I think Daddy’s nose was out of joint from the time I went out with Jesse without asking his permission. I know Daddy didn’t like me going to the party and the dance, either, said he wouldn’t say yes and he wouldn’t say no. Said I should ask Jesus to tell me what to do.
“Royal, one time won’t hurt her,” Mum said.
“‘One time won’t hurt’ is Satan’s own slogan,” said Daddy. “But make your plans, make your plans if you can square it with your own conscience, Opal. Just don’t tie up the phone talking to that boy about it. Folks from The Hand have to reach us.”
But he also added, “Seems like your fingers are around that mouthpiece or dunked in the water bowl, one or the other.”
It wasn’t water in the bowl, anyway, but honey and vinegar I was using to force back my cuticles and bring up my moons. I’d read up on what to do back where the beauty books were in the Seaville library.
Then one Saturday night Brother Barker Dudley came to our house from over in Riverhead, to talk about growing legs with Daddy. He was this roly-poly man, unordained, in a black suit with a diamond ring on his little finger, no hair, and sweat always on his upper lip. He smelled sweet from something he put on his face, and stood as near as he could to the floor fan. It was a scorcher night and Mum had her shoes on unlaced, sat in the armchair trying to make a breeze with Woman’s Day.
Bobby John’s back had been giving him trouble. I think the load on his heart over faking the healing was reaching around to his back. He wasn’t talking much to me, but he was always mumbling, “Recover themselves out of the snare of the devil, who are taken captive by him.” I’d ask him what good it did to keep repeating it, and he’d say he didn’t even know he was saying it under his breath. He was telling Brother Dudley about the pain under his left shoulder and his stiff neck, and Daddy was saying so much of it was in his head it wasn’t worth talking about to Brother Dudley. “Your problem is mental,” Daddy told him.
That was all going on in our front room when the phone rang. I got off the couch fast and Daddy gave me the eye. “Not now, if it’s him again, Opal.”
“I know it,” I said.
It was him, asking me if I wanted to go down for a soda or a cherry Coke.
“I can’t because we got company.”
“I hope you’re thinking about your hat. Pisces is two fish swimming in opposite directions. Your lucky day is Friday.”
“Yesterday was Friday and it wasn’t so lucky,” I said. “Five minutes to five, old Mrs. Farraday brung in every wool thing they had in their house for cleaning and storage.”
I smiled to myself because it made him laugh hard, pictured him tossing his head back, a lock of his soft, yellow hair falling near his blue eyes, and him brushing it back with his small hand.
I said, “I didn’t get out of that place before twenty after. Mrs. Bunch goes, ‘Staple a blue slip to each item and write it up on the pink slip.’ I go, ‘It’s five to five,’ and she goes, ‘I can tell time, Opal, well as you can.’”
Daddy shouted in “OPAL!”
“I’ll be on Dad’s show next Sunday,” Jesse said. “I just wanted to tell you to watch it. Sounds like someone wants you. I’ll say good-bye.”
“Good-bye.”
“Good-bye.”
He laughed. “Well, hang up, Opal.”
“Good-bye,” I said, and put down the phone’s arm.
My face felt warm, and when I got back into the front room, Daddy was watching me real closely, frowning.
“Did it ever occur to you that your trouble might be you’ve got one leg a little shorter than the other?” Brother Dudley asked Bobby John.
“We didn’t make you come all the way here to check out my son, Brother Dudley,” said Daddy. “There’s nothing wrong with his legs.”
“Well, let’s check it out, anyway,” Brother Dudley said.
Bobby John sat down in a chair Mum brought in from the kitchen and took off his shoes, stuck his legs out.
Brother Dudley knelt down to inspect them.
“Whew!” Mum said, waving Woman’s Day. “Your socks are high, Bobby John!”
“I didn’t know I was going to take my shoes off,” said Bobby John.
“That aroma doesn’t bother me one bit,” Brother Dudley said. “If it did, the Lord wouldn’t be growing legs though me.”
Brother Dudley drew a finger across the sweat beads on his upper lip, shook it, then took hold of Bobby John’s feet. “Ah ha!” he said. “See here?”
“What do you see?” said Bobby John.
Mum had put down the magazine and was opening a box of Good & Plenty.
“Anyone wants one, I’ll pass it,” Mum said, shaking the box.
“Bobby John,” said Brother Dudley, “your right leg is about three quarters of an inch shorter than your left one.”
“Is it?” Bobby John said.
“That might explain all the back trouble, stiff neck, and I bet sometimes you even have trouble straightening up.”
“I swear I do,” said Bobby John.
Then Brother Dudley began praying, right there down on one knee, holding Bobby John’s right foot. “I feel God wants me to pray for this leg, praise God. Lengthen this leg, straighten out this misalignment with Your power. I’m praying in the spirit that the power will come through me to level this leg. Heal!”
“Praise the Lord,” Daddy joined in.
“I can feel You use me, Jesus! I can feel this man’s foot growing.”
“Praise the Lord, I can feel that,” said Bobby John.
Mum was leaning forward, holding her face with her hands. She started in softly, “In the name of Jesus, shum ba la, shum ba la—”
“It’s doing it, it’s doing
