I helped out in the enormous garden, harvesting vegetables out in the August heat. I remembered about that because Mom used to raise our vegetables. Louisa always cans them for the winter, more heat in the kitchen with the cleaning and cutting and cooking. It seemed unnecessarily labor-intensive to me when there are grocery stores available and I have money, but my sister went on and on about the goodness of the land and the meaning and self-sufficiency of raising your own food. She shook her head at me and said, “It’s a lot of work, but it’s good work. Did you have a total blood transfusion down South? Have you forgotten?”
I guess I had, some of it, anyway. The backbreaking parts. There’s an upside and a downside to every way of life. It was the downside of this life that I hadn’t missed when I was in Atlanta.
* * *
The next night was when things started to change. Meaning that people started showing up, and I started to realize that it was going to get busy around here, and not just with the animals.
After breakfast, I got dressed for another day in the garden. We tried to get out there early, in the morning cool, saving the indoor work for lunchtime and the afternoon. I thought that I was being helpful and that felt good. “Brandon may be here this afternoon to mow,” she said. “Rosie can’t take care of all the grass, much as she likes to eat. Such a sweetheart. Brandon, I mean. Well, Rosie, too. But Brandon, you remember him, he brought Jessie home the first night you were here? I keep a list of barn chores for him to do. He’s working for Al Pelley this summer, too, he’s my guy who does the plowing and planting since Harold’s gone. The field corn, you know. Then he harvests in the fall. He’ll have his annual hissy fit about what I keep wild for the deer. Kinda funny. I’ll keep him on, though, as long as he does what I want.” That’s just how Louisa talks. She gets to the point eventually.
“I remember,” I said. “I mean I know the name.” Then, an afterthought, I added, “Brandon seemed like a good kid. We were so exhausted that night I didn’t talk to him, but he was really polite.”
“I’m proud of him,” Louisa said. “Hard worker, and a reader.” Louisa didn’t have higher praise than that someone loved to read. Sometime after Harold died, she’d told me that she was helping Brandon plan for college. “He’s got those blue eyes . . .” she said, and right then I could tell that he put her in mind of Cody, the grandson she’d lost. I patted her hand so she’d know I understood. Some things are better unspoken.
Louisa waited until that afternoon, when Brandon was there, to spring it on me that Gus would be coming to dinner. “Oh,” I said. “Huh. What will we have?” I knew we hadn’t been to the grocery store yet. That was supposed to be tomorrow, she’d said, for staples.
“You worried about our dearth of vegetables?” she teased. “Gus’ll bring the meat, for you and him. He always does. There’s huckleberries to pick behind the barn, and I’ll bake a pie. I’ve got a crust in the freezer already. Brandon’s not staying tonight, he’s already got plans with some high school friends. You know, getting together with them before he goes back to school.” It hadn’t occurred to me that Brandon might be included. I had a lot to learn.
“Uh . . . Al?” I was afraid to ask.
“You’re kidding, right?” she said disdainfully. “Never. What do you think I’m running here?” Well, I thought, how would I know? There’s apparently a lot you haven’t told me. But I kept my mouth shut then, at least while I was figuring things out. I figured I’d use that strategy unless there was something I really had to fight for. I didn’t know then that soon there would be.
* * *
When Gus came right after lunch, sure enough, he brought pork chops with him and stuck them in the refrigerator as comfortably as if he did it regularly. Maybe he did. It was all news to me. And he had brought extra for me—Louisa had gone vegetarian after Harold died, but said Gus was meat and potatoes all the way. He arrived in paint-splattered clothes and brought a gallon of the wall color I’d picked, plus a quart of the trim for the closet and woodwork, a supply of rollers, a tray and some brushes. Carried in Harold’s old ladder from the barn and got to work while Louisa and I continued canning vegetables, which I don’t mind telling you I was already mighty sick of doing.
“How many jars of tomato sauce do you figure we’ll use this winter? I mean, after breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day, November through April?” I don’t even charge extra for subtle sarcasm, which I feel is generous of me. We were standing at the stove “bathing” jar after jar in boiling water until the lids sealed, after peeling, coring, and cooking huge vats of tomatoes from the garden. I’ve heard that saunas keep your skin looking young. Well, now I wanted to check myself in the bathroom mirror, because I figured I must have reverted to the skin of my thirties. Another day or two of this, and I’d be totally wrinkle-free.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” my sister said. “It’s a basic ingredient in many recipes, and I season it brilliantly. People beg for my recipe. Don’t think you can sell it, either.”
I decided to try another approach. “You do realize that all the steam in here is going to peel the wallpaper off?”
“Good. Wallpaper is out of style. You told me that, remember? Gus can paint it. That old wallpaper is tired. What color shall we go with?”
I was doomed.
Chapter 6
Gary
It hadn’t been easy, starting his church, but Gary was positive it was what God wanted him to do. The crowd that Brother Zachariah had drawn to the tent revival was hungry for the assurance and certainty of salvation, the ease of obtaining it. They’d wanted more, Gary had seen that, just as he saw a way to redeem his own life by giving the people what they wanted, letting them donate like Brother Zachariah had let him. Surely they’d bring their brothers and sisters, neighbors and friends into the church, too, and Gary would be the one to baptize their children. He’d Save them all. Well, technically, Jesus would, but Gary would be His right hand man. Sooner or later, he told himself, it would happen. He’d seen it like a heavenly vision.
He hadn’t thought the new church would have to meet in the rented barn for several years while the small flock saved money, but he hadn’t expected to have to buy land, either. He’d told them he’d have the land, meaning his mother’s, but that hadn’t exactly worked out. The members didn’t blame him, though. He helped them understand, to feel sorry and sad for his poor mother who didn’t grasp what God wanted. They were all praying for her and not holding a grudge, even though it meant that now they all had to have their many meetings in a barn which still smelled faintly of manure even though the Clean for Jesus Committee had done their diligent best with Pine-Sol. (That had set off Sister Rebecca’s allergies something fierce and she started skipping services until they switched brands.)
At least the folding chairs that members had scrounged from various places were set in neat rows, and he’d fashioned something like a pulpit in the front. His own art work was on the wall behind it, a large portrait of Jesus, even better than the one he’d done for his mother because this time he’d used both gold and silver glitter in the halo and found a way to make the portrait suggest both the blood of suffering, by adding just a few spots of red glitter on the forehead, and shining salvation, by the use of the silver and gold. Some of the members were struck speechless in awe of his talent. When he had more time, he planned to do more art to brighten up the barn walls, now that it was clear they couldn’t afford to build a new church anytime soon.
Now, back home from Atlanta, Gary thought about how death led to rebirth. His ministry had been validated by the Baptist, and not only that, he’d been of true service to his aunt, who’d always been good to him. His flock needed him, and there was much to which to attend. Sister Amanda had misplaced the telephone prayer list, for one, and the Sisters who worked the daily