Chapter Fifty-Six

TWO THINGS HAPPENED the week of December 7 that changed every home in No Creek, the world, and Celia’s life forever.

The first came during Sunday morning service, which had stretched into the afternoon, what with a church business meeting, then a coffee-and-fellowship hour before the preaching ever began. Reverend Willard was just finishing a long-winded sermon on repentance and forgiveness, which needed, in Celia’s mind, to be heard most by folks who weren’t there. He finished with the Oswald Chambers reading for the day—one he said he was partial to.

“‘For godly sorrow worketh repentance to salvation.’—2 Corinthians 7:10 . . .

“Conviction of sin is one of the rarest things that ever strikes a man. . . . Jesus Christ said that when the Holy Spirit came He would convict of sin, and when the Holy Spirit rouses a man’s conscience and brings him into the presence of God, it is not his relationship with men that bothers him, but his relationship with God—‘against Thee, Thee only, have I sinned, and done this evil in Thy sight.’ . . . The surest sign that God is at work is when a man says that and means it. Anything less than this is a remorse for having made blunders, the reflex action of disgust with himself. . . . Examine yourself and see if you have forgotten how to be sorry.”

Celia rubbernecked to find Rhoan Wishon and see how he took the reverend’s words, but Rhoan wasn’t there. Only Troy took up space in the Wishon pew, and he seemed mighty pleased with himself, as if none of the sermon applied to him, which Celia considered nothing more than a Wishon trait.

It was a shame the ladies of Garden’s Gate held such worry for Ruby Lynne, because today was the first time Miss Lill had accompanied them to church since Miz Hyacinth passed. If not for the Wishons’ trouble, Celia believed the day would have been just about perfect, until the last hymn.

The news came from Joe Earl, who’d missed the entire service sleeping off his Saturday night binge at the Whistle Stop Bar & Grill. Everybody was singing the final stanza when Joe, still wearing his rumpled boozing clothes, black hair sticking up straight from the night before, rushed into the church, down the center aisle, and up to whisper loudly in the preacher’s ear. “The Japs are bombing Pearl Harbor! Fifty planes or more—thousands of our boys dead! War, for sure!”

Reverend Willard paused, and Celia could tell he struggled with whether or not to take Joe Earl’s word. But who, drunk or sober, would make up such a thing? For her part, she’d never heard of Pearl Harbor and had no idea where in the world it was. But Joe was truthful enough when sober, and at least a dozen people sitting near the front of the church heard, so the hymn faded as gasps and murmurs raced through the pews.

Reverend Willard closed with a prayer, which was his normal practice. “Dear Lord and Father of us all, we’ve heard disturbing news today—news of the bombing of one of our naval bases by the Japanese.”

Intakes of breath and even a little whimpering came from those who hadn’t heard Joe clearly.

“Such news could strike fear in all our hearts did we not know that You are in charge of this world and our lives, that nothing happens without Your knowledge, and that You alone can bring good out of the horrors man perpetrates for evil. Protect the men and women in our armed services. Give President Roosevelt and our government and military leaders wisdom and discernment. Keep us from jumping to wrong conclusions and remind us daily that we are all in desperate need of forgiveness and of Your grace and mercy. Help us to reach out to friends and neighbors, especially those who have loved ones serving in the military, and make us a comfort and blessing to those in need. Let us be Your hands and feet to those we live among. Through Jesus Christ our Lord, amen.

“Let’s all go home now. Those of us who have radios can listen to the news firsthand and open our doors to neighbors without radios. Most of all, friends and brethren, pray.”

Not another word of encouragement was needed.

At home, Miss Lill fiddled with the radio dial. The first station she came to was already telling the story. Regular broadcasts were interrupted to tell the story again and again, with few updates, throughout the afternoon. Pearl Harbor had indeed been bombed by the Japanese that morning, laying waste to an entire naval base, sinking ships, killing thousands. Throughout the evening they kept near the radio, hearing of more devastation, waiting for President Roosevelt to speak.

But it wasn’t until the next day that the president broadcast, sober and grim, as he addressed a full session of Congress, the American people, and the world.

“Mr. Vice President, and Mr. Speaker, and members of the Senate and House of Representatives: Yesterday, December 7, 1941—a date which will live in infamy—the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan.

“The United States was at peace with that nation and, at the solicitation of Japan, was still in conversation with its government and its emperor looking toward the maintenance of peace in the Pacific.”

That sounded like slick dealing on the part of Japan to Celia.

“The attack yesterday on the Hawaiian Islands has caused severe damage to American naval and military forces. I regret to tell you that very many American lives have been lost. . . .”

The president went on to list a whole string of places the Japanese had attacked just since yesterday. Celia had no idea where any of those places were—Malaya or Hong Kong or Guam or the others—or what the people were like who lived there. Miss Lill had shown her Pearl Harbor in one of the atlases in the library, but it was so far away Celia couldn’t grasp it. Still, it felt like the world had gone mad. Is this the end? Does it mean Judgment Day?

The president concluded, “With confidence in our armed forces, with the unbounding determination of our people, we will gain the inevitable triumph—so help us God.”

Three days later, the United States declared war on Germany. Other countries followed. It seemed the entire world exploded in war. Folks in No Creek could hardly think on it, could hardly speak for the horror of it all.

The second great announcement of the week came in the form of a letter to Celia’s mama from the state penitentiary. Owing to good behavior and a reduced staff over the Christmas holidays, Fillmore Percy was going to be released from prison on December 20. Somebody needed to go fetch him. Celia knew that didn’t affect the state of the Union, but it would change Celia and Chester’s world overnight, not to mention their mama’s.

Secretly, Celia’s heart thrilled that her father would be home in time to see the Christmas play she directed, that he would see Chester walk toward the manger so lordly but humble and read the Christmas story straight from the Bible at the preacher’s pulpit, and her in a dazzling white robe—if she could only find one—and a glittered halo as the angel of the Lord. He’d hear their mother sing. But does this mean returning to our cabin? Does it mean leaving Miss Lill and Garden’s Gate and all these rooms full of wonderful books?

And when Daddy comes home, will he take to drinking again? Will he run ’shine and risk his life and ours all over again? Will he land back in jail? Will he turn mean like Rhoan Wishon? He never was that kind of mean, but what about now?

Celia knew there was a curse in the misery of moonshine and those who made it, those who ran it, those who bought and sold it, and those who drank their coin and families away. She’d seen it firsthand and wanted no part of it—never again. Even more, she wanted no part of the tension it raised between her parents.

If Daddy can be the friendly, smiling man he was when we visited him in jail, if he can live like he talked then—full of promises to not drink and to work hard and pay our way—well, that’s one thing. It might be worth giving family life a try. But if it means more of the same as before, I’d just as soon he stay in jail and rot.