by Han Nolan
"Charity?"
I sprang from my chair, thinking I'd heard my daddy. I felt this weight of guilt and fear crushing into my chest like the rock of ages and I couldn't breathe.
"Hey, girl."
I turned around and saw Sharalee through the screen, standing outside wearing this big-hair hairdo.
I let out my breath. "Law, you scared me."
"Sorry." She came onto the porch. "Don't tell Mama I was here, okay?" she said.
I nodded. "Long as you don't tell my daddy on me."
Sharalee giggled. "Well, now, Charity Pittman sneaking from her daddy, I do declare!"
"Just don't say anything, okay?"
"Oh, don't worry about me." Sharalee poofed up her hair with her hand. "I've got better things occupying my mind these days."
"Like what?"
"Like Mama training me for the Miss Peanut pageant," she said. She squinted her eyes at me. "And don't you dare laugh. I've already lost two whole pounds, and that's with eating stuff right in front of Mama, too."
I swallowed. "You look real good, Sharalee, and I like your hair big like that. Makes your face look right skinny."
Sharalee went on like I hadn't even spoken. "Mama says if I can lose twenty-five pounds by next April she'll buy me the best store-bought gown this side of the Mason-Dixon."
"But what if you don't lose the weight? What's she going to do then?"
"I'm going to lose the weight, and she's going to buy me the dress and get me in that pageant, and see if I don't win! Then who'll be laughing at me?"
"Sharalee, I'm not laughing. It's just that, law, twenty-five pounds!"
Sharalee closed her eyes. "I'm going to lose it just the same. Jesus promised."
I glanced at the house. "The Jesus chair? You've asked Jesus to lose that weight for you? And win you that contest?"
"I believe, don't you, Miss Preacher's Daughter?"
"I do. I—yes—yes, I do. Oh, Sharalee." I threw my arms around my very best friend. "I'll pray, too. I'll come here every day and pray for you. That chair works, I'm just sure it does."
Sharalee gave me a squeeze and then let go. "I know it does. They had that prayer meeting last night, finishing up with Miss Ivy-June singing 'His Eye Is on the Sparrow,' and you know, they sang the last amen at ten o'clock exactly, and at exactly ten o'clock a call came into the sheriff's office from some folks in Selma, said they had Miss Becky with them. Now how about that for a miracle?"
"What? They found Miss Becky? Was she kidnapped? She probably set fire to their getaway car, more 'n likely, and they turned her in." I spun around. "They found Miss Becky!"
Sharalee grabbed my arms. "Charity, really," she said. "She wasn't kidnapped. She was just going home. She grew up in Selma. She forgot she lived here, see, and she went back home. She forgot where she lived. The doctors say she's got Alzheimer's disease."
"But they found her, I don't believe it! Does my daddy know? He should have been the first to know. Wait till everybody hears. Boo! Does Boo know? He's free at last! They found her, Sharalee, they found her! Isn't that great?" I grabbed her again and started jumping up and down.
"It's Jesus. It's the chair." Sharalee said, keeping her body still, refusing to be jostled up and down. "And I'm going to lose that weight and become Miss Peanut."
"Yes, you are. Oh, Sharalee, I'm so proud." I gave her another hug, and she held her body stiff.
"I'm serious. Charity," she said in this warning kind of voice.
"Well, sure," I said, backing off.
"No more snacks in the barn and hiding extra in the coffins. I confessed it all to Mama anyway, and to Jesus. I have to do my part if Jesus is going to do His."
"Of course."
"And no telling Mama about me and the chair." Sharalee stared down at the grass. "She fierce doesn't believe in the chair. But I'll show her. We'll show her, me and Jesus."
15
Sharalee went inside for a talk with the Jesus chair, and I set off for home, hoping I'd get there before Daddy got back. I was still in the driveway when I saw Adrienne speeding down the road in her beat-up station wagon. She swerved into her drive and I jumped out of the way. She slammed on the brakes and hopped out of her car laughing. "Did I frighten you?"
"I thought you were inside asleep," I said.
"On a day like this? My God! It's too fantastic. I finished!"
"You finished?"
Adrienne nodded. "I finished my first painting since my sensory deprivation project. Come tell me what you think."
I followed her around to the back of the car, thinking on what I was going to say about her painting. I figured "marvelous" would be good, and maybe "splendid," too.
Adrienne flipped through her set of keys, searching for the right one to unlock the back. I watched her hands. They were darker than her arms or her face, like they hung outside more often than the rest of her. And they were strong and rough looking, nothing like her body, which was tiny and thin and made me feel like some kind of oaf to be standing next to her. She had on a man's oxford-cloth shirt, worn with the sleeves rolled up and paint all over it—and in her hair, always paint in her hair. I loved it. I wanted to look just like her.
Adrienne opened the back and lifted out her painting. It was a large canvas. Her arms were out as far as they would go, just trying to hold on to the sides.
"I painted this out in the fields in back of Mad Joe's little place," she said, holding the canvas up in front of her. "Well, what do you think?" Her eyes were all sparkling.
I stared at the canvas. I didn't know what it was exactly, but I knew how it made me feel. It hinted at trees and water, lots of cool water—maybe—and lots of space in shades of gray and white. It gave me that same feeling I had the time I went with Daddy to the church in Atlanta to hear him preach. The time I decided to become a preacher 'cause I was so full of that holy feeling, the same feeling I had with the Jesus chair. I stared at her painting a long time, not wanting to pull away or even speak for fear of losing that feeling. I no longer saw any trees or water, just shapes and colors that washed over me like a wet spring morning. And, law, I felt that burning desire Adrienne had once talked about. That fierce desire to create something of my own, create my own holy thing.
"You like it, I can tell," Adrienne broke into my thoughts.
I looked up at her and then back at the picture. "It's almost—it's almost holy." I felt my face and body go hot; a squiggle of sweat ran down from my armpit.
"Holy!" she said. "You couldn't have said anything better. You have an artist's eye, Charity, you really do. Have you been practicing your drawing?"
I opened my mouth to answer but Adrienne jumped in, saying, "Oh! We have to celebrate my painting. I always celebrate. Hold on, I'll be right back."
She set her painting back in the car and scooted off toward the house. She was gone less than a minute, and when she came back she carried a full bottle of wine and two glasses in her hands.
"Now to celebrate," she said, lifting the bottle.
"Oh no, I can't." I backed away some. "Daddy'd tar and feather me for sure if I so much as caught a whiff of that devil's poison."
Adrienne laughed and set the bottle and glasses down on the car. "Charity, this isn't hard liquor. In Paris even les enfants drink a bit of wine. Now, I feel too fabulous to argue. I'll pour you just a drop, and then we'll say cheers to the completion of my painting and we'll have ensured the painting's success."
I must have nodded or something, 'cause she poured half a glass of the stuff and handed it to me, and Lord have mercy, I took it.
She raised her glass. "To The Holy," she said.
"Really?" I said. "You're going to call it The—"
Adrienne nodded and said again, "To The Holy!"
"To The Holy!" I repeated, and clinked my glass against hers. I took a sip and told myself. Drink this in remembrance of me, which is what Daddy always said before we drank the grape juice during communion service. I was hoping Jesus, and Daddy, if he e
ver found out, would count this as a kind of outdoor communion. I even tried to keep my mind on the Last Supper the whole time I was feeling that devil's liquid burning down my throat, but I couldn't help it, part of the time I had this juice and joy feeling rushing all through me 'cause I was picturing myself setting with Adrienne in Paris, sipping wine at an outdoor café.
Adrienne set her glass down empty and picked up the bottle. I set mine down with one sip missing and said a quiet "Amen."
I saw Old Higgs's truck turning into the driveway and I jumped in front of my glass, hoping Old Higgs wouldn't see and tell on me. Adrienne shook her head and said, "You know, Charity, one of these days just pleasing your father won't be enough. You're going to have to please yourself. Free yourself and take off! Be your own person!" Adrienne had poured herself another glass of wine and was letting the stuff just spill down her throat.
Old Higgs climbed out of his truck and came over to us. "Miss Adrienne, Charity," he said, lifting his hat from his head, then setting it back on.
"Hey, Mr. Holkum," I said.
Adrienne poured herself another glass of wine and nodded.
Old Higgs peered around my back, saw the other glass, grinned, and said, "Got a message for your pappy."
I didn't say anything. I just squinted into the sun and waited for him to go on.
"Miss Becky's been found, praise the Lord and hallelujah. We had that prayer meeting, and now she's found. Glory, glory, we got us a miracle. Jesus, praise the Lord, is with us."
"Yes, sir," I said. "I heard about that. I'm real pleased."
"Who's been found?" Adrienne asked, holding out her canvas again and examining it.
"Miss Becky, ma'am," said Old Higgs.
"Is she your dog?"
Old Higgs adjusted his shoulders. "No—you know, we had that prayer meeting at your house last night, praying for her to be found. The old woman who lives with her sister, yonder." Old Higgs pointed out toward the road, although the Cobbs lived about a mile from Adrienne's.
"We was hoping, if it was all right with you, Miss Adrienne, that we could meet again tonight. We got to praise the Lord, give thanks for His blessings."
Adrienne nodded and said, "I've got to go into town and call my dealer." Then she turned and walked off toward the house with her painting, and me and Old Higgs just stood looking at each other, not sure if she'd answered him or not.
"Well," he finally said, "you make sure you tell your pappy, now, you hear?" Then he turned and walked back to his truck.
I stood there for a moment and watched him back out of the drive, the red dirt clouding up around his wheels. Then I set off again myself, full of thoughts about Adrienne and how she had said that someday pleasing my daddy wouldn't be enough; and seeing her painting, seeing her so full of the life I wanted, I knew it already wasn't.
16
I was hurrying along the edge of the cornfields, sure Daddy had beat me home, when I thought I heard someone whispering my name. I turned this way and that but didn't see anybody. I took a couple more steps and heard it again.
"Charity, here. Up here I am."
I looked up and saw Boo's hairless legs dangling from a branch.
"Boo, what you doing up there? Where's Grace?"
He swung his body around the branch and dropped to the ground.
"I've got to tell you something," he said. He wiped at his nose with his arm.
"I already know Miss Becky's been found. I guess the Lord hasn't need of you after all." I turned to leave and he caught my arm. His hand was cold.
"Say, what are you doing in shorts and short sleeves?" I said, turning back around to face him. "Aren't you supposed to have some kind of cold blood running in you or something?"
Boo waved his hand. "That's just Miss Tuney Mae saying that. I just catch the chill easy, is all—but I'm thinking maybe I been cured since waiting on the porch with the okra and going to see that Jesus chair this morning."
I grabbed his Crimson Tide cap off his head and examined his scalp. "Nope, don't see a single strand of hair yet."
"Oh, you're so smart." Boo wagged his head at me and grabbed his cap back. "That isn't what I was a-going to tell you, anyways. There's some kind of upset going on at your house. I think you'd better get on home."
"Well, where do you think I was headed?" I yelled at him, knowing it was my own fear making me cross. I stomped off, trying to block out Boo's last words.
"It's real bad. The reverend's fit to be tied."
I kept walking—slowly, but I kept walking. I knew it was no good putting off what I knew was coming. I scanned the side of the road for a good switch, found one, and continued walking, whipping the switch in the air and listening to it whistle.
When I got to the house I slowed down even more, dragging my switch behind me. I expected to see Daddy waiting for me on the porch, pacing and jingling his change, but he wasn't there. I entered the house through the kitchen and listened. No sound. I took a couple of steps farther into the kitchen and stopped again. No movement. Where was he? I left the kitchen and stopped in the hallway. I jumped when I saw a dark figure moving at the other end.
"Daddy?"
He was standing in front of the window, the sim behind him so that he looked more like a shadow than a person.
"Charity."
I held up my switch. "I brought me a switch sized to fit the deed."
Daddy walked toward me, saying nothing, showing nothing on his face about what he was thinking. I backed up and he reached forward and set his hands on my shoulders. "The devil has got ahold of this house with his teeth and is shaking it down to its very foundation."
"Yes, sir," I said.
"We must overcome this evil! We must get at the very heart of it and wipe it out today. Today! The devil shall not tear us asunder!" He was shaking me. With each word he was shaking me as though he thought the very heart of this evil thing was living inside of me.
"Daddy, you're scaring me." I wrenched myself free, but Daddy stayed close.
"We will put on the full armor of God so that we can take our stand against the devil's schemes." He glared at me. "Get your sister down here and meet me at the car." Daddy marched toward the front door, then turned around and said, "This instant!"
I ran up to Grace's room and knocked on the door.
"Come in," she called out.
I stepped inside and looked around. It wasn't a room I often went in, and not just because we weren't ones to be talking with each other much. There just wasn't room for Grace and her stuff and anyone else. I don't think she owned a single toy or doll, but she did have the world's largest collection of rocks—most likely all from her head—and birds' nests and arrowheads, and she had all kinds of cacti growing in pots with their long needles poking out just daring you to not look where you were going, and strung up like necklaces across her windows were pinecones. I guess she liked prickly things.
"Daddy wants us in the car this instant," I said. Grace was working on her bird-feather collection. She was kneeling at the side of her bed and taping a few new feathers to a huge square of cardboard.
I went and stood over her.
Grace looked up, her yellow hair sweeping the cardboard.
"Did you hear me?"
"She's not coming back," she said.
"Who? Mama? 'Course she is. She's just staying on extra. What makes you think she's not coming back?"
Grace didn't answer. She had gotten the tape stuck to her fingers and it was twisting and sticking to itself.
"Grade?"
She frowned. "I heard the reverend on the phone with her, and when he hung up he said, 'She's gone.'"
"Me. I was gone, not Mama. I was supposed to be here at home learning my Bible verses, but I wasn't. It's me he was talking about."
"But—"
"Grade, put down that stupid tape and listen to me."
Grace pushed off from the bed and stood up. The tape dispenser was dangling from the twisted line of tape still stuck to her fing
ers.
"It was me who was gone, okay? Not Mama. She'll be back. She'll be back. She always comes back."
I pulled the tape off her fingers and stuck it on the bed.
"Now come on before Daddy has a real fit."
We raced down the stairs and out to the car. Daddy wasn't there. We climbed inside and sat there with the car doors open 'cause of the heat, and waited for Daddy. Then we saw him coming out of the garage, holding an ax in his hands. I jumped out of the car.
"What's that for?" I asked, following him around to the back.
"Get in the car." Daddy opened the trunk, shoved aside some old birdcages, and dropped in the ax.
"But what's that for? What are you fixing to do?"
He slammed down the lid and leaned into the car, his hands pressing against the top of the trunk, his eyes staring into his own reflection.
"Every day I'm hearing the Lord calling me to take up the ax and reduce that chair to splinters, and today I'm going to do it." He pounded the car with his fist. "Yes, in the name of the Lord, I'm going to do it."
"The Jesus chair? You're going to chop up the Jesus chair? But you can't! Daddy, you can't!" I tried to squeeze between him and the trunk, but he grabbed my arms and shook me.
"Oh yes. Indeed I can—I must." He re-leased me. "Now get in the car." He turned away, moving to his side of the car and opening the door.
I grabbed the back of his jacket, pulling it back from his shoulders, and cried, "But it's the Jesus chair. I need it!"
Daddy whirled around, and I heard his jacket tear as it ripped through my fingers.
"It is Satan's chair."
"No! You don't understand!" I cried. "I really need it. How can we ever get Mama ba—"
"Don't you dare say it!" He raised his hand in warning, and I drew back. "It's you who doesn't understand. You're but a child, who thinks and speaks as a child. You don't listen for the Lord as I do. You don't study the prophet Isaiah and know that he says, 'All who make idols are nothing and the things they treasure are worthless.'"
He pointed his finger and then pressed it against my chest, just below my neck. " Those who would speak up for them are blind; they are ignorant to their own shame.' Yes, Charity, that is in Isaiah, and he tells us that those who worship idols will be brought down to terror and infamy. To terror and infamy! Do you understand? You, Adrienne, this whole town brought down by God's wrath."
