Friendship Cake (14 page)

Charlotte began to cry again. Joyce reached in her pocket for a tissue.

“And, Charlotte, some of your anger at God isn't about God at all. The choices I made, the choices your father made, even and especially the choice that Serena made, were our choices. And we hurt you because of our choices. But God didn't do that, we did. And before you can forgive us, like I know you think you have, you've got to be mad at us first. And I would rather you be mad and yell and scream at me, than be so distant, so far away, so unreachable.”

She pulled her daughter to her. “I love you, Charlotte, and I am so sorry.”

Charlotte crawled into her mother's lap and stayed there, her mother rocking her, until they heard the door of the church open and close.

A few minutes passed, and Joyce finally spoke again. “Are you okay to go in now?”

Joyce felt her daughter nod her head against her neck. She waited a few minutes and added, “Well, you're a little big to carry.”

Charlotte let out a quiet laugh, moved off her mother's lap,
and picked herself up from the ground. Joyce got up too, and together they walked from the parking lot to the church.

Charlotte climbed in her mother's car. Joyce went in and spoke to the women still there, then came back out and drove her daughter home.

T
he wedding was postponed because of the funeral and the overall disposition of the Hope Springs community. Brittany's death was a dark, heavy cloud that situated itself directly above the church and clung to the heads and hearts of those who attended.

Some people wanted to talk about death and issues of fear and mortality. Others climbed into their hard shells and spoke of the things that troubled them only in their faraway glances or in bowed shoulders and trembling hands. People began to accept the fact that expressions of grief are as individualized as tastes in music and preferences for how to hear bad news. Some want to be eased into the information or sounds, and others want it hard and fast.

Charlotte visited all the homes of the children who knew Brittany and let them ask her anything they wanted. It was a grueling and tiresome activity, but Charlotte was convinced that pastoral care sometimes means coloring pictures and watching cartoons until a child might finally be ready to ask if what happened to Brittany was also going to happen to her.

Somehow, in the midst of this haunting tragedy, Charlotte grew wings. She was certainly not at peace with what had happened, nor did she become unattached or unfeeling. She wasn't locked into her own displaced or aggravated grief. Rather, a foreign and intangible sense of calm took her over; it could best be described as being comfortable in the uncomfortable, digesting the fact that she was unable to fix everything. And now, because she understood this deeply and solidly within herself, she was actually capable of being still.

The funeral itself was simple and fitting for a child. It was straight to the point of celebrating a young and beautiful life, and clear in stating the fact that everyone who suffered in this loss desperately needed the presence and attention of God and the support and love of one another. Charlotte made no attempt to remove anyone's pain or gloss over the undeniable suffering of everyone involved.

Following Brittany's death the worship services were short and unassuming. There was no order of service printed in the bulletin. Only the Scripture reading for the day and the words of the Lord's Prayer were included, so that those who found themselves suddenly unable to remember anything would have the words in front of them. When she preached, for a couple of Sundays there was no sermon like before. She preached from the Psalms and openly discussed the terror of emptiness and the agony of searching for God.

She made no attempts to theologize or sermonize away the death of a child, and her prayers were barely audible. If she felt the need to change the order of the service, she did. If she sensed that they had sung enough verses, she stopped the hymn. If she suddenly felt the need to go down and kneel by the altar before she spoke, she walked down in the silence and awkwardness of the congregation and prayed. Nothing became important for the young preacher anymore except that she listen to her heart.

For the first time in her life, Charlotte considered herself among the ranks of the walking wounded, and, as for a recovering alcoholic, success for her was merely having made it through one day, one hour without having become victimized by her woundedness.

Much to everyone's surprise, the congregation responded positively to the changes. They began to appreciate the new-found freedom in the worship services, and they followed their leader's example. Sometimes one or two would not stand and sing while the others did. Often during the service someone from the congregation would just go to the front, kneel and pray, and then go back to her seat. Once an older gentleman interrupted the preacher and asked if he might read the Scripture because he needed to say the words out loud.

Something was being untied, untangled for the Hope Springs Community Church, but Charlotte was not interested in naming or diagnosing it. As she had the untimely death of a child, she just let it be.

She agreed that postponing the wedding for a few weeks was probably a good idea. At least there would be a little time to sit with the loss before trying to celebrate the happiness and goodwill of a wedding. Wallace and Lana and their families met with Charlotte and decided to put it off until the week before Christmas. They thought that would be better for the bride and groom anyway; they would have the few weeks off from school for the holidays to get moved into Jessie's house.

Janice rented the young couple an apartment in town, but after a few days of talking it over, Lana and Wallace decided that they would rather stay in the community near school and family. So Janice took the apartment, and Jessie invited her grandson and his soon-to-be wife to live with her. “Besides,” she told them, “it'll be like having a built-in nanny.”

The night before the wedding, right after the rehearsal, a snowstorm hit the Southeast, freezing the ground and roads and
bringing to a halt driving, working, holiday shopping, and general day-to-day activities. Everything was stopped or silenced, everything, that is, except a wedding. Lana was convinced that a second postponement would mean cancellation. So, in spite of Lana's mother's pleas to wait until the following week, Charlotte agreed with the bride and kept the event as planned.

“I guess I'll need to clear off the parking lot and sidewalks.” Charlotte was talking to Jessie on the phone that morning to tell her Lana's decision.

“You can't do all that by yourself. Wallace has gone to clean off the Wests' driveway, so I'm not sure how long he'll be. But I'll come after I finish baking.”

“I could call some of the men from the church.” Charlotte waited, but there was no response from Jessie.

Finally, she replied. “I expect that would render little to no results. I'll come as soon as I can, and we'll do what we can do and not worry about the rest.” She stretched the phone cord to check on her cookies. “I'll see you a little later then.”

“Yes. Bye now.” And Charlotte hung up the phone. She knew the possibilities were slim that anybody would be enthusiastic about shoveling snow out of the church parking lot for a wedding they all opposed, but she still sat at her kitchen table trying to think of people who might be willing to put their prejudices aside and assist with the carrying out of this wedding. She could think of no one.

I could, she thought, call Grady and demand that the deacons handle this. But ordering their cooperation and assistance felt like making choices for the church leaders that they needed to make for themselves. So she decided that she would start
shoveling in the morning and hope to have at least one path to the sanctuary and a few parking places cleared by the afternoon.

She dressed in her warmest clothes, found a shovel in the shed behind the parsonage, and trudged to the church to begin the burdensome task. She worked for what seemed an hour, a lone woman trying to make a path from the church to the road. Her vision became a blur of white and blue. Snow to sky and sky to snow, she pushed and pulled the shovel across the sidewalk and over her head. With her arms and fingers stiff from the exercise and numb from the cold, she dropped the shovel at her feet and sat down on the frozen porch to see how little she had accomplished.

The futility of her work made her laugh as she became aware of how similar it was to her progress as a minister. “Guess I haven't gotten very far, huh, God?”

Suddenly a voice responded. “You praying out here because you're locked out or are you one of those folks who thinks you're closer to God outside?”

The voice frightened Charlotte, and she turned around to find Grady Marks standing at her back. He had walked up from behind the church. “Twila figured you'd be out here by yourself; she sent you some coffee.” And he handed her a thermos and a mug.

“Thanks. I didn't think to bring anything warm to drink, and it's pretty cold.” She pulled her scarf back over her ears, took the thermos, and poured herself a cup of coffee. She screwed the top back on and handed it to the man now standing at her side. He waved it away, and she set it down beside her on the step. It was the medicine her cold limbs needed.

“Guess the wedding is still on then?”

Charlotte wasn't sure of the meaning of the question, whether or not there was more than one, so she merely nodded her head affirmatively.

“I suppose you know my thoughts about this.”

Charlotte took a sip and shrugged her shoulders. “I suppose I know your wife's interpretation of your thoughts about this.”

Grady made fists with both of his hands and blew air into them, trying to get them warm. “A white girl and a black boy, it just don't seem natural to me.”

Charlotte didn't look at Grady.

“But I tell you the truth, not much does seem natural anymore.” He looked over at Charlotte, who was staring into her coffee. “A woman preacher. A little girl dying in the church parking lot. A big storm like this so early in the winter. Louise Fisher and that woman she's taking care of.” He kicked his heel on the side of the porch. “I'm not sure I know what ‘natural' is.”

Charlotte simply nodded and smiled. She didn't feel defensive at being compared to a tragedy or a freak of nature like a snowstorm. She simply realized that this middle-aged white man was doing the best he could to articulate his discomfort with change and people who were unlike himself.

“Jessie's been a member of this church longer than I have. She taught my children the books of the Bible and came over to my house to pray with me when my mama passed. I have a lot of respect for her.” He looked towards the back of the church, where his truck was parked. “So what I'm trying to say is that I've come to help you clean off the lot and get ready for this afternoon. A couple others said they'd come by too, so if
you've got other things that you need to do, we'll take care of this.”

Charlotte lifted her head as three farm trucks came up the road and turned into the driveway of the church. Six or seven men got out, reached for shovels picks, and started to spread out across the frozen lot and make a way.

It was the picture of grace, undeniable, indescribable grace, and Charlotte wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. It was the quenching of an old and tired thirst. And the moment was sweet, so very, very sweet that she wrapped herself in the vision of it all and drank it in like the steaming hot coffee.

The men, all members of the church, deacons and teachers, choir members and lay leaders, labored all morning, shoveling and raking, until the area was free from snow and ice and there was no hindrance for the wedding.

Charlotte was throwing salt on the sidewalk when she saw one lone, brown Chevrolet drive past with out-of-state plates. The black man stopped, looked out the window at the men and one woman who had been shoveling snow at the church, shook his head, and drove on.

 

JESSIE WAS PUTTING
on her gloves as she walked through the back door and straight into the arms of her ex-husband as he stood on the porch getting ready to knock. She was so shocked at the presence of somebody standing where she hadn't expected anyone that she didn't even realize who it was until she had fallen back into the storage freezer that stood in the corner of the screened-in porch.

“Jesus Almighty!” she said as she put her hand across her heart.

“No. Just James.” He smiled a wide-toothed grin and stepped inside. “You all right?”

Jessie picked up her right glove, which had fallen from her hands, and began smoothing down the front of her coat. “I'm fine. You just shouldn't go sneaking up on people.”

They stood awkwardly on the porch until James finally asked, “Can I come in a few minutes?”

Jessie looked beyond him towards the road. “I really need to go and help the preacher scrape off the sidewalks before the ceremony. There's just the two of us to do it.” She looked at James, studied him. It had been a few years since she'd seen him. He still looks the same, she thought.

“I don't think they need you.”

Jessie was surprised. “They? What do you mean?”

James took off his hat and held it by his side. “You still going to that white church on the corner?”

Jessie nodded.

“Well, I just drove by there, and they've cleaned off the whole lot, the porch, and the sidewalks. I thought there must be some other event for all that work on such a cold day.”

“Who's they?” Jessie moved closer to the door and tried to see down the street to the church.

“I don't know, but it looked like about four trucks, eight or ten white men. They were almost through by the time I drove by.” He brushed the snow from the shoulders of his coat.

“Oh.” This was all Jessie could say.

A few minutes passed. James cleared his throat.

“Oh,” she said again, looking over at James. “Yeah, sure, come on in.” She looked at her watch and began taking off her coat and boots. She reached for James's coat and hat, and he handed them both to her. He walked inside and looked around.

“Things look the same, Jess.” He went over to the mantel and began looking at the pictures. Then he lifted his nose in the air. “Baking a pie?” And he smiled.

“No, just a few cookies for the reception. A couple of the women from the church are hosting it, but I felt like they could use a little help.” Jessie went into the kitchen. “I still have some coffee from breakfast. I could heat us up a cup in the microwave.”