Mary Mae and the Gospel Truth

by Sandra Dutton

  Mary Mae and the Gospel Truth

  Sandra Dutton

  * * *

  HOUGHTON MIFFLIN BOOKS FOR CHILDREN

  Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

  Boston New York 2010

  * * *

  for Max

  Copyright © 2010 by Sandra Dutton

  All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book,

  write to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company,

  215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.

  Houghton Mifflin Books for Children is an imprint of

  Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.

  www.hmhbooks.com

  Epigraph on page [>] from the essay by Brian Greene "Science Nourishes the Mind and

  the Soul," copyright © 2005 by Brian Greene, from the book This I Believe: The Personal

  Philosophies of Remarkable Men and Women, edited Jay Allison and Dan Gediman.

  The text of this book is set in Dante MT.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Dutton, Sandra.

  Mary Mae and the Gospel truth / by Sandra Dutton.

  p. cm.

  Summary: Ten-year-old Mary Mae, living with her parents in fossil-rich southern Ohio, tries

  to reconcile, despite her mother's strong disapproval, her family's Creationist beliefs with the

  prehistoric fossils she studies in school.

  ISBN 978-0-547-24966-7

  [1. Families—Fiction. 2. Mothers and daughters—Fiction. 3. Creationism—Fiction. 4. Christian

  life—Fiction. 5. Conduct of life—Fiction. 6. Schools—Fiction. 7. Ohio—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.D952Mar 2010

  [Fic]—dc22

  2009049706

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  DOC 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  4500229030

  * * *

  Contents

  1. Remnant [>]

  2. I–71 [>]

  3. Puppet Show [>]

  4. Digging [>]

  5. Mrs. Noah [>]

  6. Day by Day [>]

  7. Questions [>]

  8. Report [>]

  9. Wonder Beans [>]

  10. Heaven and Hell [>]

  11. Ranzone's Kitchen [>]

  12. Ice Age [>]

  13. Mr.Trimble's [>]

  14. Mama's Curriculum [>]

  15. Falls of the Ohio [>]

  16. Noah's Ark [>]

  17. Blessed [>]

  * * *

  "I've heard they teach the earth is round," Saul said,

  "and such a claim goes against Scripture."

  —James Still, Sporty Creek

  I believe that the breathtaking ideas of science can

  nourish not only the mind but also the soul.

  —Brian Greene, "This I Believe," NPR

  1. Remnant

  Stomping, jumping, I'm a-singing away. Me and Granny's up here at the microphone, Granny on guitar, double strumming, foot tapping, urging everyone on for the chorus.

  "Climb that mountain high and wide,

  Jesus keeps you satisfied.

  Praise him silly, oh yes.

  Praise him silly, oh yes."

  Everybody's clapping. It's a tune Granny wrote herself. I shake the tambourine on the chorus, and Granny ends with a loud "Amen!" She's up here from Crawdad, Kentucky, seeing some doctors about her high blood. We set down with Mama and Daddy, then our pastor, Sister Coates, says it's time for personal testimony. "Who would like to give thanks?"

  Jonathan Safer jumps up. "I got a B on my history test."

  "Praise the Lord!" Everybody yells. "Amen!"

  "I found a good used car," says Roscoe Goodwin. "Got power windows and cruise control."

  "Amen! Praise the Lord!"

  Granny gets up. "I'm happy to be visiting my family here in DeSailles, Ohio."

  "Praise the Lord! Amen!"

  Granny's really my great-granny, staying in our old boarder Lucinda's room.

  ***

  I like it here at Remnant. Remnant Church of God. How you can get up and sing and say what you're thankful for. I went to another girl's church, Edna Flotsam's, and we just set quiet on a wooden seat except when we sung songs. And the only time you talked was when you read something out loud.

  ***

  Sister Coates gives her sermon. It's on believing every word of the Bible. She gets all excited, walking back and forth with her microphone, telling us how some people think the Bible is just a bunch of stories, but she's here to tell us it's the solid word of God. "And they got proof over there in the Bible lands that Jesus was there and he done what they said he done." She ends by telling us how we got to spread the word. "It's your duty as a Christian," she says, "to get out and tell other folks about our Lord and Saviour."

  She reaches behind the podium and pulls out a box. They's packs of cards in it, wrapped in rubber bands. She holds up one pack and says, "These is John 3:16 stickers. Now what we got to do is get these out to different places. They's fifty in each stack." She pulls one out—it's shiny aluminum, with a cross at the bottom—peels a piece of paper off the back, and sticks it to the front of the podium. "We all know it. Let us recite:

  'For God so loved the world

  that He gave His only begotten son

  that whosoever believeth on Him

  should not perish

  but have everlasting life.'"

  Mama had me memorize that when I was four years old. She says that's the most important verse in the Bible, that you can get to Heaven on that one. And that if you don't, well, you go straight to Hell.

  Chloe Sample, she walks right up, takes two stacks, and walks back. Mama's always talking about how full of the spirit Chloe is, throwing her head back during prayer time and falling to the floor. I don't want her to have nothing on me, so I walk up and take three.

  "What are some places you can hand these out at?" says Sister Coates. "We got a blessed opportunity to bring folks to the Lord."

  Jimmy Toggle says he can hand them out at his factory, Porter Ironworks.

  Chloe Sample raises her hand. "I got a White Castle down the street from me," she says.

  "Fine place," says Sister Coates.

  I want to show Mama I'm just as holy as Chloe. "What about—" I'm trying to think up something grand. "What about—what about going up I-71, and—"

  Then Mama gets in the spirit. "We'll do rest stops, Mary Mae. And that big mall up near Chillicothe."

  "Praise the Lord," says Sister Coates.

  "We can do it next Saturday," Mama whispers.

  "I'll be working," says Daddy.

  "Then me, Granny, and Mary Mae'll do it," says Mama.

  Her giving up Saturday, I know it's important. We're a-saving souls for the Lord.

  2. I–71

  Daddy peels the white piece off the back of one of them stickers and puts it on his dashboard.

  I take a few to school. Shirley Whirly puts one on her notebook. Weatherford Tatum sticks one on his backpack, and my teacher Miss Sizemore says, "Thank you very much, Mary Mae." But that's all I give out at school. Mostly I can't wait to save the people of Ohio. I picture getting a badge from God for saving the most souls on 1–71.

  Mama says, "You, me, and Granny can just pepper the restrooms with them signs."

  Saturday morning, Mama says be sure and dress warm. It's October and only fifty degrees out. I have on jeans and a navy blue parka. Granny has on her yellow slacks and them sunglasses that stick straight up like an insect.

  Mama, she's wearing her black slacks and a sweatshirt that says HARBIN PLUMBING. That's where she works at.<
br />
  Granny sets up front with Mama, and I set in the back.

  "The Lord will have a special place for us," Mama says to Granny and me as we're driving down the highway.

  A pickup speeds past doing a hundred.

  "Christ Almighty," says Granny.

  Mama don't like it when Granny cusses, but she's give up trying to stop it. Says Granny always cussed and there ain't nothing she can do about it. But when I hear Granny say "Christ Almighty," it ain't like she's cussing. It's like she's talking to the Lord.

  We pass the exits for Lebanon and Fort Ancient, and by ten o'clock we pull into the Ohio Shops. Parking lot ain't too crowded yet, and we decide to do the main ladies' room off the food court.

  "If the stall is empty," says Mama, "put one inside, but make sure it ain't near a coat hook, so it don't get covered up. And if somebody's in there, just put one on the outside of the door."

  We each take a stack.

  "If we save just one soul," says Mama, "it's worth it."

  We're lucky since nobody's in this restroom yet, and we get a sticker up right over each toilet paper roll.

  "That way it's bound to get read," says Granny.

  Mama buys me a Cinnabon on our way out and gets Granny a cup of coffee. We cross over to the other side of the highway and do the Outlet Mall. They ain't got a food court over there, so we ask the clerk at Donna Fashions where's the biggest restroom. She says it's next to the Ohio Crockery, so we drive down and put stickers there. Put a few on the mirror, too.

  "You can't never do too many," says Mama.

  Then we cross back and keep heading north.

  "Problem is," says Granny, "we ain't taking care of the men."

  So Mama, next stop we make, she finds some nice man she thinks she can trust and gets him to put stickers up in the men's room.

  By eleven thirty we're at a rest stop just south of Columbus. There's an attendant that wants to know what we're a-doing, and Mama gives her a sticker. "You want to be saved," she says. "Believe on the Lord Jesus, and you'll wind up in Heaven."

  This rest stop is busy, so we get only half our stickers inside the stalls. The rest is on the outside of the doors. We hit two more rest stops north of Columbus, going to both sides of the highway, until just about all them stickers is used up. I'm keeping a few, just for emergencies. It's two o'clock.

  Mama says, "I think we've earned lunch." We stop at the Cheery Day Diner. Whatever we want, she says. We've earned it.

  I get the Cheery Day hamburger platter with free sundae.

  Mama gets the tuna melt.

  And Granny gets the senior meatloaf special.

  I put one of my last stickers on the napkin holder—looks like they was made for each other, both being aluminum—and we head back.

  ***

  Granny and I, we make up a tune to John 3:16.

  She goes, "For God so loved"

  And I echo, "For God so loved"

  "He loved the world"

  "He loved the world"

  "That he gave"

  "That he gave"

  "His only son"

  "His only son"

  "That whosoever"

  "Whosoever"

  "Believes on him"

  "Believes on him"

  "Shall live"

  "Shall live"

  "Forevermore."

  "Forevermore."

  And Mama's a-joining in on the echo, and we's just a-rolling down the highway. I look at the speedometer, and we're doing seventy-six—Mama don't usually drive this fast. Then I look behind us and see this car with a red light flashing.

  I stop singing. "What's that mean?" I say.

  "What?" says Mama.

  "That car behind us."

  Mama looks in the rearview mirror. "Oh, Jesus Lord."

  Mama don't cuss, so I know it must be the highway patrol. She moves onto the shoulder, comes to a full stop.

  I see him in his car talking on a radio. It's taking him forever to get out. Finally he walks up. Mama rolls down her window.

  "Did you know, ma'am, that you was doing seventy-five in a fifty-five-mile zone?"

  "I'm sorry. I didn't realize," says Mama. Her voice don't sound like my mama's at all. She'd been bragging only last week she'd never got a ticket. And been driving for twenty years.

  I lean forward through Mama's window. "We're working for the Lord," I say. And I hand him a sticker.

  He looks at it, reads it real slow, says to Mama, "You're gonna get to Heaven sooner than you want to if you don't slow down."

  I'm wishing I hadn't give him a sticker.

  Mama signs some papers, rolls her window back up, and when the highway patrol takes off, she creeps out onto the highway. I look at the speedometer. She's doing forty-five. I'm thinking this is worse than going fast. People are beeping, slamming on their brakes, and pulling around us. We ain't singing no more John 3:16, neither.

  "I just didn't realize I was going so fast," says Mama.

  She's feeling bad, and me and Granny's being real quiet. I'm setting sideways on the back seat, feet stretched out and my head against the window, thinking that officer might have been doing his duty, but he didn't appreciate what we was doing.

  And then I see them stripes Miss Sizemore was talking about at school. They's on a hill that's been cut away for the road. Now I've been down this highway lots of times, but I never seen them stripes before.

  "Christ Almighty," I say. Everybody else has been cussing. "Just look at them stripes."

  "You don't use that kind of language," Mama says.

  "What stripes?" says Granny.

  "Remember, Granny? I told you about all them different eras." That's one thing I've been doing since Granny come to visit us. Every day I come home from school, Granny'll say, "What did you learn in school today, Mary Mae?" And I'll tell her.

  "Them stripes in the hills," I say. "Shows all the different ages of the earth. You can't see it now. It's way back."

  Now Mama's mood just gets worse. "Ain't no different ages," she says.

  I don't know what she's talking about. "Why not?" I say.

  Mama don't answer right away. She says to Granny, "I swear, them teachers ought to stick with spelling and numbers."

  Granny just looks straight ahead. She don't want to get into it with Mama.

  "Tempting kids to believe in something that ain't so," Mama goes on. "Just remember what we believe, young lady."

  "What do we believe?" I ain't being smart. I just don't know what she's talking about.

  "The world is six thousand years old. You look in your Bible."

  "Where?"

  "Well, Genesis. Where else? You got the whole Creation, right there."

  ***

  Soon as we get home, I get my Bible out and run my finger down every line of Genesis. I'm looking for six thousand, whether it's in numbers or spelled out in letters. I go through twice. Second time I'm reading with a flashlight in bed. Only six I find is on the "sixth day," what God created, and in different folks' ages, like Enoch living three hundred and sixty-five years.

  I tell Mama Sunday morning I can't find no six thousand, and she says she don't have time to look, she's got too much work to do.

  "What do you think, Granny?" I ask at breakfast. "Do you think the world is only six thousand years old?"

  "It's whatever the Lord made it," says Granny.

  3. Puppet Show

  Sister Coates is a-standing in the middle of the church basement where we have Sunday school, and I decide to ask her. "Whereat in the Bible does it say the world is six thousand years old?"

  She looks up a second, like she ain't been asked that question before, then says, "Well, it don't come right out and say this. It's implied."

  "What's that mean?"

  "It means something is suggested without coming right out and saying it. Like if you put two and two together," she says, "you'll come up with four."

  I shake my head. I still don't understand.

  "We got to p
ay attention to Bible scholars that say when they count the generations—and a generation is twenty years—that Adam and Eve was created six thousand years ago. That's the implication. It's that many generations mentioned in the Bible."

  "Oh," I say.

  Sister Coates goes on. "You know where it says 'begat'? Like Abraham begat Isaac and Isaac begat Jacob and Esau?"

  "You mean if I count each begat, I'll come up with six thousand years?"

  "You got to multiply by twenty," says Sister Coates. "That's a generation." She looks at me real concerned, then says, "Mary Mae, I think you could use some special study of the Creation. I'm a-talking to Brother Lucas."

  He's my Sunday school teacher.

  I walk over to the junior corner, where my Sunday school class meets at nine o'clock. We got our banner hanging there: JUNIORS 1988–89. I'd like to start counting begats right now, but I ain't got a pencil. Besides, I got to pay attention in class. Orlin Coates, Sister Coates's son's there, and so's Chloe. She's reading her Bible, and her hair's spread all over her shoulders like a waterfall. It's blond, almost white, and Mama says she looks just like an angel. Mama's always saying to me, when she plaits my hair, "Why don't we let it hang loose, like Chloe's?"

  "I don't want to look like Chloe," I tell her.

  Me, Chloe, and Orlin set and wait, and then three more in our class come—Jed Bean, Chester Morley, and Jonathan Safer. We got all boys except for Chloe and me.

  Brother Lucas—him and Sister Coates is still a-going at it, talking, nodding, Brother Lucas making notes.

  Finally he comes over. "Sister Coates and I," he says, handing out our Sunday school paper, "we was talking about how important it is to know the Creation. And we was thinking you might like to do a puppet show."

  Puppet show? We all look at each other.

  "She wants us to do Genesis—Creation, Temptation, and Noah's Ark. For the church potluck next month."

  "How can you do a puppet show on Creation?" I say. "Don't seem to me there's no need for puppets."

  "Let's take a look," says Brother Lucas. We all open up our Bibles to chapter 1 and go around the class reading each verse, how God separates the light from the dark and the land from the water and goes on to making fruit trees and winged fowl. And then I'm a-reading on verse 26: