Part 9 (1/2)

”Sit here, Etta Mae,” I said, sliding onto the last pew in the back, leaving just enough room for her. It is so inconsiderate of people to do what I'd just done, that is, sit right on the aisle so everybody else has to crawl over them. I was feeling a little bit bad about it until four very large people-two men and two women-came in who had not had dinner with us. One of the heavyset women stood and stared at us until we had to slide on down. They kept coming, each one larger than the other, and we kept sliding until I ended up against the wall of the meetinghouse and could go no farther.

Etta Mae blew out her breath and whispered, ”I don't guess we're gonna be slipping out early, are we?”

I didn't answer, for up at the front the most unnerving racket blared out, so startling that I couldn't answer. Four men had taken up instruments, one at the piano, another one strumming a guitar, one banging on a set of drums, and one beating a tambourine half to death. And they'd turned up the sound on the microphone. Everybody started singing, although there wasn't a hymnal in sight. The music was catchy, though, and when people began to rise, we did, too, and swayed with them. Etta Mae knew a few of the words, so she joined in-something about a beautiful, beautiful river, which had so many verses that by the time it was over I'd learned the chorus by heart.

After several more hymns, with first one person then another starting them off-not a choir director in sight-Deacon Chester went to the lectern. He'd seemed such a nice, gentle soul around the dinner table, but when he took the microphone in hand so he could wander around, something came over him. Now, I'm not one to sit in judgment on other people's manner of wors.h.i.+p, but let me just say that that service was not even close to the manner to which I was accustomed.

The deacon became a changed man. He preached and preached and preached, becoming more and more frenzied and rhythmic, almost hypnotic in his delivery. No chance for a nap in his service, for even though I couldn't understand a word he was saying, he'd bellow out loud every now and then, mop the sweat from his face and keep on going. People began to come out of the pews and walk around, encouraging him with ”Amen!” and ”Praise G.o.d!” and raised hands swaying overhead.

I grabbed Etta Mae's hand as she sat stiff as a board next to me. ”I don't know about this, Etta Mae,” I whispered. ”I want to leave.”

”Me, neither,” she mumbled, and jumped when a woman shrieked. ”I do, too.”

But we were packed in the pew so tightly that I was crammed against the wall, with all those fat people between us and the aisle wedged in like Vienna sausages in a can.

A sudden commotion started up at the front of the church. People-men and women-gathered around the lectern, some moaning, some praying and some kneeling around a wooden box that a young man placed on the floor.

I didn't know the significance of the box and couldn't see what they were doing with it until Deacon Chester bent over it, darted his hand down and came up with a three-foot-long snake so angry that I could hear its rattles over the din.

Deacon Chester held that reptile up so that it was looking him right in the face. ”If you got the faith, you can take up serpents,” he shouted at it. ”But if you ain't got it, you better stand clear. Don't tempt the Lord!”

Etta Mae's eyes popped wide and her mouth dropped open. The hand I held turned ice-cold, and sweat began to bead on her face. ”I got to get outta here,” she moaned.

Another shriek ripped through the air as a different man held up a coiling snake, its white mouth so wide it looked unhinged. The tail wrapped around his arm, and he reached down and picked up another one in his other hand. He held it aloft, its head darting toward him as he closed his eyes and hopped around on one foot.

But when he let the thing slither around his neck, Etta Mae screamed and jumped straight up. The fat lady next to her oozed into the s.p.a.ce she'd vacated and yelled, ”She's a-comin', Lord, she's a-comin'!”

Well, actually she was a-going, because-I don't know how she did it-crying and s.h.i.+vering, she scooted over all those mounded laps like a water bug skimming across a pond. She hit the aisle running. Out the door she went, with me b.u.mbling along behind her. ”Excuse me, excuse me,” I kept mumbling, pus.h.i.+ng hard past those larded knees, determined to get out of that place.

Finally, I got through, then had to dodge a woman whirling around in the aisle. Stumbling, I made it to the door, so anxious to get out that I almost forgot my manners. Recalling the excellent meal so generously shared with us, I pulled a fairly large bill out of my pocketbook, handed it to a man who looked only halfway entranced and said, ”Put this in the collection plate, please. To cover our dinner.”

I practically ran to the car, which Etta Mae already had cranked with the air-conditioning on high. She had to unlock the door to let me in.

”Let's go,” I said, collapsing inside, wanting to pull my feet up on the seat.

Etta Mae, s.h.i.+vering and trembling, slammed the car in reverse, spun the wheel and threw up gravel as we headed away. ”I have never, never, never in my life seen anything like that,” she said between gulps of air. Big shudders ran through her body as she guided the car down the road and out onto the highway. ”I won't sleep a wink tonight,” she said. ”I hate those things.” Then she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. ”At least we'll have a tale to tell when we get home, if anybody will believe us. And if we ever get back.”

”Lord, yes,” I said, using a Kleenex to wipe perspiration from my face. A few shudders were running up and down my back. ”But, Etta Mae, we have to do what Emma Sue Ledbetter always recommends and look on the bright side. Although I'm not sure it was worth what we've just been through, we did have a wonderful meal, much better than Bud's Best Burgers. I would never tell Lillian, but that fried chicken was almost better than hers.”

My effort to bring about a little normalcy didn't seem to have much effect. Etta Mae kept driving toward Pearl's, an intent look on her face and her mind on the Sunday afternoon traffic. Four cars and a farm truck pa.s.sed on their way to town.

Finally, she said, ”They say rattlesnake tastes just like chicken.”

I thought about that for a second or two, then my throat clutched up and I swallowed hard. My hand flew to my mouth. ”Pull over, Etta Mae. Quick!”

Chapter 18.

When we drove in at Pearl's, Etta Mae stopped by the office, saying she'd be back in a minute.

”Wait, Etta Mae,” I said, opening my pocketbook. ”Much as I hate to, we better pay for another night.” I handed her the money, hoping our cabin had not been rented while we'd been witnessing what it meant to have ”signs following” a church service.

”Okay, I'll be right back.” And soon she was, bringing with her a broom that she put in the backseat.

I was feeling too weak to ask why she wanted to do some cleaning, but I soon found out. When we walked to the cabin door, she told me to wait there, and then, holding the broom, she took a flying leap and landed on the bed, Dingo boots and all. Then she commenced to swing that broom around, swis.h.i.+ng it back and forth under the bed and across the tops of the windows and in the corners of the room. Then she jumped down and did the same thing in the closet and bathroom.

”Okay, Miss Julia,” she said. ”You can come on in now. No snakes, thank goodness.”

Grateful for her thoughtfulness, I eased my way to the bed, took off my shoes and lay down. She brought in our bags again, locked the door, then stretched out beside me.

”I am wrung out,” she said. ”Remind me never to visit a strange church again. I'm sticking with the Baptists.” She turned over, then said, ”How are you feeling? Want me to try to find a drugstore and get something for your stomach?”

”Oh, no. It's much better. I'm just awfully tired. Let's try to get a little nap.”

She mumbled agreement and we lay there, trying-or at least I did-to block out the image of writhing snakes going up and down arms and across shoulders.

After a while, I said, ”Etta Mae?”

”Hm-m?”

”Sheriff McAfee wasn't there, was he?”

She turned back over. ”No'm, I don't see how he could've been. As soon as we sat down, I looked at every man in the place. And he's tall. We would've seen him if he'd been there.”

”I think so, too. Well, I guess we just went to the wrong place. Who would've thought there'd be more than one Church of G.o.d in such a small town. Now, if it had been the Baptists, I could understand it. Wherever there's one Baptist church, there's always another one. Or two. No offense, Etta Mae.”

”Oh, you can't tell me anything about the Baptists I don't already know. But, Miss Julia, I think we must've gone to the wrong place. I asked the man in the office if there was a plain ole Church of G.o.d without any signs following, but he didn't know. He said he liked the preaching on television because when they pa.s.sed the plate, he didn't have to put anything in.”

”I wish we'd asked somebody with some sense before we went,” I said. Then after thinking about it for a few minutes, I went on. ”There's one other possibility, Etta Mae. I hate to think the sheriff would do this, but he might've figured we'd follow him and told us the wrong church on purpose.”

Etta Mae sprang straight up. ”Would he do that?” she asked incredulously. Then she flopped back on the pillow. ”Why, that sorry thing! And I thought he was so nice.”

”Well, we don't know for sure. He could've been planning to be there, but got called away. I'll tell you one thing, though, you won't catch me going to a church with any kind of signs ever again. I don't care whether they're following or leading, I've had my fill of them.”

”You and me,” she said fervently.

A roll of thunder wakened us sometime later. I looked out the window to see the trees being lashed by the wind as the day darkened. Rain came pouring down, and I wondered what we'd do with ourselves for the rest of the long night ahead. We'd missed our chance with the sheriff until morning at least. There was nothing in the room to help us pa.s.s the time-no television, no radio, and no books or magazines. Etta Mae was quite pleasant company, but as far as I was concerned, she didn't qualify as entertainment. Nor I for her.

She sat up in bed and yawned. ”You hungry?”

”I guess I am,” I said, checking inwardly on the state of my stomach. ”I'm not sure I want to go out in this storm, though.”

Etta Mae got up and looked out the window. ”It'll stop in a few minutes-it's just a little mountain shower. They probably come every afternoon.” She went into the bathroom, and when she came back, she said, ”Why don't I go and see if I can find some sandwich makings? We can eat in here and you won't have to go out.”