Sunday morning was cloudy. Angry overcast skies threatened rain, but Nell Stout hadn’t bothered to bring an umbrella along. The one she had in her closet at home was in pitiful shape, the spines broken.
After parking the white Buick, Nell ran a hand over her gray hair, pulling it back into an elastic band and tucking stray locks behind her ears. She uncapped a Maybelline lipstick, purchased for the occasion, and rotated the rearview mirror to apply it.
She drew a pink ring on her mouth, surveyed it in the mirror, and frowned at the reflection. Shaking her head, she wiped the lipstick from her mouth with the back of her hand.
Nell walked into the entry of the Riverside Baptist Church, looking furtively around her, as if she feared someone would jump up to block her path and ask her to leave.
“Good morning!” A smiling man with moussed hair extended a folded bulletin to her. “Glad to have you with us today.”
She took the paper he offered, not bothering to respond. In the sanctuary, her eyes darted around the space, looking for her target.
At first, she didn’t find what she was seeking. Nell took a seat at the end of a back pew, to sit and wait. A young woman sitting beside her, wearing a maternity dress, tapped her arm.
“Ma’am? Sorry, but if you don’t mind, I’m saving that seat. My mom is running late.”
Nell turned her head and gave the woman a look. She didn’t speak, didn’t bother to smile.
The young woman snatched up her purse and moved to a different pew.
Nell waited, scouring the room with her eyes. Finally, as the men serving as deacons were lined up at the doorways on either side of the sanctuary, a family of four arrived, moving down the center aisle with haste, to find their seats before the service began.
Nell stood, watching the family shuttle into a spot near the altar. Waiting, she rested her hands on the pew in front of her.
“Excuse me? Can you sit, please? The service is about to begin.”
She ignored the usher at her elbow, a man wearing a jacket and a bow tie. Moving with a decided tread, she walked the crimson carpet down the center aisle to the beat of the drums pounding in the praise band.
At the pew where Ivy sat with her foster family, Nell paused, turning to peer down the row, as if she might join them.
At the altar, the pastor invited the congregation to stand and join in the “Hymn of Adoration.”
Nell locked eyes with Ivy. The child ducked her head and tried to hide behind her foster mother.
Nell walked around the front of the sanctuary and slid in a spot on the side, to the right of Ivy’s pew. She looked at the person standing next to her, a short woman with a frowzy gray permanent wave. Nell broke into a sharp laugh and nodded at her seatmate.
“Hey there, Dixie,” she said with a lopsided smirk.
Dixie, who had been singing the hymn, stopped in midnote to gape at Nell. Nell grinned, revealing the gap that showed her missing molars.
Dixie snatched up her purse and started to shuffle past Nell.
“Hey. Don’t mind me.”
Dixie ignored her, brushing past Nell into the aisle and heading up the aisle at a near-run. While the hymn continued, Nell chuckled. Remembering her aim, she leaned forward and caught sight of Ivy. In violation of the minister’s order to stand and sing, Ivy sat in the pew; her knees were pulled up to her chin, her eyes locked on Nell.
Nell winked at her. Ivy’s head dropped to her knees.
Ivy slid her eyes toward Nell Stout to see whether she was still keeping watch.
She was. The black gaze was fixed on Ivy. She squirmed under the scrutiny, as if it burned her. Nell was a devil who could see into her mind and heart.
The preacher was talking. Ivy transferred her attention to him, hoping for distraction from her pursuer. She stared at his head; the bright lights in the ceiling reflected off of his thin golden hair.
“Brothers and sisters, I extend an invitation—on behalf of our savior, Jesus Christ. Is anyone ready to enter the fold?”
There was palpable shifting in the congregation, as people turned in their seats to see who might rise and respond.
“Who is ready to have their sins washed away? Washed in the blood of the lamb?”
Ivy sunk down in her seat, uneasy with the public display. Her foster mother cut her eyes at her and gave her a nudge, but Ivy ignored her. She was thinking.
“Who believes? Who will be saved by faith alone? For brothers and sisters, you can’t be saved by works; don’t think that your good deeds will count for you on the Day of Judgment. You must believe; you must be born again.”
A disheveled man in a worn jacket and dirty jeans rose from a back pew and made his way down the aisle.
“Welcome, brother! All are welcome!”
As Ivy hunkered down in her seat beside Holly Hickman, the foster mother nudged the girl again, looking at her with an urgent expression. Ivy remained in her seat until a shove from the foster mother set her in motion.
With a look of resignation, Ivy nodded at Holly. It was the smart thing to do, she thought. The safest thing—though as a rule, she shied away from being a show-off, drawing attention. But maybe today was the day to make an exception.
Slowly, the girl rose and made her way to the pastor, literally dragging her feet. It was hard to go before so many people, to have so many pairs of eyes fixed on her back. But the preacher smiled, as if he’d been waiting for her. He disregarded the shabby man he had greeted moments ago, and reached out to Ivy with both hands.
With a radiant face, he said, “Let the little children come to me and forbid them not; for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”
Ivy paused. Maybe it wasn’t so smart, after all, putting on a show with Nell watching. She tensed, looking like an animal poised to retreat; but the pastor bounded over to her and grasped her hand before she could escape.
“This is the sheep that was lost, and we have found her. This little lamb will be redeemed in our church this very day.”
He led her up to the baptistery, a large tub at the front of the sanctuary.
“She was born into sin, into the worst kind of iniquity. But every man, woman, and child can break free of the chains that bind them, and enter the fold.”
His wife appeared as if by magic, with a plastic poncho. She slipped it over Ivy’s head. The pastor lifted her up, her legs dangling off the floor.
“Ivy, do you accept Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior?”
Her face was contorted with fright, but she nodded.
“Say ‘I do.’ ”
“I do,” she mouthed.
“Do you reject Satan and his temptations?”
This time, with the second question, he let her frantic nod suffice. He set her inside the baptistery, then followed, climbing into the tub with alacrity. Covering Ivy’s nose and mouth with his hand, he announced, “Ivy Dent, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”
He plunged her backward into the water and held her in place, though her writhing arms and kicking feet were visible, splashing the water from the tub.
When he raised her up and released her, she gasped, reaching out and grabbing hold of the tub. She shook her hair like a puppy, blinking her wet eyelashes.
The pastor spread a hand on her head. “How do you feel?”
“Good.”
He laughed, and the congregation joined in. “So you weren’t scared down there in the water?”
“I was scared. But then I seen a beautiful angel in a white dress. And I didn’t need to be scared no more.”
“A vision! From the mouth of babes.” The preacher’s voice was happy—but he turned on Ivy with a look that was suspicious and unbelieving.
She meant to give the man what he wanted. Ivy had managed to make it through the first six years of life by figuring out what people in charge wanted from her, and either delivering it, or staying out of the way. And the enemy was present, seated right in the church. Ivy needed God on her side. Or, at least, the Reverend Albertson.
So she tried another tack. “And I knew Pastor Albertson would take care of me and not let me get water up my nose. So I wasn’t afraid so much.”
The smile returned. Ivy felt a wave of relief; she had made him happy the second time around. He held out his large, soft hand, and she clutched it, holding on for dear life. It was clear to her that one of her primary jobs these days was keeping the preacher happy. If she played it right, he might stand between her and Nell Stout.
And Smokey.