For a time I lay in the dark singing to myself in a whisper, knowing how I’d sound if I would let the door of my heart come bursting open, come with a great light, lifting my words: O Love divine, what hast Thou done! … Joy—bells ringing in your heart, joy bells ringing in your heart.
When I did get to sleep, I saw the speck turn into me again, and felt the glow, and in the dream I told myself it wasn’t a dream, that it was really real, then woke up sweating, a little of the glow left. It was like an old friend coming back, not to stay maybe, just to let me know there it was again.
“Opal,” Daddy said, “stop mauling the pillow and go in and help your Mum!” He snapped off the TV. The show was over. He told Brother Dudley he had some praying to do, said help yourself to the Sunday paper or whatever you got in mind.
Brother Dudley had out a nail file, nodded, said, “I stopped reading the newspapers when I found Jesus, there’s so little of Him anywhere in them. Don’t worry about me, Royal.”
In the kitchen, Mum was cutting up leftover ham she’d brought down from the von Hennigs’ last night, tossing it into the macaroni casserole.
I peeked into the bag the ham came out of and said, “What they throw out anyone could eat for a week on.”
“Praise God,” Mum said, “and thanks to them there’s some real good licorice candy in there, Opal. There’s cake I’ll take to The Hand to have with coffee Wednesday night, cut it up in little pieces. Honey, have yourself some of that good licorice.”
“It’s you likes licorice.”
“I don’t care one way or the other.”
“With all the Good & Plenty you eat?”
“I just like the name,” Mum said.
Then Daddy started praying from in his room, same as he always did Sunday mornings, loud enough for the cat to hear sleeping way out on the roof of the van, even though Brother Dudley was right there in our living room.
“There he goes,” I groaned.
“He’s got every right,” Mum said.
What bothered me wasn’t his praying aloud. It was what he prayed about. It was like on Sundays he just got everything off his chest about us, told the Lord things he never told us face to face. We had to listen to all the things we’d done (no way we couldn’t hear every blessed word) that sat heavy on his head like a basket of wet wash.
Doing it with Brother Dudley in the next room was like going to the toilet with the door open, in front of company.
Right away he started in on me, too.
“… and I pray, Lord, that my daughter, Opal, will cast her eyes away from this godless astrology she’s got herself interested in, to go to some dinner party or other. Let Your light shine on her, revealing the true stars in Your heavenly sky! Lead her to Your side at our Soaking, fill her with Your love at our Soaking, so she will know the only true dancing is dancing in the spirit, in Your name, never mind last dancing and last dances. Only the Lord has the last dance!”
I got so mad I began slamming dishes down on the table, while I was helping Mum set up for lunch.
Mum put her hand on my wrist to stop me making so much noise, said, “He don’t mean it.”
“He means it. He begrudges me anything everyone else does.”
“He don’t begrudge you it, he just don’t want your head so turned, not by those people.”
“… and forgive me the sin of envy,” Daddy continued. “I should have known better than your servant Guy Pegler how Willard loved that dog. I should have listened, and for not listening now I have the sin of envy. Someone else was rewarded for an act of kindness I did not extend!”
“I told him he should have took that dog,” I said to Mum.
“Honey, don’t be hard on him. We would have found Yellow a home. Willard wasn’t dead yet. Don’t you see how Guy Pegler’s squeezing the breath out of your daddy? Takes his healing, takes Willard’s money, and his son takes you off.”
“I’m still here far as I know,” I said.
“Lord, don’t let me be too impatient with Bobby John, and forgive me for losing my temper over his stupid idea to bring Guy Pegler to a memorial service for Willard, for if that is Your wish, so be it. Seems like we’re hurting too bad at The Hand for such turn-the-other-cheek ventures as carting Pegler down to a small service in Willard’s memory, but Bobby John never was one to think past his nose, how well I know it!”
“At least Bobby John got his way for once,” I said to Mum.
“Let up on your daddy, honey. He means well.”
We had the ice cubes in the water glasses by the time he got to her.
“… and Jesus, help Arnelle fight Satan’s gluttony so’s she can sing Your praises once again before our humble flock, guide her from—”
“Gluttony?” Mum said, her face bright red.
“Shoe’s on the other foot now,” I said.
The memorial service for Willard Peyton was set for noon on the day of The Last Dance.
Daddy was letting Bobby John be in charge of it, since Daddy had other fish to fry. Fried them right across from St. Luke’s church, a moment after the noon whistle blew.
Mrs. Bunch had closed down to go to the service, and I’d decided to catch the bus back to Hog Creek Road from Main Street, so I could pass by St. Luke’s and see them getting ready for the dance.
I didn’t know anything about Daddy’s plans. I was walking along thinking about how people in that town brought clothes in for cleaning that weren’t even dirty, trousers with the creases still in them, and blouses wrinkled from being tucked
