Walking Across Egypt (16 page)

Mattie got the hand mirror and handed it to Wesley. "How does that look?"

"A little whopsided."

"How so?"

"This side is shorter."

"Well, I ain't got a whole lot of time. Let's see. It is a little whopsided. Let me just trim this a little more." She trimmed and combed. "There now. That okay?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Mattie rolled the vacuum cleaner from the closet into the kitchen, attached the duster and vacuumed Wesley's head.

While driving to church, Mattie asked Wesley if he wanted to go to Sunday school in the Young People's Department or if he wanted to stay with her. He said he'd stay with her.

She would quietly escort Wesley through Sunday school and church, the warm experience of it, before he was off to see his friend and if any of it rubbed off on him, if church and any of its goodness rubbed off on him, then he and his friend would be the better for it. That was all she could do.

With the haircut and Robert's shirt and tie, she'd gotten him in pretty good shape. He looked all right, except for his teeth.

Wesley sat with Mattie during the assembly program, then walked with her into her Sunday school class. He was wearing Robert's light blue shirt with the white collar and navy blue tie with little red lions.

In the classroom Mattie stopped in front of a chair. Wesley, lagging slightly behind—looking for, seeing a pocketbook that was open, wondering how to get over there to sit close to it—bumped into her. Mattie spoke to the group of seven women, all of whom were looking at Wesley. "You-all, this is Wesley Benfield. Wesley, this is my Sunday school class."

Wesley nodded and frowned.

The women eyed Wesley pleasantly—smiled and nodded, except for Beatrice, who stared. That name: Wesley Benfield. Where had she...?—that short article in the morning paper. She spoke loudly: "A Wesley Benfield escaped from the YMRC Friday night. It was in the paper this morning—a little article. He was about sixteen, too. They caught another one trying the same thing."

"Won't me."

He told me he was on leave, Mattie thought.

"I was thinking this morning if it was any of the Benfields I used to teach," said Beatrice. "And this one's name was Wesley, too. Just like you. And about your age."

Wesley glared at her. "Well, it won't me." That awful woman staring at him, big earrings, thick powder on her face. He stared back as long as he could, then looked at Mattie.

Mattie was horribly confused. As she sat, she said, "Well, he's not the same one. This is my cousin's boy."

"Beatrice, Mattie wouldn't bring an escaped convict to Sunday school," someone said, and laughed.

"I'm from Arizona," said Wesley. He sat beside Mattie and picked up a hymnbook. That woman was liable to call the law, and they were liable to come surround the place. If they did he'd... he'd... just put on one of them choir dresses and sing in the choir and they'd never know he was there. He'd hide right in the middle of them. That would be awesome—the last place on earth they'd look for him. Hell, he could do that anyway. Then he could sneak out amongst the crowd, borrow a car from the parking lot and haul ass. That would be the safest way to do it and—what a genius move.

"Let's bow for the opening prayer," said the lady at the wood thing up front.

Mattie prayed silently. Dear God, I didn't know. Peter lied too. I didn't have no idea...

Wesley looked around. There was a bulletin board display on the wall at the front of the class. An angel with an extended hand stood behind a church. From her hand orange strings extended to groups of people of different colors from different nations. The title of the display was "Missions." There was a chalkboard along one wall, and a flip chart of maps by the door.

"...and be with the sick and afflicted in the hospital beds throughout this nation, throughout this state, this county. We especially ask Thy blessing upon those members of our church who are now sick, especially Trixie Byrd, and the Collingwood boy. And now be with us as we study Thy word. We are especially grateful for our visitor this morning. Please bless him in this hour. All things in Thy blessed name. Amen."

I, I need to think, thought Mattie. I'll tell them he needed Sunday school and church. I had to lie—Peter had to lie. Mine was a little white lie because this boy needed church so bad. Now maybe after church I can make him go back like he's supposed to. Maybe he'll let me take him back.

"Okay, let's open our quarterlies to today's lesson," said Carrie. "The scripture is from Psalms."

Mattie had not read her lesson. She was astonished at herself. She had never once come to Sunday school unprepared. Was the Devil behind this: the whole thing. Should she just get up this minute and go make a phone call to the YMRC? Go get a newspaper? Or should she ... Dear gentle Jesus, guide and direct me in this hour of need. Help me to understand what Thou wouldst have me do.

Mattie relaxed her shoulders and looked at Wesley. He was reading from the hymnbook. She put her finger on the scripture passage in her Bible, slipped toward him and held the Bible between them so he could look on. This was not working out right at all.

"The earth is the Lord's, and the fullness thereof; the world, and they that dwell therein ..."

Wesley held the hymnbook as he looked at the Bible. Mattie pushed the Bible closer to him so he would hold it with her. He put the hymnbook in the empty chair beside him, and held to the Bible. Mattie placed her finger on the passage.

Carrie taught the lesson from the quarterly. She said that the Psalmist was talking about how the earth is the Lord's and that one day he's coming back to claim it no matter what; that we should remember that America may be providing what amounts to the world's last hope.

As the lesson continued, Beatrice fidgeted with her handkerchief more and more. She was going to have to do something. Call the authorities. Mattie must have made some mistake; she was getting quite old. That boy could be dangerous.

Mattie tried to think—to untangle the confusion in her head. What should she do? Wesley must have escaped. But he needed the church—all the more now.

Wesley thumbed through the hymnal, came across "Shall We Gather at the River" and studied the words: "...where bright angel feet have trod." Muddy bright angel feet on the riverbank, he thought. Bright lights between their toes, shining through the mud. That one's feet on the bulletin board was behind the church. Bright angel feet jumping all around in the grass. White bright feet with neon blue blood vessels. He'd like to marry somebody with bright angel feet.

When the lesson was over, they all stood for the final song. Wesley picked up the hymnbook and fumbled to find the right page. The head woman played the piano and they all started singing: "This is my Father's world, and to my listening ears..."

Carrie gave the closing prayer, and dismissed them. Several women remained. Hanna Brown talked to Wesley: "We hadn't had a young man in here since I don't know when. It freshens up the place."

"That's because I had a good bath last night."

I've got to talk to him, thought Mattie.

"What?" Hanna leaned toward Wesley, smiling, with a frown around her eyes.

"That's because I had a good bath last night. I wouldn't have freshened up the place before then." Wesley looked around for the woman who'd put the finger on him. He didn't see her. He was going to have to do something, leave or hide, one.

Hanna laughed. "Did you hear that Mattie. He said he had a good bath last night."

"He did have a good bath last night."

"He's such a funny young man."

Beatrice was on the phone in the church office. "He's with Mrs. Mattie Rigsbee, Paul Rigsbee's wife. She won't be sitting with Paul—he's dead. She'll probably be sitting with Carrie Bowers about halfway down on the left. Carrie's wearing a white hat.... That's right.... Yes ... Mattie's a widow. Paul died of a heart attack five or six, let's see, five years ago. Went in the blinking of a eye sitting in his car at the stoplight on Tuney Lake Road. Thank goodness he won't driving along.... Yes, okay, you're welcome."

Only Mattie and Wesley remained in the Sunday school classroom.

"Sit down," said Mattie.

They both sat down.

"Did you escape?" said Mattie, looking straight ahead.

"Well, I sort of did." Wesley looked out the window, at the bulletin board with the "Missions" display, at the announcement written in yellow chalk on the chalkboard: "Bus leaves for White Lake Saturday at 9am. Sign up in the office."

Sheriff Walter Tillman and Deputy Larry Hollins, of Hanson County, on car patrol, received radio orders from headquarters. They drove toward the church. "I'll go in the front door after they get started," said the sheriff, "and that'll be in the back of everybody. You get somewhere behind the preacher, somewhere you can see from—maybe there's a door—so you can see him and catch him if he tries to run out that way. I'll wait outside the front door. When you get positioned, give me two clicks on the walkie-talkie; I'll come in and when I spot him I'll arrest him."

"And you told me you were on leave," said Mattie, looking at Wesley. "Well, well. This is some fix."

"I think maybe I better get out of here," said Wesley, standing, glancing at Mattie. "Now I'm a wanted man. I'm headed south for Florida."

"You ain't growed up enough to be a wanted man. That's one of your problems. I wanted you to spend one Sunday morning in church ... in a good church. You should have done your time. You shouldn't have escaped. It'll make it that much worse when they catch you. What are you going to use for transportation?"

"Them." Wesley pointed to his feet.

"Well, if you ain't out of town by 12:30 or 1:00 then stop by for dinner. I got all that food, and it's ready. You might as well." Lord have mercy, I've lied once, thought Mattie. Peter did it three times. I might as well feed him before he leaves.

Wesley stood. "Well, I'm getting out of here. See you later. If anybody wants to know where I am just say south of the border. Say he said he was going south of the border." He walked out.

Now there's that extra pork chop, thought Mattie. Well, well. If they catch him, I hope they catch him gently. She stood to go upstairs to the sanctuary for church service.

Wesley moved along a hall toward a door which led outside. Two children were just inside the door, two women just outside. The women were holding black pocketbooks. He could sure use a pocketbook or two. He pushed open the door and stepped outside. He wouldn't hide in the choir—if the coast was clear, he'd borrow a car. Suddenly there was a sheriff's patrol car coming down the road toward him; he spun around, walked back inside, stopped and watched the car slow, stop. Two uniformed lawmen got out, hitched their belts, and looked around. Wesley saw stairs at the far end of the hall. He'd better walk slowly, carefully. He'd go upstairs, find a closet or something. Mrs. Rigsbee would tell them he'd gone, left, and somewhere up there in a closet or something would be the safest place in the world. He could stay until everybody was gone. The choir would be too risky. He could say that's what he did. He walked up the stairs, holding himself to one step at a time. He wanted to sprint. He reached the top of the stairs and turned the corner. Damn. Choir members, in long dress things, were filing through a door. Jesus. That Beatrice woman was one of them. He'd have to go back downstairs and hide in a room down there. He turned and started back down the stairs. Feet. Coming up. Black spit-shined shoes, pants with a stripe. The Law. He turned on the stairs. He'd have to walk past the choir people. No, the last one was going through the door.

He hurried into the room the choir had left; there was a long, open closet—dress things inside. He heard footsteps. The footsteps stopped, then shuffled. The choir and congregation started singing. His heart knocked rapidly in his head and throat. He pulled a dress off a hanger, put it on, zipped it, picked up a hymnbook. He would go with the choir plan—hide in plain sight. He started for the choir door. In the hallway he met the deputy: shiny badge, all that leather, and a big pistol up under the elbow. The deputy spoke: "Can I see the whole auditorium in there from that door you think?" he asked, his hat in his hand, motioning toward the entrance to the choir.

"I don't know. Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

"There's a boy in there we need. Escaped from the RC. I gotta be able to see the place from back here."

"Un huh, okay."

Wesley stepped up the steps and into the doorway leading into where the choir was standing, singing. They were loud: "Ye chosen seed of Israel's race..." He held onto the door frame, licked sweat from his upper lip. There were several seats at the near end of the last row there in front of him.

The deputy stepped on Wesley's heel, leaned against him. "Excuse me."

Wesley smelled the deputy's aftershave. He stepped in. The voices of the congregation singing hit him full force.

Mattie, from her pew, noticed one of the choir members coming in late.

Deputy Hollins, trying to stay concealed, yet see from the door to the choir, suddenly realized that the way he could be the least conspicuous would be to get a robe and get in the choir, there on the back row. Otherwise, the suspect might see him peeping in the door. He found a robe in the choir room, and as he moved into the choir, he signaled Sheriff Tillman with two clicks on his walkie-talkie.