Homefires (19 page)

June sunlight washed the dinner-on-the-grounds celebration of Pastor Crenshaw’s college graduation. It was also a farewell feast. Jake Lester and Zeb Branson had built long wooden tables to stretch out beneath a cove of shady elms flanking the front lawn. White sheets served as table cloths and that they smelled faintly of moth balls did nothing to inhibit the flock’s appetite.

“Nobody cooks like country women,” Kirk decreed as soon as he said the blessing and turned the kids loose to fill their plates from mountains of fried chicken, potato salad, fluffy biscuits, cornbread, vegetables, cakes and pastries that challenged any county fair exhibition, and to wash it all down, vats of iced tea and lemonade.

Later, while Kirk and Archie Wells got a game of baseball going for the boys, Agnes Beech and I gathered the girls for tamer games of Farmer-In-The-Dell and London Bridge. Other ladies joined in once things got going and I realized I hadn’t seen Heather since lunch.

I pulled Krissie aside. “Where’s Heather?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll go find her.” Her patent leather shoes kicked up huffs of dust as she disappeared around the corner of the church.

I turned back to the activities and began to sing, “London Bridge is falling down...”

Moments later, I felt a tug at my sleeve. Krissie guided my head down, cupped her small hands and whispered into my ear. “Oh dear.” I groaned. “Are you sure?”

Eyes wide, Krissie nodded vigorously.

“Agnes, will you take charge, please?” I followed Krissie around back to the leaning, weathered outhouse. Inside I found Heather, in tears.

“It’ll be all right, honey. Come on,” I coaxed gently. “Nobody will know. You can sit with Ma McKonna. I’ll tell everybody you’re not feeling well.”

Heather snorted weakly. “
That’s
certainly true.”

“Then,” I stretched forth my hand, “come with me.”

Heather stepped forward and hesitantly took my hand and I knew how difficult it was for my little independent nine-year-old to trust her destiny to me. She took a few steps alongside me, then spotted Krissie standing in the clearing, watching us anxiously.

Heather’s heels dug in. “
Nuh uh.
I can’t, Mama.”

“Oh Heather....”

My heart wrenched when tears tumbled from her lower lids and streaked a path down over her pale freckles and she croaked, “Krissie might tell. Or the wind might blow – ”

I gathered her in my arms. “Honey...Krissie won’t tell. And if you sit quietly, no one will be the wiser.”

Krissie approached, oozing with sympathy. “Come on, Heather,” she pleaded, blue eyes pools of compassion. “I’ll sit with you.”

For once, Heather linked fingers when Krissie offered hers, and hand-in-hand, they settled down near Ma McKonna. Reassured, I returned to the game activities and was soon absorbed into the squeals and excitement of recreation.

Near the end of the afternoon, I noticed Krissie playing with the little Wells girl. “Where’s Heather?” I asked. Krissie took my hand to tug me to privacy.

“She’s in the car,” my little woman-child whispered, who had in her fourth year, cried after me for a solid week when I dropped her and Heather off at kindergarten classes. I fretted until Miss Peggy assured me Krissie was adjusting ‘just fine.’ Now, at seven, she seemed willing to take the weight of the world on her small shoulders. Mymymy, how I could
read
her.

“Has she been there all this time?” I asked, dreading the answer.

“Uh huh. I tried to get her to stay. But you know Heather.” From anybody else, it would have sounded barbed. From Krissie, it was utterly guileless.

“Yes.” I smiled at her. “I know Heather.”

I found Heather huddled in her corner of the VW’s backseat, climbed in front and turned to her. “Was this necessary, honey? I mean – isolating yourself?”

Heather looked up from her gloom with horrified eyes. “Mama, I’d just
die
if anybody ever finds out I lost my panties in that old toilet hole.”

“How did it happen?” I asked, determined to remain solemn.

Heather rolled her eyes, her favorite mannerism these days. “They fell off when I climbed up on the crazy seat. Right down in that
stupid
hole.” Her small round face looked so tragic my heart sailed straight to her. “Crazy ol’ toilet,” she grumbled and dropped her head.

I reached between the seats and took her limp hand in mine. “I’m sorry your day was spoiled, darling.”

Heather shuffled and mumbled, “That’s okay.”

“No. It was a bad break for you. Now, I’ll go try to hurry Daddy up and we’ll get you home soon. Okay?” The bowed chestnut head nodded.

When I returned to the churchyard, Kirk was addressing the silent flock.

“...this past year and a half has been one of the most enriching periods of our lives, mine and Neecy’s. You’ve been more than a family to us. You’ve taken in a green, unlearned Bible student and embraced him as Pastor. You’ll never know how much this means to me – how it’s boosted me to keep on keeping on.” He looked around till his eyes met mine, then gestured me to his side, where one arm circled my waist. “As you know, we’ll be leaving here in a few days. Where? We aren’t yet certain. It will be hard – the separation from you folks. But this one thing I know.” His voice softened to husky silk. “With this woman at my side, I can make it. She’s God’s gift to me – a dream wife for the past four years.” He gazed into my eyes, as solemn as I’d ever seen him. “I could never,
ever
have done it without her.”

Unexpectedly, he lowered his head and kissed me on the lips. A gasp rippled through the teary-eyed gathering and then a spatter of applause that erupted into a thunderous ovation of hoots and hollers:
Yeaahh, Neecy!
And so it went until, blushing, I looked around see Krissie applauding and yelling to the top of her lungs, the little red face split by a gap-toothed grin. Toby stood beside her, dirty as a ragamuffin from Indian wrestling the Oglesby boy, gaping slack-jawed from Krissie to me, trying to figure out what in blazes was going on.

Heather!
“Come on, Kirk,” I whispered urgently, tugging him along with me.

“What’s your hurry?” He glanced over his shoulder at the flock, who now stood like puzzled statues, watching us as we trudged to our little VW, Krissie and Toby trailing behind.

“Sorry, honey,” I stopped, turned to peer at the precious faces and blew them a kiss. “I love ya’ll!” I called, waving, and experienced the warm, warm kick of reciprocation when grins, blown kisses and loving yells erupted.

“Everything okay, Neecy?” Kirk took hold of my hand, his gaze trying to read my body language when I gazed back over my shoulder at my little girl huddled in her corner of the car.

Irritation and hysterics battled.
Everything okay? he asks. Changes...kid’s heartaches...separations...
my world tilted again.

I looked at him then and my head rolled back in laughter. “Is it
ever?”

At his bewildered expression, I threaded my arm through his and tugged him toward the car. “C’mon, honey, let’s get this show on the road. Tomorrow’s another day.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Trish and Gene’s wedding was the family event of the decade, held at Chapowee Methodist Church with Kirk –
drop dead
handsome in clergical robe – officiating and Pastor Cheshire assisting. Our small home church packed out until we set extra chairs along back and side walls. It was a beautiful ceremony, during which I, matron of honor, wept quietly as my little sister became a woman before my eyes.

Beside ring bearer Toby stood my little sister Lynette – our little
caboose,
as Dad called her, springing up unexpectedly as Anne approached mid-life. Of course, Anne was elated and after Daddy moaned over it a spell, he perked up and decided to celebrate the tiny one’s arrival, only a year after Toby’s appearance. Today, the four- and five-year-old duo were on their best behavior in small white tux and long daffodil-yellow dress.

“Get everything moved in?” I asked, hugging Trish at the reception. Gene’s present pastorate moved them fifty miles away, near the North Carolina state line.

She waved at guests. “Real country, Sis,” she said. “Like
Podunk.
But I love the people.”

“Least you don’t have to be fully dressed to walk out on the porch for the newspaper.”

Trish winked and flashed her dimples. “Your kids
love
it from what I hear.”

“What’s
not
to love with highway-to-highway asphalt church property that adjoins the parsonage yard? It’s a hangout playground for every kid within a mile-and-a-half radius. Oh! Don’t forget the basketball goals near the youth building.” I snorted. “Course the kids love it. I don’t see them till supper. Even nighttime doesn’t drive them in – night lights and all.”

Trish crossed her eyes and bucked her teeth. “Duh! What means
night lights
?”

I sniggered. Trish’s abode
was
in the sticks where, if you struck a match, it would be seen for miles about. “Still,” I sighed, “I love your quiet little setting.”

“Tell you what,” she deadpanned. “I’ll trade places. Just say when. Anyway,” she gently cuffed me on the shoulder, “you’re hardly ever home these days,
school gal.”

“Yeah,” Cole, my not-so-little brother at fourteen, appeared at my elbow. “How you likin’ college, Sis?” His long arms snaked around my shoulders.

“Love it, honey.” I hugged him soundly, this strapping six-foot-two
baby
of mine. Till this day, I refer to Cole as “my baby” and he simply smiles that warm, warm smile of his that reaches to his gray-blue eyes, turning them into shimmery half-moons. Anne’s smile. Warm, rich auburn highlights his chestnut hair and he’s one of the most adorable hunks of family I have.

“You going to Hopewell Community College?” he asked. I nodded, moved, as usual, to see him. Immediately, his current girlfriend whisked him away.

“I feel a little guilty, sometimes, I enjoy it so much, Trish,” I confessed.

“You shouldn’t,” Trish quickly took my hand. “You deserve this, Neecy. Don’t you worry your sweet head over those kids.” She grinned wickedly. “They’re
glad
for the space.”

“Yeah. Toby loves kindergarten. Rules the roost, quote Miss Alta. Wish my little Krissie were as resilient.”

“She still down?”

“’Fraid so. Kirk and I talked with all four of her teachers about matters and – I sense Krissie’s got them pegged right.”

Trish’s mouth flat lined and her eyes turned a rare stormy gray. “How
dare
they.”

“Yeah – they all have a militant mentality – like the school is somehow
special
and
above
the ordinary, you know? We – Kirk and I, put the kids in private Christian School because we thought they
would
get emotional and spiritual nurturing. Krissie’s become a casualty. Poor thing. She’s so – defenseless, Trish – wants to please so badly and now, instead of
one
teacher, she has
four
to please. It’s all too, too much for her.”

More wedding guests swept in. I started to move away, but Trish surreptitiously took my arm as she bade others good-bye. “Don’t leave, Sis,” she hugged me again. “We’ve got to catch up. I miss seeing you all along.”

“Me, too.”

“Oh Heather,” she called, “come here, honey.”

Heather, who adored her Aunt Trish, rushed over, looking much more mature than her twelve years. Nearly as tall as me, she’d filled out quite nicely while her face elongated into an attractive oval that framed astonishing sea-green eyes set below burnished chestnut hair that could have, curled, rivaled that of the new Charlie’s Angel star Farrah Fawcett. Of course, Heather wanted hers perfectly straight. Heaven
forbid
she look different than any other twelve-year-old on Planet Earth in 1971.

Trish hugged her warmly. “You played beautifully today, Heather. I’m so
proud
of you.” I felt so
undergirded
by her love for my child, whom she’d helped me raise in those early years. Trish, who baked cakes to celebrate each family member’s birthday when
I
couldn’t even
remember
all the birthdays. Who followed Heather’s musical progress with as much zeal as I, asking for a
recital
during visits, settling back in a La-Z-Boy, truly listening.

“Where’s Krissie?” Trish asked suddenly. “I haven’t seen her since before the ceremony.” Heather went to get her and soon returned, where Trish and Gene still greeted lagging guests.

Krissie, ten, had evolved from the cherubic stage into a thinness that bordered skinny, looking wonderfully chic in the long sunny-yellow junior bridesmaid dress. Still flaxen-haired with eyes the color of a clear summer day, she was bypassing the awkward stage. At least outwardly.

“Now,” Trish took her petite hands, drawing her close for an intimate exchange, “What’s this I hear about you calling yourself a
dummy?”

“We-ell,” she divulged quietly, blushing furiously, “sometimes, I
feel
like a dummy – ”

“Say! That’s my
niece
you’re talking about there,
Kiddo.”
Trish rolled her eyes devilishly down at Krissie, “talk about
dummy,
you shoulda seen me when I – ”

I turned away to search out Kirk, entrusting my girls to my sister. Trish, dear Trish, whose gift it is to enter another’s world, to blend as comfortably with a two-year-old as one ninety, never requiring one to leave their turf.

Hers is an entirely selfless existence. Already, Krissie’s battered little spirit buoyed.

I’d recently looked over her assignments and found them difficult for
me,
a college student and felt angry that such responsibility be heaped on Krissie’s small shoulders. “They don’t like me, Mama,” she said with dead certainty.

“Why do you think they don’t like you?” I asked,
understanding.