Looking For Salvation At The Dairy Queen Part 7

But here's the really bad news. It's Ruthie Morgan. I'm sorry, so, so sorry. I couldn't believe it either. But I have to say Catherine Grace, Ruthie has been a lot nicer these past few weeks-maybe Hank's rubbing off on her-he certainly has enough goodness to spare and still n.o.body would think any less of him. But I know that's got to hurt.

Listen, please don't waste one minute of your time thinking about Hank Blankens.h.i.+p. I know you're going to meet somebody a lot more exciting than Mr. Ringgold. Besides, you need a man who's much more worldly and cosmopolitan than the son of a dairy farmer!

When you come home for Thanksgiving, we can stay up all night counting all the things we hate about Ruthie Morgan, starting with her collection of cashmere sweaters! I cannot wait till you come home. I've been missing you so much lately.

Oh yeah, thanks for the jar of raspberry jam. You were right, there is a little hint of lemon in it. I like it, but it does seem kind of silly for Davison's to sell jam made all the way over in England when the very same thing is made right here in Georgia. On the other hand, I guess the kinds of people shopping at Davison's aren't the same ones looking for the weekly specials at the Dollar General Store. Oh well, what do I know about retail!

Love You Lots,

Martha Ann

Hank and Ruthie Morgan. Well, how about that. I guess I wasn't surprised Hank was dating again. Boys his age like to have a girl they can call their own, at least that's what Gloria Jean always said. And maybe when you're eighteen and you plan on running your daddy's dairy farm, there's nothing else to do but marry some pretty girl and start having babies. But Ruthie Morgan, d.a.m.n-it-to-tarnation, I had to wonder if he chose her just to get under my skin like a tiny little chigger that leaves you itching and scratching for days.

But I didn't care. Really. I didn't.

Lolly wrote me a real long letter. She felt I needed to hear the news from my best friend. She said Hank and Ruthie were always together, hugging and kissing on each other, even in plain daylight at the Dairy Queen. I could not believe Mrs. Morgan would let pure, precious Ruthie get away with that kind of behavior, in public and all. Maybe it's not so trampy when your potential son-in-law can keep you knee-deep in b.u.t.ter and milk for the rest of your life.

But I didn't care. Really. I didn't.

Then Hank wrote me a letter. He thought it only right that he let me know that he and Ruthie were going steady. He said he hadn't planned on falling in love with her, and he figured it must be hard for me knowing how I feel about her and all. But he said if I ever took the time to get to know her, I'd fall in love with her, too.

I almost threw up. I knew he'd fall in love, but why her? Why Ruthie Morgan? She always had everything, everything I didn't-pretty clothes, pretty hair, and a mama and daddy who were home every day just waiting for her to waltz through the door. I know life's not fair, Daddy said it all the time. But for some people, it just seemed to be so much better.

I kept telling myself that I didn't care. Really. But I did.

I cared that Hank was in love, and not with me. I cared that at night, when everything was quiet and I started thinking about him, my heart would start hurting so much that I was afraid that there was nothing in this world that would ever make it stop.

And I cared that Daddy and Martha Ann were probably going to think that I didn't care about anybody but myself when they found out I couldn't come home for Thanksgiving. I cared all right. I cared about a lot of things.

Mr. Wallis never said flat out that I couldn't go home, but he sure said enough that made it hard to think that I could. He said the day after Thanksgiving was the store's busiest day of the year, and he suspected it would be the biggest day yet for the new gourmet foods department. Then he said I was the best junior sales clerk he ever had and that you couldn't get ahead in the world of retail without making some sacrifices. And if that wasn't enough, he said he would be naming an a.s.sistant manager before the end of the year. He said my name had come up in conversation, and even though I wasn't sure what that meant, he said it was a very good sign.

I finally found the courage to write Daddy and tell him the truth. That may have been one of the hardest things I've ever done in my life, almost as hard as leaving him in the first place. Miss Mabie said that Martha Ann and Daddy were welcome to come to Atlanta for Thanksgiving. She said she had plenty of room and plenty of turkey. I told Daddy he was welcome to come, but I knew better than anybody that a preacher during the holidays was in more demand than a sales clerk at Davison's department store.

Daddy wrote me back right away. He said Martha Ann was very upset with me. He said that of course time heals all wounds, like that would really make me feel any better. Funny how preachers can deliver all these sermons on forgiveness and then faster than saying "Amen" can make you feel guiltier than dirt.

Miss Mabie could see the sadness filling my eyes. She told me she had been away from her daddy more Thanksgivings than she should count. She said she knew exactly what I was feeling and that's why she told Flora to make her famous bourbon pecan pie. She said after just one bite I wouldn't be missing my family quite so much. Then she walked into the kitchen and told Flora she better make two.

Thanksgiving at Miss Mabie's turned out to be a very formal, fancy affair unlike anything I'd ever seen. Even though it was only the three of us, the table was perfectly set with the prettiest china, crystal, and silver. The dishes were creamy white with Miss Mabie's monogram in the center, written in a deep, brilliant blue. And I could even see myself in the silver spoon and knife resting by my plate, although Miss Mabie was quick to point out that the knife and spoon were for eating, not for self-admiration.

And Flora, well, she done outdid herself. She cooked all week long and in the end there was turkey, sweet potatoes, green beans and stuffing, rolls and cranberry sauce enough to feed an army. And Miss Mabie was right about Flora's pie. One minute I was feeling awful sad and homesick, out of place at this fancy table, and the next minute I couldn't stop giggling. Everything turned funny; even the marshmallows on the sweet potatoes were looking pretty silly to me.

I fell asleep after dinner, which was just as well, better than sitting in my room wondering what Martha Ann and Daddy and Gloria Jean were doing. The next morning I didn't have time to think of anybody. Mr. Wallis wasn't lying. The day after Thanksgiving was the busiest day I'd ever seen at Davison's department store. I stood on my feet for twelve hours, barely having time to stop and pee!

You'd have thought Christmas was the very next day the way everybody was reaching and grabbing for things. I even sold ten tiny cans of smoked trout, although I'm still not real sure what you do with it. I told Mr. Wallis I'd probably caught my weight in trout, but I'd never seen it all brown and dried-out looking and costing six dollars and ninety-five cents a can. Mr. Wallis said it was a delicacy, and I should sell it with a smile. So I did. In fact, Mr. Wallis gave me a twenty-dollar bonus for selling more trout and jam and olives than any other sales clerk in our department.

After work, Babs Young asked me if I wanted to drive out to the Varsity and get a hamburger or chilidog or something. Mr. Wallis had hired Babs the same day he hired me, but we had never done much of anything together except inventory the new s.h.i.+pment of marmalades that had come all the way from England. I told her that I had always wanted to go to the Varsity since I was a little girl and that I had asked Laura Lynn to take me but she was always too busy. Babs just waved at me to quit talking and follow her to the parking lot.

Turns out her real name is Barbara, but she said she hated the way it made her sound like an old woman, so she called herself Babs instead. She grew up in Atlanta and after work she usually met up with some of her old high school friends. I didn't know where they were tonight, and I didn't care.

The Varsity turned out to be the biggest hamburger stand I'd ever seen in my life, probably longer than a football field if I had to measure it. But the burgers and milkshakes weren't the best part. After we finished eating, we just drove around town, with the windows down, singing real loud with the radio. We were freezing, which only made us sing louder. People were looking and laughing. It was so much fun being with somebody my own age. But it left me missing Lolly something awful, left me missing somebody who knew my whole story. Sometimes, I was realizing, dreams left you feeling kind of lonely.

December 1, 1975 Dear Catherine Grace, G.o.d only knows how much Daddy and I missed you Thanksgiving Day. Daddy was really upset, not acting himself at all. But your not being here was not the only reason for his state of irritated distraction. I really don't know how to tell you this Catherine Grace, BUT, Miss Raines is pregnant. Yes, PREGNANT!

She said she has known for several months but had been too afraid to mention it to anyone at Cedar Grove, seeing how she's not married yet. I thought she was putting on a little weight, but I never dreamed she was carrying a baby. And not only is she pregnant, but she's engaged, too. Her fiance, I think his name is Donald Semple, lives down in Summerville. She said he's a manager at some feed store down there. They plan to marry by the first of the year, and then she's moving to Summerville to live with her beloved Donald. That's what she called him, her beloved Donald.

She came over to the house the day before Thanksgiving. She said she wanted to tell Daddy in person. She was crying a lot, and her eyes were real red and swollen. But I swear I heard her tell Daddy that she would always love him, and she hoped he wasn't too disappointed in her.

Daddy had no idea that I was listening from behind my bedroom door. I think the news stunned him so that he forgot I was in the house. Daddy's voice was so soft and low, it was hard to make out much of what he was saying. But I did hear him tell her that if she needed anything, anything at all, just to ask.

He told me later that night that he had something very confidential he needed to tell me. He said he wanted me to hear the news from him and not from Emma Sue Huckstep. Miss Raines was going to have a baby, for sure. But it wasn't contagious, and he didn't want me treating her like she had the plague or something. She's already feeling awkward enough and doesn't need any disapproving stares from a teenaged girl.

Daddy said she was afraid she might lose her teaching job, and even though she'd be moving soon, she needed to work as long as she could. He said he was going over to the school first thing in the morning and talk to the princ.i.p.al himself. He said he was a real understanding man with a forgiving heart, but the parents were already talking about her not being a good example for the children. He figured saving her job might take a little divine intervention.

And, of course, there is plenty of talk already swirling about town. I'm almost surprised you haven't felt the meanness floating in the wind down in Atlanta. Emma Sue said her grandmother thinks Miss Raines was so upset over losing Daddy that she went positively wild and gave herself to the first man she met. She doesn't even think Miss Raines knows the baby's daddy's name and that she's just trying to figure out a way to save face.

Honestly, Catherine Grace, it doesn't upset me that she's gone and gotten herself pregnant before she got herself married. Heck, this Donald Semple isn't married either but n.o.body's pointing a finger at him. But I thought she was still in love with Daddy. Gloria Jean said that a broken heart could make you do some pretty stupid things. I guess making this baby is one of those stupid things.

I can't wait to see you. I miss you. I'm counting the days till Christmas.

Love,

Martha Ann

December 7, 1975 Dear Catherine Grace, Got your letter, and I don't think Miss Raines's condition is anything to joke about. And she certainly cannot explain the baby's conception on a felt board like you suggested. Very funny Catherine Grace.

Listen to me, this is serious, and I don't think you really understand that, not being here and all. I mean things have settled down a bit. Parents have quit showing up at the school every day waiting in line to talk to the princ.i.p.al. And most of the kids have come back to her Sunday-school cla.s.s.

But Daddy is acting very strange, and Miss Raines has been coming by the house almost every day to talk to him. She told me the other night that she's sorry to keep bothering us but that she finds the company of her preacher particularly comforting right now at this very trying time. Trying. Not joyful. Trying.

And Daddy tends to her like she was having his baby. Catherine Grace, don't you get it? Miss Raines is having Daddy's baby! I am absolutely certain of it!!! That's why n.o.body's ever met Donald Semple. There is no Donald Semple. There is only our Daddy.

Please come home. I need you.

Love,

Martha Ann

December 15, 1975 Catherine Grace, I don't sound a thing like Mrs. Huckstep! And I can't believe you would even say that. You're not here, remember, and you have no idea what it's like to watch Daddy and Miss Raines together. It's not some crazy, made-up idea of mine. It's the truth. But stick your big head in the sand for all I care.

You didn't say one word about coming home for Christmas. Maybe you think your needing to be here, at home, with your family, is another one of my crazy ideas!!!

Martha Ann My daddy was not having anybody's baby. That idea was nothing more than the nonsensical jabbering of a bunch of overwrought, emotional women-including my very own sister! Daddy might still have feelings for Miss Raines, but he was not her baby's daddy. Lord, I only hoped Martha Ann was not spreading this crazy idea of hers around town any more than she already had. And I only hoped she remembered what happened when she told Ruthie Morgan that Gloria Jean had gone to some specialist in Dalton to have a cyst removed. The next thing you knew, Gloria Jean's sister was in Dalton tending to the special needs of some doctor.

Daddy loved Miss Raines, we all knew that, but apparently not enough to marry her and certainly not enough to have her baby. He would have done it the right way. He would have started with a ring, not a pacifier.

I told Miss Mabie and Flora all about Miss Raines. I told them how she used to love my daddy but now she was marrying a man named Donald. I told them how she'd gone and gotten herself pregnant before she got herself married. And I told them how my little sister was convinced there was no man named Donald and that she was having my daddy's baby instead.

Flora said that a true man of G.o.d would never give in to the desires of the flesh like that. Miss Mabie told Flora to open her eyes, that a true man of G.o.d was no different than any other man when it came to satisfying his most basic need.

Miss Mabie said that when she lived in New York City, she knew a Broadway director who had donated his s.e.xual time and energy to three women, leaving them each with a baby to raise. As far as she was concerned, anything was possible when it came to men and their paternal output. I was pretty certain she was talking about s.e.x, but I'd never heard it put quite like that. But that director was not my daddy. Flora just shook her head and kept saying, "Lord have mercy. Say it ain't so. Lord have mercy."

And now, given the very delicate nature of Miss Raines's condition, Martha Ann was never going to forgive me for not coming home for Christmas. Just like Thanksgiving, Mr. Wallis did remember telling me that I could have an extra day during the Christmas holiday since my family didn't live here in town. And just like Thanksgiving, he said that I was welcome to take it. But he also told me that he and all of the other managers and manager trainees would be back in the store first thing on the twenty-sixth, and he would prefer that I wait till the first of the year.

Although Mr. Wallis never talked about his personal life, I was more certain than ever that he had never had a wife or children. All he ever said was that his family was right here at Davison's. Seemed kind of like a funny place to call home.

But one thing was for darn certain: My sister was not going to understand anything other than my being home in Ringgold, Georgia, on Christmas morning. But I couldn't afford to be anywhere but here in Atlanta, especially considering the fact that I was the only soon-to-be manager trainee at Davison's who didn't wear a coat and tie. Mr. Wallis told me just the other day that pending a positive performance evaluation, I would be officially approved for the management-trainee program. He said it was about time there was a manager at Davison's wearing high heels.

I was on my way. I just felt it in my bones. I felt it in my heart. I really believed that my being here, working at Davison's, living with Miss Mabie-it was all part of a greater plan. I just wished my family understood that.

When I was little, I never thought G.o.d was listening to me. I never thought He got it, how badly I wanted this. Turns out, the Lord was listening all along, and when the Lord is showing you the door, Daddy always said you better walk through it.

Next Christmas, things would be different.

December 23, 1975 Dear Catherine Grace, I never thought your dream would mean giving up your family. Hope you have a Merry Christmas with Miss Mabie and Flora.

Martha Ann

CHAPTER EIGHT.

Leaving the Promised Land with a Blue Vinyl Suitcase Flora handed me the telegram. She didn't know what it said, but I guess she figured it had to be bad if somebody had taken the time to send a message by Western Union. Thank G.o.d she was standing there beside me because I fell right into her strong, black arms.

The next thing I remember is hearing her deep, gentle voice telling me to let the sadness pour out of my body. "Oh Lord, child, just let it out. Just let it out," she kept chanting, all the time holding me tight, pressing my head against her bosom.

My daddy was dead, and unlike a six-year-old girl, I knew what dead meant. I knew I was never again going to hear his voice calling me to the breakfast table or call out the high-school football scores. I was never going to see his body sway behind the pulpit or his strong hands tenderly handle the vines of a young tomato plant. He was gone, and he had left this world just as suddenly as my mama, not even bothering to tell me good-bye. Nestled in Flora's arms, I felt terribly alone. I cried and cried right there on the living room floor until my entire body began to ache, and then I cried some more.

Miss Mabie sat in a chair, wringing her hands. She looked awkward amid all the crying and left Flora to comfort and soothe my trembling body. I held my head up long enough to tell Miss Mabie that I needed to go to Ringgold as soon as I could. Martha Ann needed me, I said, and I needed Martha Ann. I needed to be in my own house, crying into my own pillow. I needed Gloria Jean. And I needed my daddy. "Miss Mabie," I softly pleaded, "if you or Flora could just get me to the Greyhound station, I sure would appreciate it." I needed to go home.

But instead I found myself sitting on my bed in Miss Mabie's house, staring out the picture window while Flora scurried about the room packing all my belongings into my set of blue vinyl suitcases, the ones, I told her, that my daddy had given me for my sixteenth birthday.

Miss Mabie said she and Flora both were going to personally deliver me to Ringgold. She said I was in a fragile state and shouldn't be traveling on my own. Then she told Flora that when she finished packing my bags to come and find her, that she was going down to the kitchen to make some sandwiches for the trip, and she wanted Flora to give her a hand. She said we needed to get on the road just as soon as we could. She didn't want Flora driving after dark.

Flora kept moving about my room, stopping only to mumble a short yes ma'am to let Miss Mabie know she would meet her in the kitchen as soon as the packing was done. I just kept staring at the magnolia tree. It had always looked so grand and magnificent, but today it was mocking me, reminding me that I was the one who had up and left my daddy's nest. I closed my eyes and saw my daddy sitting in his worn, brown reclining chair, holding his Bible, begging the Lord to bring his baby girl home. Now I was on my way.

Flora zipped my suitcases closed, and then she sat down on the bed next to me, taking my hands into hers. "Miss Catherine Grace, I'm gonna go downstairs and git you somethin' to eat. I've never known Miss Mabie to make much of anythin' in the kitchen 'cept maybe pour herself a gla.s.s of milk, and she don't even do that without makin' a mess. But you gonna need to eat. You gotta keep up your strength," Flora said, squeezing my hands to let me know she understood what it took to bury someone you love.

"Miss Catherine Grace," she said, as she raised her body off the bed, "you know this ain't your fault. It was jus' your daddy's time. G.o.d got himself a reason. We jus' gots to accept it, baby."

Flora sounded so certain that for a moment I wanted to believe her. But I knew she was wrong. G.o.d didn't do this. Not this. He took my mama, I was sure of that, but He didn't take my daddy. I had done that all by myself, without any help from above. I hurt my daddy's heart so badly, it just stopped beating.

Miss Mabie wrapped three tuna fish sandwiches in wax paper and put them in a brown paper bag along with some apples and oatmeal cookies and three Coca-Colas, more than enough food for the three of us considering we were only going a couple of hours up the road. After Miss Mabie walked out to the garage, I saw Flora unwrap each one of the sandwiches, checking to make sure they were good enough to eat. She added some lettuce and a dash of salt and then rewrapped the sandwiches and packed them away in the brown paper bag.

Flora took me by the arm and led me out to Miss Mabie's black sedan, opening the rear door and guiding me into the backseat. She lifted my suitcases into the trunk, thinking I might want to stretch out and shut my eyes for a bit. Then she slammed the door closed and slid behind the steering wheel. Miss Mabie sat in the front next to Flora. I could barely see Miss Mabie's white head bobbing above the seat, but I could hear her raspy, old voice telling me to lean on the Lord. But all I could do was lean my head on the car window and stare at the bare, dead-looking trees blur one into the next as we sped along the highway.

In the reflection of the gla.s.s, I could see Martha Ann, sitting at the kitchen table, all alone, waiting for me to come home. She had been waiting a long time. She said the pot roast was getting cold. I told her I was on my way. But she said it was too late.

Then I heard Miss Mabie calling my name, telling me to open my eyes. I had fallen into a dream, and I wanted her to hush so I could drift back to my place at the table. Daddy would be there, waiting for me.

"Catherine Grace, child, Catherine Grace," Miss Mabie said, her voice determined and insistent, bringing me back to the sadness I had managed to escape for a while. "Sweetie, we are almost to Ringgold, and Flora needs some directions to your house."

I raised my head above the seat and peered out the winds.h.i.+eld. The sky was spitting just a few drops of rain, but Flora switched on the winds.h.i.+eld wipers anyway, causing them to screech as they moved back and forth across the gla.s.s. The rain was making her skittish, and Miss Mabie had to keep telling Flora that she needed to calm down and open her eyes before we ran off the road. I told Flora to turn right and left and then left again. Still feeling fairly foggy brained, I wasn't sure if I was sending her in the right direction or not. But when I looked up, there was my house, my white, wooden house with the big front porch. It looked brokenhearted, too.

Cars were parked in the driveway and up and down both sides of the gravel road. Apparently everyone in Ring-gold was either inside my house or standing on the porch. As the preacher's daughter, I had been around death enough to know that they had come as much to express their sympathies as they had to support one another during their time of great loss.

"Lord child," said Flora, "your daddy musta been a great man, a true servant of the Lord, jus' look at all these people who comin' to pay their respects."

But I wanted them to go away, just like when Mama died.

Brother Fulmer, dressed in his usual denim overalls and white cotton s.h.i.+rt, was leaning against the house, not saying a word to the people gathered around him. He was dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief when he heard Flora pull into the driveway. He raised his head and stared at Miss Mabie's black sedan. I'm sure he was wondering who these two, strange women were, one black and one white, and why they had come to Reverend Cline's house.

"Flora," Miss Mabie said, "you grab Catherine's bags and help her into the house. I'm going to walk on ahead and introduce ourselves."

Carrying all three suitcases in her hands, Flora did as she was told. She led the way to my own front door, the crowd parting in front of her as if she were navigating the Red Sea. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see their sad, curious stares.

Flora set the bags down on the porch and stepped aside. I stood frozen in the open doorway, not sure whether to take the next step or sink to my knees. From out of the confusion swelling inside my house, Gloria Jean rushed toward me and s.n.a.t.c.hed me up in her arms.

"Oh baby, I am so sorry," she said. "I am so, so sorry."