by Pam Webber
What’s she going to do with those monkey cigars?” Nettie asked, pulling dozens of hitch-alongs off her jeans.
“Steep them to make a tea. It’s good for breathing problems.”
“Uh-oh.” Nettie jumped to her feet and gave Win a hand up as the sheriff’s car stopped near the Catawba.
“Afternoon, Nibi. Long time no see. How’ve you been?”
“Hey, Bill. Still kicking. How about you?”
“Can’t complain, but I do.”
Nibi waved them over. “Bill, you remember my granddaughter, Win, and our friend, Nettie?”
“I do indeed. Nice to see you both again.”
“You too, sir.”
“Nibi, I talked with Pic a few days back. We’re going to have lunch at the diner tomorrow at noon. Want to join us? It’s been a long time since the three of us had a chance to visit.”
“I’d like that. I’ll meet you there.”
“Great. See you then.” Sheriff Tanner waved and drove off.
“How long have you two known each other?” Win asked.
“Since we could walk. His family’s farm wasn’t far from ours.”
“Pic grow up near you two?”
Nibi hesitated. “No. He grew up in South Carolina.”
Nettie started to ask how the three of them had become friends, but Nibi crossed the road and headed home.
Back in the shade of her front porch, Nibi showed Win and Nettie how to mold their saplings into rings, intertwining the ends so each ring needed only itself to stay together. They stripped the tendrils and leaves from the grapevines, rubbed the stalks smooth with river sand, and coiled them around the sapling rings.
Testing the tightness of the coils, Nibi nodded. “Well done. As the vines dry, they’ll support the rings and anchor the ends even more. Hang them in the elm out back. They can cure for a few weeks while you two gather the rest of what we need.”
After hugging Nibi goodbye, Nettie and Win limped back toward Oak’s Landing to catch the train home. Nettie didn’t know what to do first, scratch the bites, rub her sore muscles, or check for ticks and chiggers. “If today was the easy part, I’m in trouble.”
“Me too. I’m hurting,” Win said. “I didn’t realize I was so out of shape.”
“If we hustle, we’ll have time to get some aspirin and a drink before we get on the train.”
“Hustle? Are you kidding? I can hardly put one foot in front of the other.”
Nettie forced herself to move faster.
Dropping off the ginger and foxglove at the drugstore, they bought a tin of aspirin, then headed for Huffman’s General Store to buy sodas.
“Hey, Nettie.” Wade Warren balanced his bike with one foot on the store’s first step.
“What did you do this time?” Nettie asked. “Spike the Coke?”
Wade’s face glowed pink. “I didn’t do anything. I just wanted to say I’m sorry for peppering you this morning.”
“Did your daddy make you say that?”
“He doesn’t know.”
“Mrs. Loving?”
“No. I just wanted to say it.”
Nettie’s better angel won the silent debate. “Apology accepted.”
Wade’s smile dimpled both cheeks. “Would you like to go get some ice cream?”
“We have to catch the train home, but thanks for the offer.”
“When are you coming back? Maybe we can do it then.”
“I’m not sure. A few days, maybe.”
“Okay. Mr. Roberts will let me know.”
“Mr. Roberts?”
“I asked him to give an extra whistle if you were on the train. He said he would.” Suddenly embarrassed, Wade pedaled to the end of the street, then stopped to wave.
“That little imp.”
“Well, if you and Andy don’t get back together and you want to date a younger man, he’s your guy.”
“Very funny.” Nettie hadn’t thought about Andy since morning. Her heart dropped.
Thunder boomed in the distance as Win tossed Nibi’s package of remedies to Mr. Roberts through the engine’s window. “Nibi was right. Here comes the rain.”
They scurried toward the caboose.
“Have you ever known her to be wrong?”
“No.”
The Weak and Weary pulled away from the station as the sky darkened and lightning flashed. Small fires glowed across the foothills; their low-hanging smoke smelled of hickory and birch.
Win grinned. “Moonshiners are at it again. Rain or shine, legal or not, homemade brandy flows like water in this valley.”
“Some folks say it can blind you.”
“If that were true, half the town would be walking around with white canes. Even Mrs. Loving makes rock candy with it. I saw her sell some to the mayor one day.”
“One of these days, we’ll have to try it,” Nettie said.
As with most summer storms, this one came and went quickly. Steam radiated from the rails, and ozone sweetened the air as they stepped from the caboose in Amherst. Tree rain fell in big plops and little splashes on the gravel. Dodging puddles, they waved goodbye to Mr. Roberts and headed for the Lower Road.
“You’re likely to see Andy at church tomorrow.”
“I know. I still don’t know what to do.”
“Nibi said to give time and fate a chance to work.”
“So far, they haven’t been much help. Maybe I should go talk with him now, when we’re not surrounded by a bunch of church people. He should be getting off work anytime.”
Win winked. “Angel Water must be working.”
“I don’t know if it’s that or not. I just want to talk with him.”
“Are you ready for the discussion to go either way?”
“No. But not knowing what’s going on is driving me nuts. Knowing can’t be any worse.”
“You sure?”
“I miss him.”
At the intersection with the Upper Road, Win headed home and Nettie turned toward town and the hardware store. Her body ached, her clothes and hair were a mess, but she felt better than she had in days at the prospect of seeing Andy.
As she rounded the corner onto Main, the streetlights flickered on in front of the hardware store. Nettie’s heart jumped as Andy came out the door. Waving, she started to call out but stopped. Anne Johnson followed him outside. She slid her arm through his, and they disappeared into the shadows of the parking lot.
Nettie’s chest tightened as she forced herself to breathe. Turning for home, she bumped into Win.
“I was wrong. Knowing is worse.”
Chapter 4
Nettie fidgeted. The pew felt like granite, the heavy choir robe made her sweat, the sermon droned, and she couldn’t find Andy in the crowd. To make matters worse, Pastor Williams had asked to meet with her after the service.
She leaned toward Win as the organist pounded out the pass-the-plate music. “The old Bible-thumper has never forgiven us—me—for putting that bullfrog in the baptismal pool.”
“Do you blame him? He almost drowned that woman when it croaked.”
“No. But—”
“You also glued his Bible shut right before that big revival, and you put white vinegar in his water glass on Pentecost. Then there was the feral black cat that got loose in the sanctuary on Halloween. And they still haven’t found the original clapper for the bell.”
“It was a long time ago, and not all of those pranks were mine.”
“That doesn’t mean, he doesn’t know. Like Mrs. Mac says, some Baptists are like cats, you know they’re up to something, you just can’t catch them.”
“He’s never said a word about any of it.”
“Just because he turned the other cheek doesn’t mean he’s forgotten.”
“Obviously. His lips go straight every time he sees me.”
Sweat trickled down the curve of Nettie’s back as the choir stood to sing the last hymn. By the time the benediction ended and they returned to the choir room to ha
ng up their robes, Nettie’s anxiety peaked. “Go with me, Win. Please.”
“Not on a bet. I might get singed in the flames. Besides, he’d never allow it.”
“You’re just lucky your great-grandfather baptized you before he died, or you’d be in this with me.”
Win detoured to a nearby bench as Nettie continued down the hall. This must be what the damned feel like on Judgment Day. She tapped lightly on the open door of the intimidating office, made more so by overflowing bookshelves, stacks of important-looking papers, and dust deep enough to write in. She dawdled.
“Come. Come, Nettie.”
“You wanted to see me, Pastor?”
“Most assuredly.” Moving to the front of his desk, he sat on the corner and motioned to the chair nearest him. “Have a seat.”
Nettie sank so low in the worn cushion of the wing chair that the unsmiling face of the hard-shell pastor towered over her.
“The baptism for the Girls’ Auxiliary is next Sunday.”
“Yes, sir.”
“As senior pastor, I’m responsible for determining the readiness of anyone who wants to be baptized.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mrs. McDermott says you’re a good student. You do all of the readings, stimulate good discussion, and rarely miss a GA meeting.”
“Yes, sir. Mrs. Mac is a good teacher.”
“The question is, what do you think? Are you ready to be baptized?”
“Don’t you think it’s about time? I’ve been sitting in this stuffy old church for a lot of years.”
The hint of a grin twitched the pastor’s straight-line lips. “Sitting in church every Sunday doesn’t mean you believe.”
“Just saying it doesn’t mean you believe either. Sir.”
“That’s true. However—”
“I mean, I could tell you I believe, but how would you know it’s the truth?”
“I realize that. But—”
“So, how do you know the other GAs believe?”
“Well, I—”
“How do you know they’re not pulling your leg?”
“It’s poss—”
“‘Cause I know those girls, and some of them lie like a dirty rug.”
“Uh—”
“Why, Anne Johnson said—”
“Enough.” Pastor Williams rose quickly and paced back and forth beside his desk, opening and closing his hands. “We’re not here to talk about the other girls. We’re here to talk about you. Now, please, answer the question. Are you ready to accept Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior and affirm your belief in the doctrines of the Christian church?”
“I think so, at least most of them.”
“That’s not good enough. You have to be sure.”
“But some of the stuff we discussed in Sunday school and GAs doesn’t make sense.”
Pastor Williams’s voice softened. “Being baptized doesn’t mean you understand everything.”
“But how can you believe what you don’t understand?”
“Give me an example.”
“Like, why bad things happen to good people.”
“Well—”
“And why God allows evil to exist. Mrs. Mac said it has to do with the need for free will, but I still don’t understand.”
Pastor Williams returned to his chair and loosened his tie. “Those are complex questions that require time and study to answer. Fortunately, you do not need that level of understanding to be baptized. Now, let’s get back to the issue at hand. In your heart, do you believe?”
“I think so. I’ll be sure when I figure out how it all fits together.”
“Baptism doesn’t precede belief, Nettie. It follows it.”
Leaning back, he propped his arms in a tepee and tapped his fingers. His chair squeaked like a mouse in a trap.
“You’re not ready. We need to delay your baptism until you have time to figure out what you believe and what you don’t.”
Nettie locked her jaw. “Mrs. Mac says belief is a lifelong journey and that baptism is just the beginning.”
“She is correct.”
“But I can’t be baptized with everyone else?”
“Not at this time.”
“That’s BS, Pastor. A lot of the other girls have doubts just like me. They said so. They’re just willing to lie about it so you’ll baptize them.”
As soon as the almost cuss words were out of her mouth, Nettie knew she’d crossed the line that separated okay from stupid.
Red-faced and sputtering, Pastor Williams sprang to his feet and stepped left, then right, then left again. Leaning against the desk, he took a deep breath, then escorted Nettie to the hall with instructions to stay put.
Win’s eyes bugged. “Good Lord. What did you do?”
“I told the truth.”
“Then why is he so mad?”
“Because I did it with a dirty word. Or, rather, the initials of a dirty word.”
Nettie sneaked back to listen outside Pastor Williams’s door while he phoned her parents. Her heart sank as he suggested that lessons in respect, humility, and the evils of profanity were in order. Any hope of being rescued by her mom and dad disappeared when the pastor’s voice relaxed and he thanked them for their support.
Nettie scurried back to the bench. “Heaven help me.”
Pastor Williams called her back to the sunken chair. Pacing behind his desk, he mumbled to himself, then spoke out loud. “James 1:26. If anyone thinks himself to be religious and yet does not bridle his tongue he deceives his own heart . . .”
Nettie lost count of the Bible verses he recited during her dressing-down, but she felt the burn of the doomed-to-hell portions for the better part of an hour.
Returning to his chair, Pastor Williams pronounced her sentence. “Young lady, in light of the accusations you’ve made toward your peers, I think a lesson in humility is in order. In preparation for their baptism this Sunday, I’d like for you to scrub the church’s baptismal pool until it sparkles.” His eyes dared Nettie to speak.
“In addition, Mr. Danes, our new associate pastor, has volunteered to work with you over the summer to help you prepare for baptism. That is, if you are willing.”
“You’ve discussed this with him already? You knew you weren’t going to baptize me?”
Pastor Williams hesitated, then leaned forward in his chair. “Well, I wasn’t sure about your level of maturity, Christian and otherwise. Mr. Danes will be able to help with this and whatever else is giving you pause. He can also help you understand the importance of respect, obedience, and vocabulary.”
“No, sir. I don’t think I need his help right now.” Nettie dug her fingernails into her palm. The pain checked her tongue until Pastor Williams turned her loose.
Once outside the church, Nettie wilted. “It’s so unfair.”
Win put an arm around her. “It would have been easy to lie like the others, but you didn’t. I’m proud of you.”
“Anne Johnson and her posse are going to love this.”
Cicadas began their treetop staccato as Nettie and Win turned onto the paved, circular driveway in front of the distinguished, two-story brick house. Tall boxwoods guided them to a brick sidewalk, which ended at matching splayed-out steps leading to a brick stoop and two Georgian-style doors belonging to Mrs. Graydon Smith.
Win stopped at the bottom of the steps. “So, why do you have to babysit her grandsons?”
“Because Momma said so. Ever since the cussing-in-front-of-the-preacher nightmare, the only thing I’m allowed to say these days is ‘yes, ma’am.’ Apparently, the boys’ parents are getting a divorce and don’t want them in the middle of the fray, so they’re spending the summer here.”
“Where are they from?”
“California, I think. Mrs. Smith told Momma they needed playmates.”
“Playmates? Are you kidding? How old are they?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why you? Why not someone who likes to babysit?”
&
nbsp; “Because Mrs. Smith knows me. Remember? I helped her reshelve library books until ninth grade, when we moved to the high school. She was too old to be climbing that rickety rolling ladder.”
“I remember. But that doesn’t explain why I need to help you babysit.”
“Because I’d help you.”
“You owe me. Big.”
“For sure.” Nettie went up the steps reluctantly. “We’ll take them downtown, stop at the playground, buy them an ice cream cone, and with a little luck be done by noon.”
“Dreamer. They’re here for the whole summer.”
“We’ll figure something out.”
“I hope so. We’re busy enough without having to babysit.”
“Maybe they won’t like us.”
“We’re not that lucky.”
Nettie raised and dropped the heavy door knocker; the sharp strike of metal on metal echoed through the house and back at them through open windows. Underneath the knocker hung a brass plaque: WE SEE THE INVISIBLE, BELIEVE THE UNBELIEVABLE, AND RECEIVE THE IMPOSSIBLE.
“Mrs. Smith had that same saying on her desk in the library. Hope she doesn’t quiz me on the Dewey decimal system again.”
“Don’t complain. You got a lot of free books.”
The familiar, quick clunk of wide, lace-up heels grew louder, then stopped as the doors swung inward, revealing an older yet still stately Mrs. Smith.
“Nettie, Win, how nice to see you again. Come in. Thank you for helping us out.”
Nettie couldn’t decide whether Mrs. Smith sounded hopeful or desperate as she led them around a wide staircase, past fancy, old-fashioned rooms, through glass doors, and outside to an elegant patio. “The boys have been with me only a few days, but they’re already bored silly. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to spend time with children their own age.”
Win made a little throaty sound and whispered, “She thinks we’re children?”
Mrs. Smith stepped to the side as they approached a concrete game table at the edge of the patio. “Ethan, Cal, say hello to Nettie and Win. They’ve come to play.” She tittered as Nettie and Win sucked air at the sight of her grandsons.
Ethan, the taller, light-haired one, slid over to make room for Nettie on the concrete bench, as dark-haired Cal did the same for Win.
