NINETEEN
Ian and Isabel Go to Church

The following Friday evening, ole Ian said, “I believe it’s time for Isabel and me to attend church with you this Sunday.”

I know you’re shocked, but try not to fall out of your chair. I reckon he chose that time because he’d have us all there as witnesses in case Isabel tried to clobber him. Not that our being there would stop her from trying.

You should’ve seen the narrow-eyed glare she pinned on him, but he just ignored her.

“With Isabel getting the cast off her leg a few days ago,” he said, “she can get around much better, just a little slowly with that cane of hers. We’ll be moving into our own house in a few weeks, and we’d not be doing it if not for the men at the church who’ve been helping.” He glanced at the little missus. “Plus, lambkins, you really should get acquainted with the young people you’ll be directing.”

“Oh, Isabel!” Myra Sue said, clasping her hands to her chest.

“If you go to church, everyone can see how beautiful you are! No one at the church, or even in Cedar Ridge, has your style.”

“Myra Sue,” Mama said quietly. “There are many good reasons to go to church.”

But Myra Sue’s idea had been planted in Isabel’s head, and there was no going back to the real world. Ole Isabel brightened right up.

“Yes,” she said thoughtfully. “You have a point, dear Myra. I should let them witness style and grace before we start auditions. It will inspire confidence and emulation.”

“That’s a lovely idea!” Mama said. “And, of course, with Isabel being much recovered, Myra Sue can come back home.”

Ole Myra looked like the world had just collapsed, and I sorta felt that way, too. I sure had liked having my room all to myself.

Sunday morning, Daddy, Myra Sue, and I went to church in our Taurus. It was a nice car, so we didn’t use it for knocking around the farm. It was used for going to church and weddings and funerals and visiting folks.

“I don’t know why I couldn’t ride to church with Ian and Isabel!” my sister said in the car on the way. She pooched out her lower lip about twelve yards. “They need me to show them how to get there. What if they get lost?”

“Oh brother!” I hollered. “As if anyone can get lost in Cedar Ridge.”

Daddy glanced at my sister, who was sitting in the front seat where Mama usually sits, but where she hasn’t sat for a long time.

“If I can’t have all three of my girls going to church with me, honey, I’d sure like to have at least two of them,” he said, smiling at Myra. “It’s not so bad, is it, riding to church with your old papa?”

She kinda rolled her eyes, but then she kinda smiled, too.

“Oh, Daddy.”

A few minutes later, Myra Sue spoke up again. “Hey, Daddy?” she said. “Do you think I could move into the St. Jameses’ house and take care of Isabel a little longer? I think she might still need me.”

“She’s on her own two feet now,” Daddy said to Myra Sue. Since Isabel was recovered enough to get out and about, ole Myra Sue would be moving back to our house that afternoon, and she was not happy about it, let me tell you.

I kind of don’t blame her for wanting to move into the St. Jameses’ house ’cause it looked pretty good now. It had a new roof, new siding, new gutters, and new windows. According to Daddy, the kitchen cabinets and bathroom fixtures still had to be installed, and the walls still needed paint, and the very last thing to be done was to have the old wood floors refinished. That house was gonna look real good when everything was finished. They’d be moving into it in two or three weeks.

The three of us waited outside in the church parking lot for Ian and Isabel to arrive so they wouldn’t feel like two butter mints in a bowlful of purple gumdrops.

When they showed up and got out of the pickup, those two St. Jameses looked like they were going to a party in some big city. Ian wore a dark blue three-piece suit, white shirt, and dark blue tie. His shoes were so polished, Isabel probably used them for mirrors when she put on her face that morning.

She wore a long-sleeved, knee-length black dress that was straight and narrow as a pencil, and I don’t hardly see how she balanced her skinny self on those thin black towers she called high heels, especially as she’d just been out of her cast a few days. I bet if her doctor knew that, he’d have a duck fit. I just hoped she didn’t fall and break herself all over again.

Good ole Ian kept his arm around her waist as she staggered across the parking lot to the church door. Bedroom slippers might have looked funny with that dress, but they would have been a lot more practical.

Daddy had to catch Myra Sue by the arm to keep her from running to Isabel’s side like a kid going after Santa Claus.

I reckon it would’ve looked odd to some people to see Daddy shake hands with them since they see one another every single day, but you know what? That’s what people do when they go to church. They shake hands when they greet you. They do it again during fellowship time. And then when we have a brief greeting time after the first song, and then again when church is over and you’re filing out the door. It’s my opinion that if someone would invent an automatic hand-shaker to pass around, it would save a lot of time and sore fingers.

Once inside, people greeted ole Ian and Isabel with a lot more warmth than you might think, especially as Isabel’s uppity reputation apparently had spread itself through the community like cow doodie over the vegetable garden. A lot of men already knew Ian, either from seeing him in town at the farm supply store, or in the Koffee Kup having lunch, or because they’d been working like crazy to help him and Daddy get the St. Jameses’ house fixed up. I think most of them liked him pretty good.

Everyone was friendly enough, but they eyeballed Isabel like they expected her to do something crazy. Of course nearly everybody expressed interest in her recovery and health. Several of the women complimented her hair and her dress, and they exclaimed over her shoes. Well, boy, oh boy, if you wanted to get on Isabel’s best side, the folks at the Cedar Ridge Community Church sure knew how to do it.

During church, Melissa and I sat in the pews where kids our age sat, and the St. Jameses sat with Daddy four rows from the back. Lottie Fuhrman was not in Sunday school that morning, but she did come in late for church and sit on the very back row with two of her followers, Aimee and Brittany, on either side. I figured they’d had a sleepover and Lottie brought them to church as her guests. I hadn’t been to Lottie’s for a sleepover since sometime last spring. Not that I wanted to at this point. But still, it felt weird that I’d probably never spend the night at her house ever again.

Those girls must have sneaked off to the Cedar Ridge Dollar and Dime down the street where everything cost $1.10 no matter what it was, because they had a sack full of candy and snack cakes. They rattled that sack around, munched those treats, and whispered like crazy. They made so much noise I thought for sure Lottie’s mother or stepdad would turn around and give them the Dirty Eyeball.

Now, if you’ve never been to church and sat with your friends instead of your parents, you might not know what the Dirty Eyeball is. I will tell you.

It’s when you’re whispering and giggling and passing notes with your pals during prayer or while the preacher is preaching, and you act like you forget you’re in church instead of at a slumber party, and then you look up and you see your mother or father has turned around in the pew where they’re sitting and they are Looking At You, and then your liver shrivels right up. That, my friends, is the Dirty Eyeball. And let me tell you, if you don’t sit up, straighten up, hush up, and listen up, your mama will get up and come right back to where you are and escort you to her pew, and there you will sit beside her like you are three years old.

Lottie’s mom and stepdad were sitting, all slicked up and shining in nice clothes, in the second pew from the front, and they never, not even once, so much as glanced at that girl and her friends. Some of the old ladies turned around and glowered, but you know what Lottie did? She gave one old lady the snootiest, smart-aleckest look you can imagine, then stuck out her tongue like a big fat brat. Lottie always could be a little bit of a smarty-pants, and she sometimes said hateful things when she got her feelings hurt, but she had never been such an out-and-out brat like she was now. It was almost like her feelings were hurt all the time, except she didn’t act hurt. She just acted, well, bratty.

I was completely embarrassed that Lottie and her crew acted like such knotheads on the very first Sunday Ian and Isabel attended church. But the St. Jameses never even glanced at those girls, so maybe they didn’t hear them. Maybe me and Melissa and the old ladies were the only ones who noticed, and maybe I wouldn’t have noticed so much if Lottie had not continued to be such a stuck-up, snobby pain in the neck at school, not speaking to hardly anyone and acting like if you got too close to her, she was gonna catch germs or something.

Right before the benediction, that trio of girls scooted out of the sanctuary, and after that, I had no idea where they went. Nor did I care.

After the final “amen” had been said, Isabel smiled without looking like someone yanked up both sides of her mouth with fishing line. Ian seemed so relaxed it was like he had been going to church all his life. You’d never know those two had curled their noses up at the very idea of church and church people just a few weeks ago.

It took a while for us to get out of the building because of all the fellowshipping and handshaking and yakking, but once we got outside, I saw Lottie and her friends sitting on the edge of the brick wall around the flower garden.

“I bet ole Lottie’s folks don’t know she was late for church or that she snuck out like a sneak before church was over,” Melissa said.

We both stared at those girls where they sat giggling and sneering at everyone who came out the church door, like a trio of High-and-Mighty Nincompoops.

“I think we’re better off without Lottie Fuhrman,” she added.

“Well, I don’t like the way she is now, that’s for sure, but I miss how much fun we used to have.”

Melissa thought about it. “Yeah, me, too.”

Just about then we spotted the Tinker twins peeking around the corner of the church house. Micky stepped out and took a few swift steps. His neon orange peashooter lifted, and he blew into it. The little, round plastic pea hit Lottie right smack-dab on the back of the head. Before she had time to jerk around with her hand on her head to see what happened, those two boys had leaped back behind the corner, out of sight. This happened two more times—once for Brittany and once for Aimee. Melissa and I were grinning like two monkeys when Lottie spotted us.

“Who’s doing that to us?” she yelled.

We did not answer.

“April Grace Reilly and Melissa Kay Carlyle,” she screeched, “who is throwing things at us? And you better tell me right this minute!”

If it’d been me who was being pelted with peas, I woulda jumped up and looked for the culprit; then I woulda found him and jerked a knot in his tail, even if it was Sunday and we were at church. I reckon those girls were too lazy to find things out for themselves.

Through all my snickering, I was able to yell back, “I’m sorry, but us hicks aren’t allowed to speak to the Lotties.”

Melissa and I like to have broke our ribs laughing when those girls got up and flounced off toward Melissa’s stepdad’s brand-new car. Since it was big as a boat, they had plenty of room to barricade themselves in the backseat and pout. But if it had been me, I’d’ve gone after those boys ’cause logic would have told me Micky and Ricky Tinker are the only boys in our church with nerve enough to shoot peas at someone with a million adults milling around.