The Beautiful-Ugly (The Beautiful-Ugly Trilogy)

by James Snyder

  *

  Sundays, she saw, were different from all the other days. On Sundays they went to church twice: in the morning, after which they had Sunday school and brunch at the pancake house, and again in the evening. Then, depending upon how he felt, Mr. Cardswell sometimes called another Family Bible at the very end of the day, with everyone stumbling to bed bleary-eyed and exhausted by the end of it.

  Her first Sunday church was a little frightening. In the first place, she had never seen such a place (thinking it more like the enormous covered stadium she had once seen a circus, or the arena her father had taken her and Eric to see a hockey game), with its endless rows of colored lighting, hanging high into the heavens of indecipherable darkness above; and the brightly lit stage far below, revealed in glaring detail on the giant overhanging TV screens, surrounding the stage, and jutting out in every direction; but not really like a church; and certainly not like her mother’s narrow little cathedral, which, she thought, could fit into one corner of it. And she remembered the close warm way the cathedral had made her feel, with her mother beside her, both of them together holding the rosary her grandmother had passed on to them, just before she got that unfamiliar glint in her eyes, looking at them, and had trouble remembering who they were.

  Then she was sitting there, between Mrs. Cardswell and Rebecca, watching Reverend Billy on the overhead screens, jumping and oddly jerking and running from one end of the wide stage to the other, listening to him warning everyone about the deceivers among them, when he suddenly threw his hands into the air and began to make sounds, she had no idea what they were. After a moment, the lady behind her—startling her by leaning forward and grabbing the back of her seat with her clenched hands, and her mouth coming close beside her ear—began to talk the same way: “Baa-baa nonna. Baa-baa meeno. Nosh-me-toka-muh. Toka-baa-baa-meeno.”

  Suddenly people around her started standing up, people throughout the ocean of heads below and around her, with their hands outstretched, and their eyes shut tight, talking that way. Even the Cardswells stood up, even little Suzy, and began doing it. Mrs. Cardswell and Rebecca, pulling her up with them, were whispering the words or noises, she wasn’t sure.

  After a minute, when Rebecca seemed to grow quiet, only swaying back and forth, she leaned against her and whispered urgently, “What’s going on, Becky? What’s happening?”

  Her eyes closed, Rebecca shook her head, as if in a daze, and whispered back, “They’re talking in tongues, baby. It’s the heavenly language, the sounds of angels coming to them from God. Isn’t it wonderful?”

  She didn’t think so, it sounding like the greatest noisy babble she’d ever heard; as if something fearful and strange had come over the entire giant space, holding it and not letting it go. And she was glad when it was over, and everyone began sitting down, seeming satisfied with the event and themselves, and Reverend Billy went on talking about the deceivers again.

  Then near the end came something else. When she heard Reverend Billy asking everyone if it wasn’t their time to stand before their neighbor, and with their neighbor, in God’s judgment, again, people in different parts of the arena started standing up and going toward him.

  “It’s the altar call,” Rebecca whispered to her. “This is where you reveal yourself a sinner, and ask God for forgiveness.”

  Music was playing, filling the air: sad, mournful music, reminding her of when her parents had died; and people were standing up everywhere again, and making their way to the long isles, and going slowly forward; some of them were crying, and some smiling, but most had no expressions at all; while everyone else sat there, watching them.

  Eventually, there were so many people there, other men in dark suits—all of them, moving back and forth across the TV screens, looking lean and dark-eyed and hungry about something—had to go help Reverend Billy sort them out. Then the dark-suited men were talking with people, one by one; then she saw the men in two’s grabbing the sinner’s hands and gripping their foreheads, pushing them backward; and most of them just stumbled backward, but remained standing; but a few fell down on the floor, twisting about like the worms she’d seen the Johnson boys drop on to the sunbaked concrete. Meanwhile, the music was playing, and people lay on the distant floor, twisting and turning, and Reverend Billy was yelling, “Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord!” And then he began speaking in tongues again, along with the old lady behind her, shoving her red lipstick-covered mouth near her. And Rebecca was also whispering something urgently in her ear about being “slain in the spirit.” And she finally decided it was a grand spectacle, after all, like the circus or the hockey game; and not really that scary; although, she had no idea what any of it meant.

  *

  Rebecca had already warned her about Sunday school, during one of their talks: “Everyone takes it real serious, little girl. I think it’s how they rate your allegiance and everything. You see, all the church children are God’s little Spartans. And since you’re a beginner, you’ll be a Spartan soldier of God’s fortune.”

  “What are you?”

  “I’m a general, the same as the twins. We’ve all witnessed, and I teach summer Bible camp.”

  “Oh. What about Suzy?”

  “She’s a captain. She’s been working real hard, learning all her verses and lessons and stuff.”

  “Oh.”

  Rebecca shook her head and said, “You ought to know, father takes a lot of pride in his little soldiers of God.”

  Brother Martin was her Sunday school teacher. That first Sunday when Rebecca had dropped her off and she went into the room alone, she recognized him, tall, thin, white-headed, as one of the men that had helped out Reverend Billy during the altar call. But he seemed nicer now, smiling and laughing and jumping around the room, asking her if she was ready to be a soldier for God. He asked her that standing in front of the beginner’s class, with the other little soldiers, sitting before them in their circle of chairs, looking on.

  “I think so,” she told him.

  “You can’t think, child, you have to know,” Brother Martin said.

  Suddenly, he had that same lean, hungry look, she remembered, from the altar call.

  “I can,” she promised.

  “Can what, child?”

  “Be a soldier for God.”

  “Hallelujah!” Brother Martin shouted, his eyes opening wide, and his mouth grinning so that each corner of his lips almost touched an ear. He looked at everyone sitting there, watching. “Did all you little soldiers hear that?”

  “Yes, Brother Martin,” they all said.

  “Then why ain’t you clapping? Why ain’t you showing you heard it?”

  Everyone clapped their hands noisily, cheering her.

  “And why ain’t you hugging her now? She’s joining your ranks. She wants to be a soldier for God with you. So why ain’t you hugging her now?”

  Now everyone was up, surrounding her in front of the room and hugging her; and she was smiling, feeling a little wonderful about all of it, in spite of how nervous and odd she felt about it as well.

  Next, Brother Martin made everyone sit down, and they began that week’s lesson, which was The Armor of God, in Ephesians, and which Mr. Cardswell had already talked about in Family Bible. So she sat there, only partly listening to him explain to them how important it was they all put on God’s armor and be able to stand against the wiles of the devil; because she was more interested, and amazed even—watching him jump around a little wild-eyed, and shouting and laughing like God or someone else was tickling him as he talked—how he could keep the Bible raised, one-handed, above his head, slinging it this way and that, and not dropping it once, not even a page ruffling, as he shouted: “‘Stand therefore, having your loins girt about with truth,’” and holding one hand clenched against his stomach, while his Bible-hand shot toward the ceiling, “‘and having on the breastplate of righteousness.’” He then struck his chest with his closed fist, his head dropping against himself, and snapped his Bible shut, wit
h it still held high above him, and jiggling only a little. And everyone sitting there clapped for him, much impressed; after which, a lady came and marched them all, single file, into the church cafeteria where they had cartons of milk and cupcakes with purple frosting, crisscrossed with little pink and blue swords.

  *

  As the summer passed by, she began to more and more understand what was expected of her, what she was supposed to do, and how and why; and she began to try as hard as she was able to do exactly that. This was not long after her latest case worker, a different lady, brought her a letter from Eric that, as soon as she was gone, Connelly rushed into her and Suzy’s bedroom, shut the door, and ripped it from its envelope (which, she noticed, had no return address), reading:

  My Sister,

  How are things going with you? I hope, fine. I am doing fine with Mr. and Mrs. Keleman and their family. They have all really taken me in as part of the family, so I guess that’s a good thing—right? Last week we went on a camping trip into the mountains, and I caught some fish, and we saw a black bear. It was a long way off, but it was still pretty scary. And before school starts they’ve promised to take us to Disneyland, which we’re all looking forward to. I still read a lot, but the other guys are teaching me how to play basketball, so I don’t read as much as I used to. I’m bigger now. Taller, I think. But I think you’d still recognize me. At least I hope you would.

  The other thing is the Kelemans have said they want to adopt me, so that will probably happen. They are good people, and I guess I have finally decided about things. What I mean is I’ve finally accepted that mom and dad are really gone, and I can’t keep thinking something will happen, some miracle or something, to bring them back. So I’ve decided it’s a good thing I’m being adopted and I can live a normal life. I hope you can understand that, Con, because I know what we said about getting back together, but I don’t think that’s going to happen. At least not until we’re older, and maybe can take care of ourselves then. Believe me, if there was any way I could figure out to do it sooner, I would. I hope you believe that, because it’s true. But there’s no way. We’re both kids, and we can’t do anything without grownups helping us. Do you understand that? I hope so.

  My caseworker talked with your caseworker, and she told me your family was probably going to adopt you too. I hope that’s true, and I hope they’re as nice as the Kelemans are.

  Well, that’s all I know to say about it, except that I love you, Sis. You are my sister, my only real sister, and the only one (besides me) who’ll ever know what really happened to us, and I’ll always love you, and no one can stop that or take that away from me. From us. Everything else, maybe, but not that. Don’t you think that too?

  Love, Eric

  *

  The Sunday after she received Eric’s letter she answered the altar call, surprising everyone.

  When Reverend Billy asked people to come forward and confess their sins and accept Jesus Christ as their savior, she told Rebecca she wanted to go there.

  “Are you sure?” Rebecca asked her, turning and looking at her unsure.

  She nodded.

  So Rebecca took her down there, tightly holding her hand the entire way; until they were approaching the stage, when Connelly felt her shove her forward; and she was walking into the gathering, not sure what to do next. A man stepped in front of her, his dark form momentarily blocking out the bright overhead lights. He shifted and she saw it was Brother Martin.

  “Oh, my little soldier, are you here to confess your sins in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and be saved?”

  She wasn’t sure what she said, if anything at all; but she thought she said something, and felt his hand on her forehead, squeezing her head, when she suddenly felt the surge move over her and down through her, as if she would be lifted off her feet. This startled her, and when Brother Martin released her, for a moment she thought she would absolutely fall down. She felt so weak and strange, not knowing whether to stand or fall.

  Then Rebecca was there, putting her arms around her; and Connelly saw she was crying; she could see her tears in the bright lights, streaming down her face, and she began to cry as well. And they were there, holding each other, crying, and everyone around them, crying and holding one another, with some falling down in twitches and shivers, and Reverend Billy, standing high and wonderful on the stage above them, eyes shut tight, his urgent voice, everywhere through hidden speakers, reverberating and encircling her: “Baa-baa nonna! Baa-baa meeno! Nosh-me-toka-muh! Toka-baa-baa-meeno! Namuh-reeshka-tuh!”

  Chapter 13

  The Choice

  They taught her how to witness others, showing her who to give the pamphlets to, and who the tiny gilded testaments, and what to say.

  “You just look so darling in that pretty dress, with that long black hair and those dark violet eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen real violet eyes before,” Mrs. Cardswell said, standing outside the Whole Earth supermarket (where, according to Mr. Cardswell, all the rich liberal sinners shopped), getting her ready. There were two or three of the girls they would send together, because of how beautiful and innocent they looked together, and people would stop, coming out of the market, to see what they were doing.

  “Hello, ma’am,” she said, stopping one of the well-dressed women with her hand-woven shopping bag over her shoulder. “Did you know that the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, and knowledge of the Holy One is true understanding?”

  “Well—not exactly,” she said, surprised. “But aren’t you just the most lovely child!”

  “Ma’am, to accept Jesus as your savior is the first step away from the path of damnation.”

  “And someone should be careful,” said the lady, kneeling down before her, looking into her face, “because I would just steal you away in a minute, and take you home with me.”

  Then she looked the lady right in the eyes and said, “Hebrews 11:1 tells us that true faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”

  “And if I had you,” said the lady, frowning, “I certainly wouldn’t have you out here, doing this.”

  For that moment, looking back into the lady’s eyes, she recalled the way her mother would look at her when there was something very, very important she wanted to tell her. For some reason, she didn’t know what to say now. She held out one of the tiny books. “New Testament, ma’am?”

  The lady took it and said, “And every time I look at it, I’ll think about you. And I’ll hope you’re doing all right.”

  She slipped it into her shoulder bag and stood and walked away. And Connelly watched her walking, until one of the other girls came over and pinched her, whispering, “You need to witness, Connelly Pierce.”

  She went forward again, stopping an elderly couple dead in their tracks.

  *

  As the months passed, an idea formed in her mind that if she somehow could become perfect in everything she did (or as near as God would allow her to be), that when the judgment did arrive, both her parents might be allowed to join her. Even with whatever faults and sins they had committed, that God would alleviate their mistakes with her own sheer sinless goodness and belief.

  “It doesn’t work that way,” Becky told her, when she confessed her plan during one of their “whisper sessions,” as Mr. Cardswell referred to them. “God doesn’t pass out chits that we can slip to someone else at the last minute. We each have to prove ourselves in his name. Sorry, girl.”

  But she still held to the idea, keeping it to herself now, lying in bed at night when she thought about everything she had done that day, and how many times she had sinned; and every night she said a silent prayer, again asking for forgiveness, again promising to do better. Then she lay there each night, looking about her, wondering if it worked. She never knew for sure; although, some nights she felt better about it than others, she felt cleaner and more forgiven; but she wasn’t sure if that was Jesus talking to her, or that was just how she felt then. She
didn’t know.

  However, during the day she did know she had the most gold stars by her name in the Fellowship Christian Academy’s Third Grade Class, which made Suzy so mad, she hardly spoke to her anymore, except to tell her to leave her dolls alone.

  “I don’t see why Connelly gets to be in Third Grade like me when she’s younger than me,” she complained to her mother the day the three of them drove over to the school to register.

  “Because that’s what her welfare transcripts say, Suzy,” Mrs. Cardswell told her. “Besides, that’s probably God’s way of giving back something of what he took from her.”

  “Well it’s not fair,” Suzy said, looking over at her in the back seat.

  “We can do our homework together,” Connelly said.

  “No thank you,” said Suzy. “I don’t want you copying mine.”

  So they did their homework separately, and Suzy complained to her mother about all the gold stars Connelly was getting by her name, while she only had two silver stars beside hers.

  Her mother reminded her again, God was most likely only giving back a little of what he had taken.

  Besides Suzy being mad at her and starting to complain to her parents why Connelly had to be there in the first place, the twins were also growing evermore quiet toward her, looking at her now with a new fresh-eyed suspicion.

  She wasn’t sure, but she thought it had something to do with the way Mr. Cardswell was always referring to her now as his “best little girl,” and calling on her the most during Family Bible, and paying most of the little attention he paid to any of them, to her.

  One night during dinner Mr. Cardswell announced that he and Mother (referring to Mrs. Cardswell) had decided they would soon begin adoption proceedings to bring his “best little girl” into the family fold. Connelly was surprised. That was the first time she had heard it mentioned; and, when he said that, no one else said anything except Rebecca, who reached over and touched her hand. “Now you and I can be real sisters,” she said, smiling.