After the commotion, the giggling kids crept over to Justine. The tallest, a girl, held a minnow in her cupped hands. “Hey, girl, if you swallow this, you will swim fast-fast,” she said and passed the minnow in a handful of water to Justine. The fish flitted about the palms of her hands, tickling.
“Better not,” Justine said. “I have a long ways to walk today, and flippers won’t do me any good.”
“I already ate one. He’s scared,” the girl said, rolling her eyes at her little brother. She took the minnow back. “Guess I got to eat this one, too, and be the fastest swimmer in the world.” The kids splashed back toward the truck, the little boy unsure if the trick was to get him to eat the minnow or not eat the minnow.
Justine watched the family while the sun worked its way over the buzzard tree. Soap bubbles floated past her on brown water headed through town to Lake Tenkiller. She almost offered to tie up her skirt and help, but the family seemed to work together so perfectly, voices sometimes serious or sharp but mostly full of joy or humor, that she felt happy to watch them, same as the buzzards in the tree and the crawdads in the pools and the snake from wherever. Finally, she stood and waved to them. The kids, wrapped in towels on the hood of the truck eating watermelon, grinned.
Justine told the crawdads she was sorry for wrecking their homes, nodded a solemn goodbye to the buzzards, and spit at the snake. She looked back toward the road she’d come from but decided to try the dirt trail that lined the creek. Though she’d never been down it, great sycamores and cottonwoods shaded the way. She started in the direction of town, unsure if the trail went all the way or if she’d have to cut across somebody’s pasture to get back to a road. Even in the shade, her clothes dripped with sweat, the air heavy with the water it absorbed from the tea-colored creek with its sedges and lizard tails. Soon the trail gave way to weeds and briars, and she could hardly see her feet. She kept going, though her heart pounded in fear of stepping on a snake. She was beginning to wonder if she’d ever get back to town when she came upon a frazzled rope swing over shallow water that told her where she was. This was where the church gathered for baptisms. She and John Joseph used to come down here when they were kids and could get away with sneaking off during camp meeting. She knelt before the creek and rinsed her face in the cool water. Big yellow grasshoppers thunked against her legs as she followed a side trail up the hill to the row of trees that surrounded the church.
She stood behind a shagbark hickory watching people file in for Wednesday night service. After nearly everyone had arrived, John Joseph pulled up with Granny and Lula in his old Ford Falcon. When Lula got out, she approached the few people remaining outside. Justine could tell by the way men clasped both hands around Lula’s and how women hugged her that she was asking them if they’d seen her. Justine should have gone back home or gone on into the service, filthy though she was, but she felt as if a powerful force kept her there watching. After everyone else had gone inside, Lula stood before the open church doorway, scanning the field before her, as if that weren’t the last place Justine would go if she had run away. Except here she was, and unbeknownst to Lula, the only earthly things between them were the fireflies beginning to flash before a row of oak trees and one lone shagbark hickory. Finally, Lula turned and went into the bright doorway and closed the door.
7.
Justine waded through the fireflies and weeds to a yellow-lit church window where a fan rattled and shielded her peeping. Inside, people hurried to shake hands or pass sticks of gum. Little children squirmed, and mothers fanned them or unfolded quilts beneath the pews so they could rest when the service stretched into the night. As the piano player tried to cut off the guitar player’s noodling with the opening chords of a song, a little cousin ran from her mom and jumped onto Granny’s lap. Justine felt a fondness for it all that she’d never been free to feel.
Uncle Thorpe shook hands with a traveling preacher, a man Justine remembered from years back who’d preached a good sermon that had spoken to her in a not-frightening way. Brother Eldon left his spot at the head of the deacon pew and greeted them solemnly. Justine could see Brother Eldon shift his great eyebrows at the other deacons, and instead of returning to his seat, he headed down the aisle toward the church office. The other deacons rose one by one and walked in a line of earth-toned polyester pants and plain long-sleeved button-ups after him. Brother Shane, the young, kind-faced deacon, whispered in Lula’s ear, and Lula, after checking the back door again, got up. She slowly draped her purse over her shoulder, tucked her Bible under her arm, and followed him.
“Busted, cousin,” John Joseph whispered. Justine nearly jumped through the window. He leaned next to her, digging into his front pants pocket for a pack of cigarettes, grinning. He pulled one out, stepped downwind from the window, and lit it. “Why’d you bug out?”
“It’s crazy,” Justine said.
“Reckon so.” He swiped his black hair out of his eyes and offered her the cigarettes. She waved them off. He raised his eyebrows and slid the pack back into his pocket.
“You’re getting brave. Or stupid. Uncle Thorpe’s going to beat you up one side and down the other.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.” He cupped his hand around the cigarette, took a drag. “Might be the last.”
“What’s going on with Brother Eldon and them? Why’d they come get Mama?”
“Can’t be good.” John Joseph shrugged. “You need to talk to her. She’s going to lose it again.”
Justine couldn’t believe she’d come to church of all places. For months, she’d been drifting along as her insides turned decisive and took charge, driving every decision that would follow. Then she’d let her feet carry her here because that’s what they’d been trained to do. She thought about running again. Once she got home, she could pack a bag and go. Somewhere. To her dad’s? He might not want her there but probably wouldn’t be able to turn her away. She wasn’t afraid to hitch. She wasn’t afraid of work, either, would sooner break her own bones than admit she couldn’t do something. Then what? Her bones no longer felt like hers to break. But she had time to save up for a place, maybe, if she could get someone to hire her. The thought of asking her bronzed stepmother for help sent a fire through her chest.
Up front, the service was starting. Justine squatted down again and peered inside, wondering if she should go on in. Maybe she’d get something out of it, some direction or at least a chance to rest her blistered feet. Uncle Thorpe introduced the traveling preacher and then walked down the same aisle as the deacons and Lula. Granny sat in her pew watching him go. She whispered to an old woman next to her, and the woman shook her head. Granny waited a minute; then she took the little cousin to her mom and headed down the aisle as the service started up around her.
“I’ve got to go check on Mama,” Justine said, nearly running over John Joseph as she started around the side of the church. She pushed into the glass door and stopped still before Uncle Thorpe’s office. She’d never been inside before. She took a deep breath, turned the knob, and went in.
Uncle Thorpe sat behind his wooden desk, the deacons standing in a half circle behind him. Lula sat in the lone chair across from them. Granny pressed a hand on Lula’s shoulder, a mountain. Lula’s skirt had somehow become caught in the top of one of her knee-high stockings and flopped over, showing a small V of her knee. Justine was so startled at the sight of her mother’s knee that she almost turned and walked out. Nobody else seemed to have noticed. Lula’s face grew pale as she studied Justine. Justine knew then that Lula must have been the only one who hadn’t seen what was happening until now.
“Has the devil had his way with you, Justine?” Brother Eldon said. He looked like a mean old eagle.
Justine put her hand to her belly, and Lula reached out and called, “My sweet baby.” Justine took a step away from Lula. She didn’t have to go to her dad’s. She could just go.
“It’s not right having a Sunday school teacher with an unwed pregnant daughter,” Brot
her Eldon said. “What does that say to the congregation and other churches?” His face grew red as he spoke. “I don’t think it speaks well of us to have a pregnant girl in the church at all.”
“Brother Eldon.” Uncle Thorpe put his thumb on his temple and began to pinch his forehead. He took a deep breath. “The deacons are excused.”
“We’ve discussed this,” Brother Eldon said.
“Give us some time, Brother,” Uncle Thorpe said. “Mama, we’ll be okay. You can go on, too.”
Granny stood her ground until the last deacon was out the door. Then she leaned down and kissed Lula’s head before she squeezed Justine’s hand. “I’ll be outside, u-we-tsi,” she said to Uncle Thorpe. Her voice was sharp and left no room for discussion.
Lula didn’t seem to register Granny closing the door. She began to smooth her skirt, oddly focused on the folds of the fabric.
“Do you know who the father is, Justine?” Uncle Thorpe asked.
Justine didn’t answer, didn’t have time to feel angry or embarrassed at the insinuation. She was watching Lula, who had begun to rock her shoulders from side to side and hum.
This church was all she had. People respected her testimony, her voice, the songs she wrote, the murals she’d painted in the nursery. She could elaborate on any Bible verse as well as a deacon, maybe as well as Uncle Thorpe. People admired her resilience, which to Justine seemed the funny thing about faith. The bigger your obstacle, the greater your heavenly blessing. Lula would be truly blessed.
The night Lula learned Justine’s father was not dead in an accident, just gone, neighbors found her at 3:00 a.m. wandering around in her nightgown. She couldn’t talk for days afterward, never quite got her pieces put back together right. She’d married him right out of Chilocco, and the church considered him Lula’s husband in God’s eyes until he died, no matter how many other women he married or how far he roamed. Her house—when she had a house—used to be full of girls and a husband. One by one, they had left.
Justine had fought her at every turn. It might as well have been written. Justine wasn’t her sisters, wasn’t wired to go along with things for the sake of comfort. In that way, she was as religious as Lula. When she stopped fighting her mother long enough, Justine understood her. And now, because of Justine, Lula might lose the church too.
“It’s okay, Mama,” she said. She moved to Lula and put her arm around her. “It’s going to be okay.”
“Who’s the baby’s father?” Uncle Thorpe asked again.
Justine ignored him. She put her hands around Lula’s cheeks and pulled her face to hers. “I’ll get my GED and get a job. I’ll get two. We’ll be fine, Mama.”
“How?”
“I don’t have an answer for that, Mama. But there is a baby in here. It’s true. I’ve felt it moving.” Justine smiled, but her tears were starting up too. “This baby is coming, Mama. It doesn’t matter what the deacons say. I’ve been praying, and God knows what he needs to know. That’s all I’m going to say, except I’m sorry for the trouble it’s causing you.”
She couldn’t have told herself why she wouldn’t say his name. Maybe she still thought this was all her fault for sneaking out and for every little bad thing God had tallied over the course of her life. She hadn’t asked for what happened, but if there was one thing she’d taken from the nights she’d spent in the pews of Beulah Springs Holiness Church, it was that the Lord worked in mysterious ways. Regardless, the deacons might pressure her to marry him. After all, it was she who had opened her window that night and run down the hill to his waiting car. They might do an okay job of pressuring him too. And then she’d be married to a son of a bitch who made her sick to her stomach, a man who’d already shown her he was stronger than she was. She wouldn’t let it happen again.
Things would be simpler if she kept the focus on this baby. Maybe that was as far as her young mind could stretch, as much as it could handle. As far as she was concerned at that moment, the father didn’t exist, nor did that night. She was simply a girl, or had been, and now there was a baby, immaculate as could be.
Uncle Thorpe poured olive oil into his hands, put them over each of their heads, and prayed over them. Justine didn’t mind for once that her hair would be oily. She let her mind settle into Uncle Thorpe’s words. She figured she needed all the help she could get. When he finished, Uncle Thorpe wiped his eyes and hugged them.
“Maybe you two should spend the evening sorting things out at home. I’ll bring Mama home. You can take John Joseph’s car.”
Justine was gathering Lula’s purse when Lula hugged it back into her belly.
“We won’t go,” she said.
“Won’t go where?” Uncle Thorpe asked.
“We won’t go home. The Lord’s house is home, where we need to be.”
“I thought you would want to sort things out, Sister Lu.”
“Justine is having a baby. It is sorted.” She stood and picked up her Bible from his desk. “I won’t have us thrown out of here like trash by Brother Eldon.”
“He’s worried about factions in the church, Sister. You know how he gets.”
“I know how he talked to my daughter like trash, and I won’t have it. From anyone.” She turned to Justine. “It’s going to be alright, Justine. You’re right about that. God holds us in his hands even when we feel the farthest from him. We can do whatever we have to do. If you want to go back to the service, let’s go. Only God can make our way. If you want to go home, I think that will be fine. God will be with us where we are.”
“Let’s just go, Mama. I don’t want to cause any more mess.”
“Your decision.”
When they walked into the hallway, Granny was sitting in a chair she’d pulled up from one of the classrooms. Lula leaned down and yelled into her ear.
“We’re leaving, Mama. You can stay if you want.”
Granny shook her head, and Justine helped her stand. Uncle Thorpe walked the three of them to the door and said, “I’ll go get John Joseph’s keys.”
“I think he left them in his car,” Justine said, maybe a little too quickly.
Uncle Thorpe studied her for a moment, then squeezed her shoulder and said, “I’ll be praying for you.”
When the three of them got to the other side of the church, John Joseph was still leaning by the window. Now he was listening to the traveling preacher’s sermon. Justine was glad to see he didn’t have a cigarette because she didn’t want to get into a-whole-nother thing with Lula.
“Where’s the party?” John Joseph grinned. Lula tried to scowl, but even she couldn’t pull it off. Granny shook her head. He had always been her favorite, Justine knew. It was okay. He was Justine’s favorite too.
“Can you please take us home, young man?” Lula asked. She smoothed her hair, and Justine noticed that her fingers shook ever so slightly as she tucked a handkerchief into her bag.
“At your service,” John Joseph said. He opened the primer-colored door and pushed the front seat forward so Lula and Justine could squeeze into the back. Then he helped Granny down into the frayed passenger seat.
Uncle Thorpe walked out the back door as John Joseph was backing out. He raised his hand, trying to get John Joseph to stop, but he hit the gas around the corner out of the gravel parking lot. When he did, the car skidded sideways, and Justine slid into the middle of the seat, pressed against Lula.
“John Joseph!” Lula shouted, and Justine laughed. Granny held tightly to the roof outside the rolled-down window and muttered something in Cherokee that Justine couldn’t understand. Lula’s shouting only goaded John Joseph. He pressed the car faster up the big hill into town. The wind whipped in the windows, and Justine forgot for a minute what would happen when they got home and the real questions and shouting and crying began. She couldn’t know how in a few months she’d be flooded with a crippling love for another human being that would wound her for the rest of her days, how her insides would be wiped clean, burdened, and saved by a kid who’d come
kicking into this world with Justine’s own blue eyes, a full head of black hair, and lips Justine would swear looked just like a rosebud. For now, that little car filled with three—almost four—generations flew. And when they dropped over the top of the hill, Justine threw her hands up, her mouth agape in wonder.
PART II
The Care and Feeding of Goldfish
My mom, Justine, brags on how I set my own alarm and have since kindergarten. She was usually working the night shift, so I got up, dressed, and brushed my own teeth. Then I’d sneak into her and Kenny’s room and sit on the edge of the bed where she’d brush through the rats in my hair and pull it back in barrettes. I knew not to wake up Kenny. He didn’t exactly work, not like she did, but he was on a night shift of some kind.
If I whined about her pulling my hair, Mom shushed me with a brush upside the head or a good hard yank. Sometimes she’d rub the spot and kiss it real quick. I knew she was just tired and worried about Kenny getting mad, but on weekends when we had time to just be, she’d want to say sorry. It was usually when we were watching cartoons and eating cereal, two things she never got to do when she was a kid because they were too religious for TV and too poor for cereal. She might say something like: “Mama used to jerk me bald when I was little. It’s a wonder I had any hair left to pigtail.” Then she’d get lost in stories about being raised so strict and the switches and belts Lula took to her. My mom told those old stories like she talks about a lot of stuff, like it’s a little bit of a favorite joke she loves to tell and a little bit of a sorry memory she wishes she could forget.
She’d say, “Lord and Mama forgive me,” if she went on too long. Then she’d close her eyes real tight and whisper, “Bless her, Jesus.”
They found a tumor in Lula’s brain when I was just a baby. The doctors call the terrible spells she gets grand mal seizures, but Lula doesn’t believe in doctors. She believes in God. I think Lula breaks my mom’s heart in more ways than she could ever count.
Crooked Hallelujah Page 3
