by KD McCrite
“Oh, I hardly think so,” Pastor said, wiping my face again. “Here, April, blow your nose.”
Ewww. Blowing my nose in front of everyone, especially our very own preacher, was gross, but I did it ’cause stuff was running out of every hole in my face.
“I don’t—” I hiccupped and tried again. “I don’t want my m-mama to d-d-die.”
“Of course you don’t,” Pastor Ross said.
“Is G-G-God gonna make her die?” I asked. “Did He make her have that baby s-s-so she’d die?”
“Oh, April Grace!” Isabel sank into the pew right in front of me and looked at me over the back of it. “I thought you believed that God is love.”
I took in a deep, shuddering breath, and if I hadn’t been so upset, Isabel’s statement might’ve surprised me, her being so critical of church and God and everything. “I don’t know what I think about Him right this minute.”
“Listen to me,” the pastor said kindly. He tipped my face up so I had to look at him. I bet I looked a mess, too, all teary and snotty and blubbery, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Listen to me,” he said again. “Women have some problems with pregnancies all the time, but these days they have good medical care to help them. Your mother has a good doctor that she and your father trust, doesn’t she?”
I nodded.
“And she’s taking care of herself, isn’t she?”
I nodded.
“And she has you and your sister and your father and your grandmother to watch over her. Right?”
Again I nodded. He took my left hand in one of his and covered it with the other, and he looked right into my eyes.
“I’ll tell you something, April Grace—something that I know in my heart: God loves you and your mother and your whole family. He understands that you’re scared and has wrapped all of you in His love. Right now He is holding you and your family—even that new baby—close to His heart.”
I gulped down my sobs until I nearly strangled myself and stared at him because I wanted to believe what he said.
“Really?”
“Really. When times get tough, like what’s going on with your family right now, God is the strength that holds it all together. Even when He seems far away, April Grace, He isn’t. In fact, He’s with us all, not just now, but all the time.”
I thought about it, and then I thought about it some more. I liked what our preacher had to say to me, but I was still scared. Even though God always does the right thing, sometimes people don’t. That’s what scared me right then. Maybe Isabel wouldn’t keep her end of the bargain.
“But, Pastor Ross, Mama has done the Christmas programs since forever. If Isabel quits, Mama will get right up off her sickbed and take over. And if she does that . . .” I could feel all that squalling and blubbering trying to start up again, and I did my best to swallow it back down.
“Oh!” Isabel huffed like she’d been insulted. “That is not going to happen.”
Pastor and I both looked at her, and she stared back as if we were aliens with strange ideas.
“I will not allow Lily to endanger herself or her baby. I shall direct that play, even under these primitive, backwoods conditions.”
I felt my eyes get as big and round as Myra Sue’s.
“You will?”
She nodded. “I will.” She stood, drawing herself as thin and straight as a broomstick. “I shall soldier on!”
My tears dried up, and I grinned so big I nearly threw my jawbone out of joint.
“Oh, Isabel!” Myra Sue said from where she still stood on the platform. “You are wonderful!”
“Yeah, Isabel!” I said.
“Yeah, Isabel,” Pastor echoed, beaming. That just shows what a nice guy he is, being happy even though ole Isabel was such a pain. His left eye wasn’t twitching right then, either.
“Spread the word,” she declared, waving one arm dramatically. “Auditions will be one week from tonight, and I expect every young person in this church to be here!”
TWENTY-THREE
Not-So-Silent Night
Monday night was the night for auditions. The lucky kids who got the smaller parts in the play wouldn’t have to memorize or do a whole lot. But those big parts—well, all I can say is, if you were gonna play a lead, you better have had a good brain ’cause it was gonna be full of things to memorize and recite. This is why I wondered if ole Myra Sue knew what she was getting into when, at the supper table that Monday evening before we left for tryouts, she announced that she wanted to play the Absolute Lead.
Isabel gave her a brilliant smile. “Darling girl, I can almost guarantee you’ll be the best. But we must have our auditions, you know.”
“Yeah,” I put in. “That’s the way it’s done. Remember?”
Myra Sue narrowed her eyes, and I figured her pinchy-finger was coming toward me. I skittered sideways, just in case.
“Girls,” Mama said, “if you’re finished eating, run upstairs and get cleaned up for the tryouts.”
“Yes,” Isabel said, all parental. “Please don’t take too long, children. I simply must be there early.”
We trotted off upstairs and did that Cleaning Up thing that my mother thinks we have to do for everything, even if we were going to muck out the barn. Of course, ole Myra Sue did more than clean up. She changed every bit of clothes she had on, and she sprayed her hair with junk and spritzed it with another kind of junk, and then she grabbed it in her fists and pulled it up and sprayed it some more. She called it “scrunching.” I tell you, if that girl had run her head into a brick wall, that wall would’ve crumbled like the one around Jericho, with or without the trumpets. When we were going downstairs, I poked it and like to have broke my poking finger.
We got to the church so early, Pastor Ross wasn’t even there yet. We had to sit in the pickup and wait, so while we waited, Isabel smoked three cigarettes, one right after the other, right there in the church parking lot. I hung my head out the passenger window and hoped I didn’t get cancer from all her puffing.
“Excuse me,” I said finally, sure I was gonna choke plumb to death from smoke. I got out of the pickup and wandered over to the brick wall that encircled the flower bed—the same wall that ole Lottie Fuhrman had decided was her own personal church space because she always plunked her carcass on it to wait for her folks after church, and she sure enough did not want any of the rest of us to sit with her. But she wasn’t there right then, so I settled down on it. It was cold against my backside and a lot harder than the seat in the pickup, but I stayed there even though full dark lay across the landscape and the air was chilly. At least it smelled better.
Have you ever noticed that when the air is crisp and clean, the stars sparkle like a gazillion diamonds? Staring up at that sky, I sighed. Now, here’s the thing. I am not someone who likes to get all dolled up and powdered and perfumed and fluffed, but I decided right then that someday, when I become a grown lady, I want a deep, dark midnight-blue velvet dress with sparkling bits scattered over it. I would call it my Winter Night Dress, even though that night when I was looking at the stars was only late October. I would wear that dress as often as I wanted to, even if no one was around to see it. I smiled happily at the prospect.
Pastor Ross drove up right then and parked his white Chevrolet Celebrity next to the pickup. He greeted Isabel and Myra.
“Didn’t April Grace come with you?” he asked, looking around.
It might have been my imagination, but I thought I heard a note of panic in his voice, so I popped up from where I’d been sitting and dreaming on that cold wall and hollered, “I’m right here, Pastor!”
He turned, and even in the dark I could see he was smiling. Probably with relief that he did not have to deal with Isabel and Myra Sue all by himself.
“Let’s go in the church where it’s warm,” he said to us all, and we followed him like a flock of sheep, then waited while he unlocked the door and turned on the lights.
The minute Isabel stepped i
nside, she slid out of her coat that looked like fur but probably wasn’t since the St. Jameses would have had to sell fur coats and diamond necklaces and gold watches when they lost all their valuables. I wondered why she was wearing such a heavy coat, anyway. Boy, oh boy, if she thought an evening in October was cold, she was in for a Big Surprise around the second week of January.
You know what that woman did? I’ll tell you. She handed that coat right to Pastor Ross, as if he were the church butler or something, then she marched off into the sanctuary without so much as a “Thank you, sir, for opening the door, turning on the heat, turning on the lights, and taking my coat.”
I could see ole Myra Sue was fixing to do the same thing with her pink jacket, but I bugged my eyes out at her, telling her inside my head that if she was that rude, I would personally tell our very own parents about it. I bet she’d never watch another soap for as long as she lived if I tattled. She hung up her own jacket on the rack near the door and then trotted off after Isabel like a baby calf going after its mother.
“Let me have Isabel’s coat, Pastor,” I said, taking it from him. “You got better things to do.”
“Thanks, April Grace. I guess I better see what Mrs. St. James will be needing.”
I hung up that dumb coat and my jacket, then hurried into the sanctuary to help our poor preacher.
Ole Isabel was hollering, “I need a spotlight! I need a spotlight!”
“I’ll turn on the overhead pulpit light,” Pastor Ross said. He showed her where the switch was on the wall near the choir loft.
“I’m not sure that will do,” Isabel sniffed.
Pastor looked at her kinda funny. “It will have to do,” he said. “It’s what the church has.”
She looked down at me, bunched up her lips like a dried-up old rosebud, then sighed heavily out of her nose. I sure was glad she wasn’t smoking right then. The leftover smell of it was bad enough. I bet her lungs smelled worse than Temple’s armpits, if you want to know the honest truth.
TWENTY-FOUR
There Are No Small Parts
The vestibule door opened again, and Christy Sanchez came in for her audition. She’s a couple of years older than Myra Sue, with pretty black hair and eyes and a big, bright smile. Before she was halfway to the front of the church, the door opened again, and the Tinker twins galloped in like two wild mustangs. Melissa showed up just a little bit after that, looking kinda nervous.
In fact, she sat down on the pew right behind me, leaned forward, and whispered, “This kinda makes me feel queasy.”
I nodded, because I knew what she meant. “Have you decided what part to try out for?” I asked her.
She sighed. “I think I want to be one of the children. Or maybe the banker’s wife.”
“They hardly get to say anything,” I told her.
“I know! I don’t want to do this, but Mom said I have to.”
“I’m Isabel’s assistant, so I have enough to do,” I said, happy as strawberries in May.
Pretty soon, Chuck, Brenda, and Madison Holt arrived, and on their heels came Holly and Joy Burnside. Before long the entire youth group, except for Lottie Fuhrman, was in the sanctuary, hollering and laughing and acting goofy. Since I was there to help Isabel and not be a kid, I tried my best to act grown-up. Which is not easy to do when someone is passing out watermelon bubble gum and you want a piece of it in the worst way.
Another awful, terrible thing happened right about then. Ole J.H. Henry, the Un-heartthrob of Cedar Ridge Junior High, came strolling into the church with his hair all bunched up and his jacket sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He swaggered down the aisle to the front like he was the hottest thing in a pair of Nike sneakers. When he saw me, he winked as big and bold as an elephant and pointed at me, grinning like an ape. I wanted to smack him. Instead I just shook my head like I thought he was Dreadful and looked the other way.
Why was J.H. there, anyway? As far as I knew, he had never darkened the door of our church in his whole entire life. I reckon ole Lottie invited him because she acts like he’s the greatest boy in the whole world and always has, even before she became one of the Lotties. I never understood why. Ick. Dumb girl, and she wasn’t even there yet.
As ole Isabel’s assistant, I sat right beside her on the front pew, so when she lifted her wrist to look at her watch, I peeked and saw it was seven thirty, the time our church bulletin had announced we were having tryouts. Of course, Isabel had insisted on calling them auditions, but that’s Isabel for you.
Isabel took in a deep breath, got up, stepped onto the platform, and faced everyone.
“People! May I have your attention?”
I gotta say, she spoke so loudly and with such authority, every one of those kids shut their yaps and looked at her. Melissa and I glanced at each other. Ole Isabel was almost as scary as Mrs. Patsy Farber, the junior high principal.
“We have exactly eight weeks.” She held up eight fingers. “Eight weeks, people, to get this show on the road.”
She looked at everyone through squinched-up eyes, as if she were piercing us all with tiny, sharp knives, and it was our fault that all we had were eight weeks to prepare for that play.
When she finished with the staring, she paced from one edge of the platform to the other and then came back to stand under the pulpit light. We all just sat there, frozen, watching her. Boy, oh boy, this was not going to be pretty. In fact, it was downright scary. Isabel had become someone else right there before our very eyes.
“You will learn your parts,” she said. “You will attend every rehearsal, you will be here on time, and you will stay until I tell you that you may leave. You will emote, enunciate, project, and pause.
“Please pay attention, young people.” As if to demonstrate, she paused, stared out at us, emoting for all she was worth, and, being sure to enunciate, she projected the following: “I assume you are familiar with all the parts in the play. I will call for a certain part, and those of you who seek to play that role will step up here on this stage, beneath this light, and read.” She paused again. “No one in this group will be talking, laughing, or wandering about during auditions.” She paused once more, emoting, projecting, and scaring the liver out of all of us. “Is that clear?”
I think every single one of us murmured a “Yes, ma’am”— even the Tinker twins, who think speaking softly is shouting off the rooftop of City Hall.
“Well, I certainly hope you speak up more than that when you audition, or we’ll be without a Christmas program.”
At that moment, I figured every last one of us would be more than happy if the Christmas program was canceled. But I knew Mama would not be happy, and I knew that just couldn’t happen.
Isabel stepped off the platform and settled her skinny self down in the front pew between me and Myra Sue again. She picked up the playbook and opened it up to the cast of characters. Already, she and Myra Sue and I had highlighted the parts in the books for everyone so that no one would have to go hunting for his or her speeches. They were already there, all nicely bright and yellow.
“All right,” she said. “Who would like to audition first for the role of Rosemary Miller?”
Let me tell you, not one person made a move. Rosemary Miller was the lead female role, and I knew Myra Sue wanted it in the worst way. And yet, right next to Isabel St. James sat Myra, hands folded in her lap and big eyes staring straight ahead. Well now. Something had to be done.
I scrooched up real close and hissed in her ear, “Isabel St. James, you better soften up, or no one will cooperate. You’ve done scared everybody speechless.”
She blinked at me at least fifty times.
“Look at ’em, Isabel. You got the entire youth department of the Cedar Ridge Community Church too scared to move.”
Like a stiff little windup doll, ole Isabel looked around. Now, you’d think every teenager and preteen there would’ve already stood right up and walked out the door they came in. Maybe their parents had threatened to ground them
until January 12, 2099, if they didn’t cooperate. Whatever the reason, you never saw such a quiet bunch of kids in your whole entire life, and probably won’t if you live to be 194 years old.
She faced forward again.
“Very well,” she muttered out of the corner of her mouth. “I will do my best.”
She stood, turned around, took a deep breath, and smiled. Now, let me tell you something. When Isabel gives you a real smile, it changes her whole face. But when she gives you a pretend smile, like she was doing right then, it sort of looks like she might have rabies or something, ’cause she pulls her lips back, and all you see is teeth.
“Aren’t you gonna read?” I asked my sister.
Ole Myra-darling looked around; then she stood up and trickled on up to the platform, looking terrified. Not of Isabel, of course, but of all the rest of us. Isabel smiled for real as she picked up the playbook on which the name of Rosemary had been written in black marker across the front cover.
She handed it to my sister and said, “Turn to page 3, darling, and read Rosemary’s part. I will read George’s part.”
As she read, ole Myra Sue’s voice shook so bad, she sounded like she was in the spin cycle of a washing machine. The other kids snickered nervously.
I turned around and gave them all a dirty look. If anyone was gonna laugh at my sister, it would be me.
Isabel had a funny look on her face that seemed to say she was confused by my sister’s efforts. When Myra finished reading, she gave Isabel a pleading, sick look. You could see ole Isabel was trying to be kind to her darling. She gave her a tight little smile and said, “Thank you, dear. You may sit down.” She looked over her shoulder at the others. “Who’s next?”
Well, right about then the vestibule door opened, and guess who strolled in, like they owned the world and everyone in it. Yep. The Lotties, that’s who. Well, two of them. Lottie and Aimee. Brittany, Ashley, and Heather were not there. I guess Lottie must’ve invited Aimee to try out, like she did J.H. Boy, oh boy.
