A Place Called Wiregrass (19 page)

“Oh, she’s got all sorts of projects lined up. Doctor Tom was just about to treat me to supper when she called, so I didn’t have a chance for her to get into everything.” Patricia wrinkled her nose and closed her eyes.

“Did she mention getting treatment?”

Patricia’s chin dropped, and her ruby red lips puckered.

“Now Erma Lee, I told you up at the hospital, Mama’s made up her mind. She refuses to be throwing up all the time and having people make a fuss over her.” She looked down and shuffled a stack of files. “She can live for years without getting to the bad stage.”

“Yes, ma’am. But it’s just…” the words were coming out
before I knew what was happening. “Well, Cher and me have been looking on the Internet, and there’s some good…”

“Honey, have you heard a word I’ve been saying?” She closed her eyes and offered another toothy smile.

I moved up to the edge of my chair, expecting to be asked to leave.

“Now, I called you in here to talk about something pleasant. I’m just running out of closet space,” Patricia said. When she looked under her desk, I saw a hole in the mound of teased hair. “With you starting to attend church now, I knew you’d need some new clothes.” She stood holding a big black garbage bag, its top tied in a yellow bow. “Since it seems like I’ll never lose any weight, I thought I’d pass along some of my smaller sizes.” Her nod let me know it was all right if I spoke.

“How nice,” I said, trying to act excited. Thirty-five years after Vacation Bible School, I was still on the needy list.

The lumpy bag barely fit under one arm. I used my knee to balance the bag and opened Patricia’s office door.

“Oh, one more thing,” Patricia said and pointed a silver envelope opener at me. “Let’s just keep my generosity between us.” She added a wink and a lick of her glossy lips. “I can’t do for everybody like I’m doing for you.”

Feeling the searing heat escape the gray trunk lining, I stood in the school parking lot looking down at my donation. The big black bag tied with its yellow plastic strip looked like a body bag in my trunk.

My fingertips burned against the top of the car trunk, and I slammed the lid down. The old white-and-black dress I took with me when I left Cross City was old and wounded, but I didn’t have to strip self-respect to wear it.

A
pearl white Lexus was parked in my usual spot in Miss Claudia’s driveway.
One of the Sick Parade ladies from the church,
I decided and parked on the side of the street.

“Erma Lee,” I heard Miss Claudia call out before I could close the kitchen door. “I’m here in the living room.”

I smiled and pushed the white swinging door open.
At least she’s out of that bedroom dungeon.
I was proud of myself for being the one who drug her out.

She sat on the edge of her chair. By the uneven poufiness of her hair, I could tell she must’ve done it herself. “You know my pastor, Dr. Winters, don’t you, Erma Lee?”

The tall man I regularly watched depart Miss Claudia’s home from the kitchen window stood up and buttoned the top button of his suit. His smile and dark eyes were full of appeal, and I felt my face grow red when he reached for my hand.

Just when he started to speak and most likely say that he had never met me, I blurted out, “Oh, I know who you are.” I pulled the long ponytail around my neck hoping to hide the warmth I could feel. “I mean, I saw you from the kitchen. You know, when you left. So—”

He and Miss Claudia laughed, and I tried to chuckle, not sure if they were making fun of me. His gelled hair, dark eyes, and broad shoulders seemed at odds with my new pastor. The
man that stood before me could be a TV preacher. I wondered if he had ever considered such work.

Dr. Winters pulled at the ends of his suit coat and listened to Miss Claudia go on about me and how I had become like one of her own. The hotness drifted up my neck to my checks. “And she just accepted the Lord too,” Miss Claudia added.

“Well, fantastic,” Dr. Winters said and offered the dimpled smile again.

I nodded my head and folded my arms over my white uniform top, trying to hide a stain of spaghetti sauce.

“Erma Lee, I called Dr. Winters over here because I have some exciting news. I have a purpose, and you’re a part of it.”

A beep that sounded like an oven alarm went off. Dr. Winters pulled a pager from his belt and mashed a button. “Excuse me, ladies. The office is calling. I’m afraid I must go.”

“Oh, so soon? We have a phone if you need to check in with anybody,” Miss Claudia said, pointing to the living-room table.

Dr. Winters clutched Miss Claudia’s hand. “And I appreciate it, but we have some business going on back at the church. Now, I’ll be looking forward to our announcement this Sunday.”

At the door, the man of God raised one eyebrow and smiled at me. “And Emily, it was very nice to meet you. I do hope you’ll join us one Sunday with Miss Claudia.” He pulled his gold-and-blue-striped tie slightly out of his coat, and the material rose to attention.

“I hope so too,” I said, never bothering to correct him about my name.
A man with his responsibilities had to be so busy
.

Sitting in Miss Claudia’s wicker porch swing, I listened to her describe hours of prayer about the leukemia. Between clips from the automated sprinkler system, I learned her time
in solitude was a deep depression over what she thought was surely a decline started by that anemia and the nosebleed. “Right after I accepted the Lord, Missoura told me that the best way to combat the devil is to get off somewhere by yourself and pray nonstop. Praying in the closet, she used to call it.” Miss Claudia twirled the loose ends of the swing chain between two fingers. “I wanted to make sure I’m doing the right thing about not taking any treatments.”

“Well, me and Cher have been working on that. We pulled lots of stuff off that computer at the library.”

Miss Claudia put the palm of her hand up and closed her eyes. Like a schoolchild being directed by a traffic cop, I stopped talking.

“Sugar, I appreciate everything you and Cher tried to do. But in the end, the decision is mine. Now, I’ve lived a good long life. The Lord’s been good to me. But I need to face this without being hooked up to all kind of tubes and urping all the time.”

“But they got new medicine that won’t make you throw up.”

“I know all that. I read some of those papers you stuffed under my door,” she said and patted my leg. “The doctor said it might be a couple of years before I get into the, you know, real bad stage.”

“Acute,” I said, finding the word I thought she was seeking.

She grinned at me. “You really did read all that mumbo-jumbo.”

I looked down at my black rubber-soled shoes. She was not going to brush this aside like some little joke. Deep down I was mad at her for giving up, for not trying to fight the disease that was building in her bloodstream.

“I don’t expect you to agree with me. But I don’t want you having hard feelings towards me, either. I’m going to need your support. Erma Lee, I had a calling.”

I looked up at her. Her hazel eyes were still weak, but her lips bore the perfect pink lipstick that was her calling card. “What sort of calling?” I asked.

The scent of Miss Claudia’s favorite Estee Lauder perfume danced around the porch with the soft afternoon breeze. “When I was in my room I did a lot of Bible reading. No matter how many times I read something, I always pick up a different message.” She chuckled out loud. “Well, after you came in and shared your good news with me Saturday night, I stayed up late reading the book of Deuteronomy. I read for the millionth time about the people of Israel wandering around for forty years looking for that promised land. And when I got to the part where the Lord told them, ‘You have dwelt in this mountain long enough,’ the words just jumped out at me.”

She watched the clapping water rise from the ground and circle the rows of yellow butterfly bushes and pink azaleas. “I asked the Lord to help me move on with the plans He has for me. And to live with the strength to find His plan. Well, do you know, during the night I dreamed about a house. A bright yellow home with all kinds of women and little fellers in it. Kinda like a refuge. Women who been in a mess…you know, with men beating them,” she whispered the last words like she did not want to embarrass herself or me.

She was silent, and the voices from the Houston County sheriff’s office drifted from Richard’s scanner. His garage apartment window was open, and I couldn’t help but wonder what mysterious explanation he would provide for Miss Claudia’s vision. Then she looked at me with all the seriousness of a college professor. “I don’t want you thinking I’m some kinda fanatic. But I’m telling you now, the Lord gave me that vision. He wants me to do this.”

“I think it sounds real nice,” I said. Coming from someone else, such a notion would have made me laugh.

“You and the good Lord pulled me out of that wilderness. See there, Erma Lee, God used you.”

“Well, now I don’t know about that,” I said, shocked that God would want to use a messed-up something like me. Her vision was more believable than her compliment.

“That’s why I want you there at church Sunday when Dr. Winters announces a plan to put all this in motion. And I’m going to kick off a fund-raising drive by writing the first check,” she said, as self-assured as the best politician in Houston County. “But I’m going to need you in on this, Erma Lee.”

Me? Was she out of her mind? I could barely pay the light bill every month.

“We know what it’s like to have your flesh and spirit whipped. You can help keep everybody on track with what our women need.”

I was silent and watched the stream of water circle around Miss Claudia’s yard. My lack of education, training, and brightness slapped me like the water hitting the blooming bushes.

“I’m taking a step on faith here. I need you,” Miss Claudia said and squeezed my hand. Her eyes widened, and she leaned towards me. By her side, the feeling that I couldn’t do anything worthwhile evaporated. It just simply floated down the porch on Elm Drive and three hundred miles back to Cross City.

Driving away from the skating rink after making the first deposit for Cher’s birthday party, I felt good. With the radio turned up, I tapped the top of my steering wheel and declared that I was living life at its fullest. I couldn’t remember a time in my life when I had been free of major complications. LaRue was still a bad cold that Cher couldn’t shake. But I de
cided that sooner or later he would grow tired and stop taking her phone calls. If only he knew she was telling her friends that her last name was LaRouche. Responsibility was the most effective pesticide with him.
Afraid he might have to financially support her, he’d walk away for sure,
I thought.

The next day, Miss Claudia pushed the point, and I attended Mother’s Day services at her church. “My church service starts at nine-thirty. We’ll have you over to your church in plenty of time.” As usual Miss Claudia had it all worked out. Even though I was nervous about my baptism the same day, I gave in.

Gerald didn’t seem to like her plans too good. “I just hope she gets you over to
our
church in time. I’d be glad to come get you to make sure you have enough time,” he said.

“I appreciate it,” I said, secretly loving the attention, “but no sense in that. We’ll manage.”

By the time we went back to Miss Claudia’s house for her offering check and the offering check she paid for Richard, we were late. The organ music vibrated the church foyer, and a bald man with wire-rimmed glasses kissed Miss Claudia on the cheek. “I just hate being late for church,” she kept repeating.

The bald man swung open the wide, white doors leading in to the church sanctuary. Organ music swelled, and I saw Dr. Winters dressed in a black robe, sitting at the church altar in a big wooden chair. The church was twice as big as my new church home and had red carpeting with light brown pews.

I was hoping we could slip in a back pew. But Miss Claudia was determined to go down to the front. She was dressed to the nines in a pink linen suit and a white hat with a pink rose stuck on the side. By the way she had gone on about Richard getting up early to clip the rose out of her garden, you would’ve thought he had broken into a florist shop.

“Hello, everybody,” she said in a stage whisper, waving her hand. Singing voices engulfed us as she slowly made her way down the aisle nodding and winking at different members of the congregation.
Would you just hurry up,
I wanted to yell. At that moment, I thought of Patricia’s charitable contribution and the clothes in my car trunk.
Maybe I should’ve broken down and worn one of her hand-me-down designer suits.
The ol’ standby black-and-white dress and Cher’s sunflower outfit sewn by Miss Claudia decorated our backs.

I looked straight ahead and dared to make eye contact with the people standing on either side of me singing a hymn of thanksgiving. Their glares cut through the rayon dress. Probably thinking Cher and me were some pitiful lost souls Claudia Tyler found by the side of the road and brought to the church house to be redeemed.
“And the poor thing with no husband,”
I imagined them saying. Escaping strands of hair tickled the back of my neck. Soon heat crept up my neck to my cheeks.
I ought to have known better than to let Cher talk me into putting my hair in this bun
. When I’d almost decided she was going to just walk up the altar steps and sit with Dr. Winters, Miss Claudia eased into the second pew. Behind Dr. Winters, I saw Patricia in the choir. The poor thing looked bigger than usual dressed in the cream choir robe. She held the black hymnal in the palm of her hand, and her mouth was wide open.

I turned to place my white Bible and pocketbook down on the pew, and my eye caught Prune Face in the pew behind us, singing a hymn of praise with the same tired, scrunched-up look that she had whenever she visited Miss Claudia. Since I had taken on a new life and wanted to do right, I smiled and mouthed the word
hello
. She quickly glanced at me and then, just as fast, looked up towards the choir.

“Let us rejoice,” Dr. Winters said. He raised his arms, and the black robe spread like wings. “Many segments in today’s society are in need of our love and care. Today, as we celebrate
mothers across this land, I think it fitting to announce plans for a new mission. Recently, I had the honor of meeting with Mrs. Claudia Tyler and learned how God has spoken to her about a mission to reach hurting people. In the week ahead, I will call some of you and ask that you work on a committee to see how First Methodist can help women and children of domestic abuse.

“And this project, I believe, is a worthy cause. If I may tell this, Miss Claudia,” the pastor looked directly at Miss Claudia, raised his eyebrows, and smiled. “Miss Claudia shared something when we met. A play of words that I hope symbolizes our covenant at First Methodist. After describing what the Lord laid on her heart, she looked me straight in the eye and asked, ‘Why should we keep love in our hearts when we can give it away for free?’”

Chuckles swept throughout the church. I kept waiting for someone to yell “Amen.” Finally the pastor began clapping, and others in the church followed. My hands stung from cheering the woman whose linen-covered elbow touched my arm. Miss Claudia looked down and slightly shook her head. When no one was looking, I slid my hand on top of hers. Feeling the sturdiness of the diamonds and emeralds in my palm, I thought of her previous life of hardship. A life no one in the room knew about, not even her own daughter.

To Gerald’s surprise, we made it to Wiregrass Community Church in plenty of time. Lee took me by the hand and carefully guided me down the small steps that led into the church’s baptismal pool. The small concrete enclosed body of water looked more like a bathtub than a pool. I stood on the steps, out of the congregation’s view, while Lee introduced me and told of the decision I made by asking Jesus Christ into my life. He seemed not the least bit self-conscious standing waist deep in the water.

A small crack that ran from the drain helped me forget the prying eyes of people who would be inspecting me. My loose,
long hair hung over my shoulders and down to the base of my elbows. Just when I thought I might turn and run, I remembered Lee’s sermon from last week. The one about the woman in the Bible, worshiping Jesus by pouring perfume on his feet and wiping it with her hair. My eyes left the crack when Lee’s arms extended towards me. I felt like some kind of beauty contestant as he helped me down the steps and into the water to face the crowd.