The sounds of Sunday morning echoed through Hope Methodist Church—bells chiming out the worship hour, laughter coming from the choir practice room, hushed whisperings rising toward the lofty rafters as saints and sinners alike took their places in the polished pews.
Erma Jane Crocker was struggling to get her robe over her brand-new crepe de chine dress when Jo Lisa Markham strolled through the door. Jo Lisa leaned on the door frame with a cigarette hanging from her mouth, and surveyed the room with a bored look. Large rhinestone earrings dangled from her ears and bright scarlet lipstick adorned her mouth. She wore red high heels with no stockings, and what little material there was in her skirt barely covered her crotch.
A woman with a starched hairdo and Pepto-Bismol pink lipstick stared at her, mouth agape.
Jo Lisa turned a jaded eye her way. "Anything I can do for you, lady?" Except for the cigarette, she was minding her manners.
The woman's mouth worked like a fish before she could finally make a sound. "You must be new."
"No. I'm used."
Miss Erma Jane Crocker nearly outran her shoes as she bolted across the room to seek refuge among a group of prissy, anemic-looking women. Erma Jane's mouth flapped nonstop, and the entire group turned to stare at Jo Lisa.
There was only so much saintliness she could stand. She went to find her sister.
Susan was at the piano, head down, studying the sheet music, humming softly.
"If I were in your shoes, I'd be cussing, not humming."
The first majestic chords on the organ swelled through the church as Susan glanced up.
"If you're referring to what happened yesterday, forget it. I have."
"Have you?"
Susan colored, then turned her back to Jo Lisa and began to stack music into a folder. "I'm glad you decided to come, Jo Lisa."
"Don't get your hopes up. I'm not here for a whitewash and overhaul. I'm here to look after you."
"If that's what it took to get you here, be my guest. But I assure you I can take care of myself. I've been doing it for the past three years."
Guilt clawed at Jo Lisa's black soul. She figured the devil must be laughing with glee.
She grabbed up a choir robe and rammed it over her head. It hung in her earrings, and she nearly jerked her ears off getting it on.
"How do you button this damned thing?"
Smiling, her sister buttoned the choir robe up the back.
"Wipe that silly grin off your face. You don't know shit from shinola about looking after yourself."
Susan saluted. "Yes, ma'am."
"And another thing. If I'm going to sing in this damned choir, I want the best solo parts. Understood?"
"I wouldn't have it any other way. Follow me. And watch your language. You’re in church."
Susan led the choir into the sanctuary, and Jo Lisa followed along, dressed in virginal white. She hoped God had a sense of humor.