Mary Mae and the Gospel Truth

by Sandra Dutton

  I'm a-staring off at the ceiling, my hands going hot and cold at the same time.

  "We believe the world is six thousand years old," says Mama, "and as a Christian person, I can't have Mary Mae learning otherwise."

  "I'm sorry," says Miss Sizemore. "I try to present the latest research, and I like the children to discover things themselves. I would love to keep Mary Mae in class—she's an inspiration. Why don't I modify her assignments?"

  "No, I already told Mary Mae to ask for different assignments, and she didn't. I think you provide too much temptation. So I got to take Mary Mae out of school to make sure she learns the right things. I got to keep my own conscience clear."

  "Mama, I want to stay in school," I say.

  But Mama won't hear of it. "Mary Mae, give Miss Sizemore your books."

  "She's welcome to keep her books," says Mr. Trimble. "She can have them on loan."

  "No," says Mama, "I don't trust them books."

  So I'm busy digging through my backpack, pulling out my books and putting them on Mr. Trimble's desk. I'm so embarrassed, tears are coming up in my eyes. And now a hot flood spills out over my cheeks.

  Mr. Trimble and Miss Sizemore just set quiet, and then all of a sudden Mr. Trimble says to Mama, "Do you have a copy of your curriculum?"

  "Curriculum?" says Mama.

  "Your course of study," says Mr. Trimble. "We'll all be in trouble unless I have your curriculum. The school board will require it."

  "Oh yes, what I'm teaching," says Mama. "Well as far as I'm concerned, the Bible's the only book she'll need!"

  "Children need to be well rounded," says Miss Sizemore. "They need history and science. And art—art is important."

  "Mary Mae gets her art at Sunday school," says Mama. "As for history and science—they's right in the Bible."

  "But we need to know your curriculum," says Mr. Trimble. "What you're studying in the Bible. What lessons you're teaching."

  Mama's pinned down here and don't know which way to go. "Hmmmph," she says. "Well, I can bring it in next Monday."

  "Monday will be fine," says Mr. Trimble.

  You can tell Mama didn't know she'd be asked for that. She picks up her pocketbook. "Miss Sizemore, if it's all right, Mary Mae will go up and clear out her desk."

  I walk up to the classroom with Miss Sizemore.

  "I'm sorry," says Miss Sizemore. "I wish I'd known. You know, I could have given you different assignments, the way I do Shirley Whirly."

  "Nope," I say. "I like science. I want what everybody else gets." Then I get a lump so big in my throat I can't even talk. I stop in the hall outside my class and wipe my face. Don't want nobody in the class to know I been crying.

  Then I go in and fill my backpack up with school supplies.

  "What's going on?" says Herschel, soon as I'm pulling my things out of my desk.

  "Mama's taking me out of school," I say. I don't tell him no more. He can figure it out.

  "Wish my mama'd take me out of school," says Shirley Whirly.

  ***

  I go out to my locker, get my gym clothes and art supplies, then go back downstairs.

  Mama's standing outside Mr. Trimble's office.

  14. Mama's Curriculum

  "I swear, that principal," says Mama, walking into the house. Granny's setting at the kitchen table. "I don't know how he runs that school—got a whole office full of Tinkertoys."

  "Them ain't Tinkertoys," I say. "Them's Popsicle sticks, and he builds things for a hobby."

  "Hobbies don't belong in school," says Mama. She starts going through drawers to find school supplies—pencils, scrap paper, pens from Harbin Plumbing.

  "Let's see what you have in that school bag," she says.

  I pour everything out, including a compass and a protracter.

  "We'll just work here at the kitchen table," says Mama. "Don't need no fancy desk. Get your Bible."

  I go up to my room and bring it down.

  She sets down and starts thumbing through hers.

  "All right, Mary Mae, I want you to read Matthew 13, all them parables. And after that"—she's looking through her Bible again—"you can study for a spelling test. Thirteen books of the Bible. First column. I'll give you a test as soon as I come home."

  Mama puts her coat back on. "Granny, you and Mary Mae can have them cold cuts for lunch. And Mary Mae"—she comes over, puts her hand on my shoulder—"you're my own precious daughter, and I'm doing this for your own good."

  She kisses my forehead.

  I wipe it off.

  Mama runs out the door.

  ***

  I just set at the table for a time, don't even speak to Granny. And Granny putters around like everything's normal. I got a good mind not to do nothing—not to read, not to learn my spelling. What's Mama going to do, take me to the principal?

  Granny sets down and opens up her Bible. I see she's looking at Matthew 13. "I like parables," she says. "They's all nice little stories."

  "I don't care," I say. "I ain't reading 'em."

  "Might as well read until you figure out what to do."

  "Ain't nothing I can do." I start to cry.

  "You'll figure something out," says Granny. "You got a curiosity like I do, got to learn everything you can. Meantimes, I'd keep your mama happy by reading them parables."

  I draw circles with my compass. Then I draw circles inside circles. Then circles that go right off the page. Finally I get my Bible and start looking at them parables. I read real slow. "Granny," I say, "I got questions."

  "Shows you're thinking," says Granny. "Write them down and save them for your mama."

  So I write them down.

  Verses I Got Questions About

  1—What seaside was Jesus setting at?

  7—How can thorns choke seeds?

  12—Why does the Lord say that for him that has more, he'll get more, and for him that don't have much, he'll get even less. That don't seem fair.

  15—What does "waxed gross" mean?

  21—Why does Matthew always call them people "the multitude"?

  47—How is the kingdom of Heaven Like a net?

  56—Who was Jesus' sisters?

  Then I study my spelling words. Only hard one's Deuteronomy. And I really only got eleven names to learn, since there's Samuel I and II and Kings I and II.

  I've done finished with everything by noon. Granny and I have our cold cuts, me eating half the package.

  Granny wants to know do I want to do some singing. "No," I say. Singing might cheer me up.

  So I just read my Bible, then go looking for Mrs. Noah. She ain't nowhere in the kitchen, and she ain't in none of Mama's drawers.

  ***

  Mama comes home from work. "How'd everything go?" she says.

  I hand her my list. "I got some questions," I say.

  "Right now I want you to help me carry some things in. They had a set of encyclopedias down at the shop, and Mr. Harbin said we could have them."

  I bring them in, put them on the dining-room table. It's the Finley & Watson Whole World Encyclopedia in twenty volumes. They smell like rags. First thing I do is look up trilobite. They got it, but it's only one paragraph. And there ain't no pictures.

  ***

  Then Wanda Brierly from church stops off at six o'clock with a fifth grade math book. "I used this with my son when he broke his leg," she says. "Course, that was a long time ago."

  The kid on the cover's playing with a Hula Hoop.

  I hear Wanda say to Mama, "Well, it's better she be here than back at school digging up them fossils."

  Soon as she's gone, I read one of the story problems out loud.

  "Virginia is having a birthday party. She has fifteen guests and would like to buy everyone a nickel candy bar. In addition, she would like to have paper hats that cost eight cents a piece and a cake that costs $2.95. Nut cups are four cents a piece, and a large jar of nuts is ninety-nine cents. How much money will Virginia need?

  "Mama, I can't use this
book. It says candy bars is a nickel."

  "Don't matter," says Mama. "Numbers is numbers."

  "And nobody wears paper hats no more, neither."

  "We'll just have to make do," says Mama.

  "When are we doing my spelling test?" I say.

  "After dinner," says Mama.

  I don't eat much. Want everyone to be reminded I ain't pleased.

  ***

  After dinner Mama gives me my spelling test. "The ones at school we had was much harder," I tell her. I show Mama my list of questions again on Matthew 13.

  "Did you show them to Granny?" she says.

  "Granny says to show them to you."

  Mama sighs, takes a look. "Use the encyclopedia," she says. "That's what I got it for."

  "But what should I look up?"

  "Parables!"

  So I look it up, but it's only got one paragraph, says parables was told by Jesus.

  "Mama, the encyclopedia ain't no help. You got to explain things, Mama. Miss Sizemore explains things, and she has discussions."

  Mama thumps the table. "I'm getting tired of you talking about Miss Sizemore. She may explain things and have discussion, but she ain't a-telling you God's truth. Let me see them questions."

  I hand them to her.

  "First of all," says Mama, "it don't matter what sea Jesus was at. Why do you want to know?"

  "I just do. So I can look it up on the map."

  "You don't need to look it up on the map. It ain't important." Mama takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Mary Mae. You do need them questions answered. But I can't do it right now. Soon's I get my curriculum done, I'll answer your questions."

  "You can't answer no questions because you don't know how to teach!" I tell her. "And I'm tired of your stupid lessons."

  "You don't talk to your mama that way," she says.

  Even Granny gives me a look.

  ***

  Mornings, Mama gives me a bunch of problems in that math book and something to read in the Bible. She's jumping all over the place. "Why are we going from parables to Psalms, Mama?" I say.

  "Don't ask questions," she says. "Just read." Then she adds, "I'm doing the best I can, Mary Mae."

  At night Mama sets down at the dining-room table with her Bible and tries making notes on her curriculum.

  "What's a curriculum, anyway?" I hear her muttering. She gets the dictionary. "'Curriculum,'" she reads aloud, "'course of study.'" Mama sighs. "That's what I'm a-trying for. This weekend I'll figure it out."

  ***

  Herschel Cadwallader calls, and Mama puts me on. He's never called me before. He says he carved a woolly mammoth today out of Ivory soap. "Wish you was in school," he says. "I got me some new fossils for my collection."

  "What kind?"

  "Found me some crinoids down at Duck Creek. Me and Dexter walked down there. It was fun. When you coming back?"

  I swallow hard. "I don't know. Never."

  ***

  Saturday, Mama makes more notes. I hear her talking to Sister Coates. "I thought teachers just made assignments—give a little spelling, a little history, a little math. But it ain't that easy." She hangs up and cries.

  I look out the window and pray.

  ***

  Lord, I'm happy my mama's crying. And I'm real sorry I'm happy. It ain't Christian. But you got to do something. Reading your Bible's nice, but we're jumping all over the place. And I can't take no more of this moldy encyclopedia, and I don't like this math book.

  ***

  Saturday evening we's eating dinner and the doorbell rings. It's our old boarder, Lucinda. She's in a rainbow-striped poncho and yellow tennis shoes, and wants to know can she stay overnight.

  "My cousin's dropped me off," she says. "I can't stay there no more. They been evicted." She starts to cry.

  Lot of folks been crying lately. Me. Mama. Lucinda.

  "Honey, you can sleep on the couch," says Mama. She always did like Lucinda. Said she was the most innocent-est person she'd ever met in her life. Just didn't know how to take care of herself.

  "And I have a favor," says Lucinda. She's sniffling more, choking down big sobs. "Can you take me to the bus station tomorrow morning? I know it's Sunday, but it's Daddy's birthday tomorrow and I told him I'd be home."

  Lucinda's looking real tired, her being pregnant, and her hat's on crooked, with the tassel swinging down in her face.

  "I don't think you should be riding a bus down there, you being eight months pregnant," says Mama. She glances at Granny. "Why don't me and Granny take you down to Clarksville?"

  Granny nods.

  "Oh I couldn't ask that," says Lucinda.

  "No, we want to," says Mama. She goes over and closes her Bible. "That school can wait one more week for their curriculum."

  Funny how Mama can do that. Now if I was to go to Miss Sizemore and say, "You can wait one more week for my report," I'd be in trouble. Would get my paper marked down for being late—and for being a smart aleck besides.

  "Church can do without us for one Sunday, too," says Mama.

  Church, I'm thinking. I'd like to skip church since Brother Lucas won't let me practice. And going down to Clarksville would get me out of here. Besides, Lucinda's my friend, too. We used to play Chutes and Ladders. "I want to go, too," I say. I smile and try to make up for my meanness.

  "No, you and Daddy's going to church," says Mama.

  "I gotta work," says Daddy.

  "Sunday?"

  "We got two trucks coming in for emergency service."

  Mama shakes her head. I know she's fed up with me, plus she don't want me in the car when they're discussing Lucinda's condition.

  So when Lucinda wanders off to the bathroom, I whisper to Mama, "I know all about Lucinda. She's pregnant and ain't married to her boyfriend."

  Mama rolls her eyes. "You got puppet show practice."

  I want to say I ain't got no puppet, but then she'll be reminded of my throwing Mrs. Noah into the trash. Besides, I know she's hid off in one of Mama's drawers. "I'm ready for the puppet show," I say. "We've done had all the practices we need. And Brother Lucas won't answer none of my questions."

  "That's because you ask too many," says Mama.

  ***

  Mama calls Sister Coates to tell her we won't be in church tomorrow. Later I hear Mama telling Granny, "Sister Coates says it's so nice we're helping Lucinda. Says Wilma Tatters can play piano."

  15. Falls of the Ohio

  Lucinda drags her duffle bag into the kitchen and shows us how she keeps her underwear in plastic food bags. "That way I can keep things nice and neat," she says.

  Her and Mama make pancakes.

  We leave the house about eight o'clock and take I-71 South. I want to say to Mama it's too bad we don't have no more of them John 3:16 stickers. But I'm still being punished, and I don't want to overdo my niceness.

  We drive through Kentucky listening to Vernon Valley Gospel Hour.

  And then Mama asks Lucinda if she's heard from Thornton.

  "Not for a while," she says. "He might be locked up."

  I see Mama glancing through the rearview mirror at me. She don't like me hearing such things.

  "He comes around you again," says Granny, "you just get the law."

  "I will," says Lucinda.

  We drive past Carrollton, then cross the river at Louisville into Indiana. Lucinda's giving directions.

  ***

  She lives on Whippet Street, near the Ohio River. We drive down this road under a big railroad trestle, and off in the distance there's a dam. We pass a sign that says FALLS OF THE OHIO. I'm wondering where I've seen that at. Falls of the Ohio. Then I remember—that was in the book Miss Sizemore give me, The Wonder of the Trilobite. It's where some of them fossils was dug up.

  "Lots of driftwood down there," says Lucinda. "When the river's low, there's heaps of it along the bank."

  "I'd like some of that," says Mama.

  "Pull over," says Lucinda. "We got time."

 
Mama parks, and we walk down the stairs. "Now be careful," says Mama. It's a long ways down. Mama's helping Granny, who's holding on to the banister, and Lucinda's taking it slow, too. I lead the way, kicking seedpods off the stairs.

  I can see the riverbed out there, like I seen in Miss Sizemore's book, and the little pools of water, and when I get down off the stairs, I start seeing fossils. Everywhere fossils. Like God come down and pressed fossils into the riverbed.

  The sky's overcast now, so you don't have to squint.

  Mama settles Granny down on the bottom step. "You just set right down here," says Mama.

  "You all go on out there," says Granny. "I'll be all right."

  "Over here's the best driftwood," says Lucinda. She points off to the left, where it's heaped against the bank, left from the last time the river rose.

  But Mama don't even look at that driftwood. She's picking her way across the riverbed. Me and Lucinda's right behind.

  "Look at this, Mary Mae," says Mama. "You can see these little plants left in the mud."

  "That ain't mud," says Lucinda. "That's limestone."

  "Can't be," says Mama. "A river's got mud." Mama probably thinks them plants is from last summer.

  "Not here," says Lucinda. She gets down on her hands and knees in her rainbow poncho. "These little fossils here is millions and millions of years old. My grade school brung us down, told us all about it. And us kids used to play here. We'd take little pieces home. Course you ain't allowed to do that no more."

  It's funny that Mama don't argue with Lucinda. Mama's on her knees now, just running her fingers over them patterns.

  "Sometimes if you wet something, you can see it better," says Lucinda. She splashes water from a little pool up onto a sponge fossil. "Ain't that beautiful!"

  "Oh yes," says Mama, "and what's this?" She's pointing to something at the edge of a crevice.

  I take a look. "It's a trilobite," I say.

  "Looks like a crab," says Mama.

  "Yep, they's related." I don't say nothing about how old it is. Lucinda already done that. "And here's a crinoid." I point out the tassel. "And over here's sponges, and look at this, it's a pipe organ coral." I never seen that except in the book Miss Sizemore give me. Wish I could tell her.

  Mama's taken with this place. It's all here, millions of fossils, like the Lord's science lesson.