Summer of the Redeemers Page 10

  “You think a horse would enjoy traveling around the world?”

  “Cammie would. If she was with me.”

  Alice smiled, and I knew she thought my dream was as silly as I thought hers was. We both lay back in the mossy ferns that grew beside the spring. I’d taken a quick bath before we picnicked, and my hair was spread out around me drying in the dapples of sun.

  “Bekkah?”

  “Yeah?”

  “That Redeemer boy, Greg. Did his daddy beat him because we took his shirt?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

  “What do you think?”

  “Maybe.” I was almost positive, but there wasn’t any point in making Alice feel bad when it had really been my doing.

  “Maybe we should have been nicer to those boys.”

  “Fat chance. They hit Picket.” I refused to take on any guilt. The Redeemer boys had started it. I’d simply taken up for myself with the only opportunity I had.

  Alice was silent for a moment. “I didn’t think they’d get a beating.”

  “The other boys seemed fine. It was only Greg, I think.”

  “Bekkah, you’ve never had anybody hurt you like that.” Her voice softened until it disappeared. “I mean it would be scary. Nobody around to help …”

  “Alice, they started it. They hit Picket and stole our bicycles, if you remember. They left mine in a heap at my house. I could have been beaten, you know, if Effie had a mind for it.”

  “Your folks wouldn’t do that. They never hit you or Arly.”

  “Well, we don’t do anything to deserve gettin’ beat. At least we don’t get caught.”

  “And you think that Redeemer boy deserved to be beaten that way because he lost his shirt?”

  There wasn’t an answer to that one. The sun was soft and reassuring as it filtered down on my face and hair. I kept my eyes closed, fighting hard against the image of Greg’s back cut open by whatever he’d been hit with. Alice was right. At no time in my life had I ever had to worry that someone would hurt me. She made me feel small and mean.

  “Tomorrow’s Sunday.” My mind was on the Redeemers. Maybe Greg’s plight deserved a little more sympathy. “Remember what they were saying about that minister and the chubby boy’s sister?”

  “Yeah, so what?” Alice’s voice was guarded.

  “Maybe we should check out what’s going on at that church. Maybe the police should be called.”

  “Maybe you should call the police and let them take care of it.”

  “They won’t come unless they have some evidence.”

  “Just make it up, Bekkah. You have a real knack for that.”

  “Be serious, Alice. Maybe we could find out something that would get the police down there to check it all out.”

  “You just want to go nosing around, and you’re trying to talk me into it.”

  I leaned up on an elbow. Alice still had her eyes closed and was lying back on the ground. Her mouth was pressed shut real firm. It was going to take a lot of persuasion to make her see things my way, but I had the entire afternoon to work on her.

  Twelve

  FOR the first time since Maebelle V. erupted into the world, Alice and I were going to be without her. Alice had been reluctant to lie to her mother, but heavy persuasion had finally won out. We told Mrs. Waltman and Effie that we were going to church at the new King James Baptist Tabernacle in Buzzard’s Roost with a school friend, Sandra Rogers. I’d been brought up in the Sweet Water Methodist Church, but no one in the family except Mama Betts took much pleasure in spending Sunday in church, and Effie and The Judge figured it wasn’t fair to make me and Arly do something they wouldn’t do. At any rate, it was a pleasant surprise for Mama Betts when I said I was going to church—even if it was a Baptist one.

  Effie, still upset over my impending trip to Missouri, didn’t ask many questions. It was as if I was already halfway to Missouri and she couldn’t see or hear me real clearly. She was mad, and it was her way of punishing me because I wanted to go to Missouri. In her mind it was a betrayal of some kind. I didn’t fully understand it, but I knew what she was doing and why. She was hurt and angry, so she acted as if I wasn’t a real person anymore. If my mind hadn’t been so bent on getting down to the Redeemers, I would have been hurt and worried myself. As it was, I had on my starched petticoats and my best robin’s egg blue dress. Of my entire wardrobe I hated this dress the most. Effie loved it, and the sight of me duded up in it didn’t even move her cold heart an inch.

  I left the house torn by excitement and sorrow. I was also a little worried Alice might not show up. Agatha Waltman was irritated that Alice had finally figured out an excuse to escape Maebelle V. that she couldn’t deny—church. According to Agatha, we could drag that poor little baby up and down Kali Oka Road in the blazing sun in a metal bicycle basket. We could haul her around the creek like a rubber ducky. We could take her to Chalk Gully to dig out clay for the potters who claimed Kali Oka clay was the best in the world for throwing pots. We could lug her around everywhere we went. Except church. Agatha Waltman thought that babies could squall and scream anywhere in the world but church. I wasn’t about to let Alice tell her mother that there were nurseries for babies at church now. Not on your life! We’d finally found a way to get rid of that baby, and we were going to take advantage of it.

  Cloaked in the guise of holy children and our best Sunday dresses, we made an escape from our homes and met in the woods where we’d hidden the bicycles the day before. I’d even had the foresight to shut Picket on the screened porch, though it nearly broke my heart to hear her whine as I walked away.

  When we were deep in the woods, we stripped off our dresses to reveal swimsuits. I’d had all of that frothy blue dress I could take, and Alice’s patent leather shoes pinched her feet. Stepping out of those shoes put the first grin on her face all morning. When we had shed all the trappings of going to church, we pedaled furiously toward Cry Baby Creek.

  My plan was simple. We’d enter the creek at a point far above the slide where we liked to play. We’d make our way down the creek until we could hear the carrying-on in the church. Once the Redeemers got in full throttle, we’d sneak up to the windows and peek in. I’d left Alice with the impression we were staying in the creek bed and listening, but if the Redeemers were going to be handling any snakes or washing any feet, I wanted to see it. I’d also heard some things about pew jumping and speaking in tongues. I couldn’t have stood it if we’d gone at night, but in the daylight I didn’t think I’d be too afraid. As awful as it sounded to “speak in tongues,” I just had to see it for myself if it really happened. This might be my only chance before I went to Missouri. If there was something unnatural going on at the end of Kali Oka Road, I wanted to be able to give Daddy all the details. The Judge would ask for every little nitpicking thing. I’d have to know all the specifics.

  We left the bicycles far enough up Kali Oka that we felt certain the church boys would never find them. Alice was quiet as we walked to the creek, and I knew her heart wasn’t in the adventure. I couldn’t understand why she didn’t want to know about the church folks as much as I did. She had her answer ready when I asked.

  “Maybe it’s none of our business. Maybe they just want to be left alone down here at the end of the road.”

  “Maybe they’re doing something illegal.” Alice was working on making me feel guilty. I’d been taught that everyone deserved a chance to lead their own lives as long as it didn’t hurt anyone else. The Judge was a big believer in the First Amendment, and he talked about it a lot at supper. I didn’t plan on telling him about this little adventure unless I found some serious trouble.

  “I wore my watch, Bekkah. I’ll stay twenty minutes, and that’s all. Then I’m going home. Mama’s already going to be fried because I left. If I’m not back exactly when she thinks church is over, she’ll make me pay.”

  “Twenty minutes. That’s fine.” We eased down into the water, and for a moment my mission was f
orgotten in the icy caress of Cry Baby Creek. The sand slipped between my toes as I led the way down the creek bed.

  “What if we hear something awful?” Alice touched my shoulder.

  “Naw. It’s a church. It’s not like they practice voodoo.” I hadn’t told her about the speaking in tongues. “They’ll probably be singing hymns, just like at our church. We’ll probably listen for a minute and get bored and be ready to go home.”

  In that moment the clear contralto of a young girl cut over the creek. I felt that voice along the base of my spine. It was so sad, so filled with longing. I didn’t recognize any of the words, but I didn’t have to. The message came from the melody and the young girl’s heart.

  “Sweet Jesus, she can sing!” Alice pinched my arm. “You think that’s the little fat boy’s sister they were talkin’ about?”

  I hushed her so we could listen. Until the end of the song we stood frozen, then we hurried on down the creek. Even Alice seemed more enthusiastic.

  We were within easy earshot of the church now, and since it was summer all the windows were open wide. When I climbed up the bank, I could see the flick of fans moving back and forth as women held them. I didn’t know about the Redeemers, but at our church those fans came from the funeral homes. They were put out in the churches as a form of courtesy and mostly advertisement. There were two competing funeral homes in Jexville, not counting the colored one, and Effie often said they didn’t let a body get good and cold before they were vying for it.

  “Get back down here!” Alice tugged on the leg of my swimsuit. She let the elastic go with a loud and irritating snap.

  “I’m only listening.” I eased down from the bank. There was a hubbub in the church, but it sounded like the collection plate was going around. I wondered how the Redeemers made any money to put in the collection plate. As far as I knew, none of them except for Greg had left the church grounds since they’d arrived. Mama Betts had been talking about it the night before, saying the men at least would have to have some kind of work.

  Alice was getting ready to cut and run when there was a loud round of applause from the church. Drums and guitars and banjos and tambourines surged together in a lively tune. It sounded like a regular hoe-down.

  “Listen!” I urged, but Alice was already listening to the voice of authority. The preacherman was talking over an irregular patter of “Amen,” “He’s blessed,” and “He’s sure ‘nuff touched by the Lord.”

  “And now we’d like to welcome the little man with a big voice.” The preacherman sounded like he thought he was Ed Sullivan.

  “God saw fit to skimp a little on arms, legs and a trunk, but he gave Brother Rueben the biggest voice in the kingdom.”

  Hallelujahs broke out and ran around the church. I edged up the bank so I could hear better, and at least get a glimpse of the church.

  The front door was closed. If I ran straight from the creek to the side of the building, I’d be in the open no more than ten seconds. If I ran hard. Alice’s hand grabbed my calf.

  “What are you thinking, Rebekah Rich?”

  “I want to see this little man.” Somewhere in the church a woman cried out, “I feel the Lord a’workin’ in this room.” I had to go look. I couldn’t stand it a minute longer.

  Alice’s fingers tightened painfully.

  “You promised! You said we’d stay in the creek and listen. You said we weren’t on church property this way and that we couldn’t get in any trouble.”

  “If we get caught here, no matter whose property we’re on, we’re in trouble. This ain’t the Tabernacle Baptist Church, Alice.” While those words sank in, I shook loose of her grip.

  “You deserve to get in trouble.”

  I turned back and saw the tears of anger in her eyes. “Alice, I’ve got to see what they’re doing. It’s eatin’ me up. I’m goin’ off to Missouri tomorrow, and I want to be able to tell Daddy what’s going on here. What if—”

  “Go on.” Alice turned away. “Just go on and get it over with. You won’t be happy till you get up to that window.”

  I climbed back to the lip of the creek bed and stopped. Alice was back in the creek. She was seining pebbles from the sandy bottom. Her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but her bangs hid her face from me.

  “Come with me, Alice. See for yourself. That way there will be two of us.”

  “You want to see this, Bekkah. I don’t. You think you’re going to see something gruesome or fantastic. You’re just going to see a bunch of folks dressed up and sweatin’ on church pews. Just ‘cause you imagine that it’s going to be special, you think you can make it that way.”

  Alice didn’t look up the whole time she talked. Behind me, the frenzy in the church was building. How could I make Alice understand that I had to see it? “If I knew what I’d see, Alice, I wouldn’t have to look.”

  “Sometimes lookin’ is stupid. Sometimes it pays not to look.”

  “Daddy says to name your devils.”

  “Some devils don’t come till you call them by name.”

  Alice could be as stubborn as a rock. “If there’s anything going on, I’ll signal for you to come. Watch for me.”

  Alice looked up and her eyes weren’t angry. “If they catch you, Bekkah, I’m going home, and I’m going to pretend I wasn’t here.”

  Before the consequences of that remark sank in, I made a dash for the church. The building was white clapboard, and in the few days since I’d gone down there someone had slapped a fresh coat of paint on it. I pressed up hard against the clean white paint and let my heart stop hammering. I hadn’t realized I was afraid until I stopped running. The window was just about chin level, so it wasn’t going to be a problem to see in, and I could hear a man singing in a deep voice. As I crept toward the window, the backs of people’s heads came into view.

  They were nodding and clapping and singing a phrase here and there with the man. A few shoulders were rocking side to side in “the sway.” Every now and then two arms would shoot straight up in the air followed by a “Praise the Lord.” There was a powerful emotion sweeping back and forth across the room. Several women had sweated through their Sunday dresses, and up two pews I could see plump Georgie wiping his brow. He was squeezed between two grown-ups who appeared to be his parents.

  The Redeemers were caught in the rapture of the moment, but I hadn’t seen a sign of any snakes. It wasn’t until I was right at the window that I caught a glimpse of the singer. That’s when the full impact of the preacherman’s words came back to me. The “little man” was a dwarf. He was dressed in a perfect little suit with a perfect pompadour of blondish hair, and he was holding a hymnal in one hand, giving it a good shake now and then and singing to beat the band. It was incredible that such a deep, full voice could come from someone no taller than my chest. I was struck with the impossibility, and if there had been a fat old blowfly around, it could have gone straight in my mouth.

  I’d been taught that physical deformity wasn’t anything to gawk at, so I tried to look away, but I couldn’t. Brother Rueben was making a show of his size. He was strutting up and down the little stage that served as a platform for the preacher, shaking his hymnal and his slightly long hair. His hands seemed to be normal size, which only made the rest of him look more ungainly. I knew I shouldn’t look, but I couldn’t help myself. Everything he did was exaggerated, grand, to draw attention to himself. I thought of the carnival that came to Jexville every fall and the shows that were for adults only. Arly had sneaked into one by paying three times the amount, and he’d said there was a fat woman with hair on her face and chest and one who, for an extra five dollars, could smoke a cigarette with her private parts. Right behind her had been a row of jars, and one had contained a real pickled baby. There had also been a dwarf man and woman, and Arly wouldn’t tell me what they did to make money.

  All of those stories Arly told me churned through my mind like a runaway train. Try as I might, I couldn’t stop the images, and I couldn’t stop s
taring. The little singer was ablaze, and the Redeemers were feeding the flame. Someone in the congregation handed him a towel, and he mopped the sweat from his brow without missing a note. The action caused a woman in the front row to stand up and throw up her hands, shouting gibberish I couldn’t understand. Her fingers stretched wide as she threw her head back and let loose a hoarse, guttural cry. In a second she was falling to the floor. The two people sitting beside her pulled her up on a pew and fanned her face with one of the cardboard fans. Shouts of “Amen” crisscrossed the church, coming from men, women, and children. It was as if someone had turned up the heat in the church. The little man sang, and the congregation began to boil.

  I didn’t know the song. It had nothing in common with the more solemn hymns I remembered from the Methodist service. I listened to the words and was shocked by the gory depiction of Jesus suffering on the cross. Since the words made me feel bad, I put more effort into watching the congregation. They were rocking and swaying with a vengeance. Up in the left-hand corner there was a woman playing the heart out of a piano and a young boy with a guitar. Standing slightly behind him was a girl in a white dress with a tambourine. She was about my age, and she looked like she was going to cry. She followed every strut and gesture of the little singing man, Brother Rueben. Whenever he came her way, she looked out at the congregation.

  If this was Mag, plump Georgie’s sister, it was obvious that Georgie ate his share and hers too. This girl was skinny as a stick, like Alice. Or else she worried the weight off. She was turning and twisting and watching Brother Rueben, and she never missed a lick with that tambourine. From behind the piano another boy stepped forward with a saxophone and joined in the chorus. The entire church was alive. Pews rocked with folks jumpin’ up and shouting and falling back against them. Several women started talking that gibberish and fell out in a faint.