Cursed Be the Child (12 page)

And he could not heal—not anymore.

He was shaking now. Could they see it, his brothers and sisters, or was the tremor only within him, a trembling not of the body but the soul? He had to get a grip on himself.

“God is our Father,” he said, “and He’s a loving Father. That’s what he tells us throughout the Bible.” Though it was there at the edge of his mind, the next thought eluded him. A moment’s anxiety, and then he was sure he had it. “God is a God of love, you see. That’s what He has told us, you see. And He is a God who cannot and will not lie. God loves the truth, you see…” His voice trailed off.

And what of those who lie in His name?

Did he say that aloud or to himself? Or did he say it at all? Was the Lord speaking to him?

Within his mind, Evan said to God: Lord, I need you.

“I…I’m sorry,” he told the congregation. “I keep on…What I think is that my tongue’s getting in the way of my eyetooth and I can’t see what I’m saying, so…”

Lord, he prayed, be with me now. Let Your love fill my heart, let Your wisdom clear my mind, let Your words be in my mouth.

He glanced down at his notes on the lectern. There’d been a time when he never outlined sermons, when he knew what to say simply and eloquently. But you could hardly work that way on television. Taping Witness to Wonder, he employed a teleprompter, sometimes giving him words he’d written, sometimes the words of others—and sometimes he’d wondered if they were the words of God.

Today’s text was from Malachi: “Have we not all one father? Hath not one God created us?” The handwriting was slanted and jerky; it didn’t look familiar. He didn’t remember writing it.

When Evan spoke, the words were a surprise to him. He was not citing Malachi but Micah, chapter six, verse eight. “What doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?” The next words he uttered were from Proverbs. “If sinners entice thee, consent thou not. Everyone that is proud in heart is an abomination unto the Lord. Better is a little with righteousness than great revenues without right. A righteous man hateth lying…”

Confused and frightened as he was, Evan Kyle Dean could not doubt the Lord had spoken, but not to the brothers and sisters gathered here in True Witness.

To Evan Kyle Dean.

Everything was hazy, the faces of his brothers and his sisters floating and anonymous before his eyes. He brought Carol Grace into focus. She sat in the first pew, and he saw the concern and love on her face.

“Friends,” he said, “brothers and sisters…”

It would be all right. He would go home with his wife, and it would be all right. “I’m tired. I am very, very tired. I…I need to rest.”

But before he could go home, he had to conclude the sermon. He knew what to say. He knew what he believed and would never doubt.

“Brothers and sisters, God is love.”

The following Sunday, in Grove Corner, Illinois, with her daughter, Vicki Barringer went to church for the first time in years.

On the same Sunday, for the first time in years, Vicki Barringer’s brother-in-law, Evan Kyle Dean, did not preach to the congregation of True Witness Church in Mt. Franklin, Alabama, nor to anyone in any church. He lay in bed all day long, wishing he were dead and thinking that perhaps he, or his soul already was.

— | — | —

Twelve

Missy thought the choir sounded beautiful. It was fun to sing along when you were supposed to, trying to follow the melody and keep up with the words in the book when you had never seen them before. Mom sang real nice, too. Mom seemed to know all the words to the hymns.

The church was beautiful, too. Missy had somehow expected it to be dark and smelly, but it was all golden with polished wood, and the sun came in, lightly touching everything with a soft glow. The minister, whose name was Pastor Norton, was short and round and bald and cute, kind of like the Pillsbury Doughboy. What was cool about him was how he told silly jokes about the senior citizen group’s trip to the dinner theater, the men’s club’s next golf outing, and the women’s charity auction. Pastor Norton made everyone laugh. Missy hadn’t been too sure about the rules about laughing in the house of the Lord, but it had to be okay, with even the minister doing it.

“The house of the Lord.” That’s what Mom had called it when they were getting ready this morning. Drinking a cup of coffee, Dad said, “Not only His house, but He doesn’t pay a thin dime in taxes.” Mom gave Dad a real angry look.

Missy was certain you had to be on your best behavior in church—no squirming or scratching, no whispering with her friend Dorothy.

Missy had asked, “Does the Lord punish you if you’re bad in His house?”

Mom didn’t say anything for a second but looked like she was thinking hard. Dad said, “You’d better believe it, kiddo. He’ll smite you with a plague of locusts.” Mom gave him the look again, and he said something that sounded like “Superstitious bullshit,” but he said it with his mouth pretty much in the coffee cup so she couldn’t be sure that was what he really said.

Mom told her, “The Lord loves everyone, Missy, and He’s glad to welcome them to His house. But there’s a right way and a wrong way to act, no matter where you are. You know that.”

“Uh-huh,” Missy said seriously. “You mean good manners. I’ve got ’em.”

“I know you do, Missy. And I know you’re going to be a real lady in church and make me proud of you.”

Missy did feel like a real lady. She felt pretty and grown-up in a new white and gold dress and shiny new shoes, and she even had a purse. Usually her favorite outfit was jeans and her Rainbow Brite top, but today was special.

This was what church was meant to be, Vicki thought, what religion was all about. It was a serene time-out from commonplace day to day living, with its minor frustrations and little victories. Sitting in a pew in the middle of the church, her daughter beside her, her friend Laura Morgan and her child, Dorothy, to her right, being here now in the house of the Lord with her neighbors was good.

She couldn’t help compare this dignified and restrained service to the heavily emotional and uninhibited Holiness Union Church services of her childhood. Maybe that was right for some people, maybe it had even been right for her then, but this was right for her now.

And, she decided, it would be right for her from now on—and for her little girl. She glanced at Missy, who’d been as good as gold and was still shining! She regretted that Melissa had never been baptized.

Vicki’s thoughts were interrupted when Reverend Norton began his sermon. “This past week, my wife and I took a little trip. We shipped the kids off to their grandparents and went to visit another couple we hadn’t seen in years, friends from our college days.” Reverend Norton smiled. “You know the definition of college, I’m sure. That’s where you learn you already know everything and nobody else knows anything.”

There were appreciative chuckles, but Missy wasn’t so sure she liked Pastor Norton’s joke, if that’s what it was. Was he making fun of college? Her dad taught college. He was a professor, and a professor was probably more important than a minister—at least as important.

“Anyway,” Reverend Norton continued, “there were those awkward minutes you always have with people you haven’t seen in a long time, and then we relaxed and started talking about, what else, the good old days. In the good old days, I had hair down to my shoulders and I played guitar. I was our campus’s imitation Bob Dylan.” He ran a hand over his head. “Everyone agreed I look much more distinguished bald than I did hairy.”

Now that was kind of funny, Missy thought. Just being bald was funny!

“Not long after that, we got into the ‘whatever happened to. . .’ game. You know how that goes. Whatever happened to Jim? And somehow, even though nobody’s seen Jim since graduation, somebody knows what happened to Jim. Jim got married and divorced and married, and he’s selling aluminum siding. Peggy, the rebel, SDS member, is in real estate. Morris is in franchise foods, Lucy got a PhD in chemistry and teaches at MIT, Hank took over the construction company when his dad died…”

No!

The voice was quiet, but clear in Missy’s mind. Lisette! No, that was wrong! Lisette only came at night. Lisette was…

I am…

“…and then our conversation grew more serious. It was late, and that seems to be a time to talk about serious things. Wasn’t it a shame about Chuck? It was so hard to believe what happened to Chuck. He was only 28, a man who had everything going for him—looks, brains, money. You’re not supposed to have a fatal coronary at twenty-eight. You’re not supposed to die.”

No!

As though pondering a mystery and denying its existence at the same time, Reverend Norton slowly shook his head. “Life is what we know, what we have, the dearest gift our Lord has granted us, and then, here’s a monstrous, inexplicable insult to all that we, as mere mortals, understand. Death invades and overpowers life and there is an ending…”

Oh, no…

Missy’s eyes stung with the promise of tears. She felt sad and afraid and angry, and she did not understand at all. It was Lisette who was sad and afraid and angry—she knew that—and she was not Lisette.

I need to live! I will live!

The scream swelled, an expanding balloon of furious sound that filled Missy’s mind. She was dizzy. She felt as though she were dreaming but didn’t think she was. She couldn’t be sure of anything—except that Death was terrible and wrong.

I will live!

Reverend Norton solemnly said, “In the midst of life, we are in death…”

Missy nudged her mother. When Vicki leaned her head down, Missy whispered in her ear, “Mom, let’s go home.”

“Shh,” Vicki whispered back, “it will be just a little while longer.”

Reverend Norton’s voice became less intense but no less thoughtful. “Toward the end of the evening, I took out my guitar, and we all sang the way we used to. There seemed to be only one song we could all remember the words to. ‘Down in the valley, the valley so low…’” The minister’s brow wrinkled. “Naturally enough, with my religious calling, that got me thinking about the valley we all walk through, that lonesome valley of the shadow of death.”

I won’t die! Mama, Mama, don’t let me die!

Missy wanted to tell Lisette to shut up and quit blubbering for her mother.

But she couldn’t. Her own secret voice, the one that said whatever she wanted it to inside her mind, the special voice she used to talk to Lisette, that voice was hardly even a whisper.

Then it became stronger. It changed, and it was not her voice at all.

It was Lisette’s voice.

It was Lisette who jabbed Vicki Barringer’s ribs hard with an elbow. It was Lisette who moved Missy Barringer’s tongue and shaped the words, “Mama, please, let’s go.”

“You behave yourself, young lady.” Vicki harshly whispered, glaring.

Reverend Norton said, “Awake or asleep, we dwell in the valley of the shadow of death…”

No!

“What is wrong with you?” Vicki whispered in Missy’s ear. “If you don’t settle down, young lady, the minute we get home, I’ll give you something you’ll remember.”

“…death comes for us all…”

Mama would not save her. Mama would not help her. She could call and call for Mama, but Mama never came. Mama died and left her. Mama never came, and she was mad at Mama for going away…