passed he reminded everyone that this was a special offering to be used in the furtherance of the Parkinses' ministry. It was hard to tell whether he was telling them to give extra, or to hold off for the church's regular offering, but while he was speaking Mr. Parkins was tuning up his guitar in a most mournful manner.

The Parkinses sang a couple of songs, him on the guitar and his wife accompanying him with the tambourine, and then she sat at the piano and invited the church to join in. The congregation warmed right up, clapping and singing along. A few got in the aisles and swayed and snapped their fingers. A church always enjoys a chance to sing with professionals. Mr. Hooper clapped from the end of one hymn to the start of the next.

Finally Mr. Parkins strummed for attention and held up his hands.

"Dear Christian friends, the Ghost has truly been on this revival."

Amens.

"Yes, this has been a week we shall long remember. And now, once again, we'd like to present our pride and joy, the union of my wife, Clara, and me in Je-sus. Here he is—our only begotten son—
Lit-tle Tim-my Parkins
!"