‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘It’s probably a bit uncomfortable, but please don’t try to take it off.’
I let go of the kitten.
It rolled around on the carpet, claws scrabbling, trying to get the pencil case off its back.
I let it try. God encourages humans to think for themselves, so it’s only fair that animals should have the same opportunity.
‘You can take it off later,’ I said, ‘but I’d be really grateful if you leave it on till you get home.’
I made sure that the knot in the shoelace was still tied.
The kitten wriggled away from me, bolted to the other side of the room, glared at me, then leaped out the window.
‘Careful,’ I called. ‘Don’t forget this is upstairs.’
I hurried over to the window and looked down, worry upon me.
What if the kitten wasn’t a messenger from God? What if it was just an ordinary kitten thrown off balance by a pencil case and now it was lying down there, dead? Killing an innocent animal with stationery was a sin that would haunt me forever.
But it wasn’t to be, for suddenly I saw the kitten, scampering down the tree, pencil case still on its back.
‘Thanks,’ I called, my voice wobbly with relief.
The kitten disappeared into next door’s garden. I closed the window and went back to Bible solitary.
All I could do now was wait.
Suddenly I missed Dad so much it was like a stab in the guts. I tried to imagine what it would be like to never see him again.
I couldn’t.
It was as impossible as trying to imagine what it would be like not to believe in God.
I couldn’t do that either.
I always had and I knew I always would.
To make myself feel better, I pretended I was on the back lawn with Dad, asking interesting questions.
If I was a girl who didn’t believe in God, I asked Dad, would I have tied a letter to a kitten in the hope that a complete stranger would find it and be generous enough to stick a stamp on it and get it into a post box by 6pm?
Dad thought about this.
Probably not, he said.
I agreed.
Chapter 15
And so it came to pass that I couldn’t sleep properly for the next two nights, that’s how anxious I was about Dad.
Both nights I didn’t conk out until about 3am, so I slept in late.
Or tried to.
The second morning my eyes opened very early because Mum was shaking me.
‘Mum,’ I groaned. ‘I haven’t had enough sleep.’
‘When you hear what I’ve got to tell you,’ she said, ‘you won’t want to sleep.’
Suddenly I was awake.
‘Is Dad back?’ I said, sitting up.
Mum shook her head.
Poor Mum. I could tell from the troubled skin under her eyes that she hadn’t slept much either.
‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘But soon.’
I gave her a hug. It was good of her to try and cheer us up.
‘Very soon,’ I said. ‘Because God is giving us the strength to get Dad back.’
Mum just kept hugging me.
After a while I felt my shoulder getting damp. ‘It’s OK,’ I whispered. ‘He is.’
I decided to risk telling Mum about Kyle and Mr Denny and how Dad would soon be salvaged. But before I could, Mum lifted her head and behold, she was smiling under her tears.
‘Grandpop has sent Dad a letter,’ she said.
I stared at her. A ray of weak early-morning sunlight was coming in through the curtains and Mum’s hair was shining faintly golden like the kitten’s fur.
‘A letter?’ I said, excitement rising inside me.
‘Dad’s lawyer was threatening to go to the Family Court and start a big fight,’ said Mum. ‘Which would be terrible for you kids. So Grandpop decided to try and end the conflict by writing to Dad.’
Relief surged inside me like the Red Sea, because I didn’t have to be an Old Testament prophet to guess what the letter said.
‘Grandpop’s telling Dad he can come back?’ I squealed. ‘Grandpop’s telling Dad if he stops getting into arguments and promises to be meek and obedient, he won’t be expelled any more?’
Mum nodded, her wet face beaming.
Yes.
I felt like jumping out of bed and doing cartwheels. Delight was abundant within me. But I stayed where I was, partly because I couldn’t do cartwheels and partly because I wanted to keep hugging Mum.
I was tearful with happiness myself.
Dad would be back soon.
‘Grandpop’s going to read the letter to everyone in church tomorrow,’ said Mum. ‘You’ll get to hear it then.’
Bountiful. They were allowing me out of my room to go to church. Things were almost back to normal.
‘Are we going back to our old house?’ I asked.
‘If Grandpop’s letter works,’ Mum said.
She smiled again. But just for a moment she looked a tiny bit uncertain. I wished I could give her bulk faith that Grandpop would write a good letter and Dad would do what it commanded for all our sakes.
‘It will work,’ I said.
‘Of course it will,’ she said.
Mum and I lay quietly together. After a while Mum dropped off to sleep. I was glad because she needed it.
I snuggled into her and had a quick word to God about the church elders and how I’d been unkind to them lately in my thoughts.
‘Forgive me,’ I said. ‘For now I know they’re not pig-headed meanies after all.’
I must have gone back to sleep too, because the next thing I knew Mum wasn’t there and somebody or something was tapping on my window.
For a dopey moment I thought the kitten was back to collect the money for the stamp.
Then I woke up properly and saw the shape of someone’s head through the curtain. Which was weird. A person, this high off the ground?
I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again. It was definitely a person. And they were still tapping on the glass.
I hurried over to the window and pulled back the curtain.
And blinked in surprise.
It was Kyle.
He was standing on a ladder, looking at me anxiously. The breeze was ruffling his spiky hair, all except for the shaved bit.
He held up an envelope.
Amazement was upon me as I realised it was my letter. Somebody must have found it tied to the kitten and posted it. Which was a miracle.
‘Thank you,’ I whispered to God.
Kyle was saying something through the glass, but Mark and Luke were making such a racket smiting each other downstairs that I couldn’t hear.
I slid the window open.
‘Are you OK?’ said Kyle.
‘Yes,’ I said, still a bit dazed to see him. ‘Thanks.’
‘We’ve come to rescue you,’ he said.
I stared at him. And at Mr Denny down below, holding the bottom rungs. I hadn’t expected this.
‘You said you were being kept prisoner,’ Kyle went on. ‘In your letter.’
It was true, I had mentioned being locked in, but I was pretty sure I hadn’t actually used the word ‘prisoner.’
‘So we’ve come to rescue you,’ said Kyle. ‘My dad reckons kids shouldn’t be locked up. That’s child abuse. And what they did to your dad wasn’t fair either, so my dad says we’ll find him for half price.’
I didn’t know what to say. It was so kind. They weren’t even in our church.
I wanted to invite them in and thank them and give them some soup. But I realised I couldn’t. If Grandpop found I’d brought outsiders into the house, he’d probably blame Dad.
And change his mind.
And rip up his letter of forgiveness.
Even me being seen with Kyle was risking Grandpop’s wrath.
‘Thanks so much,’ I said. ‘But I made a mistake. I don’t actually need to be rescued. Thanks anyway.’
I peered anxio
usly down into the street again. The red tow truck was parked outside the house. Grandpop couldn’t miss it.
‘It’s an incredibly kind thought,’ I said to Kyle. ‘But could you go now?’
Kyle was staring at me, puzzled.
‘Things have got better,’ I explained. ‘We can salvage Dad ourselves now. Sorry.’
Kyle was starting to look hurt.
I felt awful.
And that was before Grandpop’s voice roared up from below.
‘Hey, you up there. What do you think you’re doing? Get down off that ladder.’
I ducked back from the window.
‘Keep your shirt on,’ I heard Mr Denny say to Grandpop. ‘We’re here to salvage your roof. You’ve ordered a new metal roof, right?’
While Grandpop yelled that he hadn’t ordered a new roof of any kind, and threatened to call the police if Mr Denny didn’t get his ladder off our house immediately, Kyle looked at me.
He was very hurt now.
‘I thought you needed our help,’ he said. ‘I told my dad I really wanted to help you. We gave up footy for this.’
‘Please go,’ I begged.
I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t have to look at Kyle’s face, and waited while he slowly clanged his way down the ladder.
As soon as I heard the ladder being dragged away from the window, I closed the curtains and dived into bed.
I lay there, guilt and regret upon me, listening to Mr Denny and Grandpop yelling at each other.
Kyle didn’t dob me in once.
That made me cry.
After the tow truck roared away, and I’d dried my eyes, Grandpop came into my room. He sat on the bed and stroked my head.
‘Those fools didn’t even have the right street,’ he said. ‘Godless and idiotic, what a tragic combination. The outside world is full of lost confused souls, Grace. Helpless fools with minds so open, they’re just inviting evil in. That’s what we’re protecting you from.’
‘Thank you, Grandpop,’ I said.
But inside I felt awful.
Grandpop was wrong.
Kyle and his dad weren’t helpless fools, and they did have the right street, and the only hurtful thing they’d invited into their hearts was me.
Chapter 16
‘Are we there yet?’ said Mark.
‘Are we?’ said Luke.
Uncle Vern didn’t answer. He must have been too busy driving. Mum didn’t say anything either. Probably too excited to speak.
‘We’ll be there soon,’ I said to the twins.
I was very excited too. Today was the day Dad was going to agree to be meek and obedient and be officially accepted back into our church. Well, I was pretty sure it would be today. Why else would Grandpop read his letter to Dad out at the service?
‘Singing,’ shrieked Mark.
‘I heard it first,’ yelled Luke.
‘Shhh, you two,’ said Mum.
Mark and Luke were right. I could hear it myself now, distant voices on the breeze coming in through the car window.
The singing in our church always travelled a long way. Grandpop reckoned it was because we were the chosen ones. Dad reckoned it was the 20,000 watt sound system in the building. Our church used to be a warehouse, like the home-lighting warehouse next door to it and the carpet warehouse on the other side. Then one day the elders reckoned God told them to knock down the warehouse church and build one with stadium seating and a sound system He could hear.
We drove in through the church gates.
‘G’day, George,’ Uncle Vern called out.
The church security guard gave us a wave.
The car jolted as we drove over the security hump. The one with the row of sharp daggers that could pop up and slash the tyres of outsiders who tried to drive in to our church carpark without an invitation.
We parked. The singing was very loud now.
‘We’re a bit late,’ I said, puzzled that Mum and Uncle Vern didn’t seem worried the service had started. Mum normally hated that.
‘We’re fine,’ said Uncle Vern. ‘We’re having a little ceremony today and the elders asked us to arrive at this time.’
Mum looked at him.
‘You didn’t tell me that,’ she said.
‘It’ll be fine,’ said Uncle Vern.
I knew it would. For I knew what sort of ceremony he was talking about. One where a dad and his family were reunited forever.
Mum squeezed my arm. But she wasn’t looking as excited as she should have been, and that made me a bit puzzled.
We got out of the car and went into the building.
The singing stopped. It felt strange, walking into a completely silent church. Everyone was looking at me. But then something really nice happened. As I walked past the rows of seats, people started patting me and stroking me and saying kind things.
‘We love you, Grace.’
‘God bless you, dear Grace.’
‘You’re very precious to us, child.’
Some of the people I didn’t know, but some of them I did.
‘I’m serious, Grace. You are so my most holy and biblical friend.’
It was lovely, and by the time Uncle Vern told me to stop walking, I wasn’t feeling nervous at all, just excited at the thought of seeing Dad.
‘Stand here,’ said Uncle Vern, ‘and we’ll get started.’
I waited in the aisle. Mum and the twins sat down and I stood on tip-toe, trying to see where Dad was in the church.
Grandpop was down the front on the stage, at the microphone. He cleared his throat. He always did that when he was speaking at a service.
‘O Lord,’ he said, ‘one of your precious chosen few has strayed, but today has returned to you in meekness and obedience. Amen.’
While everyone else said Amen, I peered around, trying to catch a glimpse of Dad.
I still couldn’t see him.
Then I realised that on the stage, Grandpop was holding his arms out towards me.
‘Welcome, Grace,’ he said in his church voice. ‘In meekness and obedience you have returned to us.’
I stared at him.
Me?
What about Dad?
‘To demonstrate your repentence,’ Grandpop said, ‘you may now come forward and humble yourself before those you have offended.’
I didn’t know what he was talking about.
Where was Dad?
Grandpop was beckoning me towards the stage.
Dazed, I went down the aisle.
And lo, I found myself standing at the very front of the church. Where I’d never been before. Where only the elders and other mega-important holy people went.
The front row of seats, where the elders were sitting, was very close.
I couldn’t help staring.
The elders had their shoes and socks off. The pants legs of their suits were rolled up to just below their knees.
Next to each knobbly pair of feet was a plastic bowl of water.
‘You may now humble yourself before those you have offended,’ repeated Grandpop in a tone of voice that sounded like there was something I should be doing.
Confusion was upon me.
Grandpop stepped forward and quickly, one by one, pulled out all my hairpins. My bun unravelled and my hair tumbled down to my waist.
As he pulled out the last hairpin, Grandpop put his mouth close to my ear.
‘Wash their feet,’ he said.
I stared at him.
I stared at the feet,
And lo, slowly it dawned on me. In the Bible, when a person, who’s usually a female person, has offended another person, who’s usually a male person, she washes his feet to say sorry.
I glanced across the rows of seats to where Mum was sitting. I could see from her face she hadn’t been expecting this and I could see she was anxious about it.
So was I.
I knelt next to the first pair of feet, which belonged to Mr Craddock, who was Grandpop’s lawyer. His feet were bony with shiny
yellow lumpy bits on them that weren’t toenails. I knew the lumpy bits were probably from poor Mr Craddock being on his feet a lot in court, but my guts still went wobbly at the thought of touching them.
I made myself.
I decided it must be a test. The elders must be checking to see if Dad had permanently warped me with his dangerous ideas and his dark and sinful questions. I had to show everyone I could be meek and obedient too.
Next to Mr Craddock’s plastic bowl of water was a bar of soap. I made some lather and rubbed it onto his toes. It was like touching a bony frog. I hoped I wasn’t tickling him.
I glanced up at Mr Craddock’s face. I needn’t have worried. He was staring into the distance with a serious expression and wasn’t giggling at all.
I lifted his feet over the bowl and sloshed the soap off, careful not to splash water onto the church carpet.
I looked around for a towel.
There wasn’t one.
That was when I remembered something else about feet-washing in the Bible. When a biblical female washes a biblical man’s feet, she usually dries them with her hair.
I took a deep breath and a big handful of my own hair and kneeled closer to Mr Craddock’s dripping feet and started drying them.
There’s a reason, I quickly discovered, why God gave us cotton. By the time Mr Craddock’s feet were half-dry, my hair was damp and my neck was aching worse than after an all-night prayer meeting.
Wearily I glanced at the other feet waiting for me.
Six pairs.
I moved on to the next pair, wishing Dad would appear with an encouraging hug and a hairdryer. The next feet were Mr Taylor’s. He owned a tyre warehouse, and from the smell and the black stuff under his toenails, he must have changed most of the tyres with his bare toes.
Behind me, Grandpop was talking to the church members. While I washed and rinsed, I started listening to what he was saying to take my mind off the feet.
‘A tragic loss to our church,’ he was saying into the microphone. ‘Even more tragic is when a rebellious adult tries to steal his children from us. But fear not, friends, a solution has been found. Yesterday the troubled soul in question was sent a letter that I feel confident will resolve this problem and allow those children to sleep peacefully. Let me read the letter to you.’
Grace Page 7
