by Bill Higgs
There were chores to be done, and fishing with Reverend Caudill on Sunday. He placed the Closed sign in the window and locked the doors. Ticky wagged her tail and followed him back up to the house for lunch, her pups underfoot.
He was thinking again. The grand reopening had been such a success; maybe it needed to be an annual event. Probably wouldn’t cost as much—he had some leftover paint for touch-ups, and he could do without a men’s restroom. No premium gasoline, though, he was adamant about that.
He opened the door to an interesting aroma. “Hello, Mavine, I’m home. What’s for lunch today?”
“A wonderful casserole! I thought we’d celebrate our good fortune.”
He sat down to the table with Vee, who was looking dejectedly at the blob on his plate. Grace was said, and he took a bite. “Mavine, what exactly is this?”
She told him the full details.
He grimaced but tried to hide it. If this was food for celebration, he was glad he hadn’t failed.
Cornelius looked around the trailer for some tissues, found none, and settled for a roll of toilet paper. His stomach was beginning to growl, as he’d still not had lunch. With the thought that he’d better eat something, he opened the little refrigerator. It was as empty as his bank account.
His misery was interrupted by a knock at the door. Probably somebody unhappy that he’d closed early; another customer he’d lose. Wiping his face with the back of his sleeve, he made his way to the door and opened it.
JoAnn, with Suzy in her arms, was standing on the metal step.
“JoAnn!” Cornelius threw his arms around his wife and clutched her as tightly as he could with Suzy between them. “I thought you had left me!” Even if she was angry, she’d come back. She had returned to her miserable excuse for a husband.
Tears flowed freely from both as Suzy was laid gently in her makeshift bassinet. They embraced, and neither one would let go of the other.
Cornelius was the first to speak. “I have wonderful news, JoAnn!” He reached for the letter, dropped on the table. “It’s going to be all right; everything’s going to be all right!” He read the letter aloud, both so she could hear it and so he could believe it himself.
“That’s fabulous!” She hugged his neck. “I have news too.”
“What’s that?”
“We’re expecting again!”
“You’re . . . we’re . . .” Whatever Cornelius was thinking was lost, and he held his wife close. He forgot any concerns about JoAnn, Suzy, Zipco, attorneys or attorneys general, or anything else. They held each other for a long time, until Suzy woke up and began to coo.
Christmas in July? Who would have expected it?
REVEREND CAUDILL had never been comfortable with the obligatory patriotic sermon on the Sunday after Independence Day, and this year he’d put in less effort than usual. Patriotism had done more harm than good the previous week, and he wasn’t about to wave the flag too much this morning. He would have Toler lead the congregation in the usual “My Country, ’Tis of Thee” and “Faith of Our Fathers” and beg him to pick up the tempo a bit. A few words acknowledging the holiday would be sufficient. His sermon from the eighth chapter of John would deal with grace, of course, but he’d also toss in some material from Matthew about “love your enemies.” Given the events of the last week, it seemed best.
The start of the morning service was still ten minutes away when Reverend Caudill entered the sanctuary. He was in a surprisingly good mood. His corns were unusually quiet today, and so far his breakfast was equally cooperative. As he laid his Bible and sermon notes on the pulpit shelf, he looked around. Cornelius and JoAnn were in the third row on the right, and both looked content. Good, they’d moved up from under the balcony. Virgil and Mavine were about halfway back on the left—their usual spot—with Virgil glancing over his shoulder. Also good. Arlie and Lula Mae should be along shortly, as soon as Sunday school was over. Grover and Anna Belle were nowhere to be seen, but were probably in the nursery watching Suzy.
He could now greet his parishioners and still have a couple of minutes before the prelude began.
As he started down the aisle, he became aware that Virgil was not the only one in the congregation looking toward the rear. Most of the people seated in the pews were doing the same, and the room had become unusually quiet. Reverend Caudill followed their gaze, which led to the back door. He stopped in his tracks.
Silhouetted in the door was Jeremiah Taggart, along with Willie and Mamie Johnson and the congregation of the Pentecostal Holiness church, smiling and wearing their Sunday best.
Reverend Caudill held his breath. He’d promised Brother Taggart he’d help in any way he could, but this wasn’t exactly what he meant. How would his congregation react to the Negroes from the little settlement on the other side of the creek? One problem in the church had already demanded his attention; he didn’t need two. He’d read in the papers about something called the civil rights movement, especially since Madeline Crutcher’s outburst. Had the old woman come back from the grave to haunt him this morning?
He needn’t have worried. Virgil, true to his statement in the business meeting months earlier, rose from his seat and, though patently nervous, greeted the new attendees warmly and seated them at the front. Brother Taggart he led to Madeline Crutcher’s old pew, vacant since her untimely—or perhaps very timely—passing. It seemed to be fitting, somehow.
Reverend Caudill also noticed a couple he’d not seen in worship before but recognized immediately. They sat in the very back row under the balcony, the same place he’d first seen Cornelius and JoAnn. Tom and Gladys Blanford, after many years of invitation, had finally come. Henry Willett and a tall young woman sat with them.
He’d never been more proud to be the pastor of the First Evangelical Baptist Church.
The worship service went extraordinarily well. Reverend Caudill preached on grace with the same vigor he used to reserve for preaching on sin, and his sermon seemed to be well received. The Johnsons, in the front row, were affirming and even said “Amen” and “That’s right” on a couple of his more significant points. Even Lula Mae, who’d taken to telephoning him on a regular basis, nodded several times.
He glanced at his watch during the final hymn: a rendition—rousing, for Toler—of “Rescue the Perishing.” Three minutes to twelve. Time for dinner with Grover and Anna Belle, who had invited him for leftover barbecue, and then off to pick up Arlie’s boat and be at the lake by two o’clock. He delivered the benediction from memory and greeted all attendees—especially Brother Taggart and the Johnsons. Grover and Anna Belle had made sure Suzy was happily returned to the Alexanders, so the pastor turned out the lights and joined them. It had been a busy morning and would be a big afternoon.
The morning had been filled with surprises. Cornelius felt a little uncomfortable when the colored people arrived, but it didn’t seem to bother anybody else too much, and after a while it seemed, if not familiar, at least appropriate. Reverend Caudill’s sermon was gentle yet powerful, a combination that Cornelius found fascinating. The preacher stood at the pulpit, looking at each one in the room, barely glancing at the notes in front of him. He talked about freedom and release, which prompted Cornelius to keep going over that incredible letter, which he had nearly memorized. Only a few days ago, the darkness might just have swallowed him up, but now light was slowly breaking through the clouds.
Reverend Caudill was concluding. “Jesus wants you free. Free from all that is holding you back. We all come to him captive to our worry and need. And we walk away unshackled.
Through the sacrifice made by Jesus Christ, our debts to God are erased. Our account, our obligations, our sins are marked ‘paid in full.’” He closed his Bible, and the crotchety song leader took his place at the podium. The closing hymn was painfully slow, but slow enough for the words to sink in. Cornelius found himself humming along, even joining in a few words on the chorus. JoAnn shot him a shocked smile, at which he just shrugged and gave
her a sheepish grin.
As the diverse congregation filed out of the sanctuary, Grover and Anna Belle appeared with Suzy. She was making happy screeches, which turned some heads. Cornelius looked up from his daughter’s face, ready to apologize for her, but instead of scowls, the faces were beaming, some even with misty eyes. Grover handed him the diaper bag, once again a bit heavier than usual. Another can of formula? Cornelius gripped the man’s hand a bit tighter, all the thanks that either man needed to exchange.
They reached the door, where the pastor customarily stood. “Thanks for the message today, Reverend,” Cornelius said. “Feels particularly timely right now.”
Caudill’s eyes grew a bit wider. “Oh? How so?”
“Well, I was reaching the point where I could never pay Zipco back. But I just got notice that my debts have been suspended. We’re not out of the woods yet, but we’re back on the path at least.”
Reverend Caudill closed his eyes and sighed. “That is something to thank the Lord for. As I said in my message, he’s big on canceling debts himself.”
“Are we still planning to head out fishing this afternoon? Didn’t know you could fish on Sunday, Reverend.”
“It’s all part of the Lord’s work.” There was a twinkle in the pastor’s eye.
After the service, Virgil Osgood picked up a few stray bulletins and a forgotten pencil or two. He finished near the rear, where Jeremiah Taggart stood at the door beaming, the Johnsons beside him.
Virgil stepped into the center aisle and walked toward the waiting visitors.
The visiting pastor stretched out a hand, and Virgil received the man’s strong grip. “Can’t thank you enough,” Brother Taggart said. “When we decided to come worship with Pastor Caudill, we didn’t know how his people might react, but you up and greeted us right at the door. Just like the Good Book says: ‘There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus.’”
Virgil shuffled a bit and looked at the floor, then met the man’s eyes. He looked directly at each of the Johnsons in turn as well. “You’ve been our neighbors all these years. Only right we should be neighborly.”
The man clapped him on the shoulder. “Right you are, Mr. Osgood. Sometimes neighbors show up where you least expect them.”
Though Virgil had been concerned about how Sunday worship might go after he seated Brother Taggart and his little flock, it had turned out just fine. Sunday dinner, on the other hand, was a less enjoyable affair, with Mavine extremely quiet and Vee being sent to his room for making ugly faces. Vee had complained all morning about having to read the massive book Mavine had assigned, although their son had been absorbed in it this morning when he was supposed to be getting ready for breakfast. Vee had whined far more yesterday about having to repair the henhouse, claiming that it was all Frank’s fault and he didn’t know that six cherry bombs together would do that kind of damage. Besides, he claimed, wielding a saw and hammer was not something he was good at, and why wasn’t Frank here fixing the broken boards? Frank, it seemed, had received an educational trip behind the Prewitts’ hog barn, courtesy of Arlie, not for blowing up the Osgoods’ chicken coop but for goofing off and not getting the hogs fed. Virgil wound up spending most of his Saturday repairing and repainting the thing, picking up feathers and eggshells.
Mavine had not been herself all weekend, like she was unhappy again, and Virgil couldn’t come up with any obvious reason. She’d taken the dress down from the front doorframe and hung it by the laundry, but he’d learned not to ask about Mavine’s clothes. Women could be funny about such things.
He was looking forward to fishing, as the day was a bit cooler and overcast, and several days of rain were expected the coming week. He usually fished with Welby, but he would enjoy spending some time with the pastor. He was also looking forward to an afternoon away. As much as he loved Mavine, sometimes he just needed to get out of the house.
Cornelius oiled up his spinning reel and dug though their tiny closet in the back of the trailer until he found the tackle box, right next to his old baseball glove and tennis racket. He opened the latch and glanced over the contents, including his license—good through September. The fishing outfit brought back memories; it had been a birthday gift from JoAnn before they married. He’d only gotten to use it once, back when he was in business college. The future looked so promising then, and with luck, it was looking promising again. A wife, a daughter, and another child on the way? He’d gotten better than he deserved. Far better.
The lake was lovely. The water was up from the recent rains, but the limbs from the submerged trees were still showing. Reverend Caudill was already there with Arlie’s truck and boat, wearing a pair of overalls that were a bit large on him, probably also borrowed from Arlie. The pastor was barefoot with his pants legs rolled up, launching the small craft into the lake. Cornelius had never seen the pastor without a suit and tie. Was that even legal?
“So glad you could make it, and so good to see you and JoAnn in church today.”
“Thanks, Reverend. We’re really enjoying it there.”
The pastor beamed. “Good, good! Can you give me a hand with this?”
Whatever skills Reverend Caudill had, seamanship was not among them. Cornelius helped him get the boat off the trailer and into the water without tearing off the outboard motor, then laid his tackle box and fishing rod into the bottom. They tied the boat to the trailer to keep it from floating away and took a bucket of minnows from the back of the truck.
Reverend Caudill also had a landing net, a can of worms, and a bag of sandwiches. “Grover wanted us to have this,” he said. “Oh, here’s our other companion for the afternoon.”
Virgil Osgood had driven up beside Arlie’s truck, looking quite puzzled.
“Good afternoon, Virgil! Glad you could join us! Hope you and your family had a wonderful dinner!”
He rolled the window down. “Uh, is Arlie here?”
“Nope.” The minister retrieved a couple of items from the truck. “But I borrowed his boat.”
Suddenly reality struck Cornelius. He’d been had. Again. But unlike the rep from Zipco, the pastor seemed to have his best interests in mind.
“Well.” Reverend Caudill put his socks and shoes back on. “Get in. We’re going fishing.”
Virgil retrieved his tackle from the back of his car, together with a coffee can of night crawlers, then took the seat at the rear of the boat. Cornelius sat in front, and Reverend Caudill parked himself in the middle.
Virgil started the outboard motor, and Reverend Caudill directed them to Cumber’s Creek, the very spot where Arlie had told them to go. The dead tree was right where he said it was, and Virgil dropped the anchor over the side.
Neither Virgil nor Cornelius spoke much. On the other hand, Reverend Caudill was unusually talkative. “Arlie says that the crappie and white bass are down deep, and you’ll do well with a minnow and a big sinker on your line. The bluegill are usually in the shallower water this time of day, while catfish like it on the bottom. Carp are likely to be most anywhere. If you’re lucky, you might even hook a largemouth on one of the night crawlers Virgil brought.”
The pastor was clearly in charge. At his direction, Virgil and Cornelius baited their hooks with the tiny fish and dropped them over the side. Reverend Caudill had a short pole with some kind of shiny thing on the end of his line, which he also placed in the lake.
“You know, when Jesus needed time to think, he got in a boat and went out on the lake. And it was hard for him sometimes. The pressure and stress must have been incredible. But something about being out on the water did him good. Even when the seas were rough, he could calm them. It gave him peace. Virgil, I think you’ve got a bite.”
Virgil’s bobber was indeed bobbing, and he pulled back and reeled in a small but lively crappie.
“Good work, Virgil!” He took the fish and carefully inserted the stringer, fastening it to the oarlock and ge
ntly laying it in the water.
Cornelius’s float had vanished from sight and the line was moving, so he hauled back on the rod, hooking the hapless crappie. It was pan-size.
“Well, there’s a keeper to take home to JoAnn. Hold it up so we can see it.”
Cornelius lifted the flapping fish into full view.
“Nice one.” It was Virgil commenting this time.
“Jesus enjoyed hanging around fishermen.” Reverend Caudill tinkered with his reel, pulling out some backlash.
The pastor had an agenda, and Cornelius was part of it. So was Virgil, by the look of the fellow at the other end of the boat. But he’d heard enough from the reverend in the middle to know the man deserved listening to.
“They were good folk. Ambitious, hardworking people. He picked some men from other walks of life as his disciples, as well. And they didn’t always get along; they’d sometimes argue among themselves. Another one, Cornelius?”
He pulled back on the pole and lifted a small bluegill out of the murky water. “I suppose you’re right.”
“And they had some things in common, just like you. The same goal, to make good lives for yourselves and your families.” He looked at the bluegill and motioned for Cornelius to toss it back in.
Virgil looked puzzled. “So what are you saying, Reverend? What’s your point?”
“I invited you both here to fish, but also to try to keep you from destroying each other. You need to learn to be like the disciples when they were working together rather than trying to see who’s the greatest. Watch your line there, Virgil.”
Virgil was about to say something, but his rod was bending, and he pulled in another nice crappie.
