Good Heavens (16 page)

Dora kept looking off beyond the trees, and in her dreamy way of talking, told us, “You might say I been there. Papa . . . he papered the sidewalls of our cabin with ever' purty picture he could find in magazines and calendars people give him. . . . He papered them walls to keep out the cold. Mighta kept out some cold, but mostly them pictures brought outside places inside . . . San Francisco, Paris, Rome, New York City . . . Charleston, too.

“I loved them pictures; they give me something to study on. But mostly I hated them. They showed me why they done what they done to the trees an' all the wild thangs a-livin' in the woods. They done away with trees an' livin' creatures to make room for their big houses and paved-over parking lots.

“There's big houses ever'where, with steep roofs and wide green yards. You ought to know they build them big houses to hold their tables—white willer ones on the porch and inside the front room, small dark tables aside every soft chair. A low, flat, four-legged one stays put before them settees people sit upon.

“Room after room there's tables—long ones polished and set with candles; round ones with marble tops a-holdin' silver pots an' the like. The eatin' table has got chairs all
around with candles that's never lit and false flowers, just for show. Another eatin' table is in the cook room with colored mats an' doodads set in the middle.

“Go along upstairs and in the hallway there's a drop leaf made of curly maple all covered over with lace an' a-holdin' a lamp. Up an' down the hallway there's bedrooms, an' ever' bed has got tables either side. It's a sin and a shame what they have done to give shelter to more an' more tables.

“Two hunnert years ago, the first McCutchen to come to the holler cut down a walnut tree, sawed the lumber, seasoned it, and planed a board to make the table my papa left to me. A body needs only one table. A good stout table for eatin' is one and the same for butcherin' a deer or making bread dough, canning beans, or writin' a letter to the court. I got me such a table so I don't need no big house.

“Home is in my mountain holler with trees an' wild thangs all aroun' and nary a road paved. Ever' place else is for tables an' cars an' the like.”

Well, I tell you the truth, I think we all felt pretty foolish. Who in the world but Dora would think of tables being the reason for big houses, yet when you come to think of it, we have got the idea that we need a lot more tables than we ever use. And it's also true that big healthy trees get cut down to make room for houses and such. Developers gobble up woods and farmland where critters have lived for generations and chase them out to live or die the best way they can. There oughta be a law against such as that.

We could hear the girl's husband coming down the
stairs, so we made room on the stoop for him to pass. He was taking that worried look with him. He said to me, “I will be much obliged if you can find your way cl'ar to take ca'e of my Martha.” His eyes were misty. “She's all I got, and all our girl-child has got.”

I promised him I would take real good care of her.

We all stood in the driveway watching that sad old man as he drove up to the road and turned on to the Old Turnpike. We watched until he was out of sight and then I said, “Let's call it a day, girls.”

I went inside and saw that Lenora and Evelyn had cleaned all those fish and was ready to start frying them. I showed them how to salt and meal them and how to get the grease hot before they put the fish in the deep fryer. Evelyn asked if she could make the cornbread, and I allowed she could since I had showed her how.

Then I went to my room, took a long, hot bath, put on clean clothes, and worked on my hair a little. In that climate a bad hair day was the rule, not the exception. I lay back in the chair hoping to doze off, but before I fell asleep the supper bell rang.

That supper was out of this world! There's nothing like fresh trout cooked right. Evelyn was so proud of the way the cornbread turned out, she ate more than she usually did. Ordinarily, she would just play with her food, pushing it around on her plate. We had plenty of fish, but to make sure we had some to take to Lester, I set aside my second helping.

Ursula had the new girl, Martha, sit at her table, and I heard Ursula promise her that she'd have a roommate
the next time another resident enrolled. The girl wasn't saying nothing and just picked at her food.

After supper, I washed my hair and rolled it up, then pressed my skirt to wear to church the next morning. With that done, I was free to relax. In my robe I sat in the chair and started reading my Sunday school lesson. That made me think about the Willing Workers back in Live Oaks—most of them would be doing the same thing. We were all brought up—well, maybe Thelma wasn't brought up like the rest of us since she came from Chicago—to know Sunday begins Saturday night. After getting all cleaned up and our shoes polished, we'd read the lesson. And here I was reading the quarterly, even though the same Sunday school lesson was not likely to be taught in the Valley Church where we were going. In fact, it was such a small church they might not even have Sunday school.

There wasn't much to be said for that lesson, so I read my Bible and prayed awhile. I must have fell asleep because about 11:00 I woke up. As often happens when I doze off like that, I became wide awake and couldn't go back to sleep.

Finally, I decided I might as well make myself a cup of tea and go downstairs and read a magazine. When I got down there, the new girl, Martha, was sitting in the day room all by herself in the dark. I turned on a lamp and asked her if she'd like to have a cup of tea.

She shook her head.

I sat down and set the cup on the end table. That made me think of Dora. I picked up a magazine, one of them with home-decorating pictures. I had never before
noticed how many tables are in houses. Dora was right. They're full of tables.

I thought I better tell the new girl that lights were out on the third floor at 11:00. I did, but still she sat. In a few minutes, she lit a cigarette, and I had to tell her she couldn't smoke inside. As she reached for the ashtray to put out the cigarette, I told her, “You can smoke outside.”

She ground out the cigarette and kept sitting there. I figured the first night at Priscilla Home must be hard for a newcomer, so I decided I'd sit up with her until she felt like going to bed. According to the admissions rule, she had been detoxed and sober for seventy-two hours, but she was still real nervous. I offered again to make her a cup of tea, but she didn't want any.

I put the magazine down. “Do you have children?” I asked.

“One,” she said.

“Boy or girl?”

“Girl.”

“How old is she?”

“Five.”

“Your husband, does he farm?”

“He's seventy-five years old,” she answered bitterly; she picked up her cigarettes and went outside.

I'd hit a nerve. Well, I wouldn't ask her any more questions, just stay with her until her nerves settled down. Of course, if I had known we'd be sitting up until the wee hours of the morning, I might have thought twice about that. Finally, about 3:00, Martha got up to go upstairs. I
thought it best not to follow right on her heels. I heard her take the first two or three steps, and then she stopped.

Uh-oh
, I thought.
Has she changed her mind?
Is she coming back in here?
I kept listening for her to come back or go on upstairs, but she didn't move. I wondered if I should go see what the holdup was. In a few minutes, I heard her take to the stairs again. I listened to make sure she made it up the second flight to the third floor, and then I got up and went upstairs to my room.

There wasn't much use in going to bed, but I laid back the covers and crawled in. I had hardly got settled when I heard a big racket right over my head on the third floor—sounded like the place was coming apart! I threw on my robe and went running up there. The racket was coming from Martha's room. I dashed in and flipped on the light switch. The bed was shaking like crazy, and Martha was thrashing about like some rag doll.

“Martha! Martha! What's the matter?”

She grabbed my arm, her eyes wide open and wild. I couldn't do a thing to stop what was going on!

Suddenly, Nancy was by my side and trying to help me. Together we struggled to hold on to Martha so she wouldn't hurt herself, but we couldn't stop the fit she was having.

“Nancy, what's wrong with her?”

Nancy shook her head. “I don't know.”

“A seizure?” We couldn't hold her down. The whole bed was bouncing about.

“It's not a seizure—she's wide awake.”

What we were seeing was like one of them horror movies, only there was no blood-curdling screams. The
whole room seemed charged with some kind of evil power, and that poor girl—never in my life have I seen a body so terrified! I just lit into praying as hard as I could. “Lord, help us. Lord, in the name of Jesus, help! Lord, help us! Help us, Lord! In the precious name of Jesus, help! Help!”

How long that went on, I can't tell you. It seemed like forever before that power, or whatever it was, let go of Martha. Before that bed stopped shaking, it had rocked clean across the room and was up against the bed on the other side.

As things calmed down, that poor girl just lay there staring at us and whimpering. I kept telling her, “It's all right, Martha, it's all right.”

Nancy took hold of my hand. “Miss E., let me look at your arm.” Martha's nails had broke the skin on my wrist, and it was bleeding a little bit. “I'll get a Band-Aid,” she said and left for her room. I picked Martha's blanket up off the floor, straightened it out, and spread it over her.

When Nancy came back with the Band-Aid, we pushed the bed back where it was supposed to be. She offered to stay in the room with Martha for the rest of the night, but I told her I'd stay and call if we needed her. Nancy didn't want to leave me, but I insisted. She went back to her room, and I lay down on the other bed in Martha's room.

I felt zapped but knew I wouldn't sleep. Who could sleep after a thing like that? I did thank the Lord that whatever it was, it was over, and I prayed it wouldn't happen again. I was also very thankful that the other girls had not woke up. Excitement like that would put the
house in an uproar. And I thanked the Lord for Nancy. Having a nurse in the house was a life saver.

Martha's breathing worried me; it was heavy and unnatural. Poor thing. I hoped she was going to be all right after this.

As the early morning hours wore on, I lay there trying to understand what we had been through. I didn't want to put a name to it, but if I was to guess, I'd have to say the devil was in back of it. But why?

I was thinking I would have to tell Ursula, but before the sun came up, I had decided not to tell her and let the chips fall where they may. For starters, Ursula had enough to worry about without this. In the second place, I couldn't explain what had happened. And in the third place, Ursula would probably send Martha home. I, for one, didn't want that to happen. I had promised Martha's husband I'd take care of her, and the Lord helping me, I intended to keep my word to that old man.

Of course, if it happened again, I'd be in Dutch for not telling Ursula.

10

Sunday morning dawned bright and clear. Decked out in our Sunday best we didn't look like the same crew who had been working in the garden. I'm sure I had bags under my eyes from not sleeping a wink the night before, but Martha looked okay. After all, she did get some sleep, such as it was.

The girls piled onto the van with me behind the wheel and Ursula in the jump seat. On the way down the mountain I tried to prepare them for what kind of service this church might have. “I don't know what we'll find here,” I told them. “This church may not be like any you have ever went to.”

“Gone to,” Ursula said.

“Not ‘went to'?”

She shuddered. “No, Esmeralda, not ‘went to.'”

I could hear reactions in back of me. It wouldn't take much for some of the women to tell Ursula off about correcting me, but I was determined to keep cool and ward off anything like that. I thanked Ursula like it didn't
bother me, and went on explaining what we might find in the Valley Church. “Like I was saying, this church might be a lot different from what you're use to. If there's shouting, anything like that, it's nothing to laugh at. We don't make fun of nobody's religion.”

Ursula repeated what I had just said. “We don't make fun of
anybody's
religion,” she said.

“That's what I said.”

“No, you said, ‘We don't make fun of
nobody's
religion.' That's a double negative.”

“Well, whatever,” I said and shut up. Making light of it did not come easy. I could hear Linda having a good time with this, and the women yelling at her.