Looking for Salvation at the Dairy Queen (15 page)

Flora put a plate in front of me and told me to eat up. “I know,” I told her. “I'm going to need my strength.” But I had to wonder how much strength it was going to take to bury my daddy. I doubted there was enough bacon and biscuits to give me what I needed.

Gloria Jean said that the funeral home director down in Dalton suggested that both the service and the reception afterward be held at the church since Daddy was sure to draw a big crowd. The fellowship hall could hold at least five hundred. Since there wasn't a funeral parlor in Ringgold, visitations should probably be held at the house, where the family would be most comfortable. Besides, Gloria Jean and Brother Fulmer were afraid that the drive back and forth to Dalton might be hard on the Euzelians. “And Lord knows those blue-haired women will want to keep a prayer vigil going for the next few days.”

Then Gloria Jean turned to me and asked what day I wanted to have the service. She said we couldn't wait too long, but anytime before the end of the week would probably be fine.

“And, sweetie, you need to be thinking about who you'd like to give your daddy's eulogy. I'm sure Brother Fulmer or Brother Blankenship would be honored to do it or, if you'd prefer, we could get that preacher over in LaFayette that your daddy liked so much, if you'd rather have a certified man of God overseeing everything.”

Whatever, I thought to myself, but nothing came out of my mouth.

“I'm going to head down to Dalton later this morning and pick out a casket. Now, you don't need to go with me, unless you just want to,” Gloria Jean continued.

All these decisions needed to be made, I understood that, but I kept thinking I shouldn't be the one to make them—in my house, I felt like such a little girl. “No, I think I'll stay here with Martha Ann. Just be sure it's real pretty, something simple but pretty,” I said. Daddy never put on fancy airs when he was alive, and he certainly wouldn't want to in his grave.

But before leaving, Gloria Jean said she and Flora were going to walk down to the church. Ida Belle had called an hour ago and said that the florist had already delivered more than fifty arrangements, just this morning, and that before long no one was going to be able to find her among all the gladiolas and red carnations. Gloria Jean said she actually heard for the very first time a tinge of panic in Ida Belle's voice, and Flora thought she might be able to help.

Gloria Jean hadn't stepped foot inside Cedar Grove Baptist Church for years, not since Mama died, and now she was on her way to help make sure things looked pretty for my daddy's funeral. I never really knew what had kept her from going to church, but whatever it was, I guess daddy's dying left her feeling a bit more forgiving.

Anyway, Gloria Jean thought I might like to go with her and spend a few quiet moments in the church before everyone in town started coming to pay their respects. Miss Mabie said she'd stay at the house in case Martha Ann woke up. She promised she'd call as soon as Martha Ann got out of bed.

“Flora,” she called as we were walking out the door, “don't stay down at that church too long ’cause we got to get this house in order ’fore the mourners start showing up in droves.”

Flora just waved her hand like she was hearing what she already knew. She insisted on driving Miss Mabie's sedan the half mile or so down to Cedar Grove. I told her we could walk, that's what we always did. But she said it was too cold for her to do that what with the arthritis in her knees acting up. Daddy drove the Oldsmobile to church only when it was thundering and lightning. He said walking with the Lord helped prepare him for the morning. It felt wrong to be driving.

Climbing out of the backseat of Miss Mabie's sedan, I thought I saw Daddy standing on the top step, holding his arms open wide, waiting to welcome me home. I gasped, and looked again, but he was gone. “Come back, Daddy, please come back,” I cried to myself where nobody could hear. Three generations of Cline men had welcomed the faithful and prayed for the lost right there on those steps. Now the steps were bare, and I wondered who was going to shepherd Ringgold's orphaned flock.

I mounted the stairs with Flora standing steady behind me, and then I slowly walked down the red-carpeted aisle toward the cedar pulpit that my great-granddaddy had made with his own two hands. I savored every step, thinking of all the times Daddy had pounded his fist on top of that pulpit, drawing my attention back to the sermon. I wondered if he knew all the times that Martha Ann and I were playing tic-tac-toe while he was working up a sweat trying to save another soul. I wondered if now that he was in heaven he knew about all the little secrets his girls held tightly on the back pew.

Flora found Ida Belle in the kitchen, already boiling water for the deviled eggs she planned on making later that afternoon. Ida Belle never liked people in her kitchen offering to help. “The helping hand strikes again,” she'd say, shooing some well-intentioned old lady out of her way. But Ida Belle didn't seem the least bit bothered by Flora's presence. In fact, she seemed to appreciate another woman who knew her way around a kitchen as well as Flora did, even if her hands were dark brown.

Gloria Jean and I made ourselves comfortable on the soft, plush rug in Daddy's office. She said she couldn't remember when she had gotten down on the floor for any man, but I told her it just didn't feel right to sit anyplace else. Brother Fulmer said Daddy died working at his desk, preparing Sunday's sermon. Daddy always said the good Lord would take him in his boots, so to speak, and apparently He honored his word. Now all I knew was that his chair seemed like some piece of holy ground, and I didn't feel worthy enough to touch it.

We read some of Daddy's old sermons and flipped through the pages of his Bible, looking for favorite verses he had marked with a pencil. Just touching the pages I knew my daddy had touched a thousand times felt comforting, almost like we were reaching out to each other. I told Gloria Jean I thought we should read from Galatians and Second Timothy. We both agreed that the choir had to sing “The Old Rugged Cross” and “Just As I Am.” And that was all I knew to do.

Gloria Jean wondered if Brother Fulmer should deliver the eulogy, since he was so devoted to my daddy. But all I could see was Brother Fulmer standing on the front porch, wiping tears from his eyes. “No,” I said, “let's get the preacher from LaFayette. The church needs to grieve.”

“I think your daddy would be very proud of you, Catherine Grace,” Gloria Jean responded, as if I had said something thoughtful and wise. “Listen, hon, I'm going on. Now don't stay here too long. You need to go on home and get some rest. You hear me?”

“Don't worry, I will,” I said automatically, already feeling anxious about leaving Martha Ann back at the house.

Gloria Jean got up off the floor, which took a little doing, and then hugged me good-bye and walked back into the sanctuary. The church doors blew shut behind her, rattling even the walls in Daddy's office. But in the quiet that followed, I lay down on the floor, and with Daddy's worn, tattered Bible placed across my chest, I stared out the window, wondering if Daddy was riding on one of those clouds floating by in the sky, wondering if he had found Mama. Closing my eyes, I started singing softly to myself.

Just as I am, Thou wilt receive.

Wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve.

Because Thy promise I believe,

O Lamb of God, I come! I come! O Lamb of God, I come!

I rocked myself back and forth and continued to sing, lulling my body into a comfortable place it hadn't known the last couple of days. Suddenly I felt someone watching over me, listening to me, and I wondered for a moment if maybe my daddy had come to check on his little Catherine Grace. Flora said that when you pass to the other side, sometimes you stop and spend a few days saying all your earthly good-byes before you go and take your place in heaven once and for all. I even felt a shiver run down my spine, a sure-enough sign, Flora said, that a spirit had come to pay a visit. My spine never did tingle after Mama died, although sometimes I pretended it did.

I figured this was as good a time as any to tell Daddy how bad I felt about leaving town. I was truly, truly sorry I broke his heart. I just couldn't seem to help wanting something else. And though I hated to make him feel bad on his first full day as an angel, I desperately wanted to ask him about Miss Raines and why he kept his love for her a secret from Martha Ann and me. I mean, seeing her last night, with those teary eyes of hers, left me feeling certain that what she and Daddy had must have been a true, abiding love. But I still didn't believe that she was carrying his baby. Lord, what was Daddy planning to do, ship her down to Texas like they did the poor Hawkins' girl and just pretend that nothing ever happened? But when I opened my eyes, all I saw was a white puffy cloud hanging outside the window.

Flora and Gloria Jean said it was the Lord who called my daddy home. Now I knew it was not right to question the Lord's intentions, although, truth be told, questioning His master plan had become something of a habit of mine. And looking up at that cloud, I had to wonder if He had really thought this one through. There sure were a lot of mixed-up, hurt feelings down here, and I couldn't help but think that maybe my daddy's earthly departure had been prematurely miscalculated. Being nicknamed the Almighty would lead one to think that the Heavenly Father is incapable of such a scheduling error, but with so many lives to follow, I think a miscalculation is a reasonable conclusion. I mean, it sure would explain a lot of misfortunes in this world, like little babies dying of a high fever, or a daddy falling over at his desk, or a mama floating down a river.

The heavy, wooden door at the front of the church suddenly slammed shut again, bringing my attention back to the world around me. I expected to hear somebody walking down the aisle toward my daddy's office or back toward fellowship hall. But I never heard any footsteps. I didn't feel any shivers down my spine, either. No, it felt more like a real-live person was haunting me this time. I jumped up off the floor and was about to hightail it out of my daddy's office when I ran into a large, strong body.

“Good Lord, Ida Belle,” I shrieked, “you practically scared the pee out of me.”

“I'm sorry, darling. I was just getting a little worried about you. I heard the door, but when I didn't see nobody, I thought I better come check on you.”

“You heard it, too?” I asked, sounding a little anxious.

“I heard the door, if that's what you mean. Lord, every time it slams shut it shakes the whole building from top to bottom.”

“I know. But Gloria Jean shut the door behind her when she left. I heard it close.”

“Oh, baby, I bet that florist sneaked in here with another arrangement and was too scared to show his face. He probably didn't get the door shut tight, and then a big old gust of wind come along and slammed it closed. That's all,” she explained and then stared at me with a small, sweet smile on her face, checking to see if I had been calmed by her explanation. “Oh, baby, were you thinking that your—”

“No,” I said before she could finish. I didn't want Gloria Jean or Ida Belle or anybody else believing I was seeing ghosts or even looking for them, for that matter, but I sure as heck didn't want to believe it was the florist, either.

“Your daddy will come along to you soon enough, maybe in your dreams tonight,” she said, seeing the disappointment in my eyes. “The dearly departed always have a way of checking on us, especially when they have to leave so sudden like poor Brother Cline did. Sometimes we know it, and sometimes we don't. But I do know one thing for darn sure: Your daddy loved you very much, and he would not leave this world without making sure you was okay.”

My eyes were filling with tears again. “Yeah, that's what Flora said.”

“Well, you'd be wise to listen to Flora, ’cause I tell you any woman who can roll a biscuit as light and feathery as she can knows what she's talking about. That's right.”

I desperately wanted to believe her, and standing there in that dirty white apron of hers, Ida Belle seemed almost official, like what she was saying had to be right. But I knew it didn't always happen that way. Mama never came to me. God knows I begged her to. But she just walked out of this world and never looked back, no good-byes, no nothing.

The clock on my daddy's desk told me that I had been lying on that floor for more than two hours. I imagined by now Flora was back home frying chicken and cooking a pot of green beans, and if I didn't get there soon, she'd have my sister sitting at that table and be feeding her like a little baby.

I hugged Ida Belle good-bye and realized that in all the years I had known this woman, we had never really talked about much more than Wednesday-night suppers. Dying has a funny way of making you see people, the living and the dead, a little differently. Maybe that's just part of the grieving, or maybe the dead stand there and open our eyes a bit wider. Either way, I left the church feeling like a young girl again, my daddy walking next to me, holding my hand, just like he used to do.

As I got closer to the house, I saw five or six cars parked in the driveway. People were already coming to pay their respects, again. I guess they figured that crowding into my house and making small talk and eating chocolate layer cake was going to make me and Martha Ann feel better. I'm sure Miss Mabie was enjoying hosting the party. After all, she was a professional socialite of sorts. But the thought of facing all those people was making my stomach ache.

I glanced over at Gloria Jean's house, hoping to see the LeSabre parked in the driveway. Nothing was there but a hungry, old squirrel tiptoeing over the gravel and nibbling on some scrap of food that somebody must have dropped from another ham platter intended as a gift to the grieving family. Well, the Lord certainly giveth and taketh away, I thought to myself while watching that squirrel guarding his newly found treasure. Then I wondered why such odd thoughts kept popping about in my head at a time like this, leaving me to feel like a big pot of corn kernels sitting on a red-hot stove.