Eden Hill (29 page)

His misery was interrupted by a knock at the door. Probably somebody unhappy that he’d closed early; another customer he’d lose. Wiping his face with the back of his sleeve, he made his way to the door and opened it.

JoAnn, with Suzy in her arms, was standing on the metal step.

“JoAnn!” Cornelius threw his arms around his wife and clutched her as tightly as he could with Suzy between them. “I thought you had left me!” Even if she was angry, she’d come back. She had returned to her miserable excuse for a husband.

Tears flowed freely from both as Suzy was laid gently in her makeshift bassinet. They embraced, and neither one would let go of the other.

Cornelius was the first to speak. “I have wonderful news, JoAnn!” He reached for the letter, dropped on the table. “It’s going to be all right; everything’s going to be all right!” He read the letter aloud, both so she could hear it and so he could believe it himself.

“That’s fabulous!” She hugged his neck. “I have news too.”

“What’s that?”

“We’re expecting again!”

“You’re . . . we’re . . .” Whatever Cornelius was thinking was lost, and he held his wife close. He forgot any concerns about JoAnn, Suzy, Zipco, attorneys or attorneys general, or anything else. They held each other for a long time, until Suzy woke up and began to coo.

Christmas in July? Who would have expected it?

R
EVEREND
C
AUDILL
had never been comfortable with the obligatory patriotic sermon on the Sunday after Independence Day, and this year he’d put in less effort than usual. Patriotism had done more harm than good the previous week, and he wasn’t about to wave the flag too much this morning. He would have Toler lead the congregation in the usual “My Country, ’Tis of Thee” and “Faith of Our Fathers” and beg him to pick up the tempo a bit. A few words acknowledging the holiday would be sufficient. His sermon from the eighth chapter of John would deal with grace, of course, but he’d also toss in some material from Matthew about “love your enemies.” Given the events of the last week, it seemed best.

The start of the morning service was still ten minutes away when Reverend Caudill entered the sanctuary. He was in a surprisingly good mood. His corns were unusually quiet today, and so far his breakfast was equally cooperative. As he laid his Bible and sermon notes on the pulpit shelf, he looked around. Cornelius and JoAnn were in the third row on the right, and both looked content. Good, they’d moved up from under the balcony. Virgil and Mavine were about halfway back on the left
 
—their usual spot
 
—with Virgil glancing over his shoulder. Also good. Arlie and Lula Mae should be along shortly, as soon as Sunday school was over. Grover and Anna Belle were nowhere to be seen, but were probably in the nursery watching Suzy.

He could now greet his parishioners and still have a couple of minutes before the prelude began.

As he started down the aisle, he became aware that Virgil was not the only one in the congregation looking toward the rear. Most of the people seated in the pews were doing the same, and the room had become unusually quiet. Reverend Caudill followed their gaze, which led to the back door. He stopped in his tracks.

Silhouetted in the door was Jeremiah Taggart, along with Willie and Mamie Johnson and the congregation of the Pentecostal Holiness church, smiling and wearing their Sunday best.

Reverend Caudill held his breath. He’d promised Brother Taggart he’d help in any way he could, but this wasn’t exactly what he meant. How would his congregation react to the Negroes from the little settlement on the
other side of the creek? One problem in the church had already demanded his attention; he didn’t need two. He’d read in the papers about something called the civil rights movement, especially since Madeline Crutcher’s outburst. Had the old woman come back from the grave to haunt him this morning?

He needn’t have worried. Virgil, true to his statement in the business meeting months earlier, rose from his seat and, though patently nervous, greeted the new attendees warmly and seated them at the front. Brother Taggart he led to Madeline Crutcher’s old pew, vacant since her untimely
 
—or perhaps very timely
 
—passing. It seemed to be fitting, somehow.

Reverend Caudill also noticed a couple he’d not seen in worship before but recognized immediately. They sat in the very back row under the balcony, the same place he’d first seen Cornelius and JoAnn. Tom and Gladys Blanford, after many years of invitation, had finally come. Henry Willett and a tall young woman sat with them.

He’d never been more proud to be the pastor of the First Evangelical Baptist Church.

The worship service went extraordinarily well. Reverend Caudill preached on grace with the same vigor he used to reserve for preaching on sin, and his sermon seemed to be well received. The Johnsons, in the front row, were affirming and even said “Amen” and “That’s right” on a couple of
his more significant points. Even Lula Mae, who’d taken to telephoning him on a regular basis, nodded several times.

He glanced at his watch during the final hymn: a rendition
 
—rousing, for Toler
 
—of “Rescue the Perishing.” Three minutes to twelve. Time for dinner with Grover and Anna Belle, who had invited him for leftover barbecue, and then off to pick up Arlie’s boat and be at the lake by two o’clock. He delivered the benediction from memory and greeted all attendees
 
—especially Brother Taggart and the Johnsons. Grover and Anna Belle had made sure Suzy was happily returned to the Alexanders, so the pastor turned out the lights and joined them. It had been a busy morning and would be a big afternoon.

The morning had been filled with surprises. Cornelius felt a little uncomfortable when the colored people arrived, but it didn’t seem to bother anybody else too much, and after a while it seemed, if not familiar, at least appropriate. Reverend Caudill’s sermon was gentle yet powerful, a combination that Cornelius found fascinating. The preacher stood at the pulpit, looking at each one in the room, barely glancing at the notes in front of him. He talked about freedom and release, which prompted Cornelius to keep going over that incredible letter, which he had nearly memorized. Only a few days ago, the darkness might just have swallowed him up, but now light was slowly breaking through the clouds.

Reverend Caudill was concluding. “Jesus wants you free. Free from all that is holding you back. We all come
to him captive to our worry and need. And we walk away unshackled.

Through the sacrifice made by Jesus Christ, our debts to God are erased. Our account, our obligations, our sins are marked ‘paid in full.’” He closed his Bible, and the crotchety song leader took his place at the podium. The closing hymn was painfully slow, but slow enough for the words to sink in. Cornelius found himself humming along, even joining in a few words on the chorus. JoAnn shot him a shocked smile, at which he just shrugged and gave her a sheepish grin.

As the diverse congregation filed out of the sanctuary, Grover and Anna Belle appeared with Suzy. She was making happy screeches, which turned some heads. Cornelius looked up from his daughter’s face, ready to apologize for her, but instead of scowls, the faces were beaming, some even with misty eyes. Grover handed him the diaper bag, once again a bit heavier than usual. Another can of formula? Cornelius gripped the man’s hand a bit tighter, all the thanks that either man needed to exchange.

They reached the door, where the pastor customarily stood. “Thanks for the message today, Reverend,” Cornelius said. “Feels particularly timely right now.”

Caudill’s eyes grew a bit wider. “Oh? How so?”

“Well, I was reaching the point where I could never pay Zipco back. But I just got notice that my debts have been suspended. We’re not out of the woods yet, but we’re back on the path at least.”

Reverend Caudill closed his eyes and sighed. “That is
something to thank the Lord for. As I said in my message, he’s big on canceling debts himself.”

“Are we still planning to head out fishing this afternoon? Didn’t know you could fish on Sunday, Reverend.”

“It’s all part of the Lord’s work.” There was a twinkle in the pastor’s eye.

After the service, Virgil Osgood picked up a few stray bulletins and a forgotten pencil or two. He finished near the rear, where Jeremiah Taggart stood at the door beaming, the Johnsons beside him.

Virgil stepped into the center aisle and walked toward the waiting visitors.

The visiting pastor stretched out a hand, and Virgil received the man’s strong grip. “Can’t thank you enough,” Brother Taggart said. “When we decided to come worship with Pastor Caudill, we didn’t know how his people might react, but you up and greeted us right at the door. Just like the Good Book says: ‘There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus.’”

Virgil shuffled a bit and looked at the floor, then met the man’s eyes. He looked directly at each of the Johnsons in turn as well. “You’ve been our neighbors all these years. Only right we should be neighborly.”

The man clapped him on the shoulder. “Right you are, Mr. Osgood. Sometimes neighbors show up where you least expect them.”

Though Virgil had been concerned about how Sunday worship might go after he seated Brother Taggart and his little flock, it had turned out just fine. Sunday dinner, on the other hand, was a less enjoyable affair, with Mavine extremely quiet and Vee being sent to his room for making ugly faces. Vee had complained all morning about having to read the massive book Mavine had assigned, although their son had been absorbed in it this morning when he was supposed to be getting ready for breakfast. Vee had whined far more yesterday about having to repair the henhouse, claiming that it was all Frank’s fault and he didn’t know that six cherry bombs together would do that kind of damage. Besides, he claimed, wielding a saw and hammer was not something he was good at, and why wasn’t Frank here fixing the broken boards? Frank, it seemed, had received an educational trip behind the Prewitts’ hog barn, courtesy of Arlie, not for blowing up the Osgoods’ chicken coop but for goofing off and not getting the hogs fed. Virgil wound up spending most of his Saturday repairing and repainting the thing, picking up feathers and eggshells.

Mavine had not been herself all weekend, like she was unhappy again, and Virgil couldn’t come up with any obvious reason. She’d taken the dress down from the front doorframe and hung it by the laundry, but he’d learned not to ask about Mavine’s clothes. Women could be funny about such things.