Homefires (44 page)

“In other words,” Heather gazed at me with red swollen eyes, “the Devil.”

“Exactly. We just have to remind ourselves from time to time what it’s all about.”

She furrowed her head against my shoulder. “I know.” A long silence. “Thanks, Mama.”

“Mama!” Toby called from the distant parsonage backdoor. “Dawn’s awake!”

I sighed and stirred but Heather said, “He’ll be okay with her for a few minutes.”

Toby yelled again. “
Ma-a-ma!
She’s
pooped!”

Heather burst into giggles and stood. “C’mon, Mama.” She took my hand and hoisted me up. “We’d better go rescue the little
wimp.”

Moose came by that afternoon to visit. Alone. I washed dishes at the sink, giving him and Kirk time to themselves. In the open kitchen-den area, I heard snatches of their quiet conversation. Moose mentioned Roxanne getting off from work soon – she’d taken a job at the Seven-Eleven, insisting that despite Moose’s sometimes triple-shift jobs, they still didn’t have enough money to make ends meet. I couldn’t quite figure out what
ends
meant in her vocabulary, but I suspected it had to do with her
ends of the earth
demands for costly things.

When he departed, I hugged him at the door and noticed he seemed inordinately preoccupied. “How’d you get off this afternoon?” I asked.

He shrugged and looked away. “Told ‘em I was sick. No other way.” He left then, without another word.

“What’s going on?” I asked Kirk, who’d disappeared behind the newspaper.

“What do you mean?” he asked brusquely, lowering the paper and pinning me with a look I’d not seen in a long time. For years, in fact. His
back off
one, reserved for last ditch offensive maneuvers.

“Oh,” I shrugged, “everybody seems so – ”

“Drop it, Neecy.” Up came the paper. “You’re seeing things that aren’t there.”

The warmth – lingering from my time with Heather – evaporated, replaced by socked-in-the-stomach indignation. “I – ” I took a deep breath, weighed my odds of coming out unscathed, then clamped my lips together. I went back to work, determined that it wasn’t that important, whatever transpired. Nor were his condescending words.

I banged dishes as I emptied the dishwasher, furiously wiped counters and vacuumed the carpet.

Kirk’s attack on my intellect wasn’t important enough to get upset over.

It
wasn’t.

Moose looked fine that Thursday night at choir practice. In fact, he and Kirk spent some time in the pastoral office that afternoon. So, I relaxed.

Kirk, however, remained untalkative. He functioned well enough that no one, outside me, noticed. I’d shared Heather’s angst about the gossip with him and thought perhaps that might have brought on this contemplative lapse. When I probed, he remained adamant that he was
fine.

“Quit worrying, Neecy. I’ve just got some things on my mind. No big deal.”

Recognizing the bite in his tone, I did the only thing I could. I backed off.

I returned to college. Sweet Mrs. Autry, white-haired little widow whose only son and family were of our flock, was ecstatic to baby-sit Dawn. She devoted those days to enjoying my child as though she, herself, had spawned her.

Weeks passed, then months. Thanksgiving, Christmas flew by, a time when Chuck’s gaunt, skinny appearance shocked me speechless, then sent me scurrying for cover to cry my eyes out. His bravado and distancing from Daddy never wavered. Too soon, family departed...Azaleas painted the world vivid... faded...then died.

College graduation came and went with the usual family fanfare. I framed my Fine Arts Degree and hung it on my den wall, where it remained, only occasionally reminding me of my desperate quest to justify my existence.

Once, the framed certificate would have been my life’s summit, one from which I evolved into an illustrious teacher, then significant human being, in that order.
Once.
Eons ago.

Before I realized I would trade all I was and am for just one day with Krissie. Before I regarded my children my most notable accomplishment in this crazy thing called life.

That realization altered the yardstick thing with me. I no longer felt I had to go out into the world to prove anything to Kirk. Or to myself. My roots belonged in the home.

The gossip wilted. Heather began to see Ralph Stevens, whose parents finally relented that, just perhaps, the defamation of the Methodist pastor had been unjustified. Ralph was a nice boy whose ambition was to become a medical doctor, like his father, the town’s general practitioner. Some of the church folk grew warmer toward the Crenshaw family. Others did not.

I welcomed the truce – such as it was.

Because one thing was certain: none of the clan would ever leave Solomon Methodist Church.

Any adjustments would be ours.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Something about Kirk’s demeanor raised my antenna. I couldn’t quite finger the underlying tension in him. It just
was.
Eighteen years with him had finely tuned my radar so that it missed little. But then, life with Kirk, as I said before, was a roller-coaster odyssey and by now, I’d begun to regard such as normal.

Kirk’s pulpit manner remained mellow and his messages focused on saving the lost. As a result, non-clan folks now added to the Solomon flock. Rising attendance, plus Tillie’s return to church and choir, served to boost morale and a slow, steady recovery from past problems. Oh, there were some who didn’t welcome newcomers, but overall, the scales began to slowly tip in Kirk’s favor. Even Zelda and Alton Diggers’ frostiness seemed to thaw a tad.

One day, my brother called.

“I’m on dialysis, Sis,” Chuck talked as though he were at a party.

I nearly dropped the phone. “Chuck! Why didn’t you let us know? I knew the kidney problems were bad but – ”

“It’s no big
deal,
I
tell
ya. I have to go to the hospital every Monday, Wednesday and Friday for treatments.”

“Do they hurt, Chuck?”

“Nah. A breeze.”

Dialysis. The last resort.
Dear God.

“Have you talked to the doctor about a transplant, Chuck?”

“Yeah. Gotta wait till they do a long series of tests to see if I’m a candidate.”

“Oh, Chuck....”

“Don’t worry, Sis. I’ll be okay.”

“I know. But – is there anything I can do?”

“Naw. Teresa’s working two jobs now since I can’t work. Not easy on her, I know. I hate sitting around while she’s out working her butt off, y’know?”

“You can’t help being sick, Chuck.”

A long silence. Then a huff. “I wish Teresa felt that way.”

I felt my second wave of alarm. Chuck’s health had slipped more than I’d realized in the past couple of years. Before, he’d never revealed anything of this nature to me.
He must be desperate.

“Chuck? I’ll be praying for you every day, y’hear?” My throat was closing up and I swallowed hard. “You know I love you, don’t you?”

“Yeah, Sis.” His voice, suddenly weary, wrung me limp. “I know.”

“Please, promise me, Chuck, that you’ll hang in there.”

He laughed suddenly, sounding more like my brother. “Like a hair in a biscuit! You know me – ”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, strong as an ox.”

The glowing Sabbath sunrise hinted of a wonderful Easter. First indication otherwise was my splitting ragweed season headache and cough, plus Moose’s empty choir seat. He’d only last week quit two of his jobs after vowing he had everything “all worked out.” Roxie didn’t appear too happy about it, but he seemed determined to follow through. Appeared, in fact, calmer than I’d seen him since teen years.

Problem was, today he had a choir special solo. Near to a migraine – not counting a bronchitis bout – I rushed to ask Charlie Tessner to fill in and sing
Because He Lives
. He happily complied.

Kirk’s message today was especially poignant with appeal. At its conclusion, he said, “Consider how the grave only held our Savior a brief time – on the third day he arose.” Tears filled his eyes and instantly, mine moistened. A hushed silence fell over the sanctuary as he slowly walked the length of the platform and back, a dignified trek to regroup himself.

He swallowed several times before continuing, his wonderful hands gripping the sides of the podium. Snuffles rippled across the congregation, and I knew Kirk’s rare emotional lapse impacted others, as well.

“I can’t help but remember my daughter Krissie today.” He smiled tenderly. “How, on that last Easter, she got up at the crack of dawn to attend the outdoor sunrise service with me.”

I recalled that morning, too. The rest of us less hardy Crenshaws burrowed beneath covers as the two of them banged
out the door to join other zealous early risers gathered beneath a purple-draped, weathered cross, flanked by two others.

“I asked Krissie to lead us in prayer,” he said huskily and blinked back tears. “She did, in her sweet simple way, praying for everybody standing there and those who weren’t.” His lips trembled, then stilled. “She prayed for ‘Daddy.’”

Kirk’s eyes shimmered as they looked past us, upward, to a distant place.

His voice, velvet and gravel, vibrated over me. “When Krissie died – the Lord took an anchor from my soul and cast it over into eternity.”

My breath caught on a sob. I felt Toby’s hand slide into mine and he tipped up his face to solemnly watch me. On my opposite side, Heather’s hand lifted to swipe at her tears, while the other gripped my arm.

Kirk looked directly at me and in that look bore all his soul. “Heaven is more precious than ever. I must make it there – I
must.”
His eyes closed. “Let us pray.”

I gazed at him, my beautiful robed specimen of manhood, whose humility and grace smote me in a powerful new way. Desperation augmented his magnificence. In that moment, he personified everything male that is pure and noble and good.