EIGHTEEN
The Preacher Comes to Our House

The next afternoon, Pastor Ross came to our house. He was in a pair of jeans and a plain white T-shirt and denim jacket.

Mama had put on a brand-new maternity outfit of dark green with a pattern of lavender violets on the collar. Grandma had bought it for her, and it looked real pretty. She and Daddy greeted Pastor Ross at the door, invited him to sit down, and then Mama sat in the recliner and put her feet up. Daddy settled on the sofa while Pastor Ross took Grandma’s rocking chair, which was a little too short and small and girlie for him, but he didn’t seem to notice. Grandma wasn’t there to help because she was out for a drive with Rob Estes, looking at the fall colors. Boy howdy, if she wasn’t with one boyfriend, she was with another.

“Would you like some sweet tea, Pastor?” I asked.

“That would be real nice, April Grace. Thank you.”

As I fetched his drink, I could hear him and Mama talking. They talked about how she was feeling, how much she was missed at church, and how much she missed being there. When I returned, they were discussing the weather.

“I hope we have a mild winter again this year,” he said, taking the glass from me. “Thank you, April Grace.” He took a sip, then said, “Now, Lily, when you called last evening, you said you wanted to talk to me about Isabel St. James directing the church play. Would you give me some details about that?”

I didn’t know Mama had called him last night, but that did not diminish my interest in this conversation, not one little bitty bit.

So Mama explained Isabel’s background and experience and concluded with, “They’ve hired her to teach at the school, and I think she’ll be a real asset to the Cedar Ridge school system.”

“That’s fine, that’s fine.” He nodded and sipped, and I thought he looked a little nervous.

“Mike. Lily,” he said, clearing his throat. He glanced at me. “This is a rather . . . delicate subject, isn’t it?”

“Delicate?” I echoed. “I bet you think ole Isabel might be a great big pain in the patootie, don’t you?”

“April Grace!” Mama and Daddy both scolded at the same time.

I winced. “Well.”

Pastor coughed softly and rolled the glass between his hands, watching the motion.

“Folks, my concern is not so much about Mrs. St. James directing the play, per se. I’m more than willing to give her a chance. Do I wish she attended our church? Of course I do. Is it absolutely necessary that she do so to work on the program? No.” He shifted in the rocker, put the glass on the little table next to it, and looked at Daddy, then Mama. “Please understand when I say I don’t want to pass judgment on Mrs. St. James, but I’m afraid her abrasive personality presents a problem.”

“I didn’t know you knew Isabel,” Daddy said.

“I don’t. But knowing she was a friend of yours and someone who lived in your home, I did call on her while she was in the hospital.”

That was news to me.

“Her behavior toward me is unimportant. I’ve been spoken to far worse, believe me.” He paused to smile at all of us. “However, in the few minutes I was at her bedside, I saw her interact with staff; that is, a nurse, a cleaning woman, and the orderly who brought her meal.”

“Uh-oh,” I said because I couldn’t help it.

Pastor Ross glanced at me, winced a little, and nodded.

“Yes.” He turned to my parents. “And I have to say, folks, that I’m none too eager to have our church family spoken to the way she talked to the staff.”

“Oh my,” Mama said faintly. All of a sudden she wore that worried expression again.

“Pastor,” she said, looking at him earnestly, “if Isabel does not direct that play, I just don’t know what we’ll do. I called everyone I could think of, and while many expressed their willingness to help, only Isabel wants the responsibility of directing. It’s quite an undertaking.”

“Yes, yes,” Pastor Ross said with all the sympathy and understanding you can put into those two words.

There was complete and utter silence in that room for a time.

“Isabel has already said she’d do it,” I said in a quiet voice. “In fact, she’s all excited.”

Pastor looked at me.

“Oh?”

I nodded.

“I think she needs something in her life that excites her and gets her involved,” Mama said.

“We all need that,” Pastor Ross said softly.

“We do!” Daddy agreed. “In our family, we have each other and all this love. We have our home, our friends, our church. Above all, we have God in our lives. We forget what it’s like for someone who has none of that.”

“This would be a good step for Isabel,” Mama added. “A way to get her involved in the community and the church.”

You could see Pastor Ross wanted to do the right thing, but he wasn’t sure what the right thing was.

That man seemed at a complete loss for words.

“Pastor Ross,” Mama said, “you can count on April Grace to help Isabel interact with our church folks in a way where no one gets upset.”

The preacher looked at me like he could read my mind and was gonna write down all my thoughts. That was a little scary because sometimes I have thoughts I don’t want the whole world to know. But finally he smiled, turned his attention to my parents, and nodded.

“Well, on your recommendation, we’ll give it a try, Lily. I know you have only the best interests of our church in mind.”

“You can count on that, Pastor,” Daddy said. He gave my mama the sweetest smile you ever saw. I had to look away before I ended up with high blood sugar.

Mama called Isabel and asked her to come over, without Myra Sue, to talk with the preacher, and then she and Daddy sent me upstairs to my room.

I guess they thought I didn’t need to be in on the next part, but I’ll let you in on a secret. I sort of like to hear things that aren’t intended for me to hear. Okay, so I eavesdrop. You know that about me already, and it’s not such a secret. But that’s how I find out things, especially things grown-ups refuse to tell me.

So I hung around at the top of the stairs, out of sight, but I could still hear the conversation. Daddy introduced Pastor Ross and Isabel, and those two greeted each other with all the politeness you can imagine. For all I know, Isabel was rolling her eyes and squooshing up her lips, but I sorta doubted it. She was so jazzed to do that play, I figured she’d be nice to the person who could veto the whole thing.

Here’s what happened. The preacher explained everything he’d talked with us about—except the part where I’m supposed to keep an eye on her—and he wrapped it up by saying, “The church kids are good kids. A little rowdy at times, but good. A kind word and respectful tone of voice will go a long way with them. I’m sure you will get one hundred percent cooperation if you remember Christ’s teaching about treating others as you would have them treat you.”

There was the tiniest silence in which I am sure Isabel blinked thirty or forty times. But when she replied, her voice was quiet and respectful.

“I understand. I assure you, Reverend, the people in your church will have a Christmas program of which they can be proud. In fact, the entire town of Cedar Ridge will be pleased to attend.”

Again, silence hung around for a moment or two.

“That’s wonderful, Mrs. St. James,” Pastor Ross said. “Just bear in mind, there will be a period of adjustment in which patience might be tested all around.”

“Well,” Isabel sniffed. “I am the very soul of patience, so you may put your mind at rest.”

I wanted to scream out, “Oh brother! Are you kidding?” But I didn’t for a few reasons. Number one: This was all my bright idea in the first place. Number two: If Isabel did not follow through or Pastor fired her, Mama might feel like she’d have to direct that play, even against doctor’s orders, because that’s how devoted to the church she is. And number three: I was not supposed to be hearing any of this.

“Well, that’s fine. That’s fine,” Pastor Ross said maybe just a tad too enthusiastically.

“Remember, Pastor,” Daddy said, “Isabel will have the assistance of our girls, and they’ll be a big help to her.”

“Yes! Yes, that’s right. They will!” The relief in his voice rose from downstairs like the good smell of bread baking in the oven.

But I’ll tell you one thing: I hoped I had not cooked up a recipe for disaster.