Looking for Salvation at the Dairy Queen Read online

  These were particularly trying times for Brother Fulmer and his aching stomach. He knew the meatiest pork chops and the freshest fried tomatoes at Morrison's Cafeteria over in LaFayette were going to be gone by the time he got there. I always considered him to be one of the most faithful men in town because not once did he sneak out the back during the closing hymn just so he could get to the cafeteria ahead of the Presbyterians, something the Bostleman brothers did with great regularity, claiming they needed to get their aunt some food before her blood sugar level dropped again.

  Sometime after my ninth birthday, Daddy started asking me if I was ready to accept Jesus into my life as my Lord and Savior. I think I would have preferred he'd taken me shopping for my first bra than talked about something as personal as my salvation. “Not yet, Daddy,” I'd say, avoiding his eyes for fear that I was disappointing him.

  “Are you sure, Catherine Grace?” he'd say. “I mean, you'll know when it's time. You'll feel it in your heart. Are you sure you haven't felt anything in your heart? A stirring of any kind?”

  I think being the preacher and all, he was eager for me to make my walk with the Lord a public one. Truth be told, I wasn't sure I was ever going to be ready for that journey. Everybody else who walked down the red-carpeted aisle at Cedar Grove Baptist Church and into my daddy's open arms was crying and shaking, acting like they were possessed or something. I didn't feel anything like that, and I wasn't so sure I wanted to. I mean, I hadn't really known Jesus to go out of his way to do anything special for Catherine Grace Cline.

  But for a preacher's daughter, I guess this transformation was as inevitable as all the other changes a young girl must endure, except this one happened without any advance warning—no pimples, no tender breast buds, nothing. Martha Ann and I were minding our own business, sitting on the back pew of the church so Daddy couldn't see Martha Ann reading the hymnal and me drawing on the backs of the offering envelopes. My friend Lolly Dempsey slipped in next to us halfway through the sermon, and we started playing a three-way game of hangman.

  Lolly's mama and daddy were the only two people I knew who never came to church, not even on Christmas Eve or Easter Sunday. Lolly's daddy would drop her off right in front of the church, barely stopping his Chevy truck long enough for Lolly to jump out the door. I imagine he thought if he hesitated for more than a second, Daddy might try to save his soul, too. He was probably right.

  None of us were paying much attention to what Daddy was saying except when he pounded on the top of the pulpit for added emphasis. Then we'd look up as if to say, “Amen to that.”

  Mrs. Roberta Huckstep was perched on the piano bench, preening like a beauty contestant as she waited for Daddy's cue to start playing. Betty Gilbert, the regular church pianist, had gone to Macon for three weeks to visit her sister, and Mrs. Huckstep was reveling in her new, albeit temporary, position. She missed as many notes as she hit but since she's completely deaf in her left ear, she kept smiling, thinking she sounded like some kind of famous concert pianist.

  When Brother Fulmer started holding his stomach, Daddy knew it was time to bring the service to a close. He looked over at Mrs. Huckstep, and speaking in a kind of hymn-talk, said something like, “Remember, we all need to cling to that old rugged cross, so then one day, one glorious day, we, too, can exchange it for our heavenly crown.” This was her cue to start playing softly in the background as Daddy made one final pitch for salvation.

  Any other darn day, I would have kept on playing hangman. But for some reason, which I'll never understand, I put down my pencil and listened to the words of that hymn I had sung so many times before:

  In the old rugged cross, stained with blood so divine,

  A wondrous beauty I see;

  For 'twas on that old cross Jesus suffered and died

  To pardon and sanctify me.

  Pardon me? Sanctify me? Catherine Grace Cline? I mean, I hadn't really been all that nice to Jesus since my mama died. And I certainly hadn't given much thought as to how Jesus was feeling about me. But I guessed if He could love Catherine Grace even after all the mean, hateful things I'd been thinking, well, maybe He was more omnipotent than I had given Him credit for.

  All of a sudden, tears started welling up in my eyes and rolling down my cheeks. I didn't feel particularly sad, yet I couldn't stop crying. It was more like an urging, an urging in my heart, just like Daddy said it would be. Next thing I knew I was walking down the aisle toward my daddy, dragging Martha Ann along with me.

  Lolly followed right behind us both, I guess not wanting to be left in the pew by herself. She said she wasn't sure if her mama and daddy were going to approve of her committing herself to the Lord, especially if that was going to mean taking time away from her household chores.

  “You precious girls are the beloved children of the Lord,” Daddy said as he pulled us, even Lolly, into his arms.

  Daddy announced to the congregation that we would be baptized in two weeks, the first baptisms of the salvation season. An “Amen” chorus swept through the room, and then he encouraged all the remaining sinners to come and join us in our walk with the Lord. I felt like he was holding us up in front of everybody like some kind of fish bait, luring the others into the net. Then he said this was truly one of the happiest days in his life. Poor Martha Ann and Lolly, I thought to myself, they have gone and given themselves to the Lord without even knowing it.

  Baptism Sundays were all-day events that were as social as they were ceremonial. Immediately following the church service, everybody piled into cars laden with blankets and casseroles and drove the thirty-something miles over to Nottely Lake. The blue-haired ladies all rode together, safely following at least one mile behind the rest of the caravan, our very own Caravan for Christ, as Daddy liked to call it. Brother Fulmer always volunteered to leave church a little early so he could claim a green, grassy spot by the water and most likely a hot corn dog and French fries at the Dairy Queen along the way. It was kind of amazing that for as many corn dogs as Brother Fulmer must have sneaked behind his wife's back, his stomach was always flat as a board.

  After Brother Fulmer, Ida Belle was always the next to arrive, and she would jump out of the front seat of her station wagon already dressed in her dingy, old apron that she must have tied onto her body on the ride over, one hand working the apron strings while the other was holding onto the steering wheel. She would start barking orders at the men, telling them to set up the folding tables and portable grills. “We got to get those burgers and hot dogs going for the chil'ren,” she'd say, all the time directing the women to cover the picnic tables with red-checked cloths and citronella candles.

  She even brought a box of empty mason jars and told the kids to pick some wildflowers so she could place an arrangement on each table. Mrs. Gulbenk had taught her years ago that picnicking was no excuse not to set a nice table. When everything looked just right, Ida Belle would reach into the back of her old, red Rambler and start unpacking mounds of country ham, coleslaw, potato salad, sliced tomatoes, deviled eggs, green bean casseroles, freshly cut watermelon, and, her crowning glory, hundreds of homemade brownies, covered with her very own milk chocolate icing. And when all was said and done, there on the bank of Nottely Lake, it looked like the Fourth of July had run right into Thanksgiving Day.

  No one was allowed to eat one bite until all the baptisms had been performed and Daddy had blessed the food to the nourishment of our bodies. Martha Ann could be heard repeating Daddy's words, “That's right, to the nourishment of our bodies.”

  Brother Fulmer said the sight of that country ham waiting to be carved was enough to make even a saved man feel weak in the knees. And I believe he must have been right, because just when you thought your stomach couldn't wait any longer, Daddy, dressed in a long, white robe, would appear from inside a small green nylon tent. The crowd would fall silent, and everyone would part in front of him as if they were seeing Jesus for the very first time.

  Mama made that robe for Daddy right
after they got married. She even sewed weights into the hem so it wouldn't float above his waist when he walked into the water. And on the left cuff, she had embroidered in gold thread the words, “Oh Lamb of God, I come!” taken from Daddy's favorite hymn, “Just As I Am.” Being that it was the same hymn that had serenaded his own granddaddy's salvation, Daddy insisted that it be sung before every baptism at Cedar Grove Baptist Church. Miss Raines brought a battery-operated cassette player from our classroom, and as soon as Daddy walked out of the tent, she pushed a button and the music started filtering through the hot summer air.

  Daddy walked to the lake's edge and stepped into the water and smiled reassuringly as though he had just put his foot into a warm, soapy bath. He waded farther and farther into the lake until the water was around his waist, and then he turned, with his arms outstretched toward his congregation. All the candidates for baptism were lined up on the water's edge dressed in their bathing suits and wrapped in towels. I still wasn't sure what I was doing there, and I still didn't understand why I had started crying in church in the first place. Maybe I was just missing Mama. I used to get to feeling that way at the beginning of summer when I had more time on my hands to think about things other than long division and dangling prepositions. But no matter what the reason, I was minutes away from getting right with the Lord and there was no turning back now.

  Martha Ann and I were first in line with Emma Sue standing right behind us and Lolly standing right behind Emma Sue. Mrs. Huckstep was not about to see us redeemed before her precious granddaughter, so Emma Sue had found herself on the banks of Nottely Lake, looking as confused as we did. Martha Ann didn't like the water. She never had. I think she was afraid she'd be swept away like Mama. And she particularly didn't care for water getting in her nose or her ears, so she stood there with little pink plastic plugs stuffed in every hole above her chin except her mouth, which she kept locked tight.

  Daddy looked toward Martha Ann and with his eyes motioned for her to join him in the water, but she didn't budge. He paused for a moment, and then waved his left arm, signaling again for her to step into the water. Before we left the house that morning, Daddy had spent a long time talking to Martha Ann about the baptism and how she'd be safe in his arms. But all that talking didn't seem to matter much now. She just stood there, frozen, like she didn't even see him standing right there in front of her. Miss Raines stepped toward her and put her arm around Martha Ann's shoulder, trying to coax her into the lake. But as the cassette player crackled in the background, everybody began to whisper. I could hear words like scared and naughty swirling about the water's edge.

  Then Emma Sue poked me in the back with her scrawny little finger and whispered, “Looks like your sister's a heathen after all, Catherine Grace.”

  I heard Lolly warning Emma Sue that she better shut her trap real quick, but it was too late. Stealing the golden egg had been bad enough, but calling my sister a heathen was not something I could leave to the Lord to punish. My body started moving before my head could catch up with it, and before I knew what I was doing, I had taken that curly-headed, prissy brat by the shoulders and shoved her right into the lake. All I could see was a big white bow floating on the surface of the water.

  Miss Raines pulled me back from the bank. Mrs. Huck-step took turns screaming at me and then at my daddy.

  “Look what your little de—, Yes, that's right, devil has done to my Emma Sue. Emma Sue, stand up on your feet. Quit splashing. Reverend Cline, do something!”

  Daddy took two steps toward Emma Sue, scooped her into his arms, and then in a warm but commanding tone said, “Emma Sue, looks like you've gone and gotten yourself saved without me.”

  Everybody laughed, except Mrs. Huckstep, me, and Martha Ann, who still seemed lost in some sort of hypnotic trance. Daddy gave me a look that was very unfamiliar and something told me that my pending salvation was not going to be enough to save me from my daddy's wrath.

  Still holding Emma Sue, Daddy told her that the Lord loved her and forgave her, that she had been born a sinner, but she would be raised a child of God, then he dunked her one more time for good measure. If I'd been him, I'd have dunked her three or four more times just to be certain I had washed all the meanness out of her.

  Then Daddy motioned for me to join him in the water. I took my sister by the hand and pulled her along with me, thinking Daddy might not be quite so mad if I could get Martha Ann baptized without any further commotion. Daddy said the exact same thing to us as he had to Emma Sue, and then dunked us both at the same time, one in each arm. Martha Ann came up spitting water but other than that she was okay. I took her hand and walked her to the shore, and there I sat on the bank of Nottely Lake feeling like the most doomed child of God there ever was.

  Daddy didn't say much to me the rest of the day. After lunch he asked Miss Raines if she would take Martha Ann and me on home ahead of him. I was actually relieved to be making the drive without him. I wasn't ready to come face-to-face with my earthly maker in the confines of a 1968 Oldsmobile.

  Miss Raines offered to come in and wait with us. I guess she figured even the condemned might need a little comfort. But I told her it wasn't necessary. She was only being nice and all, but I didn't want her in my house trying to mother me, not today.

  I turned on the bathwater for Martha Ann and helped her wash the lake out of her hair, careful not to get any soap or water in her eyes. Then I took an extra-long bath myself, trying to wash the memory of the day down the drain. We were already in our pajamas and ready for bed when Daddy got home a little before dinnertime. We were working a jigsaw puzzle that Gloria Jean had brought us from Ruby Falls. I had probably worked that puzzle a hundred times. I knew where all the pieces went, but going through the motions seemed to quiet my nerves.

  Without even taking the time to hang up his robe in the hall closet, he told Martha Ann to go on to her room. He said that he needed to talk to me in private. All afternoon I had felt like I was going to throw up. Now I was certain of it, and I started scanning the room, looking for the trash can.

  “Catherine Grace, you are a lucky girl that I have had some time to think and reflect on your behavior today. Needless to say, I was very disappointed. I know Emma Sue gets under your skin. But you, Catherine Grace Cline, must love your enemies, all of your enemies, especially the ones that test you the most—even the ones wearing big bows in their hair.”

  “But she called Martha—”

  “Catherine Grace, I don't care what she called your sister.”

  “But Martha Ann was scared—”

  “Catherine Grace, that doesn't change what you did. I expect you to be better than that. I expect you to set an example for the others to follow. You are the preacher's daughter and with that comes a certain amount of responsibility, like it or not. Now I'm sorry, but you have to be punished.” He hesitated a moment before delivering my sentence, as if he didn't want to hear it himself. “I've given this a lot of thought, Catherine Grace, and you cannot go to the Dairy Queen for the rest of the summer. It is off-limits till the first of September.”

  My daddy had never done anything like this before. The worst he'd ever done was smack me on the bottom once when I grabbed Martha Ann's Raggedy Ann doll while we were standing in the checkout line at the Dollar General Store. She had been cranky all afternoon, and Daddy's nerves were already frayed. But I started crying so hard, more from the embarrassment than from the sting his hand left on my backside, that we had to leave our basket on the counter and go home without the toilet paper and toothpaste we had come to buy. He apologized later that night for spanking me. He said he knew the good book advised pulling out the rod once in a while, but it just didn't feel right striking one of his little girls. He said he'd never do that again.

  But Daddy knew that taking the Dairy Queen away from me was worse than any spanking. I couldn't remember a time when going to the Dairy Queen wasn't part of my weekly routine. Mama had taken me every Saturday, after all her chores were done.
We would sit there on that picnic table and eat our ice cream. We always left Martha Ann at home with Daddy or Gloria Jean because that was our special time. Then when I was old enough to walk there on my own, I started taking Martha Ann myself. Daddy knew it was where I went to reflect on the week gone by and get ready for the week to come. He had no right to take that away from me.

  “Daddy, that's not fair,” I screamed. “I hate being the preacher's daughter. I hate being your daughter. I don't care what anybody in this stinking, rotten town thinks. I don't want to be an example. Everybody in this town is stupid anyway. They're all stupid for staying here.” And then I screamed even louder, “I hate Emma Sue Huckstep. I wish she had drowned in that damn lake.”

  I couldn't believe I had said all of that out loud, not even stopping to take a breath.

  “Catherine Grace, you better get to your room before I get my belt.”

  Daddy had never used his belt for anything but holding up his pants. And even though I really didn't think he would do it, I knew I had pushed him too far. I ran into my room and slammed the door, my last desperate act of defiance. I threw myself across my bed and cried and cried until a big wet spot had formed on my pillow. I hated my daddy for being so unfair. I hated Emma Sue and her stupid-looking bow. I hated Martha Ann for being afraid of the water. I hated my mama for drowning and making Martha Ann such a scaredy cat. And I hated John the Baptist for starting this whole baptism thing in the first place. Only eight hours earlier I was freed and forgiven from a lifetime of sin, and now I hated everybody, even the people I loved the most.

  I woke up the next morning to find Martha Ann nestled against my back. She couldn't stand it when I was upset, and she probably figured sneaking in when I was asleep was the safest time to make amends.