by Vicki Lane
Dorothy slowed to let a pickup that had been following close for miles pull around her. “I never heard of a church moving to another state. Why would they do that?”
“Well, honey,” said Miss Birdie, rolling up her window to escape the cloud of black exhaust and the roar from the faulty muffler of the pickup as it strained to pass, “it was on account of they passed a law that in North Carolina, you can’t handle poisonous snakes in church. So Belvy’s gang packed up their serpents and moved across the line, over to Cocke County, Tennessee, where they don’t have that law.”
“But the snakes … they don’t really bite, do they? Seems like I heard they pull their fangs or get rid of the poison somehow. Or dope them up …”
Dorothy glanced over to see Miss Birdie shaking her head. “Honey, them snakes is dangerous all right. Belvy’s oldest boy died of a bite he got when he was handling in church. He’d been bit before and lived but this time … and Belvy’s been bit several times her own self. She told me the pain was the worst she’d ever known but that the feeling of handling when she was under anointment of the Spirit was such that she’d not never turn aside when the Spirit called her, even after losing her boy that way.”
The little woman paused, one hand resting on her Bible. “Yeah, buddy, Belvy’s eat up with the Spirit. I just hope she gits a good dose of it tonight.”
As they pulled into the crowded parking area in front of the church, Dorothy could see that the congregation was beginning to file into the modest building. They look like regular folks, she thought, then jumped as Birdie laid a soft hand on her arm.
“If you don’t care, honey, it would be best was you to wait here till I’ve had a word with Belvy. These folks are a little shy of strangers at their services—there’s been trouble back of this with people coming just to watch or even worse, to make fun, like their church was some kind of show.”
Without waiting for a reply, Birdie stepped out of the car, almost before it came to a stop. She hurried with surprising nimbleness to intercept a tall white-haired woman being escorted to the church steps by two younger women.
Dorothy let out a long sigh. What was it Birdie had said? “Course, I don’t believe that the Bible calls upon us to take up serpents … but I do believe that in a free country like America, it’s only right that folks can worship how they want. And they’re real careful about the children—always send them to the back before anyone so much as takes a snake out of its box.”
Dorothy studied the small building. It was low and modest, built of white-painted concrete blocks, and above its door a half-circle of plywood bore neat black lettering: Holiness Church Of JESUS Love Anointed With Signs Following. All the capital letters were outlined in red and the word JESUS was underlined twice.
At the foot of the steps, the tall woman bent down and embraced Birdie, then straightened and stood listening intently. Birdie was speaking rapidly, looking up at the imposing old woman whose impassive face wore a faraway expression.
So that’s Belvy—Aunt Belvy, Birdie said the folks all call her. Will she be able to tell me where Calven is?
Birdie had said, in answer to this very question, “Yes, I believe she can. She’s done it afore and she’ll do it again—if the Spirit’s on her. I may not worship the way these folks do but the Spirit moves on them; I’ve seen it happen. And when the Spirit’s at work—God’s at work and He can do all things.”
Dorothy watched Birdie and her friend embrace again. They separated and, as Birdie came bustling back to the car, Aunt Belvy made her stately way up the concrete steps, with the solicitous aid of a dark-haired man in black trousers and a crisply white dress shirt.
As she climbed out of the car, Dorothy couldn’t help saying to Birdie, who was motioning impatiently to her, “Well, they sure do treat your friend like she’s the Queen of Sheba.”
The minute the words were out, she was ashamed and started to say, “I didn’t mean—”
Birdie lifted one finger. “Dorothy honey, don’t you remember? I owe my life to that woman over yonder.”
That woman over yonder … Dorothy studied the knot of silver-white hair and the alert set of Aunt Belvy’s head. That was all she could see of the so-called prophetess who was sitting on the front row of the women’s side of the church. Next to Aunt Belvy was the gray-haired woman who had welcomed them at the door and shown them to this pew at the back.
At least we’re near the door, thank the Lord! Dorothy eyed the four squat plywood boxes ranged in a ragged row along the dais at the front of the room. Two had air holes arranged in the pattern of a cross on their side, a third had narrow slits, and the fourth, larger than the others, had big rectangles of hardware cloth let into the sides. Behind the metal mesh, Dorothy felt sure she could see the movement of heavy sliding shapes and she shuddered and closed her eyes. She bowed her head, praying with heartfelt fervor, O Lord, don’t let those snakes loose! I don’t believe that I could stand it. Please, Lord, let that old woman tell me where Calven is. And please, Lord, keep those snakes in their boxes!
Dorothy’s prayers were interrupted as an electric guitar’s earsplitting notes slid into the only slightly more annoying shrill of feedback. The musician, a teenage boy, glanced up in apology and adjusted one of the knobs on the red-painted body of his instrument. Hand-lettered in straggling capitals along the lower curve were the words AIN’T GOD GOOD?
The guitar opened the service with a foot-stomping, hands-clapping rendition of a familiar gospel song, its chorus consisting of a somewhat unsettling and often-repeated phrase suggesting that God was going to set sinners’ fields on fire. Dorothy’s voice was loud and true and she was happy to be singing. It took her mind off Calven for the moment … and off the snakers. At her side Birdie was singing more softly—evidently unsure of both words and tune. Both women were clapping, their elbows bumping now and again.
Dorothy watched intently as the dark-haired man who had helped Aunt Belvy up the steps took center stage on the dais, clapping and singing while his eyes roamed the pews.
Now, I believe that’s Brother Harice, the one who brought the healing service to Birdie back when she was so sick I thought we was going to lose her. Birdie says he’s a right powerful preacher. But, my, doesn’t he look like he thinks he’s God’s gift to women! I suppose some might think he was good-looking with those sleepy eyes and poochy lips. Kind of what old Elvis might have looked like if he hadn’t run to fat. No sideburns though.
She watched as Brother Harice unleashed a lazy smile, seemingly directed at a curvy young woman sitting just behind Aunt Belvy. There was the slightest suggestion of a wink as one eyelid quivered briefly, then the preacher raised a hand in the air and threw his head back, moving from side to side in time with the beat as the gospel song drew to its triumphant finish.
The last note still hung in the air when the preacher, hand pointing upward, head thrown back in rapture, called out in a voice that filled the little sanctuary.
“Rejoice and sing, brothers and sisters! It’s His Holy Word moving here tonight. Do you feel it moving?”
The question brought forth a flurry of responses.
“Lift us up, O Lord!”
“Amen! Preach it, Brother!”
“Bring the Word! Hallelujah!”
The voices came from all sides—from the pew directly in front of Dorothy where a plump, grandmotherly-looking woman sat, a string of towheaded children beside her; from the men’s side and a gaunt-faced man in new dark blue overalls; from one of the three heavily built men sitting on the bench to the side of the dais. Other cries of “Amen!” urged the preacher on and the guitar emitted a rapidly ascending glissando of notes, the sound climbing higher and higher to end in a shattering reverberation.
The church was ready.
“They call us ignorant hillbillies; they persecute and outlaw us believers for following the Signs!”
Now Brother Harice was pacing rapidly, back and forth on the little dais, as he exhorted the congregation
. Dorothy was fascinated to see all the heads following him, like the crowd at one of those tennis games on TV, she thought, as she realized that her head was swiveling too.
“They say we put our children in danger every time they set foot in our church house …” A subtle undercurrent of no’s swept through the congregation. “But I say those children are safer here … here with the serpents and the fire and the strychnine …”
“Praise Him!”
“Amen, Brother Harice!”
“… safer here in God’s House among God’s people …”
The dark-haired preacher left the platform and strode down the aisle to lay a gentle hand on the head of a toddler, drowsing in her mother’s arms. “Oh, it’s a safety not of this world, brothers and sisters! It’s the safety found in the loving heart of Jesus; it’s the safety in the Signs and the power in the Blood …”
Dorothy looked past the preacher to the front of the sanctuary where a tapestry version of Leonardo’s Last Supper shared the white-painted concrete block wall with a good-sized rectangle of varnished plywood. Here the same hand that had lettered the sign above the church door had copied down the significant verses: the lines from Mark that set this church apart as Signs Following.
And these signs shall follow them that believe;
In my name shall they cast out devils;
They shall speak with new tongues;
They shall take up serpents;
And if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them.
Her gaze shifted to the snake boxes and a feeling of nausea swept over her. I can’t stay in here with them things, she thought, and tried to stand so as to slip out the door but her legs felt as if they were made of butter. Beside her, Birdie was staring gape-mouthed at the slim-hipped, lazy-eyed Brother Harice, who was working his way down the short aisle, capping each child’s head with his outspread hand.
“Maneda sujornam,” he called out, as his hand left the last child. “Haremma loyavan bekoot!”
Swinging his arms up and down as if trying to fly, the preacher turned in a slow circle, still spouting a gibberish of tongues, then hopped back down the aisle toward the dais, riding an invisible pogo stick. The congregation began to respond, at first with amens and hallelujahs, then with unknown languages as well.
The little building rocked in a Babel of tongues as Brother Harice reached the dais and picked up the largest snake box. Pitched just beneath the unintelligible phrases sounding on every side, Dorothy could hear a dry whirring.
She frowned and strained her ears to identify the sound, then, with a sudden and involuntary shudder, realized that what she was hearing was the warning hum of several very agitated rattlesnakes.
Mesmerized, she watched as Brother Harice, his face contorted in an expression halfway between pain and rapture, undid the sturdy latch of the box. Without pausing, he pulled open the top and plunged his hand in amongst the quivering shapes that slid, coiling and uncoiling, just behind the hardware cloth screen.
Dorothy covered her eyes with one hand, praying for deliverance.
And these signs shall follow them that believe;
In my name shall they cast out devils;
They shall speak with new tongues;
They shall take up serpents;
And if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them.
Mark 16:17–18
Chapter 41
Prophecy
Wednesday, May 2
(Birdie)
Poor Dorothy! I hadn’t thought how hard this might be for her. She went white as a sheet when Brother Harice picked up his serpent box, and she looks yet like she might faint. Of course, some folks is fearful of any snakes at all—like my Luther. He purely couldn’t abide them, even the rat-killing blacksnakes or the pretty little ringnecks, hardly bigger than a worm. He’d go for a hoe quick as ever he saw one. But after I spoke with him some on the subject and told him I’d catch them and move them if they was harming aught, he agreed to leave them be. He never could stand to see me holding one though, always found somewheres else to be when I went after the snakes.
Now Dorothy has both hands over her face like she is praying but I know that it’s on account of the serpents she don’t want to look at. I hate it that she’s so scared and I reach over and pat her shoulder, trying to let her know it’ll be all right.
She lets out a squeak and jerks away from me, keeping them hands over her face just as tight.
“Dor’thy,” I say real quiet and close to her ear, not that it’s likely anyone is paying any mind to us with all that’s going on up at the front of the church. “Honey, if you feel sick-like, why don’t you go set in the car? Belvy’ll understand and ain’t none here will take it wrong.”
Her voice comes out from between her hands. “I’m all right, Birdie, really I am. I’ll stay here. I’ll do it for Calven—anything to get my boy back. I just …”
I don’t get the rest of what she says, what with the racket of the guitar and the rattle and ring of tambourines and a confusion of voices all around. Some folks is standing, waving their hands in testimony; others is kneeling and praying aloud. A few rows ahead of us there’s a woman dancing a little two-step out in the aisle, and seeing her face, how she is lost in the music and the movement, makes me remember a time when I danced till my feet bled—with a smile on my face the whole time.
Brother Harice hands the yellow rattler he has been holding to one of those big fellers from the elders’ bench who lays it across his shoulders and goes to skipping across the platform. They’ll keep the snakes up there or near the front; Dorothy needn’t fear that one of them’ll come near her.
They’s some of the Signs Followers treat the serpents awful rough—laying them down to walk on and slinging them around ever which way. I have heard of one feller who used a big rattler like a skip rope, but that was way back when Belvy and her man first took up with these folks, back when the church still met in Marshall County.
Not too long after I talked to Belvy about how them fellers was doing the snakes, she had an Anointing and prophesized that them what didn’t respect the serpents as instruments of God’s will would be bit. At first, didn’t nothing change, but after the one who was using the rattler for a skip rope got bit and died within the hour, the handlers, in this church anyhow, begun to treat the serpents better.
Up at the front, Belvy is setting quiet in the midst of all this commotion. I can’t see but the back of her head but I know she is something set apart—a calm center in this storm of worship.
Seems like long as I’ve knowed her, Belvy has been seeking after God. When first she was married and away from her mother, she tried one church then another till she must have got saved more times than she can remember. Made her feel good, somehow. But then it would kindly wear off and she’d find something wrong with the preacher or the teaching or the other folks in the church and she’d move on to another—mostly Baptist, of course, Hardshell, Freewill, Missionary, and I don’t know what all. One time she even got mixed up with the Presbyterians—but that didn’t last. Belvy likes her preachers to work up a sweat when they bring the Word.
Brother Harice has pulled out two copperheads now, one of them kindly dusty and pale looking, being just a few days from shedding his skin. Snakes is often extra touchy before they shed, as they can’t hardly see, the old scales over their eyes having got all cloudy, but this one don’t give the preacher no trouble. It just hangs there quiet as Brother Harice brings it up to his face and stares eye to eye with it. The second snake, its skin shiny and new, is rank and ill-tempered. It twists in the preacher’s hands, thinking about escape.
The first time I saw a snake shed its skin, I thought it was a miracle—the snake looking like it was dying and then the old tired skin just shucking off and a new snake coming out the mouth of the old, leaving behind the too-small skin and crawling off to start life all over. The scales is fallen from its eyes, like Saul in the Bible, I thought to myself back then.
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There is a hush falling over the congregation and now Belvy is on her feet, one hand raised high. I wonder if she’s getting an Anointing, if she’ll be given a message that will help us find Calven.
The other time she sought an answer for me, Belvy spoke in tongues and whirled about before she come and stood in front of me to speak the prophecy. But now she is just standing there, not moving a muscle—like she had been turned to stone. She could be one of them prophetesses of old—mighty women like Miriam or Deborah in the Bible.
She stands there like a tall tree, so straight and still, and I see how folks look at her—how they step back and give her room. Every one of them calls her Aunt Belvy, like they all want to claim kinship with her. She is the cornerstone of this church, no matter that being a woman, she can’t preach. She can still prophesize and, buddy, when she speaks under an Anointing, they all of them perk up their ears and listen.
It was ’40 or ’41 when Belvy first went to a Signs-Following church; I know she had gone several times and had already made up her mind to join before she finally come by the house and told me about it. I could see right off that something was different for her face was shining like the dawn of day.
Now, Belvy was always a pretty woman and she liked to dress up fine and fix her hair just so whenever she went out but on this day she’d left off the red lipstick and the earbobs she was so proud of. I didn’t know it at the time but that’s the way of the Holiness women. Vanity, they call it, to wear makeup or jewelry.
“Birdie,” she said to me, taking my hands the moment she come up on the porch, and I remember thinking that even her voice sounded different, kindly humming, like a plucked guitar string. “Birdie,” she said, “I have at long last found what I been looking for—a church so filled with the Spirit that it just naturally overflows. I have been an empty vessel all this time but now the Spirit has filled me clean to the brim.”
She smiled at me then, a smile I remember just as plain—like there was light pouring out of her mouth and her eyes. And even without the lipstick and with her pretty hair slicked back from her face and pulled into a knot, at that moment she was the most beautiful woman I ever seen. Buddy, that light was just pouring out of her, like she was so full of the Holy Spirit that it couldn’t be held back.
